Archive for the ‘Easy’ Category

Apple sauce with lemon, cinnamon, and ginger

25 October 2011

Fall has come with crisp air and deepening sunshine, piles of fallen leaves to jump into and carpets of prickly chestnuts to tread onto, scarves without gloves and short skirts with leather boots, and apples, and apple sauce.

Apple sauce should be made with the newest, crispest apples of early fall as a celebratory leap away from summer; but also with the last, gnarly, bruised, and slightly soft apples of spring in patient anticipation of the summer’s first strawberries; and all winter long through grey skies and rainy days, snow storms and frigid winds.

Because making apple sauce is as easy as cutting apples into pieces and letting them cook for a little while, with a film of water at the bottom to prevent burning. But there are countless possible variations. Sugar or no sugar. Chunky or smooth. Spices? Even butter, for some. This is how I often make apple sauce, though by no means the only way.

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This makes an intensely fragrant, chunky apple sauce. For a smoother texture the cooked apples can be run through a food mill. The spices and amount of sugar can also be adapted according to taste. I prefer fresh ginger and whole cinnamon because it imparts a more subtle taste, but ground spices would be fine, too.

About 10 small apples

Rind and juice of 1 lemon

1-inch (2.5 cm) piece ginger

1 thin cinnamon stick (or a half)

2 or 3 Tbsps brown sugar

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Peel, core, and cut the apples into quarters and place in a heavy-bottomed saucepan.

Peel the rind of the lemon into a long ribbon, carefully avoiding too much pith, juice the lemon, and add both the rind and the juice to the apples.

Peel the ginger, cut it into thin slices, and add to the apples. Also add the cinnamon stick and the sugar.

Toss the apples. Pour in 2 or three tablespoons of water, just enough to coat the bottom of the pot.

Cook, covered, over medium to low heat for 20 to 30 minutes, until the apples have softened.

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Avocado, cherry tomato, and cucumber salad with red pepper and parsley

21 September 2011

Last week, fall swept over the city with a single large gust. The temperature dropped about 10 degrees (Fahrenheit) in one afternoon and everyone rushed home – or wished they had – to change into coats and boots for the evening.

But, unlike New York summers that don’t give spring a chance and usually arrive overnight, in New York fall flirts with summer for weeks before finally settling in sometime before Thanksgiving.

So, on this rather grey morning but with full confidence in many more beautiful Indian summer days, here is a great salad that’s crunchy and fresh but also lush with avocado. It takes five minutes to prepare and goes well with a quick lunch – grilled fish, seared steak – or any-way eggs for brunch.

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2 small seedless cucumbers

1 red pepper

About 12 cherry tomatoes

A small handful flat-leaved parsley

1 avocado

Juice from 1/2 lemon

2 Tbsps very good olive oil

Flaky sea salt

Pinch cayenne pepper

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Wash the cucumbers, cut them in half lengthways then into 1/2 inch (1 cm) slices and place in salad bowl.

Wash and cut the red pepper in half. Remove the seeds, then cut into 1 inch (2 cm) strips and again into 1/2 inch (1 cm) pieces and place into the salad bowl.

Wash and cut the tomatoes in half, add them to the bowl.

Wash the parsley, pick the leaves from the stems, and coarsely chop the leaves into the bowl.

Slice the avocado in half lengthwise; open it up and remove the stone. With a small sharp knife, cut the flesh of the avocado into 1/2 inch (1 cm) dice, stopping before the skin, then, with a large spoon, scoop out the flesh into the salad.

Dress the salad with the lemon juice, olive oil, salt, and cayenne pepper. Toss, check seasoning, adjust, and serve.

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At the market in Brittany | Artichokes

21 August 2011

I don’t know how better to describe a field of artichokes than as a shimmering sea of silver green plants growing dinosaur eggs – they are at once beautiful and funny.

Because somehow it’s hard to take an artichoke entirely seriously. The legendary French comedian Coluche famously derided artichokes as “the only dish that, when you finish eating it, there’s more on your plate than when you started.”

When we eat an artichoke, we eat the bud of a domesticated thistle, cynara scolymus, which comes from the Mediterranean and dislikes frost. It is therefore ideally suited to the mild maritime climate of Brittany, where it is never terribly cold and – have I mentioned this before? – rarely particularly hot.

While the artichoke bud is still very small, the whole head is edible. Later, as pictured above and described below, it is still a bud but only the fleshy part of the leaves and the heart can be eaten.

To eat a globe artichoke you pluck a leaf, scrape the flesh gently but firmly with the bottom front teeth, discard the leaf, and repeat, working your way toward the tender heart. The very soft central leaves can practically be eaten whole, then onto the choke – the inedible part called “hay” in French, to describe its prickly quality. The choke must be removed carefully to reveal the heart, which most consider the prized part of the artichoke, though most children find eating the leaves much more fun.

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Steamed globe artichokes with butter lemon sauce

Traditionally artichoke leaves are often dipped in a simple vinaigrette or a hollandaise sauce, but in my opinion this simple butter lemon sauce far surpasses both.

1 artichoke per person

2 Tbsps butter per artichoke

1/2 lemon per artichoke

Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper

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In a pot large enough to hold all the artichokes, bring 1 to 2 inches (3 to 5 cm) of water to boil.

Just before using, cut the stems flush off the artichoke. **If this is done in advance, rub some lemon on the bottom so the artichoke doesn’t oxidize.**

Place the artichokes in the pot. **It is also possible to use a steamer, but not necessary. The bottom artichokes will touch the water slightly but the result is the same.**

Steam the artichokes for about 40-45 minutes. The artichokes are cooked when an outer leaf peels off easily and a knife slides into the heart (bottom part) of the artichoke.

For the sauce, melt the butter in a small saucepan, squeeze in the lemon juice, season with salt and pepper, and stir well. Taste and adjust with more lemon juice if desired.

To serve, place one artichoke on each plate with the sauce in a little pot on the side, and a large bowl on the table for the discarded leaves.

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In Brittany | Home baked potato fries

8 August 2011

Although we are in Brittany and I don’t believe fries are the traditional Breton accompaniment for mussels, it seems this famous Belgian pairing has anchored itself so steadfastly in our subconscious that anytime I (we) think of mussels, I (we) think fries. So when we prepared mussels the other day, the other half of the meal seemed obvious.

It was the first time I made really good home-baked fries and I think it was thanks to a tip from my sister who suggested starting them low and slow so they would cook through without burning or drying out.

They were great.

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Potatoes

Good olive oil

Flaky sea salt

Freshly ground black pepper

Rosemary

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Preheat oven to 300F (150C).

Cut the potatoes in half lengthways, place each half cut side down, and slice into 1/2 inch (1 cm) pieces. Wash the potato pieces in cold water and pat thoroughly dry with a (clean) kitchen towel.

Place the potatoes on a large shallow oven pan. Drizzle generously with olive oil, season with salt, pepper, and sprigs of rosemary. Toss so all the pieces of potato are dressed with the olive oil.

Put in the low oven and cook for about 20 to 25 minutes. When the potatoes seem cooked through, increase the oven temperature to 425F (220C) and bake for another 10 to 15 minutes until gold and crisp.

Check for salt seasoning, adjust, and serve hot.

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In Brittany | Mussels with shallots and white wine

25 July 2011

I am in France spending a large part of the summer with my family at my sister’s beautiful, old, and very run down farmhouse in northern Brittany.

While New York was smouldering under the heat last week everyone in France complained about the cold, and here, too, temperatures have hovered around 18°C (65°F) and it rains more often than not. But no one complains. Northern Brittany is known for blustery weather and beautiful coastlines, and we’ve been enjoying both.

Food-wise, beyond crêpes and savory buckwheat galettes – Brittany’s most famous culinary exports – the region has fresh fish and seafood in abundance, is famous for artichokes and pink onions, breeds pigs, and bakes far and kouign amann for dessert. This of course being just a cursory list. We’ve been enjoying all of that, too.

But first, mussels.

I forget how easy it is to cook mussels so I don’t make them often in New York, but here mussels are not only on every market but also on the beach, and on all of our minds. This is one of the most basic traditional French preparation: moules marinières, or sailor’s mussels, with shallots and wine wine. Add cream (as I do here) and they become ‘moules à la crème.’

Serves 4 as a main dish (count 1 lb of mussels per person)

4 lbs (2 kg) mussels*

4-5 shallots

2 cloves garlic

3 Tbsps butter

Olive oil

3-4 sprigs fresh thyme

2/3 cup (200 ml) crisp white wine such as muscadet

2-3 Tbsps crème fraîche

Freshly ground black pepper

Large bunch flat-leaved parsley

*

Thoroughly scrub the mussels clean, wash them under clear water, and drain.

Peel and thinly dice the shallots. Peel and thinly slice the garlic. Wash and finely chop the parsley and reserve for later.

In a large cooking pot, melt the butter with a dash of olive oil. Add the shallots, and cook until they become translucent. Add the garlic, stir, and cook for another minute. Throw in the sprigs of parsley and stir again to combine the flavors.

The shallots shouldn’t turn brown. As soon as they start to turn golden, pour in the white wine and bring to a boil. Simmer for 4-5 minutes.

Add the mussels, cover with a lid, and turn up the heat. As soon as the lid starts to let off some steam, take the pot off the fire and, firmly, with both hands, shake it with a few gentle jerks in order to turn the mussels inside the pot.

Place the mussels back onto the stove for a few minutes more. Most of the mussels should be open. If not, jerk the mussels again and return to the stove.

Once the mussels are open, transfer them carefully with a straining ladle to a warm pot or bowl for serving.

Place the coking pot with the shallot/wine sauce back onto the fire. Stir in the crème fraîche (I prefer the sauce to become milky and not creamy, but add according to taste), and some pepper.

Pour the very hot sauce over the mussels, sprinkle with lots of parsley, and serve immediately.

*At home, poke breathing holes into the bag of mussels and store in the refrigerator.

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