Out loud

Thanksgiving has come and gone, and all I have to show for it is some leftover stuffing that I'm portioning out slowly into tiny servings. Because I love it so. Our Thanksgiving is the same every year. I'm in charge of the pies. Mark and I pile everything into the car and head to my parents' house for 12-24 hours of solid eating, after which no one really has room for pies. We put up a brave front anyway and soldier on through some slivers of the sugary holiday goodness. I end the evening by saying something to the effect of, "I can never eat again. I have sworn off food for eternity. Please don't make me go to Orphan Thanksgiving at John and Susann's. Please no, I can't move and I never want to see food again".



We then pile back into the car, head into Austin and, despite my vocal protests, drive straight to John and Susann's for our second Thanksgiving. Once there I walk straight to the kitchen and, because I love a challenge, I fill another plate with whatever scraps of stuffing I can find. I devour it as if I've not eaten in days and then head into the den where a small crowd of people are taking turns playing Rock Band. I politely wait until the current song is over and then I ask to sing. For the next several hours, with only intermittent breaks, I entertain throngs of delighted onlookers with my singing and dancing song stylings. Thanksgiving's just not Thanksgiving if I don't end it by losing my voice.

I do feel some tiny twinges of remorse for hogging the microphone. Somewhere deep deep in the recesses of my mind I realize that perhaps playing audience to my singing and dancing musical holocaust isn't the way most people want spend an evening with friends. I know this. But they keep inviting me back to Orphan Thanksgiving, so I keep slaughtering the classics. It's tradition, and who doesn't love that?



My obliteration of all things musical began years ago. In college my roommates and I would rent karaoke machines for parties. To our delight we were able to rent them for an entire week preceding the party, without any extra cost. Monday afternoon we'd head to Rock 'n Roll Rentals, pick up our karaoke machine and about 20 CDs of our all time favorite karaoke hits. For the next four days we'd sing. We skipped class for it. We sang for hours. We choreographed dances to our favorite songs and orchestrated duets. We sang until our voices we raw. By the time the party time rolled around we were all sung out. We did this for our friends so that once the party began it wasn't us hogging the mike... and better yet, it wasn't us singing when the neighbors came complaining about the noise at 3AM and it wasn't us singing when the cops closed the party down an hour later. It wasn't meant to work out that way, but it always did.

I try to make it up to people as best I can. I offer food, as if in trade for destroying the songs that so many people hold dear. Our college parties were catered by yours truly. I made corn dogs and I made pies, I dabbled in Indian food and I tried to make all things vegan. These days I bring cakes to parties and bottles of wine. On Tuesday Susann will be the proud owner of a test loaf of one of my Christmas breads. It is a peace offering. It's an apology for our failed Rolling Stones duet. It's my mea culpa for that Alice in Chains song. And it's also my way of trying to score an invitation to next year's musical annihilation (provided by yours truly).



I'd like to share with you a recipe I recommend if you too attend parties only to clear the room when it's your turn to sing. It's sure to win hearts and minds and perhaps even make people forget what happened to their ears and to their favorite song. It's this month's Daring Bakers challenge.

As I've mentioned a few times already, I like a challenge... and as you've probably guessed by now, I like to bake. This month the challenge was Shuna Fish Lydon's Caramel Cake with Caramelized Butter Frosting. Despite the many warnings I came across when reading about this recipe, I realized my worries were all for naught. Caramelizing sugar can be tricky, browning butter makes me fidgety and apparently mixing the batter was supposed to put your nerves on edge... but it all came together beautifully. I made cupcakes and divided them among a few friends and my office mates. They were literally inhaled. This is a decadent recipe, intensely sweet, yet balanced by the rich, decadent cake.



Thank you to Shuna for the recipe I'm so glad I tried and to the challenge hosts — Dolores (Chronicles in Culinary Curiosity) and her helpers Alex (Blondie and Brownie), Jenny (Foray Into Food), and Natalie (Gluten-A-Go-Go). Also, thank you to the geniuses behind the Daring Bakers': Ivonne (Cream Puffs in Venice) and Lis (La Mia Cucina) for organizing this whole thing. It was a delicious experiment! Want the recipe??

Caramel Cake with Caramelized Butter Frosting
courtesy of Shuna Fish Lydon, as published on Bay Area Bites

For the cake
10 Tbsp unsalted butter at room temperature
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/3 cup Caramel Syrup (see recipe below)
2 eggs, at room temperature
splash vanilla extract
2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp baking powder
1 cup milk, at room temperature

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Butter one tall (2 - 2.5" deep) 9" cake pan. I made cupcakes... that works well too.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a paddle attachment, cream butter until smooth. Add sugar and salt, and cream the mixture until light and fluffy.

Slowly pour room temperature caramel syrup into bowl. Scrape down bowl and increase speed. Add eggs/vanilla extract a little at a time, mixing well after each addition. Scrape down bowl again, beat mixture until light and uniform.

Sift flour and baking powder.

Turn mixer to lowest speed, and add one third of the dry ingredients. When incorporated, add half of the milk, a little at a time. Add another third of the dry ingredients, then the other half of the milk and finish with the dry ingredients. (This is called the dry, wet, dry, wet, dry method in cake making. It is often employed when there is a high proportion of liquid in the batter. Don't shortcut here, it will ruin the cake)

Take bowl off mixer and by hand, use a spatula to do a few last folds, making sure batter is uniform. Turn batter into prepared cake pan.

Place cake pan on cookie sheet or 1/2 sheet pan. Set first timer for 30 minutes, rotate pan and set timer for another 15-20 minutes. Bake until sides pull away from the pan and skewer inserted in middle comes out clean. Cupcakes cook a little quicker, so check them often. Cool cake completely before icing it.

Cake will keep for three days outside of the refrigerator.


For the caramel syrup:
2 cups sugar
1/2 cup water
1 cup water (for "stopping" the caramelization process)

In a small stainless steel saucepan, with tall sides, mix water and sugar until mixture feels like wet sand. Brush down any stray sugar crystals with wet pastry brush. Turn on heat to highest flame. Cook until smoking slightly: dark amber.

When color is achieved, very carefully pour in one cup of water. Caramel will jump and sputter about! It is very dangerous, so have long sleeves on and be prepared to step back.

Whisk over medium heat until it has reduced slightly and feels sticky between two fingers. (Obviously wait for it to cool on a spoon before touching it.)

Note: For safety reasons, have ready a bowl of ice water to plunge your hands into if any caramel should land on your skin.

For the caramelized butter frosting:
12 Tbsp unsalted butter
1 pound confectioner’s sugar, sifted
4-6 Tbsp heavy cream
2 tsp vanilla extract
2-4 Tbsp caramel syrup
Kosher or sea salt to taste

Cook butter until brown. Pour through a fine meshed sieve into a heatproof bowl, set aside to cool.

Pour cooled brown butter into mixer bowl.

In a stand mixer fitted with a paddle or whisk attachment, add confectioner's sugar a little at a time. When mixture looks too chunky to take any more, add a bit of cream and or caramel syrup. Repeat until mixture looks smooth and all confectioner's sugar has been incorporated. Add salt to taste.

Note: Caramelized butter frosting will keep in fridge for up to a month. To smooth out from cold, microwave a bit, then mix with paddle attachment until smooth and light.

When frosting the cake or cupcakes sprinkle salt on top. It really helps cut the sweetness nicely.

You're it!

I've been tagged… and somehow, someway, while telling you 7 random facts about myself (as per the tag requirements), I'm also going to culminate this post in a recipe for a surprisingly wonderful dish I made last week. The surprise is that it has cooked cabbage in it and surprise surprise, cooked cabbage is one of the few vegetables I'm still on the fence about.

I had a scarring experience when I was but a wee lass of 6 or so. My mother spent the day slaving over a huge pot of cabbage soup, filling the house with a smell I could only associate with (and I know this is a word non grata on a food blog, but here goes) vomit. This, in turn, led to me spending the night in the bathroom… sorry again … vomiting. Dinner had yet to even be served before all of this happened. Just the smell made me ill. So there you have two factoids about me – once the smell alone of cabbage soup made me ill AND I hold long and useless grudges against foods that perhaps don't deserve it.



Factoid number three… my tendency to hold long and unjustified grudges against foods is something I inherited from my mother. My mother, to this day, will not eat beets because when she was 6 one of her friends became ill, after eating beets. Not my mom, mind you, her friend. I, on the other hand, eat beets by the bushel. I once ate 2 grapefruit sized beets in one sitting. Let's just call that last one fact number 4.

Going back to holding grudges against food, I no longer do that. If I did then that would completely nix marzipan croissants, deep-fried tofu, peanut sauce, red wine, tequila and whiskey off of my list of favorite foods (number 5).



Which brings me to this thought, as much as I adore food, there are some foods that I cannot give my heart over to. These foods include almost every variety of mushroom. I'm pretty much open to almost all other foods. Mushrooms are for the birds, if you ask me. That was 6.

And 7?? How about a random non-food related fact? My average body temperature is 97.6 degrees. Is anyone elses? I've never known.

Thank you to Claire for tagging me! Because I'm pretty sure everyone in the world has been tagged, I won't tag anyone. However, if you're so moved, please consider yourself tagged and either list 7 random facts about yourself in the comments section here or even on your own blog.



As far as this cabbage dish I've come to love, it has a curious name: Pizzocheri. It certainly doesn't call to mind a rich creamy vegetable and pasta dish, but that's exactly what it is. Apparently it's a dish served in an Alpine village in the Val d'Aosta region of Italy. It's served after a 6 mile foot race. After the race the runners and spectators sit down for a meal of pizzocheri. They then retire to caves for a demonstration on whipping heavy cream. I couldn't make this stuff up. I could however make tons and tons of pizzocheri.

Pizzocheri
Adapted from Italian Festival Food by Anne Bianchi

8 oz. buckwheat pasta (I used Jerusalem artichoke pasta, and it too was great!)
4 small new red potatoes, cut into 1 inch cubes
1 half a small head of cabbage, cored and julienned
5 cups salted water for cooking
3 Tbsp butter
1/2 medium onion, finely sliced
1 clove garlic
5 fresh sage leaves
1 cup vegetable broth
4 oz. fontina cheese, thinly sliced
1/2 cup grated parmesan

Turn oven on to 350 degrees.

Cook the pasta according to package instructions. Be sure to salt the cooking water generously.

Put the potatoes and cabbage in a pot with the salted water for cooking. Cook over medium heat until the potatoes are tender.

Heat 1 Tbsp butter in a skillet and saute the onion and garlic until translucent. Toss with the pasta and cooked vegetables. Turn off the heat and pour the vegetable broth over the mixture.

Melt the remaining butter in a skillet over low heat and saute the sage for about 5 mins. Remove the sage and discard.

In a casserole or souffle dish layer the pasta, then the vegetables. Drizzle with sage butter, a layer of fontina and a dusting of grated parmesan. Keep layering until the ingredients are used up, ending in a cheese layer. Cover the dish and bake for 30 mins. At this point you can serve it or you can remove the cover and place it under the broiler for a few minutes to brown the top.

Thanks mom

Like most everyone, my mother and I had our fair share of battles over food. I don't think I was an especially finicky eater. I accepted the wheat germ being thrown into our cookie dough. I got over the fact that I had cream cheese and jelly sandwiches on wheat when everyone else's moms gave them bologna and Kraft singles on white. I was even quite fond of all of those things most kids hate... like liver and onions and lima beans.

Was I a dream child? Well, I'd say yes, but my mother would most likely disagree. I just chose my battles and I fought them hard. Remember those clown cones that Baskin-Robbins used to sell? They were scoops of ice cream decorated with frosting to look like clowns, complete with a cone on top as a hat. Yeah, well I never got to have one of those. I had to get a regular ice cream cone, one that didn't look like anything more special than, well, an ice cream cone.



My mom was also a proponent of making our pancakes with the eggs from our pet chickens. The rich orange yolks turned the pancakes into a shocking gold color. I abhorred those pancakes. Sorry Mom... they were the wrong color. These things were very very important to, well, maybe just to me.

And then there was the issue of how to cut the sandwiches. All of my friends' sandwiches were cut on the diagonal and somehow to me that translated into far more delicious lunches than my sandwiches which were cut into rectangles. It hardly seemed relevant that they were made out of completely different ingredients.



Do you see a theme here? It was already a forgone conclusion - I'd lost the battle over healthy food. It was there to stay. Whenever I turned my back I can guarantee you yogurt or wheat germ or spinach was thrown into something it had no business being a part of. So I gave in. But I was hellbent on winning the war over attractive food. And I was vocal about it. Sorry mom.

In the last 10 years or so I've come to really appreciate what my mom did for us, bravely soldiering on with that battle over healthy food. After spending the better part of my college years surviving off of Cap'n Crunch, ramen and Burger King Whoppers (with bacon, naturally), I came back around to food that spent a little less time in a factory and a little more time in a field. I was brainwashed from infancy. Now I pine after whole grains and covet leafy greens. It is beyond my control.

So all consuming is this indoctrination that I have little interest in sweets. Oh sure, I'll eat them when they're around, but as most anyone can tell you, I eat whatever is around. Rarely do I play favorites. I love to bake sweets for others, but a treat for myself? No... hardly ever. There is only one sweet I make for myself and myself alone. I have never made enough to share and I'm not sure I ever will. Not because I'm greedy, because with food I always prefer it with friends. It's because this little sweet is so very modest and, let's face it, just a little bit healthy. I started making it because it reminded me of something I had when I was little, but I can't for the life of me remember what. It's just a cookie that takes me back to being a kid. I guess I can credit my mom with this being my favorite sweet. I actually appreciate it more than she can know. As far as I can tell, my life seems a little less complicated without chocolate cravings.



And as far as that war over attractive food... I'll go ahead and name myself the victor. I came home from work on my 21st birthday to find that in my absence my roommate had let my parents into my room which they filled with balloons. In the room was a note to check the freezer. I opened the freezer to find not one, but two boxes of those clown cones I'd been whining adorably (my interpretation of events) about for the last 18 years. Best. Day. Ever. So Mom, I'm sorry for bringing up the clown cones whenever I wanted to make you feel guilty. You know I just did it to annoy you. I'm now completely okay with regular ice cream cones and sandwiches cut into rectangles. The jury's still out on the golden pancakes though.

Jam Tart Cookies
Adapted from Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison**

** If you're like me and prefer not very sweet sweets, this book is fantastic. Her cakes are fantastic.

1/2 cup butter
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/4 cup dark brown sugar, packed
1/4 cup turbinado or natural cane sugar
1 tsp vanilla
1 egg
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp favorite spices (like cinnamon and nutmeg)
1 1/2 cups flour
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 - 3/4 cup fig preserves (or cherry)
1/2 cup chopped pecans
3/4 cups rolled oats
Sea salt
Splash of heavy cream (optional)


Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Cream the butter with the sugars until light and fluffy. Add the vanilla and egg and beat till smooth. Add all dry ingredients except the rolled oats. If it's a little dry add a splash of heavy cream.

Set aside 1 cup of the dough and press the rest into a pie or 9-inch tart pan. Spread the preserves over the top. Mix the reserved dough with the oats and gently press it over the top, trying to cover all of the preserves. Sprinkle sea salt lightly over the top. Bake until lightly browned on top, about 40 mins. Let cool before cutting.

Sold.

There are only a few times when I'm guaranteed to be an easy sell. Most times I prefer to wander through stores, unencumbered by other people's opinions, poking around, reading labels and generally entirely independent.

The times when I am an easy sell?? There are only three. When I'm shopping for jeans, when the salesperson has a strong Southern drawl and right after I've been for a run.



Shopping for jeans is notoriously awful. With a gazillion different styles for twice as many different bodies, it's close to impossible to purchase jeans without a little help, unless you've resigned yourself to trying on the greater part of the store. The downside? Having to leave the dressing room to a chorus of salesgirls singing "How cuuuuuuuuttte!!". I'm pretty sure there's not a semblance of sincerity when every pair I try on evokes the same choral array of ooh's and aah's. I fall for it every time... it's beyond my control.

Now Southern drawls... this one is a mystery to me. Some of my more painful middle school memories involve teachers, voices sugary sweet and thickly Southern, cooing condescending remarks to the students. "Miss Jesse, you seem to have confused latitude and longitude, therefore you have made a zero on this assignment. But sweetheart, I'd just loooove it if you'd do the entire assignment over for partial credit!" Perhaps it's unfair, but I link that accent to insincerity. Ironically that very same insincere-to-me accent has led to my being the proud owner of:

-tickets to the fireman's ball
-subscriptions to a variety of useless magazines
-one raffle ticket for airfare to the Bahamas

I once even invited a door to door magazine salesman in for a glass of water and some pie. That's how charmed I was, despite the fact that his accent was vaguely reminiscent of my junior high math teacher, who no doubt, made middle school just that much more unbearable. It's a mystery to me, but let me tell you, you got some ocean front property in Iowa and a Southern drawl? I'm your girl.



The final way to dupe me into a sure purchase of something perhaps useless, something perhaps without merit, or occasionally something that turns out to be a diamond in the rough, is to catch me after a run. I don't mean like three hours after a run. I mean, in all of my sweaty, out of breath and thirsty glory, within 30 minutes after a run. There's some sort of elated brain fog I experience where I'm open to all sorts of suggestion. Or perhaps I'm just hungry? I usually grocery shop right after my runs, since I'm out anyway. I actually had to stop going to one particular grocery store after running because I'm friends with the manager of the cheese section. He would ply me with cheeses, chocolates and all manner of dairy products. The last time I was there I left with $14 worth of butter... and at that point I decided I needed to cut myself off from that store. My fridge is packed with uneaten chutneys and jams, syrups and grains... all from similar such shopping excursions.

Well, the power of suggestion reared its ugly head last week to the tune of pumpkin flavored tortillas. There I was, wandering aimlessly down the frozen foods aisle, in a post-running haze. I was stopped in my tracks by a tortilla being waved under my nose. I demurely looked away with a no thank you. "Are you sure, it's pumpkin..." I whipped around to see a deep orange disc being waved in my direction. I'm no sucker for squash varietals... but I am a sucker for a hot homemade tortilla, rich with spices, and this baby was made while I was standing there. One bite and I was reeling, in a good way. I'm still not sure if the tortilla actually tastes like pumpkin, despite the fact that its label boasts it as the second ingredient. No, it's heady with pumpkin pie spices. You know the ones... ginger, cinnamon allspice... all swimming around in a warm rich tortilla. Well, I walked away munching my tortilla with the resolve of a soldier. I was determined not to be swayed by this orange seductress, this pumpkin tortilla. But no sooner did I turn my head than the woman warming the tortillas said, "November only!". November ONLY???!? Screw one bag of tortillas, should I buy them all? Panic set in and I settled on a bag of 20, knowing full well this were a wee bit too adventurous for Mark, so eating these is a solo venture.

I plotted the fillings the entire way home. Something subtle and fresh, nothing that would overpower the tortilla, but certainly something that would balance the holiday spices... I settled on my Rancho Gordo vaquero beans, my new second favorite bean of all time, after the Ojo de Cabra. I seasoned them just enough... because honestly, these beans have a sweetness and buttery-ness all their own. I added some salty cheese and a spicy, vinegar-y cabbage salad... and ohmigod. So delicious. Now don't be sad if you can't find pumpkin tortillas in your area, they're made by a local company called Paqui Tortillas. However, I think making your own pumpkin tortillas would be a cinch... just add pumpkin, ginger, allspice, cloves and a pinch of cinnamon to tortilla dough.



I have to say though, the real star of the taco, so to speak, was the cabbage salad. It's piquant, spicy crispiness really bound the flavors together. More importantly, this is a recipe I would use with anything... on nachos, enchiladas, even sprinkled over tortilla soup. It completely lightens up a heavy Mexican meal. Why not give it a whirl?

Pumpkin Spiced Tacos

For Beans:
1 1/2 cups dried black beans or vaquero beans
1/2 onion, diced
1 1/2 tsp dried oregano
Water to cover the beans by 2-3 inches
Salt to taste

Soak the beans overnight. Place in a pot with onions and oregano and fill with water, about 2-3 inches above the beans. Bring to a rapid boil and let boil for about 10 mins. Lower to a simmer and cook till almost done, about 30-45 mins. Salt to taste and cook for another 15 mins, until beans are done.

Spicy Cabbage Salad
Adapted from Chez Panisse Vegetables by Alice Waters

1 small heads of cabbage, sliced finely into strips
6 green onions, whites only, sliced finely into circles
1/6 cup white onion, sliced into fine strips
2 jalapenos, veins and seeds removed and diced
3/4 cup cilantro, shredded
Juice of one lime
3-4 tsp white wine vinegar
1/3-1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper

Combine all chopped vegetables together in a bowl and toss conservatively with the liquids. Add extra vinegar, olive oil, salt and pepper to taste. Let sit for about an hour to allow flavors to meld.

To assemble tacos:
Tortillas (preferably pumkin)
Beans
Spicy cabbage salad
Ricotta salata, feta or cotija cheese

Top a warmed tortilla with beans, shaved ricotta salata and that spicy, tasty cabbage salad. Eat, and eat and eat and eat... Yum!

Too too good

It's not often that I feel limited by not eating meat. I was, admittedly, a serious carnivore for the first 20 years of my life. To this day I can taste steak when I see it, I dream of nibbling fennel and orange pork sausages with my wine, and most heart wrenching of all is the smell of barbecue. I could easily be convinced to bathe in it. Despite all that hifalutin talk, meat is not something I covet.

What I do get an honest to goodness hankering for, like everyone, is comfort food. I know some people are drawn to macaroni and cheese, other people crave creamy mashed potatoes and some people seek solace in a pint of ice cream. Not me. I dreamt of chicken fried steak and gravy. And honestly, that gravy is all fine and good, but I could stick to the chicken fried steak and call it a day.



As a rule I don't eat fake meat products and I tend to stay away from any recipe claiming to mock meat in some way. I have great reverence for the taste of meat, why would I dare tarnish my memories of such fine fine flavors with the subpar chemically taste of something purporting to be similar to something it's not. This has left me searching for new ways to get my comfort food fix, and it's been an interesting journey to say the least.

Now my cravings have shifted to accommodate all of the new flavors I've discovered by restricting my diet. It sounds like an oxymoron, but it's actually been a fantastic adventure. My current go-to comfort foods include (but are by no means limited to…) beets, steamed greens, anything with Dijon mustard in it, rice and beans swimming in salsa, avocados, caramelized sugar in any way imaginable, purple potatoes, cauliflower melted into stewed tomatoes, deep fried eggplant, and nuggets. Okay so that last one is rather indiscriminate, and dare I say, unappetizing sounding. I'll explain… sometimes you want something bite sized and tender, of multitudinous and expansive flavor, swimming in an exotic, saucy slurry. To call these little somethings I'm trying to describe dumplings does an injustice to their flavor. Dumplings are usually a flour and water concoction primarily used as a vehicle for sauce. My little nuggets are flavor explosions in and of themselves. Couple that with a sauce that plays on the intriguing flavors of the nuggets and you have the comfortiest comfort food I can imagine.



These nuggets clearly offer themselves to endless variations, suiting any one of a variety of comfort-food needing moods. When I'm in need of some nuggets I run to my Moosewood cookbooks for inspiration. I think one thing those books do well is comfort food. I like to experiment with the flavors they recommend and really boost them up. I've always thought their recipes used too little spice, but where they stumble in proportion they make up for in inspiration.

The nuggets I made last night were apparently inspired by a Bosnian style of shish kabob. I used the yogurt sauce they recommended and added a strong reduced tomato sauce for a high note. I changed their recipe quite a bit. Two of the things I left out were fennel and caraway seeds, because I'm of the opinion that those flavors are best in bread and meat. I mention it though, because if you do like those flavors with your vegetables you might want to toss those in too.



Now you're all set to grab a glass of wine and a plate of saucy noodle-y nuggets, pile yourself in blankets and cozy up in front of a [insert favorite highly addictive TV show here] marathon.

Bosnian "Cufte" in Yogurt Sauce
Adapted from Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant by The Moosewood Collective

For Cufte
1 large onion, diced
1 garlic clove, minced
1 1/2 Tbsp olive oil
2 medium carrots, grated
1 egg
1/2 - 3/4 cup breadcrumbs
1/2 cup almond meal
1 1/2 Tbsp dijon mustard
1/2 Tbsp dark sesame oil
1/8 tsp ground cayenne
1 tsp dried oregano
pinch of dried thyme
1/8 cup chopped fresh parsley
1/2 tsp baking soda
1 cup tofu, pressed and crumbled
splash of light soy sauce to taste
salt to taste
black pepper to taste
10 oz. egg noodles

For Yogurt Sauce
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup plain yogurt
1 1/2 tsp dried dill
pinch of garlic powder
salt and black pepper to taste

For the Tomato Sauce
1 Tbsp butter
1/2c. crushed tomatoes (canned)
2 garlic cloves, crushed

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Saute the onions and garlic in the olive oil for about 6 minutes, until transparent and beginning to turn golden. Add the carrots, salt and black pepper and cook for about 4 minutes. Set aside.

Meanwhile, mix together the eggs, breadcrumbs, almond meal, mustard, sesame oil, herbs and spices and baking soda. Crumble the pressed tofu into this mixture (the press tofu set a plat on top of it and weight it down for about 30 minutes so the water is pressed out of it). Pour sauteed vegetables into this and mix by hand. Taste and add soy sauce and salt as necessary. Mixture should be moist and sticky and easy to roll into balls.

Form balls about 1 inch in diameter. I made much larger balls and think smaller is better. Place them on an oiled baking sheet and bake about 20-30 minutes so they brown a bit on the outside and form a thin crust.

To make the yogurt sauce mix together all of the ingredients. Heat on very low heat for about 15 minutes, whisking as it cooks so it does not curdle. Taste for flavor.

For the tomato sauce add the ingredients to a small saucepan. Cook on medium-low heat for about 10-15 minutes. You want the tomatoes to get very intensely sweet and garlicky. It's a big flavor, so you only need a little.

To serve cook 10 oz of egg noodles according to package instructions. Top with yogurt sauce and cufte. Dollop with a spoonful of tomato sauce.

London calling

Okay, so where did we leave off on the honeymoon story? I believe we were back in Spain. Ahhh, Spain, where the weather was beautiful, my language skills were abysmal and where Mark adopted my rabid shoe lust. Well, Spain came and went far too quickly for me. Not for Mark though, he was counting the seconds until we arrived in London to actually witness his soccer team play, in the flesh.

So you can imagine what happened when we arrived at our hotel to find the soccer tickets had not arrived as promised. I get a little woozy just thinking about it. The hotel I mean. As Mark reeled from lost ticket agony, I was reeling from the stench being emitted from every nook and cranny of our hotel. Was it the dark brown stain covering half of our hotel room floor? Was it the rotting grout in the bathrooms? Or was it 12 day old curry left under someone's bed? Who can know for sure. It was a mere 10 minutes after setting foot in our London hotel room that Mark and I turned to each other, grabbed each other's hands, interlocked fingers, stared deeply into each other's eyes and simultaneously said, "I need a drink".

Lucky for us I had made a reservation a month earlier at Moro. Moro was my reason for going to London. I stumbled across the first Moro cookbook on what I still remember fondly as my most fortuitous cookbook shopping excursion to date. I had never heard of this Moro place, but the photograph on the cover of the book intrigued me. Did you click the link yet? No? Shame on you. Here's another opportunity for you to redeem yourself. See, it's an old photo of a fishmonger. How very charming - no? The photographs inside the book are equally charming and bucolic, all slightly grainy without looking styled at all. It looks like real food. Long story short, I purchased said book, I made a handful of recipes from said book, I now adopt a dreamy faraway look in my eye whenever said book is mentioned. A reservation there was a no brainer.

Moro was mere blocks from our hotel, which I had no idea when I booked the stinking rat trap. It didn't take us long to get there, but it was a few hours early for our reservation, and come to think of it, we weren't hungry anyway. We slipped into the bar next door which I highly recommend, although I have no idea what it's called. I want to say it's something brutish like the Butcher Shop... but I honestly can't remember. We'll call it Shangri-La for now, because that's what it felt like. I was already happy as a clam as we elbowed our way to the bar, me anxious to melt those horrible hotel memories from my mind, Mark hoping to kill time until he received word of his lost tickets. Imagine my delight when the bartender asked what size I'd like my wine to be? In the UK you can order a large glass of wine! And that's exactly what I did. Mark, on the other hand, was not offered a choice of sizes for his beer, but as you can see, it hit the spot nonetheless.



Shortly thereafter we were ushered to a tiny outdoor table at Moro where Mark quietly sobbed into his beer about his lost soccer tickets and I danced quiet and tiny dances of joy over my 7 Meze plate.



I'm not that heartless, I shared my meze.



I'm sure you're wondering what those tiny little salads are all over that plate? I can't remember them all, but aside from the usual tabbouleh and fried eggplant there was also a beet and yogurt salad and something I can only guess was pistachios and cardamom. I've heard from people that their meals at Moro were a disappointment after using the cookbook. To them I can only say 7 Meze Plate. It was one of the finest meals of my life.

We stumbled back to the apartment that night, Mark grateful that he'd received word that the tickets, which incidentally were an absolute genius wedding gift from some friends, would be waiting at the stadium for us; and I grateful for the alcohol inuring me to the torture that was our hotel.

The next morning I showered, as I do every morning. I'm not sure I opened my eyes the entire time. I even accidentally dropped my conditioner on the bathroom floor and was so mortified by the filth that I could not bring myself to retrieve it, instead choosing to endure the discomfort of dry brittle hair for the remainder of our trip. Now it should be said, I'm fairly well traveled. I'm flexible and reasonably undemanding when it comes to accommodations. But holy shit. Fifteen minutes in that shower brought me to tears. No really, ask Mark. I stormed into our room, my wet hair wrapped in a towel, half dressed in pajamas, half wearing whatever I found hanging out of my suitcase. I thrust my feet into the nearest shoes and stomped down the three flights of stairs to the front desk. And I lost it. I told the poor man behind the front desk exactly what I thought of his horrible horrible crumbly, misrepresented online, stinky hotel. I won't repeat my exact words because I still find it hard to believe that me, Ms. Non-Confrontational, found those words and allowed myself to foist them on someone who I can't be sure deserved them. I returned to our room and we decided it would be best to leave for breakfast straightaway.

You'll be happy to learn, I'm sure, that despite my poor behavior, no one in the hotel saw fit to lay waste to our belongings, as I was so sure I deserved. We made it to the soccer game that afternoon, which I believe Mark said was the happiest moment of his life.

The next morning as we were leaving our hotel for the day we witnessed another hotel guest berating the very same man at the front desk whom I berated. She stated, much more coherently than I, that the hotel grossly misrepresented itself online. And then she did something I never would have dreamt to do - she demanded that the man call around, find her a new hotel room and pay for it! Ohhhh, would that I had cojones of steel like this woman. I was awestruck. It was our last night in the hotel, so we decided to suck it up and stay. Still though, that woman was fantastic and I think of her fondly still.



How does this bring us to falafel you might ask - well, in a very roundabout way. The falafel recipe was the first one I tried from the Moro cookbook. Therefore, this falafel recipe led in part to our trip to London. Because of this falafel recipe Mark and I were able to find comfort from the tiny missteps we suffered on the trip in one absolutely phenomenal meal.



I now know that prior to the moment I tried this recipe I had never had truly wonderful falafel. This recipe is dense with greens - so much so that you have to add a little elbow grease to form those little patties. It's fragrant with spices and the texture is rich and nutty. My favorite things to pair it with are yogurt mixed with garlic and salt, sweet and spicy peppers, tomatoes, and cabbage slaw. Just shred a small pile of cabbage and toss it with lemon, mayonnaise and a little garlic. All wrapped up in a fresh pita of course. And then turn your back forever on that stuff out of the box.

Falafel
Adapted from Moro by Sam and Sam Clark

250g dried chickpeas, soaked overnight (do NOT use canned - horrible results)
3 garlic cloves, crushed
1 large bunch fresh cilantro, chopped fine
1 medium bunch flat leaf parsley, chopped fine
1 1/2 tsp cumin seeds, ground
1 tsp coriander seeds, ground
1 - 1 1/2 tsp ras el hanout, or a combination of cinnamon, allspice, nutmeg and little cayenne
1/2 onion, shredded
1 egg
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
sunflower or vegetable oil for deep frying
1 - 1/2 tsp salt
black pepper to taste

Drain and rinse beans well and place half of them in large pan, fill with fresh cold water and bring to boil. Simmer for 5-10 mins until tender, skimming off any scum. Meanwhile, place raw beans in food processor and pulse until more or less smooth. Transfer to mixing bowl and repeat the process for the cooked drained beans. Add garlic, fresh coriander, parsley, cumin and coriander seeds, onion, flour, egg and baking soda. You can use a food processor for this too. Mix well and season to taste. Shape into small patties. Make sure edges do not crack.

Fill a frying pan about an inch deep with oil. Heat oil and when it is very hot but not smoking, fry the falafel in batches until golden brown on both sides. Taste the first one out once it cools to make sure you don't need more salt, before you fry the whole batch. It's easy to under salt these, they should really deliver on the flavor. Drain on paper towels. Serve with the condiments mentioned above.

You say sandwich, I say bocadillo

Today is a WONDERFUL day. In honor of our (infinitely wise, incredibly prosaic, level-headed, inspirational and insanely gorgeous) president elect I bring you a sandwich. Don't worry, it's a pretty delicious sandwich.

I can't believe it was only a little over a year ago that I was hopping on a plane with my brand spankin' new husband heading overseas for our honeymoon. We actually sort of planned getting married around our trip, which I realize is a bit backwards. I believe the collective spontaneity that brought about this union bodes well for its future.

The trip was a gift from my parents who seem to amass frequent flier miles like some people collect cats. For Christmas we were presented with these miles to do with as we pleased. Well we hemmed and hawed about it for about 5 minutes before picking Spain. The logic was simple, Mark wanted to see a soccer (sorry, football) game in London if at all possible and I like flamenco. I actually have no idea how we chose Spain, but I think it had something to do with the flight schedules in and out of Heathrow. I wish I was kidding, but Mark's life basically revolves around his favorite soccer team. And me? I tag along for the beer.



Sometime between when we reserved the flight and when we actually departed we decided it simply was not festive enough to travel halfway around the world... we had to make the trip a celebration! After all, we weren't quite sure when we'd have this opportunity again. We could get married any old time, so why not now? And that's the story of how we decided to get married. Romantic, huh?



Shortly after our quick trip to the courthouse to get hitched, we were packing up to head overseas. Mark's head was filled with visions of soccer balls flying through the air, while I was diligently practicing the phrase "Me gusta los bellos zapatos en un tamaño de 37 por favor." Food was the farthest thing from our minds. As vegetarians we assumed the pickings would be slim, why worry our pretty little heads about it?



Wrong we were. Spain has two of the most delightful culinary inventions that ever there were: tapas and bocadillos. Well you all know tapas, the tiny little plates of food that you simply order more and more of as the night goes on. The tiny concoctions the chefs dream up are endless. And fortunately in Seville, where we spent most of our time, you're never more than 2 inches away from a tapas bar.



The bocadillo, though, was a surprise to me. What surprised me was how quickly I developed a deep and abiding love of what was literally a slab of something between two pieces of crusty bread. No muddying it up with aioli, no tarnishing the flavors with vegetables. My favorite bocadillos were the ones made with manchego and the ones filled with tortilla espanol. Simple as that. Maybe it was because you could buy them anywhere for a euro and they tasted equally good everywhere. Maybe it was because after sitting on a train for 3 hours all you wanted to do was sit in the sun in a park and eat something that simple. Maybe it was because you could eat one while you walked to the shoe store. Who knows. All I know is I discovered the joys of very very simple food in Spain.



Now that we're back home I'm still eating my bocadillos. I must say, since I have the luxury of my kitchen I have gone out on a limb and dolled up my version of the bocadillo. I make them with tortilla espanol which I swear I've figured how to make taste pretty darn close to the ones we had in Spain. A tortilla, if you're not familiar with it, is the Spanish version of a fritatta, or omlette. I use a less potato than traditional recipes call for to keep the sandwich from being too starchy. This is a thin tortilla, but it's so rich with olive oil and potatoes that you don't need more than this amount. I added a little mayo with garlic and some roasted pepper. You could really make it anything, but the key is keeping it simple and using the best ingredients.



Bocadillo with Tortilla Espanol
Tortilla Espanol adapted from The New Spanish Table by Anya von Bremzen

For the torilla
3/4 lb yukon gold potatoes, very thinly sliced
3/4 cup olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, thinly sliced
6 large eggs
2 Tbsp vegetable stock or broth
Coarse salt to taste

For assembly
Rustic bread, such as ciabatta
2 Tbsp mayonnaise
1 clove garlic
1 large red bell pepper

Put the sliced potatoes in a colander and sprinkle generously with salt and let sit to sweat for about 15 mins. Give them a very quick rinse (you want them to stay a little salty) and pat them dry.

Heat olive oil in a large heavy skillet (preferably non-stick) over medium-high heat until very hot, about 3 mins. Reduce heat to medium low and add the potatoes in even layers. Cook, stirring occasionally to prevent potatoes from sticking and browning. You want them soft, not crispy. When potatoes are half cooked, about 7 mins, stir in the onion. Reduce heat to low and cook until potatoes are completely soft and onions are cooked through and soft, about 10-15 mins more.

While this cooks put the pepper on a burner to roast and crush the garlic into the mayonnaise and stir to blend. Once the pepper is blackened put it in a sealed plastic container to let it steam. After about ten minutes rub the skin off of the pepper with a paper towel. Don't use water! It's okay if a few little charred flecks are left behind.

Using a slotted spoon transfer the potatoes and onions to a colander and let them drain thoroughly. You should have a few Tbsp of oil left in the pan. Leave it in there and set aside.

Place eggs and chicken stock in a large bowl and lightly beat until just scrambled. Salt the potatoes and onions to taste and then mix them in with the eggs. Mash and stir the mixture with a fork to crush the potatoes a slight bit and to incorporate them with the eggs. Let stand for about 10 mins.

Heat the reserved oil in the same large skillet over medium-high heat until it's just beginning to smoke. Pour the egg mixture in and spread very evenly. Turn heat to medium. Cook until it looks a little more than halfway cooked through.

You now need to flip the tortilla. Very carefully put a plate over the pan and invert it. Then slide the tortilla back into the pan, so the raw side can now cook. After about 3-4 mins it should be cooked through. You may want to poke the center with your spatula to be sure. Slide it back onto a serving plate and cut it into wedges. Serve it warm or at room temperature.

Slice the bread in half, smear one side with the mayonnaise mixture and lay slices of roasted pepper on the bread. Put the tortilla on top and assemble.

Stop reading now...

and please go vote if you haven't.

Damn you, Darwin.

I can remember the moment it happened - the moment I realized I have no survival instinct. I was, I think, 12. My parents had invited their friends over for dinner and we were eating on the back porch. Daylight had ebbed away over the time we were eating and we'd neglected to turn on any lights in the house. I grew up in a small town where locking doors is still a "city folk" sort of thing to do, so naturally, all of our doors were wide open, with only the screen doors closed to keep the mosquitoes out.



I was the first person to leave the table. I walked through the house turning on the lights as I went. As I approached the hallway I froze. Standing in the pitch black of our hallway were two tall white tube socks. I was a smart kid, pretty advanced for my age, so I was able to deduce that within those tube socks were legs, and attached to those legs was most likely a person. Tube socks weren't what the kids were into at the time, so my next safe assumption was that this tube sock wearing fellow was not one of my friends popping in for a visit. Once I followed this train of thought my mind sort of went blank. My knees locked and I stood there staring at the tube socks. The tube socks, too, didn't move at all. After what felt like an hour the tube socks bolted right out of our front door. It took me a few moments to recover use of my legs, at which point I tip-toed back to the back porch with my family and took my seat. It was probably 5 minutes before I leaned over and whispered in my mother's ear that there had been someone in the house.

At this point chaos broke out. I hate chaos, so I sat still as my parents grabbed knives and broomsticks and paraded around the house like some tiny and very poorly equipped vigilante brigade. In the end all was well, nothing was stolen, no one was hurt and apparently the tube socks had no friends that he left behind in the house. I don't recall the police being called, since nothing had actually happened to report. Perhaps my parents didn't even believe me since I didn't have the frenzied frantic response which I'm positive both my mother and sister would have had.

This moment has always terrified me, not because there was an intruder, but because of my possum-like response. Although it can be argued that "playing dead" is a survival response, it's an extremely primitive one at best. It's poorly suited for, say, when a car is barreling down the road at you at full speed, or when someone is aiming the shoot you and toss you in the pot for dinner (hey, it's Texas, someone here does that, I'm sure). So I am scarred. I realized at a young age that my survival response is no more advanced than a possum. Where does that leave me?

Well, years of possible intruders and an intense fear of ghosts left over from a different scarring experience as a child has proven to me that responding to fear and possible imminent danger is not a skill I'm going to acquire. That meant I had to acquire a few of my own that weren't actually instinctive, survival skills suited to a wide variety of situations.

I spent some time after the tube socks rationalizing the fact that although I'm not that good at responding to imminent danger, I do have a really wonderful immune system. I never get ill, and this type of survival trait was highly prized by every generation of humans prior to the advent of the vaccine. Okay, so immune system - check.

One thing I like to do is watch scary movies and analyze the chase scenes. The victims always choose the crummiest exit paths that lead them to death. I've learned from these and have crafted exit plans from all of the places I've lived. Escape routes - check.

Another thing I do is hoard food. This I did not actually teach myself... it's just a nifty character trait Mark likes to point out about me every time he opens the freezer and its entire contents tumble to the floor. It makes me wonder about past lives. I've created a list of things my past selves may have lived through which led to this character trait. These include the great depression, being at sea for long periods of time, living through the potato famine, witnessing the hundred years war or being a cave woman. Food in a crisis - check.

I like to create scenarios where I face an intruder and actually come up with a witty comment. Sometimes it's an insult, sometimes it's a joke... but whatever it is, I practice it in my head. Witty repartee - check.

And finally, I have taught myself to make bread out of thin air (well, and salt, water and flour). This last one is especially exciting for me. I know sourdough has been around since the Egyptians, and that's a long, long, long time. But somehow as I was learning to make sourdough I managed to complicate matters. I thought too much about the process. I thought about how sourdough was the creation of a culture, isolating of a specific yeast and then the regular feeding of it to keep it alive. It's really easy to geek out on what sourdough actually is, and then never make it. I blame it all on Harold McGee. The thing is, sourdough is really easy. I now think sourdough is easier than using conventional yeast. So now, I can officially add another item to my catalog of survival tools. Harvesting yeast from air - check.



I spent Saturday making this, my first sourdough. It was certainly time-consuming and I didn't really have the time, so I added a pinch of instant yeast. It doesn't effect the flavor and it just barely kicked up the proofing times. I recommend it if you're running short on time.

Throughout the recipe I've added step by step photos of what this dough goes through. I thought it was really interesting that I could clearly see the changes in the dough that were happening at each stage of the process. Hopefully these will help you if you're making this bread and are a little new to bread baking, or sourdough.

Oh - and how did it turn out? Well, aside from the fact that I was blown away by the fact that my first sourdough came together so nicely, I also thought it was delicious! I ate half a loaf for dinner on Saturday. I couldn't stop myself. It's sour, but the olives and rosemary really stand up to the sour and add another dimension. If you're a kalamata olive lover great - if not, this bread works equally well with green olives. So without further ado....

Thom Leonard's Kalamata Olive Bread
adapted from Artisan Baking by Maggie Glezer

Makes two 1 1/2 lb loaves
Time: At least 27 hours, with 20 minutes of active work

The evening before baking
Make the levain:

25 g (1 1/2 Tbsp) fermented firm (60% hydration) sourdough starter, refreshed 8 hours before
115 g (1/2 cup) lukewarm water
115 g (3/4 cup) bread flour

Beat this into a batter-like dough until smooth. Place in a covered container and let ferment overnight on the counter for 12 hours, or until fully risen and beginning to sink in the middle.

Baking day

Fermented levain (use all of it)
320 g (1 1/4 cups, plus 2 Tbsp) lukewarm water
500 g (3 1/4 cups) all purpose flour (pref. King Arthur)
30 g (1/4 cup) rye flour
14 g (1 Tbsp) salt
One good pinch of instant yeast
225 g (1 3/4 cup) rinsed, pitted kalamata olives, very good quality (or very good quality green olives)
1 1/2 Tbsp chopped fresh rosemary

I am giving instructions for a stand mixer, but feel free to make this bread by hand.
Add the water to the fermented levain. In the mixing bowl add the flours and combine them quickly to blend. Pour in the levain and water and mix by hand or by spoon to form a rough dough or shaggy mass.



Using the dough hook mix on medium speed until it is smooth and shiny and cleans the bowl, about 15 mins. It will be very extensible.



Sprinkle the salt on the dough and keep mixing until it is much tighter, about 3 mins.



Remove the bowl from the mixer and set on a work space. Pour the olives and rosemary into the bowl and with your hand knead the olives and rosemary into the dough until evenly distributed. The dough will be soft and sticky and fairly extensible.



Place the dough in an oiled container about 3 times its size and cover with plastic (I use tupperware and cover with the lids).Let it ferment, preferably at 75 degrees, until it is airy and well-fermented, but not yet doubled in bulk, about 3 hours in total. Fold the dough (as you would fold a letter) 3 times at 20 minute intervals, that is, after 20, 40 and 60 minutes of fermenting. Then leave the dough undisturbed for the remaining 2 hours.

Flour the counter and gently turn the fermented dough onto the counter. Cut the dough in half and gently round each piece into a boule. Cover in plastic and let rest for 15-20 mins.

Shape the dough again into tight even boules, tapping any air bubbles out of the skin. Place the dough top side down onto linen lined baskets or bowls. Cover with plastic wrap and let proof 2 1/2 to 3 hours. It should be well-expanded.

At least 45 minutes before baking the dough preheat your oven with the baking stone and steaming implements in it to 450 degrees. I use cast iron pots with lids to bake my bread in to trap the steam.

Work quickly here. Right before baking pull the cast iron pots out of the oven and line with parchment paper. Put each bread in a separate pot, seam side down. Score the bread as you wish and cover the pots. Slide the pots into the oven in the baking stone. Close the oven and turn temp immediately down to 425 degrees. After 20 mins take the lids off of the pots. Continue to bake for another 20-25 mins. Vent oven door for last 5 mins to let out the steam. Cool the breads on wire racks.

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