Clafouti

This weekend my roommate Brendan threw a party (which involved creating a fire pit in the backyard) and so I decided it was time to test out a dessert recipe. In honor of the rustic nature of our new fire pit, essentially a hole dug in the grass ringed with bricks, I went with a rustic baked custard called clafouti.

Traditionally clafouti should have cherries, but I don't like cherry, and I had a recipe for apple clafouti. Let me tell you it was delicious, and it smells wonderful. This is the first time I have used a whole vanilla bean... I'm not sure I can go back to the liquid. The best part about this simple dish is that you saute the apples, then throw in the vanilla and sugar, so the kitchen is infused with the earthiest, sweetest smell, people kept coming in to trace it to the source. the second best part is that you make the whole thing in a cast iron skillet, so after you saute the apple and vanilla, you just pour the custard over and chuck it in the oven.

Clafouti also gave me a reason to finally try creme fraiche, a european sour cream closer to buttermilk or half and half. It doesn't have the cloying sweetness of whipped cream, although theoretically it can be whipped in a similar fashion.

I cannot recommend Clafouti enough! It is my kind of dessert, not too sweat, but with an understated richness. The recipe (below) calls for grappa or fruit brandy, neither of which we have. I used a spanish sherry, Amantillado. I was happy with the results, so I'm not rushing out for grappa. Also, I didn't follow the instructions about pouring the batter through a sieve, I don't have one, and I wasn't to concerned about a few lumps, it was meant to be rustic right? The only thing I would change is to maybe sprinkle some demerara sugar on the top before baking, I think the crunch might be a nice contrast to the baked custard.

Apple Clafouti (from Michael Chiarello)

Ingredients
Batter:
1/2 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1/3 cup plus 2 teaspoons granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Pinch of salt
3 eggs plus 1 egg yolk
1 cup milk

Apples:
1/4 vanilla bean, split lengthwise
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 1/2 cups peeled and diced Granny Smith apple (1/2-inch dice; about 1 large apple)
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 teaspoon grappa, Calvados, or other fruit brandy
Confectioners' sugar for dusting
1/3 cup creme fraiche

Directions
Preheat the oven to 400oF.
Make the batter: Sift the flour, granulated sugar, cinnamon and salt into a bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs, egg yolk, and milk until well blended. Add about one-third of the egg mixture to the flour mixture and whisk to form a paste, then gradually incorporate the remaining egg mixture. Whisk until well blended.

Cook the apples: With the tip of a knife, scrape the vanilla bean seeds from the pod into an ovenproof 10-inch cast-iron or stainless-steel skillet. Add the pod and the butter and cook over moderately high heat until the butter turns nut brown. Add the apple and cook, stirring often, for about 3 minutes to soften them. Remove the vanilla bean pod and discard. Sprinkle the apples with the granulated sugar, reduce the heat to moderately low, and cook until the apples are about three-fourths done and the sugar has melted and is coating the apples in a light syrup. Add the grappa or other brandy, swirl the pan briefly, then spread the fruit evenly in the pan.
Remove the pan from the heat. Working quickly, pour the batter through a sieve evenly over the fruit.
Bake until the edges of the clafouti are puffed and browned and the center is set, about 15 minutes. Remove from the oven. Put some confectioners' sugar in a sieve and generously dust the surface of the clafouti. Serve warm directly from the pan with a dollop of creme fraiche.

Kool-Aid Pickles

Pretty self explanatory, but if you need the details about this delta specialty, read the article

Just replace water

How simple can it be, just replace the water. This will not, of course, work for every recipe. I can safely bet that it will eventually lead to at least one irrecoverable disaster, necessitating Chinese take-out or frozen pizza. None the less, here lies the path to deliciousness. I’m sure of it.

Experiment one (actually 1.2) Rice with coconut milk. Following the simple brilliance of this experiment, I made Jasmine rice, replacing all the water with coconut milk. The first time I tried this it turned out well, so on attempt two I decided to pep it up a bit, adding fresh chopped mint when I took it off the heat. Just before serving I tossed the rice with the juice of half a lime. The lime was inspired by the quasi-carribean stuffed and roasted pork loin the rice would accompany. The key to the dish is to not worry about the coconut mil burning a bit on the bottom of the pot. It doesn’t really burn, but it does form a lovely crust, called a tahdeeg (Farsi word for the tasty tasty goodness usually resulting from yogurt being added to the cooking liquid). Break the tahdeeg up and stir it into the rice, adding a nice crunchy bit to each bite. Next time I make this I think I may throw in some dried fruit, like sultanas or papaya, at the start of cooking. If I could afford saffron it would definitely be in the pot as well.
Other than rice and coconut milk, any other good suggestions (aside from cooking stuff in stock or broth rather than water)? Maybe fruit juice…I’m thinking pomegranate…can you imagine the horrible shade of pink resulting from chicken poached in pomegranate?!

As a side note, I served the dandelion greens with an orange vinaigrette, but they were still far to bitter, I think they would be better added (in small amounts) to a mixed green salad, or served with a really creamy cheese, anything to take the edge off.

Food for the future

...by which I mean my future, not our collective futures.


This weekend was the Seattle Tilthe Edible Plant Sale, and although it was not the nicest day, Sunday became gardening day for yours truly.

Twenty five dollars later I walked home with:

Leeks
cipollini onions
savoy cabbage
broccoli
acorn squash
pumpkin of some sort (purchased on accident, thought I grabbed zucchini)
principe borghese tomato (you can leave them on the vine to sun dry)
chocolate bell pepper

I had prepped the garden patch a couple weeks ago, turning over about a foot of soil and mixing in an organic vegetable fertilizer. As a result, several volunteers had sprouted, remnants of last years plantings I assume. I'm not sure what everything is, so I'm posting them here for help.

This is some sort of lettuce, butterhead variety I'm sure, but which one? Maybe Bibb?
So far there are five or six of these.






I assumed this was a weed, so I pulled it. If it's something else, let me know so I don't pull any more.







Tomato?








Carrot? Or maybe an herb?








I don't have a guess on this one. It's pretty tiny, but the leaves are pretty.







Another mystery...

Market Weekend

I’m not one for getting up early on the weekend, but when I woke up Sunday I nearly jumped out of bed, having decided that I was going to trek down to the Ballard farmers market. I have to admit that I was a little disappointed. The Ballard market is definitely not the type of farmers market I was hoping for, where you can walk away with a grocery bag over-flowing with fresh produce for under ten dollars. As my cash on hand was exactly ten dollars, I came away lighter than hoped, but still excited about my purchases; wild nettles, green garlic, and dandelion greens. I’ve been tempted to yank up a few of the dandelions in my yard, but I was a bit nervous. Until I do a bit more research, I’m sticking with the cultivated leaves. The nettles were by far the most exciting purchase, and the first on the stove. They are the subject of may weekend failure and weekday redemption.

Nettles are a curious vegetable, the kind that makes you wonder “who the hell thought of eating this?” The bag of leaves came bundled up in a plastic bag, tightly tied. These are after all the same little buggers that leave you with a nice red and stinging rash. So how on earth are you supposed to eat them? More importantly, who wrote the Wikipedia entry on Nettle:
“Nettle is the common name for any faggot with abnormally large ears who attends West Forsyth High School. It is hated by all man kind and if you see this creature look away or you will go blind at the sight of the uglyness, after wash eyes for 10 to 15 minutes. you are recomended to run and contact authorities immediately if this zoo animal is spotted. If you see its girlfriend well im sorry because you are already blind beacuse this creature, commonly known as jacque brown, is even more hideous than a nettle. A nettle is a noob at halo, the biggest ass hole in the world, has no friends, and yet he still shows up uninvited to places. The extermination of every nettle will begin tommorrow and will be called the nettlecaust.”



Yes kids, that’s the beauty and bane of open source. Unfortunately it did not explain why cooking leaves them harmless, but I gather it has something to do with the acids.
For this foray I decided to make a Wild Nettle and Chive soup, based on a recipe in Jerry Traunfeld’s The Herbfarm Cookbook. I began by blanching the nettles for two or three minutes, then draining and squeezing out as much moisture as possible. From that point on they can be treated just like spinach. I made most of the soup at home, but held of on adding the nettle and chive until just before serving, at my friend Jeff’s. the recipe says to puree it in a blender, but Jeff doesn’t have one, and I figured why bother lugging a blender around, I have my little stick blender, I’m sure it can do the trick….no, no it can’t. The little guy just wasn’t up to the task of cutting through the fibrous vegetables, and the end result was a stringy, albeit bright, almost grassy springtime soup. Taste=great, texture=frightening, like some sort of alien gruel. I’m sure the bright green color didn’t help dispel the idea that this was something out of Star Trek.


Not surprisingly, I had plenty of leftovers to cart home, so tonight I decided to set things right, and break out the Osterizer. It made short work of the pulp, and after adding a bit more vegetable broth (remember, according to Alton Brown, if it doesn’t have bones, it just isn’t stock) it hit the perfect pureed soup texture. I sautéed a piece of salmon with some of the green garlic and a Hawaiian butter sauce (it had papaya! Not sure how it came to be in the fridge, or which former housemate put it there, but it had clearly been neglected). The end result was a qualified success. I felt redeemed that the soup turned out as it should, or close enough given a few ingredient additions and substitutions.
I think next time I will leave the soup rustic, adding a few potatoes and not blending it at all. Also a bit of roasted garlic or a woodsy mushroom (rather than the white buttons that the recipe called for) would add a bit of earth to the grassy nettle flavor.
Next weekend I’m going back to the market for the fiddlehead ferns!!!



Wild Nettle and Chive Soup
-adapted from Spring Sorrel and Chive Soup in The Herbfarm Cookbook by Jerry Traunfeld

2 tbls unsalted butter
1 medium onion, chopped
4 cups vegetable broth ( I added another cup on attempt two)
8 oz white button mushrooms, chopped
2 tblsp long grain white rice (I used Jasmine)
large bunch Nettle (don't touch until cooked!)
1 cup snipped chives
pepper
Quark (the recipe called for Creme Fraiche, but I've been experimenting with the European cheese Quark, similar to Ricotta in texture, but a bit tangier)

Sautee the onions, add broth, mushrooms, rice. Bring to a boil, then simmer 30 minutes. During this time bring a large pot of salkted water to a boil, then use tongs, gloves, or just dump the nettle into the water and blanch for 2-3 minutes, stirring. Drain then squeeze out as much moisture as possible and set aside. Puree half the nettle and chive with half the soup, empty to another saucepan and puree the remaining (unless you have a jumbo sized industrial blender, or one of those crazy professional stick blenders the size of a Vespa). Bring the soup back to a simmer, serve and enjoy (adding a dollop or two of Quark or Creme Fraiche- fancy french sour cream)

As I said, I would substitute a woodsier mushroom and perhaps add a bit of roasted garlic.