DORIE GREENSPAN

Frittata: The Other Omelet

We had friends coming for brunch yesterday and I had every intention of flipping some pancakes for them.   And then I changed my mind and flipped a frittata instead.  A frittata is a kind of omelet, except the add-ins get stirred in rather than slipped into the center and, instead of having to do some fancy-in-the-pan folding, you get to turn the frittata over onto a plate, and then slide it back into the skillet so the other side can cook, an act that takes a little courage, but no elaborate wrist action.

Frittatas, as they're known in Italy, or tortillas, as they're known in Spain and the Basque region of France,  have another advantage over their omelet cousins: they can be served at room temperature - my favorite temperature when I've got guests.  In fact, frittatas are often cut into slender finger-food-sized wedges or little squares and served with drinks as an hors d'oeuvre or tapa.  And, like omelets, they're a welcoming home for leftovers or kitchen odds and ends.  Yesterday, the odds and ends in my kitchen were a big onion, a couple of shallots and lots of herbs from the garden.  If I'd planned to make the frittata, I might have foraged for a few other ingredients -- it would also have been good with spinach, sauteed mushrooms or quickly cooked peppers.  Next time.

You'll need a deep skillet for your frittata.  I use a 9 1/2-inch cast-iron skillet with high sides that I bought in the hardware store ages ago.  Make sure that whatever pan you use, it's well-seasoned and spotless, so that you can slip the frittata out of it easily.  You'll also need a silicone spatula or table knife to cajole the frittata from the sides of the pan, something to cover the pan and a large platter.  There's only one tricky moment with frittatas and that's the flip.  I spray or oil the pan's lid, flip the frittata onto it and then slide the omelet back into the pan.  Of course, your lid's got to be lipless.

You can also cook the frittata stovetop and then, instead of flipping it, run it under the broiler for a few minutes -- usually under 5 minutes -- to set the top.  You'll miss the drama of the Olympic-worthy flip, but you'll still have a great frittata.

ONION FRITTATA

Makes 4 servings for lunch; 8 servings for hors d’oeuvre

 

About 4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 big Spanish onion, peeled, trimmed and finely diced or chopped (to make 1 to 1 1/2 cups)

2 shallots, peeled, trimmed and finely diced (optional)

9 large eggs

1/4 cup (approximately; you can use more if you'd like) minced fresh herbs, such as parsley, chives, cilantro thyme and rosemary (I went heavy on the chives)

Salt and freshly ground white pepper

 

You’ll need a heavy, straight-sided skillet with a diameter of approximately 10 inches (a little smaller is better than a little larger – I use an old-fashioned cast-iron skillet); a lid for the skillet; and a plate that’s at least as large as the pan - you’ll use the plate to flip over the frittata.  Alternately, if your lid is flat, you can use it instead of the plate.

 

Pour about 1 1/2 tablespoons of the oil into the skillet and warm it over medium heat.  Add the onions and the shallots, if you're using them, and turn them around until they glisten with oil.  Lower the heat, season wtih salt and pepper, and cook slowly until the onions are soft and lightly golden, 15 to 20 minutes.  Spoon the onions into a bowl.

 

Carefully wipe out the skillet with a paper towel.  If anything has stuck to the bottom of the pan, you should wash and dry it – you need a nice clean surface, so the frittata will be easy to unmold.

 

Working in a large mixing bowl, beat the eggs with salt and pepper, then stir in the onions and herbs.

 

Put the skillet over medium-high heat and pour in about 1 1/2 tablespoons of the oil.  When the oil is hot, add the eggs to the pan.  Immediately, lower the heat and let the eggs cook, undisturbed, for about 2 minutes.  Run a silicone spatula or a table knife around the edges of the pan to release the frittata, then cover the pan and cook slowly for another 8 to 12 minutes, or until the top is just set.  Every couple of minutes, run your spatula around the sides of the pan and just under the frittata to keep it free from sticking.

 

Lightly oil the plate or lid (you can do this with cooking spray), place it over the skillet and carefully turn out the frittata.  Wipe the skillet clean, return it to low heat, add another tablespoon of the oil and slip the frittata back into the pan.  Cook 5 minutes more to set and brown the underside.  Or, don't flip the frittata and run it under the broiler.

 

Transfer the frittata to a serving platter and allow it to come to room temperature before cutting and serving. 

 

Blueberry-Sour Cream Ice Cream: TWD Chills

Over the weekend, I got message from Carol Dronsfield, who told me she'd picked 13 -- count'em -- pounds of blueberries and was now looking for ways to use them. 

At the point at which she wrote to me, she was already blueberry-muffinned out.  I thought it was the time for her to mass produce a bunch of double-crusted blueberry pies. If you've got a big freezer and you're not short of pie pans, this is a great way to use a lot of berries deliciously.  You construct the pies, freeze them unbaked, wrap them really well once they're firm, then tuck them away until it's cold outside and you're craving the sweetness of summer.  When that moment comes, all you've got to do is pull out the pie and bake it -- without defrosting it -- until the crust is deeply golden and the berries bubble up through the peephole steam vents.  (My favorite blueberry pie recipe is on page 361 of Baking From My Home to Yours.)

Well, it looks like the bakers at Tuesdays with Dorie had  blueberries on their minds, too, since the recipe they've all made this week is Blueberry-Sour Cream Ice Cream, a swell choice for the season.  If you want to see what they did, just go over to TWD; if you want to make it yourself -- it's so, so good and it's really fast and easy, since it's Philadelphia-style, meaning you don't start with a cooked custard -- the recipe is on page 436.

The gorgeous photo is from my book and it's by Mister Hello Cupcake, himself,  Alan Richardson.

Summer House Cooking: Putting the season's vegetables to good use

While the tomatoes in my garden are still too green for anything, even green tomato pie, the corn is already sweet, the zucchini already plentiful and the onions ready for their close-ups at my local farmers market in Lyme.

As many of you know, I'm very attached to our little market, which is one reason why it was such a pleasure for me to write about it for the August issue of Bon Appetit magazine.  The story, which is now available online, includes 8 recipes that are favorites of mine for the season:

• SUMMER CORN SOUP (pictured above) -- not only do I love the flavor and texture of this soup, I love that you get to use everything corny to make it, including the cobs!
• TOMATO AND TAPENADE TARTLETS -- so sophisticated looking; so easy
• CAPER-ROSEMARY TUNA WITH HERB SALAD -- worth firing up the grill for, even if the tuna only cooks on it for a very few minutes 
• GRILLED SCALLOPS AND NECTARINES WITH CORN AND TOMATO SALAD -- I love the combination of sweet scallops, nectarines and corn with the bit of acidity you get from tomatoes (I also love the surprise of nectarines in a main course)
• GRILLED EGGPLANT WITH CAPONATA SALSA -- think eggplant as bruschetta
• GRILLED LEMON CHICKEN AND MOROCCAN COUSCOUS SALAD -- one of my summer go-to recipes
• GRILLED FLANK STEAK WITH SPICY PEPPER AND WATERMELON SALAD -- the salad, a mix of bell peppers, fiery sriracha sauce and cool watermelon, is perfect with steak, but just as good with chicken or fish
• ZUCCHINI TAGLIATELLE WITH MINT, CUCUMBER AND LEMON -- no pasta here, just zucchini sliced on a mandoline or v slicer to look like tagliatelle; it's fun and it's good with so many things -- I served it with roasted salmon last night

I hope you'll take a look at the story (I don't know how long it will be up, since links get updated so frequently) and that you''ll enjoy the read.  And I really hope you'll cook from the recipes.

The Perfect Chocolate Chip Cookie: David Leite Goes on a Quest

David Leite, he of the wonderful Leite's Culinaria, set himself a quest fit for a knight: he wanted to find the perfect, the ultimate, the best, the most satisfying chocolate chip cookie -- and he found it! 

In today's New York Times you can read about David's adventures and his conversations with New York City bakers about everything from the ingredients (I got in my 2-cents worth championing salt), the size of the cookie, the size of the chips and the length of time the dough should rest before being shaped (days, says one baker), to the optimal munching temperature (warm wins).  It's a terrific read -- no surprise, since David is such a very, very good writer -- and it's a great study into the enduring classic. 

There's a also a recipe, a compilation of all that David learned.  I'm betting it's going to be the most-baked cookie of the week. 

(PS -- these are chocolate chip cookies from Baking From My Home to Yours)

The Last Word (for now) on Sardines - Russ Parsons Has It

After writing about my experience filetting sardines and using them to make an escabeche, I got an email from my friend Russ Parsons, food and wine writer for the Los Angeles Times, and the author of How To Pick a Peach (a fascinating read).

Russ is a certified fan of sardines and, when writing about them for the Times, described his way of dealing with the bones:

The flesh of the sardine is so tender and soft that you could probably do all of the cleaning using a butter knife. But in the interest of time and a neater piece of fish, you'll probably want to use a paring knife.

 

Still, there's not much to it. Begin by laying the fish on a board and making a small cut on the dorsal side right behind the head and straight down through the backbone. Make another incision on the belly side just behind the front fins. Holding the fish under running water, gently twist the head from the body. If you do this right, most of the innards will come away with the head. Discard these.

 

Using the same small knife, cut a slit the length of the belly and rinse out the inside. Lay the fish on its back on the cutting board and make two shallow parallel cuts the length of the backbone. You'll want to be careful not to cut all the way through the meat.

 

With your thumb and forefinger, grasp the exposed backbone near the tail and pull up, using the fingers of your other hand to hold the meat in place. The backbone and larger ribs should lift cleanly away, leaving you a neatly butterflied fish.

 

Finish the preparation by scraping away the black skin along the ribs and cutting away the rib endings on either side. There will still be some bones left, but these will be so fine they won't be a problem. Do check to make sure all of the bones around the collar of the fish are gone.

 

And then Russ sent along his recipe for Sarde in Saor, the classic Venetian sweet-sour dish that's related to escabeche.  Russ says that the raisins and pinenuts are optional, that the way to eat it is on a slice of toast and that the traditional Venetian accompaniment would be a glass of a less Verdicchio.  Mille grazie, Russ.

 

 

SARDE IN SAOR

From Russ Parsons and The Los Angeles Times

 

Makes 4 to 6 servings

 

Oil

2 pounds sardines, cleaned

Flour

Salt

2 pounds onions, thinly sliced

1/4 cup olive oil

3/4 cup white wine vinegar

1/4 cup white wine

1 bay leaf

1/3 cup raisins

1/3 cup toasted pinenuts

 

Heat 1/4 to 1/2 inch of oil in a large heavy skillet until it is hot enough that food sizzles when added to it. Lightly flour the sardines on both sides and fry in the hot oil until lightly browned, less than a minute per side. Using a slotted spatula, lift the sardines from the oil and drain on paper towels. Season with salt.

 

Drain the oil from the skillet, but don’t wipe it clean. Combine the onions and the olive oil in the skillet and cook over very low heat until the onions are very soft and just beginning to turn golden (not brown). This can take as long as an hour. Stir the onions from time to time, scraping the bottom of the pan to release any browned bits of sardine that are stuck there.

 

When the onions are soft and sweet, add the vinegar, white wine and bay leaf and increase the heat to medium. Cook until the liquid has reduced to a glaze. When you tip the pan to the side, there should be only a couple of tablespoons of liquid left. Remove the pan from the heat, discard the bay leaf, and stir in the raisins and pinenuts.

 

Arrange 1 layer of sardines in the bottom of a small baking dish. Cover it with a thin layer of onions. Repeat with the remaining sardines and onions, pouring any liquid that’s left in the pan over top. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 2 days before serving.

Give A Man A Fish ...

On my way home from the Marche Saint Germain this morning, I kept thinking of the Chinese proverb:

Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day.  Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.

I'd just bought a kilo (about 2 1/4 pounds) of sardines and I'd hoped that madame, the fishmonger, would filet them for me.  And she would have -- if I'd only wait 30 minutes, please.  Because it was a warm, sunny, perfect Paris day, and because I'd no more shopping to do to fill in the time, I said I'd filet them myself.  Madame gave me a quizzical look -- read doubtful -- and, because she was too polite to say, "I bet you've never done this before and don't know what you're in for," she said, "You know, you've got a lot of sardines and it will take you a while to filet them."

"Well," I said, "I really do have to get back home, so I'll take them as is.  But," I asked, "would you just show me how to do it?"

Madame pulled out a well-worn fileting knife -- very thin at the top and not so wide at the bottom -- laid the fish out parallel to her with the head to the left, made a diagonal slash below the gills, then pressing the flat of the knife against the backbone and rib bones (they're probably not called that, but the names make sense to me), she cut cleanly to the tail and lifted the filet away from the fish.  She flipped the fish over, still keeping the head to the left, and repeated the motion.  The skeleton that was left wasn't as neatly picked clean as the one Picasso made famous, but the remains looked clean and symetrical and she'd done it in 30 seconds.

Returning chez moi, I cleared the decks, sharpened a paring knife and put on some music.  I had 12 sardines and figured that had madame cleaned them, it would only have taken her 6 minutes.  I probably could have waited, but I'm glad I didn't because it only took me half an hour, I did a pretty decent job of it, and I learned something.  Not bad for a Sunday morning.

I also got to turn the filets into escabeche, a dish in which the sardines are first quickly sauteed and only partially cooked, and then drowned in hot aromatic oil and vinegar, a mixture that completes the cooking and pickles them, too. 

The downside of escabeche is the wait -- once the dish is assembled, it needs at least 6 hours in the fridge to cure.  Had I remembered that I'd have to hang for so long before tasting the my work, I might have found the patience to wait 6 minutes for the fish to be fileted.  Of course, what I would have made up in time, I'd have to forfait in bragging rights.

Here's a recipe for SARDINE ESCABECHE from The Cafe Boulud Cookbook (Daniel Boulud and Dorie Greenspan, Scribner's)

Makes 6 servings

1 1/4 cups extra-virgin olive oil

Flour for dredging

Salt and freshly ground white pepper

1 1/4 pounds sardine filets, skin on (from about 2 1/2 pounds whole sardines)

2 sprigs thyme

2 sprigs cilantro

2 sprigs basil

1 tomato, peeled, trimmed and thinly sliced crosswise

6 pearl onions, peeled, trimmed, and thinly sliced crosswise

3 cloves garlic, peeled, split, germ removed, and thinly sliced

2 small carrots, peeled, trimmed, and thinly sliced

2 stalks celery, peeled, trimmed, and thinly sliced

18 fennel seeds, toasted

18 coriander seeds, toasted

2 bay leaves

Pinch of red pepper flakes

1 tablespoon ketchup

1 1/2 teaspoons sugar

1/2 cup white vinegar

Juice of 2 lemons

Lemon wedges for serving

Pour 2 tablespoons of the olive oil into a large nonstick saute pan or skillet and warm it over medium heat.  Spread some flour out on a plate, season it with salt and pepper, and dredge only the skin sides of the sardines in the flour, shaking off the excess.  Slip the fish into the pan, flour side down, and fry on the flour side for 1 1/2 minutes - the fish will be undercooked, but it will finish cooking in the marinade.  Lift the fish out of the pan and pat off the excess oil; discard the frying oil, wipe out the pan and set it aside.

Arrange the sardine filets attractively in an overlapping pattern on a rimmed serving platter or in an oval gratin pan that holds them snugly.  Strew the thyme, coriander, basil and diced tomato over the fish and set the platter aside for the moment.

Return the pan to medium heat and add 2 tablespoons of the olive oil.  When the oil is hot, toss in the onions, garlic, carrots, celery, fennel and coriander seeds, and bay leaves to cook, stirring, until the vegetables are almost cooked through, 5 to 7 minutes.  Add the remaining 1 cup olive oil and all the other remaining ingredients, except the lemon juice and wedges, to the pan, bring to the simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes.  Pull the pan from the heat and stir in the lemon juice.

Pour the hot sauce over the fish.  Cover the platter with plastic wrap and allow the mixture to cool to room temperature.  Chill the escabeche for at least 6 hours, or overnight, before serving.

To serve:  Serve the escabeche with lemon wedges on the side.  If you'd like, you can drain off some of the marinating liquid, emulsify it in the blender, and use it as the dressing for an accompanying green salad.

Patricia and Walter Wells: They've Always Had Paris ... And Provence

I remember when Patricia Wells left New York for Paris in the 1980s. (Of course Walter went, too -- actually, it was because of Walter that they skipped Gotham -- but I didn't know him or even of him in those days.) She'd been writing for the "Living" section of The New York Times (several incarnations later, today it's the Dining section) and, when I heard she was moving to Paris, I had to beat back more than the occasional sting of jealousy.  How lucky could one person be? And how come she was getting to live my dream?

It was years later, when my own dream came true and I, too, was living in Paris, that Patricia and Walter became my good friends and I discovered that not only had she gotten to live my dream and hers, but she seemed to be living every Francophile's dream -- and she was living it with exuberance and elan and the complete knowledge that she was one of the luckiest people in the world. It's impossible (at least for me) to be jealous of anyone who knows they're lucky, and even more impossible to be jealous of anyone who's worked so hard to be lucky, and whose hard work has brought the rest of us so much joy. Do any of you ever want to be without Patricia's Bistro Cooking? Or Simply French? Or her latest, Vegetable Harvest?  I don't.

In the almost thirty years that Patricia and Walter have been Americans in Paris ... and Provence, she's written iconic books, penned hundreds of restaurant reviews (she was the restaurant critic for the The International Herald Tribune for 27 years), and established two wonderful cooking schools; he's edited Europe's leading English-language newspaper, The International Herald Tribune; and together they've traveled the world in search of great food and great wine and shared everything they've found with their readers. 

In this new book (the first they've written together), We've Always Had Paris .. And Provence, aptly called a scrapbook, we get the back story -- and pictures (don't miss their "formal" wedding portrait).

Walter and Patricia alternate chapters, each telling their own story (and sometimes piping in on the other's tale), and, while their story has a happy ending -- and a happy beginning and middle, too -- you get a sense of what it takes to make a successful life in a foreign country. In case you're wondering, it looks like you'd better pack a lot of energy, flexibility and commitment, a terrific sense of humor and a very finely honed appreciation of the absurd.  A lucky charm wouldn't hurt, either.

And the book's got recipes - several.  Here's one for eggplant, a vegetable that grows in abundance in the Wells's lush garden in Provence.

EGGPLANT IN SPICY TOMATO SAUCE

From We've Always Had Paris .. and Provence, by Patricia and Walter Wells

Equipment: A large deep frying pan with a cover.

4 small, firm, fresh eggplant, washed but not peeled (each about 8 ounces)

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

Fine sea salt

2 onions, peeled, halved, and thinly sliced

2 tablespoons thin slivers fresh ginger

6 plump garlic cloves, peeled, halved, green germ removed

1 small fresh chile pepper, minced, or 1 teaspoon ground dried chile

1 tablespoon ground cumin

1 1/2 cups tomato sauce

2 cups chicken stock

1) Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F.

2) Halve the eggplants lengthwise.  Brush the flesh lightly with 1 tablespoon of the oil and season with salt.  Place the eggplant halves cut side down on a baking sheet.  Place on a rack in the center of the oven and bake until soft and golden, about 30 minutes.

3)  While the eggplant cooks, prepare the sauce:  In a large deep frying pan, combine the onion, the remaining 2 tablespoons oil, and about 1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt.  Toss to thoroughly coat the onions with the oil and cook, covered, over low heat until soft and translucent, about 5 minutes.  Add the ginger, garlic, chile, and cumin and toss again to evenly coat the onions with the spices.  Add the tomato sauce and chicken stock and simmer, covered, for about 5 minutes.  Add the roasted eggplant halves, burying them in the sauce.  Cook until the eggplant is very tender and has absorbed the sauce, about 20 minutes more.

8 servings

Roll-Out Cookies: A Shortcut

Yesterday, I decided to turn my Midnight Crackles (the recipe is from Baking From My Home to Yours), cookies that you form by rolling balls of dough between your palms then pressing the puffs down lightly on the baking sheet, into roll-out cookies.  I wanted something flatter than the pillowy buttons the ball-and-press technique gave me and I knew, because the dough was firmish right after it was mixed, and downright hard after it chilled, that it would be a good candidate for roll-out treatment.  I also knew that I could take a short-cut with the dough: instead of shaping the dough into a disk, chilling the disk and then rolling the dough, I went directly to roll-out without passing GO and without mishap.

Here's what I did: As soon as the dough was mixed, I divided it and placed each piece of dough between two sheets of wax paper and gently rolled the dough to the thickness I needed (in this case, the dough was about 1/8-inch thick).  I then slid the "sandwich" onto a cutting board and chilled the dough for an hour or so until it was very firm.  (Since this dough has a lot of chocolate it in, it firms quickly and thoroughly.)

Because the straight-from-the-mixer dough was soft, the rolling was easy; because the straight-from-the-fridge dough was hard, the cutting was easy - a happy combination of conditions.

This wasn't the first time I'd used this technique - it's what I do pretty routinely with shortbread cookies (actually, with sticky shortbread dough I scoop the dough into a zipper-lock plastic bag, roll it to fill the bag, chill it, then slit the bag and cut the dough into squares with a knife - I get the perfect thickness that way), but as I was rolling and cutting, it occurred to me -- again -- that it's a cool technique for making fast work of what can be a fussy job.

The Most Extraordinary Lemon Tart Re-thunk

A few weeks ago, I posted the recipe for this lemon tart, a favorite of mine from Pierre Herme, on Serious Eats and, coincidentally, it was chosen as the recipe of the week by the wonderful bakers at Tuesdays with Dorie.  I heard from some of you that you were having difficulties getting the lemon cream up to 180 degrees F -- 165 degrees F seemed to be the stopping point -- and that whether you called it quits at 165 or kept going to 180, it was taking a long time and a lot of elbow grease to thicken the cream.

Well, I made the recipe over the weekend and I've got a new thought on how to speed up the process and still get the thick, smooth, almost velvety cream that makes this tart so remarkable.

To recap, the recipe calls for the sugar, lemon zest, lemon juice and eggs to be mixed together in a bowl.  The bowl is put over a saucepan with a few inches of boiling water and you whisk, whisk, whisk until the mixture thickens enough for the whisk to leave tracks, then you keep whisking until the cream measures 180 degrees F on a candy or instant-read thermometer.  To finish the cream, you pour it into a blender and cool it slightly before you whir in room-temperature butter -- but that's not the problemmatic part.

So here's what I did over the weekend -- I got bold!  To make my double boiler, I used a soup pot and I filled it about 2/3 full of water, which I brought to a boil.  I then put the bowl (a metal bowl) with all the ingredients over the steaming soup pot (making sure that the bottom of the bowl wasn't touching the boiling water) and whisked like mad.  With so much heat under the bowl, the cream came up to 180 degrees F in under 10 minutes (in fact, the first time I did it, it took 4 minutes and 39 seconds; the second time, it took almost 7 minutes -- different bowl, different pot, different stove).

Of course, if you're going to supercharge the power under the bowl, you've got to be vigilant -- you can't take your eyes off the cream; energetic -- you can't stop whisking, even for a few seconds; and  nimble -- as soon as the cream shows the slightest signs of thickening, measure the temperature and make sure to remove the bowl from the heat immediately the instant you hit 180 degrees F.

A couple of other re-thinks:  If your lemon zest was very finely grated (I use a Microplane grater/zester), then you don't need to strain the cream -- just quickly scrape the hot cream from the bowl into the blender.  And, while you shouldn't add the butter to the cream while it's still very hot (if you do, then the butter will melt, as it does in a lemon curd, and you won't get the great texture that sets this cream apart), you don't really need to measure the cream's temperature before you butterize it -- if you leave the cream in the blender for 8 to 10 minutes, it will be just the right temperature for blending in the butter.

Finally, I made this tart on Sunday as part of my workshop at Pastry Scoop's Spring Conference at The French Culinary Institute, and, because it was at hand, I used lime juice in place of the lemon juice and it worked perfectly.

I hope those of you who haven't already made the tart, will -- it's really one of my all-time favorite recipes -- and that those of you who've already made it, will find these tweaks helpful the next time you decide to whisk up this treat.

Baking with Dorie: Cheesecake

I'm a little late linking to this week's Baking with Dorie recipe on Serious Eats, but I don't think it's crucial, since a classic cheesecake really doesn't have a time limit. 

And this is a classic - and classy - cheesecake:  tall, smooth, rich, dense and creamy, creamy, creamy.  You can make it with all kinds of crusts - this one's the traditional graham cracker crust - or, for Passover (which starts next Saturday night), you can make it crustless or use Kosher-for-Passover macaroons instead of crackers.

In fact, the cheesecake lends itself to all kinds of variations.  I've got 11 of them in my book and I bet you can think of at least 11 more.

If you play around with the recipe, I'd love to know what you do.

(Photo by Alan Richardson)