Not Derby Pie

People, it’s Thanksgiving time. Turkey and mashed potatoes and yams galore, brussels sprouts and cranberry sauce, and of course, you can never have enough pie.

Except you know what? I’ll beg to differ. I’m a pie lover like the best of ’em, but at a certain point, I need a break. I want a crumble, a crisp, perhaps some bars. Thanksgiving may be about tradition, but it needn’t resist a change of pace, right?

Look, we can split the difference. These pecan bars are basically pecan pie, in rectangle form. They have crust, they have gooey chewy topping. Did I mention they have bourbon? You will like them. Your guests will love them. And if you want to push things over the top, dunk’em in chocolate. That’ll bring the swoons. No one will miss pecan pie. And if they do? Well, there’s always apple, and pumpkin, pumpkin-caramel, and apple-cranberry, and…

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This is the latest in NDP’s Weekday Lunch series, your one and only source into the scandalous lives of my tupperware. For earlier Weekday Lunch posts, check this out.

I’m a big fan of kale salads. They’re a pop of green in a season where not much is; they basically never wilt; and given how healthy they are, it’s hard not to feel righteous eating one.

My usual kale salad combines lacinato kale – the long, bumpy leaves that are almost glamorous in texture, also known as dinosaur kale – with pine nuts, raisins or currants, and shards of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese. It’s the sort of salad that’s good now, better later. My friend (and author of various guest posts on NDP) Jeremy pointed out that over time, as the kale wilts, it takes on a texture almost like seaweed, which is quite pleasant.

Last week, in the mood for kale salad, I opened the fridge to find I was fresh out of lacinato. I did have a bunch of regular curly-leaf kale, but I knew it would take a thicker, more serious dressing to tame those wiry leaves. Where did I turn? The humble avocado.

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Brownie perfection is in the eye of the beholder. Some like a moist, chewy brownie. (Others inexplicably prefer the cakey kind, but I’m not judging.) Katherine Hepburn liked brownies so chocolatey, they were black – but I’ve also met strange folks who don’t want to be hit over the head by the chocolate. (Again, not judging. Kinda.)

The brownie debate extends quite far: even Duncan Hines lists two options on their packaged brownie mix – one egg for chewy brownies, two for cake-like brownies.

Me, I like a brownie that’s moist and chewy – but it’s important to me that they hold to hold their shape when sliced. Mushy brownies have a time and a place – midnight or later, straight out of the pan, eaten alone or with someone I like a whole lot. For the more civilized occasions, give me a brownie that slices up nicely.

In the past, I’ve looked to Alice Medrich and Dorie Greenspan, who have developed recipes for truly bittersweet, moist brownies. Neither of my standby favorites have any additions, which can disrupt the otherwise smooth texture of good brownies.

But I’m not a total purist. I’ve always been a fan of peppermint brownies, and just as curious about the supporting role other flavors might be able to play. So yesterday, I pulled a stack of cookbooks off the shelf and began looking for inspiration: I wanted to make ginger brownies.

That expedition ended with a thud. I couldn’t find anything I was excited to make. So I turned to the interwebs, and quickly found myself a Martha recipe that looked mighty promising. Spiced with ground ginger, nutmeg, and cloves, they suggested prominent fall flavor but didn’t look too overpowering.

And here I am, blogging abut the recipe, so yes, friends. They were every bit as good as I’d hoped. The texture of these brownies comes pretty close to perfect, for me at least. Chewy and moist, but firm enough to stand up to a knife. I topped them with some of the lovely ginger salt I received from Marx Foods a while back for some sort of contest (I forget the context, but I’m pretty sure it was open to everyone, and they’re certainly not paying me to discuss it here). I was enamored enough of the topping that I’m encouraging you to do something similar below. It’s simple, really: combine ground ginger with coarse salt. Alternatively, snag the ginger salt from Marx Foods. It’s – er – worth its salt.

Ginger Brownies
adapted from Martha Stewart
makes 9 large brownies or 12 smaller brownies (1 8×8 pan)

Note: The ginger salt is out of stock, but equally wonderful is the espresso salt. Try it! If you don’t have fancy flavored salt, just take 1/2 teaspoon of flaky salt in a bowl, add a pinch of ground ginger, and stir until combined. Sprinkle sparingly over the brownies. If you’re not keen on that fuss, just use regular flaky salt.

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, plus more for baking dish
3 ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
1 cup sugar
2/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 cup unsweetened Dutch-process cocoa powder
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon grated peeled fresh ginger
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt, plus 1/2 teaspoon for sprinkling
1/8 teaspoon ground cloves

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Butter an 8-inch square baking dish. Line bottom with parchment paper, allowing 2 inches to hang over 2 sides. Butter parchment.

Melt butter and chocolate together in a small saucepan over medium-low heat, stirring until smooth. Remove from heat and allow to cool.

In a large bowl, combine dry ingredients and spices. Stir to combine fully. Add eggs, vanilla, and cooled chocolate mixture, and stir to fully combine.

Pour batter into prepared dish and smooth top with a rubber spatula. Sprinkle sparingly with either ginger salt or regular flaky salt. Bake until a cake tester inserted into center comes out with moist crumbs, 30 to 35 minutes. Let cool in pan on a wire rack 15 minutes. Lift out, and let cool completely on rack. Cut into 8 squares or 12 rectangles. Brownies can be stored in an airtight container at room temperature up to 4 days.

I didn’t believe it was possible to make a flavorful beef stew without beef stock, but this recipe proved me wrong. An unassuming combination of cheap stew meat, green beans, tomatoes, and spices come together on the stove and cook low and slow, turning into something distinctly more than the sum of its parts. The green beans melt into lusciousness while, miraculously, maintaining their texture through hours of cooking. And the tomatoes become a complex, silky sauce that coats the beef and does wonders for a bowl of hot rice.

I adapted this stew from a Food52 recipe that, quite frankly, needed no adapting. It calls for coriander and cumin, which I used in moderation, and which are quite lovely. However, I also added plenty of vadouvan, an intriguing blend combining many of the spices in curry – cumin, tumeric, mustard seeds – with more French spices like shallots and nutmeg. It’s positively seductive, and it works magic on this stew.

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You might — as I did — assume that any recipe written by the likes of Thomas Keller is completely out of reach for us mere mortals. Yes, he of the Best Restaurant in New York publishes books, with recipes in them. I have one of these books, and it isn’t even the crazy-complicated one. It’s Ad Hoc, the most approachable of his books, which documents the food from his family-style restaurant in Yountville. I’ve read it through several times; it’s a beautiful volume. It’s found a permanent home on our coffee table. Unfortunately, I’ve been too flat-out intimidated to actually make his food. The recipes look simple enough – farro with butternut squash, summer vegetable gratin, etc – but when you dig deeper, every recipe subtly calls for like eight other recipes. I was a bit put off.

You probably think I’m being lazy, or weak, or something. After all, better women have cooked every recipe from his high-end cookbook without breaking a sweat. (Okay, maybe a little sweat.) But I am not so bold. I confess, I tire at the site of long, involved recipes, especially when they’re ultimately meant to be eaten as a weeknight dinner. I believe there’s plenty of time to cook good food at home, even on weeknights, but multi-step recipes require either lots of time, or lots of foresight. These days, I have neither. But after this weekend, I do have a newfound enthusiasm and can-do spirit: I’m cooking (slightly adapted) Keller, and you can too.

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We spent this morning at a birthday brunch for our friend Matt. I’ve dubbed his wife “the hostess with the mostess plus,” because she’s simply the best hostess around. She welcoms friends and strangers alike into their home, and makes everyone feel like family. She and Matt even open their home to the community, year after year. But at the heart of the matter, “the hostess with the mostess plus” knows how to throw a party. When she received her doctorate, she threw a soiree that involved a live jazz ensemble, a chocolate fountain, and crepes to order, made by her late father, whom we all miss very much.

I was asked to bring an egg dish, which usually means a frittata. But when you go to brunch at the home of the hostess with the mostess plus, you best bring something real nice. So I went all fancy on you: I tucked my frittata recipe into mini-muffin cups. Whoa! Stop the presses.

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Somehow, D and I were hosted for all of our Rosh Hashana meals. Five times, we found ourselves in good friends’ homes, ripping off pieces of round, honey-dunked challah, and savoring slices of apples picked as nearby as Maryland, and as far as a friend’s hometown of Omaha. Five times, we ate way more than we needed to, fought to stop ourselves from taking one more piece of mushroom tart, one more spoonful of ethereal fennel soup, one more scoop of squash gratin, one more slice of my mom’s famous carrot kugel, one more bite of toasted coconut ice cream. Needless to say, we’re pretty stuffed.

(Another highlight, while we’re on the topic: my mom made a sweet-savory noodle kugel with feta. Talk about creative! I’m going to need that recipe.)

Alas, the languid pace and gluttonous eating of the past three days can’t go on indefinitely. There’s work – a new job, for one of us – right around the corner. And while, after weeks of working too hard and having little time for myself, it was great to not have to cook for this holiday, it also means that the fridge is strangely free of leftovers. Needless to say, I had to rectify that situation.

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