June 11, 2020 by Carol

Salsa Dancing to Avoid the Fuzz

I found flour! A fifty-pound bag of it, to be precise, and I’ve been baking up a storm. Challah, whole wheat cinnamon bread, bagels, pita. And, this past Monday, we were excited to make from-scratch tortillas so that we could have burritos for supper.

But when I reached into the fridge to retrieve the jar of salsa, I found a thick layer of gray fuzz over the top. Ugh. The jar had only been open for less than two weeks! While I applaud the use of fresh, natural ingredients in the brand-name salsa I buy from the supermarket, I am tired of the waste. After all, how much Tex-Mex can one eat to use up the jar in a few days? (Actually, quite a lot, but that’s not my point).

So, I decided to make my own. It was so easy, and it used items easily found in the cupboard. And if you don’t use it all up, just drain it and freeze it.

I will share it with you here so that you, too, can avoid the fuzz.

Ingredients:
2 cans petite diced tomatoes
2 green onions, sliced thin
½ cup chopped onion
1 jalapeno pepper, seeded and diced fine
2 teaspoons cilantro
1 tablespoon minced garlic
2 tablespoons of lime juice
½ teaspoon chili powder
¼ teaspoon cumin
½ teaspoon sugar
Salt and pepper to taste

Directions:
Mix all the ingredients together and enjoy! (Again, if you have leftover, just drain the liquid and freeze.)
Enjoy!

May 27, 2020 by Carol

Back in the Saddle

To prepare the seder plate for the recent Passover festival, I opened the fridge to retrieve the bottle of horseradish — red, as J prefers. Unfortunately, it had spoiled. There was no time to run to the supermarket and, frankly, I was too nervous to have done so in the current climate.

Of course I vented on Facebook. A couple of days after posting, our doorbell rang. Upon opening the front door, we found the dearest, sweetest Sara Jacobson standing ten feet away, having dropped a baggie of horseradish roots onto our front porch. We used one of them on the seder plate.

After Passover, I planted the root that we had used during the seder in the hope that we would have an annual supply of the root veggie. A previous attempt had rotted in the ground after too much rainfall.

But I had forgotten that the really big root was still in its bag in the back hall. Not wanting to waste it, I thought why not prepare our own horseradish? So, wearing my trusty swim goggles and gloves, I peeled and grated until I had a nice pile of white shreds. With a little salt and white vinegar, we were good to go.

The result? I should probably get a grater with smaller holes, as it was a bit too coarse. But, the flavor was exactly what one would expect — and want — to spread on a sandwich or over your gefilte fish or as an ingredient in cocktail sauce.

If you plan to do this, be forewarned: When you remove said goggles, the fumes will assault you in ways that make you think “riot squad.”

May 7, 2020 by Carol

Ghee Whiz!

I love Indian food, and when given the choice as to what kind of restaurant I’d like to visit, it is more often than not an Indian one — except with certain friends who shall remain nameless. They won’t go near the stuff.

I love the fact that there are so many vegetarian options. I love the music in the background. And most of all, I love the amazing flavors of the various dishes. Before the quarantine, J and I had even been making plans to travel to India next winter.

Needless to say, that probably won’t happen. Nor will visiting an Indian restaurant any time soon.

So, to Plan B. While trying to keep things interesting (in the kitchen) during this plague year and test as many recipes as possible for my cookbook-in-process, I decided to make carrot halwa. But even though my cabinets have many of the herbs and spices frequently used in Indian cuisine (e.g., ginger, garlic, turmeric, cardamom, even garam masala), I didn’t have ghee.

Frankly, I’ve always been a little nervous about trying to make it, under the impression that it would be difficult to do. And the little jars of the stuff can fetch as much as $35 each. That was not going to be an option for this home cook.

But since we are at home and can’t get to our favorite restaurants, why not try making it myself? And guess what! It’s not hard at all. You just need patience. If for no other reason than the heavenly, buttery aroma that wafts through the house, I would recommend giving it a go. I used a bit on tuna steaks, and they were absolutely delicious.

Then, last night (and the reason I actually started this little experiment, if you can remember that far back) I made the first of a series of recipes for carrot halwa. It was a fabulously flavorful pudding, and super easy to whip together with only a handful of ingredients.

Ghee whiz!

March 24, 2020 by Carol

Fishing for Compliments

My grandmother was a phenomenal cook and baker, of the Old Country style. From her lokshen to her strudel, everything she put on the table was divine. Witness my hip measurements. But, as many kids, it didn’t occur to me to ask many questions, much less to request her recipes. But when I turned 19 I finally had the presence of mind to ask Bubbie for them. Of course, they were all in her head so she would have to write them down for me.

Bubbie was a tough customer. She told me that if I could read and write Yiddish, her native language, she would write them down.

“But, Bubbie,” I whined. “I read, write, and speak Hebrew!” (Maybe I fibbed. In truth, my skill at the time was rudimentary at best.)

“Yiddish or nothing,” she replied.

Bubbie died two months later. Nobody got the recipes.

Fast forward to 2020. While doing research recently for an article on gefilte fish, I had to prepare some. I followed the traditional method of making a fish broth (with a fish head, no less — yuck.), chopping the flesh, and mixing it with various other ingredients. Frankly, it was simply a way to connect with my bubbie. If only she had written down her fabulous recipes. The recipe I did use, from a book auspiciously titled The Encyclopedia of Jewish Cooking, didn’t yield terrific results. Worse, the house reeked so badly that I had to bake a chocolate cake the next day to counter the malodorous fumes.

Having learned through research that the original stuffed fish recipes called for roasting or baking, I went to my friend Dr. Google and found a recipe for a semi-homemade gefilte fish using the frozen loaf you can find at your local grocery store. You don’t have to club the fish. You don’t have to clean the fish. You certainly won’t need to brew up a stinky broth with a fish’s head. No, you can simply follow this easy recipe and do as our ancestors did before the broth: They baked it!

This gefilte fish recipe, adapted from Jamie Geller, is so good that it doesn’t even need horseradish. It is, in fact, the best I have ever tasted.

Enjoy!

Ingredients:

1/4 cup olive oil, plus more for drizzling

2 teaspoons paprika

2 teaspoons dried parsley

2 pinches ground allspice

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

1 loaf frozen gefilte fish, paper removed, not thawed

3 large onions, sliced in rounds

3 garlic cloves, minced

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350°F.

Pour the olive oil into the bottom of a loaf or small baking pan. Add the paprika, parsley, 1 pinch of the allspice, the salt, and pepper.

Roll the frozen loaf in the oil and spices to coat.

Remove the loaf from the pan, arrange the onion on the bottom of the pan, and place the loaf on top of the onion.

Sprinkle with the garlic and the remaining 1 pinch allspice. Finish with a drizzle of olive oil.

Cover with aluminum foil and bake for 2 hours.

Cool the gefilte fish completely, then refrigerate overnight.

Serve cold, sliced and topped with the onions.

October 30, 2019 by Carol

A Sticky Business

A few years ago, J and I went to dinner at a little place in the Berkshires. We had decent salad and entrees that were meh. But, since we had eaten said salad and fish (so healthy, right?), we decided to order one dessert to split between us. A lover of all things British, I voted for the sticky toffee pudding that I had read about in many English novels. It came in a little ramekin and was so delicious that we could have eaten another three of four of them. Each. No kidding. It was that good.

Flash forward about ten years and we are in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, sitting at the bar in The Merchantman restaurant. J had a great fish dinner and I had a scrumptious seared tuna salad. That, of course, meant that we were entitled to have dessert (salad and fish: so healthy, right?). We chose The Merchantman’s version of the same decadent dessert. It was fabulous.

“You should try to make this at home,” said J.

So when our good friends Elena and Steven came for dinner, I did. The particular recipe I chose uses not the customary ramekins, but a bundt pan. Much easier, I thought. And it’s true; it’s not a difficult recipe to make, but it does require lots of steps, several pots, and much patience. BTW, nowhere in the name is there a clue that this dessert is based on dates.

The cake soaked up a lot of the toffee syrup through holes poked in both top and bottom, and was served with even more poured over the top. With a sprinkle of turbinado sugar over it and a dollop of whipped cream, it looked gorgeous. (Bundt pans do make every cake look better.)

It was spectacular. So good, in fact, that when I brought a few slices to share with my writing group, my normally generous-to-a-fault J was a bit put out.

Given that this dessert is made with lots of butter, heavy cream, and dark brown sugar, I would recommend eating nothing but salad in the days preceding a sticky toffee indulgence. Or perhaps, a full-on fast.

Then again, dates are fruit. Right? Must be healthy.

Here is a link to the recipe I used, The only change I made was to puree the date/water mixture in my Ninja rather than simply mash with a fork.

https://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/double-ginger-sticky-toffee-pudding-56390054

August 22, 2019 by Carol

The Key to Happiness

I’ve never been to the Florida Keys, but my family and I have loved key lime pie since the first time we tasted it, and we can certainly understand why it is the official pie of the state of Florida. So, one day I decided that it would be fun to try to make one. But, in what can only be described as a temporary break from reality, I decided to grow my own key limes. What began as two little saplings have grown tall in my sunroom, and every year they produce a crop of about a dozen limes each. And every year I harvest the fruits, squeeze them, and freeze the resulting juice.

For those readers who aren’t aware, key limes are tiny. Each one produces about a half teaspoon of juice. So it will come as no surprise that it has taken four years to get enough juice to make a pie. Two pies, actually, because by this time my family has grown to include our three kids, their spouses, and six grandchildren. And my rule was that all would have to be present in order to partake of this legendary dessert.

This past Sunday was the big day, as all fourteen of us were together at son Seth’s house (although little Tali isn’t on solid food yet, so I gave her a pass).

The pie recipe itself was actually quite easy, with only four ingredients, plus the three for the graham cracker crust.

But I was nervous. After all, I’d never prepared any recipe for key lime pie before. What if the one I’d chosen wasn’t good? Would I have to wait another four years before making it again?

To add to my angst, it turns out that the recipe I had was not the traditional one calling for raw egg yolks. In that original recipe, the protein of the egg yolks and condensed milk react chemically with the acid of the lime juice. This reaction causes the filling to thicken on its own without requiring baking. Today, because consuming raw eggs can be dangerous, the pie is usually baked, even if only for a short time.

Would my recipe, made with sweetened condensed milk, sour cream, key lime juice, and zest — but no eggs — make for a runny pie?

As if all that wasn’t enough to worry about: I can’t make a pie crust to save my life, so I no longer have pie pans in the house. Luckily, a quiche pan that must have been a wedding gift was tucked away in a cabinet. That, and a round cake pan of the same diameter, did the trick.

It turns out that graham cracker crusts are super easy to make. (I may make more pie!)

The verdict: the pie was delicious and not at all runny. And, although my friend Sue insists that the whipped cream garnish is mandatory, I inadvertently left the cream in the fridge at home. Just as well. The pie was so rich that nothing else was needed.

January 20, 2019 by Carol

Hot Soup for a Cold New England Winter’s Night

Come winter, I don’t really like to make salad. I like salads. Lots of them. But mostly I like them in the warmer months when both eating and clothing are lighter. It’s not as if I don’t prepare and eat vegetables during the season. I do. I make lots of soup, which requires almost as much touching of cold veggies as does salad, but the results can warm and soothe the frigid New England soul.

And, since the thermometer tells me that it is 21 degrees outside right now, with predictions for 0 tomorrow, it is absolutely critical to put up a pot of soup. Tonight’s choice? Moroccan Pumpkin Soup, a recipe adapted from the late, great Gil Marks. His original calls for leeks or onions, but since I hardly ever remember to buy leeks, I just use regular yellow onions. And for a little added pizazz, a few pumpkin seeds sprinkled over the top of every serving.

Try this really easy recipe to warm your soul!

Moroccan Pumpkin Soup

November 28, 2018 by Carol

Post-Thanksgiving post

Back in the day, I subscribed to the late, great Gourmet magazine. Every month I swooned over gorgeous photos of exotic places, dreamt of touring France in a hot air balloon, and of course tried many recipes. One dish in particular I resurrected this year: a rum-glazed sweet potato, apple and chestnut gratin.

I had first made this recipe ages ago, staying up until one a.m. to roast and peel each and every chestnut. But the results were so delicious that it was worth the labor, so I continued to make it. (I have since discovered ready-made chestnuts.)

Then my kids, being kids, declined even to touch the lovingly prepared dish, so I stopped making it.

Until this fall. At Rosh Hashanah, I made a double batch, expecting to bring the second half to my friend’s home the second day of the holiday. But the rather small group around my dining room table vacuumed up almost the entire casserole.

Hmm. Something was up. Perhaps now that they are all grown and with little ones of their own, I should try it on my kids?

So, I made a triple batch for Thanksgiving dinner and all but a few tablespoons disappeared.

Gourmet may be long gone, but it will remain for me a portal into a beautiful world of culinary and travel delights.

And, thank goodness for Google. The recipe is available online!

https://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/rum-glazed-sweet-potato-apple-and-chestnut-gratin-1911086

August 20, 2018 by Carol

One Potato, Two Potato, Three Potato, More!

I find nothing quite as satisfying as preparing — and eating — a meal with vegetables from my own garden. An eggplant caponata, zucchini latkes, even just a simple sun-warmed tomato with a sprinkle of salt – all scrumptious.

But, as wonderful as all these things are, I like to add something new and different every year. After all, I have enough jalapeno and banana peppers in my freezer to last for the next decade, so there is available space in the garden.

So this year I planted potatoes. Fingerlings, to be precise, the small, stubby, finger-shaped type, because I adore those tiny potatoes oven-roasted with a bit of olive oil, garlic, salt, and pepper. (I’m salivating already, and it’s only 8:30 in the morning as I write this.)

Having no idea how to grow the tubers, I went online and found several different methods. Given the annual invasion by little critters that invade the backyard, taking one bite of everything on the vine (couldn’t they just finish one thing?), I chose to plant them in a tub. And by “tub,” I mean a pot that was big enough to bathe a baby.

As instructed, I dutifully added soil to the pot to build up the plants, and I watered “evenly” (or as evenly possible given the torrential downpours we’ve been seeing in New England this summer).

I even moved the pot around to follow the sun. In one tactical error, I didn’t take into account the weight involved in this project. Although the “Spud Tub” is made of plastic, adding the entire contents of a 25 pound bag of soil made it quite heavy. Luckily, I happen to have a wheeled plant stand from a previous attempt at growing citron trees from seed. (Note the word “previous.” After ten years, all I got was blossoms but no fruit.) So all I had to do (once loading the tub onto it. was to push it with my foot.

The plants grew tall and lanky, seemingly by the minute. And now the foliage is beginning to turn yellow, which means that it is time to dig them up. Hubby J did the honors this week, surprising me with a single, perfectly formed fingerling.

Should I save it for the rest of the harvest, or eat this one tiny spud?

December 1, 2017 by Carol

There’s Always Room: Reclaiming the Gelatin Mold

Jello, and its jiggly cousin Royal, have long been derided by people who consider themselves epicures. Perhaps their bad rep is due to the association with school cafeterias and hospital stays. Or colonoscopy prep. So, I feel it’s time to come out and admit that I like the stuff, particularly when it’s combined with other ingredients, and even more when it is fashioned into a beautiful shape by virtue of a mold.

After all, let’s be honest. If we called it aspic, we’d get oohs and aahs. In another time, aspic represented the height of a gourmet dining experience. But aspic is simply gelatin in which meat and/or vegetables are suspended.

A couple of weeks ago, I was on the phone with a friend, venting my frustration in trying to find canned cherries. My usual grocery had discontinued stocking them. My friend suggested I try frozen cherries, and then asked why I needed them. When I told her that they were an essential ingredient in my late mother-in-law’s cranberry-cherry gelatin mold, her immediate reaction was, “Ugh.” I responded that the ruby red side dish is actually delicious. And, besides, it’s a tradition on our Thanksgiving table. Everybody in my family not only expects it; they demand it.

Fast forward to the actual Thanksgiving dinner: In recounting the conversation, my daughter-in-law’s mother said that she, too, prepares a beloved recipe that was her mother’s. Then my other daughter-in-law reminisced about her grandmother’s gelatin mold. In fact, although she herself doesn’t cook or bake, she announced that she would, indeed, make gelatin molds for her family. (I hope I will be invited to partake.)

I loved E’s excitement, so immediately began scouring my bookshelves for my copy of The New Joys of Jello, a book I had received as a gift decades ago. And the memories came charging back. I must have tried a dozen different recipes from that book and from the various magazines that came through our mail slot, and almost all were successful. “Under-the-Sea Pear Salad,” made with cream cheese, pear halves, and ginger? Excellent. “Glazed Peach Cream,” prepared with vanilla ice cream and sliced peaches? Delicious. “Carrot , Celery and Olive Salad?” Loved it.

But it was the Crown Jewel Cake that captured my heart, and then broke it. The photograph of that magnificent construction motivated me to try my hand at making it. Consisting of cubes of stained-glass-colored gelatin cubes suspended in creamy white whipped topping fortified by lemon gelatin, it was gorgeous. Unfortunately, my attempt sagged, the topping not sturdy enough to hold it all together.

Then there was the magazine ad featuring a fishbowl in which fish-shaped fruit pieces swam in a sea of blueberry gelatin. In the ad, it looked fabulous and I thought my kids would love it. Unfortunately, when I tried it, the fishes all went belly-up just like real goldfish. And then, somebody (name withheld to protect the guilty) said upon setting her sights on it, “Blue food? How disgusting.” But it did taste okay.

Despite my failures,
the gelatin mold holds a dear place in my heart.

It’s time to reclaim the gelatin mold. Call it retro. Call it hip. Just call it.

Carol Goodman Kaufman