As a refresher, please see my earlier post on this topic. Also, to reduce confusion, I will use the term “zapped” to refer to the heat that comes from chiles or horseradish or other such foods, and the term “hot” to refer to food that has a high temperature.

After soaking the peas for about two and a half to three hours, I started peeling and dicing/mincing/grating the aromatics (onion, garlic, chile, ginger) at around six-ish. Since Fred’s not much for zapped food, I only used one chile, and (contrary to the recipe!) I seeded it before dicing. While I was finishing up the dicing Fred got started melting the ghee… he cooed at how quickly the ghee melted. Once the aromatics went in, I accidentally slipped into professorial voice and explained the process by which ghee is traditionally produced (culture, churn, cook, collect); Fred is used to the professorial voice and therefore (wisely) tuned it out.

Meanwhile, the hot ghee-onion-garlic-chile-ginger combo started smelling a-m-a-z-i-n-g — and then we added the garam masala and turmeric. At this point, the dish started to look and smell much more Indian, though the garam masala blend we picked up was a little clove-ier than I was expecting; the tomatoes rounded out the flavor a bit before the (drained) peas went in for their hour and a half cook time.

I’ll skip the saga of the brown rice and naan. (You’re welcome.)

In retrospect, there was a reason the original recipe didn’t say to seed the chiles, and the overall flavor suffered a bit because of my additional caution; next time I’ll either leave the seeds intact, use two seeded serranos, or try another variety of chile. Lack of zapped-ness aside, though, the overall flavor was lovely and complex, and the texture was silky-smooth; it paired beautifully with the brown jasmine rice and naan we already had on-hand, and that nice hoppy IPA finished off the meal.

I’m definitely going to do this recipe again, so that’s another New Year’s black-eyed pea dish for the future repertoire. Hooray!

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Read a great suggestion from meeegan today: when a recipe calls for grated ginger, freeze said rhizome, then peel and grate it. The frozen ginger won’t stick to the back of the grater or leave a fibrous mess on the front; instead, the resulting “ginger snow” (I love that term!) falls neatly away from the grater and melts into the dish, leaving behind the ginger flavor but not altering the dish’s consistency.

Thanks meeegan!

Fred’s folks came over to our place for Yule this year. I made the roast (tofurkey!) and cranberry sauce, while they brought some squash, some potato pancakes, and the dessert.

The food turned out great, though I had a bit of a problem with the nifty cranberry-sauce recipe I got from Whole Foods. Turns out that, while it’s great fun to attempt to puree crystallized ginger, it’s also futile; the bits become sticky and merge into large clumps. I didn’t really notice this as I was cooking the cranberries, though, and added everything as the time demanded. When it came time to eat, the ginger flavor was quite nice in the first couple bites — subtle and enhancing the cran-flavor. And then I hit the first big chunk of crystallized ginger.

INTENSE. WOW. I like ginger, but not that much. Sadly, the rest of my portion was rife with big chunks, which soured me on the leftovers.

Needless to say, I’ve learned my lesson: “pulses” means “seriously, don’t lay on the fracking ‘chop’ button”.

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Fred’s folks did come through on some extra-awesome kitcheny gifts: an electric kettle, a French press, and an enameled cast iron Dutch oven. We’ve used them all, and so far they’re all making the kitchen easier to handle.

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As I’ve mentioned here before, I’m always interested in re-interpreting my family’s traditional New Year’s black-eyed peas into something tasty. In my childhood, we always had a fifteen-bean soup that was disparagingly bland; I remember drowning it in so much ketchup that the otherwise-off-white broth became blood-red. Most of my attempts have involved replacing another sort of legume with black-eyed peas; this has had mixed results, including a strongly-worded rebuke from somebody who didn’t like me replacing the pigeon peas in his curry recipe.

Since we’ve vegetarianized the house, Fred and I have taken a new approach to menu planning: each night of the week is a different cuisine, and whenever appropriate we stick to said cuisine for holiday meals. As it turns out, 1 January 2009 is Indian night, and I am pleased to report that black-eyed peas are a common component in many traditional curries and that it is not necessary to substitute them for anything else. After a little Googling, I found a suitable recipe (though I feel compelled to point out that that should be “Masala”, not “Marsala”) and hit the store.

I’ve got all my ingredients now (including ghee! I LOVE GHEE!). We already had some nice brown rice in the cabinet, some heat-and-serve naan in the freezer (um, duh), and some India pale ale in the refrigerator, so we can round out a nice complete meal without too much trouble. (I will confess that the IPA is a bit of a stretch, but damn if it isn’t good stuff.) The recipe doesn’t call for an overnight soak, so I can leave the black-eyed peas alone until mid-afternoon on the day proper.

So far this recipe shows quite a bit of promise. If it works out, then I might just keep it for next year. I’m already thinking about growing black-eyed peas in the garden, which would make this even awesomer, but if that doesn’t work out then the bulk section at Whole Foods has dried organic black-eyed peas for pretty cheap.

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Since I mentioned Whole Foods… If anybody from said establishment is reading this, then please give a substantial bonus to whomever came up with the quickie “hearty winter vegetable soup” package in the produce section. The soup was fast and delicious and smelled SO GOOD as it was cooking, and I didn’t have to chop anything or even learn what a whole rutabaga really looks like. My only suggestion would be to find some way to better sequester the onions from the other components; that would make it easier to get the onions into the pot without accidentally dropping in some parsnip or sweet potato.

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Finally, my mother gave us all bottles of rosemary-enhanced olive oil for Christmas this year, in a brave attempt to use some of the rosemary that’s taking over her front porch. We used some to sauté the onions in the aforementioned winter veggie soup, and it worked out beautifully. Good call, Mom.

As discussed here previously, we’ve been attempting to reconfigure our favorite recipes in a meatless style. Last week we did further testing on veg adaptations of baked rigatoni with béchamel.

In this attempt, we removed the half-pound of prosciutto (as before) and replaced it with

• about a quarter pound of cremini mushroom caps, cleaned and thinly sliced
• a jar of roasted red bell peppers (about four medium peppers), drained and cut into thin strips
• a whole lot more salt and black pepper

Results were very promising. The roasted peppers shone through, accenting the flavor of the cheeses and adding a piquant note to the overall aroma. The mushrooms were quite a bit more subtle in their flavor and aroma, but they added quite a bit of depth to the sauce, and their texture was a welcome variation in the otherwise-consistent chewiness of the overall dish.

I would definitely do this combo again, though further refinement is necessary. I think I may add more mushrooms and use a somewhat saltier cheese (perhaps a nice Parmesan or Romano mixed into the sauce alongside the other cheese[s]). We could also try this with a different type of mushroom — maybe button, maybe morel, definitely shiitake.

More posts on this as the experiments continue.

(Also: heh, I got to use the word “piquant” in a food post.)

Over the weekend Fred and I finally celebrated our first wedding anniversary by going out for a nice dinner. We arrived at the restaurant and perused the drink menu, with my eye immediately landing on “Cucumber martini” with Hendrick’s listed as the first component. I am a gin boy, and I enjoy Hendrick’s, so I figured the other components would enhance the cucumbery goodness therein.

I should have read more. I got a martini glass full of cold neat Hendrick’s with a ribbon of cucumber in it.

Folks: If you don’t put anything else in it, then it isn’t a martini. It’s just gin. Don’t call it a martini if it isn’t a martini.

Last night was the first attempt to re-do some of our favorite recipes in a more vegetarian style. I think this’ll probably work best if you can see where we started — my adaptation of Giada de Laurentiis’s baked rigatoni with béchamel.

Baked Rigatoni with Béchamel, non-veg style

Béchamel — makes four cups
• 5 tbsp unsalted butter
• 1/2 c all-purpose flour
• 1 quart whole milk
• 1 small onion, peeled, trimmed of ends, and halved
• 1 dried bay leaf
• Pinch nutmeg
• Pinch pepper
• 1/2 tsp salt

Before we begin: YOU CANNOT ALLOW THE MILK OR THE FINISHED SAUCE TO BOIL IN ANY PART OF THIS PROCESS. If you do, then the sauce will not work!

In a small saucepan over low heat, warm milk, onion, and bay leaf for 30 minutes or until rather warm (100 degrees F or so). Discard the onion and bay leaf and reserve the warm flavored milk.

Melt the butter in a medium saucepan over medium-low heat. Once the butter is melted, add flour and whisk for 3-4 minutes or until the mixture is smooth and pale blond. Slowly add the warmed milk and whisk continually for about ten minutes or until the sauce is thickened and velvety. Remove from heat and add nutmeg, salt, and pepper.

Everything else — serves six ordinary people or three people with my appetite
• 1 lb dried rigatoni
• 4 cups Béchamel sauce (as above)
• 1 cup shredded cheese that melts well — Asiago and Fontina work beautifully here, by themselves or together
• 1/2 lb prosciutto, sliced thin then cut into thin strips
• 3 tbsp unsalted butter, softened
• 1 tsp olive oil
• Grated Parmesan or Romano for the top

Preheat oven to 425 F. Use the olive oil to grease the bottom and sides of a 13×9″ glass or ceramic baking dish.

Warm Béchamel if it is not already there. (Remember – don’t let it boil.) Add half the shredded cheese and all the prosciutto and whisk until the cheese is melted and the prosciutto is well-mixed.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Salt liberally and add rigatoni. Cook for a few minutes less than the package directions; we’ll finish cooking in the oven. (It should be chewy, but not al dente.) Drain.

Combine the partially-cooked pasta with the enhanced Béchamel and pour into greased baking dish. Top with the remaining shredded cheese, dust that with some grated Parmesan or Romano, and dot the whole thing with the softened butter. Bake for 25 minutes or until the sauce bubbles and the cheese on top turns golden brown. Let cool for five minutes, then serve either on its own or with a green salad.

It’s a little more labor-intensive than we normally do, but the effort is well worth it, especially on cold rainy/snowy/icy/blah nights like we had last night. You can also assemble everything, then cover it and stash it in the refrigerator for a few hours before uncovering and baking.

Since we’re doing without pork at home now, we substituted 1 red bell pepper (cored, seeded, and cut into very thin strips) for the prosciutto. It was pretty good, but kind of bland. I think I didn’t compensate enough for the prosciutto’s saltiness, which was just enough to make the other flavors stand out. Also, in retrospect, I could have sliced a couple rings from the pepper and put them on top of the dish for presentation’s sake. (Then again, it was a very tasty pepper on its own, and I probably would have eaten several rings before they made it onto the dish. As it was, I ate quite a few strips while the pasta was cooking.

I think the next time I may either add more salt; melt a saltier shredded cheese into the Béchamel; or try a different vegetable or combination of vegetables. (I don’t want to make this into “Lots of Vegetables with a Little Pasta and Cheese Bake”, though; the pasta and sauce are the stars here.) Mushrooms would be pretty good with this. A jar of roasted red peppers or quartered artichoke hearts may also do nicely, if they’re packed in brine. I wouldn’t do olives here, though.