November 26, 2009
Posted by Carolyn Cope, November 24, 2009 at 8:30 AM
Note: You may know Carolyn Cope as Umami Girl. She stops by on Tuesdays with ideas on preparing fruits and vegetables.
[Photographs: Carolyn Cope]
Cranberry sauce will never be my favorite part of the Thanksgiving meal. As a Jersey girl, though, I have a certain innate respect for cranberries. As with Bon Jovi, pharmaceuticals, and big hair, a Jersey girl's appreciation for cranberries is not so much about tradition as it is about a vague, ever-present fear of extradition should it come to light that you had ever spoken ill of them in your travels.
Because I regard cranberries with at least as much respect as love, the ruby-colored condiment at our Thanksgiving table this year will be a fairly regal version. For starters, it's a chutney rather than a mere sauce. It's studded with raisins and perfumed with ginger, cinnamon and cloves. It comes from the Williams-Sonoma Complete Entertaining Cookbook, which is classy as hell, though don't take it from a Jersey girl. Because of its relatively high concentration of oranges and sugar, it shows off cranberries' good side while protecting you from knocking yourself over the head with them (just like big hair would do, but I bet you already saw where I was going with that). And best of all, it will keep for at least a week in the fridge. So make it today, put it aside and spend the next three days getting geared up for stuffing and mashed potatoes with gravy.
Happy Thanksgiving, Serious Eaters. Hope it's a great one.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, November 17, 2009 at 8:30 AM
Note: You may know Carolyn Cope as Umami Girl. She stops by on Tuesdays with ideas on preparing fruits and vegetables.
[Photograph: Carolyn Cope]
Hi, Mom, it's me. Pretty good, thanks, but ay yi yi, I can't believe you still call me Sweet Potato. I mean, I'm 19. I'm choosing a major in, like, a month. (Just so you know, I'm leaning toward environmental philosophy right now.) I kissed another—oh, never mind. I just don't think any of that screams Sweet Potato, if you know what I mean. I guess it's kind of endearing, though.
Now a sophomore in college, Sweet Potato calls home and shows she's not all marshmallows and syrup anymore.
Anyway, I'm just calling to find out about plans for Thanksgiving? Are you guys picking me up or should I use your credit card to buy a train ticket or what? Oh, and is it OK if I invite Jewel and Garnet again? I think Jewel might have stopped talking about your cornbread stuffing for like a minute and a half last April, but I wouldn't sign my name to that. Oh, whew, thanks. I kind of already told them they could come. You're the best!
Oh, there is one thing. Garnet isn't eating any meat or dairy right now. That should be fine, right? She can eat, like, the green beans with mushrooms and a popover, I guess. Or wait, isn't there butter in those? Oh well, I'm sure you'll come up with something brilliant, right? You always do. I mean, you made me, didn't you? OK, Mom, love you, gotta run. Jonathan Safran Foer is speaking, and it starts in, like, two minutes. I'm so excited!
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, November 10, 2009 at 8:00 AM
Note: You may know Carolyn Cope as Umami Girl. She stops by on Tuesdays with ideas on preparing fruits and vegetables.
[Photograph: Carolyn Cope]
Although Asian pears (also called Chinese pears, apple pears or sand pears) are now fairly widely available, they were new to me a few years ago when they showed up in our CSA haul. People, this is one delightful fruit. (Well, okay, it's more like many, many varieties of delightful fruit that all share a name and a few key qualities.) I hardly know how I lived so long without them.
Asian pears have a lemony, floral flavor and a light, juicy crispness that puts them somewhere between pears and apples, but on a higher plane. They work so well on their own that they hardly require any adornment to make a special dessert. Still, a quick bath in a light brown sugar syrup perfumed with lemon, ginger and vanilla never hurt anyone, and very few foods are made worse by a dollop of freshly whipped cream. Are you with me here?
This elegant dessert takes mere minutes to prepare. It does most of the work itself while you eat dinner. If you can get your hands on a few Asian pears, I hope you'll give it a try.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, November 3, 2009 at 8:30 AM
Note: You may know Carolyn Cope as Umami Girl. She stops by on Tuesdays to help us cook through seasonal surplus with ease.
It occurred to me recently that I have a very specific conception of what it means to be a serious eater. Decades before I met this website, I developed a deep admiration for--and eventually an identity as--the kind of person who kicks off Thanksgiving dinner with a generous helping of lasagna. I'm not sure I'd named her until a few weeks ago, but that particular serious eater has been my companion for as long as I can remember. I think about her almost as much in the off-season as in the days leading up to the big game.
She's not loud or flashy about her ability to pack in, as a pre-turkey palate cleanser, that which any reasonable person would consider a substantial main course. In fact, while she's sociable during dinner, she'll often get quiet for a minute or two at a time, focused on the flavors that consume her as she consumes them. And while she'd be the first to say that eating should be about the singular pleasures of the moment, she takes her training seriously, too.
About a week in advance of turkey day, she selects an outfit with minimal waist restriction and dry cleans if necessary. Maybe she packs a pair of drawstring sweatpants for the car ride home. On Turkey Eve, she eats a bulky dinner designed to stretch the stomach without lasting caloric repercussions. Early the next afternoon, her pleasant smile greets you at the door, but it's her A-game you notice stepping across the threshold.
I think she would be happy with this Acorn Squash Lasagna with Béchamel Sauce. She'd call it autumn on a fork. She'd appreciate the interplay of the sweet roasted squash and the Parmigiano's deep umami. She'd be glad that it's simple to prepare, and that it doubles as a main course for vegetarians.
She would savor every bite. And then she'd move on to the turkey.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, October 27, 2009 at 8:30 AM
Note: You may know Carolyn Cope as Umami Girl. She stops by on Tuesdays to help us cook through seasonal surplus with ease.
[Photographs: Carolyn Cope]
Ever since my inaugural trip to Zuni Cafe in San Francisco with my sister last month, I've been showing all the signs of a borderline-creepy unrequited crush on the restaurant. Whatever you tell me, I guarantee I'll find a way to relate it to my dinner at Zuni. What, you don't like your hair today? That reminds me of the insanely delicious ricotta gnocchi at Zuni. You know, because in Italian they're sometimes called malfatti, which means poorly shaped... like your hair.
I leaf through the cookbook wistfully three, maybe four times a day. I wish I could tell you I don't sometimes stroke it a little, trying in vain to evoke a response. It's been a month now since our night together, and Zuni hasn't called. Not once. Still, I wait by the phone night after night, turning down invitations, just in case. It's getting downright embarrassing, and everyone can see that. Everyone except me.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, October 13, 2009 at 8:30 AM
Note: You may know Carolyn Cope as Umami Girl. She stops by on Tuesdays to help us cook through seasonal surplus with ease.
[Photographs: Carolyn Cope]
One of the happier symptoms of this chronic condition we call adulthood is the ability to see beauty in imperfection. Maybe it's just nature's way of steeling us to continue looking in the mirror morning after morning, year after year, but the charm of the run-down and slightly spent seems to grow more obvious all the time.
It's no coincidence that this unfussy condiment is rose-colored.
Sure, it's nice to be able to cast off some of the restlessness of youth at a certain point. But the real benefits of this aging vision are, of course, culinary. Isn't everything?
Folks around here have been weighing in on bruised bananas and foods past their prime in the last few weeks. Since every CSA member and prolific gardener ends up with a rapidly ripening embarrassment of riches from time to time, I want to add one of my favorite tried-and-true recipes to the discussion. Made without the pears and with sugar, this is my mom's crowd-pleasing applesauce recipe. The unsweetened version was one of my own and my children's first foods. This unfussy sauce is accommodating, easily scalable, and rose-colored. Just like the glasses on those gorgeous, wise eyes of yours.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, October 6, 2009 at 8:00 AM
Note: You may know Carolyn Cope as Umami Girl. She stops by on Tuesdays to help us cook through seasonal surplus with ease.
[Photograph: Carolyn Cope]
In the Crisper
Featured Veg: Pumpkin
Prep: Wash well. Prick flesh deeply in several places with a small, sharp knife
Roast: Whole (pricked) at 400° F until tender inside, an hour or more
Purée: When cooled, cut in half, remove seeds and stringy flesh. Scoop out remaining flesh and purée in food processor until smooth
Store: Freeze purée for up to a year for use in a wide variety of recipes
This week I finally got around to patching a gaping hole in my food-literature education by reading M. F. K. Fisher's How to Cook a Wolf. Among other well-told strategies for enjoying the results of frugal cooking, Fisher advocates preparing and roasting a large variety of dishes at once, filling the oven with as many pans as it will hold to conserve energy and money. I love the efficiency of that approach but, to put it mildly, I'm not always organized enough to produce two weeks' worth of meals in one go. Like, ever.
What I can do, and have started doing as a matter of routine (and, to be honest, as a matter of free therapy) every fall, is to collect my weight in pumpkins and other orange-fleshed winter squash, poke the bejeezus out of them with a knife, pack them into a hot oven on sheet pans, and walk away for an hour. Kabochas, butternuts, buttercups, acorns, Red Kuris—they've all been victims of this savagery, sometimes all at once. When they're cooled, I purée the tender flesh, pack it into pint containers, and freeze it for up to a year for use in soups, baked goods, pasta or risotto, curries, you name it. It makes me feel like a slightly deranged Martha Stewart, which is a surprisingly good feeling.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, September 29, 2009 at 8:30 AM
Note: You may know Carolyn Cope as Umami Girl. She stops by every Tuesday during prime veggie season to help us cook through seasonal surplus with ease.
[Photograph: Carolyn Cope]
For a few fleeting years a short while back, a quirky little lunch shop graced downtown Hoboken, New Jersey. They called it FOOD 3663, for the numbers you might dial on a phone to spell "food," but only in theory, since they didn't have the phone number to match.
One bite of this oddly addictive sandwich and you'll wholeheartedly agree: if the sandwich lady says the baby needs socks, then the baby needs socks.
The shop itself operated just like the name. At first glance it made you stop and scratch your head in confusion, but ultimately you came to appreciate, even crave, its peculiar internal logic. That tiny establishment, which barely accommodated a large gym bag in its center aisle, packed more weird experiences per square foot than any other place in town. If they'd had a dime for every time I stood in front of the counter quietly wondering, "Did that really just happen?" they'd still be in business for sure.
One day the cashier correctly identified my perfume before my second foot had crossed the threshold (and I'm very light with the spritzer finger, I swear). The next time I went in for lunch, he was wearing my perfume.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, September 22, 2009 at 7:30 AM
In the Crisper
Featured Veg: Escarole
Prep: Wash in several changes of water
Eat: Raw in salad, sautéed, in soup
Substitute: Kale, collards, spinach (cooked in soup) or bitter salad greens (raw)
Did you see the movie Juno a few years back? I thought she was such an appealing character. She really had my respect, my loyalty. I was with her through the teen pregnancy, and when she started spending too much time with the married dude, and even when she ding-dong-ditched like a complete spaz. I was there for her, man.
But we parted ways big time when she made fun of The Girl Who Smelled Like Soup. Probably you don't even remember that part. Probably I wouldn't either if it hadn't sent a prickly chill of recognition down my spine.
Here's the thing, though. I'm the girl who smells like soup. I smell like soup on this very day. I'm quite certain that I showed up to high school on more than one occasion smelling like soup as well.
And do you know what, Juno? Soup smells good. Today is a pretty good day. Even if we can't be friends.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, September 15, 2009 at 8:30 AM
In the Crisper
Featured Veg: Tomatillos
Flavor affinities: Lime, cilantro, tomatoes, green chilies, onion, garlic
Prepare: Remove husk, wash well
Cook: Dice and eat raw, simmer, roast
The first time our CSA delivered tomatillos a few years ago I couldn't have been more excited. In retrospect, there's some chance that the excitement was actually more of a panic-stricken terror. I'd never cooked tomatillos before, and I had a hunch they were on their way to becoming the next "it" food after the swift demise of chipotles in adobo sauce. (Still waiting for that one, by the way.)
"Omigod, did you not see that Zac Posen is putting a can of chipotles in adobo in every single handbag this spring? And then I heard from my friend who is Tim Gunn's personal assistant's personal assistant that when they were filming next season's Project Runway, one of the contestants made an entire dress out of dried tomatillo husks? But it was actually too gorgeous, so they can't show it on TV."
If anyone who's anyone was about to be all about tomatillos and I'd never cooked them, then I'd be nobody. I'd have to, like, audition to play Jan in the remake of The Brady Bunch Movie and go on the Rachael Ray show to sell my Very Brady Coffee Table Book just to have money to buy tomatillos. Seriously.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, September 8, 2009 at 10:30 AM
[Photographs: Carolyn Cope]
In the Crisper
Featured Veg: Fuzzy squash, aka fuzzy melon, hairy melon, hairy gourd, Mo Qua.
Prep: Peel. Then dice, grate, or slice.
Eat: Raw, pickled, braised, stir-fried, stuffed.
Substitute: Summer squash (cooked) or cucumber (raw).
Whoever named the fuzzy squash has really got some explaining to do. Possibly even a scholarship fund to establish for retributive purposes. Because how can a vegetable be expected to get anywhere in this world with the weight of that name on its shoulders? If you're thinking that "fuzzy squash" may be the least appealing name a person could give to a perfectly lovely food, well, I regret to inform you that it's the second-least appealing name. Second after "hairy gourd," another name for fuzzy squash. Poor dear.
"Anyone want to share my hairy gourd?"
"Um, no. Are you even allowed to ask me that at work?"
Never mind getting ahead. You'll be lucky to keep your job.
Last I checked, peaches are fuzzy too but I guess they were lucky enough to be named by someone with a knack for marketing. Or at least someone whose mom taught her to accentuate the positive. Hairy Gourd Namer's mom, on the other hand, wore a belt when she was eight months pregnant with him. It's little wonder that this versatile summer vegetable is more prevalent in Chinese cuisine, where it goes by the kindler, gentler name Mo Qua. (It's kinder to me at least, since I don't speak Chinese. For all I know it means "Anyone want to share my hairy gourd.")
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, September 1, 2009 at 9:45 AM
[Photographs: Carolyn Cope]
In the Crisper
Featured Veg: Kohlrabi.
Eat: Stem and leaves, raw or cooked. Leaves are typically cooked but can be sliced thin and dressed raw.
Prepare Stem: Wash well, trim ends, and peel thickly with a paring knife.
Prepare Leaves: Wash in several changes of water. Roughly chop or slice crosswise.
Substitute: For stem: turnip or rutabaga (cooked), celery root (raw). For leaves: kale, collards.
Hiya, it's Kohlrabi. From the garden, yeah. Look, I don't mean to be that guy or anything, but there's something that's been bumming me out for kind of a while, and I just feel like I need to put it out there. Holding in the bad stuff can really wilt your greens, you know? It's not lost on me that we've only known each other for--what--a couple of months now, max? But you just seem like someone I can talk to. Maybe it's the way you smile with your eyes. Probably I should see a shrink or whatever and not wear out my friendships blabbering about all this stuff, but who has that kind of money these days, right? Anyway, sometimes I think it's the whole "both my parents are Freudian psychoanalysts" thing that got me here in the first place, so. Heheh. Ahem.
Can I ask you something? We're all adults here, and it's not like anyone thinks life is a popularity contest anymore. But--I mean--I just don't get why people consistently clam up so much the minute I walk into a room. It's like no one knows quite what to make of me. So I'm a bit of an oddball! We can't all be cucumbers and tomatoes, am I right? Honestly, I can be a lot of fun--you wouldn't believe how I was dancing on the picnic table on the Fourth of July--but I feel like no one sees me that way. And after a while awkwardness becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. Because how many times can a guy be made to feel like the grim reaper of good times before his foliage gets slightly bitter? Yeah, I've got a mildly assertive taste at this point. Who could blame me?
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, August 25, 2009 at 9:30 AM
In the Crisper
Featured Veg: Kale
Strip: Remove leaves from stems by running thumb and forefinger along stem from bottom of leaf to top.
Chop: Cut leaves crosswise into 1-inch strips.
Wash: Submerge in large bowl of water and agitate. Let debris settle to bottom. Repeat in fresh water. Do not dry--moisture aids in cooking.
Substitute: Collards, mustard, dandelion, kohlrabi greens
My family suffers from a genetic condition called Big Deal Syndrome (BDS). Though we're also reasonably high-functioning, there's no issue, no task, no microgreen too small for us to make into a big deal over the course of a day or two. Replying to that email? Big deal. Running to the store to get some flour? Big deal. Sometimes I like to say we're "overthinky" to make our condition sound charmingly neurotic, like something all you cute aspiring novelists might want a piece of. Trust me, though. You don't.
A surprising downside of BDS--and this one is kind of a big deal--is that those of us also prone to overcompensation will, for the back half of our college years, act like nothing is a big deal. Then we'll spend a few years trying to follow other people's lead on the big-deal front, eventually getting so out of touch with our own inner compass that we'll lose the ability to identify a true big deal when it's staring us in the face. Sure, sometimes we'll lunge at our babies in full Heimlich pose if they cough while eating a Cheerio. But other times we'll dive right into the world's longest recipe for what Michael Ruhlman calls the "world's sexiest pie" at 10 p.m. with every expectation of getting a full night's sleep.
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Posted by Carolyn Cope, August 18, 2009 at 8:30 AM
Note: If you're a CSA member or gardener, you're probably all too familiar with the phenomenon of having too much X, Y, or Z (zucchini seems to be the culprit right now). This post marks the debut of Carolyn Cope's Crisper Whisperer column in which the author helps us cook through the surplus with ease. Please join us in giving Carolyn a warm welcome! --AK
Photographs by Carolyn Cope
Look, I love my CSA as much as the next girl. In fact, I run my CSA--so you might say I love it even a smidge more than most. Unadulterated local veg holds a special place in my heart for all the same reasons it probably does in yours. But have you noticed what your seemingly innocent produce has been up to recently? It's become an overnight success, that's what. And like any other fledgling celebrity, it's wreaking some havoc along the way.
Zucchini is the Brangelina of seasonal produce. It reproduces like mad and is inherently and unabashedly plural.
For the most part, your farm share has kept its knickers on and refrained from driving under the influence (although of course you do see the odd story of brandy-soaked peach flambés from time to time, and there's more after the break on why that zucchini is having babies with everyone in sight). No, your local veg's unbranded brand of mayhem is subtler than all that, but it's ultimately more destructive. Those plants have wrapped their sly little tendrils around the collective consciousness and brainwashed us all into near-total submission.
Think about it. When was the last time you heard a friend--intelligent, opinionated individuals though your friends undoubtedly are--dare utter a word against The Veg? It's become so altogether unhip to do so, you simply haven't heard it at all. Even when farmers' markets and CSA shares runneth over with fuzzy squash, New Zealand spinach, and salad burnet, everyone just smiles, nods and acts like they're about to go home and whip up the loveliest stir-fry you've ever tasted in five minutes flat. That's not normal, people--and more important, it's just not true.
The truth looks more like this.
A guiltily discarded turnip, left to decompose in the fridge through too many late nights at work, beats like a tell-tale heart under the floorboards of Apartment 6B's dreams. Three flights up, an otherwise reasonable 9E will look you straight in the eyes and say she used last week's share of horseradish in homemade cocktail sauce. Only after a few glasses of wine will she admit to having thrown it away. In your trash.
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