squid ink risotto, the cheese course, and a mild announcement

Dear Readers,
I have a mild announcement to make. Ready? Get set... My culinary point of view has changed.

Did that kind of come out of nowhere? Maybe not? Maybe you've seen it coming? I mean, if you think about it, it probably should have changed by now. Now that I've braised previously obscure meat cuts, layered a dacquoise, and gilded eclairs. Right?

When I first started this blog, I envisioned cake wreck after cake wreck. I assumed that what happened with my Devil's Food Layer Cake with Peppermint Frosting was going to be the norm and pictured Bon Appétempt as the food equivalent of those occasions on Project Runway when real women instead of models pop out into the work room and all of the designers’ faces fall in sadness--my version of the recipe would be that real woman, the size 8+ woman that is apparently so much harder to fit than those headless mannequin busts. And so, my version would call bullshit on those gourmet magazines with their team of trained chefs, food stylists and professional photographers. My version would be destined for failure and not only would that be OK, it would sometimes be hilarious.

But now, a year of attempts later, I must say that I no longer want the same thing...necessarily. (I don't want things not to be hilarious.) Maybe I should put it another way: I no longer necessarily want to call bullshit on the beautiful photography found in food magazines and cookbooks. Because the truth is I've come to love these images and the recipes attached to them. These publications haven't just gotten me to the grocery store and into my kitchen, they've inspired me to appreciate the tasks.

This passage from Thomas Keller's introduction to his French Laundry tome sums up what I think I've learned quite wonderfully:

"Cooking is not about convenience and it's not about shortcuts... Take your time. Take a long time. Move slowly and deliberately and with great attention.

These recipes then, although exact documents of the way food is prepared at the French Laundry, are only guidelines. You're not going to be able to duplicate the dish that I made. You may create something that in composition resembles what I made, but more important--and this is my greatest hope--you're going to create something that you have deep respect and feelings and passions for. And you know what? It's going to be more satisfying than anything I could ever make for you."

Aghhhh. What started as poking fun, as just funnin' in the kitchen, has turned somewhat life-changing and serious. I can't believe it. I've got to go watch some videos on youtube.

With all that finally said, the timing is perfect to share with you a seriously inspired meal I made with my dear dear friend, Mary Anne--of shorty cake and Bûche de Noël fame--while visiting her in Seattle.

John Pawson and Annie Bell's Living and Eating has kind of blown my mind. On the left is their Squid Ink Risotto with Scallops, and on the right is Perail and Endive, found in their section on the cheese course. The architect and food writer, respectively, are all about paring down to the essentials, and while all the recipes aren't exactly simple to me, the book does make a compelling case that cooking and entertaining doesn't have to be so involved or daunting. Plus, the photography includes some of my favorite food images to date.

After I explained all of this to Mary Anne, and she corrected my pronunciation of perail (it's per-ay), we planned our menu.

Arugula with Lemon Dressing and Parmesan

Bread and Baked Garlic

Squid Ink Risotto with Scallops

Perail and Endive

Chocolate Tart

Though where we ended up was a little different...mainly due to the fact that I forgot to bring the squid ink recipe with me on the trip. So after some Googling, we settled on Spicy Squid Ink Risotto, a recipe similarly tempting by Kerry Saretsky for Serious Eats.

If the words squid ink turn you off, just call it Tinta Calamar. Fair? Then if an image of a squid swimming along, extruding its ink comes to mind anyway, try and think of this: classic parmesan risotto and the ocean. That's really what it tasted and smelled like, and thus, it was delicious. The tiny hint of heat from the chili flakes was a perfect addition too.

Despite a trip to one specialty cheese shop and a few calls to various Whole Foods, we couldn't find the super creamy and runny perail anywhere. We substituted Cremeux de Bourgogne, which is like brie but maybe a little richer and definitely a little more tangy, and while neither of us had ever tried perail, we don't think much was missed. But we may have been too excited that we were eating a cheese course to care. 

We had to be flexible when it came to the crust for the dessert too. Digestives were nonexistent at the grocery so we substituted organic graham crackers. Speak of the devil, here's Queen of the Shorty Cake mixing up the graham crackers with butter.

The chocolate tart came to us via Saveur and is a recipe I wholeheartedly recommend. It wasn't that taxing, especially since the crust is the only thing you really bake. The filling just needs to set, and it's one of those perfect desserts that all you need do is pull it out of the refrigerator at the end of the meal (after your cheese course, obviously).

In conclusion: I endorse multi-course meals. Thank you, Mary Anne for all of the help and the crazy delicious fun time!

organic and chic's chocolate cream sandwiches

Today's Cookies without Borders bake sale for Haiti called for some serious baking, which for me meant breaking out Sarah Magid's Organic and Chic and... edible gold dust. Remember The Goldies? Exactly!

Organic and Chic / Sarah Magid's version:

(Sorry about the poor representation--it's a picture of a picture.)

our version:

Just wait. It gets even better!

...even though it was touch and go for a while at the beginning. The cookie batter was super thick, causing my brand new KitchenAid some major agita. I turned it off and finished the rest by hand, split the mass into two separate piles, sandwiched that mass between two sheets of parchment paper and then tried my best to roll them into 1/8 inch thick sheets with help from a nice bottle of cab sauv.

 

Matt saw me struggling, drank some of the wine, and hopped in for support.

The cookies were delicious as straight sandwich cookies, but since this was an attempt with a cause beyond our own food wants, we decided to kick it up a notch by dipping them in chocolate and painting the dipped portion of the cookies in gold dust. With that said, I give you this tribute to chocolate and gold dust.

 

Wait. Wha? Has that cookie been dipped in gold? I'll take two... for charity (cash4gold charity?).

Thanks to everyone who organized the bake sale. I'd say it was a total success--even though you couldn't tell by the look on our friend Neal's face! Neal, what gives? You didn't get any of our magic, golden cookies?

Martha's Lemon Souffles

What is it that takes you from casually thinking a certain recipe might be good—from dog-earing the page, or mentioning to the person sitting next to you, "Oh, that looks good,"—to the action steps of writing down the ingredients, going to the grocery store and making the recipe come to life?

For me, it starts with a photo. I need an image of the finished product for inspiration. But, it goes far beyond that. If there's one thing I've learned from this blog, it's that the photograph needs to do more than just entice me with flavors or rather the idea of the flavors as imagined in my head, it must also win me over on a less conscious/more psychological level, a level that asks the question: does this recipe suit the kind of life I imagine myself living? Martha Stewart recipes almost always hit it home when it comes to meeting the needs of this latter element.

Take the below photo for example. The moment I saw it, I was committed to attempting the recipe. It's just magical—the way the souffle has puffed out of the ramekin, kind of on a tilt, like it's tipping its flat, perfectly browned hat to me. Anyone who could produce eight of these (presumably) after already serving a majestic main course and elegant appetizers, clearly knows something about living life. Don't you want more than anything to break through that crispy top layer with that well-placed spoon and take a bite? Doesn't the image seem to exude an air of organized optimism? Isn't it an absolute food dream?

Martha's version:

But alas, dreams don't always come true. Our version:

I match your disappointment and raise you one major bon appetempt FAIL.

Like I told Matt before I made him watch the episode of The Bachelor: On the Wings of Love where Roslyn gets kicked out because she wasn't there for the right reasons: Let's just get through this, OK?

So, this was another recipe I did with Mom back in Pittsburgh. This explains the existence of eight matching individual baking ramekins. This is also possibly where one of the major mistakes occurred. Obviously, the whole thing about souffles is that they are supposed to rise like crazy, so each ramekin needs a good buttering and then sprinkling of sugar to keep them from sticking, however, and I don't know if this really counts as a huge mistake or not, but after we did this, Mom read off a little note along the side (but not included in the main directions area) that said: To help them rise properly, use upward brush strokes to butter the dishes. Sooo, there was that.

There was also the failure of our egg yolk to turn thick like "a pudding" after whisking for one to two minutes. At the time, I didn't think it was that big of a deal, but afterward, Mom shook her head and said: "I knew we didn't get the egg yolk mixture thick enough."

I don't know, though. The recipe said that you could make these ahead of time by leaving the uncooked mixture in the ramekins for up to three hours and then just pop them in the oven after dinner, which is basically what you'd have to do if you were having a dinner party for eight since souffles must be served immediately, however, I believe we should have run a knife around the edges before we placed them in the oven, thus freeing them for their big rise. Again: I don't know, though.

I do know that ours did not rise at all. They puffed up a little like a normal cake. That was it.

Not to mention, they were so browned on top when I first checked on them, that I pulled them out prematurely. Big mistake. This is what an undercooked souffle looks like:

I pulled them off everyone's place setting and put them back in the oven and though this second time, they were no longer soupy and disgusting, the taste was still not great. More than lemons or sugar, I tasted the egg. And for the first time in recent memory, I wanted nothing to do with my dessert. Seriously, no one cleaned their ramekin that night. Sorry, family.

The (arguable) good news? I'm fascinated with the souffle now. Already wrote down the recipe for a savory, non-individual one.

BUT first up will be something for a bake sale for a good cause!

Cookies Without Borders: A Bake Sale for Haiti.

WHEN: Sunday, January 31, 2010. 2 – 5 pm
WHERE: Scoops Gelato. 712 N Heliotrope Dr. 90029. In East Hollywood, just north of Melrose, between Normandie and Vermont.
LOVE TO BAKE? If you love to bake and want to donate a few of your favorites, WE NEED YOUR HELP! Let these guys know and they'll give you more information.

For souffle recipe, click HERE.