Entertaining Creative Teenagers

On a recent Saturday Natalie's boyfriend joined us once again for a cookie baking and decorating extravaganza.  The holiday this time was Easter.  We are not religious and Nate is a Hare Krishna.   Go figure.  Perhaps needless to say, we were reverent in our focus, if not in the occasion.

It was a long day, starting with the dough at about noon.  We followed a new recipe provided by Hillary and my eyes nearly popped out when I saw the amount of flour and butter called for - until I realized it was going to make approximately 60 cookies.  About 3 hours later (1 hour to chill the dough and about 2 to roll, cut out and bake) we had 56 rabbits, chicks, eggs, butterflies and tulips cooling while I turned to the next task: frosting.

We stuck with my usual frosting recipe, but I wish we'd tried this, because we really didn't have enough butter in those cookies.  We went with a conservative (ha!) 7 COLORS: white, pink, purple, teal, yellow, blue and green.  And in a moment of divine inspiration, we added rose petal syrup to the pink frosting for a new twist.  A mere 4 hours later those 56 cookies were decorated and everyone was starving.  It was time to switch gears.

Ever since the kids were small we've had Make Your Own Pizza nights.  It started with Boboli crusts I admit, but has evolved to include homemade pizza dough using the bread maker that my former mother-in-law gave us back when they were the new thing and all the rage.  I have to say, for a time I made a lot of bread in that thing and it was really pretty good, if somewhat similar.  For the most part it now sits on the baking shelf in the hallway, but when it's pizza night it has pride of place next to the range.

At the outset of cookie cutting I'd also started the first batch of parmesan herb pizza dough, which makes three 10-inch, thin crusts; or about enough to feed Jack right now. So I made a second batch as well.  When the cookies were decorated I sent Natalie and Nate to the store to round out the desired meatless toppings and Jack and I got to work creating our meaty magic.  I don't own a pizza stone (yet), so I start my pizzas on metal pizza trays that have been drizzled with olive oil and scattered with cornmeal and after about 15 minutes at 425 I slide the tray out and finish them directly on the rack to give them a crispy crunch.

What do we have here?  The classic pepperoni and black olive, and the absolutely inspired pastrami and smoked fontina that Jack came up with.  Below that, another wacky winner: BBQ chicken with sliced onion, bell pepper and Chipotle Tabasco (thus explaining the presence of the Tabasco and BBQ sauce in the middle of all the decorating insanity above).  

Natalie and Nate decided on two variations of Taco Pizza, using the meatless taco filling I made for Natalie a couple of days earlier.  On the left, Nate's Happy Pie, with bell peppers, pineapple and jalapeno spiced black olives. On the right, Natalie's Tasty Taco Pie with pineapple and minced black olives (sans jalapeno spice, thank you).

Not pictured: pesto and pineapple pizza.  It was all pretty dang good.  Ok, I didn't try the taco pizzas, I took it on faith that they were good.

Good Morning Sunday!

I woke up this morning thinking about coffee cake.  My grandmother Dondero's coffee cake, specifically.  But a quick look through the recipe box that my Mom started for me when I got married didn't produce the recipe.  I knew I could get it again if I needed to, but I wanted the version that I'd written down while my older sister made it in her kitchen back home in Tacoma.  I found it tucked into a cookbook that I'd taken with me on a getaway weekend - which was the last time I made it.  I was relieved to find it, but sad to realize that I was missing a key ingredient - pecans.  But by that point I was going to make some coffee cake, so I started a search for another recipe.

I found one that seemed fairly straight forward and got started.  The batter was basically the same as my grandmother's and the crumble topping was close too - minus the pecans. But the new recipe I found called for putting the crumble in between layers of batter where Grandma put all of it on top.  It seemed to me that doing both would make it better.
Just as I was getting started with the batter, a sleepy-eyed Natalie walked into the kitchen and offered assistance.  In recent weeks she's done a lot of that and it's been great - we've collaborated on a number of meals and baking projects and I have really loved spending that time with her.  I put her to work on the crumble while I tried to figure out how to spread half of what was a very gooey batter in the bottom of the pan.  About half of the crumble went over that, then another layer of batter and more crumble...

About 30 minutes later we had a warm, cinnamony coffee cake to enjoy with our Peet's.  It was good, but it wasn't Grandma's.  Pecans are on the shopping list so I'll be ready the next time coffee cake comes to mind.
The recipe is below.  I love the fact that I didn't write any instructions, just the ingredients.  And the crumble is basically my sister's best guess - she doesn't ever measure the ingredients for that.  Her best tip though?  She makes about 4x the topping and freezes it in single-recipe quantities so all she has to do is whip up the batter and pull out the crumble when she wants to make it for her husband and kids.  Genius.

Surviving My Own Kitchen Nightmare

Recently I was encouraged to repeat what is undoubtedly the single most dedicated culinary endeavor I have attempted to this point: demi-glace.  I'd done it once before and it turned out just the way it should (or the way I think it should at least): a deep golden brown syrup with the scent and taste of the purest essence of roasted veal - that "something in the middle" flavor that adds richness and depth to nearly every French brown sauce, any soup or stew, and as I discovered last Thanksgiving, to turkey gravy.  What started as 20 pounds of veal marrow bones, mirepoix of leeks, carrots and onion, bouquet garni, a dollop of tomato paste, and 16 quarts of water became, after 35+ hours of roasting, simmering and skimming, a scant 4 cups of liquid magic. I was running low on my earlier batch, and the permeating smell of roasted veal had just reached the category of "faint memory" in my mind, so it seemed like a reasonable undertaking.

It all started out so well.  Bones (warning: this link is not for the squeamish): check.  Recipe: check.   30+ hours with which to focus on just one thing: check.  The vegetables were prepped.  The bones were roasted and the bouquet was garni-ed.      

That part was a snap - it only took about 30 minutes of chopping and 4.5 hours of roasting (in two batches because the recipe was doubled).  Next up: deglazing the roasting pan and commencement of simmering and skimming.  A breeze, right?!  NO! 

"The strength and concentration of your demi-glace will be determined by the length of time the stock simmers. For the minimum amount of extraction, it should simmer for at least 6–8 hours, but we recommend 12–24 hours for a richer, more gelatinous sauce...  Skim fatty froth from surface of stock with a ladle every 5–10 minutes during first hour of cooking to prevent it from clouding stock. After first hour, skim the stock every 30 minutes or so."    

 FOR 12-24 HOURS, PEOPLE!  Great - are we finished? NO!

"Simmer stock over medium-high heat, skimming occasionally, for 4–5 hours until reduced to 2 cups."

Oh. My. God. You skim and skim and skim.  When you can't stay awake anymore, you set your alarm clock to wake you up in an hour, you skim again, reset the alarm and fall back into bed.  An hour later you get up and skim.  You open all the windows in the place, even though it's February, just hoping for a little cross ventilation that doesn't smell like this stuff.  The entire time, of course, the smell is gaining intensity and infiltrating everything in every room that hasn't been shut off by a closed door with the distinct smell of roasted meat: your clothes, your hair, your skin. (I think it's this smell that I found so disgusting on late night BART rides home while sitting in the same car with a chef or line cook who had clearly just finished service.)  

You finally turn it off some 30+ hours later and wait for it to cool enough to put into small containers in the fridge.  This time there was just one wee problem.  After having spent one night as described above, I passed out on the second night and I left it on the stove, with no heat under it, for several hours - each passing minute bringing it closer to the Food Temperature Danger Zone and the dreaded bacteria that comes with it.

I wish I could adequately describe the shock and dread I felt upon waking at 6 am on Sunday with that realization flooding my brain as I scampered toward the kitchen to witness my own love's labours lost.  After all that time and devoted attention, however, I wasn't ready to abandon it.  It went into the waiting containers and into the fridge and I went back to bed.  When I woke up again it was decided:  I would not throw it out until I'd risked a bout with botulism by sampling some of it myself.  (visual relief from horrid story above.)

It took a couple of weeks (ok, a month) to get up the nerve to sample it.  How did I do it?  I swirled some in glass of warm water and drank it like a shot.  I quickly followed that with a glass of wine (ok, several) and a fine dinner of chicken piccata with puree of garlic potatoes.  I am happy to say I've experienced no facial paralysis or respiratory failure in the week that has elapsed and I am looking forward to finding many delicious uses for my magic elixir.  Drinking it as a shot is NOT one of them.  

Pesto!

The first time I ate pesto I was in college.  A good friend, who'd led a wild childhood that included an informal foster family who took her to Europe (were the hell was MY informal foster family?!), introduced me to it at a dinner party she was hosting.  As I recall, it was one of three or four sauces she made that night representing different regions of Italy.

I think there were six of us girls, each with a hulking boyfriend in tow, and aside from the challenge she faced in making enough pasta to feed that crowd simultaneously, and serving it al dente (a term that was also new to me then), she spent much of the meal explaining, and then reiterating and repeating, that Italians do not smother their noodles in sauce like Americans are wont to do with their Ragu or whatever other Americanized version of spaghetti they were used to eating.

I was more than a little surprised when I saw the tablespoon dollop placed in the center of a mound of angel hair pasta the size of a pomelo (a fruit that I definitely didn't know existed 20+ years ago) and was told to stir it in until it lightly coated all the noodles. I was definitely one of those Americans who'd grown up eating my Mother's delicious and decidedly Americanized spaghetti with meat sauce:  two or three ladles full of sauce to a similar portion of pasta - enough so that you'd have sauce at the end to drag your garlic bread through.

Well, that meal was eye opening for me.  The only other sauce I'd ever had on spaghetti was clam sauce (not a favorite) and while I don't remember the other sauces from that evening, the pesto was incredible (if a little meager in quantity - I blame all those hulking boyfriends).  Bright and fresh with a garlicky bite.  Unlike anything else I'd ever tasted and something I couldn't wait to have again.  Of course, it would have been great to travel to the homeland of pesto, Genoa, but that was not to be.

Fast forward through the next 10 years or so.  I had pesto a few times - mostly in restaurants but occasionally homemade by my then husband, who did all of the cooking during our marriage.  I loved it but the process of making it remained a mystery to me until I was on my own and one summer another good friend and I came across a gross amount of basil at a farmer's market, priced insanely low compared to the grocery store.  It was gorgeous and the air surrounding the stall was perfumed by its scent.  We couldn't walk away without it (that kind of thing happens to me a lot at farmer's markets... and shoe stores... and make-up counters...).

We got home, pulled out the one cookbook I had that I knew contained a recipe for pesto, and got to work.  I don't know how many batches we made that afternoon.  It seemed to go on forever.  The reward?  I had pesto for months - deep into winter when the idea of a huge fresh bunch of basil was nothing more than a fantasy, I could pull a small container of pesto out of my freezer and taste summer at my whimsy.  Since that time I don't think a year has gone by in which I haven't made a huge batch of it, freezing some for later use.

Yesterday I was at Mecca again and they were selling bags of huge, gorgeous, robust basil for $4.89/lb.  Having just recently used the last of last year's pesto, I couldn't walk away without it.  What I just don't understand is how, and why, BB can offer such a deal while my local Safeway only manages to put out stingy little bunches like you see above for $2.49!  Seriously.  The 1.16 lbs of basil that I bought for $5.67 made six recipes of pesto (see below - that's a double recipe).

Of course, the frugality of this sauce was thrown off by the currently astronomical price of pinenuts: $27.99/lb.  I kid you not.  I remember when they were $11.99/lb and I thought that was outrageous.  No matter.  You don't really need that much.  If you're not making your own pesto at home, you're missing out on a treat - the taste of summer.  And when you make it in quantities like this, you can put as much as you want on your pasta.

2010 Winter Culinary and Couch Olympics

Had it been for any reason other than THE GAMES OF THE 21st WINTER OLYMPIAD, I would not be able to confess the number of hours I dedicated last week to ensuring that the outline and depression of my backside would claim its own medal in the Harris-Bigelow Couch Olympics.  Since it was for that worthwhile endeavor, I can proudly share the commitment and dedication I demonstrated in those 40+ hours spent viewing the likes of Apollo Anton Ohno, Bode Miller, and, yes, Johnny Weir (who was ROBBED).

In light of my grueling competitive schedule last week, there wasn't much down time in which I could focus my energy on cooking.  I am just one woman and I had to make a choice.  It wasn't easy.  (Ok, it was.)  I questioned whether I was prepared for the challenge: mentally, emotionally, and physically.  I had to get into my head and ask myself if all the years of training had prepared me well enough to reach the goals I'd set for myself; whether the sacrifices I had made would prove worth it in the end; if my children could handle a week of restaurant meals.

I am happy to say that we all gave it our best shot and in the end, isn't that really all we can ask of ourselves?

Here's a recap of the week's culinary medal winners:

Winning the Gold Medal for amazing deliciousness and the perfect way to start the work week:
Zachary's Stuffed Pizza

Claiming the Silver Medal, missing the gold by a mere .0001:
Take Out Chinese from The Silver Palace

In a shocking three way tie for the Bronze Medal: the only things I managed to make from scratch last week: scrambled eggs with fines herbes (OK, minus the ever absent chervil) and parmesan, tuna salad sandwiches, and pasta pesto (DO NOT be swayed by anyone's assertion that pine nuts are "optional" or should be downright omitted in this sauce - that is NOT pesto; pistou perhaps).

The games weren't without other surprises, including a completely unexpected DSQ being awarded to my oven for veering off the course last weekend and sustaining life threatening injuries that apparently will require a total replacement before any cooking can resume.  I guess the Couch Olympics will continue.

USA!  USA!  USA!

A Savory & Sweet Sunday

Yes!  Caramelized onion and mushroom soup which I was able to broil and serve in my double handled soup bowls!  The recipe caught my eye the first time I saw it in the Williams Sonoma catalog, and then it preyed upon my culinary musings over the course of the next 13 or so holiday issues that I received until I was finally forced to find it online and print it.  It was excellent, and until you add the bread cubes and grated gruyere it's amazingly not that bad for you!  A smidgen of oil to caramelize the onions and then soften the remaining mirepoix ingredients and cook the mushrooms, some chicken stock (or in my case, vegetable stock fortified with a couple of tablespoons of soy sauce), and a little Marsala wine.  That's basically it.

Maybe the best part?  Even though I went to extreme measures to get this soup into its pureed form before my kids could see that there were dreaded mushrooms in it, I then carelessly left the recipe on the table where my daughter could find it, and...  she still liked it!  Jack too - he was surprised at how filling and satisfying it was since it had no meat in it.   Actually - this was the best part:

Nat: "Jack, guess what kind of mushrooms are in the soup?"  

Jack: "Psilocybin?!"

Nat: "No, dude, Cremini!"

The same day that I whipped up the soup I was also working on birthday cupcakes for my boss's 50th Birthday Lunch the following day.  I was worried about my contribution since a number of the other guests were also making cupcakes.  Oh yeah, and with one other exception, they're all professionally trained chefs.  As is my boss.  Great.  No pressure whatsoever.

After hearing some of the water cooler talk of caramel banana, gingerbread with lemon marmalade cream cheese frosting, and chocolate chipotle cupcakes (dusted with edible gold, thank you), I knew I had to come up with something pretty unusual.  And pretty fabulous.  I had an idea, I just had no idea if a recipe existed.  All I can say now is thank god for the worldwide internets because it led me to this recipe.  It had everything I wanted:  lavender, a filling, and a cream cheese frosting with a twist.  As it turned out, it was also the most elaborate recipe I have ever used to make cupcakes and it took me all afternoon.

First, you make the lavender simple syrup:

Then you bake.  Since I knew I wanted every bite of these cupcakes to taste of lavender, I decided to add that to the batter, in addition to the lavender cream filling that went into them, though the recipe didn't call for it.  I did that by measuring out the required quantity of sugar and putting it into my food processor with a tablespoon of dried lavender blossoms and giving it a whir until the blossoms were broken up into tiny specs.  Then I proceeded to make the batter using that sugar.  I baked the cupcakes and scooped little divots in each with my melon baller:

Next came the lavender cream filling - nothing more than whipping cream and the simple syrup I'd made earlier that morning, whipped together until stiff peaks formed.  A small dollop went into each cavity, then I trimmed a little off of the scooped out cupcake and tapped it back into place:

The last step was the frosting - citrus cream cheese that allowed me to use whatever citrus I had on hand.  I happened to have Meyer lemons, limes and blood oranges, so I used the zest of all three and juice from one of the lemons.

The end result was nothing short of fabulous.  They more than held their own against the likes of those mentioned above plus others such as pecan pie filled espresso cupcakes, salted caramel filled chocolate cupcakes and, yes, bacon chocolate cupcakes.  Jack said he thinks it's the best cupcake he's ever eaten.  Whoa.

Wrapping Up and Moving Forward

If you've been following along (NATALIE CAROL AND JACKSON HARRIS!), you know that the last handful of posts were written in part to document whether or not I was able to plan nearly a week's menu and actually stick to it.  Yay!  With a little pre-planning and a crap-load of cooking, it worked!  Yes, there were some amendments along the way, but in essence I managed to create a week of meals that included 16 (!!) new things and culminated with a beautifully basic Sunday dinner of roasted chicken - and string beans with shallots and mashed butternut squash (unbelievably I can't locate this recipe on Food Network), both by my bud, Ina.    

After the preceding week of intense cooking I was ready for something fairly straightforward and easy that Sunday, but since I was on a roll I still wanted to try something new.  The squash was it and it was delicious!!  And who knew you could take a potato peeler to a squash and simply peel it whole in less than 3 minutes?!  I was dubious going into that instruction and was pleasantly surprised as my Kyocera ceramic blade peeler slid down the side of that gourd like it was slicing buttah.  Well, not exactly, but it was SO easy!  BTW - if you don't have one of these peelers, you're working way too hard and spending way too much time peeling - they're amazing and you can get a standard size for 10 bucks.

My experiment was fun, challenging at times, and resulted in some delectable meals.  Not that I'm trying to take all the credit for that - I simply followed the recipes of some amazing cooks and managed not to screw them up.  That alone is cause for celebration.  w00t!