Daring Cooks' Challenge: Ricotta Gnocchi

It seems the Daring Bakers have decided look beyond their ovens and hit the stovetop. Yes, we now have Daring Cooks out there, each ready and willing to tackle a monthly challenge. For the inaugural challenge, Lis and Ivonne, the founders of Daring Bakers, and now Daring Cooks (which have joined forces in the Daring Kitchen) have decided on Ricotta Gnocchi from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook by Judy Rodgers.

I am a huge fan of gnocchi, whether potato, semolina (double yum) or ricotta. So this challenge was a great pleasure to take to. On top of it all, I saw this as an opportunity to revive my currently defunct (but never forgotten) tribute to cheese, Serious Cheese. While I can't say that was successful (you haven't seen any new posts lately, have you?), it did get me thinking about how much I've missed making cheese.

Making ricotta is quite simple. It is the first cheese I ever made, way back when before I really even seriously dabbled in cheesemaking. It doesn't require any fancy equipment or ingredients, just milk, acid (lemon juice, vinegar, or citric acid) and heat. Oh, you will need some cheesecloth; but there are so many more uses for cheesecloth than cheese alone, and it's reusable, so a little goes a long way.

As for the ricotta gnocchi, they too are quite easy; here the trick is starting with a well-drained ricotta (Ms. Rodgers suggests testing the ricotta by placing a teaspoon or so on a paper towel; if after a few minutes you notice a large ring of dampness around the ricotta, it will need to be drained further). Beyond that, it could be that the most complicated part of this recipe is shaping the dumplings themselves.

While the recipe called for hands as the tool for the job, I chose to go with spoons. Okay, I'm gonna get all French on you now: quenelles. While many of you, I'm sure, know what a quenelle is, allow me to educate those who don't. Traditionally, a quenelle is a poached dumpling based on a forcemeat (finely ground mixture, typically of fish or meat), shaped into a three-sided oval using two spoons. More often than not, in the present, a quenelle refers to the oval shape itself, not the ingredients being manipulated.

Rooted in classical French cuisine, I'm sure you could imagine making a quenelle is no easy task. And I don't recommend you go into this quenelle thing thinking they'll look like they should, either. After some practice I'm still, well, practicing. But I can tell you it's worth the try; broaden your horizons and at the very least, you'll get beautiful dumplings, with or without sides.

Homemade Ricotta Cheese recipe via Serious Cheese

Please check out Lis or Ivonne's blogs to get the full recipe for Ricotta Gnocchi from The Zuni Cafe Cookbook.

Daring Bakers' Challenge: Lasagne of Emilia Romagna

Here I am, with yet another Daring Bakers' challenge, overdue. Not out of idleness or neglect, no, this time it was the oven. (I swear.) And while I managed to bake a cake without one, this challenge was one project I couldn't tackle in its absence.

The March 2009 challenge was hosted by Mary of Beans and Caviar, Melinda of Melbourne Larder and Enza of Io Da Grande. They have chosen Lasagne of Emilia-Romagna from The Splendid Table by Lynne Rossetto Kasper as the challenge.

Fresh pasta is something that I love, but don't make...ever. I don't have a pasta machine, and while I am inclined to change that, I must admit there are quite a few other limited-use gadgets that I would prefer to find within the spatial limitations of my own kitchen. In other words, I was very happy to take on the challenge of making fresh pasta, completely by hand.

Yes, I know, I say that as if such a thing is a wondrous accomplishment, as though I have discovered the newest source of renewable energy or solved one of those mathematical equations that stumped everyone but the young, disgruntled janitor in that movie that everyone seems to love. And while it might be the everyday for some, and surely was for many more in the past, it is quite a feat for someone (me) who has adapted quite well to these times of convenience. I'll say it again, I made fresh pasta completely by hand. Now I'm just bragging.

Have I even told you how much I love this lasagne, specifically? Lasagne of Emilia-Romagna is over-the-top rich meets down-to-earth comfort. Imagine sheets of fresh spinach pasta layered between bechamel (a creamy white sauce) and a hearty meat ragu, finished with a browned and bubbly crust of Parmigiano Reggiano cheese. Try this once and you, too will understand.

This time around, I decided to put a twist on an old favorite. (Sure, this may have been the first time I've made this dish, but not the first time I've eaten it.) I went all vegetarian. I know, I know I talked all about meat sauce, and the meat sauce is part of what makes it in some ways, but this one turned out pretty darn alright if I may say. Still hearty, still decadent, and maybe even a little better for you. Believe you me, I'm no vegetarian, but taking a break from meat every now and again isn't such a bad thing.

But enough of that. Make this. Eat this. Love this. You will.

Thanks to Mary of Beans and Caviar, Melinda of Melbourne Larder and Enza of Io Da Grande, for testing the Daring Bakers' boundaries and getting me to make fresh pasta. (Please check out their blogs for the recipe for this challenge.)

Vegetable Ragu

1 yellow onion, finely diced
2 medium carrots, finely diced
1 bulb fennel, finely diced
2 celery ribs, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups vegetable broth, low sodium (or homemade)
29 oz can petit diced tomatoes
Flat leaf parsley, finely chopped
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Heat a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add olive oil, onions, carrots, fennel and sauté, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are caramelized and begin to soften. Add celery and garlic and continue to cook until aromatic.

Add broth and reduce heat to just above a simmer. Add tomatoes and keep just at a simmer. Stirring occasionally, cook until the sauce is very thick or has reached the desired consistency.

Season with salt and pepper to taste and stir in the chopped parsley. Serve over polenta or with tender, homemade pasta.

When Life Gives You Sour Grapes

Welcome back. Or rather, sorry to keep you waiting. I won't mince words here: August was a tough month. And who am I kidding, where has September gone? In these past weeks, with many things to say, and no time to say it, came failed attempts at cooking up something worth talking about. There may have been a success (or two?), but we'll get into that another time.

As for the now, it's sour grapes. I have one rule when it comes to produce: if you've never before seen it, buy it. And that's how I came up with sour grapes. Clusters of firm, bright green jelly beans, they were. I snuck a taste; they snapped open between my teeth, quickly sending an acid-induced shock throughout my body. Good grief, what could I possibly do with these? Actually, I kinda liked it. Okay, I really liked it. They tasted like unsweetened sour candies in need of...sweetness.

After a brief investigation of these sour grapes, I found that they must have been none other than under ripe wine grapes, with which one could make verjus, a flavorful alternative to vinegar for use in savory sauces and the like. Still, sweeter is what I searched for, and I found not a shred of evidence that such a thing could be accomplished. And after these past months, I wasn't up for any more disappointments in my experimental efforts.

Jelly. I could do something with jelly. A cookie, a jelly-filled shortbread cookie, maybe a tart. Oh wait, I know, pâte de fruit. Sure, maybe it had taken a couple of days, and countless hours searching for the appropriate cookie recipe before it even dawned on me. But why not those jewel-like candies of firm fruit jelly dusted in sugar? Tart and sweet and not too firm by the end of it all (overly toothsome pâte de fruit I find unappealing, you should know). Perfect. Life's not so sour after all.

The sugar used for dusting is important. I used evaporated cane juice. Don't make the same mistake, it melts on the surface of the candies within minutes; use regular white cane sugar. And if you prefer, many pâte de fruit recipes out there call for pectin rather than gelatin (like this, and that).

Sour Grape Gelées
adapted from epicurious.com

½ pound sour grapes
4 (¼ ounce) envelopes unflavored gelatin
1 cup water
2 cups sugar plus additional for tossing

8-inch square nonstick baking pan, lightly oiled

Wash and stem grapes. Puree sour grapes in a food processor and transfer to a fine meshed strainer; press on solids to extract as much pulp as possible, leaving only skins behind. You should have ¾ cup of pulp in the end (add water or applesauce/apple puree to supplement if necessary).

Add the water to a 2-quart heavy saucepan; sprinkle the gleatin evenly over the surface of the water and let stand several minutes to soften. Heat gelatin over medium-low heat, stirring, until dissolved; add sugar and stir until dissolved.

Bring the mixture to a boil over medium-high heat. Reduce heat again to medium-low and boil, uncovered, without stirring, 13 minutes (watch carefully so that mixture does not boil over). Remove from heat and allow the mixture to stand for 5 minutes, skimming and foam that may remain on the surface. Stir in sour grape puree (do not scrape up any bits that may have settled on the bottom of the pan), and pour into the prepared baking pan. Let stand at room temperature until set, at least 12 hours.

Run a sharp knife around the edge of the gelatin and invert onto a cutting board. Cut into 1/2-inch-wide strips, then cut strips into 1-inch pieces. Just before serving, gently toss gelées in a bowl of sugar to coat, brushing off excess.

Gelées, without sugar coating, keep in an airtight container at cool room temperature 2 weeks.

100 Degrees before the Fog

It felt wrong to do what I was doing, Simmering a pot on the stove whilst one baked away in the oven. It was nearly 100 degrees outside. Unspeakable heat, especially for these parts. What was I thinking?

And then came the fog. The temperature dropped faster than seemed possible. Suddenly, it was downright cold. Hmph, I knew what I was doing (after all).

Polenta is one of those things, I love it, but I don't make it often, though it's easy enough; I don't have an excuse, really. It is so comforting and warms me to the core. And having been treated to fresh pasta and Bolognese sauce during a recent lunch, I was still hungry for it; a perfect accompaniment for my polenta, I figured.

This slow-cooking fare is perfect to prepare when your space needs some warmth from the kitchen. And while it may be fit for a different time of year, I'm sure for someone, somewhere, it's just the thing.

As much as I love to cook, I don't do it every day, and when I do, I often prepare enough to get me through to the next opportunity. That being said, these recipe portions are large though well suited to paring down. For the polenta, use whatever grind suits your taste, from fine to coarse; I used regular old cornmeal. I happened to have egg yolks in the fridge, so I threw them in, but they're certainly not necessary to the success of the dish, it simply adds richness.

Basic Polenta

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
½ yellow onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups chicken broth
2 cups yellow cornmeal or polenta
4 egg yolks, room temperature (optional)
½ lb Parmigiano Reggiano finely shredded, ½ cup reserved
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 325°

1. In a Dutch oven (with a lid), sweat the onions and garlic in oil; do not allow any browning.

2. Add the chicken stock and bring to a boil.

3. While whisking constantly, pour the cornmeal in a thin stream into the pot. Once the cornmeal is fully incorporated, the mixture will begin to bubble vigorously and can be dangerous, so use caution. Cover the pot, and place in the oven for 1 hour. Stir the mixture about every twenty minutes during baking.

4. Remove the polenta from the oven and whisk in the Parmigiano Reggiano and egg yolks (if using). Season with salt and pepper to taste after the cheese has been added to ensure proper seasoning.

5. Serve immediately (garnished with more fresh grated cheese) as a side dish or on its own with a simple tomato sauce.

Hearty Meat Sauce

2 tbsp extra virgin olive oil
1 lb ground bison (or whatever you prefer)
½ yellow onion, finely diced
2 medium carrots, finely diced
2 celery ribs, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, chopped
4 cups beef broth, low sodium (or homemade)
29 oz can tomato puree
Flat leaf parsley, finely chopped (optional)
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

1. Heat a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add olive oil, onions and carrots and sauté, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables are caramelized and begin to soften. Add celery and garlic and continue to cook until aromatic. Add ground bison and cook, stirring and breaking up the mean as it begins to brown.

2. Once the meat has browned sufficiently, add broth and reduce heat to just above a simmer. Allow liquid to reduce by half.

3. Add tomato puree and reduce heat to a low simmer. Stirring occasionally, cook until the sauce is very thick or has reached the desired consistency.

4. Season with salt and pepper to taste and stir in the chopped parsley. Serve with polenta or a tender, flat pasta.

Spring is Springing

There is this fantastic market nearby my workplace; and when I go, it inspires me to cook. (I wonder why I don't go more often.) More than half the store is produce, all kinds, colors, shapes, and sizes. Truly a wondrous place. On this particular trip, I chose all things green: favas, snap peas and spring garlic. Well, I did buy something red actually, strawberries for dessert (frozen yogurt, perhaps).

Now what to do, what to do. I first thought rice. A bit of nutty brown rice to go with my green vegetables. That takes too long. I'm hungry now. Fresh pasta would be perfect! I'm sorry, did I mention I was hungry?

Acini de pepe it is. Italian for peppercorns, they resemble just that; chewy little beads of pasta. I wanted the pasta to have a flavor of its own, so cooked it in as little chicken stock as possible, adding more stock bit by bit until perfectly al dente. As the pasta bubbled away, I sliced thin rings of spring garlic and crosscut the peas (prepped the favas the night before). Into the warm pasta they go; add a pat of butter, salt and pepper, and stir briskly until the butter has just melted.

Fresh grated Parmigiano over the top, and you've got a bowl of buttered sunshine.