Minimally Invasive

Sometime last week, one of my friends asked me, “What can I do with barley and mushrooms?” I put on my thinking cap and came up with barley risotto for her, which sounded pretty good once I gave it more thought, so I threw it together for dinner Friday night.

And being the first risotto of any kind I’ve ever made, I was pretty happy with it. Not ecstatic and not quite thrilled enough to give you a recipe just yet, but definitely pleased.

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A few weeks ago, I made a Dutch baby pancake for breakfast and learned from Audrey in the comments section that lingonberry jam is a terrific addition. So when I found myself at Zabar’s last Sunday (my first time!) after brunch with Gil’s family (another first!), I made sure to look around their jam section for a jar. I chose between three brands, which was such a luxury.

And Audrey was oh, so right — the jam was a perfect accent to the pancake. It melted into the butter and lemon juice and turned into a sweet & tart glaze and oh dear lord I really need another one right this second…

Deep breath. And moving on…

Because I didn’t know when we’d be coming home or after how much walking last weekend, I didn’t want to get too loaded down at Zabar’s. It was tough, but we left with only a few precious items. In addition to the jam, I picked up a smallish container of truffle butter because I could almost taste the shirred eggs I’d make when I first saw it.

The butter did not disappoint. Especially when mixed with heavy cream.

Don’t you just love blood oranges, by the way? I’ve been eating my weight in them this week while they’re still around. The color just sends me.

…already in progress.

Yes, I really have missed cooking, so I took the opportunity to fire up the oven this morning when it became clear there wouldn’t be enough milk to go around for our standard bowls of cereal. But what we did have was the basics — eggs, butter, flour, sugar, lemons, and just enough milk to make a simple but elegant breakfast of Dutch baby pancakes. These were adapted from a recipe I found a while back at Orangette; we didn’t have half-and-half on hand, so I made do with equal parts lowfat and evaporated milk, and used only half of the butter called for, just because it was already pooling in the center of the pancake when I took it from the oven.

No? You can’t see the butter? Sorry, I focused on that gorgeous browned crust before it flew too close to the sun and fell back to earth, but trust me, the butter is there. I love these Dutch babies because the texture is somewhere between a custard and a pancake — very eggy and light, and not cakey at all.

That light flavor and airy texture is greatly enhanced by a liberal dousing of lemon juice, which brightens everything. I mean, just look at it — this is one happy breakfast. I can imagine this would be completely delicious with orange juice instead of lemon juice, but it’ll be difficult to change a thing next time; this was a real treat and just as easy as throwing together a simple breakfast of eggs and toast.

Oh, and let’s get a close-up of the finished pancake, shall we? That little pool in the corner is butter and lemon juice, and should, if my calculations are correct, make you weep and run to the kitchen to make this yourself.

recipe after the jump

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Ayyyy, I’m turning into my mother.

Ahem.

Anyway, in honor of LSU’s ridiculous victory over the Crimson Tide Saturday night (and superstitiously hoping to bring a little luck to the Saints), I pulled out the big guns and made myself couche-couche for breakfast Sunday morning. This dish is as Cajun as it gets — no pig, it’s true, but it takes a few humble ingredients and lets them shine.

I’m pretty sure my grandpa ate this every single morning. As a young kid, whenever I’d sleep over, my grandma would make extra and then our silly ritual would begin.

Paw-Paw: Here, try this.
Me: (duly taking bite)
Paw-Paw: C’est bon?
Me: Bon … ?

He got such a huge kick out of that little exchange, he didn’t bother telling me what it meant until I was a little older. [The only time my grandparents really spoke French around us was when they wanted to keep their conversations private, so I didn't start learning it until ninth grade. My grandpa was already gone by then, but I credit him with teaching me my very first French phrase.]

Even though I haven’t had couche-couche since I was a small child sitting at my grandparents’ kitchen table, I woke up Sunday morning with a craving (or envie) for it. Part skillet cornbread, part pancake, part porridge, it develops a deep, roasted flavor from the hot cast iron skillet and has a nutty crunch that plain cornbread never achieves. It’s traditionally topped with milk and sugar or just cane syrup, but I wanted the best of both worlds that morning. I didn’t break it into tiny pieces the way my grandma used to because I didn’t have the patience, but it was fine just the way it was.

Can’t wait to get home for Christmas.

Update: The November issue of F&W has a good article on Chef Donald Link’s (of Herbsaint and Cochon restaurants) recommendations for an eating road trip through Cajun country. I can vouch for Poche’s — my aunt brings pounds of their boudin to our Christmas gathering every year. So many other great things in the issue, too — the obligatory Thanksgiving section, a cheese primer, an article devoted to Oregon whiskey, and the list goes on.

recipe after the jump

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