Penne with Mushrooms

It’s Hanukkah, Night Three. All weekend I’d been planning to make a Livornese fried chicken dish from Claudia Roden’s The Book of Jewish Food. Y’know, fried, cuz of the oil and the miracle and all. But first, Harry’s preschool was having their Hanukkah party. I planned to stop by the butcher on the way, pick up some chicken, and leave it in the car while we had our fun (it’s plenty cold enough here today). One thing I hadn’t counted on: The butcher was closed. And by the time the party was over, so was every other butcher in the neighborhood. I suppose I could’ve gone to a supermarket, but it was raining buckets and Harry was in the car with me so… Plan B.

Did I have a Plan B? Not so much. We walked in the door at 5:30, and after peeling off my wet coat I went straight for the kitchen. Thank goodness, there was a package of crimini mushrooms in there. My mind went immediately to a pasta sauce I’d made a few weeks ago, inspired by Bucatini with Mushrooms from a recent Cooking Light. Oh, yes, that would do. That would do nicely.

5:45. Pot of water: On to boil. Chop chop chop the mushrooms, chop chop chop chop the shallots, smush and chop chop chop the garlic—we’re practically done. That’s right, this is another one of those pasta sauces that’s so quick and easy, it’s ready in the time it takes to cook the pasta. Sa-weet.

6:15. Dinner is served. Dayum, this is good. And in another Hanukkah miracle, Harry walked into the kitchen while I was cooking and asked, "What smells so yummy?" He actually ate it. Don’t get me wrong—he wouldn’t touch the mushrooms themselves, but the little dude had seconds of the pasta, which was coated in all that lovely mushroomy goo.

Now, to ask the rebbe: Does the little bit of olive oil in the sauce count for Hanukkah points?

Penne with Mushrooms
Inspired by Cooking Light
Serves 4

½ ounce dried porcini mushrooms
½ cup boiling water
1 package penne [I like Barilla Plus]
2 tablespoons olive oil
8 ounces fresh mushrooms, whatever kind you like, roughly chopped [I almost always have crimini on hand]
1 large shallot, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons dry sherry
½ cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, divided
1 teaspoon finely chopped fresh thyme or ½ teaspoon dried

Combine porcini and 2/3 cup boiling water in a bowl; cover and let stand while you put salted pasta water on to boil.

Cook pasta following package directions; remove and reserve ¼ cup cooking liquid before draining.

While pasta is cooking, heat oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add mushrooms, shallots, and garlic, and sauté 5 minutes, stirring frequently. While that’s going, pluck the porcini from the soaking liquid and chop. Reserve ½ cup soaking liquid, but be sure not to include any of the grit at the bottom of the bowl. Stir porcini, sherry, and a hefty pinch of salt into the skillet; cook 1 minute or until liquid is almost evaporated.

Reduce heat to medium. Stir in pasta, ¼ cup reserved cooking liquid, ½ cup reserved porcini soaking liquid, ¼ cup of the grated Parm, thyme, and pepper. Toss well to combine and let it bubble away for another minute or two, until the liquid thickens and looks almost creamy.

Taste and add more salt and pepper if needed. Serve with remaining Parm on top.

In case of emergencies...

My latke post is right here. Happy Hanukkah, everyone!

Zen and the Art of Baking with a Preschooler: Gingerbread Men

So, let’s say that one day you, um, forget that your son’s preschool ends at 1:00 instead of the usual 2:30. Let’s say you get a text from the school’s director at 1:07, reminding you of that fact. And let’s say you run out the door, work half-completed, lunch half-eaten, in a mad dash to pick up your child. On the way there you have a mild panic attack: You’ve got nothing planned for the afternoon, and there’s a vast difference between filling three and a half pre-dinner hours and filling five of those long, wintry suckers.

Luckily, there’s a kitchen supply store around the corner from the preschool, so you duck in with your (relieved to finally see you) child, hoping for inspiration. Aha! Cookie cutters! It’s gingerbread season! So you buy a cutter or two and some green sprinkles for good measure (since green is your adorable child’s favorite color), and you’re on your way. Of course, you’ve never made gingerbread before. Gingersnaps, yes, but never their roll-and-cut-and-decorate brethren.

At home, you convince your adorably petulant child that yes, Quiet Time is a necessity even if he isn’t tired, and scramble to your cookbook shelf. You pull out your most trusted cookie book, The King Arthur Flour Cookie Companion,and sigh in relief: Of course there’s a good-looking Gingerbread recipe there. And the dough comes together in a jif, with two bowls, a whisk, and a spoon. Ten minutes after you shove your child into his room and close the door, that dough’s in the fridge.

Later, after Quiet Time (which, have I mentioned, is in reality the opposite of quiet?), the dough is chilled enough to roll out. Naturally, your three-year-old sous chef wants to help.



The recipe’s instructions suggest rolling directly on your parchment or Silpatso you think that’s worth a shot—you’re all for saving steps. This does not go well. Your dough isn’t as chilled as you think, and by the time your preschooler’s done rolling it’s downright soft and sticky. As in, the scraps don’t want to peel off the darn Silpat. You scrape the whole thing off and start over.



Eventually, though, you get the hang of things, and the first tray goes into the oven.



It comes out quite cute, though the cookies puff and spread a bit more than anticipated. No matter. Now all you have to endure is the 40 minutes it takes for the cookies to cool enough for decorating, during which your (adorable) child will ask you 467 times, “Are the cookies cool yet?”

Eventually, they cool. You stir together a simple glaze and pull out every variety of sprinkles, sparkly sugar, and edible glitter you can find. Life is good. Messy, but good. And what do you know? By the time you’re done, it’s almost 5:30.



Gingerbread Cookies
From The King Arthur Flour Cookie Companion
Makes 2-3 dozen cookies, depending on cutters

¾ cup (1½ sticks) unsalted butter
¾ cup light or dark brown sugar
¾ cup molasses [I only had ½ a cup, so I used maple syrup for the rest]
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
2 teaspoons ground ginger
¼ teaspoon ground cloves or allspice
1 large egg
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
3½ cups unbleached all-purpose flour

Melt the butter, either in a saucepan over low heat or in a medium mixing bowl in the microwave [I did the latter: one less pan to clean]. Stir in the sugar, molasses, salt, and spices. If you’ve used a pan, transfer to a medium mixing bowl. Let mixture cool to lukewarm, then beat in the egg.

In another mixing bowl, whisk together the baking powder, baking soda, and flour, then stir into the molasses mixture. Divide dough in half and wrap well [I flattened them into disks, for easier rolling]. Refrigerate at least 1 hour.

Preheat the oven to 375. No need to grease the baking sheets.

Take one piece of dough out of the fridge; flour a clean work surface, the dough, and your rolling pin. Roll it as thick or thin as you like—the thicker it is, the chewier your cookies will be [I went a little too thin, and wound up with crisp ones]. Every so often, use a large offset spatula to make sure your dough’s not sticking to the work surface.

Cut out shapes with cookie cutters, cutting them as close together as possible. Transfer to ungreased baking sheets and gather the scraps into a all and re-refrigerate. Repeat the procedure with the other half of the dough, and eventually the scraps, too. Add mini-chocolate chips, raisins, etc, to make eyes and shirt buttons and whatnot. Bake until lightly brown and just firm, 8 to 12 minutes [I went 11, and wound up with several too-browned feet].

Let them cool on the baking sheet for a bit until they’re set enough to move, then transfer to a rack to cool completely before decorating further.


Vanilla Glaze
From Great Cookies: Secrets to Sensational Sweetsby Carole Walter
Makes about 2/3 cup, enough for the whole batch

2 cups confectioners’ sugar, sifted
3 tablespoons hot milk
1 tablespoon light corn syrup
½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract
pinch of salt

Place the sugar in a large bowl and add remaining ingredients. Stir until very smooth. The glaze should pour from a spoon in a steady stream. Use additional liquid sparingly—a little goes a long way. If you like, divide into smaller bowls and add a drop or two of food coloring—I made green icing to make my adorable child happy.


That hammer? Also to make my adorable child happy.

Five Questions About The Biggest Loser

I confess, I still watch. Back when it premiered, I had some choice things to say about it, but the show proved me wrong. So I kept tuning in. I celebrated when Matt proposed to Suzy (and I love that they're still together, with kids and whatnot). And tonight I shed more than a few tears, especially when Danny kicked Rudy's butt to win big. But I've also got some questions...

1. What the heck happened to Tracey? She was always kinda scary looking, but now she looks like a man wearing a wig. Even more scary.

2. Who told Rebecca a minidress was a good idea? I know, I know, I shouldn't criticize someone who's done such an amazing job, but after I lost 100 lbs I was uber-conscious of how I looked in clothes. If I had even an inkling that my stretched-out skin was visible, I wore something else. Sister looked fabulous from the waist up, but that hem could've used another 3 inches.

3. What about the whole Rebecca-Daniel romance? Over already? I just saw them on some stupid show last week making googoo eyes at each other (and making out on camera, ugh).

4. Shay. Is it mean if I say I'm tired of her? I was tired of her long ago, actually. I'm glad they only invited her for the finale of season 9, not the actual competition.

5. Where's Danny's skin flab? How did he lose 239 pounds in 7 months without massive wings of skin flapping off his arms, legs, belly? Heck, it took me 3 years to lose that weight, by the end I was ripped and had only 15% body fat, but my arms were still crepey.

There you have it. My questions. Got any answers, or questions of your own? Post a comment!

Press Sightings

Two to check out...

For Weight Watchers, I wrote a piece on Planning the Perfect Party. Perfect timing!

And in the December Parents, I've got a fun piece called The Well-Stocked Pantry. (It's helpful for non-parents, too.)

Preserved Lemons, Part 1

As soon as I saw this recipe for Israeli Couscous with Butternut Squash and Preserved Lemons on David Lebovitz’s site, I knew I had to make it. Of course, the fact that I didn’t have any preserved lemons on hand was a small problem. I moaned to that effect on Facebook, and was immediately (but gently) slapped down by a friend for not just making some myself. Naturally, this sent me off in search of a recipe.

It turns out that preserved lemons are ridiculously easy to make, and barely even constitute a recipe at all. Lemons, meet kosher salt. Maybe a cinnamon stick or some cumin seeds want to join the party, maybe not. Done.



Now, mine aren’t done yet—I just put them into the jar today—so who knows, things might yet go terribly wrong. But since every single recipe I found uses essentially the same technique, I’m pretty confident that this is going to work out just fine. And once the lemons are ready, I’ll make that fantastic-looking couscous dish and report back. Good lord, how am I going to wait an entire month?

Preserved Lemons
Makes as many as your jar will hold

4-5 large lemons [I fit 4 Meyers into my quart jar]
kosher salt
cinnamon stick, cumin seeds, bay leaf, etc (all optional)

Put a few tablespoons of kosher salt in the bottom of a clean jar with a tight sealing lid [I used a 1-quart mason jar].

Scrub lemons with a vegetable brush and dry. Over a plate to catch the juice, cut each lemon lengthwise into quarters—but don’t cut all the way through. Leave the wedges attached at the stem end (see photo above). Sprinkle kosher salt all over the exposed lemon, then stuff it into the jar. [I had to cut my lemons into two halves in order to fit them through the mouth of the jar.] Sprinkle some more salt on top, then repeat with the rest of your lemons. If you’re using any spices, add them in between layers. Push down on each lemon as you add it—you want to release the juice, plus you’ll be able to cram more into the jar. Top it off with whatever juice has pooled on the plate, and more salt.

Set the jar on the counter, and give it a turn/shake every day or two. The lemons should be covered in liquid within the first few days—if they’re not, add enough fresh lemon juice to cover. [Mine are covered in juice already, probably because I really did have to shove pretty hard to fit four lemons in there.] They’ll be ready in approximately one month.

Some recipes call for refrigeration and others don’t, but since my jar isn’t sterilized I intend to, once the month-long cure is over.

OhMyGod Slow Cooker Short Ribs of Beef

Did you hear us moaning the other night? Like, moaning-moaning, the sound your body makes involuntarily when experiencing something so good it shakes you to your core? No, not sex—get your mind out of the gutter! Food. In this case, these incredible short ribs, braised in a sauce of red wine, soy sauce, and ketchup. Could not be easier. And could not be tastier.

The meat was so tender I couldn’t even get it out of the slow cooker with bone attached, so I pulled it into large shreds and made a sauce out of it. Served over fresh pappardelle from Savino’s, this was the most delicious meal I’ve made all year. Possibly in my entire life.

One note: Short ribs are exceptionally fatty little buggers, so if at all possible make this one day ahead and refrigerate the sauce separately—you’ll wind up with a layer of fat so thick you’ll be mildly nauseated just looking at it, but your body will thank you for hacking it off and throwing it away.

One other note: I hocked my engagement ring and bought my ribs at The Meat Hook, the new butcher shop inside the Brookyn Kitchen Labs. They were unbelievably delicious, but I couldn’t swear that they wouldn’t be just as delicious with a much, much cheaper package of ribs. There’s so much waste, thanks to the large bones and all that fat, that this wound up costing $7.50 per serving for the meat alone—and short ribs are supposed to be a cheap cut. Next time I’ll try it with some unpedigreed beef, and report back if it’s any less fabulous.

Red Wine Braised Short Ribs of Beef
From Not Your Mother's Slow Cooker Cookbook
Serves 4

1 cup red wine [I used an Italian table wine]
2/3 cup ketchup
3 tablespoons soy sauce
2 cloves garlic, crushed
2 tablespoons dark brown sugar
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
4 pounds beef short ribs
2 medium-sized yellow onions, chopped

Combine first six ingredients (through black pepper) in the slow cooker and stir. Add the ribs, submerging them in the sauce. [In my oval, this required cutting the ribs into one-bone widths, then dunking each end in the sauce. I cooked them with the bones positioned upright.] Scatter the onions over the ribs, cover, and cook on low until the meat starts to separate from the bone, 7 to 9 hours.

If you can, refrigerate the ribs and sauce separately overnight. Not only will the flavor improve, but you’ll also be able to discard a shocking amount of congealed fat. If you must serve right away, I suggest pouring the sauce into a fat separatorfirst.

In Progress

Pickled Beet


Maple Roasted Butternut, Apples & Shallots


Whole Wheat Stuffing with Pancetta, Chestnuts & Parmesan


Pumpkin Praline Pie

My First Thanksgiving

I'm cooking tomorrow, the first time ever. Gulp. On the menu:

• Turkey & gravy (duh). I think I'll follow Bittman's instructions from How to Cook Everything, unless someone else has a better idea? I'm all ears...
• Whole Wheat Stuffing with Pancetta, Chestnuts, and Parmesan: Pretty sure it's the unkosherest thing I'll ever cook.
• Roast Butternut, Apples & Shallots.
• Pumpkin Praline Pie from Cook's Country (subscription required)
• Chocolate Pudding Pie, only because I screwed up the crust for the Pumpkin Praline Pie and had to start over, which left me with an empty, baked pie crust.

Our friends are bringing a green salad, a mashed potato-leek dish, and wine.

The best part? We get to stuff ourselves silly, and then do it all again at my parents' on Friday. Since my married brothers are going to their in-laws on the actual day and my folks wanted to get us all together, we postponed our big, official Thanksgiving by one day.

On Saturday, I will make like The Very Hungry Caterpillar and eat one nice green leaf. After that I will feel much better.

What are you cooking, baking, or eating tomorrow?

Pie Crust Remains My Nemesis

That's all I'm sayin'.

Whole Wheat Hamburger Buns

Round these parts, we don’t eat a lot of white bread—it’s a leftover from my Weight Watchers era, back when the Fat & Fiber plan was helping me to lose 100 pounds. The goal each day was to eat no more than xx grams of fat and at least yy grams of fiber. (I don’t include actual numbers because I no longer remember what they are. Maybe that’s why I’m 20 lbs heavier than I’d like to be.) Anyhoosie, whole grains are a wonderful source of fiber, so I learned to love them lo these many years ago.

Fast-forward to yesterday. I’d planned burgers for dinner, and thought I’d just pick up some whole wheat buns. Who knew it would be so difficult to find them? Labor Day weekend, the 4th of July, sure, you’d expect a run on buns, but mid-November? I was left with no other choice but to make my own. OK, I could’ve bought white buns, but there’s a principle involved here.

The first place I lookedultimately provided the winning recipe, though I did my due diligence online and in other cookbooks. This recipe didn’t call for whole wheat flour, so I just swapped out half the white. The dough came together in a snap, and thanks to my Kitchenaid mixer I didn’t even have to knead. And the end result was pretty darn perfect: Soft, ever so slightly squishy, faintly sweet, and substantial enough to withstand whatever condiments you want to throw at it.

Whole Wheat Hamburger Buns
Adapted from The King Arthur Flour Baker's Companion
Makes 8 buns

1 cup water
2 tablespoons butter, room temp
1 large egg
1½ cups whole wheat flour
1¾ cups all-purpose flour
¼ cup sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon instant yeast

Combine all ingredients in a large bowl or the bowl of a stand mixer, then knead until dough is soft and smooth. (If you’re using a stand mixer, use the paddle to mix and the dough hook to knead.) Place dough in a lightly greased bowl (I use cooking spray), cover, and let rise for 1 hour.

Divide the dough into 8 pieces (either weigh it or eyeball: halve it, then halve each half, then halve each quarter). Shape each into a flattened ball—bring the corners into the center and pinch together, then turn it seam-side down and, cupping it gently underneath your hand, roll it in small circles on an unfloured, ungreased surface—you need the friction to help make them round. Place on a greased baking sheet (or use a Silpat baking mat). Cover and let rise 30-40 minutes, until they’re downright puffy.

Preheat oven to 375. Bake buns for 12-15 minutes, until they’re golden brown (mine took 14). Remove from oven and cool on a wire rack.

Barley Pilaf with Butternut & Fennel: One Recipe, Three Ways

’Dja ever look in your fridge and find a, well, motley assortment of vegetables? Ones that kinda might go together, but kinda might combine into something you’d never want to eat? This is what I faced yesterday:

• half a butternut squash
• one fennel bulb
• carrots
• celery
• a giant head of cauliflower
• broccoli
• parsnips
• rosemary, thyme, parsley

With the exception of the cauliflower and broccoli, all were remnants from Tuesday morning, the last session of my cooking class, Parents Need to Eat Too, in which we talked about Nap-Time Cooking and made Vegetable Couscous. Which meant that I wasn’t in the mood for the obvious stew-type concoction. So I did something I generally don’t recommend: I just started cooking.

I pulled out the butternut, the fennel, and the rosemary and left everything else behind—a vision was forming, wispy strips of fennel, gently caramelized until they practically melt, plus little cubes of bright orange squash, soft but still substantial, and a hint of rosemary’s piney flavor. I added a thinly sliced onion for good measure, and only when they were all in the pan did I bother to consider how exactly I would use these vegetables. I didn’t have any meat on hand, so this would have to form a vegetarian main course. A quick rummage through the grain shelf of my pantry yielded possibilities: quinoa, farro, wheatberries, brown rice, barley. You’ve probably guessed that I went with barley.

Right out of the pan, this pilaf was fantastic—autumnal, rich, soft, and chewy. I ate two small bowlfuls before Stephen even came home. But I was worried that it wasn’t going to be enough on its own; compulsively eatable as it was, it still felt like more of a side. If I added a quart more broth, it would make a lovely soup—but I wasn’t in the mood for soup. So, into a baking dish it went, blanketed with shredded Gruyere. Twenty minutes later, I pulled from the oven a Butternut Barley Casserole. Yowza, it was good. That salty layer of gooey, lightly browned cheese… Don’t get me started or this’ll turn downright pornographic.



So, one recipe, three options: Side, Soup, or Main. Not too shabby for a cook-first, think-second situation. And as a bonus for the new parents out there, this is a prime candidate for Nap-Time Cooking. Prep all the vegetables during nap 1, sauté them during nap 2, and add the barley during nap 3. (If you’re making the soup or casserole you’ll have to reconfigure that a bit, but you get the idea.)

Barley Pilaf with Butternut & Fennel
Serves 6 as a side

A few glugs of olive oil
1 large onion, cut in half and sliced into very thin half-moons
1 bulb fennel, stalks and core trimmed and discarded, cut in half and very thinly sliced
salt
½ of a medium-large butternut squash, peeled and cut into ¼-inch dice
1 cup barley
2 teaspoons rosemary, finely chopped
3 cups your choice of liquid: vegetable or chicken broth, water, or a combo

Heat the olive oil in your largest skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and fennel, sprinkle with salt, and reduce heat to medium-low. You barely want to hear a sizzle—the idea here is to let them cook slowly and gently. Stir occasionally until the vegetables are quite soft and beginning to turn golden, about 20 minutes, then add the squash and a little more salt. Let that cook another 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the squash is just barely tender.

Add the barley and sauté for a minute or two more, then add the rosemary and the liquid. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer and cook, covered and undisturbed, for 30-40 minutes. If your barley is tender but there’s still a considerable amount of liquid, leave the lid ajar and cook until it’s mostly evaporated—you’re looking for a consistency just a bit dryer than risotto. Taste and adjust seasoning.

Butternut Barley Casserole
Serves 4

To the above recipe, add:
¾ cup shredded Gruyere cheese (feel free to use more or less, depending on how much you like cheese)

Preheat oven to 350. Coat a rectangular baking dish with cooking spray and set aside.

Instead of cooking until all the liquid has evaporated, pull it off the heat when the barley is just tender but still has some bite. Pour the mixture into the prepared baking dish and if you’re a real cheese lover, mix in some of the Gruyere. If you’re not (and I’m definitely not), skip that step and just sprinkle the cheese on top.

Bake for 20-30 minutes, until the cheese is bubbling and lightly browned.

Barley Soup with Butternut & Fennel
Serves 6

To the pilaf recipe, add an additional quart of liquid. Cooking time will remain the same. If you like, top bowls with a little shredded Gruyere.

Linkety Split

Start your holiday shopping early(ish):

• This wee cornucopia of handmade items is ingenious, I tellya. I especially love the Trade Tokens (I got a bunch each of the Baked Good, Home Cookin’, and Story versions) and the Recipe Dice, and that Matchbox Theater is going right into my purse for times when I need to keep junior happy and, preferably, seated—for instance, in a restaurant when we’re waiting for our order to arrive.
• Is there anyone in the world who doesn’t need Bread Shoes?
• Want to know where I’ll be on December 5^th? I know you do. I’ll be at the first-ever Martha Stewart Holiday Craft Sale. You know there’s gonna be some good stuff there.
• If you’re like me, once you’ve bought all your holiday crap you’ll be too broke for fancy wrapping paper. Good thing I now know how to make my own gift bows from old magazines.
• My friend Taryn’s running a pretty sweet giveaway from Happy Green Bee, makers of muy cute organic kids’ clothes.
• If I didn't already have the rockingest spice rack in the United States, I'd be all over these ingenious SpiceCarespice containers (they're triangular, and they interlock for stacking).
• And finally, if you're a parent you probably know (and love) Plan Toys. Wellll, I just got a notice from a sample sale site I belong to that this coming Friday they'll be having a Plan Toys sale. Click here to sign up. (Just so you know, I'll get a $10 credit the first time you buy anything.)

Webby distractions:

• Steakhouse or Gay Bar? I never imagined how hard it could be to tell the difference.
• Guss' pickle porn makes me embarrassed for them. When I was a kid, we'd go to the Lower East Side for kosher Chinese food (oh, how my six-year-old self loved the Fong Wang Gai at Shmulka Bernstein's...breaded chunks of chicken breast stuffed with pastrami, served with mixed Chinese vegetables in a gluey white sauce) and always stop at Guss'. A shonda, this is. The original owners must be so ashamed.
• I’m not even remotely crafty, but if I were I’d be kicking myself for not having thought of this nifty portable fabric high chair when Harry was younger.
• In this weekend’s New York Times Magazine, Pete Wells has a lovely piece that ties together his son’s love of certain movies with his appetite for new food. I feel a special connection to the essay because he talks about The Last Waltz—Stephen is a huge fan, and produced the documentary on the DVD.

And recipes, of course:

• Sam at Becks & Posh isn’t posting recipes as often as she used to, but when she does they make me want to run to the kitchen. This Autumnal Farro Salad with Smokey Roasted Grapes, Walnuts, and Mushrooms is blowing my mind. Can’t wait to try it.
• Almond Chocolate Chip Cookies using Marcona almonds? Sign me up. From 5 Second Rule.
• And speaking of chocolate chip cookies, Serious Eats has taken on the onerous task of finding the best chocolate chip cookie in NYC. Too bad they’re only looking at commercial bakeries, cuz I’ve got the best one in the entire world right here in Brooklyn.

A Sneak Peek at The Brooklyn Kitchen Labs

In the shadow of the BQE, steps from a collision shop and an iron works, may not be the first place you’d expect to find a culinary megacenter, but Harry Rosenblum, Taylor Erkkinen, and Tom Mylan of The Brooklyn Kitchen Labs are betting that if they build it, the food-obsessed will come. Recently I was lucky enough to get a sneak peek at the space, and the chance to chat with Rosenblum and Mylan (Erkkinen was minding the store—the original store).

Opening this Monday, November 16, the center will be a cooking school-cum-butcher shop-cum-bulk foods store-cum-cookbook store-cum-kitchen tool museum, sprawling over 7,000 square feet in a former rag warehouse. This seems like a risky proposition given the times, but the partners have reason to be confident: They’ve got impressive pedigrees. Rosenblum and Erkkinen are the owners of The Brooklyn Kitchen, a 700 square-foot kitchenware shop that has become the hearth of Williamsburg’s culinary community, and Mylan, who Julie Powell called “the Hunter S. Thompson of butchers,” was the tip-to-tail genius behind Marlow and Daughters until his departure this summer.

The three bonded when Mylan taught a series of exceptionally popular pig-butchering classes at the store, in which a dozen customers would crowd around a small counter and watch the master at work. The store’s nightly classes, all aimed at home cooks (other subjects include pickling, soufflé-making, and kombucha) led directly to The Labs; as Rosenblum said, holding them in-store “was detrimental to the classes—we couldn’t even advertise them, they were so popular—and also detrimental to retail sales in the store during classes.” [I can attest to this, having taken their hands-on cake decorating class—seven of us (plus our cakes) squeezed around that small counter, directly in front of the store’s knife section as well as its cash register.]

Once the partners decided to create a separate space for teaching, they seized the opportunity to build something much more ambitious. When all the work is finally complete, The Brooklyn Kitchen Labs will offer:

• Two classrooms with full kitchens, one a soaring, 1200-square foot space, the other intended for hands-on teaching. “If we want to do a bread demonstration for 60 it’s going to be in the big space, but if someone wants to have a private bread class for 12 people, we can do it in the smaller space,” Rosenblum said. They’re hoping to grow beyond the single-session classes they’ve become famous for, and develop building-block series of themed classes. For example, Mylan explained how his butchering series might work: “If they take one class and they’re just like, ‘Oh man, this is fascinating,’ and want to learn more about that, they can go and take the other classes; sort of flesh out the whole process.”
• A full-service butcher shop called The Meat Hook, offering Mylan’s head-to-hoof meats and house-made, meat-based products
• The Bulk Room, which will sell carefully curated oils, vinegars, spices, beans, and other dry goods in bulk
• A room selling supplies for beer- and wine-making
• A cookbook center that includes both a store featuring hard-to-find cookbooks like the UK’s River Cottage Handbooks, and a research library filled with classic and out-of-print cookbooks and food reference works
• A kitchen tools museum, which will display Rosenblum’s collection of “weird, esoteric, vintage cooking tools, like an original Twinkie filler press, patented in 1915 for filling pastries,” he said.

I asked Rosenblum and Mylan if they were nervous about opening such a huge operation in this economy, and both were optimistic. Rosenblum said, “I think that as long as we can be very careful that the product we are supplying is the best product that can be supplied, at what is viewed as a decent price for that product, there is value and people are aware of the value.” As far as The Meat Hook is concerned, Mylan told me, “One thing we’re going to try to communicate to people is this: You don’t need a bunch of pork chops. You can get one pork shank and braise that out in a bean stew and feed just as many people for a fraction of the cost.” And for those who aren't sure they're ready to spend more for meat that’s sourced as carefully as Mylan’s, Rosenblum wants to educate them. “You should buy the whole chicken at $4 a pound because it tastes better and it’s safer and you can do a lot more with it, and here’s how you use all of the parts,” he said.

Rosenblum, Erkkinen, and Mylan are creating what could become the epicenter of Brooklyn’s New Culinary Movement, and they’re doing it in keeping with the ethos of their comrades—this is very much a home-grown operation, using Erkkinen's background in engineering and Rosenblum's carpentry skills and contractor contacts. Much of the material for the space, everything from The Meat Hook’s band saw to the walk-in refrigerator, is bought second-hand or repurposed from its original use. The walls of the Bulk Room, for example, are paneled with the warehouse’s original flooring, and some of the cabinetry, lighting, and other building materials come from Build It Green in Astoria.

The Brooklyn Kitchen, Rosenblum and Erkkinen's original store, opened in November 06. Just three years later, they're at the vanguard of a home-cooking revolution that promises to be every bit as exciting as Brooklyn's specialty foods explosion.

(If you need visuals, Grub Street's got a slideshow with pictures of the work-in-progress that look an awful lot like mine.)

The Brooklyn Kitchen Labs
100 Frost St., entrance on Meeker Ave.
Williamsburg

In Which Food Poisoning Leads to The Easiest Cake Ever

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Saturday was shaping up to be a busy day around here—we had a birthday party to attend in the afternoon and a wedding that night, plus Stephen needed a haircut and we had errands to run in the morning, so I had a brainstorm: For breakfast, let’s go to that diner across the street from the barber! Yeah, I knew we hardly ever went there because every time we do we’re reminded how truly mediocre/borderline terrible the food is, but it’s across the street from the barber! Stephen could run over and get his hair cut while we waited for the food to arrive! And there'd be no kitchen to clean after we ate! Thank you, I am a genius.

Eh, not so much.

I ordered a veggie frittata and it didn’t taste half bad. Not great, but not half bad. I didn’t feel compelled to keep eating it, though, which is kinda strange for me—lately I’ve been Hoovering everything in sight. At the halfway point I realized I was already feeling uncomfortably full, so I abandoned the effort and felt quite proud of myself. (You know where this is going, don’t you?)

Cut to a few hours later. I was driving us over to the birthday party when I realized I’d never even thought about lunch, never mind my usual mid-morning snack. I was still feeling, let’s say, strange in the belly area. But I shrugged it off and was secretly pleased at all the calories I’d saved. Soon enough, though, that strange feeling began to mutate into something more sinister—by the time we reached our friends’ house I was already thinking about heading home. Let’s just say I didn’t make it that far before things turned nasty.

My friends, I don’t remember the last time I puked so much, and so forcefully. I was Regan MacNeil for a while there. I did not attend that night’s wedding (sorry, M&J!).

Luckily, by Sunday morning the hurling was over and I was merely feeling woozy. I actually felt strong enough to hang out with Harry solo for a while. And of course, being my child, he asked if we could bake a cake. Empathy is, apparently, nonexistent when you’re three—no matter how many times we’d explained to him how badly I needed to rest the day before, the little sweetheart had begged for my attention [read: burst into my room and thrown a tantrum] again and again. So a combination of guilt and resignation led me to say Sure, we can bake a cake!

A quick Google of “easiest cake ever” led to multiple blog posts about the same recipe—all of which agreed that it was, in fact, the easiest cake recipe known to man. As far as I can tell, the original is from Not Derby Pie and several others have since put their own spin on it. I must agree: It is the easiest cake ever, calling for just a handful of ingredients, one bowl, and a mixing spoon. I’ve tweaked it a teeny bit, adding a hit of almond extract, and the results are shockingly good.

I've got one piece of advice: If your three-year-old helper suggests adding a few M&Ms to the topping, go ahead and let him—you wouldn’t want to squelch a budding chef’s creativity, would you? Just don’t eat that part. Coming across a super-sweet chocolatey candy in the midst of this relatively sophisticated, moist, fruity cake is nearly as gross as eight hours of puking.

OK, it’s not really that gross. But it sure ain’t pleasant.

The Easiest Cake Ever

Adapted from Not Derby Pie
serves 8-12

1 cup flour
¾ cup sugar

2 eggs

½ cup canola oil

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon vanilla
 extract
¼ teaspoon almond extract
zest of 1 lemon

3 cups of fruit, any variety [I used frozen peaches and blueberries]

Preheat oven to 350. Coat a 9” round baking pan with cooking spray and set aside.

In a medium mixing bowl, combine everything but the fruit, then pour it into the prepared baking pan. Arrange the fruit on top—if you feel like getting fancy go ahead and be precise about it, but you could also just dump it in. [If you want to get really fancy, you could arrange the fruit on the bottom of the pan first, then pour the batter on top. After it's baked and cooled, turn it out of the pan onto a plate and you've got something downright pretty. I did not do this.]



Bake for 45-50 minutes, or until the top is golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. [The original recipe says 1 hour, but mine would’ve been burned to a crisp by then.] Cool in the baking pan.