by | April 20, 2012

Gluten it be nice

Smoky Red Pepper Seitan

Gourmandistanis are generally a tolerant lot, especially when it comes to food. (Fools, on the other hand, we struggle to abide.) While we sympathize with those who must avoid shellfish, peanuts, wheat or meat for religious or health reasons, our little world is blissfully free of dietary laws—though Steve must occasionally be reminded that “no kidneys, no livers” is a strong preference, not an actual law. That gives us license to explore cuisines, cultures and creative ways of going meatless, including seitan.

Seitan is a form of wheat gluten, something Buddhists and other vegetarians have known for centuries as mock pork, chicken or duck. Our seitan comes in a little package of blobby brown bits that look more like compressed cardboard than meat—but cubed, marinated and cooked it makes a lovely stand-in for animal flesh, particularly in stir-fries. One of our favorite ways to use seitan is in this recipe that originally called for chicken. The simple marinade and smoky, garlicky sauce make the seitan chewy, meaty and satisfying. If you can tolerate it, you should try it.

SMOKY RED PEPPER SEITAN

(adapted from Jeffrey Alford & Naomi Duguid’s Seductions of Rice) (serves 2)

3 TB dry sherry or Xioaxing wine, divided
1/2 tsp. salt
2 tsp. cornstarch
8 oz. seitan, cut into small cubes
3 TB soy sauce
1 tsp. sugar
1/3 c. meat or vegetable stock or water
1 tsp. rice vinegar
6-8 dried red chiles
2 TB peanut or other neutral oil
1 large or 2 small onions, cut into medium dice
2 TB minced garlic
1 TB minced ginger
Handful of peanuts, toasted
 

Mix together 2 TB sherry or wine, salt and cornstarch in a shallow bowl .  Mix in seitan, tossing well to coat.  Let stand for at least 30 minutes at room temperature.

Mix 1 TB sherry or wine, soy sauce, sugar, stock or water and vinegar in a small bowl.  Place near the stove, along with all the other ingredients.

Place wok over high heat. Toss in the chiles and briefly dry-fry to sear.  Remove chiles from wok and set aside.

Add oil to wok.  Toss in onions and stir-fry over medium to high heat until soft and slightly charred.  Add garlic and ginger.  Return chiles to wok, along with seitan.  Stir-fry until seitan is browned a bit in places.  Add liquid and toss until everything is combined and heated through.

Serve on rice.  Top with peanuts.

 

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by | April 16, 2012

Piña colada in pie form

Gourmandistanis are not really fond of either piña coladas or getting caught in the rain. (We’re also really not that fond of the late 1970s, a period we both endured when this horrible song and its dismal disco brethren were about the only things available on local radio.) But we do rather like pie, and this incredibly easy coconut-pineapple confection from François Payard is indeed a tasty piece of tart.

We made one recently to use up some more of our mysterious coconut surplus, and were once again pleased with the sweet, semi-tropical taste. Revisiting this recipe also helped Michelle pick up a handy way to remove a tart ring: place the tart on a smaller surface like a coffee can, and gently press down on the ring until it detaches—much better than her usual practice of balancing a hot tart bottom on her hand. Supposedly the recipe works with canned as well as fresh pineapple, making it a good way to get a fruit tart when no fresh stuff is about.

Now please excuse us—the dunes are calling, and midnight is mere hours away.

And here's a cat picture. Just because. It's the Internet after all.

COCONUT-PINEAPPLE TART

(from François Payard’s Simply Sensational Desserts)

Unbaked 9″ tart shell filled with Payard’s Sweet Tart Dough or another pâte sucreé
1/2 c. pineapple, finely diced and drained over a colander
7 TB softened butter
1 c. sugar
2-1/2 c. unsweetened shredded coconut
2 large eggs
 

Preheat oven to 350°.

Scatter pineapple pieces over bottom of tart shell.  Gently press pineapple into the dough.  Place tart shell in freezer for at least 5 minutes to anchor the fruit.

Beat butter and sugar together until well-blended.  Add coconut, then eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Spread filling over pineapple in the tart shell.

Bake on lower rack of oven for 50 to 55 minutes until top is golden brown and filling is set.  Cool on a wire rack.

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by | April 8, 2012

Overdo your Easter Eggs with Oeufs aux Champignons

You may, given the season, happen to have several hard-boiled eggs literally lying around your house. Or, should you not be bunny-inclined, you may simply be in the mood for a very rich, creamy, mushroomy and bacony egg dish. This one from the Junior League of New Orleans’ 1972 Plantation Cookbook has been on holiday tables in Michelle’s family for decades.

Before the Béchamel

We modernized it a bit this time, using less bacon and cheese and more interesting mushrooms.  Still, Oeufs aux Champignons are to deviled eggs what Vegas is to your corner lottery kiosk—ramped up, camped up and oozing with excess. Leave the cream eggs, chocolate bunnies and Peeps in the basket, and give your Easter eggs the resurrection they deserve.

Happy Spring!

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by | April 4, 2012

Morris and the matzo brei

Morris and Steve

Steve didn’t get a lot of food traditions from his father. Morris, a somewhat joyless eater who demanded his beef be “burnt to a crisp,” snacked on pickled herring and hated cheese, had mostly wandered away from the Jewish traditions of his Lower East Side upbringing. His kashrut contained exceptions for bacon and Virginia ham, though he avoided shellfish (calling lobster, clams and scallops “bugs that eat sewage”). A widower hosting his Louisville-residing son in various New York apartments during summers and holidays, Morris cooked so little he kept his clean dishes in his dishwasher, washing what few pots or pans he used in the sink. Before he even knew what a hipster was, Steve was a regular in Brooklyn delis with crabby, ancient servers scolding about stuffed derma, as well as Greek diners in Queens with phonebook-sized menus and overstuffed upholstery, Manhattan’s Moshe Peking and many other unassuming establishments.

It was far from the world of Mimi Sheraton, especially because Steve (the offspring of Protestant woman of Italian descent) wasn’t actually Jewish. Also, many of Morris’ “recipes” came from the back of a can or package, when he wasn’t abandoning all pretense by serving up a TV dinner. However, Morris at least left Steve a legacy of matzo brei. True to Morris’ nature his “recipe” included store-bought matzo, factory-farmed eggs and cheap cooking oil, but Steve (a now fully-assimilated member of the Gourmandistan tribe) was determined to upscale it. First, he discovered the simplicity of fresh matzo, which is just flour and water mixed, rolled and baked in a hot oven. Steve, who has only a passing familiarity with Passover, was surprised to find there’s only an 18-minute window to make “kosher” matzo, making it possibly the world’s easiest and fastest to make cracker.

Matzo brei is also quick to cook, though we usually take a bit of time to caramelize some onions much like here—a nice touch that Morris never quite thought of (possibly because it would have messed up a second pan).

The next time Gourmandistan makes its matzo, we may zazz it up a bit with some salt and olive oil. It probably won’t quite be kosher.  But then again, thanks to Morris, neither is Steve.

STEVE’S UN-KOSHER MATZO

2 cups flour, give or take
1 cup water (plus possibly a bit more)
 

Heat an oven, preferably one with a pizza stone, to 500°. Mix flour and water in a food processor until a non-sticky dough ball forms (this may take more water if you’re using some whole-wheat flour). Cut the dough into 12 equal pieces. Roll pieces out at thinly as possible, cut them in squares if you’re as obsessive as Michelle, then prick each piece all over with fork tines to prevent bubbling. Put the matzo on parchment paper, then bake in batches on the stone for 3-5 minutes, until brown and crispy. Cool on a wire rack.

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by | March 27, 2012

Lady and the ramp

We have been almost desperately waiting for local greens, especially with this spring’s too-warm start. Last Saturday, as Steve was off wallowing in the depths of March Madness, Michelle spied some ramps at our local farm store. As Steve returned later that afternoon, gluing his eyes back to televised basketball, Michelle busied herself finding a good way to celebrate the arrival of these delicate, oniony sprigs.

What are ramps, you might ask? Let’s let some nice horticulturists explain:

Ramps, (Allium tricoccum or Allium tricoccum var. burdickii, Alliaceae) also known as wild leeks, are native to the Appalachian mountain region in eastern North America. Ramps can be found growing in patches in rich, moist, deciduous forests as far north as Canada, west to Missouri and Minnesota, and south to North Carolina and Tennessee. As one of the first plants to emerge in the spring, ramps were traditionally consumed as the seasons first “greens.” They were considered a tonic because they provided necessary vitamins and minerals following long winter months without access to fresh fruits and vegetables. Ramps are pleasant to eat and taste like spring onions with a strong garlic-like aroma.

Gourmandistan’s main location is a bit west of Appalachia proper, but our local topography of creek-carved hollows riddled with limestone knobs, little rills and hidden springs seems to suit ramps just fine.

Ramps don’t travel well (the ones Michelle bought were already wilting when she got home from the store just two miles away), but to the onion-inclined their flavor is delightful. Michelle found two ways to use them for one meal. The first was a ramp-fueled riff on a beef daube from Patricia Wells At Home In Provence. We liked the lightness of white wine with beef versus the more traditional red, and the ramps plus a couple of shallots breathed their hints of garlic and onion into the mustard-spiked sauce. To go with her stew Michelle added ramp leaves to “Light and Tasty Corn Cakes” from Pride of Kentucky, a cookbook sponsored in part by the University of Kentucky’s Department of Agriculture. (Steve would like to remind our audience that the UK Wildcats have once again made the NCAA Final Four. Michelle would like to add that, even though she is surrounded by frenzied fan talk, she really doesn’t care.)

This success with ramps had us wondering if our little patch of wet woodland might hold some, along with maybe a morel mushroom or two. So, Michelle tore her sports-addled spouse away from his searching of ESPN for Anthony Davis news to wander outside for a bit. We found neither ramps nor morels, but there were some lovely wildflowers—and for a while, absolutely no talk of basketball.

BEEF DAUBE WITH MUSTARD & WHITE WINE

(adapted from Patricia Wells At Home In Provence) (serves 4)

3 TB olive oil
2 lbs. beef stew meat, cut into 2″ cubes
salt and pepper
1 bottle dry white wine
2 TB grainy Dijon-style mustard
14-1/2 oz. can chopped tomatoes
2 shallots + 1 bunch ramps (or 3 medium onions), peeled and thinly sliced
4 garlic cloves, peeled and roughly sliced
bouquet garni (e.g., parsley, chives, thyme, tarragon and bay)
bunch of baby carrots, peeled
sprig of thyme
pinch of sugar
3/4 c. frozen peas
 

Heat oil in Dutch oven.  Brown beef, in batches without crowding.  Transfer to a platter when done, then add salt and pepper.

If anything more than a thin film of fat remains in the pot, discard it.  Add wine, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for a few minutes.  Whisk in mustard.

Return beef to the pan, along with tomatoes and their liquid, shallots and ramps (or onions), garlic and bouquet garni.  Cover and simmer over low heat for 2-3 hours, until meat is tender.  Check seasoning and add salt and pepper as needed.

In meantime, bring some salted water to a boil in a small saucepan.  Add carrots, a sprig of thyme and sugar. Reduce heat and simmer until carrots are almost done.  Drain and set aside.

Also, while meat is cooking, remove peas from freezer and let warm to room temperature.

Remove meat and other solids from stew with a slotted spoon.  Boil sauce down over high heat until reduced by about a third.

Turn down heat to low, then return solids to the pan and add carrots and peas.

“LIGHT & TASTY CORN CAKES” (WITH OR WITHOUT RAMPS)

(adapted from Pride of Kentucky) (makes approximately 8 cakes)

1 egg, beaten
1 c. milk
1/8 c. canola oil + extra for frying
1/2 c. + 2-1/2 TB cornmeal
pinch of salt
pepper
chiffonade of 5-6 ramp leaves (optional)
 

Combine wet ingredients in a bowl and mix well.  Add cornmeal, salt and pepper.  Stir in optional ramp leaves.

Drop 1/8 c. of batter at a time into a hot greased skillet.  Cook over low to medium heat until bubbles start to form on top of cakes.  Turn and cook until browned.  Drain on paper towels. Stir the batter each time before frying as it will settle. Hold cooked corn cakes in a warm oven until all are fried and ready to serve.

 
 
 

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by | March 21, 2012

A somewhat painful endorsement of canned fruit (pear, ginger & walnut muffins)

Steve has given up on fresh pears and their fickle ripening. The stage between crisp-and-tasteless and mushy-and-black is infinitesimal, and always happens when he isn’t around to enjoy it. While fresh pears have been declared fructus non grata in Gourmandistan, Michelle recently snuck in some canned pears under the guise of “muffin-making supplies.” (Usually vigilant as to the house fruit stores, Steve may have been distracted by the unearthing of a cache of last season’s blueberries in the freezer.)

Michelle had found a recipe by Shirley Corriher, a biochemist and her fellow Vanderbilt alum, and became interested in this unusual, somewhat fussy muffin preparation. Buttering, then salting toasted nuts before adding them to the batter seemed bizarre enough. Multiple changes of oven temperature felt a wee bit finicky. And whipped cream? For muffins?  Totally strange. But those odd techniques along with the aforementioned contraband canned pears and some candied ginger made for tender and tasty muffins on an unseasonably warm Sunday morning in March.

Steve still has abandoned all hope for fresh pears, but he’ll now allow a can of them in the house every so often. At least until the fresh local fruits start rolling in—which, at the rate things are going, may be in a week or so.

Daffodils should just be starting their 6-week run. But, this year, they're almost at the end of it on March 21. Talk about odd...

PEAR, GINGER & WALNUT MUFFINS

(adapted from Shirley Corriher’s BakeWise) (makes about 16 standard-size 3″ muffins)

1 c. walnuts, chopped coarsely
1 TB butter
1/4 tsp. + 1/2 tsp. salt
2 c. all-purpose flour
2 tsp. baking powder
1-1/4 c. sugar
2 egg yolks
1 large egg
1/2 c. neutral oil (e.g., canola)
1/2 c. buttermilk (or yogurt thinned with milk)
1 tsp. vanilla extract
1 TB orange zest
3 TB candied ginger, finely chopped
1/2 c. heavy cream
1 small (15-1/4 oz.) can pears in syrup, drained, dabbed with paper towel to dry and chopped
1/4 c. coarse sugar for topping*
 

Arrange a rack in the lower third of the oven. If you have a baking stone, place it on the rack. Preheat oven to 350°.

Toast the nuts in the oven in a baking sheet or pie pan for about 10 minutes, until hot. Remove from oven. Stir in butter and 1/4 tsp. salt, tossing.  Set aside to cool.

Turn oven temperature up to 425.°

Place flour, baking powder, 1/2 tsp. salt and sugar in a large mixing bowl.  Toss with a fork or whisk to blend.

In a medium mixing bowl, whisk together egg yolks, egg, oil, buttermilk, vanilla and orange zest.

Make a well in the dry ingredients, then add wet mixture.  Beat well.  Stir in candied ginger.

In another bowl, whip cream until just beyond the soft peak stage.  Stir about 1/4 of the whipped cream into the batter, by hand.  Then fold in remainder.  Then fold in the pears and nuts.

Fill muffin tins (either buttered or lined with papers) almost to the top.  Sprinkle coarse sugar over.

Turn the oven down to 400°.  Open oven door and leave open for about 10 seconds before placing muffin tin inside.  (If you use standard muffin tins and want to use up all the batter, you will need to do in two batches.)

Bake until lightly browned, about 18-20 minutes.

Cool muffins in the tin for about 5 minutes before removing to a cooling rack.

*We didn’t have any coarse sugar, so we did what Michelle’s mom always did following a tip from Edna Lewis.  Place some sugar cubes (in our case, Demerara cubes) in a plastic bag and crush with a meat pounder.  Don’t crush them to death—the jagged variations make them particularly good as a topping.

 

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by | March 15, 2012

Oatcakes and the origin of species

St. Patrick’s Day is upon us, which means some small part of Michelle’s DNA demands recognition. Exactly which part is unclear, since her Kentucky lineage includes all sorts of pale folk from various areas of both Ierne and Albion who spent the past few centuries emigrating, intermixing and occasionally dallying with Native Americans for an extra bit of “flava.” Nonetheless, like many Americans, Michelle feels obligated to act Irish in mid-March—even though she disdains whiskey, seldom fights and is mostly unfamiliar with peat bogs.

While her inner leprechaun may have demanded a blog post, Michelle’s other chunks of genetic drift resisted the easy path of corned beef. (Though of dubious origins as a St. Patrick’s Day feast, it must be said that Steve can corn a mean beef.) Instead she turned to Darina Allen and found a recipe for oatcakes. These sturdy little biscuits make a nutty, rustic platform for cheeses, in this case a lovely Welsh (another gene strand Michelle probably possesses) Caerphilly cheese made in the Lexington, KY area, and fig jam.

This March 17th, as you’re foaming up your Guinness and looking for your Pogues album, you might consider adding a few oatcakes. And if you see Michelle, give her a pinch—she’ll most likely not be wearing green.

Great-grandparents-to-be, Mary Sullivan and Thomas Smith. They were Irish, I tell you. Irish! (OK, fine. Her parents and his grandparents were...)

OATCAKES

(adapted from Darina Allen’s Forgotten Skills of Cooking) (makes about 2 dozen approximately 2″ crackers)

1-1/2 c. stone-ground oatmeal*
1/2 c. flour
1/8 t. baking powder
1/2 t. salt
2 TB melted lard (or butter)
Boiling water
 

Preheat oven to 350°.

Put dry ingredients in a bowl and mix well.  Add melted lard and enough boiling water (it took just over 1/2 c. for us) to make a firm dough.

Roll dough out on a floured counter, thinly.  Cut with a circular cookie or biscuit cutter.  Arrange on cookie sheets.  They don’t spread, so can be placed close together.

Bake 25-30 minutes.  Cool on a wire rack.

*Allen recommends Macroom stone-ground oatmeal, which we didn’t have.  We did have some McCann’s Steel Cut Irish Oatmeal. Thinking it looked a bit coarser than the photos of the Macroom product, we buzzed it in the food processor for a bit.  It seemed to work fine.

 

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