Pizza is easy

This pizza crust recipe comes from my favorite Italian cookbook ever, The Cook's Encyclopedia of Italian Cooking by Carla Capalbo.  A blend of about 1/3 white and 2/3 whole wheat flour makes this a good compromise.

Whole wheat pizza dough

21/2 tablespoons fresh cake yeast or 11/2 tablespoons active dried yeast
1 cup lukewarm water
pinch of sugar
2 tablespoons olive oil
11/2 teaspoons salt
11/4 cups plain white flour
2 cups stoneground wholewheat flour

Warm a medium bowl by swirling some hot water in it.  Drain.  Place the yeast in the bowl and pour on the tepid water.  Sprinkle on the sugar and stir to mix.  Allow to stand for 5-10 minutes, or until the yeast has dissolved and starts to foam.

Use a wooden spoon to mix in the olive oil and the salt, then add the white flour.  Add about half of the whole wheat flour, stirring with the spoon until the dough forms a mass and begins to pull away from the sides of the bowl.

Sprinkle some of the remaining flour onto a smooth work surface.  Turn the dough out from the bowl onto your work surface and begin to knead it, working in the flour a little at a time.  Knead for about 8-10 minutes.  The dough should be elastic and smooth.  Form it into a ball.

Rinse any excess flour from your medium bowl and dry it well.  Place a few drops of olive oil in the bowl and spread it around to coat the bottom and sides.  Place the dough in the bowl.  Stretch a moistened dishcloth across the top of the bowl and place it in a warm place (next to the radiator, for example) for 40-50 minutes or more.  The dough should have doubled in bulk.  To test if the dough has risen enough, press two fingers into the dough; if the indentations remain, you're good to go.

Punch the dough down with your fist to release the air.  Knead on your lightly floured work surface for 1-2 minutes.  Divide the dough into 2 or 4 balls, depending on the size of the pizzas you want to make.  Pat each ball of dough into a flat circle.  With a rolling pin (or empty wine bottle), roll the dough out into a circle.  Tip: turn the circle of dough at a 45° or 90° angle each time you roll over it to ensure that you are flattening all sides equally.

Each time I make this I get a little closer to the throwing-it-in-the-air trick.  Practice makes perfect.

You want the thickness of the dough to be around 3/8 to 1/4 inch.  I like to toss it around my fists a little bit to try to stretch it out, but rolling it on the table is probably the best way to avoid getting holes in your crust.  Place the dough on a lightly oiled cookie sheet or pizza pan.

(The crusts may be frozen at this stage, which is what I did this time.  When you're ready to use, remove from the freezer and allow to thaw for an hour or two before filling.)

Top your crust with whatever you like.  Preheat the oven to 250°C (475°F) and bake your pizza for about 15-20 minutes.

Sprouting things

Okay Steve; I've got one for you.

Steve is a strict vegan, so you would think he'd have to prepare most of his own food.  Alas!  The man has neither a kitchen sink nor a dishwasher, meaning that all dishes must be washed in the bathtub.  Obviously this diminishes one's motivation to cook, so Steve buys most of his food ready-made and wrapped up.  I would criticize Steve for contributing to landfills with all of those wrappers, but he could come right back at me and say that I waste a ton of water on dishes and other things.

Here's something you can add to your menu that won't really contribute to your dishload.

I bought this sprouting jar for about €7, but you could actually transform any old jar into a sprouter by placing a piece of mesh (or panty hose - surely you must have some panty hose lying around?) across the top.

You can buy sprouting seeds at any health food store.  Careful, though: not all seeds can be sprouted in a jar.  Here are some that can:

-Mung bean (soak for 12 hours, harvest after 4 or 5 days)
-Lentils (12 hours, 6-8 days)
-Alfalfa (4 hours, 6-8 days)
-Broccoli (8 hours, 3-5 days)
-Fenugreek (5 hours, 6-8 days)
-Radish (12 hours, 4-5 days)
-Wheat (12 hours, 3-5 days)
-Red clover (8 hours, 3-5 days)

Place the seeds in the jar and cover with water and allow to soak for the recommended time (usually overnight).  Pour the water out, shaking to remove as much moisture as possible.  Place the jar away from direct sunlight in a tilted position, with the mouth over a saucer so that all excess water can drain out.  This is where the screw-on sieve top with the little stand comes in handy.  Otherwise, you could prop the jar into this position with a towel.

Throughout the germination time, rinse the sprouts twice daily, pouring the water over your houseplants, if you have any.

After a few days, you will start to see roots and leaves.  These sprouts are excellent on a salad or sandwich, and they might just add a nice crunch to your microwavable vegan burrito.

Some people have over-hyped the benefits of sprouted grains, claiming that they contain live-giving magical powers and such.  I'm not sure about all of that.  But they do taste good, and they contain just as much protein and fiber as un-sprouted beans, but with an extra crunch.

Really, it's not a lot of work.  Try it out!

Spiced red cabbage

All of the French recipes I've seen for red cabbage include sauteeing it with lardons (bits of pig) and then cooking with white wine.  I went out on a limb this weekend and tried to come up with something more fanciful.  You don't have to have a bad-ass knife like mine, but it can't hurt.

1 small head of red cabbage
1/2 cup white vinegar (the cheap stuff, like cider vinegar for example)
1 medium onion
1 large shallot
2 Tbs walnut oil
A few cups of Shaoxing wine
several grains of allspice
several grains of black pepper
1/2 tsp salt
2 cloves
1/2 bunch mint leaves
1 large black radish

Remove the dark outer leaves from the cabbage, saving them for another use.  Slice the cabbage into half-centimeter layers, and cut off the thick white parts around the base of these.  (Save the leaves and the white parts of the cabbage: they'll both be right at home in your next minestrone).

Quarter the thin circles of cabbage as you slice them off, taking time to appreciate the trippy patterns that may appear on your cutting board.  Duuuude.

 

Once all the cabbage has been chopped into little ribbons in this way, place it in a large, non-reactive bowl with the vinegar.  Toss thoroughly and allow to stand for about 10 minutes.  This is to 'fix' the color of the cabbage, which would otherwise turn bluish grey when cooked.  You can skip this step if you don't mind that, of course.

While the cabbage is getting fixed, peel and finely chop the onion and the shallots.

Rinse the cabbage in cold water to remove excess vinegar.  Heat the walnut oil in a large, heavy bottomed pot over medium high.  Add the onions and shallots, stirring to coat with oil.  Add the cabbage and cook for a few minutes, tossing frequently to try and distribute the heat evenly in your (probably crowded at this point) pot.

Once the cabbage is starting to go soft, add the salt, 3 grains of black pepper, 3 grains of allspice and 2 cloves to the pan, in addition to just enough Shaoxing wine to cover half of the cabbage.   Bring to a boil and then turn the heat down to medium low.  Cover and allow to simmer for around 30 minutes, stirring once every 10 minutes or so.  Finally, remove the lid from the pan and turn the heat up to high, and cook until almost all of the liquid has evaporated.  Turn off the heat.

Peel and slice the black radish into half circles.  Wash the mint leaves if necessary and chop coarsely.  Add the mint and the radish to the cabbage just before serving.  Of course, unless you plan on having eight cabbage-loving friends for dinner tonight, there will be leftovers, and the radish and mint will eventually just turn purple and blend in with the cabbage... not really a problem.

Taste and add salt, pepper, and ground allspice accordingly.  I ate this with wheatberries and chickpeas, which I had soaked the night before and cooked earlier, and with a dollop of silken tofu.  Not bad!  And it must have given me some serious energy, because I went to a party afterwards and stayed out until 4 am, which I hadn't done in years.

Saint-Michel on Saturday

I love my neighborhood every day, but especially on Saturdays, when the Capucins covered market draws the liveliest crowd of vendors and gastronomes of all kinds.  I like to go early, when it's just me, these tiny but feisty blue-hairs, and an occasional group of boisterous young men who never went to bed on Friday night, who come here to fill their bellies before going home and sleeping it off.

A little banter with the drunk boys distracted me from taking the pictures I wanted to this morning.  But I did get a shot of the fromager:

And of these maraichers, who grow all sorts of interesting Asian vegetables just outside of Bordeaux:

After filling up my little shopping caddy here I usually head straight for the other Saturday market, sometimes called "le marché des arabes", which takes place on the square in front of the church.  In the 500 meters between the Capucins and the place Saint Michel I counted no less than SEVEN halal butcher shops.  Seven.  All clustered around my address.  If I'm out and about in the morning, I often walk past the open delivery trucks and catch a glimpse of very identifiable cow carcasses, before they get chopped into something anyone might call appetizing.  So why do I still love my neighborhood?

These little shops offer so much more than meat: it's where I stock up on dried chickpeas and lentils in bulk, olives of all kinds, pickled peppers, preserved lemons, harissa, tahini, olive oil, argan oil, all kinds of spices .... you get the picture!

Plus, I'd rather have friendly, independently owned butcher shops than impersonal, corporation-owned supermarkets anyday.  Am I right?  You should have seen how proud this guy was when I asked him if I could photograph his olives.

On to the marché des arabes:

Let's cut to the chase: what did I bring home?

Do you think this will last me for the week?

Soupe à l'oseille (Oscar the Grouch soup)

In an ideal world, I would still be harvesting more tomatoes than I knew what to do with from a magnificent potager at this time of year.  In reality, I have to make do with window boxes.  I already lost one cherry tomato plant, which grew so tall that one day it just fell off the railing down into the street with a thud.  Terence went down into the street to clean it up while I watched him from the window and cried.

One plant that really thrives in this terra cotta box is sorrel.

To be honest, I have ambivalent feelings about this plant.  It's just not the kind of thing you would want to eat every day, but it's more prolific than any of the other herbs I try to grow (as evidenced by the pitiful coriander seedling, left), so I end up cooking with it anyway.

Sorrel has a sort of citrus-y flavor, and it's loaded with Vitamin C, apparently.  The slight sweetness of red onions and leeks complement it nicely.  Purple + bright green = Oscar the Grouch green in this soup, which I can't wait to serve to my kids under that name.

I know it looks weird, but believe me when I say that it really is good.  Once, in my mother-in-law's kitchen,  when I thought no one was looking, I kept sneaking tastes of a sorrel sauce she had made.  Later in the day she said to me in a low voice: "I saw you were dipping into my sauce."  Oh no!  Caught in the act.  "You know, for me that sauce is like a drug," she said.  I realized that she was right: why else would I be sneaking around like that?

1 large bunch of sorrel leaves
3 small leeks
3 small red onions
3 Tablespoons olive oil
a few celery leaves (optional)
sea salt
3 black peppercorns
3 coriander seeds

Rinse the sorrel leaves and pat them dry, or just wipe off the dirt if they're straight from the garden.

Slice the roots and the toughest dark green leaves off of the leeks and slice them lengthwise.  Rinse them thoroughly and pat them dry.  Peel the onions.

Chop the leeks and the onions coarsely.  Place the olive oil in a large pot over medium-high heat.  Add the leeks and onions and stir for one minute. Turn the heat down to medium and cook for a few minutes, until the vegetables look shiny (see picture below).  Be careful not to let them get brown.

Add the sorrel leaves and (a few celery leaves, if you have some around) all at once.  Turn up the heat if necessary, stirring to incorporate them in with the rest.  Cook until the leaves have shrunk entirely.

Sprinkle on a generous amount of sea salt and add just enough water to cover the vegetables.  Add the peppercorns and coriander seeds.  Turn up the heat all the way and bring to a boil, then cover the pan and turn the heat down to low.  Allow the pot to simmer for about 15 minutes.

Turn off the heat and blend the soup with a stick blender (Be careful not to splash hot soup on yourself!  Just make sure the mixing end of the blender is entirely immersed by tilting the pan so all the liquid is at one end.)

I like to add 1/2 cup of soy yogurt per bowl when serving.  Taste and add salt & pepper if necessary.

Baba Ganoush

There are so many different recipes for this out there, and mine's a composite of a lot of these.  It's a lighter version than many, but you can make this as fattening as you wish by loading up on the tahini.

2 lbs eggplant

2 or 3 cloves of garlic

1 teaspoon salt

juice of two lemons

1 small bouquet of coriander leaves
2 Tablespoons olive oil

1/3 cup tahini

Set the oven to broil.  Pierce each of the eggplants a few times with a fork and place them alongside the garlic cloves in a large baking dish under the broiler.  Roast until they go soft and the skin is wrinkled and leathery (about 15 minutes).  Remove the garlic cloves if they are soft; otherwise continue roasting.  Turn the eggplants over to roast the other side in the same way.  Your eggplants are ready when they look something like this "after" picture:

Remove the dish from the oven and allow to cool.  In the meantime, wash the coriander if necessary and separate the leaves from the stems.

Squeeze the garlic from their skins into the bowl of the food processor, taking care to remove any burned, hard bits that might have formed around the edges.  Add the lemon juice, olive oil, salt and coriander and blend well.  You should end up with a nice creamy liquid.

Once the eggplants are cool enough to handle, peel off their skins and stems.  Drop them into the food processor and blend thoroughly.  Let the food processor run on high speed for a minute or two to incorporate some air.

Pour the contents of the food processor into a large bowl.  Add the tahini with a spoon, stirring well.

Taste and add more salt if necessary, plus a few grinds of black pepper.  You can also add some ground cumin and coriander, if you like.  The final product is so delicious that I like to just eat it with a spoon.  It's also excellent as a dip for raw vegetables (sticks of celery, carrots, fennel...) or for crackers/pita chips.

A few words about my "robot"

French people call food processors "robots", which I find quite adorable.  My mom had a food processor, but I think she used it about twice a year, and then only to chop cabbage for cole slaw (yuck).  It was presented to me as a very dangerous, impractical tool that was a pain to clean and might chop my fingers off. 

Since acquiring my own robot, I've come to regard it as the most indespensable tool in my kitchen.  This one cost me 20€, so it's not like it's a huge investment, and the returns are so great!  Check out the selection on ebay.

Most robots allow you to blend, chop, grate and slice: all at the push of a button.  Sure, it takes a little bit of effort to hand wash all the separate parts after use, but that's nothing compared to the work of finely chopping six onions, for example.

(Update: I should note, before giving my mom the link to this blog, that she has seen the error of her ways and now uses her food processor regularly to make all kinds of tasty things.  And she's a great cook!  I'm just not a fan of cole slaw is all...)