Colloquial Cookin'

The Return of the Colloquial Cook

Colloquial Cook — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 19:00:00 GMT

Don't worry, no light-saber involved (yet). Just to let you guys know that my new blog is up - still a bit cranky and jet-lagged from the move, but pretty operational! Don't forget to update your feed. The new address is:

http://colloquialcooking.com/

See you on the other side of the mirror, mes bons petits. Be careful on your way there, and don't talk to strangers. Unless they're me and they're offering you Pierre Hermé's diamonds.

Spent-Grain Bread

Colloquial Cook — Sat, 20 Jun 2009 17:49:00 GMT

The star of the show: spent grain, courtesy of the Brooklyn Brewery

...

And the supporting cast:

The (over)enthusiastic biga The soaker

Let's give them a big round of applause.

Ok, so I must be the last schmuck sporting a cold mid-June. Which means a) I grumble (je ronchonne) and b) I bake. This, combined with the discovery of Peter Reinhart's Whole Grain Breads was the open door to endless hours of grumbling baking. Hooray.

I started with the Anadama bread (good, good, and easy too), to get the gist of it (histoire de prendre le coup) - the delayed fermentation, the joys of enzyme activity and the such - and then moved on to a project which I felt had tons of potential. How about incorporating spent grain, that is, the leftover mashed grain (husks and all) produced by breweries, in bread dough? That sounded like genius, and much more importantly, it tastes like genius.

First things first, with the kind help of Ben Hudson, from the neighbouring Brooklyn Brewery, I got myself a tubful of spent grain, which a bearded friend of Ben's identified as the leftover barley malts from a Pilsner brew. Ben, Bearded Friend, thank you very much. A spent-grain loaf is coming your way, along with my gratitude.

It takes two days to complete this spent grain bread, but it's two days well spent (<= pun).

On the first day, make the soaker by combining thoroughly 227g whole wheat flour, 1/2tsp salt, and 170ml water. Leave it at room temp for 12 to 24 hours, or in the fridge for longer. Make the biga by mixing 227g whole wheat flour, 1/4 tsp instant yeast, and 170g water. Knead (with wet hands) for two minutes, let the dough rest 5 minutes, knead for another minute. Cover with cling film, and refrigerate for at least 8 hours.

On the second day, take the biga out of the fridge two hours before mixing the final dough. Chop the soaker and the biga in tiny pieces, and add those to 113g spent grain, 156g whole wheat flour (I needed more than Peter Reinhart to achieve a kneadable consistency - he only uses 56g), a heaped 1/2tsp salt, 2 1/4tsp instant yeast, 3tbsp agave syrup, 1tbsp vegetable oil. Knead 2 minutes with wet hands, until everything is evenly incorporated. Knead for an extra 4 minutes until you get a soft and tacky (but not sticky) dough. Let it rest 5 minutes while you prepare a lightly oiled bowl. Resume kneading 1 minute, and put the ball of dough in the bowl. Let rise at room temp about 60 minutes. Shape it freestanding or in a loaf pan, and let it rise for another hour.

Preheat the oven to 425°F, put the bread in and turn the temp down to 350°F. Bake 20 minutes, rotate the loafs, bake 20 to 30 more minutes. Let it cool on a cooling rack at least an hour before slicing into it.

The smell coming out the crust while still warm is amazing - caramel with malted overtones. The crust itself is very hard when it comes out of the oven, but softens as the bread cools and the moisture redistributes. This bread doesn't need to be toasted and although it is 100% whole wheat, it has no bitterness whatsoever, which results partly from early enzyme activity (I started my soaker and biga two days ahead instead of one), and from the addition of agave syrup.The inside of the bread is soft and pillowy, with just the right hint of chewiness. All of my tasters were pretty happy, I'd say.

Thanks again to Brooklyn Brewery for being such good sports!

Pork Ragoût With Sage and Beans

Colloquial Cook — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 02:53:00 GMT

I must be terribly naïve, or a little dim-witted (un peu nunuche) perhaps. I still don't understand why people google (and several times a day too) the words "kiwi porn", which in turns brings them to my uncanny fruit post. I mean, it's pretty damn flattering that I seem to be the world reference on kiwi porn, but who on earth are these people? If you are reading this after googling "kiwi porn", please leave a comment and let us know what you were looking for exactly, then seek urgent help from Fructophiles Anonymous.Thank you.

In the meantime, another stunning recipe adapted from Pork and Sons by Stéphane Reynaud.

And don't tell me you're not salivating because I'm taking none of that crap (balivernes!).

Start a day ahead by soaking 2 3/4 c dried beans (pinto, brown, cranberry...) in a lot of water. When ready to cook, put the beans in a large pan with their soaking water (enough to cover the beans), a bouquet garni, bring to a boil and simmer for about an hour to an hour and a half. Keep an eye on it, you may need to add water as you go along.

In a large frying pan (the larger the better, so it doesn't steam up the meat), melt 2 1/2 tbsp duck fat (or lard), and add 2 1/4lb boneless pork loin cut in large cubes, 2 onions, sliced, and 3 crushed garlic cloves. Cook, stirring constantly until the pork is evenly browned. Stir in 1tbsp of flour, cook 2 minutes, then add 2 1/4c white wine and stir again.

At that stage, I transferred eveybody to my cast iron pot. Add 30 sage leaves (adjust according to your love of sage), a big can of San Marzano tomatoes (which you can crush to a rough pulp with your hands before adding), and a tbsp or two of tomato paste. Simmer 30 minutes.

Drain the beans, reserving a little bit of the cooking liquid. Taste them. If they are not cooked, add them to the pork, and simmer for an extra 30 minutes. Mine were cooked, though, so I drained and reserved them, and I let the pork simmer for an extra 30 minutes on its own, and added the beans right at the end, until warmed through.

Don't forget to season with salt and pepper (adding salt to beans while they cook hardens them apparently). This dish can be made a day in advance, left on the stovetop/in the fridge overnight and reheated the next day.

Serve with a nice fresh loaf of rye bread to soak up the sauce.

Also check up my Sweet Sticky Rice update!

Bacon Fougasse

Colloquial Cook — Thu, 28 May 2009 03:26:00 GMT

You try to read books in a New York research library. Frederick the Great's relationships with his Kapelle musicians have never been so thrilling. And clumps of old men with moustaches (what's with the moustache, I ask?) and an optional hunch keep chatting loudly right next to you. Inwardly, the teacher in you fulminates - but you can't, oh you can't shush them (pas moyen de leur rabattre le caquet). You know they get their daily buzz from coming to the library to clump and chat. You understand, it's nicer than the bingo club because you know what, it's SO QUIET IN HERE. And obviously, since they are going deaf, it's also nice to finally be able to turn off the "background noise" setting on their hearing aids. Saves them little batteries too.

Well, why not take it on this bacon fougasse when you come back home. If kneading isn't sufficient to vent all this repressed (and yes, let's face it, ageist) frustration, save some of the fat from the bacon and stuff it in your ears next time you try to understand why Frederick the Great was called the Great when he really wasn't such a dazzling flutist.

The following recipe is adapted from Stéphane Reynaud's gorgeous book Pork and Sons. In a small bowl, mix one active yeast packet with 3/4c warm water, let it happily bubble along for 5 minutes. In a large bowl, measure 3 1/2c of flour (bread flour is better, but all I had was AP), a tsp of fine salt, and a scant (hehe, watch me put a full) cup of olive oil. Add the happy bubbly yeast, stirring first with a spoon and then turning the whole thing down on the counter to knead the hell out of it. Add 5oz of smoked ham or Canadian bacon, cut in lardons, and knead carefully until you are satisfied with the distribution of the said lardons. Personally - not that anyone cares - I roll out the dough, sprinkle it with the fatty bits (les bouts de gras), then roll it up like a yule log and coil it up before I start kneading it. Half the distributing job's done. Let it double in size, then punch it down, shape it like a fougasse (note the picturesque leaf slashing pattern), let it rise again, and bake it for about 30 minutes at 475°F on a silpat or parchment paper.

I'm also glad of three things (maybe more, but I can't count beyond three). One of them is that my good friend Mallory from The Salty Cod won my La Cense giveaway, and that grilling season is on its way. In between showers that is. Second, a completely bizarre coincidence: after Julie from Oeufs Mayo passed on a blog award to this little silly blog (cheerio!), we discovered we had actually worked on several projects in NYC together. Small world. Finally, thanks to Marc's adorable sister and boyfriend, I'm going to be able to stay a week in San Francisco starting on Monday! If you know of fun bloggers in the San Fran area, who'd be keen to schmooze and have a bite, spread the word.

And for the time being, toodle-oo my friends. And remember, like Paul McCartney said, you'll be older too.

A Pen and a Fork #2: Hot-Dogs

Colloquial Cook — Mon, 20 Apr 2009 02:33:00 GMT

And A Giveway!!

"How much junk food does he eat?" Dr. Olman is asking.
"Oh," Janice says, with enthusiasm, "he's a real addict." His wife is, it occurs to Harry, a channel that can't be switched. […]
". . . tons of fat through his system," Dr. Olman is saying, "rivers of it, some of it has to stick. Marbled meats, pork sausage, liverwurst, baloney, hot dogs, peanut butter, salted nuts ...""He loves all that stuff, he's a terrible nibbler," Janice chimes in, anxious to please, courting, betraying her husband. "He loves nuts.""Worst thing for him, absolutely the worst," Dr. Olman responds, his voice speeding up, losing its drawl, `full of fat, not to mention sodium, and cashews, macadamia nuts, they're the worst, macadamia nuts, but it's all bad, bad." In his intensity he has begun to crouch above her, as if over a slippery putt. "Anything made with hydrogenated vegetable shortenings, coconut oil, palm oil, butter, lard, egg yolk, whole milk, ice cream, cream cheese, cottage cheese, any organ meats, all these frozen TV dinners, commercial baked goods, almost anything you buy in a package, in a waxpaper bag, any of it, ma'am, is poison, bloody poison. I'll give you a list you can take home."

John Updike, Rabbit at Rest, New York: Knopf (1990)

Hot dogs? "Bloody poison"? Hm - probably, if you get them from a street vendor on Columbus Circle.
Now what about you use gorgeous Frankfurters from La Cense, made with grass-fed beef and without weird additives, and tuck them in a home-baked hot dog bun?

Pictures curtesy of hot-dog bribed Marc

I borrowed the recipe for the buns from the King Arthur website and I am pretty sure it was a success considering the silence in which the four of us religiously devoured our 'dogs. As Marc gentlemanly pointed out, I was a "hot-dog virgin". Not anymore you'll be pleased to read. We garnished the buns with a stupendous green mango relish prepared by Marc, a few of the now classic ramps pickled by Stéphane, and sauerkraut fermented by Whole Foods (yeah, get off my back [lâchez moi les baskets]).
Ah you should have seen us on the rooftop of my Williamsburg building, basking in the sun and preparing coals in a miniature barbecue to grill our Frankfurters before we embarked on an entirely different adventure involving hickory smoke, firemen and homemade Knackwuerste - traditional sausages from Strasbourg and a ubiquitous component of Choucroute Garnie [a larger, hands-on, from-scratch, down and dirty kind of project- shhh (chut)] . But more about the rooftop-smoking next time, or on one of my fellow bloggers' pages (et hop, stylishly flinging the baby in someone else's arms). And for a chance to win a $25 gift card, just pop me a comment (US residents only) and sign up for the grass-fed party before lunch, April 29 (Claire time, aka NYC time on the early side - 12:00). I will then randomly pick a winner (Wiener?).

I'll copy the recipe for the buns (it can be halved), just in case you have separation anxiety issues with this blog:

2 tablespoons granulated sugar
2 packets or 2 scant tablespoons active dry yeast
1/2 cup warm water (105°F to 115°F)
2 cups warm milk (105°F to 115°F)
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 teaspoons salt
6 to 7 1/2 cups King Arthur Unbleached All-Purpose Flour*
egg wash: 1 egg beaten with 1 tablespoon cold water

This particular dough should be quite slack, i.e., very relaxed in order to make soft and tender buns. So you want to add only enough more flour, past the 6-cup point, to make the dough just kneadable; sprinkling only enough more to keep it from sticking to you or the board. In a large bowl, dissolve the sugar and then the yeast in the warm water. Add the milk, oil, salt and 3 cups of flour to the yeast mixture. Beat vigorously for 2 minutes. Gradually add flour, 1/4 cup at a time, until the dough begins to pull away from the sides of the bowl. Turn the dough out onto a floured work surface. Knead until you have a smooth, elastic dough. Because this dough is so slack, you may find that a bowl scraper or bench knife can be helpful in scooping up the dough and folding it over on itself. Put the dough into an oiled bowl. Turn once to coat the entire ball of dough with oil. Cover with a tightly-woven dampened towel and let rise until doubled, about one hour.

Turn the dough out onto a lightly oiled work surface. Divide into 18 equal pieces. This is done most easily by dividing the dough first into thirds, then those thirds into halves, then the halves into thirds. For hot-dog buns, roll the balls into cylinders, 4 1/2-inches in length. Flatten the cylinders slightly; dough rises more in the center so this will give a gently rounded top versus a high top. For soft-sided buns, place them on a well-seasoned baking sheet a half inch apart so they'll grow together when they rise. For crisper buns, place them three inches apart. Cover with a towel and let rise until almost doubled, about 45 minutes.Fifteen minutes before you want to bake your buns, preheat your oven to 400°F. Just before baking, lightly brush the tops of the buns with the egg wash and sprinkle with whatever seeds strike your fancy.

Bake for 20 minutes or until the internal temperature of the bread reaches 190°F. (A dough thermometer takes the guesswork out of this.) When the buns are done, remove them from the baking sheet to cool on a wire rack. This will prevent the crust from becoming soggy.

Gee (ça alors), I've never posted such a long and detailed recipe for bread! Believe me, if you have the least idea about what you're doing it shouldn't take you more than 5 minutes putting things together, and 5 minutes of kneading - then you pretty much leave it to the yeast to do its thing.

OK, now I want another hotdog, so move along people, chopchop! (tout le monde dégage, hophophop!)

Uncanny Root Vegetable Moment

Colloquial Cook — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 15:29:00 GMT

Can't remember what they're called.

"Party animal turnips"?

Morel Macarons with Foie-Gras Ganache

Colloquial Cook — Wed, 15 Apr 2009 13:29:00 GMT

Last week I was lucky enough to receive a little ziploc through the mail, filled with dried morels kindly offered by Justin from Marx Foods, and the mission to come up with a recipe. I can't say I looked very far. Pierre Hermé's new book on Macarons (a jewel of a book that will make you an emotional wreck) and a foraging expedition upstate New York during which a few oblivious foodies gaily sauntered among dried leaves, made it clear that it would have to be autumnal looking macarons.To hell with spring and its frightful pastel bunnies (Au diable le printemps et ses abominables petits lapins pastel).

Tut tut tut (hep hep hep), don't leave just quite yet. Macarons don't have to be your cooking nemesis. A little equipment is needed, true, but pretty much the same kind than for making silly old cupcakes, which doesn't seem to be a problem for 90% of the blogs out there who post cupcake recipes every week or so.
So.
In a large bowl, put 150g almond powder and 150g confectioner's sugar, sifted thoroughly, along with about 15 of your dried morels, powdered (hello coffee grinder!). Pour 55g of pre-packaged egg whites mixed with 1/2tsp brown food colouring (if you so wish) on top, set aside.

In a pan, boil water and sugar until it reaches 115°C. At that point, start whisking more eggwhites () in your stand-up mixer. When the syrup reaches 118°C, it's time for you to pour them on the whites as they are getting their little butt kicked by your Kitchenaid. Keep whisking until the temperature of the meringue drops to 50°C. Pour it all in the bowl containing the almond/sugar mix, and fold in large upward strokes until well combined. The batter should flow from the spatula, forming a ribbon. You're not aiming at preserving the air bubbles in the meringue here, so go for it.

Transfer to a piping bag with a large nozzle, and pipe little blobs on your silpat (they will spread on their own). Let it sit to dry on the countertop for at least 30 minutes before cooking them at 180°C for 12 minutes.

Make the ganache. Dissolve 1/2tsp powdered gelatine in 10cl of warm chicken broth, purée 125g of foie gras in your food processor and add the purée to the pan with the broth while gently whisking until smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste - I thought pepper came through as a really important flavour to balance the sweetness of the shells. Don't skimp (pas d'économies de bouts de chandelles). Fold in 1/2c heavy cream, whipped, refrigerate. Yes, it's a little decadent, this recipe is, have you noticed? But you know what, if you go for it, just go all the way (faites pas les choses à moitié).

When you are ready to assemble your macarons, sauté the leftover (rehydrated and finely diced) morels with a knob of butter and a little salt. You can either fold them in the ganache or layer some on top of the ganache within the macaron. Garnish half the shells with ganache and sautéed morels, sprinkle with a touch of fleur de sel for some crunch, cover with the other half of the shells, and store in the fridge for at least 24h to let the morel flavour develop.

Now now (allons allons). It wasn't all that complicated was it? Justin darling, I hope you like the concept. It was certainly fun to develop.Now people, head over this way and vote for me. I know, I know.

Wait, why can I hear an echo of my own typing? Is everyone gone? Really? Oh shoot. I knew French sophistication was a dead-end. Next time, morel CUPCAKES!

Cured Salmon

Colloquial Cook — Sat, 11 Apr 2009 01:49:00 GMT

The good news about having Marc over at your dinner party, taking pictures, is you can guarantee that all the food is going to look glam. The other good news is that every bite tastes as good as it looks. You'll have to take Colloquial Cook's word for it, dudes (va falloir me faire confiance sur ce coup, les gars).

I am considering ways I could convince Marc (or blackmail him, what the heck - I occasionally give in to the odd spell of despotism) into coming back to France next year with me. I would sit him in the pantry, between the flour bucket and the spice rack, and he would make my food - subsequently, my blog - look consistently attractive. Actually, if I could get a three-for-one offer and get Stéphane to come and make latkes grilled in duck fat (and you should have seen him lovingly modeling those shredded potatoes like an old Jewish mama), and Stacey to badmouth neurotic New Jersey housewives while preparing duck rillettes tartines, I would be thrilled. They may have to squeeze in that pantry a little bit, but wouldn't it be intensely satisfying to have a dinner party in your closet and be able to pull it out any time you feel like a bit of a buzz? I think I have a concept® here.

Well, we ate. Take a deep breath. Char-grilled new onions and romesco sauce (football helmet required when roomies step in to taste the leftovers), soppressata, chorizo and Pata Negra (ah - be still my heart), prune and liver terrine with a spicy apple chutney, fig-hazelnut-rosemary bread, Swedish cardamom and orange limpa, fennel-cured salmon, citrus gravlax. ...And breath out. Stretch, take a drink. Oh did I mention we had a *few* good (wooohoo) bottles including a Puligny-Montrachet which catapulted me right back to when I was a five year-old iddy biddy thing (quand j'étais toute petiote). Yes, French kids are taught about good things from an early age.

I was very pleased with the citrus-cured salmon, but because I mostly eyeballed it, I don't really have a recipe. I know I started with a fairly thin, skin-on, 1lb piece of salmon, which took only a day and a half to cure (good when you're short on time). I packed it in several layers of foil, cosily tucked in a curing blanket made with about a cup of coarse salt and half a cup of brown sugar, mixed with the zest of many a lemon and orange (blessed be microplane graters), and a few tbsp of toasted and crushed black peppercorns. Then I put it in the refridg', pressing it down with a plate weighed down with canned goods. After a few days, the conjugated efforts of salt and gravity had squeezed enough moisture out of the salmon. It was firm, it was transluscent but darker, it didn't feel raw nor squishy (cru et ramollo) when you prodded it (quand tu le tatouilles). It was mercilessly pulled out of its cure, rinsed well and patted dry with paper towels.

Thin slices work well. Get someone else to do it for you and your hands won't smell of salmon for the next week.Yes, French ladies have all kinds of tricks like that to twist men around their little finger (pour embobiner les hommes) into doing the dirty work for them. You learn that in lady-school, along with how to speak in a deep breathy voice. [A little aside here: a breathy voice is useful when you're ordering stuff from IKEA on the phone and they're reticent to deliver it. Make sure you talk to male staff, preferably from the warehouse. Fabulous.]

Jamon iberico will give you a breathy voice if your vocal folds need a little push-up. It's "sex on legs" as the vulgum pecus has it, except it's a black pig's legs. But who gives a damn (franchement,on s'en tape).

Oh, and don't go before you bite into the delightful (some might say oesophagus-perforating) sharpness of a lemon-passionfruit-ginger curd tarte.

We have this one cheesy coffee mug with an unidentified soccer player too. Any clue who that hunk may be? (mais qui est ce bellâtre?)

Uncanny Kiwi Porn Moment

Colloquial Cook — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 21:24:00 GMT

Full frontal.

This blog is becoming unacceptably filthy.

Sweet Sticky Rice

Colloquial Cook — Mon, 30 Mar 2009 02:40:00 GMT

Marc, Stéphane, Liz and myself made a poor attempt at going to the bacon take-down in Williamsburg on Sunday afternoon. It turned out, an hour before it even started, all the tickets were sold. Well we could have been cheesed off (ça aurait pu nous foutre en rogne) for being robbed of our bacon fest, instead we set off to have a nice beer and proceeded to sample oysters with dark miso, fresh tofu, black cod and shark fins in a funky maze of a Japanese restaurant nearby.

It does feel like I over-ate that day (*burp*) - a little earlier, I made a rather large amount of coconut rice pudding after Jean-Georges Vongerichten's recipe (Asian Flavors of Jean-Georges ) and while shooting the result for the purpose of this blog, I helped myself to rather large quantities of it. Like Dutch courage, except it was Thai. Coconut rice pudding is amazingly addictive. If you top it with ripe, juicy, jasmine-flavoured Costarican mangoes and crunchy toasted black sesame seeds, you're right off to seventh heaven (c'est direct au septième ciel). Of course Jean-Georges being Alsacian makes me feel completely comfortable with this raving exoticism which is, as we know, so unlike me.

Soak a cup of glutinous Thai rice (I used Arborio, it was fine) overnight, or at least for a few hours. Then steam it for 8 minutes (for Thai rice) - Arborio took 15 minutes. My set-up was pretty ludicrous, I stacked a rescued bamboo wonton-steaming basket on top of my cast iron pot, and lidded it with a pyrex dish. I'm sure you can do better than that.

While the rice is steaming, make a simple syrup by dissolving (over low heat) 1/4c sugar and 1/4c water. Once the rice is cooked, transfer it to a bowl, pour the syrup on top and stir. Let it sit 5 minutes, sprinkle it with salt. In a separate bowl, combine a 14oz can of coconut milk (mine was the Trader Joe's "light" version for some obscure reason, but it did the trick) with a Tbsp of sugar - I used superfine sugar so it dissolved better. Give it a stir and add it, a 1/4c at a time to the rice mixture. I confess that I microwaved the rice for a minute a couple of times to help it soak up the milk, once in a while. But quite frankly, it's merely because I was being a glutton and I couldn't let it sit for hours. In the end, the rice absorbed the entire can of coconut milk. The more you wait, the more of a melt-in-your-mouth texture the rice develops. I made it at 1:00pm, and it was succulent by 5:30pm, to give you an idea. Perfectly edible by 1:30pm by all means (re-*burp*). When ready to plate, top with freshly diced mango, sprinkle with toasted sesame seeds (I like black sesame seeds because I'm a sucker for chromatic contrasts). Dig in. Hmmmm and Ahhh.

UPDATE!! Enjoy your favorite Sweet Sticky Rice in no time thanks to the clever contraption called RICE COOKER! Just put 1c of rice and 1,5c of water in the inner bowl, and let it cook until it switches off to the "keep warm" setting. Transfer to a bowl, dump in the simple syrup (1/4c sugar melted in 1/4c water), the entire can of coconut milk, all at once. Stir, let it sit 15 minutes then add salt to taste! Serve with cold diced mango and toasted sesame seeds! Nomnomnomnomnom!