coconut pinkcherry yogurt – smitten kitchen

Like ten zillion other brides with mile-long registries, I received an ice-cream maker as a wedding shower gift two years ago, but when I finally busted it out last summer, I ended up really struggling to find good recipes. Why so much sugar in a cantaloupe sorbet? Isn’t it already sweet enough? Why should I add an equal part of water to watermelon puree? It’s a weak flavor to begin with, why dilute it so? Why do so many frozen yogurt recipes call for oddities like gelatin and milk? Can’t you just freeze yogurt? These questions nagged at me as I tried recipe after recipe, and save for a single strawberry sorbet that I still dream of late at night, each final product disappointed me in the exact ways that I predicted it would.

Yet, being a newbie in the world of homemade frozen things, I lacked the confidence to go out on my own, which is why when my new best friend (shh, I haven’t told him yet) announced that his newest cookbook would be aptly titled “The Perfect Scoop” I just knew that it would have the guidance that I needed. By some obvious, glaring oversight on the purchasing department of my Chelsea Barnes and Noble had the nerve to not stock it, and in the two weeks between the time I ordered and received the book, my torture was increased tenfold by having to view countless other examples of the awesomeness of this cookbook.

grody cherries

But until I received my own copy, I had no idea that he would demystify the process just so much. Guess how he suggests that you make watermelon sorbet? You puree watermelon, and then you freeze it. Guess how you make frozen yogurt? You take yogurt, and you freeze it. I don’t mean to make the recipes sound simplistic, but by weeding out so many unnecessary ingredients, he gives you the tools to triumph over the glorious complexities like fresh fig, pear pecorino and chocolate peanut butter ice cream. (Shoot, I was going to try to keep that one from Alex. Guess what I’ll be begged into making next?)

I broke my own rule–that the first time I make a recipe, I follow it verbatim–when I made my first of many Lebovitz-inspired desserts Sunday night, adapting his vanilla yogurt to a jacked-up coconut cherry almond variety, which we ate with teeth-clattering glee after our noodle salads. I haven’t been to this pink berry place yet (that I wish someone would call a moratorium on referencing), but after a wee bowl of this stuff, it’s safe to say I never will.

coconut pinkcherry carnage

Coconut Pinkcherry Yogurt
Adapted from The Perfect Scoop

Makes about 1 quart

3 cups strained yogurt* or Greek-style yogurt
3/4 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon almond extract
3/4 cup cherries, pits removed and roughly chopped
1 cup unsweetened coconut milk

Mix together the yogurt, sugar, almond extract, cherries and coconut milk. Stir until the sugar is completely dissolved. Refrigerate 1 hour.

Freeze in your ice cream maker according to the manufacturer’s instructions.

* To make 1 cup (240g) of strained yogurt, line a mesh strainer with a few layers of cheese cloth, then scrape 16 ounces or 2 cups (480g) of plain whole-milk yogurt into the cheesecloth. Gather the ends and fold them over the yogurt, then refrigerate for at least 6 hours.

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strawberry-rhubarb crumble – smitten kitchen

I’ve baked more fruit crisps in the last few years than I could count on both my hands and all of your toes. And no matter which sweet thing has managed to find its way into my gaping maw between crisps, it’s damn near guaranteed that I’d have preferred that it had been some variety of baked fruit, in its countless incarnations. There’s been an apple-fresh cranberry, apple-raisin, apple-pear, peach, peach-blueberry, peach-raspberry, mixed berry and one day, hopefully very soon, there will be a mango and also a sour cherry.

strawberry rhubarb crumble-1strawberry rhubarb crumble-2strawberry rhubarb crumble-3

But before we get into my new favorite topping, let me give you a rough outline of the makings of any baked fruit crisp. Fruit of your choice is washed, prepped and coarsely chopped and tossed in its baking dish (usually, a deep dish pie pan, but it can be scaled up easily to a 9×13) with somewhere between two tablespoons (for a not very leaky fruit) to half a cup of flour (berries, I’m looking at you), some sugar (more for rhubarb, way less for peaches), a pinch of salt and some flavoring, be it lemon juice, cinnamon or a scrape of vanilla. Go wild. The topping always begins with melted butter, because it’s the easiest and it has never failed me, a few tablespoons of brown, white or crunchy sugar, and a mixture of flour/oats/finely chopped nuts or just flour. This mix is spread over the fruit mixture and popped in the oven for 40 to 60 minutes, while a resolution-weakening aroma wafts through your apartment. There is simply nothing not to love.

strawberry rhubarb crumble-4strawberry rhubarb crumble-5strawberry rhubarb crumble-6

But here’s where things were never quite ideal: You see, I’m a topping junkie, and one stick of butter’s worth never made quite enough. Oh, sure, it covered well, but what I really wanted was a big bite topping with every bite of fruit. Yet, uninterested in turning a healthful baked fruit dessert into something with the caloric heft of cheesecake, I refuse to double the topping to a two-stick of butter count.

strawberry rhubarb crumble-09

Enter the darling Nigella Lawson. In a pear-apple crumble recipe published in the New York Times a few years ago–which I’ve made, and is both understated and fantastic–she adds a teaspoon of baking powder to a somewhat standard crisp topping and turns it into a crumble, with large rubble-like pieces of awesome, without upping the butter in any way. All this time, I thought I could love nothing more than a baked fruit crisp, and it took a single bite of a rhubarb-strawberry crumble at a Sunday afternoon barbeque to turn my back on the crisp, perhaps for good.

strawberry rhubarb crumble-10

With a little leavening, the proportion of topping to fruit is closer to the gloried 1:2 ratio that makes you feel like you’re being “good,” just not earnestly so. Personally, I can’t imagine wanting anything more from dessert.

The original 2007 photo:

strawberry-rhubarb crumble, baked

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zucchini carpaccio salad – smitten kitchen

In this 2018 update, I’ve kept everything in the recipe the same but wanted to mention three things: 1, no need for an adjustable-blade slicer or mandoline here. I use a vegetable peeler these days to make (prettier) ribbons of zucchini instead. This works best with thinner zucchini or summer squash. 2, I use a bit less arugula these days, maybe 3 to 4 ounces, instead. I love arugula, but prefer to let the zucchini star. 3, Finally, but perhaps you already know this: you needn’t follow the measurements, although they work perfectly well, precisely here. Season to taste, oil to taste, lemon to taste, parmesan to taste, and you’ll have something perfectly delicious.

  • 1 1/2 pound zucchini (about 3 large) or a mix of thin summer squash
  • 1 1/4 teaspoons kosher salt
  • 1/2 pound arugula, stems discarded and leaves cut into 1/2-inch-wide strips (6 cups), or baby arugula
  • 1 ounce parmesan, coarsely grated (on large holes of a box grater; about 1/2 cup) or shaved with a vegetable peeler
  • 3 tablespoons olive oil
  • Juice of one lemon
  • 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
You can either cut zucchini crosswise into paper-thin slices with an adjustable-blade slicer, or use a vegetable peeler (this works best if zucchini are thin, thinner than the length of the peeler blade) to shave the zucchini lenghtwise into long ribbons. Toss zucchini slices or ribbons with 1 teaspoon salt in a large colander set over a bowl and let drain 20 minutes.

Rinse zucchini slices well, then drain, pressing gently on slices to extract any excess liquid. Pat zucchini slices dry with a kitchen towel.

[Do ahead: I often prepare these up to this point. Once drained well, they keep in the fridge for a few days in a container so you can use them here or elsewhere.]

Put arugula in a large bowl. Sprinkle with 1/4 cup parmesan and remaining 1/4 teaspoon salt. Drizzle 1 1/2 tablespoons of oil over greens and toss. Arrange zucchini over arugula greens, then drizzle with remaining oil, lemon juice and sprinkle with remaining 1/4 cup parmesan and black pepper.

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black-bottom cupcakes – smitten kitchen

I’ve always thought one of the best lines in Pulp Fiction is wedged almost unnoticeably early on. Fabienne tells Butch that she wants a pot belly because she thinks they’re sexy on women (though, kind of hilarious, she thinks they make men look oafish). Butch disagrees, tells her she should be happy she doesn’t have one because guys don’t find it attractive. She snips back that she doesn’t give a damn what men like, before musing somewhat sadly that “It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.”


cheesecake batteradd chocolate chunksdry ingredientsliquid into dry

And I have to admit, if you swapped “touch” with “taste,” you’d have exactly what was going through my head this weekend as I made a quickie batch of David Lebovitz’s famed Black-Bottom Cupcakes from his Great Book of Chocolate. A spin on the classic devil’s food cake, each cupcake gets a dollop of cheesecake filling which is decked out with chopped bits of bittersweet chocolate before it’s baked into something almost too delicious for words. Since they lack frosting, they’re superbly easy to schlep from one place to another, and should you have time to zap them in the fridge, I think they’re a rare cupcake that actually tastes better cold. And seriously, chocolate and cheesecake? It is beyond my comprehension how everyone does not dream about this flavor contrast. I know we here in the SmitKitch certainly do.

easy chocolate cake batterchocolate batter firstcheesecake batter on topa little extra chocolate on top

But, and I’m almost embarrassed to admit this, my inner perfectionist hated them as I was completely unable to get them to look like the peanut butter cup-reminiscent photo. My dollops, they wouldn’t center. My cupcakes, they kept overflowing in the oven. In my attempt to make them into miniature cakes, my first eight had too much filling, and my last eight had none. My baking karma was stunningly off on Friday night, it seemed and I had a asterisked storm cloud over my head all the way until the opening credits of Knocked Up, which if you seriously don’t die laughing from the chairs-in-Vegas scene alone, I just don’t know if we can be friends anymore.

a little marbled
black-bottom cupcakes

When we got home, my sides hurting from aforementioned cracking up, the ridiculousness of being in a funk because my cupcakes didn’t come out the way I’d hoped had been squarely put in its place. Silly Deb, don’t you know that it only matters that it tastes good? Of course, of course, I muttered, because they were crazy delicious. And I almost sold myself on it, I did. But next time, I still might try a piping bag to get that damned dollop centered.

black-bottom cupcakes

Black Bottom Cupcakes

Note: In 2019, this recipe got fresh photos. I also started swirling the tops of the cupcakes, just a little. Plus, I move the brown sugar from being sifted with the dry ingredients (pesky) to being whisked in with the wet ones. Hope it makes things easier.

    For the filling
  • 8 ounces cream cheese, regular or reduced fat, at room temperature
  • 1/3 cup granulated sugar
  • 1 large egg, at room temperature
  • 2 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, coarsely chopped, or 1/2 cup chocolate chips
  • For the cupcakes
  • 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
  • 5 tablespoons natural unsweetened cocoa powder (not Dutch-process)
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
  • 1 cup water
  • 1/3 cup unflavored vegetable oil
  • 1 tablespoon white or cider vinegar
  • 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Make the filling: Beat together the cream cheese, granulated sugar, and egg until smooth. Stir in the chopped chocolate pieces. Set aside.

Make the cupcakes: Adjust the rack to the center of the oven and preheat to 350°F (175°C). Butter a 12-cup muffin tin, or line the tin with paper muffin cups.

In a medium bowl sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, and salt. In a separate bowl, whisk together the brown sugar, water, oil, vinegar, and vanilla. Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients and stir in the wet ingredients, stirring until just smooth. Stir any longer and you will over mix the batter and end up with less-than-tender cupcakes.

Divide the batter among the muffin cups, leaving just a couple spoonfuls behind in the bowl (if you’d like to marble the tops, as shown). Spoon a couple tablespoons of the filling into the center of each cupcake, dividing the filling evenly. Spoon any remaining chocolate batter back over the cream cheese center, if you plan to marble the tops. Use a butter knife inserted only about 1/2-inch into the cupcake to swirl the batters together decoratively. The cupcakes will be almost completely full (90%), which is fine. If you still have batter leftover, make one or two additional cupcakes.

Bake for 25 minutes, or until the tops are slightly golden brown and the cupcakes feel springy when gently pressed. These moist treats will keep well unrefrigerated for 2 to 3 days if stored in an airtight container.

Two notes:
* If you choose to go mini for these, keep the filling at a tablespoon or less, lest you run out, as, ahem, someone else may have.
** Though I’ve only made this recipe one, and therefore don’t think you should take my input as absolute authority, I’ve got to advise against actually letting these guys fill up. Not an issue if you’re going full-size, but if you go mini, aim for 90 percent full.

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spring vegetable stew – smitten kitchen

Last month, en route to a cousin’s baby shower in Connecticut, my mother, sister and I realized that we needed a new envelope for the card we’d brought and swung into a strip shopping mall which housed a crafts store. I ran in to buy one, and found myself smack dab in front of something so mind-blowingly awesome, it took me nearly a minute to remember to breathe: as if I couldn’t love her any more, Martha Stewart apparently has a line of crafts products, and people, if there are two things I’m powerless in the face of, it’s a rack that contains not one, not two, but eleven different types of crafts glue and their doyenne. That I walked out of the store that day with not a single MSC product is nothing but a testament to my refuse-to-overstuff-my-tiny-apartment willpower, but it’s been three weeks now, and still, almost every other worth that breathlessly escapes my lips sounds like MonkeyPartyinaBox! or PaperBagPuppetKit! I am nothing if not a sensible, level-headed individual.

shelling peas

Monday, the mailroom guy arrived at my desk with the Biggest Box in the Whole world, and people, it was from Martha Stewart Freaking Crafts Dot Com. I shit you not. I briefly worried that I had in fact lost what was left of my mind and ordered a Leaf Wood Stamp 1 whilst drunk or something. (Hey, some people drunk-dial exes, perhaps drunk-buying multi-colored Evening Terrace Decorative Adhesive could be my thing. Can you imagine what a riot it would be to tell this story at a party?) I mean, this really crossed my mind, and left me so panicked that I went to see if I had an account, or old emails confirming an order, but retrieved nothing. So I IM-ed Alex and confessed that I thought I might be placing orders on MarthaStewartCrafts.com in my sleep, and why couldn’t I just be a normal girl and sleep-shop for Manolos? And do you know what knee-weakening sweet nothing he whispered into my monitor? Do you?

“That’s box one of two.”

Hummuna. Did I score well or what?

favas, out of their pods

I suspect you want to know what’s in this box, but I can’t tell you because I don’t know. My birthday, you see, is not until next week and frankly, the excitement of having this g’normous box in my cube–really, I’m like a one-year old, equally excited by a box and it’s contents–will definitely be able to hold me over until then. No peeking for you, either, okay? Until that time however, and because we’ve already dedicated this entry to how awesome my boy is, I have to tell you about this delicious we meal we cooked together last week.

favas

It was a real team effort, and I dare say that it will inspire more going forward. The recipe comes by way of a New York Times Magazine article about artichokes by Sara Dickerman, and being equally huge fans of both the green globes as well as Sara’s column on Slate.com, I couldn’t wait to dive in.

If you can find those true baby artichokes (we’re talking 3″ or less in diameter), even better, as you can spare yourself the task of de-choking them, as there is nothing inedible inside.

fresh peas

The first time for either of us, we shucked fresh peas and favas which was pretty fun as far as prep work goes. They were stewed with baby artichokes, onion, pancetta and stirred with fresh mint and parsley in a Roman-style spring stew known as La Vignarola. Hefty and fresh, it was a stew like none I’ve eaten before and despite the loads of prep work–aided by good company and, of course, good wine–utterly worth it. I can’t wait to make it again next year.

la vignarola

La Vignarola [Roman-Style Spring-Vegetable Stew]
Sara Dickerman for the New York Times 5/27/07

Serves 6 as a side dish or first course.

2 lemons, halved
5 large artichokes (about 12 ounces each)
11/2 cups shelled fresh or frozen fava beans, or shelled frozen edamame
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more as needed
1 large onion, thinly sliced
1 sprig oregano, optional
2 ounces guanciale or pancetta, slivered
Salt
2 cups shelled (fresh or frozen) peas
1/4 cup chopped parsley
2 tablespoons chopped mint
* teaspoon lemon juice, plus more to taste
Freshly ground black pepper.

1. To prepare the artichokes: Fill a large bowl halfway with cold water. Squeeze the lemons into the water and add the rinds to the bowl. Using a serrated knife, cut off the top third of an artichoke. Pull back and snap off the dark green, leafy blades, one by one, until only the pale yellow leaves remain. Using a paring knife, trim the artichoke bottom and stem to the pale green flesh, then cut it in half lengthwise. Drop into the water (to keep the artichoke from turning brown) and repeat with the remaining artichokes. Using a spoon, scoop out the prickly leaves and hairy choke. Cut each half into 4 wedges and return to the water until ready to use.

2. If using fresh fava beans, bring a large pot of water to a boil. Fill a large bowl two-thirds full with ice water. When the water comes to a boil, add the beans and cook for 1 minute, then drain and immediately submerge the beans in the ice water. Peel the beans by gently tearing the pale skins and pinching at one end. Discard the skins, reserving the dark green interiors.

3. To cook the ragout: Heat a 12-inch nonreactive pan over medium heat. Add 1/4 cup olive oil and when hot, add the onion, oregano (if using) and guanciale. Cook, stirring occasionally until the onion and guanciale are translucent, about 10 minutes. Drain artichokes and add to the pan, along with 2 cups water and 11/4 teaspoons salt. Bring the liquid to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer and cook until artichokes are just tender, about 25 minutes. If using frozen favas, add them and cook for 2 minutes. If using fresh favas or frozen edamame, add them, along with the peas, and cook until warm and tender, about 5 minutes more. Remove the oregano sprig. Sprinkle in parsley and mint. Season with lemon juice, freshly ground black pepper and, if desired, additional salt. Drizzle with extra-virgin olive oil and serve.

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gâteau de crêpes


gâteau de crêpes…

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fideos with favas and red peppers – smitten kitchen

Some people are chef-chasers, meal-collectors. Being at the right restaurant exactly when it’s the newest thing so they can say they ate there first, or knew so-and-so would be the next Top Chef long before anyone else is where it’s at. Some want to be the first in line for Chef’s take on ramps, rhubarb, some adored garlic chive tangle and five different soft-shell crab specials each spring. Some people rank bathrooms (no really, they do) at the city’s best eateries. The thing is, I don’t know these people, and secretly, I’m kind of relieved.

For me, restaurants are about something else. I love to go to great ones, glorious places where each and every dish is perfect in a way you hadn’t considered before. Cranberry beans in an artichoke cup? I’m so glad I’ve met you. Seared quartered baby artichokes with pistachios, mache and manchego cheese? Two weeks without you makes me sad. Tabla’s Indian-spiced popcorn? It’s pathetic, but you can actually make my day. In their own ways, restaurants have become my muse. Thus, I didn’t just want to go to The Little Owl for my birthday Monday night because a friend had raved about it after her Food & Wine holiday party, I wanted to go because one glance at the constantly-changing menu told me I’d be brimming with new ideas when I left.

with roasted tomato, jalapeno and onion puree

And was I! I didn’t even know what fideos was when I walked in there, and in the days since, it’s been every other word out of my mouth. Fideos. Fideos. Fiddle me some fideos! Monday night, they served them with a tomato-y broth-based sauce (yes, I know that’s not exactly the most articulate description, but that’s the way I noted it in my head) with red peppers, barely cooked, fresh fava beans, black olives and wee clumps of cooked-in melted cheese, and there was a squiggle of a smoky red pepper sauce next to it. I loved it to pieces. I ate it embarrassingly fast. I vowed to make it the very next time I cooked, which because no birthday week is complete without a trip to the Bread Bar, brought us to Wednesday.

I resorted to an old Rick Bayless recipe for guidance, which is unfortunate, you see, because I obviously suffered some memory loss around the last time I used a Bayless recipe. Last year, the New York Times had run his recipe for chipotle meatballs, which piqued my taste buds so fiercely that I had to make it that very evening. The following week, the Times printed a correction that no, you were not supposed to use one to two cans of chipotle as they’d originally dictated, but one to two canned chipotles and ha, ha, ha, oh, I’d gotten the memo, but the evil, mouth-searing, food-went-in-the-trash kind of way. Now, the Times blames an “editing error” so I suppose he should get a pass, but, well, there Rick and I were again Wednesday night, his single charred jalapeño* somehow so fiercely over-spiced I thought a single bite would kill me. I ended up adding a cup of tomato puree in hopes to dampen its singeing effect, but in the end it only slightly helped.

fideos with favas and red peppers

It’s a shame, because I think half, or a quarter of that chile would have made for a delicious dish. I love this fideos idea, sauteing fine noodles until they are browned, tangling them up with other seasonal ingredients. I loved it on my plate at the restaurant, and when I could ignore my mouth’s screaming for an ice cube, or any such relief, I loved it at home. But I’d approach that whole jalapeno with caution next time, as even my Tobasco-fiending husband felt the spice was above and beyond.

Speaking of Alex, he has been nudging me for days to please, please please tell you that Smitten Kitchen has been nominated by the lovely folks at Culinate.com for their Grill Me contest in a chance to win a trip to Napa Valley and take a grill master class with two pros, and I get to take a guest if I win. (Yes, that’s where he comes in.) So, um, if you feel like contributing to the effort to send me and Alex to Napa, baby, Napa, just press this wee little button to the right and, well, you know the drill. From the bottom of our grill-obsessed gullets, we thank you.

Update: People, thank you so much for your mind-blowing response to this! You’re so rad. So, you’re not going to believe this but for the second week of the contest, Culinate is letting people vote a second time. For real! So, you can vote again for your favorite blogger and everything, and by golly, well, I think we all know where Alex and I stand on this, but you should go and vote your conscience, okay?

Fideos with Favas, Red Peppers and Black Olives
Inspired by The Little Owl, but no doubt, lacking resemblance to the original

1 large tomato
1 large jalapeno
1 small onion, coarsely chopped
1 clove garlic
6 sprigs cilantro
Large handful of fresh beans, in their pods
1/4 cup canola oil
7 ounces short angel hair noodles, or longer strands broken into one to two-inch pieces
2 cups chicken stock
2 red bell peppers, cut into matchsticks
1/2 to 2/3 cup pitted black olives, coarsely chopped
Cotija or queso blanco, shredded

Heat a dry cast iron skillet (or ungreased skillet) over medium-low heat until a drop of water sizzles on contact. Place the tomato and jalapeno in the pan and cook turning frequently, until the skins are blistered all over, about 15 minutes. Remove the tomato into a mixing bowl to catch the juices. Place the chile in a paper bag and let rest for 10 minutes.

Meanwhile, prepare the fava beans. Remove them from their large outer pods, and blanche them in boiling salted water for one to two minutes. Drop them in an ice bath, then remove their light-colored skins, revealing the edible fava bean within. Set aside.

When the chile is cool enough to handle, peel of the charred skin and halve it, reserving the other half for another use. Place the tomato, onion, garlic, cilantro, and half chile in a blender, or food processor, and process until smooth, about 1 minute, set aside.

Pour the oil into a dutch oven or medium saucepan over medium-high heat until it ripples, add the pasta and cook, stirring constantly, until golden. Remove all but 2 tablespoons of oil, add the pureed tomato and chile mixture, and cook for 2 minutes, stirring continually. Add the chicken stock and bring to a simmer. Cover and cook for 10 to 12 minutes, ensuring there is a bit of liquid left in the pot. Add the prepared favas, olives and red peppers, stirring them in and replace the lid for another few minutes cooking time, or until the liquid is absorbed. Serve with shredded cheese, giving it a good stir to make sure it has melted and merged with the ingredients.

* Could someone explain to me how I can add a whole jalapeno to a salad or pico de gallo, and the bite is mild at best, but somehow this whole one that’s cooked for a significant amount of time (isn’t that supposed to dull it’s knife-like effect?), it’s fiercely inedible? Because I’d sure like to figure this one out.

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strawberry tart – smitten kitchen

A few times a year, I fall in love with tarts all over again, and not only because Alex thinks that “fluted removable bottom tart pan” is the best name given to any kitchen tool, ever, but because there are few things not made tastier when rendered wide and shallow, in a flower-like shell. In the winter, I gush over slices of warm quiche, on a plate billowing with lightly-dressed greens, or a deep, rich, hard-to-forget ganache tartlet but in the summer, its fresh fruit or bust.

whole lemon tart

This past weekend not one but two tarts exited my kitchen in a new Envirosax tote bag, both entirely inspired by the city of Paris. The first headed for my friend Molly’s dinner party on Friday night, a take on the classic tarte au citron (lemon tart) so fabulous, I might never make stove-top curd citrus curd again. I’ve mentioned before an ongoing fascination with “whole citrus” recipes, those that know that the whole shebang–from peel to pith to pulp–smartly leveraged in a dish is infinitely more satisfying that those that just go for the more low-hanging ingredient of juice. This entire tart is made with one single lemon, ground to a pulp with sugar, then mixed with egg, melted butter and cornstarch and seared in a par-baked crust until the top is bubbly and the taste is absolutely worth bragging about. The simplicity of ingredients alone makes it worthwhile, but the grown-up flavor with the bitter, fragrant vibe straight from the lemon’s edge makes it ready for its close-up. I can’t wait to make it next with two key limes, half a ruby red grapefruit or a whole orange.

whole lemon tart

Sunday barbeques, especially ones that celebrate a certain SantaDad’s birthday, and multiple fathers’ days are no time for the new and the new-fangled. Now that we’re more or less past crumble season (baking fruit for an hour seems, well, unseemly with two window a/c units running), and berries are flooding the Greenmarkets, I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist making simple berry tarts for much longer. You start with a fully-baked sweet tart shell, make a simple crème patisserie (pastry cream) and if you really want to blow some minds, do so with half of a fresh vanilla bean instead of extract. Simple as can be, you can make the shell, custard, and even prep the fruit the day before (custard actually keeps for several days in the fridge, longer in the freezer), and assemble it as close to the time you serve it as possible, as in the timeless words of Julia Child, “nobody likes a soggy bottom.”

classic strawberry tart

Because it’s hard to miss those jagged edges, I must mention that I have been struggling with my pate sablees (sweet cookie crusts with sugar and eggs) lately, and while I suspect there are many things to blame–namely that I don’t seem to have enough pie weights to hold the sides up in the par-bake, and was out of dried beans that could be used instead–seeing as I followed all the other rules of the tart dough–keep it cold! Don’t stretch the dough!–I have decided, somewhat illogically, to instead blame the recipe I’ve been using, which includes ground almonds. I think next time I’ll go back to a pâte sucrée (flaky pie crust with just sugar) and see if it fixes things. Eventually, however, I think I’ll have to question my skills, but I hope to put that off as long as possible. I’m sure you understand.

Whole-Lemon Tart (Tarte au Citron)

[Updated Recipe: We worked the kinks out of this recipe in a new post. See it here. You’ll love it!]

Fresh Strawberry Tart (Tarte aux Fraises)

1 fully baked 9-inch (24-cm) tart shell made from Sweet Tart Dough
Pastry cream (recipe below)
3 to 4 cups fresh strawberries, hulled

Shortly before you are ready to serve the tart, spread the pastry cream in the bottom of the baked tart shell and arrange the strawberries over the top. Le voila!

Pastry Cream
Adapted from Paris Sweets, Dorie Greenspan

1 1/4 cups (300 grams) whole milk
1/2 moist, plump vanilla bean, split and scraped or 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 large egg yolks
1/2 cup (100 grams) sugar
3 tablespoons (30 grams) cornstarch
3 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature

1. Bring the milk and vanilla bean (pulp and pod) to a boil in a small saucepan over medium heat. Cover the pan, turn off the heat, and set aside for 10 minutes. Or, if you are using vanilla extract, just bring the mil to a boil and proceed with the recipe, adding the extract before you add the butter to the hot pastry cream.

2. Working in a heavy-bottomed medium saucepan, whisk the yolks, sugar, and cornstarch together until thick and pale. Whisking all the while, very slowly drizzle a quarter of the hot milk onto the yolks. Then, still whisking, pour the rest of the liquid in a steady stream over the tempered yolks. Remove and discard the vanilla pod.

3. Put the pan over medium heat and, whisking vigorously and without stop, bring the mixture to the boil. Keep the mixture at the boil, whisking energetically, for 1 to 2 minutes, then remove the pan from the heat and scrape the pastry cream into a clean bowl. Allow the pastry cream to cool on the counter for about 3 minutes.

4. Cut the butter into chunks and stir the chunks into the hot pastry cream, continuing to stir until the butter is melted and incorporated. At this point, the cream needs to be thoroughly chilled. You can either set the bowl into a larger bowl filled with ice cubes and cold water and, to ensure even cooling, stir the cream from time to time, or refrigerate the cream, in which case you should press a piece of plastic wrap against the surface to create an airtight seal.

(The cream can be kept tightly covered in the refrigerator for up to 3 days or packed airtight and frozen for 1 month. Defrost overnight in the refrigerator and whip before using to return it to its smooth consistency.)

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dilled potato and pickled cucumber salad – smitten kitchen

This recipe was refreshed and slightly streamlined, with new photos added, in June 2017.

One of our favorite things about this salad is that it is as much vegetables — crunchy, delicious ones, half of which are lightly pickled — as it is potatoes, so it feels like something you might eat with dinner in warmer weather, and not only as a grilling side dish.

My preference is to assemble potato salads just an hour or two before eating it, so I mix everything and keep the mayo separate until needed. I actually found upon revisiting this recipe that I only needed half the mayo amount to get the salad as dressed as I want it (as dressed as you see here) but as this recipe has been on the site for 10 years and few have complained, I’m leaving it as written.

This makes a lot of salad. It absolutely feeds a crowd.

  • 6 tablespoons distilled white vinegar
  • 4 teaspoons coarse kosher salt
  • 2 1-pound English (also sold as hothouse or seedless) cucumbers, very thinly sliced
  • A few branches plus 3 tablespoons chopped fresh dill
  • 3 1/4 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes (about 10 medium), unpeeled
  • Additional coarse kosher salt
  • 1 cup very thinly sliced white onion
  • 8 radishes, trimmed, thinly sliced
  • 3/4 cup mayonnaise

The day before, make pickles: Pour vinegar and 4 teaspoon salt into gallon-size resealable plastic bag and swish around to combine. Add cucumbers and dill branches; turn several times to coat with mixture. Refrigerate overnight. If and when you pop into the fridge, turn the bag to keep things well mixed.

Cook your potatoes: Although you don’t have to, I also like to boil my potatoes the day before, because I like them very cold, and it seems easier to get it out of the way. Boil them in a large pot salted water until tender, about 30 minutes. Drain, then cool completely. I leave them in the fridge overnight.

The next day: Drain cucumber mixture in a colander; if you’ve got an hour, you can drain it that long, but I never do. Discard brine and dill.

Assemble your salad: The original directions called for peeling your cold potatoes but I never do. Cut potatoes crosswise into 1/2-inch-thick slices. Place potatoes in large bowl; sprinkle generously with coarse salt and pepper. Add drained cucumbers, onion, sliced radishes, and remaining 3 tablespoons dill; toss to blend.

1 to 2 hours before serving: Stir mayonnaise into salad to taste. Season with additional salt and pepper. Serve cold or at room temperature.

Do ahead: Salad keeps dressed for a day. Salad keeps without mayo for a few days; I add mayo before serving. In both cases, keep it covered in the fridge.

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lemon risotto – smitten kitchen

I hate clutter. You might think that this means that I live a Type A sort of white glove test-passing existence, but anyone who knows me can vouch wholeheartedly that I do not. Because I’m lazy. But every so often (er, 28 days or so) I go on a cleaning bender and purge and sweep to my heart’s content. My inboxes get Bit Literate, absurdly insignificant things get vacuumed (dusty ledge around the walls of the apartment, your days are numbered) and things cluttered in this ever-expanding document called “to blog” get purged, well, onto your screens.

I’ve gotten especially behind this month, so I hope you don’t mind that I dump five ideas onto you and then move onto what I really want to talk about, this new awesome thing that rhymes with nacro and nens. Sad but true, this entry is the equivalent of bartering two more bites of broccoli at the dinner table to ensure that you can get a scoop of Breyers Neapolitan for dessert, but like the brown, white and pink-striped stuff always was, I’ll try to make it completely worth it in the end.

dizzying array of cucumbers

1. That 70s Salad — The mandoline and I are getting along famously. I love it, it loves me, and sometimes we giggle together over those dark days before we were together and chopping things involved a knife (!) and a cutting board (!). It was only a matter of time before I made an entire salad with it, like this one with slivered radishes, cucumber, scallions, celery and fresh cranberry beans, topped with a Dijon vinaigrette. It was terrifically fun to make, but for some reason, the arrangement on the platter reminded me precisely of a 1970s dinner party, though I couldn’t figure out why. Ah, right. “Wife Swap” was on.

lemon risotto

2. Lemon Risotto — I made this several weeks ago, and it’s fantastic in every way. There are few more awesome beddings for meat, but especially seafood, than this bright and simple risotto. You won’t believe how much flavor you can get out of the simplest ingredients. We served it alongside skinny asparagus that had been roasted to a crisp with flaky sea salt and olive oil, seared fattie scallops with coins of garlic that had been topped with…

mega scallop, arugula pesto

3. Arugula Pesto — After finding ourselves with a ridiculous amount of fresh, sharp arugula in the fridge and no immediate desire to make a salad, I made a quick pesto with it with the usual ingredients–olive oil, toasted pine nuts, parmesan and salt–and while it was great, I’m not sure I fell for the intense bitterness. Alex and our friends loved it with the scallops, but I’m not convinced they weren’t being nice. That doesn’t leave you with much in the way of advice, but I think it’s worth a try, perhaps with just a handful of arugula to see if it’s your thing before moving onto a massive batch.

couscous salad with spinach

4. Spinach Salad with Couscous — This, my friends, I’m sorry to say is a dud. I made it, along with that lemon tart to bring to a dinner party last Friday and wow, was I not pleased with its egregiously flat and excessively raw, green taste. We finally dumped a cup of crumbled feta in it, which helped, but mostly I’m just telling you about this because I tried it and so now you don’t have to. I hear a lot of good things about Patricia Wells, but I’m going to have a wait a while before I give her a chance to redeem herself. Any bets on this?

campari cocktail

5. Campari Cocktail — Hoo boy, I have fallen so hard for Campari, it’s practically all I can talk about. I had a Campari cocktail for the first time at Cookshop several weeks ago, and while my first reaction was “damn, that’s harsh” my second was, predictably, “I must have more.” What I find unbelievably refreshing about it is the bitterness, followed by that fantastic garnet hue. In the world of cocktails, there’s tart, there’s sour, there’s even a little spicy but mostly, there’s way, way, way too much sweet. This is the opposite in every way. There are a lot of fancy recipes out there for Campari cocktails, all of which look fantastic, but our at-home simple one has been ice cubes, 1/4 glass Campari , mostly filled with seltzer, followed by a short glug of sweet vermouth and a longer one of grapefruit juice. Yeah, yeah, I know that’s not much of a recipe, but I promise, it works.

And if you’ll excuse me, it 10 p.m. and I haven’t had one yet, and this must be immediately addressed.

done

Makes 6 first-course or 4 main-course servings.

6 cups canned low-salt chicken broth
3 1/2 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil
2 large shallots, chopped
2 cups arborio rice or medium-grain white rice
1/4 cup dry white wine
1 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (about 3 ounces)
2 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
4 teaspoons grated lemon peel

Bring broth to simmer in large saucepan over medium heat. Reduce heat to low; cover to keep warm. Melt 1 1/2 tablespoons butter with oil in heavy large saucepan over medium heat. Add shallots and saute until tender, about 6 minutes. Add rice; stir 1 minute. Add wine and stir until evaporated, about 30 seconds. Add 1 1/2 cups hot broth; simmer until absorbed, stirring frequently. Add remaining broth 1/2 cup at a time, allowing broth to be absorbed before adding more and stirring frequently until rice is creamy and tender, about 35 minutes. Stir in cheese and remaining 2 tablespoons butter. Stir in parsley, lemon juice, and lemon peel. Season risotto with salt and pepper. Transfer to bowl and serve.…

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