Monday, March 31, 2008

Stupidly Easy Angel Food Cake

Writing this blog for the past few weeks has helped me realize that I bake more than I thought I did. Previously, baking was a simple, experimental matter of throwing a few ingredients together and seeing what emerged from the oven, but now I make myself think about quantities in case I enjoy a recipe enough to end up posting it. I almost didn't post this one, partly because it uses two different mixes (Really, there's nothing at all natural in this recipe. It's shameful!) and partly because it's so stupidly easy.

But then I thought to myself, "Self, if you think that you occasionally deserve a break from the hours baking a cake can entail, don't you think others might appreciate the same?" So here's a cake you can throw together in less than five minutes. No kidding. Total prep time should hover somewhere around two minutes, and that's only if you have to go off and search for scissors to open your cake mix. It has exactly two ingredients (and like I said, neither of them is even vaguely found in nature), but if you find out that friends are coming over in a few minutes and somehow simply lack the willpower or supplies to do anything else, this recipe will see you through. It's certainly not culinary school material, but hey, even ambitious cooks sometimes need a guilty secret!

Stupidly Easy Angel Food Cake

1 box angel food cake mix (I like Duncan Hines, but Betty Crocker will do in a pinch)
1 can fruit pie filling (Cherry, peach, blueberry, it doesn't matter. They all work, so pick your favorite. I usually go with blueberry.)

In a 9x13 baking pan, mix together the angel food mix and the pie filling, stirring until they are roughly homogenous (try to get out all the lumps of dry cake mix). Ignore the cake mix box when it tells you that you need things like liquids, all you need is the pie filling. Cook your cake per the box's instructions about time and temperature.

Servings: 15? I don't know, it depends on how big you cut your cake pieces.

See? Wasn't that stupidly easy? I'll have to post something desperately fancy and a little difficult next time to make up for the fact that this is so easy.

Saturday, March 29, 2008

Hamentaschen


My first experience of hamentaschen (say it "HA-men-TA-shen") came courtesy of my friend Nechama. Nechama has blue, pixie-style hair, fifteen piercings at last count, eight tattoos, and travels to India yearly to meet with the gurus of Anusara yoga, which she teaches back here in the States. She is the only woman I know who can honestly say she's been lost in a monsoon in the jungles of India. She is also Jewish, which is how she came to be serving me hamentaschen during a Purim party a few years ago.

Even though I'll always associate hamentaschen with Nechama's stories about her crazy travels, the rest of the world knows this little cookie as a traditional part of one of the most beloved Jewish holidays. Purim is a fabulous holiday, in which Jews are required (required, do you hear?) to eat, drink, and be merry. In fact, according to the Talmud, a person is commanded to drink until he cannot tell the difference between "Blessed be Mordecai" and "Cursed be Haman". My kind of holiday!

The villain of the Purim story is Haman, who was a greedy advisor to an ancient king, and who tried to have all the Jews killed way back when. This cookie takes it's name from the Hebrew for 'Haman's pockets', and supposedly the triangle shape represents Haman's three-cornered advisor hat. Much like greedy Haman in the stories, this cookie gets it's 'pocket' stuffed with something sweet: I prefer apple butter or strawberry preserves, but I've heard of people using anything from fig jellies to cherry pie filling (I think that'd be too sweet, but to each his own). Fun to make and with a fantastic history, hamentaschen are the kind of cookie I like to make year-round. They go great with a cup of hot tea for a late-night snack. I use whole wheat flour, and the dough turns out a little darker than in the photo above, so don't be alarmed if they don't look exactly the same.

Hamentaschen Cookies

2/3 cup butter or margarine, softened
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1 large egg
1/4 cup orange juice (get the kind with no pulp)
1 cup white flour
1 cup wheat flour (DO NOT substitute white flour! The wheat flour is necessary to achieve the right texture!)
2 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. cinnamon
A filling of some kind, be it apple butter (my fav) or some sort of jam or jelly

Cream the butter and sugar together using an electric mixer. Add the egg and beat until incorporated. Add the OJ and beat until mixed. At this point, you should have a very soupy butter mixture. Add the flour, 1/2 cup at a time, alternating white and wheat. Mix thoroughly between each. Add the baking powder and cinnamon with the last half cup of flour. The resulting dough should be fairly moist and sticky, and pretty dense. I always have to scrape it out of the beaters on my mixer, it tends to clump inside the beaters since it's so dense. Cover the batter and refrigerate overnight or for at least 4 hours.

Remove the dough from the fridge and grab the cookie trays you're using. I prefer a non-stick tray for this, since the dough is minimally easier to shape on this tray than on a normal tray. Flour the cookie sheet lightly, but don't skimp here. Again, the flour makes the shaping process easier. I find that flouring everything that's going to touch the dough is very important to making this cookie successfully, because the dough is very sticky, and pulls out of shape very easily if there's not a thin layer of flour to keep it from sticking. Scoop off a two-tablespoon hunk of dough (or a little bigger, you'll get a feel for size as you go), plop it on the cookie sheet, and use your floured fingers to press it into a 1/4 inch thick circle, about three or four inches in diameter. Dollop a generous teaspoon and a half of your filling of choice into the center of the circle. Using a floured silicone spatula, lift the edges of the dough off the tray and fold them towards the center. Do this three time, to form a triangle shape (refer to the picture above for an idea of how this is supposed to go, and what the final product should look like). Pinch the edges of the triangle to make sure that the 'flaps' of dough don't come unfolded during the baking process. Repeat to fill the cookie sheet; I can usually fit 6 cookies on one sheet.

Preheat the oven to 350F. Once the oven is at temperature, bake the cookies for 16-20 minutes. 20 min is perfect in my oven, and the goal is that the cookie should be a light, toasty brown, but the filling should not bubble over. Apple butter tends not to bubble over easily, but preserves are more prone to boiling just before the cookies get done. I've made these enough now that I time the cookies' doneness by the progress of the filling: when the strawberry preserves begin to bubble, but not bubble over, the cookies are done.

Servings: 15-20 cookies, depending on size.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Pot Roast

Pot roast: how hard can it be? People have been roasting things in pots for millenia, and if some prehistoric cavewoman could master braised mastodon over a fire that she wasn't 100% sure how to restart, then surely I could conquer a chuck roast. Or so I told myself when I purchased my first roast. The sad truth was, that particular roast conquered me. After two hours in the oven, it turned out dry, tough, and tasteless. The Mastodon probably tasted better. Roast:1 Me:0.

Clearly I needed tutelage in the art of the slow-cooked roast. So my second attempt was with the "help" of a Southern Living Cookbook (a Christmas gift from my mom) and a crockpot. I'm sure that the magazine meant well, but the recommended salted water (!) as a braising liquid was both too little and too bland: maybe it tasted better than the mastodon, but it surely wasn't the culinary paradise of tender, succulent meat that the recipe promised. In reality, though perhaps I'd graduated to the bronze age, I was still far from the roast that I wanted. After all, if cavewomen could master this technique, surely a college-educated, brainy feminist could grasp the basics of the braise. Roast: 2 Me:0.

So I set out to expand my braise-iary (I can totally turn that verb into an adjective!) horizons. The Zuni Cafe Cookbook - whose recipe I adapted for polenta fries a few days ago - helped, with extensive advice on braising. I also quizzed my Grandmother's nursing home neighbor, who had been a catering cook and personal chef in her youth. Thus, armed with the advice of elder generations and Beard-winning chefs, I set out once more into the fray. I traded the water (!) for a carefully constructed mixture of reduced wine and beef stock. The generic mirepoix (Can you believed I used a frozen veggie cubes mix? I was so naive!) got swapped out for a chunkier, funkier accompaniment. Instead of serving the over-cooked veggies alongside the roast, I grabbed a strainer and mashed them into submission as a puree to thicken my sauce. Who needs loads of cornstarch when the veggies you already roasted work better? Also, two hours is not nearly long enough to produce a heavenly-tender roast. Girded with the experience of my past mistakes, I set out to better myself. I was going to produce a perfect roast if it killed me, and then I did. My third attempt at braising a roast turned out delicately, fall-apart-on-the-fork tender, and the sauce the accompanied it was thick and luscious with a gorgeous red-brown color from wine and beets. I wallowed. And the leftovers! I swear it was even better the second day, if that's even possible. Roast:2 Me:1. My days in the dark ages of braising were over!

Braised Chuck Roast

Note: I advise tying this roast before anything else. It may not seem to need it when the roast is uncooked, but during the browning process, and especially after the roast is finished braising, it will literally fall apart if it's not secured with some sort of twine. So break out your kite string or your hemp rope, and tie it according to the instructions on the link above for an easier braising experience.

1 750ml bottle of a red wine with some body to it (think Burgundy or Cab Sauv here, nothing too fruity)
1 qt low sodium beef stock
1 large yellow onion
3 small beets (if your grocery doesn't carry small beets, use one large one instead)
15 baby carrots (or two large carrots)
4 lb shoulder chuck roast (Pick a roast with lots of connective tissues, where lots of muscles meet. Your butcher can help.)
1 tsp olive oil
5 garlic cloves, unpeeled
3 bay leaves
Salt
Pepper

Start by salting the meat (1 tbsp salt for every 4 lbs meat). Zuni recommends salting up to 3 days in advance, but I usually forget until the day before. Even so, salting in advance is a great idea, it really does make a flavour difference.

When you're ready to actually start your braise, get out a wide, shallow saucepan and pour in the whole bottle of wine. Sit it over medium high heat and let it reduce until it gets down to about half a cup. I know it sounds like that would take forever, but in reality it only takes about twenty minutes, and you can do other things in the meantime. Set another wide, shallow pan on a different burner, and pour in the quart of beef stock. That one should reduce to about two cups.

While your stock and wine are reducing, tie up the roast. Tying should compact the meat together (so it doesn't fall apart as easily), and bind in any irregular parts so that they'll cook more evenly.

After you tie the roast, chop your veggies. I usually just chop the onions into 1 1/2 inch wedges, and beets into thickish rounds, and the mini carrots in half. If you're using large carrots, chop them into chunks. Since everything is sort of thick and rustic, this shouldn't take long. These veggies don't have to be pretty, so just give them a once-through with a knife to get them into manageable portions.

Next, brown the roast. Pick a skillet not much larger than the roast. Add a very scant tsp of olive oil, and warm briefly over medium heat. Set the roast in the pan, and allow it to brown BUT NOT TO SCORCH. I know scorched bits are tasty when you're eating them on burgers or steaks, but imagine those bits once they've soaked for five hours in liquid. Ew. So the goal is brown, but not scorched. Turn the roast so that all sides and both ends are browned. This doesn't take long, two minutes or so per side is plenty.

By the time the tying, chopping, and browning is done, your liquids should be about reduced, and you are ready to start assembling your braise. Preheat the oven to 325F, and find a covered, oven-safe and flameproof dish that will accommodate your roast with about 2 or 3 inches to spare on all sides. This can be a Dutch oven, a large saute pan with a lid, a casserole dish, whatever floats your boat. Set the browned meat in the pan, then surround it on all sides with the veggies. The vegetables should be very crowded, and pressed right up against the meat. Scatter the bay leaves on top of the vegetables, and sprinkle pepper over the whole thing. Add the reduced wine then the reduced stock, so that the liquid comes to somewhere between 1/3 and 1/2 way up the roast. If you don't use all the stock, save the remainder for adding to the gravy, or for another recipe.

Cover the braise and bring it to a simmer on the stove (this cuts down on cooking time by a little). When it's simmering, take it off the stove and place the braising dish in the oven. Helpful hint: you may want to place it on some sort of tray first, then sit tray and dish in the oven, so that if it bubbles over it won't get your oven dirty. After two or so hours, turn the roast over, recover the dish, and sit it back in the oven to continue braising. After another hour, turn again. This help keep the top side of the meat from losing too much liquid and becoming unappetizingly dry. Turn it once more 15 minutes before it's done, so that no side will be too dried out.

Continue cooking for another hour or so, until the roast is fork-tender. The Zuni Cafe Cookbook recommends that one can extend the cooking time by dropping the oven temperature to 275F or even 250F, and cooking for five or six hours instead of four. This will produce an even more succulent roast. I've done this a few times, on Saturdays when I didn't have anything better to do, and it really does work.

When the roast is finished, remove it from the braising dish and let it rest. While it's resting, fish the veggies out of the sauce and into a strainer situated over a medium bowl. Mash them with a wooden spoon until you have a cup or so of veggie puree. Taste the sauce in the braising pan, and add puree to give it a little more body and sweetness. You don't have to use all the puree here although I usually do, this is a personal taste thing. If you've still got some reduced stock left over, pour that in, then use the puree to adjust thickness and taste. Other potential additives to the sauce include balsamic vinegar (just a little), a pinch of sugar (to balance out an acidic sauce), or a tbsp or so of cornstarch (for additional thickness). I usually use the cornstarch, because I like a more substantial gravy-like sauce.

Once you've got the sauce right, carve the roast (this shouldn't be difficult, properly-braised roasts are very very tender). As with all meat, braised roasts should be carved against the grain. Pour the sauce back over, and you're ready to serve.

Here's my little braising secret: this roast improves vastly with age. Let it sit in the refrigerator for a day, and what was merely a good roast will transform itself into something approaching meat-godliness. So if I'm really on the ball, I'll do this braise a day in advance, and instead of carving I'll just refrigerate the whole thing after I get done adjusting the sauce and pouring it back over the roast. On the second day, I'll take it out and rewarm it in a 300F oven for half an hour or so (just enough to let the meat warm through, but not enough to dry it out), then serve. People always seem amazed when they taste it, and with good reason: they've never had a braise this good. The secret's in the extra time, when the roast can reabsorb its juices and add even more flavour to itself.

Servings: 6 to 8, depending on the size of your roast.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

Baked Polenta Fries

Confession time: I hate to fry food. Oil gets everywhere, and usually the fried thing ends up oil-logged and too heavy. I don't do it often enough to get really good at it, and the cleanup makes me miserable. So I fry maybe, maybe once a year.

All of which means that I can't homemake French Fries. But! I was glancing through the Zuni Cafe Cookbook (which is entirely brilliant) yesterday, and saw a mention of oven roasted polenta. Now that's an idea I could get behind, I thought. Zuni does their polenta in triangles, but there was no reason that I couldn't make fries. One catch: Zuni's recipe for polenta takes over an hour (!) to make, then has to cool for three hours before it can be oven-roasted. There was no way I was waiting a whole afternoon for polenta, so I tried a recipe of my own, and it turned out fabulously.

The fries are crunchy and crisp, with hints of cheese, but none of the oily ickiness of frying. They go great with mustard or Ketchup, and I'll try them with a mayo dressing next time I make them. Cleanup was as simple as washing a saucepan and throwing away a piece of parchment. Much better! I think polenta may be the cure for my need for fries without the frying.

Baked Polenta Fries

1 qt chicken stock
2 cups coarse-ground cornmeal (if you live in the South like me, it's called grits, not polenta, but they're the same thing, essentially)
1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1/3 cup grated cheddar cheese
1 stick unsalted butter
Salt

Bring the stock to a boil in a heavy-ish saucepan over medium-high heat. Once the stock is just barely boiling, turn the heat down to medium-low and pour in the cornmeal in a thin stream (this prevents clumps), stirring constantly. Allow the cornmeal to thicken the liquid, then taste for salt. Adjust seasoning. Cook, stirring constantly, until the polenta starts to pull away from the sides of the pot. This took 15 minutes or so on my stove. You will think that it is done before it reaches this stage, but have patience.

Once the polenta is the proper doneness, drop in the stick of butter and the cheese, and stir until it all gets mixed together. Spray a 9x13 baking pan with nonstick spray, and pour the polenta into the pan. Spread it out and smooth it into a thin-ish sheet, about an inch thick. Put the baking pan into the fridge (or the freezer, if you're impatient like me) to cool down. Don't cover it, it's okay if it dries out a little. Refrigerate for 2-3 hours, or freeze for 45 min-1 hour.

When you're ready to bake it, preheat the oven to 300F. Run a knife around the edge of the baking pan, then invert the polenta out of the pan and onto a large baking sheet covered in parchment. Slice the polenta into 'fries' (I cut mine once in half lengthwise, and then about twelve times widthwise to make 'fries' about 5 inches by 1 inch). Spread the fries out on the baking sheet and brush each lightly with olive oil. Bake for 20 min in the center of the oven, then turn on the broiler and move the fries closer to the broiler surface for another 10-15 min to give them a nice crust. Turn once during this broiling process to get them crispy on all sides. Serve piping hot with condiments for dipping.

Servings: 25 fries, or about 6-8 people.

Friday, March 21, 2008

Vanilla Panna Cotta

Panna cotta is one of those desserts that I didn't meet until I was in college. The American South, for all its agricultural riches, is shamefully undereducated when it comes to classic cuisine. Mentioning panna cotta to the cooks I grew up with would have provoked raised eyebrows and questions of 'Is is like egg custard?' Egg custard is the only custard-like dessert that rural South Carolina ever met. Egg custard pies, egg custard tarts, and for the really creative cook, egg custard topped with fruit. So I was deprived of the heaven that was panna cotta until I escaped to the Northeast for school.

But once I got there and had a taste, I made up for lost time. I became the Queen of Panna Cotta in my dorm. I made it for all my friends. I played around with flavours: pumpkin panna cotta for fall, pomegranate panna cotta topped with freshly whipped cream, green tea panna cotta topped with delicate slivers of sugared ginger. I would do it in batches and serve individual helpings in shot glasses (because hey, I was in college).

So when I started thinking of a dessert for my family's upcoming Easter lunch, my mind naturally ran towards this lovely, light little finisher. Here's the recipe for the basic vanilla version - though I use real vanilla beans here to dress things up a little. I top it with sugared raspberries, which make a beautiful presentation with the pure white custard. Here's hoping even my Southern relatives will find something to like!

Panna Cotta

1/4 cup water
3 1/2 tsp powdered gelatin
3 1/4 cups heavy or whipping cream
3/4 cup confectioners sugar
2 whole vanilla beans
2 piece lemon rind
Raspberries (The exact amount will depend on how many servings you're making. I usually buy two small cartons worth.)
2 tbsp additional confectioners sugar

Place the water in a small bowl and sprinkle in the powdered gelatin. Stir it, and set it aside to thicken for five or so minutes. While the gelatin is gelling, use a sharp knife to split the vanilla beans in half down the middle and scrape out the seeds. Place both seeds and beans into a medium saucepan with the cream, sugar, and lemon rind. Simmer over medium heat for five or so minutes, stirring gently and making sure that the cream doesn't stick. The goal here is a sort of low, even simmer.

When the cream has thickened a little, add in the gelatin mixture and continue at a medium simmer, stirring constantly, for another three or so minutes. The gelatin should be completely dissolved by this stage.

Strain the cream-gelatin mixture through a very fine mesh, and fish out the lemon rind and vanilla beans. Those can be discarded. Pour the mixture through cheesecloth into panna cotta molds, or if you're like me and too poor or lazy to buy panna cotta molds, into whatever pretty container you intend to serve from. I like shot glasses, but small teacups or martini glasses are also pretty.

Refrigerate your panna cotta. How long the refrigeration needs to last varies depending on the size of the containers you're serving from, but a good rule of thumb is at least four hours. Overnight is okay, and will make your prep time less hectic the next day. So fridge it and forget it for a while.

About an hour before you intend to serve the panna cotta, get out your raspberries and rinse them very gently. Pat them dry, then toss them in the extra confectioners sugar and pop them in the fridge. This will encourage the juices to swell, making them plump and shiny. It will also make them fragile, so be a little careful when handling sugared raspberries.

To serve, grab the panna cotta from the fridge. If you're making them with molds, try dipping the bottom and sides of the molds into a hot water bath for a few seconds to loosen the panna cotta. Run a knife around the edges if necessary (avoid this if possible, it will usually mess up the presentation). Then, tip the panna cotta out of molds and onto the plates on which you will serve. If, like me, you usually serve out of glassware (I've graduated from shot glasses to pretty cut-glass cups), you can skip that step. Either way, top each individual serving with a few sugared raspberries to finish the presentation. A mint leaf is also pretty if you're really feeling snazzy that day.

Servings: Depends on the size of your containers. It makes 30 fl oz, or between fifteen and eighteen shot glasses worth, so take that as you will.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Gnocchi with Creamy Tomato Sauce

Gnocchi is an odd creature. It never feels like a pasta to me, but it also isn't exactly not-a-pasta either (my double negatives, let me show you them!). If you go online looking for gnocchi recipes, you find a dozen conflicting reports of the One True Gnocchi Way. All of these One True Ways come with dire little warnings about what will happen if you deviate even one step from their secret and sacred teachings. All of which is very confusing to the gnocchi beginner.

So when I decided to make gnocchi, I went at it with a great deal of enthusiasm and not much idea of what I was doing. But hey, people have been successfully making gnocchi for centuries, I figured. It couldn't be that hard. So I cobbled together bits and pieces of half a dozen recipes, and added some twists of my own. Surprise! The result was a whole herd of soft, pillowy little pasta-bits that floated in their boiling water like ducklings. I was terribly pleased with myself. There wasn't a dense or rubbery gnocchi among them.

To top these little pieces of pasta heaven, I had settled on a creamy tomato sauce. A lot of gnocchi gets served with butter sauce (and I bet a light lemon-butter-white wine-parsley sauce would be great here), but I wanted something more substantial. It was winter, and lemon butter seemed awfully summery for such a grey day. So tomatoes it was (I know, they're summery too, but I've always associated jarred tomatoes more with winter than summer). This sauce was just the right thing. I topped the whole deal with a combination of bacon bits and almonds, which turned out to be inspired. Their crunch gave variety to the soft pasta, and the nutty flavour really brought out an earthiness to the potatoes in the gnocchi that I loved. I sort of treasure this recipe now. So here it is, in all it's One True Gnocchi Way glory. Take it, and adapt it as you will to make your own strangely tasty little pasta pillows.

Potato Gnocchi

Note: ALL the quantities here are flexible. I make these by feel and texture, so I'll try to describe that to you so you'll have an idea of the goal. If you're someone who rigidly follows recipes, though, you may have trouble here.

2 1/4 lbs red potatoes (I used Russets, I think, but I'm not sure it matters)
1 egg
Approx. 11 oz Flour (The flour amount will vary with every recipe. Just have a good amount of it on hand.)
Salt
Pepper
Olive Oil

Place the potatoes in a large pot with enough water to cover them. Salt the water fairly generously - the salt will have to work its way through the skins, so don't be shy. Boil for 20 or 30 minutes, until the potatoes are tender. Drain the potatoes.

Peel the warm potatoes with a knife, using a towel to protect your hands from the heat. Mash the hot potatoes as thoroughly as possible. Salt and pepper the mashed potatoes to taste. Crack the egg into a small container, and mix in a little of the hot mashed potatoes. Then pour the egg-potato mixture back into the main batch of potatoes, and mix it in thoroughly before the hot potatoes cook the egg.

Add two large-ish handfuls of flour to the potatoes, and mix until absorbed. Form a dough by turning the potatoes out onto a flat surface and kneading in the remainder of the flour one handful at a time. The goal here is a very very light dough mixture that is pliable and just this side of sticky. The proper dough consistency has been reached when the dough doesn't stick to the surface immediately upon contact, but if allowed to stand unmoving sticks within about two minutes. Err on the side of less flour at first.

When your dough is the proper consistency, flour the surface and slice a fist-sized chunk off the dough. Roll the chunk into a snake about an inch in diameter. Slice into 2 inch long chunks.

Fill a large pot with water, salt the water lightly, and bring to a boil. Add the gnocchi, ten or so at a time. Cook each piece 2-3 minutes, or until it floats. When it floats, it's done. This may be sooner than you think. If your gnocchi dissolves upon contact with the water, more flour is needed, and you may need to knead the dough a little more to develop it. It's not a bad idea to boil a few test pieces to make sure that you've got enough flour before you roll out the remainder of the dough. If your gnocchi holds together well, go ahead and continue the snake-chunk-boil process until all the dough has been used.

When the gnocchi are finished boiling, scoop out them out of the pot with a slotted spoon and into a serving bowl. Drizzle with just a hint of olive oil to prevent sticking, and serve with the sauce of your choice. This recipe makes a lot of pasta at once, so if you're like me you won't be eating all of it in one swoop. That's okay, gnocchi freezes really well. To freeze them, go ahead and boil them as you would normally, but instead of serving, place them on a baking sheet and allow them to cool and dry out. When they're no longer hot, pack them into ziploc bags and stick them in the freezer. To revive them, just pour the frozen gnocchi into a pot of boiling water and wait until they float again, then serve.


Creamy Tomato Sauce and other Gnocchi toppings

14 oz jar of pasta sauce
1/2 cup whipping or heavy cream
1-2 cloves garlic, diced
Salt
Black Pepper
Nutmeg
1/2 tbsp basil (fresh is best, but use dried if you don't have fresh)
Parmesan cheese, grated
Slivered almonds
3 slices bacon, fried crispy and crumbled (DO NOT substitute fake bacon bits here. It is not the same.)

Combine all ingredients except the cheese, almonds, and bacon in a saucepan over low heat. Simmer 45-50 minutes, stirring occasionally. Toast the almonds in a saucepan briefly, until they turn golden (be careful not to burn them). To serve, spoon the sauce over the gnocchi, then sprinkle generously with grated cheese, toasted almonds, and bacon bits.

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Grandma's Carrot Cake (w/ Cream Cheese Frosting)

Some families pass down the secret recipe to a meatsauce. Some jealously hoard their special cookies, or perhaps a recipe for a magic dressing that improves even the lamest salad. In my family, we pass down carrot cake. In fact, even committing this recipe to writing is something of a heresy; my grandmother never wrote it down, and baked from memory each of the hundreds (or thousands) of times she made this cake. My mother used this cake as the recipe for her wedding cake, and even as Grandma baked twenty (!) of the cakes for the reception, she never told my mother what the exact ingredients were.

She passed it to me a few years ago over the telephone. I'd broken up with a boyfriend, and was consoling myself by baking like a madwoman. There's nothing like fresh bread and cookies to ease the pain of men. Anyway, Grandma chose that moment to give me the recipe for her special carrot cake, and I've made it ever since. I've always been a little scared that I'll lose the piece of paper jotted with notes on how to prepare it, though, so now it's going into this blog. I know that nothing on the internet is sacred, but I don't think it matters. Some recipes are special no matter what.

This cake is lighter in texture than any other carrot cake I've tried, and is faintly sweet but not sugary. It's in fact less sweet than I always expect it to be, which is perfect for the cream cheese icing. It's also perfect for letting me delude myself into eating lots of it, because hey, it's got less sugar and carrots! That's almost like it's healthy, right? Right?

Grandma's Carrot Cake

2 cups self-rising flour
2 cups sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1 1/4 cup vegetable oil
4 large eggs
3 cups grated carrot
1 cup nuts
1 tsp baking soda

Preheat the oven to 350F.

Mix all the dry ingredients (flour, baking soda, baking powder, sugar, salt, cinnamon) together. In a separate large bowl, beat together the eggs and the oil. Add the dry ingredients to the eggs and oil, and stir to mix thoroughly. Add the carrots and the nuts to this mixture, and stir until they're evenly distributed through the batter. Pour the batter evenly between two 9 inch cake pans.

Bake for 25 minutes or until a knife inserted into the center of the cake comes out clean (in my current oven, I bake it for 35 min at 375F, but then my current oven tends to run cool).


Cream Cheese Frosting

8 oz cream cheese
1 stick margarine (or unsalted butter)
1 box confectioner's sugar
2 tsp vanilla extract

Optional: 1 can coconut OR a handful of nuts

Soften the cream cheese and the margarine to room temperature. Using an electric mixer, beat together the margarine and the cream cheese. Add the confectioner's sugar (may want to turn the mixer down some, so that the sugar doesn't poof everywhere), and beat until the sugar is incorporated completely and the icing is smooth. Add the vanilla, and beat until that's incorporated. If you're adding other ingredients (I like this icing kept simple for this cake, but for other cakes coconut or nuts may feel more appropriate), add them here. Cover and chill the icing if you're not using it immediately.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Root Soup

Roots. When I was a kid, I wouldn't eat anything that I knew for a fact grew under the ground. That lasted until I was about seven, which was the age that my mother stopped concealing the fact that carrots were roots from me. I loved carrots, and I wasn't willing to give them up for some stand on root-principle. So I adopted the lovely denizens of the underworld into my diet, and I haven't really looked back.

Still, even if I no longer avoid them like cooties, roots somehow lack the glamour of other vegetables in the crisper. They aren't plump and colorful like the peppers, they don't have the snap and chilly crispness of the greens. They're sort of the lowly peasants of the vegetable world, and this fact is reflected in my grocery store's tendency not to stock them. I've had it out with the produce manager over this on several occasions, but he insists that lowly roots don't sell.

Perhaps more people should be introduced to the possibilities of root soup. This is a very basic vegetable soup, and there are actually two different versions: a chunky version wherein I'm too lazy to get out the blender, and a smooth version for which the blender gets a workout. I like both, although I admit that the smooth and creamy version is unbeatable for those dreary winter nights when you just want to curl up with comfort food and maybe watch chick flicks with the cat. On those nights, you don't need glamour; you're not feeling glamorous yourself. No, that's when you need root soup, which is just as lovely and sweet and velvety as can possibly be imagined. It may not be haute cuisine, but these are roots raised above their station in life, and I can't imagine what I was thinking to ever turn up my nose.

Root Soup

I call it Root Soup because it can be made with a variety of different roots. I've tried turnips, celeriac, parsnips, and rutabagas, and they all work fairly well. Turnip is the root that I can get hold of most easily, but celeriac makes a very pretty, pale green color, so I use it if I'm serving guests. I haven't tried it with beets yet, but I bet the color there would be spectacular, so I may try that soon. Anyway, the type of root doesn't really matter. You'll get different flavours with each root, but the basic recipe works for all of them.

3 smallish leeks, chopped. (Don’t be stingy on the leek)
1 small-medium red or yellow onion, roughly diced
2 Tbsp olive oil, plus a little extra optional for finishing
2 tbsp unsalted butter
1 1/2 stalk celery, coarsely chopped
3 cloves garlic, sliced
1 1/2 lb roots
1 1/2 qt chicken stock (This is highly variable. The amount of liquid is one of those ‘adjust til it feel right’ matters that I do by instinct. Occasionally, if I have to resort to using non-homemade broths, I’ll add bouillon cubes to my store-bought chicken stock. Sometimes I toss in a beef cube in addition to a chicken cube for fun and variety. Don’t add too much [it’ll get too salty, and that’s gross], but feel free to experiment with the stock taste here.)
Salt
Pepper
Heavy cream
Chopped chives for serving, optional
Creme fraiche for serving, optional

Start by locating a largish soup pot. Over medium heat, add the olive oil and the butter, allow the butter to melt slightly, then add the onion, leek, celery and garlic. Saute those together until the leek has softened, and the onion turns translucent. Taste this mixture, and season it with salt and pepper accordingly.

To the sauteing veggie mix, add the root chunks and the stock. Bring the whole pot to a rolling simmer, then reduce the heat to medium-low (or just low, depending on your particular stove), cover the pot, and simmer for three or so hours. The root chucks should mash easily against the edge of the pot under pressure from the back of a spoon. This is one of those 'mix it and forget it recipes. I usually watch a movie or a football game, or go off and do some gardening or something. It's difficult to overcook most roots, and longer simmering time will just let the soup's flavours blend more. When your root is soft, remove from heat.

At this point, you get choices. If you want the chunky, lazy-man's version, you're done. Check it one more time for salt, then it's good to go. But if you don't mind a few minutes more work, you can convert it to the creamy version easily. Just work in batches and run it through a blender. Fill the blender no more than 1/3 full (Hot soups will explode because of steam when you turn the blender on if you're not careful. It's no fun to clean up, so just work a little more slowly and you'll avoid the mess) and puree the soup until smooth. Add another dash or so of olive oil and 1/4-1/2 cup of heavy cream to the finished pureed soup to really give it the incredible texture that I love. Be a little stingy with the oil here (you don't want oil globules floating on the surface, you just want a little flavour), but the cream is hard to get wrong. Taste, and adjust seasoning as necessary. If the soup's cooled in the blending process, reheat it gently before eating.

I listed chives and creme fraiche as serving options. This is a nice enough soup that I don't feel bad serving it to company as an appetizer, and if I do that I'll add a dollop of creme fraiche to each bowl, and top the whole thing with chopped chives for accent.

Servings: It depends largely on the exact amount of root and the exact amount of stock that you use. This is a forgiving recipe about quantities, so sometimes I'll get six servings, and sometimes ten. Meh. It does average to about eight lunch-sized servings, though, and probably twelve appetizer-servings.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Eggs Benny

Eggs Benny is my hippy-ified take on the classic eggs Benedict. I love the idea of eggs Benedict for a brunch or light lunch, because they're so versatile. Forget sticking to the traditional 'poached egg, ham, English muffin, cheese, Hollandaise' routine, in my kitchen eggs Benedict becomes a great excuse to throw together some of my favorite flavours and experiment! Think poached eggs over a traditional Southern biscuit, with leftover sirloin strips, sauted mushrooms, gruyere, and red-eye gravy instead of Hollandaise. Or, if I'm not feeling the calories that day, the poached egg goes over a light English muffin topped with fruit slices (avocado, apple, or even grape is good), and maybe leftover strips from a rotisserie chicken. For a sauce on those days, I sometimes use a light yogurt dressing with maybe the faintest hint of curry, or even no sauce at all (because a properly poached egg has a yolk that can be a sauce all its own, and who wants to mess with that kind of goodness when you're playing with simple, clean flavours?). So here is a health-conscious version of my favorite egg brunch. This is Benedict being good (very, very good!), both for your waistline and your tastebuds.

Eggs Benny

4 refrigerated biscuits (I use Pillsbury Grands Buttermilk with layers, but whatever cranks your tractor)
4 large eggs
2 tbsp white vinegar
Water
1 ripe avocado, sliced fairly chunky (how to choose an avocado)
1 ripe apple, thinly sliced (I use Fuji usually, but Granny Smith are very pretty too)
1 cup rotisserie chicken, in strips (I usually make this recipe with leftovers, since I rarely eat a whole chicken when I bring one home from the grocery)
1 cup plain yogurt (preferably full-fat, but if you're really thinking light, the skim kind works okay too)
1 tbsp fresh lime juice
1 tsp curry paste (I use Thai red curry, but I bet green would work and be pretty too)
1 1/2 tbsp unsalted sweet butter, melted
Salt
Pepper

Prepare the biscuits according to the package directions. While the biscuits are baking, make the yogurt sauce by combining the butter, yogurt, lime juice, and curry paste in a medium mixing bowl, and whisking until it's all mixed together. The sauce should be fairly thin, to mimic the properties of Hollandaise, but if you want it thicker (as I sometimes do), cut down on the lime juice and leave out the butter altogether. When the sauce is done, set it in the fridge and slice the apples and avocado.

When the biscuits have about five minutes left, fill a saucepan with water and put it on over medium heat to simmer. The goal is to bring the water to a bare boil, then turn the heat down until the temperature is just below a boil, on a high simmer. Add the vinegar to this water. This is the base in which you will poach your eggs.

Crack an egg into a smallish container (I use a 6oz ramekin, but friends use a small glass or a mug). Lower this container into the simmering water, and in one smooth motion, pour the egg into the water. The egg should form filmy trails, and begin to cook. I find that a quicker pour here is better, because my eggs tend to move around less in the water bath with a quicker pour, but this is something that everyone has to feel out for themselves. Repeat this process with the other three eggs, allowing the first egg to settle a bit before adding another one, and disturbing the water as little as possible with the addition of each egg. The eggs should not be touching each other (or they'll cook together), and after the eggs have been placed in the pan, you should attempt to keep the water as still as possible (no stirring, no shaking the pan, etc).

How long you cook your eggs will depend on how firmly you like them poached. 3-4 minutes is sufficient if you like your yolk very runny, but I usually end up poaching mine for more like 7 minutes, so that the yolk still runs a little, but also has some substance to it. Again, experiment around. There's really no 'right' or 'wrong' here. When your eggs have finished poaching, remove them with a slotted spoon. I usually rest my eggs briefly on a paper towel to absorb some of their outside moisture, so that they won't make the biscuit soggy.

While the eggs are poaching, your biscuits have probably finished baking. Remove them from the oven and slice them in half, to make a sandwich-style top half and bottom half. On the bottom half, add a layer of chicken, a layer of avocado, and a layer of apple, distributing these ingredients evenly across your four biscuits. When the eggs finish, top each biscuit-stack with an egg, and pour yogurt sauce over the egg a la Hollandaise with the traditional eggs Benedict. Finish by placing the top half of the biscuit over the whole thing to make a sort of loose egg-apple-avocado-chicken sandwich. If you've got any yogurt sauce left over, you could pour it on top of the 'sandwich', but I usually don't have any left over at this point. Serve immediately, while the egg is still very hot (a cooled poached egg isn't nearly as much fun).

Servings: 4

Friday, March 14, 2008

Winter Greens and Chickpeas

I grew up in the deepest part of the American South, where greens are a staple. Tobacco isn't the only huge, leafy plant that gets the royal treatment around here: collards and mustard greens grow three feet tall in farmers' backyard gardens or in huge fields for market. The interesting thing about Southern greens, though, is that few Southern cooks know how to prepare them properly. The standard way is to boil them for hours in plain water with a ham hock, which yields a tasteless, textureless mass that ranks slightly below Spam on my list of unappealing foods. Leave it to the South to grow agricultural glory, then squander it on poor preparation.

Luckily for the greens of the world, it does not have to be so. This recipe capitalizes on their earthy, down-home goodness by complementing them with plump, nutty chickpeas and a rich, slightly tangy combo of chicken stock and lemon juice. With all due respect to the Southern cooks I grew up with, this ain't your mama's greens. These are so simply, earthily good that after I perfected the recipe I made six batches over the course of two weeks, because I didn't want to eat anything else for lunch.

I make this recipe using kale, because its mild flavor adapts nicely to the braising process I use here, but you can use any winter green. Chard would be lovely. The stronger flavoured greens (mustard, collard) might need longer cooking times, but I see no reason why they wouldn't be fine. I think that I originally got the idea from Orangette, here, but this version has evolved quite a bit from hers, so I feel no qualms about claiming it for my own.

Winter Greens and Chickpeas

Approx. 1 lb winter greens (Like I said, I use kale here, but others would work. The 1 lb measurement is after the greens have had the tough stems taken out, so you’ll need to buy more than that at the store. I usually get two bunches.)
1 can Bush or Goya chickpeas, drained but not necessarily rinsed (I like the taste of the chickpea-juice, so I don’t rinse them. If it’s not your thing, go ahead and rinse. No big deal either way.)
1 medium-large scallion, thinly sliced
3 smallish leeks, thinly sliced
3 cloves garlic, finely diced
3 tbsp olive oil
1 cup chicken stock
2 tbsp lemon juice
Salt

Prep the greens by rinsing them thoroughly, then cutting the stems out, leaving only the leaves. Discard the stems, and slice the greens into thin ribbons (1/4 in.). Set greens aside. If greens are still wet after this process, that’s fine.

In a very wide sauce pan with a lid, add a generous 1 1/2 tbsp olive oil over medium heat. Add the scallion and leeks, cooking slowly until leeks and scallion have softened and are beginning to turn translucent. Add the garlic, and cook for another minute or so, then dump in the greens, working in batches to wilt the greens down enough until they all fit into the pan. Stir often, and make sure nothing sticks to the pan. Pour the chicken stock and lemon juice over the semi-wilted greens, then cover the pan, lower the heat to medium-low, and cook for fifteen-ish minutes. The goal here is a slow simmer, not a sizzle. The greens will absorb the flavours of the stock and lemon juice, and will release their own bitterness to become tender and earthy. After fifteen minutes or so, remove the lid, salt the mixture to taste, stir, and replace the lid for another five minutes. If it’s getting low on moisture, add a little more chicken stock to make sure that nothing sticks to the pan. If you're using a stronger flavoured green, you might add a little more stock here, and double the cooking time.

After salting the greens, in another medium saucepan, add the remaining olive oil, and the chickpeas. I like to use a saucepan large enough that the chickpeas will fit in a single layer. Cook over medium-high heat until the chickpeas begin to pop. At the first sign of popping, remove from heat and add to the greens mixture, which should be about finished. What you’re essentially doing is frying the chickpeas just a little, so that they’re heated up to go in with the greens. I think it helps them retain more of their own flavour once they get in the green mix.

Serve with rough-grain bread for sopping up juices.

Servings: 4-6

Roasted Apples

This is such an easy dessert that I almost feel guilty for having to put some sort of recipe down in writing to remember it, but that's how my brain goes: if I don't write it down, it'll be gone in a few days, no matter how much I liked it.

This is a great accompaniment for meals because it basically cooks while you're eating, and it takes pretty much no time to assemble. Plus, it's fairly light, as desserts go, so it won't leave you feeling like you've eaten a stone afterwards. I have a set of special apple-roasting dishes (they look like large ramekins with a ceramic finger sticking up through the center of them for impaling the apple), but this recipe works just as well with a normal baking dish. I've got the portions here set for two people, but as you can see, there are no set 'correct' amounts of fillings, so it's VERY easy to adjust this to four apples, or even more. Just add one apple per person. The cooking time shouldn't change, and there are no 'right amounts' for the fillings; it's pretty much whatever floats your boat.

Roasted Apples

2 Rome apples, or another type of cooking apple
Brown sugar
Cinnamon
Honey
1 tbsp unsalted butter
Whipped cream or ice cream

Preheat the oven to 350F.

Core the apples, but don't peel them. I use a paring knife for this, but my mother (who taught me this recipe) uses a longer boning knife. Either way, this is probably a step that the grownups should do if you're making the recipe with kids.

Place the cored apples into your baking dish of choice. If you don't have apple-baking ramekins, I suggest lining a small baking dish with tinfoil. Ideally, the baking dish should be small enough that the apples just fit; this will keep the juices from burning, and will produce a lovely, super-sweet apple 'soup' at the end. Once you've got your apples arranged, pack brown sugar into the core until 3/4 full (This is why there aren't portions of the sugar listed in the recipe, it's difficult to know how much sugar this requires). On top of the sugar, sprinkle a generous layer of cinnamon, then finish filling the core up with honey. For extra fun, drizzle honey on the outside of the apples too in artistic patterns. Place a 1/2 tbsp butter pat on top of each apple's core-hole.

Place the apples in the oven, and bake for 40-50 min, or until the apples are soft all the way through. I use a cake tester to check done-ness: just poke it through the apples and make sure you don't encounter much resistance. The peels on the apples may have split in the cooking process; that's normal. Serve in bowls, one bowl per apple. Drizzle the juices left over in the dish over the apples, and top with lots of whipped cream (my favorite) or ice cream.

Servings: 2

Twice-Baked Savory Sweet Potatoes

Savory Sweet potatoes? Isn't that an oxymoron?

Nope! These sweet potatoes aren't your ordinary, marshmallow-infested Thanksgiving fare. These are sweet spuds with a little kick, ready to take their place at the grown-ups' table and laughing at the brown sugar monstrosities that so many people think of when they think sweet potatoes. They take a little time, but they're really very easy. Most of the time is just baking in the oven, and what could be easier than that?

I came up for the idea with these as I do most of my culinary creations: staring vacantly into my pantry and wondering what I was thinking when I bought sweet potatoes on impulse. I practically never eat sweet potatoes, but these were so plump and earthy and tempting that they practically leapt into my grocery basket. So here I was, wondering what the proper treatment might be for sweet potatoes if I wasn't in the mood for something sugary. By coincidence, they were sitting beside my little jar of curry paste in the pantry, and so this inspired combination was born. The curry sets off the sweetness of the potatoes by providing a slight tang, nothing too ostentatious, just enough to make your tastebuds sit up and take notice. It also pulls out the sweetness in the caramelized onions and the buttermilk, which I added because I adore ordinary mashed potatoes with buttermilk. Anyway, this combination is one that I'll be making again, and soon. The next time I get tempted by sweet potatoes that look too good to resist, I'll know exactly how to do them justice.

Twice-Baked Savory Sweet Potatoes

2 large sweet potatoes (orange or yellow works, I've even made it with one of each)
1/4 large yellow onion, finely diced (or 1/2 medium onion, the onions are very large where I live)
1 tsp olive oil
1/4 cup buttermilk
2 tbsp unsalted butter, divided into small cubes
1/4 tsp red curry paste (I use Thai curry, but whatever your favorite is should be fine)
1/4 cup Parmesan cheese, shredded, plus additional cheese to garnish
Salt
Pepper

Preheat the oven to 400F. Wrap the sweet potatoes in tin foil, twisting the ends like candy to make handling easy. When the oven is ready, pop in the sweet potatoes, and leave them there to bake for 1 hr - 1 hr 10 min. Test a potato with a fork to see if they're done: the fork should penetrate to the center of the potato with little or no resistance. Yellow sweet potatoes take longer to get done than orange ones, and will seem more resistant to the fork even when they are done. This is normal.

Towards the end of the potatoes' cooking time, add the olive oil to a skillet over medium heat. Drop in the onion, and caramelize until just barely amber-colored. This is a stage somewhere after 'translucent', and before 'french onion soup brown'. This should take about 10 min. Remove the onions from the heat.

Remove the potatoes from the oven, and unwrap them. Lower the oven temperature to 350F, but keep it going, you'll need it later. Using a very sharp knife, carefully cut the potatoes in half. I say 'carefully', because the goal is to get the potatoes in half while leaving the delicate skins intact. Once the potatoes are halved, scoop out the center of the potatoes into a large mixing bowl, leaving 1/4 in of potato attached to the skins. This should form little potato 'bowls' out of the skins, into which we will eventually be returning the gussied-up innards. Set aside the skins, you'll return to them later.

Add the small cubes of butter to the hot potato guts, and pour in the buttermilk. Stir vigorously, until the potatoes' heat has melted the butter and the mixture is fairly smooth. Add the onion, a dash of salt to taste, and a dash of pepper to taste. Mix these in, then taste the mixture. Adjust seasoning.

Add in the curry paste, and stir until mixed thoroughly. Taste the mixture, and add more curry if desired (truthfully, I probably end up using more like 3/8 or 1/2 tsp here. It's completely a personal preference thing, though). Make sure the curry is mixed evenly; if you're using the paste it can take some hard stirring to get it to mix right. Add in the cheese, and stir until that's mixed completely. The potato should still be hot enough to melt the cheese, but don't worry if it's not. It doesn't matter.

Line a square baking tin with foil. I use one with high sides, because it tends to support the potatoes better. Place the four skins in this baking pan, and scoop the curry mixture back into the skins. You should be able to get it all in, don't be afraid to mound it up a little if needed. On top of the refilled potato halves, sprinkle some more Parmesan and maybe a dash of nutmeg if you're feeling artistic. Place the baking tin in the oven at 350F, and bake for 15-20 min. The Parmesan on top of the potatoes should be melted, and the potatoes should be warm all the way through. Serve!

Servings: 4 as a side dish, perhaps only 2 as a main dish

Better Hamburgers

There are hamburgers, and then there are better hamburgers. This is my hamburger with a dash of flair. I don't always do it this way. Sometimes I use this recipe, and add cheese to the middle of two thin layers. Sometimes I go mad and use turkey or chicken instead of beef, then add apples or bananas to the result. But this is the burger that I return to, the one I serve to guests (or visiting parents!), the 'home base' of burgers. Ideally, this one starts with me salting the meat a day or so in advance, but I'm lazy. Sometimes that doesn't get done.

Better Hamburger

1 lb ground beef (or use your favorite meat here, I'm not picky)
1/4 yellow onion, finely diced
2 or 3 cloves garlic, finely diced
1 tsp olive oil
1/3 cup bread crumbs (I use panko)
1 egg, lightly beaten
1 tbsp Worcestershire sauce
Salt
Pepper

Begin by putting the olive oil in a skillet and caramelizing the onion over medium heat. Toward the end of the onion's cooking time, drop in the garlic to caramelize a little as well. While the onion is slowly turning a light amber color, get out the meat and drop it into a large mixing bowl. Add the Worcestershire sauce, a dash of salt, and pepper to taste. mix these in using your hands, smooshing the meat to distribute the sauce evenly. When the onion gets done, add it to the meat mixture. Dump in the bread crumbs, and the egg. Smoosh these into the meat, until the mixture is homogeneous and the meat generally sticks to itself rather than your hands. Separate the meat into four balls.

Spray a medium skillet over medium-high heat with non-stick cooking spray. I use the Pam Grilling variety, since it's made to withstand higher heat. We're using the cooking spray in place of olive oil here, and I use it even though the skillet is non-stick. The idea is just to have a thin layer of grease to start the meat cooking, until it can render enough fat to suitably sear itself. Flatten the meat balls one by one, and drop them into the skillet, arranging them so they are close to each other, but not touching. The key to hamburgers of even thickness is that they start out thinner in the middle than on the edges, so don't be shy with the flattening. Allow the meat to cook for about five minutes without moving, enough so that you can see the brown 'done' portion about a third of the way up the burger. Flip the burgers, and allow them to cook for four or five minutes on the other side. Cooking times may vary with your personal preference; I like my burgers on the more-done side of medium. When the burgers have achieved the proper level of done-ness for your taste (check one using a fork if you're wondering about the state of the middle of the burgers), remove them from the heat, flip them once more, and allow them to rest for a few minutes (go grab your condiments, set the table, whatever. The important point here is to let them reabsorb their juices, which will make them tastier). Serve with your favorite buns, lettuce, tomato, mayo, etc!

Servings: 4

Index of Recipes

Breakfast and Brunch
Eggs Benny
Quiche
Hash Browns
Huevos Rancheros
Bacon and Egg Pastries
Potato-Bell Pepper Frittata
Creamy Grits

Soups and Salads

Root Soup
Parmesan-Crusted Salmon Caesar Salad
Rutabaga-Leek Soup
Chicken Noodle Soup
Ithaca Potato-Cheese Soup
Cabbage Soup
French Onion Soup
Chickpea, Artichoke, and Chicken Salad
French Carrot Salad 
Tortellini Soup 
Chicken Salad

Breads and Muffins
Zucchini Bread
Gougeres
Yam Biscuits
Honey Oatmeal Bread
Johnnycake 
Quick Sour Cream Rolls 
White Sandwich Bread

Pasta Dishes

Gnocchi and Creamy Tomato Sauce
Tomato-Egg Florentine Casserole
Shrimp, Squash, and Asparagus Linguine
Artichoke Pasta Florentine
Low-cal Spaghetti Bolognese
Moosewood Vegetable Lasagne Bechamel 
Chicken and Broccoli Fettuccine Alfredo 

Fish
Lemon-Dill Tilapia
Poached Fish with Russian Mushroom Stew 
Panko-crusted Baked Fish  
Poached Fish with Lemon 
Cider Glazed Salmon 
Fish Tacos with Corn Salsa 
Blackened Tilapia with Creamy Grits
Stuffed Tilapia Florentine in Mornay Sauce


Meat
Better Hamburgers
Heavenly Pot Roast
Pork Tenderloin with Pear Glaze
Turkey Meatballs
Meat and Mushrooms
Cashew Chicken Curry

Southern Egg Rolls
Roast Chicken
Pounded Chicken with Pepper Jelly
Meatloaf
Chickpea, Artichoke, and Chicken Salad 
Beef Stew 
Grandma's Crockpot Roast 
Comfort Meatballs
Chicken With Bacon And Honey-Balsamic Vinegar Sauce 
Cast Iron Roasted Chicken 
Chicken Marsala 
Mom's Pork Chops
Creamy Carolina Shrimp and Grits
Red Beans and Rice
Baked BBQ Chicken 
Pork Chops with Milk Gravy
Drop Biscuit Chicken Pot Pie 
Asian Lettuce Wraps with Teriyaki Pineapple Meatballs
Baked Chicken Breasts
Mom's Lasagna

Vegetables
Twice-Baked Savory Sweet Potatoes
Kale and Chickpeas
Scalloped Turnips
Potato-Pear Salad with Rosemary Vinaigrette Dressing
Steamed Artichoke in Lemon-Butter Sauce
Gourmet Green Bean Casserole
Baba Ghanouj
Hot Roasted Red Pepper Hummus
Sweet Potato Fries
Roasted Butternut Squash with Orange Maple-Syrup Glaze
Creamy Sauteed Brussels Sprouts with Pine Nuts 
French Carrot Salad 
Squash Casserole
Roasted Okra
Collard Greens
Deconstructed Ratatouille 
Southern Squash and Onions
Tomato, Mushroom, Spaghetti Squash Bake

Miscellaneous
Baked Polenta Fries
Rosemary Vinaigrette Dressing
Pepperjack Gougeres, BLT Style
Simple Pie Crust
Peach-Red Pepper Chutney
Potato Chips
Salsamole
Corn Salsa 
Egg Noodles
Cajun Spice Mix
Vanilla Whipped Cream

Desserts
Roasted Apples
Vanilla Panna Cotta
Fancy Strawberries
Pumpkin Cheesecake
Blackberry Sherbet
Strawberry Holiday Salad 
Mrs. Ludell's Egg Custard Pie (with Blackberry Syrup Reduction)
Chocolate Pavlova with Mascarpone Whipped Cream and Blueberries
Peach Galette with Vanilla Whipped Cream

Cakes and Cookies
Grandma's Carrot Cake (w/ Cream Cheese Frosting)
Hamentaschen
Stupidly Easy Angel Food Cake
Grandma's Teacakes
Gobs
Benne Seed Wafers 
Ginger Cookies 
Pound Cake
Mom's Favorite Apple Cake

Candies
Chocolate Truffles
Martha Washingtons
Rocks
Almond Roca

Drinks and Beverages
Hopskip
Black Forest