Rhubarb Syrup

I was 16 before I encountered rhubarb in real life.  I'd read about it before-- most notably in Patricia Polacco's book My Rotten Redheaded Older Brother.  But that's beside the point.  Rhubarb is a fantastic vegetable.  I mean, how many other veggies do people bake with?  There's carrot cake, and I've seen a couple things with zucchini (anything to use them up!), but rhubarb!  Rhubarb makes excellent pie, cake, cobbler, jam, candies (In Germany you can get strawberry rhubarb gummies)...  The funny thing is, it's rather tart.  Or maybe that's why I love it so much.  As much as I love sweets, they're even better balanced with something tart (I feel this way about frozen yogurt as well, but again, I digress.)

     If you're unfamiliar with rhubarb, you should know that the leaves contain enough oxalic acid to produce toxic effects.  Don't eat the leaves.  The stalks also contain oxalic acid, but in lower amounts, so you can munch away at them, although you might not want to eat a whole garden in one sitting.  Interestingly, oxalic acid (in the form of calcium oxalate crystals) is also responsible for the toxicity of taro, the dietary staple of a number of Polynesian cultures.

Rhubarb Syrup
Rhubarb (I used about 4 stalks)
Sugar (I used about 3/4 C)
Water

     Clean the rhubarb, discard any icky or dried out ends (I find that by the time I get rhubarb home from the grocery store, the ends are a little shrivel-y).  Chop it into chunks.  This works best with a large and sharp knife.  Rhubarb can be surprisingly difficult to slice through.  Toss the rhubarb into a pot, and cover with water.  Dump in sugar (I do this rather indiscriminately) until you start seeing an accumulation of it that doesn't seem inclined to dissolve.  Turn on the heat, and bring the whole mess to a boil.  Reduce the heat and let it simmer about half an hour or so, until the rhubarb is tender, and the liquid has begun to thicken (it is a syrup!).  Taste test to make sure it is sufficiently sweet.  Simmer longer for thicker syrup.

      Strain the mixture into a container.  Use a sieve, pushing the rhubarb around to increase the amount of syrup yielded.  Set aside the rhubarb, too.  It makes a delicious ice cream topping!

      My favorite thing to do with rhubarb syrup is make rhubarb soda-- just put a few tablespoons of syrup in the bottom of a glass and add soda water.  The syrup is also great in cocktails or lemonade, and if you make it thick (I don't usually), it would probably be pretty good on pancakes or waffles.  I'm thinking I want to make a poundcake and soak it in the syrup, actually-- it won't be quite that simple, because that would ruin the texture (soggy poundcake... not so much).  When I get that figured out, I'll be sure to post it!

Radish-top Soup

'Tis the season for Farmer's Markets!  One of my favorite things to look at while at the farmer's market is radishes.  They are just beautiful.  Round, red, crisp, and leafy, rinsed and stacked up, they sit there and call to me.  Alas, I am not much of a radish fan.  However, Roots had some wonderful radish recipes, including one for a soup that uses the TOPS of the radishes (you know, the part that you throw out normally--yay complete eating!), so I couldn't resist.

Radish Top Soup
Radishes with fresh-looking, leafy tops
1/2 onion
2 or 3 stalks of celery 
2 carrots
2 medium-sized potatoes, peeled and finely chopped.
4 C broth*

      Begin by washing your radishes, including the greens.  Chop the greens off, discard any icky-looking ones, and set them aside for later.
      Chop the onion, celery, and carrot.  In a large soup pot, sauté them in oil until they are slightly tender.  Add the broth, potatoes, and salt, and bring to a boil, and reduce to simmer.  Simmer until the veggies are completely tender, then remove from the heat.  Immediately add the radish greens-- the heat will cause them to wilt, and (without going too deeply into thermodynamics) the overall mix will cool (only slightly) as the energy is transferred to the leaves.  I think of this because it makes me feel better about the waiting I'm about to do:  you need the soup to cool to a manageable, won't-crack-cold-dishes temperature.
      Impatient cooks, do not despair!  While you're waiting for your soup to cool, start matchsticking those radishes.  I don't know if "matchsticking" is a real term, but basically you're going to slice the radishes into ~1/8th inch slices, then slice the slices into ~1/8th inch strips-- like little matchsticks.
      Hopefully by the time you're done, your soup is relatively cool.  When it is, pour it into a blender or food processor (you may have to do this in batches), and blend/process until smooth.  Return the soup to the pot and gently re-heat.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.  Serve topped with those matchsticked radishes.

*Note on broth:  I used a bacon broth leftover from another recipe for a warm lentil and bacon salad (I'll post it as soon as I can find my recipe again; there are some measurements I don't remember.)  You can probably use any broth you want (keep it vegan, if you like), but I really felt the bacon flavor added something.

     My whole family enjoyed this soup.  They looked at me funny when I said, "radish tops", but they were all really pleased with the flavor.  The potatoes give the soup a wonderful creaminess that I hadn't expected, and those radish matchsticks added as a garnish provide a nice contrast with their crispness and sharp flavor.  I added leftover matchsticks to the leftover soup prior to storing it; I recommend against this, because they lose their crunch.  
     As I said above, I think a large part of what made this recipe so wonderful was the hint of bacon my broth imparted.  The take-home there, though, might be just to choose a broth with a flavor that you really like, and that will come through well.  If you have the best-ever chicken or veggie broth, by all means, use it.  You probably won't be disappointed.  
     Overall, I really felt that there was an elegance to this recipe as well as a fantastic flavor.  It comes from the presentation (those matchsticks!), but also from how well the ingredients are used.  The concept of using the greens gives a bit of novelty, and the creaminess attained without using cream is beautiful.  It is filling enough to make a meal when served with bread, but light enough to make a soup course (if you ever feel the need to).  I love this recipe even more after making it than I did before I started.

Make-it-up-as-we-go Manicotti

Oh, pasta, where would we be without you?  A silly question, I suppose, but I know that I grew up eating a lot of pasta.  It's cheap, it's quick, it's easy.  It goes with just about anything.  You can leave a 10-year-old to make it herself, "just follow the directions on the box and be careful not to burn yourself."  (Assuming the 10-year-old in question has spent a lot of time helping and/or getting underfoot in the kitchen.)   It's an excellent go-to when one has no plans for dinner/forgot to thaw the meat.  Which is how my mother and I wound up making manicotti recently.
There are a lot of manicotti recipes out there.  There's usually one printed on the side of the box.  My mom has a vague idea what her mom used to put inside those noodles, so after frowning at the side of the box for a while, "There's no egg listed here.  My mother always used egg," she decided to improvise, and I somehow wound up in the kitchen with my camera and my 2 cents to put in.  In the recipe below, my mom is responsible for the almost obscene amount of basil.  We have a very large, healthy basil plant in our herb garden; Mom must've pruned the thing.  I swear, she brought in enough to make pesto.  (Pesto-topped manicotti strikes me as a cool idea, actually, but I don't think she was feeling that experimental.)  I decided to sauté the onion and garlic so they'd have a milder flavor. We got to work, and this is what we came up with.

Basil Lover's Manicotti

1 box manicotti noodles (check to make sure they aren't broken)

1 container (16-ish oz?) ricotta cheese

1/3 C grated mozzarella

1/4 grated parmesan 

Salt and Pepper

1/4 C Onion, diced

1 clove garlic, minced

2 Tbsp Olive oil

Fresh Basil, about 1/4 cup chopped 

1 Egg

Tomato Sauce

Preheat the oven to 350 Fahrenheit. 

Boil the manicotti in salted water, referring to the box for the correct cook time.  

Meanwhile, combine the ricotta, mozzarella, and parmesan.  Briefly sauté the onion and garlic in 1 Tbsp olive oil, until they are just barely starting to brown.  Add that to the cheese mixture, along with most of the basil (reserve about 1 Tbsp for later).  Season to taste with salt and pepper, then add the egg.  (I do try to minimize the amount of raw egg I consume.)  

Grease a wide, shallow pan (a 9x13 baking pan or a gratin pan if you have one) with the remaining Tbsp of olive oil.  

When your noodles are done cooking, drain them, and immediately rinse them with cold water.  This prevents them from sticking to each other, and cools them to a temperature that your fingers can handle.  Stuff each noodle with the cheese mixture.  I like using my fingers for this, because I feel that I have more control that way.  If you're a utensil-user (not everyone likes having dirty fingers, I get it), my mom recommends using a fork rather than a spoon.  It's easier to detach the filling from a fork.  Arrange the stuffed noodles in a single layer in the greased pan.  I usually wind up with a leftover noodle or two, which makes me happy, because for whatever reason, I absolutely love eating manicotti noodles plain.  Or you can put slightly less filling in each noodle, and probably arrange them a little tighter, but I wouldn't want to do that.  Cover the noodles with tomato sauce.  You can drown them if you like, but all you really have to do is make sure each noodle gets its fair share.  Sprinkle the remaining basil over top, and bake for about 40 minutes.

It was pretty good.  You have to like basil, for sure, but fortunately, my family members all do.  Manicotti is great because it is moist and, when done right, flavorful.  This recipe was no exception.  If I were to make it again, I would probably incorporate a finished pesto, and probably use more mozzarella, because I love the gooey, stretchy texture that cheese has.

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...