Archive | May, 2011

Meyer Lemon Whiskey Sour

20 May

While I would not classify myself as a collector of cookbooks, it cannot be denied that at least one of our dining room bookshelves has been noted to contain more cookbooks than books of a non-recipe variety.  Most of these cookbooks have been procured during the years that my husband and I have been married, with a few notable exceptions.  I brought into our marriage a half dozen or so vegetarian cookbooks and a couple of copies of Joy of Cooking, and my husband entered our union with this:

Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to tell you that, were there points awarded for most useful and interesting books brought into a dual partnership agreement, the tally of points at the end of the inaugural round would look something like this:

Me: 15 points

Husband: 1,000,000 points

This book is, in short, fantastic.  In addition to containing nearly 800 classic cocktail recipes, the book also contains a hefty 100 or so pages dedicated to the history, lore, and usage of different liquors, wines, beers, and accompaniments, and how those different items can be used to complement one another (totally useful). There is also an added hors d’oeuvres chapter, which includes separate sections on both caviar and foie gras (slightly less useful, but still appreciated).

Best of all, this book, written by Playboy’s longtime food and drink editor and culled from previously published articles dating back as far as 1955 (the book’s original publication date is 1971), reads like an instruction manual for those looking for tips on how to be a consummately urbane gentleman of the world—five decades ago.  You enjoy vodka and clear turtle consommé.  You serve daiquiris on your cabin cruiser, and precise and masterly cocktails at your June bachelor dinner.  You are a man of all seasons.  Not a conspicuous fusspot, the book clarifies, but a man of refined tastes.

Admittedly, not everyone will enjoy this book as much as I do, especially if one is offended by references to Canadian whiskeys having a strong appeal for the distaff side (it’s sweet and soft, you know, for the ladies), or is annoyed by a drink being classified as perfect “for unwinding after 18 holes on the fairway.”  While it’s true that those statements are mildly obnoxious, I have no problem reading past them.  Then again, any book that cautions a fellow against drinking for quantity rather than quality, and also takes the time to distinguish a drink as being a “postprandial” fit, is always going to be a winner by me.

Earlier this week, when the temperature hit 70 degrees for only the fourth time this year, I, fortified with knowledge about the mature American drinking man, and in possession of some dashing and petite Meyer lemons, decided to unearth the cocktail shaker and take my first step towards entering the “method school for the modern man at his drinking cabinet.”

Not surprisingly, my education started with me completely blowing the recipe apart.  Not having blended whiskey or the required number of lemons, I improvised a bit.  When I found a nearly empty bag of frozen sour cherries in the freezer, there was no way I couldn’t include them.  The more ridiculous things I did to the standard cocktail, the more delicious it looked.  And, in the end, it was a delicious drink, though not exactly what I think Mr. Thomas Mario had in mind.

Meyer Lemon Whiskey Sour

Inspired by Playboy’s Host and Bar Book

I am not a huge fan of sweet drinks, so my version of this drink is on the tart side.  If you wish to make a sweeter drink, increase the amount of sugar as directed.  Alternately, I’ll bet that if you used all Meyer lemon juice, as opposed to the half-lemon-half-lime combination that I used, you’d end up with a drink that is much less tart (Meyer lemons are not nearly as sour as their standard lemon counterparts).  If you do this, dial back the sugar initially and see if your all Meyer lemon juice drink is sweet enough.  If it’s lacking the sweetness you desire, go ahead and add a bit more sugar, ¼ teaspoon at a time, then re-shake and re-taste until you find the drink acceptable.

1 large or 2 small Meyer lemons

1 lime

½ to 1 teaspoon sugar

3 sour cherries, fresh or frozen

2 ounces whiskey

ice

Juice your Meyer lemons and lime until you have a combination of ¾ ounces of freshly squeezed juice.  Combine juice, one half of an already squeezed Meyer lemon, your desired amount of sugar, and 2 sour cherries in a cocktail shaker.  Using the handle of a wooden spoon, muddle the citrus, sugar, and cherry mixture for roughly 10 seconds, until the sugar has been pulverized into the other ingredients.  Add whiskey and a handful of ice to the shaker, cover, and shake vigorously.  Taste to adjust sweetness.  For a less tart drink, add more sugar, re-shake, and taste again.

Strain into a short glass filled with ice.  Garnish with 1 sour cherry.

Makes 1 drink.

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Blueberry Biscuits

17 May

I am going to tell you a story about what it’s like to live in Portland, OR.

Last week, an absolutely lovely family moved in down the street from us, taking the place of the absolutely lovely family who lived there before them.  When I stand at my kitchen sink, I have a direct sight line down the street to the house that was being inhabited by the new family.  After I had spent the better part of a day going back and forth to the kitchen sink (you may wonder why I visit my sink so much, and my only answer to you is this: I have a preschool-aged child), watching the new family’s moving fan becoming emptier and emptier, I made the decision to bring the new family a little breakfast treat to greet them the next morning, their first morning in their new house.

Not being a huge fan of eating anything tooth-achingly sweet first thing in the morning, I opted to hunt down a recipe for a nice savory biscuit.  Thinking of the children in the house, it seemed as though something would be needed to make the biscuit a bit more enticing.  I settled on adding blueberries to the biscuits, and began to assemble my ingredients.

I measured, I mixed, and I cut.  As the biscuits were just about to go into the oven, I made the mistake of asking my husband whether or not he thought blueberry biscuits were an acceptable welcome-to-your-new-house gift for a young family.

“Sure,” he said.  “Who doesn’t like blueberries?”

I was about to nod along in agreement when it occurred to me that, you know, someone in that house might not like blueberries.  I hesitated slightly before putting the biscuits in the oven.

“Do you think they might not like blueberries?” I asked him.

Sensing that he may have mistakenly set the terrible wheels of my mind into high gear, my husband backpedaled.  “No.  Everyone likes blueberries.  Everyone.  They’re good.  Always good.”

But then, the path horribly, unrelentingly forged, I began to wonder about other possible problems with the biscuits.  What if someone in the family was gluten intolerant?  Or allergic to dairy?  Or what if the family was vegan?  I could definitely start over and make a vegan biscuit (I’ve lived in Portland for 15 years, so it’s almost a given that I’ve learned how to make delicious vegan biscuits by now), but what if they were non-gluten-eating vegans?  Or what if they only ate organic food?  I had organic blueberries, but I didn’t know if I would be able to find organic non-gluten flour.  This was getting complicated.  I should head to the store and check out the gluten-free flour selection.  I would also need to buy soy milk.  But what if they were allergic to soy?  Okay, I’d buy almond milk.  But what if they were allergic to nuts?  Rice milk?  Hemp milk?

It was right about then that the oven timer went off, effectively causing the hamster wheel that is my brain to come to an abrupt stop.  I took the biscuits out of the oven, admiring the lovely golden-hued tops that were studded with plump indigo berries.

The biscuits were as delicious as they looked, a fact that our new neighbors, unfortunately, never had the chance to learn.  I have a feeling it will take a few more weeks before I am comfortable bringing them any surprise baked goods.  Weeks that I will no doubt spend trying to work subtle food-related questions into everyday conversation without sounding like an absolute loon.

“Yes, the weather is lovely today.  It’s a good day for ice cream.  Ice cream made with milk and cream and probably even eggs.  Real ice cream.  Wouldn’t you agree it’s a good day for real ice cream?”

Blueberry Biscuits

Adapted from Beth Hensperger’s The Bread Bible

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons sugar

6 tablespoons (3/4 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces

1 large egg, lightly beaten

3/4 cup cold buttermilk, or cold soured milk

finely grated zest of 1 lemon

3/4 cup blueberries, fresh or frozen (unthawed)

Preheat oven to 425 degrees F.

Line a baking sheet with parchment paper, or grease a baking sheet and sprinkle it lightly with 1 tablespoon of cornmeal (to prevent biscuits from sticking).

In a large bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and sugar.  Whisk to combine.  Alternately, you can combine the dry ingredients in the bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times to aerate.

Using a pastry cutter, two knives, or in the bowl of the food processor, cut the butter into the dry ingredients until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs and there are no large butter pieces remaining.  This will take a minute or two if using a pastry cutter, but only a handful of pulses if using the food processor.

Add the buttermilk or soured milk, the egg, and the lemon zest to the flour mixture.  Stir just enough to moisten everything, until the batter just begins to stiffen.  Gently fold in blueberries.  If using the food processor, add the milk, egg, and lemon zest through the feed tube, and pulse just until the dough comes together and it begins to form into one mass.  Knead in the blueberries once the dough has been removed from the food processor.  It should go without saying that you should not pulse the blueberries in the food processor.

Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface.  Gently knead a few times until the dough just begins to come together.  The dough will still be slightly sticky, but do not handle the dough too much or add too much additional flour, lest you make the dough tough.  Pat the dough into a rectangle roughly 3/4 of an inch thick.

Cut the dough into 2 1/2 inch rounds, using a floured biscuit cutter.  Gently pat scraps of dough together to continue cutting, eventually yielding 12 biscuits.  My cutting sequence produced 7 biscuits from the first rectangle, 3 from the first batch of scraps, then 2 final (slightly misshapen) biscuits from the last of the reformed scraps.

Place biscuits on the prepared baking sheet about 1/2 inch apart.  Bake in the center of a preheated oven for 15 to 18 minutes, until tops have turned golden brown.  Eat hot or slightly cooled.

Makes 12 biscuits.

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New Potato and Caramelized Leek Tart in an Olive Oil Crust

11 May

While I’ll admit to the occasional dinner that was not so much “cooked” as it was “spotted at the cheese counter and then paired up with a baguette and consumed with great enthusiasm,” there are, in fact, more instances than I can count during which I decided to make a dinner that was based on a bag of discounted vegetables at the green market.

Sounds suspect, you say?  Not if you saw the types of goods the green market offers on their discount shelf, all of which are sold in bulk for a mere $1.  Bags of red and orange peppers combined with a dozen tomatillos?  Yes.  Ten perfectly ripe avocados that need to be eaten as soon as you get home, but, hey, that’s okay because who doesn’t love avocados?  Definitely.  Half a dozen habanero chilies, two yellow onions, four plump tomatoes, and a handful of green beans?  That right there is homemade salsa, plus a crisp snack to munch while you make the salsa.

Last week, however, the $1 shelf outdid itself.  As if it somehow managed to read my mind, the green market had decided to off load a pile of new potatoes and spring leeks, both of which, though generally associated with heartier winter fare, had been on my mind lately (perhaps because of the preponderance of chilly weather we’ve been subjected to for what seems like an eternity).  The cold in my bones was thinking soup, but a brief peek of sunlight through the clouds brightened my mood enough to encourage me to begin thinking of something a little lighter and more spring-ish.

While not everyone might think of a tart as being spring fare, I have to disagree.  A vegetable tart, made with this exceptionally savory and flavorful olive oil crust, can be a perfect warm weather meal.  Eaten on a bed of fresh spinach or baby greens, it is light, yet filling, and the abundance of greens evidenced in the meal is always a welcome sight.  Well, to me, at least.  But, as previously discussed, I also get excited about a $1 bag of cast-off vegetables, so perhaps I should just say that you shouldn’t take my word that this tart is a welcome and delicious spring meal, you should instead simply make the tart and discover its deliciousness for yourself.

New Potato and Caramelized Leek Tart in an Olive Oil Crust

Olive Oil Crust

1 ½ cups all purpose flour

½ teaspoon salt

1/3 cup olive oil

3 tablespoons milk

Preheat oven to 425 degrees Fahrenheit.

In a medium bowl, sift together flour and salt.  In a small bowl, combine olive oil and milk and whisk together until integrated.  Add milk and oil mixture to flour mixture and, using a fork, combine the mixture until fully incorporated.

Gather the dough together and knead it into a ball.  Press it evenly into the bottom and sides of a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom (I use a small measuring cup to smooth everything into place and it works wonders).  Pierce crust on sides and bottom with a fork, and parbake in the preheated oven until only very slightly browned on the edges, 10-12 minutes.

Remove tart crust from oven and lower oven temperature to 375 degrees F.

New Potato and Caramelized Leek Filling

3 large leeks, fully rinsed and trimmed of their dark tops

1 tablespoon butter

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large sprig fresh thyme

salt and pepper to taste

12 ounces new potatoes (or red or Yukon gold, or any other small, creamy potato) scrubbed and then sliced about ¼-inch thick

½ cup milk

2 eggs

1/3 cup grated parmesan cheese

Slice rinsed and trimmed leeks in half lengthwise, then slice the white and light green parts about ¼-inch thick.  On medium low heat, combine butter and olive oil and heat until butter is almost completely melted and just begins to foam.  Add leeks and thyme, stir to coat leeks with butter and olive oil, then reduce heat to low. Cook, stirring frequently, over low heat until leeks are softened and gently caramelized to a light brown color, about 25 minutes.  Remove from heat, add salt and pepper to taste, and set aside.

While leeks are cooking, boil the potato slices in lightly salted water until crisp tender, about 7-10 minutes.  Drain potato slices and set aside.

In a small bowl, combine eggs and milk and beat to combine well.  Add in parmesan cheese and continue to mix until combined.  Add cooled, caramelized leeks to the egg mixture, making sure to remove the sprig of thyme, then mix well to combine.

Arrange the potato slices in the parbaked tart shell, overlapping them in a concentric circle.  Pour egg and leek mixture over the potatoes.

Bake for 35-45 minutes, until the middle of the tart is set and no longer wet.  The leeks exposed on top of the tart will turn dark brown and continue to caramelize even further, which is fantastic.  However, if, partway through baking, you see your leeks starting to turn brown to the point of blackening and burning, loosely cover the tart with a sheet of foil for the remainder of the baking time.

Serve warm or at room temperature.

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