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Dispatches From Whitcomb Street

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Posts tagged mushrooms:

lasagne with mushrooms and ham

We blew back in from a long bike ride with April and Kyle—way out on County Road 48 to the farm we’re getting a chicken share from—just as it was getting dark. We were hungry. So we ate lasagne, and the world seemed like a nice place again. 

This is another one from Marcella Hazan. Long-cooked mushrooms, cheese, and unsmoked ham, bound with béchamel and layered with super-eggy noodles? Twist my arm.

This lasagne feels very rich, though it’s arguably lighter than those with meat sauces. I think it’s the mushrooms—there’s a lot to chew on in every bite, and it makes the whole thing really satisfying. It is basically the pasta equivalent of cashmere sweater, all warm, delicate comfort. 

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chicken under a heavy thing

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The peas are sprouting and I’m shivering in heels and cotton skirts, so it must be time to bust out the grill.

Butterflied chicken under a brick is my go-to lazy weekend grill dinner. If it’s just the two of us, it’s great on top of a tangle of sturdy greens. Or it slots nicely into a bigger spread for more people. The leftovers are fantastic for tacos or salad. It requires almost no attention or fussy cooking. Win!

We had it the other night with a little warm mushroom salad and polenta with tomatoes. Om.

Recipes after the jump.

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mushroom soup

It’s February; time for dinners that use dried things, canned things, frozen things unearthed from the frosty depths. Here is some mushroom soup, with little bechived pumpernickel toasts. I made the bread on Sunday to go with our borscht—it’s one of those fakey black breads that make people who bake real bread sniff, with its hundred dark ingredients and vinegar for sourness rather than a ferment. It makes good toast, though, especially when painted with chives and oil.

This soup’s luscious simplicity—dried and fresh mushrooms swimming in herby, garlicky olive oil—feels good and warm right through. Let the snow fall!

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“I’m hungry.”

“Oh yeah?”

“We should go home and eat something.”

“Yeah.”

“What should we eat?”

“Something fast.”

“We have those mushrooms…we could have rice.”

“Yeah!”

We are lucky enough to get beautiful mushrooms year-round from Hazel Dell just outside of town. They cultivate a variety of exotic-ish mushrooms - lion mane, cinnamon caps, consistently small and handsome shiitakes, oysters, trumpets, all kinds of things. We usually try to get a mixed pound or so when we see their stand at the market, and almost always end up eating them all in one go. Mushrooms are good.

We had a little salad of garden arugula with our rice - it’s getting really good about now. We dress it simply with lemon juice and olive oil, sometimes adding anchovy paste instead of salt. We put a little parm in this time, too.

Risotto with Mushrooms

Clean half a pound to a pound of mixed mushrooms. Chop very roughly and irregularly - the finished dish is much more fun with a variety of shapes and sizes and textures. Begin rendering a handful of diced pancetta in a skillet over slow heat. Put a quart of mild but well-flavored chicken stock on the heat and keep warm.

When the pancetta is about halfway cooked, add some chopped onion and garlic. Sweat it all together and then add some butter and all your chopped mushrooms. Add salt and fresh thyme; brown over medium heat briefly and then lower the heat and cover. The mushrooms can mostly sit at this point, slowly cooking in their own juices, with a stir every now and then.

Meanwhile, sweat another chopped onion and a clove of garlic in a big pot with plenty of olive oil. Turn up the heat and add a cup or so of arborio/carnaroli/vialone nano/your favorite short-grain rice and cook briefly, stirring, until each grain is coated with fat. Deglaze with a half cup of dry white wine. Begin adding hot stock a ladleful at a time - regulate the heat under the rice pot so added liquid comes to a simmer quickly. Stir, stir, stir, and add another ladle of stock when the previous addition is nearly absorbed (Sometimes I add as much as half the total amount of stock in one go at the beginning and stir just once in a while until most of that is gone. This is the lazy way to cook risotto, but it lets you get on with other things with minimal loss in the quality of the finished dish).

At the end of cooking - immediately after the last tiny hint of crunch is gone from the core of the rice grains - take the pot off the heat and stir in half of the mushrooms, a big handful of parm, and a little butter. Add a little more stock at this point if the cheese made things too thick. Plate with more mushrooms and fresh thyme.

This is a flexible thing. Sometimes we sauce fresh pasta with the mushrooms or put them over polenta. Sometimes I add lemon zest or pine nuts. Sometimes T adds cream or goat cheese to the mushrooms. Sometimes we use bacon instead of pancetta. As long as you have at least three kinds of mushrooms and they’re good, it can’t really go wrong.

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Here is some fast food: ma po tofu, Sichuan comfort food. It’s spicy and homey and takes all of ten minutes to make. We had the rest of the baby bok choy, too, stir-fried with boletes in oyster sauce, since we had to wait for the rice to cook anyway.

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And I finished the peach processing - washed the jars and rings, labeled them, and stuck them in the pantry.

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We didn’t feel comfortable putting the new peaches away until the old ones were gone, so here are the very end of last year’s peaches, with vanilla ice cream for good measure.

Ma Po Tofu

“Ma Po Tofu” literally means “pockmarked lady’s tofu”, ostensibly after its inventor. It’s not a very pretty dish, but it’s punchy and comfortable. I like it fresh and zingy with lots of fresh ginger to offset the complicated fermented flavors, but it’s a pretty flexible thing.

Stir fry an inch of ginger, cut into slivers, and a sliced clove of garlic in hot oil until barely colored. Add as much ground pork as you like; stir fry just until cooked. Drain off the grease if you want (I leave it all in). Stir in a couple tablespoons of Sichuan chili bean paste and continue to cook, stirring, until all the pork is coated. Deglaze with a couple cups of water or chicken stock; add a pound of firm tofu cut into cubes. Bring to a simmer - it’s ready to eat when the broth is the consistency you like; soupy is fine and saucy is fine too. Garnish with scallions and more fresh ginger.

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Bob and Jane took us mushroom hunting.

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Mushrooms have good names. It helps to have no actual education in Latin. There’s Lactarius deliciousus (“delicious milk”, maybe?) at the upper right; Boletus edulis (“edible bolete”, also known as penny buns and porcini) along the bottom; and Suillus luteus (“yellow swine mushroom”) at upper left.

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We’ll eat the small porcini and the milk caps fresh, but we cut the big porcini and the suillus into slices for drying.

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I’m starting to be in a preserving mood. Here are some little blood plums we got at the market - A pound or so of them were over- or underripe or otherwise unlovely for out-of-hand eating.

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Waste not, want not: Plum preserve with cardamom.

Rustic Plum Preserve

This is a very simple, old-fashioned no-added-pectin preserve that takes a good long time to cook down. The flavor is very clean, though - concentrated, bursting fruit. It helps to include some underripe plums to complete the pectin-sugar-acid equation, or to add some lemon juice.

I think cardamom is the tops with stone fruit (it’s my go-to peach spice), but ginger would be very nice, too.

Pit and roughly chop a pound of plums (or just tear each plum into a few pieces with your hands). Combine with a cup and a half of sugar, a half cup of water, and a quarter teaspoon of ground cardamom in a non-reactive saucepan; bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer until the mixture reaches 220 degrees Fahrenheit, or look up “wrinkle test” if you don’t have a candy thermometer handy. Stir frequently at first and then pretty much constantly as the mixture approaches temperature. There’s a kind of magic alchemy that happens as hot syrup transubstantiates into jam - all the water gets driven off and you’re left with a very viscous, thick gel that scorches if you look at it wrong. 

Take the pot off the heat and stir in another quarter teaspoon of cardamom. Pour into hot, sterilized jars; cap; turn upside down on a clean towel and let cool. Any jars that haven’t sealed need to be processed in a hot water bath or go into the fridge for immediate eating.

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