Basque Baby Eels & Buzzcocks

Zola: When our good friend José sent in his receta from Spain he also sent a picture of the dish that looked like this. Now, I didn't know what gulas or elver were so I looked at the picture and thought, "José sent us a recipe for pasta? Lame. That's not very Spanish." We met José in Barcelona, but he & his family are from the Basque region. First I thought that maybe pasta is more common there? I thought about it some more and it just didn't make sense. It just wasn't José's style to lame out on on us. I set about to doing some research and learned that elver are baby eels (and the gulas are a surimi substitute). Look at me, learning new things. With the help of Swiss and a trip to Boise (the Basque capitol of North America--who knew?), I got myself a good supply of the little guys.


Jose: Important observation. The Dish I'm gonna explain is Elver with garlic and prawls but at the same time it's not exactly that. Let's see, the elver is a really expensive food, and as many of this kind of plates (like cod, for example) there's a substitute which is much cheaper but remains some of the carachteristics of the original. For a really affordable price we can make a dish easy to do and ideal for special occasions as for everyday life as well. The substitute is called "gula", and its most known commercial name is"gula del norte" which could be found in the States. Maybe not very easily but could be found.

Well, we'll need, for 4 people:

16 ounce (400 gr.) of fresh "gulas"
16 ounce (400 gr.) of peeled prawns
2 cloves of garlic
salt
Olive oil


You have to pour the oil over de frying pan, when the oil is hot enough put the garlic (cut in thin pieces) and the prawns. After a minute or a minute and a half, put the "gulas". Then Remove, everything sautéed. After that, you can wet your fingers in cold water and pour that on the "gulas". The best presentation is to put the gulas, garlic and prawls into a earthenware pot.

A good complement is white wine and a salad.

It's a really easy dish to do but at the same time it's not the typical thing you do everyday and it fits perfectly in the punk philosophy, you can do it yourself, in a very short period of time and as a beautiful Buzzcocks song it will leave a big smile in your face because it's really, really tasty. Did I had to make that stupid comparison, my friends? of course not but if it makes you remember that you should prove at least once this north Spain dish I'll have done my duty.

Enjoy!!

Zola: I also added some Spanish style bread--toasted, rubbed with garlic & tomato, drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt. Add some jamon if you like. Suffice to say, José did his duty!

Cape Cod Sandwich

Zola: This story really needs no introduction. But I should at least introduce you to Sharon, who has unwittingly become the Patron Saint of Food Chains--it was through Sharon that we met Whitney and her fine food from Guam; Sharon & her partner Pat have donated BACON bumper stickers (that we'll give to anyone who writes a story for the blog & wants one); Sharon & Pat visited us for a meal & brought about 4 dozen fresh oysters (which, okay, technically it wasn't part of the blog but it was a kick ass meal); and she wrote this awesome story which produced an awesome sandwich.

Sharon: My family has been going to Cape Cod ever since I was born. There is a photo of me at six months old, crawling around the beach. I’ve been a beach person ever since. My parents built a house on the Cape in the early ‘90s, and my dad still lives there today. I try to visit once a year.

During one visit—let’s say it was around 1994—my husband at the time and I cruised around the mid-Cape one day with my folks, with some purpose in mind that I have long forgotten. What I do remember is that after we had built up a healthy sea-air appetite (it makes me ravenous, how about you?), we stopped at what is fondly called a “fish shack” near Yarmouth. The building was classic Cape Cod—unassuming wood building sitting right on the docks, the inevitable lobster buoy and crab pot decorations, sea gulls providing the background music. The restaurant was run by a shy family, and because it was after the lunch rush, we practically had the place to ourselves; therefore, the space had a quiet, almost reverent atmosphere.

Our order was obvious: fish sandwich, french fries, and a Coke. We sipped on our icy Cokes to get our blood sugar leveled and read about lobsters on our paper placemats while waiting for our meals, which came out after not too long of a wait.

More than a dozen years later, I can still recall picking up that sandwich and taking the first bite. Soft yet substantial bun with a crisped, slightly caramelized interior surface. Crunch of iceberg lettuce and the tangy-smooth burst of tartar sauce. Then the fish. We swore that the family must have plucked a sole fish out of the water just after we ordered—it was that fresh. My memory goes a little dim at the exact constitution of the coating—but I can say that it was neither overly breaded nor bare fleshed, nor was there any of that “Cajun seasoning” that often wrecks a fish sandwich. The fish was allowed to speak for itself.

We ate our lunches, oohing and ahhing and “oh my godding” the whole time. It’s not like we hadn’t eaten fish sandwiches before—it is a staple lunch in New England—but we had just experienced the new gold standard. The shy waitress took in our raving with equanimity and provided no effusive response, just the check.

A couple of years later, on another visit, my husband and I were trekking around the Cape when we decided to find that fish shack again. We were getting pretty hungry and weren’t quite sure where the restaurant was located, but we felt that our strong memory of that fish sandwich would guide our way. It was like a beacon. Unfortunately, after going up and down every little side road in the upper and mid-Cape, we realized that we weren’t going to find the place. We gave up and grabbed lunch at some forgettable place, and headed back to my parents. We asked them, “Where is that fish shack where we had those amazing sandwiches?” “Oh, they closed. The family wanted to retire from the business.” Tragedy. I still have not fully recovered from the loss.

I have never found a fish sandwich as good as that time. In fact, they often fall short by epic proportions. My advice to the fish sandwich makers:

1. Use the freshest sole (no salmon or other alternative, please!) –don’t relegate your day-old or previously frozen stuff to the sandwich.
2. Keep it simple. No cayenne or paprika or “blackening”
3. The breading needs to be light, but substantial enough to provide a crisped container for the hot, juicy, tender fish inside.
4. Make your own tartar sauce and make it with high-quality ingredients.
5. Iceberg lettuce is the only lettuce that should go on this (or any other) sandwich. Do not let romaine or Bibb (or, God help me, sprouts) touch a bun.
6. The bun is extremely important. It can’t be airy, mushy, hard, doughy, too big or too small. It should be soft, substantial, and have that toasted interior. No cornmeal or sesame seeds, please.
7. French fries and a Coke are de rigueur, even if you never drink soda.

Zola: So guess what Guy got from my parents for his birthday? Oh hello, deep fryer, you naughty thing!
We went down to Fisherman's Terminal to pick up some sole and saw these tasty little squids. We decided we could substitute them for the french fries and Sharon wouldn't mind too much. Also, when we got the cokes, we thought, "you know what goes with coke? Rum!" Yes, I know it's not strictly in keeping with the story, but when better is there to start drinking hard liquor than when you've got a vat of oil cooking away at 375 degrees?
Guy let the sole soak in buttermilk for a few hours, then dredged the pieces of fish in egg then a mixture of flour, bread crumbs, salt & pepper before popping them in the deep fryer.
Tartar:
1/2c. mayo
1 1/2 tsp. finely chopped onion
1 1/2 tsp. lemon juice
2 Tbsp. sweet pickle relish
2 tsp. dry mustard powder
2 pinches of white pepper
dash of cayenne
 
Now we must go astringent our faces.

Argentine Cassoulet: Locro

Zola: Dave is a former colleague of mine; a fellow librarian. Like any good librarian, Dave sent thorough and referenced notes from his food adventures while he and his wife, Karen, visited their son who was studying in Argentina (lucky dog). This is only one passage, and we'll explore more of his adventures later. But this first dish really hammered something home for me: I need to get to Argentina toute de suite, people.

Dave and Tony Maack and Karen Gilles' food experiences in Argentina 2006:

BUENOS AIRES:

In Buenos Aires we had rented an apartment in Belgrano on the far North side of this city of 12 million people. We had been in and out of the city for a few days but hadn't really found a restaurant we liked in our nice little neighborhood. Around the corner we had seen a small group of shops and a couple restaurants just off a little park and decided to look them over closely. We discovered a hole in the wall restaurant that specialized in empanadas. It might have been called Empanadas Saltena. We were soon to go to Salta so we sat down outside.

Argentinos are very gregarious people and it took no time for the woman proprietor to tell was she was from Salta. We ordered empanadas with her help. Empanadas are similar to what the British (or Cornish) call pasties and are also found in many Latin American countries Empanadas are like hambergers in Argentina. Well liked by all.

She suggested we also try some regional stews. Tony and I had locro and Karen had another stew I can't remember. This was a hearty and very fun lunch.

When we returned from salta, we went back, and ordered a big bunch of empandas. We ended up talking with the owner and a man who I believe was the bookkeeper for the restaurant about politics (you know the Bush, US Gov., Pres Kirchner,etc). This went on for some time and was very animated. The empanadas were GREAT.
Needless to say Tony did most of the talking.

Zola: Now, I guess it would have made sense to make empanadas. But why? I've had empanadas. Last week we had piroshki, so we essentially had empanadas. I wanted to check this mysterious LOCRO. When I researched it a bit, it was occasionally referred to as an Argentine cassoulet. And that just can't be bad.

LOCRO:
3 cups corn kernels
2 cups hominy
2 medium onions, sliced
1 large butternut squash, peeled and cubed
1 red pepper, diced
5 cups of vegetable broth
1 can white beans
11 ounces of chorizo
11 ounces of beef, cubed
6 ounces of bacon, sliced
2 tsp cayenne
1 tsp coriander powder
salt & pepper to taste
3 tablespoons of oil

I've discovered that I'm really bad at estimating how much food a recipe is going to make. If you suffer from this same affliction, I'll tell you this for nothing: I'm not sure what the laymen's term is but I believe the technical term is SHIT LOAD. This recipe makes a shit load of locro. Guy says it'll serve at least 6 people.

Chop and saute onions and the pepper in oil. Add the squash cubes and cook for about 5 minutes.

Next, add the vegetable broth and turn the heat to low. When the squash is half cooked, add the corn, hominy and the beans. In a different saucepan, brown the bacon, sausage and the beef. Add the meat mixture to the squash mixture and season with spices.

Boil for approximately 30 minutes--until it comes together as a stew. I served it with avocado and tortillas.

The Cooking of Strangers: Borscht & Piroshki

Zola: I've just begun reading an amazing autobiography called The Courage of Strangers by Jeri Laber. JL was one of the co-founders of Helsinki Watch, which would become Human Rights Watch. Our bookshelf is littered with similar books: passionate individuals who are driven to make substantive change in the world. I devour these things. But this one is really speaking me. It's partially because she found her "calling" later in life, and that puts me at ease. As someone who didn't even begin her undergraduate studies until the age of 27, I often feel like I'm in a constant struggle to catch up to get where I want to be. The other thing is that it turns out old JL is a bit of a foodie. In fact, it was while she was editing the Fannie Farmer Cookbook that she met then President of Random House, Bob Bernstein, who got her into her first paid position doing human rights work. It's two worlds--food and development work--that sometimes feel completely at odds to me and I enjoyed reading her experiences within both.

She began her career with an interest--an obsession, really--with all things Russian. It's easy to imagine. It was the early 1950's and everything Russian was forbidden and mysterious. Combine that with the fact that her father was Russian and refused to speak about his life there. Much to the chagrin of her father, she ended up studying Russian language and literature, and in 1954 was one of the first American students to get a student visa into the USSR. By the 1960's she had 3 children and was working part-time in the Institute for the Study of the USSR.

Jeri: I looked forward to the office Christmas party each year, which always began with a gala Russian banquet, prepared by staff members and their spouses and spread out on a cloth-covered Ping-Pong table in the office recreation room. Many of the foods were new to me, but the tastes were enticingly familiar and reminded me of meals my grandmothers had made. There was caviar, both red and black; several kinds of pirozhki (light, flaky pastries filled with ground meat, cabbage, or mushrooms); pelmeni (boiled dumplings often served in a delicate broth); beef Stroganoff; hard boiled eggs with anchovies and dill sauce and salad Oliver (made with diced chiken, potatoes, and dill pickles). Vodka flowed freely and there was no end to the toasting. No matter how late I stayed, the party was in full swing when I left, and the sight the next morning of broken bottles and overturned chairs testified to even wilder partying as the night went on.

I got recipes from my colleagues and began preparing Russian food at home. One of my specialties was a meat-filled cabbage and beet borscht that I often served as a main course with mushroom pirozhki on the side. I followed it with thin slices of paskha, the sumptuous Russian Easter dessert made with farmer cheese, butter, cream, sugar, almonds, and other sinful things. My love affair with Russia now extended to its cuisine.

Zola: I've never been crazy about Eastern European food. You may have noticed that my tastes lean toward the spicy. But in honor of Jeri and the amazing work of Human Rights Watch (and learning to cook new food) we're cooking borscht and mushroom piroshki.


Mushroom Piroshki:
Dough:
1 1/2 c. sifted flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
pinch salt
1/4 c. butter
1 egg, beaten
1/2 c. sour cream
Cut cold butter into flour/baking powder/salt until well mixed. Add sour cream and egg and form into a ball. Let refrigerate for a couple of hours.

Filling:
Cook 12 oz of mushrooms in butter. Mix in some flat leaf parsley, lemon juice and salt and pepper. Mix in some sour cream and a hard boiled egg.

Roll out dough to 1/8 inch thickness. I cut the dough into squares to conserve dough. Place about 2 tablespoons of filling in center of each square. Using pastry brush, coat edges with beaten egg. Fold dough over and shape into triangles. Press edges firmly together. Place on ungreased cookie sheet and brush tops with beaten egg and sprinkle with . Chill them for another hour then bake at 400 degrees for about 25-30 minutes.

Borscht:
1 pound beef or lamb shank
4 c. water
1/2 chopped onion
2 small bay leaves
1/2 tsp whole allspice
1 tomato peeled & chopped
1/2 small cabbage
1 carrot
1 beet
1 tsp vinegar
fresh ground pepper
chopped parsley and dill


Bring beef/lamb shank, onion, water, bay leaves, and allspice to a boil. Skim as necessary and let simmer for an hour. Chop veggies into a thin chop (apparently if you grate them, your borscht will be cloudy, and who wants that?). Remove meat from pot--if there's enough meat on the bone, cut it off and throw it back in with your veggies. Otherwise, set aside and toss in veggies. Boil uncovered for about 15 minutes or until veggies are cooked through. Before serving, stir in vinegar pepper, parsley and dill. Add sour cream to top.

Note: I think these turned out really well. My one comment would be that there wasn't enough broth to the borscht. If I had to do it again, I'd up the stock part of the recipe.

Oh, the Jeri quote is from her book:
The Courage of Strangers, PublicAffairs, 2002.

Swedish meatballs via the Indian Sub-continent

Guy: Well for readers out there that have been attentively following the "happenings" here on Food Chains, you may be surprised to see Swedish Meatballs, again. You may remember one of our earliest posts supplied by our earnstwhile Swede Per for a meatball dish, provided here in this installation is a variation on that well known theme with an ethnic adaptive twist. With out going to deep into the degrees of separation lets just say I dedicate this Indian/Swedish Meatballs post to Per in acknowledgment of his birthplace, that same said city of my father's, Calcutta.
My friend Eva provided this recipe and story. After we had discussed Per's recipe Eva indeed confirmed Per's discussion on the swedish philosophy of "medium size", the idea that things are not to big or to small, as Eva added it is the idea that things are "just right". Eva said that the swedish were very good at incorporating other cultures food into their own. This following example I look at as similar to the English dish Chicken Tikki Masala, an English development on an Indian theme. As you may know, food chains is interested in the stories and emotional connections people have to food, and not just the food it's self. This recipe was Eva's aunties favorite, and a favorite of Eva's. When Eva returned home some years ago this was the meal she ate with her aunt. Unfortunately it was the last meal they would have together, however Eva says that the dish always reminds of her aunt and of her fond memories of her. So here we go with Eva's Indian Meatballs in a Creamy Tomato Sauce.


INDIAN MEATBALLS:
Serves 4-6
1 Lbs lean ground beef.
1 sml onion (red) grated.
1 tsp salt
1&1/2 tsp Garam masala
1 egg yoke
1/2 cup unsweetened bread soaked in 1/2 cup hot water.
butter for frying.
CREAMY SAUCE:
2 cans crushed tomatoes (15oz cans)
1 can diced chili peppers (4.5oz.)
1 tbsp curry powder.
1/2 tsp lemon juice.
1 tsp salt.
2 tsp Garam masala
1 tsp coriander (ground)
1 cup creme fraiche or sour cream.
THE METHOD:
Combine the tomatoes, chili peppers and spices (including lemon juice) in a pot.
Add the Sour cream and bring to a boil. Set aside for the meatballs.
Combine the beef, egg, soaked bread, onion and spices and mix thoroughly. Shape into moderate meatballs about 1 & 1/2 inches in diameter (remember Per's recipe!) this is made easier by using hands dipped in cold water.
Fry the meatballs on moderate heat shaking the pan now and then to brown the balls evenly.
Add the balls when browned to the cream sauce, cook on low heat for 15 minutes in covered pot.
Serve over rice.


For this meal I chose brown rice which worked well. I also added Lingonberry preserve as a condiment in the style of traditional Swedish meatballs. These balls and sauce were surprisingly flavorful and spicy despite the relatively conservative amount of spice used. My friend Bill was our guest for dinner on a chilly Seattle evening, we declared this recipe DELICIOUS!
And just the right accompaniment the 60's film farce "Candy" staring Swedish actress Ewa Aulin, both film and meatballs were greatly enjoyed by Bill and myself. Thanks to Eva for this great story and recipe!
Bon appetite in Swedish!

Childhood on Guam

Zola: I've got to admit, I've been pretty down on the blog lately. We're at the end of the 3rd month and just not getting enough people submitting food stories to keep us going through the end of the year. Oh, we've got a few stories in back-up but at the rate they're coming in, either you're going to have to listen to even more of my crappy stories or we're not going to make it. Let's just say that if you see Betha's fruitcake story and recipe published in May (instead of Nov/Dec when you want to think about making the world's most delicious fruitcake) you'll know the end is freaking nigh.

That being said, the story and recipe below re-charged me a bit. As you'll undoubtedly infer from her post, I don't know Whitney--and it's always a thrill to open the old inbox and see a message from someone I don't know. The other thing that was really cool about this post was that I don't know jack about Guamese food. It was just what I needed to try to create something that tasted good without any clue what it should taste like.


Whitney: Sharon passed along your incredibly cool blog to me about 20 minutes ago and I'm inspired to look like I'm working hard but to write about food memories. The first that popped into my head was a visit to Sorrento in 2006 where I had THE MOST AMAZING MEAL of my life. But I'm still reeling from it and can't quite put it into words. So instead I'll tell you about my (food) memories of childhood spent on the tropical island of Guam.

We arrived in 1974 when I was 8 - so all the memories are colored with a kid's perspective. Every village had a patron saint and a chosen month to celebrate said patron saint with fiestas. I'm not sure how they swapped hosting duties but someone was ALWAYS having a party. As in most polynesian (or in this case, micronesian but let's not split tropical hairs) a big part of the culture seems to be generosity. Back in those days (folks tell me it's different now), any stranger was welcome to walk in and share the bounty.

It would go something like this, my incredibly beautiful, blonde haole (= white person) mom would get an invitation from some random person to a fiesta. My mom, my brother (age 6) and I would show up and be welcomed like royalty. I remember hearing something about strangers being considered good luck.

THE FOOD! Was an amazing combo of the island culture Guamanian/Chamorro, Spanish and Filipino food. Favorites of mine:

Bistek: some sort of marinated thinly sliced steak

Kelaguen of ALL sorts of meat - chicken, beef & spam being my favorites: Kelaguen was cool because we got to help shred the coconut. Imagine sitting astride a wooden sawhorse with a rusty grater (a rod with a bent-up sharp end to open the coconut) and a flat, round serrated end. The kids would do this for hours to get enough coconut for everyone. I remember the meat being 'raw' (only partially cooked and then cooked with vinegar but I could be wrong).

Red Rice: always!

Chicken adobo: the BEST chicken I've ever had in my life.

Corn soup with THICK corn tortillas: I've never been able to figure out those 1/2 inch thick corn tortillas. They had grill marks on them.

Lumpia: The Filipino folks said this was a Filipino recipe. Tiny little spring roll-esque fried bits of heaven. A pain to make but SO SO SO yummy. Actually verging on addictive.

Pancit: Another "Pilipino Pood" (so our friends described it). VERY yummy noodle dish - not sure if they're buckwheat? But the texture was very different. I remember chicken and celery with fresh lemon flavors.

Finadene Sauce with the tiny red peppers: HOT to be added to everything.

Pickled Green Papaya - HOT HOT HOT and addictive. Kids would bring baggies of these to sell at the bake sales

Roast Pork - We had neighbors with pigs and I stumbled across them slaughtering a pig for a fiesta. I didn't get to see much but I saw it hanging so the blood could drain.

The adults would all chew betel nut by making a little pouch of banana leaves and filling it with the SUPER bitter nut and some limestone. I tasted it once and WOW. I spit it right out. Everyone laughed at the little haole girl with her white hair...

Zola: So, not having a village to feed or a patron saint to celebrate (I guess it was Easter. Hm. Never mind), I decided to just try a couple things off the list. I went with Kelaguen, which required making Finadene sauce, and then some titiyas which are the thick tortillas Whitney mentions. I was also a cheater and bought some Lumpia because I love them but really don't need 2 dozen fried springs rolls in belly.

My guiding principle with the Kelaguen was this sentence from Wikipedia: "Though a simple dish, kelaguen reflects the complex history of the Micronesian archipelago's Hispanic-Asian-influenced native culture. It is similar to South American Ceviche and Filipino Kinilaw/Kilawin." I looked at a few different recipes and this is what I came up with:

Finidene (or also spelled Finidi) sauce: Mix a cup of soy sauce with a cup of lemon juice (lime juice or a good vinegar will also do). Add a large, finely chopped shallot and two birds eye chili peppers.

Marinate about a pound of chicken in this sauce overnight.

Fry up your chicken, basting in the sauce, and let it cool. Shred the chicken and mix with lemon juice, salt, shredded fresh coconut, finely chopped onion and more chilis to taste. Serve over titiyas. I used this recipe for titiyas but was not crazy about it. they were good but I felt like the dough should have been firmer. I'll keep looking for one with corn meal.

Pie Date pt. 2 (or how I learned to stop worrying and love the yeast) continued...

Alright, where were we? Oh yes. I was having a small mind melt. But not to worry--I've hung out on a beach with seals and had four glorious days of being no where near a computer. All better now.

So to continue our tragic tale...
I had just begun working for Tom Douglas. Let's be absolutely clear about this: I didn't know what the hell I was doing. One minute, I was working with Kenny, the tiny, odd gay man with piercing blue eyes, a fierce chain smoking habit, and creepy collection of dolls. The next minute, I was being interviewed by Eric Tanaka, James Beard Award winner. When I first worked with Tanaka he had an impressive burn covering his forearm from a duck exploding on him when he pulled it out of the oven. I had never even considered cooking duck, let alone contemplated the consequences of one exploding on me.

Tom never went to culinary school either, so my work ethic and willingness to learn worked in my favor. But I no longer had my buddies, like Colin in his ridiculous baker's hat, pounding his oven-mitted fist onto the bread table, yelling, "you can do it, Zola--just one more time!" as we tried to break (or create?) the record for consecutive times one can listen to "Super Freak" (I only made it to ten without cracking). Now I was working with the serious and seriously talented Johnathon Sundstrom. These were no times for Super Freak shenanigans, people!

The other thing to keep in mind is that, while I say I was working with people like Tanaka and Sundstrom, I was in fact working by myself. Tom had hired me to make the desserts for the newly opened Etta's Seafood but there wasn't enough room in either Dahlia or Etta's kitchens to work in the day. So I found myself working from 11pm to 7am at the Dahlia kitchen. I'd see the chefs as they were cleaning their stations for the night and then I was on my own.

A few weeks into my new job, I felt like things were going pretty well, despite that gross feeling that accompanies you when you work the night shift. If you've never done it, it's a combination of: not enough sleep, too much coffee and cigarettes, and zero human contact. But the baking was going fine. Coconut cream pies? Check. Apple dumplings. Delish. Cinnamon ice cream. Done. And then came the day that Tom announced that Etta's was running smoothly enough to open the place up for brunch. And this brunch menu was to include cinnamon rolls. Sounds nice, right? Except cinnamon rolls, when you stop and think about them, are really more of a bread product. As in, you need yeast to make them. And your faithful protagonist here had never made a single item with yeast in her young life. So I conferred with Swiss. She assured me it was easy stuff, "just make sure your water isn't too hot or too cold". Uh. Okay. Not too hot, not too cold. Easy. Wait. WTF??? Too hot or too cold compared to what?

I walked into that kitchen that night with a bad, bad feeling. I tried to play it off like everything was fine. I started working on pie dough and some ice cream mix while the rest of the staff were still there. As soon as they left I sat in the dining area and drank a shitload of coffee and smoked like a banshee while I mulled over my "too hot, too cold" predicament. Eventually, I got myself to that point--almost like when you convince yourself you just have to jump off the high dive. I started working off the cinnamon roll recipe. I read the recipe a million times, scanning for every nuance or clue that might enlighten me on how to work with yeast. I remember adding that first concoction of water, yeast and sugar and thinking, "Holy Christ. I don't even know what I'm looking for?!"

Oh yeah. Did I mention that I had to make about 200 of these cinnamon rolls?

At some point... maybe around 2am... I realized I just had to go into production with these things. It was coming together like dough but it just didn't feel right. I was using every refrigerated space available. I was rolling and filling and cutting, putting each cinnamon roll in it's bed of caramelized sugar and putting it in the fridge for someone else to pull out later for its final rise and baking right before service. Except that with each batch that I rolled out and filled, I became increasingly aware that something wasn't right. At one point, I just broke down crying. But I kept on making those stupid rolls until I had every roll in the fridge ready to go.

I got home exhausted, but I couldn't sleep. Around 10am I got the call. Brace yourself, friends. This story does not have a happy ending. Not a single cinnamon roll rose. Not. One. Not only was I humiliated but I thought for sure I was fired. Lucky for me, Tom is great guy and he didn't fire me. And I never made that mistake again. The next time I had to make something I was unfamiliar with, I did a ton of research and a few trials.

But I was pretty scarred by my yeast experience. I dreaded making anything with yeast after that. Brioche was a nice entry into that world--there's enough sugar to activate any stubborn yeast package. But I still secretly get nervous any time I need to work with it. So I decided to conquer my fear and enlisted my friends Kathleen (who you were introduced to during my last pie date) and Lisa. We decided to have Pie Date Part Deux, and this one would use yeast--pizza pie.

We used two different types of yeast and two different recipes to see if there were differences in taste and texture. There didn't appear to be much difference between the regular yeast and the organic in terms of taste but we found we liked this semolina based dough best:

Ingredients
1(1/4 ounce) package dry yeast
1 tablespoon sugar
1 1/2 cups warm but not hot water (see! there it is again!!)
3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup semolina or cornmeal
1 tablespoon salt
3 tablespoons olive oil

1. Mix 1/2 cup of the warm water with the yeast and sugar. Let the mixture rest until it is foamy, about 5 minutes. At this point, I also like to do lots of hand waving and talking to the bowl. I like to mix it up, too. You can start out stern, "You better rise you little bitch." But then, just to be safe, you should be nice too, "I know you can do it. You're looking good and foamy!"
2. Combine the flour, semolina or cornmeal, and salt in large mixing bowl. Stir in the olive oil. Stir in the yeast mixture and then slowly add remaining water until the dough is stiff and sticky. Turn the dough onto lightly floured board and knead until it is smooth, moist, and elastic, about 10-15 minutes. Transfer to an oil-lined bowl, cover with damp towel, and let it rise in a warm place until doubled, about one hour.
3. Punch down the dough once or twice and turn it out onto a lightly floured board. Cut it into 6 pieces for individual pizzas and top as you like.

Kathleen made a delicious tomato sauce while we waited for our dough to rise. She went for a much more traditional pie with the sauce and the mozzarella. Swiss had just sent me a huge block of prosciutto for my birthday, farm raised in Iowa, so I paired that with some potatoes, sharp Parmesan and baby arugala. Lisa had the winner with a pesto base, roasted tomatoes and feta cheese. I had some dough left over so a couple days later I tried a breakfast pie with egg and potato and cheese. Guy liked it but it was a little too breakfast-y for my taste.


I still prefer to work with yeast in the company of good friends. It makes it so much more fun and I had the added benefit of seeing the how other recipes and styles work. Thanks ladies!