Monthly Archive for March, 2011

Five

Happy 5th birthday to our sergeant-at-arms, co-pilot numero uno, best buddy ever…the one, the only Doodle Loodle Loo!

We love you, buddy.

And we love you too, Clare! Here’s to the big 4-0!

Cornish Pasties*

I realize this recipe has meat in it. And I have to break it to you — not only is there beef in here, but there’s also lard and suet.** Wait! Wait! Come back! You don’t have to use any of these things to make a delicious pasty. Really. My brother is a vegetarian (and was a vegan), so my mom made some adjustments to the recipe, which I’ve included below.

But I have to say, the original is what I know and love. Pasties are probably the most memorable meal for me. They’re what I think of when I think of my mother’s cooking. On the surface, they seem to be a basic, plain type of meal – meat and potatoes – but they’re really so much more. Typically made for special occasions – birthdays, family visits, holidays – pasties were certainly not an everyday thing (as you’ll see below, they’re a bit of work. Wait! Come back! Please keep reading — they are so worth it).

This is the recipe handed down from my mother’s mother, which came from her mother, and so on and so on. My mother grew up in Dodgeville, Wisconsin with a Cornish mother and a Welsh father. And apparently, there was quite the Iron Chef thing happening in Dodgeville between the Cornish and the Welsh over who made the best pasties. Unfortunately, my grandfather didn’t have a Welsh pasty recipe, so whether that was the better one or not, my mother couldn’t say (rumor has it, the Welsh use ground beef, but if anyone has a Welsh pasty recipe, please let me know, so I can do a taste-off). And although my mother was a bit reticent about me leaking this information out to the entire world (because I’m sure that’s who’s reading this), I will indeed furnish you with her top-secret ingredient.

According to my mother, back in the day – as in, back in Cornwall – pasties were what miners ate while down in the mines. Their wives sent them down there with their pasty, all nice and warm, wrapped in newspaper (weird, but that’s how the story goes). Whenever I think about or eat a pasty, I always imagine those Cornish miners, covered in soot, sitting thousands of feet below the surface of the earth, enjoying their little self-contained piece of heaven by the flickering light of their headlamps.

But you don’t need to be a miner to enjoy these. And you don’t have to wrap them in newspaper (that seems a bit unsanitary to me). Just make them. And eat them. You will be happy. I promise.

NOTES:
You can certainly use lard, but my mom now uses Spectrum vegetable shortening and that’s what we used in the batch you see here. The crust is still quite flaky.

In place of the meat, use any or a combination of the following vegetables: carrots, parsnips, butternut squash, rutabaga. You want to stay in the root vegetable family; don’t use anything that releases too much water while cooking (like zucchini for instance), as the pastry won’t stay together and then you’ll have a big mess. It might be a good idea to toss the veggies in a couple teaspoons of olive oil at the outset. Some lovely sage or rosemary would be nice in there too. Just a thought.

Use pieces of butter in place of the suet. There is also a vegetarian suet substitute made by Atora that’s available online). If you’re using suet, put it in the freezer first, which makes chopping easier; or even better, ask your butcher to grind it for you.

You can make the pastry dough in a food processor, but we’ve always used a combination of a pastry blender and our hands (“It’s the only way you can tell it’s right,” says Mom).

Alright, let’s get this party started!

Cornish Pasties

Pastry:
3 cups all-purpose flour
8-9 tablespoons vegetable shortening (or lard)
1 teaspoon salt
Ice water (we ended up using 1 cup)

Filling:
1 pound sirloin steak, cubed (or a mix of veggies)
6-8 medium white potatoes (start with 6 and then do more if necessary)
1 medium onion, finely chopped
Salt
Black pepper
4 tablespoons of suet, very finely chopped or shredded

For the dough, mix first three ingredients and then gradually add the ice water and mix until it forms a ball. Don’t overwork it, get it too wet or mess with it too much. Switch to your hands when it starts coming together. Divide into four equal-sized balls (we made 5 smaller ones this time around). Put them in a bowl, cover with a plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least a half hour and up to an hour.

Roll each ball into a circle approximately 8-10” in diameter, approximately 1/8” thick. Be careful! If you get a hole, take a very sharp knife and cut a piece off of the outside, preferably a straggly bit, and then cover the hole with it and tack it down with a little ice water and a touch of flour.

Once you have your circle rolled out, take a handful of potatoes and place them on the top half of the circle, leaving a 1/2” border around the edge. Next add a smattering of meat pieces (5-7), followed by a small handful of onion. Salt and pepper this layer. Do another layer in exactly the same manner, using a bit less of each ingredient as your pasty is starting to pile up at this point. Sprinkle a tablespoon of the suet over the top. Go around the outside of the circle, dotting with water with your finger. Carefully and with a floured spatula, pick up the bottom half of the dough and fold it over the top to make a half-moon shape. Seal the wetted edges together and then fold back or crimp the edge toward the pasty make a nice little ruffle. Cut 3 small slits (each about 3/4” long) to let the steam escape. Tuck a 1” piece of suet in the middle hole, letting half stick out on top.

Transfer the finished pasty to a cookie sheet ever so carefully – we don’t want this little baby to fall apart on us.

Take a deep breath. Aaaaand release.

Make the other three.

Bake at 400° for half an hour; if they’re browning too quickly and starting to look dark, turn the oven down to 350° and cook for another half hour (otherwise, leave it at 400°).

**Family Secret Alert **

Once the pasties are done, take the piece of suet out of the top and spoon about 1 teaspoon of melted butter into the holes of each pasty. (You know, in case you don’t think there’s enough fat representin’ in there already with our little friends lard and suet.)

Let the pasties sit for at least 10 minutes. Serve hot or at room temperature. Great with a simple green salad.

* Pronounced with a soft “a,” as in “pass me a pasty”, not as in the little circles of fabric strippers wear over their lady bits.

** Do people even know what suet is? It’s actually the hard fat around the kidneys and loins (as in, “gird your loins”) in beef and sheep. I don’t suppose now is a good time to mention that we used to eat the crispy chunks of suet that were cooked in the pasties. Sorry.

Green Bean Salad

And here I promised I wasn’t going to share salad recipes, and what’s this…?

But this is seriously so good, I couldn’t resist. The amazing thing is I am not crazy about green beans. In fact, I have some deep-seated childhood issues with a certain greenish vegetable who shall remain nameless, although admittedly, you couldn’t really call those canned chunks of mealiness green beans. Especially after they (and I) sat for a looong time, attempting to choke them down, with everyone gone and the dishwasher running and the light over the stove shedding a weak puddle of light on the dreaded plate of torture…Um, wow. Thank you for letting me get that off my chest. And before you judge my mother too harshly for this, please note that she was very aware that as soon as this situation came to pass, I merely walked over to the garbage can and dumped those nasty things right in (wrapped in a napkin first, you know, to hide the evidence).

I’ve decided that these episodes must’ve taken place during non-bean season because there were definitely times when we had normal, actual green beans, but my scarring canned experience tainted any possible attempt at even sampling any type of green bean for several decades. And even now, I can really only eat the skinny sweet French haricots vert. Anything too thick or chunky just gives me the willies.

So, when I saw this recipe on Smitten Kitchen, I was shocked that it actually appealed to me (the gorgeous photos certainly helped its cause). And as I need to eat a lot more veggies as part of this little contest I’ve undertaken, I thought I’d give it a shot — with a few adjustments (really not many) to maintain the requirements of the diet.

Maybe it’s the crunchy freshness that’s so enticing. Or maybe it’s the combination of the tangy pickled onions with the fragrant fennel, sweet beans and smoky almonds that’s making me crazy. All I know is I’ve made this salad twice in the last four days and depending on how quickly this last batch is depleted, there may be a third one round the bend. So, get to it. High thee to the grocers and make this delicious concoction post-haste.

Oh and just to even things out, keep your eyes peeled for Monday’s post for something really unhealthy, but divine.

Notes: I tried the almonds two ways. The first time, I roasted them and then sautéed them in a pan with a little olive oil and then sprinkled them with smoked paprika and cayenne pepper. Lovely. The second time, I just roasted them and skipped the sauté part and actually preferred them without the extra oil. The spices don’t stick as well, but it’s healthier and just as good.

Also, I had enough of the pickling liquid left over to pickle the other half of the red onion and use that for the dressing for the second batch, but you may want to add another tablespoon of vinegar to the mixture to make sure it keeps its tanginess intact.

Green Bean Salad

Very slightly adapted from Smitten Kitchen

1 pound haricots vert (you can use regular ones too)
1  fennel bulb (about 1/2 pound)
2 celery stalks
1/2 large red onion
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1/4 cup water
1/2  tablespoon sea salt
1 1/2 teaspoons maple syrup or honey (or sugar if you’re not avoiding it, as I currently am)
1/3 cup whole almonds
2 tablespoons olive oil
Smoked paprika (optional)
Cayenne pepper (optional)

Put a big pot of water on to boil and preheat the oven to 375ºF/190ºC. While you’re waiting for that, very very thinly slice the onion, celery and fennel. You want the fennel to be paper thin as you’ll be eating it raw, so use a mandolin if you have one. It’s much easier to use a knife on the celery and onion (or maybe my mandolin is just not very sharp).

Pop the almonds in the oven for about 7-8 minutes and keep an eye (and nose) on them to make sure they don’t burn. You can then sautée them as mentioned above and add the spices — or not. Let them cool slightly and chop them in halves or thirds.

Mix the vinegar, water, salt and sweetener in a small bowl and add the onions. Let that sit while you’re doing the rest (or do ahead of time and let it sit for an hour or so; it’ll be even better).

Blanch the beans in boiling water for about 2-3 minutes (longer if you’re using the fatter ones). Drain and dump into an ice bath immediately.

Combine the beans, fennel, celery, onions, almonds and about 3 tablespoons of the pickling liquid in a large serving bowl. Garnish with salt and pepper to taste. Devour.

Springtime Snow

Really? It’s spring and we’re still getting snow? Um, no. Sorry, I’m over this. Especially after a 70º day last Friday. It’s just cruel — not to mention all the lovely little buds of iris and daffodil that are being frozen to death. Boo.

And we have a hound under the weather. Loo is depressed. He wants spring to be here too.

Leek & Goat Cheese Tart


I have an announcement to make. I’ve signed up for this, well, I don’t what else to call it except a diet competition. It’s called Game On, and a bunch of my friends have played it a few times. I never have, but as a part of my “health kick” (see here and here; yes, that’s about as far as I got), I’ve decided I’ve got to mix things up a bit. So, yeah, the whole controlled food intake thing is about to start happening around here — controlled being the operative word. The good news it’s only for four weeks. The bad news is butter is not allowed.

So what better way to kick off a serious health kick than with a last supper, so to speak? One that involves copious amounts of butter. I’ve been itching to make my own savory pie crust (or pâte brisée, which can be made with or without sugar, fyi), but have either been too lazy or intimidated. Well, I’m here to tell you that it’s freakishly easy. Admittedly, I had to make it in two batches because I only have a Cuisinart Mini Prep (and not a full-sized food processor), but it turned out great. You do have to keep an eye on the dough as it’s coming together as you don’t want too much water and you don’t want to overmix it. But it’s really really easy and takes about 5 minutes to make. Flour, butter, salt + ice water = MAGIC.

And then there’s the filling. I went just a little crazy with the butter here, but I’m thinking you could easily cut the butter in half and/or substitute some olive oil (although not all because you really need some butter in there). And did you notice my restraint in using whole milk rather than heavy cream? The leeks just kind of melt down into mellow stewy deliciousness. Combine that with the tangy bite from the goat cheese and the flaky, crumbly crust, and you’ve got a killer combination of goodness. And not a bad way to kick off a butter-free existence for the next four weeks.

Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with recipes for salad. I’m actually hoping I’ll come up with some new and healthy recipes that will still taste good (plus, you get one meal and one day per week “off,” so there will be opportunities for naughtier fare). Wish me luck!

Leek & Goat Cheese Tart

Crust:
1-1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, chilled and cut into small pieces
1/4+/- ice water

Filling:
2 large leeks, white and light green parts only
3 tablespoons butter
1/2 cup whole milk
1 large egg
1 large egg yolk
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup crumbled goat cheese*

Combine flour and salt in the bowl of a food processor (or you use a pastry blender). Add the butter cubes and process until the mixture resembles coarse meal, 8 to 10 seconds. With machine running, add ice water in a slow, steady stream through feed tube. Pulse until the dough holds together without being wet or sticky, no more than 30 seconds. To see if it’s ready, squeeze a bit between your fingers. If it’s crumbly, add more ice water, a tiny bit a time. If it holds together, it’s ready. Flatten the ball into a disc and wrap in plastic. Chill in the fridge for at least one hour before using.

While that’s chilling, start the leeks. Cut the leeks in half lengthwise and soak them in cold water, then rinse under running water spreading the layers to make sure any dirt is rinsed off. Cut again in half lengthwise (if they’re really thick) then into 1/4″ slices. Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed pot over medium-low heat. Add the leeks and stir to coat them in the butter. Add a sprinkle of salt and about a tablespoon of water. Turn the heat down to low, cover and cook, stirring regularly, until leeks are tender (about 20-25 minutes).

Preheat oven to 375ºF/190ºC. On a lightly floured surface, roll out slightly softened dough to a thickness of 1/8″. Roll the dough over the rolling pin and unroll it into a 9″ round tart pan (with removable bottom). Push the dough into the bottom and up the sides. Using the rolling pin, roll the excess dough off the top of the pan. Line the pan with a circle of parchment and add either dried beans or pie weights (if you’re serious and have things like pie weights). Bake for about 20-25 minutes or until the crust turns a light golden color.

While the crust is cooling a bit, whisk together the milk, egg, egg yolk, salt and pepper. Dot half of the goat cheese in the bottom of the warm crust, then add the leeks. Top with the remaining half of the cheese, then pour the egg mixture over the top. Bake until the top is golden in spots and the liquid is set, about 40-45 minutes. Let cool slightly; remove the top part of the tart pan. Serve warm or at room temperature.

* You can also use an aged one, like Bûcheron; if you do, cut off the rind