Blueberry Buckle

My cousin and her husband visited us this weekend from Washington DC and so I decided to make a Blueberry Buckle on Saturday morning. This is some damn good stuff (and a good way to chip away at the 15 pounds of organic Maine blueberries I bought and froze last fall in a not-so-rare moment of impulse food shopping lunacy). The recipe comes straight from the King Arthur Flour Baker’s Companion so I won’t reprint it here. Give it a try.

Pumpkin Cheddar Tart

T and I had a very nice Thanksgiving at his parents’ house in Portsmouth, NH yesterday. The turkey was moist and delicious (brining is the key!) and perfectly cooked and I’m still thinking about the apple-cranberry pie T’s mom made for dessert – YUM! She had asked us to bring appetizers and wine so I decided to make my pumpkin cheddar tart inspired by one that I had at Katahdin in Portland last year which came out quite well.

 

Pumpkin (or Squash) Cheddar Tart

cornmeal pastry dough (from Martha Stewart’s Baking Handbook)

1 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 cup cornmeal
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, cut into cubes and chilled
2 to 4 tbs ice cold water

Combine dry ingredients in a food processor. Add butter and pulse several times until well-blended. Drizzle in ice water until the dough just begins to come together. Wrap the dough tightly in a sheet of plastic wrap and chill in the refrigerator for at least 30 minutes.

Turn the chilled dough out onto a lightly floured work surface and roll out until big enough for your 8-inch round or square tart pan. Press lightly into the pan and trim the edges. Dock the bottom with a fork to prevent it from forming air pockets.

Chill the dough again while you preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Blind bake the crust (using pie weights or dry beans) for 20 to 30 minutes, or until the edges and bottom begin to dry out.

In the meantime, prepare the filling:

filling

1 cup heavy cream
1 whole egg, plus 1 egg yolk
pinch of salt
1 cup fresh pumpkin or squash, cut into small cubes and roasted until tender
1/2 cup extra sharp cheddar cheese (the sharper the better), cut into small cubes
2 to 3 tbs dijon mustard (to taste)

Combine the heavy cream, whole egg, egg yolk and salt in a small bowl. Arrange the roasted pumpkin or squash and cheese evenly in the bottom of the tart crust. Pour all but one tablespoon of the cream and egg mixture into the tart shell. Mix the mustard into the remaining tablespoon of cream and egg mixture to thin it a little. Drop little dollops of the mustard mixture evenly throughout the tart.

Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes or until the custard has set and begins to brown slightly on the top. Serve warm or cool.

The filling can also be made with whatever combination of cooked vegetables and/or meats and cheeses you like (with or without the mustard). This tart makes an excellent light meal with a good salad of bitter greens like escarole, arugula or frisee.

El comer en España

In terms of food, my trip to Spain was something of a revelation. I’ve had plenty of great meals at Spanish and other so-called “ethnic” restaurants and shopped in all the ethnic markets I could find in whatever city I’ve lived in or visited. And I have hoards of cookbooks from all over the world from which I’ve cooked extensively. But my trip to Spain was the first time I’ve truly experienced food as part of a total immersion into another culture. I’ve been to London and Amsterdam, but aside from John Smith’s ales on tap, fresh Heineken and stroopwafels, neither of these cities felt to me very different from New York or Chicago or Montreal. I knew I was in another country with a very different history and cultural influences. But neither city felt unfamiliar, if that makes sense.

But in Spain almost everything felt new and different. And certainly the language played a part in the experience. Even in Amsterdam, I never really had to try to speak Dutch. All the menus and signs wherever we went were both in Dutch and English. And everyone spoke English beautifully. Not so in Spain.

Spanish food, it seems to me, is meant to be enjoyed with friends and good wine and good conversation. And this was the revelation. Sure, I’ve had tapas many times in the States (particularly at Dali, Tapeo and – my hands-down favorite – Tasca in Boston) and I thought I understood. But I didn’t, really. In Spain, eating out is an event like going to a ball game or a night of bowling or bar-hopping with friends, except that Spaniards of all ages do it all the time. Food in Spain is part and parcel of the social scene. It’s not just a stop on the itinerary. It’s the whole program! Tapas are not just a fad or a clever way to make you rack up a huge bill without knowing it (as it has become in the States). It’s a way of eating that’s perfectly designed to accommodate eating and talking and extending a meal as long as the conversation and the wine last. We were never rushed through our meals; were never made to feel like the waiters were impatient to turnover the table, even when there were others waiting to be seated. Just as it should be.
We didn’t eat at the fanciest restaurants, by any stretch. We found what we could and, for the most part, enjoyed it all. Spanish food is hearty and simple and, at least compared to French cuisine, not unrefined, but certainly less fussy. Spain is warm, particularly in the South, and so much of the food is preserved (sausages and hams, cheeses, olives, salted fish) and fresh vegetables are almost non-existent (except for white asparagus and cauliflower). And, especially in Sevilla, the food tends to be a bit salty.

The bread we found in Spain, and in Sevilla in particular, was crap. It was dry and thin-crusted and flavorless. It seems they don’t add salt to their bread dough at all, perhaps because the food is so salty. I don’t know. But it was universally bad. The baked goods we found in various panaderias and pastelerias, however, tended to be relatively simple as well, but no less tasty. Almonds, caramel, egg custards and natilla (pastry cream) feature prominently, as do apples, figs and chocolate. I tested many a tarta de manzana (apple tart) while in Spain and they were all very good.

The fish in Spain, and especially in Madrid, was excellent. I could go on and on about the fish, but I won’t. It was amazing – stunningly fresh and always perfectly prepared, wherever we went.

The culinary highlight of my trip was a late dinner at Salvador Rojo in Sevilla with friends and colleagues. To start we were each given a little cup of foie gras yogurt with a bit of caramelized onion on the top that was creamy and tart and rich and absolutely delicious. To start we shared a plate of artisanal Spanish cheeses, a plate of sauteed wild mushrooms with gouda, a giant foie gras napoleon with green apple and phyllo and some sort of fruit sauce (quince?). For an entree I had a veal steak (again) which was perfectly cooked and delicious, though to be honest I was also a little tipsy by this point. And for dessert I had an unusual combination of sherry jelly, mango gelée, green apple sorbet and a tocino de cielo foam. It was sweet and tart, dense and light, warm and cold and quite delicious. The wine was great, the conversation lively and interesting, the service was perfect and the company paid for it all. What could be better?

Salvador Rojo
23 Calle San Fernando
Sevilla
954 229 725

We had good tapas at Sol y Sombra, including their signature solomillos de buey con ajo (little filets of beef with lots of garlic) and langostinos baked in salt. I would have liked to explore the surrounding Triana neighborhood more (the old gypsy quarter of Sevilla), but it was late, late by the time we finished and we were all pooped out.

Sol y Sombra
149 Castilla
Sevilla
954 333 935

We also had a decent meal and some good tapas at Café Modesto near the Plaza Santa Cruz. The location is perfect and they have plenty of outside seating making it popular with tourists, but the service on the night we visited was downright hostile (friends visited the following night and had an excellent meal with amazing service). If you go you must try the cazon en adobo (pieces of fried marinated shark). It’s absolutely delicious.

Café Modesto
5 Calle Cano y Cueto
Sevilla
954 416 811

en Sevilla, parte 2

The rest of the week in Sevilla was fantastic. The weather started out a little stormy but cleared up and remained mostly sunny and warm for the rest of the trip. The conference was really good (and very productive) and kept me quite busy. In fact, I really only had about three hours one afternoon to explore the city and see some of the sights.

Two of my colleagues and I took a cab from the hotel to the Plaza Santa Cruz and wandered through the Barrio down narrow, twisting alleys. We wound our way around the Alcazar to the Cathedral and La Giralda. The Cathedral is impressive for its size, its splendor (much of the wealth from Spain’s conquests in the New World originally flowed through Sevilla) and its mix of architectural styles. The view from the top of La Giralda was breathtaking. Sevilla is a much bigger city than it feels from the street and it’s greener too.

Our colleague from Shanghai had to return to the conference hotel for a meeting so we parted at the Cathedral and P and I made our way towards the Plaza de Toros. We were both interested in bullfighting (it must be a guy thing) and had hoped to see a fight. But the season had ended in October so we decided we should at least take the tour. The tour was conducted first in Spanish and then in English and so it was a good test of my Spanish comprehension skills and I did get more of it than I expected. The most impressive stop on the tour was the state-of-the-art infirmary which was really a single-purpose trauma center. It was a frank reminder of the fact that, Hemingway and testosterone aside, bullfighting is a brutal sport.

I grew to love Sevilla, even though I didn’t actually see much of the city. But eventually the big late night dinners, staying up even later to digest and waking early took its toll on me. One of my colleagues called it “stomach jet-lag.” I loved being surrounded by the language and by the end of the week I felt much more confident in my own language skills. I can’t yet hold conversations in Spanish, but I can get around, order meals and handle most retail transactions (including the pharmacy), which is much more than I expected. And I’m inspired to keep learning the language for my next trip to Spain!

A Damn Good Cookie

I went out for several hours yesterday morning to do a little pre-Thanksgiving shopping and since I was in the neighborhood and feeling a little peckish I stopped in at Two Fat Cats bakery. I’d been a handful of times since they opened (just over a year ago?) and haven’t been impressed. Their cupcakes are okay, but the simple, all-American bake-sale fare just doesn’t work for me. And it’s kind of dirty in there too.

Maybe they don’t want to (or have been directed not to) compete with Standard Baking’s more upscale, French-style pastries. But, in my opinion at least, Standard could use the competition (while their bread is unrivaled in Portland, the pastries are inconsistent and often technically incorrect – Aurora in Portland’s West End is far superior and more interesting).

But it had been several months since I’d been in so I was sort of curious to see what Two Fat Cats was doing now. Same old stuff, and still a little dirty. But there was a cookie that caught my eye. In the middle of rows of chocolate chip and I don’t even know what other ordinary looking cookies was an oatmeal cookie with coconut and dried apricot. And it was absolutely delicious! There was a good amount of oats and oat flavor and it wasn’t terribly sweet (which I appreciate). The cookie was moist and chewy and the shredded coconut added a nice texture and only a little sweetness which was nicely offset by the tang of the apricot. The apricot pieces were bright and perfectly dispersed throughout the cookie. It was damn good. I might just have to go back.

Sevilla haibun

It’s my last day in Sevilla and I decide to walk to the conference hotel rather than take a taxi. I’ve skipped the breakfast session and feel a little guilty, but after so many late nights I needed a little extra sleep. The sky is pale but clear – Sevilla blue – and cloudless. The air is surprisingly cool. The city is fully awake and I wonder how Sevillanos keep this schedule of eating a late dinner, going to bed on a full stomach in the wee hours, and waking early for work, day after day. Motorcycles and scooters weave through the morning traffic. I pass the chocolate y churros shop which I probably won’t make it to on this trip and a busy playground fenced in by honeysuckle and a bush whose name I don’t know but which I will now always associate with Sevilla. On the riverbank this morning dozens of solitary men tend to long fishing lines and watch crew boats and kayaks scuttle up and down the river.

crossing the bridge
unfamiliar coins
in my pocket

 

fotos de Sevilla

The conference in Sevilla was really good, but it was a lot of work and I only had about three hours on Wednesday to explore the city in the daylight (though we went out every night). So I don’t have many photos of Sevilla and the few I do have aren’t great. I guess I’ll just have to go back!

 

View from La Giralda – the Cathedral tower:

 

La Giralda from the Alcazar:

 

La Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza de Sevilla:

Señor Patata: a casualty of globalization

I was really hoping to find a Señor Patata toy for my soon-to-be-born niece or nephew while I was in Spain. I used to love to play with Mr Potato Head when I was a kid and I really want to be the kind of uncle who always gives his niece/nephew the coolest and most unique clothes and toys my modest salary can buy. Plus, the name makes me smile!

So imagine my disappointment when I walked into the toy department of El Corte Ingles in Madrid to find only the American Mr and Mrs Potato Head on the shelves and not even a tag line, instruction, warning or disclaimer in Spanish! Damn you Hasbro! Damn you globalization!

en Sevilla, parte 1

The train from Madrid to Sevilla was wonderful. It rained much of the way but the clouds started to clear the closer we got to Sevilla. The countryside, or what we could see of it through breaks in the clouds, is absolutely beautiful. There were rows and rows of olive trees, dotted now and again with grazing cattle or sheep, orange and lemon trees and open pastureland all gently rolling over soft green hills. Occasionally there were higher, sharper mountains with rocky slopes covered with a sort of pine. We briefly saw an old stone castle high up on one of these slopes and we sped by several small towns in mostly improbable places, but otherwise the landscape was mostly rural and almost ageless. I couldn’t help but imagine Don Quixote riding over those hills with Sancho Panza or Hemingway fishing for trout in the icy mountain streams and drinking wine in the shade.

On first inspection, Sevilla is a much dirtier, grittier city than I expected. But it has a seductive quality that has begun to work its magic on me. Madrid and Sevilla are very different, and Madrid is still, I think, my favorite. But Sevilla is older and more romantic. It’s a feast for all the senses. The air is soft and warm and scented with jasmine and smoke from roasting chestnuts. The winding streets and alleys are filled, day and night, with crowds of tourists and locals of every color and native tongue, taxis, loud motorcycles and scooters. Conversations in many languages, laughter, the smells of food and smoke, music and the tinkling of glasses all spill out into the streets from the many restaurants, tabernas, cervecerias and cafés all open to passing traffic. The architecture is as varied in style and age and color as the people of Sevilla themselves. It’s the kind of city that’s probably best discovered by getting yourself a little lost and finding its hidden treasures.

The day we arrived in Sevilla was also my birthday and my good friend had made arrangements for a small group of us to go out to dinner that night to celebrate. The restaurant she originally had in mind was closed so we took a taxi to the Plaza Santa Cruz in the old part of the city and wandered down narrow twisting alleys between old homes with wrought iron balconies, wooden shutters and each with their own hidden courtyard. There were palm trees and citrus trees heavy with green fruit, jasmine and bougainvillea and honeysuckle everywhere. We walked towards the old Jewish quarter past an weathered stone fortification until we saw a small group of tables with white tablecloths and red chairs at the far end of an alley and decided to check it out.

The Hosteria del Laurel is in a courtyard at the end of Justino de Neve in front of the Hospital de los Venerables in the Barrio Santa Cruz. We had a wonderful meal sitting under an orange tree in the light of the full moon. The service was excellent and the food was perfect; simple, fresh, authentic and made with care. We shared a plate of chorizo, salchichon, jamon, caña de lomo Iberico and manchego (¡claro que si!) to start and I had a veal steak which was melt-in-your-mouth delicious with sauteed broad beans and garlic. Be warned that in Spain the definitions of rare, medium rare, etc are one step rarer than in the States. So if you order your meat cooked medium rare, it will be rare. Except for lamb which (I’m told) they tend to overcook.

For dessert we each had a variation on the classic Spanish custard and caramel theme. I had a tarta de manzana, or apple tart, that was made with puff pastry, custard, thinly sliced green apples and a dark, orange flavored caramel. It was delicious. And of course I finished with una copa de manzanilla.

I am lucky enough to have had quite a few memorable birthday meals and this one ranks among the very best. ¡Gracias a todos!

en Madrid, parte 2

If I have one criticism of Madrid (and Spain in general) it is that the mullet seems to be quite popular – on both men and women. I would say fashionable, but that’s a contradiction in terms. They mostly tend toward the faux-hawk mullet here but there are other variations as well. At first I thought I was having some sort of nightmare post-traumatic stress flashbacks from my high school days in Oklahoma – even I had a mullet back then, though that’s not what we called it. But no. All the hipsters are sporting mullets in Spain. Quite thankfully, it does not appear that the mullet has yet made its way into the gay community.

Madrid is also very loud. Our hotel was on the corner of the Gran Via near Chueca so there was a constant flow of automobile and pedestrian traffic ALL night long. Madrileños are known for eating very late (even for Spain, I’m told) and staying up even later. Even toddlers! I didn’t have any trouble sleeping but I would have if I hadn’t been so dog-tired because, even four stories up, the noise from the street was quite loud.

On the other hand Spanish men are, in general, quite hot. And in particular, the Iberian mix of Roman, Visigothic and North African stock (I’ve been reading my guidebook!) has resulted in a predominance of just exactly the type of dark husky, hunky, hairy fellows I go for. With dark hair. And dark eyes. And they’re Spanish. Muy guapo.

We ate well, though not famously. We had an excellent lunch in Chueca including toasts with a coarse mixture of fresh tomatoes, jamon and olive oil that were simple, light and fantastic. I also had some delicious albondigas (meatballs) and a fresh tomato salad with tuna. For dessert we split a slice of flourless chocolate cake made with a little bit of almond meal and over the top of which we poured fresh cream. So very good.

It rained all three days in Madrid and we were mostly content to wander around the city, getting lost now and then deliberately. We managed to stumble into the Plaza Mayor at dusk one night. We walked by the Prado, the Museo Thyssen and the Botanical Gardins but the lines were long and with so little time in Madrid we were happy to save those for another trip.

I didn’t take many pictures (and none worth showing here) because of the rain. But Madrid is a beautiful and lively city; fashionable and cosmopolitan and uniquely Spanish. The people are mostly friendly and open and the pace of the city is relaxed which can be frustrating to those of us used to moving fast and getting things done. But you soon learn that your only choice is to surrender to the flow; to slow down and take the time to enjoy the moment.

I will most certainly be back.