Slices of Quince

"They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon..."
                                      -Edward Lear, "The Owl and the Pussycat"

 I don't have any runcible spoons, which until now has been a non-issue because I've never had quince either. This is probably because I don't live in Roman times, when lovers were said to give each other quince as a pledge of fidelity.  Or perhaps it's because quince is a little high-maintenance: it needs to be sweetened before it can be eaten, since the raw fruit is sour.  Most likely, though, it's because my trusty food magazine has never run an article on it before, tempting me to try it.


I let the fruit sit for a few days in the fruit bowl to let it ripen a bit more, and noticed that the fruit gives off a very sweet scent, which reminded me of the bubble bath my mother used to put in the water when I was little.  I doubt it was intentionally quince-scented, but you never can tell...

 I precooked the quince slices in water with some agave syrup and cinnamon for about 10 minutes.  This softened and sweetened them, making them perfect for the winter crisp recipe I found in a random stack of recipes culled from godknowswhere.  I added a little more agave to the baking dish, tossed in the slices with a few spoonfuls of the cooking water, and topped it with an oat mixture. 


Now all I need is a Roman lover.


Quince Crisp
*note: I cut this recipe in half, since I used only 2 quince. 

Filling:
1/2 C sugar (use less if you toss the slices in agave)
3 TBSP all-purpose flour
5 C quince, sliced (leave peel on)
up to 1/4 C reserved cooking water


Topping:
3/4 C rolled oats
1/3 C brown sugar
1/4 C whole-wheat flour
2 TBSP gr. cinnamon
1 tsp gr. allspice
1/2 tsp gr. ginger 
2-3 TBSP butter, melted

1.  Preheat oven to 375 degrees.

2. Combine filling ingredients, mixing well to coat.  Spoon into 6-cup baking dish, and add enough cooking liquid to keep the fruit moist and a little syrup-y but not soggy.
3. In a small bowl, combine dry topping ingredients and mix well.  Add melted butter, one tablespoon at a time, until mixture is coated and forms small lumps. 
4. Sprinkle topping over filling, and bake for 16-20 minutes, or until filling is bubbly and top is nicely browned.

Turning into a Pumpkin

When I was little, I ate Swiss cheese like it was going out of style. My parents used to tell me I'd turn into Swiss cheese if I ate any more.  That didn't happen.  However, I did become lactose intolerant at adulthood, which was probably Swiss cheese's sweet revenge.

This fall, I am eating and reading about pumpkin like it's going out of style (and yes Dad, I know that's a grammatical faux pas but saying "as though it were going out of style" is just so awkward).  This weekend I came across recipes for pumpkin cake, pumpkin bread, pumpkin pudding (which turned out to be more like pumpkin frittata), pumpkin cornbread, and even pumpkin lasagne. That last one sounds a little sketchy to me.  But no matter-- there are plenty of delicious pumpkin recipes to satisfy my pumpkin-eating soul, such as the Maple Pumpkin Spice Bread I made on Sunday.

Little Orphan Annie and her trusty dog Sandy (also handmade)

Halloween has always been my favorite holiday.  My mother insisted this was the influence of my Celtic heritage. It could just as easily have been the combination of my birthday 2 weeks before, the handmade costumes my mother always made for me,
 the smell of singed pumpkin flesh permeating the air, and THE CANDY.  As anyone who has come within 50 yards of me knows, I am drawn magnetically to anything with sugar. Either way, I get all pumpkined out around Halloween: my friend Christy sends me pumpkin-themed gifts from all over the world, I stock up on canned organic pumpkin at Trader Joe's, and giant pumpkins appear out of nowhere.

While I am sad that I no longer get to trick-or-treat*, I am happy to have discovered how versatile my beloved pumpkins really are.  I roast them and throw them in a pan with a little sausage or bacon and some greens. I bake sweets with them.  I make smoothies with them.  I feed them to my cats.  Yeah, virtually all cats love pumpkin.  Evolutionarily speaking, though, what are the chances of a big cat encountering, let alone cracking open and eating, a pumpkin?

*One of many trick-or-treat memories is me coming home with my little plastic pumpkin filled with candy, and my older brother coming home with a friggin' pillowcase full of candy.  He made sure to point out how much more candy he got.  A day or two later, I figured out his secret candy hiding place.  After that, our piles were even-steven.

Maple Pumpkin Spice Bread

adapted from Vegetarian Times, November 2009

*While the recipe calls for a cup of maple syrup, I used agave syrup with a tablespoon or two of evaporated can juice instead.  It's less than half the price of maple syrup, and agave is low on the glycemic index.

1 C whole wheat flour

1 C all-purpose flour

1 TBSP gr. cinnamon

2 tsp gr. ginger

1/2 tsp gr. allspice

1/2 tsp gr. nutmeg (I used less than 1/4 tsp)

1 1/2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp baking soda

1 C maple or agave syrup

1 C pumpkin puree

1/2 C canola oil

2 eggs

1/2 C chopped hazelnuts

1 tsp vanilla extract

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Coat a 9x5 loaf pan with cooking spray. 

2. Whisk together flours, spices, baking soda, and baking powder in a large bowl.

3. Whisk together syrup and oil in a separate bowl. Whisk in eggs, and then pumpkin and vanilla.  Stir flour mixture into pumpkin mixture with a spatula, mixing only until combined.  Add hazelnuts. 

4. Pour into prepared pan and bake for 40-50** minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean. Cool on rack 5-10 minutes, and then remove from pan to cool completely. 

5. Slice and top with a little bit of pumpkin cream cheese from Trader Joe's.  Wait, that's not in the recipe...

** My oven is temperamental and I usually have to bake desserts for less than the recommended time, at a slightly lower temperature than indicated.  However, this bread needed extra time in the oven, and the very edge got a little black.  It has not affected the flavor, but know that
it will be important to check the center with a toothpick regularly.
I  made a few muffins with this batter, since my pan is smaller than 9x5, which could also affect baking time.

Not burned. And a cute muffin to boot.

I heart Trader Joe's.

Sausage and Peppers

My dad used to talk of opening a sausage and pepper stand.  He'd make his fortune that way, selling only one thing, cooked and flavored to perfection.  No fancy packaging necessary, no exotic ingredients needed.  Just really good food.


My parents always made sausage and peppers to be eaten in a roll: they left the sausages whole, and added layers of sauteed onions and green bell peppers.  My critique of this presentation was that the sausages would slide across the roll and splurt out one end or another, usually to land in my lap by way of the front of my shirt.

Several grease stains and many years later, I had dinner at my cousin's house before going to a show, and she told me over the phone she'd make me a little sausage and peppers.  She served it to me in a bowl, with clear evidence of TOMATOES in the dish, and no roll in sight.  I felt sorry for her, not knowing how to make sausage and peppers and all.

As I ate the bite-sized pieces out of the bowl, I secretly enjoyed the flavors and textures, with the tomato adding a pleasant acidic balance to the dish.  I think we ate a little sourdough bread with the meal, using it to dip up the juices at the bottom of the bowl.  By the end of the night, my shirt was still stain-free.  I've been hooked on her method ever since. 

I discovered cute, funky-shaped sweet peppers at the farmer's markets in Los Angeles, and prefer to make sausage and peppers with them, though I'm probably being my usual food snob self there.  My favorites are the purple and pale yellow ones I find sometimes; this weekend I bought a small green, an even smaller yellow, and a long reddish-yellow one, along with a few varieties of heirloom tomatoes from the same farmer.  I bought a couple of sweet Italian sausages at-- where else?-- Berkeley Bowl, and served this with a seeded Semifreddi's baguette.  I don't use any cheese these days, but note that this dish, be it in a bowl or on a roll, is delicious with a very light sprinkling of grated Pecorino-Romano or Parmegiano.

Sorry, Dad.

Sausage & Peppers
Serves 2

adapted from Several Members of the DiStasi Family

2 sweet Italian sausages, sliced into bite-sized pieces

1 cup bell peppers, cut into thumb-sized strips

1/2 cup tomato, cut into chunks

1/2 medium onion, sliced

1 clove garlic

salt, pepper, and maybe a little oregano

1. Saute onion and garlic in a little olive or canola oil over medium heat for 2-3 minutes.  Add sliced peppers and saute another 3-4 minutes, until shiny and beginning to soften. I add my salt, pepper, and oregano here but "real" cooks add it at the end.

2. Add sausage pieces. Continue to saute until sausage is nearly done, about 8-10 minutes.  Peppers and onions should become soft but not mushy.

3. Add tomatoes and cook another 2 minutes, or until tomato pieces have softened and released some liquid but haven't disintegrated.  Sausage should be fully cooked by now.

4. Serve in bowls with warmed baguette, and sprinkle with grated cheese, if desired.

A Rose by Any Other Name

 

I've laughed out loud in the produce section lately. While Berkeley is filled with people who talk to themselves or laugh at silent, invisible jokes, I had rather hoped I wouldn't be one of them.  Anyway, it seems funny food names favor fruits disproportionately.  Obviously, vegetable growers lack a sense of humor. 

Recently I've eaten foods called:

-'Hippy Zebra' (a green striped tomato)

-'Beef Master' (only a man would come up with this)

-'Jolly' (I pop these in my mouth whole.  Is that piggish?  So?)

-'Mortgage Lifter' (who cares what they look like? I'm buying these by the truckful)

-'Torpedo' (a red onion in the shape of... a torpedo)

-'Elephant Heart' (a blood-red plum with an odd shape)

-'October Sun' (I'm totally biased here)

-'Ruby Velvet'(aptly named, but plum people clearly have too much time on their hands)

-'Emerald Beaut' (sic) (ditto)

-easter egg radishes (red, pink, purple and white all in one bunch)

-lemon cucumbers (these are the cutest cucumbers EVER invented)

-rainbow chard (I wish the color didn't fade when I cook it)

-dinosaur kale (you can't NOT eat this stuff!)

I've probably fallen for the oldest marketing trick in the book-- make the product sound enticing and people will buy it.  But hey, I'd rather buy 'Elephant Heart' plums than 'Red Misshapen' ones.

Localvore

About a month ago, a friend handed me a bag with 4 unripe avocados in it.  I had no idea what I was supposed to do with them.  We were going to Santa Cruz with her family, so I wondered if I would be forced to eat hard green avocados on the beach, Filipina-style.  I doubt that's really Filipina-style, but whatever.

It turns out they were from one of the avocado trees in her backyard, which her husband planted and tends lovingly.  I waited patiently for the avocados to ripen, and gave one to my dad since I knew a) he'd like it; b) all four would ripen at once and I'd be avocadoed out. I put one in a bag to speed it along, but heeded the advice of my friend's husband: "If you think it's ready, wait one more day."  When it was finally ripe-plus-one-day, I cut open the freshest, perfectest, most deliciousest avocado I've ever had.

I stood in the kitchen, tasting small bites of the fruit, while trying to decide what to make with it.  I considered making guacamole, but figured that was just so expected.  I thought about adding it to burritos, but didn't feel like preparing all the ingredients.  I remembered the salads we had several nights a week with dinner when I was a kid, and how I'd always steal pieces of avocado off the top while my parents put the finishing touches on the rest of the meal.  But I wasn't really in the mood for salad this night.

By the time I contemplated and rejected several dinner options, I had only a quarter of an avocado left.  It was clear that there was only one thing left to do: polish off the rest!



Leilani and Gary, I can't wait for more avocados!

Oh, and it turns out that Filipina-style avocado eating involves cutting up the avocado and adding sugar and milk.  Hmmm...

Black Pepper and Sweet Potatoes

Yep, that's what I've put in cakes lately. 

You've probably seen the movie Chocolat with Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp (omigoditsreallyhimplayingtheguitarthatistotallyhotlovehim!), about a woman whose Maya ancestors passed on the tradition of chocolate-making and pepper-adding.  The book, by the way, ends with totally different characters falling in love.  Don't get me started on the-book-versus-the-movie.  Anyway, thanks to the movie, I knew about adding cayenne to hot chocolate, which, though it sounds vile, in fact heightens the flavor of the chocolate.  No seriously, it does.  I've tried it.  But what I hadn't thought of was adding pepper to chocolate baked goods, so when I came across this French Chocolate-Almond Cake recipe, I was intrigued.

It looks dense, but is incredibly light and melts in your mouth!  Well, practically. 

The pepper and cinnamon in this recipe are optional, according to the authors.  According to me, you can't pass up the opportunity to add black pepper to your chocolate cake and actually have it turn out well.  The first time I made this cake, I used pepper that had been sitting in my spice cabinet for way too long. I think I bought that container of pepper the last time I lived in Los Angeles.  That was what, 2005?  It was one of those Costco-sized containers. What was I thinking?  Who uses that much pepper?  Nevertheless, the cake came out perfectly, with just the right kick of pepper at the end.   For the second go-round, I decided to get a fresh supply of black pepper, which Berkeley Bowl sells in bulk.  Apparently, there is such a thing as too fresh.

My dad's old buddy, Gian (who knows EVERYTHING about food), reminded me of the cayenne-into-chocolate possibility, which he says the Spaniards do as well.  So I'm thinking that for the third go-round, I'm going to add mostly cayenne to the cake, and just a touch of too-fresh black pepper, since it was a bit strong in Cake Number Two.  I am quite certain that the particular heat of the cayenne will complement the airiness and perfect sweetness of the cake, without any of those elements being overpowering.

The same issue of Vegetarian Times that featured the Okinawa sweet potatoes had a recipe for a Chocolate-Sweet Potato Torte, which I made and which turned out well.  The two are variations of the same cake, though I prefer the pepper and cinnamon version, since those ingredients get a chance to shine, whereas the sweet potato just disappears.  Though come to think of it, that might be a good thing.



French Chocolate Almond Cake

(adapted from Moosewood Restaurant New Classics, which adapted it from Julia Child)

**Be sure to start with ALL ingredients at room temperature, including the eggs. 

1 tsp instant coffee granules

2 tbsp hot water  
(I use 2 TBSP espresso instead)                

4 oz bittersweet chocolate

1/3 c butter

1/2 c sugar

3 eggs, separated

1/3 c unbleached white flour
1/3 c finely ground almonds    
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1 tsp ground black pepper

1/4 tsp cream of tartar

a pinch of salt

2 tbsp granulated sugar

2 tbsp confectioners' sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Coat an 8-inch springform pan with cooking spray and dust lightly with flour.

Stir together coffee and water in a small saucepan or double boiler.  Add chocolate and stir on lowest heat until smooth and blended.   Remove from  heat and set aside.

Beat together butter and sugar with an electric mixer or whisk until light and creamy.  Add egg yolks one at a time, beating well after each addition.  Beat in reserved chocolate mixture.  Set aside.

In a separate bowl combine flour, almonds, and spices.  Set aside.

Whip egg whites (*see note below) in medium bowl until white and foamy.  Add the cream of tartar and salt, and whip until the whites form soft peaks when the beaters are lifted.  Add granulated sugar and continue to whip until whites are stiff and glossy.

Combine the mixtures: fold the flour mixture into the chocolate mixture alternately with the egg whites in two or three batches.  DO NOT OVERMIX!  The fluffiness of the egg whites are what make the cake melt-in-your-mouth-y. 

Pour batter into prepared pan.  Bake cake in center of oven for 20-25 minutes.  When done, the top will be slightly cracked, the center will be soft and slightly puffed, and a toothpick inserted about 2 inches from the edge will have a few crumbs adhere to it.  Cool on rack for 10 minutes. 

Dust lightly with confectioners' sugar and serve slightly warm or at room temperature.  

Two notes: 
1. Egg whites are finicky creatures.  If there is even a speck of yolk in them, they will not whip up properly.  Ditto for water, soap, chocolate, dryer lint, chicken grease, and tofu.
2. The cookbook actually says the secret to this cake's texture is a healthy amount of elbow grease while whipping the whites by hand with a whisk.  Who does THAT?

Okinawa

I have a thing for purple.  My bedroom was a soothing shade of lavender for years.  I own more than one pair of purple shoes.  Heck, I was even Violet Beauregard in the school play in third grade.  So when an article in Vegetarian Times (January 2010) featured varieties of sweet potato that included a purple one, I knew I had to have some.

It turns out these are not easy to come by.  I finally found them at Berkeley Bowl, selling for almost three times as much per pound as every other variety.  But, I reason, I buy less than a pound at a time and I NEVER waste them.  No, I devour them.  They are the sweetest sweet potato I've ever tasted. They tend to be a bit drier and starchier than other varieties, but that just means I add a little extra butter and milk. Truth be told, most of the time I don't bother to mash or butter.  I roast them in the pan with chicken, so they get lightly coated with the drippings, and become so sweet and tender that they practically melt in my mouth. 

Mashed, with skin on.

Add these Okinawa sweet potatoes to a laundry list of purple foods I've been eating lately.  Tomatoes.  Radishes.  Cherries.  Plums.  Bell peppers at the farmers' market when I lived in the Midwest.  Asparagus comes in purple too, but I was sorely disappointed to discover that it releases its color and turns green when steamed.  Ugh, what a waste.

Purple is so unexpected in the realm of food.  It feels somehow extra-special, powerful, surreal, as if any food that accumulates such an intense pigment has to be other-worldly and somehow magical.  Not sure I'll develop X-ray vision or superhuman strength any time soon, but I will have fun trying.