Stuffed focaccia

It’s been nagging at me that I promised further info on this, oh, about two months ago. Better late than never, right?

This recipe is a good example of where recipes come from. Here’s how this one evolved: nearly two years ago, I had lunch in one of my favorite Canberra cafes: a hearty minestrone, with pesto cheese toast alongside. The combination lodged in my brain, and when I made minestrone for guests last winter, I made pesto cheese crostini to go with it, to the appreciation of all. So now the two items are forever associated in my mind. The last time I made minestrone for guests, however, I didn’t feel like doing the last-minute faff that is required for the pesto cheese crostini. I mulled over alternatives, and then hit upon the idea of putting the pesto and cheese inside the bread, so I could get that part out of the way ahead of time.

It so happened that, around the time I was pondering all this, I was also researching focaccia recipes, trying to determine whether I could use my regular bread dough to make it, or whether I had to make a customized bread recipe. Having come to the conclusion that it’s the presentation (flat, with a dimpled top) and the accessories (brushed-on olive oil, salt, herbs, etc.) that make plain old bread into focaccia, I resolved to make a focaccia with a layer of stuff in the middle. This is the result.

Stuffed focaccia

I’m usually pretty lax about rising times when I make bread, but I will note that a second rise of at least an hour at room temperature is an important feature of this recipe. It helps provide the puffy texture that good focaccia has, as well as helping the whole construction to seal itself together.

1 recipe bread dough

3-5 heaping Tbsp pesto (or basil-cashew-parmesan dip, since it’s multi-purpose and I’m way more likely to have it around)

2-3 handfuls shredded parmigiano reggiano

2-3 Tbsp good-quality oil

salt (a nice chunky salt is great here)

Make the bread according to directions, and leave to rise for at least 1 hour at room temperature, or until doubled in size.

Line a large baking tray with baking parchment, and set aside. (Tip: I often spray the baking tray to get the baking parchment to stick down and not slide around while I’m maneuvering the bread dough on it.)

Knock the air out of the risen bread dough. On a lightly floured surface, divide the dough into 2 equal pieces. Set one aside and roll the other out into a rectangle roughly the size of your baking tray. Lift from the counter and position on the prepared tray.

Spread the rolled-out dough with the pesto, followed by the cheese.

Roll out the second piece of dough to the same size as the first, and place on top. Press down lightly to help the two pieces adhere. Cover with another piece of baking parchment and leave to rise for another hour.

Preheat the oven to 225C/450F. Remove the baking parchment covering the risen dough. Poke your fingers into the dough all over the surface to make dimples, then spread liberally with olive oil. Scatter salt over the top.

Bake focaccia for 30-40 minutes, or until the top looks golden-brown and it smells done.

Enjoy alongside minestrone or other hearty soup of your choice. Makes 12-18 pieces, depending on how you cut them.

Australia Day

We’ve just had a holiday weekend in Australia, in celebration of Australia Day. Australia Day, for anyone who doesn’t already know, is kind of a cross between the 4^th of July and Labor Day (US version). The 4^th of July part is that Australia Day commemorates the arrival of the First Fleet on January 26, 1788 – in other words, the arrival of the first European immigrants, convicts and their guards from the British Isles. The Labor Day part is that Australia Day marks the official end of summer holidays in Australia and a return to business as usual; everyone goes back to school over the next week, and people who have been lazing at the coast since mid-December will return to regular office hours and business attire.

(Digression: I don’t really understand why January 26 was chosen as Australia Day, since it has little to do with the establishment of Australia as a political entity – certainly less, for example, than Federation Day (January 1, 1901) when Australia was officially federated as a country. It would be like the US choosing whatever day the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, or some similar event, rather than the day that we declared our intention to establish ourselves as a sovereign nation. And that’s before we even get into the feelings of Indigenous Australians about January 26, which cannot be characterized as positive in any way. So it seems like a lose-lose proposition, and I suspect its timing as the culmination of the summer holidays may weigh more heavily in its selection than its political or cultural significance. But what do I know? I’m just a Yank. 

End digression.)

In the tradition of three-day weekends everywhere I’ve lived, Australia Day provides an excuse for lots of social activity, and ours certainly did its job. We started on Friday night with a dinner party, where we met lots of new people. Miss B came along (babysitters are thin on the ground on holiday weekends) and stayed up scandalously late with a fellow grade schooler whose babysitter was also AWOL. Saturday DP disappeared for most of the day to drop in on some kind of wargaming convention with the male half of a group of family friends; Miss B and I met up with the female half for an extended kaffeeklatsch at Canberra’s most famous (and possibly only) chocolate shop. Sunday we hosted lunch for a group of DP’s colleagues, including a delightful and adorable seven-month-old; I made a variation of my now-standard summer Sunday lunch, throwing in a kale salad to provide sufficient nourishment for a vegetarian guest (and bolstering the tomato-and-avocado salad with some marinated feta).

Yesterday, to round things off, we went to a cookout hosted by friends with a pool who live on the other side of the lake. I packed swim stuff and a bottle of Prosecco, baked a batch of blondies (excuse me, fudgey choc chip slice), and we set off. I think we had all been subconsciously expecting that we would spend the afternoon hanging out with the hosting friends, and maybe one or two other people, and an unspoken ripple of dismay wafted through the car when we turned the corner onto their street and saw at least a dozen cars clustered outside their house, all belonging to people we were unlikely to know.

This is what happens when a family of introverts hits its collective wall of social engagement at the same time. But since we are all (reasonably) well behaved, we braced ourselves, went inside, and joined in. Miss B went swimming with a crowd of kids, we ate some tasty food, DP and I each had a couple of conversations with friends of our hosts (as well as some dedicated time with the hosts themselves, happily). After about 3 hours, we said our goodbyes and headed home. Once there, we scattered ourselves to the far corners of the house, and everyone fell asleep for an hour or so.

After all that, no one felt like an elaborate dinner last night, so I took the opportunity to combine creative re-purposing of leftovers with a DIY January project. We had roast beef sandwiches with aioli and mustard on toasted (homemade) white bread; leftover kale salad; and homemade potato chips. (Note: Miss B was having none of any of this, and ate leftover pizza and chopped cucumbers instead.)

DIY salt and pepper potato chips

I used the cold oil method for these, and they are as kick-ass as the fries I made a couple of weeks ago. They are just enough work to make you appreciate how much better homemade potato chips are than storebought ones, without being a total PITA.

2 small potatoes per person (probably one regular-sized per person would be enough, but those in my current bag are not much bigger than golf balls)

canola or other neutrally flavored oil for frying

salt and pepper

Scrub the potatoes, remove any sprouts, eyes, or other unsightly bits, and cut into very thin slices using a mandolin. (As usual, I did not peel my potatoes, but whether or not you do is up to you. Also, of course you can use a knife, but the mandolin makes the slices all the same thickness, so they cook at the same rate – a desirable feature when frying.)

Line a baking sheet with brown paper and set aside.

Place potatoes in cooking vessel of choice (see here for information about choosing an appropriate vessel for this recipe) and cover with oil.

Put the pan over low-medium heat and cover pan with a splatter screen if you have one (or about halfway with the pot lid if you don’t). Keep an eye on the pan as the oil heats, stirring the chips occasionally to make sure they’re not sticking.

When the oil starts to boil, stir the chips again and check the heat setting to make sure the boil is maintained consistently without a) dying off or b) overflowing and starting a fire. Continue stirring chips every few minutes as they cook; once they start boiling, they should take 10-15 minutes to fry. Once they are consistently a light-golden brown, they are done.

Turn off the heat. Once the oil settles down, use a slotted spoon or similar to scoop cooked chips out of the oil and onto the paper-lined baking tray.

Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Consume immediately.

Instant salad

As a parent of a school-age child, I seem to spend a fair amount of time dodging activities that cut into the dinner hour. I consider family dinner more important than most other things, so I prioritize accordingly. Recently, I have been making one exception, though, for a kung-fu class. Miss B really likes it, it ticks a lot of boxes for her physical and skills development, and it's a 2-minute walk from our house. That last part mitigates the fact that it starts at 6:30 pm, since it means I can still cram in a family dinner beforehand. I've been using it as a challenge to myself to see if I can get dinner on the table with 30 minutes or less of prep beforehand; as a result, this is now my go-to kung-fu-night salad. It's delicious, it's nutritious, and it takes even less time to prep this than it does to walk to class. (Cutting an actual salad is enough to send me over the edge in a 30-minute prep window.) And every time I do this, I think fondly of my friend J., who first introduced me to this ridiculously simple concoction.


Retro cool avocado halves
Cut one avocado in half and remove the pit. Place each half on a small plate, and sprinkle with salt and freshly ground pepper. Fill the pit cavities with balsamic vinegar. Serve as a starter or side.
Serves 2.

(Miss B is not into the avocado, so I chop her up a carrot or cucumber instead.)

Gratin dauphinois

This is a dish that has frustrated me for years; I love it, but I never seemed to get consistent results when I made it. One time it would be cooked to perfection; the next time the potatoes would be cooked inconsistently, or the sauce would be too thin and sloppy, or some other disappointing variation. (And the latter seemed to happen much more often than the former. Even though I thought I was doing the exact same thing every time.)

Then, a few years ago, I came across a book called Don't Sweat the Aubergine: What Works in the Kitchen and Why, which actually explains what happens when you follow the steps of a recipe. In the section on gratin dauphinois, I found the following sentence: "It is impossible to give a recipe that you can guarantee will work every time." (What a relief to know it wasn't just my ineptitude!) The author, Nicholas Clee, then goes on to enumerate the many variables that can affect how the recipe works, including size and composition of the cooking vessel, absorption of the potatoes, etc. He also suggests - revolutionarily, for me - that you should heat all the ingredients on the stovetop before putting the gratin in the oven. He proposes using a saucepan to start, and then tipping the heated ingredients into a casserole dish to go in the oven, but when I revisited this recipe recently, I decided that this made unnecessary work and washing up, plus made the final presentation somewhat sloppy. Therefore I called one of my beloved cast iron skillets into service to do double duty. I've made gratin using this method twice in recent weeks, versus once using the cold-into-the-casserole-and-the-oven method, and the skillet/heating method wins hands down. Try it for yourself.

Gratin dauphinois
Adapted slightly from Don't Sweat the Aubergine by Nicholas Clee
This is a great dish to make when you're having company for dinner, as all the prep is done well ahead of time and then the potatoes can bake away quietly in the oven while you get on with other things. Plus anything made with this much cream is probably better shared with a group.

1 medium-sized potato per adult being served
butter
1 clove garlic, minced
salt 
1 cup/8 oz/240 ml full cream*
.5 cup/4 oz/120 ml milk*

Heat the oven to 325F/160C. Slice the potatoes thinly ("no thicker than a pound coin" - about .25-inch thick, or .5-cm; I use a mandoline for this) into a bowl of cold, salted water. They can be held like this for a bit if you have other things to do before assembly.

When ready to assemble the gratin, grease the inside of the skillet lightly with butter. Drain the potatoes and arrange in the skillet in layers, sprinkling strategically with salt and bits of garlic. Continue until you have used up all the potatoes.

Mix together the milk and cream in a small jug or measuring cup and pour over the potatoes, until the liquid is level with the top layer. If necessary, add more milk to ensure that this happens.

Place the skillet on the stovetop over medium heat and leave until liquid is bubbling around the edges and you can feel warmth coming from the potatoes when you hold your hand above the skillet. (I usually put a lid on the skillet to help this process along.)

When the gratin is heated through, remove the lid (if using) and place the skillet in the oven uncovered. Leave to cook for 1 - 1.5 hours, or until the surface has browned and the liquid has reduced and thickened.

In my experience, this holds together better and slices more neatly if you can let it sit for about 10 minutes after coming out of the oven.

Serve directly from the skillet.


* These amounts should provide enough liquid to cover about 4 potatoes' worth of slices, insofar as it's possible to predict with this recipe.

Pasta salad

Not being a huge mayonnaise fan (although the homemade version is a much more convincing argument for its merits than the storebought kind), it took me a long time to warm up to the idea of pasta salad. Add in all the people among my family and friends who can't or don't want to eat mayo for various reasons, and it becomes an even less appealing option. But then again, remember that this is pasta we're talking about here - pretty much my single most favorite food item. And then you'll understand why I still remember the day, probably 15 years ago now, when I discovered a recipe for pasta salad that didn't involve mayo; that I could feed to vegans and people with high cholesterol; that I could leave out in the sun at cookouts without fear of giving everyone food poisoning. I've been making variations of it ever since.

Tomato-pasta salad
Adapted from Betty Crocker's 40th Anniversary Cookbook
I haven't looked at the original recipe for this in years, but I knew exactly where to find it. I had never made a pasta salad before I found this; since I have I've made dozens, and passed along the recipe almost every time. When the audience permits, I've added variations such as chopped prosciutto or salami, shredded pecorino romano, or olives. It's very adaptable.

1 450 g/16 oz package short pasta
4 Tbsp olive oil
4 medium tomatoes, chopped
4 green onions, chopped
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
4 tsp balsamic vinegar3 tsp chopped fresh basil leaves
~10 grinds black pepper

Cook pasta as directed on package in salted boiling water and take off heat while it is still a bit more al dente than you might like. Drain; rinse in cold water to stop cooking; drain again. Dump pasta into a large mixing bowl and mix oil through first, to keep from sticking together. Add in remaining ingredients and mix thoroughly. Cover and refrigerate about 2 hours, or until chilled.

Serves 10-12 people as a side.

Homemade pickles

A couple of months ago, my sister LC came out for a weekend to visit Miss B and me while DP was off doing his thing for the month of March. As usual when LC visits, much jollity ensued, as well as copious amounts of goofing off. Our joy was unrestrained when, on Saturday morning, Miss B’s soccer game was cancelled, allowing us free rein to gallivant into Kansas City and carry out the following agenda:

Moving on

When I break away from the food as the primary topic of this blog, which I do from time to time (see below), it usually presents two dilemmas: 1) recognizing appropriate occasions for doing so and 2) figuring out how to transition back to focusing on food. I mean, one day I’m musing on the fragile and transitory nature of life, and a few days later I’m burbling on about, say, baked potatoes with no reference to what went before? Kind of jarring and not very credible, no?

No stirring

Polenta with sauteed Italian sausage and baby spinach

I’m not afraid to admit it: I’ve never made polenta before. I’m not afraid to admit the reason either: I was totally put off by the 30-40 minutes of continuous stirring that every recipe indicated was absolutely critical to a lump-free finished product. I like polenta, but not enough to contemplate the possibility of requiring physical therapy as the end result of a cooking project. (Should I mention the old hockey injury? Is that overkill…?)

Yorkshire pudding

Six fun facts about Yorkshire pudding

Did you know?

1. Yorkshire pudding and popovers are the same thing.
2. The same batter that makes either of these savory accompaniments can also be served as a sweet dish, as in a Dutch baby pancake.
3. The batter contains no leavener; it rises and gets puffy because of steam trapped inside the dough as it bakes, a method also used in choux pastry (to make profiteroles/cream puffs (sweet) or gougères (savory)).
4. It is most often served as part of a traditional English Sunday lunch, alongside roast beef, roast potatoes, and vegetables.
5. Tradition also holds that it was devised as a cheap way to fill people up so that they wouldn’t eat quite so much of the more expensive beef.
6. It is about 90% of my motivation for cooking roast beef.

Brown rice

Certain foods have something of a stigma attached to them in my house. For example, DP, as a child of Baby Boomers, was exposed to all sorts of groovy 70s food experimentation that completely passed by me, a child of an immigrant/ Depression/WWII household. Thus, while I was helping can tomatoes and roll out homemade pasta, DP was trying out tofu and brown rice. He seems to have been scarred by the experience: the very mention of either of those things still makes him shudder.

Both ends

This morning it occurred to me, as I crawled out of bed at 7:00am after another late-night work session, that there is a direct link between how much sleep I get and how cheerful I feel when I wake up.

Yes, I am sure that this cause-and-effect relationship is already blindingly obvious to the vast majority of you. However, those of us who are chronically sleep-deprived sometimes take a little longer to make these connections. And it is slowly, slowly dawning on me that I cannot continue to burn the candle at both ends without feeling the effects, now that I’m officially middle-aged. (Eh? Speak up!)

Tomato salad

I haven’t cooked dinner for seven days. I can’t remember the last time that happened. We’re visiting in Boston for a week, and our priorities for the trip were to organize a mini-move of some of our belongings from here out to the new house; to catch up with as many local friends and family as possible; and to squeeze in beach time wherever we could.

Well, the movers have left with six boxes packed full of miscellaneous household items, and as many pieces of furniture. We’ve managed two days at the beach. Dinners have mostly involved visiting favorite local spots with siblings, nieces, parents, and friends in tow.

Sparrow grass

I started seeing the first signs of spring more than a month ago. In just the past week or so, winter coats have suddenly felt too heavy, the heat has been switched off during the day, and we’re even thinking about taking the wool blankets off the bed. But yesterday, when I saw these in the supermarket—on sale!—I knew for sure that spring had arrived.

Roasted asparagus
Asparagus is one of the things that I really do not buy unless it’s in season. I find what’s available out of season so expensive and so inferior in taste that it would probably be more satisfying to just eat the money instead. I admit I’m biased: I was spoiled by living in Oxford, where during the asparagus season you could go to the Covered Market and get bundles that had been grown a mile or two down the road, and picked the same morning. It’s hard to get excited about stuff flown halfway around the world after that.

2 bunches asparagus
2 Tbsp olive oil
salt & pepper
juice and zest of ½ lemon

Preheat oven to 400F/200C. Drizzle a shallow roasting pan with olive oil, and put in oven to heat.

Wash the asparagus and, using your hands, snap into bite-sized pieces. (If you work your way up gently from the bottom of the stalk, it should naturally snap where the woody part at the bottom ends. Discard this and continue snapping.)

Shake off any excess water, and carefully add to the now hot pan. (There may be some sizzling and spitting as any water hits the hot oil.) Toss to coat with oil and return pan to oven.

Roast asparagus for 20-30 minutes, checking every 10 minutes or so and tossing to make sure nothing is burning. The asparagus is done when it has nice brown bits and is tender.

Remove from the oven. Season in the pan with salt, pepper, and lemon and toss. Serve immediately.

Serves 2. Recipe can be multiplied.

Pushing boundaries

A long way from home—Kennebec (Maine)
potatoes at the Canberra Farmers’ Market,
Autumn 2009

Top Five Ways to Tell that DP is Back in Canberra

5. House has clearly been vacuumed every time you return from even the briefest errand—like, say, going to the mailbox.
4. You immediately forget which week is “just garbage” and which week is “garbage + recycling.”
3. No dirty dishes in the sink. Ever.
2. You’re up on what’s happening in the world again after six weeks of getting random current events updates off the internet.
1. Potatoes for dinner.

Black Mountain

It’s officially autumn in Australia, but summerlike temperatures persist in Canberra—this weekend was in the high 20sC (80sF) both days. We took advantage of it on Saturday with another picnic, this one at a park on Black Mountain peninsula. Despite its ominous name, Black Mountain is one of the landmarks of Canberra, looming just west of downtown, home to extensive parkland and topped by the Telstra Tower. The park we went to is on a spit of land right at the bottom of the mountain; it juts out into Lake Burley Griffin, which meanders through the center of Canberra and divides the northern (business and university) and southern (government) sides of the planned city. It had all the features I’m coming to expect from Australian parks: shaded picnic tables; extensive playground equipment; not much grass; and built-in, communal gas barbeque grills.

Yes, you read that right. The Australians’ love of grilling is known worldwide to the point of cliché, and for good reason, from what I’ve seen. Even so, I was amazed at my first encounter with a built-in, free, gas grill in a public recreation area. I was especially impressed that it was clean and in perfect working order. This has continued to be true almost everyplace I’ve eaten an outdoor meal: if it has picnic tables, chances are it also has a working grill. A few of them have been coin-operated, but most have been free, and all have been well cared for and functional.

I find this difficult to envision in any other place I’ve lived, or even visited. A machine that makes fire that hasn’t been vandalized, broken, or outright stolen? That people share among whoever happens to need it, and clean up when they’ve finished? The mind boggles.

We didn’t have any Australian grilling experts in our party, but we still managed to cook up a bunch of sausages with two New Zealanders, one Indonesian, two Americans, and one UK-born wandering preschooler contributing varying levels of expertise and commentary. Miss B met up with a bunch of slightly older kids who started teaching her to play cricket, while the rest of us ate sausages and accompaniments to our hearts’ (or is that stomachs'?) content.

Croatian cole slaw
This was one of my contributions to the picnic. To me this recipe is Australian, because I learned it in Australia, from an Australian who had learned it from a Croatian immigrant to Australia. But it definitely has the flavors of central European cooking; I recently described it to someone as “fresh sauerkraut”. It’s a great alternative to creamy cole slaws for anyone who is a salt or pickle lover.

1 head green cabbage of your choice
Coarse salt
2-3 scallions
2 tbsp lemon or lime juice*
5 tbsp olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper to taste

Strip off the outer leaves of the cabbage, then core and quarter. Slice the cabbage as thinly as you can. As you work, place the sliced cabbage in a large bowl, and sprinkle regularly with coarse salt as you go. When you have finished, put a plate over the cabbage, then weight it down** and refrigerate it for at least 12 hours.

When you are ready to prepare the coleslaw, remove the weight and drain the cabbage of the water that has been released by the salting. Rinse the cabbage and dry it thoroughly. Chop the scallions and add to the cabbage, then mix thoroughly with the dressing and pepper.

Serves 8.

* I used a combination of regular limes and the finger limes I bought at the Farmers’ Market recently.

** Use the heaviest thing you can find; this recipe didn’t work for me once when I didn’t pay enough attention to the weight. This time I used a glass jar full of change that was sitting on top of the fridge; it weighed at least five pounds and worked great