candied, fruity and drunk – smitten kitchen

Don’t laugh, but I think this post might be the closest I have come to service journalism on this site. I say this because, honestly, I have no idea what I am going to do with three batches of cranberry sauce I’ve cooked over the last week, but if at least one them makes it home with you, I suppose this effort won’t be a waste after all. Is this as noble and un-self-serving of me as it sounds? Of course not — I love cranberry sauce — I just have a little bit more than a two-person household should ever need.

classic cranberry sauce with orange peel

I’m not sure if it was because I was a vegetarian and without the turkey, the cranberry sauce made no sense, because I thought it always came from a can in a fun-to-play-with but terrifying-to-eat cylinder, or because I just didn’t like it, but I never ate cranberry sauce growing up. It wasn’t until my first year in New York when I lived in a worn and infested fourth-floor walkup on Avenue B with my friend Dan that I had the real deal, and completely fell in love. Dan’s from Massachusetts and from what I understand, they take cranberry sauce pretty seriously up there, or at least he did, simmering, zesting oranges and carefully sifting through the rinsed bag for deflated or still stem-attached berries. This classic cranberry sauce recipe (which I am sure he’ll tell me I’m getting wrong) will always be my favorite, stirred into plain or vanilla yogurt or simply taken spoon-to-mouth. I hedge on the sugar a little, preferring it on the tart side, but I never skimp on the orange peel, as there’s a reason it is so often paired with cranberries: they bring out the best in each other. A few julienned or thick-zested strips in the sauce is one of my favorite parts; simmered in the stunning rouge syrup, they candy like an orangette, and are a fantastic surprise when you run across them in your hungry tasting. Lest you need any more evidence of its greatness, look how little we have left from a week ago.

mixed-berry quick cranberry sauce

The second cranberry sauce is Alex’s mother’s recipe and his family’s absolute favorite, despite my efforts to convert them to the back-of-the-bag classic. It’s terrifyingly simple (I’ll let you find out for yourself at the end, but promise that you’ll laugh), but I’m warning you, addictive. With mixed berries and walnuts, it seems more dessert than dinner, in my opinion, and the spoonful we had over vanilla gelato two nights ago was almost unbearably delicious. Alex’s mother told him she had a new recipe to try this year – something with jalapenos and ingredients that scare me – and he said, “sure, sounds good, but only if you make the other one, too.”

well ain't you the prettiest thing

The final recipe is a new one and for the record, my husband was absolutely horrified at the thought of it, but I persevered. I mean, port? Love it. Balsamic? Ditto. Dried figs? Yum. Black pepper? Intriguing. Rosemary? Could be. Brown sugar? Hells yeah. All together with cranberries? Er, ah, …it took me an hour to even try it and even now, I’m just not sure I fell in love. (Right now, Alex is biting his tongue, but I’m sure it won’t be long until he says “told you so!”). It’s … (hang on, let me try it again) … wine-y. I think it would go well with turkey, or even some roasted potatoes. I’m just not sure it’s good for spooning, and if there’s anything the above two recipes should hint to you, it’s that I like the stand-alone cranberry sauce. At your Thanksgiving table, however, I’m sure it will get no complaints, a sauce for the sauced grownups, if you will.

roses, even prettier on their way out

Homemade Whole Cranberry Sauce
Adapted from the back of the Ocean Spray cranberry bag, and my friend Dan

Makes 2 1/4 cups

3/4 cup granulated sugar
1 cup water
1 (12-ounce) package fresh or frozen cranberries, rinsed, drained and sorted through, removing any stems or deflated ones
Several julienned strips of orange peel, or thick pieces of zest
A few squeezes of orange juice

Combine water and sugar in a medium saucepan. Bring to boil; add cranberries and zest, return to boil. Reduce heat and boil gently for 10-14 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add a few squeezes of fresh orange juice. Cover and cool completely at room temperature. Refrigerate until serving time.

Alex’s Mother’s Cranberry Sauce

1 15-ounce can jellied cranberry sauce
1 15-ounce can whole-berry cranberry sauce
1 bag frozen mixed berries, not defrosted
1 handful chopped walnuts

Break up the jellied cranberry sauce into chunks in a large bowl. Add remaining ingredients. Stir. Frozen berries will melt as it sits.

Cranberry Sauce with Port and Dried Figs
Adapted from Bon Appetit, November 2001

Makes about 3 1/2 cups

1 2/3 cups ruby Port
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
1/4 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
8 dried black Mission figs, stemmed, chopped
1 6-inch-long sprig fresh rosemary
1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 12-ounce bag fresh cranberries
3/4 cup sugar

Combine first 6 ingredients in medium saucepan. Bring to boil, stirring until sugar dissolves. Reduce heat to low and simmer 10 minutes. Discard rosemary. Mix in cranberries and 3/4 cup sugar. Cook over medium heat until liquid is slightly reduced and berries burst, stirring occasionally, about 6 minutes. Cool. Transfer sauce to bowl; chill until cold.

Do ahead: Cranberry sauce can be prepared 1 week ahead. Cover and keep refrigerated.

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excuses, excuses – smitten kitchen

First let me tell you how last night was supposed to go, because I’m telling you, it was going to be lovely. I’d finally convinced Alex that it had been long enough since our last visit to Tabla’s Bread Bar — which as many long-time readers might know, is only my most favored restaurant in the entire world — that it would be only right to get back there, stat. [Plus, OMG, Floyd Cardoz just came out with a cookbook! Like last week! I know, I can’t believe I haven’t bought it yet either! Breathe.] The plan was to meet there at 6 p.m. and then after — psst, this is the really cool part — go to the observation deck at the Empire State Building. I’ve never been, but read recently that it’s now open until 2 a.m. on Thursdays through Saturdays and is actually remarkably empty as it gets later. Yesterday was warm and clear, a real November treat, and I could not imagine a better time to go.

So, I folded up the tripod, the telephoto lens, the remote clicker and our camera, tucked the in two bags and I’m sorry, but this is the bad part… I fell down the stairs. I just… I was carrying stuff and wearing heels and rushing and I’m pretty freaking clumsy anyhow and all of these factors came together in the worst possible was between the third and second-floor landings. It scared the living crap out of me, as you can imagine, kind of watching it happen but not able to stop it or know how it will end. I thought I was okay, I mean I am here, right? but as it has actually turned out, I fractured my clavicle. (The camera and lenses are, remarkably okay, er, a little less so, the evidence of my ass-over-teakettle tumble on the freshly-painted stairway wall.) I can’t believe it either; it sucks quite a bit in terms of discomfort, sling and have I mentioned that I’m left-handed and guess what? So, there’s that too. But, it could have been so much worse and I’m only supposed to be sling-ed up for two or three weeks and look, I typed this whole thing with my right hand! (Thankfully, the same side as the backspace key.)

I know what you’re thinking: the things she’ll do to get out of NaBloPoMo! Just two or three weeks, eh? How convenient! And “falling down the stairs?” What a cliche! But, it’s true, and while I have all sorts of little recipes planned for Alex and I to cook together, with no ability to chop or do dishes (suh-weeet) alas, odds are not good it will be daily. I’m bummed! This was really fun! But I’ll be back before you know it, as I have a crazed suspicion that the no-knead bread of Mark Bittman fame can totally be done with one hand.

whoops

Can I get a “yeah!” on that?

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the opposite of suffering – smitten kitchen

To stop this pity party in it’s tracks, let me tell you what I have actually done this weekend, because I got to say that aside from the obvious unpleasantries — a smattering of bruises on my every appendage, the inability to put my hair in a ponytail or even put socks on without help, embarrassment of having my husband cut up my food for me in a restaurant and no wine (!) because it mixes disastrously with Advil in me — it’s been pretty sweet.

murray's everything bagel

Saturday started with one of the great one-hand-able foods of New York: the Murray’s whole wheat everything bagel. Murray’s is one of but six places left in the city that still make bagels the old-school way: by hand, with malt and always boiled. Just don’t ask them to toast them, because they’re almost always right out of the oven. I’ve got a near-constant hankering for their low-fat scallion cream cheese, but I’ve, you know, heard from other people that their strawberry cream cheese? Tastes like danish and is mildly addictive.

cringe!

Next up was the undaunted Sarah Brown’s Cringe TV pilot shooting. I know this probably wasn’t the best time to do something crowded and public as there is just no way to casually tell people that you are wearing a sling because you fell down the stairs last night – “Oops!” – but it was so nice to be out. We laughed for hours (“We all lie, Deb.”), and did I mention we hung out with a fish, a dooce and a girl who says she pretty much hates everything but I don’t believe her? And that they all pretended to know who I was? I’m a sucker for flattery.

chocolate samples

And today, we hit the annual Chocolate Show which was so good it almost made up for being aggravatingly crowded with people who do not consider slinged shoulders things worth avoiding bumping into. I have now consumed about a half-ounce of quality chocolate for almost every bruise on my body, and as soon as I can match that in bourbon, I have no doubt the world will finish righting itself.

chocolate samples

chocolate samples

Tonight, Alex makes dinner – it’s an old, odd favorite that I hope will become one of yours, too. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow, by which time, I hope to be up to 22 words per minute.

chocolate samples

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no-knead bread – smitten kitchen

While I know I’m not the first food blogger to post about the magical, no-knead bread of Jim Lahey at the Sullivan Street Bakery fame in the five whole days since The New York Times published the recipe, since I am the only one to do it one-handed, I believe I should win. (Also, please tell me you know I am joking.) But really, we all win because… Look, just make this bread, okay? It’s dense and chewy, but unbelievably moist. The crust is crisp but not leathery, you don’t need to gnash your teeth and injure your gums to get through it. The loaf rivals even the most exciting results of my fifteen hours of bread-baking classes, and aside from the part where Alex will be furious because I didn’t wait for him to get home and endangered myself lifting a 19-lb 450 degree pot out of the oven, it can totally be done one-handed.

holes like swiss cheese!

This is why the bread is so vastly superior to other loaves: one, it has a very wet, sticky dough. Yeast loves this; it’s the ideal environment for it to invade and multiply. But, breads this wet are nearly impossible to knead – it’s more like smearing dough across the counter, doable, but not very pleasant. Two, it uses very little yeast and less is always more in bread-making. Sure, a bread that requires nearly a tablespoon of yeast is super-speedy to make, but it doesn’t have as much time to develop all of the rich flavor and texture in a long-tenured rise. Finally, as Bittman notes in the article, the bread is a dream-come-true because that crazy step at the end – baking it in a covered Dutch oven, or a casserole dish if you don’t have one – creates a misty, humid environment like the one introduced in the early stages in a professional bread oven. This moisture keeps the bread chewy and delightful, and allows for a dreamy crust to form.

no-knead bread

And this is the part where I show you a way around the ingredient New York City ran out of faster than pumpkin puree the day before Thanksgiving: instant yeast. I had none, Fresh Direct had none, and rather than sending my already-overworked husband on a wild goose chase through our neighborhood grocery stores for it, I did a little Googling, finding none other that Rose Levy Berenbaum explaining what the big instant brouhaha is all about.

Instant yeast is also known as Rapid Rise, Bread Machine, SAF, QuickRise, Instant Active Dry, and Gourmet Perfect Rise. The process by which the instant yeast is dried and put into dormancy results in more live yeast cells when the yeast is activated, which means that you use only 3/4 the volume of active dry yeast. The goal here is reliability and ease, not speed. The yeast came about with the advent of bread machines, as proofing yeast in warm water would have been an extra step, and with a bread machine most people want to put everything in it at once and walk away, or even leave it overnight to wake up to freshly baked bread the next morning.

Did you catch that part about the3/4-volume? A little math, and we determined that 1/3 of a teaspoon of the active dry yeast we had in the fridge would be an ideal exchange — even better, it worked — so fret not if your store, too, is out of this suddenly-vaunted ingredient.

so darn good

“No-knead” bread, glorified elsewhere:

No-Knead Bread
Adapted from Jim Lahey at the Sullivan Street Bakery via Mark Bittman at New York Times

Yields one 1 1/2 pound loaf

3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting
1/4 teaspoon instant yeast
1 1/4 teaspoons salt
Cornmeal or wheat bran as needed.

1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 5/8 cups water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.

2. Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.

3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.

4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450°F. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.

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tomato and sausage risotto – smitten kitchen

[Note: This risotto got some fresh photos in 2020.]

Alex cooked dinner last night and, oh, what a meal he made! Two weeks ago, my mother forwarded me this Tomato and Sausage Risotto recipe from her Martha Stewart Everyday Food newsletter — like it surprises you that it runs in the family — with only the caption “this was very good.” I have been meaning to make it ever since, but I guess we can argue I lost my chance. As I put together a grocery order on Saturday night, aligning it to recipes Alex would want to cook this week and food I could assemble for myself while working at home, this risotto was at the top.

what you'll need

Because it’s fantastic! And really, how could it not be? Mom recommends it. It’s thick, hearty, actually contains flesh (something of a rarity on this site, I realize) and enough greens that if you’re too tuckered out to also assemble a salad, oh, it’s already in there. Of interest to nobody but me, it’s also ridiculously easy to eat with one hand, so gloppy and chunky in all of the best ways, as well as a most delicious of one-bowl meals.

And then he did the dishes.

brown the sausage and onionadd the riceadd the tomatoessimmer and stiradd the spinachtomato and sausage risotto

As for the whole, you know, sling thing, I’m feeling a little better. The myriad of bruises are edging into rainbow stage, an eyesore but as any klutz knows, the first step in the right direction. Morning seems to be the worse time as I’ve stubbornly refused to take the heavier painkillers they’ve prescribed me, the thought of being groggy or even dizzy more frightening than discomfort. This morning, I plopped myself on the sofa waiting for the Advil to kick in and though I’ve resisted this so far, flipped on the morning talk shows. If there could be a better sign that I had made the right choice, Martha (OMG! Martha!!1!) herself was on, explaining Borat to her audience as “poopy humor.” Oh people, how could this not be a good day?

tomato and sausage risotto

Tomato and Sausage Risotto

  • 1 can (28 ounces) diced tomatoes in juice
  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 3/4 pound sweet or hot Italian sausage, casings removed
  • 1 small onion, finely chopped
  • Coarse salt and ground pepper
  • 1 cup arborio rice
  • 1/2 cup dry white wine
  • 1 bunch flat-leaf spinach (10 to 14 ounces), washed well, tough stems removed, chopped (about 7 cups)
  • 1/2 cup grated parmesan cheese, plus more for serving (optional)
  • 2 tablespoons butter
In a small saucepan, combine tomatoes (with their juice) and 3 cups water. Bring just to a simmer; keep warm over low heat. [Updated note: I never do this. You can easily add cold liquids to risotto, just takes a few moments extra to absorb.]

In a medium saucepan, heat oil over medium. Add sausage and onion; season with salt and pepper. Cook, breaking up sausage with a spoon, until sausage is opaque and onion has softened, 3 to 5 minutes.

Add rice; cook, stirring until well coated, 1 to 2 minutes. Add wine; cook, stirring until absorbed, about 1 minute.

Add about 2 cups hot tomato mixture to rice; simmer over medium-low heat, stirring occasionally, until absorbed, 4 to 5 minutes. Continue adding tomato mixture, 1 cup at a time, waiting for one cup to be absorbed before adding the next, stirring occasionally, until rice is creamy and just tender, about 25 minutes total (you may not have to use all the liquid).

Remove pan from heat. Stir in spinach, parmesan, and butter; season with salt and pepper. Serve immediately (risotto will thicken as it cools), and sprinkle with additional parmesan, if desired.

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sundried tomato stuffed mushrooms – smitten kitchen

I’m so torn today, people. I’m trying to maintain that whole stiff upper lip thing because complaining that waah, my shoulder hurts more, and boo, the bruises are getting uglier and also, my left foot is mysteriously swollen, isn’t going to solve anything. I mean, bitching and moaning? I hear there’s a real shortage of that on the internet. On the other hand, sometimes just the smallest amount of venting — petty as it may be — is all it takes so simply get over oneself. I mean, I fell down the stairs, did I think the next couple weeks were going to be a cinch? Like, duh.

But since I’ve already slipped into my less-savory side for the moment, can I mention the big purchase Alex and I made last week? The thing I’ve been wanting forever and finally managed to justify the expense? That thing would be ice skates. I think they’ll arrive today. Raise your hand if you think I should go ice-skating with a bruised shin and my dominant-side shoulder in a sling. Hello? Anybody? So there’s that, too. (But its sweet the way everybody is trying to protect me from myself.)

sundried tomato stuffed mushrooms

I probably didn’t help my spirits by trying to compose a recipe last night not written for the one-handed. I had to call in the troops to get stuff chopped, and even when said troop left for his volleyball game, I was still up shit’s creek, quite close to coming back to it another day. Fortunately, the work paid off when I realized you only need about two fingers of one hand to gobble up these numbers. I think they’d make an ideal Thanksgiving appetizer.

I made the stuffed mushrooms for two reasons: one, I just happened to have almost all of the ingredients, except, notably, the mushrooms in the fridge and wanted to use them up but two, I decided it was time for a little antidote to this season of excess. Don’t get me wrong, I savor a sweet potato gratin and cornbread chorizo stuffing as much as the next person with taste buds, but isn’t it nice once in a while to have an appetizer not oozing with excess or lacking interest because you reined it in? [Seeing as it is going to be many weeks before I can down-dog or, shudder, shoulder-stand again, such regimented principles are high on my mind.]

sundried tomato stuffed mushrooms, one missing

I actually cooked these the first time almost two years ago, but realized quickly the recipe needed a few alterations. A quick pre-baking of the empty tops allows much of their liquid to drain out, saving the end-product from sogginess, and the addition of some extra shallot and a clove or two of garlic gives the flavor the little oomph it needs. Alex would like it to be noted that he feels a crumbled strip or two of bacon would really perfect them, but I didn’t see the absence of pork products mitigating his enjoyment of them. You gotta love the way that boy thinks, though, but I’ll leave it up to you what you jack up the flavors with. For you spice mavens, I’ll bet a pinch of cayenne could also make these sing.

extra filling

To wrap up this woe-is-me moment, it has thankfully passed for now. In fact, more than passed, I think I might actually be (oh my) leaving the apartment tonight to do something fun. It’s been too long.

Mushrooms Stuffed with Sun-Dried Tomatoes
Adapted from Gourmet, March 1996

1/2 ounce dried tomatoes (about 5, not packed in oil)
2 tablespoons olive oil
18 white mushrooms, stems pulled out and chopped fine and caps reserved
1/2 cup finely chopped shallots
2 garlic cloves, minced
1/3 cup fine dry bread crumbs
1 large egg yolk, beaten lightly
1/4 cup fresh parsley leaves, washed well, spun dry, and minced
1/2 teaspoon dried basil, crumbled
2 tablespoons freshly grated Parmesan

Preheat oven to 400°F.

In a small bowl soak tomatoes in hot water to cover 5 minutes. Reserving 1 tablespoon soaking liquid, drain tomatoes well and chop fine.*

Lay mushroom caps, stems removed, face down on baking sheet either lightly sprayed with cooking spray or parchment paper. Bake them approximately 10 minutes, or until their liquid puddles underneath. Remove from the oven. Carefully pour off liquid that has gathered in the bottom of the pan, and then again, carefully, turn mushroom caps over so they are ready to be filled.

In a small skillet heat oil over moderate heat until hot but not smoking and cook chopped mushrooms stems, shallots and garlic, stirring until shallots are softened. In a bowl stir together mushrooms mixture, bread crumbs, tomatoes, reserved soaking liquid, yolk, parsley, basil, and salt and pepper to taste. Mound stuffing in reserved mushroom caps and arrange caps in a lightly greased shallow baking dish, or the same parchment-lined pan you’ve roasted your mushrooms in. Sprinkle mushrooms with Parmesan and bake in middle of oven 15 minutes.

Makes 18 hors d’oeuvres.

* Can skip this step if using oil-packed tomatoes, as I did.

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jacked-up banana bread – smitten kitchen

[Psst! I introduced my Ultimate Banana Bread, a new recipe, in April 2020.]

Confession time again! You see these babies? The brown, spotty, past their prime and about 36 hours from luring in fruit flies bananas? I love them. They’re my absolute favorite. I know, I know how gross that is. I know, I know that most people would pick those up only to walk them over to the trash. I know, I know you’re horrified that I could love something so rotten, and for all of these reasons, I am forced to live my life as a closeted freckled banana eater.

The list of people who know my secret are as follows: Alex, but he married me anyway; my mother-in-law, who was about to throw some old bananas out one day and I gave myself up, yelping “wait!” at the last moment; the lady at the bodega where I get my yogurt and fruit each morning, who watches me sift daily through the bright, yellow ones on top for the sordid, unlovable ones at the bottom of the pile; Molly, who I confessed my banana sin to in a moment of cream cheese-frosted camaraderie; and now you. Go easy on me, please.

smashy smashy

My love of the spotty banana, unfortunately, conflicts with one of my other loves — banana bread. You see, exactly when the bananas hit their bread-making prime time, I don’t want to share them with anyone. I’m serious. I haven’t made it in years. But, I’m feeling generous this week, and also in need of a treat, and yes, I know so-called calorie-watching on top of my other aches and pains sounds an insult to, well, you know, but if I can’t exercise for so many weeks, something is going to have to give. Yet, seven days into this I’m itching for a little something-something, something small and tame and when I saw this recipe on Elise’s stunning site, I thought, for once, “well, maybe I could share.”

jacked-up banana bread

Oddly, and perhaps complimentary, enough, I found myself using Simply Recipes for this bread the way I use Epicurious: rummaging through each and every comment until I’m certain the adjustments I’m itching to make will work. And then? I jacked it up. I replaced white sugar with the light brown variety, and cut back on it, too; I added a splash of bourbon, salted butter and then doses of cinnamon, nutmeg and even cloves. And also, though it goes without saying by now, mixed it with one hand. I hope Elise’s friend’s friend doesn’t mind that I bastardized her recipe, I just couldn’t resist gilding the lily, as usual. And that one tablespoon of bourbon? This is no time to fixate on accurate measurements.

jacked-up banana bread

It was just what the doctor ordered. [Actually, no, the doctor this morning ordered six full weeks in the sling, but let’s just talk about that another time, okay?] Let me rephrase: this is how I interpreted what the doctor ordered, and can you blame me? This is the height of banana bread perfection and all those little extras manage to add something fantastic without overwhelming the base flavor. It’s my new go-to recipe and Elise, you did my adored bananas proud.

freckled bananas, freckled banana owner

Elise’s Friend Heidi’s Friend Mrs. Hockmeyer’s Banana Bread, As Jacked Up by Deb
Adapted from Simply Recipes

No need for a mixer for this recipe — need I say more?

[Psst! I introduced my Ultimate Banana Bread, a new recipe, in April 2020.]

3 to 4 ripe bananas, smashed
1/3 cup (75 grams) melted salted butter
3/4 to 1 cup (145 to 190 grams) light brown sugar (depending on the level of sweetness you prefer, I always use the smaller amount)
1 egg, beaten
1 teaspoon (5 ml) vanilla
1 tablespoon (15 ml) bourbon (optional)
1 teaspoon (5 grams) baking soda
Pinch of salt
1 teaspoon (3 grams) cinnamon
Up to 1/2 teaspoon (1) nutmeg
Pinch of ground cloves
1 1/2 cups (190 grams) flour

Preheat the oven to 350°F. With a wooden spoon, mix butter into the mashed bananas in a large mixing bowl. Mix in the sugar, egg, vanilla and bourbon, then the spices. Sprinkle the baking soda and salt over the mixture and mix in. Add the flour last, mix. Pour mixture into a buttered 4×8 inch loaf pan. Bake for 50 minutes to one hour, or until a tester comes out clean. Cool on a rack. Remove from pan and slice to serve.

Note: Due to my unhealthy obsession with tiny things, I split this into two mini-loaf pans. It took 45 minutes to bake two perfect halves, but of course, may run longer or shorter in your oven.

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latticed and loony – smitten kitchen

On my old iVillage.com site, someone once asked me what the trick was to making those lattice-topped pie crusts fusspots like me hold in such high regard. I admitted that many years ago, before the Food Network was the behemoth it is today, the adorable Sarah Moulton once showed her audience a method of criss-crossing those pieces so simple, I haven’t struggled with torn pieces since. Even Alex quickly learned the Moulton Method, and remains unintimidated by pie season, which is great because you know, one of us has to roll out the doughs next week!

People who have been reading this site since ever before the iVillage year might remember my sad-but-true affection for Microsoft Paint when I need to explain something but lack the language, an all-too-common state for me. Well, I’ve done it again, and I’m going to present it without comment except to say that I hope you find this helpful in either pie-making or resting assured, once and for all, that I’ve gone off the deep end.

lattice-topped loon

[Best viewed at full-size.]

But wait! There’s more!

As I am certain that many of you will be preoccupied with Thanksgiving menu-planning this weekend, I’ve rounded up some tried-and-tested dishes from the Smitten Kitchen for your menu consideration.

As always, let me/us know if you try them out. I’d love to hear about your experiences and hope they will be as successful.

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orangettes – smitten kitchen

How to make orangettes: Slice ends off four oranges, score the peel from one end to the other, and remove the peels from the oranges.

thin strips

Slice the peels into thin strips and trim the edges.

blanche

Using a medium size pot, place the peels in boiling water and blanch them for a few minutes. Rinse the peels, and repeat this process a second time. This is done to remove the bitterness of the peels.

drain

Prepare the simple syrup by combining 8 ounces water with 8 ounces sugar in a saucepan. Bring the syrup to a simmer, place the peels in the pot, and simmer for 1 hour. [Don’t do what Deb did, and not check on them, only to find that at 45 minutes the water had boiled off and many edges had begun to burn in the pan, and she wished she’d left the pot covered.] Once the peels have cooked, remove them from the pot, and place on a rack to cool and drain.

melt chocolate

Melt 16 ounces dark chocolate over a double boiler. Dip the candied orange peels in the chocolate, remove them quickly, and let them cool on a piece of parchment paper. Store the orange peels in an airtight container your belly.

orangettes

Recipe adapted from here.

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hoisin-honey pork riblets – smitten kitchen

As should not be surprising, my parents have been a little concerned about me since I called them last Friday night and said I’d had a little run-in with the stairs, but I was fine, except I couldn’t really lift my left arm and I’d bumped my head a couple times on the way down but I didn’t really have to go to the emergency room, did I? Because surely this would all be better in the morning? Alas, in the ten days since they’d explained to me six different ways ’till Sunday why that was the wrong answer, but spared me the told you so when the diagnosis was dealt, all they have wanted to know is what they can do for me. You can only tell people “nothing, I’m fine” so many times before they threaten to storm your apartment and cook you dinner — how hard is my life, eh? — and that pretty much brings us up to tonight.

miso carrot ginger dressing

Except, I am apparently allergic to such fine treatment because when mom said she wanted to make Mexican-spiced chicken cutlets, I said I wanted to make pork riblets instead. She said she’d make salad but I said there was this miso-carrot dressing I’ve been itching to try. So, mom said she would make rice — rice, people — and I said, but we have all these little red potatoes to use up and she finally gave up and just brought cake. See what you get for trying to do nice things for me?

The cake is amazing. But I’m not going to tell you about it until tomorrow, because I am certain this entry has not yet amply exemplified what a pain in the ass I can be.

sugar snapwasabi roasted potatoes

Now, one of the most cardinal, basic rules of dinner parties, and the one I consistently break is that you should never try out recipes for the first time on your guests. But when those guests are your family and have to love you either way (right now, SantaDad is guffawing) I say go to town on them. Fortunately, everything worked like a charm. The cream of wild mushroom soup was great, really great, but I’m not certain lives up to the awesomeness exemplified in the Balthazar recipe I made last year. And it’s funny, because if I had tried this first I would have loved it endlessly, but it happened the other way around and now it only gets second billing. Woe is it. The carrot-miso-ginger dressing is excellent, and I’ll make it again and also, if you have any uses for fresh miso, please let me know because I have a freaking lot of it leftover. The hoisin riblets are utter riblet perfection. Go, print out the recipe, laminate and frame it. You can thank me, and by me, I mean Epicurious.com, later. Just don’t try to cook for me. I mean because seriously, nobody deserves that kind of punishment.

a pile of Good

Hoisin and Honey Pork Riblets
Adapted from Gourmet, 1992

3 1/2 pounds pork of spareribs, halved crosswise, preferably by a butcher, and cut into individual ribs
1/3 cup honey
1/4 cup soy sauce
1 large garlic clove, minced and mashed to a paste with 1/4 teaspoon salt
1/3 cup hoisin sauce
1/2 teaspoon English-style dry mustard
1/4 cup distilled white vinegar

In a kettle of boiling salted water simmer the ribs, covered, for 30 minutes and drain them well.

In a large bowl whisk together the honey, the soy sauce, the garlic paste, the hoisin sauce, the mustard, the vinegar, and black pepper to taste, add the ribs, and toss the mixture well, coating the ribs thoroughly. Let the ribs marinate, chilled, for at least 1 hour or overnight.

Remove the ribs from the marinade, arrange them in one layer on the oiled rack of a foil-lined broiler pan, and broil them under a preheated broiler about 4 inches from the heat, basting them with the marinade, for 3 minutes. Turn the ribs with tongs and broil them, basting them with the marinade, for 2 to 3 minutes more, or until they are browned well and glazed. Discard the marinade.

Miso Carrot Dressing With Ginger
Adapted from the New York Times

Yield: About 1 1/4 cups

1/4 cup peanut or neutral oil, like grapeseed or corn
1/4 cup rice vinegar
3 tablespoons white miso, sold at Asian markets and specialty stores
1 tablespoon dark sesame oil
2 medium carrots, peeled and cut into big pieces
1 inch-long piece fresh ginger, peeled and cut into coins
Salt and freshly ground black pepper.

1. Put all ingredients except salt and pepper into food processor and pulse a few times to mince carrots. Then let machine run for a minute or so until mixture is chunky-smooth.
2. Taste and add salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately or cover tightly and refrigerate for up to several days.

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