Cold temperatures can limit our produce choices, but citrus comes into season just in time to save the day. I’ve been featuring a variety of winter fruit pies for my column over at Serious Eats, including the Key Lime Pie pictured above, and the banana cream and lemon meringue pies below. Click through for full posts and recipes.

Banana Cream Pie

Lemon Meringue Pie

All photos by Lauren Weisenthal

A few weeks back, I did a post for my column Sweet Techniques over at Serious Eats about how to make orangettes. Even though I’m not a big fan of the chocolate on orange flavor combination (I think it has something to do with my aversion to those chocolate oranges that you see in the drugstores around Christmastime), I did enjoy the opportunity to temper chocolate for the first time in a while, and I love the look of the finished product. To make your own, check out my post over at SE.

All photos by Lauren Weisenthal

Leading up to Christmas, I’ve been doing some new techniques posts over at Serious Eats. There are some slideshows to help folks through the process of making a classic French yule log cake, the Bouche de Noel.

My favorite part of this cake is, of course, the mushroom meringues. I love Maida Heatter’s recipe in her Book of Great Desserts.

Speaking of Christmas candy, I also had a lot of fun messing around with recipes for torrone, the Italian nougat candy. Watch for that recipe over on Serious Eats on Monday. Merry, Happy!

Over at Serious Eats this week, I featured a couple of pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving. In the photo above you can check out the Pumpkin Mousse Pie, and below a Classic Pumpkin Pie. Both versions are similar in flavor, but the mousse pie has a much lighter consistency. Follow the links to the full article and recipes, and watch for a special edition of Pie of the Week – featuring five days of pie in a row! My rolling pin is getting pretty fatigued.

Here’s what’s been going on:

- I’m getting married! In just under three weeks. I’ve been trying to play it cool and pretend that wedding planning is no big deal, but IT IS. I’m not having fun with it. It’s really not my bag. I just want the day to come already!

- (Probably more relevant to the blog) I’ve got a (full time) (paying) job at an awesome neighborhood restaurant. I’ve been put in charge of their pastry menu. It’s dizzying. It’s making me bonkers. It’s amazing. It’s exhausting. I can’t wait to tell you about it.

I’m not going to make any bold statements along the lines of “I promise to write” or “watch for the next post on Wednesday”. But know that I miss it here and I miss hearing from the people who take the time to read, and that, more likely than not, will have me coming back again more often, especially after life settles down a bit.

See you soon!

This post is an installment from the ongoing Dessert FourPlay project, in which I prepare and write about all of the desserts in Dessert FourPlay: Sweet Quartets from a Four-Star Pastry Chef by Johnny Iuzzini. For more on this project, click here.

These photos are almost two months old. That’s about the length of time I’ve been experiencing problems with my website that have kept me from being able to post.

Directly after my big I’M BACK!!! announcement, I began having problems related to a server crashing that continue to plague the site even now. For a while there I was worried that I’d never see the EVK logo again, but thanks to the tech team, it’s back. There are still problems; if you scroll down, you’ll probably notice that I’m missing four whole pages worth of photos. I’m not going to keep talking about it because it makes me emotional, but in a few weeks I hope to have all of those photos back up on the site.

But more to the point, a long long time ago, in my humble kitchen in the East Village of New York City, I make this frozen treat from Dessert FourPlay While citrus was still having its turn at being in season. It was timely, given that I was just learning how to make parfaits in school that very same week.

You may look at this dessert and wonder what I’ve done with all of the layers that we Americans know and love in our parfaits. The French take on the parfait (a frozen concoction made by folding Italian meringue (meringue made by whipping egg whites with 250 degree sugar syrup), into a carefully heated milk/egg/sugar/flavor concoction, then folding that into whipped cream and freezing) is nothing short of spectacular. In fact, I think its the best answer to the question, “Do I really need an ice cream maker to make ice cream?” The parfait is a light, delightfully creamy answer for those lacking ice cream machines.

The parfait is served with a sauce made with verjus ( a light vinegar made from the juice of green grapes), ginger, simple syrup, and two of my favorite ingredients in the whole world: lemongrass, and kaffir lime leaves. I tried a version using verjus, which I found here, and another version using a very light white balsamic vinegar that I found at Trader Joes. There was only a marginal difference between the two sauces.

Lemongrass is available at Whole Foods, and I found Kaffir lime leaves in the freezers of both Kalustyans and Dual Specialty in New York, which leads me to believe that they are probably available at most any Indian specialty foods store.

The sauce was perfect: bright, fresh, and acidic. It was the perfect balance to the parfait.

I allowed the parfait to freeze overnight before unmolding. In the meantime, I ground up packaged graham crackers and made the graham cracker sablè, which is basically a crispy butter cookie that replaces a lot of the usual AP flour with graham cracker crumbs. I neglected to take pictures, and I was not happy with how this part of the recipe turned out. The cookies were tough, not crispy. They tasted really egg-y. And I hadn’t loved the idea of grinding up a processed food product and then baking it right back into a cookie. When I do this again, I would use a homemade graham cracker recipe instead. Martha Stewart’s Cookies has a great one for crispy grahams that hold up to toasted marshmallows and parfaits without getting a soggy like the traditional graham cracker crusts that I usually associate with key lime pie.

There was one other issue that is worth mentioning about this recipe: I struggled with seasonality when making it. To get key limes in season required making the recipe in the early spring, a time when getting good plums in NYC is just not an option. I sacrificed plum quality because I was more interested in getting peak key lime flavor, and ended up with dry, flavorless plums to cut and shape into rosebuds on top of the parfait. In the future, I think I’d make a substitution here, perhaps using fresh grapefruit or pineapple. The aesthetic was pretty gorgeous, though. and despite my setback with the sablè, the parfait and sauce were so wonderful that it was worth all of the effort.

Up next:  Fromage Blanc Panna Cotta~Rhubarb Two Ways~Crispy Almond Phyllo

For the past few weeks, I’ve been inching slowly (and sometimes, painfully) back into the robust workout routine that I observed before I got myself involved with all this culinary school business. These new miles of pounded pavement have been making me feel ravenous between meals, and I’ve been on the lookout for snacks that can satisfy, while being tasty, nutritious, and low in calories and fat.

Ironically, when I first encountered this healthy, nutritious snack, I was sitting down to a celebratory dinner of epic and caloric proportions at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, a restaurant/working farm/theme park for food dorks like me who are into sustainable, farm-to-table cuisine. Tuscan kale chips, artfully suspended above antique wooden blocks by a thin piece of wire, were the first of the parade of amuse bouche that we enjoyed that night. Everyone in our party was delighted by their simple beauty and surprised by how delicious they were. They were the perfect introduction to the flavor and feel of the restaurant.

You can imagine my excitement when, as I was rifling through old issues of Bon Appetit weeks later, I discovered the very same recipe we’d enjoyed at the restaurant. Happily, when it comes to my snacking criteria, these kale chips fit the bill on all counts. Their texture is delicate and crisp, they crumble between the teeth and then dissolve away on the tongue. They have an earthy, nutty flavor, that is well complimented with a sprinkle of salt and black pepper. I think I may even try making them with a bit of Spanish paprika for a little bit of smoky heat. They are fully of vitamins, and the negligible fat that they contain is the good kind.

Best of all, they are ridiculously easy to make. I’ve been bagging these up to take along with me as a mid-day snack, mindlessly nibbling on them while I answer emails, and pushing them on Brian when he whines about being hungry before dinner. I also fully intend to make a batch to stand up in tall glasses next to the cheese and finger foods the next time I entertain, because if these are fancy enough to serve in a classy joint like Blue Hill at Stone Barns, then surely they are good enough for my tiny apartment.

Tuscan Kale Chips
Adapted from Dan Barber’s recipe, courtesy of Bon Appetit, February 2009

I made a few adjustments from the original recipe: I found that they were less likely to have burnt spots if I rubbed the oil into the nooks and crannies and the outer edges on both sides of the kale. Also, after my first batch with salt sprinkled on them came out with visible salty spots, I decided to try sprinkling them with a salt solution instead. These measures add a few more minutes to the process, but they make the results more aesthetically pleasing. Feel free to skip them if you are in a hurry and/or don’t care as much what they look like- taste will not be effected. If bagging up to take along for a portable snack, be sure that there is air in the sealed bag to act as a cushion to prevent them from being crushed.

12 large Tuscan kale leaves, rinsed, dried, cut lengthwise in half, center ribs and stems removed
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon kosher salt
fresh ground black pepper, to taste

Preheat oven to 250°F. In a small saucepan, heat 1/2 cup water with the salt and stir to dissolve. Once the salt is completely dissolved, remove from heat and allow to cool. Toss kale with oil in large bowl and rub the leaves to make sure they are coated evenly. Sprinkle with pepper and the salt water mixture to taste, and shake off excess liquid. Arrange leaves in single layer on 2 large baking sheets. Bake until crisp, about 30 minutes for flat leaves and up to 33 minutes for wrinkled leaves. Transfer leaves to rack to cool.

Shorter days and chilly nights be damned, this year I’m just not feeling ready to say goodbye to summer yet. I’m still buying the last ears of corn from the market, no matter how anemic. And I’ll continue buying tomatoes too, even the ugliest, most bruised ones, if it means that I can eat fresh tomatoes for one more meal as we ease into a winter filled with those lackluster replacements we call “hot house” or “canned tomatoes”.

This works out well for me, because corn and tomatoes are two foods that  are so versatile that there’s no need for a lot of kitchen time and complex recipes, something I just don’t have a lot of these days. I’ve started the second leg of my culinary school career, and for the next nine months, I’ll be spending many of my nights at the French Culinary Institute, learning what I’ll need to become a pastry chef.

I feel like I’ve dropped off the face of the earth since I started school again, and I realized that I haven’t mentioned a thing about how its going. I hate to admit it, but it’s been difficult adjusting this time around, and it has nothing to do with the cooking school part -I’ve got that down.

Thanks to my summer spent in the bread kitchen at the FCI, I’m fully acclimated to the uniform (complete with the ridiculously impractical, hard-to-tie neckerchief), the culture of brevity (YES CHEF! YES CHEF! YES CHEF!), the hard work, the constant hustle, and demand for a focused, I’m-working-but-I’m-also-listening-to-soak-up-every-single-word-that-chef-is-saying kind of discipline.

On my first day of class, I was prepared for all of that, and it’s like I’d never left. I tucked all of my hair up under my hat and pressed my jacket so the chefs would not be able to scold me. I paid attention to demos and lectures and assembled all my mis en plas before I began a task. The first four classes have been like a dream with all of the cool new things I have learned.

The one part that’s been a little hard for me this time around is that I am the old lady in the class. My classmates look at me like I’m an alien, and I think they’re wondering who brought their mom to school. And when I look at them I try not to think about how the middle school students I taught five years ago are now older than the majority of these youths in my class.
In my spin through the bread program, where the youngest person in the class had at least graduated from college, I remember thinking how cool it was that cooking school united such a hodgepodge of people, with ages spanning from 20 to 50. Age meant nothing at all, status was determined by one’s ability hang with the work. I really enjoyed the people I worked with while I was there, because even the youngest person was really passionate about food. We’d geek out talking about food and cooking every second that we were allowed to talk. It was exactly what I expected from culinary school, a group of people as passionate, motivated, and unapologetically dorky as I am.

That’s just not the experience I’m having this time around. My eighteen-year-old partner has a great work ethic and a lot of heart and hustle, but by virtue of our difference in age, I just don’t see us bonding over long conversations about restaurants we love. It’s a small thing that I’ll definitely get over as we move from tarts and cookies to choux and more complicated techniques in the coming months, but for now it’s making me a bit nostalgic for summer.

Perhaps that is why I’m refusing to let go of summer food and embrace the bounty of fall.

Roasted Tomatillo Salsa and Roasted Sweet Corn Salsa

I selected these recipes based on what I had in the fridge and they rely heavily on my personal taste. When you try them out, taste as you go to make sure that you making them to suit your palete – if you want more spice you may want to use hotter peppers, for example. The tomatillo salsa is spicy and even a little bitter, while the roasted corn salsa is very sweet – Brian called it “Italian salsa” because the roasted tomatoes, corn, and basil bring a sweetness that most people would not expect from a salsa. I added smoked pepper hot sauce to give it a little heat and I think the smoky flavor works well with all that sweetness.

Roasted Tomatillo Salsa
Adapted from Gourmet, November 2009

Serves 4-6 people as an appetizer or snack

• 1 1/2 pounds fresh tomatillos or 3 (11-ounce) cans tomatillos
• 3 fresh jalapeno peppers
• 3 garlic cloves, unpeeled
• 1/2 cup fresh cilantro
• 1 large onion, coarsely chopped
• 2 teaspoons coarse salt

Preheat broiler.

If using fresh tomatillos, remove husks and rinse under warm water to remove stickiness. If using canned tomatillos, drain and measure out 2 cups. Broil chiles, garlic, and fresh tomatillos (do not broil canned) on rack of a broiler pan 1 to 2 inches from heat, turning once, until tomatillos are softened and slightly charred, about 7 minutes.

Peel garlic and pull off tops of chiles. Purée all ingredients in a blender.

Roasted Sweet Corn Salsa

Serves 4-6 people as an appetizer or snack

3 Beefsteak tomatoes, cut into large pieces and seeded
1 large onion, cut into quarters
3 ears of corn, with the kernels removed from the cob
1/2 cup fresh basil, finely chopped
oilve oil
1 clove of garlic
Juice of 1 lime
salt and pepper, to taste
smoked pepper hot sauce, to taste

Set the oven to 350 degrees and place the tomatoes and the garlic clove in a pan and drizzle olive oil over them, then coat them with the oil using your fingers. Put the tomatoes and garlic in the oven to roast for 15 – 20 minutes. The tomatoes will have begun to caramelize and some of the water should cook off. Once the tomatoes have started to roast, remove the garlic clove and turn the oven to broil, coat the corn and onions in olive oil and add them to the pan with the tomatoes and cook a few inches from the heat under the broiler for 5-7 minutes, until the corn and onions char. Remove the pan from the oven and allow it to cool.

Chop the tomatoes, garlic, and onions into small pieces and stir together with the roasted corn. lime juice and basil. Add salt, pepper, and hot sauce to taste. Serve with tortillas.

Summertime cooking can be so beautifully simple.

How perfect that the seasons that beckon us to stay outside and play until after dark are the same ones that give us my favorite fruits and veggies, that require almost no preparation time or effort, allowing us to run that extra mile, extend happy hour, or take the long way home.

Artichokes are my favorite of all the warm weather foods that fall in this category.

Last night I picked up these globe artichokes, and it was just a matter of trimming them and steaming in a bath of water and a little dry white wine (optional)…

…before we were face first and elbow deep in the business of pure, unadulterated artichoke enjoyment.

I personally like to scrape the tender parts loose from the underside of each leaf using my teeth, saving the meaty hearts for last. There are few other foods that you can devour with such gusto, within the bounds of decorum. 

How to Cook Artichokes
The way my Mom taught me long ago 

1. Trim the stem and top each approximately 1 inch.

2. Steam the artichokes in a pot, with the flowers facing down and the stems facing up on high heat with about 2 inches of liquid (water, water and wine solution, or broth all work) for about 30 minutes, until the stems are tender and easily pierced with a fork.

3. Eat, one petal at a time (squeezes of lemon or a sprinkle of balsamic vinegar are optional), by pulling the petal through slightly clenched teeth to scrape off the tender “meat”. When you get to the heart, scoop out the fuzz with a spoon and cut off and leftover stem and enjoy!

How appropo, a green hummus posted, today of all days. And while I had not planned on posting something so strikingly green for St. Patty’s Day, the act of posting something green was calculated and completely deliberate. After madeleines and cake, let’s pause to cleanse our paletes, shall we?

 I first tried edamame hummus at Rice, my favorite lunch spot in Dumbo. Their version is less homogenous, with visible chunks of edamame and little pools of creamy tahini, and I think that their version might also have chickpeas in it. They serve it in tiny dishes with delightful puffed rice crackers.

My version is creamy, with less tahini and a more intense lemon flavor. By the way, this is probably obvious to everyone but me, but head to the peanut butter isle when you are looking for tahini. The Union Square Whole Foods had about 8 varieties, but I’ve always been happy with Joyva brand, which has a nice, toasted flavor and a thicker consistency.

One of the lemons I used was a Meyer lemon, which was accidental but turned out to be a good choice, providing lemony flavor without making the hummus overly tart. 

I’d be remiss if I did not mention that I prepared this as an appetizer for a small dinner party I threw last Saturday, for people who are some of EastVillageKitchen.com’s biggest fans. We had a lot of fun, but that’s all I’m going to say for now, because the party produced fodder for several posts and would it be any fun if I discussed it in detail all in this first one?

Edamame Hummus

1 bag frozen, shelled edamame (approximately 3 cups)

3 tablespoons tahini

1 Meyer lemon 

1 lemon (or 2 if mayer lemons are not in season)

1 tablespoon kosher salt, plus more more for boiling

1/2 cup water (or more, at your discretion)

1/4 cup olive oil

Bring 4 quarts of salted water to a boil in a large, covered pot. Add frozen edamame and boil for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and drain. Allow them to cool for 10 minutes.

Place edamame, tahini, water, and olive oil in a food processor fitted with a steel blade. Quarter the lemons and squeeze them through a strainer into the food processor. Blend the ingredients in the food processor for 1 minute. Stop and scrape down the sides, and check consistency. If you prefer a thinner hummus, add additional water and add salt to taste. Blend for another 2 minutes until hummus is very smooth and you are not able to see any chunks.

Serve immediately or refrigerate in a covered container for up to two days before serving.