guest post: pickling as soulcraft

Hi, all. Today we've got a guest post from my husband Daniel. But instead of writing about his usual dinner party soundtracks, here's a thoughtful piece about pickles. -Lisa

Powell’s Books in Portland, Oregon has a great website full of author interviews. Recently, I was reading one with Matthew Crawford who wrote a book called Shop Class as Soulcraft. Crawford has a Ph.D. in philosophy and owns a motorcycle repair shop in Richmond. He argues that our society no longer values manual labor. Here’s what he said to Powell’s:

[S]ome people, including some who are very smart, would rather be learning to build things or fix things [than getting a liberal arts education and working in an office]. Why not honor that? I think one reason we don’t is that we’ve had this fantasy that we’re going to somehow take leave of material reality and glide around in a pure information economy. Crawford believes we’re disconnected from handicraft not just at school and on the job but in our role as consumers, too:

[I]f you try to fix your own car nowadays, you may pop the hood and find there’s another hood under the hood; there’s a design trend to “hide the works.” It’s hard to get a handle on things. When the world lacks a basic intelligibility, it doesn’t elicit action and responsibility. The experience of individual agency can be elusive.

Coincidentally (or perhaps not), right next to the Crawford interview is an interview with Karen Solomon, author of Jam It, Pickle It, Cure It: And Other Cooking Projects. Solomon considers herself a crafter and wants to encourage people to “take that pride and ownership with their food that maybe they didn’t have before because they were buying it at the supermarket.” She says:

It becomes a fun craft project; it becomes something to be proud of; it becomes something to share as a conversation piece, and in that manner, it can be kind of infectious. To say, “Oh, do you like that butter that you’re eating on your toast, friend? Well, I made that myself.

So what does all this have to do with me? Lots! If anyone has taken leave of material reality, it’s me. I have a liberal arts education. I work in an office in front of a computer all day. I live in a small apartment in a big city: no garden, garage, or shed. I have no idea how to fix a car. The only time I really get to work with my hands is when I make dinner, and frankly, when you live with a master craftsman like Lisa, it can be hard to make yourself useful. [Ed: Aw, that's sweet. You can make yourself useful and clean the bathroom. Kidding. Or not?]

That’s why the idea of making pickles spoke to me. When my dad told me that my great grandfather used to pickle cucumbers and green tomatoes in the backyard of their Montreal home every summer, that was all I needed to hear: I knew pickling was in my blood. I ordered up my jars, scoured the web for a simple recipe, and hit the farmers market with Lisa in a matter of days.

We settled on dill cucumbers (the classic) and beans with curry (the experiment) for our first go-around. The recipe comes from Jamie Oliver’s excellent show and companion cookbook, Jamie at Home, which is a kind of primer for people who want to roll up their sleeves, dig in the dirt, and connect with food. He’s come a long way from that Naked Chef bachelor flat, hasn’t he? We used Jamie’s brine and marinade but substituted our own vegetable and herb combinations. You know what? It was pretty damned easy. But not too easy. I got to tell Lisa to stand aside while I fished the packed jars out of the pot with a colander and the wrong-sized tongs, boiling water splashing over the sides. Now that was satisfyingly manly.
Our pickles aren't even ready to eat yet (they need a couple more weeks to achieve full flavor), but we're already planning our next attempt. Call it pickling as soulcraft. Call it reconnecting with my roots. Just don't call it a barrel of fun (because that's corny).

Spicy dill pickles
Adapted from Jamie at Home.
(Makes six 1-quart jars)

For the pickling liquid:
1 quart cider or white wine vinegar
1 quart water
2 Tbsp. sea salt

For the pickling marinade:
2 cups extra-virgin olive oil
5 cloves garlic, peeled and sliced
1 large red onion, sliced thinly
1 fresh red chili, deseeded and chopped (we used 1 to 1 Tbsp. red chile flakes)

Vegetables and herbs:
2 lbs. cucumbers
1 handful dill sprigs, plus extra

Make sure you have some small sterilized jars ready to go. (To sterilize, dunk the jars and lids in boiling water for a minute or two. Remove and place on a clean dish towel.) Bring the pickling liquid ingredients to the boil in a big pan. Put the pickling marinade ingredients into a large bowl with your chosen herbs and mix well.

Place the vegetables in the boiling pickling liquid and leave for around 3 minutes—they'll probably rise to the surface, so keep pushing them down to ensure they are all immersed. Lift the pieces out with a slotted spoon and place them into your bowl of pickling marinade. Toss together—it will smell fantastic. (It did.)

Pretty much straightaway, put the hot vegetables and pickling marinade into your sterilized jars, filling them to the very top. Fill the jars with the pickling liquid, as well, dividing it evenly among the jars. Cover the vegetables completely with the liquid and put the lids on tightly.

Put the jars aside until they're cool. (We took the additional step of processing the filled jars by submerging them in boiling water for 15 minutes. This seals the wax so they’ll keep longer. Through subsequent research I’ve learned that processing the jars for a shorter period of time will give you a crisper pickle. We’ll see.)

Store the jars somewhere cool and dark—it’s best to leave them for about 2 weeks before opening so the vegetables really get to marinate well, but if you absolutely cannot wait, you can eat them sooner.

recipe for a happy thursday

1 bottle of rose wine

Diana Ross and the Supremes on the stereo.

Toasted baguette slices topped with goat cheese, pear, black pepper, and basil. (Sorry, no photo. I was distracted and we ate them too fast. But you get the idea.)

A colorful bunch of snapdragons in a mason jar.

Salad niçoise, prettily arranged on a big platter and dished out (kind of sloppily) with a big spoon.

Franny's hazelnut gelato and chocolate sorbet from the very-cute Brooklyn Larder. Spendy ($9 a pint) but worth every spoonful.

A new friend across the table who also really enjoys dining in. You cozy up on the sofa together and somehow there are a million and one topics that must be discussed and you can't get the words out fast enough. And then 11:30 rolls around and it's a school night but you just want to keep talking, and who needs sleep anyway? Wouldn't it be great to stay up all night swapping stories and talking about family, and TV shows, and bad '90s-era music?

It was such an energizing evening that after the dishes were done, my teeth were brushed, and the lights were off, all I could do was lay in bed and smile up at the ceiling. I think I'm starting to get the hang of this weeknight dinner thing.

Salad niçoise
You can serve this in individual bowls or plates, but I think a big platter makes for a prettier and more dramatic presentation.
(Serves 2 people, very generously)

1 small head lettuce (I like red leaf or Boston), washed and torn into pieces
2 eggs, hardboiled, peeled, and sliced in half
1/2 pint cherry tomatoes, cut in half
1 handful olives
1 large handful green beans (or yellow wax beans), trimmed and steamed
1 handful red-skinned potatoes, steamed and halved
1 can good-quality oil-packed tuna (I like Tonno)

For the vinaigrette:
1/2 cup olive oil
1/4 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 lemon, juiced
1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 clove garlic, minced
1 Tbsp. tarragon, minced (parsley or basil would be nice too)
salt and pepper

The only challenge in putting this dish together is cooking some of the components. I like to bring a large pot of water to a boil, and then cook everything in the same pot, removing each item when it is done. Usually, I put the eggs and potatoes in first, and after about five minutes of cooking, I add the beans for another three minutes. I remove the beans, and put them in an ice bath. When the potatoes are tender, I pour the potatoes and eggs out into another ice bath. When everything is at room temperature, you can add it to the salad.

For salad assembly, make a layer of lettuce on a platter, then top it with the ingredients, arranged in small piles or however you like. Whisk together all of the vinaigrette ingredients in a small bowl to make a dressing, then pour it over the salad. Serve immediately.

link-o-rama

It's that time of year again. Full-on summer has arrived and it is officially too hot to turn on the oven. Maybe you folks with central air-conditioning don't feel my pain (oh, how I envy you) but we are stuck with two dinky fans in a top-floor brownstone. So from now until, oh, late October, the oven will only be making cameo appearances on this site. I may make an all-popsicle dinner at some point, just you wait.

For those of you in the same boat (or not), here's some ideas to help you eat well and stay cool this summer:

Bon Appetit's week of no-cook dinners: tomato-bell pepper soup, ceviche tacos, lettuce wraps with smoked trout [via BA]

Back on another 101 kick, Mark Bittman concocts 101 recipes for simple salads. And most are oven-free! [via NYT]

Shelterrific has a round-up of oven-free dishes: toaster oven tomatoes, watermelon popsicles, curried pasta salad [via Shelterrific]

I'm not sure how I feel about dessert soups, but Chef Michael Laiskonis makes a delicious-sounding case for them over at Gourmet [via Gourmet]

Drool-worthy coconut-macadamia ice cream [via Evil Chef Mom]

Simple, good, and stove-free: strawberries topped with sour cream and cinnamon [via Lottie & Doof]

And the Kitchn has tips on keeping your kitchen cool: use a crockpot or toaster oven, drink cold beer, grill outside, cook in your underwear(!) [via the Kitchn]

an alternative to cheese and crackers

Nothing comes between me and a plate of cheese and crackers—throw in some olives and salami and I am a very happy camper. But sometimes even I get bored with cheese boards as a pre-dinner snack.

Lately, I've been making homemade pizza for dinners on Sunday nights. It feels sort of special, I always have time to make pizza dough on a weekend, and a whole pie leaves us with leftovers for lunch on Monday. For my rustic Italian-ish dinner a few weeks ago, I thought about making something similar for an appetizer but with less toppings—more like a flatbread. I didn't want everyone to fill up too much before dinner, so instead of piling it high with vegetables like I usually do, I kept things simple with sauteed red onions and a sprinkling of parmesan.

It ended up being a great idea. Paired with beer and cocktails, the pizza went down easy without overshadowing dinner. But if you were planning a light meal, it would easily work as a main course with some salad. Or perhaps some meat and cheese...which completely defies my original plan.

Caramelized onion flatbread
I've made this pizza dough recipe, adapted from Louise Pickford's book Grilling, so many times that the page is flecked with oil and bits of flour—a sign of a good recipe. Pickford's recipe calls for cooking the flatbread on a grill, but I use my pizza stone and bake it in the oven. Feel free to vary the toppings—sauteed sausage or peppers would be a great addition.
(Serves about four people as a starter)

1 1/2 cups flour, plus extra for dusting
1 1/2 tsp. active dry yeast
1 tsp. salt
1/2 cup hot water
2 Tbsp. olive oil

For the topping:
2 red onions, sliced thinly
1 shallot, minced
2 cloves garlic, minced
olive oil
2 Tbsp. balsamic vinegar
salt and pepper
1 handful parsley, minced
1/2 cup handful grated parmesan

Sift the flour into a large bowl and stir in the yeast and salt. Make a well in the center of the flour, then add the hot water and olive oil. Stir with a spoon until it has formed a soft dough. Knead the dough with floured hands, pressing it against the bowl until it is smooth and elastic. Shape it into a ball and cover the bowl with a dish towel. Let it rise in a warm place for 45 minutes to an hour, or until it has doubled in size.

While the dough is rising, make the topping. Coat the bottom of a medium-sized pan with olive oil and heat over a medium-high flame. When the oil is hot, add the onions and shallot and cook until soft. Add the garlic and salt, and cook for a few minutes more, until the onions start to brown. Turn down the heat to medium low and add the vinegar. Sautee the onions for about 10 more minutes on low heat, stirring often. Remove from the heat when they are deeply caramelized, sweet and dark.

When the dough is ready, heat your oven to 450 degrees. Roll out the dough on a floured surface to make a 6-inch round circle. Place the dough on a pizza stone and brush it all over with olive oil. Add the onions and spread them out evenly over the crust. Bake for about 15 to 20 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown. Remove from the oven and sprinkle with parmesan and parsley. Serve immediately or at room temperature.

chocolate-pear cake, a triumph

Early in our relationship, Dan and I went to an Italian restaurant in Park Slope, where we now live. It is called Al Di La, and is everything you'd want in a neighborhood place—a cozy and romantic dining room with delicious, rustic Northern Italian food. The menu doesn't change very often, but that is more of a testament to how well-loved it is, rather than a stagnant kitchen. People come from Park Slope and beyond for the bright pink beet ravioli, the caper-studded beef carpaccio, and the most incredible lamb ragu over papardelle. And the desserts—oh, the desserts. My favorite dessert—possibly my favorite dessert ever—is the torta di pere, chocolate-pear cake. It tastes a little like a pear-studded blondie, but airier and moister. After the first time I ordered it, I knew, like lots of other diners, I'd have come back to the restaurant again and again just to get my fix. Or so I thought.

The problem with Al Di La? It is always packed, and the owners don't take reservations so it's very hard to get in. And it's only gotten harder over the years. People line up at 5:00 PM and the crowds don't slow down until closing time. The place that I thought could be our place is clearly everyone's place, and we've sort of given up on it after too many nights of standing in the restaurant's doorway hopefully, only to be told there is a two-hour wait.

So when Smitten Kitchen posted the recipe for the chocolate-pear cake, I was stunned. THE torta di pere? How did she get it? I thought that the recipe would change my life and I'd make the cake all the time, but like going to the restaurant, I filed it away and forgot about it. Happily, when searching for a dessert for my Italian-y dinner party the other week, I started thinking about Al Di La and the cake came back to me in a flash, so much so that I exclaimed, "Oh!"

Which is what my friends exclaimed when they ate it. "Oh!" and "Mmm!" and "This is the best dessert you've ever made." All of which is to say it is exactly like the restaurant's version, an accomplishment I am way prouder of than I should be.

Torta di pere
The secret ingredients in this cake are brown butter and whole eggs that are beaten to the point of forming stiff peaks. When combined, they give the cake its springy texture and subtle nutty flavor--something I couldn't put my finger on when I ate it in the restaurant. Smitten Kitchen served this cake with whipped cream with a hint of amaretto, so of course I copied that too, using almond extract. And it was exactly the right decision.
(Makes one 9-inch cake, which serves about eight people)

1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
3 eggs, at room-temperature
4 ounces (1 stick) unsalted butter
3/4 cup sugar
3 pears, peeled, in a small dice (I used anjou)
3/4 cup bittersweet chocolate chunks (I used chocolate chips)

Lightly whipped cream with a touch of almond extract, optional (but recommended)

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter a 9-inch springform pan and dust with breadcrumbs (I cheated and used flour), set aside. Sift the flour, baking powder and salt together, set aside.

Using a mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, whip the eggs on high speed until pale and very thick. (SK says in a professional Kitchen Aid, it takes at least five minutes; on a home machine, it will take nine minutes to get sufficient volume. It took me about ten minutes using a hand mixer, but I beat the eggs a little longer to be extra-safe.)

While the eggs are whipping, brown the butter. Melt the butter in a medium saucepan (because it will foam a lot) and cook it until the butter browns and smells nutty (about 6 to 8 minutes). It helps to frequently scrape the solids off the bottom of the pan in the last couple minutes to ensure even browning. Remove from the flame but keep in a warm spot.

Add the sugar to the eggs and whip a few minutes more. Just as the egg-sugar mixture is starting to lose volume, turn the mixture down to stir, and add the flour mixture and brown butter. Add one third of the flour mixture, then half of the butter, a third of the flour, the remaining butter, and the rest of flour. Whisk until just barely combined — no more than a minute from when the flour is first added — and then use a spatula to gently fold the batter until the ingredients are combined. It is very important not to over-whisk or fold the batter or it will lose volume.

Pour into prepared pan. Sprinkle the pear and chocolate chunks over the top, and bake until the cake is golden brown and springs back to the touch, about 40 to 50 minutes, or a tester comes out clean. (Try this a few times to make sure you're not hitting a pocket of pear.) Serve with whipped cream.

a good friend

Thinks that sandwiches are a perfectly acceptable thing to serve a guest for dinner.

Doesn't mind that you opened and drank half of the wine intended for tonight's dinner the night before.

Will eat olives straight from the plastic container, saving you a bowl to wash.

Doesn't mind that there are several gnats trapped in the apartment, circling around in the most maddening way.

Provides an extra set of hands to help make the sandwiches while you assemble a salad.

Doesn't mind polishing off the dregs of a pint of gelato, and calling that dessert.

Always brings good conversation and laughter to the table, which naturally makes any meal, however thrown-together, taste better.


Thursday night dinner with Mindi
Olives
Prosciutto, ricotta, and pesto panini
Arugula with mustard vinaigrette
Gelato (Key lime-graham cracker from Ciao Bella)

Dear friend, I'm going to miss our weeknight dinners (and drinks on the stoop, and holiday candy-making sessions, Sunday brunches, and picnics, and pedicures) so, so much. I always knew our friendship was a fortuitous thing, but I never realized how lucky I was that you've always been just a few subway stops away. It will be hard to get together for sandwiches on a Thursday night when you are living in another state, but we'll find a way to try.

Prosciutto, ricotta, and pesto panini
I don't own a panini press (my little kitchen can barely contain my essential pots and knives, let alone single-use gadgets) but I created the same effect with a makeshift press: heating the sandwich between two heavy pans.
(Serves two)

1 baguette, sliced lengthwise and in half
1/2 lb. prosciutto
1 cup ricotta cheese
1 cup pesto
olive oil

Coat the bottom of a large frying pan with a bit of olive oil and heat on medium-high heat. Assemble your sandwiches by spreading a layer of pesto on each piece of bread, then adding prosciutto and ricotta in between. Assemble the sandwiches, then place one in the pan. Place a large, heavier pan (like a cast iron skillet) on top of the sandwich, and press down. Don't press too firmly, or the sandwich will spill out its contents. Yuck. Hold the pan down for a few minutes, or until one side of the sandwich browns. Flip the sandwich and repeat the process. Then repeat the process again to make a second sandwich. Serve immediately.

a little rustic, a little summery, just right

Since starting this site, and way before then, I've thrown a lot of dinner parties. I've never made a meal that was a complete failure (although the night my oven failed comes close) but some are just better than others. Sometimes I make a little too much food, sometimes too little. Sometimes a menu is better in my mind than it actually is on the table. And sometimes, while cleaning up the debris of a party around midnight, I look at all the dirty dishes and think that everything could have been better. (Usually at this point I've had a little too much to drink, which can lead to maudlin thoughts about leftovers.)

But not last weekend. Our friends E, Lara, and Jon came over for dinner Saturday night and the stars aligned. Not to brag, but dinner was really good. I wanted to make a rustic Italian menu that also used the great produce that's available right now. So we nibbled on squares of onion-topped flatbread and drank Gordon's Cups to start, then ate savory stuffed chicken legs, a summery tomato salad, and spinach sauteed with garlic and lemon. Dessert was a reproduction of my favorite cake from one of the best restaurants in our neighborhood (more on that later) and it was almost identical to the restaurant's version. I didn't burn anything. There was just enough food. Everything was tasty, colorful, and satisfying.

Sometimes you just get in a comfortable cooking groove and everything comes out the way you've imagined it. Saturday was my night. Maybe it's just practice, maybe it's just choosing good recipes, maybe it's having friends whom you are happy to cook for. Either way, hitting the right note every so often feels great.

Rustic Italian-y dinner
Gordon's Cups
Flatbread with caramelized onions
Stuffed chicken legs
Simple tomato salad
Sauteed spinach with garlic, lemon, and red pepper flakes
Chocolate-pear cake

Simple tomato salad
This recipe is so simple it's not even a recipe--it's just assembly.
(Serves about 4 people)

3 beefsteak tomatoes, sliced into 1 inch round slices, then cut in half lengthwise
1 pint mixed cherry tomatoes, sliced in half
1 handful tarragon leaves (or basil, or oregano, or thyme)
1 shallot, sliced thinly
Red wine vinegar
Olive oil
salt and pepper

Layer the beefsteak tomatoes on a platter. Scatter the cherry tomatoes on top. Top with a layer of tarragon. Drizzle with vinegar and olive oil, and season well. Serve immediately.




Stuffed chicken legs
Adapted from Mario Batali's Molto Italiano. I am not the most adept at following directions, but sometimes I think Mario's recipes can be a little confusing or overly difficult. Case in point: these stuffed chicken legs are supposed to be boneless, yet he writes that they can be eaten with one hand. Wha? I kept the bones in (which adds extra flavor anyway) and filled them with his stuffing, a salty-herby-lemony mix that flavored the chicken so well. He also instructs you to tie the legs with twine, which I did not have. I used toothpicks, as you can see, which made them look like voodoo chickens, but whatever--it worked!
(Serves 6, generously)

4 oz. prosciutto, sliced into 1/4-inch wide ribbons
1 1/2 cups bread crumbs
1 1/2 cups grated parmesan
1/2 cup grated provolone (I omitted this)
2 eggs, beaten
1/4 cup finely chopped Italian parsley
1 bunch basil, leaves only, chopped
1 Tbsp. rosemary
Zest of 3 lemons
12 whole chicken legs (look for small legs, unless your guests have huge appetites)
salt and pepper

Preheat your oven to 450 degrees. In a medium bowl, combine the prosciutto, bread crumbs, cheese, eggs, herbs, and lemon zest until mixed. Lay the chicken legs skin side down on a cutting board and season all over with salt and pepper. Place 2 Tbsp. of the filling into the cavity of each leg (I used kitchen shears to cut a small pocket, which helped), spreading it into the thigh and upper part of the leg. Roll each leg up starting from a long side, and tie tightly with butcher's twine. (Or use toothpicks. Lots of them.) Season the thighs with salt and pepper and place in a roasting pan. Roast the chicken for 35 to40 minutes until it is crisp and golden (the internal temperature should read 160 degrees on an instant-read thermometer). Remove from the oven and let rest 10 minutes.