The Real Meaning of Comfort Food

When life around you tumbles into chaos, some might argue that cooking is not always the wisest course of action.  My response to them would probably be something approximating, “Well, you’ve got to eat, don’t you?” 
 
That was pretty much the case this weekend.  On Friday, I made a quick dash to the store to pick up a few remaining items necessary to prepare a sultry Moroccan ragu of pork, onion, carrots, butternut squash, chickpeas, enriched with layers of aromatics and sweet spices― all simmered into a state of lush complexity.   

Back at home, it was pretty clear that I had a problem with my kitchen sink.  When the faucet was on, water flowed from under the sink onto the floor.   Once I determined the water was no longer gushing, I placed a pan under the sink, mopped up my mess, and debated my next step. Living out in the country is wonderful, but there are a few drawbacks.  Such as: calling the plumber late on a Friday.   Additional scheduling time plus higher house call fees always give me pause.      

 

I sent up an SOS to my neighbor, Gerald, our resident handyman.   As long as I didn’t run water, we agreed that there was no great emergency; he would stop by in the morning with his wrench and we would assess the situation then.    

 
So much for any big cooking plans; they were squelched for the night.  Still in damage control mode, I decided to keep a lid on making any more of a mess than necessary and opted for a simple veggie burger dinner from the freezer.

In the morning, before Gerald arrived, I warmed a loaf of whole wheat soda bread from the freezer,  set out a charming bowl of muscadine jelly, a ramekin of butter, napkins, plates, coffee cups and juice glasses.   Just looking at it made me happy! Yes, food is very therapeutic.     

Meanwhile, since my urge to cook was percolating up again, it seemed like the ideal opportunity to begin simmering a pot of chicken stock.   From the freezer, I pulled out a recently frozen roasted chicken, dropped it in a pot of water, and got it simmering on the stove.  What better to time to prep the basic ragu vegetables than while adding the trimmings to the pot?  In went a rib of celery, a pinch of thyme, and a bay leaf, too.   There!  The vegetables were all prepped, tucked back in the fridge, and ready when needed.  Simmering on the back of the stove, the stock smelled divine.  All was well.   

It also looked like it I could quickly conjure up the Moroccan pork marinade.  In a blink I had a heavenly blend of ground coriander, cumin, ginger, turmeric, paprika, and pepper, all bound with a hint of lemon juice and a dash of olive oil.   Mmmm, what a mood elevator!

 At the market earlier, I had elected to decrease the usual 1-1/2 lbs. boneless pork for a ¾ pound slice of tenderized pork plus a package of sliced cremini mushrooms.  Such a small amount, I might as well cut the pork into cubes add it to the marinade, and store it in a zip lock bag.  Then, I gave it all a good massage and popped it in the fridge.    No muss, no fuss; another step done.  

 
Gerald arrived to a spotless kitchen; we put our heads together, and got to assessing the situation.   Yes, it looked like a clogged drain alright, but peering under the sink he spotted other issues that looked questionable― albeit easily remedied.   Waving his arms wildly, he put forth possible scenarios.   More tools required, more mop up, the day dragged on; the kitchen was slowly unraveling.  By late afternoon, the situation had worsened and Gerald was flummoxed.  When the faucet was on, the sink leaked more than ever and water now gushed from an errant hose onto the kitchen floor.   I thanked Gerald for all his help (sigh) as he dashed out the door shaking his head.  He had football games ahead and a big screen waiting for him at home.   
 

It looked like I had no choice but to call in the plumber; but not today.   I surmised I was safe as long as I didn’t run water in the sink.  I had Moroccan ragu in my future and tomorrow was another day.
 

Notes about the recipe:  this is a very adaptable concept.  As mentioned, I substituted cremini mushrooms for part of the pork.  Preserved lemons are on my hit list, but for now, I used the lemon as indicated, plus I included the lemon remains to the ragu as it simmered. I also added 2 to 3 cups of chopped chard from the garden with the return of the pork.  Since my ragu had plenty of liquid when done, I thickened it with 2 tablespoons instant tapioca pearls.  It proved to be outstanding thickener. I served it over a simple couscous seasoned lightly with fresh ginger and a bay leaf.  Bliss in a bowl.

Moroccan-Flavored Ragu with Pork and Winter Squash

Adapted from Eating Well

Ingredients

2 lemons

2 1/2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided

2 teaspoons paprika, preferably Hungarian

1 teaspoon ground turmeric

1 teaspoon ground coriander

1/2 teaspoon ground cumin

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

1/4 teaspoon ground, plus 1 pinch, divided

1 1/2 pounds boneless pork chops, (1 inch thick), trimmed of fat, cut into 1-inch cubes

14 ounces chicken broth

1 cup butternut squash, peeled and diced (1/2-inch dice)

1 cup carrots, sliced (1/2 inch thick)

1 cup canned chickpeas, rinsed

1/2 cup onion, chopped

1/2 cup canned diced tomatoes

2 tablespoons preserved lemon, chopped rinsed, (see Note; optional)

1 tablespoon tomato paste

2 teaspoons minced garlic

1/4 teaspoon hot sauce, such as Tabasco

1 Pinch ground cinnamon

1 Pinch ground allspice

 

Instructions

Zest and juice the lemon(s) to get 1 tablespoon zest and 2 tablespoons juice; reserve the zest. Combine the juice, 1/2 teaspoon oil, paprika, turmeric, coriander, cumin, pepper and 1/4 teaspoon ginger in a medium bowl. Add pork; stir to coat. Marinate in the refrigerator for 30 minutes or up to 4 hours.

Heat the remaining 2 teaspoons oil in a large nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. Add the pork and cook, stirring, until no longer pink on the outside and beginning to brown, 2 to 3 minutes. Transfer the pork to a plate.

To the pan, add broth, squash, carrots, chickpeas, onion, tomatoes, preserved lemon (if using), tomato paste, garlic, hot sauce, cinnamon, allspice, the reserved lemon zest and the remaining pinch of ginger to the pan. Bring to a boil, stirring occasionally; reduce heat to a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are tender, 20 to 30 minutes. Stir in the pork, return to a simmer and cook, stirring, until the pork is just cooked through, 2 to 5 minutes more.

Serve over couscous, bulgur or rice, and garnish with a blend of 1/4 cup chopped cilantro, 2 tablespoons chopped scallions and 1 tablespoon chopped mint.

A Portobello Epiphany

Matsutake Mushrooms
Courtesy Cascade Mycological Society

If it’s true that in the spring a young man’s fancy turns to love, then here in the Pacific Northwest it surely must follow that in the fall a cook’s fancy turns to mushrooms.  Yes, once again, it is fall mushroom hunting season and thanks to a rainy September foragers are gleefully gearing up for a sumptuous bumper crop of boletes, chanterelles, matsutake, and even fabulous truffles. 

With such heady anticipation I’m feeling like an athlete in preparation for her next main event.  No question, I’m in mushroom training, and I need to get my practice in before unnecessarily risking it on those coveted delicacies. 



Portobellos

High mushroom alert kicked in while at my local market when I found myself immobilized with gaze locked, in front of the Portobello display.  They always have a great supply of fresh mushrooms, so this was nothing new.  In a shopper nanosecond I  experienced an epiphany; I visualized these beauties oddly transformed into chewy, pepper-dusted ribbons of mushroom jerky. 

 

Now that’s bizarre, because I certainly like beef and venison jerky, but I’d never contemplated mushroom jerky.  My course was instantly clear: I picked out the most perfect Portobellos and placed them in my cart.  I was ready for a  serious mushroom challenge.

Of major concern: issues of dirt, foreign matter, and potential critters dangerously lurking within the gills, a possible health risk in the dried product.  After a thorough cleaning with a soft brush and paper towels,  I marinated the thin slices in a flavorful soy based solution with enough salt to act as a preservative for approximately four hours.  The mushrooms were then fully cooked on the stovetop until devoid of pan liquids and the pieces were slightly caramelized.  

The size and meatiness of the Portobellos proved to be an asset in creating manageable and  appealing jerky. I set the slices on trays and stacked them in a food dehydrator for about 3-1/2 hours, until chewy and dry, but not brittle.

 

Final results:  a rich, elegant snack and a first-rate garnish for rainy  day soup.

 

Portobello Mushroom Jerky

Ingredients

2 Portobello mushrooms

Marinade

3 Tbsp. soy sauce

3 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce

½ tsp. agave syrup or honey

½ tsp. sriracha sauce (or ½ tsp. Tabasco sauce plus one clove crushed garlic)

¼ tsp. onion powder

1 tsp. salt

½ tsp. freshly ground pepper plus additional for sprinkling on top

½ tsp. liquid smoke

Directions

Wipe the mushrooms well and slice them into thin strips; carefully layer in a zip lock bag.

Combine the marinade ingredients and pour it over the mushrooms. Allow them to marinate 3 to 4 hours, turning occasionally to moisten and coat all strips.

Drain the mushrooms and place them in flat in a non-stick sauté pan over medium heat.  Gently cook over medium to low heat until cooked thoroughly, 20-30 minutes. Brush half way through with more marinade.

Arrange mushroom slices on dehydrator trays and sprinkle them with more freshly ground pepper or red pepper flakes. Allow to dry for 3 to 4 hours, turning occasionally to dry evenly.  Remove when the mushrooms are dry, chewy and still pliable, but not brittle.   Store airtight. 

Pumpkin Reverie

Courtesy Shannon Graven

Thanks to the previously mentioned sweet meat pumpkin score that I made shortly before Halloween, I have finally reached my saturation point, and still, I have enough leftover pulp to freeze the last of it. 

I am still basking in its utter deliciousness.  All of it―the pumpkin gnocchi, pumpkin bread, the blondies, the ice cream… even the seeds are the very best ever. 

 

My take away from this:  no matter how comfortable I may have been in the past with canned pumpkin, I am forever changed.  Yes, the real fresh from the field heritage variety is so much better.  

 

 

In all of my indulgences, the rich, creaminess of true pumpkin shines through―it is not overwhelmed by spices or other additions.  

 

Again and again, I am reminded how much the delightful earthy flavors of all of these delicious treats taste of fall―and the changing seasons. 

 

 

 

 

 

Roasted Pumpkin Seeds

Ingredients

pumpkin seeds, cleaned of membrane

salt and water
2 teaspoons olive oil
 
Directions
Soak seeds in a salt water solution (1 to 2 tablespoons sea salt dissolved in 1 quart warm water) for several hours or overnight.  Drain the seeds and lightly pat dry.

Spread the seeds onto a well oiled baking sheet, and lightly toss to coat with a bit of the oil.  Bake at 350 degrees for approximately 30 minutes, stirring frequently, until golden browned. 

The Sweet Meat of Pumpkins

Courtesy Shannon Graven

It’s probably an overstatement to say that fall is my favorite time of year, because I’m sure I say that with the arrival of every new season.  But, it is a pretty amazing time in the Pacific Northwest ―especially this year, with the absolutely spectacular display of fall colors awash everywhere you look.
 
Out in the fields, farmers are busy taking advantage of the warm sunny days and chilly nights; this perfect scenario has set them scrambling to take full advantage of optimum harvest conditions. 

A recent visit to support local Herrick’s Farm inspired me to take a step beyond selecting my usual generic pumpkin carving variety and to venture into lesser known heirloom territory. The farm was abuzz with the activity of screaming school kids all in the throes of Halloween excitement. Their holiday spirit was so infectious I joined in the clamor and proceeded to wrestle down my own gnomish looking pumpkin. 

 

Based on its sheer ugliness―and high baking praises―I trundled off with a 10-pound prize, a warty blue/green affair affectionately called Sweet Meat (a gourd in some circles).  Only at Halloween would something this creepy appear even vaguely edible.    

By early the next day I had serious plans for this pumpkin.  Armed with my largest chef’s knife and a  glint in my eye, I tackled the gnarly behemoth.  I stabbed through its thick reptilian-like skin and hazily hacked it into manageable pieces.  I pulled out its slimy seeding system and set it aside.   Then I placed its meat in a deep roasting pan, poured in a thick layer of steaming hot water, sealed it with foil, and baked it until fork tender, about 1-1/2 hours.   

 Meanwhile, I sorted through the plump seeds, gave them a good cleaning and dispatched them to a solitary brining solution for later roasting.  Finally, I gathered up the assorted pumpkin detritus and stealthy eliminated it ―all into that vast pumpkin graveyard. 

 Once out of the oven and cooled, the meat easily peeled away from its skin and was ready for a quick turn in the food processor.   In short order, the processor’s pulsing rhythm had this mass whipped into an astonishingly elegant, creamy, deep golden elegant puree.  Did I mention elegant?    

 Verily, thou art true to thy name. O, great pumpkin, thy meat is sweet. 

 

Pumpkin Bread

Most pumpkin breads can require up to 1 cup or more oil or butter.  With the addition of the moist Sweet Meat pumpkin pulp, I’ve used decisively less fat here.  If necessary you can even reduce the amount of granulated sugar. 

The agave nectar provides a sweet caramel flavor that enhances the pumpkin, but honey will work, too.  After it cools, wrap it well.   If you can let this tender loaf rest a few hours before cutting, it will slice like a dream.   As a variation, I sprinkled about 2 tablespoons streusel between the layers of batter and added a bit more on top of the loaf before baking. 



Ingredients
1/4 cup softened butter
1 Tbsp. olive oil

½ cup brown sugar

½ cup granulated sugar
2 Tbsp. agave nectar (or honey)
1 cup Sweet Meat pumpkin pulp (or other)
2 eggs
1 cup all-purpose flour
¾ cup whole wheat flour
1 tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. baking soda
½ tsp. salt
1 tsp. cinnamon
½ tsp. nutmeg
¼ tsp. each ginger and allspice

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Line and spray a 9x5” loaf pan.

In a mixing bowl, beat butter and sugars until light; beat in the agave syrup, then the pumpkin; when combined beat in the eggs one at a time.

In small bowl, combine the dry ingredients and gently stir into the pumpkin mixture.Spread into prepared pan and bake for 60 minutes or longer; until it begins to pull away from the sides of the pan and the center is cooked.
 
Cool on rack for 10 minutes before removing from pan. 
 
**Stay tuned for possibly unfolding episodes of Pumpkin Passion.

Fifty Shades of Grey: The Dish

Today my joy knows no bounds because my mind and body are still reverberating from last night’s dinner.   I realize that chicken livers do not have that delirious affect on everyone, but they certainly can make me crazy when they are presented in a deeply satisfying, succulent, piping hot package. 
 

These guys, in fifty shades of grey, are not knock-out gorgeous and will not likely dazzle you with their hunky-chunky visual charm.  Let’s face it; chicken livers of this magnitude are not much to look at, but they are real sleepers and deliver a powerful complement of earth-shaking nutritional revitalization that will surely rock your world.  If you are looking for robust flavors and rip-roaring atavistic satisfaction, look no further. 

This is a riff on Vivian Howard’s Dirty Farro, prepared at her highly regarded restaurant, Chef & the Farmer, in Kinston, North Carolina. In her outstanding treatment, she combines a few chicken livers, breakfast sausage, and semi-pearled farro (a whole wheat grain) into an unctuous variation of the old southern favorite, dirty rice.   

I have taken Vivian’s concept and substituted cremini mushrooms, sage, savory, and allspice for the sausage; of course I increased the chicken livers, and added a healthy bunch of tender rainbow kale from the garden (the last of the season!).  So, if you aren’t big on chicken livers and love breakfast sausage, I urge you to try her excellent dish, which can be found at Epicurious.com.  

Dirty Farro
Inspired by Vivian Howard, Chef & The Farmer, Kinston, NC.  Courtesy of  Epicurious. com and Bon Appétit | February 2012

Ingredients

2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
1 cups semi-pearled faro
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
1 bay leaf
1 teaspoons kosher salt plus more
1/2 pound chicken livers, trimmed, large chop
1- ½ cups cremini mushrooms, large chop
1 medium onion, fine chop
1 stalk celery, fine chop
2 cloves garlic, mince
1 teaspoon sage leaves, minced
1 teaspoon savory leaves, minced
¼ teaspoon allspice
1 teaspoon ground cumin
¼ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 bunch kale, clean: about ¾ cup stems, chop; 6 cups leaves, large chop
1/3 cup thinly sliced scallions (dark-green parts only)
1/3 cup celery leaves from inner stalks

Instructions
In medium sized pot, heat 1 tablespoon oil over medium heat. Add farro; stir until toasted, about 2 minutes. Add thyme, bay leaf and2 ½  cups water. Cover and cook for 10 minutes. Uncover, add ½ teaspoon salt, and simmer until farro is tender but still firm to the bite, about 20 minutes. Remove from pot and let cool.

Heat 1 tablespoon oil in same pot over medium heat. Add the livers; cook, about 4 minutes, until they begin to color on the outside. Add the mushrooms and cook until they begin to release liquid.  Add onions, garlic, the herbs and spices, the kale stems, and a pinch of salt. Sauté for 2 minutes.

Add the kale leaves and approximately ½ cup water; bring to a simmer. Cook, uncovered, until liquid is reduced by about half, about 8 minutes. Stir in cooked farro; simmer until liquid is absorbed, about 5 minutes. Discard bay leaf. Stir in scallions; garnish with celery leaves. Yield:  4 servings.   

Soup’s On!

According to my calendar, today officially marks the start of fall, and if this weekend’s grey and rainy conditions are any indication, it would appear that it has arrived promptly on schedule.    

Coaxed indoors, I have picked up the challenge launched with last week’s blog and seized the opportunity to expand my chard repertoire and to keep up with my garden’s burgeoning crop. This rapid reprieve from summer’s incessant heat has once again opened the door to all the welcoming possibilities of soup. 

One of my favorite go-to sites for such cooking ideas is Epicurious.com.   I tend to relate to their food style and I can usually find reliable ideas such as Michael Romano’s Secret-Ingredient Soup.  My imagination was instantly sparked by his chard soup incorporating a good chicken stock, onion, leeks, and carrots, Italian sausage ― and his mystery ingredient, cornmeal.

Armed with this great starting place, I’ve taken Michael’s basic premise and made a few adjustments of my own.  For a little heartier soup, I substituted a link of Spanish linguica, included white beans and added a bit of fresh sage and rosemary from the garden.

Thank you, Michael, for this lovely taste of fall in a bowl. 

Hearty Chard, Bean and Linguica Soup

Inspired by Michael Romano's Secret-Ingredient Soup at Epicurious.com.  From his book, Family Table: Favorite Staff Meals from Our Restaurants to Your Home by Michael Romano and Karen Stabiner, © 2013 Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

Ingredients

2 tablespoons olive oil

3/4 cup finely chopped onion

3/4 cup finely chopped peeled carrot

3/4 cup well-washed thinly sliced leeks

1 teaspoon finely chopped garlic

1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt

1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1/4 teaspoon Aleppo pepper or red pepper flakes

½ teaspoon fennel seeds

½ teaspoon dried oregano

8 ounces Spanish linguica sausage, cut up

2 tablespoons medium-grind cornmeal (polenta)

5 cups Chicken or Vegetable Stock

1 ½ cups cooked white beans, such as cannellini or mayo coba

1 teaspoon minced rosemary

1 teaspoon minced sage

4 cups packed stemmed and coarsely chopped kale or chard leaves, or a combination

Grated Parmigiano-Reggiano for serving

Directions

1.       Heat the oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion, carrot, leeks, garlic, salt, black pepper, Aleppo pepper, fennel and oregano and cook, stirring, until the onion becomes translucent, 8 to 10 minutes, and remove from pot.

2.       Cook the sausage to lightly brown, about 5 minutes; remove and drain.

3.      Drain off the excess fat in pot and return vegetables to the pan.   Stir in the cornmeal. Add the stock, stirring, and bring to a boil.  Add the cooked beans, rosemary, and sage; reduce the heat and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

4.       Stir in the greens and cook for 15 minutes more, or until tender.  Ladle into bowls and garnish with grated Parmigiano.  Serves 4 to 6. 

Season's Bounty: Chard Torta with Creamy Basil Sauce

My chard crop has officially gone crazy.  Now, when my neighbors see me coming they have begun to back away with eyes glazed over, demurring, “No more chard, thank you.”

Swiss chard is a beautiful and wondrous asset to any garden, especially the rainbow variety, with its brilliant green leaves. Their tall spires generously unfurl amidst a thicket of red, yellow, and orange stems.  One of the benefits of including this friendly vegetable in my garden is that I can avoid the old woody bunches frequently sold at the market.  Instead, I can select younger leaves and pick them while their stems are tender and require minimal cooking. 

Fortunately, I am not even close to tiring of chard, yet.   Not only is it tasty and filling, it is roaring with nutritional value.  As with its relatives, spinach and kale, chard has plenty of vitamin A, C, and K, plus a generous a supply of iron, potassium, and magnesium.

 

Of course, it was only a matter of time before the combination of chard and millet would collide and become one in my kitchen, like star-crossed lovers.   I will restrain from my praise of millet, since that is a well-known fact here.  Suffice to say, the humble millet provides a perfect backdrop for this torta’s big flavors of chard, bacon, and Coppa ham ― all handsomely bound together with eggs and cheese.  It’s a nice addition to a Sunday brunch and is easily reheated for a mid-week dinner. 

A creamy basil sauce adds the perfect topping and finish for this torta.  The delicious pesto included in the sauce can also be found in the index; or simply scroll back to the previous post, and find it along with another reason to make pesto! 

Chard & Millet Torta

with Creamy Basil Sauce

Torta

1 cup millet

1 ¾ cup boiling water

1/3 cup mixed fresh herbs, chopped, such as oregano, thyme, savory

1 tsp. butter of olive oil plus ½ cup bread crumbs or Panko for lining baking dish

4 bacon strips, cut into ½” slices

1 medium onion, chopped

1 clove garlic, minced

8 cups chard leaves, cleaned, drained, then chopped

2 cups tender stems, chopped

6 eggs

½ tsp. dried chile flakes

2/3 cup Parmesan cheese, grated, and divided

2/3 cup milk

½ tsp. salt

5 slices Coppa ham, sliced into ½” strips

Directions 

1.  Prepare the millet by adding 1 cup to 1 ¾ boiling water and simmering partially covered until water evaporates and millet is tender, about 20 minutes.  Place in large bowl with herbs and cool.

2.  Coat a large quiche dish or other 2 qt. oven ware with 1 tsp. butter or olive oil and dust it with ½ cup bread crumbs or panko.  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

3.  In a sauté pan, cook the bacon until almost crisp, remove and drain.  Cook the onion in about 1 Tbsp. bacon fat until soft; add the garlic and cook 1 minute. 

4. Add the chard stems and cook about 3 minutes.  Stir in the moist chard leaves and toss to wilt slightly, cover loosely and cook 8 – 10 minutes.

5.  Meanwhile, combine the eggs, 1/3 Parmesan, through the salt.  When the chard is cooked, stir it into the millet.   Pour in the egg and milk mixture, then the bacon and the Coppa ham. 

6.  Pour mixture evenly into prepared dish and bake covered for about 40 minutes.  Sprinkle with 1/3 cup Parmesan and bake additional 10-15 minutes or until top begins to brown. Remove and allow to rest a few minutes before cutting.  Serves 4.

Basil Cream Sauce

2 Tbsp. butter

2 Tbsp. flour

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 chicken bouillon cube dissolved in 1 cup hot water

1 1/3 cup milk

1/8  tsp. Tabasco sauce, or to taste

1 Tbsp. Parmesan cheese, grated

2 Tbsp. pesto

1-2 Tbsp. minced green onion

Directions

1.  In sauce pan over medium heat, melt butter and stir in the flour, cooking with whisk for 2 minutes; add the garlic, stir for a minute to incorporate well.   

2.  Slowly stir in the bouillon mixture to form paste.  Add the milk and whisk until thick, stirring in the Tabasco and the Parmesan.  When well blended and smooth add the pesto; stir in the minced onion; adjust seasoning and serve.