Roasted Delicata Squash and Tofu with Broccoli

We had a snow week last week, here in Seattle.  For those of you who live elsewhere, let me explain.  Mostly it just rains here in the winter.  Chilly and dark to be sure, but not exactly extreme.  We might get the occasional dusting of snow, but once every year or two it just keeps going and really snows, often with some freezing rain for good measure, and the city grinds to a stop for a time.  We’re just not equipped for this and it can quickly turn from fun to a real drag if you actually have to leave the house.

So as the snow week ground on, I concentrated all of my energy on continually shoveling the damned driveway (and I was cursing, believe me), getting to work safely, doing my job, then making the return trek without being snuffed by out of control SUVs.  No spontaneous stops at the grocery store, because it just wasn’t worth the effort to pull into a parking lot choked with six or seven inches of churned-up ice and snow and full of cars scattered every which way, as if a tornado had parked people’s their cars for them, like the world’s worst valet.  No after work activities because everything was cancelled, closed, or inaccessible without crampons and an ice axe, maybe some sherpas.

I spent the first few evenings in a pleasurable hibernation mode, with a crackling fire in the fireplace, and decadent dinners composed of cheese and olives.  The last few evenings were all about cabin fever, watching the cat stalk to his cat door, stick his nose out, and retreat with a grumpy expression and his angriest meow.  Over and over.  I knew just how he felt.

But in the middle of the week, I managed to rally enough to get in the kitchen and actually cook something healthful and delicious to sustain me for the duration.  I cook a lot of stir fry, but this is more of a hybrid of stir fried and roasted vegetables, which makes it more satisfying and hearty on a cold winter’s day.   And instead of the usual Asian additions of soy sauce or sesame oil, Tahini gives it a  Mediterranean flavor.  I use baked tofu a lot, as I like the simple, chewy texture.  But bits of chicken or shrimp would work equally well.  The important thing is the variety of tastes and textures; crisp, smooth, meaty, tangy.

This week we were back to rain, and I’ve been enjoying the luxury of simple freedom again, to just get in the car and go to yoga class, or the library, or out to dinner with a friend.  The lingering patches of snow in my yard are still retreating, but the sun is shining sweetly, a rare winter treat.

Roasted Delicata Squash and Tofu with Broccoli

  • 16 oz firm tofu, cubed
  • 1 delicata squash, sliced and seeded
  • 1-2 tbsp oil
  • 1 head broccoli florets
  • 1 cup chopped cabbage
  • 1 cup sliced shiitake mushrooms
  • ½ cup onion, diced
  • salt and pepper to taste
  • ½ cup cilantro, minced

Tahini Sauce

  • ¼ cup tahini
  • ½ cup water
  • 1 tsp garlic
  • ½ tsp salt

Combine ingredients for Tahini Sauce and stir until smooth.

Preheat oven to 400F.  Lightly brush or spray two baking sheets with oil.  Arrange cubed tofu on one baking sheet and place on bottom rack of oven.  Lay squash rings on the other sheet and place on middle rack of oven.  After about 15 minutes, or when starting to brown on bottom, flip tofu cubes and squash with a spatula and return to oven for about 10 more minutes.

In a large skillet or wok over high heat, heat 1-2 tbsp oil and quickly sauté  cabbage, mushrooms, and onion until crisp-tender—just a few minutes.  Add broccoli and a splash of water.  Cover and steam for another few minutes.

Remove tofu and squash from oven when tofu is a toasty golden color and squash is tender.  Add to vegetable mixture in wok and toss to combine, salt and pepper lightly.

Serve drizzled with Tahini sauce and sprinkled with cilantro.

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Spaghetti Bolognese

We are seated in the back room of the Swingside Café, a sort of a candlelit sun porch used on busy weekends that is reached by scooting sideways past the kitchen and out the back door, dodging wait staff laden with plates, then down a few steps into the glassed-in annex.  It is more obvious back here that these Fremont Avenue restaurants are a thin layer of converted houses, just a step from a neighborhood of actual lived-in houses.

We sip glasses of Zinfandel and dredge fresh focaccia through saucers of olive oil.  As I savor my plate of Farfalle with Wild Boar and Venison Bolognese Sauce, the same scene is enacted over and over outside the rain-dotted window.  A tabby cat strolls up the walk and then pauses, looking into our eyes through the window, nostrils twitching.  He continues his stroll toward the kitchen door.  Just as he gets there a waiter comes rushing out, and gently shoos the cat back toward the alley.  A second cat strolls up, this one with a white chest and paws and a pink collar.  She glances in the window at us, then makes for the kitchen door.  Another waiter comes out, and says, “What are you doing here, huh?”  He scoops up Miss WhitePaws and carries her away into the shadows, returning at a brisk pace without her.  Mr. Tabby strolls up the walk toward the kitchen door, just steps behind the returning waiter.  They reach the kitchen door together, the waiter turning just outside the door and clapping his hands, “Gowwan, geddoutaheah!”

The smells emanating from that kitchen door are enticing–garlic and roasting meat and sautéing seafood.  It’s no wonder the cats persist in their efforts to gain entry.

I have been questing for the perfect Bolognese Sauce and the Swingside may well have it.  Meaty, rich, impossibly mellow.  But making my own Bolognese, long-simmering and rich on the stove, may be even better.  Opinions differ on the components of the most authentic Bolognese, but all agree that the sauce has relatively little tomato, a touch of milk or cream, and plenty of long-simmered, tender meat.

This recipe is a mash-up of bits and pieces from multiple recipes, adapted to suit myself.  It is very simple to make, requiring only a bit of patient chopping and stirring, and then a few hours more of patience while the sauce simmers on the stovetop.

Spaghetti Bolognese

  • 2 tbsp olive oil
  • 2 tbsp butter
  • 2 medium carrots, finely diced
  • 2 celery stalks, finely diced
  • 1 onion, finely diced
  • 6 cloves garlic, pressed
  • 1 lb ground beef
  • 1/2 lb ground pork
  • ½ cup red wine
  • 2 cups beef broth
  • 6 oz tomato paste
  • 1.5 cups milk
  • salt and pepper

Place a large, heavy-bottomed skillet over medium heat and melt butter into oil.  Add onions, carrots, and celery and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft.  Add a large pinch of salt, a few grinds of pepper, garlic and meat and cook, stirring frequently, until meat is browned.  Increase heat to medium-high and add wine.  Cook until wine is evaporated.  Add broth, tomato paste, and milk and stir well.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer, partially covered, for 3-4 hours.  Stir occasionally, and add a little bit of water if sauce starts to stick.  The finished sauce should be very thick.  Adjust salt and pepper as needed.

To serve, toss with freshly cooked pasta and top with grated parmesan cheese.

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The Sauerkraut Project: Phase One

I didn’t know I wanted to make sauerkraut until I unwrapped the giant box my Sissy gave me for Christmas and found a ten liter stone crock for making sauerkraut.  Ten liters!  I knew this was going to be great.  I love fermented foods, and I love playing pioneer.  Salting down a ton of cabbage in a stone crock falls squarely into both categories of goodness.

At the grocery store I filled my little cart to the top with heads of cabbage.  And a box of salt.

I consulted the recipe booklet and finely shredded eleven heads of cabbage.  I layered the cabbage into the crock, sprinkling with salt, then packing it down as firmly as I could.

The instructions said to only fill the crock 4/5 full.  I may have gone a little beyond that in my enthusiasm…

I then placed the stone weights on top of the cabbage, poured in boiled and cooled water until it covered the cabbage by a few inches, and put the lid on the crock.

I heaved the full crock up onto the kitchen counter, and filled the groove around the lid with water.

The next step is to wait: several days until I start to hear bubbles, then I will move the crock to a cooler location for several weeks until the fermentation is complete.  The instructions warn not to lift the lid under any circumstances, for at least two weeks.

It’s a little like having the Manhattan Project in my kitchen.  Only better of course, because there are no bombs.  Will it start to bubble?  Will it start to smell?  Will I be able to resist lifting the lid and peeking inside for two whole weeks?

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Give in Gracefully

It started snowing Saturday afternoon.  The fat flakes were just enough to derange traffic and disrupt my plans to meet up with a friend for coffee.  Instead, I spent the afternoon making marmalade, filling the house with steamy warmth and the scent of oranges.

The snow continued Sunday morning, a thin blanket over rooftops and cars, obscuring the view of the lake, and stilling the sounds of the city.  The kitten watched the snow fall outside the window, at first trying to move his head fast enough to capture all of the enticing motion of dancing, drifting flakes.  Finally, he settled for a fixed and unwinking stare.

We bundled up and walked around the quiet, snow-dusted neighborhood, crunching on the thin layer of white underfoot, then returned to cuddle up under a blanket on the couch.

It doesn’t snow often in Seattle, but when it does it is best to give in gracefully and really have a snow day.  Pare away any unnecessary errands or chores.  Remember what is urgent and what is not.  Use a bit of the extra time to cook something that takes a little longer than usual–something savory that will simmer or braise gently all the long, grey afternoon, filling the house with the promise of a hot, hearty dinner.  Get a hot cup of tea or cocoa and a blanket and a book.  Retreat to the couch.  If an unscheduled nap happens while dinner is in the oven, all the better.

This whole braised chicken makes a good dinner party dish, but is also just right for a long winter afternoon when you have nothing special planned.  The dough seal keeps the steam inside the pot, gently braising the chicken to an amazing degree of tenderness.  The potatoes, carrots, and celery are traditional accompaniments for a Sunday roast, but here they are infused with the aroma of herbs and garlic.   And there is plenty of garlic, but it is not overpowering, as the whole cloves cook in their skins and become sweet and caramelized.   Serve with french bread, so that you can pop the garlic cloves out of their jackets and smear them all over the bread.

 

Whole Braised Chicken in a Pot

(adapted from Around My French Table by Dorie Greenspan)

  • 2 lemons, washed and quartered
  • 5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
  • 2 large potatoes, peeled and each cut into 8 same-sized pieces
  • 2 medium onions,
  • 2 shallots
  • 8 carrots, trimmed, peeled, and quartered
  • 4 celery stalks, trimmed, peeled, and quartered
  • 4 garlic heads, cloves separated but not peeled
  • Salt and freshly ground pepper
  • 1 tbsp thyme
  • 1 tbsp parsley
  • 3 rosemary sprigs
  • 1 whole chicken, about 4 pounds
  • 1 cup chicken broth
  • ½ cup dry white wine
  • About 1½ cups all-purpose flour
  • About ¾ cup hot water

Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 450 degrees F.

Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a large skillet over high heat. Add the vegetables and garlic, season with salt and pepper, and sauté in batches until the vegetables are brown on all sides.  Spoon the vegetables into a 4½- to 5-quart Dutch oven or other pot with a lid and stir in the herbs and half the lemon quarters.

Return the skillet to the heat, add another tablespoon of oil, and brown the chicken on all sides, seasoning it with salt and pepper as it cooks. Place remaining lemon quarters in the cavity of the chicken, then tuck the chicken into the casserole, surrounding it with the vegetables. Mix together the broth, wine, and the remaining olive oil and pour over the chicken and vegetables.

Put 1½ cups flour in a medium bowl and add enough hot water to make a malleable dough. Dust a work surface with a little flour, turn out the dough, and, working with your hands, roll the dough into a sausage. Place the dough on the rim of the pot — if it breaks, just piece it together — and press the lid onto the dough to seal the pot.

Slide the pot into the oven and bake for 55 minutes.

Use the point of a heavy knife or screwdriver as a lever to separate the lid from the dough.


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Such Richness

I don’t have a recipe for you today.  I meant to update you on the sauerkraut project, but that will have to wait a few days.

I went to a funeral this morning.  I actually go to a fair number of funerals, as a member of Saint Vincent de Paul.  It’s an elderly bunch.  And I’ve learned a lot from watching my older friends navigate these funerals with an enviable circumspection about the realities of life.  They mourn their dead and enjoy seeing all their old friends on the same occasion.  They dab away heartfelt tears, then laugh and tell stories through the funeral lunch.

The last time I saw Virginia was at another funeral, and she gave me a hug and a kiss, then held my hand in hers for a few minutes while asking me about my life.

Today I watched Harold, Virginia’s husband of 64 years, and their many children and grandchildren follow her casket up the aisle.  The church was filled with family and friends, music and incense.  A Catholic funeral is at once grand and simple, solemn and familiar.  The well-known rhythm of the mass reminds me of the unceasing river of life itself with its seasons of birth, growth, and death.

As a member of Saint Vincent de Paul, Virginia worked tirelessly to feed the poor for decades.  I took over coordinating the SVDP Thanksgiving and Christmas baskets from her six years ago, after she had done it forever.  She mentored me through my first few years, answering questions, offering support and encouragement, and smoothing my way.

During the homily, the priest reminisced about Virginia bringing Irish Soda Bread to the rectory for all the priests every St. Patrick’s Day.

In his eulogy, her son-in-law talked about the importance of faith, family, and friends in Virginia’s life.  He also shared memories of favorite recipes, birthday cakes, desserts, special dinners, her spaghetti, and especially her cookies.  He spoke of the racks of cookies always cooling on her counters, and I remembered the times I when would visit Harold and Virginia, and she would smile and say, “Would you like a cookie?” If I hesitated at all, she would say, “Of course you do, dear!” and hold one out on her spatula with a smile.  I felt about eight years old.  But in a good way–cherished and fed.

The eulogy concluded with the observation that food was Virginia’s way of bringing together her faith, friends, and family.

And that, of course, is the secret wisdom of the very best cooks, who delight in feeding others, and whose generosity of spirit is made manifest in every dish their hands produce.

Such richness!

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2012 Food Goals

I’ve been dreaming up all sorts of fun goals for 2012, and I thought I’d share some of the food-related ones I’m particularly excited about right now.

My Sissy gave me a giant stone crock for Christmas, of the sort one makes sauerkraut in.  I’ve made kimchi before, but somehow it had never occurred to me to make my own sauerkraut.  Thanks to Sissy’s prescience, that is an oversight that will be corrected immediately.  More on this topic coming soon!

I also have a spaetzle maker and a gnocchi board practically hopping out of the pantry and begging to be tried out.

We’ve renewed our periodic hunt for the best hamburgers in Seattle, with a lineup of several new places to try.  I’m looking forward to reporting on the results of our diligent research.

We are also on the quest for really good ramen again, trying some local Seattle joints in hopes of finding a ramen-ya that measures up to our experiences in Vancouver.

We’ve signed up for a cooking class called Night Markets of Bangkok.  With a name like that, how could it not be good?

And I’m eagerly looking forward to attending Blogher Food conference, here in Seattle this June.  There’s nothing quite as energizing as getting together with a bunch of fellow food bloggers to learn, eat, drink, and get to know each other.

I’m sure a few more food goals will make it onto the list before long.  A new year is like a beautiful package that will be gradually unwrapped to reveal the gifts nestled within.  I’m enjoying the anticipation right now—and looking forward to sharing the journey with all of you as 2012 unfolds.

Do you have any goals for 2012 you are really excited about?  I’d love to hear from you!

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Without Irony

There seem to be two types of New Year’s food blog posts: with or without irony.  Those with irony note the ubiquity of healthful recipes in January and make a few wry comments about the fleeting nature of resolutions before offering up a vegetable-based recipe.  The sans-irony ones just go straight for the healthful recipe without apology.

While I assure you that I have a fully developed sense of irony, I must admit that I prefer my January blog posts without it.  I love the beginning of a new year, with its promise of a fresh start, and I enjoy the energy and enthusiasm of all those resolution makers.  The zinging ping-pong game in my head of big plans and new ideas to start a new year with is a lot of fun.  I never get tired of redemption stories.   I guess I’m an optimist.

And frankly, I’m still sick of heavy food after the holiday surplus so I’m back to eating less meat and dairy, more vegetables.

I’ve made other butternut squash soups, and I usually favor a cream base.  Not to knock cream, but right now my palate craves something a little sharper and cleaner.  This soup is warm and filling, as befits a winter soup.  But it sits lighter on the tongue and in the tummy.  The barley gives it just enough heft to carry you through to your next meal without hunger pangs, but not enough to interfere with your new January workout.  The fresh punch of apple, ginger, and mint wakes up the blood just a bit.  And who couldn’t use a little wake-up on a cold, dark mid-winter day?

Apple Squash Soup

(adapted from Whole Living Magazine)  

  • 2 tbsp olive oil
  • ½ medium onion, chopped
  • 3 garlic cloves, sliced
  • 1 inch fresh ginger (about 2 tbsp), peeled and grated
  • ½ tsp ground coriander
  • 1/8 tsp cinnamon
  • 1 large butternut squash
  • 2 carrots, peeled and chopped
  • 1 tart green apple (such as Granny Smith), peeled and chopped
  • 1 cup broth (chicken or vegetable)
  • 2 cups water
  • salt and pepper
  • 1 cup cooked barley
  • dried mint leaves, crumbled

Heat olive oil in a large saucepan over medium heat.  Add onion and garlic and cook until soft– about 10 minutes.  Add ginger and spices and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute.  Add carrots, apple, 4 cups chopped butternut squash, broth and water.  Bring to a boil, cover partially and reduce to a simmer.  Season with salt and pepper.  Cook until vegetables are soft, about 30 minutes.  Remove from heat and let cool slightly.  Puree until smooth.  Stir in barley.  Adjust seasoning if necessary.  Garnish with a sprinkle of mint.

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Crunchy Garbanzo Beans

The holidays are over.  It’s time to head back to work.  And time to head back to reality—you know, normal life?  The life that doesn’t involve twinkly lights, Christmas carols, sleeping late, reading all day, and eating chocolate by the truckload?

It’s been fun, all of the ham and turkey and paella and Chinese food, the wine, the dinners out, the pancakes and sausage…and yes, it was fun to overdose on chocolate.

January is the traditional time for post-holiday remorse, but I’m not having any of that.  I enjoyed the excess and I’ll do it again every year without shame.

But while I would gladly spend many more days sleeping late, wearing sweatpants, and reading until my eyes fall out, I must admit that I’ve had about all of the rich food I can take for now.  It’s time to remember what it feels like to actually be hungry.

It’s time for unfussy, wholesome, whole foods again.  Like these crunchy garbanzo beans.  Roast a panful, and snack on a little handful of them every now and then.  It’s time for food to come in little handfuls again, not huge overflowing platters.

In fact, start with just one.  Crunch it between your teeth.  The hard shell gives way to a firm center.  The spices waft up onto your palate.  Chew that one garbanzo bean and really taste the salt, the subtle heat of cayenne, the earthiness of the bean.  When it’s gone have one more.

Welcome back to reality.

 

Crunchy Garbanzo Beans

  • 1-15 oz can garbanzo beans, drained and rinsed
  • 1 tbsp oil
  • ¼ tsp cumin
  • ¼ tsp coriander
  • ¼ tsp ginger
  • ¼ tsp cayenne pepper
  • 3/4 tsp salt

Preheat oven to 450F.  Toss all ingredients in a bowl until beans are evenly coated.  Spread beans on a rimmed baking sheet and place in oven.  Stir or shake tray at 10 minutes and again at 20 minutes, then turn heat down to 425F.  Cook for another 10-20 minutes, stirring frequently, until crunchy and lightly browned.

Cool completely, then store in an airtight container.  Will keep for 3-5 days.

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Fizzy and Festive

At the beginning of every year I jot down some goals.  Not resolutions, mind you. Goals.  Places I’d like to go, things I’d like to try for the first time, or do more of, or learn.  I never accomplish them all (“win lottery” keeps getting moved forward from year to year), and some of them I even forget all about–but lean in close and I’ll let you in on a secret: I don’t really care.  I like dreaming big and committing it to paper.  Sometimes I’m surprised when I check off an item that felt like a stretch when I wrote it.  Other times I forget why I ever wanted to do something in the first place.  I find out what matters as I go.

Yesterday I pulled my 2011 list out for a last look.  I’d accomplished some good ones, like “Host a really big party” and “Eat more chocolate”, but “Saber top off champagne bottle” was still unchecked.  I have Tara from Tea & Cookies to thank for that particular goal.  When I read this blog post last January, I instantly recognized that sabering open champagne was a skill I wanted in my repertoire and it went on the list.  It looked a little scary and a whole lot of fun.  And that, my friends, is the very definition of an excellent goal.

Finally, with the clock running out on 2011, I knew it was go time.  I reviewed the how-to video, bought a couple of bottles of very cheap sparkling wine, and got out my second-best knife.

I found the seam on the bottle, lined up my knife, and pictured the knife slicing straight through the top of the bottle.  It took a few tries before I hit it just right, but when I did…oh, when I did!

The top of the bottle flew off and I laughed, filled with triumph as fizzy and heady as the champagne bubbling and foaming everywhere.

Mission accomplished!

New Year’s Eve is upon us, and I’m ready to ring out a wonderful 2011 and look forward to 2012.   May it be full of big dreams!

If you need a little inspiration in the cocktail department, try this champagne cocktail.  It’s fizzy and festive, with just enough of an edge to open your eyes and make your cheeks glow with anticipation for the fresh New Year.

Kir Royale de Crazy

  • ½ oz Crème de Cassis
  • ½ oz Absinthe
  • 4 oz Prosecco or Champagne
  • Maraschino Cherry (optional, but highly recommended)

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Make Merry

I got the very last Meyer lemon at the grocery store last night.  That was a close one!  But when I left, clutching my precious lemon, that was the moment when all of the shopping was done and the holiday really commenced.

Soon the festive part of Christmas Eve will start—we’ll dig deep into stockings full of candy, and tear paper off presents, and eat and drink and make merry in front of the roaring fire with loved ones.

But in the quiet of this afternoon, just past the dark of the solstice and just before the lights of Christmas Day, I put this cake in the oven to bake, and it filled the still peaceful house with the mingled scents of lemon, vanilla, and almonds.  As the weak winter light faded outside the kitchen window I drizzled icing over it, then licked the spoon.

If I could I would offer each of you a piece of this cake, but will have to settle for offering you my best wishes for a wonderful holiday filled with loved ones, laughter, light, and good food.

Merry Christmas!
Love,

Rowdy

Meyer Lemon-Yogurt Cake

(slightly adapted from Whole Living Magazine)

  • 2 Meyer lemons
  • ½ cup olive oil
  • 1 cup all-purpose flour
  • ½ cup almond flour
  • 2 tsp baking powder
  • ¼ tsp salt
  • 1 cup sugar
  • 3 large eggs
  • ½ cup plain yogurt
  • 2 tsp Meyer lemon zest
  • 1 vanilla bean, seeds scraped

Icing

  • ¼ cup sugar
  • ½ Meyer lemon, seeds removed, thinly sliced
  • 1 cup powdered sugar
  • 1 tsp olive oil
  • 1 tsp Meyer lemon juice
  • 1 tsp bourbon
  • 1 tbsp plain yogurt
  • 1 tsp water

Preheat oven to 350 F.  Grease and flour an 8-inch Bundt pan.  In a medium bowl, combine flours, baking powder, and salt.  In a large bowl, whisk together the sugar and eggs.  Add oil, yogurt, lemon zest, and vanilla seeds and whisk until combined.  Add the dry ingredients to the wet and mix just until incorporated.  Pour the batter into prepared pan.  Bake about 45 minutes—until golden brown and tester comes out clean.  Let cake cool completely before unmolding.

In a small saucepan, bring sugar and ½ cup water to a boil.  Add lemon slices and gently simmer until rind is translucent, about 7-10 minutes.  Remove from heat, drain, and let cool.  Blot lemon slices gently to remove excess water.

For the icing: In a small bowl, whisk together powdered sugar, oil, yogurt, bourbon, and water until smooth.  Spoon over cake.

Top cake with lemon slices.

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