a victory song

We'll be back to regularly scheduled dinner party programming tomorrow. But for now, let's just practice these words again and again: President Barack Obama.

I can't wait until January 20. Until then, I'll be playing this song.

The Underdog, by Spoon

Picture yourself in the living room
your pipe and slippers set out for you
I know you think that it ain't too far

But I hear the call of a lifetime ring
felt the need to get up for it
oh you cut out the middleman
get free from the middleman

You got no time for the messenger,
got no regard for the thing that you don't understand,
you got no fear of the underdog,
that's why you will not survive!

I wanna forget how convention fits
but can I get out from under it?
Can I gut it out of me?
It can't all be wedding cake
It can't all be boiled away
I try but I can't let go of it
Can't let go of it,

Cause you don't talk to the water boy
and there's so much you could learn but you don't want to know,
You will not back up an inch ever,
that's why you will not survive!

The thing that I tell you now
It may not go over well
And it may not be photo-op
in the way that I spell it out

But you won't hear from the messenger,
don't wanna know bout something that you don't understand,
You got no fear of the underdog,
that's why you will not survive! (Hey!)

chicken vs. broken glass

Happy election day eve to my U.S. readers. I hope everyone gets out to the polls tomorrow and votes for Barack Obama, the only candidate fit to lead this country out of the incomprehensible mess we're in.

To bring it back to food, a more appropriate topic for this blog, here's David Sedaris on undecided voters:

To put them in perspective, I think of being on an airplane. The flight attendant comes down the aisle with her food cart and, eventually, parks it beside my seat. “Can I interest you in the chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer the platter of shit with bits of broken glass in it?”

To be undecided in this election is to pause for a moment and then ask how the chicken is cooked.

I mean, really, what’s to be confused about?

link-o-rama

Happy Candy Day, everybody.

Some Halloween-themed food links for your viewing pleasure:

The world's scariest foods. (No, not Sandra Lee.) [via Food & Wine]

A video showing how Candy Corn is made from Food Network's Unwrapped. [via Serious Eats]

Top 10 worst Halloween candies (Eww...Necco wafers!) [via Serious Eats]

And, OMG, these peanut butter crispy bars look a million times better than the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups I'll no doubt be scarfing all night. [via Smitten Kitchen]

a prosh-er pear crisp

I've professed my love for fruit crisps and crumbles before, but my affection only grows stronger in the fall. Crisps are the perfect vehicle for autumnal fruits like apples, pears, and cranberries. And crisps are one of the best desserts for dinner parties when you just want to serve something delicious and unfussy. (What other desserts are ever as good as something simple, really?)

About a week ago, I found a recipe for pear crisps with vanilla brown butter. Smitten Kitchen described them prosh (am I the only one who didn't know what that means?), which piqued my interest, in addition to the brown butter. Brown butter! In a dessert! You could put brown butter on a newspaper and I would probably take a nibble. So I printed out the recipe and whipped it up for Megan's dinner, wanting something fall-ish and special. And, totally prosh, of course. Luckily this recipe delivered. The filling is delicious, but it's also the easiest and best crisp topping I've ever made.

One caveat: apologies to Gourmet magazine and SK (who really is the Queen of the Food Blogs in my book—very prosh indeed) but this recipe is misleadingly named. Yes, there's nutty brown butter and aromatic vanilla in the filling. But the flavor that really came through for me was from the handful of almonds in the crunchy topping. This is partially due to the fact that I, being cheap, substituted vanilla extract for an actual vanilla bean. (It's a recession, people.) Somehow buying a vanilla bean just seems too decadent, even for me. I obviously need to work on this issue.

Vanilla aside, the flavor is excellent, especially if you like desserts that aren't sweet-sweet. A dusting of confectioner's sugar on top was a nice finishing touch, but a scoop of vanilla ice cream will make this crisp so good your eyes will roll back in your head.

Pear crisps with vanilla brown butter
(Serves about 6 people)
Topping:
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour (I used 1 1/2 cups gluten-free flour)
1 cup whole almonds with skin
1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 stick unsalted butter, melted and cooled

Filling:
1 vanilla bean, split lengthwise (or 2 Tbsp. vanilla extract)
1/2 stick unsalted butter
1/4 cup packed light brown sugar
2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
3 lb firm-ripe Anjou or Bartlett pears (about 6), peeled and coarsely chopped
2 tablespoons pear brandy or eau-de-vie (I used Calvados, apple brandy)

To make the topping, pulse together flour, almonds, brown sugar, and salt in a food processor until nuts are finely chopped. Add butter and pulse just until blended. Coarsely crumble in a shallow baking pan (I put it in a small bowl) and chill at least 1 hour.

Preheat oven to 425 degrees with rack in middle. To make the filling: if using a vanilla bean, scrape the seeds into a small heavy saucepan, then add pod and butter and cook over medium-low heat, swirling pan occasionally, until butter is browned and fragrant, about 4 minutes. While butter browns, stir together sugars, flour, and a pinch of salt in a large bowl. Add pears and brandy and toss to combine. Discard vanilla pod (or add extract), then toss butter with pear mixture. Spoon filling into gratin dishes (or one 9-inch baking dish) and sprinkle with topping, mounding it slightly in the center. In using ramekins, put them in a shallow baking pan, or just put the baking dish in the oven and bake 30 minutes. Rotate baking sheet and bake until topping is golden brown and filling is bubbling, 10 to 15 minutes more. Cool to warm or room temperature before serving.

dinner for an old friend

Cooking a meal for someone is an incredibly intimate act. It may not be the most intimate thing you can share, but it's pretty close.

Dinner parties are all about making great food and wanting people to be full and happy. But when you cook for someone—whether you're nuking some nachos or preparing a five-course meal—you're also seeking approval. Does he like the salad? Is there too much salt? Are they really enjoying dessert, or just being polite? In between bites, you really want your friends and family to think you're clever, or cool, or talented, or maternal, or thoughtful, or all of the above. When I cook for Dan, I want him to feel cared for, when I cook for friends, I want them to be impressed, when I cook for my family, I want them to be proud of me. Of course, I want people to enjoy themselves. But deep down, at times unconsciously, I want people to like me.

My dinner parties are all about other people, but they are also about me. Does that make me a narcissist? Maybe. At least everyone's getting something out of it, right?

Last Saturday, Megan, one of my best friends from childhood, came over for dinner. From age twelve to nineteen, we spent hours on the phone talking about God knows what, shared Sassy magazines, went trick-or-treating together and later, to prom with our boyfriends. We swore we'd always be best friends. And then we went our separate ways to college and like a lot of high school friends, new experiences and people and interests formed an enormous gulf between us.

And now we're adults. With jobs, and serious relationships, and suddenly living in New York at the same time. It's kind of weird, thinking about what Megan was like when she was thirteen and now she's sitting in my living room, almost thirty. And I'm almost thirty too. So much time lost and so many things to learn about each other and catch up on—if we can get past the time lost.

I think we can.

It begins with a meal. A meal designed for a cool and rainy fall night, but also to help her see what I'm about now and what I've been doing all this time. Although we all know a meal can't really do that. At best, a good meal can silence the fumbling awkwardness. It can inspire people to sit a little closer and tell stories and listen and really, truly laugh.

Dinner for Megan
Lamb meatballs with yogurt sauce
Roasted beet salad with fried capers and parsley
Garlic soup with mussels
Pear crisp

Garlic Soup with Mussels
As Wednesday Chef says, this soup (shown above) puts moules frites to shame. It's the perfect impressive yet easy dinner party recipe.
(Serves 4 people)

2 lbs. mussels, scrubbed and debearded
1 cup dry white wine
3 Tbsp. olive oil
6 garlic cloves, minced
1 baguette, cut into 12 (half-inch) slices
1 egg yolk
1 Tbsp. red wine vinegar
1 cup (4 ounces) grated Gruyere
1 to 2 tsp. piment d'Espelette or chili powder (I used paprika)

Place the mussels, wine and 1 cup of cold water in a large saucepan over moderately high heat. Cover and cook until the shells open, 4 to 6 minutes. Strain the mussels into a colander, collecting the juices in a bowl placed below. Heat the olive oil in a saucepan over low heat, add the garlic, and cook, stirring constantly, until pale gold, 3 to 4 minutes. Do not let brown. Add the mussel juice to the garlic, raise the heat to medium and bring to a boil. Cover, lower the heat to very low, and simmer for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, remove the mussels from the shells. Lightly toast the bread. Remove the soup from the heat. Combine the egg yolk, vinegar and a couple tablespoons of the soup in a mixing bowl and beat vigorously with a whisk until the mixture gets foamy. Slowly pour the mixture back into the remaining soup, continuing to beat with a whisk. To serve, place a few baguette slices, 3 to 4 tablespoons of grated cheese and some mussels on the bottom of 4 wide soup bowls, cover with soup and dust with piment d'Espelette (or paprika).


Beet Salad with Horseradish and Fried Capers
Another winner from Wednesday Chef! The fried capers really make this salad, don't skip this step. I added sprigs of flat-leaf parsley for color and a bit of greenery, but you could also use watercress or maiche. I also recommend peeling the beets ahead of time because it's easier to peel them before you roast them and they get soft.
(Serves 4 people)

1 1/2 lbs. small beets, trimmed, scrubbed, and peeled
1/4 cup olive oil, plus more for beets and frying capers
2 Tbsp. salt-packed or brined capers
1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 1/2 Tbsp. horseradish, more to taste
1 Tbsp. white wine vinegar
1 Tbsp. sour cream
Salt to taste
Handful flat-leaf parsley, stems removed

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Place beets on half of a large piece of aluminum foil. Drizzle with a tablespoon of olive oil. Fold the foil and seal the edges. Lay package on a baking sheet and place it in the oven. Roast until beets are tender, 45 to 60 minutes. (Test by poking a fork through the foil into a beet.) Remove from the oven. Be careful when opening the foil; steam will race out. When they've cooled slightly, slice the beets into wedges slice into wedges and place in a bowl. Soak salt-packed capers for 10 minutes, drain, rinse, then pat dry. (If using brined capers, drain and pat dry.) Pour 1/2 inch olive oil into a small saucepan over medium-high heat. When oil is hot enough to toast a bread crumb in 30 seconds, add capers. Be careful; oil may sputter. Fry until capers fluff and begin to brown on edges, 30 to 60 seconds. Drain on paper towels. In a small bowl, whisk together mustard, horseradish and vinegar. Whisk in 1/4 cup oil, followed by sour cream. Pour half the dressing over beets; mix. Taste, adding more dressing or salt, if needed. Plate the beets and sprinkle with fried capers and parsley.

strawberries for fall

I ate roasted strawberries for the first time a few weekends ago at a new restaurant in our neighborhood called Bussaco. Dinner was good, but it was a dessert that really got me: a milky vanilla-bean infused panna cotta topped with roasted strawberries. When roasted, the berries took on a deeper flavor and color, and a bright, rosy sauce I literally licked up with my fingers. I've always thought of strawberries as purely summer fruit, but when roasted they're so fall. Of course I had to try to make them at home the night after our dinner out. While vanilla-based desserts really allow the berries to shine (rice pudding or ice cream would be heavenly) they were also very tasty with chocolate pudding.

Roasted strawberries
(Serves about 4 people)
2 pints fresh strawberries, washed and de-stemmed
1/4 cup light brown sugar

Heat your oven to 400 degrees. Place the berries on a baking sheet and sprinkle with the sugar, tossing them to coat. Bake for about 25 to 30 minutes, or until the berries are soft and slightly shriveled. Reserve the juice. Try not to eat it all with a spoon.

chocolate pudding two ways

I'm crazy about pudding. I know, I know. Granny food. Sludge from a packet. Bill Cosby.

Pudding tends to get a bad rap, but hear me out. When made from scratch, it is really, really, good stuff, even dinner party fare. It's the homiest of desserts—warm, and rich, and comforting. Especially when eaten out of a mug. And so easy to whip up, not much more complicated than making a powdered mix that comes in a box. I think chocolate pudding was the first recipe I memorized by heart from making it so many times. Although my version isn't quite Cooks Illustrated material.

Slapdash chocolate pudding
(Serves 1 person, give or take)
Grab a pot. Pour in two big spoonfuls of cocoa powder, two big spoonfuls of cornstarch, three or four big spoonfuls of sugar. Stir until combined. Pour in 1 cup or so of milk. Turn on the heat. Stir until the mixture comes to a boil, bubbles, and thickens. Throw in a handful of semi-sweet chocolate chips and turn off the heat. Stir the chocolate and a splash of vanilla extract until it is combined. Eat your pudding out of the pot and scrape up any remaining traces of it with your fingers. Chocolate pudding smeared across your face is a nice look.

Last week I got my usual cool-weather hankering for pudding, but while rummaging through our cabinets for cocoa powder, I considered the idea that maybe my pudding could be a smidge better. My method, while somewhat unreliable (on the rare occasion it can be cloyingly sweet or too thin, but it's always edible), is mindless and fast when you just NEED dessert and there aren't any cookies in the house. And, between us, it's also an honest representation of the way I really cook. But maybe a proper recipe, with eggs, and a dab of butter, and, uh, actual measurements would be better? Worth a shot, anyway, right? I pulled out my Food & Wine 30th anniversary issue, which is full of great recipes (archived here), and found Richard Sax's double-chocolate pudding. The copy promised it had "intense flavor and a silky texture that’s still firm enough to stand a spoon in." Sold!

Double-chocolate pudding
The addition of eggs makes this pudding thick and rich, as advertised. But be sure to whisk the cornstarch liquid as thoroughly as possible to avoid lumps—which mine had. Or maybe because I didn't bother to strain it? Whatever. When Dan asked what the lumps were, I just told him they were bits of unmelted chocolate. And he believed me!
(Serves about 6 people)

2 1/4 cups whole milk
1/2 cup sugar
Pinch of salt
2 Tbsp. cornstarch
3 Tbsp. unsweetened cocoa powder
1 large egg
2 large egg yolks
5 oz. semisweet or bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped (I used chocolate chips)
2 Tbsp. unsalted butter, cut into pieces
1 tsp vanilla extract
Whipped cream, for serving

In a medium saucepan, combine 2 cups of the milk with 1/4 cup of the sugar and the salt and bring to a boil over moderate heat, stirring to dissolve the sugar. Remove from the heat. In a medium bowl, whisk the cornstarch with the cocoa and the remaining 1/4 cup of sugar until blended. Add the remaining 1/4 cup of milk and whisk until smooth. Whisk this mixture into the hot milk in the saucepan and bring to a boil over moderate heat, whisking constantly. Reduce the heat to moderately low and simmer, whisking constantly, until the pudding is thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, about 2 minutes. In a medium bowl, whisk the whole egg with the egg yolks. Gradually whisk about 1 cup of the hot cocoa mixture into the eggs until thoroughly incorporated, then pour it back into the saucepan. Cook the pudding over moderate heat, whisking constantly, until it just comes to boil, about 2 minutes. Strain the pudding into a medium heatproof bowl. Add the chopped chocolate, butter and vanilla and whisk until the chocolate and butter are melted and incorporated and the pudding is smooth, about 2 minutes. Transfer the pudding to six 6-ounce ramekins (or one large bowl) and refrigerate until chilled. Serve with lightly whipped cream.