I had dinner at Ad Hoc on Friday night, and although I’ve offered tepid reviews of this restaurant in the past, I did have a great meal there, I must admit. The night’s menu featured an Italian-themed dinner, which actually began with meatballs, which to me was so much more interesting than salad, Ad Hoc’s typical first-course selection. After the meatballs, it was a perfectly-roasted half-chicken, followed by a cheese course, and about as much tiramisu as I could devour. The cheese plate was garnished with honey, chopped pistachios, and one of my favorite things in [... read more ...]]]>

Peach perfect.

I had dinner at Ad Hoc on Friday night, and although I’ve offered tepid reviews of this restaurant in the past, I did have a great meal there, I must admit. The night’s menu featured an Italian-themed dinner, which actually began with meatballs, which to me was so much more interesting than salad, Ad Hoc’s typical first-course selection. After the meatballs, it was a perfectly-roasted half-chicken, followed by a cheese course, and about as much tiramisu as I could devour. The cheese plate was garnished with honey, chopped pistachios, and one of my favorite things in life, Frog Hollow Farm peaches. July and August represent the height of peach season here in California, and seeing “Frog Hollow” on Ad Hoc’s menu reminded me to track down a few of these gems for myself.

Luckily for me, I can usually find Frog Hollow peaches at the Oxbow Market in Napa, and this week their produce vendor featured the Flavorcrest cultivar, a delicious, early-ripening, yellow semi-freestone peach. I first learned of Frog Hollow peaches when I was cooking at Auberge du Soleil. We sliced them and caramelized the peaches in sugar, featuring them as a garnish for our seared foie gras appetizer. Working the hot apps station at Auberge meant that I would get to taste these peaches quite a bit during the summer, and I was soon hooked. These days, I simply pair luxury with luxury by eating quartered Frog Hollow peaches with — not foie gras — but a nice, fancy 20-year balsamic vinegar. That’s it. Two ingredients. No cooking required.

Although Bananas Foster is widely known as a New Orleans recipe, I never had any experience with this particular dish while I was cooking in the Crescent City. I dealt with plenty of bread pudding recipes, and I had an occasional hand in the hyper-decadent sweet potato-and-pecan pies at K-Paul’s, but Bananas Foster was never part of my repertoire. However, when I was attending the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park NY, I did have the opportunity to whip up several batches of Bananas Foster while I was [... read more ...]]]>

Set adrift on butter, brown sugar, and rum bliss.

Although Bananas Foster is widely known as a New Orleans recipe, I never had any experience with this particular dish while I was cooking in the Crescent City. I dealt with plenty of bread pudding recipes, and I had an occasional hand in the hyper-decadent sweet potato-and-pecan pies at K-Paul’s, but Bananas Foster was never part of my repertoire. However, when I was attending the Culinary Institute of America in Hyde Park NY, I did have the opportunity to whip up several batches of Bananas Foster while I was finishing the culinary program. My very last course at the CIA was actually a three-week stint waiting tables at the Escoffier Room, which was the classicly-themed French restaurant on campus (known simply as the “E-Room” among the student population). Frankly, I hated every single day of E-Room service — not being in the kitchen — but stumbling around the dining room, fumbling with the silverware, and saying insipid things in front of the guests.

As it was, I still feel very fortunate to have ended my time at the CIA in the dead of a cold, snowy winter, which meant that the E-Room was relatively quiet, since navigating Route 9 could be awfully treacherous that time of year. But even with scant reservations on the books, I struggled with many aspects of restaurant service. The worst thing, by far, was balancing drinks on trays (top-heavy martini glasses being my greatest nemesis). Despite all of my fears, I never actually dumped a drink on a guest, but I do remember trembling like an idiot whenever I tried to place a brimming martini glass on the table, usually spilling it uncontrollably in the process. Looking back, I’m not sure why this was such an issue for me, but waiting tables had definitely gotten inside my head. I still recall my buddy DK — with whom I was partnered as a back-waiter — just shaking his head at all of my pitiful displays. His disgust was as real as real can get, and I deserved it, every last bit. It’s absolutely hilarious to me now.

One aspect of service that I actually felt a lot more comfortable with was making Bananas Foster as a table-side dessert. Although table-side service did make me the momentary center of attention, to me, it was just cooking, and pretty easy cooking at that (plus, at the end of meal, it was also my last chance for redemption). The reason for preparing Bananas Foster table-side, of course, is the showmanship of the flambé. It could sometimes become pretty interesting in the E-Room, as different classmates vied to produce the biggest ball of fire. If I remember correctly, I’m pretty sure that our instructor encouraged this behavior, pointing out that because lunch service offered too much daylight, we should hit the pan with a little extra rum in order produce a more noticeable flame. As the weeks went by, and as graduation neared, we pushed the envelope more and more, and despite the din of service, you could often hear a low and satisfying whoooooooom! as the flames jumped from the pan.

• • •

There is no mystery as to the origin of Bananas Foster, which means that finding the definitive recipe is rather simple. The dessert began in New Orleans in 1951, and it was created by the executive chef at Brennan’s, Paul Blangé. Bananas Foster took its name from Richard Foster, the chairman of the New Orleans Crime Commission and a personal friend of restaurateur Owen Brennan. I did, however, find a small discrepancy between the recipe offered on the Brennan’s official website and the one offered in my 1968 edition of the Brennan’s cookbook. Below are the ingredients for both versions, with the book version being expanded to include four servings (as a nod to its table-side origins, the book actually outlines Bananas Foster as a single-serve recipe). When converted to the same scale, however, the original recipe features only half as much brown sugar as the modern version, but it also features an extra quarter-cup of booze. Somewhere along the way, the recipe also switched from white rum to dark rum, which I thought was interesting.

BANANAS FOSTER, Brennan’s Online

• 1/2 stick butter
• 1 cup brown sugar
• 4 bananas, cut in half lengthwise, then halved
• 1/4 cup banana liqueur
• 1/4 cup dark rum
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
• 4 scoops vanilla ice cream

versus…

BANANAS FOSTER, Brennan’s Cookbook

• 1/2 stick butter
• 1/2 cup brown sugar
• 4 bananas, cut in half lengthwise
• 1/4 cup banana liqueur
• 1/2 cup white rum
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
• 4 scoops vanilla ice cream

• • •

Within certain boundaries, the recipe for Bananas Foster has a large degree of flexibility. For one, I wouldn’t go out of my way to buy banana liqueur, and I would probably use whatever style rum was on hand. For the version pictured above, which I scaled down to a single serving, I created the sauce from three tablespoons of butter, two tablespoons of brown sugar, two tablespoons of dark rum, and 1/4 teaspoon of ground cinnamon. Once you prepare this dessert, measuring eventually becomes less and less significant. It is, after all, a very basic combination of common ingredients. In my mind’s eye, I think of Bananas Foster simply as a good chunk of butter, an equal portion of brown sugar, a generous dash of ground cinnamon, and enough rum to turn it all into a sauce (and enough to throw a mighty flame, as well). Add one sliced banana and serve with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Done.

Although the ingredient list for Bananas Foster remains quite simple, the execution of the dish is worth explaining, especially in regard to its timing. Typically, I begin with a cold pan and heat the butter, brown sugar, and cinnamon together, allowing them to combine without burning the butter. During this initial step, it’s important to point out that the sugar itself may not readily dissolve, since sugar and butterfat are not soluble. Not to worry, however; sugar is soluble in rum. When the booze hits the pan, give it a second to vaporize, then flambé it before the moment is lost. Once the flames begin to subside, stir the mixture until the sugar loses its granular texture (if you use a wooden spoon, you can usually “feel” the sugar crystals against the bottom of the pan). Contrary to the classic approach, I typically prefer to add the sliced bananas at the very end; they’re delicate, and there’s no need to beat them up unnecessarily. Of course, the vanilla ice cream (preferably homemade) should be plated only moments before serving.

For those who may remember my recipe for perfect oatmeal cookies, I had praised the almighty rice crispy treat, extolling its overall simplicity, as well as its enduring popularity as an American classic. For those who struggle in the kitchen, I also present the following recipe, which features almost as few ingredients as rice crispy treats, but which involves even less cooking. The real difference, however, is that these curry mascarpone dates take the top prize for originality (after all, rice crispy treats have already seen quite a bit of playing time over the years). In fact, the [... read more ...]]]>

For those who may remember my recipe for perfect oatmeal cookies, I had praised the almighty rice crispy treat, extolling its overall simplicity, as well as its enduring popularity as an American classic. For those who struggle in the kitchen, I also present the following recipe, which features almost as few ingredients as rice crispy treats, but which involves even less cooking. The real difference, however, is that these curry mascarpone dates take the top prize for originality (after all, rice crispy treats have already seen quite a bit of playing time over the years). In fact, the recipe below has long been one of my secret weapons, and I can guarantee from personal experience that these addictive little dates will flip an awful lot of wigs at your next soiree.

I poached this concept from Auberge du Soleil, where I spent my first year cooking in the Napa Valley (and learning about ten times more than I had ever learned at the CIA). These curry mascarpone dates served as a garnish for one of the restaurant’s salads, and although I can’t remember too much about the salad itself, this particular element of the dish has remained with me throughout the years (I should note, however, that the Auberge version of these dates featured candied pistachios in lieu of toasted almonds). But despite a few of my basic simplifications, the effort-versus-compliment ratio for this recipe is practically untouchable. In most cases, you would have to work much harder to achieve the same recognition. Work smarter, not harder.

• • •

MEDJOOL DATES WITH CURRY MASCARPONE

Ingredients (makes about 40 pieces)

Medjool dates, 12 oz (about 20 dates)

Mascarpone cheese, room temperature, 4 oz

Curry powder, 1T

Powdered sugar, 2T

Toasted almonds, coated with olive oil for shine, 40 each

Method

1. Split the dates lengthwise and discard the pits. With wet fingertips (which makes handling much easier), shape the dates into shallow, concave pieces.

2. Mix together the mascarpone, curry and powdered sugar (I typically use Sun Brand Madras Curry Power, which I believe is a relatively common national brand).

3. Fill the dates with the curry mascarpone (I just use a common table knife for this step), and garnish with an almond.

C'est bon: Creole red beans, garnished with andouille sausage, parsley, and a sieved egg. Pictured in the BG: Crystal Extra Hot.

If I’m going to spend a Monday afternoon making a big pot of red beans, then I want them to be New Orleans red beans, like so many versions I tasted when I was living and cooking in the Crescent City. And just so you realize that I take these matters very seriously, I should point out that this recipe took some considerable time and effort, and not just on my part. The very foundation [... read more ...]]]>

C'est bon: Creole red beans, garnished with andouille sausage, parsley, and a sieved egg. Pictured in the BG: Crystal Extra Hot.

If I’m going to spend a Monday afternoon making a big pot of red beans, then I want them to be New Orleans red beans, like so many versions I tasted when I was living and cooking in the Crescent City. And just so you realize that I take these matters very seriously, I should point out that this recipe took some considerable time and effort, and not just on my part. The very foundation for this dish — the Camellia Brand red beans themselves — were sent to me by a good friend in New Orleans, a fellow chef who insisted that there was simply no viable substitute. Since Phil is usually correct about all things Creole, and because he was also willing to mail several pounds of dried beans to California, I naturally complied (Phil sent along a few other regional items as well, including six cans of Blue Runner beans and a bottle of Crystal Extra Hot). As for the andouille sausage, I also went the authentic route, and I ordered a few pounds of the real deal directly from Jacob’s World Famous in La Place (fortunately, Jacob’s will FedEx some of their heartier pork products, although their rival down the block, Bailey’s World Famous, does not offer this same service).

• • •

Historically, red beans and rice is considered a “Creole” dish, meaning that its roots are located in the City of New Orleans (or thereabouts). Although the words “Cajun” and “Creole” have become practically interchangeable today, “Cajun” cooking implies a cuisine that was developed in the more rural areas of Louisiana, such as Opelousas. Chef Paul Prudhomme is perhaps the most famous native of Opelousas, and he was actually my former employer at K-Paul’s. Over the years, Prudhomme has authored several books regarding Louisiana cuisine, including 1987′s “The Prudhomme Family Cookbook,” in which he notes, “when I was growing up in Cajun country, red beans were just another dried bean, like pinto beans and lima beans — and Cajuns loved dried beans. But when I moved to New Orleans, I discovered that red beans were a cultural phenomenon, a tradition dating back for hundreds of years.”

As I’ve often pondered the recipe for authentic Creole red beans, “The Prudhomme Family Cookbook” is just one of several vintage New Orleans cookbooks that I’ve referenced. In fact, over the years, I’ve gone back to Prudhomme’s original book — 1984′s “Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Kitchen” — so many times, that the book automatically opens to the red beans recipe on page 190 (true story). But Paul Prudhomme represents just one part of the total equation: One of my most-trusted resources for Creole cooking is the legendary Lena Richard, author of 1940′s “New Orleans Cook Book,” which provides amazing recipes for so many great Creole dishes. Some of the other landmark cookbooks in my collection include a 1942 edition of the “Picayune Creole Cook Book” (published by the New Orleans Times-Picayune), a 1964 edition of “Brennan’s New Orleans Cookbook,” a 1981 edition of “La Bonne Cuisine” (a famous recipe compilation by the Women of All Saints’ Episcopal Church, New Orleans); and 1969′s “New Orleans Cuisine” by Mary Land. Each book puts a slightly different spin on Creole red beans and rice, and aside from those already mentioned, there are several more historic New Orleans cookbooks that have also provided me with beaucoup insight. Rather than list them all here, I’ll mention them if they become pertinent.

• • •

As the folks from New Orleans know, red beans and rice is traditionally a Monday dish, with Monday also being the traditional wash day. As Leon Soniat points out in his 1981 cookbook, “La Bouche Creole,” dealing with the laundry took quite a bit of effort in the old days. The idea, of course, was to multitask, since cooking red beans and doing laundry were both chores that required several hours each. The fortunate part was that, in terms of the actual effort involved, cooking a pot of red beans was mostly a passive process of all-day simmering. Therefore, it was possible to get the beans rolling in the morning, then deal with the wash all day. Soniat describes this era the best: “Come Monday morning washday would begin. The procedure usually involved three large tubs — the tub in which the clothes had been soaking and in which they would be scrubbed on a washboard, another tub filled with water in which the clothes were rinsed, and the third tub to be filled with water to which a few spoonfuls of bluing had been added. A small tub of thick, sticky starch would be cooking on the stove. After being washed, some of the clothes were dipped into the starch and then hung out to dry.”

• • •

Among the many red bean recipes that I’ve researched over the years, the cooking times can actually vary quite a bit, although I can assure you that no decent batch of red beans was ever made in 30 minutes. At the minimum, each recipe requires at least a couple hours of simmering, however, and each of them also requires soaking the beans in cold water the night before. The subject of cooking dried beans is actually not a simple one, even though so few foods may seem as basic as the “staple” bean. Some of my cookbooks feature sections that address dried bean cookery directly. One of the main issues revolves around salt, and more specifically, when it should be added to the cooking liquid. Conventional “wisdom” is that salt strengthens the skins of the bean, thus preventing them from breaking down during cooking (I was even taught this misguided principle at the CIA). It turns out this caveat is highly debatable, and possibly dead wrong. Contrary to popular belief, famed food scientist Harold McGee asserts that salting the soaking liquid of the beans helps to cook them more quickly (and season them more evenly, to boot). If it works for McGee, then it works for me: End of story.

Aside from the salt debate, the “hardness” of your cooking water and the age of the beans themselves are two other important factors in determining a bean’s cooking time (altitude also has an effect, while we’re on the subject). For folks who have noticeably hard water, the surplus minerals may inhibit the water’s ability to penetrate the bean during cooking. Likewise, ingredients that are high in acid, such as tomatoes, or high in calcium, such as molasses, will also inhibit the breakdown of dried beans (which is why chili beans and baked beans are able to maintain their shape so well over time). However, since high-acid and high-calcium ingredients are not relevant to cooking Creole red beans (mostly), this point is moot, although the hard water issue may still present a problem. To combat the effects of hard water, some food scientists advise adding a little baking soda to the cooking liquid, while others claim that this technique may introduce a “soapy” characteristic. That said, I recommend just being patient, and simply allowing all the time necessary to avoid this type of self-sabotage. If hard water is really that serious of a concern, better to splurge on bottled water.

• • •

In comparing red bean recipes among several cookbooks and from several decades, I tried to find common themes among the ingredients. I considered five various elements in each recipe, beginning with (1) the cooking liquid, (2) the other vegetables, (3) the preferred pork product, (4) the herb and spice profile, and finally, (5) the garnish. Aside from listing some different cooking times, the method for each recipe is strikingly similar: Simmer everything together until the beans are done, and then mash them up a bit, if necessary, to help them achieve their desired creaminess. Simple. So the real differences between each recipe has much more to do with ingredients, rather than techniques. Right off the top, I noticed that water is the standard cooking liquid in all the recipes except for one (Prudhomme’s red bean recipe in “Prudhomme Family” calls for chicken stock as the preferred option, although his recipe in “Louisiana Kitchen” does not). And so, with water pretty much being the consensus choice for cooking liquid, I shifted my focus to the other four elements:

Vegetables: The Complete Cajun Trinity?

Thanks to Emeril Lagasse, most of America has now become familiar with the Holy Trinity of Cajun cooking: onion, celery, bell pepper. This trio presents an American twist on the classic French mirepoix: onion, celery, carrot. I noticed that many classic red bean recipes do not feature the entire Cajun Trinity, perhaps revealing their origin in Creole culture (if red beans had been first embraced by the Cajun culture, we might have seen a distinct difference in this regard). With that in mind, the only red bean recipes that do feature the entire Trinity are those from Paul Prudhomme (no surprise, from a native of Opelousas) and Leon Soniat. One of the the oldest recipes — from the “Picayune Creole Cookbook” — actually calls for carrots, though no bell pepper or celery. Lena Richard’s version features onion and bell pepper (but no celery); “La Bonne Cuisine” requires onion and celery (no bell pepper, although this unique recipe does call for a can of tomato sauce); Mary Land’s recipe calls for onion only; “Brennan’s” calls for just onion and shallot (or what most non-Creole people would call a green onion). It’s clearly debatable. I say, if you’ve got the entire Cajun Trinity in your pantry, then roll with it. Otherwise, make sure you at least have an onion. And omit the tomato sauce, no matter what.

Pork: Pickled Meat, and At What Point Sausage?

One of the beautiful things about cooking red beans and rice on Mondays is that traditionally, many New Orleans families would often have a leftover ham bone from Sunday dinner. In Lena Richard’s recipe, she calls for a ham shank or “pickled meat” (pork shoulder, usually, that has been pickled and preserved through heavy brining). Leon Soniat calls for pickled pork or ham, while many recipes, including those from “Brennan’s” and the “Picayune Cook Book,” simply call for chopped ham outright. Regardless, every single red beans recipe requires some form of seasoned pork product. Mary Land and Paul Prudhomme both call for ham hocks, which is also my favorite choice (assuming I had no leftover ham bone).

As one might expect, many recipes for red beans call for andouille sausage, although most do not. Of course, I’m inclined to add andouille whenever possible, since it’s so damn delicious. Few folks from Louisiana would disagree, although they might disagree on when to add the sausage (this debate presents one the of the few instances when red bean recipe methods do not form a general consensus). Paul Prudhomme instructs readers to add the sausage during cooking, although in the very latter stages. Leon Soniat is absolutely adamant that sausage shouldn’t be added at all, instead opting to cook it separately and treat it more like a garnish. Since some folks seem so against it, and since there are other pork products simmering in the liquid, I’m amenable to cooking the andouille separately.

Herbs and Spices: A Pumpkin Pie Profile?

Among the list of herbs and spices present in most recipes for red beans, garlic is by far the most common, and I believe that it’s a standard across the board. A bay leaf is also standard for the most part, and thyme is practically universal as well.  Aside from these two basic elements, Paul Prudhomme adds white pepper, oregano and cayenne; “La Bonne Cuisine” calls for garlic, bay leaves, and Worcestershire (extra points for umami); while 1975′s “The New Orleans Cookbook” by Rima and Richard Collin calls for garlic, bay, thyme, cayenne, and (oddly) dried basil. By far, the most unique spice profile for red beans is the one provided by Leon Soniat, who in “La Bouche Creole” calls for garlic, bay leaf, thyme, cayenne, chili powder, allspice and cloves. These latter two “baking” spices are certainly intriguing in this context (and a clear nod to the West Indies), but I’m not too sure about going too far in that one particular direction; I’m willing to add a pinch of allspice, but I always fear that cloves can overpower a dish.

Garnishes: What’s the Final Creole Touch?

Although many cookbooks feature different approaches to Creole red beans, a surprising number of them agree upon the garnish, which is typically a couple tablespoons of chopped parsley (some recipes will have the parsley stirred into the beans just prior to serving, while other recipes recommend sprinkling the parsley over the top). I’ve noticed that the really old school recipes call for a sieved egg as the garnish, which I admire not only for its tradition, but because sieved eggs bring a terrific color contrast to an otherwise monotone dish. With that general principle in mind, I opt for the best of both worlds: A sieved egg alongside the more contemporary chopped parsley (sprinkled, not stirred).

• • •

AUTHENTIC CREOLE RED BEANS

Ingredients

• Red beans, dried (preferably Camellia Brand), 1 lb.

• Ham hocks, four each

• Onion, one large, diced (about 2 cups)

• Celery, 3 ribs, diced (about 1 cup)

• Red bell pepper, one each, seeded and diced (about 1 cup)

• Green onion, tops only, one bunch, diced (about 1/2 cup)

• Garlic, minced, three toes

• Bay leaf, 3 each

• Dried thyme, 1/2T

• Dried oregano, 1/2T

• Allspice, 1/2t

• L&P Worcstershire sauce, 1T

• Salt and black pepper, to taste

• Crystal hot sauce, to taste

• Garnish: sauteed half-moons of andouille sausage, chopped parsley, and a sieved egg

Method

1. Soak the red beans in salted cold water overnight (the solution should taste like slightly diluted sea water).

2. The next day, drain and rinse the beans thoroughly, and set them aside. In a large stock pot, combine 2 quarts of water with the ham hocks, Trinity, garlic, bay leaves, thyme, oregano, black pepper, allspice, and Worcestershire. Bring liquid to a boil, and then simmer for 30 minutes.

3. Add the red beans to the pot, and allow them to simmer, perhaps for a few hours, until they finally begin to break apart naturally.

4. Once the beans have formed a creamy consistency, season them with salt and hot sauce, if necessary. Remove the ham hocks, and carve away the meaty portions. Dice the ham hock meat and return it to the red beans.

5. Serve the red beans over fluffy white rice, and garnish with half-moons of sauteed andouille sausage, chopped parsley, and a sieved egg.

Lagniappe

During simmering, add as much water as necessary to the beans to help avoid scorching. I typically begin with two quarts of water, and if I leave the stock pot lid ajar, I sometimes don’t have to add any additional water (some steams escapes, but some drips back into the pot). Also, as the cooking liquid reduces, reduce the cooking temperature accordingly (it will require less and less heat to maintain a gentle simmer, especially as the beans release their starches). This latter tip also applies when the ham hocks are removed.

Even as someone who used to work as a pastry chef at a Michelin-star restaurant, I will admit that baking can sometimes present a challenge. It requires practice and patience the same way that golf requires practice and patience; those who decide to bake cookies once a year will probably have about as much success as those who hit the links once a year. And just like those who have no shame when they totally whiff on their opening tee shot, I have seen many people who will bring sub-par sweets to office parties and to potlucks, accompanied [... read more ...]]]>

Even as someone who used to work as a pastry chef at a Michelin-star restaurant, I will admit that baking can sometimes present a challenge. It requires practice and patience the same way that golf requires practice and patience; those who decide to bake cookies once a year will probably have about as much success as those who hit the links once a year. And just like those who have no shame when they totally whiff on their opening tee shot, I have seen many people who will bring sub-par sweets to office parties and to potlucks, accompanied by the disclaimer: “Um, some of these might be a little bit burnt on the bottom.” Um, gee, thanks for nothing, bucko.

For those who struggle with baking, I offer one simple solution: rice crispy treats. They are fast, easy, cheap, and always a hit (I don’t think that I have ever seen a plate of rice crispy treats not get devoured). But please, just keep them simple; do NOT add chocolate chips or M&Ms or anything that will confuse the texture and the taste. As far as I’m concerned, adding anything beyond the delicious trinity of marshmallows, rice crispies and butter is like putting a mustache on the Mona Lisa. So don’t try to shoehorn your own creative flair into this timeless and simple recipe, especially if you don’t even know how to bake anything else. I really can’t emphasize this caveat enough.

But for those who strive for a greater degree of difficulty, I will offer up my own personal oatmeal cookie recipe, which I am glad to share. It’s not my intention to discourage folks from baking or from trying to perfect their skills in the kitchen. However, I do request that all mistakes are dealt with properly. If you’ve burnt the cookies, cut your losses and throw them away or feed them to the dog. America is already plenty obese, and it’s just not worth it for most folks to ingest big calories without at least enjoying some level of quality. If you’re going to kill people with sugar and butter, at least kill them with some kindness and consideration.

• • •

They key to baking a proper cookie is knowing when to remove them from the oven, and this is where most people stumble and fall. The most important thing to remember is that the cookies pictured above did not look that way at the moment that they finished baking. A properly baked oatmeal cookie will initially look rather pale, slightly souffléd, and somewhat glossy — at that early moment, only the underside of the cookie will appear golden brown and delicious. However, as the cookies cool on the sheet pan, they will flatten, lose their sheen, and take on a darker shade. In the time it would actually require for the top side of a cookie to become golden brown in the oven, the underside will scorch and burn.

The recipe below assumes that folks have a stand mixer, a digital scale, and a #24 disher. Proper baking is serious business, and to quote Big Daddy Kane, there ain’t no half-stepping. If you don’t have the necessary tools, there is again no shame in making rice crispy treats. That said…

PERFECT OATMEAL COOKIES

INGREDIENTS (makes about 30 cookies)

All purpose flour, 250g

Baking soda, 7g

Ground cinnamon, 6g

Ground allspice, 1g

Salt, 6g

Unsalted butter, 340g (three sticks)

White sugar, 135g

Brown sugar, 380g

Eggs, three each

Vanilla extract, 1 1/2t

Rolled oats, 450g

Dried fruit medley (any combination of raisins, cranberries, cherries, blueberries or diced apricots), 240g

• • •

METHOD

1. Sift together flour, baking soda, cinnamon, allspice and salt. Add the oats, and toss the mixture to combine thoroughly.

2. In a stand mixer, cream the butter and sugars on medium speed with a paddle attachment. Once the mixture has become fluffy and light (about 10 minutes or so), blend in the eggs and the vanilla.

3. On low speed, add the dried fruits until combined, then slowly add the remaining dry ingredients. Mix the ingredients only until the dough has come together (always check the bottom of the mixing bowl for dry patches of unincorporated flour and oats).

4. Portion the cookie dough with a #24 disher, and allow the portioned dough to chill in the refrigerator for at LEAST one hour (this step is critical — if the dough is not cold when it goes into the oven, the cookies will spread too fast).

5. Preheat the oven to 375ºF and place five scoops of cookie dough on a regular sheet pan (no parchment paper necessary). Bake the cookies for 12-13 minutes, rotating the sheet pan halfway through (I tend to bake these cookies just one sheet pan at a time, ensuring much more consistent results than trying to bake two sheet pans at a time).

6. Remove cookies from the oven and allow them to cool for 10 minutes on the sheet pan. Carefully remove the cookies with a spatula and allow them to continue to cool on the counter (they will still be warm and extremely delicate at this point, but they will become easy to handle after cooling for 30 more minutes).

NOTE: In order to make any necessary adjustments in respect to baking time, it’s always wise to pay attention to the first batch out of the oven. As you transfer the cookies from the sheet pan to the counter, inspect the undersides to ensure that they are not being overcooked.

• • •

]]> http://www.thirstyreader.com/more-than-just-recipes-perfect-oatmeal-cookies-in-an-imperfect-world/feed/ 1 http://www.thirstyreader.com/recipe-butternut-squash-soup-with-amorelli-croutons/ http://www.thirstyreader.com/recipe-butternut-squash-soup-with-amorelli-croutons/#comments Tue, 10 Nov 2009 00:04:04 +0000 Thirsty Reader http://www.thirstyreader.com/?p=1196

Yes, it does taste as good as it looks...

Making great soup is a time-consuming endeavor, even though the end-product itself appears to be rather straight-forward. Unfortunately, there is simply no substitute for homemade chicken stock, which means that you’re looking at four hours of simmering just to get this one key component ready. Folks who buy their “broth” from supermarket shelves might as well just open up a can of Campbell’s, as far as I’m concerned. Store-bought chicken broth tastes like water when compared to homemade chicken stock. Plus, that weak-flavored, store-bought broth lacks [... read more ...]]]>

Yes, it does taste as good as it looks...

Making great soup is a time-consuming endeavor, even though the end-product itself appears to be rather straight-forward. Unfortunately, there is simply no substitute for homemade chicken stock, which means that you’re looking at four hours of simmering just to get this one key component ready. Folks who buy their “broth” from supermarket shelves might as well just open up a can of Campbell’s, as far as I’m concerned. Store-bought chicken broth tastes like water when compared to homemade chicken stock. Plus, that weak-flavored, store-bought broth lacks the overall body of a good chicken stock, which develops gelatin as the chicken bones simmer and begin to break down over time.

Honestly, if you’re going to go through the trouble of making homemade soup, why in the world would you short shrift yourself by half-stepping on one of the main ingredients? Of course, there is a silver lining to spending the requisite four hours to make good chicken stock: aside from creating a more flavorful, nutritionally-sound base for your soup, it also allows plenty of time to take some extra care with the soup’s other components. In the case of butternut squash soup, I like to slow-roast the squash while the chicken stock simmers. In the four hours it takes to prepare a worthwhile chicken stock, you can develop wonderfully concentrated flavors from the butternut squash itself. By simply bringing these two components together in a soup, success is all but guaranteed.

• • •

Ingredients

• Chicken wings, 20 each, or about three pounds

• Large onions, two each

• Peeled carrots, two each

• Celery stalks, two each

• Butternut squash, ten pounds (or two large ones)

• Heavy cream, one pint

• Cinnamon, 2T

• Butter, 2T

• Brown sugar, to taste

Method

1. Cut the butternut squash in half lengthwise, and scoop out the seeds. Place the squash cut-side up on a baking sheet, sprinkle them liberally with salt, and place them in a 250F oven. The squash will roast four hours, the same time it takes to make the chicken stock.

2. To prepare the chicken stock, place the wings into a large stockpot and rinse thoroughly with cold water to remove excess blood. Once the wings are rinsed, cover them with cold water and simmer them over low heat. Be sure that the chicken stock simmers gently, and does not go into a full rolling boil. A grayish foam will collect on the water’s surface as the stock begins to heat. Skim this foam away as it forms (if the water boils too rapidly, this foam will easily disintegrate and cloud the stock). After the wings have simmered for three hours, quarter one onion and chop the celery and carrot into half-inch pieces. Add the vegetables to the pot and allow them to simmer with the wings for one hour.

3. Once the squash has roasted for four hours, it should be beyond tender. Remove the squash from the oven and allow it to cool slightly. Meanwhile, strain the wings and the vegetables from the stock as you transfer the liquid into another large container. Wash the stockpot, then slice the remaining onion, and add it to the stockpot, along with the butter and the cinnamon. Cook the mixture over medium-low heat, until the onion softens.

4. Scoop the flesh from the butternut squash, leaving behind the skin. Add the squash to the stockpot, then add the heavy cream. Mix the onion, squash and cream together thoroughly. Add the chicken stock to the mixture, about one cup at a time, until the soup reaches the desired thickness (my recipe tends to use all of the chicken stock, but it’s always wise to reserve some of the liquid). Using a blender, puree the soup in batches (again, working into another large container), adjusting the final thickness of the soup with the remaining chicken stock.

5. Once all of the soup is pureed, return it to the stock pot, set the heat on low, and adjust it for sweetness and saltiness. It’s worth noting, a little brown sugar can really augment the inherent sweetness in the squash, but too much sugar may cause it to taste like pumpkin pie filling. Personal preference is the key factor, however, and it’s your soup. Along the same line, you can incorporate other spices into the soup, including nutmeg, allspice and clove (again, consider the spice profile of pumpkin pie). For the most part, I prefer to just keep things simple with cinnamon. Sometimes less is more.

6. Upon serving, garnish the soup with mini amorelli cookies, broken pieces of ginger snaps, or spin things in an entirely different direction with a generous dollop of curried mascarpone cheese. Eat.

In general, I’ve always felt that scallops and sweet corn complemented each other quite nicely, which ultimately inspired me to prepare the dish pictured above. To be honest, however, the specific notion of diver scallops with sweet corn maque choux struck me as a true revelation the other day, and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this particular combination sooner. Then I googled “scallop maque choux” and found that Emeril Lagasse has already created this dish, along with a recipe. Oh well, I’m sure that Emeril wasn’t the [... read more ...]]]>

C'est Bon: Diver Scallops with Sweet Corn Maque Choux

In general, I’ve always felt that scallops and sweet corn complemented each other quite nicely, which ultimately inspired me to prepare the dish pictured above. To be honest, however, the specific notion of diver scallops with sweet corn maque choux struck me as a true revelation the other day, and I wondered why I hadn’t thought of this particular combination sooner. Then I googled “scallop maque choux” and found that Emeril Lagasse has already created this dish, along with a recipe. Oh well, I’m sure that Emeril wasn’t the first to think of it, either.

I will note, however, that Emeril’s recipe contains a misnomer, at least where I’m from. The recipe in question calls for eight “bay” scallops, which are actually the very tiny ones (you could easily fit four or five bay scallops into a single tablespoon). The way the recipe reads — and what I think Emeril, or his ghost writer, probably meant — was eight “sea” scallops, or eight “diver” scallops (these are the large ones, up to two ounces each, which are suitable for pan-searing or even grilling).

But while diver scallops and a bay scallops are two very specific entities, sweet corn maque choux is far more subjective. As Paul Prudhomme mentions in his seminal cookbook, “Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Kitchen,” every Cajun household is likely to have its very own maque choux recipe. Some recipes call for heavy cream, some call for evaporated milk, some call for eggs and milk beaten to a froth, and some just require a little butter for the sauté pan. For my version, I went with the latter approach, opting to keep things light and simple for the summertime.

Sweet Corn Maque Choux Ingredients (serves four)

• Fresh corn kernels, 3 cups (four ears of corn)

• Red bell pepper, diced, 3/4 cup (about 1/2 a pepper)

• Yellow onion, diced, 3/4 cup (about 1/2 an onion)

• Chicken stock, 1 1/2 cups

• Unsalted butter, 2T + 1T

• Paul Prudhomme’s Seafood Magic, 2T

• Chives, chopped, 1/2T (optional)

Sweet Corn Maque Choux Method

1. In a sauté pan, melt two tablespoons of butter on medium heat and add the seasoning mix, stirring until the mixture becomes foamy and fragrant. Add the corn, the bell pepper, and the onion and stir well to combine. Cook for about five minutes, stirring occasionally. When a starchy brown crust begins to form along the bottom of the pan, add one cup of chicken stock to deglaze.

2. Allow the vegetables to simmer on medium-low heat, stirring occasionally. Once the chicken stock has completely reduced, add the other half cup of stock along with one tablespoon of butter. Set heat to low and stir well, until the butter and stock combine to form a glaze. Taste for seasoning, and adjust if necessary. Garnish with the chopped chives.

• • •

Pan-seared Scallop Ingredients (serves four)

• Diver scallops, twelve each (you can definitely scale this number back for an appetizer portion)

• Vegetable oil, 1T (clarified butter is even better, but perhaps less practical for the home cook)

• Unsalted butter, 2T

• Paper towels

Pan-seared Scallop Method

1. While a sauté pan heats, pat the diver scallops dry with a few paper towels. Add the vegetable oil to the pan, coating the bottom evenly. Once the oil has just begun to smoke slightly, add the scallops and reduce the heat to medium-low. Allow the scallops to sit in the pan undisturbed, while they form a golden brown crust (you can press down on the scallops to get an even browning — just don’t move them until they form their crust).

2. After about one minute, check the underside of the scallops for color. Flip them when they have become golden brown, and add the two tablespoons of butter. Baste the scallops with the butter, and cook them until they just become slightly firm when pinching them at the sides (this signifies medium-rare). Remove the scallops from pan, and plate them atop the sweet corn maque choux.