dear sweet lacinato rabe, where have you been my whole life?

When I made this dish two weeks ago I figured I wouldn't post it, because it's nothing very original, nor even anything you haven't seen before on this blog.

Then I spent the whole week thinking about the meal I'd had, and decided: who cares about groundbreaking, the entire world MUST be told about this!

So I made it again. Not without trepidation (I was afraid it wouldn't be as good as I remembered--you know, the same feeling that makes you hesitate to re-read your favorite novel or re-watch your favorite movie). But this stuff--this "lacinato rabe," which I'd bought on a whim at the farmers market two weeks ago--delivered.

Weird name, right? What is lacinato rabe? Well, it has stems and little flowers like broccoli rabe (or broccoli raab or rapini or whatever you want to call it)

And leaves like lacinato kale (or tuscan kale or dinosaur kale or, again, whatever you call it)

I found it at Nash's Organic Produce, which has a booth at the University District market on Saturdays, and Ballard on Sundays. Go forth, Seattleites, and enjoy!

In the past I've had bad luck with rapini--I'd cook it and cook it but the stems always seemed to stay stringy and inedible. This particular variety seems to have gloriously juicy, tender stems. But I think the secret to broccoli rabe in general is this: don't wait too long to harvest it, and don't wait too long to cook it.

What you do is this: blanch the lacinato rabe, then saute it with olive oil, garlic, and chile flakes. Dump the whole mess over garlic-rubbed toast and a couple of poached eggs (I know, I know--I never promised you originality) and grate a bunch of Parmesan cheese over the top. After dinner, think about how you could eat nothing else for the rest of your life.

The Dinner You'll Keep Thinking About

It can be tough to time everything just right with this recipe. To keep everything from happening all at once, you could blanch the greens and toast the bread a bit ahead of time.

1 bunch lacinato rabe (or other variety broccoli rabe/rapini)
olive oil
garlic
crushed red pepper
salt
4 thick slices crusty bread
4 eggs
2 Tbsp white vinegar
Parmesan cheese

Put a large pot of salted water on to boil. Wash the greens. Peel about 4 good-sized cloves of garlic.

Fill a large skillet with water, and add 2 Tbsp white vinegar and some salt.  Crack each of the eggs into its own small bowl.

When the big pot of water boils, throw the greens in and blanch them for a couple minutes, until the leaves and stems are bright green. Drain.

Turn on the skillet to boil the water for the eggs. Toast the bread and rub it with one of the garlic cloves. When the greens are cool enough to handle, chop them roughly.

In another skillet, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Press the remaining garlic cloves into the pan. Add some salt and crushed red pepper. Stir around for a minute or two. Throw in the blanched greens and saute for a few minutes.

Meanwhile, poach the eggs. To assemble the dish, put a couple pieces of toast on a plate, put a poached egg on top of each one, throw the sauteed greens on top, and grate some Parmesan cheese over the whole works.

Serves 2

linguine with brussels sprouts barigoule: a conversion story

The first, and most important, thing you need to know about this dish is that after he finished his bowl my husband, the Brussels-sprouts hater, turned to me and said, "Those were the best Brussels sprouts I've ever had." And he didn't mean "Well, they were good...for Brussels sprouts," either. He meant he really enjoyed them.

The second thing you need to know about the dish is that the recipe, from the March 2009 issue of Gourmet (yup, it's that time again--this is my Gourmet, Unbound submission for this month), will make you say, "What the--?" Probably several times. After struggling through cooking it, I wished I'd read up more on the Barigoule preparation beforehand, so that I would have understood better what I was aiming for.

Except that there's not much available online about what Barigoule means. As best I can sleuth out, it's a Provencal preparation, usually applied to artichokes, and its defining characteristic is the presence of a kind of orange mushroom--the mushroom is called "barigoule" in the Provencal dialect, and hence the name of the dish.

Except, of course, there aren't any mushrooms in the Brussels sprouts recipe. So that background is no help at all.

Here, then, is what I wish I'd known before I started cooking: When you glance at the ingredients and technique, you might think, "Oh, okay, pasta tossed with braised vegetables. Sounds familiar." But as you actually read through the recipe it's likely to sound less and less familiar. And when you get to the part where you are supposed to add four cups of water to the cabbage you might even say, "Oh ho, Gourmet magazine, do you think I don't remember how you told me to add way too much water to those braised turnips recently? I'm not going to be fooled by you again!" You might even decide that since cabbage contains a lot of water you can just braise it in its own juices and so you're not going to add any water at all.

And then you might scorch the cabbage.

But do not fear! Even if you do scorch the cabbage the final dish will still be delicious. Don't ask me how I know.

The thing is, you aren't making braised vegetables tossed with pasta. What you are really making is a kind of a soup. Sauteed leeks, garlic, and Savoy cabbage--like a variation on a mirepoix--form the base of a white wine and lemon broth. The Brussels sprouts are added just at the end of cooking, so that they stay bright-green and a little bit crisp. Meanwhile you'll cook pasta until it is not quite done, then combine it and some of its cooking water with the vegetables--there you'll simmer the pasta the rest of the way to al dente. The technique lets the broth flavor the pasta, and the pasta thicken the broth slightly. It's quite brilliant, once you grasp what the recipe is driving at.

The dish is finished with a generous grating of Parmesan cheese, and please don't skip this part. That little bit of richness just makes the dish. (And about now you're probably realizing that this recipe has much in common, flavor-wise, with Rice and Smothered Cabbage Soup--and we all know how fantastic that stuff is, right?)

My husband did have one quibble with the recipe--he wanted a greater proportion of vegetables to pasta. That's right: he wanted more Brussels sprouts. I can't quite believe it myself. But I think he's right. Especially because if you have leftovers the pasta will sit and soak up all the broth while you're eating, and then you're left with no broth for the next day. The Brussels sprouts and broth, sans pasta, would also be good ladled over a thick piece of crusty bread that has been rubbed with garlic, piled high with grated Parmesan, and run under the broiler. You could even add a poached egg on top. What? How did you know I was going to say that?

Anyway, one way or another, I recommend giving it a try.

Linguine with Brussels Sprouts Barigoule
Adapted from Gourmet magazine

2 leeks
A small head of Savoy cabbage (about 1/2-3/4 lb.)
2 Tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
3 Tbsp butter
1/2 tsp salt, divided
1/2 tsp pepper, divided
4 cloves garlic
2/3 Cup dry white wine
4 Cups water
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1 tsp fresh thyme leaves, divide
1/2 lb Brussels sprouts
3/4 lb dried linguine (I used spaghetti, which was fine, but it really would be better with a wider noodle. And, as mentioned, I'd cut this down to maybe 1/2 lb next time.)
1/4 C chopped parsley
Plenty of Parmesan cheese

Wash the leeks and thinly slice the white and pale green parts. Quarter the cabbage, core it, and slice it thinly.

Heat the olive oil and 2 Tbsp of the butter in a heavy, 12-inch skillet over medium heat. Add the leeks, cabbage, and 1/4 tsp each salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. Meanwhile, peel the garlic. Then press the garlic into the pan and cook, stirring, for another minute or so. Add the wine and simmer until most of the liquid has evaporated, about 2 to 3 minutes. Add the water, lemon juice, 1/2 tsp thyme, and the remaining 1 Tbsp butter. Cover and simmer briskly until the cabbage is very tender and the liquid has reduced by half, about 15 minutes.

When the cabbage begins to simmer, put a large pot of salted water on to boil for the pasta.

While the cabbage cooks, wash the Brussels sprouts, trim the stems, and pull off any discolored leaves. Quarter the Brussels sprouts lengthwise.

When the cabbage is just about done, add the pasta to the boiling water. Then add the Brussels sprouts to the broth with the cabbage and simmer, covered, stirring occasionally, for about 5 minutes, until the sprouts are bright-green and slightly tender.

When the pasta is not quite al dente, remove and reserve 2 cups of the pasta cooking water and drain the pasta. Transfer the vegetables to the pasta pot, and then return the pasta and cooking water to it, along with the remaining 1/4 tsp each of salt and pepper. Simmer for a couple of minutes until the pasta is done.

Off the heat, stir in the parsley and remaining 1/2 tsp thyme. Serve in shallow bowls with some of the broth. Grate a generous amount of Parmesan cheese over each serving. 

4 to 6 servings.

maven

Spring will be here soon.

I should be excited. Asparagus, rhubarb, strawberries, peas!

And the promise of summer and tomatoes to come.

Best of all, a break from root vegetables. Everyone keeps talking about how they're sick to death of root vegetables right now.

Granted, I might feel differently about bidding goodbye to winter if I lived in the frozen, snow-blanketed East.

But the truth is, I'm not that eager for spring. I'm kind of enjoying hanging out with all these root vegetables, and I'm not really looking forward to leaving them behind. Not now when I feel like I'm just getting to know them.

I guess I've developed a strange new ambition--I'd like to become a maven of unpopular vegetables.

See how pretty they can be?

Here's a simple preparation for those rutabagas above. The recipe is from a January New York Times article by Melissa Clark. She describes cooking rutabagas for the first time, roasting them, and writes that they were "so good, in fact, that I couldn’t stop eating the cubes straight from the pan."

I read that and I thought: Sign me up!

Clark combines her rutabagas with farro and ricotta salata cheese for a hearty winter salad. Which sounds fantastic and is on my list to try--but I just roasted them up and put them over some pan-fried cakes made from leftover pilaf (I'll have that recipe for you soon as well).

Or you could just eat the rutabaga straight from the pan. Roasted, it's sweet and soft, with just enough bite underneath to remind you you're not eating dessert.

Roasted Rutabagas
Recipe from Melissa Clark

1 1/2 lb rutabagas
2 tsp olive oil
1 Tbsp maple syrup
1/2 tsp salt
freshly ground black pepper

Turn on the oven to 400 F. While the oven heats, peel the rutabagas and cut them into 3/4-inch cubes. In a large baking dish, toss the rutabaga pieces with the remaining ingredients. Put them in the oven and roast, stirring once or twice, until they are caramelized in spots and very soft, about 30 to 40 minutes.

Serves 4 as a side dish.

egg-free apple muffins and a love letter to my mother

Way back when, I promised you that I'd post about what I cook for and with Monkey, and I figured it was time to finally deliver just a little bit. The bonus is that these apple muffins (which are also great with pear or Asian pear) also more or less fit the seasonal produce theme.

We took a batch of these muffins to a playdate last Friday. In fact, I'd asked Monkey on Thursday night what she wanted to do on Friday and she said, "Go to T.'s house and eat muffins." Awww, so sweet, right? She really likes her friend T.!

Except that I'm pretty sure the truth is that T. is great and all but what she really likes  are the muffins.

I don't know where the recipe originally came from; my mom used to make them a lot when I was a kid and they were a fixture of college care packages (and post-college care packages. Okay, my mom still sends me care packages--and that's just how I like it).

We made this batch without eggs, because Monkey has an egg allergy that was diagnosed when she was a little over a year old.

Yeah. So my best advice if you want to know how to prevent food allergies is don't rant on the Internet about how overblown they are.

Anyway, adapting baked goods to be egg-free has actually been relatively easy, thanks to this substitution trick that, again, comes from my mom. You see, my little sister was vegan for a while (then she was freegan, and now she's just a vegetarian like a normal person), and my mom wasn't going to let a little thing like veganism stand in the way of sending care packages.

The trick is this: for each egg, substitute 1 Tablespoon cornstarch mixed with 1 Tablespoon water. That's it.

No really, that's it. That's pretty much the only egg substitution trick I know. I mean sure, I've heard about flax and tapioca flour, but I've never tried them. Recently another mom with an egg-allergic kid asked me what I thought about that Ener-G egg replacer and I said, "Ummmmm." I live under a rock. But next time I went to the store I checked it out and was very gratified to see that the stuff is mostly cornstarch, plus a few additives, for $6 a box. I'm sticking with cornstarch from the bulk bins.

That said, I'm not going to lie to you: recipes often don't turn out exactly the same with cornstarch as they do with eggs. But this apple muffin recipe works particularly well with the cornstarch substitution, so it's become a go-to recipe for us. I mean, look at these beauties! You wouldn't guess they were egg-free, would you?

Egg-Free Apple Muffins

1 3/4 C flour
1 Tbsp cinnamon
1 tsp cardamom
1 tsp baking soda
4 Tbsp softened butter
1/2 C granulated sugar
1/4 C brown sugar
1 Tbsp cornstarch dissolved in 1 Tbsp water (or, of course, 1 egg)
1 C buttermilk (I usually use milk soured with a little lemon juice and left a few minutes to thicken*)
1 large apple, cut into 1/2 inch chunks

Preheat oven to 400 F. (While the oven is preheating you can soften the butter by putting it in a large bowl and sticking it in the oven for a minute or two.) Spray muffin tin or fill cups with paper liners.

In a large bowl, mix together the flour, spices, and baking soda.

In a separate bowl, cream together the butter and sugars. Stir in the cornstarch-water mixture. Quickly fold in the buttermilk or soured milk. Do not overmix or the batter will curdle.

Gradually add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients, making sure there are no lumps, but mixing no more than necessary. Fold in the apple chunks. Divide batter into muffin tins and bake 15 minutes.

Makes 1 dozen.

*I learned just yesterday as I was writing up this post--crazy coincidence, right?--that this is called "clabbered" milk. Or more precisely, it's a quick version of clabbered milk, which traditionally is made by letting milk sour and then putting it in a warm spot to let good bacteria grow, which in turn prevents bad bacteria from growing. Hey, come to think of it, that process sounds exactly like making creme fraiche. Hmm, how did human beings come up with all this stuff? Anyway, "clabbered." Good word.

sunday morning breakfast links, 2/21/10

Two blogs I've recently added to my reader:

Edible Geography - Gorgeous (and information-rich) images, thoughtful commentary on the structure behind how our food is grown, transported, stored, and eaten. Catnip for nerds.
Feeding Little Foodies - This is exactly what I originally wanted to do with this blog, and never got it together.


Food for thought:

How to start a food lit/cookbook book club (The Kitchn) - I kind of want to do this, but I know that's insane.
How the beverage industry is fighting a proposed tax on soda -  Impressive investigative piece from the L.A. Times (h/t Accidental Hedonist)
How a teacher would fix school lunches (Fed Up)

Menu planning? Here are some recipes that use vegetables currently in season (I haven't made any of them but they look good; tell me if you try any!):

Cauliflower and Caramelized Onion Tart (Smitten Kitchen)
Miso Slaw (The Kitchn)
Thai Red Curry with Root Vegetables (Sassy Radish)
Kabocha French Lentil Soup (101 Cookbooks)
Cream Cheese Spread with Beetroot and Horseradish (Nami-Nami) - and much more from the blogosphere's queen of beets

also, something different with broccoli

This recipe comes from The Hungry Tiger, who got it from Alice Waters's The Art of Simple Food. In the past few weeks I have bookmarked at least four recipes on various blogs that are originally from The Art of Simple Food. Hmm, this makes me wonder if Alice Waters has already done my project for me.

That darn Alice Waters. Always getting there first.

Anyway, long-cooked broccoli intrigued me because it's so different from the usual crisp-tender approach to this vegetable. I think the soft texture makes it more accessible to wee ones' palates as well; Monkey really liked this, even though it's quite lemony.

The Hungry Tiger served the broccoli over pilaf, and that's what I tried first too. (I'll have the pilaf recipe for you a little later, because it's a good staple.) But I felt like there wasn't enough texture contrast between the broccoli and the grains, so when I heated up the leftovers I put it over toasted bread and served it with a poached egg. (The poached egg is becoming a major culinary crutch in our house. On Valentine's Day I even told my husband he was my poached egg on toast, and I really meant it too.)  I liked that setup better, the contrast between the meltingly tender broccoli and the crisp toast, and the runny egg yolk there pulling everything together. So those are the instructions I've given you here.

One note of caution: Don't go overboard with mashing up the broccoli. I think I did, either that or I cut it up into too-small florets to begin with, and I ended up wishing that the dish had just a little big more texture. Let yourself be guided more by what looks good to you than by the recipe (and find some way of getting out your frustrations besides the potato masher, okay?).

Long-Cooked Broccoli with Eggs and Garlic Toast

A big bunch of broccoli (about 1.5 lbs.)
1/4 C olive oil
6 cloves garlic (really)
Big pinch of salt
1 C water
1 lemon
Red pepper flakes
Parmesan or similar cheese

Eggs (1 per person)
2 Tbsp white vinegar
salt

Thick slices of good crusty bread (1 or 2 per person)
1 smallish garlic clove

Cut the broccoli heads into smallish florets. Trim the stems, peel, and cut into 1/4-inch slices. Peel the garlic.

Heat the oil in a large heavy pan over medium heat. Add the broccoli, press the garlic into the pan, add the salt, and saute for a few minutes. (If you don't have little ones at your table, you can also add the red pepper flakes at this point--I wait and add them to each serving at the end.) Add the water and bring to a boil.

Turn the heat down very low and cover the pot. Cook until the broccoli is very, very tender, almost melting--the recipe I have says 30 to 40 minutes and it was closer to 30 minutes for me, so check and keep an eye on it.

After the broccoli has been cooking for about 15 or 20 minutes, fill a large skillet with water. Add the vinegar and a big pinch of salt, cover and turn the heat on high to bring it to a boil. Crack each egg into a small bowl. When the water boils, slide each egg into the water, quickly turn off the heat (if you are on an electric stove remove the pan from the burner) and cover the pan. Let the eggs poach in the residual heat for 3 minutes, then remove them from the water with a slotted spoon.

When the broccoli is done, uncover the pan and use a wooden spoon or a potato masher to break up the broccoli a little bit.  If there's too much water turn the heat up for a few minutes to boil it off. Grate the zest of the lemon into the pan and squeeze its juice in too.

Meanwhile toast the bread. Peel the last clove of garlic. When the bread is done, rub each slice of toast with the garlic clove--just hard enough to start to grate the garlic so that little bits of garlic come off on the bread. (I never believed that this would work until I tried it, but it really does.)

To serve, place a piece or two of toast on a plate, spoon a generous amount of the broccoli over top, sprinkle with a little bit of crushed red pepper, then add a poached egg, and grate a big flurry of Parmesan cheese over top.

Makes 3 or 4 servings.

and now for something completely different...with beets

Are you in a pancake stupor? I have an antidote for you: a light, piquant, but earthy-tasting dish featuring chopped beets, walnuts, and ground coriander seed.

Sounds different from the beet recipes you're used to seeing, right? (I guess that makes it...offbeet. Yeah. Sorry. I'm not giving up bad puns for Lent.) That's exactly why I clipped the recipe from an issue of Cooking Light a while back.

The original name, "Beets with Walnut-Garlic Sauce," is a little bit misleading--I didn't really get a sauce out of the walnut-garlic mixture, so I ended up turning it into a spread or maybe a hearty dip. The notes to the recipe say that this dish is made throughout the Balkans, Russia, and Turkey, and it would be a great addition to a mezze table.

I served it at a recent brunch-time playdate with two girls about Monkey's age and their families, and it was a big hit at least among the adults. (I also served this goat cheese, walnut, and date spread, which is dangerously tasty.) What you think of it will depend on how you feel about raw alliums. Personally, I am a delicate flower, with a palate to match, and even though I significantly cut the amount of onion called for I still found it very sharp at first. After a day or two it was much mellower, but still, I'll probably omit the onions next time. Raw garlic is enough for one dish.

Maybe if my guests are reading they can tell you if they really did love it as-is, or if they would have liked a little less onion. Or a lot less onion, actually. Or if they didn't like it at all and they were just being polite. (I hope it's not that last one! A food blogger would rather have honesty than politeness, I think.)

Anyway. Tread carefully.

I liked the beets on top of cream cheese on a bagel. I liked them even more in a sandwich--two slices of whole grain bread, toasted and spread thickly with cream cheese, then a generous layer of beets, a sliced hard-boiled egg, and some lettuce leaves.

Beet Spread with Walnuts and Garlic (Pkhali)

To roast beets, wash them, trim stems, and cut into roughly equal-sized chunks. Place on a baking sheet or in a roasting pan and toss with a little olive oil, salt, and pepper. Roast at 425 F until tender, about 45 minutes (depending on the size of your chunks). Let cool and then remove skins.

1/4 C chopped onion (optional)
1/4 C walnuts, toasted
2 Tbsp red wine vinegar
3/4 tsp salt
Pinch to 1/8 tsp cayenne pepper
1/2 tsp ground coriander seed
1 garlic clove
3 C roasted beets

Combine first seven ingredients in a food processor; process until smooth. Roughly chop the roasted beets, add them to the food processor, and process until you have an even, finely chopped spread.