Tomato Kumato

February 24, 2010

Almost-Spring

Filed under: Appetizers, Side Dishes — Tags: , , , — emiglia @ 12:47 pm

Almost-Spring is in the air.

If you’ve lived in cold-weather climates (I’m looking at you Canadians… and you, too, New-Englanders), then you know what I’m talking about: it’s not warm–far from it. In fact, everyone is still bundled up as they hurry down the street, bemoaning the rain and slush… and then you realize: the ice and snow has been replaced by its wetter, warmer cousin! Almost-Spring is in the air! It’s almost enough to make you take off your second pair of long underwear.

Almost.

I don’t remember this season in New York–I first glimpsed it at Andover, when, after months and months of trekking through snow (and black ice, and snow that sort of melts from salting and then refreezes, and more snow, and sand…), the ground was visible again. You could smell mud and grass, and even if there was no floral evidence quite yet, it was coming. I could feel it as I inhaled the smell of mulch, looking forward to days when we would be able to sit on the lawn in the sun and pretend that we weren’t shivering beneath our thin sweatshirts…

This winter has been especially harsh, as far as New York winters go. Personally, I don’t mind snow every week and negative temperatures, but then again, I voluntarily spent three winters in Massachusetts and two in Ontario, so who am I to talk? It’s better than the wind off the Seine in Paris winters, which don’t have the added bonus of snowman-making material in the park or the snow days that permit middle-of-the-afternoon weekday treks to said park, where you can construct avant-garde representations of gangster snowmen in Liliput that would rival similar sculptures by a certain six-year-old and his stuffed tiger.

Still… Almost-Spring in Paris is beautiful. Without the snow and ice, the flowers bloom earlier. The sidewalks aren’t quite as damp; there’s no need to pick your way precariously over three-foot trenches of ice and ditchwater. And maybe the mud in the parks grasps your shoes a bit too harshly, it’s this time of year (OK… all times of year) that really get me thinking about Paris.

So, in honor of Almost-Spring, I offer you an Almost-Spring recipe. Pencil-thin asparagus will soon be plentiful–in Paris, they favor the fat white ones, but I was always partial to these. Last year, I found some at my local market and, on a whim, wrapped them in prosciutto. Since then, this has become a standby vegetable side dish when I want a weekday to feel a little special.

Prosciutto-Wrapped Asparagus

1 lb. asparagus, washed and dried, ends trimmed
about 8 slices prosciutto
1 tsp. extra virgin olive oil
freshly ground black pepper

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Coat a baking dish with the olive oil.

Split the slices of prosciutto in half lengthwise, so you get two long, thin strips. Carefully wrap each asparagus spear in prosciutto, and lay them in the baking dish with the seam-side down.

Roast 15-20 minutes, until the prosciutto is crisp and the ends of the asparagus have withered and colored a bit. Remove from the oven and sprinkle with freshly ground black pepper. Serve immediately.


October 8, 2009

Escalivade

Filed under: Side Dishes, Vegetarian Main Dishes — Tags: , , , , , , — emiglia @ 2:30 pm

I love to check out what other people are buying at the grocery store.

I know that most (read: normal) people would rather be doing their taxes, watching Paris Hilton speak about politics, listening to the Hamster Dance song on repeat… anything aside from waiting for the cashier to ring up their purchases, but I honestly do love it. It might be the people-watcher in me, but I think that looking to see what other people are buying is fascinating.

What is that man going to do, for example, with one orange, a tiny bottle of heavy cream, and a can of olives? Does that woman eat microwave pizza every night, or is she stocking up for the apocalypse? How many people are in that man’s family that he has to buy 20 pork chops? And how much did that scraggly, bloodshot young man smoke that he needs a frozen Mars bar, a family-sized bag of tortilla chips, a two-liter bottle of Coke and a bag of Carambars to come back down?

If someone were as interested as I am in what is passing in front of them on the conveyor belt to check out my purchases as of late, they would probably think I was a vegetarian: I’m not, and I haven’t been since 2005 (and even if I were, I doubt that I would have been able to keep it up in Spain, land of amazing seafood, incredible ham, and general use of pork products everywhere you look). But when I go shopping, I look like the poster child for that old-school food pyramid… the one I grew up with that actually looks like a pyramid, I mean.

This week, for example, as I emptied my shopping basket behind one woman’s selection of various sorts of ham, dry cereal and meal replacement bars and in front of a gentleman’s two bottles of dry white wine, one bottle of detergent and small loaf of seeded bread, I wondered what people would think of me? Ten pear-shaped tomatoes and three containers of cherry tomatoes, a bag each of apples and pears, a shrink-wrappd styrofoam flat of white button mushrooms, six cans of tuna, a bottle of tomate frito, a head of broccoli, two bags of grated carrots, a box of mushroom linguine and three glass jars of lima beans. You’d think I never ate a thing aside from vegetables… and canned tuna.

And while that’s not true (I just ventured into the world of pintxos making with a native Donostian chef last night, where everything was deep-fried, pork producty deliciousness), there is something to be said for filling your belly entirely with vegetables, for getting that satisfied feeling after having eaten just a touch too much, and knowing that all you’ve eaten is carrots and cucumber.

The urge to binge-eat out of the produce drawer starts to leave me as the weather gets cooler, but even though it’s been raining here–the skies opening and soaking you in five seconds or less–I’m still making meals out of tomatoes and lima beans and carrying around more apples in my purse than Johnny Appleseed.

This dish is typically Catalan–a different part of Spain, and something that I learned to make in Paziols (also in Catalogne/Cataloña). Summer vegetables are gathered and roasted with garlic and olive oil and then bathed in a simple vinaigrette made from Banyuls vinegar and fresh herbs. This is one of those dishes that is so much more than a sum of its parts, and it’s perfect for people like me, who make their meals entirely from vegetables.

Escalivade

250 g (1/2 lb.) tomatoes
250 g (1/2 lb.) eggplant
300 g (2/3 lb.) zucchini
300 g (2/3 lb.) red pepper
200 g (a bit less than 1/2 lb.) green pepper
200 g (a bit less than 1/2 lb.) yellow pepper
200 g (a bit less than 1/2 lb.) orange pepper
1 onion
3-4 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
2 Tbsp. fresh chives
4 cloves garlic, minced
2-3 small shallots, minced
a few sprigs of fresh thyme
freshly cracked black pepper
2-3 Tbsp. Banyuls vinegar, or good wine vinegar

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Wash and dry the vegetables. Seed the peppers and slice them into strips. Slice the eggplants and zucchini into strips of about the same size. Cut the tomatoes and onions into rounds.

Organize the vegetables in a baking dish any way you like (traditionally, you keep the like vegetables together, which makes for a prettier presentation.)

Dress the top of the dish with one tablespoon of the olive oil, and place the entire thing in the oven to roast for 30-40 minutes. Every so often, add a bit of water to the dish to keep the vegetables from burning.

When everything is cooked, allow to cool for a few minutes before removing the skins of the peppers. (Note: I don’t always do this step.)

Add the rest of the olive oil, the vinegar, the garlic, the shallots, the chives, the thyme and the pepper.

September 23, 2009

Crème Catalane

Filed under: Side Dishes, Uncategorized — Tags: , , , , — emiglia @ 12:49 pm

When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.

I’ve always had a hard time with that proverb, not because I don’t believe it’s true, but because I’ve always had a hard time with the visual nature of proverbs. I know that “when life hands you lemons…” is supposed to make you think of the hard parts of your life and how to change them to make them better, but as for me, I always just think of freshly squeezed lemonade.

I guess it’s the foodie in me.

But I do believe in the essence of the proverb, once I get over my obsession with freshly squeezed lemonade (add a little bit of raspberry, and I’m in heaven.) Although I prefer to think of it as, “when life gives you a botched recipe for crème catalane, use a blowtorch.”

And yes, don’t worry, I do plan to explain myself.

I’ve been combing through my pictures from this summer ever snce I got my new computer, and I found these, of a crème catalane that was saved thanks to Marc’s quick thinking and the fact that he even had a blow torch to begin with. For me, this metaphor runs even more true, perhaps just for the absurdity of it: I’m always the one ready to come up with a half-baked crazy idea out of left-field to solve even the most mundane of problems. Making mountains out of molehills, and all that jazz. (OK, OK, I’m stopping.)

At the end of the day, I just find it more fun: when things aren’t working out for me, instead of making a little change, I overhaul my life: I dye my hair a drastic new color, I pick up a completely new activity, I start going by a new nickname, and, of course, as so many of you on here are bound to be aware of by now, I move: to a new city, but more often, to an entirely new country. It doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for me.

When these crème catalanes didn’t brulée in the oven like the recipe swore they would (I had my doubts from the beginning), I could have just made a lovely caramel sauce for them and be done with it. They would have still been delicious: you can’t go wrong with creamy custard infused with delicate citrus and cinnamon.

Or, I could have trekked all over Perpignan looking for a kitchen torch, only to spy Marc’s heavy duty blowtorch, and have a little bit too much fun bruléeing 20 crème catalanes. Honestly, which one would you prefer?

So when life gives you lemons, go ahead and make lemonade, if you want to.

Or, you could come up with something just a little bit fantastic.

Creme Catalane (serves 6)

Creme catalane is the Catalan version of a simple crème brulée, infused with cinnamon and citrus. If you have a favorite crème brulée recipe already, you can easily add these flavors to your own recipe. If not, here’s how I do it.

1 liter whole milk
zest of 1 lemon
zest of 1 orange
1 cinnamon stick
70 g. flour
8 egg yolks
raw sugar (for bruléed topping)

Place the milk in a heavy-bottomed pot and add the zests and cinnamon. Bring to a simmer and then reduce the heat, stirring every once in awhile. Cook for 15 minutes. Your kitchen should smell incredible.

Combine the flour and egg yolks with a whisk until the yolks have lightened in color and the flour is completely combined.

Enlist a friend for this step or risk being burned: while whisking continuously, pour the milk mixture in one fluid stream into the egg mixture. Return the whole mixture to the pot and place it back over the heat. Whisk continuously until the mixture thickens and resembles thick cream.

Distribute the mixture in ramekins and chill in the fridge for at least three hours.

When ready to serve, remove from the fridge and top with a thin, even layer of raw sugar. Brulée the tops with a kitchen torch or a blowtorch… or really any torch you’ve got lying around the house.

July 19, 2009

Normal

Filed under: Pie, Salad, Side Dishes — Tags: , , , , , — emiglia @ 11:59 am

It’s incredible how quickly something that was foreign and bizarre can become a natural and normal part of your daily life. It’s even more strange how quickly something that used to be normal can seem so far away.

I live in Paris: I’m used to it by now, used to saying it, used to going about my daily life with La Poste and Champion and the Paris métro as frequent players in my day to day. But when I first moved to Paris, everything seemed new and exciting and shiny. I craved the days where I would get to say to someone, nonchalantly, of course, though I was jumping with excitement on the inside, “I live in Paris.”

After three months back in the South, Paris–and everything that goes along with it–seems so far away. Gone are days filled with minutes that were just for me. Gone are afternoons of walking around and discovering new things. Gone are early evenings of apéro and Le Grand Journal–the news program I slowly became addicted to over the last few months of being in Paris.

Normal, now, is dinner at nine on the terrace. Normal is buying enough potatoes to feed an army without blinking an eye. Normal is throwing ten or so packs of jambon cuit into the caddy at the supermarket–it doesn’t matter if we don’t have sandwiches planned on the menu… they’ll get eaten by someone eventually.

Normal is translating every five seconds what someone around me is saying into another language. Normal is trying to find ways to reword the French jeux de mots printed on the inside of Carambar wrappers, that French candy that gets devoured the minute I walk into the house with a pack.

Normal is running into the woman who runs a program for French teenagers in our tiny town while in line at the tinier supermarket. Normal is upping the count for dinner from 17 to 25 when we decide to have these guests over just a few hours before we plan to sit down to eat.

Normal is throwing several dozen sausages on the grill and preparing a few pounds of tomatoes for a salad.

Normal is selecting about seven cheeses for a cheese board, knowing everything would be gone by the end of the night.

I’m aware, somehow, that soon this will all seem faraway and hazy, in the same way that Paris has become. I know that once I’m back home in the States this August, Westhampton and driving everywhere and taking the New York City subway will be my new normal, and I know that that too will fade when I leave after just one short month for Spain. I know that this is the essence of the life that I have made for myself, and I know that normal, for me, will never be just one thing.

But for just a few weeks, I like to pretend that this is the way that my normal life will always be, that mornings of making French toast in bulk and evenings of serving up tart tarte au citron will always be a part of my day-to-day. I know that it’s a lie, but even for me–”tell me like it is, even if it hurts”–I’m going to tune out the whisper that tells me that I’m just kidding myself, have another glass of Muscat de Rivesaltes and hide behind the chirp of the cicadas for just a little longer.

Tomato Salad

6-8 on-the-vine tomatoes in various colors, vines reserved
1 spring onion, minced
2 cloves of garlic, pressed
3-4 Tbsp. olive oil
salt
1 tsp. dried basil

Cut the tomatoes into chunks and mix in a glass bowl with the onion, garlic, olive oil, a generous amount of salt and the basil. Add the vines and allow to marinate at least one hour outside the fridge. Remove the vines and toss before serving.


Tarte au Citron

4 large eggs, cold
1 1/4 cup sugar
1 cup fresh lemon juice
1 Tbps. fresh lemon zest
12 Tbsp. butter, cold
2 refrigerated pâtes brisée

Prebake the pie crusts in a 350 degree oven until just crisp, 5 minutes.

Whisk the eggs, sugar and zest together. Heat in a double boiler until the eggs begin to foam. Add the lemon juice, bit by bit, whisking constantly. When the mixture has the consistency of loose lemon curd, remove from the heat and mix in the butter.

Pour the filling into the crusts and heat under the broiler until just set. Refrigerate until ready to serve.

May 26, 2009

Rosé and Fruit Salad

Filed under: Side Dishes, Uncategorized — Tags: , , , — emiglia @ 10:55 am

I used to hate picnics.

I also used to hate lunch in general, but that’s neither here nor there.

My opposition to picnics didn’t have anything to do with the outdoor setting, the paper plates or the gooey marshmallow roasting, all of which would have usually been problematic for me. I was one of those super-neat kids (my mother–bless her heart–managed to have a family of four kids who actually liked being clean and were uncomfortable when other kids misbehaved in our general vicinity). However, when it came to picnics, I made an exception, and I was perfectly happy to eat in the grass with the rest of the kids. What bothered me was what was served: hot dogs (still won’t go near them), mayonnaisey potato salad, and the worst: that ubiquitous bowl of fruit salad.

I didn’t have a problem with fruit salad as a concept, not really. My mother made fruit plates all the time, and I devoured them without a problem. What bothered me, now that I think about it, was the mix of unseasonal foods in one big bowl: berries, grapes, citrus, apples, bananas… all those things had no business being put together, especially not with some sort of sauce that came from a canned intruder, and I wouldn’t eat it.

As I got older, I got less picky, and often fruit salad was the only healthy option available at this or that picnic or barbecue, and so I started to eat it. Not happily, but I’d eat it. Soon enough, I started to realize that there were certain combinations I liked: blueberries, raspberries and strawberries or grapefruit, oranges and tangerines. Things that went together made sense on my palate: it was the mix of unfriendly bedfellows that made my nose wrinkle.

So when I set about creating my own fruit salad, I knew that I would be mixing seasonal fruits together, fruits that naturally complemented each other, instead of grabbing a little bit of everything and putting it in a bowl. I mixed strawberries and peaches together: not too many varieties, but just enough. Since it’s a little bit early in the season, I added a bit of sugar, but you could just as easily leave that out. I also through in some rosé from the bottle we didn’t quite finish last night: Alex and I open a bottle of wine on most nights, but we usually have a few inches left at the bottom. Sometimes we finish it the following night, but more often than not, I cooked with it. This rosé, with its strawberry undertones, made the perfect acidic complement to the salad. If you don’t have any, feel free to use a bit of lemon or lime juice and an extra teaspoon of sugar.

This salad, with maybe a few blackberries or raspberries, will be my fallback fruit salad this summer… and next to one of those typical “everybody in the pool” salads, I think it will come out as the winner.

Rosé and Fruit Salad

400 g. (14 oz.) strawberries, hulled and quartered
3 small peaches, sliced in eighths
1 Tbsp. sugar
3 Tbsp. rosé wine
2-5 basil leaves, chiffonade, or 1 tsp. dried basil

Combine all the ingredients in a bowl, except for the basil, if using fresh. (If using dried, feel free to add it at the beginning.)

Allow the salad to sit for five minutes to let the flavors blend. Add the fresh basil just before serving.

May 18, 2009

Pork Chops with Spicy Pineapple Salsa

Filed under: Pork, Side Dishes — Tags: , , , , — emiglia @ 5:59 pm

When I was in elementary school, my biggest fear was the day that our gym teacher would inevitably annouce that we were running “the mile.”

Running “the mile” was something that every elementary school kid was required to do, I assume, but for me, it was terrifying. I had never been into sports: every once in awhile I would sign up for soccer or swimming or tennis as an after school activity, but I always preferred writing or art or acting, and so my brushes with all things athletic were few and far between. Worst of all for me, who was “a little bit pudgy” (aka, the fat kid), was to run the mile in Central Park, from the park entrance on 91st street to the Jackie Kennedy plaque and back. Most kids could do it in about seven minutes, but I always lagged behind with the asthma kids, clocking in at around fourteen or fifteen.

When I finally reached high school and was rid of the dreaded mile, I was sure I would never run again. Sure, until a few months in, when crew season was over, and I realized that I actually wanted to exert some energy and take a run. The day I picked was a typical midwinter Massachusetts day: cloudy with a chance of sleet and snow, the sidewalks a mess of slush and black ice. I donned several layers, including a New York Yankees beanie and a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and off I went into the afternoon, dressed as the unabomber.

My first few years of running were forced: I hated rolling out of bed early, hated the feeling of lactic acid burning my legs and the cold air burning my lungs. I hated days when I convinced myself not to run and hated days when I actually went out and did it. I ran sporadically throughout high school and the summer before my first year of college, but by the time the Toronto winters had invaded, even more overwhelming than those I had braved in Massachusetts, I locked myself firmly indoors, glad to be rid of a habit that I had forced myself to keep for the past few years.

It’s funny how things change. Funny how, after weeks of rain and hail and clouds, we were finally greeted with a warm and pleasant day here in Paris, pleasant enough to allow me and my friend Matt to walk all the way from the Vietnamese restaurant where we had dinner in the 19th back to my home in the 5th. Pleasant enough so that when the last few blocks were interrupted by yet another downpour, I was able to keep smiling. Pleasant enough so that tonight, just as the sun was setting–that magical time of evening that we call dusk and the French call crepuscule, a much better word in my opinion–I tied on my running shoes and set out for a journey around my neighborhood.

I started running again a few weeks ago, slowly, considering the fact that I just dislocated my knee for the second time in so many months. I found a program on the Cool Running website many moons ago called Couch-to-5K, a program made for “runners” like me who want to turn their 15-minute stroll into a real run. Sometimes it’s hard, but mostly I love it. I’ve come a long way from staying up at night, wondering if tomorrow would be the dreaded mile day to actually looking forward to my runs, my time alone with my neighborhood, my feet pounding the pavement and blood pounding in my ears. Today, I moved up a level, moved to an even harder run, and I loved the feeling of finishing it, of catching my breath, of feeling what my body could accomplish after just a few short weeks.

Things change. The weather, our feelings, our dreams. Even our tastes. There was a time I never would have mixed sweet and salty, and there was a time I never would have eaten warm fruit. But I tasted that feta and watermelon salad, fresh and cool one summer, and I put a forkful of blueberry cobbler into my mouth and fell head over heels. You never know unless you try, sometimes again and again, how easy it is to fall in love.

Pork Chops with Spicy Pineapple Salsa (adapted from Bon Appétit)

1 can pineapple in chunks
1 tsp. powdered ginger
1 jalapeño pepper, halved
1-2 dried cayenne peppers
1 tsp. cumin
3/4 cup (or more) water
2 teaspoons white wine vinegar
2 boneless pork loin chops, trimmed
1 large egg
1/2 cup breadcrumbs (I used the extra-crunchy ones from the grocery store, but you can also use panko)
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup flour
1 tablespoon canola oil
cilantro (optional)

Heat the pineapple, jalapeño, cayenne, cumin, water and vinegar over medium heat until bubbles form. Reduce to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, while you prepare the pork chops.

Pound the pork chops between two sheets of plastic wrap until thin and even. Heat the canola oil over medium-high heat in a skillet.

Lay out three bowls: in one, place the flour, in another, the egg, beaten with a bit of water and the salt, and in another, the breadcrumbs. Dredge the pork chops first in the flour, then in the egg mixture, shaking off the excess, and lastly in the breadcrumbs. Fry the pork chops in the oil on both sides until crispy, about 1-2 minutes per side. Serve with the salsa, and garnish with the cilantro.

Note: The salsa, prepared this way, is quite spicy. I like it, but it may be too much for some. If you don’t like a lot of heat, remove the seeds from the jalapeño or only use half.

May 6, 2009

German Food

Filed under: Pork, Side Dishes — Tags: , , , , , — emiglia @ 8:48 am

When I was growing up, dinners were usually pretty similar. Most nights, we had chicken: either breaded chicken cutlets or a roast chicken. As a side, we had pasta with tomato sauce or roasted or mashed potatoes. There was always a vegetable: usually broccoli or green beans that had been boiled or steamed and then buttered. It was good food and it was well-made, but it didn’t vary very often.

Every once in awhile, though, we would have something a little different: paella was a summer favorite, as was fish like salmon or swordfish. Sometimes we had breakfast for dinner (a favorite amongst us kids) or lasagna or spaghetti and meatballs. One of the special meals we sometimes had was a little bit of a sore spot: I loved when my mom would make “German food,” but my sister absolutely hated it.

“German food” consisted of pork chops, cucumber salad, red cabbage and cornbread. I never touched the red cabbage, but everything else ranked high in my book: the cornbread may have come from a blue box, but the combination of the vinegar from the salad, the pork and the cornbread dipped in the sauces was amazing.

Unfortunately for me, my little sister went though a phase where she wanted a pet pig–she would actually peer at every box delivered to the house, hoping it was “my pig”–and so when she realized that pork chops were, in fact, pig, she refused to eat them, and German food stopped appearing on the menu.

That’s the only way I was ever served pork chops growing up, and so I don’t usually buy them at the supermarket. Every once in awhile, though, I am drawn to the huge, orange “5-euro” sticker on the packs of six that my market always has on sale, and so I pick one up and make three meals out of it.

I’ve never made “German food” myself: we don’t have instant cornbread or red cabbage in a jar, and it had never occurred to me to make those things myself. This week, however, was one of the weeks that I picked up some pork chops, and so I sent my aunt an e-mail, and the rest is history.

This is one of the only meals that comes out tasting the way I remember it, and, oddly enough, I think that it’s because I don’t make it the same way my mom did. When I copy her recipes as written, I always feel as though they’re missing something. But when I riff off something I remember, trying to put it together based on what I know works in the kitchen, I end up with something just as special as those dishes my mom made for me so many years ago.

This meal ends up being fairly sweet: the applesauce is my own addition–I love the way that it goes with pork–but it makes the ratio of sweet to savory pretty high. If you’re serving enough people to warrant actually making a fifth dish for the table, I would recommend making some cornbread (Hint: Fry up some lardons and use the grease instead of butter in the cornbread) to have another savory dish to mix with the two sweet ones. We just had bread though, which is a perfectly suitable vehicle for mopping up the juices of sweet and sour cabbage, acidic cider vinegar and spicy mustard.

Please, don’t be nervous about the fact that there are four dishes in this meal! They all really take care of themselves, and the most difficult thing to do is chop all that cabbage (and get the purple stains out of your cutting board).

This is my entry for Family Recipes: Memories of Family, Food and Fun. This foodie event asks us to delve into our memories about family and food, something that many of you already write about daily! If you’d like to add your recipe to the round-up, you have until May 23rd.

Mustard-Rosemary Pork Chops

2 pork boneless pork chops
1 cup milk
1 branch fresh rosemary
1 tbsp. spicy French mustard
1 tsp. cider vinegar
1 tsp. vegetable oil
salt and pepper

Place the pork chops in a bowl and cover with the milk. Add the rosemary and cover with plastic. Marinate for 1-2 hours in the refrigerator, turning at least once.

When you’re ready to cook the chops, heat the oil over medium heat in a skillet. Remove the chops from the marinade, allowing the excess to drip off. Salt and pepper the chops. Combine the vinegar and mustard in a small bowl, and brush the chops on either side with the mixture.

Fry the chops over medium heat until completely cooked through, about 3-4 minutes per side.

Anne’s Sweet and Sour Red Cabbage

1 tsp. olive oil
1 tbsp. butter
1 large yellow onion, sliced thinly
1 small head red cabbage, cored, cut into eighths and thinly sliced crosswise
2/3 c dark brown sugar
1/2 c red wine vinegar (I used cider vinegar)
One cooking apple, peeled and cut into dice
salt and pepper

In a skillet, heat oil and butter over medium heat. Add the onion and a pinch of salt and cook, stirring frequently, until soft and lightly colored, about 5 minutes.

Add the cabbage and cook, stirring regularly, until just wilted, about 8 minutes. Add apple, vinegar and sugar, and cook until the cabbage is soft but still has a bit of a crunch to it, about 20 minutes (Note: My aunt’s recipe notes 8-10 minutes of final cooking time, so check and see if you would like to cook it as long as I did.)

Season with salt and pepper, and adjust the acidity or sweetness with vinegar or sugar.

Applesauce

Note: This is not a very sweet applesauce, seeing as it’s made to be served with savory foods. If you want to make applesauce as a dessert, consider adding a bit more sugar.

8 small apples
1/4 cup water, plus more as needed
1-2 tbsp. sugar, depending on the sweetness of your apples
1 tbsp. apple cider vinegar
1 tsp. Quatre Epices (if you don’t have this spice blend, use equal proportions of nutmeg, cinnamon, cloves and black pepper)

Core and peel the apples and roughly chop them. Place them into a saucepan with the water, sugar, vinegar and spices. Heat over medium heat until the liquid boils, and then cover and reduce the heat.

Add more water as needed until the apples are cooked through and easily mushed with the back of a spoon, about 20 minutes. Mix the apples until the mixture is saucy but still has a few chunks of apple.

German Cucumber Salad

1 English cucumbers
1 tbs salt
2 tbs sugar
1/4 cup cider vinegar
1 tsp. olive oil
1 tsp. black pepper

Using the slicer portion of a box grater, slice the cucumbers. Drain any liquid that accumulates as you slice. Add the salt, sugar, vinegar, oil and pepper to the cucumbers. Allow to sit, outside the fridge, for at least thirty minutes, tossing occasionally. The longer this sits, the better it is.

April 30, 2009

Watermelon and Feta Salad with Cucumber and Mint

Filed under: Appetizers, Side Dishes — Tags: , , , , — emiglia @ 8:32 pm

One summer, a few years back, some family friends came to stay with us on our house on Long Island.

I was pickier then: still not picky, but definitely not the adventurous eater I am now. A salad much like this one appeared on our table one afternoon while we BBQed: watermelon, scallions, cheese, lettuce… a mix of very strange ingredients, and not one that I was intrigued to try. I was just about to pass over it, when Celeste–the woman who had made it and who had served as a second mother for me the entire time we lived in the same building and her son and I were playmates–heaped a spoonful on my plate.

At this point in my life, I was quite opposed to the idea of mixing sweet with savory, especially in main dishes (i.e. salted caramel-okay, duck à l’orange-no, thanks.) But it was already on my plate, edging its way over to where my perfect corn on the cob was, and so I took a bite.

It was heavenly: I never imagined that salty feta and sweet watermelon could ever produce such a harmonious mix, but they did. I ate every bit of that salad, going back for more two or three times.

I asked my mother time and time again to get me the recipe. For years, I waited, requesting it as my “coming home” meal when I arrived on Long Island each summer. But alas, each year my prayers went unanswered, and each year, I ended up heading back to school without having had my fill of that salad.

A few days ago, as I perused the market at Bercy right before it closed, I had a watermelon nearly handed to me. A woman, ready to rid her stall of the last few things so she could pack up and go home, was offering a few 500 gram barquettes of strawberries, bananas or kiwis and quarters of massive red watermelons for one euro apiece. I try very had not to succumb to the urge to take advantage of deals at the market–I end up with more produce than I know what to do with–but this deal was too good to pass up. I settled on strawberries and watermelon, and as I carried them back home, it took all my willpower not to devour them there in the street.

I had already been at my favorite cheesemonger earlier (remind me to tell you about him soon… he’s my new favorite person in the world, this week), and amongst my selection of cheeses sat a block of feta, wrapped first in plastic and then in paper to keep it from dripping all over the rest of my cheeses. I knew immediately when I tucked the watermelon and strawberries into my bag what I would be making for lunch.

I still never received the recipe from my mother. I had searched in vain for the same recipe online, but none of them had the same ingredients, the same combination I remembered. I decided to wing it, and what I ended up with is even better than the salad I remember.

I got rid of the onions and lettuce: all they did was get in the way. I made a simple dressing from the juice of a lime and a bit of extra virgin olive oil (use the good stuff for a salad like this), seasoned simply with salt and pepper. The market had also provided me with a fresh mint plant, and so that was put to good use too: a generous chiffonade sprinkled over the top. I knew that I would need something else: something neutral to play off the sweetness of the watermelon and the tangy saltiness of the feta. Cucumber seemed to be the perfect foil, and so in it went.

The result is the perfect summer salad: bright and flavorful with lots of color. It’s great as I first had it: a side dish at a summer BBQ, but for me, it also makes the perfect stand-alone lunch, a great way to ring in the spring and hope for summer’s swift arrival.

This is my entry for this month’s FIC: Red and Green. I’m slipping in just under the deadline, but if you want to contribute your own post, you have until the end of today!

Watermelon and Feta Salad with Cucumber and Mint

Note: A key element of this salad is fresh herbs: I’m a huge advocate for the ease of dried ones, but it’s definitely not worth it in this case. If you don’t have mint, feel free to use basil instead. If you have neither, you can use mint oil. If you have none of the above, omit the ingredient entirely.

1/4 watermelon, diced into bite-sized chunks
1/2 cucumber
2 oz. feta cheese, crumbled (I like to leave the feta in rather large chunks: personal preference)
1 lime
1 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil (I beg of you, break out the good stuff: it makes all the difference)
4-5 fresh mint leaves, chiffonade
salt and pepper

Slice the half cucumber down the middle and then cut each half so that you have a pile of half-moons about a half-inch wide. Toss the cucumber and the diced melon in a large salad bowl. Sprinkle the cheese on top, and season with salt and black pepper. Drizzle the olive oil and the juice of the lime over the top. Sprinkle the chiffonade of mint leaves on top of the salad as a garnish.

The colors of the salad look best before tossing, so if you’re making this for company, I recommend serving like this and tossing at the table. Alternatively, you can toss the watermelon and cucumber with the oil, lime juice, salt and pepper and then add the cheese and mint at the end.

April 29, 2009

So-Good-You-Could-Bathe-In-It Onion Confit

Filed under: Side Dishes — Tags: , , — emiglia @ 8:57 am

In the two years that I’ve lived in Paris, both of my mother’s sisters have come to visit, and both of them have had the experience that is dining at Chez Fernand.

I’m sure the main dishes here are lovely, but I’ve been three times, and all three times, I only have eyes for one thing: the pâté de campagne with onion confit.

This onion confit is so good you could bathe in it… or at least… I could. It’s sweet and savory and buttery and tangy… it’s perfection in a sweet glass jar that they bring to the table, alongside a bowl of cornichons. Seriously, I just want a jar of that and the check, please.

I can’t afford to go out all the time, so one night, when Alex and I were having cheese for dinner (as we do every so often), I decided to try and make some of this onion confit for myself.

I was going off instinct, so I have no idea if this is the correct way to make onion confit, but I don’t care. The onion confit police can arrest me: I want this to be my last meal.

I’m offering this onion recipe up for the Just Get Floury call for onion recipes. A lot of recipes feature onions, but this is one of the few that has onions as one of the only ingredients.

Because I made this up as I went, the recipe is a bit free-form, and that’s OK! I’m going to offer you what I did, but you should feel free to tweak as you see fit, until you come up with a confit that is good enough to bathe in. Or… you know… serve, like a normal person, with an arrangement of pâtés and cheeses.

So-Good-You-Could-Bathe-In-It Onion Confit

Thinly slice 4-5 yellow onions. Heat a ridiculous amount of butter (maybe 3-4 tablespoons) in a skillet over low heat and add the onions and some salt. Allow them to cook and caramelize, stirring every so often. I like to add a tablespoon of white sugar to help the caramelization process along, but if you’re using sweet onions, this is probably unnecessary. When the onions are brown and start to smell amazing, open a bottle of dry white wine and pour yourself a glass. Then pour a bit into the pan with the onions and scrape the bits from the bottom. Allow the onions to simmer in the wine, adding more as the liquid evaporates until the onions have dissolved into a sticky, sweet delicious mess. Take a spoon and eat. Or serve in a more distinguished manner… I won’t judge.

April 26, 2009

Foodbuzz 24, 24, 24: Iron Chef

Filed under: 24, Appetizers, Chicken, Pie, Side Dishes — Tags: , , , — emiglia @ 11:29 am

And now for something completely different.

As many of you who read this blog regularly probably know, I am a recent university graduate. I graduated a semester early, which means that most of my friends here in Paris are still in college. There is a stereotype when it comes to college parties: kegs, togas, etc, but that’s not what we typically do for fun around here.

We have Iron Chef competitions.

The contestants are always me and my friend Matt. Katrina is our organizer, but she is a self-proclaimed cook of two things: tortillas and a German dish that I can’t pronounce, much less spell, and so she and Alex are always two of our judges.

We have to find a third for each competition, and this time around, it was Alex’s friend Brigitte, who, along with Alex, helped document the occasion with photos.

Before I continue, I need to make a quick note about the photos. Because I was cooking, I couldn’t very well be taking pictures at the same time, so Alex and Brigitte took care of that. You all remember what it was like when you first started dealing with macros and varying light sources, so please be forgiving of blur and color imbalances. I’ll try to make up for it with my eloquent prose. Or something like that.

The way Iron Chef works is quite simple: each of us puts in a little bit of money, and Katrina goes to the store to get materials: the secret ingredient, as well as a collection of other things we can use. There is always some form of meat (for this round, we each got a whole fryer) as well as a variety of fresh produce, pantry items and dairy products. I always allow the use of my oil, spices, flour and sugar. In addition, Matt and I each select two ingredients in advance that we will have for ourselves and will not share with one another: Matt chose cream and rice noodles, and I had canned peaches and crème fraîche.
And this week’s ingredient was…

Marrons entiers! Whole cooked chestnuts.

From the moment the ingredient is revealed, we each have fifteen minutes to plan out our meals: three courses including an appetizer, a main and a dessert. After the fifteen minutes of planning time, we have an hour and a half to cook under the watchful eye of the judges, who will later judge in five categories: food, costume, kitchen skills, use of the ingredient and x-factor.

Matt washes his hands: points for kitchen skills!

Katrina is camera shy.

Matt and I have very different cooking styles as well as different ways of approaching the contest. I always plan everything out from the very beginning. For this round, I knew that we would each have a whole chicken to work with, so I planned on roasting it and then came up with a chestnut stuffing to go with it. I also knew that I wanted to make a pie, so I was able to make the crust in the beginning and refrigerate it while I worked on other things.


Matt is much more free-form with the way he develops his menu. “I don’t know what I’m doing til it’s done, basically. Every time I do it, it’s like… the secret ingredient is something I don’t know or haven’t worked with before. I write down what I want to do in the beginning, but as I go, it changes.”

Our final menus were:

Emiglia

Potato-Chestnut Soup with Caramelized Onion-Chestnut Garnish and Goat Cheese Croutons

Roasted Chicken with Chestnut Stuffing

Raspberry-Pear Tart with Chestnut Purée


Matt

Goat Cheese and Chestnut Crostini with Dried Cranberries

Chicken Stir Fry with Rice Noodles

Chestnut Rice Pudding

A big part of the competition is the costumes… your costume amounts to one-fifth of your total score. Mostly, our costumes become characters. This time around, Matt was the son of the devil, and I was a hippie. We tried to stay in character while the judges (mostly Katrina) asked us questions as we cooked, much like Alton Brown does in the American version of the television show.

Because you only have a certain amount of time to work, preparation is everything. In my tiny kitchen, this is even more of a challenge. Something like a pie, which I made, is difficult to get right because we only have one oven to share between two people. It’s easier to control the cooking of something like a stir-fry, which Matt chose to make.

While Matt and I cooked, Katrina, Brigitte and Alex watched and drank (it’s dinner theater at home!) Alex and Brigitte also took pictures. I realized that Alex must have been watching me take my food pictures closer than I thought. He, like me, snapped about twenty pictures of each item.

He especially liked to take close-up shots of the chestnuts,

close-ups of Matt expertly butchering the whole chicken,

and close-ups of me chopping things. Basically a lot of close-ups.

I wonder where he gets it?

Half-way through the competition, Matt offers the crowd the leftover topping for his crostini. This gets him a lot of x-factor points.

The pressure is on… time’s nearly up!
When the hour and a half is up, we serve our food to everyone.

After which, the judges have to judge. Katrina liked the soup I made and the rice pudding that Matt made. She also liked the stuffing that came with the chicken. I got points for staying in character while cooking. Verdict: Emiglia

Brigitte liked the soup too (in fact, the soup just got points all around.) She really liked Matt’s presentation of his appetizer: he put lit matches into whole chestnuts when he brought out the dish. Verdict: Matt

Alex liked pretty much everything he ate: he was happy that we both used the goat’s cheese (put cheese on anything and Alex is happy). He liked Matt’s character (the devil’s son). In the end, though, he wasn’t crazy about the stir-fry (some of the rice noodles were uncooked) or the chestnut purée that went on top of the pie that I made. It took him awhile, but he finally made his decision after deciding that he preferred Matt’s crostini topping raw rather than cooked. Verdict: Emiglia

It’s interesting the way that a contest like this changes my approach to cooking. Usually, especially when baking, I make sure to carefully measure everything before starting and to double check my recipes. I realized during this contest that it’s not always necessary: I was able to make pie crust from scratch au feeling just because I’ve made it before and I know what it should look like.

I end up cooking mostly with instinct: I know that chestnuts, chicken and sage go well together, so I build off of that knowledge. I also know that cream and cheese make things better, which is how so much cream made it into my soup (it was delicious, but definitely not the sort of thing I would make for a regular weeknight dinner).

Sometimes, it doesn’t work out: my chestnut purée wasn’t the perfect match with the pie. It may have gone better with something chocolate. A lot of things turn out surprisingly well, and we learn how to use a new ingredient, which is always fun. Because of the free-form way that we cooked, I can’t really offer you any recipes: everything we made was fairly simple. Instead, I can give you basic ingredient lists for the things that were made.

Potato-Chestnut Soup with Caramelized Onion-Chestnut Garnish and Goat Cheese Croutons- onions, potato, salt, pepper, chestnuts, crème fraîche, goat’s cheese (soup), caramelized onions, butter, salt, pepper, chestnuts (garnish)

Roasted Chicken with Chestnut Stuffing- chicken, butter, salt, pepper, herbes de provence (chicken), bread, crème fraîche, milk, sage, salt, pepper, chestnuts, onion

Raspberry-Pear Tart with Chestnut Purée- butter, salt, crème fraîche, flour (crust), raspberries, canned pears, sugar, mascarpone cheese (tart), chestnuts, mascarpone, sugar, crème fraîche (purée)

Goat Cheese and Chestnut Crostini with Dried Cranberries- goat’s cheese, chestnuts, tarragon, salt, pepper, bread, Craisins

Chicken Stir Fry with Rice Noodles- chicken, tarragon, cream, Worcestershire sauce, honey, onions, garlic, mushrooms, leeks, rice noodles

Chestnut Rice Pudding- cooked rice, cream, mascarpone, cinnamon, chestnuts, sugar

At any rate, Iron Chef is a really fun way to get friends together and enjoy a meal. I love being a contestant: this is the second time I’ve been one, and it’s a really fun way to challenge yourself. I know that next time, I’d love to be on the other side, taking the pictures!

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