Beans and Freedom

Those two words, analyzed from a global socio-political perspective, can be seen as opposites. After all, and I don't mean to be glib here, impoverished people the world over eat legumes while their political leaders misdirect foreign and domestic capital to their pleasure yachts. But for me, beans are a symbol of a smaller freedom, the personal sort, because they're one of the first things I cooked when I moved into my own apartment; dried beans are the graduate student's Platonic ideal of dinner because they're cheap, you feel hip shopping the bulk bins, and a big pot of beans yields an incomprehensible number of meals.

Tonight, however, beans are synonymous with neither the third world (I'm beginning to suspect that analogy is tasteless, no pun intended) nor my college days. Tonight I happened to meet with my book group to discuss Jonathan Franzen's new novel Freedom and then came home, realized there's no lunch for tomorrow, and threw together a black bean, butternut squash and kale stem (yes, stem) stew in the crockpot. I hope it's good. If it is, I'll post the recipe.

You might want to read Freedom. It's very good, and that's coming from someone who'd thrown Jonathan Franzen into the detested Jonathan Safran-Foer Over-Rated Writers Club. A.k.a. Authors Who Write About Things They Know Not Club. A.k.a. You Tricky Little Man, I Read Yet Another Of Your Novels And It Took Me Until The End To Realize What A Senseless Dodo You Are AGAIN Club. You get the picture. I don't like Foer's gushy sentimentalism or Franzen's condescending "oh I'm so not the elitist white liberal I am (but if you're not like me, you must be a hillbilly)" subtext. But I liked this book a lot.

Maybe because Franzen owns and explores liberal pretensions (while obviously fantasizing about being a rock star). Though I think the book is much more about the true limits of the American freedom concept, applied to romantic and familial relationships. We had a really nice discussion, which included the female readers' fascination with the rock star and the male readers' attraction to Connie. It was fun. I spend so much time sticking labels on books and reading papers about "the Islams" and terrorism (no joke) that I sometimes feel my brain cells holding tiny hands over tiny ears, mouths wide and howling. I enjoy having an outlet for my under-stimulated brain.

So here's to beans and Freedom. May the stew be as tasty as the reading!

Meeskite Soup

There's a sweet song in the musical Cabaret called, "Meeskite," about two ugly parents who give birth to the most beautiful baby their shtetl has ever seen.

That's a lot like this soup.

Lumpy, frizzy-skinned celeriac meets knobby, chin-haired jerusalem artichoke to produce a smooth, voluptuous soup with a complex herbal flavor and wonderful, yogurty tang. You would never guess that such unappealing roots could soften into rich knobs of earthiness; these are simple vegetables that only need a bit of heat and fat to turn into treasures.



You could leave out the bacon and make this vegetarian, but why would you? The bacon flavor really comes through to provide a lovely smokiness that sits very well with the sour yogurt. All you need to finish this soup off is some chopped greens for garnish (any greens you like: I used spicy, raw salad greens, but kale or savoy cabbage, lightly wilted and seasoned, would do well).


Meeskite Soup, or Celeriac Soup with Jerusalem Artichoke and Bacon


Olive oil

2 celeriac roots, peeled and chopped into 1-in cubes

1/2 lb jerusalem artichokes, roasted and cooled (optional, but so worth it)

1/2 C chopped shallots

2 slices thick applewood bacon, chopped

5-6 C organic chicken broth

1/4-1/3 C whole fat plain yogurt

seasoning to taste

greens for garnish (optional)



1. Roast the jerusalem artichokes, first cutting big roots into small pieces. Toss the raw jerusalem artichokes in oilve oil, coarse salt, pepper, a pinch of dried lemongrass and some red chili flakes. Roast at 425 degrees F for about 20 minutes, until tender. Set aside to cool.

2. Heat olive oil in a medium-sized pot over medium heat and add bacon. Sautee until bacon softens and add shallots. Sautee gently until shallots are soft and translucent (5-10 minutes).

3. Add celeriac to pan. Cover vegetables with a wet piece of parchment paper, put the lid on, and lower heat. Gently steam vegetables for ten minutes.

5. Remove parchment paper. Add artichokes and broth to pot and bring to a simmer. Reduce heat and simmer for 20 minutes, or until veggies are tender. Remove from heat and cool.

6. Blend soup in cuisinart or with an immersion blender until smooth and creamy.

7. Add yogurt and blend until integrated. It's important that the soup be cool-ish, or the yogurt may curdle.

8. Reheat gently, adjusting for salt and pepper. Add extra broth if the soup is too thick.

9. Top with optional garnish and enjoy!

Molly's friend Glenn's Banana Bread with Bittersweet Chocolate and Crystallized Ginger

Hungry yet? I'll admit the lighting for this photo isn't ideal, but trust me when I say that this bread turned out perfectly: moist but light, with each bite a flavor blast of humble banana, dark chocolate and crystallized ginger. It's not too rich or sweet to eat for breakfast, but it would also make a lovely dessert, plain or with whipped cream and an espresso.

I've been making banana bread for years, ever since I went to college and decided to try the old Wendy Gordon Bake a Banana Bread and Find a Mate for Life trick. (Banana bread is how my parents fell in love. In our family, banana bread baking is synonymous with serious monogamy.) I didn't find my mate in college (in fact, in an odd turn of events, my first serious boyfriend baked me a banana bread), but I do make my mom's banana bread relatively frequently for T, and like to think that each loaf is a little dose of love potion.

What I like best about my mom's recipe is its focus on the banana. She uses canola oil instead of butter, which yields a wonderfully moist and banana-y taste without the distracting richness of butter-based breads. She also uses brown sugar and plenty of cinnamon, nutmeg and ginger. When we were little she would make one plain loaf and one with chocolate chips, and that second loaf would maybe last two days, with each of us savoring the slightly sticky top and the banana flecked crumbs.

The bread I made last night is a fusion between Molly Wizenberg's, which I read about in her book A Homemade Life, and my mom's tried and true recipe. I swapped the butter for oil and the sugar for brown, and added a bit of vanilla extract to the batter. Otherwise, it's exactly as written on Orangette and it is perfect.

Bake some for your lover. Or...bake it, open the window and see who strolls by.

Winter Squash with Bacon-Walnut Pangrattato

When I opened my CSA tote last week and lifted out the enormous green squash of indeterminate title (let's call it the Hulk), several thoughts ran through my head, all delicious:

Squash soup with lots of fried sage leaves
Squash and black bean stew

Squash risotto with parmesan pangrattato and amaretti cookie crumbs

Two loaves of squash bread with dark chocolate slivers

But life gets busy and the best laid plans--lazy, slowly-stirred risotto, for instance--get shoved aside for quicker meals that fill us up and get us on to the next activity. And even though 5 nights out of 7 you'll find me munching an impromptu salad and some melted cheese and veggies on toast, alone on the couch with a book or even worse, Netflix, musing moodily on my students, I really do prefer exciting tastes and lovingly prepared dinners with multiple dishes. Which is why I decided to make something simple yet special for dinner tonight:

Steamed, mashed squash with a crunchy pangratatto of bread crumbs, crisped bacon, fried sage, ground walnuts, and parmesan spread over the top and rendered extra crunchy over the broiler.

I got the idea from Jamie Oliver's Cook with Jamie, which boasts some incredible, easy vegetable recipes. His version involves boiling butternut squash, cubing and frying it, and then serving a parmesan pangrattato with fried squash seeds on the side, for people to spoon over their forkfuls. My squash, steamed all day in the slow-cooker, was too mushy for Jamie's approach, and I was longing for something more substantial, too, like a mash with the richer accents of bacon and walnuts.

Make sure to save the seeds from your squash to either fry and add to the topping, or toast with sea salt, paprika and the smallest bit of cocoa for a great snack and salad topping. You can also choose to keep the squash skin on--especially for tender varieties like butternut--as it is sweet and difficult to separate from the flesh once cooked. (You can easily peel a butternut squash prior to cooking, though.) One last note: the pangrattato can be used as a poultry stuffing or a flavor blast for a squash risotto. It's also really tasty on its own, when all the flavors meld and the parmesan starts to melt and crisp and clump the bread crumbs in the nicest way possible...I finally had to kick T out of the kitchen in order to have enough for the squash.

This recipe yielded a creamy, sweet, salty, crunchy dinner, perfect with our brown rice and apple-fennel-cabbage salad. It also made enough leftovers for lunch, which makes going to work tomorrow almost enjoyable.

Winter Squash with Bacon-Walnut Pangrattato

Steam, bake or boil a butternut or other sweet winter squash.

Scoop out the seeds (save for toasting) and either remove the flesh and mash or cut the flesh into bite-size chunks.

Season the squash liberally with salt and pepper and place in a 8x8 baking dish (or whatever meets your squash volume needs).

While the squash cooks, prepare the pangrattato:

Blend 1-2 C breadcrumbs (I used homemade bread and didn't measure) with a big handful of raw walnuts until fairly fine.

Chop 3-4 slices thick bacon and saute until crisp. Add a handful of chopped sage and cook for 1 minute.

Add the breadcrumb-walnut mixture to the pan and toss to coat. Add a nice glug of olive oil and a few dashes of balsamic vinegar to the pan and mix well. Let it become toasty and golden. At the end, toss in a handful of good quality parmesan, mix, and turn off the burner. The residual heat will allow the cheese to melt and crisp up without burning. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

Preheat the broiler.

Spread pangrattato onto squash and broil for around 3 minutes, until crispy but not burnt.

Enjoy on its own or as a side, and happy fall!

Kaua'i, Hawaii and a Gluten-Free Chocolate Marmalade Cake

T and I got back last night from our honeymoon trip to Kaua'i, Hawaii. It was our first trip to Hawaii and our first vacation in seven years, so needless to say we were chomping at the bit for a week alone on a coast where the water is actually swimmable.

We weren't disappointed.

Everything you hear about Hawaii--that it's paradise, that the water is warm and aqua, that flurries of colorful fish swim just below the surface in shallow reefs (that they share with giant sea turtles!) and coral--it's all true. The picture above is from a hike we took on the Na Pali coastline on the north side of the island. The hike was muddy and rigorous, taking us over the sea cliffs and into a guava jungle to a 100 ft waterfall with a cold, deep pool. (Where no one was nude--it just looks that way.)

T taught me to snorkle, which was fun after I stopped hyperventilating. We swam and snorkeled in the calm waters of Ke'e Beach and Anini Beach on the north side, on the very slightly rougher (and my favorite) Po'ipu Beach on the southeast of the island--where on the same afternoon a monk seal crawled onto the beach to nap in the sun and a giant sea turtle hauled herself on shore to lay her eggs--and we waded in the body-slamming surf at Barking Sands Beach, on the western shore.

Other than fresh fish, the food on Kaua'i wasn't exciting. We found ourselves missing home-cooked meals and fresh vegetables, but the ahi tuna was deep red and buttery and the fruit was unbelievable. If you go, economize by eating ahi poke, avocados, and any fresh fruit you can find. I was particularly taken with dragon fruit, if only for its name and unique appearance.

And drink mai thais. The late afternoon we discovered the $3 mai thais at the poolside bar was a drunken, sweet and happy one.

T's favorite day was when we took a boat up the Na Pali coastline, stopping to snorkel and cheering on the spinner dolphins as they leaped alongside us. My favorite was our second visit to Po'ipu Beach, when we exhausted ourselves snorkeling and then lay in the shade of a palm tree, reading, sunning, and watching the chickens.

I suppose catching a wild chicken would be another bright way to economize. They're everywhere, and the roosters, while beautiful, lose some appeal during their customary 4am salute to the dawn.

If the snorkeling, wildlife, mountain valleys and bright blue ocean doesn't do it for you, then go to Kaua'i for the flowers. This is plumeria, my favorite, for its rich scent and waxy white petals.

But for those of you with a more wintry mind, or for whom the words "Hawaii" and "vacation" elicit feelings of bitterness, longing or despair, try this chocolate marmalade cake. Rich, with a light crumb, sticky, ridiculously easy and gluten-free.

Chocolate Marmalade Cake (adapted from Nigella Lawson's Feast)

• 10-14 ounces marmalade (pick your poison)
• 6 eggs
• 2 C almond meal
• 1/2 C cocoa powder
• 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 1 heaping tsp baking powder
• 1 C light brown sugar, not packed
• a pinch of salt
• a handful or two of bittersweet chocolate chips or shards

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Butter and line an 8-inch springform pan. In a bowl or food processor, combine all of the ingredients above until smooth. Pour into prepared pan and bake for around an hour (mine took about 70 minutes). You'll want to check after 45 minutes to make sure the top isn't burning--if it is, simply cover the top loosely with aluminum foil and continue baking until a cake tester comes out mostly clean. (A few fudgy crumbs clinging to the tester are fine--better to under cook slightly than to dry the cake out.)

Cool completely in the pan before slicing and serving. Enjoy alone, with barely sweetened whipped cream, with a liquored whipped cream (orange liquor or maybe brandy or rum), or ice cream.

The Meat of the Matter, and How to Make a Monte Cristo

(Or Two Dumb Bums with Beef on the Brain.)

This is me and Nathan:

About a month ago our spouses, T and M, decided to instigate a food feud between us; it was their thinly veiled objective to inspire countless evenings during which they would be fed, copiously, beautiful sandwiches inspired by mutual contempt and competition.

Unfortunately, being who we are, the competition's been mild. (Exhibit A: we keep voting for each other's sandwiches.) But the food...that's been anything but.


A couple of weeks ago we made vegetarian sandwiches with brie and goat cheese, oven roasted tomatoes and roasted garlic mayonnaise, fresh basil, bell peppers, and toasted pine nuts. They were mighty fine. I ended up being handicapped by the goat cheese--not a crowd pleaser--but even I had to concede that Nathan's fresh-tasting yet creamy sandwich was delicious.

Tonight was round two, the Meat Sandwich, and I was ready to dominate. Unfortunately, Nathan slaved away all day and made the most glorious French Dips we've ever had. He smoked and then roasted the beef, sliced it into thin strips and smattered the top with pan-fried onions. The meat and onions ended up on very lightly toasted baguettes with aged Gruyere, dipped by the eater into a rich, salty jus. Somehow intensely satisfying yet not rich.


Thank goodness, because we had to save room for the Monte Cristos.

A Monte Cristo, though recipes vary, is a battered sandwich stuffed with thinly sliced ham and melted cheese. I made mine by pressing two crustless pieces of high-quality white bread around black forest ham and Havarti, with thin smears of butter and homemade currant jelly. The sandwich is chilled, tightly wrapped, for a few hours, and then dipped into a simple batter (think thick pancake batter) and fried like grilled cheese in a hot buttered pan. The hot golden sandwiches get a final dusting of confectioners sugar and are eaten dipped into jam. Homemade blackberry jam.

In all honesty, as luscious as the monte cristo was--like savory French Toast, crisp and creamy, salty and sweet--I preferred the French Dip. I just wouldn't order anything like a Monte Cristo in a restaurant, because I don't enjoy very rich foods.

T agreed with me, but M and Nathan liked the monte cristos. So we tied.

Which, with all of the objectivity I can muster, was exactly the right decision.

To Make Your Own Monte Cristo: (1 sandwich)

• 2 slices high-quality white bread, with the crusts cut off and saved for another use (I ferret mine away in the freezer for future bread crumbs)
• 2 slices thinly cut ham or turkey
• 1 nice slice of havarti / any melty cheese you like
• butter
• jam
• confectioners sugar
• 1/3 C flour
• 1/3 C water
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1 egg
  

Lay bread slices on your working surface. Butter both slices of white bread and spread jam onto one of the pieces.

Fold the ham or turkey so that it fits onto one of the slices of bread (nothing should hang off the side of the slice).

Top the meat with the cheese.

Cap the sandwich with the second slice of buttered bread and firmly press on the top and sides so that the sandwich is sealed.

Wrap tightly in plastic wrap and chill for 45 minutes to several hours. This helps to seal the bread and keeps the sandwich from falling apart during the frying process.

Next, Prepare a thick batter using the flour, water, salt, baking powder and egg. Whisk until uniform.

Unwrap the sandwich and dip into the batter, covering completely.

Fry the sandwich in butter over medium heat until golden on both sides.

Hint: My technique--and this makes flawless grilled cheese sandwiches, too--is to heat the butter until golden, set the sandwich into the butter, and then cover the pan and lower the heat to medium/medium low. Flip when golden on the bottom and repeat process. Covering the pan over a low heat encourages a golden crust to develop while trapping enough heat to melt the cheese before the sandwich burns.

Serve hot, sprinkled with confectioners sugar and dipped into jam.

Apple Dried Cherry Challah and Sweet Corn Chowder

One of the best parts of summer's end is using summer produce, like tomatoes and sweet corn, in fall dishes like soups and stews. On a rainy day earlier this week a bundle of delicate, baby carrots and sweet onion went into a beef bourguignon, and tonight we'll eat a light, creamy chowder of sweet corn and heirloom tomatoes. All week we've been biting into challah stuffed with new apples and dried cherries to welcome in the Jewish New Year, Rosh Ha'shanah.

I love this comforting food that's still fresh and green. We're in that tiny space of the Oregon year where we can enjoy the colors and diversity of summer veggies while baking the breads and stirring the thick soups essential to our damp, chilly nights. It's also the time of year that I associate with returning to our kitchen table, and replacing the hastily gobbled tomato sandwiches and pesto pasta bowls that get us through summer with longer, more complicated meals that involve sitting together with cloth napkins, silverware, a glass of wine. Summer is supposed to be languorous, but I find the fall and winter to be so; fall and winter in Oregon stretch from October to June, and the steady drip of rain sets a slow metronome rhythm to each day. The here-and-gone vitality of our summers is thrilling (look! the sun!), but it's easy to fall back into the seductive lull of rain and steamy tea pots.

That said I'm glad today is sunny. I've spent the afternoon outside sewing a quilt for Kate and listening to history podcasts on Catherine the Great and Catherine D'Medici (in case you've been wondering, the horse story is a myth, but the Black Queen earned her moniker) drinking thai iced tea with milk and sugar and missing my bike, which is at the shop, suffering from multiple mechanical woes. (The guy looked at me and said, "You ride your bike a lot, huh?" I wanted to be truthful and admit that I just commute on it, but I loved the unspoken assumption that I was a hardcore biker too much to say so. I don't know why I needed the charade, but I could almost feel my leg muscles strengthening and defining as I stood there.)

Tomorrow is phase two of the Nathan Whitney-Little Chef Sandwich Competition, in which neither chef is as competitive as his and her respective spouses, and everyone drinks too much hard cider. I think I'm going to do a riff on the Monte Cristo and stuff sturdy but soft bread with aged ham, Havarti cheese and some kind of chutney, press in the sides, dip the sandwich in egg, and fry it until golden and melty in butter or olive oil. It's not the kind of dish that I would normally eat, but it's luxurious and unusual.

And I feel compelled to say something political, given today's date, but all I feel is political exhaustion and frustration. I want the wars to be ended. I want there to be available healthcare and jobs and housing assistance for all Americans. I want the government to admit that we can't keep funneling money into a fight against an "-ism," which is only an idea and thus indefatigable in its ability to influence, to be acted upon, to be disseminated and undercut. 9/11 was a tragedy, but it is not a reason to continue dangerous and endless policies in countries whose histories and rivalries we do not understand.

To commemorate 9/11 I'm going to share a meal grown by local farmers with someone I love. I'm going to buy a Koran and put it next to my Hebrew bible. I'm going to approach my life as if I lived in the pluralistic, tolerant, humane world I would like my children to inherit. And maybe, inshallah, they will.

Slow Cooker Sweet Corn Chowder, However You Like It

This isn't so much a recipe as a suggestion. I used what I had on hand, and so should you: feel free to add in diced bell pepper, chunks of potato, leftover chicken, or sliced celery. You can also cook this on the stove--simmer until everything but the dairy is just tender and bright, and then add in the milk, heating through. It actually takes far less time on the stove--maybe 2o minutes of simmering and then 5-10 minutes after you add the cream. The advantage of the slow cooker is that it allows flavors to concentrate...and you can leave the house.

• approximately 3 C fresh or frozen sweet corn (remove the kernels from the cob)
• a few slices of bacon, diced
• 1 small onion, finely chopped
• 1-2 smashed garlic cloves
• 1 small hot pepper, minced, or a 1/4 tsp dried chili flakes
• an heirloom tomato, roughly chopped
• tiny fistful of fresh sage leaves
• 2-3 sprigs of fresh thyme
• a dash of smoked paprika
• stock
• 1-2 C milk or cream
• salt and pepper to taste

Heat a bit of olive oil in a pan and add the diced bacon. Cook until crisp and then add add the chopped onions, garlic and hot pepper (you may drain the bacon fat if you like, but it adds significant flavor). Saute until the onions are translucent but not browned. Add the onion mixture to the slow cooker, along with the corn, stock and spices. Stir and cook on low, covered, for 2-3 hours. If you are using potatoes, be sure to add them in at this stage.

About an hour before eating (less if you're making this on the stove), add the milk or cream to the soup and taste for seasoning. Salt and pepper as you desire. Cook the soup on high for about an hour. When finished, adjust seasoning as necessary and serve hot with grated cheddar and crusty bread. I bet a dash of hot sauce would be good, too.