An Eastern Extravaganza

It all started with a bag of frozen peas. Actually, it started with the tub of vanilla ice cream that I made and had to get into the freezer, and could only fit if I got ride of the peas. So, of the vast array of options that welcome the frozen pea, we decided to head to the far east.

I used two cast iron skillets, well seasoned, smoking hot, to stand in for a wok. Start with a glug of veg oil, then the rice. Once coated with oil and beginning to brown, add the vegetables - carrot, brussels sprouts, and onion - then the minced garlic and ginger, season with soy sauce, and finish with a quick toss of the peas, fresh cilantro, and green onion. To be consumed while the "breath" of the wok is still steaming aggressively.

To go alongside the rice I tossed some firm tofu cubes in cornstarch seasoned with cayenne and ground ginger and deep fried them until crispy. Served them with a dipping sauce of mirin, rice vinegar, soy, sugar, minced scallion, garlic, and ginger.

Finally a cold foil: that carrot and ginger dressing from your corner sushi spot. Bright and fresh to balance the umami of the soy-inflected hot dishes.

A delicious trip to the East washed down with a sip of the Midwest: ice cold PBR.

Double Apple Cake

When it comes to welcoming home, there are a few old reliables: Zorro wagging his tail in the window, a crackling fire, and a good old fashioned Bundt cake. Zorro already in the window and no fireplace in our house, I went with option number three.

Batter spiced with cinnamon, ginger, and nutmeg, spiked with raisins and walnuts, and moistened with grated apple and dense mahogany homemade apple butter, this Bundt cake lived up to its classic presentation. Wrap it up and let it ripen overnight, dust it with powdered sugar, and you've got yourself a home.

The Turban in my Kitchen

Having walked by this striking eyesore of a winter vegetable sitting on my kitchen counter for several days now, and unsuccessfully resting it atop my head (maybe I got the wrong size?), I decided to cook the turban squash. Not really knowing what to expect from this mystery item, I decided to make it into a souffle, a dish that I think highlights the essence of a food's flavor with only minor adornment.

Breaking into the squash was the hardest part of the entire process. Once split, I roasted it cut-side down to soften the flesh, and then mashed that into a browned butter bechamel base, enriched with egg yolks. I folded in chopped sage, grated parm, and a splash of good balsamic. Just before baking I gently nuzzled in whipped egg whites, put it into a hot oven for 35 minutes or so, and took out a puffed, browned on the outside, molten on the inside vehicle for turban squash goodness. Just don't try to wear it now.

A Ray of Cinnamon Sunshine

The winter rains seem to be in full swing; the sky is perpetually gray; and I forgot what our front yard looks like because of the constant fog. There's only one way to navigate this winter river, and it's on a dinghy of sugar and butter.

One layer of straightforward cake batter with a good punch of ground cinnamon, a layer of bittersweet chocolate followed by a healthy sprinkle of cinnamon, sugar, and espresso powder, and another round of cake batter on top. Glaze with chocolate.

Repeat daily until the sun comes back.

No self-respecting blog should go eight days without an update. That being said, Saltines and Jell-O, washed down with ginger ale, don't make for the most exciting menu. To all those devoted fans who struggled through the update-less days, I apologize to you both.

Now then. Nausea at bay, I decided to mark my return to the range with my comfort food: pasta. Whole wheat gnocchi, pan-roasted brussels sprouts straight from the farmers' market, a small mountain of cracked black pepper, and the Pasta Triumvirate: pasta water, butter, and cheese. A pinch of parsley and lemon zest to wake it all up, and welcome back appetite.

This Week in Baking

A Winter Grill

Taking advantage of a rare three day stretch of clear skies, I pulled the grill out from the garage last night for a little mid-winter outdoor cook-off.

Normally, when it comes to anything that once had a bone in it, I like to keep that bone in it through the cooking process. There's something about a flat chicken leg, though, cooked evenly and slowly over smoldering coals until tastefully charred and juicy throughout.

So I de-boned a couple legs and coated them with a marinade of thick Greek yogurt whipped together with a paste of dried red chiles and olive oil. A healthy sprinkling of chopped herbs - thyme, rosemary, marjoram, and mint - with abundant coarsely cracked pepper and sea salt and onto the grill, a bed of red glowing in the cold backyard.

I pulled the legs when, well, when they were done: a good firm push back when pressed with a finger, deeply charred in spots, and redolent of summer in the Mediterranean. Still sizzling, a fat squeeze of lemon. A spinach salad, a glass of Grenache, and a brief taste of summer in the dead of winter.

The Humble Bean

Few foodstuffs have held so much delicious potential while being so often derided, or at best misunderstood. Fresh in the summer, dried all year long, capable of innumerable gastronomic roles, the humble bean deserves, for once in its life, the spotlight.

Tonight I don't even soak the dried cranberry beans. Just tip them into a pot, cover with abundant water, and let gently bubble down a lazy river toward a place called delicious. The one necessary ingredient with dried beans is time; anything above the occasional bubble means too much heat, and will end in a mush of starchy bean skins. Keep it low, though, and just wait, and you will invariably end up with a flavorful broth swimming with capsules of succulence. Think I'm exaggerating? Try it yourself.

This time I sweated some diced onion and garlic, added the cooked beans with their liquid, folded in a handful of baby spinach, and finished with a quick steep of a rosemary sprig and a generous splash of good olive oil.

A cold rainy Tuesday is no time for experimentation, but a day to empty the fridge. A pasta sauce with the leftover short rib, a tin of tomatoes, and a slow-cooked soffritto* is just the ticket.

*If there were only one key to Italian cooking (a ridiculous hypothesis), the soffritto would be it: a slow saute of aromatic vegetables - carrot, onion, celery, garlic - and tomato paste in olive oil until it becomes a paste of pure flavor on which to build a sauce.

Last Night's menu

Pan-seared brook trout

quinoa, apple, endive

Braised Short Ribs

polenta, mushroom ragu

Cheese Plate

Pawlet from Consider Bardwell, VT: Raw Jersey cow's milk aged four months

Ardrahan from Kanturk, Ireland: Washed rind cow's milk

Roquefort from Vernieres, France: Sheep's milk blue cheese

Pear and Almond Tart

Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream

To drink: Domaine de la Bregeonnette 2010 Gros-Plant

Light-bodied white from the Loire Valley. Saline and Citrus flavors team up with the roasted fish and bitter endive.

Conti Sertoli Salis Capo di Terra 2005 Valtellina Superiore

If it grows together, it goes together. Beef, polenta, and mushrooms are central to the Piemonte region in NW Italy, and so is the Nebbiolo grape. We chose a Nebbiolo from slightly east of Piemonte for its earth, leather, and dried fruit. After a bite and a sip, we could hardly see through the fog settled on the hills as we left the underground osteria on this moonless winter night.

Welcome

Well, here we are with Post #1. The Home Skillet flyers are hanging around town, the word is out among a select group of friends and hopefully spreading, and I am cooking up a storm in anticipation.

I've always felt there was something wrong with the detachment inherent to restaurant cooking. I cook and plate a dish, someone picks it up and whisks it around the corner and out of sight, and I never hear about it again. Was it enjoyed? Tolerated? Hated? Was it still hot when it was eaten? Did it look the same as when it left the kitchen? Cooking in a bubble is no way to cook.

That's why I am so excited about this new venture. To be able to create a thoroughly personalized dining experience - this specific food for these specific people - without the buffer of a service staff or a physical restaurant is both daunting and liberating. There's nothing to hide behind, so I had better be on my game.