Curry Pumpkin Soup

It is a winter wonderland here in Colorado today. While the intensity of the snowstorm matches that of our typical winter blizzard, what seems so off-putting is that when I look at my calender, I can see that we haven't even hit Halloween yet. Everyone was predicting an early winter this year, and now there is no denying that they were right. Whoever 'They' are.

Eighteen inches of snow blanket my lawn, I am reluctant to change out of my pj's, and Theo has already shoveled out a pathway for the dogs in the back yard. Our dogs are tall, they certainly have plenty of clearance, but Pippi, our Ridgeback with attitude, cannot be bothered to go outside if we don't make it as convenient and snow-less for her as possible. She is an African hound to the core: No sun? No fun. I am feeling less inclined to frolic in the snow myself today - it seems early and I am only just now mourning the loss of summer - so I pace the house in circles, cabin fever following me around like a dark shadow.

I get a message from Kate. Super-Duper Kate we call her. She lives in Phoenix and spends approximately ten months of the year complaining about the oppressive heat. She is freaking out because her city was also hit by a cold-front and the high today was 58 degrees. "58 degrees!" she screams. "WTF!!" I think she thinks that she is on the verge of hypothermia. I glance out the window at mounds of whiteness... that large marshmallowy lump over there? I think it's my car.

But we are all creatures of our environments, and not only is Kate apparently succumbing to frostbite, but she also mentions that she is having a staring contest with a butternut squash that she doesn't know what do to with. It seems the squash is winning and so she needs help on that front as well. Lucky for her, I have just the thing that will cure both of her ailments.

Last year, I had a middle-of-the-road garden. I called it worse than that at the time, but that was only because I hadn't yet suffered through the pathetic showing of this year. One thing I did have a proud collection of was pumpkins and kabocha squash - two of my favorite crops. I love the earthy colors, the hardy casings and the fact that they can be stored for so long which actually gives me time to get through them all. One of the things I made was a curried squash soup which received rave reviews. The intense spice catches people off guard at first, I think because we are so used to creamy pumpkin bisque. But there is something exciting about cooking that gets people's attention, makes them sit up and say, "Wow!" In a good way. And this soup does just that.

This soup packs heat, but nothing that a girl from the southwest can't handle. I know Kate said she had a butternut squash, so simply replace the pumpkin with the squash and you'll have a heavenly, rich bowl of warmth that will keep you going on those frigid (ahem... balmy) nights of 58 degrees. This one is for you, Super-Duper!

Curry Pumpkin Soup
recipe adapted from Bon Appetit, February 2007
Serves 6

3 or 4 pound pumpkin (cut into half, remove seeds)
1T olive oil
2T butter
1c chopped onion
1c chopped carrots
1/2 c chopped peeled apple
2tsp Thai red curry paste
28oz chicken broth
2 bay leaves
1/4 c coconut milk or cream
1T honey
sour cream
chopped fresh cilantro

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Brush olive oil onto cut side of pumpkin and place on baking sheet. Roast for one hour or until tender. Scoop pumpkin into large bowl and measure out 3 cups worth.

Melt butter in large pot over medium-high heat. Add onion, carrots, apple and saute until tender, approximately five minutes. Add curry paste and stir for one or two minutes. Add chicken broth, bay leaves, and the 3 cups of pumpkin. Bring to a boil then reduce heat to medium-low and simmer uncovered for one hour. Discard bay leaves. Puree soup in batches in a blender until smooth. Return to same pot. Stir in coconut milk (or cream) and honey. Season with salt and pepper.

Garnish each serving with sour cream and cilantro.

Rosemary Manchego Popovers

Viva la Espana! Last month, my friend Aly traveled to Spain for a two week climbing trip. Somewhere between projecting her route (that's climber-speak) and swilling Spanish wine, she stumbled upon numerous thriving patches of wild rosemary. She clipped some branches as her own little farewell gift prior to departure, and this is how I found myself on the receiving end of a zip-lock of herbs at a party last week. This wasn't the typical herbage passed around at a party ( the occasion was a four-year-old's birthday party, after all); this was a perfectly legal baggie stuffed with rosemary. Though, now that I say that, I can't actually figure out how she got the plant clippings through airport customs... But that's neither here nor there. The point is that it smelled heavenly, just slightly sweeter than my own rosemary plant at home, and I was flattered that she chose me as the lucky recipient.

The scent of fresh rosemary automatically reminds me of the Christmas holidays. It frequently shows up at the table mixed into stuffing or tucked into a turkey, and perhaps it was on this memory train that my thought process paused at popovers. Yes - that was it! Aly and I both concurred that popovers - maybe with a dash of cheese or a few crushes of garlic - would make the perfect outfit for this rosemary.

Popovers are the Yankee version of Yorkshire pudding - the savory, pillowy puffs of bread that compliment any good roast. The traditional method calls for a pan of very simple batter to be placed under the roast, collecting the drippings as everything simmers away. The result is a light and airy pastry that soaks up the gravy, often served before the roast itself in order to fill people up and stretch the meat a little further. Watching them cook is pure delight. What begins as maybe two inches of thin batter develops into a golden mountain stretching some six or seven inches tall. They become hollowed in the center, crispy on the top and soft and doughy at the bottom. Simply picture an edible hot-air balloon. And that name! The word seems so whimsical and fun, much like a child's game. What's not to like about a popover?

I contemplated cheese choices and discovered a huge, unopened chunk of Manchego in my fridge. Theo and I were married last month, and like stubborn fools, we (I) decided that the majority of food would be produced in-house. Cake included. Oi vey. Weddings are traditionally hectic events anyways, and everyone comes away with their own list of goofy little things that either went wrong or never happened to begin with. One of the things on our list is that the cheese tray never made it out during cocktail hour. It was simply forgotten. No one starved to death - we had enough food to feed our 125 guests twice over, but the result is that I have been eating cheese now for a month. Goat, cow, sheep - you name it. And every time I finally polish off one package, another one mysteriously crops up.

Manchego cheese is a product of Spain that is always made from the whole milk of the Manchega sheep. Manchega sheep live in La Mancha. So far, not a lot of variety in nomenclature. The type I have is firm in texture and fairly mild and salty, adorned with an inedible rind in an herringbone pattern that mimics the woven grass that it was traditionally wrapped in. It happens to remind me more of tire treads, but that's just me imposing modern day images onto it. The flavor strikes me as both earthy and creamy and seemed like the perfect candidate for popovers. Spanish rosemary, Spanish cheese - Let's cook!

Popovers are very, very simple to make and can take on a wide variety of personalities. Theo ate five of these (thank goodness for that whole hollow leg thing he has going on...) and clamored for more. You can substitute another cheese or herb for the ones included in the recipe below. Or, you can omit the cheese, rosemary and garlic altogether and enjoy the plain-jane version. The hollow reservoir of the plain recipe offers endless filling options - drizzle with honey (European sopaipilla, anyone?) or slather with butter and jam for breakfast. Enjoy!

Rosemary Manchego Popovers
makes 6 large popovers

1 cup milk
2 eggs
1 scant cup flour
1/2 tsp salt
2 garlic cloves, minced and crushed
3 tsp butter
1/2 cup shredded Manchego cheese
3 tsp finely chopped rosemary

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Whisk milk and eggs until well blended. Add flour and salt, whisking until well combined but still lumpy. Whisk in crushed garlic.

Place 1/2 tsp butter into the bottom of each popover tin. Place tin into oven, heating for three minutes until the tin is hot and butter melted. Remove from oven and swirl butter around to grease each tin.

Pour half the batter into hot tins. Sprinkle 1/4 cup cheese over batter. Pour remaining half of batter over cheese. Sprinkle 1/4 cup of cheese over tops followed by 1/2 tsp rosemary on each popover. Bake for 40 minutes. Serve immediately.

Key Lime Pie

Food manages to say quite a bit, especially considering its status as an inanimate object. It is able to say things like, “I really, really hope you like me, here - have some cake…”, or “What a rotten day you’re having but here’s a cherry turnover…”, or even “I’m so sorry you fell off your bike and broke both your hands, here’s some key lime pie (that someone else is going to have to spoon feed to you since you can’t use your fingers).” The latter situation cropped up last week when dear Betsy got walloped by her bicycle. One surgery and two casts later, she finds herself unable to do pretty much anything. Getting dressed, brushing teeth, washing hair all require the help of another sympathetic soul. This situation is bad enough as it is, but Betsy also happens to love cooking and baking as much as I, and is far better at it to boot. So my heart really goes out to a kindred soul who will not be spending any time in the kitchen for the next six weeks.

Her sister Caroline called up saying that Betsy’s one request was a key lime pie and was I up for the task? A key lime pie. Key lime pie? I think of key lime pie as being a food that goes hand in hand with the ocean. You get such an item at beach side cafes and island resorts. But having grown up in the desert, my association with the lime is totally different. Limes, as far as I know, either come in the form of a margarita or as a wedge that’s been stuffed into the neck of a Mexican beer. Pie it is not.

But I was intrigued, mostly because I have had key lime pie on only one occasion and it has always stuck with me. Seventeen years ago I was in Florida, appropriately enough, and kept seeing the pie on every menu that I came across. I feel certain that there is not a restaurant in Florida that doesn’t offer this regional dessert. In my imagination, it was always in the same family as lemon meringue pie and I am not a fan of meringue in any form. The worst cookie (and I use that term lightly) ever invented was the meringue cookie. It’s like biting into an airy lump of disappointment that I would classify as a non-cookie cookie. Anyway, I decided to give key lime pie a chance, and I was so pleasantly surprised that it forever marked a little spot in my heart. I suppose it’s fun to recognize those ‘a-ha’ moments in life, and one of mine occurred in Florida: “A-ha! Key lime pie is actually a damn fine dessert. Who knew?”

But all these years have passed without ever having had occasion to enjoy another morsel of the lovely, tart treat. That is, until last week. Key lime pie turns out to be very simple to make. It sort of strikes me as a food that might be made differently in various regions of Florida, but I might be making that up as well. And it seems that people can’t actually tell the difference between the pie made with regular limes or key limes, so just go with the regular limes and save yourself from trying to squeeze the heart out of something the size of a walnut. Your hands will cramp and you’d have to plow through a million of them to get enough juice for a pie.

Key lime pie is a delightful summer dessert. It is tangy and smooth, almost custard like in texture. I love that the white billows on top are whipped cream, not meringue, and the sweet cream and tart lime play off one another perfectly. This crust has almonds in it which adds a nice depth to the flavor, and I daresay the ensemble may even help a friend recover in a little more comfort. For the recipe from Gourmet magazine: www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Key-Lime-Pie-108125

Kale Ravioli

Let’s get this ship moving again, shall we? Explaining my absence would be pretty unsatisfactory, so I will skip the groveling and move directly into current food thoughts. The garden, this year, has been a feisty little thing. Part of it must be the weird summer weather we’ve had, part of it may be that the honeymoon phase of my gardening career has passed and now I’m loathe to deal with the weeds and watering. I want the simple version of gardening, the one that involves wandering out to my little plot and plucking ruby red tomatoes off the vine and popping them directly into my mouth. But I can’t, because the tomatoes refuse to ripen. The lettuce is out of control, and the spinach never even bothered to come to the party. I’ve learned an enormous amount about gardens in the past three summers which comprise my entire career as a green thumb wanna-be. The most consistent lesson is that gardens force me into a feast or famine state. First I get six tons of lettuce. Then I have so many beets that I poo purple for three weeks solid. Next I’m throwing cucumbers out the window of a moving vehicle, aiming for a hole-in-one into people’s mailboxes. God forbid I actually have all the ingredients for a salad at once.

I made a note to myself two years ago to not even plant kale this past summer because I really just can’t cope with it all. But when planting season rolled around, Theo swore that he’d eat loads of the stuff in his Vita-Mix drinks. So a row went in. His kale enthusiasm was charming but overstated. I think a bunch to him means the amount you’d buy in the grocery store, but a row produces no less than twenty times that. I was feeling ambitious one afternoon and decided to harvest the entire row. I hauled in armload after armload, bundles like queen-sized pillows. It probably looked like more than it really was. Anyone who’s ever cooked kale knows that a large pot of the leafy green steams down to the size of a large fist. I carefully considered my options and decided to make ravioli filling. Bags of the filling would be easy to freeze and could be pre-measured to supply enough for one pound of fresh pasta. The glitch in this plan is that you have to enjoy making your own pasta so that you have something to tuck the filling into, but luckily we’re fond of that pastime around here.

First, let it be noted that you should not fear making homemade pasta. It sounds more daunting than it really is, and the payoff is huge. Really. The texture – my god – you’ve never eaten anything like it! A mouthful of fresh homemade pasta will transport you to some other world where life is perfect. It’s springy, chewy, and once you start, you’ll want to shovel an entire bucketful into your mouth. You won’t be able to stop yourself – so I beg of you, please try it. If you conduct one culinary experiment in your kitchen this year, let it be homemade pasta. Maybe I wouldn’t recommend diving into the ravioli right off the bat… a few rounds of fettuccine are the perfect way to get your pasta legs underneath you. A solid hand cranked pasta machine, no bells or whistles, is simple, inexpensive, and requires no maintenance. Mix up some flour, eggs, salt, water and Presto! Pasta just like your Italian grandmother made it. A few tips about homemade pasta:

1) Don’t roll the pasta too thin. It will rip and break and be incredibly frustrating. On my Atlas machine, ‘too-thin’ equates to the highest number on the dial, so I always stop rolling at one notch shy of that.

2) Homemade fettuccine only needs to be boiled for precisely three minutes. Three. Literally. So stand there and watch it roil around in the pot while the timer counts down. The moment you step away, begin fiddling with something else and let it go for even thirty extra seconds, you will have mush. Be patient, don’t get distracted, and then dump out the water when the timer strikes. You’ll have perfectly tender, al-dente fettuccine.

3) An extra set of hands goes a long way when negotiating long swaths of dough. So make it a group activity! Grab your significant other, your best friend or your kid and do it together. You’ll think it’s fun, they’ll think you’re a rock star.

Kale Ravioli

Adapted from Bon Appétit, May 1999

Yield: Serves 8 as a first-course Filling: 1/4 cup water 1 pound kale, center spine and stems trimmed 1 cup ricotta cheese 1/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese 1 large egg 1 garlic clove, minced 1 teaspoon chopped fresh thyme 3/4 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon chopped fresh rosemary 1/4 teaspoon ground black pepper 1 lb homemade pasta 1 large egg white, slightly beaten Sauce: 1/2 cup (1 stick) butter 1/4 cup chopped fresh sage Additional freshly grated Parmesan cheese (optional) Bring 1/4 cup water to boil in large pot. Add kale leaves. Cover; cook until tender but still bright green, stirring occasionally, about 3 minutes. Drain. Cool slightly. Squeeze dry. Chop kale finely. Transfer to large bowl. Mix in ricotta, 1/3 cup Parmesan cheese, egg, garlic, thyme, salt, rosemary and pepper. Sprinkle work surface with flour. Roll pasta dough out into sheets approximately 18” (l) x 6” (w). Place one sheet of pasta on floured surface. Drop teaspoonfuls of kale mixture onto dough in two parallel rows, approximately 1.5 inches apart. Brush some egg white along all four edges of each kale mound. Top sheet with a second sheet of pasta and gently press to adhere to the places where egg white was applied. Cut along adhered edges with a pizza cutter, dividing the ravioli into equal squares. Repeat with remaining pasta dough, egg white and kale mixture. Melt butter in heavy small skillet over medium heat. Add sage; stir 1 minute. Season with salt and pepper. Remove from heat. Working in batches, cook ravioli in large pot of boiling salted water until just tender, stirring occasionally, about 4 minutes per batch. Transfer ravioli to large shallow bowl. Pour sage butter over ravioli and toss. Serve, passing additional Parmesan cheese alongside, if desired.

Fondant Covered Cupcakes

Sugar. It's like the substance that makes the world go 'round. And to think that we have so many holidays dedicated to it simply makes my heart sing. Take, for instance, Valentines Day. There's all that blabbing about cupid and his busy little self, but we really know that the romance is just a cover for the real issue at heart: sweets. Even better, heart shaped sweets.

I look forward to Valentines Day not for the flowers (which I didn't even get... ahem...) but for the excuse to make something heart shaped. I have this bizarre amount of baking paraphernalia in the shape of a heart, and it only seems appropriate for this one day of the year. I suppose I could use them year round, but people feel funny about accepting treats shaped like your ticker because it's as if they're intruding on something intimate and special. No, it's just a muffin - go ahead. But they hesitate. "Gee, these look like they were made just for Theo. Really, I shouldn't." No, really, you should. And so I don't use them. BUT! Last week was Valentines Day. So I dug out the goods, arranged them on the counter and went to work.

Coincidentally, the holiday coincided perfectly with my new fascination with fondant. Fondant, among a few other things, is that sugary layer of perfectness that gets laid over a cake and is typically seen at weddings. It's the reason those cakes always look so smooth, flawless, and delectable. It's a french word that the internet tells me means 'melting' or 'that melts in the mouth'. Which seems apropos because it's made out of sugar and is water soluble. A cake covered in fondant in the rain is a recipe for disaster. I believe we got it from the English, like everything else tasty and bad for us, but please don't quote me on that.

There are a number of recipes for homemade fondant. Some include marshmallows, many include glycerin, but the recipe I chose included neither only because I had none of that on hand. Regardless, the primary component of fondant is powdered sugar (or icing sugar). The sugar is mixed together with shortening and corn syrup to form a dough-like substance. It is kneaded until smooth and then rolled into a thin sheet for draping over the cake. I've heard nightmares about working with fondant - it often rips or melts, it can be unwieldy and awkward. But I was determined to give it a roll so I could see what the fuss was all about. However I also didn't want to be totally overwhelmed. My conclusion was to start small (ie cupcakes), make the cakes from a boxed mix, and buy pre-made frosting. And, best of all, I got to use my heart shaped muffin tins. "How hard can it be?" as my friend Anne loves to say.

Surprisingly, it actually wasn't too bad. Once the cakes cooled in the pans, I sliced off the puffy tops so I was left with an even, flat surface. Each heart was cut in half lengthwise to make it a two layer cake, and a blanket of frosting was applied to the middle. A very thin coating of frosting was then applied to the outside of each cake (sides and top). I took a golf-ball sized amount of the fondant I had made and rolled it out to approximately 1/8 inch thick. The sheet was draped over the frosted cupcake, then smoothed down and fitted to adhere to the heart shape. I added blue food coloring to the leftover pink fondant to make purple, then rolled it out and cut small hearts with my cookie cutter for decoration. Granted, they don't look perfect, but I think that starting with small cakes was a good move on my part. On the other hand, after I had done about four, I found it to be an enormously tedious project.

Fondant, as a whole, is meant to be admired for its looks but not its taste. Superficial, I know, but I didn't invent the stuff. I have heard people say that something was so sweet it made their teeth ache, and I've never understood that until now. I took three bites of the finished cupcake and wow! Aching teeth. I get it. It was like bolts of sugar digging into my molars. Both the cake and frosting were quite sweet themselves, but I think that could be adjusted if I were to make them myself. Apparently their are fondants that can be purchased that have slightly different properties and can be rolled really thin, therefore less fondant per bite. And finally, a normal sized cake would, naturally, have a totally different cake to fondant ratio than a cupcake does. In the end, I'm encouraged. I will attempt a larger cake next week for experiment #2. But if you would like to try your hand at making your own, here's a recipe you could consider using:

Fondant
yields approx. 1.5 lb (should cover a 9-in double layer cake)

1/2 cup light corn syrup
1/2 cup shortening
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp clear vanilla extract
1 lb confection sugar (about 4 cups)
food coloring of your choice

Stir the corn syrup and shortening together in a large bowl. Mix in salt and vanilla. Gradually add 2 cups powdered sugar. Add food coloring. Slowly add remaining sugar and mix until stiff. Dust counter surface generously with powdered sugar before rolling out. Can be stored in an air-tight container for a heckuva long time (like months I think).