Called to the Table

Fish on Fridays

2012-03-01T05:16:00.003-08:00

Fish fries are not just for Catholics and the Orthodox anymore. Connoisseurs of the fish feast look forward to Lent with evangelical fervor. They stand at their food pulpits and preach the Word of the Fish Fry, focusing their sermons on where to go to get the best. Look for them on Friday nights standing in line with fellow converts waiting for paradise on a plate.

Even if you cannot make it to a fish fry this week you can indulge your cravings with this simple but glamorous pot of salt cod and potatoes. Think of brandade de morue as fish and chips Provencal. Commonly made with reconstituted salt cod (known as morue or baccalà), brandade is a puree of fish, potato, and intense aromatics. It is popular throughout France and Spain, especially in regions where salt cod is accessible.

Not to be confused with lutfisk or lutefisk, commercial salt cod is not widely available in the Midwest, but a home salted version is an uncomplicated and acceptable substitute. Spread brandade over toast and serve with salad. This rich pâté generously feeds twelve diners an elegant first course. Halve the recipe, or use leftovers make a fun cocktail snack: roll chilled brandade into balls and coat with egg wash and bread crumbs, then fry.

Brandade
1 pound cod
1/2 to 1 cup Kosher salt
3 to 4 cups whole milk
Zest from two lemons
Fresh cracked pepper
Three sprigs thyme, plus more for garnish
1 small white onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, smashed but not minced
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg plus more for garnish
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/2 to 3/4 pound russet potatoes, peeled and chopped
1/2 to 3/4 pound Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and chopped
2 eggs, beaten with 1 tablespoon milk or cream
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil
Juice from half a lemon
1 lemon, seeded and cut into 12 pieces

Cover cod completely in salt and refrigerate 24 hours.

Remove cod from refrigerator and rinse very well with cold water; pat dry with paper towels.

Add milk, lemon zest, pepper, thyme, onion, garlic, nutmeg, and cayenne to bread loaf pan; place in preheated 350 degree oven for 10 minutes. Add cod to milk and return to oven. Oven-poach fish for 10
to 12 minutes or until flaky and tender.

While cod poaches, cook potatoes in unseasoned water until tender; drain. Push cooled potatoes through ricer or food mill.

Remove cod from poaching liquid and cool. Remove any bones and skin; flake flesh as fine as possible.

Combine potatoes and cod; add eggs and mix well. Fold in olive oil and lemon juice.

Divide mixture evenly into 12 buttered ramekins. Garnish with thyme leaves and nutmeg. Bake at 325 degrees for 20 to 30 minutes. Serve with lemon wedges and thin slices of toasted French bread.

Buck Puppies

2012-02-23T05:15:00.000-08:00

The Oscars are the Super Bowl of movies. Sometimes we agree with the teams that get to claim the prize, and sometimes we shake our heads our heads in disgust when our favorite doesn’t make it to the show. We make the best of things and plan award night menus with themes that compliment the year’s best movies: French fare for Midnight in Paris, hot dogs and popcorn for Moneyball, something ethereal for the Tree of Life movie none of us actually saw, seafood for The Descendants, and cowboy grub for Buck.

“Buck?” you might ask, “Never heard of it.” Buck is the story of Buck Brannaman, the original horse whisperer. His childhood was a contraction of celebrity and abuse. As trick ropers, Buck and his brother were child stars who appeared in cereal commercials and on variety shows. The brothers barely escaped their sadistic father when they were in their teens. Buck healed under the gentle guidance of his foster parents and eventually became a forerunner in natural horsemanship, which is a method of horse training where understanding and leadership are used to train horses, never punishment.

I don’t expect all of my picks to saunter off stage holding hands with Oscar, but I am disappointed that the quietly remarkable documentary Buck isn’t even a contender. So this year, in protest, my Oscar night menu will consist entirely of cowboy cuisine.

Hush puppies purportedly come from a southern American practice of throwing corn bread scraps to hungry dogs outside of kitchens and on the outskirts of camps. Now, many of us equate hush puppies with southern style seafood. But they also speak to a cowboy’s appetite and lifestyle. To serve them Buck style, rustle up some redeye gravy as a dipping sauce. I use coarse cornmeal and process it for 30 seconds or so. The texture remains sandy but the grains have a smooth bite.

Buck Puppies
1/2 cup coarse yellow cornmeal
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon dried minced onion, reconstituted in a bit of water
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon salt
1 egg yolk
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 tablespoons melted butter

Whisk together dry ingredients. Combine yolk, milk, and butter and add to dry; stir until mixed. Refrigerate at least one hour.

Heat 2 inches of peanut oil in large saucepan; heat to 350. Drop batter by tablespoons into hot oil about 6 at a time. Turn them occasionally to brown all sides; fry 3 minutes to golden brown. Remove with slotted spoon to paper towels; season with salt.

Serve hot with red-eye gravy or tomato marmalade.

Semlor

2012-02-16T05:13:00.000-08:00

The floor was barely swept clean of pine needles from our defunct Christmas tree and already my Swedish friends were obsessing over semla (or the plural semlor). They tweeted and blogged one consistent plea, “I know it’s only January, but where I can find semlor?”

Centuries ago when Roman Catholicism reigned across the Scandinavian expanse, rich cardamom buns were served on Shrove Tuesday and meant to sustain palates about to endure forty days of fasting. Although religious rituals are now less common in Scandinavia, the tradition of Lenten buns endures. The Swedes fill their semlor (and Norweigans their fastelavensboller) with sweet cream and almond paste, often in a bowl of milk to soften the bun. In Finland laskiaispulla are spread thick with fruit preserves and marzipan. Estonians prefer their vastlakukkel simply with whipped cream. Danes and Icelandics use puff pastry to make their fastelavnsbolle.

In 1771 Swedish King Adolf Fredrik died after gorging on lobster, caviar, sour kraut, and fourteen semlor doused with milk. Lenten bun overdose is never pretty, but I understand the addictive properties of cardamom, butter, and almonds. For a true cardamom flavor, eschew those tempting jars of decorticated cardamom. White or green pods are best. Crush the seeds in a spice grinder or using mortar and pestle. Note: adding baking powder to yeast breads garners surprisingly light fluffy dough.

Semlor
Dough:
4 egg yolks
2/3 cup unsalted butter, melted
1 1/2 cups whole milk, warmed to 110 degrees
1/2 cup sugar
1 package yeast
6 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoon fresh ground cardamom
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 cup whole milk or half-&-half plus a few tablespoons for brushing buns

Filling:
8 ounces almond paste, thinned with half and half or cream
1 1/2 cups heavy whipping cream
1 - 2 tablespoons sugar
powdered sugar

1. Whisk together egg yolks, butter, milk, a few teaspoons of the sugar, and yeast and allow to bubble for about 5 minutes.

2. Sift together remaining sugar, 4 to 5 cups of the flour, salt, and cardamom. Combine with yeast mixture until soft dough forms. Cover with a towel or plastic wrap and rise in warm place about 30 minutes.

3. Sift together 1 cup of flour and the baking powder; stir into dough and knead until smooth. Add more flour if necessary.

4. Divide dough into 24 small balls; place at least 1 inch apart on greased baking sheets. Cover and rise until double, about one hour.

5. Brush tops of rolls with milk or half-&-half; bake in preheated 375 degree oven until golden brown; cool on wire racks.

6. Cut each roll in half; scooping out center and leaving shell of 1/2 inches. Tear or crumble innards and place in large mixing bowl; moisten with milk or half-&- half then blend in almond paste until smooth. Add additional milk as needed until filling is pudding-like.

7. Whip the cream with sugar until stiff peaks form. Fill shells with almond pudding, then whipped cream; replace top of bun. Dust with powdered sugar and serve immediately.

Radish Red Valentine

2012-02-09T05:33:00.000-08:00

Ever since I was a kid who grew my own radish plot, I’ve known that farming isn’t the bucolic life so many of us envision. It was fun pushing radish seeds into the moist spring soil, but I didn’t have the patience to wait for the first green shoots to appear. My excitement waxed when it was finally time to dig into the earth and find each fat orb, but after a few hours spent standing behind my sister’s red wagon, loaded with harvest, I had not a single sale.

On any level farming is tough gritty work. Scratching a living off the land is nearly impossible especially for small farmers. After a season of battling weather and pests, often enough you end up with produce you can’t sell.

I spent my weekend at the Immigrant and Minority Farmers Conference in St. Paul where a few hundred farmers from a dozen different countries gathered. We heard stories of refugees who escaped unimaginable horrors only to find themselves among new neighbors who at best ignored them and at worst tormented them. We heard heroic stories of survival and triumph as displaced individuals started their lives over in places like Minnesota and on farms across the Midwest. The annual conference provides farmers with information about programs that support them and education about sustainable farming practices. But the best part of each day was when we sat down together over lunch and talked. A farmer from Glencoe told me how to make a light batter for chile rellenos and how long to steam tamales (and left me a generous gift of hot salsa that her family sells at farmers markets). I rediscovered that Thai food is universally popular, everybody loves chocolate chip cookies, and there is much strength in diversity.

The farmers I met at the conference share a dream: they want to feed their neighbors healthy, tasty, beautiful food and they want the work that they do to be valued by those of us they feed. Valentine’s Day is typically a holiday for kids and sweethearts. This year, I am sending a Radish Red Valentine to the farmers that I love. Roasting radishes brings a mellow almost Brussels sprout-flavor and creamy texture to the roots. If you have access to the various brightly colored and sharp tasting winter radishes consider yourself lucky. If not, use the red radish found year-round in most groceries.

Bacon Wrapped Roasted Radishes
12 radishes
6 slices bacon, halved
Barbecue sauce
12 toothpicks or 3 bamboo skewers

Put bacon strips on wire rack over cake pan; bake in preheated 400 degree oven until just starts to brown, about 10 to 15 minutes. Wrap each radish with bacon strip and secure with skewer. Brush all sides with barbecue sauce. Return to oven and bake until bacon is crisp and radishes are soft; additional 15 to 20 minutes.

Big Apple Meatballs

2012-02-02T05:15:00.000-08:00

Sports fans the world over suffer from delusions of grandeur. We believe that what we wear or where we sit during the game somehow affects its outcome. Even the most ardent fan probably doesn’t carry this delusion as far as I do. Convinced that my involvement is responsible for every first down, field goal, and touchdown, on game days I create snacks and libations named for favorite players. The cat suits up in a team jersey.

During college a friend was renowned for her annual Super Bowl parties. Invitations directed us to bring team-themed appetizers either celebrating participating squads’ uniform colors or foods that came from their regions. The year the Packers played the Patriots I brought Wisconsin beer cheese soup garnished with broccoli. The soup container spilled in the front seat during the ride to the party. For months following the car smelled of musky cheese and Lombardi.

Those of you who have a team playing in the Super Bowl this year likely don’t have the time or inclination to worry about what you’ll be eating during Sunday’s big game. For the rest of us, witty commercials, Madonna’s half-time show, and Game Day food are all we have. I’ll be a temporary Giants fan and serve Big Apple Meatballs to honor Eli and the guys. If any Patriot fans show up, I’ll call the dish Bostonian Balls and giggle at my clever turn of phrase. For sliders, serve single meatballs on toasted and quartered thin-sliced bagels. Guests can garnish sandwiches with cream cheese or a sharp cheddar, lettuce, red onion, and apple slices. For a twist add a teaspoon or two of fennel seeds to the raw mix before shaping, and then serve cooked meatballs open-faced on petite rye with thin-sliced raw fennel root.

The meatballs are sweet and mild, and a zesty barbecue sauce sweetened with apple sauce balances the flavors. Add apple sauce to a bottled sauce, or make a quick and easy barbecue with minced onions, apple cider vinegar, ketchup, brown sugar, apple sauce, and mustard. Add a generous glug of apple brandy and reduce.

Big Apple Meatballs
Makes about 52 balls
1 tart apple, grated (about 1 cup)
1 medium onion, grated (about ¾ cup)
3 ounces cream cheese, softened
2 eggs
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
1 garlic clove, minced
1 ½ teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon Worcestershire
Nutmeg, pepper to taste
½ cup dried bread crumbs
1 pound 85% lean ground beef
1 pound ground pork

Combine apple, onion, cheese, eggs, mustard, vinegar, garlic, and seasonings until well blended. Add crumbs. Mix in meat until uniform. Shape 1 ½ inch balls (about 2 tablespoons).

In batches, fry balls in butter and vegetable oil over medium high heat until well seared, and then place balls in roasting pan. Bake in preheated 350 degree oven for 20 minutes. Add 2 cups barbecue sauce and continue baking an additional 20 minutes.

Cincinnati Chili

2012-01-26T05:18:00.000-08:00

When home cooks serve up a hot pot of chili, all heck breaks loose. Arguments erupt between Texas-style lovers about whether to simply turn up the heat or mimic a volcano. There is much dispute regarding the credibility of a sauce that includes tomatoes and beans, coffee and beer, shredded versus cubed meat, or lime and cilantro. And don’t even get them started on the demerits of white chili. Locally, we’ve formed an unholy alliance with something called Minnesota chili. A watery concoction of ground beef and kidney beans specked with an occasional flavor raft of green pepper or tomato, Minnesota chili is Texas’s anemic second cousin three times removed (the only thing they share is a last name).

While Texans all hail their machismo elixir and Minnesotans cower in the corner with their flaccid bowls, Cincinnati chili smiles slyly and encourages the sweet (cinnamon, allspice, cloves) to play nice with the heat (garlic, chili, cumin). Macedonian immigrant Tom Kiradjieff was hustling coney islands (chili dogs) when he developed Cincinnati chili in the early 1920s. He added the spices of his childhood to bump up the chili, and influenced by the one-pot dishes of Greece and possibly his Italian neighbors Kiradjieff served the chili atop a bed of spaghetti noodles. Within a few years Kiradjieff’s customers were ordering their chili three-ways (pasta, sauce, yellow cheese), four-ways (pasta, sauce, cheese, diced white onions), five-ways (pasta, sauce, cheese, onions, and kidney beans), and any number of other complicated “ways.” Decades later, entire neighborhoods in metro Cincinnati are identified by their chili adaptations. Kiradjieff created a regional icon.

Cincinnati chili is the mediator of stews. When it is served the only gentle bickering you’ll hear is about whether chili is better with cheese and sans beans, or if white onions are better than red. This week’s recipe calls for canned chipotle peppers. You don’t need the entire can, so freeze the remaining peppers and sauce to use in other recipes. Serve Cincinnati chili family-style and let diners decide to eat their chili with or without hot pasta, shredded cheddar cheese, diced onions, and warm kidney beans.

Cincinnati Chili
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 medium white onion, chopped
1 pound ground beef (85% lean)
1 clove garlic, minced
3 chipotle peppers in adobo sauce (from can), chopped
2 tablespoons chili powder
1 tablespoon unsweetened cocoa
2 teaspoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon oregano
½ teaspoon allspice
¼ to ½ teaspoon cayenne
15 ounce can tomato sauce
8 ounces chicken broth
1 tablespoon cider vinegar
2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
Salt and pepper to taste

Sweat onions in oil until soft and translucent, about 5 minutes. Turn up heat to medium and add salt, pepper, beef, garlic, and chipotles; use spoon to break up beef. Add remaining dry ingredients and cook while stirring until spices become fragrant, about 3 minutes. Add wet ingredients and stir to combine well. Bring to simmer and cook uncovered 15 to 20 minutes.

Avocado Avarice

2012-01-19T05:21:00.000-08:00

Did you hear the collective gasps a few years ago when State Fair aficionados learned one of the vendors was experimenting with deep frying avocados? The promise of silky fat avocado flesh entombed in lard-crisped batter sounded like perfection. When deep fried avocados failed to appear on beer garden menus most Fair Folks moved on to other fried-somethings-on-a-stick. But some of us dwelled on that broken promise. As we moved into football playoff parties, a few of us even predicted that avocado fries might be the Super Bowl dish of the year.

Three beautiful avocados rested on the butcher block. Carefully I halved each one, removed the pits, peeled the skin, and sliced the flesh into long wedges. I coated the slices with cayenne-scented flour, an egg wash, then panko crumbs and parmesan. I gently nestled the dressed up slices into sizzling oil and stood back to admire my work, smug with the knowledge I’d have something really awesome to share with you this week. The avocados became beautiful. Little bits of green flesh peeked through the golden crunch. Cheese melted into the breading and mingled with the oil just long enough to fill the kitchen with the fragrance of desire. On the plate, each avocado fry was prettier than its neighbor. A swirl of reduced balsamic vinegar added color and drama. I could hardly contain my excitement as I presented those beauties to my guests.

It wasn’t that the flavor was off or peculiar. There really was no flavor at all. It wasn’t an unpleasant experience, until the third or fourth bite. Where the crunch of shell should have balanced smooth flesh, instead there was dissonance. And three lovely avocados gave their lives for a foolish experiment.

Sometimes playing with a new recipe is like trying to touch the sun, or making it through the playoffs unscathed, or chopping onions without crying. We get greedy. We demand too much of a good thing. We bacon ourselves into a corner. Adding bacon doesn’t always make things better (although for the life of me I cannot come up with an example of this), and frying stuff in batter doesn’t guarantee improvement. Rather, a simple avocado lightly bathed in vinegar or citrus is perfection realized. And guacamole is pretty tasty as well.

Mediterranean Guacamole
2 avocados
1/2 cup Kalamata olives, pitted and halved
1/2 cup cherry tomatoes, diced
1/4 cup red pepper, diced
3 pepperoncini, diced
1 garlic clove, minced
3 tablespoons pepperoncini "juice"
Salt and pepper to taste

Smash avocados with a potato masher. Fold in remaining ingredients. Season with salt and pepper.

Serve with pita chips or on crostini.

Food Narcissism

2012-01-12T05:15:00.000-08:00

food narcissism (n.) 1. Excessive love or admiration of food that oneself enjoys or has created.
2. Salacious pleasure derived from contemplation or admiration of one’s own food
or of food enjoyed or prepared by oneself.

We all know one. Maybe it is a colleague who joins the conference planning committee only to hijack the food arrangements. Perhaps it is that book club member who insists on commandeering every gathering’s snack or meal choice. He posts photographs of every meal on Facebook and she makes sure you know she has dined at all the best new restaurants. Food narcissists make food decisions for everyone without regard to others’ tastes and dietary restrictions. They toss bread to the glucose intolerant, sprinkle sugar over the diabetic, fold bacon into vegan bean dip, offer vats of butter to dieters, and proudly present cheese plates to the dairy-free.

As a recovering food narcissist I admit I still shudder involuntarily when the menu I’ve planned must be tweaked to suit the needs of my diners. We who live for the next meal suffer with delusions that everyone appreciates our food as fervently as we do. But I am learning to live with my affliction and now enjoy the challenge of developing recipes suitable to all my guests’ nutritional requirements. Though I continue to wrestle with nearly uncontrollable urges to add duck fat to my vegetarian friends’ plates, I don’t. Honest. I’d never waste precious blubber when I can spend hours alone with it, simply admiring.

This noodle salad recipe covers most food allergies and aversions. If your diners have nut sensitivities, nix the peanuts. For the glucose-free, use rice noodles. For guests who track their carbohydrates and sugars, serve tofu noodles like Shirataki (If you haven’t yet tried these miraculous pasta replacements, be forewarned they are not identical in flavor and texture to their wheat and rice cousins, but they are fantastic in Asian and cream-based recipes. Be sure to rinse them in cold water until the “authentic odor” disappears, then rinse some more.). Agave sweetener not only tastes great, it is low glycemic. Add a lean protein such as tofu, chicken, fish, or flank steak marinated in curry paste, sesame oil, garlic, and lime.

Thai-Style Dressing for Noodle Salad
Juice from 1 lime
1/4 cup white rice vinegar
2 tablespoons Thai chili paste
3 teaspoons honey or Agave sweetener
1 garlic clove, crushed
2 teaspoons grated ginger
Sesame oil
Tamari
Sriracha or other hot sauce
Generous handful of unsalted, roasted peanuts

Use pestle and mortar to roughly crush peanuts. Whisk together all ingredients, including oil, tamari, and Sriracha to taste. Stir into cool, prepared noodles and serve over chopped romaine, green onion, cucumber, grated carrots, and sweet and chili peppers. Garnish with available fresh herbs such as cilantro, basil, and mint.

Sweet Curry Memories

2012-01-05T05:48:00.000-08:00

We recall almost as dreams the smells and tastes that lock food memories into our minds. I lived for a time overseas in a big city where each season had its own food odor. Spring was a peculiar mingling of burned toast and starchy soba noodles. Summer festered from fields plowed with waste that beget vegetables so ripe they rotted before reaching my tiny kitchen. Fall meant street vendors roasting chestnuts that produced a perfume more appealing than their flavor. Winter brought fragrant curry houses selling lunches to harried and chilled workers.

I was naïve and inexperienced and not yet able to discern intricate differences in Indian, Asian, or Caribbean cuisines. I only knew that sweet curry was a seasoning my mom used when she wanted to serve us something exotic. Sweet curry gravy ladled over white rice became a reminder not of exploration and discovery, but of the familiar. Every time I walked by the curry houses I’d inhale deeply and long for home.

Winter may soon appear in Minnesota and the search for warm and nourishing dinner ideas will begin. This week’s recipe is my version of Tokyo-Minnesota curry. It will warm your family and perhaps remind you of home. Use your favorite packaged curry powder (I prefer Penzey’s) or mix your own. Serve the gravy over rice or noodles with cilantro, jalapeno, and chutney. For a tangy side, mix Greek yogurt with garlic, lime, and diced cucumber.

Chicken Curry
Serves 6

Olive oil
1 small white or yellow onion, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
1 thumb-sized bit of ginger, grated
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 tablespoon red chili paste
2 tablespoons sweet curry powder
2 cups chicken broth
1 - 14 ounce can coconut milk
3 to 4 cups cooked chicken, shredded
1 teaspoon cayenne

Heat large pan over medium high and add a tablespoon or two of oil. Sauté onion, pepper, and ginger until vegetables are soft, about 4 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. Add garlic, paste, and curry powder; cook additional 3 minutes. Add chicken broth and bring to simmer; reduce about 15 minutes or until slightly thickened. Add coconut milk and continue simmering additional 10 minutes. Add chicken and heat thoroughly. Add cayenne and adjust seasonings.

Latkes

2011-12-29T08:09:00.000-08:00

As I write this I can hear the crackling of tiny meatballs frying in butter and the house is filled with a familiar heady perfume of beef, pork, and allspice. There is a nuance to the sound and smell and I know when to get up and flip the balls or remove them from the heat and add another dozen to the pan. If the smoke alarm goes off, I’ll know I’ve channeled my father who was a notoriously oblivious meatball burner.

Anyone who has ever made multiple batches of Swedish meatballs in a single afternoon knows that you lose count at fifty, the balls get bigger as the afternoon becomes evening, and no one really measures butter (butter is the bacon of the holidays; more is always better). There is comfort knowing that for more than one hundred years someone in my family has spent Christmas Eve standing watch over the meatballs. For generations before me and generations to follow, the simple but significant meatball symbolizes love and family.

By the time you read this, the meatball frenzy will be over and we’ll be contemplating the New Year. My 2012 goals include revisiting the splits (an ode to my flexible youth) and mastering a flawless crepe. I am weirdly superstitious about New Year’s Eve. Convinced my mood that night will affect the coming year, I attempt to look really good, eat delicious food, and drink something effervescent and lovely. New Year’s morning I reward myself with a favorite meal: latkes (potato pancakes fried in olive oil) and blinis (petite yeast-raised pancakes) topped with luscious cured salmon, sour cream, and caviar. We wash it down with hot black coffee and sparkling wine and just a touch of fresh squeezed blood orange or tangerine juice. It takes half an hour to twist the juice from those little Clementines and my hands become orange and fragrant. There are few better ways to begin a New Year than with citrus scented hands.

Latkes
Makes about 242 Yukon potatoes, shredded
1/4 cup white onion, shredded
2 eggs
2 tablespoons flour
Salt and pepper
Olive oil and butter

Combine potatoes, onions, eggs, and flour; season with salt and pepper.

Melt butter and olive oil over medium heat in large skillet. Fry small round clumps of potato mixture
(about 2 tablespoons per round) in butter/oil about 5 minutes each side or until golden brown. Place
completed cakes on paper towels in warm oven until ready to serve.

Macaroni and Cheese

2011-12-22T05:55:00.000-08:00

My great-grandmother Johnson died before I was born but the food traditions she created for her family endure. For generations we have enjoyed the same Christmas Eve menu that Great-grandma served: tiny meatballs and brown gravy, boiled potatoes with “runny butter,” cream sauce and peas, fruit salad, and the borrowed Norwegian specialty lefse (served “Swedish style” warm with butter and never sugared). I don’t impose lutfisk upon my husband and daughter as I reserve that tradition for community dinners with other lye fish junkies, but I’ve added other favorites to our table: lingonberries, rice or barley pudding made with coconut milk, and gravlax (cold cured salmon). Yet the tradition that receives the most attention each year is the hefty hot dish of rather un-Swedish macaroni and cheese.

My mom speculated that the addition of macaroni and cheese to Christmas Eve dinner was Great Grandma’s way to welcome her Catholic daughter-in-law (our Grandma Louise) to the Johnson celebration. Back in 1932 Catholics did not eat meat on Christmas Eve.

Great Aunt Hazel remembered things differently, “My mother made macaroni and cheese because it was Paul’s favorite,” she said, referring to her older brother. Great-grandmother doted on all of her children and none so much as handsome and charming Paul who was especially appreciative of her cooking.

Browsing through my collection of pre-WW2 church and community cookbooks I found dozens of recipes for macaroni and cheese. And, there is a strong southern, often Black, tradition of macaroni and cheese as a celebratory meal as well as everyday fare. It is one of only a handful of foods considered to be American cuisine.

I like to imagine that my grandmother Johnson added macaroni and cheese to her Christmas Eve table to welcome her Catholic daughter-in-law, to make happy favored son Paul, and to identify herself and her family as Americans. Our food traditions allow us to both honor our past and celebrate the present.

Macaroni and Cheese
1 pound elbow macaroni, cooked and drained
½ cup butter
4 cups milk or cream, at room temperature
Flour
Dry mustard, paprika, nutmeg, salt, pepper
4-5 cups grated cheese
1 cup dried bread crumbs plus 1 tablespoon butter

Melt butter in large pot; add flour and seasoning and whisk about 3-5 minutes. Slowly add stream of milk to roux, whisking all the while. Bring to simmer, continuing to whisk; about 2 minutes or until roux thickens. Add handfuls of cheese and stir until melted. Combine cheese sauce with macaroni. Transfer mixture to large buttered casserole. Combine bread crumbs with butter and top evenly over casserole.

Bake in 350 degree oven for 30-40 minutes or until topping browns and bubbles.

Veggie Intervention

2011-12-15T05:27:00.000-08:00

Smack dab in the middle of Holiday Month and I find myself gussied up for another dinner party. I am wedged into a pair of Spanx like sausage in casing and pray that the seams hold or I am liable to take out the entire party in one ugly spandex explosion. Two weeks of endless festivities have me indulging in the kind of carbohydrate-loading usually only experienced the night before a marathon (but the only running I do is toward the buffet). And there are three weeks left until January cools my appetite. Like the children in The Night Before Christmas poem my nightly dreams stream visions of sugar plums, rice pudding, Chex party mix, ham and meatballs, gingerbread, and rich canapés dancing in my head. It is time for a veggie intervention.

At the occasional meal eaten away from the temptations of celebratory repast I fill at least half my plate with greenery. Salads appeal to my love of variety. Vegetable soups and stews either emphasize flavors I love or disguise any healthy ingredients my family eschews. Roasting sweetens root vegetables and vine fruits alike.

Last week at I tasted the world’s best artichoke dip. My friend’s recipe is the same basic one we all use: mayo, sour cream, cheese, and artichoke hearts. What made the snack special was a top crisp layer of buttery challah breadcrumbs. Today’s recipe mimics the snap and savory of that appetizer and adds sweet elements. For a complete meal, flank the vegetables with poached eggs and turkey sausage links. Longing for a starch? Spoon the roasted blend over baked potatoes, pasta, or crostini, or add baby potatoes and skinny strips of parsnip to the mix before roasting. These vegetables are also great on pizza. However served, roasted vegetables provide mid-winter warmth and zeal. We’ll be ready for the next party in no time.

Roasted Artichoke Hearts with Mushrooms, Peppers, and Olives
Makes 4 cups
1 - 14 ounce can artichoke hearts, drained (halve or quarter if large)
1 - 8 ounce package baby portabella mushrooms, cleaned and quartered
1 cup cherry tomatoes, halved
1 red pepper, cut into 1-inch pieces
½ red onion, cut into 1-inch pieces
½ cup brined olives (about 25 Kalamata or 35 Nicoise), drained
2 to 3 sprigs rosemary or thyme
3 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste

Pat wet ingredients dry with a paper towel. Toss all ingredients with olive oil in large mixing bowl. Spread vegetables in an even single layer in large roasting pan. Bake in preheated 350 degree oven for 1 hour; stir gently every 20 minutes so that vegetables caramelize evenly and don’t stick to the sheet.

Lussekatter

2011-12-08T05:44:00.000-08:00

On December 13 families across Sweden awake to St. Lucia processionals complete with singing
children dressed as Lucia and her court. Tradition honors the Saint of Light at a breakfast of saffron
buns, hot coffee, and other baked goods. How did an Italian saint become a Swedish icon? In 1927
a Swedish newspaper used Lucia as a marketing ploy to increase holiday shopping. Those efforts
popularized Lucia and today every home, school, community, and hospital hosts a Lucia event.

You don’t need to live in Sweden, dress in white, or don a crown of candles to partake in Lucia’s
Day. Saffron buns are a tasty addition to holiday baking. Lucia buns can be shaped in numerous
forms but I prefer the simple S-shape called Lussekatter (Lucia cats). This updated version swaps
cranberries for raisins and includes seasonally abundant tangerines.

Lussekatter
2 cups milk, heated to just under 110 degrees
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 package active dry yeast
½ cup sugar
2 tablespoons brandy
1 teaspoon powdered saffron
Zest from 2 tangerines
4 ½ to 5 ½ cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon ground cardamom
1 teaspoon salt
¼ cup dried cranberries chopped fine plus 24 whole
Powdered sugar and juice squeezed from tangerines

Combine milk, vanilla, yeast, and a pinch of the sugar in a small bowl and let sit for 10 minutes.
In another small bowl combine brandy, 1 teaspoon of the sugar, saffron, and zest; stir to
dissolve.

In a large bowl, whisk together 4 cups of flour, remaining sugar, cardamom, and salt. Make
a well in the center and pour in the milk-yeast mixture and saffron brandy. Stir to form soft
dough, gradually adding more flour as necessary.

Turn the dough out onto a floured surface and knead until the dough is smooth and elastic,
about 10 minutes. Knead in the chopped cranberries.

Shape the dough into a ball; place in large oiled bowl, turning to coat, and cover with a kitchen
towel. Let rise until doubled; about 2 hours.

Gently fold dough and divide into 12 equal pieces. Shape each piece into an S and place the
rolls 2 inches apart on a greased baking sheet. Push whole cranberry into each crease of
the “S.” Cover with a kitchen towel and let rise until almost doubled; about 1 hour.

Bake the rolls in preheated 375 degree oven for 30 minutes, or until each roll sounds hollow
when tapped. Cool on rack then brush with glaze of powdered sugar and tangerine juice.

Tunnbröd

2011-12-01T05:32:00.000-08:00

I've always been a little envious of my Norwegian-American friends who are born with a lefse roller in
one hand and a griddle in the cradle. For years I’ve attempted the roll-transfer-fry (the precise technical
terms for preparing Scandinavian flatbreads) of the delicate potato and flour dough, and I’ve come to
appreciate the skills of a true lefse artisan. Lefse-making is a complicated task, and not one I claim to be
good at. My lefse is never round, always tough, and usually tears before it makes it to the hot griddle.

When I first heard about tunnbröd, Swedish thin bread made of rye or barley flour and potatoes, I was
pretty excited. Fragile lefse dough becomes impossible to work with if it gets too warm or if too much
flour is used to roll. Tunnbröd dough is easy to work with, and in fact the more you work with it the
better is rolls out. Finally flatbread I can master: Swedish lefse!

No special equipment is needed; use your favorite rolling pin and a heavy pan or griddle. Serve the
bread alongside lefse with lots of butter or eat it like a Swede and wrap it around cheese, herring, or
sausage.

Tunnbröd
Makes 10 pieces

1 1/4 pounds Russet potatoes; peeled, cooked, and pushed through a ricer
1 cup rye flour
1 teaspoon salt
White flour for rolling

Knead all ingredients together to form stiff dough. Divide dough into 10 pieces and roll into balls. Use
plenty of white flour for rolling. Roll out balls to be paper thin and prick with fork on one side. Carefully
transfer to medium-hot dry frying pan or griddle. Fry on both sides until done, about 2 minutes each
side. Transfer to cooling rack and keep covered with a towel. Store chilled in plastic wrap. Freezes well.

Pie

2011-11-24T06:16:00.000-08:00

Food critics and those supposedly in the know have for years proclaimed that pie is the new cupcake, or salted caramel, or waffle, or any number of other trendy sweets. Yet those of us who actually consume dessert know that pie has never fallen out of style. And besides turkey, which Thanksgiving food is more iconic of the holiday than pie? Pies are the perfect marriage of buttery pastry crumb and tasty suitor.

Now that the Big Day is upon us, your table is likely laden with pies of pumpkin and pecan and custard. But next week when Thursday’s pies are only a beautiful memory, remind your loved ones that you are grateful for them not only when they help with Thanksgiving cleanup, but also when they sneak the last cube of Grandma’s cornbread dressing. Make them (another) pie.

Rather than baking the same old apple pie filling tossed with sugar and spices, try this rich saucy recipe. The bourbon vanilla caramel comes together quickly and makes a kind of custard when baked with the cornstarch and apples, and the sauce is equally delicious served alone, warm and poured over ice cream or apple crisp.

Who Put the Apple in My Bourbon Pie
You will need pie dough for a double-crust pie.

Bourbon Vanilla Caramel
3 tablespoons butter
1/3 cup corn syrup
3/4 cup brown sugar
1/3 cup sour cream
1/4 cup bourbon
1/2 pod vanilla (or substitute 1 ½ teaspoons vanilla extract)
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
½ teaspoon salt

Whisk all ingredients together over medium high heat in small saucepan. Bring to simmer and continue whisking until sugar and sour cream are melted and combined. Remove from heat. Discard vanilla pod.

Apple Filling
6 cups tart baking apples, chopped into bite-sized pieces
3 tablespoons cornstarch
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon cloves
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon salt

Toss apple, cornstarch, and spices together and set aside for 10 minutes.

Pie Assembly
Roll discs into two thin, uniform crusts and place bottom crust into 9-inch pie plate. Fill with apple filling.

Pour caramel sauce over apples. Cover with second crust, seal edges, and pierce top to steam. Sift a
tablespoon of sugar and 1 teaspoon cinnamon over top. Place pie on baking sheet and bake at 450
degrees for 10 minutes. Reduce heat to 350 degrees and continue baking for additional 45 minutes or
until crust is golden brown.

Mostarda

2011-11-17T05:53:00.000-08:00

Pear and plum and all things mostarda were introduced to me several years ago when a foodie friend served imported Italian pear mostarda on a cheese plate. Mostarda fruits are preserved in simple syrup spiked with mustard and vinegar. The pickling results in a sweet and pungent condiment and fruit plump with flavor.

We hid in the kitchen, insatiable and greedy, hovering over the platter and popping mouthfuls of the pears and Parmigiano-Reggiano. Once the plate was empty we dug directly into the jar, lacing the slippery pears between fingers and slurping drops of sticky sap. We were unwilling to share the stash with the other guests until half the jar was devoured.

Homemade versions of mostarda might not be as intoxicating as my first lustful encounter with pear and parm, but they sure do work in a pinch. While traditional methods often require the fruit to macerate in sugar for 24-hours, the recipe below is quick and easy. I wanted to play with the sour tones of cranberry. The resulting bold and lively relish isn’t for the faint of tongue. If the tart nature of cranberries isn’t your thing, substitute thick slices of Honeycrisp or Braeburn apples for the berries in the final fruit drop. Cranberry Mostarda makes a great addition to Thanksgiving fare both during the feast and accompanying any leftovers: pair with cheeses, spread on sandwiches, and add to roasted meats and poultry.

Cranberry Mostarda
2 cups fresh cranberries
1/2 cup Champagne vinegar
1/2 cup water
1 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
3 tablespoons honey
3 tablespoons yellow mustard seeds
3 tablespoons Dijon mustard
Zest of one orange

Bring vinegar, water, sugars, honey, and seeds to rolling boil in saucepan. Decrease heat to gentle simmer, stirring frequently, and reduce sauce to thin syrup; about 10 minutes. Add 1 cup of the cranberries and simmer about 20 minutes. Add remaining cranberries and simmer an additional 15-20 minutes or until mixture has reduced to a nice viscous texture (sauce will thicken as it cools). Remove from heat. Stir in mustard and orange zest; season to taste with salt and pepper.

Store refrigerated up to one week.

Pumpkin Pie

2011-11-10T05:43:00.000-08:00

My relationship with pizza began the night I was born. Grandpa served up hot slices for my sisters while our parents headed to the hospital. Likely I was anxious to arrive, anticipating the delicious adventures that lay ahead. A decent pie always makes me swoon.

Pizza is my generation’s hot dish. No longer content with pepperoni and tomato sauce, we dress our
crusts with local, seasonal, and available ingredients. Chicken on sale? Make BBQ chicken pizza. Farmers Market exploding with baby potatoes, peas, and herbs? Bake a potato and pea-pesto pie. Tired of boring breakfasts? Rustle up a deep dish with plenty of vegetables, ham, and pretty poached or scrambled eggs.

Today’s recipe makes use of the season’s abundant pumpkin and squash. Prepare as is, or experiment by adding caramelized onions, bacon, apples, nuts, or red pepper. The dough recipe is foolproof even for beginners, but use a prefab crust if you are in a hurry or are not quite ready to dive into yeast.

Pumpkin Pie Pizza
Dough ingredients
2/3 cup warm water
1 package of yeast
2 teaspoons honey (or sugar)
1 - 2/3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons olive oil

Instructions
In small mixing bowl stir together water, yeast, and honey; set aside until foamy.

In large mixing bowl whisk together flour and salt; add yeast mixture and 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Knead until soft dough forms, about five minutes. Dough will be quite wet and sticky. Shape into ball, coat with remaining olive oil, and set in clean bowl. Cover; rise to double, about an hour and a half.

Toppings
2 cups pumpkin (or squash), cubed to ¾ inch squares
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 sprigs rosemary
5 garlic cloves, skin removed
Salt and pepper
1 ½ cups provolone, shredded
¼ cup Asiago, shredded
1 tablespoon fresh rosemary
1 tablespoon fresh sage

Instructions
Toss pumpkin, garlic, rosemary sprigs, salt and pepper in 2 tablespoons of olive oil. Place in single layer on baking sheet then roast in a 375 degree oven for 20 minutes; stir at 10 minutes.

On a greased baking sheet, roll pizza dough into a 14 inch circle. Top evenly with remaining ingredients (tear or chiffonade the sage); drizzle with additional olive oil.

Bake in preheated 400 degree oven 15 to 20 minutes, or until cheese is melted and golden. Garnish whole sage leaves that are fried in olive oil for 30 seconds each side.

Introduction

2011-11-03T05:10:00.000-07:00

“3-Year-Old Patty Johnson Is Dwarfed By Large Great Danes.”

My first appearance in The Gaylord Hub was a photo of me and our dogs: front page, above the fold, just under the masthead. As the youngest of five sisters and the shortest kid in our family, I was selected by the photographer to demonstrate how big our dogs were in comparison to a preschooler.

I remember the photo shoot not because I felt special being singled out as a model, but because the dogs and I stood facing the bright sun, and the photographer grew increasingly frustrated as I squinted and frowned shot after shot. The dogs of course behaved perfectly and never required a redo.

My childhood in Gaylord was one part Mayberry, two parts Ramona the Pest. Our home on Main Street wasn’t just the center of town: it was the center of the universe. Growing up in Gaylord meant summers at the pool, parades through town on the 4th of July and Homecoming, wearing costumes to school on Halloween, Santa bringing us Red Delicious apples a week before Christmas, Easter egg hunts in the park, Girl Scouts and Catechism and a feeling that I belonged. Those experiences color practically everything I write.

The path I took to becoming a food writer wasn’t complicated. I am a writer, and I love food and food traditions. The path I took to writing for The Hub was a little more complex. After my family moved from Gaylord, I have always had sisters who continue to live there, and my attachment to the community was never interrupted. Last month my sister Cheryl (a Gaylord resident) mentioned there was no food column currently running in The Hub. Lucky for me, all roads eventually lead back to Gaylord.

Whether peeking at the contents of a neighbor’s shopping cart, grabbing a bowl of pho at a favorite Vietnamese restaurant, or learning how to roll lefse in the church kitchen, food rituals tell us much about individuals, culture, and ourselves. In this column, I hope to bring you weekly quips and blurbs about food and recipes, and I would love to hear from you about your food rituals and discoveries. We are all called to the table. There, we share celebrations and memories. There we find comfort.