Week 27: Twin City Kisses

Yes, that's a table made of ice.

Visit a city like Minneapolis-St. Paul in high September, and you begin to find yourself mentally packing your bags, and imagining a life for you and yours in an idyllic Midwestern wonderland.  The streets are tidy, the people are interesting and kind, and the politics are progressive, and tempered by a kind of Lutheran good sense and practicality.  Local music is good.  Beer and cheese are plentiful.

Things get a little more Darwinian in February.  That’s when you realize that not only are the people interesting and kind, they are of a hardier stock than most.  This is Little House on the Prairie country.  Here, putting food up for the winter is more than a quaint, slightly anachronistic hobby, and ice fishing is considered recreation rather than torture.

The foodways that accompany the seasons, and the pleasures they bring are at the heart of Always Superb:  Recipes for Every Occasion (2003), a collaborative effort between the Junior Leagues of Minneapolis and St. Paul.  The editors write,

Today we are far removed from life on the prairie.  We gather with our friends and families not out of a common need but a common bond formed from generations of seasonal traditions.  We may not live in a log house, but we still go to the cabin.  Food is abundant year-round, yet we welcome thick soups and hearty meals in the winter.

In that spirit, I tried to put together an autumn menu with recipes that called for root vegetables and seasonal fruits, things that were warm and hearty, without being too heavy.  And to me, that says soup, salad, homemade bread, and a fruit crisp.

This first recipe intrigued me because two of its primary ingredients, wild rice and soybeans, are two of Minnesota’s biggest crops (at the time of this cookbook’s publication, Minnesota was the nation’s second-biggest producer of wild rice and the third-biggest of soybeans), yet they’re not things I’d necessarily put together in a dish, much less a salad.

Minnesota Salad: Wild Rice and Soybeans

Minnesota Salad

SALAD:

1/2 cup frozen soybeans
Salt to taste
1 cup wild rice
2 T. chopped celery
2 T. chopped apple
2 T. chopped onion
2 T. chopped carrot
1/4 cup chopped parsley
1 cup craisins

DRESSING:

1/2 cup olive oil
1/3 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 cup orange juice
2 t. honey
1 T. grated orange zest
1 t. salt

For the salad, cook the soybeans using the package directions; drain. Rinse under cold running water; drain. Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Sprinkle with a small amount of salt. Add the rice. Simmer for 30 to 35 minutes or until tender; drain. Rinse under cold running water; drain. Combine the cooked soybeans, cooked rice, celery, apple, onion, carrots, parsley and craisins in a large bowl.

For the dressing, whisk the olive oil, vinegar, orange juice, honey, orange zest and salt together in a small bowl.

Pour the dressing over the rice salad and mix well. Chill the salad, covered, for 2 hours or longer. Serve cold.

YIELD: 6 to 8 servings

While it’s likely that your local grocery store doesn’t stock frozen soybeans, they probably do stock frozen edamame, which is…. soybeans.  These are delicious little suckers, and make a fine snack on their own with a little salt.  They remind me of a much healthier, less messy version of boiled peanuts.  As for the salad itself, it’s excellent, unusual, and has an appealing crunchiness.  It also improves after a day in the fridge.

For the next course, I made a pureed carrot soup.  Unfortunately, I have the world’s smallest and worst food processor, so this is always a challenge, and I never get the soup as silky and smooth as I’d like.  Alas.

Carrot Ginger Soup

Carrot Ginger Soup

1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter
2 pounds carrots, peeled and sliced
2 large onions, chopped
1 1/2 t. ground ginger
1 T. grated orange zest
1/2 t. coriander
5 cups chicken broth
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup half-and-half
Salt to taste
Pepper to taste

GARNISH:

1/2 cup (2 ounces) grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup fresh parsley sprigs, or chopped parsley

Heat the butter in a large saucepan until melted. Add the carrots and onions. Cook for 15 minutes or until tender, stirring frequently. Stir in the ginger, orange zest, coriander and 2 cups of the chicken broth. Simmer for 30 minutes.

Puree the carrot mixture in a blender or food processor. Return to the saucepan. Stir in the remaining 3 cups chicken broth, milk, and half-and-half. Season with salt and pepper. Cook over medium heat until heated through.

Ladle into soup bowls. Garnish with Parmesan cheese and parsley.

YIELD: 10 to 14 servings

As everyone knows, a bowl of soup is only as good as the bread you dunk into it. I love making bread from scratch, but almost never do it. In fact, I realized as I was making this that I hadn’t even baked with yeast since I made a King Cake – and that was during Mardi Gras. So, I was a little out of practice, but things worked out pretty well all the same.

No-Knead Braided Parmesan Bread

No-Knead Braided Parmesan Bread

PARMESAN GARLIC FILLING:

1/2 cup (2 ounces) grated Parmesan cheese
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, softened
3 T. snipped parsley
1/2 t. garlic powder

BREAD:

1 envelope dry yeast
1/4 cup warm (105- to 115-degree) water
1 cup lukewarm scalded milk
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) butter, softened
1/4 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 1/2 t. salt
4 to 4 1/2 cups flour
1 egg yolk
1 T. water
Sesame seeds

For the filling, combine the Parmesan cheese, butter, parsley and garlic powder in a bowl and mix well.

For the bread, dissolve the yeast in 1/4 cup warm water in a large bowl. Stir in the milk, butter, sugar, eggs and salt. Stir in 1 cup of the flour. Stir in enough of the remaining flour to form a soft, sticky dough, scraping down the side of the bowl occasionally. Let rise, covered, in a warm place for 1 hour or until doubled in bulk.

Deflate the risen dough by stirring 25 times. Roll or pat into a 12 x 18-inch rectangle on a lightly floured surface. Spread the filling evening over the dough. Cut the dough into three 4 x 18-inch strips. Roll each strip into a rope, sealing the ends.

Place the dough ropes diagonally close together on a lightly greased baking sheet. Brain the ropes gently and loosely; do not stretch. Seal the ends and tuck under securely. Let rise for 30 minutes or until doubled in bulk.

Combine the egg yolk and 1 tablespoon water in a small bowl and mix well. Brush over the dough braid. Sprinkle with sesame seeds Place on the lower oven rack.

Bake at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes or until golden brown and the bread sounds hollow when tapped.

YIELD: 8 to 10 servings

If I had to make this over again, I’d a) remember to sprinkle the sesame seeds over it before I baked it, and b) probably use about half as much sugar as the recipe calls for.  As is, it’s a very challah-ish bread, and the sweetness kind of overpowers the butter, cheese, and garlic.  And much as I like sugar, I’ll take butter, cheese, and garlic any day.  Still, it’s quite good, moist without being heavy, and it’s excellent toasted.

For dessert, I decided to make a fruit crisp because I’ve made a fruit crisp at least once every fall for the past decade, and I’d not yet met my fruit crisp quota.  And while I’ve made plenty with apples or mixed berries, I’d never made a pear crisp before.

Autumn Pear Crisp

Autumn Pear Crisp

6 Anjou pears, chopped
Juice of 1 lemon
1/2 cup sugar
1 T. cornstarch
1 t. cinnamon
2/3 cup flour
1 cup packed brown sugar
2 t. cinnamon
1 t. salt
6 T. chilled butter, cut into pieces
2/3 cup rolled oats
1/2 cup chopped pecans

Combine the pears and lemon juice in a large bowl and mix well.

Whisk the sugar, cornstarch and 1 teaspoon cinnamon together in a bowl. Add to the pears and toss gently to coat. Spoon into a 7 x 12-inch baking dish.

Place the flour, brown sugar, 2 teaspoons cinnamon and salt in a food processor container and pulse until mixed. Add the chilled butter pieces and pulse until mixed and chunky; do not pulse until smooth. Add the oats and pecans and pulse 2 times. Sprinkle over the pear mixture.

Bake at 375 degrees for 40 minutes or until the pears are tender and the topping is golden brown and bubbly. Cool for 20 minutes. Serve warm. You may serve this with cinnamon ice cream.

YIELD: 8 to 10 servings

I’d feared that the pears wouldn’t hold up well, and would just cook to mush.  However, between the cornstarch and the fact that I used pears that weren’t very ripe, they came out tender, and the crisp held its shape when served.  Of course, once the ice cream starts to melt over the warm crisp that’s a moot point, but also when the crisp is at its peak deliciousness.

It’s getting close to Thanksgiving, so next week, I’ll be going back to New England, to Rhode Island, where all the bad seed Pilgrims eventually settled after they got kicked out of Massachusetts.

Oh, and I should mention that the title of this post comes from the Hold Steady song “Stuck Between Stations,” an undeniably catchy tune that allows the listener to rock out while learning a thing or two about doomed American poet John Berryman in the process.

 

Week 26: A Suburban 60s Meal from Pasadena Prefers

The Junior League of Pasadena’s classic Pasadena Prefers (1964) is another of those time capsule cookbooks that perfectly capture the home cooking of a particular time, place, and people.  Here, it’s affluent suburban housewives in southern California in the 1960s, the kind of women who might be called upon to wrangle a hoard of hungry small children, whip up a weeknight supper for the family, or pull off some gracious, elegant entertaining at a moment’s notice, and make it look effortless.

This week, I not only wanted to cook a classic 60s meal suitable for a nice family supper or for grown-up company, but I also wanted to settle a question:  why don’t people make leg of lamb and ice box cake anymore?

Are they too time-consuming?  Not tasty?  Dated?  Or, in the case of the icebox cake, which calls for several uncooked eggs, potentially dangerous?

The first recipe from Pasadena Prefers that I made recently came up on an episode of Mad Men when Don Draper drops in on his schoolteacher mistress, who offers him a slice of date nut bread.  While the quick bread is still alive and well, in pumpkin, banana, zucchini, and cranberry forms, the poor date nut bread has fallen from favor, unjustly, I might add.

Date Bread

Date Bread, which I did not offer to any philandering, cruel, yet devastatingly handsome and charismatic Manhattan ad men

2 cups dates, pitted and cut up; equivalent to one pound dates with seeds
1/2 cup boiling water
1/2 cup butter
1 t. soda
1 cup light brown sugar, firmly packed
3 eggs, separated
1 t. vanilla
1 t. salt
1 1/2 cups flour
1 cup walnuts or pecans, chopped

Pour boiling water over dates, butter, and soda. Let cool. Then add sugar, egg yolks, vanilla, salt and flour, mixing well. Add nuts. Whip egg whites until stiff but not too dry and fold into dough, blending well. Pour into 1 large or 2 small well-greased loaf pans. Bake at 325 for 1 hour and 35-45 minutes if using large pan; 1 hour and 10-15 minutes if two small pans are used. Test centers with toothpick at end of 1 hour 15 minutes, or 1 hour, depending on pans. If mixture adheres to pick, continue baking; if not, remove. Cool first in pans; then continue cooling on cake rack. When completely cool, wrap loaves in foil or saran wrap, air tight. Can be eaten immediately, but improves in texture and flavor if allowed to ripen one or two days before using.

– Mrs. Varick D. Martin, Jr.

It’s a dense, sticky bread that, as promised by Mrs. Martin, becomes stickier and moister after a day or so.  I kept meaning to send one of the loaves into work with Brady, but instead, we greedily kept both for ourselves, and got a week’s worth of yummy breakfast out of them.

I doubted if I’d like this next recipe (cold cream-based soups are not my thing), but it just seemed like such a perfect, clipped from an issue of Good Housekeeping, 60s appetizer that I just had to try it.

Avocado Soup

Avocado Soup

1 ripe avocado, pitted and peeled
2 cups cold clear chicken broth
1 cup cream
2 T. white rum
1/2 t. curry powder
1/2 t. salt
Ground pepper
1 lemon, quartered, for garnish

Combine all ingredients, except lemon, in blender. Serve in chilled cups, with lemon quarter on the side. Serves 4.

– Mrs. Hubert Paul, Jr.

Actually, this was almost good.  However, that little pinch of curry powder gave the soup a rather unpleasant aftertaste that sort of spoiled the whole thing.  If you’re a fan of cold soups, though, you might give this one a try without the curry powder.

Next, it was time for the main event, the leg of lamb, which I had to buy at a specialty butcher as my local grocery store only sold little 1-pound packages of lamb stew meat.  As is the case with most older cookbooks, the authors just assume that you know how to do things like trim and tie a piece of lamb, which I did not.  Cook’s Illustrated provided some useful tips on this, and the rest I pieced together by consulting Food & Wine magazine and the Food Network website.

Still, I had little to no idea whether I was doing it remotely correctly, so that might impact exactly how instructive all of my instructive photos are here.

Lamb Roasted with Coffee and Cream

Leg of lamb
Garlic
Dry mustard
Salt and pepper
Salt pork, sliced thin
2 cups coffee with cream
1 cup port wine

Skin lamb. Rub with garlic, mustard, salt and pepper.

Place salt pork over lamb and roast 1/2 hour at 400 degrees until lamb is brown.

Remove salt pork. Pour coffee with cream over lamb and roast 2 hours at 325 degrees basting frequently. Add port wine and cook 1/2 hour more.

– Mrs. William A. Brackenridge

The roasting times for this recipe will result in a leg of lamb that is probably more well-done than modern diners tend to prefer.  My meat thermometer read 140 degrees after two hours in the oven, so I added the port then, and cut the remaining roasting time to about 20 minutes in the oven, plus 10 minutes of resting on the cutting board.  With a total roasting time of 2 and a half hours for a 5-pound leg of lamb, instead of 3, most of the lamb came out somewhere between medium and medium-well.  So, if you like your meat a little bloodier, adjust accordingly.

I also found myself unable to procure salt pork to lay over the lamb during the first stage of roasting.  I picked up some bacon instead, but had concerns that the smoked flavor would interfere with the lamb.

Thankfully, Pasadena native Julia Child came to the rescue.  In those rare situations where the smoky, salty flavor of bacon isn’t necessarily a plus, Child recommends blanching it by placing the strips in a saucepan of cold water, bringing it to a boil, and allowing it to simmer for 5-8 minutes.  Problem solved.

My final concern about the leg of lamb was its cost.  However, Brady and I ate sliced lamb for two nights, then put the rest of the leg through a meat grinder, and made shepherd’s pie with the leftovers.  So, two people were fed for 4 nights, making the leg of lamb, in the end, not so extravagant after all.

And, I might add, we were fed very, very well.  Even though it was a bit more well-done than I would have liked, the lamb was still juicy, and the coffee/port basting juices were a delicious complement.  Why don’t people roast leg of lamb anymore?  Aside from the difficulty of obtaining it (which really wasn’t all that difficult), I can’t think of a single reason.

I wanted to make peas for a side dish (which would come in handy when we made the shepherd’s pie), and the recipe that I chose here was coincidentally, also submitted by Mrs. Varick D. Martin, Jr.

Savory Peas

Savory Peas

1 pkg. frozen peas
2 small tomatoes, chopped
1 small onion, finely chopped
2 T. olive oil – or half olive, half Wesson
1/2-1 t. sugar
1/2 t. sweet basil
Salt and pepper to taste

In saucepan, blend together all ingredients except peas. Cover. Bring to boil, reduce heat, and simmer 10 minutes. Cook peas according to package directions. Add to mixture, and reheat 1-2 minutes. Serve at once.

– Mrs. Varick D. Martin, Jr.

Finally, for dessert, I planned to tackle a version of a recipe that has fascinated me for as long as I’ve been collecting old cookbooks:  the ice box cake.  They’re ubiquitous in American cookbooks from the 50s or 60s, but nowhere else.  And despite the raw eggs, they’ve always struck me as delicious-sounding.  So, once again I had a moment of doubt, but ultimately decided that a) this dessert was eaten for decades and probably no one died of it, b) it was pretty sad that I had put it off this long, and c) who was I anyway to argue with the Junior League of Pasadena?

German Ice Box Cake

2 cakes German sweet chocolate
2 T. water
1 T. powdered sugar
4 eggs, separated
1 t. vanilla
1 dozen lady fingers

Melt chocolate and water in double boiler. Add sugar and beat well. Add egg yolks, one at a time, and beat well. Add vanilla. Beat egg whites stiff, and fold into mixture.

Line a one quart loaf pan with wax paper. Split lady fingers and line bottom and sides.

Pour in mixture.

Refrigerate overnight. Serves 8.

– Mrs. H.C. Krueger

I got this started with two hours in the freezer, then moved it to the refrigerator until the next day when it was time to eat.  Then, I had to trim the edges of the lady fingers, which came up a little further on the side of the pan than the chocolate mixture.

Then, I inverted the loaf pan on a serving platter, removed the pan, and peeled off the wax paper.  As you can see, I could have used some slightly sturdier lady fingers (or maybe some sponge cake, which can be substituted), but though there was a dicey moment, it did not collapse.

German Ice Box Cake

It is a very special day in a young woman’s life when she makes her first ice box cake.  And as with the leg of lamb, I regret that they have declined in popularity, because it was delicious.  The chocolate filling was like a cross between pudding and mousse, and though I would have liked a thicker lady finger, it make for a good combination.

As my week with the Junior League of Pasadena comes to an end, I have to admit that I’m no closer to answering my question about the leg of lamb and the ice box cake.  They weren’t difficult or time-consuming to make, not that expensive, all things considered, and both tasted great.

And I think both should make a comeback, if for no other reason than that it is really satisfying to make something you’ve never tried to cook before, especially when it turns out more or less like it’s supposed to.

The time capsule cooking has been fun, but next week, it’s back to the present, and to the Midwest, with the Junior League of Minneapolis-St. Paul.

 

Week 26: Tournament of Deliciousness

This week I’ll be cooking from the Junior League of Pasadena’s Pasadena Prefers (1964), because I felt like moving a little closer to home, preferably towards a city with no Major League baseball team (though Jackie Robinson did grow up there, and cut his sporting chops at Pasadena Junior College in the 1930s).

Though Pasadena is just a few miles north of downtown Los Angeles, it seems worlds away, an outpost of quaintness, quiet, and beautifully landscaped yards within easy reach of the squalorous city.  As a result, it’s both a city in its own right, and an uncommonly pleasant suburb, possibly the closest that southern California comes to recreating life as experienced on Leave it to Beaver.  When Brady first moved to Los Angeles, he stayed with a friend there while apartment-hunting in the city, and began to refer to Pasadena as “The Womb.”

Even in its beginnings as a modern city, Pasadena was very much a product of that line of thinking.

Let’s travel back to the 1870s, when a group of asthmatic, consumptive Hoosiers is so eager to escape another brutal Midwestern winter that they form a trust, the California Colony of Indiana, whose sole mission is to acquire some land in California, so that its membership might settle there.  A Mr. D.M. Berry was sent to survey the state, and wound up deciding that the land then known as the Rancho San Pasqual was ideal for their purposes.  In 1873, that particular chunk of property was owned by two men, Benjamin D. Wilson and Dr. John S. Griffin.  Griffin was eager to get rid of his land, while Wilson wasn’t (until a few years later).  The dividing line between their properties is now known as Fair Oaks Avenue.

Complicating all of this was the Panic of 1873, which was nearly the end of the California Colony of Indiana.  However, Berry was quick on his feet, and formed the San Gabriel Orange Grove Association, which sold stock to Angelenos eager to move to the area.  Each new settler got 15 acres of land for each share of stock, and thus, a city known for being settled by Midwesterners actually wasn’t… exactly.

In 1875, the city was named Pasadena, from a Chippewa word meaning either “valley between hills” or “Crown of the Valley,” depending who you ask.

Houses, churches, and schools were built, and then hotels, making Pasadena a prime destination for wealthy tourists, many of whom became residents.  A “Millionaire’s Row” sprung up along Orange Grove Avenue, boasting residences owned by families with names like Wrigley, Gamble, and Busch.

Pasadena is probably best known for hosting both the annual Tournament of Roses Parade and the Rose Bowl.  Both got off to interesting starts.  The first parade was held in 1890, and consisted of a bunch of buggies adorned with flowers, followed by a day of sporting events (today, it’s not uncommon for a ToR float to run about a quarter of a million dollars).  Football didn’t enter into the picture until 1902, when Michigan trounced Stanford 49-0.  Though the event was a great success, drawing around 8000 people and creating an enormous traffic jam, it was thought too rough and wild, and the football game was discontinued until 1916.

However, in 1964, both traditions were alive and well.  That year, former President Dwight D. Eisenhower would serve as Grand Marshal of the Tournament of Roses Parade.

 

As for Pasadena Prefers, the Junior League of Pasadena’s Cookbook Committee reads like a Who’s Who directory of Los Angeles County, though perhaps the best-known person on the roster is Marilyn Chandler, then wife of Los Angeles Times publisher Otis Chandler.  Despite its pedigree, the Foreword to the cookbook has a down-to-earth, slightly dippy, harried housewife tone worthy of Erma Bombeck (who would serve as the Tournament of Roses Grand Marshal in 1986):

Next came the tasting forms which enlivened many a dinner party and tried many a husband who had been busy at a desk all day and might have preferred to eat his dinner without comment… Without their help, we would never have been able to collect anything we were sure they that they would like.  Children helped, too.  For the strictly raised child who is normally not allowed to remark about the food on his plate, tasting forms were a real boon.  “Do I like the taste?  Ugh!  Would I serve it to guests?  Only if they were enemies.”

… Determining the length of time necessary to prepare a given dish was fraught with difficulties… Kitchen utensils have a way of disappearing just when you need them.  Foreign objects sometimes find their way into cake batters (remove all Lego pieces before baking).  Mud-covered children invade your domain.  Under these conditions, there is no such thing as a quick recipe, but remember, it is all relative.

The book itself divides recipes not by standard courses, but by their “adaptability to sporting activities either as accompaniment or postlude.”  As a result, chapters have names like “Lawn Sports” (outdoor picnics) “Skiing” (hearty, fortifying meals) and even “Bridge” (ladies’ luncheons), “Parlor Games” (entertaining in), and “Armchair Sports” (small gatherings of close friends and family).

The recipes themselves are textbook examples of 60s home cookery.  Aspics abound, ethnic foods are adapted to middle American palates, and there’s even a tamale pie or two.  Later this week, I’ll be trying out a number of them.  Most are dishes that I’ve never even come close to attempting, and two have greatly fallen out of favor in our times:  the roasted leg of lamb and the icebox cake.

We’ll see if that’s for good reason or not.  I will say, however, that leg of lamb is not exactly cheap these days, and icebox cake usually calls for raw eggs, so we’ll see how this all turns out.  Hopefully not with a trip to the ER (or as in that classic Roald Dahl story/Alfred Hitchcock Presents episode, to the morgue).

For the record, my leg of lamb is not frozen, thus making it an improbable murder weapon.

 

Week 25: Baseball Food with the Junior League of NYC

As I mentioned before, the Frenchified ’70s vibe of the Junior League of the City of New York’s New York Entertains is ideal if you’re hosting a retro ladies’ luncheon, a benefit for the Philharmonic, or perhaps a key party.  However, any cookbook that suggests cream of scallop soup for a tailgating menu just does not have its finger on the pulse of the sporting community.

Sure, it’s not trying to, so I don’t fault it for that.  And besides, I did truly enjoy reading all the menus, which were very much a product of their time, and very entertaining in that regard.  But I needed baseball-watching food this week, and as it would turn out, comfort food as well.  Things turned out poorly for my Dodgers.

While what I was able to round up wasn’t perfect, and certainly wasn’t very Manhattan at all, I did get one very good recipe out of it, and had an opportunity to pull out an old favorite.

This first recipe comes from a menu for “An Election Night Celebration for Twelve”:

Beef With Beer

Beef With Beer

6 pounds top round of beef, cut into 2-inch cubes
1/2 cup bacon drippings or peanut oil
6 cups thinly sliced onions
4 tablespoons flour
4 1/2 cups each light and dark beer
Tied in a cheesecloth: 2 teaspoons whole allspice, 2 bay leaves, 1/2 teaspoon thyme, 6 peppercorns
4 pounds whole mushroom caps
Salt, freshly ground pepper
12 to 16 slices French bread
Seeded French mustard
Butter

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Dry meat with paper towels and brown in hot drippings in a heavy pot. Remove meat and set aside. Add the onions to oil in the pot, and cook until browned, then sprinkle with flour and stir in beer. Return the meat to the pot and simmer gently, uncovered, for 25 minutes. Add the cheesecloth bag of spices, and simmer, covered, for 1 hour. Uncover, and continue cooking for 30 minutes. Add mushroom caps 20 minutes before end of cooking time. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Spread one side of the bread with mustard, and butter other side lightly. Pour beef into a deep, heavy, ovenproof casserole, put bread on top buttered side up, and put in a 375 degree oven for 20 minutes to toast lightly. Serves 12 to 14.

Now, I’ve made many pot roasts and beef stews and beef braised in Guinness in my day, but never once did it occur to me to serve it with good mustard.  Silly, really, because nothing tastes better with tender, cut-it-with-a-spoon beef than mustard.  It’s almost a slightly more refined take on the open-face hot roast beef sandwich.

A couple of notes on the preparation.  For my dark and light beers, I used Guinness and Pilsner Urquell, but play around with your own combinations.  And we don’t care for mushrooms in any form at the Potts-McCoy house, so I omitted them.  If you’re not planning to eat all of this in one night, I might suggest only baking the beef with as much bread as you plan to eat in one sitting.  Otherwise, the bread will mush up your leftovers.

For a side dish, I made a leeks vinaigrette so utterly unremarkable and undelicious that I won’t bother posting it here.  And what I made for dessert is also sort of unremarkable – lemon squares.  But who doesn’t like a lemon square?  They remind me of bake sales and Little League games, and for my purposes, they were just the thing.

Lemon Squares

Lemon Squares

2 1/2 cups flour
1/2 pound butter (2 sticks)
1/2 cup plus 2 teaspoons confectioners’ sugar
4 eggs
2 cups granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 tablespoons lemon juice
Grated zest of 2 lemons
Confectioners’ sugar

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream together 2 cups of flour, butter, and 1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar. Press into a 9 by 13-inch pan. Bake in a 350-degree oven for 15 minutes, until pale gold at edges.

Mix eggs, granulated sugar, and salt, then blend in lemon juice and grated zest. Sift remaining flour and confectioners’ sugar onto egg mixture and fold in. Pour egg mixture over crust and return to oven for 30 minutes. Sift confectioners’ sugar over top and loosen edges with a spatula. Cool, then cut into squares. Makes about 48 1 1/2-inch squares.

Who can argue with that?  Keep an eye on the lemon squares in the oven, as I found mine to be a little over-browned on top when they came out, but otherwise, it’s pretty unscrew-up-able.

Since my highly invested baseball-watching has come to an end for the year (especially if the Fall Classic winds up a match-up between the odious Yankees and the villainous Philies), I just don’t know if I have the heart to pursue my MLB postseason-themed cooking for another week.  If the Angels pull it off, I will totally dust off the Junior League of Newport Beach’s cookbook.  But otherwise, next week, I’ll be looking for a cookbook from a city that doesn’t even have a baseball team, or at least, doesn’t have one that’s broken my heart in the past five years.

 

Week 25: Pride of the Yankees

As I continue with my theme of MLB postseason cooking, this week, I looked at cookbooks from the Junior Leagues of New York City, Philadelphia, and Orange County (of course, I’m saving Los Angeles for a later date).  All three of the cookbooks I had access to had similar drawbacks.  All were published in the 1970s, and presented recipes that were, at that time, considered quite upscale (i.e. not food you’d want to eat while watching a baseball game).

Additionally, both NYC and Philly presented the recipes in their book in menu format, which I don’t like, for two reasons.

First, the circumstances surrounding these menus, such as “A Theater or Benefit Supper for 12″ or “A Derby Day Luncheon for 16″ rarely come up in my life.  I am simply not that influential, well-connected, or possessed of a living space that can graciously entertain more than 6 at a time.

Second, they tend to wind up presenting many variations on what is more or less the same recipe.  One Junior League cookbook I’ve looked at, and which shall remain nameless, contains virtually nothing but recipes for cheese balls and meatballs (let’s just say that it comes from a certain Rust Belt city of which I am fond… and that they’ve gone on to produce better cookbooks).

Though the Junior League of the City of New York’s New York Entertains (1974) is guilty on both counts, it did represent a unique opportunity.

How do you cook a meal that is representative of a city’s cuisine when that city is New York?  You could cook for a year and not get close.  You might not even get out of Queens.

And that’s where New York Entertains comes in.  I’m not saying that it’s not a good cookbook.  In fact, it embodies one of my favorite things about older cookbooks:  it’s a time capsule.

It takes us back to a time when the popular view in cooking was, “If it’s not French, it’s crap.”  There is also little place for ideas like comfort food, fun food, or simple food.  Here, food is a performance, and probably in many cases, a show of status.

There is an entire menu devoted to offering guests a selection of six different kinds of quiche and salad.  Even some of the “earthier” menus are not entirely accessible, like the one for a tailgate party, which suggests cream of scallop soup, or a menu for “moving day,” which offers duckling and wild rice a l’Orange en Casserole.  My personal favorite was the menu of “Hearty Fare After Touch Football in Central Park for Eight” which includes a salad of curly endive, sliced red onion, and tomatoes with vinaigrette and pumpkin souffle.  While ethnic foods make a few appearances, they are very much relegated to novelty “theme night” dinners, and are not an integral part of the cuisine.

Reading this cookbook, I began to understand the joke in 80s movies where characters go to a fancy party, and are incessantly offered:  “Pate?”"

So, my challenge was clear:  to go through this cookbook, and find at least three recipes appropriate for serving during the viewing of a contemporary sporting event.

It was not easy, but I found them.

Recipes to follow, but in the meantime, the Tiny Banquet Committee has made an insightful dip into this cookbook, with some great images, to boot.

View recipes and photos from the Junior League of the City of New York’s New York Entertains (Beef with Beer, Lemon Squares)

 

Week 24: Victory Dinner!

The Dodgers pulled off a sweep of the Cardinals yesterday, making them the first team to advance to the next round of postseason play, and making this week’s meal from the Junior League of St. Louis a victory meal.  As my father put it, “You’re eating their food, and they’re eating crow.”  Or as Brady put it, “The Dodgers ate the Cardinals’s lunch, so we’re eating St. Louis’s dinner.”

But enough with the gloating.  Not only do I like and respect the Cardinals as a team, but I’m quite the fan of their city.  Almost exactly halfway between Madison, Wisconsin and Memphis, two cities that we once spent a lot of time travelling between, St. Louis made a good stopping place.  Better yet, it was the home of one of our favorite people from college, a scholar and a gentleman who was always incredibly generous with his couch and his bourbon, and also knew all the best neighborhood cafes.

St. Louis is an interesting place.  Southerners think it’s a northern city.  Northerners think it’s part of the South.  The city’s culinary traditions are a product of its diverse population, which includes African Americans and the descendants of Irish, Italian, and German immigrants who came to the city in large numbers during the 19th century.  But the thing that strikes me most about St. Louis is that it’s one of the biggest cities in the country, but feels more like a loosely knit collection of small neighborhoods rather than an urban center.

And it was that last aspect of St. Louis that helped to decide my menu this week, a big city meal with a small town feel.  The kind of meal you’d make for company, if your company was more like family, something homey and comforting, but just a little bit elegant.

There were a couple of intriguing possibilities for entrees this week.  I was running them by Brady, and when I read off the name of this dish, he said, “Ooo!  That one!”

Layered Ziti with Asparagus and Prosciutto

A delicious make-ahead pasta dish suitable for company.

Layered Ziti with Asparagus and Prosciutto

1 pound asparagus, cut into 1-inch pieces
1/2 medium white onion, cut into long thin strips
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 (8-ounce) package frozen green peas
3 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1/2 cup white wine
1 1/2 cups chicken stock
1/2 cup heavy cream
Salt and pepper to taste
1 pound ziti, cooked and drained
4 ounces prosciutto, minced
8 ounces mozzarella cheese, shredded
2 ounces Parmesan cheese, grated
Bread crumbs

Saute the asparagus, onion, garlic, and green peas in the olive oil in a skillet over medium heat until tender. Add the red pepper flakes. Saute for 4 to 5 minutes. Add the wine. Saute for 3 minutes. Add the chicken stock and cream. Cook until liquid is reduced by one third. Season with salt and pepper. Add the pasta and mix well.

Layer the pasta mixture, prosciutto, mozzarella cheese and Parmesan cheese 1/2 at a time in a baking pan greased with olive oil. Sprinkle with bread crumbs. May prepare ahead and chill, covered, until serving time. Bake, uncovered, at 350 degrees for 25 to 30 minutes or until the top is brown and the cheeses are melted.

Serves 4

While I had mixed feelings about the peas, the ziti was otherwise delicious, with a crisp, cheesy crust and layers of vegetables, delicate sauce, and pasta beneath.  Nothing was too soggy or overcooked, and the prosciutto tastes absolutely heavenly with the mozzarella and asparagus.  I did deviate a tad from the recipe by lightly sauteeing the prosciutto in a skillet to crisp it up before layering it into the ziti.

Ever since my little sister shamed me about the lack of vegetables and greens in our meals, I’ve tried to do better.  However, this tasty side dish could almost pass for dessert.

Honey Ginger Carrots Elegante

Serve this very festive-looking dish at Thanksgiving or any other holiday.

Honey Ginger Carrots Elegante

1 pound carrots, thinly sliced
1/2 cup golden raisins
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) margarine
3 tablespoons honey
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon ginger
1/4 cup sliced almonds

Cook the carrots in 1/2 inch of boiling water in a large saucepan for 8 minutes; drain.

Combine the raisins, margarine, honey, lemon juice and ginger in a small microwave-safe bowl. Microwave on medium for 1 minute or until the margarine is melted; mix well. Add to the carrots and toss to coat. Add the almonds and toss to mix well. Spoon into a 1-quart baking dish.

If I wrote the SATs: microwave is to stovetop as margarine is to butter.

Bake, uncovered, at 375 degrees for 35 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Serves 4 to 6

Besides being very very pretty, these carrots are quite tasty.  The flavor of the raisins, ginger, and honey reminded me a little bit of Moroccan food, and it occurred to me that vegetarians might throw in a couple more types of vegetables and serve this over couscous as a main course.  The carrots were tender, yet firm, and despite the sweetness, the whole thing tasted very wholesome.

Instead of a dessert, I decided to make bread to go along with our meal.  It wasn’t that I was skeptical of this recipe, I just had absolutely no idea how it was supposed to work without yeast.  Would it taste like a biscuit?  A quick bread?  Would the texture be too heavy?  The result was a pleasant surprise.

Parmesan Herb Bread

This moist bread is a wonderful accompaniment to Tortellini Soup and a fresh green salad.

Parmesan Herb Bread

1 cup sour cream
1/3 cup milk
3 tablespoons butter, melted
2 1/2 cups flour
1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup Parmesan cheese
1 tablespoon minced onion
2 teaspoons Italian seasoning
1 egg white, lightly beaten
Grated Parmesan cheese to taste
Italian seasoning to taste

Combine the sour cream, milk and butter in a small bowl and mix well. Combine the flour, sugar, baking soda, salt, 1/3 cup of Parmesan cheese, onion, and 2 teaspoons of Italian seasoning in a large bowl and mix well. Add the sour cream mixture and stir until moistened. Knead on a lightly floured surface for 1 minute or until smooth. Divide the dough into 2 equal portions. Shape each portion into a round loaf. Place the loaves on a greased baking sheet. Brush the tops with egg white. Sprinkle with Parmesan cheese and Italian seasoning to taste. Cut an “X” 1/2 inch through the top of each loaf. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 to 35 minutes or until golden brown.

Makes 2 loaves

The egg wash and cheese gives each loaf a crispy crust, and the inside, is dense and chewy, but not heavy.  It’s something like a cross between a biscuit and a cornbread, and the combination of herbs in the Italian seasoning (marjoram, thyme, rosemary, savory, sage, oregano, and basil) is quite nice.  While we enjoyed it with our meal, I can imagine it would be very, very good indeed with some kind of vegetable soup.

The whole time I’ve been cooking, eating, and writing about this meal, I’ve had the radio on in the background, and have been treated to an Angels sweep of the Red Sox, a Yankees sweep of the Twins (which is too bad because a) the Yankees are a force for evil, and b) I’ve really been eager to try out the cookbook from the Junior League of Minneapolis-St. Paul), and now, a fierce arctic battle between the Rockies and Phillies.  Seeing as I’ve already done Denver, next week, it’s looking like a meal from New York City, Orange County, or Philadelphia, if they play their cards right.

 

Week 24: Meet Me in St. Louis

This weekend, the Dodgers head to St. Louis needing only one more win against the mighty Cardinals to clinch the National League Division series.  Right now, it’s the top of the 7th, and Dodgers lead 5-0.

Which raises the question I hardly dare ask:  will tomorrow’s meal from the Junior League of St. Louis’s Meet Us in the Kitchen be a victory dinner?

Only time will tell.  Until then….

View recipes and photos from the Junior League of St. Louis’s Meet Us in the Kitchen (Layered Ziti with Asparagus and Prosciutto, Honey Ginger Carrots Elegante, Parmesan Herb Bread)

 

Week 23: Portland, Then and Now

“It’s too late to turn back, here we go.  Oooo Portland, oh no.”  — The Replacements

I hope you’ll forgive my overlong hiatus.  During the last week of the Dodgers’s regular season, I got a little obsessive.  We went to two games this weekend, and Potts actually constructed a shrine by the radio consisting of various Dodgers paraphernalia we’ve accumulated over the course of our fandom – bobbleheads, plaques, keychains.  They won that night and clinched the NL West, which means, of course, that now we can’t take it down.

So, this week, you’re getting two meals instead of one.  Both are from cookbooks published by the Junior League of Portland, Oregon, both are excellent work night meals, simple and quick to prepare.  However, the two are separated by about four decades of culinary sensibilities.  I can’t believe I never thought to do this before, even though I have quite a few pairings of old and new Junior League cookbooks in my collection (and more available to me through the wonderful cookbook collection at the Los Angeles Public Library, one of the best in the nation).

The first meal comes from Cooked to Taste, published in 1954.  The book is unique because rather than being a collection of recipes submitted by many League members, all the recipes in Cooked to Taste come from the collection of Harriet Cumming Coe, “a sustaining member, who has long collected recipes and cookbooks, and who has an enviable reputation as an authority on food.”  The result is a collection of tried and true recipes from old family cookbooks, friends and relatives, and recipes that Coe herself perfected over the years.

After returning from the Dodgers game this afternoon, I decided that a nice, light little amuse bouche would be just the thing to clear the taste of Dodger Dogs and beer from our palates.  And I do have a weakness for horseradish.

Horsefeathers

Horsefeathers

small inside stalks of celery
1 package cream cheese (3 ounces)
2 teaspoons fresh horseradish
rich cream
pinch of salt

Mix the horseradish, cheese, salt, and enough cream to make a stiff paste. Stuff the celery.

Nothing fancy, but a tasty little bite with just a bit of a kick.  It might also be nice with some fresh chopped chives sprinkled on top for a garnish.

I realized too late that the “feathers” part of the name comes from the celery leaves on top of the stalks.  However, as I’d already chopped those off, I decided that a few sprigs of parsley could be suggestive of feathers if one used one’s imagination.

There were a number of issues with the second recipe that gave me pause.  But I remembered a rule I made to myself when I began this project:  follow the original recipe as closely as possible, no matter what.  If it says to crumble ginger snaps into beef juice, then you do it and you do not ask questions.  Who are you to question the Junior League? For the record, I do not endorse the cooking of salmon in cream, nor the baking of cucumbers.  But as this is Portland week, I figured I should at least give this salmon dish a try.

Baked Salmon

Baked Salmon

2 1/2 to 3 pound piece fresh salmon
salt, pepper
dash of thyme
1 clove garlic
3 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 cups light cream
1 bay leaf
4 thin slices onion
3 sprigs parsley
2 large cucumbers

Rub the salmon with the mixed salt, pepper, thyme, and garlic. Melt the butter in an earthenware baking dish. Add the salmon and turn it in the dish to coat with the butter. Add the cream, bay leaf, onion and parsley. Peel the cucumbers, cut them into strips and place them around the fish.

Understandably, I had my doubts as to the deliciousness of this preparation.

Bake, covered, in a 350 degree oven for 40 minutes, or until the fish is tender and the center bone can be pulled out easily.

Discard the bay leaf, onion slices, parsley and garlic. Serve in the baking dish.

Long story short, it was fine.  I mean, it wasn’t great, and I didn’t like the way the cream coagulated on top of the baked salmon (just scraped it off), and I still have no idea why the recipe called for cucumbers, but it tasted like plain old baked salmon, which was more than I’d dared hope for.

On the other end of the spectrum, the green beans recipe I selected for a side dish was amazing.

Until about two months ago, I was not a fan of green beans, and for this, I blame the 1950s.

For this was the decade which gave us the ubiquitous and uniformly awful green bean casserole, cooked to mush and doused in Campbell’s soup.  I loathe the stuff.  And whether in casserole form or not, all the green beans I’d eaten in my life had been cooked to a limp, soggy, grayish-green mess.  Even if they’d once been fresh, you’d never have known it.

And then, two months ago, I went to a vegan Chinese restaurant where they served sauteed long beans, which were bright green, al dente, studded with garlic, and bursting with flavor.  I ate something like five plates of the stuff, and renounced my views on the poor, misunderstood green bean.

Since then, I’ve been scouring my Junior League cookbooks for a green beans recipe, but to my dismay, nearly every one involved canned green beans, which should be eaten by no one.  So, when I found this one in, of all things, a cookbooks from the 1950s, I was very excited.

Sauteed String Beans

Sauteed String Beans

2 pounds fresh string beans
boiling salted water
6 tablespoons butter
juice of 1/2 a lemon
salt and pepper, to taste
1 tablespoon finely chopped parsley
1 clove garlic, finely chopped

Cook the beans in the boiling salted water until tender. Drain. Saute the beans in a skillet with the butter, adding salt, pepper, parsley and garlic. Sprinkle the lemon juice over just before serving.

These taste like a million bucks, and Brady even remarked, “You know, I really don’t like green beans, but I like these.”

You will, too.

Having eaten my fill of Portland, circa 1954, I turned to From Portland’s Palate, published in 1992.  While the focus of Cooked to Taste was very much home cooking, Portland four decades later was a city very much aware of Alice Waters, the idea of eating locally and seasonally, and the idea that this kind of food could be elegant, gourmet fare.  However, they’ve also not lost sight of their home kitchen roots.  In the introduction, the editors write that Portland cooking possesses “a unique blend of cosmopolitan flair and small-city friendliness.”

Ever since Phoenix week, when I made a jicama salad with honey mustard dressing, I’ve been very bullish on the idea of making my own salad dressing, and this looked like a nice one.

Spinach Salad with Basil Dressing

Spinach Salad with Basil Dressing (a little blurry)

1 bunch spinach, torn into pieces
1 small avocado, cubed
1/2 small red onion, thinly sliced
4 ounces feta cheese (1/2 cup), crumbled
1/2 cup walnuts or pecans, coarsely chopped

Dressing

2 large garlic cloves, minced
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves (packed) or 2 T. dried basil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
2 t. granulated sugar
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 t. freshly ground black pepper

In a large bowl, combine spinach, avocado, onion, feta, and nuts.

Dressing

In a food processor or blender, add garlic and pulse 4 to 5 times. Add basil, pulse to combine, then add vinegar and sugar. With processor running, drizzle in olive oil until emulsified. Season with pepper.

Pour dressing over salad and toss well. Serve immediately.

Note: A mixture of spinach and red leaf lettuce adds festive color. Consider jicama root as an addition to this salad.

This is a terrific salad, and the garlic gives the salad a bold, spicy tang.  I lightly toasted the walnuts before adding them to the salad, which added a pleasant warmth as well.

Since autumn, which made a brief appearance two weeks ago, seems to have tentatively returned, I thought this pumpkin soup seemed appropriately savory.

Curried Pumpkin Soup

Ward off the first chill of autumn with this seasonal soup.

Curried Pumpkin Soup

1 large onion, diced
1/4 cup butter (1/2 cube)
1 t. curry powder
2 1/2 cups chicken broth
3 cups canned pumpkin
1/2 t. salt
2 cups half and half
Sour cream
Fresh parsley, coarsely chopped

In a large saucepan over medium heat, saute diced onions in butter until softened. Sprinkle in curry powder. Pour mixture into blender or food processor and puree until smooth. Return to saucepan and add chicken broth, canned pumpkin, salt and half and half. Heat through over medium heat. Do not bring to boil or soup will curdle. Garnish with a dollop of sour cream and chopped parsley flakes.

This soup and salad, served with toasted French bread and a bottle of nice red wine, not only makes for a supremely satisfying, elegant dinner, you can also get the entire thing made in about an hour.  I can’t remember the last time I had a meal that felt this put together on a work night.  In the future, I might do a combination of half and half and milk to make a lighter, thinner soup, but even as is, it’s silky, surprisingly complex, and absolutely lovely.

Starting next week, I’ll be turning my attentions to the cuisine of the cities which currently have teams engaged in postseason MLB play.  Because, let’s face it, that’s where my head is going to be anyway.  During last year’s World Series, Brady and I made Philly cheesesteaks for a week, and it was awesome, even though we hate the Phillies and wish them nothing but quick, brutal humiliation at the hands of the Rockies this week.

I also hate the Rockies, just not as much as the Phillies.  Come to think of it, I also hate the Yankees and the Red Sox.

Dodgers, Angels, Twins, and Tigers (however that shakes out), Cardinals, they can all live.

Preferably in that order.

 

Week 22: One More from Rochester

Though I’ve cooked half of the dishes for next week’s Junior League cookbook from Portland, Oregon, a number of things have been distracting me from the kitchen lately.  There’s the good:  one last round of canning, late summer trips to the beach and evenings out with old friends visiting from out of town.  And then there’s the bad:  work, and the Los Angeles Dodgers’s insistence upon stinking up the room during the last week of the regular season.

Ashleys

Losing an 11-1 blowout against the Pittsburgh Pirates just makes a fan lose her appetite.

However, this pleasant little drink – half fruity cocktail, half beer slushy – from the Junior League of Rochester’s Applehood and Motherpie does help to ease the sting.

Ashleys

A favorite with everyone who’s tried it

1 6-ounce can frozen limeade concentrate
6 ounces light rum
1 12-ounce can beer
lemon or lime slices for garnish

1. Whirl all ingredients in blender.
2. Serve over crushed ice.
3. Garnish with slice of lemon or lime in each glass.

– Kay B. Edwards

Back to business next week with a look at Portland cooking then and now.  First, a meal from the Junior League of Portland’s Cooked to Taste, first published in 1954, followed up by a more contemporary meal with recipes from From Portland’s Palate (1992).

 

Pickled Again

Since my first canning experience over the Fourth of July weekend this summer, I’ve made two batches of Ruth’s Bread and Butter Pickles, and they are already long gone.  I guess eating or giving away everything you’ve canned in the space of two months kind of defeats the purpose of putting up food for winter.

As it is allegedly autumn, despite the 100+ degree temperatures in Southern California, I figure that soon, good pickling cucumbers will be difficult to come by, so I’d better get in another few batches before it’s too late.  So, that’s the plan for tomorrow.  It may be a few more days before I can start another cookbook (however, since my friend Carmen requested something from the Pacific Northwest, I can tell you that Portland is next up).

In the meantime, here’s a repeat from the Junior League of Tuscaloosa’s Winning Seasons.  If you’re in the market for a pickle recipe, I can think of none finer and few easier.

Ruth’s Bread and Butter Pickles

Ruth's Bread and Butter Pickles

4 quarts medium cucumbers (about 6 pounds sliced)
1 1/2 cups onions (12 to 15 small white ones, or about 1 pound sliced)
2 large garlic cloves
1/3 cup salt
1 to 2 quarts ice, crushed or cubed
4 1/2 cups sugar
1 1/2 teaspoon tumeric
1 1/2 teaspoon celery seed
2 tablespoons mustard seed
3 cups clear, distilled vinegar

Wash cucumbers thoroughly, using a vegetable brush, and drain on rack. Slice unpeeled cucumbers into 1/8-inch to 1/4-inch slices.

Add onions, garlic and salt; cover with crushed ice or ice cubes, mix thoroughly, and allow to stand for 3 hours. Drain thoroughly and remove garlic. Combine sugar, spices, and vinegar; heat just to a boil. Add cucumber and onion slices and heat 5 minutes. Pack loosely into clean, hot, pint standard canning jars. Adjust lids. Process in boiling water bath canner (212 degrees F.) for 5 minutes. Yields 7 pints.

–Ruth G. Kirkpatrick