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Pretty In Pink: Russian Potato Salad
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making (Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works; tentatively named Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2015.
I’ve got a serious flaw, and if I don’t do something about it, I’m going to give myself an ulcer, or high blood pressure, or one of those stress-y issues.
I’m a big party thrower. I just love it. I’m always looking for excuses to feed groups of people.
But I’m not actually so good at it. Channeling Martha is not a talent of mine. I’m never prepared.
But sometime in the future, I vow that I will figure out how to throw a party without hyperventilating for some part of the last hour before everyone arrives. Luckily I think potato salad is key, as it needs to chill and can be done well ahead.
Potato salad. Maybe one of the most fantastic summer foods when made right. The distance between well-made, homemade potato salad and mayonnaise-y supermarket deli potato goop is like from here to Hawaii, and the goop gives the whole dish a bad name. In its summery essence, potato salad is the canvas for all of the things you secretly like to stir in together – pickles, eggs, fresh herbs, capers – it really says yes to all things. It is almost Memorial Day weekend and all, so I had to tell you about this one. There is a lot that I love about this particular incarnation of the picnic staple, but maybe the best thing about it is that it’s pink.
Pink!
You are going to have to trust me on that one, because of course, as I was sprinting around the kitchen, I neglected to photograph the finished product. Typical party monster me. But here- let’s go back to that half way made salad to give you a sense, and with the spoon in your mind you can stir this around, add a little mayo, a little dill, some chopped pickles…do you see it?
I started the process of this salad in the morning, peeling potatoes, roasting beets, and then by the middle of the afternoon I had handed the entire recipe over to my mother, who on principle does not touch beets. Sometimes it is good to push one a bit beyond their comfort level, and she made very nice work of it. The beets might seem like a bit of extra work for a potato salad, which they are, but everyone will ooh and ah ask for the recipe. I promise. —Alana Chernila
Russian Potato Salad
Adapted from Katherine Kagel, Cooking With Cafe Pasquals
Serves 8, and can easily be doubled (which I did) if you have many hungry mouths to feed
1 pound beets (can be a combination of red and gold, or just red)
3 pounds russet potatoes, peeled
4 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground pepper
4 eggs, hard-boiled and peeled
3 dill pickles, finely diced (got any left from last summer?)
1/4 cup chopped chives
1/2 cup minced fresh dill
1 cup mayonnaise
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Wash the beets and separate them from their greens, leaving about 2 inches of the stem attached. Do not disturb the roots or peel the skin. Wrap each beet in tinfoil, place in a roasting pan, and roast for 1 1/4 hours, or until fork tender. Cool, slide each beet out of its skin, and cut into 1/4-inch cubes.
While the beets are cooking, place the potatoes in a large pot with 2 teaspoons of the salt and enough water to cover them. Boil until fork tender (about 20 minutes). Drain, cool, and cut into 1/2-inch cubes. Mix the cut potatoes in a large bowl with the olive oil, remaining salt, and pepper.
Grate 3 of the hard-boiled eggs on a box grater, and add to the potatoes. Slice the remaining egg and set aside for garnish. Add the beets, pickles, chives, and 1/4 cup of the dill to the bowl. Add the mayonnaise and combine. Adjust the salt and pepper to taste. Garnish with the egg slices and the remaining dill. Chill thoroughly before serving.
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Posted by Nichole on 05/20/13 at 01:06 PM • Permalink
Rhubarb Cinnamon Polenta Cake
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, local politician, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making (Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works: Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2014.
There are only a few plants growing in my garden right now. I’ve been trying to get out there to get my seeds in, but still, it patiently waits. But now, there are chives, and sorrel, and mint. And then, of course, there is rhubarb.
Now, when it comes to gardening, I often feel like I’m groping around in the dark. I am surrounded by gardeners and friends who are usually happy to answer even my simplest questions, but still, I feel like I have to plant and water and see something grow in my yard in order to know how it works. (That is, if it works–otherwise there are different lessons to be learned!) I am looking forward to some time decades from now when I can say I really know how to garden, and when the success doesn’t shock and amaze me every time. But this rhubarb and I–we started a relationship. And every year it comes back, poking out of the ground with its prehistoric and ungraceful looking foliage, and I cheer and I feel like a queen (even though it came back without an ounce of help from me). Then I greet it with a torrent of new rhubarb recipes. The plant always produces deep into the summer, and by then I have other things to bake, and so every visitor has to wait as they’re walking out to their car while I holler, “Hold on! Let me send you home with some rhubarb!” True story. Ask anyone.
This a good and upstanding rhubarb cake, full of complexity and self respect. The batter involves uncooked polenta, which gives the whole shebang a bit of crunch. It’s a perfect tea snack and is even better on the second day. Around here, it also served quite nicely as a breakfast.
This cake also doubles beautifully, which I did in my deep 12-inch springform because I have SO many people eating over here. This recipe below makes a smaller cake, as per the original recipe. —Alana Chernila
Rhubarb Cinnamon Polenta Cake
Adapted from Nigel Slater, Ripe: A Cook in the Orchard
Serves 8
For the filling:
1 pound rhubarb
1/4 cup superfine sugar
4 tablespoons water
For the crust:
3/4 cup coarse polenta
1 1/2 cups plus 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 cup superfine sugar
grated zest of a small orange
10 tablespoons cold butter, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 large egg
2 to 4 tablespoons milk
1 tablespoon demerara sugar (granulated will do here if that is what you have)
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Put a baking sheet in the oven. (You want it to get hot, you’ll use it later in the recipe.) Butter an 8-inch springform cake pan, then line the bottom with parchment.
2. Cut the rhubarb into into 2- to 3-inch pieces. Put them into a baking dish, scatter them with the sugar and water, and bake for about 30 minutes, or until soft. Drain the fruit in a colander and reserve all of the cooking liquid to serve with the cake later.
3. Meanwhile, put the polenta, flour, baking powder, cinnamon, and sugar into the bowl of a food processor and give it a quick pulse to mix. Add the orange zest and butter and pulse again several more times until the mixture is uniform and the butter is the size of small peas. Beat the egg with 2 tablespoons of milk, and add that mixture to the batter while pulsing again, stopping as soon as you have a soft, sticky batter. Add a bit more milk if it’s not sticky.
4. Press about two-thirds of the batter into the cake pan with a wooden spoon or your fingers, taking care not to have any holes. Cover with the drained rhubarb–then put lumps of the remaining batter over the rhubarb, leaving holes for the fruit to poke through. Scatter the demerara sugar over top. Place on the hot baking sheet in the oven and bake for 45 to 55 minutes, or until slightly golden. Allow to cool for at least 20 minutes before removing from the pan. Serve with the cooking liquid drizzled over top, with something creamy on the side (creme fraiche, ice cream, or Greek yogurt).
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Posted by Nichole on 05/10/13 at 08:55 AM • Permalink
Fish Tacos Sans Cilantro
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, local politician, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making (Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works: Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2014.
It is difficult to talk about fish tacos without also wanting to eat fish tacos immediately. I mean that, and I know you know what I’m talking about. If you don’t have a certain future of lime juice dripping down your arm within hours of reading this, you are going to be unhappy. And if you’re unhappy, I’m unhappy, because for better or worse, I’m like that. So get ready.
However, you might have a little bit less respect for me by the end of this. Today I’m going to share something that might disappoint you, that might make you think that I’m a little less of a… oh what’s that word? Foodie.
Okay, let’s have it out then.
I hate cilantro.
I’m one of those people they write about in The New York Times, the ones who think cilantro tastes like soap. Only, to be totally honest, soap feels like an understatement. I’d happily eat soap if you gave me a choice between the two. People ask me if it’s an allergy, and sometimes I say yes. Does it count as an allergy if being in the same room with it makes me want to scream, clench my face together, and hope I’m in some horrible dream I’ll wake up from any second? Does it count that when I eat it accidentally, the taste stays in my mouth for days?
For those of you who are baffled by cilantro haters, I thought I’d answer a few commonly asked questions, a cilantro haters FAQ, if you will.
1. Is this cilantro hating really a genetic trait, or is it cultural?
I really don’t know. I’ve heard that there is a cilantro hating gene, like the asparagus pee gene, and I’ve also heard that in cultures where children eat cilantro from a young age, there are no cilantro haters. I’ve also heard that Northern Italy houses more cilantro haters than any other region, but I don’t have an ounce of Northern Italian blood in my body.
2. How did you figure out that you were a cilantro hater?
Twelve years old. Restaurant with mom. Salmon with salsa fresca. Horrible.
3. But don’t you claim to love Mexican food? What’s the point without cilantro? How on earth do you eat fish tacos?
I thought you’d never ask. —Alana Chernila
Fish Tacos (that have no need for cilantro)
Serves four
1 pound white fish (halibut, snapper, scrod, tilapia–really whatever you can afford)
olive oil
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon red chili flakes
1/2 small red cabbage, shredded
8 corn or small wheat tortillas
3 limes
1 avocado
1 peach, pitted and cut into 1 inch pieces
1/2 small red onion, diced
1 small hot pepper, seeds removed, diced
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
salt
Marinate the cabbage: Combine the cabbage, a pinch of salt, and the juice of one lime. Toss to coat, and let sit at room temperature for at least an hour.
Make the peach salsa: Combine the peach, hot pepper, red onion, parsley, and salt to taste. Give it a quick squeeze of lime, and let sit for at least 20 minutes.
Prepare the fish: Combine the oregano, chili flakes, and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Rub it all over the fish. Drizzle with olive oil, and squeeze half a lime over the fish. Grill or broil for 3-4 minutes on each side, or until opaque.
Prepare the guacamole: Mash the avocado with 1/2 teaspoon salt and the juice of half a lime. Add additional salt to taste.
Warm the tortillas for a moment, one at a time, in a cast iron skillet or in the warm oven.
Serve together with lime slices on the side. Make a mess!
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Posted by Nichole on 05/06/13 at 06:56 AM • Permalink
Craving the West: Masa Harina Beef Casserole
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, local politician, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making (Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works: Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2014.
I miss New Mexico today.
It hits me without warning, and usually the missing gets in my nose first. My memory creates a smell and it gets stuck there. The most common is roasting green chile, but of course there’s also pinon. And there is the smell of the tamale.
There are a lot of reasons why I miss New Mexico, and even more reasons why I left. But there is no other place that makes me hurt when I miss it.
There was this little place there called Johnny’s Cash Store. They sold jumex juices, and milk, and eggs, and cigarettes, and Twinkies. The whole place smelled old and dusty because it was old and dusty. But on the counter, there was a steam table filled with tamales that someone’s mother had made. For a few dollars, you could have a red chile pork tamale and a green chile chicken tamale tucked in a little wax bag. That bag, along with a few napkins and a mango jumex, made a lunch that could turn anyone’s day around. There was a little splintery picnic table outside, and I swear that picnic table was one of my favorite places to eat in Santa Fe.
Those tamales tasted like love.
But of course, there is dinner to make. And although Johnny’s Cash store is 2,000 miles away, I needed something that smelled right, even if it contained canned green chiles and no one’s mom had made it. Oh, wait, hold on…
This recipe is from a cookbook that I have talked about before, Whole Grains Every Day, Every Way. This book is an amazing resource, and it will tell you everything you need to know about how to cook, clean, and store whole grains. If you feel a little overwhelmed in the bulk section of your store, this book will open up your world.
Masa Harina is a corn flour that is used in tamales, as well as in making corn tortillas. It is combined with lime, and has a very specific smell to it, that is the smell of of Johnny’s Cash store tamale, or as I like to call it, love. You can find masa harina in most grocery stores, and of course all Latin markets. The brand I most often see is called Maseca. If you absolutely cannot find it, you can substitute cornmeal for the masa in this recipe. —Alana Chernila
Masa Harina-Beef Casserole
adapted from Lorna Sass, Whole Grains Every Day, Every Way
For the filling:
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
1 red bell pepper, seeded and diced
1 1/2 pounds ground beef
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 teaspoons dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon salt
freshly ground black pepper
1 15-ounce can diced tomatoes with green chiles
Optional: 1 additional small can diced green chiles
For the topping:
1 1/4 cups masa harina
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon chili powder
1 large egg
1/2 cup sour cream or yogurt
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup jack or cheddar cheese
1 cup fresh or forzen corn kernels
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees and put a rack in the bottom third of the oven. Have ready a rectangular baking dish, about 11×7 or thereabouts. Lay it on a baking sheet and set aside.
Heat the oil in a large skillet. When it is hot, add the onion and pepper and cook over medium high heat, stirring occasionally, until the onion is soft, about 5 minutes.
Stir in the beef, garlic, oregano, cumin, salt and pepper. Cook over medium high heat, stirring and breaking it up into small bits. When the meat begins to brown, stir in the tomatoes and green chiles and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer uncovered while you prepare the topping.
Pour 4 cups of water into a heavy saucepan. Whisk the masa harina into the water until it is smooth and thoroughly blended. Stir in the salt and chili powder. Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring almost constantly. Lower the heat and keep stirring until the mixture thickens to the consistency of batter, about 3 minutes. Remove from heat.
In a small bowl, beat the egg. Stir in the sour cream or yogurt and a cup of the hot masa mixture. Stir the egg mixture and the baking soda into the pot containing the remaining masa mixture.
Taste the meat and adjust for seasonings. Transfer the meat to the baking dish, leaving any liquid behind. Pour the masa batter over the meat. Sprinkle with the cheese, then the corn kernels.
Bake until the casserole is bubbly and the top is slightly browned, about 45 minutes. Let sit for 10 minutes before serving.
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Posted by Nichole on 04/26/13 at 09:39 AM • Permalink
When There are No Words: Kumquat Ricotta Tartine
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, local politician, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making (Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works: Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2014.
Again.
I start writing on an ordinary day. I put it down with the hope of finishing later, and then in that time in between, the New York Times starts yelling at me from my phone. I check the news, I check Twitter (which on the whole I don’t love, but it’s always where I go when I try to figure out what’s just happened), and already people are yelling at each other about not being sensitive, not having the wherewithal to unschedule tweets about sales and cookie recipes and whatever else they’ve planned for the day. It seems that something horrible has happened, again. And again, no one knows what to say.
There are so many ways to communicate these days. We can tell people how we feel a dozen different ways in the span of five minutes through images or tiny pithy statements or creative curation. But there is no recipe for the right words when a good day goes to shit. At least, I don’t have it. And whether it’s a shooting, a bombing, or a hurricane, there seems to be a collective effort to use all these words we have at our disposal to help. We direct people to give blood, money, prayers. We share inspirational quotes. And those of us who usually talk about food often talk about food, maybe because food is such a good vehicle for love and support. Because even when things go terribly wrong, we still have to eat. Because when we have nothing to say, sometimes making food is how we feel useful.
This past weekend, my friend, Lisa, gave me fifteen kumquats from the tree she keeps in her living room. It was such a gift! They sat on my counter for a day, the little filled bowl looking like the sun itself. And then on Sunday, I chopped them up, picking out the seeds as I went. I put them in a pot with a little honey and water and cooked them till they thickened, and then I layered bread, ricotta, and this sweet gold. Not really much of a recipe there, either. But to make it sound like one, let’s call it a tartine.
Kumquat Ricotta Tartine
(If kumquats are a new friend to you, I’m happy to introduce you. The skin is the most wonderful part, as it’s nearly candy all by itself.)
Roughly chop 15 kumquats, picking out the seeds as you go. Transfer the kumquats along with any of their juice that’s escaped on the counter to a small but heavy pot. Add two tablespoons of water and two tablespoons of honey. Bring to a low boil, stirring often, and let it cook over medium heat until slightly thickened, about 1o minutes. Now you’ve made marmalade. (You can no longer say you’ve never made marmalade. Who knew it was so easy?) You’ll have about 1/2 cup, and so there will likely be some left over for tomorrow’s yogurt.
Let the marmalade cool a bit. Then, toast some good bread, slather thickly with ricotta, and top with the marmalade. Serve for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or just when needed.
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Posted by Nichole on 04/22/13 at 09:05 AM • Permalink
A Quick Fix: Pasta with Lemon, Sardines, and Capers
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, local politician, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making (Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works: Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2014.
We need some decent dinner ideas, and we need them fast. I was talking to my friend Meg; life’s been a little crazy for her lately, a little more stressful, and she’s been having a bit of a time getting dinner out. We were talking about those fabulous things that involve ingredients we almost always have, that are cheap, take 20 minutes, and are so delicious everyone’s excited that you didn’t have time to make something else.
I’m talking about carbonara. And I said so to Meg. “Well at least there’s carbonara.” And then she said, “Yeah there’s definitely carbonara, and then of course there’s pasta with lemon, sardines, and capers, which is cheaper and faster and really only uses one pot.” And I said, “Yeah, totally.” Like I knew what she was talking about, like I had eaten it a million times.
I was just going with the flow of the conversation. But afterwards I started thinking, and kept repeating it over in my head… pasta with lemon, sardines, and capers.
That’s right—PASTA WITH LEMON, SARDINES, AND CAPERS! How come I’ve never thought of this?
For days, I thought about it–it was in the back of my head like a little song, repeating over and over in a rhythm of ease and craving and dinner planning. Pasta with lemon, sardines, and capers; pasta with lemon, sardines, and capers. And then it was dinner.
PASTA WITH LEMON, SARDINES, AND CAPERS!
It’s possible that I’ve lost you with the sardines–I know it can happen. But if that’s the case, let me push you a little on this one. Do you really not like sardines? Or are you confusing them with anchovies? Or do you just think you don’t like sardines? This would be a time to look deep inside yourself and get some answers.
Because I’m offering you a dinner plan here, and it can be ready by six. I think it’s in your best interest to give it a try. Because I bet you have a jar of capers in your fridge. And a lemon too. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a tin of sardines in your pantry that your cousin from France left when he was visiting last summer.
I’ve always thought of sardines in the context of a sandwich. When I was a teenager I was handed my first sardine sandwich on white bread with butter and I never looked back. But this? This takes it to a whole new level. Besides being so so tasty, sardines are high in omega 3′s, low in mercury, and inexpensive to buy. In this age of dangerous fish eating, it’s a good idea to stay small–sardines and anchovies and smelts and those fish that are low on the food chain are your best bet. And on white bread with butter? Hoo-ray. And on pasta? I’m adding an exclamation point. Hoo-ray! —Alana Chernila
Pasta With Lemon, Sardines, and Capers
(with thanks to Meg)
1 pound fetuccine, spaghetti, or some other long and skinny pasta
2 tins sardines (about 8 ounces), can be in water or olive oil
juice of one big lemon
1/4 cup capers
olive oil
salt and pepper
optional: 2 tablespoons fresh chopped rosemary
Cook the pasta as usual. Drain, and toss with sardines, lemon juice, capers, rosemary if you’re using it, a few good glugs of olive oil, and a flurrying of salt and pepper. Taste, and either adjust the seasonings or keep on eating. Dinner is served.
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Posted by Nichole on 04/11/13 at 10:50 AM • Permalink
Foraging for Food: Ramp, Asparagus, and Ricotta Frittata
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, local politician, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making (Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works: Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2014.
Before we get into it—an apology.
I’m just a little bit sorry for including ramps in this recipe. I’m sorry that the title of this post includes a food for which you might have to forage, most likely with someone who either 1) despite living in Brooklyn, seems to know their way around the woods better than one of the Boxcar children, or 2) is some old reclusive writer friend of your great uncle, who always makes the offer to show you his “ramp spot.” Perhaps it says something about my own insecurities, but ramps are one of those foods that tend to make me feel like I’m looking on at the cool kids from afar. Although I do come into a little bunch of ramps now and then, most of the time I see beautiful recipes with ramps and I just feel that they are out of my reach. It is not a particularly inclusive ingredient. However, when life gives you ramps…
And with all that, how did I manage to find these ramps to scatter and roast with the asparagus? That is a bit more of a story. But the short answer is–they were a gift.
And now, the frittata, which might just be my favorite in a long line of frittatas. It’s heavy on the ricotta, and the result is a bit denser and more substantial than a typical frittata. And if you don’t have access to ramps (or a hipster from Brooklyn or an old friend of your great uncle’s or a really nice woman on her way from the farmers’ market), no need to worry. As ramps are wild leeks, regular old leeks will be a good second in their place. Scallions or chives would also make a fitting replacement, but I’d recommend that you reduce the quantity by about half. —Alana Chernila
Ramp, Asparagus, and Ricotta Frittata
Serves 6
1 large bunch asparagus, trimmed of the tough stalk area (11-12 ounces after trimming), cleaned and dry
1 bunch ramps (4 to 6 ounces)
olive oil
7 large eggs
1/2 cup whole milk
1 1/2 cups ricotta cheese
1 1/4 teaspoons salt (use less if your ricotta is salted)
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
a few grinds of fresh-ground pepper
2 tablespoons butter
1. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Lightly grease a baking tray with olive oil, and lay the asparagus on it. Drizzle with a bit more olive oil, and roast for 10 minutes.
2. Meanwhile, prepare the ramps. Cut off the root, and remove the loose outer skin around the bulb. Cut off the leaves, rinse, roughly chop, and set aside. Clean the bulbs of any excess dirt. Then, add the bulbs to the roasting asparagus and roast for another 5 minutes. Allow to cool for a few minutes, then roughly chop the asparagus and ramp bulbs.
3. In a blender, combine the eggs, milk, ricotta, salt, flour, and pepper. Blend until smooth.
4. Heat a 12-inch cast iron skillet over medium heat. Add the butter, and as it melts, spread it around the bottom and sides of the pan. Add the ramp leaves and cook, stirring often, until they wilt—about 1 minute. Add the asparagus and ramp bulbs, then the egg mixture. Do not stir!
5. Preheat the broiler setting on your oven to a medium heat (if you have that option). While it heats, let the frittata cook on the stovetop under your watchful eye. It will start to barely bubble and firm up, but what you’re really watching for is that moment when it starts to separate from the sides of the pan. Or if you smell any hint of burning, remove it from heat. Transfer to the oven, and watch carefully. Within a few minutes (or quicker—some broilers are fast!), the frittata will be golden and firm all the way through. Let cool for a few minutes before serving. This is also great cold, and excellent picnic food.
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Posted by Nichole on 04/05/13 at 07:46 AM • Permalink
Kitchen Nostalgia: Saffron and Pea Shoot Risotto
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, local politician, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making (Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works: Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2014.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the food that we learn from our family. Maybe the stress has brought it on – I am Jewish after all. My mother is a very good cook- and the basis of my cooking is all her. Tamari and Olive oil. Kale. Sweet potatoes. But like so many other things, I seemed to have simply absorbed her cooking- I have no memory of ever learning her skills, I just seem to have them. My grandmother, however, is a whole different story.
My grandparents owned a vegetarian bed and breakfast through my whole childhood. I thought the food was just awful. People came back year after year to experience the culture and joy of the Berkshires on a full belly of whole grain pancakes, nutty zucchini bread, and frittatas packed full of vegetables lovingly grown by my grandfather in the backyard. Because my mom was a working single mother, I was there a lot, and they never could get me to eat those pancakes. My grandmother was, to date, the only baker in the family until me, but more than that, she was a deep and sensual food lover. In the midst of her devote vegetarianism, she was never so happy as when surprised by a plate of ribs, and she insisted on taking me out for lobster for every birthday. When she died in a car accident when I was fourteen, I began to realize that I had very little of her in the way of a food legacy. To this day , a picture of her is taped to my kitchen cabinet, and I feel some deep need to bring her into my kitchen. As odd as it seems, I most relate her to crackers with cream cheese and green olives, because that was one of the only things that she made that I remember liking.
Although the two foods seem unrelated, they are most certainly not. I have an aunt and uncle who, like my grandparents, had a share in raising me. They are of California stock, and I guess you could say that they are responsible for teaching me about fancy types of greens, Pernod, and other things that make up the good life. And at the height of my participation in their family, my uncle was the one who really peaked my interest in cooking.
But families fall apart in funny ways, and this time I came away with quite a bit of love for the kitchen. And although I haven’t made a risotto in years, all these thoughts of family and food have driven me to it. Because when my uncle went through his risotto phase, he shared it all with me. And there’s nothing like spacing out over a risotto for a while, trust me on this one. —Alana Chernila
Saffron and Pea Shoot Risotto
Serves 4
1 medium onion, diced, or two shallots diced
1 1/2 cups arborio rice, unwashed
5 cups homemade chicken stock
3 T butter
1/2 cup dry white wine
a hefty pinch of saffron threads
1/3 cup parmesan cheese
a large handful of pea shoots, roughly chopped
salt and pepper
Heat the stock till boiling, then lower the heat so that it is barely simmering.
In a medium heavy bottomed saucepan, melt half the butter. Add the onion or shallots and cook until shiny and translucent, about 8 minutes. Add the saffron. Then add the rice, and stir for about 4 minutes, until the rice is shiny but not brown. Add the wine, and stir until it is all absorbed. Then you can start with the hot chicken stock, and at this point, you want to get into something of a rhythm. Never let the rice dry out. Add 1/2 cup of stock or so, and just keep stirring. Take a swig off of that open white wine on the counter. Stir some more. Add another 1/2 cup of stock every few minutes, or when the rice is in danger of drying out. In all, it should take 20-30 minutes from when you add the rice. Salt a bit as you go. In the end, add the Parmesan, the rest of the butter, the pea shoots, and as much salt and pepper as tastes good to you. Let it sit for a few minutes, and then serve. Eat it all- it makes lousy leftovers unless you want to turn it into little risotto cakes and fry them.
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Posted by Nichole on 04/01/13 at 08:16 PM • Permalink
A Little Magic: Maple Custard
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, local politician, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making (Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works: Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2014.
I’ve remembered this custard with the help of my friend Janet Elsbach. These little custards are so easy to put together that you can even make them for yourself when your not feeling well. They are, of course, perfectly appropriate for healthy people, too, especially (as Janet tells us) in the lunches of small, healthy people, but the reason why this is such spectacular food is because if it’s simplicity, gentleness, and easy-going nutritiousness. I’ll stop shying away from what I really mean here and say right out that this stuff is like breast milk, only in a mason jar. Delicious, slightly sweet, high protein love. It will restore your health and well being, and then some.
Maple Custard
Adapted from Mollie Katzen, Moosewood Cookbook, with additional thanks to Janet who gave all sorts of exciting tips and additions to the recipe (as well as the suggestion for the perfect pudding container, that is, the 1/2-pint, wide-mouthed mason jar).
Makes enough for nine 1/2-pint wide-mouth mason jars
8 eggs
1/2 cup maple syrup
5 cups whole milk
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg (freshly ground, if possible)
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons vanilla
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Set nine 1/2-pint wide mouth mason jars (or ramekins or custard cups) into your largest pan. Set a kettle of water on the stove to boil.
Put the eggs into the blender or the bowl of a stand mixer fit with the whisk attachment. Blend (or whisk) the eggs until just starting to get foamy. Add the maple syrup, milk, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt, and vanilla. Blend or run the stand mixer again until the mixture is uniform. (You can also do this by hand with a whisk- just make sure that the mixture is well-beaten.)
Pour the mixture into the jars. Put the pan into the oven, and then pour the boiling water (remember that kettle?) into the pan so that it comes at least halfway up the jars. Close the door to the oven and bake for 50 minutes, or until the custards are set, puffed, and golden.
Remove from the water-filled pan. Let cool a bit, then eat warm or chilled. Top the jars with their lids for storage in the fridge. —Alana Chernila
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Posted by Nichole on 03/25/13 at 10:48 AM • Permalink
Shirred Eggs with Fresh Herbs
Berkshire native Alana Chernila, local politician, mother of two, and author of the cookbook, The Homemade Pantry: 101 Foods You Can Stop Buying & Start Making(Clarkson Potter), dispenses change and cooking ideas to readers and friends. She shares her peak-of-the-season recipes with Rural Intelligence to help us make the most of what’s growing in our region. Her first cookbook has achieved top-seller status, and Chernila has just announced that she has a new one in the works: Meals from the Homemade Pantry (Clarkson Potter), due out in 2014.
I have been to Paris exactly three times.
Despite these three limited experiences, France hangs around here in my own fabrications. Less than original, I know, but more and more, I find myself using France as an adjective rather than a proper noun, a word to emphasize the goodness of things.
I guess the word would be French.
Using a country in my vocabulary without adequate experience of the place makes me feel like I’ve never left this country, like I’ve never left this town…like I’m smoking fancy cigarettes in my little kitchen just to bring in the exotic.
For me, the most French place in my whole yard is the middle of my overgrown herb garden. And so I thought about herbs, and about what herbs want – about what I could eat to bring France right here. It had to be simple and effortless, perfect but able to be cooked in heels – chunky Julia heels. It had to be eggs.
Eggs and herbs have the most natural and romantic affinity for each other. Eggs hold herbs with strength and support, and for one like me who will eat fresh herbs all day long directly from the ground when given the chance, eggs are the perfect excuse. Really, I am not one for subtlety when it comes to herbs. And in the hope of really doing it, and really closing that bridge between me and my semi-imaginary France, it had to have cream and butter, and roughly ground salt and pepper. You might know it as shirred eggs, but today, we’ll call it oefs en cocotte.
Oeufs en cocotte are eggs baked in ramekins or gratin dishes or any little thing you might use that’s, you know, French. They are sometimes over ham, but here over cream, and showered with a blizzard of herbs.
I know. When it snows it Paris, I’m sure it’s snowing tarragon.
Sometimes they will be baked, but today we’re putting them under the broiler because I am impatient. Impatience is not very French at all, but I’m working on it. More time sitting in that overgrown herb garden of mine should just about do it, I think.
Oeufs en Cocotte (or, shirred eggs with fresh herbs)
serves one (while staring off at the distance)
3 eggs (make ‘em good ones - it really counts here)
1 tablespoon heavy cream
1/2 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh herbs- any combination of parsley, rosemary, tarragon, thyme or basil
1 tablespoon freshly grated Parmesan
2 cloves garlic, finely minced
salt and freshly ground pepper
Preheat your broiler to medium high. In a small bowl, combine the herbs, parmesan, and garlic. Crack the eggs into a ramekin or tea cup. (They must be ready so that you can act fast). Put the butter and cream into a large ramekin, small gratin dish or other oven safe dish. Put the dish about six inches under the broiler until the butter and cream starts to bubble and sizzle. Watch it carefully–it will burn quickly. Remove the dish from the oven, and pour the eggs into the hot dish over the bubbling cream, taking care not to break the yolks. Sprinkle the herb mixture over the top, and add a bunch of salt and pepper. Put under the broiler and cook for 3-4 minutes, or until the whites are cooked but the yolks are visibly liquid. —Alana Chernila
