Welcome. Welcome to my tiny kitchen. Wouldn't it be great if we could all fit in here? I'd make us mulled cider and gooey cinnamon squares. We could talk about. The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook. Home · The Sultan's Kitchen: A Turkish Cookbook The Peppers Cookbook: Recipes from the Pepper Lady's Kitchen. Author: Deb Perelman Pages: Publication Date Release Date: ISBN: Product Group:Book [PDF] Download The.
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The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook was released in October in the U.S. and . In a Q&A in the Sept/Oct issue of Imbibe Magazine (PDF), Deb talk about. Get Free Read & Download Files Smitten Kitchen Cookbook PDF. SMITTEN SMITTEN KITCHEN COOKBOOK - In this site isn`t the same as a solution. Get Free Access To | The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook Deb Perelman PDF Now perelman, you can download them in pdf format from our wm-greece.info
Coarse or pearl sugar, for finishing. In the bowl of an electric mixer with the paddle attachment, stir together flour, sugar, and salt. Add the eggs and the yeast mixture, and mix at a low speed until the dough comes together in a shaggy pile.
Raise the speed to medium, and beat for 10 minutes; the long mixing time creates the soft, stretchy strands brioche is known for. Add the butter, a third at a time, mixing the dough between additions. Now switch to the dough hook, and knead at low speed until a silky-smooth dough forms, another 5 minutes. Add the chocolate and zest, if using, and run the machine until it is mixed into the dough.
Transfer to a lightly oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and allow to rise in a warm spot for 2 hours, until almost doubled. Alternatively, you can rest the dough in the fridge overnight or up to 24 hours , bring back to room temperature, and let the rise complete before continuing to the next step. Meanwhile, line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.
Curiously, I find these ropes easier to roll and stretch on an unfloured or very lightly oiled surface, but if you find yours sticking too much, lightly flour your counter before continuing. To form the pretzel, draw the ends of a rope together to form a circle.
About 2 inches from both ends, twist the rope ends together to close the circle—a full twist, so that the rope end that started on the right side finishes there. Repeat to make eight pretzel twists. Cool slightly on a rack before serving, if you can bear it. Yes, this takes longer than your average bread dough, but that long kneading time is what yields the long, stretchy strands essential to great brioche.
Yeah, me neither. Most were delicious, but almost all were loaded with butter and other desserty ingredients and one—my favorite, actually—had corn syrup and was sweeter than your average birthday cake. So I got to tinkering. And this is the result: Line an 8-bybyinch pan in one direction with parchment paper, allowing the paper to go up the opposing sides.
Do the same in the opposite direction. Stir together the dates, oats, flour, wheat germ, almonds, salt, and cinnamon in the bottom of a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together the almond butter, olive oil, honey, orange zest, and almond extract until smooth.
Pour the wet ingredients over the dry mixture, and stir them together until the dry ingredients are evenly coated. Spread the batter in the prepared pan, pressing the mixture firmly into the bottom, edges, and corners to ensure they are molded to the shape of the pan. I like to use a piece of plastic wrap to protect my hands as I do so. Cool the bars in their pan placed on a cooling rack or in the fridge.
This can speed the process up. This recipe can easily be doubled, to fit in a 9-byinch baking pan and make thirty-two bars. They also freeze well. You have, I can tell.
A few years ago, I started making breakfast crisps—that is, fruit crisps intended for the breakfast meal, baked hot only to be served cold. I adapted this recipe for the morning hours by using a lot less sugar, a good volume of oats, and some almonds.
Baked at the top of the week, and scooped out little by little each morning or packed in a container to go to the office , it quickly becomes the highlight of the morning. Pull apart the apricots at their seam, remove the pits, and tear them one more time, into quarters. Place the fruit in a small baking dish a 1-quart gratin dish is perfect. Stir in the sugar, flour, and a pinch of nutmeg. Sprinkle the mixture over the fruit. Bake for about 30 minutes.
Eat warm or chilled, with a scoop of your favorite yogurt. Are apricots unavailable? This crisp also works with other stone fruits a mixture of peaches and plums is fantastic , and, in the fall, apples and pears. If using apples or pears, you should cut your fruit into smaller chunks and bake it for closer to 40 to 45 minutes, covering the top with foil if it browns too quickly. And although no batch went to waste, I was a bit unhappy with each.
Most homemade-granola recipes contain many things that perplex me: And for the biggest clusters? An egg white. But the real inspiration behind this recipe is my friend Anna, who brought me a jar of wheat-germ-studded walnut-and-dried-cherry granola weeks after my son was born.
Anna and I met nearly a decade ago, when we both hated our jobs and daydreamed about quitting them to ice cupcakes all day. Combine all ingredients but the egg white and dried fruit in a large bowl, tossing to coat evenly. Whisk the egg white in a small bowl until frothy.
Stir into the granola mixture, distributing it throughout. Spread it in a single layer on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake for 45 to 55 minutes. About halfway through the baking time, use a large spatula to turn over sections of the granola carefully, breaking them up as little as possible. Rotate the pan if granola is baking unevenly. When it is evenly browned and feels dry to the touch, transfer the pan from the oven to the cooling rack. Cool completely. Sprinkle in dried fruit. The granola keeps at room temperature in an airtight container for 2 weeks.
And not a good way. It probably makes me outright wrong a lot of the time. But it did produce a fine biscuit when my husband pointed out—astutely, as always—that perhaps I might stop kvetching across the coffee shop table and go home and make us some better biscuits. The results of my complaints are sweet but salty, buttery and bacony and as light as can be.
You should probably serve them alongside eggs, but they have a tendency not to last long enough for you to scramble some. Fry the bacon until it is crisp. Remove the bacon from the pan and drain it on a few stacked paper towels.
Pour the bacon fat into a glass measuring cup so that you can see how much you have. I usually end up with 2 tablespoons; note if you have more or less, so that you can adjust the butter quantity, as noted below.
Place your measuring cup in the freezer, and freeze until fat is solid. Chop the bacon into small bits, and place it in a small dish. Pour the maple syrup over the bacon and stir; then set the mixture aside.
Remove the solidified bacon fat from the freezer. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Mix the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt in large bowl. Using a pastry blender or your fingertips, rub the chilled bacon fat and 4 tablespoons butter the amount needed for 2 tablespoons bacon fat; adjust up or down if you ended up with less or more bacon fat into the dry ingredients until mixture resembles coarse meal.
Add the bacon—maple-syrup mixture and the buttermilk, and blend together with a rubber spatula until it is evenly moistened. Knead just a couple times as little as needed to form the scraps into a dough. Pat out to 1-inch thickness on a well-floured surface, and cut into biscuits with a 2-inch cutter. Arrange the biscuits on the baking sheet, and bake for 12 to 14 minutes, until they are puffed and golden.
Serve warm. Biscuits are best the first day they are baked, but they can be prepared in advance. When the need for biscuits arises, you can bake them directly from the freezer and just add a couple minutes to your baking time. J ust about everyone who makes breakfast has a version of breakfast potatoes, be they hash browns or home fries or skillet-smashed potatoes. The latke, at its base, is the ideal breakfast potato—humble russets and everyday onions, shredded, mixed with the slimmest amounts of egg and flour, and fried until brown and crisp on both sides.
Latkes hold together better than hash browns, which allows you to make them bigger. And the bigger they are, the more ideal base they become for the other perfect breakfast, a fried egg. Vegetable or olive oil, for frying.
Line a baking sheet with foil, and keep in oven until needed. In a food processor or on a box grater, coarsely shred the potato and onion. For longer, moplike strands, I prefer to lay the potato sideways in the chute of the food processor.
Transfer the shredded mixture to a square of cheesecloth or lint-free dishtowel, and gather the ends to wring out as much water as possible.
Let it stand for 2 minutes, then squeeze it out again. In a large bowl, whisk the flour, baking powder, salt, pepper, and egg together. Stir in the potato-onion mixture until all the pieces are evenly coated. In a small, heavy skillet cast-iron, if you have one , heat 2 tablespoons of vegetable oil until it shimmers. Drop one-quarter of the potato mixture into the skillet, and flatten with the back of a spoon to a 5-inch round.
Cook the latke over moderate heat until the edges are golden, about 4 to 5 minutes; flip, and cook until golden on the bottom, about 3 to 4 minutes more. Transfer latke to the prepared baking sheet in the oven.
Repeat process with remaining latke batter in three batches, creating a total of four large latkes, being sure to add more oil as needed and letting it fully reheat between pancakes. Keep latkes warm in oven until needed. Serve latkes warm in four wedges with eggs or whole with a fried egg atop each. For neat edges and a thinner rostilike appearance, you can press each pancake into a 6-inch skillet and proceed to cook according to directions.
For lacy, craggy-edged latkes, form the pancakes in a larger pan. If already cooked, they keep well in the fridge for a day or two, or in the freezer, well wrapped, for up to 2 weeks. I was convinced that it was a safe choice, that it was such a standard dish that nobody could really mess it up, right? So—you know where this is going. Sometimes, the spinach was creamed. Often, the egg had been poached until it was hard-boiled. Obviously, it was time to take this party home.
At home, your vegetable options are not limited to spinach, likely frozen. At home, your hollandaise never comes in a bucket. Who can make hollandaise at home? Well, you. Pinch of ground or freshly grated nutmeg. Cook with just the water clinging to the leaves, stirring occasionally, until they are wilted. If you use mixed greens, first add those that cook more slowly—about 2 minutes for baby spinach, 3 to 4 minutes for grown-up spinach, 6 minutes for chard, and a bit longer for heavier greens.
Press or squeeze out the excess liquid any number of ways, either by wringing it out in cheesecloth my favorite method , putting the greens in a mesh strainer and pressing the moisture out with a spatula or large spoon, or letting them cool long enough so you can grab small handfuls and squeeze them to remove as much water as possible.
Melt it gently in a small saucepan or a small bowl in the microwave until three-quarters melted. Blend at high speed until the sauce is pale yellow and smooth, for about 30 seconds. Open the pour spout on the lid, run the motor of the blender, and drizzle in the butter a few drops at a time, then a spoonful at a time, and finally in a long, thin stream, until all of it is added. The sauce should have thickened quickly.
Taste for seasoning.
If necessary, you can thin the sauce with water or additional lemon juice. Add more salt if needed. Transfer hollandaise to a serving dish, which you can keep warm by setting it in a larger dish of warm water, to keep it loose and warm while you prepare the eggs. Wipe a large skillet dry, then melt the butter in it, over moderate heat. Cook the onion and garlic in butter over moderately low heat until they are softened, about 6 minutes. Stir in greens, and season to taste with salt, freshly ground black pepper, and nutmeg.
Raise the heat, and drizzle cream over the greens; cook them with the cream for 2 to 3 minutes. Butter four for larger portions or eight for smaller portions ramekins and arrange them on a baking sheet. Distribute the greens evenly among ramekins. Break two eggs each into four ramekins, or one each into eight ramekins. Bake single-egg ramekins for 10 to 15 minutes, or until egg whites are set and yolks are not.
The double-egg ramekins will take 15 to 18 minutes. Serve immediately, with English-muffin toast soldiers. Wilted and wrung-out greens can be kept in the fridge for 2 days in a covered container. I am fairly certain that nothing could possibly go wrong when eggs and tomatoes intersect. Just about every culture has its own format of the two: But the one that I cannot ignore on any brunch menu at any time is huevos rancheros , which my husband jokes I am contractually obligated to order as part of my studies at Huevos Rancheros University.
What can I say? I take my spicy egg-tomato mashups seriously. And added a lid of broiled Monterey Jack cheese. And a lime crema. And tortilla strips that crisp in the oven while you cook the sauce and eggs. You want me to cook a dish that could feed the better part of a dozen people? Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste. Adjust the amount accordingly, halving or quartering the pepper, if needed, and toss into a blender. Add the tomatoes, onion, garlic, and several pinches of salt and pepper, and blend until smooth.
Pour into a inch ovenproof skillet, add black beans if using them , and bring to a simmer. Cook for 10 minutes, or until it has reduced slightly. Brush the tops of the tortilla strips with the remaining tablespoon of oil, and sprinkle with salt.
Bake for 3 to 6 minutes, or until they are brown and crisp, turning over once if needed. Remove strips from oven, then preheat broiler. Return to heat, cover the pan, and simmer eggs gently in sauce for about 10 to 12 minutes, until the whites are nearly but not completely opaque.
Sprinkle the surface of the tomato-egg mixture with cheese, and broil until the cheese is bubbly and a bit blistered—just a few minutes. Serve immediately. Of course, you could always scale this down. It works well halved in a 9-inch skillet, or even quartered and baked in a 1-quart gratin dish. This is not the best dish for planning ahead, because reheated eggs are always overcooked eggs. However, you can prepare the sauce in advance and reheat it when you need it, and then prepare all of your garnishes and crispy things, so that only the eggs are saved for the last minute.
Breakfast before 1: I ordered the same thing every single week—a frittata with feta, scallions, potatoes, and bacon, except I was still a vegetarian back then and had them hold the bacon.
The addictiveness of this frittata, which I have seen nowhere since and thus have been forced to re-create in my own kitchen, should not be underestimated. It is an all-in-one breakfast dish, and, baked in a large frying pan, it easily serves a small crowd. The scallions are wonderful, the bacon is great especially if you can find the thicker-cut stuff , but the real magic is the feta.
Feta, eggs, and potatoes go wonderfully together, I learned over a weekly series of watered-down mimosas; the sharp saltiness stands out in a way that cheeses chosen for their ability to melt into omelets do not.
Coat a roasting pan or baking tray generously with oil, about 1 to 2 tablespoons. Pile them in the prepared pan, and generously season them with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Let cool slightly. Alternatively, you can place all of the potato slices in a saucepan and cover them with an inch of cold water.
Bring to a simmer and cook slices for 5 to 7 minutes, or until tender but not falling apart. Drain, and let them cool slightly. Scoop out with slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Add additional tablespoon oil to the bacon drippings in the pan, and reheat it over medium heat. Swirl the oil and drippings around in the pan and up the sides, being sure to coat it fully. If there are pieces with browned undersides, I like to flip the toasty sides up, mostly because they will look bronzed and pretty.
Scatter bacon, then scallions and feta over potatoes. Cover skillet with foil, and bake for 20 minutes. Remove foil, and bake for another 10 to 15 minutes, or until puffed at edges and set in center. You can get either made to order frighteningly cheap anywhere—the deli, the bodega, some bars, the average corner store, where you can stock up on beer, lottery tickets, or cat litter along with breakfast.
The randomness of these transactions is one of my favorite things about New York. Does New York need an all-purpose breakfast vehicle like the one below? Arguably, no. I found it to be better balanced than your average egg sandwich—which always feels too heavy on the bread for me—and was delighted to discover that, in the oven, bits of cream cheese puff and bronze like tiny marshmallows. Plus, as I always prefer, it serves a crowd, and can be assembled in advance, even the night before it is needed.
Dot the bagels with a third of the cream-cheese bits, and mix in the red onion and cherry tomatoes. Repeat in two more alternating layers. Whisk eggs with milk, salt, and freshly ground black pepper. Pour the egg mixture over bagel-and-cheese mixture, and feel free to turn any seedy sides of the bagel croutons faceup, in order to pretty up the dish. Cover tightly with plastic wrap, and refrigerate overnight. Let it rest 10 minutes before serving. Or bacon. Bagel sizes tend to be very inconsistent, making it difficult to estimate the number you will need.
You might need up to a dozen freezer-aisle bagels or merely four or five large ones from a bagel shop. T he terrain of updating old, beloved recipes is fraught with land mines. Because of this, I always try to tread carefully when making old-school dishes, yet usually fail because my curiosity gets the better of me.
I took my favorite recipe for challah and replaced the vegetable oil with olive oil, the sugar with honey, the raisins I might use in a sweeter loaf with a fig paste cooked with orange zest, and then I finished it with sea salt and proceeded to watch a table full of carb-eschewing people fall upon it like a pride of hungry lions.
This challah gets requested by name. Leftovers, should they survive the dinner table, make some fine French toast, especially when drizzled with warm honey and served with a dollop of fresh ricotta. Coarse or flaky sea salt, for sprinkling. Add the salt and flour, and mix until dough begins to hold together. Switch to a dough hook, and run at low speed for 5 to 8 minutes.
Transfer the dough to an olive-oil-coated bowl or rest the dough briefly on the counter and oil your mixer bowl to use for rising, so that you use fewer dishes , cover with plastic wrap, and set aside for 1 hour, or until almost doubled in size. Mix the wet ingredients with a whisk, then add the salt and flour. Mix everything together with a wooden spoon until the dough starts to come together.
Turn the mixture out onto a floured counter, and knead for 5 to 10 minutes, until a smooth and elastic dough is formed. Let rise as directed above. Bring to a simmer over medium heat, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the figs are soft and tender, about 10 minutes. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Remove from heat, and let cool to lukewarm. Process fig mixture in a food processor until it resembles a fine paste, scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary.
Set aside to cool. Spread half the fig filling evenly over the dough, stopping short of the edge. Roll the dough into a long, tight log, trapping the filling within. Then, gently stretch the log as wide as feels comfortable I take mine to my max counter width, about three feet and divide it in half.
Repeat with remaining dough and fig filling, creating four ropes. Weave them so that one side is over, and the other is under, where they meet.
Take the four legs that come from underneath the center, and move them over the leg to their right—i. Take the legs that were on the right and, again, jump each over the leg before, this time to the left.
If you have extra length in your ropes, you can repeat these left-right jumps until you run out of rope. Tuck the corners or odd bumps under the dough with the sides of your hands to form a round. Beat egg until smooth, and brush over challah. Let challah rise for another hour, but 45 minutes into this rise, preheat your oven to degrees.
Bake in middle of oven for 35 to 40 minutes. It should be beautifully bronzed; if yours starts getting too dark too quickly, cover it with foil for the remainder of the baking time. The very best way to check for doneness is with an instant-read thermometer—the center of the loaf should be degrees.
Cool loaf on a rack before serving. Or, well, good luck with that. W hat kind of cookbook photographer sneaks a bun from the pan before taking a photo? It was totally worth it. These are dangerous, dangerous buns, as the photo of the finished recipe will attest. Think of this as cinnamon buns for people who find them too achingly sweet first thing in the morning. Or cinnamon buns? Do these people have pulses? In a separate bowl, whisk the yeast into the milk until it dissolves, then pour the yeast-milk mixture and the melted butter into the flour, and mix them together with the paddle of an electric mixer, or with a wooden spoon, until a shaggy ball can be formed.
If you are using a mixer, switch to the dough hook, and knead at a low speed for about 6 minutes, or until a smooth and slightly sticky ball is formed.
If you are making these by hand, turn the dough out onto a lightly floured counter and knead it for about 8 minutes, until smooth. Place the dough in a lightly oiled bowl, and cover with plastic wrap. Let it rest until it doubles, about 2 hours.
Roll tightly from one short end to the other, into a inch log. With a sharp serrated knife, carefully cut the log into twelve 1-inch rolls. Using parchment paper, line the bottom of two small pans either 9-inch round or 8-inch square or one 9-byinch baking pan, and arrange six rolls in each of two smaller pans or twelve rolls in the larger one, with an even amount of space between them.
Brush the tops with additional melted butter, cover the pan s with plastic wrap, and let rise at room temperature until doubled again, about 2 hours. Parsley can be substituted for dill. Olive oil can be substituted for butter. Breakfast can be swapped for dinner, a meal where these would be equally welcome in a bread basket. Feeling clever? Make them into miniature buns and serve them at a cocktail party. But, please, invite me.
I made it before a Fourth of July rooftop barbecue on a broiling summer day—the kind of weather mayo jars warn you about—and by the next morning no fewer than two friends had texted me for the recipe. I digress. The ingredients list is short and its fridge life is long, or as long as it takes for other family members to get hooked on it.
Toss the cabbage, cucumber, and dill together in a large bowl. Whisk the vinegar, salt, and sugar together in a small bowl until the salt and sugar dissolve.
Stir in the water. Pour the liquid over the salad, and let it marinate, tossing the cabbage occasionally. After 1 hour, it should be a bit wilted and crunchy; at 2 hours, the flavor is even better.
I use Diamond brand kosher salt. The salad keeps, covered, in the fridge for a week. C an we promise to never talk about the weather? For example, New York in July is hot. So very hot. Also humid. And unpleasant. And have I mentioned this heat? In my mind, this is infinitely worse than spending an evening discussing the finer points of different vegetable-roasting temperatures. You are welcome to pity my husband right now.
I understand. Two pounds at a time, this salad hopes to do its part. Add the lemon juice, salt, and olive oil and pulse the machine a few times, until combined. Pour the dressing in the bottom of a large salad bowl, and let it roll up and around the sides.
Place the ribbons in dressing-coated bowl. Serve at room temperature. This can sit out for a while the longer it does, the more relaxed the ribbons will be but I like to eat it right away, when the ribbons still make tall loops and twists in the bowl. If you can find thinner, longer zucchini, all the better. If you can only find short and squat zucchini, fear not; the salad will be just as delicious.
Too hot to even consider toasting almonds? Use them raw, and this will still be delicious. T his salad started as a love letter to one of my favorite cold French dishes, leeks vinaigrette, where leeks are braised until fork-tender and served at room temperature with a sharp Dijon vinaigrette.
Of course, while my head, as it often is, might have been gallivanting in Paris in the springtime, my fridge had some leftover fingerling potatoes and not a whole lot else in it that day. And so I decided a lunchtime potato salad was in order, an elegant one that could be plated, not scooped. Halved lengthwise and spread in one layer, the cut sides of fingerlings are an excellent platter for anything you wish to heap upon them, in this case, a coarse Dijon and shallot dressing, eggs, herbs, and, well, pickled celery.
I know, I know. Add the celery, and set the mixture aside for about an hour in the fridge. Adjust seasoning to taste. Set aside. Drizzle the vinaigrette generously over the potatoes. Press each chunk of egg through a mesh sieve over the potatoes and vinaigrette, yolk first this makes it neater , so that all of the fingerlings are coated with tufts of egg. Garnish with pickled-celery slices, and enjoy immediately. Potatoes can be boiled and kept in fridge for up to 3 days, or until needed.
Pickled celery will keep in fridge for up to a week. I order iceberg wedges, everywhere. I like a salad that has both taste and structure. The first is bottled dressing. Do you know how easy it is to make blue-cheese dressing? Seriously, just skip ahead to the recipe for a second; did you see that? And it tastes the way blue-cheese dressing was always meant to taste but so rarely actually does. My next gripe is with the wedge itself. Pretty, yes, but not the ideal geometry for dressing incorporation.
Do you miss the Ta-da! Stack it. My final gripe with most iceberg salads is that their creators seem to think that packaged croutons are an acceptable form of crunch—yuck, I say, and so I dice celery and radishes on top instead.
In a medium bowl, whisk together dressing ingredients until smooth. Adjust seasonings to taste. Brown the pancetta or bacon in a frying pan until it is crisp.
Drain it on paper towels, and let it cool. If you are using slices of bacon, once they have cooled, either chop or crumble them into small bits.
Place your largest slice of iceberg carefully on a platter. Drizzle with a few tablespoons of dressing, then sprinkle with a little of the radish-celery mixture, a little bacon, a little blue cheese, then chives. Place the next largest slice of iceberg on top or angled onto it, if it is not sturdy enough to hold the weight , and repeat, adding dressing, radishes and celery, bacon, blue cheese, and chives; then repeat with remaining slices, stacking and staggering them decoratively.
If any ingredients remain, sprinkle them over the top. Try this: If they only knew! I like to go easy on tomatoes. I know that they get along famously with herbs, with fistfuls of garlic, with hearty onions and creamed soups. I know you can pair them with cumin, with ginger, with lime, and with horseradish and vodka and my husband very much wishes you would. I know that tomatoes make an excellent backbone. But when tomatoes are as good as they get in August, it seems rude to do anything but give them a chance in the spotlight, so I find myself making a lot of lightly dressed salads—just olive oil, red wine vinegar, a pinch of sugar to bring out their natural sweetness, salt, and freshly ground black pepper, all delivered with a light hand.
The problem, if there could be one, is the puddle. You know, that fresh-tomato-and-diluted-dressing runoff that puddles in the plate? That cannot be lifted with a fork? From there, I went home and decided that shortcakes had been vested in the sweet for long enough. Tomatoes are every bit as much of a fruit as strawberries, and they make a fine, fine pairing with a biscuit, accented with mild green onions.
Of course, a shortcake without a whipped topping is no fun at all, and so I whipped some goat cheese.
Greens from 2 scallions, thinly sliced. Whisk the flour, baking powder, and salt together in a large, wide bowl. Using your fingertips or a pastry blender, cut the butter into the dry ingredients until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Stir in the scallion. Add the whole milk, and stir until evenly moistened. Arrange the biscuits on the parchment-lined sheet, spacing 2 inches apart. Bake until they are golden brown on top, for about 15 minutes.
Rotate the pan to ensure even baking. Quarter the cherry tomatoes lengthwise, and add them to bowl with the dressing, tossing together gently. Add the goat cheese, and beat until the cheese topping is light and fluffy.
Dollop with whipped goat cheese, and sprinkle with scallion-green slivers. Eat at once. I have spent a good part of the last few years believing that the world would be a better place if we could all stop pretending that kale tastes good.
Every barn-tabled, locavore-bent, small scrappy restaurant with Brooklyn beers on the menu and pictures of old guys on the wall—that would be, every restaurant we have a weakness for—seems determined to convince diners that kale is a delicious and b worth adding to everything. I eat things because I like them.
Here is how I made peace with it: I sent it back to Do you remember ? I vaguely remember it as the year when the food universe was trying to get us to trade our iron grip on romaine and iceberg lettuces for mixes of baby field greens sold as mesclun.
Except mesclun mixes tasted like greens, and this freaked people out until some brave soul figured out that there was a salad trifecta—dried fruit, goat cheese, and a honey-Dijon dressing—that made anything else in a salad palatable. I applied the same theory to kale, and it worked—we not only ate this salad, we had seconds.
Of raw kale! Who are we? Preheat your oven to degrees, and spread the pecans on a tray. Toast them for 5 to 10 minutes, tossing them once or twice to make sure they toast evenly.
Remove them from the oven, and set them aside to cool. Wash your kale and let it dry on spread-out kitchen or paper towels. Then, with a knife, remove the rib from each stalk, leaving long strips of kale leaves. Stack the leaves in small batches, roll them tightly the long way, and cut the roll crosswise into thin ribbons. Add the kale ribbons to a large salad bowl.
Thinly slice the radishes, and add them to the bowl. Coarsely chop the pecans and cherries, and add them as well. Crumble the goat cheese over the top. Whisk dressing ingredients together in a small dish, and pour the dressing over the salad. Toss the salad until it is evenly coated with dressing. This salad is great to eat right away, but even better after 20 minutes of tenderizing in the dressing. M y friend Dan used to make fun of the salad-dressing commercials that would come on while we watched Buffy back in the day—you know, back when you had to suffer things like commercials.
Vegetables are icky!
Gotta drown them! Why slick them into sameness? The other side is what happens when you taste sesame-miso dressing—you know, the stuff they put over your salad at sushi restaurants, usually with ground carrots inside.
Sesame-miso is a game changer, a substance so delicious, so nutty and salty and toasty and sweet at once, that you start ordering salads just to get to it, kind of like how you order cupcakes just for the frosting. You know you do. Realistically, this salad could contain anything, and as long as it was doused in sesame-miso manna, it would be hard to hate. But I especially love it in the early parts of the summer, when sugar snaps show up at the markets and are begging to be left crunchy.
Not this dressing, not this salad. Table salt for pot. Boil the sugar snaps for about 2 minutes, or until just barely cooked but still crisp. Scoop them out with a large slotted spoon, and drop them in the ice-water bath. Trim ends and cut sugar snaps on bias into thin slices.
Toss in large bowl with cabbage, radishes, scallions, and 1 tablespoon sesame seeds. Taste and adjust ingredients—use the extra tablespoon miso if desired. The sugar snaps have a mellow sweetness to them that balances well with a saltier-than-normal dressing.
Use more if you desire, which I bet you do. If not, be delighted that you will have extra for your next salad. Sprinkle with remaining sesame seeds. Dig in. I pretty much eat the whole thing whenever she brings it over for a holiday meal. On a table piled with crepes and caviar, potato pastries, mushroom salads, pickles, olives, garlicky roasted red peppers, smoked fish, black bread—and did I mention the caviar?
But I never ignore it. In fact, now that I think about it, she probably makes it just for me. I married well. When I tried to re-create it a couple years ago, I cut the broccoli into matchsticks and thin slices. I made a ranch-ish dressing with buttermilk and apple-cider vinegar. I toasted almonds. I chopped dried cranberries. I soaked onions in the dressing. And then I stood in the kitchen and ate nearly the entire bowl, the entire 2 pounds of broccoli salad.
Sure, I was five months pregnant at the time. Apparently, pregnant women need their iron. I made fun of my broccoli habit on my website. And then, more than two years later, I decided to include the salad in this book, and when I went to retest it, the same thing happened. I inhaled it. Lots of freshly ground black pepper. Trim the broccoli, and chop it into large chunks; then cut each chunk into thin slices.
I usually cut the stems into thin slices, then stack the slices and cut them in the other direction, into thin matchsticks; if you have a mandoline with a julienne blade, this will also do the job. Then I cut the florets vertically into thin slices, slicing from the stem up to the floret top. This helps them stay together, but keeps them lying nicely against each other in the salad. Toss the sliced broccoli with the almonds and cranberries.
In a small bowl, whisk the buttermilk, mayo, vinegar, sugar, and table salt until smooth. Stir in the onion. You can let the onion marinate in the dressing for 10 minutes, to mellow it. Pour the dressing over the broccoli mixture, and add a generous amount of black pepper.
Stir the salad until the broccoli is evenly coated with the dressing. Unfortunately, their beauty was short-lived. I was crushed to discover that when you cook them both the hot pink and the speckles completely disappear, leaving a muddy lavender color behind, which is just not the same. As a self-described bean obsessive, I find surprisingly few that I can easily download fresh and de-pod myself in the summertime, and this is one of them.
So here is my favorite formula for bean salad. This is one of the things I like to keep around as often as possible; a small bowl of it with some toasted pita wedges makes an excellent lunch, and it keeps for the better part of a week. The celery is for extra crunch, and the feta—well, the feta was the kind of thing that happened one day when this salad landed on a plate with a salad with feta in it and I realized they were better together.
In a small saucepan of boiling salted water, cook the beans over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until just tender, about 20 to 25 minutes. In a sieve, drain the beans and rinse them under cold running water to stop them from cooking further. Whisk together the vinegar, olive oil, table salt, and black pepper in a medium bowl.
Add the beans, celery, red onion, walnuts, feta, and parsley, if using, to the bowl, and toss to combine. Adjust seasoning to taste, adding more vinegar, salt, pepper, or onion as you prefer.
Serve immediately, or pack away in the fridge for future lunches. Seeing as I sadly lack the ability to fly off to St. But beets and I have never gotten along. I could not rise above it for the sake of rationality.
I am hardly a model eater. But I can handle almost anything in small, crackly doses, and so the day I found teeny-tiny beets, gateway beets, lingering among the big beastly beets at a market was the day when I began, tepidly, to embrace them. Halved and roasted until blistery and sweet, studded with coarse salt, and tossed with faintly crunchy quinoa, this preparation had texture. It had depth of flavor, against an intense, almost syrupy vinaigrette.
And it had color, a veritable half—color wheel of pretties to gaze at in months that are notably bereft of reds, oranges, and golds. The beets won. Well, they won this round. Cook for 10 to 15 minutes, until quinoa has absorbed water. Peel shallots and separate cloves, if there are two inside. Place in a medium square of aluminum foil, coat with a few droplets of olive oil, and wrap in foil, creating a packet.
Place on rack in oven. Coat a baking sheet or roasting pan lightly with olive oil. Arrange the root vegetables in one layer, and drizzle lightly with additional olive oil. Squeeze lemon juice over the vegetables. Sprinkle generously with salt and freshly ground black pepper. Add roasting pan to oven. Roast vegetables for 20 minutes, then flip them and roast for another 10, or until tender and a bit crackly. Larger ones might take longer to cook through.
Remove shallot packet with tongs. Carefully remove the shallots from foil packet, and toss into the blender. Blend with sherry and balsamic vinegars and 2 pinches of coarse salt and some pepper. Drizzle in olive oil. Sample vinaigrette, and adjust seasoning to taste. Arrange roasted roots over quinoa, and sprinkle with remaining quinoa.
Drizzle the entire dish with shallot-sherry vinaigrette. For a little extra, you can finish it with additional droplets of your balsamic. Serve with goat cheese or yogurt, if using. The proportion of this salad is a bigger ratio of vegetables to a smaller ratio of grain—I wanted the roots to be the focus.
If you like more grains with your salad, as grain salads more commonly contain, double the suggested amount. The near-best was a beloved carrot salad recipe sent to me by a reader halfway across the world; it sounded so delicious, I immediately dropped what I was doing to march to the fridge. In that salad, carrots are peeled, grated, and tossed with feta, mint, and a lemon-harissa dressing, and then your family inhales the whole thing quickly. Or at least mine did.
In time, I used it to inspire a heartier, meal-like salad, bulked with grains. Carrots share the spotlight with parsnips, at first due to poor planning and later because we liked it better with them included. The dressing gets a touch of honey as well. But I kept the mint, feta, and harissa intact.
Unless those scraps are cake, in which case, all bets are off. If any extra water or broth remains, drain it. Set the farro aside until the vegetables are ready. Coat two large baking sheets with one tablespoon olive oil each. Peel carrots and parsnips, and cut them into 2-inch lengths. Spread the vegetables on prepared baking sheets, and sprinkle them with salt.
Roast for 20 minutes, then toss them about in their pan, before roasting them for a further 10 minutes. In a large bowl, combine farro and roasted vegetables. Stir in most of the mint and feta, leaving a spoonful of each for garnish. Stir in dressing, to taste. Serve, garnished with the reserved feta and mint. But somehow it works here. This salad keeps in an airtight container for 3 to 4 days in the fridge. B ack when I was a vegetarian, when it was time to go out with friends I always insisted that our restaurant choices not be limited by my dietary rules.
And at sushi restaurants, I ordered avocado-cucumber rolls, and believe to this day that anyone who does not is missing out. Classic avocado toast is hardly a recipe—you simply toast bread, smash up some avocado on it with a fork, and sprinkle with salt, pepper, and a few drops of olive oil. But this is the way I make it when I miss that sushi roll. One 6-inch length of baguette. Split your bread into top and bottom halves, and toast the halves.
Arrange slices of, or mash, half your avocado on each toasted baguette half. Stir together the cucumber, vinegar, sesame oil, and salt. Dollop half the cucumber salad on top of each bread half. Sprinkle with mixture of seeds, if using.
Adjust seasonings to taste—I often find that I want a few more drops of rice vinegar, or another pinch of salt. Eat immediately.
I mean, really, what is there to love about cold leftover chicken dressed with a scoop from a jar of mayonnaise? She encourages things like cooking your chicken gently at a low temperature for a very long time, and even letting the chicken cool in its broth overnight for extra moisture.
She insists that you use fresh herbs, and that you make your own mayo. Dolloped on toasted whole-grain bread and garnished with extra herbs, it makes a lunch that feels civilized, like something from a time of fine dishes, pressed linen napkins, and lunch eaten slowly and deliberately.
Slices of whole-grain bread, toasted. Few gratings of fresh lemon zest. Once the water is boiling, reduce to a simmer and cook for 10 minutes exactly.
Drain the eggs, and rinse them in cool water. Let them cool completely in the fridge until needed. Reduce to a very low simmer. If you have the time, place the chicken in a bowl, cover with the cooking broth, and store in the fridge overnight. The next day, scrape off any thickened stock and chop the chicken. It will be more tender after resting like this.
Begin whisking in the olive oil drop by drop, as slowly as you can bear. Like this document? Why not share!
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No Downloads. Views Total views. Actions Shares. Embeds 0 No embeds. No notes for slide. The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook: Recipes and Wisdom from an Obsessive Home Cook to download this book the link is on the last page 2. Deb Perelman loves to cook.
She isn't a chef or a restaurant owner--she's never even waitressed. Cooking in her tiny Manhattan kitchen was, at least at first, for special occasions--and, too often, an unnecessarily daunting venture. Deb found herself overwhelmed by the number of recipes available to her.
Have you ever searched for the perfect birthday cake on Google? You'll get more than three million results. Where do you start? What if you pick a recipe that's downright bad? So Deb founded her award-winning blog, Smitten Kitchen, on the premise that cooking should be a pleasure, and that the results of your labor can--and should--be delicious. Deb is a firm believer that there are no bad cooks, just bad recipes.