Sweet Potato Pancakes

When I go into a bookstore, I make a beeline for the cookbooks.  I could spend all day paging through instructions for baking the perfect cakes and tarts, braising tender meats, and sauteing fresh vegetables.  My favorites are the ones with large, glossy photographs.  I assume it's how some people feel with the latest fashion magazines.  The bright colors, the perfectly arranged dishes, just waiting for you to dig in - I soak them in.  And like the novels I read under the covers, flipping pages eagerly to see what happens next, I can't put them down.

 

So it's no wonder that Yotam Ottolenghi's cookbooks call to me from across a room.  His recipes are adorned with whimsical stories, his pictures vibrant and inviting.  You can hardly go wrong with any of his dishes, all reminiscent of his childhood in Israel.  This one comes with a tale about a cafe called Ella's in Tel Aviv and their legendary sweet potato pancakes.  If this version that Ottolengh imagined is anything like the originals, I understand the legend.  The savory and sweet cakes are are crisped up in butter, and eating them with your fingers straight out of the pan is what I imagine people must do all day in heaven.

Sweet Potato Pancakes
Serves 4

2 1/4 lbs sweet potatoes, cubed
2 t soy sauce
3/4 c flour
1 t salt
1/2 t sugar
3 T chopped scallions
1/2 t dried chili flakes
butter

Steam sweet potatoes until completely soft, about an hour.  Drain in a colander for at least another hour.

Place drained sweet potatoes in a bowl, and add the rest of the ingredients.  Mix everything together by hand; do not over mix.  Dough will be sticky.

Melt some butter in a deep frying pan.  For each cake, add a tablespoon of batter to the pan, and flatten with the back of a spoon.  Fry over medium heat for about 6 minutes on each side, or until browned.  Drain on a paper towel before serving, or gobble them up straight.

Orange-Scented Olive Oil Cake

Three and a half years ago, we had just moved into our first place together, a one-bedroom apartment in North Berkeley.  We were new to California, and we had no friends or family nearby.  I was looking for a job, and we had no income until Sarah's grad student stipend came in August.  

And then one day, we heard a knock on the door.  Anna was new to town, too, living upstairs in a studio apartment, and wanted to share the cost of our wireless internet.  Turned out she was a first year graduate student as well, had two adorable cats, and liked food as much as us.  And just like that, we had a neighbor and a friend.

Over the next year, we ate cookies and played games together, and we met Kyle when he came along.  By the next summer, we had all moved on to bigger and better living situations, but we stayed in touch.  We took hikes, ate dinner, and they watched our cat when we went to Germany.  They celebrated our marriage with us in the fall, and the next summer, we were celebrating theirs.

They recently had us over for dinner.  They made pizza, the logistics of which were somewhat complicated.  The sauce had a funny taste, and the crust would not slide into the hot over.  However, everything was delicious, and the conversation, as always, was delightful.

And I brought the cake.  A sweet winter cake with subtle orange and olive oil flavors.  A moist cake with a sugary glaze.  A cake that is the perfect ending to an evening with friends, friends who may not be your closest and with whom you may fall out of touch, but who shared your first year 3,000 miles from anywhere and with whom you'll always share your baked goods.

Orange-Scented Olive Oil Cake

Serves 8-12

2 oranges
2 1/3 c sugar
2 1/2 c four
2 t baking powder
1 t baking soda
1 t vanilla
4 eggs
6 T olive oil
1/4 c fresh orange juice
1/4 c powdered sugar

Trim the tops and bottoms of the oranges.  Bring 6 cups of water to a boil in a large pot, and add the oranges.  Bring water back to a boil.  Drain, and repeat twice more.  After draining for the third time, return oranges to pot with 1 cup of sugar and 4 cups of water.  Cook, stirring often, until sugar dissolves and orange rind can be easily pierced with a fork, about 30 minutes.  Let cool.

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Grease a 10 inch cake pan with butter and flour.  Whisk flour, baking powder, and baking soda together and set aside.

Remove oranges from syrup, and discard any seeds.  Pulse oranges in a food processor until you have a chunky puree.  Place puree in a large bowl, and mix in remaining sugar, flour mixture, vanilla, and eggs.  Add olive oil slowing, mixing until combined.  Pour batter into pan, and bake until the middle is cooked, about 45 minutes.  Let cool for 30 minutes.

Whisk orange juice and powdered sugar together to make a thin glaze.  Remove cake from pan and place on plate.  Pour glaze over top and sides of cake, and let cool completely before serving.

Orange Fennel Salad

Could there be anything more virtuous than eating a salad for dinner?  If you're coming down off a key lime pie bender, getting your fill of fresh vegetables feels especially wholesome.  And this is no limp lettuce and sad tomato salad.  This is a celebration of the flavors of winter.  Yes, even when you've been snowed in for days and can't remember the last time you had a handful of ripe berries, there is still seasonal produce to be found.

There is certainly no lack of citrus in this house.  My wife consumes a grapefruit a day, sometimes even two.  And can you really blame her, when citrus abounds at the markets now, piles of orange and yellow and red and pink and green.  But there is no need to banish these delightful fruits to breakfast.  Pair them with fennel, and you have a winter salad with a kick.     

It can be hard to keep your plate colorful in January and February, so far away from the greens of asparagus spears and sweet peas.  But it's actually the perfect time to pile on some leafy greens - the spinach and kale, the collards and arugula.  Add some sunny citrus, turn up the heat, and you might forget about the temperature outside.

Orange Fennel Salad
Serves 2

2 oranges
2 T olive oil
1 T red wine vinegar
salt and pepper
1 bunch trimmed arugula
1 bulb fennel, trimmed

Cut the peel off the oranges, making sure to remove the pith.  Slice crosswise into rounds and set aside.

Mix olive oil and vinegar together and season and salt and pepper to taste.

Tear arugula into pieces in a salad bowl.  Slice fennel bulb into long strips, and toss with arugula.  Add orange slice and dressing, and toss to mix.

Key Lime Pie

Pregnancy cravings.  You might dismiss them, but you can't ignore them.  And sometimes, something wonderful comes from them.  This key lime pie is one of those things.

I credit pregnancy cravings with this creating entirely, since I have gone twenty-six years without tasting key lime pie, being tempted to make one, or even having it on my radar.  So when my wife declared that she needed key lime pie, I had no idea where to start.  I didn't really know what went into one except (key) limes.  So I did my research, and then I got to baking.

Maybe you have to go to Florida for key limes, and maybe I would be blown away when tasting a pie made with real ones.  But let me say, I couldn't find key limes, so I used regular ones, and I don't think we missed anything.  I actually loved how tart this pie was, something that might be lost by using their sweeter, more southern cousins.  But what do I know?

It's certainly not a health food.  But do you want to feel good because you filled up on kale and chickpeas, or do you want to feel good because you're shoving some delicious pie in your mouth?  I know what I'd pick.

So you can thank my wife for expanding my culinary horizons.  But you don't have to thank her too much, since she got all the pie.

Key Lime Pie
Serves 6-8, or one hungry pregnant lady

For the crust:
18 Graham crackers
1/3 c sugar
1/3 c butter, melted

For the filling:
1 T lime zest
1/2 c lime juice
2 egg yolks
1 14-oz can sweetened condensed milk

For serving:
whipped cream

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Pulse crackers, sugar, and butter in a food processor until combined.  Press into pie pan and bake for 5 minutes, or until golden.  Let cool.

Mix the zest, juice, and yolks in a medium bowl.  Add condensed milk, and stir vigorously until smooth and thick.  Pour into the baked crust, and bake for 15 minutes.

Cool at room temperature, and then refrigerate for at least an hour.

Serve with whipped cream.

Moussaka

I was a pretty adventurous eater as a kid.  I took squid sandwiches for lunch, enjoying the looks on the other kids' faces as the tentacles hung out of the sides of the bread.  I would eat just about any kind of animal (until the decade I was a vegetarian), and I liked things good and spicy.  I would not, however, tolerate eggplant in any form.  You could not bake an eggplant or fry it, and there was no point in trying to cover it in cheese.  It was just a waste of cheese.

My tastes have changed slightly since those days.  As much as I hate to admit it, eggplant hasn't just redeemed itself; it's actually one of my favorite foods.  Bake it until its insides are mushy and scoop right out, or char the heck of out some slices, and you have an excellent snack or base for a hearty meal.  But if you really want to give it the royal treatment, you need to make moussaka.

My wife may be a classicist, but she harbors no true love for Greece.  It's slow, it's polluted, and we have seen, it's pretty much broke.  However, she did bring back a taste for Greek dishes, and moussaka is one of the best.  Like lasagna, but more complex, with rich layers of meat and eggplant, potatoes and cheese.  It may take half an afternoon and your entire stock of pots and pans, but it's worth it.    

After all, just because I like eggplant doesn't mean there's any shame in smothering it in cheese every now and then.

Moussaka
Serves 6-8

I've made a vegetarian version with walnuts and mushroom instead of meat; it's really the spices, wine, and tomatoes that give it its flavor.  You could experiment with lentils or something else.  And of course, you could use beef or chicken instead of lamb if you must.

1 lb potatoes (you want a firm, starchy potato, like Idaho)
1 large eggplant
salt
2 T olive oil

For the meat:
2 T olive oil
1 red onion
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 lb ground lamb
2 T tomato paste
1/2 t ground cinnamon
1/8 t ground cloves
2 c diced tomatoes
1/4 c red wine
salt and pepper

For the bechamel:
1/4 c butter
1/4 c flour
2 c milk
2/3 c grated parmesan cheese
pinch nutmeg
salt

Peel and boil potatoes until tender.  Cool, and then slice into 1/4 inch slices.  Set aside.

While potatoes are boiling, preheat your boiler to high.  Slice eggplants into 1/2 inch rounds, place on a paper towel on a baking sheet, and sprinkle with plenty of salt.  To with another baking sheet, and weight down for 15 minutes.  Remove the paper towels, pat eggplant dry, and drizzle with olive oil.  Broil until slightly charred, about 5 minutes.  Flip and repeat.  Seat aside.

Heat the remaining olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat.  Add the onion, and cook until soft.  Add the garlic, and cook another minute.  Add ground lamb, and cook until browned.  Stir in the tomato paste, and cook another minute, and then add the cinnamon, cloves, diced tomatoes, and wine.  Bring to a simmer, and keep simmering over low heat for 30 minutes.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Meanwhile, make the bechamel sauce by melting the butter over medium heat in a saucepan.  Stir in flour, and cook for a minute, stirring constantly.  Whisk in 1/4 cup of the milk until fully incorporated, and gradually whisk in the remaining milk.  Stir until thickened.  Add the cheese, and season with nutmeg and salt.

In a large baking dish, cover the bottom with eggplant slices.  Spread the lamb mixture over the eggplant, and add more eggplant on top if you have any left (I didn't).  Follow this layer with the potato slices, and cover the whole thing with the bechamel sauce.  Bake for an hour, until bubbly and browned.

Spiced Chickpeas and Vegetable Salad

It's really too bad that the new year brings with it both guilt about eating poorly over the holidays and weather that makes you want to continue on a comfort food binge.  Who can stomach salad in a snowstorm?  And are there really any good, fresh vegetables right now? 

Thankfully, the more cookies I put in my body, the more it craves bright, colorful, crisp produce.  And even more thankfully, I live in California, where such produce is actually available in January.  My wife requested this salad no fewer than four times in a week, suggesting that January brings out the craving for nutrient-dense vegetables in us all.

What seals the deal for this salad is the topping of warm, crispy chickpeas.  Not only do they add a healthy protein to your meal, they kick up a simple salad into something you want to dig into even while turning your thermostat up.  The spices are reminiscent of a holiday season not so very far behind us, while the vegetables let us know that summer is just around the corner.

Spiced Chickpea and Vegetable Salad
Serves 2

1/2 c dried chickpeas
1 t baking soda
1 small cucumber
1 large tomato or 1 c cherry tomatoes
1 sweet bell pepper
3 T olive oil
zest of 1 lemon
1 T lemon juice
1 T sherry vinegar
1/2 t sugar
1 t cardamom
1 1/2 t allspice
salt and pepper

Place chickpeas in a bowl, cover with plenty of water, add the baking soda, and let soak overnight.  In the morning, rinse chickpeas, place in a large pot, cover with plenty of water, and bring to a boil.  Skim off foam, and let simmer for about an hour, or until completely tender.  Drain.

Slice the cucumber, tomato, and pepper into a rough dice.  Mix all the vegetables together in a bowl.

Mix 2 tablespoons olive oil, lemon juice and zest, vinegar, and sugar together to form a dressing.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.  Pour over vegetables and toss.

Mix together cardamom, allspice, and a pinch of salt, and toss with chickpeas.  Heat the remaining tablespoon olive oil in a skillet, and then fry the chickpeas over medium heat for about 3 minutes.  Shake pan to cook evenly.

Serve bowls of dressed vegetables topped with warm spiced chickpeas.

Chocolate Pate

If New Year's Eve dinner means fondue, then New Year's Eve dessert must mean chocolate pate.  It's a recipe my mother used to whip up from the old, ripped, completely chocolate drenched volume of The Joy of Chocolate that rested among the cookbooks in our kitchen.  I would take that book down and flip through the pages, gazing at the glossy pictures of cakes, candies, brownies, cookies, and tarts.  I longed to create such beautiful masterpieces, adorned in perfectly sculpted chocolate roses, leaves, and more.

When I found a copy in the shelves of my local library, I was transported to a time when love was dished out in ounces of Baker's Semi-Sweet.  Because whenever my mother reached for that volume, spread it out on the kitchen counter with a bowl at the ready, something magical was going to happen.

Chocolate pate is not for the weak.  We're not kidding around; we mean serious chocolate business.  It's rich, it's dense, and it's indulgent.  For me, it was almost as much about the pate as it was the Carr's whole wheat crackers on which it would be spread.  Those crackers come but once a year, and they move me to tears each time.  Dollop some pate on a cracker with your choice of fruit, and you're ready to ring in the New Year.  And you might need to push any resolutions back a few days, since it makes an excellent New Year's day breakfast.

Chocolate Pate
Serves 8-10

12 oz semi-sweet chocolate
1 2/3 c heavy cream
5 T butter
2 t almond extract
1 1/4 c chopped blanched almonds, toasted

Melt the chocolate in a bowl over a pan of boiling water.  Remove from the heat.  Heat the heavy cream in a saucepan over medium heat, stirring constantly.  Bring it to a boil and remove immediately, adding the chocolate and butter.  Stir until smooth and cooled.  Stir in the almond extract and almonds.  Spoon into a bowl or pate dish and cover with plastic wrap pressed directly onto the surface.  Refrigerate until solidified; bring to room temperature a few hours before serving.