tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50293717537148828372024-03-21T06:36:55.159-07:00very, very tasty!cooking the heck out of lifeKatherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-44404063572896491922014-12-28T10:06:00.000-08:002014-12-28T10:06:34.310-08:00Leftover Eggnog PancakesWe have a <i>lot</i> of eggnog in the house. Ninety-six ounces per person, in fact.<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraRZtplFmEgwR6UADQoglpHKoSSIPWU1MgwpI9ZZyNLwWNbF_fC3PwNSZicxzxyXT1F6uozUhpMWsZwadQTMvCzbdEDU0c9hfxUlSfQrREmh0NWmt7vFIWG3OjNNndI8vDs3U9cjfVw/s1600/IMG_0347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjraRZtplFmEgwR6UADQoglpHKoSSIPWU1MgwpI9ZZyNLwWNbF_fC3PwNSZicxzxyXT1F6uozUhpMWsZwadQTMvCzbdEDU0c9hfxUlSfQrREmh0NWmt7vFIWG3OjNNndI8vDs3U9cjfVw/s1600/IMG_0347.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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It's fortunate that both B and I love eggnog. It's great in coffee, for example, and pairs well with a variety of liquors a mostly teetotaling homeowner might re-discover in less-used cabinets and the backs of shelves as remnants of parties and former roommates and well-intentioned but never completed dessert recipes. </div>
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However, 192 ounces of eggnog is a <i>lot</i> of eggnog, even when it's spiked with God-knows-how-old spiced rum and whiskey. I won't go into detail on why we have so much (a mid-week pre-holiday dinner party was planned then cancelled day-of, after the food and refreshment had already been purchased). Just know that there's a lot of eggnog, and it's mostly going unconsumed and putting my Catholic guilt on overdrive because I'm sure there are starving children and homeless animals and needy lepers out there who could really, really use this eggnog that we're mostly not drinking.</div>
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Searching Google for creative eggnog recipes doesn't really help. In the days after Christmas, the last thing I need is a holiday eggnog cheesecake since I already can't fit in my jeans. Also, eggnog lattes are a cop-out -- if you've been to Starbucks in the past 13 years you'll know why.</div>
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I'm not going to pretend that these eggnog pancakes are more savory than sweet, but they're certainly no <a href="http://bakerbynature.com/brown-butter-eggnog-snickerdoodle-donuts/" target="_blank">Brown Butter Eggnog Snickerdoodle Donuts</a> (!!! ???). I personally think they fall somewhere in the middle. The wheat germ helps. </div>
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Also: My father-in-law introduced me to the wonders of adding whipped egg whites to pancakes. If you're a food texture person, you'll love the way stiff egg whites make pancakes springy and light. It's well worth the sore arm (or extra dishes if you go the electric mixer route).</div>
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Chewy Eggnog Pancakes</h4>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbztkXyKoAKKATmtO4SXB6BWAGEZWthK3IdILPkkX8RRqr329MppJJKPoswV9VTVSaN0ve6epE-aqNfq3X9ENWr1AfxQDmlaac-hvLkpkiRjh1ntO87_eidsuJ4JPQOPC9oi3PkdWe-Q/s1600/IMG_0321.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbztkXyKoAKKATmtO4SXB6BWAGEZWthK3IdILPkkX8RRqr329MppJJKPoswV9VTVSaN0ve6epE-aqNfq3X9ENWr1AfxQDmlaac-hvLkpkiRjh1ntO87_eidsuJ4JPQOPC9oi3PkdWe-Q/s1600/IMG_0321.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Adapted from </i>The Commonsense Kitchen</div>
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<i>Serves 6 to 7</i></div>
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3 c all-purpose flour</div>
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1 T baking powder</div>
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1 1/2 tsp baking soda</div>
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1 1/2 tsp salt</div>
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3-4 T wheat germ</div>
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3 eggs at room temperature, yolks and whites separated</div>
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4 c eggnog at room temperature</div>
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4 tsp butter, melted</div>
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oil for cooking the pancakes</div>
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Beat the egg whites until soft peaks form. Beat the egg yolks.</div>
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Mix together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and wheat germ in a medium bowl. In a large bowl, whisk the egg yolks, eggnog, and melted butter. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients until just mixed; gently fold in the egg whites.</div>
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Heat a griddle or large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Oil lightly once hot. Drop spoonfuls of batter onto the griddle and let the pancakes cook. When bubbles begin to form, flip and cook on the other side. Press a finger lightly on the pancake to test doneness; if it bounces back, it's ready for action. </div>
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Serve immediately with your favorite toppings -- butter, maple syrup, blueberries, whatever.</div>
Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-43515795525620657342012-01-28T09:24:00.000-08:002012-01-28T11:25:59.903-08:00Homemade briocheI got such a kick out of making <a href="http://veryverytasty.blogspot.com/2012/01/im-coming-out-about-marshmallows.html">homemade marshmallows</a> earlier this month. Remember how I mentioned that they had been on my culinary bucket list? That was probably part of it--the thrill of checking something off the list and even succeeding at it. (The other part was how wacky they were to make, how delicious they turned out to be, and the crazy blue mold that started growing on them five days later.)<br /><br />So I started thinking more about my culinary bucket list. And I realized that it isn't a list that actually exists, either in zeros and ones on the Interwebs or on a piece of water-crinkled paper on my fridge. In fact, I didn't even know I had anything on it until I thought about homemade marshmallows.<br /><br />If I had been responsible about my hopes and dreams and had made such a list, though, you know what would have been up at the top, near the marshmallows?<br /><br />Brioche.<br /><br />Like with the marshmallows, my fascination with brioche started at the natural foods co-op I worked at in college. I was a barista on the cafe side of the store, and I often worked the opening shift with an awesomely die-hard feminist lesbian with a thick Michigan accent named Beth. We'd pop an Enya CD in the cafe stereo and put the morning pastries out together: croissants, bagels, coffee cake, and brioche rolls. She'd regale me with stories about the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival and how San Francisco was a mecca of queer, attractive, available women who congregated <span style="font-style: italic;">en masse</span> like a cattle call at the Lexington Club in the Mission. As soon as she finished her Masters in Social Work, she was headed out there, no qualms about leaving her Midwest roots in the dust for greener, more lesbionic pastures.<br /><br />(When I moved to San Francisco three years later, I found her description to be mostly true. San Francisco felt like a mecca, yes. The women were really queer. And they were attractive, for sure, and many of them could be found at the Lexington Club, like she said. "Available" is where Beth's description fell short, however, which is how I found myself outsourcing true love to Portland. One afternoon during an out-of-the-ordinary trip to the East Bay not too long ago--we San Franciscans rarely cross the Bay voluntarily--I ran into Beth at a pizza joint in North Oakland. She had just moved to Berkeley with her girlfriend.)<br /><br />Anyway, this was my first encounter with brioche. It looked like a bready cupcake and no one ever bought it. Beth called it "breee-ohh-shh." I thought that was a great way to ridicule an undesirable pastry, so, to one-up her, I would put it on really thick and call it "BREE-YO-SHH" and hurl the leftover rolls against the wall and into the compost bin at the end of my shift. I only realized later that Beth wasn't making fun of it when she extended the vowels like that--that was just her accent.<br /><br />In retrospect, it wasn't fair for me to treat the brioche like that. I had never tried it; I just assumed it was nasty since no one bought it and because Beth's accent made it seem like she disrespected it as well. As it turns out, though, brioche is pretty good. It's amazing in French toast, and can make a superb hamburger bun. So I added it to my bucket list.<br /><br />I found a recipe for homemade brioche on <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Golden-Brioche-107693" target="new">Epicurious</a>. The reviews said that it was a cinch to make, and I couldn't disagree with them more. This is one of the most high-maintenance things I've ever made. You beat the shit out of it with the bread hook on your mixer until you think your mixer is going to break into pieces. You let it rise for an hour at room temperature. You put the dough in the fridge for two hours and deflate it every 30 minutes. You leave the dough in the fridge overnight. The next day, you take it out and let it rise again (anyone feeling Biblical here?) for another 2 hours. Finally, you bake it, and by the time it comes out of the oven you're not sure you want it anymore.<br /><br />Taste-wise, the bread came out good, although it has a bit of a yeasty aftertaste to it (try reducing the amount of yeast called for in the recipe if you're going to make it yourself). I made rolls and not loaves (bake rolls for 12-15 minutes, not the full 30 minutes in the recipe), and I added a couple of bittersweet chocolate squares in the middle of some to give them a pain-au-chocolat vibe. Next time, I'll add more than just a couple of squares, though, because two just wasn't enough.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9oCzgpqfcfH4KoH2XZYm_9ml1oYH_1JZjxD07m4s_L7B83zML5-TY93JEzcVkUNZEt-6xuoxiaekB8gvzR84OluefJE0oy4v3trR51R2uELhh99Q5K7ORcEUTsUcLCQlp2C5oW16-Jw/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9oCzgpqfcfH4KoH2XZYm_9ml1oYH_1JZjxD07m4s_L7B83zML5-TY93JEzcVkUNZEt-6xuoxiaekB8gvzR84OluefJE0oy4v3trR51R2uELhh99Q5K7ORcEUTsUcLCQlp2C5oW16-Jw/s320/photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702758588889471922" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">There is SO MUCH BUTTER in brioche.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8NPlPaJZWAXSv4vGVNyDu0jpjaYSGiW6dVfnJUQCSNTQtPoH7ybsPBE3SUuOTV6ePCaAQGHe9_xy9nIzmOFDdUBuWmRVAfkFk05hOeb78gUWLini9wyDaiindKhjng1PRjRuIAjU2KQ/s1600/photo%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8NPlPaJZWAXSv4vGVNyDu0jpjaYSGiW6dVfnJUQCSNTQtPoH7ybsPBE3SUuOTV6ePCaAQGHe9_xy9nIzmOFDdUBuWmRVAfkFk05hOeb78gUWLini9wyDaiindKhjng1PRjRuIAjU2KQ/s320/photo%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702758592370892162" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">First time I'd ever used my bread hook on my mixer!</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDc7QjMTwTIrTgHR4n8ToJD8GGsC_fsPL1U7bTo9C5rZmdzWF7K8iSBQ3vibxgXexVbzNv4OxQajDB8U_scJEFPtDy7hbHuzs3ynqeS3y-i-Or8Du5IE_7Lw2dK_UArNvYSwzQV6wCFA/s1600/photo%25282%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDc7QjMTwTIrTgHR4n8ToJD8GGsC_fsPL1U7bTo9C5rZmdzWF7K8iSBQ3vibxgXexVbzNv4OxQajDB8U_scJEFPtDy7hbHuzs3ynqeS3y-i-Or8Du5IE_7Lw2dK_UArNvYSwzQV6wCFA/s320/photo%25282%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702758593545496594" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">This is what the dough looks like after you've beaten the shit out of it. This was also the best part of the whole experience: I had beaten it so hard that the mixing bowl GOT STUCK IN THE MIXER. B had to help me get it loose--it was so tightly stuck that it required TWO PEOPLE to dislodge it.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8TTvRBWDt7vYrscRYhTgGn7RvnN6RnWyCwUOZk2sUExZtFjJijSwn7xDOWeq5I4RizQJWuWncvIuTiQUnBh1_U671USa6VGsT_J4000aDT2SgnX1NlI6lz7ppnub746shnPqlYSHTsQ/s1600/photo%25283%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8TTvRBWDt7vYrscRYhTgGn7RvnN6RnWyCwUOZk2sUExZtFjJijSwn7xDOWeq5I4RizQJWuWncvIuTiQUnBh1_U671USa6VGsT_J4000aDT2SgnX1NlI6lz7ppnub746shnPqlYSHTsQ/s320/photo%25283%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702758603741091666" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Fast-forward to day two. Here's what it's like to knead the dough into roll-esque shapes and put what turned out to be not enough chocolate in the center.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLzteY86iejNxWpJrGWwx3YUCBEush6spW-R0IeG046g57DUcDxlWaUVzXV1XavlqE5CO1crPk6P-ogKxFKzirYXy_49HYcS80r6mY_UD1WWwnNXI5ylETdLhQ3ZLcqoCTvQqi6TrWg/s1600/photo%25284%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKLzteY86iejNxWpJrGWwx3YUCBEush6spW-R0IeG046g57DUcDxlWaUVzXV1XavlqE5CO1crPk6P-ogKxFKzirYXy_49HYcS80r6mY_UD1WWwnNXI5ylETdLhQ3ZLcqoCTvQqi6TrWg/s320/photo%25284%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702758608819480914" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">After rolling it out, you let it rise for two whole hours before popping it in the oven. It's so high maintenance.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLyZyKloe4gt3qt6NizgD_tBCakHIoZmTpqzW1at_hGVv1E1XjK12-5xXIfZ4Cw5cGCzHhG1K4anyeoZBlERby9Eq6zIGgI1dBZ1vv6BoCMbMbKnyXVU2xIhn6m0MioWDg_MCtJVuoIg/s1600/photo%25285%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLyZyKloe4gt3qt6NizgD_tBCakHIoZmTpqzW1at_hGVv1E1XjK12-5xXIfZ4Cw5cGCzHhG1K4anyeoZBlERby9Eq6zIGgI1dBZ1vv6BoCMbMbKnyXVU2xIhn6m0MioWDg_MCtJVuoIg/s320/photo%25285%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702759826874827010" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Finally! Finished!!</span>Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-74328223417946121452012-01-17T21:00:00.000-08:002012-01-18T07:58:42.407-08:00Homemade marshmallows: The conclusionA couple of people (close friends, not random strangers) have inquired about my marshmallows. Did they turn out okay? If so, would I be so kind as to make a batch for an upcoming birthday?<br /><br />I feel guilty about leaving you with a cliffhanger on my last post. I didn't realize anyone actually read entire posts on here. Thank you for proving me wrong.<br /><br />So, let's close the chapter on the homemade marshmallows. Together.<br /><br />I cut into the pan of marshmallows last night. I expected something gooey and unwieldy, a big mistake. This one time I made peppered pecans using both of my baking sheets and somehow completely destroyed both pans (after setting off the smoke detector, twice). The combination of an unchecked oven and the thick glaze of sugar and butter on the nuts may have had something to do with it--anyway, I had to throw both baking sheets, half-blackened with molten confection, away. I imagined something similar happening to my knife when I cut into the marshmallows (but hopefully less ear-splitting): maybe a thick coating of quickly hardening sugar or something similarly horrifying that would destroy the knife and therefore declare victory over my amateur candy-making skills. Marshmallows: 1. Katherine: 0.<br /><br />But I was pleasantly surprised to find my knife glide (really!) effortlessly (yes, really!) through the marshmallows. And I could even peel them out of the parchment-lined pan, and dust them with a bit more cornstarch to make them less sticky. All of these things happened.<br /><br />And then we had hot cocoa. With a giant, creamy marshmallow on top. And it was awesome.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDzucT_YefQYmqsqf7I7FroW98Rr_iijsJiC4F9A3JUBS3HKqmYaDjgLf9A2mt3ixFkJHJ9eGbIA1GFk09qAlIoklczKC8ERO8-H8h9CJl1LLN8briSuuQF5hk4atyInxFNeS9-yaDbQ/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDzucT_YefQYmqsqf7I7FroW98Rr_iijsJiC4F9A3JUBS3HKqmYaDjgLf9A2mt3ixFkJHJ9eGbIA1GFk09qAlIoklczKC8ERO8-H8h9CJl1LLN8briSuuQF5hk4atyInxFNeS9-yaDbQ/s320/photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698840659511985058" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Yum.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq87Dhlr_n_JrcSpnRCZHLMhTNumXDBz-nDovveis09EFfMsjvVhNghCdVoSy0M2DSV_Wcg1Ygfb6GSxvIyQEMuIgcH3IJRb9tjWPdJCfnbm0UgwxYm556wEkfT7tCpvYkjziPzULD3w/s1600/photo%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq87Dhlr_n_JrcSpnRCZHLMhTNumXDBz-nDovveis09EFfMsjvVhNghCdVoSy0M2DSV_Wcg1Ygfb6GSxvIyQEMuIgcH3IJRb9tjWPdJCfnbm0UgwxYm556wEkfT7tCpvYkjziPzULD3w/s320/photo%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698840802859183074" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Feeling confident, I decided that I'd try one in my morning coffee today. I toted it to the office in a separate container and popped it into my mug after arriving (because I had to be able to <span style="font-style: italic;">watch</span> </span><span style="font-size:85%;">the marshmallow dissolve in <span style="font-style: italic;">real-time</span>). In about 5 minutes, I had a sugar-to-coffee ratio of about 3:1 and took one step closer to Type 2 diabetes. So I won't be taking a marshmallow to work anymore. My mug is far too small.</span>Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-23795932530092221292012-01-16T09:46:00.000-08:002012-01-28T11:17:03.060-08:00Homemade marshmallows: A coming out storyI LOVE MARSHMALLOWS. I used to be ashamed to admit it. Growing up, when it came to s'mores, it was always the chocolate that disappeared faster than the graham crackers and, yes, the bag of jet-puffed marshmallows. When the other kids were sneaking squares of Hershey's around the campfire, I, of course, joined them. I did it to fit in, to be like everyone else. But it was actually the bag of marshmallows I wanted to cradle and consume, not those waywardly melting squares of chocolate that smeared all over our hands and mouths like we were recklessly stuffing ourselves with mud.<br /><br />After all, chocolate comes in all sorts of things. You could, technically, have it in every meal. Chocolate chip pancakes. A mole burrito. Chocolate-marinated steak. Don't even get me started on desserts.<br /><br />But marshmallows? Marshmallows are something rare. Sorry, chocolate. You're kind of regular, especially compared to a fluffy, spongy marshmallow. You lose.<br /><br />And then there was that moment when I discovered vegan marshmallows. It was probably at the natural foods co-op I worked at in college--that place exposed me to a <span style="font-style: italic;">lot</span> of things. You can read between the lines on that one if you want. Anyway, these vegan marshmallows were square. These vegan marshmallows were delicious. These vegan marshmallows meant that marshmallows were not some weird Kraft Foods creation meant to push you ever closer towards obesity--marshmallows could be made in a million different ways. Marshmallows could be made by <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> (and some agar-agar, whatever that is).<br /><br />So it was always in the back of my brain to make marshmallows of my own, but I still wasn't out to the world about my secret. Last week, I was thinking about how I wanted to make something I had always wanted to make but had never made before (yes! I actually think these things!), and marshmallows popped up. I would make marshmallows. Finally!<br /><br />I trolled the Internets to find a recipe and was disappointed that most included corn syrup (I'm over the vegan thing so the gelatin, another consistent ingredient, didn't bother me). I'm convinced that corn syrup and Kraft are in bed together. They laugh together about pushing people ever closer towards obesity, then they start making out. In my quest, I discovered other passionate marshmallow lovers like <a href="http://www.davidlebovitz.com/2011/07/marshmallow-recipe-candymaking/" target="new">this guy</a>. He seems pretty legit (former pastry chef at Chez Panisse and self-professed marshmallow enthusiast? Okay!).<br /><br />So, maybe loving marshmallows isn't something to be ashamed about.<br /><br />Maybe I shouldn't feel <span style="font-style: italic;">so alone</span> in these desires.<br /><br />Guys. I love marshmallows.<br /><br />I bet what you really want to know is not that, though. I bet you want to know if I found a corn syrup-free recipe. And yes! I did. It's a marshmallow recipe that uses agave nectar. No corn syrup.<br /><br />Did I make <a href="http://www.eatboutique.com/2011/12/12/homemade-marshmallows/" target="new">the recipe</a>?<br /><br />Yes! I did.<br /><br />I copied it word-for-word (minus the confusing part where grey salt is listed as an ingredient but never shows up in the actual recipe), so I'm not going to re-post it. Go click that link and look at it yourself. And be warned that I haven't actually tried a finished marshmallow yet--I have to let them set a bit longer. But the warm marshmallow goo was really good and actually tasted like a marshmallow, so I'm confident. In the meantime, satiate yourself with some photos of the process.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL83gSScnXtDnlLTIZ6ldyyrAnc1c1gcPxuSb4Su4diYwoHRPqC5Wp_wQfI1zSNNdAsNJFRz2jx5QSqyqltBDzpnmo2gxOazs5T9OCnzXYWVlomE4fpbUrWl5vBg3dDp5KE5DXj9Bwmw/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL83gSScnXtDnlLTIZ6ldyyrAnc1c1gcPxuSb4Su4diYwoHRPqC5Wp_wQfI1zSNNdAsNJFRz2jx5QSqyqltBDzpnmo2gxOazs5T9OCnzXYWVlomE4fpbUrWl5vBg3dDp5KE5DXj9Bwmw/s320/photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698301843588694226" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">This picture is misleading. You actually use egg whites (not yolks) in this recipe. You also use four eggs, not three. </span><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfKG9A3eQTIalNvMaR10_SA_MnIaEMK32THp-seQLf8o8gQ3Z0ue915BKz8gHqBXJs-AuYB_qQ5P2X27aABbu3wFD6CRroiNr_7Q_JW6j3h0-U0DvpkOI9ueMGkZ5IPCV661Bbb1TYQ/s1600/photo%25281%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfKG9A3eQTIalNvMaR10_SA_MnIaEMK32THp-seQLf8o8gQ3Z0ue915BKz8gHqBXJs-AuYB_qQ5P2X27aABbu3wFD6CRroiNr_7Q_JW6j3h0-U0DvpkOI9ueMGkZ5IPCV661Bbb1TYQ/s320/photo%25281%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698301846766879426" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The recipe also involves boiling sugar and the agave nectar to the "hard ball" stage. This means using a candy thermometer, but don't panic--it's not hard ("hard" as in "difficult," not "hard" as in "hard ball"). You just stick the thermometer in the saucepan with the sugary stuff, turn the heat to medium, and wait until the mercury hits around 265 degrees. Then you remove it from the heat. That's it.</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmptSWKQJaqeDxeGoaZ17o3U9T04d7CD1A6zBzj8C3lpBm4Tlc4yAzyv9hqRkIM-qrWbZ4r-vShkQOKZv_OhoJ1-O0rinI7xmSR8zHo_T1jxiia7-Gb0xsJtoHViCMRPGhvdzos_wUA/s1600/photo%25282%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhmptSWKQJaqeDxeGoaZ17o3U9T04d7CD1A6zBzj8C3lpBm4Tlc4yAzyv9hqRkIM-qrWbZ4r-vShkQOKZv_OhoJ1-O0rinI7xmSR8zHo_T1jxiia7-Gb0xsJtoHViCMRPGhvdzos_wUA/s320/photo%25282%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698301845072061906" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">The recipe involves lots of beating, so don't attempt without a heavy-duty mixer. </span><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDnopzr6Sn65HF3aXL1PzaorJYDTnOOeIjROwekrglrMKfrvsHEffPd54mMV35MYdcOMH5qUzknMD1DDc0AVSCZh2DcpyNEQnzHc98s6OdMXS5ZKX46CgsSaexLkiAk90rioZWhH7u8A/s1600/photo%25283%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDnopzr6Sn65HF3aXL1PzaorJYDTnOOeIjROwekrglrMKfrvsHEffPd54mMV35MYdcOMH5qUzknMD1DDc0AVSCZh2DcpyNEQnzHc98s6OdMXS5ZKX46CgsSaexLkiAk90rioZWhH7u8A/s320/photo%25283%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698301857708684898" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">After all that beating, the goo is sticky. Like a marshmallow. LIKE A MARSHMALLOW!</span><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdO-Zw5QaTfP5Nqiej9HQGbNdjp8OD6XLL6SQmq2vIErJYE141SP8Vk0H_DllvPNiiDsxSn5rAr7GkuhlGd6-oSC7N9S7bFaiGNyyJ5Ziz6JNUuq48JjBrac7GtvHVcNCc_ThD6gvpA/s1600/photo%25284%2529.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghdO-Zw5QaTfP5Nqiej9HQGbNdjp8OD6XLL6SQmq2vIErJYE141SP8Vk0H_DllvPNiiDsxSn5rAr7GkuhlGd6-oSC7N9S7bFaiGNyyJ5Ziz6JNUuq48JjBrac7GtvHVcNCc_ThD6gvpA/s320/photo%25284%2529.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698301883351208770" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">Then you pour it in a pan, coat it with cornstarch, and wait.</span>Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-7879522924681948842011-12-01T09:00:00.000-08:002011-12-01T09:00:00.340-08:00Unsweetened Cocoa Powder FTW!I thought about posting this on Facebook. I already told my mom and my wife, and one of my best friends from high school over Gchat. I really want to tell the world, but I think I have a limited qualified audience.<br /><br />I just discovered the life-changing properties of adding unsweetened cocoa powder to my morning coffee.<br /><br />It started the Monday after a rainy weekend. My wife had to work (she's a gardener) on the stormiest day of the season--on a Sunday morning, no less.<br /><br />The night before, I programmed the coffee maker to start brewing at 6:15. I portioned out a teaspoon and a half of fine granulated sugar in a sealable plastic container. I lined up two drinking vessel options: a steely silver coffee mug emblazoned with my company logo and an old-school Thermos I found on the curb in the Haight a few years ago (very thoroughly washed since then). I thought about the packets of Swiss Miss that we picked up while traveling for a friend's wedding in upstate New York/our elopement in Vermont/an unexpected stop in Denver for an unexpected memorial service.<br /><br />(How did it end up with us back in San Francisco? Why did I not throw it away before returning the rental car or boarding one of the planes in Boston, Milwaukee, or Denver?)<br /><br />B once added Swiss Miss to her coffee. It may have been during that very trip, actually--perhaps at the breakfast bar at the hotel in Roxbury, New York. Maybe that's what inspired us to pick up a box for the remainder of the trip. I don't know when it happened, but I know she loved it. So I grabbed a pack for the stormy morning coffee. And I noticed the unsweetened cocoa powder on the shelf just behind the Swiss Miss.<br /><br />Would she like that instead? I set both out, between the sugar and the drinking vessels.<br /><br />She ultimately chose the Swiss Miss and not the unsweetened cocoa, but I had already piqued my own curiosity. I spooned a little of the cocoa into my coffee the next day, and magic happened.<br /><br />I don't know if I actually owe it to the cocoa powder, but I've noticed that my mornings are much more...relaxed. Calm. Zen. Since I started it, I haven't tried a workday without it, so this is completely unscientific.<br /><br />I wanted to research the effects of unsweetened cocoa--the box I have has a big green sticker on it that says something about antioxidants. The only good resource I could find in my five minutes of searching this morning was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cocoa_powder" target="new">Wikipedia</a> (if any of you know of a good food resource on the web, please share!). Alas:<br /><br />"Cocoa powder contains several minerals including calcium, copper, magnesium, phosphorus, potassium, sodium and zinc. All of these minerals are found in greater quantities in cocoa powder than either cocoa butter or cocoa liquor. Cocoa solids also contain 230mg of caffeine and 2057mg of theobromine per 100g, which are mostly absent from the other components of the cocoa bean.<br /><br />Cocoa powder is rich in flavonoids, a type of polyphenolic ... Flavanols are one of six compounds futher classified as flavenoids. Flavanols, which are also found in fruits and vegetables, are linked to certain health benefits linked to coronary heart disease and stroke. The topic of how flavanols benefit cardiovascular health is still under debate. It has been suggested that the flavanols may take part in mechanisms such as nitric oxide and antioxidant, anti-inflammatory, and antiplatelet effects. Benefiting these mechanisms may improve endothelial function, lipid levels, blood pressure and insulin resistance."<br /><br />Nothing about zen, but I suspect that when my heart is happy, so is my brain.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-43295180489005773672011-11-13T12:50:00.000-08:002011-11-13T14:08:45.994-08:00Sunday Breakfast: Champagne-Braised Pork Belly and Eggs with Bacon PopcornFirst of all, for some reason, I woke up at 11:15 this morning, completely appalled that I had slept until 11:15 but also extremely angry that B interrupted my dream where I was on a beautiful, warm tropical vacation on some clear water, white sand beach somewhere.<br /><br />Secondly, I made a tasty experimental breakfast: Champagne-braised pork belly and eggs with bacon popcorn.<br /><br />I'm not going to pretend that I was out of bed by 11:17 and whipping this breakfast together with random bits from the fridge and pantry. It was around 11:45 when I finally forced myself out of bed. And I actually spent yesterday afternoon braising the pork belly in anticipation of this meal.<br /><br />I bought popcorn from the bulk section at the corner greengrocer a few months ago for a movie night on the couch that never happened. The bag has been sitting in the fruit basket on the counter ever since. Growing up, my parents used to make popcorn in this funny little vertical hot-air popper that resembled a 1980s space-age grain hopper. It had a cup on the top of it that would melt butter as the popcorn popped; at the end of the popping cycle, you'd take the cup of warm butter and drizzle it on the warm popcorn. I loved loved loved the popcorn bits that would get extra-soaked with butter (excuse me, margarine--this was the late 80s). The ones at the top of the bowl, near the center, where my dad would start the warm-butter pour. Something about the combination of the chewy popped texture on the outside and the crunchy inside kernel, and the fact that there were only a few of these per bowl, made popcorn night so delicious.<br /><br />So it dawned on me that a fried egg could have the same effect. The gooey yolk, soaked up by the outer warm softness of a piece of popped popcorn. The same crunchy inside kernel.<br /><br />I was thinking about a good hunk of meat that I could pair the egg-and-popcorn combination with, and pork belly popped into my head. Pork belly is the original bacon gangsta--it's the cut of meat that is cured to make the bacon we all know and love--so it seemed appropriate for a hearty breakfast. Bacon itself can be a little overpowering (and salty) on the flavor front. Working with pork belly would give me more control over the flavor profile of the final dish.<br /><br />We keep a jar of bacon fat in the back of the fridge for such uses as <a href="http://veryverytasty.blogspot.com/2009/12/cupcakes-with-bacon-cream-filling.html">cupcake filling</a>. I thought it would be fun if I used the OBG (Original Bacon Gangsta), which <span style="font-style: italic;">isn't </span>actually bacon, and then use an <span style="font-style: italic;">actual</span> bacon by-product (bacon fat) in something else, like the popcorn. Get it? I'm totally deconstructing bacon in this dish! Like one of those fancy chefs on TV! A quick Google search informed me that bacon fat was actually used quite often in stovetop popcorn in ye olden days. So, down with margarine. And, those 1950s families really knew how to eat.<br /><br />I'm not going to give you a recipe for the pork belly braise because it wasn't that great. It was good (what slow-cooked fatty piece of pork isn't?), but not very interesting. Next time, I might try a braise that's a little sweeter to evoke another breakfast staple: maple syrup.<br /><br />Here's what the final product looked like. I recommend popping the popcorn (1/2 c of kernels + 2 1/2 tbsp of bacon fat), then letting it sit for a few minutes to really soak up the bacony flavor. The eggs need to be over easy so that you can burst the yolk all over the bacony popcorn and let it sop up some more good flavors.<br /><br />Enjoy! Then take a nice long walk to clear the arteries.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMqYMcqugjZSI3fpVC_vq1x0XHcK65mrP7YRxcBs511WujGummdQAE2St6z2zwqhGakwgscTI-k37HZ9Yhhuq2sPgzyP1IR77lNMgP8T_maQ_6SOt4PduXc8nRq5Z1okUPCqDsW_X_zw/s1600/porkbelly_before.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMqYMcqugjZSI3fpVC_vq1x0XHcK65mrP7YRxcBs511WujGummdQAE2St6z2zwqhGakwgscTI-k37HZ9Yhhuq2sPgzyP1IR77lNMgP8T_maQ_6SOt4PduXc8nRq5Z1okUPCqDsW_X_zw/s320/porkbelly_before.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674604738802241778" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Before.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEaFiBv0xpuU_hZVIJ9dtRmncBxqqZdWd8QTuhocIMLoty8t61plemuq1iFop0XVmCj-iYg71dR1TzW23YAvatlcbfRKn0-h-LVglIsWzvxu_HVzJv9CLvJeF4-DnBNmd-wk8_VGwPLQ/s1600/porkbelly_after.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEaFiBv0xpuU_hZVIJ9dtRmncBxqqZdWd8QTuhocIMLoty8t61plemuq1iFop0XVmCj-iYg71dR1TzW23YAvatlcbfRKn0-h-LVglIsWzvxu_HVzJv9CLvJeF4-DnBNmd-wk8_VGwPLQ/s320/porkbelly_after.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674604899348398114" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">After. Let the amazingness ensue!</span></span>Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-48165919661023448812011-11-12T11:11:00.001-08:002011-11-12T11:30:00.714-08:00A Marriage of Oatmeal and CreamI'm probably not the only person in the world who counts heavy whipping cream as one of her guilty pleasures. There are a lot of delicious recipes out there that call for a tiny, tiny bit of heavy cream. I'll gladly buy a half pint of it, use the half tablespoon the recipe calls for, then easily rationalize using it in anything I possibly can.<br /><br />There it is, a mostly unused half pint of heavy whipping cream, just sitting on the top shelf of the refrigerator. I swear it's seducing me with wanton eyes from its perfectly conspicuous spot next to the can of this morning's cat food.<br /><br />I can't let it go to waste!<br /><br />Do you know how good coffee tastes with heavy cream instead of 2% milk or even half-and-half? Oh, god.<br /><br />Here's another great example: A warm bowl of steel-cut oatmeal. A teaspoon of brown sugar, all melty and crumbly on top. Wrapped in a moat of heavy cream.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZOJn3xqDVMQfTr7kBbaUKiPx6-y8kqpWN3MIiwVGwOSgqCwyUIJOATO48wgcu6_TqzRyZclhSyhrrrTlCrc9llYZWY83YkiWqqDP06HNsNDFsi1uFvTy6mSSd0L0QQbrAqvzoiaMCQ/s1600/steel-cut_cream.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNZOJn3xqDVMQfTr7kBbaUKiPx6-y8kqpWN3MIiwVGwOSgqCwyUIJOATO48wgcu6_TqzRyZclhSyhrrrTlCrc9llYZWY83YkiWqqDP06HNsNDFsi1uFvTy6mSSd0L0QQbrAqvzoiaMCQ/s320/steel-cut_cream.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674192589812108018" border="0" /></a>Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-8530812247194395692011-10-23T11:21:00.001-07:002011-10-23T12:27:51.273-07:00Show-Stopping Marscapone French ToastIt's been over a year since my last post--a full year! I don't know what's scarier: The fact that it doesn't actually really feel like a year, or the fact that I've been slacking off for so long and <span style="font-style: italic;">getting away with it. </span><span>Don't let me do that again.<br /></span><br />Since we last spoke (over a year ago, gah!), things have happened. I got a new job. I got engaged. I got married. My best friend had an adorable baby. And, most importantly, I've been making amazing breakfasts.<br /><br />Like the one I made this morning.<br /><br />One of the things B and I love more than anything (except each other) is making breakfast together on the weekends. In fact, before B surprised me and proposed to me in May, I was in the middle of planning to surprise-propose to her by popping the question on a Saturday morning, then having our best and closest friends show up for a super-brunch extravaganza. I planned on being at the stove all morning, despite being freshly engaged.<br /><br />Even though we're already married, I'll probably follow through with my plan someday anyway. We love breakfast (and each other) <span style="font-style:italic;">that much.</span><br /><br />As you probably know, one of the best things about weekends is that there are usually always two solid breakfast opportunities. None of that "I woke up 40 minutes before having to leave for work and can only manage a bowl of cereal while I blow-dry my hair" nonsense; these are all-morning affairs with cup after cup of half-caf French press coffee and jazz on the stereo in the background. B and I tend to seize both weekend breakfast opportunities, but always have a show-stopper planned for one of the two days.<br /><br />I picked up fellow food-blogger (and all-around extraordinary person) <a href="http://orangette.blogspot.com/" target="new">Molly Wizenberg</a>'s book <span style="font-style: italic;">A Homemade Life</span> earlier this month. After reading the chapter (and corresponding recipe) devoted to French toast, I've been fixated on making French toast for my weekend show-stopper.<br /><br />And boy, did I. By that I mean, boy, did I make the French toast, and boy, did I stop the show.<br /><br />This pretty much follows Wizenberg's "Burg's French Toast" recipe, except that I added a couple of game-changing accessories. For example, instead of using any-old "squishy bread with a thin, crisp crust," I used these incredible brioche buns from Bay Bread in South San Francisco, which I think is the mommy bakery for the <a href="http://laboulangebakery.com/" target="new">La Boulange bakeries</a> here in the city. I tend to go with brioche or challah as my French toast bread choice because they for some reason make me feel less weird about whipping up a meal with soggy bread at its center. Also, the marscapone is a slam-the-fist-down-on-the-counter addition.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Hands-Down Marscapone French Toast</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Adapted from Molly Wizenberg's "Burg's French Toast"</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Serves 2-3</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Marscapone Spread (prepare ahead of time)</span><br /><br />1 8-oz container of marscapone (Italian cream cheese)<br />1 tsp confectioners' sugar<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span>1/2 tsp vanilla extract<br /><br />Combine all ingredients in a mixer or food processor and whip the heck out of them. Set aside. You'll probably have way more than needed to dress the French toast, but that's not a bad thing--you can eat the leftovers with fresh fruit later, when you'll be thanking me for over-estimating the recipe.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">French Toast</span><br /><br />3 large eggs<br />1 c whole milk<br />3/4 tbsp sugar [Wizenberg's recipe calls for a full tablespoon; if you're using brioche bread, I recommend taking it down to 3/4 tbsp since brioche is slightly sweet to begin with]<br />1 tsp vanilla extract<br />1/4 tsp salt<br />Pinch of freshly ground nutmeg<br />Canola or other flavorless oil (for frying)<br />6 to 8 slices day-old bread, cut diagonally about 3/4 inch thick--as mentioned, brioche is amazing, as is challah, but you can go with any other "squishy bread with a thin, crisp crust" if you prefer<br />Pure maple syrup (for serving)<br /><br />Break the eggs into a wide, shallow bowl or an 8-inch square Pyrex dish. Whisk the eggs to break up the yolks. Add the milk, sugar, vanilla, salt, and nutmeg and whisk again.<br /><br />Place a large heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Pour in enough oil to completely coat the bottom of the skillet.<br /><br />When the oil is almost hot enough, put 2 slices of bread into the egg mixture and let them rest for 30 seconds to 1 minute per side. They should feel heavy and thoroughly saturated, but they shouldn't be falling apart. Carefully place slices in the hot skillet; they should sizzle upon contact, and the oil should bubble around the edges.<br /><br />Cook until the underside of each slice is golden brown, 1 to 2 minutes. Flip and cook until the second side is golden, another 1 to 2 minutes. Remove to a plate lined with paper towel, and allow to sit for a minute or two before serving.<br /><br />Repeat with the remaining bread. If, at any point, the bread starts to burn before it has a chance to brown nicely, turn the heat back a little. You want to keep it nice and hot, but not smoking.<br /><br />Serve hot with warmed maple syrup and marscapone spread (spread it over the toast like butter and let it melt into oozy goodness--really!).Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-41470251962200511262010-09-11T20:14:00.000-07:002010-09-11T21:17:39.076-07:00Gettin' My Gołąbki OnThis afternoon I lost my <a href="http://foragesf.com/market/" target="new">San Francisco Underground Market</a> virginity. It's a regular event put on by folks at <a href="http://foragesf.com/" target="new">ForageSF</a>, a "wild foods community...with the mission to connect Bay Area dwellers with the wild food that is all around them." I've been on their email list forever, and, thanks to my friend <a href="http://erlthegirl.wordpress.com/" target="new">ERL</a>'s debut as a seller at today's market, I finally actually went, both to support her and check it all out. She also recently had a cadaver tendon put in her knee.<br /><br />It's an interesting concept that seems to have a very loose connection to ForageSF's mission (if you seek pleasant wild foods, look about you). The SF Underground Market is where home food producers can sell their goods in a public space. Similar to a traditional farmers market that brings you tasty produce and tasty prepared foods--except without the strange-ish condition most farmers markets (apparently) require, that food vendors produce their wares out of a <span style="font-style: italic;">commercial</span> kitchen. Obviously, we're not all fortunate enough to have access to a commercial kitchen, which means that really tasty stuff is happening but only some of it actually makes it to your local farmers market. The rest happens in home dining rooms and potlucks. So, the point of the Underground Market is to bring the really tasty stuff out of the potlucks and into the limelight.<br /><br />There were hits and misses at today's market (thankfully, ERL's cookie dough was among the hits).<br /><br />There was also a lot of hat-tipping to Polish cuisine (na zdrowie, my people!).<br /><br />By that, I mean there was lots of pickled stuff, and a table serving cheese, potato, and morel mushroom pierogi. Unfortunately, the pierogi were kind of a miss. But it got me thinking about my ethnic culinary roots, and I started having flashbacks to...<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Christmases</span><br />Baked ham, pierogi, kielbasa, kapusta (sauerkraut). Chruściki (a flaky pastry, pronounced "chrushty") and kolaczki (another pastry with jelly in it, no idea on the pronunciation), which my mom hates.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My brother's wedding (held at the Polish Cultural Center in Michigan)</span><br />More pierogi, kielbasa, kapusta. Chicken and gołąbki (stuffed cabbage, pronounced "gwumpki"). Zupa ogorkowa (dill pickle soup).<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Another meal I had once at the Polish Cultural Center</span><br />It had the same stuff mentioned above, plus some starches and a crepe type of thing, and looked like this:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/3271255424/in/set-72157613630076476/" target="new"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3330/3271255424_77b23d0125_m.jpg" /></a><br /><br />And we looked like this:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/3271255646/in/set-72157613630076476/" target="new"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3317/3271255646_c5d46dc65e_m.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(That's my brother, sister-in-law, me, some dude in a hat holding a balloon type of object while riding a dwarf pony, my grandma, my dad, and my mom--the one who hates kolaczki. Click to view larger size--it's worth it.)</span><br /><br />So now I'm like, wow! I should really make some Polish stuff, blog about how good it is, and then open my own version of the Polish Cultural Center right here in San Francisco. I'll even pull out the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Yourself-Polish-Complete-Package-Courses/dp/0071431675">"Teach Yourself Polish" kit</a> I got for Christmas six years ago. I KNOW I could do pierogi better than that chick at the Underground Market who kept describing other foods at the market as "dank" (isn't that a word people use to describe marijuana?). And, I could totally make a mean dill pickle soup with the (amazing!) pickles I got at the market today. Heck, I could make my own frickin' pickles.<br /><br />And I think I'll start with this, a recipe from the Polish Village Cafe (formerly Zosia's) in Hamtramck, Michigan.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />ZOSIA'S DILL PICKLE SOUP<br /></span><br />8 c. chicken stock or broth<br />2 chicken bouillon cubes<br />2 medium carrots, coarsely grated<br />2 c. peeled, cubed potatoes<br />1 c. thinly sliced celery<br />5 coarsely grated Polish dill pickles (from the jar)<br />1/2 c. milk<br />2 T. flour<br />1 egg<br />5 T. sour cream<br />salt and pepper to taste<br />finely chopped fresh parsley (optional)<br />finely chopped fresh dill (optional)<br /><br />In a large saucepan or soup pot with cover, combine chicken stock, bouillon, carrots, potatoes and celery. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and cook covered, over low heat, til potatoes start to get soft (about 10 minutes). Do not over cook. Add pickles and continue cooking about 15 minutes. In a small bowl, beat milk and flour til smooth and stir in a small amount of the hot soup (to temper) and add to soup. Bring to the boil and cook til slightly thickened. Remove from heat. In a small bowl, beat egg with sour cream til smooth and stir in a small amount of the hot soup. Add to soup and stir til smooth. Keep soup warm but DO NOT BOIL (the soup will curdle). Add salt and pepper to taste and garnish with parsley and dill.<br />(makes 10 servings)<br /><br /><br /><br />I'll let you know how it goes.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-13300390028976500702010-04-04T17:00:00.000-07:002010-04-04T17:00:00.441-07:00My Favorite Meal: Chicken Soup (with a little help from the vegans)This week was major payback for those few weeks back in December and January (and February and March) when most of the country was buried under snow and San Francisco had days of solid, warm sun. I knew this was coming; some might even say I deserved it.<br /><br /><blockquote>You know, it's funny, I said to a friend in New York who, at the time, couldn't stop using the word "snowmageddon." The weather in San Francisco is amazing right now. I feel so removed from the plight of the rest of the country. There's, like, a snow emergency in D.C., the federal government has even shut down, and I'm not wearing a jacket over here!<br /><br />Yeah, that's funny. Hey, I have to go, she responded. They're closing the office. The PATH trains are shutting down. This snowmageddon is crazy. So, I don't want to get stuck here.</blockquote><br />Yeah, yeah. With comments like those, I asked for it this week: The unacceptably cold wind and the pelting rain and hail, while the rest of you enjoy unseasonably warm temperatures.<br /><br /><blockquote>We broke a record today! My mother shrieked on Friday. The record we broke was from 1986. Do you remember that day? In 1986? You were there. It was right after your brother was born. It was so warm, and I was itching to get out of the house, but I had this new baby, it was overwhelming. But it was so nice outside! Wouldn't it be funny if you remembered that? Do you remember that?<br /><br />No, I don't. But hey. I wore a sweater today.</blockquote>The cold weather made me want to make large batches of comforting hot food to carry me through the week. To hunker down with the cats, curled up at the foot of the bed, keeping my toes warm. To turn all of the baseboard heaters in the apartment up way past the "Comfort Zone" (as indicated on the thermostats that sit on the wall of every room) and roast in the musty dust smell that's so characteristic of cheap electric heaters that haven't been used in a while.<br /><br />So I made a big dish of veggie lasagna and allowed the cats in the bedroom while we slept, even though I knew I'd be awakened by one (or both) of them sniffing my ear in the middle of the night. I even let Girlfriend keep the heat on in the living room overnight so that I wouldn't freeze when I left the bedroom in the morning.<br /><br />Lasagna's always a safe bet for warm winter (spring?) comfort food, and this one was no exception (and it provided us with several lunches during the week, which meant that I didn't have to leave the office and face the rain to find a sandwich). But soup--soup. Soup is the ultimate "this weather sucks, there's a vitamin D deficiency on the horizon if I don't see sun soon" meal. So when Girlfriend complained of a sore throat on Saturday, I immediately responded with soup.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/4489074574/" title="soup by lilakmess, on Flickr" target="_new"><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2697/4489074574_439302fed7_m.jpg" alt="soup" height="216" width="240" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Unwilling to re-layer outwear and go out again to get cornmeal for cornbread after a day of running around, I pulled together a sour cream muffin recipe. It used nutmeg. Turns out, nutmeg isn't much of a flavor complement to chicken soup...</span><br /><br />I've never made chicken soup before, but my mom has, so I knew it had to be easy enough. I checked my intuition (place raw, bone-in chicken bits in pot with water, boil with chopped veggies, add noodles, done) against the standard chicken broth recipe in the <span style="font-style: italic;">JoC</span> and improvised from there.<br /><br />I went through a brief vegan phase a few years ago and read the <span style="font-style: italic;">Vegan Planet</span> cookbook pretty much end-to-end to acclimate myself to dairy-free, meat-free livin'. I quickly failed at the vegan thing, but I did learn quite a bit about preparing flavor-rich foods from the cookbook, and those kinds of lessons last a lifetime, even when your dietary choices don't. For example, leaving the (clean) skins on your veggies when you prepare a soup (enhances the flavor). Adding tamari to broths (deepens the color, also enhances flavor). Using garlic and onions liberally (they're a natural cold remedy, thus a perfect addition to soup).<br /><br />The chicken soup was delicious. It almost made Girlfriend weep. (This is our personal barometer for assessing delicious food. Is it so good that it makes you cry? I've full-on wept for food twice in my life: Once, when eating scallops at <a href="http://www.bartartine.com/" target="_new">Bar Tartine</a> in the Mission; the second time, savoring, again, oddly enough, a scallop dish at a Peruvian restaurant called <a href="http://www.andinarestaurant.com/" target="_new">Andina</a> in Portland.)<br /><br />I started the soup with a full pot of cold water; a leg and a half of chicken, bone-in; minced garlic; green onions; green garlic; and a tablespoon of tamari. After bringing to a boil and simmering for 30 minutes, I added the standard mirepoix (onion, carrot, and celery, which had been chopped in a food processor--ding! Another awesome usage of what's <a href="http://veryverytasty.blogspot.com/2010/02/chocolate-basil-cupcakes-with-toasted.html">quickly becoming my favorite kitchen gadget</a>); parsley; leeks; and mushrooms. I let that simmer for 40 minutes, removed the chicken, cut it into bits, then re-added to the stock with a cup of alphabet noodles. Once the noodles were cooked, the soup was done.<br /><br />I'm hoping that curing my girlfriend's impending cold with delicious homemade soup is enough to fend off the bad weather karma I assumed after my insensitive response to snowmageddon. Because that's how it works, right?<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/4489074574/" title="soup by lilakmess, on Flickr" target="_new"><br /></a><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ></span>Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-32117908324959575112010-03-30T21:15:00.000-07:002010-03-31T09:41:53.690-07:00SWEET! Potato PieAs I mentioned in my <a href="http://veryverytasty.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-favorite-meal-home-cookin.html">last post</a>, I woke up on Sunday morning with pie prominently on the brain. No rhyme or reason for it--I just wanted pie. Specifically, I wanted to <span style="font-style: italic;">make</span> pie, something I'm ashamed to admit I'd never actually done before. Pie's got charm and pretty consistently gets people excited (my friend Kris keeps talking about putting on a muumuu and coming over to eat pie all night long). And, there's something really satisfying about how contained and orderly a fresh-baked pie is. It's a well-dressed, compact, and delicious unit of dessert. It's practical.<br /><br />After embracing the desire to make pie, my thoughts turned to Meyer lemons--how much I don't like them and how much I want to like them. I think the first time I had a Meyer lemon was the day I picked one off the unkempt lemon tree in our yard. It was a few months after I had moved to California and I was thrilled to have such an accessible fruit tree in my back yard. (Growing up, we had a crabapple tree behind the house. My brothers would use its bitter, unpalatable fruit as sibling ammunition. When fruit is used to create marble-sized bruises on the arms and legs of a sister sandwiched between an older and a younger brother, I, personally, don't think it should count.) I envisioned myself bathed in California sun, leisurely picking bursting bright yellow lemons off of a fruit-laden tree and freshening up my drinking water, meals, and cleaning agents with crisp homegrown citrus. I'd have a fruit bowl on the counter overflowing with them all year round. I'd be known in the neighborhood for my exquisite and thoughtful use of lemons.<br /><br />I'm such a dreamer.<br /><br />When I picked the fruit off the tree, I naturally expected a strong, solid, sour lemon. I was sorely disappointed. Instead, I discovered I'd just flavored my ice water with a flat half-lemon, half-orange hybrid that couldn't decide which side of the citrus spectrum it belonged on. I tried making it into a custard (another dessert I'd never attempted before) and the result was completely inedible and sat in little covered custard dishes in the back of the fridge for a full two weeks, dripping condensation. After a couple of days, they settled into layers of colloidal yellow liquid and water.<br /><br />I swore Meyer lemons off.<br /><br />I was thinking my pie ambitions of this past weekend could lead me back to the Meyer lemon, though, and prove true every single wonderful thing I'd ever heard about them since the failed custard experiment. (To be fair, custard needs a double-boiler, which I didn't have at the time but tried to replicate using a pot of boiling water and an ovenproof mixing bowl. Just like a hammer doesn't make a great substitute for a food processor, an ovenproof mixing bowl doesn't make a great double-boiler, either.) When I reached for a bag of coffee beans in the (lemonless) fruit bowl on the counter on Sunday morning and one of our <a href="http://www.eatwell.com/" target=_new>CSA</a>-delivered sweet potatoes gave out from under the bag and collapsed into a slippery mush, I knew there were other plans for my pie. There were four sweet potatoes left, not counting the one that had just smeared all over my bag of coffee, and they were surely close to meeting the same sad, uneaten fate as their moldy brother. A quick solution?<br /><br />Pie.<br /><br />I'd never tasted sweet potato pie before, but it had, from what I could tell, a great reputation. I found an intriguing recipe on <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/" target=_new>epicurious.com</a> that suggested roasting the potatoes starting in a cold oven and on lower heat for a longer period of time to generate more maltose. I love the intersection of chemistry and food, even though I have no idea what maltose is or why it's a good thing. The recipe also included rum, so, maltose and gradual chemical reactions aside, I knew it had to be a win.<br /><br />I also found a basic pie crust recipe on Epicurious and improvised the hell out of it, adding sour cream and lemon zest just to see what would happen (and also because, in my opinion, it's not a recipe if it doesn't include sour cream). I used coconut milk in place of most of the cow's milk the filling recipe called for (although I wish I'd substituted it one-for-one)--a little trick I learned during my short stint as a vegan.<br /><br />The results are really amazing. This is a delicious pie. It's smooth and, thanks to the coconut milk, deliciously rich, sweet, and full-bodied. The spices give it a punch while the rum helps the flavor linger a bit in your mouth. Not being a fan of flaky pie crusts, the sour cream version made for a more solid and present dough.<br /><br />In short: Maltose-ify your sweet potatoes. Make this pie. Don't skimp on the rum. Thank me later.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >SWEET! Potato Pie</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Makes one 9-inch pie</span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/4475637064/" title="whole_pie by lilakmess, on Flickr" target=_new><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2731/4475637064_2e6f0cd3da.jpg" alt="whole_pie" height="240" /></a> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/4475636940/" title="slice_sweetpotatopie by lilakmess, on Flickr" target=_new><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2779/4475636940_08d7908ddc_m.jpg" alt="slice_sweetpotatopie" height="240" width="180" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Crust</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Recipe adapted from </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Mixed-Berry-Pie-with-Ginger-Orange-and-Almond-Streusel-353426" target="_new">epicurious.com</a><br /><br />1 1/2 c all-purpose flour<br />2 tsp sugar<br />1/2 tsp salt<br />1/2 c (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into 1/4-inch cubes<br />3 tbsp sour cream<br />2 tbsp grated lemon zest<br />1+ tbsp ice water<br /><br />Whisk flour, sugar, and salt in medium bowl until blended. Add butter and, using your fingers, knead and rub in until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Using a fork, mix in sour cream and lemon zest. Add ice water and stir until mixture is evenly moistened (add more ice water if needed). Roll dough into a ball; flatten into disk. Wrap in plastic and chill at least 1 hour. Bring dough to room temperature before rolling out and placing in a floured, 9-inch pie pan.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Filling</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Adapted from another recipe at </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Sweet-Potato-Pie-105142" target="_new">epicurious.com</a><br /><br />4-5 small sweet potatoes (about 1 1/4 pounds)<br />1/4 c (1/2 stick) unsalted butter<br />3/4 c sugar<br />1/2 c coconut milk<br />1/4 c whole milk (forget it--just use 3/4 c coconut milk and skip the cow's milk altogether!)<br />3 eggs<br />1 tsp vanilla<br />1/2 tsp cinnamon<br />1/4 tsp freshly grated nutmeg<br />1/4 tsp salt<br />1 tbsp dark rum (I kind of wish I had used more.)<br />1 tbsp all-purpose flour<br /><br />Prick the sweet potatoes with a fork and place on a shallow baking pan in the middle of a cold oven. Turn the oven on to 325 degrees F and roast until very tender, about 1 1/4 hours. (The potatoes will appear to be oozing. I'm pretty sure the ooze is maltose.)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/4474860277/" title="maltose_sweet_potato by lilakmess, on Flickr" target=_new><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2729/4474860277_9944d22204.jpg" alt="maltose_sweet_potato" height="240" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >Gettin' its maltose on</span><br /><br />Cool potatoes to room temperature.<br /><br />Raise the oven temperature to 400 degrees F, and place a shallow baking pan on the bottom rack.<br /><br />Scoop the flesh from potatoes into a large bowl and discard the skins. Mash the sweet potatoes with a fork until smooth. Melt the butter in a small saucepan over medium heat and stir in the sugar (the mixture will be grainy). Add the butter mixture to the sweet potatoes and mix. Using a whisk, beat in the milk(s) and the eggs until smooth. Whisk in the remaining ingredients. The filling will be liquidy.<br /><br />Pour the filling into the pie shell.<br /><br />Carefully transfer the pie to the heated shallow baking pan in the oven and bake until the filling is just set (about 40 minutes). Transfer the pie to a rack to cool.<br /><br /><br /><br />---<br /><span style="font-size:85%;">What? You want to know more about sweet potatoes and maltose? Turns out it's a documented chemistry thing. Check out this blurb from an article titled "Formation of Maltose in Sweet Potatoes on Cooking," published in </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span>Industrial and Engineering Chemistry</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span> in 1923:</span><br /></span><blockquote><span style="font-size:85%;">It is evident that the formation of maltose is of paramount importance in the production of delicious cooked sweet potatoes as we know them...<br /><br />Since upon cooking sweet potatoes at least half, and frequently nearly all, of the starch present becomes converted into sugar, our concept of the sweet potato as a starchy food should be revised, since when consumed by man it really is saccharine rather than starchy.<br /></span></blockquote><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >H. C. Gore, in </span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span>Industrial and Engineering Chemistry,</span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" > 1923, 15 (9), pp 938–940</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> <a href="http://pubs.acs.org/doi/abs/10.1021/ie50165a031" target="_new">http://pubs.acs.org/doi/abs/10.1021/ie50165a031</a> (for a snippet of the article)</span>Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-53500239784232501872010-03-28T14:30:00.000-07:002010-03-30T22:27:45.960-07:00My Favorite Meal: Home Cookin'It always amazes me how quickly the body embraces new habits. I've started a morning gym routine recently and almost instantaneously found myself getting crabby and misaligned on the days when I've chosen to sleep in over pulling my body out of bed and into the pre-dawn city darkness in spandex yoga pants and pigtails. (It's one of San Francisco's seediest hours, as it turns out--I've so far seen one arrest and numerous stumbling, confused vagrants in my one-block walk to the gym.)<br /><br />Another new habit of mine: Sunday cookery. On a day like today, when there are no plans as far as my eye can see and the sun's bright and the breeze is pushing through the window in a poetic shhh-ushhh-uhh, I want nothing else than to spend the last remaining hours of my weekend in the kitchen. It may not seem like an intuitive thing (wouldn't I rather be sunning myself in the park enjoying a cold 22-ounce beer in a brown paper bag?), but I assure you that some of the nicest weather in San Francisco makes for the best cooking experiences. There's nothing better than opening the windows a crack (and only a crack, since my cats also have a new habit, one of falling out of third-storey apartment windows) and letting the smells circulate through the apartment and into the street.<br /><br />This morning I woke up with pie on the brain and a rotten sweet potato in my fruit bowl. The mushy-fuzzy potato was nestled amongst several cousins and siblings that were doing a slightly better job of clinging onto life. While the fruit-laden Meyer lemon tree in our backyard was initially calling my name, I couldn't ignore the remaining tenacious tubers in the bowl. So, I'm in the process of making my first-ever sweet potato pie, taking my time roasting the potatoes in an attempt to produce maltose-rich results. (I don't really know what maltose is, but it seems like something I may have learned at some point during that one particularly terrible semester I had of organic chemistry in college. Regardless, fancy words win me over all the time, so when I read about it in the recipe, I knew I had to try it.)<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/4470576741/" title="sweet_potatoes by lilakmess, on Flickr" target=_new><img src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2793/4470576741_2210fbed56_m.jpg" width="240" height="138" alt="sweet_potatoes" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">They're beeeeauteee-ful.</span><br /></span><br />But I digress. This post is actually about my favorite meal. The best eats I had during the past seven days. I promised I'd make the effort to reflect on it every week, and my slow-roasting potato maltose experiment gives me some time to do it during Sunday Cookery.<br /><br />And--wouldn't you know it--I actually don't have a favorite meal to report on this week. Even with all this time (90+ minutes!) I have to talk about it. It's because I <span style="font-style: italic;">can't narrow it down to one.</span><br /><br />When I somewhat haphazardly put the "my favorite meal" idea together a few or so weeks ago, I didn't expect that it would drive me deep into a world of home cooking. I thought for sure it would have inspired me to, yes, cook great meals at home, but I also thought I'd be more inspired to venture out and try tasty eats at some of San Francisco's best cheap-and-cheerful places. It turns out that I don't want to do that. I want my weekly favorite meals to be, well, mine.<br /><br />There's something so fantastic about home cooking. Of course there is; most people agree that home cooking (mom's home cooking, usually) is much better than anything that can be ordered from a restaurant. I guess I just never thought about <span style="font-style: italic;">why</span> it's so darn good.<br /><br />Now that I've had a solid week (okay, more like five out of seven days) of home-cooked meals, I understand it better. For me, home cooking is so superior because it allows me to know and love every ingredient used in a dish. Yes. I am a control freak, both in and out of the kitchen.<br /><br />Example: Tuesday's meal. Braised escarole and white beans with whole wheat gnocchi. What the hell is escarole? All I knew is that it came in my <a href="http://www.eatwell.com/" target="_new">CSA box</a> and I mistook it for lettuce until I re-read the CSA newsletter (it never made it onto a sandwich, but I wonder...). I consulted our copy of the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Field-Guide-Produce-Virtually-Vegetable/dp/1931686807" target="_new">Field Guide to Produce</a> and learned a bit more (popular in Italian cooking; mild flavor; melty texture). Even after that, I wasn't totally convinced that the leafy stuff in the bag in the fridge wasn't just red lettuce, but okay. So I threw together a basic braising liquid (chicken stock, green garlic, garlic, green onion, splash of tamari) and paired it with another Italian staple, white beans, wondering aloud at several points along the way what soggy salty lettuce would taste like. Oh, and did you know you could get whole wheat gnocchi, and it's not as pasty as the potato version and it pairs really nicely with a bean-based braise?<br /><br />Yup. Home cooking can be some of the most educational food you can eat. And most rewarding.<br /><br />So I ate really well this week, between the braise, the pork chop with fresh steamed green beans, the first pan of meatballs I ever made, the veggie sushi (fresh mango and avocado, by far a perfect pairing), and the homemade burritos, just like I hoped I would. Unfortunately, though, I can't just pick one favorite meal; they all stood out.<br /><br />Perhaps it's a rookie's mistake--trying too hard at the start, resulting in consistent(ly tasty) results. Perhaps more risks need to be taken.<br /><br />Speaking of, I'm smelling something sweet burning in the kitchen.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-12288675224545229712010-03-21T13:23:00.000-07:002010-03-30T22:28:52.304-07:00My Favorite Meal: Celery Root and Potato Soup with MintI'd like to start a regular column that allows me to reflect on the week that's passed and identify the best meal I consumed within that particular seven-day period. I'll make it clear right from the start (today, right now) that I truly doubt that I'll do a good job of actually following through week after week on a regular basis, but I want you to know that my intentions are very much there and my desire very strong. And I'm doing it all for very selfish reasons.<br /><br />I'm a compulsively competitive woman. Prime example: eBay. Once I start cruising and bidding on items (mostly, it's sets of wood type to further my <a href="http://www.katherinekornas.com/portfolio/letterpress/" target="_new">letterpress obsession</a> and, ultimately, drive me closer to financial ruin--wood type, as it turns out, is in high demand and does not, at the end of the auction, end up cheap), it's over. I don't care about the dollars involved. I must win the item. I must beat out all other bidders. I must come in first place, even if first place means I'm out several hundred dollars for a collection of 106 one-inch letters.<br /><br />The seemingly innocuous idea for a weekly favorite food column is actually, I think, a distinct by-product of that same competitive spirit. If I commit to commenting on my favorite meal every week, then I'll constantly be in pursuit of my personal best in tastiness. Every meal will have to be better than the one before; every meal should be an equal contender for first place. And if I broaden my definition of "meal" to include anything that I consume--coffee, snacks, and libations included--well, then, I'll be eating phenomenally all week long.<br /><br />So I'll end up a very well-fed, very competitive woman. See why this is a selfish idea?<br /><br />I meant to start this column last week after having some amazing meatballs--some were beef and lamb together; some were turkey-only; all were delicious, especially when served simultaneously in a fold of crusty sourdough bread with homemade tomato sauce--made by <a href="http://revolutionarygrammar.com/" target="_new">my friend Celeste</a> the Thursday prior. But I didn't get my act together to post about it in time for a weekly retrospective on Sunday.<br /><br />With my act only slightly more together this week, I want to talk about the celery root and potato soup I made last night.<br /><br />I didn't realize until later that night that I had made the perfect meal for the first day of spring. I love the flavor of celery, and its good friend and close cousin celeriac. It's a flavor that I don't exclusively assign to one season--you can make a hearty and comforting celeriac and potato mash during the cold months, or you can whip it up with a few bright veggies to make something refreshing for warmer days, which we've had a few of here in the Bay Area lately. Celery always tastes appropriate. Its earthiness, and the smooth consistency celeriac, specifically, brings to a dish, never goes out of season (except for when it's literally out of season--technically, celeriac is a spring-through-fall veggie, but it can keep for up to four months).<br /><br />Our <a href="http://www.eatwell.com/" target="_new">CSA box</a> this week included a bunch of fresh mint. I immediately thought it would make a great complement to celery (to be honest, I didn't have any other great ideas for it, and it was quickly starting to wilt in the fridge) and built a recipe from there. I added carrots to bring a sweetness to the soup and paprika to give it a bit of spice. I served it with a splash of fresh-squeezed lemon juice and a dollop of sour cream. I personally think the sour cream escalated the dish to divine yumminess, but I have a serious affinity for the stuff to begin with, so I may be biased. I encourage you to try it anyway.<br /><br />I've made celeriac soups before, and they always look unappetizing (think grainy baby food). The carrot and bits of chopped herbs didn't help this time. This recipe may be something you only want to serve if your guests are close friends.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Celery Root and Potato Soup with Mint<br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:100%;" >Serves 4</span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" ></span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/4448915157/" title="Celery root and potato soup on Flickr" target=_new><img src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4007/4448915157_947528426b.jpg" alt="IMAG0199" height="500" width="334" /></a><br /><br />Celeriac/celery root (1 medium-sized bulb)<br />1 large carrot<br />1 medium potato<br />3-4 green onions, chopped<br />1-2 stalks of green garlic, chopped (or use 1 clove of chopped fresh garlic)<br />4 c water<br />4 c chicken broth (or vegetable broth)<br />Splash of tamari or soy sauce<br />1/2 c fresh mint leaves<br />1/4 c fresh parsley<br />2 tsp paprika<br />Salt and pepper to taste<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Serve with:</span><br />Fresh lemon juice<br />Dollop of sour cream<br />Crusty bread<br /><br />In a large pot, warm the water, broth, tamari, onion, and garlic over high heat. Peel the celeriac. (Note: I prefer not to peel potatoes and carrots when I add them to a stock--I find the flavor is much richer when I leave the well-washed skins on, but that's my preference. However, peeling the otherwise-hairy celery root is a must.) Cut the root vegetables into quarters and add to the liquid. Boil for 15-20 minutes, or until the vegetables are soft. Remove from heat. Save the broth.<br /><br />Using a food processor, chop the vegetables, mint, and parsley until smooth; add the broth as you need to in order to keep a more soup-like consistency. Transfer soup to a serving bowl and stir in the paprika, salt, and pepper. Serve immediately.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-85970174378741265282010-03-11T08:45:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:29:50.618-07:00Apple Sage Cobbler<span style="font-style:italic;">This is the final installment of the "fresh herbs, meet baked goods" series I did for Becky's <a href="http://www.mealsformoderns.com/" target=_new>Meals; For Moderns blog</a> (although I'm secretly hoping she invites me back soon).</span><br /><br />***<br /><br />I do a lot of <a href="http://veryverytasty.blogspot.com/2010/01/rosemary-lemon-shortbread.html" target="_new">complaining about the Joy of Cooking</a>, but I have to admit--I actually use it quite often, especially lately. After I got over the fact that it's totally not something I'd use to plan meals and started considering it more as a resource for building far more interesting recipes, I warmed up to it. It's like the starter drug for cooking.<br /><br />There's also something mildly comforting about the <span style="font-style: italic;">JoC</span>. It's what your mom had in the kitchen next to do-it-yourself binders stuffed with recipes she cut out of <span style="font-style: italic;">Good Housekeeping</span> and the backs of graham cracker boxes and glued to copier paper. The simple cover; the red circle; the all-lowercase, serif font used on those fantastic three letters. Like I said, I'm really feeling warmer here.<br /><br />Last week was a challenging one. Not just for me, but for some close friends as well. I initially wanted to do something savvy, fun, and ambitious for <a href="http://www.mealsformoderns.com/" target=_new>my last guest post</a> (bruising lemongrass sounded so cool!), but when it came down to Sunday evening (baking day for the gainfully employed and over-booked) all I wanted was something warm and familiar.<br /><br />We had also just picked up our <a href="http://www.eatwell.com/" target="_new">produce CSA box</a> for the week and had another bag full of apples. Those who know me well know that I have a serious physical aversion to apples. It's happened to me as for as long as I can remember: the sound (ugh) of someone biting into an apple (ergh) and chewing it (argh) gives me goosebumps, like squeaky chalk on a chalkboard for normal people. Unlike squeaky chalk, though, the apple sound also makes me--you're going to love this--start salivating voraciously. Like one of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivan_Pavlov" target="_new">this guy's</a> test subjects. It even happens when I <span style="font-style: italic;">think</span> about the sound. Right now, for example. I'm shivering and salivating like mad.<br /><br />So I don't eat (or think about) raw apples. It's pretty physically uncomfortable for me. But baked apples--like those in apple cobbler--are totally tolerable. And what's more comforting than cobbler? (And how else am I going to get rid of these apples??)<br /><br />I consulted the <span style="font-style: italic;">JoC</span> for a basic cobbler recipe to better understand what I was getting myself into. Cobbler seems like a pretty traditional baked good, and <a href="http://veryverytasty.blogspot.com/2009/12/cupcakes-with-bacon-cream-filling.html" target="_new">I'm not exactly known for being traditional</a> with my baking, so I felt a little out of my league. I ended up lifting the cobbler dough recipe right out of the "biscuits" section (but added lemon zest, so it's still unique, right?).<br /><br />Sage, meanwhile, seemed like the perfect pairing. A nice complement, taste-wise, and kind of a warm and comforting herb, as well.<br /><br />As you'll see in the recipe, I made a sage-infused butter and tossed the apples in it. I strained the sage out before doing the apples, which I wouldn't do next time. I think this would have been really tasty with the sage baked right in.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Apple Sage Cobbler</span><br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQ7i418JIt3OrNfWxhMy7O9lkOwofLmXacquZc7we_CFkegTiluoXr7sq7BD7RNasC6UsEoiVd_WsnBea5zHzPNOdCaJIeaJvYK71D1K8hPNriv1vabMckFY89bQSwQx6ap3adgFAug/s1600-h/IMG_0033.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQ7i418JIt3OrNfWxhMy7O9lkOwofLmXacquZc7we_CFkegTiluoXr7sq7BD7RNasC6UsEoiVd_WsnBea5zHzPNOdCaJIeaJvYK71D1K8hPNriv1vabMckFY89bQSwQx6ap3adgFAug/s320/IMG_0033.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447209310263897730" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Apple sage cobbler! The perfect visual accompaniment to a wall outlet.</span></span><br /><br />Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F and have ready an (ungreased) 8x8 inch glass baking dish.<br /><br />Begin by preparing the dough that you'll put either above (my choice) or below (seems interesting) the fruit.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sour Cream Cobbler Biscuit Dough</span><br /><br />1 3/4 c all-purpose flour<br />3/4 tsp baking powder<br />1/4 tsp baking soda<br />4 tbsp chilled unsalted butter<br />1/2 c sour cream<br />1/4 c heavy whipping cream<br />1 1/2 - 2 tbsp lemon zest<br /><br />In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, and baking soda.<br /><br />Using two knives, cut-in the butter, one tablespoon at a time. The dough should be a bit crumbly.<br /><br />Whisk together the sour cream, heavy cream, and lemon zest.<br /><br />Make a well in the center of the bowl. Pour the sour cream mixture into the well and stir just until the dough comes away from the sides of the bowl (note: this actually never happened for me--everything just got crumbly).<br /><br />Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead 8 to 10 times. Roll (or, using your fingers, press) the dough until it's about 1/4 of an inch thick.<br /><br />Then, turn to the fruit.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Sage Apple Mixture</span><br /><br />6-8 medium apples, sliced<br />4 tbsp unsalted butter<br />1 tbsp brown sugar<br />2 tbsp chopped fresh sage<br /><br />Melt the butter in a small saucepan, with the sage, over medium heat. Add the brown sugar and use a fork to mix until the brown sugar seems evenly mixed with the butter. When the butter starts to bubble, turn the heat down to low. Simmer for 3-4 minutes to infuse the butter with the sage. Strain the butter to remove the sage and transfer to a large frying pan on medium heat.<br /><br />Toss the apples in the butter mixture over the heat for 5-6 minutes, then take the pan off the heat and let sit for 2-3 minutes.<br /><br />Transfer the apples to the glass baking pan and drizzle the butter mixture over them, saving around 1/2 tbsp. Place the cobbler dough on top of the apples and cut it to fit, if needed. Cut 3 small steam vents into the dough.<br /><br />Using a spoon (or a fancy cooking brush thing if you have one!), brush the remaining butter mixture on top of the dough. Sprinkle 2-4 tsp of sugar on top.<br /><br />Bake until the top is golden brown and the apple juices have thickened slightly--it only took about 30 minutes for me. Let the cobbler cool for 15 minutes before serving.<br /><br />Serve with <span style="font-weight: bold;">fresh whipped cream</span> (you should have some heavy whipping cream left over from the dough!):<br /><br />1/2 c heavy whipping cream<br />2 tsp vanilla extract<br />1/2 - 1 tbsp confectioners' sugar<br /><br />Using an electric mixer, beat the whipping cream, vanilla, and confectioners' sugar until it makes stiff peaks.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-79944764913413607622010-02-22T19:54:00.001-08:002010-02-22T20:33:01.365-08:00“Have you scrubbed the floor deck?”I was checking out the traffic stats for this blog the other day and noticed that I've been getting some interesting traffic from Google. People are entering VERY, VERY TASTY from searches that correlate to various--yet consistently strange--permutations of the keywords "very very tasty." <br /><br />These permutations look like this:<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">their tasty tasty very very tasty <br />their tasty tasty very very tasty their very tasty <br />there tasty tasty very very tasty <br />very very tasty christmas song </span><br /><br />These are not people who know my blog by name; after all, anyone who knows my blog knows that I hold impeccable grammar in very high regard. They wouldn't make such flagrant mistakes with their contractions--not my readers.<br /><br />Curious, I ran a Google search myself for "very very tasty." Just to see what happens.<br /><br />And that's why I can now present you with this amazing little gem, from 1980s Great Britain:<br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kM0M9YwYmp4&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kM0M9YwYmp4&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />This definitely explains the random visitors I get from the UK. (They don't stay long.) <br /><br />For the record, this blog has nothing to do with bran flakes, or annoying British adverts from 1982. I actually just really like the word "tasty." More accurately, I like describing food as tasty. It's perhaps the most vague, meaningless adjective out there--describing a taste by using the word "taste" itself--so I'm, naturally, pretty fascinated by it. ("Smelly" is in the same arena, I guess, since describing smells using a version of the word "smell" seems equally as redundant. However, the concept of something being "full of smell" makes more sense than something being "full of taste," so I stand by my assertion.)<br /><br />I like, and use, this word so much that when a friend of mine wanted to find (and laugh at) a personals ad I had alluded to posting on <a href="http://sfbay.craigslist.org/" target=_new>Craigslist</a>, she simply searched the site for "tasty." She found it. (It was the only result.)<br /><br />I didn't get any dates out of it.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-58279268985288578292010-02-21T16:36:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:30:57.588-07:00Arugula Almond Drop CookiesAri Weinzweig, co-founder of the <a href="http://www.zingermans.com/" target="_new">iconic-awesome food mecca Zingerman's</a> in Ann Arbor, Michigan, blogs on the <a href="http://food.theatlantic.com/" target="_new">Atlantic Monthly food channel</a> in a column called "Behind the Counter." "Purveyor's purveyor Ari Weinzweig finds foodstuffs to crave" is how the column's described. While I don't really know what that means, it's not a bad column. Then again, anyone who calls the town of my <a href="http://umich.edu/" target="_new">alma mater</a> home--and does his or her business there--will always have my vote. Michiganders, you can do no wrong. No, really. Not even bankruptcy, government bailout, or high crime can tarnish you in my eyes.<br /><br />In early December, Weinzweig mused upon the coupling of <a href="http://food.theatlantic.com/behind-the-counter/pepper-with-dessert.php" target="_new">pepper and dessert</a>. I immediately glommed onto the idea. For some reason I recently started really, really loving putting fresh-ground pepper on or in everything: bagels with peppery cream cheese. Fresh, peppered hummus. Bloody Marys with an extra dose of pepper. It was only a matter of time before I figured out the best way to incorporate it into my baking.<br /><br />Weinzweig talks about <span style="font-style: italic;">fancy</span> sweet pepper-laced stuff in his post. Quinces, a version of panforte, and other such things. I panic a little bit when poached fruit, foreign languages, or fire is involved in anything edible. Pfeffernüsse, a German cookie variety, gets front-billing in Weinzweig's post. I, like Weinzweig, am not a pfeffernüsse aficionado; I can't really recall the taste, flavor, or texture of such a cookie, which leads me to believe that I may have never had one before. I don't even know how to pronounce the word. When I looked up the recipe in the <span style="font-style: italic;">JoC</span>, I saw that it involved lots of spices and nuts (and I was disappointed that Rombauer didn't also sound out the word for me). So, all these things combined means that pfeffernüsse must be fancy, too.<br /><br />But the concept of a drop-cookie, which pfeffernüsse shares (at least according to its cookie categorization in the <span style="font-style: italic;">JoC</span>), is not, at its core, fancy. It's just a really round cookie. Aside from their symmetry, I like how drop-cookies are kind of melty and crumbly and bite-sized at the same time, so I've been mulling over the idea of coming up with my own version of the pfeffernüsse. The kathernüsse, perhaps. Except, being Katherine, I'm not totally into the idea of just taking ground pepper and throwing it into a cookie recipe. That would be too easy.<br /><br />Enter, stage left: arugula, with its cute wavy leaves. Arugula is a peppery green. I keep reading those two words--<span style="font-style: italic;">arugula</span> and <span style="font-style: italic;">peppery</span>--over and over again in recipes; it's like they're conjoined twins, eternally linked at the hip. I cook arugula up in the same way I cook kale or spinach, and I agree--it's got a bite to it (and it's really tasty as a side served with seared scallops!). In fact, I made seared scallops with braised broccolini and arugula last week for Valentine's Day. I had a bunch of fresh arugula left over, and then we got more in our <a href="http://www.eatwell.com/" target="_new">CSA box</a> this week. A not-your-run-of-the-pepper-mill (har!) recipe was basically handed to me without any creative thinking required on my part, and thank glory it was. My brain's only functioning at 50 percent after an epically raucous birthday barbecue party yesterday.<br /><br />Like I did with the <a href="http://veryverytasty.blogspot.com/2010/02/chocolate-basil-cupcakes-with-toasted.html">basil chocolate cupcakes</a>, I combined, using a food processor, the fresh arugula with the confectioners' sugar in this recipe. If you're one of those people who's not into eating green things, then you might not be so into these cookies. (Otherwise, they're pretty good. Nutty with a savory earthiness that keeps them from being overly sweet, and they've got the bite-sized melty/crumbly thing going on.) Girlfriend helped pull the first batch out of the oven. "Are they ready to come out?" I asked. "They're done if they look vaguely brown." Her response: "I don't know, but they <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> vaguely green."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Arugula Almond Cookies</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Makes about 30 one-inch cookies</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnZVz_UfAqL9b1GGHyrbUGQywv7Gxzs0n7f9P2U-i_nOBn7PiQdggDBQANlZyZBWGYaqT4CdnPUYeDUmH6ksH77rA7EP_ZhxHK5Rw7-vR2d2N2NTWaQuKA4P1lVii_B2zIzq3Fs11XQ/s1600-h/4376723719_c900c30a7e.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghnZVz_UfAqL9b1GGHyrbUGQywv7Gxzs0n7f9P2U-i_nOBn7PiQdggDBQANlZyZBWGYaqT4CdnPUYeDUmH6ksH77rA7EP_ZhxHK5Rw7-vR2d2N2NTWaQuKA4P1lVii_B2zIzq3Fs11XQ/s320/4376723719_c900c30a7e.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440878635040468418" border="0" /></a><br /><br />1/2 c confectioners' sugar<br />1 1/2 c fresh arugula (or more--the ones I made ended up being very, very subtle in the arugula department)<br />1 c (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened<br />1/4 tsp salt<br />2 tsp vanilla<br />2/3 c toasted almonds, finely ground (you can toast raw, unsalted almonds in a nonstick frying pan on the stove--5-7 mins on medium-high heat--then throw them in a food processor)<br />2 tbsp sour cream<br />2 c all-purpose flour<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease 2 cookie sheets.<br /><br />In a food processor, combine confectioners' sugar and fresh arugula until the arugula is finely chopped. The resulting mixture will be green and sticky.<br /><br />Using a mixer, beat the butter, sugar mixture, salt, and vanilla until well-blended. Stir in almonds; add the sour cream. Stir in flour until well-blended. Shape dough into 1-inch balls and arrange on cookie sheets, about 1 1/4 inches apart.<br /><br />Bake, one sheet at a time, for 12-15 minutes, until lightly browned. After removing from the oven, let cookies stand for 2 minutes, then transfer to a wire rack to cool. Once cooled, roll the cookies in confectioners' sugar.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-16318010175454254682010-02-17T06:04:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:31:26.926-07:00A Very, Very Tasty BirthdayThis is a post about birthdays. Keeping true to the spirit of this blog, it mentions food a little bit too; otherwise, though, it's mostly about birthdays.<br /><br />And it begins with my former boss.<br /><br />One morning we were chatting, with another colleague of mine, about her son's birthday. He had either just had a birthday, or it was coming up that weekend, or maybe it was coming up soon enough. Somehow, the conversation was timely, even if I can't totally remember why. Doesn't matter.<br /><br />She has three young kids, all boys, and my colleague asked if he was having a birthday party.<br /><br />Nope, she responded. My boys only get one birthday party, when they turn six. His was last year.<br /><br />I believe in a little thing called Mom School. It's where moms learn to say things like "I'll be darned," make beef stronganoff, and wear sandwich bags over their fingers when greasing cake pans with Crisco. I'm convinced that they can also take an elective course called "Birthday Parties: The Real Deal," where they learn that kids should only have one birthday party, and it's when they turn six. Not five, not seven, not 10. One birthday party. Six years old.<br /><br />My mom is a proud graduate of Mom School. I bet she took every elective offered. And I think my former boss took at least that one course in birthdays as well.<br /><br />I was really pleased to hear that my boss has the one-birthday-party rule, because she's actually the first person I've met (parent or child, aside from my mom and brothers) who has that story to tell. It was something sort of traumatic to me growing up. My friends always had birthday parties, and I'd always be hauling some sort of wrapped gift with a home-curlicued (Mom School) bow, over to the movie theater, to their houses, to McDonald's, wherever, year after year, while I only got one chance to get presents from the same kids. It didn't seem right. (Turns out, that's one of the reasons mom wasn't so into the multi-year birthday party--burdening parents with toy shopping for someone else's kid at Children's Palace year after year.)<br /><br />Anyway, so I had my first and only birthday party when I turned six in the late 80s. I remember working on the invitations in our dining room. It's when I learned what "RSVP" stands for. I remember the actual party day--it was soggy. (Michigan has this habit of getting strangely warm right in the middle of February, half-melting the snow.) A group of us met at Caesarland (owned by the Little Caesars pizza chain, where "<a href="http://detroit.metromix.com/restaurants/restaurant/caesarlands-westland/351598/content" target="_new">arcade games and play structures abound</a>"), <strike>which--I think--was the location of my older brother's birthday party three years earlier</strike>. [Editor's note: Mom says: <span style="font-style:italic;">James's was in our back yard, by the way. And Rob's was at a gymnastics place.</span>] There was certainly pizza. I don't totally remember the rest. In the inevitable way that trashy, delicious food always hits the spot at kids' birthday parties, I bet the pizza was really good. Especially after a few runs down the indoor twisty-slide.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivmbwaR3kzGrekZQoI1UFkWPGP_zVX6sq24db_AzksIH-xBRMus2xdGfrF2X5yLQmsSwvmVLJFxzEydTplsU9tNHZwAgHHsPGbEura9ekadTiSd1KmU-k-D_oeQ-pr9izjtI_b1ec5-Q/s1600-h/SCAN0029.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 206px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivmbwaR3kzGrekZQoI1UFkWPGP_zVX6sq24db_AzksIH-xBRMus2xdGfrF2X5yLQmsSwvmVLJFxzEydTplsU9tNHZwAgHHsPGbEura9ekadTiSd1KmU-k-D_oeQ-pr9izjtI_b1ec5-Q/s320/SCAN0029.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439230871274703954" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My younger brother, best friend Gina, and neighbor Allison at my first and only birthday party at Caesarland</span><br /><br />Another birthday oddity of ours--inevitably a Mom School takeaway as well--was the homemade, from-scratch birthday cake. This only happened when we turned 11. Before then? After? Duncan Hines, out of a box, no questions. This time, I remember more: Hovering over the mixing bowl, watching the eggs turn the sugar slushy, and sifting flour, baking soda, baking powder, and salt in our creaky, dented, ancient tin sifter that probably came from some great-great-relative somewhere (and still lives in mom's cupboard in Michigan). Mom wouldn't let us run around the house once the cake was in the oven. Something about the vibrations from our feet on the hardwood floor causing the cake to drop. (I've been unable to verify that this is actually a legitimate fact.) We were responsible for it all--the baking, the presentation--so it had a very esteemed, welcome-to-young-adulthood feel to it.<br /><br />There are other birthday memories I have, and, very telling, they mostly involve food. Like the time I asked for steak for my birthday dinner and mom actually did it (and cooked it perfectly!). And the time we made subs. And the time mom and I failed at making cupcakes in ice cream cones for my classroom birthday treat. I think it's also really special that these memories come with a very distinct image of my mother, putting her hard-earned Mom School degree to work (which, by the way, she still does today--thanks for the cheesy Hallmark birthday card).<br /><br />Happy birthday.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-6378893351302832462010-02-14T09:57:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:31:49.181-07:00Love, Blue Cheese, and Food MemoryIn July of 2008, one of my favorite cookery websites, Cookthink, posted <a href="http://www.cookthink.com/blog/?p=1080" target="_new">a very brief article on their blog</a> (in their aptly named "Cookshrink" column) discussing food tastes and the health and success of relationships. They pondered such awesome questions as:<br /><blockquote><br />"[W]hat happens when you date/lust after/live with somebody whose tastes are opposed to yours? Do you compromise or cook separate meals? Do you keep your mouth shut or use it to pick a fight? Try to change their palate or accept it for what it is?"</blockquote>I think about this article constantly. Really. Like, it takes up an inordinate amount of my monthly brainspace. If you were to map out everything I thought about in a 28-day period, this article would probably comprise about one-thirtieth of the total volume of my thoughts during that length of time. I probably think about it as much as, if not a teensy bit more than, my grandma.<br /><br />Like any good shrink, this article stirred up some deep-rooted values that I didn't realize I had. Yes, I've been in a relationship with someone whose tastes didn't jive with mine. I love seafood, while she stayed far, far away. I discovered an affinity for blue cheese, she held her nose. I ordered chocolate for dessert, she poked at it for a second then left it for me. (Mushrooms--don't get me started with the mushrooms.) It was challenging at times, and when it would really get under my skin, I'd try to laugh at myself for taking food so seriously--more seriously than love, I guess.<br /><br />So you can imagine what a relief it was to learn, thanks to this article, that I wasn't alone. While she and I didn't break up over our differences in palates, it certainly made sushi dates difficult.<br /><br />But it's not just the impact of opposing tastes that intrigues me. My trainer often puts me through several reps of the same exercise so that I commit the motion to "muscle memory" (the next day: ouch). I want to propose the idea of "food memory," hopefully with less ouch.<br /><br />Because, looking back on it, my most serious relationships have each taught me something unique about food, helping me become the food-aware person I am today. (Again, I want to laugh at myself for this, but I also think it's kind of telling that when I look back on these relationships I can very easily identify what each taught me about food. Ask about the most romantic thing we did together and I may otherwise draw a blank.)<br /><br />For example, while a lot of our tastes didn't match, the girlfriend I mention above <span style="font-style: italic;">did</span> introduce me to tasty wine and fine dining, for which I am eternally grateful (especially for that one time we went to <a href="http://www.millenniumrestaurant.com/" target="_new">Millennium</a> here in San Francisco...good glory, deliciousness!). Without her intervention, I could still be obliviously drinking two-buck Chuck right now.<br /><br />And D, whom I dated in college. She taught me how to use onions and garlic in my cooking. Growing up, mom rarely, if ever, used the aromatics at home--too smelly. D taught me that "smelly," in this case, wasn't a bad thing. She also introduced me to the avocado, and, when we traveled around Europe, broke and dirty, she showed me how delicious cheese, tomato, and avocado <span style="font-style: italic;">together</span> can be when paired with a loaf of crusty bread. If you know me, then you know that I can't live without onion, garlic, and avocado. So, again: eternally grateful.<br /><br />B, my girlfriend now, has introduced me to oysters. Live, raw oysters--I was always slightly apprehensive about them--are now among my favorite things to eat. They really signify West Coast living for me: the proximity of the cold, hard North Pacific Ocean, it's fresh salty air...and it's oysters. B and I have also started getting a local produce-and-eggs <a href="http://www.eatwell.com/" target="_new">CSA box</a> every other week, so we're doing fun things with veggies and ooh-ing and ahh-ing at the different shades and sizes of egg yolks that come from pasture-raised hens. It's really quite wonderful.<br /><br />Food memory. The lessons you learn about tastes and flavors from the people you love. More yum, less ouch.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-23928067398660529992010-02-10T18:11:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:32:57.455-07:00Chocolate Basil Cupcakes With Toasted Almond Buttercream Frosting<span style="font-style: italic;">This is my second guest post at </span><a href="http://www.mealsformoderns.com" target=_new>Meals; for Moderns</a><span style="font-style: italic;">, my friend Becky's awesome vegetarian food blog. As I mentioned before, I'm doing a series of three recipes that highlight fresh herbs in tasty baked goods.</span><br /><br />***<br /><br />Over the past year or so--since I've started exploring the potential of the kitchen, especially in the realm of delicious and interesting baked goods--I've learned (from experience, mind you) that the following items do not substitute for a food processor:<br /><ul><li>A Kitchenaid mixer--neither the whisk nor the knead attachment<br /></li><li>A fork</li><li>Two forks<br /></li><li>A hammer</li></ul>I've I wanted to try a basil-chocolate cake recipe for a while now (something about how basil borders on an almost licorice-like flavor made it seem like a good complement to a velvety chocolate cake). I knew I'd need a food processor (not a hammer) to do it--I kept reading over and over that the way to go is to finely chop basil with granulated sugar using a food processor. I wasn't so sure I was ready to commit to an actual food processor, though. It seems like something that <span style="font-style: italic;">adults</span> get when they're comfortable and settled in a place, and I'm not ready to admit that I'm an adult who's never leaving San Francisco (even though it's true).<br /><br />But, because I kind of promised <a href="http://www.mealsformoderns.com/" target="_new">Becky</a> that I would blog about using fresh herbs in baked goods, and because I told her about the basil chocolate cupcake idea and she got excited, I felt like I had no choice. I had pretty much backed myself into a corner, and probably on purpose so I would actually do it. And I did: I broke down and bought a cute, 3-cup, royal blue food processor this weekend. I immediately fell in love.<br /><br />To really take the food processor thing to the next level, I came up with a frosting recipe that would use it, too. (I might as well call these "food processor cupcakes.") But if you're not a nut fan, a simple vanilla buttercream would pair nicely with the cake as well (and wouldn't require additional food processor time).<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chocolate Basil Cupcakes With Toasted Almond Buttercream Frosting</span></span><br /><br />(Note: I accidentally bought jumbo baking cups at Safeway, so I ended up making 17 gigantic cupcakes instead of two-dozen or so normal-sized cupcakes. That also explains why they turned out kind of ugly and misshapen. In a non-jumbo world, this recipe would probably make 24-36 cupcakes.)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_Gf1KIzuJOXABi4TtyzD3ROuUb-8TtvlOi2cGHmQfu3LbKYXRzV2xiAoGEpPJfJDq2CUnL7k6dXJXjEdTSoRdPOi7u-ebFtBBTgdPYCN_so8zE4ORX_EO7O-drJ7N0VdHG5vzGszeg/s1600-h/IMG_2649.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha_Gf1KIzuJOXABi4TtyzD3ROuUb-8TtvlOi2cGHmQfu3LbKYXRzV2xiAoGEpPJfJDq2CUnL7k6dXJXjEdTSoRdPOi7u-ebFtBBTgdPYCN_so8zE4ORX_EO7O-drJ7N0VdHG5vzGszeg/s320/IMG_2649.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436822712580390626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Cupcake Part</span><br /><br />This recipe is adapted from <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Giant-Chocolate-Cake-with-Bittersweet-Chocolate-Ganache-and-Edible-Flowers-353421" target="_blank">epicurious.com</a>. It rivals my <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Chocolate-Stout-Layer-Cake-with-Chocolate-Frosting-355249" target="_blank">all-time favorite chocolate stout layer cake recipe</a> from the same place--in fact, I might go so far as to say it's better.<br /><br />2 c unbleached all-purpose flour<br />1 tsp baking powder<br />1 tsp baking soda<br />1/2 tsp salt<br />1 c unsweetened baking cocoa<br />1/3 c semi-sweet chocolate chips<br />1 c boiling water<br />2 c sugar<br />1 c fresh basil leaves<br />3 large eggs<br />1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, softened<br />1 c whipping cream<br />1 tsp vanilla extract<br /><br />Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line muffin tins with (NOT JUMBO! Please!!) baking cups.<br /><br />Sift flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in a medium-sized bowl. In a smaller bowl, add cocoa and chocolate chips. Pour the 1 c boiling water over the cocoa/chocolate chip mixture and whisk until smooth.<br /><br />In a food processor, chop 1 c of sugar and the fresh basil until the sugar turns an even bright green color.<br /><br />In a mixer, beat the 1 c basil/sugar mixture, the remaining 1 c sugar, and eggs until light and fluffy. Add butter to the mixture and beat until blended. Beat in the cocoa mixture. Add whipping cream and vanilla; beat to blend. Mix in dry ingredients on low until just blended.<br /><br />Fill muffin tins until about 2/3 full. Bake for 18-20 minutes (I think--the jumbo cupcakes took 30 minutes...), or until a toothpick inserted into the cupcakes comes out clean.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Frosting Part</span><br /><br />This is a simple, straightforward adaptation of the <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/gale-gand/quick-vanilla-buttercream-frosting-recipe/index.html" target="_blank">quick buttercream frosting recipe on the Food Network website.</a><br /><br />2 c raw almonds<br />3 c confectioners' sugar<br />1 c butter, softened<br />1 tsp vanilla extract<br />1-2 tbsp whipping cream<br /><br />Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Spread almonds out on a baking sheet and toast for 5-10 minutes, or until the almonds brown. Let almonds cool for 2 minutes, then grind in food processor with 1 c of confectioners' sugar until fine.<br /><br />Using a stand mixer with the whisk attachment, mix, on low speed, almond/sugar mixture, the remaining 2 c of confectioners' sugar, and butter until well-blended. Increase speed to to medium and beat for 3 minutes.<br /><br />Add vanilla and whipping cream and continue to beat for another 1 minute more. Add more cream as necessary to achieve a spreadable consistency.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-209133357094556052010-01-13T18:39:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:33:36.286-07:00Rosemary Lemon Shortbread<span style="font-style: italic;">This is the first of three recipes I'll be guest blogging about on </span><a href="http://www.mealsformoderns.com/" target="_blank">Meals; for Moderns</a>, <span style="font-style: italic;">my friend Becky's fantastic vegetarian food blog. I've lately been intrigued with the idea of using fresh herbs in baked goods--fresh herbs pack so much flavor, but you rarely (with the exception of the staples like mint and lavender) see them outside of the savory. I'll be exploring the hidden "gems" of the herbal world over three posts.<br /><br />***<br /></span><br />I adapted this Scotch Shortbread recipe from page 775 of the 75th (no joke) anniversary edition of <span style="font-style: italic;">The</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">Joy of Cooking</span>. I'm actually not the biggest fan of the <span style="font-style: italic;">JoC;</span> in fact, I'm not really a fan at all. I find the recipes extremely uninspiring, and I can't help but feel like a mid-century housewife preparing bland meals for a bland husband when I dig into its bland recipes. I know. I understand. That's the point. It's how the <span style="font-style: italic;">JoC</span> came to be in the first place--<span style="font-style: italic;">The United States of Arugula</span>, another book I strongly dislike for unrelated reasons, told me so (page 22):<br /><br />"Irma Rombauer, the author of <span style="font-style: italic;">The Joy of Cooking</span>, represented a sane middle ground for housewives in the thirties and forties...[she explained] that the <span style="font-style: italic;">Joy of Cooking</span> had been compiled 'with one eye on the family purse and the other on the bathroom scale,' with 'occasional lapses into indulgence.'"<br /><br />Sure. It's iconic. But that doesn't mean I have to like it.<br /><br />(Side note: Continue down the same page and, behold, a treasure--tucked away in an otherwise unassuming footnote:<br /><br />"Rombauer, a bourgeois St. Louis housewife of German descent, compiled the first edition...in 1931...as an exercise in getting over the 1930 suicide of her husband."<br /><br />Because I know I'm not the only morbid one here: <a href="http://www.answers.com/topic/rombauer-irma-von-starkloff" target="_blank">answers.com</a> <a href="http://www.answers.com/topic/rombauer-irma-von-starkloff" target="_blank"></a>tells us that Edgar Rombauer shot himself through the mouth after having a nervous breakdown, not his first, in 1929.)<br /><br />One more thing about this recipe and the <span style="font-style: italic;">JoC:</span> I swear by using sour cream in as many baked goods as I can, and this recipe is no exception. It overjoyed me, then, to read this, right from the very back reference pages:<br /><br />"The longevity of people in certain cultures in Eastern Europe, Scandinavia, and western Asia is often attributed to their diet of sour and fermented milks." Since this is a food blog, I'll keep the gory details short: "Friendly" bacteria from these sour, fermented milks settle in the gut, stimulate the growth of good things, and boost immunity.<br /><br />Thanks for the seal of approval, Rombauer.<br /><br />Na zdrowie!<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Rosemary Lemon Shortbread</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Makes 12-24 shortbread fingers</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRX_0rFbVoKOPmeZJoPuCE72OIgDl8p4RyOCIrZijNcIpGBOWj1PBqHmySC0PDwntDTYC4gMTFOOm8Aerm7ZnmBC8jFXFVL5II3Ht1HzH-rKbx8lpDMIQzSDhKWqCh6heMqOYYnojUg/s1600-h/shortbread.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgRX_0rFbVoKOPmeZJoPuCE72OIgDl8p4RyOCIrZijNcIpGBOWj1PBqHmySC0PDwntDTYC4gMTFOOm8Aerm7ZnmBC8jFXFVL5II3Ht1HzH-rKbx8lpDMIQzSDhKWqCh6heMqOYYnojUg/s320/shortbread.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427014784076957106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />3/4 c (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter<br />2-3 tbsp fresh chopped rosemary [note: the more you have, the stronger the flavor!]<br />1/4 c confectioners' sugar, sifted<br />1/4 c sugar<br />1/4 tsp salt<br />1 1/2 c all-purpose flour<br />1 tbsp sour cream<br />2 tbsp lemon zest<br /><br />1-2 tsp sugar (for sprinkling on top)<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 300 degrees F.<br /><br />In a saucepan over medium-high heat, melt the butter. When the butter starts to bubble, add the fresh rosemary. Continue to boil the butter and rosemary for 1-2 minutes more.<br /><br />Strain the butter and discard the rosemary scraps. Let the butter sit for 15-20 minutes to cool a bit.<br /><br />Beat the butter, confectioners' sugar, sugar, and salt in a large bowl. Stir in the flour until blended, then add the sour cream and lemon zest. Press the dough evenly into the bottom of an 8-inch square baking pan. Use a fork to pierce the dough (tenderly, please) to make a decorative pattern.<br /><br />Sprinkle with sugar before popping in the oven for 45 to 50 minutes, or until the shortbread is lightly browned and darker at the edges. Cut the shortbread into 12-24 skinny fingers while still warm, and leave it in the pan to cool.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-62445457629428465402009-12-26T09:02:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:34:07.637-07:00Cupcakes With Bacon Cream FillingYou heard me.<br /><br />In early November, we celebrated girlfriend's birthday, our decision to shack up together in cozy San Francisco bliss, and my new life as a cat-mom with a fancy little shindig at the apartment. This is the same occasion where I discovered the to-die-for <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Chocolate-Stout-Cake-107105" target="_new">chocolate stout cake recipe on epicurious.com</a>. I also decided to try my hand at filling cupcakes with tasty vanilla cream.<br /><br />And I bought all of the implements to complete my project, finally replacing the <a href="http://veryverytasty.blogspot.com/2009/05/sour-cream-oatmeal-chocolate-chip.html" target="_new">muffin tins I had lost</a> and picking up some pastry bags and tips for the filling portion of the program. I found a basic vanilla cream filling recipe online from a fellow baker-blogger and felt satisfied enough with the positive comments to try it.<br /><br />It didn't turn out great (so thank god for that <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Chocolate-Stout-Cake-107105" target="_new">chocolate stout cupcake recipe</a> I can't stop talking about). First of all, the filling recipe called for a lot of powdered confectioners sugar, which I had on the shelf, but apparently hadn't touched in a year. The result: Really lumpy confectioners sugar, which not only didn't blend well, but also clogged the tips on the pastry bags. Some cupcakes got tons of filling, some got zero. Second problem: Shortening.<br /><br />I totally hate shortening. Shortening tastes like slippery. This filling recipe called for shortening and I knew I shouldn't do it but I did it anyway because it was my first time doing it. And so the filling--at least in the cupcakes that didn't fall victim to the clogging--tasted like white vanilla slippery. When girlfriend and I sampled one before the guests arrived, I said,<br /><br />"I hate shortening. It tastes like slippery." [Pause, thinking about my soft fat alternatives.] "Wouldn't this be great with bacon fat instead?!"<br /><br />Flash forward a few weeks. It's Sunday, one week after having made a fantastic breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast at home. I've got a few tablespoons of bacon fat in the fridge, and it's a few hours before <a href="http://colleenstockmann.com/" target="_new">Colleen's</a> birthday potluck. I decide to give the bacon cream filling concept a go.<br /><br />I scour the interwebs for a different decent chocolate cake recipe, just to switch it up a bit. All signs point me to a <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/devils-food-cupcakes-book" target="_new">devil's food cake recipe from that lady Martha</a>. I'll summarize the recipe with two words: Big. Disappointment. The cake really lacked the deep chocolate flavor I was looking for. I guess I also could have made it wrong, too.<br /><br />But no matter, because it was the bacon cream filling that was really supposed to shine anyway.<br /><br />I adapted <a href="http://delishfood.wordpress.com/2009/02/25/chocolate-cupcakes-with-cream-filling/" target="_new">this recipe from the Delish blog<br /></a> (note that there's not a spec of slippery shortening in sight, yay!). I have no idea if it's really okay to just dump a bunch of bacon fat into a recipe and call it even. But no one vomited or immediately died, so I'm assuming it's not a short-term problem. I can't make any guarantees about long-term artery health, however.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Bacon Cream Cupcake Filling</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">fills up to 36 cupcakes</span><br /><br />3 tbsp unsalted butter, softened<br />3 tbsp bacon fat [note: Some potluck people complained that the bacon flavor wasn't strong enough. I might next time take this up to 4 tbsp fat and 2 tbsp butter to really make it pop.]<br />1 1/2 c confectioners sugar<br />3/4 c marshmallow creme<br />1 1/2 tbsp heavy cream<br /><br />Using a mixer, beat the butter and bacon fat with the confectioners sugar, marshmallow creme and heavy cream until fluffy and bacon-y. Transfer filling to a pastry bag with 1/4 inch tip.<br /><br />Insert the tip of the pastry bag into the middle of each cupcake; squeeze lightly for about 5-7 seconds to fill with cream.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-83375589830763827832009-12-23T19:53:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:35:15.327-07:00Chocolate Cupcakes With Faygo Root BeerMy home base is Michigan (metro Detroit, to be exact), and it's where I'm spending a long holiday break this year. Growing up, I always thought it was so fantastic that Michigan was the only state you could really identify from space. (Okay, maybe our nation's other distinctive peninsula, Florida, feels that way too.)<br /><br />I admit that I totally took for granted the awesome culinary/junk food delights that came from this state, especially this area. <a href="http://bmchips.com/" target="_new">Better Maid potato chips?</a> My mom lusted over those because there's always a healthy dose of brown chips in every bag. To a kid, brown chips are gross. (But my adult palate tells me they're actually kind of wonderful: earthy and honest.) <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stroh%27s_Ice_Cream" target="_new">Stroh's ice cream? </a>The parlor we went to after softball games in the summer, where I'd binge on my favorite flavor: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Superman_ice_cream" target="_new">Superman</a> (to my surprise, also a Michigan thing).<br /><br />I could go on, but I'll stop at <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Faygo" target="_new">Faygo</a>. I tried to explain Faygo to the girlfriend and she said, "oh, like Crush? Orange Crush? Grape Crush?"<br /><br />I mean, kind of, if you have to compare it to something. It is a brightly colored, ambiguously fruity carbonated beverage, like Crush. But unlike Crush, it has a product that is so simply and descriptively named, yet so complex to describe. Redpop. I want to say that it tastes like strawberry, cherry, and raspberry mixed together, but it's not, really. It actually just tastes like red, and thus, Redpop.<br /><br />I wanted to make Redpop cupcakes in my parents' Michigan kitchen today--the ultimate homage to a local favorite--but unfortunately had some problems finding it, which is quite a tragedy. I actually had some problems finding Faygo at all, which shocks and saddens me. I mean, this stuff, in all its brightly colored, high fructose glory, was all over the supermarket shelves growing up. I was finally able to track down Faygo root beer--the "classic" version in a throwback glass bottle (the label a 1909 replica) and sweetened with cane sugar (yay!).<br /><br />I've adapted this recipe from my friends over at Epicurious.com--their <a href="http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Chocolate-Stout-Layer-Cake-with-Chocolate-Frosting-355249" target="_new">Chocolate Stout Layer Cake</a> beauty.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Faygo Root Beer Chocolate Cupcakes With Chocolate Root Beer Frosting</span> </span>(duh!)<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">makes 24 cupcakes<br /><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcDKQZIwL8TeKCCpbdJkknlcwX_QyufjdK3ZyfFh8mwh_ap8sTksIYlpxDZMuARfj0_cafsUqZdtf3CmLFsCjYPgr_rBA0ZlAkg4F2cYpEAvH8m9wCSWH2qKbJpmJAFfvgDGVIKcjhw/s1600-h/4210403414_c9da7c640c.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcDKQZIwL8TeKCCpbdJkknlcwX_QyufjdK3ZyfFh8mwh_ap8sTksIYlpxDZMuARfj0_cafsUqZdtf3CmLFsCjYPgr_rBA0ZlAkg4F2cYpEAvH8m9wCSWH2qKbJpmJAFfvgDGVIKcjhw/s320/4210403414_c9da7c640c.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418659136334555650" border="0" /></a><br /><br />[Note: The cupcakes I made had a very, very subtle root beer flavor--it was the frosting that stood out more. If you're looking for more of a punch in your cake, try more root beer. Be sure to reduce the amount of sugar you use, though, since root beer is pretty darn sweet.]<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The cupcake part</span><br /><br />1 c root beer (preferably of the Faygo variety)<br />1 c (2 sticks) unsalted butter<br />3/4 c unsweetened cocoa powder<br />2 c all-purpose flour<br />1 c sugar<br />1/2 tbsp baking soda<br />3/4 tsp salt<br />2 eggs<br />2/3 c sour cream<br /><br />Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line muffin tins with cupcake liners.<br /><br />In a medium saucepan over medium heat, warm root beer and butter until butter has melted. Remove from heat and whisk in cocoa powder until smooth. Allow the mixture to cool slightly.<br /><br />In a medium-sized bowl, whisk together flour, sugar, baking soda, and salt.<br /><br />Using a mixer, beat eggs and sour cream until blended. Slowly add cocoa mixture to the egg and sour cream, mixing well. Finally, mix in the dry ingredients in portions, making sure to mix well between additions.<br /><br />Fill the cupcake tins approximately 2/3 full. Bake for 13-18 minutes, testing with a toothpick when done. Allow the cupcakes to cool for 2 minutes before transferring them to a wire rack to cool completely.<br /><br />Frost when cupcakes are completely cool.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The frosting part</span><br /><br />This is a really basic chocolate frosting recipe. It's extremely sweet, which is why I'm glad I exercised caution on the sugar levels in the cupcake batter itself.<br /><br />3 oz unsweetened chocolate<br />3 tbsp unsalted butter<br />2/3 c root beer<br />3 c confectioners sugar<br />1 tbsp vanilla extract<br />1 tbsp milk<br /><br />In a small saucepan, melt chocolate and butter over medium heat. Stir in root beer and let mixture cool for 5 minutes. Using an electric mixer, combine the chocolate mixture with the confectioners sugar; add the vanilla and milk and mix until fluffy.<br /><br />Frost the cupcakes while the frosting is still slightly warm from the chocolate mixture. I lightly sprinkled a red sugar and cinnamon mixture on top--but beware, the frosting cools pretty quickly and hardens a bit, so the sugar didn't stick as well as I would have liked.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-64840099909601934632009-05-27T21:20:00.001-07:002010-03-30T22:36:28.581-07:00Sour Cream-Oatmeal-Chocolate Chip-Awesomeness MuffinsI've been completely unofficially training for my first marathon.<br /><br />Let me explain this vague admission.<br /><br />I've never been a runner. Usually, when I take to the streets in my tennies, I'm embarrassing myself in full-fledged power-walk mode. (No joke. Friends have seen me and made cracks about my intense mom-walk.) I'm not lazy. I'd tried running running before. Short distances. To the end of the block, at which point my body would start telling me, very resolutely, that it would not allow that type of activity to happen anymore. Enough, Katherine! Then one day I started running--like, farther than just down to the corner. I don't know what happened. But it was empowering enough to get me to start doing push-ups, too. It's great to feel legitimately like a strong person.<br /><br />I'm probably close to a mile now. And I'm up to 15 push-ups. In my brain, that means that I'm well on my way to becoming a long-distance marathoner. Right? Anyway, the problem is that yesterday I took it to the limit and I woke up this morning to a crunching shoulder (gag), sore elbow and angry legs.<br /><br />So that meant no running tonight. I decided to try baking as a replacement activity. (Because when running isn't an option, baking high-calorie, delicious goods is the most logical alternative.)<br /><br />Muffins. Muffins! I wanted tasty muffins. Cinnamon. Oatmeal. Oatmeal! Sour cream! Chocolate chips! The kitchen sink! Why not! I found a basic muffin recipe, made some logical substitutions, picked up the missing ingredients and got to work.<br /><br />It wasn't hard, and I was really liking the smells I was getting from the oatmeal-sour cream-cinnamon mixture and lemon zest. I cranked the oven up to 400 degrees. I mixed it all up. I tasted it. I loved it. I wanted it bad, bad, bad.<br /><br />AND THEN I COULDN'T FIND MY MUFFIN TINS.<br /><br />Are you serious?! The oven is ready for me. The dough is ready for the oven. This was about to be the smoothest baking experience in my adult life by far. Not even blog-worthy. Yawn. Etc. And now this. I think fast, refusing defeat by my ill-stocked kitchen. This dough is too tasty to put down the drain (trust me). The only logical solution is to arrange super-reinforced cupcake liners in my 9 x 13 Pyrex dish. So I fill 12 triple-lined liners (that's 36 liners, total...my apologies, Mother Earth) and wedge them into the Pyrex. Can I put that many liners in a 400-degree oven without setting them on fire? Can Pyrex even handle a 400-degree oven? Are these muffins going to flatten out all over each other and create a crispy papery pancake? They seem secure enough in their little Pyrex home, but I know about the power of a stick of butter and some baking soda. I've read the books. I say a prayer, pull the fire extinguisher off the wall and set the timer.<br /><br />It worked! Without a single casualty! The muffins did widen out in the liners a bit without the backbone of a muffin tin to keep them in check, but they're still muffin-like enough to be massively satisfying. And you know how muffins can be kinda dense and chalky (or chewy, if you're going the banana route)? These are super moist and crumbly and, well, downright DELICIOUS.<br /><br />Muffin success!! (And now, time to track down those tins...)<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" >Sour Cream-Oatmeal-Chocolate Chip-Awesomeness Muffins</span><br /><br />1 c oats (old-fashioned, quick, whatever)<br />1 c sour cream<br />1/4 tsp cinnamon<br />1 large egg, lightly beaten<br />1/2 cup firmly packed light brown sugar<br />1/2 c (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled<br />1 c all-purpose flour<br />1/2 tsp salt<br />1 tsp baking powder<br />1/2 tsp baking soda<br />1 tbsp lemon zest<br />1/4 c chocolate chips (or more, up to you)<br /><br />In a large bowl, combine oats and sour cream. Let the mixture stand for 30-60 minutes.<br /><br />Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Grease a muffin tin of 12, assuming you have one.<br /><br />Add egg, sugar and butter to oat/sour cream/cinnamon mixture, stirring until just combined.<br /><br />In a medium bowl, sift flour, salt, baking powder and baking soda. Add to oat mixture, stirring until just combined. Add lemon zest. Add chocolate chips.<br /><br />Divide batter evenly among muffin tins. Bake 20-22 minutes, or until golden and a tester comes out clean.<br /><br />Weep.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-44950171407269553272008-12-21T15:47:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:37:16.274-07:00How (Not) to Cook Kangaroo, Why (Not) to Cook GoatPeople, I don't cook meat.<br /><br />Well, except for that one time when I was in Australia's Northern Territory, staying in the kitschy and overpriced <a href="http://www.ayersrockresort.com.au/" target="_blank">Ayers Rock Resort</a> located near Uluru, Australia's infamous Red Centre. I stayed in a dorm room with 25 bunk beds--so, 50 people total--in the Outback Pioneer Lodge and Hotel arm of the compound.<br /><br />Our part of the resort (the chintzy yet still overpriced part) was a well-intentioned "rustic and rowdy" destination (the website calls it "authentic," but please--what's authentic about sharing a room with 49 dirty travelers?). That meant that we got the outdoor bar and grill, bored families and nomadic recent college grads while the Sails in the Desert across the road got the 5-star restaurant, spa and heat and air conditioning. (Note: The Outback gets cold at night.)<br /><br />The grill on the premises was not your typical American bar-and-grill. The Outback BBQ is a do-it-yourself eatery. Set up with 10 individual grilling stations, the Outback sells you the raw meat of your choosing (with regional favorites like kangaroo, emu and alligator) and leaves it up to you to cook it, sink-or-swim style, shoulder-to-shoulder with your dusty world-traveling neighbor in the middle of outback Australia nowhere. I can't imagine that it would be legal in the U.S. to sell raw meat to restaurant patrons and then leave it up to them to cook something safely edible--but few things in Australia are ordinary by most world standards.<br /><br />I don't cook meat. But I recognized that I had three once-in-a-lifetime opportunities in front of me at the Outback BBQ with its Eric Clapton cover band goading me on in the background: one, an opportunity to barbecue in the land of all-things-barbecue; two, an opportunity to eat kangaroo meat in the land of kangaroos and other odd, unevolved marsupials (!!); and, three, the opportunity to <i>barbecue my own marsupial meat in the land of all-things-barbecue</i>. I flashed forward to an image of myself tucked safely back in my San Francisco home after two weeks on that red island continent, literally kicking myself for not indulging in a uniquely Australian BBQ experience--I knew I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't do it. I also suspected that I'd have a good story with the whole public-health-violation premise of the place.<br /><br />So I bought two kangaroo skewers from the bored Aussies taking a break from Uni at the meat stand and tentatively approached an open grill. Most of my fellow grillers were in pairs or in threes, confidently grilling various meats and poultries, sharing watery Australian beers; I was alone and completely unversed in meats and barbecues. The pierced cubes of kangaroo on my plate were a throbbing red color and looked very, very raw. I observed my neighbors for a second and lined my skewers up on the grill like they did. I feigned comfort and confidence. What? Oh, this is <i>nothing</i>, I imagined saying to the two backpackers from Japan on my right, instructively pointing my tongs up and around at every other word. Where I'm from, we do this kind of grilling <i>all the time.</i> I noticed how the other grillers turned their skewers every few minutes. I turned mine once. A minute later I turned them a second time. I noticed after the second turn that my skewers were getting brown and crispy--oh God, I thought, how will I know if they're done? What if they're overcooked? How will I know?! I was given no instructions from the bored Aussies at the meat stand, and I was starting to work myself into a panic, envisioning my meat bursting into flames and singing my and my neighbors' eyebrows. The other grillers worked effortlessly. I started to sweat from the strain of containing my panic and inexperience. I flipped again. Brown. And again. Crispy. I poked at the meat. Nothing oozed from it, so it couldn't have been raw--of course, it's overcooked! I overcooked it! It's time! It's time!! I snatched the skewers off the grill, smacked them onto my plate and headed for the salad bar.<br /><br />The reality was that the skewers were essentially raw with a thin coating of cooked on the outside. It had only been about 10 minutes between the time I bought the meat to when I reached the salad bar. Less than ten minutes is not long enough to cook kangaroo, friends. I felt ashamed at my idiocy and couldn't bear the thought of the humiliation I'd feel going back to my grilling station with a plate of bloodied salad dotted with sad cubes of two-thirds-raw kangaroo. Australians are crazy about meat. They'd have a field day with me and my pathetic American faux vegetarianism. So I ate as much as I could, working around the rawest bits, praying I wouldn't get violently ill with no health insurance in a country 10,000 miles away from home.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjfXEcWWoUKvWs1WXy44nbnTg7wGxGBgrmFxg6otTBt_6N_6KYYZSSvsWK_0oL1s-A14n6RxE4I9qYNTErZnmoMWr7trlUbNUeDlGL3JIUZ19AwNA1Juyxb46sfWoMabxM8CedKigsg/s1600-h/meat.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjfXEcWWoUKvWs1WXy44nbnTg7wGxGBgrmFxg6otTBt_6N_6KYYZSSvsWK_0oL1s-A14n6RxE4I9qYNTErZnmoMWr7trlUbNUeDlGL3JIUZ19AwNA1Juyxb46sfWoMabxM8CedKigsg/s320/meat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282413170942839490" border="0" /></a><br /><br />(Incidentally, a coworker of mine later told me about her first experience eating kangaroo--a plate of kangaroo carpaccio at an Australian restaurant in New York City.)<br /><br />Although I don't cook meat, I've decided to give it another go for the holidays this year. I'm staying in San Francisco with girlfriend instead of going back to Michigan this year, and I want to make us a nice, cozy traditional holiday meal. Traditional means meat to me (hey, I'm from the Midwest!). However, I have no real grasp of how meats are different from each other (for example, the flavor difference between a Fillet Mignon and T-bone steak does not quickly come to me), so I relied on the awesome meat counter staff at <a href="http://www.biritemarket.com/" target="_blank">Bi-Rite</a> to help me out.<br /><br />I don't know how to cook meat, I explained to them, except for a disastrous experience with kangaroo and a barbecue in Australia once.<br /><br />They recommended lamb or goat. Girlfriend doesn't like lamb--this I was sure of. I was intrigued by the goat recommendation, though. I disregarded the quick blip of memory that flashed across my brain of girlfriend vehemently turning down a sample of goat butter at <a href="http://www.newseasonsmarket.com/">New Seasons</a>--pshaw, Katherine, goat butter isn't the same thing as goat meat! The meat people then told me more. How to roast it, season it, make it tasty. They were directions I could follow and picture in my head, so I got on board. They wrapped up a shoulder for me. I turned from the counter.<br /><br />No, girlfriend really doesn't like goat, my memory chided me. Don't you remember how she vehemently turned down that goat butter, <i>and then told you how much she doesn't like goat?</i> No, you lie! I hissed back. Oh...no. I remembered now. I texted her hoping she'd be into it anyway and got this back:<br /><br /><b>Girlfriend:</b> I don't like goat!<br /><br />This is why I don't cook meat! I can't do it right! Traditional was a stupid idea! I should just stick with what I know! Tofu stir-fry! Near tears in the wine aisle, I turned back to the meat people.<br /><br />Girlfriend doesn't like goat, I said sheepishly [no pun intended].<br /><br />They were helpful and took the wrapped-up shoulder from me. They pointed out other options. I could feel my Capacity for Overwhelmedness reach Full, and finally got down to business and straight-up asked the meat person which option I was more likely to mess up: the pork tenderloin or the prime rib.<br /><br />I'm pretty sure the prime rib is more mess-up-able, but she convinced me to get it anyway (It was on sale! It was raised humanely! It sounds fancier!). I could tell you next about how, when I got home, I panicked about what to do with the slab of raw meat on my counter (Freeze or refrigerate? Remove from the package or keep it there? Does this mean I have to touch it??), but I think this is enough to help you understand how inept I am at meat.<br /><br />I now have prime rib chillin' in my freezer and four days to figure out if I'm capable of preparing it...<br /><br /><br />--<br /><br />By the way, if you're ever in Australia, make Uluru a stop--it will blow your mind, and you can then say you've been to the Australian outback. More photos behind the image:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/77264638@N00/2853621833/" target="_blank"><img src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3166/2853621833_845556ec33_m.jpg" alt="IMG_1005" height="180" width="240" /></a>Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5029371753714882837.post-90039174940120245732008-12-09T20:25:00.000-08:002010-03-30T22:38:04.469-07:00Go Green(s): Collard Greens, Kale, and Dino Kale (Lacinato Kale)Oh my goodness, I love cooking greens. Collard greens, beet greens, spinach. And kale. Especially kale. Especially <i>dinosaur kale</i>, otherwise known as lacinato kale. Mmm. Ahh. Ooh. So delicious.<br /><br />And for some reason unbeknowist to me until just a moment ago, I go gaga for greens in the winter. My Good Book, otherwise known as the <a href="https://www.quirkbooks.com/Book.aspx?BID=122" target="_blank">Field Guide to Produce</a>, tells me that<br /><br />"many of these greens are at their best in winter months, and are all high in vitamin A."<br /><br />So that totally explains it. I fall for the greens in the winter because I, deep inside, recognize that they're more delicious during the months when the days are unacceptably short and the temperature unacceptably cold. And maybe my body has a thing (wink wink) for the A vitamin.<br /><br />But back to the dino kale. I love dinosaur kale. It's so weird-looking: when you see it, the light bulb goes on and the "dino" part of the name makes crystal-clear sense. (Dino kale, if you've never seen it, is a dark, foresty, prehistoric green; it's tough as nails, long and skinny, and has a bubbly, fossil-like texture. I cook it until it's neither soft nor crunchy--that beautiful in-between veggie al dente spot--and it tastes like you're eating the earth. You know, like you're eating something that's close to the dirt and packed with things your body needs and loves and celebrates. Beets and other yummy, close-to-or-in-the-ground vegetables fall in a similar category for me.)<br /><br />I'm sure my first encounter with dino kale occurred in a Whole Foods in Chicago, where I lived for two years right after college (I lived in Chicago, not the Whole Foods, although I bet I would have liked Chicago better if I lived in the latter). A friend of mine posted pictures of a delicious miso soup she had made on her blog. To the broth she had added collard greens that looked like ticker-tape from a jungle. I believe at this time I was vegan, so both the miso soup (vegan!) and the idea of adding greens to my diet (also vegan, and jam-packed with vitamins!) were instant winners.<br /><br />I dabbled in collards first before moving on to traditional kale, mostly because I'd heard of collards before and wanted to take it slow and familiar. (Side note: I've never cooked my greens with bacon fat in the traditional Southern style. Recently I ordered greens from <a href="http://www.yelp.com/biz/2223-restaurant-san-francisco#hrid:q58r8gB0r4OQnWYUgoNxtA/query:2223" target="_blank">2223</a> here in San Francisco, and freaked out a little when I felt the grease-coated greens sliding down my throat.) I liked the salad-y feel of cooked kale in my mouth, but otherwise found it bland and then started to resent having to wrangle it into a plastic produce bag at the store, showering myself and all shoppers within a five-foot radius with icy cold produce water from its folded and frilly leaves. Behold, then, the dino kale, wrapped neatly and patiently in bunches of verdant, pebbly green. Because I am that woman at the corner produce store (or at the Midwest Whole Foods) who digs deep for the freshest-smelling, brightest-colored veggies, my attraction to dino kale was almost magnetic. I loved how the leaves wasn't flat and texturally boring like collards, and I loved that it was sweeter and less poofy than traditional kale. Oh, and the name. I loved the name.<br /><br />I'm a minimalist when it comes to cooking fresh veggies. Anything to make the core, earthy flavors shine. Here's what I do for dino kale.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><b>Delicious Dino Kale</b></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vWfLwVyVQ9muu_m-DLfVdEtGykFjaWLLwnIuHmX8WRk_es9ay8iWC_pO1Dqweyggw0kuXwG_Qp7myVB6_r1uaEyNwmAj25L9LygDQsuA3tEf_gZDBp55Wzb0ZLZYMYZiU4GUMuekpw/s1600-h/IMG_1311.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278022930463850994" style="width: 320px; height: 240px;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7vWfLwVyVQ9muu_m-DLfVdEtGykFjaWLLwnIuHmX8WRk_es9ay8iWC_pO1Dqweyggw0kuXwG_Qp7myVB6_r1uaEyNwmAj25L9LygDQsuA3tEf_gZDBp55Wzb0ZLZYMYZiU4GUMuekpw/s320/IMG_1311.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />1 bunch of dino kale, washed, stemmed and cut into ribbon-like pieces<br />Olive oil<br />2 cloves garlic, minced<br />Pepper to taste<br />Vegetable stock or broth (optional)<br />Low-sodium tamari to taste<br /><br />Add olive oil to a large pan over medium high heat. When pan starts to warm, add the kale ribbons in batches (kale will cook down, just be patient!). Stir, stir, stir to cook the kale down. When kale starts to get soft, add garlic. (Note: I'm a BIG fan of raw garlic, so I like to add my garlic a little later in the game so that it keeps that acrid heat that I find so wonderfully characteristic of raw garlic. Feel free to add the garlic with the olive oil at the beginning, before you pop the kale in, if you like your garlic more mellow.) Add pepper to greens to taste. Turn heat down to medium.<br /><br />To prevent the greens from losing moisture and drying out or burning, add a bit of vegetable stock to keep the greens simmering (you can also just use water). Cook until greens are at your desired tenderness, adding tamari to taste about two to three minutes before you remove the greens from heat and serve.<br /><br />Tonight I toasted some sesame seeds and added them to my greens as a garnish. It was really tasty--I'd recommend it.Katherine K.http://www.blogger.com/profile/10955553810344794520noreply@blogger.com3