Monthly Archives: April 2012

Cappuccino in casa

22 Sunday Apr 2012

Posted by in Beverage, Breakfast & Brunch

≈ 1 Comment

I’m not a fancy girl; I can live without fancy things. There are, however, a handful of humble luxuries that I hold close to my heart, including hot showers, toast and marmalade, down pillows and Negronis. They might not be what most people consider luxuries, buy hey, I’m a cheap date.

Homemade cappuccinos also rank high on the list of simple things that I could certainly live without, but choose not to. It’s 10am on a Sunday and I find myself jonseing for one – a Pavlovian side-effect from making them nearly every weekend for the last 2 years. But not this weekend. The problem being that my enfeebled arm is at least a couple of weeks away from doing any vigorous whisking; from a medical standpoint, making cappuccino is verboten until I can move my arm sideways without wincing. The one thing I can do, without reprimand from my physiotherapist, is click through my unpublished food photos and dream about the day when I’ll be able to make cappuccino again. That, and share one with you.

To make cappuccino, you do not need any special implements or gadgets (like that 3$ battery-operated hand frother that you got at last year’s Secret Santa). All you need is a good arm and a whisk. It helps if you have some residual stress from the week to work out; this will produce a more impressive foam. Make sure your partner, kids and/or out-of-town couch surfers are out of bed, because you will make quite a racket. (unless the point is to wake them up, in which case, go for it.)

Cappuccino

  • 1/2 cup whole milk*
  • 1/2 cup freshly brewed coffee (from a stove-top percolator)
  • unrefined sugar (if desired)
  • a wire whisk

*Notes: organic milk takes longer to foam that regular milk – I haven’t figured out why, but it just does. Milk with a higher fat content will also take longer to froth up, due to a higher concentration of glycerol – but don’t let this dissuade you; whole milk is the lovelier option. Just make sure it isn’t hovering around the expiry date, or else you’ll have problems getting it to foam properly.

Directions

In a small saucepan, set the milk over medium-high heat.  Let the milk heat up gently, taking care not to let the milk boil. When it starts to steam slightly, start whisking. If your arm gets tired, alternate between whisking in a cranking action and a side-to-side action. As you whisk, the bubbles will get smaller and the foam will get thicker. Once you’ve gained a nice layer of foam, remove the milk from the heat.

Find your favourite mug; pour coffee into it. If you take your coffee with sugar, add it now & stir. Tilt the saucepan over the mug, holding back the foam with a spoon, and pouring the steamed milk into the mug until it’s about 2/3 full. Spoon on the foam from the saucepan.

(Side note: I highly encourage you to resist sullying your carefully prepared, pristine white foam with cinnamon. As far as I know, adding cinnamon to cappuccino is not an Italian flourish, but rather an adulterant used by baristas to mask a bad cup of coffee.)

Easter weekend + one piñata-fail

16 Monday Apr 2012

Posted by in Cooking For Your Peeps, Lunch & Dinner

≈ 3 Comments

When it comes to holidays, I somehow always manage to romanticize my ability at crafting. In reality, though, the closest thing to crafting that I’ve ever (successfully) done is read Amy Sedaris’, “Simple Times” front to back, a half-dozen times.

Easter is particularly problematic at it seems to light up the part of my brain that believes I’m a crafter, rattling awake after a long post-Christmas dormancy period. One Easter, a couple of years ago, I was hell-bent on making homemade marshmallows, imagining all of the neat thematic shapes I would make (Chicks! Baby bunnies! Oh, how marvelous and squishy they will be!). I looked up recipes, bought a candy thermometer, and kept an eye out for bunny-shaped cookie cutters. Thankfully, I have enough Anglo-Saxon pragmatism coursing through my veins (thanks, Dad) to set me straight, reminding me that DIY projects involving boiling candy can unleash a Pandora’s box of nightmarish mishaps, especially for the uninitiated. So while my soft side was under the spell of an ambrosial marshmallow haze, my sensible side was there to remind me that getting burned by the candy thermometer and smearing of sticky, gelatinous blobs onto everything in sight, including my hair, was probably not all that great.

Notwithstanding the voice of reason, my fantasy of becoming craft-lady extraordinaire still manages to inject itself into plans that are supposed to be easy, lovely and stress-free…

…like that time I decided to make a giant piñata.

This year, right around Easter, it was my goddaughter’s 5th birthday – an occasion for which I was asked to make a piñata for the kids’ party. Being a godmother is a role I take fairly seriously, but if I’m being perfectly honest, it has never extended beyond reading a few stories, making abstract finger-paintings and letting her stay up past her bedtime. I’ve maybe braided her hair. Once. All in all, though, it’s been a pretty laid-back gig. Making her birthday-piñata felt like the next step in my godmother duties. Perhaps not as elaborate as making a horse-drawn carriage and ball gown appear out of thin air, but still.

Now, it goes without saying that I’m the furthest thing from a piñata/papier mâché expert. My mental Roladex is pretty sparse in that department. But I did my homework, consulting Youtube and Pinterest and noting down suggestions made by friends. I bought taffy and ribbon and crêpe paper and a ginormous balloon. THIS GODMOTHER WAS GOING TO MAKE THE BEST EASTER EGG-BIRTHDAY PIÑATA EVER. But I was also recovering from shoulder surgery and could barely tie my shoes. (Clearly, my Anglo-Saxon pragmatism was on holiday. Probably off on a beach, sipping a margarita.)

The details of the piñata-demise are not particularly thrilling, but long story short, the balloon deflated before all the layers had dried and the papier-mâché shell collapsed into a pathetic pile at the bottom of the bathtub. In a sorry attempt to revive it, I slipped in a second balloon and blew it up as quickly as I could. It was like trying to douse a beached whale with little sandcastle-pails filled with water – desperate and ultimately useless (to indulge in some schadenfreude, you can find a photo of it in the slideshow further below). Not wanting to flake on a promise I had made to a 5-year-old, I rushed to the party supply store 20 minutes before closing and bought a dubious-looking, ruffly paper cow with crooked eyes, made in China. Anglo-Saxon pragmatism restored, but craft-romanticism crushed.

—–

Luckily, there was Easter dinner the next day to distract me from the wreckage and restore faith in my ability to make things – at least of the culinary variety. While my brother, dad and I were in charge of salads and sides, mom was at the helm constructing a handsome lasagna, several frilly layers high. While it’s not something we typically have at Easter, the lamb seemed quite pleased to be curled up against that hot mess of béchamel and noodles.

You may want to do the same.

Mamma’s Easter Lasagna

1 package oven ready lasagna pasta (375 grams or 3/4 lb)
1 cup water
1 cup grated mozzarella
1/2 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano

Meat Sauce

3 tablespoons extra virgin oil
1 onion, finely chopped
1 carrot, finely chopped
1 celery stalk, finely chopped
2 large garlic cloves, finely chopped
1 lb minced veal
1/2 lb. minced pork
1/4 cup tomato paste
handful chopped Italian parsley
6 cups canned tomatoes (or better: Nonna’s tomatoes)
Salt and pepper to taste

Heat the oil in a skillet. Add the chopped onions and cook for about 4 minutes. Add the remaining vegetables and half of the chopped garlic. Continue to cook until golden. Stir in the pork, veal, parsley and the remaining chopped garlic. Cook the meat until it is no longer pink and the juices are absorbed, about 10-12 minutes. Stir in the tomato paste. Pour in the tomatoes and simmer until the sauce thickens (40-60 minutes).

Ricotta-Spinach filling:

1 bunch fresh spinach
1 container of ricotta (1 1/2 cups)
1 egg
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano  (the other 1/4 cup will be used later to sprinkle throughout the layers of lasagna)

Cook the spinach. Drain and wring out as much moisture as possible. Chop the spinach and set aside to cool.

In a bowl, whisk together the ricotta, egg, parmesan, and 1 teaspoon salt. Whisk in the chopped spinach and set aside.

Béchamel sauce:

3 cups hot milk
6 tablespoons butter
6 tablespoons flour
1 bay leaf
pinch of nutmeg
salt to taste

In a medium saucepan, melt 6 tablespoons of butter until foamy and stir in the flour with a whisk (you are making a roux). Continue to stir and allow the flour to cook for about 2 minutes. Gradually pour the hot milk into the roux while continuing to whisk, taking care to stir out any lumps. Bring to a boil. Lower the heat and continue to whisk continuously until the sauce is very smooth. Cook for 3 minutes and remove from the heat.

Assembly 

Preheat oven to 375°F with rack in middle.

Spread a layer of meat sauce to cover the surface of the 9×13 inch baking pan or casserole dish. Pour in 1/2 cup of water (if using the oven ready lasagna). Lay some sheets of lasagne over the sauce; add a layer of meat sauce and a sprinkling of parmesan and mozzarella.

Place a second layer of pasta sheets. Spread some of the spinach-ricotta mixture on top of the noodles. Then add a layer of béchamel sauce.

Repeat with one more layer of pasta/meat sauce and one more layer of pasta/ricotta mixture and finish with a generous layer of béchamel and some grated parmesan. Cover pan with foil and bake 50-60 minutes. Uncover and continue to bake to allow the béchamel to become golden.

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Back-to-it Minestrone

04 Wednesday Apr 2012

Posted by in Lunch & Dinner, Soups, Vegetarian

≈ 3 Comments

Three weeks ago to the day, an orthopedic surgeon made three small incisions in my right shoulder to fix a recurring dislocation problem. Since then, there have been things that I’ve temporarily had to bid adieu to, including pantihose, chopsticks, bras, clothes-folding, bed-making, hair-styling, hugging people with both arms and sleeping in any other position than corpse-pose. It’s bewildering that I’ve managed to look remotely presentable this last little while – barring those first few days at the beginning when I looked like something you might find in the recesses of your couch cushions. Luckily, the people in my day-to-day didn’t seem to notice. That, or they’re magnificent liars. I can appreciate either.

Despite feeling like a gimpy three-legged dog over the last couple of weeks, it hasn’t been all bad. In fact, I’ve taught myself some pretty neat tricks, like putting on socks with one hand, applying liquid eye-liner like a lefty and resisting the urge to catch things when I drop them (anthropological note: watching passively as your most beloved piece of porcelain escapes your grip and shatters into a gazillion pieces on the floor is an interesting testament to the strength of human willpower). Equally interesting is the realisation that you will not be able to sweep said shards of porcelain into a dust pan in order to discard them. Human ingenuity dictates that a quick sweep with one’s sock to hide the evidence in the corner of the room will do the trick. That is, until your mother visits with food and casually asks if you need help “tidying up”.

Having relied almost exclusively on the care-packages of a lovingly doting mother and take-out sushi from down the street, the extent of my kitchen activity has involved reheating leftovers and pouring the contents of plastic containers onto plates, which, as you might have guessed, is as enchanting as it sounds.

I recognise that things could have been worse (on all sorts of accounts). But I missed my pots and pans and various kitchen implements. It felt like I hadn’t used them in so long that on any given day they might mobilize and walk out the front door, bereaved and weepy. But this past weekend I reached a recovery milestone: being able to wield a knife and chop things. Hallelujah.

Below, I bring to you the first real thing I’ve made in the last 3 weeks – from beginning to end – in my kitchen, WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS. I may not yet be able to shave my right armpit, but it looks like I can still make a mean minestrone – gimpy arm and all.

Minestrone (serves 4)

  • 1 small onion
  • 1/2 leek, finely chopped (white part only)
  • 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
  • 1 carrot, diced
  • 1 celery stalk, diced
  • 1 stalk of swiss chard, finely chopped (spinach or kale could be used instead)
  • 1/2 cup white vermouth
  • 1 litre home-made chicken stock
  • 1/2 can crushed tomatoes (or better: 1/2 jar of Nonna’s tomatoes)
  • 1 can cannelli beans (or better: dried beans, soaked overnight & cooked)
  • 1/2 cup small pasta, preferably ditalini (“little thimbles”)
  • a few sprigs of parsley, chopped (fresh basil or thyme also work – just go easy on the thyme)
  • olive oil
  • salt to taste

Optional: fried garlic and pine nuts (to serve)

Directions

Prepare a dutch oven with some olive oil and set on the stove at medium-high. Once the oil starts to get warm, add the onions, leek and garlic sauté until translucent.

Add the carrot and cook for about 2 minutes. Then add the celery and swiss chard and cook for another minute. Pour in the vermouth and stir. Add the crushed tomatoes, parsley, broth and some salt. Give a good stir and reduce the heat to low.

Allow to simmer for about 10 minutes then add the beans and the pasta (cook until al dente). Feel free to add more broth or water if you think it looks too thick (note: you can extend the cooking time to let the flavours settle in a bit more – but don’t add the pasta until the end and be sure to start with more liquid).

Serve with fried garlic and pine nuts and a generous shaving of parmesan.