05/22/2013

lemon ginger roast chicken (and a subway encounter)

 

Anyone who has lived in New York City for any length of time has one.  They’re as ubiquitous as a corner coffee cart; as standard as a view of the Chrysler building.  They’re stories of the New York City subway, and for whatever reason lately I’ve been hearing a lot of them.

The other day the Big Man told me that he’d gotten on the L train to Brooklyn and saw one of the cast members from Girls heading towards Williamsburg, which felt laughingly ironic to him.  A customer told me the other day of the wedding proposal he saw on the train a few years ago.  Our friends trade horror stories of fights and psycopaths like a strange currency; whoever has the craziest story wins.  One friend tells of being vomited on while heading to work one morning; last week I saw a lady eating spaghetti and meatballs out of a tupperware container, just twirling her fork into the pasta and eating the meatballs whole.  Food is allowed on the subway, but I think a line needs to be drawn at anything requiring more utensils than a straw.

My favorite story, however, is one of my own, witnessed while riding the L train about a year and a half ago.  I was on my way home from Chelsea Market, where I’d spent the afternoon getting my knives sharpened and buying marrow bones for a light dinner. I’d had a long day of work already; I was hot and tired and had worn  myself out.  To make matters worse, the moment I sat down on the train the battery on my phone gave out, taking with it any chance I had of zoning out to music on the way home.  I tucked my earbuds into my purse and settled in for the six or so stops to my apartment.

It didn’t take me long to notice the old man across from me.  He was positively giddy with excitement; squirming around in his seat and occasionally beaming at his younger companion.  The companion would occasionally smile back and pat him reassuringly on the knee.  Eventually the old man burst out with, “I’m just so happy!  I feel like singing.” To which his companion said, “Well, why don’t you?”

The old man nodded, took a deep breath, and in a soft baritone began singing  “Some Enchanted Evening.”

The train stopped at 14th street and more people got on, chattering.  The old man’s voice rose above the noise.  “You may see a stranger, across a crowded room…”  The car quieted as his voice got louder, and he eventually finished, drawing out the last note in a rumbly vibrato and looking extremely pleased with himself.  The entire car broke into applause and he blushed.  “Thank you,” he said to the crowd.  “Today is the happiest day of my life.  I moved to this country when I was 14 years old.  I started out as a boot black in Union Square, where I met my wife, and we raised four beautiful children together.  Today, after 50 years of living in America, I have finally became an American citizen.”  The car broke into more applause and then my stop arrived and I got off the train.

I often wish I had stopped and said something.  I understand immigration on a personal level; the Big Man and I have been through the ins and outs of the whole messy system, full of paperwork and interviews and the painful writing of big checks.  But to see someone so thrilled to be a citizen; who had lived and loved and worked in this country for so many years, and could finally say that he was now an official part of it; that made me proud and happy and emotional all at the same time.

Since that day I’ve made a point to not always leave my earbuds in; I’m too scared I’ll miss anything.

(click here to print the recipe)

Lemon Ginger Roast Chicken

serves 2

4 chicken thighs, skin on
2 large lemons, washed and sliced thin
1 large thumb of ginger, peeled and sliced
2 cloves of garlic, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil
sea salt, to taste
___

Preheat the oven to 425 *F.  Rinse the chicken thighs and pat them dry.  Season lightly with sea salt, then pace in the bottom of a deep casserole dish.

Arrange the lemons and ginger evenly around the chicken thighs and scatter the garlic on top.

Roast the chicken for one hour, or until the skin has crisped, the lemons have softened the juices run clear when the chicken is cut into.  Serve immediately.

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Filed under chicken, citrus, Dinner, recipes

05/15/2013

charred ramp & olive tapenade on jarlsberg crostini

Since turning 30, I’ve been mulling over what the term “grown-up” means.  When I was younger, I thought being a grown-up was nothing short of awesomeness.  You can stay up as late as you want, eat whatever you want, you get to drive a car, and you always have cash in your wallet for unexpected emergencies, like the ice cream truck.

Unfortunately, we eventually grow up and realize all of these perks are true.  The trouble is we pay for the consequences of our grown-up actions, in the form of things like car insurance and numbers on the scale. I may be a grown-up who lives and dies by the Mr. Softee truck, but I find myself throwing in an extra workout just to keep chocolate softserve off of my thighs.

The thing is, when I was a kid, I never realized the sheer amount of anxiety that comes along with being an adult.  Maybe it’s because I’m a woman, maybe it’s because I’m high strung, but I worry about everything.

Will the rent get paid?

Have I had enough protein in my diet today?

Is the Big Man going to get hit by a subway train on his way to work?

Am I going to get hit by a train?  Maybe I’ll just stand a little farther back from the platform edge.  And I’ll text him to do the same, just in case.

I’ve been working my way through Mad Men lately, starting from the beginning on Netflix.  The characters on the show are what I thought adulthood would be when I was younger.  Grown-ups are Betty Draper, in all of her young-housewife glory, serving Heinekens and mini meatballs at a cocktail party and drinking bourbon while pregnant.  (I’ve matured a bit since then, obviously)

I’ll be heading to the Eat Write Retreat in Philly in a few weeks, and I am beside myself with excitement.  I need a good shake up, a weekend away with other food blogger nerds, something to reinvigorate my writing ans blogging.  In preparation for the big weekend away, the EWR team sent me a big, fat goody-box full of OXO tools and a couple of cans of California Ripe Olives.  The OXO gadgets were for my own personal squealy enjoyment, but the olives – my “secret ingredient” and a sponsor of the weekend- were to be made into an appetizer.  Attendees who  participate in developing an appetizer recipe for the “Amazing Apps Challenge” are entered into competition, and the winning recipe will  be chosen on the last night of the retreat.

What else says, “I’m pretending to be a grownup with party appetizers” than cheese crostini with olive tapanade?  To up the ante, I included a big leafy batch of ramps, the darlings of springtime food nerd cooking.  Ramps are those wild onions you’ve probably been hearing everyone gush about- garlicky and versatile, they make foodies froth at the mouth and scoop them up out of the farmer’s markets in droves.  Charred ramps mixed with diced California Ripe Olives and lemon zest makes a tapenade that is buttery, lemony and mellow.  It is beautiful when slathered atop melted Jarlsberg cheese crostini.    

They’re the perfect little appetizer when hosting a grownup, Betty Draper- style cocktail party; just please make sure nobody’s drinking bourbon while pregnant.

(click here to print this recipe)

charred ramp and olive tapenade on jarlsberg crostini
serves 8-10 as an appetizer
6-7 thin slices of good, crusty bread
¼ pound Jarlsberg swiss cheese, sliced
1 bunch fresh ramps, cleaned thoroughly (about 6-7 ramps)
1 can (6oz) California Ripe Olives, drained and minced
2 lemons
1 clove garlic, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for brushing and tossing
salt and pepper to taste
___
Heat the oven to 400*F.  Cut or tear the bread slices into bite sized pieces.  Brush or drizzle with olive oil, then lay a slice of cheese on each piece, and set the bread aside.
Fire up your grill to medium, or heat a ridged grill pan on medium-high heat until very hot.  Toss the ramps with a drizzle of olive oil and a good pinch of salt and pepper.  Grill the ramps until char marks appear.  Allow to cool slightly, then mince.
Zest both lemons, reserving 2 tablespoons of zest and setting aside.  Combine the remaining zest with the minced olives, then juice the lemons and add the juice to the mixture.  Add in the minced ramps, 2 tablespoons of olive oil and the minced garlic.  Toss well to combine.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.  
Toast the Jarlsberg crostini until the edges of the bread have browned and the cheese is melted through.  Remove from the oven and top each crostini with a spoonful of tapenade, then sprinkle with the reserved zest.  Serve immediately.  

 

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Filed under nostalgia, recipes, Spring

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05/08/2013

homemade yogurt

I started making homemade yogurt a few months ago, and it is so ridiculously easy that afterward, I felt like facepalming myself.  Seriously, who knew how simple this stuff was!?  Not scaredy-cat me, apparently (live cultures intimidate me!)

While I like to fantasize about being a dirty hippie who wears flowers in her hair, I had never actually toed the waters of homemade yogurt-making.  Recently, however, while logging grocery receipts for taxes, I noticed that nearly every shopping trip included a tub of yogurt.   As you may imagine, I go grocery shopping fairly often, so this added up to a lot of yogurt over the last fiscal year.  Determined to stop spending so much money on something I knew I could make myself,  I gathered up my dirty hippie gumption, scoured the internet comparing recipes until I had come up with my own, and made my first batch of homemade yogurt.  Stick it to the man, I said!  I’ll let my own jar of milk fester in a corner till I’m ready to eat it!  Take that, Fage!

Dirty hippie fantasizing is only the tip of the iceberg, though.  Learning how to make my own homemade yogurt allows me to tentatively move into the world of home-fermenting.  Lately I’ve become a total stalker of home fermenters on the internet.  They, of their homemade vinegars and sauerkrauts.  It’s all so impressive!  Fermenting intimidates me the way canning intimidates me.  One misstep during preparation, and before I know it, part of my face is falling off because I contracted some weird disease due to incorrect ph levels and bacteria.

Luckily, homemade yogurt has none of that terror.  It’s so simple!  It lets me wear my big girl fermenting pants, and feel like a boss as I pour thick, beautiful streams of tangy, homemade yogurt into my smoothies every morning. Never made homemade yogurt, either?  Read closely.  It’s very complicated:

1.       Heat milk.

2.       Let it sit till lukewarm.

3.       Add 3 tablespoons of active yogurt that’s been mixed with milk till thinned.

4.       Let the jar sit overnight.

5.       The next day, eat your yogurt.

Am I right or am I right?  Like a boss.

(click here to print the recipe)

homemade yogurt
makes 1 quart

note:  to make the yogurt set easier, use milk that is at least 2% milkfat and has not been ultra-pasteurized.

1 quart plus 2 tablespoons fresh, non-homogenized milk
3 tablespoons fresh, active yogurt
1 quart-sized, non-reactive-metal container, clean and dry.
___
In a medium sized saucepan, heat 1 quart of milk over medium-low heat.  A skin will form on top of the milk; once it does, watch it closely.  The milk will start to simmer underneath the skin.  Just before it starts to boil, remove the milk from the heat (it should register about 150*F at this point).

Pour the milk into a non-reactive container and set it aside to cool.  Let the milk reach about 100*F; this should take about 20 minutes.  A new skin will form on top.  Do not touch the container or stir the milk.

In a small bowl, mix the 3 tablespoons of yogurt with 2 tablespoons of milk.  After the milk in the non-reactive container has sufficiently cooled, carefully pour this mixture into the container, trying not to disturb the skin if possible.

Cover the container with a cheesecloth or a thin towel, and set it in a warm, dry corner for at least eight hours.  I usually leave mine overnight; the longer you leave it, the thicker the yogurt becomes.

Chill, tightly covered, for at least 4 hours before use.  The yogurt will keep for 4 to 5 days in the refrigerator. 

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Filed under fermented, made from scratch staples, Projects, recipes, smoothie

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05/02/2013

brown sugar meringues (for #LeftoversClub)

It still amazes me sometimes, this cooking thing.   Take brown sugar meringues, for example.  Two egg whites at the bottom of a large mixing bowl do not look like much.  A half a cup of brown sugar isn’t exactly a huge amount of anything, either.  But add a pinch of salt and the simple addition of air, and suddenly I’m spooning clouds of sweet meringue into a pastry bag and piping row after row onto a baking sheet. 

The Big Man and I just returned home after another whirlwind weekend out of town.  This time we went from New York to South Jersey to Baltimore and back again.  On Saturday, I and another girlfriend threw a baby shower for one of our closest friends.  The next day the Big Man and I packed up our rental car and drove to Baltimore for a wedding.  The groom and I have known each other since we were kids.

I served these brown sugar meringues at the baby shower, on a fold-out table in the backyard of a farm, under the branches of an enormous, ancient tree.  Of all the items I had stress-baked for the shower, these meringues were my favorite.  Just three ingredients and some time with a mixer, and they were a hit; not too sweet, a little crispy-chewy, and perfect with tall glass of iced tea.

I feel like the relationships in my life start out like the bowl of plain egg whites, lonely and unadorned at the bottom of a mixing bowl. They might not look like much, but after time and air and sugar, the bowl is filled with goodness.

I like those lists, the plans I have, the ways I attempt to keep my life in order.  I feel so much more in control when I write things down.  But who knows about the unknown uncontrollable paths we really travel along?   Who could have guessed the random path that brought me to here, standing under a huge tree in a backyard, watching tablecloths whip in the wind and swallowing away a lump in my throat?  That a little boy I knew in kindergarten would someday grow up and walk down the aisle with his new wife.  That the little things, like two plain egg whites at the bottom of a bowl, would whip into something so huge and wonderful.

This post is part of the Leftovers Club, a blogger network of once-a-month posts where we ship our leftover treats to another food blogger.  This week felt especially sweet to me; I was paired with Ann Marie from Let’s Give Peas a Chance, and she’s down in Baltimore- perfect, since I’ve been getting all sappy over Baltimore these past few weeks.  I have a date with FedEx this afternoon to get the Chocolate Stout Brownies she’s sent, and I can.not.wait.  I’ll probably eat them in the cab on the way home.  Keep an eye out for your meringues, Ann Marie!  (If I can stop myself from eating them on the way to FedEx, that is!)

Check out our list below the recipe for more Leftovers Club posts, and if you’re a food blogger, join the love!  Go here for more details on the club. 

(click to print the recipe)

brown sugar meringues
lightly adapted from Meringue, by Linda Jackson and Jennifer Gardner.

makes 30-50 meringues, depending on the size

2 egg whites, room temperature
large pinch of coarse sea salt
½ cup brown sugar

___
note: to pipe the meringues, you will need a pastry tip.  I recommend a size #9 closed star pastry size.  See it here in the omeletta store.
In a glass or stainless steel bowl and using a hand mixer set to medium-low, whip the egg whites until foamy.  Add the salt and continue to whip until soft peaks form.
Add the sugar and turn the mixer to medium-high.  Whip until the mixture turns glossy and stiff peaks form.  
Preheat the oven to 200*F.
Place a pastry tip at the bottom of a pastry bag or a plastic bag with the tip cut off (see note) Pour the meringue mix into a pastry bag or a plastic baggie with the tip cut out.  If you don’t have an extra hand helping in the kitchen, place the bag inside a tall pint glass and fill it that way.  
Pipe the meringues into flat cookies, leaving a little “foot” tip at the end if you’d like.  Alternatively, you can pipe them into rounds- whichever you prefer.
Bake for 75 minutes.  Turn off the oven, prop the oven door open slightly, and allow the meringues to sit for at least another hour in the oven.  
These are best the next day, after they have sat out overnight.  To store, keep in a closed container in a cool, dry place.  The meringues wiill keep for several weeks this way.

More Leftovers Club posts!

Savory Simple - Quinoa Energy Bars
The Girl In The Little Red Kitchen - Cashew Butter and Blackerry Jam Thumbprint Cookies
Dining with Dani - Pancakes and Bacon Cookies
Eats Well With Others - Salted Caramel Shortbread
Frugal Foodie Mama - Cookie Butter Pecan Bars
Let’s Give Peas a Chance - Chocolate Stout Brownies
Budget Gourmet Mom - Crisp Oatmeal Cookie Sandwiches
Sugar Dish Me - Strawberry Lemonade Loaf
Roxana’s Home Baking  - Chocolate chip bars
O’Boy! Organic - Rhubarb Cake
Eat Bake Drink Cook - Everything Cookies
Healthy. Delicious. - Carrot Cake Granola
Souffle Bombay - Sweet & Spicy Pecans
The Spiced Life - Garam Masala Caramel Corn
Whey Beyond the Naked Truth - Chia Seed Protein Bites

 

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Filed under baking, eggs

04/25/2013

deviled eggs

The end of April is sort of a random time to be posting about deviled eggs, I know.  Easter was over ages ago, and I’ve already swooned over eggs in this series of posts.  Yet here I am, with an egg recipe.

 

Hey eggs- I just can’t quit you.

I’ve always been a rabid fan of deviled eggs.  I especially am a rabid fan for my grandmother’s deviled eggs.  Whenever there is a major family event that requires food, I’d beg her to make them for me.

  Stating the reason of seasonality in cooking, she would refuse my pleads every Thanksgiving, random birthday, the dog’s birthday, Fourth of July (“It’s too hot for eggs, are you crazy?”), and Christmas- but come Easter, she would gift me with my own plate of deviled eggs.  And I, little porker in training, would stand in her kitchen and eat them one-by-one.

A few days before the Big Man and I got married, we threw a barbecue at my parent’s house to welcome out-of-town guests.  My grandma showed up with my own special plate of deviled eggs and I freaked out, then hid them in the garage and ate them there so no one would ask me to share.  I think I gave two to the Big Man, which was a huge sacrifice for me.  You know, learning to compromise in marriage and all that.

  I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly why her eggs are better than anyone else’s, and the only thing I’ve come up with is that grandmas just do it better.  You can’t duplicate grandma’s cooking.   In the meantime, I’ve painstakingly developed my own banging deviled egg recipe.  If you need me, I’ll be hiding in the garage and not sharing.

(click here to print this recipe)

deviled eggs
makes 12
6 eggs, room temperature
1 teaspoon strong mustard (I recommend Coleman’s)
1/2 teaspoon olive tapenade (or about 8 black olives, very finely minced)
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon mayonnaise
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
juice from 1/2 lemon (about 1 tablespoon)
paprika, to taste (optional)
___
Bring a large pan of water to a rolling boil and then reduce heat to medium, so that the water is boiling but not overly so. Gently drop the eggs into the water, taking care not to break the shells. Allow to boil for 5 minutes, then turn off the heat, cover the pot, and let the eggs sit in the hot water for another 5-10 minutes. Remove the eggs from the water.
Under cold running water, peel away the shells and set each egg aside. Discard the shells. Slice each egg in half and scoop out the yolks into a medium sized bowl. Add the mustard, olive, mayonnaise, apple cider vinegar, and lemon. Mix together until well blended and there are no more lumps. Season to taste with salt and pepper.
Spoon the mixture back into the hollow of each egg. Sprinkle with paprika, if you wish. Serve cold.

 

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Filed under eggs