blood orange, beet, and fennel salad

Happy Leap Day!  I had a different post prepared for today (a satisfying and substantial dinner), but I am going to save that for tomorrow and give you something a little bit unusual instead.  In honor of Leap Day William, it would be cool if each of you ate something today that you wouldn't ordinarily eat any other day of the year.  Take a leap of faith.  Try something new.  Live on the edge.  If you're at a loss for ideas, you can try this salad.  I know it is a bit weird, but trust me, it's completely awesome.

 

Some people buy candy as a once-in-a-while treat from the grocery store checkout line.  I buy cooking magazines.  (Unless they have peanut butter M&Ms, in which case I buy both.)  When I saw this recipe in January's Bon Appetit, I knew I had to make it.  I have had a raging obsession with fennel since visiting Italy last summer, but as it is almost as unwieldy and intimidating as butternut squash, I've never made anything with it myself.  Luckily, I soon learned fennel is pretty easy to prepare if you just read a little bit about it first.  The entire plant is edible - from its white, bulbous base, to its green, celery-like stalks, and its feathery, dill-like leaves.  It's also super versatile.  It is delicious raw - either shaved thin in salads, or alone with a drizzle of good olive oil and sea salt.  When prepared by braising, sautéeing, roasting, or grilling, the bulb softens and the flavor mellows.  Oh yeah, that's the best part about fennel.  When raw, it tastes like black licorice.  When cooked, it becomes a little sweeter and less powerful, but the notes of anise still shine through.  Yum. 

But enough about fennel.  This recipe also includes my other favorite things - beets and winter citrus.  In fact, the stars of this salad are actually the blood orange and the beet, with the fennel taking a supporting role.  Blood oranges are small, but powerful, and replete with fiber and antioxidants.  The tart flavor pairs amazingly with the inherent sweetness showcased in roasted beets.  (If you have missed my love affair with beets, you can read more about it here.  I know I wax poetic about a lot of vegetables, but I am particularly fond of beets.)

I followed this recipe almost exactly, but I've changed the wording in the recipe because some of the original verbage is confusing and misleading.  I also used parsley instead of cilantro, and I threw some fennel fronds in for good measure, too.  Enjoy!

Blood orange, beet, and fennel salad
Serves 2
adapted from bon appetit

4 medium red beets, tops trimmed 
2 blood oranges 
1 medium navel orange 
1 teaspoon fresh lemon juice
1 teaspoon fresh lime juice
6 slices of fennel, sliced very thin on a mandoline
6 slices of red onion, sliced very thin on a mandoline
High-quality extra-virgin olive oil, for drizzling
Coarse sea salt
1 teaspoon chopped parsley and fennel fronds, for garnish

1.  Preheat oven to 400°. Scrub beets, wrap individually in foil, and place on a rimmed baking sheet.  Roast until beets are tender when pierced with a knife, about 1 hour. Let cool.
2.  Meanwhile, using a sharp knife, cut all peel and white pith from all oranges; discard. Working over a medium bowl, segment one of the blood oranges by slicing between each membrane and allowing them to fall into the bowl.  Squeeze excess juice from membrane into bowl and discard the membranes.  Slice remaining blood orange and navel orange, either crosswise into thin rounds or segmented.  Place in the same bowl and allow to stand for a few minutes in the citrus juices.
3.  Peel cooled beets. Slice beets into thin rounds, wedges, or both.  Layer beets and oranges (without juices) on plates, dividing evenly. Arrange fennel and onion over beets. Spoon reserved citrus juices over, then drizzle salad generously with oil. Season to taste with coarse sea salt and pepper. Let salad stand for 5 minutes to allow flavors to meld. Garnish salad with parsley and fennel leaves.

balsamic braised brussels sprouts

Part of the reason I decided to kick off the blog again this year is that I've really fallen off the cooking train recently.  I'd like to say it's because I'm busy, but I hate that excuse, because (pretty much) everyone can find 30 minutes a day to cook healthy, fulfilling meals for themselves and their loved ones.  So I will blame it on the weather.  Mother Nature has been so fickle recently, and so have I.  Thank you, weather, for confusing me and making me not want to cook anything.

So, because a girl's gotta eat even if she doesn't wanna cook (and a girl can't eat out every meal, or else she'll be fat and broke), I've been eating a ton of brussels sprouts.  I have plowed through at least a pound a week by myself since January 1.  Kind of horrifying, but totally awesome. 

The inspiration for this brussels sprouts recipe comes from Mike Isabella's Graffiato.  Man, do I love this restaurant.  Definition of fat and happy.  The menu boasts succulent oven-roasted meats, divine pastas (really, if I am going to make it through till Easter, I must stop thinking about pasta), innovative pizzas (though I don't care for the crust - not that it matters now, anyhow) and unbelievable......vegetables? 

Absolutely.  One of the areas where Graffiato shines is on its vegetable menu.  Not too long ago, I stopped in for dinner with a couple of girlfriends.  After settling into our booth and ordering prosecco on tap (yes, we're those airheads who are completely stupified by a keg that dispenses bubbly), Whitney mentioned that the brussels sprouts were not to be missed.  Since Whitney is generally predisposed to more carnivorous fare, I figured these brussels sprouts had to be a work of the gods themselves.  And divine, they are.  The crispy, roasted leaves are served with bits of scrambled egg white and perched atop a liquified, buttery egg-yolk emulsion, providing a textural contrast that leaves you confused in the best way possible.  The flavor profile is equally complex - the intrinsic bitterness of the sprouts contrasts sharply with salty pancetta and sweet maple syrup.  Even Brittany, who has recently begun adding green things to her repetoire, liked them!  It's safe to say that these brussels sprouts are a game-changer for anyone who has been prejudiced against the little brassica.

Unfortunately Graffiato's brussels are neither healthy nor Lent-friendly (thanks to the maple syrup).  However, I'm happy to say that I've lightened up the recipe while retaining its flavor, giving you all of the decadence but none less of the guilt.  I cut back on the pig fat and the oil, and cut out the maple syrup entirely, opting for balsamic vinegar to give it that subtle sweetness.  I add just a hint of grated parmesan if I feel like it, because brussels are better with a little dusting of cheese.  My brussels are pan-seared and then gently braised, and while I am not privy to Mr. Isabella's cooking method, I imagine he uses a similar double-cooking process to give the brussels their crisp outer leaves, while leaving the insides to melt in your mouth. 

If I may delude myself a bit, I'd even say my dish is appropriate for daily frequent consumption.   (Yeah, all the brussels I've eaten?  I'm eating them almost exclusively this way.)  Top the brussels sprouts with a poached egg and you have an Isabella-inspired complete meal; leave out the egg and you have a delicious side.

A few notes:
1. While you will never see me eat an entire strip of bacon (I don't like the texture, saltiness, or overwhelming richness), I do enjoy the smoky, fatty flavor that this little piggy imparts on the brussels.  I've pared back on the pancetta here, and I dice it a little bit bigger than usual so I can fish it out before I eat it.  (Relax, I don't waste it - I give it to Whitney or save it for soup.)  Feel free to up the portion if you are so inclined, and if you can't find pancetta, a strip of bacon is a perfectly reasonable substitute.  I've even used little salamis in a pinch.
2.  Go easy on the salt.  You only need a dash to leech the water out of the vegetables - any more and it will be way too salty with the addition of the pancetta, parmesan, and broth.
3.  You can either babysit the brussels in the broth while they cook, or you can cover the pan and let them caramelize (there's that word again) while you do other things.  Because I am incapable of concentrating on one thing at a time, I usually go this route and just make sure to check on them once or twice, tossing if necessary.  It will take a little longer to cook this way, though.  The brussels are done when all the liquid is absorbed.

Balsamic braised brussels sprouts
inspired by Graffiato and loosely adapted from smitten kitchen

Serves 3 to 4 as a side, 2 as main

1 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1 pounds medium-sized brussels sprouts, washed, trimmed, and halved along the stem
Salt and pepper
2 ounces pancetta or thick bacon in small dice
1 clove garlic, minced
1/2 onion
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar
3/4 cup of rich chicken or vegetable broth
grated parmesan cheese, as desired
egg, poached, fried, or soft boiled (one per serving, optional)

1.  Heat butter and olive oil in a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat, until foamy.  Add brussels sprouts, halved-side down and sprinkle with salt and freshly ground black pepper.  Sauté, until lightly browned, about 5 to 7 minutes.
2.  Reduce heat slightly and add diced pancetta, shallots, and garlic.  Sauté further, tossing frequently, until sprouts are well browned and softened slightly, pancetta is crisp, and garlic is fragrant, about 5 to 7 minutes more. 
3.  Increase heat to medium-high, add balsamic vinegar and stock, and cook, tossing frequently, until sprouts are glazed and tender, about 12-15 minutes; add more stock if needed.  (Alternatively, cover and let cook 15-20 minutes, tossing every 5 minutes)
4.  Transfer to a serving platter and top with grated parmesan cheese, and, if desired, serve each portion with a runny egg.

Brussels sprouts haters, I dare you to try this and still tell me you hate brussels sprouts.

observations & ramblings

The only thing I cooked this weekend was a gingered acorn squash puree, and since it's essentially baby food, I didn't think it was substantial enough for its own post.  (You may see it later this week served up with something else.)  Instead of a recipe, I thought I'd give you some thoughts from five days in.

1.  Breakfast is quickly becoming a chore.  Coffee without sweetener is akin to what I imagine mud tastes like, oatmeal without brown sugar requires a lot of cinnamon and a very overripe banana, and greek yogurt with slivered almonds and blueberries is not quite as good as with honey and granola. 
2.  Apparently Communion wafers are not gluten-free.  That Catholic guilt always finds you, even while you're in church.
3.  Casual day-drinking while watching sporting events is a lot harder when beer is not an option, and a vodka-soda at 3pm is far too excessive.
4.  When your friends order pizza in between aforementioned spectating and a rowdy 90s dance party, you end up with cheese and toppings for dinner.  Unfortunately, that doesn't give you a lot of staying power for the dance floor, and you will wind up with hunger pangs somewhere in between "Tearin' up my heart" and "Can't touch this".  
5.  You have to remember to check the ingredients when you are trying to avoid gluten and sugar.  Because guess what - they are in everything.  A few days ago, I was in a bind and needed a quick lunch, so I reached for a frozen Morningside Farms black bean burger.  I even made some chipotle mayonnaise to slather on top (y'all know how I love my mayonnaise.)  I didn't check the ingredients first.  I took one bite and realized the burger probably had a gluten binder in it.  And the adobo sauce from the canned chipotles contains sugar.  Two strikes.
6.  Sushi makes a nice Lent-friendly Sunday dinner when you were supposed to make a home-cooked meal for your cousin, a freshman at Georgetown, but accidentally took a three-hour nap instead.
7.  Wine bars with crispy flatbread and enticing cheese plates are probably not the best places to go when you can't have bread.  But they probably have a really tasty quinoa risotto with spicy crab and squid ink.

One of these days I'll actually cook something and post it on the blog....promise.

grapefruit & avocado salad (with chicken)

 

For some reason, I have been thinking a lot about chicken breast.  And I'm not sure why.

It's just chicken breast.  The most quotidian of animal proteins.  Sure, it's versatile, in that it can take on many flavors and cooking methods.  Grill it, bake it, roast it, poach it.  Ditto with flavors - it's essentially a blank canvas, so let your spice rack have its way with it.  But still...kind of boring and uninspired, right?

Maybe the reason why I have been craving chicken breast is that it's been a while since I've eaten it.  I used to eat chicken breast all. the. time.  But after my stint as a temporary vegetarian last year, I started to eat less meat in general - and a whole lot less chicken breast.  When I do want carnivorous fare, I usually invite friends over because it's easier to cook for four than it is to cook for one, and chicken is a pretty safe bet.  I'd say in all, I only eat chicken breast a couple times a month, at most.  What a change from three times a week.*

But one thing I've learned from changing my diet over the years - with both small changes and large overhauls - is that your body is like a toddler, no matter your biological age.  When you change its routine, it's going to freak out.  Eventually, though, it will settle into a new groove and forget its old ways.  Like a toddler, you also have to know when to listen to it.  It may ask for something once, and it's okay to ignore it.  You don't want to risk spoiling it and doing things just to shut it up - this will backfire.  But, when it asks over. and over. and over again.  You should listen.  So when I start thinking about chicken breast as I'm grooving from column to column in Excel...chicken I will eat.

I know that when my body specifically asks for chicken breasts, it doesn't want anything fancy.  Just add some lemon, olive oil, and thyme, prepare simply, and enjoy with rice and vegetables.  So I baked a couple of breasts on 350, ate one for dinner in this simple way, and saved the other for a lunch salad a couple of days later.

There's no real recipe for this because I think salad recipes are BS, as they're infinitely adaptable, hard to mess up, and you're pretty much guaranteed that somebody has made that salad before.  Last year I wrote a post on salads here.  Check it out if you need some inspiration.

My salad was made with utility in mind, but I knew the flavors would work well together, as this is a classic combination.  My mom had given me some grapefruit and avocados to take with me back to DC after a trip home last weekend.  Despite her enthusiasm for "guacs", as she calls them, she and my dad cannot possibly go through a Costco bag before they go bad.   So these were the perfect salad components.  I just love the tart winter citrus paired with the creamy, heart-healthy avocado.  A light sprinkling of tangy feta cheese goes a long way, and the addition of a crunchy nut, such as walnuts or pistachios, is always great too.  Leave out the chicken if you want - the salad is just as wonderful without it.  For the pescatarians out there, add some shrimp and roasted red peppers (another one of my favorite combinations).  For dressing, the juices from the grapefruit will dress the leaves, but feel free to add balsamic vinegar or maybe a hint of walnut oil.  Just like that, a boring protein becomes a part of an amazing salad.

*I know my mother is probably having a conniption right now as she thinks I've become one of those snobs/freaks who won't eat normal food.  Not the case.  I will always eat what others make for me, but until I'm routinely cooking for someone other than myself, I am backing off the chicken breasts.

red lentil soup

I almost didn’t make this post my first real post on Caramelized Memoirs.  Soup is, frankly, not all that exciting, and this particular soup, while tasty, is visually reminiscent of Linda Blair’s vomit on The Exorcist.  (It is made with red lentils, but it somehow turns out a yellowy-green.  Don't ask.)  But I figure a vegetarian soup is appropriate for Ash Wednesday, a day of fasting and abstinence.  This soup is hearty and will stick to your ribs, making the fast a bit more bearable, and it is meatless to boot, fulfilling the second tenet of Lenten penance.

This soup comes from my mom, who is on a red lentil kick after recently discovering them at Grand Mart, an Asian and Latin food depot in Virginia Beach.  (Which sounds like my personal Promised Land.)  Surely there are similar stores in the DC ‘burbs, but because I have a life and I can’t drive out to Timbuktu for cheap spices and exotic fruits, I get my red lentils in the bulk bins at Whole Foods.

I love the bulk bins at Whole Foods.  Now, I think the grocery store, in general, is an excellent place for social experiments, but the bulk bins attract a particularly interesting cross-section of Whole Foods shoppers.  You have crunchy hippies filling their own reusable pouches (made of recycled, allergy-free, and fair-trade materials) with nutritional yeast and bulgur wheat.  There are mothers stocking up on healthful, economical dried beans and grains with one hand, as the other hand wrangles a small child sticking his slobbery fingers into the organic chocolate-covered pretzel bin.  At my Whole Foods in particular, young urbanites stare at the bulk bins in confusion as they decide which of the four varieties of quinoa would taste best with their salmon.

On Monday, as I filled my brown bag with red lentils, I heard a deep voice behind me.

“I’ve never seen pink peas before.”

As I put my bag on the hanging scale to see if it had reached a pound (it hadn’t), I turned around and replied, “They’re red lentils, actually.”

“Oh.  What are you going to make with them?”

I turned back to the red lentil dispenser to let out a few more ounces of legumes.  “Soup,” I replied.  I put the bag back on the scale.  Exactly one pound.  The obsessive-compulsive part of me jumped for joy.  The part of me grounded in reality, having an awkward conversation in the Whole Foods bulk bin aisle, folded over the top of the bag and jotted the SKU on the outside.

“You sure are precise with those measurements,” he started up again.  “I need four cups of quinoa.  How many pounds is that?” 

I surveyed the scene.  The stranger was in the way of my cart, so I couldn’t exactly blow him off.  And because I am currently working on being a nicer person, I offered to help him out.  “Okay, well do you need four cups cooked or uncooked?”

He looked confused.  “Um, uncooked, I think.”  I was part relieved, because converting cooked quinoa to uncooked quinoa is annoying, as it’s imprecise and depends on the amount of water you use and how long you let it cook.  Unfortunately, I am pretty sure he was wrong, unless he was cooking quinoa for a small army.   Four cups of uncooked quinoa makes, in scientific terms, a shit ton – at least eight to twelve cups.

“Okay, so you’ll just need two pounds.  Easy enough.”  I tried to make my way toward my cart.  At this point, my “let’s be nice” act was up, and I was growing impatient.  It was a beautiful day, and I had somewhere to be.

He looked at me quizzically.  “But how do you know that?”

I began, giving him the benefit of the doubt.  Maybe measurements are not intuitive if you're unfamiliar with cooking or lacking in common sense. “So one cup of uncooked anything is, more or less, eight ounces.  Right?  And there are sixteen ounces in a pound.  So two cups of dried quinoa is one pound, and four cups is two pounds.” 

Finally, a lightbulb turned on for him.  “Oh, cool.  You’re so smart.  Can you weigh it out for me?  I don’t know if I could judge what two pounds feels like.”

I gritted my teeth, forced a smile, and carefully measured out two pounds (another precise measurement, another OCD win).  I handed the bag over.

“Thanks for being so helpful - you really should work here.”

Well, thanks buddy.  I’ll take my compliments wherever I can get them these days.

 

Red Lentil Soup

Serves 2-4

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 large onion, chopped

2 large carrots, peeled and chopped

4 garlic cloves, finely chopped

1 ½ teaspoons ground cumin

1 Turkish bay leaf, or ½ California bay leaf

1 sprig fresh thyme, or ½ teaspoon dried

1 cup red lentils (about eight ounces, or half a pound), rinsed

3 cups reduced-sodium chicken broth

3 cups water

2 tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley, for garnish

Cook onion in oil with half a teaspoon of salt in a large saucepan over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until softened (about 8 minutes).

Add garlic, cumin, bay leaf, and thyme, and cook, stirring, 1 minute more.  Add lentils, broth, water, and half a teaspoon of pepper, and bring to a boil.  Simmer, partially covered and stirring occasionally, until the lentils are very soft and falling apart, about 30 to 45 minutes. 

Discard bay leaf and thyme sprig and puree with an immersion blender to desired consistency (I like it half pureed).  Serve warm and garnish with parsley.



let's try this again

The questions started weeks ago - What are you going to give up for Lent this year?  Are you going to write about it again?  40-day vegetarian, 2.0?  Or will you buck up and go vegan?

Let me start with the fun/easy part first - the blog! I'm back with more delectable recipes from my everyday life and reflections on the absurd things that happen to me along the way.   I've thought on and off about getting back into blogging, but there just hasn't been a good time - I've been busy at work and at play, and writing hasn't been my top priority.  Moreover, I am entirely lacking in the technology department right now - my trusty point-and-shoot has been dropped on the cobblestone streets ten times too many, and my seven-year-old Dell Latitude leaves much to be desired by way of speed, memory, and Internet navigation.

But, enough excuses.  This is life.  There's never a good time.  There's never an easy way.  Who cares if my "laptop" is Old Faithful one day and a p.o.s. fossil the next?  Faulty equipment is only an excuse for traffic court.  So what if I'm busy with professional obligations, a full social calendar, and maintaining my sanity with running and trashy TV?  Good thing I'm a great multitasker.  As for the finicky camera?  Well, I've got an iPhone and Instagram, which makes every picture more hipster artsy and beautiful.  I'll make it work.  And this isn't a real food blog anyway, so get over it.

Now for the not-so-easy part....my actual Lenten promise.  When soliciting ideas for what I should forgo, I couldn't pinpoint exactly what I wanted to try.  I didn't want to go completely vegan - eggs and greek yogurt are a major protein source for me.  A good friend of my mom's suggested going gluten-free and comparing and contrasting the positive and negative side effects with last year's meat-free diet.  Another one of her friends suggested giving up sugar.  And because I am nothing if not an overachiever, I decided to do both.  No gluten.  No added sugar, refined or unrefined (natural sugars already in whole foods are okay).  No artificial sweeteners.  No excuses.

Many of you are probably scratching your head as to why I have named the blog "caramelized memoirs" if I am giving up sugar.  After all, to caramelize means "to change (as sugar) into caramel".  But, caramelization also occurs with sugars found naturally in fruits and vegetables.  And vegetables roasted to the point of melt-on-your-mouth carmelization are some of my favorite things to eat. 

But, if we're being honest, the real reason is that one day I spent far too long anagramming my name and my friends' names.  Fun Fact:  My name is an anagram for "caramel memoir".  So, I took some creative liberties with the domain name, and here we are.  (Side note:  If you have never anagrammed yourself, please do so at www.wordsmith.org/anagram.  #byebyeworld) 

As for the obvious changes for me until April 8, there's going to be no (real) bread, muffins, bagels, pasta, cookies, candy, or confectioneries.  No sugar, no maple syrup, no honey.  No Diet Coke.  No Sweet & Low in my morning coffee.  But there's a lot that is less obvious.  No beer.  And, tragically, as Caroline reminded me during her gluten-free stint - no bourbon.  Damn that grain distillation!  I guess I'll finally become a real woman, joining the ranks of other young ladies who guzzle vodka-sodas (remember, tonic water contains sugar).  Cereal is also out, unless it's gluten-free and sugar-free (ew).  I imagine gluten-free cereals will be hard to find without added sweeteners - even my healthy Kashi cereal contains "evaporated cane juice" and "brown rice syrup", which are just fancy names for unrefined sugar.  And even little things like pantry staples have to be re-examined to make sure there are no traces of gluten or sugar.

But, there's plenty I can eat.  Meat.  Cheese.  Fruits and vegetables.  Rice, potatoes, quinoa.  Legumes and lentils.  Greek yogurt, since the thick, plain stuff doesn't have sugar added.  Homemade salad dressings, marinades, and condiments.  Wine, since the fermentation of natural sugars in the grapes is what yields the alcohol.  Oh, and vodka.  Don't forget the vodka.

I'm weirdly excited for this little experiment and I hope you'll join me again.  As you can tell, I've migrated my old posts from the 40-day Vegetarian over to this blog.  I'm going to delete the old URL soon.  Posts may be a little light this week as I get back into the swing of things.  Enjoy your Mardi Gras - maybe I'll head to il Canale and Baked & Wired for pizza and cupcakes.  They don't call it Fat Tuesday for nothin'.