The Petit Four

Because it’s Thursday and Thursdays always need some sprucing up to help us get to the weekend faster, here are some things in the last few days that have made me unbelievably happy:

Nerd awesomeness number one –
My weekly Econundrums newsletter from Mother Jones was safely delivered in my inbox on Monday, equipped with a carbon calculator for my food!

Why is that important?  Well, Kiera Butler from MJ is here to explain -

Cows have become famous for trampling the planet: A four-ounce serving of steak creates 10.6 pounds of greenhouse gases, the same as a 95-mile car trip. But foregoing meat that once mooed without considering the carbon impact of the rest of your diet? That’s a little like telling someone who’s counting calories that the bacon explosion is off limits, but corn dogs, pizza, and chocolate cake are all fair game.

With books and movies like Fast Food Nation, Food, Inc., The Omnivore’s Dilemma, we’ve all thought (or at least pretended) to think about where our food comes from and what has to happen for it to get into our bellies.   And by now, we’ve heard the basic message – eat less meat, eat more plants. But it isn’t always that simple. Bon Appétit (the catering company, not the Condé Nast publication) has served up a calculator that can help you make ethically-minded eating choices.

The calculator’s not entirely accurate, but it gives you a gist of how many carbon points are in a generic piece of food. You choose a category and a food item, drop it in the frying pan and voilà! You have a general estimate of how much carbon was produced to make your lunch.

And what’s this thing about carbon points? Econundrums explains:

Foods are assigned point values based on their greenhouse gas emissions—one point equals .035 oz. of emissions. Researchers took into account both the agricultural and shipping emissions associated with each food—for a detailed account of their methodology, click on “What do these points mean?”.

And I say it’s a general estimate because there are some inaccuracies in that it doesn’t factor in certain environmental elements…and it’s produced by a catering company. But then again, it doesn’t tout itself as the end all be all. But I still think it’s pretty neat and that it can help people to make more environmentally-conscious (and healthier) food choices.

Nerd awesomeness number two. NPR time!

NPR is pretty great. You get great reporting, interesting stories that actually mean something (see any local TV news broadcast at 5 to see the opposite), and a way to continue learning about the world around you – all for free! Plus sometimes you can get pretty sweet swag if you donate. And now one of my favorite NPR news shows, All Things Considered, just released a cake cookbook, All Cakes Considered. Political news with baking? Be still, my beating heart.

Melissa Gray, an ATC producer, wrote this book after bringing a cake to work every Monday. It has a focus on American-style, comfy, down-to-earth cakes with recipes for things like the bundt cake of all bundt cakes, The Tunnel of Fudge, and others like the Brown Sugar Pound Cake. And I’m not only excited about the different kinds of cakes in the book, but also because of the writing that goes on in between the recipes. Gray has produced some of my favorite ATC stories.

I haven’t gotten my hands on a complete copy of the book, but I’ve secured a few of the recipes and am anxious to try them out.  But I’m pretty confident that NPR + Cake = Great.

And bonus - I found this on Flickr. Man, does it make me miss my dog.

Nelson! *I have no idea what is on his tongue. I don't really want to know.

I love the way October makes me feel. I like the warm, sleepy feeling I get when I slip into sweatpants or the way my toes happily curl into themselves when I don them with socks. I’m also just happy that we’ve reached the point in the year where I no longer sweat at the drop of a hat. I hate sweating.*

And now I’ve found one more reason to love October - leeks.

It’s hard to avoid leeks, or poireaux, in northern France and Belgium in the fall. They spill out of stands at every farmers market in the region and work their way into all sorts of soups, tarts and flamiche. And now that my leek-radar has been piqued, I’m shocked to see how often the vegetable is used since my only prior exposure has been a soup from this book.

Belgium’s love of leeks extends beyond the cultural regions of northern francophone countries and all the way across the Channel. The leek is one of Wales’ national emblems and all good Welsh boys wear a leek necklace on St. David’s Day to honor, well, St. David and his battle against the Saxons. And I have it on very good authority from a Welsh friend (who sadly doesn’t know Christian Bale)  that it’s near-impossible to avoid leek-based meals in any sort of formal setting.

I think Europe is on to something. Leeks, in the onion family but more subtle and sweet, create silkily textured dishes with a robust flavor profile. They work particularly well in flamiche, a frenchified Flemish word for cake but is actually closer to a tart or pie. A flamiche is traditionally made with bread dough instead of pastry, can have a top crust or go without, and has a quiche-y base composed of cheese and eggs.** The ultimate savory pie.

This flamiche with leek confit takes some time to make but is a great introduction to Belgian food and leeks. The chopped leeks spool out and look like silky pasta, making your pot of confit one of the prettiest bowls of food you’ll ever see. I found myself mesmerized by the buttery pot of cooking vegetables, standing over the stove and watching as the butter melted and slipped in between the leeks. The crust used in the recipe veers away from the traditional bread dough, but it’s a firm piecrust with shoulders to stand up and support the robust flavor of the leek and cheese without become soft and gooey. Instead, it protects the buttery, flaky pockets inside so each forkful of the flamiche melts in your mouth. It gives me the same sleepy, happy feeling I get whenever I sink into my couch, fully suited up in sweat pants. The way October is meant to be spent.

* One of my good friends is currently in the middle of her Peace Corps stint in Southern Senegal.  One of her recent updates was “I am so jealous of babies here. They get fanned all the time, get to play in giant buckets full of water when it’s a million degrees outside and they don’t have to wear pants, EVER.” Reasons why I am glad I live in Belgium - I stop sweating and I can wear pants. Hooray pants!

**It’s also customary to serve Burgundy wine with a flamiche.

Belgian Style Leek Flamiche
Adapted very slightly from Molly Wizenberg in Bon Appetit October 2008

Leek Confit
You can make this ahead of time - up to a week beforehand.  Keep refrigerated in an airtight container until needed for the filling.

1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter
4 large leeks (white and pale green parts only), halved lengthwise, cut crosswise into 1/4-inch-thick slices (about 5 cups)
2 tablespoons water
1/2 teaspoon salt

Melt butter in large pot over medium-low heat. Add the leeks and stir to coat. Add the water and salt. Cover and reduce heat to low. Cook until the leeks are tender, stirring often, about 25 minutes. Uncover and cook until the excess water evaporates.  Keep warm until ready to use in the filling, or keep in an airtight container until ready to use.

Flamiche Crust
4 tablespoons ice water
1 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
1 1/2 cups unbleached all purpose flour
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) plus 1 tablespoon chilled unsalted butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

Custard Filling
1/2 cup milk
1/2 cup heavy whipping cream
2 large eggs
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup crumbled cheese - goat cheese, feta, boursin, etc. work well.
Leek Confit from above

To make the crust:

Preheat oven to 375F.

Combine ice water and cider vinegar in small bowl. Blend flour and salt in processor. Add butter and blend until the mixture resembles coarse meal. With the machine running, slowly add the water-vinegar mixture, processing until moist clumps form. If dough seems dry, add additional ice water by teaspoonfuls. Gather dough into ball and flatten into a disk. Wrap in plastic and refrigerate at least 2 hours. Allow dough to soften slightly at room temperature before rolling out.

Roll dough out on a lightly floured surface until it’s a 12-inch round. Transfer to non-stick 9-inch-diameter tart or pie pan (removable sides or bottom preferable). Press dough onto bottom and up sides. Fold in overhang and press to extend dough 1/2 inch above sides of pan. Make ventilation holes in the pie crust by poking a fork in the crust a couple of times.  Line pan with foil and dried beans. Bake until dough looks dry and set, about 30 minutes. Remove foil and beans and continue to bake until crust is pale golden, 20 to 25 minutes longer. Remove from oven and cool while preparing filling.

To make the filling:
Whisk together milk, cream, eggs, and salt. Sprinkle half of the cheese over the bottom of the warm pie crust. Spread your leek confit over the cheese and then sprinkle with the remaining cheese. Pour milk mixture over. Bake until the filling has puffed.  It will be slightly brown in places and the center will be set, around 35 to 40 minutes. Cool slightly. Serve warm or at room temperature.

There needs to be an amendment on the “There’s nothing as American as apple pie” statement. It’s just not true. The English gave us our version of apple pie.  The Dutch make a mean apple pie too. And those francophones have their tarte tatin.

Instead, I propose it should be “There’s nothing as American as chocolate chip cookies and brownies.”

Nobody makes a tray of chocolate chip cookies or a pan of brownies like an American. In Brussels’  grocery stores, they have a brownie mix in a box. The cover is vaguely 1970s in a horrifying outdated sort of way, which makes me wonder if it has been sitting on the shelf since 1973. The picture of the brownie itself is also pretty scary. It resembles a square form of… number two, to put it politely.

So this weekend, after my students started to get twitchy and unfocused as they’ve begun to go through their Mexican food withdrawal and started to bemoan the lack of brownies in their life, I found several bars of chocolate in my grocery basket and a task to bake.

Brownies, like chocolate chip cookies, have a mythical beginning. Nobody really knows who invented them or what the real Creation Story is behind the brownie. Some say it was created in the 1893 World’s Fair in Chicago at the Palmer Hotel.  The ladies who luncheon needed a chocolate cake dessert but also needed it so they could eat with their fingers while viewing the expositions. Some say Fannie Farmer created it for her cookbook. And my personal favorite - a certain Mrs. Brown forgot to add baking soda to her chocolate cake destined for a bake sale. Not having enough time to make another cake, she cooled her flat chocolate cake, cut it in squares and took it to her church bake sale. And brownies were born. (Interestingly, here is a website that compares the evolution of the brownie recipe.)

Brownies can come in many forms – swirled with caramel, dotted with macademia nuts, topped with ice cream, fudgy, chewy, cakey. There are whole cookbooks devoted just to brownies and a person would be very hard pressed to find a brownie version they didn’t like.

I decided to try out these “Adult” brownies banging around the Serious Eats message boards. And hello! Fudgey brownies are really, really delicious. The heady combination of intense chocolate flavor and coffee is decadent enough to make you want a cigarette afterward. Thank god my students are getting all of these – they lead to bad decisions. And me being about 50 pounds heavier.

Some tips for baking brownies –

In general, if you want your brownies (or cookies!) chewier, try reducing the amount of flour by a ¼ cup or add 3 tablespoons of corn syrup. But since the latter is a little nasty and not as good for you, try reducing the flour first.

If you want a light, slightly crackly crust on your brownies and one that isn’t tough, ditch your mixer and beat by hand.

Metal pans bake things quicker than glass. In general, recipes give you a wide range of “done” times because it depends on what type of pan you are using. Metal conducts heat a lot quicker than glass, so your goods will be done much quicker. Also, to be on the safe side, you should start checking for doneness (metal or glass) every five minutes after 20 minutes.

It helps to mix your sugar and vanilla together first before adding it to the rest of the ingredients.  This ensures an even distribution of the vanilla and gives your baked goods a smoother, subtler taste throughout.

Butter-Brick Brownies with Coffee and Salt
Adapted slightly from Tam Ngo

2 tablespoons (1 1/2 stick or 6 ounces) unsalted butter, cut into cubes
8 ounces milk chocolate (41% cocoa), coarsely chopped
8 ounces dark chocolate (64% cocoa), coarsely chopped
1 1/2 cup granulated sugar
4 large eggs, room temperature
2 tablespoons vanilla
1/4 cup all-purpose flour, sifted (you can go for 1/2 cup here if you want. I did just a 1/4 cup though and they were fudgey fudgey fudgey. Mmmm.)
1 teaspoon fleur de sel or sea salt
1 tablespoon dark coffee grounds, like mocha or dessert coffee

Preheat over to 325F.  Line an 8×8 baking pan with parchment paper so that there is enough overhang to work as handles.

Create a double boiler on very low heat by placing a large metal over a pot of simmering water, place the chocolate and cubed butter. Stir occasionally until melted. Remove from heat and stir until smooth.

Meanwhile, in a large bowl, combine sugar and vanilla.  After the chocolate mixture has cooled to touch, pour the chocolate into the vanilla-sugar.  Next, beat in the eggs, one at a time. Add the flour, salt, and coffee and mix vigorously by hand for 5 minutes.

Pour the mixture into the prepared pan and tap the pan on a counter top to even out the batter. Bake for 22 minutes, take out the pan, and tap the pan on the counter twice to further even out and condense the batter. Rotate and reinsert the pan to bake for another 22 minutes or until a skewer inserted in the center comes out moist but free of uncooked batter. You made need to adjust baking time and bake longer. The less flour you use, the more time it takes to bake.

Remove the pan from the oven and place on a cooling rack for 10 minutes. Remove the brownies from the pan using the parchment handles and place the brownies on the rack. Cool completely before cutting.

Tam Ngo based these off of brownies at Andronico’s in Berkely, California, which are famous for the brick-like texture.  Tam emphasizes that to make the brownies more brick-like, you need to let the brownies condense and collapse onto itself.  The way to do this is to let the brownies “stale” for a little bit.  I let them stale for about a day and a half and they worked beautifully.  Brick-ish and easy to handle.  The brownies might also seem a bit oily as they come out of the oven.  As they cool, the brownies will reabsorb the oil and work to make the brownies more condensed and fudgey.

Ah, Berlin, Berlin. My friend Nathan and I spent this past weekend walking around the different neighborhoods of Berlin - a city that feels strangely familiar and fascinating at the same time. It has room for everybody and everything, from urbane street art to the gritty urban landscapes, the moneyed few to the transvestites.

And of course, 20 years later, Berlin has The Wall. Once I actually saw it, it made me unquestionably angry and upset. In the various history and political classes I have taken throughout my life, The Wall became distilled into more of a concept and less of a thing. It somehow got lumped into the gore and travesty of everything World War II-related in my head, making it an intangible story about “way back when.” But when you are face-to-face with it (I feel really silly saying this) it’s seriously just a wall. A wall that damaged so much and still holds so much power.

The first time I saw it I actually didn’t know what it was. It was early on the first day I was in Berlin and I was wandering around a residential area in the East. Rounding a corner and I saw ahead of me an ugly, gray wall. There was nothing special about it, nothing out of the ordinary. It was just long, ugly and gray. I thought it was kind of odd that unlike the other walls I had been walking past, it wasn’t plastered with ads promoting Whitney Houston’s new CD (did you know she was making a comeback? I didn’t). I then realized why it was different. When you look at the Wall, especially when you realize how ordinary it really is, the Berlin Wall signifies everything that is stupid and careless and hurtful.  And the damage caused by The Wall becomes just that much more pointless.

Berliners haven’t let the Wall define them or the city as stupid and hurtful though. The Wall is still making an impact, albeit in a completely different way.  I went to one of the Renegade Craft Fairs last year when I was still living in Chicago and saw these old dominos turned into earrings with a photo hodge-podged onto them. As I started talking to the artist, she told me that she had recently taken a trip to Berlin and turned all of her photos of the Wall into jewelry. I ended up buying them and I wear them all the time. The silly, stupid Wall became a catalyst for creativity for her and she is not the only one. In Berlin, the best example of this is the East Side Gallery. The Gallery is a long stretch of the Wall that has been turned into an actual art canvas. Artists from around the world are invited to paint images on sections of the Wall, like the one found on my earrings. Some of the images are positive, some play on the changes that have happened since 1989, some evoke the pointlessness of the Wall in general. It’s a project that uses The Wall like any public wall should be used. A sort of sweet form of justice for the united Berlin, I imagine.

We spent a majority of our time exploring East Berlin. After twenty years, the city’s two sides seemed to have flip positions. East Berlin is full of the trendy, artsy and unique. West Berlin, at least from what we saw, is full of the quieter, older, more suburban. Angie, our fabulous host for the weekend, was born and raised in East Germany and moved to East Berlin with her family a year or two before the Wall fell. She claims that she can’t really say much about the difference between West Germany and East Germany growing up. To her, her childhood in East Berlin was normal, she knows no other way of growing up. After the country’s division, her family was distantly divided, with extended family on the Western side of the country. She remembers their visits before 1990 because they brought her toys like a Barbie doll and Legos. And as for when the Wall came down? She only remembers how excited her parents were the night of November 9th. Her father went to the Wall to see what was going on and crossed over to the West. He quickly crossed back into East Berlin because no one knew what would really happen to those who went on the other side of the Wall. He came home drunk.

She now works in advertising, loves Robbie Williams and Sex and the City and eats sushi on a regular basis.

Another thing about Angie is that she loves food and we did a lot of eating and drinking in Berlin. Having her as a guide and armed with suggestions from Luisa and my friend Daniel, Nathan and I were continually surprised by the depth and range of food that Berlin has to offer. On our first night there, Angie took us to Café Datscha in her neighborhood of Friedrichshain. The menu offers blinis stuffed with sauerkraut and chicken, or salmon and red caviar, borscht dolloped with sour cream and meals like “The Proletariat,” ”The Farmer,” “The Intelligentsia” or even “The Collective” – a combination of the Proletariat and Intelligentsia for 2 people. Quantities of vodka are optional with the order.

I felt like I was eating a Dostoevsky novel. We ate pickled herring on brown bread, hard-boiled eggs donned with shiny salmon caviar, marinated mushrooms, and boiled potatoes with sliced pickles. I decided to opt out of the bottle of vodka and washed it all down with a hoppy local beer. It’s been several days since we ate there, and I am still thinking about the pickled herring on brown bread. It was creamy and fresh and laced with enough salt that it enhanced the earthiness of the bread without killing any of the flavor. And most importantly, it tasted like herring. There is nothing worse than eating seafood that tastes of tinny fish-flavor.

But most surprisingly was how delicious Currywurst is – in a gross, self-indulgent sort of way. There was no way I could go to Berlin and not try Curry wurst (one word? Two words?) the epicenter of all things Curry-wurst and a cuisine that Berliners hold near and dear to their hearts. Currywurst is a sort of food that is delicious in its hedonistic, fatty way. What it comes down to is a fried wurst (like brat wurst) graciously sprinkled with curry powder, topped with a special type of ketchup and accessorized with fries. It’s the sort of food that feels like it was invented by a very hungry, very drunk person searching for something to sop up the alcohol when they’ve forgotten to go to the grocery store.

And when you are in Berlin, and especially East Berlin, your first Currywurst stop is Konnopke Imbiss. It’s a currywurst institution and has been doling out currywurst to the masses for over 75 years. It’s a food stall that lost its mobility years ago as benches, tables and food-related street art popped around its thin, corrugated metal walls. The women who work Konnopke’s counters wear baby pink candy striper smocks and occasionally sport a fashion scarf or two. It’s such a small gesture but really classes the place up. They efficiently fry, slice and sprinkle up plates to the begging masses that start lining up at 6 am for their wurst-fix 6 days a week. Their currywurst is a tangy affair as the curry powder pops on your tastebuds, leaving your mouth literally tingling with pleasure. And their fries. Ladies and gentlemen, fries sprinkled with curry powder are insanely delicious. It was such a simple culinary eureka moment that I can’t wait to figure out what other starchy, fried things taste better with a firm kick in their pants by a shake of curry powder. Please, go find some of the best fries you can get your hands on and generously sprinkle them with curry powder. Afterwards, you can thank Berlin.

Datscha
Gabriel-Marx-Str. 1, Ecke Wühlischstr., 10245 Berlin

Konnopke Imbiss
Schönhauser Allee 44a
Berlin-Prenzlauer Berg

Sometimes I have this weird ability to make myself insanely busy. Or overcomplicating things. And I don’t always match said weird talent with a companion talent like say, being able to balance everything.

So when I feel like I’m trying to dodge an impending ball of work (think opening scene of Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark), nothing clears my head and calms me down quite like baking. The methodical sifting, stirring, pouring, folding massages out the lines of frustration etched onto my day. No matter how many times I mess up a verb conjugation or my tired brain says “garbaaage” instead of détritus, I can’t really mess up baking if I just follow the directions.  What matters is that I bake chocolate chip cookies while listening to This American Life.

The chocolate chip cookie has a certain allure to it. It’s a basic combination of flour, butter, sugar and chocolate, but it somehow has managed to create this certain je ne sais quoi that gets people up in arms about the perfect cookie. Some people, like the New York Times, think they have the Chocolate Chip Cookie’s “come hither” taste down to a science, claiming that it is the ultimate chocolate chip cookie. Others have certain rules and procedures they follow when making the “perfect” cookie. But I say to hell with it. Part of the reason why the Chocolate Chip Cookie is great, why it has that certain je ne sais quoi quality, is because it’s true essence lies in its simplicity. You, a bowl, and a wooden spoon. A powerful combination that can result in something that will make most men weak in the knees. If you try and deconstruct the cookie you’re missing the point. So, I won’t claim this is the best chocolate chip cookie recipe, I’ll just say that it’s just damn good and the act of making it is therapeutic perfection.

Chocolate Chip Cookies
From Dorie Greenpan’s Baking: From My Home to Yours

2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tsp. salt
3/4 tsp. baking soda
2 sticks unsalted butter at room temperature
1 cup sugar
2/3 cups brown sugar
2 tsp. pure vanilla extract
2 large eggs
12 oz. bittersweet chocolate
1 cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees.  Line baking sheets with parchment or spray with cooking spray.

In a small bowl, whisk flour, salt, and baking soda together.

In a large bowl, beat butter on medium speed for about 1 minute until smooth (you can use a wooden spoon if you want.)  Add the sugars and beat for another 2 minutes until well blended.  Beat in the vanilla.  Add the eggs one at a time, beating for 1 minute after each egg is added to fully incorporate into the batter.  Reduce mixer speed to low to avoid spraying, and slowing add the dry ingredients in 3 portions, mixing only until each addition is fully incorporated.

With a wooden spoon, mix in chocolate and nuts if you are using them.

Dough can be covered and refrigerated for up to 3 days.

Spoon the dough by slightly rounded tablespoonfuls onto the baking sheet, leaving about 2 inches between spoonfuls.

Place the cookies in the oven and bake for 10-12 minutes. At the midway point during baking, rotate the baking sheet.  The cookies will be done when they are brown around the edges and golden in the center.  Pull the baking sheet from the oven and allow the cookies to rest for 5 minutes before transferring to cool on racks.

There are some things in this world that cannot be topped. Guys with pants that fit them just so, the initial feeling of coolly slipping into a bed with freshly changed sheets, the high after making that perfect connection with someone you just met, and fresh, homegrown tomatoes in summer.

Cut ‘em up in thick slices, layer ‘em in a sandwich, eat ‘em as their sweet, sunny juices slowly drip and slip down your fingers. I love the way a big, heavy tomato feels in the palm of my hand – soft and delicate with its smooth, cool skin, but heavy enough so you know you are holding something substantial, something of merit. My friend Max has this dream, something he calls ‘the Womb,’ and when he talks about it, he gets this dreamy, drunken-looking smile on his face. His stupor-inducing idea is to have an entirely silent room filled with a soft light where he can lie in a warm pool of olive oil that gently pulsates. This is his dream, people. Ever since I have known him, The Womb has entered into probably no less than 12 conversations per year.

While my love for homegrown tomatoes doesn’t manifest itself in anything as distinctive as The Womb concept, I would love to capture the feeling of holding fresh, warm tomatoes. It’s so reassuring, so calming, akin to the feeling I get when slipping into that freshly made bed. Feeling the weight in my hands makes me want to stretch out, preferably on grass and lay under a leafy tree and take a nap. So it’s a good thing tomatoes are everywhere right now.

If you can get your hands on some good tomatoes, do them up right. Let them play in their rightly won juicy tastiness, their pumped up goodness. This recipe from Nigella Lawson is all about worshipping the godliness of summer tomatoes. You must serve this warm or at room temperature – how homegrown tomatoes are meant to be experienced. And it pays homage to the season by requiring only chopping and the time it takes you to boil water. No laboring in a kitchen by the stove or oven – just a quick, simple in and out recipe so you can easily stretch out and take a nap underneath a tree afterwards.

* I am not the only one who likes homegrown tomatoes.  Let’s not forget about Sexfist, everyone’s favorite bluesgrass band, and their entire song devoted to the deliciousness of homegrown tomatoes.

Egyptian Tomato Salad
From Nigella Lawson

1 shallot, peeled
1 clove of garlic, peeled
3-4 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and Pepper
5 medium-sized tomatoes
good squeeze of lemon juice
Handful of freshly chopped herbs, like mint, basil or cilantro

Bring a teakettle full of water to boil.

While waiting for the water to boil, chop the shallot and garlic as fine as possible, or if you’re like me and feeling lazy, just whiz ‘em up in the food processor for a few seconds.  Put chopped shallot and garlic in a small bowl with the oil, a pinch of salt and pepper.  Let sit to allow the flavors to meld together.

When the water starts to boil, arrange the tomatoes in a deep bowl and then pour the water over them so they are completely submerged.  Leave for 5 minutes.  Drain the tomatoes in a colander and run under icy cold water to stop them from cooking.  Using a sharp knife, peel off the tomato skins and slice the tomatoes into slices as thick or thin as you want.

Arrange the slices in a dish and drizzle the dressing over the tomatoes.  Use your hands to turn and fully coat the tomatoes in the dressing.  You can eat them right away or wait about a half hour for the tomatoes to cool down to room temperature while the dressing really kicks up the flavor on everything.  When you are ready to eat, spritz some lemon juice over the plate and sprinkle with a smidge more of salt and pepper and the freshly chopped herbs of your choice.

It’s the first week of September which means a couple of things:

• It’s the week of my parents anniversary (38 years!)
• It’s the week of my Dad’s birthday (60 years!)
• It’s labor day week (in the US. Not Belgium. le sad.)
• It’s still summer
• But it’s also going to be sweater, soup and scarf weather soon.
• If you are European and/or living in Michigan, school hasn’t started yet.  Lucky you.

To help eek out the remaining bits of summer, here are various things I’ve been making throughout the season.  I’ve found them all through the Internets and now you can too!

• Joy the Baker’s Nectarine Brulee. I kind of hate myself for not thinking of doing this sooner.  Maybe the best new fruit dessert I’ve had in awhile.
• Smitten Kitchen’s Mediterranean Pepper Salad.
• SK’s Brown Butter Cherry Tart
• Amateur Gourmet’s Homemade Ginger Ale (why, WHY do people buy this in the stores?)
• Chocolate and Zucchini’s Olive oil tart crust (you must stop everything and make this now.  I like to add flecks of parmesan and thyme to the dough as well. Sort of reminiscent of this)

I know I sound like a broken record “Uh..I’ve been gone. I’ve been, you know, doing stuff.” Here it is, the end of August and I have barely updated or posted or anything.  Rude!

Part of it is because I haven’t stopped moving since the end of May when I unofficially moved out of Chicago and to Brussels. Its been an odd transition.  Since then I have gone, come back, and left again, lived in three apartments (via unpacked suitcases), trained for the new job, traveled the Benelux and been baptized by fire, or baptême du feu as they say in French, in job-related ways.

And oof, mon dieu, my French. I started this summer quaking in my boots, thinking about the gross American Nasal Wasteland my language skills were living in during these past few years. I knew it was going to be a rough start when the first foreign word to come out of my mouth once I hit Belgian soil was “Nihao.” And here I was, expected to shoot the shit and conduct myself in a professional manner en français? Merde. (Luckily, that word knew how to float to the surface whenever I needed it this summer.) Whenever I found myself at a lunch or dinner table full of francophones, I suddenly morphed into this demure little child, quiet as a mouse, fortifying my resolve with fortified Belgian beer. While I wouldn’t say I’ve reached the level I used to be at four years ago, I find that at least I have my sea legs to do my job and to live - animatedly participating in francophone dinners and all.

So I have been busy.  But now a few minutes of free time are coming to me here and there. Orientation is over, I’ve led anxious students on tours and even guided them on a bus and nobody is dead or emotionally wounded. Instead they come and go as they please between school, their Belgian homes and the office, happily finding their sea legs in this strange little country. Away from their parents, their friends and American laws for the first time. They are starting to let go of our hands, which makes me both happy and proud of them. 

One of the most surprising things was that as orientation ended and the first day of classes started, I realized that I never once felt like I was working during the past month. It made me feel more satisfied than I  have in a long, long time.

Now I have time to enjoy other things again like the Midi market and everything summer sends our way. Like tomatoes. And green beans. And these last lingering days of sunlight.

I was able to go to the Midi market one last time before orientation commenced (literally, a few hours before orientation started). As I asked, bargained and bought my produce (tous en français!) I felt like I was stealing. A kilo of tomatoes, nectarines, and green beans, all for a euro each? I know it’s summer and most farmers have to sell their produce faster than they can say ‘harvest,’ but I don’t think I could even get these items in Chicago for this price. Or at the farmers market in my Podunk hometown in Michigan. I think something is seriously wrong with Belgian farmers. And I looove them for it.

In honor of what is probably bountiful in your farmers market or grocery stores right now, and to atone for my sins, I present you with a series over the next few days – summer thus far.

This first recipe is something I’ve made almost nonstop since I’ve been back in Belgium.  Part of it is because I had a kilo of tomatoes to go through, but also because it’s delicious and a recipe from Alain Coumount, mastermind behind Le Pain Quotidien.  Le Pain Quotidien is now an international chain of restaurants, but started here in Brussels when Coumount, a chef for one of the city’s best restaurants, became tired with the lack of bread offered in the area.  His idea, breaking organic bread around a communal table with your neighbors and those you love, has taken off.  There’s even a Le Pain Quotidien in Qatar.  His emphasis is to be local and vegetarian, if not vegan, as much as possible and always organic.  In a recent feature in Food & Wine, he discussed his goal of having Le Pain Quotidien’s menu be 30 to 40 percent meat, egg and dairy free.

What I really like about the restaurant is that even though it takes part in (one could even say that it’s one of the engine’s behind the ultra-trendy locovore/plant-based diet movement) is that it’s not obnoxious or self-righteous.  There’s no special denotation that menu items are vegan and the people who eat here don’t make you feel bad about ordering the dill-accented salmon and goat cheese sandwich.  The focus is community and sharing food with those you love (also not in a hippy-dippy self-righetous way either. win-win!).

This recipe, featured in August’s issue of Food & Wine, has been the defining meal of my summer here in Brussels.  I love the way the wrinkly roasted tomato skin gives into the meaty, cheesy insides.  The melted cheese oozes ever so slightly out of the tomato, giving it slightly crispy edges, and makes me feel like I’m eating some glorious, European adult 2-in-1 combo of grilled cheese and tomato soup.  Plus, the golden-hued tomato is juicy and crispy enough that it feels like it’s a rather elegant meal, when in fact, it’s as easy as mix stuff in bowl/put in tomato/roast/eat.

Roasted Tomato with Goat Cheese
from Alain Coumont as featured in Food & Wine

I’m giving you the halved recipe.  Feel free to further halve this as it’s probably still too large for most people.  Think about it though - originally 12 servings! Talk about communal dining.

Serves 6

6 medium tomatoes (1.5 pounds)
1 pound goat cheese
1 large egg, lightly beaten
1 garlic clove, minced
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh basil
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

Preheat oven to 425F.  Slice off the top 1/2 inch of each tomato and reserve the tops.  Scoop out the seeds and core of the tomatoes.  Arrange the tomatoes in a 9×13 inch baking dish.  Slice off a very thin sliver on the bottom if the tomatoes need help standing up in the dish.

In a bowl, combine the goat cheese with the egg, garlic, basil, salt, pepper and 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Spoon the goat cheese mixture into the tomatoes. Cover with the tomato tops and drizzle with the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil.

Bake the tomatoes for 35 minutes, until tender and browned in spots and the cheese is hot. Let stand for 15 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.

 

 

Let me explain the absence.  I’ve been rather nomadic for the past few weeks, traipsing across the Atlantic and through my version of the greater Midwest area - up, down and around Michigan, with Chicago and even a bit of Indiana thrown in.  I’ve spent the last week and a half officially saying goodbye to Chicago in style.  There was an extravagant run of tasty burger consumption, retro bar galavanting, and illegal stoop barbecuing.  Everything Chicago is, can be, and more.

And then there was the packing.  Packing up my apartment in Chicago means one thing and one thing only - stairs.  Four flights of up and down, sweating, heaving, and remembering that there are muscles on the inside of your elbows. And they can hurt.  I know I bring this on myself (and also my poor, poor parents) but I will be very, very thankful for the day when I realize I will not be moving again.

When you’re packing and moving in the summer, you need nourishment to get the job done.  You need something that will give you fortitude to face the never ending stairmaster to reach your apartment, something to put a pop in your step.  You also need something that keeps you as far away from your (now old and previous!) overheated kitchen that accomodates one and a half people.  Perferably this form of nourishment should also go well with a nice, cold beer.

I saw this recipe from Padma Lakshmi awhile ago and only recently got around to trying it.  It’s so delightfully surprising and so simple that I already know I will be making this (with several variations) a lot in the future.  The taste of the Chili Honey Butter starts off smooth and sweet, but finishes with a strong enough kick that it’s unexpected, but not overwhelming.  There’s nothing I hate more than food that has no flavor but only tastes burning hot, which is how my college cafeteria liked to serve spicy dishes.  This, thankfully, does not.  My current choice for using this butter is on a piece of toast to go with a beer for an afternoon pat on the back to myself.  There are a lot of ways you could use this, it’s only dictated but what you’re compelled to compliment with an additional sweet kick in the mouth.

Chili Honey Butter
From Padma Lakshmi’s Tangy Tart Hot & Sweet

8 tablespoons butter, at room temperature
1 1/2 tablespoons Honey
1 teaspoon cayenne
Salt

Combine all ingredients, and whip in a blender or processor, or just by hand with a fork or knife, until they form a smooth sauce. Spoon into a container, and keep covered in the fridge.

Today is my one year anniversary of leaving China.  I miss it more than I ever thought I would and some days, I dream up little scenarios that would take me back.  The last two years have been strange ones for me.  One spent in the middle of nowhere China, never sure quite what was going on around me.  The next, readjusting to life post-China, never quite sure what was going on inside me.

So, in honor of China and Kaifeng, the city where I lived, here are some pictures.  These are the images that pop into my head when I think of China.

Old men and women with fantastically wrinkled faces, sitting and waiting in alleys.

La Mian - pulled noodles.  Most of my dreams about returning to China revolve around this fantasy: return to Kaifeng and find a noodle master who will take me as an apprentice.  There, I will perfect the act of pulling noodles (it apparently takes 12 years to really master the skill) and perfect my Chinese.

At every table in restaurants and night markets you’ll find spice troughs.  All the salt, MSG and spice you could desire to flavor your noodle bowls.

Said noodle bowl.  I dream of these noodle bowls.  Bowls full of spicy, meaty broth, fresh cilantro and noodles.

Streets in China.

Bikes have a lot of responsibility in China.

Two necessities for a Kaifeng afternoon - a bicycle and a boombox.

This picture is really awful, my apologies.  But if you want to know how we spent most of our afternoons and nights, this is it, right here.  Max and I would get on our bikes, put the boombox in my basket and bike to different parts of the city, listening to music.  There really is nothing like biking through the chaos of Chinese streets while listening to Kanye West or Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al.”

I can’t even tell you how much I love this picture.  If you want to know what it’s like to be a foreigner, a laowai, in China, just look at this picture.  Note the Chinglish shirt Max is wearing.  The ridiculous Beijing 2008 stickers. The nationalism.  (This was right after Max and I, along with two other friends and my parents who were visiting, all got roped in to be the token laowais in an Olympic promotion video.)

Wo ai ni, Kaifeng. (I love you, Kaifeng.)

For a few more pictures, check out my flickrrrrr.