April 15th and Kitchen Notebook Aioli

I thought about whether to post this week.  Technically, it’s A Plum’s third anniversary, though I haven’t felt like strapping on a party hat.  Mostly because of the recent events this week in Boston.  And also because I just don’t know what to do with Year Three of blogging.  I’ve since had some time to let the week settle in, to let it breathe, and decided that now was as important a time as any.

Earlier in the day on April 15th, before the bombings, I had a new patient come see me.  Halfway through a discussion on gluten-free whole grains, she interjected a sentence I had started about quinoa, and said we were approaching the fourth dimension, and that this life had bigger plans for me.   Then she did something even more unusual.  She said the universe supported me.  And gave me a hug. 

And for some reason, this didn’t seem weird, or scary, or even inappropriate.  Just a little unnerving.  And oddly comforting.  A few hours later, our three-dimensional world dropped off. 

My city—which most days is boisterous, quintessentially Bostonian—grew quiet amid the sirens.  I heard from friends and family all over the country.  People I haven’t talked to in six months.  People from past lives.  Texts came in rapid fire and throughout the day my eyes welled up even though I was safe, and all my loved ones were unharmed.

Still, nothing can prepare you for something like this.  Not for the initial moments.  Not for the moments that hang in limbo thereafter.

Nothing can prepare you for sitting with a friend while she calls her husband at 3:12, 3:14, 3:16, 3:17, 3:18, 3:22, 3:24, 3:25 … until he finally calls to say he’s okay.  Nothing can prepare you for walking to the train, passing by men dressed in black with M4 assault riffles strapped across their chests.  Nothing can prepare you for waking up to the sound of helicopters overhead and blipping police cars. For having a NBC News van parked at the end of your street for days.  For questioning whether you should board a crowded train at rush hour.  For receiving an e-mail at work warning SWAT teams will be around, and not to be alarmed.

So I really haven’t felt like discussing food.  But we all might benefit from a distraction.  In fact, now more than ever.

After all, I am still someone who believes in the power of a well-made chicken salad sandwich.  To piggyback off of a recent tweet by Anne Lamott: “I don't know much, but I can tell you this: if someone makes you a great chicken salad sandwich, it is because they did not skimp on the mayo.”  Though Hellmann’s will most certainly do just fine, if you are in need of a task consider making your own.

I jotted down this recipe in my kitchen notebook awhile back.  Its origins are not glamorous.  In fact, I’m not even certain where it’s from.  But it’s gorgeously thick and slightly garlicky and a wonderful project that won’t seize the whole day.

So I made it today.  Because I believe in comfort, in all forms.  I am most certainly someone who believes in mayo.  And who gladly, wholeheartedly welcomes a supportive universe.  For us all.

Kitchen Notebook Aioli

Ingredients:

1 small garlic clove

2 egg yolks

1 tsp Dijon mustard

¼ tsp kosher salt, plus more to taste

4 tsp fresh lemon juice

2/3 cup canola oil

lemon zest, to taste

Instructions:

Smash the garlic clove with the side of a knife and then use the side to mash the clove into a paste. Place the garlic, yolks, mustard, ¼ tsp salt, and lemon juice in a blender; give it a quick whirl.  Through the top of the blender, with it running, slowly add in the oil, about 1 tsp at a time, for the first ¼ cup.  After this, add the rest of the oil in a slow, steady stream, until the mixture becomes thick.  Stir in the lemon zest to taste (I added zest from ½ a medium lemon) and taste for additional seasoning.  Refrigerate.

Makes about ½ cup

Notes:

-Aioli is, at its simplest, a garlicky mayo, but please note the eggs in this recipe are not cooked. (Also, this may be a cheater's version, but I don't care.)

-In the past, I’ve added some basil to this recipe as well; which is quite good.

A Rationalization for Cocoa Frozen Yogurt

I am two weeks away from being done with this semester.  Which means my summer officially starts April 25th.  Break out the bourbon sours.  I may still need my winter coat and I probably have at least one upturned umbrella in my future between now and Memorial Day.  But still.

It’s odd to think of April in Boston as the beginning of a four month vacation, especially since I’ll still be working 40 hours a week, mostly discussing bowel irregularities and finding sly ways to convince folks to eat more root vegetables.  But 40 hours is not (what seems like) 140 hours at the moment.  This is the life of a dietitian in graduate school for what seems like an eternity (actual time, 3 years).

I’ve had some requests for items other than dessert to be posted on the blog. And I intend to honor them this “summer.”  I’ve wanted to make quiche since February.  I know.  Quiche is just an excuse to make pie. With cheese.  But I’ll throw a fistful of greens in there too.  Other savories will be discussed, as well.  I swear.

For now, I have a chocolate frozen yogurt for you.  But it’s not that kind of frozen yogurt.  It’s thick, full-fat and reminiscent of milk chocolate pudding. 

The yogurt is still in there though.  Which makes it seem, in many ways, healthier than other creams and custards on ice.  Just as creamy and cocoa-dusted, mind you, but also lighter and a bit breezier.  Perfect for summer come early.

You see, I am a dietitian pursuing a liberal arts degree in gastronomy.  I can rationalize anything.

Cocoa Frozen Yogurt

Base adapted from Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams at Home

Ingredients:

1 quart plain low-fat yogurt

1½ cups whole milk

2 tbsp cornstarch

2 ounces cream cheese, softened

½ cup heavy cream

2/3 cup sugar

¼ cup light corn syrup

¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

pinch of salt

1 tsp vanilla extract

Instructions:

The day before you intend to make this yogurt base, place a strainer or colander over a bowl and line the strainer (or colander) with cheesecloth.  Secure the cheesecloth (I usually tie it with string or rubber bands.)  Pour in the yogurt to drain, cover everything with plastic wrap, and refrigerate overnight (6-8 hours).  During this time the yogurt with get thick. 

The next day, discard the liquid in your bowl and measure out 1¼ cups of the strained yogurt; set aside.  (You’ll have a little extra.) 

Mix 3 tbsp of the milk with the cornstarch in a small bowl; set aside.  Whisk the cream cheese in a medium bowl until smooth; set aside.

In a medium saucepan, combine the remaining milk, cream, sugar, and corn syrup and heat on medium-high until it boils (stir occasionally to make sure the milk doesn’t burn at the bottom).  Keep at a rolling boil for 4 minutes and then add in the cocoa powder and pinch of salt; whisk to combine.

Remove the cocoa mixture from the heat and gradually whisk in the cornstarch.  Bring the mixture back to a boil over medium-high heat and cook, stirring occasionally with a rubber spatula, until slightly thickened (this will only take a minute or so).  Remove from heat.

Gradually whisk the hot mixture into the cream cheese until smooth. (You may need to strain the liquid if you notice bits of cream cheese lingering about.) Add in the vanilla and reserved 1¼ cups of yogurt; whisk to combine.

Place a metal bowl inside a larger bowl filled with ice.  Pour the yogurt mixture into the metal bowl and allow to come to room temperature before placing it into the fridge until fully chilled (ideally overnight).

Pour the yogurt base into a frozen ice cream canister and spin until thick and creamy (the base will pull away from the sides of the canister when it is done; this should take about 25 minutes).  Pack the yogurt into a freezer-safe container with an airtight lid.  Press parchment paper directly on the surface of the frozen yogurt and seal with a lid.  Freeze for at least 4 hours before serving.

Yield: a little less than 1 quart

Notes:

-This could probably take up to 6 tbsp of cocoa quite comfortably.  I tasted at ¼ cup of cocoa and liked what I had.  So I stopped.  (I wanted a nice mellow chocolate flavor that didn’t overwhelm the yogurt.)

-You don’t have to refrigerate the cocoa yogurt base overnight, but I like to let the flavors have time to get to know each other.

-This freezers hard, so take it out a few minutes before you want to serve it.

Early Riser Polenta, For Us Humans

Very scary things have been said about polenta.  It’s pasty.  It needs to be fussed over or it’s all lumps and bumps. It burns if you so much as glance at it wrong.     

But here is the secret.  It has to be stirred.  And this can’t be hurried.  That’s it.

It knows what it needs.  And what it needs is an hour to be ready.  So do not rush it, thankyouverymuch.  Making polenta is mediation by way of cornmeal. 

I felt this needed to be discussed for a few reasons.  One.  Because I had an early dinner with my brother a few weeks ago and the man revealed he has yet to latch on to the right polenta recipe.  Since he owns my great grandmother’s hand crank cavatelli maker—and has used it—I can assure you his polenta void is not for lack of wont.

Two.  Because at said dinner at a trendy-new-restaurant-which shall-remain-nameless, we had a side of farro that was barely passable.  Sad and pale and bored.  (Like a New Englander trudging through March April.) And this should simply not be the case for Italian grains that require so little to taste delicious.

Three.  Because I recently visited Misty Brook Farm and have fallen for their Early Riser cornmeal, which they also feed to their pigs and chickens.  And I hope this balances out some of the implied elitism when I say it’s organic, meaning it’s a non-GMO (a rarity), and from a local farm.  Any food that’s fed to both farm animals and humans can’t be too highbrow.  In fact, I hope we can come to live in a world where people say, “If it’s good enough for the pigs, it’s good enough for me.” 

During my research, I also stumbled across this quote from an online garden supply store about using Early Riser: “Chickens will produce eggs with deep golden yolks, cows love it, and it makes a high quality cornmeal for us humans as well.”  Now, cows aren't technically supposed to eat corn.  But that aside, it’s ground so fine and delicate that it makes the creamiest polenta known to man.

But you still have to stir it. 

So do your dishes while it gently bubbles on the stovetop.  Or, better yet, grab a book and a bottle of wine and head to the kitchen.  This is precisely how I became well acquainted with both Nigel Slater’s recipe for root vegetable korma and a fantastic Umbrian Sunday dinner red from The Wine Bottega.  (Both of which I highly recommend.) You don’t have to be chained to the range, but you really don’t want to stray too far for too long.

You see.  The key is stirring, and patience.  This makes a high quality polenta for us humans, as well.

Early Riser Polenta

Ingredients:

5 cups water

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus additional, to taste

1 cup cornmeal

2 tablespoons (1 ounce) butter

1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese

Pinch of crushed red pepper

Black pepper, to taste

Instructions:

In a 2-quart saucepan, bring the water to a simmer.  Add the salt and then slowly whisk in the cornmeal.  Continue to whisk until any lumps dissolve.

Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook the cornmeal for about an hour, stirring regularly to prevent any lumps from forming.  The cornmeal will bubble occasionally; if it starts to sputter and splatter, turn down the heat.

The polenta is done when it is creamy and has reduced roughly by half.  (It should not taste floury or raw, if it does, cook it longer.)  Stir in the butter, cheese, and crushed red pepper.  Taste and adjust for seasoning.  Serve hot.

Makes about 3 cups

Notes:

-I’ve made the recipe with standard yellow polenta (typically medium or coarse ground cornmeal), as well. (You can find Early Riser at Misty Brook Farm here.)

-If your polenta is looking too dry, add in a drizzle of water.

-For more on the problems plaguing corn, and about Early Riser, see here.

-The vegetable korma is a great way to use up any winter roots you may still have lying around.  (The recipe is from Tender.)

Peychaud’s Fallen Chocolate Soufflé Cake, a Stunner to End All Others

I organized an East versus West Coast IPA tasting on Saturday night.  You can see the setup here.  Please note, the seemly Real Simple-esque picture does not show you the destruction that follows when four people consume 160 ounces of high-octane brew in a single-blind tasting.

We tasted.

Peak Organic Brewing Company’s IPA, Portland, ME (7.1% ABV)

Somerville Brewing Company’s Slumbrew Flagraiser IPA, Ipswich, MA (7.5% ABV)

Brewmaster Jack’s Ambrewsia Imperial IPA, Holyoke, MA (7.7% ABV)

21^st Amendment Brewery’s Brew Free! Or Die IPA, San Francisco, CA (7.0% ABV)

Sierra Nevada Brewing Co.’s Torpedo Extra IPA, Chico, CA (7.2% ABV)

Bear Republic Brewing Company’s Racer 5 IPA, Healdsburg, CA (7% ABV)

Sixpoint Brewery’s Bengali Tiger IPA, Brooklyn, NY (6.4% ABV)

We commented.

“Smells like Heineken; tastes dirty.”

“I want to like it, but it has an odd finish—like dishwater.”

“A good IPA for winter—a woodsman’s beer.”

“Smells like my gym bag.” “Fruity, but a bit like B.O.”

“Tastes like clean plants, like you watered the lawn and then drank it.”

“Caramel smell; almost brown butter-like; like a financier.”

“I want to drink this on a boat.”

“Blek.”

We ate.

An entire loaf of no-knead bread studded with chunky flecks of fleur de sel intended to balance the sweetish bitter brews. 

Plus a few narrow strips of rye focaccia I had squirreled away for such an occasion, with a version of Yotam Ottolenghi’s hummus, spiked with cumin.

And slices of fallen soufflé cake.  Also known as the cake to end all chocolate cakes. 

Lest you think this cake praise was swayed by consuming my weight in high-powered IPAs—let  me assure you—I had it for breakfast the next morning.  It was good, if not better, in its following days.

Its inspiration came from a beautiful photo in Gather Journal mashed with a riff on the late Richard Sax’s chocolate cloud cake in bon appétit's most recent edition.  It’s a rich, yet light cake with an almost cheesecake-like quality.  I ruffled it up with a little Peychaud’s bitters.  Though you can’t taste the Peychaud’s, I believe its subtle anise and nutmeg notes add warmth to the cake, deepening it. 

The decision to dust or not to dust with powdered sugar is yours, and yours alone to make, though I think I prefer the look without it.  What you cannot forgo is the sprinkling of sugar on top, which adds an additive crunch and a hint of sweetness to an otherwise mildly sweetened cake. The powdered sugar had dissolved into the cake the following morning, letting the glints of crystallized sugar shimmer through again.  Which was how I preferred it in the first place. 

“This gal’s a stunner.”

Peychaud’s Fallen Chocolate Soufflé Cake

Inspired by bon appétit and Gather Journal

Ingredients:

½ cup (1 stick) butter, cut into 1-inch pieces (plus more for the pan)

¾ cup plus 2 tbsp sugar, divided (plus more for the pan) 

10 ounces 60-80% Taza dark chocolate, roughly chopped

2 tbsp canola oil

6 eggs, divided

2 tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder

3 tbsp Peychaud’s bitters

1 tsp vanilla extract

¾ tsp kosher salt

powdered sugar (optional)

Instructions:

Set the oven at 350 degrees.  Butter a 9-inch springform pan and dust with (the granulated) sugar; tap lightly to remove any excess.  In a large heatproof bowl set over simmering water, combine the butter, dark chocolate, and oil.  Stir until the chocolate and butter melts.  (You can take the bowl off the simmering water before everything has fully melted; it will continue to melt from the residual heat.)

Meanwhile, separate 4 of the eggs.  Place the whites in a stand mixer and the yolks in a medium bowl.  To the yolks, add the cocoa powder, bitters, vanilla, salt, ¼ cup of sugar, and the 2 remaining eggs.  Whisk until smooth.

Once the chocolate butter mixture has fully melted (be sure it’s well combined), gradually whisk in the yolk mixture.

Beat the egg whites on high until frothy and then gradually add in ½ cup sugar, with the mixer still running.  Beat until firm peaks form.  Gently fold the whites into the chocolate in 2 additions, until the mixture is just incorporated.

Pour the batter into the prepared springform pan.  Smooth the top and sprinkle with the remaining 2 tbsp of sugar.  Bake for 35-45 minutes, until the cake is puffed, starting to crack, and the edges start to pull away from the sides of the pan.  Let cool fully in the pan on a wire rack before releasing it.  The cake will collapse slightly and continue to crack and pull away from the sides of the pan as it cools.  Dust with powdered sugar, if desired.

Serves 8

Notes:

-This cake is flourless, which could be perfect for the start of Passover.  I’m no expert in religious dietary restrictions, though I seem to think the Peychaud’s (and possibly vanilla) might be problematic….

-Keep any leftovers in an airtight container.  Mine was gone after 2 days, but definitely kept wonderfully in the interim.  (Also, I used a mixture of Taza bars that probably averaged out to 70% dark.)

- bon appétit serves this cake with a mascarpone whipped cream scooped into the center, which I’m sure would be splendid, as well.

-P.s. the winners of the tasting were Peak Organic and 21^st Amendment.  Slumbrew did very well too.  I won't discuss some of the others, because it's mean.

Dark Winter Rye Boule, It Isn't Over Yet

This week has felt like a week of Mondays, strung together.  I interviewed a worker on Misty Brook Farm on Sunday.  (Who was charming.)  And the co-owner of The Wine Bottega on Tuesday.  (Also incredibly charming.)  Did a ton of writing.  (Please note: I am now out of charming adjectives.)  Worked all week, like a regular human.  And cursed at the wind (the wind!) today because it was so cold. 

What I really want right now is for someone to do my dirty dishes, and pour me a glass of wine. 

But that someone will have to be me tonight.  So I hope you’ll forgive me if I'm curt.  In fact, this pretty much sums things up: winter rye boule.  Because it’s (still) winter.  But also because it’s the variety of rye I bought from Misty Brook Farm.  Which they grow themselves and mill at their farmhouse, just down the road from their farm shop in Barre, MA.

Some winter rye, a little molasses, hint of cocoa, and a bit of caraway seeds was all it took to transform everyday bread into a dense and lovely loaf to chase out the end of winter.  While many dark ryes rely on caramel coloring to get their hue, this version uses the cocoa and molasses to impart a milk chocolate tint that deepens as the bread bakes.

The recipe borrows from Jim Lahey’s no-knead method of Sullivan Street Bakery in New York City.  So you can mix it up the ingredients in a bowl on your counter.  And then clean the dishes.  Or do the laundry.  Or—better yet—open a bottle of red.

Dark Winter Rye Boule

Ingredients:

2¼ cups bread flour, plus extra for dusting

¾ cup rye flour

½ tsp active dry yeast

1½ tsp kosher salt

1½ cups cold tap water

1 tbsp blackstrap molasses

1 tbsp plus 2 tsp unsweetened cocoa powder

cornmeal, for the bottom of the bread

2½ tsp whole caraway seeds, divided

Instructions:

In a large bowl, combine the flours, yeast, and salt.  (Start this process 15 to 22 hours before you plan to eat the bread.)  Fill a measuring cup (or small bowl) with the water and vigorously whisk the molasses and cocoa into the water until it turns dark brown.  Add the liquid to the flour mixture and combine the ingredients using a rubber spatula until a sticky dough forms (it will be wetter than standard bread dough), add more water, if needed.

Cover with plastic wrap and let rise 12 to 18 hours in a warm, undisturbed spot.  During this time, the dough will double in size and become puffy.

To start the second rising of the dough, scatter a handful of cornmeal in the middle of a clean kitchen towel.  Add 2 teaspoons of caraway seeds to the dough and, with floured hands, take it out of the bowl and gently stretch the dough by tucking the sides of the bread together to meet at the bottom (if it is too sticky to handle, add a little bread flour); continue this process until the seeds are fully incorporated and the top is smooth.  Shape into a round ball.

Place the dough on the cornmeal, sprinkle the top with the remaining ½ teaspoon of caraway, and cover with the sides of the kitchen towel. Let the dough rest for 1 to 2 hours (until it rises slightly).  30 minutes before you plan to bake the bread, set the oven at 475 degrees and place a 4 or 5 quart Dutch oven or roasting pan with a tight-fitting lid on the middle rack of your oven.  (Be sure your pan can withstand the high heat and avoid pans with plastic parts.)  Preheating the pan helps the dough expand rapidly to produce a chewy interior and a crispy crust.

After 30 minutes, take the pan from the oven and remove the lid.  Gently place the dough into the pan, cover it with the hot lid, and bake for 30 minutes.  Uncover the bread and bake for another 15 to 30 minutes, until the top is golden brown and the bottom sounds hollow when tapped.  (If you are unsure, the internal temperature of the bread should be 190 degrees.) Let cool fully on a wire rack before slicing (1 to 2 hours).

Notes:

-I baked this bread in a BreadPot, which I got for Christmas.  I also found some ceramic pots at T.J. Maxx which have worked well in the past.

-You can find Misty Brook at the Somerville Winter Farmers' Market on Saturdays.

Sea Salted Chocolate Chip Cookies with Cherries and Dates, Changing Hearts and Minds

Know how they say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer?  I say you should keep your friends close and your friends that know how to make the most-insane-chocolate-chip-cookies-you-have-ever-had-and-you-don’t-even-usually-love-chocolate-chip-cookies even closer.  

These cookies!  They are studded with bits of a Taza dark chocolate bar and have a slight butterscotch edge to them.  They also have soft, chewy centers with crispy rims.  They are the kind of cookie I’ve grown to expect from Brian Mercury, pastry chef extraordinaire. 

Topped with flecks of his own briny sea salt—homemade and hailing from the waters of Maine—he has delivered us all a very thoughtful cookie.  Brian is a friend.  But he is also one of the most passionate individuals I have ever known. (Sure I'm biased, but chocolate chip cookies don't lie.) And if you are someone who cares deeply for food, you can’t help but be charmed. 

Take this Sunday.  Dave and I met Brian and his wife, Denise, (also a dear friend) for a Sixpoint pint at Tasty Burger.  Brian had the mushroom burger and fries.  And had dreams of following up his burger with a tongue taco special from Highland Kitchen, seen on Twitter a few hours earlier. 

When Brian suggests something like this, you’d be wise to abide.  Just reconcile that you are having tongue tacos for “dessert,” order a Lambrusco, and settle in.  He rarely misses.  

He didn’t miss on the tongue.  And he surely doesn’t miss on these cookies.

Sea Salted Chocolate Chip Cookies with Cherries and Dates

Adapted from Brian Mercury of Harvest restaurant

Ingredients:

6 ounces butter, softened

½ cup dark muscovado sugar, packed

¾ cup sugar

½ tsp salt

1 egg

1 tsp vanilla extract

1¾ cup all-purpose flour, sifted

¾ tsp baking soda

3 ounces of a dark chocolate bar, chopped into small bits about a quarter inch size

½ cup dried cherries

heaping ¼ cup dates, chopped into pieces

sea salt for topping each cookie

Instructions:

In the bowl of a stand mixer, beat the butter, sugars, and salt on medium-high until light and creamy.  While the mixer is still running, add in the egg and vanilla and mix until well combined. 

Mix in the flour and baking soda until just incorporated.  Remove the bowl from the mixer and fold in the chocolate and dried fruit.  Cover and refrigerate, overnight if possible.

Set the oven to 350 degrees. Cover two cookie sheets with parchment paper.  Portion out 16 equal sized scoops of dough (about 2-3 tbsp each) on the parchment-lined sheets (8 per sheet).  Sprinkle the center of each cookie lightly with sea salt.  (Refrigerate them until the oven is at temp.)

Bake the cookies for 10-15 minutes, until the edges are lightly brown; the centers should still appear underdone.  Allow the cookies to firm up as they cool on the cookie sheet.  Transfer to a wire rack after the cookies have set up a bit.

Makes 16 cookies

Notes:

-If you have the luxury of time, you should let the dough rest overnight in the fridge so that the flavors continue to develop.  (Also, the dough will not spread as much in the oven if it is very cold.) Otherwise, you can just bake them off once the oven comes to temp.

-The dates and dried cherries are my doing.  As was the muscovado (it was what I had on hand).  You can absolutely sub in dark brown sugar.  Also, Brian used cranberries as his dried fruit of choice.  Also very good.  

-A note on the chocolate.  I love Taza.  (As does Brian.)  If you can get it, use it.  It’s wonderful, albeit a wee bit pricey.  Brian’s recipe called for 9 ounces of chocolate chips, but after I cut up one 3-ounce Taza 70% dark chocolate bar and mixed it in, it seemed like more than enough.  Use your judgment here.

-Use a good fleur de sel or other sea salt for topping the cookies.  You won't regret it.

-Here is Brian's adapted recipe for rum raisin ice cream.  Also very good.