Goat cheese panna cotta with mango foam

March.

Neither lion nor lamb.

It’s a fickle fish this year, darting in one direction, then another, to the surface, then back under the weeds.

Cold clear days, warm foggy mornings, sweet springing afternoons, hail, snow, rain, mud, ice.

One day, a week ago, we had all the windows in the house open. Today, we’re back to having both wood stoves lit.

Closed-fisted buds. They’re not risking it yet.

It’s a little hard to be patient. Even when we know it’s coming. Even when the afternoon light gets longer by minutes every day.

But we can cheat. Let’s springify things around here a bit.

Let’s bring out those beautiful French dessert dishes, the ones with the bees.

Let’s pick out some ripe mangos and make a puree.

Let’s blend cream, goat milk, goat cheese, sugar, gelatin, and vanilla.

White as snow. But let’s teach it how to bloom like spring.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This month’s Let’s Lunch theme is Daffodils/Spring, in recognition of the Canadian Cancer Society’s annual Daffodil Days, when it sells daffodils to raise funds for the Cancer Society. This theme was suggested by this month’s gracious host, Karen at Geofooding. Visit her post for more information about Daffodil Days and for links to the rest of the Let’s Lunch group’s tributes to spring.

Goat cheese panna cotta with mango foam

Yield: Six or more servings (depending on the size of ramekins/dishes you use)

Goat cheese panna cotta
(adapted from Fine Cooking)

2 teaspoons unflavored gelatin (or 2 leaves of gelatin)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 cups heavy cream (or 1 cup heavy cream and 1 cup light cream)
1 cup fresh goat cheese, at room temperature (I used plain chèvre)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup goat milk (or cow milk, or buttermilk)

In a small bowl, sprinkle the gelatin over four teaspoons of water to soften the gelatin (if you’re using gelatin leaves, follow the package’s instructions to soak the leaves.
In a medium saucepan, combine the cream and sugar and bring to a simmer. Do not boil the mixture. When it reaches a simmer, turn off the heat.
Whisk the softened goat cheese into the cream mixture, until there are no visible pieces of cheese left and the mixture is smooth.
Add the vanilla and softened gelatin, whisking until the mixture is smooth. Then add the goat milk and whisk thoroughly.
Strain the mixture through a fine-mesh sieve into a large, glass measuring cup or a bowl that has a pouring spout.
Pour the mixture into six large or eight (or more) smaller ramekins. (If you want to unmold the panna cottas to serve them, lightly grease the ramekins before you pour the mixture into them).
Refrigerate for at least three hours, or overnight.

Mango purée and foam
If you don’t have a whipper, or prefer not to use a foam, you can use just the mango purée on its own to decorate the panna cottas. For that matter, you can skip the mango altogether and use whatever fruits or embellishments that you prefer. I chose mango because I love the flavor and because the color reminded me of spring tulips and daffodils.

250 milliliters of mango purée (see instructions below)
1 teaspoon unflavored gelatin (or 1 leaf of gelatin)

Make a mango purée by cubing two ripe mangos (you can also use two cups of frozen, cubed mango), and blending the cubed mango with 1 teaspoon of lime juice, three teaspoons of sugar, and 1/3 cup water. Strain the purée through a fine-mesh sieve. You want to make sure there are no lumps that could clog the whipper.
In a small bowl, sprinkle the gelatin over three teaspoons of water to soften the gelatin (if you’re using a gelatin leaf, follow the package’s instructions to soak the leaf).
In a small saucepan, gently warm the purée (do not boil!), then add the softened gelatin to the warmed purée until it is thoroughly combined.
Remove the purée from the heat and strain it one more time through a fine-mesh sieve to be sure there are no lumps of gelatin.
Let the purée cool completely to room temperature.
When the purée is cool, put it in the whipper, screw the whipper lid on, and charge with two gas chargers. Then SHAKE the whipper vigorously for a minute or so.
Refrigerate the whipper for an hour, then shake vigorously again. You can use the foam now, or can return it to the refrigerator to use later. (Shake it again before using it.)

When the panna cottas are set and you’re ready to serve them, decorate them with the foam or the purées, fruits and sauces you choose.

To serve an unmolded panna cotta, heat a pan of water, dip the bottom of the ramekin in the warm water, run a sharp knife around the edge of the ramekin, put a plate over the ramekin, and flip the ramekin and plate over at the same time to unmold the panna cotta.

Pain au levain

Well, here we are, November.

You and I don’t get along so well. I resent you for stealing my summer warmth. You blithely turn the sun off at 4.15 pm. You freeze the water in the goat’s water buckets every night. You slither your brittle, windy fingers through the walls in this old house. What’s worse, you seem indifferent to my whining.

This month’s Let’s Lunch theme is gratitude. And I admit at first I found little to be grateful for. Because I’m a November grumpy pants.

But even just a few minutes of making a list of all I have to be grateful for yielded an embarrassment of riches (not to mention my embarrassment at not knowing how to spell “embarrassment”).

Health, family, shelter, power, heat, functioning limbs and brain, warm food when I need it, freedom, choice, a light I can switch on when the sun sets, seemingly limitless clean water rushing out of the faucet.

How many people on earth can claim that list? How many people, even on just the east coast of the United States are without warmth and light right now, on this bitter, November-swept day? How many people around the world live in fear, under persecution, without freedom, without adequate food, or healthcare, or clean water?

When I wrote “embarrassment”, I wasn’t joking.

So, in gratitude, I decided to make this simple, unadorned, most basic thing to share for our lunch: a sourdough loaf of bread, from my favorite pain au levain recipe, by James MacGuire.

(Note that the original recipe is a fourteen-page long, wonderful tour through the history of french sourdough breads in issue 83 of The Art of Eating. The recipe I’ve linked to here is a slightly adapted version of that recipe.)

Flour, water, salt, wild yeast.

Hands, time, heat.

That’s all you need. Plus a little bit of patience.

You don’t even need a mixer, or a spoon.

This is a slow bread, made by mixing the dough with one hand, then “folding” the dough once an hour for four hours.

If you’re at home on a quiet weekend day, you can easily fit it into your schedule: fold for thirty seconds, go back to reading your book in front of the fire, or playing “Careers” with your kids, or raking the lawn. Visit the bread in another hour and see how it’s changed, give it another quick fold. Go back to the laundry, or making soup, or those phone calls you have to make.

You see how it goes.

Gratitude. It can be tangible. And eaten with a slice of perfectly aged goat cheese.

I only wish I could sit down at a table tonight and share it with you.

Here’s a complete list of the recipes of gratitude made this month by the Let’s Lunch crew (I’ve included my own at the bottom for completeness). Check them out!

Gratitude “Plumb” Cake from Lisa at Monday Morning Cooking Club
Gratitude Fried Rice from Linda at spicebox travels
Seafood Chowder from Lucy at A Cook and Her Books
Cracked Black Pepper and Blue Cheese Crackers (gluten free) from Charissa at Zest Bakery
A Thanksgiving tablecloth tradition from Lucy at In a Southern Kitchen
Gratitude Soup from Rashda at Hot Curries and Cold Beer
Pumpkin Muffins with Cinnamon Sugar (gluten free) from Linda at Free Range Cookies
Pumpkin Roll with Pecans from Annabelle at a Glass of Fancy
5-Minute Wonder Soup from Eleanor at Wok Star
Green Tomato Salad from Renee at My Kitchen and I
Asian-Style Pickled Oyster Mushrooms from Joe at Joe Yonan
Pain au levain from Rebecca at GrongarBlog

Harry’s Matzo brei

I keep finding this post difficult to write. I’ve gone about it ten different ways and it always comes back to this: I miss my grandfather and writing about him makes me terribly sad that he is gone.

But writing this also makes me happy, because I got to sort through pictures and memories of him. And because it’s a small but heartfelt tribute to one of the best men in my life. What better way to celebrate Father’s Day and our let’s lunch group than to take some time to remember such a man, to make the simple food he made, to eat it with family, and then share it with friends?

My grandfather, Harry, was a mild-mannered man. On the surface. In my memory, he was quiet and unremarkable, unless you took the time to get to know him and his sly sense of humor; his quick wink meant just for you, his co-conspirator; his little half-grin; his blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he was laughing inside.

His children—my mother and her brothers—remember him somewhat differently. He was gruffer and tougher as a dad.

As a grandfather, though, he was a complete softie. The only times I ever remember him raising his voice around us was when he bellowed for my grandmother: “Marrr-THA!”

Sometimes—many times—when my sister and I would be giggling and talking late at night when we should have been sleeping, he’d stand in the dark doorway to our room and mock-threaten us with a spanking. We hushed. We knew he’d never do it (he never, ever did), but he sounded almost serious, and we couldn’t see his wink, so who knows?

According to my great-uncle (my grandmother’s youngest brother), who was sort of raised as another son in my grandparent’s family, my grandfather was always a bit of a trickster. He related this story to me recently, which so perfectly illustrates my grandfather’s sense of humor and the relationship between the three of them:

After my mother had passed away I ate several of my meals with your grandma and grandpa. Harry was a bit of a comic……..I know that is hard to believe…….My sister loved a soup she made that was a burnt flour soup. It was YUCKY but she loved it. One night having supper that was what she served. Harry sat opposite me in the kitchen and Martha, who served, sat beside Harry. Harry took his finger when Martha was not looking to his lips to tell me not to say anything. He then asked Martha to get some salt for the table and when she got up and had her back to the table he poured part of his soup into her bowl. Martha brought the salt to the table sat down and continued eating her soup. Again Harry brought his finger to his lips and again asked Martha for a glass of water. Being a loving wife, Martha again got up and Harry took my bowl of soup and poured most of it into Martha’s bowl. My sister sat down and continued eating and finally said ” I’m eating and eating and my bowl of soup never goes down”. I could not keep a straight face after that. It was really very funny……

My grandfather worked all his adult working life at Plan Electric, as a project manager for huge lighting projects in Toronto. When we went into town, he’d point out buildings that his company had worked on. When I was little, I always pictured him actually screwing the light bulbs into the fixtures that sent their glow through the windows of the tall office buildings and hotels. I felt proud of him. He was lighting up the city.

On his time off, when he wasn’t with his family, he loved sports. A true Canadian, he was a great hockey fan. He loved baseball, too. There was always something sports-related on the television when grandpa was home. He bowled with a league. I’ve seen photos, but I regret now that I never saw him bowl in person. After work, he often went to his local gym (to do what, in particular, I never asked). The gym was called Vic Tanny’s. Over and over again, he’d tell us when he got home that he’d been visiting girlfriend, Vickie. Then the wink. And the gentle, chin-led nod in my grandmother’s direction (she was probably in the kitchen, making dinner), then the impish grin.

Oh. How I can picture that smile. And oh how I miss him now.

His real love (aside from his family), was golfing, which led to one of my sweetest childhood memories and my love of swimming. Because of the golfing, grandma and grandpa belonged to a country club, where grandpa could golf all weekend and often after work during the brief-but-intense Ontario summers. My sister and I spent most of our childhood summers with my grandparents and we spent many a lazy summer day at “the club”, swimming all morning, “signing” for a snack of french fries with vinegar at the club snack bar, picnicking on the impeccably groomed lawns, swimming all afternoon. On golfing days, we’d meet up with grandpa at the end of the day. But I never went golfing with him there, and never saw him in action. It was just the guys. No children.

Grandpa was a sweetie and softie, but he was pretty traditional as the head of the household. He wasn’t much of a cook. He left all that to my grandmother, which is sort of a shame because my grandmother wasn’t the best of a cooks — see references to “burnt flour” soup above, and have I already told you the story of how she cooked spaghetti in the pressure cooker? Some evenings, he’d come home and light the bbq, pulled just to the edge of the open garage so that the smoke could escape but he could be in the shade, and he’d stand there in rolled up shirt-sleeves, cooking steaks for dinner.

But he did have one recipe that I know of. It was his special treat for the family at Passover (and sometimes, rarely, on other lazy weekend mornings): matzo brei.

Matzo brei is classic peasant food. Take the simplest, least expensive ingredients you have on hand (plain matzos, some oil, a few eggs, a dash of salt), mix, cook, serve. There’s nothing at all complicated about this dish, but, for me, it’s a little mouthful of memory.

Grandpa made this for us, maybe for the last time, when we were all down in Florida for Passover several years back. Like many of their friends, my grandparents had become “snowbirds”, escaping the snowy Toronto winters by way of a little condo near my parents’ home in Florida. Passover was always the dividing line between winter and spring, Florida and Toronto. After Passover, it was time to go home.

For some wonderful reason, M decided to watch grandpa make the matzo brei on our last morning there, and, as grandpa cooked, M jotted down the brief instructions.

I was his first grandchild. Then followed my sister. Then followed eight more over the years. He was loving and playful with all of us, right down to the last two, who came very late into his life.

In many ways, he was a mystery to me. We never had long, heart-to-heart talks. I don’t know what he thought of his life, or what his hopes and dreams were. I do know that he adored his family, and loved to be surrounded by the gang on the rare occasions when we were all in town at once.

My grandmother, Martha, died, after a long illness. Barely three weeks later, my grandfather died, too, unable and unwilling to face a life without her. The last time I saw him, at the end of the shiva for my grandmother, I hugged him and told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too. We both knew it would be the last time we’d see each other.

I give this recipe to you as a gift in grandpa’s memory. May you eat it with pleasure, and share it with love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Here’s a roundup of the rest of the Let’s Lunch group’s Father’s Day dishes. If you’d like to join us for July (the theme is bbq/grilling), post a message on Twitter with the #letslunch hashtag, or post a comment below.

Aleana‘s Homemade Scottish Oatcakes at Eat My Blog
Charissa‘s Grilled Rib-Eye Steaks & Uncle Andy’s Chimichurri Sauce at Zest Bakery
Cheryl‘s Mee Pok Ta at A Tiger in the Kitchen
Eleanor‘s Salmon Bok Choy Soup at Wok Star
Emma‘s Ham and Rice at Dreaming of Pots & Pans
Jill‘s Root Beer-Glazed Onion Dip at Eating My Words
Grace‘s Taste of Diversity at HapaMama
Linda‘s Sesame-Ginger Chicken Wings at Spice Box Travels
Lisa‘s Hot Sugary Lip-Smacking Jam Donuts at Monday Morning Cooking Club
Patricia‘s Egg Candy at The Asian Grandmother’s Cookbook
Rashda‘s Beth Howard’s Apple Pie at Hot Curries & Cold Beer
Sonja‘s Spicy Smoked Paprika Lamb Shank Goulash at Foodnutzz

Harry Cohen’s Matzo Brei

Yield: Serves four to six

Ingredients

7 unsalted matzos
2 or 3 large eggs (depending on how eggy you’d like the matzo brei to be)
1/2 cup vegetable oil

Method

Break the matzo into bite-sized pieces and place in a large bowl.
Cover the crumbled matzo with cold water and then drain the matzo immediately. You want to get the matzo damp, but not soggy.
In a small bowl, gently beat the eggs, then add 2 to 3 tablespoons of water to the egg (add 2 tablespoons if you are using 2 eggs; 3 if you are using 3 eggs).
In a large, heavy-bottomed pan, heat the oil over high heat.
Pour the egg mixture into the bowl of matzo and mix well (be gentle – don’t crush the matzo!).
Put the matzo mixtures in the pan with hot oil, the immmediately reduce the heat to medium.
Gently stir from time to time, breaking up clumps.
Cook from five to seven minutes, stirring as needed to cook all the matzo pieces evenly without letting them burn. After about three or four minutes of cooking, you may need to add another “bloop” of oil.
When the matzo pieces are all brown and the texture is the way you like it (I like mine crispy), remove the matzo from the heat.
Sprinkle with salt and serve.

If you have any leftover matzo brei, it’ll keep well in a tightly closed container or ziplock bag in the fridge for several days. Reheat it by stir-frying it on medium-low just until it’s warm and crispy again.

Mini Meringue Buttons

This may be my most hurried Let’s Lunch post ever, because today is crazy and I’m trying to do a zillion things at once, which may explain why this post, which was due for lunch today, is only just showing up now, an hour before dinner, and which may explain why I’m typing nearly as quickly as I’m thinking, but these little treats are best for dessert anyway, so after you’ve enjoyed your eggy lunches, you can settle into a handful of these, right?

*phew*

So please excuse typos and run-on sentences.

My original plan was to make giant meringues. The kind they sell in the bakery nearest my house. Big, puffy, cloud-like confections that H and I can’t resist. Meringues seemed like the perfect solution to this month’s Let’s Lunch theme of eggs because, well, I don’t like eggs. There. I said it.

To be clear, I love eggs as objects. They are perfect and beautiful and magical. They are elegant creations of nature. And I love what eggs do in a cake or even in fried rice. But eggs on their own, scrambled, fried, or poached are not for me (“And I am not for them,” Beatrice would say). If I can taste the egg, I don’t want it.

I know this probably makes me nearly inhuman. So be it. Eggs and I have not been on speaking terms since I was a kid, forced to finish my plate of the scrambled variety, and I don’t imagine that will change at this point.

Anyway, back to the meringues. Not only do they fit the theme, but they’re perfectly kosher for Passover, which starts this evening. Deal sealed.

The plan was for giants, and then H expressed an interest in colored ones, and then I thought about flavoring them (rose water, or earl grey, or..). In the end, lack of time and uncooperative egg whites that never wanted to reach the stiff peak stage helped guide me to this creation: mini meringue buttons.

I dosed the meringue heavily with brilliant food coloring to get the tones I wanted. I didn’t get around to flavoring them, but next time I’ll try that.

H says they remind her of those little candy drops affixed to paper strips. She’s right. I like those.

So, here, for your enjoyment, are mini meringue buttons. Color them to suit the occasion. We’ve colored ours SPRING!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Take a look at what the rest of the Let’s Lunch crew came up with this month! And if you want to join in the fun for the May challenge (“a dish that bridges two cuisines”), just follow the #letslunch tag in Twitter. We’d love to have lunch with you!

Scrambled Eggs and Tomatoes ~ from Grace at HapaMama
Fried Eggs and Omelets, Wok-style ~ from Eleanor at WokStar
Egg and Onions ~ from Lisa at Monday Morning Cooking Club
Biscuit Crust Breakfast Pizza ~ from In foodie fashion
Leek, ham, and percorino souffles ~ from Charissa at Zest Bakery
Homemade Cadbury Eggs ~ from Linda at Free Range Cookies
Beet dye and pink deviled eggs ~ from Denise at Chez Us
Eggs in a hole ~ From Emma at Dreaming of pots and pans
The Perfect Sandwich ~ from Felicia at burnt-out baker
Kimchi deviled eggs ~ from Joe at Joe Yonan
Molecular gastronomy “eggs” ~ from Karen at GeoFooding
Singapore-style Chai Poh scramble ~ from Cheryl at A Tiger in the Kitchen
Taiwanese tomato eggs ~ from Linda at spicebox travels
Old-fashioned boiled dressing & chicken salad ~ from Lucy at A Cook and Her Books
Bombay (spicy French) toasts ~ from Rashda at Hot Curries & Cold Beer
Son-in-law eggs ~ from Nancy at Nancie McDermott
Egg chaud froid ~ from Vivian at Vivan Pei

Mini Meringue Buttons

Yield: About a 100 buttons (give or take)

Ingredients

4 egg whites at room temperature
1/2 teaspoon cream of tarter (this is optional; I don’t usually make meringues with this, but I tried it this time; maybe that was my problem?)
1 cup superfine sugar (some people prefer to use a mixture of granulated and powdered sugar; follow your preference)
Food coloring (this is the kind I use)

Method

Position three oven racks so they are evenly spaced, then preheat the oven to 225ºF.
Line three half sheet pans with parchment paper (some people use foil lightly sprayed with oil).
Beat the egg whites in a stand mixer or in a large bowl with a hand mixer (use the whisk attachment for either type of mixer) on low until the eggs are frothy.
Add the cream of tarter (if using).
With the mixer at medium-high speed, beat the egg whites until they reach the soft peak stage.
While beating, very gradually add the sugar so that it blends in and dissolves completely.
Beat until the stiff peak stage and the meringue is shiny.
Divide the meringue into separate bowls, one for each color you plan to make.
Add several drops of food coloring to each bowl, and mix well, either with a hand whisk or the hand mixer.
Scrape the contents of one bowl into a small ziplock bag, seal the bag, then snip the corner off, and pipe small dots onto a prepared pan.
Repeat with the other colors, using a fresh bag for each color to keep the colors separate.
Bake the meringues for 45 minutes.
After 45 minutes, turn the oven off and allow the meringues to finish in the oven for another hour.
Remove from the oven to cool on the parchment paper.
When the meringues are cool, slide a thin metal spatula under each to remove them from the parchment.

You can store meringues for a couple of days in a cool, dark place (they hate humidity). A tightly sealed container in the refrigerator works well.

Roasted asparagus and sage salad (or, Making our own spring green)

Two days ago, the temperature reached into the 60s and, though we’d been granted the easiest winter in memory, we somehow all felt that an early spring was due us.

Humans are like that.

What little snow we had from the single late-season storm a week ago was practically melted. Then it rained. Froze. Iced. Melted.

Yesterday, the sun beat down on bare fields and I searched the garden bed for signs of crocus shoots, knowing full well it’s much too early for such things in this part of New England, but with the snow gone, it was worth a try.

This morning, I opened the door to let the dog out and was greeted by an unexpected fresh six inches of powder and a brilliant, clear-blue sky.

I guess we have to wait just a little bit longer for the green.

In the meantime, the Let’s Lunchers have decided to take matters into their own hands, proclaiming “green” as this month’s theme.

What could be greener than a salad of asparagus sprinkled with magic, fried sage?

The ingredients are basic: a bunch or two of fresh asparagus, a simple lemony dressing, a handful of fried sage leaves, and shavings of your favorite hard grating cheese.

If you’re short on time, you can mix up the dressing (olive oil, zest and juice of one lemon, chopped sage leaves, salt and pepper) the day before you make the dish. And if you happen to have any leftover dressing, it’s great on other salads, or on a piece of crusty bread.

On the day you want to eat the salad, toss the asparagus with a little olive oil, salt, pepper, and chopped sage.

Roast it in a 450ºF oven for about 8 minutes, just until the asparagus is tender. Remove the asparagus from the oven and let the asparagus cool on the tray.
The asparagus comes out of the oven even greener than when it went in.

Shave a couple ounces of cheese with a vegetable peeler.

Next comes the magic.

Heat about a cup of vegetable oil to 330ºF, and drop the fresh sage leaves in. They’ll crackle and hiss. Remove them after just 10 seconds (before they brown) and let them drain on paper towels.

The fried leaves keep well for a few days in a sealed container, so you can make these ahead if you have the self control that I don’t possess. They are so light, crisp, and fragrant. I can eat them like sage-y potato chips.

Assemble the salad by placing the cooled asparagus on a platter, drizzling the dressing over it, and then sprinkling it with the shaved cheese and fried sage leaves.

In the time I took to write this post, the brilliant blue sky has filled with clouds and it looks like we could be in for some more snow. Winter is still with us, as it should be, in early March. But I’ve seen signs of green, and spring can’t be far off now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We got this recipe from the Herbfarm Cookbook. We don’t tinker with it much aside from scaling it up or down to accommodate the number of diners. It’s perfect just as is. If you don’t own the book, you can find the recipe here.

Jewish Vegetarian Kishke

Kishke. There’s nothing elegant or pretty about it.

It’s a homely dish of humble origins. Strictly peasant food, made from whatever was left over to throw into a bowl (meat or vegetables or both), combine with a filler (flour, barley, bread crumbs, or matzoh meal), color with paprika, and spice mildly with salt, pepper, and maybe some garlic.

As far as I remember, my family only ever served the Jewish vegetarian version (celery, carrot, onion, spices, flour, in a synthetic sausage casing). And there was no such thing as making it from scratch. Grandma bought it from the deli down the street, sliced it, and then baked it “to death” (just the way I liked it).

When I was a kid, I had no idea what kishke was made of. It was just… kishke, a delicious entity of its own. I probably would have been appalled to know it was made of celery, carrots, and onions.

But this is definitely a case of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts. Combine these ordinary ingredients (I bet you have most, if not all, of them in your kitchen right now), add heat, and what you get is something a little ugly and oh-so-delicious.

Close your eyes, take a bite, and isn’t it glorious? Greasy. Crunchy. Savory. The very definition of umami.

Kishke is not to be found in our neck of the northeast woods. Not even a frozen, lesser variety.

Until now, the only way to satisfy my kishke craving was to make a pilgrimage to that deli in Toronto and smuggle a few logs across the border. Yes, we do that (we also cart back chocolate bars, halva, bagels, challah, and, oh, let’s not get into this right now…). In fact, we have one of those precious logs in our freezer, thanks to my sister’s last trip. And we’re saving it for a special meal.

So, it’s been on my mind for quite awhile to learn to make this dish. This month’s Let’s Lunch theme—a song- or music-inspired dish—provided the perfect excuse. The recipe I came up with, after reading every vegetarian kishke recipe I could find, is pretty good. It comes as close to the real thing as anything I’ve tasted. It won’t keep me from stopping in at the deli in Toronto for a fix, but at least it’ll keep me in kishke between trips.

And the song? Oh yes.

So what if the song was inspired by the dish and not the other way around? So what if I never even knew the song growing up? It’s still a hoot, and you can polka while the kishke bakes.

** I don’t care who the song says stole the kishke. I know the truth. After I sliced the kishke for a final bake, I left the slices unguarded on the kitchen counter while the oven heated. When I returned some minutes later, one of the slices was gone. The culprit? It was Hudson, our ever hungry, food-snatching cat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Want to know what songs the rest of the Let’s Lunchers are singing today? Read their posts to find out (I’ll continue adding links as they becomce available, so check back here for a full list later).

Tiger Cakes ~ from Ellise at Cowgirl Chef
Honey Mac Wafers with Coconut ~ from Lisa at Monday Morning Cooking Club
Tommy’s Chili ~ from Felicia at burnt-out baker
Purple Rice Pudding ~ from at Pat at The Asian Grandmothers Cooknbook
Banana Bread ~ from Rashda at Hot Curries and Cold Beer
Chicken and Dumplings ~ from Cathy at ShowFood Chef
Quiet munchies for concert-going ~ from Patrick at Patrick G. Lee
Coconut Cake ~ from Steff at The Kitchen Trials
Cuban black beans ~ from Linda at spicebox travels
Gluten-free Thin Mints ~ from Linda at Free Range Cookies
One Meatball ~ from Karen at GeoFooding
Smoked Brown Sugar Crème Brûlée ~ from Maria at Maria’s Good Things
Put the Lime in the Coconut Macaroons ~ from Emma at Dreaming of Pots and Pans
Pear Frangipane Tart ~ from Danielle at Beyond The Plate

If you want to join us for the March challenge (theme still to be determined), just follow the #letslunch tag in Twitter.

Vegetarian Jewish Kishke

Yield: 2 8-inch kishkes

Ingredients

2 stalks celery, washed and trimmed
1 carrot, peeled
1 small onion, peeled
1/2 cup water
1/3 cup vegetable oil
2 cups all-purpose flour (or as much as is needed to make a moldable dough that holds together)
2 teaspoons paprika
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper

Method

With a rack in the center of the oven, preheat to 350°F.
Very finely chop the celery, carrots, and onions (you can do this in a food processor).
Combine the chopped vegetables and all other ingredients in a bowl and then stir to combine.
Divide the mixture into two equal portions.
Place each portion on a separate piece of aluminum foil and form a log from each portion, each approximately 8 inches long.
Wrap the foil tightly around each log.
Place the logs on a cookie sheet and bake for 1 hour.
Remove the kishke from the foil. You can slice and serve it as is, or can refrigerate or freeze it for later on. If you’re like me, and like a drier/crunchier kishke, before serving, slice a log into 2-inch slices, put the slices on a baking sheet, and bake in 350°F until the slices are browned and crispy.

You can serve the kishke unadorned, or you can top it with gravy or any sauce of your choice (tart, fruity flavors like cranberry and lingonberry go very well with it). Last night, I tried it with this balsamic-fig sauce and it was wonderful.

Martha’s Potato Kugel

It’s all about the tool: the flat, wire grater my grandmother Martha used to grate the potatoes and onions for her potato kugel.

There’s just no making it right without that tool. Sure, you can make a fine kugel with your standard potato grater, or even with a food processor. If you make it that way, you won’t be disappointed, but once you’ve had it made with the wire grater, there’s just no going back.

Unfortunately, I didn’t own the tool for a long time. Nor, in fact, the kugel recipe. The kugel was one of those things that grandma (in possession of the original grater) made. When she no longer was able, my mother or an aunt would step in. In time, the grater and the recipe fell to my generation. My sister became the keeper of both, and she’d transport them to my house for the the holidays when we wanted the kugel.

I was happy for my sister to have the grater. It made sense. She was so close to my mom. It seemed a natural path of inheritance.

But I wanted to be able to make that darn kugel myself. Whenever I wanted.

I live in a lovely place, but you don’t visit this area for its shopping (unless you have a hankering to visit the King Arthur Flour store, of course). No one around here seems to know about the wire grater. But, by gum, the World Wide Web sure knows about it, and when it (finally!) dawned on me that I could order one online, I had the thing in my hand a week later. And the recipe soon after.

When the Lets’s Lunch group decided that this month’s challenge was to make a holiday side dish from our family or culture, I knew it would come down to either latkes or the potato kugel. After all, what’s a Jewish holiday without some form of potato cooked in oil? And if the recipe requires using a tool where you’re sure to shave some skin off a knuckle, all the better.

The potato kugel is very similar to potato latkes (rendered so ably by fellow Let’s Luncher Lisa, aka @MMCCchikie). Its brief ingredient list yields a rich, irresistible, and festive holiday treat.

The process of making the two recipes begins identically: grate the potatoes and onions, squeeze out the extra liquid, add a little flour (or matzoh meal during Passover), some salt (and pepper if you like), a couple eggs, and mix.

For latkes, you’d form patties out of the mixture and then fry them in oil until golden. For the kugel, you add the oil to an oven-proof pan, then add the mixture to the pan, and bake it until the oil is absorbed and the kugel is golden brown.

If you’re a traditionalist, serve the kugel with some apple sauce. You won’t be unhappy. For an extra treat, though, serve it the way we ate it this evening, topped with sauteed mushrooms. It’ll taste so good, you won’t even notice your scraped knuckles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Want to find out how the rest of the Let’s Luncher are celebrating their holidays? Check out Cheryl’s post (Auntie Jane’s Potato Gratin), where she rounds up all the Let’s Lunch posts in one place. If you want to join us for the January’s challenge (still to be determined), just follow the #letslunch tag in Twitter.

Martha’s Potato Kugel

Ingredients

10-12 large potatoes (I used yukon gold)
3 medium, yellow onions
1/8 cup flour (or matzoh meal during Passover)
1 tablespoon salt
3 eggs
vegetable oil (I used safflower)

Method

With a rack in the center of the oven, preheat to 350°F.
Peel the potatoes and onions, then finely grate them into a large bowl, alternating the potatoes and onions to keep the potatoes from browning.
Squeeze the potato and onion mixture through cheesecloth to remove most, but not all, of the moisture. Return the mixture to the bowl.
Add the flour (or matzoh meal), salt, and eggs to the mixture, then stir to thoroughly combine.
Pour enough oil into a 9″ x 13″ baking dish to cover the bottom of the dish with 1/8″ of oil.
Heat the pan in the pre-heated oven for about 15 minutes.
Remove the pan from the oven and test the oil to make sure it’s hot enough by placing a small spoonful of the potato mixture in the oil. If it bubbles, it’s hot enough. If it’s not hot enough, return the pan to the oven for another five minutes, then test it again.
When the oil is hot, spoon the potato mixture into the hot pan, pressing the mixture flat on top and into the sides and corners of the pan. The oil will rise up on the sides of the pan.
With a spoon, collect the oil from the corners and sides, and then drizzle it across the top of the potato mixture to evenly distribute the oil.
Bake until the top is golden brown and crispy. Depending on the size of your pan, the depth of the kugel, and the amount of oil you used, the kugel may be done in just an hour-and-a-half, or may take as long as three hours. Check at 1 1/2 hours to make sure it’s not browning too quickly, then continue to cook until it’s as brown as you like.

Note: You can also bake the kugel in individual ramekins or baking dishes. Follow the same instructions for preparing the potato mixture, add a bit less oil to each baking dish, and then divide the mixture evenly among the baking dishes. If you use small dishes, the baking time will be dramatically reduced. I made a half batch of the mixture and divided it among four 4″-diameter dishes. The kugel was baked perfectly in just one hour.

Rich tea in October

Your definition of “tea” largely depends on where you were raised, and perhaps how much BBC television you watched as a child.

For some, tea is a steaming mug of English Breakfast with milk and sugar sipped in a coffee house while tapping on a laptop keyboard. For others, it’s a delicate cup of matcha accompanying a platter of sushi. To some, “tea” means a decadent, mid-afternoon splurge at The Plaza, plates towering with ornate pastries, delicate cookies, and scones slathered with strawberry jam and clotted cream. And for others, it means a light early evening meal of sandwiches, cold meats, pickles, fish, and maybe a little cake.

So, when this month’s Lets’s Lunch challenge of “High Tea” was announced, my imagination ricocheted from definition to definition to definition.

Once the image of a gooey square of Millionaire’s Shortbread bounded through my brain, though, all other thoughts went out the window. Have you ever tasted this decadent wonder? A base of buttery shortbread, topped by a layer of oozy, rich caramel, covered by a final layer of chocolate? If you have, you know why I’m lamenting the fact that I made the ones pictured above some weeks ago and there are no more in the house.

If you haven’t, well, then… allow me to introduce you!

I first tasted Millionaire’s Shortbread when we visited Scotland a year ago this month. On a trip full of wonderful things, Millionaire’s Shortbread was a standout. We sampled it wherever we found it, but our favorite incarnation was served here, at The Elephant House, where JK Rowling began to write a story about The Boy Who Lived.

I’m sure someone sells these treats in our part of the planet, but I haven’t seen them in any bakery windows near me. So I decided to learn how to make them myself. Fortunately, they are blindingly simple to make (which is a good thing considering how quickly they disappear). They are particularly easy if you have a source of ready-made caramel sauce (many grocery and specialty food shops sell dulce de leche in jars), but making your own caramel sauce isn’t hard at all (you can see an easy recipe here, among many other places).

This morning there was frost on the ground and a thin layer of ice on the water buckets in the barn. I have a fire going now, and the caramel-colored dog has rolled himself into a tight donut beside it. I have a mug of black, black tea sweetened with honey. Although I don’t have any Millionaire’s Shortbread in the larder, I’m planning on sharing tea today with my fellow Let’s Lunchers. I can’t wait to see what they bring to the table!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Won’t you take tea with us? Here’s what the rest of the Let’s Lunchers have cooked up for you:

Little Lemon Meringue Tarts ~ from Lisa at Monday Morning Cooking Club
Lemon-Lime Shortbread cookies, Apple-Cheddar Scones, and making High Tea work in real life ~ from Steff at The Kitchen Trials
Ginger Tea and Kaya Toast ~ from Linda at spicebox travels
Tea with Spiced Chickpea and Sweet Potato Tidbits ~ from Rashda at Hot Curries & Cold Beer
Welsh Rarebit ~ from Patrick at Patrick G. Lee
Sweet Potato Tea Bars ~ from Cathy at Showfood Chef
Egg Salad Tea Sandwiches ~ from Charissa at Zest Bakery
Taiwanese Sandwiches ~ from Grace at HapaMama
Cheese & Onion Sarnie ~ from Cheryl at A Tiger in the Kitchen
Brown Sugar Shortbreads ~ from Emma at Dreaming of Pots and Pans
Mesquite Hemp Cocoa ~ from Linda at Free Range Cookies
Saskatoon Berry Tartlets ~ from Karen at GeoFooding
Cougar Gold and Shallot Shortbread ~ from Mai at Cooking in the Fruit Bowl

Millionaire’s Shortbread

(Adapted from Millionaire’s Shortbread at Food52)

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
t tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter at room temperature, cut into small pieces

1 cup cajeta, dulce-de-leche, or other caramel sauce (I use David Lebovitz’ recipe for goat-milk cajeta in his terrific ice cream book, The Perfect Scoop. If you are making your own cajeta or dulce-de-leche, make it before you make the shortbread.)

4 ounces semi-sweet chocolate
1/2 cup cream, half-and-half, or milk (I used whole goat milk)

Method

With a rack in the center of the oven, preheat to 350°F.
Put the flour and salt in a bowl and blend with a whisk.
Whisk in the sugar
Add the butter and stir with a fork until just combined, forming a soft dough.
Gently pat the dough into a 9-inch square baking pan. Don’t press hard. Small holes and gaps are fine.
Bake for about 25 minutes, until it is just turning slightly golden and the surface looks dry.
Allow the shortbread to cool while you prepare the other ingredients.
If the caramel is cold, warm it gently in a double-boiler, hot-water bath, or microwave oven until it is pourable.
Pour the caramel over the shortbread base, tipping the pan to spread the caramel evenly.
Refrigerate the shortbread and caramel while you make the chocolate layer.
In a small saucepan, bring the cream or milk to a boil.
Remove from the heat, add the chocolate, and stir or whisk until the chocolate is smooth and shiny. This will take only a minute or so.
Allow the chocolate to cool for a few minutes, remove the shortbread pan from the refrigerator, and then pour the chocolate mixture over the caramel layer, tipping the pan to spread the chocolate evenly.
Refrigerate for at least 3 hours, then cut and serve.

Lamb and memory

When the Lets’s Lunch gang proposed that we make a cold entrée for this month’s lunch date, the first ideas to flash into my mind were gazpacho, cured salmon, dolmas, and chilled sesame noodles. All perfect for a hot summer night when turning on the oven is about as appealing as donning a parka in a sauna.

And then I remembered a mid-summer afternoon years ago, a picnic with dear friends outside the newly opened Seiji Ozawa Hall at Tanglewood. It was a decadently lazy day. We lounged on blankets, supine, with the sun on our faces and gorgeous music drifting out of the hall’s wide open shed doors.

We chatted, we laughed, we listened, we ate. We had not a care in the world beyond what tidbit to snack on next, or whether we should open another bottle of wine now or later. We were the luckiest people on the planet and, even at that moment, we knew it. We knew it was one of those afternoons that would never be repeated and we were blessed to be living it then, together.

I thought I had locked away every detail of that long summer afternoon into my memory, but I find now that neither M nor I can remember the music that was playing, though at the time it took my breath away. My brain stem remembers it as a Brahams piece, but which?

Here’s what I didn’t forget: the taste of the lamb chops I had made the day before, then chilled overnight. I’d made the recipe several times before and always served it hot. What inspired me to make it as a cold dish? I’m afraid I can’t remember that either. Where did I get the recipe? That is also gone. How much else have I lost? I’m afraid to know.

But here’s the beautiful thing about food: When I made this dish for our communal, virtual lunch this month, as soon as I smelled that garlic, mustard, rosemary salve, my memory turned right back to that summer day, the lush lawn and the lazy listeners. Taste and scent. We don’t forget those.

Though this recipe starts out hot, the cooking time is brief and there’s precious little to do in preparation. Put your favorite music on the stereo. Mince some rosemary and garlic, mix with cornmeal, salt and pepper. Briefly sear the rack of lamb on a hot, dry skillet to caramelize it, slather it with mustard, apply the cornmeal mixture, and slide it into a pre-heated oven.

While it cooks for half an hour, go sit on the porch and watch the afternoon float by for awhile. There’s not enough time to really do anything useful, so why not watch the clouds? Or listen to a favorite song five times. Or throw the ball for the dog, because summer only lasts so long.

When the timer beeps, pull the lamb out of the oven and just let it cool. Slice it whenever you get to it. You can eat it warm if you like, but if it’s a hot August day, put it in the fridge to chill, then serve it later that night, with chilled, barely cooked green beans, and maybe some slices of tomato with mozzarella and balsamic. And wine. Oh yes, for goodness’ sake, don’t forget the wine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summer still has some time left to spend with us. If you want other ideas for cold entrées, take a look at what the other Let’s Lunchers have prepared for you:

Byron Sprout Salad with chargrilled chicken ~ from Lisa at Monday Morning Cooking Club

Cold noodles with stir-fried vegetables, hoisin pork, and spicy shrimp ~ from Eleanor at Be a Wok Star

Strawberry soup ~ from Mai at Cooking in the Fruit Bowl

Gazpacho rolls ~ from Linda at Free Range Cookies

Seafood Napoleon and Cold Olive Oil Poached Chicken Salad ~ from Victor and Charles at The Taste of Oregon

Spicy Sichuan Sesame Noodles ~ from Cheryl at A Tiger in the Kitchen

Croque Monsieur with Cheese Bechamel ~ from Maria at Maria’s Good Things

Jasmin Tea Poached Shrimp Summer Rolls ~ from Cathy at ShowFood Chef

Gazpacho with an Indian Twist ~ from Rashda at Hot Curries & Cold Beer

Cous Cous with Cilantro Pesto and Halloumi ~ from Danielle at Beyond the Plate

Korean Ice Water Noodles (mul naengmyun) ~ from Emma at Dreaming of Pots and Pans

Smoked salmon BLT with dill-horseradish aioli ~ from Charissa at Zest Bakery & Deli

Rack of Lamb with Mustard and Rosemary

Ingredients

Rack of lamb (approximately 8 ribs)
6 tablespoons cornmeal (I use coarse cornmeal, labeled as “polenta,” but any will do)
3 teaspoons minced, fresh rosemary leaves
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt
Ground black pepper, to taste
3-4 tablespoons Dijon mustard, or whatever mustard strikes your fancy

Method

Preheat oven to 400°F.
Combine cornmeal, minced rosemary, minced garlic, salt, and pepper in a small bowl.
Heat a skillet and then sear the rack on all sides until nicely browned (a couple minutes per side).
Transfer the rack (fat side up) to an ovenproof pan or dish.
Brush the fat side of the rack with mustard, then coat the mustard with as much of the cornmeal mixture as will adhere.
Bake the rack for 30-40 minutes, until desired doneness.
Allow to cool slightly, then slice chops apart.
In warm weather, refrigerate sliced chops and serve cold. In cold weather, serve immediately.

Pie! Spanakopita and rhubarb crisp

I woke up feeling a bit giddy this morning.

It’s not just that it’s Friday, or that the sun is shining and the temperature is perfect, though all of that could explain it easily enough. I think it was because I knew I’d get to spend the first part of my morning writing here, hanging out with you, and participating in my very first Let’s Lunch! That’s a nice way to end the week, don’t you think?

For those of you who don’t know about it already, the Let’s Lunch group hosts a virtual potluck lunch once a month. The group chooses a lunch theme and then the participants post their interpretation of that theme on their blogs on the same appointed day. I know! Isn’t that cool?!

The theme for this month’s lunch is “pie”, sweet or savory (or both).

Sometime right around the time the theme was chosen, M and I were messing around with making goat-milk feta, so it didn’t take me long to settle on making a spinach pie with feta. Our fridge was bursting with feta and the farm stand was bursting with spinach and scallions.

I wanted to make this spinach pie a bit “goaty”, so I added some home-made chevre to the recipe on top of the goat-milk feta. I don’t think it affected the flavor much (not as much as I’d hoped), but it did make the filling extra creamy and luscious. If you don’t like goat flavor, by all means, use sheep- or cow- milk feta and omit the chevre. Or try adding a few ounces of crème fraiche, marscapone or other soft, spreadable cheese to get that creamy texture.

The process for making spanakopita is mostly very simple: wilt the spinach either by stirring in a hot pan or blanching briefly in boiling water (you can even use a package of defrosted, chopped frozen spinach if you’re in a pinch); saute the scallions in a little olive oil for a few minutes to bring out the fragrant flavors; then mix the greens (spinach, scallions, chopped dill, chopped parsley) together with the cheeses, a couple of lightly-beaten eggs, a little salt and a touch of nutmeg or any other spices you like.

The one semi-tricky part of making spanakopita is handling the phyllo, but as I keep re-learning, the best way to deal with phyllo (and most other things) is to be patient with yourself and just relax about it all.

There are all sorts of tips out there for handling phyllo to keep it from drying out, and for working really quickly, and for getting really smooth layers. All I can say is that when I relax and don’t worry about it, it works out just fine. If it rips, so what? A typical package comes with many more sheets than you’ll need for one pie; don’t stress about tossing a few if you have to. Anyway, once you layer the sheets down and brush with olive oil, cover it with spinach and cheese, and bake it, it all comes out flaky and delicious, rips or no rips. That said, I included a link in the recipe (at the end of this post) for a video that shows one way to handle the phyllo with ease.

I had originally planned to just make the one pie, but it’s rhubarb season around here and I couldn’t resist making my favorite rhubarb crisp recipe, which is so easy and perfect, I really could make it every night while the rhubarb lasts.

This is a rhubarb-only crisp, but you can certainly add strawberries if you like. I used to make it with strawberries, but once, when our rhubarb crop exceeded our strawberry balance, I tried the rhubarb on its own and discovered that I loved it that way.

You can assemble this crisp while the spanakopita is baking, then throw it in the oven when the spanakopita comes out and you’ll have a warm, fresh crisp ready for dessert.

For this recipe (in detail at the end of this post), all you need to do is wash, dry and chop the rhubarb into small pieces, and toss it with some sugar; in a separate bowl, mix up the topping (flour, brown sugar, ground ginger, butter).

Assemble the crisp by putting the sugared rhubarb in a baking dish (or in ramekins, as I did), sprinkling on the topping, and then baking for about 40 minutes.

Because we are crazy goat people, I topped mine with a little goat-milk gelato, but the crisp is just fine on its own. It makes a pretty nice breakfast, too.

Thank you, Let’s Lunch friends, for inviting me into your group and giving me a great excuse to make pie! I love the idea of this group. The only flaw I see in the concept is that the lunch is virtual. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could all meet on a tree-shaded hillside on a warm summer day, lay all our pies out on long wooden tables, and taste a slice of each in person while we gossiped, sipped wine, and watched the children and dogs play? *sigh*

Maybe someday.

For now, readers, you can join in the virtual lunch by making your own pie. For inspiration, take a look at the pies my fellow Lunchers have made for today:

Pilaf pie with chicken, sultanas and sweet spices ~ from Lisa at Monday Morning Cooking Club
Japanese curry pot pie ~ from Cheryl at A Tiger in the Kitchen
Lime custard n curd pie ~ from Charissa at Zest Bakery
Nutella hand pies ~ from Cathy at Showfood Chef
Dirt pie with compost cookie crust ~ from Linda at Free Range Cookies
Pecan pie ~ from Rashda at Hot Curries & Cold Beer
Summer chicken pot pie ~ from Denise at Chez Us
Three Recipe Lemon Meringue pie ~ from Mai at Cooking in the Fruit Bowl
Maine Summer Strawberry Rhubarb Pie with Lemon/Lime Ice cream
~ from Caitlin at Caitlin Shetterly
Chicken Pot Pie ~ from Danielle at Beyond the Plate
Chinese sausage and roasted sweet potato hand pies ~ from Emma at Dreaming of Pots and Pans
Berry-Lemonade Icebox Pie ~ from Steff at The Kitchen Trials

Spanakopita

(Adapted from “Greek Spinach & Feta Pie”, by Susanna Hoffman, Fine Cooking Magazine)

Ingredients

2 pounds fresh spinach, washed, dried, trimmed, and coarsely chopped
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus approx. 1/3 cup for brushing on phyllo
1 bunch scallions (approx 3 oz.), white and light-green parts only, trimmed and finely chopped
10 oz. crumbled feta cheese OR 7 ounces crumbled goats’ milk feta cheese and 3 ounces chevre
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
1/2 cup finely chopped fresh dill
1/2 cup finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon kosher or sea salt
Frozen phyllo dough sheets (9×14-inch), thawed and at room temperature

Method

Position a rack in the center of the oven and pre-heat to 375°F.
Wilt spinach by heating a large saute pan over medium-high heat, adding a few handfuls of spinach at a time, and cook while tossing gently with tongs. Continue adding handfuls of spinach until all of the spinach is wilted and bright green, about 3-5 minutes.
Use a slotted spoon to transfer the spinach to a colander set in a sink. Let the spinach drain and cool slightly, then use your hands or the spoon to squeeze out as much liquid as you can.
Wipe the pan dry with a paper towel, then heat the 3 Tbs olive oil in the pan over medium heat.
Add the scallions and cook until they are soft, about four minutes.
Add the spinach to the scallions, mix, and cook, stirring, for about 30 seconds. Transfer mixture to a medium-sized mixing bowl and let cool for five minutes.
Add remaining ingredients (cheeses, eggs, dill, parsley, nutmeg, and salt) and mix thoroughly.
Use a pastry brush to lightly coat the bottom and sides of a 9x13x2-inch baking pan with olive oil.
Line the bottom and sides of the pan with several sheets of phyllo, brushing olive oil on each sheet of phyllo before placing the next one on top. For a nice demonstration of how to line the pan with phyllo, see this video on YouTube.
Spread the filling evenly over the phyllo.
Repeat the oiling and layering of several more phyllo sheets to cover the top of the pie.
Brush the top of the last sheet with olive oil
Bake the spanakopita until the top crust is puffed up and golden, about 40 minutes.
Let cool before cutting with a sharp knife.

Rhubarb crisp

(Adapted from “An American Place”, by Larry Forgione)
For the filling

1 pound rhubarb, trimmed, washed, dried, and cut into 1/3-inch pieces
1/2 cup sugar

For the topping

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup packed brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground ginger
4 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into small pieces and slightly softened

Method

Preheat the oven to 375°F.
Place the rhubarb pieces in a bowl, add the sugar, and toss well. Let sit for 20 minutes, until the rhubarb starts to release some liquid.
While you wait for the rhubarb, combine all the topping ingredients in a small bowl and gently mix with your fingertips until the mixture resembles coarse crumbs.
Divide the rhubarb mixture evenly into eight 1 1/2 x 3–inch diameter ramekins.
Sprinkle the topping evenly over the fruit-filled ramekins.
Place the ramekins on a cookie sheet for easy transfer to/from the oven.
Bake for 40 minutes, or until the topping is golden and the filling is bubbling.
Serve warm or at room temperature.

GrongarBlog

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Category Archives: Let’s Lunch

Goat cheese panna cotta with mango foam

Goat cheese panna cotta with mango foam

Pain au levain

Harry’s Matzo brei

Harry Cohen’s Matzo Brei

Mini Meringue Buttons

Mini Meringue Buttons

Roasted asparagus and sage salad (or, Making our own spring green)

Jewish Vegetarian Kishke

Vegetarian Jewish Kishke

Martha’s Potato Kugel

Martha’s Potato Kugel

Rich tea in October

Millionaire’s Shortbread

Lamb and memory

Rack of Lamb with Mustard and Rosemary

Pie! Spanakopita and rhubarb crisp

Spanakopita

Rhubarb crisp

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