All About The Crunch

The Mayflower Inn is a destination of sorts in Washington, Connecticut—in the hills of Litchfield County. It has lately undergone a renovation and re-styling, and its restaurants have been revamped by chef April Bloomfield. Before all that, though, the Mayflower was a quietly upscale, slightly stuffy New England Inn where we would go for the occasional brunch on Mother’s Day or for a birthday dinner. In spring and summer, its best feature was the formal garden you could wander, getting lost in the boxwood mazes and stumbling upon Shakespearean quotes among the flowers. In colder months, a visit was guaranteed maximum coziness thanks to intimate little libraries and sitting rooms where you could take a glass of wine, commandeer your own personal fireplace, play a game of chess with your kid.

When Ben and I were married, many moons ago, a lovely bridesmaids’ luncheon was thrown for me at the Mayflower by my godmother and her daughter, and we most certainly had the Bibb Salad to start, because there was a time when that was the iconic salad at the Mayflower. A bit of a 90’s throwback, the dish was notable for its perfect balance of flavors and crunch: soft lettuce leaves, blue cheese, diced tomatoes, and crispy shallots. That’s it. (A journey into the internet’s memory tells me it was also dressed with truffle oil vinaigrette, but nooooo that can’t be, I’ve already overwritten that part.)

That salad was always, first and foremost, about the crispy shallots, and after receiving a huge order of shallots from OurHarvest recently*, I’ve become re-obsessed with their sweet, sublime crunch. If crunch were a food group, crispy shallots would give bacon bits some stiff competition. They are outstanding on any salad and even more so on Vietnamese noodle dishes, as a mix-in for a sour cream-based dip, a topping for your most decadent mac-n-cheese. A plus is that they are vegan so make a fine substitute for crumbled bacon on many plant-based things.

In the process of re-working this beloved salad recipe I tested out different techniques for making the crispy shallots. I tried the deep-fry method, where you heat the oil to a high temperature first and then let the shallots frizzle in it. It’s fast but also stressful, due to the vigilance needed to keep the shallots from burning. Another method—found on Bon Appétit and other sites—is to cover the shallots with a quantity of oil, adding both to the pan at the same time and cooking in a longer, more controlled manner. I was worried at first this would yield oil-sodden shallots, but my fears were allayed by a batch of perfectly browned and sweet little frizzles, which magically crisp up as they drain on paper towels. This is now my method of choice. Something I highly recommend if you are making this is using a mandoline to slice the shallots. They allow for even thickness, which translates to even cooking (i.e., you won’t have bitter burnt pieces mixed in with undercooked ones). If you’re not using a mandoline, just slice as evenly as you can. Instructions, plus the salad recipe, are below.

The Mayflower Salad lives on

The Mayflower Salad lives on

Crispy Shallots

Adapted from Bon Appétit

  • 1 cup or a bit more of vegetable oil (grapeseed, canola, refined sunflower all work)

  • 3-4 large shallots, peeled, sliced crosswise to the approximate thickness of a dime

  • Salt

Set up a tray covered with a couple of layers of paper towels. In a high-sided skillet or saute pan, put shallots covered in oil and turn heat on to medium high. Stir the shallots around with a fork to separate the rings. The shallots will cook slowly and begin to take on a golden color; once they do, watch them carefully and remove once they are golden brown—around 20-25 minutes. Pour the shallots and oil through a strainer with a bowl underneath to catch the oil. Allow to drain for a minute or two, and then spread shallots onto the paper towels and sprinkle with salt. They will crisp up after a few minutes. Store in a sealed container for a couple of days.

Reserve strained oil—which is now toasted shallot oil—for dressings and stir-fries.

Mayflower Salad

Serves 2

Ingredients:

  • 1 bunch Boston Lettuce, Bibb Lettuce or Butter Lettuce, washed and patted dry (keep leaves whole)

  • 1 medium tomato, diced, excess seeds and goo removed

  • Blue Cheese, crumbled (Bleu d’Auvergne or Arethusa Farms Blue both work great)

  • Crispy Shallots

  • Tarragon vinaigrette (below) or other basic vinaigrette

  • Salt and Pepper to Taste

Instructions:

Assemble Salad as you like! Toss greens and tomatoes with a couple of tablespoons of vinaigrette then scatter blue cheese and shallots on top. Sprinkle with salt and pepper.

Tarragon Vinaigrette

Ingredients:

  • 1/2 tsp. honey or agave, or a pinch of sugar

  • 1 tsp. Dijon mustard

  • 2 TBS tarragon vinegar or just white wine vinegar (I make my own tarragon vinegar by inserting a clean bunch of fresh tarragon into a bottle of white wine vinegar and letting it infuse indefinitely).

  • 1/4 cup oil: grapeseed oil, olive oil, a mix, or your choice of neutral oil

  • Salt and pepper

Instructions:

Whisk together honey, mustard, and vinegar to blend. Slowly whisk in oil until it’s evenly blended. Season with a pinch of salt and a couple cranks of pepper to taste.

🧅🧅🧅

*OurHarvest, the source for the shallots I used, is an online farmer’s market and grocery that delivers to NYC, Long Island, and Southern Connecticut. You can use the code SHALLOT to get 25% off your first order plus free delivery…or just follow this link.

🧅🧅🧅

 

Citrus is Good Medicine

Happy 2021! My office is currently doubling as a (very loud) 2nd grade classroom. More broadly, the new year so far seems like a bad sequel to the weird movie that was 2020.

Zoom Life (James) by Kamila Zmrzla @topbunartist

Zoom Life (James) by Kamila Zmrzla @topbunartist

So let’s escape, for a moment, into all things citrus. It’s something I do in an ordinary January, but as this winter calls for an especially deep dive, I thought I would share some of my resources, ideas, and recipes for the juicy, puckery citrus fruits that are coming at us. In normal times my relationship with citrus has bordered on obsessive, as was revealed a few years back when I smuggled a dozen giant lemons and citrons back from Italy, only to narrowly wriggle my way out of a scrape with customs agents (ask my kids about this). The lemons made it home to my kitchen, but I don’t recommend making children your citrus mules.

citrus.jpg

First, if you’ve been underwhelmed by the citrus on offer at your local supermarket, here are some sources that bring fresh fruit to your door:

I recently discovered that Etsy—yes Etsy! is a treasure trove of fresh citrus fruits, shipped straight from someone’s sunny orchard in California or Florida. In fact, you can find all manner of exotic produce, seeds, and saplings—technically sold under “gifts”—on Etsy. 🤯 I recently ordered a box of pretty pink cara cara oranges from this shop and a box of blood oranges and unwaxed meyer lemons from here. It’s an interesting way to shop, since even with travel distance the supply chain is more direct.

As I was sitting down to begin this post, Mark Bittman’s newsletter slid into my emails. It’s devoted to all things citrus and he’s offering a box of mail order oranges, lemons, limes, etc. from California, along with some of his always excellent ideas and recipes.

Got a green thumb and a sunny window? You can order your own lil’ key lime, Meyer lemon, or Australian finger lime tree to keep you company (and bear fruit) through the winter months. Via Citrus and Four Winds Growers both ship to most states.

Frog Hollow Farm is also a solid source for great quality, seasonal citrus and other fruits.

Natoora, which aggregates produce from small growers, has many specialty varieties of citrus that you don’t see in stores available for delivery this time of year.

Recipe ideas:

Do you need a drink? If I had to pick just one cocktail, it would be the puckery and spicy tequila potion my sister Cassie regularly concocts, which has taken hold in my own household. Hey! We’re just warding off scurvy. The “recipe” is this: Squeeze together mixed varieties of citrus, serve the juice over ice with a splash of soda and as much tequila as you want or need. I don’t sweeten it, but you can put in a bit of agave, simple syrup, or sweetener of choice. Scatter in some jalapeño slices to spice it up. Taste and trust yourself!

I usually keep loads of lemons on hand, since a squeeze of the juice is a nifty way to bring up flavors and even reduce the amount of salt you need. One of our favorite weeknight dinners is a one-pan chicken with lemons, caperberries, and potatoes. Also on the savory side is this Citrus, fennel, and green olive salad. There’s plenty of sweet stuff on my site, too, including recipes for meyer lemon ginger curd, which is like silky sunshine spread on toasted croissants in the morning, and a lemon-quark snacking cake, which never sticks around very long after I make it. To satisfy a craving for both chocolate and citrus, try these Chocolate-Orange Pots de Crème—they are adult grade pudding cups.

Also, you should know about Andy Baraghani’s whole lemon-sesame sauce at Bon Appétit. It was the first thing I made with those contraband Amalfi Coast lemons, and it’s stellar with salmon.

Here’s a basic recipe for making preserved lemons, which are an essential pantry item in this house. I’m fond of slicing them very thinly (you eat them rind and all) and laying them atop sardines on toast, and I also make a tahini sauce that’s loaded up with preserved lemons and a little garlic.

This Blood Orange Bundt Cake with Bitters, from Eyeswoon, is truly magical. If you’re looking for a vegan version there’s a gorgeous one over on Fare Isle.

If you’re still here I’m sharing a totally unrelated link for this extraordinary story by Ann Patchett that has really stuck with me since a friend forwarded it along. It speaks of human connection and the mysteries of life, and yes the silver linings of Covid. It’s a lengthy one, so grab a slice of lemon cake or a tequila-citrus cocktail and find a comfortable spot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ice Cream

One of the things I miss the most about our old life, the one before coronavirus, is going out for ice cream on the first warm days of spring. We are—were—fortunate to have two wonderful options within a couple of blocks of our house. The first, MilkMade, closed last fall, and I miss the little storefront with the pepto-colored trim and the innovative flavors like Haunted Hayride, Mango sticky rice, and Key Lime Pie (my favorite). All the ice creams were spun right there in the back, and on a hot summer night a tight queue of happy, sweaty families stretched halfway around the block. Remember tight queues?

Right across the street from the former MilkMade is Farmacy, which is temporarily closed. When we first moved to this neighborhood the space was a creepy, abandoned drugstore whose windows we used to peer through, speculating on what the story was there. It was littered with dust bunnies and weathered pharmaceutical products someone had just walked away from one day and never looked back. Luckily, some fine folks rescued and turned it into an old-fashioned soda fountain, its tiled floors and old pill cabinets beautifully preserved, a countertop with swivel stools where you can perch and watch the soda jerks work their magic with the shiny chrome equipment. We would pop in with the kids to get one of their creative sodas or sundaes, like the Pink Poodle or Sir Twix-a-Lot. We grownups liked to drown our afternoon slump in an affogato. I hope those days will be back soon.  

This weekend, the time was right for some ice cream, so I got my clunky old ice cream maker down. It’s heavy and it takes up too much cabinet real estate, but it has its own compressor so you don’t have to freeze a canister and if you really wanted to you could spin quart after quart, all day long. For our 2020 inaugural run I used up some mangos that were wrinkling in the fruit bowl. Those smaller, sweeter yellow mangoes called Ataulfo or Champagne mangos seem to be plentiful in the markets right now, and we had gotten a deal on a case of them. After the kids tired of having mango “hedgehogs” for breakfast I had to find a way to use the rest.

Wrinkly, flavorful Ataulfo mangoes

Wrinkly, flavorful Ataulfo mangoes

I developed a vegan mango ice cream with a slight hint of cardamom since I love that flavor and happen to have a fresh batch of cardamom. It gets its creaminess from coconut milk (I used the canned, unsweetened organic kind. You can get it without guar gum if that bothers you). A note on sugar and sweetening: the amount I specify in this recipe is low. That is because our mangos were super ripe and sweet, and I have been trying to go light on sugar in general. I would advise tasting your blend and deciding what works—and you can also experiment with alternative sweeteners like coconut sugar.  It’s so good! My family voted thumbs up and my daughter Cece said I should definitely put the recipe up here. Note: If you don’t have a machine I’ve included an alternative freezing method. Won’t be 100% the same but still delicious. You can also check out my all time favorite ice cream recipe, fresh mint leaf/chocolate chip, here or at its old blog home here.

Vegan mango cardamom ice cream

Vegan mango cardamom ice cream

Vegan Mango Cardamom Ice “Cream”

Ingredients:

  • 3 lbs very ripe whole mangos, preferably the smaller yellow Ataulfo aka Champagne mangos (around 5 of them)

  • 1/4 cup sugar — more or less to taste

  • juice of 1/2 lime

  • 1/4 tsp. ground cardamom

  • pinch salt

  • 1 cup unsweetened coconut milk

Instructions:

  1. Slice mango away from the pit on each side. Scoop the fruit out of the skins. Cut all the mango fruit you possibly can away from the pit, avoiding the hairy fibrous part close to the pit. Repeat this with all the mangos, discarding skins and pits.

  2. Put mango and all other ingredients in a blender and blend thoroughly until super smooth. Taste and add more sugar if needed—all mangos are different so sweeten accordingly! Chill mixture until quite cold.

  3. Freeze according to your ice cream maker’s instructions. If you don’t have an ice cream maker, freeze in a shallow container, going in every 20 minutes or so to stir and scrape with a fork, outer edges to center, until you’ve reached the consistency you like.