So, it’s the day after Halloween, and if you’re contemplating devouring the family Jack o’Lantern, I heartily suggest just tossing it instead. Although it’s a noble gesture to try to eat it, the large “field” varieties are usually watery, flavorless and not sweet — generally a big disappointment. Not to mention the fact that it has been carved up and manhandled, exposed to air for who knows how long and probably has had a sooty candle burning in it.
If you have a hankering to cook a pumpkin, try to get hold of a sugar or cheese pumpkin. The sugar pumpkins are round and weigh one to two-pounds and cheese pumpkins are sort of flattened, the color of butternut squash, and resemble a big wheel of cheese. There are some other varieties with intense flavor and silky texture, but you’ll be safe sticking with these two. You can also use a butternut squash — I’ve often heard that canned pumpkin is really canned butternut squash.
Sugar Pumpkins
Cheese Pumpkins
Other Edible Squash
Pumpkin is a fabulous fall vegetable and pretty versatile. When added to soups, stews, risottos and pasta, it offers a fat-free creaminess. It’s actually used a lot in low-fat baking for this attribute. It also carries flavors well — the first set of seasonings that come to most people’s minds are the classic pumpkin pie spices of cinnamon, nutmeg and mace, but it is also great with heartier herbs and spices like sage, rosemary, garlic, and red pepper. It also works will with southwestern flavors of cumin, coriander, Mexican oregano and cayenne, as well as Southeast Asian flavors of sugar, coconut milk, ginger, lime and lemongrass.
I always have a bunch of pumpkins and squashes around my house in the fall — I just think they’re so beautiful that I can’t resist them. In fact, my everyday keychain is an enamel pumpkin and my computer password (which is getting changed today!) is pumpkin. I have to eat them pretty often to make room for new ones. Some of my uses in October were the Hot-and-Sour Pumpkin Soup from our site (I didn't have galangal so I substituted extra ginger and I also generously garnished with Thai basil and cilantro). Hot-and-Sour Pumpkin Soup
I also pureed a bunch and froze it (by the way, a microwave works brilliantly for this), and my favorite preparation was Parmesan Pumpkin, from The Silver Spoon. I substituted freshly smoked mozzarella for the plain and used a roasted tomato sauce from my freezer instead of fresh tomatoes. Yum!!!
Parmesan Pumpkin Zucca Alla Parmigiana
Serves 6
5 tablespoons olive oil, plus extra for brushing
2 shallots, chopped
14 ounces tomatoes, peeled and diced
1 pound 5 ounces pumpkin flesh, sliced
All-purpose flour, for dusting
2 fresh thyme sprigs, chopped
14 ounces mozzarella cheese, thinly sliced
1 cup Parmesan cheese, freshly grated
Salt and Pepper
Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a pan, add the shallots and cook over low heat, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes, season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, for 15 minutes. Preheat the oven to 400 degrees F. Brush an ovenproof dish with oil. Dust the pumpkin slices with flour. Heat the remaining oil in a skillet, add the pumpkin slices and cook until lightly browned on both sides. Remove with a slotted spatula and drain on paper towels. Make a layer of pumpkin slices in the prepared dish, sprinkle with a little thyme, spoon some of the tomato sauce on top, add some mozzarella slices and sprinkle with a little Parmesan. Continue making alternating layers until all the ingredients are used. Bake until golden brown and bubbling.
I love fall and anticipate its arrival more than any other season. Unfortunately, we've had a very long, drawn out summer here in NY, but that's not keeping me from cooking and eating my favorite fall foods. I recently had dinner at A Voce, and even though it was over 80 degrees outside, I devoured my plate of butternut squash tortellini in a butter sage sauce. And for a dinner party last week, I made my favorite fall dessert: tarte tatin.
The name alone makes many people think it's a fancy schmancy sweet, but it's really one of the most simple ones around (if you do it my way, at least). You'll get to use up the abundance of apples that sneak into your kitchen the minute fall rolls around (or tries to, at least). Plus, tarte tatin really is so much more satisfying than apple pie. It has a nice buttery crust, isn't overly doughy and its open-faced look is just so pretty!
Many people would probably like a fat scoop of ice cream on top of their tarte tatin, but I find that the apples are sweet enough. I dress mine up with that deliciously thick and creamy Greek yogurt instead. It helps cut the sweetness quite a bit and also adds a nice, tangy touch. And even better? When you go the yougurt route, you should and will feel completely obliged to have a couple of slices.
Tarte Tatin
For the crust:
1 cup flour
1 stick of cold butter, cut up
Pinch of sugar
1/4 cup ice water
For the apple filling:
6 fuji apples, peeled and sliced
3/4 cup of sugar (sometimes I use even less)
To make the crust, place the first three ingredients in a food processor and pulse a few times. Add in the ice water slowly, and continue pulsing until the dough forms a ball. Remove dough and flatten into a disk. Refrigerate for an hour or so before rolling it out.
To make the apple filling, put the sugar in a pan (preferably a cast iron one), over low heat and stir continuously. Within a few minutes, the sugar will begin to turn brown. Continue stirring until it becomes liquidy and then add in the sliced apples. Cook the apples in the sugar until they're tender.
Remove the apples from the heat and cover the pan with your rolled out ball of dough. Place the pan in a 350 degree oven and bake until the crust turns brown and golden. Remove the pan from the oven (here's the tricky part), and using pot holders, flip the tart onto a big plate so the apples are facing up and the crust is on the bottom (I usually have my husband do this part). Slice immediately and serve with a dollop of Greek yogurt.
Everyone has certain foods they can’t resist and quince is one of mine. When this fall fruit appears, usually in October, I immediately stock up. I’ve heard (but find it hard to believe) that quince is not very popular in this country. Although they're related to apples and pears, I’ve got to admit, quince is definitely not as user-friendly. Raw, they’re virtually inedible: They’re high in lignins (which make them undigestible), tannins (which make them unpleasantly astringent) and phenols (which cause them to brown quickly when exposed to air). OK, maybe I'm beginning to understand their outsider status.
So, what do I do with this obstinate fruit? First, I leave them on a counter for several days which perfumes the air with a clean, fruity scent. Quinces smell amazing — they have been used around the world for centuries as room fresheners. I then cook them, which takes a minimum of 1 1/2 hours. Quince improves dramatically with a long, slow cooking process. An intense fruity flavor emerges, it becomes tender, and most remarkably, it changes color from yellowish white to a distinctly rosy gold. I usually use some variation of the following recipe:
4 medium quinces, about 2 pounds
4 tablespoons fragrant, light honey
2 tablespoons lime juice
4 tablespoons water
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Quarter and peel quinces and remove seeds*. Cut each quarter into quarters, toss with honey, lime juice and water and put in a baking dish. Cover tightly with foil. Bake in center of oven for one hour, until slices are soft and translucent.
Remove the foil, raise heat to 425 degrees F and bake until slices are a rosy gold and syrup is slightly thickened, 20 to 30 minutes.
Before going in the oven
After 1 1/2 hours of cooking
* Quince syrup, made from the seeds and peels, is used as a home remedy for sore throats and upset stomachs. Toss peels and seeds into a heavy saucepan, cover with water and simmer for one hour. Strain, mix with honey to taste, and refrigerate. The peels are high in pectin and the seeds contain mucilage, giving the syrup a jelly-like consistency. The syrup will last for weeks tightly covered in the fridge. Simply sip, or mix with hot water for a soothing tea.
So, besides a home remedy, what do you get for your troubles? Today, I made an open-faced sandwich on a whole wheat walnut toast from Amy’s Bread, melted a little Cabrales cheese over it and topped it with the honey-baked quince slices — it was outrageously delicious. During fall and winter, I keep cooked quince in my fridge (a batch will last for a couple of weeks) and add them to pancakes, apple pies, fruit syrups and cheese platters. I’ve also heard it’s great in lamb stews.
I don’t understand why more people aren’t crazy about Concord grapes. In fact, I’m the only person I know who really likes them (If you're a fellow Concord grape lover — please chime in!)
My husband tells me it’s an acquired taste, but I actually think it is the complete opposite — a willing suspension of any evolved palate whatsoever. Concord grapes are totally lacking in any sophistication or nuance — it is pure, unadulterated, in-your-face grape flavor (I believe the oenological term is actually "foxy"). Maybe part of Concord grapes’ bad PR is unfamiliarity — most modern-day grape-eaters are used to Thompson seedless and Red Globe, and Concord grapes have a remarkably short season. You only see them for about three months starting at the end of summer, which endears them to me even more. When I bought them this weekend at my farm stand, the teenager at the cash register asked what I do with them. "Eat them?" I hesitantly responded. Well, actually I did more than that eat them this time — I made grape juice.
I followed Deborah Madison’s Fresh Grape Juice with Lemon Verbena from her cookbook Local Flavors (one of my top 10 favorite cookbooks, by the way).
Fresh Grape Juice with Lemon Verbena
Makes about 1 quart
3 to 4 pounds grapes
Simple syrup
Soda water
1 lemon, sliced
Lemon verbena, lemon basil, or mint sprigs
Special equipment: food mill
1. Rinse grapes well under running water, plucking them off the stems as you do so. Don't worry about getting rid of every bit of stem — the food mill will do most of the work.
2. Put all the grapes in a wide, heavy pot. Add 1 cup water, turn the heat to high, and cover the pan. Once it starts to boil, lower the heat to medium and cook for 15 minutes. Pass them through the food mill set over a bowl.
3. Taste and sweeten it with the syrup if needed. When you’ve got it as sweet as you like, pour it into a jar and refrigerate. Serve over ice mixed with soda water, lemon slices and herb sprigs.
My friends and I were all really impressed with how good this drink was — not too sweet, lovely color, refreshing. I’m always on the lookout for grown-up non-alcoholic drinks, and this is one I would be thrilled to receive at a party or restaurant. And as a nutritionist, I’m psyched that it most likely contains copious amounts of resveratrol, the heart-healthy phytonutrient that occurs in red wine. To your health!
I can't believe summer is over. It’s my absolute favorite season and I really had a great time this year. One of the high points was my weekly CSA pickups. The farm will still have food until November, but it is really obvious summer has ended. The tomatoes have dwindled down to a handful, the summer squash was destroyed by beetles and the basil is not bursting back from its most recent trim. I'm almost ready to accept fall — I'm sure the first winter squashes and Macoun apples will help ease the pain.
So, here are my remaining summer farm pics:
One of my all-time favorite parts of going to the farm is cutting flowers for my house.
This is what my car looks like driving home
Here is a photo of some of my loot (but this was taken in August — my September bounty looks much different)
Here is Farmer Ron, who along with his lovely wife Kate, makes this world a better place for us CSA members
By the way, if you're interested in learning more about CSAs while being entertained at the same time, try to catch a showing of The Real Dirt on Farmer John. It might not be in the theaters anymore, but I'm sure it will be out on video relatively soon.
I spent Labor Day weekend on the Jersey Shore with some friends, and when we weren't playing touch football or tennis, riding jet skis or frolicking in the warm Atlantic ocean, we ate, and ate, and ate some more. There was simple fresh fish, creamy New England Clam chowder and crispy fries our first night at Smitty's. A barbecue at home the next night with jalapeno-spiked burgers, roasted veggies (many of which came from two different farm shares), a clambake for 18 on Sunday, and homemade lobster rolls on Monday.
And then there was the one food we talked about the most on this trip, the real winner, the one I could wake up and eat every single morning (although I'd weigh 1,000 pounds if I did): my friend Judith's amazing monkey bread.
When we arrived in Ocean City on Friday, Judith stopped off at Bennie's Bread, to pick up two balls of homemade dough. Once we settled in at our friend April's house, she placed the dough in a bowl to rise. When the dough sufficiently expanded, she ripped it into chunks, put it in a bundt pan, poured a mixture of butter, cinnamon and sugar on top and let it rise again.
Judith was introduced to monkey bread by her husband Tim's family. Tim grew up with a bunch of brothers and every time they went to visit their aunt, she'd whip up a few batches. Our other friend Josh is also a huge monkey bread fan. In fact, he still vividly remembers the day a family friend came over and just cut a chunk off of a fresh loaf. He was shocked that she'd do such a thing since everyone knows you're supposed to ceremoniously pull pieces with your fingers. I, on the other hand, had never tried monkey bread. But all this talk about fresh dough, butter, sugar and cinnamon? Monkey bread sounded like my kind of sweet.
When Sunday finally rolled around and it was time to try the much talked about monkey bread, I felt like a kid on Christmas. I woke up early and ran upstairs where Judith was preparing to pop the bundt pan in the oven. The next 35 minutes were torturous. The kitchen filled up with the most enticing scent of warm bread, butter, sugar and cinnamon. Lots of other foods were being made -- English muffins, fruit salad, homemade scones -- but I was saving room for that monkey bread and am I glad I did.
When it finally emerged for the oven, swollen and glistening with the stickiest, most delicious looking butter-sugar glaze, I was speechless. Judith expertly flipped the monkey bread onto a plate, set it on the table, and within seconds, we were all pulling off chunks, oohing and ahhing while we licked our sweet and sticky fingers. It tasted like a cinnamon bun, but the bread dough gave each bite more texture and in some ways helped balance the ultra sweet flavors. It was best straight out of the oven, but we had no problem eating it the next day as well.
Judith was nice enough to share the recipe that she used, so I've listed it here. If you have a special monkey bread recipe that you like to use, I'd love to hear about it too!
Janet Kane's Mouthwatering Monkey Bread
Bread dough (enough for two loaves)
1 cup white sugar
3 tsp. cinnamon
3/4 cup brown sugar
1 stick butter
Allow bread dough to rise (if using frozen dough, thaw overnight in fridge). Pull bread apart into chunks, about one inch in diameter. Combine white sugar and cinnamon. Roll dough balls in sugar mixture. Stack rolled dough balls in a bundt pan. Melt butter and brown sugar until boiling. Pour mixture over dough balls in bundt pan. Cover with plastic and allow dough to rise again to the top of the bundt pan.* Bake at 350 degrees for 35 minutes. Turn baked monkey bread onto a plate.
*Note: Once bread has risen again, it may be refrigerated overnight and baked in the morning if you desire a fresh-from-the-oven monkey bread breakfast.
The other night, I found six ears of corn from sitting in my fridge. Almost two weeks old (I got them in my last CSA pick-up on August 11th), they looked limp and lifeless. I couldn't bear to throw them out.
I thought of all the different things to do with them. Corn on the cob for a week? Boring. Corn chowder? Nah. Finally, I settled on Pastel de Choclo, a Chilean dish I discovered five years ago at a dinner party (thrown by a few friends from Santiago).
It's basically a chicken and corn pie, with hardboiled eggs and an alarming amount of raisins thrown in for good measure. I've made it using this recipe a handful of times and the whole process is relatively quick and easy.
First, you poach and shred some chicken breasts and season them with parprika, cumin and oregano. Then, you cook the corn in milk and butter until it gets nice and thick. When you're ready to assemble, you spread the chicken in a 2-quart pyrex, top with sliced hardboiled eggs and all those raisins, and cover with the corn mixture. After sprinkling with two tablespoons of powdered sugar, you bake for 40 minutes until golden brown.
In the past, I've always used frozen corn which the recipe says to puree. Since I was using fresh corn for the first time, I skipped that step. Big mistake. The best part about Pastel de Choclo is its silky smooth topping. It acts as a nice velvety foil to all the other textures and gives a lovely sweetness to the whole dish. The crunchy kernels were an interesting twist, but I prefer the pudding-like consistency.
So, if you have a bunch of corn sitting in your fridge, try something different and make Pastel de Choclo. Just remember to puree your corn, and tell me what you think!
Ever since I was a little kid, I've loved Four Corners, my hometown's local pizzeria. I started going when I was 3 or 4 with my grandfather. It was ritual to have one slice, followed by a rainbow Italian ice -- except on the days when my grandmother came. She forbid me to eat things with artificial dyes, something I hated about her at the time. Funny that these days, I won't go near the stuff either.
As a teenager, my friends and I would cram into one of the 60's style bright orange booths and spend hours drinking Dr. Pepper and eating slices. Most of them would order a regular slice, but I was always addicted to the sicillian: fat, puffy squares of dough topped with a slightly sweet sauce and gobs of mozzarella. Particular about the temperature of my food even back then, I used to make the pizza men crazy with all my questions: How long ago did it come out of the oven? Is a fresher pie coming out anytime soon? Can I see a slice before deciding if I want it? On the days when I arrived right as a just-cooked pie was being cut into squares, I felt like I'd won the lottery.
When I moved to the city about 7 years ago, it took me awhile to find my favorite pizzeria. The regular slices were usually pretty good wherever I went, but the sicillian always seemed like an after thought. They looked depressing sitting in those glass cases, the dough deflated and lifeless, the cheese yellowy and congealed.
I pretty much gave up on sicilian in the city altogether until I discovered Spumoni Gardens in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. It's definitely different than the slices I grew up eating -- each piece is first topped with whole milk mozzarella (Four Corners always used part-skim) and then smothered with a really tangy sauce.
And unlike the fat, hearty slices I'm used to, Spumoni's are springier, the dough a bit lighter. At Four Corners I was always full after one slice. I'm tempted to eat three or four at Spumoni.
The place itself has the same bare-bones, old school feel as Four Corners (slices are ordered at windows, then eaten on wooden picnic tables), but there's a sit-down restaurant for those who want table service. The fun part about the restaurant is that it feels like a place you'd see on The Sopranos. I'm not sure if Spumoni ever made it into an episode, but a wall of autographed photos proves the cast has stopped by.
Tony Sirico (AKA, my favorite character, Paulie Walnuts) called Spumoni "the best pie in town" on his photo and I just might have to agree (another new favorite is Di Fara in Midwood, though that's an entirely different experience).
What's your favorite place to eat pizza in New York? I'm particularly interested in where else I can find good sicilian since Spumoni is a bit of a trek!
Spumoni Gardens
2725 86th Street
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
718-449-1230
In mid-August, I start to get overwhelmed by tomatoes. No mere Caprese salad or tomato sandwich is going to help me use up the 12 pounds taking over my dining room table. This time of year calls for drastic measures for reining in tomato sprawl.
One thoroughly satisfying technique is roasting tomatoes, a process that not only concentrates the sweetness and flavor, increases the shelf-life, but also looks fabulous doing it. I think a large pot of tomatoes simmering in olive oil and herbs is a true thing of beauty. Michael Chiarello has excellent recipes for roasted tomatoes which get chopped up for a salsa and also a great Roasted Tomato Soup.
I also love oven-dried tomatoes, where you dehydrate the tomatoes in a 200 degree oven for about five hours until about 80% of the moisture has evaporated. The finished product is sweet, salty, slightly chewy and has a tomato-on-steroids flavor. Oven-dried tomatoes will last, layered in a jar with olive oil and herbs, for a couple of weeks in the fridge, unless you eat them all straight out of the jar first (which is a distinct possibility). Use them in any dish where you want a hit of tomato flavor or color.
This weekend, I roasted up a bunch of vegetables and made Chilled Red Pepper and Tomato Soup. This soup was so gorgeous at every stage that I felt compelled to keep photographing it. The other cool thing about this soup is that it can really only be made in August — any other month, the cost would be prohibitive (especially after I doubled the recipe) and the flavor would be drastically diminished. There's no liquid added to this soup — everything comes from the tomatoes.
What are some of the ways you deal with tomato overload?
Before going into the oven
After roasting
Finished bowl of soup
Chilled Red Pepper and Tomato Soup with Cucumber Herb Salad
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
4 cloves garlic, crushed
1 hot chile pepper, such as Thai or jalepeno, halved and seeded
Handful cilantro
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
1/2 bulb fennel, coarsely chopped
3 red bell peppers, seeded and coarsely chopped
2 1/2 pounds ripe tomatoes, coarsely chopped
2 teaspoons sea salt
Garnish with chopped cucumber, halved cherry tomatoes, red and yellow pepper strips, fresh basil, mint and cilantro leaves, and extra-virgin olive oil
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
Combine the olive oil, garlic, chile pepper and cilantro in an ovenproof pot and cook over medium heat until the garlic is golden brown, about 5 minutes. Add the onion and fennel and cook until softened, about 10 minutes. Then add the bell peppers, tomatoes and salt. Stir well and transfer the pot to the oven.
Bake, uncovered, stirring every 10 minutes or so, for 30 to 40 minutes until the contents have collapsed into their own liquid and appear scorched on top.
Remove the soup from the oven and allow it to cool for 20 minutes.
Ladle the soup in batches, into a blender or food processor and puree until smooth. Pass the puree through a food mill or sieve. Discard the solids and refrigerate the soup for at least 3 hours.
Ladle soup into chilled bowls, top with the fresh garnishes and drizzle olive oil over it all.
I make a cherry clafouti almost every week during the July and August cherry season until my husband finally begs me to stop. If I don't have cherries in my house, I'll throw whatever fruit or berries I have hanging around. My friend David always made fun of my clafouti habit (I think he just likes saying the name) until I finally got him to taste one. And his review? “Better than fabulous — like a flan except creamier”.
Fig, Blackberry and Raspberry Clafouti
Cherry Clafouti is a rustic French country dessert that takes about 10 minutes to prepare and 35 to 45 to bake. It's simply a custard (I make mine in a blender) that is poured over fresh fruit. Although cherries are traditional, you can also use apples, berries, figs or a host of other fruit. Last week I even made a corn, basil and cheddar clafouti (but told my husband it was a corn pudding). The traditional Cherry Clafouti leaves the pits in the cherries for extra flavor, but I, in my bourgeois way, pit the cherries first so it’s easier to eat. The French are definitely on to something with the no-pitting idea. Not only is it much faster to prepare, but I always know when I’ve missed a pit because right before I bite it, I get hit with the flavor of almonds.
I’ve been searching for the perfect recipe the last couple of summers, and this year, I believe I've finally found it.
Cherry Clafouti
From The San Franciso Ferry Plaza Farmers’ Market Cookbook
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1/2 cup granulated sugar
3 large eggs
Finely grated zest of 1 lemon
1 cup heavy cream
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract or splash of Kirsch
1/2 cup unbleached flour, sifted
Pinch of salt
3/4 to 1 pound red or yellow cherries, stemmed
Confectioners’ sugar for dusting
Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Butter a shallow 10-inch round baking dish with the butter and set the dish on a rimmed baking sheet.
In a bowl, whisk together the granulated sugar, eggs and lemon zest until blended. Add the cream and vanilla or kirsch and whisk again until blended. Then add the flour and salt and whisk until the batter is frothy.
Pour about one-third of the batter into the prepared dish. Scatter the cherries on top in an even layer. Pour the rest of the batter over the cherries, being careful not to dislodge them.
Bake the clafouti until golden and puffed and a knife inserted in the center comes out clean, 35 to 45 minutes. Serve at once, dusted with a little confectioners’ sugar, or, if serving later at room temperature, transfer to a wire rack and allow it to cool. Dust with confectioners’ sugar just before serving. Remind your guests about the cherry pits before serving.
Variation: You can substitute 1 pound figs, stems trimmed and fruit cut into eighths lengthwise, for the cherries
