Blossom to Stem

On Saturdays in the summer, my routine almost invariably includes a trip to the Evanston Farmers Market. From time to time, I think about swapping my northerly trek for a southerly one and finally checking out the Green City Market or just making a quick trip to the little Edgewater Market that’s within walking distance, but then I think about the crates upon crates of heirloom varieties of tomatoes and cucumbers and garlic and fingerling potatoes and the little bundles of shiso and the mesclun dotted with delicate flowers and the red amaranth and all the colors of carrots at Henry’s Farm stand, and my decision is simple. I put on my shoes, throw my unwashed hair in a ponytail and head out the door.

When there are so many options, it’s easy get home and discover I’ve lugged back something that wasn’t quite what I expected. This beauty of a watermelon was a recent find from Henry’s stand that took us by surprise. In a good way. We didn’t know it was any special variety, but when we cut it open, we found brilliant yellow flesh inside.

This baby was crisp and juicy and incredibly sweet. And it was yellow. Really yellow.

I always thought of pink watermelon as the quintessential summer fruit in a so-refreshing-dripping-down-your-chin-as-you-spit-seeds-in-the-backyard sort of way, but somehow this yellow version seems even more of the season.

And as we near the end of summer, what better way to hang on to it than to turn it into sorbet and freeze it?

This watermelon sorbet is bright sunshine yellow and about as close as it comes to keeping a container of concentrated summer in the freezer. Sweet and icy with just enough lime to cut through the sugar, a little scoop of this hits the spot on a hot day. Or any day, really.

It is another satisfying recipe from David Lebovitz’s recent book on all things ice cream, The Perfect Scoop. (I seem to be on a yellow kick lately–a few weeks ago the lemon speculoos ice cream recipe from the same book had me struggling to save every last drip at the bottom of the bowl.)

Watermelon Sorbet

Source: adapted from The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz

This sorbet comes together easily. The trickiest part is picking the seeds out of the watermelon before you puree it into juice. The original recipe calls for mini chocolate chips to be mixed in the end. I omitted them, but you can feel free to stir some in before you put away the finished sorbet. The flavor of watermelon is delicate, and the vodka and lime flavors are detectable here. I like it that way, but you should probably omit the vodka if you really don’t want to know it’s there.

About a 3 pound (1 1/2 kilogram) chunk of watermelon
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon lime juice
2 tablespoons vodka

Cut away the rind of the watermelon and remove the seeds. Cut the flesh into manageable pieces and add to a blender or food processor and puree until liquid. You should have about 3 cups of juice (puree a little more watermelon or set aside the extra juice for another use if necessary). Pour into a medium mixing bowl and set aside.

In a small saucepan, heat 1/2 cup watermelon juice, sugar and salt until all of the sugar has dissolved. Remove from heat and add to the bowl with the watermelon juice. Stir in the lime juice and vodka.

Chill in the refrigerator overnight and then process in an ice cream maker.

Yields 1 quart of sorbet.

At their peak ripeness, summer fruits need little adornment. It’s tough to improve the flavor of a meltingly delicate, sweet tart raspberry or a succulent peach on the verge of bruising.

But when you find yourself up to your elbows in fragrant baskets of the summer bounty that you simply couldn’t leave at the farmers market, it’s time to think about baking.

Pies, crisps, crumbles, buckles, and cobblers are old favorites (with good reason). A slow simmer in the oven can dramatically change a fruit’s demeanor. Things mellow in there; they turn softer and more fragrant. The transformation can be stunning, but some fruits are so vibrant in their natural state it seems a shame to put them through all that.

That’s where this twist on the classic strawberry shortcake comes in. Think slices of bright red strawberries tossed with a little sugar, a dollop of rich pastry cream, and a crumbly little almond cake to nestle them on.

At home at a backyard cookout or at a dinner party, this dessert is familiar enough to pass for summer comfort food and just surprising enough to feel like something new. The toasty layer of sliced almonds on the top dresses the cake with an unfussy elegance. This version is portable and picnic friendly, as the pastry cream, unlike its whipped relative, will travel well in a cooler. It goes down easy just about anywhere and puts all that wonderful fresh fruit to good use.

Almond Cake with Strawberries and Vanilla Pastry Cream

Source: Cake adapted from Gourmet June 2007, p. 143. Original recipe available here. Pastry cream adapted from Apartment Therapy: The Kitchen.

This would be excellent with other flavorful summer fruits–peaches, raspberries, and pitted sweet cherries come to mind as good options. I used vanilla pastry cream here for its portability, but if you are making this at home you could certainly use whipped cream or lightly sweetened whipped Greek yogurt if you prefer. This cake, if stored in an airtight container or wrapped well in plastic wrap, is even better on the second day.

For the pastry cream:

1 cup whole milk
1 cup whipping cream (or heavy whipping cream)
3 egg yolks
1/4 cup sugar
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

For the almond cake:

3/4 cup whole almonds
1/2 cup sliced almonds (for the top)
1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
4 large eggs
1 1/4 cups sugar (preferably superfine, or regular granulated sugar zizzed in a food processor for 30 seconds)
1/3 cup whole milk
3/4 cup butter, melted and cooled

For the strawberries:
1 quart (1 1/2 pounds) fresh strawberries, sliced
2 tablespoons sugar

Make the pastry cream. In a medium mixing bowl, mix the eggs, sugar, and flour until well blended. In a heavy medium saucepan, bring the milk and cream to a low simmer. Turn off the heat. Whisk a few tablespoons of the warm milk and cream into the egg mixture, then gradually add a few more tablespoons of milk/cream and whisk thoroughly. Add the egg mixture to the saucepan with the remaining milk/cream and cook over low heat, stirring constantly, until thickened, about four minutes. Whisk in the vanilla extract. Remove from heat. Refrigerate for at least one hour before serving.

Make the cake. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease a 9-inch square baking pan with cooking spray (Bakers Joy works well) or butter and flour. In a dry skillet, toast the whole almonds over medium heat just until they start to smell fragrant. Remove from heat and add them, half at a time, to a blender or food processor and pulse until they resemble a fine powder (but before they become a paste, err on the side of coarseness here).

In a medium mixing bowl, mix the ground almonds, flour, baking powder, and salt.

In a separate large mixing bowl (or the bowl of a stand mixer), add the eggs and beat on high speed until they look foamy, about 15-30 seconds. With the mixer running, add the sugar slowly and beat until the mixture is the thick and the beater leaves a noticeable trail when lifted, about 10 minutes (perhaps a few minutes shorter in a stand mixer or a few longer with a hand mixer). Slowly add the melted butter and the milk and beat until well mixed. Add the flour and ground almond mixture and stir by hand until just combined. The batter will be thick.

Spread the batter evenly in the prepared pan and sprinkle with the sliced almonds. Bake until the cake begins to pull away from the sides and the almonds on the top look golden brown and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean, about 30-40 minutes. Cool on a rack before removing from pan.

In a medium bowl, mix the strawberries with sugar and let them macerate in the refrigerator for an hour or so.

To assemble, cut a piece of cake, and slice it in half horizontally. Add strawberries and a dollop of pastry cream to the bottom half and replace the top of the cake. Enjoy.

Yields about 8 servings.

If I ever doubted that garlic is a member of the lily family, I am a skeptic no longer.

The bulbs tend to garner the bulk of the attention when we think about the stinking rose, but these lovely “garlic flowers”–as the sign at the farmers market identified them–caught my eye with their crooked necks and curling tendrils and delicate white seed pods.

More commonly known as garlic scapes, these twisty garlic tops are only available for a short time, usually in late June around here. Farmers tend to remove them to improve bulb development, and the stems are often discarded, which is a travesty because they taste so good.

Scapes are easy for any garlic fan to fall for. Their flavor is pleasantly reminiscent of the familiar bulb, but it is simultaneously brighter and more delicate. They are lively and tender and incredibly green. They have plenty of snap without garlic’s characteristic bite.

After the white pods have been removed, the stems can be sliced and sautéd or or steamed and added to stir fries or salsas or sprinkled on salads.

Or at least they can in theory. I wouldn’t really know, and I’m unlikely to find out because I see no point in using them for anything but this pesto.

This is a fantastic way to dress up plain ol’ pasta. It would be lovely on pizza or bruschetta, and it also makes vibrant dressing for a bowl of greens. I thought it was lovely over a simple bowl of penne with sautéd mushrooms and asparagus.

This comes together in maybe five minutes, if you need to take two minutes to dig out the food processor and another two to grate some parmesan cheese.

Garlic Scape Pesto

Just about every source I’ve encountered that mentions garlic scapes offers a variation of this pesto. Scapes can vary in pungency and astringency (as does personal tolerance for those qualities). More delicate scapes might balance well with less cheese, and might even benefit from the addition of a little lemon juice. Older scapes might fare better when matched with a little more cheese and might benefit from the addition of almonds, walnuts, or pine nuts. This is a good starting off point. Feel free to improvise.

1 cup (about 8 or 9) garlic scapes, white pods removed
1/2 cup grate parmesan cheese
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
1/2 tsp. salt

Put everything into the bowl of a food processor and blend until it forms a bright green paste.

Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary. Store in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to a week, or freeze for several months.

Yields about 5 ounces of pesto

I’ve been away from here for too long, I’ve been distracted by little things. A new camera with a broken dial that needed to be sent back once and a bit more of a learning curve than the point-and-shoots I’m used to. An excursion to Michigan for a holiday weekend with extended family including a new little one to meet. A bad sunburn that peeled twice and that, three weeks later, is still looking a little pink. Along with farmers markets to get to, herbs to repot, friends to visit for birthday parties and games and picnics…

But now I have a luxurious week off. And it’s time to catch up.

I can’t seem to get enough chickpeas, in any form. It’s surprising then, that I had never attempted falafel. I had heard reports from many friends of homemade falafel disintegrating or turning to mush, and I can buy some excellent falafel on the cheap at a little place a few blocks away.

It hardly seemed worth the effort.

But somehow, a few weeks ago, I found myself with a bag of dry chickpeas in hand staring at a new recipe. I’m glad I did. These were easily worth the effort involved.

These weren’t at all mushy, and while they were a little bit on the delicate side, they never threatened to disintegrate. The secret to the right texture, I’m convinced, is starting with dried chickpeas rather than canned. Apart from soaking the chickpeas overnight, which requires some planning, these come together quickly, and they’re a cinch to make.

A few a minutes of chopping, a few seconds a zizzing everything together in a food processor, and then a little bit of time rolling the mix into balls and pan-frying them. Maybe a half-hour of work, maybe less if you’re speedy.

They look and taste a little green–in a bright, fresh, good way. These have quickly become a favorite.

Joan Nathan’s Favorite Falafel

Source: adapted from Joan Nathan’s “My Favorite Falafel” in The Foods of Israel Today, recipe reprinted here.

Dried chickpeas are really the way to go here. They’re so cheap and easy to find that it’s really worth going to the trouble of doing the overnight soak here (and really, it’s only about two seconds of active work the night before). The ingredients are all readily available. You can use all cilantro or all parsley or a combination of the two, and any of the spices and seasonings can be adjusted to your taste. These are excellent with tahini sauce and pita, along with a bit of cucumber, tomato, lettuce, and onion either together as a sandwich or as a simple salad along side.

1 cup dried chickpeas
1/2 medium yellow onion, chopped
1/4 cup fesh cilantro or parsley (or a combination of the two)
4 cloves of garlic, crushed with skins removed
1 teaspoon cumin seeds, ground
1/2 teaspoon coriander seeds, ground
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 cup flour (all-purpose or whole wheat)
olive oil for sauteing

Soak the chickpeas in cold water overnight (or for at least eight hours).

Drain the chickpeas. Add the chickpeas, onion, garlic, cilantro or parsley, cumin, coriander, red pepper flakes, and salt to the bowl of a food processor, and pulse until blended into a coarse, crumbly mixture with small but distinct bits of chickpea remaining–you don’t want a paste here.

Add the baking powder and flour and pulse a few times. Pinch a little bit of the mixture together and see if it holds. If it won’t hold together, add another tablespoon of flour and test again.

Roll the mixture into one inch balls and set aside.

In a large cast iron or nonstick skillet, heat a thin film of oil over medium heat. Add falafel balls, leaving enough space to maneuver around each with spatula or turner. (My pan holds about a third of the falafel at a time.) Cook, undisturbed for a few minutes, or until browned on one side. Carefully slide a thin spatula underneath each ball and flip to cook the other side.

Serve with tahini and pita and any other accompaniments you prefer.

Yields about 20 falafel balls, or about 4-5 main course servings.

When I first saw this recipe, I was intrigued by its primary ingredient. Chickpea flour sounded so much more exotic than plain old chickpeas, which manage to make their way to my table in various forms on a regular basis. I couldn’t imagine how the knobby little garbanzos I know so well would behave as flour.

It turns out they behave quite well. Ground to a fine powder, chickpeas retain their characteristic flavor and pale beige hue, a few shades deeper and warmer than all-purpose flour but not as bright as yellow corn meal or as dark as whole wheat. Chickpea flour is fine and soft, not at all gritty or tough. It is a common ingredient in Indian kitchens, where it often goes under the name of besan or gram flour. In Sicily, it is used in the popular street food panelle, or chickpea fritters. In Italian markets in the U.S. it is often sold as ceci flour. It is also one of the main ingredients in socca, a popular snack in the south of France.

In these curried chickpea pancakes, chickpea flour makes for a satisfying main course. This recipe comes from Peter Berley’s Fresh Food Fast, a cookbook that gets plenty of use in my kitchen. These have more heft than any other pancake I’ve eaten. The eggs and baking powder give them plenty of lift, while the chickpea flour gives them a filling density. My turmeric-heavy curry powder turns them a lovely yellow-orange, but other curry powder blends would likely give them a redder cast, which would be lovely too. The green onions and cilantro fleck subtle bursts of green throughout. Every time I make them, I am reminded of how solidly good these are, and I resolve to make them more often, though for some reason they seem to have a tendency to get lost for a few months before I can remember to bring them out again.

But really, I am going to make them again soon.

Curried Chickpea Pancakes

Source: adapted from Peter Berley’s Fresh Food Fast.

The chickpea flour is the only tricky-to-find ingredient here, but it is, of course, essential. I found it under the name garbanzo flour at a local natural foods store. It is also available through various online sources. The tahini sauce here is a nice touch, but, as Berley says, they are also good with a garlic-cilantro yogurt sauce, and I think they’re even quite tasty unadorned. If you don’t like cilantro, you could substitute flat leaf parsley or a combination of parsley and mint.

Chickpea Pancakes:

2 cups chickpea flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
2 tablespoons curry powder
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 cup plain yogurt (I use fat free)
4 eggs
1 tablespoon canola oil (or other neutral oil)
6 green onions, both white and green parts, thinly sliced
1 cup chopped cilantro
freshly ground black pepper

Tahini Sauce:

1/2 cup tahini, well stirred
1/2 cup water
2-3 tablespoons lemon juice (approx. the juice of one lemon)
1 clove minced garlic
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
a pinch of cayenne pepper

First, make the tahini sauce. In a small bowl, combine tahini, water, garlic, lemon juice, salt, and cayenne and stir well. Set aside. (Can be made ahead, covered and refrigerated for about a week.)

Then, make the pancake batter. In a large mixing bowl, combine chickpea flour, all-purpose flour, baking powder, curry powder, and salt. In another bowl, mix the wet ingredients–yogurt, eggs, and oil–until well combined. Add the wet mixture to the dry and stir until well-mixed–a few lumps are okay. Stir in the green onions and cilantro and black pepper.

In a large skillet or griddle, add a thin layer of canola oil over and heat over medium. With a ladle or a measuring cup, add about a half-cup of batter to the pan and cook until bubbles start to form in the middle, about 2-3 minutes. Flip over and cook for another few minutes until the pancake is cooked through and both sides are golden. You can transfer the cooked pancakes to plate and tent it with foil or keep them warm in a 200°F oven until all of the pancakes are done and you are ready to serve them.

You can drizzle with tahini sauce, or leave it on the side for each person to add to taste.

Yields 4 main course servings.

Sometime early in our relationship, when we had been dating for perhaps several months, Dan and I started making scones. It was an almost weekly occurrence, a satisfying project that could be completed in under an hour, proof that we had done something productive in the course of an otherwise relentlessly lazy weekend.

I no longer remember how we settled into scones. I imagine it had something to do with their sturdy, homey appeal, which makes them so comforting to nibble on combined with their faint air of Britishness¹, which lends them a certain cosmopolitan stature and makes them seem somehow less pedestrian than a muffin. Or maybe it was just their undeniable deliciousness.

We tried different recipes, added blueberries or raspberries or cinnamon chips, played with amounts of butter and fat content of milk and ratios of whole wheat pastry to all purpose flour. We ate our share of scones. My sister and our roommate even joked that Dan and I should open a bakery selling scones (and pizza, our other staple at the time).

After a while, for no particular reason, we drifted out of making them. We branched out into other baked goods and found ourselves with busier weekends when we sometimes baked nothing at all.

But we recently revisited the habit with a new recipe and were reminded why scones were so easy to fall for in the first place. This recipe is another one from Alice Medrich’s Bittersweet. Made with cream and no butter, these scones are rich, yet light, and crumble when bitten into. The dough is noticeably less sticky than other scone doughs I’ve worked with, and it comes together easily. Out of the oven, these scones are golden on the edges but otherwise a delicate pale speckled with dark bits of chocolate. I think they’re even better on the second day, when their lightness gives way to a pleasing density. I think I could get used to having scones around again.

Cream Scones with Bittersweet Chocolate Chunks

Source: slightly adapted from Alice Medrich’s Bittersweet

These scones are quite delicate and not too sweet. Any type of chocolate works here, and chocolate chips would be fine, but I prefer the texture of uneven bits of melting bittersweet. These are probably too delicate to stand up to any fresh or frozen fruit, but I have a hunch that dried fruits, such as currants, tart cherries, or apricot pieces would be lovely in lieu of chocolate. Cinnamon chips or other flavored chips could also work, if you aren’t in the mood for chocolate. With more than a cup of cream, they are not exactly health food, but they’re worth the splurge for a treat. A coarse sugar, such as turbinado or demerara will be prettier on the tops, but any mildly flavored sugar, including plain refined white table sugar, will do. You can replace a half cup of the all-purpose flour with whole wheat pastry flour, white whole wheat flour or regular whole wheat flour for a slightly heartier, but still tender and light, scone.

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup sugar
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups heavy cream
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, chopped into small chunks
about 1 tablespoon milk or cream for brushing tops
about 1/2 tablespoon sugar, preferably turbinado, demerara, or coarse raw sugar for sprinkling tops (optional)

Preheat oven to 425°F, and line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, mix flour, sugar, baking powder and salt until well combined. Stir in chocolate chunks. Add the cream and mix until the dry ingredients are moistened. The dough will seem a little dry, but should hold together when pinched. With your hand, knead the dough in the bowl, gently, until it all comes together in a smooth ball.

Turn the dough out onto a clean counter (or silpat or sheet of parchment paper) and pat into a circle about 8 or 9 inches in diameter and about 3/4 of an inch thick. With a butter knife or bench scraper, cut the dough into 8 wedges. Place the wedges onto the prepared baking sheet. Brush the tops with milk or cream and sprinkle with turbinado (or other) sugar, if using.

Bake for 12-15 minutes, or until the edges and tops have turned golden. Cool on racks.

Yields 8 scones.

1. Even if a scone in Britain is something closer what Americans call a biscuit. [back]

Questions about the safety of Teflon-coated nonstick cookware come up pretty regularly. It seems that the pans have allegedly caused deaths in birds and flu-like symptoms in humans¹. The official word from DuPont, the FDA, and the EPA is that they’re generally considered safe when used within recommended guidelines. That includes not heating an empty pan, generally cooking over low or medium heat (up to 450°F or 500°F depending on the manufacturer) and avoiding using metal or sharp-edged utensils that can scratch the coating.

Seems reasonable, for the most part, though a good sear can depend on high heat and it’d be nice to be able to stick them under the broiler without fearing for the safety of nearby birds. There are plenty of people convinced Teflon will kill you or give you cancer or migraines or something. I’m not in their camp, I’m just not convinced that most nonstick pans work all that well.

I find they have a tendency to get gummy when used with nonstick sprays, and when that happens they can be tougher to get clean than their conventional counterparts. With heavy use their nonstick properties seem to diminish, and they need to be replaced more frequently than conventional cookware.

I’m simply not convinced that they have much of an advantage over alternatives that don’t share their questionable safety record.

Cast iron is one alternative. When cast iron is well-seasoned, it releases food easily and lasts forever. Enamel-coated cast iron allows you to skip seasoning the pan and is nonreactive, so you can cook tomatoes and other acidic foods in them without risking any off flavors or colors. Woks are another option. Often made of cast iron or carbon steel, they also require seasoning and release food with minimal effort. The carbon steel ones are lighter, and obviously excellent for stir-frying and any light sauteing. Round woks can wobble on Western gas stoves and don’t really work on flat electric ranges, but flat bottomed woks sidestep that problem.

I’ve recently discover another option I can add to the list, a blue steel crepe pan.

I would never have thought a crepe pan was worth owning. It seemed like a single-tasker, and I don’t make crepes often enough to warrant owning such a specialized item, but this little pan–only 7 and 7/8 inches (20 centimeters) in diameter–has proved to be a versatile compliment to my other cookware.

It is small, light weight, and easily maneuverable. It works well for crepes, of course, and their American cousin, the pancake. I haven’t quite mastered the art of hoisting and flipping a pancake in the pan with a flick of my wrist, but this pan is light enough that I won’t hurt myself trying.

It has become my go-to pan for eggs. Small omelets, made with two or three eggs, fit perfectly. It is also oven and broiler-safe, making it ideal for individual frittatas that tend to spread thin in a larger pan.

It heats quickly and works well for toasting spices or nuts or sauteing anything in small quantities. Its low sides grant a spatula easy access. It also bears a remarkable resemblance to Indian pans used for making flat breads such as dosas, chapatis, and rotis, all of which I’d like to try my hand at at some point.

It does need to be seasoned–I had good luck following these directions on how to do that. Tradition dictates that it be wiped out with salt rather than washed with soap and water. I’ve washed it gently with a small amount of soap to no ill consequence. It does need to be dried immediately and thoroughly to avoid rust.

At only $15, it’s quite a bargain. I’d highly recommend it to anyone looking for alternatives to Teflon or an affordable, long lasting, little pan with loads of old-world charm.

Mine was made by De Buyer. I found it here.

1. Tugend, Alina. “SHORTCUTS; Teflon Is Great for Politicians, but Is It Safe for Regular People?” The New York Times. October 14, 2006. [back]

Lifeless in appearance, sluggish
dazed spring approaches–
William Carlos Williams, “Spring and All”

Spring comes to Chicago in fits and starts. We swing from freezing temperatures to upward of 70-degrees and back again, sometimes within the same day. The sun teases us into thinking we barely need jackets, but the wind off the lake reminds us that we should have brought gloves and heavy sweaters, and the ominous clouds urge us to carry umbrellas.

T.S. Eliot famously called April the cruellest month for wantonly stealing away winter’s comforting covers, and there have been years when I’ve been inclined to agree with his assessment. But this year, on the cusp of April, I find my thinking aligned with another poet, Kenneth Koch, wondering impatiently “When will there be a perfectly ordinary spring day?”

Maybe tomorrow, then again, in this city, maybe not until May, or June, or sometime next year…

This is a dish for a fitful early spring day. Asparagus might be the season’s quintessential vegetable. A good bunch can go a long way toward appeasing my impatience for the other parts of spring. Spaetzle, in contrast, are little bits of starchy comfort. These too often overlooked German dumplings consist only of flour, eggs, and water, and are easy to make. Swathed in a beurre blanc sauce, asparagus and spaetzle welcome the green and ward off the chill of a day that straddles spring and winter. This is simple and delicate and makes a lovely dinner with a basic green salad and a glass of wine.

Asparagus and spaetzle with beurre blanc sauce
Source: Adapted from Deborah Madison’s recipe for Asparagus Ragout in Vegetarian Suppers and Judy Rodgers’s recipe for Martha’s spaetzle in The Zuni Cafe Cookbook.

This is an unconventional riff on a beurre blanc sauce. I’ve exchanged red onions for shallots and reduced the butter in the traditional version. The red onions have a stronger flavor than shallots and add bright pink flecks to the sauce, making the effect rather less subtle than the original. You could certainly use shallots here if you prefer. I’ve jumped the gun a bit with asparagus from California. The local stuff doesn’t seem to be available around me yet, but I couldn’t resist and was rewarded with a bunch that tasted like it should. Out of season asparagus tends to taste flat and have a tough, woody texture, which makes it altogether disappointing. Look for bright green stalks with tightly closed tops for better flavor. The width of the stalks is unimportant to the flavor, but roasting times should be adjusted by a few minutes for particularly thick or thin specimens

For the beurre blanc

2 tablespoons champagne vinegar or white wine vinegar
3 tablespoons dry vermouth or dry white wine
1 tablespoon red onion, minced finely
3 tablespoons cold butter, cut into small pieces

For the spaetzle

2/3 cup all purpose flour
1/3 cup white whole wheat flour
2 eggs
6 tablespoons water
special equipment: Colander with 1/4 inch holes (or a spaetzle maker)

For the rest

about 3/4 pound asparagus, tough ends removed
small handful of button mushrooms, thinly sliced (optional)
olive oil
salt
pepper

Preheat oven to 400°F. Cut asparagus into about 1-inch pieces, toss with a little bit of olive oil and place in a single layer on a baking sheet. Roast for about 10-15 minutes, or until tender.

Meanwhile, make the beurre blanc sauce. In a medium sauce pan, add vinegar, vermouth or wine, and red onion. Bring to a boil, reduced heat to medium-low and simmer until reduced to about 1 tablespoon. Remove from heat and whisk in butter, one piece at a time, until all the butter is added and the sauce is smooth and butter-colored. Set aside. (Check the asparagus, remove from oven and set aside.)

Make the spaetzle. Combine flour, eggs, and water in a medium bowl, and blend with a fork until well combined. In a wide saute pan or stock pot, bring water to a boil, and salt generously. Have a slotted spoon and a plate ready. Over the boiling water, place about a third of the batter into a colander and, with a flexible spatula, press the batter through the holes into the water. Be careful to avoid overcrowding the pot–there should be a little bit of room at the surface for the dumplings to move around. The spaetzle should float in about thirty seconds. (If they stick to the bottom of the pot, loosen them gently with a slotted spoon.) After they float, allow them to cook for about 1 minute. Drain them with a slotted spoon and place them in a single layer on a plate. Repeat with the rest of the batter.

In a saute pan over medium heat, add a thin coating of olive oil or butter, add mushrooms if using and spaetzle and saute until spaetzle are slightly browned and crisp. (You could omit this step, if not using mushrooms, and simply toss asparagus and spaetzle with the sauce.) Remove from heat, add asparagus and beurre blanc and stir. Season with salt and pepper.

Yields 2 servings

When I lived in Italy, the one meal that became a repeated source of disappointment was breakfast. Don’t get me wrong, I was entranced by the dainty cups and spoons, the mysterious drink requests (caffe normale con un cubetto di ghiaccio [espresso with one ice cube?]), the sometimes oddly tetrahedral or cylindrical sugar packets, and the seemingly unlimited uses for Nutella, but I wanted more than 30-bleary-eyed-seconds to take it all in. And I wanted to sit down. And maybe have something of substance, senza zucchero?

A typical breakfast in Rome consists of a shot of espresso, perhaps accompanied by a sugary pastry, consumed while standing at a bar in a minute or two. Caffe e cornetto sound lovely, but at the start of my day I like my coffee slowly sippable and my foodstuffs no more than slightly sweet. It turns out that when it comes to breakfast, I have a tough time imitating the Romans.

I decided, about six months into my stay, that what I wanted for breakfast, what I really wanted, was a bagel. A dense, chewy, blistered, fresh, warm, golden brown circle of doughy goodness. Sprinkled with seeds. Or salt.

I’m not sure I had ever even had a bagel that quite lived up to the standards of the mythical bagel that danced in my head. Nonetheless, when the early hours rolled around, I craved it. For weeks.

Perhaps there is a source for bagels in the Eternal City (like there is in the City of Light), but I never stumbled upon it. Truth be told, I didn’t really look. I felt rather sheepish about the whole thing, like some sort of ugly American who felt entitled to every good starch, unable to be satisfied with pizza, gnocchi, polenta, in a land where pasta and potatoes have been immortalized as a respectable meal for good common people in film. So most mornings I tossed back un caffe¨, nibbled on some dry biscotti and looked forward to the meals at which my host country excelled.

Chicago isn’t really known for its bagels. Though it isn’t bagel deprived, it’s certainly no New York or Montreal. But I’ve discovered that I can satisfy any new bagel cravings without putting my shoes on. If only I had had this recipe, some high-gluten flour, and access to a kitchen in Rome…

This recipe comes from Peter Reinhart’s book The Bread Baker’s Apprentice, which has been mentioned elsewhere with high praise. I’ll add my voice to the chorus suggesting you take a look at this book if you are interested in learning more about bread. Reinhart is in the final stages of work on a new book focusing on whole grain breads that I’m looking forward to.

Peter Reinhart’s Bagels

Source: slightly adapted from Peter Reinhart’s Bread Baker’s Apprentice.

The key to the right texture here is high-gluten flour. I had trouble finding it in Chicago, but I was fortunate enough to have some generous benefactors (Dan’s parents) send some my way. It is available online from the King Arthur Flour Baker’s Catalogue. You may also substitute bread flour, according to Reinhart, who cautions that it won’t be quite as chewy. I’ve had good results with barley malt syrup, which is available at most natural foods stores. Reinhart recommends using diastatic malt powder, which is also available from King Arthur Flour. In a pinch, honey or brown sugar will also yield tasty, if not quite characteristically bagel-like, results.

Sponge

1/2 teaspoon (.055 ounce/1.56 grams) instant yeast
2 cups (9 ounces/255 grams) high-gluten flour
1 1/4 cups (10 ounces/295 milliliters) water, at room temperature

Dough

1/4 teaspoon (.028 ounce/.8 gram) instant yeast
1 3/4 cups +2 tablespoons (8.5 ounces/240 grams) high-gluten flour
1 1/4 teaspoons (.3 ounce/8.5 grams) salt
1/2 tablespoon malt syrup, honey, or brown sugar (or 1 teaspoon diastatic malt powder)

Finishing Touches

1 tablespoon baking soda
cornmeal for dusting
optional toppings: sesame seeds, poppy seeds, kosher or sea salt, cinnamon and sugar, etc.

A day (or two) before you want the bagels:

Prepare the Sponge.
In a large bowl (if using a stand mixer, go ahead and start it in that bowl) mix 1/2 teaspoon yeast, 2 cups high-gluten flour, and 1 1/4 cups water until it forms a thick batter. Cover with plastic wrap and let sit until bubbly, nearly doubled in size, and on the verge of collapse, about 2 hours.

Make the Dough.
Add 1/4 teaspoon instant yeast to the sponge and stir. Add the salt, malt syrup or powder, and and 1 1/2 cups flour. If using a stand mixer, stir a few strokes by hand to incorporate some of the dry flour with the sponge (this will help to prevent flour from flying everywhere when you turn on the mixer). Mix on low speed for about 2 minutes, or by hand for a few minutes or until a dough ball has formed. Slowly add the remaining flour, and mix on medium speed for 6 minutes (or knead by hand for about 10 minutes) or until all of the flour is incorporated. The dough should be smooth, stiff, stretchy, and not sticky or tacky. If the dough feels dry and tears easily when stretched, add a little water, a teaspoon at a time, and knead some more. If the dough feels sticky, add some flour.

Divide and Shape the bagels.
Line a sheet pan with parchment paper and spray lightly with oil. Divide dough into 2 3/4 to 3 ounce pieces, or, if you don’t have a scale, into 9 equal pieces. (Reinhart recommends 4 1/2 ounce bagels, which I found to be too large and difficult to work with.) Roll each piece into a ball, place on parchment, cover with a damp towel and let rest for 20 minutes. With your finger or thumb, poke a hole in each piece and stretch to about an inch in diameter. Try to stretch the dough evenly to avoid thick and thin spots. Place on parchment, cover with a damp towel, and let rest for 20 minutes. To test to determine whether the bagels are ready to go into the refrigerator, fill a medium bowl with cool water. Drop one of the bagels into the water. It should float within 30 seconds. If it doesn’t, pat the bagel dry, return to parchment and let rest for another 10 minutes before testing again. If it does float, pat the bagel dry, cover the baking sheet with plastic wrap. Be careful to create an airtight seal, otherwise the bagels could dry out. Place in the refrigerator overnight (or for up to two days).

On the day you want the bagels (one or two days later):

Get everything ready.
Preheat the oven to 500°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and mist with oil and dust with cornmeal. Bring a large pot of water to a boil, and add the baking soda. Have a slotted spoon ready. If you are topping with seeds or salt, have those out and ready. If you are topping with cinnamon and sugar, melt a few tablespoons of butter, and have a cinnamon and sugar mixture ready.

Boil.
Remove the bagels from the refrigerator. Place a few bagels into the boiling water. Be careful not to overcrowd the pot–the bagels will puff up a bit in the water. (I fit about 3 at a time.) Boil for 1 minute, then turn the bagels over and boil for another minute. Place on prepared parchment. (The bagels have a flatter side and a rounder side. Place the flat side down for a more rounded top.) If using seeds or salt, top when the bagels come out of the water. If topping with cinnamon and sugar, wait on that. Repeat with the rest of the bagels.

Bake.
Place baking sheet on the middle rack on the oven and bake for 5 minutes. Reduce heat to 450°F, rotate the baking sheet 180° and bake for an additional 5-8 minutes, or until tops are golden brown. Remove from the oven and cool on racks for about 15 minutes. If topping with cinnamon and sugar, brush tops of bagels with butter just after they come out of the oven and sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar mixture and let cool.

Yields 9 bagels.

Dan raised a quizzical eyebrow when he heard me say “barley salad.”

It’s tough to make barley sound sexy. It tends to sneak into our diets unnoticed, flavoring our beers and bagels and scotch whiskies and malted milk balls, lingering in the background but seldom taking center stage.

Basho, the seventeenth century Japanese master of haiku, mentioned the grain in one of his more famous poems:

Girl cat, so
thin on love
and barley.

Basho had a knack for locating images imbued with sabi, a quality referring to something aged, solitary, tranquil with the beauty of a “rustic patina.”¹ Barley has that rustic patina in spades.

There is something so satisfying about this. Hulled barley’s earthy flavor and pleasantly chewy texture pair well with rich caramelized cauliflower and garlicky, juicy roasted mushrooms. Shaved fennel adds crunch and a smattering of watercress mixes a lively green with the whites, beiges, and browns.

Hearty but not heavy, this is a salad for late winter. It’s a bowl and fork kind of meal. It’s good warm, but works equally well cold. It travels well and keeps well, making it an excellent brown-bag lunch, if it sticks around that long. (And, as it turns out, Dan likes it.)

Lemony Barley Salad with Caramelized Cauliflower, Roasted Mushrooms, and Shaved Fennel

This salad requires about an hour and a half of lead time, but the time-consuming parts can be done in advance. Hulled barley takes an hour to cook and can be prepared a day ahead of time (pearl barley, a more refined, quicker-cooking version can be substituted; it will provide a milder flavor and softer texture). I baked the barley, using a method of Alton Brown’s. It can also be boiled, which would free up the oven for roasting the vegetables. You could easily substitute another green for the watercress–arugula and spinach come to mind.

2 1/2 cups cooked hulled barley (baked, or boiled) and cooled to room temperature
1/2 head cauliflower, sliced about 1/4 inch thick and separated, roughly, into florets
4 ounces button mushrooms, quartered
1/2 medium yellow onion, quartered (the half should be quartered, making the slices eighths, I suppose)
1/2 medium fennel bulb, trimmed and sliced very thin
a few sprigs of watercress, washed and trimmed
1 clove garlic, minced
1/4 cup freshly grated parmesan cheese
1 lemon
1/4 cup olive oil
salt, pepper

Preheat oven to 400°F.

In a large bowl, toss cauliflower and mushrooms and onion slices with about a tablespoon of olive oil. Spread on a sheet pan and season with salt and pepper. Sprinkle minced garlic over the mushrooms, turning to get some on all sides. Roast, turning everything over after 15 minutes, until cauliflower and onions are caramelized and mushrooms are a deep brown, about 25-30 minutes.

Toss barley, cauliflower, mushrooms, onions, and fennel with 3 tablespoons of olive oil and the juice of one lemon. Garnish with watercress, salt and pepper, and grated parmesan.

Yields 4 main-course servings.

1. Parkes, Graham, “Japanese Aesthetics”, The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2006 Edition), Edward N. Zalta (ed.), http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2006/entries/japanese-aesthetics. [back]