Skillet Cornbread

Living in Seattle has opened my eyes to many culinary traditions.  One of my favorites is Southern U.S. cooking.  Exploring that culinary region is like inverting Midwest comfort food.  In the Midwest many of our beloved dishes come baked in a casserole dish.  In the south they retreat to their barbecues and stove tops; many dishes are made in a stockpot, on the grill, or in a skillet. 

I didn't grow up eating cornbread.  With Wisconsin being predominately German and Norwegian we had rye, potato, and cheese breads, as well as loaves of white sandwich breads.  The former paired well with meats, potatoes, and casseroles; the latter with bologna and cheese. 

In Seattle I began experimenting with different foods, and in the past eleven years I have vastly increased my cooking repertoire.  Cornbread has made its way into my life, and more specifically: skillet cornbread.  It is what I want whenever I make chili, butternut squash soup, or chowder; it is a wonderful accompaniment to any blustery night.

My recipe was adapted from Greg Atkinson’s book West Coast Cooking.  Atkinson explains west coast cooking “represents both the oldest and the newest trends of the nation.”    

A note about oil: we have been using grapeseed oil and avocado oil as our primary cooking oils.  grapeseed oil is high in polyunsaturated fat, and avocado oil is high in monounsaturated fat; both oils are better than olive oil for cooking at high heat, and healthier than canola oil. 

Ingredients:

1 cup unbleached white flour

1 cup whole grain cornmeal

1 tablespoon baking powder

1 teaspoon kosher salt

1 egg

1/3 cup brown sugar

1/3 cup grapeseed oil, plus 2 tablespoons for the skillet

1 cup half and half

1 cup fresh or frozen corn

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Place a 10-inch cast iron skillet into the preheating oven while the batter is being prepared.  In a large mixing bowl combine the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, and salt.  In a smaller bowl whisk together the egg and sugar, and then add 1/3 cup oil, then whisk in the half and half.  Fold the wet ingredients into the dry, and then fold in the corn; stir only enough to combine the ingredients.  

Using a hot pad remove the skillet from the oven.  Add 2 tablespoons of oil and swirl it into the pan.  Scrape the batter into the skillet, and if needed use a knife or a mini offset spatula to nudge the batter to the edges.  Bake the cornbread for 15 minutes.  Cut it into wedges, and serve it hot with your favorite soup, chili, or stew.  

Pizza Patate

My husband and I have a wonderful tradition: we visit bakeries on trips, and we buy bread to bring home with us. The tradition began in New York City, the magical place where we fell in love.  On that fateful trip, we discovered Russ and Daughters, a Jewish deli where we bought a dozen bagels to put in our freezer.  We found Orwashers, a bakery on the Upper East Side that has been baking bread for almost 100 years.  Our last stop was more intentional; it was Sullivan Street Bakery.  I had wanted to visit Jim Lahey’s shop for a couple of years, ever since I had begun baking his breads and pizzas.  His book had been a big inspiration for me since it changed the way I thought about home baking.  His Dutch-oven method had enabled me to make bakery-quality bread in my apartment, despite having a finicky electric oven.  I was in love.  Being in his bakery solidified that. 

Baking pizza is a big passion of mine.  I have played with many different styles of pizza, and every time I go back to Jim Lahey’s original pizza method.  He has since come out with a second book, My Pizza where he changed his recipe and methods; both are great, but I have realized I am definitely a pan girl. 

Fast forward to last summer when we spent a month in Rome.  Before we left on our trip I was reminded by one of my father-in-laws that Jim Lahey did his apprenticeship at a bakery in Rome.  I was excited to go where it all began.

It surprised me that a city as large as Rome would have a unique baking style. It’s not like in New York where there are bakeries from many different ethnicities.  Another big difference in a Roman bakery is that their pastry shops are separate.  Italian bakeries will have some sweet things, but they will be more subtle.  For example they may have a few types of cookies on display.  The serious sweets are found in the patisseries. 

Every bakery in Rome had loaves of bread, some rolls, and in the front of the stores are long, rectangular slabs of pizza and thick cut focaccia bread.  Some had layers of mushrooms, while others were studded with green olives, and plump, roasted tomatoes.  There was always one type with just cheese and thick tomato sauce oozing out over the edges.  Once I saw the Roman bakeries, I understood where Jim found his inspiration for his bakery; it felt like coming full circle.  I knew I would go home and expand my repertoire. 

One of Jim’s pizzas is called Pizza Patate; I had always wanted to make it.  Last weekend we had a fall party and we remembered the recipe for Pizza Patate.  We had some Yukon Gold potatoes on hand, and we almost always do our own breads for parties.  The pizza is baked in an oiled half-sheet pan, and it has a wonderful texture that is both chewy and crunchy.  The thinly sliced potatoes are the perfect ratio to the dough, and the rosemary and onion are nice complements to the big picture.  We had many items on our spread at the party, but the Pizza Patate stole the show. 

Adapted from Jim Lahey

Dough Ingredients:

1 1/3 cups or 300 grams room temperature water

2 ½ teaspoons or 10 grams active dry yeast

3 ¾ cups or 500 grams bread flour

1 1/3 teaspoons or 8 grams kosher salt

High heat cooking oil, such as grapeseed or avocado, for the 13x18 half-sheet pan

Topping Ingredients:

1 quart or 800 grams lukewarm water

4 teaspoons or 24 grams sea salt

6-8 or 1 kilo Yukon Gold potatoes (we used part red French fingerlings, and that turned out to be a pretty color contrast)

1/3 cup cooking oil

1 cup or 100 grams diced yellow onion

½ teaspoon or 2 grams freshly ground black pepper

1 sprig fresh rosemary

The potatoes for this can be prepped up to a day ahead, but you could also prep them while your dough is rising.  For the potatoes: Slice them thinly on a mandolin or about 1/16^th of an inch by hand with a very sharp knife.  Soak them in the salt and water for at least 1 hour.  Before you are going to top the pizza, dry the potatoes well on paper towels.  Mix the potatoes with the oil, salt, pepper, and onion. 

Allow two hours for the dough.  Mix together the ingredients for about 30 seconds.  Try and stir going the same direction in the bowl in an effort to not break up the developing gluten strands.  If the dough is not coming together because it appears dry, hydrate the dough a tablespoon at a time.  When the dough is fully hydrated and mixed, cover the bowl with saran or a flour sack towel for 1 ½ hours. 

Preheat the oven to 500 degrees.  Lightly flour a prep surface.  Using a bowl scraper, turn the dough out onto the counter.  Flour your hands as needed, and working your way around the dough, form into a ball.  Flour the top of the dough and cover for 30 minutes. 

Using a pastry brush, oil the pan, including the sides.  Turn the dough, flour side down, onto the pan.  Gently nudge the dough into the pan, stretching it evenly throughout.  Spread the potatoes over the surface of the dough, coming all the way to the edges.  You can put more potato around the periphery since the edges cook faster than the middle.  Scatter the rosemary over the top.  Bake for 30-35 minutes. 

Let the pizza cool a bit before cutting into it.  I used a sharp serrated blade in lieu of a pizza cutter for this pizza, and I took my time cutting, so I didn't disturb the topping too much.  Good luck! This is a recipe that does well with slow and steady, and also your guests are going to love you.  

Buttermilk Rolls

Each year at Thanksgiving dinner I fill my plate with anticipation of all of the dishes I get to taste. Sage stuffing has been one of my favorites since I was little, but what I love the most at Thanksgiving are the buttery rolls.  Soft dinner rolls have a modest way of pulling a plate together.  I like eating one roll with my turkey, and another one with the fixings.  

My affection for rolls isn't just a Thanksgiving thing.  Whenever we visit a bakery I buy a half-dozen rolls and freeze them in packs of two for later; bread is our favorite souvenir.  

Throughout the year when we make special dinners, I like to bake bread to pair with what we are having.  We have great local bread in Seattle, but I think it adds such a nice touch to make our own; it is also much more cost effective. 

I have made these buttermilk rolls many times.  The first time was unceremonious; I had some buttermilk I needed to use.  While I do not recall what else I served that night, I do remember telling myself, “These rolls would be wonderful with turkey and gravy.”  I don’t always have them with turkey and gravy, but I do always have them with butter. 

For a softer, more voluptuous Thanksgiving-style roll bake all twelve in a 9-inch spring-form pan. For sandwiches, or any other occasion, you can bake them in two 9-inch cake pans, as I did in the images you see here.  When baked in the spring-form pan, they rise up together with no space in-between and as a result they retain more moisture in the baking process.  

The recipe was adapted from Saveur.

Ingredients:

¼ ounce active dry yeast

1 ¾ cups buttermilk

5 cups bread flour

½ teaspoon sugar

1 ½ teaspoons kosher salt

Unsalted butter or vegetable spray for greasing the pan(s)

1 egg

2 Tbsp poppy seeds

In the bowl of a kitchen-aid mixer combine the buttermilk, yeast, sugar, flour and salt on low speed.  If the dough feels dry, add water a tablespoon at a time until the dough is uniformly moist.  Mix on the medium-low speed (setting 2) until the dough forms a ball and pulls away from the side of the bowl, about 6 minutes.  Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and set aside in a warm place to let the dough rise until it doubles in size, 2-3 hours.  

Heat the oven to 400 degrees.  Grease a 9" cake pans or one spring-form pan with vegetable spray or butter.  Divide the dough into 12 equal pieces. Roll each dough piece into a ball; transfer ball to pan; repeat with remaining dough. Cover the pan with plastic wrap and set aside to let the dough rise for another hour. 

In a small bowl, whisk together the egg with one teaspoon of water. Uncover the dough and brush the egg mixture over the top of each roll; sprinkle rolls with poppy seeds. Bake until golden brown, about 35 minutes. Transfer to a wire rack to cool.  Make sure you have plenty of soft butter on hand.  

Pasta with Red Sauce

Every family has a rotation of meals.  When I was growing up one of my favorites was spaghetti night.  I was raised in America’s Dairyland, so we always had a jug of milk on the table during family dinners.  I loved taking a big swig following careful swirls of pasta draped in meat and tomato sauce; laced with grated parmesan cheese.  It was the life. 

Recently I read The Paradox of Plenty.  Following the big immigration boom of the late 19^th century, ethnic groups received a lot of societal pressure to mainstream their diets to a more homogenized, American cuisine.  This caused them to abandon various spices and sauces their ancestors used. 

However, the Italians were the group most resistant to the change.  As they clung to their heritage they began to infiltrate American cuisine.  Thus, when we go to the grocery store today, we see aisles dedicated to Italian-style cooking.  Not many people realize prego means ‘of course’ in Italian. 

Over this summer past, Ariel and I had the fortunate opportunity to live in Italy for five weeks.  During that time we were able to immerse ourselves in Italian food culture, and we were able to see just how inauthentic our American version of Italian cooking was: most notably our use of store-bought, pre-prepared sauces.  While it’s true that store-bought sauces save time, when we weigh out the amount of unfamiliar ingredients with the amount of time saved, I can’t help but wonder: at what detriment are we saving time?   

Like many Americans I have been seduced into buying jarred, pasta sauce.  Surrounded by products promising an easier life it is hard to not succumb to that message.  I developed a sauce one night when I was craving something comforting and affordable, so I utilized the ingredients we had on hand.  As I was cooking I wondered why I don’t do a quick tomato sauce more often.  It was indeed quick, and significantly more satisfying than the premade, jarred alternative.  Also I still felt like I had time left in the evening: a well-earned bonus.

Ingredients:

1 Tbsp. butter and 1 Tbsp. cooking oil (we are currently using avocado oil for sautéing) 

1 medium onion, diced

2 garlic cloves, chopped

½ pound crimini or button mushrooms

12 oz. ground chicken (Feel free to substitute for ground beef or a meatless protein) 

14.5 oz diced tomatoes

8 oz. tomato sauce

1 sprig fresh oregano leaves, chopped

1 Tbsp. dried oregano

Salt to taste

4 oz. dried pasta (we used fettuccini) 

Optional: 2 oz. freshly grated mozzarella and grated parmesan

Over medium heat, sauté the onions in the butter and oil.  When they begin to soften add the garlic and mushrooms.  As the mushrooms begin to cook, add the ground chicken.  When the ground chicken is broken up and thoroughly cooked, add the tomatoes, sauce, and both types of oregano.  As the sauce reduces, salt to taste. 

Meanwhile cook the noodles to package instructions, and drain (do not rinse the pasta once it is in the colander) Separate the noodles into two bowls, and smother with sauce. Top with the cheeses you desire.  Prego!

Lentil Loaf

Around our house we embrace our omnivore sensibilities; we have not fallen into many repeated food patterns, and we tend to cook a diverse menu every week.

Recently we had our friend over for her birthday dinner.   She enjoys a vegetarian diet, but she also eats fish. We enjoy seafood so it seemed a natural place to begin the brainstorm for our menu.  As we considered our student budget, and the market price for salmon, we transitioned into thinking about vegetarian dishes.  That was when I began considering a vegetarian "meat" loaf.

During a quick internet search, we found a recipe that looked good.  I carefully read the ingredients aloud, as if to imagine them in our fridge and pantry as I made my way down the list.  I finished reading, and it was unanimous: Lentil Meatloaf it was!  We had everything we needed to make it.

The special feature of this loaf is the glaze that gets brushed over the top before it gets put into the oven.  The glaze is made from ketchup, brown sugar, and balsamic vinegar.  It is naughty enough to make this healthy loaf snazzy, and yet subtle enough to not overpower the delicious ingredients.

This recipe is an adapted version of the one I found on the blog Eat, Live, Run.  It was a joy to make throughout the entire process.  Perhaps it was because the ingredients were so wholesome.

Ingredients:
1 cup green lentils
3 cups vegetable broth
1 large onion, medium dice
1 stalk celery, small dice
1 large carrot, grated
1 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp cooking oil
1 cup panko breadcrumbs
3/4 cup chopped walnuts
2 eggs
1 Tbsp fresh sage
2 tsp kosher salt
cracked black pepper

For the glaze:
2 Tbsp ketchup
1 Tbsp brown sugar
1 Tbsp balsamic vinegar

Preheat the oven to 350.  In a pot, simmer the lentils with the broth for about 25 minutes, until they are tender and the broth is absorbed.  Meanwhile, toast the walnuts in a 350 degree oven for about six minutes, and chop them when they have cooled.  Saute the onions and celery until they are soft.  Add the carrot, sage, salt, and pepper, and continue to cook the mixture for a few more minutes.

Remove the pan from the heat.  Let the mixture cool for a few minutes (you don't want the eggs to cook), and then add the eggs, walnuts, and panko.  When the mixture is complete, press it into a greased loaf pan.

In a small bowl mix the ingredients for the glaze together.  Using a pastry brush, spread the glaze onto the top of the loaf.  Bake for 45 minutes, and pop it out onto a platter, and slice it.  We paired our lentil loaf with au gratin potatoes, steamed baby broccoli and Brussels sprouts, and spinach salad.  It was a wonderful dinner.  We vowed to make the lentil loaf again really soon, maybe for our next vegetarian guest.

Pear Bread

Every fall we anticipate pear season.  Ariel's parents have pear trees in their backyard, and sometimes we get to bring some home with us.  On a recent visit to their house we were handed a heavy paper bag of the much-anticipated fruit.  When we arrived home, we devoted an entire shelf in the refrigerator to the fruit, and our pear experimentation began.

A number of soups, salads, and crisps later we were ready to eat the last few when I was hit with an epiphany: chop them up and put them into a bread for French toast!

For a number of years I have been loving Jim Lahey's dutch oven, no-knead bread baking method. It is ideal for a home oven, especially if you're like us: cursed with electric heat.  The dutch oven creates an oven within an oven, which helps produce a thick, crunchy crust with an airy, spongy center. Many people tell me my bread tastes better than what they find in local bakeries, and I agree: this method produces incredible loaves.

What I didn't know is what would happen if I added fruit to the mix?  Ready to find out, I peeled and diced two cups of pears.

Let's say adding the pears was a great choice; one worth sharing.  The French toast also worked out great.  Unfortunately it was not feeling very photogenic, so I was unable to include a shot here. Take my word for it: bake this bread and make French toast; you will be happy you did.  

Ingredients:

3 cups or 400 grams bread flour

1 1/4 tsp or 8 grams kosher salt

1/4 tsp or 1 gram active dry yeast

1 1/3 cups or 300 grams cool water

cornmeal and flour for dusting

2 pears peeled and diced

In a large bowl, use a wooden spoon to stir together the water, yeast, flour, pears, and salt.  If there are any dry patches in the dough add another tablespoon or two of water, assuring the dough is uniformly sticky to the touch.  Cover the bowl with a tea-towel or plastic wrap, and let sit for 12-18 hours.  

Flour a work surface and using a bowl scraper or rubber spatula turn the dough out onto the floured surface.  Working around the edges of the dough, bring the edges inward, making the dough into a ball.  Put cornmeal down on the work surface and place the ball of dough on the cornmeal.  Flour the surface of the dough and cover with a tea towel or plastic wrap.  Let the dough sit for about two hours.  When there is 30 minutes left, preheat the oven to 475 and place a covered dutch oven on the center rack to preheat.  

Using potholders, carefully remove the pot from the oven and uncover it.  Quickly invert the dough into the pot with the seam side up.  Cover the pot and bake for 30 minutes.  Remove the lid and bake for another 15 minutes.  Use a heat-proof spatula to lift the bread out of the pot and onto a cooling rack.  Cool the bread thoroughly before slicing into it.  

Once the bread is cool, it can be wrapped in plastic overnight to retain freshness.  For French toast, age the bread a couple of days for the best results.   

Chicken and Dumplings

One of my favorite questions to ask people is: what are the foods you remember eating when you were young?  I love sharing stories about how people live, and there is something special about listening to people tell stories about their food memories.

In our family Mom was very good about making sure family dinner was a common ritual.  Each night we rotated through our favorites: spaghetti with meaty red sauce; chicken baked in the oven with potatoes; or a roast, slow cooked in the crock-pot with delicious aromas enticing us more with every hour. 

Within mom’s rotation, I had my favorite dishes.  One of those dishes was chicken and dumplings.  I loved the way the tender pieces of chicken married with the light gravy, decorated by specks of tiny carrots and peas.  The dumplings, steamed at the surface of the dish, were a satisfying complement to the chicken, gravy, and vegetables.  I would eat the dish with a big glass of milk, and life was good. 

The dinner ritual has stayed with me through the years, and my food repertoire is continually inspired by magazines, blogs, and sharing ideas with other people.  On a recent camping trip I was sifting through a pile of magazines and I was enthralled by the food ideas in Real Simple.  The theme was Modern Family, and they riffed off classic American dishes.  On the very first page was a recipe for chicken and dumplings.  “I am definitely going to make that,” I thought.

About a week later Ariel and I went to Centralia to pick up my dad.  My brother had told us that dad had caught a cold.  As Ariel and I began talking about what we should make for dinner he suggested we make chicken soup.  He told me that his dad swears by chicken soup's medicinal properties.  As we began talking about the soup, my mind shifted back to the chicken and dumplings, so that is what we had. 

The recipe was inspired by Real Simple, as well as a 2011 version of chicken and dumplings on the website Simply Recipes. 

For the chicken you will need:

2 lbs. boneless chicken breast, cut into 1-2 inch pieces

2 Tbsp. butter+2 Tbsp. cooking oil

1 large onion, large-dice

3 carrots cut into ½ in pieces

3 ribs celery cut into ½ in pieces

1/3 cup all-purpose flour

½ cup white wine

1 quart chicken stock

2 Tbsp. fresh sage leaves

5 oz. fresh spinach leaves

1 cup frozen peas

¼ cup minced fresh parsley

2 Tbsp. heavy cream

For the dumplings you will need:

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 tsp. baking powder

¾ tsp. salt

2 Tbsp. melted butter

¾ cup milk

¼ cup minced fresh parsley

In a large dutch oven heat 1 Tbsp. butter and 1 Tbsp. oil.  Brown the chicken.  Remove the chicken from the pan and reserve it on a plate.  Add the remaining butter and oil and sauté the onion, celery, and carrot.  When the vegetables are soft, add the flour, stirring continuously. 

Whisk in the stock and the wine, and add the sage and the spinach.  Note: the spinach will cook way down, so don’t worry when it fills the whole pot.  Return the chicken to the pot and gently simmer the contents for about 45 minutes.  

For the dumplings: combine the flour, baking powder, and salt.  Make a well in the flour mixture and pour in the melted butter and milk.  If there are dry spots in the dough, add tiny drops of milk at a time until the dough is completely hydrated.  Fold in the fresh parsley. 

Make sure the stew is at a light simmer.  Drop dumpling dough at approximately a tablespoon at a time into the stew.  Cover the stew for 20 minutes, note: do not lift the lid during that time.  The steam cooks the dumplings, and if the lid is lifted the steam will escape. 

After the 20 minutes, remove the lid and gently stir.  Add the fresh parsley, cream, and peas. Serve in deep bowls with soup spoons.  This is a dish that gets better each day; the leftovers of this stew are wonderful.

Creamy Butternut Squash Soup

I grew up in the Mississippi River Valley region of Wisconsin, where there is a rich culture of Norwegian and German heritage.  Like many regions in the United States, the people in the Midwest enjoy a meat-and-potatoes style diet.  Perhaps it is because of our rich farming history, and it gets so cold there, with the windchill dropping below zero in the winter months.

When I moved to Seattle in the spring of 2002 I delved into cooking, and I noticed vegetables that I had never experienced growing up in the Midwest.  One time I mentioned cooking kale to my grandma, and she said she had "only seen kale before as a decorative garnish on a vegetable platter."  Another time I excitedly went to my mom having discovered Brussels sprouts.  I couldn't believe we never had them growing up.  She said, "there was a reason for that..." My mom didn't like Brussels sprouts.

Another food I never saw growing up was butternut squash.  In the Pacific Northwest butternut squash in the store is a sure sign of fall.  Once we start eating butternut squash, we don't stop until spring.  The eating-local movement is strong in Seattle, and it feels good to be living in such a lush, temperate climate where we are able to grow an abundance of food year round.

When I was first introduced to butternut squash soup I was unsure of how I felt about it; it felt like an anomaly. Where was the meat and the substance?  I had grown up in the meat-heavy Midwest, and having a soup with vegetables as the main component is rare.  Most soups have one or more types of meat in them, and I never saw them puréed.

My palate has changed immensely since moving to Seattle.  I have grown to love the sweet, creamy texture of a butternut squash soup, and I often crave it.  I have a feeling this butternut squash soup will make you very happy; it is the perfect dish for a chilly evening.  It is loaded with fresh sage, and finished with cream.  Sometimes I even make it with chicken stock, but vegetable broth is just as good.

This recipe was inspired by one I found in the blog Smitten Kitchen, though I pared my version down quite a bit.  Start by dicing 1 large onion, and 4 garlic cloves.  Prepare the squash by slicing off the bottom, removing the skin with a vegetable peeler, and chopping it into four large pieces.  Chop the base of the squash in half again and remove the seeds with a spoon.  Next, dice the squash into 1 inch pieces.  Finally, chop 2 Tbsp fresh sage leaves.

In a soup pot, heat 2 Tbsp butter and 2 Tbsp cooking oil over medium heat and begin sautéing the onion and garlic.  When the onions are soft, add the sage, stirring it as you go, then add the squash.  Add 6 cups of vegetable or chicken stock (or 6 cups of water and 2 Tbsp of soup bouillon).  We like to have Better Than Bouillon always on hand at our house.

Simmer the ingredients for about thirty minutes, or until the squash is tender.  When tender, remove the soup from the heat and purée it using a immersion blender, or purée it in batches using a conventional blender. When the soup is puréed, stir in 1/4 cup heavy cream.

I like to drink my soup straight from a mug.  It's a good way to curl up with a hot, comforting soup and stay warm through the grey, chilly, Pacific Northwest winter.

Rustic Sandwich Rolls

Whenever we are about to have guests over for a meal, we go through a brainstorm process to decide what to make.  Even when we suggest something we both agree on, I wait for the ah-ha moment: the moment where I know that there could not possibly be a more perfect meal.  If it's summer the obvious choice is to grill something, and if it's winter we move toward soup or slow cooking.

After we got back from Paris we had a long list of people to see, and two of those people were Ariel's dads.  Ariel's dad, Jeff, is a chef.  Since the first day he and I met we have had long conversations about food and cooking.  I love cooking for Jeff because we have a similar style: rustic with delicious flavor pairings.  In fact, one of the last meals we ate before leaving for Euope was with Ariel's family, and Jeff made a shrimp and avocado salad that I daydreamed about the entire time we were away.

The meal we were going to make was for a 1pm Sunday lunch, a tricky time because it's past the time we wanted to serve eggs, but before the time we would cook Sunday dinner.  We continued to brainstorm, until I remembered these rolls...

I adapted them awhile back from one of my favorite bakers, Jim Lahey, who makes a long sandwich roll called a Stecca.  I loved the consistency of the dough: a wet glob with minimal structure, the perfect metaphor for baking in a tiny kitchen with an electric oven.

Our menu for the Sunday lunch would be grilled corn-on-the-cob, Ariel's potato salad, and beef burgers on the fresh rolls; topped with sweet pickle sauce, Romaine lettuce, and sliced Walla Walla onions.

Start these rolls the day before you want to serve them. The recipe will make six substantial rolls, or eight smaller. (We toasted our leftover rolls and filled them with a wonderful tuna salad.)



Combine in a large, stainless steel bowl:
1 1/2 cups or 350 grams cool water
1/4 tsp or 1 gram active dry yeast
3 cups or 400 grams bread flour
1/2 tsp or 3 grams sea salt

Stir, moving your hand clockwise (moving in one direction avoids breaking up the gluten) until all of the ingredients are combined. Add drops of water as needed if there are areas of the dough that do not appear wet, with dry patches of flour on them.

Cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and let it sit at room temperature for 12-18 hours.

When you take the cover off of the dough, notice the great boozy smell: that's the fermentation process at work.

Flour the work surface and use a bowl scraper to bring the dough out of the bowl onto the floured area.



Like this...

Working your way around the periphery of the dough, fold the dough up onto itself.  Flip the dough seamside down, and then then dust the top with flour.  Cover the dough with a clean floursack towel or a piece of plastic wrap, and let it sit for 2 hours. 

After 1 1/2 hours preheat the oven to 500 degrees F and cover a 13-by-18-by-1-inch baking sheet with parchment; brush with oil.  

Using a bench scraper (pictured below) divide the dough into six or eight pieces.  Gently move each piece to the oiled pan; brush each roll with oil, and sprinkle with salt.

Try not to worry about how they look on the pan; each one will look unique, it's part of their charm.

Check the rolls at 15 minutes, and leave them in the oven for another minute or two, if needed.

Let the rolls cool on a rack, and image the possibilities.

A Few of My Favorite Things, Parisian

On our one-year wedding anniversary, Ariel and I decided to take a pilgrimage to Montmartre, where the Basilica of the Sacré Cœur (Sacred Heart) stands as the highest point in Paris. On our way to the top, we stumbled upon St. Pierre of Montmartre; a welcome solace from the crowds. Inside, the light in the chapel drew us in, and I felt peace in that moment as I absorbed the ancient architecture, originally built in the twelfth century.

On the train to Paris we watched the film Midnight in Paris.  Below is a photograph of Lapin Agile, a famous Montmartre cabaret; it reminded me of the film.  On that day in Montmartre, as I stood beneath the old, pink cabaret I understood the main character in the film.  I felt a nostaligic tug in my heart; a longing for another time, a time I had never experieced.  It felt comforting and sad like perusing through a photo album with my grandmother, reminiscing about times before I was born.

Before we left for Montmartre we emailed our friends Mark and Tyler to ask them where we should eat.  They sent us to a wonderful spot called Le Consulat, which sits at the top of hill, greeting tourists as they arrive to the neighborhood.  I was glad I had waited to try French Onion soup in Paris; Le Consulat's version was wonderful and surprisingly light, since the broth was made with chicken stock and white wine.  It was delicious and perfect.

A couple days later we finally braved the crowds and made it to the Louvre.  This was my favorite sculpture, L'Amore et Psyche, by Antonio Canova, 1797.  The shot was taken from behind; it was the angle in which I discovered the sculpture, and as it turned out, it was the angle I liked best.  I felt there was something innocent about the way the woman draped her arm around her lover, or as I discovered, her love.
 

On our way home from the Louvre, we decided to ride the ferris wheel; the views turned out to to be some of the best views of the trip.  We saw Paris from every angle, and it was wonderful sharing it with Ariel.  I particularily enjoyed this image...it is a ride I will never be able to experience because of motion sickness...I guess it is going along with the nostalgia theme.

I love watching ducks, always.

We loved our Paris apartment.  It was light and cozy with lots of windows, and it stayed cool night and day.

One day we wanted to try a Bahn Mi for lunch.  I did a quick internet search, and we were fortunate there was a much-loved spot, simply called Bahn Mi within a few blocks of our apartment.  We both had the BBQ pork sandwich: stuffed-full with pickled carrots, cucumbers, and fresh cilantro.

One of the last places on our list was Luxembourg Garden, and I told Ariel it was one of my favorite parks of the entire trip.  There were expansive green lawns, people playing a popular European game called Petanque, an apiary, a playground, huge fountains, sculptures, and chairs dispersed througout the park for relaxing, picnicking, and visiting with friends.  It was a gorgeous wonderland.

It is a bittersweetness that we fly back to Seattle tomorrow.  It's been a long, unforgettable journey that has touched me in ways I would not have been able to predict when we embarked two months ago. 

I have become a better person, and a better partner; for these two things I am grateful.  

I plan to keep up with Tasting the Culture back in the States.  I hope you'll continue to join me on this wonderful exploration of community and food.  

Meeting Paris

For our first day in Paris, we decided to walk a loop through our neighborbood, Marais in the 3rd arrondissement, and loop back around via the Seine river. The Marais neighborhood had been described as the Greenwich Village of Paris, and that being a place we've loved to visit, it seemed fitting we would choose a similar stomping ground here.

Hungry for our first Parisian crepe, we decided to get lunch in a spot we heard about in the Jewish Quarter.  La Droguerie greets pedestrians with it's bright blue storefront at the mouth of a miniature strip named Rue des Rosiers.  In addition to the creperie, we visited a tea shop where we sampled a wonderful iced tea blend.  There were also some clothing boutiques, a patisserie/boulangerie, and a handful of falafel joints, all which looked like great options for a return trip.

Our crepes were excellent.  Especially considering the shop owner prepared them in a matter of minutes as we watched from the street, and they only cost 5,50 each.  Although the sweet crepes looked good too, it was our first meal of the day and we share a preference for savory breakfasts; we want to go back and try a Nutella crepe for 3,00.
 

Walking through Marais, we stumbled upon Place des Vosges, a green square with four fountains, and a relaxing place to rest and observe the city.  It was a nice place for people watching.  A couple of teenagers even jumped into one of the fountains.  Paris has many squares like this one for some respite from the city.

As we continued our walk through Marais, we came to the Bastille: a towering monument which represents the tide turning event of the French Revolution, and France's enduring struggle to establish and maintain democracy.  At the top of the monument stood winged Mercury carrying a torch representing freedom.  Like many of the historical places we have visited on our travels, I was reminded what freedom means in my heart, and I left feeling humbled and grateful for those who have come before us, and fought for human rights.  

After the Bastille, we headed toward the path along the Seine river, and were mesmerized when we stumbled upon a wash of cool mist!  It was wonderful, and lovely to experience something so refreshing, created to help people cool off and tolerate hot summer days (see Ariel below).
Another bonus: it was free!  Another example of Parisian humanism.

Here I was reminded of my favorite Parisian-at-heart: Mark Leuning.  This next shot was taken for you-

We didn't go in the Norte-Dame yesterday, but we did rest in the courtyard after the somber experience of visiting the Deportaion Memorial, an underground monument built for the people taken from their homes during World War II, most of whom did not return.  Being in Italy and France we have seen so many reminders of that terrible time in our world's history, and I know it will never cease to affect me so deeply.

As we sat in the courtyard of the Nortre-Dame a dance troup began dancing in a style that seemed to integrate both modern and ancient styles of dance.  It was a beautiful surprise, and an unexpected entertainment for us as we rested our weary feet.

Love in Lyon

We rolled in on a high speed train from Marsailles and walked across town under the bluest skies, and the weight of our packs.  We decided Lyon felt much more French than the Riviera, where the menus and the way of life still felt like Italy.  As we walked through town, I noticed the Presse signs, which instantly served as a memento from home.  One of my favorite restaurants in Seattle is Cafe Presse, and as I discovered in Lyon they borrowed the signage from the French newsstands for their restaurant.  As Ariel pointed out, Cafe Presse has an assortment of magazines, which they source from Small Changes, the wholesale magazine distribution company his mother started in 1977; It seems they were able to expand on the French idea of Presse as something even more inviting than words in print.  

Lyon is a pretty city with old buildings, glorious fountains, and lots of wide open spaces to roam, a quality that can be rare for a larger city.  (In 2012 Lyon had a population of 720,890).  

There are intriguing pieces of art placed throughout the city, like this flower-petal-tree:  

Also there is a giant park in the Northeast corner of the city called Tête d'Or.  We walked through this giant gate and suddenly there were so many wonderful activites!  We did a paddleboat cruise around the lake with our American coffees au lait.  We saw ducks, geese and turtles playing and doing somersaults in the water; It almost seemed as though they were working for tips the way they worked the crowd.  They were adorable.  

After the paddleboats we walked through the park on a meandering trail, took a mini trainride with a sweet French conductor who ran the family business with his wife.  She sold tickets and ice cream, and we watched her play with their English bulldog: a cute, tired guy who drank water from an Evian bottle. 

Finally, we took a stroll through the free (yes, free!) zoo.  

I wish I could say our meal at the Bouchon that night was our favorite, but it wasn't.  It was heavy and fatty and we realized that as much as we love French cooking techniques, and the passion the French consistently put into their food, the traditional French dishes are not our favorite.  The highlight of the Bouchon meal was Ariel's dish: a quenelle in lobster sauce.  I had never had a quenelle before, and it was definitely something to write home about.  

Another thing to write home about was our meal at Les Petits Siamois.  After reading wonderful reviews, we walked over to the restaurant on our first night in Lyon.  We were turned away because they had had a very busy night and they ran out of food.  We agreed: we're going back, and we did, the very next night.  

Above you see our first course: a delicious chicken filling combined peanuts, ginger, coconut and fresh cilantro, which we wrapped into bundles with bright, Thai leaves.  

As we savored our meal the owner/waiter spent time with us at our table as he made his rounds back and fourth from the patio to the kitchen; he was such a lovely man that we felt fortunate to be on his flight path.  He shared our enthusiasm for the food, and had a wonderful time exchanging stories about food, and the places we've called home.  He told us how each day, the food was prepped fresh for that evening, and he spoke about the care he put into the ingredients for each dish.  

Today we did a rigorous hike up to a neighborhood in the north where we heard Lyon hosts a weekly farmer's market.  As we browsed the produce and meats I began feeling very inspired to cook in Paris where we will have a kitchen in our one-bedroom apartment.  

On our way down the hill we were ready for lunch, when suddenly I took in a delicious waft of something fantastique.  We turned the corner and I read the sign: YAAFA "you are a falafel addict."  

We knew exactly where we were having lunch, and YAAFA did not disappoint. The falafel balls were perfectly crisp, and well seasoned.  The whole way through we raved about the food, and even hours later we were still complimeting it...a sign of a good lunch.  Ariel said, "If we let our noses decide our restaurants every time, we'll never go wrong."  I think he's onto something.  

A Week in the French Riviera

Each night Frank and Joelle set up the trays for the next morning's breakfast at Hotel Patricia, and so this is how we begin each day.  The baguettes are chunchy on the outside, and the perfect amount of chewy and airy on the inside; the butter and jam, ideal companions. The pain au chocolat: a tasty conclusion that pairs perfectly with our last sips of coffee.

Hotel Patricia sits on the top a penisula called Cap Ferrat.  During our stay, we were fortunate to make friends with a lovely Brazillian couple living in Piedmont, Italy.  One evening they drove us out to the peninsula for a stroll; the views were spectacular as we gazed out at the northernmost point of the Mediterranean Sea and across the bay to beautiful Nice.

Our hotel is situated between the towns of Beaulieu and Villefranche, both with their own flavor. Beaulieu has been good for practical purposes: a wonderful boulangerie where we found sandwiches for lunch, and grocery markets where we found supplies for our picnics.  Villefranche-Sur-Mer: more tourists, and slightly more charming than it's neighbor, with colorful alleys filled with quaint restuarants - mostly overpriced, and shops selling various soaps, handbags, and other travel whimsy.  

                                                                                 

And of course, what first week in
France would be complete without a meal of steak frites?  This is topped avec une sauce aux champignons blanche.  It was delicious.

The picture below was taken on the bridge that links Beaulieu to Villefranche.  On the bottom of the image you can see the beach where we swim.  All of the beaches are wonderful, but that one is our favorite. The water is much warmer here than in Italy; it feels like a theraupeutic bath. Ariel and I like to wear our goggles so we can submerge our faces in the water and see the fish swimming all around us.