Cook My Mailbox Weekend I

I thoroughly enjoy* my daily scroll through the web**.
But I love my real mailbox more***. 

This weekend, I cooked an entire meal out of the glossy pages that have landed there recently.  The results?

Let's just say I'm definitely going to be doing that again****.

Cook My Mailbox- Weekend I
The Rules:  All dishes have to be from a physical magazine or newspaper.  Nothing from a blog, a website, or a cookbook.  I'll try to stick with (and refer you to!) the recipes as written, but I might cheat a little because I'm like that.  Most of the time the articles that accompany these recipes are well worth a read, so I'm not going to upstage the authors.  Instead, I'll just chime in with my humble opinion on the results.   Sound like a plan?

[crickets]

OK, then. 

The Menu: 
Homemade pizzas using No-Knead Pizza Dough from Bon Appétit
Kale Salad from the LA Times
Dorrie Greenspan''s Vanilla Bean Sablé Cookies from Fine Cooking.

The Pizza!
As soon as I saw the magazine cover, I knew I had to make this.  
Original article: Click here
My notes:  Start the dough the day before you plan to eat it, because it has to rise for at least 18 hours.  The good news is, you don't have to do anything except plan ahead.   The other good news is, it's so worth the wait. I modified the recipe so I could use my sourdough starter, and added some whole wheat flour.  I followed the rest of the instructions exactly as written. 

Sourdough No-Knead Pizza Dough

7 1/4  c. flour (1 used 2 c. white whole wheat, 2 c. all purpose, and 3 1/4 c. bread flour)
4 tsp. sea salt
1 Tbs. sugar
1/2 tsp. yeast
1/2 c. sourdough starter
2 1/2 c. cool water

Topped with a mix of romano, asiago, parmesan and fontina cheeses, pepperoni, kale and basil.

My review:  Probably the best homemade pizza crust I've ever had.  The texture was pretty much perfect...crispy but with enough heft to produce those great chewy bites of crust, and plenty of interesting bubbling up going on.  From my modification, there was a little sourdough tang along with the nutty wheat to add interest without taking a thing away from the toppings.  I'm all about those convenient $1.50 bags of dough from Trader Joe's, but this stuff is in an entirely different league.

The Salad!
My husband will tell you I've gone a little overboard with the kale.  And that was before I knew the secret.  (Hint:  Involves a rubdown with oil, always a good thing in my book).  Now he'll probably divorce me.

Original article:  Click here.

My notes:  Instead of using one of their recipes, I used their method, and tossed the newly-relaxed greens in my own balsamic dressing, along with shredded carrots, sliced mushrooms, and blue cheese crumbles.  I also threw some on my pizza.  I think I heard my husband crying all the way in Mammoth.

Before the rubdown

After!

My review:  Not only is this extremely therapeutic for you AND your kale, the results are truly magical. What a great trick!

The Sablé Cookies!
They had me at "vanilla bean".

Please, please, go read the original article.  It's Dorie Greenspan people!

My notes: I followed the recipe exactly except that I did add 1 tsp. of vanilla paste as well as the vanilla sugar, because my vanilla beans, instead of being "plump and soft" were more "withered and brittle".  Kind of like red vines that aren't so fresh, if you know what I mean.  I didn't want to take any chances.  I used Kerrygold Irish Butter, and raw turbinado sugar to finish the cookies.  I also adjusted the baking time down to 15 minutes.

My review:  These are simply amazing.  I mean, I intellectually believed when I read the article, but I was spiritually converted when I ate one.  That's how good they are.

* As my ever-growing "recipes to try" Pinterest board can attest.  Pinterest, btw, is a total chick thing.  I was at a board meeting the other day and not a single guy in the room had used it.  In fact, they looked scared when I brought it up.
** Today was a good one:
There were the resignation rants.
There was type made from hands via always-cool Colossal.

There was this collection of negative reviews of The Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison (hilarious)
There were confessions of a cookbook ghostwriter in the NY Times. (and a series of tweets from Rachel Ray, flatly denying she uses ghostwriters)
And a long article about how people no longer actually put recipes in cookbooks anyway.
*** Previously noted here and here.
**** Hence that odd Roman numeral "I" in the title of this post.

My stash of dough for later

Tropical Turkey Day, Upside Down Cake

We had a different kind of Thanksgiving this year. We ran away from home to a tropical island for a few days.  Instead of cooking up a storm, I was walking on the beach. Slicing pineapple instead of pureeing pumpkin.  Applying sunscreen instead of whipped cream.   Reading novels instead of consulting cookbooks.  Stuffing my face instead of stuffing the turkey...

You get the idea.

And yes, I do know exactly how lucky I am, thank you very much.  Licking my emotional wounds with mai tais is definitely not a bad way to go.   But as pleasant and nice as this is, it's also strange and  unsettling.  It feels quite odd to be here.

That being said, the vacation was going beautifully until it came time to have Thanksgiving dinner.  I'd booked a reservation days in advance at a posh restaurant overlooking the ocean that was known for its cuisine and impeccable service.  The website promised "a traditional Thanksgiving option" as well as selections from their regular menu. I was excited. After all, if I was going to betray an entire lifetime of days-in-the-making, completely from scratch, gather-everyone-around-the-family-table Thanksgiving tradition, I figured I might as well do it in style.

I made my husband put on long pants. I made my daughter put on her plainest black T-Shirt.  I made my son clean his shoes.  I tried my best to comb out my hair so the imprint of the baseball cap wasn't so visible.   I hustled them into the car and we headed out.

We pull up to the valet.  The people in the car ahead of us got out and walked into the restaurant.  In shorts, baseball caps and tennis shoes.

My husband:  I knew I could have kept my shorts on.
My daughter:  Are you sure this is a nice place?  I mean, they have a valet and all, but that lady looks just like you did a few minutes ago, and she's coming here.

After a short wait, we are shown to our table, with a full view of the starlit sky and the glow of the lit tiki torches below.  There are many well dressed people around us.  I feel vindicated and content.  Two musicians are playing Hawaiian-ized pop music on native instruments near the bar, which is crowded with patrons waiting for tables. The sounds mingle and drift our way, creating a relaxing background to the conversation. The restaurant has no walls, so the ocean breeze is wafting over us as the hostess hands out menus.  As I'm reading, I'm filled with a growing sense of dread.

My son:  What is WRONG with these people?  This is the most unhelpful menu I have ever seen.  Who writes this way in real life?

He reads aloud in a highly sarcastic voice:

Grilled Maui Cattle Grass Fed Filet. Kula Creamed Corn. House Whipped Potatoes.  Local Beet-Tomato-Onion Chutney.

Me:  If you don't like something, just have it on the side.
Him:  It's not the things I don't like, it's the menu! I have NO idea from what they wrote there if I like the things or not. What's up with this!  Can't they just say steak and mashed potatoes like normal people?

My daughter pipes up.

Her:  Whoever heard of a Caesar Salad with croutons made out of fried green tomatoes?  Croutons means bread. Tomatoes are red. This place is messed up.
My husband:  Guys, Mom really wants to have a nice evening.  Let's all try to find something we can eat here.
My son:  OK, Dad.  I'll do that.  If you can tell me what cavatelli pasta is and why the asparagus has a first name, I will totally shut up.
Me:  How about the fish and chips?
My daughter:  Mom!  It says "fish and chips" in [making the marks in the air for emphasis] quotation marks.   It's actually fish and eggplant.  Eggplant!  And who puts corn in tartar sauce?  The same people who think tomatoes are croutons, that's who.

The waiter arrives.  My husband asks if he can recommend anything for not-so-adventurous eaters.  He mentions the Harvest Plate* and gets nothing, then points out a mild fresh ono with macadamia nut crust.  The stares are withering.  He starts to look a little nervous.

My son (through gritted teeth):  I''ll have the filet, please.
My daughter (falsely cheerful):  I'll have the same.  Well done.  Like burnt.
Me:  (still trying to salvage something here):  I'll have the scallops.

My husband lets out a huge "hrrumph" and dramatically opens up his menu again.

Me:  Oh gosh!  Did you want the scallops?  I thought you would be getting the rib eye! I'm so sorry!
Him: (sighing pointedly)  Well, yes I did want the scallops, but I guess I'll be having the rib eye.
Me:  (clapping a little with delight)  Oh good!  I wanted to try that.

The kids roll their eyes. My husband glares at me, then looks meaningfully at my daughter.

Him:  And a Caesar salad to start.
The waiter:  And how did you want that rib-eye cooked, sir?
Me: (without looking up from the menu)  Medium.

There's a hush around the table, then everyone, including the waiter, bursts out laughing.  I'm blinking in confusion for a minute, then I start giggling, too.

The tension we all felt at being far from home, in a place that feels not just odd but downright alien, particularly on this night, is gone.  We talk and we bicker and we eat and we laugh some more.  We tease each other and do trivia questions and split the scallops and the rib eye.  We toast the occasion and plan our outing for tomorrow.

No one eats the beet stuff.

And we agree I will make a real Thanksgiving dinner when we get home. This whole thing is just a little too upside down for our taste.

Donuts. Is there anything they can't do?

It's widely known that Los Angeles has more donut shops per capita than anywhere else in the country*.  There's practically one on every corner.  In fact, there is one on our corner.

So this clearly qualifies as superfluous, right?

I've never made donuts before.  Why would I, when I can get a delicious glazed old fashioned for 75 cents anytime** without having to break out a vat of boiling oil?

Here's why.  When you make them at home, your son will take one bite and say, "I think this is the happiest moment of my life right here!  Mom, you are the BEST!"

In the morning

Me too!

Channeling my inner Johnny

If I were going to dress up as someone for Halloween tonight, I would be Johnny, from Airplane! He's my favorite character.*

I could then re-enact a pivotal scene from the movie:

Llyod Bridges: What can you make out of this?**

Me:  I can't make a brooch, or a pterodactyl.
But I can make biscuits!

And pancakes!

If you listen carefully to the DVD commentary, it turns out that this is the reason that Leon is getting larger.

Wanna be startin' somethin'

I said you wanna be startin' somthin'

You got to be startin' somethin'...

If you can't feed your baby (yeah, yeah!)

Then don't have a baby! (yeah, yeah!)

Yes, I believe in me!

So you believe in you!

Help me sing it!
Ma ma se, ma ma sa, ma ma coo sa!

You wanna be startin' something?

Sourdough starter guide here.

Alton Brown recipe I used here.

Or, if you're in the neighborhood, stop by here and borrow a cup of mine.

Recipe for using sourdough starter in the no knead bread recipe here.

Formulas to swap sourdough starter into standard yeast recipes here.

And check back here in coming weeks for my attempts at sourdough pancakes and biscuits.

Yeah! Yeah!