by Liz Hickok
As soon as we have the soup and Daddy makes sure I’m holding the covered pot tightly between my short legs, we make our way back home. I’m so short I can barely peek out the car window. I spy other neighborhoods, white church steeples, and my favorite library. We enter a dark tunnel and then, on the other side, pass very tall trees along Sunset Boulevard. My mouth waters as I think about the soup treat. It is 1950. Worries are set aside. We are going to enjoy delicious wonton soup!
From this kinder’s perspective, we are about to have the best possible treat.
A fond memory of life in San Francisco.
Rise of the Cream Puff
By Heather Fong
Warmth from depths of the oven, forever stained with burnt-on lemon custard, permeates the kitchen air. The fragrance of the molten chocolate and butter mingling together tickles my nose in the best possible way. My mouth moistens in anticipation of biting into a fresh chocolate chip cookie, no matter that I know exactly what it tastes like, or that I’ll burn my tongue in my haste. This is how an ideal winter afternoon begins.
Not every baking adventure is this blissful, however. The first time I made cream puffs, at the tender age of eleven, was a failure. My mom suggested that I double the recipe; more dessert is always better at our family parties. Everything was fine until I slid the baking sheets out of the oven, and they resembled hockey pucks more than puffs. With the wisdom of a couple more years, I’m now curious why they went wrong: maybe the batter was too wet or too dry, or the oven temperature wasn’t hot enough, or they were undercooked. But back then, my brain fast-tracked to pouting, made more dramatic by Mom’s insistence to bring them anyways, since she thought they tasted fine.
My grandma loved them; she even asked for the recipe. Chances are she was being, well, my grandma. I was too young to comprehend such a bias, and instead, ran off to play with my cousins to avoid having to explain the depressing blobs to all the aunts.
A three year hiatus of anything homemade cream puff-related passed, though I had no qualms about tucking into the chocolate dipped cream puffs from the bakery near school. I was so weary of this batch not rising that I found another recipe, one that had the unusual addition of baking powder (normally cream puffs rely on eggs and steam in order to expand), so that the cream puffs would have extra insurance. In my eagerness to redeem myself, I confused baking soda with baking powder. The two leavenings differ in language by one simple word, but in taste and texture, they differ significantly. The result: a product that tasted chemically and artificial, with the “poof” factor missing completely.
I waited another two years for my next attempt. I wasn’t about to let little cabbages (the literal meaning of pâte à choux) get to me. I checked labels multiple times, and consulted the instructions repeatedly. After sliding the trays into the oven, the dough balls were out of sight. I steeled myself at the ring of the timer, mentally inventorying if there was coffee ice cream and butter in the house: the former as motivation to start another round, and the latter to actually make and bake a subsequent batch.
I opened the oven door a crack, still waiting for disaster.
I was in denial. I rubbed my eyes, and the roughness of the oven mitts brought me back to reality. The beauties were golden, the shade of a perfectly toasted marshmallow. The puffs proudly stood a couple of inches tall, as if to reassure me, the anxious baker. They were even more gorgeous when filled to the brim with fresh strawberry whipped cream. I registered the sweetness of the berries, the fluffiness of the cream, and the buttery pastry. The slight crunch of the exterior provided a contrast of texture against the slight chew of the inside pastry bits and the smoothness of the filling. The perfect bite, savored for as long as possible.
The kitchen inevitably slowed; the clean dishes dripped onto the drying rack and into the sink, the oven progressing from hot to lukewarm to cool. The only evidence left was on the table, populated with crumbs and pale pink smears where dollops of cream had fallen before a quick delivery into the mouth. And that too would soon be erased in the kitchen, but not easily forgotten. Not by the vultures, whose clamors for More, more! would fail to penetrate my bubble, and least of all by me, of peace until the next cream puff.
An Epicure in Andalusia
By Patricia Collins
There is something about the people of Andalusia that mirrors their regional cuisine: They are approachable, delightful, and subtly but deeply complex.
From the Seville Airport to downtown Seville, after my day of international flight, my taxi driver sang classical flamenco songs, welcoming me to Andalusia with his expression of love for his cultural heritage. The effects I felt from the chaos and confusion of traveling from Sunnyvale to Seville dissolved away with his lyrical cante flamenco.
Despite eyes that wanted to close, my mind was full of Internet images of the place I intended to dine that evening, La Brunilda Tapas, and of its tapas offerings. Andalusia is the original home of tapas. While my plans for each day would be quite flexible, dining would not be left to caprice. I settled in my hotel room, glad that I had arranged for a suite with a “real” shower, something apparently difficult to find in Spanish hotels. I showered, rested, and dressed for the evening.
I arrived shortly after the 9 pm opening of La Brunilda, already prepared to wait for a table in a line that ran out of the restaurant doors and became small clusters of friends passing the time. Late evening sunlight still dappled house-fronts on either side of the narrow, cobblestone camino. I edged my way through the door to put my name on the waiting list, a table for one. About sixteen people already waiting for tables in a bistro that could seat about thirty.
The servers bustled; the diners relaxed; I relaxed, patiently waiting to enjoy the highly recommended cuisine. I wedged myself between a server station and a wall for a while. Another waiting customer smiled, approached, and offered advice on being served: Put your name on the list for a table and wait at least an hour, or stand behind someone sitting at the tapas bar and take their seat as soon as it becomes available. The latter was her intention and she offered, with her partner, to show me how it’s done.
We exchanged pleasantries while she estimated how long it would take for this bar patron or that to finish what remained on their plates. To my relief and her apparent pleasure, she eyed three seats that would soon open up; there were only six seats at the tapas bar in total. I slid onto a barstool, caught the server’s eye, and ordered a glass of locally-produced Campo Viejo Rioja Reserva. In Spain’s restaurants, wine storage is carefully maintained, with one wine cooler reserved for reds and another, at a lower temperate, for whites. This vacation was all about the food, but it quickly also became all about the wine.
My dining companions explained that bacalaítos, salt-cod fritters, are a regional specialty, basic to any exploration of Andalusian cuisine. So that would be one of the tapas I ordered. Tapas de Risotto con Queso Idiazábal y Setos would be the first of many styles of risotto I enjoyed in Andalusia, Provence, and Tuscany. But for now, who could resist a creative risotto with a signature Basque sheep’s milk cheese and locally grown mushrooms?
My gregarious dining partner was studying law; her fiancé was an engineer. They lived in different cities and always ate at La Brunilda when they met in Seville. I shared my intention for this vacation: to learn more about regional cuisines. They noticed my little black book and I explained that with each meal, I would take photographs and gather as much information as I could about the dishes I ordered. Yes, writing in a physical book with a physical pen. No, taking notes on a phone would not do at all. Cooking and eating are physical delights; writing by hand affords time to capture the experience more thoughtfully. It is sensual in the way that creating food and enjoying a meal are. Mobile phones are not sensual.
The bacalaítos arrived first: light, fried cod fritters with an Asian pear aioli that redefined what an aioli could be.
The preparation of bacalaítos begins by soaking salt cod in water for a full day, changing th
e water from time to time so that most of the salt will be leached out. The rehydrated cod is poached in milk and chopped scallions. Mashed potatoes are beaten together with the cod, then mixed with olive oil, scallion tops, and fresh parsley. Fresh lemon juice stands in for salt and freshly ground black pepper adds a little heat.
Once chilled and firm, the cod mixture is shaped into small balls that are then flattened into roughly round discs, each one to be dusted with flour, dipped in beaten egg, and then coated with bread crumbs. The frying process will turn the crust crisp and golden and the entire cod fritter piping hot. This is comfort food, Seville-style.
Any aioli requires careful attention but one that adds fruit should be more delicate in flavor and structure than a traditional aioli; it asks much more of the cook. One trick is to use only egg whites to achieve the desired texture and height. Pared, cubed Asian pears must be cooked just until tender, then drained and pressed to remove most of the excess moisture. They should be thoroughly combined with light touches of lemon zest, lemon juice, white wine vinegar, and honey—all of which support the lightly fruity flavor. Once the egg whites are whipped into soft peaks, a combination of light olive oil and vegetable oil (nothing that would turn this white aioli green!) is drizzled, a small amount at a time, into the egg whites while whipping until thoroughly combined and the egg whites have formed stiff peaks. At that point, the pear mixture is gradually and very gently folded into the egg whites, being careful not to lose the delicate structure. White ground pepper will add more interest to the aioli.
My dining companions were eager to hear my reaction to the bacalaítos, a pride of the region. The aioli was so surprisingly different and such a fine complement to the coarser nature of the bacalaítos that a forkful of the combination formed a fine balance for the palate. The plating highlighted the complementarity of fritter and aioli, fritters arranged in a seemingly haphazard way (that is, carefully made to look casually placed) running the length of a rectangular plate; large, white aioli puffs-- like an oversized string of pearls—on the other side.
While I was taking photos and scribbling notes, the risotto arrived. Served in a shallow bowl with a wide lip that was sprinkled with fresh oregano and cracked black pepper, the risotto itself was creamy with medium body.
Unlike the more common understated use of minced shallot, this risotto is made bolder with a substantive use of finely chopped yellow onion. With the sautéed (almost caramelized) onion, mushrooms are tossed in to be sautéed as well. Once the Arborio rice has been mixed in, the process follows a standard method of cooking the rice, using white wine and broth. When the rice is al dente, grated cheese and butter are folded in. As with most risottos, the cheese should not dominate. A small amount of Idiazábal cheese gives the La Brunilda chef’s recipe part of its signature taste. An artistic topping of sautéed porcini mushrooms, peeled and roasted asparagus spears, and crumbled center-cut bacon provide harmonious textures, flavors, and color accents.
I knew before leaving the restaurant that I would be making this risotto for many years and many friends. After eating far too much (tapas translate to “little plates” but that is a misnomer in Andalusia), I thanked my eating companions for their excellent recommendations and wished them well.
Returning to the camino around 11 pm, the air was still warm, the breeze now cool, and the sky not yet entirely dark. I strolled back to my hotel, still savoring my dining experience and my welcome to Spain.
❦
RECIPES
Tapas de Bacalaítos con Aioli de Peras
(Cod Fritters with Pear Aioli)
Serves 4
INGREDIENTS
For the cod fritters
1 lb. salt cod (bacalao)
1 ¼ lb. white potatoes
1 ¼ cups milk
6 green onions finely chopped
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1 Tbsp. fresh parsley
Juice of ½ lemon
2 eggs, beaten
Plain (all-purpose) flour, for dusting
3 ½ oz. dried white breadcrumbs
Enough olive oil for shallow frying
Lemon wedges
For the Asian pear aioli
1 Asian pear, peeled and cubed
2 egg whites
1 Tbsp. extra virgin olive oil
1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
2 tsp. minced lemon zest
1 Tbsp. lemon juice
½ Tbsp. white wine vinegar
1 tsp. honey
Salt & white ground pepper to taste
INSTRUCTIONS
For the cod fritters
Soak the salt cod in cold water for at least 24 hours, changing the water two or three times. The cod should swell as it rehydrates. Sample a tiny piece. It should not taste too salty when fully rehydrated. Drain well and pat dry with paper towels.
Cook the potatoes, unpeeled, in a pan of boiling water for about 15-20 minutes, until tender. Drain. As soon as they are cool enough to handle, peel the potatoes, then mash until fairly uniform in texture.
Pour the milk into a pan. Add half the chopped onions and bring to a simmer. Add the soaked cod and poach very gently for 10-15 minutes, or until the cod flakes easily. Remove the cod and flake it with a fork into a bowl, discarding bones and skin.
Add 4 tablespoons of mashed potato to the cod and beat them together with a wooden spoon. Work in the olive oil, then gradually add the remaining mashed potato. Beat in the remaining green onions and the parsley.
Season with lemon juice and pepper to taste. Add one beaten egg to the mixture and thoroughly combine, then chill the mixture until firm.
Shape the chilled fish mixture into 12-18 balls, then gently flatten into small round cakes. Coat each one in flour, then dip in the remaining beaten egg and coat with dried breadcrumbs. Chill until ready to fry.
Heat about ¾” oil in a large, heavy frying pan. Add the fritters and cook over a medium-high heat for about 4 minutes. Turn them over and cook for a further 4 minutes, until crisp and golden. Drain on paper towels. Serve with the aioli and lemon wedges.
For the Asian pear aioli
Placed cubed pears into a saucepan with just enough water to cover. Cook over a medium heat until the pear cubes are just tender (about 8 minutes).
Drain the pears, pressing to remove excess moisture, and place into a blender. Create a smooth paste.
Whip egg whites until soft peaks form.
Slowly drizzle in the oils and beat at a slow speed.
Combine the lemon zest, lemon juice, wine vinegar, and honey. Add them gradually to the egg whites, whipping until the egg whites form stiff peaks.
Add salt (optionally) and white pepper to taste.
Place the aioli in an airtight container and store in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Bring to room temperature before serving with the fritters.
❦
Tapas de Risotto con Queso Idiazábal y Setas
(Risotto with Idiazábal Cheese and Mushrooms)
Serves 4
INGREDIENTS
8 oz. yellow onion, finely chopped
10 oz. fresh porcini mushrooms, in thick slices
1 cup Arborio rice
⅓ cup white wine
2 cups chicken broth, kept hot
4 Tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
4 Tbsp. grated Idiazábal cheese
1 Tbsp. butter
Salt & ground pepper
8 asparagus spears, trimmed and peeled
¼ cup chopped center-cut bacon, skillet-cooked until cooked through but not crisp (keep warm)
2 green onions, sliced (using only the white and light green parts)
2 Tbsp. chopped fresh oregano leaves, finely chopped
Coarsely cracked black peppercorns
INSTRUCTIONS
In 1 Tbsp. olive oil, slowly heat the chopped onion. Cook it, letting it sweat, until the onion is translucent and has yielded a little caramelization.
Add the sliced mushrooms and continue to sweat until the mushroom juices
have evaporated. Reserve about 2 oz. of the sautéed mushrooms as a garnish.
Add the rice and mix thoroughly.
Add the wine and 1/3 cup of the broth. Simmer the rice mixture with the pot lid slightly ajar. When the liquid is absorbed, add more of the heated broth, ½ cup at a time. Continue cooking until the rice is cooked through and slightly creamy.
Add the grated cheese and butter. Check for salt and adjust as needed. Add salt and ground pepper to taste.
Meanwhile, grill the asparagus spears in a sauté pan or in the broiler of the oven until just cooked through and reheat the bacon.
Atop the risotto, place two spears of asparagus and sprinkle the crumbled bacon to one side. Add a few thin slices of the green onion. Lightly sprinkle the fresh oregano and cracked peppercorns around the perimeter of the dish.
Homecoming Soup
By Lianne Card
Whenever I return from my travels, soul and body yearn to reconnect after hovering between time zones. To anchor and bring myself home, I make soup. Even before doing a load of laundry, or clearing the kitchen table with mail and a voluminous stack of San Jose Mercury News issues piled high during my absence, I feel compelled to make a soup that will replenish my energies and feed my family.