Where will I be? Why, Deutschland, of all places! Ja, darling, ja! This will be a business trip, and I’ll be around Munich, Stuttgart, Nurnberg, and Regensburg. Bavaria, here I come! Pretzels, schnitzel, and beer, oh my …. My close friends know this is not my favorite fare, but I am a culinary adventurer at heart, so I’m not afraid to try new food – in fact, I’m rather excited to do so. When I return, I’m sure I’ll post photos and trip details; I’ve bookmarked a few good cafés, restaurants, and bars to visit, not to mention the usual tourist sites. There are sure to be a few good eats mixed in there!

So, please don’t miss me too much and wish me a bon voyage … we’ll catch up on the other side!

Moist, fluffy, flavorful, and addictive: these are not typical adjectives for cornbread!

I feel quite gluttonous at the moment. I just polished off my third piece of cheddar cornbread – at 10:30 at night for goodness sake – when my belly was already more than perfectly content before that last crumb passed my lips. Truthfully, it wasn’t a full piece, but more like a third of a piece that was left behind from what I’d previously eaten. It was just lying there by itself, the last bit in the row of my 8″x8″ pan. I had to finish it. I couldn’t leave it by itself, could I?

My mom would say I’d “Emmed” the cornbread. Emmed is a technical term, of course, commonly used in my family to describe “Emming [insert food here] to death”. As in, “wow, she really Emmed that chocolate cake to death!” which means that she ate the cake slowly but surely by taking one tiny piece after another until the entire whole was gone. Every thin slice by itself was innocent, but before you knew it that cake was a goner! I love that verb, Emm; it’s named after one of my ancestors – my mother’s aunt, I think – who was named Emma, of course. Apparently she was as narrow as a broom handle, smoked cigarettes by lighting the next with the end of the previous, and allegedly ate like a bird – when she wasn’t Emming cake. If I recall correctly, she retained enough of her British roots to maintain that sleek sophistication even while taking a drag, mysteriously and speedily scarfing chocolate cake.

If only I could pull off that kind of style while eating my cornbread. I wish! I baked it late this afternoon, and stole a corner square to taste it – make sure it was okay, you know. And it was definitely okay: the moistest, softest cornbread I’d ever eaten! But more on that in a moment. So, next I Emmed another little slice, maybe 3/4″ thick. Just a small rectangle, I swear! I just wanted a few more little bites….

But since I did originally bake this to go with my dinner, a few hours later I cut another square, maybe 2″ thick, to go with my parsley root potage. Down the hatch that went, and then another Emmed 3/4″ slice found its way onto my plate. Gone! Happy tummy….

Delicious dinner: parsley root soup and the side that starred....

Fast forward a few hours through watching Olympic skiing and washing dishes, and that final slice wandered into my hands. What is a girl to do when something tastes so great?! I say, one is allowed to indulge a little … and then put it into the fridge and walk away….

Yes, there actually is batter underneath all that cheese and herbage!

To this cornbread itself: well, I honestly thought I would be blogging about the parsley root soup, and the cornbread would be a tasty sideshow. How wrong I was! What was thrown together with a few modifications due to an empty fridge turned out to be a moment of pure serendipity. I’m usually not a fan of cornbread because it’s dry, flat, and gritty. That doesn’t sound like good eats! But what happens when you reduce the amount of cornmeal, nix the milk for nonfat yogurt and a generous splash of water, and throw in some grated cheddar and herbs?

Genius.

The crumb is lighter, there’s enough moisture so you can actually swallow the cornbread, and the flavor is amped up to excite every taste bud in your mouth. Even if you’re not a believer in cornbread – like I never was – you should try this. It’ll go great with something like, say, parsley root soup! Since we’re pretty much getting buried by snow right now in the Northeast, I figured it would be a great day to make some soup. I actually didn’t go into work today, like most of my coworkers, on account of the poor roads and the poor shape of my MINI Cooper’s rear tires, so I had plenty of time to enjoy the snow and a warm meal. This soup is a simple, standard root vegetable soup, so it was easy to whip together. It’s the parsley roots themselves that makes this soup stellar; even though they are pretty rare in most markets, they’re worth grabbing when you find them. And when you do, buy extra so you can make tilapia with cider-glazed parsley root and carrots!

For those of you in the Northeast US, enjoy the snow, stay warm, and make yourself some cornbread and soup. Thanks, Old Man Winter!

Parsley root soup (adapted from Martha Stewart)

A few tips on making this soup … You can use whatever type of potatoes you wish; I had two red potatoes lying around that needed eatin’ up, but I’d rather have had Yukon Gold potatoes. Just make sure you blend this soup very well to make it creamy instead of lumpy – and then blend a little more. Trust me: you’d think there’s cream in there, the texture is so silky. And finally, you can throw in a splash of vermouth to deglaze the pan after sautéing the parsley roots and onions, or a splash of sherry at the end for a bit of extra flavor. I had meant to do so, but forgot. Guess I’ll just have to make this again!

• 1 Tbsp butter
• 2 large parsley roots, cut into 1/2″ pieces
• 1/2 Vidalia onion (or other sweet onion), chopped
• salt
• 2 medium red potatoes, cut into 1/2″ pieces
• 3 cups water, or enough to cover (you can use vegetable stock, but I was a purist here)
• 1/4 cup parsley leaves, chopped

Set a medium saucepan over medium heat and melt the butter. Sauté the parsley root pieces and onion, salted lightly, for 7 minutes. Lid the pan for about half of that time. You want the veggies softened a tad and leaving a little bit of browned lovelies on the bottom of the pan, but you’re not cooking the heck out of them.

If you’re going to add any vermouth, now is the time. Otherwise, add the potatoes and water. Make sure all the vegetables are covered. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to an active simmer for 10 minutes or until the potatoes are soft.

Using an immersion blender in the saucepan or transferring the soup in batches to a stand blender, purée the soup until a creamy texture is achieved. Adjust the seasoning. Serve hot with a sprinkling of parsley leaves on top.

Cheddar-parsley cornbread

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup yellow cornmeal
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• scant 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/3 cup sugar
• 1 egg or 2 egg yolks (only because that’s what I had … and it turned out fine), beaten
• 3 Tbsp safflower (or other vegetable) oil
• 1 cup plain, nonfat yogurt
• 5 Tbsp water
• 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese, preferably sharp
• 1/4 cup parsley leaves, chopped

Preheat the oven to 400°F. Butter a 8″x8″ baking pan and set aside.

In a medium mixing bowl, stir together the flour, cornmeal, baking powder, salt and sugar. Add in the egg, yogurt, oil, and water; stir until just combined. Like making pancakes, don’t overmix or concern yourself with lumps. Over-stirring with develop the flour’s gluten chains and make your cornbread tough. Add 1 1/2 cups of the cheese and the parsley, then stir to distribute, no more.

Pour the batter into the baking pan, then top with the remaining 1/2 cup of cheese. Place into the middle of the oven and bake for 25 minutes or until a toothpick/knife inserted into the center comes out clean. Cool in the pan at least 5 minutes, but serve the cornbread warm.

Nothing makes a better Saturday morning breakfast than pancakes. Here I celebrate pancake week with oatmeal pancakes topped with a warm berry sauce.

Sisters. What images and memories just popped into your head?

Judy and Betty Haynes singing “Sisters, sisters … there were never such devoted sisters!” in the movie White Christmas? Mary Cassatt’s Impressionist paintings “The Sisters” or “The Two Sisters”? Perhaps Renoir’s “Two Young Girls at the Piano”? Maybe the little Olsen twins totting about in “Full House”? Perhaps you and your sister?

My head just flooded with memories of my older sister – four years my senior – and I growing up: biking together through the quiet tree-lined streets of greater Green Bay, Wisconsin, flipping through gymnastics class at the Y and dancing through pointe ballet class, giving our Barbies not-so-amazing haircuts, playing dress-up with our mother’s flowery early-1990s clothes, her teaching me very patiently to read before I started kindergarten, watching Saved By the Bell together after school, and … flinging pancakes one very silly Saturday morning.

By flinging pancakes, by the way, I don’t mean flipping them over in the skillet – I mean literally flinging them across the very long expanse of our Green Bay kitchen. You know those old-style, slightly bendy plastic spatulas that have a wide base? Yeah, those … Well, they happen to be very good at catapulting a pancake about 15 feet in a sort of gentle, 20-degree-ish trajectory from one sister to another.

Yes, we were trouble together. No, we didn’t break anything. Yes, mom wasn’t too happy when she found little pancake crumbles – sans maple syrup and butter – littering the (thankfully) tile floor in between our sentinel posts. No, we didn’t get grounded; we got a few laughs out of her. And yes, we had loads of fun – as always!

What possessed us to do something as bizarre as hold an impromptu pancake fight on a perfectly pleasant Saturday morning using perfectly tasty and edible pancakes? Well, I have no reasonable or respectable answer except to say that when a fifteen-year-old older sister decides to make pancakes and the eleven-year-old little sister starts giggling and picks up a spare spatula on a whim, mischief will ensue. And you know what? That very silly and totally unnecessary pancake fight (I can’t recall who lost, of course, besides the pancakes) made me love pancakes – and my sister – even more than I already did. This always appropriate breakfast item has since then held a special place in my heart; clearly, I love them here on my blog! Chocolate pancakes here and here, apple-cinnamon pancakes, Dutch baby pancakes, and now these oatmeal pancakes … oh my, oh my!

I don’t know of a Saturday morning that doesn’t warrant pancakes for breakfast, to be honest, and these oatmeal pancakes are certainly an appropriate option. I’d long ago clipped recipes for cinnamon-oatmeal pancakes in Martha Stewart’s Everyday Food magazine and Wegman’s Menu magazine, but wanted to meld them together: the ingredients from the former and the method from the latter.

The oats – old-fashioned, please, not instant – should soak in milk for ten minutes  to give them body and make them more digestible. Who wants to eat raw oats, after all? (Yes, I know granola bars have raw oats, but I find my stomach struggles to digest them sometimes) After that, the batter is straightforward and easy. The brown sugar prevents the oats from giving the pancakes a utilitarian, metallic taste; the cinnamon also helps there. I used Vietnamese cinnamon, part of a wonderful Christmas gift from Penzy’s Spices, and its strength really gives these cakes a punch. Despite the high proportion of oatmeal, they’re well-balanced and not grainy, fluffy and not heavy-feeling, filling but not sleep-inducing.

Appropriately enough, it is Pancake Week, as I found out on this post about Dutch baby pancakes on Louise’s lovely and entertaining blog, Months of Edible Celebrations. Is there any better way to celebrate Pancake Week than to try a new type of pancake? These will satisfy any pancake craving you might have, and they will also satisfy your hunger for quite awhile…. Enjoy!

As a final note, you might have noticed a little addition to the right panel of my blog: there is a new link to Petitchef.com. I was asked to add my blog to their directory, so I obliged; why not? The website, a French-based recipes portal, has a quite extensive list of blogs which are separated conveniently into categories. I’m trying it out for a bit; hopefully it works out and I – and you – discover a few great new culinary blogs along the way!

Oatmeal pancakes (adapted from Everyday Food)

This recipe makes about 8 pancakes. These are best when fresh off the pan, of course, but they also keep in the fridge for the next day, too. I think the oats help keep the texture. Heat them up by nuking them for 30 seconds, then put them on a hot pan to crisp them back up. Serve with butter and maple syrup or homemade berry syrup (which I had leftover from my oat cake with mixed berry compote, and subsequently froze)- or munch on some plain ones!

• 1 cup old-fashioned oats
• 1 cup milk (any type; I use skim)
• 2 Tbsp brown sugar
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/4 tsp salt
• 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon (I use Vietnamese cinnamon, so the flavor is quite poignant)
• 1 large egg
• 2 Tbsp vegetable oil (such as safflower)
• butter, for the skillet

In a small bowl, combine the oats with the milk and let soak for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, in a medium bowl combine the flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon with a whisk.

Add the egg, oil, and sugar to the oat mixture; beat lightly. Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and whisk just until combined. Small lumps remaining are acceptable; excessive stirring develops gluten chains in the batter, and the pancakes turn out flat and tough instead of fluffy and light.

Heat a large pancake skillet over medium. Butter the skillet. When a droplet of water sizzles on the surface, the skillet is hot enough. Spoon 1/4 of batter for each pancake (I fit four pancakes on my big square skillet). Cook for a few minutes on the first side, until bubbles form on the top and the bottoms are lightly browned. Flip the pancakes and cook another 2-3 minutes more, until the second side is also lightly browned. Repeat with additional batches of pancakes until all are cooked. Place cooked pancakes on a warm plate and tent with foil to keep warm until all pancakes are made.

Give chocolate and love for Valentine's Day ... a spiced chocolate pot de crème is ideal!

They say that the heat in hot spices and elements in chocolate are aphrodisiac foods. Why not, then, combine them into one fabulous dessert for Valentine’s Day? This chocolate pot de crème is a rich, pudding-like dessert that has deep notes of cocoa, chili pepper, vanilla, and cinnamon – enough stimulation for your taste buds and perhaps your heart, too.

I am pleased to present this Chocolate Valentine post and share this delightful chocolate lover’s dessert with you in conjunction with several other bloggers, hosted by the wonderful Kate at Serendipity. I was honored to have been asked to participate in this fun event, and I’m so excited to read all the others’ tales and recipes. Love is in the air!

Happy Valentine's Day to all the food bloggers and readers of food blogs out there!

I have to admit, I struggled to make a recipe that starred chocolate, was appropriate for Valentine’s Day, and actually turned out. Some of my favorite chocolate recipes use cocoa powder but no actual chocolate – yet they still fabulously scream chocolate. Last week I test drove a recipe for milk chocolate pots de crème which, despite being featured in Food & Wine magazine from Le Bernadin restaurant in NYC, was a disaster. It was bland and never set up in the oven. Enter recipe number two, also from that issue of F&W.

This recipe called for Ibarra Mexican chocolate, which is known for its cinnamon, vanilla, and almond notes. Well, finding that chocolate is pretty hit-or-miss here in New Jersey. There are quite a lot of Mexican, Puerto Rican, and Central American immigrants in this area, so our local Shop-Rite stores do carry a fairly extensive “Ethnic” section – essentially Goya’s entire line of foods and a few smaller range of Asian selections. I’ve seen Ibarra chocolate a few times, but, just my luck, there was none on the shelf when I shopped for this recipe. So, I made alterations; that’s more my style, anyway. My version packs a bit of a punch from chili-infused dark chocolate, as well as additions of Bourbon vanilla and Vietnamese cinnamon. It’s perhaps a bit more “in your face” than the original, but I like it. It says “Hey! Here I am!” and “You feel me here, right? Ooh! Spicy!” Insert lewd Valentine’s Day dating comment here….

A few notes about making pots de crème: be careful to cool the scalded milk a bit so it doesn’t curdle the egg yolks. Yes, I did that the first time around! Second, since this doesn’t bake, the taste of this dessert comes strongly from the chocolate you use. A good bittersweet is essential; I like Ghirardelli. As for the spiced chocolate, I like Lindt’s Chili dark chocolate. If you can find Ibarra chocolate, though, use it by all means instead of the chili-infused chocolate and nix the added vanilla and cinnamon. Finally, play with the whipped cream’s flavoring if you like; I sweetened it lightly with powdered sugar and splashed in vanilla extract, but you can add cinnamon, vanilla beans, or even pepper itself if you want.

Mexican chocolate pots de crème with whipped cream (adapted from Food & Wine)

This recipe makes three pots de crème – enough for you, your sweetheart, and a spare. If you use Vietnamese cinnamon like I did, reduce the amount to a bit over 1/8 teaspoon.

• 3/4 cup whole milk
• 1/4 cup heavy cream
• 3 large egg yolks
• 2 oz chili-spiced dark chocolate, finely chopped (plus extra for serving)
• 4 oz bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped
• 1/4 tsp cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp vanilla extract
• 1/4 cup whipping cream
• 1 tsp powdered sugar
• 1/4 tsp vanilla extract

In a small saucepan over medium-high heat, bring the milk and heavy cream to a simmer. Let cool slightly.

In a small bowl, whisk the egg yolks until they lighten slightly. While whisking, add 1/2 cup of the warm milk in a slow stream. Transfer the yolk mixture back into the saucepan and cook over medium heat until the custard thickens, about 2 minutes.

Remove the custard from the heat and add the chocolate. Stir the chocolates until fully melted, then add the vanilla and cinnamon. Strain the mixture through a fine sieve into three ramekins, then refrigerate at least 6 hours or overnight.

Whip the cream with the powdered sugar and vanilla extract until medium peaks form. Spoon a dollop of the whipped cream onto each pot de crème, then top with a few bits of finely chopped chili-chocolate.

A cupcake big enough for only one event ... the Super Bowl!

Okay, so perhaps I’m a day late in posting this, but no matter. Cupcakes are to be enjoyed any day! I made these for a Super Bowl party which my friends were hosting. Four guys living in house could provide the wings, pizza, and beer, but someone had to bring the dessert, right?!

Yes, because we all know it isn’t a party if there’s no dessert. Up until that last, sweet course, it’s just a meal. I whipped up these cupcakes – yes, a bit amateur in the decoration and pretty cliché, as if any of my guy friends were really going to notice that en route to their mouths – on Sunday morning, and boy, did they make my apartment smell delicious! It took every ounce of self-control not to steal one of them beforehand, believe me.

I’ve used this recipe before, a Martha Stewart “kid’s recipe” for one-bowl chocolate cupcakes, and it was just as successful this time around. Granted, the chocolate flavor is a teensy bit flat compared to some sweeter types, but the chocolate is still deep and the cake is extremely moist and fluffy. Thank a healthy dose of buttermilk and hot water for the latter. The frosting is my version of my mom’s classic buttercream-type frosting: vanilla as the base and lacing,chocolate for the footballs. She used margarine while I was growing up, but I only use butter now (okay, I confess that I actually like how margarine tastes a little better than butter, but I’m trying to be more healthy here … if that’s possible to say in the context of buttercream frosting!). However, any way you beat it, the frosting turns out fluffy, sweet, and perfect…

… As were the cupcakes. Well, nearly so, at least. Everyone had at least one – including myself – and many of the guys snagged two. Hey, with their metabolisms, they could have had three each! Oh, the injustice…. Anyway, back to the cupcakes. The recipe is below, but I do warn you that the frosting recipe is highly, highly, highly adaptable. I swear, it comes out a little different each time; you need to play with the proportions and add sugar/cream as you go depending on the texture you want. You will like how it turns out, though, I promise – just work with it … hut-hut–HIKE!

Chocolate cupcakes with buttercream frosting (cupcakes adapted from Martha Stewart)

For the cupcakes:

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 1/2 cups sugar
• 3/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder
• 3/4 tsp salt
• 1 1/2 tsp baking soda
• 3/4 tsp baking powder
• 3/4 cup buttermilk
• 3/4 cup warm water
• 2 eggs
• 3 Tbsp safflower oil
• 1 tsp vanilla extract

For the frosting:

• 5 Tbsp butter, softened
• 2-3 cups powdered sugar
• 3-5 Tbsp half-and-half, whipping cream, or milk (I don’t recommend skim milk unless you’re using it with a heavier cream)
• 1/2-1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1/2 tsp almond extract
• 3 Tbsp unsweetened cocoa powder (if making a chocolate frosting)
• 1/2 oz dark chocolate, melted and cooled slightly (optional for chocolate frosting)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Line 18-24 muffin tin spots with paper or foil cupcake wrappers.

Over a large mixing bowl, sift together the flour, sugar, cocoa powder, salt, baking powder, and baking soda. Add eggs, buttermilk, oil, vanilla, and water to the dry ingredients (I usually beat the eggs and oil into the buttermilk directly in a 1-cup or 2-cup Pyrex measuring cup, in order to help everything incorporate, but you don’t really need to). Mix until the batter becomes smooth, 2-3 minutes.

Fill each muffin cup location 2/3 full with batter; don’t be tempted to fill them more than this, because this batter rises quite a bit! Bake the cupcakes until completely baked (when  fork inserted into the center of the middle cupcake comes out clean, or when the tops spring back when touched), about 20 minutes. Transfer the cupcakes to a wire rack and cool completely.

To make the frosting, whip the butter using an electric mixer until it becomes fluffy. Add in a tablespoon of cream, beat until mixed, then add 1 cup of powdered sugar. Mix slowly, then beat for a minute or two to fluff the frosting up. Add in the extracts and mix well. At this point, you can either separate this frosting base into two bowls, one for vanilla and one for chocolate, or continue down one path. If you’re choosing chocolate frosting, add a bit more liquid, beat, and then add in the cocoa powder. You can also add in some melted chocolate, for depth of flavor, but it’s not necessary. Continue to add in a little liquid and powdered sugar, beating well after every addition to keep the frosting fluffy, according to your taste. If you’re making vanilla frosting, just add liquid and powdered sugar until you get the flavor and consistency you want. You can also add more vanilla extract if needed.

Frost the cupcakes when they’ve cooled. You can create the footballs using chocolate frosting in a large-tipped pastry-bag (or waxed paper rolled into a cone, like I did) for the football and vanilla frosting in a narrow-tipped pastry bag for the lacing.

This might be the perfect winter dessert ... steamy, soft oat cake topped with a warm mixed-berry compote and a dollop of Chambord-spiked whipped cream ... oh, heaven....

You know that recipe that’s been lingering in your recipe binder/folder/drawer for ages? The one you’ve been saving for just the right occasion? The one you know is going to be special, and you can’t wait to make it but somehow it keeps getting pushed back?

That’s exactly what happened with this recipe. Okay, I haven’t had it for literally ages, but ten months has certainly seemed so – that’s an indication of how badly I’ve wanted to make it. Since I am the queen of procrastination, somehow this recipe, the one I knew I’d instantly fall in love with, fell through the cracks. A Bobby Flay recipe which I found on Food & Wine’s website, it seemed neither a spring nor a summer recipe – even though it has a berry topping – and I couldn’t quite figure out when to make it. Salvage the dregs of the seasonal berries for an early fall dessert? Flash freeze berries in summer to keep for winter? Chance store-bought frozen berries in the dead of winter?

Certainly that last choice sounds the least desirable, yet that’s exactly what I did. This weekend we ladies had another of our girls’ cooking nights, and the theme was a “one-pot-meal”, the kind with a protein, starch, and vegetable all together. That’s typically not my favorite type of meal, but I was leaning toward making my favorite daube de boeuf Provençal (Martha’s recipe) over egg noodles or a Moroccan lamb stew/”tagine” over couscous. However, the morning of the event, I decided that since no one was making a dessert, I should bring one. After all, with all that heavy food, would we really need another “main” dish?

And, more importantly, would we want to forgo dessert at a party? I sure wouldn’t!

This is a greedy serving ... the cake is swimming in a lake of warm berries ... covered in a drunken cloud of whipped cream ... yes, heaven....

Insert that recipe, the one I’ve been waiting to make since last March. I figured “hey, it has fruit – it’s ‘light’ … and it’s a warm dessert, perfect for the currently frigid weather … and I can top it with Chambord-spiked whipped cream – ideal!” And so that’s exactly what I did….

Let me just state unequivocally that I will never again wait so long for a recipe that I clearly know I’ll love from the word go. Honestly, I cannot believe I deprived myself and my friends of this amazing dessert for ten whole months! I know I’m a little biased, but this dessert was the star of the night; and judging from how quickly everyone devoured their portions – and their praise of it – I think this opinion was shared by more than just me. Never again, never again, never again….

So, please do me two favors. First, follow my (new) advice and don’t wait to make that killer recipe you have sitting around somewhere. Second, bake this cake!! Why? The cake itself is stellar and can stand on its own as a dessert or even a snack cake – being incredibly moist on account of the soaked oats and perfectly sweet on account of the brown sugar and just the right amount of cinnamon and nutmeg – but it is a revelation when topped with the warm berry compote. I did cheat, if you consider it that, by using bagged frozen berries, but in the end I think it was a good move. They cooked down into a silky, almost soupy sauce, which sounds unrefined and even a bit unappetizing, but I promise you it is far from it. Really, you’re just giving the cake a warm berry hug, and it will reciprocate. And that spiked whipped cream? Icing on the cake, literally. Do it!!

Oat Cake (adapted from Food & Wine)

This recipe was from Bobby Flay and published on Food & Wine’s website. I made the cake exactly as the recipe called for, but my major deviations came in the berry compote (see below) and the whipped cream. Bobby served his with clotted cream, which is probably traditional for this Scottish-style cake, but I Americanized the recipe; hey, that’s just me….

• 1 cup rolled oats (not quick oats)
• 1 1/4 cups boiling water
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1 teaspoon baking soda
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon (I used Ceylon cinnamon)
• 1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 1 stick unsalted butter, softened
• 1 cup packed light brown sugar
• 1/2 cup granulated sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter and flour a 9″ square baking pan. In a heatproof bowl with a cover (such as a Pyrex dish), soak the oats in the boiling water for 20 minutes; drain excess water.

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. In a large mixing bowl, beat the butter until it’s creamy. Add the sugars, one at a time, and beat until the mixture is light and fluffy. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then add the vanilla. In two additions, mix in the dry ingredients at low speed, being careful to mix until just incorporated. Gently beat in the oats.

Pour the cake batter into the prepared pan and bake in the middle of the oven for 40 minutes (my cake took 44 minutes, so keep checking), or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Let the cake cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then remove to a wire rack to cool completely; or, if you’re like me and perennially pressed for time, you can take the cake in its pan as it’s cooling to your social event/function/dinner party – it’ll turn out just fine.

Cut the cake into squares (nine worked for us) and serve with the Warm Mixed-Berry Compote and a dollop of Chambord-spiked whipped cream.

Warm mixed-berry compote and spiked whipped cream (adapted from Food & Wine)

Feel free to take liberties with this recipe; I sure did. You can replace the water with orange juice if you want (that’s what Bobby Flay did), but I honestly don’t think this dessert would benefit from the overly citrus flavor; personally, I think the only punch it needs comes from the Chambord. That is a definite must….

• 1 1/2 cups water (you can reduce this to 1 cup if you want a thicker sauce)
• 3 Tablespoons mild honey
• juice of 1/2 lemon
• 3 cups mixed berries (raspberries, blueberries, blackberries, and strawberries), fresh or frozen
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• splash Chambord
• 1 Tablespoon cornstarch dissolved in 1 1/2 Tablespoons water
• 1 cup whipping cream
• 1 Tablespoon powdered sugar
• 1 Tablespoon Chambord

In a medium saucepan set over medium-high heat, combine the water, lemon juice, and honey. Bring to a boil to dissolve the honey, about 2 minutes. Add the berries and cook until the berries are thoroughly softened, to your taste; reduce the heat to about medium, so the mixture will simmer steadily but not fiercely. This will take anywhere from 3-6 minutes.

Add the vanilla and Chambord, stir, and continue to cook for another 30 seconds. Stir in the dissolved cornstarch and simmer the sauce for another few minutes. You can alter the cooking time to get the desired consistency; I liked the sauce a bit thicker, so I ended up cooking this for about 10 minutes all together. Serve the sauce warm.

Meanwhile, whip the cream, powdered sugar, and tablespoon Chambord together (chill the bowl and beaters first) until thick and as firm as you can get it without curdling the cream. Spoon a humble dollop on each serving of oat cake with the berry sauce.

Delicate Le Puy lentils benefit from an aromatic braise in red wine with carrots and leeks.

There is a lot I can say about lentils, and I wish I had the energy tonight to convey something intelligent to you (and no, my brain is not tired tonight from taking the Jeopardy online test – which went down not so well – but rather fatigued overall). I made these last week, actually, but I haven’t been able to post the recipe until now. It’s pathetic, I know. But I promise you I am still alive and cooking, just a less of the latter due to being busy and harried. Seriously – does January have a right to be this busy??

Here’s all I really want to say about lentils. They are little pebbles of earthy, energy-filled perfection that are an ideal dinner, lunch, or whatever you want to make of them. I must have downed dozens of bowls of my dad’s homemade lentil stew when I was growing up – cooked down for hours with the leftovers of a bone-in ham (including the bone, of course) simmering deep inside – and that rich and satisfying flavor has never left my memory. Even if I eat a different dish of lentils, I always compare it, subconsciously, to dad’s lentil soup. It was, is, and always will be the standard. However, this dish plays a close second fiddle to that soup.

Tiny, delicate, Le Puy lentils ... my little gems ....

My father always used  regular brown lentils we usually find here in the States, but I now like to use Le Puy lentils from France, which are smaller and more sturdy. Le Puy lentils take just a bit longer to cook, but they hold together and don’t become mushy. What’s even better, their flavor is a bit more … earthy … than other types of lentils. I don’t know what it is; maybe their shape reminds me more of beans, and that’s why I feel like their flavor is more like that of legumes and less like that of peas. Anyway, I know Le Puy lentils are hard to find, but keep your eyes peeled at places like Whole Foods, Wegmans, and specialty shops. Every once in awhile they turn up to surprise you – and pick them up when you have the chance!

Sadly, my poor photographs don’t do this dish justice, and I apologize for that. However, this recipe had a fantastic depth of flavor; if I didn’t know better, having cooked this myself, I’d have thought these flavors had been melding together for hours instead of half an hour. The red wine certainly helps that, but I really believe it’s the mustard and bay leaf that really give it that slow-cooked feel. I felt like I was in France when I was eating this, and a rush of happy memories flooded back through my mind … and my stomach! This made a great dinner, paired with a light salad, and a great lunch the next day. Serve it hot or serve it warm; either way will let the flavors shine through.

Trust me, even if you have your favorite lentil recipe (as I do!), you’ll want to try this one….

Lentils braised in red wine

• 3 slices bacon, chopped
• 1 Tbsp olive oil, preferably Kalamata (or less oil)
• 1 carrot, finely chopped
• 1 leek, finely chopped
• salt
• 1 clove garlic, minced
• 1 cup Le Puy lentils, picked over for shells or stones
• 1 tsp Dijon mustard
• 1 bay leaf
• 1 1/2 cups water
• 2/3 cup red wine

Heat a sauté pan over medium-low heat. Add the bacon pieces and cook down until some fat renders out and the bacon starts to brown. Add in the olive oil, then mix in the carrot and leek. Sprinkle in a dash of salt, keeping in mind the bacon, mustard, and wine will bring saltiness to the dish as well. Cover and cook until the vegetables are beginning to soften, about 5-7 minutes. Add the garlic and cook an additional 2 minutes.

Add the lentils to the pan and stir them around to coat with the oil. Add the mustard and bay leaf, stirring to distribute the mustard. Pour in the water and wine; you may need to add a bit more water so that the lentils are just covered by liquid. Bring to a boil, then cover and simmer until the lentils are just tender. This should take about 25 minutes. Check the seasoning before serving.

What's that in my ice cream? Chambord, of course! And why not?!?

Sometimes in life you have to forget everything around you and just enjoy something that gives you a little pleasure. Sure, it’s decadent; sure, countless people have said “no, don’t eat that!” But….

Screw ‘em. Sometimes you can’t – shouldn’t – pass up on life’s luxuries. To have a life is to live your life.

The truth is, there was some vanilla bean Häagen-dazs ice cream in my freezer left over from making cheater’s crème anglaise last night – so why not eat it up? Actually, I spiked the crème anglaise with Chambord liqueur, and it tasted so good – like raspberries grew on the vine with vanilla beans and were distilled with cream – that this afternoon I figured, while watching the men’s finals of the US figure skating championships, “hey, why not drizzle a tablespoon or two onto what’s left of the pint?” Why not, indeed?

The only reason I could think of why not to do so, besides the facts that I didn’t grow up eating ice cream and generally try to eat much healthier than scarfing ice cream in the middle of the day, is the calorie count on the label. Let’s just say it’s a good thing the stuff tastes so darned good to make the 270 calories per half cup worth it. Yikes. As if my hips needed more padding?! How will I flip and twist (at gymnastics, my preferred form of exercise) with that creamy fat being converted most assuredly to cellulite within a few hours?

It’s just a teacupful, I told myself. Go for it!

Really, I shouldn’t be caring, not after devouring a slice of Molly Wizenburg’s Winning Hearts and Minds (nearly-flourless) chocolate cake – which is dense, rich, and pretty good but not out of the this world, in my opinion – last night with some of the aforementioned raspberry crème anglaise spooned atop. You see, in return for my extremely talented and wonderful friend Damien restringing my guitar and wowing me with his superior strumming skills (I can play the equivalent of chopsticks on my guitar … he, on the other hand, is a revelation on both the guitar and the bass), I brought over sushi for dinner and baked him the chocolate cake for dessert. Damien, being a chocolate-loving Italian, inhaled the cake appreciatively, and I left with a fixed guitar. Not a bad night – in fact, a pretty great one!

P.S. Tonight’s dinner? Light and low-calorie … mais bien sûr!

Salmon gets a healthy and easy treatment when cooked in a shallow poach.

You know the saying “there are other fish in the sea”? You know, the one people usually say when you’re going through a breakup and need some reassurance that you did not in fact lose your one true love in the world? Yeah, that one.

I actually like that saying; I’m a “deal-with-it-and-move-on” type of person, so that clichéd phrase suits me just fine. When it comes to men, there really are other fish in the sea. When it comes to actual fishes, however, there is but one fish for me: salmon.

Oh, its soft, fleshy goodness. Oh, its rich, buttery wonderfulness. Oh, its heart-healthy omega-3s. Raw, broiled, baked, marinated, pan-fried, stuffed: you name it, I’ll eat. Me + Salmon = Love, happily ever after.

Sure, I do have a soft spot in my tummy for tilapia, haddock, halibut, and perch – along with the childhood Wisconsin dinner memories that go with them – but when push comes to shove, I opt for salmon 90% of the time. My favorite way to prepare fillets is to simply marinate them with mustard, saffron, olive oil, and minced shallots, or perhaps soy, olive oil, ginger, and garlic, then flip them into the oven to broil for a few minutes. However, since I do try to be a creative Night Owl Chef, I’m always eager to try new salmon preparations, and in particular I’ve always been curious to poach salmon.

Enter an old issue of Cooks Illustrated that I ran across. I found an article inside for a novel shallow poaching method and instantly bookmarked it to try. Instead of completely submerging the fish in liquid, shallow poaching lays the salmon fillets on round lemon slices and fills the cooking vessel with a wine/water mixture just a bit past the bottom of the fish. This prevents the bottom from getting overdone while the thickness of the salmon steams. It is, in a word, brilliant. Oh – and delicious. And soft. And buttery….

When I made this a few nights ago, I put everything in the pot with trepidation, including some new marjoram from Penzy’s instead of the fresh herbs the recipe called for. I was nervous that I was going to overcook the salmon and end up with a pink hockey puck for dinner, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. In fact, I don’t think it’s possible to screw up this cooking method! The liquid in the pot and the steam kept the salmon succulent and far from hard or dried-out. I even cooked it a bit too long for my tastes – I prefer the middle to be just done – but the flesh was still soft and flavorful throughout. In summary, you must try this cooking method because you will enjoy it. It was so easy and so perfect.

And the topping? Probably not necessary for every meal, but it was fun and easy. I roughly chopped capers, minced half a shallot, and threw that together with some honey, a dab of olive oil, and a splash of the reduced poaching liquid. It was a nice compote, and I suggest keeping the liquid to a minimum – otherwise it becomes a runny sauce. Its piquant flavors were tasty, but did overpower the delicate notes of marjoram in the poaching liquid, so I recommend using it to your discretion.

Shallow-poached salmon with capers and shallots (adapted from Cooks Illustrated)

• 1 lemon, cut into 1/4″ thick slices
• 2 salmon fillet pieces, 4-5 oz each
• 1 shallot, minced, divided
• salt and freshly ground pepper
• 1 teaspoon dried marjoram (or fresh herbs, such as parsley)
• 1/2 cup white wine
• 1/2 cup water
• 2 Tablespoons capers, roughly chopped
• 1/4 teaspoon dried marjoram
• 1 teaspoon honey (or agave nectar, as I used)
• 2 teaspoons mild-flavored olive oil, such as Kalamata

In a covered saucepan, lay the lemon slices flat into two lines. Scatter half of the minced shallot and the marjoram over the lemon slices. Season the salmon with salt and pepper, and lay the fillet pieces across the lemon slices so the fish is directly over the lemon and none touches the pan. Pour the wine and water into the pan so the liquid comes up just past the bottom of the salmon.

Set the pan over high heat, and bring the liquid to a simmer. Reduce the heat to low, cover the pan, and cook the salmon until the sides are opaque and the center temperature is 125°F, about 10-12 minutes. Remove the salmon to a sheet of foil using a flat spatula, and fold the foil over loosely. Remove the lemon slices from the poaching liquid and discard.

Increase the heat to high, and simmer the poaching liquid until it thickens and reduces down to two tablespoons, about 5 minutes. In a small bowl, combine the second half of the minced shallots, capers, marjoram, honey, olive oil, and a bit of salt and pepper. Whisk together, then spoon 1-2 tablespoons of the reduced poaching liquid into the bowl, but don’t include the cooked shallots.

Serve the salmon with a tablespoon or so of the caper-shallot sauce on top.

Chicken thighs spiced with Thai galangal and cinnamon pairs well with fennel, olives, and lemon.

I’ve had more fun with my spices from Penzeys, and that’s about the best way I can describe this dish. It was 100% an experiment with a spice I’ve never tasted before and which I put on my Christmas list, to be honest, on a whim – such is the irresistible pull of the Penzeys online catalog. On Christmas morning when I pulled jar after beautiful jar of spices from a gift bag, I was full of anticipation of that first whiff of each spice. Would I like each of them? Would the za’atar be as good as I remembered? Would the Vietnamese and Ceylon cinnamon be as wonderful as promised? Would the galangal be tasty, as promised, or as pungent as a footballer’s sneaker?

That first sniff of the galangal was not quite what I expected … and I say that lightly. Penzeys promised a flavor “similar to ginger but more flowery and intense … important and popular in Thailand”. Well, they weren’t joking about it being intense! Thankfully, it wasn’t intense like a rank, sweaty sneaker (which is what I imagined I was biting into when I tasted raclette cheese the first – and only – time), but intense like condensed, dried ginger and lily flowers. There was a smidgen of a bitter “aftersmell”, but not altogether unpleasant. More than anything, I was just curious about how to use it – and eager to do so.

Even though galangal is a Thai spice, I don’t eat Thai food – except for a delicious Thai eggplant dish I ate recently in Dahlgren, VA – and don’t plan on starting to cook that style anytime soon. Essentially, I had a serendipitous moment last week at the farmer’s market when I saw a bulb of fennel and smelled the fronds; I recalled the flowery notes of the galangal and figured the two would compliment each other well. Combined with some olives and lemons I already had at home – as well as some chicken thighs in my freezer that desperately needed to be eaten – I had the beginnings of a dish.

I ended up browning the chicken thighs, which I trimmed mercilessly but kept most of the skin on, just to see how it ended up; usually I prefer boneless, skinless chicken breasts, but hey – when life gives you lemons…. Anyway, I seasoned both sides of the chicken with salt and pepper, then generously sprinkled them with the galangal and a bit of Vietnamese cinnamon, on a whim. At this point, things were smelling good, so I knew I was on the right track.

After that, I simply sautéed the fennel with an onion, added the rest of my ingredients, and let everything simmer in its toasty, aromatic bath for a good 20 minutes while I watched the news. Easy peasy! I had pretty low expectations for this dish since it was my first time using the main spice, but it turned out to be very flavorful and pungent – in a very pleasing way. The only downside was the chicken skin, which I promptly sloughed off after plating; definitely will be going for my usual bare chicken breasts next time. Despite that, however, this dish was one worth sharing.

I invite you to try this intriguing spice. If you can’t find it, perhaps ginger might work, but if you like spicy cuisine and enjoy taking a trip down the ethnic isle at the grocer, it’s worth it to try galangal. Better yet, if you know any recipes which use it, pass them this way….

Galangal-spiced chicken with fennel, olives, and lemon

If you can’t find galangal, you can substitute a bit of ginger and perhaps coriander, but the taste won’t be quite the same. Similarly, regular store-bought cinnamon (not true cassia) can be used instead of the Vietnamese variety, but use a light hand because Vietnamese cinnamon has a sharper, less bitter taste than the cinnamon most of us are used to; a little bit goes a long way.

• 1 Tbsp olive oil, preferably Kalamata
• 2 trimmed chicken thighs or breasts (skinless)
• 1 tsp galangal spice (see headnote)
• 1/2 tsp Vietnamese cinnamon
• salt and freshly ground pepper
• 1/2 Vidalia onion, chopped
• 1 bulb fennel, halved and sliced 1/4″ thick
• 1/4 cup pitted, quartered olives (a mix of green, such as Cerignola, and Kalamata, to your taste)
• 1/4 cup vermouth or dry white wine
• juice of 1/2 lemon
• 1 cup chicken stock, preferably low sodium
• 2 Tbsp chopped fennel fronds

Heat the olive oil in a straight-sided medium sauté pan over medium-high heat. Season both sides of the chicken with the galangal, cinnamon, salt, and pepper. Brown the chicken in the pan on both sides, about three minutes each. You don’t have to cook the chicken all the way through here, because it will cook fully later. Remove the chicken to a plate.

Reduce the heat to medium and sauté the onion and fennel together. Salt the vegetables, stir, and cover the pan. Cook the onions and fennel until they are slightly softened and more translucent in color, about 5 minutes. Add the olives and cook another 30 seconds or so.

Add the vermouth (or wine) to the pan and stir, scraping up any bits from the bottom of the pan. Squeeze the lemon juice (no seeds!) into the mixture, then add the stock; you may need to add a little more than 1 cup of stock so that almost all of the veggies are covered. Stir in the fennel fronds (from the fennel bulb). Nestle the chicken back into the pan so they are mostly covered by the liquid. Increase the heat to medium-high and cook until a rolling boil forms.

Decrease the heat to a simmer and cook the mixture for 20-25 minutes, until the chicken is cooked all the way through, the vegetables are fully tender, and the liquid is reduced to a thickish sauce. Serve the chicken over the fennel, onions, and olives.