Cookies and wine

Yesterday was one of those days. I started it sleepy and cold and in the dark, and when I got home from work I was still sleepy and cold and, sigh, it was dark. Ah, winter doldrums, you've settled in again. Yes, yesterday was one of those days that only a little baking could fix.



















When cookie season began back in November, I was confident that trying out a recipe or two would be just the fix I needed - enough to satisfy my sweet tooth, impress my family and friends and give the house the perfectly sweet smell of the holidays. Oh how wrong I was. Countless batches of Dorie Greenspan's chocolatey Korova Sables (aptly re-christened World Peace Cookies courtesy of Smitten Kitchen), Cooking Light's crackly chai spice shortbread and Bon Appetit's melty brown butter shortbread - plus the more than occasional batch of brownies - it was December and I was in trouble. New Year's resolution: stop the cookies.

I lasted 23 days. An impressive effort if I do say so myself.

And so, last night, I settled into the couch with a glass of wine and a stack of cookbooks and recipe printouts. It didn't take long before I found it. There, in the Chocolate & Zucchini cookbook was the namesake Gateau Chocolat & Courgette. The cake looked purely majestic in the photo, moist and crumbly and oh so decadently chocolatey, crowned with a gleaming slice of zucchini. Then I remembered, I was looking for cookies. Oh, wine. All it takes is a couple of sips and giant pictures of pastry to get me all worked up.

A few pages later, I found what I was actually looking for: Navettes a la Fleur d'Oranger (Orange Flower Shuttle Cookies) and Biscuits Tres Chocolat (Very Chocolate Cookies). But, could I make two kinds of cookie? Another sip of wine and I knew sure as anything that yes, I very well could.

Into the kitchen I went, a girl on a mission. I glossed over descriptions - "Navettes are from Provence... Paris is a super-loaded cookie..." - and recipes. What I had in gusto - mmm, I like Provence, Paris and cookies... - I apparently lacked in ingredients, if a look through the fridge, pantry and even the highest up cabinets were any indication. But, my mission. I could not fail. So I gathered up what I had and [- insert sip of wine -] I decided to improvise. Now, I'd always heard about the need for precision when it comes to baking. Precision, schremision, I thought. This was one of those days to throw caution to the wind and see what the wind would blow up.

The navettes, which Clotilde Dusoulier tells us were named in honor of the boat that brought the Saintes Maries, three Christian women fleeing Palestine after the crucifixion of Jesus, to the Provencal coast, which the saintes later evangelized, came close to following the recipe at hand. I had all the ingredients I needed, save the zest of an "organic" orange; the wine told me that the slightly awkward orange, which may very well have been organic, sitting in the fruit bowl, would work just splendidly. I would have to wholeheartedly agree.

"Dry and crunchy cookies that reveal a tender and crumbly heart," the navettes came out true to Dusoulier's word. They were lovely. A little salty, a little sweet, crisp on the outside and utterly bitable on the inside. And the orange was just perfect, a punch of freshness on the palate. Thank you, wine.

What didn't come out as expected was the look. The first few navettes I shaped, following Dusoulier's instructions about shaping the firm dough into 3-inch logs, cutting them in half, pinching the sides to form a boat shape and slitting the "boats" lengthwise (to create an opening where the sailors would presumably sit), looked nearly nautical. But - and this may have been the wine again - the more I shaped, the more the boats looked like grotesque lips smiling up at me from the baking sheet. Let's just say the look was not improved when the pouty, orange-specked boat-lips emerged hardened and browned from the oven. Not one to discriminate based on looks, my mom quickly stole a navette, piping hot, from the cooling rack. I, equally inconspicuous, followed closely behind. Unanimous approval of the boats/lips/whatever they are followed.

The Very Chocolate Cookies had their own issues. I was missing whole wheat flour and half the required bittersweet chocolate, and my box of light brown sugar had hardened into a golden rock that even repeated slams against the staircase could not crack. I considered shelving the idea until I could make a grocery run, but a look at the photograph of a dark, nubby giantess of a cookie balancing precariously on the edge of a glass of milk, proved too much for my self-control. Improvise, I reminded myself.

The whole wheat flour was replaced by plain old all-purpose, the brown sugar with granulated white, and the missing bittersweet chocolate with... with... ah ha - two teensy boxes of mini Smarties, the UK's version of M&Ms that I picked up at Heathrow a couple of weeks ago. That should do, I thought, and it did.

The cookies were very chocolatey, as promised, perhaps extra chocolatey. There was the velvety luxury of melted bittersweet chocolate, the crunch of raw cacao nibs and the kapow factor of unsweetened cocoa powder, capped off by the sweet snap of a candy coating containing softened milk chocolate. Again, the little guys looked a little busted. The oozed more than they should have, expanded beyond the bite-sized chunks they were destined to be, busted into the world as thin, nubby chocolate landscapes. And so was born the Quadruple Chocolate Cookie, the child of winter, ingenuity, and an unfinished glass of wine. Happy birthday. (Happy birthday to Sandy and Darius, too.)

***

Navettes a la fleur d'oranger

Adapted from Chocolate and Zucchini by Clotilde Dusoulier

4 tablespoons (one-half stick) unsalted butter

one-half cup sugar

one large egg, lightly beaten

3 tablespoons water with the zest of one orange

2 cups all-purpose flour

one-quarter teaspoon sea salt

one large egg yolk, lightly beaten with one tablespoon fresh water

Combine the butter and sugar in a food processor and process until fluffy. Add the egg and orange water and mix until blended. Add the flour and salt and mix until smooth. Turn out the dough on a lightly floured surface and knead gently until it forms a ball. Divids the dough into two slightly flattened balls, wrap each half in plastic, and refrigerate for an hour, or up to a day.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper or silpat.

Remove one ball of dough from the refrigerator and divide it into eight equal pieces. Roll each piece with the palm of your hand on your work surface until it forms a log, about three inches in length. Cut the log in two with a knife so you have two one and on-half inch logs, and set aside. Repeat with the other pieces until you have sixteen small logs.

Pinch the ends of each log and flatten the top slightly to form a boat shape. With the tip of a round-ended knife, carve a deep slit lengthwise down the center, not quite reaching the other side or the ends. Arrange the cookies on the baking sheet and repeat with the second half of the dough.

Brush with the egg yolk mixture. Bake for fifteen minutes until golden and slightly browned at the tips. Transfer to a rack to cool completely, if you can stand the wait, before serving. The cookies will keep for a couple of weeks at room temperature in an airtight container. They will harden after the first few days but you can revive their initial texture by reheating them for three to four minutes at 350 degrees F - Dusoulier points out that in Provence, it is claimed that a bit of sunshine does the trick. The dough can be frozen for up to a month.

Quadruple Chocolate Cookies

one cup all-purpose flour

one-quarter cup unsweetened cocoa powder

one-half teaspoon baking soda

2 ounces good-quality bittersweet chocolate

2 small boxes, or 2 to 3 ounces, of miniature Smarties or other candy-covered chocolate

one-quarter cup cacao nibs

one-half cup (one stick) plus one tablespoon unsalted butter, at room temperature

one-half cup sugar

one-half teaspoon fleur de sel or kosher salt (or one-quarter teaspoon fine sea salt)

one teaspoon pure vanilla extract

In a medium mixing bowl, sift together the flours, cocoa powder and baking soda. Set aside.

Melt the bittersweet chocolate and set aside; combine the Smarties and the cacao nibs and set aside.

Put the butter in a food processor and process until creamy; or, do as I did because I was too lazy to clean the food processor, and use a wooden spoon to soften the butter. Add the sugar, salt and vanilla, and mix until combined. Add the melted chocolate and mix again.

Add the reserved flour mixture and mix until just combined. Transfer the dough into the flour bowl and add the chocolate and nib mixture into the dough, working with a wooden spoon and/or your hands. Be careful not to overmix the dough.

Cover the dough with plastic wrap and chill for 20 minutes, or up to a day. The dough can also be wrapped tightly and frozen for up to a month.

Preheat the over to 350 degrees F and line a baking sheet. Remove the dough from the refrigerator. Carve out rounded teaspoons of dough, shape them into slightly flattened balls and place them on the prepared baking sheet, separating them by one-half inch.

Bake for ten to twelve minutes, until the tops are just set. The cookies will be a little soft, but they will harden as they cool. Transfer carefully to a rack and cool completely before serving, at your discretion.

The cookies will keep for four days in an airtight container at room temperature, or can be frozen for up to a month.

Kisses by an open window

Okay, I'll admit it: I'm a sweater. No, not in the "lovely black woven v-neck adorning me right now" sense. More like the "goodness, have I been drooling or did the wet mark on my desk drip off my forehead even though it is January in northern NJ" sense.

Starting to feel a bit squeamish, and overwhelmed by the intoxicating effect of high heat on musty newsprint, I discovered one of my new favorite things about five minutes ago and just could not wait to share. Kisses by the window.

Now, don't get ahead of yourselves - this is not the beginnning of some racy office love story. Rather, left alone and unsupervised, I stole away to the copy room, pushed the window to the fire escape open as far as it would go, and took a seat on the filing cabinet below.

For a moment, I relished in the cool, lionesque breeze sweeping in from the faux spring blooming outside. But it didn't take long before my eyes caught the green, red and silver foil wrapping, conspicuously containing leftover holiday Hershey's Kisses and glinting seductively in the flourescent light.

I know what you're thinking - Hershey's Kisses? Trust me, they are just lovely. Go. Find. Eat.












Mmmmmmmmm.

***

Ingredients

Hershey's Kisses, any flavor, no limit

An open window, preferably with a cool breeze blowing from without

A perch (stool, chair, filing cabinet)

Instructions

Sit back, take a deep breath and let the chocolate do its thing.

Piroshki, Piroshki!

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl called "Em." Em loved sweets, loved them more than anything, and indulged daily on everything that she could get her ravenous mitts on: chocolatey truffles, tart gummies, treacly licorice, chewy caramels, buttery cookies. Em's sweet tooth knew no bounds, and it drove her mother mad.

Em's mother, as mothers are wont to do, implored her child to widen her gastronomical horizons, and served up simple savories and dramatic delicacies to no avail. Hot slices of homemade bread turned up torn and hidden under breakfast plates, melt-in-your mouth cheeses would meet turned-up nose instead of eager tongue, and fancifully herbed roasts would not make it past the pearly white gates.

Your teeth will rot, warned Em's mother.

Pass the pie, Em would reply through grinding teeth.

And so it continued and Em's mother gave up on her daughter, setting her sights on cooking for Em's father, whose birthday was fast approaching.

What would you like, she asked him, pinching her eyes shut and hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't say cake.

Pirog, he answered.


It had been his Russian mother's specialty and years since his wife had ventured to replicate it, infused of course with her own northern Iranian tastes.

Em's mother quickly got to work, preparing the dough and leaving it aside to rise. And rise it did, puffing up proudly after years of being forgotten while its re-creator tossed together its innards: cooked basmati rice, sauteed ground meat, hard-boiled egg, fresh parsely, chopped scallions.

She filled precisely rolled disks of dough with the magical mixture, carefully folding each one and twisting the pocket shut. By the time she lowered them into the hot oil eagerly waiting on the stovetop, she could hear her husband's hungry sighing - and the pitter patter of little feet just beyond the kitchen door.


































Little Em ate her fill of the golden pockets that evening, and again the next morning. Her calls of Piroshki, Piroshki could be heard through the house for years, as her mother experimented with savory, new combinations. Em never complained, and her mother thought the sugary free-for-all was over. Until, that is, Em made a filling suggestion of her own.

Can we put chocolate in the peroshki?

***

Piroshki a la Shamsi
Adapted from my paternal grandmother, my mother, and a member recipe posted on www.Chow.com (because the Chow member measures, whereas my mother "just feels" how much flour, etc. she needs)

There is a fair bit of leeway with this recipe. Feel free to experiment with different fillings, both savory and sweet. Fruit fillings are popular, and I have plans for a chocolate version, which I hope to share very soon.

As far as savory goes, I prefer them filled with lean, ground turkey breast and loads of veggies and baked, while my dad likes them beefy and fried. One thing we both agree on: slice one open - or bite the "head" off - and add a lavish squeeze of fresh lemon juice.

Dough
1/4 cup warm water
1 tsp sugar
1 tbsp yeast
4 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp salt
almost a cup of milk
6 tbsp melted butter
4 eggs–use 3 whole eggs and one lonely yolk (set the egg white aside and see below)

Filling
20 ounces (1.25 lbs.) ground meat (beef, lamb, turkey, chicken, pork), sauteed in large skillet
3 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
1 cup cooked basmati rice
1 bunch parsely, chopped
5 stalks scallions, sliced into small discs
salt and pepper to taste

Other
one egg white, for wash before baking
vegetable oil, for frying

Instructions
Combine the water and yeast, and let the mixture bubble up. In a big bowl, beat 3 eggs and one yolk. (Set aside the white for a wash if you choose to bake the peroshki). Mix in the milk, butter, salt, the bubbly yeast mixture and the flour, chunking it up with a big wooden spoon until it becomes smooth, yellow and shiny and doesn't stick to the bowl or spoon.

Shape it into a ball, cover loosely and let it rise in a cool place overnight or in a warm place until it doubles in size.

Sautee the ground meat in skillet until browned and cooked, then add the eggs, rice, parsely and scallions. Taste the filling and salt and pepper to taste. (The filling can be made up to a day in advance and refridgerated until ready to use. Leftover filling can be kept in an airtight container and eaten on its own later on.)

When ready to prepare, knead the dough on floured surface, careful not to overwork it, and pinch off an egg-sized piece and flatten it out. Place a heaping teaspoon of filling on the center and pull the sides up over it. Twist the edges together and give the dough a pinch to close up the end, and place it to the side. You should get about 24 piroshkis.

(At this point, the Chow member recipe recommends letting the piroshkis rise loosely covered in a warm place for about an hour, or even overnight, until they look puffy. Our piroshkis, however, go straight into the pan. Likewise, we eat them straight out of the pan, burning ourselves. We're not a family known for its patience.)

Now you have two options: to bake or to fry, that is the question.

If you are baking:
Lightly grease a baking sheet and preheat oven to 375. For a glossy crust: Mix a teaspoon of water with the eggwhite and brush on before baking. For a richer, softer crust, brush with melted butter. Better yet, do some of each. Immediately after placing in the oven, lower heat to 350. Bake about 25 minutes, until golden brown.

If you are frying:
Fill a skillet with about two inches of vegetable (or other frying) oil. Heat on medium until you see the oil shimmy (watch it, you'll see what I mean, I promise), then add the piroshkis one by one with a slotted spoon, careful not to splatter the oil. You will need to fry several batches (varies depending on how large your skillet is) as to not overcrowd the skillet. Doing so could lower the temperature of the oil, rendering your piroshkis greasy rather than crisp. Fry on both sides until piroshkis are puffy and golden brown, remove them (carefully!) to a platter covered with paper towel sheets to soak up any extra oil. Repeat until all the piroshkis are done.

Serving note
These can be served hot, but are also delicious cold from the fridge the day after. If you are serving them at a party, or if your family/friends pack particularly voracious appetites, set a couple aside as a mid-morning snack the following day (or a midnight snack once the guests have scattered).

Big dipper

On Friday, I had dinner with Darius, my best friend and perhaps the most charming person I know. He posseses not the treacliness associated with "charm" these days, but rather casts a spell upon everyone he meets without thinking twice. It is an incredible gift of which I'm sure he is completely oblivious, and I would be lying if I said I didn't hold out hope that this super power of his would rub off on me.

While I wait for that magical moment, I take pleasure in, and complete advantage of, the fact that Darius is also the most adventurous eater I know. The ideal dining companion, he is willing to try anything, and truly likes most foods. (Except chocolate. This unfortunate trait would normally make me mistrust someone and send our so-called friendship plummeting into a deep pit of miserable disrepair, but as I said, Darius is a charmer, and the prospect of having extra chocolate all to myself continues to be too irresistable to pass up.)

But as I was saying, I had dinner with Darius Friday night. Craving kebabs and rice, we followed the advice of one of my former co-workers, Sarah, a gifted writer and quite the gourmande, and made our way to Tabboule, a casual family affair hidden in a strip mall and serving up traditional Lebanese food in big portions. It wasn't meant to be much of an adventure - the online menu boasted standard Middle Eastern fare and even the perennially enigmatic route into Ridgewood, a northern New Jersey village, proved quick and simple. I knew what I wanted - chicken kebabs, not boring I promise! - but a quick glance across the quarter page of appetizers caught me offguard. Muhammara...

Now, I'd heard of muhammara - a sultry spread comprised of roasted red bell peppers, walnuts, pomegranate (either molasses or whole seeds) and a healthy dose of heat (cumin and hot red pepper flakes or chile) - but had never before had the opportunity to try it.

When it arrived, the bright red paste, flecked with a kaleidoscope of multi-sized ground nuts and illuminated by an oily sheen, dominated the white table, upstaging even Darius's babaganoush. And the taste... even better than I had expected: at once smooth and grainy, sweet and spicy and tart. My taste buds were overloaded, and I couldn't get enough. I put it on my chicken, on pita chips and on pita bread, repeatedly ate it by the spoonful (sorry, Darius!), and finally spread it into the fluffy rice that that my dear friend thought he was too full to eat. Heavenly.

Now, I could give you a recipe for muhammara, but I have yet to come up with it myself sooo I will direct you to http://chocolateandzucchini.com/archives/2007/12/muhammara_bell_pepper_spread_with_walnuts_and_cashews.php, where the delightful Clotilde Dusoulier has provided one that is bound to be sensational.

Instead, I'm including a recipe for one of my absolute favorite foods, which, after devouring the muharrama, I couldn't help but crave and absolutely had to make today. Called Zeitoun Parvardeh, this vegetarian caviar is similar to muharrama in that it involves throwing walnuts and pomegranate paste into the food processor, but the roasted red peppers are replaced by green olives. It is infinitely more tart, which I absolutely adore.


Like the muharrama, this is most often eaten as a spread or dip, but the possibilities really are endless. For example, I tossed it together with some whole wheat penne, something like a sour, nutty pesto. My poor dad is still shaking his head at the sacrilegious pairing, but I have a feeling that Darius, who is getting his own jar of the concoction since I made way to much, will approve.


Zeitoon Parvardeh
Courtesy of my mother
One 6.5 ounce package of pitted green olives (about 36 large olives), drained and rinsed
1.5 cups shelled walnuts
1/4 to 1/2 cup of concentrated pomegranate juice or syrup, available in Middle Eastern stores
1/4 to 1/2 cup lemon juice
1/2 teaspoon ground golpar, available in Middle Eastern stores
Salt and pepper to taste
2 cloves garlic, optional

Grind walnuts in food processor until fine and add to a medium-sized bowl. Add olives, either whole or chopped depending on preference. (I love the chewiness and leave them whole.)
Add 1/4 cup of pomegranate syrup. Combine using a spoon or spatula and taste. If you can handle a more sour spread, continue to add the remaining 1/4 cup, tasting as you go. Repeat with the lemon juice, mixing and tasting as you add.
Add garlic, crushed, if you like, but I leave it out. (Garlic is forbidden in my parents' house, but that will have to be the topic of a future post...)
Add the golpar, combine and taste, and add salt and pepper to taste.

Note: The spread can be eaten immediately, but will reach its peak flavor in about 3 days. It can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for about a week, if it lasts that long.

Back it up

Now, who would go so far, do something so brash, as to post for the very first time without so much as introducing herself then wait more than one week before posting again?

I would, and did, and I apologize. In a not-so-fabulous but wholly Maggie move, I tried to make breakfast before getting out of bed and ended up with burned feet.

Yet, here we are. Or should I say here I am, as I am surely alone at the moment. The beginning... or where the beginning should have been.

I am currently 48 hours short of being exactly two years and eight months out of college; a scary thought for someone who wishes deep down that she could be a student forever. I majored in Film/TV production at NYU, minored in French, Middle Eastern Studies and Fine Arts, and, some would say, further sub-minored in eating and shopping my way through New York City, London, Paris and surrounding endroits.

Once kicked out of this academic and gastronomic splendor, I took a vocation that brought me as close to being a student without actually paying the astronomic fees excised to be one: a writer. I work full-time for a weekly newspaper and a lifestyle magazine, and freelance whenever I have the chance.

Which brings me to why I am here: There is no question that I like to write. What I've discovered is I like writing for me, a thought that makes me feel a little less lonely as I type away on this blog.

Why food? I also like (love!) to eat, and it is one topic that I just don't have the opportunity to write about at work. What this means is I inevitably end up talking incessantly about my new favorite ingredient, recipe, restaurant, which grows tiresome when not accompanied by dinner. So, my dear family and friends, rejoice! I've found a new way to get out of my system the stories about all the astonishly lovely things I put into, or long to put into, my system.

And that's it! I think. And if not, you'll hear about it on a future post. Because if you don't end up with burned feet a couple of times, you'll never know how good it feels to run.