Recipes & Cooking: September 2004 Archives
I've had the most aggravating last couple of weeks. All I want to do is get home early enough to pull something together in the kitchen, a pot of chili or a pork tenderloin. But it's always something: delays with the subway, Lamaze class, last-minute projects at work that have to be done RIGHT NOW. Just when I think things are going to calm down, they don't. I guess it's something I should get used to as a woman who's 7 months pregnant. I'll have someone else dictating my entire schedule in a while.
So even though the process of making a cheesecake did not go smoothly for me this weekend, I still thoroughly enjoyed it, and was even glad for the little difficulties. And I am definitely a big cheesecake fan.
I've had the most aggravating last couple of weeks. All I want to do is get home early enough to pull something together in the kitchen, a pot of chili or a pork tenderloin. But it's always something: delays with the subway, Lamaze class, last-minute projects at work that have to be done RIGHT NOW. Just when I think things are going to calm down, they don't. I guess it's something I should get used to as a woman who's 7 months pregnant. I'll have someone else dictating my entire schedule in a while.
So even though the process of making a cheesecake did not go smoothly for me this weekend, I still thoroughly enjoyed it, and was even glad for the little difficulties. And I am definitely a big cheesecake fan.
A couple weeks ago (the last time I did anything in the kitchen; it's a work-related hiatus from having a life) I set out to make the Tiger Cake from the Bittersweet cookbook. It's a marbled bundt cake made with olive oil that has a touch of white pepper, too.
When I got to the step where you mix the cocoa with sugar and water, I realized I had two unmarked containers of cocoa: one was dutched and the other was the regular kind. The recipe called for the regular kind but since I didn't know which was which I figured, what the heck, I'll use half of each. That way I'll at least get some of the right kind of cocoa in there. Then I read the note at the end, which said DO NOT use dutched cocoa because it interacts badly with the olive oil and makes a bitter taste. So no cocoa for the bundt. Thus the albino cake.
It was a good, basic snacking cake, nice and moist and not crumbly so you could eat it out of hand. I felt like the olive oil flavor was really pronounced at first and actually faded as the days went by (would that happen?). I didn't taste the pepper, but the recipe said the pepper just emphasizes the olive oil taste.
I'll have to post the recipe later, since doing it from memory 2 weeks later is probably not the best idea. I remember choosing the recipe because you don't have to do anything fancy to marble it, just layer the two batters and they do it themselves in the baking.
A couple weeks ago (the last time I did anything in the kitchen; it's a work-related hiatus from having a life) I set out to make the Tiger Cake from the Bittersweet cookbook. It's a marbled bundt cake made with olive oil that has a touch of white pepper, too.
When I got to the step where you mix the cocoa with sugar and water, I realized I had two unmarked containers of cocoa: one was dutched and the other was the regular kind. The recipe called for the regular kind but since I didn't know which was which I figured, what the heck, I'll use half of each. That way I'll at least get some of the right kind of cocoa in there. Then I read the note at the end, which said DO NOT use dutched cocoa because it interacts badly with the olive oil and makes a bitter taste. So no cocoa for the bundt. Thus the albino cake.
It was a good, basic snacking cake, nice and moist and not crumbly so you could eat it out of hand. I felt like the olive oil flavor was really pronounced at first and actually faded as the days went by (would that happen?). I didn't taste the pepper, but the recipe said the pepper just emphasizes the olive oil taste.
I'll have to post the recipe later, since doing it from memory 2 weeks later is probably not the best idea. I remember choosing the recipe because you don't have to do anything fancy to marble it, just layer the two batters and they do it themselves in the baking.
I had a little bit of a blood-glucose scare last week, so when Todd and I were at Whole Foods I picked up chicken breasts, something I'm not really so fond of. These breasts looked different, though; they weren't the big, bloated breasts that usually turn me off at the grocery. And when I opened the packet I found that what I had thought was one breast was actually three thin breasts that had been butterflied and stacked on top of each other.
I adapted a recipe I found in Rachael Ray's cookbook, chicken and leeks, because I had a bunch of big yellow onions. Seasoned the breasts on both sides, then seared them in a hot skillet, about 3 minutes each side. Then I took them out and added a large sliced onion. Cooked that until it was soft and had picked up all the brown bits from cooking the chicken, then added a cup of chicken broth, a splash of vinegar and the chicken breasts. Simmered that until Todd came home, about 15 minutes later.
Onions are actually pretty high on the glycemic index, but paired with a protein it seemed to me like it'd be OK. This dish developed a pretty rich, deep flavor just from the fond and the sauteed onions, and even chicken didn't seem so bad.
I had a little bit of a blood-glucose scare last week, so when Todd and I were at Whole Foods I picked up chicken breasts, something I'm not really so fond of. These breasts looked different, though; they weren't the big, bloated breasts that usually turn me off at the grocery. And when I opened the packet I found that what I had thought was one breast was actually three thin breasts that had been butterflied and stacked on top of each other.
I adapted a recipe I found in Rachael Ray's cookbook, chicken and leeks, because I had a bunch of big yellow onions. Seasoned the breasts on both sides, then seared them in a hot skillet, about 3 minutes each side. Then I took them out and added a large sliced onion. Cooked that until it was soft and had picked up all the brown bits from cooking the chicken, then added a cup of chicken broth, a splash of vinegar and the chicken breasts. Simmered that until Todd came home, about 15 minutes later.
Onions are actually pretty high on the glycemic index, but paired with a protein it seemed to me like it'd be OK. This dish developed a pretty rich, deep flavor just from the fond and the sauteed onions, and even chicken didn't seem so bad.
it doesn't act like it at all. I wanted to make pizza and thought I would make dough for a crust, but, short on time, I decided to try a polenta "crust" instead. It didn't get crispy, though, so, while it wasn't bad at all, it really wasn't a pizza. It was polenta with tomato sauce, meatballs and cheese, which is also very good.
I used quick-cooking polenta, 1/2 cup to 2 1/4 cups water, bringing the water to a boil then whisking in the polenta and bubbling for about 5 minutes, stirring the whole time. Then I added salt, pepper and oregano and spread it in a 9-inch springform pan and put it in the freezer to cool.
Warmed up and sliced meatballs and shredded cheese while that was cooling, then removed the sides of the springform pan from the polenta and spread tomato sauce over the solidified polenta, arranged sliced meatballs and roasted red pepper and sprinkled with Parmesan, mozzarella and oregano. Baked it in 450 degree oven for about 10 minutes (probably could have used a bit more time, if I had added cheese at the end) on a rack near the bottom, then sliced it like a pizza to eat.
This was a quickie, convenience-food dinner. I simply heated Fresh Direct meatballs (which are pretty good) in tomato sauce, then hollowed out a baguette that I had halved horizontally and filled it with the meatballs. Topped it with Parmesan and provolone, then put it under the broiler to melt the cheese. The meatballs overwhelmed the bread, though, so next time I think I'd halve the meatballs before assembling the sandwich.
