My New Pet

It's not a dog or cat or gerbil or even a tarantula, but I'm happy to introduce the world to R, my sourdough starter.  R was a gift from my friend Rob, in whose shadow as a bread baker I humbly stand. He makes his own baguettes, even. I mentioned to him a couple of weeks ago that I was thinking of starting my own sourdough starter and he was like, "really, dude, it's not worth it, just take some of mine."

And without further ado, R was, well, I was going to say "born" but that's not exactly accurate.  Decanted.

Here is R in its resting state, safely ensconced in its jar.

And here's R tucked away in my fridge, where it'll be spending most of its time.

 

Next this is R in its active, growth phase, having just been fed and about to spin off some starter for making my first ever loaf of sourdough bread.  Doesn't it look bubbly and perky? I bet R would have like a thousand followers on Instagram, like a certain pug I know.  (Digression: searching for 'yeast' on Instagram, which I don't necessarily recommend, does yield two gems:  "Yeastie Boys Bagels," and "Yeast of Eden."  Bravo!)

 

And here's the product of my and R's collaboration. Cook's Illustrated's no-knead sourdough recipe from issue 142 is what planted this whole idea in my head.  It was an almost 40 hour process to make this loaf (albeit, most of it waiting around while R did its thing and gluten formed and such).  I made a project plan spreadsheet and everything.

And check out the inside.  The crumb needs a little work -- I think maybe some (more) kneading is in order?  But I was really happy with the flavor, not too sour, but definitely tangy, and amazing that thanks to R the only store-bought ingredients I need to make a loaf of bread are flour and a little salt.  Made some superb BLTs.

 

I'm finding I like having a companion.  Even if R doesn't know me or come when I call, I still have to feed it and keep it perky.  And how many pets can you eat a chunk of from time to time? 

I will close by mentioning that R is partly named after Rob (duh) but it's mostly named after R, the undead hero of my favorite zombie romantic comedy (or "zom-rom-com" -- I didn't make that up), Isaac Marion's beautiful Warm Bodies.  Seemed somehow fitting for a jar filled with wild yeast and who knows what bacteria.

Cheesy Meal

My friends R and S, of the Night of Two Souffles and the 2016 Ottolenghi Dinner, and I had been kicking around ideas for another themed feast for a while now.  S mentioned she'd been wanting to make a feta cheesecake from Honey & Co. and I said, half jokingly, well, we could do an entire meal around cheese.

And then that's what we had to do.

I'd been wanting to try making gnocchi for a long time. I recalled a Cook's Illustrated ricotta gnocchi (or in Italian, gnudi) recipe that sounded fun and cheesy.  Like the insides of ravioli, without the outsides.  Or, "nude" ravioli.

I made the dough, and we did the cutting and cooking together.  It was sticky, and I can't say they were terribly pretty.  And in another strategic error, we were pretty hungry, so I think overly enthused about dumping a whole lot in the pot at once rather than a few at a time. So while the batch you see cooking here turned out great, many of the ones after this ended up a bit clumpy.

Still, though, with a brown butter, shallot, herb sauce, it's hard to find any nits to pick. 

 Here's the final dish.

 

I started with the gnocchi because it was the main event, but for an appetizer we made a very cheesy stuffed mushroom recipe -- melty taleggio, Parmesean, etc., from Ottolenghi's Plenty.  I think I went too easy on the taleggio -- the picture in the cookbook is definitely way more cheesed over than ours turned out.  Lesson learned.  Also, the recipe didn't call for scraping out the portobello, just piling the filling on top of them.  I think it would be better with some scraping out.  So I'll try that next time.  



It must be said though that the stuffing was amazing. I was skeptical reading the recipe, along the lines of "you want HOW MUCH sun dried tomato in there???" But it was rich and flavorful and the leftovers made some tremendous scrambled eggs the next day. Definitely the kind of thing I could see just making and using kind of like a condiment.  I feel like it would improve everything it touches.

There was also a very nice, simple goat cheese salad, which I didn't take a picture of because even in these photo-happy food memorializing times, sometimes I just forget.  And a small cheese plate to start.

And finally the cheesecake.  It was beautiful and utterly light and divine.  I quibble just a little bit with calling it "cheesecake," I think it was more of a mousse.  But whatever one calls it, it was definitely the high point of a very cheesy evening.

Proper British Scones

I have been feeling the need to bake.  But unfocused as to exactly what I should bake.  I thought about cookies, or a cake.  But having come currents leftover from my biryani project last week, scones jumped to the head of the list as the most natural thing to make.  A quick survey of options brought me to Cooks Illustrated's Proper British Scone recipe from issue 127.

Pretty simple, not overly sweet, I had all the ingredients in house, and it would use up most of the currents.

Here they are, raw and cooked.  They definitely did what you'd want scones to do, puffed upward but not outward, tall and, well, scone-y (as opposed to muffin-y or biscuit-y or cakey or bready).

It's worth calling out the little "bonus" scone tucked on the pan in the photo above.  I can never bring myself to just throw out the bit of dough that inevitably is left behind once you've cut, pressed, measured, or scooped all the whatever you can out of a batch.  It was just as delicious as its full-sized relatives.

I lack a biscuit cutter, so extend a special thanks to the can of black beans I made into chili last night.  Since I hadn't recycled it yet, it served the purpose admirably.

 

Below plated and ready for a test-bite.  I even had some proper orange marmalade (with champagne!) to spread on them.  Lastly, a look at the interior.  I'm really really pleased with them.  Like I said, it was totally easy to make the batter, which in turn was quite easy to work with.  I'm going to have to share them with friends -- my apartment is now chock full of proper scones.  I bet they freeze well...

 

One of my favorite things about my annual trip to visit my family is the opportunity to cook stuff I wouldn't otherwise make, for a willing audience of eaters.  For Christmas Eve, that thing was my first ever porchetta.  Hawaiian food culture excels at slow-roasted, super tender pork, but doing it Italian style is uncommon there.  Cook's Illustrated has an excellent recipe, involving a super-herby, garlicky paste, an overnight in the fridge to make sure the flavors get fully diffused into the meat, and a long, slow roast in the oven.

Several things went awry with this, most notably that I misread the pork shoulder we bought; I thought the B/I was a B/L.  Really easy mistake to make, who would label something that way?  But anyway, although a boneless roast would've cooked faster and been easier to carve, that was a small thing in the grand scheme. (And Big Boy, the family dog, got a nice treat in the bone.) Also I got a much later start getting it into the oven than I would've liked, resulting in a late Christmas Eve dinner.  My thanks to the family for their patience.

However, the wait was amazingly worth it.  I wish I always had time to cook like this!  The meat was just, well, perfect.  One of the best pork roasts I've ever had, anywhere.  Tender but not too tender, so flavorful, and the drippings made a phenomenal gravy.  And we had just a ton of leftovers, too.

I roasted some potatoes and onions and made a simple salad to go alongside.  And there was bread.

Like I say, this wasn't a fast recipe, and it was somewhat involved.  But it wasn't hard, and you can't argue with results as tasty as this.  I'd totally make it again the next time I need to impress people with a large hunk of flesh, perfectly roasted.