Customizable Custard

The Frenchman is not one for desserts. He enjoys fruit, or yogurt with a spoonful of jam, but that’s generally the limit. Even when he does partake, his catalog is limited: pain au chocolat (which, I might point out, is technically breakfast), crème brûlée, or a square of dark chocolate. His motto is, “If you aren’t still hungry after a meal, why eat dessert?”

Wait, what? Before meeting him, I never considered hunger as the reason to eat dessert.

My incomprehension at Monsieur French Toast’s anti-dessert tendencies aside, most of the time I wish I could magically adopt this part of his personality. Wouldn’t it be lovely to wake up one morning and not care one iota for the perfect chocolate chip cookie: edges caramelized, chewy, insides pillowy and heady with brown butter; a constellation of fleur de sel across the top?

Sadly, this is not the case. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not as if I’m mainlining caramels, but still: after four plus years together, he has yet to convince me that eating an apple is just as pleasurable as a shortbread cookie. Read more »

A Dinner Party in Buenos Aires

Because I am totally off my rocker, I decided early this week that I wouldn’t let a little thing like vacation in a foreign country bar me from the kitchen. I wouldn’t be deterred by small details; like the fact that I am currently 5,000 miles from home, or that I had hardly any cooking supplies, or that I posessed only a rudimentary idea of where to shop in Buenos Aires. No pasa nada!

The Frenchman and I are staying at a hotel, but a friend of ours recently moved to Buenos Aires for work, and so there was a kitchen available. (And by “available” what I mean is that I basically invited myself over, and then invited him to invite his coworkers over too. Charming, I know.)

And so I spent the better part of one day shopping, criss-crossing the city based on internet suggestions for where I might find a decent farmers market, or a great loaf of bread. (I found the farmers market, but alas, I have yet to try tasty bread in Buenos Aires.) Some might consider this a ridiculous way to pass a day in a foreign city, when there are art museums to be seen, and Casas Rosas to be marveled at. But food–tasting it, rooting it out, chatting with people over it–is my preferred method of tourism.

I had no menu at the start of my shopping day, but decided to let the dinner menu form itself a little bit at a time: Read more »

Dulce de Leche and Jam Ice Cream

Well here’s a bit of news: tomorrow, I board a plane and leave for eight days in sunny Buenos Aires, where The Frenchman is currently business tripping. This voyage popped up somewhat last minute, but as I’ve never been to South America before, and as it’s winter here, and as–who says no to a trip to Argentina?–, it seemed prudent to aprovechar de la situación.

My other exciting semi-announcement is that I’m working toward making Spring Lake Creamery a real live business. I attended a fair this past weekend, and while it was ten degrees below zero thanks to a defunct radiator, the handful of eskimos willing to eat frozen dessert while also frozen themselves seemed to enjoy what they tried. I am continually adding to my list of Winter 2013 flavors. Slowly, I’m working toward making this ambition a reality.

This recipe is a nod to both my upcoming trip, and to my potential ice cream future. Read more »

Chocolate-Banana “Piñatas”

When I was very young, my father owned a Tex-Mex restaurant. (Apparently, one of the first of its kind in the New York area.) What I remember best are the cowhide booths; soft swirls of brown and white I could trace with my fingers. I remember fresh tortilla chips and runny, spiced salsa. I think I ate swordfish every time we visited, which was often.

And then dessert. There was, on the menu, something dubbed the “piñata”: an oblong ceramic dish, a mess of bananas and chocolate chips baked under what must have been sweet empenada dough. It arrived piping hot, a scoop of vanilla ice cream melting over the top. Even though there could not be a less fancy dessert, I have never forgotten it. Read more »

Put the Lime in the Coconut Muffins

Sometimes, when I’m juggling eight tasks at once and feeling like a chicken sans tête, cooking needs to be simple to compensate. These muffins are simple. They take an hour to make from start to finish, and then you have breakfast and snacks for the better part of the week. Take half to work with you for instant office popularity.

There’s nothing complicated about this recipe, and nothing onerous about these ingredients. There is only the happy marriage of coconut, lime, and banana, each flavor in a supporting role. If you live somewhere as cold and gray as New York is right now, I hope these muffins will put you in mind of a beachy, tropical cocktail.

So take a minute to yourself. Enjoy one (or a few, who’s counting?) with tea or coffee. You deserve it. Read more »

Lentil Salad with Meyer Lemon Vinaigrette

I’ve been thinking a lot about tone and voice, and how they pertain to this blog. Although I’ve never been one for diary writing, for straightforward personal confession, I admit this is a journal of sorts. It details what I am cooking in a particular moment, as well as selected events around each recipe. I suppose creative writing of any stripe is its own kind of confession.

After a year plus of writing this blog, I’m sure my recipe-developing skills have improved. (I need only look to the archives to know this.) Part of me wants to scurry back and tweak what I know can be bettered, while another part of me is comforted by the fact that I can trace the changes. (I’m sure I’ve read similar sentiments voiced by Emma at Poires au Chocolat, but I can’t find where.) My photography skills have progressed too, as I’ve slowly learned the manual functions on my camera. Post recent birthday, I have loftier hopes still, thanks to a new lens (merci, darling Frenchman), a better editing system, and my first tripod (thanks, Mom).

But what about the other portion of the blog? The essay, the headnote, the this. When I read advice from successful bloggers, the same opinion is often echoed: “find your personal voice”, or “be yourself”. But how does one consciously follow this advice? If the hallmark of a successful blog is the convergence of skilled writing and a defined, likable personality, what qualifies the personality? From the writer’s perspective, where is the demarcating line, the happy medium, between inviting a reader into your life, and giving away the store? Read more »

Fennel, Merguez, and Preserved Meyer Lemon Braise

Here is the thing about trying to recreate childhood dishes for the Frenchman: it is invariably a petit désastre. I have tried my hand at lentils, white beans, croque-monsieur. It’s not that my attempts are bad per se (well, except for the beans. I am bean-impaired), but they simply don’t live up to expectation; they aren’t the same. What can I say? Childhood memory is a cruel competitor, particularly in the kitchen.

The following “braise” was one such attempt. The Frenchman lived in Tunisia for six years as a kid, so the man knows his way around a couscous. He loves couscous. I, on the other hand, am quite new to the dish.

I did some research, but mostly I relied on techniques I was already familiar with (to me, winter is spelled b-r-a-i-s-e), and employed ingredients I thought made sense together. I even bought couscous imported from Tunisia, which I hoped might add some authenticity to the proceedings.

When the dish came out of the oven, I though it tasted really good: the vegetables were soft, and flavored with pan juices. The sauce itself was complex and spiced, a little spicy, but not overwhelmingly so. The couscous was downy, and tasted ever so slightly of the good olive oil I stirred into it. Read more »

Lamb Ragu with Pappardelle

A few weeks ago, I tagged along on a road trip to Kinderhook Farm, located a few hours north of New York City in Ghent, New York. The animals who live there are extremely well cared for. The visit was excellent for several reasons.

The farm is gorgeous: a mosaic of red barns, a trail of low wooden fences, bold against the white snow that currently covers the pastures. Heritage breed chickens roam where they will, producing eggs in shades of blue, pink, green, and beige. I was introduced to Luci the dairy cow, the only dairy cow on the farm and apparently a bit of a diva for it. (I also met Apple, poor Apple, Luci’s somewhat abused sidekick; it’s a love-hate relationship between the two of them.) A sea of sheep spreads across a field, guarded by a pair of Italian herding dogs, both animal’s coats the white of snow.

The farmers who operate Kinderhook are impossibly friendly, gracious hosts. After touring us around the farm, we were invited into the kitchen for warm cookies, milk (courtesy of Luci, I cannot begin to tell you how tasty this milk is), and grilled cheese sandwiches. The kitchen’s bay windows look out past the barns and across the fields, over small hills dotted with trees that rise and fall as far as the eye can see.

If it feels like I am romanticizing this farm, I’m sorry, but it’s no exaggeration. It was bucolically beautiful, beautifully bucolic, and the animals Disney-esque in their loveliness. The clean and quiet air proved an invigorating change from the city. Read more »

The Roaming Kitchen

Original Recipes and Culinary Yarns