Poet cookies

In anticipation of the neighborhood cookie exchange, I briefly fantasized about poet cookies. What would those be? Tastespotting.com returned no search results. FoodNetwork.com automatically changed my query to "pot cookies." Okaaay, no.

But I ended up making these cookies--filled with all the flavors I hankered for. And I'm declaring them the official poet cookie for Holiday Festivus Saturnalia 2010.

Warning: They're tempting

Poet Cookies

1 cup unsalted butter, softened
1 cup white sugar
2/3 cup honey (we were out of brown sugar, and this worked better)
2 eggs
grated rind of one orange
2 tsp. vanilla
3 1/4 cups unbleached flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. coriander
1/8 tsp. cardamom
1 1/2 cup dark chocolate chips
1/2 cup chopped almonds
1/2 cup chopped dried cherries

Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls and bake at 325 degrees for about 15 minutes (in my oven, 12-13 minutes).

And here's a picture:




Enjoy!

Food for thought

Recently, I entered Bumbershoot.org's Food for Thought competition. The task was to write, in 500 words or less, about a food memory. And the winning entry was a poem! That's pretty cool.

Branching out in my writing genres, I submitted my entry as an essay. Without further adieu:

A good family dinner means we must plan ahead to avoid running out of dishes, and at some point during that meal I'll laugh so hard I'll start to weep. That Saturday in February was my birthday dinner—two weeks late, but finally the whole family could come.

Because I'm not an Italian mother, but want to cook like one, pasta was a must. I started by peeling butternut squash for ravioli. The bright orange flesh stuck to my hands, but I persevered with a sharp knife, chopped the squash, tossed it with olive oil, salt, and herbs de Provence. That pan went into the oven, and I toasted fennel seeds and coriander for the rub.

For birthdays, dessert is key. I heated half-and-half, cream, sugar, and honey. Then I tossed in dried lavender to steep (and a splash of vanilla). I grated lemon and orange rind for the cake, mixed up the batter, put those pans into the oven, and crossed my fingers.

People drifted in and out of the kitchen. I made the pasta dough, rolled out the long sheets and draped them over the ravioli pans. This was the risk, because raviolis take some time to make, and any rips can stretch the process out for hours. When all the small pillows were chilling on a platter, I made a meringue frosting.

I kept prepping: a flurry of root vegetables, hazelnuts, garlic, and shallots. I baked prosciutto slices until they were crunchy. I crisped pancetta, added balsamic and molasses to make a sauce.

I set out a plate of cheeses to soften, added crackers and a bowl of olives. I washed the greens and sliced the soft pears thinly. I then turned my attention to the pork tenderloin, slathering it with the fennel rub.

Guests arrived. Flutes were filled with Champagne while I seared the meat and slid it into the oven.

Finally, we sat down to bowls of carrot and beet soup with chives and sour cream. The greens were tossed in a fig-balsamic vinaigrette and served with the pears, the prosciutto, and chevre. The ravioli were nestled in melted butter with sage, hazelnuts, crumbled amoretti cookies, and Parmesan cheese.

Before I knew it, I was jumping up to serve the next course. Wine was poured. Stories were told. I placed wilted spinach on the plates, topped it with slices of pork and the pancetta sauce, ringed by potatoes and carrots roasted with thyme. I remember my mother saying the servings were too large. I remember laughter—and I'm sure at some point I had to dry my eyes with my napkin.

We took a breath before the cake and homemade lavender ice cream.

We've been fortunate to gather for many dinners like this one, our family around the table, course after course, even if we aren't Italian. But I remember this one especially for the luxury of waking in the morning with a whole day to cook for the people I love.

Porch picnic

What I learned from Pie Week

Pie and writing?

I thought about this as I was rolling out for yet another crust. (The crust might be my favorite part.)

At the beginning of the week, I'd envisioned brushing up on my skills, getting better than I've ever been and turning out perfect rounds of dough. Pies as art.

I tried every trick I knew and several I'd just seen on TV, but quite a few of my efforts required a little patching. Or a lot of patching. Sometimes the dough would collapse just as I was putting it into the pie pan. Not the brilliance I'd imagined.

It reminded me how often I expect to be good at something right away—not that I have any evidence to back that up. Pie and writing—I want to be good at both.

And I tend to hope that my poems will be successful right away—say what I want to say, be delicious, get accepted, stuff like that.

When I start to feel disappointed, I should probably make another pie, and remember how much work it takes to get to where I want to go.

Pie week: The finale

Last night, I made an early summer favorite: lemon tart with lavender ice cream.

Thus ends Pie Week (although we still have some pie left).

Pie week, days 4 and 5

I'm behind on pie posts, but here's the update.

On Wednesday, Daniel made a Bing cherry pie. Sweet!

On Thursday, Claire made pumpkin pies, partly for a school project (something about the Columbian exchange).

I apologize that I don't have pictures.

Day 3 involves chocolate

Tarte aux aubergines de la comtesse Lisa

Don't be fooled. While the (French tart) cookbook has a story about Chateau de Blanville, this is a pizza—with tomatoes, garlic, eggplant, chevre, thyme, and pine nuts.

Tarte au chocolat infuse au basilic

Yes, the tart has basil in it—along with a lot of bittersweet chocolate. And the sauce is grapefruit, rosemary, and honey. I was a little concerned about pairing grapefruit with chocolate, but it was delicious!

Pie-palooza: Day 2

Tomato and fresh mozzarella.

Blackberry.

How long can we keep this up? I don't know!

Welcome to Pie Week

Pie-palooza is off to a tasty start.

This evening's dinner was onion tart (yes, I succumbed and had seconds), with a light green salad.

For dessert, strawberry-rhubarb pie. It's a classic—and half of the strawberries were from the backyard. The other half of the strawberries and the rhubarb came from the neighborhood farmers' market.

Pie: It's a food group.

Sunday

I wanted today to be all about writing and food: My perfect day.

To start, I began reading the Fannie Farmer cookbook, to see what she had to say about food and especially food science and nutrition. I immediately found out that I eat about three times as much as I'm supposed to. I tell myself that people were shorter then and didn't need as much nourishment.

Then I went to the neighborhood Farmers' market. I love to wander from stall to stall and then suddenly be smitten by something. I want to feel inspired. Today, it was baby turnips. What am I going to do with them? I have no idea, but they were so beautiful.

I also managed to pick up some Spring onions and shallots and some broccoli rape and sugar snap peas and cheese and una foccacia (and I managed to embarrass myself by using the wrong article and then not knowing how to say "I'm trying to learn Italian" in Italian; if I can embarrass myself once a week throughout the season, I might learn a thing or two about a thing or two Italian).

Then to the corporate grocery store because my daughter needed milk and my husband noticed they were having a sale on flank steak. Plus a bunch of other stuff.

Time for more writing. First, I thought I'd see what Fannie had to say about cooking turnips. I almost wept when I began to read the section on vegetables. Boil green beans for an hour? The same for spinach? So sad. This was cuisine in the turn of the century. The vegetables suffered.

I thought I'd get my flank steaks marinating, and I was about to go out to the garden to gather some oregano and thyme, when I realized that I'm basically out of garlic. Another trip to the store would be in order. I love food. I do not love going to the store.

Instead, I fixed lunch: whole wheat spaghetti with garlic, red pepper flakes, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, roasted red peppers, bread crumbs, and fresh parsley and basil, topped with some parmesan. All that and a glass of Chianti. My new favorite.

After my hedonistic repast, I had to buckle down and go to the store. I returned home with five bulbs of garlic. Now I have two steaks marinating (one is in the freezer for future use) and a batch of bread rising in the backyard (where it's extra warm). So far, the day has been a lot about food and a lot less about writing. I've worked on a couple of poems (glancingly), but it hasn't shared as much of my attention.

And it isn't over. In a couple of hours, I'll shape the bread and roast four of the garlic bulbs. But until then, I have some time, however much time, to write.

Biscuits? Did you say biscuits?

By popular demand: Jalapeno biscuits (with cheddar cheese and beer)

I admit it freely: I love biscuits.

When Norm Abrahms, on the carpentry shows, talks about biscuits, I start to feel hungry, even though I know he's talking about a skinny little piece of wood.

I love biscuits, and this recipe is a favorite of my husband's. It's from the LA Times (June 15, 2005). We were sitting having coffee in Palm Springs (a winding down after working at a furniture show in Pasadena), when we opened the newspaper and found biscuits!

Now, when I make them, I remember that lovely morning.

But enough about sun and the Times. Without further ado:

2 cups flour

1 tsp. baking powder

1 tsp. baking soda

1 tsp. salt

1 stick unsalted butter (cut into little cubes)

2 jalapenos (seeded and minced)

1 cup grated cheddar cheese (sharpness to your taste)

about 1/2 cup of pale beer

Mix the dry ingredients. Cut in the butter. Stir in the jalapenos and cheese. Stir in the beer. (I always need more than 1/2 cup, usually closer to 2/3 cup.

Knead the dough briefly and then pat it out on a lightly floured surface and wield your favorite biscuit cutter or reasonably sized water tumbler. Place on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet.

Bake at 425 degrees for 13-15 minutes. If you're really thirsty, drink the rest of the beer while you wait.

Enjoy!

Whole wheat goodness

I've been tinkering around, and I think I've found the recipe that works for me.


This loaf is made using the method in Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day, but I wanted a version that was wholly whole wheat and yet was kind of light.

Here's the recipe:

1 1/2 cups very warm water
1 1/2 cups milk, warmed and then cooled enough so that it doesn't kill the yeast
1/2 cup honey
2 pkg. rapid rise yeast (I figure with whole wheat, I want to throw everything I've got at it)
5 Tblsp. olive oil
1 Tblsp. salt
4 cups whole wheat flour
2 1/2 cups whole wheat pastry flour

Mix it up (I like to start with the water, honey, and yeast so that I can watch the yeast begin to foam).

Cover the bowl (but not air-tight) and let it rise 2-3 hours, or until doubled.

This batch makes three loaves. I usually bake one right away, and I form the other two and freeze them so that I can bake them later. You can also leave the dough in the refrigerator for a few days and bake the loaves when you want them.

To form the loaves, keep your hands wet and pull the dough around, rotating the loaf, four times. The Artisan Bread site has very good instructions.

Place the loaf in a buttered loaf pan or just set it on some cornmeal on a pan. In the picture above, I dusted the loaf with a little more whole wheat pastry flour and sliced the top three times.

After the loaf has sat around and rested (it just went through a lot), turn the oven on to 350 degrees and wait at least 20 minutes. You want it hot.

Put the bread in the oven, and add some hot water in a pan for steam. (I know I'm not doing this part right, which is another good reason to visit the website.)

Bake for 40-50 minutes, depending on your oven.

Cool the bread on a rack.

Enjoy!

Finally, gnocchi

The March cooking challenge was to make gnocchi. Clearly, I'm late. But I wanted to make it anyway.

Sunday dinner began with a salad of grilled greens (raddichio and red-leaf romaine).

Next, gnocchi in a light red tomato sauce, with gremolata and a little parmesan.
Then halibut, asparagus roasted with lemon and sage, and a minted carrot salad with currants.

This was my first potato gnocchi experience. I had this vision of making sweet potato gnocchi, seasoned with cumin. And I seasoned the russet potato gnocchi with coriander.

The gremolata and the sauce were delicious, and they completely overwhelmed any subtle flavors. Don't get me wrong—I enjoyed them. We all did. But next time, I'll double the coriander and I'll stick with the russets.

Brioche au chocolat

Ever get a hankering for something? That's what happened: I was thinking about pain au chocolat when I saw a brioche (at the gym, of all places), and I thought, "Why not?"

I mixed up the dough yesterday using the recipe from Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day. After it rose, I put it into the refrigerator to cool down a little. Then I shaped the brioche, folding the lower portion of each around 5 dark chocolate chips. I put the pan into the refrigerator for the night.

This morning, I took the pan out, let it sit for a while, and then very gently brushed on a little egg wash.

Here they are ready for the oven.

And here they are done.

Yum!

NaPoWriMo poem #1

Well, not exactly. I'm writing a poem a day based on the prompts that Robert Lee Brewer is providing over at his Poetic Asides blog.

Day one's assignment was to write an origin poem, and I was stuck at the start. After I got going, I wrote three, and asked my husband to help me choose which fit best. He thought that this poem was more about food than origins (is this ever a problem?) so I'm posting this draft of it here instead:

Where These Come From


You ask about the origin of my hips,
a generous genesis coming from bacon
and pancakes at breakfast, a bit extra
added by that pina colada at lunch,
a mai tai or four on the cocktail cruise,
Kalua pig quesadilla,
wasabi macadamia nuts and even the peas,
goat cheese as smooth as butter,
fish bits crusted in coconut and served
with a sweet chili sauce the color of sunset,
lobster bisque, cole slaw with avocado,
and then there was the banana cream pie.
I was born with these bones
but the rest is a menu to relish.

What have I been doing?

Heck if I know! Not writing, or it feels like I haven't been writing.

But I have been cooking. This morning, it was brunch.

Scones, a spinach, onion, mushroom and sun-dried tomato quiche, fruit salad, and green salad.

In other food news, Dana sent me information about a healthy recipe contest sponsored by the Kidney Health Fest for African American Families. I don't know whether I'll be able to provide an entry (it won't be quiche), and I'm not sure I can do anything that's low on the sodium side, but I wanted to pass the word along.

Now, I'm going to write. Really.

Friday, Pastitsio

This month's challenge in the Mediterranean food contest is Greek: Pastitsio.

I thought, "Greek? I don't cook Greek food, except for the little lamb pita sandwiches I make sometimes." Those sandwiches always explode right out of the pockets.

I went to tastespotting.com and looked up "pastitsio": a Greek version of lasagna.

Game on!

I decided to find a way to take the flavors that I love in my little sandwiches and put them into a layered pasta dish.

Prep

Pasta layer
Cook 1/2 pound of tube pasta, such as penne or ziti, according to directions. Drain and cool slightly, then mix with 4 oz. hummus.

Lamb layer
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 large leek, thinly sliced
1 pound lamb
1/4 tsp. cumin
salt and pepper
1 Tbsp. fresh oregano, chopped
1 Tbsp. fresh mint, chopped
olive oil

Heat the olive oil in a pan and saute the leeks and garlic. When they are soft, transfer them to a bowl. Add the lamb to the pan, and brown it. While it's cooking, season it with salt and pepper, add the cumin, and add the herbs. When the lamb is done, remove it with a slotted spoon and combine it with the leeks and garlic.

Cheese layer
3 cloves roasted garlic
1 lb. ricotta cheese
4 oz. feta cheese, crumbled

Chop or mash the roasted garlic and then mix it with the cheeses.

Tomato layer
1 28-oz. can diced tomatoes, drained
1 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
2Tbsp. sun-dried tomato paste
1 Tbsp. fresh thyme
1/4 cup Kalamata olives, pitted and chopped
salt and pepper
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped

Heat the tomatoes, vinegar, tomato paste, and thyme to a simmer. Add the olives. Season with salt and pepper, and continue to simmer until the liquid has reduced. Turn off the heat, and stir in the parsley.

Assembly

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Lightly oil an 8-inch-square glass baking dish. Spread half the pasta on the bottom, top with half the lamb, then half the cheese, and half the tomatoes. Repeat, and then sprinkle the top with 2 oz. crumbled feta cheese and some sesame seeds.

Bake 30 minutes, and then let it rest for 10 minutes, at least.

I realize not everyone has roasted garlic sitting around, but we've taken to roasting three or four bulbs at a time and storing it in the refrigerator so it's always ready.

If you want the layers to stay intact, you can let it cool completely and then bake it again. On a Friday night, after a long day at the end of a long week of work, we skipped that part.

It isn't a light meal and it isn't a quick meal, but I had a lot of fun making it, and eating it (I admit, I had seconds).

To eat or ... to eat

Tamara tagged me for this on Facebook, and I thought I'd post it here, too.

25 Things: A Foodie List

(Note: I still have a hard time with the term "foodie"—but that isn't one of my things.)

1. I'm not Italian, but I strive to cook like an Italian.


2. I could eat pasta every night of the week—even though my diet advises whole wheat pasta only.


3. The last good meal I had: last night's Oscar fest. Even though it was just three of us, we had caramelized onion tarts, curried prawns served on greens, and salmon with mashed potatoes and green beans (somehow ice cream was added to the menu, but I take no responsibility for that).


4. Yes, I am supposedly on a diet. When it works, it works really well.


5. I follow cookbooks (and I have shelves full of them), recipes from the newspaper, recipes from the Food Network, and recipes I find on tastespotting.com—as long as I can define "follow" loosely.


6. My favorite restaurant in town: Serafina.


7. My favorite fast food: Drunken chicken sandwich from The Baguette Box. (Note that we have no traditional fast food joints in the neighborhood; we have pizza, but it isn't my favorite.)


8. My favorite ice cream is homemade--honey bay, honey lavendar, scented rose geranium, or scented rose geranium and strawberry.


9. I like to have a lot of vinegars on hand: Balsamic, White Balsamic, Red Wine, White Wine, Champagne, Sherry, Cider, Rice, regular old White, and sometimes Fig Balsamic. For some reason, this comforts me.


10. I like dark chocolate, especially dark chocolate from Theo's.


11. Pie is a food group —and one that I've been neglecting.


12. Most nights, I don't feel like I'm cooking; it's more like I'm slinging hash—perfunctory and obligatory rather than creative.


13. These days, I'm like a short-order cook: One person who should eat only whole-grain pasta and bread (me), two people who loathe whole-grain pasta and bread, and one of those is a vegetarian (although she will eat fish). Either I compromise, or I run out of burners.


14. I'm still learning how to cook for only three—an apprenticeship for when I'll be cooking for only two.


15. Finding the Herb Farm cookbook completely reinvigorated my cooking. Even under obligation, I can throw in some fresh thyme.


16. I now have thyme, lemon thyme, oregano, rosemary, sage, parsley, and mint in the garden. In odd stretches, I have lovage, cilantro, and dill. I also have lavender—but it came with the house and, if left to itself, would take over the entire yard.


17. In my youth, I was a vegetarian for more than a decade.


18. Now, I can do some pretty damn fine things with a piece of pork (chop, loin, tenderloin, bacon, prosciutto, pancetta).


19. I am scrupulous about not wasting the grains of rice that spill from the container when I'm measuring, but I inevitably throw out some of the rice after it's cooked.


20. I enjoy wine—tasting it, savoring it, pairing it with food (I'm not so good at this yet, but I enjoy trying).


21. I own a crockpot, but I've never used it for slow cooking. It is quite effective, however, for keeping soup, mashed potatoes, or risotto warm.


22. When I was younger, I used to want to do everything myself—no electric mixer, just a whisk and a wooden spoon.


23. I waited years to use my food processor (too much noise, too many parts to clean). Now, I use frequently, especially for pasta dough and anything involving butter that needs to be cut into flour—think biscuits, scones, or pastry dough. (I also use my electric mixer.)


24. I am the Queen of Cholesterol. I blame it on my Scandinavian heritage and the associated hereditary love of cheese—and let's not even mention cream and butter. (Did I tell you about the vanilla ice cream in Copenhagen--so rich it's yellow?)


25. I grew up thinking I needed to stay thin, and over the years this has constantly conflicted with my love of food and flavors and eating—a constant conflict. After decades of this, I'm going to try to write my way out.

P.S. I just realized that of course we have fast food in the neighborhood: We have Dick's. Yum!

Yum, onion, and how

Last week, I posted a picture of an onion tart, just out of the oven. Sweet caramelized onions, a little Gruyere, and a buttery crust. Yum! Here it is again:



Now, here's the how-to.

1 red pepper
3 large onions, preferably sweet
A few sprigs of fresh thyme
1 Tbsp. honey
salt and pepper
1 1/4 cups unbleached flour
1/2 tsp. salt
1 stick (1/2 cup) plus 2 Tbsp. unsalted butter
1 egg yolk
2 Tbsp. cold water
1/2 cup grated Gruyere

In the broiler or on a grill, char the red pepper, turning it so that the skin blackens on all sides. Remove the pepper from the heat and seal it in a paper bag.

Chop or thinly slice the onions. Melt 2Tbsp. butter in a large skillet over medium-low heat, and then add the onions. Strip the leaves from the thyme sprigs and add the leaves to the pan. Add the honey, season the onions with salt and pepper, and cook them slowly until they are soft and golden.

Mix the flour and salt. Cut the stick of butter into cubes, and then cut the butter into the flour until the mixture is in pea-sized chunks. Mix the egg and water together, and then add that to the flour mixture. Incorporate thoroughly, but with as little handling as possible. Wrap the dough in plastic and let it rest in the refrigerator for half an hour.

Meanwhile, peel the charred skin off of your red pepper. Seed the pepper, and slice it into strips.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

On a lightly floured surface, roll the dough out into a 14" circle. Transfer the dough to your pan (I use a 12" pizza pan), and then fold the edges of the crust over and crimp them with your fingers.

Spread the onions evenly on the crust, sprinkle the cheese on top, and then arrange the red pepper slices. Bake for 45 minutes-1 hour.

Feed me

No, I'm not Audrey.

But I found this contest (like I need another contest to enter), and the rules say that I need to post what I make to a food blog (like I need another blog to write).

Poetry, food—it's all good, right?

And once a month or so, this blog will don an apron and a recipe and play a food blog. The theme for January is France and tarts (!), so coming soon will be a little more information about the onion tart.