something special.

this one's for my main squeeze, who happens to not be one of sentiment. but since i'm the one with the blog...
here's to the great years we've had thus far cooking, eating, learning, adventuring, playing together, and here's to many more. i'm one lucky gal. (and no, that's not me in the picture. that's fernando, the friendliest little cow you'll ever meet.)

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almost like milking a cow, but not. homemade yogurt

You might think I've gone off the deep end. But I was so excited about making homemade yogurt on Sunday morning that, once 6:30 rolled around, I hopped out of bed, took Fin out, and went straight into the kitchen to prepare for my latest experiment.

I made a racket, but managed not to wake Ryan while I sterilized some jars and readied my workspace. Let me show you how easy this can be before I tell you what all I did (because c'mon, you know I can't make it easy).

The recipe is this simple.

Homemade yogurt:

2 cups milk
2-3 tablespoons yogurt (either store-bought or saved from your previous batch), or cultures

Set yogurt on counter to bring it to room temp (70 degrees). Heat milk on stove, stirring, until it boils. Cool milk to between 105-110 degrees (106 is optimal). Stir in the yogurt or cultures until incorporated, and pour into a clean jar. Cover and keep warm (about 100 degrees), without disturbing, until creamy texture is reached.

~*~*~

Easy enough, right? Let me break it down for you: Here’s what I did, step by step, on Sunday morning.

Wanting a sterilized jar to pour the yogurt into, I boiled two Mason jars in my stock pot (using a large stock pot, cover the jars in water, place on stove, and bring to a boil. Boil jars for 10 minutes and remove from heat. Carefully remove the jars and put them on a clean towel to air-dry).

Then, in a medium saucepan, I poured two cups of organic 1% milk. I actually forgot to stir (duh, but to my credit, none of the three books I was referencing said anything about stirring, except the Joy of Cooking which mentioned it at the end) and very nearly scalded the milk, but all was well in The Kitchen of Amberland. If I had scalded the milk, then the end result would’ve been nasty tasting. So please, again, learn from my mistakes and be sure to stir the milk as you heat it! I let the milk cool to 110 degrees, keeping an ever-watchful eye on it with my candy thermometer. (Remember the instant-read thermometer mistake? Well, an instant-read would be best for this situation, but I haven’t replaced mine yet—so I had to improvise.)

Once the milk cooled, I stirred in 2 or 3 tablespoons of store-bought organic low-fat plain yogurt. The trick is to buy the plain stuff and be SURE the container proclaims that it contains “live, active cultures.” That means the good bacteria are in there, and they’re ready to do their job.

After the yogurt and milk were well incorporated, I carefully poured it into one of my readied jars and topped it off with a lid. Here's the tricky part: I needed a way to keep the yogurt warm (around 100 degrees) for a few hours. Lacking a stove that goes down that low, I had to improvise yet again. Enter the lunchbox and hot washcloths. I took two kitchen washcloths, wetted them, and microwaved them for one minute. This made them incredibly hot, so I removed them from the microwave with tongs and tossed them into the lunchbox. I put the jar of soon-to-be-yogurt in there and zipped it up, with a small thermometer sticking out of the zipper so that I could monitor the temperature. I could have finished the yogurt after three hours, but waited a full six before removing it from the "hotbox." At that point, the yogurt had obviously become thick and creamy, and there was a little whey on top. One quick stir, and into the fridge it went. A few hours later, a taste of my homemade yogurt yielded a smooth, sweet, shockingly delicious surprise.

After the success, I had to immediately prove I could do more and tried to strain some of the yogurt to make it "Greek style." Using a couple of coffee filters (picked up free at work, since they ordered the wrong ones and couldn't return 'em!), and an itty-bitty colander, I strained about 1/3 cup of the yogurt in the fridge overnight.

Unfortunately, either due to the coffee filters or the fact that I didn't cover the yogurt with plastic wrap, the strained, thicker yogurt had a strange flavor that didn't sit right with me.

In any case, if you're wondering whether you should attempt homemade yogurt, I absolutely recommend it. The success of this Sunday morning project gives me the courage to try cheese making!

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flatbread pizzas, naan-style

What to do with mountains of naan but make little personal pizzas? And how about jazzing them up with healthy, swoon-worthy ingredients?

Sounds good to me.

I made two versions of naan pizzas, both of which turned out marvelously. Before I could begin assembly, though, I had to caramelize some onions.I finally put the mandoline to use, and have the gorgeous thin-sliced onions to prove it.

But after that eye candy treat, things did not go as planned. I was led astray by two sources here: one source suggested adding SUGAR to the onions in order to caramelize them!?!?! and the other instructed me to begin with a dry pan on medium heat. I tried the dry pan method, but either missed a step or had the heat to high (or more likely, both). In about 5 minutes, I had brown onions and a whole lotta gunk in the pan that was starting to smoke.

Let's clarify here. A pan with some fat in it (EVOO or butter, or both), heated on low to medium-low, is the right way to go. My advice to you: read plenty of caramelized onion tips, and try them all until one works for you. When I find a foolproof way to do it, I'll post it here.

In any case, I made an attempt with half of an onion and regardless of how charred the bottom of my pan got, they still tasted pretty good. To the onion, I added a few cloves of roasted garlic (squished out of their skins, my favorite), some crispy bacon, shaved parmesan cheese, and parsley from the garden. I plopped that into the toaster oven just until the cheese melted, and voila. Pizza Numero Uno.For pizzas the next night, I got a little more creative. I used some of the "caramelized" onions and roasted garlic from the night before as the base, and added more crispy bacon and some wilted fresh spinach.

I added ricotta, but dressed it up a little before dolloping it on the pizza: to 1/2 cup ricotta, I added red pepper flakes, oregano, garlic salt, and celery salt. It brought a lot of flavor to the simple cheese and really gave the pizza some bang for its buck. And of course, I topped it off with more shaved parmesan. Into the toaster oven they went, and what came out was a gloriously tasty little pizza-pie (albeit was a little crispy around the edges).

So, what did I learn? It's going to take some time to get this caramelized onion thing down. And I like ricotta a whole lot better when it's got a little punch to it.

Stay tuned, because tomorrow I'll bring you that homemade yogurt. Yummmm....

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naan wonderful

It started like this.

"What are you making?"

If I say 'naan,' he'll think I'm making curry to go with it. Choose your words carefully."Flatbread."

Two hours, 500 degrees, and one smoke alarm later...

"So, what is this again?"

"It's naan. And it was much more involved than I expected."

"Can I have some of that pawn?"

"It's NAAN."

"Can I have some of that non-pawn?"

I tell you what, life with Ryan is seldom without laughter. This whole thing started after I read this recipe for flatbreads with goat cheese and caramelized onions. Because I was able to work from home one afternoon--a luxury, I know--between checking files and proofreading, I started a batch of dough, following Mark Bittman's careful instructions. As I normally do, I failed to read the recipe all the way through to see exactly what my evening would entail. Naan is distinctive because it is normally baked in a tandoor--a clay oven. It's similar to pita, but is lighter and softer. It is leavened with yeast, and Bittman's recipe includes yogurt (which is a traditional ingredient). What's not traditional about his recipe, likely, is that he encourages the use of a food processor. Lucky for me, that's one of the many tools in my kitchen arsenal. Oh, I love you Cuisinart...

I'm not going to post the recipe here because I followed it step-by-step and made zero alterations. So you can check it out in Bittman's book, or you can do a quick Google for a similar recipe. I read a bunch of tips before I started, though, and can only tell you that this is a labor-intensive act of love.

In lieu of a clay oven, I used my oven and baking stone, heated to 500 degrees. That's HOT, folks. I had to drink a beer just to keep from melting in the kitchen. It was rough.

The end result was a happily golden (perhaps too golden) and chewy flatbread that made for the perfect snack, pizza base, and lunch addendum. More than one taste-tester of my naan made the comment that it "tasted like pizza dough." So maybe that's all it is--fancy pizza dough--but it made me crave dal and curry, which I have ever only had once in my life. I suppose it did the trick, eh? (Shout out to Claire and Aman!)

Here's the best part, though: I made 12 pieces of naan from things in my pantry, almost all of which was organic. At the grocery, a pack of two naan (naans? I'm not sure) runs over $3.50! Regardless of the time and effort that went into this flatbread, it was a money-saver (though I'm not going to factor in the cost of running the oven at 500 for an hour).

Absolutely something I'll make again, but will have to invite people over to enjoy it... Because after you pour so much sweat into a recipe... Um, nobody's gonna come over for naan now, are they? Oops.

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peace.

The clouds hang low and threaten to let loose nourishing drops for my little plants. Birds' voices flit around noisily, and dogs make their presence known down the hill from us. The windows are open and all of the outside is allowed to flow in, and does just that, following the breeze into the front and out the back. It is quiet; none of our machines are making any noise, and while there's a hum from the neighbor's air conditioner, I sit in calm and cool at the kitchen table. Our home is clean and purged of excess after an entire day of spring cleaning yesterday; the same cleaning unearthed one of Fin's old toys that's quickly becoming mincemeat. Ryan is in the other room reading, without the TV on, and is about to take Fin out to play baseball in the back. Each look out the window catches another shade of spring green, made all the more pronounced with the grey skies and early morning light.

And all this peace, quiet, and solitude inspires me to pursue more of this sustainable life.

I have two books on the docket right now--Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan and Fresh Food From Small Spaces by R.J. Ruppenthal. While they cover different topics, the ideals behind those topics are the same: the net we cast in order to feed ourselves should become smaller.

We're trying this whole sustainable thing, and I think we're getting better at it. This morning I started my first batch of homemade yogurt; if this works out, I want to make cottage cheese next, and later this spring or early summer, learn from my mother how to make chevre from fresh goats' milk and hard cheese from cow's milk. The more I read, the more I want to learn. I've started to teach myself how to sew (we now have produce bags made from unbleached cotton muslin for the grocery store) and am trying every tactic to get Ryan to agree with me on the vermicomposting. (no luck so far with that one. He "has to put his foot down somewhere.")

And even after all this, I feel like we can do better. I am tired of succumbing to consumerism and long to be able to put things aside to live the simple life. Connecting with the earth and the people in it through everyday adventures brings me so much more joy than my shopping trips at Ross (unless, of course, one of them yields a low-priced Le Creuset Dutch oven in Caribbean blue). The things I want, lately, have been oriented around my want to create at home. I want a 3.5-quart Dutch oven (two mentions within two sentences? yikes). I want a cruiser bike to ride around the neighborhood. I want a patch of land to grow fruit and vegetables. I want a compost pile. I want a sewing machine to call my own. I want more and more fabric for that sewing machine. I want to spend all my time doing stuff like this.

So, maybe that's a little too much honesty for an easy Sunday morning. But I hope you understand what this is all about: it's a little bit about learning to cook, but it's mostly about making choices that tear us away from that strange preoccupation with stuff and help us better our relationships and lifestyles--lessening our negative impact on the community and heightening our positive one.

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favorite lunch: chicken salad

Long ago, my mother made something that was every bit as good as tuna salad, but without the fishy smell. And ever since then, I've loved chicken salad.

In college I made my own version a few times, but the recipe wasn't consistent. In fact, I remember once when I made it with grape halves and rosemary--it was incredible--but recreating that particular version never brought the same results. A couple of months ago, though, when I bought a rotisserie chicken for soup night and saved one breast for chicken salad, things have become...different. Now I have a "recipe" (I use quotes because, let's face it, I don't really measure anything for my recipes, but I've heard that when you decide to write a cookbook you have to know how much of what goes in when--who's counting, I always say, but I would like to publish a cookbook someday), and it makes me happy every time I bring it to work for lunch.

Wednesday night I also got ambitious and made naan--more about that soon--and between the leftover chicken from soup night at a friend's house on Tuesday, the about-to-go-limp celery in the crisper, the remnants of Nan's famous sweet pickles in a jar, and what resulted in a wonderful first-time naan making experience, I had the makings for one of my best lunches to date.

Of course, I feel that way every time I bring chicken salad to work. But enough about that: you want the recipe, don't you!?

Chicken Salad, a la Amber

1 cooked chicken breast, cubed (I find that rotisserie is the easiest way to go here; save the carcass for stock!)
3 stalks minced celery
2 tablespoons sweet relish (since not many of you have access to what I use: Nan's Sweet Pickles, which I WILL learn to make this summer)
2-3 tablespoons slivered almonds
1 1/2 teaspoons mayo (or to taste)
1 1/2 teaspoons dijon mustard (or to taste)
salt and pepper to taste

Chop up the chicken and celery, and toss in a bowl. Add the rest of the ingredients and stir to mix. Add more mayo, mustard, or pickle brine (the liquid from the relish/pickle jar) to alter consistency. Serve cold with crackers or bread.

This is good for a couple of days; in fact, after the flavors settle in together it's even better!

If you're up for something different, omit the relish/pickles and add halved grapes, chopped apples, rosemary, or tarragon and see what you get!

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tangy snack, any time

I can't hide it any longer.

There's something new in my life. It's snarky, and bites back, but gives me just the faintest taste of sweetness on the return. It's malleable and versatile and flexible and yet always predictable. Tangy and lemony on its own, full of creamy flavor and texture, silky smooth, and a member of my very favorite food group (dairy).

And now that I've finished describing it, my lip-smackingly-delicious afternoon snack is almost gone.

A chips-and-dip craving (it's 90 degrees out already and I needed something salty, crisp, and cool) sent me scavenging through the pantry and refrigerator. After taking stock, I came up with locally-made tortilla chips (El Milagro, the best) and the latest object of my culinary affection: organic Greek-style yogurt (um, full fat, folks).

A few chips made their way into plain yogurt, which proved to be a delectable treat, but something was missing. Spice.

Not more than three scoops and four dashes later, I had the perfect spicy afternoon chip dip. As long as you have plain yogurt on hand, this can be made to suit any occasion. Here's what I was in the mood for this afternoon.

Greek Yogurt Chip Dip

1/2 cup Greek-style yogurt
1/4 tsp chili powder
1/4 tsp garlic powder
1/4 tsp steak seasoning, or season-all
1/4 tsp parsley flakes

Combine all ingredients and serve with chips or veggies.
This is totally something I'll be experimenting with. Can you imagine: fresh herbs with complimentary spices?? The possibilities are endless.

If you don't have access to Greek-style yogurt, I think it's very similar to sour cream and would be totally fine using the two as substitutes for one another. Don't you think?

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EARTH DAY!

Not only is it Earth Day today (which is just another way to say...live green EVERY day!), but I also have exciting news.

Ryan and I harvested our very first salad the other night! This is the VERY FIRST partial meal we've had from our container garden. We had enough lettuce to make two small side salads. This is organic mesclun lettuce, grown from seed. I planted 3 containers of it, and two of those containers came up. What I'm learning is that plants really do have specific planting seasons, and if you miss that window... it's too late. (My mom had the same thing happen with her heirloom moon and star watermelon, so as sad as that is, it makes me feel better.)

Here's our salad dressed with EVOO, red wine vinegar, fresh-ground pepper, and thyme (also from our garden). We also welcomed a new garden family member this week: Gertrude the Dwarf Apple Tree. She's a beaut, and until I accidentally tapped one of the fruits, already had two tiny apples growing from her branches.

That conversation went like this:

Me: "Look at this! It's a dwarf apple tree, and can live its whole life in a container. So either these are the two most expensive apples I've ever bought, at $15 a piece..." I point with pride at one apple, then the other; and at that moment, my finger slips and taps the second baby apple...Ryan and I watch with dread, and not without some expectation, as the tiny apple goes tumbling to the ground...

Ryan: "Uhoh."

Me: "So either this is the most expensive apple I've ever bought or we'll have a nice harvest come mid-May and early June."

So goes the life of Amber.

Here's a shot of our garden: I have the most hope for our bush beans (bottom row, to the right of the big silver pot) and tomatoes (all over the place). The herbs are doing ok--the basil is coming up strong, as is the dill.... but cilantro likes a cooler sprouting environment and, again, I'm afraid we missed that window.

We have one topsy-turvy tomato plant, which is an heirloom variety (green stripe, I think) that I'm hoping can handle growing upside down. The parsley (bottom, in the large white planter), had all but died when my mom took one look at it and told me to trim off the dead parts. It sprung back to life and has never tasted better!

The blueberry plant (far right in the blue planter) I'm really rooting for, but am worried it's not getting enough drainage; I'm thinking of repotting it in a 100% soil-less mix. Gertrude the apple tree is to the left of the blueberry, and to her left is Ryan's patch of ridiculously healthy tomatillo plants (we dug up a little of the apartment's ground for that one).

And we've got a beautiful (soon to become more beautiful) bouganvilla that our upstairs neighbor gave me. Hopefully that'll attract some bees. Nothing like a little garden inspiration to get Earth Day off to the right start. Let today be the day you start making those green decisions you've been putting off! :)

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simple pleasures

Breakfast is one of my favorite meals. I think part of its draw is that you can go either savory or sweet with it, and either way will do the trick. But the best breakfast, one that always tastes delicious, is something my parents used to make for us as kiddos.

Toast, smeared with butter and jelly, and topped with a fried egg over-easy with salt and pepper.

Now, I'm sure you've had eggs with toast before. But the simple addition of jam or jelly puts it over the top, and the sweet fruit flavors mesh so well with the subtle egg flavor and match perfectly with a tang of salt and pepper..... And there's nothing better than sopping up the last of the yolk and jelly with your last bite of toast. So here we have it, homemade whole-wheat toast with homemade organic strawberry jam and a cage-free, organic egg on top. I think we'll be having breakfast for dinner tonight--what about you?

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topsy-turvy dessert

In the last month or so, this has become one of my favorite new recipes. It's so simple and summery and flat-out delicious that once you make one, you’ll follow suit and make another as soon as the last crumb has left the plate. Even without the halved maraschino cherries on top (which I thought was traditional), this pineapple upside-down cake is reason to celebrate.

This all started one day when I’d emailed Ryan to tell him I had a surprise for him at home. He got home while I was outside, and saw my cookbook opened to the desserts section...and his eyes did a bee-line for the pineapple upside-down cake recipe. But alas, I was working on an olive oil cake instead (baking FAIL). Since he suffered this minor let-down in the kitchen, I decided to make it up to my man and bust out a PUD within the week.

Not to mention, I had some down time (thank you, springtime cold and vacation days), and pineapples were on sale at the market. Thus, my first foray into successful homemade cakes was born.

With a quarter-cup of melted butter and a half-cup of brown sugar sure to caramelize the fresh pineapple, you can't go wrong. So many folks make this with the canned stuff, but making it with fresh pineapple seals the deal and makes this cake meet my sustainable requirements.

Pineapple Upside-Down Cake, adapted from How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman

1 stick butter, melted
1/2 cup brown sugar
5-6 fresh pineapple slices, 1/2 inch thick
1 cup buttermilk
2 eggs
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 cups AP flour
1/2 tsp cinnamon (my addition)
1 tsp baking soda
pinch salt

Preheat the oven to 350. Pour half of the melted butter into 9" cake pan or cast iron skillet. Sprinkle on brown sugar and arrange the pineapple slices in a single layer (I put one round in the center, then arrange semi-circles around it in a pattern--more fits that way!). Set aside.

Whisk remaining butter, buttermilk, eggs, and granulated sugar together until foamy. In a separate bowl, combine the rest of the ingredients. Gradually add the egg mixture and stir until incorporated.

Pour the batter carefully into the pan and distribute evenly with a spatula.

Bake for 50-60 minutes or until a toothpick comes out clean. Let the cake cool for 5 minutes before carefully flipping it onto the serving plate.

~*~
I managed to successfully flip the cake onto a cake stand in the first try. Oh yeah, I was impressed. You should be, too, given my clumsy tendencies.

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chicken in a pot with all sorts of goodies

By now, you're well familiar with my ubiquitous red pot. It is my very favorite kitchen accomplice, ever at my hand to bring my next hopeful recipe to life. Really, my red pot needs a name. She (oh yes, it's a she) really does all the work, and puts up with my constant burning of various fats or vegetables (cabbage comes to mind). She shares in my victory and as payment gets a sunny spot on the butcher block, followed by fanfare, a little parade of me and Fin, marching toward her, reaching down to her, and carrying her decidedly into the kitchen for our next adventure.

Last week, she accompanied me on yet another timid journey down the whole chicken path. We were ready for this one. Chicken in milk, a la Jamie Oliver, had been touted on The Kitchn all day and I had to try my hand at it. So I came home with a whole chicken, and some sage, and was happy to know that I did in fact have all the other ingredients in my pantry. This has been part of my kitchen dream for some time: as one friend puts it, I'd like to be able to whip up a delicious, healthful meal straight out of my pantry, no grocery trip required. I think I'm there.

This adventure with a whole chicken was bounds better than my first; I made no frantic phone call to my father about how to remove the neck, and had very little squeamish reaction to pulling out the innards--so me and the red pot were starting dinner out on the right foot.

I decided NOT to improvise at all; my first attempt at cooking a whole chicken took hours and wasn't wowing. I followed this to the T, implementing the tip from The Kitchn to leave the lid on for one hour, and remove it for the last 30 minutes of cooking, and am ever grateful for it.

Nobody likes to see pictures of raw chicken, but I have to share this one because of the way it made me feel. Browning this guy in the pot made me think of it as a little animal curling up for a nap. I very nearly scrapped the entire recipe because at that moment I wanted very badly to become a vegetarian. Yet, red pot insisted that I persist, as she was making the butter and the olive oil and the chicken fat sizzle and crack and pop and sound so undeniably crispy and delicious.

From Jamie Oliver's site:
~*~
Chicken in milk

ingredients
• 1 3½lb organic chicken
• sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
• 4 oz of butter
• olive oil
• 1/2 cinnamon stick
• 1 good handful of fresh sage, leaves picked
• zest of 2 lemons
• 10 cloves of garlic, skin left on
• 2 cups milk

serves 4
A slightly odd, but really fantastic combination that must be tried.

Preheat the oven to 375°F, and find a snug-fitting pot for the chicken. Season it generously all over, and fry it in the butter and a little olive oil, turning the chicken to get an even colour all over, until golden. Remove from the heat, put the chicken on a plate, and throw away the oil and butter left in the pot. This will leave you with tasty sticky goodness at the bottom of the pan which will give you a lovely caramelly flavour later on.

Put your chicken back in the pot with the rest of the ingredients, and cook in the preheated oven for 1½ hours. Baste with the cooking juice when you remember. The lemon zest will sort of split the milk, making a sauce which is absolutely fantastic.

To serve, pull the meat off the bones and divide it on to your plates. Spoon over plenty of juice and the little curds. Serve with wilted spinach or greens and some mashed potato.

~*~

I served our chicken with sauteed spinach from my mom's garden and organic, Texas-grown white rice. Let's just say it knocked the socks off of me, and Ryan, and it was just as delicious the next day for leftovers. I turned my leftovers into chicken salad, and it's never tasted so good.

Red pot and I are looking forward to our next kitchen adventure. Maybe soon I'll have a great name for her. Any suggestions?

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simple, savvy, successful stir-fry

Remember me saying something about wanting to branch out, to try new things? Here's a start: veggie stir-fry. I love this photo of the carrots all lined up and awaiting the next leg of their journey. They started off in the ground at my mother's home, were picked and rode in the car to Austin, were carried out to the back porch to get cleaned the first time, then spent a few days in the crisper drawer of the fridge, patiently waiting for their culinary expedition. I had to pick something perfect for them--these tiny carrots begged for a special purpose in life. They didn't want to be the stars, but were cut out for the roles of best supporting actresses.

And then it hit me. Stir fry. Veggie stir fry. With organic, Texas-grown brown rice. Mmmmmmm.

The sugar snap peas, while cool and delicious and fresh on their own, also begged for a role in the featured dish du'jour. Add some green onion (the last of the bunch from the garden), garlic, and celery...and voila.

Following Bittman's explicit vegetable stir fry instructions, of course from How to Cook Everything, I tossed together a one-bowl meal that impressed both Ryan and I. Let me pitch HTCE to you again, in case you haven't unveiled my love affair on your own just yet. What is so perfect about it, you may wonder? That it teaches novices like me, who have never been able to pronounce most of the French culinary terms, to accomplish great things in the kitchen. In very plain language. And he doesn't leave any question unanswered...yet remains succinct. How does he do it!? HOW!?

I've never managed to successfully stir fry until this night in the kitchen. Following Bittman's instructions on pages 241-242, step by step, I completed the dish in the wok and wowed our tastebuds. I tossed in a few dried ancho chiles for effect, and some sesame seeds... and this happened. Ahhh. My advice to you, dear readers? Be not afraid. Stir fry is your friend.

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soup night: white and green

The week we were blessed with fresh produce, storms crashed through town, throwing down hail (plenty of friends' vehicles, as well as Ryan's, still have battle wounds) and lots of rain. Spring storms call for a hot bowl of soup, and on "Kale Night," that's exactly what I whipped up.

In an all too familiar stroke of creativity, I combined about three different recipes (here's one from 30 Bucks a Week; of course another came from my mom, and yet another from a cookbook) to come up with my own version of kale and turnip soup. Here's what I decided on:


EVOO
Salt & pepper
5 cloves minced garlic
1-2 green onions or scallions, thinly sliced (reserve some of the green tops for garnish)
3 turnips, peeled and cubed
1 large bunch fresh kale
1 cup pearl couscous (or any quick-cooking grain)
1 can cannellini/white navy beans (rinsed)
4-5 cups chicken stock or water

Saute the garlic, onions, and turnips in a little EVOO until they've got a nice color and are almost tender, about 15 minutes or more. Add the stock and beans, and let simmer for about 20 minutes. Then add the couscous and kale, and cook until both ingredients are done. Garnish with fresh-ground pepper and green onions. I'm pretty sure that's all it took. The result was a smooth, tasty, fresh, hot bowl of wintery-looking goodness. We loved it.

But that night (remember the "kale" moniker?), I also made kale chips, which have made quite the impact in the blogosphere. Well, they made quite an impact in the kitchen as well.
They're SO easy: toss kale in EVOO, spread in a single layer on a baking sheet, sprinkle with S&P and pop in the oven at 350 until they're crispy... I did a small batch in the toaster oven, and snacked on a few before I told Ryan about 'em... And then he tried them and fell in love. I snagged a few more and let him finish the rest; when he was done, he asked me if kale was something we could get at the grocery store, so we could immediately make another batch. Compliments to the chef! :) We resisted the temptation due to the weather, but next time we're coming home with fresh produce we know what I'll use the kale for.

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two for one

Since I've been so remiss in updating last week, here's a special two-for-one offer. Mainly because the recipes were simple and quick, and I didn't take too many pictures. 

Ryan and I agreed to try and go vegetarian for the next three weeks. Directly following that discussion, I went to the grocery store and came home with this week's fish special: Atlantic salmon. Which, of course I now know, is on the Seafood Watch's site as a market name to AVOID. Won't happen again, because I'm going to download the sustainable seafood app on my iPhone. Happy?

Anyway, I came home with some inexpensive and delicious-looking salmon, destined to be grilled in garlic and lemon and EVOO, alongside the radicchio from my mom's garden. 

For the radicchio, I found a Jamie Oliver recipe: grilled radicchio tossed in a simple balsalmic vinaigrette. (Grill the leaves in a pan until tender, then dip in the vinaigrette until coated and serve warm.) 

In theory, this sounded amazing. In practice, however, the radicchio had such a naturally bitter, peppery flavor that it was a bit too much for our unrefined palates. I thought to try and cut the bitterness with brown sugar, which helped us out a little bit... but I think it's just going to be one of those acquired tastes. Luckily my favorite gardener was not offended when I explained to her that radicchio was not our thing. At least not right now. 

The second recipe was a smash hit. Having planned on making soup that night, I stumbled upon a recipe for baby crustless quiches and decided that's what I wanted for dinner. Something savory and cheesy and that I'd never had before. So baby quiches came into being. 

Baby Crustless Quiches, a la Amber

4 eggs
3/4 cup milk
Cheese (I used too much cheese--like a cup and a half--but we looooove cheese so that’s ok)
Sauteed veggies (I used garlic and cilantro... And onions, shredded carrots, and spinach from mom's garden!)
Bacon
S&P

Preheat oven to 350. Grease a muffin tin or line with paper baking cups.

Fry bacon in pan, drain; add veggies and saute until tasty and remove from heat. In a mixing bowl, whisk egg and milk together, add cheese.

Place a dollop of bacon & veggies in each muffin tin. Add 1/4 cup of egg/cheese/milk mixture on top. Fill muffin tins to 3/4 full. (Makes 12.)

Pop in the oven and bake until done like quiche. This took about 40 minutes for me, but check starting at 20 minutes as ovens may vary.

I should (or maybe I shouldn't) mention that around this time last week, Ryan discovered the joys of wine. Which means that our supply (aka Bota Box Shiraz) dries up much more quickly, but having someone to have a glass with is a welcome change. :)

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triple washed, ready to eat

Garden-fresh vegetables, while carrying with them the distinction of being the healthiest, most opulent meal, must be washed. A few weeks ago, while eating a beautiful salad with greens from my mother’s garden, I looked down and thought, “I didn’t put rosemary in the dressing...” and realized I was staring at an inch-long wriggling bit of extra protein the exact shade of an uber-fresh rosemary needle. It served as a gentle reminder of just how fresh my food in fact was. So before I could embark on any culinary adventures with the pounds of produce that hailed from my mother’s garden, I had to clean it. I set up a rinsing station, employing every large bowl in my kitchen arsenal. For anyone fretting about my plastic bag usage...rest assured they’re recycled from my mom’s kitchen and were the best available transport option. :) Spinach, kale, and lettuce all got soaked in batches (to send all the remaining bugs upward, gasping for air), then spun in the salad spinner, then soaked again. Twice. This is, I suppose, what a commercial lettuce vendor would call “Triple Washed and Ready to Eat,” though before I cooked any of these greens I washed ‘em once more for good measure. Texas black dirt is stubborn, and heirloom greens like to cling to it. But when it’s cooked, you can’t tell.

For the turnips, carrots, and onions, still covered in lots of dirt, it was an outside operation. I set up my washing station and got to work. Once most of the mud was gone, I took them inside to be scrubbed with a brush. They get peeled, anyway, so a little dirt didn’t hurt. All the water from this operation was dutifully saved and poured into my watering can to feed my container garden.

Washing the veggies helped me come up with a game plan to use them all in a timely manner. First, the radicchio... Then the spinach and lettuce, and the onions, carrots, sugar snaps, and turnips could be saved for later in the week. Stay tuned for oh-so-bitter radicchio night, followed by baby quiches...and the best stir fry I have personally ever made.

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