spiced oatmeal cookies with raisins

This is a classic oatmeal cookie with crisp, lacy edges and a slightly cakey center. The oatmeal lends the wholesomeness, and the raisins bring the nostalgia. The right texture, and a hint of sophisticated flavor, make for a very satisfying cookie.

Spiced Oatmeal Cookies with Raisins (adapted from the Art of Simple Food by Alice Waters)
makes roughly 3 dozen cookies

1 1/2" segment of ginger, peeled and sliced, plus 1 teaspoon finely diced
heaping 1/2 cup raisins
4 whole cloves
1/2 cup plus 1 teaspoon water
1 stick unsalted, slightly soft, butter
6 tablespoons granulated sugar
6 tablespoons dark brown sugar
1 egg (preferably room temperature)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups rolled oats (not quick cook)
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 -1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground, or crushed, coriander seed
2 pinches ground cloves
2 dashes cinnamon
maybe a couple twists of pepper

In a small saucepan combine 1/2 cup water, the raisins, coriander, cloves, and ginger slices; bring everything to a boil and set aside to steep for 20 minutes.

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Line two heavy duty baking sheets with parchment.

Assemble the dry ingredients. Grind the oats in a food processor--a few pulses should do it. In a medium bowl, whisk together the ground oats, flour, cinnamon, and cloves, and then set aside.

In a large bowl, cream the butter with beaters, or, if using a stand mixer, with the paddle attachment. Beat on a low speed until the butter is fluffy and creamy. Then add the sugars, and beat again until the mixture is fluffy and light. Toss in the fresh ginger. Combine the 1 teaspoon boiling water and the baking soda and then add the the butter mixture. Beat in the egg just until combined. Remove the ginger slices and cloves from the steeping raisins, and strain out any water. Fold into the butter mixture. Slowly add the flour, beating until just combined.

Drop in 1" balls onto the prepared baking sheets and bake for 8-10 minutes, rotating baking sheets halfway through. Remove from oven and cool for 10 minutes, then remove to a plate, or wrap up.

a brief history of the waffle

It stands to reason that if you have a waffle iron, you probably also know how to make waffles. Or at least you know how to find a waffle recipe. But, I made waffles so that's what I'm blogging about. As Brian frequently points out, the origins of waffle irons are mysterious. Why create a device so elaborate for a food you've never had?

The word origin of waffle is related to wafer, and a waffle is essentially a leavened wafer. In order to cook wafers, one had to press the thin batter between two irons and then stick it into the fire, or a coal bucket, to cook. So, if you're pressing the wafer anyway, you might as well make a design, and then you realize that texture makes things taste better, and then you add the leavening, and then you realize how perfect the basket pattern is for holding syrup, or, in this case, apple compote and syrup.

Ivan Day's site historicalfood.com has detailed information about the history of waffles and wafers. It's a pretty cool site. Once Brian sees it, he's going to want make every recipe featured--he is always threatening to make figgy pudding and stuff like that. The following recipe for a dutch style wafer, or waffle, is from 1724, and I am taken with the simplicity as much as the butter content.

The Right Dutch-Wafer (from Ivan Day's historicalfood.com)

Take four Eggs, and beat them very well, then take a good Spoonful of a Pint of fine Sugar, one nutmeg grated, Cream, and a Pound of Flower, a Pound of butter melted, two or three Spoonfuls of Rose-water, and two good Spoonfuls of Yeast; mix all, well together, and bake them in your Wafer-tongs on the Fire. For the Sauce, take grated Cinnamon, Sack, and melted Butter, sweeten’d to your Taste.

From Mary Kettilby, A Collection of Above Three Hundred Receipts (London: 1724).

Since you probably don't have wafer tongs, allow me to offer a more contemporary recipe, served with a bit of fresh apple compote and maple syrup.

Easy Waffles (adapted from How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman)
serves four or five

2 cups all-purpose flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
2 teaspoons sugar (more for a sweet waffle)
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 cups plus 2 tablespoons whole milk
2 eggs
4 tablespoons butter, melted and then set aside
1 teaspoon or so vanilla

Preheat your waffle iron. Combine the dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, combine the milk and eggs, beating them together a little bit; then add the butter and vanilla. Stir the wet ingredients into the dry, and stir until just combined. The batter should be a touch drippy, so add a little more milk if you need it.

Brush a neutral oil on the waffle iron, and ladle in a 1/4 cup of batter at a time. The waffles are going to get much bigger, so don't overdo it. If you have an electric waffle iron like mine, the light will change from red to green when the waffles are almost done. I keep a close eye and tend to pull them when they're golden, and the slightest bit crispy. Keep the waffles in a warm oven until you are ready to serve them. If you are totally classy, throw your plates in the oven too.

Quick Apple Compote

an amount of apples, sliced
1/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons lemon or orange juice
1 teaspoon of lemon or orange zest
spices of choice
pinch of salt
honey

While you are cooking the waffles, combine all, or some, of the ingredients above, and cook on medium heat until the apples are falling apart and bubbly.

Serve the waffles with a ladleful of compote, and a drizzle of real maple syrup.

classic braised red cabbage with apples

I have a complicated relationship with red cabbage. On the one hand, it grosses me out. On the other hand, I love it. One time I ate a falafel that had red cabbage in it and it mixed with the tahini and there was this lavender liquid oozing out of the pita and it grossed me out so much that it was a long time before I could eat falafel again. Kind of like when you get sick after you eat something and then you can't eat it again, only I didn't actually get sick, it just makes me sick to think of lavender tahini. Disgusting.

On the other hand, I love German food and I especially love German food in the fall, which means I love braised red cabbage and apples. There's not really a whole lot of difference taste and texture-wise between red cabbage and green cabbage, but I think for this dish, red cabbage looks a lot more appetizing. The pale flesh of the apples against the white cabbage, just looks bland. With the red cabbage, the apples will take on a little fall color. When you cook with red cabbage it's really important to use an acid (in this case vinegar) or it will turn blue (which is kind of cool because there aren't a lot of blue foods, but it would probably turn most people off).

Braised Red Cabbage with Apples (adapted from Mark Bittman's Best Recipes in the World)
makes a dutch oven full of cabbage

One medium sized red cabbage, diced
2 apples, peeled, cored, and chopped
6 tbs. butter! (The original recipe called for 8 and even I couldn't bring myself to do it.)
3 tbs. apple cider vinegar (or white or red wine vinegar)
2 tbs. sugar
2 big spoonfuls apple butter (or a sweet jelly)
salt
pepper

In a large, heavy-bottomed pot, melt the butter. Add the vinegar, sugar, salt, and pepper.

Dump in the cabbage and stir. Let it go for a few minutes until it starts to get soft.

Turn the heat to low and add the apples and apple butter. Give it a stir and put the lid on it.

Cook for 45 minutes-1 hour. Check every once in a while and if it seems like it's getting dry in there, add just a little bit of water.

turkey, gravy, sides, and food snobbery

At Brooklyn Supper, we make an effort to keep things local and organic, but we try not to go crazy about it. Sometimes you need a banana or a lemon. Or sugar or coffee. And around mid-March, you think you're going to go crazy if you eat another root vegetable. But when we have a choice, we like to get things at the farmers' market or one of the local butchers, which I know comes off to some people as something snobby and even silly.

The topic of food snobbery came up at Thanksgiving. One of our many fantastic guests was our friend Patrick who owns the Hamdingers cart (check it out if you're ever in Charlottesville, Va.) which focuses on local, organic street food. Patrick was saying that a lot of times people come up to the cart and ask what's with all the organic food and why doesn't he just sell "normal food," which got us to talking about what "normal food" is.

It's a weird thing that a fast food burger, full of hormones and cows who were fed cows, served on a bun with all kinds of weird ingredients is normal, but the kind of food that almost everyone ate for centuries is some kind of fancy-pants thing. But that's how it is, so this Thanksgiving, we put on our loosest-fitting fancy pants and dug in.

To begin, we had fresh apple butter (made by our youngest guest), goat cheese, pate that Patrick picked up at Marlow and Daughters, and brie. Then we moved on to home-made pickles--kohlrabi, grape, and carrot. We also had grape salsa with brie on crostini. Then we sat down for soup, an amazing turkey, and a rainbow of sides. And finally, we ended with fresh pumpkin pie and real ginger ice cream.

The bird was perfect. When I ordered it, the butcher thought they would top out at 16 lbs., so I put on my request form that I wanted the biggest one I could get. I ended up with a 21 lb. bird that we could barely get into the oven, but that was ok since we had a little help from our wonderful neighbors, and a large toaster oven. Our hearts were certainly warmed by the company (mostly old friends, and some new ones), which was good because the turkey cooked a lot faster than expected and was lukewarm by the time we sat down. But it was alright, gravy fixes everything, we had each other, and all the dishes our friends brought- squash soup, potato gratin, roasted root vegetables, stuffing, and green salad- were fantastic. It was really, really great to share such a delicious meal with so many dear friends, and the potluck atmosphere was just right for the evening.

We had a long, borrowed table set up diagonally to fit in the room, and with a couple of tablecloths and candles it was just right. By the end of the evening, we even had a father and son passed out on the sofa with the football game on.

p.s. Why don't we eat gravy more often? Expect to see a lot more dishes with gravy on Brooklyn Supper in the coming year.

(the spread)

(Toast with gravy the morning after--sublime)

thankful

Our Thanksgiving preparations have been underway since the weekend when I roasted three sugar pie pumpkins. Today I made pickled grapes with cinnamon, and pickled carrots with thyme, garlic, and shallots. I have also made my pie dough, prepped the beets for a roasted beet appetizer, and made both a traditional cranberry sauce, and a bright raw cranberry relish.

I am supposed to be making the sweet potato pudding too, but have possibly forsaken my easy, sweeter-than-the-pie sweet potato pudding recipe. I've been making it for at least two years and it's hard to turn your back on tradition.

We will of course be recapping the full Thanksgiving event, but for now Brian and I want to wish you and yours a very happy Thanksgiving.

bread pudding with apples and dried cranberries

Bread pudding is the perfect fall dessert--now more than ever. Football is entering its baroque phase with rules piled upon rules; clocks that advance, stop, reverse, have seconds added and taken away; bizarre jargon in place of plain speech; and endless reviews of video. The whole enterprise screams out for something simple as a counterbalance. Something rustic. Something that calls to mind a time when if it looked like someone fumbled the football, then he fumbled the football. Something like bread pudding with apples and dried cranberries.

Brian brought back these opalescent golden green apples from the farmers' market. I thought about pie, or even another tart, but bread pudding seemed like the way to go. I loved plum pudding so much I wanted to see if I could make a festive bread pudding with fall flavors. The plum pudding had a considerable tang, whereas this version features the quiet tones of vanilla and apple. I also cut way back on the sugar, which gives the flavor of the actual cream a voice.

So I made the bread pudding, we had friends over, ate crazy bacon mushroom cheese burgers, watched football, drank beer, and then ate this. Sadly, it was at this point that my miserable cold set in and I really have no idea what it tasted like. Luckily, they all tell my that it was really good and the vanilla and apple flavor came through.

If you are looking for an alternative to Thanksgiving standards, this is a good one because it is so forgiving. This pudding could also be a template for a general vanilla bread pudding, and could probably carry a half cup of pureed pumpkin or squash pretty well.

Bread Pudding with Apples and Dried Cranberries (adapted from "The River Cottage Cookbook" by Hugh Fearnley-Wittingstall)

5 flavorful apples, in our case the heirloom variety American Golden Russet, rinsed
1/2 cup dried cranberries
squeeze of lemon
1/2 loaf of white bread, stale or not, crusts removed, and sliced 3/4" thick
1/2 cup sugar
2 tablespoons butter
half a vanilla bean
2 cups heavy cream
1 cup whole milk
4 eggs
1 or more egg yolk

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Cut the apples into 1/2 inch slices. Scatter in a large baking dish somewhere around 9 x 13". Drop bits of butter all over, scatter the cranberries, squeeze the lemon all over, and give the pan a few shakes. The American Golden Russet apples we used were quite sweet, so I did not use any sugar in the roasting. If your apples are tart, sprinkle a tablespoon of sugar over the apples. Put into the oven and roast for 15 minutes until the apples are just bubbly. Let everything cool a bit, then pull the apples and cranberries out of the pan and set aside.

Meanwhile, cut the bread slices so that each half slice will stand about 4 inches high. Butter the slices and set aside. Use a ton of a butter or just a little, it's up to you.

In a large sauce pan heat the cream and milk. Slice the vanilla bean in half and add to the cream mixture. When it is just starting to bubble along the sides and steaming, cut off the heat and set aside for 10 minutes or so, then remove the vanilla bean. In large bowl, whisk the eggs, yolk(s) and sugar together. Whisking constantly, pour the cream over the eggs, and add a good pinch of salt.

Add a little more butter to the dish the apples were cooked in and arrange the bread so it is overlapping and at an angle (see below). Tuck the bits of apples and cranberries throughout. Slowly pour the custard over the slices. You want the bread to be almost completely covered, so add a bit of milk if you need more liquid. At this point, if you have the time, I strongly suggest you set the dish aside for 20 minutes to an hour--keep a close eye on it so you can add more liquid as it is absorbed.

Put the whole thing in the oven and bake at 350 degrees until the bread is golden and the custard has set a bit, roughly 40 minutes. Cool a while and serve.

(before baking)

braised lamb necks with cauliflower

Sometimes when you cook, you learn a little bit about yourself. For example, did you know that I don't know how to spell "cauliflower?" I just learned that about myself. I always thought it was spelled "cauliflour." For real. But as I typed this recipe, spell check kept picking it up, so I looked it up and saw that I was totally wrong. It's really weird. I'm usually a good speller. It's not like cauliflower is an unusual ingredient. It's one of my favorite vegetables. I worked in the produce section of a grocery store in college, so I've seen the word plenty of times. I would try and claim it's a British spelling but, for whatever reason, we get a lot of hits from Scotland, so I can't sneak that one by.

Anyhow, lamb neck is a tender, tasty meat. Totally worth it if you can get past the name. Like oxtails, it has a lot of collagen that breaks down as you braise it and leaves you with a really rich sauce, so it's great for stews and braises. On the downside, it has a lot of little bones in it, so watch out for those. I did this one in a dry white wine, because I think that makes it less rich than if you do it in red wine, but that could be all in my head. I think it's for real though.

Braised Lamb Necks with Cauliflower
serves 2

2 lambs' necks
3 cloves garlic, chopped
3/4 cup dry white wine
1/2 head cauliflower, chopped into bite-size pieces
1 tbsp. butter
salt
pepper
4-5 sprigs thyme (or rosemary or whatever you like)

-Rub the lambs' necks with salt and pepper.
-In a heavy pot with a lid, brown the necks in oil or butter over high heat.
-Add the garlic, wait one minute, and reduce the heat to medium.
-Add the wine, butter, and thyme, add salt and pepper to taste (you can add more later if you need).
-Cover and reduce heat to low. Braise for at least 2.5 hours, turning the necks every now and then.
- When you are a half an hour from being done, add the cauliflower to the pot.