Stuffed Portabellos

Oh, rats. You know those people who put themselves down just so you will compliment them and make them feel better? They play a new song they wrote, but preface it by saying, "I don't really like it." Or they hand you a hard copy of a story they penned, and mutter, "It isn't very good." So of course, OF COURSE, you have no choice but to say something positive. "Well," you say about the song, "The hook is really cool." And for the story, "The character development is very intriguing," you enthuse in a reassuring fashion.

I am not one of those people. I swear.

The thing is though, I made this Portobello Mushroom Stuffed with Spinach and Goat Cheese recipe last night, and it was smashingly good. Lick your lips, steal a bite from your kid's plate, eat-more-than-you-should good. And I just couldn't WAIT to sidle on in here during Little Miss Piggy's nap today so that I could share it. But then I uploaded the photos from my camera, and, well, the picture looks a little disgusting. I mean, everything is all brown and white in the most unappealing fashion, and even after I typed the title directly above said disappointing photo, you still can't really tell what is depicted. So I almost just scrapped the whole thing, thinking I would post about chilaquiles instead, but no kidding, that mushroom recipe is too good to not share just because the photographer failed in her mission to make it look as yummy as it tastes.

So, please. Don't feel like you need to stroke my ego. I'm sure we can all agree that it isn't a very good photo, and I don't have a clue as to how to make it more palatable (nor do I have any more portabellos in the house to use as target practice), but I had to post it. Really, I had no choice. Because truly, if you look carefully at the aforementioned sad-looking picture, you will notice the height of the finished dish, and you have to admit, that is pretty impressive. Right?

Hi. My name is Sarah, and I am an apologist.

This recipe (sans photo, I might add) appeared in the January issue of Bon Appetit and I couldn't wait to try it. I have kind of a thing for mushrooms in the first place, but what really caught my eye about this particular one was the description in which the writer, who is not a vegetarian, makes note of it's appeal as a vegetarian entree. For obvious reasons, I was intrigued. Seven or eight years ago, I found a very simple recipe for a similar spinach-and-Fontina-stuffed-portabello, but even after countless tinkerings, The Carnivore and I finally agreed that it just wasn't that good. Fontina, as a whole, doesn't have very much flavor of it's own, and I was never able to come up with a proper marinade to flavor the mushroom. And then there was the small issue of The Carnivore feeling that the mushroom was trying too hard to pretend to be a piece of meat.

But this recipe used ample amounts of olive oil in the marinade, which, I'm a little embarassed to admit, is something that never occured to me, but which seemed a stroke of genius since that would clearly help the other flavors to better cling to the mushroom. And it was in Bon Appetit, giving it a little more authority, I felt, to reassure The Carnivore that it was worth a try. He looked a little skeptical when I announced the menu last night, but I pressed on. This recipe was going to be attempted, if for no other reason than I had planned it for earlier in the week, but had been flummoxed when, an hour before dinnertime, I actually read the recipe a little more carefully and noticed the minor detail in the instructions about marinating for four hours. I hate it when that happens.

[And to be honest, that happens much more often than it should. I try to read recipes in full the morning before I will be cooking them, to be sure I have everything on hand and that I have done any advance prep work, you know, in advance. You wouldn't believe how often though, at 5:00 in the afternoon, I discover I am missing a crucial ingredient or that I failed to soak the beans or something else equally obvious.]

With these mushrooms though, the end result was nothing short of spectacular. The filling, as I have already mentioned, achieved great height, making for a very majestic presentation, and the moist and tender texture of the mushroom provided a welcome foil to the ever-so-slight-crunch of the Parmesan topping. There was a bit of tartness from the goat cheese, which had turned silky during the cooking time, and a surprising balance of sweet and salty in the mushroom from the marinade. Most interesting though, was how hearty the dish was, so much so, in fact, that it may become one of my new favorite vegetarian entrees.

And The Carnivore? After he cleaned his plate, I caught him leaning against the oven, prying up fallen bits from the baking sheet. The true test of the universality of a vegetarian entree is whether or not a dyed-in-the-wool carnivorous type gets true enjoyment out of the dish, and this one passed with flying colors.

*****

PORTOBELLO MUSHROOMS STUFFED WITH SPINACH AND GOAT CHEESE (serves six, adapted from Bon Appetit and attributed to the Arizona restaurant Cucina Rustica)

Marinated Mushrooms

• 1 cup olive oil
• 1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
• 1/2 cup soy sauce
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• 1/4 tsp coarse kosher salt
• 1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
• 1/4 cup red wine
• pinch of dried thyme
• 6 large portobello mushrooms

Filling

• 10-oz package frozen spinach, thawed
• 1 pound button mushrooms
• 2 Tbs olive oil
• 1 cup chopped yellow onion
• 3 garlic cloves, minced
• 1/4 cup plus 6 Tbs finely grated Parmesan cheese
• 1/4 cup unseasoned dry breadcrumbs
• 5-oz soft fresh goat cheese, crumbled

1. Whisk first 8 ingredients (through thyme) in a medium bowl.
2. Cut stems from portobellos and set aside.
3. Arrange mushrooms, gill side up, in a large glass casserole dish.
4. Pour marinade over mushrooms, letting plenty of it pool up in the gills, and marinate for four hours.
5. Squeeze excess water from spinach and place spinach in a small bowl.
6. In two or three batches in a food processor, pulse the reserved portobello mushrooms with the button mushrooms until coarsely chopped.
7. Heat 2 Tbs oil in a heavy, large skillet over medium heat.
8. Add onion to skillet and saute, stirring frequently, until beginning to brown, about 3 minutes.
9. Add garlic and saute for 30 seconds, stirring.
10. Add chopped mushrooms and stems to skillet, sprinkle with salt, and increase heat to high. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 to 8 minutes, until liquid has almost completely evaporated.
11. Season mushroom mixture with salt and pepper and set aside to cool.
12. When mushrooms have cooled to about room temperature, add the spinach, 1/4 cup Parmesan, and breadcrumbs to the mushroom mixture and stir.
13. Fold in the goat cheese.
14. Remove the mushrooms from the marinade and place them on a rimmed baking sheet, gill side down.
15. Roast mushrooms at 400 degrees for about 15 minutes, until mushrooms are becoming tender.
16. Turn mushrooms over and divide filling among mushrooms.
17. Sprinkle 1 Tbs of remaining Parmesan over the top of each mushroom.
18. Bake for another 15 minutes.
19. Run under the broiler for 1 or 2 minutes, until Parmesan browns and crisps up.
20. Serve immediately.

Dark Chocolate Truffles

I'm finally getting into a rhythm with this new chocolate-on-a-daily-basis resolution. There were a few stumbles in the first couple of days, like the morning when I had trouble buttoning my pants (ahem) and the one day last week when I realized I wasn't really craving chocolate, but all in all, I still believe in the feasibility of this experiment. After all, doing an extra workout or two per week never hurt anyone, right? And besides, I have found the perfect solution to those moments in which I might not have chocolate on the brain. Truly, do 30 minutes of yoga and then eat a truffle. The state of calm that can be achieved in this manner is peerless.

There used to be a place downtown where The Carnivore and I would pop in occasionally to purchase a couple of truffles. We loved the little locally-owned candy store, where the truffles were made on site and the selection was of mind-boggling variety, so we were aghast when they closed down five years (or so) ago. See, I'm a little picky about my confections. While Godiva makes perfectly luscious little treats, I just don't get the same thrill from mass-market goods as I do from something handmade. And it was with no small amount of dismay that I discovered the new candy store in town buys their truffles from California and merely displays them, unboxed and on wax paper, behind glass as if they were made that morning.

Obviously, I knew that this, my Year of Daily Chocolate was going to involve learning some new recipes and I was looking forward to that aspect. And where I generally adore baking new brownie recipes and and making rich chocolate tarts, most of the time I would prefer something more simple. Some little bite-sized bit of heaven to go with my afternoon coffee. A taste and texture more interesting than a square from a bar of dark chocolate, but which doesn't include a long and arduous list of ingredients.

You know, like a truffle.

So I climbed up on the stepladder in the kitchen and started pulling down some cookbooks. Only once before had I attempted a truffle recipe and it was one from a leading and rather pedestrian women's magazine that, while easy enough to make, wasn't really anything to write home about. There was no hard outer coating and the truffle itself, while rich and creamy, was rolled in nuts and just seemed a little too fussy for my taste.

I have a tidy little stack of chocolate cookbooks and so I tagged a handful of truffle recipes in the indices. Each sounded incredible and well worth the work (and the cost of the ingredients) required, but it was in David Lebovitz' The Great Book of Chocolate that I stumbled across a recipe for Deep Dark Chocolate Truffles which used only a handful of ingredients, had both the creamy interior and the hard outer shell that I consider non-negotiable, and was billed as simple enough for any trained monkey (my words, not his).

I should mention that I really like David Lebovitz. He had a post on his blog a year or so ago in which he included detailed instructions for peeling a banana and I can't help but trust him implicitly now. Irreverance is a virtue in my book.

Anyhow.

I adapted his recipe slightly, making the truffles a little larger than he suggested (mainly because I'm a six-fingered slob when it comes to using a melon baller), skipping the cocoa powder coating (because I hate/loathe/abominate getting dust all over my lips - powdered doughnuts are obviously a deal-breaker for that reason), and substituting coffee liqueur for cognac.

There is time involved here. Not hands-on time, mind you, but there is dead time between steps for firming and chilling and all that nonsense, so no small amount of patience is required. This used to be just the kind of thing that drove me batty, but now that I have grown accustomed to interruptions (thanks be to The Boy Wonder and Little Miss Piggy), the waiting periods meshed nicely with all the other things I had going on last weekend when I was making these.

But enough about the little details, right? All that really matters is the final result and oh my stars, these were incomparable. The texture inside was spot-on, the hard outer shell was thin and cracked just perfectly when the truffle was bit into, the flavor was intense and complex and just barely sweet and I am deeply in love.

These are so superb, in fact, that I'm afraid to try any of the other recipes that I flagged. I just don't see how they could live up to this one.

*****

DEEP DARK CHOCOLATE TRUFFLES (adapted from The Great Book of Chocolate, makes 20 or so truffles)

• 3/4 cup heavy cream
• 14 to 16 ounces bittersweet chocolate (divided), chopped
• 2 tsps coffee liqueur

1. Bring the cream just to a boil in a small saucepan. Remove from heat and stir in 10 ounces of the chocolate, stirring until melted. Stir in the liqueur and let the mixture stand for at least two hours, or until firm enough that it will hold it's shape when rolled into balls.
2. Dip a melon baller into very warm water and scoop the chocolate mixture into 3/4 to 1-inch balls and set them on a plate. Once you have scooped all of the mixture, use your hands to roll the balls until perfectly round (or thereabouts). Rinsing your hands in warm water will help keep the chocolate from sticking to your palms and making a ginormous mess.
3. Place the chocolate balls in the refrigerator and chill completely.
4. Melt four ounces of the remaining chocolate in a heatproof bowl set over a pan of simmering water (or in the microwave, stirring every 30 seconds).
5. Butter a couple of plates or a cookie sheet and set aside.
6. Using a small spoon, place the chocolate balls, one at a time, into the melted chocolate and roll them around to coat them completely. Place the coated truffles onto the buttered plate as they are completed. If the melted chocolate runs low, melt the remaining 2 ounces of chocolate and continue dipping and coating.
7. Serve chilled or at room temperature.

Red Lentil Dal

Oh, dear. If I am really going to stick to my New Year's Resolution, then some adaptations are going to need to be made to the other ways in which I live my life. By Day Two of this little experiment, my pants felt a little snug and it occured to me that maybe I should have first tried to recover from the holiday excesses before embarking on a year-long quest to increase my dark chocolate intake.

Just as with Thanksgiving, I finished out the week of Christmas with a profound (though always short-lived) disdain of, but not limited to, the following: anything in a casserole dish, cookies of all kinds, pecan desserts in any form, vegetables that can be swallowed without first being chewed, and substances that can be slurped from a spoon.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, I baked my way through at least six pounds of butter, more than one five pound bag of sugar, three or four pounds of pecans, and what felt like a bushel of sweet potatoes. I don't mean to sound dissatisfied. I love the holidays. Spoiling the kids rotten was an immense amount of fun this year, and though I was exhausted by the time it was all said and done, I enjoyed every minute (and every bite) of the laughter and food shared with family and friends.

But it is high time to get back to normal (even if 'normal' does include a daily dose of chocolate for the next 365 days). So I'm ramping up the exercise and taking a good, hard look at our menu to see how healthfully we can eat for the next month or so while we hibernate in our lounge clothes and turn into unsociable trolls during the cold days of January. And, since it is winter, and the variety of fresh, local vegetables is limited, that means a lot of beans.

I say that in a much more positive manner than it might initially sound. We like beans. Kind of a lot, actually. As a matter of fact, Little Miss Piggy would be perfectly content to eat beans for every meal, including a handful of garbanzos for a snack. Come to think of it though, between the soymilk we pour over our granola, the chickpeas I tuck into salads, the black beans we load into our quesadillas and chili, and the silken tofu I have used in cheesecake, there have been entire days when we HAVE had beans for every meal.

Such is the life of a vegetarian and the family who depends on her for sustenance.

We started the year off right, of course (even beyond The Daily Chocolate), happily gorging on Black-Eyed Peas and Collard Greens for our traditional New Year's Day meal, and since we had half a skillet of cornbread left over, The Carnivore requested lentils for dinner the following night. And oh, did I ever oblige.

Lentils are fun to cook anyhow, because there is no pesky soaking time and thus no advance planning involved. And, well, I like the pretty colors they come in, though the red ones are my hands-down favorites. Our current favorite lentil recipe is one that I clipped from an issue of Cooking Light a year or so back, and which includes charred onions (be still, my beating heart) and a heady combination of spices that warms both the tummy and the soul. It is a relatively easy recipe, though the flavors are nicely layered, and makes a delicous vegetarian entree when served over brown rice.

As for the desire for healthful foods right now, this meal is spot-on: high in fiber and protein, low in calories, and chock full of vitamins and minerals. It is so good for you, in fact, that it nearly cancels out the batch of Dark Chocolate and Coffee Liqueur Truffles that I am putting the final layer on right now...

*****

RED LENTIL DAL WITH CHARRED ONIONS (adapted from Cooking Light, serves 6)
Serve over brown rice for a vegetarian entree

• 3 tsp olive oil, divided
• 1 onion, cut into 1/4-inch thick slices
• 1 tsp mustard seeds
• 1/2 tsp coriander seeds
• 1 whole clove
• 1 small red chili pepper, chopped
• 1/2 tsp cumin
• 1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
• 1/8 tsp ground cardamom
• 1 Tbs minced peeled fresh ginger
• 1 garlic clove, minced
• 4 cups vegetable broth
• 1 cup dried small red lentils
• 1 can diced tomatoes (do not drain)
• 1/4 cup chopped cilantro
• 1 Tbs fresh lime juice
• salt

1. Heat 1 tsp olive oil in a large heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion to skillet and cook for a few minutes, until blackened and charred. Carefully turn onion slices over and char on the other side. Remove from heat, coarsely chop, and set aside.
2. In a small metal skillet, toast the mustard seeds, coriander seeds and clove over medium heat for a minute or two, stirring frequently, until fragrant.
3. Remove seeds and clove from skillet and set aside.
4. To the small skillet, add the chopped chili pepper and cook for a minute or two, stirring frequently, until charred and dried out a little.
5. In a coffee grinder (or spice grinder), combine the mustard seed mixture, the chili pepper, cumin, cinnamon and cardamom. Pulse into finely ground.
6. Heat remaining 2 tsp oil in small Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add ginger and garlic to pan; saute for 1 minute. Stir in spices and saute for 1 minute more.
7. Add broth, lentils and tomatoes to pan; bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat and simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.
8. Uncover the pan; add onion, and cook for 10 more minutes.
9. Turn the heat off. Stir in the cilantro and the lime juice. Add salt to taste.

The Daily Chocolate

I am in a decadent mood. I was asleep before midnight on New Year's Eve (not a terribly unusual occurence now that I have children), so I saved the hedonism for today. My primary New Year's resolution this year is to eat chocolate every day. Not just any old chocolate, mind you, but good-quality chocolate. So to properly set 2009 in motion, I woke up early this morning, did 30 minutes of yoga, and then sat down to enjoy a cup of strong, locally-roasted coffee and a luxurious, fist-sized, wicked-good pain au chocolat.

And then I ate another one.

I would have taken photos, because I have this new camera and tripod that I have played with incessantly for the past week, but, well, The Boy Wonder polished off the last one before I could photograph the evidence.

If you really must see pictures though, you could always Google it. In the interest of full disclosure, I do that myself, every time I get a hankering for a flaky, buttery croissant oozing with chocolate.

I know that many resolutions center around getting healthier, so I suppose I should apologize for publicly announcing my intention to live more unrighteously, but let's be honest, dark chocolate is actually good for you. And did you notice that I exercised first? That has to count for something.

Dark Chocolate Chip Shortbread

I don't know what happened. I woke up this morning and it was December 20. According to my math, that means Christmas is a speedy five days away, but see, the last thing I remember is Thanksgiving.

Oh, sure, that isn't entirely true. I have actually been quite preoccupied lately, mostly with researching homeschool curriculums (because clearly, I have lost my mind), but the honest truth is that I have no idea what happened to the month of December. And I started the month with the best of intentions, of course. I was going to make my Christmas list, get The Boy Wonder to narrow down his litany of wants, decorate the tree, arrange the creche, plan the Christmas Eve and Christmas Day menus, and prepare a grocery list well in advance so I wouldn't have to take down any old ladies who tried to fight me for the last bag of pecans.

I should have known better. I am nothing like Martha Stewart, and even though I tend to live by my to-do list when it comes to absolutely everything else in life, Christmas still comes as a shock every single year.

Now that I think about it, my 2009 New Year's Resolution is to be prepared for next Christmas, even if it takes me all year to get it right. The only thing I ask of you is that you remind me of this goal late next November because I am genetically incapable of planning for Christmas until well after Thanksgiving. Surely if I get started by November 30 instead of December 20...

In exchange for your help in keeping me on task next year, I have an early Christmas present for you. In a most roundabout way, I stumbled upon the most wonderful cookie recipe, one that is durable enough to withstand some travel, and, best of all, uses ingredients that most people keep on hand anyway. There is no fancy decorating involved, nor any desperate cookie-cutter antics, yet the little beauties still look like you went to a bit of trouble to dress them up. And a single batch makes enough for three gift tins/boxes/baskets/buckets/whatever. I'm telling you, this is the perfect cookie.

Oh, and did I mention that it uses a pound of butter? Oh, yeah. This isn't a health food or anything. It is rich and it is decadent and it tastes just like a holiday should. Like butter. And chocolate.

Matter of fact, that is what everything should taste like.

These cookies are one of the best things that happened to me in the past week. Last Friday, true to form, I waited until the last minute to attempt a new complicated candy recipe to use as gifts for a gathering the very next morning. Sometime late in the day, I realized I had made a gross miscalculation in timing between steps and the candy recipe just wasn't going to be of adequate caliber for gifting (though The Carnivore was happy to eat the rejects). After some brief histrionics, I took a quick inventory of the pantry and refrigerator and madly started flipping through recipes I had clipped from the holiday issues of the various food magazines I read. And of all the unlikely places, it was in the December issue of Vegetarian Times that I discovered what I will now refer to as The Perfect Cookie Recipe.

Have you ever tried the recipe I use for Toffee Bars? This is very similar in taste, but with a sturdier, crispier, more bar-cookie-than-brownie texture, if you know what I mean.

If you aren't going to take my word for it and try these right away, at least print the recipe out and stick it to the refrigerator. You just might need it at the last minute.

*****

DARK CHOCOLATE CHIP SHORTBREAD (adapted from Vegetarian Times, makes 60 cookies)

• 3 2/3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup cornstarch
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1 lb unsalted butter, softened
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/3 cup real 100% maple syrup
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1 1/2 cups coarsely chopped bittersweet chocolate chips (like Ghirardelli), divided

1. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, cornstarch and salt. Set aside.
2. In an electric mixer, beat the butter, sugar, maple syrup, and vanilla extract for 4 minutes (until light and fluffy).
3. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture and stir just until combined.
4. Stir in 1/2 cup of the chopped chocolate chips.
5. Transfer dough to an ungreased 15x11-inch jelly-roll pan (or another heavy-duty, rimmed cookie sheet of the same size). Press dough smooth with fingers (this took a few minutes, until my fingers had warmed the dough enough to obey my commands). Prick all over with a fork (in as haphazardly of a fashion as you desire - the little holes will not show).
6. Bake at 325 degrees for 35 minutes, until edges just begin to brown and dough looks slightly firm.
7. Remove pan from oven and immediately, using a thin knife (a steak knife worked really well), cut shortbread into approximately 3x1-inch pieces in pan: first cut four 3-inch rows lengthwise; then cut 1-inch pieces crosswise.
8. Allow shortbread to cool completely in pan.
9. Melt remaining 1 cup chopped chocolate chips (in a double boiler on low heat or in a microwave for about a minute).
10. Spread melted chocolate onto cooled shortbread, spreading just to the edges. To do this, use a thin plastic spatula and go back and forth a few times in each direction. I swore there wasn't enough chocolate to cover the whole pan, but after spreading for a few minutes, it was just right.
11. Refrigerate the shortbread for 15 to 20 minutes (or overnight, if you're so inclined) to allow chocolate topping to set completely.
12. Break the cookies apart and serve (or pack into gift containers, reserving a few for the hard-working cook).

The Most Popular Kale Recipe in the Room

I feel I should begin with a disclaimer: this is not an original recipe. And most likely, if you tend to keep up with food blogs, especially some very well-known ones, you've already heard about this dish. Orangette wrote about this kale a few weeks back, and I was more than a little intrigued. It was kale, after all, which I'm very fond of, and it was topped with a fried egg (my favorite food group).

The thing is, the kale was boiled, and for more than a few minutes, I might add. So I was understandably concerned. I gave her the benefit of the doubt though, partly because she is Orangette, and also because what she posted was an adaptation from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook. I don't really think I have the street-cred to overlook that sort of pedigree.

I printed the recipe, ordered a pound of kale from Locally Grown, and then commenced to dragging my feet. I was mildly wary about how The Carnivore might view this dish, particularly since I wasn't entirely sure what to serve alongside it. While boiled kale served over toast and topped with a fried egg might make for a very appealing vegetarian entree, I try to be sensitive to the not-to-be-overlooked fact that I am the only vegetarian in the house. Well, other than Little Miss Piggy who doesn't have any molars yet and hasn't been deemed old enough to make her own ethical decisions regarding food. As she tends to subsist on grubby handfuls of beans and brown rice though, her status as fully-vested eater in our house has yet to be granted.

So, like I said, I wasn't terribly sure how well this dish would go over. Actually, I almost punked out entirely, thinking I could just make this for my lunch and that way I wouldn't have to worry about companion dishes, but then I noticed the recipe had jumped ranks and was also being featured on Bitten.

That sealed the deal. When two omnivorous types are both head-over-heels for something as humble as boiled kale with soggy toast, well, who would I be to buck the trend? And besides, I love, love, love kale and am always in the market for a fresh spin on it. Kale can be a bit bitter, and when it is cooked wrong (read: simmered for hours with a ham-hock), it can be truly vile. The thing is though, when served properly, it can make a convert out of anyone. Winter Greens and Potato Casserole, Bitter Greens with Sweet Onions and Tart Cheese, and Kale and White Bean Soup are but a few of my favorite variations on kale.

After seeing the recipe on Bitten, I scrapped my original plans for that night's dinner and decided to make a go of this here boiled kale thing. I made a few changes to Orangette's version: substituting vegetable broth for chicken stock, using hunky ciabatta rolls for the toast, and frying the egg in the method of the Deep South, and I must say, she is really on to something with this whole soggy toast thing. I know it sounds spectacularly unappealing, but with the right bread, thick, rustic and crusty, it is comfort food in the best sense. And while I don't understand the science behind it, something about the slow boiling of the kale transforms the greens into silky, slightly sweet ribbons that have just the right "chew" to them.

And The Carnivore? He thoroughly enjoyed it. So much so, in fact, that when I cooked the dish twice in as many weeks, he was almost excited to be having it again. As for companion dishes, I'm still a little stumped. The first go round, I served those Crispy Flattened Potatoes alongside and they were an okay addition to the table (because, as well all know by now, those potatoes go with EVERYTHING), but there just wasn't any synergy to the flavors. The second time, I served it with some leftover brown rice topped with cowpeas cooked in a spicy broth and again, it was an okay combination but nothing to write home about. Maybe for the next attempt, and there will be a next time, I'll give those Wild Mushrooms with Mozzarella a go. I've been craving those lately anyway...

*****

BOILED KALE WITH A FRIED EGG AND TOAST (adapted from Orangette and The Zuni Cafe Cookbook, serves two)

• 8 oz fresh kale
• 6 Tbs olive oil, divided
• 1 medium yellow onion, diced
• pinch dried red pepper flakes
• 2 large garlic cloves, thinly sliced, plus one whole garlic clove
• 3 to 4 cups vegetable broth
• square ciabatta roll, sliced in half (or another rustic bread, thickly sliced from the ends so that one side has crust)
• 2 eggs
• coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper
• dash of hot sauce
• Parmigiano-Reggiano

1. Remove and discard thick ribs from the kale, and slice leaves into thin ribbons. Rinse well.
2. In a large saucepan, warm 5 Tbs oil over medium-low heat.
3. Add onions to pan and cook, stirring occasionally, until translucent.
4. Add the red pepper flakes, the sliced garlic and the kale to the pot and stir until the kale is fully wilted (about 2 to 3 minutes).
5. Add broth to the pan to cover the kale.
6. Bring broth to a simmer. Cover, and continue to simmer for about 30 minutes, until kale is tender but not mushy. Add salt to taste.
7. While kale is cooking, toast the two halves of the ciabatta roll (or two crust-end thickly-sliced pieces of rustic bread). While toast is still hot, rub one side with the clove of raw, whole garlic.
8. To fry the eggs in the Deep South method: warm the remaining 1 Tbs olive oil in a medium-sized skillet over medium-high heat until very hot. Crack both eggs into the skillet and then break the yolks with a fork, running the fork around gently to spread the runny yolk over the top of the whites. Sprinkle with salt and pepper, and a dash or two of hot sauce. Cook for about 2 minutes, until bottom is browned and top is set. Flip eggs and cook on other side for an additional minute or two until browned on both sides. Run spatula down the middle to separate into two pieces for serving.
9. To plate individually, place one piece of toast in the bottom of a wide soup bowl or on a plate with a rim. Pile a big scoop of the kale on top of the toast, drizzle with olive oil, and top with a fried egg. Grate a little bit of the cheese over the top and serve immediately.

Black-Bottom Pecan Praline Bars

I am feeling a bit tortured. This is terribly embarassing to admit, really, and I tried to avoid bringing it up at all, but the thing is, this particular recipe is entirely too perfect to not share, so I'm just going to have to suck up what is left of my pride and tell you about a few of my shortcomings.

However, by sharing the recipe, I feel I am doing everyone a grave disservice. Not because of the aforementioned pride issue - after all, many of my shortcomings are abundantly clear here, in this little forum where I detail my neuroses on a weekly basis for all to see. And no, the disservice I speak of has nothing at all to do with calories or fat grams or the fact that these brownies might cause you to be stingy and refuse to share with your family members and all that. I don't consider any of those things to be problems, per se.

Oh, please don't laugh. Do you remember the cake drama I suffered through for The Boy Wonder's fourth birthday? Where I tied myself in a knot over the calculations involved in adapting a round cake recipe to a rectangular pan, and all that? Well, this is worse. It is worse because the math is much, much easier in the case of these brownies. Pie-r-squared isn't even an issue. Really, there are simple fractions involved at best, probably the kind of thing most of us learned early in middle school.

Of course, I didn't really care for middle school. There's just nothing quite like being a hopelessly unfashionable, knock-kneed, geeky pre-teen to mess with a girl's self-esteem. But that's neither here nor there.

Anyway.

Let me just lay it all out here (about the brownies that is, not the middle school social rejection stuff): this brownie recipe is, without a doubt, the most addictive I have had the pleasure of eating. And I have tried my share. I would even go so far as to refer to myself as a brownie addict. Not an expert, mind you, but an addict. [For more on this, see exhibits one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, or eight, and know that those are but a few of my favorite brownies and should not be viewed as a comprehensive list by any stretch].

I found the recipe for these Black-Bottom Pecan Praline Bars in Bittersweet, a mesmerizing chocolate cookbook that I would cuddle with at night if The Carnivore wouldn't complain about it's sharp edges. But, and here is where we start getting to the laughable part, it is one of those recipes whereby one of the ingredients is actually a recipe from a previous page. Worse yet, that "ingredient" calls for half a recipe from a previous page. And the thing is, the first time I made this, we had company and the entire batch was gone within an hour. Obviously the recipe would need to be doubled if we were to get the proper amount of pleasure from it, and that's where it gets tricky.

So here goes with the torturous, highly embarassing admission: I can't do it. I am not able to double this recipe without screwing up the quantities of ingredients. And I am not being self-deprecating. This happened more than once, whereby I messed up the whole recipe while trying to simply double it. Truth be told, I think it may have happened more than twice. And I really, desperately, did not want to share this recipe with you until I had worked out the kinks, but I'm beginning to think I may BE the kink. See, every time I have baked this recipe straight-out, in the way set out in the cookbook, it has turned out perfectly. Exsquisitely, even. I have still had to hold my mouth just right each of those times, to make sure I halved the recipe that is the first ingredient, while remembering NOT to halve the remainder of the recipe, but let's don't quibble on the details.

Now before you commence to laughing at my numbskullery, especially those of you who know my former profession (the one after copy-slinger and before wild-baby-tamer), just bear with me for a minute. To double this recipe, one must use the actual recipe called for as ingredient number one (rather than halving it, which is what is specified on the page this adaptation appears on) and then one must double the remaining ingredients.

Still with me? Think YOU could do it? Even when you're having a chocolate attack and just really want a bloody brownie real quick-like?

Brownie-baking should not be a stressful activity. Matter of fact, the entire point of baking said brownies is to RELIEVE stress.

Can I get an Amen?

I would like to think that this is just the kind of recipe that cannot be doubled without affecting the final product. That maybe the oven temperature or the cooking time needs to be altered drastically to be able to work with the extra quantities. Or that, oh, I don't know, the amount of baking soda needs to NOT be doubled due to some scientific reaction that I will never understand. Oh, but I know I'm wrong. I know where the fault lies. I am fully aware that this is just one of those things. Like the fact that I am incapable of seeing the difference in high-definition television and regular programming, or my inability to appreciate The Who (warning: music plays automatically at site), I am also apparently lacking the gene that would allow me to simultaneously double a half while also doubling wholes. Sure, maybe if I had just written it out on paper instead of trying to do the math as I went, well , maybe, just maybe, it would have worked, but I'm done trying. I am convinced it cannot be done.

So, here's where we stand then: like I said, I cannot NOT bring you this recipe. It is too good to not be shared. I don't know if anyone is still here to read this now, and I might be saying it only for my mother's benefit (because she has to continue reading; she is my mom), but these brownies are the perfect marraige of sweet and salty. The chocolate layer is both ooey and gooey, and sublimely rich, while the pecan layer is salty and ever-so-slightly crispy. And, almost most delightfully, both layers cook at the same time. This isn't one of those recipes where you cook the brownies, remove them from the oven to cool, mix up the next layer, and then have to bake the whole thing again.

However, I bring this to you with a strict disclaimer, that this recipe will almost certainly NOT yield enough servings. And I apologize for that. I have taken the liberty of posting the recipe in the proper quantities so you don't have to suffer through the agony of halving the brownie recipe before topping it with the pecan layer. So truly, since half (argh) of the work has already been done, you may feel comfortable doubling the recipe at this point because that would only be a matter of multiplying everything by two, but you're on your own if you go that route. I'm far too traumatized to go there with you.

*****

BLACK-BOTTOM PECAN PRALINE BARS (adapted from Bittersweet, serves maybe one, two if you're judicious)

Chocolate layer:

• 2 oz unsweetened chocolate, coarsely chopped
• 4 Tbs (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
• 1/2 cup plus 1 Tbs sugar
• 1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
• 1/8 tsp salt
• 1 large egg
• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour

Pecan layer:

• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/4 tsp baking soda
• 4 Tbs (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, melted
• 1/4 cup plus 2 Tbs packed light brown sugar
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1 large egg yolk
• 1/2 tsp pure vanilla extract
• 1 1/4 cups coarsely chopped pecans

1. Melt the chocolate and 4 Tbs butter together in a medium-sized heat-proof bowl, stirring until smooth.
2. Add the sugar, 1/2 tsp vanilla and 1/8 tsp salt to the bowl and stir with a wooden spoon.
3. Stir in the egg, then stir in 1/4 cup flour, beating with a wooden spoon until batter is smooth and glossy, about 1 to 2 minutes.
4. Spread batter in a thin, even layer in a greased 9-inch square baking pan and set aside.
5. Mix the remaining 1/4 cup flour and baking soda thoroughly in a small bowl and set aside.
6. In a medium bowl, combine the melted 4 Tbs butter, brown sugar and 1/4 tsp salt.
7. Stir in the egg yolk and 1/2 tsp vanilla, then the flour mixture, and finally the nuts.
8. Drop spoonfuls of the mixture all over the top of the brownie batter (they will spread and cover the brownies entirely during baking).
9. Bake at 350 degrees, on the bottom rack, until the edges of the topping are well-browned and cracked, about 20 to 25 minutes.

Chunky Jerusalem Artichoke and Potato Mash

This picture isn't here just to brag about what is still available at my local farmer's market, though I must say I'm pretty tickled at the variety I can still obtain locally a week into November. And I swear I didn't take this picture as a way to celebrate one of the last two weeks that the market will remain open before going on winter hiatus.

I'm just trying to gain a little bit of perspective. I mean, does that look like $30 worth of food? It has been so long since I have bought produce at the supermarket that I honestly have no clue any longer as to whether I'm leading us straight into bankruptcy with my food-buying shenanigans or if possibly, just maybe, the fact that I don't buy processed foods counterbalances these expenditures. Most likely I'm simply making excuses.

See, I nerded up last week and started scrutinizing every last food purchase for the past six months. This wasn't the first time that I got a little obsessive and dug around in my financial tracking software in a mad effort to spell out exactly where my food dollars are going, but I was after a different statistic this go round, namely to check how much of an impact the farmer's market and Locally Grown were having on our bottom line, and to find out what percentage of my food budget went to local foods during the October Eat Local Challenge. The organic raw milk I purchase for the kids is less expensive than the organic big-company milk I had previously bought at the supermarket, so of course I was somehow hoping that everything would even out when it was all said and done.

Of course I was wrong.

Looking back, it was easy to see that the CSA we participate in from May through July is a better bargain than buying individual items through the farmer's markets, and the reasons are obvious enough to pinpoint without much need for critical thinking. The issue for us though is that the CSA only lasts for three months, and I tend to still be hungry during the other nine months of the year. Last year, I fell off the wagon quickly enough when the CSA ran out, but that was because I hadn't bothered to fully research the other local food options. Now that I am much more aware of just how much is out there, and that the bounty includes eggs, dairy, milled items and even meat for The Carnivore, well, it turns into a war of Ethics vs Budgets. It is no wonder advocating local foods is viewed by many to be an elitist activity.

So you see why my perspective seems a bit skewed to me, right? At the market early this morning, with Little Miss Piggy bundled up in her Yoda hat and tucked into her sling, I slunk through the stands battling a crisis of conscience while slurping down a bite-sized empanada that I bought for a dollar. One dollar for essentially two bites. I abhor frivolous spending, but I want so badly to support my local farmers, to feed my family a safe and healthy diet, and to enjoy the superior taste of local and organic foods.

I'm going to need therapy. Thank you for listening.

And honest to goodness, this is not what I came here to whine about. [Whoops - I meant to say 'discuss intelligently.'] What I did intend to do was to share a peerless recipe for Chunky Jerusalem Artichoke and Potato Mash that I think would be ideal for Thanksgiving (which, as you know, is, like, tomorrow or something), but I was unable to take an appetizing photograph of the dish and so I used this snapshot of my farmer's market finds and, well, one thing led to another and I ended up on this tangent again...

(Sigh)

Anyway, last week, shortly before I commenced this latest meltdown on the financial, environmental and ethical costs of food in today's world, I ordered some Jerusalem artichokes on a whim from Locally Grown. I had read about these tubers numerous times in food publications, but had, as far as I know, never actually run across one in real life. And I truly knew nothing about them when I placed my order, but was loathe to allow a little thing like ignorance stand in my way. So order them I did, though oddly enough under the circumstances, I have no memory of what I paid for them.

They aren't much to look at, and actually resemble ginger root so much that I suppose I may have mistaken one for the other in the produce section of the supermarket at some point and that might be why I assumed they were uncommon. Once I got them home, I gazed balefully at the little fellas for days, pushing them aside in the crisper drawer time after time before finally sitting down and searching for recipes.

'Twas more difficult than I expected to find a recipe that appealed to me. I came across soups that called for ingredients I didn't have on hand and countless recipes that had the odd and knobbly little root-thingies in the starring role with little more to support them than salt and lemon juice. I was too wary for those, instead hoping for more of a gradual introduction, so it was with some relief that I settled upon a Bon Appetit recipe for Chunky Jerusalem Artichoke and Potato Mash.

Sounds fun, doesn't it? Truly, the end result wasn't just merry, it was the life of the party. I fell deeply, madly in love with the dish, with it's rustic texture and it's earthy flavor. I'm telling you, this would be perfect for That Turkey Meal, just bitter enough to offset all those other cloyingly sweet side dishes, yet simultaneously interesting and unobtrusive. The Jerusalem artichokes add a delicately nutty flavor to the recipe and keep a firmer texture than the potatoes, lending a toothsome quality to each spoonful that saves the dish from being just another soft and mushy bowl of mashed potatoes. Best of all, at least as far as holiday meals go, the simplicity of the preparation make for a nearly effortless side dish that can be made ahead and reheated without compromise to either the flavor or the texture.

I really think you'll like it. Especially if you choose not to obsess over it.

*****

CHUNKY JERUSALEM ARTICHOKE AND POTATO MASH (adapted from a Deborah Madison recipe printed in Bon Appetit, serves 6)

• 1 lb Jerusalem artichokes, scrubbed clean and left unpeeled, cut into roughly 1-inch chunks
• 1 lb Yukon gold potatoes, left unpeeled (though you can peel them if you find potato peelings hinky), cut into roughly 2-inch pieces
• 1 Tbs coarse Kosher salt
• 3 Tbs unsalted butter

1. Combine Jerusalem artichoes, potatoes and salt in large pot and cover with cold water.
2. Bring to boil. Reduce heat and boil gently for 15 to 20 minutes until potatoes are tender.
3. Drain, reserving the cooking liquid.
4. Return vegetables to pot and mash coarsely, adding reserved cooking liquid 1/2 cup at a time, until chunky mixture forms.
5. Stir in butter, and add salt and pepper to taste.
6. Add more cooking liquid if needed to get the texture you like.

Today is Not about Food

The Boy Wonder took this photo of me as I checked the Google home page for the 97th time by about 10:00 this morning.

I am obsessed with this election. I have tried hard to not get caught up in the nonsense leading up to this day, and I even voted early so as to have a better excuse to ignore all the pollster's phone calls.

But now I can't get anything done. I keep going back to the computer to check, uh, I don't know what. It isn't like any results are getting posted yet. Obsessed, I tell you. Too obsessed to even think about food.

Well, that's not entirely true. I have eaten three pieces of dark chocolate poundcake already today. I guess I should share that recipe, now that I think about it.

After the election. I'll do it after the election. Honest.

Breaking the Fast

I woke up this morning and realized today was November 1st, that the month-long Eat Local Challenge was officially over, and that I could officially eat anything I wanted again. Other than the, ahem, handfuls of Halloween candy that I swiped from my son's stash though, I figured out quickly enough that today wasn't going to be the free-for-all that one might expect. Like ending a fast, it seems almost vulgar to go and get hog-wild now. (I have desperately missed homemade granola though, and plan to whip up a batch just as soon as I get a chance).

Spending an entire month being so completely mindful of every bite I consumed and most specifically it's provenance, even for someone who eats fairly locally to begin with, has firmly engendered a level of awareness in which it has become second nature to eat well. And eating well encompasses so much more than just healthfulness.

I would like to avoid stomping back up atop my soapbox, because if you've spent any time around me or just lurking about in my blog, then you have already heard enough of my preaching regarding eating locally, eating organically, eating sustainably, eating ethically. Let's just suffice to say that I want to make the world a better place for my children. I want to share with them values that include being conscious of our impact on the physical environment. I yearn for them to meet the farmers who provide their food and to be aware of exactly where food comes from, and I desperately want to protect them from harmful pesticides, hormones and antibiotics, mercury, lead and all the other truly scary non-foods that are showing up in the world's supposed food system.

But that's enough of that, right? We're all clear on where I stand on this issue. This blog is the journal of our family's exploits in eating, not a compendium of Sarah's sermons on moral repasts.

Oh, I know. I'm just kidding myself when I say that. Maybe I should change this blog's title, come to think of it, to Recipes for a Moral Repast. But then you guys might just commit me for good, and never try another of these recipes that I so excitedly bring here to share. So, you know, moving right along then...

I did break our fast today, but I did so in a gentle fashion. My sister-in-law and my nephews were coming over to watch football with The Carnivore, and black bean chile seemed like an ideal companion to their silly game. As far as I can tell, black beans cannot be sourced locally, and making my own corn tortillas in order to scratch up my own personal tortilla chips is far-fetched even for me, so I didn't plan this to be a strictly local meal. Prior to this past month though, I might have been content to reach into the pantry and grab cans of beans, diced tomatoes and corn to make this, but I found that the biggest lesson of the month, the one thing I am sure will stick long after the novelty of participating in the Eat Local Challenge has passed, is that I am capable of planning ahead and striving to make every meal as local as possible before then, and only then, supplementing with non-local items.

So yesterday, before committing to a set-in-stone menu for today, I surveyed what I had on hand. For the chile, I set dried beans to soaking. While the beans are far from local, dried beans have much less of an environmental impact than canned ones (and they are light years less expensive), so a little advance planning is worth the trouble. I also reached into the freezer and started defrosting some tomatoes that I had frozen during the summer and portioned into 14.5-oz servings (to be used as a direct substitute for cans). The onions, garlic and bell pepper were on hand already from jaunts to the farmer's market, as were green and red tomatoes, jalapenos and cilantro which I used to whip up a batch of salsa to serve with the chile.

Tortilla chips were purchased from the supermarket as was a bag of frozen organic corn to go into the chile. Every meal will not be 100% local, but we'll do what we can. My goal here is to be mindful. That has been a goal of mine for years, actually, in ways other than just eating and purchasing food, but works almost universally in conjunction with the way I want to live my life. Training myself to take the time to truly think about the things I do, the things I eat, and even the things I say (though that particular action is by far the most challenging) is how I keep from being overwhelmed by all that I can and cannot do to, dare I say it, change the world.