There’s something old-fashioned about quince. It could be partly because the fruit is rarely seen in U.S. markets these days, despite its likeness to the apples and pears that overflow grocery bins. That very scarcity, coupled with the fact that quinces have a dry, astringent flesh that needs to be cooked, and so can’t be eaten out of hand like their more alluringly juicy cousins, might explain why the fruit isn’t a part of our typical repertoire, even though quince trees are still abundant – and abundantly ignored – around the country.
A tasting of quince jam, served on a cracker with a bit of cheese at the greenmarket, persuaded me to pick up a few of these fall fruits. After all, cheese and quince paste (in a form somewhere between a dense jelly and fruit leather) are a classic pairing in Spanish cuisine. (I’ve even been known to serve some cheese and quince paste on matzo for a tapas meal served during Passover.) And the idea of cooking up a quick jam or compote that could accompany a meal of roast meats and vegetables, or be utilized for dessert in a tart of pastry, seemed appealing.
A browse through The Foods & Wines of Spain, by Penelope Casas (Knopf, 1982) turned up a version of the jam, and Banda de Almendra (Almond and Marmalade Puff Pastry Strips),which would take advantage of some puff pastry in the freezer. The quince (membrillo) marmalade cooks up in no time, and a little bit tops puff pastry strips, sprinkled in this case with some chopped leftover walnuts. A Spanish-born sampler recognized them immediately: “Ah, membrillo!” After he relayed that they also known as Corbatas (“ties”), a batch was obligingly shaped into neckties.
Here’s a new way to try pumpkin: in a pickle. This recipe for Quick Pickled Pumpkin is just that, and the results will add a bright, unexpected punch to fall menus of all kinds. (Plus offer an excuse to jump on the pickling bandwagon.) The only key here is to let the pumpkin do it’s thing, marinating in the brine. The pumpkin may seem too salty at the beginning, and the brine too harsh, but an overnight rest softens the squash and melds the flavors. We’re thinking the next batch might be good with some star anise and clove.
It’s not the end of the world. But the Mayan calendar winding down on one cycle and hearalding a new age is as good an excuse as any to celebrate the glorious food of the Yucatan. On December 21, I’m going to dust off the slow cooker for an all-day roast of cochinita pibil, which I’ll serve that evening with the traditional condiment of pickled red onions. Am still mulling over the rest of the menu, but it wouldn’t be a Mayan meal without avocados, black beans and salsa verde. Throw in a cocktail (with mezcal?) and dessert (Mexican chocolate bread pudding?) and we’ll be set.
Thanks, indeed for a beautiful, crisp and clear fall day for the first Thanksgiving at Kate’s first home. This year’s gathering of international and food-obsessed guests was reflected in the menu that blended traditional elements with the tastes of Mexico and the British Isles.
Here’s the menu:
- Squash on Toast. Amelia took this a step higher by making her own baguettes.
- Crab and Artichoke Dip
- Roast Turkey with Chipotle and Apple
- Chestnut and Tart Apple Dressing
- Potato-Tomatillo Gratin. A cooking class two days before Thanksgiving, and taught by the charming Eliza Gonzalez, inspired this dish. We took the potato filling from stuffed jalapenos — combining potatoes, garlic, tomatillos and ricotta cheese — and turned it into a gratin for the table (and potato pancakes the next day).
- Braised Cabbage, with apples and clove.
- Roasted Beets with Garlic and Cream.
- Bread Sauce, another British Christmas favorite that was new to the table, a simple sauce heady with clove.
- Cranberry Salsa with Chilies and Cilantro.
- Green Bean Casserole. Yup, the delicious, old-school dish we know from childhood, complete with crispy canned onions on top.
- Little Balls of Happiness (Julia Child’s Oignons Glacés a Blanc).
- Mocha-Pecan Pie, now our gang’s traditional dessert.
- Apple Tart. Listening to an NPR special on Julia Child gave us the idea to make an apple tart with souped-up apple flavor. She put fresh apples on homemade applesauce. We laid them over apple butter and brushed them with apple jelly. A tasting of the Genepi liqueur brought from a friend’s home region in France provide the inspiration for a glaze touched with that herbal Alpine liqueur.
- Cranberry and Pear Hand Pies with Vanilla Bean Ice Cream.
I’ve been living in Bangkok for 12 years now. When I first moved to this massive, crowded city (with its very distinct cuisine), trying to reproduce any of “our” recipes was quite a challenge. Nowadays, you can find most of the ingredients to cook nearly anything–even, say, a truly American Thanksgiving.
I love to cook, and the array of food available here presents an amazing opportunity to try new ingredients, bring about not only old favorites (with a twist) but also new and exciting dishes, and create a modest, flavorful, Eastern-Western fusion that seduces the palate.
For example, I was cooking chicken with mole poblano (the mole courtesy of Faustina, an amazing woman and great friend who owns a successful line of Mexican products called El Charro here in Thailand), and I thought I needed something to add color to my dish. Something to boost vibrancy and give a little kick to the dish.
I went for a classic Mexican condiment, chiles en vinagre (chilies in vinegar). This is fairly easy to make and can be reproduced anywhere in the world—as long as you can find green chilies. Traditional Mexican recipes call for jalapeños, serranos or cuaresmeños. But here, I found a local version of Anaheim chilies, that did just wonderfully. The recipe was passed on to me by a woman I met when I first arrived in Bangkok.
Now that you have your chilies, add onions, carrots, garlic, peppercorns, cumin, bay leaves, salt to taste, white vinegar and olive oil and voila. Keep the mixture in a glass jar… if you can. They will be gone in no time!
You’ve probably seen those jars in the dairy aisle, next to the sour cream or cream cheese. Something called crema — from Mexico, or Salvador, or Guatemala, or even L.A. And you’ve likely wondered what it was, or how exactly it was different from the nearby cream and/or sour cream. Well, stop wondering and pick up a jar. Crema is a wonderful addition to the repertoire, easily swapped for that sour cream, crème fraiche, cream or yogurt in dishes both savory and sweet. It has the texture of a thick cream, or a thinned sour cream; the tang of sour cream, but with a lighter acidity; the lightness of crème fraiche, but with a bit more salt to land it on the savory side.
The Three Points cooks first tried it out some time back when gathering ingredients for a scalloped potatoes dish. Finding ourselves at a grocery in a largely Hispanic neighborhood, and looking at the array of crema brands in the cooler, we decided to give it a try. Used in place of milk, crema produced a wonderfully creamy, rich, and slightly tangy version of scalloped potatoes. The guests loved it.
Last weekend we once again found ourselves face-to-face with an array of crema, this time at the local supermarket (proof that Latin products are becoming increasingly easy to find at mainstream stores). We’d stopped in to get some cream for a chocolate ganache, but we again looked at the dairy case, exchanged glances, and said, “Why not?” The resulting ganache for our four-layer Black and White Chocolate Butter Cake was so good — reminiscent of a sour cream chocolate frosting — that we opted to frost the sides of the cake with it instead of just using it for filling (a beautiful brown sugar buttercream went on top).
Then, taking a cue from the traditional use of crema as a topping for fish tacos, enchiladas and other Mexican/Latin American dishes, we drizzled some into the fresh Red Okra Soup, where it proved a perfect match to the soups smoky heat.
It’s just the beginning.
Fresh from a trip to Mexico, I opted to celebrate the summerlike temperatures with a fiery green sauce (for the plantain empanadas planned for tomorrow’s dinner). Tomatillos, garlic, onions, serranos, cilantro, salt whirl together in seconds revealing a tangy, spicy salsa verde cruda that is almost good enough to drink on its own.
Breaking out the Mexican avocados next for a little guacamole.