Fresh Ricotta and Mint Recipe: a Spread with Purple Garlic and Olive Oil

Last week was a busy week: my father in law came to visit, and I was teaching dance every day in Lausanne, waking up early each morning to catch the train from Geneva in time to prepare for my 10 am class. When the weekend came, I slept in, and by the time I groggily padded into the kitchen, the household was hungry immediately for breakfast. I had some fresh ricotta in the fridge that I planned to dress up with the leftover mint from this quiche, and a clove or so from a head of beautiful purple garlic I couldn’t wait to try. I drizzled in a little olive oil, some salt and some pepper, and in five minutes, came up with an easy, inexpensive, and satisfying spread. I’d use this later in the day, too, on toast as an appetizer, but as a fairly mild breakfast spread I received compliments all around. The purple garlic was not as pungent as the garlic I’m used to, so I added one large clove, but if garlic’s not your thing, you may leave it out, or add less of it.


Fresh Ricotta and Mint Recipe: a Spread with Purple Garlic and Olive Oil

About a cup and a half fresh ricotta cheese
One large clove of purple garlic (or regular garlic), minced
About two tablespoons fresh mint, chopped
1 1/2 tablespoon olive oil, or to taste
Salt and pepper, to taste.

Mix everything together in a small bowl. Spread on toast. Enjoy.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Almond and Sundried Tomato Basil Pesto Recipe and Home with Hummus Recipe.
Continue reading...

Conchiglie Pasta with Gorgonzola and Garden Orache Recipe

The supermarkets in Geneva carry a great deal of local, organic ingredients, and this week I saw a plant I’d never seen before. Marked rare species on the label, arroche des jardins, or garden orache in English, is an unusual plant in the Chenopodium genus, and related to the plant I found at the market in Turkey last summer and used in börek. This orache has deep red, tender leaves, the color of radicchio, an association I made which led my thoughts to Italy, and then, to the Italian part of Switzerland, to Ticino.

A bike trip through Ticino for my 33rd birthday remains one of the highlights of all my travels. We cycled along the Lago Maggiore to Locarno, where, after exploring the old town by foot, we passed leisurely afternoons eating polenta and risotto, and sipping cappuccinos in the Piazza Grande. In the sunny, sub-tropical climate, the mildest in Switzerland, palm trees and magnolias are common, and a strange sight when brisk, generally overcast Geneva is your usual. We took a heart-stopping train ride through the Centovalli and, among the alpine streams waterfalling dramatically to valleys below, we chugged by little stone huts called grottos, restaurants serving typically Ticinese fare. I had fantasies, then, of moving to Locarno, learning Italian, spending my days hiking and biking these gorgeous valleys, stopping over from time to time for a meal in a grotto, or a swim in the lake, the mountainous views occasionally punctuated by the colorful mix of medieval and modernist architecture.

In the store, I ripped off a bit of one of the leaves of the arroche des jardins and tasted it. Lacking the bitterness and textural heft of radicchio, if my eyes had been closed, I would have guessed Swiss chard. How appropriate. The resulting delectable pasta dish can be made classically with that radicchio, but I might also try it with Swiss chard, or another green that won’t wilt dramatically under a little heat. Our primi piatti that evening, it was difficult to stop eating in order to make room for the seared lamb and lemony eggplant I made to break in our new grill. Ticino, on our little balcony.



Conchiglie (Pasta Shells) with Gorgonzola and Garden Orache (or Radicchio) Recipe

1 pound conchiglie pasta (pasta shells)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 medium cloves of garlic, sliced
1/2 pound gorgonzola cheese
2/3 cup heavy cream
approximately 1 cup milk
salt and pepper, to taste
one bunch garden orache (who knows; perhaps some of you grow it?), radicchio, Swiss chard, or other sturdy green, torn into medium-sized pieces

Heat a large, salted, pot of water until boiling. Add the pasta shells and cook according to package directions, being careful not to over cook.

Meanwhile, heat the olive oil in a large saucepan over medium high heat. Add the onion, and cook until translucent. Add the garlic, and stir a couple of times, being careful not to burn it. Lower the heat a bit, add the gorgonzola cheese, and let it melt completely, stirring constantly. When the cheese is melted, you may add the cream and the milk (pour slowly, you don’t want your sauce to be too thick or too thin), and heat the sauce gently, until it reaches the desired consistency. If your sauce is too thick, add a little of the pasta’s cooking water, or more milk. Season the sauce with salt and pepper, add the arroche des jardins, or the Swiss chard, and stir until the leaves are just wilted. Incorporate the pasta with the sauce, and serve immediately.

Note: If you are using radicchio, I might cook it a bit on it's own before adding it to the onion mixture and the cheese and cream. Since it is a bit sturdy, cooking it lightly will soften it just enough.

Similar recipes from A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Creamy, Thyme Scented Fusilli, with Purple Asparagus, Green Peas, and Bacon Recipe
Continue reading...

Cauliflower, Mint, and Olive Quiche with Spelt and Rye Flour Crust Recipe

The flea market in Geneva is one of the only places to find a bargain. When ingredients for a simple meal for two and a little breakfast cost nearly $100 in the grocery store, it's surprising to find early 20th century furniture and antique lace at reasonable prices. After making the rounds, I came away with a small enough table to fit on our balcony, two chairs to match, a portable 1940s wooden foosball table, and the inspiration for this quiche.

At the far end of the market is a magical little camping car. It has been converted into a moving cafe, and the chefs inside serve reliable, inventive food like zucchini-mint quiche, and hazelnut-chestnut torte, offering free, barely sweetened lemon water for refreshment. Perfect for munching on while perusing the wares, that quiche begat this one, and an approximation of the torte will make a definite appearance in the near future.

For the quiche crust, I used a recipe by Estelle Broyer, a French food blogger living in California. I don't bake regularly, so every time I pull out the flour there's concern on my part that whatever pastry I make will either fall apart, or be so tough and tasteless that my culinary degree will be called into question. I experimented this time with whole wheat flour, augmented by some spelt and rye, and ended up with two hard little balls, almost the weight and density of the steel ones old pastis-drunk men hurl toward a smaller one while playing a game here called boules. I was worried.

I rolled out the hard ball, draped it into the not-quite-a-quiche pan that is part of my second home's imperfect kitchen set up, baked it, and voilà, the most flaky, flavorful quiche crust ever to pass through the hands of this reluctant pastry maker. Baking just might be my second calling. Or third calling. Or maybe it's not a calling at all, but more like a whisper accompanied by a weak hand gesture, vaguely signaling me toward the flour and the butter and the alchemy.

From our new balcony chairs and table we can see the edge of Switzerland, and the Jura mountains, in France. A few days ago, while eating this quiche, a rainbow appeared, shining up the rainy sky. Fantastic food makes fantastic scenery more vivid, don't you think?


Cauliflower, Mint, and Olive Quiche with Spelt and Rye Flour Crust

Prepare the quiche crust according to the recipe from Estelle Broyer here. I used whole wheat pastry flour with ten percent each spelt flour and rye flour, but you may use her recipe exactly, if you like. Instead of crème fraîche, I used thick and sweet double crème de la Gruyères. However, this move is risky; I may have eaten most of the amount called for from the container before it ever approached the other ingredients.



For the quiche filling:

1 medium cauliflower, cut into small pieces
1 tablespoon olive oil
2 small onions, chopped (or one medium onion)
3 small cloves of garlic, minced
1 cup black olives, pitted, and roughly chopped (I used oil-cured olives from Greece)
the leaves from 5 medium mint sprigs, finely chopped
6 eggs, beaten (I added a seventh egg, because my pan was too large. If you have a normal quiche pan, six should be plenty.
3 large tablespoons crème de la Gruyères, or crème fraîche, or sour cream
Salt and pepper, to taste

Heat the oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit.

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the chopped cauliflower, and cook it until it is tender, but not mushy. There should still be a little bite to it. Drain it, and run cold water over it to stop the cooking process.

In a medium sauté pan, heat the olive oil, and sauté the onions until translucent. Don't let them brown. Add the garlic, and stir a couple of times. Remove the pan from the heat and let the mixture cool.

In a separate bowl, combine the cauliflower with the olives and the mint. Add the cooled onion and garlic mixture, and mix well. Stir in the beaten eggs, and the cream, and season with a little salt and pepper.

Roll out the ball of dough for the quiche crust, and drape it over your rolling pin to transfer it easily to the quiche pan. Make gentle flutes around the edge of the pan with your thumb and forefinger.

Pour the quiche mixture into the pan. Bake the quiche for 35 to 45 minutes, or until the crust is golden brown and the eggs are cooked through.
Continue reading...

Coffee and Chocolate

Here's one way to fight jet-lag: shop at flea markets all day for dinner plates with silly French sayings, watch the country's hero qualify for the French Open final (which he later won), and stop for a mid-afternoon treat of tartes au citron, mini éclairs, and choux pastries coated with crackling sugar and filled with glorious cream. Once you've devoured all that, rev up with a grand café, and savor a handmade bar of Swiss dark chocolate studded with almonds. For dessert, naturally.

Even thinking about Switzerland makes me feel fat. When I'm here I can't stop with the chocolate and the cheese (particularly the cheese), and this time, I'm going to buy or rent a bike, so that I can pedal along the lake, and up in the hills near the working cows, near the foothills of the alps, and after, eat all I want for dinner. It would be a shame to skimp on all the fatty goodness that makes this country great, and I do not intend to let those cows down. In preparation for the dairy I plan to eat, I've already overdone it here in a healthy way: two days ago I made a textural mix of organic barley, wild rice and spelt berries, made even earthier with dried porcini mushrooms that I added directly to the cooking grains. I stewed together a tomato, green bean, and tofu 'ragu' to top the grains, and we had fruit for dessert, loquats and physalis and red raspberries. As Tuesday is market day, I haven't even purchased any cheese. I am waiting for the real stuff; I am waiting to buy it from the people who make it.

With nutritious meals in my belly, some tough hikes and bike rides planned, I am feeling just fine about indulging in a little cheese and chocolate. Bring it on, Switzerland. I'm ready for you.
Continue reading...

Creamy, Thyme Scented Fusilli with Purple Asparagus, Green Peas, and Bacon Recipe

It had been an intense few weeks. School was ending at Juilliard; I was rehearsing a duet for a recent show; there were performances I had to attend, and cookies to make for my students' graduation, so I was very much looking forward to a present I gave to my husband and myself: a two-day trip to Las Vegas to celebrate our 40th birthdays.

I wanted to make some food for ourselves for the long flight, and had no time to do it. The day before leaving was spent at an early morning acupuncture appointment, taking class, rehearsal, and at my students' final performance and after party. Returning home at nearly 2 am, and knowing I'd only have a couple of hours to sleep in order to catch our 7 am flight, I set the alarm for 4 am to get up and cook that gorgeous asparagus with those peas. Local farmers spent a lot of time nurturing those plants for our consumption, and I did not want to disrespect their efforts by letting them wilt and mold in my NYC fridge while I was lounging decadently by the pool, cocktail in hand.

By 4:40 am, delirious and dizzy, I had managed to make, and package into tupperware, one of the best flight meals ever. Creamy and garlicky, the colors of the bright green peas complementing the deep purple asparagus, this pasta was rich, fresh tasting, and beautiful to look at, too. A classic spring combination, I would have used pancetta here, but bacon was around, and a fine substitute. 

The guy eating five pretzels for lunch in the seat next to me was a little envious when we pulled this pasta of our bag. I would have shared, but the flight attendant only offered us one fork for the two of us. After a little nap and some Jet Blue TV, we arrived, sated and rested, rested enough to enjoy a full day of Vegas insanity. If you make this meal for your next flight, you will 1) make your seatmates jealous, 2) feed your belly and your traveling companion's belly with springtime deliciousness, 3) support local farmers, and 4) save money by not buying crap airport food. All this, and even a sleepwalker can do it.

Creamy, Thyme Scented Fusilli with Purple Asparagus, Green Peas, and Bacon

Fusilli pasta, cooked. Keep some of the pasta's cooking water on the side, for addition to the sauce later. You may use penne, or another substantial pasta, if you like, instead of the fusilli.

6 bacon slices, cut into medium-sized bits
1 red onion, chopped
approximately 8 large asparagus, cut into 1 1/2 inch pieces
approximately 2 cups of green peas (I shelled mine from fresh pods, and didn't measure. Use an amount that looks complementary to the amount of asparagus you have)
2 cloves of garlic, sliced
fresh thyme (about 2 teaspoons)
1 cup heavy cream
1/4 cup chicken stock or pasta water (or you may cut the amount of cream with more chicken stock or pasta water)
Salt and pepper, to taste

Saute the bacon in a large pot until beginning to brown. Remove the bacon and set aside. Pour off some of the fat, leaving enough in the pan to saute the onions, which you will add now. Cook the onions in the bacon fat until soft. Add the sliced asparagus and cook a minute or so. Add the peas and the garlic and thyme. Add the cooked bacon back to the pot. Stir until the asparagus and peas begin to cook. Don't let them turn mushy; they should be a little al dente. Add the cream, and the chicken stock or pasta water, and bring to a boil. Lower the heat, and simmer for a few minutes, stirring constantly. Add salt and pepper to taste, and toss with the pasta. Adjust the thickness of the sauce with more pasta water, if needed.

Similar recipes on A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Conchiglie with Gorgonzola and Garden Orache Recipe
Continue reading...

Green Beans with Ginger and Mushrooms Recipe

This is a bold and succulent way to eat green beans; highly spiced and strongly flavored, it is not your meek vegetable side dish. Serve it on rice with a little yogurt on top, or as a side with a meat or grain dish. I loved it with the Chicken and Tomato Curry and the Fresh Coriander, Ginger, and Chile Crêpes that I also made this week.

The mushrooms soak up all the flavor of the ground spices, and since the ginger is sliced in slivers, and not minced, it's possible to really sense the texture of this root here. A powerful anti-inflammatory, and known to work nearly as well as conventional drugs for arthritis pain, I am convinced that when I load up on ginger, my chronic knee pain lessens. Delicious and healthy, I think I'll keep this recipe in frequent rotation, and who knows? Perhaps with a little more ginger, I'll be able to reverse the damage I've done to my body from all that dancing. And if not, at least I'll be a happy girl. A happy, green bean eating girl.


Green Beans with Mushrooms (Sem Aur Khumbi)
from Madhur Jaffrey's World Vegetarian

6 tablespoons peanut or canola oil
1 teaspoon whole cumin seeds
1 medium onion, cut in half lengthwise and then crosswise into very thin slices
5 to 6 garlic cloves, peeled and very finely chopped
1 (1 1/2-inch) piece of fresh ginger, peeled and cut into very fine rounds, then stacked and cut into very fine slivers
10 ounces white mushrooms, cut into thick slices lengthwise
1 1/2 pounds green beans, cut into 1-inch segments
1 tablespoon ground coriander
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon ground turmeric
1 teaspoon garam masala
1 teaspoon cayenne
1 1/2 teaspoon salt

Put the oil in a large wok, frying pan, or saute pan and set over medium-high heat. When hot, put in the cumin seeds. Let them sizzle for 10 seconds and then put in the sliced onion. stir and fry until medium brown. Add the garlic and ginger and fry for a few seconds, or until the garlic turns golden. Put in the mushrooms. Stir and fry until the mushrooms lose their raw look and turn shiny. Add the beans, coriander, ground cumin, turmeric, garam masala, cayenne, and salt. Stir to mix. Add 1/2 cup of water and bring to a boil. Cover, turn the heat down to low, and cook gently for 15 minutes, or until the beans are tender. Stir once about halfway through this period. Uncover and boil away most of the liquid, turning the beans gently as you do so. (The beans may be easily reheated.)

Similar recipes on A Hungry Bear Won't Dance: Spring Fava Beans with Dill and Garlic Yogurt Recipe, Gingered Tofu and Seaweed Salad with Shiitake Mushrooms and Sesame Seeds Recipe
Continue reading...

Fresh Coriander, Ginger, and Chile Crêpes Recipe (Rava Dosa)

Making these dosas always reminds me of living in the East Village, in a wonderful high-rise with a view of the Chrysler Building, and a great, open kitchen. The building was the one-time headquarters of the Black Panthers, and then home to Iggy Pop, who I would sometimes sit near on a bench in Tompkins Square Park, or pass in the lobby saying hi, pretending to know him.

I remember lazy days with Lisa at Life Cafe, drinks at Mona's, creating my first email account, taking the bus to work. I remember trying to make soap in that kitchen with my friend Jared and nearly burning the skin off our hands, and I remember my ex-boyfriend, Tim, cordoning off the bathroom area with duct tape barriers and a large Do Not Enter sign when he was startled by a water bug in there, the flying kind, the enormous kind. I was away a lot then, on tour, but when I was home we would cook, taking advantage of the many Indian markets near our house. We used these spices frequently, their scent hanging on our clothes in the heavy humidity of summer, pungent enough for one friend to rename Tim Marrakesh. South Indian, not Moroccan, these dosas are rich with memories of my first serious experiments in the kitchen.

Fresh Coriander, Ginger, and Chile Crêpes (Rava Dosa)
from Flatbreads and Flavors, a Baker's Atlas, by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid

I make the full recipe, but only cook what I want at each meal, keeping the rest of the batter in a covered container in the refrigerator, and this time, I used a smaller omelet pan to make the crêpes, and they turned out fine. They might even be easier to flip if you make the smaller version.

2 cups semolina flour (this time I used chickpea flour, for a richer tasting dosa)
1 cup plain yogurt
1 red chile pepper or jalapeno, finely chopped
1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh ginger
1 tablespoon fresh or dried curry leaves; if using dried, soak in water for 10 minutes before using
2 tablespoons fresh coriander leaves, roughly chopped
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 cups warm water

You will need a medium-sized bowl, a large cast-iron or other heavy griddle, a flat wooden spoon or a rubber spatula, and a metal spatula.

In a medium-sized bowl, mix together the semolina flour, yogurt, chile, ginger, curry leaves, coriander leaves, and salt. Stir in the water a little bit at a time until you have a smooth batter. Cover the bowl and let the batter rest for approximately 1 hour.

Heat a large cast-iron or other heavy griddle over medium-high heat. Using a paper towl, lightly oil the surface of the griddle, and reserve the towel for use between each dosa. When the griddle is hot, pour on 1/2 cup of the batter. As you pour, move in a circle out from the middle, distributing the batter in as large a circle as possible; then use the back of a wooden spoon or a rubber spatula to spread the batter to cover the gaps, again increasing the diameter of the dosa, to at least 9 or 10 inches. (Don't worry about making it too thin; the thinner the better.) Cook the dosa for 1 1/2 minutes; after cooking for 1 minute, begin to loosen it from the griddle with a metal spatula. Coax the dosa, don't force it, as it will come off easily when it is golden brown and ready. Flip to the other side and cook for 1 1/2 to 2 minutes, or until lightly browned in spots. Remove to a plate.

Rub the surface of the griddle with the oiled paper towel or, if it's particularly dry, add a little more oil. Continue cooking until all the dosas have been made. They can be stacked one on top of the other as they are cooked, or served immediately as they are made.

Makes 8 thin crêpe-like breads, about 9 to 10 inches in diameter.
Continue reading...

Chicken and Tomato Curry Recipe

I had been craving Indian food, so last week I pulled out Flatbreads and Flavors, a cookbook with a favorite Indian dosa recipe, and Madhur Jaffrey's World Vegetarian Cookbook for a savory vegetable side. I wanted to make some type of curry to spoon up in the dosas, so I picked a shrimp curry with coconut milk, that I would modify with chicken, and having forgotten the coconut milk on my trip to the coop, ended up modifying totally.

I used organic chicken thighs in this braise, an inexpensive way to eat organic meat, and virtually impossible to mess up; the longer you cook the chicken, the more tender it gets. Use many thighs, and you have enough for several meals; heat up the portion you will consume, and keep the rest in the refrigerator.

Chicken and Tomato Curry
(adapted liberally from Flatbreads and Flavors, Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid)

1 1/2 tablespoon vegetable oil (I use canola oil)
2 pounds chicken thighs (about 8 thighs)
1 onion, chopped
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1 1/2 tablespoon ginger, minced
1 jalapeno, minced
20 fresh curry leaves (optional)
1 28 ounce can and 1 14.5 ounce can of diced or crushed tomatoes
1 teaspoon store-bought garam masala
1 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons fresh cilantro leaves, chopped

Rinse and thoroughly dry the chicken thighs, and season them liberally on both sides with salt and pepper. Heat a large pot over medium-high heat. Add the oil, and heat until very hot, but not smoking. Add a few chicken thighs to the pan, being careful not to crowd them. Sear them on one side until golden brown. If the chicken won't turn, let it cook on that side a little longer. When it has seared, the skin will easily release from the pan with a gently touch. Sear on the other side. Remove the thighs to a plate, and continue searing the rest of them.

Discard the chicken fat from the pan, and add a little fresh canola oil. Heat the oil, and saute the onions until soft, scraping up the chicken bits from the bottom of the pan. Add the garlic, the ginger, the jalapeno, and the curry leaves, and stir quickly. Do not let the garlic burn. Add the garam masala, and mix well. Add the tomatoes, increase the heat, and let the mixture cook a bit, until the tomatoes soften. Bury the chicken thighs into the tomato sauce, lower the heat, and simmer until the chicken is cooked through, and the meat releases easily from the bone. Stir in the salt and the chopped cilantro.

If you like, skim off the excess fat from the top before serving with Fresh Coriander, Ginger, and Chile Crepes (Rava Dosa), or rice.
Continue reading...