LA Cooking Examiner over at Examiner.com. A year in which I've shopped, cooked, photographed, chronicled, compiled, and edited.
So today, the last day of 2009, I thought I'd make a list of the things I've learned during this year of writing about food. I warn you, it's a list of personal discovery. No recipes. Hope that's okay.
1. I am not likely to write any recipes that involve separating eggs, white chocolate, whole fish, or organ meat (with the exception of chicken livers). In order, lazy, dislike, lazy, dislike.
2. I am still scared of pie crust, or, more accurately, of the rolling pin. But I'm working on it.
3. Put me in front of my pantry and refrigerator, and even if we haven't shopped in two weeks, I will pull together a pretty tasty meal. It will include capers.
New Year's resolutions: Eat more vegetables," I was truly astonished at the number of vegetable recipes I've written this year. Every single one was a dish I loved eating. Who knew? And this from a girl whose mother served only frozen veggies - yes, really, particularly that mix of carrots, peas, corn and green beans. All the time. Sorry, Mom, you know I love you.
5. Nothing makes me happier than having the people I love at my dining room table. The fact that my family and friends support this crazy desire to cook all the time and test my creations on them, that they're willing to try anything, that they give me honest feedback, and that they tell me how much they like it when I cook for them - it fills me with joy.
6. I am really lucky to have married a guy who is "party compatible." He likes being the host. He likes that when people come over there's always interesting food on the table. And he's always willing to do the stuff I'm not as good at: bringing folding chairs and tables up from the garage, making sure everyone's got a glass, staying out at the party while I fuss in the kitchen. Also, when we remodeled our house 10 years ago, he designed me the most functional, comfortable, and beautiful kitchen I could have asked for. It's not the biggest, nor the most elegant, but it is truly a cook's kitchen. Lucky, every day.
7. I will love truffles (the fungi in the photo at right, not the chocolates) for the rest of my life.
8. My photography skills are, at best, mediocre - and I'm okay with that. Truthfully, I do get a bit jealous when I see food bloggers with the big cameras, the big lenses, fiddling with the white balance, knowing that they can lighten shadows and change backgrounds and whatever else people do in Photoshop. But I have to do the cost-benefit analysis. I have a full-time job, two kids, a husband, three blogs, and a definite need for eight hours of sleep each night. I'm a writer, not a photographer. So I'm learning to get the most out of my point-and-shoot, use a sheet of printer paper to reflect light, do basic editing in the program that came free with my version of Microsoft Office, and that's that.
9. Although it surprises me, I am now willing to write boring, SEO-friendly headlines so that search engines will find my articles more easily. So much for journalistic standards. Welcome to the new world. Adapt or die.
10. I am territorial in my kitchen. We were lucky enough to have two different professional chefs prepare elegant, multi-course dinners in our home this month. Both times, watching other people take over my kitchen gave me hives. I thought I could handle it. I could not. Next time, Xanax.
11. Writing is better than therapy. The single best thing food writing gave me this year was the ability - no, the mandate - to sit, focused, uninterrupted, and concentrate on one thing at a time. As those of you with jobs and children and husbands and houses know, working moms are the queens of multitasking. I'm right up there with the best of them, but that doesn't mean it's good for me. Everyone needs time to think about One Thing. When I'm writing - about food, about my kids, whatever - I am thinking about the story in front of me, how it moves from beginning to end, whether the words I type truly reflect the thoughts in my head, the voice that goes with my name. When I'm done, I read what I've written and I smile. Yes, that's me.
Happy new year to everyone - may 2010 be the start of a wonderful decade for all.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
There's a chapter in Amanda Hesser's culinary-romantic memoir Cooking for Mr. Latte where she talks about developing her repertoire - the go-to dishes every cook goes back to, meals friends and family request, specialties that become the cook's particular signature.
Along those lines, in my house we call this "Signature Salad." I think it was the first item in my repertoire, though it didn't really emerge until I was almost 30. I cooked in my 20s, but mostly for myself, in my shoebox of a kitchen on the upper West side of Manhattan - pasta with garlic, experiments with bread and kreplach, caponata and pissaladiere and pasta frittata from the New York Times and back issues of Gourmet. I shopped at the Union Square farmers market and in the ethnic stores on Ninth Avenue, and I entertained, but my apartment was small and my dinner parties unambitious. I didn't have a repertoire to speak of because I didn't cook for the same people over and over, unless you count my parents, who liked everything I made.
At least, that's what I remember now. I've noticed that when I think back to prior decades my memories have all the clarity of Monet's cathedrals; I can make out the points and the outlines, but up close the details are quite hazy. I know I had dinner parties when I lived in Manhattan in my 20s. Let's see, there was an orphans' Thanksgiving, where I made my first turkey and dropped the pumpkin pie made by a friend of a friend on the floor. There was an election-night celebration the day Bill Clinton won his first term - no idea what I served, but my friend Judith showed up with her arm in a cast, having slipped in the bathroom at work. One Mother's Day I had my parents and grandparents over for lunch, where I served poached chicken breasts with a lemony vinaigrette.
The rest of that period is a blur. Early Alzheimer's? God, I hope not. Guess I'll have to do some research - friends, no doubt, will have retained memories I've long since let go. (If anyone for whom I cooked in the early 90s is reading this, please share.)
In any case, when I met Michael and moved to California (and then New York and then California again), and we started having people over more regularly, my menus did settle down a bit. "Signature Salad" became the stable element within a more variable dinner-party lineup. It's not so much a recipe as a method: greens, something creamy, something crunchy, and something sweet, dressed with a mustardy vinaigrette and sprinkled with flaky salt. Most of the time the greens are baby spinach, but not always. For the creamy, goat cheese or feta. The crunchy element might be almonds, walnuts, or toasted pumpkin seeds. And the sweet note can be dried (raisins, cranberries) or fresh (halved grapes, tangerine segments, sweet Bing cherries in season). It's a light lunch if you add roasted or grilled chicken.
I'm still working on the rest of my regulars: the perfect roast chicken, simple soups, biscuits, the yogurt cake I can put together on a moment's notice (with variations). But with this salad in my hip pocket, I know I'll always have at least one hit on the table.
Spinach salad with goat cheese, almonds and black grapes
- 1/2 cup slivered almonds
- 2 bags ready-to-use baby spinach, washed and dried well
- 4 ounces fresh goat cheese
- 1 cup seedless black grapes, halved (or quartered if they're huge)
- 2/3 cup classic French vinaigrette
- a few pinches kosher salt or fleur de sel
Put the spinach in a large salad bowl. Crumble the goat cheese on top with your fingers, then add the grapes and toasted almonds. Pour on the vinaigrette, sprinkle with the salt, and toss with tongs until the ingredients are well combined. Serve immediately.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
It's the first Sunday morning of the kids' holiday break, and Weston is away at a sleepover. This means that Emery and I have the house to ourselves in the early hours. I think (hope) that on some level Emery misses his little brother when he's gone, but wisely, Emery sees Weston's absence primarily as a good opportunity to catch up on "Mommy time." And of the boys, Emery seems to be the one who misses me more acutely these days.
I've been back at work full-time about nine months - after eight years as a full-time parent - and we're all still adjusting. Sometimes I'll glance at the clock on my computer in my office around afternoon carpool time, and a pang of - what - regret? loneliness? missing out? - stabs me in the middle, sharp as any knife in my drawer. I've learned not to show tears at work, but they spring out at unexpected times.
It's only a few hours each day when I used to be with my kids and now am not, but those are such important hours. I loved listening to the chatter in the back of the minivan on the way home from school as the kids dissected the events of the day. Now, when I get home just in time to make dinner and ask them about school, the answers come short and flippant: "It was fine, pretty good, okay, nothing much." They're over it by that point, no need to repeat or rehash on their side. I understand that completely, but sometimes I say: I know you told Daddy already, but I wasn't there. Tell me. Tell it again. Emery is good about it. Weston has less patience. It's normal. But it still feels like a loss.
Weston's social life these days rocks, and he's often away at a friend's house overnight. I'm so glad for him, but oh, I miss him when he's gone on the weekend. To keep from pining for my baby, and because I know it's not going to last forever, I savor the time alone with Emery. His "Mommy time" requests often involve the kitchen. Last night he asked "Can we make a special breakfast tomorrow?" It took me a minute to figure out what that should be, until I remembered the tomatillos and guacamole in the refrigerator. And then I knew: the scrambled eggs with tomatillos from Simply Recipes, written by the talented and thoughtful Elise Bauer. It's exactly his kind of dish: savory, flavorful, healthy, a touch exotic.
Emery takes after me in one important matter of the palate: Give him the choice between sweet or salty, and he'll always take salt. Protein or dessert? It's protein all the way. For Weston a special morning is chocolate chip pancakes with syrup and powdered sugar. Emery's treats always look more like dinner.
Emery reads a lot about food, and one day he was looking over my shoulder while I was catching on on the blogs in my reader. Elise's recipe was on my screen, and I saw his antennae go up. "We need to make this," he said insistently. "Soon." But weekends came and went, and "soon" turned into "someday." We made some interim versions - eggs with guacamole, eggs with hot sauce - but this was the first chance we had to make the recipe as it was originally intended.
Well, mostly as it was intended, anyway. We used green onions instead of yellow, and we left out the jalapeno. The avocado spread, a nontraditional guacamole I learned from Mirna, the boys' long-ago nanny, smoothed over the tangy tomatillos. Emery decided that next time he'd prefer the tomatillos be chopped more finely. But all in all, a huge hit. And a wonderful breakfast for two on a quiet morning at home. Thanks, Elise.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
I'm lucky to have two boys who like to cook. Strangely enough, however, they're rarely in the mood to cook at the same time. To make matters worse, it often happens that one of them decides he's ready to cook just as I'm finishing up. Bad timing. Out of sync.
But this past weekend the stars were in alignment, and after breakfast all of us wanted some time in the kitchen. The refrigerator was stuffed with leftover ingredients from the previous night's dinner party - I'd given over my kitchen to a wonderful chef from Napa so he could make a stunning dinner for my husband's watch-collector friends. He left an eclectic assortment of prepped vegetables and herbs, bits of leftover cheese, and a few mystery ingredients I was a tiny bit scared to investigate. There was quite a bit of lettuce, too.
We are not a huge salad-eating family. Michael, my husband, considers salad an obligation, though he'll eat it to set a good example. The boys will eat salad with certain constraints. Emery, the elder, prefers a sesame or miso dressing with tender butter lettuce, or the salad with truffle oil and Meyer lemon he engineered last summer. Weston, the younger, will only eat Caesar salad; I have learned to make a pretty good Caesar dressing, which I keep in the refrigerator in a jar and hope not to confuse with the jar of homemade caramel sauce come ice cream time.
I hate to throw out food, so lettuce soup has become a staple. The original version, a lettuce soup with tarragon, is an excellent base, but adding other vegetables and herbs changes things up. And I love making soup with my kids: There's just enough slicing and chopping, but because it will all be pureed smooth later, the exact size and shape don't matter. It helps that both boys love soup in most any form. Top it with something crunchy - homemade croutons, most often, although crushed tortilla chips will do when I'm short on bread and/or time - and the soup disappears.
So Emery chopped onions and potatoes. I cut up a head of cauliflower. Weston sliced celery. And it all went into the pot with several handfuls of leftover salad greens, a bit of dried tarragon, vegetable stock concentrate, and water just to cover. We brought it to a boil, turned down the heat, simmered until everything was soft, buzzed it with the stick blender, then added a little cream. Weston always tastes for seasoning at the end, and he has an exacting palate: "A little salt, a tiny bit of pepper, and some lemon juice," he said authoritatively. I followed his lead, and he tasted again. "Perfect," he said. And the soup was done.
With a soup like this, quantities and proportions are approximate, so feel free to adjust to your particular tastes or the contents of your vegetable drawer on a given day. Just make sure you have enough potatoes to give the soup some body when it's pureed. And feel free to use chicken stock instead of the vegetable stock concentrate and water - the soup will definitely taste richer.
Kitchen Sink Soup, or Family Soup, or Leftover Lettuce Vegetable Soup
(Use whichever name you like best)
- 1 large onion, diced
- 1 lb Idaho potatoes, any variety, unpeeled, diced
- 1 head cauliflower, cut into smallish pieces
- 4 stalks celery, diced
- 6 cups salad greens, washed and torn or cut into pieces
- 2 Tbsp vegetable stock concentrate
- 1 tsp dried tarragon
- water just to cover
- 1/2 cup heavy cream
- juice of 1/2 lemon
- salt and pepper to taste
Sunday, December 6, 2009
For a few years now I've been fascinated with those infomercials for the "pancake puff pan." You know - the one with the little wells, where if you pour the batter just so and turn it just so and stick something in the middle, you end up with breakfast that looks like a donut but tastes like a pancake. My kids begged me to call the number and get the pan. Never did. The concept, though, was appealing.
Then, at the Foodbuzz Blogger Festival in San Francisco last month, I met Chad Gillard, the president of Aunt Else's Aebleskiver. Chad had a demo table at the tasting pavilion and was making these little round pancakes filled with jam, chocolate and other goodies. It looked easy enough. And Chad's company makes its own cast-iron aebleskiver pan in a unique design that sports nine holes instead of the more commonly seen seven - very appealing when you're trying to feed a crowd. So, with Chad's encouragement, I agreed to let him send me a starter kit (pan, turning stick, aebleskiver mix) to play with.
And boy, have I been having fun.
After seasoning the pan - same as any other cast-iron pan, just coat it with oil and bake it in the oven for a while - I made a batch of plain ones. Then I filled some with homemade plum jam. Inside a few, I put a little cube of Swiss cheese. And then I broke out the chocolate: Nutella, then some leftover ganache I had from a batch of mini chocolate tarts, then chocolate chips. And all I can say is:
Wow. Happy family. (Particularly with respect to the chocolate ones.)
The pan Chad sent is great. The pancakes don't stick once the pan is properly seasoned, and while the instructions suggest pouring oil into each well before adding the batter, I've been using cooking spray instead with fine results. The turning technique takes some practice, but of course Aunt Else's has thought of everything: They've got a video on YouTube showing just how to turn the little buggers so the pancakes come out perfectly round. As you can see from the mostly round results in the photo above, I think I've got it.
Chad also sent over a bag of Aunt Else's aebleskiver mix, which I used for the batches I've made so far.The all-natural mix is made using old Danish family recipe - the story about the Andersen-Henriksen sisters is on the Aunt Else's website if you're interested in the details - using organic wheat flour from the Midwest. You add eggs and water, and that's it. I'm not a huge fan of pancake mix in general, but the results of this one were nice: light, eggy, fluffy. The aebleskivers made from the mix got excellent reviews from my husband, who is notoriously critical and hard to please.
That said, I'm a cook, so I'm going to experiment and find a good recipe I can make from scratch. Some of the recipes I've found online call for separating eggs; that's not something I'm likely to do on a regular basis. Others are closer to a regular pancake mix, with buttermilk and baking powder. We'll see. In any case, it seems as though a relatively thin batter worked better for me than a relatively thick batter.
So if you, too, are ready to experiment with aebleskiver, or if there's someone on your holiday gift list who likes festive breakfasts, I've got good news. Aunt Else's is offering you a 10 percent discount on purchases from their website or their Foodzie store (www.auntelse.foodzie.com) if you fan or follow them on Facebook, Twitter or FoodBuzz. Just include your fan/follow option(s) and "In Erika's Kitchen" in the "Add special instructions to the seller" section during the checkout process. The starter kit ($52.99) includes the pan, a hot pad for the handle, a package of aebleskiver mix, and a stainless steel turning stick.
P.S. Look who else is writing about aebleskivers - La Fuji Mama, one of my favorite bloggers! She made hers savory and cheesy, which inspired last night's dinner in my house. Yum yum!
Thursday, December 3, 2009
For those who don't know me, I'm the one in the hot pink. That lovely lady next to me? That's my mom. My wonderful, funny, loving, fiercely loyal mom. With whom I spent Thanksgiving week this year in Las Vegas. We both needed a break; we hadn't had any time alone together to regroup in the 14 months since my dad passed away. And with my husband and kids fully occupied with my in-laws in northern California, it was the perfect time for Mom and me to slip away. Lazy mornings, a spa day, the movies, shopping, three shows (Cher, Barry Manilow, and Jersey Boys), and lots of really nice meals.
Mommy: Thanks for a wonderful vacation, the best part of which was your company. For the rest of you, I know what you really want to see - the culinary highlights.
At the luxurious Joel Robuchon, a caviar-and-crab amuse bouche, served in a caviar tin; artistic bread, possibly the best part of the meal; veal cheeks in a Thai broth; duck breast with foie gras; lovely desserts; and me, taking pictures of the lovely desserts:
The next day, lunch at RM Seafood, including creamy trout salad with roasted beets; iceberg salad with blue cheese and buttermilk dressing; lobster rolls with just the right amount of mayonnaise (accompanied by an outstanding chipotle jicama slaw); and a visit from chef Rick Moonen himself, with the inscription he wrote in the book my mom bought me:
For our Thanksgiving dinner at Carnevino, no turkey. Instead, bone-in ribeye for two, aged to perfection; roasted butternut squash with fregola sarde (like Israeli couscous) and pecorino cheese; and hard choices from the dessert menu (we settled on pomegranate sorbet, pear sorbet, and chocolate malt ice cream):
The following evening at Daniel Boulud Brasserie, creamy artichoke soup with foie gras "croutons"; turbot en croute; scallops Sicilian-style, with raisins, capers and cauliflower:
For our final dinner at Bradley Ogden, Caesar salad; the justly famous Bradley Ogden burger, which we split as a less-than-traditional intermezzo; wild mushroom risotto, which, to be honest, was watery and underseasoned, making me wonder if the chef had to stretch the pot or maybe failed to saute the mushrooms enough before adding them to the rice; and a very nice butterscotch pudding:
And there were two breakfasts at Thomas Keller's Bouchon, with the best virgin Mary I've ever tasted; assorted pastries; raspberry beignets; spinach quiche; and smoked salmon terrine:
All in all, a really good week of dining. Now if we could only make Las Vegas a nonsmoking town - I'd be back every year. But I get the sense that's out of reach....
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Here's a great phone call to get from a cookbook publicist at work in the middle of a ho-hum afternoon: "Our afternoon plans got scrambled, and we've got some free time. Do you have an hour to meet Lucinda?"
In this case, "Lucinda" is Lucinda Scala Quinn, the head food guru at Martha Stewart Living Omnimedia, and author of the new cookbook Mad Hungry: Feeding Men & Boys. And yes, I did have time - as did Kate (@Savour, who writes the lovely blog Savour Fare) and Hilary (@HilaryCable, who pens the LA Baking Examiner column). And fortunately, the three of us work in the same building. So down we went to our local Starbucks, where we sat outside for an hour of girl talk about Mad Hungry with Lucinda on a breezy afternoon.
Mad Hungry grabbed me right away, because, as you may know, I live with one very hungry husband and two very hungry young boys, and feeding them is mostly my job (to be sure, a job I truly enjoy). I had all kinds of questions. Is it true what they say about the bottomless pit of the teenage boy stomach? (Yes.) Do yours eat vegetables? (Yes.) Even salad? (Yes, and in fact, there's an essay in the book about how to get boys to eat salads. The trick, apparently, is keeping pre-washed greens on hand at all times, and we're talking crisp manly greens like romaine, not soft delicate greens like mache.)
One bit of advice Lucinda offers in the book - which I happen to think is brilliant - is to use what boys eat outside the house as inspiration for what you cook at home. Those greasy bacon-egg-and-cheese-on-a-bagel sandwiches you find at every New York corner deli? When one of her three sons started eating those daily, Lucinda started cooking them up at home, minus the extra grease, of course (p. 20). When another came from a vegan friend's house raving about soup, she called the other mom to find out what kind of vegan soup could have her son in such raptures and added it to the family menu (lentil, p. 87). I guess that means I'll be trying to reproduce chocolate old-fashioned donuts and sushi soon - oh, wait, I know how to make sushi!
There are, of course, rules to feeding men and boys. Here are some of Lucinda's:
- Learn to understand the urgency of boy hunger. There's no "I'll get something later." When they're hungry, they need food NOW.
- Lucinda doesn't buy much in the way of clothes, jewelry or cars: She spends her money on quality ingredients for her family.
- That said, she doesn't serve lamb chops when the whole crew is home. It's just too expensive. She'll wait until there's a night with just her and one boy, and then the lamb chops come out. For the big crowd (that's her, husband, three boys ages 15, 18 and 22, and usually three friends), she sticks to longer-cooking but less dear cuts of meat.
- Lucinda is a two-vegetable-per-meal woman. They'll eat at least one, she says, and eventually they'll learn to eat both. Just keep putting it in front of them, and eventually it will go in. But learn how to cook vegetables so they appeal: No one likes mushy steamed cauliflower, she points out, but if you slice it thinly, toss it with olive oil and salt, and roast it at 400 degrees until it's brown and crispy on the edges, watch how quickly it disappears.
- Always make at least two cups of rice. You can put anything over rice in the morning, and they'll eat it. Fried eggs on rice is a favorite.
- Her family has beans and rice once a week. They'll eat a vegetarian meal, but they do prefer their beans laced with a little bacon.
- Speaking of bacon: Never run out.
Let me tell you, I am feeling generous today, because I really really want to keep this cookbook for myself! But no...my blog friends come first....
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Next Food Network Star, you'll remember Jeffrey Saad, who almost won - but didn't. I got the chance to meet him tonight at a small event, where he demoed a few dishes and handed around tastes. Everything he served fit with his spices-make-the-world-go-round outlook: butternut squash soup with an allspice cream, Chinese five-spice shrimp sliders with an Asian slaw, and turkey topped with a cranberry-harissa-mint sauce.
Note: Jeffrey's jar of Chinese five-spice powder was from Penzey's, whose catalogs I believe should arrive in the mail in a plain brown wrapper, so high is the food porn content within. He admits that he sometimes goes in just to stick his nose into various jars and inhale. Me too. It's a better high than drugs (I imagine).
So one very interesting thing about Jeffrey is his level of energy. And animation. And just plain in-your-face intensity. It's easy to see why he grabbed us from behind the TV camera. Look at these snapshots, and the expressions I happened to catch within a two-minute span, and you'll see what I mean:
The cranberry sauce Jeffrey served over the turkey was also notable. He cooked fresh cranberries with water and sugar, then added toasted cumin seeds, harissa (a spicy Moroccan paste), and chopped fresh mint. I didn't taste the harissa - I'm sure he toned it down so as not to offend anyone with too much heat - but the mint was a great addition to the cranberries. I'm definitely going to try that come Thanksgiving. (Here's the cranberry sauce recipe on Jeffrey's blog.)
And here's the single most important thing I learned from Jeffrey Saad: "There are three reasons food cooked at home doesn't taste as good. The pan's not hot enough. The oil's not hot enough. And the food is wet." Dry your meat, poultry and fish, people, before you put it in the frying pan! Don't be afraid to crank up the heat! That's the only way to get a good sear, that brown goodness that keeps the inside tender and makes a beautiful crust on the outside.
Jeffrey's not on the Food Network yet, but he will be, I'm confident. Meantime, before he gets to television, you can watch the videos on his website (http://jeffreysaad.com/). I just watched his video tutorial on how to poach an egg, and I'm ready to conquer my fears. Now if he'd only do a video about pie crust....
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
One of my aspirations since moving to California has been to get a reservation at the French Laundry. Hasn't happened yet, although admittedly I've been too busy to chase it down recently. But someday I'm going to get there. Until then, I'll have to experience Thomas Keller's wonderful cuisine in other ways. Next week, for example, I scored an invite to one of the opening celebrations at Bouchon Bistro in Beverly Hills. It's sure to be a star-studded affair, and oh yes, the FOOD! I'll bring my camera and report back, to be sure.
I'm also going to start cooking like Thomas Keller, now that his gorgeous new book is out. It's called Ad Hoc at Home: Family-Style Recipes and is full of the kinds of recipes I might actually cook. Take, for example, the pan-roasted halibut recipe I got permission to share in my LA Cooking Examiner column; it's about as easy as fish can get, and doesn't it look gorgeous? I think that will be on the menu this weekend in my house.
I've got good news for you. I also scored a SIGNED copy of Ad Hoc at Home to give away right here on my blog. Yes, you heard that right! All you need to do to enter the giveaway is leave a comment at the end of this post and tell me which recipe from either this blog or my LA Cooking Examiner column you like most. (Yes, I'm shamelessly trying to get you to read some of my recipes, I admit it!) You can get an extra entry by tweeting about this giveaway, and then leaving a second comment on this post with a link to the tweet. I'll choose a winner randomly on November 20th at 8pm (Pacific time).
Good luck - and whoever wins the book, will you come over and cook me dinner from it?
at 10:28 PM
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
I am a girl who is really and truly addicted to carbs. Nothing on this earth makes me happier than french fries. Give me pasta and I'll love you forever. And bread, my love, mon amour, cara mia - is there any form in which you don't send me? Nope. Bread, I'm yours, forever and ever.
A few months ago I saw a recipe for beer bread, and I started experimenting. Now I don't drink beer - never really have understood the yeasty, foamy fuss - but the refrigerator had a bottle or two left over from a party, so I baked one bottle up into this really lovely whole wheat beer bread with wheat germ. If you ignore the melted butter poured over the top of the dough, it's actually a fairly healthy bread option - you know, whole grain and all. Nice toasted, slathered with more butter, or maybe spread with peanut butter and a little jam. Oh, baby. Now that's breakfast.
But then we had another party, and this time, in addition to leftover beer, we had leftover hard cider. And I got to thinking: hard cider. Some grated apple. The same whole wheat and wheat germ base. That might be nice, eh?
And so it was. I like this one toasted and topped with a beautiful slice of cheese - a riff on the old apple-pie-and-cheddar motif. Peanut butter and jam worked also. Plain, still pretty good. I'm a fan.
Apple cider quick bread
- 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
- 1/2 cup whole wheat flour
- 1/4 cup wheat germ
- 3 Tbsp sugar
- 1/2 tsp salt
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 1 large apple, peeled, cored, and grated
- 1 12-oz bottle hard apple cider (the alcoholic kind)
- 4 Tbsp (1/2 stick) butter, melted
In a large bowl, whisk together the flours, wheat germ, sugar, salt, and baking powder. Add the grated apples and toss so the apples are coated with the flour mixture. Add the hard cider and stir with a spatula just until the ingredients are combined; do not overmix.
Pour the dough into the loaf pan, smooth the top, and pour the melted butter over the dough. Bake 45-50 minutes, or until the loaf is golden brown on top and a tester comes out clean. Cool 5 minutes in the pan, then turn the loaf out onto a rack to rest.