A Sweet Solution

I've got the blues. It's true. The flood-in-the-basement-summer's-almost-over-need-to-fix-the-car-why-are-there-still-ants-in-the-kitchen blues.
I understand in the tragedies of life, this does not even register and as much as I feel like Eeyore, I can see blue skies poking through those gray clouds despite the weatherman's forecast for a day of thunderstorms. What do they know anyway?
I could just wallow, but I get a little bored after about 5 minutes of that so I guess I am going to have to look for another solution. It's time to bake some brownies.
Much like chocolate chip cookies, people seem to have very personal views of what makes the best brownie. There are many factors to consider: nuts or other stir-ins, fudgy,cakey or chewy, dark with cocoa powder or light and sweet? Also, don't forget about the "dark" horse in the race: the blondie! Much like me, it is the red headed stepchild of the brownie world, overlooked and often passed over for it's chocolate sibling even though it is just as decadent, sweet and soul satisfying. Ok, one last wallow there I guess.
I love all baked goods so I usually try and hone in on what is calling to me on that particular day and one of my top candidates for today's pick me up is a recipe I accidentally developed. I was working on a photoshoot and had to prepare the ingredients for a television talent to make bar cookies in front of the camera. The talent aced it in the first two takes and I found myself with lots of extra ingredients. Since everything was measured out there was little to do with it all besides throw it away or bake yet another batch of the talent's bar cookies (there were already about 4 or 5 batches kicking around the kitchen from the shoot). Since I hate to throw food away, I stood there looking at the tray of ingredients in front of me and realized I had what I needed to make some brownies if I just changed things around. I melted the butter with some chocolate instead of creaming it, kicked up the cocoa powder and mixed in the room temperature cream cheese for flavor and texture. The result were soft and creamy brownies studded with chocolate chips. The best part is that these brownies are best served warm or just room temperature so there is no need to wait.
A little treat to yourself is sometimes all it takes to brush the raindrops off your shoulders and realize that the clouds are gone for now and it's time to feel a little sun on your face.

Creamy Triple Chocolate Brownies

 by Melissa Gaman

½ cup unsalted butter

3 oz. bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped

¼ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

¼ teaspoon fine salt

1 8 ounce package cream cheese, softened

¾ cup sugar

3 large eggs

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

¾ cup flour

2 tablespoons milk

¼ cup milk or semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat the oven to 350F. Line an 8x8 baking dish with aluminum foil, allowing a 2” overhang and lightly coat with nonstick cooking spray.

In a medium saucepan set over medium heat, melt the butter and chocolate until smooth. Remove from heat and stir in the cocoa and salt until smooth. Set aside.

Beat the cream cheese and sugar on medium-high speed until smooth and fluffy. Reduce speed to low and gradually beat in the chocolate mixture until combined. Beat in the eggs, 1 at a time, and then the vanilla. Alternately add the flour and milk, beginning and ending with the flour, until just combined. Pour into the prepared baking dish, spread evenly and sprinkle with the chocolate chips.

Bake until the top is set and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out with moist crumbs, about 15 to 20 minutes. Cool in the pan about 15 minutes and then, using the foil overhang, transfer to a wire rack to cool. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Makes 16 brownies.

Food Memories

Memories are tricky things. They slowly sway around in your mind and step into sharp focus when you least expect them. They are not necessarily about cataloging the truth, but about taking a mental and physical snapshot of a moment and, in that way, memories become singularly unique to each person.

When I was 9 years old my family moved from Winnipeg, Manitoba to Dallas, Texas. People often raise their eyebrows at this and comment on what a huge shift it must have been. That is an understatement.

When I lived in Winnipeg I was surrounded by grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends down the street. My favorite times were the long afternoons we would spend with my maternal grandparents. My grandmother is Welsh and moved to Canada after meeting my grandfather during World War II when she was a nurse and he an injured soldier. Her Welsh sensibilities always had us children being productive and doing something. We would help her shell peas, trail my grandfather around his garden or be left to practice the wood burning techniques he had taught us with some old wood and a magnifying glass.

Then, we would all come together for dinner. I don't actually remember what we had for dinner, but I specifically remember dessert. She made amazing date and oat squares (she calls them matrimonial squares) or maybe a  lemon bundt cake with a sweet tart lemon glaze that would gently pool at the bottom of the cake and we would swipe off the plate with our fingers when she wasn't looking. Sometimes it was a big bowl of ice cream. Maple ripple was my grandfather's favorite. And sometimes it was a big bowl of strawberries with a small bowl of sugar next to it. I wasn't much for believing that fruit was really dessert, but when I dipped those strawberries in sugar it was more than enough for me. I loved how the sugar stayed a little crunchy against the soft berries and the sugar bowl would slowly become tinged pink. I could never believe how good, sweet, ripe...perfect they tasted.

 

The last few weeks have brought local strawberries to my farmers market. Stopping to buy a quart one day the farmer told me to lean in and smell them. They were picked at 4am that day and were the essence of strawberry. In a moment I was back sitting at my grandmother's table in the house she still lives in, in a t-shirt and shorts, blissfully unaware that those long afternoons were about to become only memories.

I did the only thing I thought was right. I came home, put a bunch of strawberries

on a plate, poured a little bowl of raw sugar and added a spoonful of mascarpone cheese to the plate (I guess some things can change a little.)

As I savored the crunchy sugar against the sweet berries and rich mascarpone I let my mind wonder about how much these memories played into my decision to work in the culinary world. Would different childhood memories have altered my future?

  

 I suppose it's impossible to know, but by the time I finished my plate, my spirit felt a little lighter. It was the best quart of strawberries I have every bought.

My Catch of the Day

I love to fish. I vaguely remember, as a young child, fishing for trout in a little pool for kids at a campground vacation in Minnesota with my family. The bulk of the memory is me holding a little fishing rod and being angry that I didn't catch anything because there were prizes for the ones who caught the most fish. I guess even then I had a competitive spirit. Fast forward about 20 years to being invited to go fishing on a pier in Jersey City by my, then new, boyfriend. I was wearing boots and a leather jacket, not quite understanding all I was getting into. He showed me how to cast a treble hook to try and snag a live baitfish and I was surprised to actually hook into one. As I reeled it in, under his instruction, the rod suddenly felt very heavy and it was increasingly difficult to turn the reel. I was encouraged to keep going (my sweetie thought I was being weak and a little strange) and much to both of our shock there was a beautiful striped bass on the end of the line! The bass had gone after my bait fish as I was reeling it in. Not to be too cliche, but I guess you could say I was hooked.


I told you I was in a leather jacket. Manhattan skyline behind me.


Since that day I have had the opportunity to fish from piers, rock jetties, boats and riverbanks for trout, striped bass, bluefish, steelhead, dolphinfish and tuna, although I have not been lucky enough to catch the last two kinds. We fish in the winter and the summer and I find there is something peaceful and beautiful about being on the water at daybreak or sunset and something exciting about literally seeing a fish jump out of the water for your bait.


Peace


Beyond that, of course, is the opportunity to eat the freshest fish you can get. It is a special day that begins with a fishing rod and ends with gorgeous sides of fish so fresh that as you fillet you can have a little sashimi as well. Even though I am a chef, I cannot afford or choose to buy and live all organically and free range, but I take pride in doing what I can to eat cleanly and well.

Striped bass is wonderful because it is so mild that it adapts well to a variety of cooking techniques and flavors. I like to keep it simple so you don't just taste the spices or sauces you have added to it.

For this dinner I rubbed the fillets with some minced garlic and pepper, added a squeeze of lime juice and let them stand for about 30 minutes and then rubbed them with a mixture of salt and chili powder. I seared them in a nonstick skillet until golden brown on each side and gave them a light brush of barbecue sauce in the last few minutes of cooking. Served with a corn and tomatillo salad and some cold lightly dressed soba noodles, it was a perfect summer meal.

A Sour Start

As a recipe developer I have come to expect that the first pass on something unknown will turn out....questionable. The stubborn perfectionist in me always holds out hope that from the start it will be amazing and perfect and delicious and that I am, unquestionably, a genius! Not quite. I must remind myself when looking at the actual finished dish as opposed to the image in my head that the process of creating a recipe is the most valuable part of the process. I remind myself often.

My current project, despite the 90 degree heat in my old house without air conditioning, is no knead sourdough bread made from a wonderful sourdough starter that was gifted to me. I love making bread and have a solid track record with both sweet and savory loaves. I have, however, never made bread from a sourdough starter instead of yeast and I have never made no knead bread. This kind of challenge is right up my alley.

The beauty of the no knead process is two fold. The first is that it cuts several steps from the traditional process and since I do have other things to do with my days (yes, days plural - bread takes time!) than fold, proof, shape and proof various stages of dough, this is perfect. The second is that all the equipment you need is a bowl, a wooden spoon, plastic wrap, parchment and an enamel coated cast iron pot. This is ideal for me since my old house also lacks in counter space and storage in the kitchen.

I started by researching no knead sourdough bread recipes online. I found a range of techniques and ingredients and settled on one based on tips from Nancy Silverton since the starter was from one of her cookbooks. I really wanted to use all starter instead of starter plus yeast so first I had to tend to my starter. I had been keeping it in the fridge so the first thing I did was to let it sit at room temperature for a while and get it all active and bubbling again. It was so warm yesterday this took only a few hours. I then mixed in a bowl some bread flour, kosher salt, honey and the starter. It looked sort of shaggy and dry, which didn't quite seem right so I mixed in a few tablespoons of water. I let it double at room temperature for 5 hours and then let it sit in the fridge overnight, as the research suggested in order to let the sourdough flavor really develop but not allow the bread to over proof and become excessively sticky.



The next morning


My dough the next morning was not quite as expected. It didn't really change at all overnight and still seemed too dry and tight. At this point there was really nothing to do to try and fix it. I knew perfection was out the window on this loaf so it was time to just wait and see what was going to happen. I let the dough stand at room temperature while I preheated my oven with the Dutch oven in it at 475 degrees F for 45 minutes. I then put a piece of parchment at the bottom of the Dutch oven and turned the dough right into the hot pot. I baked, covered, until puffed and firm and then lowered the oven temperature to 400 degrees F and finished baking, uncovered, until it was golden brown and firm when tapped.



The cooling loaf







Checking out the crumb



The bread turned out to not be a total disaster. Although it had a very crunchy crust and a wonderful sour flavor from the starter, there was too much salt and the crumb was too dense. The denseness was really no surprise since I felt the dough was itself was too dry.

Further reading leads to me believe that it all comes back to my starter. Perhaps I need to let it sit out of the fridge and feed it for a few days so that it is more aggressive? Perhaps I need to add a bit more water to my recipe as my starter may be firmer than the ones I was referencing? Is the problem as simple as the fact that I tried to make a half batch and the proportions just don't translate?

As I chew this over for a few days and read some more, at least I can be comforted by having some fresh bread to chew on as well.



Dinner for one

Although I live in a household of two, I often feel as if I must cook for six to satisfy my significant other's voracious appetite. The degree to which he can put it away continues to shock me. It can be a challenge to come home after a long day of cooking and try and figure out what to make to satisfy his hunger. It is even more challenging when my own belly is overly full from a day of marathon tasting, but the chef in me can't stand to see a loved one go hungry. Perhaps this is why when I find myself on my own for a few days that I delight in the ability to cook for one: me!
As much as I love my sweetie, there is pleasure in being able to selfishly cook with only my tastes in mind. I love dishes that are more spicy, tart and messy than he cares for. One of my favorite dishes that is all of those things is vegetable rice noodles. I actually make this often for the both of us, but when it is just me, all bets are off. I don't treat this as a side dish, underplay the spice or bother trimming the long noodles to manageable lengths.
I can't really give a proper recipe for this because the pure joy of making it is in catering to my mood that day, but I can share with you my building blocks so that you too can take it and make it just for you.

Vegetable Rice Noodles:

For the sauce:
Lime juice, cider vinegar, honey, soy sauce, hot sauce, minced fresh ginger, peanut butter, toasted sesame oil, red curry paste, salt and pepper.

Mix-ins:
Strips of cucumber, bell pepper, carrot. Sliced scallion and fresh chilies. Whole cilantro, basil and/or mint leaves.

Soak rice noodles in hot water until tender; drain. Toss with sauce and let stand for 30 minutes to allow the noodles to soak up the sauce. To speed this up, cover and microwave for 1 to 2 minutes. The noodles will drink up the sauce. Toss in your mix-ins of choice and eat right out of the bowl.

Feeling Corny

The last few weeks in New York has finally signaled that the seasons are changing and summer is just around the corner. Every year this shift is so highly anticipated that when the temperature hits above 60 for more than one day in a row, men and women start walking around in shorts and sandals. I'm as ready as anyone, but I'm still wearing my jacket. I am, to a fault, a realist. 60 degrees is not 80.
This bubbling fervor hasn't left me untouched. While ramps and rhubarb have been great, I'm really starting to crave juicy berries and cherries and, most of all, crisp sweet summer corn. I learned the hard way not to buy the tempting ears all wrapped up in cellophane at the supermarket. Starchy and bland, this corn just ends up making me feel both mad and sad and does not scratch the itch. So this time I tried another route and turned to one of my pantry staples, canned hominy. Hominy is dried corn that has been treated with an alkali, such as lye, to prevent it from sprouting during storage. You can buy it in the same forms as beans: dried in bags or cooked and in liquid in cans. The applications are the same as well. If you buy it dried you need to soak it and cook it until tender and from the can with a simple rinse it's pretty much ready to go. I actually keep both around since they are cheap and last a long time, I can use it depending on my time frame that day.
I had hominy for the first time about 5 years ago and quickly added it to my own pantry. It has a deep corn flavor with a hint of something citrusy and a pleasant chew that holds up in soups and stews, which is mostly how I have cooked with it until now. It dawned on me that since hominy is corn, why don't I treat it more like corn? My summer corn itch was about to be scratched with a roasted hominy salad.
The hominy took very well to being roasted, maintaining its texture without becoming dry or tough, and with a bit of lime and cilantro to brighten the dish, I think I'll be able to make it to summer.

Roasted Hominy and Sweet Potato Salad
Melissa Gaman

1 15-ounce can white hominy, drained and rinsed
2 small sweet potatoes, about 1 pound, peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces
1/2 large sweet onion, coarsely chopped
2 cloves garlic, sliced
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon chili powder
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 to 2 limes, juiced
1/2 cup cilantro leaves, chopped if desired, I like whole leaves
1 scallion, sliced
1 avocado, peeled and cubed

Preheat the oven to 425 degrees F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil. In a large bowl toss the hominy with the sweet potatoes, onion and garlic. Add the oil, chili powder, paprika and a generous sprinkling of salt and pepper; toss well to coat and spread in a single layer on the lined baking sheet. Roast until the hominy is golden and the sweet potatoes are tender, about 20 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Cool until warm but no longer steaming, 5 to 10 minutes. Transfer to a large bowl and squeeze the juice of 1 lime over the mixture. Add the cilantro and scallion and toss. Season to taste with the juice from the second lime, salt and pepper. Fold in the avocado. Serve warm or at room temperature.

From my own test kitchen!

One of the things I love most about my job is the ability to be creative every day. But being a professional recipe developer does not mean you get to cook whatever you want. Don't like anchovies? Too bad if puttanesca is on the list to be tackled. Don't care for blue cheese? That burger you've been assigned is a bacon blue cheese burger, you know, with the extra stinky kind of blue cheese. Yikes. In my kitchen, I decide the menu and often end up treating it just like a test kitchen. Here is a recent experiment I worked on to give an idea of how a recipe developer's mind works, or at least my mind:
I recently came into some leftover rhubarb, a handful of underwhelming strawberries, and two Meyer lemons which had been dezested (I call them bald citrus). I couldn't decide what to make: Meyer lemon pudding or panna cotta with strawberry rhubarb compote, a tart or pie (I also had some cream cheese for a pie dough recipe I like), a simple pot of preserves for breakfast? Then it hit me what I truly wanted. A no-fuss, tasty dessert: strawberry rhubarb crisp.
After a bit of research and a look through my cabinets I decided on a game plan. I was going to macerate the sad berries in a bit of red wine and sugar to enhance their berry-ness, toss with the rhubarb, Meyer lemon juice, sugar, flour, vanilla, salt and a pinch of black pepper to play into the flavor notes of the red wine. The topping was going to be my favorite kind: a crumbly sweet mix of oats, sugar, flour, cinnamon, and, of course, butter.
After securing the right size baking dish and giving it a healthy rub of softened butter I was ready to get this crisp in the oven. I faced a few last minute questions as I began to toss the elements of the filling together. Should I drain the strawberries or use the macerating liquid? If I used the liquid, did I need to double my flour? Erring on the side of a juicy, rather than dry, crisp, I added the liquid and just slightly increased my flour. Nothing is worse than a gummily thickened fruit filling. I also had a pause as I was about to add the black pepper. Was this only a good idea in my head? I decided it was better to find out and tossed it in.
45 minutes later, I had a gorgeous bubbling crisp:

Overall the dessert was delicious and it did not even make it 24 hours in my 2 person house. Here are my tasting notes: the fruit filling was a little looser than I would have liked and I probably should have doubled my flour. Especially because I was glad to have included the winey macerated liquid, which gave the dessert a rich flavor. The black pepper was a back note, but it was definitely there and I'm not sure next time I'd put it in. I couldn't decide if I really liked it or not, a feeling that usually means it does not belong. The topping, the proportions of which I borrowed from an old Gourmet recipe, was a little too sweet, especially because the rhubarb I had was not that tart and the Meyer lemons are also not as sour as a regular lemon.
It ended up being a tasty dessert for a blustery night and another good learning experience from my test kitchen.