A bit of a head

She was a beaut.  Almost 10 inches across and possessed of that pristinely virginal, dewy appearance that is associated with Very Fresh Vegetables.

I found her yesterday at my local HEB, accompanied by others who were just as beautiful.  I wanted to take them all home with me, but my Inner Govenor, that voice of reason and sanity, said, "Just one, my dear."

Such are my struggles.

I brought her home, dreaming of all I could do with her.  Roasted, with Sri Lankan spices to eat with strained yogurt and fresh cilantro.  Steamed and whipped like potatoes with a little creme fraiche and white pepper as a bed for a succulent pork chop sauteed with Choucroute Garni and a buttery Madeira and shallot pan sauce.  Or perhaps those little pan-fried cakes with cheddar cheese, scallions and the chipotle cream sauce I had enjoyed so much a few weeks ago (keep in touch, the recipe for those is in the works).

But I was hungry for lunch and I had the unexpected luxury of a few hours to myself in my kitchen. So I separated out enough cauliflower for one serving, trimmed it and broke it down into small florets.  I tossed them with a little EVOO and some freshly ground sea salt and black pepper.

As the cauliflower was roasting in my toaster oven, I came up with a game plan: caraway and garlic would get gently fragrant with some EVOO in my skillet, then I would add the roasted florets, a little more S & P, then some half and half, a little creme fraiche and some leftover cooked penne pasta.  A couple of minutes before serving, I would toss in some leftover roasted lacinato kale that I had had for dinner recently (if you're like me, you often have some leftover kale in the fridge because you're the only one in the house who eats it).  Then I would heat everything through, plate it and cover it with a lot of finely shredded Fontina cheese.

And that's exactly what I did.

I felt like The Queen of Everything eating that pasta.  The bold and assertive flavors of the kale and the caraway, the texture of the roasted cauliflower and the creaminess and tang of the merest hint of cream sauce was balanced against all the chew of the kale.  Delightful and just sinfully rich enough to warrant considering a trip to the confessional.

What can you drink with this pasta dish?  Because these are assertive flavors, you'll want a bright, earthy red wine to accompany.  Try a pinot noir that is fruit forward and has a forest floor nose, such as The Four Graces Pinot Noir from Willamette Valley, OR.  If you prefer white, I suggest you try one with plenty of fruit and high acidity, such as a chenin blanc, to balance the cream and cheese in this dish--there are plenty of affordable choices from South Africa.  As usual, ask your wine guy at Spec's for help.  They know their business.

Penne Pasta with Roasted Cauliflower and Kale in Caraway Garlic-Cream Sauce

2 cups cauliflower florets
4 Tbs. EVOO, divided
kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2  cloves of garlic, minced
1 tsp. caraway seed
6 Tbs. half and half
4 Tbs. creme fraiche or sour cream
6 cups cooked pasta, such as penne, fusilli or rotini
1 cup leftover roasted kale (optional)
finely shredded Fontina cheese or Parmesan cheese for finishing (I use a Microplane coarse grater for this)

1.)  Toss cauliflower florets in 2 Tbs. EVOO, seasoning generously with salt and pepper.
2.)  Roast for about 20 minutes on a pan in a toaster oven, or under a broiler until nicely browned; set aside.
3.)  In remaining EVOO, in a large skillet, gently heat the garlic and the caraway seed over medium heat until fragrant, taking care not to let the garlic get too brown.
4.)  Add roasted cauliflower to skillet and stir to combine.
5.)  Add half and half and creme fraiche, stirring until smooth and just beginning to bubble.
6.)  Add cooked pasta and lower heat, covering with a lid to allow the pasta to gently heat through.
7.)  Stir the pasta once or twice during this process to coat it with the sauce.  It should be nicely moist and not too saucy.
8.)  Add leftover kale, if desired, and cover again for another minute or two.
9.)  Stir to incorporate kale and then divide pasta among four plates, showering generously with the shredded Fontina cheese.  Serves 4.  

Happily married: blood oranges and Bauchant

Some things are just meant to be together.  For me, lately, it's been a combination of chilaquiles and heartburn.  But some things are really meant to be together, and they live happily ever after.  I'm thinking of a beautiful spring day and an off-dry rose, for instance.  Recently, on a particularly gorgeous, sunny afternoon, I opened a bottle of Carmela Benegas 2010 (Argentina) and luxuriated in the aroma of strawberry blossoms, tasted a smooth, creamy mouthful of strawberries and then the deep, sophisticated and silky finish.  I love this rose, made of Cabernet Franc, also one of my favorite reds. 

The wine is named for the winemaker's daughter and, as you can see for yourself, there's a very seductive pose on the label:

I don't know if this is an actual representation of Carmela Benegas, but I can tell you that it provides more than a hint of what's inside.  Deepest pink blush, vibrant youthfulness and seductive sensuality come rushing into your glass and the wine is so beautiful you want to touch it.  If it had a texture you could feel with your fingertips, I'm convinced that it would be like velveteen.  This wine is absolutely full of fruit and cream and the smell of spring-about-to-turn-summer.  What's best, it's very affordable.  Anytime I can find it, I bring it home.  It's that delicious.  And it's getting harder to find, so you might want to check the internet for supplies.  Don't bother with asking your wine guy at Spec's--it's gone.  Carmela has a lot of admirers.

I often let wine dictate and influence what I will cook for dinner.  Remember, for instance, my little episode with rioja and black pepper?  Well, it could have been a disaster, but I'd like to believe that The Muse protects me from such things.  As I enjoyed the wine, I was also enjoying how lushly beautiful it was in the tropical Taj Mahal my husband had created for us.  I noticed especially how many fragrant blossoms were blooming.  Jasmine, honeysuckle and brugmansia all made a spectacular showing.  They were as pretty as bridesmaids.

But how would I know?  I didn't have any!  I have seen pictures of bridesmaids, however, and aside from Melissa McCarthy, one of my favorite comediennes, they all looked like frilly, delicate little flowers.  I imagined hundreds of bridesmaids in every color dress imaginable, all congregated in my garden, twittering amongst themselves. 

Oh my.  I think I have a headache.

Brugmansia, or Angel's Trumpet

Luckily, on this particular afternoon, it was only a quiet riot of bougainvillea, Betty Boop roses, Valentine roses and salvia, no bridesmaids.  The back yard was an immense floral choreography.  Suddenly, the image of flamenco dancers rose up before me.  Sultry, pouting flamenco dancers, stamping their feet, fists on hips.  They were hungry! 

I needed to think about what I could cook that would go with the wine I was sipping, what would be aromatic and fresh, and most importantly, what would appease the hungry flamenco dancers.  I thought of Spain and Argentina.  I thought of fruit and flowers.  I thought again about those flamenco dancers, stamping their feet.  But the stamping merely turned out to be my husband, hammering, in the middle of constructing his next project.  The flamenco dancers, like the bridesmaids, suddenly evaporated.  They left me in the backyard with a hungry husband and the reality that it was time to cook dinner.

Once I was in the kitchen, I thought oranges, butter and a little orange liqueur (along with a little more Carmela) might work some magic with the boneless chicken breasts I was planning to serve.  I had a couple of blood oranges, some shallots and some leftover jasmine rice.  I had plenty of butter and plenty of inspiration.  Carmela was guiding me, whispering in my ear.

Yes, I admit it.  I hear voices.  But only when I cook.  I believe that the psychiatric profession refers to this as a situation-dependent hallucination, sort of like the LSD flashback that only happens when you're listening to The Beatles' "The White Album."  

Not that I would know.

A slice of blood orange

I pounded the chicken breasts to flatten them (this evens out and speeds up the cooking time as well), then seasoned them generously with kosher salt and pepper.  Butter and a little olive oil were heating in the saute pan as I finely minced a large shallot.  I sauteed the chicken breasts until caramelized, then removed them to plate and covered them to keep them warm.  Into the pan went the shallot and after it was well-caramelized, the pan was deglazed with a little dry sherry.  I added the juice from the blood oranges to the pan (just a little of the zest went into another small, covered pan along with the leftover rice, some butter, salt and a little water), reduced it a little, then added a healthy glug of Bauchant to the saute pan.  I reduced the sauce until it was just a bit syrupy, then added a pinch of kosher salt, some ground white pepper and a little more butter for sheen.

In hindsight, cutting the rind off the blood oranges then slicing them to add to the saute pan (instead of just the juice) would have been lovely.  But there's always a next time!  The aromatic rice, along with a simple green salad, dressed with Mustard Vinaigrette, and another glass of Carmela Benegas, was a match made in heaven.  I hope you enjoy the wedding as much as we did!


Chicken Breasts with a Shallot, Blood Orange and Bauchant Reduction


2 Tbs. EVOO
2 Tbs. butter
2 chicken breasts, trimmed and pounded to about 3/8 inch thickness
kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 Tbs. dry sherry
1 large shallot, minced 
2 blood oranges, juiced (or peel away skin and pith with a sharp knife and cut into slices)
2 Tbs. chicken broth or water (optional)
2 Tbs. Bauchant (or other orange liqueur)
kosher salt
freshly ground white pepper
1 Tbs. butter 

1.)  Heat EVOO and butter in a large saute pan over medium-high heat until butter is foamy.
2.)  Season chicken breasts generously with salt and pepper.
3.)  Saute chicken breasts until caramelized on both sides; remove to a plate, cover and keep warm.
4.)  Deglaze saute pan with sherry, scraping up any brown bits.
5.)  Add shallot and saute until caramelized.
6.)  Add blood orange juice and reduce sauce by half.  If using orange slices instead of juice, add them now along with the chicken broth or water.
7.)  Add Bauchant and reduce by half.
8.)  Taste sauce and add salt and white pepper.
9.)  Add the final tablespoon of butter and stir well until melted. 
10.)  Return chicken breasts to pan and spoon sauce over breasts.
11.)  Serve immediately with sauce.  Serves 2. 

Intuitive cooking: inherited and learned

I own an obscene number of cookbooks.  And I collect recipes, only a small portion of which are organized in binders.  I refer to my cookbooks and recipes regularly and I'm always eager to see new ones.  I can spend hours sifting through them, looking for ideas and inspiration.  That's my favorite way to relax and I can do it for hours and not know that time has passed.  Do you have experiences like this with something you absolutely love doing?

When I first began cooking (I gave my first dinner party at 12--complete with LBD and pearls), I referred to cookbooks and other's recipes exclusively.  I followed directions meticulously.  I tried to replicate exactly.  And most of the time I did.  But as I learned techniques, gained experience and realized that I had been gifted with a sharp and rather discriminating palate (read: Hellman's Mayo over Miracle Whip and European butters over Land O' Lakes), I discovered that I could deviate from recipes with a high rate of success and what's more, trust the creative instinct I had been blessed with and just plain wing it.  Most of the time, my creative instinct produced outstanding results.  We won't talk about the time I made coq au vin with Mogen David Concord Grape Wine, however, because purple chicken with an oddly sweet sauce faintly redolent of Welch's grape juice (and adorned festively with purple pearl onions and lurid green parsley, of course) is not in the least bit appetizing.  In defense of my reputation however, and due to circumstances, I must say that no appropriate red wine was available.  Furthermore, I was not even of legal wine-buying age.

But if there are genetic markers for intuitive cooking, I must have inherited mine from my maternal grandmother.  Oma, as we called her, was an incredibly intuitive cook.  She owned cookbooks, clipped recipes from magazines (how many years did we have Bacardi Rum Cake for Christmas???) and would cook from those recipes from time to time.  She managed to produce food in this manner that was good, but tended to be very literal about it all.  If the recipe said to bake the cake for 45 minutes, then darn it, she would bake the cake for 45 minutes even though it meant that the cake was burned on the bottom. 

Watching Oma make bread and pastry without a recipe, however, was a wondrous process--using her hands as scoops for measuring the flour, knowing exactly by the texture of the dough whether she needed more water or more flour for her Christmas nut roll, gauging by eye how much butter and cream cheese she needed to add to make the tender, flaky fruit and nut-filled kolaczi that we devoured by the dozen.

She made substantial, tasty dishes as well by eye and by the guidance of some inner knowledge.  Like the time she made what trained cooks would recognize as a savory charlotte--she used mushrooms, herbs, leftover bread and lots of butter for a beautifully golden brown side dish that went perfectly with a Sunday roast beef dinner.  Or how she would season an Easter leg of lamb with plenty of garlic, rosemary and olive oil.  But instead of the typical mint jelly, she produced a lovely apricot sauce.  But what I really remember about her cooking, though, was what she referred to as Imaginary Soup.  That was Oma's way of using up all the leftovers from the week and making a most fabulous kettle of hearty, rich, flavorful soup that left us all commenting about it for days. 

And that is the nature of intuitive cooking.  Following one's inner voice, inner knowledge, inner palate and often, ingredients on hand to guide the creation of something that can turn out to be quite magical.  Something that is not only greater than the sum of its parts, but that achieves a level of culinary synergy that makes even the cook who created it marvel at its deliciousness.  Many of you have this talent and probably don't even know it.  How do you do it?  Start experimenting with a recipe or favorite dish, tweaking it here and there, substituting ingredients, trusting your inner palate to guide you.  Combine what you have in your fridge and pantry in some inventive way.  Think about what you'd like to taste and, more importantly, how you'd like your finished creation to look on your plate.  Maybe it won't be a fabulous attempt, but quite likely it will.  And you're off!

Last night I opened a bottle of Dona Paula Estate Malbec 2009 (Argentina), one of my favorite budget-friendly red wines.  It's full of cherries and strawberries with just enough acid, leather, chocolate and tannins to make it interesting.  And as I sipped, I thought about dinner--and about what I had on hand to make dinner.  And this is what happened:


Imaginary Pasta

1 lb. spaghetti or linguine
4 Tbs. EVOO
2 to 3 very large cloves garlic, minced
1/4 cup finely chopped red onion
1/2 lb. bacon, cooked until crisp and finely crumbled
1 tsp. crushed red pepper (adjust to your taste)
1/2 tsp. dried thyme leaves
1 heaping Tbs. salted capers (if you use brined capers, drain and rinse them before adding and add an additional 1/2 tsp. salt)
1/2 cup dry or off-dry red wine (I used a little leftover pinot noir that had been a disappointment)
EVOO for drizzling
plenty of freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup or more Asiago, Romano and/or Parmesan cheese, shredded (plus extra for passing)
1/2 cup chopped flat leaf parsley

1.  Cook pasta according to package directions.  Rinse, drain and keep warm.
2.  In same pot, heat 4 Tbs. EVOO over medium heat.  Add garlic, red onion and bacon, stirring frequently and monitoring heat carefully so that garlic doesn't get too brown. 
3.  Add crushed red pepper, thyme and capers, stirring to blend.
4.  Add red wine and increase heat to boiling.  Reduce sauce until thickened and syrupy.
5.  Add cooked pasta and toss to coat evenly.  Cover with lid, turn off heat and let sit for about 5 minutes.
6.  Turn pasta onto large platter or into large bowl.  Drizzle generously with EVOO, grind plenty of black pepper over the top of the pasta.
7.  Garnish with shredded cheese and chopped parsley.  Serves 4.


Spinach Salad with Browned Mushrooms and Toasted Walnuts

This spinach salad is slightly wilted from the toasted walnuts, the browned mushrooms and the vinegar reduction.  It's a perfect foil for the richness of the pasta.  It's also my attempt to reconstruct a salad that a friend made for me one sultry summer night when we were, coincidentally, also sipping Dona Paula Malbec.

1 lb. baby spinach leaves
1 small shallot, minced
1/4 cup walnut pieces
2 Tbs. EVOO
1 cup mushrooms, sliced
2 Tbs. red wine vinegar or sherry vinegar
freshly ground black pepper
flake salt to taste

1.  Place spinach leaves in large bowl.
2.  Scatter minced shallot over spinach.
3.  Toast walnut pieces over medium-low heat in medium-sized skillet until fragrant.
4.  Scatter walnut pieces over spinach.
5.  In same pan, heat 2 Tbs. EVOO over medium heat.  Add mushrooms and brown well. 
6. Scatter mushrooms over spinach.
7. In same pan, over medium-high heat, pour in the vinegar and deglaze pan, reducing briefly.
8. Pour warm vinegar over spinach and toss gently; season with freshly ground black pepper and flake salt to taste.  Serves 4.