Thanksgiving, Part I: The Beginnings
Part I is not when I discuss the Pilgrims, or the native Americans, or the various inaccuracies we’ve all been taught about the first Thanksgiving. It’s not that I don’t care about the origins of my favorite holiday; rather, there’s too much else that needs discussing: I have always felt that the day’s beginnings pale in significance besides its meaning and importance—right now, in any present.
Thanksgiving crystallizes everything good about celebration, without the religious over- (or under-) tones to make anyone uncomfortable. (Perhaps this is why I choose not to focus on the origins, come to think of it.) Giving thanks for what we are fortunate enough to have, gathering with our family of origin or choice, cooking and feasting together are at once deceptively simple and miraculously complex, and they make this holiday particularly meaningful for me, a person who is prone to expressing affection through cooking and entertaining.
Having prepared Thanksgiving dinners both enormous and small, I’ve developed (as most cooks have) a stable of standbys, which I can be rudely averse to changing. My husband, on the other hand, would happily have a different menu every year. Occasionally, something new comes along that we both love so much that it becomes a permanent part of the lineup and a family tradition. The simple Champagne cocktail that follows is such a recipe. It has a couple of benefits: everyone seems to like it, and it gives you another reason to make your own cranberry sauce, a task of such minimal effort that the commercial cranberry canners should, by rights, be out of business. (I say that in jest—no one else in America should go out of business. We’ve had enough of that of late.) This recipe is also the kind of thing that you could bring as a host or hostess gift if you (like me this year) will be fortunate enough to be enjoying the holiday at a dear friend’s or relative’s house. Show up with a bottle of decent Champagne or Prosecco some unfiltered cranberry juice, a pretty jar full of your homemade sauce, and offer your services as bartender, and you have—ta da!—the perfect beginning.
If you want to make Part I even more sumptuous, you’ll take along one or both versions of my sweet and spicy nuts. My affection for “holiday nuts,“ as I think of them, goes back to my Southern childhood where sugared pecans were de rigueur at Christmas parties. I always had to be shooed away from the bowl. As an adult, I happily served the first recipe for many years. . . until I found the second, which is a more faithful recreation of the southern charmers I loved as a kid. Now, I make both. With either recipe, you can vary the spicing to suit your taste. With the first version, I have made a delicious batch (or ten) using flavored grapeseed oil: lemongrass and ginger-infused oils produced unspeakably good results (though, sadly, the oil I used is no longer available—one of these days, I may have to try to make my own.) And though the recipes are written for pecans, they’re also very good made with walnuts.
And if you are the host this year? These are an ideal nibble to have on hand at the beginning of an over-stuffed meal: tasty and satisfying, they take the edge off hunger but you’re unlikely (unless you’re five years old) to eat so many you’ve got no room left for the feast to come.
Cranberry Bellini (adapted from Domino magazine)
makes 1 drink
1 T. homemade whole berry cranberry sauce (recipe follows)
2 T. unfiltered cranberry juice
a splash of Cointreau
Prosecco or Champagne
Place the cranberry sauce, juice and Cointreau in a champagne flute and fill with Prosecco or Champagne.
Whole Berry Cranberry Sauce
Makes 1-1/2 cups
1 12 oz. package fresh cranberries
1/2 cup orange juice
1/2 cup water
1 cup sugar
1 orange
5 whole cloves
1 cinnamon stick
1 1-inch long piece of fresh ginger, peeled
Put cranberries, juice, water and sugar into a saucepan. Add orange zest and spices, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer for ten to fifteen minutes, stirring occasionally, until thickened. Remove spices. Allow to cool completely before storing in the refrigerator.
Sweet and Spicy Pecans (adapted from Deborah Madison’s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, Broadway, 1997)
Makes 1 pound
2 T. neutral oil, like canola or grapeseed
2 t. high quality chili powder
1/2 t. dried ginger
2 T. brown sugar (or to taste)
1 t. kosher or coarse sea salt (or to taste)
1 pound pecan halves
Preheat oven to 300 F. Spread the pecans on a large cookie sheet and toast until fragrant, about 25 minutes. Stir a few times so they color evenly. Warm oil in a large skillet over medium heat and add the toasted pecans. Stir to coat with the oil. Add sugar and salt and saute, stirring continually, over medium heat until the pecans are nicely coated with the sugar and spices. (The sugar may not melt totally, but should adhere to the nuts.) Remove from heat, add the spices and stir again to combine evenly. Store in an airtight container for up to two weeks.
Glazed Pecans
Makes 1 pound
2 egg whites
1 T. milk
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 t. ground nutmeg
1/2 t ground cinnamon
1 t. fine sea salt
1 pound pecan halves
Preheat oven to 300 F. Beat egg whites until stiff peaks form. Add milk, and continue beating, then add sugar and remaining dry ingredients, beating in all. When all are just incorporated, fold in the pecans. Spread in a single layer on a large, greased sheet pan and bake, stirring every fifteen minutes, for one hour or until the meringue is dry. Store in an airtight container for up to two weeks.
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Posted by Dan Shaw on 11/12/08 at 05:12 PM • Permalink
Everybody’s All-American: A Southern Spin on Chicken Potpie
At a leisurely fireside brunch the other day (and yes, we ate migas, a friend started talking about potpie. This is a subject near and dear to me; I’ve loved potpie since I was a little girl and my mother used to serve me the frozen ones as special lunch treats. (The fact that she’d do odd dances to entertain me while I endured their epic heating time in those pre-microwave days may have sweetened the memory, but only a bit.) As an adult, I discovered that potpie is one of those impressive-though-casual dishes that is way, way easier to make than it appears. You don’t even have to be able to make a decent crust (though that, too, is one of those things that is much simpler than most people think, and a subject I’ll have to tackle another day.)
As my friend suggested, you can easily purchase frozen puff pastry to top your pie. This produces impressive, company-worthy results with next to zero effort. (Can you open a box? You’re set.) But the nearly-as-easy alternative is to make biscuits to top your homemade chicken stew. This southern-influenced version of potpie is delicious, and perfect all-American food to celebrate this week’s political sea change. (Or, if your candidates didn’t find victory, to comfort you through your grief.)
This is a fine recipe to put together all at once, or to prepare in stages over a day or even a couple of days. Children will eat it, adults will marvel, and if you’re the kind of person who finds herself with stray vegetables in the produce drawer or in half-bags in the freezer, you can have the virtuous joy of cleaning house as well. Don’t get too obsessive about quantities of anything—except when making the roux—and you’ll do fine.
Chicken and Biscuits
Serves 6
For the chicken stew:
1 roasting chicken, about 4-5 pounds
6 ribs of celery—two left whole, the rest sliced
3 onions—one peeled and sliced in half; the others chopped into coarse dice
6 carrots—two left whole, the rest cut into 1/4 inch rounds
2 - 4 cups of other veggies to your taste: diced potatoes, parsnips or winter squash, frozen peas, pearl onions or mushrooms would all work.
1 bay leaf
10 peppercorns
salt to taste
1/4 c. flour
2 T butter
2 T olive oil
Water
First, make the stock. Put the chicken (rinsed, giblets, if any, removed) into a large stockpot with the whole celery, whole carrots, halved onion, bay leaf, peppercorns, and a teaspoon or so of salt. Cover with water, bring to a boil, then turn down the heat and leave to simmer for an hour. Remove the chicken to a bowl to cool, and strain the stock into another pot to cool. You’ll probably have a couple of quarts, most of which you’ll save for making soup or risotto another day.
While the chicken is cooling, make the roux. In a small saucepan, melt the butter over low heat so as not to burn it. When it starts to bubble and foam a bit, add the flour and stir vigorously. Cook the mixture over low-medium heat until it becomes fragrant, and a tiny bit golden, but not brown. Now add about a half cup of your warm stock, and whisk to combine. Cook until it thickens, and then repeat by adding additional half cups of stock, allowing the sauce to thicken before adding more liquid until you’ve incorporated about 3 cups of stock altogether. Don’t worry if it’s not extremely thick when you’ve finished adding the liquid. You’re going to keep cooking it down, and it will thicken on its own. Let the sauce simmer over low heat while you prepare the chicken and the rest of the vegetables.
If the chicken is now cool enough to handle, remove all the meat you can from the bones with your fingers. Pull apart into manageable pieces, but don’t get crazy. You can eat this with a knife; the pieces don’t have to be perfectly bite sized.
Now prepare the vegetables. Heat the olive oil for a couple on minutes in a Dutch oven (which you’ll bake the dish in so it needs to be oven safe.) Add the chopped onion, celery and carrots. (If you’re using mushrooms, add them now, too.) Sauté until the vegetables are just starting to soften, but still retain their color. Pour in the sauce, and continue to simmer over low-medium heat while you make the biscuits, and until all the vegetables are fork-tender. (If you’re using potatoes, parsnips or squash, add now so they have time to cook through. Pearl onions, too. Frozen peas should be added at the very last minute before the dish goes into the oven, so they keep some nice color.)
For the biscuits:
2 c. flour, preferably White Lily Self-Rising (hard to find unless you live in the South, but you can buy it online—see below.)
2 t baking powder
1 t salt
1 stick butter, cold, and cut into 1/2 chunks
2/3 c milk or buttermilk (low fat is fine)
2 T melted butter
Preheat the oven to 500 degrees F. Stir flour, salt and baking powder together to combine. (If you’re using White Lily, you can even omit the baking powder, but if you use it, that’s OK too.) Using a pastry blender or two knives, cut in the butter until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs. This will take five or ten minutes—don’t lose heart! Just when you’re cursing the effort, the texture will magically change. Stir in the milk until the mixture pulls away from the sides of the bowl. Turn out onto a lightly floured board, and knead two or three times. Roll out to a thickness of 1/2 inch, and using a two-inch circle cutter, cut by pressing down without turning. Cut and re-roll until you’ve used up all the dough. You should have 12 - 15 biscuits.
Now it’s time to put everything together. Remove the pan from the heat and stir the shredded chicken into the pot. Add a half cup or so of frozen peas if you’re using them. Taste the sauce for seasoning and add salt and freshly ground pepper as needed. Place the biscuits on top to cover, and brush their tops with molten butter. Place in the oven, uncovered, and bake for 12 to 15 minutes until the biscuits are golden brown. Keep an eye on it; depending upon your oven, it could only take 10 to 12 minutes.
Enjoy the meal, and the accolades.
Note: Buy White Lily flour online here. Be aware that the website only sells in packages of two five-pound bags, and you have to specify on the online order form which products you want to purchase. I use White Lily Self-Rising for biscuits.
And about that pastry blender: it’s definitely not a unitasker It’s great for making guacamole and egg salad, too.
—Paige Orloff
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Posted by Dan Shaw on 11/07/08 at 07:28 AM • Permalink
Brunch: Beyond Bagels
When I first started visiting Columbia County, long before living here full-time was even an inkling of an idea, let alone a plan, I noticed that folks here (and by folks, I mean weekenders) often practiced the elsewhere neglected ritual of the Sunday lunch. I ate many a glorious midday meal during my summer visits here: poached salmon, roasted lamb, food that in other places would be considered entirely too luxurious for noontime. But—summer’s over. The outdoor tables groaning with fresh corn and tomato salad and roasted pork loin are (at least as of Tuesday evening) frosted white. Even my most intrepid part-timer friends won’t make it up here quite so regularly. Maybe that’s why my weekend entertaining is getting a whole lot simpler. I like brunch.
One set of weekender friends (fabulous cooks and entertainers in their own right, more interested in Saturday dinner than Sunday lunch) disdain the whole idea of brunch. I think it makes them think of overpriced and over-sauced English muffins and lukewarm coffee, and I understand. We’ve all eaten that kind of disappointing meal. We’ve also all eaten perfectly delightful brunches consisting of no more than great bagels with all the trimmings, and fine conversation. But in the last few weeks, I started looking for something both simple and substantial to fill the Sunday late-morning void.
As I often do, I turned south, and west. Migas (literally, it means “crumbs”) is a Tex-Mex dish, one that I first tried years ago when I visited Austin, Texas for a film festival. The movies weren’t all that great, but the food was another story. I tried migas out of curiosity more than desire: Texans were obsessive about the dish so I had to see for myself. Let’s just say that it was a conversion experience. This version of migas is basically matzoh brei, but made with fried corn tortillas instead of matzoh. Oh, ok, it’s a little spicier, but you get the idea: eggs combined with starch makes a perfect breakfast combination. (The other migas is from Spain, made with stale bread instead of tortillas, and has the eggs served fried on top, instead of scrambled in.)
This is a forgiving recipe. It’s good in almost any incarnation, but truly inspired if you take a little extra time to fry up the tortilla chips yourself, and make your own spicy salsa. You only have a jar of salsa, no fresh tomatoes? No corn tortillas, but a bag of chips in the pantry? It’s still worth trying. This is hearty, casual comfort food. Don’t over-think it.
Those brunch-averse friends? They came last Sunday at noon. I suppose that could have made it lunchtime, but I wanted migas. As it turned out, so did they.
Migas (adapted from The Gourmet Cookbook, Conde Nast, 2004)
serves 4-6
4 thick bacon slices, cooked until crisp, then crumbled
12 corn tortillas, cut into 1 to 1-1/2 inch pieces
1/4 cup canola, peanut or grapeseed oil (plus more as needed)
1 white onion, finely chopped
5 cloves garlic, finely chopped
2 jalapeno chilis, seeded and finely chopped
2 cups chopped tomatoes (canned tomatoes will work fine if you don’t have fresh)
2 teaspoons ground cumin
10 eggs, lightly beaten
3/4 cup grated white cheddar or monterey jack cheese
1/4 cup chopped cilantro for garnish (optional)
2 avocados, peeled and chopped for garnish (optional)
In a large skillet (I prefer cast iron) heat the oil until shimmering, but not smoking. Depending upon the diameter of your skillet, you may need to add more oil, enough so that the tortillas float a tiny bit on it. Add the tortillas, a handful at a time (I usually do this in four batches) and fry, turning often, until golden brown. Remove from the oil with a slotted spoon, and drain on paper towels. When all the tortillas are fried and the excess oil absorbed by towels, set aside.
Pour off the oil in the skillet so that a thin glaze remains in the pan. (If you’re not using a nonstick pan or well-seasoned cast iron, you may need to keep a bit more oil in the pan.) Add the onions, garlic and jalapenos, and saute over medium heat until softened, about five minutes. Do not brown them. Add the tomatoes, bacon and cumin, and saute until some of the tomatoes’ liquid evaporates off, leaving a nice thick salsa. Add the tortilla chips and stir gently to combine. Add the eggs and cheese, and scramble together, gently, over medium heat, until the eggs are set to your liking.
Sprinkle with cilantro and serve immediately, piping hot, with avocado on the side. —Paige Orloff
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 10/29/08 at 06:19 PM • Permalink
Soup’s On
Chicken soup at the new Cafe Roots in Pittsfield
I know that I’ve been writing a lot lately on the subject of soup. Forgive me if you’ve grown tired of liquid sustenance—next week, I promise, I’ll tackle something more substantive. But with the cold, wet days we’ve been having, soup’s all I want to eat, and sometimes, I want somebody else to cook it for me. Two tiny local establishments offer very different, but equally hand-crafted, options for simple, inexpensive fare.
Lee’s Pho Saigon is something of a cult favorite around the area. My family and I stumbled into it last winter, desperate for, as a friend put it, anything with flavors other than the ubiquitous “Americanized Bistro” that seems to dominate local menus. Husband and wife Henry and Hieu Chung, along with Henry’s sister, Kim, have been in business for just over two years, serving up authentic Vietnamese food to an eclectic crew of locals, hipsters and tourists. The tiny storefront, though lean on atmosphere, is long on charm. It’s a great family spot, and you’ll often see Henry and Hieu’s son Tony playing or doing homework at the “family table” in the back of the room. The welcome to customers is enthusiastic and earnest, and if you go more than once, you can expect to be remembered and greeted like an old friend.
The warmth extends to the food, as well. Pho (rhymes with “duh”), the restaurant’s namesake, is a beef and rice noodle soup of relatively recent (early to mid-twentieth century) invention. The origins of pho are the subject of conjecture and argument, but all agree that it hails from northern Vietnam, and has both French and Chinese influences. At Pho Saigon, soup stocks are made from scratch, then combined with meat, seafood or chicken. With every soup, a plate of shredded lettuce, chopped chiles, sliced cucumber, fresh cilantro and lime wedges is served alongside, so you can customize texture and flavor as you see fit. I’ve tried any number of dishes (soup and otherwise) at Pho Saigon, but when I visited recently, I asked Kim for her pick for best soup. Her first answer, “Everything’s good!“, though accurate, wasn’t all that helpful. When pressed, after making sure that I could tolerate some spice, she steered me to hue, also known as “Number 17.“ A woman at a neighboring table piped in to second the recommendation, saying she orders it every time she comes in. (This is the kind of spot where regular diners can’t seem to help guiding newcomers to favorite dishes.) Fragrant beef broth flecked with red pepper and slivered lemon grass held shimmering rice vermicelli and slices of eye round. The broth was steaming, the meat tender and full of flavor. I am not ashamed to say that I inhaled every drop.
Another excellent choice is the pho ga, a milder chicken-based broth with the same skinny noodles, plus chicken, shrimp and hardboiled egg. And in the non-soup section of the menu, don’t miss the fresh summer rolls, or the unusual Vietnamese pancake. The latter is stuffed with shrimp, chicken and vegetables. Its bright yellow color comes from curry, not eggs—made from rice flour and coconut milk, it is absurdly delicious. Also try the Vietnamese hot tea, sweetened with honey and spiked with lime. A mug of this when you sit down will take the edge off while you wait for the soup to really warm you.
For more traditional fare, a new coffee house in Pittsfield holds promise. Cafe Roots took over the old Berkshire Bistro space on West Street nearly three months ago. Owner April Bertelli, who locals may recognize from her tenure managing the coffee bar at Lenox’s Arcadian Shop, was eager to open her own place. “I worked at the Berkshire Bistro years ago, and it’s where my love for coffee started. When I heard it was up for sale, I knew it was time to go for it.“ She hopes Cafe Roots will become a place where the ever-expanding downtown Pittsfield community can relax and recharge. To that end, Roots has a friendly, casual vibe, wireless internet, great coffee drinks, and, most important for my purposes, a delicious fresh menu, including a rotation of soups.
Like Pho Saigon, Cafe Roots is a family affair: April’s younger sister, Kim, works alongside her at the counter and in the kitchen. The soup changes almost every day, with recent offerings including chicken vegetable, thick with shredded chicken and mushrooms, to a broad bean soup that was more tomato-ey pasta e fagiole than the humble name suggested. At $5.00, a bowl, served with grilled toast, is a bargain. April tries to use local produce and products whenever possible, and also serves a broader menu of sandwiches including grilled paninis and homemade chicken salad, as well as freshly baked quiches, muffins, cookies and cakes. The service, vibe and offerings are all first rate, and the cafe is developing a loyal group of regulars. A warm welcome, and a hot bowl of delicious soup? These days, that’s worth a lot. —Paige Orloff
Pho Saigon
5 Railroad Street, Lee; 413.243.6288
Wednesday - Monday 11:30 - 9:00; closed Tuesday
Winter nights, please call ahead to confirm.
Cafe Roots
44 West Street, Pittsfield; 413.442.4226
Monday - Friday 7 - 3
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 10/23/08 at 07:40 AM • Permalink
Getting Back to Our Roots
The past week of warmth and sunshine might have made you think that winter’s far, far off, but a trip to the farm stand will fill you in: summer, Indian or otherwise, is done. Tomatoes and corn have been replaced by winter squashes, alliums (onions, leeks, chives, garlic, and shallots), dark greens and a panoply of root vegetables. For cooks, especially those of us with access to local, farm-fresh produce, the bounty right now is almost overwhelming. But the real trick is making the harvest last the winter.
Local organic farmers Chris and Katie Cashen of the Farm at Miller’s Crossing, in Hudson, know this all too well and do their best to inform their customers about how to keep their produce fresh for eating through the cold months. Successful storage is dependent upon both humidity and temperature, and techniques range from the basic (throw it in the fridge, or in a cold corner of a basement) to the more complex, involving sand or peat moss-filled buckets or even submerged outdoor pits.
Participants in the farm’s CSA program received detailed instructions a few weeks ago on how to maximize the longevity of the current crops. The Cashens recommend refrigeration for everything from cabbages, and onions, to garlic and root vegetables. Winter squash, however, fare better in a cool, not cold, room where the air can circulate around them a bit. For vegetables stored in the refrigerator crisper, the addition of a damp rag will boost humidity, while a wrap of brown paper will bring it down. For really ambitious hoarders, information on more complex storage systems (basically, recreating the root cellar of yore) is available from the National Garden Association.
But the Miller’s Crossing upcoming bulk sale offers an even simpler solution—the option of storing quantities of produce in the farm’s commercial coolers. “We realized early on that if we wanted people to buy in bulk, we had to help them solve their storage problem,“ says Chris Cashen. “You can understand why customers say ‘I don’t have anywhere to put fifty pounds of carrots.‘“
The November 1st sale will include winter squash, celeriac, beets, potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, garlic, braising greens such as collards and rapini, as well as organic apples from nearby Threshold Farm in Philmont, NY. Grass-fed beef (raised by the Cashens) will also be available. Customers who wish to store their purchases will be provided with labelled boxes for their stash. They may then pick up supplies as needed throughout the winter.
Cashen also wants his customers to know that the dirt left on the vegetables at the sale is intentional, and not just a marketing ploy to reinforce the idea that all is farm-fresh! Root vegetables retain more flavor and stay fresher if allowed to rest with the dirt still on them. In the depth of winter, maybe that whiff of earth, along with the flavors of these delicious local vegetables, will help you get through until spring.
The Farm at Miller’s Crossing
81 Roxbury Road, Hudson; 518.851.2331
Bulk Sale: Saturday, November 1, 10 - 2
Cash or check only
Mexican food update: The kitchen at Picante Uno in Valatie is now open, serving tamales, tacos, enchiladas and tortas (Mexican sandwiches). The menu changes daily, at least for now, so call ahead if your heart is set on something specific. Otherwise, take your chances, and try something new. You won’t be disappointed.
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 10/16/08 at 05:24 PM • Permalink
Celery Root —Pretty Ugly!
The have French have a term, “jolie-laide.“ Translated directly, it means “pretty-ugly,“ but it refers to a woman whose beauty is unconventional, not obviously pretty, but who nonetheless possesses an indefinable allure. One might argue the same for the humble celery root, or celeriac. (Some might counter that celery root is merely ugly, not pretty-ugly. Feel free to ignore them.) Celery root’s beauty does take some work to reveal. Lying in the grocery bin, it’s all brown skinned, misshapen orb, with stubby green stems sticking out in all directions like some asymmetrical octopus. While peeling off the knobby skin reveals smooth ivory flesh, most of the celery root’s beauty is in its subtle, unique flavor. Raw or cooked, its taste is an earthy combination of celery and parsley. The flesh, when cooked, has the texture and substance of a potato. It’s also a nutritional goldmine: high in vitamin C and B6, lots of fiber, and very little starch.
True to form, the French are great appreciators of celery root. Shredded on a mandolin, it is the basis for the bistro classic céleri rémoulade, a simple salad with a mustard-y dressing. The traditional version has a mayonnaise base, but I like the simpler (and lighter) translation outlined below. If you are looking for a hot side dish, try boiling peeled celery root along with potatoes and puree for a more sophisticated take on mashed potatoes. Either of these dishes is delicious alongside roast chicken or salmon. For a fancier meal, I love to serve a pureed soup made of celery root, chestnuts and cream, with a surprising hit of maple syrup and vinegar. This latter recipe is something I serve at Thanksgiving every year—consider adding it to your menu. (And if you haven’t already, you may want to pre-order a heritage turkey—or two—from local Turkana Farms. Their flavorful birds are not to be missed.)
Chilled Celery Root in Mustard Sauce (adapted from The Gourmet Cookbook, Houghton Mifflin 2004)
Serves 4
1 large celery root, peeled with a paring knife, not a peeler, and cut into matchsticks (easiest on a mandolin)
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
Dressing:
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1-1/2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
1-1/2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
pinch of sugar
salt and freshly ground black pepper
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons flat-leaf parsley, minced
Toss the celery root, salt and 2 tablespoons of lemon juice in a bowl. Marinate, covered, for 30 minutes to one hour (either at room temperature or in the refrigerator.)
Make the dressing by whisking together the mustard, lemon juice, vinegar, sugar and salt and pepper to taste in a small bowl. Add the the oil in a slow stream, whisking until emulsified.
Drain the celery root and return it to the bowl. Pour the dressing over and toss to combine. Refrigerate, covered, for at least an hour. Sprinke with the parsley before serving.
Celery Root and Chestnut Puree (adapted from Florence Fabricant’s adaptation of a Jean-Georges Vongerichten recipe, originally published in the New York Times )
8 small servings
2 celery roots, about 2 pounds total, peeled and cut in chunks
1 can chestnut puree (unsweetened—the cans contain 15.5 oz—I use the Clement Faugier brand)
1 cup heavy cream
Salt
½ cup maple syrup
¼ cup red wine vinegar
¼ teaspoon ground allspice
¼ teaspoon ground cloves
Freshly ground white pepper
Place celery root in a saucepan with 3 2/3 cups water and the heavy cream. Add 1 teaspoon salt, or to taste, bring to a simmer and cook until celery root is very tender, about 35 minutes.
While celery root cooks, combine maple syrup, vinegar, allspice and cloves in a small saucepan. Bring to a simmer, and remove from heat.
When celery root is tender, purée contents of saucepan. Stir in the chestnut puree, reheat and season to taste with salt and white pepper. Remove from heat and cover until ready to serve. If the soup is too thick, you can thin it with more cream, milk or water to taste.
To serve, pour 1½ tablespoons of warm maple syrup mixture in each of 8 teacups. Reheat soup and ladle over syrup. Serve at once. —Paige Orloff
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 10/09/08 at 06:07 AM • Permalink
Making Peace with Beets
I seem to have an issue with beets. In theory, I like them. I’ve been known to order the ubiquitous “roasted beets with goat cheese” salad in restaurants. I even grow them in my own sorry garden. But somehow, they accumulate. The thought of peeling them, staining my fingers, the sink, the butcher block, always deters me from making them. Planning a dinner party last week, I rummaged through my refrigerator’s produce drawer for inspiration only to find three lovely bunches from my farm share, ignored and untouched. That salad crossed my mind…but I was planning to serve sauteed broccoli rabe and salsa verde to accompany roasted halibut already, and—well, I wanted to create something new.
Inventing recipes is a tricky business, especially when you’re hoping to serve the results to guests and don’t have a back-up plan. But it’s also one of the great joys of becoming a cook: As you learn more about technique and flavor, you develop intuition—the thing that lets you read a recipe and know that you’d like it better with the addition of thyme, or not quite so much garlic. Or that you could achieve the same results (or, more importantly, results that will satisfy you) through a shortcut or two. This isn’t to say that all recipes should be mucked about with; the New York Times ran a sniffy (and very funny) article a few years ago about the horrors of interpretation and revision of professionally-developed recipes by amateur cooks, as evidenced by readers’ comments on food websites. Comments like, “I didn’t have any fresh garlic so I just substituted garlic salt and mayonnaise, and my pesto turned out great!“ That kind of thing.
Since I wanted a first course, but not a salad, I thought of soup. I did check a couple of cookbooks, but found nothing. Beet plus soup always seems to equal borscht, but I didn’t want to make borscht. (Truthfully, and this is embarrassing, I didn’t want to make it because I’ve actually never eaten it—ridiculous in any case, and certainly for someone with a Russian last name.) I knew I wanted a light puree. It had to be vegetarian, to suit my dinner guests. I decided to forge ahead on my own, assuming that the worst that would happen would be that I’d have a pot of something that I would feed to my chickens instead of my friends.
Avowed beet lovers always say that roasting is the ticket: to peel a roasted beet is less messy than the same process with a raw one, they swear. I washed and trimmed two or three pounds of beets, and threw them into a roasting pan with a head of garlic, figuring that roasted garlic makes almost everything taste better. By evening, I had a sweet and tangy, bright ruby puree which I served in small bowls, piping hot. A dollop of creme fraiche and a drizzle of balsamic made it look more complicated than it was, and everyone drained their bowls. This is definitely a first course soup—not a hearty main course. But it may just have cured my beet-avoidance problem. I might even try my hand at borscht.
Beet Soup with Roasted Garlic
Serves 6 as a first course
2 1/2 - 3 pounds of beets, well scrubbed and trimmed of their greens
1 head of garlic—no need to peel
7 cups vegetable stock (I had homemade in the fridge; the boxed stuff would be fine.)
2-3 T balsamic vinegar, plus a bit more for serving
salt and pepper
extra virgin olive oil
creme fraiche or sour cream for serving
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Place the beets and garlic in a roasting pan and drizzle with extra virgin olive oil—about a tablespoon, maybe two, should do it.
Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and place in the oven for around 45 minutes, or until you can easily pierce the beets with a fork.
Remove from the oven and allow to cool.
Wearing gloves if you’re fastidious, remove the charred skins from the beets. Small bits may still cling; that’s ok. Get off as much as you can.
Pop the roasted garlic cloves from their skins.
Put the beets and garlic into a deep saucepan and add the stock. Bring to a boil, and then reduce heat so that the liquid simmers. Simmer uncovered for 45 minutes or until the beets are really, really tender.
Remove the beets from the liquid and puree in a food processor or blender. Return the puree to the stock and stir to combine. Add 2 tablespoons of balsamic vinegar (or more to taste) as well as salt and pepper to taste.
(For a more refined, less rustic soup, run the entire puree through a chinois—a fine mesh conical strainer—or a food mill. This will remove any stray bits of skin still remaining.)
Serve hot, with a teaspoon or so of creme fraiche on top of the serving, and a tiny drizzle of balsamic over that.
(This is also quite good served cold the next day.) —Paige Orloff
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 10/01/08 at 08:02 AM • Permalink
Step One: Poach a Chicken
In uncertain times (is there any greater understatement?), comfort food can do wonders, if only for a moment. A shared meal soothes frazzled nerves, and creates a sense of communal pleasure and ease. For some, mac ‘n cheese is the ultimate. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, too, but as a pasta-avoider, I find that chicken, preferably moist and brothy, is my first choice. In the past, this typically meant chicken stew baked with biscuits, or homemade chicken soup. But lately, my whole family is loving something more exotic: a dish that, like those two familiar staples, begins with a chicken (or two) poached in water and aromatics. This new version, first published in “Minimalist” chef Mark Bittman’s wonderful New York Times blog Bitten, gives the poached chicken a flavorful Asian interpretation. Soy sauce and wine supplement water as the poaching liquid, and instead of bay leaf, onions and carrots, ginger, star anise and scallions step in.
No one can convince me that poached chicken is a particularly pretty dish. Even Julia Child was known to hide hers under aspic or creamy sauces. Bittman tries to solve the aesthetic problem by taking the poached bird from its bathwater and placing it in a hot oven to return the skin to a crisper, more appealing state. The recipe prepared as written is delicious, and worth trying. But to save time, I skip that last step. I also use a gadget that for years made me cringe and avert my eyes—a pressure cooker.
The simplify-your-life blog Unclutterer has a snarky weekly feature about appliances they term “unitaskers”—ice cream makers make the list, as do lever pull wine openers and electric juicers. (I own all three—I am lucky to have lots of cabinet space.) I’m not sure what they’d say about pressure cookers, but I remained a skeptic for many years. My mother, a great acquirer of gadgetry, once forcefully passed along a pressure cooker of uncertain provenance and indeterminate age. She insisted that I would love using it, but I was pretty sure it would explode if I actually attempted to make anything in it. I finally donated it to Goodwill when we moved from California to Upstate New York two years ago. This month, driven by the desire to can tomatoes and plums, the suspicion that I might poison people if I just used the hot water bath method, and a well-timed email blast from SmartBargains.com, I bought a new Fagor pressure cooker. I haven’t tried canning with it yet but it’s already proven its worth by making a great recipe not only faster, but better.
Pressure cookers are essentially steamers on steroids. The tight seal of the pot creates pressure which makes liquids boil at a higher temperature. All that extra-hot steam stays inside the pot, tenderizing the food. You wouldn’t want to cook broccoli in one of these, unless you’re looking to recreate the mushy elementary school cafeteria version of yore. But for meats and grains, this thing is a wonder. The recipe that follows is great as is, but made in a pressure cooker, the result is even more tender, moist and deeply flavored. If you don’t own a pressure cooker—no worries—I give directions for both methods below, and neither will disappoint.
Alongside, serve steamed long grain rice (I make mine—sorry—in a rice cooker, and like to add a few smashed and peeled cloves of garlic for flavor) and greens (tat soi and baby bok choy are both in season, and delicious) quickly sauteed until tender with a teaspoon or two of store-bought black bean sauce (Guido’s carries Lee Kum Kee brand)—an instant Chinese dinner for the lazy.
Soy-Poached Roast Chicken (adapted from Mark Bittman)
Serves 4
Don’t let the exotic ingredients deter you from trying this! Some can be hard to source locally, but I have had fantastic results using supermarket soy sauce, white sugar, and a bottle of riesling in place of the mei kuei lu chiew wine.
3 cups mushroom-flavored soy sauce, or any dark soy sauce
3 cups mei kuei lu chiew or any floral off-dry white wine, like gewurztraminer or muscat
2 star anise
1 14-ounce box yellow rock sugar, crushed, or 1 cup white sugar
3 ounces ginger (about a 5-inch knob), cut into slices and bruised with side of knife
2 bunches of scallions
1 chicken, 3-4 pounds
Non-pressure cooker method:
In stockpot or narrow 6-quart pot, combine soy sauce, wine, 2 cups water, star anise, sugar and ginger. Bring to rolling boil. Add one bunch of scallions. Lower chicken gently and slowly into liquid, breast side down.
Bring back to boil, partially cover, and cook steadily for 20 minutes. Turn off heat, and turn chicken over. Let sit covered in hot liquid 15 minutes.
If you plan to brown the cooked chicken, preheat oven to 500 degrees.
Carefully remove chicken from liquid, and put in skillet or roasting pan. Roast 5 minutes, or until nicely browned; keep an eye on it—it can burn easily.
Carve to serve, with or without skin according to preference.
Pressure cooker method:
Combine all ingredients, save one bunch of scallions, in the pressure cooker. Make sure to put the chicken in breast-side down.
Close and lock the top according to directions, and bring to a boil.
Set pressure to high (again, following manufacturer’s directions) and cook for 25 minutes.
Release the pressure using the quick release method (again, follow the directions), and remove chicken to a platter to carve. It will be falling apart tender—you may have to fish fallen-off wings and legs out of the cooking liquid.
Remove the skin, and carve the tender meat into serving pieces.
Both:
Trim and mince remaining bunch of scallions.
Reheat liquid if necessary. Top the sliced chicken with a few spoonfuls of sauce, and sprinkle with half the scallions. Put remaining scallions into a cup of sauce and serve at the table.
Note: You can reuse the liquid—it improves with each use. Bittman suggests that you strain it and replace the ginger, scallions and star anise each time, adding extra liquid. He also recommends freezing it between uses, or refrigerating it and bringing it to a rolling boil every few days. I do strain mine, but I neither freeze nor reboil it other than when I am making the dish. I add additional soy sauce and wine, as needed, in the original proportions, though the pressure cooker does an excellent job of conserving the liquid. —Paige Orloff
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 09/23/08 at 02:25 PM • Permalink
Fiesta Mexicana: Viva Carnitas!
Jackie Stoddard, the unofficial mayor of Latino Columbia County
As a former (Los) Angeleno newly transplanted to the northeast, one of the things I (and my family) have pined for is Mexican food: authentic, great, Mexican food, which, sadly, can be hard to come by in this otherwise bountiful neck of the woods. But as I’ve settled in here, I’ve found ways to sate my appetite for the fresh guacamole, pork carnitas, soft chicken tacos and margaritas that are staples of California Mexican. Between my own cooking, aided by a lovely Mexican market in Valatie, Picante Uno, and a local restaurant, Destino, that gets it mostly right, my family’s homesickness may just have found its cure.
My husband says I’ve become a better cook since our move here eighteen months ago, and while I’m not sure I agree (I thought I was pretty good before!) I have definitely expanded my repertoire. A few weeks ago, the craving for Mexican became so intense that I decided to try my hand at making pork carnitas for the first time. Definitions of this classic recipe differ. Everyone seems to agree that the meat, usually cubes of pork shoulder, should be cooked slowly, but some call for chunks of meat to be served crisp, browned in their own fat, while others offer the meat simmered until falling apart, sauced in its aromatic braise. Either way, the dish hits some primal urge (at least in carnivores) for the combination of salty and unctuous that great pork dishes (hello, bacon?) seem to deliver best. Alongside, you want warmed corn tortillas, homemade tomatillo salsa, chopped onion and cilantro, and whatever guacamole you have leftover from serving to your guests with their cocktails. Rice and black beans are another easy addition (and good if you’re expecting vegetarians.) As a bonus, if you are lucky enough to have leftovers, carnitas can be used to make a quickie version of pozole, a spicy pork and hominy soup, not at all heavy and perfect for yet another casual fall dinner.
For those ready to experiment with Mexican at home, a local grocery, small but well-stocked, can provide authentic ingredients. Located in a brand-new storefront on Valatie’s ever-more-charming Main Street, Picante Uno offers a wide selection of Mexican ingredients (better-than-supermarket tortillas, herbs and chiles, canned goods, dried beans, Mexican cheeses and even some produce). In a few weeks, when the in-house kitchen is completed, the market will also again offer tacos and delicious homemade tamales to go, as well as catering larger orders for dishes including tamales (meat or vegetarian), enchiladas, rice and beans, guacamole and more. Picante Uno’s owner, Jackie Stoddard, runs the store along with her sister, Erica Rivera. After nearly seven years in business, Picante Uno has found a niche as both a market and an ad hoc community center for Columbia County’s Latino population. “At first,“ says Jackie, remembering the shop’s early days, “I didn’t sell anything.“ She was ready to give up, but her mother, who owns a business in Veracruz, where Jackie grew up, encouraged her to keep at it. “She told me I had to give it two years to turn a profit.“ When she started to supplement groceries with her own take-out foods—tamales and tacos, primarily—things picked up. Soon, she found herself at the center of the area’s Central American community, providing services ranging from wiring money overseas to helping people find jobs, and employers find workers. When a Guatemalan man came into the store, looked around and said, “I feel at home here,“ Jackie says she knew her business was about more than food. But both Jackie and Erica are delighted to help less-knowledgeable cooks make their way through a selection of ingredients, from staples to seasonings, that put Mexican home cooking within reach. Jackie coached me on how to improve my own version of carnitas—while making me promise I’d come back to try hers once the kitchen reopens. Prices are extremely reasonable, and Jackie is eager to help the uninitiated understand the tremendous variety within Mexican cuisine. She says first-time customers often come in looking for hard-shelled tacos with lettuce and cheese. Laughing, she explains that they can be skeptical when she offers them her version, with soft tortillas, spiced meat, chopped onions and cilantro. “Sometimes they only buy one—but then they come back.“
I’ve found myself coming back to a restaurant I initially resisted, mainly for fear of disappointment. After trying just about every other Mexican joint in the area, I’ve settled on one that, while not perfect, meets not only my needs but those of my equally-Mex-starved kids. To say that Chatham’s Destino received mixed reviews when it opened last year would be kind, and as a result, I waited, and waited, and waited to try it. I couldn’t bear to again experience the disappointment I’ve felt at both Hudson’s Mexican Radio and Great Barrington’s Xicohtencatl,. At both, sadly, I find the food inauthentic, occasionally over-ambitious, and overpriced. (Though on a positive note, both do a fine job with their margaritas. You can have a happy time at either restaurant with chips and salsa and a drink, and I love the exuberant decor at both, especially in the gray depths of winter.) This summer, desperate for a family-friendly, close-to-home margarita, my husband and I decided to brave the unknown, and we’ve since returned to Destino multiple times. I won’t pretend to review the restaurant, because we never venture far from our favorites on the menu: The margarita de la casa, rocks, salt. (Our kids love virgin versions of the strawberry, mango and blueberry margaritas.) Soft chicken tacos. (Although I prefer a taco where the the meat is dry rather than sauced, Destino’s tomato-ey version is delicious.) Savory chicken enchiladas (go for the tomatillo sauce, not the too-sweet and under-seasoned mole.) And if they are on the menu, try the pork carnitas—whether in a tostada or taco, they are very satisfying. Everything is served with nicely seasoned rice that is never gummy, and perfectly cooked black beans, which we like to doctor with some of the house-made hot sauce (you have to ask for it, and unless you’re really brave or crazy, start with the mild version and work up). The guacamole is also usually very good, just the right texture, with chunks of avocado throughout, and served with homemade chips that when fresh, are great. And desserts shine—the key lime pie, in particular, is fantastic. On a busy night (say, Saturday) at Destino, the food and service can suffer, but at quieter times (like Sunday night, when we often go), it’s delicious, reasonably priced, and has conscientious, friendly service.
After eighteen months in the region, it’s a comfort to finally find familiar comida that just might get me through our second winter. Margarita, anyone?
Pork Carnitas with Homemade Tomatillo Salsa (adapted from Rey Villalobos in Bon Appetit, Sept. 2008)
serves 10
2 Tbsps achiote paste (available at Picante Uno)
8 garlic cloves, peeled
1 jalapeno chile, seeded, chopped coarsely
1/2 cup cider vinegar
3/4 cup orange juice
3/4 cup lime juice
1/2 cup chopped fresh cilantro (with stems)
1 Tbsp. kosher salt
1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
5 pounds boneless pork shoulder or fresh ham, cut into 2 inch cubes
20 corn tortillas (try the ones at Picante Uno)
Grilled salsa verde
Chopped white onion
Chopped cilantro
Puree first nine ingredients in the blender. Toss puree with chunks of pork and mix to coat.
Place pork in a dutch oven with enough water to cover. Bring to a boil and then turn heat down to a slow simmer.
Cover and cook for about 2 hours, until the pork is falling-apart tender. (Add water during the cooking process if the meat threatens to get dry.)
Remove pork from liquid if necessary to coarsely shred. Season to taste with salt, pepper, and add cooking liquid to moisten.
To make ahead, cool the cooked pork in its juice and refrigerate, covered. Before serving, rewarm on the stove over low to medium heat.
Warm the tortillas on a flat griddle, heated very hot then turned to low. Warm each tortilla on each side for a couple of minutes, until soft, then reserve wrapped in a cloth napkin (adding each new tortilla as it comes off the grill) and serve in a bowl, still wrapped in the napkin to preserve the heat. You can butter each tortilla a bit, if you like, as you griddle them, but it’s not necessary.
Serve tortillas, a platter of the meat, and bowls of onion and cilantro and tomatillo salsa (recipe follows) to sprinkle on top as guests form their own tacos.
Homemade Tomatillo Salsa
Nonstick vegetable oil spray
2 pounds tomatillos, husked and rinsed (availabe at Picanto Uno or Guido’s)
1 cup coarsely chopped cilantro
juice of 2 limes
1 jalapeno chile, halved and seeded
kosher salt
Spray grill racks (a stovetop grill works fine) with nonstick spray. Heat to medium high, and grill tomatilos until softened and charred in spots. Transfer to food processor, and add remaining ingredients. Process to desired thickness and taste for salt.
Quick and Dirty Posole
serves 4
Posole actually refers to the dried corn (like hominy) used in this pork stew in Mexico. This simple version uses canned hominy, to great result.
2 Tbsps. canola oil
1 white onion, chopped
leftover pork carnitas—at least 1-1/2 cups
2 15 oz. cans white hominy, drained
4 - 6 cups vegetable broth, chicken broth, water or a combination
1 tsp. ground cumin
1 Tbsp. canned chipotle chiles in adobo sauce
salt to taste
chopped cilantro
Heat the canola oil in a large dutch oven and add the onion. Saute until soft. Add the pork, the cumin and the chiles and stir to combine. Saute two minutes more over low-medium heat, and then add the hominy and the broth to cover. Simmer for 30 minutes to allow flavors to blend. Salt to taste, and serve with chopped cilantro on top. —Paige Orloff
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 09/17/08 at 07:36 AM • Permalink
Recipes: Cocktail Hour Treat
Tri-flavor version, almost ready to pop under the broiler.
I’m thinking about retiring the ubiquitous cheese plate to its rightful place at the end of a meal. I love cheese, make no mistake, and it’s ever-present at my house when I entertain. But lately, I want something new—and warm—to serve to guests as they arrive. Socca (as it’s known in France—in Italy, it’s farinata) is an impossibly easy, pizza-like snack, concocted of no more than chickpea flour, water, salt, extra virgin olive oil and the toppings of your choice. The dish is ubiquitous in Nice, in the south of France, and in Liguria, in northern Italy; in both places, it is traditionally eaten as a morning snack by workmen (as well as hungry and happy tourists).
I discovered socca thanks to a long-ago food magazine article about cookbook guru (and part-time Columbia County resident) Madhur Jaffrey and her then-new book, World Vegetarian (Potter, 1999). Her recipe for something called “Chickpea Flour Pizza” intrigued me; mostly, I think, because I’d never heard of chickpea flour (also known as besan, gram, or cici, depending upon where in the world you are when you speak of it). Over the years, I’ve made this recipe dozens of times, varying the flavorings that go atop the ultra-simple base: onions, finely chopped, with rosemary and grated parmesan; diced tomato with a chiffonade of fresh basil; and my newest favorite, sliced kalamata olives, crumbled blue cheese and chopped fresh sage. As a bonus, this dish is high in protein, relatively low in fat, and a great, satisfying treat for carb-phobes: chickpea flour has about two-thirds the total carbohydrates of the same amount of wheat flour, but with almost four times more fiber.
The whole thing comes together nearly instantly: You mix chickpea flour (the Bob’s Red Mill brand is available at Guido’s, or, if you’re more adventurous than I, you could also attempt to make your own, then combine it with water, and salt and allow the batter to sit, so the flour absorbs the liquid. After 30 minutes, during which time you’ve preheated your broiler and prepared your flavorings, you give it a stir, heat a skillet on the stove, add some olive oil and the batter. Toppings go on a few minutes later, and then the whole thing gets a fast turn under the broiler to brown and bubble. Done. Serve. Relax. Unless, of course, your guests send you back to the kitchen, hungry for more.
Socca (adapted from Madhur Jaffrey’s World Vegetarian)
2/3 cups chickpea (garbanzo bean) flour
1 cup water
1 generous pinch kosher or coarse sea salt
2 T extra virgin olive oil
freshly ground pepper
Toppings (amounts for each version below are to top the entire socca—you could also make less of each, and divide your pie between two or even three different flavors):
Onion and Rosemary:
2 T chopped fresh rosemary leaves
1/3 cup finely chopped red or yellow onion (or more to taste)
1/4 cup freshly grated parmesan
Tomato and Basil:
2 T fresh basil leaves, sliced thinly
1 small ripe tomato, diced
Olive and Blue cheese:
1 T minced fresh sage
1/3 cup kalamata olives, pitted and quartered lengthwise
1/3 cup crumbled mild blue cheese
Stir the flour, salt and water together in a medium-sized bowl, using a whisk to get out all the lumps. Leave to rest at room temperature for 30 minutes (longer is fine, too, though you should probably cover it and refrigerate.)
Preheat the broiler with the rack about three inches underneath the heat.
Put olive oil in a 10-12 inch skillet (non stick is easiest, but not absolutely necessary) and heat over medium heat until the oil starts to shimmer.
Give the batter a stir and pour into the skillet. Sprinkle in whichever herb you’re using, and add a good grinding of fresh pepper. Allow to cook for about four minutes, until the batter starts to bubble a bit. It will begin to look brown around the edges and firmer in the middle. Add the other toppings, and cook one minute more before transferring to the broiler. Broil for four or five minutes, until the socca is golden brown. Serve hot, either cut into wedges like a pizza or into small squares.
Serves four to six, depending upon appetites. —Paige Orloff
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Posted by Marilyn Bethany on 09/10/08 at 07:30 AM • Permalink
