Super Moon Risotto (Cakes)

Dear Mouse,

"Ever since the Professor and his wife have come, our daily life seems to have jumped the track. I sleep at the wrong time, drink wine, and eat different Kabuli. Fancy. Bad for the system."

- Vanya, Target Margin's 'Uncle Vanya'

Last week, I basically didn't really sleep much. Even so,  I managed to have a series of vivid and bothersome dreams. I'm not saying that they were necessarily due to my nightly meltdown in this seemingly harmless "Chekhov Slumber Party", running for one more week. I'm also not saying the fault lies with eating leftover 'Drunk Man Noodles' from Spice for breakfast at 5AM. Anything's possible.

On the third mostly sleepless night,  I dreamed that I went out of my house (house?) to take my car (car?) to work (work? j/k) and was dismayed to see that the tires were basically flaccid. 'How', I (dream) thought to my (dream) self, 'could I have let this happen? How have I been just driving around on these tires and running them ragged instead of taking proper care of them? Is there a gas station near here? How will I get there? Will anyone help me put air in these things? And (for real, I thought this in my dream), how do I get out of here without anyone finding out I did this and laughing at me?' And then I woke up. (Oh, and I was also parked on somebody's lawn. Because that's how I (dream) roll.)

As you've often gleefully pointed out, Mouse, my dream life is almost ludicrously easy to read, its metaphors so obvious they can hardly even be called metaphor (what's the opposite of metaphor? Obva-phor?) So there's something reassuring about knowing that this dream means nothing more complicated than  maybe I just need a break. To, you know, pump air into my obvaphorical tires. 

                                                                  I'm getting to the food.

I venture to say though that my recent insomnia and various other mood swings and mild hallucinations aren't ALL due to nights of mashed-up Chekhov and days of musical Gertrude Stein (rehearsing this). There's a LOT goin' on in the air around us right now. There's the pollen count, which I'm gonna say has accounted for, oh, 87% of my recent conversations. There's this crazy weather (remember when it used to be kind of  nice out  in MAY?) And then of course there was the Super Moon that, well, happened last week and I'm just getting around to posting this now.

                                                            I'm GETTING to the food!

It was cloudy, so we in NYC didn't see it, but we (at least I) sure felt it. The Super Moon, so named for being the biggest/closest full moon of the year, zoomed into our lives on May 5 in the sign of Scorpio, the astrological sign associated with death, sex, regeneration, and scorpions. Yow. As this is a blog devoted to food (I'm GETTING to it!!) and not New-Age Hoo-Ha, I'll stop there, but my point is, yow. There's a lot out there to throw a girl off balance at the moment, especially a Sensitive Cancer with flat tires. 

Enter Risotto. This risotto, to be specific:

                       Shape and color of risotto pictured here to be explained in next paragraph.

I can't think of anything better to make for dinner during such a Lunatic Week. Creamy, soothing, filling, complex in flavor but not (as you might suspect) in assembly, it is the ultimate comfort food AND comes with the fringe benefit of stress release as you stir and stir, adding broth one cup at a time and marveling at how not even a cup of rice magically expands to feed you, your guest, and either another person or you, again, late-night, post-show, frying leftovers into risotto CAKES and silently thanking your genius sister for the suggestion. 

Love,

The Boo

Super Moon Risotto (Cakes) for Basically Two or Three People

(based on Ina Garten's recipe)

Ingredients

3/4 C Arborio Rice

1tbsp olive oil

1tbsp butter

1/2 C chopped fennel

1 med onion chopped

1/3 C dry white wine (and you'll probably splash some more in during the stirring, why not)

4 C (about) hot chicken broth (maybe have some extra there in case)

1/2 lb asparagus

zest of two lemons

1tbsp fresh lemon juice

1/4 C mascarpone

1/4 C parmesan (or more if you like -- and definitely more for serving)

1 tbsp minced fresh chives

 I would do this part first: cut asparagus into 1-in lengths, discarding woody stems, and blanch in boiling water for a few minutes. Set aside. 

Olive oil and butter into your dutch oven or similar pot over med heat. When hot/melted, add onion and fennel and saute  for 5-7 minutes, til tender. Add rice and stir to coat w/oil and butter. Add the wine and simmer over low heat, stirring constantly until absorbed. Start adding hot chicken broth, a ladle at a time, stirring constantly until absorbed before adding the next. Do this til all broth is gone.  This will take about 25-30 min. When you're 15 minutes in, add the asparagus, lemon zest, salt and pepper. Continue cooking and adding stock and stirring, til the rice is tender but firm. 

Whisk lemon juice and mascarpone together. When risotto is done, turn off the heat and stir in mascarpone mixture plus parmesan and chives. Let it settle a minute then serve with addtional parm and chives for sprinkling. 

                                                      THE NEXT DAY:

Put 1 tbsp of olive oil into a pan over med/low heat.  Maybe using a 1/4 C scoop or similar, scoop a ball of leftover risotto into pan and gently flatten to make more of a cake shape. Fry over medium heat for about ten min (be patient and also watch so you don't burn). When it's brown on the bottom and able to hold its shape reasonably, carefully flip over and do the other side. Eat. Yum.

The Age of Asparagus

Dear Boo,

I seem to be the only person in the world (aside from the folks I saw it with), who didn't enjoy the most recent Broadway production of Hair. Praise for this show has even made it into the food blog world. And Ben Brantley went so far as to say, "any theatergoer with a pulse will find it hard to resist." The appeal has apparently been so universal that I began to question my own capacity for empathy, for passion, indeed whether or not there is a heart beating in my chest. I was having a real crisis of conscience, here, I kid you not.

That is, until I walked through the farmer's market the other day and spotted a virtual forest of stalks, neatly bundled and standing at attention, their petaled buds tilting coyly this way and that. My heart leapt! SPRING. ASPARAGUS. HOORAY. Turns out, there is blood running through my veins. Take that, Brantley.

For lunch that day I lightly steamed a bunch of my little green friends in a pan, then uncovered and tossed them with a good splash of balsamic, and a dash of salt, pepper, and olive oil, and let them go for a teensy bit longer until the edges browned and the balsamic went a little syrupy. Then a sprinkling of grated parmesan and onto my plate they went, piled alluringly next to a couple of slices of great cheese and a dollop each of white bean hummus and babaganoush. Sometimes you work with what you got. Damn, was it good.

A few suggestions for your asparagus feasting:

1) Toss a bunch with a few tablespoons of olive oil, some kosher salt and black pepper, and roast at 425 for 10 minutes or until they look crispy and browned but not burned. If you want to go crazy, squeeze some lemon and sprinkle some parm on these when you're done.
2) Serve cooked any which way with scrambled or poached eggs for brunch.
3) Throw in a pot of boiling water until crisp tender, then serve with butter and salt
4) Cook some shells or oriecchiette in a pot of boiling water. When pasta is done, remove and add to water cut up bite sized slices of asparagus. Toss with pasta, add some cheese and serve.
5) Grill em on the barbeque, then wrap with proscuitto for an hors d'oeuvre or on top of salad.
6) Eat it raw in this salad, spotted first here. Then write and tell me how it is.

Harmony and understanding, sympathy and trust abounding! This is the dawning of the age of asparagus, Boo! Get some while the gettin's good!

Love,

The Mouse

Note from the Boo: And , of course, this recipe from Sarah Leah Chase. Highly, HIGHly recommended.

Pesto, Pickles, and Poetry: the Feasts of Spring

Dear Mouse,

Dumplings.

Ok, now that that's out of the way...

It's been way too long since I posted here and in that time, SPRING has officially sprung!! Ok, the weather is terrible. BUT YESTERDAY it was HOT and sunny and I bought your birthday present at a Street Fair!

It always makes sense to me that so many Big Feasts take place right around this time. You just naturally feel like celebrating: Go, Earth, Go! Pass the peas! I've also always thought that our multi-ethnic lot in life affords you and I particular perspective on this. And since the notion of Deity played, shall we say, a minor role in our family's Rites of Spring, it was usually (what else) the Food that took center stage.

This year has been no exception. I'll try to go in order.

I. Spring Equinox - Sex/Power/God

(no relation to the annual Brown University hedonistic dance party of the same name)

As mentioned in the Egg Miracle entry a few weeks ago, the usual crew gathered at my place on 3/21 and- with wine, food, flowers, plants, eggshells and paintbrushes - welcomed the season. This ancient holiday celebrates (what else?!) the earth's renewal. It is associated with the pagan fertility goddess Ostara, whose symbols were the egg and the rabbit (hmmm...), whose alternate spellings include Eostre and Eostar (hmm), and after whom I would totally name a pet rabbit.

My slammin' seasonal menu this year: Chase's asparagus vinaigrette (make this, you will NOT be sorry), couscous with feta and chopped veggies, and a baked salmon topped with mint pesto. I hadn't made Mint Pesto before but I had a hunch it would be kind of perfect and I wasn't disappointed. This no-cheese concoction is very simple and fresh -- chopped mint, walnuts, olive oil, lemon zest, salt and pepper. While I think of Basil Pesto as Queen of Summer, the mint version really tastes like spring.

II. Passover - Freedom/Liberation/Plagues/Hors d'Oeuvres

How is this night different from all other nights?

A) Brisket.

Velvety, Gravylicious Brisket.

B) Homemade Freakin' Matzo Ball Soup.

Why, why so fluffy??

C) The Pickle Guys.

Ok. Special Report. If you live in New York, have not had these, and think that you like pickles, run do not walk. I always eat too many on holidays but I'm smiling while the acid eats my stomach. Warning: may cause you to be irritiating and smug when offered pickle substitutes in other cities.

III. Easter (Rebirth/Renewal)

(See Pagan Etymology Above, Add One Cool Guy Coming Back from Death)

One springy aspect this year of both P'Over and P'Easter was having Little People around, which really made both celebrations so much, much noisier. I mean, evocative of life's renewal. For example, at the first, we were treated to the singing of the Four Questions by two F'adorable little girls (our Portland cousins in town!!!) rather than the muttering of them by, say, me, or someone about to graduate college. And on Easter at your place, the Boyfriend's perfect little nieces and gorgeous sister brought on the Attack of the Boo-Must-Make-Magnolia-Cupcakes...Itis.

I dressed in purple and yellow to match them and feel no shame about this.

IV. National Poetry Writing Month, AKA NaPoWriMo - Creativity

Ok while this is not a Holiday per se, I think it perfectly celebrates the season. Each April, writers everywhere commit to a poem a day for 30 days and post online to be held accountable. It's an explosion of creativity. This year, I joined in (with songs) and have been surprised and truly grateful for the exercise - it broke a year-long writers' block and reunited me with the love of composing. Can't nothing, even mint pesto, be more Springy than that.

In the spirit of NaPoWriMo, I'll close with a fantastically appropriate poem I found by dear friend and badass writer EKT.

when I tell you I love to eat
I mean I love to hold the pieces
in my mouth like wet merchants,
each new thing baring some far
away story of salt or blood, spring
or musk to sell to my foolish lord
tongue, who is fat and dancing
with each.

I consider my need to swallow a
handicap. I consider my teeth
wolves. I consider myself chemically
imbalanced at times, but for a
chunk of gruyere and an apple. I
have been so take by the soft pink
sliced from bone, the cracked seeds,
the clotted milk and winking fruit
that has kissed my ugly breath, swelled
my never loved belly, tell me:
what love would die to fill my mouth?
who could ever want me like that?

Gotta go write #20.

Love,

The Boo

Stump the Cook

Dear Mouse,

I'm not sure what is going on with me. Procrastination (supposed to be writing new music for this big upcoming show)? avoidance of Life Issues such as the fact that MM is about to move to Chicago? the onset of spring fever? some kind of misplaced Purim-Carnival frenzy? I. Cannot. Stop. Cooking.

Here's my week/end:

* Saturday: Beef Stew. An all-day event involving the Farmers Market, Whole Foods, compare-and-contrast recipe research, and my Le Creuset's maiden voyage. In the end it was half yours, half Ina's, with a few tweaks. Good dinner, GREAT leftovers, just in time for Patty's Day.

* Sunday involved two restaurants, so you'd think my culinary ardor would have cooled a bit.
1. Brunch w/MM at this cheap/adorable place in Brooklyn
2. Mom's birthday dinner at Raoul's with you.

I blame the euphoria-inducing asparagus vinagrette/quinoa appetizer ("It's like springtime on a plate!" I kept repeating, to anyone who would listen, which was no one) for the fact that I STILL ended the evening in the kitchen, at 2AM! AFTER going out!! mixing up a batch of blueberry muffins. (Come to think of it, I blame you, for the bag of tiny frozen wild blueberries from Trader Joe's. They came out violet-tinged, and perfect. I'll say it again: Soda No, Powder Yes.) Breakfast for a week.

* Monday I read this recipe on the Wednesday Chef (who we've just found out reads AMB!! Yay), realized I had half the ingredients, hit the corner store, and made it for dinner. I forgot the ginger and tried to fudge the spice blend, and it came out not great. But I'll try again.

Now here's where you come in. And, I hope, a few of the people reading our oh-so-private correspondence here.

As you know, I am a devoted listener of a certain weekly food-related radio show, which frequently features a segment called "Stump the Cook". A listener calls in, lists five ingredients, and the host has to come up with a recipe using all of them that the caller would actually consider eating. Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to think of something for me to do with these five currently in my kitchen, before this culinary frenzy of mine dies down. Ready?

* half pound of mushrooms from farmer's market

* pound of farmer's market small potatoes

* fresh rosemary & thyme

* 2 eggs

* bunch of parsley I bought instead of cilantro by accident

May the best Foodie win.

Love,

The Boo

This Bird did not Die in Vain

Dear Boo,

This Sunday, for the meager book club turnout (not everyone came around on the Dickens front like I did...), I made a vaguely French dinner of Asparagus Vinaigrette, Parsleyed Potatoes, and a Roast Chicken with carrots and onions. I have to say, this dinner is super delicious, super elegant and one of the easiest things you can possibly make. Seriously. Serving a whole chicken always looks impressive and complicated and makes everyone feel loved and taken care of. I've read a lot of chefs being quoted as saying that the true test of a cook is a roast chicken. I suppose that's because when done well, this dish is an exercise in perfection. With crispy skin, moist meat, rich gravy, the roast chicken is some serious food for the soul--I'd even venture to say it's the ultimate in loving comfort food. Sad breakup? Put away the Haagen Dazs and get your best friend to whip up one of these. Sunday blues? Throw one of these in the oven, let the aroma fill up your apartment and trudging back to work Monday morning doesn't seem half as bad. Dinner and a Movie not sealing the deal? Invite your ladyfriend over for your signature dish and watch her fall like a failed souffle. And since there are almost infinite possibilities of flavors and ingredients to use, you might just find your cooking voice in the process. Here's how my version goes:


Practically Guaranteed to Get You Lucky Roast Chicken

4 lb chicken (size can vary depending on how many you want to serve. this serves about 5, I'd say)
Olive Oil
about 1/3 Stick of Butter, softened
Herbes de Provence (This spice mix can be found at any supermarket or you can use any combination of dried herbs you like)
Honey
2 Lemons
1 head of Garlic
6 large carrots (can use any root veggie--parsnips, potatoes, turnips, etc)
1 large onion (or fennel, or whole shallots, or leeks, etc)
1/3 cup white wine (optional)
1/4 cup creme de cassis (optional)

Preheat the oven to 400, making sure anything you store in there--cookie sheets, sneakers, tupperware, or anything else you can't fit in your NYC apartment closet--is removed first.

With your fingers, smush the butter, a few hefty pinches of Herbes de Provence, a squirt of the honey, a couple of cloves of minced garlic, together into mixed buttery paste (aka compound butter).
Peel and chop the carrots into relatively equal sized chunks. Slice the onions into big wedges--you can keep the root on to hold the wedges together. Throw it all into the bottom of a roasting pan along with a handful of garlic cloves, still in their skin. Pour olive oil liberally over the veggies, and add some kosher salt and black pepper. Toss to evenly coat.
Rinse the chicken inside and out and cut off any excess fat that looks like you wouldn't want to eat it. Dry thoroughly. Salt and Pepper inside and outside liberally. Stuff a couple of slices of lemon and a couple cloves of garlic into the cavity.
Scoop out some of the herb butter with your fingers and go to town spreading it all over the chicken. If you're feeling dangerous, you can separate the skin from the breasts and slide your fingers in, stretching it away from the meat to create a little pocket. Stuff some butter in there too and smush it around.
Drizzle a little olive oil and the juice of half a lemon on the chicken as well.
Transfer the bird to the roasting pan, right on top of the vegetables. The juices and all the good stuff you added will drip down onto them as they cook. mmm.
Stick it in the oven for about 1-1.5 hours, basting occasionally. If the legs or wings start to burn because you can't be bothered to truss up the chicken with twine (I certainly can't) you can put a piece of tin foil over those parts.
The chicken is done when the juices run clear--basically, stick a knife into the point where the leg meets the body and see what it looks like. Pink and bloody--good for steak, not for chicken. Clear and juicy=perfect.
Lift the chicken out onto a nice big serving dish, and spoon the carrots and onions around the bird.

To make a quick gravy, because what is a roast without sauce--Naked, I tell you--Put the roasting pan on your stove, straddling two burners. Turn the burners on medium-low and start to deglaze the pan, which basically means adding a little liquid and using it to scrape up the browned delicious flavor party stuck to the bottom of the pan. If the stuff in the pan looks too greasy, just spoon out the fat that rises to the top. Squeeze the other half of the lemon into the pan, and add a little white wine. You can be creative here--sometimes I use currant jam or some such--Last Sunday I added some Creme de Cassis (Currant liquor) I happened to have leftover from my birthday party. Let the gravy come to a simmer for a few minutes until it's thickened a bit. Spoon the gravy over each serving of chicken and veggies, scraping up any remaining tasty bits.

For easy and yummy side dishes, you can make these:

Asparagus Vinaigrette:
Make a vinaigrette of a spoonful of dijon, 1/4 cup of balsamic or red wine vinegar, a minced clove of garlic, some good glugs of Olive Oil, salt, pepper, and a pinch of sugar. Steam a bunch of asparagus. While they're still warm, Pour the vinaigrette over them. Sautee some thinly sliced shallots and when they're browned and lookin good, toss them in with the asparagus. Salt and pepper.

Parsleyed Potatoes:
Boil in salted water about a pound or so of small red new potatoes or any kind of fingerling you like. When a knife slides easily through them, drain and add: couple tablespoons butter, olive oil, kosher salt and pepper, and two good heaping handfuls of chopped parsley. Toss to mix.



Serve with crusty bread. Feel the love.
(go ahead, click for a close-up. You know you want to.)


Love,
The Mouse

Hungry For More?
My Last Supper is a gorgeous collection of photgraphs and interviews with master chefs about what their last meal would be if they could have anything. No surprize that quite a few mention a roast chicken....