Soup to soothe the stir-crazy soul

It is April 20th and there is (albeit a light dusting of) snow.  This is not welcome when I'm at the "ugh" stage of the year in relation to preparing dinner.  Spring may have officially come, but I'm sick to death of root vegetables. I'm even sick of my favorite winter comfort dinner (homemade mac and cheese, lots of kale with garlic and lemon, and roasted beets).

I was digging through my recipe binder and came across this soup and there's something about the abundance of spinach and the saffron in the broth that keeps it from feeling like another damn winter soup. It's still pretty hearty, but it gives some hint that seasonal warmth may be coming.

The original recipe is from the New York Times and, in my view, it is unnecessarily complicated. There entire first step seems unnecessary to me: they have you blanch all the spinach, save the water that it is blanched in for the broth, and then add it back in at the end. Maybe their soup ended up a little brighter green in color than mine, but I chucked this advice and instead just added the (fresh) spinach to the soup at the very end. It cooks in the broth and you get rid of one finicky step. And as you can see below, it doesn't produce spinach the color of mud.

That's green enough for me.

The other thing I changed from the recipe was their instruction for the baguette and cheese. They say sprinkle the cheese on top of the egg and serve with baguette. I say, layer some baguette in each bowl, top with the gruyere and then ladle your soup over the top.

That way you get surprise gooey-cheesy bread under your top layer of soup which, along with the saffron in the broth, was probably my favorite thing about this recipe. This also means that if you only have slightly stale baguette around (or other farm/rustic-type bread) and don't want to go to the store, no one will ever know!  Next time I make it, I plan to rub these slightly stale bread pieces with a cut garlic clove before plopping them in the bowl because that just sounds like it would make it even better.

Spinach, Saffron Soup with Egg 
adapted from this recipe in the New York Times
(they said served 6, I thought 4 was more realistic)

1 pound baby spinach, rinsed
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 onion, finely chopped
2 leeks, white and light green parts only, cut in half lengthwise and rinsed of all grit, then sliced thin OR 1 C of Trader Joe's frozen leek slices, thawed
Salt to taste
6 garlic cloves, minced
1 pound Yukon gold potatoes, cut in thin slices
A bouquet garni made with a bay leaf and a couple of sprigs each thyme and parsley (and if you have it, a fennel sprig)
Generous pinch of saffron
Freshly ground pepper
4 eggs (unless you are going to serve small portions to more people, then one egg per person)
3 ounces Gruyère cheese, grated 
thin slices baguette or other rustic bread, rubbed with a cut piece of garlic

1. Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy soup pot or Dutch oven and add the onion and leek. Cook, stirring often, until tender, about 5 minutes. Add a pinch of salt and the garlic, stir over medium heat until the garlic smells fragrant, no more than a minute, and stir in 2 quarts of water, the potatoes, bouquet garni and salt to taste. Bring to a boil, add the saffron, and turn the heat to low. Cover and simmer 20 to 30 minutes, until the potatoes are tender but still intact and the broth is fragrant.

2. Stir in the spinach, cover and continue to simmer for another 10 minutes. Add pepper, remove the bouquet garni, taste and adjust seasonings.

3. Keep the soup at a bare simmer. Break each egg into the soup. Cover and continue to simmer until the eggs are set, about 5 minutes.

4. At the bottom of each bowl put a couple of pieces of baguette and a generous sprinkle of cheese. Serve the soup, with an egg in each bowl. Sprinkle the egg with a little more cheese if you are so inclined.

New Cookbooks

It has been a long time since I bought a new cookbook but today I splurged on two:

 The Sprouted Kitchen by Sarah Forte

and Jerusalem by Yotam Ottolenghi

My reasons for purchasing these two are completely different: the first book reminds me of what I already do well and the second pushes me to extend my thinking. I checked both books out of the library before buying them. That's what I always do with cookbooks to make sure that it isn't just one recipe that I've seen featured on a blog that I like.

I didn't learn anything radically new in The Sprouted Kitchen but leafing through the recipes, I kept getting jolts of "Oh yeah! I haven't made something like that in a while!" It looks like a perfect book for when I'm too tired to try anything particularly challenging and can't think of what to cook.  Recipes like walnut crusted salmon with edamame mash, honey mustard broccoli salad and toasted millet salad with arugula, quick pickled onions, and goat cheese all sound pretty easy and like they'd get me out of a rut when I'm burned out. And I like that while the recipes are healthy, they aren't excessively so--there's no scolding or preaching and plenty of recipes include cheese or a small amount of meat and suggestions like "grilled flank steak would go well with this salad."

Yotam Ottolenghi's book pushes me a little out of my comfort zone. The only recipe that I've actually cooked from the book was a delicious spice cookie at Christmas time, but I've made some of the recipes from his previous book, Plenty, and from his Guardian column like this parsley, lemon and bean salad and this herb soup, both of which produced intensely flavorful dishes. I don't know if I could eat Ottolenghi's food everyday but his recipes are a great shake up for when I'm really sick of what I usually cook. In Jerusalem, I'm looking forward to trying the hot yogurt and barley soup, pureed beets with yogurt and zaatar, lemony leek meatballs and saffron chicken and herb salad.

If you've cooked from either of these books, let me know your favorites (or duds!)

An inconvenient craving

Apparently, I am not the only person in my area who craves Zingerman's lemon scones. The last few times I attempted to obtain one, they were already sold out and that left me feeling a little grumpy. So rather than face disappointment at the store again today, I decided to try to make them at home.

I've had plenty of lemon zest in scones over the years, but other than the Zingerman's scone which I am craving, all have had shards of raw zest in the dough. This is fine when the zest is just there as an enhancer, say to make a cranberry scone taste a little brighter. But it has never been enough to make the citrus flavor the star of the scone. The Zingerman's lemon scones rely on copious quantities of candied lemon zest. The zest is in the same quantity that you'd add currants or dried cranberries and this lends them a powerful, floral intensity.

Texture-wise, these are more delicate than the scones I grew up on, which used milk and egg to bind together the flour-butter combination. These are cream scones (with no egg) and are more ethereal than my regular tasty-but-sturdy variety. They are amazing when freshly baked, though I think they dry out quickly and are less palatable when day old (if you have enough self control to have any left the next day). Next time I make them, I may try and freeze a couple to see whether they could be thawed and then refreshed in a warm oven and keep their tenderness.

Instead of an egg wash or brushing the scones with milk and sprinkling them with demerara sugar, these get a little dusting of powdered sugar once they've cooled. Normally, I'm not a big fan of powdered sugar. But the treatment here is minimal: they are still recognizable as a scone, and the touch of sweetness makes them kind of magical.

Making the zest is a bit of a pain--it's easy enough to do, but an extra step. I'm thinking that maybe I'll make a big batch of candied zest and then freeze it in 1/4 C portions, so I can churn these out quickly. Then again, they're pretty decadent so that might be a bit of a dangerous proposition...


Lemon Scones
recipe adapted from this one for Zingerman's Currant Scones

for the candied zest:
1-2 lemons (or double the recipe and have some left over to freeze for future batches)
1 C sugar

Use a vegetable peeler or a sharp knife to slice off the top layer of the lemon's peel--try to get as little pith as possible. Fill a small pot with cold water, chuck in the strips of zest and bring to a boil. Drain then repeat two more times (this gets any bitterness out and softens up the zest). After draining the third time, put 1 C sugar and 1 C water into the pot and heat until the sugar dissolves. Toss in the blanched zest and turn the heat down so it is just simmering. Cover and simmer for 30-40 minutes, until the zest is tender and looks a little translucent. Cool, then fish it out of the syrup and put on a chopping board and chop it into medium-fine pieces (about the size of a raisin, if a raisin was flat).

for the scones:
1.5 C all purpose flour
2.5 T sugar
1.5 t baking powder
.5 t salt
1/4 C cold butter, cut into 1/4" cubes
1/4 C chopped candied lemon zest
3/4 C heavy cream
2 T powdered sugar

Preheat oven to 400.
Put all the dry ingredients into the bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times to mix. Add the butter and pulse until it is partially incorporated. Dump into a mixing bowl and rub the bigger butter/flour lumps between your fingers to flatten (this makes the scones flakey). Add the candied zest. Then stir in the cream and turn out on a floured surface. Knead a few times and pat into a circle 1/2"thick. Divide into 6 large, pie-shaped wedges (or make 12 smaller scones, just bake them for a shorter time).

Put on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake for 15-18 minutes until delicately golden brown around the edges. Cool for a few minutes then dust the tops with powdered sugar.

Cake!

Let us celebrate the return of cake to this home!

We had a birthday here last weekend and for the first time in five years I made a cake for my family*! I should explain that the cake boycott has not been of my choosing, but of the critters. My strange children have expressed distain for cake in just about any format. They are ice cream kids all the way. So usually birthdays involve make-your-own sundaes.

The boycott may also have a teensy bit to do with my holding a grudge. At the girl-critter's 5th birthday  party I knocked myself out, making Mexican chocolate cake with swiss buttercream frosting (yeah, the kind where you are handling boiling sugar syrup and which results in the best frosting ever) and she wouldn't even taste a tiny crumb.

So I was a little bit dubious when she asked for a specific cake this year. Last year, her class studied Panama for their school-wide multicultural fair and one nice parent brought in a Tres Leches Cake to the class. I credit the positive side of peer-pressure for the fact that the girl critter was willing to taste it. And surprisingly, she loved it. When I looked up the recipe, I dragged the critter over to the computer and, with a voice laced with incredulity, said "Really? That's what you want?"

I know I've kvetched here and on my blog solely devoted to their food-weirdness about all the normal things they won't eat, but I don't know if I ever mentioned their aversion to whipped cream. How can you hate whipped cream??? But every time they have been confronted with it, they have diligently scraped off every offending bit (and I, just as diligently, scoop it into my mouth). So when I saw that all the recipes for this cake dictate topping it with copious quantities of whipped cream, I was a little dubious.  The girl critter squinched up her nose when she heard what the cake topping was, but was game to have me make it.

So I did and didn't even stock up on ice cream in case she got cold feet.

Oh my god, is this ever good cake: light and rich at the same time, and super, super creamy.

 Not visually impressive...

 But very well received!

I think only one kid at the party totally turned it down and one more complained that it was "wet" which is an accurate description.  Essentially, you make a cake that is like a big dry sponge and then soak it with the three milks of the title: heavy cream, sweetened condensed milk and evaporated milk.

Then you frost the whole thing with lightly sweetened whipped cream. The traditional topping is a little half of maraschino cherry on each slice, but my critters hate cherries so I grated a little bit of bittersweet chocolate over the top. I expected it just to look nice, but the little touch of chocolate was surprisingly (and in my opinion, welcomely) prominent.

The recipe I used was this one from The Pioneer Woman Cooks blog. The only change I made was the aforementioned chocolate gratings rather than cherries and I added 1 teaspoon of vanilla extract to the whipped cream topping. Otherwise, I recommend going and following her very entertaining directions.

I am a little bit proud of my idea for what to do with the leftover three-milks cake-soaking stuff. You'll have anywhere between 1 and 2 cups leftover (depending on how much your particular cake is willing to soak up) so instead of throwing the stuff away, I stuck it in the fridge and made french toast with it a few days later. Left over milks + two eggs = really good, sweetened from within (no syrup necessary) french toast.

________
*I've made cakes for other people since then--it isn't as though I've been in a cake-less wilderness--but my critters have never chosen to sample them.

Ahhhh

A good book in Winter is satisfying in a way that a good book in Summer just can't compare. So I feel very  lucky that I just finished reading Jo Baker's The Undertow now and not, say, in July. It would still be good then, but this is the perfect book with which to curl up on a couch on a chilly gray day and sink in.

The book follows four generations of a family from WWI to 2005 and I couldn't pick a favorite character, there were so many who won me over, even if, later in the story, they were shown from another character's perspective to be seriously flawed. I think the moment that will stick with me most is the one in which Ruby in WWII London takes what could have been a completely traumatic experience and reshapes it so that "even though it is now over, things had been, for just a little while, how they should be."

It's such a relief to find an author who doesn't want to convince you of the crumminess of the human race. The characters in this novel are all flawed, but rendered so sympathetically and with such kindness that I understood and forgave all of them their weaknesses. There were many places where a different author would have made choices that would have brought more dramatic crises into the plot and I was relieved each time that Baker did not--the worst possible outcome for each segment would have been flashier, but also easier. And though one character does die in a horrific way, it turns out that this is not the worst possible outcome for the rest of the characters: that possibility looms later in the book and still, Baker doesn't succumb to the temptation to throw her characters off the deep end. I think it is harder to make the non-extreme choice and still make it compelling and interesting.

I really hope that this book is successful enough to get the publishers to issue all her previous novels in the US. They have issued The Telling  and plan to issue her next book, called Longbourne (a retelling of Pride and Prejudice from the servant's point of view) later this year. Based on the popularity of the subject matter for the latter book, it will probably sell really well. So I have hopes of someday getting to read The Mermaid's Child, and Offcomer. Though if they drag their feet, I might just have to order copies to be shipped from the UK.

knitting, or not!

The other day my girl critter checked out a book from the library that had a load of knitting patterns for her kind of creatures, namely bugs, squid and other creatures that creep most people out. At first I anticipated many hours of fiddling with tiny needles trying to craft these creatures, and then I took a look at the patterns and realized that it has been so long since I knit that I honestly could look the kid in the eye and tell her I couldn't make heads or tails of the instructions.

So I dodged that bullet. But it did get me thinking, what the heck happened to that sweater I started, oh, about 2 years ago?

I dug around a little bit and at the back of a closet in a knitting bag I found this:

That looks to me like a sweater that is totally done except for one cuff. Maybe 8-10 rows of knitting max and a few buttons to sew on.

Seriously, if I had made just a tiny bit more effort I could have been wearing this thing for the last two years. Pathetic.

I know my knitting decreased dramatically when I stopped attending a whole lot of meetings, meetings in which I knit so that I didn't go crazy. I decided that those meetings, while excellent for my knitting productivity, were not so good for my mental health so I stopped going to them.

But hey, one of those evenings when I'm skipping a meeting (yes, I still write them on my calendar in case I have some burst of happy-Kate-ness that I decide to expend not on my family but on attending a meeting...) I think I should probably finish up that cuff. If I can remember how.

Heat through spices

We've been having painfully cold weather lately and that has made me crave Indian food. I know some people turn to hearty, meaty stews and roasts. I see the benefit of having the oven cranked on if just to open the door occasionally to check on what's inside and enjoy the blast of heat that surrounds your face, but I find that the warming spices in many Indian dishes do a great job of thawing me out.

Tonight I made my lastest favorite Indian dish: chana masala with mushrooms. I also made my stand-by (and possibly the easiest Indian dish ever) spinach simmered in yogurt (into which I also chucked a little cubed tofu aka cheater's paneer), rice and raita. The chana masala is pungent from three types of whole seeds that are toasted in oil at the very beginning of cooking. Unlike ground spices, which flavor a dish more uniformly, the whole spices keep each bite interesting with little kapows of flavor when you bite into a few fennel seeds, then a contrasting intensity when the next bite contains a cluster of mustard seeds. It's my way to stay toasty warm in winter.

Chana Masala with Mushrooms
adapted from this recipe on Herbivoracious

• 1.5 C cooked chickpeas (home cooked will be firmer, which I like, but use canned and rinse them if you're short on time)
• 2 T canola oil
• 2 t black mustard seeds
• 1 t fennel seeds
• 1 t cumin seeds
• 2 cloves of garlic, pressed or minced fine
• 1 small onion, diced small
• 1 medium tomato, diced (or use about 1/2 c canned diced tomato)
• 1 C button mushrooms, quartered
• 2 t dried tumeric
• 1/4 t cinnamon
• pinch ground cloves
• 1/4 t cayenne pepper
• 2 T lemon juice (or maybe a little more depending on how juicy/acidic your tomato is)
• 1 t salt
• cilantro (optional)

In a saucepan, heat the vegetable oil and chuck in your whole seeds. Cook until the mustard seeds start to pop (watch out, they can fly high!) Then add the onion, garlic and tomato and cook down until the liquid is gone and maybe the contents are browning a bit.

Add the mushrooms, chickpeas, tumeric, cinnamon, cloves, cayenne, lemon juice, salt and about a cup of water so it is a little soupy.

Simmer for at least 15-20 minutes so the chickpeas soak up a little of the spices and the mushrooms are cooked through. Honestly, you can probably turn the heat off once it is cooked and then re-heat the whole thing hours later and no one will be able to tell the difference.

If you have some cilantro on hand, chop up a little and sprinkle on top for a garnish, though the dish is fine without it.

Waking up

I think (hope) it's time to wake up this blog again. Since I went dormant here*, we have mostly completed a major construction project which doubled the size of our previously wee home. I love the new space, but can't say I loved the process. It took over my life and not in a good way.

But rather than attempting to summarize the ups and downs since I last posted, let's just jump right back in with a lovely event that took place last year and which includes both a good book to recommend and a terrific recipe: the November meeting of my book group. Yep, 12+ years along and we are still meeting pretty regularly! I think there are only three of us who were there at the beginning but in the past year we've welcomed two new wonderful women readers (and cooks) into the fold.

In November we read what turned out to be one of my favorite books of the year, Memory Wall by Anthony Doer. It's too late of a recommendation for you to make any use of for this Christmas (I gave it to two people on my list) but keep it in mind.  It's a book of short stories and while I enjoyed all of them (not a stinker in the batch) there were two that will never leave me: the title story and one titled "Afterworld." Both made me choke up and feel tender towards the human condition with all its flaws and foibles, which, given that I tend more towards bitterness and negativity in the winter months, is quite a feat. The stories are simply that good.

The theme for our book group dinner was food that are supposed to be good for your memory, which made for an easier task than actually trying to craft a meal from foods mentioned in the stories.  We started with a wonderful carrot orange soup with cashew nuts (a real winner: recipe below).

Then we moved on to a plate piled high with maple mustard salmon, roasted brussel sprouts, spinach/beet/walnut/blue cheese salad, a rice dish and quinoa with roasted red grapes.

Just looking at that photo makes me feel a tiny bit resentful toward tonight's dinner which can't hope to measure up.

For dessert I made chocolate pots de creme with raspberry whipped cream. Because why not end a big meal with a whole lot of butterfat and richness?

As always, it was an amazing feast; way better than Thanksgiving in my admittedly-not-so-enthusiastic-about-the-culinary-content-of-that-holiday opinion.

Now back to that soup. I know there are a thousand pureed carrot soups out there, but this one struck me as something different. There's no ginger and no curry powder in it, which I found a refreshing change. Instead the carrots are paired with orange juice which gives it a brightness that makes the carrots taste more carrot-y. In many carrot soups I feel like the carrots just serve as a base: something to be pureed to support the spices. But not here. And the toasted cashew nuts that are sprinkled on at the end give it a bit of buttery richness that is most welcome.

Carrot-Orange Soup with Toasted Cashew Garnish
2 T butter
1 large onion, chopped
4 C chicken broth
1 T honey
1.5 lbs carrots, peeled and chopped
2 T tomato paste
2 T uncooked rice
zest from one orange
1 C fresh orange juice
1/2 C cream or half and half or whole milk
dash of cayenne pepper
1 T brandy
toasted cashew nuts, chopped (1/2-1 C depending on how enthusiastic you are about cashew nuts)

In a saucepan, melt butter. Add onion and saute until soft. Add broth, honey, carrots, tomato paste and rice. Bring to a boil then turn down and simmer 30 minutes until the rice is soft.

Time to puree: add the orange zest and juice, cream, cayenne and brandy then use an immersion blender, if you have one, or transfer to a regular blender and puree in batches until very smooth. Strain if you really want it velvety (I've made it a couple of times and the second time I didn't strain it and thought it was fine).

Return to the pot and heat gently. Season with salt and pepper.

Top each serving with toasted cashew nuts.

______
*While this blog was taking a rest, I did write occasional posts for The Picky Eater Chronicles and kept my annual reading list with comments going (2012 here, and just started 2013). 

Not dead, just sleeping

This blog has gone dormant for the time being. Who knows, maybe it'll wake up some day. Or maybe it'll pretend to be a princess and sleep for 100 years...knowing our household allergy to princesses it probably won't be the latter. But for now it's going to enjoy its snooze.

If you really, really miss me (ha!) I'm still updating the Picky Eater Chronicles (as I make progress which, I tell you, is sloooooow) and my books read list (since I have no memory, I have to use it pretty frequently to check and see if I've already read a book.)

Easing two picky eaters toward some degree of normalcy

I've got a new mission and I am finally determined to pursue it.

I am going to ease my two picky kids toward some degree of normalcy in the food realm.

I've joked for years that their pickiness is my punishment for being overly fixated on food. I've attempted to face this down in bursts but then would fall back to old patterns. I've had massive temper tantrums in the kitchen and at the dining room table when they defeat me with their stubbornness. (I always thought no one was more stubborn than me. Turns out that they not only inherited it from me but have amplified it with their own distinct and strong personalities.)

Why do I think I might have a chance this time when they have defeated me in past attempt? Well, they are getting older (9 and 11). And that means that they are getting (a little) more logical. And recently they have shown small signs of adaptation: they both tried salsa when they were at a Mexican restaurant. They both will eat a little plain lettuce (we started with iceberg, that gateway-lettuce, but now they'll eat romaine and Boston and green leaf, too.) And there are a couple of other individual specific reasons too:

The boy like to travel. Loves it, in fact. I bluntly stated to him that there are places in the world which I won't take him until he starts eating more foods because I don't plan to go to, say, Spain, and have his eating habits be a restriction on our movements. [Not that I have the $ to take him to Spain--he doesn't need to know this. And much as I'd love to, a trip to Thailand or India or China isn't in the works for any of us, so we're talking about mainly different European and Latin American types of dishes.]  I described to him some of the cool places I've been and then told him that while what they regularly eat may be unfamiliar, it is something that a person with a flexible attitude can adapt to. This seemed to get through to him.

The girl likes people. And I told her if you want to spend time with people and not annoy the crap out of them, you need to eat what is available. Friends aren't going to invite you to stay to dinner if you won't try what is on offer. It doesn't mean you have to love it. It doesn't mean you have to eat a lot of it. But it does mean that you can't get distressed when it is something unfamiliar and that you need to broaden your repertoire of "safe" foods so that there is a likelihood that you will encounter at least one of them.


Things I'm willing to do:

1. Keep it mild. I love spicy food and don't plan on giving it up, but I can make spicy sauces on the side or add spice at the end after serving them.
2. Make a good amount of the new stuff side-dishes so they don't have to freak out at everything on their plates. Since I've recently gone low-meat, and they are decidedly pro-meat this isn't too hard. I don't mind making a turkey burger or plain chicken breast for them so long as the big pile of roasted fennel, sweet potatoes and carrots and potatoes that I make for my own main dish is a small-portion side dish to them.
3. Add the unfamiliar to the familiar. Like putting a small amount of salsa and sour cream on their quesidillas and expecting them to tolerate its appearance.

I am going to try and document things that worked both to share with other people who may be in the same predicament as I'm in* and to keep track and use as a crutch for my lousy memory. Since this only appeals to a small subset of those of you who still actually read this blog, I've decided to segregate the posts here:

http://thepickyeaterchronicles.blogspot.com/

If you are faced with a picky eater of your own, I hope you'll join me and make this a group effort to ease the picky eaters of the world toward a place where they don't drive the rest of us bat-shit crazy.

*I realize that when you've met one picky eater you've met...one picky eater and we all have different definitions of picky. I actually heard one parent describe her child as picky when he wouldn't eat kohlrabi. Ha!