So we're already half-way though Passover, give or take a day. Your Seders are most likely over. But hey, you still have to eat for the next six days. To assist you in that regard, I hereby present the Passover-friendly recipes I've featured on this site over the years, in one convenient location for easy unleavened cooking:
Quinoa tabbouleh and Quinoa with caramelized onions, if you fall on the side of the debate that says quinoa is Kosher for Passover
Moroccan mashed potato casserole, the kugel for people who don't like kugel
Oregano baked chicken dinner, served without the crusty bread for sopping
And, desserts: Ashkenazic Passover apple cake, Sephardic almond macaroons and walnut and almond cake with orange-pomegranate compote.
They're not all entirely traditional, but they are entirely delicious.
Next year in Jerusalem!
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Why? Guest blogging!
Just popping up to say hello, and direct you, dear reader, to a guest post I've written for the excellent Why CLE? blog. CLEgal, the site's fearless blogger, has taken a well-deserved vacation to the sunny parts, and I'm honored to be one of the bloggers keeping her readers entertained while she's away.
So! Please head on over and see why the delicious Polish cooking in Northeast Ohio is so important to me. Then, have a good look around the site to learn all about what makes Cleveland a fabulous place to live, indeed.
Thanks, CLEgal!
So! Please head on over and see why the delicious Polish cooking in Northeast Ohio is so important to me. Then, have a good look around the site to learn all about what makes Cleveland a fabulous place to live, indeed.
Thanks, CLEgal!
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Beyond subsistence
I could subsist on the chickpea.
Actually, beyond subsistence -- which has the connotation of being practical, necessary and essential but not particularly thrilling or absolutely desirable -- if I was forced to choose, among all food items, including chocolate and bread and cheese, which I would take with me to a deserted island, I would choose the chickpea.
Because to me, the chickpea is particularly thrilling and absolutely desirable. Absolutely.
At one point in my wayward youth/vegan early 20s, as a matter of fact, I almost got the humble legume tattooed on the back of my neck. It was either that or my other would-be choice for ink, the Pearl Jam stick figure. I never did get around to getting a tattoo, though the chickpea would have worn a lot better than the Alive Guy.
I enjoy the chickpea in just about every iteration other than tattoo. Pureed, with tahini and coriander, in hummus. Minced with garlic and parsley then fried, as falafel. Boiled with tomatoes, rosemary, black pepper and pasta, as pasta e ceci. Tossed with spices and roasted until nearly crisp, as a perfect savory snack. Milled into a flour and mixed into baked goods. Lined up on a fork, plain. Eaten out of the can, hobo-style.
Mixed with a warm vinaigrette, gratuitous slabs of feta and salty-sharp Sicilian olives for a perfect weekday lunch.
On second thought, can I take two things to the deserted island? 'Cause I need feta, too. And olives. Three things.
++++++
CHICKPEA SALAD WITH CUMIN VINAIGRETTE
Adapted from New Classic Family Dinners via Serious Eats
You might want to double this recipe. I'm just saying.
For the cumin vinaigrette:
2 t. cumin seeds
1 t. cracked black peppercorns
2 t. dried oregano
1/2 c. + 1 T. olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
2 T. red wine vinegar
Kosher salt and freshly-cracked black pepper, to taste
For the chickpea salad:
2 15-oz. cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1/2 c. kalamata olives, pitted and sliced
2 scallions, thinly sliced
1 T. fresh mint, slivered
2 oz. feta cheese, cubed
In a small skillet, toast the cumin and black pepper over medium-high heat until very fragrant. Transfer to a mortar and pestle or spice grinder and allow to cool 5 minutes, then crush. Crumble in oregano.
Heat 1 T. of the olive oil in a skillet over medium heat until shimmering, then add the garlic. Cook until the garlic begins to soften, about 30 seconds. Add the cumin and spices and cook for an additional 30 seconds. Add the red wine vinegar and stir to combine. Whisk in the remaining 1/2 c. olive oil to create an emulsion. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Add the chickpeas to the skillet with the vinaigrette. Simmer until cooked and soft, 5-10 minutes. Transfer the warm chickpeas to a large mixing bowl and combine with the olives, scallions, mint and feta. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Serves 4, supposedly. But I will believe that when I see it.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: chicken souvlaki
Two years ago: deconstructed pesto lasagna
Three years ago: my nephews' birthday cakes: a treatise
Actually, beyond subsistence -- which has the connotation of being practical, necessary and essential but not particularly thrilling or absolutely desirable -- if I was forced to choose, among all food items, including chocolate and bread and cheese, which I would take with me to a deserted island, I would choose the chickpea.
Because to me, the chickpea is particularly thrilling and absolutely desirable. Absolutely.
At one point in my wayward youth/vegan early 20s, as a matter of fact, I almost got the humble legume tattooed on the back of my neck. It was either that or my other would-be choice for ink, the Pearl Jam stick figure. I never did get around to getting a tattoo, though the chickpea would have worn a lot better than the Alive Guy.
I enjoy the chickpea in just about every iteration other than tattoo. Pureed, with tahini and coriander, in hummus. Minced with garlic and parsley then fried, as falafel. Boiled with tomatoes, rosemary, black pepper and pasta, as pasta e ceci. Tossed with spices and roasted until nearly crisp, as a perfect savory snack. Milled into a flour and mixed into baked goods. Lined up on a fork, plain. Eaten out of the can, hobo-style.
Mixed with a warm vinaigrette, gratuitous slabs of feta and salty-sharp Sicilian olives for a perfect weekday lunch.
On second thought, can I take two things to the deserted island? 'Cause I need feta, too. And olives. Three things.
++++++
CHICKPEA SALAD WITH CUMIN VINAIGRETTE
Adapted from New Classic Family Dinners via Serious Eats
You might want to double this recipe. I'm just saying.
For the cumin vinaigrette:
2 t. cumin seeds
1 t. cracked black peppercorns
2 t. dried oregano
1/2 c. + 1 T. olive oil
1 clove garlic, minced
2 T. red wine vinegar
Kosher salt and freshly-cracked black pepper, to taste
For the chickpea salad:
2 15-oz. cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed
1/2 c. kalamata olives, pitted and sliced
2 scallions, thinly sliced
1 T. fresh mint, slivered
2 oz. feta cheese, cubed
In a small skillet, toast the cumin and black pepper over medium-high heat until very fragrant. Transfer to a mortar and pestle or spice grinder and allow to cool 5 minutes, then crush. Crumble in oregano.
Heat 1 T. of the olive oil in a skillet over medium heat until shimmering, then add the garlic. Cook until the garlic begins to soften, about 30 seconds. Add the cumin and spices and cook for an additional 30 seconds. Add the red wine vinegar and stir to combine. Whisk in the remaining 1/2 c. olive oil to create an emulsion. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Add the chickpeas to the skillet with the vinaigrette. Simmer until cooked and soft, 5-10 minutes. Transfer the warm chickpeas to a large mixing bowl and combine with the olives, scallions, mint and feta. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Serves 4, supposedly. But I will believe that when I see it.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: chicken souvlaki
Two years ago: deconstructed pesto lasagna
Three years ago: my nephews' birthday cakes: a treatise
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Convenience is not my thing
I always say that I love recipes that take at least three days to complete. Think: mole; homemade turkey stock; sourdough bread; pandoro. The more time-consuming and labor-intensive, the better. I even say as much in my little blog manifesto. Convenience is not my thing. I might have some kind of an illness. Please don't judge me.
It is in such a context, then, that my head nearly a'sploded when I saw a recipe for barbecue sauce that called for homemade coffee liqueur. After its ingredients are mixed together, the homemade coffee liqueur takes at least a month to mature, sitting on cool, dark shelf, allowing its component parts to mingle and become awesome. When I began making the liqueur early last December, I actually thought to myself, "Bitchin'. I can have homemade crispy chicken nuggets with coffee-liqueur barbecue sauce in February." And this thought was appealing to me.
As I said, some sort of illness.
Anyway. I realize that you can just use Kahlua to make the barbecue sauce, and that way you can have a finished product a mere hour after you decide to make it. That is a completely reasonable route to take. But if you're like me and you like to imagine what you'll dip nuggets into long after winter is gone and the tulips are blooming, you've come to the right place.
This sauce is dynamite: multi-layered, spicy, sweet, boozy, onion-y. It has depth: the depth that a food should have that was several months in the making. We've really enjoyed it over the past few nights as a dipping sauce for the aforementioned crispy chicken nuggets, which come from Cook's Country and are so good that you will not be able to stop thinking about them (I'm not exaggerating). Of course this barbecue sauce has a million applications that don't involve dipping: baste grilled chicken with it, use it to enliven an everyday turkey sandwich, eat it with a spoon.
As for the remaining homemade coffee liqueur: you can always invite Husband over. He loves "Caucasians." He'll finish it off for you in no time.
++++++
Coffee Liqueur Barbecue Sauce + Homemade Coffee Liqueur
Adapted from Southern Living
A note about ingredients: the homemade coffee liqueur recipe calls for two tablespoons of chocolate liqueur (a la Godiva). If you don't want to buy a whole bottle for two tablespoons, do what I did: ask your favorite bartender or server for a shot from behind the bar. Maybe it says something about me and my relationship with food service professionals, but I had no qualms about asking our favorite Saturday morning breakfast waitress Becky for a shot and she didn't even charge me. Never mind that the people at the next table wondered why I was asking for chocolate liqueur at 8:15 a.m. They can judge all they want.
Another note: the barbecue sauce recipe only makes about one cup of sauce. Frankly, that is not enough. I recommend doubling it; it will keep in the fridge in an airtight container for a week.
For the homemade coffee liqueur:
4 c. sugar
1/4 c. instant espresso
2 c. vodka
2 T. chocolate liqueur (optional)
1 8-inch vanilla bean, split lengthwise
Bring 2 cups of water to a boil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Remove from heat, then whisk in sugar and instant espresso, whisking until completely dissolved. Let cool 10 minutes.
Stir in the vodka and chocolate liqueur (if desired), whisking until well-blended. Pour the mixture into a 2-quart glass bottle (or any glass bottle that's large enough and has a lid). Cover tightly with the lid and shake thoroughly.
Let stand in a cool, dark place at least one month, shaking at least once weekly.
After one month, you are ready to make barbecue sauce. Rejoice! This process has taught you the beauty of patience and anticipation.
Makes 6 cups of liqueur.
For the coffee liqueur barbecue sauce:
1 8-oz. can tomato sauce
1/3 c. homemade coffee liqueur (recipe above; store-bought coffee liqueur may be substituted)
1/4 c. red onion, finely chopped
2 T. Worcestershire sauce
1 T. freshly-squeezed lemon juice
2 t. all-purpose flour
1/2 t. kosher salt
1/4 t. chili powder
1/4 t. crushed red pepper flakes
In a medium saucepan, whisk together all ingredients. Bring to a boil over medium heat; reduce heat to low and simmer, whisking occasionally, until the sauce is slightly thickened, 5 or 6 minutes. Cool completely before serving (about 30 minutes).
Makes 1 cup of barbecue sauce.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: layered chocolate fudge cake
Two years ago: baklava
Three years ago: tomato sauce di Piazza Sant'Eulalia
It is in such a context, then, that my head nearly a'sploded when I saw a recipe for barbecue sauce that called for homemade coffee liqueur. After its ingredients are mixed together, the homemade coffee liqueur takes at least a month to mature, sitting on cool, dark shelf, allowing its component parts to mingle and become awesome. When I began making the liqueur early last December, I actually thought to myself, "Bitchin'. I can have homemade crispy chicken nuggets with coffee-liqueur barbecue sauce in February." And this thought was appealing to me.
As I said, some sort of illness.
Anyway. I realize that you can just use Kahlua to make the barbecue sauce, and that way you can have a finished product a mere hour after you decide to make it. That is a completely reasonable route to take. But if you're like me and you like to imagine what you'll dip nuggets into long after winter is gone and the tulips are blooming, you've come to the right place.
This sauce is dynamite: multi-layered, spicy, sweet, boozy, onion-y. It has depth: the depth that a food should have that was several months in the making. We've really enjoyed it over the past few nights as a dipping sauce for the aforementioned crispy chicken nuggets, which come from Cook's Country and are so good that you will not be able to stop thinking about them (I'm not exaggerating). Of course this barbecue sauce has a million applications that don't involve dipping: baste grilled chicken with it, use it to enliven an everyday turkey sandwich, eat it with a spoon.
As for the remaining homemade coffee liqueur: you can always invite Husband over. He loves "Caucasians." He'll finish it off for you in no time.
++++++
Coffee Liqueur Barbecue Sauce + Homemade Coffee Liqueur
Adapted from Southern Living
A note about ingredients: the homemade coffee liqueur recipe calls for two tablespoons of chocolate liqueur (a la Godiva). If you don't want to buy a whole bottle for two tablespoons, do what I did: ask your favorite bartender or server for a shot from behind the bar. Maybe it says something about me and my relationship with food service professionals, but I had no qualms about asking our favorite Saturday morning breakfast waitress Becky for a shot and she didn't even charge me. Never mind that the people at the next table wondered why I was asking for chocolate liqueur at 8:15 a.m. They can judge all they want.
Another note: the barbecue sauce recipe only makes about one cup of sauce. Frankly, that is not enough. I recommend doubling it; it will keep in the fridge in an airtight container for a week.
For the homemade coffee liqueur:
4 c. sugar
1/4 c. instant espresso
2 c. vodka
2 T. chocolate liqueur (optional)
1 8-inch vanilla bean, split lengthwise
Bring 2 cups of water to a boil in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Remove from heat, then whisk in sugar and instant espresso, whisking until completely dissolved. Let cool 10 minutes.
Stir in the vodka and chocolate liqueur (if desired), whisking until well-blended. Pour the mixture into a 2-quart glass bottle (or any glass bottle that's large enough and has a lid). Cover tightly with the lid and shake thoroughly.
Let stand in a cool, dark place at least one month, shaking at least once weekly.
After one month, you are ready to make barbecue sauce. Rejoice! This process has taught you the beauty of patience and anticipation.
Makes 6 cups of liqueur.
For the coffee liqueur barbecue sauce:
1 8-oz. can tomato sauce
1/3 c. homemade coffee liqueur (recipe above; store-bought coffee liqueur may be substituted)
1/4 c. red onion, finely chopped
2 T. Worcestershire sauce
1 T. freshly-squeezed lemon juice
2 t. all-purpose flour
1/2 t. kosher salt
1/4 t. chili powder
1/4 t. crushed red pepper flakes
In a medium saucepan, whisk together all ingredients. Bring to a boil over medium heat; reduce heat to low and simmer, whisking occasionally, until the sauce is slightly thickened, 5 or 6 minutes. Cool completely before serving (about 30 minutes).
Makes 1 cup of barbecue sauce.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: layered chocolate fudge cake
Two years ago: baklava
Three years ago: tomato sauce di Piazza Sant'Eulalia
Sunday, February 13, 2011
An annual thing
OK, so technically A Stove With A House Around It is three years and one month old.
My goal was to celebrate the old girl's third birthday in a more timely fashion, like, on the birthday itself (January 10, 2011). But it's February 13 and I'm just now getting around to acknowledging the milestone. What can I say; I am lame. But I am not so lame that I didn't bake pretzels in honor of the occasion!
For the site's first and second birthdays, I made pretzels. I decided it should be an annual thing: The Ritual Baking of the Pretzel in Honor of the Weblog's Birthday. Last year I wrote, "Yes. I believe I shall make birthday pretzels a yearly tradition: each year this blog grows a little older, I'll share another pretzel recipe I've found. Because I do believe a full life is one lived in the presence of many pretzel recipes." And I'm nothing if not true to my word.
And so! How fortuitous that I spent so much time during my maternity leave catching up on magazines that had been sitting on the shelf, languishing, for years. And how fortuitous to come across, in the course of this culinary publication backlog-clearing endeavor, an article in a five-year-old Food & Wine about the homey side of Grant Achatz, titled "Comfort Food from a Rebel Chef." "I've always been a fan of any food high in salt and starch," the adorable little molecular gastronomer says, "and soft pretzels right out of the oven are awesome."
Hey, if they're good enough for the man behind this, they're good enough for me.
I'm pretty psyched about the blog's turning three, even if I can't post as often as I used to, or as often as I'd like. It's still a labor of love, and I hope that a few of you out there find inspiration or humor from this space -- or maybe just a way to pass a little time. Thank you for stopping by, and here's to year four!
P.S. If you were wondering if I had mentally ranked the anniversary pretzel recipes from 2009, 2010 and 2011, well yes, I have. These Achatz beauties are clearly number one, followed by Alton Brown's from last year and Martha Stewart's from 2009. I wonder what next year will bring!
++++++
GERMAN SOFT PRETZEL STICKS
From Grant Achatz's recipe as it appeared in Food & Wine
Though Mr. Achatz says he likes to eat these pretzels with ranch dressing (?), I'd go for a bit of mustard or just plain. They are delicious all on their own.
1/2 c. light brown sugar
2 c. warm water
4 1/2 t. instant yeast (or 2 envelopes active dry yeast)
1/4 c. vegetable oil
5 3/4 c. all-purpose flour (plus more, potentially, for kneading)
3/4 c. baking soda
1 large egg beaten with 1 T. water
Maldon salt, for sprinkling
In a large bowl, stir the brown sugar into the water until it dissolves. Sprinkle the yeast over the water and mix in with a whisk; let stand for about 5 minutes. Stir in the vegetable oil and 3 cups of the flour. I use my dough whisk to bring the dough together, but a wooden spoon will work just fine. Knead in the remaining 2 3/4 cups flour; the dough will be slightly sticky.
Transfer the dough to a lightly-floured work surface and knead until the dough is silky, about 3 minutes. If the dough is very sticky, knead in up to 1/4 cup more flour. (I did not need to use any extra flour.) Transfer the dough to a large oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let stand at room temperature until doubled in bulk, 45 minutes to an hour.
Preheat the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit. Line three large baking sheets with parchment paper and spray with cooking spray. Punch down the dough and turn it out onto a work surface. Knead the dough lightly, then flatten it out and, using a bench scraper, cut it into 24 pieces.
Roll each piece into an 6-inch stick about 1/2-inch thick. Transfer the sticks to the prepared baking sheets, leaving about 2 inches between them. Let stand uncovered until puffed, about 25 minutes.
In a large, deep skillet stir the baking soda into 2 quarts of water and bring to a simmer over high heat. Reduce the heat to moderate. Using two slotted spoons or spiders, carefully transfer 6 pretzel sticks at a time to the simmering water for 30 seconds, turning once. Transfer the sticks to paper towels to drain, then return them to the parchment-lined baking sheets, spacing them as before.
Brush the pretzel sticks with the egg wash and sprinkle with salt. Bake until richly browned, about 10 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Makes 24 pretzel sticks. The sticks can be stored in a plastic bag overnight then reheated in a toaster oven the next day, but they are never as good as they are right out of the oven. So, prepare to gorge yourself on pretzel sticks or invite a few people over for snacking.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: layered chocolate fudge cake
Two years ago: pine nut cookies with rosemary
Three years ago: egg rolls
My goal was to celebrate the old girl's third birthday in a more timely fashion, like, on the birthday itself (January 10, 2011). But it's February 13 and I'm just now getting around to acknowledging the milestone. What can I say; I am lame. But I am not so lame that I didn't bake pretzels in honor of the occasion!
For the site's first and second birthdays, I made pretzels. I decided it should be an annual thing: The Ritual Baking of the Pretzel in Honor of the Weblog's Birthday. Last year I wrote, "Yes. I believe I shall make birthday pretzels a yearly tradition: each year this blog grows a little older, I'll share another pretzel recipe I've found. Because I do believe a full life is one lived in the presence of many pretzel recipes." And I'm nothing if not true to my word.
And so! How fortuitous that I spent so much time during my maternity leave catching up on magazines that had been sitting on the shelf, languishing, for years. And how fortuitous to come across, in the course of this culinary publication backlog-clearing endeavor, an article in a five-year-old Food & Wine about the homey side of Grant Achatz, titled "Comfort Food from a Rebel Chef." "I've always been a fan of any food high in salt and starch," the adorable little molecular gastronomer says, "and soft pretzels right out of the oven are awesome."
Hey, if they're good enough for the man behind this, they're good enough for me.
I'm pretty psyched about the blog's turning three, even if I can't post as often as I used to, or as often as I'd like. It's still a labor of love, and I hope that a few of you out there find inspiration or humor from this space -- or maybe just a way to pass a little time. Thank you for stopping by, and here's to year four!
P.S. If you were wondering if I had mentally ranked the anniversary pretzel recipes from 2009, 2010 and 2011, well yes, I have. These Achatz beauties are clearly number one, followed by Alton Brown's from last year and Martha Stewart's from 2009. I wonder what next year will bring!
++++++
GERMAN SOFT PRETZEL STICKS
From Grant Achatz's recipe as it appeared in Food & Wine
Though Mr. Achatz says he likes to eat these pretzels with ranch dressing (?), I'd go for a bit of mustard or just plain. They are delicious all on their own.
1/2 c. light brown sugar
2 c. warm water
4 1/2 t. instant yeast (or 2 envelopes active dry yeast)
1/4 c. vegetable oil
5 3/4 c. all-purpose flour (plus more, potentially, for kneading)
3/4 c. baking soda
1 large egg beaten with 1 T. water
Maldon salt, for sprinkling
In a large bowl, stir the brown sugar into the water until it dissolves. Sprinkle the yeast over the water and mix in with a whisk; let stand for about 5 minutes. Stir in the vegetable oil and 3 cups of the flour. I use my dough whisk to bring the dough together, but a wooden spoon will work just fine. Knead in the remaining 2 3/4 cups flour; the dough will be slightly sticky.
Transfer the dough to a lightly-floured work surface and knead until the dough is silky, about 3 minutes. If the dough is very sticky, knead in up to 1/4 cup more flour. (I did not need to use any extra flour.) Transfer the dough to a large oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap and let stand at room temperature until doubled in bulk, 45 minutes to an hour.
Preheat the oven to 450 degrees Fahrenheit. Line three large baking sheets with parchment paper and spray with cooking spray. Punch down the dough and turn it out onto a work surface. Knead the dough lightly, then flatten it out and, using a bench scraper, cut it into 24 pieces.
Roll each piece into an 6-inch stick about 1/2-inch thick. Transfer the sticks to the prepared baking sheets, leaving about 2 inches between them. Let stand uncovered until puffed, about 25 minutes.
In a large, deep skillet stir the baking soda into 2 quarts of water and bring to a simmer over high heat. Reduce the heat to moderate. Using two slotted spoons or spiders, carefully transfer 6 pretzel sticks at a time to the simmering water for 30 seconds, turning once. Transfer the sticks to paper towels to drain, then return them to the parchment-lined baking sheets, spacing them as before.
Brush the pretzel sticks with the egg wash and sprinkle with salt. Bake until richly browned, about 10 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.
Makes 24 pretzel sticks. The sticks can be stored in a plastic bag overnight then reheated in a toaster oven the next day, but they are never as good as they are right out of the oven. So, prepare to gorge yourself on pretzel sticks or invite a few people over for snacking.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: layered chocolate fudge cake
Two years ago: pine nut cookies with rosemary
Three years ago: egg rolls
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Bread Baker's Apprentice 19/43: marble rye
"I could see why Seinfeld would steal one of those," Husband said.
He was, of course, referring to the time Jerry stole a marble rye from Mrs. Choate in order to sneak it into the Ross house so George could replace the one his parents took back when Mr. and Mrs. Ross didn't serve it with dinner. "Shut up, you old bag!" Jerry shouted, tucking the swirled rye under his arm.
Though I would consider committing a crime in order to procure a marble rye, now I don't have to, thanks to Peter Reinhart. Which is good for many reasons, not the least of which is: should I ever be brought up on some charges related to a Good Samaritan law in New England, the prosecution won't be able to haul any marble rye-spurned old ladies before the jury to disparage my character.
The most difficult part about making this bread is getting your hands on the specialty flours. Well, it's not difficult, per se, it just involves a bit of planning. To achieve the bread's lovely dark-light mottling -- as well as the distinctive, wonderful rye flavor -- you'll need white rye flour, clear flour and caramel coloring. Thanks to the ever-stellar King Arthur Flour, these flours are only an Internet order and a few days' wait away. (For the record, Reinhart's recipe calls for liquid caramel color to dye the dark portion of the marble rye. King Arthur Flour only had the caramel powder. It worked just fine and didn't leave behind any of the bitter flavor that coloring the dough with cocoa or instant coffee would.) The day I ordered my flour I decided that I would spoil myself and load up on all the specialty flours I'd need for the remainder of the Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge. The following bounty arrived on my front porch 72 hours later. You don't necessarily have to be this ridiculous, but I'm not gonna lie: it was glorious. And yes, I lined them all up on my counter like the massive nerd that I am.
Of my two-loaf yield, I ate one marble rye right away and stashed the second in the freezer for a snowy day. The crust was shiny and rich, with a sturdy but soft crumb inside. I usually enjoy thick-sliced and dark-toasted bread, but the marble rye was very tasty cut thinly and toasted lightly. Like seemingly everything else in my life, I loved this bread even more with a little bit of fancy salted butter.
And because I baked it myself, I didn't have to fish for it out the bedroom window of my in-laws' townhouse. Hey, it's a Schnitzer's.
++++++
The Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge asks that we do not share Reinhart's recipes on the dot-com. Meanwhile, you don't need it anyway, because you've already purchased the book. (And if you haven't done so yet, go do it now. I'll look the other way and pretend you've had it all along.) The marble rye recipe starts on page 183.
I've submitted these marble rye loaves to Yeastspotting because they are so lovely, if I do say so myself.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: layered chocolate fudge cake
Two years ago: graham crackers
Three years ago: whole-wheat spaghetti with Meyer lemon, arugula and pistachios
He was, of course, referring to the time Jerry stole a marble rye from Mrs. Choate in order to sneak it into the Ross house so George could replace the one his parents took back when Mr. and Mrs. Ross didn't serve it with dinner. "Shut up, you old bag!" Jerry shouted, tucking the swirled rye under his arm.
Though I would consider committing a crime in order to procure a marble rye, now I don't have to, thanks to Peter Reinhart. Which is good for many reasons, not the least of which is: should I ever be brought up on some charges related to a Good Samaritan law in New England, the prosecution won't be able to haul any marble rye-spurned old ladies before the jury to disparage my character.
The most difficult part about making this bread is getting your hands on the specialty flours. Well, it's not difficult, per se, it just involves a bit of planning. To achieve the bread's lovely dark-light mottling -- as well as the distinctive, wonderful rye flavor -- you'll need white rye flour, clear flour and caramel coloring. Thanks to the ever-stellar King Arthur Flour, these flours are only an Internet order and a few days' wait away. (For the record, Reinhart's recipe calls for liquid caramel color to dye the dark portion of the marble rye. King Arthur Flour only had the caramel powder. It worked just fine and didn't leave behind any of the bitter flavor that coloring the dough with cocoa or instant coffee would.) The day I ordered my flour I decided that I would spoil myself and load up on all the specialty flours I'd need for the remainder of the Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge. The following bounty arrived on my front porch 72 hours later. You don't necessarily have to be this ridiculous, but I'm not gonna lie: it was glorious. And yes, I lined them all up on my counter like the massive nerd that I am.
Of my two-loaf yield, I ate one marble rye right away and stashed the second in the freezer for a snowy day. The crust was shiny and rich, with a sturdy but soft crumb inside. I usually enjoy thick-sliced and dark-toasted bread, but the marble rye was very tasty cut thinly and toasted lightly. Like seemingly everything else in my life, I loved this bread even more with a little bit of fancy salted butter.
And because I baked it myself, I didn't have to fish for it out the bedroom window of my in-laws' townhouse. Hey, it's a Schnitzer's.
++++++
The Bread Baker's Apprentice challenge asks that we do not share Reinhart's recipes on the dot-com. Meanwhile, you don't need it anyway, because you've already purchased the book. (And if you haven't done so yet, go do it now. I'll look the other way and pretend you've had it all along.) The marble rye recipe starts on page 183.
I've submitted these marble rye loaves to Yeastspotting because they are so lovely, if I do say so myself.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: layered chocolate fudge cake
Two years ago: graham crackers
Three years ago: whole-wheat spaghetti with Meyer lemon, arugula and pistachios
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Ridiculous, circuitous, absurd
Husband always says that he has a particular knack for getting at the same result many different ways. Many ridiculous, circuitous, absurd ways. He likes to make simple things difficult for no discernible reason. For example, he used to think that Pepsi Blue (remember that?) tasted like Southern Comfort. So instead of mixing himself a normal Southern Comfort and Coke, he'd mix Southern Comfort and Pepsi Blue to create something he referred to as "even more Southern Comfortable." He's the kind of man who would attempt to cook a piece of chicken on his carburetor when there's a Weber set up 10 feet away. And the most fun thing ever, according to him? Viewing downloaded television shows saved on a spare computer, shared on a wireless network, via the Xbox. So much better than just watching the show when it aired.
I suppose that 15 years with the fellow has taken its toll on me, though, because a few weeks ago I read a recipe for something called "Cannelloni, straight up," which was a randomly difficult, vertical method for serving the large pasta tubes. I mused, "That's right! Why should I eat plain old reclining cannelloni? How boring is that, when I can balance them next to each other, perpendicular to the pan, for extra fun and excitement?"
It was so fun that I made it twice in two weeks. I should also mention that it was delicious, with its vegetable-heavy, slightly sweet sauce (that reminds me a little of this) and its rich cheese cloak and its crusty, baked, almost-burned edges and bits. It's a big mess on the plate, but it looks gorgeous in its baking dish, symmetrical and bubbly and golden. It is effort for no reason. Except that the reason is, because it's fun and new and different and who couldn't use a little of that on a freezing, run-of-the-mill January Wednesday?
No word on whether it goes with a Southern Comfortable.
++++++
CANNELLONI, STRAIGHT UP
Adapted from "The Australian Women's Weekly"
Needless to say, you don't have to prop the cannelloni up if you don't want to. You can make "Cannelloni, prone" if you want. I won't tell anyone and it will still be delicious.
I like the cannelloni made by Molisana. It's cut straight on the ends, which makes it possible to stand on end in the baking dish (as opposed to angled ends). And, according to Molisana's Web site, it's the "eternal protagonist of banquets." Tell me, how could you go wrong with that?!
Finally, feel free to make this dish with ground beef instead of ground turkey.
The filling:
1/4 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 large white or yellow onion, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 medium carrots, finely chopped
2 celery stalks, finely chopped
1 lb. ground turkey
2 15-oz. cans diced tomatoes
3/4 c. tomato paste
4 c. water
2 t. dried oregano
1 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Salt and pepper, to taste
The cheese sauce:
4 T. unsalted butter
1/3 c. all-purpose flour
3 c. whole milk
1 c. Pecorino cheese, grated
Pinch of grated nutmeg
Salt and pepper, to taste
To assemble the dish:
1 1/2 lbs. cannelloni
1 c. mozzarella cheese, grated
2 T. Pecorino cheese, grated
First, make the filling. Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan. Add the onion, garlic, carrot and celery and cook over low heat until the vegetables are soft. Remove the vegetables from the pan, transferring into a bowl. Set aside.
Add the turkey; cook, stirring, over medium-high heat until the meat is browned, breaking up any lumps.
Return the reserved vegetables to the pan with the cooked turkey. Add the tomatoes, tomato paste, water and oregano and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, partially covered, for about 1 hour. (While the filling is cooking, make the cheese sauce, below.) The sauce will thicken slightly. Remove from heat. Add the parsley and season to taste with salt and pepper.
While the filling is cooking, make the cheese sauce. Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the flour; whisk together with the butter and cook for a few minutes to remove the raw flour taste. Gradually whisk in the milk, whisking constantly until the sauce boils and thickens. Remove from heat and stir in the cheese and nutmeg. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and assemble the dish. Spoon a quarter of the filling into a Dutch oven, or any oven-proof pan deep enough to accommodate the "height" of the cannelloni tubes. Gently press the uncooked cannelloni tubes upright into the filling.
Gently spoon the remaining filling into the tubes. (I find it easiest to pour the filling in a few installments over the top of the tubes, smoothing it out with a spoon which forces it down into the tubes.)
Pour the cheese sauce over the cannelloni. Sprinkle with mozzarella and Pecorino.
Place the Dutch oven on a baking sheet and bake, uncovered, for about 40 minutes, until the cannelloni is tender and the cheese is golden, brown and bubbly.
Cool for about 10 minutes before serving in a messy but happy heap on your plate.
Serves 6-8.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: caramel corn with pecans
Two years ago: spaghetti brownies
Three years ago: dukkah
I suppose that 15 years with the fellow has taken its toll on me, though, because a few weeks ago I read a recipe for something called "Cannelloni, straight up," which was a randomly difficult, vertical method for serving the large pasta tubes. I mused, "That's right! Why should I eat plain old reclining cannelloni? How boring is that, when I can balance them next to each other, perpendicular to the pan, for extra fun and excitement?"
It was so fun that I made it twice in two weeks. I should also mention that it was delicious, with its vegetable-heavy, slightly sweet sauce (that reminds me a little of this) and its rich cheese cloak and its crusty, baked, almost-burned edges and bits. It's a big mess on the plate, but it looks gorgeous in its baking dish, symmetrical and bubbly and golden. It is effort for no reason. Except that the reason is, because it's fun and new and different and who couldn't use a little of that on a freezing, run-of-the-mill January Wednesday?
No word on whether it goes with a Southern Comfortable.
++++++
CANNELLONI, STRAIGHT UP
Adapted from "The Australian Women's Weekly"
Needless to say, you don't have to prop the cannelloni up if you don't want to. You can make "Cannelloni, prone" if you want. I won't tell anyone and it will still be delicious.
I like the cannelloni made by Molisana. It's cut straight on the ends, which makes it possible to stand on end in the baking dish (as opposed to angled ends). And, according to Molisana's Web site, it's the "eternal protagonist of banquets." Tell me, how could you go wrong with that?!
Finally, feel free to make this dish with ground beef instead of ground turkey.
The filling:
1/4 c. extra-virgin olive oil
1 large white or yellow onion, finely chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 medium carrots, finely chopped
2 celery stalks, finely chopped
1 lb. ground turkey
2 15-oz. cans diced tomatoes
3/4 c. tomato paste
4 c. water
2 t. dried oregano
1 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
Salt and pepper, to taste
The cheese sauce:
4 T. unsalted butter
1/3 c. all-purpose flour
3 c. whole milk
1 c. Pecorino cheese, grated
Pinch of grated nutmeg
Salt and pepper, to taste
To assemble the dish:
1 1/2 lbs. cannelloni
1 c. mozzarella cheese, grated
2 T. Pecorino cheese, grated
First, make the filling. Heat the olive oil in a large saucepan. Add the onion, garlic, carrot and celery and cook over low heat until the vegetables are soft. Remove the vegetables from the pan, transferring into a bowl. Set aside.
Add the turkey; cook, stirring, over medium-high heat until the meat is browned, breaking up any lumps.
Return the reserved vegetables to the pan with the cooked turkey. Add the tomatoes, tomato paste, water and oregano and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, partially covered, for about 1 hour. (While the filling is cooking, make the cheese sauce, below.) The sauce will thicken slightly. Remove from heat. Add the parsley and season to taste with salt and pepper.
While the filling is cooking, make the cheese sauce. Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the flour; whisk together with the butter and cook for a few minutes to remove the raw flour taste. Gradually whisk in the milk, whisking constantly until the sauce boils and thickens. Remove from heat and stir in the cheese and nutmeg. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit and assemble the dish. Spoon a quarter of the filling into a Dutch oven, or any oven-proof pan deep enough to accommodate the "height" of the cannelloni tubes. Gently press the uncooked cannelloni tubes upright into the filling.
Gently spoon the remaining filling into the tubes. (I find it easiest to pour the filling in a few installments over the top of the tubes, smoothing it out with a spoon which forces it down into the tubes.)
Pour the cheese sauce over the cannelloni. Sprinkle with mozzarella and Pecorino.
Place the Dutch oven on a baking sheet and bake, uncovered, for about 40 minutes, until the cannelloni is tender and the cheese is golden, brown and bubbly.
Cool for about 10 minutes before serving in a messy but happy heap on your plate.
Serves 6-8.
++++++
Previously, on A Stove With A House Around It:
One year ago: caramel corn with pecans
Two years ago: spaghetti brownies
Three years ago: dukkah
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