Peas have gone completely unrecognized by this blog, yet they’re one of my favorite legumes and one of the only green things I’ll buy frozen. In fact, I read recently in Bon Appétit that frozen peas are often just as good, if not better, than fresh ones, and now feel much more justified. (Frozen food = guilt, at least in Little Gourmande Land).
The greatest thing about a bag of frozen peas is the ease with which one can add freshness and color to just about anything - leftovers, canned soup, raman noodles, etc. My dad famously spruces up recipes with peas, and though we’ve teased him for adding them to just about everything he cooks, I admit he’s on to something.
Frozen peas also make a tasty and quick side dish. Their sweetness and the mint in this recipe made for a nice contrast with a smoky leg of lamb this Easter, but this is a quick enough recipe to make any night of the week, as well as a good way to use up some of that mint you have running rampant in your garden (or, if you just planted mint this spring, the mint that is soon to be running rampant in your garden).
Minted Peas with Shallot
Melt the butter in a medium to large skillet with a lid over medium heat. Reduce heat to low and add shallot and frozen peas (no need to thaw first. Stir gently until the peas thaw, covering with a lid between stirs to help steam the peas. Once the peas have thawed, uncover and allow any liquid to cook off.
Add the mint and salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately.
Ever since I traded my hectic, stressful, unpredictable job for one with a more regular schedule, I’ve been absolutely reveling in my new routine. I used to find routine boring, but oh, how wrong I was! How silly and naive. Routine is glorious; predictability is divine!
Okay, so I may have taken my rediscovered love of routine a bit far by eating the same dishes again and again. Like, every night. I can’t help it! For the time being, I’m content that my life seems to be stuck on repeat, and that lately my tastes have settled firmly on spicy, vegetable-heavy Asian food.
For the record, I like anything I can douse in sriracha, but lately I just can’t get enough Asian food, and I’m not very picky where country of origin is concerned. In the past two weeks Japanese, Korean, Chinese, Indian, and Thai - especially Thai - dishes have been born (and reborn) in my kitchen. A can of coconut milk and some Thai curry paste have become staples of my dinner diet, and on this base I’ve made a dozen or more versions of Thai curry, rotating vegetables and starches to prevent boredom (as if I could ever get bored).
This is a pretty basic curry soup, a perfect weeknight meal that can be pulled together effortlessly. If you want to make it heartier, try adding sweet potatoes.
Tip: If you love Asian food like I do, you owe it to yourself to find an Asian grocery near you. I’ve explored a couple in our area and am really enjoying the spoils! You’ll save a fortune on ingredients that are both more authentic and cheaper than what you’re likely to find in the ethnic aisle of your supermarket. I found a veritable bucket of Thai red curry paste for only a dollar or so more than the wee baby jar I’d been buying previously.
Thai Green Curry Soup
Cook the noodles according to package directions and set aside. In a medium, heavy-bottomed pot, heat sesame oil. Add the curry paste and stir until it is combined with the oil. Add onion, garlic, bell pepper, chiles and tamari and sauté until the onion is soft and translucent. Add snow peas and vegetable broth and heat until broth simmers. Add the entire can of coconut milk and stir gently. Taste and add black pepper.
Fill bowls with noodles and pour soup over top. Garnish with a pile of bean sprouts and cilantro, and sprinkle with peanuts. Serves 4 as a first course or 2 as a main course.
This one feels a little bit like cheating. Sometimes I get myself all worked up over coming up with complex, 100% from scratch recipes because I want to punish myself impress you. I can’t tell you how often I have slaved, I tell you, slaved for hours over a recipe that turned out to be very What? This Simple Thing That I Could Have Easily Bought At The Store In Less Time And For Less Money And That Would Have Probably Been Just As Good? Those days aren’t behind me, but I thought I’d turn the table a bit with a recipe that is much more What? This Complicated Seeming Thing? I Whipped This Up With My Eyes Closed.
Sometimes, you need a quick appetizer that’s sure to impress, or, as was the case for me last weekend, you feel like a little bit lot of butter and creamy cheese might just do you good. And, when either of these situations apply, what better than triple crème brie melting out of a flaky, buttery pastry shell? Especially when such a treat can be whipped up in, oh, absolutely no time at all?
I discovered ready-to-bake pie crusts and puff pastry while I was in France, of all places. (Allow me to break a myth: Even French cooks are pressed for time and, yes, occasionally cheat.) They’re an absolute cinch and have even rescued a few recipes when my own crusts have gone awry. (I recommend keeping one in the freezer for just such an occasion!)
You could experiment with different types of fruit preserves or compotes to use for the filling. I think apricot would be delicious but a really fruity, fresh-tasting homemade orange marmalade was what I had on hand (I canned several jars in the fall), and it worked pretty well, though maybe bitter for some people’s taste. I liked the almonds for texture but you could omit them if you like, or use sliced almonds rather than chopped if you’re really concerned with aesthetics.
Lastly, a note on cheese: Good cheese is expensive, but worth it. Buy a smaller piece of quality brie rather than a whole wheel of something mediocre if, like me, you’re on a budget. I used about an 8-ounce wedge of brie and it baked just fine, and was much, much more decadent and delicious than the store brand camembert. Splurge! This recipe is clearly not about restraint.
Baked Brie with Preserves and Almonds
Preheat oven to 350ºF. If your puff pastry is frozen, follow directions on the package to thaw it properly. When it is thawed, lay it flat on a baking sheet. Place the brie in the center without removing rind. Spoon jam on top of cheese and sprinkle with half of the almonds.
Carefully fold the dough over the cheese, making sure to pinch closed any openings where melted cheese might escape. Creating bulky folds of dough will leave it raw and should be avoided. Once the cheese is wrapped, sprinkle the package with remaining almonds.
Bake for 25-30 minutes, or until crust is flaky and golden. Allow to cool for a few minutes before serving with crackers or slices of fruit, such as pear or apple.
I’m constantly lamenting the dearth of sweet recipes I post here. It misrepresents me! I love sweet things: love dreaming them up, baking them, decorating them, sharing them. The problem with maintaining a recipe blog is the amount of food one needs to consume (or give away to be consumed), and I just can’t keep up with ultra-sweet dessert posts. Fortunately, this will soon change as I will soon have a new kitchen hand and willing eater joining my household!
In the meantime, I’ve cheated a bit by mixing work and play (nannying and blogging - you figure out which is which!). One of my charges is a very helpful, sweet-toothed preschooler who played kitchen assistant today as we mixed, poured, rolled and baked.
There’s absolutely nothing I won’t eat (as far as I know), but I tend to shy away from super rich sweetness when picking treats. These cookies are much more my pace since the tart cranberries are a bit of a surprise. Plus, the combination of purple raisins, golden raisins and dried cranberries makes them such a pretty take on an otherwise basic cookie (and you know I absolutely cannot resist pretty things).
My very picky helper even liked them!
Tri-Colored Oatmeal Raisin Cookies (adapted from I Shot The Chef)
In a bowl, sift together flour, baking soda and salt. In another bowl, cream the butter and the sugar. Stir in the eggs and the vanilla extract. Add the dry mixture to the wet mixture a little at a time. Stir in oats, then gently fold in raisins. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. In the meantime, preheat oven to 350ºF.
Remove from refrigerator and set aside. Line cookie sheets with parchment paper and drop rounded spoonfuls of dough onto the trays. Bake for 13-18 minutes or until golden brown.
Phew! I have finally managed to regain my bearings after a particularly tumultuous couple of months. I’m settled into my new job and my new apartment, which, by the way, abounds with delicious, creative food that I’m completely abashed not to have posted here.
An important fixture in my new routine are evenings spent with Adam, my roommate, glued to a particular television drama, set in the 1960s. Oh sure, the show’s been all the rage for years. Just call us late to jump on the bandwagon (though we prefer “reverse trendsetters”), but we’re suddenly smitten with cocktails, especially martinis, and anything that tastes good with cocktails, preferably something that can be easily eaten from our respective corners of the couch as we ravenously consume another episode of our new favorite program.
Adam’s hummus is a delicious, habanero-heavy recipe that I like too much to try to improve upon (as though that’s possible). This Asian take on hummus is my counter offer.
I will caution you that you must love sesame to love this dip. Ever wonder why edamame is usually so heavily salted? While the edamame lends a beautiful color to this recipe, it doesn’t really have much flavor of its own, and the sesame definitely takes the spotlight. If you love sesame oil like I do, I recommend using a darker, richer sesame oil.
I made three different batches of edamame dip before I was satisfied and annoyingly made Adam pause our show as I hopped up to grab another half a lemon, and fretted about existential quandaries like “Salt or soy sauce?” In the end, I’m giving you the recipe I was most happy with, but I think improvements could still be made and I welcome your suggestions!
Sesame Edamame Dip
In a food processor, combine edamame, sesame oil, wasabi, lemon juice, water and garlic. Blend 7-12 minutes, or until consistency is smooth. Add salt to taste (I used about 1 teaspoon) Serve with pita or raw vegetables and garnish with sesame seeds.
I’m back from my long blogging vacation with a recipe that’s as versatile as they come.
My family starts every new year alike: with a hearty breakfast of mushrooms on toast. This savory breakfast holds a special place in our family arsenal of traditional recipes, partially because of its amazing ability to soak up New Year’s Eve champagne and ease hangover woes, and partially because it’s just plain good.
We found the recipe in an Australian cookbook years ago, and mushrooms on toast was the highlight of many a weeknight family dinner before assuming its place at that most pivotal of breakfasts on New Year’s Day. It made an equally balanced dinner as it did a breakfast, and since I now spend most days serving people breakfast instead of enjoying it myself, I impatiently held out ‘til dinnertime this New Year’s.
I stopped using the cookbook’s recipe for mushrooms on toast years ago, so I can’t remember how similar my recipe is to that of Bill Granger, its creator. The essence of the recipe hasn’t changed: garlicky toast smeared with cold ricotta cheese and topped with mushrooms cooked in balsamic vinegar and herbs. I recommend it for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or even as an afternoon snack. It’s fun (and faster!) to make it with a partner, and much tastier when eaten in good company. That said, it’s an easy recipe to make for yourself, since you only have to make as many toasts as you think you will eat, and the mushroom topping is easily saved and reheated. I’ll leave you with a recipe that serves 2, but is easily multiplied as needed.
Mushrooms on Toast (adapted from Bill’s Food)
1. Preheat the oven to 350ºF. Cut the sourdough into thick slices. Brush the top of each slice with extra-virgin olive oil and rub with a peeled garlic clove. Place the slices face up on a baking sheet and toast in the oven for 10-15 minutes, or until golden brown.
2. Finely chop the shallot. In a medium skillet, sauté the shallot until lightly browned in the butter. Add the mushrooms, washed and thinly sliced, and stir occasionally over medium heat until they start to soften. Add the vinegar, cover, and cook for 5 minutes, or until the mushrooms are completely softened, still stirring occasionally. Remove the cover, add salt and pepper to taste, and allow most of the moisture to evaporate. Add the herbs and lemon zest and stir to combine. Remove from heat.
3. Spread the ricotta onto the toasts and top with a generous spoonful of mushrooms.
The past few days have found me marooned in my apartment with a fever, a hacking cough, a sore throat, swollen glands, itchy ears, and chills. (If you’re one of the people to whom I’ve lately mused about how an illness might afford me some much needed down time, rest assured that I’ve learned my lesson.) I don’t get sick very often and so when I do, I’m a real baby about it. Surprisingly, whining and whimpering in discomfort have done little to quell my symptoms. So a couple of days ago, in a moment of desperation, I mustered up the little strength I had and did the unthinkable: I made pancakes.
Don’t get me wrong! I adore pancakes, but they fall into the sad food group composed of dishes that are too much of a bother to cook for one person. The mathematics involved in dividing a recipe by 6 or 8 is usually too much of a headache (especially on top of the sinus headache I’m already suffering), but I had fresh cranberries in the fridge that I really needed to do something with for goodness’ sake. And I needed pancakes. I kept it simple by dividing the recipe by 2 instead of, say, 4, and learned my lesson in the form of an admittedly-not-so-short stack.
These pancakes are chock full of sour cranberries and I deluded myself into making them feel a bit healthier by substituting a bit of whole wheat flour and soy milk (you know, because I’m sick). Not wanting to ruin the fun, I doused them in maple syrup (real - it has to be real), which I first simmered on the stovetopwith leftover cranberries. I even topped them with butter because, even though the pancakes really didn’t need it, I find that when I’m sick it’s really much better just to indulge myself.
Of course, you could use real milk and all white flour, or a higher percentage of whole wheat flour. As you can see, mine were admittedly not so whole wheaty, and I was pleasantly surprised since I mainly included the wheat flour for posterity’s sake (and because I have a canister of locally milled whole wheat flour that I never use, and on this particular day, where my head was clearly muddled by massive amounts of congestion, I worried that it felt ignored). Also, if you don’t have a griddle and can cook several pancakes at the same time, I suggest putting a plate in a warm oven and putting your finished pancakes there until a bit of aluminum foil to keep them warm and moist. No one likes cold pancakes!
Cranberry Pancakes (adapted from Too Many Chefs; serves 1 very self-indulgent sick girl)
1. Mix the flours, baking powder, and half of the sugar in a medium mixing bowl. In a smaller bowl, whisk together the egg and the soy milk. Add the wet mixture to the dry mixture, whisking until just combined with no lumps. Rinse the cranberries. In a third bowl, combine the remaining sugar with the cranberries and set aside.
2. Heat a heavy skillet over medium heat. Add a tiny bit of butter to the skillet (I always add too much and my first pancake ends up looking more like a funnel cake) and allow it to melt, swirling it around the skillet to coat the entire bottom.
3. Drop the batter into the skillet 1/4 cup at a time. After the batter has spread out a bit, drop several cranberries into each pancake. Allow to cook until bubbles form in the center of the pancake and the bottom is golden brown, then flip and cook until the other side is similarly golden brown (the second side will cook faster than the first). Move to a warm oven until your batter is gone.
The combination of pumpkin and Italian sausage in this dish came to me in a familiar fashion: In the middle of the day, not at lunchtime or dinnertime, no, that would be too convenient! I thought, “Pumpkin! Sausage! Yum!” and decided that I was absolutely too curious about whether the two flavors would work together to wait until the next meal to test it out. There was a brief moment of indecision, of “Pumpkin? Sausage? Together?” but ultimately, I had to taste them together to pass any fair judgement. I mean, pumpkin and sausage! Why not? And so, at 3 o’clock in the afternoon, I baked these little tartlets.
I also happened to have a pumpkin that’s been sitting in my kitchen for weeks waiting to be carved or cooked, and today I noticed it was looking a little sad and realized that if I waited much longer, it would probably too late for either. I scooped out the seeds to toast later and cut up and peeled as much of the flesh as I could. (Watch out - potentially more fresh pumpkin recipes to come!) It’s really not hard to cook with and gives an especially autumnal flair to any dish.
I’d been craving pastry crust all morning long, so decided to throw my concoction into a little pâte brisée (I tried to forget about buttery pleasures by going to the gym, but let’s just be frank: Going to the gym increases my desire for whatever I was craving beforehand and I usually eat enough of it afterwards to completely undo any progress I made by working out.)
I love the way these little tarts turned out, and one made a very nice I-forgot-to-eat-lunch mid-afternoon snack, but I’m imagining them as the centerpiece of a seasonal dinner party. I also think it would be oh-so-easy to make a giant one, or even little canapés, to take to holiday parties later in the season. I dusted mine with cinnamon to give it even more of a fall feel and then enjoyed it in the sunshine and some of the last autumn warmth on my back porch.
Rustic Pumpkin and Sausage Tarts
For pâte brisée: (adapted from Julia Child)
1. Combine all ingredients but the water, working quickly, with your fingertips, breaking the butter into oatmeal-flake sized pieces. Add the water a little at a time and mix quickly with your hands. Press the dough into a ball.
2. Move to a lightly floured surface and, using the heel of your hand, push away from you onto the surface making 6-inch-long smears. Continue, still working quickly (time is truly of the essence since the butter must not melt) until the mixture is uniform. Scrape off the surface and form into a ball. Sprinkle with flour, wrap in parchment paper or wax paper, and refrigerate.
For filling:
1. Bring a small pot of lightly salted water to a boil. Add pumpkin and boil until tender, about 20 minutes. Drain, add the butter and whisk into a purée.
2. Preheat the oven to 375ºF. In a large skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat and add the sausage, squeezing it out of its casing and discarding the casing. Use a wooden spoon to break into smaller pieces. When the meat starts to brown, add the onion, reduce heat to medium-low and sauté until translucent. Add the garlic and sauté an additional couple of minute, taking care not to let it brown. Increase the heat back to medium and add the wine. Stir and add the pumpkin, combinging all ingredients well, and continue stirring for a couple of minutes to allow flavors to blend. Remove from heat.
3. Remove pâte brisée from refrigerator and divide into four equal parts. Form each section into a ball and roll out into a rough circle on a lightly floured surface. Spoon 1/4 of the pumpkin and sausage filling into the center of each of the four circles and fold in the edges. Transfer tarts to a parchment-paper lined baking sheet and bake for about 25 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown. Remove from the oven and dust with ground cinnamon. Makes 4 personal tarts.
This ridiculously simple French rice pudding is soul food that’s equally delicious for dessert as it is for breakfast the next morning. It may also be the best cure for a broken heart, especially when served to those you love most, which is why I packed an overnight back and made the hour-long trip to my parents’ house at midnight a couple of weeks ago, and then cooked them up a steaming pot of riz au lait.
Making riz au lait (pronounced, roughly, ree-oh-lay) is a labor of love, so diligently must it be tended to, so slowly must it be forced to absorb a great amount of milk, so frequently must it be stirred to avoid the constant potential of burning. Unless you have a proliferation of spoons and can use a new one for every taste, I don’t recommend making riz au lait if you’re sick, or cooking for someone who would be totally grossed out by double dipping. The only way to make a truly successful riz au lait is to taste constantly. You’re striving for a perfect balance, the tipping point at which point the rice has absorbed as much milk as possible but has not yet begun to lose its shape and fall into depressing mushiness. (I will say that I have a genetic disposition to making rice that clearly fits the description of “depressingly mushy,” so perhaps I exaggerate the precision it takes to make a perfectly tender yet shapely riz au lait.) You can also play around a lot with the amount of milk depending on whether you prefer a more scoopable rice pudding or one that’s more liquid. Either way, not overcooking the rice is important.
You can add all sorts of extras to your riz au lait; I prefer to top mine with a sprinkle of cinnamon and maybe some chopped apple for crunch. Sweet and creamy on its own, it’s also delicious plain, either hot or cold (I usually eat it hot for dessert and cold for breakfast).
Riz Au Lait
1. Pour the rice into a heavy-bottomed pot. Add enough milk to cover and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and stir, uncovered, until most of the milk has been absorbed.
2. Add another cup or so of milk. Stir over very low heat until most of milk is absorbed. Repeat until the rice is very tender. Stir in sugar to taste and serve hot or cold.
Like a lot of my baking urges, this one came late at night and to the familiar tune of “Mmm, chocolate!” I have a bar of extra dark chocolate in my pantry, reserved specifically for such cravings. However, “Mmm, chocolate!” rarely goes away after a square, or even two, of extra dark chocolate; “Mmm, chocolate!” is too complex to be quieted by a dark chocolate bar. It usually requires something freshly baked. Pronto.
My sister’s cure for “Mmm, chocolate!” comes in the form of a 3-minute microwaveable chocolate cake in a mug. I don’t know what visionary dreamed up a chocolate cake you can make from scratch in only three minutes (in a mug! did I mention that?), but it seems too good to be true. And in my case, it is too good to be true… Because I don’t have a microwave! Who doesn’t have a microwave in this day and age? Me, and I have never been sorrier than during a particularly terrible bout of “Mmm, chocolate!”
I should have anticipated that I was going to have such an episode when, a couple of nights ago, I decided to bake something that required rising twice. I needed, you know, a little snack to tide me over. Before I knew it, a whole If You Give a Mouse a Cookie situation had unfolded and my kitchen was a mess of dirty measuring cups and lightly floured surfaces and I’d eaten not one but three chocolate muffins that I barely remembered deciding to bake.
If you are good enough at recognizing the early warning symptoms of “Mmm, chocolate!” and can stand to wait for these little muffins to bake, they’re not at all a bad remedy. They’re full of things you’re bound to have in your pantry, which is incredibly important because you don’t have time to dash to the store for ingredients for god’s sake when you’re suffering terribly from “Mmm, chocolate!”
As a side note, if you have a sweet tooth you may require icing. I ate mine from a bowl with a bit of cream poured on top.
Chocolate Craving Muffins (adapted from the New York Times)
1. Preheat oven to 350ºF. Grease or line 12 muffin cups. Whisk together dry ingredients in a medium bowl.
2. Make three wells in dry mixture. Pour vanilla into one well, lemon juice into the second, and oil into the third. Sprinkle the cold water over top and mix until smooth.
3. Pour batter into muffin cups, filling them about 2/3 full for regular-sized muffins (I only filled mine half full and got more mini muffins, the better to save for chocolate cravings yet to come). Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.