Pastimes

As my relatively leisurely elective period comes to an end, I've been enjoying Benoit Mandelbrot's quirky autobiography. I'm generally annoyed by novels whose protagonists live a sort of charmed life during which they are prominently inserted into most of the major events of the era*. Mandelbrot interacts with virtually every major scientific and mathematical figure alive during his scientific upbringing, but only occasionally due to charm. His uncle was part of the Bourbaki, his father a practical genius, he himself a genius of all sorts. It's fascinating to read how his interactions with the great (largely) men of the era laid the foundation for one of the most ingenious mathematical advances ever to be made. Nowadays, one tends to be pigeonholed out of being a scientific polyglot; reading this autobiography, I wonder just how much of a drawback that is. And I wonder what happened to Benoit's brother Leon, and whether Leon ever felt jealous of living in Benoit's shadow. If this were a novel, Benoit might have some insights at the denoument of a great family disagreement...

Oh, and it's cold. Just the weather for dishes like shakshuka with spinach and Indian spices, or persimmon-turmeric oatmeal with plenty of grated fresh ginger and a hit of blood orange juice.

Good books, warm food... I'll just stay inside, thanks.

*For an exception, see Les Bienveillantes by Jonathan Littell. For not an exception, see The Long Ships by Frans Bengtsson.

This year

Oh, John Darnielle, you and your eerily perfect combination of morbid and catchy. How do you do it? (Actually, morbid and New Year's Eve seem to go together in the arts; two of the numerous books I've recently finished feature terrible things happening to morally ambiguous people on that momentous occasion. Of the two, I'd more strongly recommend Ten Thousand Saints, by Eleanor Henderson. Despite my recent glut of  books featuring tortured adolescent-to-young-adult male protagonists, its unique perspective on a more dangerous New York was striking, to say the least.)

Ringing in 2015 with this and other combinations... like elderflower, berry, and citrus. What's not to love about a berry pastry cream-filled Meyer lemon cupcake with fragrant St. Germain frosting and a sprinkle of toasted almonds to cut through all those florals?

Lemon cupcakes
2 sticks melted butter (room temperature) or oil
3/4 cup Meyer lemon juice
1/4 cup water
1 1/3 cups sugar
2 eggs
1/2 cup Greek yogurt
2 tsp vanilla
2 tbsp lemon zest
2 cups flour
3/4 tsp salt
1 1/2 tsp baking soda

Whisk the sugar into the butter/oil, then add the lemon juice, vanilla, water, yogurt, eggs, and lemon zest. Slowly whisk the dry ingredients into this mixture. Fill muffin tins 3/4 of the way to the top and bake at 350F for 15-20 minutes. DO NOT open the oven until at least 15 minutes have passed.

Berry pastry cream
10.5 oz milk
2 eggs
1 egg yolk
1 oz cornstarch
3 oz sugar
pinch salt
1/2 to 2/3 cup berry puree (I used frozen raspberries and blackberries)
1/8 tsp almond or vanilla extract

Heat the milk to simmering. Meanwhile, whisk together the eggs, cornstarch, sugar, and salt. When the milk is simmering, whisk a small amount into the egg mixture to temper, then a little bit more to ensure the egg mixture is warm. Whisk egg mixture into the remaining milk, and add the berry puree. Heat, whisking, until mixture is very thick and begins to bubble. When it does, cook for at least 1 minute, or until it no longer has the taste of raw cornstarch. Remove from the heat and whisk in the extract. Sieve into a container and press plastic wrap over the surface. Cool completely before using.


St. Germain Swiss meringue buttercream
2 egg whites
110 g, or about 1/2 cup, white sugar
1 stick butter, room temperature and cut into cubes.
pinch salt
2 or 3 teaspoons St. Germain, or to taste

Over a double boiler, whisk the egg whites and sugar until the mixture reaches 160F. Remove from the heat. Using a stand mixer, whisk the egg white/sugar mixture on medium speed until the mixture is cool and holds soft-to-medium peaks. Whisk in the butter, chunk by chunk. Keep whisking even if it looks curdled! When it has become homogenous and fluffy, add the pinch of salt and St. Germain, and continue to mix until optimal texture is achieved.

Holiday indulgences

...and more than a month after Thanksgiving, we're back. A bit of a vacation replete with food and reading (This essay by Bob Shacochis perfectly encapsulates emptiness and heart-wrenching loss; no need to have a particular yen for children to appreciate it.) turned into a big distraction! Christmas first:

Not everything from Intern Thanksgiving ended up in photos, but luckily, dessert--always the most important course--got captured.

Nusstorte, served with a spicy pecan popcorn praline.

Cranberry tarts, served with whipped orange goat cheese crema.

The nusstorte got a redux at Christmas. Here were all the courses, minus the lemon pepper leek soup and my uncle's brined turkey:

With cranberry-satsuma compote, a variant of Mark Bittman's
frozen honey mouse that incorporated a tart creme fraiche, and
candied satsuma rind.

Chocolate-peppermint cookies dipped in dark
chocolate (tempered by my mom!) and sprinkled
with crushed candy canes.

So. Many. Orecchiette.

Creamy roasted tomato sauce, mixed roasted vegetables, and
the orecchiette tossed with the best herb sauce ever. I wish
I'd gotten a picture of just the sauce; it was a gorgeous shade
of jade-green. No recipe, of course, but it involved fresh basil,
thyme, oregano, and briefly blanched spinach.

Mixed greens with olives, mixed orange supremes
(Cara Cara, blood, and satsuma), caramelized fennel,
and an orange-fennel vinaigrette with basil oil.

I'm a little over the cranberry/citrus/nut spectrum of desserts. The piloncillo, vanilla, and chilies I got from Mexico and the spices my best friend brought me from Zanzibar beckon.

Breakaway, breakdown

omgomgomg Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk is coming to the Met! Except... how am I going to find time to go if I can't even find time to post? All my non-Bellevue hours have gone to the gym, or to journaling, or to reading*, or, to be fair, to cooking. I haven't worked at any other city hospital, but this one... this one can get under your skin. Could it be the constant need--not medical, but social--of so many people with whom it can feel impossible to relate? Or is it the more quotidian sleep deprivation that plagues all interns? There's just something that, at the end of the day, makes me crave a selfish withdrawal inward, even when it comes to posting a few silly, superficial thoughts on an amateur food bloog.

Somehow, though, there has been time for tiny pears (Seckel pears, to be exact), made into peppery ginger scones:

And mini chocolate babka:

Spreading rich cinnamon-chocolate filling over a yeasted dough...

And a spur-of-the-moment rosemary, grape, and feta focaccia:

And then, because I am me, I ate the remaining pound of grapes.

Now, what do I make for my last weekend on Bellevue floors, macarons or mini nusstorten?

*Here, read this creepy tale!

(Title of this post being an allusion to this story.)

Seasonal appetite disorder

I just finished The Violent Land, by Jorge Amado, on the way home from a recent residency interview. It was Halloween and cold and I had stuff to carry, so I treated myself to a cab ride home from Penn Station, and the cabbie serendipitously turned out to be from Brazil. It also turns out he's an exceptionally well-read person who recommended some lesser-known Amado works, and the author Clarice Lispector. We also discussed Chagas disease. This, ladies and germs, is why I'm having a hard time envisioning a life outside NYC at the moment.

Winter is actually upon us*. I have pathetically little experience making tomato sauce, but what I do know is that winter tomatoes are generally gross. Canned tomatoes are anywhere from good to completely unpalatable. Unfortunately, having neglected to spend the warmer months actually learning to jar fresh tomato sauce made from quality summertime goods, I have to figure out how to bolster the best-quality canned ones I can get**. Solution: a little red wine.

This is penne alla vodka, with red wine in the tomato sauce as mentioned. Yes, it's basically booze sauce with extra booze. Yes, it was rich and delicious.

Time to wrap up the Great Apple Tasting of 2013:

Golden Russet: Kind of grassy, with a thick, slightly bitter skin. Very rustic-tasting!

Snow: Just say no. The sign at the apple stand called this variety "crisp with beautiful pure white flesh." The aesthetically pleasing innards could not overcome the mealy, watery texture.

York: This one tasted sort of like a cider apple, not too sweet, and again very rustic. Just my style, but I can see how it wouldn't be for everyone.

*Stupid short days. All I want to do is stare morosely at the pitch-black sky at 5 p.m. and binge-eat everything in the house.
**Which, as it turns out, come from Trader Joe's.

Stop... Mommy time!

My mom came to visit from Colorado for a few days. She bought me some groceries that I subsequently cooked.

Malaysian-style curry with seared shrimp

Recipe to follow

Ditto the salted banana pudding with candied pistachios
and molasses caramel

I ate an embarrassing amount of this.

We went to see Jersey Boys, where she thought she saw Kirk Douglas. Andy discovered that we're creepily similar, e.g. in our inability to finish more than two-thirds of a hot beverage and our stomachs' propensity for animated conversation. I discovered that I missed her more than I thought I did. And then when I came home on Monday she had left for her flight, with only some inexplicable shredded sticky notes to mark that she had ever been there.

The carnage!

Seriously, Mom, why torment the sticky notes like that?

Somewhat unrelated note: Helen Dewitt's out-of-print masterpiece The Last Samurai is so good that I sucked it up and bought a copy online. Fine, so it cost 1 cent, but the shipping was $3.99!

Curry with seared shrimp
1/2 pound shrimp (domestic, please, that imported stuff is no good for the environment)
1 tbsp fish sauce
2 tsp lime juice
1/4 tsp cayenne
1/4 tsp turmeric
1/4 tsp paprika
chopped cilantro
1 onion, chopped
3 carrots, sliced
1 large green bell pepper, chopped
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 tsp minced fresh ginger
3 to 4 inches lemongrass
1 tbsp soy sauce
1/2 cup canned light coconut milk (or coconut cream, if you're feeling indulgent)
1 cup diced tomatoes (canned or otherwise) with juice
Sriracha to taste
Coriander, turmeric, paprika, black pepper to taste
lime for garnish, more cilantro if you wish

Clean and devein the shrimp, leaving the tails on. Toss with the paprika, turmeric, cayenne, cilantro, lime juice, and fish sauce. Let sit in the fridge while you prepare the rest.

Saute the onion and carrot in hot sesame or canola oil until the onion is soft. Add the garlic and ginger and cook until fragrant. Add the lemongrass, tomatoes, soy sauce, and about 1/2 to 3/4 cup water. Cook until the mixture thickens and the tomatoes are breaking down. Add the liquid that is now at the bottom of the shrimp marinating bowl, along with the coconut milk and green bell pepper. Season to taste with coriander, black pepper, Sriracha, and more turmeric and paprika, keeping in mind that you're going to cook everything down a little more. Salt it gently; because of the soy sauce and fish sauce, you won't need much. Cook until the sauce is thickened and the bell pepper is just soft.

Meanwhile, heat a little bit of canola oil over medium-high heat in a skillet. When the oil is very hot, drop the shrimp in, being careful not to overcrowd the pan. Cook for 1-2 minutes, then flip and cook some more. Serve the curried vegetables and shrimp over rice with some more lime juice and cilantro.

Salted banana pudding
Who am I kidding, just look up that recipe in the NYT. I made a few changes (e.g. roasted the bananas, added some mastiha instead of the vanilla bean) and did a candied pistachio instead of the crumble, but the proportions were the same. Oh, and instead of normal butter, I used this random coconut oil faux-butter stuff that Andy bought on a whim.

Deluxe

I like leisure. This is probably not the best attribute for a medical student to have. But my day was so extravagant! I woke up at ten, ate a cupcake for breakfast, meandered to Bobst for a few books*, wandered downtown for awhile, and came home to execute a multi-component dish: charred octopus and squid over fresh orecchiette with a corn sauce. None of the pictures of the final dish recorded on my SD card, somehow, so you'll have to take my word that the charred seafood and lemon against the pasta with a sprinkling of green parsley is just gorgeous. I really wanted some big, thick octopus tentacles, but the gentleman at Fairway's fish section said that he could only sell me multiple baby octopi or one enormous 5-pound octopus. Maybe if I try the farmer's market fish stand or Essex Street Market I'll have better luck.

And then, the orecchiette. According to The Geometry of Pasta, these "little ears" are 0.68 in x 2.5 (at the thickest point) mm** in size and are best served with "scarce, oily sauces" containing "chunky bits." Their importance to me lies chiefly in the fact that I can handmake them without the aid of the pasta maker I cannot yet afford***. Here's what it looks like when done by an expert. Mine were less than perfect, but I improved from my initial attempts!

The pasta

The sauce

I'm really upset about that technological mishap! It took me ages to perfectly position those tentacles...

Recipe that I haven't thought up a good name for yet
Try fresh basil on this and let me know how it goes! I wish I'd thought to buy some before I started cooking.

10 oz orecchiette (Fresh is best. Recipe to follow.)
1 lb cephalopods of some variety
2 ears corn
32 oz broth: this needs to be good, and not too salty. If wine hasn't been used to make it, add a little white wine while braising the seafood. I used a homemade roasted vegetable and mushroom broth.
2 cloves roasted garlic,smashed
Optional: 1.5 tbsp butter
1 bay leaf
salt
pepper
toasted pine nuts
crushed red pepper
chopped parsley
5-6 olives, sliced
5-6 slices of lemon

Reserve a small amount of the broth. Bring the remainder--with added wine if necessary--to a boil. Add the cephalopods and reduce to a simmer. Cook, turning down the heat as necessary to prevent a frank boil, until the seafood is tender; the duration will depend on how thick the legs are, but 30 minutes to an hour should be sufficient. Drain immediately and set aside.

Meanwhile, make the sauce. Remove the kernels from one cob, scraping the cob afterwards to get the remaining kernels and liquid out. Add the reserved broth and puree with a stand mixer (or something). Strain and squeeze the solids to extrude as much liquid as possible. Heat the cherry tomatoes, smashed garlic, and bay leaf in the liquid, adding more broth or water as necessary to keep it from over-reducing, until the cherry tomatoes are soft and wrinkled; taste halfway through and remove the bay leaf when enough bay flavor has been imparted. The sauce should be starchy and creamy, but not too thick, by the time the tomatoes are done. Add the kernels from the second cob just at the end. Remove from heat, salt and pepper to taste (keeping in mind that you'll be adding olives later) and set aside.

These next steps should be coordinated such that all components are completed at vaguely the same time. Get a pot of salted water ready to cook the pasta. Heat a heavy skillet (e.g. cast iron) coated with a thin layer of olive oil. I put mine in the oven at 500 degrees first, then put it over high heat. Add the drained cephalopods and char on all sides; it will take 3 to 5 minutes to get a nice, brown crust. Similarly, char the lemon slices on each side. While this is going on, cook and drain the pasta; toss it with a tiny bit of olive oil.

Warm the sauce and as an optional step, monter au beurre. Slowly add the butter to the sauce, stirring just until it's melted. This will thicken the sauce and make it taste extra luxurious, because butter.

Put some pasta in a bowl and top with sauce, toasted pine nuts, and sliced olives. Add pieces of seafood and sprinkle parsley and crushed red pepper over it. Garnish with charred lemon, which should be squeezed over the whole dish. It really needs that zingy touch, so if you don't want to char the lemon, still be sure to squeeze fresh lemon over it.

Orecchiette
7 oz semolina flour
2.8 oz room-temperature water

Make a well in the center of the semolina and pour in the water. Mix with your hands until it comes together and knead until the dough is soft, smooth, and springy, but not sticky. This should take around 10 minutes. Wrap in plastic wrap and let rest for 30 minutes to an hour. When you're ready to shape the pasta, tear off about a quarter of the dough and keep the rest wrapped up. Roll the dough into a 1/2-inch-diameter snake and cut 1/2-inch-long chunks. Smear on the table with a knife (or your thumb) and invert over your other thumb to make the "little ears." Watch a video to see how it's done. Repeat until the dough is gone. Cook in salted water at a vigorous boil for 3-4 minutes.

*Wolf Among Wolves, A Better Angel, Illusion of Return, and Both Flesh and Not. Riven Rock was very good, although not Boyle's best. I'm excited for something different.
**I know, the mixed units annoyed me, too.
***The KitchenAid attachments are surprisingly expensive! To be fair, a cheap, one-diameter pasta maker runs around $30.

Innovation

In the interests of showing Andy what he missed, I've been remaking a number of recipes I already posted here; thus the prolonged period between posts. Before the food, a little fun:

I did embarrassingly poorly on this.

This is amazing. I was on my obstetrics night float week at the peak of "Call Me Maybe"'s popularity. Perhaps New York City's Top 40 station figured nobody in her right mind would be awake and listening to the radio for more than 30 consecutive minutes at 3 a.m.*, because that song was on at least twice per hour. I got a little excited about some of the parodies. Baseball players be damned, this is the best by far.

And last but not least, Andy has come up with his wackiest and most entertaining get-rich-quick scheme** to date: Chopped: Philosophy Edition. Four unknown, poverty-stricken, aspiring young philosophers--likely from the New York metropolitan area--would go head-to-head to compete for $10,000. They would be provided with four "ingredients" that must be included in a philosophical argument, to be constructed within 20 minutes; the first item would be the principle or idea that the other three had to be used to refute or support. A library would be provided for references, but of course, the more the philosopher knows, the more time s/he has to construct an argument rather than look up ideas. Of course, philosophers could be criticized for insufficient use of the "ingredients" as much as they could for weak argument or oration skills. Andy's first combination was the Sartrian concept of judgment, Boethius's ladder of being, and pragnanz. A basket of pastry goes to the winner. Ready? Go!

Nearly a year ago--March 28, 2012, to be exact--my mother forwarded a recipe from a friend of hers. This friend, Myfriendnancyfrompittsburgh*** had obtained, from a book by a popular physician and diet guru, a recipe for cashew and date salad dressing. I am highly skeptical of most pop medicine, especially if it involves diets that purport to make diabetes vanish in 30 days (really, people? 30 days?), but it sounded delicious. So I fiddled with it a little bit, and this is what I ended up with:

Puree 2/3 cup raw cashews, 6 dried dates, 1 cup water, 3 small or 2 good-sized cloves garlic, the juice of 2 limes, 2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar, 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard, and salt, pepper, and cayenne to taste. Soaking the nuts and dates in the water makes the dressing even smoother. That's it.

The recipe for the entire salad follows. It's actually quite pretty, but we were too busy making the guinea pigs jealous with our piles of arugula to take a picture. Instead, here's an adorable owl!

Salad
1 recipe dressing as above
2 red bell peppers
1 large cucumber
1 pound tofu
paprika and cumin
lots of arugula

Cut the tofu into 1-by-1-by-1 cm cubes. Toss with lots of paprika, a little bit of cumin, and the tiniest bit of salt. Spread in a single layer on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Bake at 325, tossing occasionally, until golden brown. Turn the oven up to broil. Halve the red peppers and lightly spray them with olive oil. Put them through red pepper hell in the broiler until they're devilishly blistered. Meanwhile, slice the cucumber. Toss the arugula with dressing to taste and top in pretty ways with the vegetables and tofu.

*They're sort of right. Night float was amazing, though.
**A number of you may be familiar with these. Another recent one: peddling left-handed jars to rich left-handed people.
***This is how Mom always mentions her. Every time.

More than is chewable

Clearly, the concept of "restart this blog and post with some consistency" is too much to grasp. In my defense, I've been very busy. Studying? What studying? I've been cooking!

First there was this, which, with a little tweaking, turned out restaurant-quality soup. I'm not bragging; it's a really good recipe.

You can see the delicious noodles and veggies without the
tofu slices on top. I love cellophane noodles.

Then I made this, which didn't need any tweaking at all. Okay, that's a lie; I made the dressing spicier and limier, and I crusted the tofu with sesame seeds. But other than that, no tweaking.

And last night, these!

They're quinoa cakes, inspired by something I ate in a Pittsburgh restaurant called E2. The risotto wasn't all that fantastic, but the "spicy gorgonzola mess" was something else. They actually give the recipe away as a raffle prize and so, perhaps understandably, weren't about to hand it over to me. I knew it had gorgonzola and basil in it, and I knew it was spicy, so I went from there. Gorgonzola dolce gave the closest texture, when blended with some olive oil, and sriracha, basil, and a little black pepper gave the closest flavor profile. There might be some parsley in there, too. Whatever it is, now it's in a convenient dinner form. To make it more substantial, you could try adding some breadcrumbs (maybe half a cup?) or panko.

I made a few other things, too, but they were boring. Speaking of boring, a friend showed me this excellent article titled "American's National Dish: the Style of Restaurant Menus," by Zwicky AM and Zwicky AD. It reminds me that writing about food is also boring, which is why I don't reread my posts. They make me cringe. But seriously, there is a limited vocabulary of food descriptors. Maybe from now on I'll write more about books and medical school* than about what I'm actually cooking.

Gorgonzola quinoa cakes
Makes about 15 in a regular cupcake pan

4 cups cooked quinoa of your color preference (I used red)
6 to 8 oz gorgonzola dolce (without the rind)
3 eggs (not jumbo or extra large; if you use those, cut it down to 2 eggs)
sriracha to taste
chopped fresh basil to taste
salt and pepper to taste

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. If the quinoa is hot, mix the gorgonzola in until the cheese is thoroughly melted. If you pre-cooked the quinoa, melt the gorgonzola over low heat in a pot. Remove from heat and stir in quinoa until it's thoroughly blended. When the mix has cooled somewhat, add the eggs and mix until homogenous. Season to taste with sriracha, basil, salt, and pepper. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes in muffin cups sprayed with oilive oil or nonstick spray, or lined with cupcake wrappers. They'll be done when the top is browned and just set. Allow to cool for a few minutes so that they can be handled and hold their shape.

*Although since right now medical school = 10 hours a day of studying for the boards, that's pretty damn boring, too. Unless, that is, you're excited by dirty mnemonics.

One thing I am sure of, he thought.

Thanks to Step 1, I have come to a realization about Harumi Murakami's short story "Crabs." It's not about alienation and existential disembodiment at all; it's about Paragonimus westermani!

Don't click that if you've just eaten. Also, don't read the following sentence about the most ridiculous mnemonic ever to hit First Aid: "I don't have a clue why I smell fish in the vagina garden!" Ten points to whoever realizes what that's about*.

Right, dinner.

I'm on a bit of an individual-oven-baked-tureen-of-food kick, so expect to see many pot pies in the weeks to come. There's no need to use a recipe, really. Just cook up some vegetables to the almost-done stage**--I used mushrooms, leeks, celery, carrots, and a few other tidbits--in a roux with a protein, and stir in some broth. If you don't cook them in a roux, make or add a gravy or braising liquid, something to keep everything moist. Spice it with whatever you wish; I used tarragon in this one. Portion the whole mess out into individual oven-safe bowls. Cover with your favorite pastry dough or short crust, and brush with an egg wash if you're feeling fancy. Slit the top to allow steam out. Bake at 375 until the crust is done.

The best part is that you can prepare the filling while listening to immunology lectures the night before assembling the pies.

*Medical students not eligible. Come on, guys, it's a gimme. We've already done our OB-gyn rotations!
**If you're using root vegetables like potatoes, dice them and parboil them, since the short pot pie baking time won't be enough on its own to cook them.

All within is warm

Distasteful places to be: central Florida, Chechnya, Three Mile Island, New York on New Year's Eve... That's why I'm staying in with kale, creamy vegetable chowder, and freshly baked bread.

I've been following the tenets laid forth in Flour Water Salt Yeast, an early Christmas present, and they work. I didn't buy a Banneton proofing basket, opting instead for a blue faux-wicker trinket purchased in Chinatown for $1.75 and lined with a flour-dusted towel. The bread still has a crisp crust and perfect crumb, and a flavor that belies its four aforementioned ingredients; I chalk it up to the multiple temperature adjustments I made to get the dough to exactly 25 degrees Celsius. Thanks for the tip, Ken Forkish!

Maybe, calmed fortified by all this warm food, I'll wander downtown to the harbor for the stroke of midnight*.

Creamy vegetable chowder
Use any root vegetables you like for this; I'd hate to be authoritarian. Roast the cubed vegetables while you're preparing the base to save time. To make a vegan soup, omit the milk; the potatoes will make it creamy.

1 parsnip
1 turnip
3 carrots
1 large sweet potato
1 fennel bulb, trimmed
2 russet potatoes, peeled and cubed
1 small onion
3 stalks celery
4 leek fronds
1 cup cooked great Northern beans
1/2 lemon
2 tbsp flour
vegetable stock (I used a homemade mushroom stock)
milk, optional
olive oil
thyme
bay leaf
salt and pepper

Preheat your oven to 425 F. Peel and cube the parsnip, turnip, carrots, sweet potato, and fennel bulb and toss with olive oil, salt, and pepper. Roast until browned and tender. Meanwhile, dice the onion and celery and chop the leek fronds, including the white up to 1/2 to 1 inch of the dark green portion. Heat 3 tablespoons olive oil in a large pot or Dutch oven and saute the onion, celery, and leek until the vegetables are soft and the onion transluscent. Add 2 tablespoons flour and mix thoroughly; cook on medium-high heat 3 to 5 minutes, or until golden brown. Stir in vegetable stock, 3 to 5 cups depending on how thick you'd like your chowder to be. Add 1 tsp thyme and a bay leaf. Bring to a boil and reduce to a simmer, cooking until the potatoes are very soft. Add half the roasted vegetables and puree until smooth. Stir in the juice of 1/2 lemon, the remaining vegetables, and the beans. Heat through and add milk or additional stock to desired thickness. Season to taste with salt and pepper and serve garnished with grated Parmesan and chopped parsley.

*Warning: gastronomic goodwill is liable to evaporate like acetone on a lab bench in the face of slow-moving tourists.

Title credit: Ford Madox Ford

Pisum thank you

After making a series of neurology termination-related puns with a friend, I feel a little bit better about the fact that we are in our ninth week of this neverending unit and it is severely interfering with my food and exercise routines.

I suppose I should have expected this; it's what med school is supposed to be about. Up until this point, though, I could manage blogging a lot/working out a lot at the same time. Perhaps limb anatomy next week will be a bit of a respite? Or perhaps I should take this as a sign that my blogging/working out career is over and my medical career has begun to actually rear its head. Or perhaps I should take this as a sign that in order to manage exercise, cooking, and school, I shouldn't be spending time reading 1Q84. I was a little skeptical of it at first, considering that there's an episode of sporadic barely legal teen Asian lesbianism within the first 20 pages and I generally prefer my literature to be a little less like an idealistic porn scenario. But it's increasingly worth reading.

Here is pasta with peas, lemon juice, olive oil, and just a little taleggio. I thought of making taleggio crisps or taleggio ziti, but my resident garbage disposal got into the cheese and reduced it in quantity somewhat. No matter! It's so powerful that a little bit on top is all that is necessary.

Their Eyes Were Watching Blog

I'm having trouble taking this hurricane thing seriously. Perhaps it comes with the territory of growing up on (or sort of in... I grew up on a barrier island) the Gulf of Mexico. First of all, it looks like it's supposed to be a category 1 at most by the time it hits us. Secondly, I live on the eighth floor. Thirdly, I'm a little immersed in the last of summer produce right now:

These are zucchini, corn, and chickpea fritters flavored with mint and lemon zest. Also, kale chips and slices of tomato.

I fried them in the safflower oil that Andy brought home as a surprise one day, and I am still looking forward to picking the BCBs* out of the pan when the oil has cooled a bit. And then baking the assuredly chewy and buttery crescent rolls that are rising right now. Irene, Schmirene.

*Burnt crunchy bits, a term coined, I believe, by the sadly Alzheimer's-afflicted Terry Pratchett of Discworld fame.

The only known example of the happy meeting of the immovable object and the irresistible force

Andy and I are both, to put it mildly, stubborn. And, to put it mildly, somewhat competitive, mostly with the standards we set for ourselves. But when you give us an opportunity to compete with each other... well, that's how we got started on our current workout regimen, which I like to call the Recipe for Pain. For the past six days, I've either gone to yoga, lifted weights, or both, motivated both by determination to build up my physical fitness level and provide a buffer against the onslaught that will be medical school and by determination to show Andy that I can, in fact, power-lift at 9 p.m. on Monday and get up at 5:48 a.m.* to do hot yoga on Tuesday. And then whimper as the backs of my thighs tell me how much they disapprove of what I'm doing.

Something, of course, had to fall by the wayside, and it was blogging. I could have written about how chopped dried cherries macerated in lime juice provided an excellent substitute for pomegranate molasses in this lovely Lebanese dish. I could have written about how sriracha, lime juice, mirin, and miso paste make a great dressing for a soybean and rice salad with steamed carrots and cucumbers (and cilantro and garlic). But that didn't happen. Instead, I'll just have to tell you about this zucchini and spinach tart with a cornmeal crust, served alongside whole wheat bread thumbprints and a pesto of cilantro, kale, and roasted garlic.

It was... uh, really good. I guess that's about it. Not as good as Freddy and Fredericka, though, which I've moved on to after completely exhausting myself with Celestial Harmonies. Mark Helprin continues to impress me with his wit. I tend to read past some of the most carefully and subtly crafted side-splitting similes** I've ever experienced, do a mental double-take, and start giggling uncontrollably. It's long, but oh, how the pages fly by.

Zucchini and spinach tart
Crust
*Note that this crust only goes on the bottom of the tart! If you want sides, too, you'll have to multiply it by 1.5 (I estimate)
1/2 cup cornmeal
1/2 cup white flour
1 tsp dried rosemary
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup ice water
2 to 3 tbsp olive oil

Mix together the dry ingredients and stir in the olive oil with a fork. Gradually add ice water, stirring with the fork the whole while, until the mixture comes together in a ball. It shouldn't be sticky; if it is, add more cornmeal. Chill for 10 minutes. Roll into a 9-inch circle and line the bottom of a tart pan. Chill for 15 to 30 minutes while you preheat your oven to 425 F. Prick the pastry with a fork, then bake for 10 to 15 minutes or until just turning golden brown. Remove and set aside to cool.

Filling
5 oz goat cheese
1.5 cups spinach, steamed and chopped, with much of the water squeezed out
1 onion, cut into a large dice
1 zucchini
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 tsp lemon juice
salt and pepper to taste

Caramelize the onion in olive oil, deglazing when appropriate with the vinegar. Stir in the spinach at the end, cooking just until the mixture is no longer damp. In a bowl, use an immersion blender to whip the goat cheese and lemon juice, then add the spinach and onion mixture and blend until it's of the desired consistency (leave chunks if you want, or don't!). Salt and pepper to taste, then spread in the cooled tart shell. Meanwhile, use a mandoline or sharp knife to thinly slice the zucchini. Arrange the slices attractively on top of the filling, brush with olive oil, and sprinkle on a little more salt and pepper. Bake at 425 until the zucchini slices are done, broiling it at the end if you want a little extra browning.

*I have carefully calibrated this time such that I have enough minutes to haul myself out of bed, put on my contacts, make sure my yoga bag is assembled, and get out the door at 5:57, to arrive at yoga between 6:15 and 6:20, depending on whether or not the stoplights run in my favor. Life is in the details.
**As well as metaphors, but that would destroy the alliteration.

Autopunition

I'm very disappointed in myself. I was too busy patting myself on the back for the best cinnamon rolls I've ever made--filled with walnuts, raisins, cinnamon, cloves, and brown sugar, and with mashed sweet potatoes in the dough, plus whole-wheat flour and olive oil for an extra infusion of "pretending to be abstemious"--to photograph them. It's a pity because I managed to get the icing to what I consider the perfect thickness as well, thanks to the inclusion of sour cream, so it was very attractively patterned on the top! Like I said, too much back-patting. Ah, well; you'll just have to trust me when I say that these are as attractive as they are delicious. Brush the dough with olive oil instead of spreading softened butter over it and you've really completed the delusion that they're good for you, allowing you to eat even more of them!

Which isn't to say, of course, that real butter isn't fantastic. Why, there's a whole three tablespoons of it in this crust!

Along with Parmesan, cashews, whole-wheat flour, and sesame seeds. The filling is whipped Fuerte avocado*, lemon juice, and basil, covered in a layer of chopped olives and raw corn kernels, and then layered with thinly sliced persimmon tomatoes. I chose this heirloom variety because a. they're pretty, b. they're huge, c. they're appropriately acidic but also somewhat sweeter than average, and d. they're $2.50/lb at the Union Square Greenmarket where other heirlooms run at $4.50/lb, if not more. Also, they show you what a tomato is supposed to taste like. The inside is more meat than juice, and that meat can only be described as silky, hearty like a supermarket beefsteak but without a hint of mealiness.

Andy had his with a fried egg on top.

I had mine with copious quantities of string beans in roasted
 garlic-white wine sauce.

I'm going back to reading Celestial Harmonies now. I really should have been done with it weeks ago, but since Andy helped me hop on the Game of Thrones bandwagon, I had to continue revisiting my childhood via trashy fantasy novels until I'd finished the series (those books of it that are out in paperback, that is). Alas, a return to Real Lit'retchah is past due.

Tomato avocado tart, recipe adapted from here
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup Parmesan, grated
1/4 cup cashews
1/3 cup cold butter cut into cubes (or 1/3 cup olive oil)
1-3 tablespoons ice water
1 enormous avocado, or two small ones
about 1 pound tomatoes, any variety that isn't crappy supermarket beefsteak or too-sweet cherry or grape
kernels from 1 ear corn, raw
juice of 1/2 lemon
3 to 4 tablespoons chopped fresh basil
salt and pepper to taste
red wine vinegar and olive oil for garnish, optional
1/4 cup chopped olives, optional (I could have done without them, honestly. Not that they were bad, but they just didn't add anything that a sprinkle of salt on top wouldn't have.)

To make the crust, pulse the flour, cheese, and nuts in a food processor until the mixture is blended. Add the cold butter or the olive oil and pulse until combined. Add ice water, a tablespoon at a time, until the crust just comes together in a ball. Chill for 10 to 15 minutes, then either roll out the dough and line a 9-inch tart pan with it, or just press it into the tart pan. Chill again for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Prick the bottom of the crust with a fork, line with aluminum foil or parchment paper, and fill with pie weights. Bake 10 minutes. Remove the weights and bake another 10 minutes, or until golden brown. Let the crust cool completely.

Meanwhile, whip the avocado with the lemon juice and enough olive oil to make the mixture smooth; I used an immersion blender and kept going until the mixture was fluffy and mousse-like. Fold in the chopped basil and corn kernels and spread the avocado mixture in the cooled pie crust. Sprinkle on the chopped olives, if you're using them. Thinly slice the tomatoes and layer them on top. Sprinkle with salt, pepper, red wine vinegar, and olive oil to taste (or not at all, if you don't find you need it). Chill at least minutes before serving. To make it really pretty, garnish with more basil and a curl of lemon zest.

*This is easily the biggest Fuerte I've ever seen: 

The house with a Bloch on its walls

Do you know who Judith Lorber is?

Neither did I, until Andy and I were tragically waylaid on our walk to the West Village by The Strand and its bothersome displays of cheap books. Among these was a Robert Coover book I didn't yet possess (for a dollar!) and a book called Women Physicians: Careers, Status, and Power, written by the aforementioned Dr. Lorber. A little Googling told me that she's a New York professor of women's studies and gender studies, as well as a (possibly erstwhile?) staunchly left-wing political activist. I'm excited to read this.

What really caught our eyes, though, was a large pile of art auction catalogues for a dollar each. We got the idea to cut out pictures from them and decorate our (now formerly) barren walls painted in an unthrilling shade of Institutional Beige. Of course, this means that what is habitually sold at Sotheby's dictated my choices of wall hanging. While there are now some Henri Matisse and Jean Arp pictures up, there's also a healthy dose of relatively bland obscurata, including the hilariously named Kees van Dongen and such minor Impressionists as Armand Guillaumin and Albert Marquet. Yes, yes, art isn't supposed to match the sofa or whatever, but as much as I love, for instance, James Ensor, medical school is grotesque enough without photos of twisted, screaming masked people to come home to.

Food tonight: paprika-dusted sweet potato chips and broiled zucchini stuffed with a chickpea/mushroom/onion/garlic/basil/lemon filling, creamy with goat cheese.

Much like our walls, this food aspires to elegance one day, when it's gotten rid of its student loans and can afford to hang real paintings.