Sunday morning muffins: orange-nutmeg

Muffins are a satisfying Sunday morning project. Mix the dry stuff, mix the wet stuff, mix them together and 20 or so minutes later: muffiny goodness. Tear into one of these warm fluffy things with a nice cup of coffee and you're ready to sail just a little less woefully through the last day of the weekend.

This morning I tried a recipe for orange-nutmeg muffins that I found over on Orangette. They sounded really lovely and flavorful and kind of perfect for winter when nothing but oranges and bananas are available for mix-ins. I made one substitution--buttermilk instead of heavy cream, only because while at the market I'd thought that was actually what the recipe called for--and while mixing up the batter it occurred to me that the tang of the buttermilk might bring out the zingy nutmeg and orange even more. (Oh happy accident!) However, the finished product didn't really taste all that spicy or zingy. It didn't actually taste like much at all! (Oh unhappy accident!) But I don't think it was the buttermilk's fault. The texture of the muffin was nice: moist and crumby, with just a little bit of chew (which I owe to the buttermilk and the fact that there's no butter and just a little bit of oil in these guys), but the flavor was really very light.




In retrospect, I should have expected this. Orange and nutmeg are great flavors, but they can't really carry a recipe on their own. When paired with a more dominant fruit like cranberry (and in the case of nutmeg, apple or pear), you can identify and appreciate their presence with much more lip-smacking gusto. I'd recommend keeping this recipe in your repertoire as a great base for fruity muffins. If you want to give it a whirl, try adding 3/4 cup of one of the following to bump up the flavor: cranberries, peeled and diced apple or pear, or diced dried apricots.
I froze the remaining muffins in this batch and plan to break them out next weekend and try them with a spoonful of this cranberry jam I've been wanting to make.





Orange-Nutmeg Muffins (adapted only ever-so-slightly from Orangette)

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
¾ cup light brown sugar
1 Tbs baking powder
½ tsp freshly grated nutmeg (Chefty note: I added closer to a full teaspoon)
½ tsp salt
Zest of ½ to 1 orange, to taste
1 large egg
¾ cup heavy cream (Chefty note: or buttermilk)
¾ cup milk (I used whole, but any type is fine)
4 Tbs canola oil

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Spray a 12-cup muffin tin with cooking spray. (Chefty note: I only have a 6-cup tin, allow for an extra ten minutes in the oven if that's what you use.)

In a large bowl, stir together the flour, brown sugar, baking powder, nutmeg, salt, and zest. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, beat the egg well. Then stir in the cream, milk, and oil, whisking to blend well. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, and stir to just combine (overmixing will develop the gluten in the flour and make for tough muffins).

Scoop the muffin batter evenly into the wells of the greased muffin tin. Bake the muffins for about 20 minutes (or 30 minutes if you're using a 6-cup tin), or until domed and nicely golden. Serve warm.

Orangette notes that these muffins freeze really well. [Allow them to thaw at room temperature; then reheat them gently in a 300-degree oven.] As I mentioned above, I've frozen the rest of my batch and will report back on how they taste reheated.

Yield: 12 smallish muffins (or 6 big fluffy ones).

Nostalgic eating: when things taste the same...but not.

The other night when it was cold and raining (yeah, that's like every night but go on), I needed cocoa. Not your fancy cocoa. Nestle Quik cocoa. And the only acceptable toppings for Nestle Quik are Fluff or Cool Whip. Fluff was not to be had, so with the Cool Whip and cocoa in hand I trotted home. Once it was defrosted (which in itself is kind of weird) I scooped out a spoonful with gleeful anticipation.

Only to realize: Cool Whip isn't really that good. It's basically whipped sugar and oil. Eww. And it kind of tastes airy and oily and sweet, but not...really like cream. But somehow, it's not bad enough to stop eating it. I've been having it in my Quik and it's much better with the chocolate (although, it does dissolve awfully quickly and makes this weird fizzing sound when it hits the hot milk. Hmm.) It's also making me crave a host of other childhood sweets that only Cool Whip can make complete: gingerbread specifically! So I may try my hand at some homemade gingerbread this weekend, but I'll leave the Whip as a fond memory.

Addendum February 3: Bologna and cheese sandwiches: still good, if a bit slimy.

If on a winter's night a bowl of soup.

I appreciate a clever turn of phrase, particularly when it conjures up an image so clear and familiar, you can't help but be delighted. Such delight is what I'm after tonight, so I'm taking inspiration for the title of this post from Italo Calvino's book of a similar name. It's not one I've read (yet), but it is one of my most favorite titles ever. Do you wonder what the author was thinking of when he came up with it? To me it's absolutely Robert Frost.

In any case, per my occupational habit I'm familiar with the general premise of the story, which chronicles a reader trying to read a book, and its oft-noted experimental style. In a fashion, that resonates with the stories you'll find here, of a cook trying to cook a meal, experimenting along the way. So begins tonight's story...

Well, it actually begins last night (or, more accurately early this morning) with a few shards of a dream in which I made two things: mustard custard and sunchoke soup. Now, mustard custard I can't even begin to explain. (My dream self must is perhaps a distant relative of Dr. Seuss.) On waking I did actually believe that I'd made this weird thing and was completely confused as to why or, more importantly, how. I let this drift away however as I thought more about the sunchoke soup, which sounded entirely viable and possibly quite delicious.

Jump to this evening. I take stock of my fridge and decide to give this dream concoction a go, adding a few more vegetables and seasonings along the way. What I ended up with is a fragrant, tangy, melt-in-your-mouth vegetable soup. From my subconscious to the soup bowl! This was really fun to make. The recipe follows, with slapdash commentary along the way. Don't skip the gremolata garnish (taken from my new Molly Katzen cookbook): it adds an earthy, peppery punch to the soup, but the orange zest softens the bite and ties the whole dish together.

No photos tonight, my battery kicked it, but I'll see if I can set up a leftover shoot for tomorrow.

Mid-Winter Vegetable Soup
Looks like it serves 4

Equipment: 4-5 qt soup pot, immersion blender, fine-mesh sieve, large pitcher, etc.

6 stalks of celery, leaves removed, sliced thinnish
1 large or two medium onions, rough dice
1 cup baby carrots, rough dice (or 2-3 regular carrots, peeled and diced)
2 cloves roasted garlic, lightly mashed (If you only have fresh garlic, I'd use one small clove, minced to a paste. Roasted garlic has a sweet, mellow flavor that really works here, you can taste the difference, so try to use roasted garlic if you can.)
1 tsp of fresh mixed herbs diced fine (I believe I used thyme, marjoram, and rosemary)
1 smal bay leaf (I didn't use this because I didn't have any but I'm certain it would bring a welcome note of flavor to the mix.)
2 parsnips, peeled and diced
5 small to medium sunchokes (aka Jerusalem artichokes), peeled and diced
1 small apple (medium sweetness, Braeburn or Golden delicious are nice) or 1 small pear (this would give a bit more sweetness to the soup): peeled, cored, diced
2 tb honey
1 tb fresh lemon or orange juice
1 quart of cooking stock (I used chicken but vegetable would of course be fine too)
Salt & pepper to taste
3-4 tb extra virgin olive oil
3-4 tb half and half or whole milk
Spices to finish: grated nutmeg, ground ginger, ground cardamom, ground cumin

For the gremolata:
1 c arugula (if it's big leafy arugula, remove the stems)
2 tsp grated orange zest
2 cloves of fresh or 3 cloves of roasted garlic (again, I like the roasted)
salt & pepper to taste
A good drizzle of olive oil (Molly's recipe didn't call for this but I thought the mix was too dry without it. You'll only need what amounts roughly to 2 tb of oil.)

Make the soup:

Heat the olive oil over moderate heat and add the celery, carrot, onion, garlic, and bay leaf. Season liberally and saute until softened--the celery and onion should be partially translucent.

Add 1/2 tsp of mixed herbs, parsnips, and sunchokes. Stir to coat and season. Then stir in honey and lemon juice to combine, and finish with cooking stock. Bring soup to a boil, then turn heat down to medium-low and cover partially. Cook until parsnips and sunchokes are tender but not mushy, about 20 minutes.

While the soup is cooking, make the gremolata:

Drop arugula leaves, zest, and garlic into a food processor and pulse until they're finely chopped together but not yet a paste. Add olive oil, salt and pepper and give it another quick pulse. Check seasoning (don't skimp on the salt) and then you're done.

Finish the soup:

When vegetables are done cooking, check for seasoning, then puree using immersion blender. Strain pureed soup through the sieve. This process should take you a solid 4-5 minutes, you want to push as much of the thick soup mush through the sieve as possible so the strained soup has nice body and texture to it. You'll know when it's done because the soup will be lustrous and glossy and smooth. Return soup to pot and keep over low heat.

Now begins the taste-testing. First, check for salt and pepper, as always. I seem to have a heavy hand with pepper when it comes to soup, though this time I barely overdid it. Watch for this! You can always add, but you can never take away. Then, move on to your ground spices. I used about 1/2 tsp of ginger and nutmeg each, 1/4 tsp of cardamom, and maybe 1/8 tsp of cumin. You could bump the cumin up to 1/4 tsp with good effect. I wanted to retain more of the tang you get here from the sunchokes, the carrot and the citrus, so I used more ginger instead. My advice: start out with small quantites, stir, let it simmer for a few minutes, then taste and improvise until you're happy. (Cue lip-smacking here.)

Once you've got the seasoning down, swirl in milk or cream (a dollop of creme fraiche would add a silky decadence) and keep the soup on a low simmer until you're ready to eat.

Oh, you're ready now? Then get yourself a big ladle, dish up the soup, top with a round teaspoon of gremolata, and sprinkle with a nice salt if you have it (I used fleur de sel). Even though it has a good amount of starch from the veggies, this soup sits light on the stomach but still delivers a deep, hearty, satisfying taste.

Winter offers few saving graces, but tucking into a piping hot bowl of soup is certainly one of them.

Dinner with Chet.

Tonight I made a scrumptious swiss chard gratin while listening to Chet Baker. Cozy food, familiar melancholy, the end of the weekend.

Taken from (and mildly tweaked) Alice Water's The Art of Simple Food:

1 bunch swiss chard (I used ruby)
1 onion or 2 leeks, green stalks discarded
1/2 - 3/4 c milk
4 tb butter
2 tsp flour
1 c fresh breadcrumbs
Parmesan cheese
Nutmeg
Salt & pepper

Preheat oven to 350. Liberally butter a gratin dish or similar weighty baking dish. A pie dish would work just as well in a pinch.

Melt 2 tb of butter, pour over breadcrumbs and toss. Toast in preheated oven until golden brown, 8-10 minutes.

Slice the chard leaves off the stems. Trim the stem ends and slice thin. Wash chard leaves well and slice horizontally into thick ribbons.



Bring a pot of salted water to a boil. Cook the sliced stems for about 2 minutes and remove. Add the chard leaves and cook until tender, about 3 minutes. Drain and gently squeeze excess water from leaves.

Dice onion into small cubes or slice leeks thin (I used leeks and thought their earthy taste was a better match for the chard than your standard onion, but both are good.) Heat remaining 2 tb of butter in a large saute pan, add leeks and saute until soft but not browned. Season.

Add chard leaves and stems and toss to coat. **Note: in retrospect, at this point I might have added a good squeeze of lemon juice or white wine to liven up the flavor a bit. I think it would provide a good acidic point of contrast in the milky sauce. If you decide to do this, just let the lemon or wine (a tablespoon or so is all you'd need) cook down before moving on to the next step.**

Sprinkle chard with flour and stir to combine. Add 1/2 c milk and toss to coat, allowing sauce to form. If the pan begins to dry out, add the rest of the milk and cook until slightly thickened. The chard should be moist and coated with the sauce, not floating in milk, not sticking to the pan. Give the whole lot a good dose of freshly grated nutmeg. Taste and check for salt & pepper.



Turn chard mixture into your gratin dish, top with toasted breadcrumbs, and give it a once-over with fresh grated parmesan (Alice Waters said to dot the top with butter, but I opted for cheese instead). Cook for 20-25 minutes until golden and lightly bubbling. Let sit for a few minutes before digging in.

End-of-year experiments and exploits: a list.

In reverse chronology from December 31.

Ricotta cheesecake. Lighter and, well, more curdy--that is to say, less smooth--than your traditional cheesecake. More reminiscent of a custard. But: flecked with vanilla and lemon zest? Delectable, I say!

Red snapper crusted in salt. This preparation is becoming kind of a theme. I am now convinced that a superior salt-brushing tool is in order for any salt-crusted food, else that pursed-lip, too-much-salt-in-that-bite moment remains inevitable.

Gougeres. Basically, cheese puffs. Made from...pate a choux! Fun! Good for arm muscles! I fantasize about making a croquembouche someday. I really do.

Bagna cauda. This translates to: hot garlicky anchovy dip. Sounds like a frightening choice for a party, and it was. Still, pretty tasty with a spear of crisp celery and a hunk of good bread.

[Tangent]
I have this strange craving for anchovies lately. I was in NYC for a few days before Christmas and I went out for pizza and had a side of anchovies with my two slices. Ridiculously good.What I haven't dared to try (yet) are sardines. Fresh, they are amazing. But preserved? I don't know...
[End tangent]

Pork loin chops with wild mushrooms, rosemary, and white wine

Roasted parsnips and pear with thyme and honey. I suspect that if you went ahead and pureed the parsnips after roasting, it would make a killer soup. Garnishing the soup with a seared scallop, or maybe even a piece of seared foie gras, would be stratsospherically elegant. Anyone who dares to make foie gras at home, feel free to try this and report back.

Salted butter caramel ice cream. Overall, this was pretty amazing. Thank you, David Leibovitz! This is the first of his recipes I've tried and will certainly go back for seconds. I only had a few quibbles (resulting from my own foibles, though fortunately no combustibles were involved...):

• The praline was a little darker (tasted like burnt sugar: caramel cooks lickety-split!) and a little saltier than I would have liked, though the intensely sweet ice cream helped cut that.
  

• The ice cream was cavity-inducing sweet. One good tablespoon full is pretty much all I could stand. This is good, though, because that means it will last! In theory.

• The first serving was kind of gooey. At first I attributed this to the milk that gets added to the custard after cooking. A friend who also made it recently thought that the custard might have cooked for too long, making the caramel extra gooey. However, the second serving (coming after the ice cream had spent a night in the freezer) was pretty near perfect texture-wise. So, I guess M. Leibovitz's direction to chill the ice cream mix for eight hours or overnight before churning was given for good reason. Je suis chump.

Here is my attempt at documenting this gooey confection. The pictures on DL's website are better. I would definitely make this again (and try cutting the quantity of caramel for the custard by a third) and serve it with roasted pears or apples or a fruit crisp (barely sweetened!)



P.S. Do you want recipes? This year I want to start doing some more regular recipe writing and testing, so you can expect those sorts of posts down the pike, but should you want any mentioned here, let me know and I shall produce!

P.P.S. There was also much cooking over Christmas, but I'll save that for a later post. I have to figure out how to do jump cuts on this here blog of mine.