Archive for ‘Comfort Food’

February 3rd, 2011

Griddlecakes

I need a break. A time out from my life. Just a few months, maybe, to live someone else’s. Or, better, to live in someone else’s body. Everything will stay the same — the gorgeous husband, the fledgling business, the blog, the family, the happiness I feel about everything except my health.

While in my borrowed body — let’s give me about a year — I’ll do the things that I’ve been thinking about so much lately. I’ll play in the snow with my dog. I’ll organize spontaneous outings with my husband — maybe even hop on a plane for a few days of swimming in the Caribbean. And I’ll definitely partake in the best New Year’s resolution that I’ve ever heard of: Molly Wizenberg’s decision to enjoy more breakfasts in 2011.

With my current body, mornings are a wash-out. I wake up late due to restless nights. I need to stretch, and ice, and pop a pain pill just to sit through my morning coffee and a possible bowl of Raisin Bran. Cooking, if I am lucky, comes later in the day, once I’ve begun to manage the pain.

So this new body is crucial if I intend to wake up and make these griddlecakes as often as I’d like. As yet, we’ve only eaten them for dinner. They transfer flawlessly from breakfast to dinner — made with whole wheat flour for a savory-ness that’s wonderfully dinner-friendly – but I imagine (often) that these griddlecakes would be the perfect pick-me-up early in the morning (the time that I would be waking my new body up), with a cup of dark coffee, slatherings of butter, generous drizzles of maple syrup, caramelized apples, boiled kale, and thick smoked bacon.

We found a bag of the dry ingredients (kind of like gourmet Bisquik) in the pantry at Riverstead bed and breakfast, in Chilhowie, Tennessee, on the final (and favorite) leg of our honeymoon.  I’m not sure why they said the ingredients would make “griddlecakes” rather than pancakes, as all the research I’ve tried to dig up on the subject says the same, ambiguous thing: “American or Canadian pancakes (sometimes called hotcakes, griddlecakes, or flapjacks) are pancakes which contain a raising agent such as baking powder; proportions of eggs, flour, and milk or buttermilk create a thick batter.” A wikipedia search for “griddlecakes” even redirects to the pancake page.

My own understanding of griddlecakes vs. pancakes is that griddlecakes are made with whole wheat flour or some other whole grain flour, and are made smaller and thinner (less fluffy or cake like) than pancakes — but I don’t know where this knowledge comes from, as some things you come to know during your life have hazy, forgotten origins. I do know, though, why they are called Sweet Carolina griddlecakes — the whole wheat flour in the batter is Anson Mills Sweet Carolina whole wheat graham flour. You can buy Anson Mills whole wheat graham flour online, along with a bag of their fine cloth-bolted white flour, which goes into the batter as well.

The rest of the ingredients are the same that you would use for any other pancake, griddlecake, or hotcake batter: milk or water, an egg, baking powder, and salt. You prepare them exactly as you would any other recipe, too, making them as small as silver dollars, or as big as dinner plates. I like to rub butter all over the griddle before ladling on the batter; it browns as the griddlecake cooks, and brown butter is particularly delicious on whole wheat griddlecakes.

With this new body, I’d like to make lots of breakfast recipes, especially those from the new addition to my cookbook shelf, but these griddlecakes would make a weekly appearance on the morning table, at least.

.

Whole-Wheat Griddlecakes

Adapted from the Anson Mill’s website, Makes 10-12 griddlecakes
(You can buy pre-made packages of the griddlecake dry ingredients here.)

.
1 cup Anson Mills Antebellum-Style Graham Flour
½ cup Anson Mills Fine Cloth-Bolted Pastry Flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 large egg
1 ¼ cups milk or water, or a combination of both

6 tablespoons unsalted butter, or more, as needed

Put all ingredients except butter together in a medium bowl, whisking with a fork until just combined. Set an electric griddle on high, or place a large skillet over high heat. Rub some butter onto griddle or pan. Ladle however much batter you’d like onto the griddle (I usually use about ½ of a ladle-full, for small griddlecakes), trying to make the batter fom a circular shape (though non-circular ones are charming in a adorably-ditzy housewife way). Let cook until the edges are looking cooked and you see a couple of small bubbles rising to the top-side of the griddlecake. Lift griddlecake with a spatula, quickly rub some more butter on the griddle, and flip. Cook for another minute or two, until the other side begins to brown, then rub some butter on the side facing up, flip and repeat. (This butter-rubbing makes for deliciously crisp sides.) Transfer griddlecake to a platter and begin again. (Even though I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, I usually slide a tiny pat of butter above the griddlecake on the platter, so that each griddlecake added to the platter will sit atop some butter, and then have more butter laid atop of it, creating the perfect stack of griddlecakes and pats of butter.)

Serve with lots of good maple syrup.

Note: I don’t have true recipes for the caramelized apples and the kale, but if you would like to make them, follow these loose guidelines.

For the apples:

Peel and chop 4 granny smith apples, then place them in a bowl and sprinkle some lemon juice over them to keep them bright and crisp. Add a good knob of butter to a pan and melt it over medium heat. Add some sugar, about a fourth to a half cup, and let the sugar caramelize in the butter for a while, 10 minutes maybe. Once the sugar turns a nice amber color, add the apples. Cook them, stirring occassionally, until they are tender on the inside, with caramelized outsides — be careful not to break them up while you stir. Use a light hand and a silicone spatula. Add some cinnamon towards the end.

For the kale:

Buy some good kale at a farmers market or decent grocery — nothing with wilted leafs or huge, thick stems. Prepare the kale by stripping the leaves from the stems (my dog loves to eat the stems) and tearing the leaves into small pieces. Wash in a salad spinner and then add kale to a pot or dutch oven. Add water — for a bunch of kale I add about two cups of water or homemade chicken stock — and a good knob of butter and begin cooking kale over medium-low heat. Cover, let cook for a while, 20-30 minutes, then uncover, add a good pinch of salt, and continue cooking until almost all of the water is gone and the kale is silky, tender, and delicious.

July 3rd, 2010

Summer Squash Carbonara

I owe you a “proper” carbonara recipe. I mentioned my fondness for authentic carbonara, like months ago, and then there was not another peep from me on the subject. In the meantime, I’ve made “proper” carbonara a handful of times, and even gave an impromptu presentation on carbonara to the employees at the local gourmet market where I buy my guanciale. I just haven’t photographed any of it, since proper carbonara is usually our harried-day dinner, for days when we don’t want to shop, or cook, and certainly aren’t about to pull out the tripod and start taking photos.

alone in the kitchen

So for now, we’ll have to compromise with a summer squash carbonara, since I couldn’t resist photographing these zucchini. It’s not “proper” — far from it — but it does adhere to certain carbonara principles. First, I used guanciale (pig jowl) as the pork ingredient. This rule is often — shockingly! — thrown out the window. I see recipes using bacon and pancetta calling themselves carbonara in cooking magazines all the time. Some of them even mention that if you don’t have pancetta, you can substitute bacon. Pancetta? Pancetta is a substitution in itself. Shouldn’t it read if you can’t, for the life of you, find guanciale you can substitute bacon? Yes, I’ll answer that myself. Yes, that’s what it should say. And while we’re on the subject, I find pancetta too salty for carbonara; I’d rather use bacon, a lightly smoked one.

IMG_1317

Here’s what you can do if you can’t find guanciale: buy a fresh pork belly and turn it into bacon yourself, going light on the smoke, or cure it instead with lots of pepper and juniper berries. Or, okay, this is better: find a butcher who can get you all kinds of cuts of meat (or, find a farmer and buy a whole pig — if you have a big freezer — or go in on a share), then use the jowl to make guanciale. Or you could just mail-order guanciale. Don’t worry if you need to buy a whole lot of it at once. It freezes flawlessly. And it’s worth the cost of shipping.

guancialeguanciale

Alright, the second principle, one I’m particularly fussy about: Never let the eggs touch the pan. Whether you whisk the eggs with cheese beforehand or leave the yolks whole to be added to individual bowls before serving, you never want them to touch high heat. High heat ruins the consistency of the sauce or — worse — scrambles the eggs. If you are cooking for someone with a compromised immune system, you could cook the eggs and cheese (slowly!) to 175ºF in a double boiler, like custard, but a compromised immune system is the only excuse for doing that, people. I’ll know if you do it any other way. I’ve got my eyes on you.

eggs, cheese, PEPPER!

By taking your pasta and other ingredients off the heat before tossing with the egg, you ensure that the sauce won’t overcook. Immediately start mixing once you add the pasta and sauce together, and the eggs will cook just the slightest bit, transforming into a silky sauce that’s lighter than a butter sauce, thicker than olive oil.

my old, trusty stove

The final principle is that there must be a lot of freshly ground black pepper. You’ve got to taste the pepper, rather than using it as a background seasoning. Black pepper gives kick to that silky egg sauce, really makes it. Without enough pepper, the sauce tastes too eggy, and that’s not what carbonara is about. In the best carbonaras, unwitting diners can’t even taste eggs in the dish.

summer squash

In this version, though, it’s okay to go a little easier on the pepper (but still use a healthy amount), since you have so much flavor in the caramelized, sweet, soft, beautiful squash. You want to cook the squash until it’s deeply browned. You’re not looking for crisp tender vegetables here; they should be soft, heavily caramelized, and end up tasting almost as silky as the creamy egg sauce itself. My opinion about zucchini and yellow squash is that it’s a vegetable too often served under-cooked. It’s best when you cook it until the insides are soft and fluffy, like vegetal mousse. Cook it with care, or you’ll end up with mush. The less you mess with the squash, the better; using your spoon to mix it around too often will result in broken pieces with all the insides spilling out. Shaking the pan mixes things up gently. Now would be the time to start perfecting that cheffy toss-and-flip thing with the skillet.

toss with eggs

I cut these squash on a diagonal, to mimic the shape of the penne pasta (a tip from Jamie Oliver). It proved a good shape to use since it left a lot of surface area exposed for caramelizing and cooking into browned, tasty goodnesss and the small, similar shapes in the pasta bowl made for easy eating. Each forkful had zucchini and pasta both, a bowlful of perfect bites.

Jim’s away for a few days, so I didn’t have anyone to share with, which was a little sad since we share almost every meal together. But, honestly, having an extra serving was a-okay by me.

carbonara

Summer Squash  Carbonara

serves 4 // adapted from Jamie Oliver

4 small-to-medium summer squashes (preferably zucchini and thin yellow squash, but any will do)
1 small chunk of guanciale (2 – 3 ounces)
2 big thyme sprigs

2 egg yolks
2 heaping tablespoons crème fraiche (and I mean heaping)
1 healthy handful of parmigiano cheese
lots of freshly ground black pepper
kosher salt

1/2 pound penne pasta
more cheese to taste
chives, optional
good olive oil, for drizzling

Cut the squash lengthwise in half, then cut halves at an angle into slices roughly the same size as the penne. Or, you can leave smaller squash whole and cut into round slices.

Cut guanciale into small chunks and add to a skillet over medium heat. Once the guanciale has begun to render its fat and is looking sort of translucent, add in the squash and bump the heat up to medium-high. Strip the leaves off the thyme stems and add leaves to the pan. Cook until squash is totally tender and deeply caramelized, about 25 minutes.

Meanwhile, put up a pot of water for the pasta, adding ¼ cup of kosher salt to the water.

In a small bowl, whisk together egg yolks, crème fraiche, and cheese. Add a lot of pepper and a big pinch of salt.

Cook pasta according to direction. Drain, then add pasta to the pan with the cooked squash (make sure the squash is already browned to perfection before you add the pasta in). Stir everything together gently, then remove from heat.

In a large bowl, add the egg mixture. Now, add in your pasta, gently stirring as the pasta is going in, and keep stirring (or tossing) everything together so that the egg mixture warms up, but doesn’t cook. (You need to keep everything moving so enough air circulates that it begins to cool down the pasta. If you add the pasta and leave it for even 30 seconds to do something else, the sauce is likely to lose its silky consistency.)

Serve with a garnish of chives, a drizzling of olive oil, and pass around extra cheese at the table.

May 7th, 2010

Asparagus and Sausage Strata

.
I live out in rural New Jersey. Did you guys know that? Probably, since I blab about it all the time.

I want to start talking more about where I live, and the food I eat, out here along the Delaware River. Especially now, and in the coming months, when I eat like a privileged locavore instead of surviving on root vegetables, hot-house lettuce, and canned goods, as I do during those frigid winter months.

Spring in western New Jersey is a fantastic thing. The weather wobbles around for a while — chilly one day, sweltering the next — then, snap, it’s totally spring. The farms start producing and the markets open up. In April and May, there’s asparagus and spinach, and lots of it. Once the month of May rolls on we start to see peas, and finally, strawberries, and then it’s on.

in winter4.16.10 - Clouded Sunlight

I wonder if everyone who lives here takes advantage of all the local food in spring, summer, and fall. I hope so, but I doubt it. I bet too many people are going to the Whole Foods or the Trader Joe’s to pick up their weekly groceries. I understand why they do it: supermarkets are easier. Everything is there, categorized. Everything looks good.

eggs

The problem, though, is that nothing tastes good. Okay, that may be an overstatement. But only slightly. Unless you buy your produce from local farms with talented farmers, where you can pick up your fruit and vegetables just hours after they’ve been picked (or pick them yourself), you can’t really understand why the beautiful, organic, local strawberries from Whole Foods just aren’t very that good. Maybe it’s the bone-chilling temperatures of those stores; maybe it’s the large quantities a farm must have to harvest in order to supply a supermarket. Whatever the cause, a strawberry from one of our local farms — Manoff, or Solebury, or Terhune Orchards — is so much better than what you can buy in the Whole Foods, it’s not even a comparison.

However, I do understand that it’s not always easy to shop at small farms, and that for me — of all people — to talk smack about people going to Whole Foods would be ridiculous. I work part-time; I have 3-day weekends, every weekend; the Saturday and Sunday farmers market is right across the street from my house. If you wanted to roll your eyes and tell me to try juggling a full-time job, two kids, and a hungry husband and then see if I can eat local all summer long, you’d have a point.

bread

But I also don’t make much money. Jim, who has a schedule similar to mine, doesn’t either. Since I quit my full-time job over a year ago, I’ve learned to pinch pennies. I buy clothes from consignment shops, I cut my own bangs, and I’ve been known to cruise yard sales at sundown, when people will give stuff away if you’ll just take it off their damn lawn already.

I also know how to cook cheap meals with high-quality ingredients. I know where to get eggs from someone’s backyard chickens for $2.00 a dozen. I know where to find the best blueberries — for $5.00 a quart (less if you pick your own) — as well as unbelievably thick and creamy local heavy cream for cheaper than you’d find at ShopRite. I know when things come into season, and which farms have what.
strata

So I hope it won’t be too boring for those of you who don’t live nearby if I talk more on this blog about local food, where it comes from, and how much it costs. I hope it might actually be fun, getting to know me better through this information. Kinda like anthropology class, only tastier. Ideally, I hope to be able to provide some help to those of you nearby who don’t have the time to figure out where the best produce is, or when it’s coming into season here, or how to use it. I know it ain’t easy, and I’ve spent a good long time trying to figure it all out. It’s time to start sharing.

But enough of that. Let’s talk strata. The asparagus at None Such Farm market is knobbly and woodsy and comes in all sizes. It’s hard to find a whole bunch of perfect, pencil thin ones, but the gorgeous shade of purple makes up for that. Baked in a strata, you needn’t have uniformly sized asparagus anyway, since you chop them into 2-inch pieces before sautéing them and then baking in the oven for an hour.
.
strata

Strata is like the genius love-child of bread pudding and frittata. You add more eggs in a strata than you would in a bread pudding, so the result is less milky and custardy, more eggy. That eggy flavor totally makes me feel healthier too, even though there’s a hell of a lot of cheese and cream in there. And egg yolks in large quantities aren’t all that healthy, I guess, but they are a part of the good old American breakfast. You see, it doesn’t take much to convince me to eat cream.

Mother’s Day brunch would be pretty pleasant with a slice of this strata on each plate, especially with a mimosa on the side. Just remember, if you’re cooking for Mom, you do the dishes.

strata

Asparagus and Sausage Strata

Printable Recipe

recipe adapted from Bon Appetit, June 2009

I used lamb and ramp sausage from Jamie Hollander’s in New Hope, which aren’t cheap. They are delicious though, and wonderfully spring.

Serves 8-10

6 large eggs

2 1/2 cups whole milk
1 cup sliced green onions
1 cup sliced shallot
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup finely grated Romano cheese
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 pound mild sausages, casings removed
1 bunch asparagus, trimmed and large stalks peeled, cut into 2-inch pieces
1 1-pound loaf rustic French bread, cut into 1/2-inch-thick slices
2 cups (loosely packed) coarsely grated Gruyere cheese

Preheat oven to 350°F.

Butter 13×9×2-inch ceramic or glass baking dish. Whisk first 7 ingredients in large bowl; sprinkle generously with pepper. Set aside.

Place sausage in large nonstick skillet; push to 1 side. Add asparagus pieces and sauté over high heat, breaking up sausage with fork, until sausage is cooked through and asparagus are brown in spots, about 7 minutes.

Arrange half of bread slices in prepared dish. Pour half of egg mixture over. Sprinkle with half of cheese, then half of sausage and asparagus mixture. Repeat layering. Let stand 20 minutes, occasionally pressing on bread to submerge. Bake strata until puffed and brown, about 1 hour. Cool slightly and serve.

Related Posts with Thumbnails