Recipes & Cooking: February 2007 Archives
I was on a roll last week, cooking up a storm. I wanted to be seasonal and soothing and make something Todd likes. This cauliflower, from All About Braising, was earthy and nutty and so essentially cauliflowery, with just the right hint of cabbage-ness. I tossed it with pasta and grated cheese over the top.
You start by sauteeing 1 1/2-inch florets in 2 tablespoons butter and 1 tablespoon olive oil until they're "speckled all over with nice bits of brown," about 8 minutes. Then you put in a couple tablespoons of rinsed capers and cook a bit more. Next, 1/2 cup water (the recipe calls for stock), salt and pepper, then simmer covered about 15 to 20 minutes, until the cauliflower is tender. If you're going to eat it as a side, you boil away the liquid, then add lemon and toasted breadcrumbs. I didn't boil down the liquid, but added some cooked penne, the breadcrumbs and some parmesan.
As a side note for those of you who are not squeamish, it breaks my heart when I finally coax August into putting something new and delicious into his mouth and, instead of squealing, "More! More!" he thrusts the chewed-up once-lovely food out of his wide-open mouth. Usually he aims for the plate, and I can't decide whether that's better or worse than his other options.
I was on a roll last week, cooking up a storm. I wanted to be seasonal and soothing and make something Todd likes. This cauliflower, from All About Braising, was earthy and nutty and so essentially cauliflowery, with just the right hint of cabbage-ness. I tossed it with pasta and grated cheese over the top.
You start by sauteeing 1 1/2-inch florets in 2 tablespoons butter and 1 tablespoon olive oil until they're "speckled all over with nice bits of brown," about 8 minutes. Then you put in a couple tablespoons of rinsed capers and cook a bit more. Next, 1/2 cup water (the recipe calls for stock), salt and pepper, then simmer covered about 15 to 20 minutes, until the cauliflower is tender. If you're going to eat it as a side, you boil away the liquid, then add lemon and toasted breadcrumbs. I didn't boil down the liquid, but added some cooked penne, the breadcrumbs and some parmesan.
As a side note for those of you who are not squeamish, it breaks my heart when I finally coax August into putting something new and delicious into his mouth and, instead of squealing, "More! More!" he thrusts the chewed-up once-lovely food out of his wide-open mouth. Usually he aims for the plate, and I can't decide whether that's better or worse than his other options.
Not that I have anything against Jacques Torres*, but I find myself completely unable to haul myself, my 2-year-old, and the stroller into his store to try these chocolate-covered Cheerios that I keep reading so much about. But then August sees the picture of them in New York magazine and starts squealing. Out come the chocolate chips, a quick zap in the microwave, a couple of fistfuls of Cheerios stirred in and we had it. The tedious part is fishing them out of the melted chocolate, which I did with a skewer while the boy stuffed 1 in his chocolate-smeared mouth for every 2 I laid out on my silpat. It is kind of tricky to melt chocolate in the microwave; I did it for 2 minutes on 50 percent power. The trick is to take them out far before they look finished, while they're still whole; those chips hold a lot of heat, which finishes the job.
But what a genius idea. They are remarkable. And I'm sure Torres' are even better, made as they are by a master chocolatier.
*Actually, I kind of do, but it's a small, personal thing; I was writing a short, short piece on fondue and wanted to get a recipe from him, but his people made so many demands about wording and about touting Torres' own chocolate that I couldn't use it - there simply wasn't enough room for all that verbiage and the recipe. Chocolate Bar was much more accommodating.
