I feel a little bad for kale because last year, it was Miss Thing, and now, it’s well after senior prom and graduation, and Miss Thing is still working in her hometown at the minimart. An illustration of this: I just rescued 7 gallon bags full of kale from our community garden where a whole row of Tuscan kale plants had been left to die under the snow. It’s like no one has any good ideas for what to do with kale this year. Now it’s all about beets and turnips. People look at kale like an out-dated hair do.
Once again I make a fool of myself with another “learning experience,” a.k.a: a failed Daring Bakers Challenge. Lots of laughter and approximately two and a half tears. It was all going so well. I made a break-through in my annals of praline, discovered the ribbon stage of an egg, and then—I blew it on the final step. Runny, runny mousseline. I was having a fit when my husband came into the kitchen to ask what was the matter. It’s all wrong. Why? Look at the picture of what it is supposed to look like—and then KP couldn’t speak he was so overcome with the giggles because mine looked like a poorly peanut buttered bagel. I began to laugh/cry/dry heave in shame. And then we ate it all, because, again, deliciousness knows no proper shape.
This pastry has a cool story. Paris-Brest was developed in 1910 by Louis Durand, a pastry chef of Maisons-Lafitte, to commemorate the Paris-Brest bicycle race. The circular shape, made with pâte à choux, is representative of a wheel. The dessert is usually cut in half, filled with an almond and hazelnut flavored crème mousseline, decorated with slivered almond and powdered sugar. Mine looks like a wheel deflated and leaking peanut butter. Which it is, except the peanut butter is a sweet praline hazelnut almond butter that tastes like heaven. Maybe next time I won’t look like an incompetent Ruprick.
Paris-Worst, an attempt at Paris-Brest
Pâte à Choux Ingredients
1/3 cup water
6 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons whole milk
1/3 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon caster sugar
1/3 cup cold butter
¾ cup plus 4 teaspoons cake flour
3 medium eggs
two handfuls of slivered almonds
egg for the brushing
Preheat oven to moderate 350°F and sift the flour.
In a nonstick saucepan pour in the milk, water, sugar and salt. Add the butter in small pieces and put on medium heat. Stir with a wooden spoon and bring to a boil. Add the flour in one shot to the boiling liquid. Stir vigorously with a wooden spatula. Cook on the stove on a very low heat for a few minutes, until the dough becomes firm, smooth and homogeneous. The dough must be dry and detach from the bottom of the pan easily.
If you have a standup mixer pour the mixture into its bowl. With the K beater stir the mixture on low speed for a few minutes, until it cools down a little. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well on medium speed. Before adding the next egg make sure that everything is well blended. This way, the air will be incorporated into the dough and when baking it will make puff the Paris Brest which won’t deflate out of the oven.
If you don’t have a standup mixer proceed mixing the eggs directly in the pan where you cooked the dough, after allowing it to cool down. Work the egg with the wooden spatula until all the egg is incorporated before adding the next one. The dough should be smooth, like a thick cream.
Cover the baking sheets with baking paper. If you use baking paper you can trace some circles of 4¾ -inches to help you out piping the circles. To pipe the Paris-Brest use a pastry bag (or the crazy metal contraption which I think some farmer or 1950s machinist must have invented in his shop—which I found, of course, at Goodwill)
with a 3/8-inch plain nozzle and pipe two circles, the outer one of the diameter of the circle you drew.
Pipe a third circle on top, using the star-shaped nozzle. If you don’t have one use a fork to trace some lines on its surface, this will help the choux pastry to rise properly. Brush with the beaten egg and sprinkle with slivered almonds.
Bake in a moderate oven 350°F for about 23-25 minutes. To get rid of any moisture in the oven you can keep the door slightly open. This way the dough will dry out completely during baking. The Paris-Brest should be golden brown, with a uniform color. Let cool completely on a rack before slicing and piping with the crème mousseline. Mine deflated a little after I took them out of the oven, and that is because they weren’t quite cooked all the way through—needed perhaps another 5-10 minutes. Learning experience #1.
Praliné Ingredients
1/3 cup whole almonds
1/3 cup whole hazelnuts
6 tablespoons caster sugar
1 tablespoon water
Directions:
Put the sugar into a non-stick pan, over medium heat. Add water and bring to a boil.
When the sugar reaches 250°F (without thermometer you will need to reach the stage at which the sugar begins to boil and the syrup starts to become more and more dense), add the nuts all at once. Mix well with a wooden spoon to coat all the nuts in the sugar. At this point, the sugar will start to sand, i.e. crystallize again. Continue to stir. The sugar will melt a second time, this time caramelizing. This here was my breakthrough because in the past, I had always thought the “sand” phase was the end point in the praline game, but NO, what a miracle that there is yet a second melting point once the nuts have been introduced. Fascinating, and beautiful, beautiful result.
Once all the nuts caramelize, remove the pan from the heat.
Pour the entire contents of the pan on a heat-resistant silicone mat or on a marble slab lightly oiled with vegetable oil.
Let cool completely. Break into smaller pieces and grind until you have a thick paste.
Crème Mousseline Ingredients (here is my epic fail)
1 cup (250 ml) whole milk
2 egg yolks
¼ cup caster (superfine) sugar
3 tablespoon cake flour, sieved
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon butter
3 oz praliné
1 vanilla pod, sliced open length wise
Directions:
In a small saucepan bring the milk to a boil with the vanilla pod. Put aside and let cool for about 10 minutes. In a bowl whisk the eggs yolks and sugar until they become white. Note: this is absolutely stunning, by the way, I had NO idea that yolks would pale if beaten with air and sugar. I read about this further, and learned that this process is called Ribboning, or getting eggs to the ribbon stage. I’m not sure I completely did it correctly, but the point is for the eggs to not become granular when heated.
Add the flour and whisk until all mixed through.
Mix half of the milk in the egg, until all uniform. Pour into a small pan and put on medium heat. Cook until the cream thickens, stirring the cream continuously. When thick transfer into a bowl and cover with cling film touching the cream. Let cool. Now here I think was my error. I don’t think I got my cream “thick” enough—it sort of resembled the choux paste and was getting “granular” so I pulled it off the heat and it became again really really runny. At which point I thought it might coagulate when cooled. It did not. Then I thought it would thicken when I added the praline butter. It did not. Goo goo goo. DAMN!
In a bowl mix the softened butter with the praliné. Add to the cooled cream until homogeneous. Discover that the paste is too runny and consider purchasing a toilet, like my parents recently did, entitled memoirs into which you can flush the last four hours of your day.
So, on the spectrum of Paris-Brest, I do understand this to be the “worst”—which, I have to Accept and Move On. Ready for the next challenge! says the Incompetent Idiot! I suppose this is fantastic training for the start of residency in a few months.
I think if I watch The Giver movie several more times I’ll have the secret of life. What a well-wrought tale, and beautifully filmed this year. One takeaway for me on this last viewing was to champion the hot and colds real life affords, alternative to the temperate climate of a benign life with its edges sedated and balmed away with cheap, automatic pleasures—the life that proceeds from easy, safe choices. Insulated as opposed to raw. The simple, and wrong, dichotomy is to assume that with wealth comes the insulation, and with poverty, rawness. I know I used to think this was the case, but now I am not sure at all that money has anything to do with it, really. The Giver also problematizes the dichotomy that insulated is bad and raw is good, however the ending does allow the apparent better of the two evils— rawness—to prevail. I think insulated versus raw living is a matter of the vigor of one’s conscience, and the courage it takes to follow the path it reveals. Somehow, too, I think learning not to avoid extremes, in: climate, personality, experience and otherwise, is another virtue—perhaps only because living in Minnesota has me self-righteousness at facing these winters—but also, because I have chosen psychiatry, it occurs to me that cancelling out extremes is an answer to the problem of mood and personality but not always the right one. Without suffering there can be no joy, without love there is no loss. By the way, I miss you already Dave—thank you for the first Thanksgiving in years with blood family. You are a true brother in every sense of the word/concept. Love you.
In The Giver, the community members are aware of their feelings, but are blunted to the experience of their emotions. They know what it is to enjoy, without knowing joy. They feel pleasure, but no love, anxiousness but not sorrow. While their lives appear serene and ideal, there is no true serenity because they have eliminated chaos. There is no peace without wildness. Peace in the absence of the threat of wildness is not peace, but inertia. Can’t wait to watch The Giver again next week, with a slice of bundt. This cake, and the making of it, is a memory The Giver would have used as evidence for the preciousness of taste.
Sour Cream Pumpkin Bundt Cake with Streusel and Orange Glaze
Adapted from Penzeys Spices Catalogue
Streusel
1/2 Cup brown sugar, packed
1 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 tsp. allspice
2 tsp. butter
Cake
3 cups flour
1 TB. cinnamon
2 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
2 cups sugar
1 cup butter (2 sticks)
4 eggs
1 cup puréed pure pumpkin
1 cup sour cream
2 tsp. vanilla
Glaze
1 ½ Cups powdered sugar
2-3 TB. orange juice or milk
Preheat oven to 350°. Grease and flour a large (12-cup) Bundt pan.
For the streusel, combine the brown sugar, cinnamon and allspice in a bowl. Rub in the butter until crumbly with your fingers, or use a fork to cut it in. Set aside.
For the cake, in a medium bowl, combine the flour, cinnamon, baking soda and salt. In a separate bowl, cream together the sugar and butter until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the pumpkin, sour cream and vanilla and mix well. Gradually add the dry ingredients and mix well. Spoon half of the batter into the prepared pan, trying to build up the sides slightly so the streusel won’t hit the pan edge. Sprinkle the streusel over the batter, trying not to let the streusel touch the sides of the pan. Carefully spoon the remaining batter on top, and smooth with a spatula. Bake at 350° for 55-60 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the cake comes out clean. Let cool about halfway on a wire rack 20-30 minutes before carefully turning the pan over onto the serving plate. Cool completely before glazing.
For the glaze, sift the powdered sugar into a small bowl, add 2 TB. orange juice or milk and stir until smooth. Add more liquid as desired. Drizzle over the cooled cake. Don’t just enjoy. Joy this day.
Each man is a half-open door/leading to a room for everyone, wrote Tomas Tranströmer. This line is ever on my heart at the Thanksgiving table, the very place a hallway for kindred souls. Each face a doorway; each smile the light beneath it.
So grateful to have my brother visiting Minnesota for the first time. He texted from his layover that he was starving to death, so I made this and brought it to him at the airport. Can’t beet family.
Lettuce Turnip the Beet McMuffin
Adapted from the Post Punk Vegan Kitchen
1 1/4 cups cooked, cooled brown rice
1 cup cooked brown or green lentils, cooled, drained well
Peel beets and shred with the shredder attachment of your food processor, then set aside. Change the attachment to a metal blade. Pulse the brown rice, shredded beets and lentils about 15 to 20 times, until the mixture comes together, but still has texture. It should look a lot like ground meat, which is a nice psychological bonus.
Now transfer to a mixing bowl and add all the remaining ingredients. Use your hands to mix very well. Everything should be well incorporated, so get in there and take your time, it could take a minute or two.
Place the mixture in the fridge for a half hour to chill.
Preheat a cast iron pan over medium-high. Form the patties. Each patty will be a heaping 1/2 cup of mixture.
Pour a very thin layer of oil into the pan and cook patties for about 12 minutes, flipping occasionally. Do two at a time if you’re pan isn’t big enough. Drizzle in a little more oil or use a bottle of organic cooking spray as needed. Burgers should be charred at the edges and heated through.
I just made a stack of these, uncooked, and put them in my fridge. All set for Thanksgiving weekend. Did them for dinner last night burger style with chard and again this morning as an egg mcmuffin for my bro. I think the egg mcmuffin won.
Izzy loves having Dave here. In my opinion, she’s hogging him. If each person is a half-open door, Izzy is a half open garage door.
The interview trail is a curious path— I’m a little weary of taking the tour through all the possible different versions of my future self, because it turns out the hall of mirrors goes on in infinite reflection. Strange to think that the choices I make in the next three months will all but shatter most. But then again, I suppose life has its own way of doing that. All the circumstances we cannot choose. I suppose there are even more infinite reflections of a self in shattered glass than from a looking glass intact. More breadth from brokenness—an interesting thought.
One thing that I LOVE about interviews? Goodie bags. SO my style. Thank you, Boise.
Getting to cook with my in-laws this evening in Seattle.
Squash Gratin
Adapted from The Food Network mag
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium onion, chopped
1 tablespoon chopped fresh thyme
1 small butternut squash, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 small kabocha squash, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes * honestly, you could use whatever kind of squash—kabocha is expensive, and this tasted Fantastic with a couple of my little pattypan summer squashes.
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/4 teaspoon ground mace
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper
1 cup low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup breadcrumbs
2 tablespoons grated parmesan cheese
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
1/2 cup grated gruyere cheese (about 2 ounces) *similarly, if you can’t afford gruyere (which most days I can’t), go for English aged cheddar, white
Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Melt 2 tablespoons butter in a large ovenproof skillet over medium-high heat. Add the onion and thyme and cook, stirring, until the onion softens, about 5 minutes.
Meanwhile, combine the squash in a large microwave-safe bowl with 1 cup water. Cover with plastic wrap and microwave until the squash is just tender, about 5 minutes. Drain and add the squash to the skillet along with the garlic, mace, 1 teaspoon salt and a few grinds of pepper. Cook, stirring, about 3 minutes. Add the broth and cook until it is mostly absorbed, about 5 more minutes. Stir in the heavy cream and cook until slightly thickened, 2 minutes.
Melt the remaining 1 tablespoon butter in the microwave and toss with the breadcrumbs, parmesan and parsley; season with salt and pepper. Sprinkle over the squash, then top with the gruyere. Transfer the skillet to the oven and bake until golden, about 30 minutes. Let rest 5 minutes before serving.
Took my bread-making on the road today because we were visiting KP’s grandma Alice and buying turkeys for Quest Church’s homeless Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.
“Education doesn’t make you happy. Nor does freedom. We don’t become happy just because we’re free – if we are. Or because we’ve been educated – if we have. But because education may be the means by which we realize we are happy. It opens our eyes, our ears, tells us where delights are lurking, convinces us that there is only one freedom of any importance whatsoever, that of the mind, and gives us the assurance – the confidence – to walk the path our mind, our educated mind, offers.”
― Iris Murdoch
In my case, delights just so happen to be lurking in Fort Lauderdale, somewhere between the palm-treed sunrise and the Harbor Beach hotel where the Academy of Psychosomatic Medicine has me enraptured, my curiosity sated by the second. Methinks, as my mentor puts it, “Rachel, these are your people.”
Whole Wheat Challah
Adapted from Penzeys Spices Magazine
1 ½ cup sourdough starter
1 ½ cup warm water, divided
2 TB. sugar
1/2 Cup olive oil
1/2 Cup honey
3 large eggs
3-4 Cups whole wheat flour
1 tsp. salt
2-3 Cups whole wheat pastry flour
1-2 tsp. oil for the bowl the dough will rise in
Glaze:
1 egg
1 tsp. water
1-2 tsp. poppy or sesame seeds, optional
In a small bowl, combine the starter, one cup warm water and sugar. Stir and let sit for a few minutes until bubbly.
In a large bowl, combine 1/2 cup of warm water, olive oil, honey and eggs. Stir until blended. Add the yeast mixture and stir. Begin adding 1 cup of whole wheat flour at a time. Stir in thoroughly after each cup. After 2 cups have been mixed in, add the salt. Add in another 1-2 cups of whole wheat flour and then switch to either whole wheat pastry flour or unbleached white flour. Stir until the dough is so stiff you can’t stir any more. Then, dump 1 cup of pastry or white flour onto the counter and put the dough on top. Knead for about 10 minutes, turning the dough over and shaking more flour on the table as the dough absorbs the flour and gets sticky. Place in an oiled bowl and let sit for 1 1/2-2 hours.
When doubled in bulk, punch down the dough and then divide and roll into strands for braiding. Make strands about 18″ long. This recipe makes 2 large challah or 3 medium ones, so divide the dough into 6 or 9 strands. Challah traditionally is a doubled braided loaf so you want the strands twice as long as your bread loaf will be. Cover the baking sheets with parchment paper or foil and then lay 3 strands on each pan with the edges hanging off. Start braiding from the middle down to the end.
Cover again to rise at least 1 hour. Beat the whole egg with the water. Brush the loaves with the egg wash, sprinkle with poppy seeds or sesame seeds, if desired, about 1 tsp. per loaf. For 3 loaves bake at 375° for about 20 minutes, for 2 larger loaves we dropped the temperature to 350° and baked a few minutes longer.
May I also say, for the record, that it is nice to be catcalled. Walking the two miles between the dive motel I chose to stay in and the luxury resort where the conference is held, I have subjected myself to the lurid stares of idle beach bum college(?) guys who balk at my choice of black corduroy pants and mint suit coat jacket. “Girl, you are too fine to not have a swimsuit on! I like yo’ leggings, tho! You still pretty.” And I blush, because Minnesota bashfulness is contagious, and I say, “Thank you” with a red-face grin. Been too long since the streets called me pretty. And that’s a shame.
And, as it turns out, in my own special way, I am a challah back girl.
Time to eat a couple of meals to put on a winter layer. The chickens have so many lessons to offer us. Over the last couple of weeks they have been packing it away to prepare for these frozen months. Yesterday, before it had fallen, you could see the snow looming up there. The sky was heavy with white, like the underside of an overstuffed mattress, fixing to burst. And while I was sleeping , it did. I couldn’t understand why Betty and Quest would choose now to molt, until I spied them hunkered down in a corner of the coop in a bed of their own feathers. Brilliant. That is where I would like to be, quiet for long hours while all nature slows to rest. Funny how every species except the human seems to understand the way of things—how a season of rest is a natural imperative called for by Father Time, who seems like a truly reasonable character. Instead, the human race (and Chicken Little) seems to bend to the force of Great Aunt Panic. The sky did in fact fall. And still, we go on in sleep beneath the down.
Wasabi Steak and Noodles
Adapted from Penzeys Spices
8 oz. strip steak
¼ tsp ginger
¼ tsp garlic powder
1 tsp filet mignonette (a spice gifted to me from my friend Jo, who is lucky enough to live a hop, skip and a jump from Penzeys, my spice mecca)
4 oz. egg noodles, wide or extra wide (I actually used star-shaped macaroni, because I giggled when I got to the pantry imagining Chinese Stars, the weapon, and my brother throwing plastic ones at my head when we were little)
2 tsp. olive oil
sprinkle garlic powder
sprinkle ginger
2 tsp. rice vinegar
1 tsp. wasabi
1 TB. water
1 TB. soy sauce (I use tamari)
½ tsp. white and/or black sesame seeds
Bring 4 cups of water to a boil for the pasta. Season both sides of steak with ginger, garlic, and filet mignonette spice. Heat a stovetop grill, grill pan or heavy duty fry pan over medium-high heat. Cook beef until medium rare-usually 4-5 minutes per side, depending on the thickness of the steak. Remove the steak from the pan and let it rest while cooking the noodles. Cook the egg noodles in the boiling water, 6-7 minutes. Drain the noodles when done, toss with olive oil and a sprinkle of garlic and ginger. Add the rice vinegar to the noodles and toss to coat.
Ever notice how the font on wasabi products seems to imply the purchaser is insane?
Wasabi!!?! is written like something a crazy person might shriek before beheading a stuffed animal or something. Anyway. Mix the wasabi powder with water, stir to blend, (I skipped the water because I bought wasabi paste) and then mix with soy sauce and sesame seeds. Cube the steak in bite-sized pieces and add to the noodles. Drizzle with the wasabi-soy mix and toss again to combine the steak and noodles and blend the flavors. Salt to taste and serve.
Tonight the first snow of winter shall fall upon our home—the coop has been revamped with a heated water tank, heat lamps, fresh hay and newly insulated walls—and yet, Betty White, in all her wisdom, decided that this would be a great time to molt. I hereby initiate the Save Betty campaign. I’m looking for sweater patterns that might go nicely with thinning grey. Or chicken leggings since her bottom is bare at the moment. Also, I’m feeding her protein-rich cat food. Maybe she’ll be a whiskered hen that meows by the end of winter.
In the face of winter, one way we keep cozy around here is by cooking hot breakfast on cold mornings. These muffins are so good, I could just molt.
Tartine English Muffins
Adapted from the Tartine cookbook
First, make a poolishof 200g water, 200g flour, and a dollop of sourdough starter, cover and let it rise overnight, or at least four hours.
Then, make Tartine Baguette dough (using baker’s percentages (BP), so, as you will)
Sourdough starter 400g (40)
Water 500g (50)
Poolish 400g (40)
Bread flour 350g (35)
All purpose flour 650g (65)
Salt 24g (2)
Follow the classic Tartine steps for bulk fermentation for the next 3-4 hours. Then, when you would otherwise shape the loaf and set to proof, stretch the dough into an as-flat-as-possible patty. Sprinkle a copious amount of flour/rice flour on the dough and cover on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Let cold rise overnight. In the morning, take the dough out of the refrigerator at least 30 minutes before you bake.
Clarify one stick of butter by boiling it down and then straining the liquid through a metal sieve. This is not imperative, but separating the milk fats from the yellow butter fat will make it less likely to burn.
Use a glass or a circle shape cutter to make the muffin rounds in the dough.
Heat a skillet and add enough of the clarified butter to just cover the bottom of the skillet. When the skillet is sizzling hot, carefully transfer the dough rounds and cook for 2-4 minutes, until the muffin starts to lift up with air, and flip when the bottom is golden brown.
Cannot believe how perfect these were. I’ve never even liked English muffins, but hot off the griddle, these were so soft and full of flavor. The crumb is spongy and full of air pockets into which butter and jam can melt. OOOOhhhh. These are featured anew on Sourdough Surprises www.sourdoughsurprises.blogspot.com
I LOVE these. A veritable breakfast delicacy, and I imagine, perfect for Christmas morning. Even the dough remnants make yummy little beignet-ish nibbles that are irresistible.
I am roasting everything in sight. This dish is surprisingly sweet, and without sugar, for those needing to detox post-Halloween. There is nothing more comforting than sizzling gourds in autumn. One of the more creepy sentences I’ve ever written.
Roasted Butternut Squash with Lentils
Adapted from Food and Wine and Penzeys Spices
1 1/2 teaspoons cumin seeds
1 butternut squash (about 2 1/4 pounds, or 6 heaping cups), peeled and cut into 1/2-inch dice (mine courtesy of Barb Schaffer and my superb neighbors Jason and Laura)
1 parsnip—peeled, halved lengthwise and sliced 1/4 inch thick
2 medium onions, coarsely chopped
1 1/2 teaspoons paprika, smoked
1 teaspoon grated fresh ginger
Pinch of freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 cup green lentils
1 1/2 cup water
1 small shallot, peeled
1 bay leaf
3/4 cup walnuts (about 1/4 pound)
1/2 cup coarsely chopped cilantro (or mint with feta cheese)
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (or red wine vinegar)
Preheat the oven to 425°. In a small skillet, toast the cumin seeds over moderate heat until fragrant, about 2 minutes. Transfer to a spice grinder and let cool, then finely grind. In a bowl, toss the butternut squash with the parsnip, onions, ground cumin, paprika, ginger, nutmeg and ¾ cup olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. Roast for about 35 minutes, stirring once, or until the squash and parsnip are tender and lightly browned. Leave the oven on.
Meanwhile, in a small saucepan, combine the lentils with the water, shallot and bay leaf and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer until tender, about 25 minutes. Drain off any liquid; discard the bay leaf and shallot and season the lentils with salt and pepper.
In a pie plate, toast the walnuts in the oven for 5 to 7 minutes, or until fragrant. Let cool, then coarsely chop. In a small bowl, mix the cilantro with the lemon juice and the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.
In a large bowl, toss the roasted vegetables with the lentils, walnuts and dressing and serve.
I love it when food matches the colors outside, in this case, the last of the fallen leaves.
