Not Derby Pie » condiments

Preserved Lemons

rivka — Fri, 26 Feb 2010 14:37:09 +0000

I like sour things. I don’t mean tart or citrusy or with a faint hint of brightness; everyone likes that. I mean sharply, brightly, eye-squintingly mouth-puckeringly sour. I’ve been known to suck on the end of a lemon wedge on occasion. I love lemon-based vinaigrettes. Basically, if something’s a bit on the tart side, squeeze that lemon a couple more times, — op, maybe once more — give it one last little shake, yep just like that, and I’ll take it, thankyouverymuch.

But lemons aren’t the one-note that my sour obsession might suggest. They’re among the more versatile ingredients in your fridge, actually. In fact, when the kind folks at Washingtonian asked me if I had any advice for new cooks, I suggested keeping fresh lemons on hand, because they very often end up being the finishing touch to whatever it is I’m making. You’ve got the juice, fruity and sour and just a bit sweet at times; then there’s the zest, more mellow in tartness but fully present in aroma and flavor; and if that’s not enough dimension, there are endless things you can do to lemons to radically change the flavors they bring to the table, such as grill them, braise them, candy them, or….preserve them.

So what are preserved lemons, you ask? I’ll tell you this: their name is quite deceiving. If you’re thinking preserves, think again. This ain’t no jam. It’s not even sweet. It’s completely and utterly savory, in the most wonderful sense. Instead of preserving lemons with sugar as in marmalade, here you’re preserving them in salt. The lemons are either sliced, quartered, or packed whole into jars layered with plenty of salt and enough lemon juice to fill the jars, then allowed to sit about on the countertop for several days (or weeks) until the salt and lemon and time work together to do their magic. The result is at once vigorously tart and deeply aromatic. It hits sour and sweet and salty, yes salty, and then it opens up and hits you with floral, spicy notes. If fresh lemons are the finishing touch to many recipes, preserved lemons are the cornerstone to some truly spectacular food.

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Pickles!

rivka — Fri, 25 Sep 2009 22:30:48 +0000

Folks, I’m finding it hard to contain my excitement about NDP’s second-ever guest post. Guess who wrote it? MY MOM!

That’s right: in the post below, NDP Ima tells you all about easy-to-make, hard-to-stop-eating pickles. You’ll see from her intro paragraph where I got my taste buds. These pickles are salty, tangy, and really bright from the addition of fresh dill. So read up — then go make some pickles!

I am really not a salt lover. I don’t use much when I cook, and in restaurants great food that’s well-seasoned is often too salty for my taste. I don’t care for chips or french fries, and I prefer nuts spicy or au naturel. Nonetheless, I do love briny salty things – olives, capers, and sour pickles. So when I was leaving town for a long weekend and had a lot of small cucumbers that wouldn’t last until my return, I decided to try my hand at some pickles. I wanted spicy, garlicky, dill pickles that would make themselves in the refrigerator while I was gone. I remembered the ones a family friend used to make with cucumbers from his garden and my dad’s. He didn’t use shortcuts, though – he put his pickles in huge crocks of brine and alum in the basement for weeks.

I cut the cukes into thick, chunky slices and placed them in a quart jar with pickling spices and garlic. I didn’t have any fresh dill, so my first batch just had dill seed from the pickling spice, but it still tasted authentic. I prepared the vinegar brine and filled the jar, leaving it upside down on the counter overnight. The next morning, before rushing to the airport, I put the jar in the frig. When I returned four nights later, the pickles were done to perfection!
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Marcella Hazan’s Pesto

rivka — Sat, 22 Aug 2009 22:04:52 +0000

Basil is aplenty at DC’s farmers’ markets. This week, my favorite farmer was selling massive bags of the stuff for just $3.99. I probably came home with a good 2 pounds of basil — hard to imagine considering how light it is. There was only one thing to do: make pesto.

The last time I blogged about pesto, I largely focused on the method. Heidi at 101 Cookbooks had written about making pesto like an Italian grandmother, and I was inspired enough by her post to give the old fashioned knife-on-board method a try. The result was wonderful — chunky and rustic, with plenty of the irregularity that’s the hallmark of handmade things. But given how busy I’ve been at work lately, standing in the kitchen slaving over chopped basil just wasn’t in the cards for today. Instead, I followed the sage advice of another Italian grandmother, Marcella Hazan. I pulled her Essentials of Classic Italian Cooking off the shelf and set about to make pesto using her (apparently sanctioned) food processor method.

Before you roll your eyes and call me a fraud, it’s in her book: Pesto, food processor method. Apparently the Italian goddess is fine with it. Plus, if that’s not enough evidence for you, I once heard Lynn Rosetto Casper, the formidable chef and host of APM’s radio show The Splendid Table, say that if you go to the Liguria region of Italy, to Genoa, where pesto originated, and follow the tips from the locals to the actual neighborhood in Genoa where pesto was actually invented, the Italian grandmothers there use food processors! That was the last time I had a second thought about whizzing the stuff together.

I think Hazan’s recipe is the best one I’ve ever made. The balance between basil, pine nuts, raw, pungent garlic, and Parmigiano Reggiano and Romano cheeses is just teetering in equilibrium. I also used a truly olive-y olive oil that I got on a twitter rec (Aria, available at Whole Foods), which may have made the difference. In any event, it’s a recipe I wouldn’t hesitate to make again. So hurry out to your market while basil’s still available, and try this pesto. It’d even make Marcella proud.

Marcella Hazan’s Pesto
I doubled the recipe and got about a pint, so this makes about 1/2 a pint

2 cups tightly packed basil leaves
3 tablespoons pine nuts
1/2 cup olive oil
2 garlic cloves, chopped fine before being added to the processor
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese
2 tablespoons grated Romano cheese
3 tablespoons butter, softened

Blend all ingredients except cheese and butter until relatively smooth. Fold in cheese by hand to give that chunky, rustic texture. Fold in softened butter, incorporating it evenly into the pesto.

If freezing, do not add cheese and butter; add to thawed pesto just before serving. Top with a thin layer of olive oil, which will help keep pesto green.
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Tamarind Puree

rivka — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 12:59:56 +0000

The single best thing (the single good thing, actually) about pulling late nights at work is ordering Indian on the firm’s tab. The office coordinates with one of those online delivery systems where you can order dinner and have the bill automatically charged to the company, but frankly, the pickins are slim and they charge you a delivery fee which really cuts into your allotted budget. I almost never order off the site, opting instead to be my own middle man. A bunch of us go in on a big order from Heritage India up the street, and I usually volunteer to take care of ordering and submitting receipts for reimbursement. My colleagues seem to think it’s because I embody the spirit of generosity; the truth? I like to ask for lots of extra tamarind chutney.

You’ll rarely find my fridge without tamarind concentrate. Tamarind is slightly sweet, but it’s the zippy tang that elevates the flavor of meats, pad thai, and even tomato sauce. It’s used in many Indian and Thai dishes, and you’ll often get some as a dipping sauce for samosa. Perhaps lesser known, tamarind is a key ingredient in Syrian cuisine. Ever since snagging an invite to a dinner party at a Syrian friend’s place while I was in college, I’ve been fascinated by Syrian food. For starters, there’s so damn much of it! I ate until I was stuffed at that dinner, and just as the food coma set in, out came the main course. But beyond the copious quantities, I just can’t get enough of the interplay between sour and sweet that’s fundamental to Syrian cooking. We’re talking tamarind-laced tomato sauce, or meatballs cooked in a sweet-tart cherry sauce. It’s some pretty good stuff.

I bought my first jar of tamarind concentrate at an Indian grocer near my old office, and it lasted me for nearly a year. It was good, but its texture was similar to pomegranate syrup, and its flavor was somewhat harsher than the tamarind chutney I’m used to eating with my samosas. I thought to get more, but since I no longer work out in the boonies and also don’t have a car, Indian groceries aren’t exactly accessible. So this fearless blogger decided to make her own.

I didn’t go it alone, though: I took on tamarind puree armed with Aromas of Aleppo, one of my new favorite cookbooks to read and ogle over. It’s a tall, heavy book, written by a woman named Poopa Dweck (Poopa! What a name!), and it’s all about the food of the Syrian Jews. (The book really is stunning, and would make an amazing gift – Julia, who lent it to me, got it for her wedding.) The emphasis is on meat, and when I say emphasis, I mean there is nary a recipe for vegetables on their own; every last one is stuffed with the classic Syrian meat-and-rice filling. Not that I’m complaining. In addition to meat, every single recipe calls for tamarind puree. I’ve been planning to make something from the cookbook for a while, but until last week, I hadn’t gotten past the ogling stage. They just all look very complicated. So imagine my surprise, when I finally bit the bullet and made my own tamarind puree, that the process was really much more painless than I’d anticipated.

Tamarind is relatively hard when it’s dry, the pulp having gathered and solidified around those smooth, center seeds — but let it soak in water overnight, and it becomes as soft as applesauce. At that point, you can easily separate out the seeds and fibrous membranes from the pulp. After a good strain or two through some cheesecloth, all you need to do is boil the puree down and add some sugar, and that’s it. Plus, once the puree is made, it’ll keep in a jar at room temperature for upto a year. If it lasts that long.

Tamarind Puree
Adapted from Aromas of Aleppo

3 pounds tamarind or tamarind pulp (sold in a hard block)
1 1/2 pounds sugar
1 1/2 tablespoons freshly-squeezed lemon juice
2 Tbsp. citric acid

If using whole tamarind, peel the hard outer shell away. Submerge tamarind (or tamarind pulp block) in about 6 cups of water, and let sit about 8 hours, until pulp has the texture of applesauce and is easily separated from seeds and membranes.

Line a colander with cheesecloth, and set over a large mixing bowl. Pour tamarind mixture into colander, and press firmly against the sides of the colander to extract the tamarind liquid and leave behind the seeds and membranes, as well as any pieces of shell.

Transfer the strained pulp from the colander into a clean mixing bowl, and submerge in more fresh water (about 3 cups). Work to pull it apart again, releasing any remaining pulp, then strain again and transfer the extracted liquid into the bowl that holds the liquid from the first straining.

Pour the reserved liquid through the cheese cloth one last time, wringing out cheesecloth to extract as much liquid as possible.

Pour the tamarind liquid into a large saucepan and bring to a boil over high heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer liquid until reduced by half. Then add sugar, lemon juice, and sour salt to the tamarind liquid.

Increase heat to medium and boil slowly until the mixture develops a silky, almost shiny consistency. Let the mixture cool some, then transfer to a large glass jar. Puree will keep several months — refrigerate after opening.

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Pickled Cauliflower

rivka — Thu, 28 May 2009 11:46:47 +0000

I absolutely love sour things. I’ve been known to suck on a lemon slice once in a while, just for kicks (though my dentist scolded me for doing it, so I reluctantly put the habit to rest). When it comes to pickles, I’m a full-sour kinda gal. None of that dill or bread-n-butter stuff; I like’em super super sour. I’m into cucumber pickles, but I can’t say that they’re my favorite — not by a long shot. No, my absolute favorite pickle is a pickled green tomato, especially if it’s from Guss’ Pickles on the Lower East Side. My first time at Guss’ was on an 8th grade class trip, when we stopped there very briefly on our way back from grabbing knishes, bialys, deli, and other LES specialties. I remember watching friends get themselves just one pickle, or two. When I looked deep into the plastic tub in front of me and saw green tomato quarters, bobbing up and down in the brine, I knew that’s what I had to have. Sadly, Guss didn’t sell the tomatoes by the single back then — only by the pound. Obviously, I bought myself a pound of pickled green tomatoes. Reluctant to waste, I ate them all. Boy were they good.

Not to dismiss cukes, but compared to the tomatoes and other exotic pickled things, they’re kind of ordinary. I can promise you that this cauliflower recipe is anything but. I originally published this recipe in an article I did for My Jewish Learning on Israeli Independence Day, but these sour, cardamom-spiked florets are great year-round.

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The Makings of a Middle Eastern Lunch

rivka — Thu, 12 Mar 2009 02:51:27 +0000

Hard to believe it’s already Thursday and another Saturday is nearly upon us. I’m still thinking about last weekend’s 75-degree weather and super-chill Mediterranean style lunch. A trip to NYC will prevent me from repeating that meal this Saturday, but if I could, I would, in half a heartbeat. It’s the obvious way straight to my heart: breads, spreads, salad, and a glass of wine. Easy to please, no?

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Another Caponata Recipe

rivka — Fri, 23 Jan 2009 03:26:18 +0000

I know I’ve posted caponata on the blog before, but it’s such a go-to recipe that I’m not surprised to see it up here again. Caponata is easy to make, very flavorful, and a true crowd-pleaser, even among the most carnivorous eaters. I made it this time as my contribution to a potluck lunch at work in honor of a colleague’s last day, and was quite surprised by how popular it was with the meat-lovin crowd. I promised them I’d post the recipe, so even though I’ve already got a caponata recipe on the blog, here’s one more.
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Serious Barbeque Sauce

rivka — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 01:53:35 +0000

Missing your grill right about now? I sure am, and I never even had a grill. But nothing says “miss your grill” like cold, wet, winter nights.

Enter Ina Garten, my favorite Food Network dame and partner in butterlove. Her bbq sauce is the real thing, lemme tell you. By the looks of the recipe, you’d think she was joking: you’ll need nearly 10 bottles of already-processed sauces and goops to make her sauce. But when it’s done, you’ll see that she was serious all along. Laced with onions, generously spicy and perfectly sweet-tart, this sauce is way, way tastier than the sum of its (very processed) parts. Trust me.

Serious BBQ Sauce
From The Barefoot Contessa Cookbook
Makes 1 ½ quarts

1 ½ cups chopped yellow onion (1 large onion)
1 T. minced garlic (3 cloves)
½ cup vegetable oil
1 cup tomato paste (10 ounces)
1 cup cider vinegar
1 cup honey
½ cup Worcestershire sauce
1 cup Dijon mustard
½ cup soy sauce
1 cup hoisin sauce
2 T. chili powder
1 T. ground cumin
½ T. crushed red pepper flakes

In a large saucepan on low heat, sauté the onions and garlic with the vegetable oil for 10 to 15 minutes, until the onions are translucent but not browned. Add the rest of the ingredients. Simmer uncovered on low heat for 30 minutes. Use immediately or store in the fridge.

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Steelcut Oatmeal with Peach Compote

rivka — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 20:30:29 +0000

Is it obvious I love breakfast? Between french toast casserole, cinnamon buns, vintage breakfast biscuits, shakshuka, and even simple bites like this one, I seem to have found my obsession. In keeping with my breakfast trend, here’s another maddeningly simple morning meal option: steelcut oats.

What are steelcut oats? They’re oats, really — but unlike quick oats, which are essentially slices of oats, steelcut oats are like large crumbs. They look more like Grape Nuts than Quaker. They’re also quite firm; they don’t crumble in your hand the way quick oats can. They take about 25 minutes to cook fully, which means you need to have a bit of time to cook’em up. But if you’ve got the time, you’ll be handsomely rewarded: cooked steelcut oats are like a thicker, homier version of grits or polenta, with a distinctly nutty flavor and lovely pot liquor. I also add a pinch of salt to the water for contrast, and a daub of butter at the end, a la Mandy, because it makes breakfast more luxurious. In my humble opinion, oatmeal is best topped with a splash of milk or half and half, and either a dollop of jam or a spoonful of fresh fruit compote. In this case, I used my very last summer peach to make a lovely quick compote that went perfectly with the oatmeal.
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LocalSeasonal Take 1: Caponata

rivka — Wed, 03 Sep 2008 02:41:24 +0000

If I may say so myself, tonight was a smashing success. A whole day into my challenge and I’m still thrilled that I took it on! On the menu this evening was kalamata olive sourdough bread from the market, homemade eggplant caponata, and greens with heirloom tomatoes, feta, and red onions that I pickled in fresh-squeezed lime juice till they turned a beautiful shade of purple.

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Tzatziki

rivka — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 21:08:46 +0000

My wonderful mom reminded me that when we first made this, we also grated in 2 pickling cucumbers. I completely forgot to put them in the recipe here! Correction appended.
Have you ever seen a recipe here at NDP that called for mayonnaise? No, I don’t think so. Definitely not. That’s because I hate hate hate mayo with, well, a passion. It makes my stomach turn just to think about it! Yuck. The grossness of mayo notwithstanding, at least 95.5% of all dip recipes list mayo as an ingredient — incomprehensible, if you ask me. Why not pass up the mayo for some yogurt? Or sour cream, if that’s your thing? Why ruin a perfectly good dip with mayo? Disagree if you must — I get that mayonnaise is one of America’s favorite condiments. Just not one of mine.

(end rant.)
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Ramps in shallot butter

rivka — Sun, 11 May 2008 21:55:04 +0000

Nothing announces the end of gloomy winter and the coming of bright, bloomy Spring like ramps. Ramps resemble baby leeks, and taste like a cross between garlic and onion, only less pungent, more delicate green. Unlike leeks, ramps’ green stalks are soft and ~~can~~ should be eaten. They’re certainly Spring’s hot item among chefs and gourmandes, and the most ramp-obsessed folks have been known to shell out as much as 20 bucks a pound for ‘em. Now, you won’t find me telling you they’re worth that much — after all, they were once mistaken as weeds and people spent time trying to rid their gardens of them — but they are mighty tasty, and quite versatile. However, as they’re expensive, I’d use them wisely.

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Edamame with some Latin flair

rivka — Thu, 06 Mar 2008 17:55:17 +0000

Edamame rarely find their way into my kitchen, and I really don’t know why. They’re a perfect addition to salads, an easy and elegant appetizer, and a perfect snack, but I can’t think of the last time I bought them. No, really, I don’t think I’ve every bought them. The ones in these pictures were leftover from my birthday party. Dina, another one of the birthday girls, made this easy recipe and I’ve been trying to figure out how to recreate it ever since.
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Dulce de Leche

rivka — Mon, 25 Feb 2008 19:31:39 +0000

Imagine a creamy, rich, brown caramel made from the simplest of ingredients — milk and sugar — and involving little more than a pot of boiling water and a couple hours. Hard to believe, but the best way to make dulce de leche is also the easiest way. And tell me you’re not salivating as you eye the caramel I’ve got sitting in a jar in my fridge. This stuff is to die for, people.
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Make-your-own Mexican Dinner

rivka — Mon, 21 Jan 2008 01:49:56 +0000

D and I were both very excited at the thought of turkey burgers, but you can’t make turkey burgers when the grocery store is out of turkey. hmm.

After a few moments’ hesitation about what to make my very hungry and over-studied cohabiter, I settled on mexican. Now, before you get too excited, this isn’t Diana Kennedy, from-under-the-adobe-flap Mexican (though I love Kennedy’s cookbooks, especially this one, and need to make some of her recipes soon!). This is Americanized Mexican food with just a few twists to make it more authentic. And you know what? It’s pretty damn good. Because we’re kosher, we do either the meat inside or the cheese on top. But please, don’t hold back. A little cotija cheese and sour cream never hurt anyone.

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Etrog Marmalade

rivka — Sat, 20 Oct 2007 13:10:00 +0000

from the archive.

It’s the last day of sukkot. Your lulav is on the table getting brown, and your etrog is still in the fridge, getting dry. Same story, every year: what on earth are you going to do with a palm branch, some willow and myrtle leaves, and a fruit that really doesn’t have all that much fruit inside? My answer is usually…uh…throw them away? I know, you’re not supposed to. If you have a better suggestion…

Leave it to my mother to be creative; that’s really her forte. She’s been using the etrog in her Thanksgiving cranberry sauce for years now, and a few years back she started making marmalade. Now she doesn’t go to all the trouble of soaking jars in a hot water bath, sealing them professionally and destroying any possibilities that bacteria will sneak in and give all of us botulism — but hey, these marmalades aren’t around for long enough that we really have to worry about it. Her no-nonsense packaging solution is mini tupperware containers. They stay just fine in the fridge until Passover, and by then my dad makes sure to finish them off.

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Pesto, two ways

rivka — Tue, 25 Sep 2007 15:06:00 +0000

When I first learned to make pesto, it was “dump everything in the cuisinart and pulse.” I’m still of the philosophy that if you have good indregients, that method is just fine. However, when Heidi over at 101 cookbooks posted about making pesto like an Italian grandmother, I knew I’d have to try it the “proper” way at some point. (Her pics are beautiful…too bad I can’t say the same for my own; they really capture the dim lighting of a classic first apartment.) Heidi, thank you for inspiring amateurs like myself to try this technique!

The major difference between store-bought pesto and classic Italian pesto is texture. The bottled stuff spreads like a paste, whereas the more traditional, labor-intensive product is like a finely-chopped salsa (just, uh…more finely chopped). Without further ado, pesto:

Heidi says that a mezzaluna is the best tool for chopping. Alternatively, use a half-moon-shaped pizza slicer (or just make do with a good, big, sharp knife). In any event, plan on allotting about half an hour for all the chopping, since you’ll only be chopping a bit at a time.

As you’ll notice from my pictures, I actually tried this twice. The first time I used a silicon cutting mat and the traditional proportions: a bunch of fresh basil, a few cloves of garlic, a handful of pinenuts, and about a cup of parmigiano reggiano. I followed Heidi’s directions to first chop the basil and garlic, then add the pine nuts, then add the cheese. It worked quite nicely, though I added olive oil to the top to preserve it as she recommended, and I found that it made the pesto more oily than I had wanted it.

The second time, I used a wooden cutting board (smart Rivka, smart), varied the proportions a bit, and changed my technique as well. I made a pine nut-heavy pesto, as a compromise for D, who is not a basil lover (I know, I don’t get it either.) (Of course, I forgot that she also hates pine nuts. Silly me.) I also decided to chop the pine nuts and cheese before the basil and garlic, to see how it would change things. In the end…..the Italian Grandmother knows best. If you don’t start with the basil and garlic, they become very difficult to chop to the degree of fineness required. The nuts and cheese are much easier to incorporate into the basil and garlic than vice versa. Am I shocked that an Italian pro knows better than amateur me? no. Did I have to try just to make sure? apparently.

Pesto
One handful fresh basil
a few (2-4) cloves of garlic, to taste
heaping handful of pine nuts
scant cup Parmigiano Reggiano, grated fresh
good olive oil

Begin by chopping the basil and garlic together until fine.
Add pine nuts in two or three additions, chopping until the mix resembles a finely-chopped salsa.
Add cheese in two or three additions; I find that the cheese helps hold the pesto together, so that by the second addition of cheese, the ingredients start to become well-incorporated.
Pour some olive oil over the top (about 1/4 cup?) and continue chopping, until mixture can be combined into a block on the cutting board.

If you’re planning to use this later, pack it into a bowl or tupperware and cover with a generous layer of olive oil, which will prevent the basil from oxidizing and turning dark.

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