Crisp can innovation continuesMicrowave Milkshakes?Hot Dog Journal: Pink'sFood Truck Journal: Frozen HoagiesKetchup goes gourmetBacon joins dessert at Burger KingChocolate cream cheese? Yes!Hot Dog Journal: Hawaii's Cadillac DogsAnimal Snacker?More ...
Monday, February 18, 2013
Review: Erin's All Natural Jalape�o White Cheddar Popcorn
Crisp can innovation continuesMicrowave Milkshakes?Hot Dog Journal: Pink'sFood Truck Journal: Frozen HoagiesKetchup goes gourmetBacon joins dessert at Burger KingChocolate cream cheese? Yes!Hot Dog Journal: Hawaii's Cadillac DogsAnimal Snacker?More ...
My Waldorf Salad: a new twist on an old classic
My Waldorf Salad: a new twist on an old classic
Celeriac is a problematic vegetable. It's not very pretty. And although it has a subtle celery flavor, it is easily overpowered by other flavors. Despite many recipes floating around for mashed celeriac, its texture really doesn't lend itself well to mashing. And subtle can easily fade into "dull" if you aren't careful. The classic French treatment is a remoulade, i.e. a kind of a celariac coleslaw. It's not unpleasant, but it lacks the crunchiness of a good coleslaw and rarely has enough pepper for my taste. So what do you do when it turns up in your CSA box with irritating frequency? I have mashed it. I have made a gratin. I have paired it with beans for a hearty soup. But I still felt I was missing the poor vegetable's potential somehow.
And then I had a bit of an epiphany. Lunching with a friend recently, I tasted the Waldorf salad that she'd bought. Until then, my knowledge of the great Waldorf Salad was confined to laughing at the Waldorf Salad episode of Fawlty Towers and paging through the 1938 edition of The American Woman's Cookbook, which I inherited from my grandmother. I thought the idea of mixing mayonnaise and apple was faintly disgusting and best avoided. And yet...when I finally tasted the supermarket generic salad that she'd bought, I found I liked it. The flavor combinations worked just as well as you would expect in a recipe that has stood the test of 110 years' time. And so I thought of my humble celeriac, waiting in my veg box at home. Celeriac Waldorf Salad. Perfect.
And it is. Crunchy and savory and just a bit sweet, it's a very satisfying and reasonably healthy lunch. I have to admit, though, that I'm not as much of a genius as I thought I was when I first came up with the idea of using celeriac instead of actual celery in a Waldorf Salad. A quick web search revealed that I was not the first to come up with the idea by far. But that does not make it a bad idea - far from it! So here is my version, coming in at a bare 2 WeightWatchers points per serving.
Celeriac Waldorf Salad (makes two small salads)
1/2 a medium head of celeriac (about 250-300 g), peeled and chopped in small sticks
2 apples, washed, cored and chopped in small chunks
10 walnuts
1 Tbs low fat mayonnaise
2 Tbs plain yogurt
1 tsp red wine vinegar
celery salt to taste
Garnish: a bit of chopped chives, a lettuce leaf or two
Heat the oven to 175C/350F. Spread the walnuts on a tray and place them in the oven for about five minutes, removing them just as they start to smell nutty. Do not leave them too long as they will easily burn. In the meantime, mix the mayonnaise, yogurt and vinegar in a medium bowl. Add a dash of celery salt and taste. Fold in the apples and celeriac. Chop the nuts and fold them in as well, reserve a couple pieces to place on top of the salad. Place a scoop of the mixture on a lettuce leaf or two, garnish with the chives and reserved walnuts and serve! Including the time spent preparing the celeriac and apples and toasting the walnuts, you shouldn't need more than 20 minutes for a healthy and very tasty lunch.
Posted by Meg in Sussex at December 7, 2009 5:54 AM Print-friendly versionPlease be sure you read and agree with our ADVERTISING POLICY before posting.Brussels Sprouts Braised in Red Wine with Bacon and Lentils
Brussels Sprouts Braised in Red Wine with Bacon and Lentils
The Observer Food Monthly recently ran a series of articles addressing the somewhat frivolous question of what do celebrity food writers or chefs eat when they are cooking only for themselves? What is special about solitary meals? It is, after all, the dead season of food writing: not many sexy vegetables are in season, they've finished telling us what wonderful dishes we can make for the holidays and what frugal healthy ones we can prepare to make up for the holidays. And it IS interesting in voyeuristic kind of way. You can get a holier-than-thou feeling when you realize that three-star Michelin chefs sometimes eat standing over the kitchen sink too. In the end, most of the confessions fell into two categories: simple snack food that wouldn't usually be considered a proper meal, and experimental dishes.
And so I thought of the article earlier this week when I was making my solitary meal. Like the others, my meals on my own tend to be snack-like (a big bowl of buttery salted popcorn, cheese and crackers, smoked oysters on Triscuits, heaven help me) or else they involve experimenting with some ingredient from my CSA vegetable box that I know the rest of the family won't eat. Like Brussels sprouts. (When I first met the Critic, he insisted that we make Brussels sprouts at Christmas, though he refused to eat more than one. Since then, he has dropped that senseless idealism and we get by with only four vegetables on the Christmas table.)
Usually, these solitary dinners made of unpopular vegetables are tasty enough, but nothing to write home about - nothing worth writing about here. And then, every once in a while, I stumble upon something rather good. As I did this week. If you like Brussels sprouts, I think you'll love it. If you don't, you might just change your mind. It's a meal in a bowl: healthy, hearty and just plain good. Looking back after I finished it, I toyed with the idea of adding a few herbs (thyme, for example) to improve it. But in the end, I am not sure it needs it. Really good bacon is essential - the slices I had were thick and had been cured a good long time to give a nice dry texture. And don't cook the sprouts too long or they will smell unappetizing, get soggy and put you off forever. As soon as they turn bright green you should test one for tenderness and think about removing them from the heat.
I would suggest you use this dish to convince sprout-haters that they can be delicious. But then it would no longer be the perfect solitary dinner. And it was so good that I'm hoping the sprouts will still be in season when my next box arrives!
Brussels sprouts braised in red wine with bacon and lentils (serves two)
I loved the way this dish came together in my head. Bacon and brassicas are a natural together, so that leapt to mind when I saw the bacon that was nearly out of date on the fridge shelf. Then I thought of Barrett's cabbage and lentil salad and reached for the lentils. And as the whole thing was just starting to get a bit dry and I was looking around in desperation for something to deglaze the pan, I noticed the dregs of red wine in a bottle on the counter. It brought a perfect rich and earthy tone to the dish. Don't be afraid to salt; despite the bacon it will most likely need a bit of salt and a generous helping of black pepper.
1 lb Brussels sprouts, washed, trimmed and finely sliced (I halved them first and the cut in thin slices)
1 Tbs butter
3 thick slices of English bacon (in the US, I would either use country style thick sliced bacon or even some nice country ham)
1/3 c (about 50 g) green or brown lentils
1/3-1/2 c red wine
salt, pepper, water
Cover the lentils with water in a small pan and bring to a boil. Lower to a slow boil and let them cook while you prepare the rest. Melt the butter in a deep frying pan. Slice the bacon in thin strips and add to the butter. While they are cooking, you can prepare the sprouts. When the bacon is brown and cooked, add the sprouts. If you are using US (streaky) bacon, before adding the sprouts, drain all but a tablespoon or so of the fat. Stir fry the sprouts until they are starting - just - to stick a bit to the pan. Add the wine and stir furiously, scraping the bottom of the pan to get up any bits of sprouts or bacon. Turn down the heat to a bare simmer and cover. When you can smell the sprouts, remove the lid and see if they are bright green and tender. If so, remove from the heat. Drain the lentils, which should be done by now, and add them to the pan. Stir it all together, taste for salt and pepper, stir again and tip onto the plates. If you have some nice crusty bread to soak up the juices, all the better. Consume happily in front of the TV with a nice glass of wine. Or at the dining table with a good book. Or, in a pinch, with a good friend.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Sausage and Sweet Corn Risotto
Sausage and Sweet Corn Risotto
We interrupt our normally scheduled healthy low calorie recipe line up to bring you this sinfully calorific creamy and child-friendly recipe. Sausages. Corn. Salty soft rice. What's not to love?
If you look in the "child-friendly" category of this site, you will unfortunately find very few recipes. This is for a few reasons. Firstly, I believe that in an ideal world, children should gradually come to eat the same as their parents. With the exception of things that are potentially dangerous for young children (raw eggs and seafood for example) I like to think that most of our recipes can either be served to children as they are written or toned down a bit, in the case of very spicy dishes. Secondly, my children do not actually live up to this theory yet. I'm working on it. But many of the things I make for them fall into simple categories like "scrambled eggs with vegetables" or "pasta with vegetables and cheese". The Critic tends to get home far too late to make a family dinner feasible during the week, so too often I cater to the boys with simple food.
This dish, however, bridges the gap between "kid food" and "adult food". The boys (after the usual token "I don't like rice!" opening volley in the food battle) settled down and enthusiastically ate a big bowl each. In terms of healthiness, it's not too bad. Sausages, of course, are full of salt and fat. But sweet corn is in season and absolutely loved by children. With cheese and rice, you have your four basic food groups in a bowl. And it's so tasty that you'll find yourself, like me, sneaking bites out of their bowls while they are absorbed in watching Beauty and the Beast on the laptop. (Yes, we rely on the dinner time cinema at the end of a long and tiring week. All the play dates we planned for the summer holidays have seem to have been crammed into the last week before school starts. It's hard work being a highly social two or four year old around here!)
Sausage and Sweet Corn Risotto (serves two hungry pre-schoolers)
Whenever we have a barbecue, I grill up whatever sausages are left over at the end and either freeze or refrigerate them. Frozen, they can be defrosted and used in stuffing. From the fridge, they can be chopped and mixed into pasta, scrambled eggs or this dish. I've thrown away far too many raw sausages in my day because they sat in the fridge past their sell-by date. Now I cook them up right away!
1 heaping tablespoon butter
1 small leek, chopped fine
3/4 cup risotto rice
1 ear of corn
1 1/2 cooked sausages
2 1/2 cups chicken broth
1/4 cup (or more) freshly grated Parmesan
Melt the butter in a thick-bottomed frying pan. When it is bubbling and frothy, add the chopped leek and cook for a few minutes until soft. Watch the leek like a hawk as it can go from not-quite-soft to brown-and-crispy-and-bitter in a heartbeat. Add the rice and stir for a few minutes until all the grains are nicely coated with butter. Add half the broth and stir. Yes, I know that for an authentic risotto you are meant to add the broth gradually. However, this is not particularly authentic, and you'll want a good amount of liquid to cook the next ingredient: the corn. Using a sharp knife, cut the kernels of corn from the cob. Don't worry too much about getting right next to the cob, just roughly cut off the bulk of the kernels. Add them to the rice and stir. Then hold the cob over the frying pan and gently scrape the cob with the sharp edge of the knife to release the remaining milky insides of the kernels. Cut the sausages into 1/2 cm cubes and add them to the mix. Stir. Add a little broth if it seems to be getting dry. Continue stirring occasionally and adding broth as needed until the rice is plump and soft. Again, an authentic risotto will have a bit of bite to it but I find that my boys are extremely lazy and don't like to chew one bit more than necessary. I cook the rice until it's nice and soft, about 45 minutes from first adding the broth. Remove from the heat and stir in the Parmesan to taste. You shouldn't need salt, as the cheese and sausage will have plenty. You might want a bit of sharp pepper, especially if you are cooking for adults and not children. Though some children like pepper: my youngest is a fan of salt and cracked pepper crisps. I make a lot of risotto for the boys, but this combination is by far the tastiest. There is something about the texture and taste of corn and sausage together with rice that just feels wonderful. And my boys will agree!
Posted by Meg in Sussex at September 4, 2009 1:40 PM Print-friendly versionPlease be sure you read and agree with our ADVERTISING POLICY before posting.The Perfect Rhubarb Parfait
A few weeks ago, as I was dropping off Big Brother at his nursery, I noticed one of the mums - who lives on a farm - handing over a big bag of freshly picked rhubarb to one of the assistants. I pricked up my ears and when I heard her say (as I expected she would) that it was over-running her garden and she couldn't get rid of it fast enough - I jumped in with an offer to take some off her hands. I love rhubarb. My grandmother grew it in her back yard and so when I was growing up, I had an endless supply. As a result, I hate paying for it. Why should I buy something that grows like a weed and should be in every garden? (No, I haven't planted any yet: that is the next step in my master plan to exploit my poor friend who has the luck to live on a farm...I'll see if she wants to free up some space in her garden by giving me a plant.)
When I next saw the farmer's wife (who is actually the wife of the head of the local agricultural college if you want to be exact) she asked what I had done with it. And I had done as I always do: stewed it with sugar until it made a glossy red compote and spread it thickly on my morning toast every day for a week. (As an aside, rhubarb stewed with sugar is only half a Weightwatchers point for 75 g, which is plenty for a piece of toast.) She thought this sounded disgusting. Which is funny to me, because my first (and last, as far as I am concerned) experience of an English rhubarb tart truly was disgusting. It managed to be simultaneously slimy and woody - and so sour that I am puckering again just remembering it. There are some aspects of English cooking I will never understand.
I thought of this when I began planning a big barbecue combining a housewarming (which we never held when we moved) and a birthday party (because my 40th was spent nursing a newborn every two hours in a post-birth hormonal haze). I would make a rhubarb dessert that would show this woman exactly how amazing rhubarb could be when stewed with sugar. And I would have shown her too, if she had shown up.
Actually, the dessert was a huge hit. Even the Critic, who, because of experiences with the aforementioned English Rhubarb Tart, has always maintained that he doesn't like rhubarb - loved it. The mousse came out a bit sweeter than I would normally make it, but this complimented the strawberries perfectly. Topped with unsweetened whipped cream, the parfait was creamy and sweet but with a bite of ever so slightly sour strawberry. It really was a perfect early summer dessert. Or pudding, as they say over here.
The Perfect Rhubarb Parfait (serves 6-8)
Making the mousse for this parfait was, I'll admit, a bit of a job. However, the result is so good that I'll be making it again - and often. It makes a very classy dessert for a dinner party and can be made up the day before and assembled in five minutes when you are ready to serve. If I were to compete on Masterchef Goes Large, this would be my dessert.
4 cups chopped rhubarb
2 1/4 c sugar (450g)
1 tsp gelatin or 1 sheet
2 cups heavy cream, divided
1 quart/500g strawberries
Cook the rhubarb with 1/4 cup of water and the sugar in a saucepan until soft. Strain, reserving the liquid. Pur?e the rhubarb in a food mill or food processor while you reduce the liquid to 1/2 a cup or until your patience runs out, whichever comes first. (The recipe I adapted from my Fannie Farmer cookbook called for cooking it down to half a cup but my patience ran out somewhere around the cup and a quarter mark.) Soften the gelatin in two tablespoons of cold water and then stir it into half a cup of the hot syrup. (Note to self and any other birdbrains out there: do NOT lick the spoon you have been using to stir boiling syrup without letting it cool first. It will hurt.) Stir the gelatin mixture into the rhubarb. Whip 1 cup of the whipped cream until stiff. Fold into the rhubarb gently. Spoon into wine glasses or martini glasses and refrigerate at least six hours.
Before serving, wash the strawberries and cut them in bite-sized chunks. Whip the cream. Sprinkle the berries over the mousse and top with whipped cream. Enjoy.
Note: the parfait looked very pretty in a champagne flute, but I think that next time I'll probably use martini glasses. You really want to have a bit of cream, a strawberry and mousse in every bite and this is easier to achieve with a wider brim on the glass.
Spicy Zuke Soup
This was supposed to be a nice minestrone soup. The summer rain was pelting down on the roof of the conservatory and the Critic had just phoned to say that he was coming home from work early as he had the flu. I looked at my selection of fresh summer vegetables and started skimming the cookbooks and decided minestrone would be the perfect use for my seasonal vegetables. According to Marcella Hazan, I would need tomatoes (check), garlic (check), onions (check), zucchini (check), borlotti beans...no check. Or, rather to be precise, no cooked beans and the dried ones in my cupboard would take too much time to prepare. Never mind, I thought. I'll just pop down to the village shop. They have everything there. Everything but cans of Italian or French white beans as it happens. But the shop did have canned chickpeas, which set my mind off in another direction: Morocco. The Critic isn't overly fond of North African food, but I figured if it was spicy and didn't include couscous (which he can't abide for some reason) he'd never complain. I hurried home and started searching the cupboards for the elusive tube of harissa I knew was lurking there somewhere. And I found it: with a split side, spicy paste oozing everywhere and a sell-by date of 2007. Good heavens, the stuff was older than my youngest child!
And so in the end - I chucked the cookbooks and just started cooking. And really, I'm delighted that I didn't have the ingredients I wanted in the cupboard, because the soup turned out delicious: coriander and cayenne spiced the soup without overpowering the sweet tomatoes and zucchini. Chickpeas gave the bowl a satisfying bite and a bit of weight. It was hot, sweet, spicy and full of summer goodness, the perfect foil for a bout of the flu.
Spicy Zuke Soup (makes four bowls at 3 WeightWatchers points each)
When I told the Critic I was making soup for dinner, I did not say "Hey, I'm thinking of making a spicy courgette and chickpea soup." I know my man too well. I told him I was making a spicy tomato and turkey soup. He was delighted as I knew he would be. His face fell, admittedly, when he saw how much zucchini was in his bowl. But he came back for seconds, and not because he was being polite. Use smallish tender zucchini if you can as they will hold up better in a soup and have more flavor than the big overgrown ones. (Use the big ones in zucchini bread, where no one will notice.)
1 Tbs olive oil
1 onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, smashed and then minced roughly
250 g turkey breast meat, cubed
3 tomatoes, cubed
1/2 can of tomatoes (replace with 3 more fresh tomatoes if you have them, but we haven't hit full season here yet)
2 medium zucchini or summer squash, cubed (I had one green and one yellow, which made a prettier soup)
1 chili pepper - medium hot, finely chopped
1 tsp ground coriander
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper (or to taste)
700 ml chicken stock
salt and pepper to taste
1 can (about 300 g) cooked chickpeas (in the US these are often called garbanzo beans)
In a large soup pot, heat the olive oil over a medium flame and then add the onion. Cook for 5-7 minutes until the onions become soft and translucent. Add garlic and continue cooking another five minutes. Turn up the heat slightly and add the turkey. Quickly brown on all sides, taking care to stir frequently so that the garlic and onions don't burn. Don't worry about cooking the meat through, as it will be cooked in the stock as well. Add the zucchini, tomatoes and chili pepper and stir for a moment. Add the spices and cook until they start giving off an aroma. Add the rest of the ingredients and use a spoon to scrape the bottom of the pan if any of the meat or garlic or onions have browned on there. Simmer for 15-20 minutes, or until the zucchini are just cooked through. Taste for seasoning. At this point, I added a tablespoon of lemon juice to balance the sweet tomatoes; you may not need it if your tomatoes are not too sweet. Serve in big bowls with lots of freshly baked bread and sweet butter if you have it.
Posted by Meg in Sussex at August 3, 2009 10:09 AM Print-friendly versionPlease be sure you read and agree with our ADVERTISING POLICY before posting.
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