Archive for the ‘Recipes’ Category
Where There’s A Will, There’s A Whey
July 18, 2008I tried to make cheese again last night and IT WORKED!! The kit that I purchased from cheesemaking.com mentioned a powdered milk alternative for those who can’t find the right milk, and despite my initial misgivings, I crossed my fingers and threw just over five cups of milk powder into some water. This time, I had curds! I could cut them with a knife! They came together into a shiny ball, just as they were supposed to! I was so wrapped up in all of the excitement that I completely forgot to salt my cheese, but that was quickly remedied by melting the curds and kneading them again with some salt. (This process may have made the cheese a bit harder, but I don’t think I care at this point!)
So, folks, I can give the Cheese Queen’s 30-Minute Mozzarella Kit an official French Toast stamp of approval–and just in time for tomato season!
The kit I used, as well as cookbooks and all sorts of other goodies, can be purchased online at cheesemaking.com or through Amazon.com. One caveat: the recipe in the cookbook is different from the recipe in the kit. The latter recipe seemed to produce better cheese, in my unscientific tests.
I’d also like to take this opportunity to apologize for any physical or emotional pain inflicted by the title of this post.
Sour Milk: Curds, Whey, but No Cheese
July 13, 2008Well, today was the grand mozzarella experiment. I had ordered a starter kit, and a cookbook, and had waited impatiently for both. My little 4-year-old cousin and I were all aflutter about making our own cheese. I finally tried it after he went to bed, which turned out to be merciful. In a word, it was a dismal failure.
I took great care to heat the milk just so, and add the various acids and rennet at just the right moment. I nearly panicked when I realized that the thermometer that my mother had cunningly hung from the cabinet above the stove was encased in curds that were colder than the rest of the pot. I did everything as I was supposed to, and the result was a blobby mass of white stuff that smelled…well…I suspect that humanity’s evolutionary knowledge bank includes “thou shalt not eat things that smell like failed cheese experiments.” My mother was kind enough to taste it, and politely said that it tasted like ricotta–not good ricotta, but ricotta. I just couldn’t bring myself to try it, for some reason.
Of course, once I had spilled both the proverbial and the not-so-proverbial milk, I just had to figure out why my cheesy hopes were so thoroughly disappointed. I used milk from a local dairy–Oberweis–that claims to be only pasteurized, not ultra-pasteurized. (High heat destroys the protein, and inhibits curd formation.) It turns out that Oberweis pasteurizes their milk at exactly 173º F, which happens to be just one degree below the temperature at which milk becomes useless for cheese. A little research could have spared me some aggravation, though I think most people would assume that milk that not only comes in glass bottles but tastes more, well, milk-like than any other milk out there would make superb cheese. Oh well.
At some point in the very near future, I will try again with, of all things, powdered milk, which is supposed to work very well. If that doesn’t work, I will explore other local dairy options. Much to my mother’s chagrin, I have enough supplies for 40 batches. So help me, I will make decent cheese!
Food Lesson #4,361: Ice Cream Must Contain a Fair Amount of Cream
July 11, 2008A few days ago, my family went blueberry picking. The berries weren’t quite sweet yet, but we picked thirteen pounds nonetheless. Things got really interesting when wires were crossed and someone washed all thirteen pounds at once, thus touching off a frenzy of blueberry consumption. (Blueberries spoil very soon after they are washed.
We’ve made blueberry scottish scones (scrumptious), blueberry indian pudding (which refused to thicken until my mother added the oatmeal she tosses into almost everything), blueberry and apple crisps and turnovers and, of course, there’s been a fair amount of yogurt sprinkled with fresh blueberries. Last night, however, we reached a critical point: use the blueberries or throw them out.
I had been toying with the idea of bastardizing a great strawberry sorbet recipe I have, so I decided to just go for it. After an hour or so of sorting blueberries, I began to throw things into a bowl. I began with most of the blueberries that were still good, a handful of strawberries that were also teetering on the brink of spoilage, and a hefty dose of simple syrup. My mother suggested that I add salt and vanilla, both of which were great choices. Then we began to go a bit crazy. I couldn’t find the mascarpone left over from my gelato experiments, but we did have a few tablespoons of heavy cream. That went in the bowl, and was joined by a serious splash of half-and-half. I processed everything with a stick blender, tasted and tweaked, and then poured everything into the ice cream machine.
Today came the vital post-freezing serve-it-to-your-family taste test. On the plus side, my little cousin who dislikes both fruits and vegetables liked it. On the other hand, it was really a granita. I was very disappointed with the texture. I guess next time, I’ll have to add much more dairy. Live and learn, right? In any event, the great thing about experimenting with food is that inevitably you either eat or throw out the results–there’s rarely any enduring evidence.
I very much doubt that I will ruin my next experiment by skimping on the dairy. See, I’ve been reading Barbara Kingsolver’s “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle,” and she’s well on her way to making me move to Appalachia so I can grow and can my own tomatoes. My cheese-making kit arrived tonight, and I’ll probably try my hand at making mozzarella tomorrow. I’ll be starting with a gallon of Oberweis milk. If there’s not enough dairy in the cheese I’ll know that I have a very serious problem on my hands!
Tarte aux Poivrons
March 8, 2008Among the many powers food wields over us is control of our memories. Some foods can instantly bring the past alive, such as the madeleine that whisked Marcel Proust back to his childhood. I had one such experience this week with a tart–not a woman of questionable reputation, the kind with a crust.
While I was in Aix, I came to like many foods that I had previously chosen not to eat. For instance, I never really liked the flavor of cooked bell peppers. They are slightly bitter, and have a disagreeably slimy texture. When Anne brought a pepper tart to the dinner table one evening, I resigned myself to politely eat something I found distasteful. Fortunately for me, Anne’s cooking was generally magical, and this meal was no exception. I loved that tart–it turns out that goat cheese and tapenade harmonize very well with peppers. She made it several times that year and I looked forward to tarte aux poivrons days. When I left, it was at the top of my list of recipes to get from her. Anne’s tart still the only vehicle for cooked peppers that I really like.
I had a friend over for dinner this week, and I decided to make a tarte aux poivrons. Anne used a pre-made pâte sablée crust from Monoprix. (Monoprix is roughly equivalent to Target: it sells everything from food to yarn to accessories. Pâte sablée is basically a savory pie crust, and pre-made savory pie crusts are almost impossible to find in the United States.) I opted to use phyllo dough instead.
The tart was everything I remembered. It’s so quintessentially French: three simple ingredients complement one another to form a rich, creamy flavor that is altogether unique. Baking the tart upside-down kept the phyllo dough flaky; a crispy crust is an excellent counterpart to all of that goat cheese! A green salad with a Dijon caper vinaigrette rounded out a perfectly French dinner.
I dreamed about my reluctance to leave Aix for the next 3 nights.
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Tarte aux Poivrons, adapted from Anne David
serves: 4-6
1 box frozen phyllo dough (recipe uses 1/2 of 1 roll)
5 fresh green, red or yellow peppers
200 grams fresh goat cheese
4 ounces black olive purée (I used Alessi)
1. Roast, peel, and slice the peppers. There are two good ways to do roast peppers:
a. If you have a gas stove, light a medium flame. Place the peppers directly onto the burner, rotating until evenly charred. Place into a bowl and cover tightly with plastic wrap. The peppers will steam a bit as they cool, and the skins will come right off.
b. Roast the peppers for an hour at 350º. Plunge them into very cold water, so that the skins come off more easily.
2. Line a 10-15 inch tart pan with parchment. Preheat oven to 350º.
3. Arrange the pepper slices decoratively on the parchment.
4. Place dollops of goat cheese on the peppers. Aim for a relatively even cheese distribution–it doesn’t have to be perfect.
5. Spread tapenade over cheese and peppers.
6. Open phyllo dough, keeping excess covered as much as possible while you work with it. Place one sheet over tart, folding extra dough into the pan. Cover with a light layer of olive oil (I use a Misto sprayer, but a pastry brush would work as well). Place the next sheet perpendicular to the first and continue in this fashion until you’ve built up a decent crust, or until half of the roll of phyllo dough has been used.
7. Bake until crust is golden brown, about 25 minutes. Invert onto a platter and enjoy.
Just like Papa used to make.
January 2, 2008When I was little, my family spent almost every weekend in Michigan. My brothers and I grew up in the middle of Chicago, and for us, it was magical to have a big yard where we could play in the snow and have batting practice and ride our bikes. Beyond that, though, Michigan was a great place to eat. There are lots of orchards and wonderful little butcher shops; even if we stayed home and cooked, we were guaranteed a wonderful meal.
My grandparents used to come up to join us. Every Saturday morning, they would arrive with a big, red cooler that inevitably contained massive quantities of my grandfather’s rich, almost opaque chicken soup and my grandmother’s light, fluffy matzo ball dough, as well as at least 3 loaves of sinful zucchini bread, carefully wrapped and frozen. Lunch was always a grand but informal affair: delicious soup for all!
Both of my grandparents are gone, but I have been trying to replicate Papa’s soup for years now. No matter how many carrots, onions, or celery stalks I simmered in his gargantuan stock pot, the soup just didn’t taste right. When I finally located my grandmother’s recipe box, I flipped open the box and prepared to rifle through everything in search of Papa’s elusive recipe. I didn’t have to look for long; the last person to open that box had left one index card poking out above all of the others, with the words “Chicken Soup” plainly visible. It turns out that Papa used parsnips, celeriac, and (oddly enough) parsley root.
Once I asked the greengrocer to direct me to these odd vegetables, I bought 20 pounds of chicken legs and ran home. Soon the house smelled just like it had in my childhood. I make Papa’s soup frequently now, and I smile whenever I put in the parsnips and the celeriac. For some reason, the obscure root vegetables strike me as proof that the recipe was perfected sometime in the 1940s or 1950s. Who knows? Maybe it’s a recipe that was passed down through several generations before it reached Papa. At the very least, it’s been a family tradition for the last 20 years, and I’m going to make sure that it continues for a long, long time.
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Harold Friedland’s Chicken Soup
16 lb. chicken legs
20 cups water (approximate—enough to cover everything)
4 carrots
4 celery ribs
2 medium onions
6 sprigs flat leaf parsley
2 small parsnips
1 small celeriac (celery root)
1 small parsley root
2 medium leeks
salt and white pepper to taste
Divide ingredients evenly between 2 large stockpots. Boil until soup is opaque—8 hours or so. Strain out solids and discard. Soup can be frozen indefinitely.
Suzette Friedland’s Matzo Balls
1 egg
1 T chicken fat
tip of a spoon of baking powder
speck of ginger
speck of salt
speck of paprika
matzo meal
dried parsley
1. Mix egg and chicken fat.
2. Add spices (except parsley flakes).
3. Add matzo meal until the mixture is moist but not runny.
4. Sprinkle with dried parsley and mix.
5. Refrigerate until mixture swells, about 2-3 hours (or overnight).
6. Bring soup to a boil.
7. Roll into small balls, drop into soup, and cover until center is done, about 1 hour. (Time will vary according to size.)
This recipe makes 6 small matzo balls, and should be multiplied accordingly.
