Still Cooking, Through Thick or Thin

Sometimes I don't know how I ever got the idea that I could cook. In my cooking life, I've failed in ways that would discourage the best of us. For example, there's the time back in the day (when Clinton was still president) when I decided it would be a good idea to invite the-man-who-would-become-my-husband over to dinner at my apartment, and show off what a great cook I was. For as George Meredith said, "Kissing don't last: cookery do." I suppose two weeks into a relationship is a little premature to start relying on cookery, but I'm a girl who likes to hedge her bets.

Being greeted at the door by a billowing cloud of smoke and a disheveled woman who quickly yanks you inside in order to avoid triggering the building fire alarm could not have appeared promising. Yet for some reason my future husband stuck with me and I stuck with cooking.

I guess in the end, love and determination (translation: co-dependency and sheer, unrelenting obstinacy) are what gets us through.

Recently I decided to cook a fancy wedding anniversary dinner for my husband and myself. I won't say much about it; let's just say that the gnocchi alla romana didn't gnocchize. Failure. Stupid, annoying failure. Please note the theme I am developing here: Show-offs never prosper. Luckily, my husband bought us a bottle of something nice.

He's obviously a man who has learned to hedge his bets as well.

The next day, I was back to feeling annoyed about the gnocchi. I decided to make something fabulous and decadent so those gnocchi would know who's boss. Something with lots of mushrooms and cream, and a huge punch of lemon to blast through all that heaviness, both metaphorical and real. Something that would be good with pasta. Forget the gnocchi, who needs 'em? Not me.

In case you need proof that this sauce is very likable, my four-year-old daughter happily ate it. Not on her pasta, of course. But on the side. She even ate the oyster mushrooms without question. They have a mild flavor, somewhat reminiscent of seafood. Lemon works well with them. (You should eat them too. They're good for you!) Be aware that the amount of lemon I've recommended is quite assertive. I think it cuts through the heaviness of the cream quite nicely, but you could probably reduce the amount of lemon juice by half and be OK.

Oyster Mushroom Lemon Cream Sauce
2 tablespoons butter
1 medium onion, sliced in 1/2 inch pieces "against the grain"
4 cloves garlic, minced
half a pound crimini mushrooms, sliced
half a pound oyster mushrooms, cut into 1- or 2-inch pieces
1/2 teaspoon fresh rosemary, minced
1/2 teaspoon lemon zest
juice of one lemon
3/4 cup cream
1/3 cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano (the good stuff)
salt

Melt the butter in a large saute pan over medium heat. Add the onions and saute them for 6-7 minutes, until softened. Add the garlic and saute about one more minute. Add the mushrooms and a few pinches of salt, and continue to saute until the mushrooms have softened and released their juices. Add the lemon zest and rosemary and saute a couple minutes more. Reduce heat to very low and add the lemon juice and cream and stir to combine. Heat but be very careful not to boil. Stir in the Parmigiano. Add more salt if needed. Serve tossed with pasta, with additional Parmigiano sprinkled on top. Farfalle (bowties) work well.

Orange Cardamom Cake to Melt the Ice

In case you didn't know, last week we were held prisoner by ice for five days. Five days of no school, no work, no driving. What did we do? Go sledding. What else? Go crazy. And what else? Make cake. Oh yes, and eat cake. It's safe to say I won't need a piece of cake for at least three months. OK, maybe one little slice more.

The cake binge started with an argument between my children over the possession of three small white marbles. It was day four of the ice prison and apparently when you've been stuck at home for four days straight three small white marbles become very important and one must have all three of them and one can not share them at any cost, because then one would not have all three marbles, would one?

I knew at that point actual logic was useless, so I used the logic of sweet baked goods. "Who wants to help me make a cake?" Argument over. Thank God.

Over the next few days we made a total of three cakes, one of which we used for my husband's birthday cake. For his birthday dinner, we made his favorite: masala dosai with coconut chutney. (The masala is potato curry filling folded inside the dosa. A dosa is a rice and lentil crepe.) I wanted a cake that would work well with Indian food, and I had the cardamom from the previous week's banana recipe fresh in my mind. So I came up with this: caramel cardamom mandarin orange upside down cake. I used the caramel version of the Hurry-Up Cake from my trusty 1964 "Joy of Cooking" as a reference point, but the cardamom and the mandarin orange "topping" were all me. (You know how upside down cake works, right? You put the topping in the bottom of the cake pan, then the cake batter, and bake. When the cake is done you flip the cake upside down onto the plate, and what was on the bottom is now on top. All the butter and sugar and fruit has caramelized and become sticky with all sorts of goodness.)

So let me just talk for a moment about what sends this cake over the top: the use of orange blossom water in the topping. Without it, the sticky goodness is still really good. But with just a half teaspoon of this magic elixir, it becomes ambrosial. Like the balmy air of an orange grove in winter, like the bees are buzzing around you. I am one of those people who happens to have a bottle of orange blossom water lying around, because I'm just like that. I know most people aren't like me, but I urge you to go to your nearest Middle Eastern market (or DeKalb Farmer's Market, if you are lucky like me and live close to that place) and pick up a bottle. You'll start thinking of other uses for it, I promise. Like adding it to honey, or smoothies, or homemade sorbet, or whatever. Or else you can just make this cake hundreds of times. It was the sun in cake form for us.

Caramel Mandarin Orange Upside Down Cake

Based on a recipe from Irma Rombauer's 1964 edition of "The Joy of Cooking"

For the topping:

½ cup unsalted butter

¾ cup brown sugar, packed

½ teaspoon orange blossom water

2 11-ounce cans of mandarin oranges in light syrup

Grease a ten-inch cake pan. (Don't use a pan with removable sides: It will leak hot sugary butter all over your oven, and smoke you out of your home. Yes, I learned this the hard way.) Melt the butter in a small saucepan on medium heat, then add the brown sugar and stir for a few minutes until the brown sugar is completely combined and melted. Remove the pan from the heat, and add the orange blossom water. Set aside.

Drain the mandarin oranges of their liquid and, starting in the center, arrange the orange slices in a circular pattern on the bottom of the cake pan. Pour the butter/brown sugar mixture over the orange slices and gently spread it evenly over the bottom of the pan, taking care not to disturb the orange slices.

For the cake batter:

1¾ cups all-purpose unbleached white flour

1 cup brown sugar, packed

1 teaspoon ground cardamom

½ cup soft butter

2 eggs

½ cup milk

½ teaspoon salt

1¾ teaspoons double-acting baking powder

1 teaspoon vanilla

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. In a large bowl mix together the flour, brown sugar, and cardamom. Then add the butter, eggs, milk, salt, baking powder, and vanilla, and mix thoroughly. Pour the batter over the orange slices, and gently spread it evenly over the entire cake pan. Bake in the middle of the oven for 45 minutes or until the cake is done in the center. Let the cake cool for a few minutes, then with a table knife loosen the sides from the pan if necessary. Then place a plate under the bottom of the cake pan. Place another plate on top of the cake pan. Carefully flip the cake upside down while holding it between the two plates. Lift the plate that is now on top off the cake. Then lift up the upside down cake pan. The pan should slide off easily, and the oranges should now be on top of the cake. Serve with vanilla ice cream.

Back in the Saddle

I finally found my groove again. In case you couldn't tell, I've been kind of cranky and under the weather recently. The holidays do this to me every year. But this past couple of weeks I've been on an Indian food kick, which started at my in-laws in Raleigh, when we made a wreath of 108 vadai (deep fried lentil cakes, shaped like doughnuts), wrapped it in foil, and brought it to the temple for Hanuman.

Making food for God reminded me that every time I make food, I am making it for God. I really needed that.

Later on my sister-in-law showed us how to make stuffed parathas with leftover potato curry. A paratha is basically a chapati fried in a bit of oil. And a chapati, if you don't know, is basically the Indian tortilla. My daughters learned the process of rolling out and stuffing the parathas amazingly quickly, and I rejoiced at the thought that someday in the not-too-distant-future they would be able to make me dinner. What a glorious day that will be! (I like making food for God, but I'm more than OK with others doing it too.)

Back at home I went on a North Indian spree and made channa masala (chickpea curry) with chapatis. I then followed that up with a riff on sag paneer made with collard greens instead of spinach. Sag paneer is basically a spiced creamed spinach with cubes of fried paneer (mild cheese). And more chapatis, which my older daughter rolled out entirely on her own! This saved me a ton of work and she loved every minute of it. Hooray for child labor!

I thought of passing on the recipe for collard greens paneer today, but then realized it would make more sense to just give my North Indian formula, so that not only could you make collard greens, but really anything North Indian. It's pretty easy, but requires more thought and experimentation on my part. Sorry to tease you like that. The collard green paneer will be worth coming back for though, I promise.

In the meantime, I wanted to share another recipe that totally knocked our socks off, based on a recipe from Yamuna Devi's Lord Krishna's Cuisine: The Art of Indian Vegetarian Cooking. But before I do, I just have to talk about this book. I've owned it for several years, and it has been worth every bit of the $40 I spent on it. Most of the time it sits on my bookshelf collecting dust, but every so often I am in need of inspiration, so I take it down, turn to a random page, and begin reading. And every single time I am inspired to keep on cooking. There are just so many good ideas and exciting flavor combinations in this book.

So, anyway, I made these bananas for dessert the other night. The sauce will force you to lick your plate clean, and then be quite despondent that you have not made a double batch. So I recommend you double the recipe. (Also, please don't be put off by this picture. The bananas really were delicious. Unfortunately, with winter my access to natural lighting is limited and the bananas were so good we ate them all and didn't save any for me to photograph in daylight the next day. And I don't have $173.95 to buy a Lowel Tota-Light. Nor do I necessarily want to, as it goes against the grain of my lo-fi ethic.)

Broiled Bananas with Citrus, Toasted Almonds, and Vanilla Yogurt

Based on a recipe from Yamuna Devi's Lord Krishna's Cuisine

Juice of one lime

Juice of one orange (large chunks of orange are OK, even desirable)

1/4 teaspoon cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground cardamom*

2 tablespoons melted ghee or butter (ghee is preferable)

4 firm bananas

1/4 cup brown sugar

2 tablespoons blanched slivered almonds

Vanilla yogurt (for spooning on top)

Preheat your oven's broiler. In a small container mix together the lime juice, orange juice, cinnamon, and cardamom. Lightly grease a small rimmed baking sheet with a little bit of the ghee. Slice the bananas in half lengthwise and place on the baking sheet cut side up. Pour the juice over the bananas, drizzle with the rest of the ghee, and sprinkle the brown sugar on top.

Place the baking sheet under the broiler, and broil for about 4 minutes, or until the bananas are a bit browned and bubbly. Sprinkle the almonds on top of the bananas and return to the broiler for a couple more minutes, until the almonds are golden brown. Serve with dollops of vanilla yogurt on top. (This makes an excellent dessert, but I think it would also be great on oatmeal or French toast for breakfast.)

*If you have a coffee grinder, I recommend grinding whole cardamom pods in it. Then grind your next batch of coffee beans without cleaning out the cardamom residue. Best coffee ever!

Sick Kid, Sick Me

My very cranky four-year-old has morphed into a sick four-year-old, and I have morphed into sick mom. So no post this week. But if you are looking for something good to read, here's a nice interview with "fermentation fetishist" Sandor Katz in one of my favorite magazines, The Sun.