Kartoffelpuffer, Latkes, or whatever else you like to call 'em

Potatoes are a wonderful food source.  They're one of the largest food crops in the world (along with rice, wheat and corn).  They're pretty easy to cultivate (I managed to grow a potato plant in a dorm room), filling, and tasty.  Although native to the Americas, they feature in cuisines from around the world. 

I ate a lot of potatoes when I lived in Germany.  Germans, although more famous for their beer and sausage, do a lot of potato-eating.  One of my favorite ways to eat them was as a pancake.  My family always called them "Kartoffelpuffer" ("Kartoffel" being the word for "potato"), although they were also commonly referred to as "Reibekuchen" (literally: "grated cakes").  The first time we made them, I bit into mine and said, "Oh!  It's a latke!" because the only time I'd ever had them previously had been during a Chanukah thing.  Technically, a latke can be made without potatoes (they've been around a lot longer than potatoes have been available to Jewish communities), but most people really like fried potatoes, and, as I said above, they're a great food source, so why not?

Kartoffelpuffer

~1 lb potatoes 

1 small onion, diced

1 large egg

~2 Tbsp bread crumbs 

Salt and Pepper

Oil (for cooking)

Peel and grate the potatoes.  If you prefer to leave the skin on your potatoes, feel free to do so; just be sure that all the skin gets grated and you aren't left with large sections of it.  Combine with the other ingredients, stirring it to mix thoroughly.  Here's the tricky bit: you have to wait.  I am an impatient cook, so I always mix everything together, look at it, and freak out.  When first combined, everything is loose, resembling a salad more than a batter.  Give it some time to sit though, and liquid will be pulled out of the potatoes.  Stir periodically until you start to notice a batter-like, cohesive consistency (shown at right).  In the mean time, heat your oil/pan/griddle.  My recipe says to cook them like pancakes, but when I'm making pancakes, I use a lot less oil.  Grease your pan or griddle generously; you can even shallow-fry these (which is more in keeping with the Jewish latke tradition).  

Scoop a portion of the potato mixture into the oil.  If you need to, spread it to about 1/2 uniform thickness.  Fry/cook over medium heat until the edges are set and slightly browned; flip the latkes and cook until both sides are browned. Be aware of how much oil the pancakes absorb-- you may need to re-grease the pan when you flip.  Work in batches until all the potato batter is used up.  Serve while warm (fresh out of the pan is best).  My family in Germany eats them with applesauce; they're also delightful with sour cream, cottage cheese, apple butter, or any combination thereof.  

Notes:  If you are terribly impatient like me, you might add a 2nd egg to get to batter-like consistency faster ("It's too dry!").  If you opt to do this, be prepared to add more bread crumbs or flour as the liquid is drawn out of the potatoes.  Even without adding an extra egg, you may find it useful to have flour around-- potatoes hold a lot of water.

When greasing the pan, I used about 1 Tbsp of bacon fat and 2 Tbsp of canola oil at the beginning of each batch.  Bacon fat just gives such a lovely hint of flavor.

If you're having trouble with the pancake deforming as you try to scoop it up and flip it, that's probably it's way of saying that it is not done cooking on that side.  If it breaks, then it is sticking to the pan.  But I found that usually it seemed sticky because it was under-cooked.  No worries if you realize the problem after flipping.  Just let it finish cooking on the 2nd side, and flip it back to the first side.  And try to be more patient next time.  It's hard, I know.

These are oily.  That's why they're eaten at Chanukah-- it's all about the oil.  I recommend draining them, though, if you aren't going to immediately devour them.  Crumple some old newspaper and cover it with a clean paper towel, and place the pancakes on that to dry.  (See photo, left)  Newspaper soaks up the oil nicely, and it's a bit cheaper than a roll of paper towels.

 

 

Moroccan Style Chicken

I found this recipe in my local newspaper.  I like the idea that when I make it I'm getting a little taste of Casablanca.  I like the flavors used in it, warm spices that mingle with the smoke flavors from the grill.  The use of yogurt is also fantastic, taking advantage of the enzymes and bacteria (friendly bacteria) present in yogurt to make the meat tender and moist.
By itself, the chicken is also a great recipe for people who come home and don't necessarily have time to prep a meal.  Because the chicken has to sit for a long time in the yogurt, it's best prepped in the morning, and then you can just come home and cook it, which takes maybe 15 minutes.
To accompany it, I made a lentil salad, inspired in part by a recipe I came across a while back for an Egyptian bean salad, which used similar flavors.

Moroccan-style Chicken Breasts
3 large boneless, skinless chicken breasts
1/3 C plain nonfat yogurt
1/3 C chopped fresh cilantro
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 Tbsp minced garlic (~2 cloves)
1 tsp sweet paprika
1 tsp cumin
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper

Combine the yogurt, cilantro, oil, garlic, paprika, cumin, salt, and pepper, and smear the mixture over both sides of the chicken.  Place the chicken in a dish and cover it, placing it in the refrigerator and allowing it to sit for 6 to 10 hours.
Preheat a gas grill to high, or prepare a charcoal fire.  Grill the chicken until cooked through, about 5 minutes/side.

I used culantro rather than cilantro (see my blog on Enchiladas for a brief discussion of these herbs), because I have some growing in my garden, and it lends itself particularly well to marinades.  While this yogurt mixture is not a typical marinade, it is largely cooked (burnt or melted, I guess) off during the grilling process, so I wasn't stuck with a bunch of culantro leaves poking my gums and tongue as I ate (a less than pleasant sensation).
Generally, I don't go for non-fat yogurt, but this time it just so happened that that was all my grocery store had.  I was less than thrilled; I'm sure the recipe would work just fine with regular yogurt.

Lentil Salad
1 C dried Lentils
1/4 C chopped onion
1 clove garlic, minced
1 kosher dill pickle, chopped
1/2 C plain nonfat yogurt
paprika, cumin, salt, and pepper

Rinse the lentils and place in a pot with about three times as much water as lentils.  Bring to a boil, and reduce to a simmer.  Allow the lentils to simmer for ~25 minutes until soft, but not mushy.  Drain any excess water, and add the onions and garlic while the lentils are still hot.  After allowing them to cool a bit, add the pickle and yogurt, and season to taste.

I will admit, this salad is not the most attractive thing that has come out of my kitchen.  But it is wonderfully flavorful.  Is served it alongside the chicken.  The onion and pickle gave it a little distinction flavor-wise from the chicken, which was good.  Although I use the same spices, I do want different flavors in my food.  Just not competing ones. 
Leftover lentil salad and chicken can be combined to make an excellent chicken salad for a sandwich or wrap (see photo, left).  I recommend it with some feta cheese.

Chicken Diable

I did it again-- found an irresistible cookbook.  Somewhere, there is a publisher gloating over people like me.  This time it was Essential Pepin, a collection of recipes from Jacques Pépin, who had a cooking show on PBS (I may also have received DVDs of his show as a gift...).  So when I decided I was going to cook chicken, I flipped through until I found a recipe that looked doable (meaning that I had all the ingredients for it-- French food is often surprisingly simple).  The winner: an intriguingly-named recipe Chicken Diable.  I don't speak French, but I was able to guess (and later confirm) that "diable" means either "devil" or "diabolical".  So, Chicken with a kick?  Well, yes and no.  French folks aren't much for heat, so this isn't spicy by most standards (not even mine), but it does have a great tang, and you ramp up the amount of Tabasco you put in if you want a bit more heat.  You could also think of it as devilish because of the vinegar-- that stuff fumes!  Below is my adaptation of this delicious dish.

Chicken Diable

3 large boneless, skinless chicken breasts

3/4 tsp each of salt and pepper

1 Tbsp each of olive oil and butter

4 garlic cloves, crushed and finely chopped (or about 1 Tbsp)

1/4 C red wine vinegar 

3/4 C tomato sauce

1 tsp Tabasco sauce

1/2 Tbsp mustard

Sprinkle the salt and pepper over the chicken, and rub it in for good measure.  Heat the oil and butter in a large, heavy skillet until hot.  Add the chicken, cover, and cook over medium-high heat for about 5 minutes.  Turn the chicken over and allow to cook (covered again) until it is cooked through.  Set the chicken aside and keep warm.

Using the same pan (which should now have chicken-y goodness all over), cook the garlic for about 30 seconds-- don't brown it, but soften the flavor a tiny bit.  Pour the vinegar into the pan swirling it around so that all the good stuff stuck on the pan gets loosened--"deglazing".  A quick word of advice: don't stand directly over the pan with your eyes wide open unless you want to cry.  Also, make sure you've got some sort of ventilation.  I've set off a fire alarm with vinegar fumes.  After 1-2 minutes of cooking, most of the vinegar should have evaporated.  Add the water and tomato sauce, bring to a boil, and cover.  Keep boiling over high heat for about a minute.  Add the Tabasco and mustard, and season to taste with salt and pepper.  I also added some more vinegar.
Serve the chicken with with sauce on top, garnished, if you like, with fresh tarragon or parsley.

Pépin suggested serving this alongside a salad.  I took him up on that-- after all, the sauce ingredients are rather reminiscent of a vinaigrette.  I mixed together some balsamic vinegar, olive oil, tomato sauce, mustard, garlic salt, pepper, and a pinch of sugar to make a fantastic dressing.  If you chill it, the olive oil sorta solidifies, so any leftover dressing makes an excellent cold spread.

Notes:  I didn't actually have red wine vinegar.  I used a combination of balsamic and cider vinegar that would probably send Mr. Pépin screaming off into the night.  (I also at one point grabbed the wrong bottle and started to shake in some raspberry vinegar-- the point here is that it's fairly forgiving.)  
     If you're interested in using a whole chicken, or assorted pieces of chicken, you're in luck-- that's usually how this is made.  You just need to cook the dark meat a bit longer than you do the breasts.  

I really liked this sauce.  I loved how tangy the vinegar made it, which is why I added more at the end.  It's not a very spicy dish, but it is quite flavorful, and simple to make.

Potato Leek Gratin

I think most people are familiar with potatoes au gratin.  Well, that's basically what this dish is, but with the addition of a leek.  It's fairly simple to make-- all a gratin really is is something (anything) baked or broiled so that it has a nicely browned, crusty top.  This recipe was adapted from a recipe that I clipped from the New York Times.

Leeks are a sadly under-appreciated vegetable.  They're related to onions and garlic, and have a similar, but much milder, flavor.  They're not available at all supermarkets, unlike most better-known veggies-- look for them somewhere with a produce department that tends to have a lot of variety.

An artistic photo of a cross-secitoned leek
I wish I could say I was this artistic, but I'm not: photo from Wikipedia

As you may be able to tell from the photo above, leeks grow in concentric layers.  This means they often have dirt down inside them.  I personally find the easiest way to deal with that is to go ahead and chop them into rings, throw the rings in a colander, and give them all a quick rinse.
Oh, and one more quick fun fact about leeks.  Apparently they're a symbol of Wales, and therefore frequently used in Welsh cuisine.

Potato Leek Gratin
2 Tbsp butter, plus some to grease a dish
2 large leeks
1 1/2 lbs potatoes (yukon gold recommended), peeled
1 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp pepper
2 sprigs fresh thyme
1 sprig fresh oregano
1 C heavy cream
1 fat clove garlic, minced
1 bay leaf
1/4 tsp nutmeg
3/4 Gruyère, grated

Preheat your oven to 350 Fahrenheit, and grease a 2-quart gratin dish with butter. (I actually used a casserole dish-- it meant I had less of the wonderful crisp, brown top, which probably also means that I no longer had a true gratin.  Oh, well).  Thinly slice the leeks (make sure they're clean), and set them aside.
Using a mandoline or a sharp knife, slice the potatoes into ~1/8inch-thick rounds.  I find that when using a knife, it is easiest to first slice a bit off the bottom in order to have a flat surface on which to let the potato rest.  Start from both ends and work inward.  When you get to the flat-bottomed part of the potato, hold the sliced edges against the unsliced center, so you have something to hold on to as the unsliced part gets thinner and thinner.  It's easier to keep your slices straight if you rest the tip of the knife on the cutting board and pivot it downward.
After slicing the potatoes, toss them with 3/4 tsp salt and 1/4 tsp pepper, and layer them into the gratin dish.
Melt the 2 Tbsp butter in a large skillet over medium heat.  Add the leaks, remaining salt and pepper, thyme, and oregano.  Cook, stirring frequently, until the leeks are tender and slightly golden.  Discard the herbs, and scatter the leeks over the potatoes (another reason to use an actual gratin dish-- with a casserole, one winds up with a rather thick layer of leeks).
In the same skillet you were just using, combine the cream, garlic, and bay leaf.  Scrape up any leek-y deliciousness that may have stuck to the pan, and simmer for ~5 minutes.  Remove the bay leaf and stir in the nutmeg.
Pour the cream over the leeks and potatoes, and top with the Gruyère.  Cover the whole thing with aluminum foil and pop it in the oven.  Bake for ~40 minutes, uncover the gratin, and bake about ~15 minutes longer until the cheese is bubbly and golden-brown.  (Is gratinized a word?)

This makes for a filling, tasty dish.  It's rich from the cream, the leeks give a sweet, caramelized flavor, and the cheese is salty and crisp.  It even reheats well.  As I've said throughout, it's really better to have a gratin dish, but if you use a casserole, it still tastes good.  The issue is just that you wind up with a lot of leek and relatively little crispy cheese.  I served it with ham, but it is hearty enough to stand on its own.

I apologize for no photos of the cooking-- I, being in all ways and at all times brilliant, forgot to put a memory card in my camera until the end.  I would have had some great ones, too...

Enchiladas

Previously, I blogged about making salsa (post titled, "Easy on the Habaneros...").  My adventures left me with about a half-gallon of salsa.  Oh, boy.  I wound up finding an enchilada recipe to use up some of it.

Cheesy Chicken Enchiladas
2 chicken breasts
2 tsp cumin
1 onion, chopped
1 clove garlic, minced
1 C homemade salsa*
1 can fire-roasted tomatoes
3 Tbsp ketchup
Olive Oil
1 package wheat tortillas**
1 lb shredded cheese

Begin by seasoning the chicken breasts with salt, pepper, and cumin, and cooking them in a pan with about 2 Tbsp olive oil.  Allow to cool, and then shred the meat by scraping/pulling it with forks.

Sauté the onion and garlic in the same pan you used to cook the chicken (mmm, flavor!).  Remove the pan from the heat and add the salsa, canned tomatoes, and ketchup.  A quick note:  if you're using salsa made with vinegar, skip the ketchup and use tomato paste.  You may even need to add a bit of sugar to counter the acidity of the vinegar.  Using ketchup adds a bit of tangy-ness and acidity.  If the resulting sauce seems thick, add about 1 C water.  Stir everything and season to taste with salt and pepper.

Preheat your oven to 350 F.  Grease a 9x13-inch pan with about 1 Tbsp olive oil.  Take 1 tortilla, cover about 2/3 of it with cheese and the shredded chicken, roll it up, and place it in greased pan, seam-side down.  Repeat until you have filled the pan.  (You should use about half the cheese for this.)  Pour the sauce over the tortillas.  They should be mostly covered; if not, add a bit of water to stretch the sauce.  Cover the pan with the remaining cheese, and bake the enchiladas until the cheese is melted.

Serve with sour cream and cilantro.



Some more Notes:
*I highly recommend using the drunken salsa recipe I blogged about previously.  Not only is it vinegar-free, but the beer flavor gives the enchiladas a little extra something.  For me, it was what made this recipe a keeper.

**I used wheat tortillas, because that's what my family likes.  The original recipe called for corn tortillas, which are generally what one uses when making enchiladas.  Apparently they're a bit tougher to work with, and need to be lightly warmed prior to use-- put a bit of oil in a pan over medium heat, place the corn tortilla in there for about 30 seconds, and repeat for all tortillas prior to filling and rolling.  I suppose you could do this for wheat tortillas, too, to bring out the flavor of the wheat, but it's not necessary.

One last fun fact: What most people call cilantro is actually coriander leaves.  It is distinct from, but similar in flavor to, culantro.  We garnished our enchiladas with the latter, which has a stronger flavor.  Culantro is native to Mexico, widely used in Thai food, and makes a better marinade ingredient than a garnish (we discovered) because the leaves are barbed.

Mango Chiffon

Recently I checked out of my local library a book of pie recipes.  I had told myself not to check out cookbooks, and had even talked myself out of the soup cookbook.  But I LOVE pies.  I love eating them, I love baking them, talking about them, and finding new recipes.  So the book got checked out.  And then I came home, flipped it open, and the first thing I saw was a recipe for mango chiffon pie.  Oh, yum.  And mango season is just getting started!  That's either very happy coincidence or fate.  Either way, I was making a pie.  And the best part?  Chiffon pies don't really bake, so my less-than-reliable oven was not going to mess me up!

Start by making a Crumb Crust
1 1/2 C graham cracker crumbs

2 T Sugar

pinch salt

½ C unsalted butter, melted

Preheat your oven to 325 F (or thereabouts).  Combine the crumbs, sugar, and salt in a bowl (or directly in the pie dish you'll be using) and mix thoroughly.  Add the butter and stir until blended.  Press the mixture against the sides of a 9-inch pie pan, as evenly as possible.  Bake for 8 minutes, so the crust is set.  Allow the crust cool as you start on the rest of the pie.

Mango Chiffon

2 large, ripe mangoes (or 3 smallish ones)

¼ C water

1 envelope (1T) unflavored gelatin

5 eggs, separated

2 T fresh lemon juice

½ C sugar

1 tsp ground ginger

¼ tsp salt

Begin my removing the mango flesh from the pit and skin.  There are a few ways to do this.  You can peel the mango and start cutting away the fruit (I feel like I'm going to lose a finger whenever I try this), invest in a mango-slicer, or try this method:

1. Insert a knife at the stem-end of the mango, aligned with the pit's edge.  (Basically the fat part of of the mango should be aligned with the blade.)  Drag the knife down, around, and back to the stem, keeping the tip of the knife in contact with the pit at all times.  
2. Use a spoon (not a knife) to separate the flesh from the pit.  Insert the spoon into the cut you've made, and sort of drag/scoop along the pit until you've freed a half of the mango. 
3. Carefully cut the mango flesh in a tic-tac-toe pattern, skimming but not cutting the skin with the tip of the knife.  
4. Turn the mango skin inside-out, and slice off the resulting cube-ish pieces.

Put the mango in a blender and purée.  You should have about 1 1/2 C of purée when you're done.  Set it aside.  

In a small cup or bowl, combine the water and gelatin.  Make sure to stir the gelatin into the water, or you'll wind up with a clump of powder surrounded by hydrated gelatin that will be almost impossible to work with.  Allow the gelatin to sit for a few minutes and hydrate/soften.

Meanwhile, whisk together the egg yolks, lemon juice, and 1/4 C sugar in a saucepan.  Continue whisking as you cook the mixture over medium heat for about 4 minutes, until it is thickened and foamy.  Do NOT let it boil.  Add the softened gelatin and whisk for about 30 seconds longer on the stove.  Pour the mixture into a bowl and add the mango purée and ginger.  Stir everything together, then put it in the fridge to chill.  Take it out and stir it occasionally, until it mounds slightly when dropped from a spoon.

Beat the egg whites with the salt until soft peaks form.  Add the remaining 1/4 C sugar and continue beating until the whites are stiff.  Gently fold the egg whites into the mango purée, fill the cooled pie crust with the mixture, and place it into the fridge to chill for several hours before serving.

Note:  In case you didn't notice, the egg whites in this recipe never get cooked.  This is unlikely to cause any problems, but it is generally recommended that you don't serve such recipes to "at-risk" individuals-- people who are either quite old, very young, pregnant, or may have compromised/weak immune systems.

Back to the pie:  

This was delightful.  Everyone agreed that the mango flavor was wonderfully intense and sweet.  I would have liked a bit more ginger myself, but I measured skimpily on that one, so that's my fault.  I also thought it was fantastically light without being airy.  My mother was not overly impressed with the texture, but she remembered as she started eating that she's always felt that way about chiffon pies.  I guess you can't please everyone all of the time.  But seriously, if you like mangoes, give this a try.

Easy on the Habaneros-- a salsa recipe

Does anyone else ever find produce just too beautiful to leave behind?  Maybe it's just my family (but not just me!).  Recently we came home from the farmer's market with a bunch of GORGEOUS roma tomatoes.  They were larger, redder, and meatier than the ones I am able to find in the grocery store.  What to do with tomatoes?  We don't eat that many sandwiches...  how about salsa?  So I became appointed salsa maker.  When it came time for pepper selection, my dad brought in a handful of habaneros from the garden.  I have often questioned why my family grows a habanero plant; we're not really a spicy-food family.  I was told I didn't need to use all the peppers.  (No kidding.)  I still managed to use too many.  We'll get to that later.  In the mean time, here's a recipe for salsa, correctly adjusted for future use.

Step1: Place in boiling water for 30s

Drunken Habanero Salsa

8 large Roma tomatoes

1 habanero pepper 

1 bottle Corona*

1 onion
1 green onion (scallion)

1 glove garlic

lime juice

Step 2: Plunge into iced water

Begin by peeling, seeding, and cutting the tomatoes.  (See photos, right).  A tip for cutting out that weird stem section:  rather than trying to gouge it out, slice the tomato in half, then in half again, each time making sure that the cut is just to the side of the stem.  This will leave one quarter with the stem in the corner of it.  Just whack that corner off and move on with your life.  I don't have any tricks for getting the seeds out.  I started with a knife, and ended with my fingers.  Whatever floats your boat, really.  After seeding, cut into bite-sized chunks.

Step 3: Slit skin and peel

Cut up the habanero next, and do so carefully.  Those little guys are loaded with capsaicin, a natural irritant that causes the sensation of heat when you eat them.  It will also burn your eyes and skin.  While we're on the topic, capsaicin is even added to nautical paint, because it burns the little barnacles and things that try to attach to boats.  Wow.  So, wear gloves.  When you're choosing peppers, try to handle them by the stems.  Wash your knife and cutting board (don't just rinse) right after you're done.  (I may be overly cautious, but I somehow still managed to get capsaicin on my skin!)  As with the tomatoes, discard the stem and seeds.  Chop up the habanero.

Place the habanero and tomatoes in a saucepan, and add the beer.  It should be enough to cover the veggies (if they didn't float); if it isn't, add a bit of water.  Bring the salsa to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for about an hour.  

Slicing the stem

Roughly chop the onion, green onion, and garlic, and place in a food processor.  You will add the tomato mixture to this, but you may need to let it cool a bit first.  You also will need to decide how much liquid you want in your salsa.  I prefer a chunkier, less soupy salsa, so I would drain my tomato mixture a bit, too.  Anyway, put everything in the food processor and pulse until everything is mixed and the desired texture is attained.  Season with salt, pepper, and lime juice.

 If you want a spicier salsa, by all means, add another habanero. But I would taste the finished product first, then add a diced up habanero and let it sit for a bit.  The heat won't be as awesomely distributed, but I definitely that this is a case of better safe than sorry.  I was sorry.  I started with 2 1/2 habaneros.  I tasted the salsa, decided it was yummy, ate a couple bites more, and spent the next 10 minutes trying not to breathe fire.  If this should happen to you, start cooling your mouth with dairy (the fat compounds will interact with the capsaicin and remove it more effectively than just water).  Sour cream is a great anti-heat food.  Also, getting out your toothbrush and scrubbing at your tongue (with toothpaste, of course) can help a lot.

Capsaicin, in case you were wondering

If you should wind up with salsa too hot for you to handle, do not despair.  Dilute! Find more tomatoes and another bottle of beer.  Make another batch of salsa with no hot peppers, and combine it with the first.  (This is what I had to do.)
*The recipe is probably best made with Corona, but we didn't have any, so we used a pale ale.  Still turned out great.
The beer is what I really like about this salsa.  While the majority of the alcohol is going to have cooked off, the beer flavor is still present.  It gives the salsa a depth of flavor that one doesn't usually encounter.  It's delicious, and it makes it a great salsa to cook with (I'll be posting another recipe soon for enchiladas).