Category Archives: compote something

I Always Feel Like Somebody’s

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A year ago, I caught a low grade fever called Blood Orange Marmalade, mysterious because I don’t actually like marmalades. For months, food writers all seemed to be turning out batches of the stuff in lovely and addictive jewel tones that made my mouth water. Even so, when I found bags blood oranges in the grocery store, I hesitated because the result, good or bad, would be marmalade and, if you recall, I don’t actually like those. I decided to try it anyway when Marissa at Food In Jars posted a recipe for Small Batch Blood Orange Marmalade right where I could salivate over the pictures.

They look friendlier in person.

They look friendlier in person.

It wasn’t all glamor, though: when I made the recipe as straight as I could, the color was a beautiful ruby but the flavor was really, really sweet with only the mildest hint of orange, which is to say it tasted like cough syrup, only chewy. I decided that flavor was more important than color, so I added orange juice a cup at a time over a couple of days’ simmering time to improve the orange flavor, but I couldn’t overcome the intense sweetness. I was just about to give up and toss the whole batch when I stared into my fridge and found a possible solution: naranja agria or sour orange juice. About half a cup later, the bright orange flavor was exciting; to balance the additional liquid, I added one packet of liquid pectin. Deliciousness incarnate or chunky cough syrup? That’s for lovers of marmalade to decide.

Couldn’t Say What I Wanted To Say

Posted by Tata on

Miss Sasha posted a peculiar-looking recipe on Facebook, then got in her car and drove to either Mars or Kendall Park, but definitely one of those. Anyway, while she was traveling incognito, I lost track of the post and the recipe, so I did a little poking around on the Intertubes and learned a few things.

Tata: Everyone is talking about avocado and cocoa mousse. Have you tried this? I made some up yesterday. I would eat it. Pete would grease axels with it, but wouldn’t touch it on a cracker.

Snake: I looked at Giada’s recipe just now and I’m with Pete. Ugh. Doesn’t look very moussie at all, it looks gloppy. Mousse properly done should taste like chocolate air. But that involves separating eggs or using light cream that has been whipped like a british sailor.

Tata: You are quite right: it does not taste like chocolate air. It tastes like the food equivalent of sex up against a wall with a stranger you met outside a bar after closing time. It is full of What did I just do? Nobody on the Food Network is going to mention that. You will know why they’re sweating.

Snake: Ok. Sex with strangers you just met means I will give it a try. I will probably have to call it something besides mousse. My vocabulary can take it though.

Tata: Call it Brenda and try not to think about the cellophane. I am not saying you’ll like it, but it’s just weird enough try just because.

I surveyed a bunch of recipes and decided to start here because she reminds me of chatty Miss Sasha and has two different color eyes, a sure sign of a double helping of crazy. This writer is a vegan, which means mousse without eggs or cream. Her ideas were interesting, especially regarding variations.

Here’s one from Sheryl Crow, whom we love. Here we have a cook who licks food processors clean. Here we have a recipe writer with a few sticky keys.

I started with two ripe avocados and mashed ‘em up, then added agave, cocoa powder, ground ginger and cayenne and a pinch of salt and whipped the whole thing until the texture was uniform. I tasted and added a bit more agave and cocoa powder. An hour later, Pete and I tasted it together and he made a face like I’d tossed his Hot Wheels collection into the Home Smelting Pit, now with extra smelt! I didn’t push and forgot about the mousse for two days. When I stuck a spoon into it today, the mousse tasted like the dirtiest, smuttiest, spiciest, naughtiest, adults-only dark chocolate ganache ever. You should make this and have some sexy sex, alone or with a sexy sex friend. Or a stranger. Next time, I might add cinnamon.

A Simple Year Of Volunteers

Posted by Tata on
While Pete remains chicken-suspicious, I continue to be chicken-jealous. I went out to pick rosemary for dinner and my neighbor gave me today's eggs, which are colorful-gorgeous.

While Pete remains chicken-suspicious, I continue to be chicken-jealous. I went out to pick rosemary for dinner and my neighbor gave me today’s eggs, which are colorful-gorgeous.

Speaking of eggs, this one is actually a giant ball of fabric I cut into strips over a month ago. Today, I started knitting it into a terrifying and cozy yellow rag rug.

Speaking of eggs, this one is actually a giant ball of fabric I cut into strips over a month ago. Today, I started knitting it into a terrifying and cozy yellow rag rug.

You Screen Out the Light That Colors

Posted by Tata on

It would be perfectly reasonable if you’d forgotten I can’t follow a recipe to save my life. The reason that’s reasonable is I’ve laid off writing about it recently, so let’s resume, shall we? Yes, we shall.

Recipes are so bossy. Do this, do this, they say and by the third do this, I’m shouting how it’s not the boss of me. Even so, I would like to learn about bread baking. I opened one of Dad’s Marcella Hazan cookbooks. Marcella sometimes looks down her nose at her readers anyway, so now we have this:

Tata: The whole wheat recipe says to make the olive oil loaf only substitute 1-3/4 cups whole wheat flour and about 3-1/4 cups AP flour. But the olive oil loaf recipe is written in Latvian and says 2 cups.
Tata: I don’t believe you!
Tata: Yeah? YOU read it.
Tata: What? No way! This was all your idea!
Tata: Omigod, really, genius? Remember that time you got the bright idea to -
Tata: WE’RE BAKING BREAD. Read the recipe!
Tata: The olive oil loaf recipe says to proof the yeast in part of the water and all of the sugar, but there are directions for using the food processor and mixing manually. I’m using the KitchenAid and where’s the rest of the directions?
Tata: Did you know printers now use whole pages on both sides and if you read about half an inch down the page you’ll find the answers to your many stupid questions?
Tata: I didn’t know that!
Tata: I think we should see other people. We’re spending too much time together.

Look at it, just sitting there. It mocks us all.

Look at it, just sitting there. It mocks us all.

It turned out the recipe was pretty simple after I quit arguing that it wasn’t. Yeast, water, sugar and less than half the flour mixture, mixed and kneaded, sat on a potholder on the dining room radiator for a three-hour rise. Later, I mixed in the rest of the flour, the remaining water, salt, olive oil and dried rosemary I grew and dried; after a good kneading, the rather large dough sat in the same warm spot for another three-hour rise. I shaped the loaf, more or less, for a short rise, shellacked it with water, then baked for 12 minutes at 450 and 40 minutes at 350. In retrospect, I should have left it in for another 5-10 minutes, but the texture is really pretty good. I’m overjoyed, really. Pete, that wiseass, said, “It’s the best bread you’ve ever baked. If you can do it again, you’ll really have something there.” We’ll see how sarcastic he is when I’m making him delicious bread sandwiches three meals a day.