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.

All Hallows Risotto

Dear Mouse,

Happy (Belated) New Year!

Halloween 2011. Myself as an obscure character from Game of Thrones, and a bottle of The Kraken rum, which is the only thing to put in your mulled cider, and which coincidentally also makes an appearance in Game of Thrones (though I think they mean the actual kraken).

Anyone who knows me knows that in some circles, Hallowe'en is seen as a New Year's Eve of sorts, and that's the way we do it Chez Boo. The season changes, the sun recedes, the Dark Half of the year begins. Out with the old, in with the new. Winter is Coming. (Ok I'm done.)

For I think seven years now??? I've made the same dinner for you all: Chase's Vegetable Tian --for some unknown, completely unseasonal reason-- and, to make up for that, the sensational Pumpkin Raviolis from Russo's on the Lower East Side. Served up with melted butter, torn sage leaves, and toasted hazelnuts, they always seemed to be the perfect tribute to Fall.

"Halloweenies" (mini pigs-in-blankets) at Mr. and Mrs. Mighty Hunter's Party.

Pictured here for no reason at all except come on, that's hilarious.

This year, in the spirit of "in with the new", I went in a different direction. My lovely friend KG had just given me The New York Times Cookbook as a very belated birthday gift and it is full of gems. Mouse, I see your pumpkin bread (which I have now baked THREE times since your post) and I raise you:

Jamie Oliver's "Pumpkin, Sage, Chestnut, and Bacon Risotto". Yeah that's right.

This was my first risotto! and I'd like to report two things: One, it is NOT as difficult as you think it is at ALL. It's simple, just a bit labor-intensive. Two, that there is almost nothing more halloweeny than having to stand over a simmering cauldron, repeatedly pouring in cups of steaming broth and stirring, stirring, stirring. I tried to get in a good menacing cackle to go along with the whole scene but I was just too happy about making this.

A few tips: 1. You can use butternut squash in place of pumpkin. It's easier to find and tastes almost the same. 2. Dont bother with fresh chestnuts. 3. I cut the amount of butter in this recipe by half and it was still oh-so-rich and fabulous. I know it's unorthodox, but it happened. 4. I dont think you need the mascarpone, but it is nice. 5. Get your sister, if you have one, to share the labor of stirring. Your arms will thank you.

All photos in this post taken by Mr. Mighty Hunter, who didn't want me to include the one of the risotto but I did anyway.

Jamie Oliver's Pumpkin, Sage, Chestnut and Bacon Risotto

Ingredients:
1 small sweet cooking pumpkin or butternut squash, peeled, about 2 1/2 pounds

(Or just buy it cut up already.-The Boo)
Olive oil
1 tablespoon coriander seeds
Sea salt and ground black pepper
12 slices bacon or pancetta
2 ounces shelled chestnuts (vacuum packed are fine)
15 fresh sage leaves
4 cups chicken stock or canned broth
3 shallots, peeled and finely chopped
5 small stalks celery, finely chopped
1 cup arborio rice
1/2 cup dry white wine or dry white vermouth
4 tablespoons butter
3/4 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese, plus more for serving
About 1 cup mascarpone, optional.

1. Heat oven to 375 degrees. Halve pumpkin lengthwise, and remove seeds; rinse seeds, drain, and reserve. Cut pumpkin lengthwise into thick slices, and spread in a layer across a large baking sheet. (If using squash, cut into quarters.)Again, you could just buy in already cut up. Sprinkle pumpkin with olive oil, and set aside. Using a mortar and pestle, pound the coriander seeds until crushed. Sprinkle over pumpkin along with salt and pepper, and bake until soft, about 40 minutes.

2. Remove pumpkin from oven (leave oven on), and spread bacon over it. In a small bowl, combine reserved seeds, chestnuts, sage and salt and pepper to taste. Add tablespoon olive oil, and mix well. Sprinkle over pumpkin and bacon. Place back in oven until bacon is crisp, 10 to 15 minutes.

3. Remove pumpkin from oven. Scrape bacon, chestnuts, sage and pumpkin seeds onto a small plate; reserve. Finely chop about half the pumpkin. Chop other half so that it is slightly chunky; reserve.

4. Place chicken stock in a small pan over medium-low heat. Bring to a simmer, then reduce heat to very low to keep warm. Place a large saucepan over medium heat, and add tablespoon olive oil, shallots, celery and a pinch of salt. Stir, cover, and cook for 3 minutes. Increase heat to medium-high, and add rice. Stir constantly until rice is translucent, 2 to 3 minutes. Stir in wine until it is absorbed, 1 to 2 minutes.

5. Begin adding broth to rice, a ladleful at a time, stirring constantly. Allow each ladleful to be absorbed before adding next; process will take about 20 minutes. When ready, rice will be soft with a slight bite. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

6. Remove rice from heat. Add chopped pumpkin, and stir vigorously until mixed; fold in pumpkin chunks. Mix in butter and Parmesan. Place a lid over the saucepan, and let sit for 2 minutes. To serve, place a portion on each of 6 serving plates. Top each portion with crumbled bacon, and sprinkle with mixture of chestnuts, sage and pumpkin seeds. Add a dash more cheese. Garnish each plate with a dollop of mascarpone if desired, and serve immediately.

15-Minute Quinoa "Risotto"

Dear Mouse,

OK, something is happening.

Perhaps it's all the changes in the air right now -- new apartment, new borough, exciting new gig coming up, and the news that the comfortable, mind-numbing day job I've had for, oh, NINE years or so is - finally! - laying me off in February. I dont know. But what I do know is that somehow, some way, I have become ... a person who cooks. (And who posts RECIPES on the blog. Not just, say, recipe links or gossip. Though that will certainly continue.)

Now I know what you're gonna say. What have I been doing this whole time with pie crusts and muffins and soup? Well, yes. But it's the realization that you can leap without a net (or a recipe) and survive. That I can make stuff up on my own.

I got so excited about my quick-and-tasty invention tonight that I actually plugged in my laptop, and started typing this post as soon as I finished... this:

When you're here, you're family.

This really took fifteen minutes to make. Ok, yes, one of the important ingredients - the "Chopping Board Pistachio Pesto" from the Splendid Table - had been prepared in advance and was waiting for me at home. BUT allow me to point out that THAT recipe came from their "Weeknight Kitchen" newsletter. It's simple and fast. So even if you do this whole "risotto" in one go, it would just be a half an hour and a bit of extra chopping.

Following some primal instinct, I picked up a can of navy beans, a jar of sun dried tomatoes, and a box of quinoa, and I made the following deliciousness in 15 minutes flat. Perhaps because of the Italian flavor palette, I really think it resembles a risotto, only lighter and packed with protein from the nuts/beans/quinoa trifecta. It's comfort food that gives you energy instead of knocking you out (risotto, for me, usually involves an early bedtime... if I make it to the bed.)

The Boo's Fifteen-Minute Job-Loss Quinoa "Risotto"

(with thanks to The Splendid Table)

Probably 1/2 C leftover Chopping Board Pistachio Pesto - ? or less, whatever tastes good

1 C quinoa

2 C water

1/2 small jar (or more if you like) sundried tomatoes in oil, chopped up

1 can navy beans, drained

sprinkling of leftover fresh thyme leaves, to taste

coarse salt and black pepper to taste

splash of red wine from the bottle you didn't finish on sunday

leftover grated parmesan from when you realized the pesto recipe doesn't call for parm

That's it.

Bring the quinoa and water to a boil on the stove. Turn down, cover, and simmer 10-15 until all the water is absorbed. While quinoa is cooking, mix the beans with the pesto in a big bowl. Add chopped up sundried tomatoes. Splash a little red wine in, sprinkle the thyme, add salt & pepper. Then spoon probably 3/4 of the quinoa (you can save the rest for something...) into the bowl while still hot, and mix gently but well. Serve with grated parmesan for sprinkling.

Here's to improvisation in the face of life's changes. Happy Thursday,

The Boo

A Feast for the Ages

Dear Boo,

Uggghhhh errrrrrr duurrrr mmmmm nneeeeeeehhh
I'm sorry.

This meal may have actually rendered me speechless.

Okay. Here we go. My birthday, as you know, is mid-April. And as you know, this one was a rather big, entering a new decade one. The Mother had implored me to let her plan a family dinner to celebrate, but April and May were monumentally busy months, and June just slipped away too quickly. So we found ourselves in July, three months later, me one-quarter of the way to my next birthday, and you having one of your own! Mom wanted to take everyone out for a steak dinner in the city, but having just rented a place in the country for the summer, it seemed a waste to not take advantage. Here's where I hatched my plan. The Boyfriend and I had already talked with Chef Josh and Lady Kate about coming out to spend the weekend with us some time this summer, so why not kill two Cornish hens with one bushel of stone fruit, and ask Josh if he'd cook? The idea was pitched, the Mother was hooked, and Chef Josh agreed.

On Friday, the Chef picked us up with a trunk full of baby gear for his little lady, tucked between coolers containing a couple of pork butts soaking in a molasses brine. Somewhere between the off-roading detour for lobster rolls and the last minute jaunt for woodchips for smoking the pork, I began to catch a whiff of just how magical this weekend would be.

At around 8am Sunday morning, the day of the party, while the rest of us were still recovering from our dinner of pulled pork, mac and cheese, and grilled corn, the Chef went out shopping for dinner. Upon his return, bearing packages of all sizes, shapes, and colors, he set to work organizing the menu. It wasn't until I stole away to gawk at this scrap of paper that I realized what a treat we were in for. I mean, look at it. It's a thing of beauty.

"I'm thinking Mediterranean," Josh had said, as my head practically fell off my neck from all the vigorous nodding in agreement. Yes, please.

Let's take a visual tour.
The table. 'Scaped by none other than party-planner extraordinaire, Lady Kate, with hideous New Year's Millenium plates unearthed from the back of the cabinets and insisted-upon by the Boyfriend and Chef Josh.

Upon everyone's arrival, a meat and cheese platter was put out on the table in the living room, effectively drawing the crowds away from the kitchen, a feat hard to achieve with our family.
Next, cocktails stirred up by the Boyfriend, with a mix of watermelon, grapes, muddled mint, a healthy dose of Cachaça, a drop of simple syrup and a splash of soda. All topped off with lime. Everyone protested half-heartedly that they were too strong, before guzzling them happily.
When we sat down a few minutes later at the dining room table, bathed in the warm afternoon sunlight, giddy with anticipation and intoxicated by a mix of boozy watermelon slices and the incredible smells wafting from the stovetop nearby, we were met with our first courses: Marinated Beets with Burrata and Herbs, and Lamb Tartare with Oil-Cured Olives and Lemon Labna.
I ask you, how can something so simple taste so good? Or better yet, how can something so simple, that I could probably make myself (unlike most of the other dishes we ate that night), taste SO MUCH better when made by someone with actual skill? Well, I guess I just answered my own question. The beets were slick with oil, acidic from the vinegar, and in a pairing made in vegetable heaven, nestled under a cloud of creamy burrata, the soft curds mingling with a scattering of bright herbs. Even the Mother, who is a lifelong despiser of beets, had seconds, proclaiming she had never had a beet that tasted remotely like this. I like to think it was because of the superb job I did peeling them as Chef Josh's sous chef.

The lamb tartare. One of my favorites of the evening, and a dish that the cousins lovingly referred to simply as "the Labna", or "Lab". I haven't always been a fan of steak tartare, but this was a whole different animal (ahem)--rich and flavorful with olives (again, sliced by yours truly, which I think you'll agree made all the difference) and herbs, and topped with a generous dollop of labna, or yogurt cheese that Josh made--MADE--by draining yogurt through a coffee filter, and then mixing with lemon zest, salt, and olive oil (i think?). I could eat it by the bucket.

After everyone had seconds or thirds, against Josh's gentle warnings that there was much more to come, arrived the Tortino di Calimari.

Let's just say that our family, usually a generous bunch who would rather eat a spam sandwich than allow a guest to go hungry, gobbled every scrap of this dish up before the Chef himself could even have a proper taste. Sorry, Josh. It was just that good. Chock-full of artichokes and calamari, it's essentially a big pancake fried to a perfect golden crisp and garnished with a nice balance of shredded bitter raddiccio, and finely chopped fresh tomatoes mixed with garlic and olive oil. As the Mother said, it's hard to say which dish was my favorite since I said it pretty much every time a new plate arrived, but I think this might have taken the cake.

A few more sips of wine, a stretch, a giggle from one of the two adorable babies in attendance, later, and we were ushered to the buffet for the entree portion of the evening.

In no particular order:
Smoky Chickpeas with Pork. A Spanish-style dish with stewed chickpeas, smoky bacon, wine, and a hefty shot of smoked paprika. I could see this as my lunch or cocktail hour tapas snack for the rest of the summer (because yes, sometimes we do that here in the Mouse House). And yes, since you asked, I did chop the onions and slice the bacon. But let's not make a big thing out of it.
Spaghetti di Aragosta. Fresh pasta with lobster, corn, and tomatoes (sauteed in what I think was a reduced Lobster stock). Not even my unfortunate witnessing of the execution of the lobsters, could stop me from taking seconds. This pasta took my trifecta of favorite summer foods and transformed them into something new and utterly delicious--rich and light at the same time.
Seared Swordfish with Capers, Almonds, and Raisins. "How did you do the Swordfish?" Mom asked. "I love it but I can never quite get it right." "Oh, it's easy," Josh said. "You just throw it on the grill and don't overcook it." And therein lies the difference between a home cook and a really talented chef. Perspective. The fish was topped with a sort of Morrocan-esque mix of toasted almonds, raisins, capers and herbs (maybe there was lemon juice in there too?), an incredible mix of simple flavors that explode in such a vibrant way when put together.
Mushroom Risotto. Creamy, starchy, earthy, cheesy, heaven.
Roasted Cornish Hens. While it's kind of hilarious to watch a 6'2" tall man stuffing delicate individual sage leaves under the skin of tiny birds, there's nothing funny about how good this was. Or how much butter went into making it so tasty.
Seared Tri-Tip Steak. Look at that meat. Is that not the perfect color? Our uncle, the King of Gravy, and quite a discerning steak eater, pointed solemnly at the dish and said, "THAT was good." Oh yes it was.

As we cooed unabashedly over each bite, asking each other repeatedly, "But have you tasted THIS yet??" Josh brought to the table a platter of pristine, white filets of sea bass, barely touched with olive oil. It had been prepared whole, stuffed with herbs and lemon slices, and then caked in salt, a classic way of roasting whole fish to flavor it and lock in the moisture. Here it is, mummified:
And here it is, being readied to eat:
A study in the simplicity of preparation, quality of ingredients, and a skilled hand. The purest, unadorned mouthful was velvety soft, moist, and tasted of the sea. Almost a palate cleanser before the palate cleanser....
Palate Cleanser: Coconut-lime Sorbet with Sugared Cilantro. A refreshing and necessary transition before we undid our top button (okay, that happened after the appetizers) and moved onto dessert.
Peach Tart with Basil and Mint. The Boo's ideal summer dessert, wouldn't you say? A light, buttery pastry crust with just barely sweetened summer peaches, topped with fresh basil and mint. It was like a sweet pizza, with the peaches standing in for tomatoes. I'd eat it for breakfast, or serve it as an appetizer with some crumbled blue cheese on top. But with whipped cream, vanilla ice cream, or just plain, it made the perfect ending to a summer feast.

If only it was the end....

Chocolate Mousse. With whipped cream, Naturally.

Let it be known that Chef Josh had initially planned a third dessert, a plum crunch, which was wisely (if reluctantly) forsaken when he remembered that the Mother and the Aunt had baked a birthday cake for the occasion.

Coconut. Three layers. Bliss.
There it is, amid the destruction, flanked by our Aunt's absolutely perfect and totally excessive chocolate cookies, which you can find here.

I've had a lot of memorable meals in my life (probably 80% of them with you). Some are memorable for the food, some for the atmosphere, some for the occasion, some for the company. Others are memorable for the unexpected plot twist (remember that meal in Paris when I realized halfway through my entree that the "fish" I was eating was actually frog?), or, the sheer magnitude (my meal in Florence when I found myself doing the unthinkable--waving away a plate of pasta with a look of horror on my face). I think you'll agree we can add this meal to the list of unforgettable dinners. Getting to watch Chef Josh at work, absorbing tidbits here and there, proudly taking over the "zen jobs" of chopping and peeling and grating where I could, having our family around one table to share some incredible food--the whole process from start to finish, was a birthday gift I'll tuck away for years to come. What a great way to celebrate our 21st birthdays together. :) Let's do it again next year.

What do you say, Chefs?

I think they're up for it.

Love,

The Mouse