Honest Cooking

I'm excited to announce that I'll be a regular contributor to Honest Cooking - the online food magazine. You can find me over there, writing a column called A Conscientious Kitchen. If you have a moment and a raw pesto made of sweet Bordeaux spinach tickles your fancy, then head on over and check out my first post.

Ice Pop Cubes

The ice cream man inspired these frozen fruit cubes.

The other day, when it was actually sunny and warm and the ice cream man was making his rounds, I got to thinking about all of the delicious old-school ice pops I used to consume. Using superhuman hearing powers that kids only reserve for the tinkle of the ice cream man's song, we could detect him from blocks away. As kids flooded from their houses to greet him, I too, hounded my mother for money and, as fast as my little legs could carry me, darted out of the house for fear that I would miss him. When it was my turn, I almost always ordered either a pineapple FrozFruit pop or a Firecracker, with its icy layers of red, white and blue. The latter was my number one pick mainly because the blue coloring - which was probably toxic - used to make my mouth look like Viola Beauregarde after a trip to Willy Wonka's factory.

Fast forward to my adult self. Memorial Day weekend is upon us and it is the official kickoff to summer. When I think about the summer, I like to imagine lots of BBQs in the sun. But with all of that food and sunshine, one is at risk of becoming parched. Which is where cocktails come in. It's always a real downer when I'm handed a scintillating cocktail and then, before I have time to finish, the ice cubes melt and it's all watered down - leaving both me and the cocktail kind of sad looking. In an effort to combat this inevitable cocktail atrophy, I whipped up a batch of ice-pop-inspired cubes, using real fruit - so that when they melt, the drink only becomes better. Genius.

Instead of blue #2 and red #4, I made blueberry and strawberry fruit purees to color and flavor my cubes. These mixed berry cubes might melt particularly well into a strawberry cocktail or even to make a mixed berry version of these blueberry bucks. And, as an homage to my FrozFruit pops, I made pure pineapple cubes - because who wouldn't love a Bay Breeze cooled with pineapple ice cubes?

Initially, I saw these fruit cubes as destined for a variety of vodka-based drinks, but also maybe at the bottom of a sparkling glass of Prosecco as an interesting twist on a bellini. And, obviously, frozen fruit cubes aren't exclusively handy for adult bevvies - they could be a great addition to liven up plain old sparkling water or even to create a flavored lemonade.

Fruit cubes are simple to make - all you need is your favorite types of fruit, frozen or fresh, some water, sugar and a blender. You can experiment by pairing different fruit flavored cubes with whatever cocktails tickle your fancy.

What you'll need:
Frozen or fresh fruit of choice, 3/4 cup
Sugar, 1-2 tsp {depending on how sweet you want the cubes}
Water, 1/4-1/3 cup

Defrost the fruit ahead of time.
Put fruit, water and sugar in the blender.
Puree.
Taste and adjust sugar/water if necessary. You want the puree to be pourable, a similar consistency to fresh squeezed juice.
Pour into ice cube trays.
If you want to layer the fruit - as in the mixed berry cube I made - fill the ice cube molds only halfway and allow the first layer to freeze solid. Once it's frozen, add the second layer of fruit puree - filling to the top. Place back in the freezer until solid.
Use as you would regular ole' ice cubes.

A Chocolate Tart - With a Side of Humility

It's not the most perfect looking tart you or I have ever seen. I know this. I did have a fleeting moment where I thought about a re-do, but I banished that thought from my mind almost as quickly as it arrived. This is the reality of cooking, especially baking. Despite the best efforts of glossy food magazines that definitely want us to think otherwise, it's not all shiny cheerful perfection.

I was overconfident and impatient. Not an ideal combination for any chef, a pastry chef particularly, which is perhaps why pastry was never my calling. I had a moment in my kitchen that was like a Daffy Duck cartoon. Except, where he had an Angel Daffy on one shoulder and a Devil Daffy on the other - I had my culinary school chef instructor and a cool, peer-pressuring version of myself. Just like Daffy, each shoulder offered conflicting advice. The instructor screamed {in a French accent}, don't skip the blind bake, it's vital. Meanwhile, on the other shoulder, I cajoled myself to break the rules - com'on, just pierce it with a fork, the blind bake is so old-school - and such a hassle. It'll be cool. 

In the end, I sided with myself. I knew the risk I was taking and lo and behold - I shouldn't have skipped the blind bake.

My pastry crust shrank back. C'est la vie. And it is, perhaps, this exact attitude that set me apart from the rest when I worked in restaurants. Ok, ok - so table #8 isn't happy with the temperature of their steak. Am I gonna get all fired up about it? Treat it like the world is crumbling around us? I think not. I'll probably just take it in stride and cook another steak. So, instead of starting over, I accepted the shrunken pastry and moved on.

But the bad decisions fueled by impatience continued. Once the tart was assembled and in the oven, I heard the warnings of that chef instructor - do not open the oven to check on the tart, you will lose the heat. On the other side, my chilled-out, confident self coaxed - just one peek won't hurt. Who did I listen to?

You see - the tantalizing smell of baking chocolate proved too strong of a force. My willpower was defeated, almost instantly I might add. Since my oven lacks even a smudged window to peer through, I opened it - just for a quick glance. But, once again, my impatience got the best of me and all of the opening and shutting of the oven door caused an uneven oven temperature. Voilà, my chocolate cracked.

But if you think for even one second that a little shrinking pastry and a scattering of cracks on the surface made this tart any less scrumptious, you are sorely mistaken. The still-gooey chocolate filling combined with the buttery pastry and melted in mouth, almost eliminating the need to chew. I can assure you, it was divine.

Although it didn't disappoint in the taste department, this chocolate tart isn't the most beautiful I've ever made - it certainly wasn't my finest hour. It dealt a little blow to my ego that was a reminder of the importance of patience and humility in cooking, which is maybe even a life lesson that we could all use a dose of every now and then. But I'll tell you this - it's a pill more easily swallowed when served with a slice of chocolate tart.

I make my pastry by hand - in part because I don't have a food processor - but also because I trust my hands to guide me through the delicate pastry making process. The feel of the butter integrating with the flour. Knowing when enough water has been added. I feel more in control when I use my hands and so the recipe that follows is for handmade pastry.

Blind baking requires a bit of parchment paper and enough dried beans to weigh down the tart shell, preventing it from shrinking back and/or puffing up too much. Kitchen stores sell "special" bean-shaped weights for blind baking, but I think those are kind of a waste of money. You can do the same job with a jar of dried beans reserved solely for this use. Just remember, you can't cook with those beans after you have used them for blind baking - so just keep them on hand for use again and again.

What you'll need for one 9" tart:
For the pâte brisée, aka all'round shortbread crust
flour, 1 1/4 cups
sugar, 1 1/2 tsp
salt, 1/2 tsp
unsalted butter, 1 stick, cold and cubed
ice water, 1/4-1/3 cup

For the chocolate ganache filling
bittersweet chocolate, 7 oz. (~200g), broken into pieces
heavy cream, 1 cup
egg, 1

In a large bowl, sift or whisk together the flour, sugar and salt.
Add the cold cubes of butter to the flour and, using your fingertips, rub the butter into the flour until you achieve a sandy consistency.
Add the ice cold water, a few drops at a time, incorporating it into the flour as you go. You know you've added enough water when you pinch the pastry and it just barely sticks together.
Turn the dough onto your work surface and pat it into a disc. Wrap it in plastic wrap and stick it in the fridge for 30 mins-1 hr. (You can also freeze it at this point for later use)

Preheat your oven to 350ºF.
Once the pastry has rested, turn it back onto a lightly floured surface and roll it out so it is comfortably greater than the diameter of a 9" tart pan.
Gently, roll the pastry onto your rolling pan and then unroll it over the tart pan.
Press the pastry into the corners of the pan and up the fluted sides - removing any excess dough that spills over the sides.

Now, you should blind bake the pastry. Using a fork, lightly prick all over the base of the tart - this is to prevent the pastry from rising too much. Loosely fit a piece of parchment paper into the shell and fill it with beans - which will weigh it down.
Put the tart pan in the center of your oven and bake for 15 minutes or so - until the pastry is lightly golden.

Remove from oven, remove parchment and beans and set the pre-cooked tart shell aside.

In a small pot, heat the cream until it is just hot - not simmering, you don't want to scald the cream.
Add the chocolate pieces and remove from heat. Stir around to completely melt the chocolate.
Let the chocolate cool a bit and then temper the lightly beaten egg into the chocolate.
I break the egg into a small bowl, beat it, then add a smidgeon of warm chocolate while whisking the egg. Then gradually add a bit more chocolate. In this way, you bring the egg up to temperature without scrambling it.
Once it's tempered, add the egg/chocolate into the large chocolate pot and stir it around.

Pour the chocolate batter into the tart shell - it should be almost full.
Bake the tart in the center of the oven for 20-25 minutes. The goal is for the center to still be a bit jiggly.
If you'd like, you can dust with icing sugar or serve with a dollop of freshly whipped cream.

Gray Day Black Bean Soup

Please see above for the makings of a fiesta. In my experience, a bowl full of limes, cilantro and jalapenos sitting next to a beer is usually a recipe for a sunny day party. Emphasis on usually - because yesterday was a little different.

I don't know where you were, but here in Brooklyn it felt like Noah was coming with his Ark.

As the rain fell, so did my mood and I found myself rifling through both fridge and pantry, muttering {in my head} about the weather, looking for something to banish the gray day blues.

Let me explain. Sometimes, I use food as an escape to hitch a ride to a better place. Let's just call it my happy place. It is always a beach - not always in the same spot - but always with the same basic elements. The sun envelops me in warmth. Sand between my toes. The clear blue-green sea crashes at my feet. Perhaps There is an adult beverage involved.

And so, when it rained for, what felt like, the seventeenth time this month, I went on a journey via my stove.

With origins in the tropics of Cuba, black bean soup was just the ticket. Black beans and rice, or Moros y Cristianos, is, aside from delicious, also traditionally a dish eaten for luck. Never one for leaving a heads-up penny on the ground, I went with it. The day was looking brighter already.

Its reputation as a lucky meal is only one of its many favorable qualities. The entire dish bubbles away in one pot, making both cooking and clean-up a snap. Plus, once on the stove you can leave it on its own for a while, like I did. While it cooked, I stared at pictures of beaches and dreamed of vacations in the sun.

While I can't guarantee that this meal will help you win the lottery or make it stop raining, I can guarantee that it will warm you up, comfort you and leave you feeling satisfied. Or, at least, it did all of those things for me. And the soft scent of limes left on my fingers was a nice reminder that the sun will shine again. Just maybe not this week.   

What you'll need: 

Black beans, 2 cups dried, pre-soaked and ready to cook.

Brown rice, 2/3 cup

Diced tomatoes, 28 oz can

Pickled jalapeno, 1, seeds and ribs removed, diced

Garlic cloves, 4, minced

Red onion, 1, diced

Lime, 1-2

Ground cumin, 1 tsp.

Bay leaf, 1 leaf

Cilantro, 1 handful of leaves, washed

Beer, preferably dark, 12 oz bottle or can

Vegetable stock and/or water, enough to cover the beans

Olive oil, 2-3 Tbsp.

Salt and black pepper, 2 tsp. of each + more to taste

In a large pot, saute the garlic, onion and jalapenos in the olive oil. Cook until the onions are translucent. 

Add the pre-soaked black beans.

Pour in the beer, stir, and let it simmer, uncovered, for 3-4 minutes. 

Add the diced tomatoes, cumin and bay leaf.

Add enough veggie stock or water to cover the black beans by about 2 inches. 

Season with salt and black pepper. 

Bring the soup up to a boil and Let it continue to boil for 2-3 minutes, then turn it down to simmer, uncovered, for 30-40 minutes, or until the black beans are completely tender. 

Taste and adjust seasoning if necessary. 

Using a hand blender or a regular blender, puree about 1/2 of the soup - leaving some of the beans and tomatoes intact for added texture.

Add more liquid if necessary.

Add the rice directly to the pot. Cook on low heat until the rice is cooked through. Note - cooking times will vary depending on what type of brown rice you use and whether it is quick-cooking. 

Once the rice is cooked, squeeze the juice of 1 lime into the soup and stir. 

Add more liquid if needed - this soup can be as thick or thin as you like. Otherwise, ladle soup into bowls. Serve with a wedge of lime and few whole cilantro leaves. If you'd like, you can also top with a smattering of tortilla chips for crunch. 

{Tips}

In an effort to up the ante on what is already a good-for-you dish, I use brown rice rather than white - but you can feel free to use either.

If you'd prefer not to use beer, just sub in more stock or water in its place.

I used a pickled jalapeno, but you can use a fresh one. 

If breaking out the blender seems too labor intensive, you can leave the soup as it is. Alternatively, you might also puree the entire soup for a smoother consistency. Your call.

Cornmeal Pancakes with Blueberry Mint Syrup

Normally, I don't treat myself to much of anything special for breakfast during the week. Some yogurt, cereal and, if I'm feeling particularly awake, maybe fruit. It goes without saying that this all comes after mainlining two cups of coffee.

I don't know what came over me this morning. Maybe it just seems like a particularly promising Friday, but I must have woken up on the right side of the bed because I had some real spring in my step. Jumpy like Tigger, hungry like Piglet.

I craved something special, but not too complicated. Nothing that required too much precision - energy or no energy, it was still only 7am. Then I thought about the bag of frozen blueberries that has been staring me in the face all week - catching my eye every time I went for an ice cube. Waiting for the moment that I would call them up to the big leagues. This morning was that moment.

I decided to make a rustic and quick blueberry mint syrup, using fresh mint from my 'garden.' I whipped up some hot-off-the-griddle, cornmeal pancakes and doused them with the syrup.

Cooked, eaten and cleaned-up before 8 o'clock. Phew. Is it Saturday, yet?

Cornmeal pancakes adapted from a NY Times recipe by Mark Bittman

What you'll need for 2 people:
Cornmeal, 1 cup
Boiling water, 1 cup
Milk, 1/3 cup (about)
Vanilla extract, 1 tsp.
Salt, a pinch
Olive oil, for the griddle

Frozen blueberries, 1 1/2 cups
Water to cover
Sugar, 2 Tbsp.
Mint, 5 or 6 leaves, chopped

In a small pot, throw in the blueberries, sugar and enough water to just submerge the fruit.
Allow the fruit to bubble away over medium-low heat. Mash the blueberries with a fork or potato masher, just to release some of their pectin and help thicken the syrup a bit.
Once it has reached the consistency you'd like, add the mint, stir it around, and turn off the heat.

Combine the cornmeal, salt and boiling water in a bowl. Stir to incorporate and allow to sit for 10 minutes, or until the cornmeal is softened.
Add just enough milk so that the mixture resembles a batter, but remains thick.
Add vanilla extract and use a whisk to incorporate everything completely.

Make sure your griddle pan is hot - add a bit of olive oil to help guarantee that your cakes won't stick, but also to add color and flavor.
Using a large soup or tablespoon, spoon out the batter onto the griddle. You don't want these to be too thick, so I recommend using less batter than you would for a pancake.
Once the cakes start to show air bubbles on side, turn them.
Once golden on both sides, they're done.

Place cornmeal cakes on a plate and spoon over as much of the warm blueberry syrup as you'd like. You might even top with a bit of icing sugar if you were feeling particularly sassy.

Chicken Milanese with Quick Pickled Red Onions & Fennel

Clearly, I'm on some sort of a pickle kick. I think I needed to exorcise some frustration yesterday when I chose to make this meal - there's something about pounding the chicken breasts that is really rather satisfying. But, perhaps that's a topic for a different forum.

Traditionally, Milanese is made with a veal rib chop, pounded out extra thin. I'm not the biggest fan of veal, so I choose to do the same, but with chicken breasts. Aside from instant stress-relief, pounding the meat is beneficial for two reasons - to achieve a uniform thin-ness, and to tenderize it. And if you're without a special meat tenderizer, don't fret. Use the bottom of a heavy bottomed pot or the side of a large tin of tomatoes or beans, or maybe even a rolling pin. The idea is that you need a relatively even surface, with some weight behind it, in order to get the chicken to flatten a bit.

In most restaurants, when you order chicken alla milanese, the salad sitting on top is some version of a tricolore salad composed of bitter greens, usually arugula, radicchio, and endive, and dressed in a basic lemon vinaigrette. It's kind of a flawless dish. The acidic salad adds crunch and cuts through the breading on the meat - it's all rather perfectly balanced.

Why mess with perfection, you ask? Well, basically, I found myself with a real hankering to pound out some meat, but with no arugula, radicchio or endive with which to make a tricolore salad. So, I improvised.

Half the battle of improvising and experimenting is identifying the basic elements and flavors that "make" a dish. In this case, I needed a fresh salad-like topping that would offer acid and crunch and would lend itself to this Italian-inspired dish. I assessed what I had on hand, which were fennel and red onions. After a little search on the trusty world-wide-web, I found a chicken milanese recipe from Anne Burrell that includes an escarole salad with quick pickled red onions. Ding ding ding.

My end result was a quick pickled salad of both fennel and red onion, which definitely carried out its end of the bargain. The fennel and red onions offered tang and spice, while still remaining crunchy enough to add texture to the dish. I love it when a plan comes together.

Red onion pickle adapted from Anne Burrell.

What you'll need for the chicken:
Boneless, skinless chicken breasts, 2
Egg, 1
Flour, 1/2 cup
Breadcrumbs, 1/2 cup
Parmesan cheese, grated, 1/4 cup
Salt and fresh cracked black pepper
Olive oil, 2-3 Tbsp. (enough for a shallow fry)

What you'll need for the quick pickle salad:
Red onion, 1, sliced into thin rings
Fennel bulb, 1, core removed and sliced thinly
Fennel seeds, 1 Tbsp.
Chili flakes, 1 or 2 Tbsp (or hot sauce, 1 or 2 dashes)
Red wine vinegar, 3/4 cup
Cold tap water, 3/4 cup
Sugar, 1 1/2 Tbsp
Kosher salt, 2 Tbsp

In a large bowl, combine the vinegar, water, salt, sugar, fennel seeds, chili and give it a few whisks in order to dissolve the sugar and salt.
Once everything is nicely dissolved, add the red onions and fennel slices, making sure they are covered with the pickle juice.
Leave to sit for 2 hours.

Place chicken breasts between two sheets of parchment paper. With a meat tenderizer, or other tool, pound the chicken breasts, working outwards from the middle of the breast. The goal is for a uniform thickness of about 1 inch all the way around.

Set up a standard breading operation: flour in one dish, beaten egg in the next dish, breadcrumbs and cheese in the final dish. Season all with salt and pepper.
Season your chicken with salt and pepper. First dredge the chicken in the flour, then dip it into the egg, then coat with the breadcrumbs.

Add enough olive oil to coat the bottom of a large frying pan and place it over medium heat.
Once the oil is hot enough, add the chicken. You should immediately hear a sizzle - if you don't, it's not hot enough!
Keep an eye on the oil and chicken. You may have to adjust the heat to prevent the breadcrumbs from burning.
Once the chicken is lightly golden brown on one side, flip it over and continue cooking until it is done.
Remove and place on a plate lined with a paper towel - to drain excess oil.

Drain the pickle juice from the onions and fennel. Place the chicken on a plate and top with the quick pickled salad.

{Tips:}
Lots of folks start with the egg when breading - be sure to start with the flour - then move to the egg. The flour acts as glue to help everything else adhere.
Do not overcrowd the pan! If your pan does not comfortably fit both chicken breasts - then cook one at a time. Resist the urge to just get it all done at once.
Use this quick pickled salad as a side dish or a slaw for your next BBQ.

A Pint of Pickled Peppers

Something came over me at the market and I found myself paying for a pint of fresh jalapeno peppers. Unloading my spoils at home, my mind reeled with the possibilities of what could be done with these spicy green delights. As a spice-junky, I often have occasion to use chilies, but could I really get through a pint of fresh jalapenos before their time was up?


I flipped through my mental recipe catalogue trying to recall dishes for which I call on jalapenos. The obvious contenders came to mind - guacamole, salsas, tacos, eggs, marinades, fish, a simmering pot of black beans. All good ideas, but I knew there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell (thank you, Sunday night's episode of Mad Men, for poising that phrase front and center in my brain) that I was going to inundate our meals with jalapenos for the next two weeks. After years of eating my food, Damien's palate has moved from spice-intolerant to spice-appreciative, but I fear that two weeks of jalapenos would set us back.

And so, wanting to preserve them, I decided to go where I have never gone before and in the great tradition of Peter Piper, I pickled my peppers.

Since the days of yore, the process of pickling has been employed for moments exactly like this one - when the fruits of the harvest were plentiful, but everyone knew that there was just no shot at using up 20 pounds of cucumbers before they went bad. So, in order to take full advantage of fresh veggies at their peak, without losing them to spoilage, folks would preserve them by pickling.

Pickling, aka brining or corning, is not exclusive to vegetables - most anything can be pickled - including meat. In fact, I corned my own beef for St. Patrick's day - yes, that's right, corned beef is pickling too. I've even seen pickled eggs on bar counters in Ireland and England. Pickled nuts too.

I decided to do a refrigerator pickle, which basically means that my goal is only to store them for a few weeks in the fridge. I didn't sterilize my jars or get serious about checking Ph levels, which are important steps when trying to make shelf-stable food that lasts months. For all you need to know about the science and guidelines behind home canning, you might check the National Center for Home Food Preservation. Although, that website, while extensive, is also rather mind-numbing - so, I recommend you also check out Tart and Sweet, written by one of my favorite and local Brooklyn experts on canning, Kelly Geary of Sweet Deliverance NYC.

The whole process took about 15 minutes. I continue to gaze at my pickled peppers in the fridge, checking in on them as if they might escape. Each time I look at them, they have a different destiny. Most are still fated to add zip to food, but some are definitely bound for a cocktail glass. My recent cocktail inspiration is due to this spicy Margarita over at my neighbor, Lillie's, and the tart and spicy Jalapeno Margarita I recently had the pleasure of imbibing at Van Horn Sandwich Shop on Court St.

Since it takes some time for the pickling juices to really infuse into the peppers, I have yet to sample the finished product. However, I can tell you that based on the pickled pepper aromas that filled my apartment, I have extremely high and spicy expectations.

What you'll need:
Jalapeno peppers, about 12-14 peppers
Water, 1 1/2 cups
Cider vinegar, 1 1/2 cups
Garlic cloves, 3
Black peppercorns, 1 Tbsp.
Coriander seeds, 1 Tbsp.
Yellow mustard seeds, 1 tsp.
Bay leaves, 2
Kosher salt, 1 1/2 Tbsp.
Sugar, 1 1/2 Tbsp.

Thoroughly wash the jalapeno peppers.
In a non-reactive pot, add all of the other ingredients. Bring up to a simmer and allow to cook for 5 minutes - making sure all of the salt and sugar dissolve fully.
Using the tip of a pairing knife, pierce each pepper 3 or 4 times.
Tightly pack the peppers into a 1 liter jar.
Pour the heated pickling juice over the peppers and tightly seal the jar.
Allow the jar to cool.
Once it has cooled significantly, place the jar in the fridge. Although they are perfectly alright to eat immediately, part of the whole point of pickling is to infuse the peppers with the flavors of the spices. So, allow them to sit and do their thing for at least 2 or 3 days before cracking them open - although waiting 1 week would be ideal.
The pickled peppers should keep in the fridge for 3-4 weeks.

Mother's Day Brunch: Egg en Cocotte with Spinach, Roasted Mushrooms and Mascarpone

Leading into this weekend, I'm thinking a lot about my mom. I realized while cooking this dish that, in a lot of ways, eggs en cocotte is a good representation of our relationship and so this one is dedicated to her. Mom, if you're reading, this does not mean that I think that you are cheese - although we both know that sometimes you may cross the line into the realm of the cheesy, but I think that's a trait that all moms share.

At the risk of reading far too much into a recipe - allow me a moment to wax poetic. All parts of this dish are reminiscent of the warmth, comfort and security that my mom has always offered - even in the face of some pretty tough circumstances. Broken into ramekins and coddled in a water bath - the egg is gently coaxed to cook. In this way, the egg is exposed to the heat, but the water provides a protective barrier, which prevents the egg from ever getting burned. Kind of like cooking with training wheels.

The delicate egg is protected on all sides - resting on a pillow of sauteed spinach and roasted mushrooms, tucked in with a thin blanket of melted Parmesan cheese and securely cooking in the water. The egg is seasoned with thyme, which offers a lively spark of freshness - a welcomed break from, what can sometimes be, a heaviness imparted by the mascarpone cheese. In the end, the egg is transformed. Perfectly cooked, given adequate time and space and seasoning to do its thing and come out on the other end better for it.

In short - I am the egg. The mascarpone cheese is life. My mom is everything else. Get it?

Don't let my momentary relapse into college Lit classes put you off this dish. Metaphors aside, it's a perfect breakfast or brunch dish to make for your mom or grandma or whomever you might feel like celebrating on Sunday.

I happened to have spinach and mushrooms on hand, but you can feel free to substitute another green or experiment with other flavors. Also - if you don't have marscapone - maybe think about subbing in a dollop of ricotta or another soft cheese. One of this dish's star qualities is that you can assemble it the night before and leave it in the fridge, covered - it'll be ready to pop in the oven when you need it in the AM.

What you'll need for 2 ramekins:
2 eggs
Mascarpone cheese, 2 Tbsp.
Parmesan cheese, grated, 2 Tbsp.
Fresh thyme leaves, 2 Tbsp.
Fresh spinach, 3 handfuls
Cremini mushrooms, or other type, 4 large
Butter, enough to butter the inside of the ramekins
Extra virgin olive oil, 2-3 Tbsp.
Salt and fresh cracked black pepper

Preheat the oven to 400ºF.
Use 1 Tbsp. of olive oil to coat the bottom of nonstick pan - gently saute the spinach over medium heat, seasoning with salt and pepper.
When the spinach is done, put it in a colander or strainer and, using the back of a wooden spoon or spatula, gently press the spinach against the side - squeezing out as much excess water as possible. Leave aside.
Thinly slice the mushrooms. Arrange them in one layer on a nonstick pan, season with remaining olive oil, salt, pepper and 1 Tbsp of fresh thyme leaves. Place in oven and roast for 4 or 5 minutes, or until they are crispy and golden brown. Set aside.
Butter the inside of the ramekins.

Start with a layer of sauteed spinach at the bottom of each ramekin.
Add a layer of roasted mushrooms to each.
Top each with 1 Tbsp. of marscapone cheese.
Divide the remaining thyme leaves over the top of the cheese.
Gently crack one egg into each ramekin and sprinkle with grated parmesan cheese.
Season with salt and pepper.
Pour hot, almost boiling, water into the bottom of a roasting dish. Gently place ramekins into the water bath - the water should come up the sides of the ramekins about 2 inches.
Place the roasting dish into the oven and allow to cook for 12 minutes or so, depending on your oven.
The goal is for a gently cooked egg - with a still slightly-runny yolk.
Serve with toast.

DIY Pizza Dough

In this neighborhood, one thing we will never be left in want of is pizza. I am absolutely surrounded by pizzerias. Every now and then, when I realize that pizza has been lunch or dinner three or more times in a week, I challenge myself to a pizza detox. If I can avoid crossing the threshold of a pizzeria for one whole week, I win. Spoiler alert: I never win.

We sure do love our pizza in NYC - everyone's got an opinion on which is the best pizza around. And trying to figure out the best pizza in all of Brooklyn? Fuggedaboutit. Enter into this conversation with a Brooklynite carefully - be prepared to agree to disagree. Picking just one is far too daunting of a challenge - one that I'm not going to attempt. Of course, there are the usual suspects that are always listed at the top of the Brooklyn pizza charts: Totonno's in Coney Island, Lucali's, the long-standing neighborhood gem of Carroll Gardens and one of Mr. and Mrs. Jay-Z's usual haunts, Di Fara's on Avenue J, Grimaldi's down under the Brooklyn Bridge, the line at which is perpetual. Notables from the newer-guard include Roberta's in Bushwick, Franny's in Prospect Heights and South Brooklyn Pizza. I have my favorite too - but I'm smart enough not to disclose it here. 

One thing is true - not all pizza is created equally. If we're honest with ourselves, sometimes the pizza in these parts just isn't all that good. For every one pizza joint serving up the perfect pie, there's another two or three selling rubbery-cheese-covered-bread masquerading as pizza. Which is why, sometimes, it's just better to make your own. 

The most demanding part of the pizza-making process is the dough. But, once you get the hang of it, it's not only straightforward, but also economical. Homemade pizza gives you a lot of bang for your buck. It can be called on as a base for using up leftover sauteed veggies or just fresh veggies that are overstaying their welcome in your fridge. Plus - once you're making the dough, you might as well make extra - you can freeze a bunch of pizza doughs individually. Need dinner in a pinch? Bring out the dough.

I have had a crack at an assortment of dough recipes - most with disappointing results. However, on the advice of the world wide web, I sought out Peter Reinhart's instructions for Napoletana pizza dough. My search ended over at 101 Cookbooks. No surprise there, Heidi's always got great recipes - and this one from Peter Reinhart's book, Bread Baker's Apprentice, is no different.

I cannot tell a lie, I was hesitant at first. It is on a very rare occasion that I devote myself to a recipe that cannot be started and finished in the same day. However, I have come to the conclusion that the reason for not having achieved 100% success with my dough in the past is wholly due to impatience. I've never given pizza dough the chance to ferment for long enough - resulting in dough that is always rather uninspiring and lacking flavor. The genius technique in this recipe is cold fermenting the dough in the fridge overnight. It's my new go-to pizza move - and I think it should be yours too.

How you'd like to top your pizza is up to you. I went with a thin smattering of leftover olive tapenade followed by tomato sauce that I had made an extra batch of this past weekend. At Sunday's greenmarket, I scored some beautiful spinach that I sauteed in the chili oil I made earlier in the week for a hint of spice to my slice. Topped it all with a sprinkle of grated mozzarella cheese and popped it in the oven at 530ºF (as high as my oven goes). 12 minutes later it was done and, without a doubt, the BEST homemade pizza I have ever made. Everything I wanted it to be and more. Crispy crust. Gooey cheese. A hit of brine from the tapenade followed by just the right amount of spice from the spinach.

Totally worth the wait.

You can find the recipe for this perfect dough here. 

Game-changer, Tip #5: Infuse Your Own Oil

I have never spent money on a bottle of flavored oil. Each time I am tempted and catch myself grabbing the neck of a bottle to lift off the shelf, I am inevitably plowed over with sticker-shock. I'm left standing in the aisle, holding the bottle, jaw agape, thinking, I have oil and garlic at home - why should I pay $8 for this? 

Chances are that you already have at least one type of oil in your pantry. And, if you're anything like me, a mind-bending collection of spices waiting in the wings, ready for their big shot in the spotlight. So, you're already prepared. Making your own flavored oil is a doddle. Ready in no time - they'll bring flavor to your life in a big time way. Taking five minutes to infuse your own oil is a game-changer. Your taste-buds will thank you for this one.

Warning: once you start making your own flavored oils, you might end up with a fridge full of them. It only takes one time. It's a highly-addictive habit.

Here's the scoop for the hot infusion technique, using fresh rosemary:
Pour 1/2 cup of olive oil into a pot - throw in a couple stalks of cleaned and well-dried rosemary. Let it steep over moderate heat. Strain and decant into a tightly sealed jar. Put it in the fridge for rosemary-flavored delights all week.

Instead of whole herbs, you can also experiment with aromatics such as garlic, lemongrass, shallots and fresh chilies. Or, try your hand at infusing peanut oil or more neutral grapeseed oil with whole spices like star anise, cardamom or coriander seeds. Looking for a little more citrus in your life?

I made a quick chili oil by infusing 1 Tbsp. of crushed red chili flakes with 1/2 cup olive oil - I intend to use it to make eggs this morning and on top of homemade pizza later this week.

Garlic oil is an obvious choice - call on it for a quick pasta sauce, as a dipping oil for bread, as the oil in which you saute veggies when staring your next soup, or to coat a roast chicken before placing it in the oven.

My last suggestion is a versatile lemon oil. Infuse oil with the zest of a lemon and top risottos, cous cous, fish or chicken for an extra layer of citrus essence.

Look at your spice cabinet. Look at your herb garden. Think of the possibilities.

A word to the wise: Anytime you add fresh herbs or veggies to oil you run the risk of accidentally also adding some unwanted bacteria to the mix. This is mainly due to their water content. Make sure all of the organic matter is strained from the oil before storing it & use it within a week, keeping it tightly sealed in the fridge.
The risks of bacteria are far less when using completely dried spices and herbs - although they don't last forever either. So your best bet, even with the dried spices, is to make a little bit at a time - enough to use within two weeks or so.