The Rustic Kitchen

Cherry walnut brownies

One of the best things about cooking is that once you master a recipe, you're free to play. This is a version of my Cranberry Brownie Tart. For this version, I swapped dried cherries for the cranberries, then tossed in a handful of chopped walnuts and baked it in a heart-shaped baking dish. What could be easier for a little Valentine's Day indulgence?

Clean plate club: Blackbird

My friend Ellen took me to Blackbird last night as a (delightful but unneccesary) thank-you treat. It's one of Chicago's most prominent restaurants, and for good reason. Chef/partner Paul Kahan is tireless seeker of great ingredients. When I interviewed Paul for The Slow Food Guide To Chicago, he talked about how the winter menu keeps him up at night. As you can see from my clean plate (one of several), he needn't have worried.

Paul is one of those chefs who truly embraces the idea of local food -- he's not one of these chefs who talks local then orders everything flown in. Yes, we live in the Midwest and things get pretty dire around this time of year, but because I know he's so thoughtful about his choices, I'll eat anything he puts in front of me without question. Which I'm sure is a relief to my dining companions, since I can be one of those pesky patrons who quizes the poor beleagered server about where everything comes from.

Time to make the doughnuts (with cider and spice)

Fellow bloggers Tartelette and Culinary Concoctions by Peabody are hosting an event called Time to Make The Doughnuts. Which give me an excuse to post one of my favorite indulgences inspired by my grandmother's fried cakes, posted only a few weeks ago. These are doughnut holes without the doughnuts, meaning they're perfect little indulgences . . . if you don't eat too many. Of course doughnut drops are great dredged in sugar and spice or glazed with a light frosting, but I find they're just as delicious unembellished and warm.

Cider and spice doughnut drops

Makes about two dozen
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground ginger
¼ teaspoon cloves
2 large eggs
½ cup granulated sugar
½ cup apple cider
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
Peanut oil for frying

Stir together flour, baking powder, salt, cinnamon, ginger and cloves and set aside. Whisk sugar and eggs together in a large mixing bowl, then stir in flour mixture. Pour in cider and butter and stir just until evenly combined.

Heat about three inches of vegetable oil in a four-quart saucepan until oil reaches 375 degrees. Using two spoons, drop small dollops of batter into the hot oil. Do not overcrowd the pan to maintain oil temperature – about six to eight doughnut drops per batch. Fry until deep brown, about two to three minutes per side. Drain on several layers of paper towels. Repeat with remaining batter. Best served warm.

Recipe used with permission from Janine MacLachlan, www.RusticKitchen.com.

Chickpea sweet potato tagine

In January I want it all. I want comfort food. Rib-sticking heart-warming indulgence. And I also want to eat a little lighter after all the holiday excess. My chickpea and sweet potato tagine gives me both -- hearty and flavorful, but hardly any calorie. What could be better?

My most frequently asked question about this recipe is "what's a tagine?" "Tagine" refers to both the dish -- a stew really -- as well as the cone-topped clay vessel it's cooked in. I make mine in big batches on top of the stove, warming the house with the pungent north African spices.

Morrocan Chickpea Sweet Potato Tagine

Serves six as a main course
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 medium onions, diced
1 teaspoon coriander seed
1 teaspoon cumin seed
1 teaspoon turmeric
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
2 tablespoons minced ginger
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 pounds sweet potatoes (about three)
2 cups cooked chickpeas (garbanzo beans)
½ cup raisins
1 28-ounce can crushed tomatoes
1 cup vegetable stock
½ cup cilantro leaves, minced

Preheat a sauté pan over medium high heat. Add oil and onions and cook, stirring occasionally, until tender and golden, about eight minutes. Meanwhile, crush coriander and cumin in a mortar and pestle or with the bottom of a heavy pan, then stir together with turmeric, salt and cayenne pepper. Add ginger and garlic to the onions, then stir in the spices and cook another three to five minutes to let the spices color the onions, stirring to prevent garlic from burning.

Add sweet potatoes, chickpeas, raisins, tomatoes and vegetable stock and simmer about 20 minutes or until potatoes are fork-tender. Stir in cilantro.

Recipe used with permission from Janine MacLachlan, www.RusticKitchen.com. All rights reserved.

Last of the apples: improv apple tart

I went into Crane's Pie Pantry to get my cider doughnut and apple fix. Crane's is a family-owned orchard right up the road, and just about half way to the Journeyman Cafe. I have a handy route: Crane's for doughnuts and fruit, Journeyman for bread (sometimes with a stopover for lunch). Saugatuck farmers market during the growing season, but I'll have to be patient for that.

I went to the cold storage to get some apples and found the cupboard almost bare. So I snatched up one of the lonely half pecks of Gala apples, and set off to make something worthy of the last apples of the season.

This tart is one of those easy recipes that doesn't need a recipe at all, as long as you know to start the oven out hot to get a good rise on the puff pastry:

Improv apple tart

1 sheet frozen puff pastry, thawed in the fridge
1 or 2 apples, peeled, cored and sliced
About 1 tablespoon apricot preserves, slightly warmed in the microwave

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees. Trim the puff pastry in the shape you like -- either round for individual tarts the size of an apple or long for a row of slices. Leave about a one-inch border, fold up and crimp with a fork. Brush with apricot preserves. Bake until golden, about 30 minutes. Remove from oven and brush again with apricot preserves for extra shine.

Recipe used with permission from Janine MacLachlan, The Rustic Kitchen, www. RusticKitchen.com. All rights reserved.

Snowed in

A great day for cooking (but maybe not for picnics).

Unfinished harvest: black walnuts

Pinecone Meadow Farm has a stand of black walnut trees in the "way back." I view my plot in three parts. In the front are the maple trees. In the back is the back yard and the vegetable garden. In the way back is essentially tundra. No, I should rephrase. That's the meadow part of Pinecone Meadow. It's suffered from benign neglect, but at some point a forward-thinking farmer decided to plant a row of black walnut trees.

I learned that black walnuts engage in an interesting form of chemical warfare by sending toxins through their roots that kill other plants, including tomatoes. Since I harvested about a hundred pounds of tomatoes this season, I'm guessing they were planted far enough away. All clear for now.

And black walnuts also are a delicious food, with a bit more of a forward flavor that regular walnuts. And now I know why they're so pricey at the store. Because it's all but impossible to get the bloody things open. My cousins Vicki and Sue harvested some, staining their fingers along the way. And months later I still have shelled nuts calling out to be enjoyed. I envision a walnut tart lovingly removed from the oven, an embellishment for my signature granola, spiced and caramelized for little hostess gifts.

Instead, they sit in their bowl, impervious to hammers and plyers and any other tool I can think to try. Now I've resolved to send my request to the universe so that someone can help me enjoy them at last. OK, universe, your turn.

Indulgent memories: Grandma's fried cakes

I'm off tomorrow to celebrate my parents' 50th wedding anniversary. They've insisted on a "no big deal" approach to the occasion, so we've centered the celebration around family traditions. Growing up we used to celebrate festive occasions in Frankenmuth, Michigan where we had family-style chicken dinners at Zehnder's. We've agreed that our favorite childhood memory is the square of orange sherbet that comes at the end, with a plastic animal as a garnish. We had tiny pink elephants and orange giraffes around the house for years.

My highlight for this occasion is a custom cookbook we've put together through TasteBook that includes recipes Mom has made over the years, and a few from Grandma O'Brien that we loved so well. I'd be hard-pressed to have to pick a favorite between Grandma's lemon meringue pie or her fried cakes.

But the fried cakes -- deep-fried doughnuts that went home with us in brown paper bags -- were the treat that came with an experience. On the rare occasion when she made them, it always felt like an extravaganza. There was the making the dough, then chilling, rolling and frying. For kids it seemed like an eternity before that first bite.

So here's Grandma O'Brien's recipe, with a little help from her favorite 1950s cookbook -- I plan to indulge very soon.

Grandma O’Brien’s fried cakes
Adapted from Better Homes and Gardens New Cookbook
Copyright 1953

Makes 2 dozen
4 eggs, slightly beaten
2/3 cup sugar
1/3 cup whole milk
1/3 cup shortening, melted and slightly cooled
3½ cups all purpose flour
3 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg

Beat eggs and sugar till light. Stir in milk, then shortening. Sift together flour, baking powder, salt, cinnamon and nutmeg and add to egg mixture. Mix just until smooth. Chill.

Dough for doughnuts should be as soft as can be handled. A soft dough is easier to roll when chilled. Roll 3/8-inch thick on lightly floured surface. Cut doughnuts with floured cutter and let stand 15 minutes.

Fry in deep, hot fat (375 degrees); if fat is too hot, doughnuts will not be baked through; if too cold, they will be fat-soaked. Don’t fry too many at one time or fat will cool too rapidly. Turn only once while frying, usually as soon as they rise to top. Drain on paper towels. Shake in paper sack containing granulated or confectioners’ sugar, if desired.

Blue desire: spiced blueberry sauce

I went to breakfast with my friend Rose and decided to throw caution to the wind and have dessert for breakfast. Yes, pancakes. A rare indulgence for me. But I found the otherwise tender and fluffy pancakes to be stingy on the promised blueberries.

In all honesty, I wanted a stack of pancakes like on the cover of the February Bon Appetit. Dripping with memories of summer. It gave me a hankering for the spiced blueberry sauce tucked in the back of my freezer.

I make big batches of syrupy sauce when blueberries are in season, and Pinecone Meadow is in the heart of Michigan's fruit belt. It takes the sting out of winter to top ice cream, pancakes or waffles. For company, I make parfaits with pound cake and creamy yogurt spiked with lemon zest.

I'll have to remember to snap a picture of blueberry bushes in winter. Their branches are a surprisingly gorgeous purple. I hope it's not a tease to post a summer recipe in January -- I haven't tried it with frozen berries. If you do please let me know.

Janine’s Spiced Blueberry Sauce
Makes about three cups
½ cup red wine
½ cup sugar
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon cloves
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
3 cups blueberries
1 teaspoon vanilla

In medium saucepan, combine wine, sugar, cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg and bring to a boil over high heat. Crush one cup blueberries and add to boiling mixture. Cook for four to five minutes until mixture is thick and purple. Add remaining blueberries and cook for another minute or two. Remove from heat and add vanilla.

Recipe used with permission from Janine MacLachlan, The Rustic Kitchen, www. RusticKitchen.com. All rights reserved.

For a lucky year: curried black-eyed peas

I don't know where or when the tradition started to eat black-eyed peas to bring luck to the new year, but I believe it comes from the American south. For me, this is a simple, flavorful way to bring several cultures together. The recipe is inspired by my friend Val’s English father-in-law Roger Barrett. When Val lived in London, I loved all the gorgeous Indian food, and this I recall was Roger’s creation, although he used coconut butter, which came in wrapped cubes, and he call the peas black-eyed “beans,” which really is a better description. I’ve adapted it using a can of coconut milk (the fat rises to the top and is perfect for the sauté) and curry powder from the grocery store. Yes, I know Indians typically blend their own curry spices, so if you do that yourself, by all means go ahead.

About the photo, somehow I thought my year would be even luckier if I ate from my Pegasus bowl, snapped up at Fishs Eddy on Broadway in New York many years ago.

Curried black-eyed peas
Serves six as a side
1 can coconut milk
1 medium onion, diced
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon curry powder
2 cans black-eyed peas (3 cups), drained and rinsed
1 gala apple, diced
2 ribs celery, diced

Scoop about two tablespoons coconut butter out of the can of coconut milk. Add to medium saucepan over medium high heat to melt. Once melted, add the onion and sauté until translucent. Add salt and curry powder and cook until the color is infused in the onions. Add the black-eyed peas and remaining coconut milk and bring to a simmer. Stir in apple and celery, remove from heat and serve.

Recipe used with permission from Janine MacLachlan, The Rustic Kitchen, www. RusticKitchen.com. All rights reserved.