Back to family

This post was supposed to be written days ago, weeks ago, even. That, obviously, did not happen. The days leading up to a holiday are always a bit hectic-frantic- so I should have known better. Well, I should often know better. And then there was a family emergency-ish thing that required worry and time and mostly worry, because if there anything we do in my family it is worry and then talk about our worry. And then there were births and upcoming weddings and a sundry good things that come with celebrations and rituals and baby-snuggles. So it's been a busy time.
Here is the short of it: I have given up on cheesecake.  If I cannot make proper cheesecake without taking out a loan, then there will be no cheesecake. Forever and ever, Amen. So, for lack of cheesecake on Shavuot, I went back to family: I made delkalach. Delkalach (or, turoush tash, as they are called in Hungarian)  are like cheese danishes except maybe not so sweet and  with the cheese filling all wrapped up in this beautiful little square envelope of yeast dough instead of all open-like. They have been a dessert staple of my Shavuot holidays for as long as I can remember. Sometimes my mom would make them, but more often my grandmother would send some, neatly wrapped in silver-foil, all the way from New York with my great-aunt Roizy, who would come to visit her own children (conveniently, our neighbors.  *Hi, Kutner family!*) for the holiday.
In any case, surprisingly enough, this is not a post about delkalach. I mean, my delkalach, were fine- no where near my grandmother's, but good enough. And honestly, most of them got given away to various friends so I didn't even end up eating so many of them. This post is about cocosh. Now, most Hungarians, or people of Hungarian descent, or maybe even just New Yorkers, know cocosh and dream of cocosh and consider cocosh to be part of their cultural heritage. In my mind, my grandmother is synonymous with cocosh. You walk into her house, and there's a plate of cocosh, neatly sliced, on the table. She's comes for a visit, and there's a roll of cocosh, neatly wrapped, emerging from her bag. She even travels with the recipe, so she'll have it with her, just in case. (You never know when you might need an emergency roll of cocosh. Truth.) Cocosh, for those of you who don't have grandmother like mine, is a rolled yeast cake with a cocoa filling. It is the most perfect thing- a childhood memory of warmth and yeast and oozing chocolate, that actually lives up to itself. And here's the thing about cocosh, the yeast dough, that rich buttery base, is the very same yeast dough used to make delkalach.
My grandmother's (all purpose) yeast dough recipe is huge. I mean, literally huge. It calls for three! pounds of flour, for goodness sakes. So, if I was going to make delkalach, I figured I might as well also make cocosh. I was a bit nervous, serving it to my many guests, because when it comes down to it, cocosh isn't bright and shiny. It's not a gorgeous looking cheesecake, or chocolate tart. It's that funny looking, spindely legged horse that ends up winning the Triple-Crown, and sometimes people overlook that horse. But no, everyone loved it.I needn't have worried. It was hit. It was awesome. Going back to family makes sense that way.

My Grandmother's Cocosh

Adapted from Mindie Mermelstein

Notes: As mentioned above, this recipe is huge. You will get three very large rolls of cocosh from it. Feel free to cut it by half, or thirds, if you'd like. On the other hand, cocosh freezes quite well, so you can always just stick the extra loaves in the freezer and save em for another time.
Another note: My grandmother gives a ratio for the filling, but no amounts. True to her recipe, I also didn't really measure the filling and really just used the ratio as a general guideline. This isn't hard science, it's cocosh..

Dough:

3 lbs flour

3 eggs, at room temperature

1.5 cups butter

1 heaping tablespoon sour cream

1 1/3 cup sugar

Pinch salt

1 tablespoon of yeast 

 ½ cup warm water + pinch sugar

1 cup of milk, at room temperature

2 tablespoon vegetable oil

Filling:

Vegetable oil for brushing

3 parts sugar: 1 part cocoa

1 egg yolk mixed with a bit of water

1. In a small bowl, mix together the warm water, yeast and pinch of sugar. Set aside while it proofs. 

2. Whisk together flour, sugar and salt. Cut the butter into the flour. Add the milk, then the sour cream, and then finally the yeast mixture. Mix with a wooden spoon until the dough comes together and pulls away from the side of the bowl. Knead in the oil. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead until smooth. Clean out your mixing bowl, and lightly grease it. Return the dough to the bowl, turning it to coat it in oil. Cover and let rise until doubled, about an hour.

3. When the dough has risen, remove from bowl and divide into three equal parts. Place one piece of dough on a lightly floured surface. Keep the other pieces of dough covered while you work. Roll out the dough into a rectangle about the size of say, a 9x13 sheet pan. You want the dough to be thin, but not so much so that it is transparent. Brush it with a thin layer of vegetable oil. Sprinkle on some of the sugar-cocoa mixture brushing it so that it spreads and becomes paste-like. Add more filling until it no longer forms a paste and you have a layer of sandy looking sugar-cocoa mixture. Starting from the edge of the width closest to you, tightly roll the dough. Once the dough is rolled, tuck the edges in on the themselves so that the filling doesn't spill out, and lay the roll, seam side down, on a baking sheet.  Repeat with the remaining pieces of dough. Cover and let rise until doubled. This will take anywhere from 30-45 minutes.

4. Preheat oven to 350 f. When the loaves have finished rising. Brush with egg yolk. Bake for 30 minutes until browned on top. Cool on rack. If serving immediately, slice and serve. If not, loaves are cool, wrap the loaves well and store them in the fridge. Cocosh has the tendency to go stale very, very quickly if not properly stored. The loaves can also be frozen, whole. They'll stay a good while in your freezer-about 2-3 months.

Jerusalem in Jerusalem: Baby Spinach Salad with Dates and Almonds

Why yes, those are my skeleton hands.

And, why yes, this is a two-in-a-rower.

This week, my friends, this week has been a week. It was a week full of frustration and stress and annoyance and we went straight from freaky cold to oh my God, hot and dry and disgusting, and generally this week is not even worthy of discussion. Thank God for friends and wine and tv shows where impossibly beautiful people do impossible things and this salad- cause honestly, this salad was one of the bright spots in this otherwise shitty week.

This is another Ottolenghi masterpiece. He somehow has this way of taking elements that seem to go together, adding a seemingly disparate twist and making it all work. No, scratch that, he takes disparate elements adds them to something seemingly pedestrian makes the entire dish sing. In this case, it's the pitas. Spinach, dates and almonds, I get. But then there are pitas- fried and tossed with sumac and chili and you think, what? Really? And yet, once it gets all tossed together and plated and you take a bite, you think, yeah. Really.

Deep breath.


Baby Spinach Salad with Dates and Almonds

From Jerusalem: A Cookbook by Sami Tamimi and  Yotam Ottolenghi

1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
1/2 red onion, thinly sliced
100 grams (3.5 oz) pitted dates, quartered
2 tablespoons butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 pitas, torn into pieces
1/2 almonds, coarsely chopped
2 teaspoons sumac
1/2 teaspoon chile flakes
150 grams (5 oz) baby spinach
2 tablespoons lemon juice
salt

1.  In a small bowl, toss the onions and dates with the vinegar. Set aside and let marinate for 20 minutes.

2. In the meantime, heat the butter and half of the olive oil in a frying pan over moderate heat. Add the bread and the almonds and fry for around 6 minutes until the pita is crispy. Remove from heat and add the sumac, chile and a good pinch of salt. Let cool.

3. In a large salad bowl, toss the spinach with the pita. Strain the dates and onions and add them along with the remaining olive oil, lemon juice and salt to taste. Serve.

Jerusalem in Jerusalem: Tomato and Sourdough Soup

It's been unseasonably cold here lately. In fact, tonight as I'm writing this, it has just stopped raining. Its the kind of night that should be long- spent under a blanket watching a bad movie and eating popcorn. But it's not. We've changed the clocks already. On most nights this time of year, my windows would be open. They're closed tonight. And though I'm not eating popcorn, or watching a bad movie, I am huddled under blankets, thinking at the cat that she should get up and come cuddle, because there's nothing like a cat cuddle on a cold night.

Wednesday night, when Naomi came over for our weekly Ottolenghi cooking club, was also cold, if a bit less blustery than tonight. Still, it was a good night for the tomato and sourdough soup we had planned. We planned for soup since it was the day after Yom Ha'atzmaut- Israel's Independence Day-and we knew that after a day of consuming nothing but grilled meat, accoutrements and beer, we would want something light for dinner. It was a fortuitous piece of planning due to the aforementioned cold, and because the news coming out of Boston had left me confused and sad and angry. I needed something warm and comforting.  Fortuitous, indeed.

And since we were doing tomato soup, it seemed that grilled cheese would be in order as well. אם כבר,אז כבר, as they say in these parts- if already, then already.

Naomi can get a little bit tyrannical about cooking club. She refuses to let anyone else cook with us. Friends are welcome to eat with us, but cooking is reserved for me and her exclusively, which is, frankly, kind of nice. Then again, when Naomi suggested that we eat our sandwiches before the soup, I may or may not have emphatically and vigorously insisted that we cannot under any circumstances eat the tomato soup separate from the grilled cheese. (Spoiler alert: I insisted). So, maybe Naomi is not the only one who can get a bit tyrannical. But when it's cold and miserable and the news from far away makes you want to curl up and hide under a rock until humanity gets it shit together, sometimes you need a little warmth. Sometimes you need a friend to cook with and bowl of tomato soup (with grilled cheese, of course) to get you to the other side of the dark.

Tomato and Sourdough Soup
From Jerusalem: A Cookbook by Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi

2 tablespoons olive oil
1 large onion, chopped
1 teaspoon cumin
2 cloves garlic, crushed
3 cups vegetable stock
4 large tomatoes, chopped
1 14-oz can of diced tomatoes
1 tablespoon sugar
1 slice sourdough bread
2 tablespoons cilantro, chopped
salt and pepper

1. In a saucepan, heat the oil and add the onion. Saute until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the cumin and the garlic, saute for another 2 minutes. Add the stock, tomatoes sugar and some salt and black pepper. Bring the soup to a simmer. 10 minutes in, tear up the slice of bread into the soup. Cook for another 10 minutes. Add the cilantro. Using a hand blender, blend the soup, leaving it a bit chunky. It will be thick.

2. Serve with a garnish of cilantro, a drizzle of olive oil and a grilled cheese sandwich on the side.

Doing something right

You know you're doing something right when a Frenchwoman compliments you on your meringues. It's pretty satisfying when your nieces say so as well- when they wrap their arms around you and say, " I like everything you bake". Well, that's pretty fantastic, even if the chocolate chip cookie experiment went inedibley awry. The meringues though, were something else. I must of made near a hundred of them over the one week of Passover. And yes, my sister-in-law's mother, born and raised in France, did indeed compliment them, and later still, came into the kitchen to watch me make another batch.

Passover in my parent's house is a rush of noise. We are a lot of people; a lot of children- children who invite other children to play. Generally the house looks and sounds as if a tornado is continuously going through it for a week straight. The thing to do, I've learned, is to be the eye of the beloved storm. Go still and let it happen around you. Get yourself into the kitchen. Concentrate on egg whites as they slip through your fingers. Cradle the yolk in your hands. Think, egg whites. Egg whites are difficult. Are the beaters clean? Is the bowl dry? Did I get shell in them? Will they fall? Please don't let them fall. When you heat egg whites and sugar, science happens, or maybe magic, and you can feel strands of stuff connecting and congealing and forming bonds. A metaphor, if you will. Egg whites are difficult, but at the end you get this thing- this fragile, sweet thing- brittle at the edges and soft in the middle.

Another metaphor, I guess.

Chewy Chocolate Meringues

Adapted (lightly) from Riki Shore at Food52.com

1 cup egg whites (from about 6 large eggs)
2 cups sugar
1 cup dark chocolate chips

1. Preheat the oven to 275 F.  In a small saucepan, heat the egg whites and sugar over a low heat until the sugar has dissolved.

2.  Place the egg whites in the bowl of a stand mixer, (or use a hand mixer) and beat on high until stiff and glossy. This took me about 15 minutes using a hand mixer. It will probably take you less with a stand mixer. Add in the chocolate chips and mix gently until incorperated.

3. Spoon dollops of batter onto cookie sheets lined with with parchment paper. The cookies will look like fluffy clouds of goodness.

4. Bake for 45 minutes, rotating the cookie sheets half way through.

5. Go through 36 meringues in 2 days. Realize you will be making many meringues.

You can't take the sky from me

I own a spectacular long, brown leather coat. Tapered at the waist, it flares into a full skirt that hits a bit below my knee. It swishes against my body as I walk and it is impossible to wear without standing a little taller, moving with a bit more swagger. I inherited it from my mother, who had it made when she was in her twenties and way more stylish than I will ever be. I don't wear it often enough.

I don't know why I didn't think of this before. I've owned this coat for years. And yet, this year was the first year that I realized I own a brown leather coat. I repeat, I own a browncoat.

I have but one captain and he is Captain Mal Reynolds. My Purim costume was obvious.

My costume was met with a lot of blank stares. Firefly, unfortunately, still only has a cult following and maybe my tight pants were not quite tight enough for me to be immediately identified as Captain Tightpants. (And really friends, if you have not yet watched Firefly, I urge you, nay, beg you, to watch it. It is 14 episodes of perfection). But those who did get it, man, was it fun to watch their faces light up. Browncoats unite.

 And lest you ask what does Firefly have to do with food, I'll tell you this: Every year, every gorram year, when I eat my first strawberry of the season, I think of this scene.  My friends, this is how we should be eating strawberries. That small, delighted smile, that miracle, should be our experience of eating strawberries now and forever. And plus, when it comes down to it, when you leave aside the space-cowboys, Firefly is about family. It's about the family you make when you're far away from the family you have.

I miss my family a lot on Purim. But thankfully I have made family as well. I've been celebrating Purim with my friend Debbie for years now. She's part of my made family. Her Purim meals are always amazingly elaborate affairs, intricately planned to fit with her costume. This year, she went as Laura Ingalls Wilder, and so was met with just as many blank stares as I was. Still, it seemed perfectly fitting that Laura and Captain Mal should meet. Certainly the food they ate- frontier food- would be familiar to both of them. Certainly the ideas of family and self-reliance and the call of the great-wide open would be familiar to both of them.

There was corn-bread, and smoked-meats and homemade pickles. Rhubarb and pecan pie for dessert. I brought pumpkin pie. It's my sister-in-law's recipe, and it's great. It's so great,  that the pie was pretty much devoured in 5 minutes straight. I swear by my pretty floral bonnet that it is one of the best pumpkin pies I have ever tasted. Laura would approve, I'd think. So would Mal.

Aiming to Misbehave Pumpkin Pie

Adapted from Eve Krakowski, who adapted it from this recipe

Notes: this pie is easily made dairy and gluten free by leaving out the flour and using gluten-free cookies and coconut oil to make the crust.  

2/3 cup light brown sugar
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1/4 teaspoon cloves
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1 can (15 oz) pumpkin
2 tablespoons mild molasses, or, 1 tablespoon blackstrap molasses, or 2 tablespoons maple syrup
4 eggs
1 cup coconut cream
1 9-inch pie crust (bought, made, or otherwise)

1. Watch all of Firefly. Once you have asked yourself if you are a lion, preheat the oven 450 F.  Whisk together the sugars, flour and spices.  Add in the pumpkin, molasses and eggs. Then add the cream. Pour into the pie crust.

2. Bake for 10 minutes. Turn the oven down to 325 F. Continue baking for another 40 minutes until the center is set. Place on a rack to cool. 

3. Watch Serenity. Sob into your pumpkin pie. 

Happy Purim

Cliches for a reason

I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. It's a manufactured, consumerist holiday, meant to con us into buying things we don't need and feel things we don't feel... blah, blah, blah, all the things single people tell themselves. Rolls eyes. The truth is that I grew up in a fairly religious Jewish community, where Valentine's Day, just "wasn't done", and that's sort of stuck. Whether single, or in a relationship, it's just never really been a priority for me.This year though, single and all, I celebrated Valentine's Day. Sort of. I went to a party. A housewarming party on Valentine's Day. Most people brought wine. I brought salted caramel brownies, because if I'm going to be celebrating Valentine's Day, there will be chocolate. Cliches are cliches for a reason.

These brownies, man. These brownies are a rom-com in baked-good form. They will (should) win you a kiss in the rain; a run through the airport; a boombox under your window. They are rich with butter, and not too sweet-until you hit the burnt sugar taste of caramel, that is, and then there is so much sweetness it's almost bitter. And maybe that's a metaphor for love, or maybe it's just brownies.


Salted Caramel Cocoa Brownies

Adapted from Smitten Kitchen, twice over

For the caramel:

1/2 cup sugar
4 tablespoons (56 grams) butter
1/4 teaspoon flaky sea salt
3 tablespoons heavy cream

For the brownies:

10 tablespoons (140 grams) butter
1 1/4 cup sugar
3/4 cup + 2 tablespoons cocoa
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
2 eggs
1/2 cup flour

1) Start with the caramel. In a  dry saucepan, melt your sugar over medium heat, stirring occasionally. After about five minutes it should take on a beautiful, amber color. Remove from heat. Carefully stir in the butter. It will splatter, so stand back. Stir in salt and cream and return to heat. Bring to a simmer and cook until any solidified sugar has melted, and the caramel is a shade or two darker. This should take a few minutes. Remove from heat. Place a square of parchment paper over a plate. Lightly grease the paper and then pour the caramel onto the plate. Transfer the plate to the freezer and freeze until solidified-this can take anywhere from 20-40 minutes, depending on your freezer.

2) While the caramel is setting, make your brownies. Preheat the oven to 325. In a heatproof bowl, combine the butter, sugar, cocoa and salt. Place over a pan of barely simmer water. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the butter has melted and the mixture is smooth. Remove from heat and cool. Stir in the vanilla and then beat in the eggs, one at a time. When the batter looks nice and smooth add the flour.

3) Remove caramel from the freezer and chop into 1- inch pieces. Stir most of the pieces into the batter. Pour the batter into a well-greased 8-inch baking pan. Scatter the rest of the caramel pieces on top. Bake for 30-35 minutes until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

4) Declare your love.