Farewell, Borders: Disaster Cake

Everybody knows this by now, but Borders is slowly collapsing (like a flan in a cupboard). This includes their outlet store in my neighbourhood -- just a few blocks from my apartment. I mourn its loss. I won't deny that the corporation made some really dumb business decisions -- and often, at that -- but in my opinion, there can never be enough books. "Un livre, c'est un trésor," -- a book is a treasure -- as an elementary school teacher of mine would frequently repeat. Though I rolled my eyes at the time, I do believe she was right. Books are the currency of intellect, massive repositories of verbal artistry, alternatively bequeathing you with new knowledge of your world and offering a dream-like escape from reality.

So when the local store put everything on sale with huge discounts, I was one of the first to line up. Actually, that's not entirely true: it took me a few days to get there, but I went back again and again. By the time I was done (read: exhausted my budget), I had returned three times with my arms encircling a new pile of books. Unlike my usual M.O., I didn't just ravage their SF/Fantasy section; I gleefully snatched everything that looked interesting. I danced through the Poetry section, loitered in Science & Tech, and grabbed all manner of fiction, whether classic or pop.

It goes without saying that this included a cookbook or two. One in particular intrigued me. As it is entitled the "Golden Book of Chocolate" (kinda presumptuous, don't you think?) and has the shiniest cover I have ever seen, I hesitated to buy it. I simply don't trust cookbooks that gaudy. By the third trip to the store, though, I realised it was bugging me too much for me not to have it. Turns out to be an interesting purchase, and I'm sure I will talk about many times in the future. For now, though, I'm going to tell the story of how utterly disastrous my first use of it was.

The recipe wasn't THAT ridiculous: white chocolate fudge with pecans. Melted butter, milk, chocolate, vanilla, nuts, sugar, and a period of time chilling. Piece of cake--er, fudge-- right? Wrong. The ratio of liquid to solid is way off. What should have been a couple hours in the fridge turned into days in the freezer, and the damn mix never solidified. To add insult to injury, a roommate's bag of tortillas slipped and took a plunge into the pan. "Now I don't only have a lack of fudge," I muttered to myself, "but also a cold mess to clean up. Great. Bloody brilliant."

Irony aside, what was bloody brilliant was the idea to use the concoction as icing on a cake instead. I was clearly not the one to figure this out. A few brief minutes later, my standby chocolate cake was ready. Here, again, the fates attempted to thwart me: overeager to be done with the baking project, I popped the cake out of the pan before it was cool, causing its middle to collapse. Fortunately, the sides had dried out enough to hold their form, so the cake ended up looking somewhat bowl-shaped. Not a bad thing when spreading a viscous icing. A final touch to this victory-snatched-from-the-jaws-of-defeat was a handy box of raspberries tossed on top.

The result was better than I could possibly have hoped for at any step in the process. The icing, added judiciously, not only adds a nutty earthiness to the rich chocolate but, furthermore, traps the moisture in the cake. That means that you can save it for days, and it will keep its decadent texture. I'll include the recipe here, but you should be aware that you'll try it at your own risk. If it works like fudge, congratulations! Otherwise, know that it can be remedied.

Thanks, Borders, for all the wonder you have so disastrously provided. You are a collapsed cake with icing that should have been fudge. Whatever that means.


White Chocolate and Pecan Fudge / Disaster Cake icing

• 1 cup butter
• 1,1/2 cups milk
• 2,1/2 cups sugar
• 4 oz white chocolate, finely chopped
• 1 cup pecans
• 1 tsp vanilla extract

Oil an 8*10-inch baking pan. Place the butter, milk and sugar in a saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a boil and stir until the sugar begins to dissolve. Simmer the mixture until it reaches the soft ball stage. At this temperature, if you drop a spoonful of the mixture into ice water, it will make a limp, sticky ball that flattens when you remove from the water.

Remove from the heat and beat until it starts to thicken, about 5min.

Add the chocolate and stir until it has melted. Fold in the pecan nuts and vanilla extract. Pour the mixture into the prepared pan. Let cool to room temperature then chill in the refrigerator until set, 2-3hrs. (Lies! Lies! Lies!). Cut into 1-inch pieces.

Cookies

Apologies for the small bout of radio silence. I had assumed that providing Neen with the means to take pictures of her food would lead her to post more blog entries -- at least enough for me to take a small break. But alas! She has been so affixed to her camera that she's been unable to pry herself away, not even enough to visit the computer. I appreciate the irony.

My absence has a variety of causes. First off, of course, there's the wonderful ladyfriend (<3!) acting as a new, and very welcome, distraction. But since a monologue of cooking & canoodling seems, uh, awkward, I'll just spare you. Secondly: a tale. I returned from my excursion to the Helvetica country armed and rarin' to go. I had acquired the December edition of the Food & Wine magazine (which, I must say, is excellent) and America's Test Kitchen 2010 collection of holiday cookies. I was so excited to try all of these new dishes, I was practically twitching. Before I fully shook off the seven hour jetlag, I was on a maniacal cooking spree. I made everything I had room & ingredients for: cookies, biscuits, breads... there were no limits.

And then... nothing.

I put everything out in public areas, where folks know to help themselves. But with only the occasional exception, the food just sat out there. It seemed to get nibbled on from time to time, but with such rarity that I started getting doubts. What happened to the days that I could throw an overabundance of food at the world and it would disappear in a matter of days? Were fewer people than usual passing through the apartment? Maybe they had all made resolutions regarding the intake of sugar. Or maybe they actually didn't like the food I made for them! I slowly started sinking into the role of a wounded artiste. I felt like the Players at the beginning of Tom Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead: duped into performing for an audience that wasn't there.

I realised the levels of my own ridiculousness, and that for once, it wasn't necessarily helping anyone. So I stopped. I am still restless. I want to bake, but know I can't eat it all myself. This stifled urge, not to mention the weather, my two unengaging part-time jobs, and the dullest academic class since I came to the University, has turned me into a character from a Chekhov play: the intelligentsia burdened with the unbearable weariness of being. That's me, a regular Uncle Vanya.

But I digress.

Really, my goal here is to use you, Denizens of the Internets, as the audience to my madness. Sorry, you don't get a choice in the matter. If those physically around me don't want the glorious products of my labour, then maybe you can do something with them instead. Here are some of the cookies I've been making. I'll leave other products for later posts.


Russian Tea Cakes
I've heard these are also called Snowballs, but I shun such plebeian nicknames. They are definitely my favourites so far. Unlike so many other cookies, they are not overly sweet. Despite the fact that you toss the entire cookie in confectioners' sugar after baking, the attractive aspect is instead the amount of butter that you use. A full 2 sticks, creamed to within an inch of their lives, make for a light and delicate texture. And don't skip the pecans! They are a must-have for this simple and delicious bite.

• 16 tbs (2 sticks) butter, softened
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 2 cups flour
• 3/4 cup pecans, toasted and chopped fine
• 1 cup confectioners' sugar

With an electric mixer on medium-high speed, beat butter, sugar, vanilla, and salt until very light and fluffy, 3min. Reduce speed to low, add flour, and mix until just combined. Add pecans and mix until evenly distributed. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 1hr, or up to 2 days.

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees and line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper. Roll dough into 1-inch balls and place 1,1/2 inches apart on prepared baking sheets. Bake until edges are light golden brown, 10-12min, switching and rotating sheets halfway through baking. Cool 5min.

Sift confectioners' sugar into medium bowl. Working with 4-5 warm cookies at a time, gently toss each in sugar to coat. Transfer cookies to wire rack and cool to room temperature. Toss cooled cookies once more in remaining sugar to coat.



Molasses-Spice Lemon Cookies
The process of making these cookies is actually a little unappetising. Probably sleep-deprived at the time, we gleefully cackled at how the icing looked like snot and the rolled dough like "little turds!". For those of you not deterred and disgusted, let me convey to you that these are fantastic. I have always liked the [judicious] use of molasses, especially coupled with such spices. The addition, albeit messy, of the lemon filling makes it all the more worthwhile. Citrus-y, spicy, sugary goodness.

• 2 cups flour
• 2 tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 1 tsp ginger
• 3/4 tsp salt
• 1/4 tsp cloves
• 2 cups sugar
• 1/4 cup dark molasses
• 1 large egg
• 15 Tbs butter (12 Tbs melted, 3 Tbs softened)
• 3 Tbs lemon juice
• 2 cups confectioners' sugar

Combine flour, baking soda, cinnamon, ginger, salt, and cloves in a bowl. In separate bowl, whisk 1,1/2 cups sugar, molasses, egg, and melted butter together until combined. Add flour mixture to butter mixture and stir until incorporated. Chill until dough is firm, 1hr.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees and line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper. Place remaining 1/2 cup sugar in bowl. Roll dough into 3/4 inch balls, toss balls in sugar, then place 2 inches apart on prepared baking sheets. Bake until tops are just beginning to crack, 8-10min, switching and rotating sheets halfway through baking. Cool 5min, then transfer to wire rack to cool completely. Repeat with remaining dough.

Combine remaining 3 Tbs butter, lemon juice, and confectioners' sugar in bowl and whisk until smooth. Spread heaping teaspoon filling over bottoms of half of cooled cookies. Top with remaining cookies and let filling set, 1hr.



Chocolate Turtle Cookies
I confess, I made these principally out of curiosity. I was definitely attracted by the idea of a chocolate cookie, covered in pecans, and with a caramel center. But really, I wanted to find out how well using cannibalised candy as an ingredient would work -- wouldn't the overprocessed, super-sweet goodies affect the outcome of the baked goods? Surprisingly, no; at least, not adversely. The other alluring features of the cookie speak for themselves.

• 1 cup flour
• 1/3 cup cocoa powder
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 8 Tbs (1 stick) butter, softened
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1 large egg, separated, plus 1 egg white
• 2 Tbs milk
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1,1/4 cups pecans, chopped fine
• 14 soft caramel candies
• 3 Tbs heavy cream

Combine flour, cocoa, and salt in bowl. With an electric mixer on medium-high speed, beat butter and sugar until light and fluffy, 2min. Add egg yolk, milk, and vanilla and mix until incorporated. Reduce speed to low and add flour mixture until just combined. Wrap dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate until firm, 1hr.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees and line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper. Whisk egg whites in bowl until frothy. Place pecans in another bowl. Roll dough into 1-inch balls, dip in egg whites, then roll in pecans. Place balls 2 inches apart on prepared baking sheets. Using 1/2 tsp measure, make indentation in center of each ball. Bake until set, about 12min, switch and rotating sheets half through baking.

Microwave caramels and cream bowl, stirring occasionally, until smooth, 1-2min. Once cookies are removed from oven, gently re-press existing indentations. Fill each with 1/2 tsp caramel mixture. Cool 10min, then transfer to wire rack to cool completely.

Vodka Sauce for my Last First Day of School

Today is the first day of my last semester in graduate school.

Not to be melodramatic or anything. Actually, it's somewhat anti-climactic: it's pouring rain today and my first class isn't till 6pm. It's going to be a pretty crazed semester, with a business school studio, a community development studio, an econ development methods class, a Master's thesis, a job at a research institute, a job at the pro-downtown nonprofit, Do taking his PhD qualifying exams, not to mention extra-curricular commitments. But today, the first day, I can technically sit around in my P.J.s until 6pm.

Given the circumstances, either this blog is going to end up in hibernation again or readers are going to be inundated with "30min or less" dishes. Might as well start now.

Do has been increasingly interested in quality Italian food for a while now -- not Americanized Italian but designed-for-the-Italian-palate dishes. He and DNA have a good Italian friend whom they have both visited in Pisa, and returned much more rotund and waxing poetical about the dishes served by the friend's Italian grandmother. For Christmas, my Mom and grandmother got him two beautiful tomes: Marcella Hazan's first cookbook (think Julia Child for Italian food), and The Silver Spoon (a 1200+ page magnum opus published in Italy for the last 50 years and only recently translated into English. Maybe the Italian equivalent to Joy of Cooking?).

The first dish he tried was Silver Spoon's recipe for Penne in Vodka Sauce. This was last Thursday, a rainy work night. I had had a harrowing day and when Do insisted on taking over the kitchen, all I wanted was something creamy and comforting.

Did you know that parsley is a bitter herb? As in, that whole dipping parsely into salt water at Passover thing and mumbling about the bitter tears of our ancestors is not just for show? As in, cooking with parsley is kind of like using water when baking bread: you really, *really* shouldn't be blazé about proportions? Yeah... This recipe calls for 1 Tablespoon of fresh parsley. For the love of God, do not add the entire bunch of parsley. Do and I have scientifically proven for posterity that the results will be inedible. Think bitter. For my family: think of those daily anti-malarial pills that we used to take, and imagine one of those crushed and mixed into a delicate cream sauce. Yeah. Not so much.

We threw the first batch out and started over. This time, using ONE Tablespoon of parsley.

The second batch was quite impressive. Delicate texture but hearty flavor. Just enough cayenne bite to cut through the cream, and enough chewiness from the thick cubes of ham to lend gravitas to the dish. Vodka sauce is inherently not the most sophisticated pasta sauce out there, but this version takes a simple, comforting dish and turns it into something adult. Something that you're more likely to find in an Italian grandmother's home than in little Italy.

Penne Rigate in Vodka (serves 2 for a light super. We recommend supplementing the penne with a salad, or doubling the recipe)
1/4 cup butter
1 thick slice cooked, cured ham, diced
2 Tbs tomato paste
1 Tbs chopped fresh parsley (no more!)
5 Tbs heavy cream
1/4 cup vodka
3 cups penne rigate
2 tsp cayenne
1 Tbs red pepper

Melt the butter in a pan, add the ham, tomato paste, and parsely, season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, for about 10min. Stir in the cream and vodka and cook until the vodka has evaporated. Season to taste with cayenne and red pepper. Cook the penne in a large pan of salted, boiling water until al dente, then drain and tip into a warm serving dish. Pour sauce over the pasta, garnish with a little leftover parsley.

[Trying to make] Brik. Or, why Julie Powell is dangerous.

[Continuing to explore Tunisian cuisine through Tessa Mallos' North African Cooking cookbook...]

I had to leave the kitchen. I put down my implements, left the hot deep-frying oil, marched into the bathroom, and dissolved into tears. Actually, I just crumpled and the wails erupted on their on. Have you read Julie and Julia? It was much more Julie Powell than Amy Adams, complete with irrational declarations that, clearly, the universe was over. Obvi. (Image from http://alturl.com/jbpf)

I had tried to make Brik. I had failed. The wrappers were brittle and were breaking, they weren't sealing around the filling, the egg yolks were bursting, the oil wasn't hot enough so the result was soggy, oily, egg-y, mess. Every single fire alarm in our apartment went off during the first minute and a half of my endeavor. Boiling oil splattered all over the clean stovetop, my clothes, my bare arms, everything. It was a DISASTER.

In one of Do's few memories of his great-grandmother, he was thirteen and visiting extended family in Paris, and his Tunisian great-grandmother made him brik. He still recounts the event with wonder and adoration. Brik are, essentially, deep-fried dough pockets filled with raw egg and a salty filling. The recipe in North African Cooking calls for anchovies and capers. About a teaspoon of the filling and a small raw egg get dumped into the center of a wonton wrapper (actual Brik dough is super time-consuming to make, my used-to-live-in-Algeria Mom informs me), the wonton wrapper seals around the filling, and the whole thing gets deep fried until barely crispy. As Do puts it: "It's salty, deep fat fried egg. What's not to like?" (The photo above is clearly not my creation. It was taken by Sheryl of the Crispy Waffle blog during her vacation in Tunisia, and can be found here.)

Fiasco. Bawling in the bathroom.

::Do Grabs The Talkie Stick ::

So, anyone that lives with a foodie knows all about managing explosions in the kitchen. I have generated a little check-list for myself.
After hearing loud shrieking/sobbing from Neen while she is cooking:
1. Check to make sure all limbs are attached. [If no - proceed to emergency first aid routine]
2. Remove any fire hazards from heat. (If something might overcook - remove that from heat too.)
3. Attend to Neen.

There were no missing limbs in this situation, but there was a fire hazards - so I turned the heat off on the oil before proceeding back to the bathroom to find out what was eating Neen. Now, it is worth mentioning that this is a VERY hard recipe, and I had known it from the start. I had tried unsuccessfully to convince her of this. So when Neen felt like she just couldn't make it work, the resulting meltdown was not completely unexpected.

[Neen: insertion] Actually, Do was trying very hard not to giggle. We had just seen Julie & Julia that afternoon, so the over-the-top explosion was just too stereotypical for words. Of course, his trying to suppress his smirk made me giggle... which was naturally followed by an especially loud wail to prove I was serious. [/Neen insertion]

Thankfully the solution to my portion of this problem was VERY easy - I just had her take bite out of one of the "failed" Brik she had just made. Fabulous - melt in in your mouth, salty, and rich. Everything Brik should be. So they weren't picture perfect, so what? Some of the wrappers didn't shut, but upon returning to the kitchen we realized that (of course) you are supposed to soak the wonton wrappers in water before using them - the recipe hadn't of course mentioned that! Once we corrected for this issue, we actually turned out some impressive-looking ones.

The happy ending to this story was a delicious meal of brik and white wine, set to candlelight. Perfection.

Neen: Yeah. Still not happening again any time soon. I'll wait to get hands-on instruction from the experts the next time we visit Do's family in Paris.

Brik bil Ancouwa (Brik with Anchovies)
a package of large spring roll wrappers
1 Tbs olive oil
1 large onion, finely chopped
1 1/2 Tbs fniely chopped canned anchovies
2 Tbs chopped parsely
3 tsp capers, drained
oil for frying
Small fresh eggs (Neen: this is critical)

Heat olive in oil in a small frying pan. Add onion and cook gently until very soft and translucent (~12-15min), stirring often. Add anchovies and mash in. Remove pan from heat, stir in parsely, capers, and add pepper to taste. Let cool.

Separate spring roll wrappers and soak ~5 or 6 in a bowl with cold water, to soften them. Add oil for shallow=-frying to a depth of 1/4" in a 10" frying pan and heat well. Open all the windows in your kitchen. Turn on air vent. Prepare your partner/brother/sister/child to handle the fire alarms if/when they go off.

Place one soft wrapped on a plate. Add ~1 Tbs anchovy filling in a heap on one side,with the edge of the filling just touching center. Make an indent in the filling and break one egg into it. Fold the wrapper over to enclose the filling and press the edges to seal. Try not to break the egg yolk, but if you do it's okay.

Slide brik immediately into the hot oil and shallow fry until golden brown and crisp, about 45 seconds on each side. Lift out and drain on paper towles. Repeat with remaining brik/filling. Serve immediately.

The Good, the Bad, and the Terrifying

The good news is that we're getting a dishwasher. Thank God. That's an hour of my day that I can spend on other things. ETA Thursday.

The bad news is that our fridge died, again. This time for real. One of my projects today will be cleaning it out. Gross. Thankfully, the landlords come back from vacation today and the fridge is on warranty, so hopefully this problem will get dealt with sooner rather than later. In the mean time, it's not dissimilar from living in a third world country. Or college, given the plethora of take-out and ramen.

The scary news is that we're hosting a party tonight. Casual, but still. With no fridge and no dishwasher. This'll be exciting.

Rabid Toilets and Curry Eggplant Soup

The toilet attacked me this morning.

I wish I were kidding. There I was, non-threateningly fiddling with the shower temperature before climbing in to wash my disgustingly greasy hair -- part of a daily battle against the SF smog that insistently wafts across the bay and coats every single strand with grime -- when the toilet decides to take advantage of my obvious state of under-preparedness and EXPLODES! It started burping water in giant, evil bubbles and then, when I frantically hit the flush (hoping that "flush" was ToiletSpeak for CTRL ALT DELETE), it gushed water and, er, dirtied water at a speed that made me freeze like a deer in headlights.

At which point, I reverted to Automatic Shutdown and screamed for my Beloved. Do rushed in and, seeing me with my feet covered in fecal matter and very little else, had the presence of mind to throw me a towel before my brother arrived, and then flipped out in his own right (he was barefoot). Sensing that it was outnumbered, the toilet abruptly retreated and tried to look innocent and immaculately clean.

New York City may have its Alligators, Tuscon has Cockroaches in its pipes, but Oakland apparently doesn't need living critters. Our toilets won't have anyone else stealing their show.

Special brownie points to Do for letting me cope with my trauma in a nice, warm shower and mopping the bathroom floor himself. That is what true love looks like.

Moving on.

Before my week became nutsoid with Rabid Toilets and Little Brothers and Yankees Bar-B-Queing Brisket (more on that when Do posts), we had what began as a very calm, chill encounter with Curried Eggplant Soup. I think that I got this recipe from Bon Appetit's May issue, the article where Clotilde of the Chocolate & Zucchini blog took readers around hip but unknown Paris restaurants, but I can't seem to find the article or the recipe online. My clipping says, "this recipe is from Agnès Morsain, co-owner of Zoé Bouillon," so that'll have to do in terms of ethical sourcing points.

The Curried Eggplant Soup with Parmesan Cream sounded interesting, especially as I've been abstaining from eggplants for months after discovering that out-of-season eggplants are a close relation of cardboard. Unfortunately, my first taste of this soup was disappointing: it tasted like Soupe de Spice Rack. Got the curry powder flavor, there's the turmeric, but where's the eggplant?

Plan B was, If you can't make it, fake it. In went red pepper flakes, more curry powder, a dash of red wine vinegar, salt, and maybe cumin. Because the Parmesan Cream flopped (mostly my fault: I whipped it too long so it clumped, and was more like Cream lumps with Parmesan sticks poking out of it), I hid it by dumping an entire handful of Parmesan on top. (The posted photos were taken the morning after the Parmesan Cream had a close encounter with the compost bin, so the white stuff is yogurt).

Do, despite all my efforts and warnings, liked it. He says that eggplant doesn't really taste like anything anyway, but was there for texture. He liked when the clumpy cream melted into the thick purée, he really liked the cacophony of flavors. He had seconds!

So I don't know what to think. I'm going to give you the recipe straight up, as it appears on my sourceless clipping, and you can try to muck around with it. Maybe roasting the eggplant cubes first would bring out eggplant flavor?

Curried Eggplant Soup with Parmesan Cream (6 servings).
1 1/2 Tbs olive oil
1 onion, thinly sliced
1 small garlic clove, minced (or two, or three...)
1 tsp curry powder (more, or garam masala?)
1/2 tsp ground turmeric (why be stingy?)
2 1/4 lbs eggplant (about two medium), peeled, cut into 1-inch pieces. (In a half-hearted attempt to reduce the serving size, I used one eggplant)
4 cups of water (For the one eggplant, I used 2 1/2 cups)
1/2 cup canned crushed tomatoes with added purée (what added puree?)
2 Tbs chopped fresh basil (Couldn't find fresh, got depressed, used dried)
1/2 cup chilled whipping cream
1 Tbs freshly grated Parmesan cheese
(I also added cumin, red wine vinegar, and red pepper flakes to taste)

Heat oil in heavy large saucepan over medium-high heat. Add onion; cook until golden, about 8 minutes. Add garlic, curry, and turmeric; stir one minute. Add eggplant, 4 cups of water, and tomatoes; bring to boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; cover, and cook until eggplant is very tender, about 40 minutes. Cool soup slightly. Mix in basil. Working in batches, puree soup in blender. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Whisk cream in medium bowl to soft peaks; fold in cheese. Bring soup to simmer. Ladle into bowls, then top with dollop of Parmesan cream.

Cooking while Moving

Q: You know when blogs are really useful?
A: When all your cookbooks are packed in boxes.

Q:You know when you feel really stupid?
A: When you're up to the elbows in Challah dough and you realize that your blog post a) has a typo when referring to the quantity of liquid required, and b) didn't bother to mention the oven temperature.

Oops.

My little brother was really cute and asked me to make Challah. Apparently, during his finals last week, some girl in his dorm made Challah as a way to de-stress and shared it all around ... and it wasn't as good as my Challah. (Yes, I now am fluffing my shiksa feathers like a peacock). Well, with a compliment like that, how could I not oblige?

Despite the typos on the blog, the Challah turned out excellent. It did require a panicked tearing open of already-packed boxes to find the original recipe, but hey. Good thing it was only Day 1 of packing, so everyone was very forgiving.

The correct version of the recipe is typed out below (for my and your future reference), and I'm going to correct the other posts that mention it (here and here).


For 1 challah:

1 package dry yeast
warm water
1/4 c vegetable oil
3 1/4 c all purpose flour
1 egg, beaten
1/8 c sugar (on the plus side)
1 tsp salt (on the plus side)

Set the oven to 325 degrees
Proof yeast in a small bowl by mixing yeast, 1/4 c warm water.
In a large bowl, mix flour, eggs, sugar, salt, oil and 2/3 c warm water. Add dissolved yeast mixture, mix together and knead well, folding the dough over itself so as to capture air pockets. (Depending on how dry your dough is, you may need to add a Tablespoon of warm water). Cover and let rise anywhere from 1.5 hours to 4.5 hours.
Divide into three strands, and braid. Let rise another hour. Bake for 25 min.

The New Olympic Sport: Indoor Grilling!

(Neen proposed a couple other titles, including "Indoor Grilling: Never, EVER try this at Home" or "Men+Fire+Inside = Bad News," but it's Do's story so she'll let him tell it to you in his own words)

A couple weeks ago, we went to the DuPont farmers' market - and we have been posting about it ever since! Well, one (of the many) things we purchased at the farmers' market was a collection of different kinds of sausage.

The first thing that comes to my mind when I am holding four different packages of sausage in my hand and thinking about how to prepare them is: GRILLING! There is nothing like a charcoal grill or a wood fire for cooking up sausage. Of course, we don't own a grill. Not even one of those cute, "I can only hold one burger at a time," weber grills that inevitably wind up stuffed into some god-forsaken portion of your closet that you didn't even know existed prior to owning this particular grill (I know, my parents have one). So that got my wheels turning. It's a slow process.

What is the most basic aspect of a grill? Open fire. The second most basic aspect - a metal grid to put the meat on so that the meat cooks with those delicious hash marks. The scientific minds begins to work and I wind up with the following equation: open fire + metal grid = stove burner + oven rack. Now many of you, I expect, can already pin-point exactly what the problem is going to be, sssshhh...... don't ruin it for the rest of the class.

As soon as we get home I start trying to put my dream into action. I can already taste the slightly carbon-y flavor of the deliciously, perfectly grilled sausages that I am going to make. If only it was that easy. The first complication, of course, is the thought of clean up. I mean, sausages are going to leak grease all over the place ... so I use aluminum foil as a cover for my oven-rack to keep the juice from dripping onto the stove. So far, so good. I place the foil-coated oven rack directly above open flame, let it heat up a little and then toss on a sausage. The hiss and crack of meat on hot metal is music to my ears.

As I watch the buffalo hot dog begin to cook, I become certain of my success. I toss on a hot Italian Sausage made of pork and an lamb chorizo, thinking to my self, "Oh, this will be easy!" At first everything is perfect, the sausages begin to cook and change colors. Then they start leaking oil - oh yes, but I have my aluminum foil, aren't I clever! Of course, it is very hot aluminum foil. It is aluminum foil directly over an open flame. And grease, for those of you who don't know, has a very low flash point - that is why one gets grease fires. Oh, yeah... grease fires...

As the lamb chorizo cooks and releases oil (lots and lots of oil), the oil seeps towards the burner, and the next thing I know, the aluminum foil is on fire. This is not sparks, or little pops of flame, no it is burning right in front of my eyes. Neen took the opportunity to vocalize in no uncertain terms that grease fires are not her idea of a good time (it's amazing what she can communicate in a single syllable). Meanwhile, I turn the fire off and the flame quickly subsides (thankfully it is actually pretty hard to keep aluminum foil burning, and there was not that much grease). The picture to the right is a shot of the aluminum foil, just after I turned the fire off. You can see the holes where the aluminum foil was burned when the grease lit on fire... So ended the great indoor grilling experiment. It is just a miracle Neen didn't kill me for trying.

Thankfully, the sausage was far from ruined. I just pulled out a pan and cooked them the old fashioned way. The sausage selection we had purchased was (from left to right in the photo below): Lamb Chorizo from Virginia Lamb, American Buffalo Hot Dogs from Cibola Farms, French Taragon Sausage made of pork also from Cibola Farms, and Hot Italian Sausage (which we have polished off, so I don't know where we purchased it from). They were all really good. I was particularly impressed by the lamb chorizo since, while it had spices similar to chorizo, it really didn't taste anything like a pork based chorizo - it had a much more interesting flavor. The only down side is the amount of grease that it releases while cooking. The Buffalo hot dog, was a really, really nice hot dog. If we had hot dog buns, a grill, and some condiments, I can't think of anything better. I would stick with them over grocery store hot dogs any day of the week. They have a much more intense meat flavor than the standard all-beef hot dogs.

On the whole, if you are interested in a diversity of flavors with your sausage, the DuPont Farmers' Market is a good stop. The sausage is not significantly more expensive than a nice sausage from Giant, and they are much, much better. With the added bonus that most of them come from "Happy Animals."

Neen made a wonderful little salad to balance the all meat main-course. It was a great lunch. Of course, then I had to clean up my "indoor grill." Ah well, live and learn.

Disappointing Dinner, Memes, and Other Misc. Ruminations

We had a rather disappointing dinner last night with an acquaintance from college. He's a very recent graduate (3 weeks) and it surprised me how much that affected our conversation: he couldn't relate to our stories about run-ins with the landlord or the "rhythm" of the 9-5 job; we eventually tired of his enthusiasm for his new job (after learning about the organization's history, financial status, and all of his colleagues' job descriptions and career goals...). I'm shocked that 10 months outside the Ivory Tower created such a notable gulf between us.

Not to mention that two new recipes that we tried were not particularly memorable or worth the effort. The sausage/porcini pasta dish tastes ubiquitously French (good, but I've got other recipes on hand that'll accomplish that as well if not better), and was not deserving of the expensive porcinis or Farmer's Market sausage that it used. The recipe for fried oysters was just not impressive. Which was sad: had they worked I would absolutely have submitted the recipe to the Vintage Cookbooks event hosted by the Weekend Cookbook Challenge crew.

I may write a food post at some point today but, for variety's sake, I'm going to use this post for unfinished business and miscellaneous thoughts.

-- First, Johanna asked for a picture of the new cruet that my parents got me while they were in town. It's simply a receptacle that is specifically meant to hold salad dressing, so that you don't have to make dressing every time. We used to use a jar. My parents use a tall plastic Tupperware-like cruet. I picked this one out from Crate and Barrel because a) it's not tacky or cheesy, like many others out there, b) it's got a bunch of different recipes for salad dressing written on the side of the container. Not something I'd really want I were hosting the Queen of England, but convenient for someone who is personally terrified of making salads.

-- Second, Johanna tagged me for a six word memoir. I procrastinated all week under the pretense of thinking about it. It seems rather over-the-top for me to attempt to describe myself in six words, both because, since I'm only 23, the choice of words changes almost weekly, and because most adjectives seem viable to a greater or lesser extent.

My six words would be:
exotic: I grew up in West Africa and Switzerland (French school K-12), worked in the Dominican Republic, and am tri-lingual.
affectionate: My Mom observes that I need a lot of attention, like a puppy. That's A-OK with Do!
ambitious: Fighting to capitalize on good school, good grades, good resume in a town where most young people are fervently trying to do the same.
settled: Relatively speaking. I'm the boring one among my peers: I come home every night to my partner and cook with porcinis.
nerdy: I'm a certified nerd, got the degree to prove it. You should see our bookshelves (Kant, theoretical organizational decision-making, Theological Feminist Criticism...that said, I'm currently reading Sense & Sensibility ;).
verbal: (My Mom: "She never stops talking!"). Maybe this blog is an outlet..?

[Completely unrelated: last Thanksgiving, D's family played a game to come up with "six word novels." Essentially, you have six words to communicate an entire story line. The best one was told by D's Dad: "Frodo Kills Darth Vader. Lucas Sues." LOVE IT.]

-- Finally, Passover starts tomorrow. I'm a little sad: we won't be able to fly out to celebrate with D's family and all our close D.C. friends are going home to their families, so it'll be just a small tete-a-tete Seder. That, and after the six weeks of self-imposed vegetarianism otherwise known as Lent, we're both dragging our feet at the thought of another week or so of culinary regulation. We dutifully bought Kosher-for-Passover Matzah last weekend, but have yet to decide how else we're going to approach the holiday. Ah, the culinary trials and tribulations of the interfaith liturgical calendar. It helps to know that all High Holidays between Passover and Yom Kippur will leave our kitchen alone.

-- Speaking of Lent, have you noticed how many posts are under the vegetarian tab?? Wow, we've really, unconsciously, seriously modified our diet as a result of that exercise. We now eat meat at only 50% of our meals. I'm really impressed!

TGIF.

Kitchen Confessions: Last Night's Fiascos

I don't want this blog to be limited to eternally chirpy posts. I'm not here to sell anything, or convince anyone of my mad cooking skills. Arguably, I didn't start this blog to share great recipes, but to process and learn from our food-related adventures. What's the point of blogging only about our successes?

Can you tell that I'm trying to work myself up to publicly admitting my stupidity? :)

Fiasco 1: The Challah.
I made Challah yesterday to serve with our morels (as recommended by Gourmet) and to submit to Psychgrad and Giz's Tried, Tested and True event. I chose this recipe because a) Gourmet recommends serving the morels on Challah, b) Challah is associated with a lot of powerful memories for me, and c) because I make the recipe so damn often that I've hammered out its kinks. It fit with the whole "tested" theme.

For future reference, there are an endless number of "kinks" that can be summoned up through the powers of absent-mindedness. I knew this: last week I ruined the Challah by adding the water and oil in the wrong order (among other things). Well, my accomplishment for this week was to divide my ingredients by 4 ... until I switched and started dividing them by 3 halfway through.

ARH, so preventable! The recipe in the book (with all my "notes-to-self" written in the margins) is 4x as much as we need. I knew that I should be dividing everything by four, I've done it before, and I even had correct measurements written on this blog! Worse case scenario, the fact that I used all four of my measuring cups should have alerted me to the mix-up. Dumb!

In the end, the bread turned out mostly fine. The the ratio of water-to-flour was correct, but there was insufficient yeast and egg and oil and salt. So, while the texture of the crumb was perfect and the end result looked phenomenal, the flavor was much tamer than I remembered... less salt, less butter-flavor. I'm just kicking myself that I made such an avoidable mistake and that I submitted it to an event for "tested and true" recipes. I mean, the recipe itself is wonderful and perfect, it's just my apparent inability to follow its directions successfully. Oh the irony.

Fiasco #2: The Morels.
D was so jealous that we bought and cooked morels without him last week that he insisted that we repeat the recipe. So we bought another $20 box of morels at the Farmer's Market on Sunday.

And decided to cook them on Monday. And didn't refrigerate them.

In my defense, I had no idea that you have to refrigerate mushrooms. They're already fungi, right? But you do. Or they go bad. Very bad.

D approached me skeptically after smelling the morels on Monday evening. They smelled awful, but I was hoping that a nice wash and saute would take care of everything. Suspension of disbelief. Yeah right. To make a painful story short, D went to all the effort of making the morel recipe, and we threw it out after one bite.

Sigh. Mondays.

Bread conquered me. Jam conquered Bread.

Had a disastrous experience with our favorite Challah last night. It could have been one of a number of mishaps:

1. When proofing the yeast, I added the oil before the water. Oops. The oil created a barrier, and the yeast could not intermingle with the hot water. I hoped that when I added the whole mess to the flour, that would break this enforced chastity, but the yeast might have been so coated with the good word of the oil that it refused to come into physical contact with the water. Crap.
   
2. I was quartering the recipe and not being super precise. I think I erred too much on the plus side with the liquid, and on the minus side with the flour. I should have paid attention to Wild Yeast's great tutorials on the baker's percentage.
   
3. I made it in the morning and intended to let it rise in the fridge during the day, so that I could bake it at night. Usually, the Challah takes 1-3 hours to rise at room temperature. Mr. Challah did not like Mr. Fridge, and refused to embrace upward mobility.
   

In essence, I came home to some clammy cold play-dough thing. My Mom, who's visiting for the week, refused to admit defeat and nursed it into rising a wee bit over the course of the evening, enough to convince us to let it continue putt-putting through the night. I made the challah in the morning... the dough was still cold and clammy but there was more of it. The challah sort of merged together in the oven... no nice ridged braiding, it sort of melded like a round balloon.

It tasted like sourdough, leading us all to believe that it had reached it's peak during the night and fallen. Finiky Jerk. Success at impressing parents: zero. However! My parents just happened to have brought us Fig Jam from Texas and Lingonberry preserves from Ikea (Ikea's practically a state, right? ). It was delicious. Totally masked the sour taste. And the Challah was still soft and brioche-like , so it made a great breakfast bread as we were rushing around to get D to the airport.

So. D is out of town for the week at a conference, and I'm here with my parents. My Mom has already scrubbed my stove and cleaned my toilet, and my Dad is busy cooking up an Indian feast.

I've invited him to be a guest blogger for the occasion.

I hope that's okay.

Maybe I'll blame the bread failure on the weather. Yeah...