Do I Repeat Myself?

Very well then, I repeat myself.

I just love the combination of rosemary and lemon so much that I never get sick of it. I’ve done it in shortbread, which is sublime; I’ve done it in flavored salt, which is handy; and now I’ve done it in these semolina cookies, which are humble and unassuming. They’re all different and they’re all good, so I don’t see a particular need to make apologies for a little bit of a recurring theme.

I bought the semolina some weeks back with the intention of using it in bread, since I’ve been doing more bread baking. Late last week, though, I had an urge to come up with a sweet application for semolina, and I specifically wanted a not-too-sweet, toothy cookie to make a change from the very sweet and decadent cookies I took to the office the past two Mondays. Surprisingly enough, there’s a dearth of semolina-based cookies in my ridiculous cookbook collection, and nothing I found online quite fit the bill, so I decided to adapt a recipe for a polenta-based cookie from Babbo instead.

Unlike my shortbread recipe, which has neon-bright lemon and rosemary flavor, these have just a charming hint, embedded in a tender cookie with just a bit of gritty edge. They’re perfect with an afternoon cup of tea, or if you want to be really Italian about it, with a glass of wine.

Semolina Cookies with Lemon and Rosemary
(Adapted from Polenta Shortbread in Mario Batali’s The Babbo Cookbook)
Makes approximately 4 dozen cookies

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 cup semolina
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
1 whole egg plus 1 yolk
Zest of one lemon
1 large sprig fresh rosemary, minced (around 2 teaspoons)

Additional granulated sugar for rolling

Combine the flour, semolina, sugar, baking powder and salt in the bowl of a mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Run the mixer briefly to stir the dry ingredients together.

Sir the egg and yolk, lemon zest and rosemary into the butter. Pour the mixture over the dry ingredients and run the mixer until a crumbly dough forms. Spoon the dough into a zip-top bag and chill for at least an hour.

Preheat the oven to 325F and line multiple baking sheets with parchment paper. Pour a good amount of sugar into a shallow dish.

Scoop out tablespoons of the dough and roll into balls the size of unshelled hazelnuts. (You may have to squish and pinch a bit to get the dough to hold together.) Roll the balls of dough in the sugar until well-coated, place on the lined sheets, and use the bottom of a glass to press into cookies 1/4 inch thick. Sprinkle the tops with additional sugar.

Bake the cookies until firm and turning golden around the edges, approximately 12-15 minutes. Cool on the sheets briefly, then move to a rack to finish cooling. Store in airtight containers to maintain crispness.

Notes:

You could leave out either the lemon or the rosemary or both if they’re not to your liking. Lime or orange zest, or a combination of the two, would be quite nice. Crushed anise seeds would also be good.

If you don’t have semolina on hand, you could substitute quick-cooking polenta, as in the original recipe, or finely ground cornmeal.

Read Full Post »

A Tale of Two Polentas

Two polentas, both alike in dignity. They use the same coarsely-ground organic corn, the same simple seasoning of butter and grated Parmigiano Reggiano, and the same no-stirring concept. They should taste as identical as they look, right?

WRONG.

What we have here is not Shakespeare but Dickens: it was the best of no-stir polentas; it was the worst of no-stir polentas. One of them is smooth and creamy, with deep corny flavor and a wonderful, just slightly resilient body, and the other is thin, watery, and utterly flavorless. It’s with regret that I have to say that the scurvy knave responsible for the latter atrocity is Chris Kimball, for not keeping a tighter leash on his Cook’s Illustrated minions.

Polenta is not particularly challenging to prepare, but all that stirring is labor-intensive. No one wants to be standing over the stove for half an hour on a Wednesday, which is why the pre-made varieties in plastic tubes are such brisk sellers. Since I have those Wednesdays too, I’ve been using a no-stir, oven-baked polenta recipe from Madhur Jaffrey for years, but when I saw a new recipe in last month’s CI that promised to produce extra-creamy polenta in 30 minutes instead of Madhur’s 50, I was intrigued and hopeful.

On top of cooking the polenta, covered, over such low heat that burning wouldn’t be a factor, the recipe seized on the idea of using baking soda to soften the cell walls and speed up the cornmeal’s absorption of liquid. Both seemed perfectly sound in principle. What could go wrong?

Everything, it turns out.

This baking soda idea speeds up liquid absorption, all right. It lyses the hell out of the poor little starch granules and lets the water rush in like a tsunami, bloating them grotesquely up. Instead of “creamy”, what you get is gluey, and any flavor potential the corn ever might have had is diluted out into the gelatinized substrate, giving you a bowl of water-logged, gummy nothingness. It was so vile that my first impulse was to blame myself, for using cornmeal that was too fine and not up to the treatment. The recipe did insist on coarse-ground, an admonition I had not heeded because I hadn’t wanted to make another trip to the store.

So, giving the CI people every previously-earned benefit of the doubt, I marched out and bought proper, organic, coarse polenta. In the spirit of scientific inquiry, I also decided to run a control by making Madhur’s recipe alongside, timing things so they would be ready at the exact same time. I would season them identically with a tablespoon of butter, two ounces of grated cheese, and several grinds of pepper, and use His Lordship as a blind taste tester. I gave CI a perfectly level playing field and a scrupulously fair chance.

It was, to quote His Lordship, “not even a contest”. It took him exactly one bite to identify which was which, and to refuse a second bite of the CI version. Even with exactly the right kind of polenta, it was still weak, watery, and wretched. Madhur’s version was not only bursting with sweet, rich golden flavor and perfect texture, but also had some lovely caramelized bits along the edges that were just a little bit chewy, like good corn bread. Giving it just twenty extra minutes and refraining from any Frankenstein’s experimentation meant the difference between a pleasure and a punishment.

The only way I could salvage the CI batch was to pour it onto a foil-lined sheet pan, cut it into squares once (further) congealed, pan-fry them until golden-brown, cover with a cloud of additional grated cheese, and broil them. If I have to give something the Full Nacho Treatment to make it palatable, Kimball, it is not anywhere in the same galaxy as “a better way”.

So it pains me to have to do this, Chris, but I’m going to have to give you the same cold shoulder I gave Alton when he let me down. There are some corners you can’t and shouldn’t cut. My departed ancestors, whose ranks now include my beloved grandmother, are very disappointed in you and your lackey, who apparently doesn’t know the difference between polenta and library paste. I want you both to go to the corner and meditate on your shameful conduct, and don’t come back out until you’ve adequately atoned.

I am not even going to share the CI recipe, because I refuse to perpetuate that atrocity. Instead, I’m going to give Madhur’s, with my full, empirically-backed stamp of approval. There’s nothing remotely shameful about this one.

In terms of what to do with polenta, while a bowl of really good soft polenta is fabulously comforting all by itself, my current favorite topping is garlicky sauteed broccoli rabe and a fried egg. The crunchy, punchy greens against the unctuousness of the yolk and on top of the creaminess of the polenta is just about perfection, which is why what CI did to the poor unoffending cornmeal is such a travesty.

Oven-Baked Almost-No-Stir Polenta
(Adapted from Madhur Jaffrey’s World Vegetarian)
Serves 2

3 3/4 cups water
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 cup coarse-ground yellow cornmeal (polenta)
1 tablespoon unsalted butter, plus more for greasing
2 ounces Parmegiano Reggiano, grated
Freshly-cracked pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 400 F, and thoroughly butter a lidded casserole approximately 8 inches across and 4 inches deep.

In a bowl, mix the cornmeal with 1 1/2 cups of the water.

Bring the rest of the water to a boil in a large saucepan. Salt the water, then stir the cornmeal mixture and pour it slowly into the boiling water, stirring as you go. Return to a boil, still stirring, until it thickens, which will happen almost instantly.

Immediately pour the polenta into the buttered dish, cover, and bake for 50 minutes.

Stir in the butter, cheese and pepper. Serve immediately with sauce or toppings of choice, or pour into a foil-lined baking sheet for cutting into shapes and grilling or pan-frying later.

Notes:

The recipe can be doubled or tripled, or scaled even further up, as much as your needs and your casserole capacity can take.

If you want super-rich polenta, you can swap milk for half of the water.

Read Full Post »

It’s Not a Bug; It’s a Feature

Don’t you, like me, hate that moment when, in making pancakes or waffles, you mix the melted butter into the other liquid dairy products and the butter immediately seizes up? Yes, the resulting clumpy mess still works in the recipe, but it’s a dismaying sight.

What if I told you I had a recipe that not only makes that clumpy mess a good thing, but also lets you have light, crumbly, yummy biscuits with such little effort that you can add them to any working-day dinner? Or, given what is coming upon us in a matter of days, so that you can instantly have bread for your Thanksgiving table if you were so tied up with turkey wrangling that you didn’t realize until twenty minutes before eating that you forgot the rolls?

I will not say these are the best buttermilk biscuits ever, because that honor so clearly goes to Shirley Corriher’s Touch of Grace Biscuits from Cookwise that we might as well not waste time debating it. If you’ve never tried them, go out right now, do whatever you have to do to find southern self-rising flour, and make these biscuits, because they will blow your mind. (Incidentally, the first time I had them was from Shirley’s very own hand, since we happened upon her giving a cooking demonstration in Reading Terminal Market years ago when the cookbook first came out. You may envy me if you choose. I wouldn’t blame you.)

These are not as good, because they couldn’t possibly be. They do have, however, an amazingly high excellence-to-effort ratio. They come together in minutes, give you crisp edges and fluffy interiors perfect for absorbing extra butter, and you can play around to your heart’s content with adding herbs or grated cheese, or even a little extra sugar and lemon zest for a lightning-quick shortcake base.

The fact that deliberately causing clumping makes you feel like a teeny bit like a mad scientist is nothing to sneeze at either.

Buttermilk Drop Biscuits
(Adapted from America’s Test Kitchen’s Best Drop Biscuits)
Makes 1 dozen

1 cup each unbleached all-purpose and “white” whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon sugar
3/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 cup cold buttermilk

Adjust the oven rack to the middle position, and heat the oven to 475F.

Whisk the flours, baking powder, baking soda, sugar, and salt in large bowl.

Melt the butter and allow to cool for 5 minutes. Add in the buttermilk, stirring until the butter seizes into small clumps.

Add the buttermilk mixture to the dry ingredients and stir with a rubber spatula until just incorporated. Using an ice cream scoop or a greased 1/4-cup measuring cup, scoop the batter and drop onto the baking sheet, spacing 1 1/2 inches apart.

Bake 12-14 minutes, until golden brown and crisp on top. Transfer to wire rack and let cool 5 minutes before serving.

Notes:

The reason that clumpy butter is a good thing is that melting and resolidifying butter into little bits accomplishes the same thing cutting cold butter into flour under the traditional method does: dispersing solid fat throughout the dough creates a fluffy end product. This gets you to the same place with much less work and mess.

ATK says you can use clabbered milk if you don’t have buttermilk on hand. To make it, add 1 tablespoon lemon juice to 1 cup of milk and let it stand until it curdles, around 10 minutes.

If you really are making these for Thanksgiving, I would use 2 cups total of all-purpose flour for a holiday-appropriate, lighter biscuit instead of the half-and-half mix I prefer for a more workaday dinner or post-Thanksgiving I-should-dial-it-back recovery brunch.

Read Full Post »

So Not Your Grandmother’s Oatmeal Cookie

Brown Butter Coconut Oatmeal Cookies

While driving home through a particularly nasty thunderstorm yesterday afternoon, I had a good long think about what I wanted to do for Sunday Night Cookie Blogging. I really wanted a simple cookie, without any chocolate after last week’s brownie blitz, and with a strong butterscotch flavor.

On getting home, I rummaged through the cupboards for more candidates in the pantry elimination, and, noticing the unopened tub of old-fashioned oats, remembered the recipe for crisp oatmeal cookies I’d been meaning to try from Cook’s Illustrated several months back. Digging the magazine out of the pile on top of the microwave, I was pleased to see that the coconut variation conveniently called for exactly the amount of sweetened coconut I had left. The decision practically made itself.

While the recipe sounded great, I didn’t think it would have quite the butterscotch depth I was craving, so I decided to really amp things up by browning the butter first. Because I also prefer smaller cookies, I cut the size of the cookies in half.

The resulting cookie not just met but exceeded all my expectations, and was wildly popular with the coworkers, who snarfed them all up well before lunchtime. It’s unassuming in appearance, but those humble little freckles pack a wallop of noisette intensity, and the texture is shatteringly crisp and light. It’s a very grown-up oatmeal cookie, elementally airy and earthy at the same time, and I’ll absolutely be making it again. Next time, I might make it even more sophisticated by trying the suggestion of sprinkling with flakes of Maldon salt or fleur de sel on top before baking.

Flecks of Toasty Buttery Goodness

In the win-win-win column, it also used up all my remaining coconut and half the oats, but the important thing is that these are spectacularly delicious.

Brown Butter Coconut Oatmeal Cookies
( Adapted from Cook’s Illustrated January/February 2008 )
Makes 5 dozen

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter
1 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
1 cup granulated sugar
1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla paste
2 cups rolled oats (old-fashioned, not instant or quick)
1 1/2 cups sweetened coconut

In a small saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter and bring to a simmer. Lower heat as necessary to maintain a vigorous simmer and continue to cook, swirling occasionally, until butter separates into a dark golden liquid layer and a deep brown layer of caramelized milk solids and gives off a nutty aroma. Be careful not to let the solids turn black.

Pour butter into a liquid measuring cup, making sure to get all the delicious brown solids out of the pan. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate until it solidifies.

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

In a standing mixer with a paddle attachment, beat butter and sugars until fluffy, scraping down the sides once. Beat in the egg and vanilla. With the mixer running on low, mix in the dry ingredients until just combined. Scrape down again, return to low, and mix in the oats and coconut until uniformly incorporated. Cover the dough and chill until firm enough to roll into balls, at least half an hour.

Preheat oven to 350, and line baking sheets with parchment paper.

Scoop dough by rounded tablespoons (I use a small scoop) and roll into balls. Place balls on sheet 2 inches apart and flatten to 1/2 inch thickness with your fingertips.

Bake until golden, 14-16 minutes. Remove from oven and allow cookies to cool completely on the sheet. Once cool, store in airtight containers to maintain crispness.

Notes:

In case you’re nervous about browning butter and want to have an idea of what it should look like, here’s an expert’s take on it.

If you’re not a coconut fan, you could leave it out and increase the oatmeal to the 2 1/2 cups in the original plain version, although I still urge you to brown the butter.

Read Full Post »