mushroom inside
farmers' market treasures and scone resuscitation
Jeff and I were invited to Easter dinner at his stepsister’s house, and Sunday morning, she texted to let us know that the kids had the sniffles but had tested negative. Then we had to make the difficult decision of whether to attend— kids get sick all the time, it’s allergy season, and so on, but covid or not, it still didn’t seem like a great idea to potentially catch something and pass it on to my chronically ill sister. In the end we opted to stop by with masks on for a brief visit and to drop off our dish (sumac & cumin roasted veg & chickpeas with tahini herb sauce), and take some of the other food home with us. It makes me sad that we had to miss sharing the meal together, arguably the best part of visiting with family (some of whom we hadn’t seen since before Christmas), but I also don’t think it’s worth putting people at risk unnecessarily. Since “personal responsibility” is basically the only tool we have left to manage this pandemic, I wish more people felt willing to accept some.
Over the weekend we brought our patio furniture out from under the tarp and cleaned everything off, and although it’s still cold and rainy right now, with warmer weather on the way we’re looking forward to being more social. I keep saving recipes thinking things like, “This would be great for a barbecue,” or “I want to make this but it seems like a lot of work for only two people.” Our visit to the farmers’ market reminded me that interesting produce I’m not currently sick of is just around the corner, and I can’t wait to try some new things and host people in the backyard when we finally get a break from this stormy weather.
There are those who enjoy baking, but feel they lack the intuition and creativity for cooking. And then there are those who enjoy cooking, but feel they lack the attention to detail for baking. A lot of us enjoy both but lean one way or the other (there’s probably some metaphor here… ahem). I definitely fall towards the cooking side, because if you forget something when you’re cooking, generally you still have room to fix it, or you simply have a dish that isn’t as delicious as usual. But if you forget something when you’re baking, you might end up with a finished product that barely counts as food.
My fridge is overflowing with apples once again, so I set out to make these delicious apple-cheddar scones, which I’ve made before and loved. I baked the apples as directed, taking my time getting the other ingredients together while they cooled, as well as making some pizza dough for the freezer because my sourdough starter deemed it necessary. After rolling out and cutting the scones, I realised the cheese I’d grated was still in the food processor, so I had to toss it all back into the bowl to mix the cheese in by hand, hopefully without overworking the dough. They still looked ok after re-shaping and cutting, so I was surprised and disturbed to find that at the end of the baking time, they still looked super doughy and the butter had melted everywhere. Then I remembered I had turned off the oven while the apples were cooling— all I had done was put the scones in a sauna, not cook them.
While waiting for the oven to heat back up, I put the pan in the fridge and then gathered the scones back into reasonably cohesive shapes using a bench scraper. I knew they wouldn’t be as good as the last time, but maybe I could save them from being roughly $6 worth of cheesy apple compost. They came out much flatter than they should, but still flaky, savoury-sweet, and crispy brown on the bottom, far from the puck-like nightmare I was bracing myself for. Crisis averted.
On Sunday, we went to the winter farmers’ market in the old neighbourhood, something I kept forgetting to do after the summer one at Ambleside ended in October. I forgot how great it feels to buy something from someone who actually grew or created what they’re selling, and we got lots of nice stuff— among them, a box of 4 types of mushrooms, green garlic, nettles, and some squid ink spaghetti from Pastaggio. Having a lot of new and fresh things was exciting, and thus so was thinking up dinners for the week.
To use with the pasta while it was still fresh, I made a garlicky béchamel using cashew milk and lemon zest, and added sautéed mushrooms (a mix of blue and velvet oyster) at the end so they’d retain their texture. In Venice we tried pasta al nero di seppia, a dramatic local dish of plain noodles in a white wine sauce that uses both the squid and the ink, but these ink-infused noodles are more mild. The sauce was light enough in flavour not to overtake the pasta, and creamy enough to complement the rich, browned mushrooms.
I’m not really sure why I bought the nettles, except that it was something different, which at this time of year is like a precious gem. Last year I tried cooking them for the first time, and I made pesto, spanakopita, and the asparagus & green garlic frittata in Six Seasons. It’s a bit soon for asparagus so I decided to use some of the mushrooms (a mix of shiitake and velvet oyster), but I was happy to have the green garlic this time.
Frittata feels fancier than an omelette but is lighter and less time consuming than quiche, so it’s a nice easy dinner that also makes great leftovers (I ate it cold on a slice of bread with cream cheese and tomato). I liked the flavour combo of the nettles and garlic with the mushrooms even better than the asparagus version! The recipe doesn’t call for spices other than salt and pepper and I added a little smoked paprika just because, but the mushrooms provide so much depth that I wouldn’t miss it if it were left out. The plate wanted a salad and sadly I didn’t have anything appropriate; something green and light, or something with tomatoes would have been perfect.
When Alicia Kennedy’s roasted fennel and white bean dip hit my inbox last week I immediately wanted to make it, and now I had some fennel to do so. It was easy to make and so creamy and flavourful (I took her tip of adding some of the smaller fennel stalks to the pot of beans while cooking). We served it with a healthy drizzle of olive oil and dusted with Maldon salt, hot paprika, more coriander, and some of the fennel fronds. Also on the table was the star of our box of mixed mushrooms: maitakes!
I’d already planned to sear them in a cast iron (using some of the scallion oil left from a batch of gochujang eggplant), weighed down with another pan to maximize their crispy surface area. I came across this recipe while looking for inspiration of what to serve with them, but I’ve apparently used up my allotment of BA recipes because I couldn’t look at it, and had to figure for myself what would make up a leek remoulade. I cooked the leek in thin slices in a pan until softened, then let them cool before mixing with some dijon, shallot macerated in white wine vinegar, chopped capers and pickles, and fresh dill and fennel fronds. I threw everything into the remainder of a jar of homemade mayo and added salt and pepper to finish it off. It was perfectly tangy, an excellent match for the crispy, meaty mushrooms. Jeff and Maddie and I sat at the table talking for a long time after we’d finished eating, the mark of a great meal.
Media:
This for Polygon was a fun read: cookbook authors and chefs on how social media tags have changed the way people cook and interact with recipe creators. Although there is a fine balance involved in not feeling entitled to a creator’s attention, ultimately it’s viewed as a mostly good thing, creating a community that can learn from and help one another. I had the author of a NYT recipe reply to my comment that I loved the dish even though my fried capers never got crispy, and she helped me determine that my pan wasn’t turned up high enough. It’s something I probably would have discovered eventually on my own, but instead I got to have satisfyingly crispy capers the next time while also knowing that the author wanted me to have the best experience possible when making their recipe.
I love Bettina Makalintal’s quote about how she feels being tagged when people make particular dishes:
“I find it really heartwarming that people not only think of me when they cook or eat, but that they also trust my suggestions or see me as a source of inspiration.”
The main reason I started this newsletter was because when I would post food on Instagram or Twitter I always got messages asking about the recipes or for kitchen advice, so I think it goes without saying that I feel the same way.
Thanks for reading— if you enjoyed this newsletter, please smash that like button below, or share it with someone new! I like providing this to you for free, but it does still involve time and effort, so donations I can use towards cookbooks or future treats are much appreciated. Finally, I, personally, need there to be a mysterious evening soup.