I have a little problem. I'm addicted to cookbooks, food writing, recipe collecting, and cooking. I have a lot of recipes waiting for me to try them, and ideas from articles, tv, and restaurants often lead to new dishes. I started losing track of what I've done. So now I'm taking photos and writing about what I've prepared—unless it's terrible in which case I forget it ever happened.
This dish caught my eye in the January issue of Food and Wine. It was part of the 50 trends to try this year, and the trend in question was new sparkling wines. Three wines including a lambrusco bianco, a sparkling chenin blanc, and a sparkling gruner veltliner were suggested, and all would pair well with the mussels. We never have much luck locating exact bottles that appear in articles and that proved to be the case last weekend. So, we chose a prosecco instead. Therefore, I suppose we failed to experience this trend set by these new sparklers, but the mussels were outstanding with the bubbly wine we did procure.
This was served as a first course prior to the eggplant salmon entree. The mussels are quick and simple to prepare, and smoked, hot paprika is always welcome. Breadcrumbs were tossed with butter-cooked garlic and paprika, and then thyme, lemon zest, and salt and pepper were added. This mixture was spooned over steamed, opened mussels which were then set under the broiler for a couple of minutes.
Simply delicious. Of course, we wished we would have bought more mussels. When paprika, butter, and breadcrumbs are involved, always plan to serve more than you think you’ll need. The prosecco was lovely as both the steaming liquid and as the beverage served with the finished dish, but the Szigeti Gruner Veltliner Brut sounded interesting. We’ll have to keep looking for it so we can properly experience this particular trend.
I’m not sure why it worked out this way, but we had a seafood-focused weekend. We had some fantastic sushi at a neighborhood place for lunch on Saturday. We drive by this place all the time, but we’ve only stopped in a few times. We always leave happy, the fish is always the freshest, and it’s always perfectly prepared. Once again, we reminded ourselves we should stop there more often. After a lunch including salmon, tuna, crab, and shrimp, we moved on to mussels and salmon for dinner. It was a perfect food day for me. The eggplant salmon was another dish from Happy in the Kitchen by Michel Richard. All of the dishes in the Shellfish and Fish chapter are enticing, so I just picked one of the simplest to prepare.
Salmon fillets were cut down the center so as to accommodate a stuffing of eggplant and fresh mozzarella. The Japanese eggplant was first thinly sliced and sauteed with garlic and just a touch of soy sauce. Once cooled, it was tossed with cubed mozzarella and chopped garlic chives. The salmon was filled and then baked until the stuffing had heated through. The components of this were so simple to prepare but so delicious together. The sauce was just as easy. Chopped onion was cooked with chopped tomato. I know what you’re thinking. With eggplant and tomato, this sounds like a summer dish. Fair enough, but we do get pretty good locally, organically, greenhouse-grown tomatoes here, and since it was cooked with the onion for 15 minutes, it worked out fine. For this sauce, canned whole tomatoes would work too. The sauce was supposed to have received some basil after being pureed and strained, but I used a combination of homegrown parsley, thyme, and oregano instead. The tomato sauce was pooled onto the plate and topped with the salmon.
It all worked incredibly well together, but we also soon realized the stuffing would make an excellent vegetarian dish on its own. After filling the salmon, there was extra stuffing which I baked in a small dish. That alone would be lovely served with the tomato sauce. The sauce delivered brightness and incredible flavor considering the very short ingredient list. With the mozzarella melted into the buttery salmon, the tender eggplant made flavorful with garlic and soy sauce, and the smooth tomato sauce, this was a great finale to a seafood day.
It’s not chocolate. That’s the unbelievable thing about this birthday cake. For years, every time I asked Kurt what kind of cake he’d like for his birthday, the only answer I heard was chocolate. Until this year. This year, he said he’d like something different. I was too confused to think, so I put some books in front of him and asked him to pick a cake. It took him longer than I thought it would. The lemon curd cake looked good, and so did the coconut cake. But, in the end, he chose this banana-caramel cake from Martha Stewart's Baking Handbook.
The cake batter has lots of butter, some sour cream, and three mashed bananas. It makes a nicely sturdy cake that remains moist. Separating the layers, are three sliced bananas cooked in caramel. That alone would make a fantastic dessert, but it was even better as the glue between these layers. With six bananas in all, there’s almost a full serving of fruit in each slice of cake.
The frosting on the cake was mascarpone whipped cream which I’ll have to go on about for just a bit. First, it was so light and fluffy it seemed like it should be ok to go ahead and eat the entire bowl of it. The mascarpone, heavy cream, and confectioner’s sugar were mixed together all at once. I imagined it would be a little thicker and heavier like cream cheese frosting, but instead, the consistency was like puffy, creamy, light, pillowy stuff that’s really hard to stop eating. The second thing about it is that it’s lightly sweetened. It’s not tooth achingly sugary at all. That’s important because the frosted cake was then topped with caramel sauce. I already loved the frosting, and then it got some caramel. Dear, sweet, beautiful caramel. This cake was a very good choice.
It is a big, special cake, and it was splendid for a birthday celebration. You could simplify it by making one big layer, skipping the cooked bananas, and just frosting it without the caramel sauce. All the parts together, though, are so good. So Kurt’s another year older, and what am I doing with such an old man anyway? I think that every year until I catch up with him in a month and a half.
UPDATE 26 January 2012: My cilantro plants are taking over my herb garden this year thanks to the winter rain. It was time to make this dish again and update the photos.
I’ve managed to amass a stack of chicken recipes, most of which are from Food and Wine’s last several issues, and I decided to start working through them last night. Up first was this green chicken masala which was one of their simplified versions of a chef’s dish. It comes from Chef Vikram Sunderam of Rasika in Washington, DC. Apparently, the only simplification was to add the spices all at once rather than a little at a time as the dish cooks. Chicken breasts or thighs would work, but I had boneless breasts in the freezer so they won.
The first ingredient in the list is two cups of cilantro leaves. I have to beam with pride for just a moment because my cantankerous, little herb garden had actually produced enough cilantro for this use. The winter herbs like parsley and cilantro do perform better for me than their summer counterparts, but they're not all that prolific in my garden. However, we’d just had some rain this week, so the resulting explosion of cilantro leaves was a surprising sight. There’s a strange sense of luxury about clipping rain-washed and sun-dried, fresh herbs because since I don’t use any sprays or chemicals, they didn’t require any rinsing once I got them inside. They were already clean and dry and easier to handle that way. Odd things like that do make me happy. Mint, on the other hand, I don’t seem able to grow despite the fact that it’s treated as an almost invasive species in most gardens.
Along with the big mound of cilantro leaves, store-bought mint, jalapeno, garlic, lemon, and water were pureed until smooth. Meanwhile, chopped onion was sauteed before turmeric and chicken were added. Cinnamon, cardamom, and cloves joined the mixture in the pan, and then the cilantro puree and coconut milk were added. The bright green color faded a bit as the sauce reduced and thickened, but the many delicious flavors got better and better. Next time, I may use a hotter chile, like serrano, instead of jalapeno, but that’s a very minor grievance. I have to explain that I’m not at all an experienced cook of Indian cuisine, so the melding of all of these spices and herbs into the finished sauce was kind of like a magic trick that I just happened to perform. It all came together wonderfully, and this one is going in the permanent file.
At Christmas time, I baked several kinds of cookies to share with family and friends. I had a list of all the cookies I wanted to try, but I only got to about half of them. These chocolate covered cherry cookies were on that other half of the list. When I ran out of time in December, I started thinking about a baking list for Valentine’s Day and put these cookies at the top of it. I saw these delicious looking treats and used the recipe found on A Good Appetite.
They are thumb-print cookies with half a maraschino cherry tucked into the indentation with chocolate spooned on top. Absolutely nothing wrong with that. I located some all-natural maraschino cherries, Silver Palate brand, at Whole Foods. They have no artificial colors and no preservatives, and they taste great. Simple cookie, great ingredients, what could go wrong? Turns out, I nearly completely failed at making these cookies. My melted chocolate and sweetened condensed milk mixture must have been too runny. When I took the cookies out of the oven, it had practically disappeared. Notice the bottom right photo below. That is what failure looks like.
Not willing to give up so easily, I decided to let the cookies cool while I considered my options. I thought I could sneekily re-top them with melted milk chocolate and no one would ever know. My plan was to send these to my nieces for Valentine’s Day, so I went with milk chocolate for the final topping instead of semisweet. That chocolate topping worked ok, and the cookies were brought back from the brink. I can’t wait to find out if my nieces enjoyed the cookies or if they could taste the bitterness of near failure.
Back in December when I was reading Saveur, Kurt happened to glance over my shoulder while I was on the page about Bordelaise sauce. He felt certain that this was something I should definitely try, and he was all too willing to humbly offer his services as taste tester. Classic French sauces are interesting to me, even when they’re made with veal demi-glace and served on red meat. I’m intrigued by the thought of making them and learning from the process. And, so it was that Kurt had his lucky day. He got to select a nice, big filet mignon and grill it as desired while I tinkered in the kitchen with Bordelaise sauce.
I’ve read all about how amazing veal stock is on Ruhlman’s blog and in his The Elements of Cooking, and I suspect I’ll make some one of these days. This was not, however, that day. The Saveur article also includes step by step instructions for making veal stock and reducing it into demi-glace. I brazenly blew off all of that. I went straight to Whole Foods and searched for a pre-made veal demi-glace. They were out. The guy at the meat counter suggested I ask in prepared foods. The guy in prepared foods said no, they never have it there, and don’t I know how to make it. Yes, I’ve read about how to make it, but I’d somehow misplaced the eight or so hours I would need to do so. Onward I went to Central Market where I found a very good, albeit packaged, veal demi-glace.
Wine with shallots, bay leaf from my tree, and some thyme simmered and reduced. The slacker demi-glace was added. The filet was grilled, and juices were collected on a plate where it rested. A scant tablespoon of butter, I thought there'd be more, was whisked in, and the steak juices and some parsley were added to the sauce. The steak was sprinkled with rosemary and thyme, was set into a puddle of sauce, and received a dab of sauce on top. Did I, the red meat abstainer, taste this celebration of veal and beef? Of course I did. I had to know. I think I’ve used the phrase depth of flavor before but I shouldn’t have because this was what depth of flavor truly is. It was a velvety, luscious, beautiful thing. I haven’t converted into a beef eater or anything, but I do have a renewed appreciation for French classics.
Last fall, I read Nancy Silverton's Breads from the La Brea Bakery and learned about the steps involved in making a sourdough starter and using it for bread baking. I read about it, but I didn’t actually do it. So, one of my goals for the new year was to make a sourdough starter and begin learning more about bread baking by actually baking it. I have now at least begun this adventure. Two weeks ago, I set about growing the culture and allowing it to ferment. There are different methods for creating sourdough starters, but I faithfully followed the exact steps in the La Brea book. This was completely new territory for me, and I had no idea if things were going ok or if I had a failure on my hands. I just continued to follow the instructions and kept my fingers crossed.
The culture was created from a mixture of water and bread flour with a pound of red grapes tied up in cheesecloth squished into it, and it was left to sit for a few days. On day four, the culture was refreshed with more flour and water, and it continued to ferment for five more days. During this time, the aroma ranged from nice and yeasty to a little sour and then back to mellow again. Just as it should. On day 10 when the grapes were removed, the mixture had separated and there was a yellow liquid on top. It appeared just right based on the description in the book. At this point, regular feedings began so as to build the culture into a starter. Again, there are different methods for this, but Silverton’s instructions involved three feedings per day with precise measurements for water and bread flour. I got a kitchen scale for Christmas for this very purpose. On day 15, the starter was ready for baking. I think I’ve never felt so clueless in the kitchen. I had no idea if it would work, or if I’d been feeding a big lump of glue for two weeks.
Continuing with my obsequious adherence to the instructions, I, of course, baked the first bread listed which is a basic loaf of country white. This bread requires two days of prepping and waiting. I was a little concerned because there is specific information in the book about room temperature, water temperature, dough temperature and how all need to be within a narrow range for success. We were having chilly nights, and my kitchen wasn’t as warm as it usually is, so I was nervous. I attempted to make the suggested adjustments by increasing the temperature of the water used, and waiting the maximum amount of time for each step of dough resting and rising. But still, I was anxious. A big, but precise, pile of bread flour was mixed by hand with the virgin starter, water at 81 degrees, and an exact amount of wheat germ. I then kneaded it by hand. Things looked ok to me. The autolyse, or period of rest for the dough, came and went. Salt was added and kneaded into the dough. And, it was time for the first rise. Four hours. It rose, but I sensed it wasn’t enough.
After the first rise, the dough was split into two, shaped, and the two boules should have been placed in cloth-lined proofing baskets of which I have none. I have no idea if that matters. I used two medium mixing bowls instead. They were left to proof at room temperature for an hour and then placed in the refrigerator to rest overnight. I still wasn’t seeing as much volume change in the dough as I thought I should, but I soldiered on.
Day two involved removing the bowls from the refrigerator, allowing the dough to come to room temperature, waiting through a final proof of three hours, and then finally, thank you, the dough blobs went into the blessed, 500 degree, water-spritzed oven. I was feeling very much like the Little Red Hen at this point. Did anyone else read that book as a child? It was great to get to read it to my niece a couple of years ago. Still love that story. So, my dough seemed flabby and short, but I baked it anyway. And, believe it or not, it ended up very much like bread. I don’t count this as a solid success because the loaves were a little denser than they should have been. It could have been due to a weak, new starter or a too cool room for proofing, but what I got in the end was indeed bread. It was crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside. There were some holes like there were supposed to be throughout the loaf’s interior. It was bread, and it was mine. And, it was delicious toast for breakfast the next morning too.
My next adventure with the starter will be baking bagels. I’ve heard good things about the bagels in this book, so I’m looking forward to the attempt. I have to thank Chuck at The Knead for Bread for graciously taking the time to answer several questions and offer some great information. He also gave me excellent tips for maintaining my starter. I hope it’s still alive. It’s sitting in my refrigerator right now taunting me with the fact that only it knows its status. I’ll find out for sure in a week or so when the adventure continues.
by Michel Richard. All of the dishes in the Shellfish and Fish chapter are enticing, so I just picked one of the simplest to prepare.
It all worked incredibly well together, but we also soon realized the stuffing would make an excellent vegetarian dish on its own. After filling the salmon, there was extra stuffing which I baked in a small dish. That alone would be lovely served with the tomato sauce. The sauce delivered brightness and incredible flavor considering the very short ingredient list. With the mozzarella melted into the buttery salmon, the tender eggplant made flavorful with garlic and soy sauce, and the smooth tomato sauce, this was a great finale to a seafood day.
The frosting on the cake was mascarpone whipped cream which I’ll have to go on about for just a bit. First, it was so light and fluffy it seemed like it should be ok to go ahead and eat the entire bowl of it. The mascarpone, heavy cream, and confectioner’s sugar were mixed together all at once. I imagined it would be a little thicker and heavier like cream cheese frosting, but instead, the consistency was like puffy, creamy, light, pillowy stuff that’s really hard to stop eating. The second thing about it is that it’s lightly sweetened. It’s not tooth achingly sugary at all. That’s important because the frosted cake was then topped with caramel sauce. I already loved the frosting, and then it got some caramel. Dear, sweet, beautiful caramel. This cake was a very good choice.
It is a big, special cake, and it was splendid for a birthday celebration. You could simplify it by making one big layer, skipping the cooked bananas, and just frosting it without the caramel sauce. All the parts together, though, are so good. So Kurt’s another year older, and what am I doing with such an old man anyway? I think that every year until I catch up with him in a month and a half.
Not willing to give up so easily, I decided to let the cookies cool while I considered my options. I thought I could sneekily re-top them with melted milk chocolate and no one would ever know. My plan was to send these to my nieces for Valentine’s Day, so I went with milk chocolate for the final topping instead of semisweet. That chocolate topping worked ok, and the cookies were brought back from the brink. I can’t wait to find out if my nieces enjoyed the cookies or if they could taste the bitterness of near failure.
Wine with shallots, bay leaf from my tree, and some thyme simmered and reduced. The slacker demi-glace was added. The filet was grilled, and juices were collected on a plate where it rested. A scant tablespoon of butter, I thought there'd be more, was whisked in, and the steak juices and some parsley were added to the sauce. The steak was sprinkled with rosemary and thyme, was set into a puddle of sauce, and received a dab of sauce on top. Did I, the red meat abstainer, taste this celebration of veal and beef? Of course I did. I had to know. I think I’ve used the phrase depth of flavor before but I shouldn’t have because this was what depth of flavor truly is. It was a velvety, luscious, beautiful thing. I haven’t converted into a beef eater or anything, but I do have a renewed appreciation for French classics.
Continuing with my obsequious adherence to the instructions, I, of course, baked the first bread listed which is a basic loaf of country white. This bread requires two days of prepping and waiting. I was a little concerned because there is specific information in the book about room temperature, water temperature, dough temperature and how all need to be within a narrow range for success. We were having chilly nights, and my kitchen wasn’t as warm as it usually is, so I was nervous. I attempted to make the suggested adjustments by increasing the temperature of the water used, and waiting the maximum amount of time for each step of dough resting and rising. But still, I was anxious. A big, but precise, pile of bread flour was mixed by hand with the virgin starter, water at 81 degrees, and an exact amount of wheat germ. I then kneaded it by hand. Things looked ok to me. The autolyse, or period of rest for the dough, came and went. Salt was added and kneaded into the dough. And, it was time for the first rise. Four hours. It rose, but I sensed it wasn’t enough.
Day two involved removing the bowls from the refrigerator, allowing the dough to come to room temperature, waiting through a final proof of three hours, and then finally, thank you, the dough blobs went into the blessed, 500 degree, water-spritzed oven. I was feeling very much like the Little Red Hen at this point. Did anyone else read that book as a child? It was great to get to read it to my niece a couple of years ago. Still love that story. So, my dough seemed flabby and short, but I baked it anyway. And, believe it or not, it ended up very much like bread. I don’t count this as a solid success because the loaves were a little denser than they should have been. It could have been due to a weak, new starter or a too cool room for proofing, but what I got in the end was indeed bread. It was crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside. There were some holes like there were supposed to be throughout the loaf’s interior. It was bread, and it was mine. And, it was delicious toast for breakfast the next morning too.