Quinoa with Sauteed Spinach, Lemon and Ginger

Your house, being the place in which you read, can tell us the position books occupy in your life, if they are a defense you set up to keep the outside world at a distance, if they are a dream into which you sink as if into a drug, or bridges you cast toward the outside, toward the world that interests you so much that you want to multiply and extend its dimensions through books. To understand this, the Reader knows that the first thing he has to do is visiting the kitchen.
The kitchen is the part of the house which can tell more about you.
~ Italo Calvino, If on a winter's night a traveler



I walked into a trap. Yesterday I read these words, and, at the peak of my blogging vocation of these (maybe last) days of exile, I decided to borrow them to start a new post.
But then I had the feeling of being on a slippery slope, forced by myself to continue a conversation that doesn't bear comparison. I can't do it. I really prefer to drop them like that, these stolen phrases, silent but bulky, full and thick as snowflakes.
After all, what could be inferred from my kitchen that doesn't exist? It would be a disappointment. Perhaps you, Reader, you may think that my blog is all a bluff (as I keep repeating to anyone who gives me a little confidence...), and that in fact I really prefer spending time arguing with ghosts, piling pieces of wood and listening to the voice of things, especially the rusty and tired ones, rather than sharpening knives and shredding carrots for the soffritto. Because to be honest, I've never liked to prepare soffritto, with all that onion to be sliced amidst meaningless tears, and those vegetables to be cut at perfection, otherwise you'll be forever discredited by the Great Council of Soffritto-Makers.
What could be postulated from my strictly mismatched bowls, by that array of spices without hesitation that manage to make their way depending on the mood of the moment, by raw sugar and the inevitable handful of Manitoba flour, because you never know? I could also add, for those who want to investigate further, that in spite of myself I have a H.U.G.E. oven, a black and deep hole, turkey-proof, extremely disproportionate and embarrassing. Over time I've learned to get along with it and I've put his unsympathetic size to good use by turning it into a cupboard; if you, unfaithful Reader, if you could look into it, you'd see an indistinct stack of dark and broken trays, piled on top of each other with no sense, those unpolished and heavy trays that everything sticks on them and that not even Martha Stewart can use to bake cookies.
I also have a toaster, almost new but fake vintage style; many jars full of jam, usually red and with strawberries, of the simple kind, with pieces but without peppercorns, balsamic vinegar or other gimmicks. A deliciously unbloggable jam.
A tagine that I'd like to use more often, four large glass jars, accessible only by a ladder, full of molds for every form on earth: for Christmas cookies with honey and cinnamon, for Cannelés de Bordeaux and for filled ravioli that will never see the light. Pots hanging from the ceiling, mini cocottes in all the colors of spring, and only one futuristic concession to a shameful array of graters, long, thin and very sharp.
But there is no room for two, in my kitchen. There is not even a chair, let alone a table! There is neither a pantry nor a drawer, and the imperfect order of cookware, silverware, tools and gadgets is based on a very delicate balance, designed with fatigue and protected with pride.
What you could infer, dear Reader with a pitiless look, I can't really say. I thought about it, the whole evening and then an hour this morning with coffee. But my real kitchen is an imaginary space, "a dream into which I sink as if into a drug", a defense to get away from the world, asking the world to come with me.
So here it is, have a good spinachy quinoa you all.




Quinoa with Sauteed Spinach
with Lemon and Ginger
for 4-5 people

quinoa 250 gr
fresh baby spinach two big bunches
garlic 2 cloves
lemon 2
fresh ginger 1 piece
olive oil, salt, soy sauce as needed

Gently clean the spinach and remove the bigger stems. Heat a few tablespoons of oil in a large pan, fry the garlic cloves, peeled and cut in half, for two minutes, then add the cleaned spinach and cook them slightly. Season with lemon zest and grated ginger.
In the meantime, cook the quinoa in salted water, following the directions written on the package. Let it rest for a few minutes.
When ready, add it to the spinach and sauté for a minute, stirring and adding soy sauce or a pinch of salt to taste.
Serve warm.
w.v.<3

Vegan Pull Apart Brioche with Cocoa and Cinnamon

Homeward bound
I wish I was
Homeward bound...
Home, where my thought's escaping
Home, where my music's playing
Home, where my love lies waiting
Silently for me...
~ Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel, Homeward Bound

Since I saw this wonderful thing here, at his place, I had no peace. All that massive amount of warmth and sweetness could not slip away without consequences. Because it's like being hit by a bomb of cuddling, being knocked out by a punch of love in the eye, or a shot of tenderness in the chest. And I repeat it here for the twomillioneighthundredandfortyseventhousandthreehundredandfourth time, I've got a tender heart. It may not look like it, but I'm easy to conquer; two breadsticks, half a glass of wine (but red, pay attention! and if it's mulled wine or fragolino, consider myself yours...), a free smile, four freckles, or a leavened something, languid and soft as Heidi's clouds (yep, that's it, you may as well take note, just in case...).
And if you allow me a small confession, this brioche here, adapted to my kinda new vegan ego, it's also the third time that I make it in a month or so. 'Cause when it comes out of the oven, it's as if I poured over myself a bottle of affection smelling of cocoa and cinnamon; because the scent only can warm your gut like a cup of broth on a rainy night; because in front of a big bowl of tea it's like a creature that wraps you in a loving hug and takes you right back home to watch TV under the blanket.
Homeward Bound . Yes, such is the effect of this brioche. A homecoming, after many years, to find old friends, some faded photo albums, and your stoic stack of vinyl records.





Vegan Pull Apart Brioche
With Cocoa and Cinnamon
for a 9" loaf pan

For the Brioche Dough
type 0 flour 250 gr
bread flour 130 gr
fresh yeast 15 gr
warm water 40 ml
salt 1 pinch
sugar 50 gr
soy milk 100 ml
vanilla extract 1 teaspoon
silken tofu 100 gr
vegetable shortening 60 gr

For the Filling
vegetable shortening 1 tablespoon
light brown sugar 60 gr
unsweetened powdered cocoa 15 gr
cinnamon 1 teaspoon

In the bowl of a standing mixer, or for the less fortunate fellows, in the bowl period, mix flour, sugar, and salt, then add the yeast previously dissolved in warm water, and start kneading.
On the side blend tofu, or, always for Mr Less Fortunate of the last row, crush it well with a spoon so that there are no lumps.
When the mixture in the bowl is blended together, add warm milk, vanilla, and the tofu previously mashed. Keep working until the dough is smooth and round. At this point, slowly add the shortening (ok, ok, I beg your pardon for this vegetable butter otherwise known as margarine, but there is very very little of it, for once we can do it, and maybe we can do without the caramel popcorn fired by the microwave when watching TV under the blanket... parenthesis closed), and keep working with the arms or with the mixer until you get an elastic and slightly sticky ball of dough.
Cover the bowl with a cloth and let rise in a warm place for about an hour and a 15 minutes or until doubled in size. After rising time, deflate the dough on a floured surface and roll it out into a rectangle about 20x11 inches. Brush the surface with melted vegetable shortening and sprinkle with sugar, cocoa and cinnamon mixed together.
Cut the rectangle in 6 strips about 3" wide, and gently stack them one above the other. Cut the tower in 6 rectangles, and place them standing up one next to the other in the slightly greased pan, in herringbone shape. Cover and let rise for 40 minutes. Bake at 350 for 30 to 40 minutes.
Oh, I almost forgot, do yourself a favor and serve it warm.

Pumpkin Muffins

ELAINE: Oh yeah. It's the best part. It's crunchy, it's explosive, it's where the muffin breaks free of the pan and sort of does its own thing. I'll tell you. That's a million dollar idea right there. Just sell the tops.
(J. Louis-Dreyfus, The Muffin Tops, Seinfeld, Episode n. 155, 1997)

My first time. With muffins.
I can't believe it myself, but I had to wait over a decade before letting myself being persuaded. The thing is that, although I've fallen for muffins (blueberry, ed) at the tender age of 13, more than a century ago, when my American guest made me try them and all of a sudden I thought I had arrived in heaven, for all that goodness chock-full of huge and deep-blue blueberries was not part of the world known to me until then (and I didn't know that she had made them out of a muffin-mix carton and using fruits with testosterone to the maximum strenght, but these are just details...), I was saying, although for years I kept thinking of muffins as the perfect yet unattainable companion for a lazy and lascivious Sunday, once I moved to this land more or less stably, I cheated on them right away, I mean, really right away, for these things here (and these, and most of all these... mmmm, btw, 600 Guerrero Street @18th... when are we going?).
And the poor muffin has hopelessly fallen to a subordinate role, a breakfast gigolo to wear out in a bowl of latte, too big, too bloated, too ubiquitous, too available (but it's a matter of taste, mind you; scones have the same flaws, it's just that - if done with all the right fixings - I like them better, that's all. But anyway, muffins don't exist at Tartine, just sayin'...)
To complicate matters further there's also the fact that the muffin is almost always a split personality and rarely wins you over in its entirety: either you love it for the top, more rough and erratic, or it seduces you with its soft and tender body. And although time flows inexorably away, I haven't made up my mind yet.

My first time. With muffins.
All the hot details can be found below.


Pumpkin Muffins
for approximately 15 muffins

pastry flour 3 2/3 cup
butter 1 stick
sugar 1 cup
(I've reduced it a little from original recipe)
eggs 4
pumpkin purée 1 15-ounce can
ground cinnamon 1 teaspoon
ground ginger 1/4 teaspoon
freshly grated nutmeg 1/4 teaspoon
salt 1/4 teaspoon
baking powder 1 tablespoon + 1 teaspoon
raisins 1 cup
unsalted sunflower seeds 1/4 cup
softened butter to grease the pan

I've taken the recipe ...uhm... from this thing I scored at Christmas, which quietly and discreetly landed on my shelf with yet another excuse called special offer, coupon, loyalty card promotion, buy 2 get 3, voucher, seasonal sale, I don't remember. The truth is, now I want to go back to New York just to visit this new place of worship, which up to 20 days ago I had never even heard of. And to be honest, I can't even blame the special Christmas offer. I simply had to read that this Sarabeth owes its rise to the Olympus of America's most popular bakeries entirely to its legendary orange and apricot marmalade, and here I am, happily opening the wallet, dropping the card and casually putting the tome in my purse.
But this is now water under the bridge, and I think it's also a story already lived, can't tell you why. Better to stick to the subject matter: muffins. Before leaving you with the recipe, I'd like to point out two things, or maybe three:

1) Contrary to everything we've always known about muffins, this particular recipe (as well as others from the same book) calls for a good long initial beating of the butter, cold, followed by an equally good beating of the same with sugar. According to the author this procedure, very similar to that of a normal cake, will make the muffins' texture lighter and more delicate. The butter should be cold, so that the dough doesn't get too soft, otherwise the top will collapse and will consequently flatten (and sadden) your muffins;

2) Don't turn up your nose at canned pumpkin. After year, I too had to drop my barriers on this point. I just had to read these few lines, taken from Tartine, by E. M. Prueitt and C. Robertson, when talking about their famous pumpkin pie recipe:

Customers often ask if we process our own pumpkin for our holiday pies. We tried one year, and it was a fiasco of round-the-clock roasting and blending, and the results were never completely satisfying. Preparing the purée from scratch doesn't work that well at home either, as it is difficult to achieve as smooth a purée as you would like.

And if they did come out, how can I possibly fear a simple can?

3) How is it possible that at the first trial I got this high dome, almost like what you see around in the stores' windows, I don't know. I don't know if I should believe the cold butter trick. I actually have developed a simple little theory of my own: could it be the universally famous rule of beginner's luck?

Sift together flour, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, salt and baking powder, and set aside. In a large bowl, beat butter, cut into cubes, until creamy, then gradually add the sugar and continue beating until the mixture becomes fluffy and smooth. Add the eggs one at a time, decreasing the speed, then add the pumpkin and stir well. At the end, gradually pour in the flour mix, stir and then add all the raisins. Continue mixing for a few seconds just until the dough comes together.
If you're not using paper cups, grease the molds as well as the outer edges of the pan with some softened butter. Otherwise, place a baking cup inside each mold, and just grease the edges of the pan to prevent the tops of the muffins from sticking to it. Using two spoons (or an ice-cream scoop), fill each baking cups with the mixture, almost to the edge. Generously sprinkle the surface with sunflower seeds, and bake at 400 for ten minutes. Reduce temperature to 375 and bake for 15-20 minutes, until the muffins are golden brown and a wire tester inserted into the center of the muffin comes out completely clean.

Walnut, Apple and Raisin Scones - Arizmendi N.2

Long time ago, more or less at the beginning of this blog, I had told you about this bakery with the strange name, and I had talked about its scones, its buttermilk brioches, and maybe even about its special cooperative management structure, a unique experiment in the local scene, where each employee becomes an equal partner, and enjoys the same pay as any other.
Well. Now I can imagine that the news I'm about to give will not make you scream of joy, but it's with great pleasure - mine and of everyone living in the southern neighborhoods - that I can finally announce the opening of the second Arizmendi in SF, tucked between a wine bar and a yoga studio on Valencia Street, envied by all the Pupuserias and Panaderías of the Mission district. And if that still doesn't mean anything, just think that from now on I can literally walk there. Because Arizmendi and I are now neighbors!
To celebrate this joyous event, I went and grabbed from the shelves an old acquaintance of mine, masterfully escaped from the massacre of few months ago. If I remember correctly, at the time of the first Arizmendi post, I had also promised to try all the scones in the book, one by one (and very wisely, I had also avoided giving myself a deadline for the project). Hence, after 15 months, 10 days and 9 hours, here they are, Walnut, Apple and Raisin Scones, aka Arizmendi No.2.


Walnut, Apple & Raisin Scones
for 10 small scones or 6 large ones

all-purpose flour 1 3/4 cups (225 gr.)
sugar 1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon (75 gr.)
baking powder 1/2 tablespoon
baking soda 1/4 teaspoon
salt 1/4 teaspoon
butter, cold 1 stick (115 gr.)
dried apples 1/2 cup (50 gr.)
walnut 2/3 cup (50 gr.)
raisins 1/4 cup (30 gr.)
buttermilk 1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon (75 gr.)
whipping cream 1/4 cup + 1 tablespoon (75 gr.)
sugar and cinnamon to dust the surface to taste

Sift the flour and mix it with sugar, salt, baking soda and baking powder. Add the cold butter, cut into small pieces, and mix quickly until the butter is fully covered with flour and it's broken into small bits. Add raisins, apples and coarsely chopped walnuts, and mix. Make a well in the middle of this mixture and pour in the cream and buttermilk. Mix quickly, just until the ingredients are sufficiently blended together. Shape the dough in small rounds of about 2 inches diameter for smaller scones, or about 3 inches diameter for six larger scones. Place the scones on a baking sheet covered with parchment paper, leaving them quite apart from each other, because they widen and flatten out during baking. Sprinkle the surface with 3 tablespoons of sugar mixed with some cinnamon and bake them at 375 for 20 or 30 minutes, until golden brown. Transfer them on a rack and let cool off. Right out of the oven, scones are very soft, and they will get firmer after cooling down. But they will still be very soft inside, thanks to the buttermilk.
You can make them in a second, and if you mix the dry ingredients the night before, you'll have them ready for breakfast in just about the time you can say Coffee! However, they should be consumed the same day.

Baci di Dama

Baci di Dama (literally, Lady's Kisses) are delicious, so small, elegant and fragrant. But they're as seductive as deceiving. Flattening in the oven is their specialty, no matter how nice and neat, round and perfect they look on the baking sheet. What a fool you are! You've even measured them with a fruit scoop in order to have them all the same size, you thought you'd given them an impeccable shape, handling them with love between your hands while focusing on the perfect roundness of the sun, a Christmas ornament or a cherry.

And their fragrance! Even that is mean. A strong hazelnut scent spreads throughout the house, it doesn't let you foresee anything, even your neighbors are alerting their senses. Yes, it's that good. I think it's really time to open the oven. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! You scream out of despair, you tear your hair out, you look incredulous. That's it...I quit....Yes, tomorrow the girl is shutting down her kitchen and she's going to be an hermit in Alaska, for a new blog-free decade.
The Lady's Kiss, the same one you devoted your last culinary afternoon of 2009, has become a whole shapeless layer, a giant hazelnut-tasting platform that along with the cookie has smashed away all your hunger for fame. And now what am I supposed to do with this huge Kiss and all that Nutella-like Spread? A large chocolate-covered pizza, flat and hazelnutty? An almond flying saucer? A New-Age sbrisolona (Italian flat, crumbly cake, made with almonds)? No, Alaska seems to be the best option. New year, new life.

But luckily, as expected, even this year all your great resolutions vanish quickly, this time already at January first dawn. New year, same old routine. Do stretching exercises, make less cookies, be on time, don't swear, go to bed early, do yoga, drink a half gallon of water every day: who do you think you are? To me, nothing has changed: today I missed my yoga class in order to make the Lady's Kisses one more time, I shouted unrepeatable words against the oven so that it wouldn't dare playing tricks on me, I missed the bus and for sure I'll go to sleep at 4am to publish this post, I arrived late at a dinner with a friend 'cause I had to photograph the little evils before giving them as a gift, I've drunk the usual bottomless cup of coffee at Starbucks and half a sip of water the whole day, and I gave up on Alaska. It's too cold anyways.

So may this 2010 be a year full of the usual things, all the ones that make your day rosy, the scent of hazelnuts roasting in the oven, a phone call from a friend, a song by the Beatles, a slice of bread with jam, a Sunday afternoon at the movies, a trip to the countryside, fresh snow, end-of-season sales, the kisses from your elegant ladies or your sweet-smelling gentlemen, depending on your taste. Amen.


Baci di Dama
for about 40-50 cookies

hazelnuts 100 gr.
almonds 100 gr.
butter 200 gr.
flour 200 gr.
sugar 160 gr.
egg yolk 1
salt 1 pinch
dark chocolate for the filling to taste

Toast almonds and hazelnuts in the oven. Let them cool off, then try to eliminate their outer skin as much as possible. Grind them finely in the mixer with a little bit of sugar (taken from the whole amount), to prevent them releasing the oil.
Mix sugar and cold butter, then add flour, ground almond-hazelnut mixture, egg yolk and salt, and work the dough quickly until it's smooth. Shape it into a ball, cover with plastic and let it rest in the fridge for few hours or overnight (it keeps well even for few days).
After this time, take the dough out of the fridge and form small balls approximately the size of a cherry. Place them slightly apart on a baking sheet covered with parchment paper. To avoid the Lady's Kisses flattening disaster when baking them, after you've shaped the balls, let them rest in the fridge for about half hour, so that they're very cold by the time you put them in the oven.
Bake at medium-low temperature (220-260F) for about 20 or 30 minutes. The temperature and the baking time vary depending on the oven. It's better to keep a medium-low heat (to avoid the flattening disaster) and keep watching them every ten minutes. They're ready when their surface starts breaking. As soon as they come out of the oven, they're very delicate and crumbly; therefore it's better to let them cool completely on the baking sheet before handling.
For the filling, melt some dark chocolate and use it to attach two half-cookies together. I've used the Nutella-like spread made with dark chocolate (OK, yes, I posted the one with milk chocolate, but the truth is, I made two versions, so now I have 4 jars of chocolate spread...!!).
Short parenthesis: Lady's Kisses can be also made with hazelnuts only or almonds only, or you can add some cocoa powder to the dough and fill them with white chocolate instead. The main ingredients - butter, nuts, flour and sugar - should be used in the same weight amount; I've used less sugar because I like them better less sweet.