Pecan Muffins

It's cold outside, and I don't have anything left to have for breakfast tomorrow.

So I made these:

This recipe was the second result when I googled "pecan muffins" - pecan pie was my stable of the festive season and I had a bag of the nuts left over.

I followed it to the letter - possibly why this has turned out to be my most successful baking endeavour in some considerable time - and they're delicious as it is, so I'm not going to repost it here. Go give the good people who came up with it the hit! It was super quick, these taste as good as they look, and other than the pecans there's no unusual ingredients or techniques involved in making them so these could be a good staple to throw together for a short notice thank you gift or something similar. Enjoy!

Agnes' shortbread

Father knows best!

Or at least Alex's does, when it comes to shortbread.

My late mother-in-law, Agnes Glennie, was a competent cook.  Yes, she was fairly conventional in her creations but all credit to her that she always bought the best cuts of meat (which she then stewed, but never mind), the freshest and highest quality produce from markets rather than supermarkets when possible, and she always excelled at baking.

If you ask any Glennie what they will remember her for when it came to her cooking, each of us would say without hesitation, that it was her Christmas shortbread.

Shortbread comes in many guises.  Dear reader, you will have your favourite recipe and preferred consistency and shape of this form of biscuit.  Some are 'shorter' than others. There are petticoat tails, rounds, bars and Sainsbury's used to produce a wonderful wholemeal variety that was not short in any way but that disappeared shortly after the packet was opened.

Agnes made several batches every December and it was never fail, never!   She used a set of ancient, sturdy and beautifully-shaped Christmas cookie cutters (as she only ever made it at Christmas and although it froze wonderfully, it only lasted a short time as we couldn't resist.  In times of crisis, Kit and I used to eat it straight from the freezer).  Sadly the cookie cutters were put in the charity box when her kitchen was being cleared out, but we found some suitably festive ones last month, dusted off the recipe, the rolling pin, then dusted the pastry sheet, rolled up our sleeves and got to work.  Actually it was David who made them on a dreary Sunday afternoon shortly before the New Year and they were such a success that he repeated the exercise again in January.  There may be some inherited baking talent hidden away after all.  David's shortbread was very good but not, even he will admit, quite the same as his mother's.  Still, there isn't much left of the batch he made yesterday.

For those of you who like shortbread, give this one a try?

(Use North American cups)

4oz butter
4 oz margarine
½ cup granulated sugar
½ tsp vanilla essence
2 cups plain (all purpose) flour, sifted
extra flour for dusting board and rolling pin



Cream butter, marg and sugar together with a electric mixer.  Agnes probably did it by hand but sometimes life is too short during the Christmas season.  Beat in the vanilla.  Add the flour gradually, beating in well and when it becomes too stiff for the beaters, use elbow grease, as it were!

Turn onto a floured board and knead a few times, adding more flour if the dough seems a bit sticky.  Roll out to a thickness of ¼" and cut into shapes.  Agnes used to decorate the top with red and green coffee sugar but we've yet to find that in the UK. The sugar adds a festive touch if you can get it.

Bake on an ungreased sheet at 150ºC (350ºF) for about 20 minutes.  They shouldn't be allowed to brown and if the edges are looking 'done' before the 20 minutes is up, then take them out at once.  Allow to cool on a rack.  Makes 24.

Cooking in other people’s kitchens

Sometimes, cooking is about making do in a kitchen you did not have a hand in planning or equipping. It’s about dealing with someone else’s preferences, moving into someone else’s life for a spell.

The kitchen we use in Paris belongs to people who spend very little time there and who do not cook much. They have a vast array of different types and flavours of tea and no decent bread knife. Two venerable Le Creuset casseroles and no spatula. Acres of crystal wineglasses and only two coffee mugs.

There is a history to the place. In the 1980s, it was the pied-à-terre of a New York couple who ran a high-end travel agency, sending clients to Paris on the Concorde (there is at least one piece of Concorde memorabilia in the place). It was used for entertaining, hence the cupboard full of champagne glasses. These were people who went out to eat. Did I mention it is near the Champs-Elysées?

Little has changed since the 1980s, including the pink bathroom and the tortoiseshell cabinet fronts in the kitchen. However, on our recent visit in December 2012, we were delighted to find a new oven (the old one had long since died) and a new cooktop as well.  

We always bring our own small “batterie de cuisine” with us. A sturdy bread knife and a very sharp knife for regular kitchen tasks are at the top of the list. Plus spatula, tongs, vegetable peeler, and an efficient corkscrew. My apron, two oven gloves, and some extra dishtowels. We have bought things and left them there: this time it was a cheap pair of kitchen scissors and a couple of Rubbermaid containers for leftovers (I guess nobody previously had made food that involved leftovers).

In an earlier posting on this blog, I asked what kinds of things people felt were pantry staples; here I’d like to ask what sort of equipment my fellow cooks consider indispensable. Do you absolutely have to have a whisk or can you manage with a fork? Do you long for a wooden spoon, or are you OK with a plastic one? Do you need oven gloves (I do), or will a folded dishtowel do?

And what kind of recipes can you make in an unfamiliar environment, using ingredients from a foreign supermarket or street market? Pasta and risotto are widely available and endlessly variable. Salads are always an option (and one can buy lovely prepared salads in Paris). I always make my old standby, pork chops piquant, with Dijon mustard, red wine vinegar, and cornichons. But on occasion, I will lash out and try something new. Once it was rabbit in mustard sauce. This time I had a go with magret de canard. A qualified success, but I learned a few lessons for next time.

Here, for the record, is my old standby, culled from a copy of Saveur magazine circa 2002. The article had been written by a fellow who had discovered it in a 1970s paperback French cookbook. He had lost the original book, but had recreated a version of the original that uses some of our favourite flavours. We have tweaked it a bit.  

Pork Chops Piquant

Ingredients:
5 tbsp. olive oil
2 lbs. thin-cut pork chops
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 shallots, peeled & diced
6 tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 cup white wine
8 cornichons, chopped into small pieces
2 tbsp. Dijon mustard

Method:
Heat half the olive oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high heat. Season chops with salt and pepper. Brown chops on each side, about 1-2 minutes per side. Transfer the chops to a plate, and cover to keep warm.

Add the rest of the oil, over medium-high heat. Sauté the chopped shallots, until they begin to brown. Add vinegar and stir for a minute or so. Add wine and cook for a few minutes, until it thickens. Stir in cornichons, mustard, and any juices from the chops. Lower the heat and stir until the mixture makes a thick sauce. Put the chops back in, warm them through, and serve.

This recipe serves 4 people. For 2 people, use less pork, but about the same quantities of the other ingredients, because the sauce is what it’s all about.

The only picture I can offer is one of Norman wearing my apron and doing the dishes in the Paris kitchen. There is a dishwasher, but since there are so few everyday dishes in the cupboards, we do most dishwashing by hand. That’s why we bring extra dishtowels.

Happy New Year to everyone who reads or contributes to Eat and 2 Veg.

'Tis the season

I do love Christmas.  Not in an over the top way, and definitely not until December 1 hits.  I don't like it when the shops put out their Christmas goods in September, and am always vaguely distressed by the out of control advertising for things you don't want or need.  'This Christmas' should be banned from the airwaves, forever.  But there are many lovely things about this time of year. The parties, the lights, the scent of a newly cut Christmas tree (mine is bringing me out in hives, but at least is looking pretty while doing so).  Advent calendars, which I will apparently never be too old for.  And the food.  Most especially the baking.

This weekend I had some good friends around for an early celebration.  There were smoked salmon sandwiches and there was Prosecco, because tea just seemed too prosaic.  There were orange cupcakes with chocolate icing.  And there was gingerbread cake.  Which was too good not to share.

Gingerbread cake with lime
(adapted from Mary Berry)

250g/8oz softened butter
250g/8oz dark muscovado sugar
110g black treacle
375g/12oz plain flour
5 tsp ground ginger
2 tsp ground cinnamon
2 eggs, beaten
1 fresh ginger root (or a few pieces of stem ginger)
2 limes, zested
300ml milk
2 tsp bicarbonate of soda

You can cook this in any shape or size you want, but for reference, the mixture fills two 7" baking tins or one 10" tin.  I bet it would also make lovely muffins.

Start by preheating the oven to 160C/325F/Gas Mark 3, and greasing and lining whatever tin you decide to use.

In a saucepan, heat the butter, sugar and treacle over a low temperature, stirring until the mixture is smooth and all of the butter lumps have disappeared. Then take off the heat and set aside to cool slightly.

In a large bowl, mix together the flour and the spices. Be generous with the ginger, and add in any other spices you think might complement it.  Pour the treacle mix into the flour, and stir thoroughly until they are combined.  Stir the beaten eggs into the mix, and add half a grated ginger root.  Or more, if you desire.  It gives the cake a lovely low fire.  You could also chop up some crystallised stem ginger and throw that in.  I don't care for ginger pieces so they didn't make into my version of the cake.  Instead, I decided to add the zest of a lime.  I think that I could have done with twice that amount though, as the flavour didn't come through all that strongly.

Warm the milk gently in a saucepan, taking care that it doesn't get too hot and burn on the bottom of the pan. Add the bicarbonate of soda and let it foam a little. Add to the gingerbread mixture, and stir until well combined.

Pour the whole lot into your prepared tin and throw it in the oven for 45 minutes to an hour, until the top is starting to.  I found that my cake needed the full hour, since it was being cooked at a relatively lower heat.  Keep checking it to make sure that it doesn't burn though.  If a skewer inserted into the middle of the cake comes out clean, it's done.  Et voila!  I don't think this cake needs much else by way of adornment.  Just a sprinkle of icing sugar.

I was considering making a tarte tatin for Christmas Day this year, but think that this cake might just have moved into contention...

Sweet Potato and Almond Tarts

It's Thanksgiving in the US today - happy happy day if you're celebrating! As it's not a holiday here, I'm celebrating on Sunday, at which point I'm cooking the whole traditional meal with all the trimmings, so I probably won't be blogging. But it's a tradition of mine - and many - to start listening to Christmas music for the year while starting on the Thanksgiving baking, and I couldn't wait three more days, so here we are. I made this one up based on too many different recipes to mention - it's on the less sweet side, so adjust accordingly for taste. 

(Makes 24 tarts)

2x 365g rolls of shortcrust pastry (if you know how to make your own, you're way ahead of me)

Three sweet potatoes (approx 500g)

2 eggs

1x 170g tin of evaporated milk

50g ground almonds

50g sugar

Vanilla essence

Mixed spice (cinnamon, coriander, nutmeg, clove, ginger)

Preheat oven to 200c

Grease muffin/cupcake/tart tin (or whatever you call that thing with the dents in it)

Cut the pastry in 24 discs - should use almost all of it - I use a large coffee mug.

Put the pastry in the dent thingies.

Blind bake for 20 minutes.

Repeat if working in two batches.

Turn the oven down to 125c.

Peel and finely chop sweet potatoes.

Cover with cold water in a pan, bring to the boil, simmer until breaking apart (approx twenty minutes).

Drain, mash. 

Leave to cool for a few minutes.

Mix in evaporated milk, sugar, ground almonds, vanilla, spices, eggs. Stir thoroughly. 

Spoon into pastry cases, leaving room to rise.

Bake for  an hour, checking regularly. Adjust heat if pastry is browning too fast. Filling should be golden brown and firm.

My new Best Friends Forever

I suppose everyone goes through phases in which one cannot get enough of a certain foodstuff or method of cooking and develops a sudden passion, like those of adolescents for a temporary crush.

This week (or possibly month, for it has already lasted some time), my two special best friends forever-ever-ever are kale (or chard, if I can't find kale) and a new cooking pot called Gastrolux Biotan (registered trademark and don't you forget it). I even took a picture of the two together (and for those who know me, this has got to be a first-ever event).

What you see here is an unremarkable weeknight dinner, with a mix of brown and red rice, ground pork, onion, red and yellow peppers, zucchini (courgettes), and kale, in my wonderful new skillet.

The skillet is amazing because nothing burns and nothing sticks, and it doesn't flake like Teflon. You can throw any meat into it, without adding oil, and it will cook beautifully with whatever fat is already in the meat.

And kale is amazing, because you can heat it and wilt it and yet it remains robustly green and frilly, whereas spinach turns to slime under the same conditions. And I say this as someone who loves spinach.

I hasten to add that I am not being paid by the Gastrolux people or the Kale Kouncil of America to make these claims. I am honestly in thrall to my skillet and to greens that were once of only mild academic interest.

I sometimes use the skillet to do a quick stir-fry of kale (or chard) with a bit of olive oil and garlic; this then becomes a bed for any available protein (chicken, fish, steak).

I daresay that my crush will wane, as these things do, but for now it's me and my skillet, my bunch of kale, and my gas stove. We are invincible.

Courgette and potato cakes with mint and feta

My poor blog.  It should be suing me for neglect and emotional distress.  It's been a very busy summer, moving house and moving jobs, and I haven't had much time for culinary experimentation lately.  However, as the days grow shorter and colder and Christmas draws near, it is time to spend more time at home in the kitchen.   I hauled the slow cooker out for the first time in months today, and look forward to trying out some new stew recipes over the next few months.  No stew in this post though.  Instead, a Delia Smith recipe I've been meaning to try out for a while: courgette and potato cakes with mint and feta.  I'm a fairly recent feta convert, but now I use it in every dish that I can (and even some that I probably shouldn't).  It was perfect for these potato cakes though.  On their own they might have been a little bland, but the feta gave them a lovely sharpness and accompanied the mint and the courgette nicely.  So, without further ado:

Courgette and potato cakes with mint and feta cheese

6 medium courgettes (weighing about 700g)

4 medium Desirée potatoes (weighing about 700g)

4 tablespoons chopped fresh mint

450g feta cheese, crumbled

4 spring onions, finely chopped

2 large eggs, beaten

2 tablespoons plain flour

50g butter

1 ½ tablespoons olive oil

salt and freshly milled black pepper

First, grate the courgettes coarsely (leaving the skins on) and put them into a sieve. Then sprinkle them with 2 teaspoons of salt to draw out some of their excess moisture and leave them to drain for about an hour. While these are sitting, scrub the potatoes and place them in a large saucepan. Pour enough boiling water over them to just cover them, then simmer gently with a lid on for 8 minutes. When they are slightly tender, drain them and leave them aside until they’re cool enough to hold. Then peel them, grate them into a large bowl and season with salt and freshly milled black pepper.

When the courgettes have sat for an hour, run them under cold water.  Squeeze as much moisture as you can with your hands, then put them on a clean tea towel and roll it up to wring out the remaining water.  This was a neat trick - I'd never thought of doing it before, but it did help to get rid of the juices and prevented the cakes from ending up as soggy messes.  Add the courgettes to the grated potatoes, along with the spring onions, mint, feta and beaten eggs and toss the whole mixture together.

To prepare the cakes, divide the mixture into about 16 (or as many as you can get with the quantities you use), shape them into small rounds about 1 cm thick and then lightly dust them with flour.  The important thing is that they stick together.

To cook them, pre-heat the oven to 425°F (220°C). Melt the butter and oil in a small saucepan, then brush the cakes on both sides with it. When the oven is ready, place the cakes on trays, returning one to the top shelf and the other to the middle shelf for 15 minutes. After that, turn the cakes over, using a palette knife and a fork, swap the positions of the trays in the oven and cook them for a further 10-15 minutes, or until they are golden.

The recipe calls for them to be served hot, but I can confirm that they work well as cold leftovers too.  I think they were intended to be a side dish, but two of them make a lovely light lunch, accompanied by a green salad.

Roast aubergine, tomatoes and mozzarella

 Singin' in the rain

Well after today, if one doesn't sing, one is liable to shoot oneself.  The nonstop downpour from 10 am through until now, almost bedtime, was enough to make the silly ducks and chickens who live in the garden next door gurgle or gargle.  The farmyard noises are a constant, and I try not to think stews and roasts and endless wonderful casseroles when I hear them.  Oh dear, now I've just lost about a dozen of you and any other vegetarians who read this, of course.

Perhaps you will give me a second chance as the meal I made tonight was all veggie, up and down the line, and not a feathered friend in sight, except through the window but I was on to better things by then. 

David often finds good recipes in the Times which he reads online each morning.  He can't send articles by email  from that form but he can photograph with his blackberry and then email me a picture of the recipe.  It works, sort of, to a point.  The quality of the print is fuzzy and the pics all look like swamps with rushes but the ideas are great.  And this one of Lindsey Bareham's (and on the strength of this and several other successes of hers, I've ordered two of her cookbooks) is so simple it's almost embarrassing to add but it's another way of attacking the mighty aubergine and a most attractive dish if done properly.  Not sure my pics will do it justice as I'm not good at multi tasking, but you'll get the general idea and if you like aubergines, then give it a whirl.

For 2 people:

2 medium aubergines
olive oil
6 large, ripe, vine tomatoes
2 garlic cloves (Lindsey says four, but unless you're alone for the weekend, be sensible!)
couple of handfuls of Basil leaves (recipe calls for 50 but life is simply too short)
2 buffalo mozzarella, drained (lump kind, packed in water)

Oven to 200ºC/gas mark 6

Line a roasting tin with tin foil, shiny side up.  Halve the aubergines lengthwise.  Cut a diagonal lattice pattern in each cut side about 2 cm wide.  Brush olive oil over the tops.  Roast for 10 - 12 minutes in the oven until the centres begin to soften.

Arrange the halved tomatoes, cut side up, around the aubergines and drizzle with oil and seasoning if desired.  Return tin to oven and roast for another 10 to 15 minutes until the tomatoes are squashy.  Remove from oven, scatter minced garlic cloves over aubergine and flip tomatoes so that they are arranged cut side down on top of aubergine.  Cut thick slices of mozzarella to cover the top and return to oven briefly until the cheese begins to melt.

 


Tear basil leaves over top before serving.

David prefers a grated hard cheese to the mozzarella which does get a bit 'stodgy' if the slices clump together.  Any cheese would work and goat cheese might be best of all.  Let me know if you have any other good ideas.

Dog days fish

A few days in August are known as the dog days because the dog star Sirius appears in the heavens. Or because our neighbour's friend arrives for a visit with her enthusiastic and very vocal Bouvier by the name of Luke. One or the other.

My husband is working flat out on renovations in our basement, and I am helping my mother prepare for a move to a much smaller flat. Everyone is a bit too hot and a bit too stressed.

Tonight, in an effort to reduce stress levels, I made one of my easy-peasy, never-fail recipes. The original version came from "The Ultimate Book of Fish and Shellfish" by Kate Whiteman. I am now at the point, however, where I just glance at the recipe, think "Oh, yes," and carry on. I never follow the rules exactly.

The recipe calls for fresh fish. I use frozen.

The recipe calls for fresh parsley. I consider it optional.

The recipe calls for sunflower oil. I use any oil that's handy.

The recipe calls for "wholemeal breadcrumbs." I throw stale baguette into the grinder and use that.

But...

The recipe calls for fresh tomatoes. At this time of year, fresh local Ontario tomatoes are wonderful and we usually have a basketful on the counter.

All in all, a match made in heaven.The fish has the nice crunchiness of bread-crumbed fish without the wallpaper-paste starchiness of traditional batter.

So here we go.

Ingredients:

5 or 6 medium-sized pieces of frozen cod. Or haddock. Or some other white fish.

2 or 3 fresh tomatoes.

1 or 2 lemons, from which you have extracted the zest (grated rind) and the juice.

Breadcrumbs created from whatever has outlived its best-before date in your fridge.

Oil. Your choice.

Heat the oven to 200oC or 400oF. Check to make sure you have some white wine. Put a little oil in the bottom of a baking dish and arrange the fish in a single layer. Slice the tomatoes and layer them on top. Mix up the lemon zest/rind, lemon juice, a few tablespoons of breadcrumbs, and a teaspoon or so of oil. Spread it over the tomatoes. Put the lot into the oven for 20 or so minutes. Check to see if it is cooked through. Serve with salad or reheated frozen veggies or whatever else causes the minimum amount of stress. Pour a glass of white wine for the chef and other eaters. Relax.

As usual, I never think of food photography in time to add it to the blog. So for decoration, I have a photograph that I took of an heirloom tomato that I tasted in Charlottesville, Virginia, which had been grown in the gardens of Monticello, the house once owned and occupied by Thomas Jefferson. This is the kind of tomato that ruins you for all other tomatoes, because it has about 10 times the taste of supermarket tomatoes. It was probably the best thing I tasted in the whole time I spent in Virginia.

 Now if I had one of those and a fresh fish, just imagine what the recipe would taste like!

The Devil's Fish

I don't like anchovies. I don't like how they taste or look. I don't like their inclusion on an otherwise delicious pizza. I don't like the way that their salty sharpness dominates a recipe. They are, as far as I'm concerned, The Devil's Fish. And yet... I have cooked a recipe that uses them quite subtly; one that I don't think I'll be leaving anchovies out of in future. I have found these anchovies to be... useful.

The recipe is for classic pork pies, yet another dish that I thought came straight out of a deli or fridge section of whichever chain food store you wish to mention. Amazingly, you can make them at home: this recipe is one lovingly collected from Stylist magazine's "gourmet on the go" section. I imagine that the editor must think that the cook "on the go" is a three-toed sloth, because making these pork pies took me hours. (Incidentally, I think Stylist has gone downhill a bit in recent months; I used to rely on it for my free weekly girly-fix, but I just don't find it that essential anymore. But I digress.)

In addition to a substantial amount of time, you need:

for the pastry
450g of plain flour
one egg
175g lard
one teaspoon of salt
one teaspoon of sugar;

for the filling
300g pork belly (skin removed)
300g pork shoulder
two anchovies in oil (drained)
200g smoked bacon
half a nutmeg seed (grated)
salt and pepper to season;

for the jelly
three gelatine leaves
200ml good chicken stock
100ml sweet sherry
one plastic syringe;

with
butter for greasing
flour for dusting and rolling
one egg, beaten with a pinch of salt for glazing.

I started on the pastry first, mixing the flour with the egg and stirring while I melted the lard in a pan of 175ml of water, adding the salt and sugar as I went. Bringing the mixture to the boil then taking if off the heat after 30 seconds, I added this to the flour / egg mixture, stirring all the time.





Once the dough was sticky, I covered it with a tea towel, letting it rest for one hour, before turning it out onto a floured work surface to flatten. I then folded the flattened dough into thirds by taking one side into the middle and pressing down, then repeating with the other side.




I flattened this into an oblong shape and placed it on a baking tray covered with greaseproof paper and put it into the fridge for 30 minutes.

Next came the meat. After dicing the pork belly and shoulder, I mixed them with the anchovies (holding them at arm's length) before whizzing the lot of them in a food processor until they were mincemeat. I then diced the bacon and stirred this in before adding the nutmeg and seasoning.





After turning the oven on to 180ºC / gas mark 4, I took out the pastry and rolled it out on a floured surface. I folded it into three then rolled it out again until it was about three millimetres thick. From this, I cut out eight 12 cm-wide circles and eight 8cm-wide circles.

I greased eight metal pie moulds, dusted them with flour and lined with the 12cm pastry circle, leaving a little over-lapping. To each, I added one eighth of my pork filling, before placing the 8cm pastry circle on top, crimping the edges as I went.


After brushing them with egg wash and skewering a hole in the top, I placed them in the hot oven and baked for 40 minutes. Once out, I placed them on a rack to cool for two hours.

Now for the jelly. I soaked the gelatine in water for two minutes then squeezed out the excess water. This gelatine was added to the heated chicken stock and sherry and I stirred until it was dissolved, before cooling until it was thick enough to pour... fun and games were approaching.

I've never added jelly to a recipe like this before. The instructions stated using a syringe and, considering that I didn't know where the nearest needle exchange was situated, found myself in Sainsbury's buying a syringe for adding icing. (This, for reasons about to be made plain, may not be the best instrument for such a task. If you can think of a better one for next time, please let me know.)

I filled the syringe's body with the jelly and squeezed it into the hole I'd made in the top of the pastry. While a fair amount made it into the pie, a good deal of the jelly made it all over the work surface. Most annoying. I placed the whole lot in the fridge overnight, although eight hours would have been enough: I think I'd had enough of the process by this time.

However, when I took the pies out of the fridge the following morning, I was most pleased with the results: a lovely, crumbly pastry with a firm, meaty filling and a pleasant jellied surround awaited me as I sliced into the first pork pie. I added some mustard to the second slice; a little brown sauce to the third. They were lovely, providing me with a pleasant lunch for the next few days, when consumed with a large salad.


As to the Devil's Fish, I thought it blended in quite nicely. Will I try it again?