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.

Things that are not butter

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been sick. The great winter sickness of 2013 hath fallen upon me and I was felled for a week. Then, I got caught in an avalanche of work, which is what happens when you have been sick for a week and all your deadlines fall out pretty much at the same time. Mostly I feel a little bit like this right now. But, not all is lost for I have learned some important lessons in these past two weeks, and these are them:

 1) Hot water bottles are awesome.
 2) Hot toddies are awesome.
 3) Elementary- not so awesome.
 4) Happy Endings- amaaahzing.
 5) The Monday after the Super Bowl is probably the most unproductive Monday of the year.
 6) If you spend 9 hours of your day trying to turn a bad translation into a good translation, you will fry your brain.
 7) Broccoli is good.

On day three of my sick week, I rolled out of bed and realized I could no longer do the thing which I had been doing up until then- namely, roll out of bed, stumble to the refrigerator, grab blindly at whatever leftover something was closest, and roll back to bed to eat it in a semi-sitting position. For one, I was running out of leftovers and two, I was also beginning to feel quite guilty about all the lovely produce, bought almost a week before, sitting in my crisper, going to waste. So, when I next found myself with enough energy to stand, I pulled my once lovely, bright broccoli, now going yellowish at the edges, out of the refrigerator, chopped it into florets, doused it in olive oil, sprinkled it in salt, pepper, smoked paprika and some cayenne, covered it tightly and tossed it in a low over for 2.5 hours. Then, I stumbled back to bed.

I always forget, because I so much associate it with health and with things that are not butter, how rich olive oil is. Because that is the first word that came to mind when I bit into my first piece of broccoli- it was rich. The broccoli had sort of collapsed in on itself and become soft and silky in its bath of olive oil. And yet, yet, despite its richness it was still broccoli. It somehow still maintained that bright, grassy broccoli flavor- you know, the one that tells your brain that you are eating something with vitamins and minerals and all those things that will make you grow up strong and hearty. And that is what you need when you are sick- something that is simultaneously comforting and health inducing. Granted, most of the time that's chicken soup, but broccoli works in a pinch too.

I'm hoping that this is the last of the sick for this winter. I am not hoping it is the last of the broccoli.


Broccoli For a Sick Day

Adapted from Roy Finnamore's Broccoli Cooked Forever on Food52

1 medium bunch of broccoli
1/2 cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
a good amount (oh, about 1/4 tsp) of coarse salt
freshly ground black pepper
a pinch of cayenne pepper
a healthy pinch of smoked paprika

1. Preheat the oven to 200 F.  Cut the broccoli into small florets. If you are using the stem, peel off the thick woody outer layer, and chop.

2. Combine the ingredients in a casserole or an a small oven-safe pot. Cover and cook for 2- 2.5 hours until the broccoli is soft. Eat. Be healthy.