Gourmet's Cold Cucumber and Cubanelle Soup with Cashews and Chives

Hey! I'm back and guess what? Matt is in Las Vegas. Know what that means? Vegetarian time? I'll do you one better. That's right, vegans. Suit up.

Gourmet's version:

my version:

Check out the bird! (Thanks, Evin and Keeley!)

I've gone a bit Gourmet crazy, haven't I? There is an explanation. When I first started this blog, I was such a novice that I didn't subscribe to any food magazines. I soon began subscribing to Gourmet and then, my mom, excited by my new interest in cooking, told me she would get me a subscription to Bon Appétit as a gift. But that was three months ago. I've almost given up and bought B.A. on a few occasions, but then I'm like: what if today is the day it finally arrives? And so I don't. And since my mom's not a computer person, she doesn't read my blog (which I've started to take personally) and thus, she doesn't realize what a Gourmet binge I've been on.

That being said, I still think Mom's going to pull through, and honestly, Gourmet has not left me wanting.

My one mess-up in this recipe was not more thoroughly researching what a cubanelle pepper looks like (even though it's pictured and explained in the back of the magazine--oops) because when I got to the store, there were no cubanelles. So, after asking a few nearby shoppers what they thought my best bet was, I decided on a yellow chili pepper, though there's not much yellow to it. Here it is below, trying to fit in with the peeled and seeded cucumbers.

Next, you just throw all those vegan ingredients (cucumber, pepper, garlic, unsalted roasted cashews, olive oil, red wine vinegar, salt and pepper) into the blender.

This picture makes the mixture look like pancake batter, but it really was much more beautiful. It was this super pale green color with flecks of black pepper throughout.

And I know that complaining about the heat is boring, but can I just say that the past two days have been insane? They have been, but this soup made for the perfect dinner, accompanied by brie and a baguette and Teddy: In His Own Words, which made me cry.

All in all, a great night? Oh, and being alone reminded me of all my Wilmington friends. That sounds weird, but you know what I mean--living without Matt. Anyway, hi, guys! I miss you.

RECIPE (via Gourmet/epicurious):

3 large cucumbers (2 1/2 pounds total), peeled, seeded, and cut into chunks
1 Cubanelle pepper (Italian green frying pepper), halved lengthwise and seeded
1/3 cup extra-virgin olive oil
1/2 cup unsalted roasted cashews
2 tablespoon red-wine vinegar
1 large garlic clove, chopped
Garnish: diced tomato; chopped chives

Purée cucumbers and half of Cubanelle (finely chop remaining half for garnish) with water, oil, cashews, vinegar, garlic, 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, and 1/2 teaspoon pepper in a blender (in batches if necessary) until smooth. Transfer to a bowl and chill until cold, about 2 hours. Whisk before serving and season with salt and pepper.

Matt's Attempt Part 2: Figgy Piggy Cornish Hens and The Monk Painting

So if you've been reading, you know that the side dish for Amelia's return from Palm Springs was mini provolone popovers. But this post isn't about side dishes. This is about the main event. I'm talkin' about Figgy Piggy Cornish Hens (Gourmet magazine baby speak for Cornish Hens with Figs and Bacon.)

Also, in the spirit of finishing stories, I'm going to intertwine this post with the follow-up to The Vivianne: The Monk Painting. If you are into oil paintings, monks, and old ladies hawking antiques this should be right up your alley. If not, there's not much I can do for you on this one.

Gourmet's version:

our version:

Not the best picture. The birds weren't finished until late so flash had to be employed.

Back in Wilmington, NC with a few hours to kill and determined to right my previous wrong, I put on my best treasure hunting gear (Tommy Bahama shirt, stone-washed jeans, monocle) and went back to the antique warehouse from whence came The Vivianne.

Collecting the stuff needed for the Cornish Hens with Figs and Bacon was easy. Few ingredients. Nothing too fancy. And everything could be picked up at our local farmers market.

I don't know if you've ever spent any time in the huge antique warehouses of the south, but they're all the same - a cross between insane asylums and old-age homes masquerading as stores. Basically, you get a lot of really nice older ladies talking to you in non sequiturs. Seriously. Imagine your crazy aunt Gillian finding a tchotchke in her attic and trying to sell it to you for 30 bucks. This is essentially every conversation you'll have inside the antique warehouse. You end up doing a lot of smiling and head-tilting.

By now I knew a few of these characters by name because I was regularly traveling to Wilmington to visit Amelia in grad school, and I always ended up at this place. Per my routine, I chatted up Marcie, smiled, agreed with everything she said, scratched my head and went to the back of warehouse #2 where I proceeded to rifle through the new estate paintings that had come in over the past couple weeks.

The other thing that attracted me to this recipe was that it utilized bacon fat. I like that. You cook the bacon, then you cook the garlic in the pan with the bacon fat, but hang on to the pan because it's not over yet. Just wait.

I found The Monk Painting hiding behind a 300 lb. mirror. The painting was old and covered in generations of dirt, but it was a cool and relatively inexpensive. When I brought it to Marcie she looked shocked. Apparently when so-and-so's estate was consigned to the place, three different people had been in looking for The Monk Painting. I snatched it up.

Out came the cornies (cornish game hens). These suckers are SMALL (and bloody). Amelia wants her vegetarian readers to know that she had nothing to do with this, and that these birds were organic.

When I got home, the research began. A rusted bracket on the canvas read "PAT Feb 13 1883 ADS." And a faded name and 5 digit phone number written lightly in pencil on the back of the frame pointed to its previous owner and the last framer.

Bacon fat time. I cut the hens in half and cooked them skin-side down in the bacon fat for about 6 minutes. After that I threw the halves in the oven with the figs and thyme, but don't even think about discarding the bacon fat. Seriously. We're not done with it.

So, I find out that the previous owner was a wealthy patron of the arts in North Carolina and that it was probably painted in 1883. But as these things go, after a month of on and off research, I had taken it as far as I could. I needed to send it my friend/notorious Vivianne-hater at Sotheby's.

Here's where the recipe gave me problems. The second to last step has you putting the hens in the oven. It says, "preheat the oven to 500" and then "roast until hens are cooked through, about 15 minutes." Not true! I checked my hens after 15 minutes and they weren't close to be done. I kept them in for another 5 minutes. No dice. Another 10 minutes? Still not quite done.

To be fair to the recipe, I didn't have the oven pan that it called for so I had used a lasagna pan, but could that really throw off the time that much? Not to mention, I halved the recipe - two hens instead of four. Why was it taking so long? I started pacing. Another 10 minutes. Still pink in the middle?! It was really strange, and all in all it took about 50 minutes in the oven at 500 degrees to cook the hens through. As promised, this was followed up by turning up the heat on the pan of bacon fat and squeezing half a lemon over it, making a sauce to drizzle over the hens with the bacon and garlic.

(Picture taken before the 50-minute oven debacle.)

The long and short of The Monk Painting goes like this: My friend came back with the diagnosis that it is an unattributed painting from the late 1800s in the style of Eduard Von Grutzner.

According to my friend, at auction, the painting should fetch around 30 times what I paid for it. And despite her pleading, I won't let Amelia sell it. It's The Monk Painting!

Below is a horrible picture with flash from when I first bought it. It's dirty, and you can't really see the color and detail, but the painting is currently in Pittsburgh so this is the only picture we've got at the moment. What's with the wry grin, Monk?

Oh, and the hens were delicious and they somehow cooked through really well?

RECIPE via Gourmet/epicurious

ingredients:

1/2 pound bacon slices, halved

4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced lengthwise

4 Cornish hens (about 1 1/4 pound each), halved lengthwise

12 thyme sprigs

12 fresh black and/or green figs, halved or quartered if large

3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

Preheat oven to 500°F with rack in upper third.

Cook bacon in a 12-inch heavy skillet over medium-low heat until crisp. Transfer to paper towels to drain. Add garlic to skillet and cook, stirring, until golden, about 1 minute. Transfer to paper towels with bacon. Pat hens dry and season with 1 1/4 teaspoons salt and 3/4 teaspoon pepper.

Heat fat in skillet over medium-high heat until it begins to smoke. Brown 4 hen halves, skin side down, about 6 minutes. Transfer, skin side up, to a large 4-sided sheet pan. Brown remaining hens, transferring to sheet pan. Reserve skillet. Scatter thyme and figs over hens, then roast until hens are cooked through, about 15 minutes. Meanwhile, deglaze skillet with lemon juice by simmering, stirring and scraping up brown bits, 30 seconds. Pour over roast hens. Scatter bacon and garlic over hens.

Matt's Attempt Part 1: Provolone Popovers and The Vivianne

So as you might know, I often help out with Amelia's attempts but I've yet to do one completely on my own. That part of my life is over now. Why? Because yesterday Amelia went down to Palm Springs and asked if I wanted to take the reigns on an attempt while she was gone. I begrudgingly accepted the challenge because a) I didn't have a choice and b) it would give me a forum to set the record straight about The Vivianne, which has resurfaced as a requested story due to the raspberry chocolate ice pops post.

As far as the food goes, I ended up making a huge meal for Amelia's return on Sunday that we've opted to break into two separate posts.

Welcome to part one: mini provolone popovers and The Vivianne. Follow me, if you dare.

Gourmet's version:

my version:

Note: Gourmet's are mini provolone popovers because they are baked in a mini muffin tin, but I'm a man and subsequently I don't own a mini muffin tin. I own a regular muffin tin.

I bought an old oil painting at an antique warehouse in Wilmington, North Carolina and became obsessed with it.

First there was the collection of ingredients. I picked this particular recipe because it is made of things that I like: butter, whole milk, eggs and lots and lots of cheese. These are also things that Amelia usually steers clear of whilst we try to eat healthy (sort of).

Post-purchase, I convinced myself that the painting was extremely valuable. The only thing that was holding it back was the signature, which read (in what looked to be some manner of sharpie) Vivianne. My research indicated that Renoir never painted under that particular nom de' plume.

I chopped up the provolone--remember, these are provolone popovers (aka provolone muffins?).

I hit a brick wall on putting a value on my newly acquired masterpiece, and after several healthy debates as to whether the figure depicted was male or female, I did the unthinkable. I sent her/him away to my friend who appraises oil paintings at Sotheby's. This was unthinkable because it meant I would have to spend time away from Viv. I waited (waited = I began spending money against future Vivianne-related earnings).

Remember all those ingredients from two pictures ago? This is what they look like all together.

After an hour of waiting for the batter to chill, I spooned them into the regular muffin tin. Then, right before you put the tin in the oven you're supposed to close your eyes, bend your knees, spin around and whisper the word popover three times.
Long story short: The Vivianne's estimated value was "whatever I paid for it." WTF kind of estimated value is that? Did you not check out that frame! Viva La Vivianne. Fortunately, I did NOT learn my lesson. I went treasure hunting at the same antique place a few months later and picked up "The Monk painting," which has a story with a decidedly happier ending. In fact, I'll tell ya all about it in part 2 of this post--it's awesome. Get excited.

The popovers ruled. The recipe says to serve immediately. Tell me something I don't know, recipe. You'd be a total fool not to serve these immediately. Besides, when hot, there are little pockets of molten provolone and parmesan cheese. Mix that with the chives, the super rich dough, and you got yourself one hell of a popover popover popover.

Stay tuned for Matt's attempt part 2!

RECIPE:

MAKES24 POPOVERS

• ACTIVE TIME:10 MIN
• START TO FINISH:1 3/4 HR (INCLUDES CHILLING)

• 1 cup whole milk
• 2 large eggs
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted, divided
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/8 teaspoon black pepper
• 1/3 cup finely chopped provolone
• 2 tablespoons grated parmesan
• 1 1/2 tablespoons chopped chives

• EQUIPMENT:

  a 24-cup mini-muffin pan

• Whisk together milk, eggs, flour, 1 Tbsp butter, salt, and pepper until smooth, then stir in cheeses and chives. Chill 1 hour to allow batter to rest.
• Preheat oven to 425°F with rack in upper third.
• Butter muffin pan with remaining Tbsp butter, then heat in oven until butter sizzles, about 2 minutes.
• Gently stir batter, then divide among muffin cups (they will be about two-thirds full). Bake until puffed and golden-brown, 18 to 20 minutes. Serve immediately.

COOKS’ NOTE: Batter can be made 1 day ahead and chilled.

Gourmet's Raspberry Chocolate Ice Pops

Ever heard the saying: "I'm happy as a Raspberry Chocolate Ice Pop?"

Gourmet's version:

our version:

(Half pretty, half gross outtake I thought you might enjoy:)

When Matt and I first moved to California together, we had no housewares at all. I remember shopping for essentials at Crate and Barrel and leaving with one bowl and this star-shaped popsicle mold set. Five years later, it has finally been put to use!

The recipe for these pops is pretty easy. It starts with fresh raspberries, corn syrup, water and sugar. Is this a blender full of raspberry stuff or a Jackson Pollack painting? You tell me.
One of the many great, rewarding things about this blog is that I've been able to sort of unknowingly put together a mildly serious pantry--i had both corn syrup and unsweetened cocoa powder on hand.

I hadn't studied the final picture intently enough, and so didn't realize that Gourmet was sabotaging my attempt by telling me to add the raspberry purée first. If you look at the recipe, it has you putting the chocolate in the center when clearly it should be the other way around. C'mon, Gourmet! I'm attemptin' here!

After freezing the first layer of raspberry for 20 minutes, I ladled in the chocolate,
which sunk right to the bottom.

Defeated, I added the final raspberry layer and left them to freeze overnight.

But, the following afternoon, I forgave Gourmet. Despite all the annoying raspberry seeds I didn't strain out like the recipe told me to, these things were delicious. And like any other red-blooded American, I ate mine while admiring The Vivianne*.
* I've asked Matt to type the story of this infamous painting, but he refuses, saying it's past midnight. If you don't know the story about The Vivianne and want to, SORRY. Maybe he'll tell it in the morning. He usually talks your ear off when it comes to this rosy-faced, half-pouting young man.

An Homage to Mad Men: Gourmet's Rumaki

In honor of the third season premiere of Mad Men, I decided to make the mock-Polynesian hors d'oeuvre Rumaki, which Betty Draper serves up in Season 2. And while there are new school versions with shrimp or dates, I wanted to do Betty proud and make the classic recipe with (vegetarians, be warned) chicken livers.

Gourmet's version:

our version:

The first part of the recipe threw me a little: Put on your fave house dress, light a cigarette, and try not to let the Cuban missile crisis spoil your evening.

Check out the price of the liver. 52 cents! Whaa? Is it 1962?? Did I just become the Time Traveler's wife? And if so, did my husband just bring me back reasonably-priced chicken livers?

The next step was to make a simple marinade: soy sauce, ginger, brown sugar, and curry powder.

I felt like Anthony Bourdain buying liver at the meat counter. "Give me the best organs you've got. Yeah, I'm making chicken liver. Whatever."

But, once I had the burgundy sac-like organs on the cutting board, I completely lost my edge. There were these white connective tissues (not pictured) that I just couldn't handle. Thus, I called in Matt to slice the liver into 1/2 inch pieces.Matt finished cutting, examined the brownish red liver-sludge covering his hands and left the room, saying and I quote: "I'm going to go wash my hands for forever."

Here's the slug, errr, I mean, marinated liver and water chestnut getting wrapped in bacon.

I usually avoid recipes that involve broiling because I've used the broiler exactly zero times before but, this recipe called for broiling. So, I broiled... and all of the toothpicks caught on fire. It was like a broiling birthday cake in there.
I guess I should have turned them on their side? (Note the fiery toothpick.)

As for the taste? Matt tried one first and absolutely hated it, feeling that the liver taste was overpowering. After his visceral reaction, I was worried that I might have a major Rumaki fail on my hands. But then I went in for one and thought they tasted fine, mostly like bacon and water chestnuts. Our friends reaction was mixed, though all were eaten. Would I make them again? Not unless the Drapers were coming over.

See you tomorrow, Bets!

RUMAKI (via Gourmet/Epicurious)

• 1/4 lb chicken livers, trimmed and rinsed
• 1/4 cup soy sauce
• 1 tablespoon finely grated peeled fresh ginger
• 2 tablespoons packed light brown sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon curry powder
• 12 canned water chestnuts, drained and halved horizontally
• 8 bacon slices (1/2 pound), cut crosswise into thirds
• Special equipment: 24 wooden toothpicks

Cut chicken livers into 24 (roughly 1/2-inch) pieces. Stir together soy sauce, ginger, brown sugar, and curry powder. Add livers and water chestnuts and toss to coat. Marinate, covered and chilled, 1 hour.
While livers marinate, soak toothpicks in cold water 1 hour. Drain well.
Preheat broiler.
Remove livers and chestnuts from marinade and discard marinade. Place 1 piece of bacon on a work surface and put 1 piece of liver and 1 chestnut in center. Wrap bacon around liver and chestnut and secure with a toothpick. Make 23 more rumaki in same manner.
Broil rumaki on rack of a broiler pan 2 inches from heat, turning once, until bacon is crisp and livers are cooked but still slightly pink inside (unwrap 1 to check for doneness), 5 to 6 minutes. Serve immediately.

Gourmet's Cantaloupe Grappa Semifreddo & Our Old Man Wrinklebottomfreddo

Anyone see Julie & Julia this weekend? Anyone read this article about the insane food styling on the set? Allow me to quote one sentence: "Making the food look bad is harder than making it look good, food stylists said." So, let me get this straight: I am a super genius??

OK, so, this could perhaps be our gravest aesthetic failure to date, bordering on cosmetically inappropriate for certain readers (hi, Brock). But, hey, you guys be the judge.

Gourmet's cantaloupe grappa semifreddo:

our old man wrinklebottomfreddo:

Looks like old man wrinklebottomfreddo sat out in the sun too long. Fortunately, I think I know what went wrong, but as always, let's rewind and start at the beginning.

The recipe called for grenadine for coloring. We both didn't have and didn't want to buy grenadine, so opted to substitute freshly-squeezed cherry juice. Speaking of substituting things, we also subbed brandy for the grappa. Namesake or not, bon appetempt is on a budget this month, and the brandy was on hand. Also, in the genre of substitution, remember the movie The Substitute (tagline: He has a lesson to teach. And nobody's going to have a problem with it.)?


Remember the leaky blender? We used it again, but this time with a patent-pending juice catcher at the bottom. note: The juice catcher is a cutting board.

Clearly though, I was still afraid of it.

Stir in five egg yolks.

At this point, the beating begins and doesn't really stop for the next half hour. If you don't have or can't borrow (as I did here) an electric handheld mixer, I really wouldn't even think about attempting this recipe (unless, of course, you simply love the look and feel of well-aged desserts). We had to hold this thing over the stovetop for 8 minutes.

And then again over an ice bath for another 6 minutes.

Now, here is where old-man wrinklebottom came out to play. 1. Matt was in charge of lining the loaf pan with plastic wrap, and though I didn't know it at the time, he wasn't up to the task--I've never seen more wrinkled plastic wrap involved in lining such a small pan.
2. We had to mix this mixture with whipped cream, and our first batch of heavy cream didn't turn into whipped cream. I know, whipping cream is a simple exercise we've done a million times, but due to a long, frustrating story involving wayward cantaloupe juice, the first batch was a major failure.

The second time it worked, only the cantaloupe mixture had been hanging out during the whole first failed whip and clean-up of said whip and then, of course, during the re-whip. In short, I think it sat too long. Nevertheless, we folded the whipped cream into the cantaloupe mixture and poured it into the wrinkly plastic-wrap-lined loaf pan.
We let it hang out in the freezer overnight, which I don't think helped our cause. When we pulled it out, the two mixtures had clearly segregated while freezing, and the extra time in the freezer seemed to only sharpen the plastic-wrap imprint into the top mixture.
Despite the failed aesthetics, it did taste good--sort of like a subtle Creamsicle--and I guess it was at least a good learning experience. (Yeah, cuz I learned to never attempt this semifreddo bitch again. Oh, burn! High five!)

Uhm, seriously though, how was Julie & Julia? (I was on vacation so missed out, but want to see it ASAP.)