kale pasticcio

fantastical cupcakes

the radical muffin kitchen hosted dinner to celebrate our new winter farmshare wherein we decorated these schnazzy cupcakes. Seems the artists were either too enamored with the art or too stuffed from supper to eat them. So although the buttermilk cake is worth a post someday, the recipe everyone has been clamoring for is the make-do casserole served up alongside the root veggie soup.

let’s call it brioche kale pasticcio, shall we? In Italian, literally, “a mess.” Yet in la buona cucina, it is something divine.  In the classic Italian kitchen, veggies and béchamel would snuggle amongst themselves or with some macaroni. This version holds custard not classic white sauce and is dense with rich bread, so emerges a golden savory bread pudding bedecked with greens.

slice and caramelize one medium mild onion in a heavy skillet with butter. Rinse and rip a generous bunch of kale into bite sized pieces and set aside.

butter a large casserole dish, and set your oven to 375°.

slice and cube a heap of day old brioche. We happened to have an acquired loaf lying around; brioche ain’t cheap. Although it is incomparable for soaking and cooking, as in for French toast or this, any dry bread will do. Play with whole grains, baguettes, etc. to create varying textures of wholesomeness. Toss bread cubes in a big bowl.

melt ¾ stick of butter in a small saucepan over low flame. Add a dash of salt, pepper and paprika, and slowly pour in about a cup and a half of whole milk. Bring just to a simmer then turn off the heat. In a bowl aside, whisk together three eggs. Pour the milk/butter in a thin stream into the eggs, merrily whisking all the while.

crumble about a cup of fresh white cheese. We had some marvelous German-styled something from our CSA. Farmer’s cheese, ricotta or feta would also work well. Shred as much hard salty cheese, like parmesan (as was used) or gruyére.

dump most of the custard and half the cheese into the bread crumbs and turn turn turn until all combined. Add in the onions and kale; mix well.  Turn out into the casserole, shake the pan to settle it all together and maybe give a gentle pat. Drizzle with remaining custard (dot with butter if it looks too dry), and cover with the remaining cheese.

bake until the custard is cooked through and the cheese is all melty and browning in spots. About half an hour. We used a pretty deep casserole here so the high temperature did not overcook the delicate custard. Similar recipes often call for baking in a water bath, which hasn’t proven necessary. Of course, if you are a crunchy top junkie then use a broad shallow pan and cook for less time. Keep on eye on it any which way.

sweet transcupcakes from transsexual transylvania

it will be difficult to keep waiting diners at bay, but do let this set ten minutes or so before serving. More mouthwatering than cupcakes, apparently. Certainly, there was none left to photograph.

of cabbages and kings (there were shoes in that bit too)

scape handler

Diogenes advised the young man, “If you lived on cabbage, you would not be obliged to flatter the powerful.”  To this, the courtier replied, “If you flattered the powerful, you would not be obliged to live on cabbage. “

we still had a pound and a half of cabbage after the preacher eater’s adventure in kimchi.  The fermenting project netted us a huge jar of fruity-peppery, gingery pickled cabbage and carrots with plenty to gift to the neighbors, but half a head of Savoy and an entire red cabbage began accruing squatter’s rights in the left crisper drawer.

virtuous, humble and reliable, cabbage earned accolades in ancient Rome and held its own among the French Court of Catherine de Medici.  It plays mythical roles from beau diviner to baby-maker to  faerie land wormhole gateway.  Ubiquity and poor handling put this staple out of favor.  Outside of the obligatory 4^th of July coleslaw and a few dedicated sauerkrauters, we mostly avoid cabbage, rumored to generate stink as it cooks and after you eat it.  Like so many misunderstood foods, these unfortunate experiences are not really the cabbages’ fault, yet the stigma remains.

so she was gasping when she called me from the farm share pick-up, Guess what’s in the share? Cabbage!

we almost swapped that cabbage out.  Our CSA site has a box to trade stuff you might not want: hate broccoli?  take your neighbor’s unloved turnips.  One cook’s trash is after all…

we had a cart like that in grade school in the gym turned lunchroom. I kept my much maligned salami sandwiches to myself but always took a cruise around the table for anything interesting.  It was perpetually teaming with inside-out pb&j sandwiches mangled in transit, bashed up bananas, and overly red apples that you knew were mealy despite stiff and shiny skins.  Disappointing.  Although the CSA swap box held far more promise, the farmer was giving us Napa cabbage, a new variety for our growing collection.  Humbled to fate, perhaps, we decided to confront our cabbage surplus head on.

as soon as our newest cabbage arrived home, we went right for the heart, putting away 3 bunches of outer leaves and pulling the central leaves for instant salad.  We also shredded that lingering red cabbage, mixing half with shredded new beets and olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper—jarred this.

for Instant Gratification CSA Salad, combine a quarter of a red cabbage, shredded, with the innermost pale green leaves of Napa cabbage in a huge glass bowl.  Rinse a handful each of the finest of spinach and beet greens.  Stem the spinach and roll the beet greens up like a cigar, slice them and add to the other greens.  Scrub and slice thin three Japanese radishes—not those leg of lamb sized Daikon, these were round like typical red radishes but pure white and milder—and add to the salad.

then come the scapes, wonderfully loopy and green, like bracelets.  Discard the stringy tips at the bulb end then slice the bulb just below the neck then slice it open lengthwise.  Slice a few inches of the green stem the same way, long, elegant, on the diagonal.  Rinse off a handful of pea pods, pop off the stem end if it is tough (ours were utterly edible).  Slice in half if they are long then lengthwise, right through the peas, split their tiny equators.  The cutaway of the inner landscape is pretty like the scapes.  Heat a small frying pan over a medium flame and pour in a few slugs of olive oil.  Toss in the scapes and the peas, salt and pepper and toss them around over high heat for a few minutes, until the peas are bright green.  Dump right from the pan into the salad bowl and toss.  Squeeze half a lemon over the whole thing, toss some more and serve.  This salad accompanied BBQ tempeh sandwiches to our table.

the next night, several bunches of Napa leaves went into a skillet pie reminiscent of stuffed cabbage rolls but far less work:

break dried spaghetti into 1-inch lengths for about a cup of broken noodles; boil and drain them.  Cook a cup of quinoa for about 15 minutes in 2 cups of boiling stock.  While the grains and pasta cook, chop several scapes (or garlic) and shell some peas.  We had about ¼ cup of peas and saved the pods for miso soup.  Toss garlic and peas with the pasta and grains in a big bowl along with salt and pepper.  The stock we had on hand was deep with mushroom flavor, which I think made this the best sort of comfort food, a dish that draws the eater in to pause then wraps you in thick, familiar flavor, smelling really good.

in a big, cast iron skillet, sauté half an onion, chopped, in a bit of butter and olive oil.  Add ½ a pound of tempeh, chopped, along with salt, pepper, red pepper flakes and paprika, turning and cooking until it begins to brown.  Ladle in about a cup of stock and a few stalks of spicy basil or other herbs then bring to a simmer, steaming the tempeh.  When the stock has evaporated, turn the tempeh in with the grains and stir.  Let this all cool just a bit then crack in an egg, stir.

preheat the oven to 400° and wipe out your heavy skillet.  Melt 3 tablespoons or so of butter and spread a layer of bread cubes (about 3 slices of bread, cubed) along the bottom of the pan.  Season and toast the bread over high for a few minutes, turning to coat all sides in butter.  Smooth out the bread layer and cover with the grain/tempeh and over that layer several rounds of Napa cabbage leaves.  Crumble fresh feta and shred some parmesan cheese over the leaves; dot with butter and sprinkle with paprika.  Bake the whole thing for about 20 minutes, until the leaves are soft and cheese is melted.  In a bigger casserole, there could be a few layers and, I imagine, delectable.

summer jewelry

we have some of the remaining cabbage earmarked for miso soup, and surely the last bit of red cabbage will go into our daily lunch salads, or maybe this kale and cabbage slaw.  Getting through all this cabbage was originally about conquering it, but this affair turned out much tastier triumphs.  And we still have kimchi.

** with affection to alice & her creator, who gave me so many things to talk about then eat

fire escape salad

come as you are!

the trouble with writing about salad is that making salad is not really cooking but assembling.  Yet, these are essential ensembles.  Consider this your salad reminder— salads make a fine meal from a cool kitchen.  With global weirding subjecting us at random from this day forth to the heat formally relegated to the official months of summer, the oven’s days are numbered.  Even off the shaded garbage courtyard, this Brooklyn apartment kitchen can get hotter than crêpes suzette come summer.  Maybe the possibilities of salad make hot weather an ideal time for wooers-not-cookers to court; salad can be high on haute and low on technique.  What matters most is the freshness of the goods, and the whole rainbow of plantdom is pretty much a candidate. It goes without saying that salad is really good for you.

this salad thrills because it is composed mostly of bounty off our fire escape, where we’re nurturing a container garden of lettuce and herbs, plus catnip for the miraculous flying cat, the K. Pidds.

the k. pidds

in scavenged tubs, two kinds of lettuce are putting out sails of green and red leaves.  After harvesting greens the size of my hand, the still unfurling centers promise more salad to come.  I hope to add Tom Thumb and Little Gem.  If we add rocket, soon we’ll have mesclun.

authorities claim the key to a gorgeous salad is well-rinsed and gently, thoroughly dried greens.  Simple oil and vinegar dressing clings to dry leaf sides.  In Unplugged Kitchen, Viana la Place not only feels “a keen excitement” when she sits down to eat a dish of beautiful green leaves, she writes: “Harvesting lettuce leaves in the garden right before supper creates a romantic vision, but it also allows us to derive the full benefits from each ruffled, fragrant leaf.”

a heartfelt Italian cook, Viana delivers 25 recipes for lovely salads, including beloved veggies: purslane, artichokes, beets, and old fashioned potato and nasturium salad.  As I nod to her here, she gleefully shares “salade fatigue” by 1960s fashion impresario Simonetta, an Italian in Paris and a Snob in the Kitchen:

many of Simonetta’s salads, including this one, call for the salad to “season” for an hour before serving.  For Simonetta, a salad must be fatigué, “tired,” to be good; it must be “mixed, beaten, and drunk with its dressing.”

current food fashions have veered away from greens besotted with dressing but beaten and drunk have a certain camp appeal.  She recommends whacking towel wrapped greens against the counter to tenderize them, also a satisfying way to call forth the essential oils in herbs going whole leaf into salad.

fire escape salad

our herb garden includes spicy or Greek basil, a diminutive cousin of the towering Italian type classically paired with fresh sliced tomatoes and creamy mozzarella in mid-summer.  Also tiny, forest green peppermint.  Lime basil, with slender, petal-thin leaves.  Sage that has since been menaced by the weather and lost its leaves but seems to be reviving.  Creeping thyme, lots of it, my favorite.

rosemary too, which is now only three branches strong but with care will become a bush and burst forth with fragrant purple blossoms.  Those will go in the salad too.  Rosemary needles, with the resiny toughness of an evergreen (though it’s a member of the mint family), are better cooked, even for salad.  Bringing me off the fire escape and into the pantry for staples that made this salad a meal.

cannellini beans cooked with one healthy branch of our little shrub and a bit of salt and fresh ground pepper.  When boiled tender, drain the beans in a colander and toss with a pour of olive oil, salt, fresh pepper and handfuls of fresh herbs.  While the beans cook, slice a red onion very fine and soak the shreds in ice water for at least 10 minutes to take the bite out.  Marinade in balsamic vinegar, salt and pepper for as long as you like.

in your biggest, best salad bowl, gently combine the beans and onions with your greens, including that succulent lettuce and fresh herbs.  Just lift the onions out of their marinade with a fork.  Despite Simonetta’s preferences, the vinegar soaked onions and oiled beans will carry plenty of dressing into the salad.  Croutons are nice, and grated parmesan.  Serve with crusty white bread toasted and sliced, along with a plate of very fine olive oil with a pool of honey in its center, sprinkle with sea salt and a crank of fresh pepper.  Trust me.

fried mashed potatoes

put a large pot of water on to boil.  scrub 6 small potatoes; I like the red ones.  Quarter them and plop them into the water at a rolling boil.  Cook for 8-10 minutes or until soft.  Drain and return to the pot if your pot can stand the up-coming beating or dump into a heavy bowl.

add three tablespoons of butter to the potatoes.  Sprinkle liberally with sea salt and pepper and herbs; pick about 2 tablespoons of fresh thyme if you have it, but this round I just used dried thyme and basil, about a teaspoon each.  Drizzle with about a ¼ cup of heavy cream.  Using one of the most fabulous inventions of all time—the hand potato masher—mash mash mash.  Save a few lumps for texture, having left the skins on helps some bits hold together (plus – pretty!).

shred about ½ a cup of hard cheese like parmesan or gruyere would be nice; we had some schmany delectable cheese I cannot remember the name of now.  Beat an egg or, to be really decadent, an egg plus one yolk.  Stir in half the egg and most of the cheese, just saving some for decorative pre-table topping, into the potatoes with a wooden spoon.  Set aside the egg in a shallow bowl and whisk in a little cream.  In another shallow bowl, spread panko flakes or bread crumbs.

heat a cast iron skillet or your heaviest, if you are not blessed with cast iron, which should acquire as soon as possible.  Add a bit of olive oil or butter or a nice half’n’half mix of the two.

form the potato mash into patties, dredge quickly in the egg/cream, press a few sage leaves into it – or one big dramatic one- then press the patty in the breading, flip and press the other side.  Fry.  A few minutes on each side, going for golden brown.  Transfer to a toweled plate to rest and drain excess oil.

you can fry two or three potato patties at a time, just be sure not to crowd the skillet.  Dredge out any escaped bits of breading before they burn and taint your oil.  This does not have to be a deep fry job; using just enough oil for things not to stick creates plenty of golden fried goodness to satisfy.

these are freaking amazing.  I cannot imagine what they would not be good with, but here are some ideas: oniony, garlicky sautéd greens like kale or collards; veggie sausage (which I like to pepper a lot and eat with maple syrup) and a fried egg; red lentils with plain yoghurt and hot pepper sauce; fried apples’n’onions…oh, yes- with sour cream.  I love fall.

miso awesome soup

The amounts here are for a generous bowl for one voracious feminista yogi. This soup is quite adaptable by size – feed your feminista yogi flock!

Bring a pot of water to boil and cook a handful of udon noodles. The corner health mart carries an organic brand that comes in 8 oz packets with three bundles of noodles, and one bundle is just right amount for a big bowl. (One big bowl eating is typically friendly cooking for one eater, one broke but taste-conscious eater. Those inspired, sexy soups, pastas, and salads you whip up for dates with your one true one want a roomy, gorgeous bowl. Right now my favorite is a ceramic piece that heats up comfortingly in my lap when I sit cross legged on the couch. This bowl, runny with glaze in cinnamon, oatmeal and cream, is my flat mate’s handmade treasure. I gotta find my own perfect piece; I will let you know how the quest goes.)

Slice two or three scallions (green onions). Peel and mince an inch of ginger and two cloves of garlic. Slice three or four thin slices of chili. Chili is highly subjective; know thyself.

In a medium sized sauce pan, heat a few teaspoons of vegetable oil and sesame oil. When a flick of water sizzles in the oil, lower the heat and add the chili, garlic, ginger, and scallions along with some sea salt and black pepper. Add two to four tablespoons of tamari.

Clean off your mushrooms—any kind you like, of course. I used the smallest possible shitakes and creminis, carefully de-stemmed and cleaned with a paper towel. Sauté the mushrooms briefly in the fiery oil, about five minutes, until their heads are glistening and glossy brown.

Pour broth over the frying mushrooms, about 3 cups. Bring broth to a boil.

Halve a lemon. Snip a cup or so of watercress and add it to your bowl.

Lower heat and with the soup at a low simmer, squeeze in the lemon juice from both halves and stir in two tablespoons of miso. Bring back to a fine simmer and pour over the delicate greens.

I eat this with two tools: chopsticks and a big, shallow spoon.

Ridiculously good chard tart

Thaw a package of puff pastry. More power to you if you make your own. Puff pastry is so labor intensive, however, that even the most ambitious cooks typically buy it, like phyllo dough.

Chop a pile of chard. Oh—that sounds so brute! considering the chard we had in hand this November. After the bunch was rinsed, I held a leaf up like an X-ray, a stained glass, to the window, and with the sunlight shining through, it was a cartooned tree of tall, cumulous shape in sea-vegetable Green with Fuschia branches, pink veins edged in lit white. Layer the leaves on top of each other and roll like a cigar, slice from the end to your fingers to make long shreds. Then slice across these shreds to make bite sized pieces.

Peel and chop two shallots. Toast a handful of pine nuts in a dry skillet. Zest a lemon (again – organic, the peel!). Hold these ingredients in little bowls or dishes until you are ready to incorporate them into the dish.

Heat your oven to 375º. Heat a shallow skillet over medium heat to cook your greens. Melt about a tablespoon of butter and toss in the shallots. Let the shallots cook for a few minutes (3-ish) and then toss the shard over it along with half the lemon zest. Cook the greens down, stirring occasionally. About 10 minutes total. Let sit in the pan with the heat off.

Stir together ½ a cup of Greek yoghurt and ½ a cup of feta cheese along with the remaining lemon zest.

Crush ¾ of the pine nuts in whatever way is easiest in your kitchen. I crush them on a cutting board with a wine bottle, not rolling pin style but screwing and crushing with the round bottom. Stir the crushed pine nuts into the greens along with a handful of currants.

On a cookie sheet, layout a full sheet of puff pastry and turn up the edges all the way around to make a crust. Pinch over about a quarter inch and use your fingertips to squish the folded over edge into the main body of the dough. Spread the feta and yoghurt along the pastry. Spread the chard mixture on top of the creamy layer. Sprinkle with more feta and the whole pine nuts. Bake at 375º for 15-20 minutes or until the puff pastry is golden. Let rest for 10 minutes or so, slice into squares, and serve hot.

kohlrabi salad with purslane and mysterious mini-greens

the kohlrabi plant has its own special way of being a vegetable

The Kitchen Gardener’s Companion, Pat Katz’s A-Z encyclopedia for using the food that you grow, 2000

oh, pat, it’s true. kohlrabies look like alien vegetables or vehicles – door knob sized bulbs of waxy celery green or purple like shredded purple coleslaw cabbage. Since hardly any one eats it, kohlrabi gets compared to everything: cabbage, turnip, cauliflower. It is like the asian pear of veggies. Impossible to describe; go find them.

5 small purple kohlrabis, broken off from their stalks and leaves. Pare away any nubbins or hard spots but no need to go so far as peeling. Cut them into cubes. Sauté them in a bit of olive oil and the juice of half a lemon over medium heat for about 10 minutes. Let them sit in the hot pot until your greens are ready.

pick over 5 generous handful of greens. This week I got purslane, some mild form of mustard with tiny, ruffled leaves, and a mysterious micro-plant with a transluscent stem and two bitty leaves, like clover. I think any mix of mild fresh summer greens would be good, but the purslane’s nice because it is so juicy and queer.

in a big bowl, toss the greens with the hot kohlrabi and dressing. For the dressing, shake together in a jar:

1/3 cup balsamic vinegar

¼ cup of olive oil

½ tsp sea salt

½ tsp black pepper

¼ cup minced, fresh cilantro

It is surprising that kohlrabies are not better known, since they are easy to grow and store, as well as being easy to enjoy in many different ways. Their name is German, taken from the Italian caroli rape, cabbage turnip.

The Kitchen Gardener’s Companion, Pat Katz’s A-Z encyclopedia for using the food that you grow, 2000

black radish and spinach salad

• black radish (one, maybe two if you are spicy; they’re beautiful, kinda witchy)
• spinach (one bunch)
• pear (bosc pears are particularly nice, and if it is earlier in fall, apples)
• lemon

• garlic
• fresh sage
• dijon mustard
• olive oil
• balsamic

• a big salad bowl

 

for dressing

 

Roast one head of garlic. Mince two cloves of garlic and one tablespoon of fresh sage. whisk together 1 teaspoon dijon mustard, 4 bulbs of roasted garlic, minced raw garlic, sage with about ½ cup olive oil and ¼ cup of balsamic.

 

for salad

 

Cut the pear in half, then in quarters and slice off the remainder of the core. Cut into thin slices (leave peeled). Squeeze half a lemon over the pear.

 

Peel the radish.  Then shave patches of radish into the salad bowl.  A veggie peeler or paring knife will work as a tool.

Rinse the sand off the spinach.  (If you do not have sand and grit in your spinach, then it is from a bag or some other such garbage. While I utterly appreciate the feeling of liberation at not having to clean or cut your own veggies, it is just not worth the risk of E. coli (Escherichia coli) for your self and the destruction of the environment for everyone else.) Use icy cold water so the greens stay crisp and gently but thoroughly pat dry. I lay out salad greens on a clean kitchen towel or paper towels or some combination of absorbent materials and lightly roll it all up like a sleeping bag.

 

 

Rip spinach into slightly larger than bite sized pieces.

Toss everything with the dressing in the salad bowl. I use my hands.