This is an old drafty house, and a small one. Voices travel through floors. Noise made at one end can be heard at the other because the two ends just aren’t that far from each other. For three hours man and watchdog did their work; in the three hours of commotion I struggled to complete mine. Eventually I gave up the writing and headed into the kitchen instead.

Luckily I was prepared to do a few hours’ worth of cooking.

January 25 marks the 253rd anniversary of the birth of Scottish poet and lyricist (Auld Lang Syne) Robert Burns, and in the days before and after the 25th Burns revelers celebrate the occasion with speeches, Scotch whisky, bagpipers, whisky, men in tartan kilts making toasts, more whisky, hearty singing and the reciting of Burns’ long narrative poem Tam o’ Shanter, inevitably followed by a little more whisky. The highlight of the celebration is the ceremonial presentation of the haggis “pudding” (a sausage of chopped sheep’s heart, liver, and lungs stuffed into sheep’s stomach casing and simmered) along with its sides of mashed potato and neeps – the Scots name for what we know as rutabaga or yellow turnip.

One January about a baker’s dozen years ago, I had the good fortune to attend a formal Burns Night Supper. This year, I thought it would be fun to do a little homage meal at home minus the haggis (that one taste years ago will last this girl a lifetime), the kilts, the pipers, and the many shots of whisky, and instead highlighting the neeps. And perhaps a poem or two.

Rutabaga is most often served mashed with either a little butter or cream and salt and pepper. The vegetable is delicious this way, and mashed rutabaga is a great alternative to mashed potatoes alongside roast chicken. In the winter I also like to substitute cubes of rutabaga for potatoes in soups, stews, and pot roasts. A member of the brassica family, rutabaga holds the same sharp earthy aroma of fresh horseradish or broccoli, but can be both peppery and sweet when cooked. It’s just much more interesting than potatoes.

Knowing that rutabaga can replace potatoes so nicely, I decided to give it a try in a potatoes Anna-style dish. That classic involves making layers of overlapped thin slices of potatoes, drenching these in lots of butter, and baking the creation to form a crispy edged sort of cake. Saveur magazine featured a version of this using white turnip slices. Using much less butter and adding fresh thyme, I tried mine with the yellow turnip and served it with braised short ribs carbonnade à la flamande (Belgian style, braised in dark beer with onions). Try it, though, as a base for any stew, ragout of mushrooms and greens, or any main course that you like.

A mandoline works well for making thin uniform slices, as does a food processor fitted with a very thin slicing blade.

Rutabaga Galette

• 1 medium rutabaga (yellow turnip)
• 2 Tbsp. softened butter
• 4 sprigs of fresh thyme
• salt and pepper

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Quarter the rutabaga and peel it.

Cut each quarter into half again. Slice the rutabaga pieces into very thin slices using mandoline or food processor. Set aside.

Prepare two 9-inch glass pie plates. Using 1 1/2 Tbsp. of soft butter, generously butter the inside bottom and sides of one of the dishes. Strip the thyme leaves from two of the sprigs and sprinkle these on top of the butter in the dish.

Layer the slices of rutabaga in the dish, slightly overlapping individual slices in each layer. Continue building up layers in this way until you reach just about to the top of the baking dish.

Sprinkle the top of the cake with the thyme leaves from the remaining two sprigs. Salt and pepper the rutabaga generously.

Using the remaining half tablespoon of butter, butter the outside bottom of the second pie plate. Fit this second dish on top of the first pie plate filled with layers of rutabaga to weight the vegetable layers down. Place the dishes into the preheated oven and bake for 1 1/2 hours. Remove the top pie plate.

Place a serving plate over the top of the baking dish and invert the cake onto the plate.

Cut into wedges when hot and serve as desired.

©2012  Jane A. Ward

Lists make fun reading, especially the ones making superlative claims – best, worst, least, and, of course, most.  Humans like to rank things.  We also like to know where our tastes run in common and where they diverge (on the Best Films of Whatever Year, for example, one person’s most brilliant movie ever made might make another person’s snooze list), and we like to debate these points.

Enter today’s HuffPo list of the foods that polarize tastes, the foods that pit those passionately in favor of them against those who are disgusted by them, the foods that leave no room for discussion between individuals.  These are ten foods people take sides over; you either like them or you don’t.  Or so the creators of the list would have you believe.  I’m not so sure.

Is this the definitive list?  Let’s have a look.

Out of the 10, I thought four did not meet the standard touted in the introduction to the list, i.e. something that is either the best thing ever or the worst thing ever, depending on who you speak to.

Marmite made the list (as did its Aussie twin, Vegemite).  The only people I know who eat Marmite are British and they all have a taste for it.  In my own experience, the rest of us who say we don’t have a taste for it have never actually tried it; we just don’t like the idea of spreading a yeast extract paste on bread.  We might take a bite and love it.  Can something be polarizing if one has never tried it?  Not so sure.

I had to ask the same question of marzipan.  Widely used in European and Scandinavian desserts, it isn’t  consumed so much in the States.  Is marzipan then loved by some, detested by others?  Or simply loved by some, untested by others?

Celery being on the list was a head scratcher.  I happen to love celery, though I’m willing to accept that others may not feel the same.  But hate?  Does anyone hate celery?  If so, let me know.  I stand to be corrected.  But brussels sprouts seem to be much more controversial than celery, don’t you think?

The green pepper, however, is resoundingly disliked in my circles.  Correction: in most circles.  No one I know, hear from, talk to likes the green pepper. Of course, if you love it and feel you must declare this as passionately as the rest of us do when we disparage it, please write in.

I agree with the remaining six for the most part.  People I know, myself included, love or hate licorice, liver, mayonnaise, coconut, blue cheese (which I might even expand to include goat’s cheese), and cilantro.

Folks seem really divided on cilantro in particular.  It’s either fresh tasting or soapy, we love it or we hate it.  Kitchen science guru Harold McGee explains why in an April 2010 article for the New York Times.  The history of the herb plays a large role in its acceptance, he writes.  Some cultures use cilantro frequently, while others have little or no acquaintance with it.  For those who don’t, the foreignness makes for skeptics.  That exotic aspect, coupled with the Greek origins of the plant’s name – coriander – leads to double trouble.  Translated, coriander means “bedbug.”  For the cilantro skeptic, the word bedbug doesn’t make for good PR.

And the diners who detect a soapy quality in the leaf aren’t off base, either, McGee adds.  The perfumy scent and taste are rooted in basic chemistry.  Aldehydes (or fat molecules) exist in cilantro; aldehydes are a by-product of soap making.  Ergo, the soapy claims can be accurate.

How positively this soapy taste is perceived depends on exposure to cilantro.  Cultures that routinely use the herb in cooking find the scent familiar and pleasant.  Newly exposed, one might instead associate the scent with cleaning products.  The good news is that if you have a cilantro aversion, you can train your palate to be open to it, and even turn the aversion to enjoyment if you keep trying it over and over.  Doing so retrains your brain’s response to the taste.

Here’s a recipe to try if you already love cilantro or if you’d like to get used to cilantro.  If you have no interest in changing your opinion whatsoever, leave it out.  It’s completely up to you.

As you cook, give some thought to the list and what you might add or subtract from it and why.  I’d love to hear what you think.

Chili Crab Noodles

• 8 ounces fresh chinese egg noodles (or fresh thin cut pasta)
• 2 Tbsp. ketchup
• 2 Tbsp. sweet chili sauce
• 2 Tbsp. hoisin sauce
• 1 1/2 Tbsp. fish sauce (nam pla)
• 2 Tbsp. water
• 2-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and finely chopped
• 3 garlic cloves, finely chopped
• 3 slender hot red chilis, finely chopped (or substitute 1 plump jalapeno as I did)
• 1 Tbsp vegetable or canola oil
• 8 ounces fresh crabmeat, cooked and picked over
• juice of 1 lime
• 2 Tbsp. chopped fresh cilantro leaves, optional (finely chopped scallion greens are a good option for the cilantro hater)

Cook the noodles in a large pot of salted boiling water until just barely tender.  Drain, rinse and set aside.

Combine the ketchup, chili sauce, hoisin sauce, fish sauce, and water together in a small bowl and set aside.

Prepare the ginger, garlic, and hot pepper as noted and set aside.

Heat oil in a large skillet set over medium heat.  Cook for 2 or 3 minutes until softened.  Add the sauce to the pan and stir to combine and heat through.  Bring the mixture to a boil and cook over steady heat until the sauce thickens.  Once thickened slightly, add the crab and stir to heat through.

Stir in the noodles to coat with the sauce and crab and heat these through.  Squeeze lime juice over the dish.

To serve, lift a portion onto a plate, sprinkle with fresh cilantro, and enjoy.

©2012  Jane A. Ward

How could I resist that promise?  I let him drive home.

We left Newburyport using the old U.S. highway Route 1, and crossed the Merrimack River into Salisbury.  This particular stretch of  Route 1 boasts salt marshes and coastal wildlife habitats, marine shops, boat storage yards, gas stations, a defunct auto dealership, a liquor store, a butcher shop, a couple of restaurants, a couple of homes, a few derelict buildings, several strip malls and a strip club: in other words, a little bit of everything.  I drive this piece of road every day, twice a day, traveling a couple of miles of it on the way to the Newburyport train station and back; I know it well.  Or so I thought.

Ben pulled into the first strip mall.  ”It’s here I think,” he said under his breath as he drove around the side of last shop in the row.  He brought the car to a stop.

“What’s here?” I asked, looking at a brick wall.

“Never mind,” he said, turning the car around in the lot.  ”It’s not the right place.  Next one down maybe.”

On the side of the third strip mall he found what he had been looking for:  a door.  There was a sign hanging above the door, a yellow sign, shaped like an egg.  He put his foot on the brake and looked at me.  ”They sell farm fresh eggs in there.”

“There?” I asked.  ”They sell farm fresh eggs right there?  Behind that door in a Route 1 strip mall in Salisbury?”  I looked closely at the yellow egg sign –  Farm Fresh Eggs, it proclaimed – and shook my head.  ”Is anyone in there selling the eggs?”

“No,” Ben said.  ”Inside it’s the size of a closet that could hold two regular refrigerators.  Except there’s only one refrigerator, and that’s full of eggs.  You leave $3.00 and take a box.  You want me to buy you a box of eggs?”

A box of farm fresh eggs bought from a closet built into the side of a building situated about a quarter mile down the road from the turquoise exterior of Kittens strip club?  ”Sure,” I answered with a laugh.  ”It’s totally crazy.”

“Told you it would blow your mind.”

Well, yes, it did.  The eggs do too.  The smallest in the box weighs 66 grams or right about on the mark for grade “Extra Large,” while the biggest in the box tops out at 82 grams.  As a point of reference, a jumbo grade egg weighs in at 71 grams or over.  I suppose that makes my nice big fresh 82 gram egg something like super jumbo.  Maybe even super duper jumbo.

Because of the size (and variations in size) of these eggs, we have set aside the Salisbury strip mall eggs for cooking rather than baking.  No doubt they’ll make someone a yummy, albeit huge, omelet.

For the cake mentioned in the title, Ben’s birthday cake, I played it safe and used the standard large eggs I already had on hand.

For his birthday this year he requested a classic butter cake with milk chocolate frosting.  When I bake butter layers for these kinds of special occasions, I alternate between my two favorite recipes: last year’s Desert Island Butter Cake and this one below, Yellow Butter Cake, from Baking at Home with the Culinary Institute of America.  The CIA recipe makes a slightly more refined cake with a beautiful tight but tender crumb.  The CIA recommended method for combining ingredients, the high ratio method, is the reason why.

In typical butter-based cakes, the butter and sugar are creamed together, eggs are added to this mixture, then flour sifted with salt and leavening are stirred in as the final step.

High ratio baking has two features that distinguish it from more standard cake baking.  First, such a recipe has a higher ratio of sugar to flour, and this proportion provides the fine texture.  Second, the ingredients are combined in an unusual reverse order.  Dry ingredients including the sugar are added to the mixer, and then soft butter is added and cut into the dry.  Wet ingredients – eggs, milk, extracts – get whisked together, and added to the butter-flour mixture in three additions as the final step.  The high content of fat and sugar added up front helps protect the flour from developing too many gluten strands as the wet ingredients are blended in.  Ergo, a tender, not tough, cake with no large air holes or tunnels.

But don’t take my word for it.  Give this one a try.

You might substitute your favorite buttercream if you wish, but for the milk chocolate lovers among us, this frosting is the stuff of dreams.

Yellow Butter Cake with Milk Chocolate Frosting

• 3 1/2 cups cake flour
• 2 cups sugar
• 1 Tbsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, diced, at room temperature
• 1 cup whole milk, divided use
• 4 large eggs
• 2 large egg whites
• 2 tsp. vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Coat two 8-inch round cake pans lightly with cooking spray.  (Note: these need to be about 2 inches deep.  If your pan is shallower, use 3 pans.  I’ll give you adjusted times below.)

Sift the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt together in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment.  Add the butter to the bowl and 1/2 cup of the milk.

Mix on medium speed until smooth, about 4 minutes, scraping down the sides of the bowl with a rubber scraper as needed.

In a separate bowl, blend together the eggs, egg whites, the remaining 1/2 cup milk, and the vanilla.  Add to the butter-flour batter in 3 additions, mixing for 2 minutes on medium speed after each addition.  Scrape down the bowl between additions.

Divide the batter between 2 (or 3; see above) prepared pans.  Bake until the layers spring back when touched lightly in the center of the top, about 35-40 minutes.  (Begin checking 3 layers at 25 minutes; they will probably need about 30 minutes baking time.)

Remove layers from the oven and cool completely in their pans on wire racks.  Release the sides and bottom of the layers from the pan with a narrow metal spatula or a thin knife before unmolding and finishing with frosting and filling.

Milk Chocolate Frosting

• 1 1/4 cups heavy whipping cream
• 1/4 cup light corn syrup
• 1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
• 1 pound milk chocolate, chopped

Combine the cream, corn syrup, and butter together in a medium saucepan.  Stir over medium heat until the mixture begins to simmer.  Reduce heat to low and add chopped chocolate.  Stir until chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth, about 1 minute.  The frosting will be very liquid at this point.  Transfer the mixture to a large bowl and let cool slightly.

Place the bowl of slightly cooled frosting in the refrigerator.  As it cools it will thicken.  Stir every 15 minutes or so as the temperature goes down.  As you stir you will notice the mixture thickening.  When the frosting is quite cool and the consistency is still soft but now fudgy thick, remove the bowl from the fridge.

Using the stand mixer fitted with a whisk attachment or a hand held mixer, beat the soft frosting until it lightens in color and becomes the consistency of spreadable buttercream icing.  It will hold peaks when the beaters are lifted from the bowl.  This takes about 3 or 3 minutes.  The frosting will continue to thicken as it stands.

To assemble:

Place thin strips of parchment around the edges of a flat cake plate.  Put a drop of icing in the center of the plate and place a cake layer on this to anchor it down.

Spread some frosting on top of the layer all the way out to the edges and set the second layer on top.  Repeat if using a third layer.

Once all the layers are in place, I like to apply a thin coat of frosting along the top and sides of the cake.  This base coat is called a crumb coat, and it keeps any crumbs from the cake layers in place so they don’t show up in the outer finishing layer of frosting.

Next, ice the top and sides with more frosting, finishing both in any way you desire.

Carefully remove the strips of parchment to find a finished cake with clean bottom edges on a clean plate.

Slice and serve.

©2012  Jane A. Ward

A statuette of the Hindu god Ganesh traveled home with my husband from New Delhi to take up residence on my desk top.  Most often depicted as part elephant, part human – arms, hands and rotund seated torso – Ganesh is one of the five prime deities of this Indian religion.  A bit of quick research reveals he is considered both Patron of Letters and Remover of Obstacles.

In these days post-holiday, I struggle to settle back into writing routines.  Used to dashing around here and there, I hardly know how to sit quietly, concentrating.  I’m more inclined to keep going at a pace close to light speed, tackling projects that expend a lot of physical energy, like a complete basement cleanup or ripping a medicine cabinet off a bathroom wall.  Even running up and down stairs with load after load of laundry becomes sought after work as it satisfies the need to move.

And while all of these projects need attention, they don’t need quite as much time and effort as I’m giving them at the expense of diving back into a manuscript.  Ganesh might recognize them as obstacles to what I really should be doing, and I’m taking his presence here as a reminder to slow down and write.

As the daily routine slows down, I also plan to give more thought to the  food I prepare for lunch.  I’m looking for ingredients with calories that will sustain over longer stretches of time without being heavy.  Maybe it’s Ganesh’s Indian roots, but the answer came to me in lentils, rice, and curry.  With a perfectly fried egg thrown in for good measure.

Curried Brown Rice and Lentils with Caramelized Onion and a Fried Egg

If you know how to cook rice using the following method, you won’t need to make room for another piece of equipment (i.e. a rice steamer) in your kitchen.  It works for both brown rice and white rice.  I made my dish using brown but have included the proportions and timing for white rice at the end of the recipe.

The amount of rice and lentils I suggest you cook up will give you a large batch, but you can eke out a few lunches from it, plus toss cold leftovers into greens for an enriched salad.  The curried rice and lentils with or without the onions also makes a great side dish to serve with with grilled chicken.  So versatile, the dish is worth the few steps it takes to pull it all together.

Lentils:

• 1 cup lentils
• 2 cups cold water

Pick over the lentils.  Rinse and drain them.  Add them to the 2 cups of cold water in a saucepan and bring to a boil.  Once boiling, uncover the pot and reduce heat so that the mixture simmers steadily, about 15 to 20 minutes or until tender.  Most of the water will be absorbed, but drain what’s left and set lentils aside.  (Lentils may be made a day ahead and stored in a container in the refrigerator.)

Curried Rice:

• 1 cup brown basmati rice
• 1 tsp. vegetable oil
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1 tsp. sweet curry
• 1/8 tsp. cayenne pepper (optional)
• 2 1/2 cups cold water

Pick over and rinse the rice.  Drain.

In a small saucepan that has a cover, heat the teaspoon of oil over medium heat.  When hot but not smoking, add the salt, curry, and cayenne pepper.  Stir to warm the spices through.  Add to this the rice and stir to coat with the spices and oil.

Add the water to the pot.  DO NOT STIR the water and rice together.  Instead, bring the rice and water to a boil over medium-high heat, leaving the pan UNCOVERED.  When the water starts boiling, reduce the heat to medium and let it continue to cook uncovered.

When all the water has been absorbed, the surface of the rice will look “holey.”

Once yours looks like the photo above, cover the rice, turn the heat all the way to low, set the kitchen timer for 25 minutes and let the rice steam.  Don’t be tempted to remove the cover.

While the rice steams, caramelize the onion.

Caramelized Onions:

• small amount of vegetable oil
• 1 large or 2 small onions, very thinly sliced and separated into rings

Heat a teaspoon or 2 of vegetable oil over medium-high heat in a large skillet.  When the oil is hot, add the onion rings to it and cook them, tossing frequently, until they begin to reach a deep golden brown evenly without burning.  Set aside to finish the rice and assemble the dish.

To finish:

When the timer alerts you that the rice has finished steaming, turn off the heat completely but let the pot sit, covered, for another 5 minutes.  After 5 minutes rest, the rice is recipe-ready.  Gently fluff it with a fork.

Bring together the rice and the previously cooked lentils.  Toss these together gently in a large bowl.

To serve as a side dish, simply spoon the rice and lentil mixture onto plates and top each portion with the caramelized onions.

To serve as a lunch dish with a fried egg, first place warm rice and lentils in a bowl or on a plate.  Top these with a small amount of caramelized onion.  Heat 1 tablespoon of butter or olive oil (or a combination of the two) in a steel or cast iron pan set over medium high heat.  This may sound like a lot of fat, but it keeps the egg from sticking and most of the fat remains behind in the pan once the egg has cooked.

Crack an egg into a small cup or ramekin.  When the butter foams, reduce the heat to medium and slip the egg into the pan.  I like to tip the pan by the handle a bit so the egg slides to one side and doesn’t spread out so much.  Gently baste the egg until the whites on the bottom are firm enough to flip.  Flip the egg and cook on the second side for a few seconds to set the whites while retaining a soft yolk.

Using the flipper, move the egg from the pan to the top of the rice-lentil mixture.

Enjoy.

(To make this recipe using white rice: use 1 cup of basmati rice and 2 cups of water, and cook using the same method.  White rice does not need as much time to steam, so once the water cooks off and you are left with the hole-dotted surface, cover and steam on lowest heat for 15 minutes.  Remove from the heat but keep covered for another 5 minutes.)

©2012  Jane A. Ward

Then, on a couple of days each week, I try to convey my love for cooking and eating (and why I think it matters) to you.  For as much as I love to cook and eat with my family, nothing makes me happier than the thought of countless others cooking a favorite dish and then sitting down to share the meal with their own family or friends after a long, hard day.

We have plenty of people in our communities, though, who put in long, hard days – working for low wages, perhaps, or fighting illness, or looking to get re-employed after a lay off –  and can’t quite close the gap between what they earn and the bills they must pay.  These neighbors of ours often rely on the extra bags of groceries assembled by local food pantries and hot meals served in area soup kitchens to get them by.

Several weeks ago I wrote about the history of bread, the historical importance of bread in feeding a hungry population, and about a workhorse of a food pantry up here on the North Shore of Massachusetts.  I introduced you to Alyse Barbash, Executive Director of Peabody’s Haven From Hunger, who told me as we spoke that while the pantry offerings vary, bread remains constant:

I spent an hour yesterday morning visiting and talking with Alyse Barbash, Executive Director of Haven From Hunger, a large-scale community food pantry and soup kitchen serving three towns on the north shore of Massachusetts.  Alyse is the kind of person every food pantry wants as its head.  Bighearted but tough.  Empathetic but savvy.  Kind with a generous dose of sassy.  A creative problem-solver, she knows how to get things done.  She has to.  As Director, Alyse manages a fleet of volunteers, multiple food deliveries, and relationships with town officials and potential donors and regional food banks and farms and area restaurants.  And for four days during the week, her pantry opens at 10 am to lines waiting down the block for grocery pickup, and stays open through the dinner hour to serve many in the area a prepared hot meal.

Hunger brings people here; it’s the push that gets them through the door.  Alyse and staff feed them.  Inside the building on Wallis Street, long tables are lined with grocery bags pre-packed and full with meats and dairy products and dry goods.  Fresh greens and parsnips sit in self-selection bins.  There’s bread too, loaf after loaf of whole grain bread.

As she wrapped my tour of the facility, Alyse pointed to the table piled high with plastic sacks of sliced bread.  ”Food deliveries change, but we always have bread.  Lots and lots of it.”

Once wheat and other grains could be milled into flours, people became farmers instead of subsistence foragers.  They could live close to each other instead of roaming, they were certain of eating because of what they produced.  Communities grew and people thrived.  Around bread.  Because of bread.

For modern communities, I wrote, bread still matters.

As passionate as I am about having good food in my home, I am more passionate about making sure it is available to everyone around me.  Food matters.  Feeding hungry people matters.  Our communities are stronger when everyone helps a neighbor to eat.

Alyse Barbash lives and breathes this commitment to community.  Right now, Haven From Hunger rents space in a building owned by another organization, and HFH is only able to serve meals and hand out groceries 4 days a week with limited hours and limited function in the rented space.  The community has a need for more – more food, more space, more programming, more operating hours – and Alyse would like to do more.

The only place she can offer more of what is needed is in a building that the non-profit owns.

That’s why on Saturday February 4, I and three other likeminded authors will be participating in A Night with the Authors, a Capital Campaign Fundraiser for Haven From Hunger.

I would love for you to join me and bestselling, award-winning authors Gary Braver, Thomas H. Cook, and William Martin on the first Saturday in February as we help Peabody’s food pantry/soup kitchen raise money to build a permanent facility where they can expand their hours, food supply, and programming, thus feeding more hungry people on the North Shore.

Enjoy a panel discussion moderated by Gary Braver, author of Tunnel Vision, followed by fireside one-on-one chats with one of the four writers, a mystery book grab and much, much more fun and more than a few surprises, all to benefit Haven From Hunger’s Capital Campaign.

Here are the details:

• February 4, 2012 at 7 pm
• CoCo Key Hotel & Water Resort (formerly Crown Plaza Hotel), 50 Ferncroft Road, Danvers, MA
• Tickets start at $50
• Call Haven From Hunger for information and tickets at 978-531-1530
• Connect with Haven From Hunger on Facebook to learn more about what they do every day.

If you live close by, please come.  I’d love to see your faces in the audience, I’d love to talk to you one-on-one; I know the other authors would too.  You may even love meeting us right back.

And I bet you’ll really love knowing you can matter.

__________________________________________________________________________

Panel moderator Gary Braver teaches fiction writing and popular culture at Northeastern University in Boston.  He is the author of chillingly realistic suspense novels such as  Gray Matter, Skin Deep, and most recently, Tunnel Vision.

Thomas H. Cook writes memorable Gothic-style suspense novels that gradually reveal long-hidden truths and the evil that may exist beneath every ordinary surface.  He is the author of the Edgar Award-winning novel The Chatham School Affair, Red Leaves, and The Last Talk with Lola Faye.

William Martin’s books are considered the perfect mix of historical fiction and suspense.  The award-winning author of the Peter Fallon series of historical novels Back Bay, Harvard Yard, The Lost Constitution, and City of Dreams, Martin has been dubbed a “master story-teller” by the Seattle Post-Intelligencer.

Jane Ward is the author of Hunger and the New York and New England Book Festival award-winning novel The Mosaic Artist. A former baker and caterer, Jane now cooks on video for several Eagle-Tribune online newspapers and writes Food and Fiction, the blog you are currently reading.

Nathan Myhrvold’s Modernist Cuisine, a 6-volume set dedicated to the history and practice of the modern cooking techniques sometimes grouped together under the heading molecular gastronomy, is mind-blowing in its detail and scope.

Also called culinary physics and referred to as the art and science of cooking, modernist cooking employs tools and ingredients more often found in a lab than in a home kitchen: carbon dioxide, liquid nitrogen, natural gums, protein binders, centrifuges and immersion baths (known as sous vides), all of which chefs use to manipulate taste, aroma, texture and even structure of natural ingredients.  Myhrvold the one-time patent officer at Microsoft is completely at home with the scientific aspect of the trend, while Myhrvold the classically trained chef and barbecue master knows all things culinary.  What started out as a small book to help explain the concept of cooking by sous vide method ended up as a nearly 2,500 page, multi-volume tome on a much broader subject.

The set of books was released in March of 2011, not long after leading modernist chef Ferran Adria announced the closing of his famed restaurant, El Bulli (for most, the art and science of gastronomy mecca) to form an education center in its place, and in the midst of a series of public lectures about science and cooking held at Harvard University that hosted such leaders in the movement as Grant Achatz, Wylie Dufresne, Adria, and even Myhrvold himself.  No matter what you might think of bringing such hardcore science into the kitchen or the likelihood that you might find yourself cooking this way at home, modernist cuisine is firmly established.  Not a cookbook as much as it is an encyclopedia, the set at $625 is pricey.  But it’s also beautiful and thorough, thus far the definitive writing on the subject, pleasing both cook and food historian alike.

Ferran Adria himself released a cookbook in 2011, but not the one many might have expected from him.  Rather than publish some of the recipes that helped put El Bulli on the culinary map, Adria pulled together a collection of recipes served behind the scenes at the restaurant, at what is often called the family meal – the food shared by the restaurant staff before a shift.

Unlike some of the tenets behind modernist cuisine, the concept of The Family Meal is very familiar to a home cook, and you might easily use selections from  the book in your own family meals.  One recipe calls for a foamed yogurt requiring a soda siphon’s CO2 cartridge, but otherwise no gels, gums, or special equipment are necessary.  The menus are stunningly casual; in fact a potato salad recipe calls for the addition of sausage of the frankfurter variety.  When is the last time you have seen a hot dog in any ingredient list contained in a famous chef’s cookbook?

If you are curious about what Ferran Adria eats when he isn’t being Ferran Adria modernist cuisine guru, then this book of three-course homestyle dinners will interest you.  The layout is shopper and home cook friendly: ingredient lists are compiled for you and foods are grouped in photos according to the recipe they belong to.  There are a lot of how-to photos at every step of the cooking process as well, so you can’t really make a mistake in technique as you work through a recipe.  This isn’t perhaps a book for a cook who welcomes challenges or is hoping to get a glimpse into the secrets of El Bulli’s master.  Think of it instead as the chef’s personal comfort food cookbook and you won’t be disappointed, but I recommend borrowing it from the library before purchasing.

Not too far behind Modernist Cuisine in page count is the 1, 450-page single volume cookbook called The Silver Spoon.  Resembling my old red Merriam Webster’s Dictionary in shape and heft and even page tabbing, the cookbook is translated into English from the original Il cucchiaio d’argento – think The Joy of Cooking or the Fannie Farmer for Italian home cooks.

Not many world cuisines are as region specific as Italian cooking.  The Silver Spoon, while not a compendium of regions and their recipes, manages to include a good cross section of dishes from all over the country.  At the same time it gives the reader and cook a broad overview of the types of dishes found across Italy, the book also conveys the unifying esthetic among all these regions: the Italian cook’s respect for and proper treatment of ingredients and dining in general.

Chapters are arranged by course, dishes within each course are grouped by like ingredients, the sections are color-coded so you can see with a glance at the outer edges of the pages where you need to look for pasta, meat, fish, etc.  The egg, pasta, and vegetable chapters are standouts.  If you are vegetarian or leaning that way, you could probably make a different meatless dish every night of the year using these three chapters alone.  Not only will you learn how to use lettuce in preparations other than salad, there are multiple recipes for lesser known vegetables such as salsify, cardoons, and samphire.

I have a few issues with the book, as gorgeous and well thought out as it is.  This new edition with its completely new section of Italian-American chef recipes, has a number of errors in its indexing.  I have heard anecdotally that some of the translated measurements are not that accurate, which will be a problem for those cooks attempting the baked goods.

But after a good test run with the library’s copy, I bought my own copy anyway.  I can live with both the index problems and not using it for baking.  The breadth of the vegetable recipes won me over; I can’t wait to try the gratin of Belgian endive as I learn to cook more like an Italian.

I had all of the ingredients necessary to make one of the book’s nine cauliflower recipes, so I tried the preparation last night.  Super simple but full of flavor, the dish – served at room temperature or cold – makes a good replacement for a green salad at the dinner table at this time of year when lettuce greens taste tired but cauliflower’s cabbagey robustness is still at peak.  I ate the dish, Cauliflower with Red Pepper, as a side dish, but it could easily be tossed with a long pasta like fettuccine, adding capers and even toasted bread crumbs, for a hearty and satisfying main course.

• 1 large head cauliflower, or two small heads of two different colors of cauliflower (such as white and green)
• juice of 1 lemon strained
• finely grated rind of 1 lemon
• 6 Tbsp. olive oil
• 1 red pepper from a jar of peppers in brine, drained and finely chopped
• pinch of chili powder (I used chipotle)
• pinch of dried oregano
• 1 garlic clove, chopped
• salt & pepper to taste

Break the cauliflower into florets that are about bite size, maybe just slightly larger.

Place these in a steamer basket set over boiling salted water, and steam for about 5 minutes or until crisp-tender.  A fork inserted to test should meet a bit of resistance, but not too much.

As the cauliflower is steaming, prep the ingredients to make the dressing.

Place the lemon juice, rind, olive oil, red pepper, chili powder, oregano and chopped garlic clove into the bowl of a food processor fitted with metal blade.  Pulse two or three times just to blend.  The peppers should remain in a small dice, and not get pureed, but the oil and lemon juice will emulsify.  Alternately you may simply whisk the ingredients together well in a bowl.  Salt and pepper the dressing to taste.

Remove the steamed cauliflower in its basket from the steam bath.  Drain.  Place the warm vegetable in a serving dish and dress immediately with the dressing.

Allow this to sit and absorb for one hour in a cool place.  My house was cool enough to finish this step on the counter yesterday; on a warmer day, the refrigerator is a good alternative.

After 1 hour, the cauliflower will have absorbed a lot of flavor.  Give cauliflower and dressing a thorough toss together and serve.

©2012  Jane A. Ward

Whatever the new leg was made of, neither the amputation nor the prosthetic hampered him much.  As I remember, he rarely sat in class.  Step-drag, step-drag, he often limped up and down the rows of desks and chairs – his suit jacket unbuttoned and flapping as he progressed – all the while quizzing us or checking our work or enlisting us in a mandatory end-of-the-day singalong.  Every day Mr. Stanton would lower the record player’s needle onto a vinyl record and for the last 15 minutes of class we sang with him leading us in a booming tenor voice.  Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho, My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean, Daisy – we belted out those songs and more, and as we did, shy students got a voice, domineering students felt a little less secure, and people who otherwise weren’t friends found one thing in common: singing.

As memorable as all this was – the wooden leg, the baggy suit coat, the great equalizing effect of music – Mr. Stanton is on my mind now because of something he once said that I had a reason to remember just recently.

“Some of you,” he said, “are natural learners.  The work, the right answers come easily to you.

“Others have to plug away.  The work doesn’t come easily, you may make mistakes. But if you keep plugging away despite the mistakes, you will have learned a great deal.”

Well, I made a huge mistake while preparing our Christmas dessert on the Saturday before the holiday Sunday.  And I made the mistake while doing something I’ve warned readers not to do several times in this very blog.  I didn’t follow my own advice, which was probably the dumbest mistake I could make, and one that led to wasting a lot of good ingredients and my time.  Shaming.

But only briefly.

It was only dessert, I told myself after a short period of grieving the results of my stupid, stupid errors.  I also reminded myself that I had time to make another dessert on Christmas Day, and so I did.  A different, better, edible one.  My daughter wandered into the kitchen as I was well into the second effort.  She asked what I was up to and I told her everything that had happened.

“You,” she said when I finished explaining, “are indefatigable.”  She said it two more times.

Sometimes I am, I thought to myself as she left the room.  Indefatigable in dessert, in work, in life, willing to keep going even if the custard doesn’t set or someone rejects a piece of writing or my character or psyche needs a bit of work.

In this new year, I wish you all to be happy and healthy.  I also wish for you to try and fail and try again tirelessly as you reach for the best in everything you do.

Falafel, Not Hamburgers

My son has been clamoring for homemade hamburgers since arriving home for his winter break.  For the burgers we use really good ground beef from Tendercrop Farm, and I’m usually as big a fan of these as everyone else here at home.  But not this week, not after we spent a couple of days polishing off an equally fine quality tenderloin roast from Butcher Boy in North Andover.

The family had burgers; I had chickpea fritters, aka falafel, made flavorful with cumin, cilantro, chives, and lots and lots of fresh garlic.

Crispy outside, creamy smooth inside, the spice tamed by tangy yogurt sauce, give these patties a try when you crave a substitute for meat.

For the patties:

• (1) 15 ounce can of chickpeas (garbanzos) drained (or about 1 1/2 cups cooked chickpeas, if used dried beans)
• 1 1/2 Tbsp. flour
• 2 Tbsp. cilantro leaves, chopped
• 2 Tbsp. roughly chopped chives
• 1 tsp. ground cumin
• 1 large egg, beaten
• olive oil

For the sauce:

• 1/2 cup plain Greek yoghurt
• 2 Tbsp. cilantro, chopped
• 2 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed
• 2 tsp. lemon juice
• 1/4 tsp. cayenne pepper, or to taste

• oil for frying
• salt and pepper
• pita bread, tomato, lettuce for serving

Make the yoghurt sauce first.  Combine the yoghurt, cilantro, garlic cloves, lemon juice and cayenne pepper in the bowl of a food processor fitted with a metal blade, or in the glass jar of a blender.  Mix well to chop the vegetables and blend with the yoghurt.  Taste and salt and pepper the sauce as needed.  Set aside to chill.

Clean the food processor or blender.  Add to the work bowl fitted with blade the chickpeas, flour, cilantro, chives, cumin and egg.

Process to blend well.  Drizzle in a few drops of olive oil if the mixture looks dry or stiff.

Heat either vegetable or olive oil in a large skillet over medium high heat until very hot but not smoking.  Form small patties with the chickpea mixture using either a small scoop or tablespoon.

Flatten balls slightly into patties.  Slide these gently into the hot oil, six patties at a time, and fry until golden on both sides.  The recipe makes about 12 in all.

To serve, place two or three patties into a pita.  Add lettuce, tomato and yoghurt sauce to taste, and enjoy.

©2011  Jane A. Ward

An unripened persimmon will perform a quietly stealthy and unpleasant assault on one’s mouth.  Slice one up, take a bite, and you will be sorry you did.  The tannins, in the Hachiya type in particular, will immediately turn your tongue to fur.  There’s no juicy sweetness, none at all.  You’ll believe you were duped by the promise of something exotic, seduced by the flame color and gloss of them, left to conclude the persimmon is all show, no delicious substance.

But bring them home and wait a few days and the persimmon can become a different fruit altogether.  Let the warm sunshine do its work.  Or if there is none in a gray December, stick the firm persimmons in a paper bag and crimp the top closed, as if you were packing a lunch.  The ethylene gas that is given off by ripening fruit will collect in the bag, hover around the persimmon rather than dissipate, and speed the entire ripening process along.

A ripe persimmon will develop a few brown spots on its otherwise clear skin.  Its flesh will yield to a gentle squeeze.  When you hold it in the palm of your hand it will feel weighty and a bit pliable.  Best of all, when you taste a slice of it, its astringency will have taken a back seat to the sweetness.  Now, only now, is the persimmon ready to eat, skin and all.

The persimmon is an Asian fruit that was introduced to the US, and here we see two main types, the Hachiya and the Fuyu.  The Fuyu is smaller and squat, something like a tomato in shape; the Hachiya is larger and elongated, tapering to a point at its end.  For eating out of hand, the Fuyu will be less aggressively astringent.  Treat it like a mango or papaya, using slices in a salad or salsa.  Fold the puree into yoghurt or whipped cream and spoon this into footed dessert glasses for a simple (but also elegant) dessert: the fruit fool.

When cooking or baking with a persimmon, choose the larger, meatier Hachiya.

I have kept a recipe for steamed persimmon pudding (an all-American version of British Christmas pudding, substituting persimmon puree for all the brandy and/or rum soaked dried raisins and currants) in my recipe collection for years, never using it until now.  I cut it out of a food magazine, a very old Gourmet magazine, and it has been waiting patiently in a file in my large box for these two ripe persimmons.  What perfect timing.

Steamed Persimmon Pudding with Brandy Hard Sauce

Before you get started with the steamed pudding, you’ll need either a 1- or 1 1/2-quart pudding mold with a tube in the center.

It’s also helpful if the mold has a lid that clamps over the top to seal.  If you don’t have a mold, a small coffee can will work just as well.  Foil secured over the top with kitchen string, as described below, makes a fine lid.  The pudding in the coffee can may need to steam a bit longer.  Test after the two hours just as you would a cake – with a tester inserted in the center of the pudding.  It should come out clean.  If not, re-wrap with foil and steam a bit longer.

You will also need a rack to place inside the deep pot of hot water so the pudding mold doesn’t make direct contact with bottom of the sauce pan.  This can be a small round rack, a steamer basket, or (as I used) the wire insert from a hot water bath canner.

• 2 ripe Hachiya unpeeled persimmons, stem end removed, halved and seeded
• 2 Tbsp. unsalted butter, softened
• ¾ cup sugar
• 1 large egg
• 1 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
• 2 tsp. baking soda
• 2 Tbsp. chopped crystallized ginger
• ¼ tsp. powdered ginger
• ¼ tsp. cinnamon
• generous pinch of salt
• ½ cup milk

Prepare a steamed pudding mold with lid, or alternately a metal coffee can, by buttering well or spraying completely with non-stick spray.  Set aside.

Fit a large stockpot with a rack.  Fill the pot with enough water to come about two-thirds of the way up the sides of the pudding mold when it is resting on the rack during the steaming process (you may wish to measure the water level before preparing the mold).  Start heating the water in the stockpot to reach a boil as you begin to prepare the batter for the pudding.

Cut the persimmon halves in quarters and cut these quarters into smaller chunks.  Place the pieces into a food processor fitted with a metal blade and puree.  (Persimmons are full of pectin and the puree will be very gelatinous.)  Set aside.

In a small bowl, combine the flour, baking soda, crystallized ginger, powdered ginger, cinnamon and salt.  Whisk these together to evenly distribute the ingredients.  Set aside.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, blend the butter with the sugar until well blended.  Add the egg and incorporate well.  Beat batter until smooth.

Add the persimmon puree to the batter and mix well.  Add the dry ingredients to the wet batter and blend just to combine.  Add the milk and blend the batter just until it is thoroughly combined.  Turn the batter into the prepared pudding mold.

Attach the lid and seal it.  (Alternately, if using a coffee can or mold without a lid, wrap the top well with a double layer of foil, and tie this to the top using kitchen string.)

If the water is boiling in the stockpot, carefully place the covered mold onto the rack inside the pot.  Cover the stockpot with its lid and reduce the heat to maintain a steady gentle simmer in the pot.  Steam the pudding over this steady, moderate heat for two hours.

After two hours, carefully remove the mold from the steam bath and place it on a cooling rack.  Remove the lid or foil over and cool for 15 minutes.  After 15 minutes, invert the pudding onto a serving plate.

Serve warm, cut in slices, with Brandy Hard Sauce.

Brandy Hard Sauce

1 1/2 cups powdered sugar

1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

2 tablespoons brandy

Combine all ingredients in small bowl and blend well by hand or with a hand mixer. The sauce, which is really like a thin buttercream icing, can be made ahead and refrigerated until ready to serve.  Bring to room temperature before serving with the steamed pudding.

©2011  Jane A. Ward

Holiday Brunch 2011

Menu

Eggs in Purgatory

Baked Lemon-Raspberry French Toast

Leek & Celeriac Soup with Sour Cream, Chives, Pancetta Garnishes

Molasses Cured Salmon, Bagels, Cream Cheese, Capers, Chopped Red Onion

Arugula Salad with Fennel & Pink Grapefruit, Buttermilk-Parmesan Dressing

Fresh Pineapple, Greek Yoghurt, Wildflower Honey with Mixed Nuts

Morning Glory Muffins

*     *     *

Honey & Nut Tart

Flourless Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Cream

Coffee

Merry Christmas, Everyone! 

eggs awaiting their fate in purgatory

"purgatory" is a spicy mix of tomatoes, artichoke hearts, capers and red pepper flakes

eggs also played a role in baked lemon-raspberry french toast

our youngest guest said the finished dish tasted like ice cream, high praise, indeed!

salmon home-cured in molasses, soy sauce, and spices, then thinly sliced

a favorite, most refreshing salad

sweet, tart, crunchy with nuts

a sweet tart, crunchy with nuts

chocolate souffle cake, chocolate whipped cream, milk chocolate curls

kitchen table doubles as bar, resting place for chilled cava and prosecco

glasses for the specialty cocktails are ready

Chocolate Souffle Cake with Chocolate Whipped Cream

Here’s how to make that show stopper of a cake.  Believe it or not, it is super easy – another no fuss but absolutely delicious offering from Nigella Lawson, the domestic goddess with a treasure trove of recipes for simple but full-flavored foods.   Originally printed in the New York Times in 2003 as Easter Egg Nest Cake (Nigella rested tiny chocolate robin’s eggs in the soft billows of chocolate whipped cream that tops the cake for the spring holiday), the rich chocolate confection is equally at home at a winter holiday meal.  Simply top it with chocolate curls instead, as I did by shaving slivers off a bar of milk chocolate with a potato peeler.  You could also opt to leave the chocolate whipped cream alone, or give the top a dusting of snowy powdered sugar.

• 8 Tbsp. unsalted butter, softened
• 8 ounces dark chocolate, melted (I’ve used anything between 60% and 72% successfully)
• 6 large eggs: 2 whole, 4 separated
• 1/2 cup plus 1/3 cup granulated sugar
• 2 tsp. vanilla extract, divided use
• 1 cup heavy cream
• 4 ounces dark chocolate (see note above), melted and cooled
• chocolate curls, if desired

Heat the oven to 350 degrees.  Line the bottom of a 9-inch springform pan with a circle of parchment.  Set aside.

For the cake, stir the soft butter into the warm melted chocolate.  It will melt and combine.  Let cool.

Beat the 4 egg whites at high speed until foamy.  Gradually add 1/2 cup sugar to these and continue to beat just until the eggs whites begin to form glossy stiff peaks.  Do not overbeat.  Set aside.

In another larger bowl, whisk the 2 whole eggs and 4 egg yolks with the remaining 1/3 cup of sugar and 1 tsp. of vanilla until combined.  You can do this by hand or using a hand held mixer.  Fold in the cooled chocolate-butter mixture and stir to blend.

In three additions, fold the egg whites into the chocolate mixture by hand.

Fold gently but until all the whites have been incorporated.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until cake rises, cracks a bit on the top, and the center is no longer wobbly.

When done, remove pan to a wire rack and let the cake cool completely in the pan.  The cake will fall and the top and upper sides will crack and collapse.  This is normal.  See below for the stages of cooling.

When the cake is completely cooled, remove the outer ring of the springfom pan and set the cake on a serving plate.

To make the whipped cream, melt the chocolate and let it cool as much as possible without it re-setting and hardening. Whip the cream with 1 tsp. of the vanilla until firm but not stiff.  Fold the melted chocolate into the cream.  The cream and chocolate won’t blend completely smooth; the chocolate will form fine chocolate flakes in places, as in stracciatella (fine chocolate chip) ice cream.

Spoon the chocolate cream onto the top of the cake and top with chocolate curls for garnish.

photos ©2011  Jane A. Ward

Until then, I have one more holiday cookie recipe to share with you.

On Wednesday, while I was separating eggs for a Chocolate Souffle Cake, I thought of a pretty meringue-style cookie I spotted in the holiday issue of Food and Wine while I was riding the train down to New York.  The recipe, Chocolate-Hazelnut Clouds with Cocoa Nibs, called for beaten egg whites, something I was already working with to make the chocolate cake.   It seemed a perfect time to beat a few more whites into meringue and test out the “clouds.”  Except I had no cocoa nibs, an ingredient which, the magazine promised, would add crunch to an otherwise light and puffy cookie.

I did, however, have toffee bits, another crunchy ingredient.  I thought these might substitute, making a different but still delicious cookie.  Once the cake was out of the oven and cooling, I began tweaking the recipe, adding some ingredients and omitting others, then crossed my fingers, and gave my take on the recipe a try.

In flavor and texture, there’s a lot going on in these cookies: at first bite, as light and airy as promised, but then the delicate outer shell yields to a crunch of toasted hazelnuts and toffee before finishing with a slightly sticky nougat-like center.  Then somehow all these different textures just melt away in your mouth.  With this cookie, you’ll amaze and delight the people you bake for, always fun and satisfying for a baker.  I think surprise is a wonderful element in a cookie.

Nougat Meringue Cookies

• 1/4 cup hazelnuts
• 1 Tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder
• 2 tsp. cornstarch
• 2 Tbsp. toffee bits (without chocolate)
• 2 Tbsp. semisweet chocolate chips
• 3 large egg whites
• 1/8 tsp. cream of tartar
• 1/8 tsp. salt
• 3/4 cup sugar
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla

First toast the whole hazelnuts on a baking sheet in a 350 degree oven for 10 – 15 minutes.  Wrap the hot hazelnuts in a kitchen towel and rub them together to remove most of the skins.  Let the nuts cool and then chop them coarsely using a rotary nut chopper, or a knife if you don’t have a chopper.

Next, using the same rotary nut chopper, coarsely chop the semisweet chips.  Set aside.

Reduce the oven heat to 300 degrees.  Adjust the oven racks to the upper and lower thirds of the oven.  Line 2 baking sheets with parchment and set aside.

Stir together in a small bowl the cocoa, cornstarch, chopped chocolate and toffee bits.  Set aside.

In a medium size bowl, beat the egg whites together with the cream of tartar and salt using an electric mixer.  Beat until soft peaks form.  Add the sugar to the egg whites very gradually and then beat until the egg whites form stiff and glossy peaks.  Beat in the vanilla.

Fold the nut mixture into the egg whites gently.

There will be some white streaks in the batter, don’t combine thoroughly.

Use a small ice cream scoop and scoop level mounds onto the prepared baking sheets, 12 mounds per sheet.

You should get about 23 or 24 cookies total.

Place the sheets in the preheated oven.  Bake for about 15 minutes then shift the racks, moving the one in the top third to the lower third, and the lower to the upper.  Bake for another 15 minutes.

Cookies should take about 30 minutes total.  The outside will feel like a crisp shell and feel firm when tapped.

When done, transfer the baking sheets to two cooling racks.  Cool the cookies completely before removing and serving.  Store in a dry container.

©2011  Jane A. Ward