Holiday Cheer and Roasted Potatoes with Smoked Trout and Avocado
“Tis the season for giving, sweet indulgences, and things that sparkle. Break out the pretty glasses, the ones you’ve been “saving for good” and fill them with the expensive champagne you stowed away for a special occasion. Pull that sequined top from the back of your closet and give yourself a reason to wear it. Have a cookie for breakfast, maybe two; Santa won’t miss them when he slides down your chimney. Even if the Mayans get it wrong and the world doesn’t end December 21st, 2012, there are plenty of reasons to celebrate. It just might take a little digging to find them, and where you find them can be surprising.
Holiday cheer is in short supply this year for many of my close friends and family who are wrestling with physical impairments, life threatening illnesses, depression, death, and divorce. Helplessly watching their struggles from the sidelines brought on a case of the blues the likes of which I haven’t seen since my mom died in 2000. Holiday baking didn’t interest me. Holiday shopping interested me even less. Greg decorated our tree alone while I watched from the couch in a fetal position. No boozy eggnog, no Johnny Mathis, not yet.
In an effort to shake the blues Greg and I wrapped the branches of the little tree in our backyard with a thousand tiny white lights. Remember Chevy Chase as Clark Griswold in Christmas Vacation? I teetered on the tall, dilapidated fence next to the tree, while Clark, er, um, Greg swayed back and forth on the extension ladder. We could hardly wait for darkness to fall, and when it did our tree was a luminous sight to behold. Two days later, the twinkling branches were dark again thanks to a sharp-toothed squirrel with an appetite for holiday lights. It was the final blow. I returned to the couch for more thumb sucking.
Depressed people are hard to be around for long periods of time, and by Saturday morning I was damn tired of myself. A holiday party was on the calendar for that night. Maybe a party was what I needed, but how could I expose innocent holiday cheer seekers to my bah humbugging?
I was conjuring up a believable excuse for bailing on the party when I got a text message from my sister. It was the message she swore she wouldn’t send this year, the very message I’d given up on receiving. My joy gushed out in wet, messy sobs. I hurried to find Greg and share the news. I looked everywhere before finding him in the backyard, swaying once more on the extension ladder perched next to the sad tree, except the sad tree was twinkling again. Greg triumphantly held up a roll of electrical tape when he saw me. His game with the squirrels was tied now at one to one. The doorbell rang before I could make it outside to congratulate him. I wiped at the tears on my face and walked to the front door. Our neighbor was standing there with a giant, red poinsettia in her arms. All of this–the message, the lights, the flowers–happened within the span of a few minutes, a few magical minutes. Yes, Santa, I believe.
There was still time to fetch the ingredients for the roasted potato appetizer I wanted to make for the party that night. And I knew right where to find my favorite black, sequined top and sparkly shoes.
Roasted Potatoes with Smoked Trout and Avocado
These are equally tasty with smoked salmon and capers. You’ll find the recipe variation below. You can also build these on toasts instead of roasted potatoes.
Ingredients
-
2 pounds small red potatoes
2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 cup crème fraîche (You can substitute 1/3 cup sour cream plus 2 tablespoons heavy cream.)
2 tablespoons grated horseradish
1/2 teaspoon fresh ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
1 avocado, cut into 1/8-inch thick slices
6 ounces smoked trout, roughly chopped
1 tablespoon fresh minced chives (optional)
Preparation
- Preheat oven to 400°F.
- Wash potatoes. Cut into 1/2” thick rounds. Place on a baking sheet and brush with olive oil. Roast for 30-40 minutes until lightly browned and tender but not mushy. Let cool. Keep refrigerated in an airtight container until ready to assemble.
- Stir together crème fraîche, horseradish, black pepper, and salt.
- Top each potato with the sliced avocado. Arrange the smoked trout on top of the avocado and drizzle with the horseradish crème fraîche. Sprinkle with minced chives if using.
Makes 18-24.
Roasted Potatoes with Smoked Salmon and Capers
Substitute smoked salmon for the trout. Eliminate the avocado and sea salt. 2 tablespoons of capers will contribute enough salt. Substitute 1 tablespoon of minced shallots for the chives. Top potatoes with smoked salmon, spoon the horseradish crème fraîche on top and finish with minced shallots and a few capers.
Letting Go and a Cranberry Ginger Frosty
This holiday season I’m giving myself a present. It’s the homespun sort, DIY if you will, laboriously crafted with love and guaranteed to please–the gift of letting go. If I waver, I’ll look to my favorite Zen story (as told by Eckhart Tolle in A New Earth) for inspiration:
Two Zen monks, Tanzan and Ekido, were walking along a country road that had become extremely muddy after heavy rains. Near a village, they came upon a young woman who was trying to cross the road, but the mud was so deep it would have ruined the silk kimono she was wearing. Tanzan at once picked her up and carried her to the other side.
The monks walked on in silence. Five hours later, as they were approaching the lodging temple, Ekido couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “Why did you carry that girl across the road?” he asked. “We monks are not supposed to do things like that.”
“I put the woman down hours ago,” said Tanzan. “Are you still carrying her?”
I’ve carried a lot of women over the years, some a very long way. My burdensome women have come in all shapes and sizes: late birthday cards, bourbon infused indiscretions, broken hearts and friendships, hurtful things I’ve said and heard, loving words left unspoken. A single incident can loop in my thoughts for days, weeks, even longer. Intellectually I know it’s futile, a waste of time and energy. Not one to harbor regrets, my mental review of what went down, what I got wrong, what I should have, could have done or said, isn’t about undoing what can’t be undone; it’s about understanding and learning from my mistakes.
The letting go can come with a long run, a good night’s sleep, or maybe an evening spent with my girlfriends drinking cranberry ginger frosties. I’ve put the woman down on my yoga mat. I’ve left her in the pages of my journal. Sometimes I can put her down once and for all. Other times I put her down and return for her a year later when the scab is unexpectedly torn from my wound.
The letting go can be abrupt like popping a joint back into place. After listening too long to the voices in my head, simply listening to my own voice as I tell it aloud is enough to shake her loose. The letting go can be slow and tedious too, happening so slowly and gradually that I can’t be certain where or when I put the woman down.
I turn to Greg for help with the big, clingy women. I don’t expect him to have the answers though sometimes he does. Instead, I just need to hear that I’m okay, that I’m not broken, and that I’m still lovable. Greg always knows when I need to be reminded of the two monks, “You’re still carrying her aren’t you?” Sometimes the pain or shame runs too deep, and I simply cannot put her down, not yet.
This holiday season I’m letting go and unloading my harem once and maybe for all. I’m going to put the woman in a stocking or under the tree. I’ll bake her into a hundred cookies. I’ll string her up in tiny white twinkle lights. I’ll wrap her up in shiny paper tied up with a red velvet bow. I’ll bury her in a pile of fresh, sparkling snow; stir her into a boozy glass of eggnog; or stuff her into a Christmas card and drop her in the mail. I will put the woman down even if it’s only for the holidays, because I can’t think of a better present to give myself this season or any.
Cranberry Ginger Frosty
Inspired by a recipe for Cranberry Whiskey Sours in Cooking Light Magazine and my love for all things cranberry, this cocktail is guaranteed to put a little “ho ho ho” in your step.
Ingredients
-
2 cups water
1 1/2 cups granulated sugar
1/3 cup minced fresh ginger
1/4 teaspoon salt
6 cups fresh cranberries (2 12-ounce bags)
2 cups 80-proof bourbon
juice from 2 fresh limes
ginger ale
Preparation
- Bring water, sugar, and ginger to a boil in a medium saucepan. Stir frequently until sugar dissolves. Simmer for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool.
- Combine ginger syrup, salt, and cranberries in a blender or food processor; process until smooth and no cranberry or ginger pieces remain. Strain mixture through a sieve lined with cheesecloth over a bowl; press mixture to extract liquid. Discard solids. (You can skip this step. The resulting frozen concoction will be less icy and more deeply flavored, but you’ll have to pick the occasional cranberry seed from your teeth.)
- Combine cranberry mixture, bourbon, and lime juice in a freezer-safe bowl. Freeze mixture overnight or until partially frozen.
- Scrape mixture with a fork until slushy. Spoon into a glass, top with ginger ale and stir to mix. Serve immediately.
Serves 12.
Calling all Sangria lovers. Here’s another holiday sipper you’ll enjoy: Spiced Holiday Sangria
Our Thanksgiving
It’s a few hours before the sun is up on this Thanksgiving morning. The house is quiet, the kind of quiet that makes the sound of my fingers hitting the keys on the computer an unwelcome nuisance. In twelve hours, 26 guests–mostly Greg’s family–will be shoe-horned into our dining room, and this quiet time that in this moment sits at the top of my “Things I’m Grateful For” list will likely be forgotten.
Between now and “go” time, Greg and I and anyone that’s around to help have three turkeys to cook–a twenty-pound roaster for the oven and two twelve-pounders for the fryer, ten pounds of potatoes and seven pounds of sweet potatoes to peel, cook, and transform, and two more pies to bake–James Beard’s Rich Pumpkin (hold the candied ginger) and Gourmet Magazine‘s Cranberry Walnut Tart. The seven loaves of bread that have been cut into cubes and scattered on trays throughout the kitchen to dry will be turned into stuffing rife with sausage, sage, and apples. The kitchen will be popping with the sound of cranberries simmering on the stove for the sauce–mom’s sauce–that I’ve loved since I was a kid. We’ll roast eight pounds of Brussels sprouts (grown in my brother and sister-in-law’s garden) dressed with diced pancetta (Thanks Larry! And thanks Parma Sausage in Pittsburgh.) and a generous glug of maple syrup. A triple batch of Michael Ruhlman‘s 312 Biscuits found in his book Ratio rounds out our to-do list for the day. If all goes well, which means if I’m not in the shower when the guests arrive, Greg and I will pull it off without an argument. If…
All of this will join the Chocolate Truffle Cake and Pecan Pie Pops I made last night with my nieces; the roasted cauliflower soup, pumpkin roll with walnut cream cheese frosting, and life-saving make-ahead gravy that I knocked out on Monday with my friend Lisa; my mother-in-law’s broccoli cheese casserole and slab apple pie; the roasted butternut squash with Gorgonzola that my sister-in-law Kris now makes every year in lieu of a green bean casserole (whew!); and my sister-in-law Lori’s version of Christina Tosi’s aptly named “Crack” pie. We’ll wash it all down with cranberry whiskey sours and holiday spice martinis.
As I write this I can already feel my pulse quicken. With dinner twelve hours away I get lured into this relaxed state where the time available to prepare feels infinite. I slowly sip my coffee and review my list for the day. Once the sun is up I’ll convince Greg that I’ve got a handle on things so that he’ll go for a run with me–a Thanksgiving tradition that’s also perched near the top of my gratitude list. Just the two of us, our run is the only alone time we’ll have until the last guest leaves and we’re washing dishes, bleary eyed and too exhausted to speak let alone run.
This, and the kind of stuff that you can’t put into words, that traditions are made of, that gets me out of bed at 5am after only five hours of sleep, this is our Thanksgiving. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Happy Thanksgiving!
New Moon Rising and Ginger Garlic Pickled Carrots
Ding. Ding. Ding.
“New Moon 4:08PM.”
I set calendar reminders for new and full moons. The lunar cycle provides me with a framework for measuring progress in my life. When the new moon is approaching, I set intentions, goals, big dreams, little dreams, and maybe a few well wishes for good measure. I’ve long been a believer that to achieve something, you first must be able to visualize it. When the new moon rises, new visions are born and old ones are strengthened. The absence of moonlight fills me with hope, my slate wiped clean.
Be more compassionate.
Continue start meditating.
Have more sex.
Wash the walls on the second floor.
Get a new gig that pays enough to hire someone to wash the walls.
Write more.
Take a Photoshop lesson.
Become a better photographer.
Play your guitar more again.
Call Dr. T. about your back pain.
Do your back exercises.
Learn how to quick pickle carrots.
Finish writing the damn book.
Be kinder to yourself.
Stop procrastinating with emails.
Bake a croissant that reminds me of France.
Slow down.
Run a sub-seven-minute mile.
Stop obsessing about running exercise.
Learn the secret to the perfect baked chocolate cake donut.
Lose those last five ten pounds.
Sometimes, my intentions read like a corporate strategic plan. Other times I whittle it down to a single aspiration:
Be kind.
Or maybe just…
Be.
In spite of the contradictions that often populate my intention list, my optimism is renewed with each new moon. Maybe, just maybe, it will be different this time. A couple weeks later when the full moon rises, I consider my progress. The glowing orb in the night sky shines down on me, at times congratulating me, at other times cruelly mocking me for my fool-hearted optimism in the wake of repeated failure.
Why are the easiest commitments to break—the most important commitments–the ones we make to ourselves? I’ll promise a near stranger that I’ll email them a recipe by Friday. And I’ll deliver on time or maybe even a day early. The thought of reneging never, ever occurs to me. Earlier that same week I might have promised myself that I’d play my guitar—something that relaxes me, brings me unspeakable joy, and fuels my creativity–but by the week’s end the frets of my guitar were dusty. In those instances when I look in my rear-view mirror, I’m filled with disappointment and sometimes a bit of shame.
From here I could easily slide onto a therapist’s couch. We could discuss the importance of saying “no”, something I learned in my early 30s from my first therapist. We could dissect my dreams for clues. We could shine a light in the dark corner of my mind where the little girl who doesn’t think she’s worthy likes to hide. But we’re out of time. The new moon is almost here, and I can already feel my spirits lifting. It’s time to close my eyes and let my head fill with possibilities. And after that I’m going to play my guitar. This time will be different.
Ginger Garlic Pickled Carrots
Ingredients
-
1 pound large carrots, peeled and cut into 3/8×4-inch sticks (You can also use baby carrots.)
2 tablespoons coarse sea salt
1 2/3 cups unseasoned rice vinegar
1/3 cup sugar
1 tablespoon garlic, minced
1 tablespoon fresh ginger, minced
Preparation
- Combine salt, vinegar, sugar, garlic, and ginger and stir until the salt and sugar dissolve. Add the carrots and let marinate for at least 3 hours, preferably overnight, before serving. The thicker the carrots, the longer it will take for the flavors to develop.
- Store in an airtight jar and refrigerate for up to one month.
Halloween and Ham and Cheese Muffins
Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. Decades before Home Depot was selling giant, inflatable skulls, I was crafting realistic scary monsters out of my dad’s old flannel shirts and work pants and lighting up their makeshift heads with mom’s Christmas window candles. All year long I fantasized of being someone else, someone who didn’t live in a rundown house with parents who argued endlessly. Halloween was living that dream if only for one day. And it was the only time I wasn’t embarrassed of where I lived. Our dilapidated, faded green house sat perched on a steep hill surrounded by a moat of giant pines twice as tall as the house. They guarded the house like sentries, daring anyone to enter, and few did.
Our house was a fright all year long, but I could embrace it for one month of the year. As Halloween approached I’d begin drafting my plans for converting our gracious front porch into a scare fest. It took me three or four days–two of which were days I was supposed to be in school–from start to haunted finish. The results beat most anything you’ll find today: hand-painted tombstones, flying furry bats, dead bodies wrapped in sheets drenched with red paint swinging from mom’s plant hooks in the porch ceiling. Dad helped me build a wooden coffin for one of my monsters. When the strobe light was on you could convince yourself that the monster was moving. I blasted scary music from my boombox–a collection of recorded screams and music from my favorite horror films, Halloween and The Exorcist. Neighbors a block a way could hear Jamie Lee Curtis screaming as she ran from Michael Myers.
I never outgrew my love for Halloween. Instead, I married a man that would come to enjoy Halloween as much as I do. Our first Halloween together we threw a big party at Greg’s apartment and, along with Greg’s sister Laurie, dressed up like members of the band KISS. (Laurie was Gene Simmons complete with the biologically mystifying tongue. I was Ace Frehley. And a shirtless Greg was Paul Stanley.) Those costumes took me a week to make. I even made one for Peter Criss, the fourth band member of Kiss, and stuffed it with old newspapers just like I did the monsters on my porch as a kid. We laid Peter across Greg’s bed as if he’d been killed in a bloody battle. Two years later, in 2001, Greg and I were married on the Saturday before Halloween and treated our guests to a costume reception. That was our last big Halloween bash, but each year we still enjoy dressing up and giving the kids–and some adults too–a little scare. (That’s Greg in the picture below wielding the plastic sword.)
Halloween is a holiday with no obligations or expectations. There’s no pressure to buy the perfect gift or send a holiday card and no argument about how you’ll divide the holiday with your families that are 400 miles apart. Eating candy is allowed and encouraged. You can let your imagination soar, don a mask, a cape, or a wig and be someone else for the night. Your life and responsibilities will be waiting for you the next day just as mine were today even as I picked the black polish from my nails and got back to being me.
Ham and Cheese Muffins
Adapted from Heidi Swanson’s recipe for Cottage Cheese Muffins at 101cookbooks.com. Not a fan of ham? Make them with chicken or turkey instead. Or follow Heidi’s lead and skip the meat in favor of sun-dried tomatoes. These super-moist, savory muffins have a texture somewhere between a sponge cake and a quiche. They’re delicious piping hot fresh from the oven. They also freeze well. Make a batch; eat a few now and freeze some for later. They make the perfect breakfast for families on the go.
Ingredients
-
1/3 cup white whole wheat flour (or your favorite gluten-free multi-purpose flour)
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1 cup plain cottage cheese
3 oz. sharp cheddar cheese, grated (about 1 cup)
1 cup almond meal or finely ground almonds
4 oz. ham, diced (about 1/2 cup)
5 eggs
1/3 cup water
3/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons minced fresh chives, plus more for finishing
Preparation
- Preheat oven to 400°F. Grease a 12-cup muffin tin or line it with paper baking cups.
- Whisk together flour and baking powder.
- In a large bowl combine the remaining ingredients. Stir in the flour.
- Evenly divide the batter among the muffin cups, filling each about 3/4 full. Scatter a few chives on top.
- Bake for 30-35 minutes or until golden brown and firm to touch. Serve hot or at room temperature
Makes 12 muffins.
A Patient Food and Butternut Squash Pesto Pizzettas
There’s something about squash—winter squash to put a finer point on it—that soothes me in a way that other foods, even my favorites like pizza and Pleasant Ridge Reserve cheese can’t. I get a little giddy when the Delicatas, my harbingers of autumn that are usually the first of the season to ripen, start appearing at the market. By the time the butternuts and pumpkins arrive a couple weeks later, the leaves are crunching underfoot and I’m holding my coffee with both hands to keep the chill away. And though I’m frightfully aware that winter is just around the corner, I’m seduced by all things fall—the brilliant burning bush outside my front door, fresh sage, roasted chestnuts, the feel of a soft scarf around my neck, my chunky wool cardigan, and my everlasting brown boots that I annually vow to replace and don’t. It’s time to build a fire in the back yard with Greg and while away a Saturday night stoking the embers, sipping bourbon and Cokes, and revising and refining our plans for what we’ll do if we win the lotto.
In the kitchen, squash is my patient companion. A fresh garden tomato cries to be eaten the moment it’s picked, while a butternut squash actually improves with age and will keep for months if stored in a cool, dry environment. Unlike peppers and eggplants, there’s no kitchen race to roast it or pickle it before the tiny freshness window slams shut. The humble acorn squash perched in my window sill says, “No time to roast me and stuff me into ravioli this week? That’s okay; I’ll be right here next week when you’re ready for me.” I breathe a sigh of relief. If only my emails, texts, and voicemails could be so accommodating.
Butternut Squash Pesto Pizzettas
Adapted from Eric Gower’s recipe in The Breakaway Cook. My girlfriend Lauren turned me on to these, and Gower’s inspired cookbook, when she made them for my birthday a few years ago. Since then they’ve become my favorite fall party food. The variations are endless–goat cheese, pistachios, walnuts, sage pesto, feta, and more.
Ingredients
-
1 medium butternut squash, peeled (You only need the neck. Reserve the seed-filled portion for another use.)
1 tablespoon olive oil, plus more for brushing
sea salt
1/4 cup pesto
1/4 cup pine nuts, lightly toasted
Preparation
- Preheat oven to 400°F.
- Slice the squash neck into 1/2-inch thick wheels (a medium-sized squash will yield 10-14 wheels). Cut the wheels into any shape that pleases you. (Keep the wheels whole if serving as a starter course. Cut into smaller bites for hors d’oeuvres.) Place on an oiled baking sheet or Silpat. Brush with olive oil and sprinkle with sea salt. Bake for about 25-30 minutes, until softened but not mushy.
- While the squash is baking, thin the pesto with 1 tablespoon of olive oil. Spoon the pesto on the warm squash, sprinkle with pine nuts, and serve. (The squash can be roasted ahead of time and reheated just before serving.)
Makes 50-60 bite-sized hors d’oeuvres.
Ease and No-Knead French Bread
I bake bread every week, sometimes twice a week.
It’s not because I’m obsessive, which I can be. It’s because it’s really easy.
Flour + Yeast + Salt + Water
I know, I know, what’s easy for me may not be easy by your standards. But this isn’t like the time when I told you that making mozzarella cheese was simple. Or when I suggested that making your own ravioli was an uncomplicated process.
Bread, this bread, is easy–“four ingredients in a bowl, give it a stir, and forget about it for twelve hours” easy.
My husband Greg makes bread when I’m traveling.
My sister-in-law makes bread, and now she’s teaching her twelve-year-old son.
My friend Carrie makes a whole wheat version (half bread flour and half whole wheat flour) of this bread. She taught her husband how to make it and then her sister.
Easy.
That said, my love for making bread has little to do with the ease. There is an allure about it, a certain kind of magic if you will, that never dulls. I’m seduced by the russet colored loaves, a house that smells like a bakery, the feel of the warm loaf under my hand as I slice into it, and that first crisp yet chewy bite. Hold the butter, please.
Fresh bread has the power to unleash my primal instincts. On occasions all too rare, I eschew the bread knife and the evenly cut slices and instead pull the warm loaf apart with my hands. I plunge it into the salty wine broth left behind when we’ve polished off the last steamed mussel. I chew slowly–a much bigger bite than I’m used to–and watch Greg take his turn. His strong forearms bulge as he pulls at the loaf. He soaks his bread until its completely saturated with the briny broth. Not wanting to lose any of the salty goodness, he swiftly brings the drenched bread to his mouth. I’m still chewing as the glistening broth drips from his chin. This breaking of bread and breaking with our usual domesticated dining etiquette is liberating. As if, like the bread, we too are broken open.
In those fleeting moments the ease of making bread is lost on me. Slowing down, allowing myself to succumb to the bread’s magnetism, to savor the crusty loaf one satisfying bite at a time–there’s nothing easy about that.
No-Knead French Bread
Ingredients
-
3 cups all-purpose or bread flour
1/4 teaspoon instant yeast
1 1/2 teaspoons salt
1 1/2 cups water
2 teaspoons cornmeal or rice flour
Preparation
- Combine the flour, yeast, and salt in a large bowl. Add water and stir with a long handled spoon until the dough resembles a shaggy ball, adding more water if necessary. Cover bowl with cling wrap. Allow dough to rise at a warm room temperature (67-70°F) for 12-18 hours. It’s ready when it has nearly doubled in size and the surface is bubbly. (I typically make my dough the night before I want to bake it. If you want a shorter rise time, increase the amount of yeast to one teaspoon. The dough will double in bulk in 3-4 hours.)
- Sprinkle a large piece of parchment paper with cornmeal or rice flour.
- Flour a board and your hands with only enough flour to keep the dough from sticking. Turn dough onto the board and shape into a ball. Place the dough on the parchment paper with the seam side down. Set it in a large colander and cover with a cotton towel. Let rise for 1 1/2-2 hours until doubled.
- Put a 6-8 quart heavy covered pot (cast iron or ceramic) in the oven. About a half hour before the dough is ready to bake, preheat the oven to 450°F degrees.
- When the dough is ready cut a few 3/8-inch deep slashes across the top with a sharp knife. (This allows the steam in the bread to escape as it bakes.) Remove the hot pot from the oven and set the dough in. Cover pot with the lid. Bake for 25 minutes. Remove lid and bake for an additional 5-10 minutes, until the bread is deeply browned on top.
- Cool on a wire rack for an hour before slicing.
Makes 1 loaf.
Hungry for more no-knead breads? Try this No-Knead Bread with Muesli.
My Crash Course in Indian Cooking and a Recipe for Naan
Nothing can lure me out of a funk faster than planning a party. And not just any party. This particular mood improver was a celebration of Indian foods, which I love, and, more importantly, it was the first official cooking party for my fledgling company Conscious Crumbs. But there was an obstacle and it was a big one–my experience with Indian cooking was, err, um, well, limited, and teaching people to do things that I don’t know how to do wasn’t part of my business plan.
For years, I’ve been plodding my way through Julie Sahni’s Classic Indian Cooking and Madhur Jaffrey’s Simple Indian Cookery. A flaky but sad little paratha here, a chickpea curry there, the meals were good, but they paled in comparison to the delicious Indian cuisine I can easily find in Chicago. Yet with every saag paneer (greens with cheese) I ordered at my favorite Indian spot on Devon, I vowed that one day I’d be able to make authentic Indian food at home. So I let my “yes, I’ll do it” fly before my gremlins could start talking. Besides, I had a month to prepare.
Sahni’s recipes for braised meats and curries are solid though they often call for more oil than I like to use in my cooking. I was confident that I could adapt her recipes using less oil, but the samosas and the naan bread that I’d so eagerly suggested should be on the party menu (along with lamb korma, egg curry, and saag paneer) stopped me in my tracks. Both foods are technique intensive and require special equipment. When I’m faced with an intimidating to-do list that reads something like “learn how to make awesome naan bread and perfectly crisp, flavorful samosas,” Greg is quick to remind me to “eat the biggest toad first.” I considered the characteristic triangular shape of the samosa. It was a far cry from the pierogi and ravioli that I could make with ease. On shape alone, I chose the samosa as the biggest toad.
Though my Indian cooking experience was about 9,985 hours short of meeting Malcolm Gladwell’s 10,000 hour rule, my experience in eating Indian food was considerable. My thorough research taught me that the key to a good samosa is a crispy, not-too-greasy crust. I lost hours in front of my computer watching videos of chefs and home cooks making samosas (my favorite samosa video). Two dough recipes, three potato filling recipes, and a new deep-fryer later, I was finally ready for my next toad: the naan.
Making naan dough is a lot like making pizza dough–a little leavening, some flour and water, and a bit of kneading. Baking naan, however, is nothing at all like making a pizza. Traditional naan is baked in a 900°F tandoor oven, but at a cost of $600-$1000 for a domestic version, I had to draw the line on my equipment investment at the deep-fryer. Then I discovered that Julie Sahni didn’t include a recipe for naan in Classic Indian Cooking, because she considers it the kind of bread that’s easier to buy than make. Maybe the samosa wasn’t my biggest toad after all.
First I had to find a reliable recipe for the dough, which wasn’t the straightforward task I’d hoped it would be after Julie let me down. Many recipes are leavened with baking powder, while others rely on yeast. I tried both, again, and again. The yeast recipes require a longer lead time, but all resulted in softer, chewier breads than those made with the baking powder. The information for cooking techniques varied even more than the recipe ingredients–oven, stove top, baking sheet, pizza stone, open flame, skillet, lid on, lid off. Oh my! I went through ten pounds of flour and countless more YouTube videos (my favorite naan video) before I arrived at the recipe and technique below, which will produce the next best thing to naan fresh from the tandoor.
The party was a success. Was it the naan? Or the crispy samosas? Was it the egg curry? Or was it having the kitchen filled with vibrant women and laughter that made it a night we wouldn’t soon forget?
Naan Bread
Adapted from the recipe at Manjula’s Kitchen.
Ingredients
-
2 cups of all-purpose or bread flour, plus more for rolling
1 teaspoon instant yeast (Use more if a shorter rise is desired.)
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon granulated sugar
pinch of baking soda
2 tablespoons of oil
3 tablespoons plain yogurt
2/3 cup warm water
Optional mix-ins: cumin seeds, fennel seeds, onion seeds, chopped fresh garlic, fresh coriander
melted butter or ghee to finish the naan
Preparation
- In a large bowl whisk together the flour, yeast, salt, sugar, and baking soda. Add the oil and yogurt and mix with your hands until a crumbly dough forms. Add enough water to make a soft dough that’s not sticky. If the dough is too dry add additional water a tablespoon at a time. Knead the dough until smooth and satiny, about 3-5 minutes. Cover and keep in a warm place until doubled in volume, about 3-4 hours.
- Knead the dough for 2 minutes and divide into 6 equal parts. Cover with plastic wrap and let it rest for 20 minutes.
- Take each piece of dough, one at a time, and roll into an 8-inch circle or oval shape. Lightly dust your rolling surface with flour if necessary to keep the dough from sticking. If using, sprinkle the mix-ins on top and roll gently one last time, so that they stick to the surface.
- Warm a large cast-iron skillet over high heat until it’s nearly smoking. Gently lay the naan in the hot skillet. The dough will start to bubble after a minute. It should be blistered and somewhat blackened in spots. Flip the naan. Cook for about 30 seconds more. If the naan doesn’t bubble and brown after 90 seconds, the skillet may not be hot enough or the dough may be too thick.
- Remove the naan from the skillet, brush with melted butter or ghee and sprinkle with a little coarse sea salt. Place it on a plate and cover with foil. Repeat with the rest of the naans and serve.
Makes 6 naans.
Bob Vivant 