A good risotto, and a lesson (re)learned

This weekend was a mixed bag. Let's start with the good stuff.

Friday night: sweet summer corn risotto with tarragon. I've been making risotto for a long time. My mother gave me a risotto cookbook in college when I moved into my first off-campus apartment. I quickly learned the basic method, and in the many years since I've made a lot of varieties: risotto with tomatoes; risotto with wild mushrooms; risotto with lemon; even a crazy fuchsia beet risotto, which I liked but to which the husband said firmly afterward, "Too beety." He won that one.

Mostly I make risotto with whatever I have at hand. It's such a flexible dish, you can use almost anything. There are a few ingredients, though, that I think of as staples: shallots, good white wine, and softened butter or mascarpone to stir in at the end.

On friday I used my basic recipe and toward the end folded in two shucked ears of corn and some tarragon. At the very end, when the heat was off, I stirred in mascarpone and grated lemon zest. It turned out perfectly, complex and bright, especially alongside two little pink pieces of salmon the husband had picked up at Good Life.

Saturday night: roasted pork loin with cherry-port sauce. I won't get into much detail about the pork itself because I always do roasts the same way: slather them in rosemary, salt, pepper and olive oil and roast at 425. Simple and fool-proof.

It was the sauce that tripped me up. That night, I was feeling a dangerous mix of confident (I'd made a fig-port sauce before with fabulous results), thrifty (I had another sack of cherries to use), and a little reckless (cocktail hour had come and gone). I pitted some cherries and threw them in a saucepan with some port, chicken broth, honey, rosemary, a cinnamon stick, salt and pepper. I put it on to simmer and came back in 30 minutes. It was gorgeous and deeply red, I noticed, but not as thick as I would have liked.

Now, someone who was more clever, or at least someone who learned from past mistakes, might have considered that swapping one fruit for another doesn't always work. In this case, the original recipe I was using as a base called for dried figs, while I was using fresh cherries. Dried fruit is different than fresh fruit, in that it's, you know, dry.

In addition to feeling confident, thrifty, and reckless, I was also feeling stubborn. Although I could tell the sauce wasn't ready, I pureed it in a blender, adding butter for glossiness. Beautiful, vibrant color! Runny though. I put it back in the pan and I let it simmer for another 15 minutes and finally drizzled it over the roast. The husband, who does not care much for sauces, thought it was fine. I was pleased with the flavor but wholly disappointed in the thin, watery consistency.

The lesson here, is twofold: 1) dried fruit works better for these kinds of things and 2) learn from past mistakes. For heaven's sake, that's what I have a blog for, isn't it?

There were other good things to eat throughout the weekend--scones, a grilled eggplant salad, and pasta with shrimp and tomato-cream sauce. But, I have no pictures of those. Sometimes I just can't be bothered with the picture-taking. I make it, and then I eat it, period. That's just the way the Hungry Dog rolls.

Anything pesto

You know how I don' t like to waste food, right? I've attributed this to thriftiness, the bounty of our weekly produce box, and I've also blamed it on my parents. Well, whatever the root, the fact is, I've been known to use up some pretty old vegetables, whipping them into new dishes with varying success.

The other night while rooting through our fridge I discovered some broccoli from a couple of produce boxes ago. It was mostly green but a little yellow too. I held it over the compost bin for a few minutes, debating its fate. Then I had an idea.

I trimmed and blanched the broccoli in salted water, then shocked it to set the color. I chucked it in the food processor with some Italian parsley to enhance the green, a handful of toasted walnuts, garlic, olive oil, and lots of salt. Voila! Broccoli pesto!

I threw penne into the still-boiling water, and just toward the end added a handful of frozen peas. Tossed the penne and peas with the pesto, using some reserved pasta water to make it silky. Then I added parmesan cheese and tossed it again.

The final, winning touch, though, was toasting up some bread crumbs I'd made the other day with some herb slab past its prime. I served the creamy green pasta in white bowls and sprinkled golden bread crumbs over the top. It was just the right amount of garlic, balanced by little bursts of sweetness from the peas, with a happy crunch from the crumbs.

"What do you think?" I asked the husband, who generally does not like pesto, and who looked alarmed when I described the recipe to him in advance.

"It's really good," he conceded. "But wouldn't it be even better with some pork?"

Well, who can argue that any pasta dish wouldn't be improved by some salty bits of pancetta or ham? Surely not the hungry dog. But, the recipe was a definite success. And now I have a new form and method for vegetables that need reincarnation. It turns out you really can make pesto out of almost anything.

Cherry Morning Cake

Here is the the recipe for the Cherry Morning Cake I posted about the other day. It is from The McCall House Bed & Breakfast in Ashland, Oregon. Next time I would sprinkle a little bit of sugar over the top before baking, as it calls for in the Raspberry Buttermilk Cake, because it lends a pleasing crunch to the top. Really, these cakes are very similar.

1/2 c. (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
2/3 c. plus 1 T. sugar
2 eggs
1 t. vanilla
1 c. plus 1 T. flour
1/2 t. salt
1 t. baking powder
1/2 c. milk
1 T. lemon juice
~1/2 c. pitted cherries or other stone fruit of your choice

Preheat the oven to 350. Lightly spray the bottom and sides of a 10-inch tart pan with removable bottom with nonstick spray.

In a medium bowl, beat the butter for several minutes on high. Add 2/3 c. of sugar and beat for a few minutes more. Add the eggs, one at a time, beating well after each addition. Beat in vanilla.

In a smaller bowl, whisk together 1 c. flour with the salt and baking powder.

Add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture in two installments, alternating with the milk. Do not overmix.

Transfer the batter to the prepared pan, spreading it evenly. Let it rest while you prepare the topping.

Pit the cherries and place in a small bowl. Add the lemon juice and remaining T. sugar and toss. Add the remaining T. flour and toss until the cherries are evenly coated. Arrange them on top of the cake.

Place the tart pan on a baking sheet and bake on the middle rack for 35-40 minutes, until the cake is golden and springy to the touch. Cool for at least 20 minutes before removing the rim of the pan. Without removing it from the bottom of the pan, place cake on serving platter and cool for another 10 minutes before slicing.

Notes: 1) The recipe didn't say how much lemon juice to use, so I used about a T. which may seem like a lot. But it turned out fine for me. 2) My cake was perfectly done after 33 minutes. 3) My boss (who gave me the recipe) has now made this many times and sometimes sprinkles sliced almonds over the top, which I think sounds delicious.

Let me know how it turns out!