Author Archives: Michelle

Saying “Bon Voyage” with Bollito

Bollito

Katie from Katie At The Kitchen Door is a Boston-based blog friend who posts gorgeous photographs, writes insightful cookbook reviews and brims with youthful enthusiasm. She asked us to help out with a guest post while she is on vacation in Italy, hinting that she would like something Italian-themed. We decided to honor one of the only things we enjoyed about Florence, a bollito sandwich.

Link here to Katie’s site for the recipe, as well as a tale of our miserable trip to Tuscany.  

Here’s hoping Katie is having a much better time than we did in Florence. We can’t wait until she returns and shows us everything that we missed.

Pinocchios

So we missed the real David. But we did see many Pinocchios.

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Vacation and verse.

Gourmandistan has temporarily relocated to Normandy, and we are taking a brief break from food blogging while we enjoy the fruits (mostly apples, if you’re curious) of a French vacation. Once again, we’ve given our good friend and Michelle’s college chum, Susan Thomsen, the solemn duty of maintaining our presence on the World Wide Web. Since 2005, Susan has written about children’s books at her delightful blog, Chicken Spaghetti, which she named after a favorite Southern casserole. (She’s originally from Jackson, Mississippi.) Once upon a time Susan worked at The New Yorker, and later reviewed New York theater for an online city guide. Susan lives in Connecticut with her husband, 12-year-old son, and various pets, including (of course) chickens. If you’ve got kids, like kids or even know any kids, you’d be wise to add Chicken Spaghetti to your RSS feed!

Tempest: A Prose Poem by Susan Thomsen

Take trip to Ireland. Read Edna O’Brien. Drink lots of tea. Return home. Think of nothing but tea. Make tea with tea bags. Terrible. Not it. Unable to read Edna O’Brien. Lunch with friend who spent year in Australia drinking tea. Friend says bought teapot after similar tea experience. Friend also recommends English Breakfast. Resolve to purchase teapot. Find two-cup teapot for eight dollars. Bargain. Realize loose tea is key. Milk and sugar cubes, too. Buy loose tea in tin at fancy deli. Have never in life made tea without tea bags. Have never made much tea, period. Cast yearning glance at unresponsive Mr. Coffee. Panic. Australian adventurer unavailable for counsel. Remember not knowing how to bake potatoes. Who knew? Fannie knew. Consult Fannie Farmer Cookbook on tea. Fannie knows. Fannie tells. Love Fannie. Boil fresh water. Warm teapot with boiling water. Pour out. Add big spoon of tea, more water. Strategy involved but do okay. Let pot, tea leaves, water sit. Five minutes later—tea. Breathe sigh of relief. Read Edna O’Brien.

***

I wrote that poem quite some time ago after my father treated me to a trip to Ireland in the 1980s. We went with a tour group, which, given my dad’s and my own tendency to argue about directions and driving advice, was a good thing. One of my favorite parts of the trip took place one afternoon in Cork. The bus had just dropped us off at a hotel, and I was starving, unable to hold out until supper. Fortunately, the hotel’s restaurant was open and offering some snacks. A waitress brought us some cheese and mayo sandwiches (think pimiento-less pimiento cheese) and fresh pots of tea. Dad and I sat and chatted and enjoyed the simple feast. Ever since then, having some good tea in the afternoon perks me up, giving me fuel for the rest of the journey. My father, who passed away last spring, loved to travel and meet people; the trip to Ireland was just one of many gifts he gave me.

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In France, In a contest, Incensed at the Internet

We’re back in France, and we’re very happy about it. We’re also happy to be nominated for the Country Living Magazine “Best Food Blog.”  We’re not so happy about our current Internet situation, where we’re limited to an extremely expensive and incredibly slow 3G connection. (Both of us are having AOL International flashbacks, which are not pleasant.) So while we urge you to go to CountryLiving.com and vote for our blog (every day for the next week or two please!), we must sadly inform you we may not be posting too much in the coming month.

But in the meantime, here’s a bit of strawberry parfait, made from some local-ish everbearing strawberries we bought at the nearby St. Pierre-sur-Dives market. We first made this and blogged about it years ago without the called-for cookie crumbles. The original recipe called for amaretti. We couldn’t find those here, but the local grocery’s “Italian section” had some almond biscotti, which proved to be a good substitute. With crumbled-up cookies it’s even more delicious than our first improvisation.

We’d write more, but we’re afraid TEP or Orange France will shut down if we use more bits. Sorry for the sporadic posts this coming month—stay with us and we’ll be back as soon as we return to the real Internet.

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Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Carbon Copy

We could say we shared ideas with Alice Medrich at one of her famed Bay Area Cocolat stores back in the Seventies or Eighties. We would be lying. We could say we “tweaked” this recipe for Apricot Lemon Bars from Medrich’s latest cookbook, Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-In-Your-Mouth Cookies. We could tell you how our tweak made it so much better. Again, this would be an untruth. We did substitute walnuts for hazelnuts—only because, while Steve usually has enough nuts around to make several squirrels jealous, hazelnuts were not in our freezer. Other than that, we followed the recipe as written.

The truth is this recipe is quite good. We think it adds a new dimension to lemon squares, even though we’re usually quite fond of the traditional puckery-sweet bars. By adding a bit of apricot jam, however, Medrich softens the sour and creates a creamy bite with the color of butterscotch, making lemon bars even more beautiful to any Gourmandistani’s sweet tooth. Many of Medrich’s earlier books appear to be out of print, but are still available from various sellers on Amazon and elsewhere. We encourage you to check out her latest and see what sweet treasures you may uncover.

APRICOT LEMON BARS

(“adapted,” in the loosest possible meaning of the word, from Alice Medrich’s Chewy Gooey Crispy Crunchy Melt-In-Your-Mouth Cookies)

Crust:
3/4 c. + 2 TB flour
1/4 c. sugar
pinch of salt
1/4 c. toasted nuts (we used walnuts, though the original recipe called for hazelnuts)
1 stick (8 TB) butter, melted
1 t. vanilla extract
 
Topping:
1/4 c. sugar
2 TB flour
2 eggs
1/2 c. apricot jam (if it contains large pieces, break up in a mini processor)
1/3 c. lemon juice, strained
 
Confectioners’ sugar for dusting
 

Position an oven rack in the lower part of the oven.  Preheat to 350°.  Line an 8 x 8″ pan with foil.

Make crust as follows:  Place flour, sugar, salt and nuts in a food processor.  Pulse until nuts are finely ground, then add melted butter and vanilla.  Continue pulsing until mixture begins to form clumps. Remove dough and press evenly over the bottom of the prepared pan.

Bake crust for 25-30 minutes, until golden brown.  Remove from oven and reduce heat to 300°.

While crust is baking, mix sugar and flour together in a large bowl.  Then, stir in eggs.  Add jam, then lemon juice.

Pour filling over crust.  Return to oven.  Bake for 20-25 minutes longer, until filling is set.

Cool completely in pan on a cooling rack.  Then, lift out using the foil liner.  Cut into squares.  Sift powdered sugar over.

 

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The agony and the apricot-y

Once upon a time, when much younger and much more energetic, Michelle made cookies to share with friends and family for the holidays. Of course, Michelle being who she is, these cookies were very, very good—but also took up very, very much of her time. Within a few years she was spending virtually the entire month between Thanksgiving and Christmas obsessively thinking about cookies, making cookies, packaging cookies and distributing cookies to a growing number of people, constantly trying to outdo the last season’s gifts. (Alas, in those days, it never occurred to anyone to waste film on a photo of a cookie assortment so we have no visual record of it.)

Of course, simple human frailty, work demands and a finite amount of freezer space made this trajectory as unsustainable as the housing bubble, and the cookie-making crash saw the holiday cookie boxes stay unfilled for many years. This season, however, Michelle has quietly begun a new cycle, tackling as her first return her famed Ischler apricot sandwich cookies made from an old Maida Heatter recipe.

From the cookbook, long "borrowed" from Michelle's mom

It takes an astonishing amount of effort to produce even a few of these buttery-short almond delights, sweet with apricot jam filling and dipped in silky bittersweet chocolate.  In the old days, most were reserved for Michelle’s mother (and Steve, who is not, we are sad to say, above stealing).

Michelle plans again to give most of the Ischlers to her mother, but has been reviving the Christmas cookie tradition with a few more varieties, some old and some new. The sweet cookie stocks found before the turn of the century may never return to their dizzying heights, but the denizens of Gourmandistan (OK, mostly Steve, who cooks no cookies) see even this modest recovery as a very positive holiday development.

ISCHLER COOKIES

(adapted from Maida Heatter’s Book of Great Cookies) (makes somewhere between 25 and 50 sandwich cookies, depending on size)

8 oz. blanched almonds
2-1/4 c. sifted all-purpose flour
2/3 c. sugar
10 oz. (2-1/2 sticks) cold butter, cut into 1/2″ slices
1/2 to 3/4 c. apricot preserves
approx. 10 oz. bittersweet chocolate
1-1/2 TB vegetable shortening
 

Put almonds in food processor and grind to a fine powder, just short of turning into a butter.  Place ground almonds in a large mixing bowl.  Add flour and sugar and stir to mix.  Use a pastry blender to cut the butter into the dry ingredients until the mixture resembles a coarse meal.

Turn the dough out onto a smooth work surface.  Squeeze dough between your hands until it holds together.  Form into a ball, flatten it a bit and then break it—that is, use the heel of your hand to push off small pieces, smearing against the work surface until the butter is fully incorporated into the dry ingredients.  Form the dough into a ball again.

Divide the dough in half.  Form each half into a flat round disk on a piece of wax paper.  Place another sheet of wax paper over.  Use a rolling pin over the top paper to roll the dough 1/4″ thick.  Slide cookie sheets under the wax paper-enclosed flattened dough.  Transfer to the freezer (or place outside on a cold day).

Preheat oven to 350°.

When dough is firm, pull off wax paper.  Cut out using a 2″ to 2-1/2″ round cookie cutter.  Place cookies 1″ apart on ungreased cookie sheets, using a metal spatula if necessary.  If dough has warmed up, put back in the freezer for a bit to firm so cookies will hold their shape.

Reserve scraps and repeat process of rolling, cooling and cutting.

Bake cookies for 12-15 minutes, reversing the sheets front to back and top to bottom midway through.  The cookies, when done, will be lightly golden (not brown).  Remove with a spatula and cool on a wire rack.

Match up cooled cookies into pairs of equal sizes.

Strain preserves through a sieve or (lazier way) process in food processor.

Hold a cookie in one hand and spread the under side with a thin layer of preserves, keeping a bit away from the edge.  Cover with another cookie (under side to preserves) and press together gently.  Repeat until all cookies are made into sandwiches.

Melt chocolate and shortening over very low heat in a small pan.  Transfer to a small bowl.

Line a couple of cookie sheets with wax paper.  Dip cookie sandwiches into chocolate glaze until sides are about half covered.  Wipe edge of each sandwich against top of bowl to remove excess glaze.  Place on wax paper.  When all cookies are glazed, place cookie sheets in freezer or refrigerator to allow chocolate to set. When glaze is set, cookies can be removed and stored in a container, in layers separated by wax paper, in the freezer.

These cookies are best when served chilled or frozen.

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An “au revoir/auf wiedersehen” to apples

Alsatian Apple Tart

Steve has probably purchased his last batch of local apples for the year, and since he snacks on several per day (there are many, many doctors out there, after all) he’ll soon be buying what he calls “crapples” at the grocery. Michelle, however, has higher standards, and refuses to cook with the flown- and trucked-in Braeburns, Fujis or sappy-sweet HoneyCrisps that Steve brings home. While that means Tarte Tatin and apple clafoutis must wait until next fall, Michelle recently managed to steal some fruit from Steve’s hoard and make an Alsatian apple tart.

Alsace is a land smack between Germany and France, and may be what Europe will look like if their monetary crisis fuses the two nations. We spent a month in Alsace in 2008, jumping back and forth between the former enemy countries.

We toured the militarily tragic sites (lines of old trenches and warnings of live ammo at Verdun, star-shaped forts on the Rhine, battle-scarred memorials in the Colmar Pocket).  But mostly we enjoyed the region’s majestically comic aspects (Hansi prints, assorted kitsch, Pfifferdaj in Ribeauvillé).

A land of perpetual Christmas villages, Alsace also has a mind-blowing array of tiny vintners producing delicious white wines.  Alsatians seemed to us quite proud of their dishes such as baeckeoffe, fleischnacka, Kugelhopf and flammekueche.  (We must admit, though, that we had just about enough choucroute and poulet au riesling in that month to last several lifetimes.)

While we (as usual) enjoyed touring the area markets, we were without an oven in our otherwise charming rental, so we never tested this tart within the (possibly still disputed) boundaries of Alsace-Lorraine. But as we say so long to apple season, we can savor this tart along with our memories of what has to be one of the oddest places we’ve ever visited.

ALSATIAN APPLE TART

(adapted from Susan Herrmann Loomis’ French Farm House Cookbook)

Pâte brisée, partially baked in a 10″ tart pan and cooled
2 large eggs
3/4 c. crème fraiche
1/4 c. heavy cream
1/4 c. white sugar
1/4 c. light brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
2 medium apples, peeled, cored and cut into very thin slices
1/4 t. ground cinnamon
1/3 c. walnuts, finely chopped
 

In a bowl, whisk together eggs, creams, sugars and vanilla.

Line the cooled pastry with apples, in a circular pattern.  Pour the filling mixture over.  Sprinkle with cinnamon, then with nuts.

Place tart on a baking sheet.  Bake for 25 to 30 minutes at 400°, until custard is set.  Cool on a wire rack.

 
 

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Brassicas (broccoli + cauliflower) and the last bit of bitching about winter

A combination of Thanksgiving over-planning and continued concern over our vanishing seasonal vegetables recently deposited pounds of broccoli and golden cauliflower in our refrigerator. But thanks to Michelle (and of course, our voracious and demonstrably-upset-at-the-arrival-of-cold chickens), very little of our efflorescence of florets went to waste.

One preparation was a last-minute substitute for a creamier broccoli salad, as we realized our Thanksgiving meal’s butterfat quotient was beginning to approach Brillat-Savarin cheese levels. This version mixed broccoli and golden cauliflower into a light, spicy and garlicky side dish that made a crisp and fresh counterpoint to turkey, chestnut stuffing, corn pudding and generous amounts of gravy.

Our typically over-saturated American Turkey Day menu prep didn’t turn us away from cream, however, as we transformed the rest of our cruciferous cache into this rich, cheesy soup, which we enjoyed as we wound down from our holiday cooking.

Winter is pretty much here, and our local vegetable markets will soon be going away for a while. We resolve to do less complaining and more cooking, and make the bleak months as tasty as possible.

BROCCOLI & CAULIFLOWER SALAD

(adapted from Ina Garten’s The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook) (serves 6 or more)

8-10 cups of broccoli and cauliflower florets
1 head garlic, peeled
1 c. good olive oil
1 t. red pepper flakes
1 t. kosher salt
 

Blanch broccoli and cauliflower separately in salted, boiling water for a minute or so.  Drain and immerse in ice water.  Put in a colander to drain, tossing occasionally until dry.

Put olive oil and garlic cloves in a small, heavy saucepan.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low and cook until garlic is browned and tender.  Remove from heat and add pepper flakes and salt.  Remove garlic cloves with a slotted spoon.  Pour oil into a heat-proof bowl to stop the cooking.  Let cool.

Toss vegetables and garlic cloves with as much of the seasoned oil as needed to coat, making sure to add the pepper and salt which will have dropped to the bottom of the bowl.  Season with black pepper to taste.  Serve cold or at room temperature.

BROCCOLI & CAULIFLOWER CHEESE SOUP

(adapted from Vegetable Soups from Deborah Madison’s Kitchen)

3 TB. butter
1 onion, chopped
2 lbs. broccoli, florets and stems, chopped coarsely
1/2 lb. cauliflower, florets and stems, chopped coarsely
4 garlic cloves, chopped
Pinch cayenne pepper
1 tsp. dried marjoram
1 bay leaf
Pinch of dried thyme
Salt
1 TB flour
4 c. chicken or vegetable stock
1/2 c. cream
1 c. milk
1 TB Dijon-style mustard
Black pepper
6 oz. Gruyère cheese, grated
 

Melt butter in a soup pot.  Add onion, broccoli, cauliflower, garlic, cayenne, marjoram, bay leaf and thyme.  Cook over medium heat for 5 minutes or so, stirring occasionally.  Add salt.  Add flour, tossing until dissolved.  Pour in stock and bring to a boil.  Lower heat and simmer, covered, until vegetables are tender.  Then, add cream and milk.  When warmed, turn off heat and remove bay leaf.

Purée solids with some liquid in blender in batches.  Place in a clean soup pot.  Stir in mustard.  Taste for seasoning and add more salt if necessary, along with some pepper.  Add cheese.  Reheat, but make sure not to boil as it will toughen the cheese.  Add more stock if needed to thin the soup.

Serve with croutons sprinkled with fresh thyme leaves.

 

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