Hot, hot, hot: garlic habañero hot sauce

August 28, 2010 in dips spreads and sauces, recipe, vegetables | No comments

The market has been full of beautiful peppers. The usual bell peppers in red, orange, yellow and green, jalapeños, Hungarian wax, Trinidadian perfume, poblanos, and fiery habañeros.

They are bright and inviting, but to be honest, I hardly know what to do with most of them. Oh, I use bell peppers in all sorts of ways, and I throw jalapeños and serranos into salsas and guacamoles, and I use the occasional Thai bird chile in a stir fry (and I’ve even gotten reasonably adept at what to do with the dried varieties, but that’s another story). But there is a vast world of chiles and peppers I’ve never cooked with. I’ve optimistically brought home baskets of them only to find shriveled specimens lying sadly in the bottom of the refrigerator a few weeks later.

But this year I was determined to expand my pepper universe, at least a little.

And when I came across Melissa Clark’s recipe for a hot sauce based on Sriracha, I knew I had to give a go. I returned from the farmers market armed with habañeros and red bell peppers and a bulb of New York white garlic and went to work.

It was surprisingly easy (I don’t know why I imagined it would be difficult…). After about ten minutes of chopping and ten minutes of cooking (and several days of resting) I had two lovely little jars of fiery orange-red sauce.

This stuff packs a wallop. It is, to my tastebuds at least, significantly hotter than Sriracha. But it is also brighter and more complex.

Next time, I might leave out the habañero seeds for something a little tamer. But heat fiends will love it as is. And since it keeps for a long long time in the refrigerator, I can enjoy it in small quantities without worrying that it will go to waste.



Garlic Habañero Hot Sauce

Source: adapted from Melissa Clark in The New York Times

It is a good idea to use a pair of latex gloves when handling peppers this hot, and avoid inhaling the fumes when the peppers are cooking. This hot sauce is spicier than the Sriracha that inspired it, so use start small when adding it to a dish–you can always add more later. Those looking for a slightly tamer hot sauce should remove the seeds and white parts of the habañeros before adding them to the sauce pan.

4 habañeros
2 medium red bell peppers
5 cloves of garlic
3/4 cup white vinegar
1 teaspoon kosher or sea salt

special equipment: latex gloves

Roughly chop the bell peppers and garlic. Wearing latex gloves, chop the habañeros. Remove the seeds for a moderately hot sauce, leave them in if you like things extra hot.

In a medium nonreactive sauce pan with a lid, add the peppers, garlic, and white vinegar. Bring to a boil (take care not to inhale the fumes), turn heat down to low, cover, and simmer for about 10 minutes or until peppers are pierced easily with a knife.

Remove from heat, stir in salt, and puree with an immersion blender (or in a standard blender). Pour into two 8-ounce jars or one 16-ounce jar. Allow to cool before covering. Chill in the refrigerator for a week before using.

Keeps for months in the refrigerator.
Yield: about 2 cups.

By the scoopful: peach jasmine sorbet

August 23, 2010 in dessert, fruit, recipe | No comments

It’s been a hot summer in Chicago. This July and August we’ve watched the mercury climb into the nineties more days than I care to count. Too many. I’m not a hot weather kind of girl, give me seventies and a light breeze along the lake, and I’ll take eighties with a cool drink, but nineties, uggh, nineties make me cranky.

It’s been a summer for sunscreen, for trailing my hands through neighbors’ sprinklers as they sway toward the sidewalk. It’s been a summer for open-toed shoes and sleeveless tops and sitting in the shade. But more importantly, it’s been a summer for sorbet.

We’ve been filling our bowls with bright jewel-toned orbs of the stuff: sour cherry lambic, almond, blackberry. Sorbet somehow always feels more refreshing than ice cream, the flavors more intense without the muting effects of milk fat, the bracing iciness just the thing for these hot summer days.

And when I see the bounty of summer fruits weighing down the tables at the farmers markets and have no desire to turn on the oven for, say, pie, I will happily bring home pints of whatever looks extra lovely to peel, slice, puree with sugar syrup, churn, and freeze.

One of our favorites of late has been a sorbet of Michigan peaches enlivened with a splash of jasmine liqueur from Koval Distillery, a great little boutique distillery that’s practically in our neighborhood. There’s something enchanting about the hint of floral jasmine combined with the succulent sweetness of peach that makes this sorbet sing. The alcohol also helps to give this sorbet an excellent texture.

I can’t get enough peaches when they’re in season, and the peaches at the market this summer have been gorgeous.

This puts those beauties to good use. And provides a little relief from the heat.

Peach Jasmine Sorbet

Source: Loosely adapted from Jeni Britton in Food & Wine and David Lebovitz’s The Perfect Scoop

The alcohol helps to keep this sorbet scoopable. If you live in an area where Koval liqueurs are available, do seek them out, if not, substitute another liqueur such as St. Germain, which is similar in alcohol content, or substitute half the amount of a liquor such as bourbon. If you prefer not to use corn syrup, you may substitute sugar, but be advised that liquid sweeteners such as corn syrup or glucose improve the texture. Do use ripe sweet peaches if possible (save underripe hard ones, which are lower in sugar but higher in pectin, for jam). The ones I used for this last one were bruised and overripe, which was an advantage here.

2 pounds of ripe peaches (about 6 or 7)
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup corn syrup or glucose (or equal amount of sugar)
1/4 cup water
1/4 cup Koval Jasmine Liqueur (or St. Germain, or 2 tablespoons bourbon)

Combine the sugar, corn syrup or glucose, and water in small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer and stir until the sugar has dissolved. Remove from heat.

Blanch the peaches in a large pot of boiling water for about 2 minutes, drain and run under cold water. Peel the peaches–the skin should slip off fairly easily. Remove the pits, and dice the peaches.

Puree the peaches with the sugar syrup in a blender (or use an immersion blender in a high sided container) until smooth. Stir in the jasmine liqueur.

Chill the mixture in a refrigerator overnight. Then churn in an ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions. Store in the freezer for several hours before eating.

Yield: About one quart.

Stay Curious: a new to me fruit, the ground cherry

August 14, 2010 in fruit | No comments

Don’t they look lovely? A little bit exotic?

I know I’ve seen them before, sitting in baskets at the farmers market, pale and papery, like tiny tomatillos or ornamental lanterns. I knew they were commonly called ground cherries, and they always seemed intriguing, but somehow, until this morning I had never eaten one.

I was missing out. These little morsels come wrapped like a present. Pull away the paper, and find a delicate round yellow berry with a beguiling flavor.

Sweet and delicate, they taste, well, they taste round, almost nutty, with a flutter of pineapple-strawberry, and maybe a hint of something floral. When you bite into them, they burst with acidity like a cherry tomato.

The man at the Green Acres Farm stand said that most people find them delightful. And in this case, I agree with most people. He sold them as husk cherries, saying that ground cherries just sounded wrong.

Their scientific name is Physalis pruinosa, and they are relatives of tomatoes and tomatillos and cape gooseberries (which aren’t really gooseberries at all).

If, like me, you are behind the times on these, do seek them out.

The bag on my counter won’t last long.

mangiafagioli, in bean counting times

February 21, 2009 in beans, recipe, soups and stews | 3 comments

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The Tuscans have a way with beans.

If I came away from my year in Italy learning one thing about food, it was this. As much as I love pizza and fresh pasta and gelato, and, oh, do I love those foods, my most memorable meal on the boot shaped peninsula involved none of them.

It involved a vineyard, a cool misty spring day, and a bowl of beans. Well, really a bowl of warm pasta e ceci, which translates to pasta and chickpeas, drizzled with the vineyard’s own olive oil and a toasty hunk of focaccia.

Eight years later, I still remember dipping my spoon into the thick stewy concoction and realizing for the first time that a chickpea could taste like comfort, so sturdy and so subtle. So good.

This is a dish that is so much more than the sum of its simple parts. A simple saute of onions and celery and garlic with a generous sprinkle of rosemary, chickpeas simmered and partially pureed, with nubby little bites of ditalini thrown into the mix. It emerges as a delicately flavored bowl of stick-to-your-ribs goodness. Dan likens it to macaroni and cheese, and I think he’s on to something with the comparison. Except it’s easier on the waistline.

And it’s easy on the pocketbook as well, which is no small thing these days.

Simple food, well-prepared. It’s the sort of thing I could eat until summer.

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Pasta e Ceci

Source: Adapted from Jamie Oliver’s Jamie’s Italy

This dish is peasant food at its finest. It works well with canned chickpeas, but it’s even better with dried. I use one of my favorite tricks in this dish to enhance the flavor. I save the rinds from parmesan cheese and store them in the freezer, then I cut off a piece, about an inch square or so, and simmer it with the chickpeas. It’s optional, but it adds another dimension to vegetable stock or even water, and I highly recommend it. 

3 cups cooked chickpeas (or 2 15 ounce cans)
1 stalk of celery, finely diced
2 cloves of garlic, finely minced
1 medium onion, finely diced
3 cups of vegetable stock (or water)
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon dried rosemary
1 inch square piece of parmesan rind (optional)
3/4 cup dried ditalini
2 tablespoons to 1/4 cup of shredded parmesan (preferably parmigiano reggiano)
olive oil for drizzling
salt
fresh cracked pepper

In a medium sauce pan or dutch oven, heat a tablespoon of olive oil and add the onion, celery, garlic, rosemary, and bay leaf. Cover, and cook over low heat for about 20 minutes, or until the onions are translucent and the vegetables are soft.

Add the stock or water and chickpeas and parmesan rind, if using. Bring to a simmer and cook until the chickpeas are soft, about 35 minutes. Turn off the heat, and remove the bay leaf and the parmesan rind. Remove half of the chickpeas (about 1 and 1/2 cups) with a slotted spoon and set aside. Puree the remaining chickpeas with a stick blender (or food processor or standard blender). Return the reserved chickpeas to the pot, add the ditalini, and simmer over medium-low heat until the ditalini is al dente, about 15 minutes. Season with salt and pepper, and stir in the grated parmesan. Drizzle with olive oil, and serve.

Yield: 4 smallish servings or 3 large ones.

In the pink

January 26, 2009 in dips spreads and sauces, fruit, miscellaneous, recipe | 1 comment

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We are in the bleak mid-winter in Chicago, the ground crusted with snow, the wind face-bitingly, finger-numbingly cold. Apart from the rare bit of blue sky peaking out at us today, we have been living in a pallet of whites and muted grays.

I am getting tired of pilling scarves and hats and salt stained shoes. I am wearying of winter’s dinge.

I have been subsisting on one warm bowl after another filled with chilis and curries and ribollitas, ladled over rice or sopped up with bread. But as much as I love these comfort foods, I am ready for a break from them too. I’ve been longing for something vibrant, with a rich saturated hue and a bold flavor to cut right through the winter doldrums.

That’s where cranberries come in. These deep red beauties are still hanging around in the produce section of my supermarket, looking lonely in the wake of the holidays.

After sputtering in a pot, slipping out of their skins, simmering with sugar and a vanilla bean and a splash of Cointreau, and then being rounded out and thickened with a couple of eggs, these tart red berries are tickled into a luxurious velvety pink curd.

I think of cranberry curd as winter’s rosy cheeks, if such a thing could be jarred and spread on lemony muffins or cornmeal pancakes or whole wheat toast, or sneaked in little spoonfuls all by itself. It isn’t a summer jam, but a rich smooth sweet spread, with notes of vanilla and orange and just a hint of a pucker. Just the thing to brighten a buttery croissant and a mug of hot coffee on a mid-winter Sunday morning.

Cranberry Curd

Source: adapted from Nigella Lawson’s How to be a Domestic Goddess

This luxurious, brilliant pink curd is a cinch to make. Cranberry’s natural acidic tartness is tamed here into something sweet and round, but the berry’s bright fruit flavor remains strong. It would be right at home on a holiday table, but it really shines as an accompaniment to a simple breakfast or dessert. If you want to make this beyond the season when cranberries are available in the grocery store, stock up on a few extra bags and throw them in the freezer where they’ll keep for months.  

2 1/2 cups (8 ounces) fresh or frozen cranberries
1/2 cup water
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons Cointreau
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise or 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 eggs
fine mesh strainer or food mill

In a medium saucepan, heat the cranberries and water over low heat until the cranberries pop and split open. Press the cranberries through a fine mesh strainer or food mill, discard the solids, and return the puree to the saucepan. Add sugar, butter, vanilla bean (or extract), and cook over a low gentle heat until the sugar dissolves and the butter melts into the puree. Remove the vanilla bean and scrape the seeds into the puree (if you like, you can rinse and dry the bean and save it for another use). Remove the pan from the heat and allow it to cool slightly. Beat the eggs in a separate bowl. Add a little of the warm cranberry mixture to the eggs (this is to gently warm the eggs to prevent the eggs from curdling on contact with the hot mixture). Add the egg and cranberry mixture to the saucepan. Cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon. Be careful not to curdle the mixture by raising the heat too high.

When the mixture is thickened, push it through the mesh strainer, and allow it to cool before putting it into jars and refrigerating.

Yields about 2 1/2 cups of cranberry curd. Keeps in the refrigerator for several weeks.

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