Two more ways to use a mountain of chili powder

I taught a fermented foods workshop here at our house in July and, in the course of researching recipes and techniques, decided I had to finally try to make kimchi/kimchee (choose your favorite English spelling, it's 김치 in Korean).

The three different batches of white radish kimchi I made before I got one that was edible (sorry about that still-super-salty batch you were subjected to, Mom and Dad) is another story. This story is about the chili powder that goes into kimchi.

There's an Asian grocery here in town that I like to frequent called Shanghai Market. The proprietor always knows which item to recommend. You see a shelf with five different types of soy sauce in several brands from three different countries and don't know which you want? This guy can tell you what the Japanese cooks are using, what the Chinese restaurants prefer and what sweet soy sauce is good for, plus let you know the run-down from least to most expensive. He helps me translate the labels on  pickled vegetables so I know what's in the package and hasn't yet said "I don't have that" to my occasional requests for unusual ingredients.

He can also sell you the right Korean chili powder to make kimchi. The only question you have to be able to answer is, "Would you like five pounds or three pounds?"

Once I took a minute to get over my disbelief that any ground spice would be sold in such massive quantities, I decided on three pounds and immediately started thinking about how to give away at least two pounds. This is the gallon jar I stored it in when I got home. It’s sitting on the table next to a 12-oz glass. 

Of course, I had to start giving it away to everyone I could think of who might be even just a little bit interested in trying some. And for every person who said yes, there was at least 1/3 to ½ cup. And I still have enough to make several batches of kimchi at home. Heck, I’ve made three batches already and still have more than a cup of chili powder left. I figure the original three-pound quantity must be enough to make batches of kimchi for a family of eight to eat every day for an entire year. And have enough powder to make each batch really spicy.

So, clearly this chili powder needs to turn up in some other dishes, too. The first was a savory rice porridge, since I was inspired to try more savory breakfasts after reading Fuschia Dunlop’s Every Grain of Rice Chinese home-cooking book this summer. 

Breakfast Porridge “Better Luck Next Time”
Serves two, or one VERY hungry person who doesn’t mind the taste

1 Tbsp butter or vegetable oil
1 tsp Korean chili powder
2 cups water
1 cup leftover cooked rice
1 Tbsp miso paste with dashi included
10 sorrel leaves
2 eggs
toasted sesame oil to taste

Melt butter or vegetable oil in a large pan. Cook Korean chili powder in the oil. Pour in water and rice. As water nears boiling point, stir in miso paste. Drop in sorrel leaves and crack eggs on top. Let eggs poach without stirring them as the rice and sorrel cook. When finished, drizzle with toasted sesame oil.

Sadly, I would not recommend making this one again the same way. I liked the look of the reddish stew with cooked rice and the poached egg on top, but sorrel was the wrong choice of vegetable for the dish. Too sour. I was going for a salty-fishy flavor with the miso that has dashi in it, but this was an odd combination with lemony sorrel. Sorrel is also not good with toasted sesame oil, so clearly a different green is important for the next try.

The next soup was a light dinner inspired by a pork and tofu soup recipe in my Korean cookbook. It uses some of the same ideas from the breakfast recipe, but meshes them with this much better soup recipe’s ingredients and some Malabar spinach from our weekly vegetable box. This attempt turned out to be good enough that Andrew and I each wanted seconds and he asked me to make it again whenever we get the same greens in the CSA box. 

Malabar spinach is not actually spinach, but a different equatorial plant that has a spinach-like flavor. Its texture is a bit slippery like okra when cooked in soup. 

Here are some of the soup ingredients lined up on the cutting board, waiting their turn to go into the soup pot:

Asian-style Rice and Vegetable Soup with Malabar Spinach 
Serves 2 to 4

2 Tbsp canola oil with 1 tsp dark sesame oil
½ cup small-diced onion
2 garlic cloves, smashed
2 cups Malabar spinach leaves, measured and then chopped
4 oz shiitake mushrooms, thickly sliced
1 cup leftover cooked rice
1 tsp Korean chili powder
8 oz firm tofu, cubed or cut in strips
2 Tbsp miso with dashi included
3 cups water
soy sauce 

Heat oil, cook onion until tender, add garlic and cook a minute or so. Stir in chili powder. Add mushrooms and cook until tender. Add rice, separate the grains with your spoon, pour in water and add tofu. Bring to a boil. Stir in miso paste and Malabar spinach and cook until spinach wilts. Serve with soy sauce on the side so each diner can season to taste.

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Sometimes, you just want the traditional ingredient

After eating a favorite of my Minnesota childhood, tater tot hotdish, while visiting at the in-laws' recently (my sister-in-law Katie made it), I had a hankering for it again when I got home.
At its most basic, this casserole (casseroles are known as "hotdish" in Minnesota) is ground meat (usually beef) in a dish with some mixed vegetables held together with a sauce of condensed cream of mushroom soup (straight from the can) and topped with frozen tater tots, which brown on top while the casserole mixture underneath is getting up to bubbling heat in the oven.

But hey, I'm in Illinois, where even the mixed vegetables are optional (so I'm told by a co-worker who knows this dish from his rural Illinois childhood), so why not have a different option for the meat? And why does it have to be cream of mushroom soup? Couldn't I make a perfectly good nondairy white sauce to serve the purpose of holding the casserole together?

The answer to "why does it have to be cream of mushroom soup?" is that it's easy. And as for the question about making white sauce myself, well, my sister-in-law did so for hers. And yes, yes I can make a perfectly serviceable white sauce that holds stuff together just fine. I do it all the time at work. Did I do it this time? No. And I won't go blaming the nondairy milk. I'll blame failing to measure out how much milk I was putting in the pan. I had too much liquid for the amount of starch I used, and I ended up with a sauce that was too loose, entirely unlike the consistency of condensed soup. My sauce was like sauce, nothing like the congealed mass that holds its shape while squooging out of the can. I'll also blame not having mushrooms. Didn't have them on the grocery list. I think I'd have liked the hotdish much better with mushrooms instead of the small amount of grated cheddar I desperately added to give the sauce a bit more flavor and body.

Why not have a different option for the meat? Well, no real reason, unless you're very attached to the flavor of browned ground beef. If I had been thinking straight when making the grocery list, I would have used ground turkey, but instead I decided to go out on a limb entirely and borrow a meat substitute option I learned from a vegan enchilada recipe on the New York Times website: crumbled tofu, cooked until it is browned and chewy.

The browned tofu has excellent texture, but I missed part of the lesson of the vegan enchilada recipe: the tofu needs to be heavily seasoned. I went straight from browning tofu to cooking vegetables and white sauce in the same oil. And I wasn't even patient enough to fully brown the tofu this time around. The flavor of my casserole is, as a result, a bit thin, despite my additions of other spices and herbs to the sauce. With every bite of tofu, I was wishing I had used meat.

Fortunately, I was not tempted to also spend the time and effort making my own tater tots, although this guy can tell you how.

I think I can revisit this process sometime after I've finished off the leftovers of the disappointing hotdish and try again to make a low-fat, possibly even still vegetarian version.

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Curried ravioli: Asian ingredients in a European-style dish

This one's an attempt from work, so no pictures, alas. The bright yellow sauce was very attractive, as was the orange-with-green-bits stuffing for the ravioli. Just try to imagine, eh?

At my last workplace, I learned a trick for making ravioli with wonton wrappers. The process moves along quickly enough that with a bit of practice, I was able to make several dozen in half an hour there. I'm a little rusty now, so the work was a bit slower.

I love how this works, so I wanted to share with you here. Start with your favorite filling, a very small portion scoop (the kind that have a spring handle that you squeeze and then a wire draws across the scoop to empty it out), a stack of wonton wrappers, a bowl of water or thinned-out beaten egg and either your fingers or a pastry brush. Lay out 12 wrappers on a countertop or cutting board, arranged in a pair of lines. Brush half of them (just one line) with water/egg. Plop a scoopful of filling on each of the wet wrappers. Now brush the wrappers in the other line. Flip the wrappers onto the ones with the fillings, match up the edges and corners and be sure to "burp" any air caught around the filling. Seal the edges with a fork or special ravioli tool. Repeat the process until either the filling or the wontons run out. These can now be frozen for later use, or dunked for a few minutes into boiling water until they are cooked through.

Wonton wrappers come in various sizes, so change your scoop size to deliver the amount of filling you can reasonably fit onto your little wonton squares and still seal them properly without having filling leak out the corners/edges. 

The filling for my most recent batch was mostly cooked sweet potato with Indian spices (I hope I'm remembering correctly that I used garam masala, ginger and garlic and possibly some extra ground coriander), some leftover filling from an earlier stuffed vegetable Indian dish, and green peas. I had a frozen batch of maybe about 30 ravioli or so to prepare and I knew I'd want them swimming in sauce because they wouldn't be served until the next day. To start the sauce, I pureed four or five cloves of garlic with a couple of tablespoons of chunks of fresh ginger, cooked the paste in a couple tablespoons of canola oil for just a few minutes, then added the spices that would flavor and color the sauce: ground coriander and cumin, plus Spice House Hot Curry Powder blend. After the spices had a chance to bloom in the oil, I stirred in three 15-oz cans of coconut milk and waited until the sauce came to a boil and thickened slightly. After a bit of seasoning with salt, the sauce was ready for pouring over ravioli.

This dish is a mixed success. The flavor and color were amazing, especially with a little sprinkling of chopped cilantro leaves for a garnish to contrast with the bright yellow sauce. The downside is that after an overnight of hanging around in the sauce, the ravioli got so soft that many broke apart when being spooned out of the dish for serving the next day. Although they were swimming in sauce when entering the cooler, they stuck together anyway. Also, the coconut milk sauce dried a bit and had cracks in it after cooling down. Clearly, this dish is best served immediately, with hot sauce poured over freshly-cooked ravioli. I'd also prefer, if making this at home, to let the frozen ravioli thaw before cooking them, or to cook the ravioli without freezing them at all. The filling was still a little cold after I cooked the ravioli straight from the freezer.

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Another try at breakfast strata

It's been quite a while since I toyed with the breakfast casserole strata in the kitchen. In the last documented attempt, the strata was really subpar.

In the new version, it's still two layers of bread with a filling of sausage and vegetables in between, all held together by an egg mixture and baked till the bread starts to toast.
The differences:
1. no turmeric
2. this time, I had the mustard I wanted
3. different sausage
4. different spices
5. cheese topping

"Let's try this again" leftovers-for-breakfast strata
 serves at least 4
4 large eggs
1 cup milk (I used almond milk)
1 tsp dried sage leaves, crushed (4 to 5 leaves)
1/2 cup chopped parsley (loosely in the measuring cup, not packed)
1 orange bell pepper, chopped finely
2 leftover bratwurst-sized sausages, sliced (I had chicken-apple sausage)
1 tsp dijon mustard
1 tsp salt
3 Tbsp butter
6 to 8 slices dry bread
1 cup shredded cheddar

Oil 8x8 baking pan. Lay 3 to 4 slices of bread down to cover the bottom of the pan. Saute chopped pepper and sausage together in butter. When heated through, add parsley and sage. Spread veg/meat mixture on top of bread in baking pan. Cover with half of shredded cheese and top with 3 to 4 slices of bread to cover evenly. Whisk eggs with milk, mustard and salt. Pour over contents of pan, soak at least 1 hour (can soak overnight if desired to bake at breakfast time). Top with the rest of the shredded cheese and bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for approximately 30 minutes or until eggs are set and top layer of bread is toasted.
This dish is great fresh out of the oven, but do let it sit 10 minutes before cutting into portions. This time, I made the dish the night before I wished to eat it and cut portions to reheat in the microwave for a couple of breakfasts for me and Andrew.

I'm getting more daring with the use of eggs and cheese as my sometimes-touchy guts will allow. I'll have to admit that this time, I still didn't get things quite right and the strata was once again not a Heather-friendly dish. I suspect there was something about the chicken-apple sausage that I wasn't digesting well because not only the leftovers affected me, but also the serving of sausage with lunch on an earlier day. Maybe I could have skipped the cheese topping, too.

Well, this dish was fun until it suddenly wasn't fun anymore. The flavor was much improved over the last strata, and I was glad to have a way to use up leftovers of chicken sausage and parsley.

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Schwarzwälder Kirschtrifle and a bonus cocktail

Now that the cherry bounce I made in May has had several months to mellow out in the bottles, its character has changed greatly. In June, it was very harsh and pretty tart, especially if I ate one of the cherries that had been steeping in the liquor. Now, it's sweeter and has the full flavor of cherries in it, but it still packs a boozy punch.

A boozy punch is exactly what's on order when making a Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte (Black Forest Cake). The cherry filling in the traditional German preparation includes a couple shots of Kirschwasser (a schnapps made with cherries), also known as just Kirsch.

This story starts back a couple Saturdays ago, when I decided instead of Kirsch to use my homemade cherry liquor to make a Torte to take to a housewarming party. I also figured it would be something productive to do with the strained-out whiskey-soaked cherries.

I was using a recipe for the cake that I'd never tried before, one that had fewer ingredients than the one in my baking cookbook from Germany and seemed to have a promise of being less dry than the traditional recipe that included almond flour in the cake. I was excited while watching it bake to see it puff up, since it was a cake leavened mostly by beaten egg yolks and whites, and I feared it might fail to rise. I beamed proudly as I pulled the finished cake from the oven, then cried out in wordless shock as the pan slipped from my hands and hit the floor. The cake fell out of the pan and folded in half, leaving a smear of chocolate everywhere it touched.

A few unkind words and a few minutes of cleaning up the floor later, I decided there was nothing else better to do with the quart of whipping cream in my refrigerator, so I'd better get started on a new cake. Another hour later, I was pulling out Cake Number Two at the end of its baking time. It wasn't quite as tall as Cake Number One, but I hoped I could still manage to get two layers out of it.

As it sat on the cooling rack, the cake looked more and more discouraging as the center of it kept sinking. When the time came to cut the layers, it was very clear that the center of the cake was an underbaked, gooey mess that wouldn't have anything to do with layers. I had a two-layer doughnut on my hands with chocolatey sludge for a doughnut hole. Tasty sludge, but not suitable for Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte.

What to do now? The eggs are gone, there's still a quart of whipping cream that needs to go into something for this party, the filling made with whiskey-steeped cherries is ready and waiting, there's not enough time to bake and cool another cake, and the one I've got is fantastic around the outside, but impossible to use the inside. What else uses bits of cake and has pretty layers with fruit and whipped cream? Trifle! The Schwarzwälder Kirschtrifle was born.

Here it is, complete with the garnish of chocolate shavings and chocolate chunks, ready to go to the party. Those who grew up with trifle, please excuse the Pyrex bowl standing in for a proper trifle bowl, which I don't have and never thought I would ever want.

Both layers of cake have cherry filling, I soaked the cake with a bit more cherry bounce, and of course there are thick layers of whipped cream on top of each cherry layer.

This solution to cake disaster was a big hit at the party. This past week, the partying with boozy cherries continued with an experiment to use the leftover cherry juice I had from making the filling and the Kirsch I've had hanging around the house since a trip to Vom Fass in Madison, WI in June but hadn't had occasion to use yet.

Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte (Black Forest Cake), a cocktail

1 part Kirschwasser/Kirsch
2 parts Mocha Kahlua (perhaps another chocolate liqueur would work, this is what I had around)
2 parts cherry juice (100 percent tart cherries, and not a juice blend)

Mix Kirsch, Kahlua and juice and serve out into glasses. To finish off just like the traditional cake, garnish each glass with a dollop of whipped cream and sprinkle with chocolate shavings.

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Pork, cabbage, apples, grains: several stews

In August, I taught a class I called "Early Period Cooking Demo: Recipes for 10th Century England" at an SCA event. I've been trying to push myself this year to create recipes that could be appropriate for my 10th Century Saxon/Norse persona and to practice starting and controlling open fires for cooking.

My desire for the class was to offer 1) a demonstration of the ways in which a fire for cooking is maintained differently from a fire for warming a room, 2) a demonstration of different cooking methods known to people in 10th Century England, 3) recipes that could be appropriate to the time and place I'm portraying, a task complicated by the lack of recipe books for this period, 4) recipes I could reproduce on camping outings to reduce my reliance on modern recipes and foods.

The following recipe is influenced by two things: reading about food combinations in Ann Hagen's Bible of early English cooking, Anglo-Saxon Food and Drink: Production, Processing, Distribution and Consumption; and thinking about combinations of foods that would be in season together for a culture that was restricted in dietary choices by seasonal availability of foodstuffs. Bacon is a pork product that can be kept a few months in a cool place after the slaughter of a hog, so it's not tied to only one season. Apples, cabbages and fresh herbs are fall foods known to Anglo-Saxons as well as modern Americans. It's possible that my choice of kale for the later two versions of the stew is more authentic than heading cabbages, but I'm not certain the heading cabbages were unknown to 10th Century England.

Pork, Apple and Cabbage Stew
serves 4-6

1/2 pound wood-smoked bacon or other fresh or preserved pork, chopped
lard or bacon drippings or butter, if needed
1 large or 2 small onions, chopped
1 small green cabbage, cored and chopped
1 pound apples, peeled, cored and chopped
2 to 3 sprigs fresh thyme
1 small sprig fresh rosemary, chopped fine or 1/2 tsp dried rosemary leaves
1/2 cup barley, oat groats or wheat berries
chicken broth or water
salt and pepper to taste

Cook bacon in pot until it starts to crisp, or cook other pork in fat until browned. Skim some fat with a spoon if desired. Add onions and cook in fat until translucent. Add cabbage, apples, grain and herbs, then cover with water or broth and bring to a low boil over open flame. Move pot over to cooler area of fire and simmer with pot covered until the grains are tender. Stir occasionally. Add more water/broth if stew starts to become too thick and sticks to bottom of pot. Season with salt and pepper.

On the first cooking attempt, this stew was tasty. The apples were an interesting sweet contrast to the savory bacon and herbs. It was a little watered down because I added probably twice the amount of broth that would be necessary to keep the grains moist. It may have been more flavorful had I left in the bacon drippings, but I spooned them off to use in making a flatbread for the class.

Later at home, I tried out a similar stew to combine leftover bacon from the class, some rice that had been left from a previous meal, and kale from a friend's garden. Kale is a member of the same family of vegetables as green cabbage, so I figured I couldn't go wrong. The herbs are replaced by cumin, one of my favorite spices.

With this photo, I learn that really good food photographers wait until the stew is done steaming to take the photo so the food shows up clearly. Unlike those really good food photographers, if I let the food cool off first, I have to eat a cold supper.


Pork, Apple and Cabbage Stew play-at-home version
serves 4

1/2 pound hardwood-smoked bacon, chopped
2 small onions, chopped
1 bunch kale (large handful of stems), destemmed and chopped
2 large apples, peeled, cored and chopped
3 cups chicken stock
1 tsp cumin 
1 heaping cup leftover brown rice
salt and pepper to taste

For home stove, never mind the bits in the directions about moving the pot around on the fire.

While camping out this past weekend, I made the stew from memory over our little campfire and added in some fresh radishes from our weekly box from Henry's Farm. Once again, kale from our friends' garden substitutes for green cabbage. Thank you, "vegetable fairies" Viv and Nicole! I didn't chop the bacon in order to keep my cutting board from having both uncooked meat and raw veggies on it. Because I cooked it very crisp, it fell apart into bite-sized chunks as I stirred it around the pot with other ingredients. I forgot to bring onions, so this stew was yet another variant of the original. I left in the bacon grease because there was no other recipe to use it in later. The finished stew needed very little salt.

Pork, Apple and Cabbage Stew another way
serves 3 very hungry people
 
1/2 pound hardwood-smoked bacon
8 small radishes, chopped
2 large apples, cored and chopped, but with peels on
1 pound kale, destemmed and chopped
1/2 cup barley
3 cups chicken stock
2 tsp fresh thyme leaves stripped from stems
freshly ground white peppercorns and salt to taste

Follow directions as in first stew, but leave all the bacon drippings in the pot and omit the step of cooking onions in bacon fat.

Everything tastes better when eaten outside, and this stew is no exception to that rule. On a chilly fall night when dinner wasn't ready until after dark, it warmed me and my two camping companions physically and emotionally from the inside out.
 

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Μυζήθρα: It's all Greek cheese to me

We've been experimenting this week with a new cheese that I'd only heard of and never tasted, Greek mizithra. I purchased a large chunk of the salty, aged version of this goat cheese on a whim and have found that, overall, I like it better than Andrew does. But, then, I've always been a lover of salty things.

To describe it for those who don't know if they might be interested in trying out this cheese, it's chalk white, a little spongy-looking in appearance, very dry, lower in fat than many other cheeses, with a taste that is similar to feta because it is tangy, but aged mizithra seems much saltier. It does not melt when heated. It is brittle and crumbly instead of sliceable.

Successful applications:
substituting shaved or crumbled mizithra for parmesan on pasta
crumbled on salad, especially good paired with roasted/sauteed red peppers

Questionable uses:
complement to a breakfast with sweet items -- contrast is too great
garnish to crackers spread with ajvar -- overpowers the spread
eating a chunk straight off the cheese -- taste buds overwhelmed by saltiness

Looking forward to trying:
mixing in with a potato dish
garnish for veggie burgers that include some spinach

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Pumpkin Impossible Pie: "impossible" because it's inedible

For a few years, I've had a found-on-the-Internet recipe called Pumpkin Impossible Pie in my recipe box, waiting for the right time to try it out. I was always a bit curious about Impossible Pie since reading the recipe on the back of the Bisquick box as a kid.
Bisquick Impossible Quiche
Bisquick Impossible Cheeseburger Pie
I may even have eaten one of these before, come to think of it, but I forgot what it was like. My husband met my announcement of the plan for dinner with enthusiasm, declaring he had always liked Impossible Pie when it was served during his childhood.

Being all excited about a crazy new idea for dinner, I didn't follow the recipe exactly and decided to dress it up a bit. When I found the recipe, I was attracted to the idea of a totally vegan, low-fat pie without the hassle of making pie crust on a weeknight. The basics remain the same, but instead of using sugar and pumpkin pie spices, I went for a rosemary-flavored savory pie with caramelized onions and just baked the pie in the skillet I cooked the onions in.

After 60 minutes of baking, the pie had a crust on the outside, was not done at all in the center, and appeared to be underdone on the bottom as well. I used a plate to flip it over so the bottom would be on top and, hopefully, bake more fully.

After 80 minutes of baking and an attempt to remove a piece for eating, here's what it looked like:

The end result? Pie that is about to burn on the outside, but is still undercooked on the inside. Disastrously undercooked. It tasted salty like baking powder and starchy like uncooked flour. The texture was gummy. Additionally, the rosemary was so strong it was astringent and medicinal, and the brown and savory onions had nothing positive to add. To sum up, below is a recipe NOT to follow.

Impossible-to-eat Pumpkin Pie, or How to Ruin the Happy Nostalgia Your Spouse Had for Impossible Pie

2 Tbsp vegan margarine
2 medium-sized onions
pinch salt
1 1/2 c soy milk
1 Tbsp Ener-G egg replacer
1/4 cup water
1 Tbsp cornstarch
2 c pumpkin puree (perhaps my thawed frozen pumpkin puree was part of the problem? it still had a little moisture, which the original recipe recommends against)
1/2 c rice flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp crushed dried rosemary

Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Melt margarine in 10-inch oven-proof skillet. Slice onions thinly and cook slowly until lightly caramelized and tender. Whisk or blend soy milk with Ener-G, water, cornstarch, then whisk/blend in the rest of the ingredients. Pour pumpkin mix into the skillet with the onions and bake 50 to 80 minutes until top and edges are browned and the center begins to set. Allow to cool, then discard and eat something else for dinner.

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Weird ideas with watermelon

I have a watermelon in the refrigerator right now, but I don't think I'll repeat this experimental dish from earlier in the season: broiled/grilled watermelon.

Mark Bittman warned me that this dish would be little more than a memorable gimmick, but I had half a watermelon handy, plenty of time, easy access to fresh herbs on the back porch, an audience that was game (my husband and mother-in-law) and a hankerin' for novelty, so I tried his suggestion of brushing slices of watermelon with olive oil and sprinkling with salt, pepper and minced fresh rosemary, then placing the pieces in the broiler of the oven (or on the grill, if I had decided to fire up the grill at my in-laws'), and blasting them with heat until they gave up a lot of liquid and turned chewier. This took about 20 minutes.

They were called watermelon steaks in the recipe, but they reminded all of us more of a cooked summer squash in their texture and flavor. Of course, they retained some of the sweetness of watermelon along with that squash-like flavor, which struck us as an odd combination. We declared them not bad, but not worth repeating as plain-old fresh watermelon is far and away more satisfying.

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Chocolate frosting, versions 2 and 3

I made a nice chocolate frosting for my Osterlamm (lamb-shaped German Easter cake) a couple of years back, but didn't write it down and didn't remember it well. This week, I wrote a frosting recipe down, but it didn't work. Here's the failed recipe and the way I fixed it.

Chocolate Frosting, version 2

1 stick unsalted butter
1 package semisweet chocolate chips
about 1/2 cup cocoa powder
2 Tbsp powdered sugar

Melt butter over medium heat. Turn off heat and whisk in small batches of chocolate chips until they melt. Whisk in cocoa and powdered sugar. Cool in separate container.

I should add to these instructions "do not put the bowl of frosting in refrigerator" because when I went to look at it the next morning, I had a large, solid truffle instead.

How to rescue it to frost a cake before taking it to a party later that day? Break the truffle into pieces and whisk in 3/4 cup hot milk (in my case, I used almond milk). This turns the truffle back into something more like fudge sauce. Whisk in a bit more cocoa powder to stiffen it up a little more and cool to room temperature for frosting. The end result is a cake covered in ganache, which is kind of like turning the Osterlamm into the best-tasting chocolate bunny ever.

Once again, if stored in the refrigerator, this will turn solid again (although much softer with the liquid milk in it). It needs to come back to room temp again to be at all spreadable. Warmer than room temp would be easier to frost with. I just ended up putting slightly warmed "version 3" in big globs on chunks of leftover cake yesterday. A chocoholic's dream.

Next time, I'm using cream for a proper ganache frosting, or I'm making chocolate buttercream. None of this fence-sitting butter-ganache, delicious and decadent as it may be.

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Soy substitute week

This week has been a week for experimenting with soy products to stand in for eggs and dairy. The impetus and guide for the experiments was the book Tofu and Soyfoods Cookery by Peter Golbitz, specifically the recipes Mock Sour Cream Tofu Dressing and Scrambled Yuba.

Experiment 1: vegan mushroom stroganoff sauce, with Mock Sour Cream Tofu Dressing based on silken tofu standing in for sour cream. The basic ingredients are silken tofu, oil, lemon juice, and salt. I served the sauce over no-yolk egg noodles. I am perfectly comfortable putting vegan sauce on non-vegan noodles, but I would have used other noodles if I were serving actual vegans.

The results here were mixed. The sauce's flavor, which I initially thought was too lemony, settled down by the time I ate leftover noodles the next day and I liked how closely it tasted to sour cream. Better than other packaged soy sour creams I've purchased in the past. The texture was disappointing. The oil tended to separate out, making the sauce greasy instead of creamy and smooth. I think if I were going to make this dish again, I'd prepare the mock sour cream with a stabilizer like cornstarch or mustard or something and do it a day ahead to let the flavors blend.

Experiment 2: scrambled yuba, which I served on toast. This no longer seemed like a breakfasty scrambled egg dish when I added carrots, onions and mushrooms, nor did the garlicky tamari-flavored seasonings recommended scream breakfast to me. It was a nice light dinner.

Major challenges included finding yuba and making it taste like something when I didn't have all the ingredients called for in the recipe.

First, how I found the item. The owner of my favorite local Asian grocery had dried yuba on hand, but he didn't know it right away because he was not familiar with the Japanese name yuba for the product. His native language is Chinese, but he understood exactly what I wanted when I described it in English. Yuba is the skin skimmed off of boiled soy milk. I wasn't prepared to make gallons of homemade soy milk and skim its skin to get fresh yuba, and frozen just isn't available in my area.

Second, yuba does not naturally taste like anything. This ingredient is mostly about texture, like tripe or oatmeal. To borrow a phrase from Douglas Adams, it is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike scrambled eggs. No fluffy softness. No eggy richness. No buttery finish. Not even yellow, more like beige. In the pan, it vaguely looks like slices of very thin fried egg whites. I had run out of nutritional yeast flakes and forgot to get some for this dish, so therefore I didn't have the most essential flavoring called for in this recipe. I decided not to worry about it and make it taste entirely different. I used sweet soy sauce (kecap manis), garlic powder, chicken broth powder, the above-named vegetables, and sesame oil and fresh parsley for garnish.

If the goal here is to make something that is like scrambled eggs for breakfast, the experiment failed. I believe it would continue to fail even if I had followed the recipe exactly but with my dried yuba. Reconstituted dried yuba does not look, feel or taste like egg. I don't know whether the fresh or frozen could entirely take care of these issues, but it would at least probably be closer in texture to slightly overcooked eggs. The nutritional yeast flakes would have lent a more cheese-like flavor. If the goal is to make a yummy protein and vegetable dish with a new food, I think the experiment was successful. My husband and I like yuba enough to try it again sometime in the future. The possible flavors to combine with it are endless, so we'll keep trying new ways of preparing it.

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This is a corn fungus. Instead of throwing it out, I ate it for lunch.

Sitting on my cutting board here in nice little slices is huitlacoche, or corn smut. It's a fungal disease that happens to corn kernels, turning them into giant gray bulbous mushrooms instead of tightly packed rows of yellow kernels. It's not considered a problem so much as an alternate food source to our Mexican neighbors, and they introduced the idea to Americans.
More info about huitlacoche and a scarier-looking photo available at http://www.gourmetsleuth.com/Articles/Mexican-Ingredients-1032/huitlacoche.aspx
I'm sure it's easy to come by here in Illinois corn country, but I've only seen one seller of huitlacoche so far, the person I talked to at the Bloomington Farmer's Market who sold me a little clump for a dollar.

My plan: cut it in slices, saute it and add it with some sauteed zucchini to a quesadilla.

The result: my huitlacoche did not live up to its vaunted reputation for truffle-like smoky goodness. Maybe there wasn't enough, maybe I didn't use the correct method for cooking it, maybe the batch I had was unusually bland, but you know your corn fungus isn't impressive when zucchini has a more pronounced flavor. I found that although there was fungus in every bite of my lunch, it was too subtle for me to notice it most of the time.

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Baking disappointment

I baked bread today with some yeast that has been in the cupboard for a while and if it had an expiration date on the package, the date probably would have passed already.
The yeast was sluggish to form bubbles in the liquid I started it in, but it didn't do too badly, so I figured I'd just need to give it some extra time with the risings. I gave it some extra time to rise and the bread rose nicely, so into the oven it went.

The disappointment: no oven spring. The bread had risen to the tops of the bread pans before I put it in the oven, and the bread was still only at the tops of the bread pans when it was done baking. It didn't rise another millimeter while it was baking. I think I'm going to be in for some pretty dense bread when it comes time to eat it for dinner. I fear the center may not be cooked all the way through.

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Black garlic: seems weird, tastes delicious

My co-worker introduced me to an ingredient an Asian friend of hers insisted that she try: black garlic. The description of its flavor was intriguing to me, so my co-worker brought me some from her stash at home.

I looked up a little more information about the process of creating black garlic and found these sites about it helpful: http://blackgarlic.com/how-its-made; http://passionatefoodie.blogspot.com/2009/04/black-garlic.html; http://www.philly.com/inquirer/food/20100107_Garlic_in_a_new_hue__Black.html?viewAll=y
I had no idea that the process of creating black garlic out of ordinary garlic was so time-consuming. We're talking fermentation for weeks and then a drying process.

Straight out of the papery skin, the name "black garlic" is not kidding about the color. The skin is brown and smoky-smelling, and the cloves themselves are black and shriveled. They pull away pretty easily from their papery cases because they have shriveled and have fairly dry exteriors. When I cut them, they had a gummy texture a bit like licorice candy, which is the same color as black garlic. The flavor is reminiscent of roasted garlic, but there is an added tang from fermentation.

Not knowing quite where to start with the stuff, I thought I'd just substitute it for ordinary sauteed garlic in a recipe I already had planned for the week: meatless mushroom Stroganoff sauce on pasta. Here is the garlic on the cutting board with the mushrooms:

I halved a few cloves lengthwise and sliced them, putting the garlic into the saute pan with the mushrooms to cook in olive oil. Then in went the sour cream, lots of pepper, a little salt. I served the sauce on spaghetti noodles.

The smell in the pan was fascinating: garlicky, something a little smoky or roasted with that faint whiff of fermented tanginess, mixed with the savory scent of cooking mushrooms. The mixture was intriguing to my nose and heavenly on the tongue, especially since every drop of the sour cream was imbued with a light black garlic flavor. I came away from the meal believing that black garlic and mushrooms were eternal soul mates.

The next experiment with the rest of the black garlic was using it to dress up some smashed potatoes (a more rustic mashed potato in which I don't bother peeling and don't bother mashing until smooth). Again, I just substituted the black garlic for ordinary garlic. When I make a potful of smashed potatoes, I often put five or six cloves of whole, peeled garlic in the cooking water to cook along with the potatoes. When the potatoes are done, the garlic is softened enough that it just melts into the potato mash. No so with the black garlic. Those cloves, even after cooking longer than 20 minutes, were determined to remain intact and squishy-rubbery. The potato masher cut a couple into some thick slices, at best. The black garlic flavor didn't really transfer to the potato mass as a whole, but some bites were punctuated by strong smoky-tangy flavor and the garlic gave a bit more resistance to the teeth than the potato chunks. Nothing unpleasant about it, but the experience left me wishing I had cut the garlic cloves in smaller pieces before cooking.

Fried potato mush made from the leftovers was an awakening for the nasal cavities as the black garlic pieces touching the frying pan launched a smell that was like dark brown toast close to burning, smeared with roasted garlic. A couple of times, I flavored my mush with slices of leftover turkey Italian sausage. The sausage and garlic were bright lights in a fog of plain potato, making for a more exciting mush than I've ever eaten before.

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Easter dinner and other springtime foods

Mmmm, I like serving springtime food at Easter. There is always a fun mix of stuff that has kept over the winter and new spring produce.
Here are some photos of our Easter foods.

The food above is called Osterbrötchen in German, and they are a yeast-raised bun with dried fruits. I serve them as a breakfast food about every other year, alternating with a German cake (which is not served for breakfast), Osterlamm. The cake is baked in a lamb-shaped mold. Here I am with last year's cake, which has homemade chocolate frosting for a black sheep.

At this year's Easter dinner, the first course was a deceptively "cream"-y soup (soymilk thickened with a little roux) filled with carrots, spinach and peas, accompanied by blanched asparagus with a faux bernaise sauce. I found another application in which Ener-G egg substitute is a terrible idea. The sauce texture was sticky and elastic, meaning that it acted a bit like melted cheese when we dipped asparagus in it. It had a lot of lemon juice, which tasted nice on the asparagus, so at least it was edible. Here's the table shot before we eat the soup and asparagus. Daffodils are from the backyard. The wine is Beaujolais.

And for the main course at Easter dinner, I had planned something that wasn't an Easter ham, but did have ham in it. I had some minced ham left over in the freezer after ham pie, and I wanted to add it to fried potatoes. I boiled sliced potatoes in salted water, then fried them, and although they tasted fully cooked and well-salted like I wanted them to, I had to adjust to a new textural reality from what I had in mind. The potato slices fell apart when I turned them in the pan, so now I had potato hash. No big problem. The hash tasted great with the ham bits and a generous sprinkling of fresh-ground black pepper.

Also wonderful in springtime are mangoes and the new crops of berries. Of course, none of these items grows anywhere near here in April, so they are an occasional indulgence until the local fruit appears in May or June. This week, Andrew mixed blackberries with the banana slices I had in the freezer for an impromptu fruit salad.

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When not to use egg substitute

Spectacular failure this week gives me another addition to the list of dishes where my favorite egg substitute Ener-G is just not acceptable: homemade pasta. My pasta dough didn't even begin to come together into something kneadable, even after squeezing it for 15 minutes and adding a little water.

My list so far:
1. custards
2. omelets
3. rosettes
4. peach pie filling (really, just another custard)
5. egg-drop soup
6. pasta

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Asafoetida for the first time

Yesterday, I brought a new spice into use in the kitchen: asafoetida. The reason for trying it was to experiment with a potato curry recipe. The one I chose to start with was "Indian Curried Potatoes, Peas and Carrots" from Heather Van Vorous' book Eating for IBS.

I usually enjoy Heather's lowfat and gut-friendly recipes using flavors from around the world, but this one was a real stinker. In the literal sense. With an entire tablespoon of asafoetida in the recipe, the curry reeked of this spice to high heaven (I'm convinced it's not coincidence that part of the name of this spice is "fetid") and the house still has a faint lingering odor of it in the air on the next day. The smell of the spice is far worse than its taste, which is pleasing to some of the same taste/smell receptors that like onion, garlic and stinky cheeses.

The most serious problem in the recipe is that asafoetida in such a large quantity overpowers all the other spices in the dish. We couldn't even taste a hint of the chili powder, cumin or coriander. We started thinking maybe what was missing from this one-note curry was ginger and garlic, but a small bit of research I did last night with another Indian cookbook in my collection, Vegetarische Indische Küche by Sumana Ray, alerted me to two patterns: 1) curries consisting mostly of potatoes and including asafoetida do not usually also have garlic and ginger and 2) asafoetida is used by the dash, not by the tablespoon.

I'd like to continue looking in other collections of recipes from India to determine whether this pattern holds true in other Indian curry collections. My other three sources of Indian or Indian-style recipes do not use asafoetida at all or don't put it in the potato dishes.

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Autumn Loaf

Turkey meatloaf tends to get a bit dry, so I looked for another option for keeping it moist. Also, I had a bunch of cloves of roasted garlic hanging around from the weekend that needed to be used. The initial working recipe I created yesterday:

Autumn Loaf
Serves 4

1 pound ground turkey
10 cloves roasted garlic
1/2 cup roasted squash (leftovers of unseasoned roasted, mashed squash)
1 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp cinnamon

Grease a bread pan. Mash garlic in a bowl with a fork. Add meat, squash, seasonings and combine thoroughly with your hands. Press mixture into pan and bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for 45 minutes.

Observations
This recipe's cooking instructions didn't work. Especially when I tried to bake a pan of potato wedges at the same time. I put the potatoes in 10 minutes before the loaf (needed some time to create the recipe, take some notes and mash everything together), but neither was done after 45 minutes. I turned up the oven to 400 degrees and left everything in another 20 minutes to get some browning, which worked a little for the loaf, but the potatoes still weren't tender in the middle, so they got another 10 minutes in the oven. To make this dinner again, I'd start out at 400 degrees and still put the potatoes into the oven before making up the loaf. The potatoes baking so long at a lower temperature were tougher and less golden than my usual crispy baked wedges done at a higher temperature for only 30 to 45 minutes.

The loaf was moist, but still held together fine without being too crumbly, which was exactly the texture I wanted. The loaf mix recipe needs a bit of salt and pepper. We sprinkled salt on each portion as we ate it.

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