My life in pi(e)

I'm a goal setter. There I said it. I'm not bragging or anything, because let's be honest, I don't always set the most challenging goals. I did not say I like a challenge. I like to set goals I can accomplish. I like to win... but I'm far too competitive to compete with others. It's ugly ugly stuff. I can't even play cards without cheating. What I mean to say is, I'm so competitive that if I lose at a card game that is based on pure chance there is a very high probability that I will exhibit poor behavior. True. Knowing this about yourself is half the battle people. I'm trying. So since I can't play well with others I compete against myself.



This blip in my character has actually served me quite well over the years. I've learned all sorts of sometimes tedious, often unnecessary lessons. Such as, no matter how hard I try I will never have rhythm. It is possible (yet highly inadvisable) to fix certain types of plumbing with duct tape. And actually, the way to a man's heart is via making him a personalized embroidered beer cozy.



Sometimes though I learn useful things.... things I'm so very glad I now know how to do. For instances now I can knit a sweater. And I can replace broken window panes. I can also distinguish between a variety of heavy metal poisonings if the need were to arise.



At this point you're probably wondering what this has to do with dinner. Well I'll tell you! This has to do with pie crust. As I mentioned wayyyyyyy way way back in my first post an entire month ago, I finally have reached a goal I set for myself fourteen years ago. That goal was to find the perfect pie crust recipe, the recipe which would finally draw this epic pie crust era in my life to a close. Last month I did that and now for an entire month straight I have used the exact same recipe, unadulterated and without thought of trying another. I would highly advise anyone in the midst of a similar personal pie crust challenge to do the same. To be honest it's probably the technique that makes a lot of the difference. What I'm saying is, no shortcuts here if you want to reap the flaky buttery rewards.



Need a vehicle for that pie crust? Why not try the savory apple, onion and cheddar pie that I made on Monday? If you have extra crust like I did go ahead and roll it out and cut it into some ridiculously adorable shapes, sprinkle them with sugar and spices (I used ras el hanout) and call it dessert.



Apple, Onion and Cheddar Pie
Filling adapted from Susan Schawke's recipe on Design Sponge

Pie crust adapted from Tartine by Elisabeth Prueitt and Chad Robertson

For the crust
1 tsp salt
2/3 cup very cold water
3 cups plus 3 tablespoons flour (460 g)
1 cup plus 5 tablespoons chilled butter, cut into 1 inch cubes (300 g)

For pie filling
1 large sweet onion, minced
2 Tbsp butter
6 tart apples, cut into thin slices
3 cups shredded strong cheddar cheese
1/4 cup heavy cream
2 Tbsp flour
2 sprigs of fresh thyme
1/2 tsp freshly ground nutmeg
Generous amounts of freshly ground black pepper

To make the pie crust
I find using weights for measuring flour works MUCH better here, so weigh it if you have a scale.
In a small bowl, dissolve salt in very cold water and keep cold by sticking it in the freezer while you do the next steps.
To make dough with a mixer put flour in the work bowl, scatter butter over flour, and mix slowly until the mixture forms pea-sized crumbs. Add salted water and mix from low to very high for several seconds, until the dough comes together as a ball, but is not completely smooth (you should see some butter chunks).
At this point be careful not to handle the dough to much to keep it as tender as possible. On a floured surface, divide dough into two balls, shape into 2 thick disks, wrap in plastic, and chill for at least 2 hours or up to overnight.
About 30 minutes to one hour before you bake the pie roll out one disk on a lightly floured surface to 1/8 inch thick, rolling from the center toward the edge in all directions, lifting and rotating the dough a quarter turn every few strokes. Transfer to the pie plate and press around all of the edges so the crust is flush with the plate. Fill with your pie filling as described below. Roll out the other disk as you did the first and lay over the pie. Trim both the top and bottom crusts so they extend only one inch off of the pie plate. Set the excess dough aside for cookies. Tuck the edges of the crust under and into the pie plate to seal them closed. Crimp if you would like to. Cut some vents in the top of the pie. Give it a good brush of egg wash or heavy cream. Set back into the refrigerator (uncovered is fine) for 30 minutes to one hour. Baking instructions are below.

To make the filling
Pre-heat the oven to 425 degrees. To prepare the filling first melt two tablespoons of butter in a large saute pan and slowly cook the onion for about 20 minutes until soft and translucent. Add the thinly sliced apples and cook for 10 minutes. They should still be pretty firm, with some texture. Put them in a bowl to cool. Toss with the flour. Add the 2 1/2 cups of the grated cheese and heavy cream and nutmeg. Slide the thyme leaves off the sprigs and sprinkle into the filling and grate the pepper in. Mix well and start rolling out the crust. To fill pie first make a layer of the remaining 1/2 cup of grated cheese. Then fill with the apple mixture. Then add the top of the pie as described above. After the pie is finished chilling in the refrigerator bake for 40-50 minutes. It should be golden and bubbling.

For the cookies

Make a loose ball out of the excess dough. Roll it out gently so as not to overwork it. This will create the extra fluffy layers. Brush with egg wash or cream and sprinkle with the cinnamon and spice mixture. You can bake them along with the pie, but only let them bake for 20-30 minutes.

On leave

I've reached feverish levels of distraction. It's been going this way for quite some time. I think it's fair to say that the only thing that I can concentrate on lately is food and this little dance with death the economy is engaging in (in that order, naturally). I'm so distracted I haven't even voted yet. True story. But I will be voting before the end of the week. Cross my heart.

There's a lot going on in my life lately and I can't seem to keep it all straight. I am a consummate multi-tasker and over-scheduler... Not to mention a frequent loser of scheduling devices. I'm getting dates and times wrong for all manner of things. I've missed meeting up with friends because I don't know what day it is. I forget to pay bills and have even received disconnection notices from not one... no, not two, but three different companies. There's no good reason for this - it is simply because I forgot to pay. I've read half a book recently and still am no closer to understanding the plot than I was when I skimmed the back cover. I even drove to work the other day when I meant to drive to a friend's house. Synapses failing, left and right.

Clearly it's time to simplify, and I'm not currently willing to cut back on anything. Nope, nuthin'. Bills be damned! Last week, though, I did make a small effort to reign myself in a bit. I made dinner in under thirty minutes. I know. I KNOW!!! I'm sure, gauging by the recipes I've logged here to date, you can tell I'm no thirty minute dinner gal. Not that I have a problem with it... I just seem to want to complicate things. I like food. I like spending lots and lots of time with food. And if I'm going to cook it, I'd better love it. Because seriously, the pizza place down the street from my house makes an amazing slice, so if I want quick meal I'll go there.



Last week, though, I had to move my morning run to the evening. By the time I got home it was dark, I was dragging and more than anything I wanted to eat. Fortunately, I had the happiest quintet of ingredients (that would be arugula, cannellini beans, ricotta salata, walnuts and pasta) just waiting to be used. This pasta is fantastic. The flavors melded perfectly. And honestly, after a run this was close to the best food ever. It was the best blitz cooking experience I've had in long long time. Don't worry though, I've been working on a pie all day today. I'm in no way committed to cutting corners.

Pasta with Arugula, Walnuts and Ricotta Salata
Adapted from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison

1 lb. pasta
4 Tbsp. olive oil
3 cloves garlic, crushed
3 pinches red pepper flakes
5 cups mature arugula leaves
1 cup toasted chopped walnuts
1 cup drained canned cannellini beans
3/4 c. ricotta salata

Cook pasta according to package directions. Be sure to salt the pasta water heavily. Meanwhile, heat oil in large skillet. Once warm add garlic and chili flakes. Cook until garlic turns light gold. Add the arugula, season with a few pinches of salt and saute until wilted. Turn off the heat and toss with walnuts and beans. Taste for seasoning.
Once pasta is cooked and drained toss it with the arugula mixture. Garnish with ricotta salata and a splash of olive oil to serve.

Bean baby

It's fair to say I can take things a little to far. I have a lifetime history of, shall we say, "chasing my dreams", and before I know it that dream is either a business, or an all-out obsession. As a child I had a lot of animals, so naturally I opened a neighborhood zoo. I passed out fliers to all of my neighbors and then charged people 5 cents for entry. I even offered snacks for the animals... all for sale! Genius, no? A few years later I had a keyboard, so I decided my best friend and I should form a "band" in which we took turns playing the keyboard and singing and dancing. You did that too? Yeah, well did you knock on the door of everyone in your neighborhood and ask them to pay you to perform for them? No, didn't think so.

Things got better over the years. My mom stopped praising me quite so effusively, realizing the confidence she was instilling me with was a wee bit more than a child my age could safely manage. And I stopped knocking on my neighbors doors.

My delight in starting new business ventures has not subsided though. Neither has my need to passionately pursue each of my interests as if my life depended on it. These have ranged from sewing, to reading about infectious diseases (yes, I have successfully diagnosed at least one disease on House... I hope to continue the trend!), to recycling, to learning how to bake bread... and now to tasting as many Rancho Gordo beans as possible.



It started innocently enough. I spent some time in San Francisco this summer learning to bake bread. I had a list of "must-do's" for the trip and one of them was going to the Ferry Building farmer's market. To my delight Rancho Gordo had a booth there! I'd read all about them online at a zillion and two different blogs, so I was pretty sure I had hit the bean jackpot. Oh I should mention... I really don't like beans at all. They bore me to tears. However, here I was among bean royalty, beans with the cutest bean labels in all of history, so I had to buy some. I bought some with the cutest name, Ojo de Cabra (Eye of the Goat - awww, so cute!). So about a month ago, for one of our rice and bean nights, I decided to try out the little goat eye beans. I actually think I completely screwed up the cooking time due to my leaving the house to buy a pre-dinner chocolate chip cookie while the beans were simmering. All of the water cooked out and the beans sort of caramelized, but didn't burn. They were crazy crazy crazy good. CRAZY good. And this from a girl who is bored to tears by beans. The next day I hopped online and bought 8 more different kinds of Rancho Gordo beans. See? I'm no liar. I'm even going to plant a few of them because the Rancho Gordo website says I can. Cool, right?? Well, anyway, these are the beans currently in my collection:

1. Ojo de Cabra (they were so good I bought them twice!)
2. Flageolot
3. Marrow
4. Christmas Lima Beans
5. Vallarta
6. Scarlet Runner
7. Runner Cannelini
8. Yellow Eye
9. Vaquero



To date I haven't tasted many of them, partly because I want to savor them, partly because cooking beans continues, to this day, to bore me to tears. However, I stumbled across a soup recipe that called for flageolet beans and I opted to tolerate bean cooking boredom instead of foregoing this recipe. I'm very glad I did because the soup was velvety, rich and complex. I'm actually sad that I ate it all. I sort of miss it right now as I type this.



This soup joins about two other soup on my list of best bean soups ever. I truly truly believe Rancho Gordo beans are the best ever, even if I have only tasted a few of their varieties. That being said, I don't believe you need this brand to make this soup killer. So before you climb into your jammies to watch a House marathon, bake yourself some bread and make this bean soup!

Flageolet Bean and Leek Soup
Adapted from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison

1 1/2 cups dried flageolet beans, soaked overnight
2 Tbsp butter
4 medium leeks, including 1 inch of the greens, chopped
1 cup diced celery
Aromatics: 2 bay leaves, 6 parsley sprigs, 4 thyme sprigs
6 cups vegetable stock
Salt and white pepper
2 Tbsp creme fraiche
1/2 cup dry white wine, optional

Drain the beans. Melt 1 Tbsp butter in a soup pot over medium heat. Add the leeks, celery, the aromatics and 1/2 cup of the stock. Stew covered for 5 minutes. Add the beans and the rest of the stock and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer, partially covered for 1 - 1 1/2 hours. Taste for salt and a hefty pinch of white pepper and continue to simmer until the beans are completely tender. Remove the aromatics. Mix 1 Tbsp butter and the wine if using into the soup. Puree the soup and return to the soup bowl. Stir in the creme fraiche.

Nearing the journey's end

I have a holy grail and I'm getting closer and closer to finding it. Back in college I spent some time in Italy wallowing in mud. I mean, on an archeological dig. Lots of life-changing experiences happened to me there. I touched things no human had touched in 2500 years. I got to clean dirt off of long forgotten objects in the tiny building where Giotto was born. I was chased, mid-pee in the woods, by a Range Rover and lived to tell about it. And most importantly, I had the pesto lasagna that has haunted me ever since.



This was, of course, some time ago. My memory has dimmed some as to the flavors and the distinctions between the layers. All I remember is the experience of eating it and wanting to remember every bite. Our meals were served outdoors every evening. We sat at long tables set on a hill over-looking fields of sunflowers and tomatoes. Chickens ran freely in the yard and the wine we drank was made on the estate we were living on. Each meal was three courses and, well, fucking amazing. Okay, you think I'm about make some snarky comment like "I WISH". But no, it really was that idyllic. These evenings were nicely balanced out by the fact that we woke every morning at 5AM to trudge up, what I recall to be, a 90 degree incline, to sit and dig in mud all day, ginormous slugs clinging to our pants. Our breakfast and lunch consisted of rock hard bread that cut the roof of my mouth and perhaps some mustard and onion if there was enough to share. In the evening we'd haul pounds upon pounds of dug up roof tiles to the bottom of the hill. Before dinner we'd scrub them clean and return them to boxes; boxes that we hauled back up the hill the next morning to dump in a pit and re-bury. Please don't ask, all I know is it had something to do with Italian law, and our instructors being hell-bent on abiding by it. And when we complained, we were told of another group of students digging up an archaic pig farm on a rocky coast with no trees to shield them from the beating sun, and weren't we glad we had the trees and got to dig up things infinitely more interesting than pig bones? We'd all collectively shudder and I remember being truly thankful for our trees and our mud... even if they did house slugs the size of infants.

Which brings me back to my holy grail. It is possible our idyllic dinners were mediocre. It is possible that I have mistakenly imagined that this lasagna was, in fact, earth-shattering, when it was merely a tiny shudder. We were hungry and exhausted. Anything that didn't cut my mouth up as I tried to chew it was like manna from heaven. However, I distinctly remember one of my fellow "students", Arnie. Arnie was 75 years old. He had recently lost his wife and was filling his time travelling. He photographed every meal we ate. Arnie would shoulder his way to the front of the line every night just to take a picture of our yet to be devoured food. For that reason alone I know that my memory of those meals being amazing was not an illusion. That pesto lasagna, I'm sure, was as fantastic as I remember it being.



This weekend, I visited a friend who took upon herself the commendable task of planting 9 basil plants this summer. My basil wasted away long ago due to some mangy mutt in the neighborhood who peed on it every day. It still stands, a dingy yellow, bearing testament to the pee it drank all summer long. Enter my friend and her acres of basil. Her plants are still a gorgeous glossy green and she has far far more than she can use. I was able to grab enough for a few batches of pesto intended for yet another chapter in my search for my holy grail.



Well, the recipe I tried this weekend made a damn fine pesto bechamel sauce, but as a lasagna it was pretty one note. The lasagna I had in Italy actually had layers of plain pesto, so you could see some oil in the pasta. I know this might not sound appetizing, but it was. So what I'm giving you here is what I *hope* to be my final iteration of this pasta recipe. All of the components have been tested, but not in this particular combination. So you tell me... is it the one? I'm so sure it is I'm posting it here. If you make it, please try to eat it outside, with candles and as much wine as you can bear to drink. I promise, it will be infinitely better that way.

Pesto Lasagna
Adapted from Chez Panisse Pasta, Pizza & Calzone by Alice Waters, Patricia Curtan and Martine Labro

For the pesto
3 cloves garlic
Coarse salt
Ground black pepper
4 1/2 cups fresh basil leaves
3/4 cups olive oil
1/2 cup pecans
2/3 cup shredded parmesan and pecorino romano blended

For the bechamel sauce
3 Tbsp butter
3 Tbsp flour
2 cups half-and-half
1 cup heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
Salt and pepper
Ground nutmeg
White pepper
2 sprigs thyme
2 sprigs parsley
Bay leaf
3 cloves garlic
1 slice onion

For the pasta
This recipe is infinitely better if the pasta is handmade. So much so that I don't recommend eating it any other way. I like this recipe and I roll it out at the thinnest setting. It's very delicate and is very fragrant.

To assemble
1 cup fresh mozzarella
1 cup breadcrumbs
1/3 cup parmesan and pecorino romano blended
2 Tbsp butter

I make my pesto in a food processor, but I know everyone has their favorite ways. I don't own a mortar large enough to make mine in, but if I did, I bet that would be the way to do it. However, to make it in a food processor just toss the ingredients in, add half the oil and process. I then drizzle in the rest of the way after you've tasted it for seasoning.

To make the bechamel sauce, melt the butter on the stove on low heat. As soon as it's melted add the flour and stir with a wooden spoon for about 4-5 mins. Don't let the butter or the flour brown! Combine the half-and-half and the cream and set aside. Whisk the milk into the roux, over low heat, until it's thickened slightly. Then pour the cream mixture in an even stream into the sauce and keep whisking for a few minutes until combined and slightly thick. Turn off the heat and season with salt, pepper, nutmeg and white pepper. Toss your thyme, parsley, onion slice, bay leaf and garlic cloves into the sauce. Set the pan on top of a double boiler, cover and let barely simmer for an hour, stirring occasionally.

Remove bechamel from the heat and let cool slightly as you finish making the pasta following the directions here.

Remove the thyme, parsley, onion slice, bay leaf and garlic cloves from the bechamel sauce and toss out. Stir one half of the pesto into the bechamel sauce.

When assembling your lasagna try to lay the first layer the noodles in such way that large pieces of the noodles are continue to hang over all four sides of the dish. Once the dish is filled you will wrap these extra layers over the top and wrap them like a package. This seals in the sauce as the dish bakes. Use a 9x12 pan. Spread a small amount of pesto on the bottom, just to grease the dish. Lay the first layer of noodles as described above. Cover in a layer of the pesto bechamel sauce. Add a layer of noodles. Cover in a layer of shredded mozzarella. Add a layer of noodles, then cover in a layer of pesto. Repeat these 3 layers. Top the last layer with bechamel. Fold the noodles hanging over the edge of the dish over the top of the lasagna, like a package. Sprinkle with the parmesan and pecorino combination. Then sprinkle with the bread crumbs and then dot with the butter. Bake in a 350 degree oven covered in foil for 15-20 minutes. Remove the foil and bake 15 more minutes, or until the top is a golden brown. Let set for about 10 minutes before serving.

Where I eat. And eat, and eat, and eat....

I’m so full. The most recent culprit was an almond croissant at the office that I’m pretty sure was meant to be shared. Sorry whoever wanted that other half. It’s now in my belly. Last night it was a soufflé that I actually did share. But I shared the bigger half. And the night before it was a buttery brioche-y onion spiked bread.



I go through phases of gluttony that often coincide with my exercising. It’s finally getting cool out so I’ve been running more often. With running comes hunger. And invariably, with my personal brand of hunger comes eating without abandon. Whatever that messenger in your head is that tells you when you’re full, well, mine is on permanent vacation. I don’t realize I’m full until I’ve cleared my plate, and sometimes Mark’s. And then I still don't realize it until I'm miserably full an hour later. I blame it on the running… I blame it all on the running.

Two nights ago I was left home alone and to my own devices as an honest to god cold front blew in. Bread-making weather, I love you. I’d been saving this particular bread for Thanksgiving. It’s a twist on my mother’s traditional holiday breads, a bread that's reminiscent to me of home and cozy weather more than any other bread. I couldn’t wait until Thanksgiving. I could smell it and see it and sort of even taste it.



And why wait anyway? This is probably one of the easier breads I make. It seems to be foolproof, as I’ve made it in all sorts of adverse conditions without any adverse effects. It also doesn’t mind how you flavor it, shape it… nope, this bread loves life. It was clearly the perfect bread to make between my dinner of chocolate chip cookies and a midnight Project Runway viewing party I was planning on attending (Leanne you rule!!!!).

I threw together the bread in record time, but there was still an hour before I left to watch Leanne's all out fashion domination. I paced past the bread a few times before I gave in. And remember that runner’s hunger I mentioned? It kicked in, and it kicked in hard. I tore of hunk after hunk off that buttery onion bread. Before I knew it I had eaten a third of the loaf. Thank goodness Mark came home to whisk me off to watch the show because that bread was about to be ancient history.

Sometimes I think I run because I love it. Sometimes I think I run because I'm practicing discipline. But most of the time I know I run because I love to eat. I wish I could do as Michael Pollan does and eat less. I wish I could demurely push the plate away before the plate was cleaned, but I've lived with myself 32 years and it's pretty much a forgone conclusion that the plate will be cleaned. And I’ll probably still be hungry.



When I woke up yesterday morning I pulled the bread out again and before my run had a few slices with Meyer lemon jam. And you know what? I cleaned my plate.

Onion Bread
Adapted from my mother's seriously famous holiday bread

4 1/2 tsp instant yeast
1/2 cup lukewarm water
1/2 cup milk, scalded and cooled
1 cup butter at room temp
4 eggs (slightly beaten)
2 1/2 Tbsp honey
2 tsp salt
6-7 cups flour (depending on humidity)
1 minced onion, sauteed in 1 Tbsp butter

Scald the milk and turn off the heat. Before it cools add 4 Tbsp butter to the milk, so the butter melts as the milk cools. Set aside. In a pan saute the onion in 1 Tbsp butter and let cool.
Put yeast, flour, lukewarm milk mixture, water, salt, honey and eggs in the bowl of your mixer. Mix for 2 minutes to combine and then switch to the dough hook and knead for about 9 minutes. Add flour as necessary, but try not to use too much. At this point add the remaining 12 Tbsp softened butter and mix to combine. You want the dough to be a silky texture and slightly tacky to the touch, but clearing the sides of the bowl. Then add the onion and knead into the dough. Cover and let rise in a sealed container for approximately 1 1/2 hours. This bread really gets big, so make sure the container is large.

Set your oven to 375 degrees. After the first rise, divide the dough into 6 equal pieces. Cut off two tiny pieces from the 6 to make tiny boules to sit on the top of the bread. Roll the six large pieces as you would shape a baguette. These 6 pieces will be used to make two separate braids (to make two separate loaves). Braid three pieces together and spiral the braid into a circle, tucking the ends under to hide them. Do the same with the other three pieces. Shape the two very small pieces into boules. Set the boules right in the center of the spiraled braids. Place the loaves on their own parchment paper covered cookie sheets. Like I said, they get really big. Brush the loaves with beaten egg yolk mixed with a pinch of salt.

Cover lightly with plastic. Let proof for about 45 minutes. After the final proof brush again lightly with egg and sprinkle with sesame seeds. Bake for 30-40 minutes. Take out when the loaves are golden brown.

For a list other fantastic breads check out Yeastspotting at Wild Yeast!

Performance anxiety

Last night's dinner was supposed to be pretty solidly homey and predictable fare. No, I'd never made a potato pizza before, but we make pizza, like I mentioned earlier, a lot. I try new crusts almost every time. I'm a wee bit hard to please, something of an Anna Wintour of pizza dough (I'm now thinking I will only be pleased by a sourdough crust... it's in the works!). That being so, I have developed into, what I like to think of as a deft and wildly ingenious pizza dough maker. Or, at least, a reliable and failsafe one. That is, until you add one little ingredient into the equation, and it's not edible. Well, I suppose it is, but I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole. That ingredient is dinner guests.



Dinner guests don't ruin all of my meals. Just the ones involving pizza. Every. Single. Time. There was the time my friends came over and the crusts just disintegrated into pieces as soon as the toppings touched them. A whisper of pesto and poof, soggy dregs of dough melted across the parchment. There was the time we decided to grill pizzas and for some genius reason I thought it was a convenient idea to leave the uncooked dough, uncovered, on the counter as the coals in the grill chilled to "touchable". It was too too horrible... I can't even describe it. Or look at my grill anymore. And then there was last night when our dinner guests were surprise dinner guests. Seriously, this pizza was on it's way to hall of fame status until I found out people were coming for dinner. What can I say? I panicked. I began to doubt the dough, instinctively knowing it would turn on me. And turn on me it did. Actually the real question is, did I turn on it first?



It was a recipe from my current favorite bread baking book in the entire universe (just in case the aliens are baking, I want to assure you this book is better than theirs). This should have been my first clue that this dough would not turn on me first. The dough was progressing nicely and by the time it was ready for its final proof I felt quite confident that it was a keeper. And then I heard the news, or the words rather, "dinner guests". I calmly sliced my potatoes and tossed them with the onions and rosemary. I serenely slid the pizza onto the stone in the oven. And at that moment I panicked. Crikey! There sure are a lot of potatoes on there - what if they don't cook? Or worse, what if they've gone bad and they need to cook extra long to counteract the bacterial imbalance (I'm currently learning all about bacteria in food, so please humor me as I'm sure this topic will come up for a few more posts)? AND what if the potatoes piled on the crust keep the crust from baking? WHAT IF?? So naturally it was a forgone conclusion that obviously I had to double the baking time. And that baby had a long baking time to begin with.



Well, the guests arrived and we broke out the beers (or as I fondly like to refer to them, the highlight of the meal). And then we broke out the pizza. Broke is an apt description because I think that's what happened to my teeth on the first bite. In all honesty though, it was not the horrible disaster it could have been. Everyone kept their fillings, one person even willingly (or so it appeared) had seconds and it actually tasted amazing. Texture schmexture, as I always like to say. Despite the odd combination of rubbery and cement-like that was the crust, the pizza really was delicious. The potatoes were perfectly cooked and really really fragrant. I had some of the leftover uncooked topping that I just made into a fritatta. And it ruled.

So the moral of this story? I will never ever ever open a pizzeria. The other moral is, you can make anything right with a chocolate chip cookie. Did I mention I pulled some out after dinner to sate the hunger of my dinner guests who were surely too polite to mention that they were still starving? Well, I did and I think it's safe to assume they might actually come back for dinner a second time.

Now don't let this tale of woe and tragedy deter you from making this... just follow the directions, unlike yours truly. And maybe, maybe don't have dinner guests over on the slight chance that they do in fact jinx pizza doughs.

Sullivan Street Potato Pizza
Adapted from Artisan Baking by Maggie Glezer

For the dough
260 grams bread flour
1/4 tsp instant yeast
270 grams lukewarm water
1/2 tsp sugar
1/2 tsp salt

For the topping
2 1bs Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled
1 large sweet yellow onion
2 Tbsp fresh rosemary, chopped
Salt
Olive oil

Mix the flour and yeast together to blend. With a mixer, using the paddle attachment, mix on low speed while pouring in the water. Mix on low for about 3 minutes. Increase the speed to medium and beat until the batter cleans the bowl and comes together into a smooth, quite wet dough, about 20 minutes. Add the sugar and salt and mix for about 2-3 more minutes.

Put the dough in a plastic container with a lid and seal it and let ferment for about 4 hours. It will triple in volume.

Put parchment paper down in a half sheet pan and cover lightly with olive oil. Pour the fermented dough into the pan and spread it out with your hands. If it doesn't want to stretch out let it rest for 10 minutes and then continue stretching it. Cover well and let proof until doubled in size, about 1 hour.

While the dough is proofing slice the potatoes thinly, ideally with a mandoline. Toss with salt and let them exude their liquid for about 15 minutes. Squeeze them out and place in a colander, toss with onion and rosemary and let sit.

About 30 minutes before baking arrange your rack and pizza stone on the oven's top shelf (this is a good trick for steaming moist doughs!). Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.

Toss the potato mixture with a light splash of olive oil. Once the dough is proofed, spread on the topping evenly. Brush with more olive oil a smattering of very coarse sea salt. Bake the pizza for about 40 minutes (seriously, don't double this!). The potatoes will be brown and crusty at the edges and a knife will glide through them.

For a list other fantastic breads check out Yeastspotting at Wild Yeast!

Happy little accidents

It's the time of year where we Texans pretend it's fall. We talk about a slight chill in the air, despite the temperatures that still hover above 90. We shop for sweaters, we squint our eyes really tightly and stare at the trees, imagining we see something close to leaves changing color. And today, at the grocery store someone managed to pipe the smell of apple cider throughout the entire place. I actually love this little game we play with ourselves, despite the fact that it occasionally leaves me a bit uncomfortable due to my utter disregard for the weather, choosing to wear knee high boots and a scarf whenever possible. Oh hell, I even went sweater shopping today. I'm crossing my fingers that global warming is not actually a descriptive term... If in fact, global warming makes weather more erratic and unpredictable, perhaps Austin will become a ski resort in the next 20 years?


So in a hopeful celebration of the joys of climate change I made gnocchi the other night. After all, the air conditioner had been turned off for an entire 12 hour stretch... that's, like, the dead of winter here in Texas.


Now gnocchi's a funny little beast... maybe not to anyone else, but to me it is. I know intellectually what gnocchi is. I've read about the perfect gnocchi. I've even eaten it once at a restaurant, however, to be fair, it was a bit of a fusion place. What I'm saying is, I'm not sure what gnocchi is really supposed to be like! My mother never made it. I have no Italian friends with Italian grandmothers. I live in Texas and we're not exactly overwhelmed down here with authentic Italian restaurants. Even my trips to Italy have been utterly devoid of gnocchi. I've read about how a lot of gnocchi's texture is sub-par. Apparently there is a sublime state you can achieve in gnocchi-dom. What is this perfect texture? I always assumed that gnocchi was the Italian version of dumplings, spaetzle, matzoh balls... all variations of the same funny little beast. Am I wrong to believe this? As much as I very much adore all members of the dumpling family (most most especially spaetzle!), I'm not so eager to proclaim any of them sublime. Or rather, I wasn't until I threw together my little gems of gnocchi the other night. It was an absolute mistake. I was just trying to find a vehicle for the goat cheese left over from calzone night. Somehow these gnocchi ended up being less dumpling-y and instead were transformed into airy little cheese puffs. The outside of the gnocchi had a traditional dumpling/gnocchi texture. Once your teeth passed through that, there was an air pocket and then a melty creamy nugget of cheese. What a delightfully happy accident, no? So what I give you is my interpretation of a sublime gnocchi. And my hope for a ski resort right down the road.

Goat Cheese Gnocchi
Adapted from The Greenmarket Cookbook edited by Joel Patraker and Joan Schwartz, recipe by Bill Telepan

* This recipe serves two *

2 ounces chevre, crumbled
3 ounces Bucheron, crumbled
1 egg, lightly beaten
1/4 tsp ground black pepper
1/3 cup all-purpose flour, slightly heaping
1/8 cup grated gruyere

Combine the cheeses, egg and pepper and mix well. Add the flour and just mix to combine. It should be a rather sticky dough. At this point taste and add salt to taste. Scoop small balls of dough into a spoon and roll with your hands to form a tiny egg shape, about an inch long and half an inch thick. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Once you have a rolling boil drop the gnocchi in. Once the gnocchi float to the top cook for 1-2 minutes more. Drain and serve with this sauce.

Pistachios: do's and do not's

That there cake, I made that for my dad's birthday. Notice the tiny pile of pistachios topping the cake? This cake was merely the culmination of a pistachio filled day for my father. It was completely unintentional, but definitely the by-product of his being the hardest person to shop for on earth. I'm sure I hear cries of dissent somewhere way way out there... people mistakenly thinking their fathers are more difficult than mine. Lies... all lies. You see, the problem lies not in his not having interests, quite the contrary. He has interests. He has so so very many well-researched and long-studied interests that there is not a thing that we can get him that he has not already explored, purchased for himself or discarded as not actually as relevant to his interests as he may have previously thought. And long gone are the days when a simple heartfelt handmade trinket will do the job. I'm 32 years old, people. That's years and years of heartfelt trinkets in dust-covered boxes in forgotten closets all over my parents house. And they have quite a few closets.

So when this year my dad asked that we not purchase presents and just have a little family get-together for his birthday the family sighed collectively in relief. Instead we'd get to throw together a dinner of his favorite foods, which we all know very very well... the list is long so I'll spare you the tawdry details and say only, one of the things on the list is pistachios, and somehow that trumped all others this year.

I arrived at my parents house to learn that my sister had already presented him with a huge bag of pistachios which he'd already pushed away - too, too many pistachios, he said. Oh dear, this does not bode well for the cake I was holding. After a lovely dinner of the strangely compelling combination of steak, with a side of pasta with pumpkin and goat cheese, my mother presented my father with a gift from a family friend. It was a bottle of that sickeningly sweet fluorescent apricot-colored dessert wine so many wineries call their best-sellers. You know the stuff - it's the only wine you'll really spit into those spit-buckets they have out at wineries. I'm pretty sure there's a nicer name for those containers than spit-buckets, but I'm at a loss. The whole concept is gross, why shroud it in the mystery of an ambiguous name. A spit-bucket is still a spit-bucket, by any other name. But I digress.... did I mention said dessert wine had added PISTACHIO flavor? Can you even imagine such a thing? Well, I did much more than imagine, I filled my glass and we proceeded to toast. It was hard to swallow, so we passed the sparkling water around hoping it would make a better spritzer. No. Do not think you can make pistachio-flavored dessert wine into a spritzer. Utter fallacy. It still tastes a wee bit like poison. There was nary a spit-bucket in sight.

Our sites turned on the cake, hoping upon hope to cleanse our palate, with anything. When I announced that, indeed, the pistachios on the top of the cake were to indicate that it was a pistachio cake, you can't imagine pained looks on my family's faces. I persevered and cut into the layers of pistachio cake, apricot jam and marzipan covered in dark chocolate ganache (see, not so bad after all, right?). I may never know if that cake was so well-received because it followed the most horrible beverage any of us had ever consumed.


All I know is there was not a dry eye in the house after a few bites of cake. Okay, it wasn't that well-received, but it was all-in-all delicious. The cake was light and lovely, but somehow not overpowered by the other flavors. You know what else I love about this cake and why I was drawn to it from the beginning? It's such a wonderful combination of flavors. It's a combination you see in Middle Eastern food (well, minus the chocolate). It's certainly not your average American birthday cake. And my dad is certainly not your average guy, so I think this cake suited him just fine.

PS - I bet you're wondering how you can recreate such an evening in your own home? The recipe for the cake is here. The pasta I plan on writing up in the future so please hold your horses already. The pistachio wine is from a place I will not name so as not to offend. If you hadn't already gathered from the above, I do not recommend it.

Past is not always prologue

And I'm not talking politics here people. I'm talking calzones.... those fat steamy delicious pizza-y pockets. My favorite ones are always stuffed with things I'd never think to put on my dainty pizza crusts. Often they're filled with things far too robust and weighty for your run of the mill pizza. I've made a handful of calzones in my short career as head pizza dough maker here in our tiny kitchen, and as I mentioned earlier, my crusts are dainty. Not puny, not wussy, certainly not bashful... but definitely a bit on the thin side. I like my pizza crusts brushed with the the finest bit of sauce, with toppings just lightly scattered over the top. This exercise in restraint has a huge payoff for me in the end because these pizzas never seem to make me unpleasantly full, so I can keep nibbling on them to my heart's content. Calzones though? One slice and you've just had a huge meal.



Our pizza nights fall without too much routine on Sundays. My favorite toppings never vary, and neither do Mark's. There is no need to ask what he wants on his pizza and there is certainly never a question about my toppings du jour. They may as well be toppings du always and forever and ever. My toppings are my BFFs and I would never ever ever think to stray. So one, I'm sure it was a Sunday night, as I called Mark into the kitchen to top his pizza (we always top our own pizzas, not trusting the other to achieve pizza perfection), he responded with, "Can we have calzones instead?" Not being a heartbreaker I said, sure we can. Meanwhile, I knew my dainty, but not wussy pizza dough would not stand for the abuse. And right I was. Mark got his "calzone", but it was not a calzone I'd ever seen. It was flat, deflated even, slightly limp with filling oozing unpleasantly out of the edges. It looked defeated, as if to ask me, why did you do this to me, I am but a dainty crust and cannot stand for this abuse. Then it told me it hated me and stormed out of the room. Not really, because calzones don't talk.... but man it wanted to. Mark was not bothered by this and in fact seemed to appreciate the silent droopy greasy nature of said calzone. He likes his ooey gooey cheese and he doesn't mind if it's greasy. Now for the past few years Mark has occasionally insisted on turning his pizza into a calzone, with the same exact results. I feel the shame everytime I see those poor calzones. At the same time I keep altering my pizza dough recipe in the hopes that it will withstand the abuse, and withstand it it does not.

Well this all brings us to Thursday night, the night of the Vice Presidential debates. I knew we'd be glued to the television set, glasses of wine in our hands hurling insults at you know who... I needed to throw together a meal that could stand up to heavy drinking and profanity. This time we were having real calzones. This time I was going to do it right. First things first, we needed a crust overhaul. Calzones call for a weightier crust, not the paper thin cracker light crust I so adore. We also needed a filling overhaul. I was only making one calzone and we needed a filling we could agree on (eg, I'll be damned if a green olive went within a foot of that calzone). I found the perfect deviation from our routine in the Chez Panisse Pasta, Pizza & Calzone cookbook. Alice Waters' crust is weighty and dense. It's also made with rye (to which I added wheat flour) so you can really leach a lot of wonderful flavors from the grains. With such a tasty crust it's perfect for even the simplest fillings. I found the perfect foil for this weighty calzone in Molly at Orangette's version of Marcella Hazan's tomato sauce. It's sweet, but that sweetness is tempered with butter, making the sauce rich and smooth.



The calzone held its shape and didn't wimp out under the pressure of a few cups of hot cheese. When I sliced it the filling oozed out seductively. The resulting flavor combinations are a blend of the expected and the unexpected. The sundried tomatoes added the perfect amount of bite. Clearly this is something that is begging for endless adaptions. I'm thinking fontina and fennel? Gruyere, potatoes and a bright pop of roasted peppers? I'm getting hungry already. Fortunately we have a few more debates coming up. Mr Biden, you may have been right about past being prologue during the debate, but you surely, sir, we're not referring my calzone.

Chez Panisse Calzone
adapted from Chez Panisse Pasta, Pizza & Calzone by Alice Waters, Patricia Curtan and Martine Labro

For the crust
Sponge
1/4 c. lukewarm water
1 1/2 tsp. instant yeast
1/8 cup rye flour
1/8 cup whole wheat flour

Final dough
±1/2 c. water, 90-100 degrees
1 Tbsp. milk
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/2 tsp. salt
1 3/4 c. all-purpose flour

Mix the sponge and let sit for 20-30 mins to rise. It will really take off. Once it's risen put it the the refrigerator for 12-24 hours. Pull it out of the refrigerator about 30 mins before you mix the final dough to take the chill off of it. After that time mix the remaining ingredients together with the sponge. Knead for between 10 and 12 minutes either by hand or in a mixer on medium speed. Put in a very warm place to rise for 2 hours. I like to turn the oven up to 200, then turn it off, let it cool down a bit and let the dough rise in there. You may want to punch it down after an hour if it's too active. It will double to triple in volume.

For the filling
4 oz. goat cheese - mix together a chevre with an aged goat cheese of your choice
8 oz. fresh mozzarella, grated
1 oz. grated parmesan
1/4 c. sun-dried tomatoes (not the ones in oil), slivered
2 Tbsp. fresh chives, minced
2 Tbsp. fresh parsely, minced
1 sprig fresh oregano, minced
2-3 sprigs fresh thyme, minced
1-2 cloves of garlic, to taste
Black pepper and salt to taste

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees. Crumble the goats cheeses together with the other ingredients and mix well. Roll out the calzone dough to about 12 inches round. Cover one half of the circle with the cheese filling, leaving about an inch free around the edges. Wet the inside edges with just a dab of water (I use my fingers to do this) and fold the calzone in half. Curl the edges up to seal them. Put 3 large slashes along the top of the calzone, perpindicular to the edges. Brush the calzone with a beaten egg for a rich glossy shine. Sprinkle with some more parmesan. Bake for about 20 - 25 mins. Be sure to let it rest for about 10 mins before serving so all of the filling doesn't spill out. Serve with tomato sauce (recipe below).

Tomato Sauce with Onion and Butter
Adapted from Orangette who adapted it from Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking by Marcella Hazan

One 28-oz. can whole, peeled, canned plum tomatoes, chopped, with their juices
5 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 medium yellow onion, peeled and cut in half
1 small red pepper
Salt to taste

Combine the tomatoes, their juices, the butter, and the onion halves in a medium saucepan. Place over medium heat and bring to a simmer. Cook, uncovered, at a very slow but steady simmer, for about 30 minutes. Meanwhile, roast the red pepper until it's black and blister-y. I prefer to do this over the flame on my stovetop mostly because it makes the house smell so so wonderful and southwestern. One appropriately blackened put the pepper in a sealed plastic container for about 10 mins. After that time remove it, gently peel and de-seed the pepper. Don't use any water when you do this, instead rub the pepper in a tea cloth. Chop the pepper and add it to the sauce. Cook for 15 more mins or until droplets of fat float free from the tomato. Stir occasionally, mashing any large pieces of tomato with the back of a wooden spoon. Taste and salt as needed. Remove from the heat and put the entire mix, except one onion half (you can just toss that out), into a blender. Careful - I've heard of sauce exploding over people's kitchens when they blend hot things. This has never happened to me though. Puree the sauce and put back in the saucepan. If it's slightly watery go ahead and turn on the heat for a few minutes to thicken it up if you'd like.