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Posts Tagged ‘nut’

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Warm marshmallow frosting for Devil Dog cupcakes. Random. Not in the post. Whatever.

I’ve gotten the impression, after talking to people about food and and reading a lot about food (which is what I do in my spare time when I’m not eating), that many people avoid cooking for two reasons. It’s because they’re either lacking proper information, proper equipment, or both.

Here, then, a list. Above all, please keep in mind the helpful words of the late and much-lamented Douglas Adams: Don’t Panic. You’re not supposed to loathe cooking. My goal here is to make the kitchen more approachable. This stuff you can do.

1. Get over your fear of freezing. I was taught that freezing any food besides uncooked meat ruins it. Freezer burn was a yucky reality in days of yore, and everything else from the freezer had a weird taste. Pretty sure most of this was due to poor-quality storage containers. But today you can safely freeze almost anything as long as you make sure it’s a) completely cooled and b) use plastic freezer zip-close bags. Make sure the box says ‘freezer’ on it. Slice up your fresh babka or bagels, squeeze the air out of the bag, close it and chuck it in the freezer. In the morning, take a slice out of the bag and set it on a plate.* Then go blow-dry your hair and find your shoes. By the time you’ve done that, your breakfast will be ready to eat. It will taste the same as the day you baked or bought it.

2) Repurpose utensils. I use my kitchen scissors to snip scallions and pieces of bell pepper; I smush up apples into applesauce with a potato masher; I whisk with a fork. Don’t buy any utensil that has just one purpose (garlic press, ice cream cookie sandwich mold). You’ll use it once, then it will clog up your drawers. Go low tech and open up the format with how you use your utensils.

3) Buy three good-quality knives and give away the rest. This is huge. I’m convinced that a lot of people who think they’re no good at cooking or get frustrated just at the thought of it aren’t using decent equipment. Knives are first on that list. You need a paring knife (to cut small stuff that you can’t snip with your scissors), a chef’s knife (to chop big stuff, herbs, or chicken) and a serrated knife (for slicing bread, tomatoes, and chopping chocolate or nuts). Knives should be somewhat heavy and the handle should not be made out of crap plastic. Be sure that the metal of the knife extends right down through the handle for good balance. If your knife is flimsy, you’ll be fighting with it to chop, it’s going to break by Thursday, and what’s more, it’s dangerous.

4) Unless you’re serving a cake to company and are excessively precise, ignore recipes that tell you to both butter and flour the pan. Wow. Okay, that one’s done.

5) If you’re a novice cook and want to have people over, go with simple, straightforward recipes. Novices tend to make pheasant under glass and petit fours with spun sugar, usually with nose-dive results. They want to impress their friends. Their friends, on the other hand, want to eat. Ask around for recipes that are tried and true, pace yourself, and read the recipe all the way through before starting so you know what ingredients and utensils you need. Make brownies for dessert.

What did I leave out?

*If you’re lucky enough to have a radiator, put the plate on it. I have a cookie sheet on top of my kitchen radiator for just this purpose. Me efficient.

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Autumn’s the time when the earth shoots and sprouts a bit less and instead does a great deal of dropping, shaking off, and scattering. The fun lies in catching the good stuff before the housekeeping winds of Winter blow it all away.

My usual friendly cautionary note about picking wild edibles goes like this:

1) Be sure that what you’re about to pick and eat is what you think it is. Please don’t wing it. Shoot for old age.

2) Don’t pick anything off your neighbor’s lawn unless a) she owes you one b) she owes you several c) you know she doesn’t use pesticides d) it’s under cover of darkness e) in which case leave my name out of it.

3) Don’t pick anything close to roadsides where they likely have been urologically christened by every domestic pet within five miles, most notably the Alsatian across the street that routinely drinks out of the potholes in the Quik Chek lot.

From left to right:

Crabapples (Malus) I wrote about this little treasure a while back. Wild crabapples are a little grainier in texture than their voluptuous full-sized apple cousins, and for my taste, they need a bit of sugar to be palatable. Making jam from crabapples is a special fall thing for me, even though making it is a bear because they’re so small and their seeds are the size of sesame seeds. Having good music in the background goes a long way. I add a hefty dose of New Jersey honey to the pot, making it 100% local. You can also make crabapple liqueur if you steep them in vodka with granulated sugar.

Rose Hips (Rosa) Another jammy choice, and a vintage one. Folks during World War II ate a lot of rose hip jam because it was full of Vitamin C, which was tough to access then. They’re tart, a little bit astringent like their cousins above (so they need sugar, too) and wildly healthy, full not only of Vitamin C but of antioxidants and lycopene.

Beech Nuts and Leaves (Fagus) As a Laura Ingalls Wilder diehard all my life, I knew beech nuts were edible. She wrote about her husband as a boy, gathering and eating them in upstate New York, describing the spiny little husks and the three-cornered nuts they contained, and saying they were ‘solidly full of nut.’ But the leaves being edible as well? News to me, but cool news. Freshly picked, they can be eaten in salads or even steeped in gin.

Acorns (Quercus) When I took Anthropology in college I learned that American Indians ate acorns. Making them edible takes some doing, and they knew what they were doing; they must be smashed and rinsed with a lot of water to release toxins. I’d love to try them. Has anyone ever prepared acorns for food or eaten them?

Missing from this list: Sassafras. Here I was all ready to dig up one of the 764 and counting plants that grow around my lake and steep the roots to make another American Indian specialty, a primitive form of root beer, when the heavy winds last week blew all of the telltale mitten-shaped leaves off. They’re all out there now, mittenless and mocking, but I’ll hit them up come spring. Stoked to write about it.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rose_hip

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beech

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oak

http://www.wikihow.com/Forage-for-Food-in-the-Fall

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Now come on. Just hear me out.

I used to loathe this dish when I was a kid, it’s true. Anchovies, garlic and nuts of any kind were way up there on my yuck list. So on Christmas Eve, when everyone else was having this for dinner*, I had pasta with something else. Admittedly, something tamer. Tame dishes have their place, such as when the eater is recovering from something catastrophic, such as stomach flu or trying to land a buyer on eBay. But I’ll also make a strong argument for trying something new, even if it may seem bizarre at first. There are times when random ingredients come together to make something celestial. This is one of those times. I’ve said it before and here it is again: Try and it hate it—you’re welcome to hate it!—but try it.

This is an honest, very hearty, very flavorful recipe from Liguria, a dish made with a handful of pantry ingredients, and it has a wonderful bracing effect on a nasty winter night. Makes you feel powerful, as if Everest is for wussy pants, as if you have the stamina to brave that cold night with zero worries.

All of the ingredients are to taste. If you really dig walnuts, or hot pepper flakes, or herbs, use more.

Simple stuff…here we go.

1 lb. pasta

8 filets whole anchovies, blitzed in a small grinder

2 fresh garlic cloves, minced**

3/4 cup of olive oil

2 tsp dried basil

2 tsp dried parsley

1 tsp hot pepper flakes

2 c shelled and roughly chopped walnuts

Salt and black pepper

1) Set a pot two-thirds filled with salted water over high heat and cover. Then set a colander in your sink.***

2) While you’re waiting for the water to boil, put a wide, heavy skillet over medium low heat and add the walnuts to toast them. You’ll need to shake the pan every 10 seconds or so to make sure they brown evenly. They smell really good when they’re done. Put them in a little bowl to wait nicely.

3) Put the olive oil in that same skillet over medium low heat again, and add your minced garlic, pepper flakes and herbs. Give everything a little stir. Then add your anchovies and stir again so they don’t stick to the pan. Add salt and pepper. Go easy on the salt, though, because anchovies are salty. After about a minute, take the skillet off the heat.

4) Once your water comes to a low boil, the lid will tell you it wants to come off. Take it off, then wait until the water is at a good rolling boil. Then add your pasta, stir frequently, and cook for as long as you like it cooked. For dried pasta, eight minutes is about my limit.**** Put oven mitts on and pour the pasta and water into the colander. Shake the colander and then pour the pasta into your skillet with the sauce. Add in your walnuts. Use tongs or a long handled wooden spoon and fork to distribute the sauce through the pasta. Have a bite and doctor the seasonings until it tastes right to you.

5) Eat up a big, narcissistic bowl of this.

6) Gloat.

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*We’re Italian, but for some reason we never did the Christmas Eve Seven Fishes thing.

**Not the stuff that’s already peeled and minced up in a jar, and not cloves that are whole and already peeled. When you take the protective natural coating off any fruit or vegetable, you’ve instantly started aging it. The way I see it, you’re bothering to cook…you want a good return on investment…so use fresh ingredients. Buy a firm head of garlic, pull off as many cloves as you want, and either peel off the papery skin with your fingers or use the Food Network method: Put a clove on the counter, lie the blade of a chef’s knife flat on top of it, and press down on the blade with the heel of your hand. This will split the skin, and then you’ll be able to get the clove out pretty easily.

***Don’t be like me and leave anything in the sink. Once I was a lazybones and did that, then poured the boiling hot pasta water into the colander. The sudden heat cracked a bowl into several hundred pieces. Not my brightest moment.

****Where did the idea of throwing pasta against a wall to see if it’s done come from? I’m a heathen, you know I am, but even I don’t go for this idiocy. Grab your tongs, coax a noodle up out of the water, toss it in your colander to cool it for a second, and then have a taste. Trust your mouth, not your drywall.

*****Per one of my New Year’s resolutions to start drawing again, I give you drawing #1!

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When I was a high school student away at boarding school, I ate a lot of something called Sun Country granola. My mom mailed me happy orange boxes of it, dozens, that I would consequently plow through. One Halloween I even dressed as a flower child and carried a bag of it with me as I trick or treated.  Sun Country has since disappeared from the planet (granted, it’s totally plausible that I ate it all). And I haven’t found anything that comes close to its flavor and richness.

But I do make granola, and have come up with a recipe that’s so delicious and so versatile that it helped to dry my tears. Actually, I’m not even sure you can call it a recipe. It’s just rolled oats (the Quaker oats-in-a-canister type), a sweetener of some sort, a pinch of salt and a bunch of other stuff you happen to like, in whatever quantities you like.

In the granola in these photos I used oats, honey, Turkish apricots that I snipped into bits with kitchen scissors (an admirable Nigella Lawson trick), walnuts that I toasted in a skillet first, and, because my will is so weak, dark chocolate chips. I currently have a huge crush on ground cardamom, a spice that smells like it was poured out of the flowers growing in Eve’s window box in Eden, so I added a few teaspoons of that. A pinch of salt, and that’s it.

Set your oven to 350. Take out a cookie sheet and cover it with parchment. (Don’t use a black cookie sheet or you risk charbroiling your granola.)

Next, get out a big bowl and a wooden spoon or rubber spatula. Dump your oats, a few cups’ worth, into the bowl. Stir in your sweetener, then your spice and your salt, and spread the mixture onto your cookie sheet.

Chop up your dried fruit and toast up your nuts, if you’re using them.

Pop your cookie sheet into the oven and bake for about half an hour. You want to dry it out. Stir the mixture halfway through. When it’s done, let it completely cool on a rack, and then add the rest of your stuff.

Ideas for fun taste sensations:

-Real maple syrup, pecans, cinnamon and dried apples

-Brown sugar, Karo syrup and dried figs (this’ll make it crunchy, just so you know)

-Honey, macadamia nuts, dried pineapple and toasted coconut (hel-lo)

Add a few pats of pure melted butter to your mixture, and tell me how good it was.

To get more ideas, take a road trip to a specialty store that’s famous for their fantastic supply of dried fruits and nuts. I love Delicious Orchards in Colts Neck, NJ; Whole Foods is a bang, too.

Personally, I avoid using fresh fruit in my granola because I’d have to keep it in the fridge, which would dry it out too much and make it too crunchy (I have TMJ disorder. If you have to google it, consider yourself lucky). But the stuff’s yours. Do what you want.*

I snack on this right out of the big Tupperware I keep on top of my fridge. But tonight I ate the specimen pictured below, with milk, in my favorite bowl that I bought in a whack little store in Cambridge, MA. The best cereal ever!

*Keep in mind, always and forever, that a recipe—even the ones from fancy-schmancy chefs or publications—represents only a very small consensus on what tastes good to a few particular people. Their preferences are no more important than yours. Doesn’t matter if it’s cooking, teaching a class on Aztec culture, or carving walrus figurines out of soap—design of any kind is your gig. You really can say, “Do I like this? Good, great, it’s going in.” If you like it, it works. That’s the only rule there is.

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