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.

Fine Cooking's Slow-Cooker Osso Buco

So, while visiting family back in Pittsburgh, I decided to do some fine cooking with my mom.

Fine Cooking's version:

our version:

(We started eating before I remembered to take a picture. Sorry.)

So I've been sort of hard on my mom in this blog. I mean, if you didn't know her you would probably peg her as someone not the least bit interested in her daughter's food-related adventures despite that daughter's various pleadings to please please check out her blog.

When really, my mom is quite wonderful—just a severe techno-phobe whose first and fairly new computer crashed about six months ago and who has happily done nothing to replace or repair it. In high school, I remember begging for call-waiting and Mom not understanding its advantages; and then, having finally talked my more gadget-friendly step-dad into getting it, her hanging up on everyone as she switched over to the other line. (She still does, only now she gives you a heads up: "Hold on, I'm probably going to lose you.")

Ironically, when it comes to cooking, my mom has every gadget, baking dish, and pan known to man, right down to a tiny blow torch for creme brulee-ing. And while I was home, I wanted to take full advantage. Up first: the slow cooker.

Mom had been talking about this osso buco recipe she'd just read about in Fine Cooking (a magazine I had unfortunately overlooked until now and will definitely be turning to for future attempts) that called for a slow cooker and, as I soon learned by the nature of it being an osso buco recipe, veal shanks. I had experience with neither. I told Mom I was game provided that we would brave the snowy crosstown journey to the organic market to get local and organic veal.

The beauty of the slow cooker is that you can set it and forget it. Our veal shanks needed six to eight hours in there. Mom and I needed to play an intense game of tennis, do some light shopping, and see It's Complicated with Grandma. So, in the morning, we prepped the vegetables, seared the shanks, and made the gremolata (a mix of chopped garlic, parsley, and lemon zest).

When I discovered Mom's massive 48 oz. tub of ready to use garlic and began taking pictures, my mom frowned. "Are you going to make fun of me on the Internet?"

"Yes."

This recipe reminded me a lot of the Sunday Suppers' short ribs only it was soooooo much easier, though it may have just felt that way considering Mom did just about all of the dishes. Thanks, Mom! The seared meat goes into the slow cooker along with its juices, the vegetables, some white wine, and a can of diced tomatoes

After our day of tri-generational merriment, we came home to a house filled with the rich and earthy aroma of braised meat and vegetables, again very much reminiscent of the short ribs. And although we'd wrapped each shank in twine, just like the short ribs, all four had fallen completely off the bone. The meat was super tender, but—and maybe this is just because of my inexperience with meat in general or coming off the twice aforementioned short ribs—I was expecting something deeper in flavor. The short ribs were so much more intense, so much bolder, but then a lot more did go into their preparation...though still I wonder if there is something else I could have added to the pot to make it better or if it might have been improved by using red wine instead of the white or is that not what you do with osso buco?

Wow, I'm realizing it's a tough act to follow Suzanne Goin's famed short ribs, isn't it? Kind of like comparing the twins played by Danny Devito and Arnold in the fun-loving classic 80s movie of the same name.

That's definitely a little harsh, especially considering the dish was a success—and thank goodness because dessert was a classic fail. (You'll see what I'm talking about next post.)

We served each piece alongside garlic bread to sop up the extra sauce, but I think if I did it again, I would pair it with polenta or even a cheesy risotto.

RECIPE via Fine Cooking:

1/2 cup all-purpose flour

Four 1-1/2- to 2-inch-thick veal shanks (about 2-1/2 lb.)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbs. unsalted butter
1 cup dry white wine
One 14-1/2-oz. can diced tomatoes
3/4 cup lower-salt chicken broth
1 small red onion, chopped (1-1/2 cups)
1 medium carrot, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch-thick rounds (1/2 cup)
1 stalk celery, chopped (1/2 cup)
5 sprigs fresh thyme
3 Tbs. finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1 Tbs. finely grated lemon zest
1 large clove garlic, minced (1 tsp.)

Put the flour in a wide, shallow dish. Season the veal shanks all over with salt and pepper and dredge in the flour; shake off the excess flour.

Heat a 12-inch skillet over medium heat. Add the butter, and when it foams, add the shanks to the skillet. Cook until golden, turning once, about 10 minutes. Transfer the shanks to a slow cooker.

Add the wine to the skillet. Scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of the skillet and pour the contents of the skillet into the slow cooker. Add the tomatoes and their juices, chicken broth, onion, carrot, celery, and thyme. Cover and cook on low heat for 6 to 8 hours—the meat will be very tender and almost falling off the bone.

Transfer the shanks to a platter and cover with foil to keep warm. Pour the sauce from the slow cooker into a large skillet. Simmer over medium heat until reduced to about 2 cups, 10 to 15 minutes. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Meanwhile, in a small bowl, combine the parsley, lemon zest, and garlic to make a gremolata. Serve the veal shanks topped with the sauce and the gremolata.

Saveur's French Onion Soup

Making French onion soup is really much more about the equipment than cooking skills, and by equipment I mean broiler-proof bowls and a broiler with enough clearance to handle those bowls. I knew this going into it, but also knew that I really wanted French onion soup. It’s one of those dishes you crave on cold winter nights. It’s comforting, hearty to the point of decadence, and since the short ribs filled my meat quota for the month, its almost-vegetarian quality really fit the bill for everything I wanted in a post-Christmas but pre-New Year’s meal—that week where life lets up and minor to major indulgences become justifiable.

Saveur's version:

Photo: Andre Baranowski

our version:

Major letdown, no?

The funny thing is that when I made this recipe, I was in Los Angeles where winter means an average high of 68 and low of 47 and where fires are built mostly for the fun of it and are often put out prematurely following comments like, "Uhm, it's really hot in here." And now as I write this, I’m at home in Pittsburgh where there are no highs and lows as far as I can tell—everything is just super cold, all the time.

On to the recipe, which calls for braising the onions instead of cooking them on the stovetop, which I would recommend simply for the hour and half that your house will smell of butter, onions, wine and sherry. It’s such a particular smell—mildly vinegary but mostly rich and brasserie-like. And this is where I messed up—though you really wouldn’t have known it by the amazing aroma.

I halved the recipe, but failed to half the size of the braising dish, so the melted butter, sherry, and white wine didn’t fully cover the onions. Below are the onions after the first 45 minutes, uncovered—just a little burnt—and then after another hour, covered with foil. I was convinced the recipe was ruined, but after Matt and I sampled one of the burnt onions and it only tasted vaguely burnt, we pushed onward.

Up next was the bouquet garni, which prompted the Google search: what is a bouquet garni? Speaking of Google searches, what’s going on with Google search auto-fill? It’s getting kind of weird.

Anyway, as it turns out, a bouquet garni is a bunch of herbs wrapped in cheesecloth or sometimes leek leaves that is used to flavor a stew or soup. Here is mine sans cheesecloth or leek, neither of which I had on hand. I like to call this the Bon Appetempt loose bouquet garni (patent pending).

To get around the broiler and broiler-proof bowl problem, I decided to mound the gruyere and parmesan on top of the bread and put those in the broiler and then place them on top of the soup.

The results were solidly mediocre.

Unfortunately, the burnt onions flavored the broth much more than my makeshift garni had. Each bite tasted slightly of char. And even more sadly, I have no solutions for the person with a shallow broiler. I mean, would it work if I moved my oven rack up to the highest slot and cooked the bowls like that?

Of course, I really would make it all over again just for the onion and butter aroma to take over our apartment.

RECIPE from Saveur and based on one in Bistro Cooking by Patricia Wells (Workman, 1989):
1 cup white wine
1⁄2 cup plus 3 tbsp. sherry
10 tbsp. butter
1 tsp. sugar
3 large yellow onions, thinly sliced
Kosher salt and black pepper, to taste
6 sprigs flat-leaf parsley
6 sprigs thyme
2 fresh bay leaves
2 qts. Beef Stock
12  1⁄2"-thick slices baguette
2 cloves garlic, smashed
6 cups grated gruyère cheese
2 cups finely grated parmigiano-reggiano

1. Heat oven to 425°. Combine wine, 1⁄2 cup of the sherry, 8 tbsp. of the butter, sugar, onions, and salt and pepper in a 9" × 13" casserole dish and braise, uncovered, stirring occasionally, until the onions just begin to brown, 40–45 minutes. Remove casserole from oven, cover with foil, and continue braising in oven, stirring occasionally, until caramelized, about 1 hour more. Keep the onions warm.

2. Meanwhile, tie parsley, thyme, and bay leaves together with kitchen twine to make a bouquet garni. Put bouquet garni and stock into a pot and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, partially covered, for 30 minutes. Remove and discard bouquet garni. Stir in remaining sherry and cook for 5 minutes more.

3. While the broth simmers, spread the baguette slices with the remaining butter. Toast in a skillet over medium heat, turning once, until golden, 5–7 minutes. Rub the slices generously with garlic and set aside. Discard any remaining garlic.

4. Heat broiler with rack 6" from element. Arrange 6 heatproof bowls on a foil-lined sheet tray, divide onions and broth between bowls, and stir together. Place 2 baguette slices in each bowl; top each with about 1 cup gruyère and about 1⁄3 cup parmigiano. Broil until cheeses are browned and bubbly, 3–5 minutes. Serve immediately.

Sunday Suppers at Lucques: Braised Beef Short Ribs with Potato Purée, Swiss Chard and Horseradish Cream

My brother was in town visiting us for Christmas, so Matt and I decided to throw a dinner party to welcome him to Los Angeles. I knew I wanted to go big or go home and when you're in that frame of mind, there are only a few places to turn. Suzanne Goin's Sunday Suppers at Lucques is one such place. And this time, I was going for a whole menu:

Blood Oranges, Dates, Parmesan, and Almonds Salad

Braised Beef Short Ribs with Potato Purée, Swiss Chard and Horseradish Cream

Jodi's Jessica's Favorite Meyer Lemon Tart with a Layer of Chocolate

Check it out.

Lucques' version:

our version:

Lucques' version:

our version:

(If you look closely, you can see that there are some greens under all that meat.)

Lucques' version:

Jodi's version:

Sometimes the difficulty in a recipe doesn't lie in the intricacy or unfamiliarity of the steps and techniques, but the timing, and by timing, I mean: how do you fit in braising short ribs for three hours when the dinner you've decided to host starts at 8 and you work until 6:30? OK, so you braise it the day before. But before you braise, you must marinate your short ribs overnight. And before you do any of this, you've got to figure out what the ef short ribs are.

Let me preface the following by saying that I don't eat a lot of meat. Thus, I don't cook a lot of meat, and despite Googling short ribs, I still had no idea what they were or what they really looked like. This is me explaining to Matt what to pick up at the grocery store: "So they look like this [I show him the above Lucques' version of the short ribs]. And I think they are basically like three rounds of meat stuck together sort of like a spine or something." Dear other people like me: see below. Those cubes of meat pictured below? Those are what short ribs look like. By the way, Matt got a super helpful lecture about short ribs by the butcher at Whole Foods--he even got to go behind the counter and into the meat zone. I can only imagine the confusion in the butcher's eyes as Matt told him that he was looking for "short ribs. You know, like three rounds of meat stuck together sort of like a spine or something."

After searing the meat on all three meaty sides, peeling pearl onions, and making the braising liquid from the fat, red wine, port and vegetables, it's time for the three-hour braise. The recipe called for a braising dish, but as I didn't have one of those, I used my jumbo cast-iron dutch oven and I think that was OK, though maybe the liquid was a little too high?

NOTE: our apartment never smelled so good as during those three hours of braising.

24 hours later, things got fat.

At first, I was shocked at all of that solidified meat grease, but then, I found it pretty easy and pretty satisfying chipping into it with a fork and scooping it all out. All that was left was putting together the salad, finishing the ribs off in the oven and sauteeing the swiss chard. 

Here is brother and sister toiling away in the kitchen. It should(n't?) be noted that Bill checks up on the blog about as much as our mom. WTF, family?

Other things made ahead of time: horseradish cream and potato purée. Both delicious.

All in all, I think it was a success. The meat was super tender and delicious, but did seem a little fatty to me, though I've been told that this might just be because I'm not used to eating a lot of meat. But if I were to do this again, I think I would trim the short ribs a bit or be sure to skim off even more of the fat from the braising liquid. I'm not sure. Ideas?

Also, if you do try this at home, don't skip the horseradish cream. It's super simple to make and really works with the short rib. As for the potato purée? It was great, but in my opinion could be substituted for any mashed potato variation.

And if you can believe it, all of this was topped off with the meyer lemon tart with the genius, thin layer of chocolate. A truly special dessert. Thanks, Jodes!

Amelia and Bill. 1985. Pittsburgh, born and braised.

One more thing. Thanks to all our dinner guests for coming: Angela, Jordan, Rayanne, Ricky, and Brian K.! Unfortunately, Tino couldn't make it. :(