crumbstash

Tue
03.11.08

Cracked Wheat

Even in these post-food-revolution days, blessed as we are with an ever broader diversity of ingredients, it seems at least one class of foods - the staple class, in fact - has not seen such diversity taken advantage of. So while the variety of meats, fruits, and vegetables is certainly greater now than ever, when it comes to grains, most of us still restrict ourselves to a scant handful of options. Certainly that was the case in our family growing up. At nearly every meal, we'd have a big bowl of jasmine rice, imported from Thailand and steamed in our rice cooker. For those few meals without rice, we'd invariably turn to one of two other options: common wheat in breads, or durum wheat in pasta. I'm not complaining here - jasmine rice still has a permanent spot in my pantry - but I do think this is more or less the situation among most people in America, that we limit the grains in our diets to only two or three, chosen among a rice and wheat varieties, or, in some circles, maize.

Again, it's not necessarily a bad thing - grains are so basic to a food culture that cuisines surely are built around the few that are most available - but while it's vogue nowadays to eat kohlrabi and edamame and such, why has this gastronomic intrepidness not spread to grains? It's certainly not for a lack of variety. Considering rice only for the moment, you have the Jasmine rice of Thailand, where white and black glutinous rice is also harvested, different from the sticky rice of Laos (which is different still from the sticky rice of Korea), the red rice of Bhutan, the koshihikari of Japan, and the Forbidden rice of China. There's the fragrant long, medium, and short-grained rices of the Indian subcontinent - basmati, sona masuri, and kalijira- and the slightly corn-flavored Samba in Sri Lanka; Italians have their Arborio, Vialone Nano, and Carnaroli for risotto; The Spanish have their Valencia and Granza for paella; In the US, in addition to imprecisely-named wild, or Indian, rice, there's the chewy and inaccurately-named pecan rice of Louisiana, which has nothing to do with pecans.

So that's rice. Wheat and maize comprise a similar number of varieties among them, to say nothing of quinoa, millet, barley, rye, buckwheat, teff, and oats.

This past winter I've been acquainting myself with a few of these. Each has its own perks: quinoa cooks up fluffy, with a pleasant bitter edge; wheatberries, the entire kernels of common wheat, are chewy and slightly sweet; barley puffs up to a soft but chewy texture. They're all really inexpensive if you can purchase them in bulk, and store well in the pantry if you use them up in a few weeks, or in the fridge if you want something even longer-term.

As for cooking, the most basic procedure is the same: lightly toast the grain in a pot or skillet, perhaps with oil and garlic, then add 1 to 2.5 times the amount of water, depending on the grain (quinoa needs less, wheatberries, more). Bring to a boil, cover, reduce the heat to low, and wait anywhere from 12 to 40 minutes until the grain is tender. In the last few minutes of cooking, you can spread vegetables like broccoli or kale on top to steam as the grain finishes cooking. The recipe below is for cracked wheat, the crushed kernels of durum wheat (which if parboiled becomes bulgur), topped with sautéed beet greens (yep, from the beets that went into the bran loaf) and a salad of grated carrots dressed simply with olive oil and salt. It takes about 15 minutes start to finish, it's healthy and delicious, and it's become a regular in my weekday rotation.

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Sat
03.08.08

Beet and Bran Breakfast Loaf, Muffins

What to do with a sack of wheat bran? My first attempt at something was to make bran flakes which turned out, quite simply, to be an utter disaster. In fact, I wish I remembered to take a photo of it, as it was the most horrific, poo-on-a-baking-sheet type mess I think I've ever committed. So for attempt number two, something less tricky: a bran loaf!

The recipe is fairly straightforward - a basic, sweetened quick bread - but I added some roasted beet puree to keep the loaf moist and to add some sweetness. Now if that sounds like a peculiar addition, let me remind you that a true red velvet cake gets its famous color from the same ingredient. This time I added some raisins and sunflower seeds, but I should think any dried fruits or nuts should do just as well.

If I ever get this bran-flake-thing sorted out, or, better, if I undergo a similarly spectacular failure, I'll be sure to post it up here.

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Thu
02.28.08

Grapefruit and Thyme Marmalade

I certainly hope you've been eating your citrus this winter. There is, perhaps, this notion that winter is only about hearty soups and root vegetables and such, only about heavy, stick-to-your-ribs sorts of meals. Such thinking can lead to a winter food-malaise that results in buying off-season tomatoes. Please. If bright and "summery" is what you want, rejoice: Citrus is at its best now in the dead of winter.

Case in point: the awesomeness that is the grapefruit, white, pink, or ruby red. The addition of some grapefruit segments and juice to raw, grated carrots, parsnips or beets will really brighten the winter root vegetables, yielding an unseasonally sweet and refreshing salad.

But even then I've been perhaps inundated with more citrus than I know what to do with. It's so good and abundant now that I keep picking up more at the store, to the disbelief of my roommates, who I'm sure are puzzled why anyone would need oranges of the blood, navel, and valencia varieties, especially when the cupboards already have 3 varieties of grapefruits and 2 of lemons. And kumquats. And clementines.

So for the last week or so I've been on a marmalade-making binge, trying to preserve some of this fruit for later, less citrus-y months. This latest batch was made with white and ruby grapefruits (hence the gnarly colors of the 'mixed' jar). It seems that marmalade is rather out of fashion today, no? I think I heard some chefs on the Food Network proudly admitting they didn't care for the stuff, which, frankly, I think is weird. Imagine how preposterous the analogous remark would be if referring to jam. Plenty preposterous.

Well whether or not I have the endorsement of Mr. Flay here, I think this grapefruit marmalade is really good. It pretty much follows the same procedure as jam, with the exception that the sliced citrus needs to soak overnight before cooking (I don't know exactly why). For a few jars, I added some sprigs of thyme which give a pleasantly grassy, herbal note.

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Sat
02.23.08

Buttermilk White Bread

In my continuing efforts to prepare as much as my food from my own hands as I can, I have been making my own bread. For anything that you consume regularly, I think it's important to actually prepare it for yourself at least once so that you know what goes into it. This particular bread is really simple to pull to together and gives such good results that I've been making it quite often. It freezes really well too, so I try to have a loaf stashed away in the freezer as often as I can.

The first time I made this was for a get-together to serve with brisket and coleslaw. My friend decided at the last minute to buy most of the food, but I draw the line at the Wonder-Bread-type awfulness you get in the supermarket aisles, and the bakery I frequent doesn't make a basic white bread (who would want to eat a baguette with their brisket and coleslaw?). So, necessity, the mother of my bread-making obsession.

The original recipe is from the totally awesome Susan at A Year in Bread. As she explains here, a white bread like this really benefits from interrupting the kneading process by a brief rest called the autolyse: After the ingredients (sans salt!) are combined into a shaggy dough, you knead it for several minutes then let it rest for 20 minutes or so before adding salt and finishing kneading for another several minutes. Susan explains it thoroughly on her site, but the idea is to let the gluten in the flour relax and absorb moisture. Salt will cause the gluten to tighten up, so it should be added only after this rest.

From there, it is the usual run down for yeast-leavened bread: let the dough rise (the fermentation) in a warm place for an hour or so until when you poke it deep with your finger the indentation doesn't close up on itself, then divide, shape into loaves, and let rise again (the proofing) for another 45 to 60 minutes until it springs back slightly when poked, and then bake it in a humid oven.

I've taken to using buttermilk in this recipe instead of milk or water, as I like the slight the slight tang and richness it gives the bread. It's quite good with a few tablespoons of honey added as well. Once the loaves are done, I like to brush the tops with melted butter to soften the crust, and then immediately add a sprinkle of salt.

It takes some time from start to finish, but most of it is just waiting for the dough to rise during which you can do other things. And your patience will be rewarded with three loaves of really fantastic white bread: tender but substantial, with a deep wheat-y aroma and a creamy crumb.

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Thu
02.14.08

Lentil Soup

Last week, I was in Texas where during the day the temperature got up in the high 70s. This week in Washington, the highs have been in the 30s, the wind's been gusting at over 40 mph, and there are weather advisories due to the icy roads. I actually don't mind it that much anymore -- it's just something to get used to, really -- rather, I'm just reminded how winter here is a little bit more serious a business than in Texas. But thankfully, we have soup.

The soups I've been making this winter have all started out pretty much the same way: mirepoix and potatoes sautéed in a big pot, followed by tomato paste, some seasoning, water or stock, and then all of this is boiled until the vegetables fall apart. Afterwards goes in the vegetables that are to keep their texture, and these are allowed to cook through but not too much. I've been especially partial to cabbage and mushrooms. And to make it a heartier soup, I've also been adding soaked beans or grains like barley or wheat berries.

This time, I found stashed away in my cupboard a bag of lentils. Not just any lentils, mind you, but lentilles de Puy, the Auvergne lentils often described as a poor man's caviar. The nice thing about these lentils is that when cooked, unlike the non-de-Puy variety which become rather mushy, they take on a tender but still-toothsome al dente texture (hence the caviar comparison). It may be somewhat weird to use these fancy lentils in something as pedestrian as soup (and in fact regular green or yellow lentils would be perfectly fine here), but the firmer texture of these lentils is useful in something that is cooked long and reheated several times. I've been eating the leftovers over two days and the lentils, while certainly less al dente, still have a nice texture.

Overall, I have to say this is quite a good soup. It's warm and filling, full of the earthy flavors of stewed vegetables and the nuttiness of the lentils. These and the scant few tablespoons of tomato paste give the broth plenty of body so you don't even really need stock. I also threw in the rind of a piece of Parmigiano-Reggiano, which added some roundness and complexity. With the cheese rind the soup is still vegetarian, but if you wanted to go the vegan route you could omit it easily enough.

One more thing: if you haven't discovered the awesomeness that is the trinity of garlic, bay leaves, and orange zest, this is a good recipe to try it. I've been using that flavor base in almost everything lately, from soups to rice to tomato sauce.

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