Have you seen this woman?

If you have ever shopped for chipotle peppers in a NYC grocery, you have very likely seen la doña chipotle on an attractive little orange can, hovering over a sea of peppers. But who is she? Is she a renowned cook or a renowned beauty, or both? Is she the CEO's beloved auntie? The peppers are manufactured by La Morena, and their English-language site offers little in the way of history, explaining only that "La Morena products are made in small batches, so you can trust that each and every product will have the same great taste you [have] always trusted." The Spanish-language site (which can be read in both Spanish and English) is a lot fancier and explains that the company began operations in 1969 (when the current owners apparently bought out their former employer), that its name ("the dark one") honors the Virgin of Guadalupe, and that they have grown to have over 1800 employees. It goes on to say that their motto of "quality and tradition" extends to every aspect of their way of doing business (such as contributing to social and humanitarian projects in the community), and that the fact their products are still, after 40 years in business, hand-made according to unchanged traditional recipes is what allows them to offer the best quality, tradition and flavor. It's very nice to know that some companies still believe in these things, but what about la doña chipotle? She resembles the Virgin of Guadalupe to the extent that she has dark hair and her gaze is cast downward, but they're definitely not twins. She looks a bit like Frida, although somehow less likely to have had an affair with Leon Trotsky.

I wrote to the company to ask whether they might tell me something about her, but I didn't hear back from anyone. In some ways this is preferable because it allows me to conclude that la doña chipotle is a reclusive genius. She is perhaps the JD Salinger of the condiment aisle (and accordingly, capable of thrilling neighbors merely by venturing out to do some shopping), or, if you are very hip, its Connie Converse. And like other reclusive geniuses, she has a special something that her rivals just can't compete with (although those in the know might suspect it has something to do with the judicious use of sesame oil).

I very often have a can of the chipotle chiles in adobo my cabinet, but I'd never seen La Morena's "home made style red Mexican sauce" at the grocery until very recently, and the rustic little molcajete and blocky font and folk-art vegetables were irresistible to me.


So irresistible, in fact, that it never occurred to me I was simply buying a little can of salsa.


It wasn't as good as I'd hoped, but my method of preparing black bean soup — which so far I've made three times this chilly spring, and will likely make again before the weather improves — is quite flexible, and can easily accommodate a few spoons of salsa.


It's not a pretty soup, particularly without a couple cilantro leaves or a few wisps of pickled red onion as a garnish, but the fact that it can be made when the refrigerator is nearly empty and still be a very satisfying dinner is part of its attraction. The key ingredients are the black beans (which take on an incredibly velvety texture when pureed) and a couple of small tortillas (which thicken the soup without making it too dense).

black bean soup
Serves 2 for dinner + some leftover for lunch for one the next day.

2 tablespoons olive oil
2 cloves garlic, finely sliced
1 small onion, finely chopped
1 chipotle pepper in adobo, with a little of the sauce clinging to it (or 2 minced jalapeño peppers if that's what you have)
1 teaspoon ground cumin (preferably freshly ground)
1 generous teaspoon dried Mexican oregano (the one sold by Rancho Gordo is perfect)
2 6" tortillas (preferably corn tortillas, although flour ones work too), sliced in half and then finely sliced into strips
2 to 3 tablespoons salsa (optional)
approximately 2 1/2 cups vegetable stock or water
1 15.5 oz. can black beans, rinsed well under cold running water
a splash of sherry vinegar
freshly ground black pepper and possibly a pinch of salt

also: a hand blender, food processor or blender to puree the soup

Saute the garlic and onion (and the jalapeño peppers if you're using them) in the olive oil over medium to medium-low heat until softened but not browned. Stir in the cumin and oregano and cook for an additional minute, or just until the mixture is very fragrant. Add the tortillas and stir until thoroughly coated in the spice mixture. Stir in the black beans and add the stock or water (and the chipotle pepper and/or salsa if you're using either of those), and simmer approximately 30 minutes. (I make this soup in a 2.25-quart pot and add just enough stock or water to fill it without any danger of bubbling over). After the soup has simmered for 30 minutes or so, puree it in the pot with a hand blender. (If you are using a food processor or blender instead I trust that you know to be very careful about transferring it there and back, and let it cool for a few minutes first). Add a splash of sherry vinegar and some fresh ground black pepper to the pureed soup and taste it for seasoning. Add salt only if necessary.


As long as you'll be using tortillas you might as well make a quesadilla to go with the soup, and we recently had a very un-Mexican but very tasty one made with chopped daikon greens and goat cheese.




I'd bought daikon for the first time for another recipe and the greens were so nice-looking I didn't want to throw them away. Fortunately they have a great flavor (a little peppery, like watercress) and some health benefits too. You don't need to cook them before using them in a quesadilla; just wash them and chop them into bite-size pieces and mix them with whatever cheese you're using.

a mild cake for pleasant dreams

Dream of a Rarebit Fiend (Edwin S. Porter, 1906).
You don't want your bed skittering out from under you, do you? Or chafing dish goblins jumping about your weary head? Then you'd better quit ladling welsh rarebit into your greedy gullet before you tuck in for the night. A small piece of cake with a modest spoonful of chamomile-honey crème anglaise is a more restful little something between dinner and bed.

There are several recipes for chamomile crème anglaise wafting through the internets, but I improvised based on this recipe for a lavender one. I made it with lavender a while back and enjoyed it, and I like that it uses milk rather than half-and-half (or light cream, if you're outside the U.S.). Crème anglaise is basically a cold, thin custard and half-and-half does give it a very nice texture, but this time around I was really just looking for a vehicle for the flavor of chamomile, and milk is fine for that.

As for the cornmeal cake, there are hundreds upon hundreds of different recipes out there and I feel like I've tried maybe a third of them. Some use ground nuts in the batter, some use olive oil rather than butter, some specifically call for polenta rather than cornmeal, etc. I am pretty well settled on the recipe below because the somewhat-scary number of egg yolks give it an amazing texture. It may look a bit bread-y in my photo, but the taste is unmistakably, unequivocally cake.


The original recipe for the cake is here. I haven't changed anything about the cake itself; I only fiddled with the syrup. I did rewrite the directions because you definitely don't need to use an electric mixer. The rosemary syrup is really good, though, so do try it some time. The honey syrup I replaced it with is not absolutely necessary, and if you don't want to go buy a bottle of honey liqueur I suppose you could try a simple syrup of 2 tablespoons honey and 2 tablespoons water, heated just until runny.

cornmeal cake with honey syrup

8 servings

cake:
1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup sugar
1 cup yellow cornmeal [the best quality you can get your hands on, hopefully Anson Mills; the texture really does make a difference]
3/4 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 large eggs
1 large egg yolk
2/3 cup milk

honey syrup:
3 tablespoons honey liqueur (I used Bärenjäger)
1 tablespoon mild honey, such as clover

Preheat the oven to 350°F, with the rack positioned in the center. Generously butter an 8- by 2-inch round cake pan. (Possibly I am just paranoid after a bad experience with a sticky cake around Christmas time, but I used nearly a tablespoon of butter for the pan. We're fat now but the cake didn't stick.) Once the pan is buttered, give it a very light dusting of flour (i.e., put a tablespoon or so of flour in your smallest mesh sieve and tap that about over the pan, working fast, so that the entire interior surface is evenly but very lightly coated).

In a large bowl, beat the butter and sugar with a pastry blender "until light and fluffy." This is a standard phrase in cake recipes and I've always understood it to mean that the butter and sugar need to be thoroughly integrated, with no visible streaks of either remaining in the bowl:


Add the remaining cake ingredients and beat everything together until thoroughly combined into a pale yellow batter.

Pour the batter into the pan and bake for 40 minutes. (The original recipe says to bake it "until a tester comes out with a few crumbs adhering.")

Cool the cake in its pan on a rack for 10 minutes.

While the cake is cooling, heat the honey liqueur and the honey in a small saucepan (preferably one with a spout for pouring) just until warmed through and very runny.

Invert the cake onto a plate and, while it is still warm, pour the honey syrup evenly over the surface. I've been keeping the cake at room temperature and I'm convinced the small amount of alcohol kills all cooties, but you can refrigerate it if you're nervous.

chamomile-honey crème anglaise

2 cups milk
4 egg yolks
1/2 cup mild honey (I used raw clover honey)
3 chamomile tea bags, or the equivalent amount of loose chamomile tea

Heat the milk and the chamomile tea bags (or loose tea) in a heavy saucepan over medium heat until the milk starts to bubble around the edges of the pan. (A heavy pan — such as enameled cast iron — is ideal because milk can easily get too hot too fast in a cheapo pan). Turn the heat off and let the chamomile steep in the warm milk for approximately 20 minutes.

After 20 minutes or so, heat the milk again over medium heat. If it appears to have reduced quite a bit since the first time around, you can add a splash more to the pan.

While the milk is heating a second time, whisk the egg yolks and the honey together until they are very thoroughly blended.

Remove the tea bags from the pan. (If you've used loose tea, leave it in, and see note below about straining).

Once the milk has again started to bubble at the edges, whisk 1/2 cup of it into the egg yolk and honey mixture. Whisk constantly but not too vigorously; the purpose of this step is to get the egg yolk mixture acclimated to the temperature of the milk, not to get it to change texture. Pour the egg yolk mixture into the pan and keep whisking for approximately one minute, or until the mixture thickens slightly. "Slightly" is all you're looking for: Once it is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, it's done, and you can take the pan off the heat. Transfer the crème anglaise to a bowl or pitcher and refrigerate until chilled. (If you have used loose chamomile, now is the time for you to pass the crème anglaise through a mesh sieve). It will taste just as good, if not better, the next day. If a skin has formed on the surface of the crème anglaise while chilling, remove it with a spoon before serving.

If you think the cake will be too naked with just a little crème anglaise on it, I think a spoonful of sautéed apples (maybe with a little honey, fresh thyme, and lemon juice?) would be nice on the plate. Fresh berries would work too. Candied walnuts or pecans wouldn't be out of place either.

breakfast of underemployed champions

"And Bread-and-Butter-Cups (Fresh Every Morning)" by Walter Crane, from an unpublished children's book. Found at
the Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University.

It's been a while! A few months isn't an especially long time in human years, but in blog years I suppose I've popped my clogs and been resurrected. Go ahead and cancel the arrangement of mourning flowers you ordered and put your black veil away; we're going to bake some bread.

I've made the walnut bread below three times since the recipe appeared in the Guardian in early January, making small changes each time depending on mood and kitchen inventory. I've not baked much in the past apart from quick-and-easy stuff like biscuits and muffins, in part because there's so much that can go wrong with a proper loaf. It's such a disappointment to spend all afternoon kneading and waiting and end up with something fit only for a duck's breakfast. I've found this dough a lot more pleasant to work with than the earnest hippie whole wheat bombs I've struggled with in the past. Is it the generous measure of warm milk? The way the warm milk and warm bowl help the yeast along? I can't say. It just works.



____________ and walnut bread

[Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's recipe is titled fig and walnut bread, but I keep making it with anything but figs. I've not changed anything else about the recipe because it's pretty much perfect as-is, but I have made notes in brackets.]

850g strong bread flour, plus extra for dusting
7g sachet dry active yeast
2-3 tsp fine-ground salt
450ml whole milk
100ml water
60g unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
2 tbsp honey [maple syrup works well too]
150g dried figs, soaked overnight in enough hot tea to cover, then drained and roughly chopped [I have used both dates and golden raisins with very good results. Neither need to be soaked more than 15 minutes. I've also used a combination of grated zucchini and blanched grated carrot, both of which should be drained well rather than soaked in anything.]
150g walnuts, roughly chopped

In a large, warmed mixing bowl, combine the flour, yeast and salt. In a saucepan, heat the milk, water, butter and honey [or maple syrup] to blood temperature, allowing the butter to melt, then add to the bowl. Mix with one hand to form a rough dough, then turn out on to a work surface and knead until soft, velvety and elastic, about 10 minutes. Shape into a tight ball, coat lightly with flour all over and place in a bowl. Cover with clingfilm or a plastic bag, and leave to rise in a warm place for an hour or so until doubled in size.

Turn the risen dough out on to a floured surface and press it gently into a rectangle. Combine the figs and walnuts in a bowl, scatter over the dough and roll up. Knead until thoroughly amalgamated and divide in two. On a lightly floured surface, shape each half into a ball, press into a flat disc, and roll up tightly to make a nice, even loaf shape. [Of course you can shape all or part of the dough into small rolls; they'll take a total of approximately 20 minutes to bake.] Smooth the ends under tightly, dust all over with flour, then leave to rise again, covered, on a floured tea towel or wooden board until almost doubled in size.

While the dough is rising, turn the oven to its highest setting. [I don't go any higher than 450 F because my small apartment gets far too warm.] Put in a large baking tray to heat up, and put a roasting tin on the oven floor. Boil the kettle. [Not necessary; keep reading.] When your loaves are risen, remove the tray from the oven, put the loaves on it, cut three parallel slashes into the top of each loaf and return to the oven. Pour half a kettleful of boiling water into the roasting tin and quickly close the door. [I don't bother boiling the water. Instead I simply add a roasting pan filled with an inch and a half of hot water from the tap at the same time I put the bread in. I put it on a shelf arranged just below the one the bread is on and that works very well for me.] After 10 minutes, turn down the heat to 190C/375F/gas mark 5 and bake for a further 20-30 minutes, until the loaves sound hollow when tapped on the base. Leave on a rack to cool completely before slicing.



breakfast tea for underemployed persons

This one is all me. I have no idea whether Mr. Fearnley-Whittingstall drinks at breakfast but I can assure you, it's not shameful unless there's something slovenly about your bearing.

Serves 1.

1 tablespoon muscovado or dark brown sugar
juice of half a lemon
1 to 2 shots of good dark rum (depending on mood and schedule and size of cup)
Lapsang Souchong tea (bagged or loose tea, up to you)
enough freshly boiled water to fill your insulated sippy cup

The sugar and lemon juice go in the cup first. Stir until the sugar is beginning to dissolve; then add the rum and the tea. (Obviously use some type of strainer if you are a loose tea person). Then the hot water. Give it a good stir and put the lid right on so it stays nice and hot for the rest of the morning.

after all this please please please don't forget to VOTE!

Image from january20th2009's Flickr photostream

And if you're a reader outside the U.S. and can't vote, please light your finest voodoo candles, put on your luckiest underwear, chant your most effective mantra, etc., for a good result in today's election.

music for carving yr pumpkin

Halloween postcard from the NYPL digital image gallery.
Sharpen your knives and carve your pumpkin to songs about werewolves, black cats and morbid thoughts. Don't throw away the pumpkin seeds because you'll need them for the recipe that follows.

Halloween A-side
Lou Reed, "Halloween Parade" (from New York)
Siouxsie and the Banshees, "Halloween" (John Peel Session Oct. 2, 1981) (from Voices On The Air: The Peel Sessions)
Talking Heads, "Psycho Killer" (from Talking Heads: 77)
Jarvis Cocker, "Black Magic" (from Jarvis)
The Cramps, "I Was A Teenage Werewolf" (from Songs The Lord Taught Us)
The Fall, "City Hobgoblins" (from Grotesque (After The Gramme))
The Monochrome Set, "Silicon Carne" (from Black And White Minstrels)
The Shaggs, "It's Halloween" (from Philosophy of the World)
Tyrannosaurus Rex, "Cat Black (The Wizard's Hat)" (from Unicorn)
Devendra Banhart, "Pumpkin Seeds" (from Oh Me Oh My . . .)
Serge Gainsbourg, "Bloody Jack" (from A Gainsbarre A Gainsbourg Volume 4: Initials B.B. - 1966-1968)
Marianne Faithful, "Witches' Song" (from Broken English)

Halloween A-Side from tinybanquet on 8tracks Radio.

Halloween B-side
Scott Walker, "Funeral Tango" (from Scott 3)
Joey Heatherton, "My Blood Runs Cold" (from Joey Heatherton)
The New York Dolls, "Frankenstein" (from New York Dolls)
Os Mutantes, "Ave, Lucifer" (from A Divina Comedia ou ando meio desligado)
The Smiths, "Cemetry Gates" (from The Queen Is Dead)
Patty Waters, "Moon, Don't Come Up Tonight" (from Sings)
Inflatable Boy Clams, "Skeletons" (from Inflatable Boy Clams)
Wolf Parade, "Same Ghost Every Night" (from Apologies to the Queen Mary)
Beck, "Scarecrow" (from Guero)
Pulp, "Being Followed Home" (from Freaks)
The Rolling Stones, "The Lantern" (from Their Satanic Majesties Request)
Nick Cave, "Death Is Not the End" (from Murder Ballads)

Halloween B-side from tinybanquet on 8tracks Radio.

pumpkin for dinner

I wanted to make vegetarian pastries with pumpkin and cheese and herbs, and instead of using frozen filo dough I went to get the good stuff:


Poseidon Bakery, 629 Ninth Ave. (between 44th and 45th).
Fresh filo dough from Poseidon Bakery, the only place I know of in Manhattan that makes it. (Surely there are alternatives in Astoria; speak up in the comments if you have a favorite). I'm not really discerning about filo dough in terms of being able to taste the difference between fresh vs. good quality frozen, but I liked not having to wait a day or two to defrost it, and the fresh dough seemed a little easier to work with. I also liked the snack I got to fortify myself for pumpkin-carving.

The recipe below calls for roasted pumpkin, and I have a few words of advice.


Cooking a whole pumpkin is labor-intensive! You've got to cut it into manageable pieces with your biggest, sharpest knife; you've got to scrape away all the stringy innards (and you must be rutheless about this because otherwise they'll make the whole thing watery); you've got to comb out the seeds with your fingers and wash away more of the cold, stringy innards clinging to them; then you've got to pare off the skin from the manageable pieces and cut those into bite-sized pieces. It's not mentally-challenging work, obviously, but you will want a drink when you finally finish, or maybe before then. If you want to try this recipe but don't have time for rasslin' a pumpkin, I suggest using 1 can of pumpkin purée (not the kind described as "pumpkin pie filling") and mixing it with the cheese and egg mixture (see below). I would add an additional beaten egg to keep it from getting too runny in the oven. I am not a fan of food than comes in cans but I have used organic, unseasoned pumpkin purée in soup and other things and I think it would be fine here. Of course you could also roast the pumpkin a day or two ahead of time and refrigerate it until you are ready to proceed with the rest of the recipe.


I used a small pumpkin of the "Sugar Pie" variety. I wanted to use the seeds in a salad so I roasted them along with the pumpkin. (Cook them in a separate pan, of course; mix them with a bit of olive oil, flaky sea salt, and some fresh ground black pepper and check on them after 20 minutes).

Lots of cultures make something similar to these pastries. A quick scan through my recipe collection and favorite cookbooks led me to Greek, Turkish and Serbian recipes involving filo dough and cheese and/or pumpkin. They're all quite similar and once you look at a few you'll have the basic idea and won't need to keep going back to the instructions while you're cooking.

My apologies for over-sharpening the photo and making those grey patches appear. Will try to fix later.
Pumpkin pastry with sage. Try not to knock these about when you're getting them from pan to plate or you'll end up with little rips and tears like I did.

Pumpkin pastry, interior view.

we're having pumpkin for dinner
4 servings

1 small- to medium-sized pumpkin or squash of a variety suitable for eating (my pumpkin was just over 4 pounds/a little less than 2 kilos)
3 tablespoons olive oil, plus an additional tablespoon or two if roasting pumpkin seeds (see comments above)
sea salt and freshly ground pepper
1 small habanero pepper (or any other orange or red chile pepper), finely minced*
1 egg, beaten well
7 ounces feta cheese, the best quality you can find (I used a creamy French feta made with sheeps' milk)
1/2 package filo dough, defrosted if frozen, cut into rectangles approximately 11" by 15"
4 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon ground coriander
1 heaping teaspoon whole black peppercorns
12 whole sage leaves
1 egg white, beaten with 1 teaspoon cold water until smooth

Heat the oven to 375° F.

Cut the pumpkin into 3 or 4 manageable wedges and scrape away every last bit of the stringy innards. Whether or not you intend to roast the seeds, the tidiest way to do this is to scrape the stringy mess out onto a large square of wax paper. (If you want the seeds you then have a work surface to separate them on, and if you don't want the seeds, you nonetheless have a relatively clean kitchen). Pare the skin away from the remaining pumpkin flesh and cut the pumpkin into bite-sized cubes.

Toss the cubed pumpkin with olive oil until it is lightly but thoroughly coated, season it with salt and pepper, and roast it until it is tender when pierced with a fork (approximately 35 minutes). If your baking sheet is not large enough to roast the pumpkin in a single layer, use 2 so that it cooks evenly. When the pumpkin is done, mix it with the minced chile pepper and set it aside. Leave the oven on.

Crumble the feta cheese into the beaten egg, season it with pepper, and stir vigorously with a fork until the mixture is fluffy.

Put the butter, coriander and peppercorns in a small saucepan and cook over low heat just until the butter is melted. Stir the mixture to integrate the spices.

Now you've got to work quickly to prevent the filo dough from drying out: Arrange the dough in front of you with the longer sides on your left and right (i.e., as if it was a sheet of letter paper you were going to write on). Using a pastry brush, evenly brush the top layer with some of the melted butter and neatly place 4 sage leaves about 1/3 of the way up from the bottom edge. (The peppercorns are only for flavoring the butter; make sure none of them end up on the filo dough). Spoon out about 1 cup of the cubed, roasted pumpkin between you and the sage leaves, top it with a layer of the feta-egg mixture, and quickly roll it up into a tidy, rectangle-shaped pie. (This is not as tricky as it might sound: Keep the sage leaves, pumpkin, and cheese mixture at least 1 1/2" from the edges of the dough, gently fold 2 layers of the dough over the left and right sides, roll up the rest as if was a big cigar, and put the finished pastry on a baking sheet with the seam-side down). Repeat the process with the remaining ingredients until you have 4 pastries. Lightly brush the pastries with the egg white and water mixture and bake approximately 25 minutes, or until they are crisp and golden brown.

* You could use a generous pinch of cayenne pepper instead, or a couple teaspoons of harissa if you happen to have some.


On the side we had a simple salad of watercress with tahini dressing and roasted pumpkin seeds, and roasted golden cauliflower sprinkled with sumac. To make the dressing, whisk together 3 tablespoons of tahini and the juice of 1 lemon. Add a pinch of fine sea salt, 1/2 a clove of finely-minced garlic, and a teaspoon or two each of olive oil and cold water and whisk some more until it's thoroughly blended. If it's still too thick, add a little more cold water until it is thin enough to drizzle over your salad.

Related posts: 2006 was a good year for pumpkin-carving.

fundraiser! tomorrow night! for Obama!

What's that Barack? You want to discuss my law review article? Ok I suppose we could.
Photo from Barack Obama's Flickr photostream.

Tomorrow night there's a Grill-o-Rama for Obama on a rooftop on the lower East side of Manhattan and I really think you should be there. The idea is you bring something, we grill it. Also, we all throw some money in a pile and send it to the campaign. I am working on an Indonesian satay of tempeh, marinated in a Kenyan fashion, and served with Chicago-style (sort of!) pickled vegetables, so don't worry that your vegetarian friend won't have anything to munch on. The event is being hosted by a friend of a friend, in collaboration with East Village for Obama and NYC4Obama. You can get the details and RSVP here. If you can't make it, please consider contributing some money to our pile on that same RSVP page.

a virtuous farro salad for (y)our latest health regimen

The recipe that follows is particularly useful for detoxifying the body after too many pancakes. Look, it's so healthy that it has a vegetal glow no matter how many times I fiddle with the colors of my photo.


Farro is a nutty-tasting ancient Italian grain rich with fiber and vitamins. It's the only thing in this salad that I measured so don't fret if you have a big pepper instead of a small one, etc. — you probably won't have the exact same assortment of vegetables on hand so just choose whatever's fresh and brightly-colored and work with that. My only advice is to not take the healthy-health aspect of the salad too far by using beet greens. Yes, they are ultra healthy, but there's something sordid about their dirty-old-velvet texture, and they have so much iron I swear it's all I can taste, a ferric taste like vinegar that's been on the shelf way too long. I've tried hard to like them—in addition to the health benefits, there is the difficulty in throwing away such a voluminous pile of edible greenery—but I didn't realize how poorly my efforts were failing until it hit me that even a generous layer of cheese couldn't distract me from their flaws. I'm much happier with radish greens (remember the radish soup?) so that's what went into the salad.

One unresolved question about the salad: are yellow wax beans as healthy as green beans? I crave them every week during the summer so I'm curious about this. According to some sort of back-alley generic Wiki they are "high in vitamins A and C," but I couldn't find any authoritative answer and I think the Google is broken:


No matter the answer, don't put those in your salad.

farro salad

serves 3 to 5 people depending on what, if anything, goes with it

1 large handful wax beans, tough ends snapped off
1 cup farro, rinsed under cold running water and drained
1 small bell pepper (orange is nice for color)
the juice of 1 lemon, divided
2 to 3 tablespoons olive oil
fine sea salt and freshly ground pepper
1 crisp apple, finely chopped (I used a Gala)
2 to 3 tablespoons thinly shaved flavorful hard cheese of your choice (I used pecorino)
2 to 3 tablespoons finely chopped fresh herb of your choice (I used oregano, but I can't think of any other that would be out-of-place here)
1/4 cup finely chopped fresh flat leaf parsley
3/4 cup chopped radish greens, or more if they're nice and fresh
4 radishes, finely sliced
2 or 3 scallions, finely chopped

Add a generous pinch of salt (about 1 teaspoon) to a medium-sized pot of water (at least 4 cups, maybe a little more) and bring it to a boil. Blanch the wax beans for just a minute or two and then pull them out with tongs and run them under cold water to stop them from cooking. Set them aside to drain. Add the farro to the pot and bring the water back to a boil. Adjust the heat and cook the farro at a simmer for approximately 25 minutes, or until it's tender. Drain the farro and set it aside to cool.

While the farro is cooking, roast the pepper over a gas burner until it's evenly blistered on the outside. (You'll need metal tongs or a long fork for this). Put the charred pepper in a small bowl and cover it tightly with plastic wrap. Let it soften for about 10 minutes; then remove the seeds and finely chop the pepper. (The skin of my pepper wasn't tough to begin with so I charred it lightly and left it on, but if you've got a large, crisp pepper you may wish to char it thoroughly and remove the skin before chopping it).

Whisk together half of the lemon juice, all of the olive oil, and sea salt and fresh ground pepper to taste.

Dice the apple and toss it with the other half of the lemon juice to keep if from browning.

In a bowl large enough to hold everything, combine the farro with the remaining ingredients, pour the vinaigrette on top, and give it a few good stirs until everything is thoroughly combined and coated in the dressing.

pizza and movie night chez Tiny Banquet

Pizza and a movie at home: an ideal way to forget about whatever is troubling you at the moment. My troubles with the police were over, but I was in dire need of a break from the constant whirring of election chatter in my internets and my NPR. Maybe it's the fiscal crisis that's working your stomach into a pile of knots? No, not me; I am hopeful it will lead to an exodus of broke-ass bankers from my neighborhood. What I really, really needed was some time away from the terrifying visage of lying liar Sarah Palin, a primitive human being who ought to put a plate in her lip and a bone through her nose and call it a day.

The pizza was a minimalist one based on Gordon Ramsay's recipe for Wild Mushroom, Garlic And Mint Pizza.


Not being in an obedient mood, I gave the recipe a quick glance while I was gathering my ingredients together and got some of it wrong during the execution. Mr. Ramsay probably would've had a few words for me. I put the toppings under the cheese because I was worried about the mint and the thinly-sliced mushrooms becoming crunchy in the oven, and because I thought I'd be better off scattering more fresh mint over the top of the cooked pizza anyhow. Also, I have a giant stash of dried shiitake mushrooms that I need to use, so I soaked them in boiling hot water for 30 minutes and used those rather than sautéed fresh ones.

We liked the pizza, but I used pecorino because Mr. Banquet is lactarded and it didn't melt nicely. I'd like to try again with kasseri, which I've used in the past; it's a Greek cheese made with sheep or goats' milk and melts beautifully.

I didn't see the link to Ramsay's recipe for basic pizza dough so I used one I've been relying on for a long time. It doesn't make the best pizza crust I've ever had but it is good, and it's ridiculously easy to make; it comes together in less time than it would take you to locate prepared pizza dough in the grocery store. I keep meaning to try this one because Heidi at 101 Cookbooks makes a very convincing case for its deliciousness, but I wasn't planning ahead and needed a dough that would be ready in half an hour.

pizza with shiitake mushrooms, pecorino and mint

adapted from Gordon Ramsay
makes 2 pizzas that will serve 4 to 6 people

for the dough:

3/4 cup warm water
1 envelope active dry yeast
small pinch of sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour, plus a little more
1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt
2 tablespoons olive oil, plus a tiny bit more for the bowl
a few pinches of semolina or cornmeal for baking

for the pizzas:

2 or 3 good handfuls of dried sliced shiitake mushrooms
boiling hot water to soak them in
1 or 2 cloves garlic, finely minced
1 tablespoon olive oil
freshly ground black pepper
approximately 1/4 pound sheeps' milk cheese of your choice, thinly shaved or coarsely grated
at least 3 good handfuls of finely chopped fresh mint, one for each pizza and another for garnish
1/4 cup finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley (optional)

Put 3/4 cup warm water in a large mixing bowl, sprinkle the yeast on top, and add a small pinch of sugar. Let the yeast bubble up for 2 to 3 minutes. (I think it helps to warm the bowl first by swishing some hot water around in it and dumping it out, but maybe I am being too nice to my dough). When the yeast is dissolved, add the flour, salt and olive oil and stir vigorously with a wooden spoon. When this mixture starts to come together and form a dough, turn it out onto a lightly floured work surface and knead it until it's smooth. (This whole process shouldn't take more than 5 minutes). Lightly coat the inside of the bowl with a little more olive oil, put the ball of dough back in it, cover it tightly with plastic wrap, and let it rise for approximately 30 minutes, or until it has just about doubled in size.

Bring a medium-sized pan of water to a boil, throw in the mushrooms, turn off the heat, and clamp the lid on. Let them sit for approximately 30 minutes, or until they're thoroughly softened.

Preheat the oven to 400 °F.

Sprinkle 2 pizza pans with a little semolina or cornmeal. (I used one proper pizza pan 12" in diameter plus one quarter-size sheet pan 13" x 9"). Divide the dough in half and roll it out or stretch it to fit the pans.

Drain the mushrooms and squeeze them mercilessly until they're dry. Toss them with the garlic and the tablespoon of olive oil. Divide the mushrooms evenly over the pizza dough, grind plenty of black pepper over the top, and scatter the mint and the cheese over them. Bake the pizzas for approximately 20 minutes, or until they are nicely browned. (It helps to switch the pans around halfway through cooking). Cut the pizza into pieces, scatter more fresh mint over the portions to be eaten right away (and the parsley, if using), and serve at once. There's no sense scattering fresh mint over the whole lot if you're not going to eat it all that night because it will only turn brown and ugly.

In an interesting plot twist, the leftovers were far more exciting than the dinner. First—and most blissful—was a breakfast of leftover pizza warmed in the oven and topped with a fried egg and yet another handful of chopped mint. That's it, voila. Use olive oil to fry the egg, and maybe add a pinch of hot pepper flakes if that will help you face the day.


The remaining pizza got cut up into small squares, topped with thickened yogurt and more fresh mint, and served as a first course. It was still pizza of course but the yogurt and greenery made it feel healthy. I like Ronnybrook Dairy's tangy fat-free yogurt (really, it is likable!), which I thicken by plopping it into a clean coffee filter set in a sieve over a bowl. If you are starting with a thick yogurt already, you are a step ahead and all you need to do is cut up the pizza and the mint.



The movie on our movie night was Billy Liar, a 1963 comedy directed by John Schlesinger. It stars Tom Courtenay as a young man who lives with his mum and dad and grannie, works as a clerk for some undertakers, and has several girlfriends he's engaged to, one of whom is Julie Christie. Here's the trailer:



The protagonist reminded me of Jim Dixon in Kingsley Amis's Lucky Jim: a young man uncomfortable in post-war Britain, trying to make it a bit more comfortable with a very very active imagination. But where Jim fantasizes about plunging his adversaries into toilets, pushing things up their noses, and telling them exactly what he thinks of them right to their fat faces, Billy fantasizes about gunning them down. I don't think this works as well as a humorous gag as it might have in 1963, when it didn't happen in real life on a regular basis.

Billy is nonetheless a very likable character and the movie is worth a look-see. There are some very funny scenes—this one, for example, in which Billy prepares to give his notice at work—and there is Julie Christie swinging her handbag on her arm, which you really ought to see.