From the Nov., 2013 Bon Appétit

I feel like I should preface this posting with a warning that I’ve just come off the red-eye from L.A., and if the text has you scratching your head at times, that’s the reason why. The reality is, though, that my whole world is about to change, so I better get used to rolling with things for a while—functioning on less sleep, doing multiple tasks at once. That sounds a little vague and cryptic, so I guess this is as good a time as any to come out and say it: Alfredo and I are going to be parents… to a little girl, due via our wonderful, California-based surrogate in mid-January. Obviously this forthcoming arrival has already had a huge impact on our lives, and the changes have only just begun. So I’m trying to prime myself for the fact that I’m going to need to be more flexible about pretty much everything in my life going forward. Anyway, with just two months to go I thought it was time to share this happy news with you, and while I have no intention of going AWOL, you’re likely to see some changes around here as a result, or maybe not. We’ll just have to see how things go.

For now, however, I bring you a great fall vegetable recipe, culled from the current issue of Bon Appétit. It’s little wonder that it grabbed my attention, as it stars one of my favorite vegetables: Brussels sprouts. Here they’re given “a little” something extra thanks to the addition of mushrooms, shallots, thick cut bacon, a splash of Sherry, a sprinkling of red pepper flakes, and a few tablespoons of lemon juice. Think about that for a second—the bright metallic flavor of the sprouts, paired with the earthiness of the mushrooms, the saltiness of the bacon, the mild heat of the red pepper flakes, and the tang of the Sherry and lemon juice. If that doesn’t sound like the perfect flavor combination for fall I don’t know what does (but then, I do have a weakness for the salty/tangy side of things).

Although the recipe calls for cooking the sprouts on a gas grill over medium-high heat for about 8 minutes or so, as an indoor cooking alternative you can sauté the vegetable in a grill pan or skillet. That’s the approach I took—cooking them over a medium high flame for ten minutes or so (a few more than directed), after first tossing the sprouts with olive oil, salt, and pepper. That timing issue is good to note here because although the sprouts will be reintroduced to a hot pan later in the cooking process, they should be fully cooked through by that point. In other words, no matter what the directions say don’t remove the sprouts from the heat until they’re fork tender, and the exterior reveals a nicely burnished char.

Next, cook the bacon in a separate pan until crisp—the meat having already been sliced into ¼” strips using either the thick-cut variety suggested by the recipe, or the slab bacon I used here (which is only marginally more time consuming). Once crisped, transfer the bacon to a paper-towel lined plate and add the mushrooms to the drippings, which serve as a lubricant for during the cooking process while also infusing the mushrooms with a hint of smoky flavor. (Note: if using crimini I suggest slicing the mushrooms instead of quartering them as directed; the size and texture just seems better to me.) After about three minutes, add the chopped shallot and sliced garlic to the pan, and enjoy the wonderful fragrance filling your kitchen. Once the shallot and garlic have softened sufficiently (about five minutes), remove the pan from the heat and add the sherry and the red pepper flakes. Stir this intoxicating mixture off heat for a minute or so until all of the liquid has evaporated, then add the Brussels sprouts and the bacon, and toss with the lemon juice. Serve immediately—though that’s a directive you’ll hardly need, as the bright autumn colors and wonderful salty/tangy scent will have you racing to fill your plate.

One final note about the mushrooms: although the recipe states that either chanterelles or crimini mushrooms will do, chanterelles are clearly preferable here, as they lend the dish a delicacy it doesn’t have with the decidedly more ordinary crimini. I’ve now made the dish both ways, and while each version was good, the one made with the chanterelles offered something extra. This was largely due to the chanterelles’ more delicate flavor, but also because their compact shape and firm texture offers a better counterpoint to the crunch of the sprouts and the chew of the bacon than the spongier crimini. Either way, though, this is just the sort of medley of flavors, colors, and textures you want this time of year. In fact, if I were making Thanksgiving dinner this year, this might need to be one of the featured acts.

Ingredients:
—1½ lbs Brussels sprouts, trimmed and halved
—2 tbs olive oil
—Kosher salt, to taste
—Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
—4 oz thick-cut bacon, sliced crosswise ¼” thick
—12 oz (3/4 lb) chanterelles or crimini (Baby Bella) mushrooms, halved or quartered if large (TRG note: if using crimini mushrooms I suggest slicing)
—1 large shallot, chopped
—4 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
—2 tbs dry Sherry
—1 tsp crushed red pepper falkes
—2 tbs fresh lemon juice

Directions:
—Prepare grill for medium-high heat. Toss Brussels sprouts and oil in a medium bowl; season with salt and pepper. Transfer Brussels sprouts to a grill basket and grill, tossing occasionally, until tender and lightly charred, 5 to 8 minutes. (Alternatively, cook Brussels sprouts in a large grill pan or skillet over medium-high heat, 5 to 8 minutes).
—Cook bacon in a large skillet over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until crisp, 5 to 8 minutes. Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate.
—Add mushrooms to drippings in skillet, toss to coat, and cook without stirring, 3 minutes. Add shallot and garlic; cook, tossing often, until shallot is softened, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and add Sherry and red pepper flakes. Cook until liquid is evaporated, about 1 minute.
—Add Brussels sprouts and bacon and toss to combine. Add lemon juice; season with salt and pepper.

8 servings

The post 11/06/13 • SAUTÉED BRUSSELS SPROUTS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the June, 2013 Bon Appétit

It’s funny, but as much as I like eating vegetables (I do, I really do!) when it comes to selecting recipes for this site they’re just about the last thing I want to make. For one thing, my preferred method of preparation typically involves little more than steam, fresh lemon juice, and a lot of butter, which doesn’t exactly make for the most useful posting. And for another, muffins, pasta, a big leg of lamb (or the like) are just so much more fun to play with. Or maybe they just produce better pictures… I don’t really know what the issue is here, though I do know that I rarely see vegetable preparation recipes that make we want to deviate from my standard. It’s something I’ve vowed to try to correct, in part because of the new dietary focus in my household (see last week’s posting), but also because I know that so many of you are vegetarian, or at least are making a concerted effort to draw more heavily from the vegetables and legumes categories than from meats and grains. I want to support that (it’s good for you and it’s good for the planet!) and I also want to challenge myself to do something a little more exciting with vegetable that doesn’t require melted cheese or breadcrumbs.

Which should explain why this recipe for marinated summer vegetables spoke to me. It comes from a picnic story in the current issue of Bon Appétit, and though I’m sure the dish would be terrific in the company of a roast chicken and a white bean tapenade (as the magazine suggests) spread across a rustic blanket under a shady tree somewhere, it’s just as good on its own, enjoyed at your kitchen table, or in front of the TV, or wherever you typically eat your meals. Okay, I may have added a slice or two of herbed goat cheese just to ratchet up the excitement level (the smooth tang of goat cheese works well with the flavors of the vegetables), but the point is this is a vegetable preparation that can stand on its own, and doesn’t require lots of less than healthy additions to get it there.

Did I mention it’s easy? Well, it is—with the exception of one small step that calls for removing the blistered skins from the roasted pepper slices. This is perhaps one of my least favorite kitchen tasks but the end result is worth it, so take a deep breath, make yourself comfortable, and be grateful you’re only dealing with the skins of just three peppers, which honestly isn’t a lot. And there are a few things you can do to make the process less tedious. For one, put down your knife and let your hands do the work, as your fingers will be able to pull back the skins much more effectively than any knife can. And for another, tackle the job when the peppers are still warm to the touch, as the skins are less inclined to release once they’ve cooled off.

In fact, assembly for the entire dish—which involves nothing more than tossing a simple vinaigrette of garlic, olive oil, and sherry vinegar with a mix of roasted summer squash (or zucchini), those peppers, and a few sprigs of fresh oregano—is best accomplished when all of the vegetables are still warm, as they will absorb more of the dressing’s flavor at this stage. And that, of course, is the point, since the garlic, olive oil, and vinegar is being added for the simple purpose of dialing up the flavor quotient. That said, the finished result if less one of zip and bite than it is a subtle framing—and accentuating—of the vegetables’ natural flavors. In other words, just the sort of bright, snappy combo you’re after on a warm spring or summer night.

Ingredients:
—3 summer squash or zucchini (about 1 lb.), sliced on a diagonal ½” thick
—3 red, orange, or yellow bell peppers, cut into 1” strips
—4 tbs extra-virgin olive oil, divided
—Kosher salt, freshly ground pepper
—2 garlic cloves
—2 tbs sherry or red wine vinegar
—4 sprigs oregano

Directions:
—Place racks in upper and lower thirds of oven; preheat to 475˚. Place squash and peppers on separate baking sheets. Drizzle each sheet of vegetables with ½ tbs oil, season with salt and pepper, and toss to coat. Spread out in a single layer, turning peppers skin sides up.
—Roast peppers on upper rack and squash on lower rack, turning squash once, until tender, 15 to 20 minutes. Let cool slightly; remove skins from peppers. (TRG note: skins will come off more easily if done while peppers are still warm.)
—Whisk garlic, vinegar, and remaining 3 tbs oil in a large bowl; season with salt and pepper. Add vegetables and oregano; toss to coat.
—Cover and let sit at least one hour.

—Note: Vegetables can be made 3 days ahead. Cover and chill; bring to room temperature before serving.

Serves 6 (…or 4 if you eat like me)

The post 06/04/13 • MARINATED SUMMER VEGETABLES appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

Adapted from the March, 2013 Bon Appétit

Last month I attended a friend’s birthday dinner, and seated to both my left and my right were vegetarians. Ten years ago I could count on one hand the number of people I knew who had eliminated meat from their diet, and now I was surrounded by them! Of course, the same scenario could just as easily have occurred in the ’90s. But the chances of its happening today are far greater—for the simple reason that being vegetarian has caught on. And caught on to the point where it’s no longer exotic or even notable. As someone who likes to feed people, this change is something I’ve been increasingly aware of, since more and more friends sitting down at our table are vegetarian. Though I may eat less meat than I used to (especially red meat, which seems to slow me down), I’m still most definitely a carnivore, so coming up with a meat-free menu that I’m excited to cook and eat is a frequent challenge these days.

I say “challenge” because eliminate meat from a meal and I tend to fear it will have no flavor, and (even worse) that I’ll end up leaving the table hungry. To my limited way of thinking, no meat equals no fun, and even though I know that’s just plain wrong, this tends to be my automatic response where vegetarian cooking is concerned. Which is one reason I was so glad to come across this vegetable stew recipe (an Italian vegetable stew, to be precise—so called for the presence of ingredients such as crushed whole tomatoes, red pepper flakes, olive oil, and Parmesan cheese), and why I was even gladder to have made it. Finally, a dish to rid me of my vegetarian bias! And even better, a vegetarian-friendly option I could get excited about cooking for people who also eat meat! In other words, we’re talking life-changing stuff here.

The recipe comes from Brandon Jew of San Francisco’s Bar Agricole (by way of the March, 2013 issue of Bon Appétit), and has a number of things going for it that got my attention. For one thing it just looks amazing—packed as it is with an array of colorful vegetables (kale, collards, carrots, to name a few) that can’t help but draw the eye of even the most committed carnivore. What’s more, the featured ingredients include a large quantity of cannellini beans, along with six cups of dried sourdough bread chunks, so the possibility of ending the meal still hungry is exactly zero. Add to this a handful of Parmesan cheese shavings and a drizzle of olive oil—both introduced just before serving—and you have the sort of flavor combination that’s hard to beat.

Like most stews this one benefits from being made a day or so in advance, though if your schedule won’t allow for that, it’s still plenty good if eaten as soon as assembled (a process that takes little more than a few hours, including the time needed to dry out the bread). In fact, much of the preparation is fairly passive, with the last 50 minutes allocated to simmering the various ingredients (minus the bread and cheese, of course). The exception to this is the preparation of the vegetables—which in the case of the collards and the kale require de-stemming and par-boiling prior to chopping, both of which are fairly speedy. But once everything has been peeled and cut down to its appropriate size, all that remains is some pouring and stirring.

Included in this pouring and stirring is a large can of whole tomatoes, which once added to the pot are crushed by hand—an addition that brings some important acidity into the mix, not to mention a chunky textural component. I mention this because I used a can of the pre-crushed variety instead (for no other reason than it happened to be sitting in the cupboard), and while the flavors didn’t suffer from the swap, I did find myself wishing for larger, less uniform chunks of tomato. So stick with the instructions and go with whole tomatoes if you can.

Also, since the Parmesan shavings and drizzle of olive oil are literally the crowning glory on top of this stew, be sure to use the best quality of both you can get your hands on; it will literally make all the difference in the final tasting. I happened to have excellent examples of both on hand (in fact, a Sicilian friend had just given us a really first-rate bottle of olive oil, which was perfect for the finishing touch here), though even without these enhancements this is one of those dishes I’d probably keep thinking about anyway. As it is, I’m just waiting for the right moment to make this stew again—a definite first for me where anything “vegetarian” is concerned.

And one final thought: If you plan to eat the stew over a series of days, consider mixing just a portion of the prepared bread chunks into the amount of stew you think likely to be eaten. (Don’t do this, and those otherwise appealing leftovers will feature clumps of sodden bread.) Or skip this issue entirely and, instead of mixing in the torn bread, top the stew with homemade crostini (see last week’s posting for an easy recipe).

Ingredients:
—1/2 1-lb. loaf sourdough bread, torn into 2” pieces (about 6 cups).
—1 bunch collard greens, center ribs and stems removed
—1 bunch Tuscan or other kale, center ribs and stems removed
—Kosher salt
—1/2 cup olive oil, divided, plus more for serving
—2 medium carrots, peeled, finely chopped
—2 celery stalks, finely chopped
—1 leek, white and pale-green parts only, chopped
—4 garlic cloves, chopped
—1/2 tsp crushed red pepper flakes
—1 28-oz. can whole peeled tomatoes, drained
—8 cups low-sodium vegetable broth
—3 15-oz. cans cannellini (white kidney) beans, rinsed
—4 sprigs thyme
—1 sprig marjoram or oregano
—1 bay leaf
—Freshly ground black pepper
—Shaved Parmesan (for serving)

Directions:
—Scatter bread on a rimmed baking sheet in a single layer. Let stand at room temperature to slightly dry out, about 2 hours.
—Working in batches, cook collards and kale separately in a large pot of boiling salted water until slightly softened, about 3 minutes per batch. Rinse to cool. Squeeze out excess water; roughly chop. Set aside.
—Heat ¼ cup oil in a large heavy pot over medium heat. Add carrots, celery, and leek; stir until softened, 8 to 10 minutes.
—Add garlic and red pepper flakes. Cook, stirring until fragrant, about 1 minute. Add tomatoes, crushing with your hands as you add them. Cook, stirring frequently, until liquid is evaporated and tomatoes begin to stick to the bottom of the pot, 10 to 15 minutes.
—Add broth, beans, thyme, marjoram, bay leaf, and reserved greens; season with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer until flavors meld and soup thickens slightly, 40 to 50 minutes.
—Just before serving, gently stir bread and ¼ cup oil into soup. Divide among bowls, top with Parmesan, and drizzle with oil.

NOTE: Soup can be made 2 days ahead. Let cool slightly; chill until cold. Cover and keep chilled. Reheat before continuing. Store bread airtight at room temperature.

Makes 6 to 8 servings

The post 03/21/13 • ITALIAN VEGETABLE STEW appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking

When I was growing up in Philadelphia in the 1970s, the French/Mediterranean vegetable casserole known as ratatouille seemed to be everywhere—sort of the way kale salads or pot pies are today. Or maybe it’s just that my mom was heavy into Julia Child’s the Art of French Cooking at the time, and that particular dish quickly became a dinner-party favorite of hers. In any case, either because she was making a lot of it in those days, or because it was one of the dishes my 7th grade French class prepared for our end of year feast (we also made a bûche de Noël, as I recall), ratatouille has strong childhood associations for me. Come to think of it, that may well be why it’s a dish I tucked away in my memory bank, barely giving it another thought until the Pixar film of the same name came out a few years ago. Watching that movie’s animated, anthropomorphized rodent prepare the casserole at least got me thinking about the dish again, even if it would require several years more for it to make its way back into my own cooking rotation. Still, I have to give credit where it’s due—after all, how else to explain why driving past an East Hampton farm stand on my way back to the city recently would out-of-the-blue prompt the idea to make ratatouille for an upcoming dinner?

This happened just as we were all preparing for the curtain to come down on summer, so in the back of my mind was the knowledge that the opportunity to take advantage of all this bounty was fast disappearing. Short of canning, what could I whip up that would make the most of all this good stuff the late summer season has to offer? And then the answer hit me: ratatouille. But not ratatouille as it’s made in the animated film (that version, which features vegetables cut into rounds as opposed to slices, was created by Thomas Keller), but the version first introduced to American home chefs back in the 1960s, and the version my mom had in turn introduced to me—the one made famous by Julia Child. (Child, of course, would have celebrated her 100th birthday earlier this month, a fact widely covered in the press at the time, so perhaps that, too, played an unconscious role in my impulse here).

So the following weekend—which, with its blue skies and dry summer weather, was notably Provence-like—I made the short bike ride to the same farm stand I’d passed a week earlier, with the express intent of scooping up the various ingredients needed for making the famous eggplant casserole. Little surprise there was plenty to work with—so much so, in fact, that I immediately decided to double the recipe—though it’s worth noting that one of the nice things about ratatouille is that the various fruits and vegetables called for can be found pretty much any time of year. Still, one can’t underestimate the added flavor that comes from cooking with something that came off the vine just days earlier, or the pleasure of doing your food shopping from a wooden shack set up beside a cornfield.

That was how I felt, anyway, as I handed over my few dollars for what amounted to several bags of eggplant, zucchini, green peppers, and onions. Maybe it was the beauty of the day or the sense of satisfaction that comes with buying something you know hasn’t travelled half way across the country to reach you, but I was almost giddy with the excitement of getting started. That is, until I read the following line from Julia’s brief preamble to the recipe: “A really good ratatouille is not one of the quicker dishes to make, as each element is cooked separately . . .” Now normally, being told that a particular dish is time-consuming would not give me pause, but when it’s Julia Child sounding the alarm it tends to resonate a little deeper. Still, a quick scan of the various steps convinced me I didn’t need to be a graduate of the Cordon Bleu to complete the dish. Quite the opposite, in fact—there may be a number of steps involved, but none seemed particularly challenging. What’s more, as Julia herself points out, one of the great advantages of ratatouille is that it improves in flavor if made the day before it’s eaten, so whatever labor is required can be logged in long before the finished product is brought to the table. In other words, no one needs to see you sweat.

And as it turns out, the really time consuming part for me wasn’t so much the individual sautéing of the various vegetables—first the eggplant (alone), then the zucchini (alone), followed by the onions, which are joined in the pan by a few cloves of smashed garlic, and then the strips of pulped tomato. Rather it was the chopping, the pulping (Julia’s directions for this are included below), and most of all the individual toweling off the eggplant and zucchini spears, once they’ve been allowed a half hour or so to release some of their water content—a process aided by being tossed with a few tablespoons of salt and left to sit undisturbed in a large bowl. After that, the frying, the simmering, and finally the layering of the various ingredients to form the actual casserole, is a relatively speedy process.

The other interesting thing to note here is that unlike some ratatouille recipes I’ve seen, this one requires no involvement from your oven. Instead, everything is done in a large skillet (Julia calls for a 10- or 12-inch enameled variety, though I used a standard nonstick pan with no ill-affect), and a 2½ quart flameproof casserole that’s about 2½ inches deep. This last piece of equipment makes its appearance during the final stage of cooking, once the various ingredients have been layered into your dish (tomatoes, chopped parsley, half of the eggplant and zucchini, and so on, ending with the tomatoes and chopped parsley), and is done entirely on the stovetop. It’s a process that occurs first while covered at a low simmer for ten minutes, then uncovered and at slightly higher heat for 15 minutes, all of which allows the liquid to evaporate and the flavors to become that more concentrated. At the end, the only liquid that should be left is a bit of vegetable-infused olive oil; good stuff!

It’s also a step that underscores one of the things that’s most special about this recipe, namely that even though the various vegetables (and the tomato) are cooked together, it’s done in such a way that each is allowed to remain distinct and fully intact throughout the process. This would obviously not be the case if everything were simply thrown into the pan together and pushed around. No doubt it’s one of the reasons Julia Child chose the recipe in the first place, and why she stressed that it’s the only one she knew of that “produces a ratatouille in which each vegetable retains its own shape and character.” In other words, this is not some sort of fragrant vegetable mush, but rather a medley of tender/firm vegetables, each with its own bright flavor but one that stills manage to play off all the others.

One final note on serving: ratatouille can be enjoyed hot or cold (for what it’s worth I prefer it at room temperature, as the flavors seem to come through loudest at this stage). Still, if you prefer the dish a little warmer or even hot and have prepared it the day before, reheat it slowly on the stovetop, uncovered, until it reaches the desired temperature. Either way it’s a dish that can be counted on to transport you to warm sunny days on the Mediterranean—no matter what the time of year.

Ingredients:
—1 lb eggplant, peeled and cut into slices 3/8” thick, 3” long, and 1” wide
—1 lb zucchini, cut into slices similar in size to the eggplant
—1 tsp salt, plus more as needed
—Ground black pepper
—6 to 7 tbs olive oil, divided, more if needed
—1/2 lb yellow onions, thinly sliced (about 1½ cups)
—2 green bell peppers, sliced (about 1 cup)
—2 cloves garlic, mashed
—1 lb firm ripe red tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and juiced (about 1½ cups pulp), then sliced into 3/8” strips (See note, below)
—3 tbs minced flat leaf parsley

Note: To peel tomatoes, drop firm, ripe, red tomatoes on or two at a time in boiling water to cover, and boil for 10 seconds. Remove from the water, cut out the stem, and peel off the skin, starting at the stem hole. To seed and juice tomatoes, cut peeled or unpeeled tomatoes in half crosswise (not through the stem), then squeeze each half gently to extract the seeds and juices.

TRG’s modified directions:
—Place the peeled, sliced eggplant and sliced zucchini in a bowl and toss with a teaspoon salt. Let stand 30 minutes. Drain. Dry each slice in a towel.
—Place 4 tablespoons olive oil in a 10- to 12-inch non-reactive skillet and heat over medium high heat. Once the oil is hot and working in batches, sauté the eggplant and then the zucchini, one layer at a time, for about one minute on each side, to brown very lightly. Set aside.
—In the same skillet, cook the onions and peppers slowly in 2 to 3 tablespoons olive oil for about 10 minutes, or until tender but not browned. Stir in the mashed garlic and season to taste.
—Lay the sliced tomato pulp over the onion, pepper, and garlic mixture. Season with salt and pepper. Cover the skillet and cook over low heat for 5 minutes, or until tomatoes have begun to render their juice. Uncover, baste the tomatoes with the juices, raise heat, and boil for several minutes, until the juice has almost entirely evaporated.
—Place a third of the tomato and onion mixture in the bottom of a 2½-quart fireproof casserole about 2½- inches deep, and sprinkle over it 1 tablespoon of the minced parsley. Arrange half of the eggplant and zucchini on top, then half of the remaining tomatoes and parsley. Put in the rest of the eggplant and zucchini, and finish with the remaining tomatoes and parsley.
—Cover the casserole with aluminum foil and simmer over low heat for 10 minutes. Uncover, tip casserole, and baste with the rendered juices. Correct seasoning, if necessary.
—Raise heat slightly and cook uncovered for about 15 minutes more, basting several times, until juices have evaporated, leaving a spoonful or two of flavored olive oil. Be careful not to let the vegetables scorch in the bottom of the casserole.
—Set aside uncovered. Reheat slowly at serving time, or serve at room temperature. NOTE: Ratatouille gains in flavor when cooked the day before it’s served.

Serves 6 to 8

The post 09/20/12 • THE REAL-DEAL RATATOUILLE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Sept., 2012 Elle Decor (click here to view the recipe)

If you’re the sort of person who reflexively slows down whenever a roadside farm-stand comes into view, then you’ve officially entered whiplash season. That was my conclusion last weekend, anyway, as I tooled around the East End of Long Island and found my head repeatedly swiveling right, then left, then right again. Farm-stands, of course, have been piled high with good stuff for months now, but in the last few weeks things seem to have taken a particularly distracting turn, with late summer tomatoes and corn vying for space alongside zucchini, squash, peaches, all manner of berries, and that ultimate (non-edible) attention grabber, sunflowers. For a food-minded individual like myself, it’s enough to make you start hyperventilating, wondering when, and how (!), you can possibly make the most of all this bounty before it withers away and it’s back to frozen pea-time. That “how” is a critical question, not just because there are only so many eating opportunities in a given week, but because (as addressed in my corn and tomato salad posting of a few weeks ago) no matter how spectacular the produce you’re working with, by this point in the season a certain sameness can set in. The challenge is landing on a preparation for those peaches, or zucchini, or what-have-you, that will keep things sufficiently exciting while still respecting what’s best about this direct from the farm goodness in the first place: its exceptionally vivid flavor.

Those two qualities (the excitement, the purity of flavor) were just a few of the things I liked about this recipe for a corn and heirloom tomato tart. It’s a preparation I pulled from the current issue of Elle Décor, a magazine I consistently find myself thumbing through each month both because there are few things more fun than checking out other people’s houses, but also because I’m a big fan of Daniel Boulud’s regular cooking column—especially when the featured recipe offers a twist on something traditionally French. Here that attitude comes in the way this dish echoes quiche (that onetime obsession of so many American cooks), not to mention the way the tart’s tomato topping is mixed with Parmesan cheese, breadcrumbs, and a variety of the other ingredients, all of which lends it a decidedly Provencal flavor. That said the tart’s corn pudding base is nothing if not American, making the entire combo an appealing kind of Franco-American mash-up I was drawn to. For those reasons, as well as the fact that I’m a fan of most any savory assortment that’s nestled within a tart shell, this was a recipe I couldn’t wait to try.

I’ve also recently become enamored of making pastry dough, something that for many years I had an irrational fear of tackling. If that’s an anxiety you can relate to—and even if it isn’t—this is a good recipe to add to your repertoire, as it’s so very simple. Boulud describes the version included here as a classic “pâte brisée”—a term that the website Cookthink defines as “shortcut pastry,” the pastry of choice for quiche and tarts, and one comprising equal parts fat (as in butter, lard, or shortening) and flour, merged and then bound with a bit of water or egg yolk. That one-to-one ratio does not exactly hold with the recipe presented here, but the idea is basically the same. So in the Boulud version, flour, butter, and a small amount of salt are combined (“pulsed”) in a food processor until crumbs form, at which point a lightly beaten egg is added to the mixture. This, too, is pulsed until the mixture starts to clump. When telltale curds start to appear, place the mixture onto a work surface, kneed a few times, wrap with cellophane, and refrigerate for at least an hour so the various ingredients have a chance to come together.

Once the dough has had a chance to chill, lightly dust a work surface, then roll the uncooked pastry into a circle that’s roughly ten inches in diameter and an eighth of an inch thick. Gently lift the dough (wrap it around a rolling pin if you’re worried about tearing), lay it across a nine-inch fluted tart pan (the kind with a removable base), and gently press it against the bottom and up the sides of the pan. Trim any excess that may have formed along the edges, puncture the base in a few spots with the tines of a fork, then cover the interior with a 10-inch round of wax or parchment paper, and fill with dried beans or rice. (As is probably clear, both the puncturing of the tart base and the covering of it with the dried beans is designed to keep the pastry shell from bubbling during the baking process, the goal, of course, being to end up with a perfectly flat receptacle for the good stuff to follow.) Bake in a 350-degree oven for 20 minutes or so, carefully remove the paper and the beans, then bake the shell for another 5 minutes, or until it’s lightly browned. (Note: this final baking process took me more like 15 minutes to achieve the desired color, so you may need to adjust accordingly).

Next up is the layering of the baked tart shell with its two farm stand fillings—first the corn mixture, then the heirloom tomatoes (both of which can be prepped while the shell is in the oven). For the corn component, sauté 1½ cups of corn (from 2 ears; see tip below for an easy method for shucking and de-silking) in a medium saucepan, along with a ¼ cup of onions and two cloves of chopped garlic (both given a 4 minute head-start so that the onion is already translucent when the corn is introduced). After 5 minutes or so, remove a ½ cup of the corn and onion mixture from the pan, set this aside, then add a cup of heavy cream to the corn still on the stove. Bring this to a simmer, transfer to a blender, puree until smooth, and add to the bowl containing the ½ cup of reserved corn. To this mixture you whisk in the eggs (including the one egg yolk), the scallions, the Tabasco, and a small amount of salt and pepper, pour into the prepared tart shell, and bake in a 300 degree oven for 30 minutes or so, or until the custard is just set. (Here again, my oven required an additional five minutes beyond Boulud’s instructions, so keep an eye on things and use your judgment. Remember, the goal is to end up with something that is no longer liquid, but that’s not so firm it won’t jiggle when you move it.)

While the corn custard bakes you can deal with the tomato topping, which involves little more than tossing a ½ pound of thinly sliced heirlooms (either the cherry or larger variety are fine), along with a ¼ cup of grated Parmesan cheese, a small amount of smoked paprika (which imbues the whole dish with a subtle bacon-y flavor), a 1/3 cup of panko bread crumbs (great for soaking up the tomato’s juices so that the tart doesn’t go all soggy on you), and a sprinkling of salt and freshly ground white pepper. Once the custard is set, the tomato mixture can be laid across its surface, and the whole thing is slipped back into the oven for another 15 minutes, or until the tomatoes begin to break down and the breadcrumbs turn golden. Let cool slightly (twenty minutes or so will do it) and dig in.

This may seem like a lot of steps—Hell, it is a lot of steps!—but none are particularly taxing or time consuming. And even if they were, I’d say it was a small price to pay for something this bright and summery. For me, it’s the perfect mix of rustic and refined, the crunch of the cheese and breadcrumbs giving way to the softness of the tomatoes, the smooth flan-like quality of the corn, and finally the buttery crumble of the tart base. What more could you want this time of year?

Ingredients for the tart shell:
—1¼ cups all-purpose flour
—8 tbs cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces
—1/8 tsp salt
—1 large egg, lightly beaten
—2 cups dried beans or rice, for baking shell

Ingredients for the filling:
—3 tbs unsalted butter
—1/4 cup chopped onion
—2 cloves garlic, chopped
—1½ cups uncooked corn kernels (about 2 ears); see note below
—1 cup heavy cream
—4 eggs: 3 whole eggs, plus the yolk from one
—3/4 cup sliced scallions
—Dash Tabasco sauce
—1/2 lb heirloom cherry tomatoes, halved, or 1 to 2 large heirloom tomatoes, cut in thin wedges
—1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
—1/2 tsp smoked paprika
—1/3 cup panko bread crumbs
—Salt and freshly ground white pepper

NOTE: To facilitate the husking and de-silking process (one of my least favorite cooking tasks), here’s a handy trick I found in a recent issue of Cook’s Illustrated: With a sharp chef’s knife, cut off the stalk end just above the first row of kernels. Place 3 or 4 ears on a microwave-safe plate and microwave on full power for 30 to 60 seconds. Hold each ear by its uncut end and shake up and down until the cob slips free of the husk and silk. The corn will have heated up enough to release the husk, but the kernels remain uncooked.

Directions for tart shell:
—Combine flour, butter, and salt in a food processor and pulse until crumbs form. Add egg and pulse until the mixture resembles moist curds. Turn the dough out onto a work surface, and knead once or twice to pull the dough together. Flatten into a disk, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 1 hour. (At this point, the dough can be kept refrigerated for up to two days or frozen for up to a month.)
—Center a rack in the oven, and preheat to 350˚. Cut a 10” diameter round of waxed or parchment paper. Place a fluted 9” tart pan with a removable bottom on a baking sheet. Lightly dust a work surface and the top of the dough with flour. Roll the dough out into a round that is approximately 10” in diameter and 1/8” thick. Fit the dough into the bottom and up the sides of the pan. Trim excess dough even with the pan’s rim and, with the tines of a fork, poke a few holes on the bottom.
—Line the shell with the paper round and fill with dried beans or rice. Bake for 18 to 20 minutes. Take the pan out of the oven and carefully remove the paper and beans, then bake the shell for 3 to 5 minutes more, or until lightly browned. Remove and let cook in pan on a rack. (The shell can be kept covered at room temperature for up to 8 hours.)

Directions for filling and final assembly:
—Preheat oven to 300˚. Melt 1 tbs of the butter in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring, for 4 minutes, or until the onions are translucent. Add the corn, with a sprinkle of salt and pepper, and cook, stirring, for 5 minutes. Reserve ½ cup of the corn mixture in a medium bowl. Add the cream to the saucepan, bring to a simmer, and then transfer to a blender. Puree until smooth and transfer to the bowl with the reserved corn. Whisk in whole eggs, egg yolk, ½ cup scallions, Tabasco, and another sprinkle of salt and pepper until well combined. Pour the mixture into the prepared tart shell, and bake for 25 to 30 minutes, or until the custard is set.
—Meanwhile, melt remaining butter, transfer to a medium bowl, and toss with the remaining scallions, tomatoes, Parmesan cheese, smoked paprika, bread crumbs, and salt and pepper to taste. Once custard is set, remove tart from oven, and arrange tomato mixture on top. Return tart to the oven and continue baking for 15 minutes more, or until tomatoes are soft and bread crumbs are golden. Let tart rest for 20 minutes before slicing.

Serves 6 to 8

The post 08/30/12 • SAVORY SUMMER TART appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Aug./Sept. Fine Cooking

One of the questions I’m constantly asking myself when deciding what to post each week is whether a particular recipe falls within that sweet spot that will make it either so ridiculously easy that you don’t need me to tell you about it, or so complex that you’ll immediately dismiss it as unrealistic. This recipe for corn salad falls squarely in the former category—so squarely, in fact, that even as I was taking the photos you see here, I still wasn’t convinced that they would make their way onto the site. Ultimately I changed my mind, though, and here’s why: it’s a recipe worth knowing about. And perhaps more importantly, it’s just the sort of recipe I seem to go looking for each August . . . and if I’m searching for it, I can only assume that some of you are as well. I should clarify that it’s not so much the ease I’m after this time of year (though the benefits are obvious when the weather gets warm and sticky), but rather one that will transform the corn I love but by mid-August have generally wearied of eating in the traditional way into something just a little bit more interesting—and that ideally won’t require an accompanying roll of dental floss.

In other words, what I’m looking for is some version of corn that doesn’t completely transform the starch into something else entirely, but that will gently nudge it in a new direction, and hopefully in the process do away with the cob altogether. Something like the corn salad I bring to you here. Many Augusts ago a friend made a similar dish for me, and though she promised to pass along the recipe, it never came through (or if it did I promptly lost it), and my subsequent searches and efforts at replication fell short—all of which meant that a good corn salad took on for me a kind of holy-grail-of-summer-cooking quality. So when I saw this recipe for corn and cherry tomato salad in the new issue of Fine Cooking it immediately caught my eye because it called into play the two key ingredients I recall from that earlier salad. But the fact that the whole mixture was tossed with a generous splash of fresh lemon juice and a sprinkling of chopped fresh tarragon had an undeniable appeal as well. (If I start sucking on the inside of my cheeks while reading a recipe as I did here, it’s generally only a matter of time before I’m assembling it in the kitchen.)

In any case, with the addition of a small amount of extra-virgin olive oil, a sprinkling of kosher salt, and a few grinds of black pepper, those four ingredients—the corn, the tomatoes, the lemon juice, and the tarragon—are essentially all there is to this recipe. Which in large part explains my hesitation in bringing this to you: there just didn’t seem to be enough to it. But then again, this is corn we’re talking about—an item that at its very freshest can be enjoyed unadorned (i.e. no salt or butter needed) and with minimal, if any, cooking—so maybe that light touch is exactly as it should be.

While this salad is a long way from naked, the cooking component is definitely a minimal one, limited as it is to a quick sauté (two minutes or until just softened) of those two cups of fresh corn kernels in the company of a single tablespoon of the extra-virgin olive oil. After that, you can switch off the stove and forget about it. In fact, all that remains is to transfer the corn to a medium-sized bowl, give it a chance to cool slightly (five or ten minutes will do it), toss with the remaining ingredients, and you’re ready to go.

There’s something about the combined flavors here—the sweetness of the corn, the acidity of the tomatoes and lemon juice, and the aromatic quality of the tarragon (which is always so good in the company of vinegar or lemon)—that makes this the perfect accompaniment for grilled steak, though the same argument could certainly be made for either chicken, or a meaty fish like salmon. Either way, it’s an easy, zippy salad to have in your summer cooking arsenal. I, for one, am glad to finally have it in mine.

On an unrelated note, many of you have been asking how Lily has been getting on—Lily, of course, being the new Lab-mix addition to our household discussed at length in last week’s posting. The short answer is fantastic!—she and Sid have hit it off and are constantly wrestling and playfully mouthing each other, and any anxiety she may have had about things like stairs, elevators, and car horns seems largely to have disappeared. And she’s recently discovered the comforts of our bed, which along with the sheepskin rug at the top of the stairs, has quickly become her favorite spot in the apartment. A few challenges remain, namely her tendency to go to the bathroom in her crate—due either to anxiety or the fact that for the first few years of her life this was status quo—but we’re getting there. And each day she seems happier and more at home!

Ingredients:
—3 tbs extra-virgin olive oil (divided)
—2 cups fresh corn kernels (from 3 to 4 medium ears)
—1 pint halved or quartered (depending on size) cherry tomatoes
—1½ tbs fresh lemon juice
—1 tbs chopped fresh tarragon
—1/4 tsp kosher salt
—Freshly ground black pepper

Directions:
—Heat 1 tablespoon of the oil in a 12-inch nonstick skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add the corn and cook, stirring often, until softened, about 2 minutes.
—Transfer to a medium bowl to cool slightly. Add the halved or quartered cherry tomatoes, 2 tablespoons of the oil, the lemon juice, the tarragon, the kosher salt, and a few grinds of freshly ground black pepper. Toss and serve.

Serves 4

The post 08/16/12 • SIMPLE CORN SALAD appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From Canal House Cooking, Vol. No. 3 (Winter and Spring)

I fear I’m a little late with this one. After all, Memorial Day has already come and gone, and even if the calendar still says “spring” for another three weeks or so, in most people’s minds it’s already summer. But before you get distracted by that display of corn at your local farmer’s market, let me call your attention over here—to this strange looking green vegetable that’s available for another month or so (and then again for a brief return appearance in the fall). I’m referring, of course, to the artichoke, whose prickly appearance and somewhat demanding cooking and eating requirements has scared away more than its share of otherwise adventuresome eaters. That’s too bad, because not only is the artichoke packed with things most of us need more of (antioxidants, fiber, plus other benefits you can read about here), it has a wonderful, slightly nutty flavor that plays well with ingredients many of us can’t seem to get enough of—namely butter, mayonnaise, garlic, and lemon. Alright, so maybe the butter and mayo negates those health benefits, but I call it a fair trade for something this good.

Still, I can relate to those hesitant to commit to the artichoke in the produce aisle. Long after I’d started ordering them in restaurants, I was wary about cooking artichokes myself. And then once I’d mastered the art of steaming them (because at it’s simplest that’s all that’s required—just a large pot, some boiling water, and a quantity of cheesecloth to keep the little gremlins from bobbing to the surface during the half hour or so needed to get them ready for eating) anything more complex seemed out-of-reach. Well, I’m happy to report I’ve officially moved past my artichoke-cooking phobia, having now graduated to the recipe I bring you here. It’s an excellent one, from the fine ladies at Canal House (you’ve met them here before), and is one of those that stopped me in my tracks the moment I saw it, demanding immediate action.

One reason for my reaction was the name, “Artichokes Roman Style,” though I’m also a sucker for a tantalizing photo, and the image accompanying the recipe was hard to ignore—a cluster of halved artichoke hearts glistening in what looked like lemony olive oil and flecked with what I assumed were a variety of herbs. How could I say no to that? Well, of course, I couldn’t. Though first I read on, and what I learned is that this particular preparation (as you might expect from the title) is one associated with Italy’s capital city. It’s also—and this I discovered in another recipe, namely one that ran in Gourmet in April, 2009—a dish with roots in that city’s Jewish community, the oldest in the Western world. Jewish? Italian? Jewish/Italian? It all sounded good to me! So, too, did the fact that what I’d assumed to be a lemony olive oil was, in reality, a mix of white wine and olive oil, used to braise the artichokes and then reduced to a sauce spooned across the cooked vegetable. And then I learned that what I’d taken for a variety of herbs was just one—namely mint (mint!), mixed with a few cloves of chopped garlic to form a kind of stuffing for the artichoke. So let me repeat: olive oil, white wine, mint, and garlic—all that, and an artichoke, too. Reader, I pretty much ran to the market.

Once armed with the necessary ingredients, it was time to tackle the tricky part of the vegetable—namely those prickly outer leaves and the silky beard nestled at its center (and aptly called “the choke”). Still, how hard could that be? So as directed I broke away the outer leaves, snapping them in such a way as to leave behind the meaty bits at their base. Eventually those thick, rubbery layers give way to softer, paler leaves, and these I trimmed with a paring knife, 2 inches or so from the top. As for the stem, as instructed I cut this to about one inch in length, removing the outer layer with a vegetable peeler, and using the paring knife to trim away any tough, fibrous bits on both the stem and the base of the artichoke. And to keep those points of contact between the knife and the artichoke from turning brown, the recipe suggests rubbing them with the cut half of a lemon (this worked just fine, though alternately you can do as the Gourmet recipe suggests, and drop the prepared artichoke into a bowl of cold water, to which you’ve squeezed two lemon halves). In any case, easy enough.

Slightly more complicated (and only slightly, I promise) is the process by which that choke is removed. It’s simplest if you tackle this with a melon baller or even a grapefruit spoon (the kind with the tiny serrations), though if you don’t have either of these just use a small sharp spoon (I used a run-of-the-mill teaspoon) to scoop out the fuzz, aiming for just below the base of the strands where they meet the top of the artichoke heart. The procedure requires a little muscle, though it’s over quickly enough. More challenging, however, was the instruction to “spread” the remaining leaves apart to allow access to the choke—a process that invariably led to those leaves snapping off at the base. I was more successful with this when I simply wedged my spoon through the tiny opening presented by the leaves, letting the movement of the spoon spread them naturally. Either way, if the leaves break off (which they probably will), don’t sweat it—the dish will work just fine without them.

I mention this last point because the goal is to pack the center of the artichoke with the mint and garlic combo mentioned above (presumably within the cup formed by the top of the heart and the inside of the remaining leaves), and then to place the vegetable, stems up, in a heavy non-reactive pot (in other words, no aluminum or cast iron). Given that I was about to pour a cup of olive oil on top of the artichokes, followed by a bottle of dry white wine, I worried that the mint and garlic would simply float away without the requisite artichoke leaves to hold the mixture in place. Well, I was right to worry, as much of the garlic and mint mixture did fall away. In the end it didn’t really matter, though, since it’s ultimately via the braising process that the flavors of the herb and garlic infuse the artichoke, and not via direct contact with the vegetable that the exchange occurs. So rest assured those flavors will come through loud and clear, as does a hint of lemon—a surprise bonus from having rubbed the artichokes with the cut lemon earlier in the process.

While the recipe does not specify cooking time, the ones I made (all of which were slightly larger than a baseball) required just over a half hour on the stove at medium heat, covered. Regardless of size, however, you’ll want to periodically check the artichokes for doneness by piercing the base with a sharp knife (they’re ready when very tender). Use caution here, however, as the wine in the pot can ignite, as it did the second time I lifted the lid, creating a brief flare up that I discovered hours later had cost me a quarter inch off the hair closest to my forehead. (I’m laughing about it now—“Needed a haircut anyway, haha”—but obviously this could have been much worse, so please be careful!) In any case, once the artichokes are knife tender, remove them from the pot with a slotted spoon, then raise the temperature to medium-high and reduce the wine and oil by half. Spoon this across the artichokes (I prefer them cut in half but whole is fine, as well) and serve—right away, ideally.

There are many methods of cooking, and eating, an artichoke but I love this preparation for the way the olive oil and white wine balance the pleasant nutty taste of the artichoke, and for the way the mint draws out the vegetable’s subtle sweetness. That said this method shares one overriding characteristic with most others—it’s best enjoyed alone on your plate, as a precursor to whatever dish might follow. In fact, the flavors of the artichoke are such that no beverage works quite as well with it as a tall glass of water. This for the simple reason that all the usual suspects—wine, beer, what have you—end up fighting the lovely metallic flavor that tends to linger on the tongue after each bite. I love all those qualities, and I love that I no longer have to rely on a restaurant to provide them for me. I’ll come back to this recipe again and again.

Ingredients:
—1 large bunch mint, trimmed of stems and minced (about 1 cup)
—2 cloves garlic, minced
—1 cup olive oil, plus a splash
—5 large artichokes
—1 lemon, halved
—1 bottle dry white wine
—Salt and pepper, to taste

Directions:
—Mix together the mint and garlic in a bowl and add a splash of olive oil.
—Pull off and discard all of the tough outer leaves of the artichokes (snapping off the leaves just before the bottom to leave behind the meat at the bottom of the leaf) until you get to the tender, pale green inner leaves. Slice off about 2” from the top. Peel, then cut the stems to 1”. Use a sharp pairing knife to trim away and smooth the stems and bottoms. As you trim, rub the flesh with the cut lemon to prevent the artichoke from turning brown.
—Spread the leaves apart and use a melon baller or small sharp spoon to scoop out and discard the hairy choke. Pack inside the artichoke and between the leaves with the mint and garlic.
—Arrange the artichokes stems up in a large heavy nonreactive pot (not aluminum or cast iron). Pour the oil over the artichokes then pour in the wine. Season with salt and pepper. Cover and cook over medium heat until the artichokes are very tender when pierced with a knife.
—Transfer the artichokes to a platter, set aside, and allow to cool. Increase the heat to medium-high and reduce the wine and oil by half. Meanwhile, when cool enough to handle, cut the artichokes in half lengthwise or leave them whole if you prefer. Spoon the sauce over and serve.

Serves 5 to 10

The post 05/31/12 • SPRING’S GREEN HEART appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the May, 2012 Bon Appetit (click here to view the recipe)

For weeks I’ve been looking for a way to feature asparagus on these pages, in large part because nothing says “spring!” like those emerald green spears with the purple-y tips (and yes, also because I simply felt like eating them). The problem was that while the vegetable may find its way into my kitchen with some consistency this time of year, I generally do little more with it than trim it, steam it, and drizzle it with butter and lemon juice—a simple (if satisfying) approach that could hardly be called a recipe. So I went on the hunt for one I could share with you here, something that would give asparagus the star turn it deserves, but that would do so in a way that didn’t dilute the very reason for eating it, namely its bright, grassy flavor. And what I found was . . . not much. Sure, there were the ubiquitous salad treatments and soup recipes, but none seemed quite right for you, either because there just wasn’t enough to them, or because they plain didn’t sound, or taste, all that enticing (I’ve never been much of a fan of asparagus soup). There had to be something I could do with asparagus that would merit a few paragraphs here!

The answer presented itself with the May issue of Bon Appetit, in the form of a spring vegetable and goat cheese tart—“spring vegetable,” in this case, meaning the pairing of asparagus and spring onions. Spring onions. Do you know what those are? . . . Well I only sort of did, so for those of you like me with only the sketchiest of ideas, here’s what I found: “The spring onion has a slightly more rounded and defined bulb than the slender and more delicate green onion. The flavor has more bite and is somewhat hotter.” (Thank you Lowfat Lifestyle!) That being said, and despite what you might expect given its name, I couldn’t find any when I needed them, which was less of an issue than you might expect for two reasons—the first being that the recipe makes it clear you can substitute the spring onions with a somewhat larger number of scallions (otherwise known as “green onions,” see above), and the second being that, the name of the dish notwithstanding, this tart is essentially a platform for asparagus. In other words, the onions are secondary to those emerald green stalks; exactly what I’d been looking for.

I also love any excuse to pile ingredients into a pastry shell, as this recipe has you do. Since preparing pie crust is a time-suck that ranks high on the least-favorite-things-to-make list of many a home cook, BA generously suggests that readers use a store-bought crust, as they do. If you can find one that you like, I say go for it, though for the sake of this posting, and because I don’t actually mind making pie crust, I went ahead and assembled my own (the recipe, also from BA, is included below). And for what it’s worth, as written it’s a fairly stress-free exercise, with the greatest challenge directed at your patience, since the dough must chill twice (first in its pre-rolled state for an hour, then in the tart pan for an additional twenty minutes), and baked an equal number of times (once with pie weights, once without, for a total of about forty minutes). But really, beyond the mixing and the rolling and the waiting, there’s nothing much to it.

Nor is there to much to preparing the tart’s filling, which is considerably faster than the dough. There’s the 15-minute roasting of the asparagus tips and the onion bulbs (halved or quartered depending on which variety you’re using), which have previously been tossed with a little olive oil, salt and pepper. This step is followed by a quick sauté of the asparagus stalks and pale green portions of the onion, both of which have been sliced into ¼” slivers. Once cooled this sautéed mixture is spread across the base of the baked pastry shell, then capped with a mixture of the wet ingredients (the all-important goat cheese, along with a quantity of crème fraîche and heavy cream, as well as 3 large eggs), plus a variety of fresh herbs (minced flat leaf parsley, chives, and tarragon). This combination is then crowned with the roasted items and the whole assembly is sent to the oven where it will stay for about 20 minutes or so, or until the crust is bronzed and the filling is just set.

As for the previously mentioned goat cheese, the recipe calls for a “soft, fresh” variety—which I took to mean cheese that had not been sitting in the fridge for the past week. I suppose the folks at BA might also have been suggesting that you source a variety at your local farmer’s market, presumably made during the preceding days, though the organic variety I purchased at Whole Foods (and, I imagine, not made mere days before) tasted just fine to me. Either way, do bear in mind that goat cheese can be salty, so when the recipe suggests seasoning the cheese/crème fraîche mixture with salt and pepper, go easy—it likely won’t need much of either.

After all, the point here is to spotlight asparagus, and that’s exactly what comes shining through, along with the mellowed taste of caramelized onion, and the pleasantly sour taste of the goat cheese mixture. It’s a winning combination that takes asparagus in a bright new direction without drowning out the qualities that make it unique. The recipe earns points for looks and texture too, as the tart’s vibrant surface—all bright greens and sunny yellows—gives way to a creamy herb-flecked interior, before reaching that buttery crust. And as a little reward at the end of your fork’s journey through each slice are yet more of those spring vegetables, creating a layer cake of effect Spring goodness. In other words, as good an argument for seasonal eating as you’ll ever need.

Ingredients:
—1 store-bought pie crust (note: see ingredients and instruction below for making your own)
—All purpose flour
—2 bunches asparagus (about 1¼ lb total), trimmed, peeled if thick
—5 spring onions or 12 scallions
—3 tbs olive oil, divided
—Kosher salt
—Freshly ground black pepper
—1 tbs unsalted butter
—8 oz soft fresh goat cheese
—1/4 cup crème fraîche
—1/4 cup heavy cream
—1 tbs minced flat-leaf parsley
—1 tbs minced fresh chives
—2 tsp minced fresh tarragon
—3 large eggs

Special equipment: A 10” tart pan with removable bottom

Directions:
—Roll out pie crust on a lightly floured surface to a 12” round. Transfer to tart pan and press onto bottom and up sides. Bake crust according to package instructions. Let cool in pan on wire rack. [Note: see instructions below for making your own.]
—Preheat oven to 425˚. Line a baking sheet with foil. Cut off top 1½” of asparagus tips; reserve. Slice stalks into ¼” rounds. Cut white bulbs from spring onions; trim and quarter (halve if using scallions). Slice pale green parts into ¼” pieces.
—Toss asparagus tips and spring onion bulbs in a small bowl with 2 tbs oil; season with salt and pepper. Place in a single layer on prepared sheet; roast, turning once, until onions begin to brown and asparagus is bright green and tender, 12 to 15 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl. Reduce oven temperature to 375˚.
—Meanwhile, heat remaining 1 tbs oil and butter in a medium skillet over medium heat. Add sliced asparagus and pale-green parts of spring onions; season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring often, until onions are soft and asparagus is bright green and tender, 6 to 8 minutes. Let cool slightly in pan. Spread evenly over bottom of tart crust.
—Whisk cheese and next five ingredients in a medium bowl. Season with salt and pepper. Whisk in eggs. Pour over vegetables. Scatter asparagus tips and spring onion bulbs over.
—Bake tart until edges of crust are golden brown and filling is set, 20 to 22 minutes. Let cool in pan for 20 minutes or up to 4 hours.
—Remove sides of pan. Serve tart warm or at room temperature.

Serves 6 to 8

Ingredients for pie crust:
—1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
—1/2 tsp sugar
—1/4 tsp kosher salt
—1/2 cup (1 stick) chilled unsalted butter, cut into ¼” cubes

Directions for pie crust:
—Whisk flour, sugar, and salt in a medium bowl. Add butter; rub in with your fingertips until mixture resembles coarse meal. Add ¼ cup ice water. Work mixture with your fingertips until dough comes together in moist clumps, adding more water by teaspoonfuls if dry. Gather dough into a ball; flatten into a disk. Wrap in plastic; chill until firm, about 1 hour. Note: Can be made 1 day ahead; keep chilled.
—Arrange a rack in middle of oven; preheat to 375˚. Roll out disk on a lightly floured surface to a 12” round. Transfer to tart pan; press onto bottom and up sides of pan. Trim excess dough; prick bottom of crust all over with a fork. Chill for 20 minutes. Line crust with foil or parchment paper; fill with dried beans or pie weights.
—Bake crust until sides are set, about 20 minutes. Remove from oven and lift out foil and beans. Return to oven and bake crust until bottom is set and pale golden, 18 to 20 minutes longer. Let cool in pan on a wire rack.

The post 05/17/12 • A CASE FOR ASPARAGUS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From America’s Test Kitchen

As you’ve all figured out by now, I have a natural inclination for anything in the animal fat or carbohydrate department (see the previous three postings for further confirmation: coconut cake anyone?)! Still, even a guy like me who can happily tear into a wedge of Gouda and a bag of crackers and call it dinner sometimes hits a wall — a wall on which the words “time to eat your vegetables!” have been emblazoned in big red letters. This impulse to go exclusively vegetarian doesn’t hit me all that often and is generally in direct proportion to the degree of excess associated with the meals that immediately preceded it, but when the idea does take hold, a bowl of steamed broccoli with lemon juice and (okay, I confess it) a few pats of butter is often just the ticket to put me back on my familiar track of carbo over-loading. That said it’s also a pretty damn-near perfect meal under any circumstances.

Because while I love all the less healthy stuff, I do like my vegetables and tend to eat them with gusto. It’s just that in my typical meal construction, they generally hold a supporting role and are rarely the main event. And since no one needs me to tell them about the pleasures of squeezing lemon juice over broccoli, or even sautéing spinach in olive oil with a dash of hot pepper flakes (in other words, the sorts of things one might find accompanying that grilled veal chop holding down the center of your dinner plate), coming up with main event vegetarian dishes that get my hungry man heart racing, while still feeling ambitious enough to share with you here, has been a challenge. Still, it’s a challenge I’ve been determined to meet — and not just because a steady diet of flour and butter gets tedious even for me, but also because two of the TRG team who labor behind the scenes (my friends Charlie and Andrew of Cinnamon Projects, and the duo responsible for this site’s design) eat no meat or dairy (plus a handful of other things that I can barely keep track of) and every once in a while it would be nice to post something they might be interested in cooking, too.

Well, I regret to say that this all vegetable, Indian-style curry isn’t it! It would have been, I think, as both men are keen on the sorts of bold, zippy flavors this dish offers in spades, but then I realized that two of the featured ingredients are ones that one or both of them are allergic to — namely onions and tomatoes… (You can imagine how challenging it is to cook for these guys!). Either way, it’s definitely a vegetarian dish I can get excited about making and eating, and that, by extension, is one I believe is worth sharing with you. For one thing it’s a starring role vegetable dish, and not an under the headline participant cast purely for its ability to provide a frame for the featured act. And for another thing, the mix of those bright flavors mentioned above, married to the various hearty ingredients called for by the recipe (the cauliflower, the potatoes, the chickpeas), make for the sort of vegetarian experience that can satisfy even the most committed carnivore.

All this begins to make sense once you realize that the recipe was inspired by the cooking of India — a country where vegetables are frequently front and center in many entrees, and where even the condiments come on strong. Of course, that strength may be more than some western palates are prepared for, just as the time involved in preparing authentic Indian cooking may be more than some cooks are willing to commit to. But with that in mind the fine folks at America’s Test Kitchen have created an Indian-style curry that the average home chef can produce in an hour or so, using ingredients easily sourced at most supermarkets, not to mention one in which the heat can be easily dialed up or down according to personal preference. Want more heat?: add another half a chile. Want less?: eliminate the chile’s ribs and seeds. Either way, the flavors are bold and exotic in just the way one expects Indian cooking to be, but with a brightness and clarity that’s generally absent from the variety I find myself eating at least once a week. I’ve never been to India but this simplified version strikes me as a closer approximation of the cooking one might actually experience in that country.

Key to this is the fact that the dish’s all-important spices (curry powder and garam masala, both store bought) receive a powerful flavor boost thanks to a quick toasting in a dry skillet. In fact, this technique worked so well that many days after placing the mixture in a pan on my stovetop, both my apartment and the hallway beyond it continue to smell like an Indian bazaar (Alfredo is still lighting candles and spraying Febreze to try and eliminate the odor). So in other words, crank up the fan and open the windows before you try this at home, or be prepared to endure endless cracks from your neighbors!

Still, that fragrance bomb was a hint of things to come, particularly once the toasted spices were added to a sauté of garlic, ginger, chile, tomato paste, and onion. Together these ingredients form a muscular flavor base, and one that effectively works its way into the potatoes, the cauliflower, and the chickpeas — which here function as the “meat” of the dish. A can of diced tomatoes (pureed in the food processor) and a little water provide the stew with some all-important moisture, while a splash of heavy cream or coconut milk introduced in the final minutes functions as a thickening agent for the sauce and gives it a kind of silky consistency (don’t stress over which liquid you use, as the addition is purely about texture, not flavor). Served atop some basmati rice and alongside a few spoonfuls of mango chutney and suddenly I was in the presence of a dish that cast being vegetarian in a whole new light — one that had nothing to do with balancing out a pileup of dietary sins, but purely with eating well.

Ingredients:
—2 tbs curry powder
—1 ½ tsp garam masala
—1/4 cup vegetable oil
—2 medium onions
—12 oz red bliss potatoes, scrubbed and cut into 1/2” pieces (about 2 cups)
—3 medium cloves garlic, minced or pressed through a garlic press (about 1 tbs)
—1 tbs finely grated fresh ginger
—1½ Serrano chiles, ribs, seeds, and flesh minced
—1 tbs tomato paste
—1/2 medium head cauliflower, trimmed, cored, and cut into 1” florets (about 4 cups)
—1 (14.5 oz) can diced tomatoes, pulsed in food processor until nearly smooth with ¼” pieces visible
—1 ¼ cups water
—1 (15 oz) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
—Table salt
—8 oz frozen peas (about 1½ cups)
—1/4 cup heavy cream or coconut milk

Note #1: This curry is moderately spicy when made with one chile; for more heat use an additional half chile. For a mild curry, remove the chile’s ribs and seeds before mincing.

Note #2: The garam masala can be substituted by 2 tsp ground coriander, ½ tsp ground black pepper, ¼ tsp ground cardamom, and ¼ tsp ground cinnamon.

Directions:
—Toast curry powder and garam masala in small skillet over medium-high heat, stirring constantly, until spices darken slightly and become fragrant, about 1 minute. Remove spices from skillet and set aside.
—Heat 3 tbs oil in a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add onions and potatoes and cook, stirring occasionally, until onions are caramelized and potatoes are golden brown on edges, about 10 minutes. (Reduce heat to medium if onions darken too quickly.)
—Reduce heat to medium. Clear center of pan and add remaining tbs. oil, garlic, ginger, chile, and tomato paste; cook, stirring constantly, until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add toasted spices and cook, stirring constantly, about 1 minute longer. Add cauliflower and cook, stirring constantly, until spices coat florets, about 2 minutes longer.
—Add tomatoes, water, chickpeas, and 1 tsp salt; increase heat to medium-high and bring mixture to boil, scraping bottom of pan with wooden spoon to loosen brown bits. Cover and reduce heat to medium. Simmer briskly, stirring occasionally, until vegetables are tender, 10 to 15 minutes. Stir in peas and cream or coconut milk; continue to cook until heated through, about 2 minutes longer. Adjust seasoning with salt and serve immediately, passing condiments separately.

Serves 4

The post 04/19/12 • VEGGIE CURRY IN A HURRY! appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the Nov., 2011 Bon Appetit (click here to view the recipe)

Several weeks ago, in my posting for French chocolate cake, I promised to return soon with something healthier and less guilt-inducing — “a kale salad or some such,” were, I believe, the words I chose to capture this as yet undiscovered healthful item. Now as you’ve probably observed from my previous nine months of recipe reflections, low-cal and low-carb are generally not the measure by which I judge what to cook each week. Still, even a glutton such as myself has his limits, and after so many weeks of biscuits, cheese, cream sauce, and noodles, I began to feel the need to introduce a greater degree of balance into the mix. And so I went in search or something that would fall squarely into the healthful category, while still eliciting a degree of excitement both in the prep stage and on the palate (because if I’m not excited about making or eating it, I can only assume you won’t be either). And yes, if I could find something that featured kale, even better — for the simple reason than that I’m loving all the salads made with this bitter green that have slowly been overtaking New York City menus in the last few years. So these were the criteria by which my future “healthy” posting would be determined. The problem: nothing seemed to punch all the requisite boxes.

Enter friend Dennis, who seems to find his way into these postings on a regular basis. Dennis is the guy I call when I’ve dumped too much salt in my potato gratin, as I did while making Christmas dinner a few years back (his standard fix to this problem? Add a potato… in other words, my already baked gratin was beyond repair). More importantly, however, even if Dennis does have an aversion to pickled herring, fruit-based desserts, and the use of olives as an ingredient in cooking (all things I love), we both tend to become fixated on many of the same restaurants, recipes, and ingredients. So when he emailed me to say that he’d found the perfect kale salad recipe, and one that I, specifically, would go nuts for, I knew enough to drop everything and go food shopping.

Alright, maybe I read the recipe first and then went shopping. Either way it was the right decision. Because in addition to a large quantity of the aforementioned kale, the various other ingredients called into play are all ones that I love — namely, Brussels sprouts (shredded, which dilutes some of the bitterness that’s a turn-off for so many), fresh lemon juice, a little Dijon mustard, a handful of freshly roasted and salted almonds, and a quantity of shredded Pecorino cheese (I know, I know — cheese again, but not that much, and definitely not enough to nudge this salad out of the healthy category). In fact, here was a recipe where the individual flavors of the various ingredients were so vivid that I already knew, at least in an abstract way, what the finished dish would taste like. I knew that the natural bitterness of the kale and the Brussels sprouts would be mellowed by the tang of the mustard, the shallot, and the grated garlic, that the funky saltiness of the Pecorino (is there a better cheese for cooking?) would be the perfect foil for the acidic kick of the lemon juice, and that the salty crunch of the almonds (which for my money can be increased here from 1/3 to 1/2 a cup) and the soft strips of pecorino would marry all the various textures in just the right way, serving as the perfect platform for the medley of flavors. In short, I knew I’d found my kale salad.

Which meant I’d also found a reason to go shopping for a vegetable I invariably order in restaurants, but that for some reason I’d never cooked with. And the first thing I learned while hovering over the produce bin at my local Whole Foods was that the Tuscan kale listed in this particular recipe goes by a variety of names, including Dinosaur kale, Nero kale, Black Palm kale, and the one I ultimately found it under — Lacinato kale. Regardless, it’s all the same stuff, and is identifiable by its oblong shape, and green, undulating leaves. (There are two other types of kale as well, namely Curly kale and Red Winter kale, neither of which are called into play here, and which we will therefore not devote further space to.)

Since this is a salad we’re talking about, it should come as no surprise to learn that the preparation here is relatively speedy. There’s the removal of the kale leaf from its stalk, and then the slicing of the separated greens into thin slivers (something I found most easily achieved by folding the leaves over themselves several times before cutting), as well as the shredding of the Brussels sprouts, the chopping of the shallot, and the grating of a sole clove of garlic — all of which, depending on your perspective, could be viewed as either tedious work or walk-in-the-park easy. Either way, it doesn’t take long. There’s also the grating of the Pecorino, the chopping and toasting of the almonds (mere minutes in a small skillet), and the juicing of a lemon — to which you add the shallot, the garlic, a half-cup of olive oil, and a little salt and pepper, which together constitutes the salad’s bright, zesty dressing. And that’s all there is to it.

Even better, all of this can be done in advance of mealtime, with the greens and dressing covered separately and slipped into the fridge, and the almonds and cheese left to stand on their own at room temperature. And assembly is as easy as tossing the kale/Brussels sprouts mixture together with the cheese and dressing, adjusting the salt and pepper as needed, and sprinkling the surface of the salad with the chopped almonds — so simple, in fact, that even those challenged by the simultaneous acts of walking and chewing gum (guilty) can do this while greeting guests and popping beers.

I’m speaking from experience here, as I recently served the salad to a group of friends. I’d made it a few times already and knew it was destined to be a house specialty, but I wasn’t certain how a group of hungry guys would take to it, particularly when items such as chicken pot pie and Caesar salad were also on the menu. With perennial favorites like these competing for dinner plate real estate, would anyone even bother trying it? The answer was a resounding yes — in fact, it was the first item the group returned to when they went in for round two, and the first to disappear. And if that doesn’t convince you this salad is a winner, nothing will.

Ingredients:
—1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
—2 tbs Dijon mustard
—1 tbs minced shallot
—1 small clove garlic, grated
—1/4 tsp kosher salt, plus more for seasoning
—Freshly ground black pepper
—2 large bunches *Tuscan kale (about 1½ lbs total), center stem discarded, leaves thinly sliced
—12 oz Brussels sprouts, trimmed, finely grated or shredded with a knife
—1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil, divided
—1/3 cup almonds with skins, coarsely chopped
—1 cup finely grated Pecorino

*Also known as Dinosaur kale, Lacinato kale, black kale, or cavolo nero kale

Directions:
—Combine lemon juice, Dijon mustard, shallot, garlic, ¼ tsp salt, and a pinch of pepper in a small bowl. Stir to blend; set aside to let flavors meld. Mix thinly sliced kale and shredded Brussels sprouts in a large bowl.
—Measure ½ cup oil into a cup. Spoon 1 tbs oil from cup into a small skillet; heat oil over medium-high heat. Add almonds to skillet and stir frequently until golden brown in spots, about 2 minutes. Transfer nuts to a paper towel-lined plate. Sprinkle almonds lightly with salt.
—Slowly whisk remaining olive oil in cup into lemon-juice mixture. Season dressing to taste with salt and pepper.
—DO AHEAD: Dressing, kale mixture, and toasted almonds can be prepared 8 hours ahead. Cover dressing and kale mixture separately and chill. Cover almonds and let stand at room temperature.
—Add dressing and cheese to kale mixture; toss to coat. Season lightly with salt and pepper. Garnish with almonds.

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