While I pawned mint julep duty off on the men-folk, I took charge of the food. Roger’s only “must-have” request was derby pie, an amazing chocolate-nut pie that’s possibly sweeter than actually winning the race itself. Other than that, I was free to do as I pleased.

It got me thinking a lot about Lynn. She liked to get me cookbooks, especially Southern ones. Last summer she gave me an edition of Seasoned Cooking of Kentucky, and several years ago an edition of Charleston Receipts. But the foods that make me think of her are the ones that she talked about the way that I talk about food from Pittsburgh, and those that she eventually wrote down for me the on cards I received at the bridal shower last year.

One of the things I remember her always loving was ham biscuits. Exactly what they sound like; cured, country ham (not the sweet, smoked style of Virginia), thin sliced and piled on top of fresh, fluffy biscuits. Roger mentioned in one of his recent emails to me that they were indeed her favorite, so I searched high and low—the wonderful butcher at Union Meat finally came through with beautiful, red slices of country ham, and I went on a search for a sturdy, slider-style biscuit recipe. The next item on the menu was from one of the books she’d given me.  Pickled shrimp are a popular picnic food in the summer that sounded just refreshing enough to cut some of the richness in the menu (oh believe me, we haven’t even started). Steamed, chilled shrimp, mixed with some vegetables, herbs, and a sweet/sour pickling liquid, all layered into a jar to marinate overnight. Along with the ham biscuits, and pickled shrimp, I figured a vegetable had to enter into the picture somewhere, so I roasted some beautiful spring Brussels sprouts with herbs de provence,  red onion, and bacon and served them at room temperature. They were an amazing contrast to the shrimp.

But the Hot Brown was what intrigued me the most. Not only was it an iconic dish, but I’d never made it before, and had only seen prepared briefly on a Food Network segment done at the Brown Hotel. On one of the recipe cards she shared with me, Lynn wrote down the Brown Hotel’s recipe for their signature dish. What is this incredible food item, you might ask? It is an open faced turkey sandwich on thick slices of Texas toast, covered by creamiest, richest pecorino romano mornay sauce I have ever made, broiled until golden, and then finished with sliced bacon, fresh parsley, and paprika.

And yes, this whole ordeal ended with pie. Because you should always save room for pie.

Pickled Shrimp

• 1 lb. peeled, jumbo cooked shrimp with tails
• 1/2 red onion, diced
• 1/2 yellow bell pepper, sliced
• 1 fresh bay leaf
• 1/3 cup peanut oil
• 1/3 cup white wine vinegar
• 1 tbsp. sugar
• 1 tbsp. lemon zest
• 1 tbsp. fresh lemon juice
• 1 tsp. Dijon mustard
• 1 tsp. hot sauce
• 1 tsp. kosher salt
• 1 garlic cloves, pressed
• 1 tsp. dried crushed red pepper

Layer the shrimp, onion, bell pepper, and bay leaf in a quart-sized mason jar.

Whisk the remaining ingredients together, and then pour over the shrimp and vegetables. Seal and allow the shrimp to marinate for 1 day, shaking and turning the jar every few hours or so.

Ham Biscuits

These biscuits needed to be sturdier, and a little taller than normal to accommodate being made into sandwiches. Three leavening agents keep them light and fluffy, while giving you some freedom with manipulating the dough.

• 1/2 envelope active dry yeast
• 2 tbsp. warm water (110-115 degrees F)
• 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 tbsp. sugar
• 1/2 tbsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 4 oz. cream cheese, cut into pieces and chilled
• 2 oz. unsalted butter, cut into pieces and chilled
• 1/2 cup plus 2 tbsp. buttermilk
• Slices of country ham
• Dijon mustard, mayonnaise, or other condiments

Preheat oven to 400 degrees F.

Combine yeast and warm water in a small bowl; let stand 5 minutes or until foamy.

Whisk together flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, and salt, then cut cream cheese and cold butter into flour mixture with a pastry blender or fork until crumbly.

Combine yeast mixture and buttermilk, and then add to the flour mixture, stirring just until dry ingredients are moistened. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface, and knead lightly 6 to 8 times.

Roll or pat the dough to 3/4-inch thickness. Cut with a round cutter or slice into squares.

Arrange biscuits on a parchment-lined baking sheet, brush with an egg wash or melted butter, and bake for 15 minutes or until deep golden-brown.

Split biscuits and top with thin slices of country ham and condiments as desired.

Roasted Brussels Sprouts

• 1 lb. Brussels sprouts, washed, outer leaves removed, and cut in half.
• 1 tbsp. olive oil
• 2 slices bacon (cooked), and 1 tbsp. bacon drippings
• 1/2 tbsp. white wine vinegar
• 1/2 red onion, diced
• 1 tsp. herbs de provence
• Salt and pepper to taste

Toss all ingredients together in a large bowl and taste for seasoning. Then spread the sprouts on a baking sheet and roast at 375 degrees F until lightly browned, but not soft. It will take anywhere for 15-30 minutes depending on the size of your sprouts.

Kentucky Hot Brown

I used the Brown Hotel’s original recipe and followed it to a T. The only exception being that I was able to make three sandwiches, rather than two. Honestly, I think that the amount of sauce this yields could easily be spread across four. The recipe can be found here, but here’s a photo sequence and my description of the process…

Gather your ingredients and preheat a broiler.

Lay one piece of crustless Texas toast in an oven-safe dish, and cut the other into triangles, putting them on either side of the whole piece.

Layer turkey on top, and put a slice of Roma tomato on two sides of the Texas toast.

Make a roux and cook it until smooth, then add the cream and cook over medium heat, whisking constantly until the mixture begins to simmer lightly and gets very thick.

Add the pecorino cheese and whisk until smooth. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Ladle the hot mornay sauce on top of the turkey, and then place the sandwich under the broiler until lightly browned on top.

Top with two slices of bacon and finish with a sprinkle of fresh parsley and paprika.

Dark Bay Pie

The Derby Pie originated at the Melrose Inn, but the name is trademarked  by the Kern family and the owners are not shy about suing to protect it. Although numerous variations and recipes for this type of pie exist, to refer to anything that is not Kern’s recipe (which is again, heavily guarded by the owners) as Derby Pie is breaking the law. Hence, why my truly delicious AND SHAREABLE recipe has its own moniker, given for the final product’s similarity in color to that particular horse coat color.

• 1 1/4 cups toasted, roughly chopped nuts – I used a mixture of pecans and walnuts
• 3 large eggs
• 3/4 cup brown sugar
• 1/4 cup white sugar
• 1/2 cup light corn syrup
• 1/4 cup dark corn syrup
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup butter, melted and cooled
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 2 tablespoons bourbon
• 1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips
• Pastry for one 9 in. crust

First, prepare your pastry. I use my super-no-fail pate brisee, of course! You can find that recipe right here, in the butter tart tutorial. After making the dough, patting into a disc, and refrigerating it, roll it out into a circle a bit larger than your pie pan, and then fit into the pan and crimp the edges. Return the crust to the refrigerator and chill for 30 minutes.

Preheat an oven to 350 degrees F.

In a large bowl, whisk the eggs until thoroughly blended and slightly foamy. Add the brown sugar, white, sugar, light corn syrup, dark corn syrup, flour, and salt and whisk until smooth.  Add the melted butter, bourbon, and vanilla extract and mix thoroughly.

Fold the nuts and chocolate chips into the mixture, brush the inside of the pie crust with a little bit of egg wash, and then pour the filling into the prepared pie crust.

Bake for 50-60 minutes or until the center is just set and the edges are golden brown. It will deflate slightly as it cools.

An hour after finishing everything up, I was putting my recipe cards safely back into the book when I noticed another one from Lynn that contained three simple ingredients: An orange, a cup of sugar, and two cups of pecans. Well shoot, I already had everything…so why not? Roger and I have since decided that these are far too habit forming. If you make them, not eating the entire batch will truly be a challenge.

Orange Pecans (and Walnuts)

Lynn’s recipe called for 2 cups of pecans, but I had a mixture of pecans and walnuts leftover from the Dark Bay pie, so I went with that.

Zest and juice the orange into a small, heavy bottomed saucepan. Add the sugar and mix well. Put the pan over medium high heat.

Once the sugar has begun to dissolve, add the nuts to the pot. Bring the mixture to a simmer, stirring vigorously throughout, and cook until most of the liquid has been absorbed (5-6 minutes).

Spread the nuts out onto a baking sheet and separate using a fork. Once completely cool, store in a well-sealed container at room temperature. And again, this is if you actually have any to store.

So that was what we enjoyed with frosty mint juleps as Orb made his valiant gallop from almost the back of the pack, to a massive garland of roses.

Dioji found all of this very exhausting.

It was a really wonderful way to spend a Saturday, tasting and seeing things that reminded me of my mother-in-law. Sometimes it hurts to think about Lynn, because the fact that she is gone is still so raw. But Saturday was one of the first times that the cheerfulness I remember overshadowed those pangs of sadness. I am grateful that she shared so much of her home with me, and hope that I have done her proud sharing it with you.

Ciao for now,

Neen

“You know you can’t keep this a secret.”

In a matter of weeks it was going to be obvious. I was already wondering how I’d feel about the questions and (potential) judgment from others. It had already crept up from friends I expected would be supportive, and scared me off of saying much to anyone outside of my immediate family.

“You realize this is permanent, right? This is for the rest of your life.”

True. And at eighteen years old, what clue did I have about permanence? Was I even mature enough to be making a massive life decision? My heart raced a little more quickly.

“You can do this. Would mom and dad ever support you doing something like this if they didn’t think it was going to help?”

I found myself wishing that hospitals didn’t have such stark white walls and fluorescent lights everywhere. All I wanted was a soothing blue ocean, and I tried to picture the summers we spent on Satellite Beach basking in the sun and eating pizza at Bizarro’s.

“Pizza. That’s going to be a hard one.”

Why was I thinking about food? This was the worst possible time to be thinking about food. For the next 6 weeks, there wouldn’t be so much as a crunchy Cheerio in my diet. The kitchen at home was already full of soup, tuna, cream of wheat, and eggs. Even eggs were out for the first two weeks. The panic came back and I suddenly wondered how fast I could get the saline IV out of my arm, and bolt out of the hospital before anyone noticed.

And then there was peace. There was nothing. There was silence.

“This is going to save your life.”

I’d technically been obese since my early teen years. I was always overweight as a kid, even when I swam year-round, but teetered into obesity once high school hit. Between school, marching band, drama club, forensics, a job at the YMCA, a job at the jewelry stand, and time with family and friends, eating right didn’t make my list of priorities. By the time I was a junior, I was only pretending to not hate every single thing about my body. I wanted to be pretty, so I wore lots of jewelry, dyed my hair fun colors, bought sparkly clothes at the plus-size store, and tried to convince myself that it was okay. But simultaneously, I tried every single diet in the book. Changing myself became an obsession, and I went to lengths that I am not proud of to try to lose weight. The “safe” ways like South Beach, Atkins, Weight Watchers, or liquid diets stuck for awhile, but every attempt had an end, everything I tried failed at some point. Temporarily, I could shed a meager 10-20 lbs. but it always came back. I’d find myself buying boxes of cereal to replace the ones I shamefully decimated in a matter of a day or two, destroying the empty boxes and throwing them in a trash can away from home. I tried to hide the binges, but after awhile all it took was looking at me to know that what I ate in front of others could not possibly be ballooning my body at such a rapid pace.

It got worse when I went to college. For the first time in my life I was making food choices entirely on my own, and the freedom was almost intoxicating. Grilled cheese sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies for lunch, all washed down with a big glass of diet coke? Hell yeah. Breakfasts comprised of double Pop-Tarts and Odwalla smoothies? Bring on the sugar rush, baby. I’d catch myself every so often, and the shame would draw me back toward the complete opposite end of the spectrum. Before I knew it, everything would flip again and I’d be hiding in my dorm room destroying half a box of penne. Writing that out now makes my face turn hot and red. After all these years, I’m still embarrassed at what I couldn’t just control. People don’t think about someone obese having an eating disorder, but that’s exactly what it was.

At my highest weight–somewhere in the 280s.

And so there I was, nine years ago, freezing in a thin hospital gown, 280ish uncomfortable pounds packed on my bones, and a little sick to my soon-to-be reorganized stomach. Dr. Quinlin pulled back the curtain to my little cube in the surgery prep ward and gave me a warm smile. “How are you doing this morning?”

“Nervous.”

After all, this (wonderful) surgeon was about to make a bunch of incisions in my abdomen, close off a rather large portion of my stomach, bypass a long section of small intestine and reattach the rest of the intestine to the remaining egg-sized piece of my stomach. That’s the short description of Roux-en-y gastric bypass. For the next week and a half, I’d have only clear liquids, the two weeks after that clear and opaque liquids, the four weeks after that just soft foods, and finally a slow reintroduction to coarser solids. Basically, I was about to be an infant again. I was going to re-learn to eat, and in doing so, try to undo almost 2 decades of bad habits and damage to my body.

A simple diagram of RNY gastric bypass surgery.

Dr. Q gave me a smile and a pat on the arm. “You’re going to do great, okay?”

“Okay.”

A few hours later, my new life began. It was like hitting the reset button, getting the fresh start I always wanted. Starting from scratch.

Visiting my brother in Lucca, Italy about 3 months post-op. I was down about 55-60 lbs. at that point.

And what a miracle. What a life it has become. There is not a day that goes by that I do not believe that Dr. Quinlin saved my life in April 2004. Yes, I have had to make an effort—one that felt unbearable at times for the first year post-op. Yes, I still have to work at making good choices every day. Yes, I still have to fight the (much fainter) urge to fall back on disordered eating and a distorted perception of food.

But do you know what I can DO now? I can bike 20 miles, I run 5k and 8k races, I do ninety minutes of yoga six days a week, and go through body weight circuits like a champ. And mostly I do all of this just because I CAN. Because there was a time that it felt so impossible, and so far out of my reach that I didn’t even dare to dream of it. There was a time when I was out of breath after one flight of stairs. I always believed that even if I was somehow thin, surely I would never be athletic.

At the Race for a Cause 8k – October 2012.

I’m Superman!

People often think of gastric bypass as some golden ticket, or “the easy way out.” There’s not a post-op alive who hasn’t heard that line and had to grit their teeth and smile thinking, “You have no (expletive) clue what you’re talking about.” It’s not easy to withstand those first few restrictive months, the physical healing takes a long time, restaurants are difficult for the first year post-op, finding 70 grams of protein everyday can be really hard, grocery shopping was a nightmare at first because I had to evaluate every label and ingredient, and I had (and have) to be ridiculously careful consuming sugar or alcohol; the former because I hate feeling nauseated, and the latter because I would like to remember entire conversations. If you were (as I was) a major food addict prior to surgery, there’s a good chance you’ll look somewhere else for comfort. If you aren’t prepared it can turn into something ugly like alcoholism. As a regular contributor to a weight loss surgery forum, I can tell you that it is a familiar refrain. Trust me when I tell you that this was not an easy way out. It was as hard, if not harder than any diet I ever tried. The reason it worked for me was its two-fold approach: Restriction and malabsorption. Since the stomach pouch is quite small, the amount of food that can fit is much less than normal, and since part of the intestine is bypassed there is a reduction in the amount of calories that the body absorbs. The malabsorption is effective for about the first year and a half, but the restriction remains permanently for the most part. It is not uncommon for patients to experience some weight re-gain once the “honeymoon” period is over. I most certainly did. I put 30 lbs. back on before I looked in the mirror and thought, “Don’t waste this. You got your second chance.” I’d accepted remaining overweight because it was better than being obese.

“But that isn’t why you had this surgery. You had it to be truly healthy.”

So I re-grouped, started tracking my nutrition and exercise, and worked to find the balance that helped me get to and maintain a weight in the normal range for a woman of my stature.

…and totally jumped out of a plane.

I am literally half of myself. But unless I told you (and I do tell people because it has been such an incredible life change), you’d probably never know I had surgery. You’d probably just think I have a small-ish appetite. I still eat all of the things I used to love, just less, and I’m a lot pickier about the quality of the food I eat. We have dairy, meat, and poultry products delivered from a local farm once a week, and buy as much of our produce from the nearby farmers’ market as much as possible. Sometimes that isn’t so great for my wallet, but the way I see it, food is part of my health care costs. And my health is more valuable to me than I can explain.

Same jersey, just 9 years in between pictures.

So here I am, nine years later and 135-140 lbs. less than my highest recorded weight. There is one pair of size 22 pants that hang in the very back of my closet. Every so often when I am feeling truly discouraged, I fit myself into one leg of those pants and remember all that I couldn’t do, and everything that I can do now. It might not be a big deal to someone else, but to me it’s nothing less than miraculous. Could I have lost weight and maintained that loss without weight loss surgery? To be honest, I’m not sure. I understand so much more about obesity now that I know my problem was not simply a lack of willpower. I’m not sure what I’d be like today if not for RNY surgery.

But I know what I really am today, and what I am is so grateful that I still cry my eyes out every single year on one special day late in April. My heart overflows with gratitude for Dr. Quinlin and his staff. Thank you, thank you, thank you for helping me to achieve a healthy and active life, the life I never dared to dream of as a food-addicted, ashamed teenager. Every single run, every single yoga practice, and every single healthy check-up I think of you. I will never, ever forget what you did for me, and the compassion and care that you showed every step of the way.

Oh, how things change…(click for full-size timeline!)

I remember the first time that I wasn’t bothered that I couldn’t find a cab outside of the Prudential Center and would have to walk the mile home to my dormitory carrying 6-7 bags of groceries (a Thanksgiving turkey for dinner with friends included!).

Looking up at the cloudy, gray November sky at that moment, it was  more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen in my life.

A moment of grace and gratefulness.

Ciao for now,

Neen

However this isn’t about my homeland. The Shakespeare Association of America’s yearly conference was held in Toronto, ON this year, so one of our resident Canadians was waxing poetic about some of her favorite foods from home. One of these was Nanaimo Bars, which if you haven’t made, you really, really should. It’s a three layer bar cookie that has pretty much everything good in it: graham crackers, coconut, almonds, chocolate, butter, vanilla custard…nom nom nom…you get the idea. The official recipe from the city of Nanaimo can be found here: http://www.nanaimo.ca/EN/main/visitors/NanaimoBars.html I followed it to the letter, using Bird’s custard powder as was specifically recommended to me for maximum authenticity.

But for me, the treat that sounded most delicious was the Butter Tart. From the very name, you can probably guess why it appealed to me. I’ve given monologues on my love for making pastry dough, and just about any recipe that requires a good pâte brisée is right up my alley. People fear pie dough, it’s one of those elusive kitchen tasks that scares off a lot of cooks. It is heat and humidity sensitive, so you really need to trust your intuition. Fortunately, the advent of the food processor has made it much easier to manipulate. For things like biscuits I still prefer to go by hand, but when it comes to tart or pie shells I really prefer the food processor to get that perfectly fine sandy texture. And honestly? If you put all of the ingredients together and just doesn’t seem right, pat it out until it’s thin, sprinkle some cinnamon and sugar on top, and make cut-out cookies. Bake at 375 F until they feel dry, about 7-8 minutes. Have no fear my friends, because even screwed up pie dough is delicious and useful.

Anyway, I digress. After my friend and colleague finished describing the butter tart, all I could think was that it sounded like someone took pecan pie filling, nixed the nuts, and put in raisins instead. Intriguing! Since the tarts are small, I decided to use a butter-cream caramel for the filling, and rather than relying on corn syrup to help it set up I went with some eggs. Between caramel and raisins, it seemed like there was quite enough sweetness going on there already.

Butter Tarts

adapted from The Joy of Baking and a description from a certain Curator of Art.

Neen’s Super-No-Fail Pâte Brisée

• 1 1/4 cups all purpose flour
• 4 oz. butter, cut into small pieces and briefly chilled in the freezer (5-10 minutes)
• 3/4 tsp. salt
• 1 tbsp. granulated sugar
• 1/8 – 1/4 cup cold water (the colder, the better.)

Butter Tart Filling

• 5 tbsp. unsalted butter
• 1 cup light brown sugar
• 2 eggs at room temperature
• 1 tsp. vanilla extract
• 1/4 cup heavy cream
• 1/2 cup raisins

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

Begin by making the pâte brisée. Combine the flour, sugar, and salt in the bowl of a food processor and blend well. Add the butter and pulse until the mixture is a fine, sandy texture. Slowly add water, pulsing intermittently, just until the dough begins to form pebbly chunks. Once you can pinch the dough between your fingers and it adheres together, it’s ready. Quickly bring the dough together in a ball and then pat out into a circle about 6-7 in. in diameter. Wrap it up in plastic wrap, and refrigerate until it feels firm enough to roll out. I don’t like the dough to get too hard, so I usually only wait about 15 minutes. I find it easier to work with when it is still a little bit soft.

Once the dough has chilled, roll it out until it’s about 1/4 in. thick, and then cut into circles 4 in. in diameter. For size reference, I used a pint glass to do that part.

Fit the dough circles into a 12 cup muffin tin and pat them down gently and evenly. (Take your extra dough scraps and make cookies!) Set the tart shells aside while you prepare the filling.

Using a stand or hand mixer, beat the butter and brown sugar together until light, smooth, and creamy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating between additions, and then add the vanilla extract.

Stir in the cream by hand and mix until smooth.

Place an even amount of raisins in the bottom of each tart shell and then add a spoonful of filling to each tart. Repeat spooning filling into the shells until you’ve used all of it. It ended up being about 2 tbsp. in each tart.

Bake the tarts for 16-17 minutes, or until the filling is puffed up and has set. The pastry will be golden-brown. The filling will deflate after you take them out of the oven.

Place the pan on a wire rack and cool the tarts completely before de-panning. I actually chilled them in the fridge for an hour or two and then ran a knife around the edge of each. They came out very easily, one of the fortunate side effects of buttery pastry. Serve chilled or at room temperature.

The recipe makes 12, but I cut them in half to serve, so there were 24 portions to go around.

Verdict? Well, my friend and colleague said that they tasted just like the ones her grandmother used to make—and that that was a very good thing. It made my day to hear such a compliment, as you can imagine.

So get to making this delicious treat from our friends up north! Between these and the Nanaimo bars, you might find yourself wondering how quickly you can pack up and move to where they are consistently available.

Ciao for now,

Neen

I make biscuits and bacon for Joe almost single weekend, and use a pretty basic method. Always by hand, never in the food processor. Always all-butter (a cube or two of lard if I have it), never shortening. Always patted gently, never rolled out, and cut only once. Dough scraps are mashed together to make a mutant (but still delicious) biscuit, but the dough is NEVER re-rolled. And if it gets remotely warm while being handled, to the freezer with it!

The point here is that I’ve been threatened by enough Southern cooks in my life to know that YOU DO NOT OVER HANDLE THE BISCUIT DOUGH. Want them tender, crispy, and flaky? The less you touch it, the better. Otherwise: Bricks. Buttery, delicious bricks, but heavy and flat all the same.

There was an incident. I blame the bad reality television I leave on in the background when I’m in the kitchen. I was probably momentarily horrified by seeing an individual take a piece of raw chicken out of a marinade to cook, and then proceed to begin reducing the remaining marinade into a sauce. Mmm, salmonella! Anyway, an incident. I tossed my flour, salt, and baking powder together and then added the cubed, cold butter. As I worked my hands through it, quickly breaking and smearing the butter into small fragments, I thought “This is taking longer than usual…”

After adding the milk, the dough came together as usual…but the texture was different. It wasn’t sticky or too dry to come together, it just felt different. I chalked it up to paranoia and tossed the dough in the fridge. As I began to close the door to the refrigerator, I noticed that the 16 oz. tub of butter I’d bought earlier was nearly empty. “How did I go through this much butter this week? I didn’t even bake anything for work…”

(Censored expletive.)

“Why does this feel so light?”

A synapse clearly fired wrong, because the normal ratio of butter to milk is 1:2 in my biscuit dough recipe. Normally it’s 3 oz. butter and 6 oz. milk. And yet somehow that morning I was convinced that they were equal 6 oz. portions. “Now what?”

It occurred to me that the proportion of butter:flour made the ratio slightly closer to a croissant dough or pate brisee than a biscuit, but croissants use yeast, so it’s not abnormal there to handle the dough a lot. And pate brisee doesn’t need to rise, and has practically no liquid at all. At this point I figured that while I was already going off into left field, that I might as well just go all the way and see what resulted.

Something wonderful happened.

Flaky Layer Biscuits

The second time I made these, I made a few improvements to the methodology, and a 1 oz. reduction in the amount of butter. This was because the most inner layers in the first batch were over-saturated and a little greasy for my taste.

• 9 oz. flour (about 2 cups, lightly scooped)
• 5 oz. butter, cubed and chilled
• 6 oz. whole milk or buttermilk
• 2 tsp. baking powder
• 1 tsp. salt

In a medium sized mixing bowl, mix the flour, salt, and baking powder.

Add the cubed butter. Smear and break up the pieces until the mixture is pebbly. The largest pieces of butter should be pea-sized.

Add the milk / buttermilk and stir the mixture with a fork until a rough dough forms.

Transfer the dough to the counter and pat it into a small rectangle.

Wrap this in plastic wrap and refrigerate it for a half-hour or until it is firm enough to roll.

Remove the dough from the plastic wrap and roll into a 9 x 17 in. rectangle.

Letter-fold (as in my croissant recipe) into thirds, and then rotate the dough 90 degrees and repeat the process.

Wrap the folded dough in plastic wrap and refrigerate for a half-hour.

Remove the dough from the plastic wrap and roll into a 9 x 17 in. rectangle, and again letter fold into thirds, rotate, and fold again. This time, cut the rectangle in half, and stack the two squares on top of one another, making sure that the folded sides of each square are at opposite ends. Press down, and then wrap the folded dough tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate for a half-hour.

Remove the dough from the plastic wrap for the final time, and repeat the previous three-step process. Then roll or press it out to 1/2 in. thickness.

Cut into 12 squares with a sharp knife or pizza wheel. Place the biscuits on a parchment-lined baking sheet and refrigerate while the oven preheats.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Brush the tops of the biscuits with a beaten egg or a little bit of cream or milk.

Bake for 20-25 minutes or until fluffy and golden brown.

Then you can enjoy slowly peeling apart all of the buttery layers and eating a delicious biscuit. Perfectly soft and flaky in the middle, a touch salty, and crisp on the outside. Voila!

I was convinced these were going to be masonry equipment, but the result was opposite in nearly every way. The texture was just incredible, and they needed absolutely nothing spread on them (although fresh jam would be fantastic I’m sure). If, like me, you wish to gamble with your cholesterol numbers…they’re kind of amazing alongside a fried egg that’s still slightly runny.

It’s not the quickest biscuit recipe, but it’s hands-down my new favorite. I doubt I’ll have the patience to make it my every-weekend recipe. Even so, it was truly the happiest of accidents.

So go ahead. Handle the dough, roll the dough, and go nuts. Follow what I’ve written and you too will wonder why everyone has been lying to you. Maybe it’s a conspiracy among southern cooks to never reveal this secret. If I disappear, I wish you to assume that I’ve been kidnapped by someone’s grandma and locked in a basement for my crimes. Happy baking!

Ciao for now,

Neen

My brain has gotten demanding lately. Cravings for fruit and beaches abound, I’m sick to death of wearing tights under dresses and needing to keep my coat on in the office, and I want to go swimming, plant a garden, and grill. I’m the kind of person who will stand outside in humid 90 degree DC weather drinking a cup of coffee and feel perfectly fine with the situation. I am clearly a child of the long summer days.

Our HR department at work decided to hold a pie baking contest to celebrate Pi Day, and I was initially pretty stumped. Can you imagine? One of the most versatile pastries and I could not think of One. Damn. Thing. Not much fruit is particularly in season, most of what I canned last year is gone, and we were asked to omit nuts due to allergen potential, so there were a few challenges. Of course I could have gone for something savory, but for some reason I got stuck on layers. Distinct layers of flavors with different textures, maybe a little deconstruction.

“You’re over thinking this, Neen. What do you really want to eat right now?”

The answer from my summer-obsessed head came instantaneously:

“I want s’mores. I want s’mores reeeeeeeal bad.”

Hmmm….buttery, crunchy, molasses-laden crust, a creamy, slightly bitter chocolate center, a towering marshmallow meringue, and an excuse to use my blow torch? It sounded too fun to pass up.

S’mores Pie, or, “The Happy Camper”

Graham Pastry

• 1 1/3 cups flour – For graham crackers, I always use half all-purpose and half white whole-wheat.
• 1/4 cup granulated sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 4 oz. unsalted butter, cubed and chilled
• 1 1/2 tbsp. cold vodka or water
• 1 tbsp. honey
• 1 1/2 tbsp. blackstrap molasses
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract

Chocolate Cream Ganache

• 7 oz. bittersweet chocolate, chopped
• 1 cup heavy whipping cream
• 1 large egg brought to room temperature

Marshmallow Meringue

• 1 tbsp plus 1/3 cup water
• 1/2 teaspoon unflavored gelatin
• 1 cup sugar
• 1/3 cup light corn syrup
• 4 large egg whites
• 1 tsp.vanilla extract

Begin by making the graham pastry. Combine the flour, sugar, salt, and cinnamon in a bowl. Add the butter, and using your fingertips, gently smear and break the butter into the flour until the largest pieces are pea-sized. It should have a pebbly, sandy texture.

Whisk the molasses, honey, vanilla extract, and vodka or water together until blended.

Add the wet ingredients to the butter-flour mixture and stir with a fork just until a rough dough forms.

Knead the dough once or twice on the counter until it adheres together.

Flatten the dough into a disc, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for a half hour.

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Remove the graham pastry dough from the refrigerator, unwrap, and roll into a circle about 12 inches in diameter. Fit into a 9 1/2 in. tart pan with a removable bottom, or a 9 1/2 in. pie pan. Trim the excess from the edges.

Line the crust with foil or parchment paper and weigh it down with dried beans. This allows you to pre-bake the crust without it puffing up in the middle.

Bake for 20 minutes at 350 degrees.

Leave the crust on a wire rack while you prepare the chocolate ganache filling.

Put chocolate in a large bowl.  In a medium sized saucepan, heat the cream over medium-high heat until it just comes to a boil. Remove it from the stove and pour gently over the chocolate.  Wait one minute and then whisk the mixture until smooth and shiny. Add the egg and mix until well integrated.

Pour  the filling into the crust and jiggle the pan slightly to make it even.

Cover the edge of the pan with a pie shield or foil and then bake for 22 minutes or until the filling jiggles just slightly when the pan is tapped. Cool for at least one hour. I moved it to the refrigerator after an hour and left it there while I made the meringue.

Place 1 tbsp. of water in a small ramekin and put that in a small skillet. Add water to the skillet until it is a depth of 1/2 inch. Sprinkle the gelatin over the water in the ramekin and set aside to bloom.

Put the egg whites and a pinch of salt in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a whip attachment.

Whisk sugar, corn syrup and 1/3 cup water together in a heavy bottomed saucepan. Bring the syrup to boil over medium heat, stirring only until sugar dissolves.

Once the syrup has begun to boil, turn the mixer onto a high setting and beat the egg whites to stiff peaks.

Boil the sugar syrup without stirring until it reaches 248 degrees F. Remove from the stove, and with the mixer on, pour in a thin stream into the egg whites.

Beat for 4 minutes or until stiff, glossy peaks form. Add the vanilla and beat to combine.

Bring water in skillet to simmer. Stir the gelatin mixture in cup until it dissolves into a clear liquid.

Slowly pour gelatin over egg whites and beat until the marshmallow meringue is cool, anywhere from 8-10 minutes.

Spread the meringue over the top of the pie, forming small peaks by tapping the flat side of a butter knife against the meringue and flipping upward.

Using a blow torch or broiler, brown the meringue. Refrigerate the pie until serving. This holds up very well in the refrigerator and the meringue won’t weep because of the magical gelatin.

From the first taste it was…a s’more. A giant, fluffy s’more. The crust was crunchy, with a little caramel flavor from the molasses and a distinctly graham cracker taste. The chocolate ganache was creamy, somehow tasting melted even in a chilled state. But the marshmallow meringue was the star. Puffy and springy on the outside with an almost divinity-like texture inside. The final torching gave it the toasty campfire flavor, finally quieting my weary-of-winter brain.

It didn’t win the contest, but it made me really happy to make it and that’s a reward I cherish dearly. Besides, I work with an insane amount of creative, talented people, so a baking contest here is no cakewalk, er, piewalk.

Hope everyone is having a happy March. It is, of course, the month of super-husband’s birthday, so there will be cake soon. Maybe I’ll have some new sweet treat to share with you!

Ciao for now,

Neen

While their cookies are oh-so-delicious, one of the ingredients in them is sorbitol, a sugar alcohol which unfortunately makes me a sick and sad individual. I was depressed to discover this fact, but even more bothered by the fact that the boxes of cookies contained such a litany of unpronounceable ingredients that I’m not sure what I was eating when I did endure the nausea for a Samoa.

I had one of those “As Seen on TV” moments where the person throws their hands up in defeat and says aloud, “There’s GOT to be a better way!” Usually followed by a thrilled voiceover actor assuring the person that yes, there most certainly is a better way.

Sorry ladies, but butter always wins over partially hydrogenated vegetable oil.

Regardless of digestive distress or non-food ingredients, I missed Samoas / Caramel Delites. I’d still give in and buy a box to share, justifying that the proceeds helped young girls, and cookie sales taught entrepreneurship and encouraged social skills. Well, I think I’ll just be making an annual donation now, because I’ve done it. I’ve really done it.

I’ve made a cookie better than Samoas. No joke. Doubt me? Please wait while I retrieve the co-workers that took a batch of these down in about 5 minutes. I may never have been the most competitive Girl Scout when it came to selling cookies, but making them, OH, I’ll take you on. Then we’ll see who gets the “Cookie Star” merit badge.

Coconut Caramel and Chocolate Cookie Bars

For the cookie layer:

• 12 tbsp. butter, cut into 1 in. pieces
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1 egg
• 2 cups flour
• 1/2 tsp. salt
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
• 2 tbsp. milk or cream
• Pinch of kosher salt

For the caramel layer:

• 6 tbsp. butter
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 cup light corn syrup
• 14 oz. can of sweetened condensed milk
• 4 cups unsweetened shredded coconut, toasted until golden brown
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla extract
• 1/4 tsp. kosher salt

For the topping:

• 1 cup dark chocolate, roughly chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Begin by making the cookie layer. Combine the flour, sugar, and salt in the bowl of a food processor.

Add the butter to the flour mixture and pulse until a sandy texture is reached. Add the egg, milk, and vanilla and pulse until everything is mixed well. The dough will look a little bit uneven and clumpy, but should not be sticky.

Pat the dough evenly into a 9 x 13 in. pan and bake for 20 minutes, or just until the edges are light golden brown. Set the pan aside on a wire rack while you make your caramel.

Combine the butter, sugar, corn syrup, and pinch of salt in a large saucepan set over medium low heat. Heat, stirring constantly, until the mixture comes to a boil. It won’t take very long—I was surprised. Continue to stir and boil for 3 minutes.

Add the sweetened condensed milk to the pot and continue to cook over low heat while stirring until an instant read thermometer reads 225-228 degrees.

Remove the pot from the heat and thoroughly stir in the toasted coconut and vanilla extract. (Cook’s note: I’ve also added chopped nuts to the caramel along with the coconut and it’s delicious! Try adding a 1/2 cup of finely chopped pecans if you like nuts.)

Spread the caramel over the cookie base evenly and allow to cool completely on a wire rack. I usually put the pan into the refrigerator once it’s not hot to the touch anymore.

Finally, melt the dark chocolate over low heat, then drizzle over the cookie bars.

Once the chocolate is set, cut the cookies into small squares. Yield: 32 cookies (I cut them into 8 rows of 4.)

Using the unsweetened coconut really keeps that caramel from getting cloying, and the dark chocolate plays nicely against both the buttery cookie and creamy, lightly salted caramel. This is what I imagine would result if a Samoa cookie and a Magic cookie bar got into a brawl and somehow melded into one glorious item.

Come to think of it, shortbread was kind of a theme in February. The rest were mostly cut-outs with some very delicious frostings. Here are some of the other creations that came out of me really not wanting to sit on a fractured / dislocated coccyx.

Portal Companion Cube

The Detective is on the case!

Dancing Mutant People

Not as sweet as he is, but pretty darn good!

These were for my friend Erica’s birthday and were extra special. Coconut and macadamia nuts blended into the shortbread cookies, topped with dark chocolate.

Hope you’re all having a wonderful start to the (early) spring!

Ciao for now,

Neen

Please don’t slap me. It takes me months to work through a jar of Nutella, and usually the chocolate treats I do make end up at the Folger or the Advisory Board (where they are truly appreciated).

Joe is not a chocoholic either and for the most part relegates his chocolate eating to peanut butter cups, peanut butter blossoms (ha-ha, I got him hooked too), and chocolate chip cookies. He is far more content with a pan of simple butter shortbread or blueberry cake. Both our wedding and wedding party cakes last summer were white almond cake with strawberry filling and vanilla buttercream. I mean just look at them, of course you want to eat that:

So while I generally have at least 2 lbs of butter, sugar, and flour on hand at all times, I rarely have baking chocolate. Someone did however give me a tin of unsweetened cocoa at Christmas, and over the weekend I found myself thinking that I really ought to use it for something wonderful. We were headed to a Mardi Gras party on Sunday night, and I’d previously thought I’d go with something vanilla and pecan-laced, but remembered that the hostess makes the world’s BEST king cake and decided that a contrasting dessert would probably be more enjoyed.

“Okay, chocolate cake,” I thought. “Really freaking good chocolate cake. Chocolate cake of gloriousness.” Only I was out of buttermilk and entirely without something to acidulate the milk in my fridge. Regular milk would have worked fine, but the tangy, acidic quality of buttermilk gives chocolate cake that tender, soft crumb.

As I often do when this kind of problem arises, I began pacing around the house trying to think of a reasonable substitute. It was the perfect storm: Out of buttermilk, yogurt, and sour cream. There wasn’t even a jar of applesauce anywhere!

Then it hit me. A few months ago, Joe and I went to a wine tasting out in Loudon county and the gentleman serving us gave us each a piece of dark chocolate to go with one of the wines we were drinking. So why not take this concept a step further and put it in some chocolate cake? We had a mystery bottle of red table wine, and as Julia Child said, “The only real stumbling block is fear of failure. In cooking you’ve got to have a what-the-hell attitude.” Preach it, Julia.

I’m now convinced that this is what should really be called red velvet cake. It doesn’t have that bright hue, but there is a deep red tinge when you cut into it and the spicy-sweet scent of red wine hits your nose right away. I went with a cream cheese filling for the middles, but powdered sugar alone would also be just fine. The cake is more than moist enough to be served without any kind of glaze or frosting.

Red Wine Chocolate Cupcakes

I used a mini bundt pan here, but this recipe also works baked in a cupcake tin or loaf pan.

• 4 oz. unsalted butter
• 1 cup firmly packed light or dark brown sugar
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 1 large egg
• 1 cup red wine
• 1 tsp. vanilla extract
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/4 tsp. kosher salt

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Lightly grease a cupcake tin or loaf pan, and dust it with cocoa powder.

Cream the butter and sugar together until light and fluffy, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed. Add the egg and vanilla extract and mix thoroughly.

Mix in the red wine. Do not panic if the mixture takes on an uneven or grainy appearance. This perfectly normal.

Sift the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt, and then add them to the wet ingredients, stirring just until no dry spots remain.

Spread the batter equally into the cupcake wells and then tap the pan lightly on a countertop to even them out.

Bake for about 23 minutes or until a toothpick inserted into the center of a cake comes out clean. If using a loaf pan, it will take 50-60 minutes. Allow the cakes to cool in the tin for 10 minutes and then turn them out onto a wire rack to cool completely.

Dust with powdered sugar, or whip 4 oz. cream cheese, a punch of salt, and a few drops of vanilla extract with enough powdered sugar to reach the consistency of a frosting that can be piped or spread easily. If it gets too thick, just add a tbsp. of milk to thin it back out.

These were whisked away to a Mardi Gras party where as far as I could tell, they were wholeheartedly enjoyed. I bet they’d be a great gift for your Valentine(s) too. And don’t give me the lecture on why you hate Valentine’s Day because it’s too commercial and has a narrow definition of love. Holidays are what you make them, and I refer you to this post.

Ciao for now,

Neen <3

During February, please take time to talk to the teens in your life about cultivating healthy relationships, and how to recognize the signs of abuse. Nearly 1.5 million high school students nationwide experience physical abuse from a dating partner in a single year. It’s time to break the cycle.

The most I can do for my friend is simply to be his friend. I have no wealth to bestow on him. If he knows that I am happy in loving him, he will want no other reward. Is not friendship divine in this?
–Henry David Thoreau

There are a lot of individuals and groups of people who have had a strong impact on my life. My entire family who gave me the foundation and understanding of what it means to love and care for one another, my husband who reminds me every day that I am a person of value and that I am loved, my two best work friends who always seem to know how to bring a smile to my face. To feel as though one matters in the world is a beautiful thing that we often take for granted until someone or something knocks us into the pit. That’s when we need a careful hand to help us up, and is often when we are most grateful for who is fearless enough to lend it.

What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies.
–Aristotle

Sometimes though, it’s people who I haven’t seen for years that I feel the most grateful to have known. Maybe I couldn’t understand what kind of an affect the person had on me until we were far removed from one another, and that is what came into my head last week. People who quite literally changed my life and don’t even know it. And that makes me think of high school.

Never shall I forget the days I spent with you. Continue to be my friend,
as you will always find me yours.
–Ludwig van Beethoven

I felt lonely as a teenager. This is not to say that I was ever alone. It seems odd when I look back on all of the pictures of me smiling with my friends and being completely silly. I’ve got brightly colored hair, rainbow jewelry, shoes with bright orange flames on them, and am grinning so hard most of the time that my dimples are in full view. Everything outward is vibrant and screams “Look at me, I’m happy!” If there was ever a person ‘trying too hard,’ it was me. Inside I felt gray. It was no one’s fault; that’s just where I was at that moment in my life. And I can accept that now as a part of my evolution, but I couldn’t see it that way at the time. All I could see was the light that was out of reach from where I stood in the pit.

A friend might well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature.
–Ralph Waldo Emerson

But there were people that always dragged me out of that pit. I am in awe of the maturity it showed to be a friend to someone dealing with depression at that age. For a teenager none of that really makes sense, so to be able to shrug at it and say, “Doesn’t matter. I love you anyway,” was an act of selflessness. That gesture made happiness seem possible and within reach. It helped me understand the true meaning of friendship. I will always carry that with me and hope that I can be the kind of friend that these men were to me. So this year, I will share those particular individuals with you because I think it is important to take time to acknowledge those who brought positivity back into my life when I couldn’t do it on my own. During the month of February, I set my intention during yoga practice as one of being thankful for them, and all of the friends who have shown me love along the way.

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”
–C . S. Lewis

Nate: My friend Zoe introduced me to him at one of our voice class’ concerts when I was in the eighth grade. I hounded Zoe for weeks to give me his phone number and soon we were talking on the phone nearly every day. He and I couldn’t get together very often as we didn’t live close to one another, but where there is friendship there are solutions. On multiple occasions, we synchronized our VCRs (Oh, I’m dating myself here…) so that we could watch the same movie while talking (usually making fun of said movie) on the phone. He stuck with me through thick and thin. He was on the phone with me the night that I ended the most awful, abusive relationship of my life, reassuring me that no, I wasn’t crazy to have done so. Nate was not simply loyal and wonderful in every way, but reminded me that “you don’t need to be fixed, because you’re not broken.”

Nate and I at a Shaler v. Central Catholic football game. The rain-sleet was going sideways, but *who cares* when you have a friend?

Friendship is the hardest thing in the world to explain. It’s not something you learn in school. But if you haven’t learned the meaning of friendship, you really haven’t learned anything.”
–Muhammad Ali

Jake: My rock. My absolute, total rock. I’ve rewritten this paragraph more times than I can count because I can’t adequately describe how valued I felt whenever we were together. At one point in high school, I didn’t speak to him for almost three months (due to aforementioned terrifying relationship). One night I worked up the courage to call him purely to apologize for my absence, and remember how ashamed I felt for having been such a negligent friend. Three days later he was with me playing pool in my basement like nothing about our friendship had ever changed. He always accepted me without reservation. There was nothing I looked forward to more than seeing him at our weekly youth group meetings. He was, and I have no doubt still is, an incredibly talented artist. I have kept for years a pen drawing he did in one of my notebooks. Under the psychedelic design his phone number is written with the words “call if you ever need anything” beneath it. When I see pictures of him now happily married and with a beautiful little son, it makes me feel so joyful for him and his family.

Hanging out with Jake at a St. Mo’s youth group meeting.

“Why is it,” he said, one time, at the subway entrance, “I feel I’ve known you so many years?”
“Because I like you,” she said, “and I don’t want anything from you.”
–Ray Bradbury

Joe W.: A hero to me in the most honest sense of the word. Joe brought me back to the land of the living when I tried to isolate myself from everyone and everything. We spent many Friday afternoons wandering the streets of Oakland, and regularly spiffed ourselves up to go to the theatre together. We’d grab a pair of balcony seats to whatever musical was playing at the Benedum and then spend hours afterward critiquing it. He encouraged me to go to speech and debate meets, pushed me to be a better musician, got me to dance, and fed my creative spirit more than any friend I have known since. He is the reason that I came to know and love so many different shows. To this day, I cannot see a performance of Les Miserables without thinking of us seeing it together and getting chills at the chorus’ rendition of “One Day More.” His encouragement and kindness lifted me up in a way that was truly special. I thought of him nearly every time the NSO warmed up before Choral Arts performances last year, sure deep down that he could outplay their oboist…just because of the kind of determination he has in his heart.

“Why did you do all this for me?” he asked. “I don’t deserve it. I’ve never done anything for you.”
You have been my friend,” replied Charlotte. “That in itself is a tremendous thing.”
–E.B. White

Scott: If you could take joy and fill a person to the brim with it that would describe Scott. He radiated joy. From the day I met him I was smitten with him. His capacity for love and forgiveness is something that I have striven to achieve ever since. I met Scott during my junior year of high school, and we were dance partners for part of our school’s performance of “Anything Goes.” When I was having a particularly bad day once, I remember him standing in the wings on the other side of the stage making silly faces at me until I laughed. Sometimes he’d just grab my hand and yank me into a dance number without a word. When I felt lost and confused, he was the person who helped me make sense of things. On numerous occasions we were out somewhere with our other friend Pat and he would make me laugh so hard that I’d be afraid to sip whatever I was drinking for fear of it spewing out of my nose. One of my favorite memories of all time is thinking of the blast we had wandering around downtown Pittsburgh and enjoying the revelry one New Year’s Eve. Every once in awhile, one of our silly inside jokes pops into my head out of nowhere and I cannot help but smile. That in and of itself is a really wonderful thing, and the warm happiness that follows is worth more than gold.

Scott and I celebrating at a cast party after “Anything Goes.” Now those are some happy, happy faces.

Writing this has been a very peaceful, reflective exercise, and I have and will always carry the lessons and values that these people taught me. I will forever be in awe over the fortune of having known them.

And I will never stop being grateful.

www.teendvmonth.org

www.breakthecycle.org

www.loveisrespect.org

www.loveisnotabuse.com

www.pcar.org

www.nsvrc.org

Inevitably at some point in my blogging career I was going to use Billy Joel’s most famous song as a post title. One does not see him in concert 6 times in three different cities without having that song permanently embedded into a part of the brain. Trips to New York always remind me of going to his concerts because he sings so much about NYC and the surrounding areas.

There are a lot of iconic things about New York: The Empire State Building, The Statue of Liberty, vast amounts of museums, enormous flagship stores, the Yankees, Broadway, and probably the best people-watching around. And the food scene? Pretty much everything imaginable. The little neighborhoods throughout all seem to have little clumps of ethnic groups that have brought their dishes to the States throughout the country’s history. And if I learned one thing in New York it is that they are serious about bagels. Polish-Jew immigrants brought the bagel to America, and sadly by the 1960s their delicious, handmade creations had been industrialized by Harry Lender, who engineered the automatic production and…pre-slicing of them (face, meet desk). I mourn for these bagels.

But New York has a host of bakeries that still make them from scratch. Even if you feel most sure of it, do NOT insist to a New Yorker that you can buy a decent bagel anywhere but there. This is an argument that you will not win. The theory is that it’s all about the water (much like the lime content of Kentucky water giving bourbon its distinctive characteristics).

Oh, but I am defiant and stubborn. And skeptical of anyone who tells me that I can’t do something. Maybe I didn’t ask my brother to ship me some of his water, nor did I bring a bucket on Amtrak during my recent trip to NYC, but I did my research. I wanted to know what makes bagel baking different from other bread baking and how I could achieve the closest possible analog to the breakfast king of the Big Apple.

New Yorkers, I believe that I have done you proud. Perhaps they are not made with the “right” water, but I guarantee you that they are dense, slightly spongy, and chewy. They are not “doughnut bagels” or bread shaped like a bagel. They are truly, wholeheartedly bagels.

These ones are of the cinnamon-raisin variety, but they aren’t sweet. I really wanted to shy away from making these resemble pastry or sweet bread in any way. The process takes two days, so make sure you give yourself adequate time before beginning.

Cinnamon Raisin Bagels

adapted from Peter Reinhardt, recipes from Jewish friends, and the great city of New York.

Sponge

• 4 cups bread flour (or high-gluten flour)
• 2 1/2 cups room temperature water
• 1 tsp. rapid-rise yeast

Dough

• 3 ½ cups bread flour (or high-gluten flour)
• 4 tbsp. sugar
• 1 tbsp. cinnamon
• 1 tbsp. malt syrup or honey
• 1 tbsp. salt
• 1 tsp. rapid-rise yeast
• 2 cups raisins, rinsed under warm water and patted dry

• 1 tbsp. baking soda for water bath
• Cornmeal for baking pans

To make the sponge, mix the flour and yeast together and then stir in the water until you have a thick batter. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and leave it in a non-drafty, warm place for 2-3 hours or until it has doubled in size and is very foamy on top. It should deflate slightly when the bowl is tapped on a hard surface.

Add the second teaspoon of yeast and mix it thoroughly into the sponge. Mix in 3 cups of the flour, sugar, cinnamon, malt syrup, and salt. Add the remaining flour only as needed to form a stiff bread dough. Mix in the raisins.

Transfer the dough to a counter and knead for ten minutes or until it is smooth and pliable. The dough should not be tacky, but should be hydrated enough that it does not rip while being kneaded. At this point, check the temperature with an instant read thermometer. It should be somewhere in the mid 70s F.

Immediately divide the dough into 24 equal pieces and shape into rolls. These were 3 oz. each. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and allow them to rest for a half hour.

Line two sheet pans with parchment paper and form the bagels. The easiest way to do this by hand is to poke the hole in the center using your thumb and then rotate the bagel around it until the hole is about one inch in diameter. Make them as even as possible to avoid timing problems during the baking process. Place the bagels on the prepared sheet pans and cover loosely with plastic wrap and let them rest at room temperature for 20 minutes. This room temperature rest is crucial before moving them to the refrigerator for final retarding as it provides some time for the gasses to build up that will make the bagels float during the pre-bake boil.

After the 20 minute rest do a test by dropping a bagel into a bowl of room temperature water. If it floats within 10 seconds, the bagels are ready for final retarding. Pat the test bagel dry and return it to the sheet pan. If the tester doesn’t float, leave the pans at room temperature and re-test every 10 minutes until it floats. Once this is achieved, move the bagels to the refrigerator and allow them to retard for 12 hours. They can stay like this for up to 2 days.

The following day, preheat the oven to 500 degrees F.

Bring a large pot of water to boil on the stove and then add the baking soda.

Line two sheet pans with parchment paper, lightly oil the paper, and sprinkle a layer of cornmeal on it.

Remove the bagels from the refrigerator and gently drop them into the boiling water a few at a time. They should float within 10 seconds. Boil for 1 minute, flip them over, and then boil for 1 more minute.

Place the boiled bagels on the prepared sheet pan about 2 inches apart. Once you’ve finished boiling all of them, move the pans to the oven and bake for 5 minutes. Lower the oven temperature to 450 degrees, rotate the pans, and bake for 5 more minutes or until lightly golden brown. As with most bread, you can generally tell that they are cooked through once they reach an internal temperature of 190 degrees.

Cool the bagels on a wire rack for at least 20 minutes prior to cutting them. You wouldn’t want to smoosh all of the chewy goodness you worked to achieve, so be patient! I actually found that the texture improved greatly after several hours.

But now you might be thinking “What do I do with two dozen bagels and only one stomach?” Well, I suppose you could share, but the good news is that these hold up well in the freezer as long as they’re tightly wrapped. Revive for a few minutes in a 350 degree oven or just toast them. Not as good as fresh, but infinitely better than store-bought.

Although I may never convince a New Yorker that these are the real deal, I have had many a bagel in my time and this is honestly the closest I’ve ever come to that distinct bagel-ness. Have fun, be patient, and enjoy. Other flavors? Omit the cinnamon and raisins and top your bagels with coarse salt, poppy seeds, or sesame seeds prior to baking. Purists might get mad at you, but dried blueberries are really tasty in place of the raisins. And besides, who cares what anyone thinks of you if you’re happy with them.

For now I think I’ll just enjoy my bagel and think about “taking a Greyhound on the Hudson River line…”

Ciao for now,

Neen

Our long national nightmare has ended and hockey is back! The Penguins had their opener against Philadelphia on Saturday and looked like they had things pretty well put together. I was impressed given that there was only a week of training camp due to the lockout.

It was conference championship week for the NFL, so a sports-filled weekend all around. What better way to enjoy the games than with something meaty and slow-cooked? That’s what was on my mind when I headed to the grocery store to get some things to make over the long weekend. You know it’s going to be a good day when you walk in and the butcher (with whom you have wisely made friends) gives you a big grin and says, “Check these out. These are what you want, trust me.”

Well who am I to argue? And let’s be honest…they were very pretty:

Short ribs have a lot of connective tissue to break down and cry out to be braised slowly in a very flavorful liquid. The key is to strike a balance between earthiness and acidity, and a mix of stock and something alcoholic is a good place to start. Wine braises are delicious, but for “tailgate” food I thought a good dark lager seemed more appropriate.

Beer Braised Short Ribs

• 2 lbs. beef short ribs
• 2 tsp. dried thyme
• 3 tbsp. olive oil
• 1 onion, diced
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 3-4 small carrots, diced
• 2-3 sprigs flat leaf parsley
• 4-5 sprigs thyme
• 1 tbsp. fresh rosemary
• 12 oz. dark lager
• 2 1/2 cups veal stock
• 2 tbsp. tomato paste
• Salt and pepper

Remove the short ribs from the refrigerator one hour before cooking and season with the thyme, salt, and pepper.

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees F.

Heat a dutch oven over medium-high heat and add the olive oil. Once it is shimmering and fragrant, add the short ribs to the pan and brown on all sides. This will take about 10-15 minutes.

Remove the ribs to a plate and set aside. Reduce the heat to medium-low and add the onions and garlic to the dutch oven. Cook for 2-3 minutes or until the onions are translucent.

Add the carrots and tomato paste and stir thoroughly with a wooden spoon, scraping the bottom of the pan.

Add the ribs back to the dutch oven and tuck the herbs around them. Pour the beer over the meat and then add 1 ½ cups of the veal stock.

Cover the dutch oven and move it to the oven. Cook for 3 hours, adding small amounts of veal stock every hour until the remaining cup is used. Remove the lid during the last 20 minutes of cooking.

Move the ribs to a plate and remove sprigs of herbs from the dutch oven. Puree the remaining liquid and vegetables into a sauce with an immersion blender and reduce slightly until it coats the back of a spoon.

Pour the sauce back over the whole ribs and serve as-is if you like. The meat is very tender though, so I shredded it and served it on whole wheat pasta with the sauce. The end result was a hearty, warm dish that fit perfectly into a lazy January weekend.

Hope you’re having a great start to 2013!

Ciao for now,

Neen