Bagna Cauda

Crudités platters tend to bore me. Quite honestly I can't imagine anyone getting very excited over sticks of supermarket vegetables and "white dip," not to mention that serving raw cruciferous vegetables should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. Don't get me wrong, fresh veggies are a welcome addition to any party table but let's be honest, that same old, sorry tray just isn't bringing it.
 
Then about a month ago I was planning a dinner party that took on a Northern Italian theme. Instead of serving the usual green salad after the entree, I thought it would be fun to start the meal with bagna cauda, a Piedmontese crudités platter. I had read about it multiple times and thought that if anything could change my crudités attitude, it was this.
 
Bagna cauda literally means "warm bath." Garlic and anchovies are slowly warmed in olive oil until the salty fish dissolves and the oil is completely infused with flavor. It is then served in a dish over a candle (think fondue) with an assortment of raw and cooked vegetables for dipping. Although cardoons (a vegetable resembling celery but tasting of artichoke) and Jerusalem artichokes are traditional accompaniments, pretty much any seasonal produce can be used. 

In the Piedmont region of Italy, this fragrant dish was traditionally served as a warming snack in late Autumn and early winter to the chilled vineyard workers out pruning the vines. It tastes best, according to experts, with the new season's wine and a convivial atmosphere.
 
By the way, I now adore crudités platters.

Bagna Cauda
Some recipes emphasize the olive oil while others call for larger proportions of butter. This preparation uses both in a wonderful balance but can be tweaked to personal taste.
 
3/4 cup olive oil
8 cloves garlic, finely minced 
One 2-ounce can oil-packed anchovy fillets (about 12 fillets), chopped
3 tablespoons butter
Salt, if needed
Assortment of raw and blanched vegetables for dipping

In a small saucepan heat the olive oil, garlic and anchovies over medium-low for 6-8 minutes, whisking occasionally, until the anchovies have dissolved and the mixture looks muddy. Add the butter and whisk until melted. Taste and sprinkle in a bit of salt if necessary. Pour into a serving dish, ideally one that fits over a flame (but not necessary) and serve with crudites.

Homemade English Muffins

 

 
I’ve never been a morning person. While my sister managed to go to bed at a reasonable hour and wake up at the crack of dawn, every morning presented itself to me with a struggle. I needed at least three wake-up calls before reluctantly rubbing the sand from my eyes and scurrying to make it out the door on time. Thank goodness for my mom. Not only was she diligent in the wake-up process, she always left a little breakfast on the chest in the hall for me to grab as we left. My trusty stand-by, which still happens to be a favorite, was a toasted English muffin with butter and peanut butter.
 
English muffins make me happy, perhaps for that sentimental reason, but I never considered making them from scratch until seeing Clotilde’s post a few years ago. To my surprise I learned that they were cooked in a hot skillet like pancakes, which shouldn't have been all that surprising considering their two flat sides.

But I didn’t have any crumpet rings so the idea got shelved. It wasn’t until I bought my beloved copy of Peter Reinhart’s Artisan Breads Every Day that my enthusiasm was reignited. I promptly went to Sur La Table and got myself a set of these (and only 5 bucks to boot). 
 

The origins of the English muffin are a bit nebulous but they may have taken root in 10th century Wales where small, round yeast leavened cakes were baked on hot stones. The type of English muffin we know and love today became very popular during the Victorian era. The light, crusty muffins made out of dough scraps (and according to some accounts, leftover potatoes) were originally eaten in the servants’ quarters but once the ladies of the house got a taste, they quickly became fancied by everyone. And after tasting this homemade batch, I can see why.

Now I have to warn you, these aren’t the type of muffins that can be whipped up 30 minutes before breakfast (although the crumpet ring box provides such a recipe). You’ll need to plan this one out.

The dough itself is simple and straightforward but, like most of Mr. Reinhart’s recipes, requires an overnight fermentation in the refrigerator. The next morning, a baking soda slurry gets folded in (essential for that bubbly texture) before the little blobs of dough get cooked inside cornmeal-crusted rings. The result? English muffins like no other. 

 
The interiors are a thing of beauty - moist, yeasty and tender (all words that I generally despise using) - and the dusting of cornmeal gives the outsides that characteristic crisp texture. But I think we can all agree that the best parts of an English muffin are the many nooks and crannies. To take full advantage, be sure to fork split them instead of slicing. And if you’re going to pop them into the freezer, remember to split them ahead of time (a good rule of thumb for bagels, too).

Thomas’ English muffins? Puh-leez. And you’re welcome.

 

Homemade English Muffins 
Don't let the lack of crumpet rings stop you from making these; you can also use the rims of quart-size canning jars. Recipe from Artisan Breads Every Day.

2 teaspoons honey
1 tablespoon vegetable oil or olive oil
1 1/2 cups lukewarm milk (about 95˚F)
2 2/3 cups unbleached bread flour
3/4 teaspoon salt or 1 1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
2 teaspoons instant yeast (or 2 1/2 teaspoons active dry yeast, proofed)
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
3 tablespoons warm water
Cornmeal for dusting

In a small bowl add the honey to the oil and milk; stir to dissolve. In a mixing bowl, whisk the flour, salt and yeast together, then pour in the milk mixture. Whisk for a minute, scrape down the bowl and whisk for a few more seconds (you should see gluten strands forming). Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight or up to 4 days. The batter will bubble and rise as it cools down.

On baking day, remove the batter from the refrigerator 2 hours before baking. The dough will be stiff and sticky and will bubble as it comes to room temperature.

Right before baking, dissolve the baking soda in the warm water and gently fold it into the dough, just like folding egg whites into cake batter, until it is fully absorbed. Let the dough rest for 5-10 minutes or until it starts bubbling again. Heat a flat griddle pan or cast-iron skillet over medium heat (or 300˚F if using an electric skillet).

Mist the griddle and insides of the crumpet rings with spray oil, then dust the insides of the rings with cornmeal. Cover the surface of the pan with as many rings as it will hold, then dust the pan inside the rings with more cornmeal. Lower the heat to medium-low (actually, a bit closer to low than medium - you'll have to use trial-and-error to find the perfect temperature. I experimented with one English muffin first).

To bake, mist a 1/3-cup measuring cup with spray oil, fill it with dough and pour the dough into the ring. Fill all the rings and then sprinkle cornmeal over each muffin. The dough will not spread immediately but will slowly rise and bubble. Cook the muffins for at least 12 minutes or until the bottoms are golden and crisp and the tops lose their wet look. Flip the muffins over, rings and all, and cook for 12 minutes more. If it takes less than 12 minutes per side, your griddle setting is probably too high and you'll end up with undercooked muffins.   

When both sides are golden brown and the dough is springy to the touch, remove the muffins from the pan. Cool them in their rings for 2 minutes, then pop them out. Turn the muffins on their edge to cool; this will help prevent sinking and shrinking. Cool for at least 30 minutes before serving. After they cool, split them with a fork to accentuate the interior nooks.
 

Coconut Tapioca Pudding

If I were a superhero, my kryptonite would probably be anything custard or coconut. And if the two merged into one glorious dish (coconut cream pie, coconut crème brûlée, etc.) I’d be done for. This tapioca pudding fits snugly into that category.

Tapioca seems to be one of those things that befuddles people in that it's not an actual plant but rather the extracted starch of the cassava root. Cassava, also called manioc or yuca, is native to South America and is one of the top sources of carbohydrates consumed around the world. The woody tuber contains a naturally occurring toxin and therefore must undergo processing to become edible. It can then be boiled, steamed or fried and used as a starchy side dish, in soups and dumplings or baked into sweet cakes.

  
The familiar tapioca pearl is produced by drying the processed cassava. The result is a virtually protein-free starch which happens to be very digestible (it was actually considered a healthy food for the young, old and infirm in 19th century America).

These days I mainly consume tapioca in the form of bubble tea, thickened fruit desserts, or my personal favorite, pudding. 

Bob’s Red Mill has a fabulous recipe on the back of their small pearl tapioca package, one that involves whipped egg whites. You saw what they did for pancakes; you won’t believe what they can do for pudding.

So I experimented a bit and came up with this version, which uses coconut milk in addition to regular milk. The result is quite nuanced, not at all over the top. What IS over the top is the texture. The whipped egg whites elevate it from the pudding category to more of a whip.

Have you ever eaten a cloud? Well here’s your chance.

 
Coconut Tapioca Pudding
I like serving this pudding topped with fresh mango or pineapple. For a more intense coconut flavor, increase the ratio of coconut milk to regular milk, or try folding in some unsweetened shredded coconut. Inspired by the tapioca recipe on the Bob's Red Mill package.

1/3 cup small pearl tapioca (not instant)
2 cups whole milk
1 14-fluid ounce can coconut milk (light is fine)
Pinch of salt
2 eggs, separated 
1/2 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

In a medium saucepan, soak the tapioca in the milk for 30 minutes. Add the coconut milk, salt and lightly beaten egg yolks; stir over medium heat until it comes to a boil. Reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring frequently, for 15 minutes.
 
In a medium bowl, beat the egg whites with the sugar until soft peaks form. Slowly fold about 1 cup of hot tapioca into the egg whites, then gently fold the mixture back into the saucepan. Stir over low heat for 3 minutes. Remove from heat and add the vanilla. 

Serve the pudding warm or chilled (if you choose to chill the pudding, cover the surface with plastic wrap to prevent a skin from forming).

Lemon Yogurt Pancakes

Every year over the holidays my mom and I watch The Sound of Music and, subsequently, get the songs stuck in our heads for weeks. I always enjoyed the scene where Maria calmed the children by singing about her favorite things, but I have to admit, my lyrics would be a heck of a lot different than whiskers on kittens and cream colored ponies:
 
“Thin New York pizza and dry apple cider
Custard-filled cream puffs and wine by the fire…”
 
Ok, Tristan said I have to stop before everyone knows that I'm a dork. But if I were allowed to continue, I would certainly work savory pancakes in there. Zucchini, sweet corn, green pea, you name it. But the love ends at the standard buttermilk flapjack. I like the idea of ordering a piping hot stack but they're just too starchy and inevitably leave me feeling 10 pounds heavier.
 
That said, I recently had an inexplicable hankering for sweet pancakes, and my cravings don't go away until they're satisfied. To avoid the infamous flour-induced coma, I decided to make a version using yogurt, lemon zest and whipped egg whites. The result? Seriously fluffy, light-as-a-feather, uncommonly good pancakes.

The key here is separating the egg yolks from the whites. You could easily skip this step (simply mix whole eggs into the yogurt) but you'd be missing out on some incredible texture. Folding in whipped egg whites produces a batter that's impossibly airy and delicate. 

Requiring only 7 tablespoons of flour per batch, these lemony little cakes will simultaneously satisfy your pancake craving and perpetuate it.

Lemon Yogurt Pancakes
A lighter version of the American breakfast classic, these are made with yogurt instead of milk and a bit of lemon zest for freshness.
 
Makes 14 3-inch pancakes
 
1 cup plain yogurt (I use organic whole milk yogurt)
2 large eggs, divided
Zest of one lemon
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
7 tablespoons all purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
 
In a medium bowl, whisk together the yogurt, egg yolks, lemon zest and vanilla. In a small bowl, stir together the flour, sugar, baking soda and salt. Add the dry ingredients to the wet and stir until just combined (do not over-mix).
 
Using an electric mixer beat the egg whites on high speed until stiff peaks form. Gently fold the egg whites into the batter, being careful to retain as much air as possible.
 
Heat a cast iron skillet or griddle over medium-low heat (err on the side of lower heat to avoid burnt outsides and raw middles). Add enough melted butter to lightly coat the bottom of the pan - you can do this by brushing, swirling or, as I do, running the end of a stick of butter over the pan's surface. Pour in the batter in scant 1/4-cup-fulls. Cook for 2-3 minutes or until bubbles appear on the surface. Flip carefully and cook another 1-2 minutes. Repeat with remaining batter.
 
Serve in a stack with butter, yogurt and real maple syrup.

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.

Butternut Squash Risotto

I teach monthly cooking classes for clients at work. Many are kitchen neophytes so my lessons tend to cover the basics and include straightforward recipes that require minimal effort. Last week, in a holiday-themed class, we discussed how to handle a butternut squash (peeling, cutting, cleaning and roasting) and since I had a demo squash left over, I was determined to make dinner out of it.
 
I wanted a dish where the squash would remain king, and then I remembered Ina Garten's Saffron Butternut Squash Risotto (yet another episode I saw at the gym while planning dinner on the treadmill). In all honestly, I'm not what you would consider a winter squash aficionado. I cook it and I eat it but it doesn't have a spot on my favorite foods list... at least not until it's paired with gnocchi, ravioli or a creamy risotto.
 
This particular risotto managed to knock my socks off. It balances the sweet, savory and creamy components perfectly, and with seared scallops on top, it may actually qualify as one of my favorite meals.

  
Butternut Squash Risotto
While this risotto is a meal in itself, I highly recommend topping each serving with a few seared scallops. The two flavors and textures are a match made in heaven. Adapted from an Ina Garten recipe.

1 medium butternut squash (about 2 pounds)
Olive oil
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
3 ounces pancetta, finely diced
2 tablespoons butter, divided
1 large shallot, minced
1 1/2 cups Arborio rice
1 cup dry white wine
4-6 cups chicken broth
1/2 teaspoon saffron threads
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Preheat oven to 400°F.
 
Peel the squash, halve lengthwise, remove the seeds with a spoon and cut it into 3/4-inch cubes (about 6 cups). Place the diced squash on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper and drizzle with olive oil (about 2 tablespoons), a few good pinches of kosher salt and some black pepper. Toss well and spread in a single layer. Transfer to the oven and bake for 30-40 minutes, tossing once, until the squash is very tender. Remove and set aside.
 
Meanwhile, heat the chicken broth in a small saucepan. Cover and keep hot over low heat.
 
In a large pot, heat the pancetta over medium-low heat for about 8 minutes or until most of the fat has rendered and the pancetta is beginning to crisp. Add 1 tablespoon of butter and the shallots; cook for 5 more minutes or until the shallots are translucent. Add the rice and stir to coat the grains with butter. Pour in the wine and cook, stirring frequently, until the liquid is absorbed, about 4 minutes. Add two ladles of stock, the saffron, 1/2 a teaspoon of salt and a few good grinds of black pepper. Simmer, stirring frequently, until the broth is absorbed, about 6 minutes. Continue adding stock, two ladles at a time, stirring frequently, waiting each time for the liquid to be absorbed before adding more. Continue this process until the rice is cooked through but still a touch al dente, about 30 minutes. Add the butternut squash, Parmesan and a splash more stock, if needed. Toss in the remaining tablespoon of butter, stir well and taste for seasoning. Serve immediately.

Caraway Cabbage with Pasta

If you’re looking for a quick and delicious meal that also happens to be pretty darn healthy, have I got something for you.

This is an Eastern European-style dish that my mom made pretty frequently when we were growing up. I used to love standing at the stove taking in the smell of onions sautéing in butter. And then, along with the shredded cabbage, she’d add the secret ingredient: caraway seeds. Don't even think about making this dish without them. It would be like rye bread without its signature flavor - preposterous! Besides, if my mom found a way to get kids to happily devour cabbage, I wouldn’t mess with a good thing.

From start to finish this only takes about 15 minutes. I’m not normally a pusher of 20 minute meals – that niche has been filled to capacity – but it’s nice to have a few quick dishes in your arsenal for busy nights.

I like to eat my Caraway Cabbage with Pasta on its own but it also tastes fabulous topped with Parmesan cheese or a dollop of sour cream. And, if you need meat or are serving this as a main course, a little crispy pancetta or bacon would push this into the ridiculous category (just cook 4 ounces of diced bacon/pancetta in a skillet over medium heat until crisp; remove, continue with the recipe as written and then add it back in at the end along with the pasta).

I can’t believe it took me this long to make such a beloved childhood dish. Glad it’s back. 

Caraway Cabbage with Pasta
A simple and very satisfying peasant dish. It easily stands on its own but would accompany a braised brisket or pan seared pork chop beautifully. Leftovers taste great with a fried egg on top.

Serves 4 as a side dish, 2-3 as a main course

3 tablespoons butter
1/2 medium onion, thinly sliced
1 small head green cabbage, thinly shredded (5-6 cups total)
Salt and pepper to taste
1 teaspoon caraway seeds
8 ounces dry pasta (my mom always used bowtie but any shape will do)

Set a large pot of salted water on to boil.

In a large skillet, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the shredded cabbage, a few good pinches of salt, freshly ground black pepper and the caraway seeds. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the cabbage is tender, 8-10 minutes.

Meanwhile, cook the pasta in the salted water until al dente; drain. When the cabbage is tender, add the cooked pasta and toss well. Taste for salt and adjust seasonings if necessary. Serve and watch it disappear.