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.

While you're planning other things

They say that life is what happens while you’re planning other things. When I left the house last Friday to pick up lunch for myself and my former babysitter/current mother figure, I had a whole To Do list on the dining room table—fill out cell phone rebate form, make dinner (flank steak, cauliflower mash), long walk (yes, I assiduously plan my recreation). I had also already laid out and measured the ingredients for an Earl Grey biscotti recipe I was eager to try.

It was an expensive lunch.

On the way, I opted for a route including an intersection I generally avoid, due to its measly two-way stop sign in lieu of a more equitable four-way stoplight. I waited patiently at the stop sign for a break in the driver’s side traffic, then passenger’s side, back to driver’s side again, and proceeded ac--- WHOMP. A Mercedes slammed into my passenger’s side. What happened immediately, I don’t recall, but my car somehow got parked on the other side of the intersection (gratefully, or ironically, no other cars were coming). The other driver and I traded information between my tearful phone calls to my lunch date and my parents—all of whom could not have been more wonderful.

In a gesture that took us all back about 15 years, my lunch date/babysitter drove out to meet me and held me while I miserably sobbed into her shoulder. (Mercedes man was deeply, and erm, less than politely, perplexed at the relationship between the tall, elegant black woman and the short, sniveling white girl he had just hit.) She followed me in her car as I drove home, white knuckled, and stayed with my father and me while I called the rightful owner of the car (the father of one of my oldest friends, who raised me collectively with my parents) and the insurance company. Again, all parties were phenomenally understanding and warm.

The paperwork completed, my father insisted that I ice a sore shoulder and rest for a while—which I dutifully did, obsessing about the car and the accident the whole time. When the ice pack’s usefulness had worn out, I decided to kick my own into gear. I baked those biscotti I had set out to make three hours ago. Because since the 8^th grade and my first set of academic finals, baking has been my respite when I’m stressed or distressed. It makes me feel productive, it occupies my hands and my mind. It usually makes other people happy, and we all know that happiness is contagious (the whole, Judy-when-you’re-smiling-the-whole-world-smiles-with-you-Garland thing).

So spread a little love. Give yourself a break. Make some biscotti (the dough comes together extremely quickly, and in a single bowl!). And you don’t even need a several-thousand-dollar car accident as an excuse.

Earl Grey Biscotti

From Tea Cookbook

The recipe says you should use a serrated knife to cut the biscotti between baking times—I found that a very sharp regular knife, applied with a sawing motion and very little downward pressure resulted in less crumbling. However, if you aren’t terribly worried about aesthetics, the serrated knife will give you more of a homemade, rustic look (albeit, with the actual side edges on most cookies missing). More finely chopped ‘chunks’ will also reduce the likelihood of crumbling.

2 ¼ c all-purpose flour

1 ½ tsp baking powder

2 tbsp Earl Grey tea leaves (you can also use the contents of tea bags if that’s what you have—but use good quality tea!)

½ tsp salt

1 stick (8 tbsp) unsalted butter, cubed at room temperature

¾ c. sugar

2 eggs, beaten

2 tbsp whole milk (I used half and half)

3 tbsp blanched almonds, roughly chopped

3 ½ oz. dried apricots, roughly chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Put the flour, baking powder, tea leaves and salt in a food processor and pulse until the tea leaves are finely ground.  Add the butter and sugar and pulse or mix with yoru fingertips unti l the mixture resembles berad crumbs.

Pour in the eggs and milk and pulse or mix until the dough comes together. Take out and knead in the almonds and apricots. Divide the dough in half and shape into 2 flat logs, about 10 x 2 inches. Spaced them apart on an ungreased baking sheet and baked for 20 minutes, or until golden. (Don’t undercook—it will make slicing more difficult. They really should be golden.)

Remove from the oven and let cool for about 5 minutes. Using a serrated knife (see note), cut in ½ inch (mine were a little thicker) slices whiel the biscotti are still warm, and arrange cut-side up on 2 baking sheets (I’m lazy, I only used one—they were a little tight, but it was fewer dishes!). Bake for a further 12-15 minutes, or until the edges become tinged with brown and crisp up. Remove from the oven and let cool on wire racks. Store for up to 7 days in an airtight container.

Bibbidy Bobbidy Boo

(I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve made a substantive post—I had about 12 hours more work this week, the spaces between which were filled with a crippling acute post- election depression. I’m sure many of you can sympathize. Anyway, I’m baaaaaack!)

My parents were very wise when they were house-hunting in the Washington, DC area. They wanted good schools, and they INSISTED on access to public transportation. So we ended up in lovely Bethesda, which boasts some of the best high schools in the nation—and our house ended up on a beautifully verdant street between three bus routes. As a result, my brother and I grew up happily and independently using public transportation into DC, to the mall, etc.

Unfortunately, convenient public transportation entails proximity to major roads— a real obstacle for trick-or-treaters. So Halloween chez nous was very quiet, bringing in a grand total of four trick-or-treaters over the course of three hours. Despite that letdown, we enjoyed a very festive, pumpkin-themed dinner in front of our active fireplace (in the living room, in case any trick-or-treaters did come knocking).

I didn't think this pumpkin that cool looking, but I wanted you to know
what to look for. So I embellished it with a dog.

 Main course was a smoky, spicy and very hefty pumpkin soup—my first venture into cooking with non-canned pumpkin. The pumpkin in question is a Long Island cheese pumpkin, a member of the species Cucurbita moschata, prized for its smooth—rather than stringy—bright orange flesh. The pumpkin is so named because it looks (allegedly) like a wheel of cheddar cheese—squat and round, with a light tan exterior. Others have described it as a “bit like a fairytale pumpkin, flattened and "squashed," with light ribbing and a buff-chamois-color.” (I don’t know what fairytales these people were reading, but as far as I’m concerned, fairytale pumpkins are perfectly round and bright orange, with tangles of vines, such that they can be easily turned into perfectly round and ornate carriages. Also, what the hell does buff-chamois mean?)

Anyway, despite the fact that the pumpkin was a royal pain in the bum to peel, the results were worth it—it made for a wonderful viscous, chewy soup—especially when thickened with the beans. It also didn’t take too terribly long to cook—although I would suggest, if you have the time, perhaps roasting pumpkin quarters and making a puree to use in the soup, rather than cooking peeled chunks in broth. I suspect you’ll have a deeper pumpkin flavor—and you’ll avoid the annoying peeling part to boot! All you’ll need to do is roast the pumpkin quarters and scoop out the flesh. 

Dessert was a pumpkin bread pudding only very slightly adapted from Deb’s recipe over at Smitten Kitchen. (If you haven’t read her blog, you should leave this sorry bastard stepchild version and check it out.) I used leftover challah (see post 1) that had been frozen, during which process it tends to dry out a bit and therefore become absolutely perfect for soaking up pudding, rather than the suggested french bread. I also accidentally omitted the ginger (if I were you, I might reintroduce that 1/2 tsp).

Anywho, these treats distracted me and my parents from the fact that we were giving very few away—which means that we are currently experiencing an overabundance of treats. Which was just fine, given the results of Tuesday night. Happy Friday!

Smoky, Spicy Pumpkin Soup
Loosely adapted from several blogs

6-7 c. seeded, peeled, and roughly chopped LI cheese pumpkin (~1 8 lb. pumpkin)
2 tbsp olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 stalks celery, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
3 tbsp grated ginger
2 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp curry powder
salt
pepper
4 c. chicken stock
15 oz. cooked black beans, drained (one can)
2 c. tomatoes, chopped (one can)
1 chipotle pepper, with some of its sauce
1 c. smoked chicken (or pork), diced
½ tsp garam masala
1 tsp smoked paprika
dash of cayenne

Heat oil over medium heat in a large soup pot. When hot, add onion and sprinkle with salt. Cook until translucent, stirring occasionally (~5 mins). Add garlic, celery, ginger, cumin, curry powder, and pepper. Cook until celery is soft and translucent, giving spices time to ‘bloom’ (~5 mins). Add chopped pumpkin, stirring to coat every piece in oil and spices. Cook 5 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add stock, and bring to a boil over high heat. Once soup is boiling, reduce heat, cover and simmer for 15-20 mins, until pumpkin is fork-tender. Add black beans and tomatoes (with their juices) to the pot.

(Now for the fun part!) Using an immersion blender or a food processor (in batches! And be prepared to wear some of the soup!), coarsely process the soup. If using a food processor, return to soup pot and warm gently—add pepper, chicken and remaining spices, adjusting to taste (bearing in mind that the heat will grow as the soup sits, for example, in the fridge). Serve alongside a crispy salad and garnished with toasted pumpkin seeds. Throw a Southern Tier Pumking in the mix, if you’re feeling especially festive.

Pumpkin Bread Pudding
From Bon Appetit via Smitten Kitchen

1 ½ c whole milk
¾ c pumpkin puree
½ c sugar
2 large eggs + 1 yolk
½ tsp salt
1 tsp ground cinnamon
1/8 tsp ground allspice
pinch of ground cloves
2 tbsp bourbon (optional but OH so good)
5 c. cubed (1 in.) day old bread (I used challah)
6 tbsp (3/4 stick) unsalted butter

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Place cubed bread in 8”x8” baking dish. Whisk together milk, pumpkin, sugar, eggs and yold, salt, spices, butter and bourbon. Pour over bread. Bake 25-30 minutes, or until custard has set. Serve warm, mit schlag.