Slightly Obsessed: Bleu Cheese & Tarragon, Take I

So, I’m sort of a tarragon junkie. And the source of this bad good habit is pretty embarrassing: Starbucks. I spent last summer doing a graduate program at NYU in the Barclay building downtown in Manhattan; Starbucks was the drug provider of choice right next door. So it happened that one lunch break, on a whim, I bought the Tarragon Chicken Salad Sandwich. It was one of the best days of my life. It was so surprisingly delicious I didn’t know what to do with myself. So I bought another on my way home as an appetizer for dinner. I sort of hated myself for buying not one, but two sandwiches at, of all places, Starbucks, in one day. But I was way too smitten with my discovery to care. My love affair with tarragon had begun; the challenge to integrate this sweet little herb into as many different dishes was officially on. When I moved back to L.A., I began working a second job at the Edendale Grill. They had, to my sheer delight, Blue Cheese Tarragon French Fries on the bar menu. After working there nearly a year, and munching on these delicious bits during each shift without fail, I’m still not sick of the combo. So, as I’m now living with my parents, 500 miles from the Edendale, I’ve had to take matters into my own hands. I’ve decided to see how many different variations on the Blue Cheese/Tarragon/Potato theme I can manage before my parents refuse to allow me to cook for them anymore. What else is a stir-crazy girl gonna do on a Friday night when she moves back to the oh-so-quiet-suburbia that is Los Altos? First up was the Twice Baked Potato version. F-ing Fantastic.

Twice Baked Potatoes with Blue Cheese and Tarragon

6 Russett Potatoes, scrubbed
3 Tablespoons Olive Oil
¼ C. Half & Half
¼ C. Low-Fat Milk
6 oz blue cheese, crumbled
2 oz blue cheese, reserved
4 Tablespoons roughly chopped fresh tarragon
3 Tablespoons Unsalted Butter
Salt & pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 375 F.

Give the potatoes a fairly generous coat of olive oil. Using a fork, gently poke holes in the uncooked potatoes. Place on a foil-lined baking sheet. You can also place them directly on the rack. Bake until tender, about 35-45 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool slightly. Cover hand with a dishtowel to handle the potatoes, and, using a serrated knife, slice potatoes in half lengthwise. Scoop out the baked potato into a large mixing bowl, being careful not to tear the skins. Repeat for remaining potatoes. Mash potatoes well, until smooth. With the exception of the reserved blue cheese, add in remaining ingredients, and mix well, adding salt and pepper to taste. Scoop mixture back into skins, and top with a bit of the crumbled bleu cheese. Pop back into the oven at 375 until warmed through. I like to put them under the broiler for about 3-4 minutes, or until the cheese is gooey and browning, before serving.

Operation Leftovers: Carbonara Ravioli

The pickings were depressingly slim in the refrigerator when I got home this evening. The roomies were out of town, and I wasn't feeling inspired. After working a 7-hour brunch shift and a hike with my dog, however, I was in need of comfort carbs, fast. A quick inventory (tossing out the moldy cheeses and leftovers from last week), uncovered a package of mushroom & chicken ravioli from T.J.'s, eggs, parmesean and a handful of spinach and half a package of Toll House cookie dough. Not even a can of diced tomatoes to make a little sauce. I checked the freezer and the thought of turning the TJ frozen mini pizzas into dinner actually crossed my mind. Sigh. We were out of any other pasta, and I just couldn't bring myself to make another egg sandwich, so carbonara it was...but with ravioli. I was crossing my fingers. I was too hungry to fail at an edible meal tonight, too exhausted to get in my car and go anywhere, and too attached to my tip money to order in. Once I tossed the ravioli with the sauce, I added some dried herbs, garlic salt and tons of freshly ground pepper. I put the ravioli over a bed of spinach, and it was delicious. The spinach sort of takes the heaviness factor away from the rich carbonara sauce, too. Yum. Dessert: freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. And I had just enough for lunch tomorrow. Total cost: $0. Sometimes being broke can be a delicious thing.

Carbonara Ravioli:
1 Package ravioli (any pasta will do, really)
2 Eggs
1/8 C. milk (water will do if you're desperate!)
1/4 C. parmesean cheese
Fresh or dried herbs, to taste
Garlic Salt
Salt & Pepper
Spinach

In a small jar or measuring glass, beat the eggs, and mix in the cheese and milk. Add fresh garlic if you have it. If not, garlic salt at the end is delicious as well. Once the pasta is cooked, drain well, and return to pot. Quickly coat the pasta with the sauce, and toss well to coat and cook the egg. The sauce should thicken, as you toss the pasta. This usually takes about 2-3 minutes. If it's not thickening, turn on the heat to medium-low while coating the pasta. Serve over a bed of spinach, or whatever you have in the fridge, with lots of parm and freshly ground pepper on top.

Cocktail of the Hour: The Green Tini

Last Wednesday a bunch of friends got together for a little mid-week dinner party. It was a good old-fashioned potluck and the food was fantastic. Grill master Xan served up perfectly-cooked herbed chicken, Julia and Adam made excellent use of the cast-iron pan with a delectable dish of stuffed tomatoes over polenta, and I whipped up a cold orzo salad with feta, olives and a lemony-vinaigrette. Throw in toasted pita, hummus and tzatziki courtesy of Krissy Wall, and it was a serious Mediterranean spread.

But I think I have to hand the Luckiest Pot-of-the-Evening award to the biggest green tea enthusiast in Silver Lake: Grant Saltarelli. We all know how much he loves his green tea (some one get this kid sponsored!), but he really proved himself a mixologist-in-the-making with this brilliant signature cocktail: the Grant Green Tini. And the boy's got heart. He hand-measured, shook, and poured each one for each guest, and—after one sip—wanted to make sure it was just right. I know talent when I see it. Or something like that. So I sat him down for the full recipe and a few insider tips:

1 batch of brewed green tea (white tea also works well)
Honey
Stoli Citron Vodka
Cointreau
Ice
Martini Shaker

Brew the batch of green tea in advance. Brew it stronger than you would if you were just drinking it by itself, but not too long. You want the flavor to stand up against the citrus vodka, which can be overwhelming. Sweeten the tea with a little honey; let cool. In a martini shaker, mix 2 parts Citron Vodka with 1 part Cointreau. Add 60 mL of tea, and shake over ice. Strain into a chilled martini glass. Serve immediately. If it's too strong, add some tea.

Advice for future Green Tini Makers:
"Follow these guidelines, but suit yourself," says the Boy. "Make a batch, and see where you want to take it; adjust the ingredient amounts accordingly. And—most importantly—when shaking the shaker, shake it really hard and pour quickly!" As far as the type of Vodka goes...
"Stoli is great, but if you want some T & A to impress the ladies, go with Grey Goose Citron." G.S.

Cheers!

Kitchen Convention: I before E, Except After Bread Pudding

There are two sets of rules in cooking. There are the science-based rules—a widely accepted canon including the likes of: never add flour as a thickener without first cooking it in a hot fat, or you will have a lumpy, gummy thickener on your hands. Or: when cooking rice, the standard ratio is 2:1; liquid to grain. Then there are your own rules that develop over the course of your culinary adventures, which govern the nuances of how and why you cook the way do. Why you prefer to use one brand over another, or why you always add a dash of this to that; why you serve a salad before a main course, or why your menu has a well-rounded combination of starches to protein to vegetables. It's a highly individualized rubric, a bit trial-and-error based, a bit passed down, and a bit chalked up to social norm, and often we don't even realize how ingrained these rules have lodged themselves into our culinary sub-consciousness until someone brings them to attention with an alternative or asks, why? And I find it is precisely when this happens that the exceptions to our own rules are born and our culinary language expands for the better. Our habitual sense of order and structure in the grammar of our kitchen—from prep work, a midday snack, or even an all-out sunday brunch—is made more complex, a more difficult dialect to consume, enabling all-around, deliciously improved upon ways of eating.

Yesterdays brunch menu was based on exceptions, and simply divine.

Pecan Apple Bread Pudding
(Rule: bread pudding is a dessert, except when making with whole grain wheat bread and layering with apples, cinnamon, nutmeg and substituting Lactaid into the egg mixture; it's now a healthier dish much more appropriate for brunch and/or lactose-intolerant guests)

Poached Eggs with Sautéed Veggies & Veggie-sausage Medley
(Rule: Vegetarian "meat" products are not as good as the real thing, except for Morningstar breakfast sausage patties , which, chopped up and spooned over poached eggs, offer a savory meaty-less burst of flavor.)

Vanilla Infused Pancakes with Vanilla Panna Cotta Syrup
(Rule: Pure maple syrup is the best sugary topping for pancakes, except when you have left-over chilled vanilla panna cotta pudding to spoon onto the hot cakes for an extreme vanilla alternative.)

Canadian Bloody Ceasars
(Rule: never drink anything with Clamato juice in it, except when drinking Ceasars, which is essentially a Bloody Mary with a few fun tweaks, and, in my opinion, just as yummy.)

E.V.B.O. Part II

This is the follow up installment to E.V.B.O Part I, click here to read.


So I arrived for the Extreme Vanilla Bake-Off with ingredients, champagne and an electric mixer. [Note: for future culinary experiment/dates, hold them in your own kitchen. You’ll have your own equipment on-hand (e.g.: artisan mixer) and you’ll effortlessly know your way around, decreasing any disorientation that will crush your culinary adeptness and hold you victim to flirtatious nerves.] The experiment began well. We opted for the standard recipe, but decided on the mini-cookie version to facilitate smaller tasting sizes. After all, I wouldn’t want to get sick from too many cookies and have to go home, right? When it came time to add the vanilla, we split the dough into two batches, and our experiment immediately became a contest. I went to measure out the first addition of vanilla. Full disclosure, I was totally distracted by where the measuring spoons were, where the vanilla was—the fact that I really wanted to kiss this guy who was making me laugh and standing just close enough to drive me crazy—and so, of course, the extract went everywhere but the measuring spoon. (See note re: date location above). I stammered out something about the consistency of the vanilla and tried to find paper towels to mop up the now vanilla-y range. He, deservedly, laughed at me. Ok, back to the task at hand. We quadrupled the amount of vanilla in my batch; his was the control. I quipped about his ability to drop teaspoons of dough evenly onto a cookie sheet, and tried not to drink my champagne too fast. The cookie dough tasted amazing (mine considerably stronger on the vanilla—a good sign); we each got one beater to lick clean, and I realized things must be going well considering we were completely comfortable acting like sugar-crazed five-year olds in front of each other, licking spoonfuls of dough and, well, forgetting to check on the cookies. I smelled something burning, and my stomach sank. Wasn’t the timer supposed to go off? I pulled both trays from the oven. A minute more and they would have been scorched to a black crisp. Though not unbearable, the cookies were burnt enough to erase the subtle detection of any vanilla variation. My grand visions of vanilla conclusions began fading fast. What had happened? That’s when I was told the oven hadn’t really been working properly. (See note re: date location above). We still strained our taste buds to test the vanilla, but to no avail. I immediately suggested E.V.B.O. take two in MY kitchen. We did have fun, after all. And even though the extreme vanilla threshold remains unknown, I did discover a direct correlation between the level of cookie dough consumption and the brazen lack of self-control for a crush.

Soup du Jour

After a very taxing day at work yesterday, I sequestered myself in my kitchen for a dual relaxation/reward night making comfort foods: Braised Short Ribs, Pasta Carbonara, and Roasted Butternut Squash Soup. The success of the evening was a new recipe I was attempting to re-create from the restaurant I cocktail waitress at when strapped for cash, The Edendale Bar and Grill in Silver Lake. Our chef, Justin (who not only makes superb food, but also lets me snack on as many french fries as I want during my shift), may kill me for posting his recipe for the world to know, but I did make some minor adjustments, and can (somewhat) pretend it's my own. I shall title it "Justin's Squash soup with Pear and Chipotle." Thanks a mil Justin, you're a darling!

Justin's Butternut Squash Soup with Pear & Chipotle

1 large butternut squash, halved
2 Tablespoons olive oil
1 Anjou Pear, cubed
1 medium yellow onion, diced
1 clove garlic, thinly sliced
1/2 c. dry white wine
1 can chipotle peppers, in adobo, seeded
2 c. low-sodium chicken broth
1/2 c. milk or cream
Apple cider vinegar to taste
salt and pepper to taste

In a 400-degree oven, roast the squash, face down in a glass baking dish until tender, about 1 hour. When cool, scrape squash from skin into bowl and set aside.

In a sauté pan, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat. Add onions and garlic and sauté until soft and onions become translucent. Add the pears, and sauté until just tender, about 5 minutes. Add wine, and boil until the liquid reduces by three-fourths, and the alcohol cooks off.

In a blender, purée the squash and pear/onion mixture and 1/2 the chicken broth. Add the chipotle pepper, and continue to blend until mixed well. Pour mixture into sauce pan, and reheat over medium. Add the rest of the chicken broth and the cream, slowly stirring in to desired consistency. Bring to a boil, and adjust for seasons with the Apple cider vinegar. I added in some of the adobe sauce for added spice. Salt and pepper to taste. Serve with a dollop of crème fraîche, and a sprinkling of fresh sage.

Serves 4 as a main course; 6 as a starter

The Raven's Kitchen: Red Chard Risotto

By contributing writer the raven is dead

Here's a recipe that I adapted last night from an Epicurious listing, using mostly ingredients from Trader Joe's - total shopping budget: $15. This feeds at least five people if paired with a simple salad and baguette.

Bella Red Chard Risotto
Ingredients:
5 cups vegetable or chicken stock
1.5 cups arborio rice
1/2 cup dry white wine (I used shitty Charles Shaw, but something better would be way more fun)
2-3 tablespoons olive oil
2 big handfuls sliced cremini mushrooms
1 white or yellow onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
1 large shallot, sliced
1 bunch red chard, ribs removed and roughly chopped
1/2 cup grated good Pecorino Romano cheese

Instructions
Heat stock to a simmer and cover, keeping a low flame.

Meanwhile, saute onions, garlic, shallots, and mushrooms in olive oil on medium heat until the onions are translucent (about 5 minutes). Add rice and chard and saute, stirring often, until chard is slightly wilted and rice becomes translucent on the edges. Add wine and stir constantly until all liquid is absorbed. Grab a ladle and add three or four ladle-fuls of stock to the rice mixture (just enough to cover it completely). Stir to incorporate the stock. Simmer on medium, stirring every minute or two, until all of the liquid is absorbed (about 10 minutes). Add another 1/3 of the stock and repeat until all of the liquid is absorbed. Finally, add the last of the stock and, stirring constantly, cook until all liquid has been absorbed and the rice is tender.

Turn off the heat and stir in the cheese, mixing thoroughly. Add salt and pepper to taste.