I would like to share with you the most amazing book...er quick recipe

So starts Trey Parker and Matt Stone's Bro'dway musical, The Book of Mormon, which boyfriend and I had the good luck to see this past Sunday. The 2.5 hours flew by....but much as our brains enjoyed the performance, we left with stomachs rumbling. After our subway trip home, dinner needed to be on the table....NOW. 


Well, it wasn't exactly on the table immediately (but that's what cheddar cheese is for, right?), but it was on the table within 30 minutes, piping hot and satisfying. Granted, I had finished the most tedious/time-consuming bit of the recipe on Saturday-- blanching the greens, mincing rosemary and garlic-- but that's the beauty of this recipe; the gratin filling can be made up to three days ahead. (Also, those of you attempting New Year's Resolutions might find another element of beauty here; it's cheesy and eggy, but much less guilt-inducing than a oh-let's-just-throw-a-pint-of-heavy-cream-in-there traditional gratin.)


Then, when it's showtime (or in our case, post-showtime), all you have to do is whisk some eggs, milk and cheese together. (And maybe make the garlic breadcrumbs, if, like me, you're genetically incapable of not fudging with a recipe.) It's a complete, one dish meal-- which pairs wonderfully with hearty bread, and in my lazy case, a simple bowl of (midwinter, somewhat cardboardy but still texturally-contrasting) cherry tomatoes.


Mushroom and Greens Gratin
Adapted from The New York Times
Serves 3-4 as a main dish 


For Gratin:

1 1/2 pounds greens, such as chard, stemmed and washed (2 bunches); or a 1-pound bag Southern greens mix, stemmed and washed (I used Trader Joe's Southern Greens Mix...and didn't bother destemming. Strangely-- perversely?-- they go to all the work of chopping it for you, but leave the stems on. Sort of silly, right?)

2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

1 or 2 shallots or 1 small onion, finely chopped

1/2 pound mushrooms, sliced ( I used plain old button)

Salt and freshly ground pepper

1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh rosemary

2 large garlic cloves, minced

2 ounces Gruyère cheese, grated (1/2 cup)

1 ounce Parmesan, grated (1/4 cup)

3 eggs (I used 4, since this was our main dish)

1/2 cup milk ( I used 2%...and it was dandy)

For Breadcrumb Topping:

1-2 cloves garlic, minced

1-2 tbsp butter

1/2 cup panko

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Oil a 2-quart baking dish or gratin. Bring a large pot of water to a boil, salt abundantly and add the greens. Cook for one to four minutes, depending on the type of green (sturdy greens take longer), until just tender. Transfer to a bowl of ice water, then drain and squeeze out water. Chop coarsely.

Heat the olive oil over medium heat in a large nonstick skillet, and add the shallots or onion. Cook, stirring, until tender, three to five minutes. Add the mushrooms, and cook, stirring often, until tender, about eight minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste, and the rosemary and garlic. Cook for another minute. Add the greens, and stir together for another minute. Adjust seasonings.

 Whisk together the eggs and milk. Add salt and pepper, and stir in the cheeses and mushroom/greens mixture. Scrape into the baking dish. To make breadcrumb, mince 1-2 cloves garlic and toasted them in 1-2 tbsp of butter over medium low heat, until aromatic (1-2 mins). Add 1/2 c. of panko (or other breadcrumbs) stir to coat with garlic butter; then allow to toast, stirring maybe once or twice. When breadcrumbs are toasted, scrape them onto the top of the gratin, spreading evenly.

  Bake 35 to 40 minutes until browned and sizzling. Serve hot, warm or room temperature.

Notes from the field

Oh, hi.

It’s been a while, hunh?

What’s that you say? Med school orientation is starting this week?

Whoops.

So here we are, a little less than a year out from post number one of my quaint ‘I-have-a-gap-year-I-think-I’ll-write-a-food-blog” project. This was supposed to be a self-limiting sort of project, where after a year of adventures during which I posted consistently (again, whoops) I gracefully bowed out and turned all my attentions to the pursuit of an M.D. (not to be confused with happiness #whitepeopleproblems). But I have this funny idea that trying to maintain this/start this back up again might be a stellar exercise in the ever challenging pursuit of work-life balance.

This blog clearly falls under the ‘life’ category for me—I enjoyed very much writing these entries, and I suspect that I will enjoy doing so even more in the coming months. Cooking, and writing about cooking (because when would I ever do anything that didn’t operate at some sort of meta level?), will become one of the few creative, no-stakes outlets I have during these next couple of years. (I say couple, rather than four, because creativity has a huge role in actual clinical medicine and patient management—unfortunately the first two years of medical school see very little clinical anything, except sometimes clinical depression.)

Anyway, that’s my way of saying hello again!

Now, while I haven’t written in a while, that doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking of the blog.**

They're called jocotes. They sweet-tart,
and edible right of the tree, or stewed in jams.

I thought about you while I ate this.

Woot! Tamales!

 And learned how to make this.

D & D Brewery, Lake Yojoa, Honduras.

Certainly while I drank this.

And when I returned to the

developed world and made this.

4 o'clock = gelato o'clock.

And when abso-posi-lutely while I devoured this.

See? I thought about you lots!

So here’s the deal: I’ll probably continue to think about the blog/food a lot over these next few months of the big med school adventure. But a lot of the time, I’m gonna have to push those thinks out in favor of absurdly lewd mnemonics for muscle groups. But I am going to make an honest attempt to give those thinks space to breathe, and get written about , once a week.

So check in. Call me out. And most of all, wish me luck.

**(Obviously this is the case, since thinking about the blog is equivalent to thinking about food, which I clearly do constantly—hence the inception and existence of this blog.)

Sloshed Sweet Taties

With last weekend and New Year’s Eve spent in NYC, and MLK weekend to be spent in NYC, the big move (into the city and into medical school) has been on my mind of late. I’ve downloaded a speed anatomy app onto my cell phone. I’ve started swooning at Ikea’s catalogue, dreaming about the modern, urbane and highly space efficient apartment-to-be.

Mostly, I fantasize about the kitchen-to-be. A kitchen that is mine to stock. A kitchen which, when I wander in each morning, bleary and pre-caffeine, will be just as I left it the night previous. No cookie sheets with the remnants of roasted vegetables lying on the stove, no crumbs of ill-advised late night baking. Just. as. I. left. it. (Much love to 181 Governor, but we weren’t so close to godliness, were we?)

At least, however, I dream practically. I dream about staple and cheap ingredients, not about cheeses from Eataly or yogurt from Ronnybrook. Specifically, I dream about cheap beer and beans.

The venerable pint.

Beans seem pretty self explanatory—cheap and nutritional, with a long shelf life. But cheap beer? From a self-proclaimed foodie? 

Mais oui.

On the rare occasion when I can pull my nose out of book long enough to transfer it to a pint, I will, in all likelihood, opt for a craft brew over Miller High Life (though it be the champagne of beers). But:

1. One ought always to have on hand something cheap for those who don’t know better. (What a pal, eh?)
2. You never know when even the discerning beer snob may get desperate (exams, cough cough).
3.  Beer adds incredible depth of flavor to everything. And it [can be] cheap. With a long shelf life.

Now, I’m not saying I never use canned or powdered chicken stock (or the real stuff, if my mother has made it….I’m not there yet). I’m a sucker for broth before bed, or when I’m sick (I pretend I’m Beth and Jo in Beth’s deathbed scene from Little Women…except for the whole deathbed bit). And when braising a mild vegetable, chicken stock in the liquid of choice.

But into all soups, stews or anything that falls in the soup family, I’m as likely to empty a bottle of beer as a can of broth. Depending on the variety, beer adds a lovely fruitiness (think Blue Moon), a deep hearty smokiness (think Guinness) or a caramel sweetness (any porter). All of it adds a yeasty, zingy note.

For your next dinner, whatever it is (but especially if beans or cheese are involved), consider taking that bottle from your lips and sloshing some into the pan. I promise you won’t regret it.

Black Beans and Sweet Potatoes, Smoky and Sloshed

A How Now Original

Serves 4, generously

Olive oil

1 yellow onion, diced

3 (monstrous) cloves garlic, minced

1 tsp. good chili powder

1 tsp. ground cumin

1 chipotle pepper, minced, with some of its sauce

2 medium sweet potatoes (~1 lb.), peeled and large diced

2 c. diced tomatoes with their juice (1 14. oz. can)

2 c. chicken broth (1 14 oz. can)

1 bottle beer (it’ll have whatever you’re having)

2 c. water

2 c. cooked black beans (1 14 oz. can), rinsed

1 tsp. smoked paprika

Salt, pepper

In a medium soup pot, heat about 1 tbsp. olive oil. When shimmering, add onions and garlic, sprinkling lightly with salt and pepper. When onions start to become translucent, add chili powder, cumin and diced pepper.

When onions are completely translucent, add sweet potatoes, coating with oil and onion juices until glossy. Add all liquids, bringing soup to a boil. Add beans, and allow to simmer for 15 minutes, or until sweet potatoes are fork-tender. Stir in smoked paprika, season with salt and pepper to taste.

Note: This makes a rather thick soup, despite the considerable amount of liquid. You might serve it over rice, and call it chili—in which case, I might omit the water, and simmer the soup/chili without a cover for some additional time.

Happily Ever After

Oops, I did it again.

I went weeks, plural, without posting. Not that you noticed, probably (unless you’re the very loyal boyfriend sort of reader), because you had lovely, tipsy holiday parties to attend, gooey-sugary-chocolaty-nutty Christmas cookies to bake, and shimmery-shiny-comes-in-a-little-black-box presents to buy/stress out about.

I was at that place again, facilitating a lot of these activities—arranging cookie platters, dusting endless loaves of gingerbread and stollen, and wrapping them all up in oversize bows—and not getting a lot of sleep. Laid up as I am now, however, with the inevitable consequences of being overworked with lots of sniffly coworkers, I am 1) willing myself to feel better for a NYE weekend with college friends and boyfriend in NYC and 2) finally getting around to posting. So here goes.

Every blogger seems to need to have a “the-only-chocolate-chip-cookie-recipe-you’ll-ever-need” post.

I call it Brown Sugar No. 3

But folks, I have commitment problems when it comes to chocolate chip cookies. Maida Heatter’s Chocolate Chip Honey Cookies and I have been going steady for a while—they’re just so easy to make, and they fill the house with such a wonderful clover perfume. But I had a couple of dates with a Washington Post recipe a few years back, and I even had a one-batch-stand with the NYT’s self-titled Perfect Chocolate Chip cookies, engineered by Jacques Torres and rigorously tested by the discerning likes of the Dining Section.

Then there are the oatmeal-ed contestants. My first love will always be my grandmother’s take on the classic Tollhouse recipe (with Crisco, not butter!), which my father faithfully makes for office potlucks and on rainy days. Then, there are the chocolate-cherry-oatmeal cookies I adore, the confection of the mother of one of my dearest college friends. Jan’s cookies always have a wonderful chewy quality I’ve never been able to replicate in my own kitchen, though I’ve tried multiple times. Finally, there are the cookies that I sneak chunks of at the bakery—nutty, chewy little numbers that still manage to stay soft days after baking due to their unconscionable butter content (but they have whole wheat, which pretty much cancels out the butter, right?).

Amidst all these wonderful recipes, I can’t believe I’m about to tell you that I think I have finally found THE ONE. The cooky I can spend the rest of my days with. I want to crow from the rooftops that I have found a cooky with all the sweetness of mood enhancing chocolate, the faithfulness and staying power of oatmeal and whole wheat, the chewiness and pseudo-healthiness of raisins and the intoxicating spice of banana bread. Yup, this is one tough cookie to beat. You know it’s true, because the title has the word “badass” in it. Yes ma’am.

Lauren’s Badass Trailmix Cookies

From Anna Thomas’s Love Soup (Jules ftw, again)

Makes about 4 ½ dozen cookies

¾ c. unbleached white flour

1 c. whole wheat flour (this isn’t just a ploy at healthfulness—the nutty flavor and toothsomeness of the whole wheat really ratchets these cookies up a notch!)

¾ tsp. baking powder

¾ tsp. baking soda

½ tsp. cinnamon

½ tsp. nutmeg (freshly ground is always more delicious—and the actual nutmeg holds its flavor much better than the preground stuff)

½ tsp. salt

¼ c. white sugar

1 ½ c. packed brown sugar (I used a combination of light and dark)

2 large eggs

1 ripe banana, mashed

2 ½ tsp. vanilla extract

3 ½ c. rolled oats

1 c. raisins (or cranberries, or cherries, or apricots….)

¾ c. chopped walnuts (I used pecans, because I already had toasted, chopped ones lying around)

¾ c. (or more) bittersweet or semisweet chocolate chunks

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Line 2 or 3 large baking sheets with parchment (This isn’t just baking fussiness—it makes your life easier, because the cookies won’t stick and the sheets won’t need washing, generally.)

Whisk together the flours, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg and salt in a small bowl.

In a large bowl, beat the softened butter with the white and brown sugars until it looks fluffy, then beat in the eggs, mashed banana (you should have at least a ½ c.) and vanilla extract.

Stir or beat the flour mixture into the butter mixture until well combined, but do not overbeat. Stir in the oats, raisins, chopped nuts and chocolate, until everything is well mixed.

Scoop up rounded tablespoons of the dough and use a second spoon to push them off onto the parchment-lined baking sheets. (Or scoop the dough and shape it into a ball with damp fingers.) Leave at least two inches space between cookies. Bake the cookies for 16-18 minutes, or until lightly browned around the edges—reverse the position of the pans halfway through.

Transfer the cookies to a rack while they are still warm and allow them to cool.

P.S. I apologize for the lack of finished cookie pictures. I couldn't get one that did them justice, and I didn't want you to think any less of these beauties for my lack of photographical prowess.

Alone in the Kitchen with a Brisket

What’s that you say? Thanksgiving has come and gone, and Chanukkah’s nearly done…and I haven’t posted a gosh darn thing? A holiday that’s entirely about eating, and a Jewish holiday (it would be redundant to say here “that’s entirely about eating”) and I have no recipes to show for it?

I’m ever so sorry. As it turns out, that place where I said I’d be—well I was there pretty much straight through Thanksgiving week. And then the brother was home Thursday through Saturday—which precludes the possibility of any activity not involving him, as he blows through the house like the most charming of whirlwinds, whipping everyone into his whirlwind agenda.

And then Sunday morning, the house was silent.

 Not a creature was stirring, or something like that.

In the hours between 4:30AM and 8:30AM on November 28, our house went from a population of six to a population of one (maybe two, if you count the dog).

And it stayed that way. Until 8PM on this past Sunday night.

Amazing though, how much homeowner-type-stuff there is to do, even when there is only one in the home. There was critter-walking, critter-feeding, and critter-bathing to do. There was the laundry and the dishes that six people leave behind after a holiday weekend. There were adjustments to thermostats to be made, as December blustered in.

Of course I still messed around in the kitchen (despite being left solo with six people’s worth of Thanksgiving leftovers). I baked finals-stress-level supporting cookies (recipe coming soon) and Christmas cookies (ditto). And finally, when there was the promise of other people being around (i.e. my parents coming home), I made real food.

But with all those homeownery things to do, I couldn’t find time to write about these exploits. But now, the rents are home again, and my father is back to turning all the thermostats down to 58 degrees and mom is back to feeding and walking and doting on the critter (who has since forgotten that I was her lifeline for a week, and doesn’t even acknowledge my presence now that the alpha dogs are home). And so it is finally time to post.

Did you notice how there was no “recipe coming soon” bit after I referred to the real food I made for my parents? That’s because that’s what’s coming now.

My family is a family of habit and ritual, to put it mildly. Whenever we go to the beach, we have to hit all the same restaurants, buy all the same beach toys (to lose, one by one), stay at the same house. Similarly, whenever we throw our annual Chanukkah party, the featured dishes are always the same (this isn’t to say we don’t mess around with the side dishes and get creative in other ways—we are, after all, a family of experimental foodies who never follow directions and therefore can never EXACTLY recreated dishes).

This year, due to the timing of Chanukkah and certain vacations to Mexico, a Chanukkah party wasn’t in the cards. But I was damned if I was gonna miss Sauerbraten a la Nathan and Latkes with Homemade Applesauce.

So when my parents came home on Sunday night, that’s what was waiting for them—with a side of green beans, and a dessert of newcomer Cranberry Walnut tart. (Like I said, tradition and experimentation aren’t mutually exclusive. Life lessons coming to you live, from HowNowChowChow, imbued with all the sagacity of a 22 year old.)

Sauerbraten a la Nathan
Joan Nathan’s Jewish Holiday Kitchen

I LOVE this brisket. The meat is lovely—and I like making brisket, because meat makes me nervous, and brisket is pretty foolproof—but the marinade is stupendous. Sure, the marinade is great served with the brisket—but it’s also phenomenal poured into a soupbowl with some cooked rice or egg noodles. Seriously. It the most warming, savory broth. I just drooled a little on my keyboard.

One 5-lb. brisket of beef, shoulder roast of beef, chuck roast, or end of steak
2 tsp. salt
3 tbsp. brown sugar
1 c. chili sauce (I used a 12 oz. jar of Heinz)
1 ½ c. white vinegar (running low on white, I swapped in some apple cider)
1 c. chopped celery leaves (left this out)
2 onions, sliced
4 carrots, sliced
2 c. water

Mix salt, brown sugar, chili sauce and vinegar together. Pour over meat and let stand overnight in the refrigerator. (Or your porch, if it’s colder than a witch’s you-know-what outside.)

Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. Place the meat in an ovenproof casserole, pouring marinade over meat. Cover with vegetables and water.

Cover and bake for about 2 hours, basting often with marinade. Remove cover for 1 more hour. (Allow approximately ½ hour per pound for roasting.)

*This dish is best prepared in advance so that the fat can be easily skimmed from the surface (and to let the flavors deepend).

When ready to serve, slice and reheat in the strained pan marinade.

**Alternative roasting instructions: For a more tender roast, put all ingredients in covered casserole and bake in a 200 degree oven overnight, for about 9 hours (and be fully perplexed by the smell of vinegar, chili sauce, and beef with your morning coffee). My parents generally use this method, but everyone else was nervous enough about me taking care of the house for a week that I didn’t want to prove them all right by burning the house down.

Cranberry Walnut Tart
Joan Nathan’s Jewish Holiday Baker

I usually make Nathan’s Mexican Banana Cake from this book—it’s phenomenal, and though specifically for Chanukkah, is delicious and quite pretty at any time of year. I decided to branch out with  this guy—it’s sort of like Shoo-Fly Pie with a hint of tart sophistication from the cranberries and some depth from the toasted walnuts. The recipe creator—Andra Tunick Karnofsky—likes the recipe for Chanukkah because the red flecks of cranberries “remind her of the flames of the menorah candles.” I’ll let you decide whether that holds true, but regardless, it’s an elegant looking thing and very easy to make, especially with the help of a food processor.

Crust:
1 ¾ c. all-purpose flour
¼ c. granulated sugar
½ c. unsalted butter
3 tbsp. vegetable shortening
¼ c. ice water

Filling:
2/3 c. light corn syrup (take that, Michael Pollan!)
2/3 c. light brown sugar
3 large eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract
4 tbsp. unsalted butter, melted
1 ½ c. coarsely chopped fresh cranberries
1 c. coarsely chopped walnuts, toasted lightly

Put the flour, sugar, butter and vegetable shortening in a food processor fitted with the steel blade. Pulse until crumbly. Gradually add the ice water, processing until the dough forms a ball (this never ceases to strike me as magic). Wrap the dough and refrigerate for at least one hour.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Remove dough from fridge, and, on a floured surface (I often use floured waxed paper, to decrease risk of dough stuck to counter), roll it into a circle 13 inches wide. Line a 10- or 11-inch tart pan with a removable bottom (optional) with the dough, trimming off the excess. Prick the dough with a fork.

Line the dough with baking parchment, and fill the baking parchment with the pie weights of your choice (I use beans). Bake for 10-12 minutes, or until the dough just begins to brown (my took FORever, so don’t be alarmed if yours does too). Remove pie weights and parchment and allow crust to cool. Keep oven at 350 degrees.

Blend corn syrup and light-brown sugar in a mixing bowl until smooth. Beat in eggs, 1 at a time, then the vanilla and melted butter. Stir in chopped cranberries and walnuts. Pour the mixture into the partially baked and cooled tart crust. Bake for 40-50 minutes, or until a knife inserted in the center of the pie comes out clean. Serve with Grand Marnier Whipped Cream.

Grand Marnier Whipped Cream
HowNow, I guess?

¾ c. heavy whipping cream
1 tsp. superfine sugar
1 tsp. Grand Marnier

Chill beaters and bowl for whipping in freezer for at least 30 minutes. Pour whipping cream into chilled bowl, and whip with chilled beaters, until the cream starts to thicken. Add sugar and Grand Marnier. Continue whipping to desired consistency. Dollop alongside tart (and clean the rest of the bowl using instrument of choice, including fingers).

Do you, or does someone you love, suffer from CSA anxiety?

Again, I've been absent for a while. In case you were wondering (you probably weren't) why I'm a tardy poster, or why in the name of all that is holy, I'm not posting Thanksgiving recipes, this is why/where I am.

When I was a senior in college, I had, hands-down, the best job ever. I worked as a farmer’s market vendor for Narragansett Creamery, recently of “dinner-for-Obama-in-Rhode-Island-fame-even-though-he-only-stayed-for-15-minutes” fame, and of continuing world champion ricotta fame. For a couple of hours each Wednesday, I bundled up and trundled out to one of Brown’s greens to smile and offer samples and talk about cheese. At the end of the market, I took home $20 worth of cheese—or bartered some of it for fresh vegetables and fruit from other vendors. Seven Stars Bakery, a perennial favorite at Brown’s Farmer’s Market, had a policy were any goods sent to market were not to return to the bakery—so I frequently came home with not only a bounty of fresh mozz, beautiful ricotta, and queso fresco, but also eggplants, the last of fall’s tomatoes, and wonderful crusty baguettes and country loaves. (Ok, also usually some scones and biscotti and brownies, but those didn’t always technically make it home, per se.)

Needless to say, Wednesdays were my—and probably my housemates’, as I could never polish all this off on my own—favorite day of the week. However, by about Saturday, CSA anxiety set in. CSA anxiety is a well documented condition wherein an overabundance of perishable goods—fruits, vegetables, dairy—results in such symptoms as wakefulness at night (because you’re trying to figure out how to use up the contents of your refrigerator), shortened attention span (because you’re trying to figure out how to use up the contents of your refrigerator), antisocialness/avoidance of meals out with friends (because you’re getting frantic and you NEED to use up the contents of your refrigerator), and binge eating kale (because the bunches and bunches you have of it simply will…not…disappear).

So I got creative about ways to use up LOTS of fresh produce, and LOTS of dairy. (Did you ever think about how far $20 would take you in cheese-land? Granted, some shmancy creameries, particularly if they  do lots of hard cheese, will charge you this much for a pound of cheese, but Narrangansett is not so shmancy fancy pantsy.) Boyfriend is of good Italian heritage, so this recipe became a quick go-to—sort of like a pasta-less lasagna. (Also good for a girlfriend who would also rather reserve her carb calories for sweet things.) It comes together fairly quickly, and makes stupendous leftovers.

Eggplant-Ricotta-Bucket-o-Vegetables-Bake

A How Now original

Note: I didn’t have any award-winning Narrangansett Creamery ricotta around—in fact, I didn’t have any at all. I recalled from a recent Cook’s Illustrated spin on stuffed shells that cottage cheese (even low fat!) pureed with an egg could be substituted for ricotta to retain both the tang and creamy texture of ricotta. I used this substitution and was pleased with the results—so if you have no ricotta around, or don’t feel like running out and adding ANOTHER ingredient to your refrigerator, this is a good option. Just toss the cottage cheese and egg in the blender or food processor, and whirrrrrr them together for a few seconds.

1 large globe eggplant, or 3 small ones (about 1 lb. eggplant), sliced ¼” thick

3-4 cloves garlic, minced

1 medium onion, diced

3-4 small zucchini, sliced (half moons)

1 bell pepper (any color), diced

1 15 oz. jar tomato sauce

Basil (fresh or dried), to taste

Oregano, to taste

Salt

Pepper

8 oz fresh mozzarella, sliced or 1-2 c. shredded

1/2-1 c ricotta (see note)

1 c. parmesan, grated

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Lay eggplant slices on a rimmed baking sheet (sprayed, if you like, with olive oil or canola oil spray). Drizzle with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper (lightly). Roast until mostly  tender (remember, they’re going to cook more in the casserole), about 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, heat ~1 tbsp olive oil in large skillet over medium-low heat. When shimmering, add onions and garlic, sprinkling with  salt (I put salt in with all raw vegetables, as much as a “sweating” mechanism to shrink and caramelize the vegetables as a spice.) and pepper. When the onions are translucent (about 5 mins), add peppers, zucchini, oregano, and basil (about 1 tsp if using dried, a fistful of chopped, if using fresh). Coat vegetables with oil/onion mixture, and cook until just slightly tender, about 3 minutes. Turn oven down to 350 degrees F.

Add jar sauce. (No shame in this game, I grew up on Classico, and I loved it.) Bring sauce to a boil; then turn heat down, and allow sauce to simmer (it will thin, and then thicken again) for about 15 minutes.

Assemble casserole like you would a lasagna: Spoon about 1/3 of sauce on the bottom of a 2 ½- 3 qt. casserole. Place one layer of roast eggplant on top. Cover eggplant with another 1/3 of the sauce; then on top of sauce, dollop half of the ricotta and sprinkle (or layer, of you’re using fresh) half of the mozzarella and parmesan. Repeat eggplant, sauce, and cheese once more, covering the top of the casserole generously with cheese (use more parm, if you need). Bake in 350 degree oven until sauce is bubbling, about 20 minutes.

Trade(ing) Secrets

I think I’m a pretty good employee, on most days. I work hard at doing my part to keep the bakery's storefront pretty—the bread and drinks stocked, the coffee carafes and sugar canister filled. I (usually) bite my tongue when incredibly fit mothers reprimand their 8-year-olds for desiring such indulgences as white bread and brownies. I diplomatically field questions like “What do you think of the fat-free fruit muffins?” (Obviously, when you put that much dried fruit in anything, and pretend that applesauce is the same as eggs and butter, it tastes like cardboard.)

But one day, I was not the best employee. A sunny mother approached the counter with a large bag of our granola. I smiled, and went to bag it for her. I also blurted out “youknowit’sreallyeasytomakegranolandit’salotcheapertoo.”

Now, our granola isn’t outrageously expensive: it comes in at $4.75 for a 12 oz bag (compare that to Baked! of Brooklyn’s $8.50 for the same bag). And it’s pretty good—if you like sesame (a relatively cheap ingredient). And a good employee would have smiled, charged her the $4.75 and let her walk out (as we do with most of our customers) believing that what she just bought was the product of some magic, irreproducible process.

(Apparently, most of our customers think breadmaking is magic. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve explained that there can be no such thing as sugar-free vegan bread, because the poor yeast beasties need something to eat. They generally find this disappointingly scientific, and prefer their spontaneous generation theory with regard to carbon dioxide formation in bread.)

But granola baking, like bread baking (see post 1), is no magical process.* In fact, it’s one of the easiest and cheapest recipes in the proverbial book. The flavor is infinitely flexible, and, when poured into prettily decorated mason jars, it makes a lovely and affordable gift. To encourage experimentation according to your own tastes (and those of your loved ones), I’m posting a general formula in addition to a specific recipe that I particularly enjoy. Happy granola baking—to you and to your wallet!

Sweet, Tangy Gingery Granola

Go ahead! Play with spices! 

An amalgam of Melissa Clark’s recipe in The New York Times and a few blogs, plus my own touches

3 c. old-fashioned thick rolled oats (NOT instant)

1 c. slivered almonds

1 c. pistachios

½ c. granulated sugar

½ tsp. ground ginger

1 tsp. cinnamon

1 tsp. salt

1/2- 1 tsp. ground cardamom

1/3 c. olive oil

½ c. maple syrup (preferably Grade B)

¼ c. pomegranate molasses

½ c. dried apricots, diced

½ c. dried tart cherries

1/4. diced candied (not crystallized, though I'm sure you could use it without consequence) ginger

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F.

Combine all ingredients, except dried fruit, in a large mixing bowl. Turn out onto large, rimmed baking sheet. Bake for ~45 mins, or until oats are nicely browned, checking/stirring granola every 15 mins.

Allow granola to cool FOR NO MORE THAN 5 MINUTES (otherwise it’ll stick like the devil to the pan, and you’ll waste granola and time washing dishes) on the pan. Spoon/scrape granola into large bowl, and incorporate dried fruits. Allow to cool to room temperature, and store in airtight container(s).

 Granola, Generally

An easy Sunday morning recipe. Coffee not included. 

3 c. old-fashioned thick rolled oats

2 c. nuts

½ c. granulated sugar

¾ c. liquid sugar (honey, molasses, maple syrup)

1/3 c. liquid fat (melted butter, olive oil, neutral oil)

spices (extracts, such as almond and vanilla, are also nice)

1 tsp salt

1 c. dried fruit

Preheat oven to 300 degrees F

Combine oats, nuts, sweeteners, fat and spices/extracts in large mixing bowl. . Turn out onto large, rimmed baking sheet. Bake for ~45 mins, or until oats are nicely browned, checking/stirring granola every 15 mins.

Allow granola to cool slightly on the pan (if using any honey or molasses, watch carefully for sticking). Spoon/scrape granola into large bowl, and incorporate dried fruits. Allow to cool to room temperature, and store in airtight container(s).

*This news spread like wildfire through the foodie community in summer 2009, thanks to Melissa Clark and the blogosphere that picked her up. I’m posting this recipe in case you missed the first Granola Blitz.