Category: Recipes

From the man himself. Voilà!

Chris Scott's Sweet Potato Fluff

Real simple...it's basically a sweet potato soufflé.

2 sweet potatoes
1 c. milk (warm)
1 stick of butter
[Wow, a stick of butter for two sweet potatoes! You don't mess around! --Ed.]
1/8 tsp. cinnamon
1/8 tsp. allspice
1/8 tsp. cloves
(all ground)
1/4 c brown sugar
6 egg whites

Peel, rough chop and boil potatoes. Drain water and put into a mixer. A bowl and a hand blender will do if you dont have a mixer. Add milk ,butter, spices, sugar and a couple pinches of salt. Blend till like mashed potatoes. Cool. Separately whip egg whites till firm, fold in with potato mixture. Place into a buttered soufflé dish and bake at 375 till puffy and done. ( when a skewer comes out dry). Garnish with marshmallow, or my new favorite -- eat it with spicy roast pork. [Yu-um. --Ed.]

Who wants to be cooking all night at their own party? I tried to design a menu that could stand on its own at room temperature for the whole evening. I set up a Make Your Own Crostini table (which negates the problem of soggy toasts) with four topping choices: roasted beets with parmigiano and basil (adapted from the Babbo recipe), the chicken liver paté with red onion confit, blackened eggplant puree with red peppers and garlic, and the surprise hit, this roasted butternut squash topping. A little sweet, nutty and bright, it smacks of autumn.

Roasted Butternut Squash Crostini

1 large butternut squash
2 tbsp. chopped sage
olive oil
salt
pepper
1/2 c. pumpkin seeds
hazelnut oil
toasts

Peel and chop the butternut into small dice. Toss with sage, salt, pepper and olive oil. Roast in 400 degree oven on a baking sheet for 30-40 minutes, stirring occasionally, until squash is caramelized and tender but not quite jammy. Place into your serving bowl.

While the squash is in the oven, toast the pumpkin seeds in a dry pan over high heat. Throw the pumpkin seeds on top of the squash and anoint the whole thing with a splash of hazelnut oil. Serve at room temp with toasts.

I don't know a ton about how to cook offal, so I've been experimenting with chicken livers lately. Raw livers have a really gelatinous, delicate texture which would probably really freak out those puritans who don't like to touch raw meat. (As I ran my fingers through the bowl of livers, I thought, Maybe the only people who know what this feels like are cooks who like offal and surgeons.) I don't have a whole lot of chicken liver recipes in my cookbook collection. But I did find one curious recipe in Madeleine Kamman's massive tome, The New Making of a Cook, for a Mousse of Blond Livers and Figs. The notes say, "Any good butcher can order the pale-colored livers for you."

While going through my pound of Bell and Evans chicken livers, I noticed that some of the livers were a pale, blondish color and some of them were a darker maroon. This wasn't the case with the tub of chicken livers I had bought from Flying Pigs Farm at the Greenmarket. None of their chicken livers were blond.

Today, I asked Jennifer of Flying Pigs what the color difference meant. She wasn't sure, but she said she'd look into it and let me know. I did a little googling and found that yellow livers are fattier (sounds good to me) and, according to Jacques Pepin, "they tend to have a mellower, richer flavor than deep-red ones."

Jennifer said she'd been chucking the paler livers. I asked her if she'd pack the blond livers and sell me the first tub. Flying Pigs Farm sells 1/2 pint tubs of chicken livers for $4. Note: Bell and Evans livers from Whole Foods were cheaper, but Flying Pigs' livers were a lot cleaner.

This chicken liver paté was a huge hit at my birthday soiree. I served it with olive oiled crostini, cornichons and red wine onion confit. To serve as a civilized lunch or light dinner, add a bit of bittersweet salad like frisee vinaigrette or puntarelle with anchovy lemon dressing. It's easy to make, improves if made ahead of time, and it looks impressive even though it's pretty cheap. I adapted this Epicurious recipe and added elements I liked from a bunch of other recipes; I also adapted a Saveur recipe for the onion confit. For the crostini, I recommend the not-too-holey peasant loaf from Bread Alone's Greenmarket stand.

Chicken Liver Paté

1 lb. chicken livers
1 cup milk
1/3 brick of French butter
2 shallots
1 clove garlic
1 bay leaf
1/4 tsp. dried thyme
1/4 tsp. dried marjoram
1/4 tsp. dried sage
pinch of allspice
a good glug of madeira
2 tbsp. creme fraiche
salt and pepper
fresh parsley and sage to decorate
another 1/3 brick of French butter

Clean the livers well, trimming away fat, membranes, veins and green bits (which could be bitter from bile). Soak them in the milk and set aside.

In the meantime, finely mince your shallots and garlic. Melt the first 1/3 brick of butter in a saute pan. Saute the shallots and garlic over medium-low heat til soft but not brown. Add herbs and allspice to the pan. Drain the milk off the livers and add them into the saute pan. Cook over medium heat til livers are browned but still pinkish inside, about 7 minutes. Add your generous glug of madeira and cook 2 minutes more. Remove from heat.

Let the livers cool for five minutes. Put the pan contents into a food processor and pulse til pureed but not too smooth. Add creme fraiche. Season aggressively with salt and pepper, tasting to make sure you have enough seasoning. Use rubber spatula to scrape mixture into a terrine. Smooth the top very well. Melt down your second 1/3 brick of butter. Skim the foam. Lay whole sprigs of parsley and whole leaf sage over the top of the paté in the most artistic manner you can muster. Pour the clarified butter over the top of the paté til you've sealed it in. Refrigerate at least one day before you serve it. According to the Epicurious recipe, it keeps for two weeks, sealed in butter

Note: if the clarified butter top scares you, you could also make an aspic glaze as described by Jacques Pepin here.

Red Wine Onion Confit

Melt a generous chunk of butter and olive oil in a pan. Add 3 thinly sliced onions, a tsp. of sugar and some salt & pepper. Sweat down til the onions are translucent and silky soft but not brown, 40 minutes. Add 3/4 c. cabernet or other heavy red wine. Reduce til most of the liquid is gone, 40 minutes. Add another tsp. of sugar if the onions are too tart. Finish with another hunk of butter at the end. Serve warm with paté.

Quince are coming into the Greenmarket! Raw, they're dry. They're rock hard. They're covered in gray lint. The astringency sucks the moisture right off your tongue. But cooked -- genius! That dry, grainy flesh, so sweetly perfumed, soaks up the white wine and vanilla in this sweet-tart, syrupy quince butter. Though the green ones have more pectin, choose ripe, yellow fruit for this recipe. I've riffed on the ingredients in a Claudia Fleming recipe my friend Julie recited to me once. The result is a rosy, speckled compote just sweet enough to spread on a piece of warm toast with salted butter. It's also excellent spooned over a little bed of ricotta cheese. I can't stop eating it.

Note: Vanilla beans can become an expensive habit, but there's no substitute. I got mine from Penzey's in the Grand Central food market -- 3 big, moist Madagascar pods come in a resealable test tube for $6.89. I hear SOS Chefs on Ave. B has great vanilla.

Quince-pear butter

5 large, ripe quince
white wine
water
1 vanilla bean
3/4 c. packed brown sugar (more or less to taste)
1 bosc pear

Peel, core and roughly chop the quince. Put quince in a saucepan with enough wine and water to cover (1 part wine to 2 parts water). Scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean. Add beans and pod to quince. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 30 minutes or until the quince is soft. Mash the quince with a fork til the fruit is spreadable. Add the brown sugar. Peel, core and thinly slice the pear. Add to the quince butter. Simmer for 15-20 minutes longer til pear is tender. (It'll be thick and lava-like. Scrape the bottom of the pot regularly with a rubber spatula so it doesn't burn.) Cool and refrigerate. Makes about 4 cups. Keeps for about 1 1/2 weeks (but I don't expect this batch to last me for more than five days).

So I couldn't tell you where Paul Liebrandt's restaurant will be or what he has in store for it (won't be Italian food), but I can tell you what I hope winds up on the dessert menu. Liebrandt made a bunch of cocktails for a Ciroc vodka demo I went to, the best being a lemon meringue stinger -- an ice cold (Pacojet-ed) vodka lemonade topped with hot Whip-it lashed egg white foam (egg white with with lemon juice, gin, and simple syrup, heated in the whipping canister to 160 degrees in a water bath). High temp meringue on the upper lip, icy tart alcohol on the tongue. Not the kind of thing you want to drink a whole martini glassful of, but a fun trick that you could recreate it at home as a final dessert palate cleanser.

As for the vodka, I didn't try it straight because, well, I drank a whole martini glassful of the delicious stinger on top of several lethal liquid nitrogen-caipirinha sorbets. I was down for the count by the time the straighter cocktails came out. I'll let you know how it goes when the bottle gets opened.

My favorite part of our annual Hudson weekend was getting to drop cash on a case of vino at Hudson Wine Merchants. We had to add a few $11 bottles of the delicious, medium-bodied Kaiken cabernet from Argentina after our wine seller described it as having a refreshing "hint of mint". We also loved the big cherry flavor of the 2003 Zaccagnini Montepulciano d'Abruzzo which, while apparently not as chocolaty as its preceding vintages, still had nice inky body. I tossed a jiggerful in with some sliced local Italian sugar plums for an impromptu midnight tart that we munched on after watching Singin' In the Rain. (See it again if it's been a while — Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds are total dreamboats.)

Midnight Plum Tart

It's midnight. Don't mess with the measuring spoons and cups. Use your eyeballs to measure and your tongue to taste.

Lots (2 lbs.?) of plums, any kind as long as they're local
1/4 cup to 1/2 cup of sugar, depending on how sweet your plums are
Gentle sprinkle of cornstarch
A big splash of red wine leftover from dinner
1 generous splash of vanilla
2 dashes of cinnamon
1 pinch of cloves
1 ready-made pie crust (yeah, yeah, I know how to make pie crust, but sometimes you want pie, not process)

Preheat your oven to 450 degrees. Slice up the plums, skin on. Toss with the rest of the ingredients (except for the crust). Unroll the crust onto a baking sheet, a pizza pan, or whatever ovenproof dish is handy. Arrange your plum slices, skin side down, in a pretty or a haphazard way, depending on how much of that red wine you have already had to drink. Roll the edges of the pie crust towards the middle, making a little lip to catch any of the juices. Pour the remaining juice from the plum bowl on top of the plums. Bake for 10-15 minutes til the pie crust is golden brown. Serves 8-12, more or less. Would be great with vanilla ice cream if you've got any hiding in the freezer.

***

By the way, I tweaked this recipe yet again. We ran out of berries this morning, so I used 1/2 cup of hot water-soaked golden raisins, zest of a lemon, 1 tbsp lemon juice, 1 tsp. ground cardamom, and 1/2 inch piece of microplaned ginger instead. Topped with a little crunchy granola. Still awesome.

I believe very strongly in tweaking recipes. I know that the magazines vet their work and try their recipes in their controlled test kitchens, but it's in the experimentation that the home cook can learn the most. I may be partially saying that because I've never been very good at following recipes. But I also spend a lot of time with music improvisers, and that's the same spirit with which I want to approach my cooking. All of those musicians are ace musicians who are capable of following the notes on the page, but it's in the anticipation of the next notes that the exciting innovation is made.

Last weekend, I couldn't resist buying a pint of red currants. They are just gorgeous, aren't they? I wanted to make those coffee cake muffins for a co-worker who requested them, but by Sunday night, I didn't have time to run around and get the ingredients. I was limited to everything I had on hand and a few things I could get from the gas station. In fact, I had to go off recipe in several different ways: I didn't have any all-purpose flour, I couldn't get any sour cream, the fruit was different, I didn't have enough muffin tins, and I didn't have milk.

Now if I were Chris Kimball, I would not be making my muffins. Or if I were, I might not feel confident I was making The Best Muffins. While I admire Cook's and their endless anal perfectionism, it's just not my style. And I don't think you can come to the conclusion that there is One Best Way to do everything.

I read cookbooks and blogs in part for instruction and in part for vicarious tasting. But in my own kitchen, I try to make my own music. If you've never tried it, you really should. Maybe your cake will fall, and maybe flavor will flatten a few times. I've certainly had my share of failures. But sometimes, in spite of variables and an uncontrolled environment, you succeed; and most importantly, you learn why you have succeeded.

This recipe produced a finer crumb than the original coffee cake muffins, with a bumpier top. I think the loaf was even better -- golden brown on all sides, it rose five inches high, with currants dispersed perfectly throughout the thick batter.

Red Currant Coffee Cake Muffins and Loaf

1/4 c. sugar
1 pint red currants
1 1/2 sticks of butter, room temp
1 cup sugar
3 extra-large eggs
1 1/2 tsp. vanilla
8 oz. cream cheese
1/4 c. half and half
2 1/2 c. cake flour (dumped into the cups, not spooned in)
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 6-muffin tin or line with paper cups. Grease a loaf pan. Wash currants and toss them with the 1/4 c. sugar; set aside. Beat sugar and butter together by hand. Add vanilla, eggs, cream cheese and milk. Beat some more. In a separate bowl, sift flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt together. Mix dry ingredients into wet with a light hand til smooth but not overbeaten. Fold fruit in. Scoop into muffin tin and loaf pan. Bake muffins for 25-30 minutes til golden. Continue baking loaf for another 10-15 minutes until golden brown and done in the middle. Makes 6 muffins and one loaf.

There's nothing like a little R&R with friends to recharge the old batteries. Doug's mom went out of town, so we moved in for the weekend bearing groceries, liquor, and bathing suits. We were laughing at what a bunch of old farts we've become -- who'd've thunk we could get so excited about hanging out at mom's house?

But what's not to love? An adorable house on the Cape, a deck festooned with pink roses, a dreamy kitchen with all the amenities, peace and quiet. You could hear and smell the sea from the woodsy neighborhood we were in. We noshed all weekend on nubbly shrimp butter toasts, Pimm's cup, and pan-fried cod. Doug baked and frosted a giant four-layer pecan spice cake with lemony cream cheese icing. It pretty much set me back about 3 weeks in exercise maintenance, but it was worth it. Oink oink.

I'd never been to Cape Cod, and being from California, I didn't really have any preconceptions of what the Cape would be like. Big houses with white decks and pebble gray shingles sit on unbelievably lush hills of grass. We were just blocks from a private beach, where mossy rocks jutted out onto a boisterous ocean and seabirds were kamikaze diving for fish.

A few highlights:

[At the McDonald's drive-thru.]

DOUG: I just need a little caffeine. I'm going to get a Diet Coke. Anyone want anything?

GANDA: No. Ooh, I want a caramel sundae if they have it.

BOX: Can I take your order?

DOUG: Hi, yeah, can I get a medium Diet Coke and a caramel sundae?

BOX: We don't have caramel, just chocolate and strawberry.

DOUG: [to me] You want?

GANDA: No.

DOUG: Okay, then, I'll just get a cone.

HEE JIN: Wait, get me a small fries.

GANDA: Make that a medium fries.

DOUG:[to BOX] And can I get a large fries?

**

The Raw Bar in Popponessett, where the steamers dipped in clarified butter were the best I've ever had; the lobster roll runneth over with scarlet, sweet lobster hunks just barely anointed with mayo; the oysters were so tantalizing and icy, I had to try one though I don't usually touch them in the summer. I asked the bronzed teenage waitress what kind of oysters they were, and she gave me this look like, "Jigga-wha?" I'll tell you what they were -- they were quivering, fresh and briny, perfect with a squeeze of lemon and a squirt of horseradishy cocktail sauce, and that's all you need to know.

**

Francis proclaimed these the best muffins he's ever had. I'm not disagreeing. The French butter gives them a crispy top and the sour cream keeps the crumb moist. I used a Barefoot Contessa Family Style recipe, which I changed just a bit to suit the ingredients we had. I should have doubled the recipe though -- I could have eaten five of those muffins myself.

Fruity Coffee Cake Muffins

5 tbsp. unsalted French butter at room temperature (I used Lescure)
3/4 c. sugar
2 large eggs
3/4 tsp. vanilla
1/2 c. sour cream
1/8 c. milk
1 1/4 c. flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. baking soda
1/4 tsp. salt
1 c. blueberries
2 large strawberries, diced
1/2 ripe banana, diced

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a muffin tin or line with paper cups. Beat sugar and butter together. Add vanilla, eggs, sour cream and milk. Beat some more. In a separate bowl, sift flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt together. Mix dry ingredients into wet with a light hand til smooth but not overbeaten. Fold fruit in. Scoop into muffin tin. Bake for 25-30 minutes til golden. Makes 9 muffins.

**

We spent all day Sunday chasing the shade across the backyard while drinking sangria. We nibbled on russet chips and Franwiches^TM, Francis's genius contribution to the culinary world. (I'm not sure if I'm allowed to divulge his recipe, so you'll have to use your imagination for now.) La Doug brought the clock radio out and blasted Tracy Chapman with Pavarotti, Mariah, and enough other pop fluff to chase the cardinals away. I thought, wow, if this is what Doug's mom's life is like every day, maybe I should start looking to buy a house outside the city.

Road trip tip: It never hurts to bring a loaf of bread, olives, cheeses, and a bottle of wine to enjoy when you arrive at your destination. Nobody wants to cook after a long drive, and liquor stores will be closed by the time you get there.

I don't want to gender stereotype, but...yeah I do. When a man throws a barbecue, he's usually got the meat covered. If you're looking to bring something, a vegetable side dish will most likely be a welcome addition to the buffet. I love a good meat fest, but I need to cleanse the palate with veggies between the chicken legs and the fatty short ribs.

I attended a lovely Brooklyn garden barbecue this Sunday afternoon, hopefully the first of many. My contribution: a refreshing fennel salad with grapefruit. I borrowed the idea from La Doug and tweaked it a bit. It's a sturdy summer side that preps in 10 minutes, won't wilt too much in the heat, can be dressed before you leave the house, and travels well in a covered mixing bowl. This is a classic example of good ingredients with little adornment. The grassy green of the pistachios picks up the pale dacquiri ice green of the fennel. With the peachy pink grapefruit segments, it's pretty in pastel.

Fennel salad for a Brooklyn garden party

2 fennel bulbs (choose a "female" bulb -- they're bubbly and round, not flat and long, and they're supposedly sweeter)
2 large pink grapefruits
A few handfuls of shelled California pistachios
Olive oil
1/2 lemon
salt and pepper
Parmesan cheese

Shave fennel bulbs thinly with a mandolin into a large bowl, across the grain. (The bulb should sit on the mandolin and get shaved almost til you reach the stems.) Sprinkle with sea salt and pepper. Pour a few glugs of good, fruity olive oil into the bowl. Squeeze the juice of half a lemon onto the salad. Toss the fennel in the bowl.

Pare the rind from the grapefruits by lopping off the stem end and the bottom, then cutting around the sides of the grapefruit rind til you just have a skinless grapefruit. Remove the smile-shaped segments of the grapefruit over your bowl of fennel by cutting along the segment skin. Drop the segments on top of the fennel salad.

Using a vegetable peeler, shave a generous amount of parmesan cheese strips on top of the grapefruit til the salad is covered with a single layer of cheese shavings. Sprinkle your pistachios on top. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and take your salad on the subway to go.