I'm a Cook, not a Baker!

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I’m useless with dough. Any recipe that uses a combination of flour and liquid, and requires a rolling pin, is a recipe that I’m bound to screw up. That unfortunately removes all bread products, and most desserts, including pies and cookies, from my repertoire. And let’s not forget chicken pot pies…or any pot pies for that matter. There’s a well documented story of a “pieless” chicken pot pie in my past.

That said, I’m usually fine with my lack of doughbility, until I open a cookbook and find myself staring at a gorgeously food-styled picture of a golden baked sleek baguette, or a crusty floured ciabbatta, or of wafer-like oatmeal cookies, where you can still the bits of oats clinging to the dough….like I saw today. That photo was my undoing. Or maybe it was the title…..“Crispy Salted Oatmeal White Chocolate Cookies”….Not since I discovered kettle corn popcorn have I been so intrigued by a salt and sugar combination. I could feel myself sinking into the self-delusion that “maybe this time will be different”. Dough-challenged or not, I decided to go for it! So I began to read the recipe, and I began to smile. One thing was clear….I will not fail today.

Crispy Salted Oatmeal White Chocolate Cookies*

1 cup all-purpose flour

3/4 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon table salt

14 tablespoons (1 3/4 sticks) unsalted butter, slightly softened

1 cup sugar

1/4 cup packed light brown sugar

1 large egg1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 1/2 cups old-fashioned rolled oats
6 ounces good-quality white chocolate bar, chopped

1/2 teapoon flaky sea salt (like Maldon or fleur de sel)

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Line baking sheet with parchment paper or Silpat. Whisk flour, baking powder, baking soda, and table salt in a medium bowl.
2. Beat butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Scrape down bowl with rubber spatula, then add egg and vanilla and beat until incorporated. Scrape down bowl again. Add flour mixture gradually and mix until just incorporated and smooth. Gradually add oats and white chocolate and mix until well incorporated.
3. Divide dough into 24 equal portions, each about 2 tablespoons. Roll between palms into balls, then place on lined baking sheets about 2 1/2 inches apart. Using fingertips, gently press down each ball to about ¾-inch thickness.
4. Sprinkle a flake or two of sea salt on each cookie
5. Bake until cookies are deep golden brown, about 13 to 16 minutes, rotating baking sheet halfway through. Transfer baking sheet to wire rack to cool.

Notes:

- Use a really good white chocolate bar. I used Green and Black's.

- I used Maldon's fleur de sel

*Adapted from Cook's Illustrated

BRUUUUUUUUUUCE!

The first time I heard about Bruce Springsteen, I was in high school and I was 15 years old. My best friend at the time, Christine, had a life size poster of him on her bedroom door, and she was my map into the world of "The Boss".

I, on the other hand, couldn’t really understand what the fuss was about. He was just a guy from New Jersey, with a raspy voice that, to my ears, strained to sing, and an obvious fan of red bandanas, though if the poster on Christine’s door was to be believed to not have been photoshopped, the lucky owner of a pretty nice butt! But I couldn’t really get into him. The Springsteen mystique eluded me.

Fast forward a few years later to my first conversation with DB, and my re-education of Bruce Springsteen began. DB knows every album, every song, and further to that, the lyrics to every song. And I don’t mean the lyrics that you and I can readily sing to, like “Born in the USA”, “Born to Run” or “Glory Days”. I’m talking about “Incident on 57th Street”, “She’s the One”, “Part Man, Part Monkey” – songs that are buried under the commercial machine that is mainstream radio and consumer marketing. He knows those songs.

I slowly began to understand why legions of fans were unable to stop themselves from screaming that now legendary word….”Bruuuuuuuuuuuce”. I’m now one of them. At my first Springsteen concert last year, I screamed myself hoarse along with them. And that raspy voice that I’d balked at as a teen? Well, that voice makes him “Bruce”….that voice makes him “THE BOSS”. I get it now.

So last night, we drove 45 minutes to San Jose, overpaid for parking, stood in a line that wrapped around the HP Pavilion, and spend 2 ½ hours dancing, singing, jumping, screaming, and idiotically grinning to each other, as Bruce, Stevie, Patti, Nils, Soozie, Gary, Charles, Roy, Max, and Clarence, showed us why, in Bruce’s own words, they are truly “the heart-stopping, pants-dropping, hard-rocking, booty-shaking, earth-quaking, nerve-breaking, history-making, legendary…..E…..STREET….BAND!”

Happy belated St Patrick's Day

Last week, we woke up to a beautiful, sunny St Patrick’s Day. It was so warm that a long-sleeved tshirt seemed much too heavy. With such wonderful weather at hand, we decided to hike the Land’s End, a section along part of San Francisco’s wildest and rockiest Coastal Trail. This remote trail is reputed to offer postcard worthy views of the crashing surf of the Pacific, The Golden Gate Bridge, the Marin Headlands, and San Francisco Bay. We couldn’t wait! We quickly readied ourselves, and armed with camera, extra water, a couple of Cara oranges recently purchased at the previous Saturday’s Farmers’ Market, and accompanied by Rocco, we set off for San Francisco.

After 12 miles worth of East Bay Bridge, and barely 15 minutes from our front door, we arrived to a cold, windy, and overcast San Francisco. Such is life in the San Francisco Bay Area. Not easily daunted, we persevered, and from the Financial District, through the Tenderloin, and Nob Hill, we went, finally arriving at the neighborhood of Seacliff, the starting point of Land’s End. Only to be met, not with the million dollar views that we had been expecting, but with an opaque curtain of fog, and a sign announcing that the trail was closed for renovation until April. Rats! Now what?

Fortunately, my guy always has a plan B and he quickly rebounded with the idea of heading to China Beach, a tiny cove situated about a 15 minutes walk from Land’s End. China Beach was given its name by local residents, due to the Chinese fishermen who, long ago, used the beach as a campsite as they worked on the San Francisco Bay. Ironically, though China Beach was created by laborers, it can only be reached through one of San Francisco ritziest neighborhoods. Ah, the irony….

We walked past mansion sized homes, with meticulously landscaped gardens, to arrive at China Beach. Bordered by high coastal cliffs, and down an unending trail of stairs, China Beach is a small, secluded, sheltered pocket of sand, much preferred by surfers, and perfect for a sunny day of sunbathing, or on a chilly overcast day, such as this day, a leisurely walk along the beach, accompanied by a soundtrack of crashing waves, punctuated by plaintive foghorns far in the distance. Eerie and beautiful. As we soon found out, that walk would have to wait, as dogs are not allowed on China Beach. In fact, in the words of the ranger who approached us “No animals of any kind are allowed on China Beach, not just dogs”. I can only imagine what other animals people have tried to sneak onto China Beach! He did allow me to stand at the bottom of the stairs for a few minutes while DB took some photos of the sole person on the beach, a lone fisherman casting his line...one with the sea.

Twenty minutes later, and severely wind-whipped, we trudged back up the stairs and headed for the car, where before taking off, we made the acquaintance of a beautiful, but skittish, year-old Great Dane named Ella. Shiny black, she came out of the fog like a majestic, wingless horse, as she and her human sauntered home. After meeting Ella, and not to be defeated by the day's events, we drove to the beach in the Outer Richmond, where dogs are indeed allowed. We promised Rocco a hike, but on this day, he would have to settle for a run along the Pacific.

Our day ended at Tee-Off, an Irish pub nearby, with a pint and an overflowing plate of cornbeef and cabbage. Happy (belated) St Patrick’s Day!

Moms (Only) Allowed!!

There are certain things that one will never do as well as a mom. For instance, no one, including myself, will ever make as good a bowl of oatmeal as my mom. I’m not sure why. I’ve tried. I’ve added the whole milk, I’ve added the honey, I’ve added the vanilla extract and cinnamon. I’ve stirred for the exact amount of time as I’ve watched her stir, and still my oatmeal is subpar compared to my mom’s. As DB will tell you, no one will ever make as good a deviled egg as his mom, Helen. There again, I’ve tried. I’ve gotten Helen’s recipe and followed it to the letter. I even had him taste test at each step as I went along, to ensure that I was staying true to the flavors. But alas, at the end, the finished product was nothing like his mom’s. I know this, not just based on his critique, but on mine. I’ve had Helen’s deviled eggs, and in a word…heavenly. There are some things that only a mother can do. I realize this, but I haven’t quite accepted it. Case in point, our dinner tonight….Tuna Noodle Casserole.

Growing up in Haiti, there are many things that, as a child, I never experienced. I think that I had my first potato chip at age 13. I didn’t grow up with it, and I had no idea it existed, so I didn’t miss it. I had also never had pizza or pancakes, meatloaf, or string beans served with the crunchy stuff on top. Oh, and sloppy joes and cheeseburges…nope, never had those either. I didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving, and up until we moved to the United States, I had no idea that candy canes were such a meaningful part of Christmas. The list is long. Conversely, most American children have never eaten mangoes, sipped juice directly out of a freshly cut coconut, eaten frog’s legs, or played jacks with real goat knuckles. It evens out.

During a conversation with DB last night, as we devoured a variety of pates and terrines, and literally attacked a large plate of salumi at our local salumi bar, somehow the topic of tuna casserole came up. It may have been because we were discussing possibly ordering the “crudo of yellowfin tuna with olive relish”, although we eventually decided on the “crostini of sardines and cicerchie beans” – this dish encompassed an amazing combination of flavors, and a perfect marriage between the cold sardine and the warm cicerchie beans. It was the perfect starter to what turned out to be a delicious meal. But back to that tuna casserole. This is one of those dishes that was part of his mom’s repertoire of dinner dishes, when he was growing up. During our many conversations about our respective childhood, the talk often turns to food, and DB doesn’t quite understand how it's possible that I’m not intimately familiar with the dishes that to him were an endemic part of his childhood. You should have seen his face when I told him that I’ve only had pancakes once in my life. And that was in college. In fact, not only did I not eat tuna casserole as a child, I have also never had it as an adult. True. So, in all trepidation, I decided to tackle one of the “moms only allowed” dishes.

The result was....as expected. Was it as good as mom’s? In a word, no. And in DB’s words? "It's missing something...you should ask my mom what she puts in hers". He had few bites, followed by a large bowl of cookies 'n cream ice cream.

Tuna Noodle Casserole*

12 ounces of Fettucine broken into thirds

6 tbsps unsalted butter

10 ounces button mushroom caps sliced 1/4 inch thick

2 medium onions, minced

1/4 cup flour

2 cups chicken broth

3/4 cup milk

1 tbsp lemon juice1

1/2 cups freshly shucked peas

1/4 cup minced parsley

1-1/2 tbsp chopped thyme

2 cans tuna in water

Make the topping by toasting 1 cup of fresh bread crumbs, salt, and 1-1/2 tbsp unsalted butter at 350 degrees for about 15 minutes, cool.

Heat oven to 450 degrees.

Boil pasta until al dente and drain.

Saute mushrooms in 2 tbsps of butter with onions, salt, and pepper and cook until moisture evaporates and onions soften. Set aside.
Melt 4 tbsp butter, add flour, and whisk until golden brown. Still whisking, add chicken broth and milk. Raise the heat and cook for about 5 minutes more until it thickens. Remove from heat and add 1/2 tsp salt, lemon juice, and fresh herbs.
Combine sauce, pasta, tuna, peas and mushrooms, add salt and pepper. Put into a buttered 13 x 9 inch baking dish and sprinkle with bread crumbs. Bake at 450 degrees for about 10 minutes or until topping is browned and casserole is bubbling.

Notes:
- I used shitake mushrooms
- I forgot to use the peas
- I added a dash of red pepper flakes
- I didn’t have bread crumbs, so I used panko crumbs instead and prepared them the same way as in the recipe
- It goes without saying that I used more butter than the amount listed in the recipe

*Adapted from “The New Best Recipe: All-New Edition” by Cooks Illustrated Magazine

Cluck, Cluck…Chicken

When I was seven years old, I started a summer long love affair…with chicken. I refused to eat anything but chicken. And by that, I mean that I ate nothing else all summer, not even ice cream! I barely remember this time, but to this day when I see family members who I haven’t seen or talked to in a while, they fall into two categories. One group will always ask “Do you still just eat chicken?”. It’s as if I was frozen in time, as a perpetual seven year old, being chased around our house, by my mother, my father, my grandmother, one of my aunts, or any other relative, my teeth tightly clamped against spoons and forks that deigned to attempt to put anything past my lips, that didn’t have a beak before its untimely demise. The other group will ask “Do you still eat chicken?”…notice the absence of the word “just”…This question is almost always asked in awe, as if it was incomprehensible to them that I could still find joy in eating something which had been my sole diet for, what must have been as a child, such an interminable time. My mother still tells the story of how she tried every day to come up with a different way of cooking this fowl. Roast chicken, fried chicken, stewed chicken, the list was long. It didn’t matter to me though how it was presented, as long as it was chicken. One might wonder why my parents chose to go along with this. I can only imagine that one reason might have been the ease of acquiring said chicken(s). When I was a child, living in Haiti, we raised chickens, and from chicken coop to my plate couldn't have taken much time or effort.

But as the story goes, one day when they had completely given up on trying to entice me to eat something else, anything else, I asked for rice to go along with my chicken. And that was the end of chicken as my sole source of nutrients, though that didn’t end the love affair. "Poule Dur" (roasted farm raised hen, simmered in a sauce infused with peppers, onions and garlic) is still one of my mother's go to dishes to cook for me, when I go back home. I still love a good chicken and have attempted tirelessly to produce the perfect roast chicken. DB happens to be one of those people who, 10 out of 10 times, can present a flawlessly executed roast chicken. I have always felt humbled…until today. By way of my friend Jessica, this recipe will produce a roast chicken that will delight you with its crispness and will have you sighing in delicious joy with it succulent, juicy meat. We devoured this, our midnight dinner, with a large quantity of homemade french fries, and a wonderful Shiraz from South Eastern Australia. Behold!

Slow-Roasted Chicken*
Larger chickens will obviously require longer roasting time. Add five minutes of cooking time at 375 degrees for every additional quarter pound of weight over three and one-half pounds (a four-pound bird, for example, would roast for a total of forty minutes at 375 degrees). If the bird is still not cooked after fifteen minutes at 400 degrees, keep the bird in the oven until the thigh meat comes up to temperature. Do not stuff or truss a slow-roasted chicken.

Ingredients
1 whole chicken (about 3 to 3 1/2 pounds), giblets removed and reserved for another use, chicken rinsed and patted dry with paper towels
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
salt and ground black pepper
vegetable oil for brushing v-rack

Instructions
1. Heat oven to 375 degrees. Brush chicken with butter and sprinkle liberally with salt and pepper.
2. Place chicken, breast side up, on oiled V-rack set in shallow roasting pan. Roast 30 minutes, then reduce oven temperature to 200 degrees. Roast 1 hour. Increase temperature to 400 degrees and roast until instant-read thermometer inserted in thigh registers 170 to 175 degrees, about 15 minutes longer. Transfer chicken to cutting board; let rest 20 minutes. Carve and serve.



*Adapted from Cook’s Illustrated magazine

Lemonade to the Nth Power…

When we think about lemons, we immediately think of lemonade, and more often than not, this evokes memories of childhood. Maybe you had a lemonade stand, selling it on hot summer days to your neighbors and passerbys, while bees buzzed overhead waiting for the moment when they could dip down and swiftly get a taste of the sugar crystals still clinging to the pitcher. Or maybe you had a mom like mine, who made it most days in the summer, painstakingly squeezing each half of each lemon, until every drop of juice had been extracted, while my brother and I impatiently waited to have our first sip, knowing that it would taste syrupy sweet, yet at the same time cause us to involuntarily purse our lips as that first streak of sweet lemony acid touched the base of our throat. As much as lemonade reminds us of times of innocence and shimmering sun rays of summer, lemons do have a darker side. Saccharyne sweet with a bite, this mixture of lemon rinds, alcohol, sugar and water, is known as Limoncello, an Italian aperitif. The truth regarding its origin is vague and the legends are many and interesting. Some believe that the recipe for Limoncello came to life in a monastic convent to delight the monks from prayer to prayer, and others believe that it was drunk in the morning by fishermen to fight off the cold. Bending through a series of anecdotes and legends, Limoncello delights and soothes, and continues to be discovered by soon to be devotees of the liqueur.

Limoncello recipes vary based on who you talk to, and the cookbook that you’re using. Depending on the recipe, Limoncello can take anywhere from 4 to 60 days to produce, you can use Everclear grain alcohol or Vodka, and tap or distilled water, but the recipes do agree on one thing….that true Limoncello can’t be called Limoncello unless the lemons used are from Sorrento, a picturesque town on the Amalfi Coast. With a perfect balance of acid and sugar, those lemons, also nicknamed “femminello”, give Limoncello its name, otherwise you’re just drinking Limoncino, its less attractive brother. Who knew?

With that in mind, and after talking about making Limoncino, for over a week, DB (Dear Boyfriend) gathered all of the ingredients, and as of yesterday, the process has begun! On this beautiful March day, though the wind made it seem more like one of those perfect October days, and as I looked out into the yard from our front door, he harvested the ripest lemons from our overly fruitful Meyer lemon tree, cranked up Lou Rawls on the record player, and began to zest, to peel, and to pour.

And approximately 6 weeks from now, we’ll be drizzling Limoncino over ice cream, making Limoncino granita, and basically going Limoncino crazy until our next trip to Italy, when we can sip the real thing, while overlooking the Bay of Naples.

Ingredients:
8 Meyer lemons
375 ml of Everclear grain alcohol
600 ml of Absolut Citron vodka
3 cups of water
2 cups of sugar

Combine the Everclear and Absolut, preferably in a large ball jar with a lid. Zest four lemons. Peel the remaining four lemons, making sure to remove the white pith from the peelings, as this will cause bitterness in the finished liqueur. Add the lemon zest and peelings to the mixture. Set aside in a cool, dark place for 30 days. Once a week, gently stir lemon peels to refresh exposure to alcohol. After 30 days, scoop out one of the larger peels and check flexibility. If the peel breaks like a potato chip, move on to the next step. If the peel is still flexible enough to bend without breaking, return the mixture to a cool, dark place and try again in one week. At which time, dissolve the sugar in the water and bring to a boil over high heat. Boil for 5 minutes, then set aside to cool. Meanwhile, strain alcohol infusion mixture through coffee filters, or small chinois, until it runs clear of peelings and zest. Strain as many times a necessary. Return filtered infusion to jar, and add cooled syrup. Return to cool dry place for 15 days to begin mellowing process, and to combine alcohol infusion with syrup, to create finished product. Drink immediately*

*The longer it sits and “ages” the smoother it becomes

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

And what a wonderful first day of 2009 it was.....nothing better to an East Coast girl than 60 degree weather on Jan 1.....we are loving California!

tip(s) of the day:
bacon fat + garlic aioli = best BLT ever.....

Yummy(licious) hot chocolate
vanilla bean
milk
homemade eggnog
cinammon
cocoa powder
cream

-scrape vanilla bean...add to milk....bring to a boil....then to a simmer....add cocoa powder....when powder has been completely absorbed into milk, add eggnog.....a dash of cinammon.....whip cream until peaks.....add whipped cream to your mug.....