1000 pizza doughs

Persimmons and ... Pantyhose?

Since I no longer have weekly CSA baskets to broaden my culinary horizons, I seem to be picking things up at the grocery store that I have high hopes for. (Translation: I have no idea what to do with them, but I buy them anyway.)  This week: persimmons.

A little history first.  My grandmother made the best persimmon pudding ever, from a wild persimmon tree growing near her house in North Carolina.  As far as I can tell, she never had a written recipe for anything. Ever.  So, of course I have tried to duplicate her recipe, with horrific varying results.  

So, I saw these beauties in the store and decided they would be mine.

They were labeled Hayicha persimmons, and were really orange and sort of squishy.  Then I debated what to do with them for several days until they were really squishy.  (The last time I attempted this, the persimmons were from Costco, were yellow and hard as rocks -- it did not go well.)  

Here's what they look like inside:

Let's go back to history for a moment.  Last time I tried this, with the hard-as-rocks yellow persimmons, I called my mother for advice.  She has made a persimmon pudding or two in her day.  The conversation went something like this:

Me: "Hi Mom. How do you make persimmon pulp?"

Mom: "Well, we always used the pantyhose method."

Me:

Mom: "Are you still there?"

Me: "The WHAT method?"

Mom: "Well, we always squeezed them through some pantyhose."

<Tangent warning> A proper Southern lady NEVER went to church sans pantyhose where I grew up, even if it was hot enough to rain brimstone. Plus, there were lots of hosiery mills in the area, with free samples/seconds (this was before NAFTA, of course, but that's a whole 'nother tangent).  So one always had a supply of never-used hosiery on hand.  I briefly considered my "delicates" drawer and decided that no, I am NOT willing to sacrifice the closest thing I own to pantyhose--Vera Wang opaque tights--even for culinary research purposes.  Even if they ARE from Kohls.  (And thank God for business casual. Amen.) </end tangent>

Ahem. So, I peeled the persimmons with a vegetable peeler, and threw them in the food processor, seeds and all. (What's a little extra fiber, right?).  Then I strained them (with a stainless steel strainer thankyouverymuch) into a measuring cup, like so:

Then I proceeded to make this recipe I found courtesy of one of my amazingly informative Twitter friends (sorry, forgot to make a note who!).  I love how it is hand-written.

I also love how it comes with no complicated instructions. Just mix everything together and throw it in the oven.  Before baking, it was a pleasant peach color.

About 5 minutes after I put it in the oven, I was cleaning up and went to put the milk away, when it occurred to me that I actually forgot to add it.  Doh! Another 35 minutes or so, and...

Basically, a persimmon spice cake.  Not moist, nor remotely like my grandma's (way too cake-like), although the color is close.  This would be good with a cinnamon cream cheese frosting though. 

So, I am still on the quest for the perfect persimmon pudding. The next step: try this exact recipe WITH the milk.  :)

The Great Tomato Massacre

A short while ago, it seemed like a brilliant idea to procure 20 pounds of fresh, organic late-summer local tomatoes from my favorite farmer.  A stroke of genius, I thought.  Fresh tomato sauce (via the freezer) in the dead of winter.  What could be better?

And then, on a Wednesday evening, reality set in.  It came in a large box that smelled faintly of a rogue tomato gone bad.

 

"You should probably cook these today or tomorrow," said the farmer. On Wednesday night. In the middle of my workweek.  (Sigh.)  So, dutifully, Thursday after cooking dinner, began the great tomato massacre. (Insert creepy music here...)

Did I mention that I had never actually made fresh tomato sauce?  So, I decided to try two different sauces.  Kind of like airline fuel hedging, but for tomatoes (sorry, random MBA reference... sometimes I wonder if I should have just gone to culinary school instead).  So, with two sauces, at least one is bound to turn out OK, right?  Um... right... (Insert dripping sarcasm)

Fresh Tomato Sauce

For the sauces, I turned to my trusty copy of Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone by Deborah Madison, where I found a recipe for Fresh Tomato Sauce that promised to take about 20 minutes, did not require peeling the tomatoes first, and provided a great way to use my wilting CSA basil.  Here's the basic gist:

• 3 pounds ripe tomatoes (I approximately tripled this entire recipe)
• 3 tablespoons chopped basil
• Salt and pepper
• 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Place roughly chopped tomatoes in a heavy pan with basil.  Cover and cook over medium-high until the tomatoes break down (about 10 minutes), being careful not to scorch. Then pass tomatoes through a food mill.  If you want the final sauce to be thicker, return it to the pot and cook over low heat, stirring frequently, until it's as thick as you want.  Season with salt and pepper, and stir in the oil.

So after all that, and about a half hour of simmering, I got this: a watery, seedy tomato soup.  And the food mill pass-through?  I swear I now have tomato seeds on my ceiling, the top of the refrigerator, the back of my retinas, and every other surface within a 10-foot radius.  I gave up on this sauce, strained out the seeds and put it in the fridge to become tomato soup.  Or possibly a large bloody Mary. (But not too large... it was only about one cup.  One cup!)  So, I humbly ask you... what did I do wrong?  (And I am pretty sure it was my error, since this cookbook has always yielded good results.)

Tomato Sauce Concasse

So, on to sauce two: Tomato Sauce Concasse (which sounds a lot more exotic than what it could be called: sauce with diced tomatoes).  This one sounded more like what I was expecting.  Cut Xes on the tomatoes, and plunge in boiling water.  Remove the skins. (Burn fingers due to impatience.)

Then seed and dice the tomatoes. (Burn fingers some more, and create horror flick storyboard.)

Oh yes, little one... guess what is your fate?  Mwah hah hah....

Then heat some olive oil (recipe called for butter) over medium heat, and add 1 small diced onion for every 3 pounds of tomatoes used.  Cook onion for about 5 minutes, then add tomatoes and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the watery juices have cooked off.  This took about an hour for me, although the recipe said 15-30 minutes.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  (Along with the tomatoes, I added some fresh thyme--why not?--and dried oregano.)  Here's what it looked like to start:

After about an hour, it was still watery and tasted wimpy.  So I called in the cavalry and added an entire can of tomato paste and some salt and pepper.  Maybe that was cheating, but it worked, and it was well past my bedtime at this point (which is why I don't have an "after" photo).  It turned out OK.  (But, sadly, still not as good as sauces I've made from canned tomatoes.)  But still, several pounds of tomatoes remained.

Oven-Roasted Tomatoes

Fast forward to the weekend (wouldn't it be great if you could really do that?)... and I took up my knife once again.  A bit beat down by sauces, I decided to roast the remainder of these little devils, following Mark Bittman's instructions for Oven-Roasted Plum Tomatoes (yes, I realize I was not using plum tomatoes).  I roughly chopped the remaining tomatoes and removed their seeds, then lined them up on a big cookie sheet and doused them in olive oil.

After roasting for about 45 minutes in a 325 oven, they were delightful sprinkled with a little sea salt.

I froze these in small portions to use later this winter (for more sauce, probably).

So what I've learned from this experience: don't be afraid to fail at new things (generally the results are still edible), don't squeeze the food mill with too much vigor, and never, ever take canned tomatoes for granted!

Sneak preview: My next "victim"? Cutest little pumpkin ever. (Commencing evil cackle...)

Win some, lose some (zucchini, that is)

Tonight was a big dinner #fail.

Well, maybe not totally.  The second batch of naan was pretty good (forgot to add yeast to the first, but luckily noticed before the rise so I had time to make another).  The raita was also pretty good (cucumbers, mint, lemon juice, salt and grated ginger with plain yogurt).  And the Sam Adams Blackberry Witbier my excellent husband picked up just because he knew I would love it?  Indeed, it rocks.

The main course? I was testing a new zucchini recipe I cut out of the Washington Post food section this week (yes, I still get the dead tree edition).  I was planning to include a link to said recipe in the CSA newsletter if it turned out well. 

It didn't.

I can't find the actual recipe online, but it was called Indian-Style Zucchini with Red Lentils.  It was pretty basic using an onion, zucchini and garam masala mixed with cooked red lentils.

Came out about the consistency of gruel, with the same appealing (appalling?) pallor.  To be fair, I thought it tasted good, and ate all of mine.  But it was a little too far into hippie health food territory for my husband, I'm afraid.  (Full disclosure: the author started the recipe by saying "This is not much to look at..." so I was prepared. He wasn't.)

Want to see a photo of the disaster?  (Are you SURE... it looks like gruel...)

Half-eaten gruel, to be precise.  Didn't take a "before" photo because, well, it just wasn't photogenic. 

Here's the naan.  If only I had a tandoori oven...

I am writing about tonight's dinner mostly because I think it makes an important point about cooking and eating healthy. 

Food rarely comes out looking like something from the pages of Gourmet magazine (unless of course you actually are a chef).  It's still healthy, still cooked with local produce, and still much, MUCH better for you than just about anything you can get at a restaurant. So win some, lose some, but don't stop trying. </end cheesy pep talk>

As for me, I am eyeing the rest of that zucchini for some bread, I think. Or maybe muffins. (I really should not have read this TIME article.  All it did was make me want a muffin!)

Not-so-Macho (Pink!) Gazpacho

So, today I decided to take on another nemesis: gazpacho.  Like stir fry, this is yet another seemingly basic thing I have yet to master.  So, thanks to bountiful CSA tomatoes, I decided to give it another go. 

My previous attempts at gazpacho have tasted more like liquid salsa. Not horrible, but only so much you can eat without reaching for the tortilla chips. I have tried at least a half dozen such recipes--all different, and all tasted like salsa.  So this time, I went to my new standby cookbook, where I found Mark Bittman's recipe for gazpacho.

2 pounds of tomatoes. OK.
1 cucumber. Sure.
2 or 3 slices day-old bread.  Say what now?

OK, well, if you say so Mark. You haven't failed me yet. So, into my blender all this goes, along with the 1/4 cup olive oil, 2 tbsp. red wine vinegar, 1 clove chopped garlic, salt and pepper.

Next time, I think I will have to use fewer tomatoes or make a half batch because, well, this didn't quite fit into my (nice, normal-sized) blender.  I had to add ingredients in stages, and then at the end I was still holding the top down on the blender, as I prefer my nice white kitchen ceiling to pink. (Yes, pink, but I'll get to that.)

Here are my 2 pounds of tomatoes (had to mix in a few Romas... not enough slicers in the CSA basket this week), so I'm sure I didn't use too many, after I cut out the tops.

Overall, this recipe made gazpacho that tastes like gazpacho. (No salsa flavor! Probably because I didn't add lime juice, cilantro or green pepper, as I have in past iterations.)  The texture is nice, and similar to what I've had in restaurants (maybe the bread crumbs add that secret mojo?). But the color: it's pink! (image below is NOT Photoshopped)

I added some little hot pepper slices to my husband's to "manly" it up a little (although they were really cute, small peppers).  His reaction, "We're having fruit smoothies for dinner?" And that's exactly what it looked like: strawberry smoothies.

I won't say this was a failure.  The toasted basil bread with local chevre was great, and the soup tasted right.  So, is that a success?  Anyone know what color traditional gazpacho is supposed to be?

Skinning a fish

Without fail, every time I try to remove the skin from salmon, disaster ensues.  I really like salmon, and I try to cook fish at least every week or two, because I am of course paranoid that my family doesn't get enough Omega-3s (perhaps because my husband single-handedly keeps the cookie bakers at our local Giant store employed). 

Today I had some lovely black sesame seeds from Penzeys, and I thought I would coat the salmon with them before pan frying.  I used to ask the nice seafood man behind the counter to remove the skin for me... but now, there is no counter!  In our fabulous nearly brand-new state-of-the-art supermarket, the seafood choices are frozen or shrink-wrapped.  I suppose I could buy fish at the health food store, which has a gorgeous seafood counter, but who can pay $15.99 a pound for wild-caught organic fish?  (OK, so there is probably no such thing... but I just can't bring myself to pay twice as much even if I know it is better...). 

Anyway, I marinated the fish (with skin on, as I was contemplating just coating one side with sesame seeds) in soy sauce, brown sugar, lemon juice and grated ginger.  Then, I decided that I should probably remove the skin, so it wouldn't stick.  Not everything doesn't stick to non-stick pans, and I was afraid of ruining my favorite non-stick skillet with permanent fish-scale imprints... especially since I just threw out my back-up (alas, it had lost its mojo in a long-forgotten catastrophe...).  Then after it had been marinating (yes, bad idea... can you say slippery?)  I tried to remove the skin by cutting with a recently sharpened-but-still-inexplicably dull santuko knife.  Although the fish eventually gave up its skin, I had about 1/3 less fish when I was through (now can you see why I can't stomach paying extra?). 

I added a little more marinade, coated in black sesame seeds and pan-seared in olive oil.  I am happy to report no lasting impact on my non-stick pan, and a nice flavorful fish... albeit smaller than intended.  Luckily hubby had gotten his twice-yearly urge to cook something and made Rice Krispy treats today.  (This might be directly correlated to my cooking healthy, now that I think about it...)

Wild rice and veggie soup with garam masala

I would not recommend this combination.  I adore Indian food -- in fact that is about all I ate for 9 months while pregnant.  I had chopped some extra carrots, onions and celery this weekend while making a lovely Bolognese sauce, so I put them in a bag in the fridge.  "Presto soupo" later in the week, I thought.

Well, it started off well enough, with the veggies sauteed in olive oil until translucent.  Then I added a couple cups of leftover storebought vegetable stock, a few more cups of water, and about 2/3 cup of a wild rice mixture I bought in bulk at the co-op.  I let it all simmer while playing with my daughter and doing all those fun chores, like emptying the dishwasher, that never seem to end.

When I came back later, it just seemed like it was missing something, so I looked in the spice cabinet.  Nothing really caught my eye... but then I saw the garam masala.  Why not?  The soup wasn't horrible, but the star of this meal was the grilled cheese sandwiches, slowly melted with liberal amounts of real butter.  Mine was brie (what else am I going to do with that giant wheel from Costco?) and fontina left over from the macaroni and cheese of the gods.  Hubbie had two: one with brie and one with Jarlsberg (he's half Norwegian!).