emily ellen

Tackling a Classic

Potage Parmentier - it's the first soup in Mastering the Art of French Cooking. It's the first recipe Julie Powell took on in Julie & Julia. So it's about time I got around to making it.

There's something about fall that makes me much more interested in cooking and being at home in general. So after work today rather than getting antsy about what to do with myself for the evening (Thursday night TV stinks and DK would certainly demand to watch the World Series) I stopped by Whole Foods, grabbed two leeks (how many leeks would I need?), a five-pound bag of potatoes, and made my way home to start dinner.

Oops. It turns out I bought WAAAAAAAAAY too many potatoes and barely enough leeks; I guess that's what you get when you don't read the recipe first. So I cubed my potatoes and "thinly sliced" my leeks, tossed everything into a pot with 2 quarts of water and 1 tablespoon of salt. 50 minutes and one whir of the immersion blender* later, I was slurping down some pretty darn good soup!

I'd post a picture, but my camera is in China with my dad, who is there on vacation (!) for a week with his brother.

A tip: this is not the recipe for you if you don't like chopping. I have the best knife on the planet so I actually really enjoy chopping, making the prep for this recipe a breeze.

Potage Parmentier, adapted from Mastering the Art of French Cooking

3 to 4 cups peeled potatoes, sliced or diced
3 cups thinly sliced leeks, including the tender green
2 quarts of water
1 tb salt
2 to 3 tb butter

Simmer everything, partially covered, for 40 to 50 minutes or until the vegetables are tender. Pass the soup through a food mill. Turn off the heat and stir in the butter. Serve with minced parsley, chives, or a grind of fresh pepper.

*Julia and Simone say: "Although we are enthusiastic supporters of blenders and food processors, we almost invariably prefer a vegetable mill when soups are to be pureed." Well I used the immersion blender anyway, being careful not to over-process my soup. It was wonderful. I wouldn't ordinarily go against Julia's wishes, but I don't have a food mill, nor the funds to buy one, so the immersion blender will have to do.

Banana Bread - YUM!

I really need to spend more time learning about bread. I never eat bread. It wasn't something we kept around the house as a kid - sandwiches were rare, toast was rarer. But bread is culturally critical to most people on this globe, so clearly it has its place. And with three bananas sitting on the kitchen table getting more and more brown by the minute, thank goodness for banana bread.

Recipe adapted from Cooking Light

Ingredients

2 cups all-purpose flour

3/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 cup sugar

1/4 cup butter, softened

2 large eggs

1 1/2 cups mashed ripe banana (about 3 bananas)

1/3 cup plain low-fat yogurt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Cooking spray

Preparation

Preheat oven to 350°.

Combine the flour, baking soda, and salt, and stir with a fork.

Combine sugar and butter in a large bowl, and whip together with a fork until well blended. Add the eggs, 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. Add banana, yogurt, and vanilla; beat until blended. Add flour mixture; mix until just combined. Spoon batter into a loaf pan coated with cooking spray. Bake at 350° for 1 hour or until a wooden pick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool 10 minutes in pan on a wire rack; remove from pan. Cool completely on wire rack.

Yield

1 loaf, 14 servings (serving size: 1 slice)

Nutritional Information

CALORIES 187(21% from fat); FAT 4.3g (sat 2.4g,mono 1.2g,poly 0.3g); PROTEIN 3.3g; CHOLESTEROL 40mg; CALCIUM 20mg; SODIUM 198mg; FIBER 1.1g; IRON 1mg; CARBOHYDRATE 34.4g

HOW TO: make DK happy, or, how to make Mario Batali's basic pasta sauce

1/2 large onion, chopped

3 cloves of garlic, chopped

1 carrot, shredded or grated

1 can of whole peeled San Marzano tomatoes

salt and pepper

olive oil

Adapted from Molto Mario by Mario Batali

Over medium heat, coat the bottom of a large saute pan with olive oil. Add the chopped onions and a pinch of salt. Cook onions for two minutes, then add the garlic. Allow onions and garlic to simmer for five minutes or until they've softened, stirring occasionally to prevent burning. Add carrots to the mixture and continue cooking for another three to five minutes. Add more olive oil if necessary. Pour the can of tomatoes into a bowl, liquid and all, and squeeze the tomatoes, breaking them down into bite-size pieces with your hands (be careful while squeezing - there's liquid inside the tomatoes, and they have a tendency to explode). Add the tomatoes to the saute pan with a pinch of salt and fresh ground pepper. Bring sauce to a boil then reduce to a simmer. Cook for 30 minutes or until it reaches your desired consistency (mine looks like oatmeal). Taste the sauce and adjust seasoning (sometimes I add garlic powder or red pepper flakes). Serve immediately over al dente pasta.

The best part about this recipe, in my mind, is that I'm using very healthy, basic ingredients to produce a really tasty sauce. Yes, it takes more work than unscrewing the lid from jarred sauce, but I like knowing exactly what I'm putting in my body. Ain't no preservatives, thickeners, or any other craziness in this sauce - just good veggies and healthy oil. Yum!

HOW TO: make biscotti

Biscotti recipes abound on the world wide web. Don't be taken in by the recipes that call for butter. They'll produce a light, airy, buttery cookie that is tasty but most certainly not a biscotti.

Italian for twice cooked (bis-cotto), biscotti are dense, crunchy, and remarkably easy to make. The recipe that follows is adapted from Mario Batali's Molto Italiano, a great cookbook and a tremendous resource for anyone interested in classic italian cooking.

Ingredients:

3 eggs

4 egg yolks

2 3/4 cups all-purpose flour

2 cups sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder

2 teaspoons of flavoring extract (vanilla, almond, anise, etc.)

Pinch of salt

Preheat oven to 350* F. Sift together flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. If you want to make a chocolate batter, replace 1/2 cup of flour with 1/2 cup of cocoa powder. Whisk the eggs and the extract and then pour the wet ingredients over the dry. Mix for a minute or until the flour has been incorporated and evenly distributed throughout the dough. It will be wet and heavy. Split the dough in two and form each portion into a log approximately 2 to 3 inches wide. Place both logs onto a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper and bake for 20 minutes. The logs will crackle and just start to brown. Remove them from the oven and place them on a cooling rack for 20 minutes. Slice the logs into 1-inch thick pieces and place the slices cut-side down on the baking sheet. Put them back in the oven and bake for another 20 mintues.

Store the biscotti in an airtight container. Dunk in coffee, wine, etc.

HOW TO: make pasta

I've made homemade pasta a couple of times in my young life. It's always laborious and time-consuming, but it's also tons-o-fun, especially if you can wrangle a friend or significant other (hint hint, DK) into doing it with you. Plus, there's nothing more satisfying than making something from scratch. It's like magic, the way the pasta just comes together.

That being said, making pasta from scratch is certainly not an exact science. You just have to do it a few times to figure out what's right for you - and it all depends on the temperature, humidity, type of flour, size of eggs, etc. Even though the perfect dough can't be scripted, here's a good place to start:

Egg pasta (pasta all'uovo)
3 cups flour (all-purpose or OO)
4 eggs (large)
1 tablespoon olive oil

Mound most of the flour in the center of a large wooden cutting board, reserving a portion for later. It's  easy to add the reserved flour later to make "wet" dough drier, but it's very tough to add liquid to a dough that's too dry. Make a well in the middle of the flour and add the eggs and the olive oil. Using a fork, beat together the eggs and oil, and begin to incorporate the flour while still retaining the shape of the well - it should still look like a volcano. As you expand the well, keep pushing the flour up from the base of the mound to retain the well shape. The dough will start to come together once half of the flour has been incorporated. At this point you can start kneading the dough by hand, using the your palms. There will be stray knobby bits of egg and flour that you should just brush to the side of your board. Keep kneading the dough for 5 minutes. It should have the texture of soft play dough. Wrap it in plastic and let it rest in the fridge for half an hour.

Once the dough has rested, unwrap it and cut it into four portions - you will roll one portion at a time, and the rest of the dough should sit wrapped in the fridge until you're ready for it. Lightly flour the dough you're working with and send it through the pasta machine on the thickest setting. Fold it in half or into thirds and send it through again. You will have to roll the pasta on the same setting a number of times. I usually move on to the next  setting when the pasta is smooth and unblemished - no cracks or tears in the dough. If your dough does start to rip, don't worry. You've moved to a thinner setting too quickly. Just drop the machine down to a thicker setting and re-roll the sheet. Be sure to dust it with a little flour every now and again. The pasta should never stick to your fingers, but should still be elastic.

As you continue rolling, the pasta will get loooooooong - a partner is a big help when you're trying to send these long sheets through the roller. But remember, you want to be able to comfortably eat the noodle, so you can cut a long sheet of pasta as needed.

Once you've rolled the sheet to your desired thickness, it's time to cut! You can do this by hand by folding the sheet over on itself and cutting lengthwise with a sharp knife. This is a great way to make pappardelle. Standard pasta machines include a cutting roller, usually for fettuccine and cappellini noodles.

Once you've cut your noodles, drop them into salted boiling water for 90 seconds or until they float. There is no al dente for fresh pasta, but overcooking it will make it gummy and gross. Like I said, it's not an easy process, and it usually takes a good bit of time, but it's so wonderful to produce a beautiful meal out of a handful of flour and a couple of eggs. Trust me, it's worth it.

a fuoco

So the night started out simply. Picked up DK from the office, stopped by his house, and made our way back home. Had some nice ingredients - filet mignon, asparagus, etc - and once we'd settled in, I set about making dinner. Dinner would be, along with blanched asparagus and parmigiano risotto,  steak au poivre, a dish that (for the uninitiated) calls for a sauce that is made by FUCKING LIGHTING THE PAN ON FIRE. That's right, you purposefully start a kitchen fire.

I'll tell you more.

It was the scariest thing I've ever done. Seriously, I was shaking, both before and after. I had to sit down (once all the flames went out, of course). Lets start at the beginning.

In a medium pan over medium heat, you heat butter and olive oil until the combo takes on a golden color (takes about a minute). Mixing the oil with the butter increases the smoke point of the butter, enabling you to cook something in it at a higher temperature without burning the butter. So I did all that, and then put my beautiful peppercorn-crusted filets into the pan. I was feeling quite confident, like a very capable, learned chef. I had everything going at once - the asparagus, the risotto, the filet, and it was all coming together magnificently. But there it was - it was looming in the not-so-far-off distance - the notion that I would have to FUCKING LIGHT THE PAN ON FIRE. The steaks were done. There was no turning back.

I donned my Orka, pulled my hair back, and said a little prayer. Oh, and I also equipped DK with a big metal lid, in case things got out of hand.

I poured the cognac into the pan. "Shit, this is it! I've gotta do it now!" I thought, as the cognac began to sizzle and spit. And I did it! I stuck my grill lighter into the pan and - WHOOOOOSH - a column of flame ignited in front of my very eyes and licked its way toward the ceiling. Holy cow. Shake, shake, shake, I shook the pan, gently sloshing the burning liquid around as the flames (which were now confined to the area directly above my pan) began to die down. Shake, shake, shake, and twenty seconds later, the fire had burned itself out. The really magical part of the whole process (I mean, in addition to me escaping with my eyebrows still in tact) is that it worked - all the beautiful brown bits from the bottom of the pan were now part of the sauce, no scraping required.  I finished making the sauce, plated our dinners, and abbiamo mangiato. We ate.

Hey, how ya doin'?

Between 24 and The Sopranos, I may just have a television-induced heart attack. Seriously. I won't waste too much time babbling about it all, but let me just say - holy cow. I mean seriously people, could the last week's worth of television be ANY BETTER? I think not.

I must have been channeling the Sopranos on Saturday, when I decided DK and I would really exploit the Italian in us and head down to the Strip District for some good Italian foodstuffs. We found some great stuff and, inspired by my surroundings, I settled on making two great dishes: Bucatini al Amatriciana and Tiramisu.

We tackled the tiramisu, and after DK butchered a couple of eggs, we set into the recipe, made all the components, and assembled. Easy! Voila! Perfect! I figured this was a sign of things to come, and I was excited to set into making the bucatini, a dish I discovered in Rome two summers ago. It's a wonderfully spicy tomato sauce with onions and sauteed pancetta (Italian bacon) over the bucatini noodles, thick pastas with a pinhole running down the middle.

I cubed the pancetta and diced the onions and set them in a pan with a little olive oil. Hmmm...not quite the scent I was expecting. In fact, the more it cooked, the more I was able to identify the smell. Wet dog. My beloved amatriciana sauce was smelling like wet dog. DK yelled from the living room, "Is it supposed to smell like that? Or is the smell going to change - into something good?" And I didn't know what to say. We had a good laugh over the fact that he thought it smelled like feet, whereas I stood by my original assessment, wet dog. I soldiered on, wet dog sauce and all, and we actually ate it and it wasn't so bad in the end. But still, I had this romantic notion that I could whip together the lovely sauce I had one night in Trastevere and of course, it didn't quite turn out the way I'd hoped. Oh well.

Self (help!)

So I'm doing the 2006 Self Challenge, a three-month program where you record your workouts and track your weekly progress, with the goal of being "ready" for swimsuit season (as if a person can be "ready" like a turkey or a cake - no, don't take the swimsuit out of the oven yet, you're not "ready"). Swimsuit season is a strange ritual that women apparently subject themselves to annually. I say apparently because I've never really been one to buy into the idea that I should only "prepare" my body to be presentable six months out of the year. Unfortunately, this rebellion of swimsuit season results in a situation where I'm never prepared to show my limbs to the general public - I don't own a pair of shorts (and don't even ask about a bikini - I wore one once. Not one summer, my friends, but once as in one singular day. Ever. In my entire life). Like a milk-fed calf being raised for veal, my limbs stay hidden beneath whatever covering I decide upon for the day, and more often than not it's a pair of black pants and a black shirt.

So the situation has gotten a little out of hand (read: cellulite everywhere!) and I've decided to engage in the ritual of "getting ready." This effort is in no way assisted by my recent venture into cooking, which has a road paved in butter and, well, more butter. I tried to make a hollandaise sauce this weekend (big failure - the eggs curdled) and the recipe (from my Silver Spoon cookbook) called for nearly a cup of butter - almost two whole sticks! Not helping my "getting ready" endeavor, but damn it, I'm going to the gym tonight, and I'll probably cook once I get home. I'm a woman of contradictions.