From the March, 2013 Food and Wine

The arrival of warmer weather—or even the promise of it—invariably starts me yearning for the sort of spicy, exotic food I might encounter on a far-flung adventure somewhere. Most of the time it’s an urge I satisfy with a visit to a favorite Indian or Korean restaurant (I have a serious weakness for kimchee), though increasingly I’m experimenting with cooking these sorts of dishes myself. Often they’re way less complicated than I’d imagined, and the various ingredients are already sitting in the pantry. But if the recipe calls for a lot of items I don’t have or can’t source easily, I’m generally inclined to skip it—as much as I admire those who can make a day out of trekking to some out-of-the-way Asian market, that’s just not me. I’m in too much of a rush to get on with the cooking, and the eating! Happily, none of the steps associated with this recipe for Vietnamese pancakes—neither the shopping, nor the making—interfered with a speedy delivery to the table… or my mouth. What’s more, the end result presents just the sort of spicy, crunchy, juicy combo that’s the perfect accompaniment to a warm spring or summer night, not to mention an ice-cold bottle of beer!

First, I should clarify that the word “pancake” here is more in keeping with the French version of the dish (i.e., a crêpe) than it is the American variety. Many years ago, when I was studying in Paris for a semester, one of my favorite meals (and one of the few I could actually afford) was a crêpe wrapped around a few thin slices of ham and a tangle of grated Gruyère cheese. This pancake is a little like that, but heartier, and with a pronounced Asian twist, thanks to the presence of ingredients such as pork, shrimp, mushrooms, and onions, and to a tangy dipping sauce. That crêpe-connection, however, doesn’t mean making this recipe requires anything as “advanced” as a specialized crêpe pan—in fact, it’s best made using that staple of virtually every modern home kitchen: a large, nonstick skillet. Similarly, the most complex (if you can even call it that) items called for by the recipe are rice flour and Asian fish sauce, both of which are widely available at most markets. In other words, just exotic enough to make my mouth water, but not so exotic that I’d have to rebuild my kitchen to produce them.

And the process of making the pancakes is quite simple as well, with each one taking just five minutes or so to complete. That said, unless you have multiple nonstick pans to call into play, they must be made one at a time (the completed pancakes can be kept warm in a 250˚ oven with no adverse effects). More importantly, however, whipping up a batch of these babies is fun, offering the immediate gratification of everything coming together before your eyes. To start, place a few slices of pork, mushrooms, and onions, along with a scattering of shrimp, in a pan containing a small amount of hot vegetable oil and let everything cook together for a minute or so. Next add a little salt and pepper, followed by 1/3 cup of the batter—a mixture of rice flour, cold water, a small amount of turmeric, and a sliced scallion. Tilt the pan so the batter spreads evenly, making sure it works its way under the various other ingredients, then cover and let cook undisturbed for five minutes or so, just until the edges of the pancake begin to curl and reveal a deep brown color. Scatter a small handful of the bean sprouts across the surface of the pancake, fold it in half, and then slide onto you platter. And that’s it.

Those bean sprouts add just the right amount of moisture and crunchy sweetness to the finished dish—just the thing to offset the wonderful flavors of the cooked pork and shrimp. And the crêpe itself, which is both thinner and lacier than the traditional variety thanks to that rice flour, is the perfect vehicle for all the sweet and salty goodness delivered by the medley of ingredients.

Of course, no Southeast Asian snack of this type would be complete without a dipping sauce that’s simultaneously sweet and spicy. Here that quality is provided by a combination of red chiles or jalapeño (personally I think the chiles are the better option, which as you’ll note is not what’s pictured below), pulverized along with a few sliced garlic cloves and 2 tablespoons sugar, all of it mixed together with the fish sauce, some fresh lime juice, and a little water. Both bracing and lip smacking, it’s the ideal accompaniment to the pancakes—one that has the dual benefit of cutting through the richness of the dish while also rendering the finished product compulsively eatable.

The magazine calls these “happy pancakes” and given the smile that stretched across my face as I took my first few bites, I can see why.

Ingredients for the dipping sauce:
—2 Thai red chiles or 1 medium jalapeño, thickly sliced
—2 medium garlic cloves, thickly sliced
—2 tbs sugar
—2 tbs Asian fish sauce
—2 tbs fresh lime juice
—2 tbs water

Ingredients for the pancakes:
—1¾ cups rice flour
—1/4 tsp turmeric
—1 scallion, thinly sliced
—3/4 cup plus 3 tbs vegetable oil
—1 lb boneless pork loin, cut crosswise into very thin slices
—1/2 lb medium shrimp, shelled and deveined
—1/2 small onion, thinly sliced
—10 medium mushrooms, sliced
—Salt and freshly ground pepper
—2½ cups mung bean sprouts

Directions for the dipping sauce:
—In a mortar, pound the chiles, garlic, and sugar to a paste. Stir in the fish sauce, lime juice, and water.

Directions for the pancakes:
—In a bowl, whisk together the rice flour and 2 cups of cold water. Mix in the turmeric and scallion.
—In a large nonstick skillet, heat 1½ tbs of the vegetable oil over high heat. Add 3 slices of pork, 3 shrimp, and a few slices of onion and mushroom. Season with 1/8 tsp each of salt and pepper. Cook for 1 minute.
—Stir the rice flour mixture again and ladle 1/3 cup into the pan; tilt the pan to evenly distribute the batter. Cover and cook until the sides of the pancake turn deep brown and curl up, 5 minutes.
—Scatter ¼ cup of the bean sprouts over the pancake, fold it in half, and slide it onto a warm platter.
—Keep warm in a low oven while you repeat with the remaining ingredients.
—Serve the pancakes warm, with the dipping sauce on the side.

Makes about 10 pancakes

The post 04/16/13 • VIETNAMESE PANCAKES appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from My Bread: The Revolutionary no-work, no-knead Method by Jim Lahey

Many years ago I made the silly decision to swear off bread. I’d like to say this had something to do with an effort at eating more healthfully, but the truth is it was driven by the simple desire to firm up my stomach—a goal I understood to be attainable if I laid off foods made from flour (and if I did a lot of crunches). And so for much of my late 20s I resolutely said no to baguettes and bagels, to pasta and pretzels, all in an attempt to transform my midsection into that totem of male vanity: the six-pack. Gradually, though, it began to dawn on me that not only was I refusing many of the things that make life worth living, but my body hadn’t really changed that much (if it had at all). Which in a way was a good thing, because once I realized I was never going to look like David Beckham in my underwear, I was suddenly free to welcome carbs back into my life—a realization I was grateful to have embraced as I sampled the rye bread presented here. It’s a surprisingly easy recipe, one of many to be found in Jim Lahey’s bread-making cookbook, My Bread, and, more importantly, one that produces a loaf as good as any bakery’s. In other words, if ever there was an occasion to celebrate the glory of gluten, this is it.

I say “surprisingly easy” because I’d always operated under the assumption that bread making requires a variety of special skills, not to mention equipment. Disproving that idea was clearly one of Lahey’s goals in writing the book—this despite the fact that he’s the force behind one of New York City’s best-loved bread resources, The Sullivan Street Bakery. (Then again, what more potent symbol of generosity is there than a shared loaf of bread?) So instead of some complex kneading technique or fancy bread machine, Lahey reveals that a few very basic ingredients (namely flour, water, salt, and yeast), a simple pot with a lid, and plenty of time are all that’s required to produce an exceptional loaf of bread. These are the basic components of all the bread recipes featured in the book, though with some minor variations (such as the rye flour used here) depending on the type of bread you’re making.

Of these standard ingredients that last one—time—is worth underscoring, because while there’s little actual work involved in any of the recipes beyond some minimal measuring and mixing, the trade off is an acceptance that the process can’t be rushed. This means allowing the dough between 12 and 18 hours for the first rise (and if the weather is very cold, as much as 24 hours), and another one to two hours for the second. At each of these stages you’ll see the dough increase in size and, during the first round, take on a noticeably different appearance as well, changes that with traditional bread-making recipes would only be achieved through lots of elbow grease. What’s more, as I discovered during the assembly process, it doesn’t require placing the dough in the oven to experience that wonderful smell associated with freshly baked bread, but rather simply adding a little yeast to the flour mixture. With just a half-teaspoon sprinkled into my mixing bowl the entire kitchen took on the warm, seductive fragrance of a bakery—a discovery that effectively rewrites one key myth of bread making.

The other nifty innovation here is baking the dough in a large, dry pot (covered for the first 30 minutes, uncovered for the remaining 15 to 30 minutes), placed in a very hot oven. That covered pot functions in the same way a classic brick domed oven does, which is to say that the steam escaping from the dough during the baking process is trapped within the pot’s enclosure to ensure a chewy crust and a moist crumb—a kind of oven within an oven. Little surprise then that the recipe directs you to preheat both the oven and the pot for a half hour before introducing the dough. Easy enough, though just as oven readings may vary, so too can the amount of time required to reach a desired temperature (for instance, mine takes more like 50 minutes to reach 475˚), so be prepared to adjust your timing accordingly.

Of course, none of these simplifications would mean anything if they didn’t ultimately produce the crunch, chew, and deep, yeasty flavor associated with a well-made loaf of bread—all qualities this recipe can be counted on to deliver. But before I even sliced into the bread it was the beautiful chestnut color of the perfectly domed exterior that thrilled me, providing one of those I-can’t-believe-I-made-this! moments that are the blue-ribbon for any home chef. Add to this the nutty dark interior and sourdough-like tang resulting from the rye flour and you have something truly special indeed. I made the bread on a brisk winter weekend and based on how warm I felt as I bit into that first (and second, and third) slice, I’m tempted to say that this is a recipe to be reserved for your cold weather arsenal. The truth is, though, that a bread this good (and this easy) should be enjoyed anytime… the sooner the better.

One final note on the ingredients: Although I had little difficulty finding either the bread- or rye flour called for here, both items are widely available online. Should you come up empty at your local market, you can try here or here.

Ingredients:
—2¼ cups bread flour
—3/4 cups rye flour (plus more for dusting)
—1¼ tsp table salt
—1/2 tsp instant or other active dry yeast
—1 1/3 cups cool water (55 to 65˚)

Special equipment:
—A 4½- to 5½-quart heavy pot

Directions:
—In a medium bowl, stir together the flours, salt, and yeast. Add the water and, using a wooden spoon or your hand, mix until you have a wet, sticky dough, about 30 seconds. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let sit at room temperature until the surface is dotted with bubbles and the dough is more than doubled in size, 12 to 18 hours. (Note: When the weather is very cold a longer period may be necessary for the dough to double in size and for the bubbles to appear—as much as 24 hours).
—When the first rise is complete, generously dust a work surface with flour. Use a bowl scraper or rubber spatula to scrape the dough out of the bowl in one piece. Using lightly floured hands or a bowl scraper or spatula, lift the edges of the dough in toward the center. Nudge and tuck in the edges of the dough to make it round.
—Place a tea towel on your work surface and generously dust it with rye flour. Gently place the dough on the towel, seam side down. If the dough is tacky, dust the top lightly with rye flour. Fold the ends of the tea towel loosely over the dough to cover it and place it in a warm, draft-free spot to rise for 1 to 2 hours. The dough is ready when it is almost doubled. (If you gently poke it with your finger, it should hold the impression; if it springs back, let it rise for another 15 minutes.)
—Half an hour before the end of the second rise, preheat the oven to 475˚, with a rack in the lower third of the oven, and place a covered 4½- to 5½-quart heavy pot in the center of the rack.
—Using potholders, carefully remove the preheated pot from the oven and uncover it. Unfold the tea towel and quickly, but gently, invert the dough into the pot, seam side up. (Use caution—the pot will be very hot.) Cover the pot, return to the oven, and bake for 30 minutes.
—Remove the lid and continue baking until the bread is a deep chestnut color but not burnt, 15 to 30 minutes more. Use a heatproof spatula or potholders to carefully lift the bread out of the pot and place it on a rack to cool thoroughly (about 1 hour).

Note: The bread is best if eaten within 2 or 3 days of baking, and kept at room temperature, wrapped in wax or butcher paper, or in a paper bag (i.e. not plastic, which toughens bread and makes it rubbery).

Makes one 10-inch round loaf

The post 02/28/13 • EASY RYE BREAD appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the Dec., 2012 Bon Appétit

Many years ago, when I was around 3 or 4 years old, my parents decorated the eating area in our house with a hilarious poster of a smiling, middle-aged Asian guy holding a sandwich he’d presumably just taken a bite out of. Above his head were the words, “You don’t have to be Jewish,” and below it the phrase’s now famous kicker: “to love Levy’s real Jewish rye.” Even as a little guy I was fascinated by that image, and forty plus years later I still find the language from that poster working its way into my head at random moments. Case in point—while I was making the popovers presented here. Now obviously unlike the rye bread from that Levy’s poster, popovers have no particular ethnic association. Still, in their very English, Downton Abbey-ness, popovers do call to mind a certain Anglican attitude that’s the very antithesis of a good deli sandwich. And because the batter they’re made from is essentially the same as the one called for in Yorkshire pudding, and because that dish is for me a key component to any Christmas feast worthy of the title, it naturally made me flash back to that poster’s copy. Or rather, to the copy’s flipside: you don’t have to be Christian to love Christmas dinner.

And that’s the truth, because no matter what you may think about the religious or material associations linked to the holiday, to my way of thinking there is nothing bad that can be said about the big meal that comes along with it. Or at least, the big meal as I have come to know and love it, featuring some sort of cheese- and cream-laden potato dish, sautéed spinach (to balance things out), and a standing rib roast paired with a horseradish infused crème fraîche. In the company of these items, but most especially that roast beef, the buttery, eggy-ness of a crisp/tender Yorkshire pudding is pure decadent perfection—the sort of thing best justified by the phrase, “Hey, it’s the holidays!”

Which is exactly why this recipe from the December issue of Bon Appétit grabbed me by the collar and wouldn’t let go. Years ago, when I was first attempting to prepare a Christmas dinner on my own, I learned that Yorkshire pudding is traditionally made using the fat drippings produced by that aforementioned roast—a rich, buttery payoff that can prove a drag on meal preparation since the making of the popovers must follow that of the meat. Enter the popover, Yorkshire pudding’s duplicate in all things except form, since the brioche shaped pastry is baked in a muffin or popover tin and not a casserole dish. It’s a difference that can lighten the cook’s load immeasurably, as the popover’s smaller shape seems to respond just as well to melted butter as it does to rendered beef fat (key, since without the warm fat to greet the batter the pudding won’t inflate as desired—an important component to the dish), which means you don’t have to wait until that roast is out of the oven to get things going. What’s more, it makes for a tidy, individually sized package on everyone’s plate—something that both looks nice and streamlines the serving process.

Now you might guess from all this rhapsodizing that popovers are something I’ve made before, and you’d be right. But what prompted me to put aside the more than serviceable recipe I’ve used in the past and give this one a try was its addition of three surprise ingredients: freshly ground black pepper, freshly grated nutmeg, and freshly chopped flat-leaf parsley. In other words, along with the signature flavors of butter, eggs, and flour, the dish now has a little something extra—a subtle bite of heat thanks to the pepper and the nutmeg, and a quiet grassy note delivered by the parsley. As such it’s just the thing to round out the buttery richness of the confection in its most basic state.

And it couldn’t be easier to make. To start you whisk together your various dry ingredients (the flour, the salt, the pepper, and the nutmeg), along with the freshly chopped parsley, and in a separate bowl do the same with your wet items (the milk, the eggs, and 3 tablespoons of the butter, melted). Into the egg mixture you gradually add the flour/parsley combo, and once combined you’re good to go—proceeding either directly to the muffin tins, or chilling and refrigerating the mixture for up to a day. This last detail bears underscoring as it’s one more way this recipe serves the harried chef, since any opportunity to get things done ahead of mealtime can obviously lighten the load immeasurably. Either way, once you are ready to start baking, douse each cup with a 1/2 teaspoon of melted butter (made from the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter), then fill the muffin tin three-quarters of the way full with the batter. That said depending on the capacity of your tin (although the recipe calls for “standard muffin cups,” and even if you’re using one described as such, there seems to be some variation as to how much it holds) you may find yourself with excess batter. If so, call a second tin into service and be grateful you have extra!

All that remains at this point is to bake the popovers in a 425˚ oven for 30 to 35 minutes, or until the dough is golden brown, crisped around the edges, and puffed up like a miniature hot air balloon. (For the record, on each occasion I’ve made these I’ve needed that additional five minutes to achieve the correct level of doneness.) What’s more, although it’s not suggested by the recipe, midway through the baking process you may want to rotate the pan if it looks as though the popovers are not browning or puffing up evenly. If you decide this extra step is called for, however, be sure to move quckly as you don’t want to lower your oven’s temperature and risk deflating the pastry—the source of much of its goodness. Similarly, once the popovers are out of the oven you’ll want to get them to the table immediately, so make sure everything else is ready to serve by the time they’re done.

Of course, even a cold, slightly deflated popover can be irresistible—something I tend to experience each Christmas when faced with the dilemma of what to do with the 2 or 3 that remain uneaten (I’ve been known to succumb to temptation and pop one more in my mouth, even after multiple servings of dessert). Still, it’s not a question I anticipate having to resolve this year; with the “secret” ingredients in these popovers, I fully expect they will all be devoured. Seriously, they’re that good.

Ingredients:
—2 cups all-purpose flour
—2 tbs finely chopped flat-leaf parsley
—1 tbs kosher salt
—1 tsp freshly ground black pepper
—1 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
—3 large eggs
—2½ cups whole milk
—5 tbs melted unsalted butter, divided

Directions:
—Preheat oven to 425˚.
—In a medium bowl whisk the flour, parsley, salt, pepper and nutmeg. Set aside.
—In a large bowl whisk the eggs and the milk until well blended. Gently whisk in the flour mixture, followed by 3 tbs of the melted butter (don’t overmix).
—Melt the remaining 2 tbs butter; grease 12 standard muffin cups with ½ tsp melted butter each. (See TRG note #1, below).
—Pour batter into prepared muffin tins, filling cups three-quarters full and dividing equally.
—Bake popovers until puffed, golden brown, and crispy around edges, 30 to 35 minutes. (See TRG note #2, below.) Using a thin knife or an offset spatula, remove popovers from pan. Serve immediately.

BA Note #1: The batter can be made 1 day ahead, covered and chilled, and poured into the prepared muffin tin just prior to baking.

BA note #2: For an intensified flavor, substitute melted duck fat for the melted butter.

TRG note #1: Although the recipe calls for 12 standard-sized muffin cups (which should each hold 1/4 to 1/3 cup batter) you may find you’re left with excess batter once the requisite amount has been poured into the cups. If so, call a second muffin tin into service and use the remaining batter to make as many additional popovers as you’re able.

TRG note #2: If the popovers look to be baking unevenly, try rotating the pan mid-way through the cooking process.

Makes 12 popovers (or more, depending on the size of your pan)

The post 12/06/12 • POPOVERS WITH A PLUS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen

Although this posting is nominally about banana bread, in a larger sense it’s also about cravings, since that’s the category for me in which this particular item falls. Of course, we all have certain foods we find ourselves yearning for from time-to-time, it’s just that some of us (arrow pointed to self here) seem to have more cravings than others—a list that includes everything from deviled eggs, to spaghetti and meatballs, to really sour pickles. Each of those foods are ones that on occasion have temporarily taken over my life, hijacking a meal or activity in the interest of satisfying some powerful hankering, though currently none seems to exert the pull that banana bread does for me, . . . and not just any banana bread—banana bread with the added element of chocolate chips. Now in general I’m not much focused on the cake/bread confluence in which banana bread resides (though a gingerbread sighting does tend to make me slow down), but all that changes when I find myself in the presence of a baked good featuring anything banana and chocolate. It’s something that occurs with less frequency then you might expect—a good thing for my waistline perhaps, but one that tends to make me that much more susceptible when I do come across the combo.

Still, either out of a lack of imagination or a sense of dietary self-preservation, trying my hand at this favorite item never really occurred to me. That is until a friend came to dinner a while back bearing a loaf of banana bread he’d made at home earlier that day. It was a perfect specimen of the confection, all golden brown and seductively shingled with caramelized banana slices. And though there weren’t any chocolate morsels embedded in its moist interior, what it did have was the unmistakable taste of real banana (not to be confused with the artificial variety found in mass-produced banana flavored baked goods). Even without the chocolate, the bread was compulsively eatable—sweet without being cloying, moist without being soggy, dense without being heavy. In short, it was the consummate banana bread. And as for those chocolate chips, that would be easy enough to introduce once I got my hands on the recipe.

So a few weeks later, with the recipe in my possession (I should have known; it came from that ever reliable resource, America’s Test Kitchen) I assembled the various ingredients and set about making my own version of the bread. And, as is typical with any ATK recipe, I learned a few things along the way: namely, that a very ripe banana (i.e. a heavily speckled or even black one) contains more fructose than the un-ripened variety, which is starchier. In other words, when baking with bananas, ripe equals moist and sweet, while the opposite will deliver something dry and flavorless. Since the goal here is to create something that’s packed with flavor and moisture, you obviously want to use the most heavily speckled fruit you can get your hands on (and if the yellow variety is all you have on-hand, see my tip below for speeding up the ripening process). But since ripe can also mean a soggy final product, the recipe suggests an additional step—namely placing 5 of the recipe’s 6 peeled bananas in a heat proof bowl, covering them with plastic wrap (a few openings made with a sharp knife will allow the steam to escape), and giving the whole thing a 5-minute spin on high power in the microwave.

Once the 5 minutes are up, peel away the cellophane and what you’ll find is perfectly softened banana that’s begun to release some of its liquid. To continue this critical process, transfer the banana to a fine mesh strainer, place it over the same bowl in which you zapped the fruit, and allow the warm banana to drain for another 15 minutes or so, giving it an occasional stir to encourage the release of whatever moisture remains. At the appointed time you should have between a ½ and ¾ cup of juice—in other words, the element that risks making your bread soggy will have been successfully separated from the pulp that delivers the bread’s signature dense crumb and banana flavor. Of course, that juice has lots of flavor too, so rather than just pouring it down the drain, the recipe suggests reducing it over medium-high heat for five minutes or so, a step that serves to further intensify the flavor. This reduced juice is then reintroduced into the banana pulp and pulverized together with the help of a potato masher until it’s relatively smooth and paste-like. Finally, your bananas are ready for baking.

I say “finally” but the truth is that all of these steps are both fast and simple, and the payoff—intense banana flavor held within a cake that is moist but never soggy—is well worth it. What’s more, all that remains after these preparatory steps is to whisk the fruit with the butter (one stick, melted and cooled slightly), the eggs, the light brown sugar, and the vanilla, and then to introduce this mixture into the dry ingredients (the flour, the baking soda, and the salt), stirring until just combined, but with some streaks of flour still remaining in the mixture. At this point you can fold in the ½ cup of toasted and chopped walnuts if you’re using them, or you can do as I did (no big surprise here) and replace them with a ½ cup of bittersweet chocolate morsels. Pour the batter into a loaf pan that’s been coated with nonstick cooking spray, place overlapping banana slices along either side of the loaf’s surface, sprinkle with granulated sugar, and bake in a 350˚ oven until a toothpick inserted in the bread’s center comes out clean (start checking at 55 minutes but it may take up to 20 minutes more—mine did). Once it’s done, the bread should be given 15 minutes or so to cool before being removed from its pan.

Undoubtedly, the addition of those chocolate morsels ratchets up the sweetness quotient here, something that may not be to everyone’s liking. For me, though, it proved the perfect counterpoint to the warm flavor of the banana, while also introducing a pleasing textural component into the finished product (seriously, is there anything better than biting through the wonderful density produced by baked flour, sugar, and eggs only to meet a pocket of soft chocolate?). But even without the chocolate addition this banana bread is the sort of thing you can’t stay away from—something I discovered the first time I sampled it and kept returning for another slice, and then another. If you have a weakness for banana bread of any kind this is the last recipe for it that you’ll ever want.

TRG’s modified ingredients:
—1¾ cups unbleached all-purpose flour
—1 tsp baking soda
—1/2 tsp table salt
—6 large very ripe bananas (about 2¼ lbs), peeled (see notes, below)
—8 tbs (1 stick) unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly
—2 large eggs
—3/4 cup packed light brown sugar
—1 tsp vanilla extract
—1/2 cup walnuts, toasted and coarsely chopped (optional)
—1/2 cup bittersweet chocolate chips (Note: this is a TRG addition and also optional)
—2 tsp granulated sugar

Note #1: Be sure to use very ripe bananas or the loaf will be bland.

Note #2: This recipe can be made with thawed frozen bananas; since they release a lot of liquid naturally, bypass the microwaving in step 2 and go directly into the fine-mesh strainer. Do not use a frozen banana for the topping in step 4, however, as it will be too soft to slice.

Note #3: If using a slightly larger pan than the one called for in the recipe (like a 9- by 5-inch variety) start checking for doneness five minutes earlier.

Note #4: The loaf can be stored (cool completely first), covered tightly with plastic warp.

TRG note: If you don’t have any ripe bananas on hand try placing the unpeeled bananas on a cookie sheet and place in a 300˚ oven for one hour. Do this only for the bananas being used in the batter, and not the one for the topping.

TRG’s modified directions:
—Adjust oven rack to middle position and heat oven to 350˚. Spray 8½ by 4½-inch loaf pan with nonstick cooking spray. Whisk flour, baking soda, and salt together in large bowl. Set aside.
—Place 5 bananas in microwave-safe bowl; cover with plastic wrap and cut several steam vents in plastic with paring knife. Microwave on high power until bananas are soft and have released liquid, about 5 minutes. Transfer bananas to a fine-mesh strainer placed over medium bowl and allow to drain for 15 minutes, stirring occasionally (you should have ½ to ¾ cup liquid).
—Transfer liquid to medium saucepan and cook over medium-high heat until reduced to ¼ cup, about 5 minutes. Remove pan from heat, stir reduced liquid into bananas, and mash with potato masher until fairly smooth. Whisk in butter, eggs, brown sugar, and vanilla.
—Pour banana mixture into flour mixture and stir until just combined with some streaks of flour remaining. Gently fold in walnuts and/or chocolate chips, if using. Scrape batter into prepared pan.
—Slice remaining banana diagonally into ¼-inch-thick slices. Shingle banana slices on top of either side of loaf, leaving 1½-inch-wide space down center to ensure even rise. Sprinkle granulated sugar evenly over loaf.
—Bake until toothpick inserted in center of loaf comes out clean, 55 to 75 minutes. Cool bread in pan on wire rack 15 minutes, then remove loaf from pan and continue to cool on wire rack.
—Serve warm or at room temperature.

Makes one 9-inch loaf

The post 11/29/12 • BANANA BREAD UNBOUND appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from Lidia’s Italy in America, by Lidia Matticchio Bastianich and Tania Bastianich Manuali (Knopf)

One of my earliest memories is of throwing a tantrum so epic that despite reasoning, pleading, and finally multiple angry warnings, my mom had no choice but to haul me out of the West Philadelphia swim club where we were spending our Sunday afternoon and drag me home. The reason for all the drama: being told that no, I couldn’t have pizza for dinner. That’s right folks, I threw a forty-five minute fit for no other reason than I couldn’t have what I wanted for dinner—embarrassing, to be sure, but at least I’m consistent in my enthusiasms, both for food in general and for pizza in particular. Because while I may be better equipped to handle whatever emotions come up for me around mealtime these days, the site of a long line at a favorite restaurant can still cause my heart to quicken, and it’s a reaction that’s all the more pronounced when there’s pizza on the menu. Which makes it a little surprising that it was only recently that I began to experiment with making pizza in my own kitchen (and by that I don’t mean the kind that you find in the frozen foods section of the grocery store).

I suppose one reason for the delay was the idea that pizza making required some special set of skills, like being able to throw a spinning wheel of dough six feet into the air. Or maybe it was a belief that the process called for a variety of specialized equipment, like a large and unwieldy pizza stone—precisely the sort of luxury I don’t have room for in my New York City kitchen. That neither assumption was true is something that gradually dawned on me over the past year, aided in large part by the various pizza making features that appeared in a number of the cooking magazines during that time (the March issue of Bon Appétit and the April/May issue of Fine Cooking, to name a few). Still, if those stories provided the spark, then it was a recipe from the Lidia Bastianich cookbook Lidia’s Italian in America that fanned the flames. It’s a collection that’s packed with the sorts of tantalizing Italian-American recipes I’ve always had a weakness for, among them one for a Chicago-style deep-dish pizza I couldn’t stop thinking about. Ultimately, it was that recipe that drove me into the kitchen (and through my pizza making anxieties), and it’s the one I bring to you here.

I should start by assuring you that this recipe is easy, and that the end result is every bit as gratifying as the words “deep-dish pizza” are tempting. It’s something that bears repeating, because if this is your first time tackling pizza dough there will likely come a moment or two when you think this is perhaps too technical a process for a home cook such as yourself. This may arise while you’re waiting for the dissolved yeast to exhibit the telltale bubbles signaling it’s ready to be added to the flour and cornmeal comprising the dough (this last ingredient brings a pleasing gritty quality to the crust), or perhaps later in the process, when you’ve added just a touch more water to the mixing bowl and the unfinished combo goes momentarily, frighteningly, all gloppy. To these and other potential concerns I say: relax. This isn’t a soufflé you’re making—it’s a pizza, one of the most forgiving dishes on the planet. Just be sure to use a fresh packet of dry yeast and it will perform as intended. And if that extra water has made a short-term mess of the flour mixture, add a tablespoon (or two) more flour and it will quickly return to form.

In fact, that instant when the mixing bowl reveals not a shaggy, gloppy mess but something smooth and tight and, well, pizza dough-like is one of the many satisfying moments offered by this recipe. (Another is discovering that after 90 minutes in an oiled and dish-cloth covered bowl, the dough has, in fact, doubled in size as promised—meaning the yeast has worked as intended, and you’ve followed the instructions correctly.) As for that 90-minute time-out required by the dough, this may seem an eternity at first glance, but it proves the ideal opportunity to prepare the various elements that get layered onto the dough, meaning the slicing of the provolone, the mozzarella, and the pepperoni; the grating of the Parmesan or Grana Padano cheese (less nutty and salty than the former, so for me less appealing here); and the making of the all-important marinara sauce.

This last item is also from the Bastianich book mentioned above, and is a standout for both its zesty flavor and the speed with which it can be prepared (about 20 minutes). As such, it’s a great recipe to have in your arsenal and just the thing for those nights when you want to whip up a pasta dinner but don’t have multiple hours to spare. That said I did make one small change to the recipe, by adding ¼ teaspoon of oregano along with the sprig of fresh basil. This, of course, is entirely discretional (I’ve listed the addition as optional below)—I just happen to like oregano and found its presence missing from the final product on my trial run. And one small tip: when crushing the whole tomatoes it’s best to wear an apron. I rarely do, and as a result found myself wiping tomato juice and seeds off both my shirt and my glasses. Also, the marinara recipe below will make about four cups of sauce, which is twice what you’ll need for the pizza; the extra can be set aside for another use (within the next few days), or allowed to cool completely and then frozen for up to several months.

In any case, with all of these elements in place, it’s time for the final assembly. This can be done in either a large oiled baking pan (for more of a Sicilian-style pizza eating experience) or in an oiled 12-inch skillet. For me there’s simply no contest here, since everything just looks better (and therefore tastes better) when produced in a skillet. Either way, once the dough has been pressed into your vehicle of choice, on goes the sliced cheese, followed by the sauce, the pepperoni, and finally the grated Parmesan or Grana Padano. Step back, admire your work, then cover with foil and slip into a 400˚ oven for 45 minutes, before uncovering and baking for a final 20 minutes, or until the crust is just golden brown and the topping goes all bubbly (my oven needed another ten minutes or so to achieve the desired affect).

Perhaps the most challenging part of this entire enterprise is allowing the pizza to rest out of the oven for 10 minutes or so before cutting into it—a brief test of discipline that’s nonetheless critical in allowing the various ingredients to firm up slightly, not to mention protecting you against the very real possibility of scorching the roof of your mouth. Still, it’s a small price to pay for an end result this satisfying: the ultimate Chicago- (or Sicilian-) style specialty delivered direct from your own kitchen, but with more zest, more crunch, more tang, and more cheesy gooeyness than you’re likely to find at your neighborhood pizza joint. And, of course, there’s the satisfaction that comes with knowing you did it all yourself; that tastes plenty good, too.

TRG’s modified ingredients for the sauce:
—4 cups San Marzano or other Italian plum tomatoes, with juices (one 35-oz can)
—1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
—1/2 cup sliced garlic
—1/4 tsp red pepper flakes or more to taste
—1 cup hot water
—1 tsp kosher salt or more to taste
—1/4 tsp dried oregano (optional)
—1 stalk or big sprig fresh basil (with 20 or so whole leaves)

Ingredients for the dough:
—1/2 tsp sugar
—1 packet instant dry yeast (2¼ tsp)
—3½ cups all-purpose flour, plus more for kneading the dough
—1/2 cup fine cornmeal
—1/2 tsp kosher salt
—1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for bowl and pan

Ingredients for the topping:
—4 oz provolone, sliced
—4 oz mozzarella, sliced
—1 to 1½ cups marinara sauce (see recipe below)
—2 oz pepperoni, sliced
—1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano or Grana Padano
—1/2 tsp dried oregano

TRG’s modified directions for the sauce:
—Pour the tomatoes and their juice into a big mixing bowl. Using both hands, crush the tomatoes and break them up into small pieces (chunky is fine).
—Pour the oil into a big skillet, scatter in the garlic slices, and set over medium-high heat. Cook for 1½ minutes or so, until the slices are sizzling, then push the garlic aside to clear a dry spot to toast the pepper flakes for another ½ minute. Shake and stir the pan until the garlic slices are light gold and starting to darken. Immediately pour in the crushed tomatoes and stir with the garlic. Rinse out the tomato can and bowl with 1 cup of hot water and pour this into the skillet as well.
—Raise the heat; sprinkle in the salt and oregano and stir. Push the stalk or sprigs of basil into the sauce until completely covered. When the sauce is boiling, cover the pan, reduce the heat slightly, and cook for 10 minutes at an actively bubbling simmer. (The sauce should only be slightly reduced from the original volume.) Remove the poached basil stalk or sprig.

Note: Recipe makes 4 cups of sauce; use remainder for another dish (2 cups is sufficient for a ½ lb of pasta) or let cool and freeze whatever not using.

Directions for the dough and assembly:
—Pour 1 cup plus 3 tbs warm (90 to 110 degrees) water into a bowl, then stir in the sugar and yeast. Let sit until the yeast begins to bubble, about 5 minutes.
—In an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, mix the flour, cornmeal, and salt on low to combine. Pour in the yeast mixture and the olive oil to combine while still mixing. Once the dough comes together, switch to the dough hook, and knead on medium-high speed to make a smooth dough, about 2 to 3 minutes. Add a little more water or flour as needed to make a soft dough.
—Put the dough in an oiled bowl, cover, and let rise until doubled in size, 1¼ to 1½ hours.
—Preheat oven to 400˚. Punch down the dough, and press it into a 14- x 10-inch oiled baking pan or an oiled 12-inch cast-iron skillet, gently pressing the dough up the sides to make a shell. Fill the shell with an even layer of the provolone and mozzarella, then spread the sauce to cover the cheese completely. Top with the pepperoni, and sprinkle with the grated cheese and oregano.
—Cover with foil and bake 45 minutes. Then uncover and bake until the crust is deep golden brown and the topping is bubbly, about 20 minutes more. Let sit 5 to 10 minutes before cutting into wedges and serving.

Makes 1 pizza

The post 10/18/12 • D.I.Y. DEEP-DISH PIZZA appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the May, 2012 Bon Appétit

As a kid any number of things could make an appearance in my lunchbox that would immediately cause me to slam it shut, or propel me to the nearest trash can (lest any of my classmates catch sight of the offending item and start their humiliating chorus of Ewwwwwwwww!s). Among these reactive items: liverwurst, Brie and onions on a baguette (my mom was way ahead of the curve on this one—uncomfortably so), Campbell’s Scotch Broth soup (which I still detest), and egg salad. The irony is that many of these items were ones I would have been only too happy to eat in the privacy of my own home, but that surrounded by a roomful of rabid ten-years-olds, none of whom was eating anything more exotic than a bologna and cheese sandwich, were tantamount to social suicide. Back then I’d rather go hungry than take the chance of public, food-related humiliation. (And if I was lucky, I still might be able to negotiate a piece of my neighbor’s Yodel.)

In other words, the egg salad recipe I bring to you here is exactly the sort of thing I would have cursed my mom for thinking I could safely carry into the lions’ den that was elementary school. Because if plain old boring egg salad was the source of countless comments and curled lips, then one featuring such ingredients as shallot and vinegar and curry would have required adult-sized courage (and taste-buds) to even consider eating. Which is to say, it’s precisely the kind of egg salad I’d be only too happy to discover in my lunchbox today, and no doubt one reason I immediately flagged the recipe when I came across it last spring, in the May issue of Bon Appétit.

The recipe was actually part of a special Mother’s Day menu, with the egg salad intended for miniature pita pockets—an update, I suppose, on old-school finger sandwiches. That part didn’t appeal to me so much (when it comes to sandwiches, I generally prefer the two-fisted variety), but I loved the idea of adding curry and cumin to the cooked eggs. And when I discovered that a quantity of cider vinegar was also called for, well, suffice to say it wasn’t long before I was in the kitchen and the requisite eggs had been put on to boil. In truth, I’m a big fan of egg salad—or maybe I should say, the possibility of egg salad. Because the reality is that egg salad rarely lives up to its potential, at least as measured by the outsize satisfaction I derive from deviled eggs. And aside from a slight textural difference, and the fact that the two are consumed in different ways, there really is no good reason that the one should be any less satisfying than the other.

Be that as it may, there’s generally a wide gap between the two experiences, with egg salad’s shortcomings tending to fall within two distinct categories: texture and taste. Now I realize there are those who will disagree with me here, but to my way of thinking, an egg salad is best when it’s creamy—much like the interior of those deviled eggs I mentioned earlier. That’s something I rarely encounter in store- or restaurant-bought egg salad, and, in fact, it’s not necessarily even a quality of the egg salad I bring to you here, as the instructions call for chopping the four hard-boiled eggs listed in the recipe. Chopping, of course, will deliver that chunky texture most people associate with egg salad, but as I like things a little smoother, instead of using a fork to break up the eggs, I used a potato masher—an implement which rendered the bits of egg both smaller and more uniform than the alternate method, and which, with the addition of the ¼ cup of mayonnaise called for, resulted in something delightfully creamy. Of course, chunky is fine, too, but the latter approach definitely gets my vote.

As for taste, unlike the standard egg salad, which calls for little more than mayo, salt, pepper, and maybe a dash of mustard in the mix, this recipe more than rises to the flavor challenge, adding a variety of ingredients that keep things exciting while never drowning out the all-important “eggy-ness” of the finished dish. In other words, exactly the sorts of ingredients one would find in those well-loved deviled eggs. Principal among these additions is a ½ teaspoon of curry powder, which lends the finished product an unexpected hint of the exotic. And if you think the combination of curry and mayonnaise might team up to create something overwhelming, even cloying, the presence of the Dijon mustard and cider vinegar here offers just the acidic note needed to cut through the richness, while at the same time perfectly rounding out the various other flavors. Add a little cumin (that deviled egg standard), as well as a small amount of chopped shallot and scallion for a little more tang and a bit of textural interest, and you have a combo that raises egg salad to a whole other level.

That said, there is one ingredient in the recipe that I don’t endorse, and that is the Granny Smith apple—an item BA suggests peeling and cutting into small pieces before adding to the mixture. The impulse to introduce something sweet here is one I appreciate, just as I do the added crunch the apple brings to the mix, but neither are components I’m really looking for in my egg salad, particularly one that already delivers so effectively on both the taste and texture trajectory. Still, give it a try; what may be overkill for my palate could prove the magic ingredient for yours. Either way, one thing you don’t want to skip is the sprig of watercress the magazine suggests using to garnish the sandwich—a bright, slightly bitter addition that proves the perfect foil to this tantalizing array of flavors.

What? You’re not already in the kitchen? Then I should probably also mention that there’s nothing more challenging or time consuming involved in preparing this variety of egg salad than the ho-hum version you’ve likely been eating for most of your life. I love that, just as I love discovering a way to introduce a little excitement into something that’s usually so entirely forgettable. For what it’s worth, I’d choose this new and improved egg salad over a Yodel any day.

TRG’s modified ingredients:
—1/4 cup mayonnaise
—2 tbs scallion, thinly sliced
—1 tbs shallot, minced
—1½ tbs apple cider vinegar
—1½ tsp Dijon mustard
—1/2 tsp (heaping) curry powder
—1/4 tsp ground cumin
—4 large hard-boiled eggs, chopped (see TRG’s note #1, below, as well as foolproof instructions for hard-cooking eggs, at the bottom of this posting)
—1 medium Granny Smith apple, peeled and cut into 1/8-inch cubes (see TRG’s note #2, below)
—Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper, to taste
—Fresh black bread, whole wheat bread, or other good quality sandwich bread
—Watercress sprigs (for garnish)

TRG note #1: Eggs can be mashed with a strong fork, or, if you like a creamier consistency, try using a potato masher.

TRG note #2: I love apples, but not in my egg salad; I omitted them here.

TRG’s modified directions:
—Whisk mayonnaise, scallion, shallot, apple cider vinegar, mustard, curry powder, and cumin in a large bowl. Fold in eggs and apple (if using). Season with kosher salt and freshly ground pepper.
—Divide among four slices of bread and top with watercress sprigs.

TRG’s directions for hard-cooking eggs:
—Place eggs in a saucepan and cover with one inch of water. Place pan over medium high heat and bring water to a rapid boil.
—Take the pan off heat, cover, and let sit for 15 minutes.
—Immediately plunge the cooked eggs into ice water to stop the cooking. Peel and eat.

Makes 4 sandwiches

The post 10/11/12 • DEVILISH EGG SALAD appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the May, 2010 Cook’s Illustrated (click here to view the recipe)

It’s taken me a while to get this recipe to you, but it’s one that’s been on my mind since early summer. Remember those weeks in the beginning of June, when you still couldn’t quite believe it was light at 8:30 PM and it seemed like those long, warm days would stretch on forever? Well it was around that time that I was treated to a dinner with a Latin American theme—the highlight of which was a platter (or three) of homemade empanadas, filled with cheese and sweet corn, and passed around while everyone was having a pre-meal mojito. Those empanadas were a revelation. Sure, I’ve eaten my share of empanadas over the years, but none had been anything close to these, perhaps because none had found their way to my mouth so soon—or so directly—after exiting the oven. Or maybe it was simply the result of a talented chef, or an extra special recipe, or exceptional ingredients (the corn, as I recall, was particularly good). And it didn’t hurt that the individual making them (the gifted chef, Sebastian Picasso) was Argentine, or that the recipe is one he’s been making, and perfecting, for years. Suffice to say that I ended the meal with one clear directive: learning the art of empanada-making myself.

As it turns out, it’s a lot less intimidating than you might imagine. To start, of course, I asked Sebastian if he’d be willing to share his recipe with me—something he agreed to, but that I ultimately ended up not using, for the simple reason that it was written from the perspective of someone who generally follows his instincts versus a recipe. That wasn’t a luxury I could enjoy my first—or even second or third—time at bat, and so I went in search of a recipe that would spell things out for me more precisely. This I found in the Cook’s Illustrated archive—one I vaguely remembered pausing over (but never actually preparing) while flipping through a copy of the magazine several years back. The recipe was for a streamlined version of traditional beef empanadas (versus the slightly less common corn and cheese type Sebastian had prepared), which also seemed a good thing, as I was curious to see what impact a homemade approach would have on this variety as well. (I have, however, included Sebastian’s recipe for the corn and cheese filling below, as these instructions produced less head-scratching for me, not to mention a terrific alternative to the ground beef standard.)

So here’s the first thing you should know about making empanadas: although the process involves three distinct steps (the making of the dough, the making of the filling, and the marriage of these two elements), none are particularly time-consuming and all can be done well in advance of introducing them to the oven. This last detail is an important one as empanadas are ideal for feeding a crowd, but are not the sort of thing you want to be in the midst of preparing as your guests are milling around the kitchen (some concentration is required). In other words, the beef filling can be refrigerated for up to two days (the corn and cheese should probably be called into play the same day); the dough can be made several days in advance; and best of all, the assembled empanadas can be kept in the fridge for up to forty-eight hours before baking. All of which means you can get the heavy lifting out of the way well before your guests arrive, simply sliding the tray of assembled pockets into the oven 40 minutes or so before you want to serve them.

The other thing worth mentioning is that although empanadas are traditionally viewed as a snack or party food in Latin America, for North American tastes—and based on the size of the empanadas produced by this recipe—they work just as well (if not better) as the main event at mealtime. This is true whether you plan to pair the stuffed pockets with a salad and to turn it into a knife and fork event, or to consume them direct from hand to mouth—something for which their self-contained quality makes them ideally suited. Either way, you can pretty much be assured of an appreciative audience: no food seems to put a smile on peoples’ faces faster or more consistently than an empanada.

That’s especially true with this recipe for several reasons. First and foremost there’s the beef filling, which is a mouth-watering mix of ground beef, cooked alongside a quantity of sautéed onions, all of which is flavored with garlic and a variety of spices (cumin, cayenne pepper, ground cloves), and then simmered in the company of a ½ cup of chicken broth to increase the flavor quotient. And that’s just the beginning: once this mixture has had a chance to cool (about 10 minutes or so), you can then introduce the really good stuff—the cilantro, the chopped eggs, raisins, and olives, and the 4 teaspoons of cider vinegar, which along with those chopped olives lends the whole mixture a pleasing bite that also presents the perfect foil to the filling’s meaty richness.

And then there’s the dough, which is both foolproof (a result of CI’s meticulous tinkering and instructions) and pleasingly rustic—this thanks to the addition of the masa harina, a nutty, ground cornmeal typically used to make tortillas. What’s more, the addition of a ½ cup of cold vodka or tequila, sprinkled over the gloppy mixture resulting from the combination of the dry ingredients (the all-purpose and corn flours, the sugar, the salt) and the butter, assures the finished product a light, flakey quality (and no, the alcohol cannot be tasted).

Two quick tips, however, are in order: the first involves the instruction to roll out the dough into twelve 6-inch circles. After several tries, none of which produced anything remotely resembling a perfect circle, I discovered that by gently lifting the dough from my work surface and turning it clockwise a few degrees before once again attacking with my rolling pin, I was more likely to end up with the desired shape than if I simply left the dough in one spot and came at it from different directions. Also, while the recipe’s instructions for rotating the two empanada-filled baking sheets during cooking is designed to ensure even cooking, I still found that the pan located closest to the heat source during the final cooking phase browned faster than the one placed lower in the oven. So keep a close eye on things, or risk a tray of blackened empanadas. And one final note: as good as these empanadas are, I found a touch of added heat made them that much better—a void filled easily enough with just a few splashes of hot sauce. In fact, Alfredo tells me this is the way he grew up eating them in Miami, and if it’s good enough for the Cuban community in South Florida, it’s good enough for me.

Ingredients for beef filling:
—1 large slice hearty white sandwich bread, torn into quarters
—2 tbs plus ½ cup low-sodium chicken broth
—1 lb 85% lean ground chuck
—Table salt and ground black pepper
—1 tbs olive oil
—2 medium onions, chopped fine (about 2 cups)
—4 medium garlic cloves, minced or pressed through garlic press (about 4 tsp)
—1 teaspoon ground cumin
—1/4 teaspoon Cayenne
—1/8 tsp ground cloves
—1/2 cup packed cilantro leaves, coarsely chopped
—2 hard-cooked eggs, coarsely chopped
—1/3 cup raisins, coarsely chopped
—1/4 cup pitted green olives, coarsely chopped
—4 tsp cider vinegar

Ingredients for the corn and cheese filling (courtesy of Sebastian Picasso):
—8 ears of sweet corn, kernels removed from cob
—2 large Spanish onions, thinly sliced
—2 cloves garlic, chopped fine
—1½ balls fresh mozzarella (the drier the better), diced
—1/2 lb of Pawelet Cheese, diced
—24 tbs (3 sticks) unsalted butter
—1½ cups fresh basil, roughly chopped

Ingredients for the dough:
—3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour, plus extra for work surface
—1 cup masa harina (see note #1, below)
—1 tbs sugar
—2 tsp table salt
—12 tbs (1½ sticks) unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch cubes and chilled
—1/2 cup cold vodka or tequila (see note #2, below)
—1/2 cup cold water
—5 tbs olive oil (for baking empanadas)

Note #1: Masa harina—the ground and dehydrated cornmeal used to make Mexican tortillas and tamales—can be found in the international aisle with other Latin foods, or in the baking aisle with flour. If you cannot locate, replace with additional all-purpose flour (for a total of 4 cups).

Note #2: The alcohol in the dough is essential to the texture of the crust and imparts no flavor—do not substitute for it or omit.

Directions for the beef filling:
—Process bread and 2 tablespoons chicken broth in food processor until paste forms, about 5 seconds, scraping down sides of bowl as necessary. Add beef, ¾ teaspoon salt, and ½ teaspoon pepper and pulse until mixture is well-combined, six to eight 1-second pulses.
—Heat oil in a 12-inch nonstick skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add onions and cook, stirring frequently, until beginning to brown, about 5 minutes. Stir in garlic, cumin, cayenne, and cloves; cook until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add beef mixture and cook, breaking meat into 1-inch pieces with wooden spoon, until browned, about 7 minutes. Add remaining ½ cup chicken broth and simmer until mixture is moist but not wet, 3 to 5 minutes.
—Transfer mixture to bowl and cool 10 minutes. Stir in cilantro, eggs, raisins, olives, and vinegar. Season with salt and pepper to taste and refrigerate until cool, about 1 hour. (Filling can be refrigerated for up to 2 days.)

Sebastian Picasso’s directions for corn and cheese filling:
—Saute onions over low heat with 2 tablespoons of butter until softened but still firm. Add the corn and cook briefly, then add the garlic and stir well. Set aside and let cool.
—Once the corn mixture is cool, add the cheese and mix well. Season with salt and more butter if needed. Add the basil, stir well, and let rest for one hour. NOTE: Make sure the filling is cool before placing in the dough rounds, as a warm mixture will cause the dough to fall apart.

Directions for the dough:
—Process 1 cup flour, masa harina, sugar, and salt in food processor until combined, about two 1-second pulses. Add butter and process until homogeneous and dough resembles wet sand, about 10 seconds. Add remaining 2 cups flour and pulse until mixture is evenly distributed around bowl, 4 to 6 quick pulses. Empty mixture into large bowl.
—Sprinkle vodka or tequila and water over mixture. Using hands, mix dough until it forms a tacky mass that sticks together. Divide dough in half, then divide each half into 6 equal pieces. Transfer dough pieces to plate, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate until firm, about 45 minutes or up to 2 days.

Directions for assembly:
—Adjust oven rack to upper- and lower-middle positions, place 1 baking sheet on each rack, and heat oven to 425˚.
—While baking sheets are preheating, remove dough from refrigerator. Roll each dough piece out on lightly floured work surface into a 6-inch circle about 1/8 inch thick, covering each dough round with plastic wrap while rolling remaining dough.
—Place about 1/3 cup filling (either the beef mixture or the corn and cheese) in center of each dough round. Brush edges of dough with water and fold dough over filling. Trim any ragged edges. Press edges to seal. Crimp edges using fork. (The formed empanadas can be covered tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerated for up to 2 days prior to cooking.)

Directions for baking:
—Drizzle 2 tablespoons oil over surface of each baking sheet, then return to oven for 2 minutes. Brush empanadas with remaining tablespoon oil.
—Carefully place 6 empanadas on each baking sheet and cook until well-browned and crisp, 25 to 30 minutes, rotating baking sheets front to back and top to bottom halfway through baking. Cool empanadas on wire rack 10 minutes and serve.

Makes 12 empanadas

The post 09/13/12 • DREAMING IN EMPANADAS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the May, 2012 Food & Wine (click here to view the recipe)

Greetings from the Olympics!! . . . Well, not really, although in some ways my head is still at “the games” (or maybe I just left it in Heathrow’s Terminal Three, while making a mad dash for my flight to the U.S. late Tuesday). In other words, I may technically be back at my desk in New York City, but I don’t feel entirely “here” yet. Such is the dislocating effect of international travel, though the extraordinary energy surrounding an event such as the Olympics surely also has something to do with the gummy state of my brain this morning. There was something truly strange about standing in my bedroom late last night watching highlights from the American women’s win in gymnastics earlier in the evening, knowing that just one day prior I’d been sitting (and standing, and cheering) in the very same venue, watching the British men’s team win their first medal in gymnastics in more than 100 years. Seeing the athletes and the venues up-close brings everything down to earth, but it’s a shift that only makes what you’re witnessing that much more incredible. And once experienced, it’s a perspective that carries over to the televised version (at least it did for me).

In any case, while my intent had not been to offer a complete rundown of the various events I took in during my four days at the Olympics, I had hoped to share with you what I thought would be an interesting sideshow: the food being served at the corresponding venues. I guess I’d hoped that for London’s Olympic games some local talent along the lines of a Gordon Ramsay, or a Jamie Oliver, or a Nigella Lawson would be called into service. I mean with all the talk of Britain using the Olympics to show the world just what they were capable of, it didn’t seem unreasonable to imagine that visitors would be offered at least a few food options as exciting as the events they had come to see. Regrettably, it was not to be. While the stadium where the opening ceremonies were held did offer a few Indian food options, the overwhelming majority of concessions there and elsewhere offered the standard array of pizza, chicken sandwiches, and . . . you guessed it, McDonald’s—an official sponsor of the 2012 Olympic Games.

So rather than reporting on my own four-day marathon of Olympic scale eating (because there’s only so many Big Macs even I can eat) I’m instead bringing you this recipe for a grilled-pork banh mi sandwich. It’s the sort of thing I’d have been only too happy to find at any of the London venues I visited, and a dish that will surely make an appearance should The Games ever end up in Vietnam. The recipe comes from the May issue of Food & Wine—and more specifically from chef Luke Nguyen (of Luke Nguyen’s Vietnam, which airs weekly on the Cooking Channel). As Nguyen explains, it’s a sandwich he literally sniffed out while exploring the streets of Saigon a number of years ago. (In Vietnamese, the words “banh mi” refer to any kind of bread—though often it’s the baguette, which was introduced there by the French way back when). Now Asian street food has obviously gotten a fair amount of attention over the last several years. And deservedly so; at least from what I’ve sampled it’s not hard to see why these simple, flavorful dishes are not just popular in Seoul, or Bangkok, or wherever the item in question might have originated, but in the various American cities where they’ve been introduced as well. Nonetheless, I’ve never been the least bit tempted to try making any of them at home. That is, not until I came across this particular recipe.

I suppose the principal reason for this turnaround lies in the sandwich’s signature ingredient: grilled pork. Even in my current (mostly) non-meat eating mindset I could recognize that there are few sandwich fillings more satisfying than thinly sliced pork tenderloin that’s been cooked over an open flame. Add to this the fact that, prior to cooking, the sliced pork was to be added to a sweet and sour marinade of fish sauce (a savory liquid made from fermented fish with sea salt if you must know), which is then mixed with small amounts of honey, sugar, pepper, scallions and garlic and left to soak for a few hours, and I knew that the meat would be something special indeed. It didn’t hurt either that alongside the pork would be nestled a few sprigs of cilantro and a cluster of matchstick-sized, seedless cucumber slices, or that the whole combo would be tucked within the downy embrace of a sandwich roll that had been slathered with a combination of Hoisin sauce (for a bit of spicy sweetness) and fiery Sriracha chile sauce (Thailand’s version of hot sauce). So yeah, count me in for exactly all of those reasons.

But there were a few issues to be resolved first. Although the cooking instructions couldn’t have been simpler and—aside from the time needed to marinate the meat—required little more than a half hour or so in the kitchen, it did call for cooking the pork on a barbecue, a piece of equipment to which I have only occasional access. What’s more, the recipe listed a variety of Asian ingredients I wasn’t certain I could lay my hands on without committing to a lengthy search, something that tends to kill my enthusiasm for most cooking projects. As it turns out this last concern was a non-issue, since all of the ingredients (the Hoisin sauce, the fish sauce, the Sriracha) were easily sourced at my local Whole Foods. What’s more, the Sriracha—the one ingredient I was most concerned about locating—even turned up at my local corner deli, wedged between the Dijon mustard and the Hellman’s mayo. In other words, none of these ingredients should be too hard for you to locate.

And as for that cooking issue, instead of waiting until I found myself with easy access to a charcoal or gas grill, I decided to put my grill pan to use instead. True, the meat wouldn’t benefit from the pleasant char that only direct contact with an open flame can deliver, but I figured the various other flavors at play would be sufficient to allow for this minor deviation. And so I set to work, whirring the marinade ingredients in the blender, then dropping the thinly sliced meat into the mixture, and placing the whole combo (covered) in the fridge for a few hours—plenty of time during which to slice the cucumbers, pull apart the cilantro sprigs, even read the paper. By the time I’d done all of that the two hours were up, at which point I threaded the pork onto the bamboo skewers as directed (placing the tip through the top and bottom of each slice; roughly four slices for each of the twelve skewers), though first making sure to soak the skewers in water for an hour before adding the meat. This last step is actually one the recipe doesn’t mention, but that nonetheless struck me as a good idea regardless of your cooking method, as you don’t want the bamboo to burn away before you have a chance to remove the meat from the heat source. And if you decide to prepare the pork on the stove as I did, plan on letting it stay in the pan a little longer than the four minutes listed in the recipe (for anywhere between eight and ten minutes) as even on high heat a grill pan simply can’t generate as much heat as a gas grill.

Other than the cloud of smoke produced by my revised cooking method (as previously noted in these pages, my NYC exhaust system just doesn’t work all that well) I couldn’t have been happier with the results. The pork was crisp and tender, with just the right amount of sweet/spicy caramelization on its exterior (thanks to the honey and sugar), and the various other ingredients—the heat of the Sriracha, the cooling effect of the sliced cucumber, the pleasant bitterness of the cilantro—proved the perfect foil for the yin and yang quality of the meat. It was everything a French roll could possibly want, not to mention my own gold medal appetite.

Ingredients:
—1/4 cup Asian fish sauce
—1 tbs honey
—2 tbs sugar
—1 tsp freshly ground pepper
—6 scallions, white and tender green parts only, thinly sliced
—2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
—1½ lbs pork tenderloin, thinly sliced
—Six 8 inch-long rolls (or 2 baguettes cut into 8 inch-lengths), split
—Hoisin sauce
—Sriracha chile sauce
—Vegetable oil, for grilling
—1/2 seedless cucumber, cut into 2 inch by ½ inch matchsticks
—1½ cups loosely packed cilantro sprigs

Special equipment:
—A grill or grill pan.
—12 bamboo skewers (soaked in water for one hour)

TRG’s modified directions:
—In a blender, puree the fish sauce with the honey, sugar, pepper, scallions, and garlic. Transfer the marinade to a bowl, add the pork, and toss. Refrigerate for 2 to 4 hours. Thread the pork through the top and bottom of each slice onto 12 bamboo skewers.
—Spread the rolls with hoisin and Sriracha. Light a grill and oil the grates (if using a grill pan, use the oil to moisten the pan). Brush the pork with oil and grill over high heat, turning until just cooked, 4 minutes (8 to 10 minutes if using a grill pan). Place two skewers in each roll, close, and pull out the skewers. Top with the cucumber and cilantro, and serve.

Serves 6

The post 08/03/12 • STREET EATS, ASIAN-STYLE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from The Gourmet Cookbook, Vol. II (1972) 

Sometimes a craving demands immediate satisfaction. In the case of a donut, or a piece of chocolate, or even a pastrami sandwich, often the easiest way to resolve this condition is by getting yourself to the nearest quality purveyor, loading up, and moving on—freed, at least temporarily, from that distracting state otherwise known as desire. There are certain occasions, however, when there’s no substitute for making it yourself, either because the experience of assembling and cooking is key to scratching this particular itch (I’d include chocolate chip cookies here), or simply because no one can make the item in question quite as satisfactorily as you can. This recipe for soft-shelled crabs falls into the latter category. It’s an adaptation of a recipe my mom has used for as long as I can remember, and one that she, in turn, adapted from a phonebook sized collection put out by Gourmet in the early ’70s. Tellingly, she’s always claimed that once she found this recipe she gradually gave up ordering soft-shells in restaurants, for the simple reason that no preparation ever came close to this one. I have to agree with her.

That being said, a few words about soft-shelled crabs are probably in order. The first relates to the period within which they’re available, one I’ve always thought of as a few short months straddling late spring and early summer, but that a quick search of the Internet revealed to be considerably longer—stretching all the way through September, or beyond. And a handful of minor details you may, or may not, be interested in: the best variety come from Maryland; that “soft-shell” is actually an immature shell exposed by the molting of the original one (making me think I might now be singled out by PETA for promoting their consumption!); and only the blue crab is suitable for eating at this stage.

The one other fact you need to know is that the arrival of warm weather often sets off in me a soft-shell hankering. That has certainly been the case this year, but with a slight variation—what I was after was a sandwich.

That sandwich piece presented a few questions, namely what kind of bread to use and what sort of condiments (if any) were called for. But let’s circle back to those details a little later and begin with the most important component of all—the crab itself. Having partaken of my mom’s recipe over the course of many years, I knew this treatment would be just the ticket here. For one thing, it doesn’t try to transform the crab into something else but simply aims to elevate its texture and flavor with a little breading (breadcrumbs mixed with a dash of chili powder, for some subtle heat), a quick sauté (8 minutes total), and a light saucing. This last is a simple mixture made up of tarragon vinegar, fresh parsley, and a dash of Worcestershire sauce, all of it swirled in the same pan in which the crab has cooked, thereby integrating the buttery residue from the sauté into the sauce. It’s a bright zesty combination that this circa 1972 recipe defines as “á la diable” (defined as a basic butter sauce enhanced by wine, vinegar, shallots, and seasonings), and that I credit with this dish’s lip-smacking success. (So lip smacking, in fact, that my mom’s one change to the original recipe was to double the quantities for the various ingredients needed for the sauce, changes reflected in the details listed below.) In combination with the crab’s natural juices and fresh from the sea flavor, it’s a mingling of flavors that’s sort of miraculous—the sort of thing that can start you thinking about how much you’ve always loved Chesapeake Bay, even if you’ve never been there.

As for the sandwich, after rejecting both potato and brioche rolls as being too bready, I landed on an English muffin—flattened with a rolling pin and moistened with a shallot and herb butter. Both details were ones I picked up from another old Gourmet recipe, this one found in a 1981 edition of the magazine, and they proved just the ticket to complete the recipe. Unlike a burger or a grilled chicken sandwich, the pleasing texture of the crab here calls out for a more low-lying package—one that won’t muffle what’s essentially this sandwich’s greatest selling-point: its crunch. That quality is precisely what the grilled English muffin provides, sandwiching the crab between layers of bread that only enhance the crackle. What’s more, thanks to the muffin’s famous nooks and crannies, it manages to trap all those previously mentioned juices without getting soggy. (By the way, that rolling pin exercise is for no other purpose than to enlarge the muffin’s proportions to match those of the crab, so if you can find the extra large muffins they sometimes sell for hamburgers, go for those and skip this step.)

Either way, once grilled and lightly browned, each side of the cut muffin is brushed with a mixture of melted butter, a little lemon juice, and a few tablespoons of minced shallot and parsley. Admittedly, given the sauce already spooned across the crab, some might argue that this is a case of gilding the lily. To my way of thinking, however, it’s the perfect compliment to both the bread and the crab, offering one more note of tangy richness to frame the uniquely summery flavor of the crab. Between this, its irresistible crunch, and the bronzed, seductive glow of the sautéed crab, the combination is pretty exceptional—the kind of meal that can haunt you days, even years, later. Come to think of it, is that a craving I feel coming on?

Two final notes: The quantities listed below assume one crab per sandwich, and one sandwich per person. If you’re planning to serve the crab as an entrée, however, figure two crabs per person. (As written, the recipe can easily be doubled.) Lastly, to avoid the spattering (and associated ducking and weaving) that can occur when sautéing the crabs, puncture the legs and claws of the crab with the tines of a fork before introducing them to the frying pan.

Ingredients for crabs:
—6 soft-shelled crabs (cleaned and washed by the purveyor)
—1/2 cup fine dry bread crumbs
—1 tsp chili powder
—1/2 cup butter, melted
—2 tsp tarragon vinegar
—1 tbs finely chopped parsley
—Dash Worcestershire sauce
—Lemon (for serving)

Ingredients for bread:
—6 English muffins
—1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter
—2 tbs lemon juice
—2 tbs fresh parsley, minced
—1 tbs minced shallot
—Salt and pepper, to taste

Directions:
—Warm a serving platter in a 350˚ oven. Mix breadcrumbs and chili powder in a shallow bowl. Set aside.
—Split English muffins and flatten with a rolling pin. Grill in oven, turning once, until crisp and lightly browned (about ten minutes). Meanwhile, place butter, lemon juice, parsley, shallot, and salt and pepper to taste in a small saucepan and heat over low heat, stirring occasionally, until butter is just melted. Set aside.
—Pat crabs dry, puncture legs and claws with the tines of a fork (to eliminate popping and spattering while cooking), and dredge in breadcrumb mixture. Melt butter in a 12” sauté pan and sauté the crabs back side down for 5 minutes, then turn and sauté for 3 minutes longer. Place crabs on a heated serving platter and set aside.
—In the same pan as you cooked the crabs (and without wiping out the pan) add the tarragon vinegar, the chopped parsley, and the Worcestershire sauce to the pan juices and brown bits. Mix well and spoon evenly over the crabs.
—Brush split sides of the grilled muffin with the reserved butter and place 1 grilled crab between the two halves of bread. Serve with lemon wedge.

Serves 6
(Note: If not using the crab for sandwiches, plan on two per person—just double the crab related ingredients above and cook in two batches, with the first six kept warm on the heated serving platter.)

The post 05/24/12 • THE SOFT-SHELL SELL appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From America’s Test Kitchen (click here to view the recipe)

Where cooking is concerned, you take your inspiration where you find it. I’d like to tell you that for me it tends to come from what’s on most vibrant display at the farmer’s market, but this wouldn’t be exactly true (although the recent arrival of asparagus—mountains of it, a seeming bumper crop—has certainly got my wheels turning). More often than not, it’s a recipe in one of the cooking magazines or my favorite cookbooks that propels me to the market in search of the necessary ingredients. And, being a visually oriented sort of person, there’s often a picture involved. In the case of this week’s recipe, however, there wasn’t even a recipe—just a quarter page photograph in the March issue of Bon Appetit featuring something called “Nancy’s Backyard Burger,” available at the new L.A. burger joint, Short Order. So tempting looking was this particular item, oozing with comté cheese and a hint of what I can only assume was Thousand Island dressing, that within days I set out to make one for myself. (Friends, it was either fire up the oven or hop a flight bound for LAX—such is the power of good food photography!)

But there was a problem with this plan: I’d never succeeded at making a hamburger that didn’t disappoint on some level—either it was too dry, or lacked flavor, or fell short in the aesthetics department . . . and often all of the above. So I turned once again to America’s Test Kitchen, which over the years has proved a reliable resource for solutions to just these sorts of culinary questions. In fact, I vaguely remembered flipping through one of their cookbooks recently and stumbling on a burger recipe that elicited just that sort of, “aha, so that’s how you do it,” reactions I was in search of. I hadn’t put the recipe into action and couldn’t recall the details, but my instinct was that if anyone held the key to burger-making mastery, it was ATK.

A quick visit to their website proved my hunch to be correct—there, under the heading, “Juicy Pub-style Burgers” was the solution to this cooking conundrum. Or perhaps I should say “solutionssssss,” since the recipe offered a number of important tips that would prove critical in achieving an end result equaling the BA photo in both looks and (imagined) flavor.

First among these was the fairly radical suggestion to grind your own meat—something that is far easier than it sounds, and which does not require anything more complex than a food processor. ATK suggests using a flavorful, lean cut of beef called sirloin steak tips (two pounds for four burgers; the cut also goes by the somewhat less appealing name of “flap meat,” or you can use flank steak), trimmed of fat and cut into 1/2-inch chunks. This is then spread across a cookie sheet and placed in the freezer for a half hour or so or until hardened around the edges—a chilling and drying process that aids in the efficient, even grinding of the meat. Since the goal is to achieve a consistent grind of roughly 1/16-inch pieces, once the beef has firmed up, it’s best to pulse it in four separate batches, stopping to redistribute it in the bowl as needed. And, since steak tips is a relatively lean cut (key for that all-important beefy flavor), and the juiciness of a burger is in direct proportion to its fat content, once all the meat has been ground the recipe suggests adding four tablespoons of melted butter to the mix—an addition that helps meld it together and ensures against any potential textural shortcomings. That and a dash of pepper are all you need for perfect ground beef (and one in which you never need worry about the presence of this year’s culinary scourge: pink slime!).

—Season 1 side of patties liberally with salt and pepper. Using spatula, flip patties and season other side. Heat oil in 12” skillet over high heat until just smoking. Using spatula, transfer burgers to skillet and cook without moving for 2 minutes. Using spatula, flip burgers and cook for 2 minutes longer. Transfer patties to rimmed baking sheet and bake until instant-read thermometer inserted into burger registers 125 degrees for medium-rare or 130 degrees for medium, 3 to 6 minutes.
—Transfer burgers to plate and let rest 5 minutes. Transfer to buns, add desired toppings, and serve.

Serves 4

Ingredients for Thousand Island-style dressing:
—3/4 cup mayonnaise
—2 tbs soy sauce
—1 tbs dark brown sugar
—1 tbs Worcestershire sauce
—1 tbs minced fresh chives
—1 medium garlic clove, minced or pressed through a garlic press (about 1 tsp)
—3/4 tsp ground black pepper

Directions:
—Whisk ingredients together in a bowl.

The post 04/26/12 • THE D.I.Y. BURGER! appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.