10/23/2009
Oh, Molly.
There are some bloggers who seem to feel that they should be producing Gourmet-magazine worthy meals for every post. Maybe they should. Who am I to say? But what I do know is that the only recipes I have ever made from the lovely Orangette are simple, homely recipes that she seems to feel the need to apologize for.
Please don't apologize, Molly. I love you. I need you.
Now, she's been crazy busy lately, out there opening a pizza restaurant of all things, but I feel that she's still out there keeping an eye on us, because look: despite a prolonged absence lo these many months (due to restaurant-opening mayhem, for which I harbour no ill will), she recently posted the smack-your-forehead-I-can't-believe-how-good-this-is Warm Butternut and Chickpea Salad with Tahini adapted from Casa Moro, which I have now adapted from her.
She posted the recipe on Oct 1. Two weeks later, she saved me. It was fate.
Coming home from Boston to an empty fridge in the middle of the autumn harvest, I picked up a squash on the way home and wondered what I could make. I ambled around the web a bit, searching for recipes, and then thought of Orangette.
She had never done me wrong. A record kale crop and no idea of what to do with it? Kale with a fried egg and toast becomes a staple. Too many carrots and a vague memory of side salads at Montreal restaurants? A modified French-style carrot salad saves the day. And the easiest, most delightful, always in the pantry solution for desperate evenings (or something you'd like to whip up just 'cause it tastes good?)? The dead easy Chickpea Salad with Lemon and Parmesan, though I usually add garlic.
Now, she might not like to think of these as her legacy, but you ask me, she's done all right.
Thanks, Molly. I've made the exquisite butternut and chickpea salad with tahini dressing two times in less than two weeks. I can't get enough (even grabbing bite after bite - after dinner - as I walk by the bowl "cooling" on the counter).
Please don't apologize, Molly. I love you. I need you.
Now, she's been crazy busy lately, out there opening a pizza restaurant of all things, but I feel that she's still out there keeping an eye on us, because look: despite a prolonged absence lo these many months (due to restaurant-opening mayhem, for which I harbour no ill will), she recently posted the smack-your-forehead-I-can't-believe-how-good-this-is Warm Butternut and Chickpea Salad with Tahini adapted from Casa Moro, which I have now adapted from her.
She posted the recipe on Oct 1. Two weeks later, she saved me. It was fate.
Coming home from Boston to an empty fridge in the middle of the autumn harvest, I picked up a squash on the way home and wondered what I could make. I ambled around the web a bit, searching for recipes, and then thought of Orangette.
She had never done me wrong. A record kale crop and no idea of what to do with it? Kale with a fried egg and toast becomes a staple. Too many carrots and a vague memory of side salads at Montreal restaurants? A modified French-style carrot salad saves the day. And the easiest, most delightful, always in the pantry solution for desperate evenings (or something you'd like to whip up just 'cause it tastes good?)? The dead easy Chickpea Salad with Lemon and Parmesan, though I usually add garlic.
Now, she might not like to think of these as her legacy, but you ask me, she's done all right.
Thanks, Molly. I've made the exquisite butternut and chickpea salad with tahini dressing two times in less than two weeks. I can't get enough (even grabbing bite after bite - after dinner - as I walk by the bowl "cooling" on the counter).
9/16/2008
Trimmings...
Admittedly, the trip itself is somewhat faded by now, but I personally think that the faded bits, the jagged edges, the dogeared memories, they're just as good, if not better, than the crisp, clean, digital photos. And so.
The trip fades.
But the bbq doesn't.
I decided that we were going on a bbq odyssey, and that's more or less what we did. A haphazard, non-linear, back and forth sort of odyssey. With the exception of an unfortunate non-bbq meal in Durham (I believe you that there's great Mexican in Durham, I just don't believe you can get anything to eat in that town after 8pm), we were basically all bbq all the time.
Now, the tricky part is this though: We happened across the best, most succulent, richest, fattest bbq imagineable on the first day. And no, it wasn't at Lexington No. 1 (though that was our first stop).
Now, I knew enough (from my research, spreadsheet) to order "outside, brown and lean."
So that's what we ordered. And the bbq came, and it was good, and we were underwhelmed, both. We ate, we appreciated, but we both raised our eyebrows at each other, in a "We drove all the way to North Carolina and all we got was this stinkin' bbq?" kind of way.
But it was ok, and there would be more, and we would watch minor league baseball. After almost renting the honest-to-god scariest motel room I've ever seen (and I've stayed in some bad, scary places), we got a perfectly respectable room and decided to hit up one last bbq joint before heading up to Winston-Salem for some baseball.
And here is where I have to get down on my knees and thank the accidental, follow-the-wrong-map path that we took.
Here's the thing. Everyone has their own personal yardsticks for judging, well, anything, but in this case restaurants. Mine happens to be filth. Not rats running through the dining room, cockroaches in your food filth, but general dinginess, sloth, and disregard for decor. In my experience, the best, most surprising, most unexpected, most beautiful (cheapest, of course) food is found in places like this. Now, the opposite is not always true (just because it's filthy doesn't mean it's good), but a great restaurant that is soiled around the edges is usually where I'll find the best food.
So of course, when I read this unofficial review, I kicked up my heels:
A miniscule joint on the E. Center Street Extension called Lexington Style Trimmings. I stopped in and to my surprise had some of the best cue I have ever eaten. I opted for the sliced cue with slaw and hushpuppies -- all three were excellent. The puppies were unusually interesting, as they had a kind of moist, melting interior, and the onion-sugar contrast was especially sharp. A word of warning: the joint is seriously grubby (italics mine).
So that was where I chose to send us before our trip up north to see the Warthogs.
Except... the joint wasn't grubby at all, let alone seriously grubby. It's old, yes, faded around the edges (again with that image!?) and I would go so far as to say dingy. But unless I miss my guess, dingy is nothing more than shabby and run down, and by no means implies grubbiness. Like, yeah, the sink was chipped and cracked, but it looked plenty clean to me. The walls were ancient "paneled wood" but they were none the worse for that.
But I lose my thread. My thread is that, were it not for the description I happened across, specifically the warning of a serious grubbiness, this would not have been on my to-hit list. This one mention may well have been the only one I came across. So except for the fact that I have a prediliction for filth, we wouldn't have wound up there. But that's the amazing part. So it wasn't grubby, wasn't filthy, wasn't anything except a little dark and shabby. But had whoever reviewed it described it otherwise, we would never have found what is, based on a too-brief (or quite possibly not brief enough) bbq odyssey, the hands-down best bbq in NC.
(NC BBQ - never photogenic)
The trip fades.
But the bbq doesn't.
I decided that we were going on a bbq odyssey, and that's more or less what we did. A haphazard, non-linear, back and forth sort of odyssey. With the exception of an unfortunate non-bbq meal in Durham (I believe you that there's great Mexican in Durham, I just don't believe you can get anything to eat in that town after 8pm), we were basically all bbq all the time.
Now, the tricky part is this though: We happened across the best, most succulent, richest, fattest bbq imagineable on the first day. And no, it wasn't at Lexington No. 1 (though that was our first stop).
Now, I knew enough (from my research, spreadsheet) to order "outside, brown and lean."So that's what we ordered. And the bbq came, and it was good, and we were underwhelmed, both. We ate, we appreciated, but we both raised our eyebrows at each other, in a "We drove all the way to North Carolina and all we got was this stinkin' bbq?" kind of way.
But it was ok, and there would be more, and we would watch minor league baseball. After almost renting the honest-to-god scariest motel room I've ever seen (and I've stayed in some bad, scary places), we got a perfectly respectable room and decided to hit up one last bbq joint before heading up to Winston-Salem for some baseball.
And here is where I have to get down on my knees and thank the accidental, follow-the-wrong-map path that we took.
Here's the thing. Everyone has their own personal yardsticks for judging, well, anything, but in this case restaurants. Mine happens to be filth. Not rats running through the dining room, cockroaches in your food filth, but general dinginess, sloth, and disregard for decor. In my experience, the best, most surprising, most unexpected, most beautiful (cheapest, of course) food is found in places like this. Now, the opposite is not always true (just because it's filthy doesn't mean it's good), but a great restaurant that is soiled around the edges is usually where I'll find the best food.
So of course, when I read this unofficial review, I kicked up my heels:
A miniscule joint on the E. Center Street Extension called Lexington Style Trimmings. I stopped in and to my surprise had some of the best cue I have ever eaten. I opted for the sliced cue with slaw and hushpuppies -- all three were excellent. The puppies were unusually interesting, as they had a kind of moist, melting interior, and the onion-sugar contrast was especially sharp. A word of warning: the joint is seriously grubby (italics mine).
So that was where I chose to send us before our trip up north to see the Warthogs.
Except... the joint wasn't grubby at all, let alone seriously grubby. It's old, yes, faded around the edges (again with that image!?) and I would go so far as to say dingy. But unless I miss my guess, dingy is nothing more than shabby and run down, and by no means implies grubbiness. Like, yeah, the sink was chipped and cracked, but it looked plenty clean to me. The walls were ancient "paneled wood" but they were none the worse for that.But I lose my thread. My thread is that, were it not for the description I happened across, specifically the warning of a serious grubbiness, this would not have been on my to-hit list. This one mention may well have been the only one I came across. So except for the fact that I have a prediliction for filth, we wouldn't have wound up there. But that's the amazing part. So it wasn't grubby, wasn't filthy, wasn't anything except a little dark and shabby. But had whoever reviewed it described it otherwise, we would never have found what is, based on a too-brief (or quite possibly not brief enough) bbq odyssey, the hands-down best bbq in NC.
(NC BBQ - never photogenic)
9/14/2008
Oh, my little noodle.
I love making pasta. I love it.
(I made my first pasta last night. Does it show?)
Lordy. I do love it. Pasta is the first flour-related item that has ever come together in my hands as if by instinct. I was a new little spider spinning my first web. I just knew what to do. This is a first.
When I was a kid, most everything in the house was a frozen/canned/boxed delight. (Full disclosure: Despite my "cook it all yer darned self from scratch" tendencies, I still love this kind of food. So much so that I avoid the frozen foods aisle when I happen to frequent a Loblaws.) Which means that I come with no acquired kitchen lore. Kids who never did a lick of cooking but whose moms or dads whizzed around the kitchen licking spoons and dipping fingers in sauces seem to have a grasp of basics that I do not have. Everything I've learned, I've learned by rote. With trials and errors, because I always think I've got a knack for cooking. But I don't.
So I was terribly intimidated by the thought of making pasta (sure it would wind up a flop of playdough sitting on my kitchen table, glaring back at me balefully). But I was on such a roll yesterday, I just kind of decided to give it a whirl. At nine o'clock at night. After having spent seven hours cooking kind of randomly.
And so. I read here and there, I tried to get my head around it. But the words didn't mean much.
Except.
Except when push came to shove, I knew exactly how much flour to add to my little ball. I just kept adding it and adding it and presto! It was right. It was just right.
My kneading leaves something to be desired--maybe a slightly higher table would help--but after a slightly protracted kneading time, things seemed to be working out beautifully.
Except.
Except when I was ready to move on to the rolling out the dough step, I realized that basically everyone out there was saying that you have to be some kind of masochist to roll out your dough by hand. They were basically saying I was crazy and I should just run out to a 24-hour pasta machine store, or throw in the towel then and there. I started to get really scared. But then I said, you jerk. You bought that lovely rolling pin and it's just sitting there, pining away. Look at it, so sad and lonely. It's never even been oiled. (I always suspected I should oil it or something, but never received confirmation until I was doing my research for the hand rolling. Thanks to Marcella Hazan, of course.)
So finally I just threw in the research towel, literally said, "The hell with it," rolled up my sleeves (figuratively here) and got to work.
It initially seemed like those naysayers were right. My little ball wanted to stay a ball. It certainly didn't want to stretch or pull or flatten or any of the things you want pasta to do.
But then, after a couple of minutes, it seemed like maybe it did. Like maybe there was a flat sheet of pasta trapped inside the hulk of dough. I felt like Rodin. "The pasta is already in the dough. I just let it out."
And then, magically, there was.
And it was beautiful.
(And also delicious.)
(I made my first pasta last night. Does it show?)
Lordy. I do love it. Pasta is the first flour-related item that has ever come together in my hands as if by instinct. I was a new little spider spinning my first web. I just knew what to do. This is a first.
When I was a kid, most everything in the house was a frozen/canned/boxed delight. (Full disclosure: Despite my "cook it all yer darned self from scratch" tendencies, I still love this kind of food. So much so that I avoid the frozen foods aisle when I happen to frequent a Loblaws.) Which means that I come with no acquired kitchen lore. Kids who never did a lick of cooking but whose moms or dads whizzed around the kitchen licking spoons and dipping fingers in sauces seem to have a grasp of basics that I do not have. Everything I've learned, I've learned by rote. With trials and errors, because I always think I've got a knack for cooking. But I don't.
So I was terribly intimidated by the thought of making pasta (sure it would wind up a flop of playdough sitting on my kitchen table, glaring back at me balefully). But I was on such a roll yesterday, I just kind of decided to give it a whirl. At nine o'clock at night. After having spent seven hours cooking kind of randomly.
And so. I read here and there, I tried to get my head around it. But the words didn't mean much.
Except.
Except when push came to shove, I knew exactly how much flour to add to my little ball. I just kept adding it and adding it and presto! It was right. It was just right.
My kneading leaves something to be desired--maybe a slightly higher table would help--but after a slightly protracted kneading time, things seemed to be working out beautifully.
Except.
Except when I was ready to move on to the rolling out the dough step, I realized that basically everyone out there was saying that you have to be some kind of masochist to roll out your dough by hand. They were basically saying I was crazy and I should just run out to a 24-hour pasta machine store, or throw in the towel then and there. I started to get really scared. But then I said, you jerk. You bought that lovely rolling pin and it's just sitting there, pining away. Look at it, so sad and lonely. It's never even been oiled. (I always suspected I should oil it or something, but never received confirmation until I was doing my research for the hand rolling. Thanks to Marcella Hazan, of course.)
So finally I just threw in the research towel, literally said, "The hell with it," rolled up my sleeves (figuratively here) and got to work.
It initially seemed like those naysayers were right. My little ball wanted to stay a ball. It certainly didn't want to stretch or pull or flatten or any of the things you want pasta to do.
But then, after a couple of minutes, it seemed like maybe it did. Like maybe there was a flat sheet of pasta trapped inside the hulk of dough. I felt like Rodin. "The pasta is already in the dough. I just let it out."
And then, magically, there was.
And it was beautiful.
(And also delicious.)
9/13/2008
Things I've learned this month
- Don't cook an eye of round steak like you cooked up that gorgeous prime rib steak in your cast-iron skillet. It really is a different cut of meat. Listen when they tell you (marinate it, cook it slow like).
- That said, do cook up a nice steak in your skillet. There is no shame in not having a bbq. And that pat of butter at the end, that you thought might be excess? It's not.
- If you process a lovely batch of something (say, hypothetically speaking, pickled roasted red peppers) and then in the night (but within 24h) realize that while you followed the recipe, in a sense you didn't really follow the recipe, take those suckers out and repack and reprocess them immediately, because it will make you really sad to have to throw them out later because of botulism (or botulism paranoia) (who can tell the difference?).
- Those peaches? Those peaches you can still taste, from that day you had to walk across the court to pick up your sister at the Hamiltons'? That were so intensely the essence of peach they had you turn around and beeline it straight to the kitchen not once but twice (for a total of three peaches) before you ever made it there? Those peaches? They're Blazing Stars. No doubt in my mind. Don't buy one basket. Buy three. They won't be around next week.
- For some reason, you can't assume there will be bushels of Romas at the SLM. It is not the Jean-Talon market. Go early. Be there at 5am.
- Despite having said this for the past five years, mean it next year when you say: Don't be a sap. Draw up a plot outline for the 3-day novel contest.
Just sayin'.
8/22/2008
I can't quit you, Baltimore.
Having recently posted after an excruciating absence, I felt the need to scroll back through my previous posts to see exactly what I had said about our NC-BBQ adventure. As it turns out, I've said next to nothing, as I appear to be hung up on Baltimore.
That will clearly come as no surprise to those who know me.
In fact, I'm wondering if a short fall vacation to Baltimore might not be exactly what I need--but I digress.
I have basically repeated my love of Faidley's ad infinitum, and I think that cat, if you will, has been skinned as many ways as it can be.
I promise that my next post will be categorically below the Mason-Dixon line (as opposed to just straddling it).
That will clearly come as no surprise to those who know me.
In fact, I'm wondering if a short fall vacation to Baltimore might not be exactly what I need--but I digress.
I have basically repeated my love of Faidley's ad infinitum, and I think that cat, if you will, has been skinned as many ways as it can be.
I promise that my next post will be categorically below the Mason-Dixon line (as opposed to just straddling it).
8/13/2008
A thousand words...and not a drop to drink?
I hate to carry a camera and look like a tourist. I also hate to interrupt whatever it is that I'm experiencing by trying to capture it on film. So what that means is that when I'm parking on Paca (and the lovely Baltimorean flags me down to have me repark my car because the way that I've parked will get me a ticket (and give her free parking)!), I leave my camera in the car. Which is all fine and good until three months later when I want to tell you about Faidley's and would like to add an extra thousand or so words to whatever I'll spill here. And there's nary a lump to be found.
But that's fine. You don't need one. I'll just tell you what I think. Faidley's is fantastic. Now, you natives of the Chesapeake watershed, you may not agree with me. But I come from the (actually I don't know what it would be called in Canada, so I'll just go with the Yankee term) Midwest, and we don't really do crabcakes, or shouldn't, anyway. I've had the misfortune only twice in my life to bite into what I am forced to use air quotes to describe as crabcakes, and suffice it to say they are not something I need ever eat again.
But a crabcake from FAIDLEY'S...now that's another can of worms entirely. For those of you as ignorant as I was, let me assure you that what you want to order is a Jumbo Lump Crab Cake. There are other options, and they may well be delicious. I don't know, nor do I have any pressing need to learn. (There are also other eateries at Lexington Market. You can go there. I won't sulk. Just don't pass Faidley's by.)
And for the record, my very first raw oyster was eaten during this latest (though so far away now) trip to the market. It was fine, and certainly exhilarating, and I was lectured but good about how to eat it by a couple that makes a trip down to eat raw seafood at least once a week, but bof. I've got crabcakes on my mind.
Until next time...
(My lord! Whatever might those be?!?!)
But that's fine. You don't need one. I'll just tell you what I think. Faidley's is fantastic. Now, you natives of the Chesapeake watershed, you may not agree with me. But I come from the (actually I don't know what it would be called in Canada, so I'll just go with the Yankee term) Midwest, and we don't really do crabcakes, or shouldn't, anyway. I've had the misfortune only twice in my life to bite into what I am forced to use air quotes to describe as crabcakes, and suffice it to say they are not something I need ever eat again.
But a crabcake from FAIDLEY'S...now that's another can of worms entirely. For those of you as ignorant as I was, let me assure you that what you want to order is a Jumbo Lump Crab Cake. There are other options, and they may well be delicious. I don't know, nor do I have any pressing need to learn. (There are also other eateries at Lexington Market. You can go there. I won't sulk. Just don't pass Faidley's by.)
And for the record, my very first raw oyster was eaten during this latest (though so far away now) trip to the market. It was fine, and certainly exhilarating, and I was lectured but good about how to eat it by a couple that makes a trip down to eat raw seafood at least once a week, but bof. I've got crabcakes on my mind.
Until next time...
(My lord! Whatever might those be?!?!)
6/04/2008
You say aubergine, I say eggplant
With a serious shout-out to Mallika (and indirectly to her inspiration, Bhags), I have to say that this baingan bharta (which I personally call bagnan bartha) recipe is genius. And beginner friendly!!!
I haven't cooked anything really since April or so, and decided to whip up a couple of delicious Indian dishes tonight. I always think that channa masala is quick (it is, don't worry), but when you make bagnan bartha AND channa masala AND brown rice (whole grains, whole grains) AND burn the leftover cumin-scented white basmati from last week, it does take about two hours.
So beginners: Don't try to do too much. One dish. One rice (leftover does me just fine) (except when I burn it) (I don't have a microwave and have to heat it up stovetop-style). You're laughing.
EASY BAGNAN BARTHA RECIPE (From Bhags, via Mallika)
2 large eggplants
1 regular onion, chopped (I like it really fine)
2 really very ripe tomatoes (the extra-cheap-because-they-look-decrepit kind are particularly good)
2 T yogurt
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 inch ginger, minced (or the stuff in a jar, maybe 1 heaping t)
1/2 t mustard seeds
1/2 t cumin seeds
1/2 t fenugreek seeds (methi seeds)
2 green chillies, chopped (not the really really small kind, the medium kind) (you can deseed them if you want, but they're really not that hot)
1 t turmeric
1 t cayenne
a handful of coriander, chopped
salt (be generous)
OVEN (or microwave oven) at 400 degrees.
Poke some holes in the eggplant with a fork, and bake it in the oven for around an hour. You can also microwave it, and it's way faster, but since I don't have one, I can't really guess at how long it would take you. Basically, you want to cook them till they're collapsing in on themselves and gettting all squooshy. Then take them out and let them cool. If you slice them in half at that point, they'll cool faster (obviously).
Meanwhile, back at the farm...
Heat some oil (I used canola), around 2 T. Get things nice and hot and add the seeds. They should pop after a bit, but if they don't, add the onions, garlic and ginger anyway. Let it all cook away till it gets nice and soft looking.
Add the tomatoes, yogurt, and powdered spices (turmeric and cayenne), lower the heat and simmer for about 5 min or so.
Meanwhile, hopefully the eggplant has cooled down enough for you to wrench its delicate flesh from the skin. Discard the skin and add the eggplant to the skillet, crank up the heat to high(ish) and stir. I smushed everything up with a potato masher, but you might not find that step necessary, depending on your own texture issues.
Add salt, to taste (don't be afraid). Stir in your coriander.
Serve with rice or flatbread. A side of channa masala is a nice complement...but you might want to make that tomorrow.
I haven't cooked anything really since April or so, and decided to whip up a couple of delicious Indian dishes tonight. I always think that channa masala is quick (it is, don't worry), but when you make bagnan bartha AND channa masala AND brown rice (whole grains, whole grains) AND burn the leftover cumin-scented white basmati from last week, it does take about two hours.
So beginners: Don't try to do too much. One dish. One rice (leftover does me just fine) (except when I burn it) (I don't have a microwave and have to heat it up stovetop-style). You're laughing.
EASY BAGNAN BARTHA RECIPE (From Bhags, via Mallika)
2 large eggplants
1 regular onion, chopped (I like it really fine)
2 really very ripe tomatoes (the extra-cheap-because-they-look-decrepit kind are particularly good)
2 T yogurt
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 inch ginger, minced (or the stuff in a jar, maybe 1 heaping t)
1/2 t mustard seeds
1/2 t cumin seeds
1/2 t fenugreek seeds (methi seeds)
2 green chillies, chopped (not the really really small kind, the medium kind) (you can deseed them if you want, but they're really not that hot)
1 t turmeric
1 t cayenne
a handful of coriander, chopped
salt (be generous)
OVEN (or microwave oven) at 400 degrees.
Poke some holes in the eggplant with a fork, and bake it in the oven for around an hour. You can also microwave it, and it's way faster, but since I don't have one, I can't really guess at how long it would take you. Basically, you want to cook them till they're collapsing in on themselves and gettting all squooshy. Then take them out and let them cool. If you slice them in half at that point, they'll cool faster (obviously).
Meanwhile, back at the farm...
Heat some oil (I used canola), around 2 T. Get things nice and hot and add the seeds. They should pop after a bit, but if they don't, add the onions, garlic and ginger anyway. Let it all cook away till it gets nice and soft looking.
Add the tomatoes, yogurt, and powdered spices (turmeric and cayenne), lower the heat and simmer for about 5 min or so.
Meanwhile, hopefully the eggplant has cooled down enough for you to wrench its delicate flesh from the skin. Discard the skin and add the eggplant to the skillet, crank up the heat to high(ish) and stir. I smushed everything up with a potato masher, but you might not find that step necessary, depending on your own texture issues.
Add salt, to taste (don't be afraid). Stir in your coriander.
Serve with rice or flatbread. A side of channa masala is a nice complement...but you might want to make that tomorrow.
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