Soup for a Blustery Day

Despite my love of fall produce, especially cranberries, for some reason I’m not quite ready for autumn just yet.  Ready or not, the temperatures are dropping, the rain and wind have definitely arrived, and so have the seasonal offerings at the market.

Since I can’t hold it back, this rich, just barely gingery bisque of kabocha squash is a great start toward embracing the inevitable.  I roasted the diced squash first for extra depth, and separately toasted the seeds with butter and five-spice powder for a crunchy garnish.  Apple cider mixed with the vegetable stock and diced apples in the garnish added a hint of sweetness and brought out even more of the squash flavor.

Although it was the backbone of a very casual rainy-day dinner tonight, the smooth simplicity and seasonally-appropriate colors of this soup would make it a great first course for your Thanksgiving dinner.

Roasted Kabocha Squash Soup with Apple and Five-Spice Seeds
Serves 4

1 small (2-lb) kabocha squash
2 tablespoons canola oil
1 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon Chinese five-spice powder
1 tablespoon each unsalted butter and olive oil
1 medium onion, diced
3 stalks celery, diced
2 cups vegetable stock
1 cup apple cider
2 tsp grated fresh ginger
Salt and pepper
1 eating apple (preferably Honeycrisp or Fuji)
Juice of 1/2 lemon

Preheat oven to 400 F.  Line two baking sheets with foil.

Peel and empty out the squash, reserving the seeds.  Chop the peeled squash into 1-inch dice and toss with canola oil, then spread onto sheet in single layer.  Bake until tender and beginning to brown at the edges, 30-35 minutes, stirring once or twice.  Remove from oven and reduce oven temperature to 375 F.

Remove the seeds from the squash pulp, clean well in a bowl of water, and pat dry between paper towels.  Stir the salt and five-spice powder into the melted butter, add to the cleaned seeds, and toss to combine.  Spread onto the second sheet and roast until golden and crisp.  Set aside to cool.

Heat the butter and olive oil in a heavy stock pot over medium heat.  Saute the onion and celery until translucent, then add roasted squash and ginger cook a few minutes more.  Add stock, cider, salt and pepper.  Bring to a boil, then cover and lower heat, simmering for 30 minutes.

Using an immersion or regular blender, puree the soup until smooth. Taste and correct with additional salt and pepper as needed.

Peel and dice the apple, tossing with the lemon juice, then mix with the roasted seeds. Ladle the soup into bowls and top with the seed and apple garnish.

Notes:

Any orange squash, from butternut to pumpkin, could be substituted here, although pumpkin seeds are tougher and more fibrous than kabocha.  In that case, I would use toasted pecans in the garnish instead, as I did when I first made this soup with sweet potatoes, which was also great.

Breakfast on the Run and on the Cheap

You’d think I’d have more time on my hands now that I’m a student, but if the past two weeks are any indication, you’d be wrong.  I’d forgotten how students don’t really have down time, how you’re constantly shuttling between campus and off-campus, and how all off-campus time is time that could and ideally should be devoted to studying.  I’m not complaining; this is what I wanted, and it’s also going to be over sooner than I think.  It does two things simultaneously, though.  Contrary to my usual breakfast-denying norm, it makes me actually want to have breakfast before morning classes so I can have the energy to think my way through to lunch, and it also cuts the amount of time I have available for fixing and having breakfast.

This means dealing with the problem of the easy-to-grab, on-the-go breakfast I haven’t had to face since my 45-minute commute days.  In those days, it was usually a fancy cereal bar and a latte from the Starbucks on the ground floor of my office building, but I’m also on a student budget now, and more creative and frugal thinking is required here.  What can I make that’s inexpensive, nutritious, portable, and forgiving of being forgotten on the countertop in my rush to catch the bus?

What Makes a House a Home, Part 2

As much as I was itching to, it took a while for me to be able to bake again.  While we did ship some particularly loved or difficult-to-replace equipment, there was so much that was too heavy or bulky that it wasn’t worth it, and a lot of demands were further up the priority chain than finding a restaurant supply store so I could fill in the gaps.

As soon as I got home from stocking up on baking sheets, cake pans, cooling racks and pie pans, I immediately had to throw together something to fill the house with the aroma of vanilla, butter and sugar.  The pantry is still pretty spartan, a state I may even try to maintain deliberately to combat the pack-rat tendencies that necessitated all the tossing just a few weeks ago.  In looking at the basics I did have and considering what could be quickly made from them, I fell back on Chlotilde’s nearly-instantaneous yogurt cake.

Since we had a nearly-full container of it, I substituted sour cream for the yogurt, and while I was at it, I threw in a few small bars of chocolate from the vestiges of the strategic chocolate reserve.

What, you thought the reserve had gone the way of the rest of the pantry dregs?  Ah, no, my little chickadees.  That is not the way we roll chez Disdain.  What was left was swept into a cooler with the biscotti, some honeycrisp apples and a couple of other snacks and stashed behind the driver’s seat for the trip.  Not only is chocolate never, ever, ever to be thrown out, but we had to be prepared if, god forbid, we got stuck in South Dakota or something.  And we did!  Circumstances were not nearly dire enough to necessitate draining the supply, but still!  They could have been!

Anyway, less than an hour after scraping the batter into my brand-new pan and popping it into the oven, I was cutting into a fragrant, buttery, chocolate-flecked symbol of home. Made with sour cream, the cake lacks the whisper of sourness yogurt imparts and offers nothing but elegant, melting richness.  It undoubtedly destroyed what little health value might have been residual in the original cake, but I think I like the end product made with sour cream even better.

Whether you have an empty new house or last-minute guests, this is instant grace.

Sour Cream Cake with Chocolate Chunks
(Adapted significantly from Chlotilde’s Yogurt Cake)
Serves 6-8

2 cups all purpose flour
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/8 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
1 cup sour cream
1 cup granulated sugar
1/3 cup canola oil
1 tablespoon vanilla paste or extract
3 ounces dark chocolate, chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 F.  Line the bottom of a 9- or 10-inch cake pan with parchment paper or non-stick foil, greasing the sides.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt.

In a large bowl, combine the eggs, sour cream, sugar, oil and vanilla.  Add the dry ingredients to the liquid mixture, stirring until it just comes together.  Gently fold in the chocolate.

Scrape into the prepared pan and bake for 30-35 minutes, until the top is golden and springy, and a tester comes out clean. Transfer to a rack to cool.

Notes:

A 10-inch pan is ideal since it will produce a less domed top, but 9-inch is what I have.

I see no reason you couldn’t use light sour cream if you wanted to make this just a wee bit less decadent.  Conversely, you could bump up the proportion of chocolate, but I actually think this relatively spare amount was just right.

In Suburbia

It's practically the law.

According to our new zip code, we’re within the urbs, but our neighborhood is so quiet and residential compared to our prior full-metal city existence that it feels like the suburbia we grew up in.  There’s a huge fenced backyard for the Monster to run around in, there are bungalows on all sides, and our slumber is undisturbed by the rumble of the elevated train, the wail of sirens, or the yelling of drunk patrons kicked out of clubs at closing time.  Urbane it may be, but urban?  Not so much.

That’s why it felt natural to pick up a cheap little kettle barbecue while we were haggling for furniture at garage sales this past weekend, while we somehow never got around to barbecuing in Philly despite the fact that we did have a remarkably large communal yard in front of our place, which could have accommodated a grill.  It somehow didn’t feel like the thing to do there, while it definitely felt like the thing to do here.

To inaugurate our second-hand barbecue and take advantage of what we are told is freakishly nice weather that’s going to end any minute now, His Lordship mixed up some kibbe-spiced hamburgers for dinner, while I marinated some tofu with a very simple soy and ginger marinade.  The smoky, chewy tofu was substantial but summery over a spinach, red onion and tomato salad with a honey-mustard dressing, and the leftovers will make a great sandwich for lunch tomorrow.

Simple Grilled Tofu
Serves 4

1 10-oz block extra-firm tofu, drained and patted dry with paper towels
1/2 cup light vegetable broth
1/4 cup light soy sauce
1 large knob fresh ginger, grated (approximately 2 tablespoons)
2 teaspoons Chinese chili paste with garlic
2 teaspoons honey
1/2 teaspoon Chinese five-spice powder

In a shallow dish, combine the broth, soy sauce, ginger, chili paste, honey and five-spice powder.  Slice the tofu into 8 thick slabs, and nestle into the marinade in a single layer.  Cover and refrigerate for at least one hour or up to two days, flipping halfway through.

Barbecue the tofu on an oiled grill until nicely charred on both sides, around 10 minutes per side.

Notes:

If the weather is not so freakishly pleasant where you are, the tofu can also be baked in its marinade at 375 F until the liquid has been mostly absorbed and the tofu is golden brown, around 30 minutes.

What Makes a House a Home

His Lordship, the Monster and I made it safely across the country, although there was one point at which we were nearly stuck in the Badlands of South Dakota with this guy:

Fortunately, and thanks to the good and decent people of Rapid City, we got back on the road after a relatively mild encounter with Murphy and his stupid law, and there were no subsequent mishaps.

Since our arrival a few days ago, we have been manically trying to settle into what is currently a marginally-furnished flat decorated mostly with suitcases and boxes still needing to be unpacked.  I’m sure I’ll spend the next three months feeling off-kilter, followed by about five more months of feeling like things have finally sorted themselves out, then another three of going off-kilter all over again since my graduate program is only a year long, and we’ll be gearing up to move back east.  Since I’ll make myself hysterical if I think about it too much, let’s just take a little sojourn into Denial for the time being, OK?  Excellent.

Besides, the critical component in turning a house into a home is the cooking and serving of a meal.  You can decorate to the nines and put every shoe and knicknack in its designated place, but until you’ve filled the corners with the smell of something deliciously comforting, it’s just a shell.

Our first home-cooked meal here was a very simple chili prepared in the slow cooker, which allowed us to go about the unpacking, shopping and general mayhem that always attends the first full day in a new place without having to monitor the stove.  One thing I’m not hurting for is spices, since I shipped the entire collection after adding up the costs of replacement, to say nothing of the psychological costs of disposing of my precious little jars and zip-bags of fragrant stuff.  With just a little bit of chopping, sauteeing and can-opening, we filled the house, and our bellies, with warmth.

It’s not haute cuisine by a long shot, but it certainly did make this place feel more like home.

Slow Cooker Vegetarian Chili
Serves 4-6

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 small onions, diced
3 ribs celery, diced
2 medium carrots, peeled and diced
5 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon chili powder
1 teaspoon each ground cumin and coriander
1 teaspoon sweet paprika, or 1/2 teaspoon each sweet and smoked
1 teaspoon cocoa
1 teaspoon dried oregano
Salt to taste
1 12-oz beer of choice
1 32-oz can diced tomatoes, including juice
2 15-oz cans kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 each dried cascabel and New Mexico chiles
1/2 a 16-oz bag of frozen corn
Sour cream and sliced scallions for garnishing

Turn the slow cooker on to high to preheat the ceramic core.

In a wide saute pan on medium-high, heat olive oil over medium-high and add onions, celery and carrots, salting lightly. Cook until the vegetables have softened and just begun to caramelize, then add garlic, chili powder, cumin, coriander and paprika. Continue cooking until the spices become fragrant and start to stick to the bottom of the pan, but be careful not to burn. Add cocoa and oregano and cook a few seconds more, then deglaze the pan with half the beer, scraping up all the browned bits.

Decant the vegetables into the slow cooker and add the remaining beer, tomatoes, kidney beans, and chiles. Salt generously, and if necessary, add hot water to just so the liquid level just exceeds the top of the chili. Cover and cook until everything is amalgamated, 1-2 hours on high or up to 8 on low.  During the last half-hour, add the frozen corn.

Serve by itself or over freshly cooked rice, garnished with the sour cream and scallions.

Notes:

If you don’t want to use the slow cooker, this could be done just as well on the stovetop in a large pot on a low simmer for 45 minutes to an hour.

Like all stews, chili is not an exact science and will accept all manner of tinkering.  Use whatever chiles you have or leave them out altogether, replace the beer with any other liquid you fancy, swap out the spices, leave out the corn, etc. at will.

Westward!

Today’s the day.  I still have a half-million things to do before we head out this evening on the deliberately very short first leg of the trip, but that’s better than yesterday’s million.

Since we’re playing the drive by ear, I’m not sure how soon it’ll be before I’ll be hooked up again to the interwebs and in a position to cook and blog about it, but I plan to take many pictures during the trip and will hopefully have one or two interesting things to write about before the kitchen is up and running again.  I might also have a surprise to work on during my time offline.

Stay out of trouble until I get back, OK?  Ciao!

One for the Road

All packed and ready to go.

My house is a hollow wreck of a corpse.  Everything we want to keep but won’t need for the next year has been packed and put in storage, and almost all the furniture we don’t want to keep has been sold off.  A handful of boxes full of winter clothes and other need-but-not-immediately items have been shipped on the slow and cheap to the new place.  Tomorrow His Lordship, the Monster and I will stuff all our can’t-live-withouts into the car and head for the other coast at a brisk but not breakneck pace.

There is absolutely no reason why I should have been baking Monday night.  I no longer have coworkers to bake for.  I most certainly have not been inviting people over for dinner.  There is no shortage of other chores I could have been tackling.

And yet I made a full batch of biscotti, including skinning the hazelnuts. I told myself I still had things in my pantry I would lament throwing away, and that every road trip should be accompanied by a homemade treat to make up for the less-than-optimal meals along the way.  But the truth is that I’m not a practical person by nature, and beneath all that pretense was the impulse to push back at the forces swirling around me.

A Little Light Wednesday Blogging

I thought I’d take a break from the interminable packing and cleaning to put up this fresh and pretty iced tea variation, which used off the last of the green tea.

Although it’s definitely cooling off at last, it’s still plenty warm, and iced tea is a great place to use the great ripe end-of-summer produce. So far, I’ve done nectarine, peach, plum and raspberry with black and green tea, yerba mate, herbals, and combinations thereof.

Vanilla Plum Iced Tea
Serves 2-4

Vanilla Simple Syrup:
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup water
1 vanilla bean, split

Iced Green Tea:
2 green tea bags and 2 yerba mate tea bags, or four of one kind
4 cups barely-boiling water
2 ripe plums

In a small saucepan, combine syrup ingredients.  Bring to a boil, then lower heat and simmer for 2 more minutes.  Remove from heat and allow to cool to room temperature.

Remove the tags and strings from the tea bags and place in a large, heatproof pitcher.  Add the hot water and steep for 5 minutes, then remove the bags.  Cool at least to room temperature.

When the tea is cool, peel and core the plums and puree with an immersion blender or in a regular blender until smooth.  Pour the plum puree and 1/3 cup of the syrup into the tea and stir well.

Serve over ice, with additional syrup on the side so each person can sweeten further if desired.

Notes:

The amount of tea can be scaled up at will; this just happens to be the amount that fits our pitcher best and allows for two large glasses each for me and His Lordship.

The first time I made this, I used just green tea, honey instead of simple syrup, and ginger instead of vanilla.  The hint of ginger accented the plum very well, and was really refreshing.  If you’d like to try this variation, add 1/4 cup of honey and half of a thumb-sized knob of ginger, peeled and thinly sliced, to the tea while it’s still hot, to dissolve the honey and let the ginger infuse the tea.

If Only I Hadn’t Packed the Runcible Spoon…

In starting to clear out the fridge yesterday, I found a jar of Greek quince preserves I picked up at the Middle Eastern market ages ago because I cannot resist anything quince, and didn’t have the heart to just throw it out.  Even if I don’t have time or ingredients to make a traditional pastafrola now, I wanted to try something in its general vicinity so the preserves wouldn’t simply go in the trash.

My initial idea was to process the preserves until smooth and spread them over a simple shortbread base for lemon bars, and possibly to sprinkle some kind of crumble over the top.  Then I shifted my eyes a few feet over and saw the pile of many, many Ziploc bags of nuts, and remembered that I really need to finish those off.  Instead of a plain shortbread base, I devised one incorporating toasted sliced almonds, and sprinkled the rest of the almonds on top for crunch and better eye appeal.  Because the preserves just didn’t have as much quince flavor as other brands I’ve tried (the major reason why this jar was still in the fridge), I perked them up with lemon zest and juice before spreading the filling over the pre-baked almond base.

The finished product, which I decided was more of an Italian-style crostata than a bar cookie, was not as rosy and pretty a color as I would have liked, but it was still pleasantly sticky, fruity and nutty.  It was especially nice served with a scoop of the egregiously expensive but competent Thai coconut milk gelato we picked up on Sunday from our town’s duly appointed Gelateria of Hype.

(Warning, rant ahead)

The End of An Era

It’s my last week at work, which means this was the last round of Sunday baking for the office.

I’ll miss doing it, and I hope that they’ll miss it (and me!) at least a little bit.  It was nice to have an excuse to bake, and rewarding to be able to give my coworkers something to look forward to on Monday mornings.  I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to bake for my classmates, but time works so differently when you’re a student that it won’t be the same.

That’s why there was a certain wistful quality to this Sunday evening, even if I didn’t go so far as to cry into my cookie dough.  That’s also why it seemed appropriate to be making a comforting prior favorite, the five-spice molasses cookies with bourbon I dug out of the archives while putting up the sesame cookies.

I’ll post the recipe, because I made a couple of alterations to accommodate what I still have in the pantry as well as to work through my notes from the last go.  It was already good, but nothing is ever perfect, and I think these small changes made it that much better. Since I had no more crystallized ginger, I increased the quantity of powdered ginger accordingly, and decreased the bourbon by a teaspoon.  I think both were the right call, since this combination allowed the five-spice to really come through.  I also found a box of bright-white pearl sugar way on a back shelf, and thought it would look even better than coarse raw sugar.  It did give the finished cookies a fabulous dotted-swiss mod appeal, but it also added a great crunch that would make me seek it out for future experimentation with texture.