I melt with you

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We had a friend once who had lived penuriously in solitude for years despite grand tastes and a big heart, and then found her circumstances much altered by happily finding love with a man who happened to have some cash.  She decorated a large house for the two of them to live in.  And I mean to say, she DECORATED a house.  “Rococo” does not begin to describe the gleefully over-the-top aesthetic she employed.  We went to a party there with my husband’s father not long after it was done.  He is a person of radically different tastes than those of our hostess.  As we drove home, he struggled to find the most polite way to describe what he had just experienced.  “That,” he said eventually, “Was a very densely decorated home.” 

When she gave us the house tour, our hostess had showed us the little gift presented to her by the interior decorator she had colluded with: a lily, gilded.

Which brings us directly to sauce.  It’s the end of Condimentia Week, and so naturally I am giving you dessert sauce.  Caramel sauce, to be precise.  Another essential vial in the holster of  bottles that give us our distinctive swagger through the kitchen.

For years I made a caramel sauce that I had discovered through a bread pudding I was making for a party, and I thought I had found the secret to life.  Three ingredients, five minutes, and transformative happiness.  I thought world peace could probably be achieved if only it ran out of the faucets at the UN. The sauce could be a little gritty, in truth, especially upon standing and reheating, but it tasted so good, especially when it came right out of the pan, that it was hard to object to it very energetically.  People didn't taste it and say, “oh, yes, nice--but I wish it were more X,” or slip it to their dogs under the table.  They just lapped it up. 

So I never looked further into the caramel sauce matter.  I stuck with what I had.  It’s an excellent sauce for when someone calls out “Caramel Sauce to O.R. three—STAT!”  Except the other night, we had a caramel sauce emergency on our hands and I lacked one element of the holy trinity of ingredients: brown sugar.  I could have made brown sugar, but there really wasn’t time to do the stirring that requires.  It was urgent.  So I caramelized some white sugar, which as we know is a snap to do and only sounds scary, and what do you know but I made a true, real, caramel sauce and lo, it was far and away better than the other one.

But I made it in such haste that I didn’t really pay much attention to measurements, so I had to make it again to take notes.  Three times.  My poor family.  Swimming in the stuff.  

Making it again (and again and again) brings us back around to gilding the lily.

As I said, I think it would be the rare human who would eat any homemade warm caramel sauce and long for it to possess some missing quality that they are able to name.  Their mouth is too busy.  Caramel makes people—people who like caramel, I suppose—swoon.  But if you happen to add something to it, you find that it is possible to swoon farther than you had previously imagined.  In this way, dessert is like yoga.

Smoothness is key here, in my opinion, so I didn't really want to add any kind of nubbin that would interrupt that.  Because caramelizing sugar is so much less fraught (though slightly slower) when you add some water to it, I began to eye this water with a waggly brow.  So plain, that water. Hmm.

So here are a few things you might consider infusing the water with, should you wish to gild the lily of the sauce that follows.  Infusing is not a new skill. If you have ever made a cup of tea, you have infused.

• A roughly-torn dried chile pepper; mild, such as a guajillo, or hot, as you prefer.
• A teaspoon of coarsely-ground or crushed black pepper.
• A stick of cinnamon.
• Several strips of lemon or orange zest.
• Green tea.
• Chai.
• Coffee beans.
• Saffron threads.
• Rose petals.

Here in the R&P test kitchen, I made (L to R, above) the coffee (strong brewed coffee in place of the water), the green tea (brewing 1 t genmaicha and 1 t matcha powder in the water) and the chile versions (being sure to mix the scrapings from the inside of the guajillo pepper I used into the pot along with the soaking liquid).

In the interest of science and the vain hope of reconstructing what I made the other night (which like most things made in haste with no record-keeping was entirely perfect) I used different proportions of cream, butter, sugar and water in each batch.  Here is my conclusion: you cannot go very far wrong with butter, sugar and cream.  The differences between these three batches in terms of consistency are negligible at best, so do not sweat it if you have a little too little of one or the other ingredient.  In all likelihood, it is going to work out fine.  Adding the proposed infusions can make it slightly harder to tell how caramelized the sugar is, which I largely judge by color, but even that did not prevent all three jars from being something you would want to retreat to a corner with by yourself. Tips for achieving this outcome in your kitchen are below.

Words of caution: one, use a heavy skillet with high sides.  Two, hot sugar is way hotter than other hot things.  Be aware and careful.  Three, mise en place is your pal here.  Have everything prepped and ready, like someone is about to call "Action!" because caramelized sugar and burnt sugar are not terribly distant cousins.  Four, do not stir the sugar as it caramelizes.  This makes the caramel gritty.

All that said, this is truly not hard to do.  What kind are you going to make?

caramel sauce

makes about 2 cups

1 cup sugar

1/3 cup water

2/3 cup heavy cream

4 T unsalted butter, cut in 4 chunks

If you are making the straight-up version with plain water, also include:

1 t vanilla extract or (much preferred) the inside scrapings from half a vanilla bean

a fat pinch of good salt, like fleur de sel

Have a pint jar or pitcher near the stove, and a silicone spatula.

Combine the sugar and water in a heavy, tall saucepan. Swirl to combine, and heat over medium heat.  The sugar will dissolve rather quickly, and you can keep swirling the pan (but not stirring) as it cooks, especially as it begins to color at the edges so you can keep that process uniform.  It takes about five minutes for the sugar to caramelize; if you have added color-altering ingredients, watch the clock, watch for large bubbles to form and use your sense of smell to tell you when the right degree of caramelization has occurred.  When this happens, immediately remove the pot from the heat and drop in the butter, swirl, then add the cream.  It may foam up when you do this, hence the need for a high-sided pot, and it will undoubtedly look terrible and clumpy.  Now return it to the heat and stir to your heart's content, with a wooden spoon or a whisk, until it has smoothed out and comes to a good boil, and then take it right off the heat.  If you are adding vanilla and salt, now is the time.

Pour into the waiting vessel.  It will seem thin.  It will thicken magically as it cools.  If you do not use it all up, you can refrigerate the remainder, and reheat it by warming the jar in a pot of hot water and stirring it well.

Have a lovely weekend.

the great sauce caper

caper, n.

1.     to leap or skip about in a sprightly manner; prance; frisk; gambol.

2.     a prank or trick; harebrained escapade.

3.     a frivolous, carefree episode or activity.

4.     a spiny shrub, Capparis spinosa,  of Mediterranean regions, having roundish leaves and solitary white flowers.

5.     its flower bud which is pickled and used for garnish or seasoning.

This one is a lulu, piquant and snappy and as useful as a little black dress.  You could dip into it with a vegetable, you could smear it on anything grilled, broiled or just standing still, you could rocket a potato or chicken salad to the moon with it.

It comes from one of my favorite and most splattered cookbooks, Jerry Traunfeld’s Herbfarm Cookbook.  His polenta is my standard for polenta.  His sensibilities make my tastebuds very happy.  He avoids the traditional sprinkle of fresh herbs, tending more toward the fistful, but manages to make the results still subtle and interesting and not at all overdone.  

In case the Full Disclosure Police are reading, I should volunteer the information that I once made his lavender shortbread cookies and served them at a ladies’ function with a gooseberry fool and felt I had carried myself pretty well, until the lady to my left said they reminded her of her grandmother’s bath soap and fed them to her dog, who was under the table, handing him her dish of fool to go with it.  I don’t hang with ladies much anymore.  Very stressful.  All those manners and white gloves.

The only modification I made here was to use a chunk of preserved lemon in place of the lemon zest his recipe called for.  But I have made it his way and it totally rocks like that, too, so if you lack preserved lemons do not fret.  Heed his warning about using tender stems of parsley only, because the thicker stems have too potent a flavor here.

If your food processor has suddenly died, gasping wildly as you tried to use it and then stubbornly refusing to budge its upper grinders while grating its interior gaskets into little piles on the counter top underneath the machine (or is it just me?), then rest assured you can do this in the blender or with a hand blender—just add the oil up front so you have enough substance to make the ingredients move.  It will all emulsify fine.

green herb and caper sauce

Adapted from Jerry Traunfeld’s Herbfarm Cookbook

1 ½ cups (gently packed) fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves and tender stems

½ cup (gently packed) fresh mint leaves

½ cup coarsely-snipped chives or the green parts of a scallion

1 clove garlic, peeled

2 t Dijon mustard

4 anchovy filets

2 T capers, drained

a small chunk of preserved lemon, or the zest of ½ a lemon, finely grated

1 T fresh lemon juice

a few twists of fresh black pepper

6T olive oil

Process all the ingredients except the oil in a food processor until they are finely chopped.  Scrape down the sides.  With the machine running, pour in the oil in a steady stream and continue to process until the sauce is slightly creamy but not completely smooth. 

this is nuts

We are definitely edging from sauce to condiment here, and even into straight-out snack territory.  Someone gave this recipe to my sister about twelve years ago, and it says "relish" in the title, and even though that is not strictly true, at least not in terms of my understanding of the term 'relish,' I am giving it to you during Condimentia Week anyway.  It is just the very thing if you find yourself in any of these situations:

• Bored silly by everything you make and how it all tastes the same.
• Confounded by a few too many tricky recipes and longing for something simple that will make you feel like you should have your own show on the Food Network.
• Heading for a potluck and wanting a boost for your self-esteem.
• Listening to your voicemail and hearing "we would LOVE to come!  My husband's sister is in town to get an award from the Culinary Society and she'll be with us--by the way, she's vegan and on a raw food diet.  Hope that's cool with you!  See you at 7!"

There are no tricky skills to employ here, and if you do in fact have plans to entertain someone on a raw diet, or if it is just too hot to turn on even the toaster oven to toast the nuts and coconut, rest assured you can make this without getting involved with any appliance but your food processor. It's plenty tasty made with raw nuts and coconut.  A friend once made a batch each way because she was entertaining one raw foodist and a bunch of cookedetarians, and having the two versions side by side allowed us to scientifically establish that they were equally tasty in different ways.  I do recommend starting with the toasted iteration.

The only other note is on heat.  Even having heat from four sources (ginger, garlic, chile paste and jalapeño), things balance out nicely here.  If you are shy of heat, reduce each but maybe don't eliminate any.

This stuff is tasty on a cracker, a slice of vegetable, a sandwich, or, as usual, a spoon.  If you figure out (a) how to use it as a relish or (b) why it is called one, please send a cable immediately.

thai nut relish

makes about two cups

1 heaping cup cashews

1 cup unsweetened coconut

2T finely chopped fresh ginger, or one heaping T of grated ginger

up to one minced, seeded and deveined fresh jalapeño pepper

2 cloves garlic, minced

2T soy sauce or tamari

1 to 2t sriracha chile paste (thai red chili paste--most groceries have it in Asian section)

1 cup chopped scallions (about one bunch)

1 cup chopped cilantro

Juice of 1 lime

2T neutral oil

Toast the cashews and coconut separately in 350 degree oven till lightly browned.  Watch closely.  It's no fun to throw away burned things.

Chop the scallions and cilantro (you can do this by hand or in the food processor.)

Put all the ingredients except scallions and cilantro in food processor and pulse to blend until chunky.

Add scallions and cilantro and pulse just a few times, until mixed. 

Add lime juice and oil and pulse to combine; then taste and adjust for salt, sour and spice.

red all over

The technological problem of the day is the whimsical ways of the fonts in Blogger, but the internet is back up and running, so that's good.

The sauce of the day is sofrito, which I should come right out and say I am not exactly making in any kind of way that is intended to be perceived as authentic or definitive. As I learned when I tried to make a mojo sauce, there are certain foodstuffs that speak directly to the inner child-on-the-playground for people of or loyal to various nations, and sofrito has to be right up there in the top 10. Google it and you will see that it is a staple seasoning of about ninety-four different countries, and in each place it is made differently: peppers or no peppers, this kind of pepper vs. that kind, this herb or that, pork or no pork, and so on. One belief common to all is that is highly seasoned, and another is that it is very useful. It can form the flavorful backbone of cooked beans, meat, stew or rice. I am on board with both these philosophies. It’s also a useful thing to throw on top of something grilled or roasted, as you might use a chutney. This is all I propose to suggest. A useful sauce. Perhaps inspired most closely by the Puerto Rican version, but not purporting to be it.

We went to Albany over the weekend and fell into a large and gorgeous Asian market, where I was able to score a supply of another item known by many names and held dear by many nations: sawtooth herb, or culantro.

If you love cilantro, think of it as high-octane super major cilantro with a little twist. If you hate cilantro (I know who you are), prepare to not even want to be in the room with it. It is easy to find in Asian markets and often in Latin ones, too. If you want to have a little pot of it on your windowsill, you can order, for less than four dollars, a little packet of seeds from here, or head over here for some plants, or even an envelope full of fresh leaves. You can show culantro off nicely in this sauce, but you can also use plain old cilantro and manage equally well.

Here is what I have done with sofrito: throw a scoop into some browned ground turkey; glop it onto some pasta; spoon it into a sandwich (like a toasted cheese sandwich, for example); eat it from the jar. Like yesterday’s garlic sauce, it would be a major jumpstart to a potato salad or chicken salad.

If you can find a yellow chile or aji dulce, use that along with your sweet pepper. When I could find those, they gave it a mild but noticeable heat. Today I used most of a seeded jalapeño that was about three inches long. One recipe I saw called for one whole seeded jalapeno and 6 aji dulce chiles, so clearly heat is part of the intention, but it’s a pretty personal thing. What you want is something that is as hot as you like it. And do be careful chopping hot peppers. No touching the face! Trust me on that one!

sofrito, sort of

2T olive oil

1 yellow chile pepper or one jalapeño, seeded and minced

1 large red, yellow or orange sweet bell pepper, seeded and deveined and finely chopped

1 medium onion, finely chopped

4 cloves garlic, minced

1/2 cup finely chopped cilantro, cilantro or a mixture

1 medium or large tomato, chopped

1/2 tsp finely chopped fresh oregano or thyme

Heat the olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat, and sauté the peppers, onion and garlic until soft, about 8 minutes, stirring frequently. You will need to lower the heat as you go, to prevent it from browning. When it is nice and soft, add the herbs and tomato and continue to sauté until thickened, about five more minutes; salt to taste. I used a scant half teaspoon. It's about so many things that it doesn't require much salt to make it sing.

saucy

Apologies for the fact that vacation week kind of got away from me and I vanished without notice; also apologies for the fact that our internet has been down all day and I am only getting this out now. The little gerbils who drive the wheel that makes our modem run at such blisteringly glacial speeds must have the day off. But it’s a full week, so I am posting even given the late hour.

My friend Julie has said, on occasion, that I am the only person she knows who will spend an entire day making sauces and at the end of the day have nothing for dinner. She has even coined a term for my disorder: Condimentia. I agree entirely with the diagnosis. I love sauce and relish and chutney and salsa and so on. I think a person wealthy in sauce is wealthy indeed. That person can cook for a fussy group of diners, or a toddler, or an invalid—-anyone who requires plain steamed this and that—-and still, when their turn at the table comes around, eat like a king. A king of several countries, most of them below the Equator. Persons wealthy in sauce can be so tired that all they can muster is a pot of rice or an egg, and still present a festive dinner to themselves or others. With a cracker or two or a few vegetables and their sauce arsenal, they can manifest a toothsome plate of snacks in a heartbeat, if called upon to do so. They have options. They are set.

I am highly symptomatic now. Thinking about talking sauce, sauce and nothing but sauce all week has my mind and pulse racing. How could I possibly choose just five? This could go on for a while. May have to change the name up there. Welcome to The Sauce Channel.

This one comes from Madhur Jaffrey’s weighty tome, World Vegetarian. It’s a splendid book. Almost never steers me wrong. Her recipe produces (pardon the technical terminology) a metric buttload of this sauce, which is handy for gift-giving or periods of epic sauce consumption. I have adapted it here so that you end up with a more reasonable quantity of the stuff, but if you have pals you think might appreciate a jar, go ahead and triple it back up. You will win friends and influence people.

This is a simple recipe but it's also a good time to practice a little mise en place, because you need everything in short order and it's good to have it all ready before you begin. I almost never cook like that, and yet I am always happy when I do. I feel like Julia a little, even though I have to wash all my own little wee bowls.



Jaffrey mentions that this condiment keeps unrefrigerated for several months, which I have seen to be true, and she also is careful to note that good ventilation in the kitchen is helpful for your breathing comfort when you make it. Any sinus conditions lingering from the winter weather will be cleared when you are done. A final note on the ginger, if I have not mentioned it already—my pal Amy taught me that you can peel it easily and comfortably with an ordinary teaspoon and once you try that, you never look back.

crunchy sichuan garlic relish
Makes about a cup

2/3 cup canola or peanut oil

I bunch scallions, finely sliced (white and light green parts)

About a half-inch knob of fresh ginger root, peeled and finely chopped

Cloves from three whole heads of garlic, peeled and finely chopped (you can use a food processor for this; pulse until it is all minced and remember to wash that appliance well before you make pastry)

About 15 dried hot red chiles (the kind that are about 2” long), crumbled, or one heaping tablespoon of red pepper flakes (the kind you shake on a slice of pizza)

Scant ¾ T of sea salt

1 teaspoon of soy sauce or tamari

1 T roasted sesame seeds

¼ t toasted sesame oil

Heat the oil in saucepan or frying pan until it ripples lightly. Drop in the scallions and stir and fry them, scraping all areas of the pot, untl they barely begin to take on some color. This will take about 8 to 10 minutes. Now add the ginger and garlic and continue to stir and fry for another 10 minutes or so, until everything is light golden. (they will darken and crisp more as they cool).


Stir more as time goes on, because as things brown up they tend to stick more, and keep the heat on the low side. Drop in the chiles now (remember that they will send up a mighty pepper fume) and stir for a few seconds, and then add the salt and soy sauce and stir for another minute. Turn off the heat and add the sesame seeds and oil, then let it all cool completely before scraping it into a sterilized and completely dry jar with a tight-fitting lid.

This is an excellent addition to rice, to stir-fried greens, or on top of a bowl of noodles. It was heaven to night on some braised Chinese broccoli, and I bet the same effect can be achieved with baby bok choi. Also, it's great on toast. But not everyone takes their sauce that way, I know.

good housekeeping

Just had a romp through the women's magazines while I waited for my daughter at the pediatric dentist. I am resolved to be slimmer, make better use of my closet space, and get totally invested in date night. Also I am all about quinoa. Well, my children would tell you that is nothing new. Like the lamented chickpea, it is one of those foods that they reflexively express dislike for, even though they eat it pretty happily. But everyone else in the universe seems to be about it now, so my quiet devotion to quinoa no longer has to be a shameful thing for the family.

It looks to me from a scientific survey of the mainstream blog and magazine universes that this is the Age of Quinoa 'n' Cheese. Here it is, baked with chunks of ham. There it is, bright orange with conveniently pre-shredded colby. If it means more people eating quinoa, there probably isn't much to object to in the trend.

Also, they happen to be on to something. What suspect food is not improved with bakey crispy cheese on top? And when I saw the quinoa muffins (and wee little muffinettes) moving in herds across the Great Housewifely Plains, I decided to get a little of that women's mag action here at home.

"Don't think I am fooled by the whole muffin thing," said the Chief Quinoa Skeptic.

Fooled in what way?

"I can see that these are made of quinoa," said the CQS, but by then she had eaten it. And then she ate another. I really wasn't trying to fool anyone, I swear. But I will say I enjoyed the reduced grumbling. They come across like something between a nice, not-at-all dry muffin and an amusingly portable frittata. We ate them hot, with a big messy salad, for dinner, but they look like likely suspects for flinging into a lunch box, too, or onto a brunch table.

Like a frittata or quiche or omelette, they are kind of a blank canvas. I am not sure there is any limitation on what you could add here, so this is another non-recipe recipe. Go hog wild. Suggestions below, but feel free to ignore them.

convincing quinoa flingers
makes 12

2 1/2 cups of cooked quinoa
1 1/2 cups of coarsely grated cheddar, divided
1 c coarsely grated zucchini (about one 7" zuke)
3-4 eggs
a generous sprinkling of chopped fresh herbs, like chives or parsley
salt & pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 350. Lightly spray or brush a 12-cup muffin tin with olive oil.

Combine the quinoa, 1 cup of the cheddar, the zucchini, herbs and 3 of the eggs in a medium bowl and mix well. If it seems dry, add the remaining egg. You want a nice thick batter, not soupy but not a dry, clumpy situation. Add a fat pinch of salt and a few twists of pepper. Divide among the muffin cups and sprinkle the tops with the remaining cheese. Bake about 20 minutes, until nicely golden brown, and cool on a rack to ensure cheesy crispiness on the bottoms (they will sog a bit if left to cool in the pan).

Variations on that theme:

Replace the zucchini with shredded baby spinach, or finely chopped, cooked greens like chard or kale. Replace part of the cheddar with some crumbled feta.

Add some cubed & roasted sweet potatoes, drained black beans and a handful of chopped cilantro.

Roasted or sauteed red onion would be tasty with smoked cheddar or gouda, and a fat pinch of cumin.

Use mozzarella, or a smoky scamorza, and some chopped roasted or dried tomatoes, and a handful of chopped fresh basil.

Pig out: crumbled bacon, slivers of ham, cooked sausage....oh, you get the idea.

nuts to you

It is seventy degrees here, sunny as all get-out, and all three progeny are off school for the week. So you can relax in total confidence that nothing I tell you about this week will be especially complicated.

Here are the cookies I promised you on Friday. Here is what they are not, particularly: complicated, beautiful, indulgent.

Here is what they are: insanely simple, delicious, satisfying and exciting for your mouth.



The recipe comes from my friend Naomi, who got it from her friend Lina. These two women wield mighty spoons. Do not doubt them. Especially do not doubt Naomi's warnings and caveats, reproduced for you almost verbatim below from the text message she wrote me on the train where she was when she received my frantic plea for the instructions.

I cannot even really tolerate eating raw almonds; it produces the kind of itchiness that leads directly to scraffing your front teeth along your tongue repeatedly, pausing only to manifest that garchy hairball noise in the back of the throat that is so taxing on a marriage. And yet I ate the dough, and then I ate some more. When I say the recipe makes about a dozen nuggets, I mean that in the end, that is about how many you will be able to bake. If, in your haste to get the dough in the oven and away from your grabby hands, you do not heed the warning about compacting it firmly between two spoons and the cookies look a little fall-apart-ish once baked, you can smish them together a little while they are still warm. Again, this is not the sort of thing I would want anyone to know that I recommend. I am just saying it can be done.



Lina and Naomi's version requires not one iota of improvement, but for giggles there is a variation below it that seems to have worked out fine.

naomi & lina's almond cookies
makes about a dozen

Turn oven on to 300 and line a baking sheet with parchment.

1 cup raw almonds
1/4 cup maple syrup
A good fat pinch of good salt
Dash vanilla
2 cardamom pods, shells removed
2 tsp water

Chop everything up in a food processor until it looks right and kind of sticks together. Try not to eat it all when raw. (Maybe make a double batch next time, eh?)

Put small spoonfuls, well-compacted between two teaspoons, onto the parchment-lined pan. Bake about 20 minutes or until they are a nice golden color. Remove them to a cooling rack. Eat them before anybody notices and start another batch right away.....

Variation on that theme:
Replace the maple syrup with honey. Replace the cardamom with a fat pinch of red pepper flakes, add a teaspoon of grated fresh ginger root and then proceed as above, in the vain hope that the kick of spice will slow you down before you eat it all.