Carnitas and Spicy Pickled Vegetables

My friends, Sara and Sean, moved to the east coast and took their recipe for pork carnitas with them. Sara did have the courtesy to send me the recipe, but it just didn’t seem right to make it on my own. The unspoken deal had always been that Sara made the pork and salsa, and the rest of our little gang brought the other quintessential taco toppings and various Mexican-inspired side dishes. So, when I was putting together a dinner menu for an old pal from graduate school who was going to be in town for the weekend for some fancy-sounding literary conference (as, since our graduate school days, he has started this wonderful small press) and came across the recipe for Pork Shoulder Braised with Dried Chiles in Alice Waters’ The Art of Simple Food, I thought it might be time for me to tackle carnitas on my own. This specific recipe has you slicing the pork and serving it with the sauce poured over top, but along the margins, in large font, Alice adds that “shredded tender braised meat is very good as a filling for sandwiches.” By sandwiches, certainly she meant tacos, right? I thought so.

I’d been craving something spicy ever since we got back from Paris, so I added these Spicy Pickled Vegetables from David Tanis’ A Platter of Figs to the menu. (Quite fitting for a couple of reasons, since Tanis is a chef at Chez Panisse six months out of the year and the other six months, he’s in, ahem… Paris.) 

First, the good news. The pickled vegetables were a snap to make. An absolute snap. And—at the risk of sounding braggy—I found the prettiest carrots in the world to pickle.

As for the bad news, the pork was a bit of a struggle. I mean, braising it in a pot stuffed with vegetables and dried chiles was easy enough as far as braising goes, but when it came time to shred it, I had problems. Now I'd like to reiterate, I've never shredded pork before, so maybe this is just what it's like, but it just seemed like it didn’t really want to be shredded. In my previous ventures with braising, the meat has literally fallen off the bone, was practically begging to be shredded; but this pork meat, while in no way tough, simply didn't shred very easily. Perhaps I should’ve cooked it longer? Though, the recipe calls for four pounds of shoulder roast, and I had only three pounds, so I was worried about overcooking it. In other words, I don’t know what happened.

Back to the good news: With Matt's help, we got it shredded, and while it wasn't that difficult, it was work. We also—bonus alert!—got a lot of pork fat on the kitchen countertops and the faucet handles. Fortunately, this happened a few hours before dinner, so, I was able to fit in a solid clean-up. Also fortunately, while I cleaned, I put the bowl of shredded meat in a 250-degree oven, which gave the pieces of shredded meat some really nice added texture as the ends of the pieces crisped up a little. Which, leaves us with more good news. It was delicious. Completely delicious. I served it with corn tortillas, salsa, guacamole, black beans, shredded cheddar, the pickled vegetables, the slaw from my Mexican Bibimbap recipe (minus the Sriracha), and, of course, hot sauce. 

In conclusion, I’m glad to (sort-of) add pork carnitas to my dinner-party-menu wheelhouse. That said, I wouldn't mind if Sara was the one who made them next time.

Pork Shoulder Braised with Dried Chiles via The Art of Simple Food

Make a dry rub by mixing together:

1 tablespoon salt

¼ teaspoon fresh-ground black pepper

1 tablespoon chopped fresh marjoram or oregano

1 teaspoon ground ancho chile

Use the dry rub to season, the day before if possible:

One 4-pound, bone-in pork should roast, trimmed of excess fat

Cover and refrigerate until 1 hour before cooking.

Put in a heavy baking dish or roasting pan that just fits the roast:

2 onions, peeled and coarsely chopped

1 carrot, peeled and coarsely chopped

3 dried ancho chiles, split and seeds removed

1 dried chipotle chile, split and seeds removed

1 large head of garlic, peeled and coarslely chopped (Watch this for an amazing tip on how to peel a head of garlic in a few seconds.)

A few black peppercorns

A few fresh marjoram or oregano sprigs

Preheat the oven to 375F. Place the seasoned meat on top of the vegetables nad pour in:

2 cups chicken broth (or water)

Check the level of the liquid; it should reach about one quarter of the way up the roast. Add more if needed. Cook in the oven for 1 hour and 15 minutes. Turn the roast over and cook for 30 minutes, then turn again. Check the level of liquid every once in a while, adding more broth or water if it gets too low. Cook for another 30 minutes and test the meat for doneness, continuing to turn and cook until done. Remove the meat from the pan. Strain the sauce and skim well. Pass the vegetables through a food mill and return to the skimmed sauce. Remove the bones, slice the meat (or shred it!), and arrange on a warm platter. Serve with the sauce poured over or pass it around in a pitcher or sauceboat.

Spicy Pickled Vegetables via A Platter of Figs

Note: These were nice and spicy, but didn’t taste very pickled with that classic vinegary bite. If I were going to make them again, I might try using more cider vinegar, maybe ½ a cup.

4 large carrots, peeled and sliced into ½-inch thick rounds

2 medium onions, sliced into thick half-moons

3 or 4 jalapenos, quartered lengthwise

4 garlic cloves, peeled

1 teaspoon salt, or to taste (I would go for 2 teaspoons or maybe even a tablespoon here.)

10 peppercorns

1 teaspoon coriander seeds

A small epazote sprig (optional)

1 bay leaf

1 tablespoon cider vinegar

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano

Put the carrots, onions, jalapenos, garlic, salt, peppercorns, coriander seeds, epazote, bay leaf, vinegar, and olive oil in a large saucepan and cover with water. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer and cook until the carrots are just cooked through (Warning: this happens pretty fast!). Transfer to a bowl to cool.

When the vegetables are cool, add the oregano. Taste and add salt if necessary.

Caramel Cake

Here’s something I learned on Friday: mind your caramel. Yes, certain as the sun rises in the east, an unwatched pot of caramel sauce will get all effed up.

I have been wanting to attempt this cake ever since I found it in one of my mom’s old issues of Gourmet—and then was recently reminded of it again when I was up late one night trolling Lottie & Doof’s recipe archives—but to quote Morrissey, we tried and we failed. Yes, I overcooked the caramel glaze, so that instead of a beautiful, transparent, liquid glaze (like Gourmet’s and Lottie’s), I blanketed my cake with dark brown sugar-leather.

At one point, I considered trying to remake the glaze, substituting half and half for the heavy cream (I had used all of my cream), but the hardened caramel layer and cake had melded together—like a couple of best friends, inseparable.

I share this failure with you as yet another example of me trying to do too much and then doing those things poorly, instead of slowing down and doing one thing right. I need to work on this. I had an old boss who used to say: Ya do it right, ya do it light. Ya do it wrong, ya do it looooooong. I was working as a waitress in a Middle Eastern themed lunch spot, and I was given a series of very serious versions of this speech throughout my time there. And would you believe it? Eight years later, I did this caramel cake wrong. But instead of starting over (doing it long?), I simply lived with it, though I'm kind of glad I did. It was still pretty great in a dealing-with-this-dessert-is-a-bit-like-eating-a-deliciously-sweet-old-boot kind of way. And, bonus, it gave our dinner guests a good laugh.

Next time, I’ll do it right/light. Yes, next time will be different.

Caramel Cake via Gourmet
Cake:
2 cups plus 2 tablespoons sifted cake flour (not self-rising; sift before measuring)
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 stick (4 oz) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
2 large eggs, at room temperature 30 minutes
1 cup well-shaken buttermilk

Caramel Glaze:
1 cup heavy cream
1/2 cup packed light brown sugar
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Make cake:
Preheat oven to 350°F with rack in middle. Butter an 8-inch square cake pan and line bottom with a square of parchment paper, then butter parchment.

Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.

Beat butter and sugar in a large bowl with an electric mixer at medium speed until pale and fluffy, then beat in vanilla. Add eggs 1 at a time, beating well after each addition. At low speed, beat in buttermilk until just combined (mixture may look curdled). Add flour mixture in 3 batches, mixing until each addition is just incorporated.

Spread batter evenly in cake pan, then rap pan on counter several times to eliminate air bubbles. Bake until golden and a toothpick inserted in center of cake comes out clean, 35 to 40 minutes. Cool in pan on a rack for 10 minutes, then run a knife around edge of pan. Invert onto rack and discard parchment, flip cake so it is right-side up and then cool completely, about 1 hour.

Make glaze:
Bring cream, brown sugar, corn syrup, and a pinch of salt to a boil in a 1 1/2-quart heavy saucepan over medium heat, stirring until sugar has dissolved. Boil until glaze registers 210 to 212°F on thermometer, 12 to 14 minutes, then stir in vanilla.

Put rack with cake in a shallow baking pan and pour hot glaze over top of cake, allowing it to run down sides. Cool until glaze is set, about 30 minutes.

Video Attempt: Holiday Cocktails and Spicy Almonds

For the record, I had a bad feeling about using the coffee mug in place of a cocktail shaker—I even told Matt that I didn't think it would work. If I could have it back, I would have improvised the shaker differently, but these things happen. Also, the new stocking my mom made Matt is absolutely perfect. I'll have to show it to you someday soon.

Point being... happy holidays, everyone! I hope you have a bunch of days off from work and are able to relax with great friends, family, food, and maybe even a few cocktails!

p.s. To purchase the tote bag featured at the end, go here!

Chartreuse Cocktail (adapted from Martha Stewart Living)
makes 2 cocktails
1/4 cup Chartruese
1/4 cup gin
2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lime juice
1 tablespoon simple syrup (recipe follows)
1/2 cup sparkling water
ice cubes

To make simple syrup, bring 1/2 cup sugar and 1/2 cup water to a boil in a small saucepan. Cook, stirring, until sugar dissolves. Let cool.

Combine Chartruese, gin, lime juice and simple syrup in a large glass or liquid measuring cup. Divide evenly into two ice-filled glasses and top off with sparkling water.

'Egg Nogg' via The Savoy Cocktail Book
1 egg
1 tablespoon powdered sugar
1 glass of any spirit desired (We used a shot glass to measure 1 glass.)

Fill glass with milk. Shake well and strain into long tumbler. Grate a little nutmeg on top. [These are the directions as they're written in this cool little book. I don't think you can go wrong with it... Oh, wait. You can. You definitely can.]

Pink Rose Cocktail via The Savoy Cocktail Book
The white of 1 egg
1 teaspoon grenadine
1 teaspoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon sweet cream [We mixed a bit of half and half with simple syrup.]
2/3 glass dry gin [Again, I think glass here means a shot glass.]

Shake well and strain into cocktail glass.

Spicy Almonds via Ellie Krieger
2 cups whole, unsalted almonds
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons olive oil
1/4 teaspoon hot pepper sauce

Toast the almonds in a dry skillet over a medium heat, stirring frequently, until fragrant, about 3 minutes. Transfer the almonds to a bowl.

In a small bowl, stir together the cumin, garlic, cayenne pepper and salt. Heat the oil in the skillet over medium heat. Stir the spices into the oil and cook, stirring until warm, about 30 seconds. Add the almonds and cook, stirring frequently, until the nuts are warm and the spices are evenly distributed. Add the hot pepper sauce and stir to distribute. Remove the almonds from the pan and allow them to cool before serving.

Jamie Oliver's Pizza Dough

At the end of my yoga class, the teacher often urges us students to try to take the quiet we’ve manifested in class along with us for the rest of the day. On the drive home from Big Sur, I have this notion very much in mind—to take the unhurried, relaxed, you're-OK feeling so visceral in Big Sur along with me to Los Angeles for one more day. And I decide baking bread will help me do this, any manner of bread that isn’t too complicated. I just want the simple pleasure of it, the simple yet semi-miraculous feeling of pulling the dish towel off the bowl to reveal risen, puffed-up dough. In short, it is going to be therapeutic.

But first, I need a recipe. Something simple, I remind myself in the morning. Oh, but wouldn't it be nice if the bread were an integral part of dinner so that my therapeutic bread-making experience could also provide real sustenance? Oh, and could I choose the recipe and write down the ingredients before my 8:30am meeting, which is right next door to the grocery store so I won't have to make a separate trip to the store later?

But I can't find a recipe beforehand, and so it's not until midway through class when I remember a recent post from The Wednesday Chef for Jamie Oliver's pizza dough. It's an Aha! moment for sure because apart from it being a recipe fit for dinner, the other main aspect I remember is how simple it sounded. Only, after the meeting, I can't access the Internet to check the ingredients list as I do not have a smart phone. No, my phone, according to my boss's 13-year-old daughter, is the same one her younger sister has. ("High five!")

I refuse to go home for the Internet just to leave again. So, I call Matt at work and ask, "Can you do a quick Google search for me right now?" He says it's not a good time and that he'll call me back a bit later. I say, "But I'm at Trader Joe's and it'll just take a second and I'm trying to take the quiet manifested in Big Sur along with me for one more day!" He obliges. (Thank you, Matt!) I collect my ingredients.

I have some work to do from home, but set 3pm as the time to start my therapy session/ pizza dough-making. Of course, the whole time I'm working I'm also aware that the pizza-making/therapy session could be a post for this blog. Why not? Well, for starters, it's Tuesday, and Tuesdays at 4:30pm is one of my favorite yoga classes that I can never make when physically at work, which if I go to is going to rush the therapy of it all. That's OK, I decide. I can do it all. I'll make the dough, which will make me feel grounded and connected; then, clean up everything, let the dough rise while I'm at yoga, come back home and finish it off in a jiffy. (This is the kind of optimistic thinking that leads to using words like jiffy.) Matt will come home from work and I will be this shining example of the working and working-out woman who has juggled it all (sans child).

Of course, all the while, the sun is setting, and as I have learned time and time again, my photography skills tend to really come undone without natural light. But with little rationale, I convince myself that it's practically spring, that the sun is setting later and later, and that I can make it back before the sun really sets.

This is kind of crazy, but do you know what happened? The sun did set. 

My version:

What was I thinking? That the sun was going to hang out in the sky a little bit longer while I lay in Savasana, which I toyed with the idea of skipping so as to get ten more minutes of sunlight, but ultimately couldn't because Savasana (where you lie on your back with your arms relaxed by your side and legs flopped toward the floor and your eyes closed) is by far, my favorite part of class. 

I guess what I'm trying to say is: sometimes I ask too much of food. It can't be my scheduled therapy session and my fuel and a way to show my husband I love him and a beautifully-photographed blog post all in one.

"A delicious sort of shiver ran through Lyle. What I wanted to happen is happening, he thought. For a moment he felt the rest of his life unfurling like that, ordained and golden, as effortless as falling, but the sense of falling reawakened the terror with which he normally regarded the future." - Peter Cameron's The Weekend

I brought this beautiful novel on our recent trip to Big Sur and in retrospect, find it funny that I underlined and dog-eared the page of the above few sentences. My quiet intentions fell apart in an instant outside the world of vacation.

And though, perhaps not as restorative as it could've been, the pizza dough made for a delicious, satisfying dinner that really did come together in a jiffy. And if you haven't already, I highly recommend reading Luisa's post for the version minus the frazzle and multitude of expectations, and plus her beautiful photos and really simple instructions on what to do for sauce and toppings.

Luisa of The Wednesday Chef's version:

 photo by Luisa Weiss

Jamie Oliver's Pizza Dough via The Wednesday Chef
Makes enough for one half-sheet pan (if you like a thicker-crusted pizza) or two half sheet pans if you like your pizza thin as can be).

3 1/2 cups (1 lb) all-purpose flour (if you can find it, use Italian "00" flour)
1 1/2 to 2 teaspoons fine sea salt (you might find you need more)
1 packet (1/4 ounce) active dry yeast or 7 grams instant yeast (for those of you in Germany, this is one of those Trockenhefe packets)
1 1/2 teaspoons raw or regular sugar
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/4 cups lukewarm water
1. Put the flour into a large bowl and make a well in the middle. In a large measuring cup, mix the yeast, sugar and olive oil into the water and leave for a few minutes, then pour into the well. Using a fork, bring the flour in gradually from the sides and swirl it into the liquid. Sprinkle in the salt. Keep mixing, drawing larger amounts of flour in, and when it all starts to come together, work the rest of the flour in with your clean, flour-dusted hands. Knead until you have a smooth, springy dough.
2. Wash out your bowl, dry it and oil it lightly. Place the ball of dough in the bowl and turn to coat it with oil. Cover the bowl with a damp cloth and place in a warm room or an oven (not turned on) for about an hour. The dough will have doubled in size.
3. Now put the dough on a flour-dusted surface and gently deflate it with your hands - this is called punching down the dough. You can either use it immediately, or keep it, wrapped in plastic wrap, in the fridge (or freezer) until required. If using right away, simply pat out to the size of your half-sheet pan or divide in half and roll out to cover two pans. You can also divide the dough into little balls for individual  pizzas - this amount of dough is enough to make about three to four medium pizzas.
4. Timing-wise, it's a good idea to roll the pizzas out about 15 to 20 minutes before you want to cook them. Then simply top them with your heart's desire and bake them in a very hot, preheated oven (turn your oven as high as it will go) for about 10 minutes for the thicker pizza and less for the thinner ones, until crisp and bubbling.

"Greatest Meal Ever": Vegetarian Chili

One of the only things I enjoy more than a good meal or recipe is a good story. I found both in this past month's Saveur, which included 25 mini essays of famous people in food and writing describing their "greatest meals ever." It's a superb issue with a lot of wonderful stories, but for me, a few favorites quickly emerged. The first one, "Open House," by Gabrielle Hamilton, is about a Sunday lunch that Hamilton planned à la those held by her Italian mother-in-law. She had a menu ready, guests were invited, "Except that somehow my husband and I fell into one of those massive, lacerating, deep and dark martial blowouts that you never forget for as long as you live." A recipe comes attached to each essay and this one looks truly amazing: Brown Butter pasta topped with pine nuts and fried eggs. It's on my to-do list, but until then, check it out and read the essay here.

The other essay, "Fire in my Belly," by Suketu Mehta was one of those that the moment I finished reading, I needed to discuss. This discussion was quickly followed by an urge to make the dish that the story hinges on, an extremely spicy, vegetarian chili. [Extreme sidebar information: I didn't see the recipe or even a photograph of the dish on the essay's adjacent page, and without this, my little millennial/short-attention-spanned brain skipped the next logical steps and immediately Googled the author, found his website, and sent him an email saying something like: "I loved your essay! Where can I find the recipe?" Mr. Mehta was kind enough to reply with a nice message and a link to the Saveur site where it had been conspicuously sitting all along. I also then found it in the magazine a few pages back. My bad, but goes to show you how crazy/cool/weird the Internet can be. No?]

Though only one magazine-page long, this mini essay spends almost the entire first half setting up the author's affinity for chiles, spicy food, and in particular, his vegetarian chili, which he makes with the spiciest chile on planet urf, the naga jolokia. Do you know about the Scoville scale? It's basically how us humans measure the spiciness of chili peppers. Mehta explains: "A jalapeño has about 8,000 [Scoville units], a habanero, half a million. The naga jolokia, meanwhile, explodes with over a million Scoville units." You must read the story yourself to know what I'm talking about when I say that Mehta's vegetarian chili sounds frighteningly spicy, as in, this chili could hurt you in a very harmful way.

Saveur's version:

Photo: Todd Coleman
 
our version:

So what did I do? I completely wussed out. Even though I love spicy food, the story made me believe I couldn't handle this chile's level of spiciness. This combined with Saveur's tips on Taming the Heat in Chiles caused me to use three habaneros instead of the naga scaryokias. But guess what? All of this taming and fear of chiles led to one major letdown. My chili was hardly spicy at all.

It was, however, super flavorful. These dried chipotles and lone ancho chile really added a nice depth of flavor.

Speaking of depth of flavor, you keep adding things to this chili, almost as if in layers, which made for a really satisfying if not a bit labor-intensive cooking experience.

And while this may not have been my greatest meal ever, as far as vegetarian chili's go, this one definitely ranks up there with the greatest. However, next time, I'll be sure to stay strong and try the naga jolokia or at the very very least, use extra habaneros sliced in half. The three above were simply cut open, and with a pot of chili this big, it's just not enough heat, particularly when you are expecting to Scoville yourself to death.

Vegetarian Chili via Saveur
12 oz. dried dark kidney beans, soaked overnight
12 oz. dried pinto beans, soaked overnight
Kosher salt, to taste
1⁄4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
12 cloves garlic, minced
3 dried chipotle chiles
2 bay leaves
2 large white onions, chopped
1 dried ancho chile
8 oz. button mushrooms, quartered
6 medium tomatoes, chopped
1 1⁄2 cups canned hominy, drained
1⁄2 cup tomato paste
2 tbsp. red wine vinegar
2 tsp. fresh thyme leaves
1 tsp. dried oregano
1 tsp. ground cumin
8 sun-dried tomatoes, chopped
3–6 naga jolokia or habanero chiles, 

slit lengthwise down one side
Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
Sour cream, minced cilantro, 

and minced red onion

1. Put kidney beans and pinto beans into a large pot and cover with 3" water; bring to a boil, reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until beans are tender, about 1 hour. Season with salt; set pot aside.

2. Heat oil in a 6-qt. pot over medium-high heat. Add garlic, chipotle chiles, bay leaves, onions, and ancho chile and cook, stirring often, until onions are golden, 12–15 minutes. Add mushrooms and cook, stirring often, until tender, about 8 minutes. Add tomatoes and cook, stirring, until they release their juices, about 5 minutes. Stir in reserved beans and their cooking liquid, along with hominy, tomato paste, vinegar, thyme, oregano, cumin, sun-dried tomatoes, and habaneros and season with salt and pepper. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer, stirring occasionally, until chili thickens and flavors meld, about 1 hour. Serve chili topped with sour cream, cilantro, and red onions.

Striped Ice Cream Cake

You know it's hot when... you are washing the dishes and the water coming out of the faucet starts looking really really inviting. I kept leaning my head in toward the cold stream until finally I had completely dunked my head in the icy bliss. It was everything I thought it would be. And I'm planning on doing it again when I tackle the next round of dishes.

Just when I think I've shaken Martha Stewart, in she comes again with another beautiful, layered dessert begging for someone to recreate. This time it was her striped ice cream cake. It seemed doable. It seemed to be Martha Stewart in appearance alone, or like Martha Stewart meets Sandra Lee Semi-Homemade—once I read through the recipe, I realized that it called for already-made, store-bought sorbet and vanilla ice cream. The only thing homemade was the angel food cake layer. I thought: This is Martha's way of reaching out to the masses, to people like me. This is something I can do, I thought. I was wrong—sort of.

Martha Stewart Living's version:

our version:

Yet again, I am reminded: there is simply no room for error when it comes to execution in Martha's recipes/crafts/lifestyle. My jam layer should've been thicker. Instead of peach sorbet, I thought lemon would be nice, but the lemon sorbet was white, not yellow and so looked too much like the vanilla ice cream. Also, my layers aren't even close to even.

What I did have going for me? Little plastic animal figurines. Is this normal baking/cooking behavior to want to stage animal figurines on different food surfaces?

Back to food:

True, as far as Martha-Stewart desserts go, this one was relatively simple. However, it requires a night of staying on task. At the time that this raspberry layer was slathered on, it was well into hour 5 and around 8pm at night. The last layer of sorbet couldn't go on for another 2 hours and then the whole thing needed to freeze overnight. Just something to keep in mind if you want to try it out yourself.

All the time it took behind us, the cake is a perfect dessert for these hot summer nights we've been having here in Los Angeles. I personally love the combo of sorbet and vanilla ice cream—very creamsicle like and very refreshing.

In closing: doesn't this end piece look like half of a sandwich? Or, if you're an east-coaster like me, a hoagie?

striped ice cream cake via Martha Stewart Living:

Before layering the ice cream and sorbets, beat them (separately) with a mixer until softened. They'll be easier to spread. 

angel food sheet cake (recipe follows)

1 cup blueberry jam

2 pints vanilla ice cream, softened

2 pints raspberry sorbet, softened

1 pint peach sorbet, softened

1. Line a 9-by-13 inch baking dish with plastic wrap. Place half the baked angel food cake in bottom of dish. Spread jam over top. Spread ice cream over top of jam. Freeze until firm, about 1 hour.

2. Spread raspberry sorbet over ice cream layer. Freeze until firm, about 2 hours. Spread peach sorbet over raspberry layer; top with remaining angel food cake. Wrap in plastic wrap; freeze overnight.

3. Remove plastic from top of cake, and turn out cake onto a cutting board; unwrap and trim edges. Slice cake, and serve immediately.

angel food sheet cake

vegetable oil cooking spray

12 large egg whites, room temperature

1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar

1 1/4 cups superfine sugar

1 cup all-purpose flour

salt

1. Preheat oven to 350. Coat a 13-by-17-inch rimmed baking sheet with cooking spray, and line with parchment. Coat parchment with spray.

2. Whisk whites and cream of tartar with a mixer on medium speed until soft peaks form. Slowly add 3/4 cup sugar, and whisk until thick and glossy, about 3 minutes.

3. Sift remaining 1/2 cup sugar, the flour, and a pinch of salt over egg-white mixture, and fold gently until just combined, being careful not to deflate whites. Spread batter evenly onto prepared baking sheet. Bake until golden and set, about 20 minutes. 

4. Let cool completely in sheet on a wire rack. (Cake should pull away from sides  easily.) Slide cake out from sheet, right side up; cut in half cross-wise to form two 8 1/2-by-13-inch pieces. Carefully remove parchment from cake.

Third Time's a Dud: Tortilla Soup with Pasilla Chilies, Fresh Cheese, and Avocado

Dear Sirs and Madams:
Sometimes I ask questions like: Has anyone seen my Mugi Miso? Or why won't my mom read my blog? Or, what's up with that (with the word that linking to a weird video)? And while all are very good questions, they are basically joke questions. Well, I have real questions this time--questions that I would love to get some real answers to. See, normally the pattern with Bon Appetempt is that we make something for the first time, we either succeed or fail, learn something about ourselves, post it and move on. But this post actually marks the third time we've attempted this recipe, and each time has birthed totally different results. We made the soup late at night the first time and as such, the photos were bad bad bad, but the soup was so good that we thought we would just make it again and get some better photos. Easy, right? Well, this second time the pictures weren't much better but the soup was bad. Same recipe, same process, opposite results. We were confused. We went for it a third time. How did we fare? Not so great.

The Pleasures of Slow Food's version:

our (third) version:

The recipe, as written in the book, calls for "2 pasilla chilies." The first time we made this, I purchased what I believed were 2 pasilla chilies. They looked like fresh, green peppers.

[Major sidebar for fans of Rick Bayless: Did you know that he is extremely active on Twitter? I wasn't sure if I could seed and stem the peppers sans gloves so I asked the question via Twitter and Mr. Bayless responded via direct message, almost instantly! He wrote: "Yes, but most people use latex gloves." Thanks, Mr. Bayless and thanks, technology!]

But then after chopping the peppers (with gloves), I realized fresh peppers made absolutely no sense in the context of the recipe as I was supposed to, "Add the chili pieces to the hot pan. Turn quickly as they fry, toast, and release a delicious aroma, about 30 seconds in all." Toast fresh peppers in 30 seconds? So confusing. Now, after a touch of research, I think that pasillas are dried peppers and fresh "pasillas" are a different thing entirely? Question 1: is this right? Lots of contradictory information floating out there on the Internet. Most seem to say it's the U.S. version of the poblano, some say pasillas are by definition dried (but don't tell that to Whole Foods) while others claim pasillas are really found only in Mexico. Anyone wanna chime in/sound off on pepper stuff? I am legitimately interested.

Back to the first time attempt: we continued on with the soup anyway and it was delicious. (See fresh peppers below.)

The second time we made it, we assumed it would be even better since we had learned our lesson and this time, bought dried pasillas.

We were wrong. This time, the broth seemed way too thin and kind of one-dimensional if not flavorless. And then we must have toasted the pasillas for too long because they tasted equal parts bitter and spicy.

Scared by the massive fail of this second attempt, we went against the recipe and back to using fresh pasillas for the third try, but we still couldn't capture the glory of that first try. The third one was average at best, and what is possibly worse is that I have no logical explanations. Each time, we opted out of frying our own tortilla chips and used the same chicken broth. So, how could they be that different?

Will we continue to chase the memory of that first soup and make this again? You bet. Also, Matt and I had an amazing midweek anniversary trip to Desert Hot Springs.

For recipe, click HERE.

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.