Strawberries and pie plant, take two

In the interest of space, I decided to write a separate post for last night’s dessert, a strawberry-rhubarb galette. A really, really outstanding strawberry-rhubarb galette. While waxing poetic about the shape and color of rhubarb yesterday, I forgot to mention that it is commonly known as pie plant, giving this post it’s title.

I’ve mentioned that I am a better cook than baker, but galettes are an exception. Free form tarts are pretty forgiving, and I love their rustic look. My friend Caroline says they're elegant, and I think she's right. There's great beauty in simplicity.

This galette was a smashing success. Reviewing the recipe, you'll notice it doesn't contain unusual or fancy ingredients. This is honest food. Freshness and quality of the components make all the difference, so please don't use over-the-hill supermarket berries and limp rhubarb and expect to be thrilled with the results.

The breadcrumbs or crushed cookies absorb fruit juices and keep the bottom of the galette from becoming too soggy. I used vanilla cookies last night, placing them in a sandwich bag and pulverizing them with a few quick strikes of a rolling pin. Don’t even think about using prepackaged canned breadcrumbs here. Or elsewhere. In fact, don’t  buy them.


Strawberry-Rhubarb Galette
Yield: 1 medium tart, serves 4-6

This galette would be wonderful with vanilla or strawberry ice cream. I served it with freshly whipped cream flavored with a drop of vanilla extract and a few teaspoons of sugar.

The tart dough requires at least 30 minutes of rest prior to baking. It can be frozen for about one month, so you may want to make more than you need and stash some away for future use. I always do.

On baking day, take the dough from the refrigerator or freezer, preheat the oven to 400 degrees, line a baking sheet with parchment paper and prepare to roll the dough. One of the (many) great things about galettes – perfect symmetry is unnecessary.

I memorized this tart dough recipe years ago, and can't remember the source, but I owe someone a big thank you. Quick and easy, it uses a food processor. If you don't have a food processor or are a purist, a pastry blender will cut in the fat.

Very cold butter is important — the butter cubes should remain separate as they are processed and combine evenly with the dry ingredients.

NOTE: I used half the tart dough recipe below to bake a medium galette. The recipe makes enough dough for one 9-inch tart when baked in a tart pan. I used all of the filling listed for a medium tart. Taste your berries for sweetness; they made need more sugar than noted in the recipe.

Tart Dough:

1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon sugar

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

1 stick (8 tablespoons) unsalted butter, very cold and cubed

1 tablespoon ice water

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Put the flour, sugar and salt into the food processor and pulse a few times to combine. Add the butter and toss it with your fingers to coat each piece with flour (watch out for the blade!). Pulse again to break the butter into pea-sized pieces.

With the motor running, add the ice water and vanilla and process for just a few seconds. You should have a shaggy mass in the bowl, with a few loose bits here and there. Turn the contents onto a clean work surface and press them together, forming a rough disk. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes before proceeding.

After resting, roll the dough into a thin disk — perfect circles not required. Place the dough on a parchment-lined baking sheet and proceed.

Strawberry-Rhubarb Filling:

3 large stalks of rhubarb
1 quart whole strawberries, about 3 1/2 cups when trimmed and quartered or halved
1/2 cup sugar
3 tablespoons flour
a scant 1/4 cup homemade white breadcrumbs, amaretti cookies, or vanilla cookies, finely crushed

Cut the cleaned rhubarb into pieces about 2-inches long and 1/4 inch wide. Strawberries should be halved or quartered, depending on size. Tiny berries can be left whole. Toss the rhubarb and berries with sugar and flour in a bowl.

Sprinkle the bread or cookie crumbs over the (rolled out) dough, leaving about a 1 1/2-inch border along the edge. Mound the fruits in the center of the dough. They will cook down and the galette will spread out a little, so a tall pile is a good idea.

Fold the dough border up and over itself at regular intervals. This creates a rim to keep the fruit and juices inside. Check for tears or holes when you've finished, and pinch them back together or cover with a little more dough.

To glaze, combine one egg with a few drops of milk or cream. Paint this mixture on the outer border of the galette and sprinkle with a few teaspoons of sugar. Melted butter can be used in place of the egg mix.

Bake in the center of the oven for about 45 minutes, rotating the pan a few times to ensure even browning. Slide it off of the baking sheet onto a rack and cool for 10-15 minutes before serving.

Leftovers make great breakfast food.

Rhubarb becomes chutney

How many desserts can one person eat?

In my case the answer is rather scary, so I opted to make both sweet and savory dishes with the farmer's market bounty I hauled back from Charleston.

Rhubarb is a beautiful vegetable (though it's treated like fruit). The tall, elegant stalks with their bright rosy hue stand out among the produce stand's other offerings. Green rhubarb is equally good, but harder to find — it can be used interchangeably with it's more attractive relative. Though beautiful, rhubarb leaves are toxic, so be sure to remove them before cooking. Some cookbook authors advise you to trim the outer layer of rhubarb prior to cooking, but I've found that's only necessary if the stalks are old and fibrous, usually late in the season.

First up on the rhubarb roster: chutney. Chutneys can accompany a wide variety of foods, but I think they have a particular affinity for grilled or roasted pork, so I pulled two Brinkley Farms chops from my freezer, marinated them with garlic and thyme, invited a friend to dinner the following night (a celebration — she's done with nursing school final exams!), and set to work. I'll serve the chutney alongside the grilled meat, saute some garlicky greens, and end the meal with a strawberry-rhubarb galette.

The chutney recipe that follows is based on flavors I like — rhubarb, ginger and orange are a terrific combo — and what was available in my pantry. If I'd had any fresh hot peppers around (jalapeno, serrano) they would have made it into the pot.

Sweet and Spicy Rhubarb Chutney

1 red onion, diced
4 garlic cloves, minced
2 tablespoons ginger, minced
1 red bell pepper, diced
2 teaspoons coriander seed
2 teaspoons cumin seed
3 teaspoons HRPF (hot red pepper flakes) or to taste
1 1/4 cups cider vinegar
3/4 cup sugar
zest of one orange
4 cups of rhubarb, diced
6 tablespoons mint, chopped
3 tablespoons of a neutral cooking oil, like canola

Toast the coriander and cumin seed in a dry pan over medium heat, shaking occasionally to prevent burning. When the seeds are fragrant (this will take about 4 minutes), remove the pan from the heat and allow the spices to cool. Grind them in a spice grinder or coffee grinder devoted only to spices, or use a mortar and pestle.

Heat a few tablespoons of oil in a saucepan over medium heat. Sweat the onion, garlic, ginger and red pepper in a medium until softened, 5-7 minutes. Add the ground spices, HRPF, cider vinegar, and sugar. Stir to dissolve the sugar. Add rhubarb and orange zest, and continue cooking until the mixture thickens slightly, about 20-25 minutes. Taste for seasoning. Off the heat, add freshly chopped mint.

This chutney will keep, covered and refrigerated, for a week. Leftovers make a great addition to sandwiches, or could be used in a pinch for quick hors d'oeuvres: top table water crackers with thin smear of cream cheese, a spoonful of chutney, and garnish with a mint leaf.

Sweet and Spicy Rhubarb Chutney will also hold in the freezer for about a month.

You know you're a food geek when

You know you're food geek when the favorite part of your weekend getaway is spent in that town's local farmers' market. My destination this weekend: Charleston, South Carolina.

Charleston oozes charm. This historic port city is known for great restaurants, a vibrant arts scene, and cobblestone streets. It’s also home to (the best-ever) boiled peanuts and my good friend Rhett.

Rhett and I met Saturday morning at the Marion Square Farmers' Market. This market has everything you could want. Vendors offer produce, meat, cheese, and prepared foods (ranging from freshly popped kettle corn to hot doughnuts to Melt Charleston's tasty open-faced sandwiches). There are a few nifty arts and crafts for sale, too.

Only the size of my hotel's mini-refrigerator stopped me from over-filling my basket with incredible produce, though I did purchase a few pounds of gorgeous red rhubarb and the most fragrant strawberries I've encountered this year.

What to make when I tote my prizes home to the other Carolina? The ubiquitous strawberry-rhubarb pie? An ever-popular strawberry shortcake? A rhubarb fool, or perhaps rhubarb chutney, setting the berries aside for a straightforward jam? I'm leaning toward a rhubarb compote — the ultimate compliment to homemade vanilla ice cream — and would like to freeze the pitch-perfect berries for Rhett's Mother's Famous Strawberry-Fig Preserves in late summer.

Prying the recipe from Rhett over drinks tonight could be a tremendous challenge, however. He's been unwilling to part with it for almost 17 years, so recreating this stuff could be my big summer experiment.

Rhubarb-Strawberry Madness Post(s) to follow.

A confession

I must confess: I don't measure.

This isn't a huge revelation for anyone who's watched me in the kitchen, but I wanted to point it out to those who plan to recreate dishes from this blog (and I hope you will). Yesterday's carrot soup recipe? The amounts of each ingredient are guesstimates. Very good ones, but guesstimates all the same.

People who are comfortable in the kitchen understand this. Even if they aren't winging it, they forgo the measuring cups and eyeball each ingredient. Laziness? I don't think so. Sure, it can be time consuming to stop and scoop freshly chopped herbs into little measuring spoons, but accomplished cooks are self-confident. All of the senses are called upon when creating a dish, tasting throughout the process. More salt? Add a pinch. More acid? Squeeze a few drops of lemon juice into the pot.

Sight, smell, and sound all come into play. You are likely to smell nuts toasting in the oven before you see them, you hear a chicken breast hissing in the pan when your back is turned. Touch is part of the process, too. Ever tried pressing a steak with your finger to know when it's done? The meat becomes firmer the longer it cooks.

Give yourself permission to make mistakes and just try. The practice-makes-perfect rule applies here, and you'll have a lot more fun.

Baking is an exception to my no-measuring habit. A big exception. I follow baking recipes to the letter the first go round, taste the results, think about changes I might make, and march forward. Chemistry is so important in baking - all that leavening magic that takes place - and it's virtually impossible to correct a mistake once you've placed your carefully mixed cake batter into the oven.

On that note, it's time to walk the dog and tune into Top Chef Masters 2. I'm no slave to food television, but my former boss, Jody Adams, competes tonight, and I must cheer her on. If you're ever in Cambridge, Massachusetts do yourself a favor and dine at Rialto.

Oh, and the camera is working again!

What to cook when the fridge contains only carrots

This post title is a slight exaggeration.

My kitchen is very well-stocked, but there are days I return from work to a hungry dog, a pile of junk mail, and not so much to choose from in the refrigerator. This is one of those days.

I'm going out of town Friday and I refuse to do a major shop this close to departure. I also pick up my first CSA box-o-goodness tomorrow evening, so it's time to make due with what's immediately available. And what's available is a bag of carrots.

I look to the larder for onion and garlic and note that the spice cabinet is full. The herbs out back look terrific this early in the season, and I decide to make use of the almost-too-old serrano peppers hiding the refrigerator's produce drawer. It's soup time.

Carrot soup has become a standby in my repertoire. It can be dressed up or down, served hot or cold, garnished according to the season (or what's lurking in your pantry). Don't knock it. Carrot soup is a beautiful thing.

Note: Sadly my camera is not a beautiful thing. It died mid-photo session. This means no photos of tonight's featured blog entree. If any of the "peeling carrots" shots I took initially took work out, they may end up illustrating this entry. Wish me luck! I need an easy fix.

Tonight's Carrot Soup

Serves 4-6

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 very large onion, chopped

2 serrano peppers, minced

3 garlic cloves, minced

about 1.5 pounds carrots, thinly sliced

3 tablespoons white rice

2 teaspoons paprika

2 teaspoons ground cumin

2 teaspoons ground coriander

salt and pepper (freshly ground)

approximately 6 cups of water, but use vegetable stock if you have it

Warm the olive oil in a soup pot over medium heat. Add onion, garlic, peppers, parsley and rice and cook until the onion is soft, about 6 minutes. Add the spices, salt and pepper, and cook another 6 minutes. Add the water and bring to a boil, then lower the heat and simmer for 30 minutes.

While the soup is cooking, consider a garnish. Not just a pretty garnish, but something with substance. A red onion relish, a blob of creme fraiche, a chile butter, or chopped parsley and cilantro with a squeeze of lime juice.

When the soup is done, puree until smooth. I love my immersion blender, but it doesn't puree things to the velvety consistency of the upright. It also doesn't explode like the upright, leaving me to clean even more of the kitchen and dress burns. Something to consider.

Taste the soup for salt and serve with the garnish of your choice.

A light dinner

Sometimes all I really want for dinner is a green salad. Boring? Nah. Not if you grow your own lettuce.

The lovely green leaves in the pictures came from my back porch. My house has a tiny yard, but I've covered the deck with pots of all shapes and sizes, the majority filled with edible plants.

The delicate flavor and fresh crunch of newly harvested lettuces can't be beat. The key is to dress them with a light vinaigrette, something that allows the greens to shine through, show off. I toss in a few radishes for color and a nice peppery bite, consider a perfectly hard-boiled egg if I need more substance, then add just enough vinaigrette to lightly coat the leaves. Spring perfection.

For a gorgeous hard-boiled egg, place the eggs of your choice (I usually stick with large, and yes, the eggs from your local farmer's market are significantly better) in a saucepan and cover with cold water. Bring the water to a boil, then shut off the heat and — this is the important part — allow the eggs to sit in the cooling water for 10-11 minutes. Please adjust the time according to the size of your eggs. Then crack the shells and place them in ice water to cool completely. When peeled, you should have beautiful yolks, buttery and golden, without the nasty green rings and chalky centers of overcooked eggs.

Do what you will with the eggs. I like to sprinkle them with sweet herbs and kosher salt before they hit the salad bowl.

For a vinaigrette, rely on your taste buds. I prefer a ratio of 3 parts oil to 1 part vinegar, but hey, it's your salad. Many people like a 4:1 ratio. Adjust accordingly.

My favorite dressings include a minced clove of garlic (or two) and finely chopped shallot. I add Dijon mustard if I'm in the mood for a little more spice, but it's not required. Fresh herbs are always included — just be sure to choose sweet, tender herbs like chervil, tarragon, chives and thyme, rather than the more assertive options, like rosemary and sage. With delicate lettuces I'm a big fan of lemon or lime juice instead of vinegar, but champagne vinegar is lovely, and I reach for the sherry vinegar bottle frequently. If you don't want to deal with a whisk and are willing to simply combine ingredients rather than create an emulsion, put all of the ingredients into a covered glass or jar (covered with a lid, not your hand or plastic wrap) and shake. Hard.

The first post

 

A blog. Who isn't blogging these days? After much back-and-forth, I decided to hunker down, break out the digital camera, and start writing.

I used to be a professional cook. Not a chef, but a cook. Big difference. I never wrote menus or hired and fired people, but I cooked for a few years on the line at a very nice (excellent, actually) Boston restaurant. I moved from the line to a rounds position, then a rounds pastry/bread position, then kitchen supervisor. The changes were driven by my desire to have a more "normal" life, more regular hours.

I learned that each step away from the line, away from it's rigors, left me feeling empty. I have a job in another industry now, but food is very important to me. I think about food all the time. I start planning dinner when I wake up, obsessing over flavors, combinations of flavors, textures, presentation. Homey, rustic food tugs at my heart. A trip to Paris this winter cinched that — dinners at Taillevent and L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon emptied my bank account — but I enjoyed the bistro meals more.

Enough of the chatter.

Tonight, I baked.

I am a cook, not a baker. Tomorrow begs for a pound cake, however. Rain dominates the forecast here in central North Carolina, and I made a pound cake to bring to Cathy's house. We planned to take a long walk with a dog (mine) and toddler (hers) and meet another one of my good friends, Kirstin, and her dog (Gabby). I think Cathy and Kirstin will hit it off — but the weather could ruin everything. I called both parties and negotiated a pound cake and coffee meeting if the walk falls through. I will provide the eats.

That lead to an adaptation of Perfection Pound Cake by Dorie Greenspan, an amazing baker and cookbook author. I left out the vanilla extract and used Fiori di Sicilia from King Arthur Flour instead. The aroma is amazing: the most fantastic citrus extract — with a hint of vanilla — ever.

Stayed tuned for taste test results. Now I'm off to watch Six Feet Under on DVD. All the best programs are on the pricey stations.

Perfection Pound Cake
Adapted from Baking: From My Home to Yours

Ingredients:

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 sticks (8 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup sugar
4 large eggs, at room temperature
1 1/2 teaspoons Fiori di Sicilia extract

Note: Remember to store Fiori di Sicilia in the refrigerator after opening.


Preheat the oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter or coat a 9×5-inch loaf pan with cooking spray (I used Baker's Joy). Place the loaf on a jelly roll pan or 2 baking sheets stacked on top of one another.

Whisk the flour, baking powder, and salt to thoroughly combine.

Beat the butter and sugar on high speed until pale and fluffy, ideally using a heavy duty stand mixer with a paddle attachment. This will take 5 full minutes — be patient. Carefully scrape down the bowl and lower the mixer speed. Add the eggs one at a time, beating for 1 to 2 minutes after each addition. Scrape down the bowl and beater as you go, making sure the ingredients are thoroughly combined. Add the extract and milk. Add the flour with the mixer on a low speed, being careful not to over mix, or fold it in by hand  (over mixing will toughen your pound cake). Pour the batter into the prepared loaf pan and smooth the top.

Bake the cake about 70 minutes, checking after 45 minutes to be certain the top isn't too dark. If it's browning too quickly, cover it with a loose foil tent. A cake tester, inserted into the center, should come out clean when it's done.

Cool the cake on a rack (still in the pan) for 30 minutes. Run a knife around the sides of the cake pan to release it, then turn it onto a rack to cool.

Perfection Pound Cake keeps 5 - 7 days at room temperature if well wrapped (leftovers are great toasted). Freeze up to 2 months.