Kumquats are an odd little fruit — the peel is the sweet part, while the inner fruit is quite tart — and I lived over thirty years without ever eating one. But here in California, kumquats are one of the available fruits this time of year, and so we eat them.
Back when I first read the article, Ben had never heard of the fruit, so I started by manufacturing excitement; just saying “kumquat” a few times was all it took. Try it. We had a brief setback, the night before market day, when Ben fell prostrate to the floor, crying “But I want kumquats now!” But we got past that, and in fact, the interval between getting the fruit into the house and eating the finished product is quite short, which is always a bonus when you’re cooking with people for whom the phrase “delayed gratification” is a contradiction in terms.
So if you happen to see some kumquats in your market, try this with your kids.
Kumquat Popsicles
Note: the original recipe calls for dipping the kumquats in raw egg white to help the sugar stick, but that step’s unnecessary (and runs the very slight risk of exposing you to salmonella). The kumquat juice is enough to do the job.
You need kumquats, a dish of cinnamon sugar, and some toothpicks.
Slice the kumquats in half horizontally. Use the point of the knife to flick out any seeds.
Ben slicing the fruit
Stick a toothpick into the stem end so that you’ve got a handle.
Dip the cut end of the fruit into the sugar and cinnamon.
Lay the fruit on a freezer-proof plate or tray, and then stick into the freezer for an hour or so.
One thing I’ve learned doing this blog: food styling is hard. So don’t let the slipshod photo above deter you. This is an amazing recipe that came together one rainy afternoon last weekend. This is done with beef ribs, but I suspect the flavors would be just as good if you substituted some rich porcini mushrooms for the beef.
I was inspired by a new cattle farmer–Holding Ranch–who’s shown up at our weekly farmer’s market. They’re a terrific small operation, and right now they’re carrying beef and chicken. In the spring they’ll have lamb and pork–at the time when the sheep and pigs are actually ready to slaughter. Yes, it’s true, meat should be seasonal like everything else we eat. To give you an idea of scale–they butcher one steer a week to bring to market. The beef is terrifically expensive, so a difficult purchase even for me to make these days. However, I’m committed to buying from them, which will mean less meat, less frequently, which is a good thing, of course.
The first of my purchases, one rainy Sunday, was about a pound of beef short ribs. I think I paid around $13 for them, and I wasn’t really sure what I would get inside. When I opened the package, I found 4 good sized ribs, which was easily sufficient for our family. Beef ribs have a good amount of meat and fat on them, and when they’re braised, with other things you really don’t want to eat a lot of them. (Okay, you might want to, but you don’t need too.)
I took stock of my garden and refrigerator and the ribs, which were just crying out to be braised–which is basically a slow, long cooking in liquid after browning the meat and aromatics on the stove top. What I came up with: Guinness Braised Beef Short Ribs with Wild Mushrooms, Tomatoes, White Beans. Actually, I had cooking a big pot of cranberry beans, but I forgot about and they burned, so at the last minute I added a can of white beans instead to give body to the stew.
The meal was an enormous hit with us and the kids. And the meatless leftovers provided over 3 lunches for me over the week. Pretty good for $13 + the cost of the vegetables.
Guinness Braised Beef Short Ribs
For each 1 lb of short ribs:
medium yellow onion, cut in half crosswise, then lengthwise into 1/4 inch slices (you don’t want the onions to dissolve in the braising)
4-5 medium carrots, cut crosswise into 2-inch pieces
2 cloves garlic, smashed
1 can plum tomatoes, drained and chopped in quarters
2 sprigs rosemary
beef broth or stock
1 can Guinness
1/4-1/2 oz dried wild mushrooms
8 oz white beans
olive oil
1. Reconstitute mushrooms in boiling water.
2. In a large (enameled) cast iron pot brown short ribs in olive oil until nicely brown all over. Remove from pan.
3. Add a few tablespoons or so (as needed) to the pan and sautee onion, garlic, bay leaf and carrots until the onions are soft.
4.Add about 1/2 the can of Guinness and stir until most but not all of the liquid evaporates. Drink the rest of the Guinness.
5. Return the meat and any juices to the pan.
6. Add the tomatoes and mushrooms. Carefully pour the mushroom-soaking liquid into the pot–but be very careful not to dump in the grit.
7. Add the rosemary springs and then pour in enough broth or stock to cover everything. Okay, so this part makes it more like a stew and less like a braise….
8. Cook for a few hours, until the ribs are tender and nearly falling off the bone. Before serving, stir in the beans and heat through.
Not long ago, on a family trip to San Francisco, Ella, Finley, and I found ourselves staring at the counter of a French bakery, at a pile of croissants. They didn’t know what they were, and as I explained to them the wonder that is a croissant, I found myself telling them not about croissant, exactly, and how good they can be, but about the summer I spent working in the French Alps at a summer camp. They know many stories from this time, including the fact that no one, not a soul, spoke even a word of English, so I was forced very quickly to abandon all pretense of speaking, looking, or acting even vaguely English-speaking. They know that we ate baguette and cheese, or sugared candy or chocolate every day for afternoon snack. They know that my first night, on the all night train, the youngest child, an adorable little 4-year old, looked up at me and said, “But you don’t speak French” (in French, of course), when I had uttered what I thought was a perfectly comprehenisble sentence in French. Things changed quickly and by the end of the summer, I could enter the mountain village store and be served and local restaurant and be served without disdain; I dreamed in French, and upon my return to Paris functioned like a native speaker. Sadly, this is no longer true.
France was also the place where I learned to eat meat again, but that’s another story. The anecdote I found myself telling my children a we stared at that golden counter was about breakfast.
On the counselor’s mornings off, we got to order from the bakery, which meant croissant–plain, chocolate, etc.–and whatever we wanted would be brought to our room, with our choice of cafe au lait, chocolate chaud, etc…It was quite wonderful to wake up to perfect croissant and eat them and go right back to sleep while the French children screamed.
And every morning we drank big bowls of cafe au lait or chocolate, too, which Ella and Finn found really funny.
Not long after, as I was marketing I spied a box of frozen TJ chocolate croissants, so of course I bought them, and for some reason had the impulse to sneak them into my cart so Ella didn’t see. Of course, Caroline and her family were fortunate enough to travel and eat in France last summer, and you can read about it all beginning here, but for the forseeable future, I’m going to have to recreate a little bit of France in our California home, so I bought the box.
We were in the midst of a rainy long weekend, and while many were away on ski weekends, I had been baking, and braising and nesting and so that night, I planned a petit dejeuner. The croissants are frozen, and you place them out on a cookie sheet overnight to proof, or rise. I did this, set the table, boiled some eggs, set out bowls for the chocolate and coffee, prepped the espresso machine, and filled a bowl of fresh fruit.
I also left a sign that said “Do Not Touch! Not Cooked!” on the croissants, since Ella and Finn are known to be curious when it comes to food, and they were bound to be up first.
The next morning, Ella was exuberant: “I can’t wait to taste my first croissant!” she said, and while they were baking, I made the chocolate and coffee and whipped some cream. They thought the bowls of chocolate chaud were hysterical, but they happily slurped them up just like a child should on a cold, rainy holiday morning.
When the croissant came out, Finn knew right away he was on to a good thing, because the moment he picked one up–before putting a single bite near his mouth– he exclaimed, “Mmmmm! They’re so buttery and warm!” And even though they are not the best croissant you will ever have, they were lovely, and that is all you really need to know.
“I am more modest now, but I still think that one of the pleasantest of all emotions is to know that I, I with my brain and hands, have nourished my beloved few, that I have concoted a stew or a story, a rarity or a plain dish, to sustain them truly against the hungers of the world. ” MFK Fisher
Yes, we did have pancakes on Valentine’s Day. But it was such a lovely meal, and we were all so sated by it, that it’s worth writing about.
Aside from the memorable first Valentine’s dinner my husband & I had in Los Angeles, where Leo DiCaprio unwittingly paid for our dinner, I think we’re both inclined to take it or leave it. But we wanted to do something for the kids, and so we (ok, I) started the grand tradition of Letting Dad Take Care of This One. Kory came home with a lovely bunch of flowers and three little packages of cookies and chocolates. (He & I ate the chocolates, later.)
I had set the table the night before, and the children quite magically let us sleep in.
When we woke, the board was written.
I was out of baking powder for the panckaes , but had buttermilk, and so I did a quick subsitute in our staple griddle cake recipe and made buttermilk pancakes instead. The pancakes were light, fluffy, and sweet, a nice alternative, and they held up to the fresh raspberry coulis/syrup we served on the side. I whipped some fresh cream, set out the coarse pink sprinkling sugar, and a bowl of Ella Bella Farm’s raspberries I had frozen in August.
Then, I used the very last of the raspberries to make a raspberry coulis, sweetened slightly with grade B maple syrup. Technically, I suppose, it wasn’t really a coulis, since it wasn’t pureed, but it wasn’t exactly syrup, either. It was tart and sweet and will be just as good on vanilla ice cream as it is on pancakes.
The kids got pink-tinted vanilla milk (whole milk + vanilla + sugar), and we all chose how to top the pancakes. Ella and Finn chose whipped cream and pink sugar and whole raspberries. I chose the coulis + whipped cream + sugar.
Kory & I took one bite of the pancakes and decided we needed to have some Valentine’s mimosas, but neither of us wanted to go outside to pick oranges and squeeze juice. So we poured the prosecco straight and topped it with a few muddled raspberries. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I had anything even resembling a mimosa in the morning. I suspect it was before we were married, which would be nearly a decade ago. But this may well be a tradition to revive. We all lingered, then the kids played, and Kory and I lingered some more, and then with the house in order, we went the Cartoon Art Museum in San Francisco to see the Coraline show, which was truly amazing, then out for sushi, and a trip to the Japantown mall, all of which was so fun that I forgot completely that I was supposed to go to the markets to look for the giant fried squid.
Buttermilk Pancakes
2 cups flour
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1 egg
2 cups buttermilk
2 tablespoons melted butter
1. Sift together all dry ingredients into a large bowl. This is an essential step. We just use a sieve, and work over the sink for easy clean up.
2. In a glass measuring cup beat the egg.
3. Add milk to the egg.
3. Pour egg and milk mixture slowly over dry ingredients, whisking to incorporate.
4. Add butter.
4. Cook batter on a hot griddle. Don’t turn the griddle cakes too soon! Wait until they are bubbling all over the center and a little dry around the edges.
For the Raspberry Syrup I simmered in a small pot about 1 1/2 cups fresh frozen raspberries, a few tablespoons of maple syrup, and about 1/4 cup of water until the raspberries began to slightly fall apart and the mixture was a nice consistency.
Barton Rouse, the late and much-loved chef at Princeton’s Terrace Club taught me, and many of my friends how to eat well, how to eat in good company, and that food means more than sustenance. In Barton’s kitchen and dining room, food was a way to forge community, celebrate difference, and find exuberance in life. In very many ways, the idea for this blog and this book is due entirely to him.l
One of the greatest meals he ever cooked was on Valentine’s Day, for which he conjured a red & black feast and we decorated the club with scorched valentines, severed hearts, and pretty dismaying cupids. The menu, in his honor, is below, along with a variation on his classic red & black squid ink pasta, which, alongside the whole pig he roasted once a year, might just have been one of the more exotic foods he introduced us too. If I can find the pasta, we just might have this feast in his honor on Saturday.
