The Pantry

A Lesson in Crunchy (and a killer grilled cheese)

I had a rather dumb realization the other day. I referred some of my friends to a wonderful brunch place a few blocks from my dorm, which has the most amazing macaroni. This macaroni has four creamy, smoky cheeses, and it’s one of the first foods in a very long time that has completely silenced me. The flavor is seriously perfect. But the macaroni itself, apparently, is not. Because when my friends came back, and I asked them how it was, all they could say was, “It tasted great, but it was kind of mushy!”

Now, I stand in firm defense of my cute little brunch place, and I’m confident they just had a weird batch, but at the time, when they told me it was mushy, I realized to my horror that I had no idea if they were right. I was so caught up in the taste that I had completely forgotten to even think about what it felt like. And as I thought back on my lifelong culinary journeys, I realized that, except in cases of egregious error or extreme weirdness, I had almost never given texture the attention it deserves.

As soon as they told me this, I immediately felt the need to prove to myself that I did at least know something about texture, even if I never almost ever paid attention to it. So I devised a sandwich, because if you need to express contrast (or if you just need to pile a lot of things on something) there is nothing better you can do than make a sandwich. And making something texturally appealing is all about contrast. It’s not much fun to have something that’s just crunchy or just creamy – excitement come mostly from juxtaposing the two. Think about yogurt with granola, mashed potatoes and fried chicken, soup with croutons, and ice cream cones… they’re classics for a reason.

So this sandwich is designed to celebrate contrast – in taste, in temperature and, of course, in texture. The crisp and toasty bread quickly gives way to smooth, melty goat cheese, the slightly resistant, cool creaminess of avocado, and warm, slightly acidic tomatoes which perfectly complement a single layer of cool, smoky salmon. It’s fresh and comforting, sweet and salty, crisp and crunchy, interesting and simple.

And as always, it’s dorm friendly. Both because you don’t need a fancy stove, and because my roommates are obsessed. Or at least Ariel is… by the time Emily found out it existed we’d (accidentally) eaten the whole thing.

Grilled Goat Cheese and Tomato Sandwich with Avocado and Smoked Salmon

Ingredients per Sandwich (multiply by however many you plan to make)
2 Slices Bread (Country White, Sourdough, or similar)
2 Slices from a Large Tomato, approx 1/4 inch thick
1/2 an Avocado, in 1/4 inch thick slices
1-2 Slices Smoked Salmon – enough to make a single layer on sandwich
A smidgen of butter (approximately 1 tsp, more or less)

1. Melt butter, and with a pastry brush (or a spoon or a paintbrush) brush one side of both pieces of bread. Then brush the bottom of a medium non-stick skillet
2. Spread goat cheese on the non-buttered side of one of the pieces of bread. Place tomato slices on top of goat cheese, and sprinkle with salt to taste (but fairly generously). Top with other slice of bread, butter side out.
3. Turn your stove on to medium heat, and place sandwich in a pan. Grill, flipping every minute or so, until both sides are approximately the color of the sandwich you see above, and (more importantly) the cheese is smooth and melted and the tomatoes are warmed. If your bread is toasting too fast (faster than the cheese can melt) turn the heat down a little.
4. When the cheese is melted and the tomatoes are warm and the bread is toasty, remove from pan and put on a plate. Open, and place avocado on the side without goat cheese.
5. Place one layer of smoked salmon on top of the avocado, and close the sandwich.
6. Cut in half and enjoy the perfection.

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Back to Basics with Bénédict Beaugé

The culinary world is quite confused right now. Between the organic locavore movement and the liquid nitrogen movement, it’s hard to say where food is going. Who are the true innovators? That’s a question I’d been trying to answer for weeks, especially as more and more famous chefs combine the two. But, last Friday afternoon, by sheer, last minute luck, my friend Theresa barged into my room and informed me, “There’s a French man giving a speech on food at the Maison Française at four.” And that, somewhat indirectly, is how I found the answer.

The French man in question was renowned French food author Bénédict Beaugé, who was on his way to speak at the James Beard Foundation (fancy, I know).  M. Beaugé has the thickest, most wonderful, most perfectly French accent I have ever heard. But while he might sound a bit, dare I say, like Inspector Jacques Clouseau, he actually has all the simple, sensible answers we need.

To understand innovation today we need to have a little history lesson. You see, the innovations today are directly connected to innovations of the past. And unsurprisingly, they all originated in France. This all began in 1651, with the publication of what Beaugé calls “the first book of French modern cuisine.” Le Cuisinier François was written by Pierre François La Varenne, as a way of departing from the “spectacular” cuisine of the Middle Ages. “People are not so fond of spices now and they try to find the real taste of the produce,” explains Beaugé of the Renaissance attitude. Food became fresher and tastier ­– they didn’t have to do weird things to it to make it taste edible – and so La Varenne called for chefs to highlight le goût naturel – the natural taste of the ingredients they used. Three years later, Nicolas de Bonnefons wrote Les Délices de la Campagne, a book with the same principle, meant not for the aristocracy but the bourgeoisie. “If it is cabbage soup, it must taste cabbage, when you have turnip soup, it must taste turnip, and that’s something really new,” says Beaugé. This is where the true innovation in cooking was then, and, at least as a starting point, where it is today.

While Molecular gastronomy has a place in the kitchen, it is destined to become another technique chefs use to express natural flavor. Molecular gastronomy itself is not particularly innovative. In fact, it’s really just backtracking. “it is quite similar with the cuisine of the Middle Ages or of antiquity, of the Romans, or something like that,” Beaugé says. “Really it’s much more the appearance which is important than the taste.”  “I don’t think molecular gastronomy is the future of cuisine,” he continues, “it’s something which will be integrated with cuisine in a general way, as every new technique is integrated into cuisine – those of 18^th century, those of 19^th century. It doesn’t mean that everyone’s going to cook with nitrogen.”

His message is helpful and optimistic. Chefs like René Redzepi and Ferran Adrià will be the most inventive, expressing goût naturel through molecular tools, but to a degree we all have an opportunity to be innovators here. With the rise of farmers markets, and the near constant availability of fresh produce, we can all highlight our weekly finds when we cook. I’ve included these pictures from the local farmers market as inspiration. These are the flavors we want to preserve. If we want to be innovative we are so lucky, because even as home chefs we have everything we need.

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Seeds of Sincerity

Fall break finally arrived this past weekend and, while I could have stayed in the city exploring six star restaurants and interviewing famous chefs, like a good, loving little daughter I hopped on the 6:39 to New Haven on Friday evening, and spent four glorious days [eating candy] with my family.

You see, Francesca really wanted to trick or treat with me. And you know how I hate to disappoint her…

This weekend was a like dream. The moment I got home I opened the fridge, out of instinct, but instead of reaching for something I just stood and stared. I couldn’t believe the freshness, the variety, and the general edibility of everything I saw. When I returned to school, I talked with my friend Mia about her trip home and she said she’d experienced the same Fridge-Shock I had. (Unsurprisingly, the very base of our friendship was founded on Dark Chocolate-Sea Salted Almonds and Magnolia banana pudding.) Four soups – pumpkin, broccoli, carrot-ginger and a vibrant pea – met me at the refrigerator door, and as the weekend progressed we added homemade chili, a boeuf en daube, and a plum-vanilla crisp, to the mix. I was able to choose between two apple ciders, spiced and regular, and I could even heat them up if I wanted. In all honesty, and I say this without a hint of irony, I was so overwhelmed by my refrigerator that by Halloween night I’d almost forgotten about candy.

I certainly miss the pumpkins the most (after the sisters I carved them with, of course). There was not a moment when I wasn’t painting, carving, eating, or watching a movie about one. Francesca, Isabella and I spent several hours on the front lawn, freezing our hands off, while mommy scoured the house for melon ballers, 10-inch kitchen knives, awls, cookie cutters, and mini saws.

Francesca instructed me as I carved my first dictated pumpkin (eyes and nose like closed bananas, mouth like an open banana) and she stirred the seeds for the “pumpkin seed stew” while Isabella and I poked, sawed and pared “The Old House in Paris,” a tree, and various unidentifiable swirly things.

When Francesca had finished preparing the seeds (as everyone knows, stirring them is the most important part), we took them inside and began searching high and low for pumpkin seed recipes. But to my shock and dismay, all I could find, no matter how hard I looked, were recipes that called for nothing more than olive oil and sea salt. Yummy, I suppose, but I wasn’t looking to make gourmet potato chips. After a taxing day of carving and playing I needed something sweet as well as salty, and something unmistakably autumn-y.

And so the cinnamon-caramel pumpkin seeds were born. In this recipe, salt and toasty sugar melt with butter and cinnamon to form a new fall classic. They’re cooked first on the stove, to soften the seeds and melt the sugar, and then spread on parchment paper to bake to a crisp. They tend to stick together into a kind of pumpkin brittle, which I like, although you are free to spend the time making sure they are spread out. Of course, they’re very simple (as all good things should be), and very addictive. So as you’re carving your Thanksgiving pumpkins, as I’m sure you plan to do, make sure you save some time to make this modern fall candy. I know you’ll love it and you’ll make me, and the Great Pumpkin, very proud.

Cinnamon-Caramel Pumpkin Seeds

2 Cups of Fresh, Rinsed Pumpkin Seeds, well stirred by any 5-year-olds you have lying around
3 Tablespoons Granulated Sugar
3/4 Teaspoon Cinnamon
1/2 Teaspoon Kosher Salt
1/2 Tablespoon Butter

1. Preheat oven to 325° F
2. Mix cinnamon, sugar and salt together in a small bowl
3. Melt butter in medium-small non-stick skillet over medium-high heat
4. Add pumpkin seeds, and 1/3 of sugar mixture, and sautee for 8 minutes, gradually adding the remaining sugar mixture over the course of the first 4 minutes. Make sure to stir constantly or the seeds may burn
5. Pour seeds onto a baking sheet coated with parchment paper and spread evenly
6. Roast for 15 minutes, cool, and enjoy!

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Dormroom Gourmet

I love almost everything about college, but I’ve often missed home. And this is probably horrible to admit, but I’ve missed my kitchen almost as much as my family. I miss the tiny white hexagonal tiles on the floor, and the shelves filled with cookbooks, from Giada to Thomas Keller, and old issues of Bon Appetit and Saveur. I miss the overflowing glass jars of cooking equipment for when my mom teaches, and the pots and pans hanging from the farm table-turned-island in the middle. My kitchen has ambient lighting and a sturdy, old kitchenaid mixer. It has plates, silverware and an oven. I have been truly spoiled for the past few years. I have none of those things here. I have no glass backsplash, no chalkboard to write the day’s menu on, and no fancy pepper grinders. I do have tile countertops, a dingy, two-burner electric stove, and a microwave. The end. But despite all this, in recent days I’ve come to love my 5^th floor substitute.

Seriously.

My new-found love began the day I first realized the dining hall was killing me, in body and in spirit. I was so distracted by new classes and awkward social encounters that I didn’t notice it for a few weeks. The warning came, rather suddenly, when I stepped on the scale, for the first time in a month. To my shock and horror, I was losing my Freshman 15.

“You’re crazy, Gabrielle,” you are undoubtedly saying. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

Yes. It is. But it turned me on to a much more serious problem. Dining hall food is disgusting. The other day, they were serving a tofu meatloaf… and it was orange. Bright orange..

Like the color of this pumpkin. But it was tofuloaf.

I tried to estimate the number of cucumbers I had eaten instead of dinner over the preceding weeks, and when I’d finished calculating (about a bazillion), I realized I had take matters into my own hands. Fortunately, the shelves on my desk are furnished with almost as many sauté pans as books. So I grabbed my cooking friends, put my eaters on standby, and ran like a madwoman towards the kitchen.

In the spirit of fall, I made caramelized apples. In the spirit of needing somewhere to put the apples, I made crepes. And in the spirit of crepes, I made a Nutella cream sauce. Because one of life’s little known secrets is that there is nothing better than caramelized apples and chocolate. And, as everyone knows, there is nothing better than Nutella with anything.

 This recipe is simple, but spectacular, and is best made with lots and lots of friends. As people came and went, Chelsea, Theresa and I flipped the crepes, Gaby and Soyeon assembled the fillings, Hila entertained us, and we all took turns eating our creations as they came off the stove. We had no fancy equipment, but it was just like being back in the Test Kitchen.

So grab some apples and nutella, and enjoy! This recipe can be made without a blender or even mixing bowl, and eaten without forks, knives and plates. It makes 15-20 crepes, so invite lots of people. It’s simple, cheap, vegetarian, kosher, and delicious. They, whoever they are, say the best ideas are born out of necessity. So when you make these fall treats and undoubtedly love them more than anything you’ve ever tasted… don’t thank me, thank Hewitt.

Note- we had a lot of extra heavy cream (and so will you) so we made homemade butter. By hand! It’s a classic fall activity. We most certainly did it on purpose. We were not trying to make whipped cream.

Apple Crepes with Nutella Cream

For Crepes (adapted from epicurious)

1.5 cups plus 3 tablespoons whole milk
3 eggs
1.5 cups flour
3 tablespoons sugar
3 tablespoons butter, melted and slightly cooled, plus extra for greasing pan

1. Whisk ingredients together in a mixing bowl (or, if you’re me, 2 large tupperwares) until smooth and lump-free
2. Cover, and allow to sit at room temperature while you make apples and nutella sauce
3. When apples and nutella are made, heat an 8-inch skillet over medium to medium-high heat (depending on your stove) and melt just enough butter to lightly grease bottom
4. Pour 1/4 cup of batter and tilt to evenly coat bottom of pan. Your first crepe will be a disaster, so don’t despair over it. It has nothing to do with your crepe making abilities. Just discard it (preferably in your tummy).
5. Cook for 1.5-2 minutes, until bottom begins to lightly brown, and flip. Feel free to do this with a spatula or chopsticks or whatever moves you, but I recommend you try doing in the air. It’s not hard, and you’ll feel much more accomplished if you do it the fun way.
6. Cook for 30 seconds-1 minute, until second side begins to brown, and glide onto plate. Repeat process with remaining batter. Eat immediately.

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For Nutella Cream

1/4 cup heavy cream
3-4 tbsp nutella

1. In small saucepan, heat cream and nutella over low heat until blended and heated.

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For Caramelized Apples (adapted from epicurious)

2 lbs apples, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
6 tbsp butter
1/3 cup sugar

1. Melt butter in a large non-stick skillet over medium to medium-high heat (depending on your stove)
2. Add sugar and stir until melted
3. Add apples and stir to cover with sugar and butter. Sautée for approximately 10 more minutes, until apples are tender, and cooked through.
4. Remove from heat.

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Assembly

Fill crepes with apples, drizzle with sauce, and roll up. Alternatively, if you have plates and forks (which we did not), you can drizzle the sauce on the outside of the crepe. Enjoy!

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