Turning up the heat on chocolate

At a colleague's house recently I bit into a brownie that first filled my mouth with rich chocolatey goodness and then kept developing new layers of flavors that made my taste buds sing. I had to have the recipe, and now I've made the brownies at home and I honestly believe these are the best brownies I've ever eaten. Anyone who doesn't like cayenne pepper or chili powder probably ought to leave the room, though, which is fine because that means more brownies for the rest of us. The chili flavor is subtle but it bursts on the tongue in a way that makes the chocolate feel that much more wonderful, and the walnuts complement the gooey texture. But don't take my word for it--try 'em yourself.

Dave Brown's Brownies with Chili and Walnuts

1 cup butter (2 sticks)

4 oz unsweetened chocolate

2 cups sugar

1 tsp vanilla

2 tablespoons chili powder

½ tsp cayenne pepper

1 ½ tsp cinnamon

3 eggs

½ tsp salt

¾ cup flour

1 ½ cups chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 324.

Melt chocolate and one stick of butter in microwave and then cool.

Grease and flour 9x13 pan.

Cream second stick of butter, sugar, and vanilla in mixer. Add chili powder, cayenne, and cinnamon. Add eggs one at a time, mixing after each addition. Add chocolate/butter mixture and blend thoroughly.

Stir in flour and salt and nuts. Pour into prepared pan. Bake 25-30 minutes or until toothpick inserted near center comes out clean.

 

Pass the pig slop, please

You need to eat more fiber they said, but we already eat lots of salads, fresh vegetables, and whole grains, so to take the next step I adjusted all my favorite rice recipes and learned to cook with brown rice, which is fine, but then they said you ought to try black rice, which only recently became available in the local grocery stores. It's more nutritious than brown rice, they said, and it has a nice nutty flavor and slightly chewy texture.

Which is all true--but (you knew there had to be a but) it looks like garbage.

More specifically, it looks like what you'd get if you just took the coffee grounds out of a coffee-maker and dumped 'em on a dinner plate. Not particularly appetizing.

For my first attempt at black rice, I made an old favorite one-dish recipe involving onions, peppers, garlic, cilantro, chorizos, and tomato sauce, with gooey cheddar cheese mixed in at the very end. Delicious! The flavors worked well with the black rice, and the rice's slightly chewy texture was perfect with the sausages and cheese. However, as previously noted, the whole thing looked like something you'd want to dump straight into the trash: Pig slop. Compost. Loam.

My next challenge, then, will be finding a way to make black rice dishes more aesthetically pleasing. If everything that gets mixed in with the rice ends up looking like coffee grounds, maybe I need to keep the black rice separate from other ingredients. Alternately, I could go back to brown rice--or even white! What would they have to say about that?

(If I ever figure out who makes up this mysterious they, I'll force-feed 'em a plate of warm coffee grounds.) 

Joys of cooking

I know what you're thinking: Why would one person need so many cookbooks? I probably shouldn't admit that in addition to a cabinet crammed full of cookbooks, I have two metal tins stuffed with recipe cards and my husband has a whole separate pile of bread-baking books in his office. So yeah, I have a lot of recipes.

And what does it mean to need a cookbook? These days I cook most things of the top of my head, but I learned what flavors work well together over many years of faithfully following recipes. Many of my cookbooks stick around only so I can consult that one beloved recipe for a dish I can't create from memory. 

You can tell which recipes I use most by seeing where the cookbooks fall open naturally. The Joy of Cooking opens to my favorite angel-food cake recipe, and that one little church-lady cookbook opens to an easy and delicious recipe for brownies. The fancy-pants high-society Junior League cookbook comes out of the cabinet only when I need to make that marvelous raspberry cream cheese coffee cake, and if I have to keep a snobby and expensive book around just for that one recipe, it's worth it.

Some cookbooks carry sentimental value. The great big fat book full of recipes representing many nations was a gift from an old friend who said, "You're the only person I know who would try these things," and he was right--I do. (Ask me about my kim-chee.) And I would never buy a book called "Quick Dishes for the Woman in a Hurry," but who do you suppose would give such a book as a wedding gift? (If you guessed "mother-in-law," you're pretty close.)

The cookbook I use most frequently is Greene on Greens by the late Bert Greene, each chatty chapter offering up a cornucopia of recipes focusing on a single vegetable. Pumpkin rolls! Cabbage pancakes! Tater 'n' tomater pie! A borscht recipe bursting with winter root vegetables and bright red beets! He's my go-to guy when the garden's producing its goodies.

And I still hold tight to The More With Less Cookbook, a wedding gift from a friend who knew that we'd be cooking on a tight budget. Published in 1978 by the Mennonite Central Committee, More With Less had a very clear mission printed on the front cover: "Suggestions by Mennonites on how to eat better and consume less of the world's food resources."

When we were flat broke and couldn't afford meat, this cookbook taught me how to make curried lentils and soybean loaf, a godsend back when much of our provender came from my husband's work at a food pantry where soybeans were cheap and abundant. I haven't made soybean loaf in years (thankfully--it was awful), but the cookbook opens naturally to the basic biscuit recipe I still use regularly. 

And when the zucchini and summer squash plants start producing, I reach first for the squash casserole I've made for probably hundreds of potlucks and family dinners over the years. I made it just this week for some houseguests who asked for the recipe, but when I looked it up, I realized that I don't follow the recipe too closely any more. For one thing, it was written at a time when Americans thought margarine was real food, and also, it doesn't call for salt and pepper. Seriously, who can eat squash without salt and pepper? And then sometimes I crank up the color and flavor by adding red bell peppers or even jalapenos--but not for church dinners. I wouldn't want to give anyone a heart attack.

For the benefit of the friend who asked for the recipe, here it is, amended slightly from the original. (Does anyone seriously use margarine anymore?) 

Corn-Squash Bake

Heat oven to 350.

Cut 3 or 4 medium zucchini or summer squash in one-inch rounds. Cook in small amount of boiling salted water (or chicken stock) until just tender. Drain and mash slightly with fork.

Saute one small onion, chopped, in 1 T butter.

Cool squash slightly and combine with:

Sautéed onion

2 c. corn kernels

1 c shredded Swiss cheese

2 beaten eggs

salt and pepper to taste

Place in greased casserole dish.

Combine and sprinkle on top:

¼ c. dry bread crumbs

2 T grated parmesan cheese

1 T melted butter

Bake for 40 minutes, or until set. Let stand 5-10 minutes before serving.

This is comfort food at is best, seriously yummy, and it counts as a vegetable--and it gives me a good reason to hold on to a cookbook that got me through those first lean years.

But best of all, it's not soybean loaf.

 

The perfect sandwich, plus or minus

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who realize that the ideal bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich requires no embellishments and those who don't. 

I am the first kind. My husband is the second. (Yes, we are a mixed marriage.)

This is the best time of year for the perfect BLT, as our garden has started producing excellent heirloom slicing tomatoes while the lettuce hasn't entirely gone to seed. Take a few slices of homemade bread, toast 'em, slather on some real mayonnaise, stack up the sliced tomato, lettuce, and bacon, and bite. The combination of crunchiness, juiciness, saltiness, and deliciosity is unbeatable--but hey, you don't need heirloom tomatoes and homemade bread to make it good. It's possible to make a perfectly good BLT with store-bought tomatoes and Wonder Bread--and yes, even Miracle Whip. As long as you have bacon, lettuce, and tomatoes, you've got it made.

I confess that I once ate a BLT with sliced avocado added, and it was good in its own way, but it wasn't a BLT. Call it a BLT Plus, but what's the point of that? The perfect sandwich doesn't need any Plus, so anything added has to detract from its perfection.

So you can imagine how I felt this evening as I watched my husband add sliced habanero peppers and ginger-cucumber relish to his BLT. He may have enjoyed the spicy, drippy mess, but I wouldn't call it a BLT. Maybe a BLT Minus. 

But that's okay. I practice strict tolerance when it comes to sandwich preferences: he can put whatever ridiculous thing he wants on his sandwich as long as my BLT remains pristine and untouched by additional ingredients. That way we're both happy, and if I persist in believing that I'm a little bit happier--that my sandwich is more virtuous than his--at least I'm not kicking his habaneros out of the house. 

So apparently it's possible to hold strong opposing beliefs on the important topic of sandwich construction and still act like civilized human beings. There may be hope for the human race after all. 

A delicious solution to the summer berry problem (if "problem" is the right word)

Since we seem to be getting all Suzy Homemaker over here, maybe it's time to share a recipe.

I generally don't make impulse purchases at the grocery store checkout lane, but the other day I was looking at a magazine I'd never seen before called Sift, published by the King Arthur Flour Company. Because my husband's former bread-baking business relied heavily on King Arthur Flour, we get their catalogs all the time, and I love their recipes. So I grabbed the magazine and threw it on the conveyor belt without looking at the price. ($12.95!!!! When did magazines get so pricey? But it's stuffed full of great recipes so I'm considering it the equivalent of a cookbook purchase.)

Anyway: I tried this recipe and made one modification to create a spectacular summer-berry treat. It's easy and different and I'd make it again in a heartbeat. The cornmeal gives it a slight crunch and a muffiny texture, and the berries just melt into wonderfulness. Yum.

Cornmeal and Ricotta Cake with Fresh Berries

1 1/4 all-purpose flour
2/3 cup medium-ground yellow cornmeal
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
3/4 tsp salt
10 tbsp unsalted butter, softened
1 cup sugar
2 large eggs, room temperature
1 cup whole milk ricotta, room temperature
1 tsp orange zest
1 tsp lemon zest
1 1/4 cups (about 6 ounces) summer berries (blueberries, raspberries, blackberries) 
confectioners sugar for dusting

Preheat oven to 350. Butter an 8" springform pan or 8" cake pan. Line with parchment paper and butter that too. Dust lightly with flour.

Combine flour, cornmeal, baking powder, baking soda. Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition. Add ricotta and zests and mix. Stir in the flour mixture by hand just until combined, and then add the berries.

Fill prepared pan with batter and smooth the top. Bake until cake tester inserted in center comes out clean, about 45 to 55 minutes. cool 15 minutes before removing from pan. Dust top with confectioners sugar.

My variation: I found blueberries on sale and bought more than the cake required. Since I'd taken the zest from an orange and didn't want the rest of it to go to waste, I juiced the orange and combined the orange juice with the extra blueberries and just a few spoonfuls of sugar. I mashed the blueberries slightly just to bring out the juice, and when the cake was cool, I served it with the berry mixture spooned on top. Really delicious and a great way to take advantage of an abundance of berries.

Now I want to try some other recipes from the magazine. Raspberry frozen yogurt? Raspberry cream cheese scones? Sign me up!

There's a reason they call it 'comfort food'

I came home crabby and cold--really cold, the kind of cold that comes from sitting too close to the air-conditioning vent while observing a colleague's teaching and then running across campus through a sudden downpour and then sitting at my desk dripping wet while meeting with one advisee after another in my cold dark cave-like office and then driving home still damp, and did I mention crabby?

But with my husband's help, I soon discovered the recipe for warmth. First step: dry clothes. Next step: hot stove. Saute onions, peppers, and garlic in olive oil, then add salt, pepper, fresh basil, a touch of wine vinegar, and tomato paste made from our own tomatoes and still carrying the glow of the sunshine they absorbed all summer long. Simmer a while and serve with tortellini and garlic bread.

Finally I'm warm, dry, and well fed. Now I can read some student papers!

 

B.W.B. for you and me

The chocolaty goodness of warm brownies served with a glass of milk sends me back, as usual, to the 15-year-old foster child who shared our home 20 years ago. I decided one day to bake brownies but she was befuddled: "Where's the mix? You can't make brownies without a box!"

Clearly, the poor child's education had been neglected. I don't know of a homemade treat easier than brownies without a box.  My recipe takes about five minutes and calls for only six ingredients, unless you want to get fancy and add nuts or coconut or dried cranberries or whatever. Here it is:

Brownies Without a Box

1 stick butter (no substitutes!)
1 cup sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla (the real thing--and no skimping!)
2 eggs
4 tablespoons cocoa powder
1/2 cup flour

Cream butter, sugar, and vanilla. Add eggs and beat well. Stir in cocoa and flour. Spread in greased 8x8x2 inch pan and bake at 325 for 30 to 35 minutes.

I like to sprinkle pecans or walnuts on the top before baking. This makes a substantial brownie with a slightly gooey center--and if you have children helping, it also makes a delicious mess. 

For the love of okra

It's possible to divide all people into those who love okra and those who hate it, but the second group would convert if they could just taste the okra dish I made tonight. Gumbo is good and deep-fried okra is a wonderful treat as long as you don't mind all that fat, and for winter I have a terrific recipe involving barley and bacon and frozen okra--pure comfort food. But the okra recipe that can make a believer out of anyone--the recipe I think about in the spring when we plant okra and all summer as we weed and wait to harvest those first tender pods--is an okra and tomato dish sparkling with Indian spices. It's based on a recipe from New Indian Home Cooking by Madhu Gadia, with a few twists of my own.

Okra with Tomatoes

1 or 2 pounds fresh tender okra
4 tsp vegetable oil or olive oil
1/2 tsp cumin seeds
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
1 green chili pepper, chopped
2 large ripe tomatoes, peeled, seeded, and chopped
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 tsp salt
1 tablespoon ground coriander
1/2 tsp cayenne pepper
2 tsp fennel seeds, coarsely ground

Wash the okra and pat dry. Remove stem ends. Slice each okra longways. Set aside.

Heat oil in large heavy skillet or stockpot. Add cumin seeds and fry until golden brown, a few seconds. Add onion and chili pepper and fry until soft. Add remaining ingredients and stir until vegetables are coated with seasoning. Cover tightly, reduce heat, and simmer until okra is tender, about 10 minutes, stirring occasionally.

I served this tonight alongside rice, a lovely sunshiny spicy yellow dal, and chicken, but it sits well alongside potatoes or pasta or fish. The flavors make my lips sing and my tastebuds do their happy dance.

I'd like to teach the world to sing that song and do that dance. Okra-haters of the world, dig in! It's time to come into the light.

Loopy but luscious

Take two things you love and put them together--chocolate and chipotle peppers, for instance.

Wonderful.

Add salt.

Amazing.

Add Pop Rocks.

Okay, now you're getting a little weird. Pop Rocks? That's kid stuff, like putting chocolate syrup on your Froot Loops. We moved beyond that years ago! Adults don't pop Pop Rocks! In fact, no connoisseur of serious chocolate would be caught dead in the presence of a package of Pop Rocks!

But hide some Pop Rocks in this amazing dark-chocolate-chipotle-and-salt concoction and that's another story. Chuau Chocolatier (find it here) creates unusual combinations of chocolate with, for instance, hot peppers, honey, or anise and coffee. The hubby found some half-price Firecracker bars and couldn't resist bringing one home, and what a bizarre experience: first, smooth dark chocolate goodness; next, a little kick from the peppers and salt; finally, popping firecrackers right in your mouth. Weird but wonderful.

And if you keep your mouth shut, no one has to know about the Pop Rocks.