Dinner with Kirsten

My favorite restaurant in Spain was a little Indian food place down the street from the restaurant where I worked. After a few weeks of eating exclusively Spanish food, I was ready for an injection of Indian spice. After I discovered it, my fellow American friend Jillian and I became obsessed and addicted. We were curry addicts. We went about once a week, scarfing down a three-course meal, along with naan and a bottle of Spanish red wine (we liked anything Rioja). Maybe it’s because Spain is closer to India than the U.S., or maybe my palate was starved for non-Spanish flavors, but I’ve never tasted Indian food as good. [Read more →]

I’m a sucker for a good time gimmick. I used to watch Rachael Ray’s Food Network show 30 Minute Meals, just waiting for the episode when she would be forced to turn to the camera and say, “Whoop-see! Guess we’re out of time!”

That’s why, unless it’s Thanksgiving or Christmas, I always flip to the “quick and easy” section of my favorite food magazines—it’s all I have the time or patience for. When I saw the “15 dishes in 15 minutes” feature in the June issue of Bon Appétit, I thought I would have 15 worry-free meals to look forward to. And I started with this simple pasta recipe. [Read more →]

Trifle is a traditional English dessert first created in the 18th century to use up leftover cake and cream—the word “trifle” means whimsical or of little importance. The traditional English version involves sherry- or fruit juice-soaked sponge cake, spread with jam, covered in custard and topped with whipped cream. American trifles commonly add fruit to the equation.

I made my first trifle for 4th of July when I was about 7 or 8, with the help of Grandma Lois and one of her magazine-clipped recipes. I was working toward a career as a watercolor painter at the time, and to my young artistic eye the tall cut-glass bowl filled with patriotic layers of blue and red Jell-O and fluffy Cool Whip was the most perfectly marvelous dessert I had ever seen. [Read more →]

For anyone who has noticed (hi, Grandma), sorry I haven’t posted in a while. I haven’t cooked or baked in a while either (sorry, Geoff). I’ve been launching a Web site. And now, after months of preparation, a few weeks of grueling long hours and a ton of Time Square Turkish take-out (the Web editor’s favorite), I’m proud to announce that Bon Appétit’s Web site officially launched last Tuesday.

I feel like a proud parent, but I suppose I’m more like the nanny. Building a Web site, page by page, is the cyber equivalent to feeding and burping a small child, not to mention changing the occasional dirty diaper. And now, after hours of nurturing, the site is all grown up and the editors are poised to take over. My time at Bon Appétit is almost over, my work done, but at least I can visit at anytime. And you can too: www.bonappetit.com

The BA designers and editors got creative with this Web site concept. The content is organized around 100 iconic dishes (the recipes change with the seasons, but the “dishes” remain the same). Each dish has a landing page full of links to tips, tools, ingredients and multimedia content relevant to that dish and the current recipe. Listen to this podcast for the editors’ explanation of the site. It takes a little getting used to, but the organization has grown on me. I hope everyone likes it!

Ole! My infatuation with Mexican food and Spanish culture has led me down a rocky culinary path. The disastrous mini flans I made for my 8th grade Spanish class come to mind, as well as the oily churros I fed to my Mom’s Bunco group. That being said, I make great sopapillas (a hollow doughnut that is by far my favorite Mexican dessert), I’m always ready to whip up my stand-by Midwestern-style enchiladas, and, most of all, I make a mean taco.
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Feta Cheese

Origin: Greece
Type: Fresh—Young, tart, tangy, lemony, smooth, moist, creamy, with no rind. (from the Murray’s Cheese Handbook)
Description: An aged brined curd cheese traditionally made with at least 70% sheep’s milk, along with either goat or cow’s milk. The Murray’s Cheese Handbook says, “The sheep’s milk delivers a round fattiness in the mouth that offsets the bright tanginess and salt of the brine in which it stews.” It is sometimes baked in pastries or cooked in omelets, but the most common way to eat Feta is on salad.

Whenever I get a chance—and if I happen to have a little cash in my purse—I love stopping at the local Greek store to buy Feta Cheese. It comes in “salty” or “less-salty” versions (this is what the man behind the counter tells me), and I prefer the “less-salty.” The cheese man is quick on the trigger when it comes to chopping off too-generous chunks—more cheese than I actually ask for—but it’s cheaper than I think it should be and every crumb is eventually devoured.

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Whenever I make Asian food I end up thinking, “Why didn’t I get take-out?” I used to satisfy my Chinese food cravings with a Styrofoam box of Almond Chicken and an egg roll. (Hello, I’m from Nebraska!) Then I started dating Geoff, a Hong Kong native who lived in Japan and grew up in Toronto. He put a stop to my take-out habit, pronto! He took me to Chinatown and ordered us family-style meals at Chinese, Japanese, Vietnamese, Korean and Thai restaurants, educating my taste buds and ruining Almond Chicken for me forever.

I don’t know why I was so amazed when Geoff started making me Asian food at home. But Udon noodles are to him what pancakes are to me—his comfort food of choice—and he’s amazingly familiar with the techniques, ingredients and smells of Asian cooking. (Me: “I think this fish sauce has gone bad.” Geoff: “It’s made out of fermented fish. That’s how it smells.”)

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Raw Milk Raclette ($9.99 /lb. at Fairway)

Origin: France and Switzerland
Type: Washed Rind—Washed during aging in salt and water (a brine), beer, wine or spirits. Pungent, stinky, fruity, meaty, intense, and aromatic with a vibrant pink to orange edible rind. (from The Murray’s Cheese Handbook)
On the package: “Aged for 60 days, raclette has a full, fruity flavor and a golden, buttery body. The name raclette in swiss dialect means ‘to scrape’ and applies to part of the method for preparing the famous swiss dish raclette.”

So often it happens. I buy a golden creamy looking cheese from the grocery store, only to be knocked over by the smell when the wrapping is removed. I usually try a sliver, but I know what’s coming: Yuck-ville—the gag-inducing flavor of smelly feet and body odor. I throw it out (or feed it to Geoff) and wonder where I went wrong. A few months later, I’ll buy a similar cheese without even realizing. Guess I’m a sucker for the golden color.

Then I bought this Raw Milk Raclette from Fairway. I opened it up, smelled the tell-tale hint of feet and prepared for the worst. But, with the first cautious bite, I was surprised by the deep complex flavor, not at all foot-like. The cream made it luxuriously heavy, so bits caught in my teeth and the flavor coated my mouth. Every once in a while, a bite of rind would make my nose wrinkle (but in a good way!). This intense cheese pushed my stink tolerance to the limit and I loved it.

When I was young, I used to have “sleepovers” at my Grandparents’ house. Even on the weekends, they would be out of bed at 7:00 a.m. (reading the paper, drinking coffee, and doing whatever people do that early in the morning), while I was still snuggled under the covers in the guest bedroom. Then, around 8:30 or 9:00, slowly and subtly, a warm aroma would creep under the door and tickle my nose. Soon my eyes would crack open and I would lay in a sleepy yet euphoric stupor, drinking in the unmistakable smell, the promise of pancakes.

Everyone in my family makes pancakes. Grandma Lois usually made blueberry pancakes from a muffin mix. Grandpa Chuck (on my Mom’s side) has a solid buttermilk pancake recipe and regularly feeds a whole pack of family members. When specially requested, both sets of grandparents would occasionally make my favorite—Swedish pancakes (eggy crepe-like pancake rolled up with lingonberry sauce and served with whipped cream). Kelsey, my youngest sister, loves mix-ins, and can always be counted on to make pancakes filled with coconut, chocolate chips, nuts or granola. Even my Mom, who hardly ever bakes and would never cook for “fun,” makes buttermilk pancakes from scratch whenever she gets the urge. (I was floored when she remarked to me once, “They’re so easy to make and so good that it isn’t worth buying a mix.”)

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I’m a bit of a risotto snob. Reality television cooking shows have fostered this arrogant “I know what risotto should be like” attitude, but I can’t seem to help it. When a congealed scoop of risotto was served to me at the Pearl Room last weekend, I could imagine a red-faced Chef Ramsey (from FOX’s Hell’s Kitchen) turning to a line cook and yelling “rubbish” while smashing the plate on the floor. Risotto should have some fluidity and movement on the plate. It should be al dente and creamy without being too cheesy—most of the “creaminess” comes from the starch of the pasta. This I know from watching reality television.

The thing is, I don’t remember ever actually making risotto. But the Pearl Room’s pasty globule only spurred my appetite for a well-prepared version, so I decided to make my own.

This recipe was a lot of chopping and stirring for a weeknight, and I somehow managed to dirty every single dish in Geoff’s kitchen, but it turned out better than I could ever have hoped. It was creamy, not overly cheesy, firm to the bite but cooked through. The vegetables were the best—cooked but still crisp. It tasted like spring, and the sentiment was the same: Finally!

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