daring dosas

Did you ever have the experience when you were in college that you were invited over to some new friend's house after you had a particularly engaging conversation about how much you both love Indian food, and they were like, "I make a great vegan curry!" and you were dubious because, to quote a friend of mine, Indian food made at home is elusive at best. But you went, and it was mushy, and had too much curry powder, and you said it was so fabulous even though you had a rock in your stomach for the next three days?
Well, last night, I was the new friend who made vegan curry, and of course your doubts were correct, because it was mushy and had too much curry powder. The tone of thing was festive any how, because it was a daring cooks challenge, and aren't they always festive?
It was a bit of a wild weekend, and my Mom ended up coming over in the because she is allergic to all sorts of things, and I thought a little vegan, gluten lite meal would make her happy. It's a nice old comfort to have my mom sitting in the kitchen with me, even when I am growing unhappier with the results by the moment.



It wasn't so bad, really, and I'm sure that it was all my fault. Basically, there were three components, a spelt pancake,



a chickpea filling,


and a coconut curry sauce. Of the three elements, the sauce was certainly the most appealing, and good thing, because there is now quite a bit of it in my freezer.
I did this recipe pretty verbatim- I added steamed potatoes to the chickpea filling- but beyond that, the entire recipe can be found here. Better off going there, I think, I'm feeling pretty sassy and a little bit wanting to forget my whole meal. Everyone liked it so-so, except Joey who liked it more, and I grumbled through dinner and the various family went home or to bed or to the movies and I did a bunch of chick pea encrusted dishes. That was that.
But no regrets here. Every challenge with these wonderful daring souls is a treat, and thanks especially to Debyi of the healthy vegan kitchen for hosting the challenge. I bet her dosas were really good. And go check out the other daring dosas out there- they were a real hit with most, and I'm sure I just couldn't work the dosa magic this time. Ah well, nice to reflect back on the college years, at least.

chile rellenos with brebis blanche and tomatillo salsa

There is a New Mexican respect for the chile that you don't find so much in other regions. It is more a religion than a food- more important if you take red or green or Christmas on your huevos than if you vote republican or democrat. I am a New Englander by blood, and I can't claim to have the chile in my blood. But after four years in Santa Fe, it is certainly tattooed there as certainly as the tree goddess that a man who looked like Braveheart imprinted on my back when I was in Prague before I was old enough to vote.
There are many chiles of note in New Mexico, but the queen of the bunch is the green chile. It only grows in New Mexico in August, and the air fills with the smell of green chiles roasting in their huge cylindrical contraptions, and that smell mixed with burning pinion as the frost comes on is enough to, well the first thing that comes to my mind is fairly illicit here, but let's just say, enough to bring you great pleasure that one can usually only find with a loved one. I'm serious- it's that good. And I'm not even talking about the taste.
You can't get green chiles in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, unless you find them in a can, sterilized and drained of their heat, $3.99 for a portion so small that it just will not do. But Joey and I have each been back to New Mexico on our own at various times to help friends out, and we have come back with green chile gifts. Joey, smart as he is, brought his gifts in jars, but I sat on the plane with a paper bag full of August green chiles cradled in my lap. Arriving home, I had my first chile roasting experience of my life, and it made me miss New Mexico even more. In New Mexico, you don't ever have to roast them yourself- they're everywhere- ready for eating. Roasting those green chiles, I showed myself the true New Englander that I am, butchering those poor chiles as I tried to rid them of their skins and seeds. But sad as they looked, the smell was worth it.
The other day when I was working at the market, we had a few small boxes of poblano chiles. Our stand is diagonally across from that of my most favorite cheese farm, and I became obsessed with the idea of a chile relleno stuffed with brebis blanche, the delicate and creamy sheep cheese of which I continue to write about here. I got distracted, and started messing up my math with the customers, and realized that I had to claim one of those little boxes for my own and give it a go again with the chile roasting.

And I made a mess of it again! Peppers like this are about as sexy as it gets. I blistered them perfectly, and then ruminated on the sensual curves of the pepper as I started to remove the skin and seeds. I wrote poetry to the pepper, and I inhaled the perfume. Then I struggled, and then I cursed, and the skins fought against me. But it was still really good- and the brebis blanche was perfect. If you don't live around here and are anti-mail ordering cheese, you could substitute a mellow goat cheese or even a mild feta. Don't be concerned if you can't get all of the seeds out; it will all be okay.


Chile Rellenos with Brebis Blanche and Tomatillo Salsa
serves six

6 chile peppers, Poblano, Green Chile, or whatever you can find, as long as it's sizable
4 ounces brebis blanche, or mild goat cheese or feta
1/4 cup flour
6 eggs, separated
1 cup canola oil or shortening, for frying
4-6 tomatillos
juice of one lime
salt

To roast the peppers: preheat your broiler. Place the chiles on an oiled tray, and place directly under the broiler. Close the door and hang around to watch. They should start to pop and blister, and when they're black and blistered, turn them over. This process will take anywhere from 5 to 15 minutes depending on your oven, which is why watching is essential. When the chiles are blackened all over, take them out of the oven and transfer to a bowl.

Cover in plastic wrap and let them sweat for about twenty minutes. The idea here is to make is so that the skins come off easily, and depending on your chiles and your luck in the kitchen today, hopefully they will. After twenty minutes, give it a shot. Also do your best to take the seeds out, leaving as much of the chile intact as possible. But don't stress if your chiles look like this. Frying will save all.

To make the rellenos:
When your chiles are de-seeded and de-skinned (ish) put 1-2 tablespoons of cheese inside each one . Use the neat opening (yeah right!) that you made to remove the seeds, then close the chile back up.
Whip the egg whites at high speed in a mixer until peaks form. In a large skillet, start heating the oil. You want to get it hot enough so that water sizzles when it hits the pan. Beat the egg yolks with one tablespoon of flour and salt. Fold this mixture into the egg whites, and incorporate until it creates something of a paste. You will lose some of the air in the egg whites- that's okay.


When your oil is hot enough, dredge one of the chiles in the flour, then dip in the egg batter. This is a messy business. The batter won't quite want to stick to the chile, and then as you toss it into the oil, running away to avoid the splattering oil, it might separate from the chile. But run back to that pan and push the batter back together with the chile- it will be okay!

Do not crowd the pan. You'll want to do two or three at a time, depending on how big your skillet is. Have a plate ready with a paper towel to ease the oil a bit. Cook the rellenos until golden, about a minute and a half on each side. Once again, watching is essential. Let sit for a few minutes (but not more!) before serving so that you don't burn your mouth. While the rellenos are cooling, throw the tomatillos, lime and salt into a blender or food processor. Serve along side the relleno.

free thursday luxuries

The sun is getting that odd flat quality that always comes in September. More than any other month, September makes me think of other Septembers, and they all blend together. Waiting for the school bus in the fog, driving to Santa Fe for the first time, Homer in hand, or coming back home again with Joey, four months pregnant and totally unsettled. It's all like some musical montage that bleeds from one scene to the next, and I get spacey, watching the montage go in my head all month.
Connected to this devotion to memory that September holds is the knowledge that all of the wildflowers growing here and there are about to die. They're holding on, browning at the edges, insisting on living until the first frost really gets them. September wild flower gathering is different- wading through the wilting masses to find those few that are still vibrant, bringing in a triumphant little bundle. It's more precious and satisfying. Squinting in the flat September sun, you'll probably find some good ones if you look.

joey's frittata

So now you know about the blueberries and cream muffins, which upon reflection, I might add, are a whole lot better than I gave them credit for. No, they are not the lofty and spreading muffins of which I eternally seek, but if those Counterculture muffins are the disfunctional boyfriend that one might have subversive dreams about, the blueberries and cream muffins are the surprising and refreshing new relationship- the one that you might stick with for a while because it's a good thing. Because I have the recipe, and they are pretty perfect so far as a blueberry muffin goes, and I feel fairly certain that I could replicate them when asked.
But you don't know about the other part of the breakfast the other morning- the part that Joey made (speaking of the ones that you stick with). When Joey finds a recipe engaging and wants to try it out- I say Halellujah and do all I can to support him. Unlike some domineering home cooks (yes I'm domineering- I've been know to physically kick people out of my kitchen), I love love LOVE to be cooked for. Hell, I even made fresh ricotta for him the day before.
And this- this was the best frittata I have ever had. It held together in the most beautiful way- it was like a cloud cake. And the best way to describe the breakfast- do you know how you always go to a wedding brunch the morning after a wedding? And everyone is hung over and there are a lot of bagels and luke warm coffee? Well this- this is the breakfast you want after a wedding... fancy, perfect, replenishing and beautiful. The girls even reserved it for a certain wedding coming up in the future- you know who you are- so here it is.

Three Cheese-Baked Eggs with Roasted Peppers
adapted from Gloria Friedman, Applegate Inn, Lee, MA
serves 6

3 medium red bell peppers
1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons all purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
9 large eggs
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, plus 1 tablespoon for the leeks
1 1/2 cups (6 oz) coarsely grated cheddar cheese
1 cup (8 oz) whole milk ricotta
1 cup (2 oz) grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
2 leeks, whites and half of the greens, halved and chopped into 1/2 inch slices

Place the peppers on an oiled sheet pan and broil them in the oven about 5 inches from the heat, turning occasionally until the skins are blackened, about 15 minutes. Transfer the peppers to a bowl and cover tightly with plastic wrap. Let stand 20 minutes. When cool enough to handle, peel the skin from the peppers and discard the stems, ribs and seeds. Cut into 1/2 inch dice.
In a small skillet melt 1 tablespoon of butter. Cook the leeks until soft and slightly browned, about five minutes. Set aside.
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Sift the flour, salt, and baking powder into a small bowl. Beat the eggs in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium high speed until doubled in volume, about 3 minutes. Add the melted butter, flour mixture and cheeses, and mix well at a low speed.
Stir in the peppers and leeks. Pour into a buttered 10 inch pie plate and bake in the middle until top is golden brown and a tester comes out clean, about 40 to 45 minutes. Let stand at least 5 minutes before serving.

blueberries and cream muffins

There have been two culinary opportunities in my life that I have really blown. Wait, now that I'm really thinking about it, there are more than two, but there are two that I just can't seem to let go of.
The first was in Morocco. It's hard for me to show you this, because I'm really not proud of it, but I feel that it's important for you to see.

Although you might not be able to tell, this is a picture of me having something of a panic attack (emotional opening, travel experience, call it what you will) at the Souk in Marrakesh.
Oh the turmeric, the paprika, the mixes especially for tagine! Yes, I'm the one who freaked out and walked out of there with a tiny bag of curry powder that I promptly gave away when I got home. We call those powders that we buy in the store spices, but these are really spices. These are not in my kitchen.
The second failing on my part happened earlier- precisely seven years ago. I was working at this amazing cafe in Santa Fe, doing the baking at the crack of dawn and then working at the counter all day. The food at this place was so good- I always use it as a measure of a good cafe through my wanderings.
So it's August. To the dismay of my boss (Don't get pregnant, whatever you do! You're so young!), I'm six weeks pregnant with Sadie, spending more time in the cafe's hip concrete bathroom than at the counter. The chef obligingly is making me oatmeal three times a day, which is all I can look at, and Joey and I are leaving Santa Fe in a week. We're going to Massachusetts to stay with my parents while we decide on the next step. (The next step will turn out to be spending the next few months at my parents eating many boxes of cereal and watching the first several seasons of Buffy the Vampire Slayer while we miraculously decide to stay put in my home town). This cafe was and still is run by a deeply endearing couple from Connecticut, and the lady of the pair was the one who handled my baking tutorials. So there we are, in the last week, and I'm trying not to retch as I melt butter for the muffins, and she says to me, "You can totally take the recipes with you if you promise not to sell them."
I don't know if I can tell you what this means. These are really good recipes. Dense perfect brownies that I've never been able to replicate, light and airy coffee cakes, and most importantly, the best muffins on the planet. These muffins had the most unbelievable tops- huge and lofty, spreading all over the pan. The texture was delicate and cakey, but they held together like, well, I don't know, like I couldn't in Marrakesh. And I didn't intend not to take the recipes. It was just that in the flurry of everything, I didn't write them down. And now I don't have them.
We've been back there a few times and I think about asking for those recipes. But somehow I feel like I was offered something precious, and I missed my chance. And so, I search... I search for the perfect muffin recipe, the one that will be like those muffins.
Every time I find a new and different muffin recipe, I have hope that it might be the one. And when I saw Shirley Corriher's Blueberries and Cream muffins recipe, I knew that it wasn't the recipe, but somehow, I felt like I might get something similar. I thought about the recipe for a while, savoring the possibility. And this morning, I made them.

This recipe uses actual whipped cream, and that was pretty exciting. And the muffins? Pretty fantastic. Super delicate and dainty, with a strong presence of citrus zest. So light that you could totally eat three. Even excellent after twelve hours. But did Odysseus find his Penelope? Not today, my dear friends, not today.


Blueberries and Cream Muffins
from Shirley Corriher, Bakewise

2 cups (8.8 oz) spooned and leveled all purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups sugar (I reduced this to 3/4 cup and found them perfectly sweet)
1 large egg
1/2 cup canola oil
1/3 cup buttermilk
1 teaspoon lemon zest
1 tablespoon orange zest
1/2 cup heavy cream
1/2 cups fresh large blueberries (don't go frozen for this one)
coarse sugar, for topping

Arrange a shelf in the lower third of the oven, place a baking stone on it, and preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
In a large mixing bowl, beat together the flour, baking powder, salt and sugar for 30 seconds.
In a medium mixing bowl, beat the egg with a few strokes, then beat in the oil, buttermilk, vanilla, and zest.
Make a well in the dry ingredients and pour in the wet ingredients. Stir well. The batter is so tender, you can't overmix.
In a cold bowl, whip the cream until soft peaks form. Beat a little more. Stir one quarter of the whipped cream into the batter. Then fold the rest of the whipped cream into the batter. Fold the blueberries in as well.
Grease a 12 cup muffin tin or line it with paper liners.
Fill pans almost to the top. Sprinkle the muffins with coarse sugar. Turn the oven down to 400 degrees and leave the oven open for ten seconds. Place pan on the baking stone and close the door. Bake until lightly browned, about 20 minutes. (Mine took more like 35 minutes, so just wait till you see them brown a bit, but beware the the timing will vary).
Cool the muffins in the pan for 5 minutes, and then continue cooling on a rack.

free thursday luxuries

So you're driving your friends to the train. It's cold and sunny and you have a day of picking up and dropping off and picking up again ahead of you.


Perhaps someone little in your house had a bad dream, and as a consequence you might not have gotten so much sleep, and you drop your friends off in Wassaic, NY, insisting that you'll see them soon even though they are going very, very far away today (much farther than the train can take them, even). Their cat gives a final panicked meow from her little carrier, and you kiss them each twice in the French fashion. Then it is still cold and sunny and you are still sleepy, as you pull into Millerton. The tea shop is just opening, and you have about 27 minutes, and you can fill them all in the tasting room. Hillel is ready for some fascinating conversation, and he'll look at you with that look that intense twenty three year old Aquarians (just guessing here) tend to have as he asks you about your life, your sense of taste, and your children. And you can stand there for all 27 minutes and pick out teas from all over the world. And Hillel will make you a cup of anything, and then a cup of anything else, until you've run out of conversation or you have to go pick up the bigger one to take her to her physical. But until you go, you can just stand there and taste, and notice the differences between Japanese green tea and Chinese green tea, and actually have a moment to notice what something actually tastes like.


And the sun comes through the long windows in the tasting room and it can be slow, and fancy just for that little bit of time.

potato leek soup with sorrel

I'm not grieving the summer. A week of heat was plenty- now I get to make soup.

Potato Leek Soup with Sorrel
(If you don't have a big lovely sorrel plant in your back yard, plan to plant one this fall and then leave it out this time. It makes the soup all lemony.)

2 pounds of potatoes, peeled and quartered
2 medium to large leeks, cleaned and chopped, using all of the whites and at least half of the greens
3 cups chicken broth or water
4 oz. sorrel, taken off the stem and chopped roughly
1/2-3/4 cup heavy cream or milk, to taste
salt and pepper
2 T olive oil
1 T butter

In a large, heavy bottomed pot, heat the oil and butter. Add the leeks and cook until soft, stirring occasionally, about 5 minutes. Add the potatoes and the stock or water. Bring to a boil, and then turn the heat down to a simmer and cover. Cook until the potatoes are tender, about 25 minutes. Turn off the heat. Add the sorrel. If you have a hand blender (I hope you do, because it will make you happy), stick it in the pot and blend until smooth. You can also transfer to a regular blender in batches if you prefer, or haven't followed my advice about the hand blender. When the soup is all blended, add the milk or cream and rewarm gently, taking care not to boil. Add salt and pepper to taste, and serve garnished with the creme fraiche that's sitting in your fridge.