Easy Recipes

Sometimes I give myself ideas by accident. A few weeks ago I was writing an ode/guideline to the classic potato latke for our local paper. I wanted to sing the praises of simplicity, contrasting its potato perfection against all the ridiculous, nouveau-what-have-you variations. So I wrote that my classic potato latke could hold its own against the frou-frou trimmings of a latke with...say... caramelized leeks, hashed parsnips, and... oh, feta and sweet potatoes. I smirked a little. And then I looked at what I wrote. And then I got hungry. Challenge accepted!

 

I am a staunch defender of the unstylish, the unhip. Its a policy born of multiple impulses. Mostly because its just not me —I have a remarkably deaf ear to such fashions. But even if I had the leisure time/funds to pursue them, I also just happen like things a wee bit stodgy. I give an admiring thumbs up to the expertly dressed, but my heart goes out to the underdog in last years (or, perhaps, last decades) soft-worn standards. And so, when I heard so much abuzz in the food world over the New Nordic cuisine, my root-for-the-little-guy impulses kicked in — what about the Old Nordic?


And so I dug up some comfy old unstylish examples of Nordic cuisine. No fancy kitchen gear, no fancy foraged ingredients. Just some rye flour and root vegetables, smoked fish and brown bread. And it was great. You can read more about these recipes over at NPRs Kitchen Window.

I am totally loving on zucchini this summer. I have been making versions of this summer stir-fry, shaving it into long thin ribbons, and (more often than not) stewing it with garlic and olive oil forever, until it just slumps into deliciousness. And I also made this cornbread.

I have long been a fan of the many uses of zucchini, and how its flaws are actually its assets, if you just look at them in the right light. Like you know how it has a fairly subtle flavor, and can be kinda watery? Well, that just means you can easily slip it into your cornbread, where it adds a gentle green note, and keeps things tender and moist. I know, right?

This recipe is a fairly standard quickbread, though it goes a step further and browns the butter for a nutty taste ( a step I always recommend taking). The end result is somewhere between cornbread and zucchini bread, and a nice welcome change from either of the two. While less desserty than zucchini bread, it definitely falls on the sweeter end of the cornbread spectrum — but after a childhood relationship with doughnut shop corn muffins, thats how I like it (I even play up the subtle sweetness a bit more with a sanding of sugar across the top). Its a delicious snack to go with your afternoon tea (or iced tea, depending on the weather), and paired with a handful of blackberries or slice of cheese it makes for a perfect summer breakfast.

And if youd like to hear me say more kind words about zucchini, you can check out this intervew I did with No Chefs Allowed, over on Heritage Radio. Complete with ummms and upspeak and awkward oh-do-I-talk-now? pauses. It turns out being interviewed on the radio is totally nervous-making. Who knew?


Brown Butter Zucchini Cornbread

from Bon Appetit, via Epicurious
yields 1 loaf

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, plus additional for greasing pan
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 large eggs

The best doughnut is a fresh doughnut. I know, I dont have to tell you that. But this might be news: the best hour-or-so-old doughnut? Thats a cake doughnut.

So doughnuts come in two main forms: yeasted and cake doughnuts. Even if you dont think you know the difference, you probably do. Yeasted doughnuts are airy and fluffy (from, you guessed it, yeast), the fried pillows that you find filled with custard or jelly. And cake doughnuts are, well, a bit cakier, a bit firmer. The kind you find at the apple orchard.

As a rule, I love the fluffy pillow of a yeasted doughnut best of all. But heres the thing: yeasted doughnuts do not age well. At all. After they cool down, theyre just sad pillows of air and grease. But cake doughnuts? They hold up great. Sure, theyre best hot from the oil. But even the next morning, their sturdier crumb (sturdier-yet-still-somewhat-delicate, mind you) still makes for a fine accompaniment to your morning coffee — especially if youve rolled them in some cinnamon sugar to sop up the grease. And so, when I wanted to bring some doughnuts to a Hanukkah party, and that party was being held more than half an hour from my kitchen, I decided to make up a batch of cake doughnuts.

These are dangerously delicious. The liquid in the dough comes from boiled-down cider and buttermilk, which are both baking perfection. The apple flavor comes through (thanks to the concentration), but subtle enough to play nicely with the other spices. There is some fussing involved — the dough must be par-frozen and then chilled — but the delicate handling of a soft dough yields doughnuts that are toothsome-yet-light. Theyre amazing straight from the pan. But even a few hours later at a party? Theyre pretty amazing as well.

And if youre looking for another greasy treat to enjoy this holiday season, I can direct you toward a recent story about spinach and cheese boyos. They come with their own rich tradition (and their own lashings of oil), over at NPR. Happy Hanukkah!


Apple Cider Doughnuts

adapted from Lauren Dawson at Hearth Restaurant, via the Washington Post
yields 18 doughnuts (and doughnut holes)

1 cup apple cider
3 1/2 cups flour, plus additional for the work surface
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ground nutmeg
3/4 teaspoon coarse salt
4 tablespoons butter, warmed to room temperature
1 cup sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk (if you dont have, you can substitute an equivalent amount of milk with a hefty splash of cider vinegar, or, if youre frying for dairy-free folks, cider vinegar plus coconut milk is a crazy good substitute)

oil for frying
1 cup sugar tossed with 1 heaping spoonful cinnamon to finish

Start by reducing the cider: Pour into a saucepan, and bring to a boil over a medium-high heat. Reduce until its just high enough to maintain a rolling simmer, and let cook off until reduced to 1/4 cup, ~20 minutes. Set aside to cool.

In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt. Set aside.

Fit a mixer with a paddle attachment, and beat together the softened butter and sugar for a few minutes, until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one by one, stopping to scrape down the sides. Add the boiled-down cider and buttermilk, mix until well combined, then add the flour mixture and stir on low until the mixture just comes together — do not overmix!

Line two sheet trays with parchment or waxed paper, and sprinkle generously with flour. Turn the dough out onto one of the sheets, sprinkle with a bit more flour, and pat/roll until its 1/2-inch thick. Transfer the tray to the freezer until it firms up slightly, ~20 minutes.

Remove from the freezer, and round up some dough cutters (Dawson recommends 3-inch rounds, but I used my 2-1/4-inch round cutter for the doughnuts, and a well-cleaned cap from a bottle of Campari for the holes). Cut out the shapes, and transfer to the other tray. Mush the scraps together, re-roll, and cut out the remainder. Move the tray to the refrigerator, and let relax there for 20-30 minutes.

When the dough is nearing the end of its relaxing time, heat a few inches of high-heat oil in a large pan (I used my cast iron Dutch oven) over a medium-high heat to 350 degrees. Prepare a rack for the cooked doughnuts, or a plate lined with paper towels or brown paper (I ripped up a few grocery bags). Mix together the sugar and cinnamon in a bowl.

When the oil is hot, add a test doughnut. It should become brown on the first side in about 60 seconds, and on the second side in a little less. If it passes this test, add a round of doughnuts. Cook until brown, flip, and fry until brown on the second side. Transfer to your prepared tray/rack, let drain/cool for a moment, then transfer to the sugar-cinnamon mixture. Coat with the mixture on each side. Enjoy hot, or not.

 Yes, I have promised you stories of European adventure. And yes, there are constant reminders that I am far from Portland. Traditional dancers and musicians piped their way through the streets shortly after I dropped my bags. Breakfast consists of bowls of milky sweet coffee, with crusts of last night´s bread crumbled in. I have held five-day-old rabbits that peed in my hand, and politely declined the offer of a walking stick during a farm stroll, only to be informed that it was in fact a pushing-back-cows stick. I will be terribly sad to leave.

But as for cooking, and taking pictures of said food, I´ve been a bit remiss. And it´s not for lack of amazing food. The first evening brought a lovely potato tortilla and croquettes, but after 18 hours of travel I wasn´t really following what was happening. Last night I ate dinner that was cooked on an actual wood-fired stove, but given that my inability to speak Basque was enough of an imposition, I decided not to make things worse by sticking my camera around. I promise salt cold aplenty to come, but for now, I´ll tell you about the snacks I baked in Portland and carried with me.

If you´re looking to represent America abroad, it´s hard to go wrong with chocolate chip cookies. And if you´re looking to make chocolate chip cookies, it´s hard to go wrong with a buttery dough, aged for a few nights in the fridge. And, per my latest obsession, bolstered with rye flour.

When this chocolate chip cookie recipe first surfaced, it seemed like perfection. Take the usual easy-peasy formula, wait a few days, and almost by magic the dough develops a caramel-like depth. But after writing an article about the wonders of rye flour, I couldn´t help but swap some into this formula (cutting the amount down just a wee bit, to account for the moisture-absorbing prowess of rye´s whole grain). And the result is just lovely, my all-time favorite. It has been politely demanded that I bake more before my departure. If only the Basque Country sold rye flour...


Chocolate Chip Cookies with Rye Flour


adapted from Jacques Torres in The New York Times
yields 2-4 dozen cookies, depending upon size, and must be made at least 1 day before baking

4 1/4 ounces bread flour, 1 1/3 cups (I feared this could yield a tough consistency, but it´s called for in the original, and nicely offsets rye´s minimal gluten, though it´d probably be fine without)
4 ounces rye flour, 1 heaping cup
1/2 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp baking powder
3/4 tsp coarse salt
10 Tbsp unsalted butter, softened to room temperature
5 ounces (2/3 cup) brown sugar, packed
4 ounces (1/2 cup plus 1 Tbsp) granulated sugar
1 large egg
1 tsp vanilla
1 4-ounce bar (or more) chocolate of your choosing, chopped into small cubes and bits

Sift together the bread flour, rye flour, soda, powder and salt. Set aside.

Place the butter in a mixer or large bowl, and beat together with the sugars until very light. Add the egg and vanilla, and stir until well combined. Add the flour mixture, stir until just mixed, and then add the chocolate and stir to distribute evenly. Place in a bag or covered container, and chill 2-3 days.

When you´re ready to bake, preheat your oven to 350 degrees, and line a few baking sheets with parchment (or grease them well and hope for the best). Scoop the dough out into cookies -- Torres favors large cookies for a nice crisp-outside-gooey-inside consistency, but I find you can arrive at something similar if you make small cookies and watch them like a hawk.

Bake until golden brown yet soft, 10-15 minutes depending upon cookie size. Let the cookies cool on the sheet for a couple minutes until they firm up enough for you to move them, then transfer to a rack to cool completely (it´s difficult to end up with soft cookies if you don´t pull them soon enough). Devour when warm, with milk, or let cool fully and pack them in an airtight container for your travels.

During a college car trip back in the 90s, a friend put on a cassette from the band Mazzy Star. It was a nice album, every song awash with a thrummy base of swirling guitars, and sleepy, slurry vocals layered on top. After a few songs that riffed on this theme, my friend Noah turned to me. "You know," he observed, "they have a really good sound. But the problem with having a particular sound is that all your songs, they kinda sound the same." I think his assessment is pretty spot-on for that particular flavor of early-90s alternative rock. And its also pretty much how I feel about kale.

To back up, I am a big fan of kale. Huge. I think its lovely, and I think everyone should eat a lot of it (as I try to advertise). Its got a really good sound, so to speak, all full of nutrient-rich dark-green leafy goodness. But the thing is, Im not always up for that big pile of brassica. And for a while, thats all I thought kale could be. But recently, Ive learned how to make kale sing a different song.

The secret turns out to be balance: pairing kale with ingredients that dont overpower it, but join forces to steer it in an interesting new direction. In this case, kale is sauteed up with some olive oil and garlic, and then laid down on top of an uncooked pizza crust (I find that a whole wheat dough is particularly good at standing up to the strong flavor of kale). Its then topped with walnuts to give a nutty depth, funky blue cheese to spark it up, and a handful of thinly-sliced onions that will soften invitingly. All of these strong and pungent flavors hold their own, and combine with kale to make a beautifully balanced pie. While I easily get overwhelmed by pots of plain kale, I could eat this pizza every week -- its a song I never get tired of hearing.


Kale Pizza with Blue Cheese and Walnuts

yields 2 pizzas

2 balls pizza dough (~10 ounces each, preferably whole wheat)
2 Tbsp olive oil, plus more for drizzling
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 large bunch kale, or two smaller bunches (I like Red Russian), washed and dried and roughly chopped
wedge of lemon
flour or semolina for dusting
~1/3 cup roughly chopped walnut halves (do not toast, as theyll brown in the oven)
~1/4 cup crumbled blue cheese
1/2 red or yellow onion, sliced into thin half-moons
salt

Preheat your oven, with a pizza stone if you have, to 500 degrees for an hour. If your pizza dough has been refrigerated, let it sit, covered, at room temperature for about the same amount of time.

While the oven is preheating and the dough is warming, prepare the kale. Heat the olive oil in a large pot over a medium heat. Add the garlic and saute until starting to brown. Add the kale along with a pinch of salt, and saute until softened, covering the pot between stirring to help the kale wilt. When its almost done, squeeze the wedge of lemon over the top and stir to combine. Turn off the heat and set aside.

Place one ball of the pizza dough on a lightly-floured counter top, and press outward into a thick disk (leaving a 1" unpressed area along the edge as the crust). Pick up the disk and let it drape over the backs of your hands, letting gravity help you stretch it into a 12-14" circle. If the dough resists, let it relax for a few minutes, then try again. Place the stretched dough on a peel (or overturned cookie sheet or cutting board) thats lightly dusted with semolina or other type of flour.

Take half the sauteed kale, and sprinkle evenly over the dough. Scatter half the walnuts, half the blue cheese, and half the onions on top. Drizzle lightly with olive oil, and sprinkle with a pinch of salt. Slide the pizza onto the preheated stone in your oven, reduce the heat to 450, and bake ~7-10 minutes, until the crust browns. Remove the pizza from the oven, let cool for a moment, and slice and serve.

At Thanksgiving about a decade ago, my friends 3-year-old nephew was "helping" with the meal. After the dessert plates had been set out, he carefully began laying out a cookie on each plate. An elderly relative tried to halt him, gently explaining that not everyone wanted a cookie. This was mind-blowing information for a 3-year-old to incorporate. "Why dont they want a tookie?" he asked incredulously. "Its just a tookie. Its just sweet."

Even though Ive got something of a grown-ups palate these days (i.e. I no longer dream about purchasing a can of frosting for a birthday meal), I feel the same way about these cookies. Some other desserts, sure. There are desserts for particular palates, or suited to particular meals or seasons. But these cookies are always perfect. Always. Theyve got a thin crisp outer covering which cracks in crags, letting you see the moistness inside. I cant think of the last time I baked cookies that werent these.

Amazingly, this recipe is vegan, missing the eggs and butter which normally give cookies body and flavor. But you would never know. Theyre soft and chocolaty, deeply-flavored and studded with chips. If you know a vegan, or someone who has to avoid dairy, make them these cookies. And if you have friends who do indulge in dairy, they wont know the difference. I know, I know: many vegan and dairy-free recipes make similar claims, but leave you with cookies that crumble, dont spread, or feature a distracting soy or margarine flavor. I promise, these cookies just taste like great cookies. And who doesnt want a cookie?


Chewy Chocolate Chocolate Chip Cookies
adapted from Isa Moskowitz, The Post-Punk Kitchen
makes 4 dozen cookies

In order for you to have nice chewy cookies, youll need to make sure these cookies dont cook beyond 10 minutes. Theyll seem a bit under-done at first, but theyll continue to set outside of the oven. This recipe is easily halved if you dont want the full yield. But you know whats a better idea? Bake the full amount, then freeze any leftovers for a secret stash. We thaw ours in the microwave, but Ive been known to gnaw still-frozen cookies.

4 tsp ground flax seeds (ground to a mealy powder in a spice grinder)
1/2 cup milk or soymilk
2 cups all purpose flour (or finely-milled whole wheat pastry flour)
3/4 cups cocoa powder
1 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
3/4 cup neutral oil (like canola)
2 cups sugar
2 tsp vanilla
1 cup chocolate chips

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Whisk together flax seeds and soymilk, and let sit at least ten minutes (IMPORTANT: this allows the flax seeds to release whatever it is they release into the milk, which binds the cookies into a nice chewy consistency. If they dont sit long enough, youll have disappointingly flat cookies).

In a large bowl, sift together flour, cocoa powder, baking soda and salt. Set aside.

Whisk together oil, sugar and vanilla. Add the flax mixture, and mix well. Fold in the dry ingredients in a few additions, being careful not to overmix. Add chocolate chips.

Form the dough into cookies, either by forming 1" balls with your hands, or scooping them out with a tiny ice cream scoop. Place on a cookie sheet (no need to grease), leaving 1" between cookies. Bake 10 minutes -- no longer! Let set on the sheets for 5 minutes, then move to a wire rack or plate to cook completely.

The good thing about having friends who travel (other than the fetching little terra cotta cazuelas they send back) is getting a source of new culinary inspiration. Earlier in the year, my friends posted a picture of a Berber omelet they enjoyed in Morocco, right on the edge of the Sahara. Seeing the combination of some of my favorite things (namely eggs and olives), I decided to recreate. So I did a little online culinary research (which is sort of like travel, except, you know, not quite as much fun), and came up with a version of my own. And it was fantastic. You can find the recipe, along with my general treatise on the redemption of breakfast-for-dinner, over at NPRs Kitchen Window.

Sometimes you make something for dinner, and wonder why you are not making it almost every week. Like Korean pancakes.

Whats not to love? Theyre easy, easy, easy. They involve one bowl and one pan (well, unless you want to make things quicker and get a few pans going), they have both vegetable and protein, and theyre fairly cheap. And delicious. Id tell you more, but I already did over at The Oregonian. Hello, weeknight inspiration! And if you want to follow your pajeon with a dessert pancake, you can also find the recipe for this swedish saffranspannkaka.


Also if you want a bit more cabbage than the paejon provides, check out my cabbagetastic spread from last week -- also at The Oregonian.

There are some dishes you prepare because they are ridiculously delicious. And others because they are just too pretty for words. And others, like the scandopolitan, because they are just too much fun to say. Seriously. I cant stop. Luckily, this aquavit-based cocktail is delicious as well, in addition to being Christmas-bright, and a good way to use up any leftover schnapps.

Aquavit is definitely something of an acquired taste. Its the traditional booze of Scandinavia, flavored with a variety of spices. The particular combination varies by distillery, but caraway is usually front and center. In my rigid view of the food pantheon, caraway seeds have one acceptable place: rye bread. And the occasional loaf of Irish soda bread. But thats pretty much it. Certainly not in my beverage. And I dont think Im alone in this view. Aquavit can be a hard beverage to like, especially straight up, as its traditionally enjoyed. A few years ago we bought a bottle to celebrate the summer solstice. Come winter, it was still lurking about in the back of our liquor cabinet. Which led to the development of the Scandipolitan.

The basic template for the cocktail, as the name suggests, is shamelessly borrowed from the Cosmopolitan. If you want to go for a full-on Scandinavian theme, you can mix the aquavit with lingonberry juice, made from the cold-climate berries that grow there. But if youd prefer to be a bit more domestic, cranberry juice makes a fine substitute. The remaining ingredients of lime, Triple Sec and seltzer temper the fusty edge of caraway, easing it into a sweet context (much like the aforementioned Irish soda bread). It takes aquavit from something to be thrown back (followed, in my case, by an involuntary full-body shudder) to a drink to be savored. Im still trying to figure out the perfect garnish, since sprigs of lingonberries arent readily available. A twist of liquorice? A few sprays of fresh dill? Skewers of herring? Im open to ideas. Skål!


The Scandopolitan

yields two drinks

feel free to adjust the proportions of sweet Triple Sec (or orange liqueur of your choice) and lime to suit your tastes, and the sweetness and tang of the juice used

2 shots aquavit
2 shots lingonberry juice concentrate (or unsweetened cranberry juice)
1 shot triple sec
juice of 1/2 lime
seltzer

Pour the aquavit, lingonberry juice, triple sec and lime into a shaker with a few cube of ice, and shake until chilled and well combined. Pour over ice into a cocktail glass, with a lollipop (sugared) rim if you like. Top with a bit of seltzer, stir, and enjoy.

Having lived for years with someone who is lactose intolerant, I have a ridiculously low bar for excitement when it comes to dairy products. If a caterer lays out a boring old tray of econo-cheddar and crackers at a reception, my heart thrills. I recently attended a weekend full of gourmet food of all sorts, but what I remember more than anything is a simple buttery grilled cheese. Its possible I have a problem.

But I would wager that, despite the extenuating circumstances, my fascination is not all that unique. Because cheese? It is really, really good. And even though its not usually put at the top of such lists, Id argue that ricotta — good ricotta — is one of the best cheeses of all. And when that ricotta is wrapped in fried eggplant and baked in tomato sauce, well...

I had been lusting over this recipe for a while, and it seemed like the perfect time to give it a try. The last of the summer eggplants and tomatoes are still in the markets, and the rising autumnal chill calls out for just this sort of oven-baked, cheesy warmth (as making a long-baked dish is my favorite tactic for delaying turning on the furnace). I had my doubts about the lemon juice and zest— would it destroy the cheesy comfort with its sourness? But really, its just perfect. Theres no sourness, just a fresh flavor, thats a lovely match for the long-cooked tomato sauce and caramelized eggplant. And, of course, the cheese.


Eggplant Involtini

adapted from Tartine Bread
serves ~6 (~18 rolls)

2 globe eggplants
coarse salt
oil for frying (they recommend olive oil, but for those with tighter budgets, any other high-heat oil, or a mix of that and olive oil, will be fine)

2 cups whole milk ricotta
~1/3 cup dry, unseasoned breadcrumbs
juice and zest of 1 lemon
1 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
1/2 teaspoon coarse salt

~ 2 cups tomato sauce (I used the late great Marcella Hazans tomato butter sauce)
~1/4 cup heavy cream
Parmesan (or a similar cheese) for serving

Slice the eggplant, using a mandoline or a sharp knife, the long way into 1/4-inch planks. Layer in a colander, salting generously with coarse salt between the layers. Let sit at least an hour, then give a good press to push out the liquid. Blot dry.

Pour about an inch of oil into a heavy skillet, and heat to temperature over a medium-high heat (if you have a thermometer, you want it to read 360° Fahrenheit). Fry the eggplant slices (without crowding the pan), until they begin to color, ~3-4 minutes. Remove the slices with tongs, and set on a paper-lined plate or a rack/colander to drain. Repeat with the remaining eggplant (if desired, you can do this step a day in advance). If the slices crisp up a bit, you can put them in a covered container, and theyll soften back up (another reason cooking them in advance works beautifully).

When all of the eggplant has been fried, heat the oven to 425° Fahrenheit. In a bowl, mix together the ricotta, breadcrumbs, lemon juice and zest, thyme and salt. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed.

To assemble the casserole, pour the tomato sauce down on the bottom of a mid-sized casserole dish (or a couple small ones). Take a slice of the fried eggplant, and place a lump of filling at the wide end (~1-2 tablespoons, depending on the size of your eggplant), and roll it up. Place in the casserole dish, seam side down. Repeat with the remaining eggplant and filling. When youre finished, pour a bit of cream over each of the rolls to moisten (its fine if it runs into the sauce).

Bake, uncovered, until the sauce cooks down around the edges of the pan, and the rolls darken a bit, ~20—25 minutes. Serve warm, with a grating of cheese over the top.

A few weeks ago, I shared a recipe for my delicate little pillow-shaped strawberry hand pies. And I am still a fan of those hand pies. But recently I met another hand pie. A slightly different hand pie. A larger, flakier, hand pie, with its fruit peeking through. Its not quite the two-bite delicacy of my strawberry version, but its kind of amazing in its own right. And it also totally changed how I make my pie crust. I mean seriously — look at those flakes! You can learn more about this crust (aka rough puff pastry), and the beauty of hand pies in general, over at NPR.

This was one of the most heavenly summer desserts Ive had recently. So I must apologize for the fact that it looks so wretched. It seems theres a reason they call it a mess.



Eton messes, for the uninitiated, are a sort of British trifle, swapping out broken meringues for the cake, and tossing them with whipped or clotted cream and fresh strawberries. In addition, its also ridiculously fun to say, the sort of phrase, like "nursery sweet," that makes you feel like Nigella Lawson. And to added British icing on the British cake, its traditional served at a cricket match!



For my inauthentic version, I replaced the strawberries with peaches, since thats where we are, seasonally (if you want, you toss them in a bit of sweetened white wine to add a boozy high note). I whipped up a batch of meringues, bolstering them with ground almonds to provide a bit of a chew and a nutty counterpoint to the sweet stone fruit. And because peaches-and-cream is something of a cliche (and because I had leftover egg yolks from the meringues), I cooked up a custard instead of the regular whipped cream. Which might make this more of a trifle after all, but I remain steadfast in my love for the name Eton mess. Just say it: Eton mess. Eeeeton messsss....



The one caveat of this recipe is that youve got to eat it quick. The sweet custard and crisp, crumbly, chewy meringues work together perfectly, but within a few minutes they combine to form a melted, syrupy sludge (which isnt quite as delicious as it sounds). If youre bringing this to an event, like I did, just pack the elements separately and assemble them on site. No time to style attractive photos! But, as with last weeks offering, eating this quickly is easy work.





Peachy Eton Mess



serves 4-6



3-4 peaches, peeled if desired, and cut into chunks (if you like, you can toss them with 1/2 cup white wine and a few spoonfuls of sugar, but theyre fine as is or topped with a squirt of lemon).



Meringues:

2 egg whites

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 tsp vanilla

1/2 cup ground almonds



Custard:

1 cup cream

2 egg yolks

1 tsp cornstarch

1 Tbsp sugar

1/2 tsp vanilla extract



To make the meringues: Preheat the oven to 300 degrees. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.



In a mixer, beat the egg whites, gradually increasing the speed to high until soft peaks form. Gradually add the sugar, continuing to beat, until the peaks are stiff and glossy. Add the vanilla extract, beat, and then fold in the almonds.



Drop the batter, by heaping spoonfuls, onto the lined cookie sheets (the meringues will be crumbled in the finished dish, so no need to worry about being pretty). Bake until they turn golden, ~20-25 minutes. Remove to a rack and cool fully.



To make the custard: Heat the cream in a saucepan until its just thinking about simmering. In a separate bowl, whisk together the yolks, cornstarch, sugar and vanilla. When the cream is hot, pour it into the yolky bowl, whisk whisk whisking all the while to make sure that it forms a smooth mixture without curdling. Return the mixture to the saucepan over a medium-low flame, and cook, stirring constantly, until it thickens (this will take just a few minutes). Remove from heat and set aside and cool (if you notice any curdling, pour it through a fine-mesh strainer to remove them).



To assemble the trifle: In a large bowl (or individual serving dishes), break up the meringues and layer them with the peaches and custard sauce (ideally more attractively than I did). Devour.

Oh, artichokes. These prickly thistles are one of my absolute favorites. I know theyre not universally adored -- its hard to love a food that can draw blood -- but their grassy-yet-sweet flavor is like nothing else. I adore them steamed with lemon-butter, or roasted until the sugars caramelize and become sweeter still. But until now, I really havent cooked with them that much. Sure, Ive tossed marinated hearts into salads (including a couscous salad thats become a potluck favorite), or heated them into a deliciously retro creamy dip. But that was about it, until I tried this recipe.

I first spied this on a blog a few years ago, where the cooks husband proclaimed it the best thing she ever did. How do you argue with that? I filed it away in my bookmarks, and there it sat for years, gathering electronic dust on its electronic shelf. But recently I fell in love all over again with Jim Laheys no-knead bread, and baked a smattering of loaves. After the first few weeks I wasnt able to keep pace, and one of the loaves staled on the counter, yielding the building block of panzanella (aka Italian bread salad). For this dish, the cubed bread is doused with olive oil and toasted, then combined with peppery arugula, grassy olives, shavings of aged cheese, and the ever-important artichokes. And how does it taste?

Ill be honest: it still hasnt unseated a simple steamed choke as my go-to method. How do you beat lemon-butter? But this panzanella is delicious in its own right -- the interplay of artichokes, bread, greens, cheese and olives yields a dish with a punch of flavor, and is simultaneously light yet substantial. I think its best role would be as a crazy elegant room temperature buffet or potluck contribution, allowing guests to enjoy the beauty of the artichoke without needing to fend off a protective hedge of thorns.


Artichoke Panzanella

adapted from Becks & Poshs adaptation of Annie Somervilles recipe from Everyday Greens, as interpreted by Jessica Lasky at Tante Maries Cooking School. Whew!

4 artichokes
1 clove garlic, minced or pressed
zest of 1 lemon
1 day-old (or older) loaf of rustic artisan-style crusty bread
~1/3 cup olive oil, plus more for artichokes and bread
2 Tbsp sherry vinegar (or a lesser amount of a stronger vinegar)
3/4 cup pitted green olives
1 large bunch arugula, washed and dried
4 oz aged sheep cheese, such as Manchego or Idiazabal, shaved with a vegetable peeler to make nice dramatic shards

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Put a large pot of salted water to boil on the stove. Trim the artichokes -- if you havent done this before, you can find handy tutorials here or here -- and cut into sixths. Toss the hearts in the water, and simmer until the artichokes are just tender (~10 minutes). You can flavor the simmering water with lemon juice, white wine, garlic, peppercorns, etc., but Ive never found it makes too much of a difference. When the artichokes are done, drain and toss with the garlic, lemon zest, and ~1 tablespoon olive oil. Set aside.

Cut the crust off the bread, and saw into hefty bite-sized cubes. Drizzle with a few tablespoons olive oil, and toss to combine. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Spread the cubes on a baking tray, and place in the preheated oven until crisp and light golden (~10 minutes). Tip from pan into a large bowl.

In a small bowl mix the oil and vinegar with additional salt and pepper, and adjust to your taste. Pour the vinaigrette over the bread cubes, and add the artichoke hearts and olives and toss to combine. Allow to sit for at least 10 minutes for the dressing to absorb. Add the arugula and cheese, toss again, and serve.

The words "summer soup" conjure up different pictures in different parts of the world. In some places, its a chilled and dilled borscht. In others, a cooling, smoothie-like mix of fruit and dairy. And in the Basque Country, it is a simmering stew of potatoes and tuna.

Okay, I know this sounds like the last thing youd want on a hot day. But the timing makes some bit of sense: summer brings the new potato harvest, as well as the annual tuna run. Even so, its not quite what I look for on a sunny afternoon. But on chilly winter nights, like the ones weve been having recently, its perfect.

Every coastal region seems to have its own version of fish stew, from a rustic chowder to a layered boulliabaisse. Marmitako is on the surface a simple soup, but has a surprisingly satisfying depth. The aromatics and potatoes are cooked together for well over an hour to develop the flavors, and the tuna is stirred in at the end to add a briny note without becoming overcooked.

Marmitako was traditionally made right on the tuna boats themselves, simmering the days catch with potatoes that had been brought on board. It can take many forms, some using dried peppers, others with onions or tomatoes. This particular version was adapted by my friend Iñaki, whos been schooling me in Basque cuisine for the past few months. Hes sadly heading back home next week, and shared this recipe during our final cooking session. Its a hell of a parting gift.


Marmitako

as adapted by Iñaki Guridi

yields one large pot

As with the Basque soup porrusalda, the potatoes arent cut with a knife, but broken into rough-edged pieces that release more starch to thicken the soup. To do this, slide a paring knife halfway through a peeled potato, about 1.5" down. Press the potato between your thumb and the knife, and twist to free a chunk roughly 1.5" square. Repeat until the whole potato is reduced to rough chunks.

2 Tbsp olive oil
1 red pepper, finely diced
3 cloves garlic, finely minced
6 medium (or 4 large) waxy red or yellow potatoes, peeled and broken into chunks (see above)
2 Tbsp tomato paste
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 1/2 lb fresh tuna (albacore, if possible), cut into 1" cubes
salt and pepper

Heat the 2 tablespoons of olive oil in a large soup pot over medium heat. Add the pepper, garlic and potatoes, and saute for several minutes, until the pepper and garlic have softened. Add the tomato paste, and enough water to cover everything by about 2". Season with salt, bring to a boil, and simmer, covered, for at least an hour and a half, until quite tender and flavorful.

When the soup is about 20 minutes from being done, heat the remaining tablespoon olive oil in a skillet over medium-high heat. Add the tuna, season liberally with salt, and saute for 3-5 minutes, stirring occasionally, until firm but not fully cooked. Add the cubes to the soup pot, and simmer gently for another 15 minutes to meld the flavors.

In Denmark, it was a necessity to have fruits withstand long storage during the winter months. Fresh strawberries (Jordbær) is a Danish favorite.  Jordbær literally means earth berries.  You can find strawberries in many of the Danish desserts including as a fruit sauce.

With summer coming the farmers markets will have a great assortment of  beautiful berries including blueberry, strawberry, blackberry and raspberry.  Choose berries that are fresh, ripe and in season for the best flavor.  This fruit sauce recipe uses both a strawberry and blackberry sauce.
  

Strawberry Blackberry Fruit Sauce for Desserts

Easy and cheap to make, this berry sauce is delicious spooned over vanilla ice cream. If you like a warm sauce it is delicious over pancakes, waffles and cheesecake too!


Ingredients:

• 1/4 water
• 1 cup of strawberries (fresh or frozen)
• 1 cup of blackberries (fresh or frozen)
• 2 tablespoons of sugar
• 1/4 cup of water
• 1 teaspoon of cornstarch

Kitchen Tools:

• saucepan
• measuring cup
• wooden spoon
• teaspoon
• knife
• cuttingboard

1. Wash strawberries and/or blackberries.  Remove stems; cut large berries in half or roughly chop them.
2. Combine water, strawberries or blackberries or both in a saucepan. With this recipe we chose to have both berries. Cook over medium-high heat, stirring occasionally and bring to boil.
3. After it gets hot add 2 tablespoons of sugar. Bring to a simmer over medium heat until sugar has dissolved, about 10 minutes. Adjust sugar, if necessary, and cook until dissolved.
4. Keep in mind it will take a while until the fruit will become soft.  So, you will need to keep stirring the sauce too.
5. Next, in a cup or small bowl, mix together the cornstarch and 1/4 cup cold water. Gently stir the cornstarch mixture into the berries so as not to mash the berries.
6. Cook until sauce thickens, about 15 minutes.
7. Simmer gently until thick enough to coat the back of a metal spoon. Thin sauce with water if it is too thick for your liking.

Other typical fruits incorporated into the Danish cuisine are

• Apples (Æbler) Popular in traditional dishes as winter apples store well. Can be fried and served with Flæsk (thick bacon)
• Blackcurrant (Solbær) means literally sun berries.  Eaten fresh with desserts. Can be used with fruit sauces.
• Cherries (Kirsebær) When in season eaten fresh. Cherries are used in making Heering, a famous cherry liqueur, produced in Denmark. Also, cherries are made into the famous cherry sauce or kirsebærsauce. Kirsebærsauce is commonly made for the Danish Christmas Rice Pudding called Risalamand which is on both on our blog and video (below too).
  
  
   
• Gooseberry (Stikkelsbær) literally thorny berries. Used for stewed gooseberries (stikkelsbærgrød).
• Pears (Pærer)
• Plums (Blommer)
• Raspberries (Hindbær) Eaten fresh.  Also, used for preserves and fruit sauces.
• Redcurrants (Ribs) Made to jelly or simply mixed raw with sugar as (Rysteribs).  Also used with fruit sauces. Served to roast.

We hope you enjoyed our blog about making the easy fruit sauce. Please check out our other postings including.  


*how to make Swedish Glogg for Christmas & cold evenings! (glögg or mulled wine recipe) 
*how to make aeblskiver (æbleskiver)
*how to make Danish Christmas Klejner
*how to make easy Danish cucumber salad (arguksalat)
*how to make Danish sugar browned potatoes (brunede kartofler)
*how to make Danish red cabbage (rødkaal)
Please let us know what you think!

Our Scandinavian recipes including Danish, Norwegian, Swedish and Finnish are on http://.blogspot.com/

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