Greens and Beans and all that they Mean(s)

Being a consultant relegates every measure of my social, athletic, cultural, and culinary life to the brief hours between friday and sunday nights. I travel four days a week, typically leave Monday mornings, returning late Thursday night with little energy, interest, or ingredients for cooking. I go to the office on Fridays, and generally have plans to eat out a couple of times between Friday night and Sunday, SO, rarely is it practical or necessary for me to have food in my fridge.

Being home in NY for four days is a true cause de celebre. With this schedule, going to the green market, an activity I once enjoyed tremendously, is a masochistic experience much like browsing Bergdorf's, where I'm tempted by excruciatingly needy merchandise that I'm an idiot to think I have any reason to own. I tried to refuse this reality, to fight it, but have in my year as a consultant thrown away too many-a-moldy bag of veggies due to my stubborn determination to buy fresh produce. It was when it occured to me that within the plastic produce bags pulled from the drawers of my fridge I've seen mold in every color, literally ROYGBIV, that I resigned myself to eating out 7 days a week. My fridge in fact, before a cathartic grocery run on Thursday night, looked like that of an emaciated refugee's whose strict rations have weeks ago run out. It contained exactly two cloves of garlic, about 6 soft -correction: elastic- carrot sticks, and maybe 3 inches of totally dried out brie rind. Mustard too.

What better to nurture my undernourished soul during this chilly four-day weekend than soup? A lot of soup in fact; with a melange of colorful, perishible goodness in it? We agree then, that a soup is just what the Dr. ordered, and a shining soup twas', complete with beans (white), greens (kale), squash (butternut), carrots and herbs.

I didn't follow any recipe exactly, rather took inspiration from this one and this one. My hybrid recipe, based largely on what produce whet my appetite at the market called for the following:

I chopped the onions and garlic and sauteed until tender before adding the beans (drained and rinsed) and the herbs:

To add texture and color, I peeled and very coarsely chopped about a cup and a half of both carrots and butternut squash. I added the entire carton of broth plus about 2 cups of water and brought to a simmer before adding the carrots and squash.


Now, the KALE! Both the stems and the veins- not all the veins, just the major artery down the center of each leaf- need to be cut out. Use the point of a sharp knife to do this, then tear the leaves into 1-2 inch pieces.

Drop the kale into the simmering soup, and stir until it wilts:

Et voila, this soup is finished. And great. But not perfect. There are all of these wonderful textures floating in a broth with no texture at all. I read a lot of recipes for white bean soup that blended about half the portion of beans to add texture to the broth- this I will certainly try next time. What I won't change is the combination of ingredients; the butternut-squash, my affectation, absolutely belonged.

Why is it called Irish SODA Bread?

My apartment smells incrdible- earthy, alive, and sweet.

On this Thanksgiving Eve, I don't have my fingers under the skin of a free-range turkey. No, I'm not stewing cranberries nor making pumpkin pie: I'm going out tomorrow, to BLT Prime (will certainly let you know how Mr. LT impresses -or does not-). Eating out on Thanksgiving? Blasphemous, I know! But this is a wholly unorthodox Thanksgiving for reasons I'll elaborate on in the BLT posting. Let's stay in the moment, shall we?

Let me try to set the tone: John Mayer "Gravity," on repeat... for about the last hour. No lies. I know I've just betrayed whatever measure of coolness and edge you've perceived of me thus far, but everyone knows that lying at the beginning of a relationship only expedites its demise- and really, who wants that?

I've been wanting to make Irish Soda bread ever since I tried that served at an Irish Pub called Muldoon's near my parent's home in CA. It's become customary to go when we all (parents and 3 siblings) are home. The six of us order the same entree: the tri-tip-twice-baked-potato, and each of us is challenged to get through an eighth of it because of the round loaves of Irish Soda Bread, served hot, on a wooden cutting board as we're seated.

Soda Bread is kind of scone like in texture- the outside more breakable than tearable, hard when tapped with a knife, the inside soft and flaky. No, the recipe doesn't include a can of Coke- in its truest form, Irish Soda Bread is made without Baking Powder, only Baking Soda (and a lot of it) because Baking Powder was hard to come across, not quite sure why. Of course recipes evolve, and most (including the one I ended up using) has equal amounts of Soda and Powder. Many recipes I came across had no mention of what I contend are the two most important ingredients: currants and caraway seeds. Some said they are optional, but I object! They compliment each other beautifully, adding a sweetness, a spice, a general interest to this bread. Really, its these ingredients that make soda bread out of what would otherwise be a good plain scone; I wouldn't skimp on either.

So, while John Mayer graces one of my senses, currants and caraway seeds do another.

After going through many, I used a recipe by Marilyn O'Reilly because the ingredients seemed simple enough, and Marilyn, sufficiently Irish. It calls for:

Whether or not a recipe says to, I always sift the dry ingredients. It gives a lightness to the end result that you wouldn't be able to identify unless you conducted an experiment sifting one but not the other batch of something your baking. Just trust me. I used a fine strainer, it takes no time.

Now here's where the recipe gets ambiguous: "Add the butter and rub in until the butter disappears into the dry ingredients" says Marilyn. I didn't know the Irish had a penchant for Magical Realism! So many things wrong with this, primarily the utter lack of direction. DO NOT drop a half stick of butter into the flour and mix- cut it into pieces using a cold knife first:

Then, add the butter pieces to dry ingredients and KNEAD in. "Rub" is what you would do to a Turkey with a spice RUB- this is a whole different animal (or not an animal at all). When you knead the butter it breaks up, and is eventually incorporated into the dry stuff to create the texture of a meal of sorts. This feels amazing, by the way; talk about cooking as a pan-sensual experienc. Anyways, I can assure you there's no illusion or disappearance here; I am no Copperfield. You knead the butter in and this is what it looks like:

Combine the wet ingredients separately, then mix. An easy way to incorporate wet ingredients with dry ones is to create a well in the dry ones, and pour the wet mixture in it before starting to mix:

Marilyn suggests a rubber spatula but I would definitely advise a wooden spoon- this is a pretty stiff dough. Once combined, give a liberal dusting of flour to a surface and knead into a ball. I wanted to make two loaves so I split the dough and made two balls before cutting an "X" into the tops as Marilyn instructs:

I adjusted the Baking times in the recipe to my two smaller loaves- I baked them for 10 minutes at 400, and about 15 at 350. I checked them regularly for color, and finally took them out when a toothpick came out clean. They were perfect, striking a precise and perfect balance of aromatic, sweet, and savory. Definitely worth having dough as cuticles for the next couple days.

Pardon me

It's been some time, I know. I would be sorry if I had readers, but will still attempt to explain my hibernation to the blogging cosmos. I was scared. And busy. Nooo, scared. Ok maybe both. Busy isn't a lie at all- I have work and play and introverted spells like any other twenty-two year old. Honestly though, I've spent enough time reading others' blogs that I certainly could have put down a word or two here. My hesitation was this: doing a second post legitimizes this blog by one more post, and having a legitimate blog means tending to it legitimately. I just wasn't sure I was ready fo this. Ok? It's out there, I confess to cowardice. Now let's move forward.