The Lovely Scones

Ramp Experiment

2007-05-10T09:54:00.000-04:00

Well, hello there. It's been a while, hasn't it? I confess I've been cheating. I was seduced and did the only thing I could think of: I started another blog. A knitting blog, so that I can write about my two interests. But it's spring now, and hey, there's that market I'm always scouring, so I'm back again, and I hope that someone stuck with me during the long absence.

I've been waiting patiently, checking every few days, for the first crops to start arriving at the market. Sure, there have been apples, nice jams, and cider, but what I've really been wanting is the new green stuff of the season. After all, I've been reading about it all over the West Coast blogs. Wild, foraged ramps are one of the first things to arrive, and everyone knows it. About a week or so ago, I heard a woman asking the market manager very loudly, "Ramps. Does anyone have ramps yet?" He said that he didn't think so. But yesterday, I was reading on my friend Allergic Girl's blog that she had indeed spotted the thing that I had been waiting for, and she even suggested a nice way of preparing them. I dashed over there at lunch in hot pursuit to snag some of the dirty, stinky things.

They say that in Paris, it's illegal to bring Epoisses on the Metro, but here, perhaps I shouldn't have been allowed to bring ramps on the PATH train. I had already noticed by midafternoon, a wild, funky odor emanating from the ramps bag in my cubicle. By 5:45, when I got on the PATH to go home, I snagged a place to lean against near the door. To balance the bags I was carrying, I unwittingly shifted the ramps to my left hand, right at the nose level of the woman seated next to me. Not one minute later, she subtly placed her finger under her nose. I thought maybe it was me, but no--wait--I realized, almost laughing out loud, that it was the ramps. I quickly switched them to my right hand out of her line of scent, and she breathed much more easily the rest of the trip.

Then I walk in the door to my apartment. "What's that smell?" Pierre asks almost instantly. I laugh and tell him my story.

Anyway, the ramp lady at the Greenmarket suggested this preparation: saute the white parts of the ramps in olive oil, adding the greens only at the end to wilt like spinach. Toss with pasta, more olive oil, and a bit of butter (optional).

Here's what I came up with. It's not really even a recipe, and I shamelessly stole the idea from Allergic Girl.

Easy Ramps with Gluten-Free Spinach Pasta Recipe

Serves 2

1 small bunch ramps, about twenty
1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest (optional)
1 tablespoon olive oil for sauteeing, plus more extra virgin olive oil for drizzling later
8-10 oz. Tinkyada gluten-free brown rice and spinach pasta
salt and pepper to taste
Parmesan or Romano cheese, for serving
Crushed red pepper, for serving

1. Put a pot of water to boil.
2. Clean the ramps thoroughly. Mine were caked in dirt. Separate the greens from the white parts, and chops the whites finely. Coarsely chop the greens into approximately 1" pieces, and set aside.
3. When water comes to the boil, add pasta.
4. Heat about 1 tablespoon of olive oil in a medium skillet and add the white parts of the ramps, sauteeting until translucent, about 5 minutes. At this point, add in the greens and continue sauteeing until the greens wilt, about 1-2 minutes more. Stir in the optional lemon zest. Season with salt and pepper to taste.
5. Drain pasta when al dente, and toss ramps with pasta, adding more olive oil to coat.
6. Check seasoning, and add more salt, if desired.
7. Serve with grated cheese and (optional) hot pepper flakes.

This was really, really, really good. I can't wait to have it again. What do the ramps taste like? I've heard them described as a combination of onions and strong garlic, and I think that's fairly accurate--with a little scallion thrown in.

The Allergen-Free Wedding, Part II: Wedding Cake

2007-03-12T14:58:00.000-04:00

We just got back from a big wedding planning weekend in Reading, PA. I've been doing the planning in bursts, so as not to have it dominate my entire life. This weekend we met with bakers and djs, and we visited hotels and looked at invitations.

Our first stop was Unique Desserts. I had first heard of Unique Desserts when they delivered a wedding cake to my parents' restaurant, the same day we were there looking at the banquet space. It was a lovely square layer cake with daisies, and it looked just like something out of a Martha Stewart Weddings magazine. I spoke with the owner, who told me that she was able to make gluten-free cakes as well. Bonus! I knew their prices were high, but my mom went to check them out on Friday in advance, and called me to say that I *must* try them out. Luckily, the assistant pastry chef agreed to stay late on Saturday for me to taste their absolutely delicious (wheat flour) cakes and to look at their designs.

The gluten-full samples tasted like real cake (not some artificial nonsense), with an excellent moist crumb, and the most decadently rich buttercream icing. The pastry chef was incredibly professional and understood my likes and dislikes. I explained my concerns about nut allergies and gluten intolerance, and he told me that they will be as careful as they can to minimize any risk of cross-contamination, though they do not have dedicated pans or bowls. They are, however, a kosher bakery, and they must prepare those items on a separate table, so he will do the same for me to avoid nut and gluten contamination. We would have a gluten-free layer on the side, next to the main wheat cake, and it would be decorated in the same style. One of my other concerns was fondant, which usually contains gelatin--a no-no for vegetarians. Again, since they are kosher, their fondant cannot contain gelatin, which made me so happy. While buttercream tastes better, it's good to know I can have fondant as an option if I want a very polished-looking design. Unfortunately, they didn't have any gluten-free cake made up, but the chef gave Pierre some white chocolate pieces, so he wouldn't feel left out! Then, on top of everything, he sent us on our way with whole plate of samples to take home. Smart man! That way, my dad and my sisters could sample the goods, too.

Beyond the logistics, their albums of cake designs were incredible. All I wanted to see is that he could make whatever my little heart desired, and I left confident of that.

The second stop was Sweet Angel Bake Shop. Immediately we noticed a difference in quality. We were left on our own to browse an album of very traditional cakes, complete with pillars and staircases and whole armies of wedding party dolls. I had to struggle to find details that I liked. Then the cakes came. My mom made a face (discreetly) as she took a bite. It had a horrible, box-cake flavor with an artificial aftertaste. The sample fillings were neon red and tasted more like cough syrup than the cherry and strawberry they were supposed to be. They were accommodating to our allergy requests, and while they weren't able to bake a gluten-free cake, they would let us bring in an outside one that they would decorate in the same style. We spoke politely with the nice woman who was helping us (who was nowhere as near as confidence-inspiring as the chef who let us into his kitchen) and then went on our way, agreeing that Unique Desserts is the way to go.

The Allergen-Free Wedding, Part I

2007-03-05T11:02:00.000-05:00

I'm writing this with a nod to my friend Allergic Girl.

Three years ago, food allergies and intolerances weren't really a part of my life. I, fortunately, can eat pretty much whatever I want without ill effect. Now they are a daily concern. My fiancé has celiac disease. His parents are strict vegetarians. His sister is vegetarian and allergic to nuts and strawberries. Many of my friends are allergic to this or that. And that's just the start.

So in planning our July wedding, we have to be very conscious of these issues. Some guests are allergic to dairy, seafood, and more. But most urgent are those nut and seafood allergies, which cause much more than a simple--though uncomfortable--case of the hives or tummy trouble. It's our special day, and we want everyone (including us) to be able to enjoy it worry-free. That means I can't have lovely marzipan shapes on my wedding cake, and that we'll have to have a gluten-free layer or a dedicated gluten-free cake. Some people may not be able to eat the cake at all. And face it, by the time the cake comes around, it's often an afterthought.

As for the food, we will go ahead and select the dishes we want--gluten-full, seafoody, or meaty, but must also be flexible to those who need special preparations--vegetarian and otherwise. In this way, I am very lucky. The restaurant where we are holding the reception happens to be owned by my parents, who understand these issues and can hold the kitchen to account for avoiding cross-contamination. My own mother can explain clearly to the cooks who needs what and what they can't have.

In trying to figure out where the rehearsal dinner should be held, my mother said that she would feel most comfortable having it at her own restaurant, where she could make clear to the staff the requirements of the event--even though the reception will be held there as well. But we shall see if we can make it all work somewhere else.

I'll try to post about these issues as they arise throughout the planning process.

Foam

2007-02-21T09:43:00.000-05:00

Am I the only one who doesn't like the foam gracing every dish in high end restaurants these days? Damn that Ferrán Adria whose influence has led top chefs all over the world to create foams of just about everything they can think of. Give me a well-made sauce instead. I don't even like the foam on a cappuccino. I'd much rather have a latte or café au lait, which has a lower foamy profile. Foam just doesn't have a nice mouth feel--it's something you wait to go away, like the foam on soda or champagne. Pretty while it lasts, but let's get rid of it!

And yet I've been noticing this phenomenon more and more recently. I was at Eleven Madison Park yesterday for lunch (lovely, lovely, lovely!), and several of the dishes that came to our table had a foam component. One of my dining companions ordered the velouté of parsnip and green apples and Hawaiian prawns. The appetizer came out with a giant pile of green foam on top--ostensibly foam of green apples. The prawns were buried at the bottom. I just wanted to scrape it off the top for him. I had a delicious slow cooked Scottish salmon (too bad it was farmed) with a horseradish crust, Kohlrabi (I had to look it up, too), and Riesling sauce. But it was not really a sauce, but a foam! I know they're going for a certain light texture, but I feel that the dish loses something with all of these dissipating bubbles.

Back Again

2007-01-30T14:07:00.000-05:00

I’ve been in a food rut for a month or more. I’ve had some good meals and cooked some decent ones, but I haven’t really been inspired recently. Part of it is the drab weather and gray days. In another life, I must have frolicked on a tropical island year round.

The other part of it is that I’ve become a serious knit-a-holic. I’m on my second sweater (third, really, if you count the one I knit and ripped out because I didn’t like it) and have two more in the queue. Plus, I’ve been knitting lots of miscellaneous objects like hand towels, four hats, scarves, and more. So, dear food lovers, pardon my detours. For me, really, it’s all related—I love to create, to produce something with my hands that is at once artistic and practical (you can wear it or eat it). I notice that many of the knit bloggers out there are also serious food people as well! So, ahem, without further ado, here’s a little knit pic:

It’s the Center Square hat from the current issue of Knitty, made in Knit Picks Wool of the Andes, slightly more than 2 skeins, on size 10 ½ circular needles (for those who know and care about the details).

Moving on.

Last night, I was roaming around—or rather, battling my way through—Whole Foods after work and felt inspired again. Pierre and I have resolved to get even more fruits and vegetables in our diet, so I was there completing the mission. I stopped by the seafood counter, and the woman in front of me ordered skate. I’ve never made skate, but I think about it a lot. It’s cheap, too. I nixed the cod I was going to buy and got three-quarters of a pound, figuring I’d determine what to do with it when I got home. Luckily, I discovered in my yellow Gourmet Cookbook that the classic preparation makes for fast eats—a simple French dish of skate in sautéed in brown butter and parsley. I added to that my favorite preparation for zucchini--in which I throw zucchini on the George Foreman grill with avocado oil, salt, and pepper—as well as a spinach and arugula salad. The skate was delicious, sort of like a super moist and more flavorful white fish, but without any fishiness in texture or taste. The rich brown butter and fresh parsley were a perfect accompaniment. Sorry, but for some reason, this fish is not so photogenic. I swear it was yummy, though.

Oh, but wait! My friend Aaron sent me this article from The Boston Globe about Anheuser- Busch’s efforts to make gluten-free beer. We had never tried a GF beer, since we were under the impression that they were not very tasty. Plus, we’re not big beer drinkers. But it was such a lovely piece, and I was so happy that a major company was making this gluten-free effort, that I wanted to try it. So Redbridge was my impulse buy at Whole Foods and a little surprise for Pierre. He was *thrilled.* And do you know what? It was really quite good. I’m no beer expert, but it tasted like a slightly darker brew, rich with lots of character. More importantly, it tasted like beer, not like a beer impostor. Three cheers!

Happy New Year

2007-01-01T13:02:00.000-05:00

A year is never an easy thing. Some we are more ready to be rid of than others, but each one has its highs and lows. We celebrate each passing year with the promise and the hope that the highs of the coming days will be higher than before and the lows not nearly so difficult. We stop and recognize where we've been and where we might be going. We remember, and we are grateful for what each year has taught us.

In that spirit, Pierre and I celebrated in our tiny apartment--just the two of us this year. It was quite a feast crammed onto the coffee table where we typically eat dinner. Homemade fondue with gluten-free bread, a king crab leg for each of us, olives, crudite, champagne, and sparkling water.

And for dessert, strawberries dipped in a chocolate-Cointreau sauce.

But more important that the food we ate was the company we shared with each other.

A Bird? A Plane? No, a Cauliflower.

2006-12-05T09:40:00.000-05:00

So it's been a while. Suffice it to say that the last month has been full, and not a lot of inspired cooking has been done. There have been two deaths, a holiday in between, and an unexpected trip to Puerto Rico. But I'm back, scouring the farmer's market, and eager to cook.

Look what I discovered:

This is a Romanesco cauliflower from Yuno's Farm, though it looks like special effects in a 50's alien/sci-fi movie. Or perhaps it's what you see when you look through a kaleidoscope. Anyway, I couldn't resist such a remarkable object. It's hard to believe it's even food.

Pierre and I were so excited about it that we needed to eat it immediately. I cut it in pieces and roasted in the oven at 425 with garlic, olive oil, salt, and pepper, following a recipe from The Gourmet Cookbook (as I was eating it, I glanced at the new Cook's Illustrated that was sitting on the table and saw that there was a recipe for roasted cauliflower right there. Ah well). Anyway, this creature was deliciously caramelized. The flavor is somewhere in between cauliflower and broccoli, more like a delicate broccoli. The sign at the farmer's market mentioned that it has a faint taste of pine nuts, but I did not particularly think so. I also discovered that it is healthier than standard cauliflower, high in potassium, vitamin C, folic acid, and fiber. And fruits and vegetables are what we all need to eat more of these days.

Is-This-Really-Gluten-Free Granola

2006-11-14T10:30:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, when I was back in Pennsylvania visiting my parents, my mother made a delicious granola with flaxseed recipe from an old Martha Stewart magazine. It had all of my favorite granola ingredients--dried blueberries, dried cranberries, and coconut. To boot, it had flaxseed meal in it for extra health benefits. I got the recipe from her and decided to make it for myself.

Shortly thereafter, I was reading Gluten-Free Girl and was sort of shocked to discover that Shauna had made granola for herself. Oats have long been a murky area for people with celiac disease--some say they are fine, others not. No product that contains oats can claim that it is gluten-free, merely wheat-free. Plus, Pierre had told me that he had problems with oatmeal when he was younger, so we have steered clear of it. After reading her rather persuasive post citing the Celiac Center at Columbia and after researching some articles at the Celiac Disease Foundation Web site, I asked Pierre if he wanted to try again. He read her post, too, and was overjoyed at the idea of it. Apparently, McCann's is gluten-free (if oats are indeed gluten-free), or as close to gluten-free as it gets. I visisted their Web site, and though they do not make the gluten-free claim, the facility they use is dedicated purely to the processing of oats, so the risk of cross-contamination is incredibly low. Good enough odds for us.

Given that steel-cut oats are of a different texture than regular rolled oats, I knew that I'd have to adapt the Martha Stewart recipe and give the oats a longer cooking time. Plus, I tweaked a few other ingredients. Here's my version:

Gluten-Free Granola with Flaxseed

2 cups McCann's steel cut oats (not quick-cooking)

1 cup unsweetened shredded coconut

3/4 cup sliced blanched almonds

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1/3-1/2 cup honey

1 1/2 tablespoons flaxseed oil

1/2 cup dried cranberries

1/2 cup dried blueberries

1/4 cup unsalted sunflower seeds

1-2 tablespoons ground golden flaxseed

1. Preheat oven to 250°. Toss together oats and almonds in a medium bowl; set aside. Whisk together vegetable oil and honey in a small bowl; stir into oats mixture. Spread out oats mixture on a greased, rimmed baking sheet.

2. Bake, stirring every 15 minutes, until golden brown, 1 1/2-2 hours. About 30 minutes before oats mixture is done, add the coconut and stir thoroughly. Return to oven until golden brown. Let cool 10 minutes; toss with flaxseed oil. Let cool completely. Transfer to a large bowl; stir in dried cranberries, blueberries, sunflower seeds, and ground flaxseed.

We both enjoyed this immensely. It's a little crunchier than regular granola, but it's so delicious. You can taste the honey in every bite. So far, he has not had a reaction to it, but we'll see how he feels after a few more days.

No-Knead Bread

2006-11-13T10:07:00.000-05:00

My heart leapt up when I read this article about breadmaking last Wednesday in the Times food section. By now, it seems like everybody else has read it, too, since it's Monday, and the *recipe* is still number five on the top ten most e-mailed articles. Though any homemade bread is delicious, it's so hard to make really good European-style bread.

The recipe takes two days--not unusual for good bread--but what's great is that you don't really have to do much of anything, and apparently, the bread will turn out as good as anything you can buy in a bakery. To quote Rachael Ray, "How cool is that?" To date, my favorite bread recipe has been Cook's Illustrated's Rustic Italian Loaf, also made over two days with a biga (starter). Though that recipe is easy, it still is slightly more labor intensive than the one Mark Bittman presents. I couldn't wait until Saturday to try it out.

Saturday night, 10 PM: After dinner out and half a bottle of wine, dump flour, yeast, and salt in a bowl. Add water. Mix for about 30 seconds with a wooden spoon. Cover tightly with plastic wrap.

Sunday morning, 8:30 AM: Wake up. See that the dough has more than doubled in size, despite the tiny bit of yeast used. Lovely bubbles dot the surface. Eat breakfast. Go to the mall.

2:45 PM: See even more bubbles than before, and notice that the dough has taken on a nice sheen. Time for the next step. Scrape dough out of bowl onto counter. Let sit 15 minutes.

3:00 PM: Form into a ball and place on a cornmeal-covered towel. Cover. Let sit 2 hours.

4:30: Turn on oven and put Le Creuset Dutch oven into the oven.

5:00: Burn finger slightly on oven. Take out Le Creuset pan and dump dough into it. Cover and put into oven. Start getting excited.

5:30: Take off cover. See that it looks like REAL bread. Really! Real bread. Keep baking. Wow, it smells good in here.

5:50: Carefully take pan out of the oven. Wow! Wow! Smile for pictures:

And then the moment of truth:

It really is delicious. It has the crisp outer crust that you expect and the soft, chewy crumb on the inside. It's not overpowered with yeast as many homemade yeast breads are. It's just perfect, and I did it myself.

Joy of Cooking

2006-11-09T11:59:00.000-05:00

I own a lot of cookbooks. I mean a lot. Some I have bought. Others I have gotten from the Good Cook book club at various times. But most of them I have gotten for free at work or through friends in the publishing industry. I am sure that I have way more than 101 cookbooks. I can't even bring them all home. I have dozens in my office, just waiting for the day that I get a bigger apartment. I have cookbooks for almost every kind of international cuisine, baking, chocolate, general cooking, 30-minute, celebrity chef, gluten-free, vegetarian, scientific reference, historical, and cultural studies, not to mention food writing and memoir. I have a McGee, and I even have a copy of the brand new edition of the Oxford Companion to Food, the be-all and end-all of food reference and history. Most food lovers are not so lucky.

I am not telling you all this to establish some sort of food cred, merely to say that of all of famous and obscure cookbooks I have acquired in my 28 years, I have never owned a copy of the Joy of Cooking, the standard American bible of cooking, nor have I had any interest in doing so. Why? For me, it symbolized a sort of frumpy, housewife-y approach to cooking and food. Cooking by necessity, not cooking with true passion (despite whatever the title might suggest). It symbolized staid, American-only food, recipes for which I could most certainly find elsewhere.

But guess what? (You can see where this is going, right?) It's actually a pretty cool book, despite its dowdy reputation. I snagged a copy of the new 75th anniversary edition yesterday, and it seemed to have a recipe for everything I could think of. Where else could you find a recipe for Shoo-Fly Pie and Snickerdoodles *and* Pad Thai and Tart Tatin? It's so, so comprehensive for all kinds of food. I haven't tried any recipes yet, but I'm looking forward to giving it a shot.

Food Bloggers for Dinner

2006-10-24T16:24:00.000-04:00

Newish to the blogging universe, I was tagged for my first meme by Julie of Kitchenography. Thanks, Julie! I had been admiring her blog for some time now--the lovely food she makes and her totally unpretentious style. This meme was created by Angelika of The Flying Apple. See here for the project.

So on to the question: what would I make if other blog friends were coming to dinner? I suppose that first of all, I would stress about the fact that other food-types were coming over for dinner and what-could-I-possibly-serve-them-that-would-be-good-enough? I don't often entertain--I live in Jersey City and work in New York City, so it's rare to get a person willing to make the 20-minute train ride across the river. Surprising, but true. I'm kind of a private cook, too. Most days, I'm just making dinner for myself and my fiancé.

But in the end, I could only make something simple, something that reflects my style. Here's the menu that I did make when one friend came over for dinner, and I don't see why I wouldn't use it again. It's ideal because you can make most of it in advance and either put it in the refrigerator or keep it simmering on the stove.

Snacks: Manchego, Brie, and some other cheese. Whole Foods' spicy olive mix. Mark Bittman's hummus recipe.

For dinner:

--My well-honed guacamole. At this point, I make it so much that I've gone so far past the point of having a "recipe." It's all instinct! Good guacamole is about having good avocados (jeez, I sound like Ina Garten), the right balance of onion, garlic, cilantro, serrano, and lime; and ample salt. One day I will try to nail it down to a recipe and post it here on The Lovely Scones.

--Pico de gallo. Again, it's all about the tomatoes here and the right balance of ingredients.

--Burritos: Rick Bayless's slow-simmered black beans served on tortillas (no need for homemade, unless you have the time). Made from dry black beans that you soak overnight, these beans are delicious and simple, cooked only with onion, epazote, and dried arbol chiles. Top with the guacamole, pico, shredded cheese (you can select something conventional like monterey jack or authentic like cotija). Yum!

Dessert:
Daisy Martinez's flan. It puts most other flans to shame and it's so easy. Plus, there will be leftovers for me to eat for breakfast.

To drink, perhaps sangria, wine, or margaritas with fresh-squeezed lime juice.

A Rainy Night's Dinner

2006-10-18T10:52:00.000-04:00

It was chilly and rainy last night as I left work, and I was looking forward to going home where it's warm and cozy and having my Alaskan wild salmon a la Contessa. I also had some serious knitting to complete for my class on Wednesday, so I needed to make sure dinner was not very labor intensive or time-consuming.

The marinade/sauce for this salmon is absolutely divine, and nothing could be simpler. Here's a link to the recipe, which I have been making for quite some time now. Combine minced garlic, olive oil, soy sauce (I use gluten-free tamari), and dijon mustard. Whisk together. Yum. Now try not to eat all of the sauce before you use it on the fish. Put fish in a plastic ziploc bag and pour in about half of the marinade. Swish around to make sure all of the fish is covered with the sauce. Put the fish in the refrigerator to marinate for 10 minutes or until you get the rest of your meal going. (Tip: even if you're only cooking for two, as I am, I tend to make the full amount of the marinade that the recipe calls for because I use it on the vegetables I serve with the fish.)

What else goes great with a rainy, chilly fall evening? Baked pears! After you've put the fish in the refrigerator, it's time to make some baked pears for dessert.

Rainy Night Pears
2 medium pears, cored
4 teaspoons unsalted butter
4-8 teaspoons brown sugar
cinnamon
nutmeg (optional)
vanilla (optional)
Serves 2.

Preheat oven to 350. Place cored pears cut side up in a 8" square glass baking dish, to which you have added a few tablespoons of water. This will aid in creating a nice sauce for the pears. In the cavity of each pear half, place 1 teaspoon of butter and 1 to 2 teaspoons of brown sugar. (The amount of brown sugar you use can be to taste.) Sprinkle lightly with nutmeg and cinnamon and a few drops of vanilla. Here's what they should look like before baking.

Put them in the oven and bake for 45 minutes or until the pears are soft. They should look like this when you take them out.

Caramelized and beautiful, they're perfect as is or with a dollop of vanilla ice cream. I love baked fruit because it seems to bring out the essence of the fruit's flavor. These pears, for example, were just plain-Jane pears from the supermarket and were not even very ripe. But bake them, and their flavor comes bursting to the surface.

So what about dinner itself? After I put the pears in the oven, I cooked the salmon in a hot frying pan, browning each side. No need to add additional oil, since the marinade contains olive oil. I love to serve this with steamed string beans, or haricot vert, if you will (Whole Foods sells great frozen ones), that I top with some of the remaining soy-dijon marinate and chopped scallions. Drizzle a little extra sauce on the salmon as well. Voila! We enjoyed this with a nice bottle of red wine for extra rainy night comfort.

P.S. Coming soon--my 2nd finished knitted object!

Moules Frites

2006-10-17T09:46:00.000-04:00

Many people are afraid of making mussels themselves, and they really shouldn't be. They're an easy, quick, and delicious weeknight supper. I just came across a free copy of the Barefoot Contessa's Barefoot in Paris at work and had been wanting to try her moules marinière recipe.

Pierre and I were away at a friend's wedding this past weekend, and we came home Sunday night to an empty refrigerator and no time to refill it for the week, so I ordered the week's food, including the mussels I had been craving, from Fresh Direct. We don't order from Fresh Direct often because we like to pick out our own food (and because it always ends up costing a little more), but it can be a timesaver, and it allows you to plan out your meals.

The mussels were some of the best I had seen in a long time--very few broken shells and dead ones. They were mostly de-bearded, so my work had already been done for me. I just soaked them for half an hour in water with a little cornmeal to get out any remaining sand.

The sauce that they are steamed in is also terrifically easy and a perfect combination of ingredients: shallots, garlic, thyme, saffron, tomatoes, parsley white wine, butter, and olive oil. It only takes 15 minutes from start to finish!

Serve with some french fries, and here's what you get:

The broth is briny and garlicky, with the saffron rounding out the background flavors. The mussels were tender, and I loved the sweetness of the tomato and freshness of the parsley next to them. Score one for the Contessa.

Tonight it's the Contessa's Asian Grilled Salmon--another ridiculously easy meal with a soy-dijon marinade and sauce so divine you just want to eat it up with a spoon.

Penne alla Vodka alla Cook's Illustrated

2006-10-09T09:53:00.000-04:00

The new Cook's Illustrated arrived this weekend and with it some lovely recipes, including a recipe for penne alla vodka. I like to make penne alla vodka quite a bit, but for some reason I often forget about it as an option. Plus, I don't often have a bottle of vodka and/or carton of heavy cream around. My mom has a great recipe for this dish with shrimp, which I think is just off the back of a box of pasta or something like that! This one is pretty close, though.

My version was ever-so-slightly different from the Cook's Illustrated version because I used tomato puree instead of whole plum tomatoes (I grabbed the wrong can at the supermarket) and I added a few extra ingredients, which I thought it needed.

To make the dish, mince half an onion and two cloves of garlic. Sauté the onion in a few tablespoons of olive oil until soft, about three to five minutes. Add the garlic and about 1/2 a teaspoon of crushed red pepper. Sauté until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add a 28 oz. can of tomato puree (or puree canned whole plum tomatoes yourself), 1/2 tsp salt, 1 tsp dried basil, 1 tsp dried oregano, and 1/3 cup vodka. Cook on medium heat about 8-10 minutes, until the alcohol has burned off. Adjust salt level. Add 1/2 cup heavy cream. Stir, and heat about one minute until the cream has heated up in the sauce.

Toss with pasta. The pasta shown here is, of course, gluten free. It's the Trader Joe's brown rice pasta, which I have a sneaking suspicion is Tinkyada, because it tastes exactly the same.

Serve with fresh basil and Parmesan or Romano cheese.

Scarf: FO (Finished Object) Number One

2006-10-03T10:20:00.000-04:00

Why haven't I written about food in over a week? Well, here's the answer:

Two years ago, I bought this Laines du Nord merino wool to make a scarf for Pierre. It was supposed to be a present for our first Christmas. I never finished it. Now because of this knitting class I'm taking, I've been whipped up in a knitting frenzy, and I ripped (or "frogged" in knitting lingo) the scarf so I could start anew and make this.

It's a pretty basic scarf from the Stitch 'N Bitch book--2x2 ribbing--but it looks quite nice. It's hard to tell in these photos, but the yarn is a lovely dark, dark green, not black. (I'm still playing around with this new camera, so you have to excuse the overexposed photos for now.) Pierre modeled it for me, and it's quite dignified on him. I might actually make one for myself in a girlier color.

Birthday Pie

2006-10-02T11:24:00.000-04:00

It's really been an extended birthday bonanza for me this year. Pierre's parents gave me a gift when we were in Puerto Rico in September; Pierre gave me my gift this past weekend; and on Monday, my friend Megan, brought me a birthday pie! And there are still two days left until my actual birthday!

This is not just any birthday pie, though. Megan brought it all the way from Briermere Farm in the Hamptons. I had never heard of these fabled pies until a few weeks ago when Megan asked me if I'd like her to pick one up sometime when she goes out to visit her parents. Famous? Pie? How could I say no?

I told her she could select the flavor, so here's what she surprised me with:

Cherry cream pie! Beautiful, no? Now how does it taste? I couldn't wait. I was like a little kid rushing through dinner to get to dessert. Well, it's delicious, of course. I could tell that the sour cherries were homegrown because they had that hand-pitted look. They were a perfect tart-sweet combination with the cream filling of the pie. The filling was actually quite interesting to me because it tasted like a comination of whipped cream and cream cheese--lighter than cream cheese but heavier than whipped cream. As for the crust, it was very good: light and flaky, though I must say that it didn't have as quite as wonderful a homemade taste as the rest of the pie.

I devoured one big slice in just a few minutes, and then I ate another half of a slice, thus negating all of the virtuous vegetables and fish I had eated all day. Yum.

¡Torta de Santiago! (¡Gluten-Free, too!)

2006-10-02T10:04:00.000-04:00

I have two exciting things to share--first, I've made a delicious, delicious almond cake called Torta de Santiago of which I have created a gluten-free version, and second, I got a beautiful new digital camera for my birthday, so that I can finally share my creations with you. (My birthday isn't until this Thursday, but Pierre couldn't wait to give me my gift until then!)

Torta de Santiago is of Spanish origin (er, as the name might suggest), and it's ridiculously simple to make. The recipe I used is from Daisy Martinez's Daisy Cooks! (A side note: every recipe I've tried from this book has turned out wonderfully.) The torta recipe can be found here. In place of the 1/4 cup of all-purpose flour, substitute 1/4 cup of your favorite all-purpose gluten-free flour mix. I used Rebecca Reilly's gluten-free mix, of which I have a large batch in the refrigerator. To the flour mixture, add 1/4 teaspoon xanthan gum (our dear friend in gluten-free baking). And that's it! Just follow the rest of the recipe as is, dust with powdered sugar when cool, and voila:

As you can see, it's actually quite a thin cake, and the recipe makes two of these beauties. The first time I made it, I mistakenly halved the recipe. Pierre and I ate the thing up in no time and were very sad there wasn't more. I wasn't going to make that mistake again.

Here's how it looks when you cut into it. I added a dollop of Ben & Jerry's on the side.

It's super moist, not too sweet, and has a lovely almond flavor, thanks to the almond extract and almond meal. Plus, you get a little hit of lemon from the lemon zest. It's perfect for dessert and even better for breakfast with coffee. It's an impressive cake, but so easy to complete.

A final tip for gluten-free bakers, I've found that gluten-full recipes that don't require a lot of flour are easily adapted to gluten-free versions.

The Lovely Scones Learns to Knit

2006-09-22T13:47:00.000-04:00

I haven't been cooking much dinner this week. I've been scraping together evenings of cheese and olives and defrosting steaks, so that I can get back to my knitting. Wait...knitting?!? I confess it's been consuming me for the last week.

They're offering a class at work--how great is that??--taught by Iris Schreier, author of Exquisite Little Knits and Modular Knits and owner of Artyarns.com. I learned to knit back in college, but I could never get beyond a simple knit and purl. I would throw my needles down in frustration when I tried to create ribbing, which just alternates the knit and purl stitches. I felt doomed to be stuck in knit stitch forever, and I understood fully why someone could write a book called Knitting Without Tears. I couldn't follow the directions in books or magazines, and my mother couldn't even figure out what I was doing wrong.

I can now tell you with confidence that I am knitting a scarf with ribbing. This is a *very* small step in the right direction, but a step nonetheless. Iris has taught us the speedy Continental method of knitting. (I feel rather European already.) Apparently, I knew the English method, which is easier to learn but slower. I can't tell you what a difference it makes to have an expert show you exactly what you need to do. Plus, she gave us this wonderful Web site called KnittingHelp.com , which shows you videos of knitting, so I watch as many times as I needed to get it.

Maybe I'll have a picture of a project to post soon!

Maybe Mario. Molto Gluten-Free.

2006-09-18T14:36:00.000-04:00

So I haven't really posted anything in the last week, but I've been cooking up a storm. Inspired (unwittingly) by reading Bill Buford's Heat, I kindled a bit of an interest in Mario Batali's cookbooks, which I had previously shunned. I had been under the impression from various other serious cooks (including my mother) that Mario's recipes don't turn out properly--that there's always a missing ingredient or an off proportion. Plus, there's something too big-orange-Iron-Chef-celebrity about him. It just turns me off.

But Buford had me aching down to my bones for some sort of hearty, beefy, slow-cooked Italian food. It's something I rarely have anymore, especially because my fiance has celiac disease and can't eat gluten. Pasta aside, Italian restaurants are almost always a no-no because Italians use flour for everything, even dredging meat and fish before sauteeing. So if we're going to eat safely, I have to do it my way.

I ordered a copy of Molto Italiano from the New York Public Library because I didn't want to waste good money on it, but I wanted to give it a test drive. When it arrived, I harrumphed quite a bit as I paged through the book and noticed the overabundance of color photographs, but I also flagged quite a few recipes. So far, I've tried three dishes: Mario's basic tomato sauce, his Involtini of Eggplant with Ricotta and Spinach, and the Scafata of Fava Beans and Escarole.

His basic sauce includes a can of whole tomatoes, chopped onion, sliced garlic, a bit of grated carrot, and about a tablespoon and a half of thyme. The thyme was new to me in my own sauces, so I was eager to give it a shot, especially because I had some leftover biding its time (terrible pun intended) in my refrigerator. While I needed to add a few tablespoons of tomato paste to get a real depth to the sauce, I give his recipe a thumbs up. The sauce is quite nicely accented by the flavor of the thyme, but not overwhelmed. The carrot, of course, lends a nice sweetness. I wouldn't say this is my perfect sauce, but it's not bad.

Monday night's dinner used his sauce in the Involtini. First, I sliced the eggplant and fried the slices in canola oil until golden brown. (Mario fries in olive oil, but heating olive oil that high causes it to break down and release ugly free radicals. Tsk, tsk!) Then I prepared a simple filling of fresh ricotta, scallions, nutmeg, salt, and pepper. Easy! You put a little filling in each slice of eggplant, roll them up, and put them in a pan with the sauce. At this point, you realize that--oops!--you forgot to add an egg to the ricotta mixture, but tell yourself that it will taste fine anyway. Pop it into the oven for 15 mins., and you've got a little piece of heaven. The eggplant is tender and not bitter, and it's well-balanced by the creaminess of the ricotta and the tang of the tomato sauce. Then, at the end, you get a little hit of nutmeg and then the crunch of the scallion. Yum!

Also quite lovely was the Scafata. (What kind of great word is that?!) It's like a whole mess of vegetables--fava beans, peas, escarole, onion--cooked down with some pancetta (I used bacon because I had it on hand and didn't feel like buying pancetta. Shh, don't tell the foodie police), olive oil, and water and set ablaze with tons of black and crushed red pepper. Not for the faint of heart, but a great way to get your veggies.

The verdict? Well, the jury's still out, but my first tiptoes in the cookbook were good ones. I think you have to have some command of cooking (however modest) to be able to adapt and change with the recipes if they don't go the right way. For example, I noticed that the recipe instructions aren't always as specific as they should be. There are lots of interesting dishes yet to try.

What's most important in the end is that I satisfied my craving for Italian food AND we ate entirely gluten-free, so I had no nagging worries about hidden gluten.

Falling Toward Autumn

2006-09-11T14:10:00.000-04:00

I talk all year about how much I dislike the winter and the cold and how much happier I am during the spring and summer. But I can't help craving what the new season brings, though, and it seems that this late summer/early fall is no exception. On Sunday, I made a quite lovely version of Julia Child's Boeuf Bourguignon (gluten-free, of course) that took a mere four hours to make. Then today at the market, I found my attention drifting away from the dwindling supplies of raspberries and blackberries and toward the growing mounds of chile peppers, plums, pears, and apples that are just starting to appear. The market is quite a sight now--lush and filled with almost everything you could want. I realize that this year I've been more attuned to its rhythms (and its crowding!) than ever before. I'm watching the waxing and waning of items with greater appreciation. In the spirit of this in-between season, I bought some nectarines and peaches, which shouldn't last too many more weeks, and some cider and raspberry-apple juice from Red Jacket Orchards. It's a bit early, but how's some hot cider with a cinnamon stick sound?

New Fruit!

2006-09-11T10:10:00.000-04:00

We took a trip into Chinatown on Saturday to go to the Grand Sichuan for lunch. Along Canal Street, I was stopped in my tracks by a plum-like fruit for sale amidst the durian, bean sprouts, and other Asian vegetables in the stands. It was called a muscadine grape, also labeled a "vineyard grape" :

It didn't have a lot of the same characteristics as other grapes--it was much bigger (about an inch to an inch and a half across) and it wasn't displayed on a vine. I tried a sample for 25 cents, and the two young women working the stand explained to me how to eat it. You pop it open and suck out the center--sort of like a lychee--watching out for the seeds. One said not to eat the skin; the other said, "Oh, you can eat it, but some people don't like it." It tasted like a grape, but much grapier than any grape I had had. The inside was sweet and gooey, similar to the concords my mom used to grow. I decided to try the skin; it was probably twice as thick and chewy as a concord's. Like a good wine, it had a amazing complexity of flavors. I couldn't see a reason not to eat the skin--it was as delicious as the interior. The fruit is beautiful, a deep, sensual blackish purple. The perfect fruit for September, I thought. We bought two pounds for $5.00.

The women told us that the grapes were imported from Italy (which evoked blissful images of vineyards on rolling hills). While that very well might be true, a little research turned up that muscadines are in fact a fruit of the American South! More impressive, the are among the healthiest fruits you can eat. They are particularly rich in the same phytochemicals that make red wine beneficial, and according to the USDA, a "puree of muscadine skins and pulp is an excellent source of resveratrol, dietary fiber, and some essential minerals and is high in carbohydrates and low in fat and protein." In fact, it says that powdered muscadine puree has more dietary fiber than oat or rice bran and has been shown in lab rats to lower bad and raise good cholesterol levels.

Interestingly, it seems that these grapes may be a little different from muscat grapes used to make wine. Muscat is the name of a whole grape family grown in Europe and California and used to make everything from Alsatian dessert wines to Asti Spumante. Perhaps muscadines are simply a branch of this family that grows only in the South. Regardless of whether my grapes were from Italy or North Carolina, they're a delicious discovery!

The Queen Bee

2006-09-08T09:43:00.000-04:00

I just had one of those grand New York City moments. I noticed that new Petite Abeille (better known as "The Little Bee" to its fond visitors) opened on 17th St, and I went in for my celebratory café au lait. (I haven't been to a Petite Abeille for almost three years, since I left my last job.)

Here's what happened:

"I'd like a, er, small café au lait," I asked the man behind the counter, stumbling over the size. I recognized him--he used to work at 18th St. Last time I was there, they had small, medium, and large. I used to order medium.

"Yeah, we only have small and large now. People thought that that small was too small at the other one," he said.

Now? The other one? I thought. I tested him, "Yes, I used to get a medium at the other one. But I changed jobs, and I stopped going, since it was no longer on my way."

"Yes, of course," he said. "I remember you from the other one. You used to come in all the time."

Glory ensued. I walked out of there on air.

In this city where you often feel so small, so unnoticed, so caught up in the bustle of people, it's moments like these--when someone remembers you years later--that you feel special, if just for a moment. It's why people make such an effort to get the guy at the coffee cart or their favorite lunch spot to recognize them, or why a colleague at work gets so upset that a local café doesn't always get his morning oatmeal correct. We want that acknowledgment, that connection with others that shows we're not invisible.

The Stinky Cheese Man

2006-09-05T14:23:00.000-04:00

Remember that book? It came out in 1992 and exploded in popularity, with its humorous retellings of classic fairy tales. The book's title story was about the stinky cheese man, modeled, of course, after the story of the gingerbread man. Even though I was far too old for such books as a 14 year old, I still loved it, but I didn't quite understand how cheese could be so stinky that it could literally knock people over. "Run, run, run as fast as you can. You can't catch me. I'm the Stinky Cheese Man," he would taunt his pursuers.

Now that I'm older and wiser, I get it. You won't catch me running after Alsatian Muenster any day. In fact, you won't catch me running after most French cheeses. Those things will knock you over. Of all the things I like to eat--and that's a lot of stuff--I've been phobic about cheese beyond a certain safe limit. I'll eat raw milk cheese, the finest Parmesan and Romano, Manchego, Gruyere, Havarti, Roquefort, Fontina Val D'Aosta plus all of the standards like mozzarella, cheddar, and jack, but don't get near me with that goat's cheese. It tastes like dirty socks. Have you ever really tasted it? And brie? What is the attraction about eating a rind that tastes like cardboard? These preferences probably seem a little odd coming from someone who loves food so much, and from someone who could not imagine life without cheese, albeit cheese that meets her stink-free standards. (Though I must admit that Fontina can be a little stinky.)

You'll be happy to know that I'm coming around, though, thanks in part to my cheese-loving fiancé Pierre and his family, and also in no small part, to a humble cheese plate at Madame Claude Café, our wonderfully warm and enjoyable French bistro in Jersey City. My future in-laws love the stinky cheese--especially Epoisses and the aforementioned Muenster, two of the world's most offensive-smelling cheeses--but they can't get much of it in Puerto Rico. So before a visit, he and I make our treks to Garden of Eden and Citarella to get the goods. I have to carry the stuff home on the PATH train, practically holding my nose. Then we cart it down to San Juan in quilted lunch bags filled with ice packs. I usually can't wait to get rid of it. They offer it share it with me, and I refuse. Blech. It piques my interest though. Why don't I want to try it?

Once Pierre bought my parents some Morbier for Christmas. Good God, I thought. Stinky cheese with a slim line of edible(!) ash in the middle. Is this food or something used to ward off demons? I had meekly tried it once at a party, and hey, it wasn't so bad. Actually, it was pretty creamy, and you couldn't really taste the stink. Hmm.

More recently, we went out to dinner to Madame Claude for his birthday. It was a steamy and rainy summer night, and even though we had a reservation, we had to wait at a crammed bar for a table. The owner, a cheery, mothering French woman, offered us a free appetizer. I said, let's try the cheese plate. Pierre was surprised at my decision, but happily went along with it. It arrived: four or five cheeses beautifully displayed with grapes and sliced apples. A simple, elegant presentation. It included the previously scorned brie; sock, er, goat cheese; Camembert; Roquefort (or a cheaper bleu), and a slightly harder cheese I couldn't identify. I enjoyed every minute of it (except for the goat cheese, of course). Here I was eating French cheese --unabashedly, unadorned--and bread and fruit, and I didn't think life could get better. I was able to savor the strong or creamy flavors, pop a grape to clear out my palate, and just enjoy every bite. The time evaporated, and suddenly, the owner came by to say our table was ready. In the end, the quality of the cheese was average, probably from the local supermarket, but that's not the point. This plate opened my mind and my tastebuds.

So tonight, I'm continuing the exploration. No Alsatian Muenster for me yet--I'm still carefully tip-toeing around the stinky cheese man--but I've picked up some treats from Whole Foods and Garden of Eden. I have a Sottocenere, an Italian truffle cheese with ash; Morbier; a reserve Gruyere; and yes, a brie. Not a wildly ambitious selection, but a start. With it, we'll have a nice bottle of red wine, some marinated olives, bread (gluten-full for me; gluten-free for him), and spinach salad.

Life's a Peach

2006-08-30T15:33:00.000-04:00

So I completed the second phase of my White Peach with Lemon Verbena jam last night. (The first night you blanch, peel, and sugar the fruit, storing it overnight in the refrigerator to macerate.) I actually succeeded in putting the jam in sealed jars that I had carefully sterilized and processed, according to the package directions. I felt like my mother. When I was growing up, we had a huge garden, and she would can tomatoes, jams, pickles, and even grape juice from the grapes on our own vines. I disliked this labor-intensive process and wondered why we didn't just buy things at the supermarket like other people. Now I know why: because those homegrown foods taste better.

Anyway, back to my story: The kitchen and living room windows had steamed up against the cool, rainy night. The apartment had become stuffy, and I was sweaty. Then I asked myself, as I tend to do when I come up with these projects for myself, what the hell are you doing? You work a full day in New York City, come home, and make jam like a crazy person and a nerdy crazy person at that. What can I say to that? I can't help myself. I need a creative outlet, and there's no better creative outlet than one you can taste. I like to learn new cooking tricks, too, even if I don't always succeed.

As for the jam, well, I didn't have as much lemon verbena as I needed, so the flavor was muted. The jam itself is pleasantly peachy and fresh, but it doesn't stand up to the raspberry-violet or the apricot jam. I plan on taking a jar down to my fiance's parents' house in Puerto Rico this weekend, but I fear it is not up to my full jam potential. Oh well. Onward! (What I need to do is get a new digital camera so I can show you pictures of my creations.)

How's the Weather?

2006-08-28T13:35:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, when you're in a blue mood, the weather does you the favor of falling in line as well. After a weekend of sitting by the bedside of my grandfather who is dying from colon cancer, it's just as well that today in New York is grey and misty. It's almost as if the day is cutting me a break, and my mind can finally relax. I don't think I could bear the beauty of a late summer day. No gym for me at lunch. I abandoned my sneakers for the greenmarket and the bookstore, picking up the latest by my favorite writer Haruki Murakami. Today I wanted simplicity. I bought white peaches and lemon verbena, and a bouquet of blue salvia. I stopped for a miso soup and a sushi roll on the way back to the office. My comfort food.

Despite my mood, I am continuing my summer jam mission tonight, by making Christine Ferber's White Peach with Lemon Verbena Jam. In the last few weeks, I've made her apricot jam and raspberry-violet, and both have been superb. While I've said in the past that canning seemed like too much of a fuss, I've decided--because of the success of the two other jams--to give it a shot. I'd like to be able to eat these in winter because I've never had anything like them.

Bzzzzz...

2006-08-23T09:46:00.000-04:00

There's a new Petite Abeille coming! It's almost ready to open on 17th St, between 5th and 6th Avenue, on the south side of the street. I've been walking by every morning now on my way to work, hoping it will be open, so I can stop in for a celebratory café au lait. I used to go to the one on 18th Street almost every morning, when I was at my last job, but I haven't been there in two and a half years. This new one seems like it will serve dinner like some of the other locations.

Losing My Appetite

2006-08-22T14:48:00.000-04:00

Hand in hand with my passion for food and cooking is my concern for where our food comes from and how it's made or treated. Sometimes it's enough to make your stomach turn. Everywhere you look, there's something to worry about--hormones in the milk; unlabelled genetically modified corn, soy, and canola; and antibiotics in the meat, not to mention appalling animal conditions. It's almost impossible to avoid, and there's no way to be certain of its safety, especially because most of these items have only been on the market for around ten years. What's more troubling is that while the rest of the world (largely) seems to be rejecting the advancement of these technologies, the U.S. is marching forward, seemingly unstoppable.

Just in the last month, we see Edy's and Bryer's ice cream modified with a "protein cloned from the blood of an Arctic Ocean fish" (NYT) in order to make it taste denser and creamier while still being reduced fat. Buried in the back of this Saturday's Times was an article on the FDA's approval of viruses as food additives to kill listeria in meat. We're even engineering better golf course grass, and guess what? It's not even approved yet, and it's already escaped, just like our generic GM corn has in remote Mexico.

George Pyle, author of Raising Less Corn, More Hell explains, "Moving genes from one organism to another could produce in the receiving plants a protein that induces serious, even fatal, allergic reactions from foods that people were not allergic to before...The use of genes that resist antibiotics to carry other traits scientists want moved from one organism to another can be an additional factor in the dangerous growth of bacteria that cannot be killed by our best medicines. There is so far no smoking gun to indicate that GM crops make a food dangerous for people to eat. But there are well-grounded fears that genetic characteristics grafted into one plant will be introduced into the broader environment, with utterly unpredictable results."

It's enough to make your head spin and wonder why we, in the U.S. are so eager to embrace this stuff before its been thoroughly studied and evaluated. Ah, because it's about profit, you see.

You can vote with your dollars, as the expression goes, and I do. But is it enough? Clearly this is too big an issue to tackle in one short post, but it's on my mind.

My Basic Cookbooks

2006-08-17T10:39:00.000-04:00

Books have defined me since I was a child, growing up in a rural part of eastern Pennsylvania. I didn't have the same sort of highly networked social existence of many kids these day, and evenings, weekends, and summers throughout my childhood were often spent nose-in-book or browsing the shelves of the local library. I loved to surround myself with stacks of books and get lost in their worlds, imagining other times and places and people. I liked both the reading and the physical book itself.

This fascination carried me through my English major in college and right into my first job in publishing. (My interest in food didn't really develop until that job.) I was an editorial assistant at a well-known publishing house in New York City, living alone, making almost no money, and craving some good food. If I wanted something tasty to eat, I'd have to make it myself. So naturally, I turned to books. Armed with a copy of Easy Basics that my mother bought me for college and a newly acquired copy of the wonderful Going Solo in the Kitchen, I started to teach myself. Six years later, I've come a long way. I don't fancy myself a master chef. I make good, simple dinners. Some nights I flop and want to throw the food in the trash can. Other nights we order in sushi. I have a lot to learn, but when I want to, I can make a mean coq au vin and a fabulous flan.

These days, however, nothing seems to please me more than the promise of a cookbook. I love its thick heft, the creative potential it offers, and the gustatory pleasure that might emerge. Not only can you read it, but you can bring it to life. Think of Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. It's like a history book of that time and place, and you too can taste things as Julia tasted them. How else could I have such a connection to the past and to other fellow cooks? There are few other things like it. As such, I've assembled quite a collection and am always on the lookout for more. I have at least enough to fill one and a half floor-to-ceiling Ikea bookshelves, but I tend only to rely on a skeleton crew to get me through most days.

My cooking process is kind of nerdy. I consult all of the books I own that might contain a recipe for a particular dish, and after meticulous cross-referencing, I pick what seems like the best one and modify it with what I think are the best tips from other recipes. Exception: Julia Child. I follow her recipes exactly.

Here's that skeleton crew:
How to Cook Everything (Bittman almost never fails me. Hands-down, he's my go-to guy for any food question or basic recipe. Who can remember at what temperature to bake potatoes or how long it takes to make a soft-boiled egg?)
The Best Recipes in the World (basic versions of the best international food--another hit for Bittman)
The Best Recipe (If you want get it right for sure, you'll want to follow their recipe.)
The Gourmet Cookbook (a solid selection of recipes I often need, but I confess I don't use it as much as I thought I might)
Mexican Everyday (I admire Rick Bayless for his intelligence and fierce commitment to authenticity as well as his ability, in this book, to strip down delicious Mexican dishes to their everyday essentials.)
Cook's Illustrated magazine

City Quackery

2006-08-16T13:55:00.000-04:00

City Bakery just makes me want to run screaming for the hills. It's everything I dislike about New York--pretentious, overpriced, crowded, and full of attitude from staff and customers. Only here could you spend $15.00 on a few greasy rice noodles, two pieces of organic lettuce with a crouton, and a massive chocolate cookie, and be asked if you want a bag. No, let me just carry this stuff out of here cupped in my hands, groveling and grateful that you've allowed me to purchase these lunchtime provisions. City Bakery's been on my list for a while--not that I have a real list, you know, but if I did, they'd be near the top.

Funnily enough, most people I talk to feel the same way. And still we go back for more. I'm such a hypocrite about this place. I complain about it, yet pop in from time to time, always leaving with the same feeling of self-loathing for putting myself through that again. For several months, I even boycotted them over this bag issue, after I bought quite a few items to go (certainly too much to carry), and the matter came up with a rather surly cashier.

The food, quite frankly, is not very good. It's greasy, either too salty or not salty enough, and radically overpriced. Their philosophy for savory food seems to be: "Let's just throw together random exotic-sounding ingredients in a bowl, and see what comes up. Hmm, today we have curry leaves, purslane, and adzuki beans. Well, let's just mix that together with some tofu, feta cheese, and Chinese broccoli. How's that sound?" I'm exaggerating quite a bit, but apparently, the chichi clientele is loving it and will stand in line for eons to pay for food that seems healthy but is drowning in oil. Why do I go? Well, it's super close to my office. They accept debit cards for virtually any amount, and I'm often short on cash. I also know what I'm getting. And sometimes, I just get a hankering for their damn good mac 'n cheese or tortilla soup.

More important: it's no secret, but where City Bakery really excels is in the pastries and desserts, the owner's area of expertise. Hands down, they make the best chocolate chip cookies I have ever had. I have tried--and failed--to recreate them at home. (The secret can't be more butter because I used a lot of it, and didn't come close.) Their croissants are superb. Their lovely little sugar cookies are a bargain at three for a dollar. They have tarts and mini-pies and other lush treats, and they're all delicious--and expensive. So if you go, go for breakfast. Grab a café au lait and a muffin, and avoid the lunchtime rush of beautiful people eating tiny portions of pricey, oily food. See you in line!

Ladies Who Lunch

2006-08-15T15:35:00.000-04:00

In addition to the cooking I do, I love to eat out. Particularly at fancy restaurants. But on a publishing salary and no trust fund to speak of, I'm generally scouting out the more mid-range options. (Some recent finds include Azul Bistro and Madame Claude Café in Jersey City.) However, one of the rare high-end dining opportunities is a business lunch, where you never need to feel guilty about what you're ordering and how much you're spending. Today it was the legendary Union Square Café.

This was my second visit, and I know it's practically heresy to say this about one of New York's most popular and beloved restaurants (#2, in the 2006 Zagat), but I think it could be better. I felt the same way on my last visit, but I thought it was a fluke. Today, I started with their classic green salad. It tasted like...a mesclun salad. The dressing was an unremarkable vinaigrette. For my entree, I ordered the wild Alaskan salmon, seared and served medium rare over a bed of Greenmarket corn, shiitake mushrooms, and balsamic butter. Sounds great, huh? Well, it was solidly very good, but that's it. The fresh corn was wonderfully tender and almost milky sweet, as others have noted, and I'm not even a corn person. In the end, though, the dish tasted tired and a little flat, like the the inspiration was gone out of it. What was left was a very tasty meal, not the gastronomical fireworks that I had been promised. Both trips, I noticed that the plating was a little sloppy--sauces running unevenly across the plate, the food looking like it had been under a warmer a little too long. Alas. Dessert, however, was pretty special. A real old-fashioned blueberry pie with lemon verbena(!) ice cream. The crust was delicious, tender and a little crispy on top, dusted with powdered sugar. The lemon verbena ice cream was a rare treat--bright, citrusy, and creamy.

So in the end, I don't know. I don't believe it's that my expectations were too high, since I've had much better meals at Gotham Bar & Grill, Tabla, Craft, Periyali, Bolo, and others in the neighborhood. I'm being a harsher critic of them than I would be of the kinds of restaurants I normally frequent, but it's only because they're in the big leagues. Plus, I've given it two shots as well. (Last time, I ordered a homemade pasta entree with roasted duck, and the whole dish was barely warm and tasted like it had been sitting around for about twenty minutes.) I enjoyed my visit both times, but when you're spending big bucks (even if it's not your own), I expected a little bit more.

Trader...Whoa.

2006-08-10T16:33:00.000-04:00

To anyone who knows me, I am a confessed Whole Foods addict. I succumb utterly to their every trick to get me to spend more money, and I don't care. I buy pure Kona coffee, raw milk Romano cheese (not that horrid Locatelli!), and glistening, wild halibut (at a mere $19/lb), and I love it. I feel good--virtuous even--as I plunk down my cash for this lush, organic, hormone-free food, and that's exactly how they want me to feel. I know it. I'm not stupid.

Better still, I can get my fix anytime I want. I can walk there on my lunchbreak (actually, can you believe there are *two* locations within walking distance of my office?), while passing through the Greenmarket, which--have you noticed--seems like the most written-about market in the world these days. (I think Michael Pollan called it "ground zero" for the local food movement or something like that. Geez.)

But no longer. Like much of the rest of the country has done long ago, I have discovered Trader Joe's. (If you don't live in New York, or if you do, and have been living in a hole for the past few months, you should know that NYC just got its very first Trader Joe's.)

I was mildly impressed on my first visit. Cute look, non-pretentious, friendly staff. Interesting stuff, but mostly frozen meals geared toward people who don't like to cook, but who still want their pad thai and dumplings. I picked up a few items to try, and while I was standing in the checkout line, I saw it: a bar of Valrhona(!) chocolate for $2.69. Not $5.00 or $6.00. $2.69. That was the first claw TJ's put in me.

To make a long story short, I've been back several times, it's got all its hooks in me now. I can go on and on about the wine store (cheap, cheap, but drinkable!), the lowfat granola, the fruit leather (27 cents!), the bath gel ($2.49!) that smells suspiciously like C.O. Bigelow's, the Sicilian olive oil ($7.99), the gluten-free waffles ($1.89), the avocados (4 for $2.99!)....but like all love affairs, it sounds so much more boring to the listener. It's like the proletarian Whole Foods and proud of it.

True, nothing can replace Whole Foods for some (ok, many) things, but I'm looking at it with a new eye now, like one sees a former love. And I'm asking questions. Whole Foods, why did you make me pay over four dollars for a few pieces of organic broccoli? How did you trick me into spending $18 on that Spanish olive oil? Why did the slice of pizza I just bought for lunch cost six dollars?

All I know is that there's a new kid in town, and I'm crazy about him.

I love apricot jam

2006-08-08T11:11:00.000-04:00

It's true. I'm crazy about apricot jam. It brings out the sweet-tart taste of apricots better than apricots themselves do. To me, it's the ideal use for the fruit, though they are nice in a danish and some other desserts, too. I am in the middle of making some right now.

I bought a quart of fresh apricots at the Union Square Greenmarket yesterday, and I am attempting a recipe from Christine Ferber's Mes Confitures, a book that a very kind friend gave me, knowing that I am one of the few people who actually will make jam herself. (Mind you, I only make one jar at a time. Living in New York, one doesn't have the time or space to sterilize jars and fuss with lids. Plus, one jar at a time suits my short-attention span.) Right now, the apricots are sitting in my refrigerator macerating in sugar, water, and lemon juice, and when I get home tonight, it's jam time.

A side-note: When we were in France last month, I bought one of Ferber's jams and was delighted to discover that her strawberry jam tasted just like mine (that is, it tasted homemade). I felt good about that.

Après France

2006-08-02T10:14:00.000-04:00

Something about visiting France stays with you; it digs under your skin weeks after you've left. It's almost as if you can't fully appreciate it until you've returned to your routine and started to savor the details. The thing is that I knew I'd like it--I'd been there before--but I didn't expect it to resound so fully with my own sensibilities, nor did I expect to be greeted so brightly by nearly every person I encountered. The warmth of the people struck me tremendously. I know that people have different experiences there; I've had them myself, but as Julia Child writes in My Life in France, "The sweetness and generosity and politeness and gentleness and humanity of the French had shown me how lovely life can be if one takes time to be friendly." True, I was traveling with my boyfriend (who speaks French) and his family (who also speak French and/or who are French), but even my own non-French speaking experiences were "lovely."

But more that that, it's those details that keep coming back: I liked the fields of sunflowers and grapevines, the fact that the corner supermarkets carried more varieties of jam than I had ever seen in gourmet markets in New York, the 20-somethings who really do(!) carry their baguettes home in the evening held with a single pastry sheet, the young mothers pushing strollers and wearing backpacks with leeks or other leafy vegetables peeking out the top. I liked that you don't have to order more than a soda or a water or a single glass of wine to give you the right to sit all morning or afternoon in a café, and that if you want to leave you're going to have to make a real effort to get the check. That the women have an simple, elegant, yet casual style; that the food in small towns seems even better than the food in Paris; that La Grande Epicerie has aisles of refrigerated cases solely dedicated to different types of yogurt; and that the pace of life seems a bit more relaxed and appreciative of the little things than here in NYC. We tend to think of French foods, clothes, and items as luxurious and fancy. Sure, some of them can be, but really, they're just part of the way of life--a little more natural, a little more handcrafted, a little more attention to detail, and fewer preservatives!

So many people have said these things and more about France. It's been both glorified and demonized. What I relished is that it defied both characterizations.

Kouign Amman

2006-08-01T11:50:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, I returned from a lovely and exhausting trip to France to meet my boyfriend's father's family. Our travels took us on a brief jaunt to Brittany, where I sampled the famous and remarkable Kouign Amann, a heavy, butter caramelized pastry concotion. Of course, when I taste something so delicious, I need to be able to have it again (read: make it myself), so much googling later, I came up with David Lebovitz's recipe, which I made on Saturday. Wow. It was almost identical to the ones I tasted. He really captured the essence of the taste. Mine turned out a little more caramelized and crunchy than the ones I had sampled in France, but I'm hoping to modify that next time with a little less sugar on top. And perhaps more butter.

Real Cooking

2006-07-26T15:12:00.000-04:00

So last night my boyfriend (really my fiancé, but for some reason, I never liked the word) and I did some real cooking, the kind of cooking where you follow a recipe exactly (ok, almost exactly), and when it starts to fail, you have to figure out what to do in order to save dinner. I had just stumbled onto a free copy of The Silver Spoon (hey, it’s one of the few perks of the publishing industry), which I had coveted since last Christmas. I opened right to a recipe for Spinach and Ricotta Gnocchi, and the attractive color photo next to it reminded me of the lovely boiled spinach pasta balls my mom would make when I was a girl. I could almost taste their slightly gummy texture, and I remember them sitting in ready rows on the kitchen counter, waiting to be dropped into the salted water. I didn’t remember the last time I had had them, but thought that tonight would be the night to try for myself.

We assembled the ingredients for the meal—frozen chopped spinach which I boiled and dutifully squeezed in a towel to remove excess water, ricotta cheese (we bought fat-free, thinking we’d cut back on the rich meals of the previous days). It would be a simple, but delicious and economical meal, using the leftover tomato sauce I’d made on Sunday. I mixed together all of the ingredients, formed them into balls, and started a large pot of water to boil. When I dropped a few in the boiling water, I noticed that they were simply disintegrating. Was the spinach too wet? Did the ricotta need to be whole milk? Was the recipe just crap? I was getting frustrated. Dinner seemed to be dissolving—quite literally—before my eyes. Then my boyfriend suggested sautéing the gnocchi. Hmm. Interesting.

A little olive oil in a pan on medium-low, and we were on our way. After a bit of experimenting and flattening, they were browning nicely. However, this was not what these plump balls of goodness were supposed to look like, I kept thinking, but maybe, just maybe, there was something to this. We tasted the first one. Not bad. How can you go wrong with fried cheese, he said. And after all, wasn’t the ricotta fat-free, and weren’t these things chock full of spinach? It’s practically a health food! So I kept going, browning a few at a time, keeping the completed ones warm in a low oven. I ate mine drizzled with a tablespoon of melted butter and freshly grated Romano, he with the leftover sauce. They were heavenly both ways, and better than I had remembered.

Fried Spinach and Ricotta Gnocchi (modified from The Silver Spoon)
1 10 oz. package frozen chopped spinach, prepared according to package directions
and squeezed in kitchen towel of as much excess water as possible
1 15 oz. container ricotta cheese
3-4 tablespoons freshly grated Romano cheese, plus more for serving
2 eggs yolks
salt and pepper, to taste
All-purpose flour for dusting (I used rice flour, because my boyfriend cannot eat gluten)
Olive oil for sautéing
Melted butter (1 tablespoon per person) or tomato sauce, for serving

Prepare the spinach as above. Set aside. Set oven on warm to hold finished gnocchi.
In a medium bowl, add the ricotta, Romano cheese, egg yolks, and salt and pepper to taste. Form the mixture into 1 ½ inch balls and dust lightly with either regular flour or rice flour (if you can’t have gluten).
Heat about one to two tablespoons of olive oil in a 10-inch skillet over a medium-low flame. When the pan is hot, add about four of the gnocchi, flattening slightly, so that they cook through. Do not overcrowd the pan. Flip when lightly browned (about two to three minutes, but watch them), and cook on the other side. Put on a plate in the oven to stay warm, and repeat the process.
To serve, melt about one tablespoon of butter per person, and drizzle on top, or use tomato sauce. Add more Romano cheese if desired.

Greetings

2006-07-26T15:11:00.000-04:00

So I've been thinking about this for a long time, writing down my thoughts about food. Food is what I think about and what I read about, and like so many others, I love to cook. I know there must be people out there who get some real joy (yes, joy!) out of grocery shopping and trying new products, whose hearts leap up at the arrival of the next issue of Cook's Illustrated, and who can't be dragged away from the PBS cooking shows on a Sunday afternoon (and who get great comfort from occasionally cooking along with them). Food, for me, is an intellectual interest and a tangible pleasure to be savored as I walk through the Union Square greenmarket, or at home, as I figure out how to use tamarind paste for the first time. I'm an editor by trade, but I come from a restaurant family, so somehow, I suppose, it's in my blood.