Sunday Feast № 19 | Radish Salad with Mint and Pumpkin Seeds

Fun on the side and after Drink Pinot Gris Movies Saint Laurent (2014) vs. Yves Saint Laurent (2014)

In the Midwest, the season for radishes starts in March, provided the weather abides. It should by May. So here I was with a bunch of radishes, and a box of raw pumpkin seeds. The latter happened to stare at me from the nuts and seed shelf at the local and jumped into my basket. A happenstance that eventually worked out as I was looking what else to do with the radishes. My usual with radishes is very simple and satisfying - slices of good or toasted bread, smeared with butter, layered with radish slices, and sprinkled with a pinch of salt - but I wanted to try something different. Recently, I had a seasonal platter that included finely sliced, shaved really, radishes with mint and dressing. Radishes and mint? Hmm. Different, and the inspiration I needed. By now, just as the Thai basil did, my hydroponic mint was in bloom and begging to be messed with in other ways than tea or mojito. And nuts or seeds are good! I have seeds!    The recipe I found called for radish wedges, which is fine, but I slice for a mellower bite, and pistachios, which is fine, but I have green pumpkin seeds. Great lunch salad with a slice of good bread (could not stray too far from my usual), sharp-ish personable cheese such a Saint Malachi (cow milk cheese from Unionville, PA) beckoning from my fridge, and a bottle of Pinot Gris to match the crisp radishes peeking through the smoothness of olive oil and the freshness of mint.    Why Saint Laurent vs. Yves Saint Laurent? By this point my brain was somehow remembering something about clean whole radishes dipped in salt as a French snack. Since I did not have a movie about the quintessential French fashion designer Coco Chanel, ladies who lunch had to do with chronologically next best thing - Yves Saint Laurent. That I had, together with enough wine to see us through almost four and half hours of indulgent viewing. This did not have to make sense, but that is what long Sunday lunches can be.

Sunday Feast № 18 | Rosemary and Chocolate in a Cake

In winter, rosemary is milder, and in Midwest spring fights with winter, trying to assert itself before summer assuredly stomps on it. So it stands to reason that since late April is more like a mild winter, or a cool spring at best, rosemary is less pungent and robust right now. Having said that, I never thought of rosemary in a sweet cake or with chocolate, as a singularly savory bake makes more sense to me for a herb I love on anything roasted. Then I came across an image from 101 Cookbooks of a rosemary olive oil cake from "Good to the Grain" by  Kim Boyce and wondered "How would this taste?" I got to work, but I wouldn't be me without attempting some short cuts. First time.
Local supermarket had 2-for-1 bags of bittersweet chocolate chips and fresh rosemary pack was generous, so I had the goods for multiple attempts. The first time, I used the chips as-is. All good, but since rosemary was such an odd taste for me in a cake, I figured that coarsely chopping the chips as the recipe suggested would work better to mix the two flavors of rosemary and chocolate in each bite. Second time, I did just that. The recipe called for 9½-in fluted tart pan, which worked just fine despite the cake rising slightly just above the rim, but next time I chose 9½-in round spring form with higher sides so I did not have to worry even about that as both times 40 min bake was all I needed for a good bake. I have to admit that chopping the chips and refrigerating the cake before eating worked a charm. The beauty of oil is that it does not solidify like butter when chilled, but keeps the cake nicely moist. The consistency was much better than at room temperature, and I suppose like stews cakes tend to be better next days. Patience does pay off. It is also possible that having rosemary in a cake with chocolate shavings grew on me, and that the addition of rosemary made this cake fair game for breakfast or lunch and thus more frequent exposure to this new mix. Breakfast or lunch?! The cake was somewhat savory after all, non? Not that cake being nothing but sweet has ever stopped me from having it for breakfast or lunch ...

Sunday Feast № 17 | Abundance of Thai basil leads to one thing

Construction got in the way of nature, so I invested in technology to bring the nature back. Then nature forced my hand by thriving.    In plain words: I have a kitchen window facing east, which for quite some time faced an empty lot. The lot is a bit over 250 ft deep, so every morning sunrise streamed in to wake me up before coffee. Then over a year ago construction began. Now, the kitchen window faces grey walls. No sunrise and less light till the sun is high, provided there are no clouds. The new conditions are hardly ideal for growing herbs. Ah the joys of city living. When I buy fresh herbs, I hardly ever seem to use the entire package till they start to wilt ever so slightly forcing me to dry the excess and defeating the very reason I bough them. I decided to look for options. What I needed is a source of sunlight, and luckily there are compact indoor gardens that are hydroponic units, taking out any guess work regarding watering - there is always water in lieu of soil, with LEDs. Double BINGO!
	I chose one that came with a box of six seed pods: Genovese basil, Thai basil, cilantro, dill, mint and curly parsley. Thai basil was first to sprout and grow - abundantly, with the other five playing catch up. It was time to harvest it, so it did not obstruct the light from reaching the cilantro and mint close by. After collecting the next two handfuls, I started to look for recipes, after all the reason for having fresh herbs is to use them fresh, and since Thai basil was plentiful - Thai it was!    This recipe from “The Food of Thailand: A Journey for Food Lovers” is so easy and fast to make, and so tasty, it is almost embarrassing, but it is what I love about Thai food. It can be simple, meaning few ingredients, thus often requiring fresh ingredients, much like Italian, that are cooked quickly to preserve their freshness. More so, Thai basil can withstand heat of stir frying, perking up with its anise spice the funkiness of fish and oyster sauces glossing over the spiciness of beef fried with garlic and chili. Add rice and crisp vegetables and you will have a quick feast.

Sunday Feast № 16 | Riffing on a Po' Boy

Po' Boy is a New Orleans thing. One of those things "prone" to never be "right" outside of its origin. I honestly took it as a sandwich style, as a combination of fried and sauce that would be seafood and picante, respectively, on the account of being billed as Louisianan. Somehow in my head those two together in a sandwich spell Louisianan. It is possible that the first time I saw the name "po-boy" or "po' boy" was in New Orleans, as it should be the case, took it as one of those Americanisms like "submarine sandwich", "hoagie" or "hero" - which are really three non- and regional names for the same thing that is a sandwich using long roll of bread - and that "po' boy" is a regional name for a sandwich that effectively contains regional offerings in a bread that makes it look like a "sub". To add to this, it is possible that it was the first time I saw breaded fried fish in a sandwich and since it was called "po'boy" I took it that po' boy is a sandwich with breaded fried fish and fixings such as spicy sauce, because New Orleans has a lot of that. Heresy? Maybe. Maybe not.    To quote from, with my own emphasis, a University of New Orleans history professor Michael Mizell-Nelson's historical description of po' boy "The sandwich is as diverse as the city it symbolizes. The crisp loaves have served as a culinary crossroads, encasing the most pedestrian and exotic of foods: shrimp, oyster, catfish, soft-shell crabs as well as French fries and ham and cheese." To me, that sounds like anything goes, and the trick to the original is in the bread, because bread is a living thing that represents the taste of local water and responds to local humidity. But I don't live in New Orleans. So what I am left with is

Sunday Feast № 15 | Leek and Potato Soup and Steak with Béarnaise Sauce, my first two-course French dinner revisited

It is fair to say these are not the first savory French dishes I have ever made. Skipping around the French onion soup, which to me is only French in name - no disrespect, it's just the context in which I learnt it - bœuf à la Bourguignonne is the most likely first. However, unlike the formidable stew, these two are coolly sophisticated in their utter simplicity. And the simplicity is why I revisit. There is room to play despite it.    Whenever I buy celery, it is not consumed quickly enough before it wilts. Quite ironic considering that celery is a pheromone missile to be used by men, yet this misfortune is fully attributable to celery's stringiness and watery taste. It languishes some for those reasons. And lack of dip. Hence, I double up on it when possible, before cutting the stalks into finger long pieces, standing them up in a water filled container and refrigerating to prolong their crispness, then crossing my fingers hoping this time they will be eaten before any decay. Freezing just does not work. Also this time around one medium potato was not enough, and the soup can handle another one. Clearing out some vegetable acumen? You bet! As for the heavy whipping cream, it's what I had on hand. Its consistency suits the purée.    With a steady supply of butter, I could have clarified the butter myself for the sauce. Previously I have, yet this time around a jar of ghee had just the right volume. Clarified butter and ghee are similar concepts that differ in production methods and resultant nuances in flavor and color. Liquid gold either way. Having a jar of the stuff ready, slightly warmed up so it's melted, is a good off-the-shelf stand by as the constant whisking of the eggs with the tarragon infusion over very low heat will give you a reborn respect for any saucier, and anything that feels like a shortcut is welcome. I bide my time fearing I scramble the eggs and then whisk some more to steadily incorporate the melted ghee. By the way, the ever slightly more golden ghee resulted in a brighter yellow sauce rather than the classic light yellow when clarified butter is used. All in the eyes of the beholder, I suppose. The Béarnaise spirit is still there, courtesy of the shallot and tarragon, with a slight cosmopolitan twist. Mine often turns out thicker than velveteen, so I do not strain it, although I can see how straining would make it more refined and I have some more try-and-error in my future. Do your time.    Now the fun speedy time.

Sunday Feast № 14 | Cherry Poppy Seed Cake, or how I survived baking after not paying attention to loaf pan size

While and after reading "The Sweet Life in Paris" by David Lebovitz, I started frequenting his blog, where recently he posted his adaptation of the cherry poppy seed cake from newly released "Sweeter Off the Vine" by Yossy Arefi.    Still in the throws of "I can do baking" and having acquired a loaf pan, I had a go. It looked very easy compared to the blind bake followed by baking with the filling that the lemon tart required. No sifting. No kneading. No whisking, per say. Just dry ingredients and wet ingredients eventually combined and poured into a loaf pan en masse. Even the streusel topping looked easy. The fact that he clearly and up front calls for a 9 in/23 cm loaf pan I didn't note.    You see, I still remembered reading his loaf recipes from "The Sweet Life in Paris" and noting that all of them required an 8 in/20 cm pan. An autopilot, especially in a non-baker, is a dubious thing. No biggie you would think, right? Seeing mine filled not far off the brim with the batter and the streusel and ending with streusel surplus gave me a pause, but then I ushered it all into the preheated oven. I would like to say that me putting a baking tray underneath the pan was a learned trick to prevent possible spillage onto the over floor. Alas, no. It was a matter of convenience and prevention: easy sliding of the goodies from and to the middle oven rack, while avoiding the inevitable, in my case, singes of my hands, typically below the thumb, from the top oven rack. You'd think I'd invest in some oven mitts instead of making do with folded over dish cloths. Nonsense! But I digress. The advantage of an oven door with a glass panel and an inside light is that you can watch like a hawk the proceedings within without opening the door and tempting fate with temperature drops.    And there it was.

Sunday Feast № 13 | Tarte au Citron: The "ooh la la" of Lemon Tart

I guess I could wax poetic about spring and sunshine and how lemons are yellow like the sun in child's drawing and awaken with their tangy freshness and tartness. All beautiful and true, but not quite were my head was at.    I have not made a desert in eons, and especially one that requires some layering where one layer is the dough, pastry dough. Dough can taste doughy if mishandled, and with mounts of sugar to boot, it's a disaster. "But lemons might help the "lemon"! Dress up the disaster!" Alas, that was just wishful thinking. Yes, I've made some baking mistakes. The best way to address this situation was head on, and try again, sweetly and lemon-y.    At $1 for 10 lemons, and more sugar types than my kitchen has seen not just in years but ever, the weekend called for a lemon tart with sweet pastry made from scratch. Reminiscent of pasta making, the flour well contained what became effectively a goop-y mess of butter, sugar, and eggs, all stuck to my fingers. Flour saved my perturbed sanity as the mix finally coalesced into a ball of smooth dough ready for chilling after I chilled myself and summoned patience. Exhale. Rolling it out - easy. Lining a tart tin with it - no problem. Shell baking - fingers crossed and exhale regardless. Mixing and pouring the filling - good to go. Final bake and cooling - not fast enough.   It was worth it. The recipe is from “The Food of France: A Journey for Food Lovers”. I stuck to one set of measurement units (grams and milliliters). It is baking after all where precision serves a novice or a scaredy-cat. Leftover pastry or filling? No worries! There are solutions for that. Now watch me go pro! OK OK. Not quite that ready.

Fun with the leftovers Filling Preheat the oven to 180°C/355°F. Using small oven proof cups or ramekins, spoon in the filling to fill each. Place the cups or ramekins in a baking dish and pour enough close to boiling or boiling water into the dish to come halfway up to the sides of the cup or ramekin. Cook for 25 min or until set. Remove from the oven and baking dish, cool completely and then refrigerate for couple of hours. Sweet pastry Preheat the oven to 190°C/375°F. Roll out the pastry on a lightly floured surface to thickness similar to that when rolled out for the tart. Cut out shapes - I cut 4.5 cm/~2 in circles, rolled the remains into a ball and rolled out again, cut circles and repeated as often as needed till all the pastry was used. Place shapes on a floured baking tray - they can be relatively close to each other but not touching - and bake for ~15 min or till golden. Remove and cool on a rack.

Sunday Feast № 12 | Chinese Five-Spice Spare Ribs with Hoisin Glaze

The beauty of communal feast preparation is that you do not have to do it all, and since I hosted, I took to what required overnight preparation and slow cooking. To boot, one of my local supermarkets had a deal on pork spare ribs (2 for 1) that primed me for taking on this spare ribs recipe twice!    The recipe came courtesy of a friend who attended a Chinese New Year meal class at Chicago's The Chopping Block, with original Hoisin Glaze recipe halved by me second time around. And since she attended the class, the accompanying chicken bao and vegetable pot stickers were under her purview - she was effectively branded "The Chef" - and the purview of a friend that has mad bao assembly skills - "The Sous Chef" - with the bao dough prepared by a friend that is a real life pastry chef and who also made crêpes for desert - "The Pastry and Deserts Chef". All of these require skills which are currently beyond me - yeast dough is involved, nimble fingers and good eye for "done" are required. Hence, I was an apprentice line cook chopping, stirring and cleaning when required, a dish washer, and when just watching or calling to the table, a self-appointed "Restaurateur".    The ribs were the appetizer to give us energy to prepare the rest of the feast, but they also make a great main dish with rice and vegetables or salad.

Sunday Feast № 11 | Rosemary Chicken and Beans

Once upon a time I cooked the old fashioned roasted chicken Provençal, a very good dish with herbes de Provence, lemon, garlic, dry vermouth, and garnished with fresh thyme sprigs, among the usual suspects including the said chicken - bone-in, skin-on thighs. Tasty as it was, dredging those thighs in flour before placing them in oiled roasting pan I could've done with out. Then I stumbled upon a riff on the very dish, sans flour dredging, at Petite Kitchen blog. Then I played with that.    In the recipe below, compared to the Petite Kitchen one, I halved the amount of chicken, and doubled the amount of beans and used two varieties of beans. Yes, I swapped white wine with sherry or vermouth, depending which I had on hand, and also tried the chicken with or without skin, all on separate occasions. And I eye-balled the garlic. The Petite Kitchen called for one bulb, but my bulbs seemed enormous enough that I opted for 8-10 cloves instead. This is a superbly easy, self contained, and forgiving dish you can make your own.

Sunday Feast № 10 | Rosemary Tuna Steaks with Cabbage Salad

Living in a cold climate has its practical upsides. When schlepping frozen produce back home, the freezing temperatures ensure nothing will thaw en route. I take full advantage of that fact whenever possible or when the freezer looks empty. Not living close to the coast where either sea fishing is done or the sea bounty arrives relatively soon after it is caught, and looking to stock the aforementioned freezer, I grab fish frozen in its raw state after some deft filleting. Call me lazy. This is how I end up with ahi tuna steaks as often as I like, and considering it is still in season, this is how I still have cabbage on hand.    Ahi tuna and cabbage. Perusing internet seemed to provide, at least in my case, Pan-Asian options, which tickled my fancy as is, except this time I wondered about a different take. I looked to "The Cook's Companion" by Stephanie Alexander. And Bob's your uncle.    The cabbage salad can also be used for sandwiches a la Reuben, if there is any left over from both recipes which are to serve 4.