Nosheteria

Ramps For Me

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Wed, 28 Apr 2010 16:42:00 +0000

Last Saturday, a dear friend dropped by unexpectedly and delivered a fabulous, edible present that was local-- very local. It wasn't honey, or fish caught in the Sound, it wasn't even a vegetable that he had cared for and grown on his patio. It was something that he had foraged. I'm not even sure why, but this made it all the more exciting-- I was thrilled! Inside an old shopping bag, was a jumble of dirty ramps, the roots still clinging to the rocky soil in which they were buried.

For those of you who are not familiar with ramps, they are also called wild leeks, but I think that they have a taste all their own. It is a bit like green garlic-- delicate and highly fragrant. However, they are far too pungent to be eaten raw. But when cooked they are mellow and sweet, recalling the flavors of onion and garlic.

Now I had cooked with ramps before, but they had always been purchased at a farmers' market. I let my local farmer do the dirty work for me. When we lived in New York, I would buy them during the few short weeks of availability at the Union Square Greenmarket. There they would be virtually clean, tied together with a rubber band, and laying in piles in a wooden crate. They were rather expensive-- but now I an see why. My friend had been on a hike when he had noticed the willowy, green stalks sprouting up all around him. He bent down to pick a few. He tugged, and the buggers would not budge. He dug, freed the stones that clung to the roots, and after a few moments was rewarded with a single ramp. From what I understand, foraging for ramps can be an arduous task.

But from his labor, I reaped the rewards in the form of a ramp gratin.

These ramps were beautiful-- plump white bulbs with pristine greens unfurled like a beacon of spring. And another wonderful thing about this gift? They were plentiful. In the past I have been rather stingy when it came to my ramps. I would grill them in a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkling of Kosher salt. Each diner would get a few. But with my abundant delivery, all of this changed.

After cleaning and trimming my ramps, I blanched them in boiling, salted water. I then cut them into sizable pieces, and set them aside while I made a bechamel sauce out of milk and a bit of the blanching liquid. I wanted to make sure that I didn't lose one bit of the garlicky-green onion flavor. Carefully I folded the ramps into the bechamel, sprinkled with fresh breadcrumbs and a grating of Parmesan cheese and popped the gratin in a 375 degree oven for 20 minutes, until it was piping hot and bubbling.

Then I dug in. I even shared some with my husband. So now I wonder-- what will my friend deliver to me next?

So Tart It Must Be Spring

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Tue, 13 Apr 2010 19:11:00 +0000

I have officially packed my winter clothes away. Brian and I had a bread salad with dinner on Sunday night. I am nursing blisters on my feet from wearing shoes without socks for the first time in months. Spring is in the air-- and that means rhubarb!

I picked up my first few stalks of the season last week, and they were lovely-- so astringent, beautifully pink, with just the right amount of pucker. I made a bit of compote with them. No, not the compote that is dowdy, and full of dried fruit. This compote was bright and cheery, scented with vanilla with just a kiss of sugar. I ate it as a topping for Greek yogurt during the week, and then had it as a scrumptious embellishment for buttermilk pancakes on the weekend.

The recipe is over on iVillage. Happy Spring!

Happy Passover!

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 13:58:00 +0000

I know that I'm a day late, but for all of those readers who are observing the Passover holiday, and eating only non-leavened bread products-- you have an entire week to eat plenty of matzos. One whole week with nary a slice of bread to be seen. Truth be told, it's been several years since I have been an observant Jew. But I remember in elementary school, my mother packing my lunch for me. I would open my lunch box only to find a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on not homemade white bread, not bread at all-- but matzos.

Those were some dry sandwiches! At first, having matzos to snack on seemed special. Like being a member of some secret society. I would pull the brittle pieces out of a sandwich bag, and my non-Jewish schoolmates would ask a slew of questions. I would explain about Passover, the Seder plate, the ritual of the food, and most of all-- the matzo. Biting into my "sandwich" and having it splinter and shatter into a million pieces, was part of the holiday for me. But by day three, these sandwiches got a bit old. I grew tired of the peanut butter turning entirely to glue and sticking like a retainer to the roof of my mouth.

Maybe I would have felt a little different about the whole matzos thing, if I had been eating these matzos:

Last week, Mark Bittman published this recipe for homemade olive oil matzos developed from a Sardinian flat bread called carta musica in The New York Times. It looked so simple that I decided to give it a try. Am I glad that I did! This "bread" was delicious.

Of course, being flavored with olive oil may not be the traditional thing, but this is the type of bread/cracker that I would make even if it wasn't the Passover holiday. The olive oil makes the dough smooth and sumptuous, and it rolls out like a dream. Upon baking, the dough blisters and bubbles, giving it the airiness and crispness that true matzos has. And the flavor is unadulterated and flavorful.

Perhaps if I had known about these olive oil matzos years ago, eating a week's worth of matzos would have been a pleasure.

Naughty and Nice

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 04:01:00 +0000

I was at the heath food store recently, perusing through the many bags of Bob's Red Mill products when I spotted a bag of graham flour. Graham flour? Graham crackers, I thought. So, I grabbed a bag and went home.

Some may think of graham crackers as a childish food. And I suppose they are. I remember sitting around diminutive work tables in elementary school, with a Dixie cup full of apple juice and a teacher's assistant placing graham crackers on the paper napkin in front of me. I loved the snack then, and I love the snack now. Graham crackers are still one of my go-to snacks when nothing else sounds good. Slathered with peanut butter, they can't be beat. And I only could imagine that they would be superlative when homemade.

I went home, and did a quick Google search for graham cracker recipes, only to find that today's graham crackers aren't even made with graham flour. Sweetened with honey, and made golden with brown sugar they sounded like they were delicious biscuits, but not necessarily wheaty treats. I held the package of graham flour in my hand, dusty and the color of a morning cup of coffee with too much milk, and decided to simply substitute some of the all-purpose flour for graham flour.

They were delicious, and like I had guessed, far superior to the packaged crackers of my youth. With the addition of the graham flour, they were coarser (in a good way), and more substantial-- the perfect afternoon snack. I left some plain, and dipped the rest in Belgian milk chocolate. The richness of the chocolate played nicely off of the gentle sweetness of the cracker.

The following recipe makes quite a few crackers. And the dough remains fresh in the refrigerator for quite a few days. In fact, I made two batches. The first recipe I rolled and cut by hand into more conventional rectangles. Later, I used a biscuit cutter, and made dainty circles-- either way you do it is fine.

Graham Crackers
adapted from Nancy Silverton

1 1/2 cups flour
1 cup graham flour
1 cup dark brown sugar, packed lightly
1 teaspoon baking soda
3/4 teaspoon kosher salt
7 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into one-inch cubes
1/3 cup honey
5 tablespoons milk
2 tablespoons vanilla extract

In the bowl of a food processor, combine flours, brown sugar, baking soda, and salt. Pulse until blended. Add the butter, and continue to pulse the food processor until a coarse meal is obtained.

In a small bowl, mix the honey, milk, and vanilla extract. Add to the flour mixture , and pulse until the dough barely comes together. The dough will be soft and quite sticky. Place on a well-floured piece of plastic wrap. Flatten the dough into a rectangle, one-inch thick. Wrap dough, and chill until firm, at least 2 hours or overnight.

Divide dough in half, and return one half to the refrigerator. On a well-floured surface, roll out the dough to 1/8 inch thick. Dough will be sticky, use plenty of flour. With a pairing knife cut rectangles 2 by 3 inches, or use a round biscuit cutter. Place crackers on a parchment-lined cookie sheet and chill dough for 15-20 minutes in the freezer. Repeat process with the other half of the dough.

Adjust the racks in the oven the upper and lower third. Preheat to 350 degrees. Remove the crackers from the refrigerator, and poke several times with a toothpick or skewer to ensure flatness of the cracker upon baking.

Bake for approximately 20 minutes, rotating the baking sheets at 10 minutes to ensure even baking. Remove from oven, and place on a rack to cool. If desired, dip cool crackers in milk chocolate, melted in a double boiler.

I'm back...

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Thu, 04 Mar 2010 17:33:00 +0000

I was in California visiting family for a bit. When I got back, I promptly got a cold. Isn't that always the way? It's funny to go back to California; it is not my home anymore. And it finally has stopped feeling home-- at least my home anyways. But I lived there for so long that it definitely doesn't not feel like home. Dizzying, I know.

Because of this almost-home feeling, there is no pressure to do things, see stuff, wake up early and hit the tourist destinations. But I came back to Connecticut with California booty just the same. They weren't snow globes with the Golden Gate Bridge in them, or a UC Berkeley hoodie, they were even better. Here is what California means to me in food.

Blue Bottle Coffee- The single-best roaster that I have found. They used to hand-deliver beans to our apartment in Berkeley every week. That was before they got super popular. Delicious, soulful, rich, I bring back beans every time I visit my parents. I know I could get them shipped, but it wouldn't be the same.

Citrus fruit- Cara Cara oranges, they're mild and sweet, with less acid than Navels. A few of these were squirrelled away in my suitcase next to some beautiful, soft-skinned Meyer lemons. I didn't even have to buy the lemons. They were given to my mom by a neighbor who has a tree. Now that's local!

Okra snacks- Fried okra treats, from Berkeley Bowl, one of my favorite markets. I went there four times this trip, I was in CA for nine days. Need I say more?

See's chocolates- The chocolate of my childhood. Hell, this would be the chocolate of my adulthood too, if I still lived on the west coast. You can take your Godiva any day, I will gladly take a morsel of See's. Just the right amount of milk, softly sweet, indulgent buttercream. I may just have to break into box number two when I finish this post.

Some people bring back trinkets from their vacations, I bring back food. While I may not have a memento to remember this trip by, I certainly will have a happy belly.

20 Years

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Wed, 10 Feb 2010 19:16:00 +0000

In elementary school, did you ever start an avocado plant from the pit? I did. I remember waiting for weeks, as the stone steeped in tepid water, for the roots to burgeon, and a spindly plant to sprout. But I don't really remember much past that point. I don't remember planting the pit in soil, or watering it, or most of all, an avocado tree actually growing. Maybe that's because this takes 15-20 years. Yep, you read that right. 20 long years!

As daunting as that figure seems, and as unfortunately black as my thumb is, I have not been deterred from forcing my very own pits. I have always felt rather moderately about avocados. I could take them or leave them. But did you know that California grows 90% of all the avocados that we eat in this country. That is a lot of fruit! It forced this once-California girl to take notice.

Perhaps it is a bout of homesickness, or the fact that as I write this post, the Connecticut snow falls softly onto the chain-link fence outside my window, but it makes me long for a bit of California, right here in New Haven. So, I bought a few avocados, even though they're hardly a local fruit, gobbled them up, stuck the pits with toothpicks, and plunged them into some water.

Now comes the waiting game. It could take weeks for the pits to root and even longer for a plant to sprout. I will be patient, but I also won't hold my breath. But if all goes well, just think of what a delicious salad awaits me when I am 51.

Mashed and Then Some

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Wed, 03 Feb 2010 13:04:00 +0000

I love mashed potatoes, always have. When I was young I even appreciated potato buds. You know, those dessicated flakes of potato to which you add boiling water and a pat of butter? I even liked those. Guilty. I have always loved their warmth, their smooth consistency-- for me, mashed potatoes are the ultimate comfort food.

Well, nowadays my palate has become a wee bit more sophisticated than it was when I was seven. I still love mashed potatoes, but now will eat them mashed with buttermilk, with a sprinkling of chives, with the skins on, or even-- mashed with another vegetable. Take celery root for instance, that often ignored vegetable sitting at the market next to the other root vegetables. It's delicious!

This knobby vegetable is crisp when eaten raw, supple when cooked, and tastes like celery, without all of those pesky strings. Simmered with a waxy potato, like Yukon golds, and roughly mashed, this puree makes yet another ideal comfort food. My recipe for this puree is over at iVillage Food.

Just call me Campbell...

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 14:39:00 +0000

As in the soup, because I made my own cream of mushroom-- for a very specific purpose. This week I had my first tuna-noodle casserole. I did not grow up with casseroles. My dad never liked a one-pot meal, and my mom didn't really care, so I had a childhood free of Durkee French Fried Onions. Frankly, I never liked tuna fish from a can until I was in college, so a tuna casserole was not in my culinary lexicon.

But recently my mother started making them for herself . Maybe she was finally feeling that empty-nest syndrome, or maybe she was hearkening back to her own childhood in the 1950s, filled with tuna-noodle casseroles. Either way she started to rave about them. At first I was appalled; this casserole always sounded like a train wreck to me. But then, as I started thinking about it, and alterations that I would make-- tuna-noodle casserole came up in my estimation. So much so, that I had to make one for myself.

Here is what I did:

I sliced and chopped from fresh button mushrooms and sautéed them with an onion. I then made a velouté sauce in the same pan as the mushrooms. You can read about making this sauce here. I threw in a few branches of thyme, and let sauce simmer for a bit.

I cooked about 8 ounces of egg noodles part-way, draining and rinsing them. I also drained two cans of tuna. (If you must know, one of them was in olive oil.)

I then added the noodles and the tuna into the sauce, with the zest and the juice of Meyer lemon. A few handfuls of frozen peas were added. Mixing well, the whole mess went into a casserole dish.

Freshly-made bread crumbs were sprinkled on the top, and the casserole was baked until bubbly, about 25 minutes at 375 degrees.

And you know what, it was delicious: comforting, warming, creamy. I get it. Granted, this might not be the tuna-noodle that my mom makes, but at my house, it was pretty darn good.

Chickens in New Haven

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Thu, 14 Jan 2010 14:20:00 +0000

In September of '09 there was legislation passed in New Haven making it legal for residents to own chickens. Bring on the urban farms, and the fresh eggs! I recently wrote an article for The New Haven Advocate, our free weekly, arts and entertainment paper, all about it. So I can now tell about coop construction, buying chicks, etc. I also met some really interesting ladies with some hens of their own. Now these women can really tell you anything you want to know about raising chicks.

You can read the article here.

As Promised

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Wed, 06 Jan 2010 01:46:00 +0000

Christmas came and went with a flurry. The New Year was rung in with a bash. And now-- it is January. I must say, that as ready as I am for the holidays to come, each year, I am equally ready to say farewell!

For me, it is was the holiday of cakes. A bûche de noël for Christmas, and a crepe cake for New Year's Eve makes for one sugar-kissed girl! I know that the holiday has passed, but here is a picture of the bûche anyways. Until next year!

Happy Holidays!

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 14:52:00 +0000

Is it possible that Christmas is already here? It feels like only yesterday that I was laying a butter-drenched cheese cloth over my Thanksgiving turkey, and shoving it in the oven.

This Christmas we're breaking our Jewish tradition of a day at the movies, followed by a meal of Chinese food. We're going to Brooklyn to celebrate the holiday with friends who are fabulous cooks in their own right. So, I am off kitchen-duties for this holiday. But I do have one contribution to the meal-- dessert. I decided to get festive this year, and make my very first bûche de noël. It has been a process, but with eggs, sugar, and butter as my companions, I have made it through relatively unscathed.

There is the vanilla genoise as the cake. It is so light and thin, perfect for rolling. I decided the filling would be a Hazelnut Bavarian Cream Soufflé. I infused milk with hazelnuts and incorporated the mixture into beaten egg whites. There will be French Chocolate Buttercream, for frosting my bûche. But the decoration I am most excited about are the countless meringue mushrooms that I made this week to embellish my faux bois.

Dusted with a bit of cocoa, I think that these fungi are so cute, I can hardly wait to gobble them up. As I was constructing them, carving out a divot in the underside of each cap, and then securing the stems with additional meringue, I flipped the mushroom, right side up, and each made me laugh. In fact, I kept saying, "Hi!" to every one. (I know; but it's has been a long week!)

We're off to Brooklyn in just awhile, but I had to show you. Let's hope all of the mushrooms make it down safely. I'll try to snap a few pictures of the bûche de noël, completely constructed.

Have a wonderful holiday!

Fruitcake?

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 21:26:00 +0000

Have you ever looked through a cookbook and seen a recipe that was so bizarre, with such a unique list of ingredients, that you could not imagine what it tastes like? It recently happened to me.

I checked out the New York Times Heritage Cookbook by Jean Hewitt from the library. It is an out of print tome from the 1970s celebrating regional American cooking. While glancing through the dessert section from the Midwest, I stopped at Dymple's Sausage Cake. If I were driving a car, I would have slammed on the brakes so hard, whiplash would have set in. Among the usual list of sugar, flour, and spices, were a few ingredients that made me stop in my tracks. Listed were: lean sausage meat, raisins, walnuts, pulverized gumdrops, and cold, strong coffee.

I read it again and again. There were no eggs, and only a very little bit of additional leavening in the form of baking soda and powder. I showed the recipe to a few friends, both adventurous cooks in their own right, and they couldn't imagine what it would taste like either. Rightly intrigued, we made a date to bake this cake; and this is what it looked like:

Fruit cake, right? And I guess it tasted like fruit cake too, at least that was what we all imagined as we took slices of Dymple's Sausage Cake, still warm from the oven. But it was hard to forget what it felt like to plunge your hands into the meaty dough to fold in the raisins. We just didn't think about the black coffee cascading into the batter, darkening the raw sausage, or the brightly colored gumdrops getting tarnished by the warm spices. Right.

Surprisingly enough, it wasn't the sausage that was the biggest turn-off. Upon baking it sort of disappeared, leaving behind only a trace of porkiness. It was actually those gum drops that tossed this cake over the edge. I imagine they were intended as substitutes for candied fruit; but yellow gumdrops do not a candied citron make.

But we had to give it try. We came, we saw, and we sort of conquered. The closest thing that I could find to Dymple's Cake on line, was this one. It however, omits the gum drops-- good thinking.

The Leftovers

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Thu, 03 Dec 2009 13:39:00 +0000

Did everyone have a splendid Thanksgiving? Was it filled with turkey, pie, and maybe a little bit of booze? Was there enough food? That is a silly question. If your Thanksgiving is anything like mine, it is all about abundance. Abundance is great; but after the turkey is packed up, the sides are nestled in their Tupperwares, the brussels sprouts two ways (yes, you read that correctly) are chilling in the refrigerator, and each guest has his or her own care package to take home, and you still find yourself looking at a bowlful of homemade cranberry sauce, what are you to do?

Make scones, of course!

For the past two years one of our guests has made the most delicious cranberry sauce, based on this recipe. The cranberries are tart yet sweet, flavored with just a hint of orange, and blooming with those warm spices of the holidays. This sauce kind of makes one wish that we ate cranberries all year round.

But with so much leftover, I needed to do something that would do justice to this luscious sauce. After some hemming and hawing, I decided that scones would do the trick. It was perfect! The sauce is shiny, and thick, so I basically filled the scones with it, then baked them.

This is my basic scone recipe. They are light in texture, slightly sweet, and offer a neutral base for any filling. In the summer I stud the scones with fresh berries; in the winter, dried fruit fits the bill; and now, come Thanksgiving time, I have to say cranberry sauce is my new favorite.

Scones with Cranberry Sauce

1 1/2 cups flour
1/4 cup corn meal, fine ground
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 cup white sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
5 tablespoons unsalted butter, cold, and cut into chunks
1/2 cup milk
1/4 cup sour cream (light is fine, I would avoid fat-free)
1/2 cup cranberry sauce, chunky
1 egg
1 tablespoon milk
additional Demerera sugar for sprinkling (optional)

Makes 8 scones

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Mix well the flour, corn meal, baking powder, sugar, and salt. Add the butter, and with your finger tips, work into the flour mixture until coarse, pea-sized pieces are obtained. Mix together the milk and sour cream. Pour into dry ingredients all at once. Stir gently until just combined. Do not overmix.

Divide the dough in half. Place eight portions of dough on a parchment paper or Silpat lined baking sheet. Slightly flatten the dough. With a teaspoon, place a portion of cranberry sauce in the middle of the dough. Now with the remainder of the dough, top each spoonful of sauce. It is not necessary to cover the sauce completely.

In a small bowl, beat the egg and the 1 tablespoon milk. Brush the egg mixture on top of each scone, and sprinkle with additional sugar, if using. Bake scones for 13-17 minutes, or until tops are golden-brown.

Happy Thanksgiving!

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Tue, 24 Nov 2009 16:33:00 +0000

Is everyone gearing up for, hands down my favorite holiday-- Thanksgiving? I know that I am. There is pie crust to be made, bread to tear for stuffing, and a rustic pate to be assembled-- and that is just on today's schedule. Tomorrow the real work begins; but I am hard-pressed to call any of it work. Gathering together with loved ones, and cooking a fantastic meal, hardly seems like work to me.

For the past several years, brussels sprouts have always been the green vegetable of choice for the Thanksgiving meal. They are synonymous with holidays for me-- as synonymous as a cruciferous vegetable can be!

I recently started blogging at iVillage Food. There, I will have a weekly column about eating seasonally. So what was one of my first entries? You guessed it, brussels sprouts. If you have yet to decide on the green vegetable to go with all of those glorious starches, there is a recipe on iVillage for Brussels Sprouts Braised in Cream.

So, have a wonderful holiday! Don't eat anything I wouldn't eat-- which isn't much! Gobble, gobble!

Fresh Eggs

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 16:51:00 +0000

I grew up in the suburbs, and have lived in one city or another for most of my adult life, so I had never had the pleasure of eating a fresh egg before. And I mean fresh.. like straight from the chicken fresh. But this all changed for me last week, when a generous neighbor gave me a few of his.

I live in a residential neighborhood in New Haven, CT-- the kind of place where you are happy to have a car for mobility, but can still walk to a market only blocks away. It is hardly the sticks, and it's not really the sort of place where livestock is prevalent. But this hasn't stopped a neighbor of mine from raising a few chickens, coop and all, and sharing the wealth.

He gave me five perfectly incongruous eggs, ranging in color from barely tan, to a buttery pink. Their yolks were like a shiny scoop of orange sherbet sitting in a puddle of clear albumen; and I couldn't wait to scramble them up. My mom, who grew up in the mid-west, with chickens, ducks, you name it, told me to scramble them simply, letting their eggy nature shine through-- so that's what I did. Giving them a vigorous shake with the immersion blender, I scrambled them low and slow with a bit of butter, making the tiniest curds that I possibly could. A dash of salt, a grinding of pepper, and a sprinkling of chives, was all the gussying these eggs needed before they slid on my dinner plate.

They were excellent, pure, and delicate. Now the only question is-- should I get some chickens?

Apples: Part II

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Tue, 03 Nov 2009 18:46:00 +0000

I went apple picking again. Correction-- I went apple, crabapple and quince picking, and I went a little crazy. 22 pounds of crazy. The apples are enormous, and delicious, but enormous none the less-- imagine the head of a small child, covered in delicate, chewy and edible bright green skin. But apples, unlike so many summer stone fruits, stay fresh for quite some time after picking. Even with this rule in mind, I knew that all of my apples would be needing some assistance in their depletion. So, I made a pie.

I will be the first person to tell you that apple pie is not my favorite; I much prefer the typical pies of summer. I love pie; and I like apples, but I always feel so moderate about an apple pie. So this was a single crust pie that I literally threw together *. But while it was baking, it filled the house with that lovely aroma: of baking apples, of butter, of that remarkable smell of the imminence of the holidays. As I cut slices from the pie, when it had just cooled enough to still hold its shape, my mouth watered just a bit. Then I took a bite, and I have to say, it was a damn good pie.

Maybe it was those gigantic, fresh-picked Mutsu apples that did it. Maybe it was that the apples were roughly diced, rather than primly sliced; or maybe I have just outgrown my prejudice. Either way, eating this pie turned out to be the perfect welcome to the season.

Here is the recipe for an Oatmeal-Crumb Topping, that embellished my pie.

1/3 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup oatmeal
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

In a medium sized bowl, mix the brown sugar, flour, and oatmeal. Pour the butter over the mixture. With your fingertips, gently toss together, leaving some clumps of the mixture.

Gently pat on top of a raw, single-crusted apple pie. (I chopped my apples rather than sliced them.) Bake in a preheated 400 degree oven, immediately dropping temperature down to 375 degrees for 40-50 minutes, or until golden brown.

* My mother says that I should clarify: You should sweeten/season the apples for the pie however you choose, prior to baking. I tossed my diced apples in brown and white sugar, a few tablespoons of flour, and a modicum of cinnamon, before topping with the oatmeal-crumb mixture.

I Never Do This...

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 17:06:00 +0000

Who loves shopping with gift certificates? I do! Gift certificates give you an excuse to buy things that you normally wouldn't buy. They tinge your shopping with a bit of frivolity. You never buy socks, or wooden spoons, or computer paper with them-- at least I don't. I was given a gift certificate awhile back, so I was sitting at my computer, pondering what to buy at the Sur la Table site, when this amazing pan jumped out at me. A brownie pan that ensures a delectable edge piece? I had to have it.

At the risk of this blog turning into an advertisement for this pan, or a site with glaring evidence of product placement, I just had to show you. For someone like me. and apparently countless others, who love those extra chewy, browned to perfection, crispy edged morsels of brownies, bar, or anything baked in a Pyrex container, this pan is perfect. With a sturdy, meandering curve throughout, this pan guarantees at least two edges in every slice. Genius!

I waited the requisite five day mail delivery, tore open the package, and made a batch of brownies that evening. They did not disappoint. I think that even a mediocre brownie recipe (which mine actually turned out to be) is made infinitely better with this pan. No more slicing the edges off of a bar for me-- my baking life has been forever changed! (Okay, that may be a little bit of an exaggeration, let just say, the pan makes a damn good brownie.)

Sweet Shells

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 22:14:00 +0000

Maybe you have seen them sitting in the glass case at a Mexican Panaderia, a sweet roll, with a sugar crust, that is often brightly colored. If you're anything like me, you may have been turned off by the neon hues, and ordered something else. Well, I didn't know what I was missing. I should have said, "One concha, please!" My mornings would have been a lot brighter.

Conchas are named for their resemblance to a conch shell, and for those of you who have yet to try them, they are a soft, sweetened roll that is topped with a crumbly, flaky, sugar-based shell. Take one bite, and bits of the sugar shell come off, gently spilling down your shirt-- what a delicious mess to eat! The roll is very similar in taste to brioche bread, and it is made rich with the addition of evaporated milk in the dough.

I made mine on a Sunday afternoon, with this recipe, (which incidentally did not call for any food coloring). I altered the recipe only slightly by adding some fresh lemon zest to the dough to brighten the flavor, and cutting back on the cinnamon (I think cinnamon can get overpowering). They were great; I shared some with friends, and they reheated wonderfully the next morning to have with a bowl of cafe au lait.

Pick a Little

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 18:08:00 +0000

It seems hard to believe that I have been on the East Coast for going on four years, with over one third of that time in New England, yet I had never gone apple picking. It just seemed almost too quaint for me; I buy my apples from the farmer's market or the grocery store, thank you very much! Well, I will admit when I am wrong. I went to pick apples, and I loved it!

Over the weekend, I went with some friends to an orchard in Glastonbury, CT, not knowing what to expect. Would I have to climb ladders to pick some measly apples; what would the varieties be; and just how large was an apple orchard anyway? All of my questions were answered-- and apple picking did not disappoint! Rows of trees were so heavy with fruit, the branches were bending to the ground, simply begging you to pluck an apple from the tree. Varieties that I have never heard of, ones for baking, others for sauce, and more still, for eating out of hand, each more tempting and delicious than the other. And the orchard was acres and acres of apples and pears, some not even ready to be picked. But it made no difference, there was more than enough to choose from. Each apple tasted more apple-y than any apple I have eaten before; they were fragrant, crisp, tart, and scrumptious.

I picked and picked, grabbing an apple off of a tree, and crunching away as I walked through the grounds. I must have eaten at least four apples that day alone, not to mention some hot-from-the-oil apple fritters and an ethereal apple cider donut. I went home with over 12 pounds of apples and pears, and have already canned a batch of brandied apple rings, and I have plans for cranberry-apple butter. Now I can say with confidence-- bring on the apples.

Bread is Back!

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 12:52:00 +0000

Well, autumn is definitely arriving. I can almost see the pots percolating on the stove, and smell the braising meats in the oven. Yes, I can tolerate having the oven on for more than a few moments, and to me this means the baking of bread will resume. In order to christen the process, I baked up a batch of Batter Dinner Rolls from an out-of-print cookbook called The Complete Bread Cookbook.

Very similar to a Parker House Roll, the batter was loose and pliable, while the inclusion of milk made the rolls taste rich and homey. With the house smelling warm and yeasty, I'd say they were an excellent way to say goodbye to the summer and to usher in the fall.

One Night Only!

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 17:34:00 +0000

Live Maine lobsters!

Growing up in California, eating lobster has a bit of stuffy reputation. The only restaurants that serve them are the starched white napkin sort. Served with mini forks and pokers, sometimes you are given a grown-up bib with which to eat them. But in the summers in New England, it seems you can't drive more than a few miles without running into a seafood shack that sells lobster of all sorts-- in a roll, sumptuously stewed in a bisque, steamed, or grilled. This is definitely one of the perks of living here.

We have been in Connecticut for over a year now, but I had never cooked my own lobsters. Well, that all changed this weekend. I picked up at a passel of snapping, spiky-shelled crustaceans, steamed them off in a bit of salted water, and served them up with wedges of lemon and drawn butter. It couldn't have been easier, or more delicious!

My Kitchen and I

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 17:40:00 +0000

Would you like to see a little bit of my kitchen? I am always curious to catch a glimpse of other people's homes. The New Haven Register did a piece on me and the book, complete with a photograph of yours truly kicking it in the kitchen. (And yes, that's an electric stove!)

The article is related to the reading I will be giving this Wednesday, September 9, at 6 PM at the New Haven Public Library. If you are nearby, come down; I would love to meet you!

It Sure Looked Pretty

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Wed, 02 Sep 2009 12:58:00 +0000

But it tasted kind of awful. Recently I picked up Donna Hay's Simple Essentials Fruit, and as I was glancing through the pictures (because they really are the best part of her books) a Plum and Chocolate Clafoutis bounced off the page at me. It looked delicious, and made me think why hadn't I thought of that? Well, I will tell you why-- it's gross! How could something so simple, with well-loved ingredients come out so wrong? So here is picture of my failed, too-dense, overly chocolaty, flat, mess of a dessert. Oh well, you win some, and clearly, you lose some.

With Dinner...

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Thu, 27 Aug 2009 13:50:00 +0000

I bore the extra heat in the kitchen to roast these carrots. They were so small, and so sweet, they were simply crying out to be roasted. Olive oil, salt and pepper, and a bit a of ground cumin was all that they required to make one outstanding side dish.

I'm Back

noreply@blogger.com (nosheteria) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 13:15:00 +0000

It's been a long time, hasn't it? In recovery from California, and one too many meals eaten out, this is what I made-- tabbouleh-esque salad. Bulgar wheat, an English cucumber, shaved red onion, and a mess of parsley tossed with some nut oil and a good squeeze of lime juice. Delightfully boring and perfectly delicious.