How the cookie crumbles

Christmas cookie baking is a tradition I've participated in since I was a little girl, though initially I just stood on a chair with the back turned toward the counter, making a mess and eating raw dough.  Who doesn't love cookies, all crispy and chewy and nutty and buttery?  In years when I have the time, six or eight different kinds are born of my kitchen, packaged in little tins for friends and coworkers.

The tradition has been in my family for generations (see Nancy's Cutouts below).  It's a tremendous amount of work, which certainly did not phase my grandmother or her contemporaries, who routinely spent all day Sunday at the pasta board.  For today's bakers, the time commitment required to produce a good quantity of cookies can seem daunting -- though many of us still go the distance for Christmas and weddings.  My cookie list (five or six types for about 20 people) takes around 6 hours.  Collaborators are obligatory for any operation beyond about 4 dozen, even if they are just around to talk you back from the edge during the inevitable meltdown when a batch burns in hour five. 

Despite all the nostalgia of cookie-baking, and rewards presented by the finished product, I'm considering sitting this year out.  My hesitation is due not only to time constraints, but to a scientifically unfounded idea that we don't gain holiday weight eating large meals or attending parties, we gain it by grazing on all of the food that's lying around our offices and homes for the four or so weeks of the Holiday Season.  Boring (and out-of-character coming from someone who once wrote a piece about pairing Girl Scout cookies with Tawny Port) but I just dropped 6 pounds on the No Time to Eat Plan, and would like to keep it off.

How cruel to speak of weight control, then pepper this post with pictures of the luscious cookies of Christmases past!  But this year, I'm afraid that's just the way the cookie crumbles.  Then again, I might get off the bench for the last minutes of the game.  One never knows.

If you think I'm nuts and can't wait to get into the kitchen, here are a couple of my favorite cookie recipes.

Aunt Nancy's Cutouts (pictured above)
My grandmother turned out some good cookies, but Aunt Nancy was the reigning cookie queen of our family thanks to these cutouts.  This is a third-generation recipe for our family, unlike the Italian fried & honey glazed pastries that likely go back centuries -- she found it in a magazine and for a while I had the original, 1940's layout.  These are so yummy; basically a shortbread made with powdered sugar, rolled very thinly, then glazed after baking.

For cookies:
1 cup butter
1/2 cup 10x sugar
2 3/4 cups flour
1/4 t salt

For icing:
1/2 c powdered sugar
1T water
1t lemon juice
food coloring as desired

Make the cookies: mix all ingredients in a food processor; remove as soon as a ball of dough forms.  Divide dough into quarters and chill 20 minutes.

While dough is chilling, make the glaze by whisking ingredients together until smooth.

Remove dough from fridge a quarter at a time.  Roll out very thinly (think of a cracker) and cut out with cookie cutters.  Dough may be re-rolled once, but it's not ideal.

Bake at 375 until the first sign they are starting to turn golden around the edges.  Remove from oven and cool, then brush on glaze.  We like these with pastel nonpareil decorations, but we're quirky, so leave them out if you're not into it.

Chocolate Chip, Cherry and Walnut Rugelach, from Epicurious.com.
These are truly decadent and a nice nod to the Festival of Lights.  Perfect "Christmas" cookies for multicultural families like mine, where mom has been known to light all of the candles on the menorah and use it as a centerpiece for Christmas dinner, and where the Jewish member of the extended family dresses up as Santa for the neighborhood kids.

Pass the cranberry

Thanksgiving is a time when even the reluctant cooks among us dust off the pots and pans and have at it. Most agree that it's a time for tradition more than creativity, and look forward to the dishes that grace our tables only once a year. Turkey, stuffing (or dressing, depending on what part of the Country you're from), mashed potatoes, the infamous casseroles...we toil away, leaving a faint dusting of flour throughout the kitchen, panicking over refrigerator and oven space, and generally going all-out for this feast of feasts.

Why, then, do so many of us slack when it comes to a key condiment for the meal's centerpiece?  Yes, I am talking about cranberry sauce, and specifically, that log-shaped mass of Jell-O-like stuff that is unceremoniously plopped from the can at the last minute.

Cranberries deserve better. As the only tart component of this heavy, diversely flavored meal, they cut through the fat and refresh our palate so that we can fully enjoy all of those savory and sweet dishes.  And, unlike some other foods that have made their way onto the Thanksgiving table, they are seasonal and local (to the first Thanksgiving, at least). Cranberries are rich in antioxidants and have bacterial-blocking properties.  So with a few days to go before the holiday, I humbly encourage you to break out the Joy of Cooking, or just flip over that bag of Ocean Spray from the grocery store, and try your hand at homemade cranberry sauce. It's easier than you'd imagine and mighty rewarding.

All content © Emily Bell

Miles of Smiles

My brother Chris is in a small Philadelphia running group called Miles of Smiles.  On Saturday, he and several other members of the group ran the WHYY 12K.  WHYY is Philadelphia's public television and radio station, and is probably best-known as the home of Fresh Air with Terry Gross. 

To support the Miles crew, I offered to cook a "spaghetti dinner" for them the night before the race.  While the physiological mechanism by which pasta enhances performance escapes me (something to do with glycogen stores), I believe that a good dinner shared with friends can restore us and prepare us for life's challenges, and that is what we were aiming for.

Chris's apartment is decorated with an enviable collection of Mid-Century modern furniture, much of which he restored himself, and the walls are covered with his own drawings and paintings, as well as work by his friends.  However; his kitchen lacks certain essentials, among them a cheese grater (mental note for this year's Christmas stocking).  Bachelor apartment cooking requires careful planning and strategy, lest you find yourself at the last stages of preparation, in need of some critical staple you take for granted in your own kitchen, like flour. 

To fortify the Miles runers, I decided to make linguini with shiitake and kale.  Simply prepared (mushrooms and greens are sweated in olive oil with shallot, seasoned with salt, and tossed with pasta), the dish requires no exotic kitchen gadgetry.  It is truly yummy, and (pre-cheese) it would accommodate the no-dairy vegetarian in the group.  I also reasoned that an immunity-booster might be beneficial before running a 7.5 mile race during flu season. 

Chris lives in South Philadelphia, the City's old Italian neighborhood. More culturally and gastronomically diverse now, the neighborhood has nevertheless retained many culinary treasures from its homogeneously Italian days.  These little restaurants and specialty shops have been in business for years, and are so unchanged that they virtually transport you to another era.  Here one finds purveyors unconcerned with food trends, in places that totally lack self-consciousness.  The result is a straightforward, unquestionable authenticity, and the somewhat giddy feeling that you have suddenly found yourself living Moonstruck.

At Chris's suggestion, I headed for 10th and Morris, the location of one of the five satellite shops of P&S Ravioli (their pasta is made at a central location in South Philadelphia).  P&S has been in business since 1966, when the then recently-immigrated DiGiacomo brothers founded it.  The shop at 10th and Morris is a clean and simple space with white walls, and a low counter behind which are several large refrigerators with sliding doors.  Upon entering, I found a 60-something Italian-American woman who called me "hon" and approached our linguini transaction with a charmingly pushy confidence that suggested she knew my pasta needs better than I did.  For example, she convinced me that after all I did need the plastic bag I'd initially refused, to properly carry my two 15oz boxes of fresh linguini, and pint of grated Percorino Romano.  The linguini were rich and toothsome, perfectly textured and tasting of fresh egg.

My next stop was Termini Brothers, one of South Philadelphia's landmark pastry shops.  The internet is full of debate about whether Termini is the best Italian-American bakery in Philadelphia.  While many believe that it is not, almost everyone agrees that it is in the top three.   For me, visiting Termini is such a perfect experience that I have actually been brought to tears during a visit.

The retail shop at Termini is a long, rectangular room.  The ceiling is pressed tin; the floor is made of that tiny, octagonal black and white tile from the '40's.  There are two wood counters on either side (each with a decades-old cash register), and a large island in the middle, with perhaps two dozen varieties of pastry on display.  The service is equally nostalgic.  When you enter (assuming it is not a holiday or busy weekend), you are greeted by one of several women wearing a white smock and gloves.  She guides you around the shop, answering questions, making suggestions, and placing your selections on a tray, which she then takes to one of the wooden counters so that its contents can be placed into a bakery box, and secured neatly with string.  For Friday's dinner I selected cannoli, pecan and walnut squares, fig bars, and little fruit-filled custards. At the checkout, I exchanged small smiles of wordless contentment with the other patrons, and anticipated the moment when I would cut the box's string with a knife and arrange the pastries on a tray.

The Ravioli Diaries

Last month I read Laura Schenone's book, The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken.  Schenone traced her Italian-American ravioli recipe back to its Genoese roots, and the book recounts her experiences along the way.  I found it interesting for several reasons: firstly, when I was at the Culinary Institute of America, I did my research project on a specific Italian-American pizza from Old Forge Pennsylvania, proposing that it was an example of immigrants using what was at hand to approximate a dish they remembered from the Old Country. Secondly, ravioli is a tradition from my own family; my grandmother toiled away many Sundays at her kitchen table with the pasta board and stick, stretching and slapping dough that would eventually be made into little purses of ricotta, egg, parsley, garlic, and parmesan.  Finally, Schenone's ravioli interested me for its own uniqueness -- filled with raw beef and pork, spinach and cream cheese, it's truly different from anything I've seen or tasted, here or abroad.

Anyway, all this ravioli talk gave me a craving, and I decided to make ravioli for the first course at Thanksgiving.  In order to avoid the last-minute craziness that would surely result from making ravioli for 10 on the fly, we decided to prepare the ravioli now and freeze them.  For the filling, a mixture of butternut squash and ricotta seemed a good, seasonal choice.  Just before Thanksgiving dinner is served, we will boil them then toss them in some browned butter and toasted hazelnuts.

To make the pasta, I started with Biba Caggiano's pasta recipe (doubled for a total of 4c flour to 6 large eggs) and added an additional egg because they were a bit small, and a tiny bit of olive oil, which was suggested by one of Schenone's mentors in the book as a way to make the dough easier to work.  The dough ingredients were mixed and kneaded in the Kitchen Aid.  The filling was 12 oz ricotta plus 1 pound steamed butternut squash with a pinch each of salt and nutmeg as the only seasoning.   It's hard to give a recipe for fresh pasta, because it can need more or less flour or egg depending on how much humidity is in the air, and how big the eggs are.  Like bread-baking, it's one of those disciplines that you have to "get a feel for."  If you want to try, The Lost Ravioli Recipes of Hoboken is a good place to start.

Strite's

Having recently returned to the Northeast after five years in the Napa Valley (and five years in Florida beforehand), I'm taking some time to rediscover family traditions, and  revisit places that have familial significance.  Some of these places are very much the same, and some are like doctored photographs of their prior selves... updated, modernized, or gentrified.

One of the seemingly unchanged places is Strite’s Orchard.  Strite's may be the first farm market I ever visited, because it was a market that my maternal grandparents, Sylvia and Dominic Papsodora, frequented.  When my mother was nine years old, they bought a house nearby, and my grandmother discovered Strite's.  She loved it from her first visit, perhaps because it reminded her of the farm on which she grew up, which was not far away.

I have so many happy memories of my grandparents, many of them revolving around food.  “Nonnie and Nano,” as my brother and I called them, ate what was produced locally and when and in season; the post-war TV-dinner and convenience food craze skipped them entirely.  My grandfather kept a good-sized garden at their home in the Harrisburg suburbs, but when they needed to supplement for the annual tomato canning ritual, or just for variety’s sake, Strite’s was their first stop.  My mother says that every time she pulls up to Strite’s, she can clearly picture Nonnie, getting out of the car to do some shopping.

As you approach Strite’s on a curvy Pennsylvania country road, neat rows of fruit trees and trellised grape vines stretch for acres of hilled countryside.  The market has a bakery, and aromas of fresh pies and dumplings made with fruit from the orchard waft into the gravel parking lot to greet you.

Strite's has a proud history – it is a Pennsylvania Century Farm (to qualify, a farm must have been in the same family for 100 years).  It's mainly an orchard, but they have a large farm market where they sell fresh, seasonal produce grown on their adjacent farm.  The orchards offer up peaches, pears, quinces, and cherries, along with 40 acres worth of apples, including Spartan, Lodi, McIntosh, Macoun, Empire, Jonagold, Jonathan and Smokehouse varieties.

Since this post is about a family tradition, I've asked my mother, Angela Bell, to share her thoughts about Strite's as well. Mom is the queen of apple pie, and has graciously shared her recipe for this all-American fall treat.

Angela:
This is one of the oldest continuously family-owned farm markets in the state. It is very, very special to me because when I first moved to the area at about the age of nine, my mother discovered it and began years of meticulous "putting food by" that combined her Italian cooking heritage with that of the Pennsylvania Germans, and also some aspects of the New England cooking she'd been exposed to in the early years of her marriage to my "Maine-iac" father--in Boston, where I was born.

I can't walk into Strite's without seeing my mother, and now, years later, I glory in the fact that Emily, Chris, and I are just as thrilled at the scent of the freshly picked grapes, and the bushels of apples and potatoes. Yesterday I saw an older lady there, a little shaky on her feet, who was buying dozens of eggplants and a bushel or two of plum tomatoes. That's what Mom used to do... sauce, peaches, pears, pickles, jellies with color that no printer's ink could ever duplicate... all steaming and cooling and bubbling and making a mess in that tiny kitchen on Bonnymead. Of course, my father was an "enabler" (in the best sense of the word) in this process, and in his last years our trips to Strite's were wonderful, but also sad, because I knew he could see her there, too.

Strite's Orchard is located off 322 between Hershey and Harrisburg.  Directions and contact information can be found at www.stritesorchard.com. 

Angela's Apple Pie

Mom’s been making this pie crust for years.  Her friend Virginia White gave her the recipe in 1970, when mom expressed her ambition to make a fruit pie as good as her mother’s. Her first attempts had been dismal failures, famously resulting in crust so stiff she could lift the entire pie out of the pan in one piece. Virginia, or “Grammy White,” as I called her after I came along in ’74, is famous for having said, “A pie that can’t grease itself isn’t worth a farmer’s ass,” after my neophyte mother asked her whether or not it was necessary to prepare the pie pan.  The recipe allegedly has German origins.  I admit to a bit of food snobbery when it comes to Crisco (preferring traditional pâte brisée made with butter), but in the end I never pass up mom’s pie.  It turns out that neither did my grandmother, who eventually asked for the recipe (as seen below).

Mom loves Northern Spy apples for pie, but they are nearly impossible to find south of Pennsylvania’s northern tier.  The balance of tart and sweet is ideal for pie, and they never turn mushy.  In the absence of Northern Spys, a mixture of Winesap and Jonathan will also do.  Many like McIntosh for pie and Granny Smiths are always good, as well as Twenty Ounce, but those are rare and huge, so you won’t need as many.

This is delicious for breakfast.  If you feel guilty having pie for breakfast, make small dumplings instead and call them “apple breakfast pastries.”

Yields two 8” pies,

3 c flour
1 1/2 c Crisco
1 t salt
1 egg
1t cider vinegar
5 T cold water

8-12 apples, depending on their size
1 c sugar
1 T cinnamon
½ t nutmeg
3-4 T unsalted butter

With a pastry blender, cut shortening into flour and salt.  In a small bowl, break the yolk of the egg and add the water and vinegar.  Add the liquid mixture to the flour and shortening. Continue to work the mixture with the pastry blender until it forms a dough.  Divide the dough into 4 portions and flatten into discs. Wrap the dough in plastic and chill in the refrigerator for at least 20 minutes.

While the dough chills, peel, core, and slice the apples into thin wedges. Coat the apples with the sugar and spices.  

Roll out the dough and place a piece into the bottom of each pie pan.  Pierce the dough with a fork several times and dot the bottom with half the butter.  Add the apples and dot with remaining butter.   Top with the remaining rolled out pieces of crust.  Using a sharp knife, slice through the dough in several places for steam vents. Alternately, use an apple or nut-shaped cookie cutter to cut out a piece of dough at the center of the top crust before placing it on the pie.  Crimp the edges together, cutting off any excess dough. Bake in a preheated 450 degree oven for 10 minutes, then reduce heat to 350 and bake for 40-50 minutes.

© Emily Bell

I hate to see October go.

As October winds down, I find myself longing for more of this month of fiery leaves, crisp, smoky air, and the first hearty dishes of the season. If, like Barry and me, you hate to see October go, a last culinary observance is in order before we enter November and begin to think about the holidays. Here is a menu for 4 to enjoy on this last October weekend.  A beer with some character with complement the meal nicely, as will a dry German or Alsatian riesling.  If you want to mix it up a little and your local wine merchant stocks more esoteric selections, try a German sparkler, or sekt.

Oktoberfest Pretzels with Caraway Seeds
This recipe is adapted from one in last October's Martha Stewart Living. It has been modified to include 1/3 white whole wheat flour (which is not perceptible at that level but makes a more healthful finished product).  I also added caraway seeds, and adapted the recipe for a stand mixer. These are heavenly as a starter with some grainy mustard, sharp cheddar cheese and beer (football optional), or can be served in a bread basket at the table.

1 package active dry yeast
2 t sugar
1 c warm water
2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 c white whole wheat flour
2 T softened unsalted butter
3 T baking soda
2 T caraway seeds
1 T kosher salt

Proof yeast with water and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment.  Using a pastry cutter, or in the bowl of a food processor fitted with the blade attachment, cut butter into flour. Add the flour mixture to the proofed yeast and mix on low until a dough forms.  Switch to the dough hook and knead dough for several minutes until smooth.  Spray the top of the dough with canola or light olive oil and cover with plastic wrap.  Allow to rise for 30 minutes.

Roll dough into a log and cut into 12 even pieces.  Roll each individual piece into a 12-15 inch rope.  Bring the ends together and twist them around one another, then press the ends to the bottom of the loop, forming a pretzel shape.  Allow to rise for 30 minutes.

Preheat oven to 450.  Bring a large pot of water to a boil and add baking soda.  Boil pretzels, 3 at a time, for 4 minutes each, turning halfway through cooking.  Dry pretzels on a rack.  Mix salt and caraway seeds.  While pretzels are drying, dust with the salt and caraway seed mixture.  Transfer to greased cookie sheets and bake until browned, about 15 minutes.  Serve warm.

Pork Schnitzel
4 boneless pork chops
1/2 cup unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup panko
1 egg
3 T light olive oil or canola oil
2 T butter
salt and pepper to taste

Line a cookie sheet with paper towels. Butterfly the pork chops, then separate the cut so that you have 2 thin chops. Pound, then lightly salt and pepper the chops. Dredge the chops in the flour, then shake off any excess. Dip the chops in egg then coat with panko. Heat the butter and oil in a sautoir or frying pan over medium-high heat. Add the pork and cook for approximately 2 minutes on each side, or until done. Remove from oil to the prepared cookie sheet and serve immediately or keep in a warm (150 degree) oven* for 5-10 minutes.

*Most ovens start at 200; to heat an oven to 150, first heat to 200, then turn off the heat, leaving the door open for a few seconds to cool the oven.

Braised Red Cabbage with Apples
The acid and slight sweetness of this dish are a great foil for the richness of the pork.  This also works well with a slow-roasted Boston butt.

1/2 head red cabbage
2 apples
1 yellow onion
1/4 cup cider vinegar
salt and pepper to taste

Chiffonade cabbage and cut apple into slivers. Cut onion into thin slices. Add all to a deep sautoir or pot, along with 1/2 cup of water. Cover and cook over medium heat for 5 minutes, or until the cabbage has wilted, stirring occasionally. Add the vinegar and cook another 2 minutes. Season with salt and pepper. This dish may be held over a low flame for 10-15 minutes.

Spätzle
The perfect dumpling-noodle hybrid.  Outrageously messy to make but worth the cleanup.

This recipe was adapted from Water Staib's Black Forest Cuisine.

1 1/2 cups unbleached all purpose flour
1/2 cup King Arthur white whole wheat flour
4 eggs
1 cup water
3 T butter
salt to taste

Whisk eggs to break yolks. Add flour and whisk to make a thick batter. Gradually add water.

Fill a large pasta pot with water. Salt water and bring to a boil. Spread batter in a thin layer on a cutting board. Using a blunt knife or metal cake spatula, "cut" thin strips of batter into the boiling water. Cook for 3 minutes and remove with a slotted spoon. You may need to do this in batches to prevent the fist dumplings dropped into the pan from overcooking.

Melt butter in a large sauté pan. Add spätzle. You may toss the spatzle lightly to coat with the butter or brown them in the pan if desired. Serve immediately.

© Emily Bell