Resolution: renew my vows to chocolate

Moroccan Chocolate Bark Recipe with ras-al-hanout

The holidays have brought me to the brink of chocolate exhaustion. It feels like overspending on a credit card: I know that if I keep going it will become a problem and someone will start hunting me down, even if that someone is the skinnier ghost of my ass crying, “What have you done to me?!”

It peaked around Christmas, a chocolataganza of chocolate pecan pie, chocolate peanut butter cookies, and a stocking gift from my sister: a pretty little gold box of See’s Candies from San Francisco that somehow has carried me, in stealth tastings, through the New Year. (This will be the first my family knows about it; I didn’t share them with anyone.) 

I began casting around for ways to ramp the healthiness of my diet. Several friends reported that going on a cleanse for the New Year. I thought about joining one but I’ve never been able to stick to diet. Who wants to start the New Year feeling like a looser? I needed something that wouldn’t strain my taste buds. 

Then, like manna, a post for the Bon Appetit Food Lover’s Cleanse appeared on my Facebook newsfeed.  It was an oxymoron made in heaven: delicious and healthy. I yelped with delight when I saw that Day One included a chocolate bark dessert. It was svelte version of a chocolate bar studded with roasted pumpkin, sesame and flax seeds, with a spare sprinkling of Malden salt flakes – a mine of grown-up tastes that left me completely satisfied me after a few nibbles.  More importantly, it revived my enthusiasm for chocolate and got me to thinking about it in a different way. I started to meditate on ways to make it even more gratifying.

So the other night I was playing around with beans and greens and came up with a deconstructed Moroccan version that used roasted chickpeas spiced with ras-el-hanout as semi-crunchy croutons on top of a greens and lamb merguez stew. It reminded me how much I love the versatility of the traditional Moroccan spice blend. 

Ras-el-hanout means “top of the shop” in Arabic--the best spices that the shop has to offer. There are many variations, often kept secret by the purveyor who may blend up to 100 spices. (I couldn’t find a 100-spice recipe; if anyone does could you let me know?) Some day I’d like to do a ras-el-hanout tour of Marrakech spice shops. At one time, the blend included aphrodisiacs like Spanish Fly. I don’t have access to Spanish Fly, but love does seem embedded in ras-el-hanout. Just what my chocolate relationship needed!

The ras-el-hanout I use is based on an Epicurious recipe that varies depending on what I have on hand. My current batch is a little heavy on cinnamon and ginger, making it perfect for desserts. It involves roasting a bunch of spices and blending them up – a slight pain so I mix up a bunch at a time and store it in a well-sealed jam jar. My supply has been used in several tagines, as a rub on roast lamb, and even to spice up my coffee. Why not chocolate?

It didn’t disappoint me. The fruity spices and cayenne liberate a firestorm of flavor. It made me very happy again. Just what chocolate is supposed to do.

Moroccan Chocolate Bark Recipe

Adapted from Bon Appetit

Ingredients*

1/4 cup raw shelled pumpkin seeds
2 tablespoons flax seeds

2 tablespoons sesame seeds

¼ teaspoon flaky sea salt or kosher salt

½ teaspoon ras-al-hanout

8 ounces chopped bittersweet chocolate

Preparation

Heat a dry skillet over medium-high heat to toast the seeds. I like to use cast iron. The key is to avoid burning so rely on your nose and do not leave the stove. Add pumpkin seeds and toast, stirring often, until the pumpkin seeds first start to pop. Remove to a bowl. Toast flax seeds in the same skillet, stirring frequently, until fragrant and just starting to turn color, about 30 seconds. Add to bowl with pumpkin seeds. Toast sesame seeds in the same skillet over medium-high heat until fragrant and just starting to turn golden, about 30 seconds. Add to bowl with other seeds.

Place chocolate in small pan and heat over medium-low, stirring constantly, until melted. Stir in ras-al-hanout.

Pour melted chocolate onto wax or parchment paper with a spatula and smooth out into a thin even layer. Sprinkle seed mixture over chocolate. Let stand at room temperature for at least 2 hours, until set. Break into 6-8 pieces. Store airtight in refrigerator. Let stand at room temperature for a few minutes before eating.

*Variations: You can substitute with nuts on hand, such as roasted hazelnuts, chopped to pumpkin-seed size. The next time, I’d like to up the Maghreb-ness of it by adding some lemon or orange zest and a little more cayenne.

Summer in a pie

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There's a Seinfeld episode with a subplot about Kramer trying to score Macinaw peaches during their fleeting peak season. It turns out there's no such thing as a Macinaw peach, but we all know the swoony taste of a perfect peach - the extract of summer.


My Mom was not a big baker, and almost never made pies. But every summer she'd go to the farm stand on Pond Road (Stamford people would need to confirm this) to buy fresh peaches by the bushel in woven baskets for her annual peach pie. Because it was the 70s  I'm guessing she made the crust herself and in my mind's eye see her digging into that classic red gingham Betty Crocker cookbook for the recipe. I do remember our un-airconditioned kitchen steaming up with the scent of peaches parboiling in big pots, extracting them with slotted spoons, then peeling and slicing them into juicy harvest moon quarters. Somehow a pie would appear and no matter the temperature, Mom served it hot, topped with vanilla ice cream.


I could practically taste her peach pie when I came across a recipe last weekend in Deb Perelman's fab blog, Smitten Kitchen. My sister was coming over for dinner, and I thought it would be fun for us to make the pie together in honor of Mom - and have it ready for my husband who had been working hard toward an opening of a new music exhibit at the Museum of the American Indian, Up Where We Belong (fantastic, btw.) We followed the recipe to all but a few letters - I didn't add nutmeg (which I hate and never have on hand) and I didn't peel the peaches. This latter omission might have accounted for the pie's slight shortcoming: it could have been sweeter for Karren and my 15 year old, Jack, and the peach skin might have contributed to that. Pete and I loved it as it was. So if you like your pies sweet, add a little sugar to the recipe. 


Now I feel like my summer's complete.


And here's how I served it -  with caramel vanilla ice cream in a bowl melting over the still hot pie.

And here's the recipe from Smitten Kitchen (go to the site Deb's great tips on making a crust.)


Smitten Kitchen's Peach Pie

Crust
2 1/2 cups (315 grams) all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting surfaces
1 tablespoons (15 grams) granulated sugar
1 teaspoon table salt
2 sticks (225 grams, 8 ounces, or 1 cup) unsalted butter, very cold
1/2 cup water, very cold

Filling
About 3 1/2 pounds peaches (approximately 6 large, 7 medium or 8 small)
1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice, from about half a regular lemon
1/4 cup granulated sugar (see note up top; use 1/3 cup for a sweeter pie)
1/4 cup light brown sugar (ditto)
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
Few gratings of fresh nutmeg
1/8 teaspoon table salt
2 tablespoons minute tapioca, ground to a powder (see note up top), or 3 tablespoons cornstarch or potato starch

To finish
1 tablespoon milk, cream or water
1 tablespoon coarse or granulated sugar

Make your pie dough: Whisk together flour, sugar and salt in the bottom of a large, wide-ish bowl. Using a pastry blender, two forks or your fingertips, work the butter into the flour until the biggest pieces of butter are the size of small peas. (You’ll want to chop your butter into small bits first, unless you’re using a very strong pastry blender in which case you can throw the sticks in whole, as I do.) Gently stir in the ice water with a rubber spatula, mixing it until a craggy mass forms. Get your hands in the bowl and knead it just two or three times to form a ball. Divide dough in half. Wrap each half in plastic wrap and flatten a bit, like a disc. Chill in fridge for at least an hour or up to two days. Slip plastic-wrapped dough into a freezer bag and freeze for up to 1 to 2 months (longer if you trust your freezer more than I do). To defrost, leave in fridge for 1 day.

Meanwhile, prepare your filling: Bring a large saucepan of water to boil. Prepare an ice bath. Make a small x at the bottom of each peach. Once water is boiling, lower peaches, as many as you can fit at once, into saucepan and poach for two minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer to ice bath for one minute to cool. Transfer peaches to cutting board and peel the skins. In most cases, the boiling-then-cold water will loosen the skins and they’ll slip right off. In the case of some stubborn peaches, they will stay intact and you can peel them with a paring knife or vegetable peeler and curse the person who made you waste your time with poaching fruit.

Halve and pit the peaches, then into about 1/3-inch thick slices. You’ll want 6 cups; it’s okay if you go a little over. Add to a large bowl and toss with lemon juice. In a small dish, stir together sugars, cinnamon, nutmeg, salt and cornstarch until evenly mixed. Add to peaches and toss to evenly coat.

Preheat: Oven to 425 degrees.

Assemble your pie: Flour the heck out of your counter, unwrap your first dough (if the two pieces look uneven, go for the smaller one) and put it in the middle and flour that too. Be generous, you’ll thank me later. Start rolling your dough by pressing down lightly with the pin and moving it from the center out. You’re not going to get it all flat in one roll or even twenty; be patient and it will crack less. Roll it a few times in one direction, lift it up and rotate it a quarter-turn. And that’s what you’re going to continue to do, roll a couple times, lift the dough and rotate it. Re-flour the counter and the top of the dough as needed–don’t skimp! You should be leaving no bits of dough on the counter and none should be stuck to your pin. If at any point, the dough starts to get sticky or soft, it’s warming up and will only become more difficult to work with. Transfer it back to the fridge for a few minutes (or even the freezer, but for just a minute) to let it cool, then resume your rolling process.

Once your dough is a 12- to 13-inch circle, transfer pie dough to a standard pie dish by folding it gently into quarters (making no creases), arranging the folded corner into one quadrant of the bottom of your tin and gently unfolding it to fit over the base. Trim the overhang to one inch.

Scoop filling into bottom pie dough, including any accumulated juices (they contain the thickener too, also: tastiness). Roll out your top pie dough using the same procedure, until it is 12 to 13 inches in diameter. If you’d like to make a regular lidded pie, use it as is, cutting some decorative vents in the pie lid before baking. To make a lattice-top pie, cut the pie dough into strips anywhere from 1/2 to 1-inch wide with a pastry wheel, pizza wheel or knife. Arrange every other strip across your pie filling in one direction, spacing the strips evenly. Fold back every other strip gently on itself and add the longest remaining strip in the other direction. Fold the strips back down, repeat with the other strips until a full lattice-top is formed. Trim the lattice’s overhang to the diameter of the pie dish’s rim (i.e. no overhang; only the bottom crust will have that and this is a case of do as I say, not as I do, because I totally forgot this detail when I was making the above pie). Gently fold the rim of the bottom crust over the lattice strips and crimp decoratively.

To finish:Brush pie with milk, cream or water and sprinkle with sugar.

Bake pie: For about 20 minutes in the preheated oven, until the crust is set and beginning to brown. Reduce oven temperature to 375 and bake pie for another 30 to 40 minutes, until filling is bubbling all over and the crust is a nice golden brown. If the pie lid browns too quickly at any point in the baking process, you can cover it with foil for the remaining baking time to prevent further browning.

Cool pie: For three hours at room temperature before serving. I know you won’t listen to me — there’s hot delicious pie to be eaten, after all — but if you’re concerned about the runniness of the pie filling, keep in mind that the pie filling does not fully thicken until it is fully cool. Pie can be stored at room temperature or in the fridge; from the fridge, it will be even thicker.

Kate's Kale Salad (adapted from Esalen)

Last weekend my niece Kate Brill was visiting from Portland, Oregon and made the best kale salad I've ever tasted. It seems that all I eat these days is kale salad and this one is tops. Better than City Bakery. Better than my own version of City Bakery with caramelized (almost crisp) onions. It is beautiful and fresh, and adapted from the Esalen Cookbook with all of the crunchy wholesomeness you expect from Big Sur.

Kate's Kale Salad
(adapted from the Esalen Cookbook)

1/4	cup tamari soy sauce
1/4	cup lemon juice
1/4	extra-virgin olive oil
½	medium red onion sliced thinly and cut into half-moons
¼	cup sunflower seeds toasted
¼	cup pumpkin seeds toasted
¼	cup sesame seeds toasted
1	pound fresh kale, sliced into 1/4" ribbons
1	avocado diced (optional)

Combine soy sauce and lemon juice in a blender or whisk in a bowl. Slowly dribble in the oil as the blender turns or as you whisk vigorously to emulsify. Marinate sliced onions in the dressing as you prepare the rest of the salad.

Toast the seeds in a heavy bottomed pan over medium heat until seeds are just golden and fragrant. Toast each seed type separately as their size requires varying roasting times. Cool to room temperature.

Toss the seeds and kale with the onions, and as much dressing as necessary to lightly but completely dress the kale. Thoroughly mix with your hands. Let the dressing macerate the kale for at least 15 minutes before serving at room temperature. 

Jack's Nutella-Drop Flap Jacks

The idea for these marvy pancakes came out of a Spanglish exchange with Jack this morning. 

“Que quieres comer this morning, hijo: pancakes or waffles?”

What do you want to eat, son: pancakes or waffles?”

“Tenemos Nutella?”

Do we have Nutella?

“Si.”

Yes

“Quiero pancakes, por favor.”

I want pancakes, please.

Like our language skills, this pancake recipe is a mashup that somehow works. It combines our regular frozen waffle topping (Nutella!) with a yogurt-based batter.

     I fretted over whether the Nutella would create moist spots in the pancakes and I’d end up with overcooked edges or undercooked innards – or that the Nutella would melt onto the pan and cause a crusty mess. This didn’t happen. I think because I followed the advice of the venerable Deb Perelman (Smitten Kitchen) to make the griddle real hot at first, and to drop it to medium/medium-high after adding the batter. Oh, yes, and smearing a stick of butter over the pan between each batch.

     These pancakes met my ideal - billowy yet substantial - thanks to the use of yogurt and that extra egg. That plus the use of Nutella instead of chocolate chips makes them (arguably) healthier than our everyday variety.

They were muy delicious.

See recipe after the jump.

Tagine Dream No. 1: Chicken tagine with chickpeas and dried cherries

My new tagine

I've wanted a moroccan tagine  for years - and finally got one for my birthday from dear Pete and Jack. I love the aspirational heaven-toward funnel shaped lid, and the way food looks served in it at the table. Mostly, I adore the food that's cooked in it. I've eaten tagines for years, notably at my Aunt Clotilde's in France and Cafe Mogador on St. Mark's where I treasured the rich, layered spices and aromatics that compose their base. 

     Oddly, my North African-born mother never made or used tagines. All of her crazy-good meals, from the most basic hamburger to her fresh salad, had a Mediterranean cache, and she would break out some truly middle eastern recipes for holidays or special occasions. Also, unlike me, she never did cozy up to stews or soups. The closest she got was a memorable Julia Child-inspired Chicken Marengo, a similar dish with Italian flavors, which were probably more appealing to our American-born father and to us suburban kids.
     Last night I gingerly approached my earthy-orange tagine, not sure how to actually cook with it. But I am here to tell you that it was so easy and so gratifying. The most time-consuming part was grinding up the Ras El Hanout spice blend. Everything was done in the same pot, and it took no longer than any braised stew.
     There seem to be as many varieties of tagine as there are lasagna. The traditional tagine has several components: some sort of meat, usually chicken or lamb, arabic spices, and dried or preserved fruit, which is stewed and served over couscous. I happened to have on hand chicken parts, canned garbanzos, quinoa and dried cherries and quinoa. With a tip of my tagine lid to the Bon Appetit Test Kitchen, my first adventure with tagine was a big hit with Pete and Jack.
                                   


Click below to jump to recipe...

Recipes for Poets - Distracted Poet's Rice and Veggie Mix-Up

Deb Ager of 32 Poems challenged readers to post a recipe for busy poets (not an oxymoron) that takes 20 minutes or less to prepare. The time limit seems apt for a species of writer that often prizes brevity. On the website, I loved reading what other poets like to eat - seems random, but somehow the dishes sounded delicious. The 32 Poems website has the details and links to other poets' recipes.

I made this last night when I wanted something super "clean" and healthy and fast. It's also in keeping with my latest obsession to reduce food waste by using up as many decaying vegetables as possible. I actually made this without oil by steaming the vegetables. While it served my purposes last night, I missed the taste of sauteed onions, so I modified it here.  

This is pretty much the brown rice and veggies recipe that we used to eat at Yaffa Cafe for $3.95 (I'm dating myself) when we were young and poor in the East Village. For all I know, Yaffa still serves it. It's perfect not only because it's fast, but forgiving: you can keep your mind on creating a perfect line break without compromising the meal. And if you add an egg or two, you can eat the leftovers for breakfast the next morning. 

Distracted Poet's Rice and Veggie Mix-Up
(inspired by the Yaffa Cafe)

Serves 4

2 cups brown rice
3 cups water

1 onion diced

2 tbs olive oil or butter

2 cloves garlic minced

1 tsp dry thyme

2 cups fast-cooking vegetables - I used:

- spinach leaves

- carrots diced

- broccoli florets

salt and pepper to taste

1 cup shredded cheese of your choice

Heat oil in a large pot over medium heat and sautee onions, garlic, thyme, and rice until onions are translucent. Add water and, once water comes to a boil, reduce heat and cover. Simmer for 10 minutes, add vegetables and cover for another 10 minutes until the vegetables are al dente and all of the water has been absorbed by the rice. You're essentially steaming the veggies while the rice finishes cooking. Add salt and pepper, mix and serve, covered with cheese. Let it sit for another 10 minutes before serving.

Spinach Rescue Recipe: Ispanakli Yumurta

There are mornings when I look in the mirror thinking, as Jessica Lange once said, who is that drag queen? I can see shadows and folds and bumps and crevasses that somehow exaggerate and distort my features at the same time. With my budget, there isn't a lot I can do. So I take a breath and rearrange my face to look a little less cubist. On bad days, this makes me want to crawl back into bed and start over.

On good days, I can access a deep-felt gratitude for the body that battled illness and can still survive a vinyasa class without losing consciousness, for the people who stand by me, and for a resolve and acceptance that seems to grow with age. My mother was of the belief that you become more of yourself as you grow older, for better or for worse. I do feel that right now - like a condensed flavor pack, ready for another round.

As the Chinese sages said:

Be not sad.

Be like the sun at midday.

I Ching (Book of Changes)
Translation: no matter how bad things get – shine on.
     This also seems to be good advice for the spinach curling up in my vegetable bin. It's in season right now and tastes like spring. When I bought it, the leaves gleamed emerald, crisply attentive, with sandy soil still clinging to its roots. I plucked it like a bouquet, inhaled its gritty green smell. I was gung ho on making a fresh spinach salad that night – then forgot it. Four days later, the leaves have started to loose their viagranous urgency. Their color has deepened grimly and they’ve gotten flabby, On the upside, the flavor has gotten spinach-ier. Some people think it has a nutty flavor. Not quite pretty enough to be featured in a salad, but just right to star in a Rescue Recipe.

     In my last preachy post I moralized about how throwing out food is one of the deadliest, methane-spewing eco-sins. It’s also morally evil, seeing as one out of six Americans struggles with hunger. There’s no excuse, because there are so many amazing ways to give produce a second chance.

This past-prime spinach, for example, would be great in a soup or lentil stew, and fantastic sautéed with garlic for a healthier grilled cheese sandwich. One of my favorite rescue strategies is to add it to eggs, onions, and feta. 
     I like the Turkish take on this combination called ispanakli (spinach) yumurta (eggs). I love this recipe not only because it's a way to use spinach, but I adore eggs up - like the sun shining at midday.

Shine On Spinach Yumurta

1 lb fresh spinach, course stems removed

1 large onion, finely diced

2 tablespoons butter

½ cup feta, crumbled

4 eggs

salt and pepper to taste

paprika and cumin (optional)

Preheat oven to 350 F

Clean spinach by submerging in a bowl of cold water and swishing it around vigorously to remove the sandy grit. Shake off water and remove any course stems.

Melt butter over medium heat and add onion. Cook until translucent. Add spinach, cooking until the leaves soften and wilt slightly (a little more than they already are), about 1 minute. Stir in cheese; season with salt, and pepper.

Hollow out four nests in the spinach mixture and crack one egg into each. Sprinkle with a few pinches of paprika and, if you like, cumin.

Place in oven until eggs set, then serve immediately.

The Science Experiment That Ate My Garbage

I used to be embarrassed by the science experiments in the back of my fridge. Now, thanks to my 8th grade son, I can present hard data about them.

      For his Science Exit Project, Jack compared the rotting rate of organic and nonorganic apples and carrots. He predicted that the nonorganic would last longer because they're pickled in more pesticides. Jack did lots of research, uncovering several unsettling facts along the way.
      What he found was that 186 million pounds of food is wasted in this country each day (USDA). In fact, half of the food produced in America ends up in landfills, where it proceeds to emit methane, a greenhouse gas 20-plus times more potent than carbon dioxide. While all of this food is being scrapped and our environment is heating up, one out of six people in America struggles with hunger.

    
      These discoveries floored me. What could I do? I can compost and donate to food banks. 
       I can stop creating so much garbage.
      My awareness of the leftover-food chain changed the way I look at the food rotting in my fridge -- and the way I cook. The fear and (self) loathing I used to feel while mining the frosty shelves has been replaced by gamemanship: I've become a garbage opportunist with the selfish aim of advancing my moral standing. The on-the-way-out items become collage material for new and different meals: what can I do with that (X) moldering away in the vegetable bin?
      If I'm feeling lazy, I can go to lovefoodhatewaste.com. Like an uber home ec teacher, this quirky British site has compiled an exhaustive menu of recipes from professional chefs and normal folk alike. I've learned that there’s a second life for almost every food. From their widget “What food needs using up?” I learned what to do with “One sad brown banana” (put it in a curry!) and how to store half an avocado (keep the pit in it.) And there's much more.
      Whether my own or someone else's, making a Rescue Recipe makes me feel a little virtuous - even if the methods are dubious. Does anyone really need to know that dinner was made out of salvaged garbage? The answer depends on who you're trying to impress. 

April Rescue Recipe: Vicky's Chicken Broth
This Rescue Recipe came from my friend Vicky.  Not too long ago when Vicky wasn't feeling well, I went to her house with a my mother's great chicken soup. But Vicky had already defrosted some of her own. It was incredibly robust and deeply savory. And I discovered that it's a perfect Rescue Recipe because it calls for chicken and whatever is wasting away in your fridge. The other day I made it, and here's what I added:
Scoliotic Kale spines, diced
Curling spinach
Limp carrots, quartered
Softening potato, diced
Nub of ginger, halved
Stringy celery, diced
Thyme
Rosemary
Sage
Handful of kosher salt
Handful of whole peppercorns
Directions:
Toss everything into a large stock pot and fill with water. Bring to a boil then, with the lid slightly ajar, simmer. After a few hours, break up the chicken with a wooden spoon and continue simmering for at least 6 hours - preferably overnight. Strain and press as much of the solid food that you can through a sieve, so that you have a thick-ish broth. Then serve, and if you have extra (which you will), freeze for a rainy day.
      By the way: Jack's experiment proved that organic and nonorganic produce rotted at pretty much the same rate. Organic is more expensive, but at least it lasts as long as the pesticide-treated produce. To say nothing of the many other environmental benefits to organic and, if possible, local. So in the end, I'm sticking with my healthy, flavorful, and sustainable choice: organic.