Latkes

The famous potato pancake that heralds the arrival of Hanukkah is a welcome sight all year long, and at any meal—with eggs for breakfast or brunch, with a salad for lunch, or with brisket and all varieties of meat for dinner.

I have been making these for years, varying the types of potatoes, using different sized graters, and trying different starches as a binding agent; I think this particular method is the best of my experimentation. Yukon Golds, or any waxy potato, makes a lighter, crisper pancake than russets do, and Matzo meal binds things just enough without adding the starch flour will. As for the grater, use the largest-holed grater you can find.

You can play around with the flavor by adding fresh herbs or substituting chives or green onions for the onions. Applesauce is the traditional accompaniment when they are eaten with meat, sour cream when they are eaten with a dairy meal—I love them with sour cream flavored with chopped, fresh dill and chives, no matter the meal.

2 ½ to 3 pounds waxy new potatoes such as Yukon Gold, scrubbed well and trimmed of any brown spots
1 large onion
4 large eggs
½ cup Matzo meal, or more as needed
1 tablespoon Kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper, black or white, according to preference
Vegetable oil for frying

Fill a large mixing bowl about half way with water and grate the potatoes into it. Finely chop the onion and add it to the bowl as well. After a few minutes, drain off the water and refill; let stand 10 minutes, agitating the water a few times. Continue this until the water remains clear.

This will remove excess starch making the potatoes crisper, and it also allows you to grate them hours prior to cooking. Drain well, squeezing on them lightly to removed excess water, and spread on a towel; roll the towel up, place in a plastic bag and chill until needed. I have actually prepared the potatoes the night before a brunch with no discoloration, but I would not recommend including the onion if they will be held more than a couple of hours, since it can begin to develop a strong taste.

Beat the eggs with the salt and pepper and add the potatoes and matzo meal, tossing the mixture together well. When you scoop up a bit of the mixture it should just barely hold together, add more egg or matzo if needed—if you are in doubt, cook a few to see how well they hold their shape.

As you make them, you will see a pool of egg forming in the bottom of the bowl, either add more matzo meal to absorb that, or drain the excess back into the bowl as you scoop them.

Heat an oven to 250 degrees and place a baking sheet or two in. Lay some paper on a surface near the stove to drain the latkes on. Heat about ¾-inch oil in a large skillet over medium heat until you can feel the heat if you place your hand over the pan; it should be about 350 degrees if you want to use a thermometer.

Scoop about ¼ cup of the mixture and place in the pan, gently press on it with a spatula to spread out slightly. Cook as many pancakes as fit comfortably—with some room between, at a time. Cook until they are slightly less brown than you’d like them, about 3 minutes on each side. Drain on the towels while you add the next batch to the pan before placing them on the baking sheet in the oven.

Continue until you have made all the latkes; raise the oven heat to 350 degrees. Leave in the oven until they are a deep, golden brown and very hot, about 5 minutes.

Serves 8

 

Kugel! Kugel! Kugel!

I made kugel last night for the second night of Hanukkah. I don’t celebrate every night of the Festival of Lights—with my not being Jewish it seems excessive, but I do enjoy several Hanukkah specialties and this decadent noodle pudding is among them.

By the way, while I am not Jewish, at one time I very much wanted to be. (This will be a fairly short digression. For me.) My great-grandmother had a Jewish boyfriend, or at least he seemed to think he was (her boyfriend, not Jewish). She was a Protestant widow born in Victorian England, very conventional, so it’s safe to say that no matter how nice he was their relationship was never going to blossom.

Despite that, he gave her gifts occasionally, and one of them was a crystal powder jar with a sterling silver cover. It had a Hebrew symbol on it.  Seeing it once, I asked my mom if we had Jewish relatives in our past, and my aunt was quick to respond “NO! We are not Jewish.”

She made it sound like an affliction. That got me thinking . . . I also had a great uncle (in name only) who, when I said how much I liked his patio furniture (metal chairs from the fifties in a variety of cool colors), told me it was a good thing they lasted as long as they had, as the guy he bought them from (a Mr. Epstein if memory serves) “jewed” him on the price.

That was when I started to fantasize about becoming Jewish. I figured annoying my aunt and causing my uncle to have to censor his comments would be totally worth whatever being Jewish involved. Even then I knew some Yiddish, and when I was two days old a doctor essentially rendered me Jewish from the waist down (you don’t need to make a note of that, there will not be a quiz on it later).

Sometime later, Mary Ann Lehman, who was in my sixth grade class and preparing for her Bat Mitzvah, told us that she had to learn Hebrew in order to do so. There was also some mention of not mixing dairy and meat (Hello- Lasagne!), and attending Temple, which I understand is not unlike church but a day earlier so they can sleep in on Sunday (genius!).

It sounded complicated to me, like trying to build something out of an erector set that made use of the generator that came free in the box. Eventually I decided to ditch my Jewish dreams, but despite that I made a very good kugel last night and would like to pass it along.  

Some kugels are slightly sweet, some very sweet, but mine had no sugar in it all, making it a dish more versatile in terms of how and when to serve it.  If you’d like a sweet kugel, simply add ½ to ¾ cup sugar to the recipe.

The other element that can vary the dish greatly is the baking time—no more than a half hour in the oven and you have a slightly-loose pudding that glides a bit on the plate.  This way, it’s very much like an especially-rich and creamy macaroni and cheese.  Bake it for 45 minutes to an hour and it is denser, dryer, and richer tasting.  If you prefer the looser version be sure not to assemble the pudding more than ha30 minutes before baking it as the noodles begin to absorb the custard and will result in the denser version however short the baking time.

Noodle Kugel

There are many variations on how much of each ingredient is added to kugel, but the majority of them contain virtually the same ingredients.  If you wish to make this vaguely health-conscious, you can use an egg substitute such as Egg Beaters (which will not affect the quality of the dish in the least), and use reduced fat versions of cottage cheese, cream cheese, and sour cream.  Do not go any further than that, non-fat dairy products contain stabilizers and gelatins that will ruin both the flavor and texture of the dish.

8 ounces wide egg noodles
Salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus additional for greasing the pan
4 ounces cream cheese, at room temperature
3 eggs, beaten
1 cup sour cream
½ cup milk
1 cup cottage cheese
½ teaspoon salt
Big pinch of cinnamon (you can use more, but I like the way a little bit sort of teases you with each bite)

Optional topping
½ cup bread crumbs made from Challah, Brioche, or white bread
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, melted

Boil the noodles in salted water until not quite tender; drain and toss with the melted butter.

Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Grease a baking dish (9×13 or thereabouts) with butter. Combine the topping ingredients if you are using them.

In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese until creamy and smooth, then start blending in the remaining ingredients. Stir in the noodles and combine well. Pour into the casserole, sprinkled with the buttered crumbs, and cover with foil. Bake for 30 minutes to 1 hour, depending upon your personal preference. Remove the foil the last ten minutes of baking so the topping can crisp a bit. Let stand 5 minutes before serving.

Serves 8, theoretically

Variation: If you are opting for the sweeter version, I suggest replacing the bread crumbs with crushed graham crackers, sweetened slightly and tossed with an additional tablespoon of butter.

Comfort Me with Apples

Necessity is, as my friend Michelle has pointed out, more often the mother of improvisation than invention. When you accidentally poach apples longer than you should have and do not have the time to make more, you figure out how to make a birthday-worthy dessert out of applesauce.

Baker Leslie Mackie (via the book Baking with Julia) came to my rescue reminding me of a French apple tart that combines a thick applesauce with apple slices. Upon eating the resulting creation, my mom said “Who needs birthday cake when you can have this?”

To make this tart—and it is a tart rather than a pie—easier, I’m going to suggest using store-bought applesauce. There are many brands and I’m sure the quality varies, with some of the higher-end brands being made of specific varieties of apples, and possibly including spices, lemon rind, or an apple liqueur.

If you find something along those lines it will probably be fine as is; if you choose something more basic it may need some doctoring. Taste it and add sugar, lemon, a pinch of cinnamon or ginger, or a splash of brandy if you think it needs it.  And don’t forget salt—salt makes things taste more like what they are supposed to taste like.  People getting all hepped up about too much salt is ruining American food.

For the sliced apples, Pippins, Mutsus, Golden Delicious and Granny Smith are all reliable cooking apples, but if you can find very fresh (and by that I mean very firm, not at all mealy) Winesaps, they are excellent. You’re going to need a removable bottom tart pan for this recipe, but you can get them at most cookware stores, and the tinned steel variety are usually ten dollars or less.

I forgot to photograph mine, but this is pretty close to what it looked like.

Apple Tart

Pasty for a single crust pie (preferably one made with butter)
2 to 3 cups applesauce
3 tablespoons butter
Sugar, salt, lemon juice and/or rind, cinnamon, ginger, all to taste
3 medium to large apples
1 lemon
1 to 2 tablespoons sugar

Apricot jam, heated until liquidy, optional
Barely sweetened whipped cream, or crème fraiche, for serving
Chopped candied ginger for garnish, optional (but awfully good)

Roll out the pasty to a thickness of 1/8-inch (or close to it) and fit it into the pan. Trim off all but 1-inch of the overhang and fold it into the pan to make the edges thicker than the rest of the pastry, pressing it lightly to seal it itself. Chill the dough until needed, at least a half hour.

Sample your chosen applesauce and analyze the taste and texture, starting with the latter. It should be thick, not quite as dense as apple butter, but thick enough to hold its shape when scooped up with a spoon. The odds are it will need to be cooked to evaporate some moisture and tighten it up a bit. Cook the 3 cups of applesauce (which will reduce by about a cup) on the stove or in the microwave, as you like, stirring frequently, until it meets the above criteria. If you are going to be cooking it anyway, this is a good time to enhance the flavor by adding a strip or two of lemon or orange rind, and some spices if you like.

Stir in 1 tablespoon of the butter and taste the sauce, adding anything you think is needed to create a slightly sweet, highly-flavored applesauce. Refrigerate it to cool it down. Meanwhile, peel the apples and cut in half; remove the cores and slice the halves into slices no thicker than1/4-inch. Spread the applesauce into the lined pan so that it is 1/4 to 1/2 inch from the rim.

Heat the oven to 425 degrees. Lay the slices of apples in a circle over the filling, overlapping them slightly. When you have gone all the way around, create a second circle of apple slices inside the first. You can take your time and make sure they are all flawlessly arranged, but as much as this is a sophisticated dessert, I think it’s sort of rustic sophistication (in other words, I did not take my time). Place a few slices in the center in a pattern of some sort to give it a finished look-for instance, three slices overlapping to simulate a fleur de lis.

Melt the remaining butter and brush it over the apple slices, then sprinkle with the sugar (if the apples are very tart use all of it). Set the pan on a baking sheet and put in the oven; bake for ten minutes then lower the heat to 400 degrees. Bake an additional 25 to 35 minutes, or until the crust is a deep golden brown and the apples are tender and tinged with brown at the edges.

Remove from the oven and allow to cool for at least an hour prior to serving; it’s best warm or at room temperature. If you want a shiny finish brush the melted jam over the apple slices.  Serve with a spoon of softly whipped cream or crème fraiche and a sprinkling of candied ginger.

Serves 8

Leftovers can be refrigerated, and make a good breakfast with some whole milk yogurt. Well, they do.

Swiss Pumpkin for Ruth and for Me

Ruth Reichl is a very dear friend of mine, although she is not aware of it. Her autobiographical books Tender at the Bone, Comfort Me with Apples, and Garlic and Sapphires have kept me on the edge of my seat in the way Harry Potter  has done with children.The books inspire, comfort, stimulate, and engross. All along the way she is cooking: She is cooking Schnitzel for her father; Matzo Brei for her hung-over school friends; chocolate cake for the love of her life; and stuffed pumpkin in memory of a relationship that has ended.

And I can see how she would—it’s a little bit of an indulgence and a lot soothing; but indulgent, soothing foods need not be limited to the times when we are down. A beautiful pumpkin brimming with good things, brought to a table of guests, could be the centerpiece of a great celebration.

Think of this as a savory bread pudding baked inside a pumpkin rather than a baking dish, and think of this as part of a Thanksgiving menu. The description of this is longer than the actual procedure, but there are a lot of variables with regard to the pumpkin and that needs to be considered. As long as you read through and make the necessary adjustments, and let go of any control issues, you’ll be fine. It took a great cook to come up with this idea, but even the most basci of cooks can bring this to the table, fit to eat.

Ruth’s recipe called for a pumpkin of about four pounds and required two hours of cooking time; my pumpkin weighed five pounds and was done in an hour and a half. I turned the oven down to 200 degrees and held it for 45 minutes and it was still moist and luscious. I think the time comes down to the thickness of the pumpkin as much as the weight.

My pumpkin weighed five pounds, but once I cleaned it out, the flesh was barely more than an inch thick. When you scrape your pumpkin, take note of how thick the outer wall is and consider that when timing it. And I think the time it spent in the warm oven was actually a good thing, the pumpkin was still hot, but not scorching hot, so when I served it, it held together nicely rather than falling into itself as it might have done if I’d served it right away.

You can cut it into wedges to serve, but I scooped it, starting at the edge. I removed the lid, pulled down on the skin, removing it about halfway down exposing the flesh and making scooping it quite easy. Once you have served the upper portion, peel off more skin and serve the bottom half.

I think I’m likely to stick with Gruyere, Parmigiano or a dry Jack cheese, but a sharp cheddar or goat cheese would be good as well. Perhaps even a sweet blue-veined cheese would be a good choice. And of course, you add other things to flavor it, such as herbs (sage would be excellent) or thin slivers of ham.

Swiss Pumpkin for Ruth and for Me

1 pumpkin, between 4 and 5 pounds
Kosher salt
1 baguette or other crusty bread, cut in ¼-inch thick slices, and lightly toasted
4 ounces or so sharp cheese, such as Gruyere, Parmigiano, or a dry Jack, grated
1 3/4 cups half and half
2 large eggs
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
Big pinch of nutmeg

Up to several hours ahead of time, clean your pumpkin. Cut off the top of the pumpkin as if you were making a Jack O’ Lantern, cutting about a 1 1/2-inches in from the edge, and being sure to cut at a slight angle so the top doesn’t drop down into the pumpkin. Use a small, sharp knife and cut slowly. Alternately, you can simply cut off the whole top of the pumpkin in a 1-inch slice, which is easier but makes for a less dramatic presentation.

Remove the top and set aside. Using a spoon, remove the strings and seeds from the pumpkin and discard. If there are stubborn strings that do not want to come off, scrape them off using a fork or a paring knife. Set aside until ready to cook.

Two and a half hours before serving, heat the oven to 400 degrees. Lightly salt the inside of the pumpkin.  Cover the bottom of the pumpkin with a layer of bread and sprinkle with a third of the cheese; repeat these layers twice. Mix together the remaining ingredients and pour slowly into the pumpkin.

Put its top back on and place it in a small baking dish (I used a pie plate). Put it the oven, lower the temperature to 375 and bake for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or until a skewer inserted into the side of pumpkin slides in easily.

Lower heat to 200 degrees and let rest for 15 minutes or longer. Transfer it to a platter if you like, and serve, with a great deal of pride in your creation.

Serves 4 to 6 as a main course or 8 to 10 as a starter or side dish.

Cook’s note: As of this writing, I am thinking of attempting a dessert version of this recipe, omitting the cheese, adding sugar to the cream mixture, and possibly working in some butter somewhere. I will let you know how it goes once I get a chance to try it out.

All Roads Lead to James Beard

I’m sorry to report that a seemingly-simple tomato pie has resulted in a thousand word-plus essay, and of that, only about a third of it is the actual recipe.

An online friend, Laurilyn, gave me a recipe for a tomato pie she attributed to Diana Gage’s husband’s ex-girlfriend’s mother—this probably means no more to you than it did to me, but I like the story behind a recipe, especially when it demonstrates that while relationships may end, good recipes live on.

When I read the recipe I had one of those flashes of memory that are hazy at best.  I was convinced James Beard, one of the great American food writers—who it seems these days is a mere footnote in the cookbooks of other food writers—made a tomato pie. My online searches resulted in numerous variations of the pie, some of them noting the similarity to one featured in a James Beard cookbook.

I can’t be sure if it originated with him or not but I lean toward believing it did: He was very fond of cheese, often used mayonnaise as a binding agent, and was known for his biscuits—the crust of this pie is made of biscuit dough rather than pastry. 

The recipes varied greatly: Some used zucchini or corn along with the tomatoes; a few combined the mayonnaise with the cheese, while others layered the ingredients; the crust alternated between pastry,  home-made biscuits, and a biscuit mix; and finally, many had a wonderful story to go along with them about how the recipe was invented by one of their relatives.

I’m afraid most of our grandmothers lied their aprons off, as I have seen many “secret family recipes” that are straight out of “The Joy of Cooking” and “Fannie Farmer,” including my great-grandmother’s poundcake (that pinch of mace is a dead giveaway, Rose Perry).

When I began my first attempt I had a major prejudice to overcome—my dislike of any cooked dish which contains mayonnaise. I always find no matter how good the recipe may be, the slightly-sweet, slightly-oily character of commercial mayonnaise lurks behind every bite.

Laurilyn suggested using yogurt as a substitute and I decided to begin with a combination of the two.  Even cut by half I found it too “mayonnaise-y” for me, so I tried using all yogurt the next go-round and ended up with a watery pie.  I attribute this to my having used very juicy Heirloom-type tomatoes rather than meatier plum or beefsteak tomatoes.  For my third attempt, I used yogurt with two egg yolks thrown in as added insurance; this one worked for me.

I tried different crusts as well.  The first time I made it I had no Bisquick on hand and made my own dough. The next time, I used Bisquick and was less pleased;  it over-browned during baking and tasted like an overcooked biscuit. 

It took me a while but I realized the error was in the baking dish I used—a dark-glazed pottery pie plate, a pan that really encourages browning. Bisquick being made of vegetable shortening—as opposed to a biscuit dough made with butter, which contains water in the form of milk solids—browns much quicker so I should have been using glass (which is what most of the recipes indicated, but I don’t have a glass pie plate). So if you opt for Bisquick, you’re best to stay away from metal or pottery pans with a dark finish.

Are you still with me? I hope so because I think we’ve reached the home stretch. You can use any tomatoes you like, but be sure they are not overly ripe or you’ll have a wet pie, and if you like the sweet-tart nature of green tomatoes, by all means give them a try. Laurilyn suggested it to me and I was especially pleased with that version.

The cheese is entirely up to personal preference—I used white cheddar in every pie I made, used a portion of jack cheese in one, and added some leftover goat cheese in the other two (it’s best with ripe tomatoes as its tanginess and the tartness of the green tomatoes were too much of the same flavor). Vary the herbs as you wish; I made use of what I manage to keep alive in pots outside the back door.

And now, at long last, the recipe.

Yet Another Tomato Pie

For a super-quick crust:
2 cups Bisquick baking mix
½ cup cold milk

Combine the baking mix and milk in a small bowl and mix to create a workable dough.

For a fairly-quick crust:
1 ½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, cold and cut into small pieces
½ cup cold milk, approximately

Combine the dry ingredients in a small bowl and mix to combine; add the butter and cut it in with your fingers until the mixture looks like cornmeal. Mix in just enough milk to make a workable dough.

To line the pan:
Press the dough evenly into the bottom and up the sides of a 9- to 10-inch glass pie plate. You can also roll out the dough between two sheets of plastic wrap; I actually found this easier since I am not good at pressing evenly (I never stayed in the lines either). Roll it into to a 12-inch circle, lift off the top sheet of plastic and invert the dough over the pan, remove the other sheet of plastic, and press the dough into the pan. Crimp the edge and trim away any overhanging dough.

For the pie:
1 ½ to 2 pounds tomatoes, peeled and sliced ¼-inch thick
¼ cup snipped chives or ½ cup sliced green onions
Salt and pepper, to taste
2 or more tablespoons fresh herbs such as basil, dill, parsley, mint, or a combination
¾ cup plain yogurt combined with 2 egg yolks, or 1 cup mayonnaise
2 cups (about 7 ounces) grated cheese, such as white cheddar

Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Cover the bottom of the crust with a layer of tomatoes; sprinkle with salt, pepper, and half of the chives (or onions) and herbs. Repeat the process. Eat any tomato slices that do not fit.

Combine about half the cheese with the yogurt mixture and spread over the tomatoes; sprinkle the remaining cheese over the top. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until the crust is golden and the filling looks like it is more solid than liquid—it will set up further as it cools.

It should cool for a half hour prior to serving, and it can be cooled even longer and served at room temperature.

 

Potatoes, Irish-Style

A recent online inquiry about cabbage led me to pass along a vague description of the Irish dish Colcannon- potatoes mashed with cabbage. Yesterday, while I was walking through my local farmers market, I saw an especially-nice head of cabbage and decided to make a batch so I could do better than a vague description.

This is very basic food—humble ingredients, cooked simply, that can be a meal itself when you are living low on the hog and the side to something else when you are living high. I generally pair it with pan-grilled sausages—Irish, or British Bangers—or a stew of beef cooked in stout, but I think it would be equally at home next to meatloaf; my friend Martha’s meatloaf, inspired by her honeymoon in Scotland, would be my first choice (In her cook’s notes, she suggests using a slightly fattier ground meat than she did in her first attempt, and based on my making her recipe, I concur.)

By the way, as pointed out to me by another friend, this dish could just as likely be made with kale, which might essentially be the original greens used, given the name Col-cannon. I prefer a waxy potato for mashed potatoes since they have more flavor than russets and need less butter and salt to make them delicious, but there are those who like russets since their fluffy, starchy nature make for the creamiest of mashed potatoes-the choice is yours.

The Irish are well-known for their use of the potato, so I am including another recipe as well, one that is simply mashed potatoes made with milk that has been infused with green onions; there’s nothing novel about this, but the result is very different from the mashed potatoes most of us grew up on.

Colcannon

Traditionally the cabbage and potatoes were cooked together and finished with a good deal of butter; I think cooking the cabbage separately—and for less time—keeps it tasting fresher and cleaner, and requires less butter to bring the dish together.

2 pounds white-, yellow- or red-skinned potatoes, about 8 medium potatoes, peeled and cut in half
1 medium cabbage, about 1 ½ pounds, coarsely shredded
1 tablespoon olive or vegetable oil
2 tablespoons butter (divided use)
1/3 to ½ cup milk (I heat the milk in the microwave for about 90 seconds so it won’t cool the potatoes)
Salt and pepper, to taste

Melted butter, optional
¼ cup sliced green onions or snipped chives, optional

Place the potatoes in a saucepan with water to cover and bring to a boil. Add 1 teaspoon salt, lower the heat and simmer until tender, 15 to 20 minutes.

In a large skillet, heat the oil and one tablespoon of the butter over medium heat until it begins to foam up, add the cabbage and toss to coat it well. Season it lightly with salt and cook, stirring, for about ten minutes, lowering the heat if it begins to grab the bottom of the pan. The cabbage should be tender, but with the slightest crispness left to it; keep over low heat until the potatoes are ready.

When the potatoes are tender, drain them (you can pour the cooking water into the serving bowl you’ll be using to pre-heat it) and place back on the burner, shaking the pan over the heat to evaporate any excess moisture. Mash the potatoes, adding the other tablespoon of butter, milk as needed to achieve the desired texture, and salt to taste. Cover and set aside.

Raise the heat under the cabbage and stir for a minute or two to be sure it is good and hot, then remove from the heat and mix in the potatoes. Taste, adding salt if needed, and pepper if desired. Mound the mixture into a serving bowl and, if you like, make a well in the center to hold some melted butter, sprinkle with the onions or chives, and serve.

Serves six

Cally, Stamp, or Just Plain Mashed Potatoes

This is just mashed potatoes pumped-up a bit. Potatoes, being so basic, are open to virtually anything; rather than the green onions, you might like to infuse the milk with fresh herbs—parsley or thyme to enhance spring menus, rosemary or sage in the fall.

Note that the first step is done in advance-an hour or several hours, depending upon your schedule.

1 large bunch green (spring) onions (about a dozen or so onions)
¾ cup milk
2 pounds white-, yellow-, or red-skinned potatoes, about 8 medium potatoes, peeled and cut in half
2 to 3 tablespoons butter, to taste
Salt and black or white pepper, to taste
2 tablespoons butter, melted, optional

Reserve two of the onions for garnish; cut the remaining onions into 1-inch pieces. Heat the milk to just under boiling and combine with the onions in a jar or covered container and let stand in the refrigerator for at least six hours. Alternately, you can combine the onions and milk and let stand at room temperature for just an hour.

Place the potatoes in a saucepan with water to cover and bring to a boil. Add 1 teaspoon salt, lower heat and simmer until tender, 15 to 20 minutes.

Strain the milk, discarding the onions. Slice the reserved green onions thinly and set aside.

When the potatoes are tender, drain them and return to the stove, shaking the pan over the heat for a minute or two to evaporate excess water. Mash them, adding the butter, and as much milk as needed to achieve the texture you prefer. Taste, adding additional salt as needed, and pepper if you like.

Place in a serving bowl; drizzle with melted butter if desired and scatter the green onions over the top.

Serves four

 

Late Summer Salad

I suppose everything in this salad can be found year-round, but it is best made when the ingredients are in season in your locale.  Fennel in season is more tender, more succulent, and more refreshing, and in-season tomatoes—they speak for themselves. 

I am not including a vinaigrette recipe with this since any simple, light dressing will work, including the lemon dressing I use on my Caesar salad.  As delicate as the salad is, I really think it’s best not even to mix up a dressing; instead, very lightly drizzle the greens with olive oil and fresh lemon juice or they vinegar of your choice—sherry, raspberry, or just a nice red wine—starting with tiny amounts and adding more if needed—the salad should barely glisten.

You can take the salad further by adding a sprinkling of toasted pine nuts, freshly-made croutons, slices of Haas avocados, or make it more substantial with the addition of fresh goat cheese. 

To take it over the top—dip 1/2-inch slices of goat cheese in a beaten egg, coat in dry bread crumbs tossed with a bit of olive oil and chill them until firm.  Place on a baking sheet and bake at 425 for  5 to 10 minutes; the breadcrumbs should be toasted, but the cheese should still maintain its shape. 

In a restaurant, this type of salad would likely turn up as a first course, but I love these simple, very refreshing salads as a side dish to grilled meats, a burger, or a hot sandwich; the lightness of the salad is a “relief” from the heavier main dish.

Arugula and Fennel Salad with Tomatoes

1 fennel bulb, rinsed, first layer removed if tough
2 big handfuls arugula (rocket), washed and dried
2 handfuls romaine, washed and torn into pieces (you could also use Belgian endive)
1 handful cherry tomatoes, sliced in half unless they are tiny

1 lemon
Extra virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

Cut the fennel bulb in half and slice as thinly as possible. Layer the greens and fennel in a platter or a shallow bowl, scattering a few of each as you go and drizzle each layer with tiny drops of oil and lemon, and a sprinkling of salt and pepper. Scatter the tomatoes over all. Serve right away.

Serves two as a generous first course or side salad.

An Ode to Sheila

This is (by my estimation) better than that Grecian urn deal, although even I will admit it may have less longevity.  I was at the grocery yesterday picking up some vinegar to make more bread-and-butter pickles, and while walking through the produce section, I did a double take.

Rhubarb—hooray!

Most of the growers around here harvest all their rhubarb in the spring including the tiny stalks that could be an additional summer harvest.  Well at least one grower bucked the tide and I am grateful.  I brought my rhubarb home and began to consider what I should do with it.

I didn’t want a standard rhubarb pie—I have a pantry full of peaches and nectarines and thought they should share the billing, so I grabbed Sheila Lukin’s USA Cookbook. (“What would Sheila do?” is a question I have asked myself many times.)  She would combine the rhubarb with peaches for a warm compote or make the rhubarb into a crumble flavored with orange.

I liked the sound of both so I combined them and added a few of my own ideas as well.  The result is a rhubarb peach crunch flavored with tangerine (or orange) and enriched with pecans in the topping.  The topping is similar to the one I used for my stone-fruit pie in that it is cooked separately, but it tastes quite different.

This recipe makes an abundant amount—enough for two 8-inch round pie plates or a 9-inch x 13-inch baker.  You can halve the recipe, but I didn’t; I baked it in two pans and will be sharing one.  If you happen to have even smaller baking dishes, you could make several to share with lots of people.  They will, naturally, take less time to bake, so check on them from time to time.

I think the sweetness ratio is just right on this—the fruit is moderately tart and the topping is moderately sweet; together they create the right balance.   With all desserts, but especially fruit desserts, too much sugar can ruin it for me.   If you like it on the sweeter side you could increase the sugar by maybe a 1/4 cup, but anything more than that would defeat the purpose of using rhubarb, and I think that would be a tragedy.

Rhubarb Peach Crunch

The Fruit
2 1/2 pounds rhubarb, rinsed and sliced into 1/2-inch chunks (about 8 cups)
6 large peaches (or nectarines or a combination), peeled, pitted and cut into 1-inch chunks (about 5 cups of sliced fruit)
3 small tangerines or 1 large navel orange
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons tapioca
2 tablespoons cornstarch
1/2 teaspoon ground mace
1 teaspoon freshly grated ginger

The Topping
1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/2 cup rolled oats
1/2 cup chopped pecans
3/4 cup light brown sugar
1/2 teaspoon ground mace or nutmeg (I think the mace has a softer flavor)
Big pinch of salt
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, cold and cut into small pieces

For the topping:
Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Combine the dry ingredients and add the butter; cut it in with your fingers  or a pastry blender until it looks mealy and forms clumps when pressed together. Distribute the mixture on a baking sheet and bake for 10 minutes; use a spatula to turn it (it will have spread out into an almost solid mass). Bake another 5 minutes and allow to cool completely.

The fruit:
Heat the oven to 375 degrees. Place the rhubarb and peaches in a large bowl. Grate the zest of the tangerines over the fruit then cut off the peel and pith and discard; chop the flesh of the tangerines into 1/4-inch dice and add to the fruit.

Mix the sugar, tapioca, cornstarch and spices together and stir into the fruit. Pour the mixture into a baking dish (or multiple baking dishes) and bake for 30 minutes. Crumble the topping over the fruit, lower the heat to 350, and continue to bake until the fruits’ juices are thick and bubbling. This will take approximately 20 minutes for 8-inch dishes, and as much as 35 for a larger one (cover with foil if it looks like the topping is browning too much).

Remove from the oven and cool to warm. Like most things made with rhubarb and peaches, this dessert is good as is, but some form of cream—whipped cream, ice cream, creme fraiche, a jug of heavy cream—is not going to harm it any.

Whole milk yogurt is not a bad topper either, particularly when eating this for breakfast, in front of a computer while transcribing the recipe.

Serves a dozen, well now, eleven.

PS. If I am saluting Sheila, I really should send a shout-out to her assistant of many years, Laurie Griffith, who cooks alongside her, makes her own contributions to the recipes, and (according to Sheila) has great knife skills.

Hot off the Griddle

The subject of corn has come up within these pages before; and the fact that I am fonder of corn used as an ingredient—both in its fresh form and dried—than I am of corn straight-up. I’ve covered this before, but to recap: A lot of the corn offered in my neck of the woods are the “super sweet” varieties and don’t have nearly as strong a corn flavor as I recall from my childhood.

I have found recently that grilling corn—either over hot coals or in a cast iron skillet or comal—adds a slight smokiness that increases the corn flavor and brings the sweetness into balance. Another new one for me is cooking the corn in something other than water, for instance, tomato sauce.

In one of Lidia Bastianich’s books, she suggests throwing a few ears of corn in the pot while simmering a marinara sauce; the sweetness of the corn enhances that of the tomatoes, and the acidity of the tomatoes deepens the corn’s natural charms.

Despite those two excellent tips I still lean towards using corn as an ingredient; one of my favorite ways is in pancakes. Some corn pancakes are simply a pancake with cornmeal in place of a portion of the flour, while others include fresh corn; my current favorite contains both.

The recipe that follows is a version of the one used at the Yountville Diner in Napa Valley. Despite recommendations from those who had dined there I never got around to going and sadly, the much-loved restaurant has since closed its doors.   In addition to this one,  I  have their recipe for a pork stew which I will post at a later date.

These can be eaten all day long: With eggs and sausage patties for breakfast; with a salad of black beans and avocado for lunch; and as the side for Mexican pork stew or something from the grill, at the dinner table.

And as I write this I am having a food-related epiphany—how about a couple of these as the base for Eggs Benedict? Replace the ham with a slice of tomato and add a bit of pureed chipotle chile to the hollandaise. I have to try this one soon.

Corn Cakes

¾ cup cornmeal, medium grind if possible
¾ cup unbleached all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon baking soda
2 eggs
1/3 cup corn or vegetable oil
1 ½ cups buttermilk
1 cup corn kernels, fresh or thawed frozen (about two ears fresh corn)
1 ½  cups grated summer squash (about two 6-inch squash), squeezed lightly to removed excess liquid
Oil or butter

Combine the dry ingredients in a bowl and whisk to mix. In a separate bowl, mix the eggs, oil, and buttermilk, then add the corn and squash; add to the dry ingredients and stir well. The batter will be fairly thick.

Heat a skillet or griddle over medium heat and lightly grease it with oil or butter. Using about 1/8 cup (a standard coffee measure), place scoops of the batter in the skillet, allowing some space between them as they spread out while cooking.

Cook until a few bubbles form on the top and the pancakes are golden brown on the bottom; flip and continue to cook until the second side is brown. These are best served right away, but they can be kept warm in a 225 degree oven as you make additional batches. They retain their crusty outside best if you place them on a rack rather than a baking sheet.

They can be served as is, or garnished with lime wedges, a spoonful of salsa, or sour cream, or all three.

Makes approximately 2 dozen 3-inch pancakes

It’s August!

And that means pickling cucumbers are about to get really good in the markets.   You should consider making these excellent Kosher dills, and if you are a fan of the bread-and-butter pickle, you’ll be hard-pressed to find a recipe better than the one that follows.

Like the previous recipe for kosher dills, this recipe came from Sheila Lukins’ USA Cookbook.  While cornichons and gerkins may be the choice for remoulades, tarter sauces, and to serve with paté, for me it is the bread-and-butter pickle above all other sweet pickles that is good enough to eat straight from the jar.

They are sweet-tart, slightly spicy and, since they are only briefly cooked, retain a crisp bite. If you want to make them in a large quantity (more than can be kept in the refrigerator), you will need to process the pickles in a boiling water bath and use canning jars with new seals.  They need to be processed in a boiling water bath for ten minutes for pint jars and fifteen minutes for quarts.  I use jars leftover from other things, and whatever does not fit in my own refrigerator is given as gifts so I do not have to deal with processing.

Bread-and-Butter Pickles

4 pounds pickling cucumbers, ends trimmed, cut into 1/4-inch-thick
2 pounds small onions, sliced
1/3 cup coarse salt
Ice cubes
3 cups cider vinegar
2 cups sugar
2 tablespoons mustard seeds
2 teaspoons ground turmeric
2 teaspoons celery seeds
1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 Tablespoon black peppercorns

Place the cucumbers, onions, and salt in a large bowl (or the kitchen sink) and toss well to combine. Cover the surface with ice cubes and let stand for 2 hours. Drain, rinse, and drain again.

Have ready jars equal to six pints, washed, and filled with boiling water.

Combine the remaining ingredients in a large pot and bring to a full boil; add the cucumbers and onions and return to the boil. Cook for 1 minute.

Divide the pickles among the jars and cover with the hot liquid, filling the jars to within a 1/4-inch of the top. Cover and let stand until cool, then refrigerate, or process as described above and cool before storing them away.  Let stand for 2 weeks before using so the flavor can fully develop.

Makes six pints