Smitten Kitchen

On my old iVillage.com site, someone once asked me what the trick was to making those lattice-topped pie crusts fusspots like me hold in such high regard. I admitted that many years ago, before the Food Network was the behemoth it is today, the adorable Sarah Moulton once showed her audience a method of criss-crossing those pieces so simple, I haven’t struggled with torn pieces since. Even Alex quickly learned the Moulton Method, and remains unintimidated by pie season, which is great because you know, one of us has to roll out the doughs next week!

People who have been reading this site since ever before the iVillage year might remember my sad-but-true affection for Microsoft Paint when I need to explain something but lack the language, an all-too-common state for me. Well, I’ve done it again, and I’m going to present it without comment except to say that I hope you find this helpful in either pie-making or resting assured, once and for all, that I’ve gone off the deep end.

[Best viewed at full-size.]

But wait! There’s more!

As I am certain that many of you will be preoccupied with Thanksgiving menu-planning this weekend, I’ve rounded up some tried-and-tested dishes from the Smitten Kitchen for your menu consideration.

• Wild Mushroom Galette
• Stuffed Mushrooms with Sun-Dried Tomatoes
• Acorn and Butternut Squash soup
• Garlic Soup
• Silky Cauliflower Soup
• Shrimp Cocktail
• Acorn Squash with Chili-Lime Vinaigrette
• Artichoke and Yukon Gold Gratin
• Cranberry Sauce, Three Ways
• Deb’s Apple Crisp/umble
• Molasses-Spice Cookies

As always, let me/us know if you try them out. I’d love to hear about your experiences and hope they will be as successful.

Confession time again! You see these babies? The brown, spotty, past their prime and about 36 hours from luring in fruit flies bananas? I love them. They’re my absolute favorite. I know, I know how gross that is. I know, I know that most people would pick those up only to walk them over to the trash. I know, I know you’re horrified that I could love something so rotten, and for all of these reasons, I am forced to live my life as a closeted freckled banana eater.

The list of people who know my secret are as follows: Alex, but he married me anyway; my mother-in-law, who was about to throw some old bananas out one day and I gave myself up, yelping “wait!” at the last moment; the lady at the bodega where I get my yogurt and fruit each morning, who watches me sift daily through the bright, yellow ones on top for the sordid, unlovable ones at the bottom of the pile; Molly, who I confessed my banana sin to in a moment of cream cheese-frosted camaraderie; and now you. Go easy on me, please.

My love of the spotty banana, unfortunately, conflicts with one of my other loves — banana bread. You see, exactly when the bananas hit their bread-making prime time, I don’t want to share them with anyone. I’m serious. I haven’t made it in years. But, I’m feeling generous this week, and also in need of a treat, and yes, I know so-called calorie-watching on top of my other aches and pains sounds an insult to, well, you know, but if I can’t exercise for so many weeks, something is going to have to give. Yet, seven days into this I’m itching for a little something-something, something small and tame and when I saw this recipe on Elise’s stunning site, I thought, for once, “well, maybe I could share.”

Oddly, and perhaps complimentary, enough, I found myself using Simply Recipes for this bread the way I use Epicurious: rummaging through each and every comment until I’m certain the adjustments I’m itching to make will work. And then? I jacked it up. I replaced white sugar with the light brown variety, and cut back on it, too; I added a splash of bourbon, salted butter and then doses of cinnamon, nutmeg and even cloves. And also, though it goes without saying by now, mixed it with one hand. I hope Elise’s friend’s friend doesn’t mind that I bastardized her recipe, I just couldn’t resist gilding the lily, as usual. And that one tablespoon of bourbon? This is no time to fixate on accurate measurements.

It was just what the doctor ordered. [Actually, no, the doctor this morning ordered six full weeks in the sling, but let’s just talk about that another time, okay?] Let me rephrase: this is how I interpreted what the doctor ordered, and can you blame me? This is the height of banana bread perfection and all those little extras manage to add something fantastic without overwhelming the base flavor. It’s my new go-to recipe and Elise, you did my adored bananas proud.

Recipe(s) after the jump »

I’m so torn today, people. I’m trying to maintain that whole stiff upper lip thing because complaining that waah, my shoulder hurts more, and boo, the bruises are getting uglier and also, my left foot is mysteriously swollen, isn’t going to solve anything. I mean, bitching and moaning? I hear there’s a real shortage of that on the internet. On the other hand, sometimes just the smallest amount of venting — petty as it may be — is all it takes so simply get over oneself. I mean, I fell down the stairs, did I think the next couple weeks were going to be a cinch? Like, duh.

But since I’ve already slipped into my less-savory side for the moment, can I mention the big purchase Alex and I made last week? The thing I’ve been wanting forever and finally managed to justify the expense? That thing would be ice skates. I think they’ll arrive today. Raise your hand if you think I should go ice-skating with a bruised shin and my dominant-side shoulder in a sling. Hello? Anybody? So there’s that, too. (But its sweet the way everybody is trying to protect me from myself.)

I probably didn’t help my spirits by trying to compose a recipe last night not written for the one-handed. I had to call in the troops to get stuff chopped, and even when said troop left for his volleyball game, I was still up shit’s creek, quite close to coming back to it another day. Fortunately, the work paid off when I realized you only need about two fingers of one hand to gobble up these numbers. I think they’d make an ideal Thanksgiving appetizer.

I made the stuffed mushrooms for two reasons: one, I just happened to have almost all of the ingredients, except, notably, the mushrooms in the fridge and wanted to use them up but two, I decided it was time for a little antidote to this season of excess. Don’t get me wrong, I savor a sweet potato gratin and cornbread chorizo stuffing as much as the next person with taste buds, but isn’t it nice once in a while to have an appetizer not oozing with excess or lacking interest because you reined it in? [Seeing as it is going to be many weeks before I can down-dog or, shudder, shoulder-stand again, such regimented principles are high on my mind.]

I actually cooked these the first time almost two years ago, but realized quickly the recipe needed a few alterations. A quick pre-baking of the empty tops allows much of their liquid to drain out, saving the end-product from sogginess, and the addition of some extra shallot and a clove or two of garlic gives the flavor the little oomph it needs. Alex would like it to be noted that he feels a crumbled strip or two of bacon would really perfect them, but I didn’t see the absence of pork products mitigating his enjoyment of them. You gotta love the way that boy thinks, though, but I’ll leave it up to you what you jack up the flavors with. For you spice mavens, I’ll bet a pinch of cayenne could also make these sing.

To wrap up this woe-is-me moment, it has thankfully passed for now. In fact, more than passed, I think I might actually be (oh my) leaving the apartment tonight to do something fun. It’s been too long.

Recipe(s) after the jump »

Alex cooked dinner last night and, oh, what a meal he made! Two weeks ago, my mother forwarded me this Tomato and Sausage Risotto recipe from her Martha Stewart Everyday Food newsletter — like it surprises you that it runs in the family — with only the caption “this was very good.” I have been meaning to make it ever since, but I guess we can argue I lost my chance. As I put together a grocery order on Saturday night, aligning it to recipes Alex would want to cook this week and food I could assemble for myself while working at home, this risotto was at the top.

Because it’s fantastic! And really, how could it not be? Mom recommends it. It’s thick, hearty, actually contains flesh (something of a rarity on this site, I realize) and enough greens that if you’re too tuckered out to also assemble a salad, oh, it’s already in there. Of interest to nobody but me, it’s also ridiculously easy to eat with one hand, so gloppy and chunky in all of the best ways, as well as a most delicious of one-bowl meals.

And then he did the dishes.

As for the whole, you know, sling thing, I’m feeling a little better. The myriad of bruises are edging into rainbow stage, an eyesore but as any klutz knows, the first step in the right direction. Morning seems to be the worse time as I’ve stubbornly refused to take the heavier painkillers they’ve prescribed me, the thought of being groggy or even dizzy more frightening than discomfort. This morning, I plopped myself on the sofa waiting for the Advil to kick in and though I’ve resisted this so far, flipped on the morning talk shows. If there could be a better sign that I had made the right choice, Martha (OMG! Martha!!1!) herself was on, explaining Borat to her audience as “poopy humor.” Oh people, how could this not be a good day?

Recipe(s) after the jump »

While I know I’m not the first food blogger to post about the magical, no-knead bread of Jim Lahey at the Sullivan Street Bakery fame in the five whole days since The New York Times published the recipe, since I am the only one to do it one-handed, I believe I should win. (Also, please tell me you know I am joking.) But really, we all win because … Look, just make this bread, okay? It’s dense and chewy, but unbelievably moist. The crust is crisp but not leathery, you don’t need to gnash your teeth and injure your gums to get through it. The loaf rivals even the most exciting results of my fifteen hours of bread-baking classes, and aside from the part where Alex will be furious because I didn’t wait for him to get home and endangered myself lifting a 19-lb 450 degree pot out of the oven, it can totally be done one-handed.

This is why the bread is so vastly superior to other loaves: one, it has a very wet, sticky dough. Yeast loves this; it’s the ideal environment for it to invade and multiply. But, breads this wet are nearly impossible to knead - it’s more like smearing dough across the counter, doable, but not very pleasant. Two, it uses very little yeast and less is always more in bread-making. Sure, a bread that requires nearly a tablespoon of yeast is super-speedy to make, but it doesn’t have as much time to develop all of the rich flavor and texture in a long-tenured rise. Finally, as Bittman notes in the article, the bread is a dream-come-true because that crazy step at the end - baking it in a covered Dutch oven, or a casserole dish if you don’t have one - creates a misty, humid environment like the one introduced in the early stages in a professional bread oven. This moisture keeps the bread chewy and delightful, and allows for a dreamy crust to form.

And this is the part where I show you a way around the ingredient New York City ran out of faster than pumpkin puree the day before Thanksgiving: instant yeast. I had none, Fresh Direct had none, and rather than sending my already-overworked husband on a wild goose chase through our neighborhood grocery stores for it, I did a little Googling, finding none other that Rose Levy Berenbaum explaining what the big instant brouhaha is all about.

Instant yeast is also known as Rapid Rise, Bread Machine, SAF, QuickRise, Instant Active Dry, and Gourmet Perfect Rise. …The process by which the instant yeast is dried and put into dormancy results in more live yeast cells when the yeast is activated, which means that you use only 3/4 the volume of active dry yeast. The goal here is reliability and ease, not speed. The yeast came about with the advent of bread machines, as proofing yeast in warm water would have been an extra step, and with a bread machine most people want to put everything in it at once and walk away, or even leave it overnight to wake up to freshly baked bread the next morning.

Did you catch that part about the ¾-volume? A little math, and we determined that 1/3 of a teaspoon of the active dry yeast we had in the fridge would be an ideal exchange — even better, it worked — so fret not if your store, too, is out of this suddenly-vaulted ingredient.

“No-knead” bread, glorified elsewhere:

• Karen at Bake My Day
• Leland at Eat
• Life Begins At Sixty-Five
• Lindy at Lindy’s Toast
• Luisa at The Wednesday Chef
• Tanna at My Kitchen in Half Cups
• And check out these ever-growing tags on Flickr!

Recipe(s) after the jump »

To stop this pity party in it’s tracks, let me tell you what I have actually done this weekend, because I got to say that aside from the obvious unpleasantries — a smattering of bruises on my every appendage, the inability to put my hair in a ponytail or even put socks on without help, embarrassment of having my husband cut up my food for me in a restaurant and no wine (!) because it mixes disastrously with Advil in me — it’s been pretty sweet.

Saturday started with one of the great one-hand-able foods of New York: the Murray’s whole wheat everything bagel. Murray’s is one of but six places left in the city that still make bagels the old-school way: by hand, with malt and always boiled. Just don’t ask them to toast them, because they’re almost always right out of the oven. I’ve got a near-constant hankering for their low-fat scallion cream cheese, but I’ve, you know, heard from other people that their strawberry cream cheese? Tastes like danish and is mildly addictive.

Next up was the undaunted Sarah Brown’s Cringe TV pilot shooting. I know this probably wasn’t the best time to do something crowded and public as there is just no way to casually tell people that you are wearing a sling because you fell down the stairs last night - “Oops!” - but it was so nice to be out. We laughed for hours (”We all lie, Deb.”), and did I mention we hung out with a fish, a dooce and a girl who says she pretty much hates everything but I don’t believe her? And that they all pretended to know who I was? I’m a sucker for flattery.

And today, we hit the annual Chocolate Show which was so good it almost made up for being aggravatingly crowded with people who do not consider slinged shoulders things worth avoiding bumping into. I have now consumed about a half-ounce of quality chocolate for almost every bruise on my body, and as soon as I can match that in bourbon, I have no doubt the world will finish righting itself.

Tonight, Alex makes dinner - it’s an old, odd favorite that I hope will become one of yours, too. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, by which time, I hope to be up to 22 words per minute.

First let me tell you how last night was supposed to go, because I’m telling you, it was going to be lovely. I’d finally convinced Alex that it had been long enough since our last visit to Tabla’s Bread Bar — which as many long-time readers might know, is only my most favored restaurant in the entire world — that it would be only right to get back there, stat. [Plus, OMG, Floyd Cardoz just came out with a cookbook! Like last week! I know, I can’t believe I haven’t bought it yet either! Breathe.] The plan was to meet there at 6 p.m. and then after — psst, this is the really cool part — go to the observation deck at the Empire State Building. I’ve never been, but read recently that it’s now open until 2 a.m. on Thursdays through Saturdays and is actually remarkably empty as it gets later. Yesterday was warm and clear, a real November treat, and I could not imagine a better time to go.

So, I folded up the tripod, the telephoto lens, the remote clicker and our camera, tucked the in two bags and I’m sorry, but this is the bad part… I fell down the stairs. I just … I was carrying stuff and wearing heels and rushing and I’m pretty freaking clumsy anyhow and all of these factors came together in the worst possible was between the third and second-floor landings. It scared the living crap out of me, as you can imagine, kind of watching it happen but not able to stop it or know how it will end. I thought I was okay, I mean I am here, right? but as it has actually turned out, I fractured my clavicle. (The camera and lenses are, remarkably okay, er, a little less so, the evidence of my ass-over-teakettle tumble on the freshly-painted stairway wall.) I can’t believe it either; it sucks quite a bit in terms of discomfort, sling and have I mentioned that I’m left-handed and guess what? So, there’s that too. But, it could have been so much worse and I’m only supposed to be sling-ed up for two or three weeks and look, I typed this whole thing with my right hand! (Thankfully, the same side as the backspace key.)

I know what you’re thinking: the things she’ll do to get out of NaBloPoMo! Just two or three weeks, eh? How convenient! And “falling down the stairs?” What a cliché! But, it’s true, and while I have all sorts of little recipes planned for Alex and I to cook together, with no ability to chop or do dishes (suh-weeet) alas, odds are not good it will be daily. I’m bummed! This was really fun! But I’ll be back before you know it, as I have a crazed suspicion that the no-knead bread of Mark Bittman fame can totally be done with one hand.

Can I get a “yeah!” on that?

Don’t laugh, but I think this post might be the closest I have come to service journalism on this site. I say this because, honestly, I have no idea what I am going to do with three batches of cranberry sauce I’ve cooked over the last week, but if at least one them makes it home with you, I suppose this effort won’t be a waste after all. Is this as noble and un-self-serving of me as it sounds? Of course not — I love cranberry sauce — I just have a little bit more than a two-person household should ever need.

I’m not sure if it was because I was a vegetarian and without the turkey, the cranberry sauce made no sense, because I thought it always came from a can in a fun-to-play-with but terrifying-to-eat cylinder, or because I just didn’t like it, but I never ate cranberry sauce growing up. It wasn’t until my first year in New York when I lived in a worn and infested fourth-floor walkup on Avenue B with my friend Dan that I had the real deal, and completely fell in love. Dan’s from Massachusetts and from what I understand, they take cranberry sauce pretty seriously up there, or at least he did, simmering, zesting oranges and carefully sifting through the rinsed bag for deflated or still stem-attached berries. This classic cranberry sauce recipe (which I am sure he’ll tell me I’m getting wrong) will always be my favorite, stirred into plain or vanilla yogurt or simply taken spoon-to-mouth. I hedge on the sugar a little, preferring it on the tart side, but I never skimp on the orange peel, as there’s a reason it is so often paired with cranberries: they bring out the best in each other. A few julienned or thick-zested strips in the sauce is one of my favorite parts; simmered in the stunning rouge syrup, they candy like an orangette, and are a fantastic surprise when you run across them in your hungry tasting. Lest you need any more evidence of its greatness, look how little we have left from a week ago.

The second cranberry sauce is Alex’s mother’s recipe and his family’s absolute favorite, despite my efforts to convert them to the back-of-the-bag classic. It’s terrifyingly simple (I’ll let you find out for yourself at the end, but promise that you’ll laugh), but I’m warning you, addictive. With mixed berries and walnuts, it seems more dessert than dinner, in my opinion, and the spoonful we had over vanilla gelato two nights ago was almost unbearably delicious. Alex’s mother told him she had a new recipe to try this year - something with jalapenos and ingredients that scare me - and he said, “sure, sounds good, but only if you make the other one, too.”

The final recipe is a new one and for the record, my husband was absolutely horrified at the thought of it, but I persevered. I mean, port? Love it. Balsamic? Ditto. Dried figs? Yum. Black pepper? Intriguing. Rosemary? Could be. Brown sugar? Hells yeah. All together with cranberries? Er, ah, uh… it took me an hour to even try it and even now, I’m just not sure I fell in love. (Right now, Alex is biting his tongue, but I’m sure it won’t be long until he says “told you so!”). It’s… (hang on, let me try it again)… wine-y. I think it would go well with turkey, or even some roasted potatoes. I’m just not sure it’s good for spooning, and if there’s anything the above two recipes should hint to you, it’s that I like the stand-alone cranberry sauce. At your Thanksgiving table, however, I’m sure it will get no complaints, a sauce for the sauced grownups, if you will.

In site-related news, I’ve added a Tools tab at the top-right there, which links to the beginnings of a conversions and ingredient exchanges page. There will be more to come — most urgently, weight conversions for Europeans — but it’s a start, and I hope it helps.

Recipe(s) after the jump »