by rivka
on March 1, 2010
It’d be unfair if I didn’t confess to you that as I try to write about beets and fennel and orange and walnuts, I’m watching Lydia Bastianich add home-cured mackerel to cannelini bean bruschetta and red onion salad, and all I can think about is how delicious that oily, vinegary cured fish must taste. Holy dear, I need to turn this off.
Where were we? Ah, yes. Beets.
By now you know it’s winter here, I certainly don’t need to tell you that. And surely you’re also aware that I’m having a bit of a fennel moment. But stay with me for a second. Fennel is crunchy and bright, the perfect antidote to February (not that I have anything against my birthday month, but holy bejeezus, it’s cold out there!). Fennel’s also a lovely addition to roasted beets, helping them feel less like a mid-winter consolation prize and more like an antidote to that cold weather. Ditto oranges, one of the few fruits that not only is readily available all winter long, but actually hits its peak right around this time. (Granted, they’re shipped in from Florida and elsewhere, but until you find me a job and an apartment squarely in California, I’m stuck with airplane citrus.) Put those flavors together on a plate, along with some toasted walnuts, and you’ve got yourself a nice looking winter salad.
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by rivka
on February 26, 2010
I like sour things. I don’t mean tart or citrusy or with a faint hint of brightness; everyone likes that. I mean sharply, brightly, eye-squintingly mouth-puckeringly sour. I’ve been known to suck on the end of a lemon wedge on occasion. I love lemon-based vinaigrettes. Basically, if something’s a bit on the tart side, squeeze that lemon a couple more times, — op, maybe once more — give it one last little shake, yep just like that, and I’ll take it, thankyouverymuch.
But lemons aren’t the one-note that my sour obsession might suggest. They’re among the more versatile ingredients in your fridge, actually. In fact, when the kind folks at Washingtonian asked me if I had any advice for new cooks, I suggested keeping fresh lemons on hand, because they very often end up being the finishing touch to whatever it is I’m making. You’ve got the juice, fruity and sour and just a bit sweet at times; then there’s the zest, more mellow in tartness but fully present in aroma and flavor; and if that’s not enough dimension, there are endless things you can do to lemons to radically change the flavors they bring to the table, such as grill them, braise them, candy them, or….preserve them.
So what are preserved lemons, you ask? I’ll tell you this: their name is quite deceiving. If you’re thinking preserves, think again. This ain’t no jam. It’s not even sweet. It’s completely and utterly savory, in the most wonderful sense. Instead of preserving lemons with sugar as in marmalade, here you’re preserving them in salt. The lemons are either sliced, quartered, or packed whole into jars layered with plenty of salt and enough lemon juice to fill the jars, then allowed to sit about on the countertop for several days (or weeks) until the salt and lemon and time work together to do their magic. The result is at once vigorously tart and deeply aromatic. It hits sour and sweet and salty, yes salty, and then it opens up and hits you with floral, spicy notes. If fresh lemons are the finishing touch to many recipes, preserved lemons are the cornerstone to some truly spectacular food.
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by rivka
on February 21, 2010
It’s a rare day that I get to make lunch for myself at home. When I do, I tend to steer clear of the fancy in favor of those simple things that simply don’t work in my office toaster. Especially in winter, when I put a premium on warm, cozy meals and crusty, toasty bread, I feel especially lucky on those rare occasions that I can make a pot of something or other, pour it straight from the stove to my plate, and eat it piping hot.
Quite often, lunch at home amounts to a bowl of leftover soup, topped with some grated cheese and browned under the broiler, that I eat alternately with a big ole’ spoon and thick slice of toasted bread for dunking. But it’s not always soup that wins my vote when I’m home. Sometimes I prefer something I can really sink my teeth into, like a big bowl of long fusilli, my new favorite pasta. But other times, it’s neither soup nor pasta that does it. It’s something simpler, more elemental. It’s rice.
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by rivka
on February 14, 2010
If you’re like me, the snow isn’t the only thing that’s making you crawl the walls a bit this February. White stuff or not, it’s pretty hard to find a good lookin’ salad in these parts. Restaurants are peddling beets and potatoes with a very erstwhile passion, with nary a leaf in sight. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but the greens are endangered these days. And snowpocalypse didn’t help; at some point, a friend pulled out a bowl of lettuce, and someone at the table actually squealed with enthusiasm. If you’re listening, internet, I could really use some salad.
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by rivka
on February 11, 2010
The first morning after the snow started, I woke up in a bit of a frantic state. I knew there’d be no way to get to work, so rushing to the office was off the table. I had plenty of work to do, but the commute downstairs to my couch is about the length of President Obama’s. So why the rush? It was entirely the kitchen’s fault. The kitchen was packed solid with groceries, Y2K style, and I, in a way that only other cooking-obsessed people can understand, felt a sudden urge to cook it all.
Reader, I have cooking neuroses.
When cooking panic hits, there’s only one thing to do: get something started. And that’s just what I did. I pulled a big bowl off the shelf, added a few cups of flour, an itsy little bit of yeast, some salt, and a couple glugs of water. I stirred. I covered.
I’m sorry, did you want more steps?
Really, that’s all there is to this bread. It takes 2 minutes to start, and afterward, you have that wonderful sensation of having done something with your day. Works like a charm every time. As the name suggests, you don’t knead this bread; instead, you leave it alone to rise for about 18 hours, which develops both the flavor and the gluten that obviates the need to knead (hehe). To cook it, you heat a heavy pot in a very hot oven, then drop in the dough and listen to it sizzle. You bake it in that very hot oven mostly covered — the steam aids the bread’s rise — and then uncovered at the end, to achieve that crackly crust. It’s pretty much foolproof, and it yields a wonderfully flavorful loaf, every single time.
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by rivka
on February 10, 2010
So…yea. It’s been pretty snowy here, as you no doubt have heard. It’s not the kind of weather that makes you eager to jump off the couch and run to the grocery store. Fortunately, I subjected myself to supermarket hell before last weekend, when the first blizzard was on its way, and fortunately, I’m a typical Jewish woman and totally overshopped, so I’ve got plenty of food in the fridge.
If getting off my lazy derriere to go outside isn’t really in the cards, spending copious amounts of time in the kitchen most certainly is. The snow storm(s) provide an opportunity to make something complicated, something with steps, something luxurious, something you otherwise would flip past in favor of baked ziti. Raspberry streusel coffee cake was that thing for me.
I’ve been eyeing Rose Levy Berenbaum’s streusel coffee cake from her fantastic book The Cake Bible for quite some time. It’s easy to understand why: she’s an expert baker, and she says it’s one of her favorite cakes, so I assumed it’d instantly become one of mine. The recipe is a classic sour cream coffee cake that’s layered with a walnut streusel. It calls for 2 sticks of butter for the cake, another half stick for the streusel, 4 egg yolks, loads of sugar, and a few other things. Needless to say, this one ain’t gettin’ tagged “good for you.” But delicious? Oh yes.
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by rivka
on February 7, 2010
As I write this, the view outside my window is largely white. It’s been snowing for 29 straight hours here in DC, and over 30 inches have piled up on the ground. The sky is blue for the first time in two days, and people are just starting to move about outside, however cautiously. But not me. I was out last night for dinner, and out again early this morning; twice is enough for the time being. I’ve got oxtail stew cooling in the fridge, my sixth straight loaf of weekly no-knead bread undergoing its first rise, and raspberry streusel coffee cake on the counter. Yep — I’ve been cooking up quite a storm in here. But I’ll have to tell you about those another time. Right now, I can’t get my mind off caramelized apple crepes.
I first made these crepes the morning D and I left for Israel, and I’ve been dreaming about them ever since. It’s well known in these parts that I have a bit of a romance with luxurious breakfasts. From blueberry hotcakes to Dutch babies to stuffed french toast and more, I’m crazy about the kind of edible Sunday morning projects that remind you, no — you’re not at work today. I’ve often overlooked crepes as an at-home breakfast option, but I won’t be doing that anymore.
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by rivka
on February 4, 2010
At some point last year, I fell off the puff pastry cliff. It all started with this onion-date tart, one of the best and easiest recipes I’ve ever written. I made it once, twice, three times, and more; I couldn’t stop. I’d tweak a thing or two every time: I’d add mushrooms, swap the goat cheese for feta, add some roasted red peppers, etc. The tart never failed to please, so I just didn’t stop making it.
From there, I branched out to other similar tarts, like this one with zucchini and olives. Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner? Why had it taken so long to realize that when you pile delicious stuff on a buttery piece of dough and bake it off, the results are…delicious?
Just when I thought I’d had my revelation, D had had just about enough. She finally confessed that she hated all these tarts — these big pieces of flaky dough meant to pose as entrees — and that if I could stop making them, forever, that’dbegreatthanks. I was bummed: had I reached the end of puff pastry heaven so quickly? Without it, what else would I make? There was NOTHING else to make! Nothing but puff pastry! AACK!
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