March 2004 Archives

My parents were in town last weekend, and we went to the Natural History Museum to check out the new ocean life room. In the gift shop they had some chocolate left over from their big chocolate exhibit, so I bought some Vosges Haut-Chocolat: Red Fire, with ancho and chipotle chiles and cinnamon. I was kind of disappointed, though; it tasted like a red hot to me.

It also kind of reminded me of my uncle Larry's cinnamon schnapps. He probably uses red hots to make it. It's fabulous, if I remember correctly: the heat from the cinnamon flavor and the bite of the alcohol. I added a little chipotle powder to my last mug of hot chocolate, and I liked that better than the Vosges chocolate, too. The temperature heat and the flavor heat combine for an intense experience.

Anyway, there were two other Vosges flavors I want to try: curry and coconut with milk chocolate (Naga), and ginger, wasabi and black sesame seeds with dark chocolate (Black Pearl).

was a cream puff from Beard Papa's. But with my parents and an impatient Todd in tow, it was impossible to justify standing in a line that stretched all the way to the end of the block. (Had I been alone, and not in a big hurry, I would have waited, because I wanted to see if it was worth it.)

So I made some of my own when I got home. I remember making cream puffs for a progressive dinner in college, then filling them with pudding or ice cream. You start by bringing 1 cup water, 1/2 cup butter and a pinch of salt to a boil. Add 1 cup flour all at once, then stir until it forms a ball. Let sit 10 minutes, then add 4 eggs, one at a time, stirring each egg into the dough completely before adding the next. Place heaping teaspoons on a greased or silpat-lined baking sheet 3 inches apart and bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes. Easy.

It was an OK dessert for my diabetic father, too, because I filled his with sugar-free pudding (the rest of us had regular pudding). For something fancier, I'd make a pastry cream (which is what I bet Beard Papa does).

This seems to be a theme for me lately: produce that presents itself as a puzzle, a difficult safe that one must figure out how to crack. The second artichoke I had, the one I steamed one day then ate cold from the refrigerator the next, made me relent and decide that, dipped in a good vinaigrette, it was worth it. The bowl of plain yogurt and diced fresh pineapple I just had has made me change my mind about what I had believed was a waste of time.

First, the pineapple Todd picked out was pretty green, but I found online that as long as it has some yellow or red at the bottom (which ours did) you can ripen it on your counter, upside down (I think it was NBC's Produce Pete who gave me that tip). It's almost as though the ripeness gradually runs down the pineapple, and over the course of a few days the pineapple turned yellow, from the bottom (which was on top) to the top (I had perched the pineapple on of that tuft of stiff leaves that come out the top).

Once it's ripe, you slice off the top and bottom, then the tough exterior. Then there are all those eyes; I had seen people on TV find the rows of eyes and cut out a row at a time, which I did, then picked out the rest. It's not a quick job, though, whatever TV chefs may say. Mine also had all these little seeds embedded in it, and so I took out as many of those as I could. Then I quartered it lengthwise, cut out the fibrous core and chopped it into chunks.

I diced a bit up and mixed it with plain yogurt: sweet with the tang from the yogurt, smooth creaminess with the juicy, slighty fibrous pieces.

This seems to be a theme for me lately: produce that presents itself as a puzzle, a difficult safe that one must figure out how to crack. The second artichoke I had, the one I steamed one day then ate cold from the refrigerator the next, made me relent and decide that, dipped in a good vinaigrette, it was worth it. The bowl of plain yogurt and diced fresh pineapple I just had has made me change my mind about what I had believed was a waste of time.

First, the pineapple Todd picked out was pretty green, but I found online that as long as it has some yellow or red at the bottom (which ours did) you can ripen it on your counter, upside down (I think it was NBC's Produce Pete who gave me that tip). It's almost as though the ripeness gradually runs down the pineapple, and over the course of a few days the pineapple turned yellow, from the bottom (which was on top) to the top (I had perched the pineapple on of that tuft of stiff leaves that come out the top).

Once it's ripe, you slice off the top and bottom, then the tough exterior. Then there are all those eyes; I had seen people on TV find the rows of eyes and cut out a row at a time, which I did, then picked out the rest. It's not a quick job, though, whatever TV chefs may say. Mine also had all these little seeds embedded in it, and so I took out as many of those as I could. Then I quartered it lengthwise, cut out the fibrous core and chopped it into chunks.

I diced a bit up and mixed it with plain yogurt: sweet with the tang from the yogurt, smooth creaminess with the juicy, slighty fibrous pieces.

I made this recipe once before, a long time ago, and I think I used broth instead of wine that time. The shrimp produce a lot of juice, too, so you end up with tasty liquid to sop up with a piece of bread.

It's really easy: Clean a bundle of asparagus and snap off tough ends. Cut into 2-inch pieces, then saute for a couple of minutes with two minced garlic cloves, salt, pepper and red pepper flakes. Add 1 pound of shrimp and saute a few more minutes, until shrimp is pink. Add 1 cup dry white wine (I used an acidic pinot grigio) and a squeeze of lemon juice and bring to a boil. Serve in bowls with toasts rubbed with a cut garlic clove. Takes less than 1/2 hour.

My parents are coming for a visit this weekend, and I've invited some friends over for dessert one night to meet them. The problem I'm facing is that my dad is diabetic, and I want to make something he can enjoy with the rest of us. I've read some positive information on Splenda, the sweetener made from a modified sugar molecule that can be substituted at a 1:1 ratio for sugar in recipes where the sugar isn't the basis of texture or browning.

But I've also read a few negative things about Splenda, a few side effects and complaints that there haven't been enough studies. But on one of these sites, the person claims suclarose (Splenda) is about 600 times as sweet as sugar (which is not what the Splenda web site says). There are other seeming discrepancies between the negative Splenda sites and the official Splenda site.

Am I being too careful? I wouldn't consider using something like Splenda if it weren't for my father's diabetes (I'm a firm believer in real butter, full-fat cream, real maple syrup, in moderation). If it were summer I'd serve fresh berries topped with whipped cream or balsamic vinegar. Are there any options like that for very early spring?

I'm considering making a rustic apple tart by tossing the apples with a little Splenda (that's probably what I'll do).

Todd saw a picture of this in Bittersweet and said, "That looks great!" So here it is. I even think mine turned our looking about as great as the one in the cookbook. It's tasty, too, moist and chocolaty. I was a little worried since I used what I had, Callebaut semisweet chocolate chips, instead of good 70-percent chocolate, but the espresso powder gives it a hint of that almost bitter, burnt taste that I love in my chocolate. Maybe a darker chocolate would be bitter enough to cut the richness of the whipped cream filling, which I thought was almost too much.

I've begun to use my jelly-roll pan a bit more lately, which was another reason this cake appealed to me. The batter doesn't have any flour, either. Now, this is the recipe I used, which has a couple differences from the basic Bittersweet Roulade recipe in the book.

Todd saw a picture of this in Bittersweet and said, "That looks great!" So here it is. I even think mine turned our looking about as great as the one in the cookbook. It's tasty, too, moist and chocolaty. I was a little worried since I used what I had, Callebaut semisweet chocolate chips, instead of good 70-percent chocolate, but the espresso powder gives it a hint of that almost bitter, burnt taste that I love in my chocolate. Maybe a darker chocolate would be bitter enough to cut the richness of the whipped cream filling, which I thought was almost too much.

I've begun to use my jelly-roll pan a bit more lately, which was another reason this cake appealed to me. The batter doesn't have any flour, either. Now, this is the recipe I used, which has a couple differences from the basic Bittersweet Roulade recipe in the book.

I finally tried making a broiled grapefruit for brunch this morning. Just sprinkled some brown sugar mixed with minced candied ginger over the cut sides of a halved grapefruit, then put it under the broiler for 5 minutes. It gets sweet, warm and juicy - Todd even liked it.

We just had it with scrambled eggs and toast, but I think it'd be a nice addition to brunch. It's a little more labor-intensive than it looks, though: I cut along all the little membranes and along the outside edge to make it easier to eat (no grapefruit spoons here). We also had cafe au lait, although we need to get those big cafe au lait bowls to really enjoy that.

In honor of St. Patrick's Day, I made Nigella Lawson's hash recipe from the NYT yesterday, substituting diced leftover lamb mixed in for the fried egg on top. Figured it was at least as Irish as I am (which is not very much): lots of potatoes, and isn't lamb kind of Irish, too?

Anyway, it was pretty good. I sauteed half a sliced onion in some oil, then added three red potatoes cut into 1/2-inch pieces, salt and a dash of chipotle (she called for cayenne). Cooked that over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, for about 20 minutes, then added the lamb and cooked it for another 10 minutes. The potatoes kind of stick to the pan, making all these little browned bits as you stir them. Good food for a late dinner on a snowy night (I went to bed about an hour after).

We had lots of leftovers after a weekend of company, so we've been eating sandwiches for practically every meal. I don't object, though, because a sandwich can be catered to the individual diner, and that means I get to have whatever weird ingredients on it I want.

Monday night we had smoked turkey sandwiches on 7-grain sandwich bread, and I always add a lot of chutney because I think it goes so well with the smokiness.

Yesterday for lunch I spread salt-cod puree (brandade) on a baguette that I had sliced lengthwise and toasted, then topped it with roasted peppers.

Last night we toasted onion rolls, then topped them with heated, sliced roast beef in the sauce and Swiss cheese, then put them back under the broiler to melt the cheese. I ate mine open-face with more sauce; Todd put the top on and ate it as a sandwich.

I think we're both sandwiched out now, though. Maybe pasta, a quesadilla or a fritatta to keep working on those leftovers.

We would've thrown the poor thing out if we didn't have one of those digital thermometers to tell us that the inside was perfectly cooked, medium rare. The outside was charred in places and red in others, like it was raw (I still don't know what that was, but it wasn't raw). I instructed Todd to slice it up and put it on the serving platter, so our guests wouldn't see the horrible looking chunk of meat - and then what does he do but take it out to the table and slice it up in front of everyone! But the slices looked so nice and pink inside that everyone forgave the roast its disgusting exterior.

The sauce was awesome, too. I was skeptical about the burned fond at the bottom of the roasting pan making anything but a charcoal-tasting sauce, but when I smelled the pan it actually smelled rich and meaty, so I went ahead, with great results. Added butter, then 1/4 a finely diced onion, sauteed it until the onion started to brown, then added 1 cup of the red wine we were drinking, let that cook a bit, then added 1 cup chicken broth. Reduced that a bit, then whisked in 1/2-tablespoon-size chunks of butter (6 of them), one at a time, until it was a smooth sauce.

Chocolate cream pie with a meringue topping is a two person job (especially if you don't have a standing mixer, although women for years made it without one). One of the key elements of putting the whole thing together is to spread the freshly whipped meringue over a piping-hot filling, so the meringue sort of cooks on contact and doesn't break down and weep. So I have my arms stretched across our small kitchen, stirring the bubbling chocolate custard with one hand while I hold the running mixer in the meringue with the other. The other key is to prevent shrinking by spreading the meringue to cover all the edges of the pie.

I did have a problem, though. As the pie sat, sweet little amber-colored beads formed on top of the meringue. It wasn't exactly weeping in the traditional sense, where there's a watery layer between the meringue and the filling. I was thinking maybe it was because the meringue was overcooked, because the recipe I used cooked it at 425 degrees for 20 to 25 minutes. But the texture of the meringue was just what I like, foamy but solid, so I'm not sure that's it. Any ideas?

Ever since I went to Craftbar the first time and had this pureed fish that you eat with toasts, I've been wanting to eat it again. Come to find out it's a bistro staple, and there's a recipe for it in Bistro Cooking at Home. It's pretty easy to do but it makes a bit of a mess. I had a hard time finding salt cod in my neighborhood, too. The fish store, the cheese shop, the gourmet grocer - people there had never even heard of it, or they only carried it during the holidays.

I finally found the fish at the Food Emporium near my office, choice grade with no skin or bones. Soaked it for 2 days, changing the water intermittently, then put it in a skillet (they're the same shape as regular cod fillets, although perhaps a bit shrunken), covered it with water, brought it to a boil and simmered for a few minutes, until the fish was flakey. Meanwhile boiled half a potato cut in 1-inch cubes until tender and steeped a chopped garlic clove in 1/2 cup hot light cream. Put the fish, potato, cream in a food processor with 1/4 cup olive oil and salt. Pureed until it was smooth but still had some texture from the flakey fish. Added more salt, then served with toasts and topped with more oil and some roasted bell pepper strips.

It was good, but next time I'll add more garlic. The taste was pretty subtle, and the bread I used was so good that it almost overshadowed the brandade.

Ever since I went to Craftbar the first time and had this pureed fish that you eat with toasts, I've been wanting to eat it again. Come to find out it's a bistro staple, and there's a recipe for it in Bistro Cooking at Home. It's pretty easy to do but it makes a bit of a mess. I had a hard time finding salt cod in my neighborhood, too. The fish store, the cheese shop, the gourmet grocer - people there had never even heard of it, or they only carried it during the holidays.

I finally found the fish at the Food Emporium near my office, choice grade with no skin or bones. Soaked it for 2 days, changing the water intermittently, then put it in a skillet (they're the same shape as regular cod fillets, although perhaps a bit shrunken), covered it with water, brought it to a boil and simmered for a few minutes, until the fish was flakey. Meanwhile boiled half a potato cut in 1-inch cubes until tender and steeped a chopped garlic clove in 1/2 cup hot light cream. Put the fish, potato, cream in a food processor with 1/4 cup olive oil and salt. Pureed until it was smooth but still had some texture from the flakey fish. Added more salt, then served with toasts and topped with more oil and some roasted bell pepper strips.

It was good, but next time I'll add more garlic. The taste was pretty subtle, and the bread I used was so good that it almost overshadowed the brandade.

Calling this meat-n-potatoes is a bit of a stretch, since it really was potatoes with a little bit of meat in the stuffing: twice-baked with pancetta, cheddar and onions (I know I'm mixing my regions here, but it's basically cheddar and bacon). I rubbed the potatoes with garlic oil, stabbed them a few times with a fork, then nuked them (they would've been better, undoubtedly, if I had oven baked them, but I didn't have that kind of time). Let them cool for a few minutes, then cut them in half lengthwise and scooped out the middle, leaving 1/4- to 1/2-inch potato shell. Mixed the insides with cheddar, a mixture of sauteed strips of pancetta and diced onion, milk, salt and pepper. Spooned that back into the shells, topped with a little more cheese, then broiled for a couple of minutes to crisp the outside and melt the cheese. The filling encouraged compulsive eating. How much more unhealthy can you get? We tried to assuage the guilt with a mixed-green salad on the side and pineapple slices for dessert.

The recipes from Solo Suppers are usually more food than one person can eat, but I think that might be intentional: She includes a few salads and some tips on how to reuse leftovers. It feeds right into my scavangerishness. Last night I made a single-serving Parmesan pudding, a set, savory custard, and found that, instead of the one pudding the recipe made, I could make two decent-sized puddings from it. I ate one for dinner last night with a salad and the last of the tomato-olive compote (that is a versatile topping) and the other for breakfast this morning with my apple juice.

I also lightened the recipe a bit as I went along. Start by melting 1 tablespoon butter in a saucepan, then add 1 tablespoon flour and cook for a few minutes to make a roux. Whisk in 1/4 cup light cream (the recipe called for 1/2 cup heavy cream), then take the saucepan off the heat and add 1/2 cup milk, 1 egg, 1 egg yolk, salt, pepper, nutmeg and 2/3 cup grated Parmegiano-Reggiano (I don't think I added quite enough - I didn't measure and the pudding only had a faint flavor). Pour into buttered ramekins with a buttered round of parchment in the bottom and bake in a waterbath in a 350 degree oven for 25 minutes (I started checking at 15 and found that they needed the full 25 minutes). Let sit for 5 minutes, then run a knife around the edge, unmold onto a plate and remove the parchment. This has a great consistency: smooth, firm, creamy. Not gelantinous. It's a perfect palatte for other flavors. The recipe recommended adding veggies to it or serving it with a green vegetable or red pepper sauce. Two problems: the course-ground pepper (the only way I can do it) sank to the bottom and marred the look of the unmolded custard, and I had a hard time getting the parchment to fit perfectly, so the edges of the custard are a little ragged from the excess paper. Better to have too little parchment than too much, I think.

Last week I had a nice little mezze-type dinner for myself: roasted feta with pita wedges and a cold, steamed artichoke with lemon vinaigrette. The feta was really cute and easy. I put a 2-oz, square slice of feta in a ramekin, drizzled over some olive oil, sprinkled with roasted red peppers, kalamata olives and oregano, and broiled until the edges of the cheese started to brown. I toasted the pita under the broiler for the last couple of minutes the feta was broiling. This was a recipe from I think the March edition of Gourmet, which was the New York edition.

I had steamed the artichoke and made the vinaigrette the night before, so it was a quick dinner, too.

Last week I had a nice little mezze-type dinner for myself: roasted feta with pita wedges and a cold, steamed artichoke with lemon vinaigrette. The feta was really cute and easy. I put a 2-oz, square slice of feta in a ramekin, drizzled over some olive oil, sprinkled with roasted red peppers, kalamata olives and oregano, and broiled until the edges of the cheese started to brown. I toasted the pita under the broiler for the last couple of minutes the feta was broiling. This was a recipe from I think the March edition of Gourmet, which was the New York edition.

I had steamed the artichoke and made the vinaigrette the night before, so it was a quick dinner, too.

I picked out a few different mushrooms for this: hedgehogs, black trumpet, enoki and cremini. The really cheerful and friendly woman who checked me out bravely tried, and failed, to guess the name of each one. Quartered the creminis and tore the hedgehogs and trumpets in pieces, then tossed them together with some olive oil, salt, pepper, white wine, diced onion and garlic, and sprigs of thyme in a casserole dish. Covered them with foil and baked them for 25 minutes in a 375 degree oven. Then I added the enoki, stirring the mushrooms, and cooked them for another 10 minutes. (This was based on a recipe from A New Way to Cook.)

Now I don't know if this was breaking Clotilde's rules for a tartine (I made this recipe for Is My Blog Burning?), but I brushed a thick slice of firm Italian white bread with some garlic oil, then toasted it under the broiler. Spread on a layer of fresh whole-milk ricotta, then piled on the mushrooms and drizzled with balsamic vinegar.

Todd's birthday was Wednesday, and he chose Les Halles (on Park Ave South) for dinner. I think it's because he read Kitchen Confidential recently and was curious to see the place Bourdain wrote so much about. It's funny because if we had given it any real thought the Les Halles in our imaginations would have matched the real one, but we both imagined something less dark, crowded and noisy. We were both game, though, and really grew to like the liveliness.

Our drinks were ho-hum, but we split an order of smoked herring and potato salad to start that was my favorite part of the meal. It was one whole smoked herring fillet, draped over four big chunks of boiled potato. The herring was not flakey, but had the texture of tough cold-smoked salmon. At first Todd said the texture bordered on revolting, but he grew to like it. The best part was that the potatoes get covered in all that smokey olive oil from the fish, the excess of which I mopped up with the good bread.

I almost wish I had stopped there, simply because I was so full after eating my main course that I could hardly enjoy dessert. I ordered merguez and frites. The four lamb sausages were very unevenly seasoned from link to link: the cumin and heat of the first one overwelmed any other flavor, but the second link was more mildly seasoned, and benefitted from the spicy harissa served with. Good fries and a few greens that offered a cool break from the heat of the lamb. Todd's steak (a NY strip, I think) was so sweet and tender, with a pronounced beefy flavor, like a good hamburger on the grill. (Is it depressing that I think his steak tasted like hamburger? I don't mean it that way.).

Chocolate-banana cake for dessert, which I would've enjoyed more had my tastebuds recovered from my main dish. Happy Birthday, Todd! I hope you enjoyed it.

Todd's birthday was Wednesday, and he chose Les Halles (on Park Ave South) for dinner. I think it's because he read Kitchen Confidential recently and was curious to see the place Bourdain wrote so much about. It's funny because if we had given it any real thought the Les Halles in our imaginations would have matched the real one, but we both imagined something less dark, crowded and noisy. We were both game, though, and really grew to like the liveliness.

Our drinks were ho-hum, but we split an order of smoked herring and potato salad to start that was my favorite part of the meal. It was one whole smoked herring fillet, draped over four big chunks of boiled potato. The herring was not flakey, but had the texture of tough cold-smoked salmon. At first Todd said the texture bordered on revolting, but he grew to like it. The best part was that the potatoes get covered in all that smokey olive oil from the fish, the excess of which I mopped up with the good bread.

I almost wish I had stopped there, simply because I was so full after eating my main course that I could hardly enjoy dessert. I ordered merguez and frites. The four lamb sausages were very unevenly seasoned from link to link: the cumin and heat of the first one overwelmed any other flavor, but the second link was more mildly seasoned, and benefitted from the spicy harissa served with. Good fries and a few greens that offered a cool break from the heat of the lamb. Todd's steak (a NY strip, I think) was so sweet and tender, with a pronounced beefy flavor, like a good hamburger on the grill. (Is it depressing that I think his steak tasted like hamburger? I don't mean it that way.).

Chocolate-banana cake for dessert, which I would've enjoyed more had my tastebuds recovered from my main dish. Happy Birthday, Todd! I hope you enjoyed it.

My coworker brought risotto with shrimp, tarragon and lemon for lunch the other day, and she mentioned what a relaxing experience making risotto could be, standing over the pot, stirring with one hand, a glass of wine in the other. I applied the same principle to polenta last night, and topped it with a mixture of roasted mushrooms seasoned with thyme and drizzled with balsamic vinegar.

I'm afraid I found it difficult to just stand and stir - and that bothers me. I want to be the kind of person who can just stand and be, and not get bored. I had to turn on some music, find other things to do in the kitchen, etc. I think I need to practice my relaxation techniques. More polenta, risotto for me. Jam. Other long-cooking things that need regular stirring. I like the idea of foods that will force me to slow down.

My coworker brought risotto with shrimp, tarragon and lemon for lunch the other day, and she mentioned what a relaxing experience making risotto could be, standing over the pot, stirring with one hand, a glass of wine in the other. I applied the same principle to polenta last night, and topped it with a mixture of roasted mushrooms seasoned with thyme and drizzled with balsamic vinegar.

I'm afraid I found it difficult to just stand and stir - and that bothers me. I want to be the kind of person who can just stand and be, and not get bored. I had to turn on some music, find other things to do in the kitchen, etc. I think I need to practice my relaxation techniques. More polenta, risotto for me. Jam. Other long-cooking things that need regular stirring. I like the idea of foods that will force me to slow down.

I made a seared scallop recipe from Bistro Cooking at Home, the most exciting part of which was the compote the scallops are served with (although the scallops were good, meaty and sweet with a nice sear on one side). First you peel and trim 10 garlic cloves, then put them in a small saucepan and cover them with olive oil. (It does take a lot of oil unless you have one of those tiny saucepans, which I don't. The extra oil gets flavored with the garlic, so I've been using it to brush bread for bruschetta.) Simmer it for 10 minutes, then remove the garlic cloves and 1/3 cup oil to a bowl to cool. Roughly chop a couple handfuls of pitted olives (I used kalamata) and about a cup of sundried tomatoes. (The tomatoes I used were a revelation. I don't know where my produce stand got them, or if they dehydrated them there, but they were sweeter and meatier than I've ever had, pleasant instead of overwhelming. They came in one of those plastic rectangular boxes.) Dice a shallot. Add it all to the cooled garlic and oil. At this point I refrigerated it overnight, then added chiffonaded basil and let it sit at room temperature while I prepared the scallops.

As you can see from the photo above, I ate the compote the next day on bruschetta.

It looks like that's the way I'm going. I'm a once-a-week shopper generally, at one or more of the groceries in my neighborhood, but I've been to the new Whole Foods five times since it opened, to supplement my regular grocery shopping with things I can't find in my neighborhood or want to buy mid-week for freshness reasons. Yesterday at lunchtime I bought scallops (because the fish store in my neighborhood was closed Sunday when we were doing our shopping), a variety of mushrooms for tonight and a loaf of bread that was crusty and yeasty, with a even, firm middle that'll be good for sandwiches.

The prepared foods area is a zoo at lunchtime, but the grocery area is easy to shop at that time of day and the line, though sometimes very long, moves really fast. And everyone who works there has been so friendly; how long can that possibly last?

This picture is midway through the making of an upside-down red wine–pear tart (like a pear tarte tatin), after the pears had cooked but before the pastry was added. Yesterday I had about a cup of merlot left in the bottle and wanted to try cooking something with it, so I made this tart from A New Way to Cook. The recipe called for 2 1/2 cups dry red wine, so I halved the recipe, making a small, four-serving tart. The wine cooking liquid is flavored with vanilla, which (however improbable it may seem) works. The two flavors—the deep, mellowness of the wine and the fragrant sweetness of the vanilla—amplified each other. The flavor that gets lost, though, is the pear.

Mix 1 cup wine, 2 tablespoons sugar and half a vanilla bean, halved lengthwise and scraped in a nonstick skillet (mine was 8 inches across the bottom). Simmer that for five minutes, then take it off the heat to cool a bit and add two sliced pears in whatever pattern you want the tart to have, cutting up a few slices to fill in the empty spaces. Simmer that in the wine, turning once, for about 45 minutes, until the wine is syrupy and the pears are tender. At this point you can leave the pears sit for a while or cover the pears with a thin round of pastry dough (I used one of those refrigerated pie crusts cut down to fit), then bake at 425 degrees until the crust is browned, about 15 minutes.

Right when you're ready to serve, unmold onto a cakeplate. If the tart has cooled, you can heat the pan briefly over medium heat to loosen it before you try to unmold it.

This picture is midway through the making of an upside-down red wine–pear tart (like a pear tarte tatin), after the pears had cooked but before the pastry was added. Yesterday I had about a cup of merlot left in the bottle and wanted to try cooking something with it, so I made this tart from A New Way to Cook. The recipe called for 2 1/2 cups dry red wine, so I halved the recipe, making a small, four-serving tart. The wine cooking liquid is flavored with vanilla, which (however improbable it may seem) works. The two flavors—the deep, mellowness of the wine and the fragrant sweetness of the vanilla—amplified each other. The flavor that gets lost, though, is the pear.

Mix 1 cup wine, 2 tablespoons sugar and half a vanilla bean, halved lengthwise and scraped in a nonstick skillet (mine was 8 inches across the bottom). Simmer that for five minutes, then take it off the heat to cool a bit and add two sliced pears in whatever pattern you want the tart to have, cutting up a few slices to fill in the empty spaces. Simmer that in the wine, turning once, for about 45 minutes, until the wine is syrupy and the pears are tender. At this point you can leave the pears sit for a while or cover the pears with a thin round of pastry dough (I used one of those refrigerated pie crusts cut down to fit), then bake at 425 degrees until the crust is browned, about 15 minutes.

Right when you're ready to serve, unmold onto a cakeplate. If the tart has cooled, you can heat the pan briefly over medium heat to loosen it before you try to unmold it.