Chipotle ketchup changes everything

I was talking to a friend on the phone last night and he asked what I’d eaten for dinner. “Ketchup,” I replied. “And what else?” he said. “And nothing. Just ketchup,” I said, “though I suppose onion rings would have been nice.”

I am in love with ketchup for the first time. And yes, I could be biased because I made it but no matter—I think it’s the best ketchup I’ve ever had in my life.

Have you ever made ketchup? If you haven’t, you’re in for a treat. You get to control the sweetness, the spice and you can even make it fiery if you desire, as I did with mine by adding chipotles.

I make salsa at least once a week and I’ve even been known to whip up mayonnaise or Hollandaise when I had a craving for the good stuff. But for some reason homemade ketchup never crossed my mind. Like most people, I ate Heinz my whole life, until I decided that I didn’t want to eat a condiment made with high-fructose corn syrup. I then switched to Whole Foods' version, which is made with cane sugar instead. And it’s good. But not as good as mine.

There are countless recipes floating around, but the one thing they all adhere to is the use of vinegar and a sweetener—usually brown sugar—as it’s this combination mixed with the tomatoes that gives ketchup its distinctive flavor. From there, you can do anything you like, making your ketchup as simple or sophisticated as you desire.

For mine, I diced a 1015 sweet onion and cooked it in olive oil until it was just starting to brown. I then added a 28-ounce can of Roma tomatoes, apple cider vinegar, brown sugar and a bit of molasses. I threw in some chipotles for smoke and fire, some cinnamon and cloves for spice and some celery seed for brightness. I let it cook for a couple of hours and then pureed it and let it cook some more. My yield was about a pint, though it could have been more if I hadn’t been constantly spooning it out of the pot to taste.

And yes, I do believe that a spoon is an acceptable vehicle for this condiment. But I have over six pounds of 1015 onions that are just begging to be made into onion rings, and I just know that they’ll go beautifully with my homemade chipotle ketchup.

Chipotle ketchup
Ingredients:
1 medium-sized sweet onion, diced
1 tablespoon olive oil
28-ounce can of whole tomatoes
½ cup of apple cider vinegar
¼ cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon molasses
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon celery seeds
3 chipotle peppers in adobo
Salt to taste

Method:
On medium low heat, cook the diced onion in the olive oil in a medium-sized pot just until the onions start to brown a bit on the ends.

Add the tomatoes and their juice to the pot, crushing the tomatoes with the back of a spoon.

Stir in the rest of the ingredients, bring to a boil and then simmer for an hour, stirring occasionally.

After an hour, puree the mixture, and then continue to cook on low heat until it reaches your desired thickness.

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Ratios and cherry almond cookies

I’m an improvisational cook. This means that I’ll take stock of what I have in the kitchen and then create dishes from what’s available. This method usually works if I’m making savory dishes, but when it comes to baking I’ve had less success. (We won’t discuss the time I spontaneously threw in steel oats, cayenne and sea salt into a chocolate cookie recipe.)

Baking calls for precision, which I lack. For a long time I’ve wondered if there were basic formulas for making pastries, something I could use to make up my own recipes, if say, I wanted a steel oat and sea salt cookie to actually be edible. So when I heard about Michael Ruhlman’s latest book, Ratio, I knew this was the information I’d been looking for.


A professor of Ruhlman’s at the Culinary Institute of America (CIA) presented him with the initial ratio concept, which takes certain foods and reduces them to their basic essence. For instance, let's look at pie crust. Its ratio is 3 parts flour: 2 parts fat: 1 part water. So no matter if you’re mixing butter and lard with wheat flour and ground pecans, or shortening with oat flour and buckwheat, by using these exact proportions of fat to flour to water you should have a crust that works.

Besides his pastry section—which covers all doughs and batters—he also shares the ratios for stocks, farcir (a fancy term for sausages), sauces and custards. And while he provides measurement conversion from weight to volume—ounces to cups—you’ll learn that it’s more accurate to use a scale.
Now that I had Ruhlman’s ratios on hand, I decided to put them to work. I wanted to make a shortbread cookie in which the ratio is 1 part sugar: 2 parts fat: 3 parts flour.

I placed a four-ounce stick of butter in a bowl on top of my new toy—my kitchen scale—and then creamed it with two ounces of powdered sugar. I had some almond flour around, so I threw in three ounces of that and then three ounces of wheat flour. To jazz up the cookie a bit more, I added a pinch of salt, a pinch of nutmeg and an ounce of chopped dried cherries.

I know that I’m prone to exaggeration, but believe me when I say that this dough was a dream to work with as it wasn’t too sticky nor was it too dry. It was just right. And the cookies baked beautifully. Still unsure about this wonderful cookie I’d made without a recipe, I took them to a group of people with very discerning palates—my coworkers. I explained to them how I’d baked with ratios and not a recipe and I needed their honest opinion on the cookies. They ignored me, however, and managed to finish the whole batch in record time. I reckon this means that my ratio cookies were indeed delicious.

I’m not going to stop reading recipes, blogs or cookbooks, but with this knowledge I now have a solid foundation for being more creative in the kitchen. Not to mention, I love using a scale. Why didn't anyone tell me that it was so easy and so efficient? Do you use a scale in the kitchen? I'm a convert! And with that, let's just say I'm already planning my next recipe: citrus breakfast rolls.

Cherry almond wedding cookies
Ingredients:
2 oz. powdered sugar (1/4 cup) plus another few ounces more for coating cookies
4 oz. unsalted butter at room temperature (1/2 cup)
3 oz. of almond flour (1/2 a cup, can make by grinding almonds in the blender)
3 oz. of all-purpose wheat flour (1/2 a cup)
2 oz. (1/4 cup) dried cherries, chopped
Pinch of salt
Pinch of nutmeg

Method:
Cream the butter and the sugar and then mix in the flour, spices and dried cherries.

Form the dough into a log, and refrigerate for a few hours or overnight.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

On a greased cookie sheet or one lined with parchment paper or a Silpat, form the dough into 1/2 tablespoon-sized ball, placing each ball about an inch from the other. Bake for 15 minutes.

Let cool for five minutes, and then dip cookies into powdered sugar.

Makes 20 cookies

Notes: You can really taste the butter in this cookie, so be sure and use fresh, good quality butter. Also, you can substitute dried blueberries or chocolate chips for the dried cherries.

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What's in your English pea salad?

I was sitting with a group of food writers from the Northeast the other day (I would playfully call them Yankees, but as it was gently pointed out to me, they wouldn’t call me a Confederate so I should be careful with my adjectives). They asked me if there was something that we Texans eat that I was reluctant to write about and I didn’t blink before I said, “Pea salad.” (If you’re a fan, please do not take offense. Instead, bear with me. )

We didn’t often eat pea salad often in my family and for me it was always the strange-looking dish holding court next to the lime congeal at the church potluck or in the cafeteria line.

I can guarantee that you would never see it here in New York City, and, well, because it’s been out of sight, it’s also been out mind. (I know, I know—how could I forget about pea salad? I hear it all the time: I’ve lived away from Texas too long!) But when a reader requested that I post a recipe, saying, “We always eat it around Easter,” I figured it was time.

Pea salad is a Texan classic and yet it changes as much as the weather on a spring day.

Take my grandmother’s recipe: she makes hers with peas, cheddar, mayonnaise and pickles. But I also know people who make their pea salad with boiled eggs and bacon, not to mention those that make theirs with pickled onions and pimento cheese. And let’s not forget those other weighty questions: Do you go with canned Le Sueur peas, frozen or fresh? Do you shred or cube your cheese? Do you add other vegetables such as carrots or celery? And how do you feel about the inclusion of macaroni or almonds?

As you can see, pea salad is the font of much debate and deliberation. .

I decided that in order to decide how best to eat it, I’d just have to make my own.

I love peas and bacon together, so that was simple decision. And since I’m the kind of person that eats mayonnaise by the spoonful, I was definitely including that. When it came time to add cheese, however, I was flummoxed. Of course, in Texas you add yellow cheese—most typically Longhorn cheddar (unless you prefer Velveeta or American). But the combination of peas and bacon reminds me of northern Italian food, and so I thought that Parmesan shavings would be tasty.

In the end, however, tradition won out over experimentation. I realized that pea salad can be found all over the place, but it’s the yellow cheese, preferably Longhorn cheddar, that marks pea salad as Texas pea salad (that is, unless you make it with hard-boiled eggs, but I’m just confusing myself).

And while I couldn’t remember the last time I had this classic Southern side dish, when I took my first bite I was pleasantly surprised as it was soft, sweet, crunchy and spicy. It was good. I wouldn’t try to overanalyze pea salad—if you dissect its parts you’ll probably be put off of it. But when you add all the ingredients together, you have a refreshingly cool spring salad that is certain to please most everyone.

So, what do you put in your pea salad?

English pea salad
Ingredients:
4 cups of English peas (can be either fresh or frozen
4 pieces of bacon, cooked and crumbled
1/2 of a small onion, finely minced
1 tablespoon of fresh mint, chopped
1/2 cup of sharp cheddar, cubed
1 teaspoon white wine vinegar
1/4 cup mayonnaise
Pinch of cayenne
Salt to taster

Method:
Rinse your peas (do not cook, either fresh or frozen) and then mix all ingredients together. Chill for a few hours and serve.
Serves 8.

Notes: Like all salads, this is just a guide and you can jazz this up any way you see fit, such as using ham or chicken instead of bacon, adding pimientos or jalapenos, or maybe adding a dollop of mustard to give it some tang.

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Honey-soaked hot cross buns

The first time I heard of hot cross buns was during a piano lesson. It was early in my (very short) musical career, so I could only play songs that had a few notes all hovering close to middle C. One day, my teacher opened my book to a song called “Hot Cross Buns,” and said, “This is easy. I’m sure you can handle this.” And I could.

Along with the song being easy to play, the lyrics were also simple:

“Hot cross buns,

Hot cross buns,

One a penny,

Two a penny,

Hot cross buns.”

But like most simple yet catchy songs, it stayed in my head and I wasn’t satisfied until a few years later when I finally convinced my mom to make them for our family.

Hot cross buns are a sweet roll served at Easter time. Traditionally, they’re sold and served on Good Friday (hence the song’s lyrics, which chronicle a hot-cross bun transaction in a more-kind economy). My family, however, also ate them also on Easter morning, which is where a bite of one always transports me.

Before we’d go to church, mom would pull out of the oven a pan of these soft buns sprinkled with raisins and cinnamon. After letting them cool for a few minutes, she’d cross the tops with icing and then we’d grab them while they were still warm to the touch.

I’m kind of a fallen Episcopalian, but I still enjoy following the liturgical calendar and observing some of the traditions that accompany each celebration. Of course, hot cross buns can’t be found in the Bible or the Book of Common Prayer, but nonetheless, eating them makes me feel like I’m observing Easter the way that I was raised.

Here is my mom's recipe for hot cross buns. They appear to be a holdover from her granola days when sugar was bad but honey was healthy. No matter, the honey makes them sweet, sticky and soft. 

Of course, you don’t have to be a Christian to enjoy hot cross buns. There’s evidence that these buns hark back to pagan times, but no matter your religious affiliation, you will agree that hot cross buns are indeed heavenly.

Honey-soaked hot cross buns, from my mom
Ingredients for buns:
1 package of dry yeast
1/4 cup warm water plus 2 tablespoons of water
3/4 cup of milk
½ cup of butter (one stick)
2 tablespoons of honey, plus more for glazing
1 teaspoon of salt
½ teaspoon of cinnamon
½ teaspoon of nutmeg
3 eggs
2/3 cup raisins or currants
4 cups of flour (plus more if dough is too wet)

Ingredients for frosting:
1 cup confectioner sugar
2 tablespoons of water
1 tablespoon of honey

Method:
Combine dry yeast and 1/4 cup warm water.
Warm over low the milk, butter, salt and 2 tablespoons of honey until the butter has melted. (Do not let it come to a boil!) Add to yeast mixture.

Whisk in cinnamon, nutmeg and eggs into the mixture. Add 2/3 cup raisins and slowly add the flour, one cup at a time.

Knead on a lightly floured surface for five minutes until the dough is smooth and resilient.

Let rise covered in greased bowl until double.Then punch down the dough and divide into 24 balls and place, sides touching, in a greased and floured 13x9x2 pan and let rise again. With a sharp knife, cut crosses into each bun.

Bake at 375 for 15 minutes.

Glaze with honey (as much or as little as you like) and bake five minutes more. Meanwhile, stir together the confectioner sugar, the honey and the two tablespoons of water to make the frosting. When you take the buns out of the oven, cool for 10 minutes, then cross each bun with the frosting.

Makes 24
(Notes: You can substitute the raisins or currants with dried blueberries, cherries or even chocolate chips. Chopped nuts also make a tasty addition. I also like to add lemon zest and a bit of vanilla to the frosting.

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Lamb barbacoa: a special spring treat

Is there a reason why we Texans don’t eat much lamb? It’s tender, it’s flavorful, it’s not too expensive and yet you seldom see it. Heck, I even heard a statistic that said we eat less than a half a pound of lamb a year.

So imagine my surprise when I was in El Paso and saw listed on a menu lamb barbacoa with the added note, “For a special treat.”

I was tempted, but I went with the regular barbacoa—the kind made from a cow’s head. You can’t get that in New York City as the barbacoa found here is made with goat instead.

But I’ve been thinking about that lamb barbacoa ever since. And because Easter is coming up and lamb is one of the traditional dishes to serve, I decided to try making some on my own.

True to form, however, I’d never cooked lamb, let alone eaten all that much of it.

My father has always enjoyed lamb and I remember on one vacation we had dinner in a charming New England lodge where they served leg of lamb with mint jelly. He offered me a bite, and while I enjoyed the lamb I wasn’t a fan of the mint jelly—its color seemed unnaturally green and I couldn’t figure out how it could possibly compliment the meat.

It wasn’t until I was 21 that I again had lamb. I was having Easter lunch with my boyfriend’s family in a small Texas town’s finest restaurant and on offer was a choice of either ham or lamb. Ham was my family’s preferred Easter meat, but I decided to go with the lamb as it felt exotic and sophisticated.

I was served a thick pink slab crusted in black pepper that was cut from a lamb roast. On the side was the requisite mint jelly, but I ignored that and just ate the lamb unadorned. I was surprised at how tender and juicy the meat was, and the flavor had hints of earth and grass but it wasn’t overpowering. I enjoyed it—its flavor was refreshing like spring.

Since spring has finally arrived and Easter is next Sunday, here is my take on lamb, and easy lamb barbacoa. It makes for wonderful tacos, tostadas or just served on its own. Though you don’t have to be celebrating Easter to enjoy this lamb barbacoa—for any occasion it will still be a special treat.

Lamb barbacoa
Ingredients:
3 pounds of de-boned lamb shoulder
6 ancho chiles
3 guajillo chiles
10 cloves of garlic
1 cup of brewed coffee
1/2 cup of water
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon cumin
1 tablespoon agave nectar
1 small onion, cut into slivers
1 carrot, peeled and cut into rounds
Salt to taste

Method:
Toast the chiles in a dry cast iron skillet on medium heat for a few minutes on each side and then turn off the heat and fill the skillet with water. Let the chiles soak for 20 minutes or until soft.

Cut the lamb into three-inch cubes and rub the meat with salt.

Drain the chiles from the soaking water and place in a blender. Add to the blender the garlic, the coffee, the water, the cinnamon, the oregano, the cumin and the agave nectar. Puree until smooth.

Coat the lamb with the chile puree, and let it marinate in the refrigerator for four hours.

Heat the oven to 250.

In a roasting pan, coat the bottom with some of the marinade. Place the onions and carrots on top of the marinade and then top this with the lamb.

Tightly cover the pan with foil, and then cook in the oven covered for four hours or until fork tender.

Shred meat with forks and serve in tortillas with cilantro, onions and salsa.

Serves four to six.

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