Jibaritos

When you’ve just roasted a whole, double turkey breast for a household of two people, odds are good that meals for the next several days will involve sandwiches. That’s not a bad thing considering how versatile a turkey sandwich can be, and it’s even better when you’ve just read the recipe for jibaritos in Daisy: Morning, Noon, and Night. A jibarito is a sandwich in which the bread has been replaced by slices of fried plantains. Apparently, the original jibarito was made with beef, but Daisy suggested leftover turkey breast pavochon. This sandwich is usually built like a cubano with a primary meat (turkey in this case but it's often roast pork), ham, swiss cheese, mustard, and sliced pickles, but I omitted the ham and used all leftover turkey. Once assembled, just like a cubano, it’s toasted in a panini press. It sounded delicious but maybe a little on the heavy side considering the ‘bread’ is fried plantains, but I had to give it a try.

Plantains were peeled and sliced lengthwise. Since the plantains I was using were large, I cut each piece in half crosswise as well. They were fried in canola oil for a total of five minutes and were turned at the halfway point. After this initial frying, they were drained on paper towels and allowed to cool just a little. While still warm, they needed to be pounded down to a thickness of one quarter inch. I used a meat tenderizer for this fun task, and they easily flattened out to an even height. After smooshing the plantains down to size, they were fried a second time to crisp them, and again, the frying time was five minutes total with a flip after two and a half minutes. I used firm, green plantains, and they held their shape very well, crisped nicely, and didn’t seem to absorb the oil. The sandwiches were built with slices of the roast turkey, swiss cheese, sliced dill pickles, and mustard. They spent about six minutes in the panini press, and came out looking toasted, golden, and just gooey enough in the middle.

I have to mention again that I was really happy with the texture of the plantain ‘bread.’ It wasn’t mushy or greasy at all, and it delivered a satisfying crunch. Of course, the melted cheese, pickles, and well-flavored turkey were great on the inside too. As I had guessed, this was a filling sandwich. One small portion was enough for a meal for me, but it was a lip-smackingly good meal.




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Vinagre, Boricua Slaw, and Turkey Breast Pavochon

I can finally put into words one of the reasons why I’m addicted to cookbooks. I seem to imagine that the world of cooking is one big puzzle, and each time I learn something new, another piece is fit into place. And, I quite enjoy adding more and more pieces to that puzzle. I have an example. Last summer, I was cooking from Eric Ripert’s A Return to Cooking, and I attempted to make pique which is a spicy, Puerto Rican condiment. It didn’t work out so well, and I searched and asked around for more information about it and came up with nothing. Then, a couple of weeks ago, I was sent a review copy of Daisy: Morning, Noon, and Night, and while reading that book, I found a recipe for vinagre or vinagre de piña which was very similar to that for pique. I then learned that they are indeed the same thing. Seven months later, that piece of the puzzle was set into place. The process for making vinagre or pique was slightly different in this book, and it worked great this time. This new book is by Daisy Martinez from the Food Network’s Viva Daisy. I’ve never seen the show, so I wasn’t familiar with her cooking style. The book is a collection of her family’s favorite dishes experienced while traveling through different Spanish-speaking regions of the world. It’s an interesting culinary tour with lots of tips for advance preparation and piecing together menus. As the title implies, there are dishes for every meal in the day as well as food for parties and snacks. Bold flavors are found throughout from the shrimp ceviche xni pec to chimichurri sauce, Spanish coca which is like pizza, and Peruvian yellow pepper puree. There are desserts too like guava shells filled with cream cheese mousse, banana and dulce de leche strudel, and strawberry delicia.

So, when I finally figured out that pique goes by another name, I had to try it again. In this version, pineapple rinds were boiled for 30 minutes, and the liquid was then strained and added to a jar with sliced onion, smashed garlic cloves, habanero chiles, cider vinegar, fresh oregano leaves, black peppercorns, and some salt. It was left to cool and then refrigerated. In the previous version I tried, the mixture was left to ferment at room temperature, and it transformed into a questionable brew. This time, the hot liquid got the flavors mixing right away, and by going right into the refrigerator once cool, nothing bad had a chance to happen. The onion and garlic gave the acidic mixture big flavor, and the habaneros gave it a good kick. I used the vinagre in Daisy’s boricua slaw. The slaw was suggested as a side dish for anything served at a barbeque. It’s a crunchy mix of red cabbage, carrots, cider vinegar, cilantro, scallions, and vinagre to taste. I was so thrilled with the flavor of the vinagre, I continued to sprinkle more and more on the slaw at the table. The cabbage can definitely stand up to a good amount of spiciness. Since the slaw was mentioned as a side dish for meats, I also wanted to try the turkey breast pavochon from the book.

The name for this turkey dish is a mix of pavo meaning turkey and lechon which is roasted suckling pig. In this case, the turkey is roasted and seasoned in the same way as a lechon is prepared in Puerto Rico. A double, boneless turkey breast was seasoned with a wet adobo rub made from garlic, salt, black peppercorns, dried oregano, olive oil, and white vinegar. The adobo rub was placed under the skin and on the back side of the double breast, and then the meat was rolled and tied into a compact roast. I left it to marinate in the refrigerator overnight. The next day, I roasted the turkey first at 400 degrees F for 45 minutes, and then at 375 degrees F for an additional hour or so. The roasting time depends on the size of the turkey breast, so it’s important to start checking the internal temperature after about an hour and 15 minutes. The internal temperature should reach at least 150 degrees F before removing the turkey from the oven, covering it with foil, and letting it rest for 20 minutes.

I can tell you that this turkey smelled so good as it roasted that I may never cook another bird without some adobo sauce on it. The skin browned nicely, the meat was delicious and tender, and Kurt nodded with definite approval declaring it very good turkey. I had a lot of fun perusing this book and trying a few of the Latin-inspired dishes, and I look forward to trying more. Next time, I’ll tell you about how the turkey leftovers were used.




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Limoncello Cheesecake Squares

I went on and on about my lemon trees the other day, and when I have a good year for lemons like I just did, I love getting to make limoncello. Limoncello is a simple liqueur involving lemon peels, vodka, and simple syrup. Every recipe I’ve seen seems to suggest a different number of days for the lemon peels to sit in the vodka (three days to 10) and then a different quantity of simple syrup to add at the end (two-thirds cup to three cups for 750 ml vodka). Whichever recipe you use, once it’s ready it can be mixed into all kinds of cocktails, and my favorite is a simple combination of limoncello and club soda over ice. Limoncello can also be used in all kinds of desserts. As I was waiting for my lemon peels to steep in the vodka, I was busy trying to locate a recipe I had seen before for some kind of limoncello cheesecake. It was a year ago if not longer that I had seen this, and I have no idea where I first saw it. In my search, I came upon Giada’s recipe for limoncello cheesecake squares, and that may even have been what I was remembering in the first place but I don’t think so, and I ended giving them a try.

In Giada’s recipe, biscotti are used to form the crust, but I used graham crackers in their place since I had some handy. The graham cracker crust was formed with melted butter and lemon zest, and it baked until golden and was allowed to cool. The filling was made from ricotta, cream cheese, lemon zest, sugar, limoncello, vanilla, and eggs which were combined in a food processor. The filling was poured over the cooled crust, and it baked in a water bath for about an hour. After cooling on a rack for an hour, it was refrigerated overnight. It was very simple to prepare, and since it baked in a nine inch square pan, there was no need to wrap foil on the bottom to prevent water from entering.

The square pan was easier for baking, but I was unsure how easily the cut pieces would be to remove from it. Actually, it was one of the easiest desserts ever to cut and serve from the pan. The crust held together well, and there was no sticking at all. The limoncello flavor was delightful but was not at all overpowering. This was a rich and creamy cheesecake that wasn’t as dense as others. I’ll have to try it again someday with the biscotti crust, or maybe I’ll eventually figure out which recipe I was looking for in the first place.




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Sformato di Cavolfiore

When I saw this recipe in La Cucina Italiana, I was intrigued because a sformata was something new and different to me. It’s a baked, savory custard, but it’s not terribly rich. It’s mostly pureed, cooked cauliflower with bechamel sauce and parmigiano cheese. In the magazine, the sformato was baked in a pretty, wide tube pan the likes of which I do not own, so I used a bundt pan. Really, it could have been baked in any sort of pan, and it wasn’t entirely necessary that it be unmolded, but I was hoping for a nice view of the browned outer surface. The browning was due to a coating of breadcrumbs that was sprinkled onto a thick layer of butter in the pan before pouring in the custard. Considering that I was so eager to see this well-browned surface, you would think that I would have let it set the appropriate amount of time before trying to remove it from the pan. No, I rushed it out of hunger, and my sformata was a little wobbly because of it. As it sat, it firmed up, and next time I’ll have more patience, but the good news is that it very easily plopped right out of the pan. Presentation aside, the reason I’m going on so much about this dish is because the taste was fantastic. The creamy texture of the custard with the parmigiano flavor running throughout was delicious with a bit of crunch from the breadcrumbs.

To begin, a head of cauliflower was quartered and cooked, covered, in a pan with an inch of water for about 20 minutes. It was drained, and each quarter was placed in a towel, and the towel was twisted to remove excess water. The dried cauliflower was pureed in a food processor. A simple bechamel sauce was made, and I melted the parmigiano into the sauce. The sauce was cooled a bit before being added to the cauliflower puree along with two eggs. Once the sauce, eggs, and cauliflower were combined, the resulting custard was poured into a generously buttered and breadcrumbed bundt pan, and it baked for 40 minutes. I should have let it rest for an additional 20 minutes, but I got antsy after about 10 minutes and turned it out onto a platter. The shape held up ok, but I realized that it firmed up a bit more after sitting another 10 minutes or so.

The texture was light and almost fluffy with a sliver of crust on the outside. The cauliflower was mild allowing the flavor of the parmigiano to take the lead. This keeper of a dish even held up well to re-heating the next day. I was delighted with the result, and it’s always fun when something looks far more complicated than it is.




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Sourdough Corn Bread Bowls with Winter Vegetable Chowder

My sourdough starter just turned one year old. I’m proud of everything it did in that first year, but I think it can do a lot more. Out of fear, I stuck pretty closely to the Breads from the La Brea Bakery book all year since that’s where it all started. I followed the instructions in that book for making the starter, and I’ve only used that book for baking bread. It hasn’t failed me yet. I’ve made the bagels several times, and just this morning I was branching out by adjusting that recipe to include some whole grains. But, now that a whole year has gone by, I’m ready to start attempting some other sourdough breads. When I saw these sourdough corn bread bowls at Wild Yeast, they went to the top of my list. I loved the idea of cornmeal and corn flour used with sourdough, and a bread bowl for a winter soup was perfect. I followed Susan’s instructions carefully, and everything went fine. I think it’s going to be fun to keep trying new and different sourdough recipes. For the soup, I had a hearty vegetable chowder in mind, and I found just the thing I wanted in Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone.

The sourdough corn bread was a breeze to mix. I combined bread flour, corn flour, coarse corn meal, water, salt, a little butter, and sourdough starter in the bowl of a mixer and let the dough hook do the work. The dough was transferred to an oiled bowl where it fermented for two and a half hours. It was then divided into six pieces which were left to rest for 30 minutes. Then each of those pieces was placed in a soup bowl, covered, and refrigerated until I was ready to bake. I let the dough come to room temperature while the oven pre-heated. Just before sliding the little loaves into the oven, they were slashed around the tops. The oven was spritzed, and I placed the loaves directly on a baking stone. The circular slash on each loaf made a good cut line for removing the tops and turning them into soup bowls.

The soup was even easier to prepare. First, parsley, thyme, bay leaves, sliced onion, peppercorns, and juniper berries were steeped in milk that was brought to a boil. That was covered and set aside while chopped leeks, carrots, turnips, rutabaga, celery, and potatoes were cooked in melted butter. After about 10 minutes, flour was stirred into the cooked vegetables, and then water was added. That was left to simmer for 25 minutes. Last, the milk was poured through a strainer into the soup, and seasoning was checked and adjusted.

A simple meal of bread and soup with some great cheese and olives seemed like a feast. The cornmeal and corn flour brought a little sweetness to the bread, and the crunchy crust gave way to a chewy, tasty, light yellow interior. The soup was a showcase of fresh, local, winter vegetables that was thickened just enough from the flour, starch from the potatoes, and the milk. As the soup disappeared in the bowl, it was easy to drag your spoon across the inner surface and bring bits of bread through the remaining chowder. Even better than that was pulling the bowl apart and eating the whole thing.

I’m submitting this to Yeastspotting where you’ll find some seriously well-made bread.

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Citrus Tart

When I was growing up, I didn’t get to see lemons growing on trees. No, in Illinois, citrus was certainly not a local crop. However, several years later when I moved to Austin and started gardening, one of the first things I wanted to add to my garden was a lemon tree. It has to be container grown here because we have to move it inside when we have below-freezing temperatures. But, for most of the year, I get to see a lemon tree in my own backyard. Actually, I now get to see two lemon trees. My friend Kirsten, an amazing garden designer and gardener, entrusted her lemon tree to me when she and her husband moved from Austin to Edmonton. Happily, her tree is still doing fine (even though my gardening skills pale in comparison). Both trees produce Meyer lemons which can take almost an entire year to mature from blossoms. The lemons become ripe and ready to pick in late December or early January. I seem to have good luck with lots of lemons one year and then not so many the next. This was a good year. I picked plenty of lemons for limoncello, lots of vinaigrettes, and more. Since only the peels are used for limoncello, I had a couple of cups of lemon juice in my freezer waiting for inspiration to strike when I saw this citrus tart in the January issue of Living. The tart combines lemon and lime juices which seemed perfect since the lime would sharpen up the sweeter Meyer lemon juice.

This tart’s crust is a press in the pan type made with butter, flour, salt, ground almonds, confectioners’ sugar, and an egg yolk. I used almond meal that I had on hand rather than grinding blanched almonds in a food processor. The dough was a little sticky, but it was simple enough to press it into the tart pan. Then, it was placed in the freezer for 20 minutes. The crust was baked for about 23 minutes and left to cool while the filling was made. Eggs, sugar, salt, fresh lemon juice, lemon zest, fresh lime juice, and cream were mixed and then poured into the cooled crust. The tart went back into the oven, at a reduced temperature, for about 25 minutes or until set. I had to leave mine a few extra minutes until the center was no longer jiggly.

I whipped some leftover mascarpone with cream and a pinch or so of sugar, and my goodness, can someone please tell me why I had never before added mascarpone to whipped cream? That is definitely one of the most delicious concoctions, and it made a very nice topping for the tart. The crust was buttery and rich and possibly just a tad too rich and too sweet for me, although I didn’t hear any complaints. Still, I might opt for a standard shortbread crust or even a pate brisee next time I make this, but I won’t change a thing about the filling. The mix of lime and Meyer lemon juices was fresh and bright and just enough sugar was added, and of course, picking the lemons yourself makes them taste even better.




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Shrimp and Lobster Etouffee

To celebrate Mardi Gras this year, I couldn’t resist pulling My New Orleans off the shelf, and my first thought was to try the crawfish etouffee. Unfortunately, it’s not quite crawfish season yet. Sure, I could have purchased frozen crawfish tale meat, but then I would have no shells for making a shellfish stock which is essential to the dish. I decided to use Gulf shrimp and a couple of small lobster tails. As I started looking over the recipe, it occurred to me that I’ve never heard a good explanation of the difference between etouffee and gumbo. Both start with a roux, both involve the trinity of vegetables and stock, and both are usually served with rice. After some searching, the best explanation I found was that etouffee is almost always made with seafood and usually just one type at a time (clearly I cheated) while gumbo may contain seafood, meat, poultry, or a mix of any or all of the above. The word etouffee means smothered and the word gumbo is derived from an African word for okra, but both are stews. In the book, the crawfish etouffee recipe is regarded as the master recipe in which shrimp or crab can be substituted for the crawfish both in the finished dish and in the stock used to make it.

The first step is to make the shellfish stock which is very easy and requires relatively little simmering time. Browned vegetables, shrimp and lobster shells, and water simmered for about an hour, but I’ve also made shellfish stock in closer to 30 minutes. Once the stock is finished, strained, and ready to be used, the etouffee was started, of course, with a roux. The goal is to cook the roux until it's the color of milk chocolate. Mine was just a little lighter than that, but I really didn’t want it to burn. Then, chopped onion was added and allowed to caramelize before the diced celery, red bell pepper, garlic, thyme, cayenne, extra cayenne in my case, and smoked paprika were added. I thought it was interesting that Besh suggested red bell pepper rather than green. Next, a peeled, seeded, and diced tomato was added with the shellfish stock. The mixture simmered for just seven minutes before sliced green onions and the shrimp and lobster meat were added. Last, butter was added, and it was seasoned with Worcestershire and Tabasco and checked for salt and pepper. When the shrimp were cooked through, it was served with white rice.

Whether etouffee or gumbo or crawfish or shrimp, I really love this style of food and the flavors that develop as it simmers away. In this particular version, I appreciated the hint of smoke from the paprika. This one seemed a little less overly rich than some etouffees I’ve had. It wasn’t too heavy or too thick. The mix of shrimp and lobster was nice, but it was all about the flavor of the stew.




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