Tag Archives: baking

The Galette that Saved My Life

22 Apr

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No, my life wasn’t literally in danger.  No, there weren’t superhero galettes flying around donning colorful capes and swords.  Nor were there any galettes with magical powers.  I simply had a stressful day, and this galette made things better (apparently I’m a little dramatic).

Here’s what the galette did do. For one, the crispy, crispy protein-packed crust took no time at all.  Also, with seasonal vegetables, I knew the nutritional value was there.  And with the smell of freshness roasting away in the oven, it brought about the memories of comforting home-cooked meals I grew up eating.

And boy could I go for one of those meals.

Growing up, I was fortunate. It wasn’t until about the middle of college – when I needed to cook on my own – that I realized just how fortunate I was.  Other coeds in my environment experienced only tv dinners throughout their childhood (it was the 80s after all), leaving them with limited taste preferences, food experiences, and nutritional prowess.  While I was never deprived of the famous Kid Cuisine (anyone remember the chocolate pudding?!), I also was scarfing down raw veggies as snacks, Cornish game hens, salads at every meal, and a variety of edible colors.  Because of this, I ate.  I ate well.

Vividly I remember coming home from basketball practice, showering and getting to work on my homework on my mom’s old roll-top antique desk. The soft, outside ambient light was turning dark, and the house always had lingering warmth from the SoCal day.  Downstairs, Tom Brokaw’s velvety voice reported the day’s happenings, and my sister was probably sitting on the step in time-out (sorry, Jenn, but you did spend a lot of time there).  A pot was on the stove, or something was in the oven, and the smells were always delicious.  I sat in a holey blanket struggling through my pre-calculus, a soggy messy ponytail dampening my sweatshirt, Casey the dog at my feet (before he got old and stinky), and the comfort of knowing a home-cooked dinner with my family enrobed me.

The computer screen just got foggy. I miss those days.

So rather than fall into a swamp of reminiscence wishing I had my mom cook me an old-fashioned meal while I do my precalc homework, I decided to create it myself. (My mom does live 8 doors down from us so maybe this could happen, minus the math homework – or maybe my dad would give me some problems just to see if I can remember how to solve changes in functions with respect to independent variables.  Eh?  Like that, Dad?)

Wanting to fill the house with the smell of warmth, I knew baking or roasting something would be ideal. I roast veg a lot, but wanted to spice things up a bit and make the meal special – average weeknight special.  So finding some leftover quinoa flour, I whipped up a quick dough with cold butter and cold yogurt.  Free-forming the rolled out dough around some seasonal veggies held them together with a sprinkling of very sharp cheddar cheese.  After 40 minutes in the oven, a beautiful, rustic galette was born.

And the house smelled weeknight wonderful.

Of course the circumstances were different, but when the light gets low and the house starts to smell like the love someone put into a good meal, it’s like a big, necessary hug (sans homework).

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Spring Veg Galette
(serves 2-4)

Dough:

  • 1 ½ c ground organic quinoa flour (I use Bob’s Red Mill)
  • ½ c all purpose flour, plus more for dusting
  • 4 tbsp cold butter, cut into chunks
  • ½ c cold greek yogurt
  • ½ tsp salt
  • 5-7 tbsp cold water

Filling:

  • 1 pint asparagus, ends trimmed
  • Fresh corn cut off 1 cob
  • 1 medium radish, thinly sliced
  • ½ c sharp cheddar cheese, shredded
  • 1 tbsp olive oil
  • s&p
  • *Optional: 1 egg, beaten

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

To make the dough, cut the yogurt and butter into the flours with salt until the dough shows pieces the size of peas. NOTE: use a pastry cutter, or two large forks to cut the dough.  Add in the cold water, a tbsp at a time, mixing until dough holds together when squeezed.  On a floured surface, pour out the dough and form into a disk.  Working quickly to keep the dough cold, roll out the dough with a rolling pin until it is 1/8 in thick.  Using as much surface area as possible, use a paring knife to cut the dough into a large circle, discarding the few outside scraps.  Roll the circle of dough over a rolling pin, and lay it onto a parchment paper-lined baking sheet. 

In the center of the circle, layer the asparagus (I used thinner stalks here), corn, and radishes, leaving about an inch border all the way around. Sprinkle the veg with s&p and a tbsp drizzle of olive oil.  To create the galette, start with a piece of the edge and fold over the veg to create a little crust.  Go all the way around folding (and crimping the pieces together if you want to), until a little open pie is formed. 

Sprinkle the galette with the cheddar cheese. If using the egg wash, paint the crust of the galette dough with the beaten egg (this will create a lovely golden, shiny color on the crust once baked). 

Put the sheet pan in the oven and bake until the crust is browned and the veg are cooked through, about 40 minutes.

Slice into pie pieces, and pair with a light salad. Enjoy!

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How to Explain Cooking

20 Sep

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Every year, without fail, the exact same thing happens the first day in Kindergarten:

“Who knows the sound the ‘M’ makes?”
“I do, I do…mmmmmmmmm.” I cringe as 18 surprisingly-loud-considering-their-size 5-year old voices shout at me.
“Wait, wait, wait, friends. You have to raise your hand to answer the question. So let’s try again. What sound does the ‘M’ make?”
Then right on cue: “Mmmmmmmmmmm,” 18 surprisingly-loud-considering-their-size 5-year old voices continue to shout at me all with hands up in the air.

My bad.   Nowhere in my explanation did I state that the kids have to be quiet while raising their hands so I can call on one of them. Kids are so literal. They are also blatantly truthful:

“The reason I’m late is because my mommy had to put her bra in the dryer.” Or, “You aren’t an old lady, but you do have wrinkles.” Or (amidst uncontrollable Friday morning sobbing), “I’m…. so….. tired.”

That last one I could relate to perfectly, and almost started sobbing myself out of sympathy and understanding. However, I’m happy to report that after five weeks into the school year, we are raising our hands to answer questions, and continuing to learn – together.

Having spent hours upon hours of advanced collegiate learning about writing, expression, and both written and verbal communication, as well as hours upon hours of putting those skills to use, the hands raising situation is a perfect example of how the lack of such a small detail can simply mess up everything.

Cooking is the same way. I have a good friend, Laura – and no, names have not been changed to hide identity – Laura asked that I specifically refer to her by name. She said being mentioned in my blog would make her famous (while I don’t think Laura knows that I only have 48 subscribers, I love the sentiment!). Laura has a hard time with the culinary arts, and frankly, like most who struggle in the kitchen, she dislikes the act of cooking. So over the past couple of years, I have tried to help her out by showing her easy cooking tricks, making her meals to introduce food she thought she didn’t enjoy, and provided recipes for potlucks and such. While most every time I’ve received an OMG-happy type phone call or text about the food, there have been a couple like this:

“So how did the lemon and lavender cocktail turn out?”
“Well,” uh-oh. The extended “well” is never a good sign. “The recipe said the word ‘syrup.’”
“Yes, the directions said to boil the water, sugar, lavender and lemon to make a simple syrup.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what that is. I read ‘syrup.’”
“So?” (Cue blonde moment; I had no idea where she was going with this, but I think most people probably would have.)
“I added syrup.”
“Syrup?”
“Yes.”
“Like, maple?”
“Aunt Jemima, baby.”
“But the directions didn’t say to add maple syrup!”
“But the directions SAID syrup!”

My bad, again.

I think it happens quite often when the inside thought doesn’t match the outside output. Which, in turn, always creates a learning experience. For Laura, she learned what a simple syrup is, and to only put in a recipe specifically what is on the ingredient list. I learned that if I’m going to use a cooking phrase, I might want to explain it as well.

Friday night’s meal reminded me of Laura, as she was adamant about telling me how she hated squash – that was until she had a spaghetti squash salad at my house. Prior to the meal, I was standing in line at the grocery store, and a woman asked me about the spaghetti squash I was buying and how to cook it. I explained the “oh it’s simple” way of cooking it flesh-side down to steam it up before turning it over to roast, and received a blank stare. The woman did not know what the flesh of the squash was. A necessary key detail!

IMG_2539So for Laura, for the lady at the store, and for all the times I’ve tried to explain something that was oh-so-obvious in (only) my brain, here’s my simplest, easiest, go-to, gluten-free, veggie-loaded meal that will leave even the worst cook feeling proud and satisfied: Roasted Spaghetti Squash. It’s perfect for this beautiful start to the autumnal season, and smells so yummy while cooking.

Roasting is high-heat cooking, usually in an oven. To roast a spaghetti squash, first preheat the oven to 425 degrees, and then prep the squash by cutting it in half vertically. A strong knife, like a 6-8 inch chef’s knife will work best. The inside will have seeds and pulp like a pumpkin. Using a spoon, scrape out the seeds and pulp and discard. The inside of the squash is the flesh, beautiful and yellow, and season the flesh with 2 tbsp of olive oil and ½ tsp of salt for each side. Place the squash halves open side down on a baking sheet, and roast in the oven for 15 minutes. Then, using kitchen tongs, turn over the squash halves so the open side is facing up. Continue to roast the squash for about 20-25 minutes, or until the flesh of the squash is tender enough to be pricked easily with a fork. Remove from the oven and let cool until able to handle. Then, holding the squash with one hand and a fork in the other, scrape the spaghetti squash starting at the top and pulling the fork down. The flesh will pull off in a noodle-like form, and voila! Roasted Spaghetti Squash!

From here, the options are endless for serving the squash:

* melt a stick of butter, whisk in lemon juice from one lemon, and add thyme leaves in a pan and pour over the squash for an easy side dish.
* shave fresh parmesan and crack fresh pepper over the squash and mix with arugula, basil, and dried cranberries for a tasty salad.
* mix with a favorite tomato sauce for a faux-spaghetti dish.
* add it to a turkey sandwich for a sweet, Thanksgiving-y taste.
* stir into a favorite curry sauce and serve over cooked lentils for an exotic meal.
* mix in some crunchy bacon, fry up an egg to top, and enjoy a healthy carbonara alternative.

For my, eh-em, many readers out there that will inevitably make Laura famous, I have taken these cooking lessons to heart, and have started to learn how to talk about cooking more specifically. After all, the last thing we need is any more kitchen mishaps when cooking can be so much fun and so rewarding. So please, try the squash, and let me know how it turned out!

Enjoy!

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Now THIS is a Pie

9 Jul

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It could be a club, or organization, of sorts. The I-hate-it-when-I-make-HUGE-mistakes-at-something-I’m-good-at club. Can anyone else join? Or at least stick their head in to see what all the fuss is about?

With humbled conviction, I can say there are four things in life that I’m really good at: cooking, teaching, writing, and yoga. I guess we could bump it up to five things if eating is an area in which to excel. Or maybe even six if driving too fast is considered, but for arguments sake, let’s keep it at four. So when I completely, utterly, remarkably destroyed a pie on the 4th of July, I went down the list of excuses.

“I’m not a baker.”
“This was just plain silly to try.”
“It probably wasn’t going to be good anyway.”

North Florida backwoods fireworks boomed with each doleful attempt at an excuse. Then, right as Rob came over to give me a supportive hug, inevitable frustration took over.

“What the hell! What the hell was I thinking?!” I hissed at him (because he was near).

Rob’s arms quickly – and understandably – released as mine over-exaggeratedly flew around, and my mom graciously admitted that she wasn’t that hungry anyway, and my dad echoed the sentiment. Our progressive summer holiday dinner, where our house was the dessert stop, literally stopped.

Sigh.

This has happened before. Where I mess something up in the kitchen, and have to swallow verbal shrapnel for fear others in the vicinity will call the nutty-farm to pick me up over a failed pork roast. Or from-scratch citrus butter. Or seared scallops. Or fig pizza. But the best thing about these mess ups, is that I get to try again having always learned something.

That did sound a little afterschool special-ish; however, it’s true. With the scallops, for instance, don’t put a hard-plastic handled pan on a grill. It may just break completely off sending scallops flying all over the porch (sorry, Mom). And with the citrus butter, adding too much citrus breaks the clotted cream. Add a bit of salt and sugar instead. With the figs, well, just don’t add them to a pizza, and never ever yell into the oven at a pork roast because it won’t cook fast enough. Lesson learned: the pork will ignore you, and you’ll look like a raging moron.

Well, this latest mistake was a dessert mistake. I’m not particularly a sweet-toothed person, most of which I attribute to the fact that my mom couldn’t let go of the chimichangas while pregnant with me. Though in the summertime, I love, love, love Smores. So what better perfect summertime pie than a Smores Pie?

I planned the layers of the pie perfectly: graham cracker crust, then milk chocolate custard (in true Smores Hershey style), melted marshmallow, and then a meringue topping torched to resemble the most perfect, campfire-toasted mallow. Here was the problem: the custard needed to be baked at a certain temperature (preferably in a water bath), and the meringue needed to be baked at a different certain temperature to ensure the egg whites get fully cooked, yet still set to a fluffy, airy, topping. Here’s what went wrong: I double baked the custard in order to cook the meringue, which completely separated both the melted marshmallow and the custard, resulting in a soupy, gloppy, broken, slimy, inedible mess. Really. Not edible. Not exaggerating.

After the flailing arms breakdown, the 4th of July came and went, and the 5th of July was upon us with friends coming for dinner and to watch the Women’s World Cup Championship. So rather than wallow in kitchen disaster pity (like I am honestly still doing with the pork roast – seriously folks, it hasn’t been attempted since), I decided to try the pie again.

The deep breaths in the kitchen were audible. I reviewed: graham crust? Fine. Custard? Creamy and light. Melted mallows? Genius. Problem: Bleeping meringue. Solution: make a thick whipped topping instead. To get the toasted campfire flavor, cook the graham crust just a bit longer locking in some carbon flavor. Result? Pie perfection.

Our guests loved the pie, Rob loved the pie, I loved the pie – it was smores-y, creamy, dreamy, and everything summertime sweets should taste like. But, mostly I loved it because I had tried again and succeeded after an epic, epic fail.

Lesson learned: try again. It should be a kitchen motto, really. Even with food that turns out fantastic. Try again. It will be great again, or maybe even better! So with that, I’m sending summertime love and a sweet, sweet, do-over Smores Pie!

Enjoy!

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Smores Pie

  • 6 full Hersheys milk chocolate bars, chopped
  • ½ bag large marshmallows
  • 2 full sleeves honey graham crackers
  • 6 tbsp + 2 tbsp unsalted butter, divided
  • 3 egg yolks
  • ½ tsp good quality sea salt (such as Maldon)
  • ¼ tsp Kosher salt
  • 1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
  • 2 c + ½ c heavy whipping cream, divided
  • 1 tbsp confectioners sugar
  • 1 tbsp sugar
  • 2 tsp vanilla extract, divided

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Using a food processor, crush up the graham crackers with 6 tbsp of butter, and ¼ tsp of Kosher salt. When finely ground, pour the grahams into a pie dish, reserving ¼ c of the grahams for topping at the end. Using hands or the bottom of a measuring cup, firmly press the grahams evenly across the pie pan, and up the sides. Bake for 7-10 minutes.

To make the chocolate custard, pour the chocolate into the top of a double boiler (or use a glass dish over a pot of boiling water. NOTE: do not let the water touch the bowl, or it will burn and separate the chocolate). Heat up the ½ c of heavy cream for 30 seconds in a microwave, or over the stove. Pour the heavy cream over the chocolate and stir.

While the chocolate is starting to warm, using a hand mixer, beat 3 egg yolks with 1 tbsp of sugar and 1 tsp of vanilla extract. Vigorously beat the egg yolks until they are fluffy, pale yellow, and form a smooth falling ribbon when falling off the beaters.

Once the chocolate has started to melt, mix it together quickly until smooth. Remove the top bowl from the heat, and place on the counter.

At this point, the eggs need to be tempered (if you immediately add room temperature eggs to the hot melted chocolate, you will curdle the eggs – yuck). While vigorously whisking the eggs with one hand, use the other hand to slowly ladle a stream of the melted chocolate into the eggs. Do this with 2-3 spoonfuls, or until the bowl with eggs feels warm (and may steam). Then, while continuing to whisk the chocolate, pour the egg mixture back into the bowl of melted chocolate, and completely combine. At this point, add the sea salt and the cayenne pepper to the chocolate, and mix thoroughly (it may sound strange, but the salt and hot pepper add a dimension to milk chocolate that is lacking on its own – it makes the flavor more rounded, while keeping the integrity of the milk chocolate smores taste). Pour the custard into the pie pan and place the pie pan on a sheet tray. Place the tray in the oven, and carefully pour the hot water left over from the double-boiler, onto the sheet tray making sure no water gets into the pie (this is called a bain marie and the hot water steams to help cook the custard evenly). Bake the custard for 35-40 minutes, until firm, yet still a little jiggly in the middle.

After the custard has baked, remove it from the bain marie and let it cool to room temperature.

Once cooled, start to make the gooey marshmallow layer by putting the marshmallows in a microwaveable bowl with the 2 remaining tbsp of butter. Heat the marshmallows in the microwave for about 20 seconds, or until the marshmallows just start to expand. Quickly remove the bowl from the microwave and stir the mixture until the butter and melted marshmallows combine to make one mixture. While still warm and pourable, evenly pour the marshmallows over the custard.

Put in the fridge to set for anywhere from 1 hour to overnight.

Just before serving, whip the 2 c of heavy whipping cream using a hand, or stand mixer. When just starting to get bubbly, add the vanilla extract and the confectioners sugar. Whip the cream until stiff peaks form.

Dollop the whipped cream on top of the pie, making a fluffy design, and sprinkle the remaining graham cracker crumbs on top.

Enjoy!

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