Omnomicon

Let’s get all healthy on your ass.

I’m not really good at veggie-centric recipes, mostly because I think they’re very good all by themselves simply steamed or roasted or even fresh. There are a few standbys for combining veggies—salads, soups, mixing them with oil and tossing with pasta—but I never come up with anything particularly noteworthy, and so here I am, writing a blog with an audience no doubt suffering from a collective vitamin deficiency. Sorry about that.

I’ll make it up to you by sharing a method for oven-roasting veggies that I found in my new favourite reference book Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini. It’s one of the few reference books that hold up against Wikipedia and Internet-at-large, and even though it cost more than a Physics textbook, I highly recommend it.

So here’s what I learned. Grab some veggies you have lying around, perhaps the hardier vegetables from your CSA share that survived the last 6 days of neglect. Perhaps also some mushrooms because it makes a nice little faux-sauce.

Clean a leek.

How to do this: slice lengthwise about an inch from the base, then rinse all the dirt out in a tub o’water by separating the leaves and rubbing out any dirt under there. Leeks trap dirt very easily, so rinsing is pivotal in preventing that gritty bite of dirt that momentarily makes you wonder if you broke a tooth. If you’ve ever broken a tooth before, otherwise it’s just gross.

The green parts are usually reserved for soups, but I usually throw them in too.

Next, mince some mushrooms. Toss with thyme, salt and a smiiiidge of sugar.

Now we build the packet. Drop a teaspoon of oil on about a foot of foil, then spread to coat.

And layer the veggies.

I had some sad-looking basil leaves that were about to kick off, so I put a bunch in here to lend some complexity of flavour. Of course, you can mince whatever fresh spices you have to get rid of in with the mushroom, but I was going for subtlety for once.

Fold over and pinch like a turnover.

. . . and 20 minutes later, you have veggies with dinner. I did this in the oven at 400^o, but it would work just fine on the grill if you have the spare real estate beside your steak tips.

Serve with rice, meat, or another packet of veggies.

And that’s how Omnomicon is updated after way too much time off.

Oven-Steamed Veggies
as discussed in Elizabeth Schneider’s masterpiece, Vegetables from Amaranth to Zucchini.

This would work for pretty much any combination of veggies you love, but the mushrooms replace a traditional sauce and lend a level of satisfaction you might miss.

2 small leeks (or more), washed & cut into 1″ slices (about
6 small carrots, peeled & cut into 1″ slices (about 1/2 a lb)
4 oz mushrooms, minced finely
3 tsp olive oil (or other oil of you choice)
a sprig of fresh herbs you like
1/2 tsp thyme
1/2 tsp sugar
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/8 tsp pepper

Preheat oven to 400^o. Toss mushrooms with thyme, sugar, salt & pepper. Add in 1 tsp olive oil.

Cut two 12″ lengths of aluminum foil and coat half of each with 1 tsp olive oil. On each, layer half each of leeks, carrots, mushroom mixture and top with a sprig of your favourite herb on the oiled half. Fold over and pinch around to close, as though sealing a turnover. Place on a cookie sheet and bake for 20 minutes.

nutrition summary (1 serving, 1/2 of recipe): 145 calories, 7g fat, 4.5g fiber; about 3 weight watchers points

Since last night’s post dealt with a single stalk of celery, as many recipes do, I thought I’d share my celery preservation technique, because even though you might not use that celery in the next two weeks, you’ll try to hold onto it just in case.

The best container I’ve found for keeping celery like this (and you know, it will last a solid two weeks this way too) is in either a pitcher or a vase. This is usually done to revive rubbery celery, but since I’m not likely to get to mine in the next few days anyway, I tend to go directly to the pitcher technique.

Make sure you have your celery toward the front of the fridge too. Some older model fridges (and some newer ones too) get extra-cold toward the back and will freeze your celery, and there ain’t no revivin that stuff back from that!

. . . that’s all I got.

So it would appear that the rest of the country has easy access to local produce for more than 3 months of the year. Must be nice, assholes.

Okay, I lied, nobody’s an asshole, I’m just super jealous. I was raised in the classic suburban white girl tradition of New Hampshire. And to us, the concept of vegetable seasonality was . . . simplistic. We had corn on the cob once a year, my mom made zucchini breads in August (and froze about a dozen), we went apple picking in September and in October we’d choose a pumpkin to carve as a family. The rest of the year we enjoyed carrots, potatoes, apples, oranges and frozen vegetables. My  mom and dad will no doubt read this and lay the guilt on how I make them sound like SUCH bad parents who never fed their kids ANY vegetables, which is not the case, the point here is that seasonality just never stuck with me.

So last year it occurred to me that maybe corn doesn’t get harvested on a single day of the year, and also, what is that day anyway, and hey, plants *do* grow in Massachusetts, so logic would dictate that some of them are edible, right? Perhaps this . . . what do you call it . . . agriculture? thing?? had made its way from the Midwest to our humble corner of the country? This must make me sound horrifically stupid, but really, I’d never seen a well-stocked farmer’s market (they have terrible hours around here, like middle-of-the-afternoon-on-a-Wednesday hours), and the most local veggies I’d seen were singly sold on the side of the road. After much searching, I found Berberian’s Farm in Northborough (no site, no link) and caught up with everyone else that the freshest food is local and that fresh really does make a difference.

This summer I’d like to document an answer to the question that popped up for me only last year: so what’s in season?

On May 13th, it was this junk:

(I do use the term “junk” loosely) We’re looking at radishes, arugula, asparagus, rhubarb and mint.

Needless to say, I did try to think of some clever recipe using only these ingredients, but you know, they really just don’t go together very well, and what’s more, the way I eat them isn’t very interesting. For example, I steamed the radish.

And while its Barbie appeal was heightened significantly, it didn’t taste like much of anything other than maybe overboiled summer squash, so I salted and peppered and ate it on the side with this.

And you can see how I couldn’t in good faith make an entire blog post about this because it’s like cheating . . . wait, what’s that, Bitten Word? Martha had a recipe for poached eggs on asparagus? Wow, either I’m next in line to wear that lady’s heavy crown, or she’s out of actual recipes, because “place poached egg upon steamed asparagus” is not exactly what I would describe as a “recipe” so much as “an idea I came up with on the fly and I’m sure I’m not the first.”

Still, it was really good. Recipe: toss your ‘spargus with 1 tsp olive oil, roast at 500^o for 5 minutes while you fry an egg, then salt & pepper & sprinkle with lemon juice if desired and place the egg on top. The end.

Alright, so I did manage to get these big ole honkin rhubarbs though, and I did manage to come up with a recipe for them, and it’s not even strawberry-related! I know, I’m so original, right? First though, check out how huge they were!

The length of my arm, they were! This was the only way I could think to fit them in my lens, as it does not zoom and I’m sick of that overdone depth-of-field bullshit. Anyway, then I chopped ’em up.

Add a healthy dose of sugar because these things are as sour as lemons.

Then stew them for a few moments, make some oatmeal, and enjoy as follows. This makes an excellent breakfast or dessert, complete with vegetable, protein, and fiber. There’s no fat unless you want to add some, it’s easy to make vegan with some yogurt substitution action, and even if you don’t give a shit about any of that diet stuff, you will still like it. The rhubarb tastes just like pink lemonade, there’s just enough oatmeal to make it feel like a real dessert and the yogurt offers a neutral contrast in flavour and texture. I have to say, it far exceeded my vision!

 

 

Healthy Rhubarb-Parfait-Cobbler-Type-Thing
This dessert (or breakfast) has a rosy blush that can aid a young lady in her pursuit to maintain her girlish figure. In other words, it looks nice and ain’t bad for ya!

2.5 c (about 1/2 lb or 4-5 feet) rhubarb stalks
1/2 c sugar
1/2 c dry oatmeal
3/4 c water
1 c yogurt (fat-free, Greek, full-fat, your pick!)
1/2 tsp sugar (in addition to the sugar above)
1/2 tsp vanilla extract

Rinse the rhubarb, then chop into 1/2″ chunks. Toss with 1/2 c sugar. This is easiest to do in the saucepan you’ll be cooking in—lid it then swirl it around til the chunks are coated. Heat over medium-low heat, stirring every minute or so. You’ll notice that even though you started with no extra water in the pot, suddenly all the rhubarb surrenders its water and you’ll have a kind of stew. Whenever you stir, give one of the chunks a fork to see if it’s tender; as soon as that happens, turn off the heat. It should happen within ten minute or so (if not, try medium heat for a little while, but keep an eye out for burnt bottoms!).

While that’s cooking, prepare the oatmeal. I microwaved mine because um, the stove was kind of already taken. 1/2 c oatmeal to 3/4 water. The oatmeal package will say otherwise; tell it to take a hike. Microwave 2.5 minutes.

Also, mix the yogurt with the vanilla and remaining sugar.

To assemble, we’re really just dividing everything into rough fours: 1/4 c rhubarb, top with a generous tablespoon of the oatmeal, then finish off with 1/4 c yogurt.

 

 

nutrition summary (for 1 serving of 4): 185 calories, 1g fat, 2g fiber; about 3 weight watchers points

A few months back I thought it would be cool to experiment with sprouting mung beans and share the process. It’s a pretty simple one: soak beans for about 12 hours, drain, then keep in a jar in the dark for a few days, rinsing every 12 hours or so, until—tada!—bean sprouts.

This method is foolproof only if you possess an innate ability to plan ahead and are able to couple that with a daily attention to detail.

Unfortunately, I possess neither. I am, however, completely in love with this specific colour.

So I tried to sprout these TWICE, and each time made it to the point where things were looking promising.

And then both times, I forgot about the damn things in my cupboard until they were oversprouted and bitter and not very edible.

And even though they weren’t edible, they were so pretty.

Good news, though! Steph of ::steph chows:: did a nice little writeup of her far more successful experience with mung beans, which echoed much of the research I had done in sprouting my own.

Here’s hoping I’m a better farmer in my CSA’s fields this summer, eh?

So if you’re not the comment-reading type, you may have missed this awesome comment from Jasmine, who, rather than pontificating from the opposite side of the globe about how to sprout mung beans, actually hails from that side of the globe and shared some excellent knowledge:

Hi! Here in asia we call these mung beans “green beans”, and use them to make sweetened, ‘cooling’ soups to ward off the heat of summer. Job’s tears (we call them “barley”) and mung beans, together with sugar and some fragrant pandan leaves, put into a pot and on a slow boil will make this humble beverage.

We also sprout mung beans until they are about 2 inches long — they are called “beanstalks” and added into clear soups or sauteed (you may have seen them in “chow mein” or fried noodles). Although you can buy these from your local Chinese grocer’s, I imagine. We sprout them by getting cotton wool (the kind you use for your face will do), soaking it in water and putting those little beans in them, near the sun. Water daily and they’ll grow!

Addendum
Oh, sorry to mention — I’m from Singapore … and here are some local dishes where mung bean sprouts are used!

http://www.noobcook.com/2008/03/11/bean-sprouts-with-salted-fish/

I love reading Omnomicon because I really see what people on the other side of the world is eating! (sorry if all that I’ve said is super ass-vicey)

Jasmine, your comments are not only welcome, but TOTALLY appreciated! And it goes without saying that Omnomicon loves having you for a reader, much of my aim is to gather all kinds of different perspectives on the food I present!

I have an interest in food cultures outside the US (and even outside my little corner of the country), but unfortunately it’s difficult for me to know that the info I am able to gather is even remotely accurate. Next time I’m whipping up a batch of Pho, I’m totally going to try Jasmine’s suggestion. Thanks again, you’re a doll!

I try pretty hard to feature original ideas for my food, and the cost is a lot of failure. Buckets of the stuff. Ugh. And as I move away from tried and true recipes toward completely new ones, it gets harder and harder to have a backlog of material if something doesn’t work out. This, coupled with my procrastinatorial nature, leads to a lot of fruitless nights.

Let’s discuss food philosophy a moment. Tastiness is tantamount. That’s one quality I can never bring myself to sacrifice. But the economist in me is always trying to balance out two other priorities: cool factor, calorie control & time to cook. Okay, three other priorities. Anyway, back to my point, sometimes something really REALLY satisfying and light doesn’t look like much of anything, and it’s worth it, because, well, it’s really REALLY tasty and hello skinny (like my homely Shrimp Surf ‘n Bake). Other times it’s just too heavenly NOT to share, and I cite as evidence the most amazing food Crisco can make (spoiler: it’s whoopie pies).

My recent neglect of calorie control has manifested itself in the form of an additional five solid pounds, a development that in itself is not a big deal, but I find that five pounds quickly becomes 40 for me, so my attention is important. To that end, I tried to return to my weight watching roots and had this great reinterpretation of Huevos Rancheros. I have exactly one problem with this recipe, and it makes it such that this will never work: eggs take for-freakin-EVER too bake inside a tomato. Forever. After 50 minutes of baking, the egg white was woefully inedible. I can’t justify spending any more time baking something just because it’s a neat way to do it.

I’ll admit that this photo really looks quite tasty. And I’m sure it would be, too, if it didn’t so cavalierly scoff at safe food handling practices. It’s tough to illustrate the slimy clear uncooked egg white smeared all over this dish, but I assure you it’s there.

 

This cake pan, where I threw all the salmonella-laden refuse, shows a clearer picture of the dinner’s inedibility.

There might be some merit to cooking the salsa properly, then frying an egg and serving it in a roasted tomato shell like that, but I felt the tomato flavour was just way too pronounced and difficult to overcome with what I threw into the salsa there. I did try making a tomato tube (instead of a tomato cup), throwing the egg at the bottom and salsa on top, but after 30 minutes it became clear that the egg white was rising and doing its whole “stubbornly not cooking” thing.

So that’s what I did last night. All I have to offer in terms of actionable food is not so much a recipe as it is an idea: fruited oatmeal is never as sweet as it should be and always seems to require additional sugar to balance the tartness. So I made a mango puree—one mango seems to do it for about 1 cup dried oatmeal, or four servings. I’ve dubbed it “Mangoatmeal,” because it’s vegan and I wanted to give it a name that made it sound decidedly non-vegan and even possibly cannibalistic. Also, because that was just the most obvious portmanteau.

Some visual notes.

Hopefully this weekend I will be cooking up a storm so I have something to report other than “my cooking skills cannot keep up with my creativity.” I have to say, though, I actually find most of my failed creations to be quite amusing. They say you learn more from your failures, and it’s true. Luckily I’m also quite adept at laughing at my own folly; it genuinely amuses me. So no need for consolation. I got a good laugh and a good lesson out of this deal.

Amazing idea last week: lemon meringue cupcakes. I could make a lemony cake part, then bake a meringue right on top! No need to frost, super easy recipe! I mean look at these. Ladies, how cute would it be to show up at the next get-together with a cheerful tray of these? And guys, how funny would it be to challenge societal gender roles with this kind of delicious underlining your defiance?

And to boot, these are 165 calories apiece. Not health food, but far lighter than one would expect from such a tall cupcake.

While the above does appear to be what I described, it is not. No, this recipe has undergone about ten revisions, and unfortunately, that is not fantastic hyperbole. I don’t have pictures of the process, but it boils down to the fact that the pH of the batter is important, and turns out meringue will not hold its shape if baked upon a proper cupcake. And if you bake lemon curd atop a cupcake, the whole thing will taste weirdly sulfuric for some reason. So the final recipe is more involved than I wanted it to be, but the cuteness factor paired with the actual deliciousness is well worth the effort, which in itself is effectively the same as making cupcakes and frosting from scratch, except two frostings. Which is admittedly not the same thing at all.

There are a few “specialty” tools required for this recipe. Nothing too specialized—you should be able to find in your grocery store—but I generally avoid these things because in the past I always tried to work around them: a hand mixer, parchment paper, cake flour, food scale. The mixer is really just for the meringue, the parchment paper for baking the meringue, the scale for measuring the cake flour, and the cake flour because All-Purpose Flour is a misnomer, as it is not good for cakes. I think this recipe is lenient enough to allow you to substitute all purpose flour for cake, but can’t be held accountable for the resulting texture. In the worst case your texture is off, but you will still end up with something yummy if not presentable.

Start with the curd so it has time to chill while all that other stuff is going on. Have you ever had this stuff? I saw it all over left-coast food blogs back when Meyer lemons were in season, but since citrus is um, never in season in Massachusetts, I hadn’t really any good occasion to create a curd until now. And it’s a surprisingly quick (5 minute) ordeal with HUGE payoffs. I could spoon this into my mouth all day, and I hear people put it on toast and things like that. I don’t need to remind you that I put it on cupcakes. By itself, it’s a delightful frosting too!

This isn’t a bad time to go over how to zest a lemon. The white rind is bitter, while the nice sunny yellow part is what offers the bright lemony flavour, so grating away at the skin until you hit the poor lemon’s pulp is exactly NOT the way to do it. My strategy is to shoot for exactly one pass over each bit of the lemon’s surface exactly once. Remember, this is not a sheep-shearing contest, so there’s no need to get every little bit of yellow off the lemon. Just zip your micrograter or zester right along and don’t spend too much time on it.

Also, isn’t that lemon HUGE? My god, it’s like Monsanto’s answer to the lumpy F-cup boob job.

Speaking of lemons, for both the curd and the batter, I recommend straining your fresh lemon juice. I find that when I leave lemon seeds in my desserts, people never seem to go back for seconds.

The batter has this subtle speckle of lemon rind yellow. Gorgeous.

While that’s in the oven, we make our way to the third part: meringue. This is what it should look (roughly) like right before you start adding the sugar.

Now we need a way for the meringues will fit the cupcakes. I use the liners as a guide and trace out circles on the BACK of the parchment paper upon which I shall bake the meringues.

Then I spoon the meringue onto each dot and smooth it out to the circumference of the paper circle, then around in a spiral to make that nice swirly peak. To do so, I washed my hands very thoroughly, then used something kicking around to smooth and swirl. I can’t remember what right now, but it definitely wasn’t my finger if that’s what your thinking. I mean, if I DID use my finger, I did wash my hands very thoroughly, but I wouldn’t use my finger because that would be very uncouth.

And now that everything’s all squared away and set, let’s assemble!

I cannot get over how successfully adorable these are.

And luscious too.

Lemon Meringue Cupcakes
an original recipe, in three acts

Prologue
Heat oven to 350^o

Act One: Lemon Curd
2 eggs
1 lemon: zest of & juice of (about 2 tsp & 3 tbsp, respectively)
2 tbsp sugar
1/4 c butter (4 tbsp), chopped

Whisk eggs, lemon zest & juice and sugar in a small saucepan, no heat. Add the butter bits, then bring to a boil over medium heat, whisking all the while. After three minutes or so, you’ll begin to see the bottom of the pan here and there as you whisk, and the mixture will almost instantly thicken. Remove from heat and chill in fridge until needed.

Act Two: Cupcakes
2 egg yolks

1/4 c sugar
1/4 c butter (room-temp is best)
1 lemon: zest of

1/2 c sifted cake flour, or 64g if you’re able to weigh (best method). Feel free to try all-purpose and let me know how it goes!
1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp vanilla
1 lemon: juice of

Beat egg yolks. Add sugar, butter and zest, and mix until creamed. Sift flour and baking soda, then mix until combined. Lastly, add 1/2 tsp vanilla and strain 1 lemon’s worth of juice, then stir to combine. Nimbly scoop batter into 12 cupcake liners (quicker is better). Bake for 15 minutes.

Act Three: Meringue

Beat on high until stiff peaks form (about 3-4 minutes):
2 egg whites
1/2 tsp cream of tartar
1/4 tsp vanilla
pinch cornstarch

Add in a continuous stream, beating on high all the while:
1/2 c sugar

On a piece of parchment, use a cupcake liner as a stencil to draw 12 circles. Flip liner so the drawing is face down (in contact with the cookie sheet), then spoon 1/12 of the meringue into each area.

Wash your hands thoroughly. Use the circles as a guide for what the meringues should be sized, then using a finger, swipe around the glob of meringue to give it a shape. You’ll have to play around with this, as it will be slightly different for everyone, but what works for me is to pat down the meringue to roughly the intended size, then swipe around with a damp finger to make it as circular as possible. Then I spiral inward, and once at the center, lift finger to create a peak.

Bake at 350^o for 15 minutes. Do not open the oven while baking, unless you smell something burning or something. Remove from oven to wire rack, let cool 1 minute, then with a metal spatula, pop each meringue from the parchment so it does not stick there while it cools completely (which you must do before moving onto the next step).

Assembly

Spread about a tablespoon of lemon curd upon each cupcake, then top with a meringue. Ta da! Lemon Meringue Cupcake! Store in an airtight container, and for extra crisp meringues, don’t top cupcakes until ready to serve.

nutrition summary: (for 1 of 12 cupcakes) 165 calories, 9g fat, 0g fiber; about 3 weight watchers points

So by now we all know that milk (after a little cooking and straining) becomes yogurt, and strained yogurt becomes Greek yogurt, but if you keep straining for a little longer, you get yogurt cheese. Think fat-free cream cheese, except without weird ingredients like structuring proteins, and you can make it at home. I have no problem with chemicals, but I am a fan of simplicity, and if I can eat the same thing with less stuff in it, I’d rather.

So as it turns out yogurt cheese is called different things in different places. This foodstuff came to my attention at a Middle-Eastern restaurant where it was called “labneh,” alternately spelled “labaneh,” its Lebanese name. Indians call it “dahi,” and for some reason Wikipedia seems to think it’s the same thing as Greek yogurt. Since I do operate under the assumption that Wikipedia knows better than I, so I’m guessing that Greek yogurt is technically a particularly loosely-textured yogurt cheese. Given its recent commercialization, I will refer to Greek yogurt as the stuff you get in the store and yogurt cheese as the stuff with a texture like cream cheese.

At this point, I can’t imagine I’m spoiling anything by pointing out that this post could be alternately titled “how to make labaneh,” “how to make labneh,” “how to make dahi,” or “how to make yoghurt cheese.”

For the last few weeks I’ve been experimenting on how to get this right. Since yogurt is cheaper to get in large quantities, I’d been straining it extensively, if effort put into leaving something there for awhile can accurately be described as “extensive.” Seemed easiest to do it with a strainer.

And uh, I ended up with Greek yogurt. With a strange sort of texture.

I tried a few variations on this: in the fridge and on the counter, each checked every 12 hours or so and I never really got any further than Greek yogurt (for the record, on the counter is quicker). Which is all well and good, except that I can buy Greek yogurt at the store, and the quality is better, and given the yield per cup of yogurt, it costs about the same too, so as far as I’m concerned there’s no convincing argument to make Greek yogurt at home, other than maybe to try it out and get some indie cred from your more-tattooed friends.

And besides, I wanted labneh, which I can’t buy at the store, and wtf is up with the yogurt that refuses to cooperate? The entire internet agreed it only takes 24 hours to make this shit!

Just then, a little piece of my childhood reached out with a warm, knowing smile.

Alright, I lied, it was an email from someone I’ve never met who may have been smiling, but I wouldn’t know. What I do know, however, is that she works for Stonyfield Farm. I grew up going on field trips to Stonyfield Farm, as their headquarters are situated a few towns over from my hometown. I’m pretty sure that their organic yogurt was the first time I’d ever even seen the word “organic” on a foodstuff, because that trend took a little while to make it to New Hampshire. These people are trendsetters.

So Stonyfield wants to create some food blog buzz about their new organic, fat free, low cal, totally delicious Greek yogurt, affectionately called “Oikos” by sending along some “get it free” coupons. I was happy to accommodate for a few reasons. Excellent opportunity for a list.

1. Food blog perks. Yay!
2. What a convenient coincidence, I have been buying lots of yogurt lately for this labneh thing and could use the discount.
3. I’m definitely not an organic foodie, but I am a HUGE proponent of buying local. Stonyfield Farm is a scant 50 miles from my home, which in food-source terms is my backyard.
4. I figured out some food science.

So what do you do with Greek yogurt, other than just substitute it for regular yogurt in stuff? Well, there’s the boring but tasty “stir in some vanilla and honey” thing.

But I wouldn’t really call that a recipe. So I strained it, figuring that starting out at the Greek yogurt stage would cut my work in half and I could do a little product placement and maybe it would even work this time.

This reminds me of the stork’s creepy baby-in-a-bag thing! I do this at room temperature because it seems to work more quickly and because it’s kind of a pain in the ass to work around a big bowl in my fridge. And I mean, we’re effectively just breeding bacteria here anyway, so this method doesn’t make me all that squeamish.

After just an overnight stint in the suggestive sling *ahem* I awoke to sheer delight. LABNEH! My quest, it was ended.

A perfect cream cheese texture . . . smooth, none of the weird pebbliness of previous attempts. I refused to believe this was just because organic is better, and compared Stonyfield’s ingredient list to that of other fat free yogurts. Turns out that Stonyfield has only milk + bacteria, whereas the other three cartons I examined included pectin or milk solids as thickeners. Now in terms of eating yogurt straight up, I don’t care if it’s thick because of milk solids or gelatin or inferior bacteria, but for my purposes here, Stonyfield worked out pretty well.

So here’s what you came for:

How to Make Yogurt Cheese

1 5.3 oz cup Greek yogurt (ingredients should be just milk + bacteria—no milk solids, pectin nor gelatin allowed!)
1 pinch salt
a piece of cheesecloth or muslin or even a very strong paper towel if you are daring
some place to suspend a leaky bag of yogurt overnight

Mix the yogurt & salt, make a bag out of the cheesecloth, then suspend it at room temperature for 8-12 hours with a bowl underneath to collect the whey as it drains off.

That’s pretty much it. Notes:

• I use a rubber band to hang the parcel from a cabinet knob.
• You can try this in the fridge, it will take a little bit longer.
• And you can use regular yogurt too, but it too will take longer. Regular, non-Greek yogurt will yield about 1/3 c for every cup you use.
• 3.5 oz of Stonyfield Farm Oikos yielded about 1/3 c yogurt cheese as well. Amount will vary depending on how long you strain and what brand of Greek yogurt you use.

Serve in one of the manners below.

Traditional Labneh
like how I had it at that restaurant that time

Spread some of the yogurt cheese on a plate, drizzle some olive oil atop, serve with any combination of the following: pita, olives, tomatoes, chickpeas, cucumbers, hummus, bruised mint, sprinkles of other herbs or spices. Simple but the best application I’ve found to date.

Jalapeno Yogurt Cream Cheese

1/3 c yogurt cheese (this recipe also works just fine for cream cheese if you omit the olive oil)
a drop or two of olive oil (brings out flavour)
pinch garlic powder
1/4 jalapeno, seeded and finely diced

Mix. Let mingle in fridge for a good while. Overnight would be ideal. Serve. Let me know if you try this one, I think it could use some work, but the idea is solid.

Cheaty-Pants Light Cherry Cheesecake Bites
makes just a few—eat alone or share with 1 other friend

1/3 c yogurt cheese
2-3 graham crackers (before you snap at perforation)
2 tsp sugar
2 drops vanilla extract
frozen cherries, thawed

Mix the yogurt cheese with the sugar and vanilla. Okay, NOW snap the graham crackers at the perforation, then slice each baby rectangle in half to make little squares. Spread a little cheesecake mixture onto each square, then top with a cherry and a little extra sprinkle of sugar. The graham crackers will get soggy very quickly, so these are not make-ahead nor party friendly. Think of it as a special private little treat to enjoy as you make them.

I don’t have much to say about the Daffodil Cake other than it appeared in my What’s Cooking in Massachusetts! 4H cookbook, and a quick Google is telling me that it is an Eastery-Springy-type of cake. So I guess I just missed Easter, which is fine because something in me still resists holiday seasonality. My guess is I still haven’t outgrown that jaded teenager phase, where family stuff is stupid and cheesey.

In line with the Spring theme we accidentally have going here, this cake is EXTREMELY light—for cake. It’s similar to an angel food cake, except that you are not left with an inordinate amount of unemployed egg yolks. In this cake, the egg yolks are used to make a second batter, this one all yellow, naturally, and the result is a little two-toned cake that is not as cool a surprise as say, a rainbow cake, but still pretty neat! It can be served in a manner similar to angel food cake, and in that vein would be quite delicious with some strawberries and whipped cream!

I made this bad lawrence twice in an attempt to fix major problems from the first go at it. I cite as evidence:

You can see how including that particular photo might counter any culinary abilities y’all might have thought I had. The good news is that I only had to try this one more time to get much more satisfying results, and I identified my major issues here. The first:

Let me just say up front that is not meant to be a dick joke.

The terminology in the original recipe says “beat until stiff.” Now I’m going to venture that, in this case anyway, stiff does not imply stiff peaks, because the first time around it took me damn near 45 minutes with a handmixer to attain stiff peaks, which even then were passable at best. And then my cake exploded out of my pan and burnt to the bottom of my oven in a smelly mess (see above).

The other big hint that something was wrong was when I tried to remove the cake from the pan and then had to kind of grope it out with my fingers. It was embarrassing.

Perhaps in 1962, they had nonstick tube pans they don’t make like they used to, but my nonstick bundt could not handle that baby, and as you can see, this time around I was plenty generous with my cooking spray. That cake might be soggy coming out of the pan, but it’s coming out of that pan on its own, goddammit!

Here’s a rare Omnomicon action shot.

And the bottom was the most delicious part of this. If you aren’t big on presentation, I recommend eating the entire crust off the bottom, because the cake is moist and fluffy and once you flip it onto the bottom and leave it that way for a few hours, the delicious crunchy almost-meringuey texture becomes the texture of just . . . regular cake. Not as magical at all.

Interestingly, though you pour the yolk mixture on TOP of the whites mixture (which would logically put it on the bottom of the cake once flipped out of the pan), the yolk mix is denser and therefore sinks to the bottom of the pan. In this particular piece, it looks like a funky ying yang.

But when I overbeat the white mixture, the yolk stayed right where one would expect it to—to the top of the pan and bottom of the cake. I have to assume this is due to the increased firmness in a longer beat time for the white.

So then I took some literal shots with a daffodil, which really don’t complement the visage of the cake very well, but I bought those flowers and by golly they’re gonna be in my pictures!

The best way to describe the plush airiness of these, however, is with this shot, wherein I tore a piece of cake in half. Verily, I rent it asunder for the visceral pleasure of it.

And then one more picture of daffodils. Just so I can get my money’s worth.

Daffodil Cake
adapted from a 60s era 4H fundraiser book: What’s Cooking? In Massachusetts

6 egg whites
1/2 tsp cream of tartar
1/2 tsp salt
3/4 c sugar
1/2 c cake flour
1 tsp vanilla

Preheat oven to 325^o.Beat egg whites until foamy. Add cream of tartar and salt, and beat until the mixture can hold a little bit of shape, but not until stiff peaks form (it should take you about 5 minutes to reach this consistency with a mixer on medium). Briefly beat in vanilla. Sift sugar and flour four times (seems like overkill to me, but just to be safe I went ahead and did it), then fold into egg white mixture. Pour into well-greased tube or bundt pan and set aside.

Now it’s time for the egg yolks!

6 egg yolks
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 tsp salt
3/4 c sugar
3/4 c cake flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 c boiling water

Put about 2 c water on the stove to boil. You’ll want to measure your boiling water after it’s come to a boil instead of before (what with evaporation and what have you). Beat egg yolks 3 minutes, add salt and vanilla, then gradually beat in sugar. Sift the flour and baking powder four times (again, it couldn’t hurt) and add alternately with hot water. Pour atop the white mixture in the pan.

Bake 50 minutes, let cool completely (at least an hour) before removing from pan.

Serve by itself for a cottony delicious treat, or with fruit and the whipped topping of your choice for a more full-blown sort of dessert.

Fun variation:
So some versions of the daffodil cake include a lemon icing, and this one in particular calls for either vanilla or lemon extract in the yellow batter. My awesome idea is to dye the white part with lemon extract and the yellow mixture with vanilla. It will taste the same, and 90% of people won’t notice which is which, but it’ll be really funny for that one person with the particularly sharp tastebuds.

nutrition summary (for 1 of 8 servings): 260 calories, 4g fat, 0g fiber; 5 weight watchers points

Thanks to everyone who sent me Google’s cached version of my post . . . unfortunately that was what I had started with two hours prior, sans recipe, not deleted altogether, but without all the hard work of the night. I’ve been learning to click save more frequently for ten years now and, apparently, will never learn. So anyway, here’s my revised all-the-better rendition of Coffee Nut Chicken.

Remember that time I posted that thing about how to score herbs & spices on the cheap? And then when I said I had a good recipe to use them all? This is that recipe, guys! Despite the word “chicken” in the title, this is easily modified to vegetarian or vegan tastes. Easily.

The original recipe comes from Chef Paul Prudhomme’s out-of-print cookbook classic Fiery Foods That I Love, and the recipe is also available on Chef Paul’s website. I changed a few things to obviate the need for Chef Paul’s magical seasonings blends because any food with “magic” in the title is suspect to me.

Not sure if this has come up yet, but Dano is my boyfriend. I hate the phrase “my boyfriend,” because every time I use it I feel like staking out some man-meat territory. To me, it sounds like “mah buh-FRAAAND.” So now that we’re real close friends, you’ll just have to keep track of his name like all my other pals. Internet: Dano. Dano: Internet.

Anyway, I bring this up because Coffee Nut Chicken was the very first meal he ever made for me! *Awwww!* Turns out Dano can cook too, when I let him!

There are a metric shit-ton of ingredients in this recipe, so a little mis en place might be a good idea.

The puree is . . . um . . . not that pretty. But remember how there were all those delicious toasted nuts and seeds in there when someone inevitably describes it in less-than-appetizing terms.

As promised, we begin with a herbs and spices do come into play. Specifically, an 8-spice blend if you don’t count salt. There are so many ingredients involved that this recipe presents some problems with some easy solutions. On the one hand you probably are missing at least *one* of the ingredients on the list. On the other, because there are so many flavours in play, your improvised substitution won’t ruin dinner.

It doesn’t matter what kind of chicken you use. Bone-in, whole chicken, skinned, some chicken thighs, breasts . . . you know, whatever. The original calls for a whole chicken, but I tend toward chicken thighs, so that’s what’s pictured here.

Onions, naturally.

Simma!

And then serve. Please remember all the hard work that went into this dish, because without that knowledge, this is probably the last thing you’d think you’d want to put in your mouth. Remember, it’s nutty and warm and savoury with an interesting heat that comes on just as you think you’re in the clear with spiciness. And it’s positively divine on egg noodles.

Vegetarian? Oh that’s cool, it’s easy to fix. Make the sauce with a veggie stock, and instead of chicken, simmer some whole portobello mushrooms, or other sliced mushrooms in the sauce (no need to sear!). Serve over egg noodles, or for vegan types, rice. I had egg noodles on hand, so unfortunately that’s the picture you get, but I hear vegans have excellent imaginations.

Coffee Nut Chicken
modified from a recipe by Paul Prudhomme

A very important note:
Please do not try to substitute ground coffee for instant, which is not at all the same thing. Just put aside your foodie-snobbery, suck it up, and accept that sometimes freeze-dried is what’s called for. Dano made this mistake exactly once. We had pizza that night. Other than that, substitutions work well here.

Seasoning
  2 tbsp lightly packed brown sugar
  2 tsp dried ancho chili powder
  2 tsp chipotle chili powder
  (if you have no interest in fancy chili powders, substitute 1 tbsp + 1 tsp total chili powders for the
  ancho and chipotle)
  2 tsp salt
  1.5 tsp cumin
  1.5 tsp garlic powder
  1.5 tsp onion powder
  1.5 tsp oregano
  1 tsp basil
  1/2 tsp ground cloves

The Coffee and Nuts (and what they are pureed with)
  1/2 c sunflower seeds
  2 c chopped pecans
  2 tbsp poppy seeds
  2 tbsp sesame seeds
  1 cup chicken stock or broth
  2 tbsp lightly packed brown sugar
  3 tbsp instant coffee
  1 tsp ground chicory (hard to find at regular grocery stores and therefore optional)

Other stuff
  6 chicken thighs (or 3 chicken breasts halved, we’re shooting for about 1.5 lbs of meat)
  2 tbsp canola, sunflower or other high-heat oil (olive oil will burn)
  1 onion, chopped
  1 cup chicken stock or broth
  8 oz egg noodles

Mix the seasoning spices by giving them a little pinchy-pinch. Rub about 2 tbsp of the seasoning into chicken. Set aside.

Heat a large skillet to medium. Toast the sunflower seeds then the chopped pecans 5-6 minutes each, shaking the pan as they toast. Toast the poppy and sesame seeds together for 2 minutes in the same manner.

Puree the sunflower seeds, pecans, poppy and sesame seeds with 1 c chicken stock, 2 tbsp brown sugar, instant coffee and chicory in a food processor about 1 minute.

Heat the oil in the nut-skillet on high until it moves easily. Sear each side of the chicken 2 minutes, then set aside; lower heat to medium. Add 1 tbsp of the spice mixture to the pan with the chopped onion and sautee 5 minutes or until cooked. Stir in 1 cup chicken stock or broth, scraping the bottom of the pan to release the brown bits. Bring to a boil, add chicken, nut puree and spice mix, then reduce to low and simmer for another 25 minutes, or until chicken reaches an internal temperature of 160^o. If you want to make the chicken cook more quickly (but with the risk of having an extra-liquidy meal), cover and cook til the internal temperature is reached.

Now’s a good time to boil water and cook the egg noodles.

By request: finally, a vegetarian option!
I mentioned this earlier, but it bears repeating. Word-for-word, in fact, just to conserve my precious creativity: Make the sauce with a veggie stock, and instead of chicken, simmer 6 whole portobello mushrooms, or other 24 oz sliced mushrooms in the sauce (no need to sear!). Serve over egg noodles, or for vegan types, rice.

Nutrition Summary (one of six servings, using 1.5 lb chicken breast, No Yolks egg noodles): 555 calories, 6g fiber, 22g fat (but lots of the good kind, hehe); 12 weight watchers points

(using 6 portobello caps, No Yolks egg noodles): 475 calories, 8g fiber, 21g fat; 10 ww points

fish chowder: a milky dish made with fish!

This weekend exemplified the yang and yin of Spring around here. Saturday was a gorgeous, sunny, “drive with the window open and wear flip-flops” kinda day; on Sunday a fog rolled on the pond all day, heavy and thick even at mid-day. Both days were beautiful in their own way, and even though I know we’ll get snow one last time, I sighed with delighted relief every one of those 48 hours.

And how convenient is it that Sunday was the perfect day for fish chowder? I used Haddock because it’s cheap, standard, and what 18th-century fisherman’s wife would put in her chowder, but any white fish (or combination of fancy fishes) would work. Salmon would work marvelously, yum!

I used salt pork, but please, don’t worry about the gross unhealthiness of this because there’s not much to begin with and it’s spread among 8 servings. Really. It’s mostly for flavour. Bacon would work just as well.

The bulk of fish chowder is vegetables, assuming you count potatoes, which I only sometimes do. Also, the only other vegetable is onion.

What’s going on here (and you can’t really see, sorry bout that) is that we made a fish broth with some of the fish, poured that into the pan with the veggies, then steamed the fish chunks atop the potatoes and onions, which are submerged in fish broth. It’s a neat way to steam fish and cook potato at the same time.

Eventually we need to move the chunky stuff to a pot, though if your skillet can handle the milk on top of this stuff, you can save yourself a pot by keep your chowder in there too.

Fish is so low cal that it’s kind of a shame to serve it in a creamy soup, which defeats the purpose, right? But instead of loading up on cream, which is admittedly delicious in a chowder, I used a combination of low fat condensed and regular milk. The result is something creamier than using milk without adding any fat (which accounts for the bulk of calories in cream). I’m assuming it’s because there are more milk solids into the same amount of liquid, but my knowledge of food chemistry is slim, so I’m basing this on logic alone.

But in the end who cares? It’s a hearty and comforting way to watch the fog rolling around on the water.

 

 

New England Fish Chowder
adapted from a recipe by Margaret Woodworth D’Arcy of The National Society of The Colonial Dames of America in the State of New Hampshire . . . I’m not even kidding, I found this in the Society’s 1968 Cook Book

1.5 oz salt pork, diced
1 lb potatoes (about 2 medium), chopped into 1/2″ cubes
1 yellow onion, finely diced
1.5 lb haddock, about 2 fish or 4 fillets, cut into 1″ chunks
2 c water
1.5 c milk
12 oz evaporated milk
2 tsp salt
1 tsp pepper
2 tbsp butter
3 tbsp finely diced parsley, optional but quite effective

Place 1/2 lb fish (about 1 fillet) in a pot with 2 c cold water. Bring to boil and boil 10 minutes.

Once that gets going, fry up the salt pork over medium heat to extract all the fatness. Once the bits are crispy and brown, remove them and replace with diced potato and onion. Cook 5 minutes over medium-high, stirring frequently. By now the fish broth is done, so add it (and the fish if you like) to the potato and onion, then spread the cubed fish atop the veggies. Allow to steam (i.e. don’t stir) for 10 minutes, continuing on medium-high.

At this point, if you think your pan can’t comfortably handle an additional 3 cups of liquid, transfer the fish & veggies to a bigger pot. Add milk, condensed milk, salt & pepper. Bring to *almost* a boil (don’t let it bubble up big!) then reduce to medium-low, cover, and simmer about an hour.

Immediately before serving, stir in the butter, then ladle into bowls and garnish with parsley and additional pepper. The official word is that chowder is better the next day. I, however, suspect that old wives tale was created by a Mom Conspiracy way of getting us to look forward to leftovers.

 

 

nutrition summary (using 1% milk, fat free evaporated milk): 245 calories, 7g fat, 1g fiber; 5 weight watchers points