A Cooking Life

Braising (and Stewing) Basics

2012-01-24T19:29:00.002-06:00

January and February are my favorite months of the year for making braises and stews. Here in the Midwest, the weather is technically appropriate from early fall and on in to March. But there's something about the slower pace of life after the holidays.....the slow processes of braising and stewing become very appealing.

Sunday was not really cold, but the weekend was generally blustery and gray—weather that seems to call for a braise. So for dinner on Sunday I prepared a variation of Alice Waters' Beef Stew from her book The Art of Simple Food. It was very good. It is also a classic and basic recipe. Since it has been my intention since I started this blog to write a post on the basic techniques of braising, now seems like a convenient time for such a post. I have included my variation of Ms. Waters' stew at the end of the post.

My understanding of the science of what is going on in the braising pot is mostly intuitive—based on practical experience and snatches of things I have read over the years. Consequently, I will not be delving into the science of the braise in my post. Rather I will be giving a step by step procedural of how a braise or stew is accomplished. My purpose, as always, is to get people cooking. It is my hope that after reading this that you will be able to execute any recipe for a braised meat with more confidence, eventually with more skill, and always with a measure of success.

For the remainder of the post, I will use the term braise and stew interchangeably. The only differences between a braise and a stew are the size of the cut of meat (braises are typically made with large cuts and stews with smaller pieces) and the amount of liquid involved (braises are usually accomplished in less liquid than a stew).

Braising is a moist heat cooking procedure. Its purpose is to tenderize. Cuts appropriate for braising will be tough, sinewy and often fatty. They frequently are located near or around a joint. They are loaded with collagen which, under the braising process, breaks down into gelatin. The final result of a well-prepared braise is meltingly tender and succulent pieces of meat. Examples of good braising cuts are lamb shoulder, lamb shank, veal shank (osso buco), veal breast, pork butt (shoulder), pork “country ribs”, beef chuck, beef brisket, beef short ribs, ox tail and chicken legs.

Braising does no favors for tender and lean cuts of meat. In fact, the long cooking will ruin these (usually expensive) cuts. When subjected to the long braising process, they will become dry and stringy. Classically you will find chicken breasts (a lean and tender cut) included in the French sauté—which is a type of stew. Unless you are using an old "stewing hen", I think that these kinds of preparations are better when made with just the legs and thighs, but if I do include the breasts, I always remove them when they are "just" done—which is some time before the stewing process is complete. This way the breasts are not really stewed—the cooking process they undergo is more akin to poaching or steaming. To finish these sautés that include the breasts, I return the breasts to the pan with the legs and thighs for a short reheat in the sauce just before serving.

Braises are even better if the meat is given a pre-cooking treatment of some sort. At a bare minimum I like to pre-salt the meat. This insures that the meat is well-seasoned throughout. I also think that it improves the texture of the final product. If you are not familiar with pre-salting, I wrote a short post about it last winter. Meats to be braised can also be treated to a dry rub and frequently they are marinated (in some wine, aromatic vegetables, herbs, spices, etc.). All of these things will improve and enhance flavor—but none are strictly necessary.

For the cooking of the braise, choose a pan/pot that is just large enough to comfortably hold the meat and any vegetables that will be added in a snug single layer. If the meats and vegetables are piled on top of one another they will not cook evenly. It is also best to choose a short-sided pan so that there is not a lot of air space left between the braising meats and the lid.

The first step of a braise is to brown the meat. Browning adds color and flavor to the final dish. This may be done in any fat of your choice (olive or vegetable oil, bacon fat, butter, etc.) in a pan on the stovetop. For large, unwieldy cuts, it is sometimes done by rubbing the entire piece of meat with fat and placing it on a rack in a hot oven (425° to 475°) and roasting until browned—20 to 30 minutes. Whichever method you choose, to get the most flavor you should make sure that all of the surfaces reach a deep, rich, solid brown.

When sautéing, the meat should first be patted dry (so that it won't steam) and the pan and fat should be very hot before you add the meat. Once the meat is added, regulate the temperature so that it is high enough to maintain an active sizzle, yet not so high that the meat (or the caramelization developing on the bottom of the pan) burns. If you have more meat than your pan can comfortably hold (there should be some space between the pieces of meat), brown in batches.

The process as described above is universally applicable to every braise with a couple of exceptions: Sometimes you will be directed to dredge the pieces of meat in flour prior to browning in fat on the stovetop. This aids in browning, but more importantly it will help thicken the final liquid. You will occasionally run across a classic "white" stew (like Blanquette de Veau) or other preparation (like the Mexicali Meat I posted last March) that is not browned at all.

When the meat is well-browned, lift it out of the pan. At this point aromatic vegetables (onion, garlic, leeks, carrot, celery, fennel, peppers, etc.) are usually added to the pan. You should adjust the amount of fat in the pan as necessary to obtain a thin film that will coat the vegetables. You may need to add more or pour off the excess. The vegetables may be caramelized or simply softened in the fat. This will depend on the depth of color desired in the final dish. Again, regulate the heat accordingly and as necessary.

Next, deglaze the pan. Basically deglazing a pan is dissolving the caramelized sugars and proteins left in a pan after roasting or pan-frying by adding a liquid. Any liquid may be used for this—water, stock/broth, wine, fortified wine, tomatoes, etc. Any fat remaining in the pan should be poured off before the deglazing liquid is added. The goal of deglazing is to capture the flavor in the caramelized food substance and preserve it for the sauce—or in this case the braising liquid. It isn't enough to simply add the liquid and allow it to boil, you need to use a flat wooden spoon (or something similar) to actively scrape the bottom of the pan. This will insure that the caramelized bits are released into the sauce. If wine or a fortified wine is used to deglaze, it should be boiled to reduce the volume, concentrate the flavor and soften the harshness of the alcohol. And although tomatoes are not as acidic as wine, when used as the deglazing agent for shorter braises (less than an hour—in a chicken sauté, for example), they too will benefit from a brief cooking to concentrate their flavor and soften their acidity.

Reducing the red wine used to deglaze the pan

Once the deglazing liquids have been reduced, return the meat to the pan. Sometimes the braising vegetables are removed from the pan prior to deglazing. If this is the case, return the vegetables to the pan with the meat. Next add the braising liquid. The liquid may be water, stock (if you are not able to match the stock to the meat, chicken stock makes a good all purpose cooking medium) or the wine marinade. When I use the wine that I have marinated the meat in as my braising liquid, I always bring it to a boil (in a separate pan) before using it, skimming off and discarding any impurities that rise to the surface in the form of foam. If this is a braise that will cook for less than 2 or 3 hours, reduce the wine marinade by half before using it as the braising liquid (for the same reason the deglazing wine is reduced—to rid it of the harshness of the alcohol and concentrate the flavor).

I mentioned at the beginning of the post that one of the differences between a braise and a stew is the amount of liquid used. If you are braising, you should add only enough liquid to come one-quarter to two-thirds of the way up the sides of the meat. If you are making a stew, the liquid should come all of the way up the sides of the pieces of meat so that only the tops of the pieces of meat are visible (some recipes will call for even more).

The stew...ready for its long simmer

Bring the liquid to a good simmer. Reduce the heat, cover tightly and cook. It is important that the cooking be accomplished at a bare simmer. A rapid simmer or hard boil will ruin the braise—it will produce dry, stringy, meat and murky, greasy sauces. Moreover, the meat will not cook any faster at a boil than it will at a bare simmer. The cooking may be done on the stovetop or in a low oven—whatever temperature produces a bare simmer. Start at 325° and check after the first 20 minutes and occasionally thereafter. Adjust the oven temperature as necessary.

I prefer to cook a braise in the oven—the oven will maintain a consistent, all around gentle heat (as opposed to strong bottom heat). The oven also mimics to some degree a "true" braise. The word braise is from the French and refers to a pot with a concave lid. This pot was filled with the meat, vegetables and liquid, placed directly in the coals and more coals were piled on top—creating an all around gentle heat. (Some recipes will direct you to press a piece of parchment or foil to the surface of the braise, underneath the lid. This creates an interior space in the pot similar to that of a traditional braising vessel.) The other thing I like about cooking the braise in the oven is that it requires less attention from me—and part of the beauty of a braise is that once started, it pretty much cooks itself.

When you check the braise, resist the temptation to stick a spoon in the pot to stir things up. This is completely unnecessary (particularly if the braise is in the oven and/or you have put the meat in a pan that holds it in a single layer). As the meat begins to get tender, stirring will cause the meat to shred and fall apart. In general, a finished braise should be comprised of beautiful chunks of glistening meat—not shredded bits.

If you are making a braise that uses very little liquid, it may be necessary to turn the meat over from time to time. But if this is the case, take the time to carefully turn each piece over with a tongs so that the pieces of meat will remain intact. Occasionally, the goal is shredded meat—if this is the case, it is of course fine to stir.

The braise is finished when the meat is meltingly tender. The tip of a knife will encounter no “grab” or resistance—it will slide in and slide out of the meat. Meats cooked on the bone will be nearly falling off of the bone. No matter what the recipe says, continue to cook until this point is reached—it may take 3 or 4 hours (or more for very large pieces of meat).

The final dish may include the aromatic vegetables from the initial cooking or they may be strained out for a more refined dish. When the sauce will not be strained, it is not uncommon for additional vegetable “garnish” to be added to and cooked with the braise. These vegetables are simply added at an appropriate point during the cooking process so that they are not only cooked, but very tender when the braise is done. A good example of this is the kind of pot roast my mother made when I was growing up. The pot roast was started with the onions and liquid and then an hour before she planned to serve it she added carrots and potatoes to the pot.

When the aromatic vegetables are strained out, a separately cooked vegetable garnish (poached, roasted, sautéed, etc.) is often added and simmered in the finished sauce with the meat for 5 or 10 minutes prior to serving. Good examples of this are the stew I am posting today or the Poulet Basquaise I posted a couple of years ago.

The finished stew, ready to serve--braising vegetables have been strained out, the sauce lightly thickened and fresh cooked carrots added.

To strain the sauce, lift the meat out to a plate and pour the remaining contents of the pot through a fine-meshed sieve (use a Chinois if you have one). I like to press on the contents of the sieve to extract as much liquid as possible, but inevitably, some of the soft, cooked vegetables will pass through the mesh. If this bothers you, press very gently, or don't press at all (but you will lose some of the precious sauce if you don't press). I don't mind when some of the vegetables get through—they have been reduced to a purée by virtue of the cooking and straining process and they only serve to thicken the sauce.

If not serving right away, cool the meat in its cooking liquid. Braised meats generally improve in flavor and texture if allowed to sit overnight (or for several hours). Furthermore, meats that are so tender they are falling apart will be easier to handle and serve if they are allowed to rest and/or cool in the cooking liquid.

Whether you are serving it right away or not, the liquid should be skimmed of as much of the surface fat as possible. This is easily accomplished if the braising vegetables are going to be strained out—strain the liquid into a deep container, allow it to sit for a moment or two and then use a ladle to skim off the fat. If you are not straining the sauce, a good trick is to skim off as much as you can with a spoon then take several thicknesses of paper towels and press them to the surface of the braise—the towels will absorb the fat first and the fat will repel the liquid, enabling you to get rid of the maximum amount of fat with minimal loss of the tasty sauce. If the stew is to be served the next day, simply chill it (without skimming) and the next day scrape/lift off the hardened fat.

The final step of the braise is to finish the sauce. It is rare for the sauce to be too thick, but if it is—or if there isn't enough of it (for a stew, for example), simply add some stock or water. If the sauce is too thin, it may be reduced—particularly if the flavor isn't as strong as you would like. To reduce the sauce it may be gently simmered or, if the meat and vegetables have been removed, boiled. A too thin sauce may also be thickened with a cooked roux or beurre manié (equal quantities of soft butter and flour, combined to make a paste). Bring the sauce to a simmer and whisk/stir in the roux/beurre manié a little bit at a time, waiting after each addition for it to take effect before adding more. You don't want it to be too thick... Taste and correct the seasoning and you are done.

The recipe for the stew I am posting today was intended to be a casual affair of big chunks of meat with the soft braising vegetables left in it...and I'm sure it would have been very good that way. But I was in the mood for something a bit less rustic, so I opted to strain out the braising vegetables. To the meat and finished sauce (thickened with a small amount of beurre manié) I added some freshly cooked carrots. I served it over buttered noodles (you should always serve a nice starch—potatoes, rice, couscous, noodles—with a stew or braise to soak up all of the wonderful sauce). Altogether it made an elegant, flavorful and satisfying Sunday night dinner. And if you are new to the technique of braising, this dish would be a good place to begin.

Red Wine Braised Beef

3 lbs. beef chuck, trimmed and cut into 1 1/2 to 2-inch cubes (see notes)
Salt & freshly ground pepper
2 T. olive oil
3 slices bacon, cut into 1/2-inch squares
2 onions, peeled and quartered
1 large or 2 small carrots, peeled and cut into 2-inch lengths
1 small head of garlic, cloves peeled and lightly crushed
2 cloves
2 sprigs thyme
1 bay leaf
a few peppercorns
3 T. brandy
1 1/3 c. red wine
half of a 14-oz. can whole peeled tomatoes, crushed with your hands
1 thin strip of orange zest
2 cups chicken stock
Kneaded butter (beurre manié—see notes)

Season the beef generously with salt and pepper. If possible, do this a day ahead. Wrap and chill. Whether you have pre-seasoned the meat or not, let it sit at room temperature for an hour before browning.

In a wide, heavy-bottomed pot, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the bacon and cook until rendered and lightly brown, but not crisp. Remove to a plate. Add the beef to the pan and brown well on all sides. If necessary, brown the meat in batches. Transfer the browned meat to the plate with the bacon. Pour off all but a tablespoon or so of the fat, reduce the heat slightly and add the onions, carrots, garlic, herbs and spices to the pan. Toss to coat in the fat and cook until lightly browned. Add to the platter with the beef.

Increase the heat and add the brandy—be careful, as the brandy may flame. Reduce by half and add the wine. Bring to a simmer and reduce the wine by two-thirds, scraping up all the brown bits from the bottom of the pan. When the wine is reduced, add the tomatoes, orange zest and stock. Bring to a simmer.

Return all of the meat and vegetables, along with any accumulated juices to the pan—everything should fig in a snug single layer. Check the level of the liquid. It should be at least three-quarters of the way up the sides of the beef. Add more stock, or water, if needed. Cover the pan and transfer to a 325° oven. Cook at a bare simmer until the meat is meltingly tender—2 to 3 hours. Check the stew occasionally to be sure that it is not boiling—reduce the oven temperature if it is (I ended up cooking the stew at 275°). If the level of the liquid becomes too low, add water.

When the meat is tender, remove the pan from the oven. Lift the pieces of meat out and transfer to a plate. Strain the liquid into a deep container, pressing on the solids to extract as much liquid as possible. Discard the solids. Allow the liquid to stand for few moments so that fat can separate to the surface. Skim away the fat. You should have a minimum of 2 cups of liquid. Return the liquid to the pan and bring to a simmer. If the liquid is too thin, gradually whisk in some of the kneaded butter until the sauce lightly coats the back of a spoon. Taste and correct the seasoning with salt and pepper. Return the meat to the sauce along with some cooked carrots (see notes). Cover and simmer very gently for 5 minutes to heat through and allow the flavors to blend.

Serve the meat, carrots and sauce over pappardelle noodles (2 oz. per person) tossed with butter and minced flat leaf parsley. Scatter more parsley over all. You should have enough meat and vegetables to make 4 to 5 generous servings.

Notes:
• I purchased a chuck roast that was 2-inches thick, so my pieces were on the large side—which I prefer. For slightly smaller, more traditional "stew" sized pieces, try to find a chuck roast that is 1 1/2-inches thick. (And you should purchase a whole chuck roast when you make stew—the "stew meat" sold at the butcher's counter is odds and ends of different cuts—some of which are really not that great for stewing. If you don't want to cut it yourself, purchase a whole roast and ask the butcher to cut it for you.)

3 lb. beef chuck roast

Cut into chunks for stewing. The 3 lb. roast yielded 4 oz. of fatty trim and 14
nice sized pieces and 3 slightly smaller pieces.

• For this recipe I mixed together a tablespoon of butter and a tablespoon of flour for the beurre manié. I used half to three-quarters of this mixture to thicken the sauce.
• To prepare the carrots to add to the final stew, trim and peel a pound of carrots. Slice the carrots a generous 1/2-inch thick on the diagonal. Place the carrots in a covered pan (something wide and shallow) along with a tablespoon of butter and a generous sprinkling of salt. Add enough water to the pan to come half way up the carrots. Cover, bring to a boil and simmer until the carrots are tender—about 20 minutes. Uncover, increase the heat and cook until the liquid has evaporated and the carrots are glazed with the butter.

• Alice Waters suggests adding a half cup of pitted black olives to the finished braise and while I didn't do this, I think it would be very good. Add with the carrots to the strained sauce.

(Recipe adapted from The Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters)

Basmati Pilaf with Dried Tart Cherries & Pistachios

2012-01-19T11:46:00.002-06:00

I love grain pilafs. I love their textures...I love their taste possibilities...I love their versatility. They can always be counted on to make an interesting side dish, but more and more, I am enjoying them as the main event. And because many of the things I like to put in my pilafs are pantry staples—grains, nuts, dried fruits, spices—they can be pulled together quickly and easily without too much advance planning.

Typically I don't think of making a meatless entrée pilaf out of rice (possibly because rice is fixed in my mind as a side dish). But recently, when I ran across a recipe for a Chicken, Chickpea and Rice Pilaf at Cookstr, the presence of the chickpeas made me think of a couple of bulgur pilafs that I have posted here—both of which I serve as a main course. I thought a meatless pilaf in the style of this one would make a good main course too. And it did.

To make the pilaf, I started with a base of saffron rice. One of the tastiest ways I have ever had saffron rice is with a topping of crispy fried onions. I'm not crazy about frying in general—and certainly not for a weeknight meal (every cook has certain tasks they would rather not do)—so I just incorporated some caramelized onions into the base of a French-style pilaf. It isn't the same, but it tasted very good.

Lightly caramelized onions

Briefly cooking the rice with the onions

Other changes I made to the pilaf were aimed at adding color and a bit of contrasting tartness. With an eye to both of these things, I substituted tangy and dark dried tart cherries for the pale and sweet golden raisins. I added more color by using pistachios instead of almonds. For a final bit of zip, I sizzled the chickpeas in some olive oil along with a bit of Cayenne.

Serving the pilaf with plain yogurt adds some nice contrast too. If you are not going to serve it with yogurt, you should definitely give the pilaf a squeeze of lemon juice at the end. Even if you are serving it with yogurt, you might still want to add the lemon—it seems to lift and enhance all of the other flavors.

The original pilaf didn't include a roasted vegetable. Because I like chunks of vegetables in my main course pilafs, I added some roasted carrots.

Carrots roasted with cumin and coriander

If you don't like carrots, cubed and roasted winter squash would also be good. And while they have an entirely different flavor profile, I think turnips would be a nice option too (or almost any root vegetable, for that matter).

I do of course understand that many people feel they haven't had dinner if they haven't had meat or fish. If you fall into that category, you can still make this flavorful pilaf. Just serve it as a side—as is, or without the carrots and chickpeas. I think it would be especially nice with lamb...but fish—or the original chicken—would be good too.

Basmati Pilaf with Chickpeas, Dried Tart Cherries & Pistachios

1 lb. carrots, peeled and cut on the diagonal 1/3-inch thick
Salt & Pepper, to taste
olive oil
1/2 t. (heaped) ground cumin
1/2 t. (heaped) coriander

2 T. olive oil
1 medium onion (about 8 oz.), diced
1 fat clove garlic, minced
Salt
1 c. basmati rice
2 c. boiling water
a generous pinch of saffron

1/2 c. dried tart cherries
1 T. olive oil
1 15-oz. can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1/8 t. Cayenne (or more to taste)
3 T. minced flat-leaf parsley
1/2 c. toasted pistachios, coarsely chopped
Lemon juice, to taste (optional)

Place the carrots in a large bowl. Season to taste with salt & pepper. Add enough olive oil to coat along with the spices and toss to coat. Spread on a baking sheet. Roast in a 425° oven until tender and browned in spots, stirring once—about 25 to 30 minutes. Set the vegetables aside until ready to assemble the pilaf and reduce the oven temperature to 350°.

While the vegetables roast, warm 2 T. olive oil in a medium saucepan with a tight fitting lid over moderate heat. Add the onions along with a pinch of salt and cook until they are tender and beginning to caramelize (20 minutes or so). Add the garlic and cook until fragrant—about a minute.

Add the saffron to the water and keep hot.

Increase the heat under the onions to medium high and add the rice along with a generous pinch of salt. Continue to cook for a 2 minutes or until the rice is well-coated with oil and has begun to turn opaque. Add the water and bring to a full boil. Season with salt, reduce the heat to low, cover and transfer to a 350° oven. Cook for 18 minutes. Remove from the oven and scatter the cherries over the surface of the rice.

Cover and let stand for 5 minutes.

While the rice is resting, warm a tablespoon of oil to a medium sauté pan. Add the chickpeas and cayenne and heat through. Return the roasted vegetables to the oven to heat through.

Transfer the rice and cherries to a large bowl. Add the carrots, chickpeas, pistachios, and parsley. Toss until everything is well combined.

Taste and correct the seasoning with salt and pepper. If the pilaf tastes flat, add a squeeze of lemon. Serve accompanied by some plain yogurt. Serves 3 or 4 as an entrée.

Cauliflower Pizza with Cheddar & Bacon

2012-01-15T16:48:00.000-06:00

In a recent post I mentioned that I've been on a bit of a pizza making kick. I still am. This week we had a pizza that seemed—to me at least—a bit unusual: Cauliflower with Sharp Cheddar and Bacon. It was delicious. I have always believed that just about any vegetable could be turned into a successful topping for a pizza and it is in the spirit of that belief that I am sharing this recipe.

Since anything that releases water during the cooking process (i.e. most vegetables) needs to be cooked before it can be used to top a pizza, I sliced and sautéed the cauliflower first. If you prefer, you could roast the cauliflower: Cut it into uniform florets, toss it in some olive oil and roast in a hot oven. I would not recommend blanching or steaming since both of these methods would introduce more water...not to mention the fact that sautéed or roasted cauliflower is so much more interesting than cauliflower that has been boiled or steamed. If you have never sautéed cauliflower before, check out my post on Pasta with Sautéed Cauliflower from last winter.

To go with the cauliflower, I simply chose some traditional pizza toppings that taste good with cauliflower. For a cheese, sharp Cheddar was at the top of my list, but Gruyère and Parmesan would also be good. I think cauliflower needs something salty, so I added some bacon. You could go meatless and use capers and/or olives as your salty component—just add them to the cauliflower sauté towards the end (as in the pasta post). Finally, I added some caramelized onions. I like the sweetness they contribute...but if you are short on time, you could probably leave them off.

As I said at the start, this pizza was delicious. I can't think of a better way to get someone who thinks they don't like cauliflower to give it a try. I love cauliflower now, but this hasn't always been the case. I don't remember the moment when I began to enjoy cauliflower, but I'm guessing it involved either caramelization (from roasting or sautéeing) or cheese....and possibly some bacon. This pizza scores on all points.

Cauliflower Pizza with Cheddar & Bacon

3 strips of bacon (about 3 oz.), cut cross-wise in 1/4-inch strips
1 small onion (4 or 5 oz.), trimmed, halved, cored and thinly sliced
Half a medium head of cauliflower, leaves trimmed and tough core removed—you should have about 10 to 12 oz. of trimmed weight
1 to 2 T. Olive oil
1 ball of pizza dough (see below), rested
5 oz. Sharp Cheddar, coarsely grated

Place the bacon in a medium sauté pan and cook over medium-low heat until well-rendered and beginning to crisp. Using a slotted spoon, remove to a paper towel. Pour off all but a tablespoon of the bacon fat and add the onions to the pan along with a pinch of salt and increase the heat a bit. When the onions begin to sizzle, reduce the heat to low, cover the pan, and cook—stirring occasionally—until the onions are soft (20 to 30 minutes). Uncover, increase the heat and cook until the onions are caramelized—about 10 minutes. Set aside until cool enough to handle.

While the bacon and onions cook, lay the half cauliflower—cut surface down—on the cutting board. Slice in 1/8- to scant 1/4-inch thick slices. You will have slices of varying size cross-sections and small bits of floret when you are done.

Warm a tablespoon of olive oil in a large sauté pan (the pan should be large enough to hold the cauliflower in a shallow layer—if it is piled to high it will steam rather than sauté) over medium to medium-high heat. Add all the slices of cauliflower to the pan, for the moment leaving the smaller bits behind on the cutting board. The cauliflower should sizzle gently in the pan.

Allow it to cook undisturbed until the edges are beginning to brown—about 3 minutes or so. Add the remaining bits of cauliflower and a light sprinkle of salt and give the contents of the pan a toss or two (or stir and fold) to redistribute the cauliflower in the pan.

If the pan seems dry, drizzle in a bit more oil. Continue to cook, regulating the heat so the cauliflower doesn't burn and tossing or stirring only as the bits and edges of the cauliflower take on color (the amount of stirring will probably less than you are inclined to do).

Continue to cook until the cauliflower is tender and caramelized.

The volume will have shrunk quite a bit. The total cooking time will be about 15 minutes. Taste and correct the seasoning. Set aside to cool. Combine the bacon, cauliflower and onions. Taste and season with salt & pepper as necessary.

Build the pizza: On a lightly floured surface, roll the dough out into a 12-inch circle. Transfer the dough to a pizza pan, baking sheet or pizza peel that has been dusted with flour. Using your fingers, push up the edges of the dough to make a slight rim. Scatter half of the cheese over the dough. Spread the cauliflower mixture over the cheese and scatter the remaining cheese over all.

If using a pizza pan or baking sheet, place the pizza in the pan on a pre-heated pizza stone in a pre-heated 450° to 500° oven. Bake until the crust is golden brown on the bottom and the cheese is bubbling, about 12 to 15 minutes. To insure a crisp crust, slide the pizza off of the pan and onto the pizza stone as soon as the crust is set (after 4 or 5 minutes).

If using a peel, slide the pizza directly onto the preheated baking stone. Bake until the crust is golden brown on the bottom and the cheese is bubbling—about 8 to 10 minutes.

When the pizza is done, transfer to a cutting board and cut into wedges and serve.

Pizza Dough:
1 cup warm water (100º-110º)
1 package (2 1/4 t.) active dry yeast
2 1/2 to 3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 T. olive oil
1 t. salt

Combine the water, yeast, and 1 1/2 cups of the flour in a large bowl. Whisk until smooth. Add the oil, salt and another cup of the flour. Stir with a wooden spoon to form a soft dough that holds its shape. Scrape the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and sprinkle with a bit more flour. Knead the dough, adding just enough flour to keep the dough from sticking, until the dough is smooth and springs back when pressed lightly with a finger—about 5 to 10 minutes. Transfer the dough to a lightly oiled bowl and cover the bowl with plastic wrap. Let rise until doubled in bulk—about 1 hour. Punch down the dough and turn it onto a lightly floured surface. Divide the dough into two pieces (for 12”-pizzas) and roll into balls. Cover with a towel and let rest for 10 to 20 minutes. The dough is now ready to be shaped, topped and cooked or frozen.

(Crust recipe adapted from The New Basics Cookbook by Julee Rosso & Sheila Lukins)

Variation for a Whole Wheat Crust: Instead of unbleached all-purpose flour, use 1 ½ c. bread flour and 1 to 1 ½ c. whole wheat flour (the new “white” whole wheat flour is a good choice).

Lunch of leftover pizza and Waldorf Salad

Classic Waldorf Salad

2012-01-09T21:58:00.000-06:00

Nothing complicated or fancy today...just a quick post of one of my favorite winter salads: Classic Waldorf. I know there are lots of variations on this old favorite, but to me a Waldorf Salad should just be apples, walnuts, raisins and celery (not too much!), lightly bound with a sweet and tangy mayonnaise-based dressing. At a time of year when raw and fresh seem like a distant memory, the presence of this crunchy and juicy salad on the table is a delight.

Waldorf Salad

1/4 cup mayonnaise
1 T. lemon juice (or more to taste)
1 T. honey

2 medium-sized sweet-tart apples (I like Pink Lady), cored and cut into 1/2-inch pieces
1 large rib of celery, trimmed, halved lengthwise and thinly sliced
1/2 c. (2 oz.) toasted walnuts, coarsely broken
1/2 cup (heaping) golden raisins

Place the mayonnaise, lemon juice and honey in a small bowl and whisk to combine. Taste and correct the sweet-tart balance with lemon juice. Set aside.

Place the remaining ingredients in a bowl.

Pour the dressing over and fold together until the apples, celery, walnuts and raisins are evenly dressed.

Serves 3 or 4.

Creamy Cauliflower Soup

2012-01-03T16:58:00.001-06:00

My first class in the new year will be a soup class. One of the soups I will be making is a simple and elegant Creamy Cauliflower Soup. The original inspiration for this soup was Alfred Portale's Cauliflower Vichyssoise. Made with cauliflower and leek instead of potato and leek, I think its texture is even more smooth and silky than its namesake. It is identical in color to a traditional potato leek soup, so it might be possible to trick someone who normally wouldn't be inclined to like cauliflower into trying it. I think that once tasted though, it will be finished (with possible requests for seconds). This soup, with its mild flavor and amazing texture, is easy to like.

I have changed Portale's soup only slightly. Since cauliflower lacks the natural starch present in potatoes, I have added a small amount of rice to the soup (just like the Celery Root & Apple Soup I posted in November). In this soup the starch isn't really necessary for thickening, but it does act as a binder, enhancing the velvety texture and keeping the vegetable solids and liquids from separating.

The other change I have made is to finish the soup with heavy cream. I just can't help myself. You can of course leave it out, but I think its presence would be missed. When you think about the number of servings you can get out of two quarts of soup, the amount of cream per person is really pretty small. If the cream truly bothers you, maybe use less. But as I tell my classes, I don't think that Americans are getting fat because they put heavy cream in their homemade soups.

My favorite way to garnish this soup is with toasted walnuts and crumbled Roquefort,

but there are many other possibilities. These same two ingredients could be served on a crostini and floated on the surface of the soup (like the goat cheese crostini that garnishes my Asparagus Soup). Alfred Portale suggests a cauliflower garnish. To make it he removes three or four large florets of cauliflower from the simmering soup after 3 or 4 minutes (they should be barely tender), slices them thinly. The nice looking slices are sautéed in a bit of butter and are set afloat in each bowl of soup (accompanied by a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkling of chives). Any not-so-nice slices and bits of cauliflower are returned to the simmering soup.

I have never tried it, but I think that crisp bits of bacon, some grated white cheddar and minced chives would also make a nice garnish....or some nice little garlic or parmesan croutons along with some minced parsley....

As I gathered my ingredients to make this soup, I was struck by the monochromatic color palate of the ingredients.

After the bright and intense colors of the holiday season, the whites, ivories and pale greens of the ingredients had such a tranquil look about them. The flavor too of this soup is simple and clean. It seems that making it...and eating it...could be a nice curative for the over-stimulation of our holiday season. Happy New Year.

Creamy Cauliflower Soup

4 T. unsalted butter
1 small to medium onion (6 to 8 oz.), diced
3 leeks, white and pale green only, thinly sliced (to make 3 to 4 cups) and thoroughly rinsed in several changes of water
1 T. rice
2 med. cauliflower, cored and cut into uniform florets (you will have about 7 c., weighing roughly 1 3/4 lb.)
5 c. water or light chicken stock (or half water and half stock)
1 c. heavy cream

Melt the butter in a large saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the onions and leeks along with a pinch of salt and sweat until translucent—do not let them color. Add the rice

and cook a minute or two. Add the cauliflower and some salt and stir to coat. Cook for a few minutes. Add the water or stock (I like to use half stock and half water) and salt to taste.

Increase the heat and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to maintain a gentle simmer and cook for 18 to 20 minutes or until the cauliflower is quite tender.

Purée the soup and pass through a fine strainer. Add the heavy cream and heat the soup through. If necessary, thin with water or stock. To serve, gently reheat the soup. When hot, taste and correct the seasoning. Serve immediately with a garnish of your choice.

Makes 2 generous quarts

Smoked Salmon Rillettes

2011-12-30T13:31:00.001-06:00

For my final post of 2011 I wanted to share one of my very favorite appetizers—Smoked Salmon Rillettes. This dish is simple to prepare and can be served in either an elegant or a rustic setting. It would be perfect for sharing at a potluck or serving at your own formal (or not-so-formal) dinner. Hopefully I'm posting it just in time for those New Year's Eve celebrations.

Rillettes are a rustic kind of pâté. Traditionally they are made with pork, duck/goose, rabbit...even game. Tough, sinewy and frequently fatty cuts of meat (or combination of meats) are cooked using the slow, tenderizing process of the braise (using stock, water and/or wine) or, more frequently, the confit (submerged in fat—lard or duck/goose fat—and cooked very gently and slowly). The resulting meltingly tender meat is deboned, shredded and combined with some of the braising liquid or confit fat and packed into a terrine or crock. The chilled rillettes are then served with crusty baguettes. If you have ever tasted rillettes, you probably remember them...they are unbelievably tasty and dangerously addictive.

When I was in cooking school we were taught how to make a "modern" adaptation of rillettes using a combination of fresh and smoked mackerel. From my description of rillettes in general you have probably picked up on the fact that rillettes are not a low-fat food. In fact, I would say that one of the hallmarks of rillettes is their unctuous texture—due, in not a small part, to their fat content. The transformation of rillettes into a preparation made with mackerel is quite logical since mackerel is a very fatty fish. The addition of the smoked mackerel adds a salty quality that nicely echoes the characteristic saltiness of the confited meats and poultry that are typically used to make the traditional versions of rillettes.

Later in my career when I came across a recipe for rillettes made with salmon (also a fatty fish), I immediately gave it a try. It was delicious and I fell in love with it. The recipe was from Alfred Portale's 12 Season's Cookbook and it uses the same method as the mackerel rendition that I had first tasted in London: The fresh fish is poached, flaked and folded into a mixture of puréed smoked fish, soft butter, crème fraiche, lemon and herbs. For a long time, I was very happy with this version...and would have remained so if a friend and colleague hadn't shown me a recipe for salmon rillettes from Anne Kearney that ran in the NY Times several years ago.

The recipe for salmon rillettes that I make today is a combination of the things I like best from Anne Kearney's recipe for Double Salmon Rillettes and Alfred Portale's recipe. Most significantly, the smoked salmon is not puréed in Ms. Kearney's recipe. Instead, sliced smoked salmon is cut into thin strips

and folded together with the flaked poached salmon. This gives a rustic, ropey texture to the final dish—very much in keeping with the look and texture of traditional rillettes. The other "genius" moment in her recipe involves reducing the liquid the fish was poached in to a syrup which is then added to the rillettes. This addition adds depth and richness to the final dish.

When you make salmon rillettes, remember that the quantities given in the recipe are guidelines. You should play with this recipe and make it your own. Some recipes use equal quantities of fresh and smoked salmon (Alfred Portale's, for example) and some use half as much smoked as fresh (like Anne Kearney's). My preference is somewhere in the middle—probably closer to equal quantities. The crème fraiche and butter too should be added to suit your preferences for taste and consistency. Just start with the recommended amount and then add more if you like—or, next time add less. And the lemon and herbs should always be added to taste.

I will end this my final post of the year with a simple observation. My experience with discovering a new and better version of rillettes when I was already very satisfied with the recipe I had illustrates what is I think one of the great lessons of cooking—at least for us "perfectionist" types. That is, that I should never think that any one version of a dish I love contains the be all and end all of methods. There will always be new and different ways of doing things....and learning these things will only improve my skills. This is one of the things I have grown to truly love about cooking. It is a never ending adventure and a constant learning process. It is never boring—at least it doesn't have to be. So as we end one year and begin another, I'll wish you not only a Happy New Year(!), but also "Happy Cooking!"

Rillettes de Saumon Fumé

(Smoked Salmon Rillettes)

1/2 lb. skinless salmon fillet, cut into 2-inch chunks (see note)
Kosher salt and freshly ground white pepper to taste
1 large or 2 small shallots, finely diced
5 T. very soft unsalted butter, divided
1 1/2 c. dry white wine
6 oz. smoked salmon, thinly sliced and cut into thin strips
1/4 c. crème fraiche or sour cream
grated zest of 1 lemon
juice of 1/2 lemon, more or less to taste
1 T. chopped fresh dill—more or less to taste—plus more sprigs for garnish
1 T. finely minced fresh chives—more or less to taste

Season the salmon with salt and pepper. Smear the bottom of a medium sauté pan with 1 T. of soft butter and add the wine and shallots. Add the salmon

and bring to a simmer. Cook until the salmon is almost done—it will flake and have a trace of translucence in the center. (In my experience the salmon is just about perfectly cooked if you do the following: Once the wine has come to a good simmer, cover the pan and remove it from the heat. The salmon should be just right after about 7 to 10 minutes—break a piece open to check.) Lift the salmon out (leaving as many shallots behind as possible) and place it in a bowl; set aside. Bring the poaching liquid to a boil and reduce to a syrup (you’ll have about 2 T.).

Strain the reduced liquid over the salmon, pressing hard on the solids to extract as much liquid as possible. Let cool.

Add the remaining ingredients to the cooled salmon and gently fold until the mixture is homogenous (the rillettes will be chunky and the poached salmon will break down into shreds). Make sure that the butter is very soft when you add it; cream it before adding in a separate bowl—or against the side of the mixing bowl—if it is not.

Taste and adjust the seasonings with salt and pepper and lemon juice. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours or for up to 24 hours.

Serve on crostini or crackers as individual prepared hors d’oeuvres or in a bowl surrounded by toasted sliced baguette and crackers. Garnish the individual hors d'oeuvres or the bowl with sprigs of dill.

Makes about 2 1/2 cups, serving 8 as an appetizer.

Note: I think salmon rillettes are at their best when made with fatty King Salmon.

Almond Crescent Cookies

2011-12-23T09:43:00.000-06:00

I have been making Christmas cookies for as long as I can remember. Over the years I have amassed quite a collection of recipes, but Spritz cookies—my childhood favorite—always remained at the top of the list. A few years ago I ran across a recipe for Almond Crescents in Rose Levy Beranbaum's Rose's Christmas Cookies. This cookie has supplanted Spritz cookies as the one cookie that I have to make every year...no matter how busy I am. Even this year—which has been busier than recent seasons—I have still managed to make a couple of batches of crescents. So it seems fitting to end my short parade of Christmas cookie posts with this, my favorite Christmas cookie to bake and give.

An unassuming little cookie, the crescent is generally not the first cookie that people gravitate towards when they approach the cookie platter (unless they have had one before). But it is always the one people remark upon. Similarly, I was not particularly attracted to them the first time I flipped through Beranbaum's book. Fooled by their plain and simple appearance and a bit put off by the rather fussy process of molding the crescents, I too almost passed them by.

Forming the little crescents is indeed a bit of a tedious task (although the dough itself is extremely easy to make), but as it turns out, one of the things I love about these cookies is the precise work of portioning and forming the crescents. It forces me to slow down for a bit during this perennially busy season and enjoy the moment. I always put on my favorite Christmas movie—White Christmas—and hum along as I work. I know the movie by heart, so I don't have to have my eyes on the screen all the time. Although, I admit to having to stop and sit down to watch Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye do the "Sisters" number—I never get tired of it. And when Rosemary Cluny sings "Love, You Didn't Do Right by Me"—that also requires a pause in my work...such an amazing voice.

All and all, a very pleasant and quiet way to spend an evening during the holidays. And the results are more than worth it. Tender and with a delicate crunch, these cookies have an addictive, faintly cinnamon-y, almond flavor. Everyone I have ever given them to remembers them and seems very pleased when they find a few tucked into their gift once again.

Almond Crescents

2 oz. (2/3 c.) blanched sliced almonds
1/3 c. (2.25 oz.) sugar
1 c. (2 sticks) unsalted butter
2 c. plus 1 T. (8.25 oz.) all-purpose flour
1/4 t. salt
1/2 c. sugar
1/2 t. cinnamon

In a food processor fitted with the metal blade, process the almonds and the sugar until the almonds are ground very finely.

Cut the butter into a few pieces and add. Process until smooth and creamy.

Scrape the sides of the bowl and add the flour and salt. Pulse just until the flour is incorporated. Scrape the dough onto a piece of plastic wrap, press into a thick disc, wrap it tightly and refrigerate for about 2 hours or until the dough is firm.

Combine the 1/2 c. sugar and cinnamon and set aside.

Divide the dough into 6 equal portions (use a scale to divide the dough so that your crescents will all be the same size). Work with 1 section at a time, keeping the remainder of the dough refrigerated. Knead the dough between lightly floured hands until malleable. Roll the dough into a 10-inch cylinder.

Cut into 10 1-inch segments.

Take one segment at a time and roll it into a 3/4-inch ball. On a lightly floured counter, or between your palms, roll each ball into a cylinder with tapered ends, about 3 inches in length and 1/2-inch thick in the middle. Form each cylinder into a crescent shape and place on an ungreased or parchment-lined cookie sheet 1 inch apart (30 cookies will fit on a standard-sized half sheet pan/cookie sheet).

Bake the cookies for 14 to 16 minutes in a 325° oven until set but not brown. Cool the cookies on the sheet for 10 minutes (if you try to lift them off immediately, they will fall apart).

While they are still warm, use a small, angled metal spatula or pancake turner to lift them from the sheets and dip them, 1 at a time, in the cinnamon sugar, turning gently to coat all over.

When the cookies are completely cool, transfer to an air tight container for storage. Makes 5 dozen cookies.

(Recipe from Rose’s Christmas Cookies, by Rose Levy Beranbaum)

Christmas cookie platter with (among other things) Almond Crescents, Cucidati, Cranberry-Pistachio Biscotti & Scottish Shortbread Fans.

Chocolate Almond Toffee

2011-12-19T23:58:00.002-06:00

Last year I posted a recipe for the "Best-Ever Nut Brittle" that originally ran in the December 2007 issue of Food & Wine. One of the things that makes it truly the "best-ever" is the use of roasted salted nuts. So when a couple of years later the same magazine ran a recipe for Chocolate-Almond Toffee using roasted salted almonds, I sat up and took notice.

The recipe I am posting today is a slightly altered version of that Food & Wine recipe. I love the use of salted nuts and the addition of even more salt, but I wasn't crazy about the fact that the finished toffee was completely encased in chocolate. As strange as it might sound, that's simply too much chocolate—it overwhelms the flavor of the toffee. My version (like a lot of versions) only has chocolate on the top.

Another significant change I made to the recipe was to substitute a small amount of corn syrup for some of the granulated sugar. Corn syrup helps to prevent re-crystallization of the sugar. If you are new to candy making and the process of cooking sugar syrups, check out last year's brittle post for some other pointers on how to prevent crystallization.

The original recipe gave instructions for pouring the toffee into an 8- by 11-inch pan. This results in a finished toffee that is quite thick. I have made the recipe in a 9- by 13-inch pan, and while this is somewhat better, it is still too thick for me. I find that I like it best when it is on the thin side, so I like to pour it onto a half sheet pan, covering about 2/3 of the pan. This is obviously a personal preference—you should make the toffee in a thickness that pleases you.

As you pour out the hot toffee, move the saucepan back and forth over the prepared sheet pan so that the candy is spread in as even a layer as is possible. Even though it is quite fluid, it tends to want to stay where you pour it. If you pour it out into a pile in the center of the sheet, it will spread out somewhat, but it will still be very thick in the center and much thinner toward the edges. Unfortunately, it is difficult to spread or otherwise manipulate with a spatula (or spoon) once it has been poured out.

During the entire toffee making (or any candy making) process, treat the hot sugar syrup with respect—giving it your full attention. Keep small children and animals, as well as anything else that might distract you, out of the kitchen. The final temperature of the candy is 300° F. This will inflict a serious burn on any flesh that it touches.

Finally, I wanted to call attention to the fact that the recipe calls for both coarsely chopped and finely chopped almonds. The coarse almonds are added to the toffee, while those that are finely chopped are scattered over the chocolate. It is not necessary to chop the coarse and fine separately—it can all be done at once. Simply put all of the almonds on the cutting board

and begin chopping until all of the nuts are chopped and the largest pieces are "coarsely chopped". The chopping process will have naturally produced coarsely and finely chopped bits.

Scoop all of the nuts into a dish and shake it back and forth and side to side. The larger pieces will percolate to the top of the dish. Lift out three ounces of these larger pieces. Return the remaining ounce of almonds (most will be very fine) to the board and run your knife through them a few times until all are fine.

I am not certain that I would presume to call the toffee I make the "best-ever"...but I do think that it is awfully good. Suffice it to say that I am no longer on the lookout for a toffee recipe. This is the toffee that I will be making for my family and friends for many holiday seasons to come.

Chocolate Almond Toffee

1 1/3 c. sugar (267 g)
2 T. water
8 oz. (2 sticks) unsalted butter, sliced
2 T. light corn syrup (41 g)
1 t. kosher salt
2 t. vanilla
1 c. roasted salted almonds (4 oz.), 3/4 coarsely chopped and 1/4 finely chopped
4 oz. bittersweet chocolate, chopped

Line a half sheet pan with aluminum foil. Butter the foil, or spray with spray release ("Pam"). Set aside.

In a large saucepan, combine the sugar, water, butter and corn syrup and cook over moderate heat until the sugar dissolves. Increase the heat to medium high and bring to a boil.

If there are any sugar crystals visible on the side of the pan, brush the pan's sides with a pastry brush dipped in water, repeating until any sugar crystals disappear. Continue to cook, stirring constantly, until the toffee is deeply golden and registers 300°F on a candy thermometer—about 10 minutes.

Remove from the heat and carefully stir in the vanilla and salt. Use a long handled spoon—the mixture will bubble vigorously. Stir in the coarsely chopped almonds, then immediately scrape the brittle onto the prepared pan. Tilt the pan to spread evenly.

Let cool for 10 minutes. Scatter the chopped chocolate over the toffee and spread into a thin layer when melted.

Scatter finely chopped almonds evenly over the chocolate.

Let cool completely. Break into pieces and store air-tight. Makes about 1 1/2 pounds Chocolate Almond Toffee.

Note: The toffee goes together more easily if you place the coarsely chopped nuts in a 300° oven while the syrup boils—that way the nuts won’t bring down the temperature of the candy syrup when they are added

Italian Fig Cookies (Cucidati)

2011-12-16T12:04:00.000-06:00

I finally got around to starting my annual Christmas cookie baking last Sunday. There are many years when it is likely that it would never happen at all if it weren't for the fact that I teach a class that features eight of my favorite Christmas cookies. (This is one of those years...) I have already posted two of the cookies that I teach in my class—Scottish Shortbread and Cranberry-Pistachio Biscotti. Today I thought I would share the recipe for Italian Fig Cookies (Cucidati).

I found this recipe in Gourmet magazine almost ten years ago. For several years running (2000 through 2006) Gourmet Magazine's December issue was filled with recipe after recipe of amazing Christmas cookies. I looked forward to that issue's arrival every year—many of my favorite Christmas cookies come from those issues. (I am still so sad that Gourmet is no more.)

Cucidati are the original Fig Newton—only they are so much better. Besides figs, cucidati typically include other dried fruits like raisins (dark or light), currants and/or dates. In addition to the dried fruit, most recipes also call for finely chopped nuts (almonds, walnuts, hazelnuts, pine nuts, pecans...). The finished filling is fragrant with orange—fresh zest, juice and/or candied peel—spices and spirits (brandy, rum, whiskey...). To my mind, a Fig Newton is a kid's cookie...Cucidati are for grownups.

The fig filling is encased in a soft, tender cookie crust. To make the cookies, the dough is rolled out and cut into strips that are 1/8-inch thick and 3 1/4-inch wide.

The filling is arranged in a narrow mound down the center of each strip and the dough on either side of the filling is lifted up and over and then sealed so that the filling is wrapped in a thin tube of dough. These "logs" are then cut into short lengths to form the individual cookies.

The description of how to roll out the dough in the recipe may seem a bit convoluted, but the details of rolling to a specific size, then trimming and then cutting are to help you create strips that are exactly 3 1/4-inch wide and 10 inches long. This size strip will hold exactly 1/3 cup of the filling. But once you have made these cookies a few times, you will have a feel for how much filling to use and you can then roll the strips (of any length) in the way that works best for you (so long as it doesn't create too many scraps—the scraps can be re-rolled once, but more than that and they will be tough).

The recipe tells you to chill the dough until it is firm, but even when well-chilled it will still be soft and a bit sticky. When rolling it out, make sure your work surface and your rolling pin are well floured. (You can always brush away the excess flour with a dry pastry brush.) Because the dough is so soft, it is easiest to lift it up and over the filling if you have a long, narrow spatula. Slide the spatula under the edge of the dough and use it to lay the entire edge over the strip of filling in one motion. At that point the other side (which will have been moistened to help it adhere) can be lifted in the same manner. Roll the log over and rock it gently against your work surface so that the dough is well-sealed.

The logs can be cut immediately, but because the dough is so soft, a quick chill of 15 minutes or so in the freezer will make it so that they are much easier to cut cleanly and neatly. I have never done it, but I imagine that the uncut logs could be frozen (just like a traditional "slice and bake" cookie). You would then be in a position to have a few warm Cucidati any time the mood strikes....

Italian Fig Cookies

(Cucidati)

Crust:
4 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup plus 2 T. sugar
1 T. baking powder
1 t. Salt
2 sticks unsalted butter, chilled and cut into 1-inch chunks
2 large eggs
1 1/2 t. vanilla
1/2 cup milk

Place flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a food processor and process to blend. Add the butter and pulse until the mixture looks like coarse meal. Turn butter and flour mixture into a large bowl. Whisk together the eggs, vanilla and milk. Drizzle over the flour mixture and stir with a fork to form a dough. Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead a few times. Flatten the dough into a rectangle between sheets of plastic. Chill until firm—at least 8 hours.

Filling:
9 oz. (1 heaping cup, packed) dried figs (preferably White Turkish), stems discarded
3 3/4 oz. (3/4 cup) golden raisins
zest and juice of one orange
4 oz. (3/4 cup) whole almonds, toasted and finely chopped
3 oz. (3/4 cup) walnuts, toasted and finely chopped
1 t. ground cinnamon
1/4 t. ground nutmeg
1/4 t. ground cloves
3/4 c. honey
1/4 c. brandy, dark rum or marsala

Place the figs, raisins and orange juice in the food processor and process until finely chopped. Transfer to a large bowl and add the remaining ingredients. Stir until well combined. Cover with plastic wrap and chill at least 8 hours.

To form the cookies, divide the rectangle of dough in half and return one half to the refrigerator while you work with the first half. Roll the rectangle of dough out on a well-floured surface into a 12- by 15-inch rectangle that is about 1/8-inch thick. Trim to a 10- by 13-inch rectangle (chill the trimmings). Cut this rectangle into 4 10- by 3¼-inch strips. Arrange 1/3 cup filling in a 1-inch wide log down the length of each strip. Working with one strip at a time, lightly moisten the one of the long edges of the dough with water. Fold the opposite edge up and over the filling and then fold the moistened edge up so that the filling is enclosed in the dough. Roll the cookie logs over so the seam is down and press lightly to make sure the seam is well sealed. Repeat with the remaining 3 strips of dough and filling. Cut the logs crosswise with a sharp floured knife into 1-inch lengths. Arrange the cookies ½-inch apart on parchment lined baking sheets. Roll out the remaining dough with the trimmings in the same manner to make more cookies.

Bake the cookies in a 350° oven until set and golden—about 16 to 20 minutes. Transfer the cookies to a wire rack to cool.

Makes about 80 1-inch cookies. If you prefer a larger cookie, cut the logs into 1½-inch lengths to get 4 to 5 dozen cookies.

The cookies may be decorated in a number of ways:
• Dredge the cooled cookies with powdered sugar.
• Just before baking, brush each cookie lightly with egg wash and sprinkle with sanding sugar, turbinado sugar or colored decorative sugar.
• When the cookies are cool, drizzle with a glaze made of 1 c. powdered sugar, 1/2 t. vanilla and 1 1/2 to 2 T. orange juice.

(Recipe adapted from Gourmet, December 2002)

Festive Holiday Almond Cake Squares

2011-12-12T19:10:00.001-06:00

I spent several days last week working with a friend in her pastry shop, then on Sunday I attended a potluck for which I had volunteered to bring a dessert. Since I had been surrounded by cakes, frostings and fillings, and lovely little petit fours all week, for my potluck contribution I was inspired to prepare some simple little cake squares out of my favorite almond cake. Filled with red raspberry jam and frosted with pale green frosting, they had a festive, Christmas-y look.

Besides being appropriate for the season, the cake squares were perfect for a potluck. To me the ideal dessert for a potluck should be something that can be served in small, one or two bite portions. A small dessert is "pre-portioned" so people don't have to wrestle with knives, cake servers, or gooey spoons—they can just grab (ideally with their fingers) and go. Also, since there is always a selection of desserts at a potluck and people want to sample several, miniature desserts make it so they can do so with minimal guilt.

If you are attending a potluck this season, there are many desserts that can be served in charming, miniature portions. Brownies and bar cookies of all kinds can be cut into any size you like—and, except for the ooziest bars and gooiest brownies, they make good finger food. I have posted several likely candidates over the course of the past year—Chocolate Truffle Squares with Candied Orange, Black Forest Brownie Squares and Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Bars. This time of year, a platter of a special Christmas cookie is always a good idea, too.

As I mentioned at the beginning of the post, the cake squares that I took with me yesterday were made with an almond cake. But you could do the same thing with any favorite cake as long as it is a cake that has a fine, moist crumb so that it can be sliced cleanly. Pound cake would be a good choice, as would the Pistachio Cake I posted in March of this year.

To make cake squares, bake the cake in a square or rectangular pan. The baked cake should be about 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 inches tall. The recipe for the pistachio cake, for example, is for a 10-inch round, single layer cake, but will bake perfectly in a single 9-inch square pan. A 9-inch round single cake layer will fit into an 8-inch square pan. I imagine that there are charts out there somewhere that will give exact pan conversions, but you can always measure pans by filling them with water and then measuring the volume (or weight). Also, if the depths of the pans you are comparing are the same, you can use a simple calculation of the area of a circle, square or rectangle to see if two pans can be used interchangeably.

After you have decided on the kind of cake you want to make, decide if you want to split and fill the layer (with jam, citrus curd, frosting/buttercream...or nothing at all) and how you would like to "finish" the cake (with a glaze, icing/frosting/buttercream, a simple dusting of powdered sugar with a rosette of whipped cream and some berries, etc.). Obviously variations are endless. I really liked the version that I made, but I could have left the frosting an ivory color and topped the cake squares with a fresh raspberry. I also toyed with the idea of finishing the cake squares with chocolate ganache—almond, raspberry and chocolate are a magical combination—but decided in the end with green and red for Christmas.

I would like to say that making these simple looking cake squares is easy, but I would be dishonest if I didn't tell you that you should have some facility with icing cakes and using a piping bag in order for them to turn out well. I am not a professional cake decorator so I will not attempt to explain the details of icing a cake and using a piping bag. I am certain there are web-sites and blogs devoted to this subject that do a much better job than I could. In my directions I will only mention the things that I think are particularly important. Above all, you must be neat, clean and precise.

To prepare the cake squares you will need the cake (recipe below), seedless raspberry jam—approximately 1/3 cup, 1 recipe Honey Cream Cheese Frosting (see below)—tinted green with 2 or 3 drops of green food color, and green decorator sugar.

Before building the cake squares, wrap the cooled cake layer and refrigerate until firm and cold. Using a serrated knife, split the cake in half horizontally. Spread a thin layer of seedless raspberry jam over the bottom half.

Top with the remaining layer. Frost the top of the cake with the cream cheese frosting. It is not necessary to frost the sides because they will be trimmed away, but I usually slick a "crumb coat" onto the sides out of habit and to keep stray crumbs from mucking up my work area. If you want the frosting on the top to be perfectly smooth, after you have frosted the cake run an offset spatula that has been dipped in very hot water and then wiped dry over the top of the cake. You will need to make several passes, rinsing and drying the spatula between each stroke. Chill the cake until the icing and cake are firm—at least an hour, preferably longer.

Using a long, thin, sharp slicing knife, trim the edges of the cake to make the cake perfectly square. (Sample the trimmings to make sure that what you are taking to the potluck is edible.)

The slicing knife—like the offset spatula—must be dipped in hot water and wiped dry before each stroke. Cut the cake into 36 squares. There are many ways to organize your slices (cut the cake into 6 long thin rectangles and then make 6 cuts across these rectangles....cut the cake in quarters and then cut each quarter into 9 squares...etc.)—the most important thing is to make sure your knife is always hot and dry and that your cuts are evenly spaced. It helps to use a ruler.

Top each of the squares with a small rosette of the frosting using a piping bag fitted with a star tip. Use a light hand to sprinkle some green decorator sugar over each cake square. If you like those little silver balls (dragees), you could sprinkle 3 or 4 over each little rosette.

I should mention that these cake squares can't be made too far in advance. Traditional petit fours are completely covered with fondant or a poured glaze of some kind. This effectively seals the cut surfaces of the little cakes so that they won't dry out. Because these cake squares are only frosted on the top, they will dry out if made too far ahead. The cake can be frosted and filled well in advance—it needs to chill anyway—you just need to wait until closer to the time you will be serving it to cut it.

Madeleine Kamman's Danish Holiday Almond Cake

8 oz. unsalted butter, cool room temperature
1 c. granulated sugar
10 1/2 oz. almond paste (not marzipan), finely grated
1 t. vanilla
5 large eggs, room temperature
1 cup sifted cake flour
large pinch of salt
1/2 t. baking powder

Preheat the oven to 325°. Butter a 10-inch round or 9-inch square cake pan. Line the pan with parchment, butter the parchment and dust the pan with flour. Set the pan upside down and tap it once to remove all traces of excess flour.

Using a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter until white. Add the sugar and almond paste and beat until fluffy and white again, 2 to 3 minutes on medium-high speed. Turning the speed down to low, add the vanilla and then add the eggs, one at a time. Beat again on medium-high speed after each addition until the batter returns to white foaminess, scraping down the sides of the bowl before adding the next egg. Finally, resift the cake flour mixed with the baking powder and salt directly over the batter and fold into the batter. Turn into the prepared pan and bake for 40 to 45 minutes. The cake is done when it is golden brown and a toothpick inserted into its center comes out clean.

Let the cake cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then unmold onto a wire rack and let cool completely before cutting.

(Recipe from The New Making of a Cook by Madeleine Kamman)

Honey Cream Cheese Frosting (adapted from The Vineyard Kitchen ): Place 4 oz. of unsalted butter in the bowl of a stand mixer along with 4 1/2 oz. of confectioners' sugar, 1/8 t. salt and 1/4 t. vanilla. Beat on medium-high until light and fluffy—about 2 to 3 minutes. Scrape down the bowl. Add 8 oz. of cream cheese and beat until incorporated—about 20 seconds. Scrape down the bowl and drizzle in 2 T. of honey. Beat until smooth—about 15 seconds.

Using Beef Tenderloin "Trim"

2011-12-06T23:05:00.000-06:00

My busy season with work started off with a bang last week. Unfortunately, this means that I haven't had too
much time to devote to my blog. So that regular readers won't wonder if I have dropped off the planet, today I thought I would squeeze in a quick post about a meal I made recently with beef tenderloin trimmings.

A little over a year ago I posted a description of how to clean, trim and portion a whole beef tenderloin. I pointed out that when you trim a tenderloin there are invariably a few small, odd shaped pieces that remain after the whole has been reduced to steaks and roasts. Since tenderloin is expensive—and there is nothing "wrong" with these pieces other than that they are oddly sized—I try and make a habit of using them for weeknight/informal family meals.

Last Saturday I trimmed a whole small tenderloin for roasting. Besides the fat, sinew and "chain", the trimmings produced a small chunk, a thin strip of the head and the thin tail piece. The total weight of all of this useable "trim" was just over half a pound—which in my world is a perfect amount of meat for two portions. I know that at first glance these pieces may not look like a typical "steak",

tenderloin pieces, resting with "deglazings" poured over

but when cooked properly, sliced and fanned on the plate, they look fine—and as I'm sure you can imagine, they tasted great.

I didn't do anything special or difficult when I cooked these pieces—I rarely do for a simple meal at home. Just season the meat with salt and pepper and sear on all sides in a little bit of oil in a hot sauté pan. Sometimes, for large/thick pieces of meat, I will transfer the sauté pan to a hot oven to finish the cooking process there. But on this particular occasion, because the pieces were so small and thin, I finished them on the stove by reducing the heat, adding a pat of butter and continuing to cook, turning the pieces occasionally, until they reached the "doneness" that I prefer. As you can see, I prefer rare/mid-rare...which only takes a few moments. I deglazed the pan with water—but if you have stock or wine on hand, that would be fine too. Rather than turn these "deglazings" into a sauce, I simply poured them over the resting meat. Then when I sliced and served the meat, I poured the resting juices and deglazings over all.

To go with our tenderloin, I served some buttered Brussels sprouts and Butternut squash roasted with red onions and sage. I think I mentioned in a previous post that I always keep Brussels sprouts on hand during the late fall and winter months. Serving them was an obvious choice—particularly since I had a chunk of squash that I wanted to use up. Brussels sprouts and winter squash make excellent partners.

The butternut squash is from a recipe by Maria Helms Sinskey that ran in Food & Wine several years ago. You can find it here. I followed it almost exactly...except that I didn't prepare the browned butter or fry the sage separately. Instead, I just tossed the sage in with the onion, squash, olive oil and brown sugar and roasted everything together. The sage leaves become crispy in the oven and obligingly break into smaller pieces every time the squash and onions are stirred.

This simple meal of pan-seared tenderloin and vegetables came together very quickly—making it perfect for a busy day. And for us, since we don't tend to eat a lot of meat, the presence of the tenderloin gave our meal a nice, special occasion air.

Chocolate Fruit Cake

2011-11-30T23:39:00.004-06:00

I kicked off my holiday baking with a Date, Dried Cherry & Chocolate Torte. I ran across the recipe in an old issue of Gourmet magazine, but it is originally from Deborah Madison's book Local Flavors. For the most part I try to post things on my blog that I have put my own stamp on in some way, but occasionally I just want to pass along a recipe that I think more people should know about. This is one of those recipes.

I think that this cake, with its abundance of slightly boozy fruit and its dense texture, could most accurately be described as a chocolate fruitcake. But since (as I mentioned last year in my Brandied Fruit & Almond Pound Cake post) not too many Americans will try a cake with "fruitcake" in the title, "Date, Dried Cherry & Chocolate Torte" is a clever name. If, like me, you love dates, dried cherries and chocolate, you will probably love this cake. I made it on Saturday and started eating it on Sunday. I expected it to be best the day after I made it, but I have been surprised to discover that it continues to get better—becoming moister and more intensely fruity with each passing day.

The original recipe called for 1 1/2 cups of two varieties of dates. I only had one kind of date on hand (Medjool—my favorite), so instead of making the cake with all dates, I substituted some nice white Turkish figs for a half cup of the dates. If the distinctive seedy crunch of the figs would bother you, go ahead and use all dates. But, if you are a fan of those little Italian Fig Cookies called Cucidati, you will enjoy the cake when it is made with the figs.

I think this cake would make an elegant holiday dessert...cut in small wedges and served with a little whipped cream. But it is also excellent served with an afternoon cup of coffee (or tea). And I don't really need the whipped cream...or even the plate. I have discovered that my favorite way to eat a slice has been with my hands—using my fingers to break off little chunks of this chocolate-y, fruity treat.

Date, Dried Cherry & Chocolate Torte

1 c. Medjool dates (6 oz), pitted and each cut into 6 pieces
1/2 c. Dried figs, stemmed and cut into uniform dried cherry-sized pieces or use another variety of dates, pitted and each cut into 6 pieces (3 oz)
1 c. dried tart cherries (5 oz)
1 t. baking soda
1 c. boiling water
1/4 c. brandy
1 1/3 c. all-purpose flour
1/4 c. unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch-process), sifted to remove lumps
1/2 t. salt
1 1/2 sticks (3/4 cup) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 c. sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1 t. vanilla
zest of one orange
6 oz fine-quality bittersweet chocolate (not unsweetened), coarsely chopped
3/4 c. pecans (3 oz), lightly toasted and finely chopped

Combine dates, cherries, and baking soda in a heatproof bowl, then stir in boiling water and brandy. Set aside to cool.

Whisk together flour, cocoa, and salt.

Cream the butter and sugar until pale and fluffy. Beat in the vanilla and zest. Add the eggs one at a time, beating until just combined. Add half of flour mixture and beat at low speed until just combined. Add date mixture with liquid and beat at low speed until just combined. Add remaining flour mixture and beat until just combined. Stir in chocolate and pecans.

Pour batter into a buttered and floured 9-inch springform pan, smoothing top. Bake in middle of oven until center is slightly rounded and top of torte is cracked (edges will be dark brown),

about 55 minutes. Let torte stand 10 minutes in pan on a rack. Run a small knife around side of pan to loosen, then remove side. Cool torte on rack. Cake tastes best if allowed to sit, well-wrapped, for 24 hours. Serves 12 to 16.

(Recipe adapted from Local Flavors by Deborah Madison)

Turkey Leftovers...

2011-11-27T23:16:00.000-06:00

I have been teaching people how to prepare the Thanksgiving feast for as long as I have been teaching cooking classes. But during all of that time I think I have only had the privilege of preparing the entire spread for my own family a couple of times. This turned out to be one of those years. I of course love it when I have the opportunity to enjoy someone else's cooking, but there are a lot of things I miss when I don't get to prepare the meal. I think the thing I miss the most is having left over roast turkey. Since there were just seven of us at my table this year, and I roasted a fifteen pound bird,

I had lots of leftovers....and I have been enjoying every bite. We are still working on them, but I thought I would take a moment to share what I have made so far.

I think everyone starts out their first round of "leftovers" with a reheated plate of everything they had at the main event. It's a way of truly savoring the meal—knowing that such a spread really only happens once a year...and you have to make it last. Next up is the roast turkey sandwich. My perfect leftover turkey sandwich includes lettuce, slivers of cheese (something like a sharp Cheddar is good—but I wouldn't turn my nose up at a bit of Brie), leftover cranberry sauce and plenty of mayonnaise and Dijon mustard. My bread of choice is a nice artisanal loaf of Rosemary Olive Oil bread from a local bakery. It is substantial enough to stand up to all of the filling, but not so much so that it overpowers the sandwich. Since it is also the bread I like to use to make dressing, I have it on hand any way.

Another favorite—albeit old-fashioned (maybe I should say "retro"...it sounds much more cool)—is Turkey Tetrazzini. A simple baked casserole of spaghetti, turkey, cheese and mushrooms, bound in a rich velouté and topped with breadcrumbs,

there are literally hundreds of versions of this recipe floating around. Mine is a variation of one that ran in Gourmet magazine several years ago. Besides the classic ingredients this recipe includes some sherry and scallions. When I make it, I make my velouté with turkey stock and, if there is any left, some turkey gravy—which truly makes this dish a once a year treat.

This year I also had a lot of leftover sweet potatoes. I knew from the start that there were only going to be a couple of us at the table who would eat sweet potatoes, but since it isn't Thanksgiving to me without the sweet potatoes—and I was in charge of the meal—I made them. They were delicious. They were also the perfect "glue" for some lunchtime quesadillas. Besides a thin layer of the sweet potatoes, I added some caramelized red onion,

a scattering of chopped turkey and some Monterey Jack cheese.

With a spoonful of cranberry sauce on the side, they were quite a treat. The purée that I made this year was a combination of sweet potatoes and carrots, but any simple sweet potato purée would work—just make sure you don't pile it on too thickly (or your quesadillas will ooze).

For dinner this evening—to go with the last of the sliced turkey breast (there are still lots of chunks and shredded pieces that will be great in soups, casseroles, quick pastas...)—I made a big salad that was loaded with some of my favorite Thanksgiving ingredients. To baby lettuces, I added diced roasted sweet potatoes, blanched green beans, dried cranberries and toasted walnuts. I dressed it with a simple sherry vinaigrette (1 small shallot, 1 T. sherry vinegar, 3 T. olive oil) and piled it on top of the turkey that had been warmed up in a bit of leftover turkey stock. It was a very good salad. Even if I don't have any turkey on hand to serve it with, we will be having this salad again.

There are so many ways to use up roast turkey that I know I will run out of turkey long before I run out of ways that I want to eat it. Earlier this month I posted a soup and a casserole that would both be excellent places for some of those leftovers. Other simple ideas include quiche, frittatas, quick pastas and grain pilafs. It isn't necessary to reinvent the wheel or do something wildly unusual. As a chef I am sometimes a bit dismayed as I look at the same old things on my family's holiday table year after year. But the same things show up every year for a reason: they are the favorite foods that everyone grew up with...they are well-loved. And as a friend said to me this morning (as we were comparing turkey leftover notes over the pews), it is the same with Thanksgiving leftovers. They are all about combining turkey in a variety of different ways with your other favorite holiday foods.

Turkey Tetrazzini

3 1/2 to 4 T. butter, divided

1/2 c. coarse breadcrumbs
6 oz. mushrooms, sliced
2 green onion (including most of green), trimmed and thinly sliced
1 to 2 T. dry sherry
8 oz. (1 1/2 to 2 cups) shredded roast turkey
2 T. all-purpose flour
1/2 cup whole milk
1 c. turkey stock (or use chicken stock)
1/2 c. leftover turkey gravy (or use 1/4 c. milk plus 1/4 c. stock and increase butter and flour in the roux by 2 t. each)
8 oz. spaghetti
2 oz. grated Gruyère (1/2 cup)
1/2 oz. grated Parmesan (about 3 T.)

Preheat the oven to 350°. Generously butter a 1 1/2 quart gratin or casserole and set aside.

Toss the bread crumbs with 1/2 T. of melted butter and set aside.

Sauté the mushrooms in 1 1/2 T. of butter in a non-stick sauté pan set over medium-high heat. When the mushrooms are browned, tender and any liquid that they have given off has evaporated reduce the heat and add the green onions. Cook briefly to wilt. Add another 1/2 T. of butter if the pan seems dry. Add the sherry and reduce to a glaze. Transfer the mushrooms to a large bowl and season with salt and pepper.

Add the turkey to the bowl with the mushrooms.

Prepare the velouté: In a small saucepan, bring the milk and stock to a simmer; keep hot. In another small saucepan, melt 1 1/2 T. of the butter over medium heat. When the foam subsides, whisk in the flour. Cook stirring constantly for a few minutes—the roux will be bubbly and straw yellow. Remove from the heat and pour in half of the hot milk/stock, whisking constantly until smooth—it will thicken immediately. Add the remaining milk/stock mixture. Return to the heat and stir constantly until the sauce returns to a simmer. Add the gravy and bring to a simmer. Taste and season as desired with salt and pepper. Keep hot while you cook the pasta.

Cook the pasta in a large pot of rapidly boiling water seasoned generously with salt. Stir and cook until the pasta is al dente (since it will continue to cook as it bakes with the sauce, it can be left quite firm). Drain the pasta.

Add the pasta and velouté to the bowl with the turkey and mushrooms and fold in. Add the cheese and quickly fold in—the cheese does not have to melt. Turn the mixture into the prepared pan. Scatter the buttered breadcrumbs over the top and place on a baking sheet.

Bake until hot through (it should be bubbling around the edges) and lightly browned—about 25 minutes. If necessary, place under the broiler (about 4 inches from the heat) until the top is golden. Serves 4.

Notes:
• This recipe doubles easily to feed a larger group. Use a 13- by 9-inch (3 quart) baking dish.
• If you prefer a looser, saucier version, reduce the quantity of spaghetti to 6 oz.

Quinoa Pilaf with Mushrooms & Walnuts

2011-11-25T22:06:00.000-06:00

For our dinner on the night before Thanksgiving, I felt the need for something light, sustaining and simple. The quinoa pilaf I made that night filled the bill perfectly and was so good I wanted to share it here. Since it was also quick to prepare and didn't dirty too many dishes, it made a perfect holiday weeknight meal.

If you aren't in the habit of preparing main course pilafs, you will find a primer of sorts in a post I wrote over a year ago for a bulgur pilaf. Pilafs are great, not only because they tend to be whole grain-based, but also because they take easily to adaptation and variation. If you keep your favorite grains on hand and are in the habit of regularly stocking up on seasonal vegetables, a pilaf is easy to put together.

The basic components of the quinoa pilaf I made—shallots, garlic, mushrooms, walnuts and parsley—will combine well with all kinds of winter vegetables. I topped ours with some baby Brussels sprouts and the last of the beautiful little white topped turnips from my farmers' market. But if you don't have turnips, you could top the pilaf with the Brussels sprouts and some chunks of roasted winter squash or maybe some roasted carrots. Almost any roasted root vegetable would be good. For a pretty presentation, you could roast some half circles of Delicata squash and then pile the pilaf, followed by the Brussels Sprouts, on top of the squash (as I did in the vegetable medley I posted a few days ago). If you don't have any Brussels sprouts on hand (I always keep Brussels Sprouts around during the fall and winter months—I love them), some cooked kale, spinach or chard—folded into the pilaf—would be good, too.

For us, the quinoa and vegetables really were just the thing for the eve of The Feast. But if a grain pilaf with vegetables doesn't sound like dinner to you, then you could always serve it as a side dish. I think it would go particularly well with salmon (perhaps on a bed of wilted spinach). But it would also be good with chicken...or maybe even some leftover turkey.

Quinoa Pilaf with Mushrooms & Walnuts

1/2 T. olive oil
1/2 T. butter
5 to 6 oz. mixed mushrooms (crimini, oyster, shiitake, etc.), trimmed and sliced 1/4-inch thick or cut into uniform pieces
1 T. olive oil
1 small shallot, finely diced
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 c. quinoa, well-rinsed and drained
2/3 c. hot chicken stock or water (or turkey stock...I just happened to have some on hand)
1/4 c. toasted walnuts, coarsely broken and tossed with a small amount of olive oil and some salt, if you like.
2 T. chopped parsley

Sauté the mushrooms: Heat a non-stick sauté pan over medium-high heat. Add the oil and the butter. Add the mushrooms and cook, shaking the pan occasionally, until the mushrooms are browned, tender and any liquid that they have given off has evaporated. Transfer the mushrooms to a plate and season with salt and pepper.

oyster and crimini mushrooms

Heat the olive oil in a small saucepan set over moderate heat. Add the shallot and garlic along with a pinch of salt and cook until tender and translucent Add the quinoa and cook, stirring to coat in the fat until hot through. This will take a minute or two. The quinoa should be sizzling and snapping in the hot fat. Add the stock along with a pinch of salt and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered for 15 minutes—or until cooked through. The grain will be translucent and the thin germ coil will be white. Remove from the heat, scatter the mushrooms over the surface of the quinoa and let rest, covered for 5 to 10 minutes. Fluff with a fork, adding the walnuts and parsley. Makes 2 portions. Recipe is easily multiplied.

To prepare the Brussels sprouts (and turnips, if using): Fill a shallow, straight-sided sauté pan that is wide enough to hold the vegetables in a snug single layer with a quarter inch of water. Add some butter and salt and bring to a boil over high heat. Add the Brussels sprouts (and turnips)

and some optional picked thyme and simmer, partially covered and stirring occasionally, until the Brussels sprouts are crisp-tender, 6 to 8 minutes. Remove the lid and boil over moderately high to high heat until water is evaporated and the vegetables are sizzling in the butter and beginning to caramelize, 3 to 4 minutes.

Spoon over the pilaf. For two portions, I used 5 or 6 oz. of each of the Brussels sprouts and the turnips. The Brussels sprouts should be halved and the turnips cut into uniform wedges that are about the same size as the Brussels sprouts halves. For every pound of combined vegetables, use about a tablespoon of butter.

Learning to use a pizza peel and a recipe for Pizza with Mushrooms & Butternut Squash

2011-11-21T23:27:00.001-06:00

We have been eating a lot of pizza lately. Not that pizza doesn't in the normal course of things make regular appearances on our table.... It's a perfect meal for two (just add a salad) and there is usually a left over piece or two for one lucky person at lunch the next day. Pizza is also a great blank canvas upon which to improvise a quick meal from whatever you happen to have in the house. But the reason we have been enjoying it more in recent days is because I have a new toy.... I mean tool. For my birthday this year, I was given a pizza peel and for the past few weeks I have been happily putting it through its paces.

I am a bit embarrassed to admit that I have always thought that using a peel would be tricky....that it would take lots of practice to master the particular flick of the wrist necessary for depositing the uncooked pizza intact onto the hot stone. I was pretty sure that my pizzas would end up looking like accidental calzones or strombolis. So for years I have been perfectly happy with my "peel-less" method: Build the pizza in a pizza pan (or on a baking sheet) and place the pan directly onto the hot stone. When the crust is set (this usually takes less than five minutes), slide the pizza off of the pan and on to the stone. This works very well—producing a lovely crisp crust. I highly recommend it if you don't have a peel. The chief drawback to this method is that if you aren't fast your oven temperature will drop dramatically while you are sliding the pizza off of the pan.

As I have worked with my new peel, I have been so pleased to discover that it is remarkably easy to use: Start by generously flouring the peel—you don't want gobs of flour, but you want the surface to be well-dusted (I actually rub the flour lightly into the peel). Before you put the round of dough onto the peel, make sure that all of the ingredients are on hand and ready to go. You only have a small window (a minute or two) of time before the dough starts to stick to the peel. When you place the rolled out dough onto the peel, gently slide the peel back and forth to make sure the dough isn't sticking. Quickly layer the toppings onto the pizza. Open the oven (which should have been preheating—with the stone—for at least a half hour at 450° to 500°) and hold the paddle just above the stone. In one quick motion, move the peel forward just slightly and then jerk it back, laying the pizza onto the hot stone as you pull the peel out of the oven. Close the oven door and bake the pizza until the crust is golden brown on the bottom (take a peek, using the peel to lift it up) and the toppings are bubbling. This should take about 8 to 12 minutes.

So far I haven't had any disasters...or even any ugly pizzas. In fact, I think my pizzas are better now. The crust bakes more quickly than it did when I used a pizza pan so the toppings don't get quite so dark. I don't know why the fact that my pizzas are now better should surprise me. Obviously the peel and stone are the implements of choice for serious pizza cooks everywhere for a reason. I also don't know why I waited so long to learn how to use a peel. If you love to make pizzas at home, the peel and stone are both worthwhile investments.

A few nights ago we enjoyed a pizza topped with one of my favorite combinations of autumn vegetables: winter squash and mushrooms. The mushrooms are simply sliced and sautéed. The squash can be sliced or diced before it is quickly roasted—if you like you can give the squash a start in a sauté pan before transferring it to the oven. The finished squash should be tender and lightly golden. To build the pizza, give the crust a light smear of herb (rosemary...or maybe sage) and garlic oil, followed by a handful of a nice melting cheese (I had Dubliner on hand), the cooked vegetables, some crumbled goat cheese and more of the melting cheese. Slide the pizza onto the stone. While the pizza bakes, dress some greens with a nice olive oil and some lemon or vinegar and you are done.

Butternut Squash & Mushroom Pizza

10 to 12 oz. butternut squash (half of a small to medium squash)—see note
Olive oil
1 or 2 cloves garlic
pinch of pepper flakes
1 to 2 t. minced rosemary
6 to 8 oz. crimini mushrooms, trimmed and sliced 1/4 inch thick
1 ball of pizza dough (see below), rested
3 oz. Fontina, Gruyère, low-moisture mozzarella or any good melting cheese, coarsely grated
2 oz. Goat Cheese, crumbled (or, simply use another couple of ounces of the melting cheese)

Halve the squash and scoop out the seed and fiber from the cavity. Set aside any extra squash for another use (see note). Peel the remaining squash. Cut the squash into a half-inch dice. Over medium-high heat, warm some olive oil in an oven-proof sauté pan that is large enough to hold the squash in a single layer. Add the squash.

Sauté until the squash is beginning to color. Season with salt and pepper and transfer the pan to a 375° oven. Roast the squash until tender—about 20 minutes. (If you prefer, you may simply slice the squash cross-wise into ¼-inch slices, toss with olive oil, salt & pepper and spread on a baking sheet. Roast in a 450° oven until tender and beginning to brown—about 20 minutes.)

While the squash roasts, peel and mince the garlic. Stir the garlic, along with the pepper flakes and the rosemary, into 1 1/2 T. of olive oil. Set aside.

Sauté the mushrooms: When sautéing mushrooms, do not over-crowd the pan. If necessary, sauté in batches. Heat a non-stick sauté pan over medium-high heat. Add oil to coat the pan, then add the mushrooms. Cook, shaking the pan occasionally, until the mushrooms are browned, tender and any liquid that they have given off has evaporated. Transfer the mushrooms to a plate and season with salt & pepper.

Build the pizza: On a lightly floured surface, roll the dough out into a 12-inch circle. Transfer the dough to a pizza pan, baking sheet or pizza peel that has been dusted with flour. Using your fingers, push up the edges of the dough to make a slight rim. Quickly spread a thin layer of the seasoned oil over the crust. Scatter with half of the Fontina. Arrange the roasted squash in an even layer on top of the cheese. Scatter the mushrooms evenly over the squash. Crumble the goat cheese over all and top with the remaining Fontina.

If using a pizza pan or baking sheet, place the pizza in the pan on a pre-heated pizza stone in a pre-heated 450° to 500° oven. Bake until the crust is golden brown on the bottom and the cheese is bubbling, about 12 to 15 minutes. To insure a crisp crust, slide the pizza off of the pan and onto the pizza stone as soon as the crust is set (after 4 or 5 minutes).

If using a peel, slide the pizza directly onto the preheated baking stone. Bake until the crust is golden brown on the bottom and the cheese is bubbling—about 8 to 12 minutes.

When the pizza is done, transfer to a cutting board and cut into wedges and serve.

Note: It is unlikely that you will find a butternut squash that only weighs 10 to 12 oz. If you do, use the whole squash. For a larger squash, use only what you need, saving the remainder for another use (e.g.—roast with butter and honey/brown sugar for a side vegetable, or roast and scoop and purée for soup or baked goods).

Pizza Dough:
1 cup warm water (100º-110º)
1 package (2 1/4 t.) active dry yeast
2 1/2 to 3 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 T. olive oil
1 t. salt

Combine the water, yeast, and 1 1/2 cups of the flour in a large bowl. Whisk until smooth. Add the oil, salt and another cup of the flour. Stir with a wooden spoon to form a soft dough that holds its shape. Scrape the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and sprinkle with a bit more flour. Knead the dough, adding just enough flour to keep the dough from sticking, until the dough is smooth and springs back when pressed lightly with a finger—about 5 to 10 minutes. Transfer the dough to a lightly oiled bowl and cover the bowl with plastic wrap. Let rise until doubled in bulk—about 1 hour. Punch down the dough and turn it onto a lightly floured surface. Divide the dough into two pieces (for 12”-pizzas) and roll into balls. Cover with a towel and let rest for 10-20 minutes. The dough is now ready to be shaped, topped and cooked or frozen.

(Crust recipe adapted from The New Basics Cookbook by Julee Rosso & Sheila Lukins)

Variation for a Whole Wheat Crust: Instead of unbleached all-purpose flour, use 1 ½ c. bread flour and 1 to 1 ½ c. whole wheat flour (the new “white” whole wheat flour is a good choice).

Pumpkin Cake with Browned Butter Streusel

2011-11-18T13:25:00.005-06:00

Today, in honor of the upcoming holiday—and for those of you who might not be crazy about pumpkin pie—I thought I would share my favorite pumpkin cake. Unlike most pumpkin cakes it isn't covered in cream cheese frosting (not that there's anything wrong with that). Instead it is a single layer cake topped with a lovely browned butter streusel. I find it to be positively addictive and during "pumpkin season" it is rare for me not to have several slices stashed away in my freezer.

This cake was inspired by a winter squash cake in Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers at Lucques. I have taken the browned butter streusel from her recipe with almost no alteration. I love the flavor browned butter adds....to vegetables (it makes a great simple sauce for asparagus or those Thanksgiving Brussels sprouts)...and to desserts. Earlier this year I posted a Pear & Dried Tart Cherry Crisp recipe that used browned butter in the topping and a couple of summers ago I posted a Butter Pecan Ice Cream recipe that featured browned butter.

If you have never made browned butter, check out the latter of those two posts for detailed instructions. If you have never tasted browned butter, you are in for a treat. It has a wonderful nutty flavor and consequently goes very well in desserts that include nuts. Its flavor is always accentuated by the presence of lemon or salt. One of the things that makes this streusel special is the simple inclusion of a little extra salt. If you are a person who is particularly drawn to the combination of salty and sweet, this streusel will hit all of your taste buttons.

The cake itself is an adaptation of a cake I found in the wonderful little cookbook Camille Glenn's Old-Fashioned Christmas Cookbook. I mention this for a couple of reasons. First of all, I always want to give appropriate credit for a recipe that is not my own—and while I have made enough changes to the recipe that I could get away with calling it mine, I know I wouldn't have come up with the recipe for this cake without her recipe as a starting place.

The other reason I wanted to mention Ms. Glenn's book is because it is a great resource for people who appreciate southern food and southern cooking. Camille Glenn was a food columnist and caterer who ran a cooking school in Louisville for many years. She was widely considered to be an authority on southern cooking. Her other book, The Heritage of Southern Cooking (Workman Publishing), is a treasure trove of reliable and authentic southern recipes. Both books appear to be out of print but would be worth seeking out if you love Southern food.

I don't think it is any secret that I love cake. In particular I love simple, unfrosted cakes—laden with fruit or topped with a streusel. I find these cakes to be eminently versatile. With a blob of whipped cream or a dusting of powdered sugar they can be served for tea. Accompanied by a dollop of mousse, a scoop of ice cream, a pool of stirred custard or a fluffy sabayon...or possibly some fresh or poached fruit...they become a formal dessert. But most importantly (to me at least), they are especially fine served plain...for breakfast.

Such is the case with the pumpkin cake I am posting today. While it would be wonderful as part of your Thanksgiving spread—with whipped mascarpone...maple ice cream....or crème anglaise—I like it best for breakfast. But for those of you who aren't quite ready for something so sweet first thing in the morning—and who would be threatened with bodily harm if you didn't serve pumpkin pie at the big feast—you might consider making this cake and serving it as part of a holiday brunch.

Pumpkin Cake with Browned Butter & Pecan Streusel

Pecan Streusel:
1/2 c. all-purpose flour
1/3 c. light or golden brown sugar
1/4 t. cinnamon
1/4 t. salt
4 T. unsalted butter, browned (see below) and cooled
1/2 c. pecans, lightly toasted and coarsely chopped

Combine the flour, brown sugar, cinnamon & salt in a medium-sized bowl. Drizzle the butter over and stir with a fork until the ingredients are combined and have formed clumps. Stir in the pecans and chill until ready to use.

Pumpkin Cake:
2 c. cake flour (7 1/2 oz.)
2 t. baking powder
1/2 t. baking soda
1/2 t. salt
1 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. ground cloves
1/2 t. nutmeg
1 c. solid pack pumpkin (or use fresh pumpkin purée—well dried)
1/2 c. milk
1 t. vanilla
1/2 c. (1 stick) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 c. light or golden brown sugar
1/2 c. sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature

Grease a 10- by 2--inch round cake pan, line with a round of parchment and grease the parchment. Flour the pan. Set aside.

Sift the dry ingredients together and set aside. In a small bowl, whisk together the pumpkin, milk and vanilla. Set aside.

Using a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, cream the butter with the sugars until light and fluffy, stopping the mixer once or twice to scrape down the sides. This will take 3 to 5 minutes at medium-high speed.

Beat in the eggs one at a time, scraping down the sides after each addition. Increase the speed to medium-high and briefly beat until the mixture lightens in color and expands in volume. By hand, fold in half of the dry ingredients, followed by all the liquid ingredients, followed by the remaining dry ingredients.

Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and smooth the top. Sprinkle the streusel topping evenly over the cake.

Bake in a preheated 350° oven until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean—about 35 to 45 minutes. Let the cake cool in the pan for 10 to 15 minutes. Loosen the sides of the cake by running a thin knife around the edge of the pan. Turn the cake out of the pan. Cool the cake, streusel side up, on a wire rack.

Notes:
• To “brown” butter, place the butter in a small saucepan set over medium heat. As the butter begins to sputter and pop, whisk occasionally. The butter solids will begin to turn brown. When the solids are a deep golden brown and the butter has a pleasantly nutty aroma, transfer the butter to another container to stop the cooking process.
• If you don't have a 10-inch round cake pan, this cake may be baked in a 9- by 9- by 2-inch square baking pan. To see what it looks like when baked in a square pan, check out the post at Baking and Boys from a few weeks ago.

Market Inspirations—a Simple Platter of Roasted Vegetables with Kale & Sausage for Sunday Dinner

2011-11-14T22:37:00.003-06:00

I spent my free moments this weekend pulling the remains of the summer annuals out of my garden. I had wanted to spend Sunday afternoon playing/working in the kitchen, but as the weekend wore on, my amount of free time dwindled and garden clean up seemed to take priority. The annuals are usually just a memory by now, but this year—even though it is mid-November—we have not yet had a hard freeze (at least at my house). The annuals have hung on, blooming sporadically, giving me an excuse to let them be for a while longer. But this weekend I noticed they were looking pretty ragged (having endured a few light frosts), so I finally decided it was time. As I worked, I found that the annuals weren't the only things still in bloom; I discovered Shasta daisies, anemones, perennial geraniums...even a clematis....all valiantly putting on a bit of a farewell show.

When I finally made it to the kitchen on Sunday, I really just wanted to get dinner on the table. I had been thinking about my purchases at Saturday's market and the contents of my pantry as I worked, and had decided on a very simple meal of braised kale, roasted delicata squash and Italian sausage. It was not fancy, but it was nourishing, full of flavor and filling. It also seemed like a celebration of Autumn on a plate.

Delicata squash has the most fleeting season of the winter squashes. It is thin skinned (thin enough that the skin is edible), so it isn't a good candidate for long term storage. Now is the time to enjoy it. It has a slightly sweet and nutty flavor. It is perfect for stuffing, but it also makes beautiful rounds or half circles for sautéing or roasting. To prepare it, simply wash it, trim away the stem and blossom ends, halve it lengthwise and remove the seeds. Cut the halves cross-wise into 1/2-inch thick semi-circles.

If you want rings, after trimming the ends, cut the whole squash into cross-wise slices and then remove the seeds from the center of each slice.

For our dinner, I combined the squash with Yukon potatoes and carrots. I dressed them as usual for roasting (olive oil, salt & pepper), adding in a scattering of minced rosemary. If you are not adept at roasting vegetables, take a moment to look at the tutorial I posted last year on how to roast vegetables. The kale that I had from my market was young and tender and consequently easy to cook. I stripped out the center rib, cut it into a fat chiffonade and cooked it (covered) in some garlic infused olive oil. But if you have more mature kale, it will be easier to cook if you blanch it before you add it to the garlic oil. You can find directions for this method on my post from last week on Baked Pasta with Kale & Chicken.

The exact quantities and choice of seasonings in this dish are not so important—to me what is important is the idea....a big rustic plate of layers of braised greens and roasted Autumn vegetables. As I worked in the garden, I arranged and rearranged the possibilities in my mind. At one point I thought about stopping what I was doing long enough to go inside and start a pot of beans. Some cooked beans (Great northern, Cannellini, Garbanzo...), added to the kale along with a small amount of their cooking liquid, would turn this layered vegetable dish into a rustic stew of sorts. They would also be a nice starchy stand-in for the potatoes. The vegetables could be varied according to whatever root vegetables or squash you have on hand (turnips and parsnips seem like particularly good ideas). Just cut everything in roughly half inch thick slabs—the plate will look best with large dramatic pieces. The rosemary could be replaced with sage or thyme...you could even take the dish in a whole different direction by seasoning the roasted vegetables with cumin and smoked paprika. The sausage too could be replaced...maybe with Kielbasa...or a scattering of olives (for a vegetarian variation). The dish could be topped with a poached egg...or a generous spoonful of aïoli..... The more you think about it, the more the possibilities begin to multiply.

Roasted Vegetables with Kale & Sausage

Olive oil
1 lb. Delicata Squash, trimmed, halved lengthwise, seeded and halves sliced cross-wise at 1/2-inch intervals
1/2 lb. small Yukon Gold potatoes, scrubbed and quartered
1/2 lb. Carrots (2 large), peeled and cut into ½-inch thick slices on the diagonal
minced Rosemary
2 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
hot pepper flakes, to taste
1 bunch Kale (about 6 to 8 oz.), stemmed and cut into 1-inch wide ribbons (wash the kale, but do not spin it dry)
4 oz. link Italian sausage

Place the squash in a bowl with the carrots, potatoes and rosemary and toss with olive oil to coat. Season with salt and pepper. Spread in a snug single layer on a baking sheet.

Place in a 400° to 425° oven. Roast, stirring once or twice, until all of the vegetables are caramelized and tender—about 40 minutes.

While the vegetables roast, heat some olive oil in a large sauté pan over medium heat. Add the garlic and pepper flakes and cook until the garlic begins to sizzle—do not let it brown. Add the kale to the pan a handful at a time, turning it with a tongs to coat it with the oil as you do. When all of the kale has been added, season lightly with salt. Cook, covered, until wilted and tender—15 to 30 minutes depending on the kale. Taste and correct the seasoning. Set aside until the vegetables are ready.

Meanwhile, brown the sausage. Transfer to the oven and continue to cook until the juices run clear. Set aside.

When the vegetables are golden and tender, heat the kale through. Reheat the sausage if necessary. Slice the sausage into 6 to 8 fat slices on the diagonal. Arrange 1/2 of the vegetables on two plates. Spread half of the kale over the vegetables. Repeat these two layers, reserving a slice of two of squash to place on top of the second layer of kale. Tuck the slices of sausage amongst the vegetables and kale and serve.

Serves 2 generously. The recipe is easily multiplied for more than two diners.

Fresh Pumpkin Purée (for Baked Goods & Desserts)

2011-11-11T22:31:00.003-06:00

Thanksgiving is less than two weeks away, and there are probably many cooks out there who would like to try their hand at preparing their pumpkin pie with fresh pumpkin. Since making your own pumpkin purée—at least of a quality that is appropriate for baked goods—is not as straightforward of a process as most cookbooks would lead you to believe, I thought now would be a good time to write a short tutorial on how to make pumpkin purée from a fresh pumpkin.

Standard recipes for fresh pumpkin purée go something like this: Cook the pumpkin (by steaming, boiling, baking/roasting). Purée the cooked pumpkin (discarding the skin and seeds)—either in a food processor or by pressing through a sieve or food mill. Use the pumpkin in your pie (or cake, muffin, bread, custard...) just as you would use "solid pack" canned pumpkin.

Almost everyone I know who has dutifully followed these instructions has confessed that they were disappointed in the pumpkin pie (or other dessert) made from the fresh purée. Most of the time the complaint is that it just didn't taste "pumpkin-y" enough. It is with some reluctance of course that people will admit to this, because fresh is always supposed to be better.

The problem people are encountering is a result of a couple of things. First of all, in my experience, the flesh of a pumpkin is quite watery. If you follow the standard recipe (outlined above), you will actually be able to see the water—the fresh purée will bleed and you will notice pools of yellow liquid around the edges of the container or anywhere there is a divot on the surface of the purée.

Obviously if the purée is watery, it will have a watered down taste (it won't be as "pumpkin-y"). The solution to this is to either drain the pumpkin (in a cheesecloth, for example), or to dry it out. I dry the purée out by spreading it in a gratin-style dish (a large, shallow casserole) and placing it in a low oven where the excess water will slowly evaporate.

The second "problem" encountered with fresh pumpkin is the very fact that it is a fresh vegetable. As a living thing that takes its nourishment from its environment, it is naturally greatly affected by its growing conditions. Location, climate and weather are significant. Two identical cultivars, grown in different places (or the same place in different years) will not have the same moisture content, sweetness, starchiness, etc. Pumpkins grown in the New England states or California may indeed be naturally dense and sweet with little excess moisture. It is also entirely possible that I live in a region that just tends to produce watery pumpkins.

No matter where you live, the fresh pumpkins will vary in their water content from year to year and farm to farm. Every time you prepare a fresh pumpkin purée, you will need to do what you do whenever you cook anything: use your senses to produce a final product that looks and behaves the way you want it to. Some pumpkins will need little or no time in the oven to dry....others may need more than an hour. The first time I began to experiment with this process, my goal was to continue to dry the pumpkin until it looked more like the stuff that comes out of the can: thick enough to stand up on a spoon, dry (it shouldn't "weep" liquid) and deeply orange in color. This should be your guide too. The pumpkin you use may never obtain the deep orange color of the canned "solid pack" pumpkin—but it should not have a pale or translucent look to it.

I don't know why I have never seen this issue addressed in any cookbook (maybe I haven't looked at enough cookbooks), but it seems to me that it makes a substantial difference in the taste and consistency of the final purée. Recently I roasted a pumpkin that weighed 4 lbs., 14 ounces. The initial purée weighed 2 lbs. 12 ounces and measured a little over 5 cups. After drying, the remaining purée weighed 1 lb. 13 ounces and measured about 3 1/3 cups. For those doing the math, you will have noticed that there was almost a full pound (2 cups) of excess water in my original purée. If I had used 15 ounces (the standard amount that most pies call for) of the original purée in a pie, about a third of that would have been water.

Canned on the left; Fresh purée, before "drying", on the right

Canned on the left; Fresh purée, after "drying", on the right

By writing this post, I am not trying to discourage anyone from baking with fresh pumpkin. Rather, my goal is to help those who want to use fresh pumpkin in their holiday baked goods to be able to do so with good success. Most recipes for pumpkin baked goods (bread, cake, pie, custard, etc.) have been developed to use the "solid pack" pumpkin that comes out of a can. If you bake with something that has a substantially higher water content than the canned product, your recipe won't perform the way it was intended to, and you will probably be disappointed in the result.

To prepare fresh pumpkin purée to be used in baked goods: Use a sugar pumpkin or something that is specifically labeled "pie pumpkin". Choose one that feels heavy for its size. I prefer to bake or roast pumpkin that will be made into a purée, because this method doesn't introduce any more water. To bake the pumpkin, cut the pumpkin in half and scoop out the seeds.

Place the pumpkin halves cut side down on a greased rimmed baking sheet.

Bake in a 350° oven until very tender (pumpkin may begin to collapse)—about 1 hour, depending on the size of the pumpkin. Remove from the oven and carefully turn the halves over so the flesh is exposed and can "steam dry" a bit.

Allow the pumpkin to cool. Separate the flesh from the skin and discard the skin. Purée the flesh in the food processor or pass through a food mill fitted with the fine disc.

Dry the purée by spreading it in a shallow pan and baking at 300°, stirring occasionally with a heat-proof rubber spatula (scrape the sides well so the purée won't burn around the edges), until the desired consistency is reached—it will darken a little, will no longer "bleed" water and a clear path will remain when you draw a spatula through the purée.

A medium-sized pumpkin (2 1/3 to 2 1/2 lbs.) will produce a 10 to 12 oz., or about 1 1/4 to 1 1/2 cups, of purée.

Before I end this post, I wanted to mention that there are lots of recipes on my blog—particularly from last November and December—for things that would make wonderful additions to your Thanksgiving celebrations. I hope you will take a minute to look through some of these old posts as you plan your holiday menu. You will find very traditional recipes (a scratch version of Green Bean Casserole, Brussels sprouts with Chestnuts), traditional ingredients used in not-so-traditional ways (Winter Squash Pizza, Spicy Roasted Sweet Potatoes, Butternut Squash and Bulgur Pilaf, Savory Kale & Chestnut Bread Pudding) and of course lots of baked goods and desserts (Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins, Pumpkin-Cranberry Scones, Pumpkin Pot de Crème, Brandied Apple & Currant Crumb Tart). Additionally, over the next few weeks, I will keep doing my best to post recipes that will fill your tables with good things to eat as you gather with your families and friends this year. Happy Holidays!

Baked Pasta Shells with Kale & Chicken (or Turkey)

2011-11-07T12:58:00.000-06:00

While flipping through the current issue of Martha Stewart's Everyday Food, a baked pasta dish with kale and chicken caught my eye. At first glance it appeared to be an interesting variation on macaroni and cheese. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be a baked casserole of pasta shells, chicken, kale and a rather massive quantity (48 oz!) of ricotta. Because the picture had made me hungry for a macaroni and cheese-style dish...and because I didn't have any ricotta in the house—but I did have all the ingredients for a béchamel-bound dish...I made instead the dish I had imagined when I first saw the picture.

The idea of this dish appealed to me for several reasons. I love pasta in all seasons, but I particularly like baked pasta (of the macaroni and cheese variety) during the fall and winter months. Last November I posted an old favorite with cauliflower and tomatoes. I also noticed this recipe because I have been going through my freezer to prepare for the holidays and discovered a small container of shredded roast chicken that I wanted to use up—it turned out to be the perfect amount. (For those of you who don't happen to have roast chicken in your freezer—and who don't want to roast one just for this dish—you could use a purchased rotisserie chicken.) But I really think the thing that made me stop and take a second look at this recipe was the presence of the kale.

I have been enjoying the local kale crop so much this fall. I have brought home a bag almost every week. Chard has been a favorite of mine for years, but it is only in the last several years that I have really discovered kale. Kale is more substantial than chard—both in texture and in taste. It is also very good for you. Perhaps this sounds strange, but eating it makes me feel healthy—not in an "eat this, it's good for you" sense, but in an all around well-being sense of feeling happy, well-fed and well-nourished. In other words, it is a truly satisfying thing to eat. Kale has a slightly bitter, mineral-y taste that I love. It is especially good when paired with starchy foods—potatoes, bread, grains, beans....and pasta.

I'm not sure it was necessary for me to post a recipe that is really just a simple variation of my favorite macaroni and cheese. But it struck me as a rather timely variation. It is, of course, almost Thanksgiving. And although you might not have any roast chicken on hand, you will in all likelihood have leftover roast turkey taking up space in your refrigerator in the very near future.

Baked Pasta with Kale & Chicken

2 T. butter
1 small onion (5 oz.), diced
2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1 bunch kale, ribs removed, and rinsed in several changed of water
6 oz. (about 1 cup) shredded roast chicken (or turkey)
2 cups whole milk
2 T. butter
3 T. all-purpose flour
6 oz. shell pasta
4 oz. Dubliner plus 2 oz. sharp white Cheddar, coarsely grated—these are the cheeses that I had on hand, but you can use 6 oz. of any combination of good melting cheeses that you like (Gruyère, Gouda, etc.)
1/3 c. (1 oz.) grated Parmesan

Preheat the oven to 350°. Generously butter a 1 1/2 quart gratin or casserole and set aside.

In a medium-sized sauté pan, melt the butter over moderate heat. Add the onion, along with a pinch of salt, and sweat the onions are tender and are beginning to caramelize—bout 10 to 15 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant. Set aside.

While the onions cook, blanch the kale in a pot of boiling salted water until tender. Lift the kale out and spread on a baking sheet to cool. When cool, squeeze out the excess moisture, one handful at a time. Chop coarsely. Add the kale to the cooked onions and toss to combine. Taste and correct the seasoning and set aside.

Prepare the béchamel: In a large saucepan, bring the milk to a simmer; keep hot. In another large saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. When the foam subsides, whisk in the flour. Cook stirring constantly for a few minutes—the roux will be bubbly and straw yellow. Remove from the heat and pour in half of the hot milk, whisking constantly until smooth—it will thicken immediately. Add the remaining milk. Return to the heat and stir constantly until the sauce returns to a simmer. Taste and season as desired with salt and pepper.

Cook the pasta in a large pot of rapidly boiling water seasoned generously with salt. Stir and cook until the pasta is al dente (since it will continue to cook as it bakes with the sauce, it can be left quite firm). Drain the pasta.

In a large bowl, combine the chicken, kale mixture, béchamel and pasta.

Add the cheese and quickly fold in—the cheese does not have to melt. Turn the mixture into the prepared pan. Scatter the Parmesan over the top and place on a baking sheet.

Bake until hot through—about 20 to 25 minutes. If necessary, place under the broiler (about 4 inches from the heat) until the top is golden. Serves 3 to 4

Note: This recipe doubles easily to feed a larger group. Use a 13- by 9-inch (3 quart) baking dish.

Celery Root & Apple Soup for a Rainy Evening

2011-11-04T23:44:00.003-05:00

After more than a month of real drought, we had a prolonged, soaking rain on Wednesday. Because of the drought our October was unusually warm and sunny—beautiful really—but I have missed the rain. Wednesday began grey and cool and then turned windy, cold and blustery by evening. The rain continued to fall into the night...it was wonderful. And just as with our one cool day last week, it was a perfect day for soup. But this time, instead of a hearty, chunky vegetable and bean based soup, I made a velvety purée of celery root and apple.

Celery root and apples are natural flavor partners—in both their raw and cooked form. Recipes for a soup made from these two are easy to find. Typically these soups use Granny Smith apples, but I have seen some recipes that use sweeter apples (Fuji and Ginger gold, for example). You may use any apple that pleases you, but I love the tartness of the Granny Smiths in this soup. Most recipes use onions for the flavor base, but I have chosen to use leeks. I like the richness they add, but as with the choice of apples, you should feel free to use onion instead.

Most puréed soups—especially those made with vegetables that have a relatively small amount of natural starch (cauliflower, carrots, celery root, turnips, etc.)—need to have a thickener of some kind. A thickener will add body and will also prevent the vegetables from separating into their fibrous and liquid components. A potato is frequently the starchy addition of choice. It would not be a bad choice for this soup—potatoes and celery root are wonderful together. But when I made my soup, I was more interested in the flavors of the celery root and apple. I thought the addition of the potato would mute these flavors too much.

Another, less obtrusive way to add starch to a puréed soup is to add some rice. To use rice, simply add it a minute or two before adding the liquid. Allow it to cook briefly in the fat with the vegetables. After the liquid has been added, make sure that the soup cooks for at least 20 minutes so that the rice will be fully cooked before the soup is puréed. Soups thickened with rice have a lovely, velvety texture.

Puréed soups are always more interesting when they are finished with a garnish of some kind—and there are lots of possible garnishes for this soup. A few sautéed mushrooms floated in each bowl...a spoonful of cooked wild rice...a few crumbles of blue cheese along with some minced walnuts... At epicurious, I found a particularly appealing garnish: a scattering of crispy, salty pancetta. A final drizzle of a fragrant nut oil (walnut or hazelnut), truffle oil or a flavorful extra virgin olive oil will enhance any garnish you choose.

When served in small (1 cup or less) portions, puréed soups are an elegant first course. But it would be limiting to assume that they are only for the formal setting of the multi-course meal. In larger portions this soup is a filling and soothing entrée. The addition of some biscuits, a crusty artisanal loaf of bread or even a grilled cheese sandwich, make it a meal...and it was absolutely perfect on our recent cold and rainy evening.

Celery Root & Apple Soup

4 T. unsalted butter
2 large leeks, white and pale green parts only, halved, thinly sliced and well rinsed (about 2 1/2 to 3 cups)
2 medium celery root (about 1 lb. each), peeled, quartered and thinly sliced (about 6 cups)
2 Granny Smith Apples (about 7 oz. each), peeled, quartered, cored and thinly sliced (2 1/2 to 3 cups)
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 T. white rice
1/2 c. dry white wine
5 to 6 c. Chicken stock or low-salt canned broth
1/2 c. heavy cream
Salt & Pepper
2 to 3 oz. minced pancetta, cooked until crisp in a bit of butter
Minced Italian Flat leaf parsley
Extra Virgin olive oil

In a large stockpot, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the leeks, celery root, apples and garlic along with a generous pinch of salt.

Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened—about 5 to 10 minutes.

Add the rice and cook for a minute or two. Add the white wine, bring to a simmer and reduce to a glaze. Add enough stock so that the vegetables are just covered and moving freely. Bring to a simmer. Season with salt. Cover and cook over low heat until the celery root and apple are very soft—about 30 minutes.

Purée the soup in batches (the blender should only be filled half way when puréeing hot liquids), adding more stock (or water, if you prefer) if the soup is too thick. Pass the puréed soup through a fine meshed sieve, pressing on the solids to extract as much soup as possible. Return the soup to the pot and add the cream. Heat through. Taste and correct the seasoning. Serve immediately, garnished with the pancetta, herbs and a drizzle of olive oil.

Makes about 2 quarts soup.

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Bars for Halloween

2011-10-30T22:33:00.001-05:00

For our household "Halloween Treat" this year I made one of my favorite pumpkin recipes—pumpkin chocolate chip bars. The recipe is from a special holiday cookie issue of Martha Stewart's Everyday Food, and I haven't changed it one bit. It is very good just the way it is. A quick internet search will reveal that many bloggers have made and loved these bars. For those of you who have never come across these spicy little pumpkin and chocolate gems, you are in for a treat.

As with most bars, these are very easy to make—I will just add a couple of tips. First, the original recipe tells you to line the pan with foil, leaving an overhang so that you can lift the bars out of the pan for cutting. Foil works just fine, but I have always used parchment. It serves the same purpose as the foil, but I find it to be much easier to work with.

Pan, lined with parchment

There is no need to leave the parchment sticking up above the edge of the pan, so I trim it away with a sharp knife.

My other piece of advice has to do with the cutting of the bars. Unfortunately, they are not as easy to cut as they are to make. They are so moist that with each swipe of the knife, the blade comes out coated with a fair amount of cake and soft chocolate. Wiping the blade down after each cut will help some—but it isn't enough. If you want clean, sharp cuts, after each cut run the knife under very hot tap water. Then, wipe the blade clean and dry before making the next cut. The hot knife will slice cleanly through the chips, and since the knife has been wiped clean it won't gather a thicker and thicker layer of cake crumbs after each slice. The recipe recommends using a serrated knife. I prefer to use a very sharp slicing knife.

I guess there is one thing about these bars with which I take issue—they are woefully misnamed. The original recipe is called "Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Squares" and the implication is that they are "cake" squares. If you make them expecting cake, you might be disappointed. Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Brownie...or Blondie...would do a much better job of conveying the moist and "light, yet dense" nature of these bars. The problem of course is that they are not solidly chocolate—like a brownie—neither are they brown sugar-y—like a blondie. I guess there really isn't a perfectly appropriate name for them...so Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Bars will have to do. Enjoy.... and have a Happy Halloween!

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Bars

2 c. all-purpose flour (230 grams)
1 T. pumpkin pie spice (or substitute 1 1/2 t. cinnamon, 3/4 t. ginger, 1/2 t. nutmeg and 1/8 t. each allspice and cloves)
1 t. baking soda
3/4 t. salt
2 sticks unsalted butter (1/2 lb.), room temperature
1 1/4 c. sugar (250 grams)
1 egg
2 t. vanilla
1 c. canned solid-pack pumpkin (245 grams)
1 pkg. (12 oz.) semisweet chocolate chips

Butter a 9-by-13-inch baking pan and then line the bottom and sides with aluminum foil or parchment paper leaving an overhang on two sides. Butter and flour the foil/paper. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, spices, baking soda & salt; set aside.

Cream the butter and sugar until light and fluffy; beat in the egg and vanilla. Beat in the pumpkin (the mixture will look curdled).

Add the dry ingredients, mixing just until combined. Fold in the chocolate chips.

Add the chips just before the dry ingredients are fully incorporated to avoid over-mixing.

Spread the batter in the prepared pan. Bake in a 350° oven until the edges begin to pull away from the sides of the pan and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with just a few moist crumbs—about 35 to 40 minutes. Cool completely in the pan.

Using the foil/parchment overhang, lift the bars from the pan. Transfer to a cutting board and cut into bars (24, 36, 40 or 48).

Cut into 40 pieces (5 by 8), to make bars that are a nice two bite-sized nibble.

(From Everyday Food Collectible Cookie Edition, Holiday 2006)

Butternut Squash, Kale & White Bean Soup

2011-10-27T22:08:00.000-05:00

The weather turned cooler yesterday. It is still not what I would call cold, but there is a bit of a damp chill in the air—it seems that soup weather may have finally arrived. Last Saturday at the farmers' market I picked up a bag of beautiful young kale. So as the weather changed, and I began to think about soup, I immediately thought of the kale. Since I always have winter squash on my counter this time of year—and I love squash with kale—I decided I would make one of my favorite variations on the classic soup combination of beans and greens.

Together these two ingredients never fail to produce a sustaining and warming kind of soup. But somehow the soup this time was extraordinarily so.... It could have been the heightened sense of enjoyment that I experience every season when I taste an old favorite again for the first time that year. But I think it probably had a lot to do with the color of the soup itself. Normally a study in cream, beige and muted green, the butternut squash imbues the soup with a soft, warm orange, making it a perfect antidote to a gray autumn day.

Butternut Squash & White Bean Soup with Kale

4 to 5 T. Olive Oil
1 c. White beans (Great Northern or Cannellini are both good choices)—soaked over-night
2 medium onions (about 1 lb.), diced
4 cloves garlic, peeled and thinly sliced
1 to 2 t. minced Rosemary or Thyme
8 to 10 oz. Kale (Curly or Tuscan), stems removed, leaves cut into 1-inch wide ribbons and rinsed thoroughly to remove any grit
1 medium Butternut Squash (about 1 1/2 lbs.), cut in a scant 1/2-inch dice
4 c. Chicken stock
Extra Virgin Olive oil for drizzling
Parmesan (optional)

Drain and rinse the soaked beans. Place the beans in a medium saucepan and add water to cover by an inch. Bring the beans to a boil and skim off the foam that rises to the surface. Add 1 or 2 tablespoons of olive oil and continue to cook the beans at a gentle simmer until the beans are very tender—about an hour and 15 minutes. Add salt to taste when the beans are half cooked. Beans may be cooked ahead. Cool the beans in their cooking liquid and bring to a simmer before finishing the soup.

About an hour before serving the soup, heat 3 T. olive oil in a large soup pot over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic and rosemary along with a pinch of salt. Sweat, reducing the heat if necessary, until the onion is very tender, stirring occasionally—about 15 minutes. It's okay if the onion mixture begins to caramelize a bit.

Add the kale and a pinch of salt and cook, turning occasionally, until it collapses. It may be necessary to increase the heat a bit.

When the kale collapses, add the squash and cook another 2 or 3 minutes, turning occasionally.

Add the stock and bring to a simmer. If the soup is too thick, add more stock or water--the vegetables should be snug in the pot, but they should also move freely in the liquid when stirred.

Taste the soup and season with salt and pepper. Simmer the soup until the squash and kale are tender—about 20 to 30 minutes. At this point, I like to use the back of a spoon to smash some of the squash cubes against the side of the pan. This will give the soup a lovely orange color and a bit of body. Add the beans, along with their liquid. Again, if the soup is too thick, add water or stock. Bring to a simmer and cook for 5 minutes. Taste and correct the seasoning.

Ladle soup into shallow bowls and top with coarsely grated or shaved Parmesan and a drizzle of olive oil, if desired.

Makes about 2 to 2 1/2 quarts soup to serve 4 to 6.

Variations:
• Cook 8 to 12 oz. of Italian link sausage in the pot before cooking the onion. When the sausage is browned, transfer to the oven and finish cooking. Slice or dice the cooked sausage, and add to the soup with the beans.

• Add 4 oz. of prosciutto, cut in a 1/4-inch dice, to the pot when the onions are finished cooking. When the prosciutto begins to sizzle a bit, add the kale.

• Substitute Swiss Chard for the Kale. Chard cooks much more quickly than kale, so wait to add it until the squash is soft and then add it with the cooked beans and their liquid. Simmer gently until the chard is tender—about 10 minutes.

• For a "post Thanksgiving" variation, use turkey stock and add some shredded roast turkey with the beans.

• If you forget to soak the beans overnight, use one of the quick soak methods outlined in my post on White Bean Soup with Sausage & Swiss Chard.

Poulet Vallée d'Auge (Chicken with Calvados, Cream, Mushrooms & Apples)

2011-10-24T11:28:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite ways to cook chicken is in a classic French sauté. A braised, stew-like preparation of bone-in pieces of chicken, a sauté can be simple and rustic or labor-intensive and refined...or somewhere in between. No matter how rustic or refined, well-executed renditions of these dishes are always flavorful and utterly satisfying—conjuring up idealized images of grandmother's house...and Sunday dinner. Every region of France seems to have its own special sautés that feature traditional and local products. A little over a year ago I posted a recipe for a refined version of a sauté from the Basque country. Today I thought I would share a sauté from Normandy called Poulet Vallée d'Auge.

The Pays d'Auge is located in central Normandy—the land of butter and cream and apples. Three of France's famous cheeses (Camembert, Livarot and Pont-l'Évêque) come from this region. It is also the home of Calvados (apple brandy), as well as hard cider and Pommeau (a fortified-style apple wine). It is only fitting that a chicken sauté from this region would feature cream, Calvados and apples.

Poulet Vallée d'Auge goes together in the usual way of a sauté—brown the chicken, remove the chicken and brown the vegetables, deglaze the pan, return the chicken to the pan, add more liquid and simmer gently until the chicken is very tender. I cover the basic steps of the sauté model in more detail in my post on Poulet Basquaise. My Poulet Vallée d'Auge is slightly less refined than my version of Poulet Basquaise—the vegetables cooked with the chicken are not strained out—but the principles behind the two dishes are the same.

The components of Poulet Vallée d'Auge vary surprisingly little from recipe to recipe. There are of course the three signature ingredients (Calvados, cream and apples). And most versions will also include shallots, mushrooms, thyme and bay. The greatest variation occurs in the liquids that are used. In addition to the Calvados and cream some recipes add even more liquid—hard cider or chicken stock are typical. I added stock to mine, but if you have access to a nice dry, hard cider, it would be entirely in keeping with the integrity of the dish to use that instead of or in combination with the stock. You will even find some recipes that add no liquids other than Calvados and cream.

If you don't keep Calvados on hand (it is fairly expensive), I think it is perfectly acceptable to use plain brandy. Certainly it would be better to use brandy than to bypass this wonderful dish just because you didn't have any Calvados. You will also notice in the recipe that it directs you to return the chicken to the pan before you add the Calvados. This is a bit of a departure from most sautés. The usual method is to deglaze the pan with wine (or possibly stock) before the chicken is returned to the pan. It is just easier to do the required boiling and scraping of the bottom of the pan without large pieces of chicken to work around (I also think it probably doesn't do the chicken any favors to expose it to hard boiling). In this dish, a lot of the work of deglazing is accomplished by the mushrooms before the Calvados is added because the mushrooms release some liquid when they are first added to the pan and before they begin to brown. Also, since the Calvados is flambéed (instead of boiled for reduction) there is a school of thought that holds that by flambéing the Calvados around the chicken, the chicken is infused with the aroma of the Calvados.

Apples are added to Poulet Vallée d'Auge at the end as a garnish. Sometimes they are simply sautéed and served alongside the chicken and its sauce. But I like to add the sautéed apples to the cream sauce for a brief simmer at the end while the sauce is reducing—this insures that the apples are tender (make sure you choose an apple that holds its shape when cooked) and it also allows them to contribute their flavor to the final sauce.

Caramelized apples

Apples simmering in reducing cream sauce

Since we are in the middle of apple season, now would be a perfect time to sample this dish. And if you have never tasted a French sauté, this one would be a good place to begin. Maybe it could be the centerpiece of your next Sunday dinner.

Poulet Vallée d'Auge

(Chicken with Calvados, Cream, Mushrooms & Apples)

1 T. vegetable oil
1 T. unsalted butter
1 3 1/2 lb. chicken, cut up (see note) or 3 lbs. chicken parts of your choice
8 oz. white button mushrooms, sliced 1/4-inch thick
1 large shallot, minced
1 T. picked thyme
1/3 to 1/2 c. Calvados (or brandy)
1 c. chicken stock
1 bay leaf
2 T. unsalted butter

2 to 3 medium apples—Golden Delicious, Gala, Jonagold or Braeburn—peeled, cored and cut into 8 wedges each

1 c. crème fraiche or heavy cream
Salt & Pepper
lemon, if necessary

Melt the butter with the vegetable oil over medium-high heat in a large straight-sided sauté pan or a wide enameled cast-iron pot. Pat the chicken dry and season generously with salt and pepper. Add the chicken to the pan, skin side down, and brown all over, in batches if necessary to keep from crowding the pan. Regulate the heat as necessary to maintain an active sizzle. When the chicken is golden brown and the skin is crisp and well-rendered, transfer the chicken to a plate and pour off all but a tablespoon or two of the fat.

Add the mushrooms to the pan and sauté until soft and browned—about 5 minutes. Add the shallots and thyme to the pan (adding a bit of butter if the pan seems dry) and cook until soft—a couple of minutes.

Return the chicken pieces to the pan, remove the pan from the heat and add the Calvados. Return the pan to the heat and carefully flambé (either by lighting with a match or tilting the pan if you are using a gas stove). Shake the pan, continuing to cook until the flames subside. (If you prefer not to flambé, simply simmer the calvados until it is well-reduced and thick and bubbly.) Add the stock and the bay leaf and bring to a simmer. Cover the pan with a tight fitting lid and reduce the heat to maintain a very gentle simmer.

When the white meat pieces are cooked through (after about 15 to 20 minutes), remove them to a plate and cover with foil to keep them warm. Continue to cook the remaining dark meat pieces until very tender and cooked through—another 15 minutes or so.

While the chicken simmers, melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a large sauté pan over medium heat. Increase the heat to medium high and when the butter foam subsides, add the apples. Sauté, turning occasionally and reducing the heat if the apples threaten to burn. After the apples have begun to take on some color, season with salt & pepper. Continue to cook until the apples are golden and just tender (about 10 to 15 minutes). Remove the apples to a plate and set aside.

When the dark meat is cooked through, remove to the plate with the white meat. Remove the bay and discard. Add the cream and the sautéed apples to the pan and bring to a simmer. Simmer until the sauce has thickened slightly. Taste the sauce and correct the seasoning with salt and pepper. If using heavy cream instead of crème fraiche you may need to add a little lemon to lift the flavor a bit. Reduce the heat to very low and return the chicken to the pan along with any resting juices. Cover the pan and briefly allow the chicken to heat through.

Poulet Vallée d'Auge is traditionally served with rice, noodles or steamed/boiled potatoes. Serves 4 to 6

Notes:

The chicken may be cut into 4 or 8 serving pieces (or you may use parts, as noted in the recipe). It doesn't matter how the chicken is cut up as long as all of the pieces are the same size. For these "Sauté-style" stews, the French traditionally cut the chicken into 8 pieces—2 legs, 2 thighs and 4 breast pieces. The four breast pieces are obtained by taking each split breast and cutting it cross-wise into 2 equal pieces. The other way to cut the chicken is to cut it into quarters—2 leg-thigh joints and 2 breasts. For both methods, the first joint of the wing may be left attached to the breasts.

Like all stews/braises, this dish can be made earlier in the day, or the day before. The cream sauce should not be fully reduced during the initial preparation as it will reduce further during the reheating process. To reheat, place the whole dish in a 350 degree oven and heat through...or gently warm on the stove top over low heat. If you prefer, when you make the dish ahead you could make it just to the point of adding the cream and apples, and then start from that point when you are ready to serve (Store the chicken in the cooking liquid and then reheat the chicken and liquid. Remove the chicken and add the cream and apples, reduce and then return the chicken to the pan as usual.).

Autumn Salad with Apples & Shaved Fennel

2011-10-20T13:43:00.000-05:00

For the past few weeks I have been working on some recipes for a new Fall class featuring apples. One of the recipes is for a salad that includes thinly sliced apples and shaved fresh fennel. I frequently add shaved fennel to my salads—I love its subtle crunch and mild anise flavor. Its sweet and aromatic presence compliments a wide array of foods, but it is particularly nice with apples (I posted a recipe that featured cooked fennel and apples earlier this month). If you haven't tried fennel, this salad—with its friendly profusion of apples, dried fruit and nuts—would be a great introduction.

To prepare fennel—whether it is to be cooked or eaten raw—cut the stalks off flush with the top of the bulb. The leaves or "fennel fronds" can be saved and used just like any fresh herb. The stalks are tough and stringy and should be discarded (or perhaps used in a stock, where they will contribute flavor before they are strained out). Trim what remains of the root flush with the bottom of the bulb. Remove and discard any of the outer layers that appear to be dry, tough or badly scarred. What remains is ready to be halved and cored.

If you want to shave the fennel for a salad, simply use a mandoline to thinly slice the halves cross-wise.

For the apples, you can use just about any favorite snacking apple as long as it is crisp and juicy. I have used Cameos, Jonagolds, a mix of Cortlands and Haralsons (while visiting friends in Minnesota) and Braeburns. I imagine it would also be pretty tasty with Pink Ladys. My preference is for an apple that has a "sweet-tart" flavor profile—I think these make for a more interesting salad—but you could of course choose something sweet (like a Gala or Fuji) or something tart (like a Granny Smith).

To me, a good salad is all about a lively interplay of flavors and textures—and the remaining ingredients in this salad have been chosen with this in mind:

Dried cranberries echo the sweet-tart taste of the apples and also introduce some nice texture. Golden raisins could be used in place of the dried cranberries and would be a particularly good choice if you are using a very tart apple.

The bitterness of the endive and walnuts provides some needed contrast, depth and balance. Arugula makes an interesting substitution for the endive—instead of tossing it with the fennel and apples, dress it separately and use it as a "bed of greens" for a mound of the dressed apple and fennel.

A salty cheese (like a blue or maybe some Feta or Ricotta Salata), scattered over the plated salad, gives a nice piquant finish. But I have served it without the cheese and the salad was still very good.

The salad is dressed with a tart vinaigrette that I spiked with more sweet apple-y flavor in the form of a small amount of cider reduction (cider simmered until it is thick and syrup-y). If you prefer a creamy vinaigrette, the creamy Dijon dressing I posted with a pear salad last January—made perhaps with a little extra lemon juice—would be very nice.

I hope you will try this salad—or some variation thereof. All of the ingredients are coming into season now and will continue to fill the markets through the winter. For me, this salad is a perfect seasonal antidote to the abundance of substantial and rich foods that will fill our tables during the months ahead.

Autumn Salad of Apples,
Shaved Fennel & Belgian Endive

For the vinaigrette:
1 T. cider reduction (optional)—see below
2 T. White Balsamic Vinegar
2 T. freshly squeezed and strained lemon juice
2 t. Dijon Mustard
Salt & Pepper, to taste
1/2 c. Olive oil

In a small bowl, whisk the cider reduction, vinegar, lemon juice and mustard together until smooth. Season with salt and pepper. Whisk in the oil in a thin stream to form an emulsion. Taste and correct the seasoning—adding more lemon juice if necessary.

For the salad:
3 or 4 crisp sweet/tart apples—Braeburn, Pink Lady, etc. (about 1 pound)
2 medium heads of fennel, trimmed
3 or 4 heads Belgian Endive (about 12 oz.)
2 T. minced Italian flat leaf parsley
1 T. minced chives
1 T. minced Tarragon
1/2 c. Dried Cranberries—plus more for garnish
1/2 c. coarsely chopped toasted walnuts or pecans—plus more for garnish
4 oz. Blue Cheese (Roquefort, Stilton or Gorgonzola) or Feta—optional

Halve and core the apples. Use a mandoline to slice the apple halves very thinly lengthwise. Place the sliced apples in a large bowl.

Halve the fennel lengthwise and cut out the core. Using a mandoline again, shave the fennel very thinly crosswise and add it to the bowl with the apple.

Halve and core the endives. Place the endive halves cut surface down and cut on an angle into quarter inch wide strips. Add the endive to the bowl with the apples and fennel.

Add the herbs, dried cranberries and nuts and toss to combine. Season with salt and pepper. Add enough dressing to generously coat and toss well. Taste and correct the seasoning.

Mound the salad in the center of individual serving plates or one large platter. Crumble the blue cheese over all and garnish with more cranberries and nuts, if desired. Serves 6 to 8.

Notes:

• The apples, endive and fennel will all oxidize if cut too far ahead. The fennel is more stable than the apple and endive—it could be shaved an hour or two ahead—but the apple and endive must be cut right before the salad is to be served.

• If you prefer, you may use all parsley (and omit the chives and tarragon).

Cider Reduction: Place a quart of apple cider in a saucepan. If you like, you may add a piece of cinnamon stick, a clove and a few black peppercorns (or any combination of spices you prefer). Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and cook at a bare simmer until the cider is thick and syrupy—you will have about a half cup of reduction. As the reduction gets thicker, reduce the heat even more to keep it from scorching.

Chicken & Chorizo Empanadas

2011-10-16T22:12:00.000-05:00

After my post on how to make tender and flaky short crust pastry, I thought it would be appropriate to post a recipe that uses short crust pastry. So today I'm sharing—without too much comment—a recipe for Chicken Empanadas that I found several years ago in an article on Spanish Tapas in Gourmet magazine. The original recipe was made with a yeast dough instead of pie dough...but since I love empanadas made with short crust pastry, that's how I have always made them and that's how I will pass the recipe along to you.

This is one of my favorite empanada fillings. It is moist and loaded with flavor. The recipe may seem a bit complicated (the list of ingredients is a bit long)—but with a little organization and planning it is fairly easy to make. If you are familiar with the technique of braising, you will recognize that this filling is just a simple braise. I hope to write a tutorial on braising this winter—and when I do, I will post the link here. But until then, if you carefully follow the method as described in the recipe you should not have any problems.

There are a couple of things in the recipe that are worth emphasizing. First, make sure that the liquid that remains in the pan after the chicken has finished cooking is reduced to the consistency of heavy cream. If the liquid is too runny, the empanadas will be soggy.

Secondly, make sure the filling is cold before building the empanadas. If it is warm, it will melt the butter in the pastry. The filling is also much easier to handle when it is cold. I find that it works best to make the filling the day before I need it—not only will it have plenty of time to chill, but the flavors will have a chance to blend.

As with almost any empanada recipe, you can make these in any size that will suit your needs—from small "two-bite" sized empanadillas for tapas or appetizers to larger turnovers more appropriate for an entrée portion. The only changes you need to make are the oven temperature (450° for smaller empanadillas and 400° for empanadas) and the cooking time (12 to 15 minutes for the smaller size and 20 to 25 for the larger).

Whatever size you make them, they can be frozen—in their baked or unbaked form. If you freeze them before baking, they should be placed directly in a preheated oven from the freezer. They will only take a few moments longer to bake than they do when they are baked from fresh. And when you pull them piping hot from the oven—for your next party...or for a quick meal on a busy weeknight—after having made them weeks before, this will seem like one of the easiest and most convenient recipes in your repertoire.

Chicken & Chorizo Empanadas with Olives & Raisins

2 to 2 1/2 lbs. whole chicken legs, including thighs
1 t. salt—or to taste
1/4 t. black pepper—or to taste
2 T. extra-virgin olive oil
2 medium onions, cut in a 1/4-inch dice
2 large garlic cloves, minced
2 Turkish bay leaves or 1 California
2 oz. finely diced Spanish chorizo (cured spiced pork sausage, casings discarded if desired)
1 t. Spanish smoked paprika
1/2 c. dry white wine
1/3 c. chopped green olives
1/3 c. golden raisins
3/4 c. reduced-sodium chicken broth
1 recipe short crust pastry (below)
1 egg

Pat chicken dry and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Heat 2 tablespoons oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderately high heat until hot, but not smoking, then brown chicken, turning over once, about 15 to 20 minutes total, and transfer to a plate.

Sauté onions, garlic, and bay leaves in fat remaining in skillet, stirring frequently, until onions are softened and beginning to caramelize, about 15 minutes.

Add chorizo and paprika and cook, stirring, 1 minute.

Add wine, stirring and scraping up any brown bits, and reduce by half. Add olives, raisins and broth and bring to a boil. Return chicken to skillet along with any juices accumulated on plate, then reduce heat to moderately low and simmer chicken, covered, turning over once, until tender and cooked through, 30 to 45 minutes.

Transfer chicken to a clean plate. (Sauce in skillet should be the consistency of heavy cream; if it’s not, briskly simmer until slightly thickened, about 5 minutes.) When chicken is cool enough to handle, discard the bones and cartilage and finely chop the meat and skin.

Stir chicken into sauce and discard bay leaves. Season with salt and pepper. Chill the filling before using.

To form the empanadas, bring the dough to room temperature. Roll a sixth of the dough out on lightly floured surface to 1/8-inch thickness. Cut dough into 3-inch rounds. Place 1 rounded tablespoon of filling in the center of each round.

Paint edges with egg, fold dough over filling and pinch to seal. Transfer formed empanadas to parchment lined baking sheets and brush with more egg wash. Gather the scraps and combine with another sixth of the pastry. Roll out, cut and form more empanadas as with the first batch of dough. Continue to form and roll, incorporating the scraps each time until you have used all of the filling. Chill the formed empanadas for at least 30 minutes. (See Spinach Empanada post for detailed instructions and pictures of rolling dough for empanadas). Bake at 450° until golden brown—about 12 to 15 minutes. Serve warm. Makes about 60 empanadillas.

Note: These freeze very well. After forming and placing on parchment lined sheets, freeze until hard. Transfer to freezer bags. Bake from frozen, adding a few minutes to the total cooking time.

To make larger empanadas for a light entrée (to serve with a salad): Roll dough out and cut 12 5.5- by 5.5-inch squares or 12 6-inch rounds. Place 1/12 of the filling (about 1/3 cup) on each of the squares (or rounds). Paint edges with egg, fold and seal. Brush with more egg wash and cut 2 or 3 vents in the top of the empanada. If you have larger appetites, serve two per person, or cut larger squares/rounds of pastry and make 8 empanadas with 1/2 cup filling each. To bake larger empanadas, reduce the oven temperature to 400° and increase the cooking time to about 25 minutes. Bake until the crust is golden brown and the filling is bubbling through the vents.

(Empanada filling recipe from Gourmet Magazine, January 2005)

Short Crust Pastry

4 c. all-purpose flour (454g)
1 t. salt
3 sticks cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces (340g)
1/2 to 3/4 c. ice water

Combine the flour and the salt in a medium-sized bowl. Rub the butter into the flour until the butter is in small pea-sized pieces. Drizzle 1/2 c. ice water over the flour/butter mixture. Using your hands, fluff the mixture until it begins to clump, adding more water if necessary. Turn the dough out onto a counter and form into a mound. Using the heel of your hand, gradually push all of the dough away from you in short forward strokes, flattening out the lumps. Continue until all of the dough is flat. Using a bench scraper, scrape the dough off the counter, forming it into a single clump as you do. Turn the dough onto a piece of plastic wrap and press into a disc. Chill dough for at least 30 minutes.

"Tender & Flaky"...a Tutorial on Short Crust Pastry

2011-10-12T22:39:00.003-05:00

From the early days of my blog I have been planning on writing a post on how to make short crust pastry. I have posted many tarts and just given the recipe for the crust...knowing that someday I would get around to explaining the details. Since I recently taught a class on pies and tarts...and we're heading toward the holidays (the one time of year people seem inclined to make homemade pie)...now seemed to be an appropriate moment.

Before I begin, I should tell you that I realize this is a really long post. I thought about dividing the contents up into 2 or 3 separate posts, but kept feeling like it all belonged together...so I just left it as one post. I have inserted some subtitles. Hopefully this will make the post a bit easier to navigate and read in short stretches.

Preliminaries—gluten, etc.

First, a definition. Most Americans are more likely to recognize the term "pie dough" than "short crust pastry". In France, the same dough is called "pâte brisée". I use these three terms interchangeably. Basically, short crust pastry is the dough that is used to make pies, tarts and turnovers (among other things). It can be made with a wide range of fats ("shortening")—butter, solid vegetable shortening and lard are the best—but I will be focusing solely on crusts made with all butter.

In order to consistently produce good pâte brisée, it helps to understand a little bit about gluten. Gluten is an elastic sheet-like substance (sometimes compared to bubblegum) that forms when wheat flour is mixed with a liquid via a mechanical action (like kneading or stirring). The more you stir or knead, the more gluten you will develop. Gluten gives strength and structure to a dough. Well-developed gluten makes yeast-raised breads light and crusty. On the other hand, too much gluten will produce tough and hard pie crusts and tart shells. Although you need a little bit of gluten development to keep a pie crust from falling apart, not enough gluten is almost never a problem. After all, the dough must be mixed after the liquid has been added so some gluten development is inevitable. In practice, learning to make pie dough is about learning how to minimize gluten development.

Wheat flour contains two kinds of proteins—gliadins and glutenins. It is these proteins that combine to form gluten. So one obvious way to minimize gluten development is to use a low protein flour like cake flour, pastry flour or a soft wheat flour like White Lily. But if all you have on hand is a national brand all-purpose flour—which has a moderate level of protein...low enough to make tender cakes and pastries....yet high enough to make a decent loaf of bread...hence "all-purpose"—you can still make a fine pâte brisée. When I make short crust pastry, I almost always use unbleached all-purpose flour.

The reason you can use an all-purpose flour to make pie dough is that there are many other ways to control gluten development. Certain ingredients can be added that inhibit the ability of the gliadins and glutenins to grab on to one another and form gluten. I will mention these briefly, but to me of much greater interest and importance are the techniques that will enable you to produce a pie dough that isn't tough or hard. If you understand the how's and why's of the right techniques, and what the dough should look and feel like at each stage in the process, you can make beautiful short crust pastry with the most basic of ingredients...flour, butter, water and salt...ingredients that everyone has in their kitchen. And since my goal is to encourage people to actually make pastry, I'm much more interested in teaching something that is simple and stream-lined.

You will find some recipes for short crust pastry that include lemon juice, vinegar, sour cream, buttermilk, or some other acidic ingredient. This is because acids are tenderizers. I mention this mainly to answer the question I am sometimes asked in class about why someone's Grandmother's prized recipe might include one of these ingredients. I never add an acidic ingredient to my pâte brisée because I have never needed to. Shirley Corriher is a great fan of this addition and her book Bakewise includes several crusts that include acidic ingredients.

The "tenderizers" that I am mostly interested in are sugar and fat. Sugar attaches itself to the aforementioned gliadins and glutenins, keeping them from bonding to one another for the formation of gluten. If you need a crust for a dessert, this is a handy thing to know. The more sugar you add, the less flour proteins that are available to make gluten. You can of course add so much sugar that there is little or no gluten development, in which case you end up with a crust that is crumbly and quite difficult to roll out.

Fats tenderize by coating the proteins—literally making them too greasy to be able to effectively join together to make gluten. This fat coating on the proteins also inhibits the ability of the dough to absorb water (which is necessary for gluten formation).

Up to this point, I have only talked about a "tender" pie crust. But of course everyone knows that a good pie crust should not only be tender—it should also be flaky. Flakiness is achieved when there are discernable lumps of cold fat remaining in the final dough. In a hot oven, the dough sets quickly around these cold bits of fat. The bits of fat then melt, leaving holes and creating flaky layers. This is the reason behind the time-honored practice of keeping your ingredients as cold as possible. Some cooks chill the flour and the bowl (I usually don't bother, but if it is a hot day, this is a good thing to do). Whether or not you chill the flour and the bowl, the butter and water should both be refrigerator cold—I usually put ice in the water to make sure it is very cold.

The Basic Recipe—the ingredients

Now to the basic recipe: Classic French pâte brisée is made with half as much butter by weight as flour. This is how I learned to make it when I was in London at cooking school. When I returned to the United States, I discovered that this ratio does not produce a very good crust. I also noticed that there was a lot more fat in the American pie dough that I had been making successfully for years. The reason for this discrepancy goes back to the protein content of the flour. U.S. national brand flours have more protein than the flours used in England and France. If you want to use this lower "classic" ratio, you must use a low protein flour like cake flour or pastry flour. If you want to use American all-purpose flour, then you should use a quantity of fat equal to 75% of the weight of the all-purpose flour to obtain a good crust.

The amount of water used to make the dough will vary according to the humidity of the day, the moisture content of the flour itself, how warm or cold the ingredients are and how much the butter has been worked into the flour. Typically the amount of water will be one quarter to one half the weight of the fat. According to Madeleine Kamman, it should never be more than half the weight of the fat. Too much water can make a crust tough.

The reason that I explain the ratios is that if you know these simple ratios, you never need to have a recipe with you. If you remember that a 8- to 10-inch tart or pie shell will need about the quantity of dough produced by 3 to 4 ounces of butter, you will always be able to calculate the remaining ingredients. To calculate the salt, I figure 1/4 t. of salt for every cup (4 oz.) of flour. I always use unsalted butter, so if you are using salted butter, you probably don't need any additional salt.

So, for a quantity of pâte brisée or pie dough that is large enough to line a 9- to 10-inch removable bottom tart pan or pie plate, you will need:

1 1/3 cup unbleached all-purpose flour (150 grams/5 1/3 oz.)
1 stick unsalted butter (113.5 grams/4 oz.)
3/8 t. salt
2 to 4 T. ice water (28 to 56 grams/1 to 2 oz.)

The Basic Recipe—the method

Now to the techniques. To begin, gather your ingredients. Make sure your butter and water are cold and leave them in the refrigerator until you are ready to use them. Place the flour and salt in a bowl large enough to accommodate the free movement of both of your hands. Stir the flour and salt together (using your fingers, a whisk or a fork). Cut the cold butter into uniformly-sized pieces. Some chefs/cooks cut the butter into roughly 1/2-inch chunks. I find it works best if I cut a stick of butter into slices that are a scant 1/4-inch thick. Add the butter to the bowl and fluff it in so that it is coated with the flour.

The first step in the process of making a short dough is called "sablage" which means to reduce to sand. It is also referred to as "rubbing" (if you are using your hands/fingers or a stand mixer with the paddle attachment) or "cutting" (if you are using a pastry blender or the food processor) the fat into the flour. It doesn't matter too much which implement you choose for this process as long as you remember that the fat in the pastry has two functions—tenderness and flakiness. The tenderness comes from butter that coats the proteins (small..slightly warmer pieces) and the flakes come from large cold pieces. I tell people that after sablage, the contents of the bowl should look like cornmeal and peas.

If you are rubbing the fat into the flour using your hands (as I do), the inherent warmth of your fingers will naturally soften some of the butter as the pieces get smaller and smaller. It is this butter that will "coat" and result in a mixture that looks like cornmeal. If you continued long enough, all of the mixture would have the uniform look of cornmeal. Continuing even longer and the mixture would come together completely in a homogenous mass of dough that needed no water (and would have virtually no gluten development). The idea is to stop rubbing while there are still a lot of largish, cold pieces of butter that look like peas.

If you prefer to use a pastry blender for the sablage, Alice Waters in her book Chez Panisse Fruit recommends adding the butter in two stages. She adds a third of the pieces of butter first and works it in to the flour until the whole mixture looks like cornmeal. She then adds the remaining two thirds and works it just until this later addition is reduced to the size of large peas.

For those who have read my crostata/galette posts, you might recall that I execute the sablage using the food processor. This particular dough is made with an unusually high percentage of fat. So high that when I use my hands I find it difficult to keep it from coming together in a mass before the water is added. It works best for me to pulse the cold butter into the flour until it is in mostly pea-sized pieces (some will be smaller). I then turn the whole mixture into a bowl and complete the sablage using my hands—this effectively warms up some of the butter and I end up with a mixture that has the desired look of cornmeal and peas.

It should be clear from all of this that when rubbing the fat into the flour, you may use any technique you prefer. Simply keep the picture of "cornmeal and peas" in your mind as you work—doing whatever is necessary, given the temperature conditions in the room and your chosen equipment, to produce this result. The universals are the things that you always hear: Start with cold ingredients, work quickly, purposefully and minimally. (If at any point the mixture looks greasy or is warm, put it in the refrigerator to firm the butter up again before proceeding.)

The next step is to add the water. Make sure the water is icy-cold. (This will keep the butter cold.) Add about half of the water by drizzling it over the butter/flour mixture and then "fluffing" it in. I use my hands for this operation. Hold your hands so that your palms are facing one another and your thumbs are pointing away from you. Curve your fingers slightly. Scoop down around the contents of the bowl and lift up, tossing the mixture (sort of like tossing a salad with your hands) to distribute the water. Keep scooping and fluffing, adding more of the water as necessary until the mixture begins to form larger and larger clumps. If, when you squeeze a handful of dough it holds together, you have added enough water.

This "fluffing" step should take less than a minute for a small batch of dough. The final result is truly "clumpy"—not a homogenous mass of dough. If you prefer, you may use a fork to fluff the ingredients together. What is most important is that, whether you use your hands or a fork, you don't stir, as this will encourage excessive gluten formation.

After you have added the liquid you may simply turn the clumps of dough out onto a sheet of plastic wrap and use the plastic wrap to press the dough together and into a thick disk that is about an inch thick. In recent years, I have been incorporating one last step from the French repertoire when I make my pâte brisée. This step, called "fraisage", helps to further combine all of the ingredients without stirring or kneading. A dough that has been "fraised" has greater plasticity and the edges don't tend to crack when it is rolled out. The process develops just enough gluten so that the crust is not too fragile—but not so much that it is tough. Finally, it also effectively flattens the large pieces of cold butter remaining in the dough so that the resulting flakes in the crust are long and thin.

To fraise the dough, after the water has been fluffed in, dump the moist clumps of dough onto the counter and press into a mound.

Using the heel of your hand, gradually push all of the dough away from you in short forward strokes, flattening out the lumps.

Continue until all of the dough has been flattened.

Using a bench scraper, scrape the dough off the counter, forming it into a single clump as you do.

Wrap the dough in plastic wrap, pressing into a thick disk.

Many chefs recommend that you repeat this process, but I find that this is not necessary...for me, this second pass would create too much gluten.

At this point the disc of dough (fraised, or not) should be chilled for at least 30 minutes, and preferably 2 hours. This is called "resting" the dough. It allows any gluten that has been formed to relax. It also allows the flour to more fully and evenly absorb the water. The dough should rest in the refrigerator so that the butter can chill and firm up again. The dough may be made up to this point a day or so ahead. It may also be frozen for a few months. Thaw frozen dough in the refrigerator. The disc of chilled dough (whether it has been frozen or not) should be allowed to warm up for a moment or two before it is rolled out. If the dough is hard when you try to roll it out, it will crack and roll unevenly.

The last step—rolling out the dough

To roll out the dough, begin by dusting the work surface and the disc of dough with flour. Place the floured disc of dough in front of you on the counter.

Remember to work quickly—particularly if the room is warm—the butter softens with increasing speed as the dough becomes thinner and thinner. If the dough gets too warm, the large solid pieces of butter in the dough will begin to melt and will in turn be absorbed by the flour. The resulting crust will be tender, but it will not be as flaky.

To minimize gluten development as you roll, always roll from the center of the dough outward rather than back and forth from edge to edge: Place the rolling pin at the midpoint of the dough and roll away from you to the edge of the dough (using light and even pressure). Lift the rolling pin and place it back at the midpoint of the dough and roll in the opposite direction (toward you). Rotate the dough a quarter turn—always making sure that there is sufficient flour to keep the dough from sticking—and roll from the center out and away and then from the center back towards you again. Keep rolling and turning until you have a round (or square, or rectangle...depending on the intended use) of dough that is about 1/8 to 1/6–inch in thickness. As you work, periodically dust the dough, as well as the counter top, with flour to keep the dough from sticking. When you are finished, use a dry pastry brush to brush off the excess flour.

If the dough has been rolled out for a pie or tart, transfer the dough to a buttered tart pan or pie plate, being careful that you don't stretch the dough as you ease it into the pan. Dough tends to shrink as it bakes and if it has been stretched, it will shrink even more.

At this point the dough needs to rest in the refrigerator again. The action of rolling will have developed some gluten. Resting the dough will allow the gluten to relax. Chilling the crust will allow the butter to get cold and firm again. A rest of 30 minutes is the minimum, but the crust can be rolled out a day ahead too. (This is a good thing to know when preparing for a holiday dinner.)

For tips on rolling out the dough for empanadas, turnovers or small individual tartlets, check out my post from last year on Spinach Empanadas.

A few final thoughts and definitions

As you read through the recipe for pâte brisée you might have noticed that after writing about the tenderizing effects of sugar that I didn't include any sugar in the basic recipe. I am not in the habit of adding sugar to my basic pâte brisée, but it is common and perfectly acceptable to include a small amount—in roughly the same quantity as the salt. This is too small an amount to contribute a tenderizing affect. When used like this in pâte brisée, it is to assist in the browning of the crust. In quantities large enough to tenderize, the crust becomes discernibly sweet and is fit solely for using in dessert-type pies and tarts.

In the classic French repertoire, in addition to pâte brisée there are two other types of short crust pastry—and both of these include sugar. They are pâte sucrée and pâte sablé. Pâte sucrée contains enough sugar to make it slightly sweet (to be used in dessert tarts, turnovers, etc.) and it is made using the same techniques as pâte brisée (the sugar is added with the salt to the flour). Pâte sucrée is a sweet, flaky crust. Pâte sablé contains even more sugar than pâte sucrée....so much that there cannot be enough gluten development to produce a flaky crust. Instead, it has a crumbly or sandy-texture (sablé is from the same root as sablage) that is much more like a tender cookie than a pie crust. In fact, it is frequently called a "cookie crust" and the method used to make it is exactly like making a cookie dough (butter is creamed with sugar and egg before the flour is added and mixed to a homogenous dough).

If all of this seems confusing, just remember the pâte brisée is the all-purpose crust. It is the most important one to be able to make, because if you can make a good pâte brisée, you can make both savory and sweet pies, turnovers and crostatas/galettes. If you know how to make this crust, you don't really need to know how to make any others.

On the other hand, if you can make a pâte brisée, you know how to make the most difficult crust....and there is no reason not to expand to sweet crusts. In my own personal repertoire I don't really make or use a classic pâte sucrée. When I want a sweet flaky crust, it is typically for a free form galette or crostata. The dough that I use for this would probably be classified as a pâte sucrée because of the technique used to make it and because it is sweet. But, as mentioned above, it contains a very large percentage of butter—almost equal to the weight of the flour. I love this crust because it is very tender and flaky—but I don't think it has enough structure to use in a tart pan as one would be able to use a more traditional pâte sucrée. I do make a traditional pâte sablé and have posted it on more than one occasion. It is an exceptional recipe that I learned from a local pastry chef who owned The Pastry Goddess in Kansas City for many years (Thanks Kathy!!).

Now seems like an appropriate place to mention that the content of this post has been acquired over the years...obviously a lot of experience, many teachers and many chefs contributed to the things that I have written about. But I want to specifically mention the books The New Making of a Cook by Madeleine Kamman and Bakewise by Shirley Corriher. It is impossible for me to separate the practical techniques I have learned over the years from the science (as it relates to technique) as explained in these two books. They are both goldmines of information—I have barely scratched the surface. If you are interested in delving more deeply into this topic, these books would be a great place to start.

Hopefully this post has been enough to help, but not so much that it overwhelms or intimidates. Making excellent pâte brisée really is not complicated or difficult. Despite the length of this post, making it is simple and fast—much faster to make than to read about it. Once you understand the "why's", the age old advice to" keep everything cold and work quickly and purposefully" will make sense. With practice, you will learn to produce a tender and flaky crust in no time at all.