An emergency vet visit, general exhaustion, and a coddled egg

Tired and cranky. Those words best described my mood before I discovered that my dog, Gus, had scratched a couple of sutures out of his face Sunday morning. Stitches that were oh-so-carefully put into place after a biopsy last week. After parting with a gazillion (more) dollars at the emergency veterinary clinic that morning, I returned home pretty much exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but it was after noon, my stomach was empty, and I knew I needed to consume something moderately healthy if I had any chance of making it to Monday.

My refrigerator's contents determined the midday meal, though I was interested only in warm, comforting dishes, things that would make the world seem a little less topsy-turvy. Eggs were the only available protein source, but a quick scramble or omelet wasn't special enough. I needed a mood-changer, something outside of my regular routine. Enter the coddled egg.

As the name implies, coddled eggs are cooked very gently, almost indulgently. Cracked into a coffee cup or ramekin that's placed into a larger dish filled with hot water, coddled eggs cook slowly with this  until the whites are firm and yolks straddle the line between set and slightly runny. Plain coddled eggs are nice, but I always tart them up a bit, placing cooked vegetables or a piece of toasted bread and cheese in the bottom of the container. The result? A more interesting, flavorful dish, one that's worth a little bit of effort.

I made creamed spinach to accompany my egg, but any cooked vegetable will do. I've used sauteed mushrooms, quickly cooked tomato tossed with cracked olives,  even a few tablespoons of leftover mashed potatoes sprinkled with fresh herbs. Just spoon a bit of the selected veg (or meat) into the bottom of a buttered ramekin, crack an egg on top, and create a bain marie — breakfast (or lunch, or dinner) will be ready within 30 minutes.

Coddled Egg with Creamed Spinach

Serves 1 (with lots of extra spinach)

1/2 cup cream

2 garlic cloves, smashed

1/2 small onion

1 large bunch of spinach, stems remove, finely chopped

Kosher salt

freshly ground black pepper

nutmeg, grated

1 egg

soft butter

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Scald the cream with garlic and onion in a small saucepan (small bubbles will come to the surface  — shut off the heat and set aside).

Cook the spinach in a few teaspoons of butter until the pan is dry. Strain the cream and pour it into the pan with the spinach. Bring to a simmer and allow it to thicken. Season with salt, pepper, and a few gratings of nutmeg.

Place a few tablespoons of creamed spinach in to buttered ramekin. Crack an egg into the ramekin, then place it in a small ovenproof pan (Pyrex is a great choice). Bring water to a boil in a kettle, then pour just enough of it into the pan that contains the ramekin to come 3/4 way up its side. Place the pan into a preheated oven and baked for 20-25 minutes, until the egg is set. The white will be firm, the yolk still runny when broken into. Serve with toast.

Hoppin' John

My friend Caroline saved me from a year of poor luck and bad finances.

I've been making (and enjoying) Hoppin' John on New Year's Day for some time, but this year I zoned out. Hoppin' John, a tasty melange of black-eyed peas and rice, is said to bring good fortune to those who consume it on January 1.  When we spoke on New Year's Day, Caroline asked if I'd eaten the requisite foods, and I realized I'd spaced out. I promptly turned the car around and drove to the grocery. Within 30 minutes I was back home, black-eyed peas and tomatoes in hand, ready to whip up a batch of Hoppin' John.

Recipes for Hoppin' John vary wildly. Some versions call for the tomatoes (and sometimes other vegetables, like peppers) to be cooked with rice; others simply combine black-eyed peas and onion with plain rice. I stick with a slight variation of Bill Neal's version — soft, somewhat mushy, ham-flavored peas served atop white rice to create a joyous starch-on-starch medley punctuated by fresh tomato and green onion. It's a fabulous combination of warm, earthy carbs and bright vegetables that should be eaten throughout the year.

Hoppin' John
Adapted from Bill Neal's Southern Cooking
Serves 4 to 6

2 cooked cooked black-eyed peas
2 cups cooked white rice
1 cup fresh tomato, chopped
1/2 cup scallions, finely sliced
Kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper
Cheddar cheese, grated (optional)

Black-eyed peas:
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
3 cups fresh black-eyed peas
2 ounces country ham or pork sidemeat
2 bay leaves
2 dried red chiles
water to cover

Heat the olive oil in a heavy-bottomed pan over medium flame. Add the onion and garlic, a pinch of Kosher salt, and cook gently until softened, but not browned. Add the remaining ingredients and cover with water by 2 inches. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer, skimming away any scum that initially floats to the surface. Cook until the peas are tender; this will take about 25-30 minutes, depending on the freshness and quality of the peas.

Combine the cooked rice and black-eyed peas in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the tomato and scallion, season with Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper. Stir, cover, and allow to heat through. Add grated cheddar cheese if desired.

Fever, chills and lentil soup

I knew I was in trouble Sunday night. I had every blanket in the house heaped on me, I'd jacked the thermostat up to 75 degrees, I was wearing flannel pajamas, and still I was shivering, freezing cold despite my best efforts. I've recovered after two days at home with multiple mugs of TheraFlu, lots of sleep, and a little light reading.


What to do the night before returning to work? Make a big pot-o-lentil soup, of course.


This is the soup I wish I'd had in the freezer, ready to be reheated and enjoyed when I caught this nasty cold + fever + chills thing. Hearty and flavorful, I find this earthy soup very comforting. It smacks of all that is right with rustic peasant fare.  A few basic ingredients combine to create a dish that warms the body and soul on a cold afternoon. The best part — it tastes even better the next day, when the ingredients have a chance to meld.


As always, use only high quality ingredients; old veggies make for a lackluster soup. I used both homemade vegetable stock and water in this batch, but chicken stock works well. A sprinkle of freshly chopped parsley and a good crusty bread are the only garnishes required. Don't forget to drizzle a few teaspoons of red wine vinegar in at the end to brighten the flavor.

Lentil Soup
Makes 6 servings

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 small onions, finely diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 carrots, finely diced
2 celery stalks, finely diced
1 1/2 cups French green lentils, picked over and rinsed
1 28 oz. can whole peeled plum tomatoes, drained and diced
2 quarts vegetable broth, chicken stock, or water
1/4 cup fresh parsley, chopped
a few teaspoons red wine vinegar
Kosher salt
freshly ground black pepper

Heat the olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over a medium-low flame. Add the onion and garlic and cook slowly, until softened but not browned, about 5-6 minutes. Add a pinch of Kosher salt, stir, and add carrots and celery. Cook another 3-4 minutes. Add the green lentils, diced tomatoes and broth, stock or water. Cook until the lentils are cooked through, about 25-30 minutes.

Season to taste with salt, pepper, and a few teaspoons of red wine vinegar. Garnish with freshly chopped parsley.

Christmas Eve + Banana Bread

It's 4 p.m. on Christmas Eve and I'm baking.

I'm at my own home this evening, but tomorrow I'll drive to my parents' house, a fresh loaf of whole wheat banana bread in tow. This is the quick bread I often bring as a hostess gift around the holidays, when everyone is inundated with plates of cookies and confections (very few of which are worth the calories). 

Last weekend's banana bread recipients were pleased — one friend consumed it at least twice a day and swore it was never-ending, like the loaves and fishes. A scoop of ice cream turns it into dessert, but I love it lightly toasted alongside a cup of coffee. The highlights of the recipe: sour cream for moisture, dark brown sugar for a more complex flavor, and whole wheat flour for a firmer texture.

I discovered this recipe in Molly O'Neill's New York Cookbook, a terrific compendium of stories and recipes for a truly astonishing array of dishes, from falafel to Southern-style greens to chopped liver (yes, chopped liver). This banana bread keeps for about 4 days at room temperature if well-wrapped. Best of all, it freezes beautifully.

My apologies for the far-from-ideal photo. It's getting dark — no natural light to be had. Merry Christmas!


Whole Wheat Banana Bread
Adapted from New York Cookbook
Makes 1 loaf

1 stick unsalted butter at room temperature
1 1/3 cups dark brown sugar
3 large eggs, lightly beaten
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon basking soda
1/4 cup sour cream
3/4 cup whole wheat flour
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 cup mashed ripe bananas, about 2 medium

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Grease a 9x5x3 1/2 inch loaf pan with butter or Baker's Joy spray.

Cream the softened butter and brown sugar together. Add the eggs and vanilla and beat together. Combine the baking soda and sour cream, then beat this mixture into the batter.

Sift together the whole wheat flour, all-purpose flour and salt. Alternately add the flour mixture and the mashed bananas to the batter and mix until well combined.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan, spreading it evenly into the corners. Bake until a tester inserted in the center comes out clean, about 1 hour. Allow it to cool on wire rack.

Carrot-Apple-Ginger Soup



It's cold outside. Really cold.

Temperatures took a dive into the teens Tuesday night, so my evening walk with the dog was very brief (i.e. down the street and back).  The weather also affected the dinner menu. A cold salad? No way. I rummaged through the fridge and opted to make Carrot-Apple-Ginger soup.

This soup, or a variation thereof, was a standby when I attended culinary school back in the early 1990s. It was a new flavor combination for me, having grown up on cans of Campbell's chicken noodle and tomato soup, with the occasional tin of cream of mushroom thrown in on special occasions. I was amazed that simply simmering a few ingredients together could result in something so rich and flavorful.

Carrot-Apple-Ginger soup lends itself to a myriad of interpretations. Use pear in place of apple, a winter squash instead of carrot — just don't leave out the ginger. It provides the underlying oomph that makes this simple soup something special.

Carrot-Apple-Ginger Soup

2 teaspoons vegetable oil

2 teaspoons butter

1 onion, chopped

3 garlic cloves, minced

1 celery stalk, chopped

1 1/2 pounds carrots, peeled and chopped

2 apples, peeled and chopped

3-inch piece of ginger, peeled and minced

5-6 cups chicken stock, vegetable stock, or water

Kosher salt

freshly ground black pepper

Heat the oil and butter in a large stockpot over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, celery, and a pinch of salt, cooking until the vegetables are soft but not brown, about 5 minutes. Add the carrots, apples and ginger, cook for a minute or two, then add the stock or water. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cook until the carrots are soft (about 25 minutes) then puree with a blender (immersion or standing) adding more liquid as needed. Season to taste and serve.

Best ever cranberry relish

I spent Thanksgiving in Los Angeles this year. It was lovely: the people, the food, the weather. The weather! A bit cooler than usual, Southern California's sunny skies were still a nice change from the truly cold temperatures back home. I helped with the food, but I simply followed someone else's recipes. Everything was good, but one thing was missing — Jasper White's Cranberry Relish.


Cranberry sauce made an appearance on the Thanksgiving table and it was very,very good, but it lacked the caramelized sugar, fresh ginger and white pepper that make Jasper White's zesty version my hands down favorite. It's graced my own Thanksgiving table annually since I first discovered the recipe in White's outstanding book, Cooking From New England (out of print, but worth searching for).

When I landed at RDU, my mind turned immediately to the bags of cranberries I'd purchased before the holiday and stashed in the freezer. Happily I had all of the necessary ingredients in the fridge and pantry, so pulling it together took just a few minutes. This relish is good enough to eat straight out of the pan, but I saved most of it for turkey-cranberry sandwiches.

I eyeball my ingredients, and probably add more lemon juice, white pepper and ginger than called for in the recipe that follows. Taste and adjust quantities as you see fit, but trust me, this is close to perfect.

Cranberry Relish
Adapted from Cooking From New England
Makes about 3 cups

2 oranges
1 cup sugar
2 teaspoons lemon juice
2 teaspoons fresh ginger, julienned
1 12-oz. bag cranberries, fresh or frozen
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground white pepper

Finely grate the zest of one orange and set aside. Squeeze the juice from both oranges into a small bowl.

Combine the sugar and freshly squeezed lemon juice into a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Cook until the sugar begins to turn a light brown, washing down the sides of the pan with a little water if needed to prevent burning.

When the sugar is caramelized, add the julienned ginger and orange zest. Continue to cook for about 1 minute. Add the cranberries, orange juice, and white pepper. Increase the heat to medium-heat and continue to cook, stirring frequently, for 5-7 minutes, until the berries pop and are broken but not mushy. Remove from the heat and cool.

Snow! And Havremel Flatbrod

It snowed last night. In other parts of the country, this isn't unusual. But in central North Carolina, it doesn't necessarily snow every year, and wintry white flakes are uncommon in early December. I took a cue from Mother Nature and holed up at home. Chicken stock simmered slowly on the stove and I rummaged through the pantry for a crunchy snack. There were none to be found, so I took note of available ingredients, then browsed through Bernard Clayton's Complete Book of Small Breads for a recipe, settling on Havremel Flatbrod, or Norwegian Oatmeal Flatbread.

These crackers are slightly sweet, crispy, and addictive (the dog loves them). The dough is sticky and wet, and was a little difficult to work with. Clayton recommends using a pastry cloth and pastry sleeve-covered rolling pin, but I settled on smearing it across parchment paper with a flexible plastic dough scraper (and used my fingers). The result was a thicker cracker that took longer to cook than the recipe indicates — but I was still pleased.

Clayton writes that this flatbread is traditionally served with cheese, spreads, and soups, but I've been munching on them straight out of my handy Tupperware container. They should last for weeks stored this way, but I don't expect them to be around that long.

Havremel Flatbrod
Adapted from The Complete Book of Small Breads
Makes 1 pound

2 tablespoons sugar
3/4 cup melted unslated butter
1/2 heaping teaspoon Kosher salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 1/2 cups buttermilk
3 cups all-purpose flour or 2 cups all-purpose flour and 1 cup whole wheat flour
2 cups quick-cooking oats


Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

Combine the sugar, melted butter and salt in a large bowl. In a separate container, combine the buttermilk and baking soda. Alternately add the flour and the buttermilk to the sugar-butter mixture, then stir in the oatmeal. If you're using a heavy duty mixer, use the paddle attachment and mix for 2 minutes, adding a bit of flour if needed. Knead for 4 minutes.

Working with 1/3 cup of dough at a time, roll it into a ball and then flatten it onto the pastry cloth. Roll it paper-thin with a rolling pin covered in a pastry sleeve. Roll it onto the rolling pin, then unroll it onto a baking sheet. If you don't have a pastry cloth and rolling pin sleeve, spread the dough onto a parchment-lined baking sheet with a dough scraper, using your fingers as necessary.

Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 8-10 minutes, until lightly browned (my thick flatbread took close to 17 minutes). Slide the flatbread onto a metal rack to cool, and break into pieces.

Popcorn meals

I've been away from the blogosphere for too long, but the truth is, I haven't cooked much worth writing about in the past few weeks. There were a few batches of what I'll call Disappointing Muffins (not worth posting)  and I've spent a lot of time eating this:

Popcorn, straight out of the microwave bag. Who needs a recipe for that?

I am trying to get out my funk, and have a few blog-worthy items in the hopper, so I hope to return soon with a few tales and recipes to share. I hope you'll stay tuned.

Pumpkin madness

Pumpkin madness has begun.

Piled high on farmers' market tables, the orange-hued squashes remind shoppers that Thanksgiving is just around the corner. Their canned brethren — plain puree and the-too-be-avoided-at-all-costs pie filling — are prominently displayed in end-of-aisle pyramids at the grocery store. And for those not paying attention (or spending time) in food venues, pumpkin spiced drinks now receive top billing at coffee shops.

As much as I like the traditional spices associated with pumpkin pie — nutmeg, cinnamon, clove, sometimes a touch of molasses — I wanted to bake a little pumpkin something-something that veered in a slightly different direction. Regan Daley's recipe for Pumpkin and Orange Breakfast Cake fit the bill. Light and moist, this cake ushers in autumn with a bright citrus note.

I'm tempted to add cranberries in the future, but I stuck to the original recipe this time. Though I'm a coffee girl, I think this would be perfect with a cup of hot tea and the morning paper; a dollop of whipped cream on the side makes it an ideal dessert. And actually, it's delightful served plain, without any garnishes.

I took the lazy route and use canned pumpkin in this recipe, but roasting a pumpkin is easy. Cut a small pumpkin (about 3-4 pounds; use any type other than those sold for jack-o-lanterns) in half, remove the seeds with a spoon, and place in a large cassole dish or jelly roll pan with a few tablespoons of water. Roast at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 50-60 minutes. Scrape the flesh from the skin and pulse in a food processor until smooth. Most pumpkins are very fibrous, which can ruin the texture of baked goods, so don't skip this step.



Pumpkin and Orange Breakfast Cake with a Fresh Orange Syrup
Serves 10
Adapted from In the Sweet Kitchen

Cake:
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature
1 cup sugar
2 tablespoons finely grated orange zest
3 large eggs, two of them separated
1 cup pumpkin puree, homemade or canned solid-pack pumpkin
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup cake flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt

Syrup:
1 large orange, juiced
1/2 cup sugar

additional unsalted butter for greasing the pan

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter a 9-inch fluted tube pan (be sure to get into the nooks to avoid unhappiness later) and set aside.

Cream the butter, sugar, and orange zest until light and fluffy. Add the whole egg and 2 yolks - one at a time - to the butter mixture, scraping down the bowl after each addition. Beat in the pumpkin puree.

Sift the fours, baking powder and salt together in a medium bowl. Add to the batter in 3-4 stages, blending gently after each.

In a small bowl, whop the egg whites to soft peak. Fold them into the batter, then scrape it into the buttered pan and smooth with a spatula. Bake in the center of the oven for 50-60 minutes, until the sides begin to pull away from the pan and a skewer inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then turn out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

To make the syrup. combine the 0range juice and sugar in a small pan over low heat and stir to dissolve the sugar. Bring to a boil without stirring for 2 minutes, then use it immediately (pour a few spoonfuls on invidualy slices) or allow the syrup to cool and refrigerate for up the 3 days.

The cake holds for several days at room temperature if well-wrapped, or can be frozen for up to 2 months.

Not enough time. And butternut squash soup.

I shouldn't complain about being busy. I'm much better busy. It's sitting around with lots of time on my hands that gets me into trouble. Current time sucks include:

- Work. Enough said.

- Reading. I'm working on Colum McCann's wonderful novel Let the Great World Spin and debating whether or not to download Keith Richards' autobiography Life to my new Kindle. Not a typical Lynn book, but I'm fascinated, because really, that man should be dead by now.

- Line-by-Line, the amazing New York Times series by artist James McMullan (part of the online Opinionator Blog) that teaches readers how to draw. I come home at night, curl up with my laptop, a piece of paper, and a 2B pencil. I haven't created anything worth sharing, but I'm having fun.

- Writing. I signed up for National Novel Writing Month, affectionately known as NaNoWriMo.  The goal? To write 50,000 words in the month of November. This particular project isn't going so well.

All of this means I haven't been cooking dinner as often as usual. Or writing about it. Or taking photographs. Which makes me a lousy food blogger.

I did find time to make one of my favorite fall soups earlier in the week: curried butternut squash soup with caramelized pear. Most squashes are fairly delicate in flavor, but butternut holds up well to more assertive spices, like curry. Roasting the squash before adding it to the soup pot would be a great way to enhance the sweetness, but I simply chopped it up and cooked it in chicken stock (the whole time-saving thing). There's no cream in this pureed soup, but it's so smooth you won't miss it. Or feel guilty taking a second helping.

I often caramelize diced apple for this soup — it's a beautiful, tasty garnish — but I had pears in the fridge, so I used them instead. Make this with water or vegetable stock if you like — it will still be great. The soup is simple, good, and worth finding time to make. I promise.


Curried Butternut Squash Soup with Caramelized Pear
Serves 6 to 8

2-3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large white onion, diced
2 carrots, peeled and diced
2 celery stalks, diced
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 bay leaf
2 teaspoons Madras curry powder
1/2 teaspoon turmeric
2 pounds butternut squash, peeled, seeded and chopped into 1x1-inch pieces
6-7 cups chicken or vegetable stock
Kosher salt
white pepper

2 pears (or apples), peeled, cored and finely diced
1 tablespoon butter
pinch sugar

Melt 2-3 tablespoons of butter in a large, heavy stockpot. Add the onion, carrot, celery and garlic, sprinkle in a pinch of salt, and soften over medium heat, about 7-8 minutes. Add the bay leaf, curry powder, and turmeric, and cook for another minute, stirring constantly. Add the butternut squash and stock, bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer. Cook 25-30 minutes, until the squash is tender. Puree with an immersion blender or in a standing blender. If you use a traditional blender, be very careful. Hot soup is dangerous stuff. Taste and season with Kosher salt and white pepper.

Heat 1 tablespoon of butter in a saute pan until foamy. Add the diced pear and sprinkle with a pinch of sugar, tossing to coat. The fruit will soften and caramelize in a couple of  minutes. Use this as a garnish.

Smoke detectors and grape focaccia

My home's smoke detectors are very, very sensitive.

I never worry that I'll be asphyxiated in my sleep if the house begins to smolder, which is generally a big positive. But baking things at high temperatures on a stone — crusty, tasty things like pizza — sets off the smoke alarm. I'd forgotten (or blocked out) that tidbit before firing up the stove to make grape focaccia Saturday. The harsh, blaring noise forced me to throw open each and every window while flailing a kitchen towel around my head like a madwoman. It also drove my dog Gus into the backyard. He stayed as far from the house as possible, and had to be coaxed back inside.

It was worth the hassle. Tossed with freshly chopped rosemary and thinly sliced shallots, the grapes wrinkled and softened as they cooked. The natural sugars are intensified as they bake. It's a great textural experience, biting into oozing fruit, warm juices dribbling down your chin, then encountering a mellow bread with a crisp crust.

In the past, I've added a bit of turbinado sugar and crushed fennel seeds to the topping, when I'm going for a sweeter bread, or thrown in a couple of thinly sliced garlic cloves if I want a slightly more savory option. I think thinly sliced roasted fennel would make for an interesting combo — that goes onto the Things To Make in the Future List.

Grape Focaccia with Rosemary and Shallots

This recipe makes enough dough for 2 focacce, about 10 x 16 inches each. The topping quantity listed below is enough for one focaccia. Double the topping quantity if you plan to bake both, or freeze the leftover dough for future use.

Dough

1 package active dry yeast (2 1/4 teaspoons)

1/4 cup warm water (for dissolving yeast)

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 heaping tablespoon Kosher salt

2 1/2 cups water

6 1/2 - 7 cups all-purpose flour

Topping

1 large shallot, thinly sliced

1 1/2 cups seedless grapes (red or green)

1 tablespoon rosemary, finely chopped

1 large pinch Kosher salt

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

Combine the yeast and 1/4 cup of water in a mixing bowl and stir to dissolve. Let it stand for about 10 minutes to proof.

Add the olive oil, salt, 2 1/2 cups of water and flour to the mixing bowl. Stir with a heavy wooden spoon. When the mixture comes together, knead it by hand on a floured work surface until smooth, about 12-15 minutes (a little less if you're using a mixer). Place it in an oiled bowl to rise, covered with plastic wrap or a tea towel, until doubled in size. This will take about 1 1/2 hours.

Divide the dough into 2 pieces and press into the desired shape on lightly floured or parchment-lined baking pans (mine are most often misshapen rectangles). Press your fingertips into the dough, forming small dimples. Cover and allow the shaped dough to rise for about 2 hours.

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit. Brush the dough with 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Toss the grapes and sliced shallots with a pinch of Kosher salt and finely chopped rosemary. Spread evenly over the focaccia dough, then bake for 25-30 minutes, rotating once to ensure even browning. Cool on a baking rack for 5 minutes before serving.

The beauty of roti

Unleavened bread is a wonderful thing. I've known this for a while, but it fell off my radar screen for a couple of years. I got caught up in the hoopla that (justly) surrounded Jim Leahy's No-Knead Bread  and turned to the magic of an easy artisan-style loaf whenever it came time to bake. That changed this past weekend, when I went with an Indian dinner menu for an informal gathering (a.k.a. Game Night).

I'm no Indian food expert, but with the help of Julie Sahni's Classic Indian Cooking, I turned out a great meal featuring braised chicken with bay leaves, cardamom and cloves; lentils in garlic butter; a fresh mint relish; saffron rice; and Besan ki Roti, or Chickpea Flour Bread. Roti requires a bit of last-minute effort, but the recipe couldn't be simpler and the results are terrific. Griddle baked and finished over an open flame, the roti puff up, the soft aroma of chickpea flour wafting into the kitchen as the breads gently deflate and are brushed with ghee (clarified butter). The bread is lovely by itself, though it's the perfect vehicle for scooping up other foods. I'll be making roti for solo meals, rolling out small portions of dough on an as-needed basis, but it's fun party food, something guests can help with just before you sit down to eat.

Note: I plan on increasing the amount of red pepper a bit the next time I make roti. I couldn't taste it and didn't get any heat using the recommended 1/2 teaspoon in the original recipe that follows. Follow your taste buds.


Chickpea Flour Bread (Besan ki Roti)
Makes 24 six-inch roti, enough for 8-12 people
Adapted from Classic Indian Cooking

2 cups whole wheat flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup chickpea flour
1/4 - 1/2 teaspoon red pepper (optional)
1/2 teaspoon Kosher salt
1 1/4 cups (or more) warm water
additional all-purpose flour for dusting

Put the whole wheat flour, one cup of all-purpose flour, chickpea flour, Kosher salt and red pepper (if you're using it) in the bowl of a food processor fitted with a metal blade. Pulse a few times to combine, then add then the water slowly through the feed tube with the machine running. The dough will come together in a shaggy mass.

Turn the dough onto a lightly floured work surface and knead for 10-15 minutes by hand. The dough will be soft and slightly sticky. Cover and allow to rest for at least 30 minutes, but up to 24 hours, before you plan to bake.

Place the dough on a work surface, dusting flour at the ready, and knead gently for about a minute. Divide it into 2 balls, then divide each of those into 12 equal portions. Roll the pieces into small balls and cover with plastic wrap as you work with them individually.

Place one ball on your work surface, dusting with flour to prevent sticking, and flatten with a rolling pin. Roll into a disc about 6-inches in diameter.

Bake on a hot griddle (I used a cast-iron skillet) until a few brown spots appear and the bottom is cooked, then flip over and cook the other side for about 30 seconds. Using a pair of tongs, hold the bread flat over another burner  — over the flame — with the gas set to high. Cook for 10-15 seconds, then turn and cook the other side for another 10-15 seconds.

Serve as is, or brush with ghee (clarified butter). Roti doesn't reheat well — it gets dried out and leathery — so enjoy fresh off the flame or at room temperature.