I'm a believer again

My faith has been restored.

In what? you ask. God? Politics? The kindness of humans?

No. My opinions on those subjects remain the same as ever: non-believer; very, very liberal but very, very cynical; frequently disappointed but surprised often enough that I can't quite give up on our species. No, I'm talking about my faith in Dorie Greenspan.

Dorie, I forgive you for the weirdly bland chicken and couscous. I never should have doubted you. The sardine rillettes, after all, were absolutely addictive. And now that I've made your mussels and chorizo, I promise never to sully your name again.

As I've described on occasion, periodically I get a bee in my bonnet about a recipe and can think of nothing else until it's bubbling on the stove. This happened most notably with the root beer cake, which turned me into a robot, and which I have actually been thinking about quite a lot recently. It might finally be time for another go with that gorgeous, rooty cake. I have long dreamed of turning it into cupcakes and piping whipped cream into the center of each, a la Hostess. Not forgoing the root beer fudge frosting of course, nor the flecks of sea salt.

Wait, what was I talking about?

Oh yes, mussels and chorizo. Saw the recipe, became obsessed. Had to make it immediately.

Simple as can be, really. Dorie says to serve it as you like, with bread or fettucine. I went the noodle route, which was very good, although fettucine is tough to eat with a soupy sauce. There was a lot of splattering going on; bibs would not have been out of place. The husband wasn't digging it. He doesn't like to get dirty when he eats, which is why he's not much for gnawing on ribs or plucking crab meat from the shell. I can understand this, but I'm willing to pull out the Stain Spray for something delicious and messy.

Anyhow, I adored this recipe. The tomato sauce had the perfect amount of spice without overpowering the mussels. As for the chorizo, although the recipe calls for the cooked kind, they didn't have that at Falletti's. Instead I purchased their housemade stuff which was raw and therefore needed to be browned up, an extra but quick step. This also meant I had to drain off a little of the oil but no worry, that took about 10 seconds.

Now, next time I might make a revision or two. For one thing, four pounds of mussels was a lot. For two people, even wanting leftovers for another dinner, three pounds would have been plenty.

Second, I might just serve it with some hunks of good bread. The fettucine seemed to be a bit of a dealbreaker with the husband, although he was a fan (I think) of the dish as a whole. And even if the husband isn't a total fan...well, she who does the cooking decides the menu.

That's it, though. I really loved this recipe. It's definitely entering the repertoire. Another winner from the divine Miss Greenspan.

Mussels and chorizo, with or without pasta
Slightly adapted from Around My French Table

Serves 6 with pasta or 4 without

2 T. olive oil
1 red bell pepper, cored, seeded, and finely chopped
1 medium onion, finely chopped
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 thyme sprigs
2 14 1/2-oz cans diced tomatoes, drained
1/2 lb. cooked chorizo, cut lengthwise in half and sliced 1/4-1/2-inch thick OR uncooked chorizo, crumbled, and browned in the pan as the first step, then removed, and readded along with the tomatoes
4 lbs. mussels, scrubbed and debearded
3/4 c dry white wine

Fettucine or bread for serving

Warm the olive oil over medium heat in a large Dutch oven or casserole that will hold all of the ingredients. Add the bell pepper, onion, garlic, thyme, 1 teaspoon salt, and some pepper and cook, stirring, until the vegetables are soft, about 5 minutes. Mix in the tomatoes and chorizo and cook and stir for another 5 minutes or until they are warmed through.

Turn the mussels into the pot, pour in the wine, increase the heat to high, and give the pot a good stir. Cover and cook for 3 minutes more. (You can stir the mussels once during this time or shake the pot, but it's really not necessary.) Turn off the heat, keep the lid on the pot, and let the mussels rest for another minute (or more, if need be) so they finish opening.

Once they are open, the mussels should be served immediately (with or without pasta or bread) in big bowls to catch all of the delicious broth.

Note: If you've got leftovers, remove the mussels from the their shells to store.

The Pioneer Woman's rasberry crisp

It's about time I posted something sweet, isn't it?

Truth be told, I haven't been baking much recently. Part of it is being a little busy; part of it's the fact that two people can't (or shouldn't) eat a whole batch of cookies, or even half.

There's also our upcoming trip to Hawaii. Oh, did I neglect to mention that? Well, five weeks from today we are jetting to Maui. You know of my deep love of Kauai. Well, Maui isn't too shabby either.

Anyhow, with the impending prospect of lolling around on a beach every day for a week wearing little clothing, I've pushed desserts to the back of my mind. Not totally off my plate, though, as evidenced by the raspberry crisp I made the other day.

This was my first occasion using a Pioneer Woman's recipe. I don't look at her site too much--I find it a bit overwhelming--although I enjoy her writing style and think her photographs are off the hook. But when I Googled "raspberry crisp," her recipe popped up.

I ended up buying too many raspberries and using them all--probably close to 4 cups as opposed to the 2 1/2 her recipe calls for. But frankly, my pie plate would have been pretty skimpy without those additional berries. However, I should have increased the cornstarch--the crisp ended up a tad on the watery side.

Overall, a success, though. And you can't beat that color...

And the topping was, well, downright crisp.

Would I say this was the crisp recipe to beat all crisp recipes? No. Hands down, my favorite is still Baking Illustrated's apple crisp, which I have adapted to all kinds of fruit, including this blackberry apricot crisp.  I'm fairly sure that's a little piece of heaven. Or, for those of us not religiously inclined, a little piece of Hawaii, my version of eternal happiness.

Chicken and couscous

After my good results with the sardine rillettes, I decided to give Dorie another go, this time with her chicken and couscous.

Although I'm not always in love with couscous--I sometimes find it a little mushy, lacking the bit of resistance I prefer in perfectly cooked pasta or rice--the recipe appealed to me, largely for its method. I like doing the following things: chopping up vegetables; browning chicken; and then letting the chicken simmer in broth and its own savory juices until tender. I am also a fan of dishes that come together in one (ok, two) pots.

This was indeed a pleasure to make. And it turned out fairly flavorful, thought not as much as you might think, with the cumin, ginger (fresh and powdered), turmeric, saffron, and cinnamon. It looked hearty, with homey chunks of carrot, celery, leek, zucchini, and turnip running through it. Chickpeas gave it a little delicacy, and garnished with golden raisins, it had a nice sweet balance.

It wasn't overwhelmingly photogenic, but stews usually aren't.

But somehow, although there was nothing technically wrong with this dish, I wouldn't make it again. After my rip-roaring start with Dorie's book, I was slowed in my tracks.

The recipe also confirmed that I don't love couscous, nor do I love chickpeas --both opinions I suspected prior to making the dish.  

What a moron, you're thinking, she could have glanced at the ingredient list and known she wouldn't like it. True. I am a moron. Anyone who knows me could tell you that. But not because of giving the recipe a go. I like to re-try things that I have previously decided against. Sometimes your tastes change. I wouldn't want to live my life not eating, say, olives, just because I didn't like them as a little kid. I came around to them in college and now I am an olive fiend. Olives with chicken! Olives in tomato sauce! Olives sitting next to a hunk of delicious cheese as a pre-dinner snack. Yeah!

Incidentally, I also decided that if I'm going to eat turnips, I want them roasted, not boiled. Boiled turnips seems like something Laura Ingalls would have had to eat during the lean years on the prairie. I'm not living on no stinking prairie.

Since I wasn't in love, I'm not going to bother typing out the recipe for you guys. I do have a life beyond this blog, you know. I need to sit on my couch and space out for awhile before taking a nap with the dog.

Sweet Sophie, waiting patiently for me to put my silly computer away.

Time for my mid-morning nap.