Impromptu Autumnal Celebration Feast

I really do love fall produce. Yesterday, I snatched up two pounds of quinces, two pints of fresh chestnuts, a large knobby celery root (celeriac) and a half-dozen Yukon Gold potatoes. Today I added one of my favorite varieties of apples, the newly-available Honeycrisp hybrid. I may use the quinces to make jam, since I'm getting perilously close to the end of last year's batch, but I'll probably keep them around for a while to perfume the house and look festive.

The rest of my haul got used in tonight's dinner. All I had planned to make was a simple and comforting dinner of soup and bread, but I found aged Mahon cheese on sale when I bought the apples, which added a first course. The chestnuts I had roasted and peeled last night had to get used for something pretty quickly, and I remembered that the chestnut paste I had made for the chestnut risotto in The Olives Table had been much tastier on its own than in the risotto, so I thought I'd experiment with making it into a spread to have with the soup. I also remembered while roasting the chestnuts that I had two unused roasted sweet potatoes in the fridge, and, having been tempted by a pumpkin pie while buying bread, I decided to throw together a brulee-like sweet potato custard baked in ramekins (because I was too lazy to bother with pastry).

Bit by bit, without even intending to, I managed to put together a meal so full of fall flavors and so unpretentiously grand that it could easily count as a feast. I've spent three times as long on Thanksgiving menus less well-rounded than this. As a matter of fact, I may use some of these elements for Thanksgiving this year. This dinner was a lovely way to wind down the weekend and ring in the season, and I didn't even break a sweat. Don't you just love it when things work out this well?

A Celebration of Autumn

First Course
Honeycrisp Apples and Aged Mahon Cheese

Main Course
Celeriac and Yukon Gold Potato Soup
Thyme-scented Chestnut Pate on Toasts

Dessert
Sweet Potato Brulees

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Celeriac and Yukon Gold Potato Soup
Serves 6-8

1 tablespoon unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 onions, finely chopped
2 large shallots, finely chopped
4 ribs celery, roughly chopped
1 large celery root, peeled and diced
4 Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and diced
6 cups vegetable stock
1 1/2 teaspoons salt, or to taste (depending on saltiness of stock)
Half a dozen grinds black pepper, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon ground celery seed
1/2 cup to 1 cup half & half

Heat the butter and olive oil in a large pot until the butter is melted. Add the onions and shallots, and saute until softened. Add the celery and continue cooking for two minutes. Add the celery root, potatoes, stock, salt, pepper, and celery seed, and bring to a boil. Cover and reduce heat to maintain a simmer until the celery root and potatoes are soft, approximately 30-40 minutes.

Puree the soup with an immersion blender or food mill until smooth. Stir in enough half & half to thin to desired consistency, correct the seasonings, and serve.

Notes: Leeks would certainly work well here, but I only had onions and shallots on hand.

Thyme-Scented Chestnut Pate
Makes 2 cups

1 1/2 cups chestnuts, roasted and peeled
1 onion, minced
1/2 cup cream
1/2 cup vegetable broth
1 tablespoon honey
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
Salt and pepper to taste

Combine all the above in a small saucepan and bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer gently until the chestnuts are tender, approximately 20 minutes. Puree in a food processor until smooth, adding additional cream if necessary. Season to taste and serve with good bread, preferably toasted.

Notes: Since this made way more than the Lord and I can reasonably finish in the next few days, I'm thinking of freezing it and using it later as a filling for ravioli, as suggested in the recipe notes.

Sweet Potato Brulees
Makes 4 large brulees or 6-8 in ramekins

2 large sweet potatoes, baked and mashed (approx. 14 oz)
1/2 cup dark brown sugar, packed
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground mace
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
3 large eggs
1 cup plus two tablespoons half & half
2 tablespoons rum
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Coarse sugar for bruleeing

Preheat oven to 375F.

Whisk together the sweet potatoes, sugar, and dry ingredients until smooth. Whisk in the eggs, half & half, rum and vanilla, then pour into brulee molds or ramekins. Place on a baking sheet lined with a towel, and pour in enough hot water to thoroughly soak the towel, being careful not to splash into the custards.

Bake the custards until no longer jiggly in the center when shaken gently, approximately 20 minutes. Cool completely.

Just before serving, sprinkle the tops of the custards with a thin, even layer of sugar, and brulee with a kitchen torch or under the broiler until bubbling and caramelized. Once the sugar hardens, serve with whipped cream or ice cream.

Notes: The spices were a tiny bit heavy in this recipe, which I modified from last year's pumpkin pie. While you don't really expect to taste much pumpkin flavor in pumpkin pie, I do like the taste of sweet potatoes and I would have preferred that their flavor had been a little more prominent here. Next time, I'll probably cut the spices by at least a third, and use bourbon instead of rum for a more Southern note.

I didn't actually brulee them, since my torch is out of butane, but I definitely would have if I'd had the gas. Besides the fact that I just love playing with the torch, I think the crunch of the sugar would make a nice contrast with the smoothness of the custard.

Brownie Manifesto

If the chocolate chip cookie is the quintessential All-American Cookie, the brownie is its somewhat edgy and disreputable but tolerantly adored younger sibling. The chocolate chip is crisp and buttery and enjoyable, but no amount of tinkering with a chocolate chip cookie will make it seem anything less than wholesomely straightforward. The brownie, on the other hand, even in its plainest, most unadorned form, is flirtatiously naughty as it flaunts its mahogany cocoa depths. You know, when you're sinking your teeth into a brownie, that it's more than an afternoon snack; it's an indulgence. The only people I know who don't love brownies are the (if you ask me, somewhat suspect) individuals who don't care for chocolate at all, and while there is plenty of room for a disappointment if you're buying a commercial product, there are few pleasures more reliable than a fresh-from-the-oven brownie -- even, I have to admit, if it's just from a mix.

That said, opinions on what a really good brownie should be are bitterly divided. The Fudgy and Cakey Camps are as far apart as the Montagues and the Capulets, with recriminations and scorn awaiting anyone who dares to set foot in the enemy's territory. This cold war is even at play in my own household. The Lord is adamant that the only good brownie is a cakey brownie, and he will actually turn up his nose at anything else. While I love him dearly and respect his solid and sound judgment in a great many things, he's dead wrong on this point. A good brownie should be dense and sinful, dark and chewy beneath a crackly top crust, redolent of butter and so heady with cocoa solids that you can practically feel the tropical sun and smell the verdant fields of an equatorial cacao plantation with every bite. A good brownie should recklessly skirt the dangerous line between cookie and flourless chocolate cake, not stray into the murky no man's land between cookie and insipid devil's food cake. The only ground I'm willing to concede on this point is on the question of additions: I'm a walnut fan, but I can respect those who insist that nothing should sully the purity of the chocolate experience.

There are a lot of very good recipes for brownies at the fudgy end of the spectrum (many more, I think, than on the cakey end, since every time I look for a recipe more to the Lord's taste, nothing I try ends up satisfying him). My standard recipe lately is from Ghirardelli, although I'm not blindly loyal to it and will happily try any others that look promising. The nice thing about Ghirardelli's is that it's simple enough to throw together with very few ingredients and half an hour of time, and it responds well to tinkering. Tonight, I increased the amount of vanilla to use up the last of one bottle, threw in a spoonful of espresso powder, and added both nuts and white chocolate chips.

(I know, I know, white chocolate is an abomination, but I bought them for a recipe and have been trying to finish the bag ever since. This seemed like a benign place to put them, and they really are fine as an adjunct to something genuinely chocolatey.)

These are dense, fudgy, rich in chocolate flavor, and practically effortless to put together. If they're not the absolute ideal of brownies, they're close enough to count as...

Manifesto Brownies
Makes 1 8 x 8 pan of brownies, or approx. 16 brownies depending on how parsimoniously you slice them

4 oz high-quality semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate
1/2 cup (1 stick) cold unsalted butter
1 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 teaspoon espresso powder
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 large eggs
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup white chocolate chips
1/2 cut walnut pieces

Preheat oven to 350F. Line an 8x8-inch pan with parchment paper so that the edges hang over the sides to form handles for lifting out the brownies later, then butter and lightly flour the pan. Cut the chocolate and the butter into roughly one-inch pieces and combine in a large microwave-safe bowl. Microwave until just melted together, checking frequently and stirring often. Let cool to room temperature.

When the chocolate mixture has cooled, stir in the brown sugar, espresso powder and vanilla. Add the eggs, mixing very well.

In a separate bowl, sift or whisk together the flour, baking powder and salt. Fold the flour mixture into the chocolate mixture until well-combined, then stir in the chips and nuts.

Pour the batter into the prepared pan, smoothing the top, and bake for 25-30 minutes, until the top is firm and a tester comes out mostly clean. (Underbake slightly if you want a really fudgy texture.) Let cool, then pull the brownies out of the pan with the parchment paper handles, and slice into squares.

Crimson Madness

Damn that real life, getting in the way of blogging. Here's hoping it will be more respectful in the future.

While I was gone, autumn officially arrived. Oh, sure, it's getting colder and wetter, the days are shorter, and the leaves are turning, but that isn't what makes it official. What makes it official, for me at least, is the sudden onset of my own particular brand of Seasonal Affective Disorder: the Cranberry Craze. I love all the fall produce, from pears to pumpkins, but I lose all sense of reason or proportion when the cranberries start appearing in the stores. I'm like a moth drawn to the flame, helpless to resist the siren call of these little garnet beauties. I'll buy two bags at a time, every single time I go to the store, until well past Thanksgiving, until my freezer resembles a gumball machine, until Ocean Spray starts sending me personally signed letters of deep and sincere gratitude. I don't have nearly enough recipes to use up all those berries, and I'll end up freezing cups and cups of cranberry sauce (the default option), but it doesn't matter. All that matters is snatching them up and finding some way, any way, to show off their perfect ruby gleam.

It's a recent infatuation, this mad passion for cranberries. I hated them for years, never understanding the point of the sour, acerbic, weirdly gelatinous stuff Mom insisted on setting alongside the turkey. Something odd happened when I moved to Boston, though. Overnight, without even realizing it, I tossed aside those years of contempt and fell head-over-heels in love with them, and with the bogs they grow in. There's just something about how cranberries grow, the sandy, swampy place of their birth, and the way that they're harvested, that just struck me as wonderfully romantic and so perfectly symbolic of New England itself. What moors were to the Brontes, cranberry bogs are to me, and although I loathe those soul-sucking endless winters and never want to be subject to another one ever again, I might actually be tempted to move back if it meant having my own cranberry bog. It's a strange little sickness, I know, but there you are.

So you see, with that level of weakness, it was a given that I would buy a gigantic container of fresh cranberries when I saw them at Trader Joe's this weekend. When I got them home, I flipped through cookbooks and Googled madly, looking for some new and interesting way to showcase these beloved little gems. I finally decided to try a recipe for Cranberry Nut Bars, from Ocean Spray by way of an article in the Detroit News, mostly because I was feeling slightly lazy after spending a good amount of my Sunday baking reserves making scones that morning for breakfast. Since this recipe involved melting the butter and quickly stirring things together, it seemed a great candidate for Sunday baking, and since it wouldn't use up all the cranberries, I figured I had nothing to lose if they turned out awfully. I went in with low expectations, but I ended up being pleasantly surprised. These bars are simple and quick, but also quite tasty and rather pretty in their craggy, fruit-and-nut-studded poundcake-like austerity, and they were a huge hit with the coworkers this morning. I will probably tinker with the recipe a bit, since I can't leave well enough alone. I think a few spices and some orange zest, and perhaps a slightly higher ratio of walnuts and a few more berries, would make it even better. I would probably also toast the walnuts first, to bring out more of their flavor and crunch. Still, it's an effortless and very auspicious start to the season of cranberry-induced temporary insanity.

Cranberry Nut Bars
Makes 16 bars

2 eggs
1 cup sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup butter, melted
1 1/4 cups fresh or frozen cranberries
1/2 cup chopped walnuts

Preheat oven to 350 degrees, and grease an 8-inch baking pan.

Beat eggs in medium mixing bowl until thick. Gradually add sugar and beat until thoroughly blended, then incorporate the melted butterl.

Gently fold in flour, then add cranberries and walnuts and mix just until evenly distributed.

Spread batter evenly in the pan. Bake for 40 to 45 minutes, or until golden and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

Cool and cut into 16 bars.

Sunday Night Cookie Blogging: How Not to Be a Domestic Goddess

Do not try to bake when you're so tired that you can barely string two coherent thoughts together. It will lead to fun developments like leaving the brown sugar out of the cookies, which would be fine if you're making dog biscuits, but not so great if you're trying for something for human consumption.

I haven't made a mistake like that in years. I really should have known better, since I wasn't even lucid enough to pay attention to Mystery. I'll try again during the week, along with the promised installment of Celebrity Chefs I Hate.