food, and other musings

Buttermilk Cocoa Cake

This craggy chocolate cake is today's comfort. Turns out that going back to the 9-5 work force has been a lot harder than I thought.

The last time I did it was two years ago, and I kept all my writing gigs going all the while. I figured that it would be just as easy this time.

The difference, of course, is that last time, I was only responsible for two short columns a month. Now I've got two feature articles due in the next month, six chef interviews to arrange, a group blog to write for, and a ton of other stuff besides.

What has become evident over the last few weeks, through neverending bouts of insomnia and anxiety, of tummyaches and crying jags, is that I have bitten off more than I can chew. More than a hippopotamus could chew. I'm not sure yet what I'm going to do. I have to keep my day job; Mr. Food Musings deserves a chance to heal before he goes back to work, despite what the evil disability insurance company chooses to think. I can't bear to cut back on my writing jobs; they are the one thin thread keeping me tethered to my to my "old" life, to my dreams. But are they worth my sanity and my health? Today I guess they are. Tomorrow, we'll have to see.

In the meantime, we have dear friends coming for dinner, and who doesn't like chocolate cake? I have posted this recipe here before, but it was 2 1/2 years ago when even my mom didn't read my blog, so I figured I'd give it another go. Its beauty is that it takes 20 minutes to whip up, uses only 1 bowl, and goes equally well with vanilla ice cream and fresh mint, or caramel sauce, or a lazy shake of powdered sugar.

Karen Edward's Version of Buttermilk Cocoa Cake
Adapted from More Home Cooking by Laurie Colwin
Serves 12

1 3/4 cups flour
3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
1 cup sugar
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1 cup buttermilk
1/2 cup vegetable oil or melted butter
1/2 cup Fran's dark chocolate sauce
2 tsp vanilla

Preheat the oven to 350º and set rack in middle position. Butter and flour a 9-inch round cake pan.Mix together flour, cocoa powder, sugar, baking soda and salt. Add buttermilk, oil or butter, chocolate sauce and vanilla to dry ingredients. Stir till mixed.Turn batter into cake pan and bake 30-40 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Cool 5 minutes before turning out of pan.

White Gazpacho

(scroll down for recipe)





















White Gazpacho
Adapted from Food and Wine from a recipe by Terrance Brennan of Artisanal restaurant
Serves 4-6

I hate gazpacho. Lucky for me, this was served in a recent cooking class and, to be polite, I tried some. It knocked me off my feet with its cool, slightly sweet and delicately floral flavors and its undeniable peppery kick. When you look at the list of ingredients, you'll doubt anything edible, much less delicious, could come from it -- but trust me. I could eat bowl after bowl, and it would be the perfect antidote to a hot summer day. (Anybody know where I can find one of those?)

6 slices white sandwich bread, crusts discarded, bread torn into pieces
1 cup blanched almonds, chopped
3/4 cup seedless green grapes
1/2 English cucumber, peeled, seeded, and chopped
1 garlic clove, smashed
2 1/2 cups cold water
1/2 cup good quality extra virgin olive oil
3 TBSP sherry vinegar
coarse salt
pinch cayenne pepper, or more to taste
1 tomato, seeded and finely diced
2 TBSP minced celery
2 TBSP chopped cilantro

In a large bowl, combine everything from the bread through the vinegar. Working in batches, puree the mixture in a food processor, then strain through a fine sieve into a large bowl. You may need to work the mixture through the sieve with the back of a spoon. When you are finished, take what is left in the sieve and return it to the food processor. Puree again. Strain again, then discard the remaining solid matter. Season with salt and cayenne to taste. Refrigerate until it's time to serve or, if serving immediately, set into an ice bath to cool quickly. Garnish with tomato, celery, and cilantro.

tuesday morning

The Birthday Dinner Menu

Today has been all about one thing: The Birthday.

On Wednesday, Mr. Food Musings will turn 44. To celebrate, we're spending next weekend in Napa, swimming in the shadow of vineyards with the aroma of hot soil and lush grapes wafting through the air. People will come to our hotel room to massage our tired muscles, and we will eat meals that are simple yet satisfying.

But before we go, I thought it would be fun to turn myself into a maniac (or a monster, depending on your point of view) by cooking a birthday feast for Mr. FM and his mom, whose birthday is only one day away from his. The menu was inspired by the Spanish cooking class I took not too long ago:

* fried pimientos de padron sprinkled with sea salt *
* white gazpacho *
* chicken and sweet pepper empanadas *
* little gem lettuces with roasted beets, blue cheese, and toasted walnuts *
* spring peas with butter and salt *
* orange cornmeal almond cake with whipped cream and honeyed cherries *

Because I am smart, lazy, and bossy (and also because I worked 5 days this week -- whew, how do you people do it?) I asked Mr. FM to help with the dinner. We went to the market this morning where I piled my basket high with lemons and oranges, almonds and cherries, beets and a chicken with the head and feet dangling off either end. Then we came home, ate lunch, and proceeded to bake the cakes, make the gazpacho, roast the beets, and make the dough for the empanadas. I rewarded myself with a gingersnap and vanilla ice cream sandwich, and now I'm off to wash the flour off my aching arms.

Orange Cornmeal Almond Cake
Adapted (ever so slightly) from El Farol: Tapas and Spanish Cuisine by James Campbell Caruso
Makes 2 cakes

2 whole oranges, with peel on
1 cup flour
1 cup polenta or cornmeal
2 TBSP cornstarch
1 1/2 cups roasted Marcona almonds
1 1/2 cups butter
2 cups sugar
6 eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 cup whipping cream
1 jar Happy Girl Kitchen Co. cherries jubilee

Preheat oven to 325ºF.

Bring a stock pot full of water to a boil. Add the whole oranges and simmer 30 minutes. Remove and let cool.

Meanwhile, combine the flour, polenta, and cornstarch in a large bowl. In a food processor, pulse the almonds until smooth being careful not to turn it to nut butter. Add to the dry ingredients, mix well, and set aside.

Process the oranges in a food processor. In a standing mixer or in a large bowl with an electric mixer, cream the butter and sugar together. With the mixer running, add the eggs one at a time. Add the orange puree and vanilla. Add the dry ingredients and beat well until combined. Butter two 8-inch cake pans and divide the batter between them. Bake for 40 minutes. Serve with freshly whipped cream, cherries, and plenty of birthday candles.

curses, foiled again!

Damn you, pineapple sage!

I bought a chicken yesterday (both the feet and the head still on, thank you very much) and, on a whim, scooted over to White Crane Springs Ranch for some herbs. "I'd like something to stuff under the skin," I told Mr. Minocchi. He grabbed a small bouquet with large green leaves from a glass jar filled with water. "Sage?" I guessed. "Pineapple," he confirmed. It smelled, well, like pineapple-y sage. Sold!

By the time I got home, I'd had an idea. Why not make pineapple sage ice cream? I made a chicken salad sandwich for lunch and then set to work. Following a recipe for basil ice cream in The Perfect Scoop, I pulverized the soft sage leaves with sugar and cream, then warmed half the mixture on the stove. Meanwhile, I separated five egg yolks, and slowly whisked the warmed milk into them, being careful not to scramble them with too-sudden heat. Then I set everything back on the stove to thicken into custard. I waited, checking the consistency occasionally against the back of a wooden spoon and fiddling with the heat to keep it low. All of a sudden, a few minutes after I started to think I could take it off the heat soon, I noticed a bubble -- the mixture was starting to boil! Horrified, I snatched it off the stovetop. But it was too late. I had scrambled eggs.

Never did have any ice cream last night. Harumph.

This is what happens when Mr. Food Musings makes dinner

We have a new rule. (Sort of.) At least once a week, Mr. Food Musings is in charge of making dinner.

I say sort of because we've tried it before. Last time, it faded away after, oh I don't know, the first week.

I'm not blaming him entirely, though. I can get a bit mouthy in the kitchen.

But with me going back to work nearly full-time to bring home the bacon, we agreed he's going to have to help cook it. So we made a deal. He'd cook once a week. And I'd keep my mouth shut.

Last night was his first time. I confess, I was a bit nervous. We discussed what he'd make on Sunday and settled on pizza, since I already had the dough ready and didn't feel like making it myself that night. (See also: hangover.) But that was pretty much the extent of our discussion.

And, it turns out, his planning.

About 7:30 last night, he mentioned he thought he'd get going on dinner. We'd just run out for a coffee and we were both hungry. I offered to set out the dough to let it come to room temperature, and to preheat the oven to 500º. I also let him know I had a few tips from my Tante Marie's cooking class that might help him when it came time to rolling it out. A half hour later, I told him things were ready for him to start the prep. I assumed he'd be making a simple Margherita pizza, as I'd planned to the night before.

The hallway that runs from his office to our kitchen is long. He said later that he felt like a Dead Man Walking as he headed stoveward. You see, he realized then that he'd done no shopping for ingredients, and had no idea if there were any in the fridge. Oops!

I walked into the kitchen a few minutes behind him, oblivious to his inner turmoil. His head was buried in the bottom cabinet, and loud banging noises issued forth. "Where's a pan I can caramelize in?" came the cry a few minutes later.

I'd like to pause here a moment. The man knows that you can't caramelize in a non-stick pan? A miracle had occurred. Yes, Virginia -- men do listen!!!

The black skillet found, he set to work. I saw a slab of bacon, an onion, and a green pepper out on the island. I have to admit, I was impressed. It all made sense -- a riff on a sausage/peppers/onion pizza. Though I'd pledged to keep my mouth shut, I decided that was only for opinions. For solid cooking advice, it seemed appropriate to speak up. So I helped him caramelize the onions, noting he'd need butter and oil and some brown sugar to start, and that he'd want to cook them "low and slow" rather than over the mile-high flame he'd conjured on the stove. I cooked the bacon, suggested he mince some garlic, and found the missing mozzarella. Then I offered to help chop.

"I've got it all under control,"  he said. "But you can pour me a glass of wine."

When he tossed the garlic into the caramelizing onions, I was tempted to scream "No!" But I didn't. When he scattered Parmesan cheese all over top of the tomato sauce, I gulped. When he mused aloud about boycotting the mozzarella. I ahemed. (Loudly.) But mostly I stayed out of it until it was time to roll out the dough.

From my class, I knew how to get a cracker-crisp crust: simply divide a standard pizza dough -- enough for one pizza -- in half or even in thirds, and roll out each of several pizzas extra thin. You end up with a great pizza that cooks in about 7 minutes. I also learned that cornmeal (or polenta) really will "grease" a pizza peel (or in our case, a wooden cutting board) and that you have to slide it onto the pizza stone with confidence. If you do, it will slide off easily. But if you hesitate, you'll end up with an accordioned pizza slopped all over the oven. Mr. FM's first attempt wasn't confident enough, and we ended up folding a lip of dough over the pizza to get it all onto the stone, but by the second pizza he had it under control.

What can I say? We've made a lot of pizzas in our house. Some of them look pretty, some of them don't. Turns out, Mr. FM rolls out a mean ball of dough, producing a nice round(ish) circle versus my usual trapezoid. He caramelizes onions like nobody's business, and he has a great sense for toppings. The bacon, caramelized onions, Kalamata olives, and green peppers were out of this world good. The garlic didn't burn. The Parmesan cheese added a lovely depth of flavor and there wasn't too much salt. His pizza had more class, more love -- and a lot less mouth. Honey, you can make dinner any time.

impulse purchase

Take that Little Star!

Le Diner des Trois Salades

Sometimes a girl just doesn't feel like cooking. When that happens,  especially at the end of a warm day, I opt for salads.

Last night was a mix of showing off the morning's market-fresh bounty and using up what was in the house before it rots. See, tonight we're off to Napa for a feast, and then I'm booked for the next two nights with a business dinner and cooking class before we leave for Colorado.

And so, a glass of champagne within close reach, I roasted up some beets in the best way I know, skipping the goat cheese dressing in favor of tossing them with crumbly Gorgonzola and chopped walnuts. (champagne break) I rubbed half a clove of fresh garlic over some hunks of day-old baguette, brushed them with olive oil, and popped them in the oven for about 10 minutes. Then I threw them in a bowl with uncoiled Little Gem lettuce leaves and a few fingers of fresh goat cheese; don't forget the dressing. (sip) Finally I combined shredded smoked trout, a few circles of raw shallot as well as a handful of fried ones and some capers with just cooked potatoes that had been moistened with a mixture of mayo, Dijon mustard, and olive oil.

Easy-peasy and delicious.

Not that Mr. Keller is going to get off that easy tonight.

 

Yo quiero Spanish food!

I have never really had a thing for Spain. I realize it's sacrilegious to say so, what with Spain being the de facto cool capitol of the food and wine world these days. But truthfully, the only reason I signed up for a weekend of cooking and drinking España-style was because a good friend invited me when I was drunk.

It's not pretty, but it's true.

I woke up the next morning and realized that I had, in fact, typed in all 16 digits of my credit card number and paid hundreds of dollars for a class about something I have no particular interest in. (Except for chorizo. I love chorizo.) Also, I am a nervous cook. I hate cooking in front of others, especially others who know what they are doing, and I try to avoid it at all costs. I also try to avoid anything complicated, and my repertoire does not include things like deep-frying (too dangerous), cleaning squid (too smelly), or making aioli (too fattening). I figured, if I was to survive the weekend, I needed to go in with a strategy. Mine was simple: pick the easiest recipe and don't screw it up.

Day 1 was a bit like the first day of school, with everybody sizing each other up but trying to look they they weren't. Mother and daughter duo? Check. Girlfriend and boyfriend? Check. Boyfriend and boyfriend? Check. Food and wine know-it-all? Check. Serial student? Check. Our class had a little of everything. When the know-it-all started pontificating about how long a particular Spanish cheese was aged, I shrunk into my seat. Great, I thought to myself, I'm surrounded by freaking experts. I tried hard to keep my blog quiet -- it just piles on the pressure. People think you know how to cook or something.  But then we got going and the mother-daughter duo didn't know how to operate the food processor, which made me feel better. I chose dessert because it's always a crowd pleaser, and besides I figured anything would taste good after 6 hours on our feet and 5 bottles of wine. I was right.

Day 2 was more relaxed. We felt more comfortable as a group, and no one (meaning me) had fucked up too badly the day before. Plus, we started off the class by drinking wine. That never hurts. I wanted to snag the empanadillas recipe but so did everybody else -- seriously, three groups ended up making some -- so I backed off. Who needs the competition? I ended up with roasted beets and goat cheese dressing. It looked fool-proof, and I figured I'd score points for getting my hands purple from peeling off the skins. Then I helped with the caramel ice cream, which sorta sealed the deal.

All in all, I took away a few good lessons from the weekend.

> Spanish food is yummy! There's a lot of ham and sausage, chickpeas and saffron, citrus and seafood.
> What grows together, goes together. Meaning, if foods are raised in the same region they'll probably taste great in a dish together.
> Chorizo makes everything better. Seriously. If something sucks, toss in some sausage and you're good to go.
> Dessert = power.

Roasted beets and goat cheese dressing
Adapted from El Farol

I made this again last night with a few changes, and neither time quite according to the original recipe. Here is the version I think turned out best. 

1 pound fresh beets, trimmed and scrubbed
1/2 cup sherry vinegar
1/4 cup olive oil
4 garlic cloves, sliced thin
1 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp fresh ground black pepper

1/4 cup goat cheese
1/4 cup feta cheese (or blue cheese)
1/4 cup milk
1 Serrano chili, chopped
1/4 cup olive oil
1 TBSP orange juice (lime, lemon, grapefruit are okay too)
1/4 cup chopped fresh chives
2 cloves garlic, minced
fresh ground black pepper

1 TBSP chopped Italian parsley

Roast the beets: Preheat the oven to 425º. In a baking dish, toss the beets with the vinegar, olive oil, garlic, salt, and pepper. Cover with foil and roast until fork tender, about 45 minutes. Cool to room temperature and peel. Cut into quarters, and then again into thirds.

Make the dressing: Combine all the remaining ingredients except the parsley in a food processor and puree. Chill for 1 hour in the fridge to let the flavors come together. Spoon about 1/4 - 1/3 of the dressing over the beets, or to taste. (You will have a lot leftover.) Garnish with parsley, mix well, and serve.

still life with papaya