Dorie Greenspan - On the Road and in the Kitchen with Dorie

... and to go with those Fourth of July Burgers: Carrot-Raisin Salad and Strawberry Lemonade

2009-06-29T12:49:42Z

With burgers on the brain (and soon to be on the menu: my friends have decided to serve burgers at their fireworks party - score one for the home team), I'm now on to what to serve with them: Something with potatoes, of course, coleslaw, because it's so good with burgers, lots of mustards and relishes and ketchup, maybe a mango salsa, maybe some guacamole (I remember the first time I had guacamole with a burger - it was about 100 years ago in Palo Alto, California and I think the dish was called a California Burger) and this carrot salad, which has been a favorite of mine for a long time.

As American as the salad looks, it's really a standard of French home cooking and casual bistros. In fact, it's so much a part of the French kitchen that you can buy salad-ready grated carrots in just about any supermarket in the country. Of course, if you've got a food processor with a grating disk, you can get the job done in minutes, less time than it would take to get that supermarket.

]]> A word about the dressing: Don't even think about using expensive olive here, it would be a waste - the mustard, honey and cider vinegar are big flavors and they'd just run roughshod over good olive oil.

The recipe for the salad follows. And if you'd like a nice non-alcoholic drink, take a look at my recipe for Strawberry Lemonade - it's on the Parade magazine website.

GRATED CARROT SALAD

Makes 4 servings

1 pound carrots, peeled and trimmed
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon honey
1/4 cup cider vinegar
1/2 cup canola, grapeseed or other flavorless oil
Moist, plump currants or raisins, optional
Coarsely chopped walnuts, optional
Chopped parsley, optional
Salt and freshly ground black pepper

The carrots need to be grated, a job you can do by hand using the large holes of a box grater, or by push-button using the grating blade of a food processor. Either way, if the grating has caused the carrots to weep, give them a quick press between your palms to rid them of excess liquid before you toss the pieces into a serving bowl.

If you've used a processor, keep it plugged in and make the dressing in it; if not, use a small jar. Put the mustard, honey, vinegar and oil in the processor or jar, season with salt and pepper, and whir or shake until blended - you'll have a thick, smooth vinaigrette.

Toss the carrots with the currants, and nuts, if you're using these ingredients, and then, just before serving, pour over the dressing, toss the salad well and adjust the salt and pepper, if needed. If you're using the parsley, add it last.

Serving: Whether this is a solo starter, a part of a crudité plate or a side to a casual main, it's best served at room temperature or just slightly chilled. And while I like the salad best right after it's been dressed, when the carrots still have a teensy bit of crunch, the French fashion is for a softer salad, one that's been left to macerate for bit. Either way, you'll get the color, flavor and piquancy.

Storing: While you can grate the carrots ahead and keep them covered and chilled, and you can certainly make the vinaigrette up to 3 days ahead, the dressed salad should be eaten within a few hours.

Burgers: Fourth of July Fare

2009-06-25T15:59:57Z

When you live in a small town as I do part-time (Westbrook, CT, population about 6,600 and growing), you can really see your tax dollars at work: a new school, the re-paving of a country road, the opening of a nature trail and the fireworks at the beach to celebrate Independence Day. In fact, most of the towns along the Shoreline have fireworks displays and any restaurant, inn or household that's got a view of their town's celebration usually has a party.

We're a couple of miles inland from Long Island Sound, so we see nothing and hear everything, but we've got good friends in Madison who throw a fabulous fireworks party for about 50 people and we're lucky enough to be included in the fun. And the food. And it's the food for the party got me thinking about burgers.

]]>
The burger in the picture above was made by Scott Campbell, the chef at New Leaf Café, one of New York City's hidden gems (and part of a NY restoration project spearheaded by Bette Midler). Scott was a favorite of mine when he was cooking in my neighborhood on the Upper West Side. Now he's a little far away, but the setting is so gorgeous that it is, as Michelin would say, worth a trip. He's cooking in a beautiful stone house in Fort Tryon Park, on the same winding road as The Cloisters (the medieval museum), with an outdoor patio that you'll never want to leave. But back to the burger. Scott doesn't do anything very fancy with the burger, but he cooks it perfectly, tops it with cheese and bacon, puts it on a roll that's soft enough to absorb juices, but firm enough not to turn to spongy or to fall apart. The fries are really good and the little salad on the side almost steals the show.

Then, a couple of weeks après New Leaf, Michael, my husband, The Kid and I went downtown to Daniel Boulud's new bistro/bar on the Bowery, DBGB, and Michael opted for The Piggie Burger, a super-juicy burger topped with Daisy May's BBQ pork. While Daniel is one of the top-rated French chefs in NYC, he's also the papa of one of the city's most over-the-top burgers: the db burger (served at db Bistro Moderne), which includes braised short ribs and foie gras! At DBGB, his most casual, come-in-jeans place, the burgers are less luxe, but no less stylish. In addition to The Piggie, there's The Yankee, a classic, with seeded bun, lettuce, tomato and onion, and The Frenchie, a burger topped with crisped pork belly. No matter which one you choose, you can dress it with condiments in squeeze bottles (whoever woudda thunk that Daniel would use red and yellow squeeze bottles!): Orleans grainy mustard, Dijon smooth mustard and, what the server called Sauce Americaine, ketchup!

As final proof that hamburgers are on chefs' minds, I offer this one from Germain, the new bistro on rue de Buci in Paris, opened, we were told, by someone related to the city's hippest hoteliers/restaurateurs, les freres Costes. Good beef, good frites and great bread - the burger is served between slices of toasted pain Poilane. With Germain on the Left Bank and Café Salle Pleyel on the Right, Parisians need never go burgerless.

And, just in case this isn't enough inspiration to persuade my friends to put burgers on their Fourth of July menu, I'm going to send them the link to the all-burgers all-the-time site, A Hamburger Today, and maybe a copy of Bobby Flay's new book: Burgers, Fries and Shakes.

By the way, if you're a NYC or Shoreline Connecticut burger buff, here are a couple of other places you might like:

T-Bar Steak and Lounge (NYC): outstanding burger. Tony Fortuna, Mr. T-Bar, put it on the menu last summer and thought he'd take it off in the fall. No way - it's available year-round by popular demand.

Shake Shack (NYC): but New Yorkers don't need me to tell them about Danny Meyer's temple of patties and dogs.

River Tavern (Chester, CT): my favorite local place (for everything on the menu, including last night's Thai coconut noodles). Jonathan Rapp serves a great burger made from grass-fed (on the grass from Ashlawn Farm) Four-Mile River beef.

Pip's Brasserie (Ivoryton, CT): a cozy place for a burger and fries.

Dessert for The Modern Spice Virtual Dinner Party: Monica Bhide's Saffron Coconut Macaroons

2009-06-21T14:26:05Z

If you haven't heard about Monica Bhide's new cookbook, Modern Spice, you will - here, in a second, on Monica's site, tomorrow, and everywhere else pretty soon. Monica, whose work you might know from her earlier book, The Everything Indian Cookbook, from her frequent articles in the Washington Post or from just being a person interested in food, food, food, takes the spices, ancient cuisine and traditions she grew up with in India and, as she says in the introduction to her book, 'translates them for our generation'. And, since 'our generation' lives a good part of our lives online, Monica has created what I think might be a first: A Virtual Dinner Party. The party kicks off June 22 on Monica's site and we're all invited.

Actually, Monica's party is a potluck and I've been asked to 'bring' dessert, so here's a sneak peek: Monica's Saffron-Coconut Macaroons (and a confession).

]]> Monica's macaroons are soft, sweet and surprising - at least they were to me, since I'd never used saffron and cardamom together in a dessert. In fact, I don't think I'd ever used saffron for a sweet. The recipe is exceedingly simple and, as I found out, forgiving. While I often sound like a broken record admonishing cooks to read through recipes twice before making them, I read through this recipe only once and in the one time misread the measurements for the sweetened condensed milk and used the whole can! In a written confession to Monica, I said that I realized I'd made a mistake, but that the macaroons still seemed fine to me.

"The recipe appears to be very forgiving," I wrote, and Monica answered, "You actually caught the heart of the book - every recipe in the book is VERY forgiving. Just like the cuisine. A little bit of this or that won't harm anything."

As someone who loves playing around, you can guess how appealing this was to me.

You'll find the full dinner party on Monica's site on June 22. You'll find Modern Spice here. And you'll find the recipe for Saffron Coconut Macroons below. I know you'll read it twice and I also know you'll have fun making it.

SAFFRON COCONUT MACAROONS
From Modern Spice by Monica Bhide

Yield: 35-38 small macaroons
Cook Time: 30 minutes (plus 30 minutes to cool)

1 (14 oz) package shredded sweetened coconut
10 oz. sweetened condensed milk from a 14 oz can (I like Eagle brand) (Note from me - this measures out as a scant cup)
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cardamom
1 teaspoon saffron threads, crushed
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 small egg whites, whipped to stiff peaks (Note from me - you can use the whites from medium or large eggs; Monica told me she just doesn't want you to use extra-large or jumbo egg whites)

1. Prepare a sheet pan by lining it with parchment paper and lightly spraying with nonstick spray.
2. Heat the oven to 350 degrees.
3. Combine the coconut, condensed milk, saffron, cardamom and salt in a bowl. It will form a mixture that is not like typical cookie dough. But once the egg whites are folded in, the mixture will stay together during baking.
4. Gently fold in the whipped egg whites.
5. Using a spoon, mold the mixture into tablespoon-size balls and place 1 inch apart on the prepared pan.
6. Bake the macaroons for about 14-16 minutes until the exterior is very slightly brown, the middle is still soft and the bottoms begin to turn golden brown.
7. Remove from the oven. Allow to cool for about 20 minutes. (Note from me - I cooled the macaroons on the baking sheet because they were too fragile to move while they were hot.)
8. Serve at room temperature. These can be stored in an airtight container for up to a week.

Of Compost and Weddings: Trash, Beautiful Trash

2009-06-17T21:30:47Z

The other day, I was tossing things into my compost bucket - I keep it in the sink at the end of my work counter in Connecticut -- looked over at the pile up and stopped: it looked so beautiful. I love to compost. I love saving every little scrap. I love that what I toss away this year will become food for what I'll harvest next. But I don't normally look at my compost and think of beauty, although, I realized, I had done it once before. The year was 2001 and it was then, in July, that many food pros had to figure out how to make a compost beautiful enough for a wedding.

Would this week's compost have been pretty enough? That's what I was thinking when I snapped this picture.

It's not that the 2001 compost challenge was meant to send anyone into a tizzy over their trash. In fact, it wasn't even a challenge. But when you ask a bunch of luminaries to do something, it's not surprising that they'll take it seriously -- or that there won't be a little friendly competition. Here's the story:

]]> My friend Jon Rowley, he who knows everything about fish and seafood and peaches and brix and bread and beer and gardens and, yes, compost, met his now-wife, Kate McDermott, she who knows all about music and pies and pie crusts and the art of the pie, met on the soil, compost and mulch forum of GardenWeb.com. So, when their wedding invitation arrived, it seemed perfectly normal that they'd ask for compostable trash instead of trays from Tiffany. The invitation, which came from Jon and informed us that he'd met his "mulchmate" online, said:

"The altar will be at one of the compost stations at the Interbay P-Patch Community Garden, where I am currently the Site Coordinator. Making a Wedding Compost will be a symbolic part of our vows. Guests will participate in the miracle of renewal by contributing 'brown,' 'green,' or 'brown and green' ingredients for the compost."

The compost would be used to plant a Wedding Rose and Jon closed by saying:

"I would be honored to receive your leftover lobster shells, vacuum-cleaner bags, coffee grounds, poached-salmon carcass, pet llama's manure, banana peels, dryer lint, moldy vegetables from your fridge."

I imagine that it was easier for people attending the wedding in Seattle to bring their presents. And I'm sure because they were going to toss their offerings into the heap, they didn't spend a lot of time thinking about how to arrange their trash most attractively. But for those of us who had to send our gifts, the pressure was on. After all, our packages had to be opened, our cards read and our selections inspected one by one in the privacy of the Rowley-McDermott residence.

If you know me at all, then you won't be surprised to learn that I had a hard time deciding what to send and subsequently didn't get my gift to the FedEx office until the very last moment. Oh, you might think that because what I was sending was garbage and that because the whole purpose of a compost is to let things rot, that there'd be no need to worry about the condition in which it arrived, but that's not the way I looked at it. Nor evidently was I alone -- as you'll read, FedEx did well the week of the wedding.

I was particularly concerned about freshness because, in addition to sending along the trimmings from an heirloom tomato salad, I slipped in two slices of freshly made -- and glazed -- chocolate cake. Not at all compostable, I knew, but this was a wedding present, after all. Of course, I was counting on Jon and Kate recognizing that this wasn't meant to finish as mulch, and, of course, they did. They reported that they ate the cake the instant they opened the box.

To see what Julia Child and others sent for the wedding, click over to read Molly O'Neill's account of the gift-giving in The New Yorker.

Roasted Rhubarb, So Good Over Ice Cream

2009-06-12T21:50:52Z

Tomorrow, I'm heading back to the Lyme Farmers Market and I'm sure I'll have new things to share with you. However, before that happens, I want to catch you up on last week's haul. I already told you about the garlic scapes and the pesto I made from them -- and ate all week: once with pasta, once with scallops, once with shrimp and rice and a couple of times just straight off the spoon -- but I haven't had a chance to mention the rhubarb, which I roasted.

The problem I often have with rhubarb is that I overcook it -- it seems to go from celery-crisp to baby-food soft in a flash -- so I was delighted when I found this simple way to roast the rhubarb and end up with tender stalks that (mostly) still hold their shape.

]]> Roasted like this, the rhubarb can be served warm, at room temperature or chilled. It's good with just a little cream, really nice with sliced strawberries or a few raspberies and wonderful over ice cream. We had ours over homemade vanilla ice cream.

ROASTED RHUBARB

Makes 4 small servings

1 pound -- trimmed weight -- rhubarb

1/2 cup sugar (or more to taste)

Grated zest of 1 lemon or 1/2 orange (I used orange)

Honey, optional, for serving

Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 400 degrees F.

Cut the rhubarb into pieces about 2 inches long (of course you can cut them shorter, if you'd like) and toss them into a baking dish that will hold them comfortably. (I used a Pyrex pie plate.) Sprinkle over the sugar and zest and stir everything around until the rhubarb is covered with sugar. Set aside for about 5 minutes, or just long enough for a little syrup to start to form.

Cover the baking dish with foil and roast the rhubarb for 15 minutes. Take a peek and if the sugar isn't almost completely melted, stir the rhubarb, re-cover the pan with the foil and roast a few mintues more. Now remove the foil and let the rhubarb roast for another 5 minutes or so, until the syrup is bubbling.

Remove the pan from the oven and let the rhubarb cool to just warm or to room temperature; chill, if you'd like. Well packed, the rhubarb can stay in the fridge for 3 days.

If the rhubarb isn't sweet enough for you -- 1/2 cup of sugar won't give you a very sweet dish -- drizzle a little honey over the fruit before serving.

Spoon over ice cream, rice pudding or yogurt.

Raisin Scones in Kabul: A Message from Nell and Inspiration for Hesitant Bakers

2009-06-10T00:42:06Z

As I'm sure you already know, I love getting comments from you and I'm thrilled when you write that you've made one of my recipes and that you like it. Yes, I know, I don't always respond as quickly or as fully as I should -- and as I truly want to -- but I read absolutely every word that you send me. Just ask my husband -- I usually read every word to him! And, as always, when I read your comments, I'm surprised to find how far-flung you all are. It's so terrific to know that something that I created in my kitchen is being made around the world. That fact never loses it's kick for me. So you can imagine how surprised I was when I discovered that these Spoonable Raisin Scones had made their way to Afghanistan.

I found out via email from Nell Hawley, who's living -- and baking -- in Kabul, Afghanistan. Her message was so wonderful that I wanted to share it with you and so I'm reprinting it below with Nell's permisison.

]]> So you'll understand the reference to Mummy, you should know that Nell is the daughter of my friend, Laura Shapiro, author of a perfect biography of Julia Child. Nell's a student at Harvard and she's spending the summer in Afghanistan.

Dear Dorie, this is Nell here, writing from lovely Afghanistan! (Second only to Paris, I am sure. And they have an "Eiffel Tower" here, to boot. Long story.) I wanted to send you this e-mail a couple of days ago but I didn't know your e-mail address, so I had to write to Mummy and ask her. Better late than never:

---------------------------

Bonjour Dorie, I hope this message finds you well and happy in the summertime. Mummy says you have been absolutely crazy-busy these days trying to get all the recipes together for your new book.

Thought this might make you happy: I just made your DELICIOUS raisin scones (a la Parade Magazine) right here in my kitchen in Kabul, Afghanistan! No measuring cups, no reliable oven heat, totally generic ingredients, not even foil to cover the baking sheets -- hell, not even proper baking sheets! -- and the scones turned out absolutely PERFECT.

All this to say that if your recipes can survive my kitchen here, they can survive anywhere. And I'm going to try out your frittata for brunch tomorrow.

Lots and lots of love,

Nell.
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and a big P.S. -- I made your fantastic frittata the following morning, and it (I added some rosemary and thyme) plus the scones were a wild hit with all of my hungry housemates in Kabul. Next up: maybe a yogurt cake from when you were posting in France. The yogurt here is tasty, tangy, cheap, abundant -- like I said, Kabul and Paris have gotta be sister cities. Love, N.

-------------------------

Nell sent me another message later in the day in which she described how bare-bones her kitchen is, making her accomplishment even more marvelous, in the true sense of the word. After reading Nell's messages, I thought of the many people who tell me they're afraid of baking and want advice. Now I've got an answer for them:

Got the baking jitters? Just think of Nell and forge ahead!

Garlic Scape Pesto: Another Fleeting Pleasure

2009-06-07T01:53:02Z

Like so many of us who are thrilled at the start of the growing season, I seem to be on a foods-that-come-and-go-in-a-flash kick. First it was asparagus, now it's garlic scapes.

Yesterday was the opening of the Lyme (Connecticut) Farmers Market and it was a perfect day for being at Ashlawn Farm -- it was sunny and warm, a top-down on a convertible day, and everyone who'd hibernated for the winter was out. With all the hugging and kissing, the exclaiming over how children had grown and the exchange of a year's worth of news, it reminded me of the first day of summer camp. And even though my mother will tell you that I was a complaining camper, I did like that first day.

Of course, since this is New England, a start-of-June market is not a full and colorful one. There were beautiful lettuces, chard and kale, a spot of color, courtesy of the first batch of strawberries, which sold out almost instantly (and about which I'll have more to say in another post), and these, the find of the market: garlic scapes from Hidden Brook Gardens in Ledyard, CT.

]]> Scapes are the wild and curly shoots that spring from the tops of garlic plants. They're brilliantly green, can be thick or thin, curved or corkscrewed, and, depending on how they're cut, just long or very long. They've got a mild garlic fragrance and a mellow garlic flavor. Smell the cut end or snap one and the scent will be a cross between garlic and summer grass. It's got a freshness that garlic loses as it develops.

The scapes, which look as beautiful in the garden as they do at the market, are meant to be cut -- cutting them strengthens the garlic bulbs that are growing underground -- so it's a win-win for the garlic and us, the cooks. Although scapes needn't be cooked. In fact, if you do cook them, you should cook them lightly, maybe in a quick stir-fry.

I think you get the most from garlic scapes by using them raw. They're terrific chopped or very thinly sliced added to a tuna or chicken salad, stirred into hot rice or scattered over a salad, the way you might scatter sliced scallions or an herb.

And they're wonderful as the base of a chunky pesto, which is how I used them last night. (As I was making the pesto, I thought of the weed pesto my friend Carol Lewitt had brought me -- I think they might be cousins.) I was going to put the pesto over quickly grilled scallops, but it seemed to cry out for pasta, so it got stirred into penne. At least the part that was left after my husband stopped dipping bread into it got mixed with the pasta. But he had the right idea -- because the pesto is chunky and so bright tasting, a spoonful on a hunk of bread makes a really good nibble with white wine.

I was going to say that it's too bad that the scape moment doesn't coincide with tomato season, since they're be stupendous together, but then I realized I can make them coincide: Garlic scape pesto is freezable!

GARLIC SCAPE AND ALMOND PESTO

Makes about 1 cup

10 garlic scapes, finely chopped

1/3 to 1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan (to taste and texture)

1/3 cup slivered almonds (you could toast them lightly, if you'd like)

About 1/2 cup olive oil

Sea salt

Put the scapes, 1/3 cup of the cheese, almonds and half the olive oil in the bowl of a food processor (or use a blender or a mortar and pestle). Whir to chop and blend all the ingredients and then add the remainder of the oil and, if you want, more cheese. If you like the texture, stop; if you'd like it a little thinner, add some more oil. Season with salt.

If you're not going to use the pesto immediately, press a piece of plastic against the surface to keep it from oxidizing. The pesto can be stored in the refrigerator for a couple of days or packed airtight and frozen for a couple of months, by which time tomatoes should be at their juciest.

Asparagus: Now's the Moment

2009-06-02T23:13:52Z

I can't remember when it was, maybe 12 or 15 years ago, that New york chef, Daniel Boulud, called me and said "I've got wonderful white asparagus from the Loire Valley and I want you to taste them. Come have dinner!" It was an invitation I didn't refuse and it was a dinner I've never forgotten. In fact, it's one I think of every year at this time, particularly if I'm in Paris, where a dinner like Daniel's would be considered a tour de force, but it wouldn't be so very unusual: When it's asparagus season in France, everyone celebrates!

This is the time of year when you can be sure that your friends will be serving asparagus when you come for dinner and that every restaurant you go to will have at least one asparagus special. The asparagus in the photo were a special at one of my favorite Paris restaurants, Le Bistrot Paul Bert. They were served just warm with a sauce gribiche - about more, further on.

]]> And here they are served as a starter at the wonderful Fish la Boissonerie with a grapefruit beurre blanc and poached quail eggs.

I love that when local asparagus are available, they get star treatment. Sure they might show up as a pretty garnish to a dish, and they might occasionally appear as an accompaniment to a main course, but they're most often served solo and almost always at the start of the meal. And if they're white, there's no question about it, they'll be their own course: Fresh white asparagus are treated with the kind of reverence the French reserve for other national treasures, like truffles and chickens from Bresse.

If I understand this correctly, there's nothing genetically different between white and green asparagus; the extreme difference in color is achieved by mounding earth around asparagus, so that they're never exposed to sunlight and therefore can't develop the chlorophyll that would turn them green. When you see purple on the tips of ivory white asparagus, it's a sign that the stalk got a little rambunctious or had a growth spurt and, in either case, pushed its head out and got a little sun.

People say that white and green asparagus taste alike. I've never done a blind tasting, but I feel as though the whites are milder tasting and that their texture is more tender, but I might just be swayed by all the stereotypes of fragility associated with whiteness. What I am certain of is that they're good both warm and at room temperature and great with fairly rich sauces and with eggs. Asparagus and eggs have a special affinity for one another and so it's not unusual to find the spears topped with a poached egg or paired with an egg-based sauce.

But before we get to the sauce, here are just a few tips on buying, keeping and cooking asparagus.

The stalks should be firm and smooth - wrinkles in asparagus are like wrinkles in us: a sign of age.
The cut ends of the asparagus should not be dry and shriveled.
The tips of the asparagus should be tightly closed.
Choose asparagus that are all the same size, so they'll cook evenly.
Plan to use your asparagus within a day or two of buying them.
When you get the asparagus home, trim the bottoms of the stalks and wrap them with a damp paper towel, put the spears in a plastic bag and refrigerate them. Alternatively, you can trim the bottoms, put the spears in a glass or vase with a couple of inches of water and then cover them with a plastic bag and refrigerate.
Whether or not you peel the asparagus before cooking them is up to you. Because the skin can be stringy, I like to peel the spears, leaving the tips and an inch or so of skin beneath them untouched.
Just before cooking, snap the bottom of the asparagus off at its natural breaking point or cut the asparagus with a knife so they're all the same length. The important thing is to remove the woody part at the base.

There are a few good ways to cook asparagus, but no matter how you cook them, the test for doneness is the same: Pierce a spear with the point of a paring knife - when the spear is crisp-tender, the asparagus is done.

One way to cook asparagus is to tie them into bundles and to stand them up in a tall pot that has about 3 inches of boiling salted water in it. Cook covered and you'll boil the base of the asparagus and steam their tender tips. Start checking the asparagus after 5 minutes.
Or you can tie the asparagus into bundles of 8 to 12 stalks and cook the bundles in a pot of boiling salted water. Bundled, the asparagus might take about 8 minutes but, again, start checking after 5 minutes.
Another good method, and the one I use most often, is to fill a wide skillet with salted boiling water and to cook the asparagus in the water until they test done - start testing after 4 minutes.

Cooked asparagus should always be well drained before serving.

In fact, when my friend Martine served a passel of fat white asparagus as a starter at dinner the other night in Paris, she brought the spears to the table wrapped in a beautiful linen kitchen towel. The towel was folded so neatly that it looked as though the asparagus were tucked into bed. That night, Martine served what she called a mousseline: a homemade chive mayonnaise lighten with a stiffly beaten egg white.

Mayonnaise mousseline is a good sauce for room-temperature spears; and a mousseline based on hollandaise (hollandaise lightened with a little whipped cream) or a plain hollandaise are good for warm asparagus. And a sauce gribiche, the sauce served at le Paul Bert, is excellent with asparagus.

I was tickled to see that just recently Molly Wizenberg, she of Orangette, was also smitten with asparagus and sauce gribiche. Take a look at Orangette for two sauce gribiche recipes, one from the The Zuni Cafe Cookbook and another from the Chez Panisse Café Cookbook.

If you want a recipe for mayonnaise, look in any standard cookbook from Joy of Cooking to How to Cook Everything. And if you want a recipe for hollandaise and mousseline, and want a great explanation to go with it, look at Michael Ruhlman's new book, Ratio.

If you want something even simpler and so, so good, make a basic vinaigrette for the asparagus or, even simpler, just drizzle the warm spears with pistachio or hazelnut oil and give them a squirt of lemon juice.

Finally, think about pairing the spears with an egg - a poached egg over asparagus is a sublime dish. For something uber-simple, very chic and very, very delicious, dress warm asparagus with vinaigrette and top with a poached egg, the yolk from which will make a second sauce for the spears.

If you've got other ideas about asparagus, please chime in. And don't wait - the season for local asparagus is not all that long.

Ice Cream Sundaes: The Perfect Apres-Burger Dessert

2009-05-27T12:26:40Z

To kick off the official start of summer (forget the calendar), Parade magazine published great hamburger recipes from great chefs: There's a terrific burger from Emeril that includes a recipe for Orange Habanero Ketchup; a quirky take on a pork burger from Mario; a thin comforting burger from Katie Lee Joel, the queen of comfort; and a bunch of burger recipes and tips from Bobby Flay, who just wrote the book on burgers.

With all this grilling going on, who was thinking about dessert? Me! Because that's what I always think about. And the only dessert I could imagine that would hold its own against juicy, mile-high burgers, was a fabulous ice cream sundae. In fact, what I thought of was three fabulous sundaes: Banana Split, Strawberry Shortcake and Caramel Affogato!

]]> I love ice cream sundaes and I love how dipping into even the most sophisticated sundae - and I think the Caramel Affogato is plenty sophisticated - makes you feel like a kid.

The three sundaes are each fun in their own way. The Strawberry Ice Cream Sundae's got little cubes of pound cake, fresh berries, strawberry ice cream, hot fudge sauce and, of course, whipped cream. The Banana Split's got bananas (how could it not?), both chocolate and vanilla ice cream, hot fudge sauce, whipped cream, chopped chocolate and an optional cherry on top. And the Caramel Affogato, which I like so much, has the classic ingredients: espresso and ice cream (although I used coffee instead of the usual vanilla ice cream), but it's also got whipped cream and warm caramel sauce, which is so perfect in the sundae that it ought to be written into the affogato rule-book.

You can make all of these sundaes with ingredients straight from the supermarket, but I don't have to tell you how much better they'll be -- and how much more fun you'll have -- if you start from scratch and make your own hot fudge and caramel sauces and your own ice creams.

(You can find recipes for both sauces in Baking From My Home to Yours or you can use the Chocolate Sauce recipe I posted to go with the Simplest Loaf Cake. The chocolate sauce is thinner than the hot fudge and won't firm much when it hits the ice cream, but it's very tasty.)

To get you started on the road to homemade sundaes, here's my recipe for Vanilla Ice Cream.

VANILLA ICE CREAM
Adapted from Baking From My Home to Yours by Dorie Greenspan

A word on vanilla: This ice cream can be made using a fresh, plump, pliable vanilla bean or pure vanilla extract. If you use a bean, you should split and scrape it and then allow it to infuse the hot milk and cream with its flavor - give yourself an extra 30 minutes for this.

A word on quantity: If you'd like to make a pint rather than a quart of ice cream, use the following proportions: 1 cup milk, 1 cup heavy cream, 3 large egg yolks, 1/2 cup sugar and 1/2 vanilla bean or 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract.

Makes about 1 quart

2 cups whole milk
2 cups heavy cream
6 large egg yolks
3/4 cup sugar
1 plump, moist vanilla bean, split and scraped, or 1 tablespoon pure vanilla extract

Bring the milk and cream to the boil in a heavy-bottomed saucepan. If you are using a vanilla bean, toss the bean, pulp and pod, into the pan, cover and set aside for 30 minutes. At the end of this infusion period, bring the milk and cream back to the boil. If you are using vanilla extract, you'll add it later.

Working in a mixing bowl, whisk the yolks and sugar together until they are very well blended and just slightly thickened. Whisking all the while, drizzle in about one-third of the hot liquid. Once the eggs are acclimatized to the heat, you can, still whisking, beat in the remaining liquid a little more quickly.

Pour the custard back into the pan and cook over medium heat, stirring without stop, until the custard thickens slightly and coats the back of a spoon; if you run your finger down the bowl of the spoon the custard should not run into the track. The custard should reach at least 170 degrees F (but not more than 180 degrees F), as measured on an instant-read thermometer. Remove the pan from the heat immediately and pour the custard into a clean heatproof mixing bowl. If you are using vanilla extract, now is the time to add it, stirring to blend.

Allow the custard to chill before churning it into ice cream.

Scrape the chilled custard into the bowl of an ice cream maker and churn according to the manufacturer's instructions.

Pack the ice cream into a container and freeze it for at least 2 hours, until it is firm enough to scoop.

Serving: If the ice cream is very firm, allow it to sit on the counter for a few minutes before scooping.

David Lebovitz's Sweet Life in Paris: The Book (A Recipe, Too)

2009-05-25T11:11:25Z

Can you see the guy in the green shirt all the way at the back of the crowd? The one who's surrounded by people hanging on to his every word? That's my friend, David Lebovitz, and this is the best picture I could get of him, and I only got it by standing on my tip-toes and shooting with my zoom lens. Even though I got to WH Smith, the Paris bookstore where David was reading from his new book, The Sweet Life in Paris, 30 minutes ahead of the scheduled start, I couldn't get any closer. The place was jammed! And I couldn't have been happier for David, who made his entrance by sweeping down the grand staircase like a movie star. Fitting, I thought, since David is one of the shiniest stars in the blogosphere and a rightfully trusted cookbook author (keep reading for one of his recipes).

]]> The new book brings these two parts of David's world together: it's got the stories his blog readers have come to love and the recipes home bakers cherish. It is a funny, sly, quirky, completely Davidish read. It's a collection of short stories, vignettes, anecdotes and observances that many who don't know Paris will find laugh-out-loud funny and delightfully absurd, while many who do know the city will find the stories laugh-out-loud funny, delightfully absurd and very, very Parisian.

David is a sharp observer and he picks on the parts of French life that make the French who are they are and, in many ways, so endearing. As a part-time Parisian, I didn't find it odd that David got himself all dolled up to toss out the trash - having seen my neighbors at the garbage bins in their Sunday best, I do the same (or better yet, delegate the job to my husband) - but I certainly was glad that he, not I, bumped into the dentist's assistant sunbathing bare-breasted by the Seine. David guides you from the lines at the markets - and the people who cut them - to what Parisians really mean when they say 'no', and makes you laugh all along the way.

You don't have to be in Paris, plan to be in Paris or even like Paris to put this book on your must-have list, but it would be good if you wanted to cook and bake. Even without the cache of stories, the 50 recipes in The Sweet Life in Paris: Delicious Adventures in the World's Most Glorious -- and Perplexing -- City are reason enough to own the book. Whether you think of The Sweet Life in Paris as a memoir or a cookbook, you're in for a treat.

BOUCHEES CHOCOLAT AU YAOURT/ Chocolate Yogurt Snack Cakes
Adapted from The Sweet Life in Paris, by David Lebovitz

Makes 12 individual cakes

7 ounces (200g) bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup (125ml) unflavored vegetable oil, divided
1/2 cup (125ml) plain, whole-milk yogurt
1 cup (200g) sugar
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
1 1/2 cups (180g) flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt

1. Preheat the oven to 350F (180C). Line a muffin tin with 12 indentations with paper cupcake liners, or lightly butter them.

2. In a heatproof bowl set over simmering water, melt the chocolate with 1/4 cup (60ml) of the oil. Once melted and smooth, remove from heat.

3. In another bowl, mix together the remaining 1/4 cup (65ml) of oil with the yogurt, sugar, eggs, and vanilla and almond extracts.

4. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, and salt.

5. Make a well in the center of the flour mixture and add the yogurt mixture. Stir lightly a couple of times, then add the melted chocolate, and stir until just smooth.

6. Divide the batter into the muffin tins and bake for 25 minutes, or until the cakes feel barely set in the middle.

7. Remove from oven and cool before serving.

Spoonable Raisin Scones + Rice Noodle Salad: Catching Up on a Couple of Recipes

2009-05-19T09:31:36Z

After writing about the scallion pancakes I managed to make despite messing up the timing, there were requests for a sauce to go with the pancakes, as well as for the recipe for the Shrimp and Rice Noodle Salad we'd also had that night.

First for the sauce: the recipe didn't suggest a specific sauce, so Joshua, my cooking companion that night, made a dipping sauce of soy, a splash of sesame oil, sliced scallions and a tiny squeeze of sriracha, which is not at all typical, I'm sure, but we're both of the belief that almost everything tastes better with sriracha.

]]> As for the salad, like the pancakes, the recipe for this salad comes from Nina Simonds and her wonderful book, A Spoonful of Ginger. And, like the pancakes, the salad was terrific. A mix of beautifully arranged rice noodles, quickly boiled shrimp, grated carrots, shredded lettuce, bean sprouts and bunches of herbs, it was all moistened with a sweet and sour dressing that I'd be happy to have with just about anything. (The peanuts in the picture were our own add-in.)

SHRIMP AND VEGETABLE SALAD WITH A FRESH HERB DRESSING
Adapted from A Spoonful of Ginger by Nina Simonds

Makes 6 servings

For the salad:
1 pound medium shrimp, shelled and deveined
1/3 pound thin rice stick noodles, softened in hot water for 15 to 20 minutes and drained
3 carrots, peeled and grated (about 2 1/2 cups)
2 1/2 cups leafy lettuce, rinsed, drained and cut into thin julienne shreds
2 1/2 cups bean sprouts, rinsed and drained
1/3 cup coarsely chopped fresh cilantro
1/3 cup coarsely chopped fresh basil
1 1/2 cups finely chopped scallion greens

For the dressing:
1 1/4 teaspoons crushed dried chiles or dried chile flakes
Juice of 5 limes or 2 1/2 lemons (about 2/3 cup)
1/3 cup fish sauce, or more to taste
1/3 cup sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons minced garlic

Using a sharp knife, slice the shrimp in half lengthwise along the back. Heat 4 cups water in a saucepan until boiling, add the shrimp and cook about 1 1/2 minutes, after the water has reached a boil. Drain in a colander and rinse under cold water. Drain again.

In a large stockpot, heat 2 quarts water until boiling. Add the softened rice stick noodles and swirl in the hot water. Cook for 10 seconds, or until just tender. Drain thoroughly in a colander and rinse under cold water. Arrange the noodles on a deep serving platter.

Arrange the shrimp in the center of the platter with the carrots, lettuce and bean sprouts in concentric circles around the shrimp.

In a medium bowl, soak the crushed red chiles or dried chile flakes in the lime juice for 2 to 3 minutes. Add the remaining dressing ingredients and stir to dissolve the sugar. Pour the dressing into a serving bowl.

Sprinkle the chopped cilantro, basil and scallions on top of the shrimp and vegetables. Spoon the dressing over the salad or serve it on the side at room temperature or chilled.

A couple of weeks ago it was biscuits, which I'd created for Parade magazine, and today it's raisin scones, the simplest kind, the kind you drop from a spoon - no patting, no rolling, no cutting, no problem.

When I wrote about the biscuits, several of you mentioned their kissing-cousin relationship to scones, pointing out that they're almost the same, but that scones get an egg and biscuits don't, and you were right. While there are subtle differences in the amounts of sugar or milk, what's remarkable is that two things made from essentially the same ingredients can turn out to be so different in texture. Where the hallmark of biscuits is their flakiness, scones get high marks for being cakey.

If you're new to scones, start right here - these are the easiest scones, bar none. As I often say about making biscuits and scones, the key is benign neglect: don't be too thorough. Use your fingertips (or a pastry blender) to cut and rub the butter into the dry ingredients and don't get hung up on getting anything even: you want to have clumps and flakes of butter and flour. And go easy when you mix in the milk and egg.

Click here for a quick rundown on making biscuits - which is the same rundown you need for scones.

And to get my recipe for drop-them-from-a-spoon Raisin Scones, go over to the Parade website.

Scallion Pancakes and The Impatient Cook

2009-05-14T19:43:42Z

When I was a kid, my mom would sometimes say, "Do as I say, not as I do." And even as a kid, the line, which came to feel like an adage, didn't seem right to me. In fact, I thought it branded my wonderful mother as a hypocrite and, in a mental note to self, I instructed myself to never say that. That I ended up saying it last night, and that I directed the line to myself, is proof that one should never say never.

Sometime around 7:30 last night, The Kid and I decided that it would be fun to make scallion pancakes, something neither of us had ever done. That it was late and that one of us (it turned out to be me) would have to go out to buy sesame oil, scallions and just about everything else that was needed for the noodle salad we thought should go with it, didn't daunt us.

]]> The recipe said that the dough would have to rest 30 minutes after it was mixed, so I stirred up the dough (just a matter of minutes), kneaded it and set it out to rest. Then I did a little of the mise-en-place for the salad and went on my quick shopping trip.

When I came back, I started delegating pieces of dinner to The Kid and I started rolling out the pancakes. By now it was past 9, a little late, but we were having a good time and we were nibbling bits and pieces of stuff as we worked and we were drinking wine. In other words, we were having fun.

I rolled out the dough, brushed the circles with sesame oil, scattered them with scallions and shaped them into jelly rolls, which I flatted and rolled into spirals. And then I saw that the dough needed another 30-minute rest period. Hmmm. A little more wine, a few more nibbles, a consultation on the sauces Joshua was making, and we were still cool.

In fact, we stayed cool until I finished rolling out the spirals I'd made (9:45) and realized that the pancakes needed just one more 30-minute nap before frying. I'd run out of time and it was all my fault!

When my husband saw me stomping around the kitchen and grumbling, he said, "But didn't you read the recipe?"

Well, yes - and no. I read it, but in the excitement of making something for the first time and in the rush of time, I hadn't read it all the way through. In other words, I'd committed the cook's cardinal sin.

Not only is it imperative that a cook read a recipe through before setting to work, I've been known to tell cooks they should read it through ... and then read it through again! After all, there's nothing worse than being surprised in the middle of making something.

So you can see why the next time Michael walked into the kitchen, I'd switched from a grumble to berating myself for not doing as I always say!

But here's the good news: The pancakes were great and we loved, loved, loved the shrimp and rice noodle salad. While I might not have read the recipe well, I sure chose it well. The recipes were from Nina Simonds' book, A Spoonful of Ginger.

No one knows Asian cooking as well as Nina and no one can come even close to explaining it as well as she does.

Here's the recipe for Nina's Flaky Scallion Pancakes - make sure to set aside enough time! - and if you want more of Nina's great recipes, visit her at Spices of Life (where she's got great videos).

FLAKY SCALLION PANCAKES

From A Spoonful of Ginger by Nina Simonds

3 cups cake flour
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons corn oil
1 3/4 cups boiling water
1/4 cup or more all-purpose flour, if necessary, for kneading
1/4 cup toasted sesame oil
3/4 cup minced scallion greens
3/4 cup canola or corn oil

Makes 24 pancakes

Stir the flours and salt in a mixing bowl with a wooden spoon. Add the corn oil and the boiling water, and stir until a rough dough forms. If the dough is too soft, knead in about 1/4 cup more flour. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 5 minutes, or until smooth, kneading in more all-purpose flour as necessary. Cover with a cloth or wrap in plastic and let rest for 30 minutes, or longer if possible.

On a very lightly floured work surface, roll the dough into a long snakelike roll about 1 inch in diameter. Cut the roll into 24 pieces. Keep the unused dough covered with a damp towel as you work.

With a rolling pin, roll out one piece of dough, cut side down on the work surface, into a 5-inch circle. Brush the top with a little sesame oil and sprinkle with some of the minced scallion greens. Roll up the circle like a jelly roll and pinch the ends to seal. Flatten the roll slightly with the rolling pin, and coil it into a snail shape, with the seam on the inside. Pinch the end to secure it and set aside on a lightly floured surface. Prepare the remaining pancakes, and let them rest for 30 minutes uncovered.

Reflour the work surface and roll each coiled pancake out to a 4-inch circle. Place them on a lightly floured tray. Let them rest for 30 minutes uncovered, or longer if possible. Preheat the oven to 200 degrees F.

Heat a large, heavy skillet, add the oil, and heat to 350 degrees F. Put a few of the pancakes in the pan, not touching, and fry over medium heat, turning once, until golden brown and crisp on both sides, about 2 to 3 minutes. Remove with a spatula and drain briefly in a colander, then transfer to absorbent paper. Arrange the cooked pancakes on a cookie sheet and keep them warm in the oven while you fry the remaining pancakes, reheating the oil between batches. Serve immediately or keep warm in the oven.

Lobster Rolls: Here, There and At Home

2009-05-13T11:42:54Z

When Korova opened in Paris - I think it was at the end of 1999 - it had two things no other French restaurant had: Pierre Herme's Korova Sables, which I now call World Peace Cookies; and Frederick Grasser Herme's Hot-Dog Chic, a New England-style lobster roll.

Just before the restaurant debuted, Pierre and Fred had gone to New York and had their first-ever lobster roll. It was at Pearl Oyster Bar and it was love at first sight.

When Fred got back to Paris, she set to work trying to recreate the seaside favorite, only to find that the spongy buns, which are crucial to the classic, were totally unavailable in France. No problem: Frederick whipped up brioche and made it look like ordinary ballpark hot-dog buns. The rolls, with large chunks of perfectly cooked lobster glistening with mayonnaise and accented by tarragon, that most French of French herbs, were a smash hit.

]]> Korova's long gone, but the memory of the lobster roll remains and it returned when we pulled up to the Lobster Landing in Clinton, CT one rainy day last week.

I can't imagine anything more different from hip, cool, hi-concept Korova than the ramshackle lobster joint, with its beaten-up plastic chairs set out on a rough-hewn pier with a view across Long Island Sound. But memory doesn't always make distinctions like these.

The Lobster Landing's roll was one-quarter pound of lobster mixed with melted butter and a squirt of lemon juice and spooned into a standard-issue New England hot-dog bun, which was toasted on an outdoor grill. It was as barebones as a lobster roll gets, but it was satisfying, perfect for lifting rainy-day blues and a bargain at 13 bucks.

I hadn't had a lobster roll for years before I undid the aluminum foil around the Lobster Landing's bun, and then, a couple of days later, I was tucking into a lobster roll again. Was it something in the food flux?

Roll number two was served up picnic-style at BLT Fish in New York. It came in a red plastic basket lined with wax paper and carrying lots of fried potatoes and a little paper cup filled with cole slaw. But there was nothing picnic-on-the-beach about the roll - it was pure chic, as chic as the Korova roll had been.

The large chunks of lobster meat were tossed with housemade mayonnaise, there were teensy bits of shallot, there were herbs and there was a terrific brioche-ish bun. It was as close as I'd come to the Korova roll in a decade - and it came close to Korova in price, too: $26, plus tip, minus a view.

Call me greedy, but a couple of lobster rolls just begat the desire for a couple more, so I went back to the Lobster Landing and this time I bought a kicking and screaming lobster. Since Michael said he'd sit the roll out, I bought just one, a small soft-shelled lobster (it's that time in the season) that weighed 1 1/2 pounds and cost $12 and seemed like a good deal compared to the $45/pound price tag on pulled-from-the-shell lobster meat.

Anyone who cooks lobster more often than I do - or who's better in math - can see the end of this story coming. I had brioche from an earlier baking session, I made my own mayonnaise, I snipped chives from the garden (I didn't have tarragon yet), minced shallots (and rinsed and dried them, so they wouldn't be bitter) and then I cooked the lobster and went about the job of picking out the meat.

I pulled the claws and tail and ate the middle part, which is mostly cartilage, standing up near the sink, and when I looked at what I'd harvested, I grabbed the scale, just to confirm my suspicions. Yup, all that work and I'd come up with 2.3 ounces (65 grams) of rollable lobster. Tossed with mayo, it wouldn't even have filled a corner of a bun.

So, I mixed all my great ingredients together and added some tomato to bulk the salad up a bit. Then I made the decision to share my tiny treasure with Michael, and, lacking a thimble to use as a mold, packed the salad into a 1 1/2-inch biscuit cutter, so I could make it stand up and look taller, and served it with flourish. Of course it was delicious, but there were exactly two forkfuls for each of us and, like so many good things in scarce supply, it left us wanting more.

It also left me a bit smarter: Next time, I'm going to buy the lobster already picked, because strange at it sounds, it's a better buy.

Biscuits on Parade: A Recipe + A Biscuit Tip-Sheet

2009-05-06T14:06:57Z

There's something so very, very satisfying about making biscuits. You don't need fancy equipment (although there are few things that are fun to have), you don't need to set aside a big chunk of time and you don't even need to bake them as soon as you make them: once you cut the biscuits, you can freeze them and bake them whenever you want, no defrosting necessary.

I love this kind of convenience almost as much as I love feeling like a genius because I can have something fresh-from-the-oven on the spur of the moment.

You can find my recipe for Buttermilk Biscuits on the Parade website along with my recipes for Pickled Cucumbers and Spicy Egg Salad (I love the lime and jalapeno in it) - all the fixings for a little picnic.

But if you've never made biscuits before, you might want to give these few pointers a quick once-over before pulling down the flour bin.

]]> The butter for your biscuits should be cold, cold, cold. Cut the butter into small pieces, drop the pieces into the bowl with the dry ingredients and toss, so that the chunklets are coated with flour.

Use your fingers or a pastry blender to cut the butter into the flour. Don't be overly thorough here - you want some pieces to be reduced to flakes and others to be pebbly and about the size of peas. It's the water in the butter that turns to steam in the oven, and it's the steam that puffs the biscuits and gives them their flaky layers, so keep this in mind and stop mixing and mashing a minute or two before you think you should.

Mix the cold buttermilk into the dough with a fork. Just gently lift and turn the sticky dough to incorporate it - no whipping or beating, here - and then reach into the bowl and knead the dough a few times to bring it together.

Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface and either pat it into a circle that's about 1/2-inch thick, or roll it out. I used to be a patter, but now that I've got my wonderful red silicone rolling pin (you can just see it in the background in the photo), it's my tool of choice.

If you don't have a biscuit cutter, you can always use a knife and cut the biscuits into squares (in which case you should really roll the dough into a square). However, if you plan on being a bicuiteer, I'd suggest you get a proper cutter - biscuit cutters are taller than cookie cutters (so they can accommodate the thickness of the dough) and usually sharper-edged, so they cut the dough cleanly and not mash down the layers of dough and fat that produce biscuits' characteristic flakiness.

For biscuits that are soft-sided, place the cut-out circles close to one another on the baking sheet; for crusty biscuits, separate the circles, so the heat can circulate around them. Crusty or soft, I like to put the biscuits on a baking sheet lined with a reusable silicone baking mat (my favorite), parchment paper or foil.

Biscuits really should be eaten burn-your-fingers hot. Not only do they taste better, but when you pull a hot biscuit apart to butter it, you can really see the wonderful flakey layers. Cool - as they'll be if you take them on a picnic - the layers aren't as prominent, but the biscuit's easier to use for a sandwich.

And, don't forget that you can freeze the biscuits before they're baked. Roll them out and cut them, put the circles of dough on a baking sheet and slide the set-up into the freezer. As soon as the dough is frozen, remove the circles and pack them airtight. When the urge for hot, flakey buttermilk biscuits hits, just pull out as many as you want and bake them, giving them a minute or two more in the oven.

This is a very basic recipe and I'm sure you'll find a bunch of ways to play around with it. For starters, you can make a "sweet" milk biscuit - just swap the buttermilk for whole milk and omit the baking soda. You can also make herb biscuits - stir minced fresh herbs (rosemary is always good in biscuits) or a pinch of dried herbs into the flour bowl before you toss in the butter.

Once you get rolling, the ideas will come - I know it.

A Confluence of Canned Food: Could It Be a Trend?

2009-04-28T22:26:56Z

Saturday night friends came to dinner and they came bearing gifts of food, the nicest gifts possible. But here was the odd thing -- they brought their homemade treats packed in canning jars, although neither gift was truly "canned". And, just to make it all a little odder, on the menu for a first course I had gravlaxed and marinated salmon and potatoes in oil, both made in canning jars and both served from them. Was it a coincidence? Culinary telepathy? The tip of a trend?

You may have heard me say this before, but I once had an editor who told me that when you see something once, it's nothing; when you see something twice, it's interesting; and when you see the same thing three times, it's a trend. Could 'canned food' be the next big thing?

]]> It's funny, just writing that made me think of the verrine craze in Paris. Verrines are glasses and, while the mania for serving everything from soup to desserts in glasses started a while ago, it's still going strong, particularly among pastry chefs, who love the glasses because they free them from creating within the limits imposed by cakes and tarts and the need for customers to carry their pastries from shop to home safely.

I guess you could argue that the canning jars that turned up at my house Saturday provided similar safe passage, but while verrines whisper elegance, canning jars sing out comfort, and the food that was in these jars this weekend was definitely -- and happily -- comforting.

Sue Levine's Mason jar packed tight with olives was the stuff of smiles. Just seeing the jar, with its layers of olives and lemons and the grains of spices pressed against the glass, immediately put me in mind of summer lunches outdoors in Provence. As she handed me the jar, she said, "The olives are terrific, but the oil is divine." And, of course, it would be, since it was good olive oil made better by the addition of olives and spices. It's going to make great vinaigrettes and an even better drizzle over tomatoes, roasted peppers, cauliflower, oh, anything, really. Here's the recipe as Sue gave it to me:

SUZANNE LEVINE'S LEMON-MARINATED OLIVES

10 ounces brine-cured green olives, rinsed and drained

9 slices of lemon

1 teaspoon crushed coriander seeds

1 teaspoon crushed black peppercorns

1 cup best olive oil

"You're supposed to make three layers, using one-third of the ingredients for each layer, in a 2-cup jar, but I've never been able to make that work. [Sue said she just puts the ingredients in the jar, starting with the lemons, and hopes that she finishes with the lemons because it looks pretty when you open the jar and see them.] Marinate for at least two weeks before serving, although you can keep the olives for many months."

Carol Lewitt arrived with her jar of tightly packed pesto and announced, "It's weed pesto." Pressed for what was in the jar, Carol kept repeating that it was made from weeds. If this is what weeds taste like, then we should all let every bit of grass we've got go to weed. I'd say this was some of the best pesto I'd ever tasted, but since it tasted like no other pesto I've ever had, I'm not sure it's a legit claim. I kept tasting the pesto, looking at the dandelions that were growing between the cracks in the pathway and thinking, "Could it be dandelion pesto?" Silly me, of course not -- dandelions are way too tame for Carol. When Carol sent me the recipe, she wrote: "I decided not to garden, but to learn to forage! I brought you a garlic mustard pesto."

A Google search confirmed what Carol had told me -- garlic mustard is an invasive weed. In fact, the first reference I found called it 'noxious'. Guess the researchers never tasted Carol's pesto. Sadly for those of us in Connecticut who want to try our hand at this pesto, Carol says you need to get the first leaves and that now it's too late, since the weed is flowering. However, our trusty forager says, "The flowers are good in salads."

CAROL LEWITT'S WEED PESTO

2 cups garlic mustard leaves (pulled from pre-flowering weeds)

2 cups walnuts

1 cup basil

1 1/2 cups green olives (I don't think I ever want to make pesto without olives again - they're great in the mix -- DG)

3/4 cup parsley

1/2 cup miso (Yes, miso -- who woudda thunk? -- DG)

Carol writes, "I don't add salt, but it may need a bit. Mix with enough oil to bind. Makes a ton."

I didn't ask her if she made the pesto in a food processor or a mortar and pestle. Either would work, but if you're foraging, doesn't a mortar and pestle seem more the tool to use?

After sipping wine and nibbling on olives and dips and spreads and nuts and saucisson, when we got to the table, I pulled out my two canning jars. One jar was filled with chunks of salmon that I'd cured overnight in sugar and salt, the way you cure gravlax, rinsed and then packed in a quart-size canning jar with onions, bay leaves, thyme, coriander, pepper, carrots and olive oil. The other was packed with fingerling potatoes, which I'd boiled, skinned (unnecessary, really, but company was coming) and packed with the same herbs and spices, the same carrots and onions, the same oil, pinches of fleur de sel and some ordinary distilled white vinegar. I left both jars in the fridge for a day before serving, but they could have stayed a few days more and been fine.

I'd give you more of a recipe, but I'm still working on it (it's going into my next book). However, I know how terrific you all are at improvising, so my money's on you that, if this interests you, you'll find a way to make it and to make it your own.

And if you're seeing canning-jar food around, or if you're making food in canning jars, let me know, please. So far we've got a trend, a few more sightings and we might have a movement!