Sunday Feast № 23 | Pizza Margherita with 212 Cocktail

Thank you The Daily Meal for pointing out that savory cocktails CAN go with dinner - see 11 Cocktails That Go Perfectly With Dinner slideshow - and since I am still on the gem looking cocktail trip since the Negrosky aperitivo session, 212 cocktail recommended by Ryan Fitzgerald, bartender at New York City’s ABV, looks good to me. I lightened it up by switching reposado tequila parts with grapefruit part, going for 1:2 instead or Ryan's 2:1. Take your pick there. The Daily Meal suggests pizza Margherita to go with. Not a problem at all. Not a problem whatsoever.    The recipes for the dough, sauce and the final product are abridged from “The Food of Italy: A Journey for Food Lovers”.	Fun on the side 212 Cocktail Lite 1 part reposado tequila 1 part Aperol 2 parts grapefruit juice And useful to know How to Defrost Frozen Pizza Dough

Sunday Feast № 22 | Aperitivo, or what to have with that Russian cousin of Negroni called Negrosky

The yearning for sunshine increases as the temperatures rise and days become longer. To while away the long afternoons drinking and eating at an outside table at you favorite watering hole is now a real possibility, and one long overdue. All that whiling means that a preamble to the dinner is called for. Since that ray of sunshine limoncello has to wait till after the dinner, being a digestivo, my mind drifted to Campari, a fine red aperitivo, a pre-dinner gem reminiscent of freshly breaking sunrise or the last smidgen of sunset, the latter yet to come if you start early enough. Now, we are civilized people; therefore, we will not sustain on Campari drinks alone (say, the titular Russian cousin of Negroni called Negrosky), but indulge the Italian art of aperitivo which calls for curbing alcoholic overindulgence with tasty sides. What a way to ease into the dinner hour!    As for that red goodness, "[Campari] is made by infusing a base of alcohol and water with a proprietary mix of herbs and fruits, including rhubarb, orange, and a variety of sour orange known as chinotto in Italian. The bitter infusion is then sweetened with sugar in the form of simple syrup and stiffened in accordance with its destination: 24% alcohol (48 proof) for American drinkers and 25% alcohol by volume (50 proof) for the Italians. Differences in taxation on alcohol are the most likely explanation, as Italians are not particularly well known for their high tolerances. Campari's signature ruby red color comes from colorants. Until recently, Campari's colorant of choice was cochineal dye, an all-natural coloring agent extracted from a beetle-like insect native to Central and South America. In 2006, the beetle juice was replaced with FD&C Red #5. Some claim the change came in response to protests of animal rights activists, but it's more likely that the artificial colorant was simply less expensive." - from Aperitivo: The Cocktail Culture of Italy by Marisa Huff, where the recipes are also from. Saluti bambini!

Fun on the side Negrosky 1 part vodka 1 part Campari 1 part sweet vermouth You know what to do. Serve on ice with a slice of an orange. Movie Cinema Paradiso (1988)

Sunday Feast № 21 | Roasted Cornish Hens with Lemon, Rosemary, Garlic, and Balsamic

Photo by Aurora Samar

Last time was Chinese. "We should do it again." "What should it be this time?" "Greek! We can do lots of salads. Stuffed peppers." "OK, what about a meat dish? Lamb?" That is roughly how it went. Fast forward. "We can do Greek, but maybe mix in Italian ..." "Mediterranean like? Well, close to." "Then I make tiramisu." "Love Tiramisu!" "Then I'll think if it is still lamb or something else." In the end, it was close to Italian. And sorry, but no, this is not tiramisu recipe blog. I have professionals for that. My mind drifted to chicken. And rosemary. The Gooey Shell    Having found a recipe for roasted chicken with rosemary in one of my trusty books, I went shopping for an approximately 3 lb/1.5 kg bird. Maybe it was laziness, but with little time to scour supermarkets within my immediate walking distance let alone any further a field, I settled for the closest and met with monster chickens. At around 6 lbs each! Whoa mama! Yes, each could feed a small army but roasting a BIG BIRD is a different game I might reserve for turkey. Luckily, the supermarket had lots of frozen Cornish hens, and those I was willing to deal with. Six of them. Yes, yes, also can feed a small army, but smaller birds mean quicker roast and greater likelihood of being cooked throughout without drying out. So I set to task finding required roasting temperature and time, as well as possible combinations of flavorings for the roast. One criteria for the latter: rosemary must be included.    The result was a lovely brood of hens for carnivores (one bird per person in one sitting) and lesser carnivores (half a bird per person in one sitting with the other half for next days). Very satiating. Mind you there were salads - "Mum" made sure, grilled octopus - we had two that not just love but LOVE octopuses (queue up Octopussy snickering and general nudge nudge wink wink behavior), there was bread, foccacia, polenta, bruschetta, tiramisu of course, and macarons with smoked salmon filling (not my recipe or mine to disclose, but a fine product, and like I said, I have professionals for that), and more. Macarons?! Well, France does boarder the Mediterranean Sea.

Sunday Feast № 20 | Cherry for Blueberry, or with Blueberry, Tart with Oat Crumble

There is nothing like late night baking. Well, there are other as exciting, if not more exciting things, to do late at night, but sometimes switching it up is called for, and honestly, if the muse strikes in the middle of the work week, late night is the only time to do it. The beauty of late night baking is that it perfumes the air for a great soporific effect while the baking goods cool overnight to welcome you in the morning with temptation. So here I was again, this time adapting a recipe by Rachel Conners of Bakerita.com. The result didn't last long when next day's visitors started tasting - a seal of universal approval.
The original recipe called for blueberries since Rachel was "having waaay too many blueberries in the house". I had leftover frozen cherries, reserving fresh ones to eat as they are, and I had some blueberries for the start of the season, which for the most part I also wanted to eat raw. Nevertheless, I "sacrificed" some. Walnuts I had on hand were a good pairing for what in my case was predominantly cherry filling.    This is the most solid coconut oil I have ever used in anything, and baking at night when it was cool meant it stayed solid rather then liquefying in the jar the way it tends to do at the height of summer. There is also something comforting yet decadent in baking with almond flour. With the addition of honey and oats, I guess this tart is borderline healthy in a way few tarts can be. Trick of the mind? Perhaps, but a very good one. Very tasty.

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.