A Look Back

 New Year's Eve dinner at Tristan's family's home in Arlington, VA

Happy New Year everyone!

I couldn't jump into 2011 without paying a bit of homage to 2010. It was an eventful year of cooking experiments, dinner parties, culinary classes, new cookbooks and a good deal of travel. But one of my favorite parts was going to New York over the holidays. Why? Because I got to spend time with my family and eat some darn good holiday food.

As tradition dictates, we always make an Italian Seven Fish Stew on Christmas Eve. It has a spicy, flavorful broth of clam juice, stock and tomatoes and is chock-full of scallops, haddock, flounder, shrimp, calamari, mussels and clams. The only necessary accompaniment is a loaf of good bread (I strongly suggest making some No-Knead) to sop up all those glorious juices.

Unlike the anticipated main course, dessert on the 24th is up for discussion. This year my mom made mini pavlovas with fresh fruit and whipped cream. Named after the Russian prima ballerina, Anna Matveyevna Pavlova, who toured Australia and New Zealand in the 1920s, the dessert lives up to its muse: light, airy and elegant (the meringue shells were meant to simulate her tutu). 

Christmas morning at our house always begins with a breakfast of Züpfe, the beloved bread of Switzerland. Back in the home country it's eaten on Sundays with butter, honey and jam and perhaps a soft boiled egg. Nowadays, for those of my family in America, it only makes an annual appearance over the holidays.

No two Züpfe recipes are alike and in my humble (and certainly biased) opinion, my grandmother's was the very best. She took great pride in her work and guarded her recipe like a Swiss Guard in front of the Vatican. When she passed away, it took years of experimentation and refinement for my father to develop his version, which, we all concur, is the closest we've ever had to the original.

Our traditional Christmas dinner is unabashedly English-themed: roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. My favorite part, hands down, is the pudding. Similar to a popover, it has a puffed, golden exterior with an eggy, custard-like middle. Back in old England, it used to be a filler dish for poor people who couldn't afford much meat. Also called "dripping pudding," it was made by placing a simple batter of flour, milk and eggs under the roasting meat in order to catch all the savory drippings. Despite its humble beginnings, it's easy to see why Yorkshire pudding has found a place at a New York Christmas table. 

No English meal would be complete without a proper trifle. My mom makes a wonderfully traditional version with sherry soaked cake, layered with egg custard, fruit and whipped cream. If this doesn't say festive, I don't know what does.

I can't think of a better way to end a year than with family, food and friends. I'm already looking forward to repeating it in 2011.

Raclette

I’ll never forget the first time I had raclette.  We were introduced to this interactive meal (involving individual pans, wooden scrapers and melted cheese) years ago while visiting family in Switzerland. I also remember declaring on the spot that it was my favorite dish ever.
 
Since then, I’ve enjoyed raclette a million times over. While the novelty has worn off, the deliciousness hasn’t. 
 
Raclette, pronounced rah-KLEHT, refers to both a type of cheese and a traditional Swiss dish that features said cheese. It originated in the Swiss canton of Valais where, as legend has it, the Alpine herdsmen set up camp for the night and when some cheese got too close to the fire, it melted onto a rock. Not wanting to waste (the Swiss are incredibly resourceful), they scraped it up (hence the French root word “racler,” meaning “to scrape”) and declared it delicious. 
 
If you go to a Swiss street festival today, you’ll see raclette being served in a close-to-traditional fashion. A huge half-wheel is heated, cut side up, under an electric heat source until it melts and bubbles, after which it is scraped off over tiny boiled potatoes or bread. But most Swiss homes have a raclette grill. In the same spirit as fondue, diners sit in a circle around the grill, armed with little individual pans. In goes a slice of raclette (along with any desired fixins’ – I love sliced pineapple) and under the grill it goes. When it’s ready, wooden scrapers are used to ensure that every bit makes it to your plate. And if that weren't enough, the top of the unit is equipped with a flat, open grill -- perfect for grilling sausages, prosciutto, veggies or baguette slices. Along with small, boiled potatoes, this cheesy dish is eaten alongside cornichons and pickled onions for digestion.

So the other night we decided to have a spontaneous, mid-week, semi-celebratory dinner party in honor of our good friend Nick, who was moving to Bogota, Colombia to do legal work for a year. Raclette seemed the natural choice. Not only is it interactive, easily assembled AND delicious, it’s one of the few dishes that makes you slow down, take your time and enjoy the experience.
 
Followed by a fresh green salad and a rustic apple tart, our friends were sent home with content bellies. It’s easy to see why this 700+-year-old tradition lives on.

Collard Green Puree

When I was living in Winterthur, Switzerland, my favorite street vendor was a man by the name of Hansueli. He was tall and trim with a long mane of thick curly hair. His impeccable language skills indicated that he was well traveled, as did his earthy garments. He operated a very popular crêpe stand: vegetarian, all organic, both sweet and savory. No matter the time of year, there was always a long line of eager customers. I loved the chana masala crêpe with mango pickle relish but my absolute favorite was the spinach and cheese for seven francs. It consisted of velvety smooth, pureed spinach with a sprinkling of fresh mozzarella encased in a papery-thin, warm crêpe. He folded it just so and I honored that by eating it with absolute precision.

From time to time I crave that smooth spinach. It was so much more convenient in Switzerland - Rahm Spinat was sold in a bag full of individually frozen squares, making it a snap to heat up a little or a lot. I’ve tried making it from scratch but never to the same effect… until last night.

I was pan frying halibut and thought it would look stunning atop a mound of pureed greens. Two fresh bunches of collard greens sat in my fridge so I thought, why not? A quick dip in boiling water, a sauté of onion and garlic in a hot skillet and a spin in the blender was almost all it took to create a puree that would make Hansueli proud.

* By the way, the leftovers made an incredibly tasty breakfast: a toasted crumpet spread with warm collard green puree topped with a poached egg. It doesn’t get much better than that!

Pureed Collard Greens
This makes a wonderful side dish, crêpe filling or base for a poached egg. It can also be made with spinach, kale or chard.

2 bunches collard greens, cleaned and stripped from stems
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
3-4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 tablespoon flour
Milk or stock
Pinch of nutmeg
Salt to taste

Cover the bottom of a large pot with 2 inches water; heat until boiling. Add collard green leaves and simmer, stirring occasionally, until tender and bright green, about 5 minutes. Drain, coarsely chop and set aside.

In a medium saucepan, heat butter and olive oil over medium heat until melted. Add onion and garlic; sauté until translucent and soft. Sprinkle with flour and cook, stirring constantly, 2 more minutes. Remove from heat.

In a blender, pulse onion mixture and a third of the greens. Drizzle milk through the top as needed. Continue this process until all greens have been pureed and desired consistency has been reached.

Transfer back to saucepan and heat over medium-low. Add a pinch of nutmeg and salt to taste.

Breakfast of Champions

I was five years old when I performed my first cooking demonstration. It was back in New York at the old Clockville courthouse, which doubled as our voting hall. I practiced for weeks under the tutelage of my parents ("don't say 'you,'" "make eye contact," "smile") until it was flawless, by 5 year old standards anyway.

The big day finally came. When my name was called, I got up, stuck out my chin and did was I was trained to do. I placed my recipe poster on the stand, taped a tiny paper receptacle to the table, methodically organized my ingredients and launched into my presentation. I spoke of my family in Switzerland and how we just loved eating Muesli for breakfast. Time whizzed by and before I knew it, it was over. I thought it went swimmingly. Pleased as punch, I glided into my rehearsed closing, "Ladies and gentlemen, this concludes my demonstration. Are there any questions?" A hand shot up. It belonged to my Dad. "Uh, yes. Now what do you do with the oatmeal," he asked? My professionalism went out the window as I dramatically slapped my head and yelled, "Oh no!" Apparently I forgot to add the main ingredient.

Don't worry, it didn't scar me for life. I received a blue ribbon that night and was determined to do it better next year when I was six.

As far as breakfasts go, I'm not a huge fan of mainstream fare and tend to prefer savory things like soup, sprouted grain toast with avocado and salt or last night's leftovers. Then a few months ago I wrote an article all about the benefits of soaking grains, which naturally conjured up images of my beloved Swiss muesli. I've been on a serious kick ever since.

Strawberry Muesli
Bircher Muesli is most often prepared with shredded apple but feel free to use whichever fruit is in season.

1/3 cup rolled oats
1/3+ cup milk
Splash of lemon juice or apple cider vinegar
3/4 cup sliced strawberries (or 1/2 a grated apple)
3/4 cup plain kefir or plain yogurt
1 tablespoon moist date pieces (or dried fruit of choice)
Chopped nuts (I like roasted pecans or crushed hazelnuts)

Place rolled oats in a small bowl. Add milk to cover and a splash of lemon juice. Refrigerate overnight. 

In the morning, add sliced strawberries, kefir/yogurt and dried fruit. Mix well and sprinkle with nuts.