A few weeks back my mom and I were talking about strawberries. Being the lovely chat that it was, it led to a discussion concerning strawberry shortcake. We decided that I should figure out a gluten-free version that we could enjoy this summer. But, our conversation determined, it should not be anything resembling those greasy, saccharine, sponge-like grocery store cakes that are often topped with flavorless, out-of-season berries and a noisy swirl of aerosol cream. It should be like the strawberry shortcakes that my grandma once made. It should take the form of a lightly sweet biscuit. It should be what strawberry shortcake is meant to be.
After hanging up the phone, as it was not quite prime strawberry time, I filed this away in my overflowing Must Make Soon folder. And then promptly forgot about it. See, I didn't write the idea down, and the aforementioned "folder" is actually a place in my mind where things get lost because they weren't written down. If I want to remember anything--ever--it must be in writing. My photographic memory unfortunately refuses to keep records of anything non-visual.
Thankfully Food & Wine had my back. Not only were they so kind as to remind me that my subscription is about to expire and I must renew now, but they included a cute little insert with a recipe for none other than strawberry shortcake in the mailing. And I will be renewing. I owe them big time for what came out of my kitchen last night and it seems the least I can do.
Something clicked so solidly between this recipe and my translation that I'm still feeling a little giddy. The dough came together like magic--sticky at first and then kneaded into a supple, pillowy round. As I held each cut biscuit in my hand, I could feel in the pit of my stomach that something special was about to happen. I watched impatiently through the oven door as they rose magnificently, impossibly high. If they tasted even a tenth as good as they looked, I was going to be in serious trouble.
Okay, so let's be honest here. This whole Meatless Week thing? Well, it hasn't exactly been a challenge for me. This is the way I've been eating for months now. I bring it up here because I think it's a valuable undertaking and I sincerely hope that some of you have been trying it out for yourselves--or if not this week, pick your own! Going meatless is a learning experience, whether you find it difficult or think that it's easy, breezy, amazing.
But again, it's not like I'm really taking on anything and I feel a little like I've been sitting over here twiddling my thumbs and whistling away my meatless days. So I wanted to step in and offer up a recipe. We're more than halfway through here, so there's a chance that some of you may be running out of ideas, and I especially want those of you who are struggling through to stay strong. So here it is: Spaghetti with a Spicy Zucchini Sauce.
I recently discovered the bulk bins at Whole Foods. I’d heard talk of them, but must have always walked past them. It was probably one of those things where I saw them out of the corner of my eye at some point and assumed that they were all just full of nuts and granola, completely missing the ones full of beans and rice and quinoa. Silly me.
When I did finally decide to seek them out, I first checked the Whole Foods in Union Square. To be honest, I don’t much care for this store and try to avoid it whenever possible. As a result, I don’t have a good idea of where everything is located. If I went all the time, though, I can't say that I’d know it much better. It’s constantly crowded, poorly laid out, and not easily navigable. I always feel claustrophobic and overwhelmed, which is why, if they exist, I may have missed the bulk bins both times that I walked around the entire store specifically searching for them. So, as far as I can tell, they don’t exist at that location. Please let me know if I’m wrong.
My Whole Foods of choice is the one located on Houston. It's a bit more of a hike, but the store is spacious and very cleanly laid out. It’s rarely crowded, which means that I can spend as many hours as I want strolling lazily through the aisles and standing like a goon and staring at all the options in front of me. I was quickly able to find the bulk bins at this store once I decided to look for them.
As an avid lover of legumes and grains, I found the bulk bins were at once exciting and dangerous. You mean I just push this here and I can fill up this bag as much as I want? I felt like a kid in a candy store. One of those candy stores with all the bulk bins. Except you can’t really sneak a taste out of these bins—your teeth wouldn’t like you much for it.
Luckily Chris was there to rein me in a bit, so we only brought home a few bags of dried beans instead of the dozens I might have otherwise come away with. Among them were chickpeas. I immediately had thoughts of stewing them with tomatoes and smoked paprika, creating something simultaneously light and hearty, deep with flavor. A few days later I found some spinach at the market that looked particularly good, some pretty little shallots, and I decided it was time.
Ever since we first started dating, Chris has always worked a bit on the late side. The evenings when he gets home before six are rare and carry the same excitement of an early release day back in grade school. Sometimes this is tough, but I've always understood it. When we first met I was acting, and late auditions, all-night shoots, or weekend trips to get my face wrapped in plaster so a disembodied version of my head could be created were part of my norm. Then, during the couple years that I was working at the hedge fund, my nights were often just as late if not later than his. We're people who work hard and understand that about each other, but we're also a couple that likes to spend time together. So, without really even thinking about it, we've always made it a priority to wait and eat dinner together.
It's not unusual for us to sit down to eat at 8 or 9 or 10.... Frankly, it's not unusual for most New Yorkers to do this. Still, by the time we are actually picking up our forks to eat, we're almost always ravenous. This of course leads to shoveling which leads to overeating which leads to "Omg, how am I ever going to lose these vanity pounds in time for the wedding?!"
Since I recently posted the instructions for cooking with dried beans, I suppose I should probably follow up sooner rather than later with a recipe to get you started. This one is super simple—the beans only require soaking—and is a definite keeper. Some small part of me wishes I could take credit for it, but the bigger part of me is just glad that I found it. The recipe is for vegetarian baked beans, and it comes from Joel over at Well Preserved.
I adore baked beans. As a kid, I used to crack open cans of a certain well-known brand and eat them by the bowlful. I’m not saying they were "all that" (90s flashback), but they created a general preset in my mind for what baked beans should taste like. We all know how that happens—like how some people love that powdery Parmesan cheese in the green can or how New Yorkers have their assertions about what real pizza is. I’m sorry, but this one really gets me. I love New York and this city is my home—I’ve even adopted the phrase “waiting on line”—but I’m still of the opinion that pizza is valid and delicious in all its forms. Thick crust, thin crust, deep dish, brick oven, coal oven, whatever. Of course I now have an obvious personal bias toward the GF varieties…but that’s not my point. What were we talking about again?
We all know the rhymes. We all know the reputation. What most of us don’t often think about is how healthful beans are and how much flavor and variety they can add to a person’s diet. And, really, if they’re prepared properly and eaten regularly, beans don’t have to be a...um...“musical fruit.”
Legumes of all sorts, from black beans to chickpeas to lentils, are packed with nutrients. They’re an excellent plant-based source of protein, which is great for vegetarians and a good substitute/supplement to the diet of meat-eaters. Beans are hearty, rich in iron, low in fat and full of fiber. They come in dozens of interesting shapes, sizes, textures, and flavors (if you haven't already, check out Rancho Gordo to get an idea). They’re one of the most versatile foods you can find and, yes, they’re gluten-free.
You know what else they are? They’re cheap. For those people out there who say they can’t eat good, whole foods because of cost issues, beans blow that argument right out of the water. They’re already cost-effective in the form with which most consumers are familiar (canned), but if you buy them dried it’s almost ridiculous how little you’ll end up paying for such a nutritionally dense food. At my market, a pound of dried beans costs only slightly more than a single can of beans, and I’ve found that that pound will yield about 4 cans worth of cooked beans. Pretty good, right?
I know that some of you may see cooking up a batch of dried beans as more effort than it is worth, though, and I’m here to hopefully persuade you otherwise. Not only is it not labor intensive, but beans cooked at home have a far better texture than those from a can. Also, as with so many other things, when you cook them at home you can control other important elements, like salt. Just think about it for a second, what doesn’t taste better when it's homemade?
I'm very excited to announce that I have a new and completely delicious recipe for you today. I'm even more excited that I'll be sharing it with you over at Simply...Gluten-Free, home to the lovely Carol Kicinski. Carol currently has some exciting things in the works and I feel very honored that she's letting me fill some space while she's hard at work. If you're not already familiar with her blog, I'd highly recommend that you check it out. She is a joy to follow--from her witty posts documenting her quest for the perfect (or at the very least, tolerable) exercise regime to her enticing GF treats.
And while you're exploring her site, make sure to take a peek at these Banana Almond Pancakes. They're a not-so-guilty pleasure and one more very good reason to let those bananas go black.
I don’t know if I can even call this a recipe. It was a blatant, outright culinary mistake that yielded something delicious and kind of special. And when that sort of thing happens, is it really right to keep it to myself?
See, I don’t really know a whole lot about making frosting. Or icing. Or whatever you want to call it. I mean, I know that if you mix milk with confectioner’s sugar, you can create a glaze. I know that you can sweeten cream cheese and beat it into fluffy submission. But the whole frosting thing is just not something I do all that often. I take the shortcut with sugary crusts.
But I was making a cake. And I wanted a very special, very specific kind of frosting for this cake. In my mind, I was dreaming up an airy, buttery, vanilla bean-flecked delight. It seemed to make sense to me that if I creamed some butter and sugar, I could add heavy cream and continue to beat it until it was somewhere between a light whipped cream and thick buttercream. I’m still reasonably sure this is possible (I don’t know for sure because I switched off to mascarpone for round two, just to be on the safe side).
I had one of those moments, though, where I completely forgot myself. I combined the butter and sugar, added the heavy cream, grabbed my hand mixer and I let ‘er rip. Show of hands, anyone know what happens when you overbeat whipping cream? Almost immediately it started to look curdled. Well, surely if I keep beating it, thought I, it will smooth out all those tiny little butter lumps and turn into a pretty portrait of fluffy frosting. Not so much. As I continued to move the mixer around the bowl, the curdled white cream turned into thick yellow crumbles and I began to hear liquid sloshing at the bottom of the bowl. Damn it. Butter.
Those who raised their hands for butter get a gold star.
I brought this bunch home somewhere between a week and two weeks ago, when they were a bright, healthy banana-yellow. In that time I haven’t touched a single one. Not once was I even tempted to crack through their firm, supple peels. Because this….
This is far more delicious and holds worlds of promise. These mushy on the inside, leathery on the outside gems are full of sweet, concentrated banana flavor. You would be crazy to mash anything less black-on-the-outside into a baked good—be it muffins, cake, or the almighty banana bread.
