Don't stay out of the rhubarb

I admit it: until recently, I was terrified of rhubarb.

No, I didn't think it was one of the monsters who lived under my bed, nor did I fear it would jump out of the refrigerator and attack me in the middle of the night. I was just worried it would kill me.

Where did this unreasonable phobia develop? As best as I can guess, during high school biology class, when I learned that the leaves of the rhubarb plant are filled with the poison oxalic acid. For some reason, that left a very strong impression on me - perhaps because we also learned that as little as 2 tablespoons of antifreeze can kill an adult. (And why is antifreeze so toxic? Because the body metabolizes it into oxalic acid. You see the theme of the lesson.)

In my mind, "a little bit of antifreeze" soon morphed into "a little bit of rhubarb," and I began treating the plant the way I treated pufferfish: as a high-risk edible. I did indulge in the occasional slice of strawberry-rhubarb pie (as well as the occasional slice of pufferfish), but still, I figured the handling was best left to professionals.

Until last week. Buoyed by Swissy Pie's declaration that he loved rhubarb, I decided that really, I was well-educated enough to distinguish the leaves of the friggin' plant from the rest of it, dammit. So when we went to Fünfschilling, a farm/restaurant in Germany that sells its own top-notch produce, I picked out a few stalks (which had already been stripped of their leaves, anyway), plopped them down alongside the strawberries and apples, and took them home.

We were so busy with stuffing ourselves with strawberries and quark that it took a few days for me to get around to the rhubarb. OK, so maybe I was procrastinating, just a little. Besides, I didn't know what to make. At first I was leaning toward a classic pie, but I'd just made an apple and pear tarte tatin to use up some rapidly ripening Alexanders in my fruit basket, as well as a tomato tart for similar reasons. So I decided to stick with the basics and make a compote, which we could have with quark or vanilla ice cream.

No more than 20 minutes could have elapsed between when I took the rhubarb from the refrigerator to when I stuck the finished compote back it. It's really that easy. And it's pretty yummy, too.

So for anyone else out there who's afraid of rhubarb, don't be. I just had some with a scoop of ice cream, and I'm not dead yet. (And if that doesn't convince you, it turns out there's oxalic acid in many other foods too, including spinach, black pepper, most berries, cocoa, and chocolate. Bet you've been eating oxalic acid all your life!)

Basic Rhubarb Compote

• 500 g rhubarb (about 5 stalks)
• 200 g sugar (about 3/4 cups)
• 2 Tbsp water

For best flavor, choose firm, bright red stalks that aren't too thick. (Thicker stalks are stringier.)

Lop off the tops just where they pinch in (before the leaves begin), and trim the bottoms where the stalks were cut. Slice the rhubarb into 1 cm (1/2 inch) pieces.

In a saucepan over medium heat, combine the rhubarb, sugar, and water. Stir occasionally. When the sugar is dissolved and the liquid is simmering, cover the pot and cook until the rhubarb is tender, 5-10 minutes depending on the size of the rhubarb.

Cool and store in the refrigerator until needed.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

When we lived in New York, we went to Señor Swanky’s, a tacky Mexican joint not too far from my apartment, more or less once a week. Aside from a high calories-per-dollar-spent ratio, it featured cheap plastic tables (although happily, they were outdoors), indifferent service, decent chips and salsa (when the servers remembered to bring them out), and gigantic burritos roughly the size and weight of a brick. The latter were the draw for Swissy Pie: he adored those burritos. But while I agreed that they were quite tasty, I generally avoided them, in favor of something that would leave me capable of walking home afterward.

Ususally, I ordered the enchiladas. Sometime during my childhood - very likely during a visit to Chi-Chi’s - I’d gotten the impression that I liked them. But at Señor Swanky’s, I always ended up disappointed. They were too heavy, too cheesy, too bland… Yet I kept getting them. Apparently, I’m a slow learner.

Now that we’re over 3000 miles from our old haunt, we don’t eat Mexican very much. But when we do, it’s prepared just the way I like it. (Not too surprising, since I’m the one who has to do the preparing!) At last, I can have enchiladas every bit as good as the ones in my memory.

As a general rule, I avoid using jarred sauces from the grocery store shelves. Although making mole sauce from scratch requires a bit of extra time, everything from the chicken to the sauce can be prepared in advance. To me, the results are worth the effort.

Enchiladas Un-Swiss Miss

for the mole sauce:
1 C. canned whole tomatoes
2 garlic cloves

2 Tbsp. flour
2 Tbsp. chili powder
1 Tbsp. cocoa powder
1 tsp. ground cumin

2 Tbsp. butter
2 Tbsp olive oil

2 C. chicken broth or water
1 Tbsp. molasses or brown sugar
1 Tbsp. tomato paste
pinch cinnamon
2 tsp. salt (reduce if using chicken broth)

for the enchiladas:
1 Tbsp olive oil
1 onion, diced
2 medium tomatoes, diced
1/2 C pitted green olives, diced
2 whole chicken breasts, poached and shredded

8 8-in corn or flour tortillas
8 oz finely shredded Emmentaler or Swiss cheese
1/4 C pitted green olives, sliced

Make the sauce:
Put the canned tomatoes and garlic in a blender and process until smooth. Set aside.

In a small bowl, whisk together the flour, chili powder, cocoa, and cumin until blended.

In a medium saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter in the 2 Tbsp. olive oil. When the butter starts to foam, add the flour mixture and cook, stirring, 2-3 minutes.

Slowly pour in the chicken stock, whisking to ensure the sauce stays smooth and lump-free. Whisk in the tomato-garlic puree, molasses, tomato paste, cinnamon, and salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the sauce is thick and glossy, approximately 5 minutes. Set aside. The sauce may be cooled and refrigerated, but bring to room temperature before assembling the enchiladas.

Assemble the enchiladas:
Preheat the oven to 350ºF (175ºC, or if using a convection oven, 160ºC).

Set aside 1/2 C. of the diced tomatoes for garnish.

In a medium skillet, heat 1 Tbsp. olive oil until shimmering. Add the onion and cook until softened. Add the diced olives, remaining tomatoes, and shredded chicken. Cook until just heated through. Divide into 8 equal portions.

Dip a tortilla in the mole sauce to cover. Place a portion of chicken and approximately 2 Tbsp. cheese down the center of the tortilla, roll up the tortilla, and place in a 9”x13” casserole.

When all the enchiladas are assembled, pour the remaining mole sauce over the casserole, sprinkle with the leftover cheese, and scatter the olive slices on top.

Bake the enchiladas for 30 minutes (20 minutes if using a convection oven). Garnish with the reserved diced tomatoes and serve.

Olé!

Spice Girls

The ginger cookies that my sister makes are out of this world. Last Christmas, she whipped up a batch, and I swear the cookie jar was empty again within 24 hours. Or was it 12? In any case, it was fast. Especially when they're warm, they're amazing: soft, not too sweet, and hauntingly spicy.

Even though I've stolen the recipe from her, I've never made them myself, not even after I had Swissy Pie track down a jar of molasses for me at Migros. Part of it is that I'm lazy. I only have one baking sheet here, a cheap black thing that came with our oven, and I just don't want to spend half the day in the kitchen waiting for it to cool down so I can stick another dozen in. The other part is pride: I don't want to end up with cookies that aren't as good as my sister's. (No, I'm not competitive. What gave you that idea?!)

But the other day, I came across a recipe for molasses cake that sounded super-easy and very appealing. Since I also had a bit of fresh ginger that I wanted to use up, I couldn't resist grating some into the batter. The result was moist, tender, and perfectly ginger-y. Dare I say it? This cake might even be better than my sister's cookies. (But only because it's a lot less of a hassle to make.)

Fresh Ginger and Molasses Cake

• 2 1/4 C. flour
• 1 C. sugar
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 1/4 C. fresh ginger, grated
• 1/2 C. butter, melted
• 1/2 C. molasses
• 1 tsp. baking soda
• 1/2 C. boiling water

Preheat oven to 350 F (175 C, or with a convection oven, 160 C).

Cut out a round of parchment paper to line the bottom of a 9-inch cake pan.

In a mixing bowl, stir together flour, sugar, salt, ginger, and butter. The mixture will gather into crumbs; using a whisk helps keep the crumbs fine. Take out a scant 1/4 C. of the crumb mixture and set aside for topping.

In another bowl, mix the molasses, baking soda, and hot water. The soda will fizz a little when dissolved.

Slowly whisk the liquid into the dry ingredients, and stir until smooth. Any lumps that remaining should be ginger.

Scrape the batter into the prepared cake pan. Scatter reserved crumbs on top.

Bake for 45 minutes (35 if using a convection oven), or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Cool, run a knife along the outside of the pan to loosen the cake, and turn out onto a serving plate.

Deliver the puddings or the blog gets it...

I was quietly catching up with blog reading this morning when the latest recipe at Once Upon a Tart jumped off the screen, dove straight for my stomach, and took it hostage. At least, that's what I assumed happened, because after that, said stomach started to send out distress signals, and nothing would satisfy it except a batch of the mouthwatering Yorkshire puddings that Myriam had just posted about.

Fortunately, the puddings were phenomenally easy to make, requiring nothing but a bit of flour, milk, eggs, and salt. The only thing about the instructions that made me pause: Myriam specifies that the batter should rest for an hour. I briefly considered following the instructions to the letter, but the hostage squealed in alarm. On went the oven. In went the custard cups I was using in lieu of muffin tins. Ten minutes later, out came a lovely, buttery-warm aroma. Gorgeous golden puffs followed in short order.


As soon as they were cool enough to handle, I ripped into one. It was a revelation: crisp outside (though the rest softened by the time I got to them), and soft and tender inside. Though Yorkshire puddings are traditionally eaten with gravy and the Sunday roast, I made a pretty good lunch out of them and the wonderful bauern ham we get at our favorite butcher.

They were so good that I couldn't stop thinking about them all afternoon. My stomach kept sending out hopeful queries: is it dinner yet? What about now? No? Then can we make a snack?

So on the spur of the moment, I decided to introduce Swissy Pie to the joys of British cuisine. But I wanted to play with the recipe a bit. I happened to have two egg whites left over from making Hollandaise sauce - more on that in another post - so I subsituted them for an egg. And because the Yorkshire puddings reminded me of gougeres, I chopped up a bit of Gorgonzola and mixed that in, too. (Yes, I probably should've used a good English Stilton or something like that, but Gorgonzola was what I had in the refrigerator.)

Wow. WOW. WOW.

After the first bite, Swissy Pie asked, "What's this again? It's really good."

That's high praise from him. Usually, to indicate his approval, he says, "Not too bad."

Yes, I cheated a bit. I know he's a sucker for anything with blue cheese in it. But still, it really was scrumptious.

What was that? Oh. Just my stomach, informing me that very soon, we'll again be making some version of Yorkshire pudding.

Yorkshire Puddings with Gorgonzola

• 100 ml milk
• 40 g flour
  
• 2 egg whites
• 2 Tbsp Gorgonzola cheese, finely diced
• oil for ramekins, custard cups, or muffin tins
  

In a bowl, mix together eggs and milk. Add flour, and whisk until the batter is smooth and there are no lumps left. Stir in Gorgonzola, making sure the pieces don't stick together. Set aside.

Take 3 ramekins, custard cups, or muffin tins. Pour approximately 1 Tbsp oil into each container. (The bottom should be covered with oil.) Place the ramekins on a rack in the middle of the oven.

Turn on the oven and preheat it to 220 C. Once the oven is at the desired temperature, carefully pour in 1/3 of the batter into each ramekin. Be careful, as the oil will be hot.

Immediately close the door and bake until the puddings are puffed and golden, 10-15 minutes. (This will take longer in non-convection ovens, and if the recipe is doubled or tripled.) Do not open the door prematurely, or the puddings will fall.

Yield: 3

And don't miss Myriam's recipe over at Once Upon a Tart!

I don't know how he does it

After five days off, we had a really tough time getting up this morning. Part of the problem was that we'd gotten used to sleeping in, until after 10. (At least!) But the bigger problem was that my legs didn't want to move. Actually, never mind the legs. My whole body aches, and unlike Swissy Pie, I didn't even get on my bike every day. (Though 4 out of 5 ain't shabby, if you ask me.)

Not that we spent the whole weekend cycling. With the longer days - at the moment, the sun doesn't set until 8 pm - we have the luxury of running errands and/or exploring the region before saddling up. Friday, for example, Swissy Pie hurried me through breakfast so we could get to the Basel Zoo.

We weren't the only ones there: the whole city had apparently decided to visit the animals. (I guess it was one of the few attractions open on Good Friday.) Although we weren't spared the typical family dramas (dropped ice cream cones, lost toys, etc.), Swiss efficiency was very much in evidence. So, despite the long lines, we obtained our tickets and got past the gate quite quickly.

Though a few of the particularly cold-sensitive creatures were still indoors, most were outside basking in the sunlight, like these hippos:


I also liked the monkeys, especially the guys pulling on each others' tails...


...and the baby giraffe...


...and the wild birds infiltrating the zoo (a grey heron and storks)...




Oh, honestly. I liked all the animals!





Afterward we headed to the Black Forest for Day 2 of Swissy Pie's Great Adventure. Since we'd gone up to Sallneck Thursday afternoon, I needed a "recovery ride." Swissy Pie went back to Sallneck, but I took a more leisurely spin up past the town of Wies. Going out, it was a slow, steady climb, which made the downhill return really fun. The turns were broad and sweeping, so even someone like me, who's notoriously afraid of descending, only had to tap the brakes a few times!

On Day 3, Saturday, we attacked Hochblauen via Marzell. Swissy Pie had first taken me up there last autumn, by car. Even back then, the long and frequently steep climb made me wince. (12%+?! Oh, my knees!) But on the bike, it looked even more daunting. I really didn't think I would make it all the way up, but somehow, I put my head down, and inched my way up.

The reward? This (somewhat hazy) view. The glittering band on the horizon is the Rhine River. In the foreground, a few patches of snow are visible. (It was cold up there!)


I was so thrilled to have conquered Blauen that I didn't even feel particularly tired that evening. (Usually, after a tough ride, I'm a zombie.) The full effects didn't hit me until the middle of the night, when I woke up with so many aches that I thought I should move to a retirement home!

Fortunately, I figured I was pretty safe from further pain: I knew we had plans to visit Swissy Pie's family in Bern for Easter. Plus, I had to finish baking this Easter Bread. So I guessed that neither of us would do much cycling on Sunday.


But while I was waiting for my dough to finish rising, Swissy Pie shimmied into his cycling gear, stuffed a change of clothes into a backpack, and stuffed the car keys into my hand.

"Can you drop me off in Liestal?" he said. "I'm going to ride toward Bern. Call me when you head out - you can pick me up along the way."

I was in shock. Alright, so it was sunny and gorgeous outside, but it was also windy. I should also point out that about 100 km, and a nice mountain range called the Juras, separates the two cities... And did I mention that we'd been cycling the past three days? Yet, he nearly beat me there: I ended up meeting him about 5 minutes from his parents' house. Unbelievable.

Yesterday, needless to say, we were both back on the bike again. This time we went to Freiburg, a lovely university town in Germany (which is not to be confused with Fribourg/Freiburg, another lovely university town near Bern).



I quickly discovered my body was still in krank mode, so partway up the mountain Swissy Pie wanted to climb, I turned around. Good thing, too. He told me that after that, the going got really ugly: a 14% incline for the last 8 km that I didn't even attempt. So while he labored up, I sunned myself down in the charming little town of Oberreid.



Even after all that abuse, he was still bouncing around last night, full of energy and looking for the next mountain to conquer. Preferably today.

Fortunately for me, I've got other plans for this evening.

Gluttony - it's my favorite sin

I have unduly fond memories of Devil's Advocate, the 1997 movie about a small town lawyer (Keanu Reeves) who's got a preternatural ability to get his clients off the hook. After successfully defending an obviously guilty man, he's invited to join the big leagues in Manhattan. Life's good... until he discovers that he's quite literally sold his soul to one of the partners at his new firm: John Milton (Al Pacino), the devil in disguise. (John Milton, get it? Snicker, snicker.)

The plot sounds completely silly, and Keanu Reeve's role as the lead isn't exactly a confidence booster, either. But the script is witty, and Keanu's clueless demeanor actually works well in this film, much as it later would in The Matrix. Even if it didn't, though, Al Pacino's show-stopping performance would more than compensate. As Lucifer, it's his job to exploit people's weaknesses, and he does it with a zest that's downright enthralling.

So how does he trap poor, bewildered Keanu?

"Vanity," Pacino informs us with a smirk. "It's my favorite sin."

He wouldn't have too a hard time snagging my soul with that one, as vanity is certainly one of my vices. But he probably wouldn't bother with it. Of the seven deadly sins, the easiest way - by far! - to get to me is gluttony. And on an overcast Saturday like today, this particular sin gets indulged. A lot.

It started this morning with buttermilk pancakes. Earlier this week, I'd made oven-fried chicken (which though tasty, is encountering some technical difficulties... I don't translate very well into convection oven-ese), so I had enough buttermilk left over for a special weekend treat. We haven't made pancakes since we were in New York, and I was really looking forward to having them.


Then I opened my old reliable Joy of Cooking, which reminded me that the acid in buttermilk needs to be offset with baking soda. And that reminded me that I hadn't been able to find soda last week, when I wanted to make biscuits to go with the fried chicken.

Scheisse, I thought. Oh well, I guess we'll be having regular pancakes then.

I opened the refrigerator again, only to discover that we were out of milk, too.

In short order, Swissy Pie was dispatched to search for baking soda, which he discovered is called Natron in German. But did that help? Nope, at least not at Migros or Coop. No Natron on the shelves, only Backpulver (baking powder). But on the way home, he realized that since it's plain sodium bicarbonate, the friendly neighborhood apothecary would certainly carry it. (He never did explain why the pharmacist has sodium bicarbonate.) So we were able to have our buttermilk pancakes after all!

After breakfast, we headed off for our weekly smuggling session. Today we headed straight for Germany, as there was a bike shop there we needed to visit. Swissy Pie has grand plans for a 137 km, 6 pass bike ride through the Vosges tomorrow, and since I'm a wimp, we needed to purchase a cassette with bigger (easier) gears, to reduce the likelihood of me having to walk up the mountains. While we were there, we also stopped by a charming little Italian store, where we got some wine and some truly excellent olives, as well as an amazing butcher's shop, where we stocked up on meat, reh-pastete, and liverwurst. For lunch, I tried fleischkäse for the first time.

Fleischkäse, for the uninitiated, sounds repulsive. (It doesn't look all that great, either.) Who wants to eat something called "meat cheese"? It sounds like a cold cut gone horribly, terribly wrong. But the name's misleading. There's no cheese in fleischkäse: it's only finely ground meat that's been formed into a loaf and baked. For serving, it's sliced into finger-thick portions, and (in our case at least) wedged in a crusty roll. The end result has the texture and consistency of a hot dog, but it's got a much heartier, meatier flavor. And yes, it's actually quite tasty!

We ran a few more errands before heading back home for dinner, where a couple of nice salmon filets were waiting. Initially I was just going to glaze them with some honey, rice wine vinegar, and sesame oil, but by the time we finished unloading the car, I'd decided that I wanted to show off with something spontaneous and spectacular. (Oops, what did I say about vanity earlier?)

So after some digging around the refrigerator, I pulled together some ingredients that were just screaming to be made into a salsa: oranges, onions, parsley, and some red chilis from the freezer. (A good trick for hot peppers, ginger, and many other spices you can't use right away: chop it finely, freeze it in ice cube trays, and pop them out into Ziploc baggies. Later, pull out as many cubes as you need.)

At the last minute, I remembered that I had a basket of physalis lying around, so I cut up a few and threw them in, too. Physalis are tiny orange fruits that come beautifully encased in parchment-like sepals. At their best, they're quite sweet; when I tried them once, in some fancy restaurant back in the States, they'd been delectable. Unfortunately, the ones I got here weren't as tasty as I would've liked, but at least their firm texture worked really well in the salsa.

The salmon itself I marinated in a mixture of sweet chili sauce, orange juice, mustard, and garlic. After roasting it, I nestled it in a bed of white wine and lemon risotto, and spooned the salsa over. The result was heavenly, if I do say so myself. Unfortunately I was so eager to taste the experiment that I forgot to take photographs!

Yes, gluttony is certainly my favorite sin. But at least we put something on a diet today: our energy usage. Yep, we've sprung for a bunch of those energy-saving lightbulbs and installed them all over our apartment. So tonight, at least, I can go to bed feeling virtuous.

All that you can't leave behind

After nearly two months of floating along in my comfortable little world here, this week I was powerfully jolted back to reality. Several incidents served to remind me that I'm quite far from my homeland, and taken together, left me feeling quite vulnerable. I've been stricken by another bout of homesickness, and as usual, it came completely out of the blue.

Although I'd been a little down all week, I didn't recognize the symptoms until Friday night, when Swissy Pie and I met up for drinks with a friend from New York, who happened to be in town for a meeting. We had a wonderful evening catching up, but as we emerged from the close, cigarette-fueled haze, I remarked, "Boy, that's one thing I miss - smoke-free bars."

In that moment of alcohol-induced clarity, I realized that I miss a lot more than the carcinogen-free air. I miss knowing what to do in an emergency. (Kids, 911 doesn't work here.) I miss having a bank account. (Damn you, Citibank, for charging me inordinately high "foreign fees"!) As much as I like rösti and fondue, I miss real ethnic food. (Sorry honey, that's why you've been coming home to kebabs, tandoori chicken, ma po tofu and Japanese curry.) I miss bagels. (My favorite splurge: an everything bagel, toasted, with cream cheese, tomato, and lox.) I even miss American-style potato chips, which I never ate back home. (Yes, they have chips here, but they just taste different. Less salt, less oil... they're just off.)

So - perhaps unconsciously - this past week I've been trying to make our apartment feel more like home. Helped along by miserable weather - the high winds keep me from venturing out more than the snow and the cold - I've resumed unpacking with a vengeance. I've reorganized the cabinets, planned and plotted how to squeeze the remaining boxes of clothes into the meager space remaining. I've filled the closet that Swissy Pie helpfully assembled one night. I've spent hours browsing through the garden center at Obi, trying to decide what kind of plants I'd like to have in our living room. (Swissy Pie is singularly unhelpful on this front. His allergies to flowers helps narrow things down, but otherwise, he just says, "Get whatever you want.")

To complete my good little hausfrau image, I've even been ironing. Now, the last time I turned on my iron was probably at least five years ago, but I schlepped the thing all the way from New York, and I'm determined to use it. (The absurd dry cleaning fees here are also a good motivation - 10 Swiss francs per item!) So one day I stuffed all of Swissy Pie's dirty dress shirts into the washing machine, dragged them upstairs while they were still damp, and set to work. It took me all afternoon, but at last I managed to wrestle the pile of tangled cloth into something approaching unwrinkled shirts on hangers.

But ultimately, the most therapeutic thing I can do is indulge myself with comfort food. One day, for example, I craved Japanese curry. Now, most people associate curry with India, or perhaps Malaysia, but anyone who's been to Tokyo will recognize it as a national dish: it's a cheap, nutritious meal that can be purchased anywhere for a mere 400 or 500 yen. Nevertheless, it's alleged to be the Emperor of Japan's favorite food, and the average Japanese family eats it 2 or 3 times a week. Japanese grocery stores - as well as those in New York - carry kits that make throwing a curry together quick and easy.

I haven't come across any of the kits in the Asian markets here, so instead, I cobbled together a makeshift recipe. It turned out pretty well. It's not fancy, or even subtle, the way most Japanese dishes are. But it definitely keeps winter at bay!

Japanese Curry

1 lb ground beef
4 medium potatoes, diced
3 carrots, diced
1 onion, diced
2 cloves garlic
4 C water
2 chicken or beef boullion cubes
5 Tbsp vegetable oil
1/4 C flour
4 Tbsp curry powder
1 tsp chili powder (optional)
2 Tsp salt (or to taste)

2 C short grain rice
4 C water

In a large pot, heat 2 Tbsp of vegetable oil. Saute onion and garlic until softened. Add the ground beef and cook until it is no longer pink. Add the carrots and potatoes, stir a few times, and then add the water and boullion. Bring to a boil, and simmer for 15-20 minutes.

While the meat is cooking, make a roux out of the remaining 3 Tbsp oil and the flour: heat oil in a medium skillet until shimmering. Over low-medium heat, add flour and stir, cooking until the flour is blended and takes on a pale golden hue. Add curry powder and chili powder, using the back of the spatula to blend it into the roux. The mixture will be powdery and dry.

Take 1/2 C of the hot liquid from the meat pot and slowly add it to the curry-roux mixture, stiring constantly to form a smooth paste. By spoonfuls, add the curry paste back to the beef mixture, stirring to dissolve. Add salt. Simmer the curry for 20-30 minutes, until the sauce has thickened and the beef and vegetables are tender.

While curry is finishing up, bring rice and water to a boil in a pot, immediately reduce heat to low, cover the pot with its lid, and cook for 20 minutes.

Serve curry with rice in shallow bowls. There should be approximately twice as much curry as rice in the bowl.

Yield: 4 servings

Notes:
1) Curry mixes vary in ingredients and intensity, so adjust the spices accordingly.
2) Like a stew, there should be a lot of sauce, so if the curry is too dry, add more water.

Let me eat cake!

Today, as everyone in the press has been pointing out, is the coldest on record in two years. Including the wind chill, this morning it clocked in well below 0 degrees Fahrenheit. This comes after weeks of unseasonable warmth: at the beginning of the month, I was able to go for a bike ride in shorts and a short-sleeved jersey! So, even though winter is my favorite season, right now I'm happy to remain ensconced in my apartment, organizing my papers and consuming the last of the amazing chocolate mousse cake that my sister dropped off Monday night for my birthday. For someone who can't eat wheat, she can sure pick 'em.

I spent much of the day on the phone, changing my address of record to Switzerland. People's reactions were quite varied. The Indian operators couldn't have cared less. What's more, they were easily confused. "What?" one asked. "The street number comes after the street name?" The German tendency to mash a bunch of normal words into one gigantic superword didn't help: a second representative was panting by the time she spelled my address back to me. (I have no idea why she didn't take a breath in between letters.)

But another lady with a lilting Southern accent was genuinely thrilled for me. She'd spent time in Italy when she was fifteen, she told me, and dreamed of going back. We compared notes on our respective countries. Talking with her was almost like chatting with a friend, and it made me positively cheerful about the imminent move.

Until I got off the phone and surveyed my apartment again, and that now-familiar lump of dread settled back into the pit of my stomach. I've been walking back and forth from the living room to the bedroom, touching favorite things and mentally preparing myself for the possibility that I'll never see any of it again. Shipping overseas does have risks, as the recent windstorm that lashed Europe proved. At least one container ship, I read, was wrecked in the English Channel, where beachcombers had a field day picking up bottles of perfume and engine parts. Yes, that's what insurance is for, but when it costs 2.5% of declared value, I simply can't cover everything. Which is why I've only listed the most valuable and breakable stuff: furniture, artwork, wine glasses and dishes, etc. If my ship really does go down, I'm not going to be happy.

Funny, isn't it? I never considered myself materialistic, and yet I'm so attached to my belongings! Filling out the insurance valuation form was another reality check. If you saw the way I dress, you'd never guess how much money I've spent over the years on clothes and shoes. Note to self: Un-Swiss Miss if you're going to spend like that, you might as well stop looking like a slob.

The good news is, I'm almost done cleaning out my pantry. I've even had to go grocery shopping! For lunch I made a delicious pasta out of ingredients I had lying around. (A triumph, since I thought I had nothing meal-worthy in the house.) It was quite simple:

Cappellini with Mushrooms, Spinach, and Mozzarella

2 cloves garlic, finely minced
4 oz mushrooms, sliced
1/2 cup frozen spinach
2 oz whole-milk mozzarella, cut into 1/2 inch cubes
1/8 package of angel's hair pasta
1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
olive oil
salt and pepper to taste

Put a pot of water on the stove to boil.

In the meantime, sauté garlic in olive oil over medium heat until fragrant, but not yet golden. Add mushrooms and cook until softened, sprinkling a few spoonfuls of water over, as necessary, to keep the mushrooms from sticking to the pan. Toss in spinach, balsamic vinegar, and red pepper flakes. Salt and pepper to taste. Turn heat to low and set aside.

Cook pasta in boiling salted water and drain. Toss pasta with spinach-mushroom mixture and mozzarella cubes. Adjust salt and pepper as necessary, drizzle with good-quality olive oil, and serve.

Makes enough for 1 hungry Un-Swiss Miss or 2 normal people.

Yes, it's filled with garlicky goodness, but trust me: I'm not kissing anyone tonight.

How would you like your chocolate cooked?

It can be a lot of fun to search for recipes by ingredient; one comes across the strangest stuff. For example, under "dried figs" I found this concotion on Epicurious:

Raw Chocolate Pudding

10 fresh dates, pitted and cut in quarters
10 dried figs, stems removed, cut in quarters
2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
2 tablespoons raw nut butter (optional)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 1/2 - 2 cups filtered water

Place the dates, figs, cocoa, nut butter (if using), vanilla, and 1 cup of water in a blender and pulse several times until the fruits begin to break down.

Blend until smooth and creamy, slowly adding water as needed for desired consistency.

Makes 2 1/2 cups.

Dare I make it? It sounds disgusting, but there's a single (suspiciously) glowing review. Even if the review is real, I'm going to be omitting nut butter and substituting jujubes for the dates, so this pudding might turn out disgusting anyway. Stay tuned for the decision...

Three down... a gazillion to go

Heather's comment to my last post reminded me of a cookie recipe that I found on Epicurious a long time ago, when my sister was first diagnosed with her wheat allergy. With peanut butter and chocolate chip as the main ingredients, I suppose it's hard to go wrong. They're so tasty and easy that I used to make them just for myself.

Here's the recipe as originally written. Since my peanut butter's pretty sweet on its own, I usually cut the sugar in half.

Flourless Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip Cookies
1 cup super chunky peanut butter
1 cup (packed) golden brown sugar
1 large egg
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup miniature semisweet chocolate chips (about 6 ounces)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Mix first 5 ingredients in medium bowl. Mix in chocolate chips. Using moistened hands, form generous 1 tablespoon dough for each cookie into ball. Arrange on 2 ungreased baking sheets, spacing 2 inches apart. Bake cookies until puffed, golden on bottom and still soft to touch in center, about 12 minutes. Cool on sheets 5 minutes. Transfer to racks; cool completely.

Makes about 24 cookies.

Incidentally, I think I'll be taking over a bottle of vanilla extract in my suitcase. When I was there last, I had trouble finding it in the grocery stores. I came across imitation vanilla, vanilla sugar, and vanilla beans, but no pure extract.

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou

Mark Bittman is a genius.

Actually, not Mark Bittman - Jim Lahey of the Sullivan Street Bakery. But Mark scores points for having spread the joy.

In the last Dining In/Dining Out section of the New York Times, Mark shared a recipe for the easiest bread you'll ever make. On the simplicity front, it beats the bread from King Arthur's Flour by a long shot, though it results in a very different loaf than the dense, satisfying round that previously claimed the title. Jim Leahy's bread requires no kneading (although this my favorite part of making bread), only a smidgeon of yeast, and a lot of time - 14-20 hours. But since most of that time can be spent doing something else, there's no reason to complain, unless you're very, very hungry. (In which case, you won't be baking your own bread anyway.)

Here's the recipe:

Recipe: No-Knead Bread
Adapted from Jim Lahey, Sullivan Street Bakery
Time: About 11⁄2 hours plus 14 to 20 hours’ rising

3 cups all-purpose or bread flour, more for dusting
1⁄4 teaspoon instant yeast
11⁄4 teaspoons salt
Cornmeal or wheat bran as needed.

1. In a large bowl combine flour, yeast and salt. Add 1 5/8 cups water, and stir until blended; dough will be shaggy and sticky. Cover bowl with plastic wrap. Let dough rest at least 12 hours, preferably about 18, at warm room temperature, about 70 degrees.

2. Dough is ready when its surface is dotted with bubbles. Lightly flour a work surface and place dough on it; sprinkle it with a little more flour and fold it over on itself once or twice. Cover loosely with plastic wrap and let rest about 15 minutes.

3. Using just enough flour to keep dough from sticking to work surface or to your fingers, gently and quickly shape dough into a ball. Generously coat a cotton towel (not terry cloth) with flour, wheat bran or cornmeal; put dough seam side down on towel and dust with more flour, bran or cornmeal. Cover with another cotton towel and let rise for about 2 hours. When it is ready, dough will be more than double in size and will not readily spring back when poked with a finger.

4. At least a half-hour before dough is ready, heat oven to 450 degrees. Put a 6- to 8-quart heavy covered pot (cast iron, enamel, Pyrex or ceramic) in oven as it heats. When dough is ready, carefully remove pot from oven. Slide your hand under towel and turn dough over into pot, seam side up; it may look like a mess, but that is O.K. Shake pan once or twice if dough is unevenly distributed; it will straighten out as it bakes. Cover with lid and bake 30 minutes, then remove lid and bake another 15 to 30 minutes, until loaf is beautifully browned. Cool on a rack.

Yield: One 11⁄2-pound loaf.

I started mine late last night when I came back from meeting friends. It took less than five minutes to pull out the ingredients (King Arthur bread flour for the bread, oat bran for the coating) and mix them together in my KitchenAid. By 3 pm today, the dough was bubbly, and when I poured it out of the bowl, it elongated into gorgeous, elastic strands that weren't too sticky. The trickiest part was getting it into the hot Corningware casserole without either missing or burning myself, but I managed. 45 minutes later, I had a lovely deep brown loaf.

Flavorwise, it doesn't quite achieve the heights scaled by the Poilâne bread it resembles: it doesn't have the same wonderful sourdough tang. That being said, it certainly beats most of the bread that's available in this country. It's got a fabulously crackly crust and a hole-y, chewy interior. Slathered with butter fresh out of the oven, it's heavenly. It's also fantastic with preserves, Nutella, slices of roast chicken... well, pretty much everything.

No surprise that, along with a glass of intense red wine, it ended up being my dinner. This is happiness, pure and simple. All that's missing is Swissy Pie.

Alpenmacaroni (or something like it)

Since I'm about to go off to Switzerland for 2 weeks, I've allowed my refrigerator to get depressingly empty. Aside from the expected condiments, there's only milk, a handful of brussel sprouts and some random chunks of cheese: a slab of Gruyere, a scrap of some sort of blue cheese, and a block of cheddar. Not a very inspiring set of ingredients for lunch.

Fortunately, I almost always have dried pasta in my pantry, so I decided to make a version of Alpenmacaroni, only without potatoes, and without onions. (I ran out of those, too.) OK, so it was more like American mac 'n' cheese, only with fancy cheese.

• 1/2 box (8 oz) dried pasta, cooked and drained
  
• 2 cups grated cheese (ended up being about half Gruyere, half cheddar before I chopped up the blue cheese and mixed that in, too)
• 2 cups milk
• salt
• pepper
• nutmeg
  

Cooking the macaroni's the most difficult part. Once that's done, just mix all the ingredients together in a big casserole and stick it in the oven for 20 minutes at 400 F. When the cheese is melted, give the whole thing a stir with a spoon and serve. If the sauce is too runny, wait five minutes. As it cools, it'll thicken.

Given how easy this is, and how good it tastes, I'm sure I'll make some variant again in the future. (Though I'll probably use a little less milk next time... with these proportions, it was still a tad runny for my tastes.)