Comfort food
Kitchen corpses (Empanadas de carne)
Kitchen corpses. If you love to cook, you’ll be likely to have a few (too many) of them. You know, those utterly useless machines clogging cabinets and those ‘handy’ utensils always jamming drawers. After every birthday party, you can add a few more precious items to the museum of kitchen futilities. Egg slicers, chocolate fountains, apple corers, pop art toasters or those cutesy corn-shaped skewers for eating the real thing on the cob….basta!
For one of these gadgets I’ll happily make an exception: my empanada maker. To make empanadas, the popular Southern-American pastries, you don’t even need this plastic tool. Latin ladies crank out perfectly shaped half-moons in a flash. And a bit of a rustic look is actually a pro for the home cook. But the thing is, if I don’t grant this empanada maker some precious storage space, I’ll forget to make them. Every time it comes tumbling out of the cabinet when I reach for something else, my friends are in for a treat!
Empanadas de carne
Makes about 8 large empanadas
These empanadas are my take on the traditional Argentinean/Chilean pastries. The dough is supple, not too flaky. It’s a tad bit sweet, which contrasts nicely with the spicy-sweet stuffing. A hearty winter snack!
For the dough:
- 1 egg yolk
- ½ cup water
- 3 tablespoons butter
- 3 tablespoons vegetable shortening (or okay, margarine)
- 2.5 cups of flour (300 grams)
- ½ teaspoon salt
- 1 teaspoon sugar
For the filling:
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 onion, finely chopped
- 1 carrot, finely diced
- 2 small dried chillies (no seeds, finely chopped)
- ½ teaspoon cinnamon
- ¼ teaspoon cumin
- ¼ teaspoon mild paprika powder
- pinch of ground cloves
- ½ teaspoon salt
- 400 grams ground meat (I asked my butcher for a 50% pork, 50% beef mix)
- 3 tablespoons tomato paste
- 3 tablespoons raisins
- splash of white wine vinegar (no more than 1 teaspoon)
Mix the egg yolk and water with a fork until blended.
With your hands (because you don’t own a hand mixer with dough hooks!) work the butter and vegetable shortening into the (sifted) flour, into which you’ve added the salt and sugar.
Add a little bit of the egg mixture and start kneading. Keep adding small amounts of the mixture and keep kneading until you have a supple, smooth dough. If it’s too sticky, add some flour. Shape the dough into a ball, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours.
For the filling, heat the oil and sauté the onion for a few minutes over medium heat until transparent. Add the carrots and sauté for another 2-3 minutes. Add the spices, keep stirring, and add the meat. Stir! When the meat is done, add the tomato paste, raisins and vinegar, mix everything, lower the heat and let simmer for another 10 minutes. If the mixture is too dry, add a spoon of water.
Preheat the oven to 200 °C (375 °F).
Use a rolling pin to roll out the dough until about 3 mm thick (0.12 inches). Cut out circles a bit bigger than the tool’s surface when open. Place the dough on the surface, add a few spoons of the meat mix onto one half (not too much!), close and press well. Scrape off excess dough with a knife, open the form and gently place pastry on a parchment paper-lined baking dish. With a fork, prick a few holes in them. Brush the top with a bit of egg yolk and bake the empanadas about 20 minutes until golden. Let them cool on a rack and serve warm or at room temperature.
Another few beautiful pictures by Luis Herrera!
Aaahhh, butter!
Butter. I’ll spread some on a slice of proper bread, sprinkle it with some sea salt and call it dinner. Or I’ll cook some fresh fish in a good puddle of the stuff and finish off with a squeeze of lemon.
I guess I shouldn’t be saying this out loud in the land of olive oil worshippers, but I really LOVE butter. My mantra: “you can never have enough of a thing that is bad for you.” At its best, butter is creamy but light, with a slightly tart, buttermilky flavor (never sour!). It is bright yellow in color, has a slight shimmer and just screams: FARM FRESH!
So, I guess I shouldn’t even be thinking this at all in the land where every single national foodstuff is revered as a form of GOD, but: Italian butter sucks. It’s bleak and unattractive-looking, just tastes like fat and nothing else. I’m still looking for that one particular type that proves me wrong.
Butter really is one of the things the Dutch can be proud of. Especially of ‘boerenboter’ (farmer’s butter), made of the cream (yeah…butter should be around 84% fat) of fresh, non-homogenized milk. This ‘non-homogenized’ means that winter butter tastes completely different from summer butter, when the cows have been grazing in the meadows.
Pure lactic acid-producing bacteria are added to the cream after which they are left alone for about 36 hours. The cream comes out slightly soured, after which the churning can begin. Churning is basically shaking and beating the cream until it becomes so confused it transforms. Little ‘lumps’ of fat separate from the liquid – the buttermilk. Then, these lumps are rinsed with cold water and worked into a creamy mass that encapsulates the remaining traces of the liquid. The milk proteins emulsify the fat. The way this process is done determines the taste of the butter to a great extent (temperature, duration of churning, etc).
This is one of my favorite lazy recipes. Try to get your hands on some French (Bretagne, Normandie) butter or Irish butter.
Entrecôte with sage and orange butter
Serves 2
- 2 medium-sized entrecotes (rib steak)
- 3 tablespoons fresh butter, room temperature
- 1 tablespoon sage, finely chopped
- 1 tablespoon orange zest, finely chopped
- 1 teaspoon garlic, finely chopped
- 1.5 tablespoons fresh orange juice
- sea salt
Take the meat out of the fridge and its wrapping at least one hour before preparation. Season lightly on both sides with salt and fresh pepper.
In a small bowl, mix butter, sage, orange zests, garlic and juice with a fork to a creamy mass. Season with a bit of fresh sea salt.
Sauté the steaks ( = rare!) in butter and let them rest for about ten minutes, wrapped in aluminum foil.
Serve on preheated plates with a royal dollop of sage butter.
Picture courtesy of Luis Herrera.
Rome-antic dinner for one (vanilla risotto with orange and cardamom caramel)
I hardly ever feel lonely and I surely feel far from desperate. But I have to say, being single in the city of love completely sucks some times. Exactly because being alone and being perfectly fine about it is seen as a gross anomaly in Italian culture. And boy, do they rub it in.
Ah, l’amore!
In the birthplace of San Valentino, public displays of affection (so-called PDA’s) are everywhere. Couples, no matter their age, are walking hand-in-hand, stealing kisses, sharing a gelato. And of course, enjoying romantic vistas together. Lovely. But why do these über-romantic spots seem to be off-limits if you’re not in due?
I deliberately break the unwritten rules when I visit the most romantic spots in Rome by myself. Yes, my Italian friends, you heard it well: ALONE. After a week of hard work, I love to buy a few mignons at Cristalli di Zucchero. Delicate, petit, a perfect treat for one. I take them to the Giardino Degli Aranci, a perfect garden with orange trees and postcard panorama’s. Parco Savello, as is the official name, seems to be out of bounds for the solo visitor, but I can’t care less.
I just sit there on a bench, soaking up the sun and slowly indulging in bignè alla crema or pan di spagna alle mandorle. The entire city is my companion. If I feel extra Rome-antic, I peek through the keyhole of a large gate, which makes Saint Peter’s appear as if it were framed in rose bushes (definitely the worst-kept secret of the city).
I walk home and cook something for myself. Usually dinner is dessert, just because I can. I set the table with a napkin, poor a glass of wine, light a candle and enjoy my company.
I discovered this caramel ‘by accident’, when I was making a spice mix for mulled wine and left it on the stove too long. It’s a perfect sweet companion for the delicate vanilla risotto.
Vanilla risotto with orange and cardamom caramel
Serves 1 romantic soul including nightly leftovers
For the risotto:
- 2-3 cups whole milk
- ½ vanilla pod
- 2 tablespoons butter
- 1 cup arborio rice
- 2 tablespoons sugar
For the orange caramel:
- 1 cup fresh orange juice
- zest of 1 orange
- 3 tablespoons sugar
- 2 cardamom pods, crushed
- 1 piece cinnamon bark
You can prepare this rice pudding risotto-style entirely with whole milk, but I prefer switching to adding hot water at some point, because I don’t like it too milky.
Bring milk to a boil, remove from heat. Add vanilla pod and let it soak for 3 minutes. When soft, slice pod open lengthwise, scrape out seeds and add pod and seeds to the milk.
For the caramel, heat orange juice in a small saucepan with orange zest, sugar, cardamom pods and cinnamon bark. Bring to a boil and let simmer for 15-20 minutes until reduced to about one third. Sieve and let reduce further until liquid caramelizes and thickens. Be careful not to brown the caramel too much. Set aside.
In a heavy-bottomed pot, melt butter over low heat. Add the rice and stir about minute, until all kernels are coated. You shouldn’t let them brown. Bring heat to medium and add about half of the milk. Stir frequently, this will get the starch out of the rice and eventually produce a velvety substance. Slowly add milk when the previous liquid has been almost cooked away. Continue with hot water or more hot milk if necessary, on a slow simmer for about 17 to 20 minutes. The rice grains should be cooked but still firm. Add sugar and taste: the risotto shouldn’t be too sweet. Let the rice stand for a few minutes, then serve in a bowl and drizzle the orange caramel over.
Pictures again made by Luis, my ‘stylist-slash-photographer’. I loooooove your pictures, guapo!
What’s so boring about vanilla? (Shrimp in vanilla-wine sauce)
I was doing some research on vanilla lately and stumbled upon ‘vanilla sex’. I’d never heard about it before. The term is used to describe ordinary lovemaking, as opposed to getting it on in much more inventive, kinky ways. Vanilla is sweet and comforting, thus incredibly boring, say those who favor spicier varieties. They are the same people who are always looking for something new. I have news for them: vanilla can be extremely surprising.
Those who coined the term must have been referring to artificial vanilla. Dull, uninspired, fake. But ‘vanilla sex’ is a terrible insult to real vanilla. There is no spice more enigmatic and sensual than the prized vanilla pod. It reveals its multidimensional taste slowly, like a seductive undressing act, but lingers long and languidly. Even the name of the spice is sensual, if you may believe Wikipedia. The Spanish explorers called it vainilla, or ‘little pod’, a diminutive that shares the etymological roots with the Latin ‘vagina’.
Vanilla plays a starring role in many unforgettable desserts, but it works wonderfully in savory dishes as well. With seafood such as shrimp or lobster it’s pure magic. Other than you may think, they don’t make a sweet couple, but just have an incredibly chemistry together.
Like the best vanilla sex, this dish is lush, exuberant yet comforting and tender. I can assure you, eating it will be an orgasmic experience.
Shrimp in vanilla-wine sauce
Serves 4 as a starter
- 400 gram large shrimp
- 1 cup dry white wine (about 2 dl)
- ½ vanilla pod
- 2 tablespoons butter (unsalted)
- 2 small shallots, chopped as finely as possible
- 1 tablespoon lemon juice
- 3-4 tablespoons heavy cream
- fresh ground black pepper and salt
- 1 teaspoon maple syrup
- 2 tablespoons vegetable oil for frying
- Fresh parsley, coarsely chopped
Clean and devein the shrimp, but keep the shells. Refrigerate the shrimp. In a wok, stir-fry the shells and heads over high heat until they start to turn red. Add 2 tablespoons of water, fry one minute more and strain to extract a shrimp ‘broth’. Set aside.
In a small sauté or saucepan, bring the wine to a boil and turn off. Add the vanilla pod and let it steep for 5 minutes until soft. Remove the vanilla pod, slice it open and scrape out the seeds. Put seeds and pod back into the pan and set aside for 20 minutes so the flavors can blend.
In a medium sauté pan, slowly melt 1 tablespoon butter and add the shallots. Let them soften for 5 minutes, make sure they don’t go brown. Add wine (remove the pod first), lemon juice and shrimp stock, bring everything to a boil and reduce the liquid on low heat to about half the amount. Add the cream and let it reduce further until you have a thick substance. If the sauce appears to be to thick, add some more wine. Add salt and freshly ground pepper to taste and slightly sweeten with maple syrup if you like (the sauce should by no means become too sweet). Turn of the heat, cut up the remaining butter in small pieces and vigorously stir them in, one by one until the sauce is velvety. Keep warm.
In a large wok, heat 2 tablespoons of vegetable oil over high heat. Stir-fry the shrimp until done (about 2 minutes). Add them to the sauce, mix well and serve immediately with chopped parsley.
(vanilla pods: stock picture)
You can also serve this dish with white (coconut) rice as a main dish.
