I'm not really sure what possessed me, but I decided to try to make a savory marshmallow for Easter. That's essentially an oxymoron and, as it turns out, sort of impossible, given that sugar—or in this case, honey—is such an integral part of the structure of this spongy treat. No amount of googling turned up anything helpful, so I winged it. The result was a strangely compelling alternative to the achingly sweet peeps on offer at this time of year. Made with roasted pureed carrots, the base was initially a gorgeous brilliant orange color which, upon mixing, turned into a very subtle tint. Infused with cumin and fennel, and sprinkled with chile salt, these marshmallows are a sweet, spicy, salty and sensuous mouthful.
Read More...

One of my earliest memories is of being handed a small saucer of fresh cajeta by a tall, dark-haired neighbor of ours in Mexico. A sweet seduction like this you never forget, no matter how chaste. This amber-colored elixir is the taste of my childhood: dizzyingly sweet, with notes of burnt sugar and barnyard commingled in a sigh of pleasure. The name allegedly comes from the Spanish phrase al punto de cajeta, which means a liquid thickened to the point at which a spoon drawn through it reveals the bottom of the pot. But I've also heard it said that it takes its name from the small wooden boxes in which it was traditionally packed. There is simply nothing like goat's milk caramel, cooked to a dark satin swirl and touched with hints of salt and vanilla. It's delicious with cheese, believe it or not, and drizzled over or mixed into ice cream, but I enjoy it best spooned sinfully straight from the jar.

 

Read More...

I come from a very linguistically focused family where all sorts of word games (not to mention mind games) were the order of the day. I'm very into language and its limitless possibilities for manipulation, including the humblest pun. Never can resist. Ingredients are sort of like words, able to be tossed together in seemingly infinite combinations, so that cooking becomes a kind of jazzy poetry (rap?!) or improvised narrative. The kishu is a sweet little grace note, an ampersand between clementines and satsumas. This tiny mandarin, only slightly bigger than a jawbreaker, originated in China and arrived in Japan around the 17th century, where it is known as mukaku-kishi. Mukaku means seedless, which they are. They have a super-short season and are not that easy to come across. I got mine through Local Harvest, a locavore network that helps you find farmers' markets, family farms and other sources of sustainably grown food in your area, and through which you can buy produce, grass-fed meats and other coveted items. My kishus came from Churchill Orchard, a small organic farm in Ojai, California.

We're so bombarded with commercialized holidays that I'm loathe to even mention Valentine's Day again, but it's hard to be completely cynical about a day that's all about LOVE. Of course we've all been programmed to think of candy, flowers and—for the really optimistic among us—jewelry as expressions of love. But remember how exciting it was in elementary school to open those teensy envelopes with your name clumsily scribbled in grubby little-boy script? (I was popular until I moved to Spain in the 4th grade, and so can remember 3 blissful years of adoration before it all went to shit.) Those days may be over, but I know the die-hard romantics among you are already planning something special for Monday night. How about a delicious and heart-warming dinner, lovingly whipped up without too much bother? Does it really need to include cheese, beef and chocolate? How about something that takes into consideration your beloved's heart—in the high cholesterol sense?
Read More...

Yesterday G and I saw "Up In the Air," Jason Reitman's film starring George Clooney, Vera Farmiga and Anna Kendrick. It was adapted from the novel of the same name by Walter Kirn. The credits feature a lot of amazing images of clouds, as you see them from an airplane; fields of them stretching out forever, impossibly puffy, pneumatic, full of air. The movie was not the sort of romantic comedy I thought it would be. It takes a rather more dim and realistic view of the human heart and shows how the very thing we imagine ourselves to be can turn out to be our undoing. It was actually kind of dark and poignant and unexpected. Clooney and Farmiga are both gorgeous and at the top of their respective games (for once Vera isn't playing an impoverished drug addict) and the new girl, Kendrick, is fresh and unmannered. Afterwards, we went to Union Square Café, to use an anniversary gift of a meal there we had received from G's parents. I hadn't been in ages but it's really the same as ever: warm, efficient, enjoyable.
Read More...

Once upon a time (before parasites and gluten intolerance had come into full focus in this household) two people developed something of an addiction to Kettle Corn, that aphrodisiacal delivery system for salt and sugar disguised as a light treat. We would buy a large bag from Whole Foods, certain it would last the week, and then devour the entire thing while splayed on the couch watching Big Love. The subsequent bloating and intestinal pain was deemed "worth it."All that had become like a fever dream of the past when I stumbled upon a recipe for Maple Pecan Popcorn in the now defunct Gourmet magazine. (Damn you, Condé Nast! or should I say Damn you, McKinsey?) I decided it seemed like a "healthy" alternative—no sugar, after all—and whipped up a batch with my own addition of dried cranberries and cayenne.
Read More...

We own 4th of July. That means that friends know not to plan other events because they'll be coming to our house. We always serve pulled pork—if you clamor for it, I’ll post the recipe but otherwise just look it up in Cook’s Illustrated. I prefer the North Carolina style with a vinegar-&-hot-red-pepper sauce, and serve it with classic coleslaw, pickles and cheap white bread. One year I bought lovely brioche buns from Eli's and was informed by my friends from Charlotte that this is a no-no.For dessert? Nothing beats ice cream sandwiches. I’ve been known to make the ice cream myself but I like to offer lots of flavors, so now I usually order a FedEx delivery from Graeter’s, an old-timey place in Ohio that's been doing it right with fresh cream and egg custard since 1870. Mint chocolate chip is my favorite, but don’t miss the caramel or the coconut or the black raspberry. Bake the cookies yourself, though. You can make these in advance and freeze them in large Ziploc bags. And, if you’re lucky (or you make extra), you’ll still have ice cream sandwiches left after the 4th to eat while lollygagging in the hammock…
Read More...