Ode to the chocolate chip cookie

I love cookies. If it's got chocolate or is from Bakesale Betty, it's destined for my mouth. Lately, I've been on a crazy cookie-baking kick. I make cookies at least once, if not twice, a week. I come home from work, and I want a cookie. After dinner, I want a cookie. While watching a movie, I start getting cravings for — yep, that's right: cookies. I'd probably eat cookies for breakfast if I didn't have this crazy notion that normal people simply do not eat cookies first thing in the morning.

Chocolate chip cookies are my go-to cookie when I want to bake. They were the very first thing I ever learned to cook all by myself, at the tender age of ten or eleven. At our school's book fair, I'd bought a book called The Best Cookie Book Ever, in which a parade of anthropomorphic teddy bears in late 80's garb instructed me on how to make a variety of cookies. The recipe for "Teddy's Favorite Chocolate Chip Cookies" is splattered with bits of batter that had gone flying off the electric hand mixer nearly every time I baked.

Back then, I used margarine in my cookies because... well, didn't everyone? Many years later, throwing together a batch of chocolate chip cookies while vacationing in Austin, TX, I found only butter in the fridge. I was hesitant to use it. Butter had always seemed too decadent for the average cookie, and besides, it was expensive. Those cookies turned out to be the best I'd ever made — and so I only ever used butter from then on. (I now think spending the money on organic butter is totally worth it, as you can probably guess.)

 I used to have a problem with my cookies being too cakey, and they would practically retain their shape after being scooped out of the mixing bowl, instead of spreading in the oven. I haven't quite figured out the science of cookie baking, though I do know that a slight reduction in the amount of flour and a larger brown to white sugar ratio (á la the recipe on the bag of Trader Joe's chocolate chips) has helped create cookies that are still soft but more traditionally cookie-shaped.

They're damn good, if I do say so myself. The Anthropologist agrees.

All this talk of cookies is making me want one. I think it's time to whip up another batch.

The only chocolate chip cookie recipe you'll ever need
(courtesy of me)

2 1/4 c flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
1 c firmly packed brown sugar
1/2 c white sugar
1 c softened butter
1 tsp good-quality vanilla extract
2 eggs
1 package semi-sweet chocolate chips
optional: chopped nuts, dried fruit, or whatever floats your boat (I put cranberries in the ones above)

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Combine flour, salt, and baking soda in a bowl, and set it aside. Using an electric hand mixer, cream together the sugars, butter, and vanilla. Add eggs and beat. Add dry ingredients and continue to mix. (At this point, my ancient mixer — the one I found abandoned at the back of the cupboard when I was moving out of my freshman year apartment — can no longer handle the work, and I switch to a wooden spoon.) Stir in chocolate chips and any additional add-ins.

Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto a non-greased cookie sheet. Bake 8 to 10 minutes, until golden. Transfer to a wire rack and cool.

As Teddy likes to say, "Did you turn off the oven?"

Makes about 2 dozen.

The best tomato sauce ever

I'm not the biggest fan of tomato sauce. Even on pizza. I think it goes back to college, when practically everyone I knew ate pasta with jarred tomato sauce like it was going out of style. I realize that it's a cheap and easy dish for poor and not necessarily culinary-savvy students to prepare — but I wish someone could have told them there's more to life than penne with Classico marinara.

When given a choice, I'd rather eat my pasta with cream, Parmesan, and lots of vegetables. An open jar of tomato sauce in my refrigerator is almost guaranteed to grow moldy before I'd used even half of it.

Last month, I read about a recipe for tomato sauce on one of my favorite blogs, Smitten Kitchen. This sauce was apparently so good that other Big Names in the food blogging world had been raving about it for years. So were Smitten Kitchen's readers: while typically her posts get around 150 comments, the tomato sauce post generated 500+ comments.

Then, inexplicably, I found myself craving this sauce. Driving home from work one day, I began to daydream about how the sweetness of an onion really could vastly improve a mess of tomatoes. So I went home and threw it together. It's ridiculously easy to make, considering that all that goes into it is canned tomatoes, halved onions, and butter. Open a can, peel and cut an onion, unwrap a stick of butter. Dump it all in a pot.

I really wish someone had told my friends about this recipe when we were in college.

It is surprisingly good, perhaps even the best pasta sauce I've ever had. For dinner, I threw in some peas and topped it off with Parmesan. But for lunch, it was just the sauce over rigatoni — it's delicious even without cheese. I never thought I'd like a red sauce that much. It must be the butter.

To be honest, I'd never made tomato sauce from scratch before. But now that I've made this, I definitely don't plan to buy jarred ever again.

Marcela Hazan's Tomato Sauce with Onions and Butter
(courtesy of Smitten Kitchen)

28 ounces canned tomatoes (SK used whole, but I use diced)
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 medium-sized yellow onion, peeled and halved
Salt to taste

Put the tomatoes, onion and butter in a saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer then lower the heat to keep the sauce at a slow, steady simmer for about 45 minutes. Stir occasionally. Remove the onion*, add salt to taste.

*You can toss this out, but why waste perfectly good food? Eat it with crusty bread or in a scramble. Or straight out of the container you've put it in after removing it from the sauce.

Grand re-opening

I'm back and ready to cook! Actually, I've been cooking quite a bit since returning from India and moving into a new apartment with more counter space. The trip has left me in quite a bit of debt, but I still want to stay true to the food values that I try to stick to: buying locally, eating organically and ethically, and cooking sustainably. This is generally perceived as something that requires a lot of money to do. Just look at a place like Whole Foods ("Whole Paycheck") or New Leaf ("New Thief"): it really can be extremely expensive to do your shopping there. When I looked for sites that gave advice on eating local, seasonal, and organic (LSO) when on a budget, I discovered that there's not a lot out there (apart from this interesting site).

But it doesn't have to be. It shouldn't have to be! And I'm here to show you how to do it.

If you want to eat LSO with limited funds, you have to be willing to not eat certain foods. Meat is a big one. I haven't bought meat in the seven weeks since reacquiring a kitchen because ethically-raised meat is damn pricey. (Ground buffalo goes for $8.50/lb at the farmers' market!) Junk food and convenience foods are also out. You know why Whole Foods is so expensive? It's because they charge an arm and a leg for pre-prepared meals and frozen processed food. If you stick to the perimeter, like you're always hearing you should do, the prices are a little more reasonable. So, really, you can follow a lot of advice for people who are eating a conventional diet on a budget — with just a few tweaks here and there.

To start: Buy store brands of canned or frozen organic foods, such as beans, peas, or corn. (For beans, it's even cheaper to use dried.) Cook in batches and freeze extra portions for lunch or dinner another time. Grow herbs, lettuce, tomatoes, or whatever you have room for. Spend more time thinking about food and cooking it, instead of eating out all the time, eating mindlessly, or being "too busy" to eat well and eat LSO.

Also, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not a food photographer. The whole food porn thing has never really worked for me, since the lighting's always poor, my camera's not fancy enough, and the close-ups are rarely visually satisfying (or out-of-focus). Which isn't to say I'm not going to take photos. I'm just going to go about it in a less traditionally food blogging manner.

A different direction

Yes, I know — it's been ages since I last posted. A lot has been going on in the Not from a Box household, not least of which is losing my job and deciding to move to India while the Anthropologist finishes his research there.

I've been cooking a lot more now that my access to free meals has been discontinued. I just haven't been blogging. While I still adore photography, stopping to shoot every step of cooking — or even taking the time at the end to get a couple shots — has become less and less interesting to me. So has regularly posting about what I've been cooking.

Some of the things I've made recently:
whole wheat, flax seed, and strawberry pancakes
Meyer lemon pasta with zucchini ribbons and roasted cherry tomatoes
grass-fed beef patties with curry mustard on an arugula and mixed sprouts salad

I've also eaten fabulous fish wrapped in banana leaves from the Thai stall at the Temescal farmer's market, artichoke soup and warm sourdough at Duarte's in Pescadero, and duck confit hash with a poached egg at Angelle's in Napa. Among other things.

As I think more about my writing and where I want to go with it, I'm realizing that food writing is something I enjoy reading, but that I don't get as much pelasure out of writing about it specifically. I plan to write a travel blog while I'm in India, in which I will include my thoughts about culture, animals, riding on trains, interacting with people, and — of course — food. I'll post here from time to time when I want to share a particularly inspiring recipe or meal. And perhaps in the future I'll be once again excited about writing about food on a regular basis.

If you're someone who reads this blog, please drop me a line and let me know. I'd like to know you're out there.

Chew on this

While there are a handful of blogs I read throughout the week, I use the weekends to catch up with all the food blogs I've got on my list. In the midst of my reading, I stumbled across this on Michael Bauer's blog: a post and following discussion about foie gras, meat-eating, and the ethics of both.

Since the post focuses on a discussion that Bauer had with a vice-president at PETA, the comments go around and around about PETA's methods. I personally have some problems with the organization. While I'll happily "honk if you hate animal cruelty" when there are protesters outside the local KFC, I find PETA is often too preachy or too in-your-face. I don't know if the best way to convince others not to wear leather is to throw animal blood on them and their leather jackets. I also sometimes think the logic they use when making pro-vegetarian statements is faulty.

To be honest, I'm not a fan of anyone who tries to push their point of view on me. I have a problem with meat-eaters who are over the top, too (ever seen the website VegetariansAreEvil. com?). After reading all the comments on Bauer's post, I just wanted to put my hands over my ears and go, "La la la la!" I didn't want to hear any of it anymore: "There is just no physiological reason to eat plants if you don't want to." "You cannot 'respect' an animal by killing it and eating it." Seriously, people, just shut up, do some research, and eat based on informed decisions. There is no point in arguing or beating each other over the head with your opinions.

The post makes for interesting reading, though.

Meeting Molly

I left class early (on the very first day, no less) to make the hour-long drive to Capitola to see Molly of Orangette read from her new book at the Capitola Book Cafe. I went because her blog is one of the handful I read fairly regularly. I also went because I was hoping to find inspiration. I wanted to meet someone who had started a blog and was writing about food and had managed to find her way to writing for magazines and then to writing a book. Kind of like what I hope to do.

Her writing is very real, and what I mean by that is that you can actually envision someone — an actual person — who is sitting down at her computer, thinking about the food she makes and writing it all down for others to read. Molly as a person is very real, too. Just a woman in jeans and a ponytail. Maybe she's the person who you walk by on your way to the mail box. Maybe she works down the street from you and takes the same bus. I know it sounds silly, but I always think of authors as super people, like they have special abilities that elevate them above all of us normal humans.

So it was inspirational to go and meet her, to have her tell me to keep writing and keep blogging. That even though I feel, as she described, "like I'm just shouting into an empty room," it's good practice to write about what interests me and to keep at it.

So here I am, writing. And having a fine time of it, too. Thanks, Molly.

Bring on the casserole

There has been little cooking happening in the Not From a Box household in the past couple weeks. This is due to a combination of two factors: As a result of tightening my money belt, I've been eating at work a lot more (read: free food). I also started a new medication recently which has almost entirely eliminated my appetite.

Despite that, I still managed to whip up a vegetable noodle casserole last weekend — because when I'm not at work, I have to eat something, right? It has all the elements of a traditional tuna noodle casserole, which is one of my favorite comfort foods, with broccoli in place of the tuna.

I don't know when I started to make tuna noodle casserole. It wasn't something I grew up with, though I have a vague memory of maybe eating it for dinner as a child. The recipe is included in one of my favorite cookbooks from my college years: Clueless in the Kitchen, and I think that when I discovered how easy and how good this casserole was, I added it my repertoire of go-to dinner entrees. It's very similar to a meal I would whip up for kids when I was doing in-home child care: macaroni and cheese (from a box) with tuna and peas. Also a good go-to meal.

Tip: If you want to buy organic and by-pass the Campbell's condensed soup for this recipe, make sure you get an organic soup brand that's thick enough for the casserole so as not to make it too watery. I opted for the Whole Food's 365 brand, which is lovely because it's full of chunky pieces of mushrooms and carrots, but it's not condensed, so my casserole had a lot more liquid in it than I would have liked. I should have sprung for the Amy's brand (at a whole $1.50 more per can!).



Vegetable noodle casserole

2 c whole wheat noodles, like penne or rigatoni
1 head broccoli, cut into bite-sized pieces
1 can condensed cream of mushroom soup
1/2 c frozen peas
1 c French fried onions (yes, from a can — you can also use 1 c bread crumbs mixed with a little olive oil)

Preheat oven to 350°F.

In a large pot of salted boiling water, cook noodles until just done. Add broccoli in the last couple minutes to parboil. Drain.

In a casserole dish, combine noodles, broccoli, soup, and peas. Sprinkle fried onions or breadcrumbs over the top. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes, until bubbly. (If the topping starts to burn, put a piece of aluminum foil over the top.)

Serves 2 or 3.

It's kale-rific!

I was at Whole Foods one busy weekend afternoon. My nearly overflowing basket was full of crackers, eggs, milk, and different kinds of produce. I was standing in the bulk isle, stocking up on cornmeal, when an elderly woman walked by and remarked on the dinosaur kale that was spilling over the side of the basket.

"Do you like kale?" she asked.

"I love kale!" I said enthusiastically.

She went on to say that people no longer appreciate vegetables like kale, turnips, or other veggies eaten in eastern European countries. And, you know, she's right. Many people today know the basics — potatoes, carrots, broccoli, lettuce — but they don't feel the need to expand their horizons beyond that. (The same is true with fruit, of course. I recently watched a program where people were asked to identify the different fruits arranged on a table, and they had a hard time recognizing kumquats, pomegranates, and papayas. Again, if it's not a banana, apple, or orange, people don't seem to be bothered.)

I suppose I'm spoiled because I live in California and have access to so many kinds of produce. But there really are so many vegetables available in many areas of the country that simply don't get the recognition they deserve: Beets. Swiss chard. Leeks. And kale.

Poor kale. It's so nutritious and is very tasty when cooked properly. I like to sauté it until tender and crisp around the edges, then serve it with brown rice with peanut sauce on top.

Surprisingly delicious

This dish was inspired by one of my favorite food bloggers. By inspired, I mean he posted the recipe, and I followed the instructions. It is absolutely fabulous — and insanely easy to boot. Basically, you throw some broccoli on a baking sheet, roast it for a few minutes, add some shrimp, and roast it all for a little while longer. A squirt of lemon and serving it over rice makes it perfect.

You don't normally think to roast broccoli. This green bane of many children's existences is typically boiled or steamed, right? But roasting brings out qualities that you wouldn't usually experience when cooked the regular way: crisped edges, caramelized stems, and a sweetness that roasting seems to bring to all veggies. The AG isn't kidding when he calls roasted broccoli "the best broccoli of your life."

I doubted it at first. Boy, was I wrong. Try it yourself. You'll see.

Don't leave out the lemon!

Going veggie

People often think I'm vegetarian. I'm not sure why this is. Perhaps they are buying into a stereotype? Because of course the girl who drives a Prius with the "Buy Fresh Buy Local" and "Coexist" stickers, doesn't wear leather, and buys from socially conscious companies would necessarily also be a vegetarian. But nope, sorry to dispel the myth: I am happily a meat-eater.

Why? I could go into biological and evolutionary reasons: that our teeth and digestive systems were designed to process meat. I could go into nutritional reasons: that meat contains essential nutrients that our bodies need that are hard to find in other foods. None of these, however, are why I eat meat. I eat meat because I enjoy it. It tastes good.

I don't eat pork. Pigs are more intelligent than dogs, and we don't eat dogs, do we? Cows, chickens, and fish are sufficiently stupid for my consumption.

So I've established that I love meat. I don't have to eat it all the time, and I certainly have been known to eat many meat-free meals. But it would be hard to go without it for a long period of time. Which is why I'm giving meat up for Lent. Since I was little, I give up something that would be a challenge to give up for a full forty days in the run-up to Easter Sunday. This year it's meat. I know I'll be able to do it, but it means no Thai green curry with chicken, no sushi, no chicken taquitos at Chevy's, and no burgers. I craved beef in India because very few people eat beef, what with the cow being sacred and all. But I made it through, and I'll make it through a meatless period just the same.

In the few days before Wednesday, when Lent begins, I plan to eat mussels over pasta, roast chicken, tuna noodle casserole, and finally, I'll have a nice, big hamburger to celebrate Fat Tuesday. And then my adventure as a vegetarian will begin.

A new year of salads

One of my new year's resolutions — and the only one I've been really good about — is "eat better." With those buffet lunches at work, it's super easy to load up a plate with fried, cream sauce-covered, bacon-laden, and overall fattening foods. So I've been making more conscious choices when eating at work, as well as making a point to cook healthy meals at home. I'm feeling really good about it, and I'm feeling healthier, too.

Salad is a new regular addition to my daily diet repertoire, especially now that I've learned what I like and don't like in a salad. I most certainly don't like a salad made of romaine lettuce (I'm not a fan of those crunchy ribs). I prefer baby greens, like spinach. I like additions like edamame or chickpeas, pumpkin seeds, julienned carrots or beets, cherry tomatoes (in season), and sometimes croutons. And my new favorite dressing? One that is yogurt-based. I had a yogurt and herb dressing on a salad at work and really liked it. When I recreated it at home with plain yogurt and a few dried herbs, it was even better. Today, I had a salad with yogurt tangerine dressing that was surprisingly tasty.

The salad above was a light Sunday night dinner (after a heavy late Sunday lunch of steak and shrimp fajitas), consisting of baby spinach, tuna, sun-dried tomatoes, pumpkin seeds, and yogurt-herb dressing.

There's something that feels really healthy about a eating a dish that is made up mostly of raw ingredients. Maybe it's psychosomatic, but I sometimes am put in a better mood by an especially good salad.

The Cook's Cannon (TCC) #1: apple pie

The first recipe every cook needs to know to make is something I've actually made and posted about briefly before. I don't think I've made an apple pie since then, although I have made "pocket" pies — which also was a while ago.

I'm not going to make one as part of this challenge, as I'm fairly happy with my pie-baking skills. I'm definitely far overdue, however, in whipping up an apple pie, so I will definitely plan on making one in the near future — perhaps the next time I can get to the farmers' market for heirloom apples.

I wouldn't be following Raymond Sokolov's recipe to the letter anyway. His pie crust calls for lard, which not only is a pork product (which I don't eat) but it renders the pie no longer vegetarian. I prefer the all-butter crust. I also like the apple filling to be seasoned with cinnamon, ginger, cloves, or other spices, whereas the book's recipe calls for only sugar.

I think that's part of learning to cook something: understanding that a single recipe may not be the one and final way to make a dish. Even Cook's Illustrated's "master" recipes are not necessarily my master recipes – as evidenced by the fact that their pie crust includes Crisco shortening, which I would never use. As I've said before, one of my favorite methods of cooking something new is to lay out several recipes for that one dish, then pick and choose ingredients and cooking methods that are agreeable to me.

Stay tuned for #2...

Stocking up

Inspired by the Amateur Gourmet, I made some chicken stock today, featuring chicken backs. I usually make stock from chicken carcasses, leftover after making a roast chicken. In fact, I have one waiting in the freezer, which I only remembered after everything was in the pot (but that's okay — I'll just make more stock soon enough!). I enjoy making stock because, well, it's ridiculously easy, and it fills the apartment with a comforting and chicken-y scent. I also am of the belief that packaged stock is flavorless. While I've been known to buy boxed broth at the store, I decided it was high time I started regularly making my own to keep on hand in the freezer, so that I could infuse my food with as much flavor as possible.

Which is what makes this recipe so great: no need to wait till you've roasted a chicken to make stock. Considering I'm only cooking for one these days, the opportunity to roast a chicken doesn't typically present itself. (The carcass in the freezer is from a dinner party I threw before Thanksgiving.) Chicken backs are easy to come by. All you have to do is ask the butcher for them, and he'll go into the back to get them. I mean, all those other chicken parts come from a whole chicken, and the backs have to be somewhere, right?



Plus, chicken backs just look cool.

My adjustments to the recipe the AG used: I roughly chopped everything, instead of making everything all tidy and pretty like he did, since I was going to toss all the solids anyway. For that same reason, I included the onion skins and carrot greens. In fact, I've made stock with vegetable "leftovers" before — it's a great way to avoid wasting those parts when you don't have a way to compost.

The "Omnivore's Hundred"

I love memes. I found the following on Foodie in Denial. It even includes handy links, in case you don't recognize something listed here.

I don't know how this person came up with this particular list. It apparently contains foods that "every good omnivore should have tried at least once in their life," which run the gamut from the processed (Hostess and McDonald's) to the gourmet (sweetbreads and Kobe beef) to the weird (crocodile and whole insects).

Well, you'll see:

1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten. [I starred mine because the bold doesn't show well.]
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment here at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:

1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
*3. Huevos rancheros
*4. Steak tartare
*5. Crocodile (once and never again)
*6. Black pudding
*7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
*10. Baba ghanoush
*11. Calamari
*12. Pho
*13. PB&J sandwich
*14. Aloo gobi
*15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
*18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes (mmm, raspberry wine)
*19. Steamed pork buns (I prefer baked, though.)
*20. Pistachio ice cream
*21. Heirloom tomatoes
*22. Fresh wild berries
*23. Foie gras
*24. Rice and beans
*25. Brawn, or head cheese (I haven't had this since I was a child — my dad used to buy me a slice as a treat on Saturdays)
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
*27. Dulce de leche
*28. Oysters
*29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
*31. Wasabi peas
*32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl (one of my favorites)
33. Salted lassi
*34. Sauerkraut
*35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
*37. Clotted cream tea
*38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O
39. Gumbo
*40. Oxtail
*41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
*44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
*47. Chicken tikka masala
*48. Eel
*49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
*50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear

*52. Umeboshi
*53. Abalone
*54. Paneer
*55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
*60. Carob chips
*61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
*65. Durian
*66. Frogs’ legs
*67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
*68. Haggis
*69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
*73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
*77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
*80. Bellini
*81. Tom yum
*82. Eggs Benedict (my favorite thing to order for brunch)
*83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
*85. Kobe beef
*86. Hare
*87. Goulash
*88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
*91. Spam
*92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
*94. Catfish
*95. Mole poblano
*96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
*98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

Score: 62. Not bad.

Avoiding disaster

This week is going to be a long week. One of my co-teachers is out on vacation part of the week, and my other co-teacher has a knee injury and can't move around too much in the classroom. Yay. To lift my spirits, I decided to do a little baking in the form of a loaf of chocolate banana bread.

It was inspired by a recipe in the latest issue of Sunset magazine. But instead of a classic banana bread recipe with cocoa added to it, it substituted prune puree for the butter and included such things as walnuts and chocolate chips. Which I didn't have. I did have, however, two frozen bananas and a brand-new container of Green and Black's Organic baking cocoa.

A small aside here: A lot of chocolate is produced in not-so-friendly ways. In fact, much of the chocolate in the more commonly known brands is from plantations where they pay extremely low wages and employ child slave labor. I highly recommend buying chocolate from companies that support fair trade and organc growing practices, which would include Green and Black's, Dagoba, and Endangered Species. Sure, it costs more — but isn't it worth it to know your chocolate wasn't harvested by child labor?

To make the bread, I used my usual banana bread recipe and simply added the 1/2 cup baking cocoa from the Sunset recipe. Into a large bowl went the dry ingredients, and into a blender went the wet ones. It wasn't until I began to mix the two together that it occurred to me that perhaps I had misread the amount of flour — and as I stirred and saw that the dry ingredients were not fully incorporating into the wet ones, I already knew what my mistake had been. Two mistakes, actually. The first was that I used 1-3/4 cup flour instead of the 1-1/4 in the recipe. The second was that by adding 1/2 cup cocoa, I should have reduced the amount of flour. So there was far too much flour in the bowl than necessary.

I panicked slightly. Considering how much my fancy organic cocoa cost, even on sale, there was no way I could just throw out the batter. Although I had used melted butter as the lubricant in the recipe, I decided that canola oil would do the trick to moisten the mixture enough. I poured in some, then a little more, until the batter was dense but combined. If I'd had another banana, I would have thrown that in, too. But I didn't.

I put it in the oven to bake, crossing my fingers that it would all come out okay. Halfway through baking, the apartment smelled wonderful, and I figured there was still hope that the bread would be fine.

It took a little longer to bake than as directed in the recipe, so while the middle was still not completely baked through, the sides were drying out and nearly beginning to burn. The resulting bread wasn't perfect, but it was quite tasty, especially with a smear of cream cheese on top.

I've already told my co-teacher J that I plan to make a blueberry cream cheese coffee cake next week. Let's just hope I can manage to do it without any mishaps!



Chocolate banana bread
(adapted from Clueless in the Kitchen by Evelyn Raab)

1 c all-purpose flour
1/2 c sugar (feel free to use less, particularly if your bananas are especially overripe)
1/2 c baking cocoa, sifted
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 c melted butter or oil (I used butter this time)
2 bananas
2 eggs


Preheat the oven to 350°F.

In a large mixing bowl, stir dry ingredients together. In a blender, add all the wet ingredients and blend until fully combined. Stir the wet ingredients into the dry.

Pour the batter into a well-greased loaf pan and bake for an hour. Test the bread with a toothpick or wooden skewer; when it comes out with only a few crumbs clinging on, it's done. Turn out onto a wire rack and let cool.

Serve with cream cheese, if you so desire.

Food challenge 2009

In years past, I've chosen one or two foods that I had wanted to learn to cook. Two summers ago, it was ice cream, followed by an autumn of pies. Last year, I was tackling bread, until I was distracted by, well, life — and the intense heat of summer. (I'll definitely have to come back to that one, especially since I got the book Bernard Clayton's New Complete Book of Bread, as recommended by my cousin Deb, bread-baker extraordinaire.)

This year, I'm declaring three different food challenges I'd like to take on:
1. Cheese (mozzarella and paneer).
2. Perfect fried chicken.
3. Almost every recipe in The Cook's Canon 101 Classic Recipes Everyone Should Know. (I say "almost" because I don't eat pork, so Fresh Ham with Star Anise and Jambon Persillé are out. But Pork Vindaloo can easily become Chicken Vindaloo or some such thing.) My idea with this one is not to necessarily follow the recipes to the letter; instead, I'll use my favorite cooking method of gleaning from multiple recipes at once.

I'm hoping these challenges will keep me cooking. As I said on a Facebook meme that's going around: "Despite the fact that I love to cook and write a food blog, my cupboards are fairly bare. I eat at work during the week, and weekends are an exercise in scraping together meals with whatever I can find in the freezer." It's time to spend more quality time in the kitchen!

Fry time

Have I mentioned lately that I love fried foods ? When I went over to a friend's house for cocktails and appetizers, I was happy to learn the nibbles would include make-your-own egg rolls — or won tons, depending on how you wanted to shape them. The filling was chicken and cabbage, and the result was crisp, hot bites that went well with sweet and sour sauce. J&J have a deep fryer, which makes the act of frying so much easier. When I fry, it involves a cast iron pan, a splatter screen, and lots of paper towels to mop up the mess. Which means I don't fry very often. I may have to look into getting a deep fryer at some point — so I can learn to make a perfect fried drumstick.

But I digress.




It was also fun watching everyone roll their own egg rolls or won tons. T and I both make our own versions (I have two: a shrimp-filled won ton and lumpia, or Filipino egg roll), so maybe what's called for is an egg roll cook-off!

Potluck cupcakes

We had a family classroom potluck last night. For the longest time, I debated what I was going to bring. We're the Screwbean Mesquite room (all the rooms are named after trees), so I joked that I was going to bring "screw beef" — beef shaped into a spiral. Aware that that was merely a pipe dream, I decided that I needed to settle on something people would actually eat. Cupcakes are always a safe bet, so cupcakes it was.

But what kind of cupcake? Chocolate? Black bottom? Lemon-frosted? It didn't help that the latest issue of Martha Stewart Living has an article featuring many varieties of cupcakes — making the decision process even more difficult.

Then, over at Vanilla Garlic, help arrived. It came in the form of a recipe for a carrot, cardamom, cashew, and bourbon cupcake. It's a mouthful to say — and a tasty mouthful at that. The cakes are moist, and the addition of bourbon and cardamom works really well here. The frosting was a little too sweet, but I think that's true in general of cream cheese frosting.

I made a few adjustments, first by making them into cupcakes "bites," using mini cupcake tin. This reduces the baking time to ten minutes per batch. I also cut the recipe in half, making three dozen mini cupcakes. Also, I omitted the cashews, as I work at a site that is nut-free.

They definitely were a hit. Next time, Petit Pois Muffins.

Pakora and other fried things

One of my favorite foods is anything fried: fried chicken, fried zucchini, fish and chips, fried won tons, and on and on. So, of course, I was very happy to find out that Indian street food included a delicious snack called pakora. Pakora is basically just about anything dipped in batter and fried — most commonly bread, paneer, and vegetables such as potatoes, cauliflower, or bell pepper. The pakora-walla ("pakora person") cooks up his tasty goods in bulk, then sets them out on newspaper to be sold. When it's time to be dished up, often the pakora or other fried foods are put back into hot oil to be reheated. Then again, sometimes they're not.

On the train to and from Shimla, we often hopped off when the train stopped to buy the fried goods that were on sale. At one stop, twenty rupees (about forty cents) got us two samosas with a generous squeeze of Indian ketchup. (One samosa at my local farmers' market is three dollars, so this was an exciting purchase for me!) Elsewhere, we had bread pakora — just plain white bread, battered and fried.



At the Amber Fort outside of Jaipur in Rajasthan, we had the best samosas I'd ever eaten. The food at the stall had been sitting out for who knows when, the flies were abuzz, and the samoses weren't reheated. But the crust was crisp and buttery, and the potato filling was nicely spiced. I was so glad we had eaten there, even though I joked that I was risking traveler's sickness for a pocket of tasty fried goodness.

Another fried food I discovered was at an expansive market in Delhi called Dilli Haat, which included goods and foods from every state in India. Lunch included momos, little deep fried dumplings filled with chicken. They were served with a bowl of steaming broth, which was quite bland but felt warm in the tummy. As recommended by the Anthropologist's friend, our guide through Dilli Haat, we made a mix of hot sauce and vinegar to dip our momos in. The wrapper crunched as I bit into it, and the sauce packed a much needed punch to the delicious but not particularly remarkable filling.



A word about street food and food in general in India: It's important to be careful when you're traveling abroad and eating food cooked in a stall or on the street. But don't let the fear of getting sick prevent you from having an amazing culinary experience. The truth is you are going to get sick. No matter how careful you are. I was fairly cautious, didn't drink the tap water (or use it to brush my teeth), avoided eating meat from street stalls — and I got mildly sick anyway. When you're in a country that's very different from yours, it's hard to avoid stomach bugs that your system isn't used to — unless you're determined to not eat anything that isn't from a three-star or above restaurant. Which would be too bad because you really would be missing out on a lot of new and wonderful foods.

For the love of shrimp

After writing about delicious Goan shrimp the other day, I decided it was high time I defrosted the shrimp I was saving in the freezer. I had gone to the farmers' market the day after I got back from India, with shrimp as a high priority on my grocery list. It was the wrong time of year to get shrimp caught off the Pacific coast, so instead, the shrimp available was caught off the coast Texas. Which was fine with me. It was still fresher and more beautifully ocean-scented than anything farmed in Thailand (which is where most frozen shrimp available in the States comes from — plus the farming practices are destroying the ecosystems there).

Before deciding to defrost my ziptop bag of shrimp, I had actually been craving Chinese take-out. Once I determined that I ought to spend my hard-earned money on groceries instead of grease, I decided to make two of my favorite Vietnamese shrimp dishes: cabbage and shrimp soup, and shrimp simmered in a caramel sauce.

I've posted about the soup before, though this time for the broth, I used half water and half chicken broth (which was about to go bad). It was fine, though it didn't do any favors for the cabbage-shrimp flavor that makes this soup so good. It also smelled a little funny, but I realized that the intermingling scents of the shrimp and the cabbage were just playing off each other in an odd way. I happily ate it up despite that.



The other dish is one of my all-time favorite shrimp recipes — other than this one, of course. The very first time I ever made shrimp in caramel sauce, it was so good that I couldn't put my chopsticks down. Besides being delicious, it's ridiculously easy to make, once you've got the caramel sauce prepared. The recipe for caramel sauce makes quite a bit, and it's shelf-stable, so it keeps practically forever in a jar with a tight-fitting lid.

Truth be told, I haven't eaten a whole lot of Vietnamese food. When I was in grad school, there was a great Vietnamese restaurant around the corner, where I would order the "clay pot" (which contained chicken, shrimp, onions, and green beans in an amazing slightly sweet sauce, all over rice) and a Vietnamese coffee (which kept me awake and jittery for the rest of the day). I've also had the charcuterie that a Vietnamese friend brought to a dinner party — the soft pâté-like spread on slices of baguette was completely addictive. I guess my point is that when I make things from my Vietnamese cookbook, I don't have many taste experiences I can compare it to. Which isn't a problem, really. More of an observation.

I also want to add a small note here: Do not fear fish sauce. Fish sauce, the dark brown, salty, and yes, fishy condiment used in southeast Asia and the Philippines, adds a unique flavor that you can't get from adding, say, salt. It appears in both the soup and the caramel shrimp recipe. When I add to the pan while cooking, the fragrant smell of fermented fish always puts a smile on my face — because I've learned to appreciate what this sauce brings to the food I eat. Like salt, only a small amount is ever used to season any dish, so I'm not asking you to drown your meal in fish sauce. But do give fish sauce a chance. You'll be glad you did.


Shrimp simmered in caramel sauce (tôm kho)
(from Into the Vietnamese Kitchen by Andrea Nguyen)

1-1/2 pounds shrimp, peeled and deveined
1-1/2 tbsp fish sauce
2 tbsp caramel sauce (recipe follows)
1 small yellow onion, thinly sliced
1/2 tsp pepper
1-1/2 tbsp canola or other neutral oil
1 green onion, chopped

In a shallow pan, combine shrimp, fish sauce, caramel sauce, and 1/8 tsp salt and bring to a simmer over high heat. Add the onion and pepper and stir to distribute ingredients evenly. Continue cooking over high heat for another 10 to 14 minutes, or until the shrimp have turned an orange-brown.


As they cook, the shrimp will release their juices to combine with the other ingredients. Expect a strong boil throughout and turn shrimp occasionally with a spoon. If the pan appears dry, add a little water. The juices eventually concentrate into a mahogany-colored sauce. When the shrimp are done, there should only be a few tablespoons of sauce left. (When I make this recipe, the sauce often evaporates away, even though I only make two servings and use all two tablespoons of caramel sauce. I often add a little extra caramel sauce as well as water when this happens.)

Turn off the heat, add the oil, and stir to coat. Add pepper to taste. Transfer to a serving bowl and sprinkle with chopped green onion.

Serves 4.


Caramel sauce (nuoc mau)

3/4 c water
1 c sugar

Fill a large bowl with water so that it comes partway up the side of a small, heavy saucepan.

In the saucepan, put 1/4 c water and all the sugar and place over medium-low heat. Stir to ensure the sugar dissolves. After about 2 minutes, stop stirring and let the mixture cook undisturbed. About 7 minutes into cooking, bubbles with cover the entire surface and the mixture will be at a vigorous simmer.

After about 15 minutes, the sugar will begin to caramelize and deepen in color. When smoke starts rising, around 20 minutes, remove the pan from the heat and slowly swirl it. The sauce will turn darker. When it is the color of black coffee or molasses, put the put into the bowl of water to stop the cooking. Add the remaining 1/2 cup water. After the dramatic bubble reaction ceases, return the pan to the stove over medium heat.

Heat the caramel, stirring until it dissolves into the water. Remove from heat and let cool for 10 minutes before puring into a small heatproof glass jar. Set aside to cool completely. Cover and store indefinitely in your kitchen cupboard.

Makes 1 cup.