Tried, Tested and True: Challah

The foodie blogger community should be the subject of an anthropological study. I mean, have you noticed the ratio of women bloggers to men bloggers? Or the near uniform format of 1) Photo, 2) short blurb (1-4 paragraphs), and 3) Recipe? I thought the internet was supposed to liberate us from convention. At times, I've threatened to quit my blog all together because it feels like I've returned to high school, with a million little peons struggling to catch the attention of a few glamor queens and get social recognition. Other times, I'm really touched by the gestures of friendship extended by complete strangers, such as when Johanna of Green Gourmet Giraffe offered to help us through our self-imposed stint with Vegetarianism during Lent, or when Lisa of Lisa's Kitchen and I had exchanges over Madhur Jaffrey cookbooks.

Giz and Psychgrad of Equal Opportunity Kitchen are a mother-daughter team of foodie bloggers. It's been lovely to follow their blog since we "met" a couple weeks ago, in part to see how other duo blogs balance the two voices, in part because what woman doesn't see echoes of herself in others' mother-daughter interactions? I almost feel as though I know them, even though blogging can bring out intimate personality quirks while concealing basic identity characteristics. Giz and Psychgrad are hosting their first event, Tried, Tested, and True, and I'm bringing fresh-out-of the oven bread (so fresh that it's still in the oven as I write this) because it's the universal housewarming gift. Giz and Psychgrad, here's to warm hospitality in the virtual universe.

My hostess gift is our favorite Challah, which I've already blogged about here (after a successful baking spree) and here (after an unsuccessful one). I'm blogging about it again because it is:

Tried: Challah, though not in this particular permutation, was my first attempt at bread baking. Ever. The episode was a blatant attempt to display my domestic prowess (ahem. stop laughing) to win over my favorite Jew, Do. Who, at the time, didn't like Challah and already knew that I couldn't do basic domestic tasks if my life depended on it. :) Not one of my most rational moments. Homemade Challah is also near and dear to my heart because it made its first public appearance at the housewarming party for our first apartment, during which my priest officiated over the Episcopal "Blessing Of a New Home" rite and D led everyone in Shabbat prayers. Nothing like breaking fresh bread to mark life's big steps.

Tested: I don't even want to think about how many different Challah recipes I tried before I found this one. Joy of Cooking was unimpressive and went stale quickly, my colleague's Mom's recipe used so much flour that the end result bore distinct resemblance to a brick. Then I tried this recipe from that colleague's roommate's private school's cookbook (Not even kidding: "New Kosher Cuisines for all Seasons," a compendium of recipes from the Solomon Schechter Day School of Greater Boston). Although I'm too lazy and too disorganized to bake Challah every Shabbat, this recipe does get used at least twice a month. That's a lot of repetitive testing, with both the good and the bad documented on this site.

True: This Challah recipe, to me, is the Platonic ideal of Challah -- light, buttery flavored crumb, not cake-y, doesn't dry out overnight, and doesn't involve 4 eggs. D literally asks me to bake it a couple times a week. As long as I follow the recipe (unlike last week, sigh), it's foolproof.

The smell is wafting from the oven. 4 minutes to go. Please excuse me while I go wait impatiently in the kitchen.


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)

Proof yeast in a small bowl by mixing yeast, 1/4 c warm water, and oil.
In a large bowl, mix flour, eggs, sugar, salt, and 1/3 c warm water. Add dissolved yeast mixture, mix together and knead well. 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 loaves supposedly freeze well, and don't go stale if left out overnight (yay for Challah for breakfast!)

Beef Daube: Mustard Stew?

A couple of weeks ago I was very excited about cooking a new kind of beef stew I found, Beef Daube. I was attracted to the description of a lighter, herb flavored beef stew to replace it's stronger cousin in the spring. Well, when I came home this weekend I decided it was high time to finally cook Beef Daube. After all, what says "I love you" more clearly than a big pot of stew - and after a week apart (especially given my proclivity to not use my cell-phone), it was high time I got around to giving her an extended reminder of why she puts up with me!

On Saturday night, I made the stew. It only needed to cook for a little while (~2-3 hours) so I made us some drinks and we chatted for a while, took a nap, and then watched our favorite show, Battlestar Galactica. Now, for those of you who don't watch the show, I can only say that it is the most addicting show I have ever watched. It is the first really, really intelligent sci-fi show that has managed to also be an action/adventure flick. Usually I feel like I either need to turn my brain off and just enjoy the excitement, or I just appreciate shows on an intellectual level (battle-sequences mostly being fairly corny). Battlestar Galactica really appeals on both levels. It is not perfect, but the questions it asks are almost always interesting and the answers are usually satisfying on at least some level. So, with two new episodes released since I left, it was high time to cuddle into bed and watch them - and what better time than while a stew is cooking! - It is almost like I am still doing work, right...

Well, after the two shows, which were slightly disappointing, we chomped into the new stew. The flavors were very interesting - interesting enough, that we would pause our discussion of BG long enough to comment on how particular flavors were combining. The dominant flavors of the stew were: white wine, Dijon mustard, beef, onion, herbs (thyme, bay leaf, parsley). The beef flavor was fairly localized to the pieces of beef, while the broth tasted strongly of white wine and mustard with hints of herbal flavorings. I coated the meat with a seasoned flour that gave it just a little bit of spice (which was very nice - I might be interested in adding a little more spice next time I make this). I would also add even more herbs. Neen and I always have trouble tasting thyme and bay leaf in stews, so I added nearly 4x what the recipe called for. You could really taste the herbs, but a little more flavor would have been nice. Neen commented that she had a hard time getting past the mustard flavor of the sauce, since in her mind it is connected the heavy mustard and cream sauces that are common in German cooking. I didn't have this problem, though the sauce does wind up a little on the thicker side (I made some modifications to the recipe so that it was not beef chunks with a mustard sauce, but more stew like). For me, the white wine carried the day leaving the palate with the sense of a lighter dish.

I would be interested, however, in finding a beef stew/soup that was even lighter - probably without the mustard flavor. I think in my head I am attempting to formulate a Western equivalent of a beef udon since these are often made with chicken broth - giving them a wonderfully light flavor. I will poke around and see what I can find (and suggestions are more than welcome!).

Joy of Cooking (2006) Beef Daube

2 lb boneless beef stew meat
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp black pepper and/or 1/2 tsp paprika (I added both and doubled the paprika)
Optional: 1/8 tsp ground ginger or ground nutmeg (I didn't add either).
3 Tbs olive oil
3 cups white wine (I added more to cover the Bouquet Garni)
2 Tbs Dijon Mustard
One 16 oz can plum tomatoes, with juice
3 medium onions, halved and sliced
3 garlic cloves, halved
1 Bouquet garni (parsley, bay leaf, thyme sprigs, 2 cloves, white portion of one leek)

Pat dry and cut the stew meat into 3-inch cubes. In a zip lock bag, combine the flour, salt, pepper, paprika and ginger/nutmeg (if using). Dredge the meat in the seasoned flour.

Heat the olive oil in a dutch oven over medium high heat. Add meat in batches and brown on all sides, being careful not to crowd the pot or scorch the meat. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside. Pour off all but a light film of fat from the pot.

Add 3 cups of white wine, bring to a boil, scraping up any browned bits on the bottom of the pot. Reduce the heat and gently simmer, uncovered, until the wine is reduced by half (7-10min). Add the mustard and whisk to blend. Return the beef and accumulated juices to the pot, and add the rest of the ingredients. Cover and simmer over low heat until the meat is fork-tender (2-3 hours).

With a slotted spoon, remove the beef, onions, and tomatoes to a platter. Increase the heat to high and boil the sauce until slightly thickened and reduced by a third (about 10 minutes). Reduce the heat to medium, return the beef and vegetables to the sauce, and reheat gently.
Garnish with fresh thyme.

Serves 6-8.

Return Home: A Little Shaken, But Not Stirred

So, as you have heard, I was off at a conference last week. Before that, I spent the week preparing for the conference. Blogging, I am afraid, fell well into the background. But I arrived home on Friday and had a wonderful time meeting with some of Neen's family in the area and talking with her parents. (I assume it can be taken for granted that I enjoyed the simple act of being close to Neen all weekend. I haven't been willing to let her get out of arms reach all weekend.)

It is always a pleasure to see Neen's parents, and they are always unbelievably kind as guests. As Neen has mentioned, when we host them in our apartment, it often feels like they are doing the hosting! And, they have a habit of bringing fabulous "hosting" gifts with them on top of it. Over the summer one of their presents was a great shaker. It was originally intended for Neen because she had started to make Martinis. I will admit, it has been rather abandoned since we first received it. I don't drink Martinis and since the drinks for the night tend to be my responsibility, it just didn't get used.

That, I am glad to report, has changed. Over the last couple weeks I have gained a keen interest in learning how to mix drinks. I have always associated mixed drinks with going out - it is just never something I have ever seen anyone do in their own house. Of course, as students, Neen and I can't really afford the price-tag associated with going out for drinks as often as I might like. So, we decided it was time to investigate the art of mixology.

I have picked up two books: New American Bartender's Handbook, and Maran Illustrated Bartending. The Illustrated book has a more thorough introduction to the finer points of technique, but does not have a particularly comprehensive drink list. I find that, even as a beginner, I really use the Handbook much more often. It has a discussion of all of the different kinds of alcohols, their origins, and their characteristics. It is also has a very comprehensive list of drinks, which is useful since we don't have a very extensive collection of alcohols I am willing to use for mixed drinks.

The Chancellor
The first drink I tried actually came from an article in Food and Wine. The drink is called the Chancellor and is the invention of Sam Ross.

• Ice
• 2 ounces single-malt Scotch
• 1/2 ounce ruby port
• 1/2 ounce dry vermouth
• Dash of Peychaud’s bitters

(Mix all of the ingredients into a pint glass, and stir well. Strain into a chilled cup.)


I was excited about the idea of combining port and whiskey, though the idea of using single-malt scotch put me on edge. But, since it was my first drink, I figured I would follow the recipe. Big Mistake. The single-malt scotch was ruined, and did not blend well with any of the other flavors. I am just glad I didn't make a full portion.

I, of course, tried an immediate adaptation by simply substituting American bourbon for single-malt scotch. This was a nice change, though the drink was still very stiff. The sweetness of the bourbon melded nicely with the flavors of a young port. I thought about it for a little while, and decided it would make a very nice aperitif if the you wanted to prepare your palate for wine with dinner. Sweeter drinks sometimes make it hard to enjoy a more subtle wine. I have not yet tried it before wine, so I am not sure it will work. But it is certainly worth testing.

Tequila Sunrise

The next drink I made for us was a Tequila Sunrise. Neen and I were making dinner over the weekend, and we decided we would have a drink while we cooked. Usually, I would open a bottle of wine, but this time we decided to try a mixed drink. I flipped through my books and landed on a Tequila Sunrise because it is so simple. I, unfortunately, don't have Tequila, but I do have another Mezcal (in the same family, but from a different portion of Mexico). So I replaced the tequila. It worked well, but the Mezcal I used had a slightly smoky flavor that was a little out of place in the drink. We added a little sugar, though, and it was perfect.

Ingredients:
- 2 oz tequila
- 4 oz orange juice
- 1 oz grenadine

(Add the tequila and orange juice to a glass with ice. Stir. Then add the grenadine slowly. Let it settle to the bottom of the glass. Serve.)


Maiden's Prayer
This is a drink I made for Neen, this weekend. It is a very light drink. It put me in mind of the summer, which for warm day was perfect. I don't think it would be a good companion even for light food (such as chips) because the flavors are so gentle it would be overpowered. On the other hand, for drinkers who don't want heavy flavors (and don't want to taste the alcohol) it is well balanced.

1 oz gin
1/2 oz Cointreau
2 oz Orange Juice
3/4 oz Lemon Juice

(Mix all of the ingredients in a shaker with ice. Shake. Strain into a chilled glass. )

Note: For those looking closely, you will notice that something is written on the Martini glasses we are using. As graduates of the class of 2007, our class decided on the rather unimaginative theme of James Bond (007). The Martini glass has a picture of James Bond with the favorite quote, "Shaken not Stirred." Have no fear, we didn't actually buy these. The University gave them to us and, until recently, they were as neglected as the shaker.


Madras
This is another nice, light drink. The cranberry juice was a nice touch. It gives it a little bit of a tart flavor that balances the sweetness of the Orange Juice. I don't have any vodka in my liquor cabinet, so I replaced it with grappa. I thought it worked well.

1.5 oz vodka
4 oz cranberry juice
1 oz Orange Juice

(Mix all of the ingredients into a large glass over ice.)

Salad scares me. I'm working on it.

Salads give me pause.

The very thought produces trepidation, the "uh oh" sentiment more commonly associated with yeast or pairing wine. I'd rather bring homemade bread or a bottle or two to a potluck any day.
I read in some book that Alice Waters has an indisputable gift for composing salads, whatever critics may say of her other cooking skills. Composing salads. When salads are compared to a sonata, how do you expect me to not feel intimated?

I think it's the fact that there are so many options. There are an infinite number of ingredients in my kitchen alone that could be conducive to salads. Greens, sun dried tomatoes, nuts, honey, canned beans? Pick a shelf, any shelf, and I'm sure I'll find something that can be added to a salad. With so much choice and so little guidance, how to you turn that cacophony of ingredients into a composed salad? And let's not even talk about dressings.

I do have an ace in my back pocket: the salad that my Dad makes every day. Without fail, after the main course and before the desert (if any), my parents serve a green tossed salad with a classic vinaigrette (olive oil/balsamic vinegar/garlic/mustard). Dependable as time. Sometimes there would be unexpected additions like sunflower seeds, but otherwise it is lettuce, cucumber, tomato, and green/red/or yellow peppers (The salad pictured to the left was the one served at my Mom's birthday dinner last Tuesday). Summer, Autumn, Winter, and Spring. In West Africa, Switzerland, the Caribbean, and in the U.S. That salad is part being home for me. The very first day of my parents' week-long visit, Dad realized that my kitchen lacks a cruet for salad dressing and we promptly drove to Crate and Barrel to remedy the situation. I now am the proud owner of a cruet.

Which means I need to make salad.

Uh oh.

This morning, I took D to the Dupont Farmer's Market for the first time. (Yes, we picked up morels so that he could experience last week's success. He's never had morels either!). It was far more exciting than last week: they had new potatoes and spring garlic and very very tender radishes, and the variety of greens is just blossoming. One stand (to the left of Cibola Meats, for those who also frequent the market) even had watercress. Okay. Time to suck it up and make a salad. I couldn't just walk past that watercress.

Once we'd hiked home, I dug through my recipe clippings folder. Most of the salads I'd been attracted to were pretty basic: greens and soft cheese. Okay. That's doable. We still had some leftover Keswick Creamery Quark from last week's Farmer's Market trip. Breathe. Cut up some of those delicious radishes (did I mention that I hate radishes? They are always so woody, but the samples offered at the Market made me rethink my prejudices). How about some Mint? That's spring-like. And pine nuts & raisins are my trusty standbys when texture is needed. (I can't tell you how often D makes fun of me for that. "Hey honey, do you think this chocolate cake needs some pine nuts and raisins?").

The salad, much to my relief, was fabulous. The moral of this story is that you can't go far wrong when throwing together Farmer's Market discoveries.

Actually, the dressing was the weakest link. It just didn't taste like much, which was sad. Did it not have enough vinegar? Or is it because I'm used to mustard and raw garlic in my vinaigrette? I'm including it because I wouldn't trust my own salad recommendations at this stage, judge for yourself!

April Farmer's Market Salad
Oh, what did we throw in?
1/4 lb. Watercress
1 cup Quark, crumbled (any extremely soft white cheese should work. Ricotta?)
8 radishes, thinly sliced
1/2 cup mint leaves, torn
1/2 cup dill, minced.
handful of raisins.
handful of pine nuts.

Toss with dressing. Serves two.

Food & Wine Dressing (unknown date, unknown author)
1/4 cup + 2 Tbs extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbs red wine vinegar
1 tsp honey
2 Tbs salted roasted almonds, coarsely chopped.

In a blender, blend all of the above. Toss 1/2 of the dressing with salad (more if you like lots of dressing on your salad) and serve immediately with Lots of salt and pepper.

Growing Up and Soft-Shelled Crabs.

Having my parents visiting for a week has unexpectedly kicked the internal philosophizing into motion. Especially with Do out of town at his conference, it feels like the three of us are walking a very fine line between 2008 and 2001.

Okay, that may not seem like much, but in 2001 I was 16. A pretty independent and headstrong teenager, I had good relationships with my parents, was free to proceed about my life and the city more or less unquestioned, and avoided most “common space” chores (making dinner, cleaning, lunches) because it didn’t feel like my “domain.” The parents knew how to do that sort of stuff -- what if I did a chore wrong and got corrected? I would probably have gotten indignant (“hey, I was trying to do you a favor!”), there would have been a fight… why risk that? I stuck with tidying, walking the dog, setting the table, and verbalizing appreciation at dinner time. Anything that required independent thought, I left to them. It just seemed easier that way (and, like all teenagers, I was lazy!).

In 2008, I’m 23. I’ve lived outside of my parents’ home for 5 years, two of those in a one-bedroom apartment with Do. We’re adults now, and it’s our home. We make executive decisions about cleaning, using up leftovers, mending, etc. We know to spontaneously grab a cleaning product if the bathroom floor looks questionable. So we don’t wash our sheets every week or swifter as often as we should, but our home is usually reasonably tidy and the kitchen is always clean. I'm an adult now.

So living with my parents over the course of the past week in my teeny apartment has prompted a lot of new scenarios: How much can my parents clean my apartment before it goes from extremely generous to intrusive? How can I be a gracious recipient of this generosity without reverting to the lazy teenager who assumes that the kitchen will be cleaned and the dinner prepared by the parents? (Note, I haven't done anything in the kitchen more laborious than sitting and chatting all week). When I come home from a long day at work and they have the house cleaned and dinner prepared, well, who is hosting whom?

I guess that’s it: it’s freakin’ hard to follow the standard scripts of host and guests when it’s a child and her parents. This may just be a post-collegiate thing, but I doubt it. I bet that time and age allow you to write new scripts for yourselves, but I bet that the standard ones never fit. They’re your PARENTS after all, how can they be GUESTS?

Of course, being in your early twenties also means that you HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOING half the time (There, I admitted it, ha! See if you can coax a similar statement out of your teenagers!) and, unlike when you were a teen, you recognize that you really need to learn how to sew on a button/use the broiler/do your taxes. No one is going to take care of my chores if I surrepticiously avoid them because I don't know how (though I did try to shove off my taxes on D this year... but he's off at that darn conference!). What a relief to have Mom and Dad physically present to guide me through, step by step.

For example, this week I had my first encounter with soft-shelled crab.

When we were exploring the Dupont Farmer’s Market on Sunday, the very last stand was selling flounder and soft-shelled crab. The gentleman explained to us that we’re about 3 weeks early for soft-shelled crab, but that he was selling some that he caught last season and froze. Sure, why not? We picked up three to go with our morels and waltzed off.

Now, I’ve been to a crab feast before, where you buy a heap-o-steamed crabs from the fish market, cover the (outdoor) table with newspaper, and go at them with hammers and picks. Brute force, baby! You pick out your meat, avoiding the intestines and the shell parts. It's disturbingly fun. But the thought of taking a whole crab, a WHOLE crab, and chomping on it, seems kind of weird. Maybe that’s why most folks hide soft shelled crabs in sandwiches.

But my Mom took care of it all. She knew how to season it, how to bread it, how long to cook it, and executed the whole thing in about 5 minutes flat. It would have taken me 1 hour of research, 30 minutes of preparation, and five minutes of hyperventilating over the thought of the whole crab. As it was, I had the whole thing on my plate before I thought to get nervous.

And they were great! This was crab, with no distractions: no sandwich, no shell, no cool hammer. Breaded & sautéed for texture, but still the creamy crab meat inside. No stress. Eye-grabbing presentation. The crabs themselves were a little tough and chewy, which probably means that they were caught and frozen late last season. No problem: in three weeks, when soft shelled crabs ARE in season, I’ll know what to do with them.

Thanks, Mom.

Birthday Cheesecake with Fresh Rhubarb

Yesterday was my Mom's birthday. Like Jack Benny, she turned 39 (again).

In our family, tradition dictates that the birthday girl/boy chooses what cake they want Mom to bake and what meal they would like to have, either at home or at a restaurant of their choosing. When it came time for Mom to choose her cake this year, well, I guess she figured that no one in Washington DC could do a better job than she could. She spent her birthday afternoon making a Key Lime Cheesecake and a fresh Rhubarb Compote.

I should mention that my maternal lineage has a genetic predisposition for baking glorious deserts. My grandmother makes the most incredibly time consuming, perfectly executed wonders. Brandy Alexander, lighter-than-air cheesecake, delicate Haztlnut meringue cookies, sophiscated mousse pies.... the sorts of things you expect to order from Neiman Marcus at Christmas-time. My Mom is more practical (a lifetime in third world countries does that to you), but no less skilled. Tiramisu, butter cookies galore, moist almond cake, and virtually every cake out of the Williams&Sonoma Cake book (how you do you think the birthday kid picked what cake they wanted? That book has great photos...). I'm hoping that this gene is time-activated, and that I'll become an amazing dessert wiz around the age of 30. Still waiting.

You know how cheesecake can be heavy, making it a burden to finish a whole slice? Yeah, that didn't happen. This cheesecake was light, crumbly, beautiful, and tasted strongly of key limes. I could tell that the recipe came from the Gourmet cookbook rather than my Mom's or my Grandmother's collections, because I know that cheesecake can get even lighter and the crust even crisper, but I bet most folks wouldn't be able to tell.

The Rhubarb Compote was also an inspiration. It tasted fresh, and not so sweet that it covered up the pure Rhubarb flavor. Rhubarb is tart but not bitter; it always struck me as too sophisticated for pies and such. Rhubarb is in season now, so jump on the bandwagon!

Rhubarb Compote (according to my Mom)

3/4 Sugar (really, to taste)
2 stalks Rhubarb, chopped

Put both in a small saucepan, turn heat on low and let the ingredients melt together.

Simply Morels

Last Sunday, prompted by rave reviews from Houndstooth Gourmet, I dragged my parents to the Dupont Farmer’s market. The Dupont neighborhood, from the driver’s perspective, is the level of hell that Dante forgot. Badly-timed lights, one ways, roads vanishing mysteriously underground at a moment’s notice, and none of it on a good, Midwestern grid. On Sundays, the fun gets ratched up a notch thanks to the market.

The Market itself was impressive: about 15 stands, with lots of cheese, eggs, and meat options (chicken? lamb? buffalo?). Sadly, the produce was not: greens, chard, and some apples and squashes left over from last season. I don't want AUTUMN, I want SPRING. I want asparagus and peas. I feel cruelly deceived; I had been told that April would bring such bounty. Nope. Regardless of what all my national food magazines have been claiming for over a month now, winter's going to last just a little bit longer. boo.

But! There was a true discovery. A mushroom stand! Two little ladies, whom I couldn't picture bending over hunting mushrooms for the life of me, were selling an impressive variety of mushrooms, most of which I didn't recognize. And right up in front was one little box of morels, selling for over a dollar a mushroom.

I had never seen a Morel in real life. I thought they only existing in far away places like Michael Pollan books or California.

I walked away. The little box was going for twenty dollars.

I walked back. I watched them like a predator as other folks began to crowd the stand. I hoped that I was exuding a domineering, possesive vibe. My morels, Mine!

At this point, I realized that my Mom was doing the exact same thing. After a few tentatively enthusiastic words, neither one really wanting to take responsibility for the decision to shell out over a buck per mushroom, it was decided: Dad would buy the morels. And they would be ours. And it would be glorious.

Mushrooms are kind of mysterious that way. You know, the siren call of mushrooms. No one really knows how or why or when they grow. Often completely irrespective of human action. We don't command wild mushrooms to grace our table. They just do. And we are grateful.

And if there was ever one food product that will make you appreciate the spring, it's morels. Unlike Asparagus and Peas, we can't import them from Mexico and stock up your local Whole Foods with them.

Somewhere in late elementary school, I was convinced that all mushrooms were fatally poisonous. My penchant for extremism was activated when, upon discovering a fairy circle on the lawn one summer morning, I was warned by my parents not to touch just any old mushroom that I happened to find. That did it -- clearly mushrooms were the equivalent of edible goblins, they are out to get you, ready to jump out from behind every tree or supermarket bin and attack! Grown ups could clearly eat them since they were sold by seemingly respectable institutions...but then again, I theorized, grown ups did plenty of sketchy things that are fatal to kids (like smoke cigarettes or drink coffee). No Mushrooms. Bad. Evil. Poisonous.

I'm not sure exactly when I grew out of that stage. Mind you, I was also convinced that fresh cranberries and spiders were fatal upon contact. Life is pretty action-packed as a kid, all these things out to get you like aliens in a movie. I still know some people in their 20s who won't eat mushrooms, which now strikes me as an incredibly deprived existence. Still, my adult relationship with mushrooms is not exactly sophisticated: portabellos are good replacements for meat, truffles are exquisite but unfortunately have been labeled as such and therefore are overused by restaurants trying to prove their poshness, and any old mushroom makes a great addition to any carb dish if sauteed. Like I said, not exactly a connoisseur here.

Mom and I decided that these precious morels must be very delicately and very simply cooked, so that we could fully appreciate their uniqueness. Gourmet had a very simple salad course recipe; essentially, morels, butter, and cream. Luscious. The morels were *** essence of Morel*** meaty, succulent, indescribable. We ate veeeeeeeeery slooooooowly and savored every moment. I realized that I strongly associate Morels with very posh restaurants; a dish like that would have cost $20 a head at a restaurant. Easily. It was so worth it.

Funny thing though: during the cooking stage, the cream clarified, or something. Look at the photo of the morels in the saucepan, with all the bubbly cream. Now look at the plated morels. They are coated in cream, but the liquid is like a buttery oil. Truly decadent, amazing when sopped up with bread, but WTF?? I don't know enough about cooking Chemistry and my resident Chemist is still out of town at his conference. Any ideas?

In the end, this dish shown because of it's simplicity: 100% Morels and Dairy. Sinful.

We'd like to submit this post to Weekend Herb Blogging, which is being hosted this week by Bee and Jai over at Jugalbandi. If you'd like to participate, read the rules for Weekend Herb Blogging, then send your entry to Bee and Jai by 3:00 on Sunday, Utah time.

Morels in Cream (from the Gourmet Cookbook).

3 Tbs unsalted butter
1 lb morels, trimmed, washed well, and patted dry
1 Tbs all-purpose flour
1 cup heavy cream, heated until hot (maybe more)

Heat butter in a 12-inch heavy skillet over moderate high heat until foam subsides. Add morels and cook, stirring frequently, until beginning to brown, 6-8 minutes. Sprinkle in flour and cook, stirring, for 1 minute. Add hot cream in a slow stream, stirring constantly. Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer gently, stirring once, until morels are tender, 10-15 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Serve with or on bread (Gourmet recommends Brioche, we had French baguettes on hand).

Serves 4.