Archive for ‘Vegetarian’

July 20th, 2010

Gingered-Beet Salad

I’m not a lover of beets. I’m not alone in that consideration; a lot of people don’t love beets. I imagine it’s nervous-making, publishing a beet recipe. The cookbook author must sit at the computer, just knowing that readers will skip right past it, onto something with potatoes, or carrots, anything but beets.

beets

I’m don’t dislike beets so much that I’ll skip right past — I’ll read the recipe. Might even make a mental note to try it someday. But in all my years of cooking, I’ve only ever tried one beet recipe. Two, if you count this one today.

beets, roasted

It’s not that I hate beets. I don’t. I flew over the moon when I tasted the smoked beets with halibut at Saul in Brooklyn. At Town House, too, the foie gras with beets nearly killed me dead, it was so good. I’m not a hater, no, but a non-lover, which means I’m game to have others serve beets to me, but I’m hard-pressed to exert my own cooking-energy on them.

beets, skinning

Milk House Farm, however, has been showcasing beets at their farm stand lately. They grow a handful of different varieties, all gorgeous gems, and all impossible to pass up. Adding to that, I’ve been on a quasi-diet of small-portion, vegetable-heavy dinners, in the attempt to slim down to my ideal weight for our wedding (a hard thing to do, considering I can’t exercise because of my back — though, I’m happy ecstatic to report brag that I’ve lost 15 pounds already) so beets went into my grocery bag recently.

Ginger

I found a recipe with beets and shrimp marinated in ginger from Jean Georges Vongerichten in the New York Times. New York Times recipes in general prove to be delicious, and recipes by Jean Georges hardly ever disappoint. So I cooked some beets. Roasted them, to be exact.

After they were roasted, I started to tweak the recipe. I added an orange, and swapped balsamic vinegar for the sherry. I sauteed rather than grilled the shrimp (since the shrimp is only cooked for a minute or two, it’s not worth starting up the grill) and dressed the beets a little sooner than the recipe called for.

beetsIMG_9980

It came together fabulously — I’d done it! I cooked beets. And I loved them. The in-your-face sweetness of beets works here, since it’s tempered by the ginger — whose pungent flavor lingers in the shrimp, in the dressing. I’d say you could have the salad of dressed beets and orange by itself, with a hefty sprinkling of chives, but the shrimp (browned and crisp, marinated just long enough for the ginger to saturate without overwhelming), perched atop the salad so that the juices drip and mix into the dressing, really completes the dish.

So, here’s the recipe. (For those of you smart people who haven’t skipped past to the next non-beet blog post by now.)

Shrimp with Beets and Orange

Gingered-Beet Salad

Printable Recipe

serves 4 (small portions)

adapted (heavily) from Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s Gingered-Beet Salad recipe

4 medium beets, scrubbed well
1 pound large shrimps, shelled
1 tablespoons canola oil
1 2-inch piece ginger, peeled and grated (divide grated ginger into two lumps)
4 tablespoons balsamic vinegar (1 tablespoon will be used for shrimp, 3 for beet dressing)
2 tablespoons good, fruity extra-virgin olive oil
1 orange, segmented
kosher or good sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons 1/2-inch-length chives

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Wrap the beets in two layers of aluminum foil and roast until fork-tender, about 1 hour and 45 minutes. Cool, peel and cut the beets into small chunks and set aside.

Toss the shrimps in a mixture made from 1 tablespoon of the oil, half of the grated ginger and 1 tablespoon of the vinegar. Marinate for 1 hour.

Make dressing for the beets: In a medium bowl, add some salt and pepper and balsamic, then slowly add in olive oil, whisking constantly to emulsify. Add beet and orange segments and mix well to dress everything evenly.

Take shrimp from marinade and salt and pepper all over. Heat a pan over medium-high (or a touch higher) heat with a little bit of canola oil. Add shrimp to the pan and cook until well-browned (about 2 minutes per side, or up to 5 minutes total).

Arrange dressed beets on a platter. Sprinkle with chives and season to taste with salt and pepper. Place shrimp on top of beets and sprinkle on a few more chives and some extra salt and pepper (if needed). Serve hot or at room temperature.

April 27th, 2010

Leeks braised in butter

When I first started cooking, “simple” turned me off. It seemed like everyone who was anyone was proclaiming that a simple, straight-forward approach to cooking was best. But, to me, simple felt elitist. Like Alice Waters cooking eggs on an iron spoon in her kitchen hearth. I don’t know about you, but my kitchen hearth takes such an unbearably long time to heat up.

Leeks

I was afraid of simple cooking, so I figured I could prove my prowess in the kitchen with complicated recipes. There were a lot of disasters. I never gave myself a break. The first time I used squid as an ingredient I insisted on cleaning it myself. Squid ink splattered everything in my kitchen. I almost had a heart attack when I found that plasticky skeleton in the squid. I had no clue. And I felt like a failure.

Around the same time I started cooking, Jim and I began spending his book advance (plus a few of my meager paychecks) in New York restaurants, where we ate many simply prepared meals that tasted simply amazing and heightened my fear of simple, because I couldn’t grasp how they did it. So I shook simple off, and tested myself with every multi-ingredient extravaganza I could find. I needed someone to put their hand on my shoulder and tell me to take it easy, but instead I went on for a few years with dogged insistence on fussy things, and finally came around to simple, the hard way.

Man, was I wrong about the whole simple thing. It just isn’t elitist. It’s anyone’s game.

parsley

There are only two things to learn to get simple cooking right. First, I needed to learn how to find good ingredients — to find artisans who create great products, and to learn when produce is at its prime (which is easy enough with all the handy guides out there) — and second, I had to learn how to season well. That last part proved a bit tricky: it takes practice, it meant I had to suffer through a few over-salted meals. But after a while I got it, and then I really understood this whole simple business.

These leeks are simple cooking and there’s nothing to them. Slice them into cute little rounds, wash them really well, and add them to a pan with lots of melted butter. Pour in a bit of water, about halfway up the sides of the leeks, and cover and cook for ten minutes. Then comes the tricky part: Uncover and season the leeks. Start with a little pinch of salt, a grinding of pepper, then add some more, then some more, until the leeks taste super good. If you don’t add the magic amount of salt, they’ll taste good; but at that point, when they are just good, try and add a tiny bit more salt, incrementally, until they go from tasting good to tasting super good, memorable, smile-making. That’s when you’re there. That’s when you’ve conquered simple cooking. You’ll know it when it happens, I promise. And once it does, it’ll change everything. It did for me. I went from cursing the simple cookery coterie to being here, turning this blog into my own personal simple cooking soapbox. Now excuse me, I need to find some logs for that hearth.

Leeks Braised in Butter

serves 3-4

Don’t be alarmed by the amount of butter in these leeks. This recipe is more of a garnish than a side dish, and a spoonful of the leeks is all you need per serving. Butter is what makes the leeks taste so delicious, so don’t skimp.

1 bunch of large leeks (about 4 individual leeks)
4 tablespoons butter
water
kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
small handful of fresh parsley and chives, for sprinkling

Cut the root and dark green tops from the leeks and peel the first layer of the leek away. Working with just the white and light green part of the leek, slice into rounds. Wash leek rounds thoroughly under running water, making sure to get rid of any dirt. (This may take a few washings.)

Heat butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add leek rounds to the pan and add water to cover about halfway up the sides of the leek rounds. Cover the pan and cook for about 10-12 minutes, until the leeks are tender.

Uncover and season with salt and pepper, seasoning with a little bit at a time, adding more as you taste until the leeks taste perfectly seasoned. Once all the water has evaporated from the bottom of the pan, transfer leeks to a serving dish. Garnish with chopped parsley and chives, to taste. Serve a small portion of the leeks on the side of just about anything, though pork is especially nice.

January 31st, 2010

Boiled kale.

Winter in New Jersey seems to drag shiveringly on, boring me to tears.  There’s the occasional snowstorm, yes, and I love every minute I spend bundled up beside the windowsill, every glass of scotch. But those snowy nights are fleeting, and then we’re back to the monotonous cold, the rude wind, the car windshield that just won’t defrost. And the cabbage.

kale

Cabbage is certainly reliable, staving off mold, and rot, and drying up all through these months (and months) of cold, when everyone else—the carrots, the apples—have up and left, unable to stick it through.  But, egad, is he boring. Except, of course, with the proper treatment.

wash

Simmered in homemade chicken stock and a knob of butter, cabbage–specifically kale—turns into something silky, tender, willing to fall apart at the touch of your teeth. Boiled kale may not seem sexy, but trust me on this, it incredibly is. When kale comes in from plowing snow all day, and takes off his work boots and Levi jeans, I promise you there are silk boxers underneath. With little red hearts on them.

kale

So let’s talk proper treatment. First of all, you need good stock. Homemade. I’m sorry, but I just can’t budge on that one; homemade stock is not just better than store-bought, it’s a whole different thing altogether. And it’s incredibly easy. Just take a chicken, or a few carcasses from roast chicken dinners, or a few pounds of chicken parts. Put the chicken in a pot and add water to cover the chicken (or carcasses or parts) by an inch of two—it should be around 4 quarts. Bring to a boil, add an onion and a carrot, and a tablespoon of kosher salt. Bring the heat down to low, or whatever heat allows an occasional bubbling of the stock, but nothing like a simmer or a boil. Let it go on like that for about 4 hours, tasting occasionally, until it tastes like chicken and is a beautiful shade of yellow. At this point, I usually let the stock hang out until morning, or at least a few hours, then I strain through a sieve into plastic quart containers and use or freeze. See? Easy. And about a zillion times better than store-bought stock. (The quality of the stock is even more important than the quality of the kale; I’ve made this with kale that’s a week or two past its prime and it tasted delicious. With water? Not so much.)

IMG_4904

Butter, too, is key and, in my opinion, there’s no alternative for it. I mean, I guess you could go for grapeseed oil if you are vegan, or maybe try a high-heat nut oil, but, please, no olive oil. The taste of olive oil changes when it’s heated at a high heat, and in this recipe, that change is totally perceptible. It’s the difference between this kale being fanatic-making good and it’s being just good. Butter, on the other hand, helps the texture, coaxing every bit of luxuriousness out of the kale. And if you like the taste of olive oil with kale, just drizzle some on top after it’s cooked. Problem solved. That’s about it; with chicken stock, and butter, and enough cooking time that the kale becomes meltingly soft and silky and deeply kale flavored, there’s nothing better to beat the cold. I could (almost) have winter all year long.

boiled kale

Boiled Kale

serves 4

    I’ve met resistance when encouraging others to eat boiled kale. I have a hunch that it has something to do with the “raw” foods craze, and the fact that “boiled” anything reminds us of flavorless food with all its nutrients leached out. But that is not the case here. This recipe involves boiling the kale in chicken stock and then letting everything simmer until the liquid evaporates, vitamins intact, leaving the kale tender and coated in a silky slip. Maybe it’s the name, so call it whatever will help: “Melted” Kale, Braised Kale, “Shut up and Eat Your Vegetable Because You Will Like Them” Kale… whatever works.About salting: I salt my kale after it’s cooked down. This may be heresy, and may mean that the kale is not salted properly to its core, but considering every bunch of kale is not the same size, and the chicken stock may be evaporating at different speeds (however negligible) on any given day, it’s safest for me to salt after so I don’t overdo it.

1 pound kale leaves, from 2 very large kale bunches
4 cups homemade chicken stock
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
salt

Wash kale thoroughly (using a salad spinner helps.)

To remove the kale’s leaves from stems, holding one piece at a time, run a sharp chef knife against each side of the stem, stripping the leaves off and leaving only the stem in your hand. Otherwise, lay a few pieces on top of each other and use your knife to cut the stems out. Or, strip them off with your hands, holding the stem with one hand and using your other hand to pull the leaf away from you until it comes off the stem.

Coarsely chop kale leaves. Add them to a large dutch oven or pot and pour 4 cups of homemade chicken stock over. (If there are bits of chicken stock gelatin sticking to the inside of the container, scrap that in too.) Add butter. Turn the heat to medium high and bring stock to a boil. If the kale is particularly unwieldy, or your pot isn’t quite big enough, you can put the cover on for a few minutes until it wilts some. Once it is boiling, cook, stirring occasionally, until the liquid all but evaporates and the kale is silky and tender, about 45 minutes. If the kale doesn’t taste tender enough, and the liquid is already gone, add a splash more and cook until the kale meets your liking.

Salt to taste. Serve.

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