Red Poblanos: The Perfect Heat

It’s late fall, when the end of the growing season often brings some nice surprises, especially after a disappointing summer of rain and sorry produce. One discovery a few weeks ago was these beautiful red poblanos, brilliant and shiny. Poblanos are already a favorite of mine, in frequent use around my house for a staple in my house, chiles rellenos (recipe to come, I promise), or for making one of my favorite burgers or this simple first course of cornmeal-dusted sautéed peppers.

The red poblano is both a little sweeter and a little hotter than the green, which among all the chiles is relatively mild. It retains a distinctive poblano taste, however, and was satisfying and very pretty for chiles rellenos. Once roasted, however, they looked so much like any other roasted red pepper that I began thinking about what else to do with them.

As many of you know, I spend the academic year in Nashville. The South is a generation behind; this is not a criticism, just a fact. What is available here, and what people like, is reminiscent of the East Coast in the early 1960s. One of those things that people like is pimiento cheese. Now, we didn’t have that growing up, but we did have various kinds of cheese spreads, like WisPride®. Pimento cheese is a little bit like that, and everybody here just loves it. They sell it in the supermarkets—which are, regrettably, like ours were 30 years ago—in big tubs. Of course you don’t want that. But a homemade pimento cheese can be a very nice, even addictive, thing.

When friends from Rhode Island were visiting last month, I made some pimento cheese and some roasted pecans to give them a taste of the South. My girlfriend said, with a note of horror and shock that I would serve such a thing, “it looks like CheezWhiz®.”I told her it was good and, out of politeness or hunger, she tried it. She ate it right up.

Anyway, I used some of these peppers to make a batch of pimento cheese. Their natural heat negated the need for Tabasco and cayenne, standard ingredient when using regular roasted peppers. I can be quite content eating pimento cheese and crackers, accompanied by a cold beer, for my dinner when I get back late from teaching an evening class. A little Southern comfort, far from home.

Poblano Pimento Cheese

Pimento cheese is a subject of fierce debate in the South, like jonnycakes (thick or thin?) or chowder in Rhode Island. Serve only with 60s-era crackers: Ritz™, or my personal favorite, Club™. Or in celery, also very 60s. Southerners eat pimento cheese sandwiches, on white bread. Makes about 1 ½ cups.

Since red ripe poblanos may be difficult to find, I provide alternate instructions for using roasted red bell peppers. This is a loose interpretation of a recipe from a nice Southern cookbook, Martha Hall Foose’s Screen Doors and Sweet Tea. You may be tempted to use a food processor. Don’t.

8 oz. very sharp yellow cheddar
1/3 cup, scant, mayonnaise (Hellman’s or homemade)
1 ½ medium red ripe poblanos, roasted and peeled (or 2-3 oz. jarred or home-prepared roasted peppers/pimientos)
½ tea dry mustard
¼ tea dried sage
½ tea Worcestershire sauce
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste

If using regular peppers, also add:

1/8 tea ground cayenne pepper
Tabasco to taste

In a small bowl, mix the mayo, mustard, sage, Worcestershire and, if using standard peppers, the cayenne. Grate the cheese on the largest holes of a box grater and add, mixing.

Using the tines of a good fork, mash the peppers on a board until they are a small, dicey mush. Add them to the cheese/mayo mixture and whisk around with the fork. Season with salt, pepper (and if needed, Tabasco) to taste. Cover and refrigerate for a few hours to let the flavors meld. Take out about 10 minutes before serving.

      

Peaches by the Pound—Cake

Every time I look at a peach, I think about pound cake. Some people think about ice cream, and I agree that fresh peach ice cream is terrifically good. Others think about pickling them, and still others insist that the only way to eat a peach is dripping out of hand. But for me, the best way to eat ripe, flavorful peaches is gently cooked in butter and brown sugar with a few spices until they glisten with a garnet sauce, and then pour them over a slice of good, rich, homemade poundcake. This is of course a lovely way to end dinner. But it makes for a very nice breakfast. And a fine afternoon pick-me-up. You needn’t choose: pound cakes are large enough and keep admirably enough to suit your fancy all week.

When I buy peaches, I put them on a paper towel on a big plate, well-separated and covered with a cotton towel, and leave them on the counter to soften. Don’t be fooled by the photo, where they are stacked on top of tomatoes. It’s just a pose. Never stack peaches or otherwise allow them to touch. Once they are as you like them, put them in the refrigerator if you are not ready to use them.

Glazed Peaches

4-5 small peaches
2 T unsalted butter
2 T firmly packed light brown sugar
¼ tea cardamom
1-2 drops pure almond extract
pinch of ground white pepper
½ tea good whiskey

Peel peaches: dip briefly into simmering water to loosen skins; if skins have begun to wrinkle, they can be relatively easy to peel without the scalding. Cut in half and pull apart from the stone; slice into a 9” frying pan into which you have put the butter. Heat medium high to melt the butter and sauté for a minute or two. Reduce the heat to medium low, add the brown sugar and spices and sauté another minute, then add the extract and whiskey and simmer another minute more. Set aside. (If you refrigerate before using, give it about 20 seconds in the microwave).

Perfect Pound Cake

This represents the final adjustment to three separate recipes for pound cake, all of which start in a cold oven. Its flavor and texture is, in my opinion, perfect.

2 sticks ( ½ lb) COLD unsalted butter
½ cup shortening
2 ¾ cup sugar
6 large fresh eggs
2 tea pure vanilla extract
1/8 tea freshly ground nutmeg
¼ tea cardamom
pinch salt
1 tea baking powder
3 cups all-purpose flour
¾ cup fresh whole milk

Sift the flour with the baking powder and set aside. Butter well a 10” light-metal tube pan.

In a standing mixer with the paddle attachment, beat the butter and shortening for about 3 minutes at medium speed, until well combined and smooth. With the motor running, gradually add the sugar at medium-low speed, then turn the mixer to medium-high and beat about 5 minutes, til fluffy. Scrape down the  sides.

Reduce the heat to low and add the eggs one at a time; when combined, add the vanilla, nutmeg, cardamom, and salt. Sift the flour with the baking powder. Add the dry ingredients alternately with the milk, beginning and ending with the dry. Scrape down any remaining flour, turn the mixer up to about medium and give it a final quick blend to bring it all together.

Spoon the batter into the pan, rotating it on the counter surface to smooth the top. Place in the lower middle of the cold oven. Turn the oven on to 350 F and bake 1 hour 10 minutes; it will be nicely golden. Reduce the heat to 325 F and continue baking another 15 minutes, or until the sides just begin to pull away from the pan and a fine skewer comes out clean from the highest point. Do not over-bake. Remove to a rack to cool for about 10 minutes. If needed, loosen around the edges and center with a knife, and turn out onto the rack to cool completely.

Serve with the peaches. I like to serve it in wedges, but the texture is so fine you can cut it in paper-thin slices if you like. Divide it and freeze half, wrapped tightly in plastic and foil, if, like me, you live alone. Or give some to a neighbor. Otherwise, you will polish it off yourself in no time.

      

Little Bitty Pretty Ones: Yellow Crooknecks

 

I have a good excuse for my silence last week: I had the dreaded flu. Rumors of its “mildness” are misleading. If you are a young adult, the majority of expected cases, it is true. But based on what we are seeing with faculty, physicians, and others being exposed to those mild cases and for whom the adjective “young” must be dropped, it can be brutal. Delirious for nearly three days, unable to sit up, eat, or stay awake more than an hour at a time, I lost 5 pounds in 5 days, and am left with a secondary bronchial infection. And I was being treated.

So when my appetite slowly started to return, there was little that appealed to me. A bit of fruit, some plain yogurt. Solid food? No way. Back at work, I passed by the Krispy Kreme doughnuts in the office, unheard of for me, who usually takes two. I was beginning to wonder if I would ever want to eat anything solid again, and went to the farmers’ market to look around and see if anything called, “eat me!” Surprisingly, it was these little squash. I don’t like squash. I mean, I can eat it, but almost never buy it except for a few specific purposes. But they were so cute! And sunny! They looked like I wished I felt; grateful for the hopefulness they embodied, I bought them.

Of course, the fact that these squash are a good source of iron, vitamin C, and numerous other vitamins and minerals may have been an intuitive attraction. But really, their smooth yellow skins and perky stem ends are what won me over. They looked appetizing, and I knew they would be a good, plain, easy thing to eat. Feeling confident that my appetite was returning, I also bought some nice pastured chicken. Simply grilled, they both went down just fine.

Grilled Yellow Crookneck Squash

Buy the smallest ones you can find. With summer late this year, these fast-growing squash have offered a second chance for farmers.

yellow crooknecks, as many as you need
olive oil
snipped basil
lemon juice
salt and pepper

Leave the little squash whole; if you can only find larger ones, split them in half lengthwise. Brush the squash with olive oil and put them on a medium-hot grill (put split ones split-side down), turning them from time to time with a pair of tongs. Cook little ones for about 5 minutes, until they are slightly blackened here and there and a sharp knife enters and releases easily from the bulbous end; do not overcook. Remove to a bowl and toss with salt, pepper, basil, and a little fresh-squeezed lemon juice.

 

      

Apples: Fall’s Favor, Local Flavor

 

If summer must end, and end it must, at least we can face Labor Day with the comfort of pie for breakfast. The apples are coming in, and we can look forward to fresh, not storage, apples, for two months or more, if all goes well. I’ve written before about Lodis and Yellow Transparents, very nice apples for a simple tart or for sauce, but another fine early apple is the Mutsu, a dead ringer for a Granny Smith, but actually a cross between a Golden Delicious and a Japanese variety, the Indo—the apple, in fact, is Japanese in origin. I’m not a fan of the Golden Delicious—to put it nicely—and the Mutsu is not my favorite—for that honor, I still hold the Gravenstein, Stayman Winesap, Cortland, and Jonathan and Baldwin dear—but it is good, juicy, crisp, and tart-sweet—and here now. You may know it as a “Crispin,” another, apt name for it. Use whatever tart, juicy apple you can find, as they will be superior, even if not as cosmetically unreal, as apples from the store. As the great Joni Mitchell sang, “give me spots on my apples"; these Mitsus were beautifully imperfect.

The Mutsu makes good sauce, but I’ve had a hankering for apple pie with store cheese since earlier this summer. Talking one day about food, a new friend and I discovered that the hands-down favorite breakfast of both of us was apple pie. Old New Englander that he was, from a pioneering farm family whose family has lived in Little Compton for hundreds of years, his fondness was for pie with melted cheddar cheese on top; this was the way it had been served to him from childhood. I had grown up eating it with heavy cream or ice cream (yes, even for breakfast), and had not had it with cheese until I came to Rhode Island for college. But I had never had it with melted cheese, only accompanied with a wedge of cheese on the side. I knew apples and cheese were a popular combination for pies in New England—I’d even had cheddar cheese baked inside them, and cheddar crusts. But the idea of cheese melted on the crust was news to me.

So of course I had to try it. There’s an old saying, “An apple pie without the cheese is like a kiss without the squeeze.” See what you think. Me, I quite liked the savory-sweet-spicy combination of the fruit pie and cheese. But it would probably have been even better with a little ice cream, too.

Apple Pie with Store Cheese

My friend says his mother always used yellow cheddar, but I used the ultra-sharp store cheese, which I almost always have on hand.

Pastry for a double-crust pie

Use any crust recipe you like—homemade, please—or my usual butter-lard crust or all-lard crust. Make according to directions, pat into two discs, and chill, wrapped in wax paper, in the refrigerator. Remove when you start the pie so pastry is still cold and firm but not hard when you are ready to roll.

The pie

8 large apples
¾ cup sugar
1 ¼ tea best, fresh ground cinnamon
¼ tea ground cardamom
pinch salt
3-4 T flour
2 T unsalted butter

Preheat oven to 375 F. Use a 9” pie plate, preferably glass and deep dish.

Place the sugar and spices in a large bowl. Using a small sharp paring knife, peel and quarter apples lengthwise; starting at the stem end (which helps prevent   breaking), core the apple quarters—the cores generally pop out. Slice each quarter into 4 or 5 slices right into the bowl, tossing briefly with the sugar after each apple to prevent browning. (Lemon juice, by the way, is unnecessary with fresh apples, which contain a lot of pectin, and I don’t particularly like the added  taste). Add the flour and toss; I use the full ¼ cup flour for very juicy apples, 3 T for less juicy ones.

On a floured board, roll out your dough into a circle 2-3” larger than your overturned pie plate—I use a deep dish plate, so that implies the larger circumference. Loosen the pastry and fold it lightly in half, lift, and unfold into the plate, fitting and smoothing it in gently along the bottom and letting the edges hang over. Pile the apples into the plate, pushing some down into edges; pour over any remaining juices; and dot with the butter. Roll out the second round of pastry, roll it loosely around your pin to lift it up, and unroll it over the top of the  apples. Tuck both crusts under along the rim of the plate, crimp, and prick around the edge and in the center with a fork. I do not glaze my pie. Bake in the center of the oven until golden; the syrupy juices begin to ooze out; and a skewer enters and removes easily from the apples. Turn once during baking; if the edges get too brown before the pie is done, cover the rim with foil or one of those handy pie protectors (an aluminum ring that sits on the edge). Total baking time will be about 40-50 minutes, depending on your apples.

Cool completely or to nearly room temperature before cutting. To serve with cheese, grate store cheese over the top and broil briefly until melted and the cheese begins to brown.

 

    

Bunches of Basil, Pecks of Potatoes

   

The appearance of the sun so late in summer means that one herb that did poorly during the heavy rains, beloved basil, has recovered sufficiently to be available in big bunches alongside a late summer treat, local potatoes. The aromatic basil is often called the king of herbs, and it’s hard to argue with that. It’s not the most versatile in the world, but it certainly behaves like a king. It dominates the summer table, reigning supreme over tomatoes and corn, infusing cream sauces, mayonnaise dressing, vinaigrettes, butters, and other fatty mediums for garnishing or marinating vegetables. (Or meat or fish, for that matter.) It is powerful—use sparingly—and as with all power, fleeting and fragile—use fresh, at the last minute, and don’t subject to high heat.

New potatoes and parsley are a classic, an old favorite of New Englanders and anyone who has ever had access to creamy new potatoes and knows that, as with all perfect ingredients, plain is best. Our grandmothers, unless they were Italian, didn’t have or even know about fresh basil as a rule, but if they had, I am sure that new potatoes and basil would have been just as popular. Before summer ends, I always put some pesto, minus any cheese, into the freezer against that inevitable point in winter when you just cannot face one more meal of roast chicken and steamed broccoli or you will go out of your mind. A dish of pasta with the incredibly fresh spark of pesto, miraculously preserved by that gift to all eaters, the freezer, is a wonderfully restorative thing. Put some by, and come February, spring will seem a real possibility, a memory-turned-hope. And for now, treat yourself to the luxury of new potatoes with a little pesto dressing.

Roasted Pine-Nut Pesto for the Freezer

This makes a little over a cup. Use the remaining few tablespoons for pasta (adding parmesan cheese), with new potatoes (with or without cheese), or mixed into chopped tomatoes for crostini.

¼ cup pine nuts, toasted
½ tea, generous, kosher salt
2 cloves garlic, peeled
2 cups, firmly packed, fresh whole basil leaves (a big bunch or two)
½ cup good olive oil
¼ tea, generous, freshly ground pepper

In a small skillet, lightly toast the pine nuts with the salt.

Peel, without smashing, the garlic and put in the food processor. Add the pine nuts and salt, the basil, the olive oil, and pepper. Process until it is a smooth puree, stopping occasionally to push the mixture down with a rubber spatula. Taste for salt and pepper.

Put into a ½ pt canning jar; cover the top with plastic wrap, pressing it down on the surface; and top the jar with its lid and ring. Freeze.

 

    

Summertime, and the cream is good

It’s odd to think I have a lot in common with a dairy cow, but the truth is, I do. We both like to laze the day away in a nice field, grazing from time to time if we get hungry. And we both are at our absolute best in the long, warm days of summer. Despite any appearance to the contrary, which you might gather from glimpsing either one of us lying on the grass from a passing car, we are amazingly productive when the weather is good. We feel great, and work hard.

So it is that at this time of year, local dairy products are a precious gift of high-fat milk and cream. It is, in fact, all that rumination and grazing in the grass that is responsible for dairy’s productivity and high fat content in the summer months. If you are able to buy local milk and cream right about now, and it is not homogenized, you are truly lucky. I currently can buy nearly 50% heavy cream and light cream that is in the high 30s. In glass bottles, too: I make a $1.00 deposit on the bottle, credited next time when the bottle is returned.

When good cream is available, it should be used simply. For heavy cream, whipped, of course, (unhomogenized cream beats lightning fast, and is amazingly good); poured straight over a fruit pie or a cake, crisp, or buckle; frozen into a mousse or ice cream; as a base for salad dressing; or made into a simple sauce for pasta. Light cream is good for most of these uses, too, and is my choice for summer soups  and chowders, which I prefer on the thin side.

Thinking about my affinity with cows, I could mention a few other things that we have in common. For example, we both have brown eyes, and, umm, large udders. We both wear a lot of black and white or brown and white. I am getting old enough to be called an “old cow,” if only behind my back. But I won’t mention these things, lest you think I am a bit strange. But really, it can’t just be coincidence that cream and I are such good friends.

Summer Garden Soup

I often say that in the summer I could live on corn and tomatoes. Neither is very good in Rhode Island because of the rain this year, but what there is can be turned into a simple summer soup—a kind of light vegetable chowder.

2 T butter
1/3 cup onion, finely chopped
6 medium plum tomatoes, seeded and coarsely chopped
2 ears corn, shucked
1 ½ cups corn stock
1 small bay leaf
½-3/4 tea salt
few twists of the pepper mill
1 cup cream

½ cucumber, skin on, chopped fine
few sprigs parsley, chopped fine

Cut the corn from the cobs.

Melt the butter in a 3-qt chef’s pan. Sauté the onion in the butter until translucent, about 2-3 minutes, then add the corn and sauté another 2-3 minutes. Add the tomato, ½ tea salt, pepper, and bay leaf, toss for a minute, then add the corn stock. Bring to a low boil, reduce to a moderate simmer, and cook for about 10 minutes, until the tomatoes are soft but still hold their shape.

Remove from the heat and let cool down just a bit. Remove the bay leaf and discard. Stir in the cream and taste for salt and pepper; you may want another ¼ tea of salt and a little more pepper. Serve warm, not hot, or cold, garnished with the chopped cucumber and parsley.

Blueberries Abound

 

My first blueberries of the season were from my friend Linda’s husband’s blueberry bushes. They were very large and perfect-looking, and quite juicy, though a bit sour. Since then, blueberries have been busting out all over, and it seems as if they are having a long season. They are still a bit on the sour side—and I do mean sour, not tart—and not as naturally spicy as a really fine blueberry can be. Fortunately, blueberries are one of those fruits for which sugar, lemon, and a little spice bring out its best. While this year’s berries may not be the best for eating out of hand, they are big and juicy, worth freezing, and good for most cooking and baking.

So far this summer I have made blueberry sauce, some of which I mixed with mustard as a dipping sauce for grilled chicken chorizo; some blueberry jam; blueberry fritters; and several of the following old-fashioned buckles, some all-blueberry, some half-blueberry, half-currant. This is one of those addictive recipes that you cannot get enough of. And it’s so simple to make, why should you?

Blueberry Buckle

This is excellent for breakfast or dessert, a kissing cousin to my favorite blueberry breakfast cake.

6 T unsalted butter
1 cup a-p flour
1 cup sugar
2 tea baking powder
½ tea salt
½ tea cardamom and cinnamon, mixed, or spice of your choice
2/3 cup whole milk
2 cups blueberries or half blueberries and half some other berry

heavy cream, preferably unhomogenized

Place the butter in an 8” square pan or 1 ½ qt casserole dish. Turn the oven on to 350F, and put the dish into the oven to melt the butter. When you hear it begin to sizzle, remove it—do not allow it to brown.

Sift the flour, sugar, salt, baking powder, and spices into a small bowl. Whisk in the milk until just combined. Pour into the melted butter; do not stir. Pour the berries over all. Bake at 350 F for about 35-40 minutes, until golden and bubbling with juice.

Let cool on a rack at least 10-15 minutes. Serve warm with heavy cream poured over. In the unlikely event that there is any left over, this reheats nicely in the microwave.