Category: The Book

Categories
Soups The Book

112. Portugese Kale Soup with Chorizo (Caldo Verde) p.109


The recipe on epicurious calls this Tuscan kale soup. Tuscany and Portugal aren’t next door to one another, and their food traditions aren’t all that similar, but I’m willing to forgive The Book. In exchange I’ll ask you to forgive me for not using kale at all. Normally my grocery store is overflowing with kale to be bought up by chic urban moms, who only wear clothes by designers who don’t go past size four. This season’s infatuation with the skinny jean must have caused a run on kale, and left none for me. I had my heart set on this soup, and decided I didn’t feel bad at all about subbing in rapini. They’re not particularly close cousins in the plant world, but they’re both bitter greens, and both great in soup.

I still can’t get over how delicious this soup was. There’s absolutely nothing to it, you start by softening some onions in olive oil, then add sliced potatoes and cook for a few minutes. Water is added, and the potatoes are left to cook. Meanwhile the chorizo is browned up in a pan. When the potatoes are done they’re mashed a bit, and the chorizo and “kale” are added in. It’s left to cook for a few more minutes, and that’s it. A huge amount of the flavour comes from the chorizo, so make sure to buy the good stuff.

Montreal has a thriving Portuguese community, and the chouriço sausage that is traditionally used in this dish is practically easier to find than the Spanish chorizo. I had to go out of my way to get the non-traditional ingredient, which The Book called for in an attempt to make my life easier. Sometimes this project is weird.

The flavours here were just perfect, with the rapini and sausage dominating. The spiciness and richness of the chorizo contrasted with the clean bitter flavours of the rapini. The potatoes thickened the soup and added a lovely earthy undertone. It was a very restrained dish, with clean individual flavours that just worked. I ate a gigantic bowl without stopping to breathe, and went back for seconds. I’m not normally a huge soup person, but I can’t wait to make this one again.

Categories
Grains and Beans The Book

111. Wild Rice and Toasted Almond Pilaf p.262

The recipe

I messed this dish up quite badly, so badly I’m not sure it’s fair to count it. The main ingredient is 2 cups of wild rice, without further specification. I’m not a big rice eater, and I’d never cooked wild rice before. I went to the health food store and got two cups of the stuff in the bin labeled wild rice (riz sauvage). What I got was a mixture of rices, including wild. The wild rice grains are the long dark ones in the picture above, and the recipe should have been made entirely of those grains.

The rice is added to a pot of onions sautéed in olive oil, and left to toast for a few minutes. You then add chicken stock and water and simmer it for 1 – 1 1/4 hours. When the rice is ready you stir in some sliced almonds toasted with butter, as well as some salt and pepper. The flavours were pretty good here, nice standard pilaf fare. I like pilaf a lot, and make it often. I usually add mushrooms and diced red pepper, but the pilaf base was solid and tasty. The real problem was the rice. I followed the wild rice instructions with my non-wild rice mixutre and when I checked it after 45 minutes it had turned to gooey gummy mush. It was rice pilaf pudding. That’s to be expected given that I blatantly ignored the instructions, but I’ve decided to include the recipe as an honest mistake rather than a re-do. There are potentially many products labeled wild rice out there, and The Book didn’t help me to clarify the issue. It looks like Teena at the other gourmet project also used a wild rice mix (although she knew what she was doing and cooked it for less time) so I’m not alone in this.

If I’d cooked things properly it would have been a fairly tasty side. It quite subtly flavoured as it was, and the wild rice has a much more pronounced flavour than the other types. I worry that the flavour of the wild rice might have overwhelmed the dish, but I’m not really in a position to make that judgment. My version was mushy and bad, but that’s probably not the recipe’s fault.

Categories
Poultry The Book

110. Moroccan-Style Roast Cornish Hens with Vegetables p.392

The recipe

This was my first experiment with Cornish hens, and I think I’m in love. I watched an episode of Freaks and Geeks the other night. In one scene the mother roasts Cornish hens, and serves them to her skeptical family, who use the hens as puppets for a dance routine, and complain that they want normal food, like chicken. Two things, 1) Cornish hens are chickens, and 2) that show was awesome, it really bugged me when they canceled it. That episode was poking fun at the status of little birds as icons of the ’70’s and 80’s food revolution, for both good and ill. My dining companion’s mother talks about fancy dinner parties in the early 80’s where the women wore long gloves, and were asked to pick apart quail with a knife and fork. She remembers going home hungry a lot. Game birds are often considered exotic or fancy food, but at least for Cornish hens, they’re just conveniently sized chickens.

This dish emphasized how casual and delicious a Cornish hen can be. You start by making a spice mixture of caraway, salt, garlic, honey, lemon juice, olive oil, paprika, cumin, ginger, cinnamon, cayenne, and pepper. Then you cube zucchini, turnips, red peppers, butternut squash, and onions, toss them in with half the spice mix, chopped tomatoes, and chicken stock. You then take the backbones out of the hens and halve them, toss them in the spice mix, and lay them in a roasting pan on top of the vegetables. The whole thing goes into a 425 oven covered in foil for an hour, then uncovered for the last half hour to let the birds brown up.

There were a lot of ingredients to the dish, but most of them were in the cupboard. There was a good deal of prep work to be done, particularly taking a rock-hard butternut squash apart, and peeling turnip, but nothing too complicated. The results were absolutely fantastic. The use of smaller Cornish hens makes this dish possible. A full sized chicken might not get cooked through before the veg turned to mush, but with little birds everything comes out together. The juices drip off the birds and flavour the vegetables, which in turn perfume the hens.

I’ve been pretty harsh to the middle eastern / north African dishes I’ve made thus far. I just can’t get behind sweetened meat dishes. This one however, had dollop of honey, carefully balanced with lots of spice and some more harshly flavoured vegetables like the turnips. The little sweet note of honey was much appreciated, it was present but not too assertive.

This dish was just delicious, I couldn’t get enough of it. I couldn’t wait for lunch time, so I had some left-overs for breakfast. The Hens were perfectly roasted with an amazingly crisp skin and juicy tender inside. They were dense and meaty, with a deep chicken flavour. The vegetables roasted wonderfully, and the spice mix was an excellent compliment to all the flavours in this dish. I’d happily make this again and again. Moroccan-style roast Cornish hens with vegetables, you’ve earned your five mushroom rating.

Categories
Fruit Desserts The Book

109. Strawberry Shortcake p.813

The recipe is a variation on this one from epicurious. The main difference is that the linked recipe uses buttermilk biscuits, while The Book calls for the cream biscuits I wrote about the other day.

It starts with three pints of strawberries, hulled and quartered. This is the kind of recipe instruction that I consistently underestimate. I figure this job will take in around 5 minutes, but it’s really more like 20. I’m a chronic under-estimator of time in all areas of life, so I don’t foresee this changing any time soon. Once the strawberries are quartered they’re mixed with sugar, and lightly mashed with a potato masher. The idea is to get them to release their juices without destroying them. I managed to squish out a good deal of juice without breaking more than a few of them. The strawberries are then left to macerate for an hour on the counter.

When the strawberries are swimming in their own juices it’s time to whip the creams. Heavy cream and sour cream are beaten together with some confectioner’s sugar to the soft peak stage. Then the shortcakes are assembled.

The word cake has a specific and circumscribed definition, a biscuit casually topped with whipped cream and fruit doesn’t really fit it. If the biscuits were covered in whipped cream, decoratively layered with strawberries and allowed to set up in the fridge for a while, I’d buy the argument that these are individual serving cakes. As the recipe reads this is no more a cake than a meatloaf sandwich is a hamburger.

Still, this did taste pretty darn good, and it reeked of summer. Our strawberry shortcake growing up had a very similarly textured cake, but it was a large layered affair cut into slices. I fondly remember the adventure of trying to get the slices out in one piece, and the hilarity of mom’s face as strawberries and cream plummeted toward the dining room rug. I missed that in these neat little biscuits, but as I value the carpet in my dining room maybe it’s a compromise I can live with.

As with all deserts in the book, it was too sweet. I even cut back on the recommended amount of sugar on the strawberries because they were naturally sweet and perfectly ripe. 1/3 of a cup was way too much, I should have gone with a couple of tablespoons. The extra sugar helps to pull juice out of the fruit, but it was a bit much. I really liked the sour cream tang in with the whipped cream, which acted as a nice counterpoint to all the sugar on the berries. It worked in the same way the sweet acidity of good balsamic goes with strawberries.

As I said the other day, the biscuits were a great base for this dish. The whipped creams were a winner, and you can’t go wrong with summer fresh strawberries. The Book tried to mess with the perfection of July berries, and ended up taking away from their natural goodness. Summer just wouldn’t be summer without strawberry shortcake, and this version was certainly good enough to fulfill my seasonal need.

Categories
Fruit Desserts The Book

108. Cream Biscuits p.814

This recipe is word for word identical to the recipe for cream biscuits that appears on p.596. Whether this is a printing error, or an easter egg in The Book, it’s the easiest recipe write-up ever.

Categories
Breads and Crackers The Book

107. Cream Biscuits p.596

No, recipe appears on line, and that’s a shame.

I really enjoyed these biscuits. They’re light but not too fluffy, nicely moist, and just crumbly enough. The recipe is simplicity itself, it’s just flour, baking powder, and salt, mixed with whipping cream. After kneading it for a few seconds it’s patted into a 1/2 inch thick round, and cut into ~3 inch rounds. Then they’re transferred to a baking sheet, brushed with a bit more cream, and popped into a 425 oven for 12-15 minutes.

Early on in the history of Good Eats, Alton Brown had a biscuit episode where his grandmother (mee-maw) came on to show him the proper technique. The recipes there were buttermilk based, but the principles still hold. He emphasized that the most important thing was to use a very sharp cookie cutter, with a decisive push through the dough to avoid compressing the biscuits, and to ensure a good rise. I took that advice to heart, and then completely ignored it when the moment came. I used the dull edge of a drinking glass to cut them out (the recipe calls for a cookie cutter), and my biscuits didn’t rise nearly as much as I’d hoped they would.

The recipe calls for White Lily flour, which that same Good Eats episode tells me is commonly available in the American South, but as far as I know it’s not to be had here. Standard AP flour was given as an alternative, and it worked just fine, these were still absolutely delicious biscuits.

These are probably best suited to sweet applications, because of the straightforward richness of the cream. If I was going to cover biscuits in gravy I’d want the tang of buttermilk to help balance things. The Book uses these as the basis for its strawberry shortcake recipe, and I think they were perfectly suited to the task. I ate some leftovers with some of my homemade strawberry jam and a bit of sharp cheddar, which may have been even better.

Categories
Sauces and Salsas The Book

106. Whipped Horseradish Cream p.893

Unfortunately there’s no recipe online for this one.

Beef and horseradish is one of those great combinations, the fiery sinus clearing slap-in-the-face of horseradish works really well with the succulent richness of beef. It’s not much good with other meats, but beef and horseradish is a love story for the ages. In this preparation horseradish is mixed with cider vinegar, honey, salt and pepper, and then folded into stiffly beaten cream.

The recipe calls for 3-4 tablespoons of horseradish, to one cup of cream, then suggests that you taste and adjust at the end. It calls for grating your own root if you can find one, or gives the jarred stuff and an acceptable alternative. I had a jar in the fridge so I went with it. I had just enough left for the recipe, and didn’t think to pick up a new jar. I didn’t account for the fact that horseradish loses its pungency quickly once it’s been opened, so mine was a little anemic. I could have used twice as much of my post-haircut-Samson horseradish and not risked burning anyone’s nose. Everything else in the recipe is there to mellow the horseradish out, so this ended up tasting much too smooth and creamy. My dining companioned compared it to horseradish scented air.

I like my horseradish hot, so even if I’ve got the freshest most powerful root on the block, I’d rather not have it tamed too much. I don’t think the honey was really necessary, it doesn’t really add to the horseradish experience, and it risks taking the whipped cream over into dessert territory. Similarly the whipped cream served to add volume, and dilute the horseradish, I’d frankly prefer grated horseradish with a little cream to make it saucy, and a boost of salt and pepper. The whipped cream made it a delicate airy foam, which just doesn’t seem like the right texture for horseradish. I’d rather treat it more like hot sauce, or wasabi, pungently lurking in the corner of my plate, waiting for each bite to be dipped with excited trepidation, and punishing those brave or foolhardy souls who overdo it. Admittedly this version is a bit safer to serve to your grandmother, but the risk of horseradish is half the fun.

Categories
Sauces and Salsas The Book

105. Stilton Sauce p.884


No recipe this time

A blue cheese sauce is a classic pairing for a roast tenderloin. This was my favorite of the three sauces I served on this particular evening, but I had trouble remembering anything about it. I incorrectly identified it as a béarnaise sauce in yesterday’s post. I think that says a lot about the sauce.

The recipe calls for Stilton or Roquefort, I prefer Roquefort’s more mellowed character so I went with it. The cheese is softened and mixed with an ungodly amount of butter, and then stirred into a reduced mixture of white wine and heavy cream. Once it’s melted some flat leaf parsley is stirred in, and it’s drizzled over beef or vegetables.

It’s a foregone conclusion that a sauce made of Roquefort, butter, wine, and cream is going to be insanely delicious, and this was. This classic sauce has been replicated so many times in so many ways that it’s lost all novelty though. The only real difference between the blue cheese sauce at a mega chain steakhouse, and a fine dining version is the quality of the cheese going in. But with all the butter and cream the individuality of the cheese is obscured. I don’t find much variation in the world of blue cheese sauces, they’re rich, and delightfully stinky, but they never blow me away. This was no exception, it tasted very good, but there’s nothing to really latch on to about it.

Categories
Beef, Veal, Pork, and Lamb The Book

104. Beef Tenderloin with Cornichon Tarragon Sauce p.416


The recipe

Some good friends were coming to dinner, and I wanted to make something a bit special. When I’m looking for dishes suitable for an occasion, beef tenderloin is frequently at the top of that list. I had frozen part of the tenderloin I used for the Twenty-First-Century Beef Wellington so it was an easy choice to make. I decided to serve the roast tenderloin with three sauces, the cornichon tarragon sauce from this recipe, a Stilton sauce, and whipped horseradish cream. This sort of a menu seems much more appropriate to the fall weather I’m writing this in, than the summer weather I cooked it in. However, it was a pleasantly warm day, and I made one important change to the recipe. I grilled my tenderloin outside instead of sticking it in a 350 degree oven. The sauces were a bit rich for summer, but that just encouraged restraint.

The sauce is made by reducing white wine, shallots and tarragon, then adding cream, thinly sliced cornichons, and a mixture of mustard whipped with butter. This was a seriously powerful sauce. The mustard, tarragon, and shallot flavours were fairly strong on their own, but the cornichons were overpowering. I picked up good quality, imported sour gherkins from France. They were mouth puckeringly sour, without too much other flavour. They were nicely crunchy, but not really my favourite pickle style. The recipe calls for a lot of these little guys, and their concentrated vinegar permeated the whole sauce. My first impression of the sauce wasn’t great, just too sour, and overpowering the somewhat subtle flavours of the tenderloin. As I ate more it grew on me though. Once I stopped making a sourpuss face the underlying flavours came out, and they were good. The sauce also mellowed over the next day, and ended up being in a better balance.

I’m not sure if this is how the recipe was intended to turn out, or I just got a batch of very sour pickles. I think it’s possible I did everything right, because my dining companion preferred this sauce to the other two choices. She agreed that it was sour, but she enjoyed the interplay of the rich creaminess, with the clear vinegar cutting across it. I won’t rush to repeat this one, and if I did I’d try a different brand of pickle, or cut back on them. This sauce had to struggle to get over a bad first impression, but it did redeem itself after a few bites.

Categories
Beef, Veal, Pork, and Lamb The Book

103. Grilled Pork Tenderloin with Mojo Sauce p.476


The recipe

I chose this recipe because it was over 30 degrees, humid, and didn’t look like it was going to cool down overnight. We had dinner late because we couldn’t stand the thought of eating until the relative cool of the evening. This tenderloin fit the bill for a light dish that wouldn’t heat up the house. I was too hot to think, and this recipe is simple enough that I didn’t have to. I happened to have a tenderloin in the freezer, and an orange in the fruit basket, so I didn’t have risk sweating my way over the grocery store.

The recipe is simplicity itself. I just rubbed a tenderloin with salt, pepper, and a bit of oregano, then threw it on the grill. Meanwhile I whipped up the mojo sauce, which is nothing by orange juice, garlic, oil, and more oregano. Once the meat was cooked and rested, I sliced it and drizzled with the sauce.

For about five minutes work it was quite good. Oregano smells wonderful when it burns, and it left the crust of the meat with that great charred perfume. I’m a bit iffy on meats with sweet sauces, but the citrus was welcome on that stiflingly humid evening. The orange and garlic combination was new to me, and it probably wouldn’t occur to me to pair them, but it was quite delicious. The simply grilled tenderloin was nicely complimented by the straightforward flavours of the sauce. I wasn’t really in a mood for nuance, and this was certainly unfussy.

This isn’t a dish to try to impress the neighbours with, but it has its uses. It uses simple ingredients, doesn’t heat up the house, and it’s pretty much impossible to mess up. When you’re suffering from heat stroke these are all good qualities. Pork tenderloin is very lean and easy on the stomach, but it still feels substantial and like a real meal. When I’m looking forward to a night of uncomfortable twisting and turning in the sauna that is my bedroom, indigestion is not a risk I’m willing to take. This dish didn’t wow me, but I was very happy to find it on that particular night.