From the Feb. 9, 2014 New York Times Magazine 

It’s been such a long time since my last appearance here that I don’t really know where to begin. Aside from the general rustiness—and associated writer’s block—that seems to have set in after an absence of so many months, there’s the challenge of condensing into a few readable paragraphs what has undoubtedly been one of the most momentous periods in Alfredo’s and my life. When I last logged on we were eagerly awaiting the arrival of our first child, so it will come as no surprise to learn that this emotion-packed period began with the birth of our daughter Carolina just after midnight on January 14th. Like our pregnancy, the delivery itself was smooth and drama free; our surrogate went into labor at about 8:30 pm on the night of the 13th—news that prompted a comedy of classic Daddy panic as we prepared to get out of the house and race to the hospital—and just four hours (and two big pushes later), Alfredo and I were gazing speechlessly into the beautiful face of the new center of our universe.

For me at least that speechlessness continues to this day—I still don’t have the words to fully answer when people ask what the delivery was like for me, or how it feels almost five months later to be a Dad. “Wonderful” and “amazing” are the easy answers to both questions, but it barely scratches the surface of an experience that is so layered and complex. For one thing there’s the miraculous quality of watching a new life emerge before your eyes, witnessing someone you have only imagined from grainy ultrasound images (a miracle all its’ own) suddenly appear before you—a head, then a shoulder, then a torso, until these various slime covered parts take on the unmistakable proportions of a tiny human, a tiny human that you helped to create. It’s an awe filled experience that’s hard to put into words without falling back on the various clichés we’ve all heard a thousand times before (and which I’m trying hard to avoid here). But my feelings around being a parent are no easier to sum up. Of course there’s the joy, and the delight, and the tidal wave of love that’s unlike anything else you’ve ever experienced, but there’s also anxiety, and fears (there are many), and the at times difficult realization that coming home from work and simply flopping down on the sofa is no longer an option, at least not if you hope to have any kind of relationship with your offspring.

I think we’re doing okay, though, figuring things out as we go along and asking lots of questions of the experienced nannies helping us through this process. Most importantly, Carolina seems to be healthy and happy. She’s very generous with her smiles (which take up the entirety of her face when something delights her, which is often) and she’s the perfect baby color—all pink and rosy. That’s actually a big deal for us and brings me to another reason why I’ve been away so long: Carolina’s health.

This presented itself as a major issue at about the eight-week mark, when our pediatrician became alarmed about Carolina’s jaundiced eyes and skin-tone. We’d noticed this too, of course, but being new parents and having been told in the first days of Carolina’s life that jaundice was normal for babies, we assumed the same was true here. I also knew that breast milk can cause the condition, and as our surrogate was pumping and shipping breast milk to us from the west coast, I figured that was probably the culprit here. Our pediatrician thought the same but just to be safe she decided to draw some blood (not a pleasant experience with an eight-week old baby) and run a few tests to confirm our theory. A few hours later she called with the lab results, which revealed that the condition was not caused by some outside factor like breast milk, but that it was the “direct” form of jaundice—in other words, there was a problem with Carolina’s liver.

How serious we didn’t yet know but our pediatrician wasn’t wasting time (itself cause for anxiety), so the next morning we raced to her office for more blood-work. This revealed still more alarming data, thus launching seven days of increasingly terrifying events: a sonogram, a liver biopsy, a multitude of scary phone calls, and finally a five-hour surgery. The problem—initially treated as a distant, worst-case scenario, then growing ever more likely until it became our terrifying, unavoidable reality—was something called biliary atresia, a rare, life-threatening condition that affects about 1 in 10,000 kids, most of them girls. In addition to jaundice we learned that white or putty colored poop is an indicator, both a result of the insufficiently formed biliary tree not allowing the body to eliminate bile. And adding to the stress was the fact that the one surgical option available to correct the problem—the Kasai Procedure—was only successful some of the time, that it worked most often when performed before the baby is 10 weeks old, that we wouldn’t know whether the liver was functioning as it should until three months after the surgery, and that even if successful Carolina would require constant monitoring throughout her life. So not only would we need to move quickly to beat the 10 week cutoff, we would need to prepare ourselves for living with our anxiety for the foreseeable future. Welcome to parenthood.

Needless to say the impact of all this was the emotional equivalent of a nuclear blast: crushing devastation, coupled with a primal impulse to just keep on going. We held it together when we had to—when we were with the baby or were meeting with her doctors—but succumbed to our emotions anytime we were alone, or whenever a friend or family member made it okay to let go, which was often. I can’t recall a time I cried as much or as powerfully as I did through this experience, the kind of racking, heaving emotion I’ve only seen in movies. Still, we willed ourselves to stay optimistic; this was challenging (why is it that in situations like these the mind is compulsively drawn to the worst-case scenario?) but it was something that felt critically important if we were all to get through this. And it helped that we had so many of our friends and family supporting us—cooking for us, holding our hands, offering hugs and comfort. When you are so afraid that every part of your body runs cold, the comfort that comes from simply having loved ones around is enormous, and incredibly sustaining. I don’t know how we would have gotten through this chapter without it.

We also did a lot of (for us) uncharacteristic things like going to church and speaking with a rabbi. I’ve quietly practiced Nichiren Buddhism for the past few years but raised the pitch in the days leading to the surgery, organizing prayer sessions at my apartment and putting out the word to various SGI organizers that there was a two-month old girl in need of prayers. And Alf did the same through his friends and family in Miami, calling on the Catholic community there (the “God squad,” as he calls them) to lend their support. Ultimately we had people around the globe calling on a higher power, in any number of religions, to help Carolina pull through.

So that was comforting too, as was the fact that we had a dream-team of surgeons and specialists at Columbia Presbyterian overseeing things. Between that and the fact that we already knew Carolina to be a strong baby with a powerful spirit, we felt reasonably confident, at least in our most rational moments, that she would pull through the surgery and be just fine. And so far that is exactly what’s happened. The surgery itself, which took place two months to the day after her birth, went off without a hitch, and about seven hours after tearfully handing her over to the surgical team, we were reunited with a smiling (if very groggy) Carolina in the recovery room. And her recovery, which would typically have kept her in the hospital for up to five days, went so well that she was sent home after three. Since then we have watched her grow stronger, fatter, and pinker. And while for many weeks it seemed that the whites of her eyes would never loose their greenish tinge that too has faded over time, to the point where you have to look very hard to discern anything other than purest white. Of course, these were just the visual clues—to be certain that the surgery had worked we would have to test her bilirubin, something we did six weeks after the surgery, and which revealed that her numbers had indeed dropped significantly. We weren’t yet where we needed to be (we test again in a week, and I confess that I am nervous), but the decline was at least a clear indication that the surgery had been successful.

And so life, blessedly, has returned to normal… more or less. I still scan Carolina’s face for any signs of jaundice and always feel the grip of anxiety whenever I enter the pediatrician’s office, but the fact that she’s so content and appears so healthy gives us both a lot of confidence. Which means that I can return to some of the things I pushed aside over the past few months—like this blog! Not surprisingly there hasn’t been a huge amount of time or energy for cooking over the past few months, so in lieu of preparing a complete dinner I’ve gotten into the habit of picking up a prepared entrée somewhere (a roast chicken, meatballs, whatever) and whipping up some roast vegetables or a salad to go with it. Still, I haven’t completely abandoned the concept of cooking dinner. Last Saturday we had a small group of friends over and I grilled steaks (first on the gas grill, which conked out on me mid-way through, then in a cast-iron grill pan on the cook-top), which I served alongside roasted asparagus and these wonderful, rosemary-infused roasted cherry tomatoes.

I’ve also been playing with the attached recipe for braised fish, which ran in the New York Times Magazine in February. Back in those chilly days of mid-winter the recipe appealed to me for its hearty approach to preparing fish—one that’s closer in spirit to a pot roast than it is bouillabaisse. But what I’ve found is that it’s equally enticing in warm weather, since the dish is composed of a variety of vegetables (onions, carrots, potato, fennel) paired with a flaky white fish—monkfish tail, halibut, or swordfish—and enlivened with red wine, paprika, thyme, and an optional pinch of saffron (which I recommend). In other words, just the sort of light, boldly flavored meal that’s perfect for these late spring days.

It’s also wonderfully simple, which more than ever is a prerequisite for any cooking endeavor I undertake these days. To start, pour three tablespoons of olive oil into a Dutch oven placed over medium-high heat. Once hot, lay the fish (lightly salted and peppered) in the pot and let it sizzle in the oil undisturbed for a total of five or six minutes, until it’s nicely browned. Set this aside, browned side up, then add the vegetables and herbs to the pot—along with a little salt and pepper—and stir occasionally until the onion begins to soften, about five minutes or so. With the onions no longer crunchy it’s time to add a few tablespoons of tomato paste and a teaspoon of paprika, a combination that imbues the dish with a reddish hue and a faintly smoky flavor. After a few more minutes of stirring—long enough for the tomato paste to darken a little—pour a half-cup of red wine into the mixture and allow it to cook down to the point where it almost disappears (and its flavor has been absorbed by the accompanying vegetables).

To this fragrant base you then add two and a half cups of beef or chicken stock (I’ve tended to use chicken stock, for no other reason than it seemed a more natural match for the fish), bring to a boil, and allow the mixture to reduce by about a third—a process that should take roughly ten minutes. Once complete, lower the heat to a simmer and cook until the vegetables are almost tender, also about ten minutes. At which point it’s time to reintroduce the star ingredient—the fish—nestling it on top of the vegetables and making sure that the browned side rests just above the liquid. This should then be cooked undisturbed for another ten or fifteen minutes, until both the fish and the vegetables are tender.

Once everything is fully cooked, transfer the fish to a cutting board and slice it into thick chunks. Spoon the vegetables into shallow bowls, lay the sliced fish across the vegetables, and ladle the broth over everything, making sure to first adjust the seasoning. This last point is an important one as I have found on a few occasions—especially those where I did not use saffron—that the broth needed an additional kick. Still, even without that correction the broth and vegetables have a wonderful, mellow flavor—a hint of paprika, the tang of red wine, and the natural sweetness of all those vegetables (especially the fennel, which is a quiet scene-stealer here).

And then there’s the fish itself, essentially a sponge for all the goodness mentioned above. That said, I’ve found the delicate flavor of monkfish or halibut to be better suited to this preparation than swordfish—I liked its meaty, dense texture, but found the flavor to be overpowering in the company of the other ingredients. Also, for those interested in lowering their starch intake, try swapping out the potatoes for a similar quantity of Cauliflower (cut into 1-inch chunks). I won’t pretend that I wouldn’t always rather bite into a potato than a chunk of cauliflower, but the latter does an excellent job of providing the necessary heft here, while also soaking up all the wonderful flavors of the broth. As healthy concessions go, it’s a pretty painless one.

Either way, this recipe is a winner and one I hope you enjoy. For myself I’m very happy to be back on this space. I realized as I was writing this that one of the barriers keeping me from returning to the site was the knowledge that I couldn’t do it without sharing with you all what’s been going on. That was more than I could face, at least until we were breathing a little easier. I’m so thankful that we are now,  and that I’ve finally slain the dragon that was this posting.

I’ll be back soon.

Ingredients:
—3 tbs olive oil
—1½ to 2 lbs monkfish tail, halibut steak or fillet, or swordfish, as thick as possible and preferably in one piece
—Salt and pepper
—1 onion, chopped
—2 thyme sprigs
—1 pinch saffron (optional)
—3 medium carrots, cut into 1-inch chunks
—1 small fennel bulb, cut into chunks
—1 lb potatoes, cut into 1-inch chunks
—2 tbs tomato paste
—1 tsp smoked paprika (pimentón)
—1/2 cup red wine
—2½ cups beef or chicken stock (TRG note: I used chicken)
—Chopped fresh parsley for garnish

Directions:
—Put the olive oil in a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When it is hot, sprinkle the fish with salt and pepper, and add it to the pot. Cook, undisturbed, until it is well browned, 5 or 6 minutes. (If you’re using halibut fillet and it has skin, brown the non-skin side.) Transfer it to a plate, browned side up.
—Add the onion, thyme, saffron, carrots, fennel, and potatoes; sprinkle with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally until the onion begins to soften, about 5 minutes.
—Add the tomato paste and smoked paprika, and cook, stirring, until the tomato paste darkens a bit, 2 or 3 minutes. Add the wine, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pot, and let it bubble away until it almost disappears.
—Add the stock, bring to a boil, and let it bubble vigorously until the liquid reduces by about a third, about 10 minutes. Adjust the heat so the mixture simmers; when the vegetables are nearly tender—about 10 minutes later—nestle the fish, browned side up, among the vegetables; keep the browned crust above the liquid. Cook, undisturbed, until the fish and vegetables are tender, 10 to 15 minutes.
—Transfer the fish to a cutting board and divide the vegetables among shallow bowls. Slice the fish and put it on top of the vegetables. Taste the cooking liquid, adjust the seasoning, and ladle over all, garnishing with the chopped parsley before serving. (TRG note: As an alternate serving suggestion, slice the fish into large chunks then gently fold into the sauce and vegetables before ladling into bowls.)

Serves 4

The post 06/11/14 • BRAISED FISH “STEW” appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the March, 2012 Gourmet

Happy New Year everyone! I’m writing this from the west Coast—Malibu to be precise—one of the few places in the country where it’s above freezing (well above, in fact; it’s 70˚ today and the skies are clear if a little hazy). I feel almost guilty sharing that information, knowing the miserable conditions so many of you are enduring back east. I can’t imagine what New York City feels like at 6˚, to say nothing of the bone shattering temperatures in places like Chicago and Minnesota (where it was -15˚ yesterday!), though that doesn’t lessen my empathy for what you’re all going through. I guess what I’m trying to say is I feel for you, even if I can’t imagine what you’re actually feeling. Still—and I hope you’ll forgive me for saying this—I’m mighty glad to be where I am. Though we didn’t plan this as a vacation (something I’ve been reminding myself all week as I drag myself over to the keyboard) our timing couldn’t have been better. And while we’re not exactly kicking up our feet, it’s definitely been a “get-away,” with all of the restorative connotations that phrase carries with it.

There’s a lot for Alfredo and me to be grateful for as we march into this new year, among them the gift of this Malibu beach house, which was offered to us for the month by two very generous friends. To say that this place is idyllic hardly does it justice—we’re just feet from the beach, so the sound of the thundering surf is our constant soundtrack. And each morning we awaken to the most incredible light show, the sky streaked with shades of pink, and orange, until it all fades away to a majestic cerulean blue, with maybe a cloud or two thrown in to break up the monotony. That and the electric orange sunsets function as exclamation points for the start and “finish” (or mid-point really; the sun sets at 5:30) of each day—a reminder that sometimes your only job is to stop and let your jaw drop in wonder and appreciation.

Of course, wonder and appreciation (and gratitude!) are things we’re experiencing a lot of at the moment, since the real reason we’re out here is for the birth of our daughter. As I may have mentioned previously, her due date is January 17th, so to protect against the possibility of an early arrival and our still being in New York (something we would have been very worried about had we been in town for last week’s snow storm), we decided to come out on the 29th—which had the added advantage of putting us here for New Year’s Eve (which we spent with two of our oldest, dearest friends). As it turns out the baby has not come early, and in fact shows no signs of doing so anytime soon, so we all agreed (“all” being the obstetrician, our wonderful surrogate, and Alfredo and me) that we would induce delivery next Tuesday, the 14th. Obviously there’s still a possibility that she could arrive without any medical assistance—something I think all of us would prefer—but in the interest of our surrogate being able to coordinate childcare for her two daughters, not to mention our making sure that various members of our family would be here for the big event, it just seemed to make sense to schedule a date everyone could plan around.

Do I sound calm, cool, and collected around all this? I think I am, sort of, which is as much a surprise to me as it is to all of our friends who assumed I would be a nervous wreck by this point. Perhaps that will come later—for now I’m just excited, a little overwhelmed, and super focused on being as prepared as possible. So that’s the big news here: we’re about to be dads (!), a concept that gives ordinary questions like: What should we do on Saturday night? a whole new meaning, since IT’S THE LAST SATURDAY OF OUR LIVES THAT WE WON’T BE PARENTS! Wow. Like I said: wonder and appreciation.

In the meantime, it’s pretty much business as usual—preparing for our lives to be turned upside down, but otherwise functioning much as we always have: working, trying to exercise (I took a brief run along Zuma Beach yesterday, my first such outing since my surgery, and another thing for which I am profoundly grateful), and, of course, eating. Admittedly, a lot of this has been at restaurants, though we’ve also made a few meals at home, taking advantage of this glorious location, our incredibly well outfitted kitchen (including a huge Wolf range), and the amazing produce available at what is otherwise your standard issue, football field-sized, suburban supermarket. I’m not exaggerating when I say that in the last two days I’ve eaten possibly the single best tomato, and undoubtedly the best, perfectly ripe avocado, of my entire life—both drizzled with merely average olive oil and some sea salt. The flavors were so sharp and crystal clear that I was practically doing somersaults around the kitchen.

And then there are the artichokes—a small tower of which presided over the happy corner of the market known as the produce section, and a reminder of why life here is so enticing. They presented an opportunity I didn’t want to miss so I decided to make a version of the shaved artichoke salad I’d eaten (and loved) a few nights earlier. That salad was made with baby artichokes, one of the few items the market did not have, but somewhere in the recesses of my memory I recalled a recipe for a similar salad using the larger variety, something I ultimately found on Epicurious. The recipe originally ran in an edition of Gourmet from 2002 and has likely been languishing in my clippings file since then. I can’t imagine why: it couldn’t be easier (making me wonder why I have always been so intimidated by preparing this favorite vegetable), and it’s delicious—the naturally metallic flavor of the artichoke perfectly offset with the tang of lemon juice, the nutty flavor of olive oil, and the kick of salty cheese (the recipe calls for Parmigiano, which I swapped out for Pecorino because it’s what I had in the fridge, and because I liked its slightly more concentrated saltiness here).

I suppose one source of my artichoke anxiety has stemmed from how to deal all those rubbery leaves and the weird, fuzzy stuff at the center. This recipe makes such simple work of the process, however, that it’s given me a whole new confidence where this strange little vegetable is concerned. Literally, a scissor, a paring knife, and a melon baller (or strong teaspoon, which is what I used) is all you need to carve the artichoke down to the heart of the matter—the heart of the artichoke. Next, you shave the heart as thin as you can with a mandoline or other adjustable slicer (thinner than what you see pictured here, if possible; I found these slices a little too thick but could not get my slicer to cooperate), toss with a small amount of lemon juice, then mix with a similarly slivered mushroom, a small amount of chopped parsley, a few splashes of olive oil, and some salt and pepper. Top with a few curls of salty cheese and a little more of that olive oil and you have the sort of bright, simple combination of flavors that can render you speechless.

That said the one thing that perplexes me about this recipe is the serving size, since as written the yield is supposedly enough for two. Personally, I recommend doubling the recipe, because even with an appetite considerably smaller than mine, I can’t imagine that would be enough. Plus, this is the sort of lip-smacking combination you want to make sure you have plenty of. That’s achieved easily enough with this recipe—simply consider the ingredients listed as good for one and expand from there.

Anyway, this will likely be the last you hear from me for at least the next few weeks, though I’ll certainly keep you posted on things as they develop. In the meantime, stay warm, and well, everyone!

Ingredients:
—1 large artichoke (tightly closed with no brown edges)
—1 lemon, halved
—1 very large (2-inches wide) cremini or white mushroom
—1½ tsp mild extra-virgin olive oil (plus more for drizzling)
—1 tsp chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
—1/4 tsp kosher salt
—1/8 tsp black pepper
—Shavings from a wedge of Pramigiano-Reggiano (TRG note: I prefer Pecorino, which is used here)

Special equipment:
—A melon ball-cutter (a teaspoon and some elbow grease will also do the trick)
—A mandoline or other adjustable slicer

Directions:
—Cut off artichoke stem and discard. Cut off top inch of artichoke with a serrated knife. Bend back outer leaves until they snap off close to base, then discard several more layers of leaves in same manner until you reach pale yellow leaves with pale green tips.
—Cut remaining leaves flush with top of artichoke bottom with a sharp knife, then pull out purple (TRG note: or green, not all artichokes will have purple leaves) and scoop out fuzzy choke with melon-baller (TRG note: a strong teaspoon will also work). Rub cut surfaces with a lemon half. Trim remaining dark green fibrous parts from base and sides of artichoke with a sharp paring knife, then rub cut surfaces with same lemon half.
—Trim mushroom stem flush with cap, then rub mushroom with same lemon half. Squeeze ½ teaspoon juice from remaining lemon half into a bowl.
—Shave artichoke and mushroom as thinly as possible with slicer and toss immediately with lemon juice, then with the oil, parsley, salt, and pepper.
—Shave several pieces of cheese on top of salads with a slicer or vegetable peeler, drizzle with olive oil, and serve immediately.

Note: Do all prep-work right before serving to avoid discoloration.

Serves two (according to the recipe; I recommend doubling for that number)

The post 01/09/13 • SHAVED ARTICHOKE SALAD appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From Sunday Suppers at Lucgues (Knopf)

Several Sundays ago what had been planned as a simple meal at home for Alfredo and me turned into an impromptu dinner party for six—a last-minute gathering calling for that additional flourish known as dessert. Time was limited, though, and so I turned to one of my favorite dessert-in-a-pinch options: clafoutis. Let’s start by addressing that name, which most people aren’t familiar with, and which always makes me feel like an ass when it comes out of my mouth (instead I usually describe it as “a French pancake/flan-like thing,” which does a better job of summing up what it’s all about). The other thing to know is that the dish originated in the southwestern region of France (Limousin, to be exact), and was created as a kind of baked pudding to showcase the region’s summer cherries. All of which is great, except I’ve never actually made it with cherries, in part because I’m such a fan of the variety made with apples. For years that’s been my clafoutis standard, and one I would probably not have deviated from, except for the fact that I happened upon this recipe for a cranberry-walnut version in Sunday Suppers at Lucques (a great cookbook, by the way, for anyone not familiar with it). Now I’m not a huge walnut fan (in their raw form they make the back of my throat itch), but I do love cranberries and thought the combination had a festive, holiday quality to it. So I decided to mix things up a bit and give it a whirl, though with a few small alterations—namely fresh cranberries instead of dried, and pecans instead of walnuts.

The results were wonderful, with the chewy, airy cake offset by the mellow tang of the cranberries and the satisfying crunch of the nuts. That sponge-y quality is one of the pleasures of any clafoutis, and it’s on vivid display here, with the texture recalling that of a thick crêpe (as opposed to the density of a traditional pancake, or the slippery quality of a flan). And during its forty-five minutes in the oven, the dish turns a beautiful shade of honey-brown and puffs up like a Dutch pancake, which means that despite the cake’s appealing chew, it’s feather light as well. Having said that, like a soufflé this high-flying quality dissipates quickly (as my photos reveal; one must shoot fast to capture this dish in all its puffed-up glory), but the good news is that it’s just as appealing when it flattens out a bit. In fact, when chilled the cake takes on a denser, more custard-like quality, which is delightful, particularly in the company of the nuts and cranberries. I cut into the leftovers the next morning for breakfast and I couldn’t stop myself from slicing just a little more, then a little more still.

And, as intimated earlier, it’s a breeze to assemble, with most of the ingredients likely already lurking in the cupboard. To start you assemble the batter, first heating the milk along with two tablespoons of butter then whisking the results into a previously combined mixture of a ½ cup of sugar, ¾ cup of all-purpose flour (sifted), and a ½ teaspoon of kosher salt. Once everything is combined, this is set aside and allowed to rest for an hour or so—plenty of time within which to toast the nuts (ten minutes on a cookie sheet in a 375˚ oven), then to coarsely chop them. I should mention that as someone who typically avoids cooking with nuts, I was unprepared for the warm, homey smell that within minutes overtook the kitchen—a scent that was nutty (of course), but also a little sweet, like baking cookies. This was my first hint that we were in for something special.

Once the batter has been given sufficient time to rest, pour it into a well buttered, ten-inch round baking dish (I like using a cast-iron skillet, for no other reason than it just looks so good), and scatter the ½ cup of cranberries and the chopped nuts on top. Forty-five minutes (or so) in a 375˚ oven is all it takes for the batter to take on a beautiful golden color, and to rise up out of its pan like a crown—just make sure there are no racks above the baking dish that might impede the clafoutis’ inflation.

The Lucques’ recipe suggests serving the dish with a dollop of whipped cream spiked with a little bourbon, though I prefer it without, letting the egg-y/fruity-y simplicity of the flavors take the spotlight without any distractions. (The whipped cream recipe is included below.) And in case you’re curious about that apple variety I mentioned at the outset, instructions for this are listed below, as well. Either way, this is a wonderful dessert—perfect for the colder months with the two varieties listed here, or for the warmer ones with fresh berries or those traditional Limousin cherries that started the whole thing.

Ingredients:
—1 cup plus 2 tbs whole milk
—2 tbs plus 1 tsp unsalted butter
—3 extra-large eggs
—1/2 cup plus 2 tsp granulated sugar
—3/4 cup all-purpose flour, sifted
—1/2 tsp kosher salt
—3/4 cup walnuts (I swapped out the walnuts for pecans)
—1/2 cup dried cranberries (I swapped out the dried for fresh)
—1 cup heavy cream (for optional topping)
—1½ tsp bourbon (for optional topping)

Note: For an apple version of the above, swap out the walnuts and cranberries for the following:
—4 tbsp butter
—4 tart apples, peeled, cored, and sliced
—1/2 cup plus 2 tsp sugar
—2 to 3 tbs brandy
—Ground cinnamon to taste

Directions:
—Heat the milk and 2 tbs butter in a small saucepan over medium heat until warm but not hot.
—In a large bowl, whisk the eggs together. Whisk in ½ cup sugar, the flour, and the salt. Add the warm milk, whisking well to incorporate completely. Let the batter rest 1 hour at room temperature.
—Preheat oven to 375˚.
—Spread the walnuts (or pecans) on a baking sheet and toast about 10 minutes, until they’re golden brown and smell nutty. When the nuts have cooled, chop them coarsely.
—Butter a 10-inch round or oval baking dish (TRG note: a cast-iron skillet is fine) with the 1 tsp butter. (You can also make six individual clafoutis if you like.) Sprinkle the remaining 2 tsp sugar in the dish, and tip to coat the bottom and the sides (TRG note: you might need a little more sugar to do this). Pour the batter into the dish. Scatter the nuts and cranberries on top (most of them will sink). Bake about 45 minutes, until the clafoutis puffs up and turns golden brown.
—While the clafoutis finishes baking, whip the cream and bourbon to soft peaks (if using).
—Serve the clafoutis directly from the baking dish, with the whipped cream on the side, if desired.

Directions for the apple version:
—Follow the directions above, up to the point that the batter is assembled and resting.
—Melt the 4 tbs of butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the apples, ½ cup sugar, and the brandy, and cook until apples are glazed and heated through, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat.
—Proceed with the original recipe as written above, substituting the cranberries and walnuts for the sautéed apples.

Makes eight servings

The post 12/12/13 • CRANBERRY-WALNUT-CLAFOUTIS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From Julia and Jacques: Cooking at Home

I’ve gone back-and-forth about sharing this particular recipe with all of you—not because I don’t believe it’s one everyone should know about, but because it’s for salad dressing… and somehow that just seemed too minor to warrant its own posting. Except I know from experience how valuable the right salad dressing recipe can be. One or two good ones are all you need for a lifetime of cooking, and once you find the formula that suits you, it’s a little like inheriting your grandmother’s cast-iron skillet; you guard it with your life and give it lots of love. At least that’s how I feel about this recipe, one I’ve come to view as my secret meal-planning weapon, since no matter how uncertain I may be about the success of whatever else I’m cooking, I always know the salad will be a hit. And by “hit,” I don’t just mean devoured, but singled out (this as recently as last night, when completely unprompted and after having eaten it for years, Alfredo announced, “God, your salad dressing is good!”). Little surprise then that the recipe request I get most often from those seated around our table is for my salad dressing. So here it is: a minor player, perhaps, but a critical one in the planning of any meal.

But don’t just take my word for it—Jacques Pepin himself has given the recipe his seal of approval, presenting it as his own go-to vinaigrette in Julia and Jacques: Cooking at Home (one of my all-time favorite cookbooks). And, like any salad dressing recipe, the formula is there for you to experiment with as you like, dialing up or down the acidity and swapping out vinegars and oils with different flavor profiles. (Pepin cautions, however, that if you’re adding an oil or vinegar with a particularly strong flavor, like balsamic vinegar, you’ll want to use only a small amount, mixing it with the standard vinegar or oil listed in the recipe so as to avoid overpowering the greens). That said, in my many years of making this dressing I’ve never found any reason to alter it, unless I suddenly discovered I’d run out of red wine vinegar and was forced to use one of the alternatives lurking in the cabinet. In other words, from my perspective it’s the perfect combination of flavors, just as is.

One reason for that is the presence of two tablespoons of Dijon mustard, which gives the vinaigrette the ideal acidic kick (you can also use white-wine vinegar, though I generally go for the red-wine variety). And, of course, it’s simple (this is salad dressing, after all), requiring nothing more than placing the above two ingredients in a re-sealable glass jar along with 2 teaspoons of chopped garlic, a ½ teaspoon salt, a ¼ teaspoon of freshly ground black pepper, and a cup of olive oil, giving the mixture a vigorous shake, and presto: the answer to your salad dressing dreams. And for those of you made anxious by the presence of garlic here, have no fear. The tang of the various other ingredients present in the mixture has a way of mellowing the sharp (and to some, unpleasant) quality of the garlic—you can taste it, but it’s subtle. Mellow, too.

The other thing worth mentioning about this vinaigrette is that its big flavor makes it the ideal accompaniment for meat or other hearty dishes. As such, it’s one I tend to use frequently in cold weather months, as opposed to the warmer ones when I typically want something lighter. And the recipe produces about 1½ cups of dressing, which in my experience is enough to get me through at least three big salads. (The dressing will keep in the fridge for up to two weeks, though if you plan to store it that long consider adding the garlic as you go, since it can lose some of its zip and turn bitter over time.) All of which is good news for the holiday season, as well as for the weeks following, when so many of us will be atoning for our culinary sins with a salad-only diet. Thanks to this dressing, that’s something you can look forward to.

Ingredients:
—2 tsp chopped garlic (shallot can be substituted)
—2 tbs Dijon-style mustard
—1/2 tsp salt
—1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
—1/4 cup red- or white-wine vinegar
—1 cup extra-virgin olive oil or peanut oil, or a mixture of the two

Special equipment:
—A 12-ounce glass jar with a screw-top lid

Note #1: Other oils or vinegars can be substituted, though if you’re using a powerfully flvored one like balsamic vinegar, it’s recommended to mix a small amount with the standard vinegar or oil option listed in the recipe.

Note #2: The vinegar will keep in the fridge for up to two-weeks, though if you’re planning to store it that long, it’s best to add the garlic (or shallot, if using) as you go, as both can lose their flavor and turn bitter over time.

Directions:
—Put all of the ingredients in the jar, screw on the lid, and shake well. Taste and adjust seasoning, adding more oil or vinegar, as you like.
—Store in refrigerator up to 2 weeks, and shake to blend before using.

Makes about 1½ cups

The post 12/05/13 • MUSTARD VINAIGRETTE appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.

From the March, 1999 Gourmet

I’ve made a lot of Thanksgiving dinners over the years, enough to know the importance of pre-planning and not being overly ambitious with the menu—something I’ve struggled with given my weakness for many of the dishes associated with this favorite meal. Practice has made me pretty good on the planning and strategizing end of things—I now know to cook, chop, shred, slice, and purée as much as possible in advance of the big day—but things have proven more challenging when it comes to determining which dishes will be included; I always seem to over-do it. Of course, part of the traditional Thanksgiving experience is having too much to choose from, and therefore too much on your plate, and I’d be the last one to suggest changing that. But each year I feel as though I could have done with maybe one less dish… or two. Certainly it would help where the time and labor is concerned, and maybe I wouldn’t end the day with a stomach ache! So lately I’ve been giving some thought to where I might trim the lineup, and the one area I keep landing on is dessert. Seriously, does anyone really have room for multiple slices of pie after eating several platefuls of turkey, cranberry sauce, and all those sides?

Okay, the answer from some of you may well be a resounding yes! But for others who feel as I do, a bite or two of a pecan or pumpkin something-or-other may well be all you need to cap off the meal. Which brings me to this week’s posting, for pecan shortbread bars. In concept they’re exactly what I want after an overindulgence of turkey—a concentrated shot of chewy, buttery sweetness that’s gone in two big bites. And, of course, for those of you whose cravings veer to the sweet side of the spectrum, there’s nothing to stop you from grabbing a second or a third bar. Which is, in fact, a risk here, since these little treats are kind of like a Thanksgiving candy bar, if such a thing existed. In other words, they have an addictive quality that makes them hard to stop eating.

The recipe involves two relatively simple steps—preparing the shortbread base, and assembling the pecan topping. If you’ve never had the occasion to make shortbread (I hadn’t) it couldn’t be easier and in this case involves nothing more than placing 1½ sticks of chopped butter (cut into ½-inch pieces) in a food processor along with 2 cups of flour, a ½-cup of packed light brown sugar, and a small amount of salt. All of this is whirred together until the mixture begins to form small clumps and then is turned out onto a 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking pan, where it’s pressed down with the help of a spatula (compacting the mixture is key as it gives the shortbread its signature dense quality). This is then slipped into a 350˚ degree oven for about 20 minutes, or until the dough has turned a golden brown. (I ended up giving it an additional five minutes to achieve the desired color.)

While the shortbread is doing its thing in the oven you can address the topping—which is just as simple. There’s the chopping of the nuts in the food processor (a few pulses will do as you want these to be coarsely chopped and not transformed into pecan powder—something that can happen very quickly), and the assembly of the honey/brown sugar mixture, which once baked functions as a chewy vehicle for the nuts. This latter element involves melting the butter in a saucepan, adding the cup of brown sugar, the 1/3-cup honey, and the two tablespoons of heavy cream, then simmering the mixture for a minute until it’s well blended. Once this step is complete, in go those chopped nuts, which are folded into the honey/brown sugar mixture so everything is well coated, with the resulting mixture then spread across the surface of the warm shortbread, using a spoon or spatula to make sure it’s evenly distributed. 20 minutes in a 350˚ oven (the surface should be bubbling) and the confection is ready—though be sure to allow the baked shortbread/pecan mixture an hour to cool completely before slicing it into 24 bars.

I did make one addition to the recipe, in the form of a chocolate drizzle. While the bars are plenty wonderful without it, I figure if I’m going to eat pecans and brown sugar I might as well go for the gusto and do it with a little chocolate. If you feel the same then melt a bar of semi-sweet chocolate in a double boiler (break the bar into small pieces first), stir in a few teaspoons of unsalted butter, and once melted drizzle the results across the surface of the baked pecan mixture. (I drizzled horizontally, starting in one corner of the pan and moving towards the opposite, then doing the same from the other side—an approach that resulted in a nice diamond pattern.) And to make sure the chocolate hardens up sufficiently, once the pan is cool to the touch, place it in the freezer for five minutes or so.

Supposedly the bars will keep for five days at room temperature, though I haven’t put this to the test as mine were gone in just twenty-four hours. Whether you include these in your Thanksgiving dessert lineup, or make them for some other occasion (they’d make a great Christmas cookie) I suspect the same will be true for you. The combination of chewy and crunchy with sweet and a little salty is just too good to resist.

Have a great holiday everyone.

And on a side note, many thanks to all of you for your warm wishes regarding our baby news. Two months and counting!…

Ingredients for the pecan bars:
—8 oz. pecans (about 2 cups; TRG note: I increased this by a ½ cup)
—1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter
—1 cup packed light brown sugar
—1/3 cup honey
—2 tbs heavy cream
—3.5 oz. bittersweet chocolate (broken into small pieces), plus 2 tsp unsalted butter (both optional)
—Shortbread base (see ingredients and recipe below)

Ingredients for the shortbread base:
—1½ sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter
—2 cups all-purpose flour
—1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
—1/2 tsp salt

Directions for the pecan bars:
—Preheat oven to 350˚.
—In a food processor coarsely chop pecans.
—In a heavy saucepan melt butter and stir in brown sugar, honey, and cream. Simmer mixture, stirring occasionally, 1 minute, and stir in pecans.
—Pour pecan mixture over hot shortbread (see instructions below) and spread evenly. Bake in middle of oven until bubbling, about 20 minutes.
—Cool completely in pan and cut into 24 bars.
—Bars keep, covered, 5 days at room temperature.
—TRG Note: If you want to add a chocolate drizzle to the bars, melt chocolate and butter in the upper portion of a double boiler. With a teaspoon, drizzle baked and cooled bars with the melted chocolate. Place in freezer for about five minutes for chocolate to harden before proceeding with slicing.

Directions for the shortbread:
—Preheat oven to 350˚.
—Cut butter into ½-inch pieces. In a food processor process all ingredients until mixture begins to form small lumps.
—Sprinkle mixture into a 13 x 9 x 2-inch baking pan and with a metal spatula press evenly onto bottom. Bake shortbread in middle of oven until golden, about 20 minutes.
—While shortbread is baking, prepare topping.

Makes 24 bars

The post 11/20/13 • SHORTBREAD PECAN BARS appeared first on THE RECIPE GRINDER.