You know how biscotti means “twice cooked” in Italian? Well, ricotta means “re-cooked.” I never knew why until I decided to investigate this wonderful light cheese. We associate it with Italian cooking but it's also traditional around Hanukkah, used to stuff blintzes or in cheesecake. It turns turns out that ricotta is made from whey, the low-fat and nutritious liquid that is a by-product of cheese production. Once cheese is made from the curds, a second cooking of the whey results in ricotta. I’ve actually perused quite a few recipes for ricotta, and hardly any mention this. They all call for making it with whole milk, some even adding cream, but this is not the traditional way and results in something quite a bit richer, albeit delicious, that is more along the line of farmer's cheese or fromage blanc. Splitting hairs, you say. And you may be right. If you're not making fresh cheese you probably won't have whey availalbe, so go ahead and make your rich and delicious ricotta from whole milk. (Try the recipe below.) Or buy the sinful version from Salvatore Brooklyn. They also have a smoked one that will make your toes curl under.
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They were all out of the organic whipped butter I favor at Whole Foods the other day and, on a whim, I decided to try making my own. I had read somewhere recently about how easy it is—you just proceed as if you were making whipped cream and keep going! I had no idea how much cream to get so I erred on the side of too much, as usual. But I was remembering how when you make paneer, it takes 2 gallons of milk to get one measly portion of cheese. I guess because cream is fattier it doesn't release so much liquid. In the end, I wound up with more than a pound of butter! I added sea salt and froze about three-quarters of it it as I don't really use all that much butter. Why bother with all this? It was easy, it was fun, it was interesting and, in the end, I wound up with delicious, creamy and golden organic butter. If you have kids, I bet they would get a kick out of joining you in the kitchen for this one.
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This little Miss Muffett definitely enjoys eating freshly made curds. And so will you, when you make your own paneer (also spelled panir). This is that soft white cheese used in Indian cuisine. You probably know it from saag paneer, the Indian cousin of creamed spinach. Making paneer is quite similar to making ricotta, if you've ever done that. Even easier. It's just a simple coagulation of milk through the use of acid; lemon juice, in this case. The milk "breaks," separating into fluffy white curds and cloudy liquid whey. You gather the curds up into a clean cloth (cotton towel or cheesecloth) and hang it so that liquid drains away. If you leave it fairly soft—with a bit more liquid—it's known as chenna; taken to a firmer stage, it becomes paneer. It's delicious in rich curries, fritters, or simply cooked with vegetables like peas, chiles or greens.
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Here I am, still carrying on about citrus. Have you bought any of those gorgeous Cara Cara oranges yet? These juicy, low-acid, virtually seedless navels are an excellent source of Vitamins C and A, fiber, potassium, and Lycopene, a disease-fighting antioxidant. Plus their bright coral flesh is super-sweet and delicious. They're wonderful just peeled and eaten plain, or sliced with fennel for a simple salad, or squeezed for juice. But last night I used them to make a special treat: ice cream! I found a great recipe that Sheila Lukins (R.I.P.) managed to weasel out of Bill Gross, the former executive sous chef from Café Gray, Gray Kunz's now sadly defunct dining palace in the Time-Warner building. (I've been a huge fan of Kunz's since his glory days at Lespinasse in the St. Regis.) I really enjoyed making this ice cream. There are a couple of extra steps essential to its rich, complex taste, but the resulting adult creamsicle extravaganza (shades of Orange Julius if you grew up in California) is so worth it.
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One of the many nice things I've discovered in moving up to the country is that I can do a bit more ruminating. Not in the most literal sense, of course. I've only got one stomach (although sometimes it may look like two). And unlike cattle, goats, sheep, giraffes, bison, yaks, water buffalo, deer, camels, alpacas, llamas, wildebeest and antelope (I love lists), I am not required to chew my cud. But I do find that I now have time to tromp up an abandoned fire road in the rose-colored dusk, side-stepping slick patches of ice; or stare into the fire mesmerized as I absently stroke the cat's underfluff; or lie on the couch in a rare pool of afternoon sunshine, daydreaming of shallot-beef broth with cheese dumplings or buckwheat crepes or lemon soufflé (all three coming soon, I promise). And during those moments, I can turn a few thoughts over in my mind. Like common pebbles in a tumbler, they start to lose their rough edges, give off a greater luster. Maybe. Anyway, one of the things I've lately been runimating on, if you will, is my estrangement from cow's milk.
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I brought this lavender and rosemary back from LA with me, stuffed into a plastic bag in my suitcase. It seems like they are growing everywhere there. Such a treat when the only living thing in our garden here is the hardy winter rye we planted to help restore our vegetable beds. For the past few days, I've been able to reach out and pinch these lovely sprigs, releasing their sharp-sweet fragrance onto my fingertips. (The smell of lavender has been proven to reduce stress.) Don't you just love having flowers in the house? Their beauty goes through so many phases, even when at last they droop and give up their petals. I especially like it when they come from the fields or my own garden. I'm dreaming even now of those two weeks in June when I'll have all the peonies I can handle. Check out these beauties from last year...
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Fresh juice is a great way to start the day. You've probably already read my proselytizing about the many benefits of ingesting live, vital vegetable and fruit juices. (Quick primer: you get energy, antioxidants, digestive health, clear skin.) But on these frigid days, something warming does seem in order. I'm not a coffee drinker, never have been, though I do enjoy the occasional cup (especially as a vehicle for cream and sugar), but I am partial to chai. Actually, chai simply means tea. It derives from cha, the Chinese word for tea. What I'm really talking about here is masala chai—masala being an Indian word for spice blend. In India, masala chai is drunk like we drink coffee. It’s sold on the streets by chaiwallahs (and I think you all know what that is, having sat through Slumdog Millionaire.) Instant chai is available, but it tends to be loaded with sugar and fake flavorings. I’ve been known to order a soy chai latte from Starbuck’s (oh, the shame) and the best I can say about it is that it’s not very authentic. One prepared version I do like is from the venerable French tea company, Mariage Freres, called Chandernagor after the former French colony north of Kolkata (Calcutta). It’s a classic blend of black tea with cinnamon, cloves, ginger, green cardamom and black pepper. Sometimes chai will also include ajwain, a pungent relative of caraway; allspice; coriander; bittersweet chocolate; fennel, star anise or licorice root; nutmeg; and vanilla. My favorite tea to use in a chai blend is an Assam, whose assertive taste and slight smokiness can stand up to all the spices. Rooibos tea makes a pretty good caffeine-free alternative. Why not make your own masala chai blend in quantity and store it in a jar or tin? Then you can simply steep it in a combination of milk (cow, goat, soy) and water, adding whatever sweetener you like. I use honey, but sugar, agave nectar or even sweetened condensed milk work well. The spices really enhance the warming effect, and are a great way to get your blood moving on these cold winter mornings.
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