Winter Skies, Kitchen Aglow

Although it is widely available throughout the year, as are most root vegetables, beetroot (beets) becomes most relied upon in my kitchen when it is winter. Its earthy sweetness and intense crimson flesh give warmth to frosty days. Beetroot bolsters the winter frame of mind and pairs particularly well with ingredients that tend to keep the cold away (especially ginger). Beetroot is surprisingly versatile and always, to my mind, an enchanting root vegetable to behold.

Beets have not always captivated me, though, and my previous aversion to them is relatively common. My revulsion stemmed from containers of sliced, pickled beetroot that were (and remain) a mainstay in my parents' refrigerator. I sampled them but once and practically gagged from the acidity of the flabby slices. I was put off for more than twenty years, avoiding any dish that came into contact with beets, even if they hadn't been pickled. Great cookery writers - Tamasin Day-Lewis, Diana Henry and Deborah Madison and their powers of description - convinced me that I had been too swift in maligning the spunky root vegetable.

For some, there is not an aversion to the taste of beets, but rather to the preparation of them. Beetroots contain pigments that stain (and for some people, hard to break down internally), and I have not come across a quick or convenient way to peel beets once they have been cooked. In my experience, it just seems best to handle beetroots as quickly as possible and to rinse one's hands often. There are two good tips to stop the colour running if you're roasting or steaming beets:
1) do not cut the stalks but 2.5cm (1") from the top of the root; and
2) do not cut the tail of the root.

The only time you may want the colour to run is when preparing soups. When roasting, wrap cleaned beets in aluminium foil and roast at 200 C (400 F) until softened, approximately 45 minutes. Unwrap foil, and when cool enough to handle, the beets are easy to be peeled, then sliced or grated as you prefer. It is best to add seasoning to beets when still warm, so that the flavours you wish to impart are absorbed by the beets.

Beetroot Tart

For the Shortcrust Pastry (for a 22-25cm (9-10") tart shell):

1 cup (and up to 1/3 cup extra, depending on humidity) flour, sifted
100g (3.5oz) unsalted butter, cut into small cubes
iced water

1) In a bowl, rub together the flour and butter with the tips of your fingers until a granular consistency is reached.
2) Slowly add iced water, one tablespoon at a time, until the mixture coheres into a ball. If it seems dry, you might need to add flour - you do not want it to be sticky. (If you prefer a golden tart, use one egg as the binder, and only add water if the mixture does not entirely come together.)
3) Once a ball has been formed, create a flat disc, and cover in cling-film. Refrigerate for at least 30 minutes (you can leave it overnight)
4) Bring pastry out of the fridge and let rest at room temperature to become pliable (5-10 minutes if left in the fridge for 30 minutes).
5) Preheat oven to 200 C (400 F).
6) Put pastry on a lightly-floured surface. Roll it out with a floured rolling pin, turning the pastry after each pass of the rolling pin to ensure it doesn't stick to the surface. Roll it out so it can fit into a prepared (that is to say, buttered and floured) tart shell.
7) Allow to sit in tart shell in fridge for at least 15 minutes, and until you are ready to add the beetroot filling.

For the Beetroot Filling:

750g (1 1/2lb) grated beetroot (roasted, then peeled, as above)
1 tablespoon ginger, grated
2 teaspoons pomegranate molasses
salt
pepper
2 eggs, lightly beaten and lightly seasoned with salt and pepper
3/4 cup cream (or milk)

1) In a bowl, mix together the still warm grated beetroot, ginger, pomegranate molasses, and pinches of salt and pepper.
2) Beat eggs and cream together.
3) Pour egg mixture into

To Finish:

Shortcrust pastry, as above
Beetroot filling, as above

1) Preheat oven to 180 C (350 F).
2) Take pastry shell out of the fridge and pour beetroot filling into it.
3) Place on the middle rack in the oven and bake for 35-40 minutes.
4) Allow to cool for five minutes before releasing from tart ring.

I love the shot of rich colour, almost Elizabethan in its saturation. One cannot help but be drawn to it, forgetting the howling gales outside. The butteriness of the pastry rounds out the beetroot's earthiness. I have made this before with spices, such as caraway, but have found that they make the beetroot quite musty...Ginger, on the other hand, lifts the flavour profile entirely. This is a heady tart that provides something different when one is used to the same preparations for root vegetables over the leaner winter months.

I hope that this post convinces those with an aversion, however slight or great, to give beetroot another chance. If you need to be further convinced of the beetroot's versatility, see my friend Pille's blog, nami-nami.

Labels: Beetroot, Ginger, Tart, winter

Against a backdrop of darkening, shifting clouds and a sky of various shades of grey, the kitchen and dining room are aglow with the oven's soaring temperature, candles on the dining table and warm-hued meals (caramelised root vegetables, burnished poultry and red wine-based braises). One can, however, become disenchanted with contorni of roasted potatoes, kumara and parsnip or with honey-coloured puddings of lemons, pears and apples. Just when it cannot possibly get any colder (here, anyway), I switch out golden vegetables and fruit for a shocking display of intense crimson.

Rhubarb appears to have reached a whole new level of appreciation of late. What has always been a winter and spring feature in my household is now a trendy dessert offering. Rhubarb is an unusual vegetable. Its roots and almost lime green leaves are toxic, and its stalk, practically the colour of a cardinal's robe, is so tart that it has to be counteracted with obscene amounts of sugar. (To my knowledge, it is the only vegetable treated wholly as a fruit.) Stewed (best when cooked through but not mushy), vibrant rhubarb is a delightful antidote when the temperature drops.

I used to eat lemons right off the tree as a child, so I guess it is fair to say that I have a proclivity towards sour and tart food. Accordingly, I tend not to add but the least amount of raw/brown sugar to take the sourest edge out of rhubarb. Of course you can add more sugar. That said, I suggest that you be prudent because to oversweeten rhurbarb defies its purpose, and you might as well be having something else instead - add what I suggest here, then add more towards the end of the cooking period after you have sampled the rhubarb.

This particular cobbler is lifted from Jerry Traunfeld's greatly inspiring cookery book, The Herbal Kitchen: Cooking with Fragrance and Flavor. I tried to find angelica for a variation, but I was not so lucky at the weekend. I have, however, tweaked the recipe: lemon zest to complement the rhubarb; rose water to perfume the rhubarb along with mint; and ground almonds in the biscuit mixture to round out the sweetness of the topping with full-flavoured nuttiness (pulverised walnuts and pistachios also work well). When slicing rhubarb wands, peel off any stringy bits that begin to come away because they only amplify the fibrous quality of rhubarb (its principal drawback, to my mind).

Rhubarb and Mint Cobbler
(Adapted from Jerry Traunfeld's The Herbal Kitchen: Cooking with Fragrance and Flavor)

For the Rhubarb:

750g/1.5lbs rhubarb stalks
2/3 cup raw/brown sugar
1/2 cup chopped English mint
1 tablespoon rose water
zest of one small lemon
14g/1 tablespoon unsalted butter

For the Biscuits:

2/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup ground almonds
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
4 tablespoons white/granulated sugar, divided use
28g/2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup heavy cream

1) Preheat oven to 200 C/400 F.
2) Wash rhubarb stalks, then chop off the ends (removing any dry ends).
3) Slice rhubarb cross-wise into 1.25cm/ 1.2" pieces.
4) Put into a baking dish (approximately 22cm/9" x 33cm/13") and mix in the sugar, mint, rose water and lemon zest.
5) Dot surface with the butter and bake for 15 minutes (until it softens and releases bubbling, crimson juices).

Prepare the biscuits as the rhubarb is baking.

1) Put flour, ground almonds, baking powder, salt and 3 tablespoons of the sugar into a bowl. Mix together.
2) Dice the butter and rub it into the flour mixture with your finger tips, as you would when making pastry.
3) When the flour and butter mixture slips through the fingers like granules of rice, pour in the cream.
4) Mix cream with hands until clumps of dough are formed.
5) Put the dough on baking/parchment paper.
6) Divide dough into eight equal pieces and flatten each into a disk 5cm/2" in diameter.
7) Arrange on top of the rhubarb and sprinkle with the remaining tablespoon of sugar.
8) Bake until the biscuits have browned all over, 15-20 minutes.

In all, this is a boon of a dessert - filling yet light. The rhubarb zings across the palate in a complex melange with the rose water, mint and lemon zest, partnered with the pronounced almond tones in the biscuit. Of course, it does not have to end here - a cobbler can be made with practically any fruit, but the choice to use rhubarb elevates the simple cobbler, making it an interesting dessert.

You might want to gild the lily and pair it with ice cream (I poured over some cream). Strawberry ice cream would make a great option, for strawberry is a traditional bedmate (remember, though, I made this in winter, so there weren't any fresh strawberries around for me to make ice cream). Ginger is another interesting partner, so I also recommend that you have a look at this Tamasin Day-Lewis recipe for Stem Ginger and Spice Ice Cream.

While the above recipe is a great way to end the night, a fabulous way to start a dinner party is with dips and pâtés or elements from zakuski, a Georgian tradition of small plates of contrasting temperatures and textures. While I've read a lot about zakuski, I have never hosted such a dining event (probably because I do not have the stomach to wash down shots of vodka between mouthfuls of food). I do, however, take a leaf out of Georgian housewives' books and look to zakuski for inspiration when creating a cocktail-hour menu.

Georgians love to combine coriander/cilantro and walnuts (such as in satsivi, the national sauce). This is an unusual yet intriguing interplay of flavours, realised perfectly in Charkhlis Pkhali - a beetroot, walnut and coriander pureé.

Charkhlis Pkhali
(from Diana Henry's Roast Figs, Sugar Snow)

700g/1.5lbs beetroot (washed and leaves chopped off 4cm/1.5" from base)
150g/6oz walnut pieces
1 teaspoon sea salt
5 cloves garlic, crushed
5 tablespoons coriander/cilantro, finely chopped
5 tablespoons flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
4 tablespoons red wine vinegar
1 tablespoon olive oil
pepper

1) Preheat oven to 190 C/375 F.
2) Wrap beets in aluminium foil, place them on a baking tray and bake until tender, approximately 1 1/2 hours.
3) In the meantime, grind together the walnuts, salt and garlic.
4) Add the herbs and continue grinding until a paste is formed.
5) When you can handle the beets, peel quickly and grate the flesh of the crimson orbs into a bowl (and wash your hands immediately afterwards to remove the stain).
6) Mix in the walnut paste and red wine vinegar, olive oil and freshly ground pepper to taste.

What is great about this dish is that it can be made in advance and kept in the fridge. Bring it to room temperature before serving with pita chips (pita bread cut into triangles, toasted in the oven with olive oil, Hawaiian red clay salt and pepper) or toasted herb bread. You can gild this lily, too, by sprinkling pomegranate seeds once the dish has come to room temperature.

Charkhlis Pkhali and Rhubarb and Mint Cobbler are celebratory dishes. Vibrant in both colour and flavours, these crimson dishes fire up conversation around the dining table, allowing one to forget that it is dark and cold out.

Labels: Beetroot, Beets, Dessert, Diana Henry, Georgian, Jerry Traunfeld, Rhubarb, Rhubarb Cobbler, Zakuski

Through the tangle of orange, red and purple withering leaves, piercing blue skies suggest an Indian summer. In New Zealand this is the last moment of autumnal brilliance, just before all the deciduous trees cast off their leaves shaped like aces, leaving behind spindly branches ashen and bare.

The sparkling quality of the image to the left does not fool you, I am sure - the sky looks pristine, clear, but the sun is turning its warm rays toward the northern hemisphere, and we Kiwis are in the cool space that is the transition from autumn to winter.

This is the optimal time in which to put to good use the dreams of winter that I escaped to during the height of summer when it was too hot and muggy to think - instead of swimming or napping, I day-dreamed of rainy days in the kitchen. In the heart of winter one is often tired of root vegetables, so playing around with them before one has no choice but to get used to them is a luxury, for one can still call on the last of the autumnal bounty to overcome failed ideas for interesting winter fare (let's face it, one does not always want for hearty and robust food even when it is blowing a gale and grey as slate).

To lift one from the doldrums of cold climes, I turn to sharp flavours, much as I turn to wooden, earthy herbs in summer - hopefully I am not the only one that, in this instance, appears a walking (blogging) contradiction. I am particularly drawn to sumac, a spice that is produced by crushing dried berries from sumac shrubs (also known as "vinegar trees" in Iran). Lending a gorgeous deep red-purple shade to any marinade, sumac has a sour taste and a citrus spike. Its inherent smokiness makes it a natural spice for grilling. In Turkey, Iran, Lebanon, Syria and Iraq, sumac is sprinkled over meat and fish dishes as well as salads as an alternative to lemon (if the acidic jolt of citrus juice is not required, that is). Sumac is sometimes incorporated into spice rubs, such as za'atar, which also consists of thyme, salt and toasted sesame seeds. Today, though, the sharp property of sumac is paired with the salty yet delicate touch of fleur de sel, giving the palate a real workout against the sweet and earthy bites of beetroot and kumara.

Beetroot and Kumara Fritters
(Adapted from Issue 38 - Autumn of Donna Hay Magazine)

For the sumac salt:
1 part sumac
2 parts fleur de sel

For the fritters:
200g/7 oz beetroot, peeled
100g/3.5 oz orange kumara (sweet potato), peeled
1/4 cup flour
salt, pepper
1 egg white
rice bran or sunflower oil

1) In any vessel (I used a half-cup measuring cup!), mix together fleur de sel and sumac, then put aside.
2) Julienne the beetroot and kumara and put the strips into a medium-sized bowl. For a more refined look, drag a zester across the flesh of the vegetables in order to yield long, thin strips. You can see that I forwent refinedness.
3) Tip the flour onto the julienne strips of beetroot and kumara.
4) Grind in salt and pepper, half the pepper to salt - approximately 1/2 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper.
5) Break an egg white into the bowl (keep the yolk in a zipper-locked plastic bag in the fridge and use within a couple of days).
6) Mix together with a fork. After 30 seconds, it should bind quite well.
7) In a small saute pan over medium heat, add enough oil to come 1cm/0.4" up the sides. This is to create a shallow frying environment. The oil is "ready" when the oil bubbles semi-furiously - add a strip of either beetroot or kumara to test.
8) Add 1/4 cupfuls of the vegetable strip mixture, flatten so that all strips touch the oil.
9) Cook in batches 40 seconds to one minute per side or until golden, then flip them over.
10) Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with sumac salt whilst hot.

Because of the salty addition, these free-form fritters accompany cocktails perfectly - not exactly party food, though, for these are best piping hot; however, for a few friends gathered in the kitchen with Sidecars and Cosmopolitans, this is a great lead in to the pate and whatever else you have going. Speaking of cocktails, tomorrow I'm off to watch a movie with friends...and you know which film: it is the one that features a certain quartet of ladies - I'm "a Miranda," by the way, fitting given that it appears to be the last moment of autumn's russet splendour.

Labels: Autumn, Beetroot, Beets, Donna Hay, Fall, Kumara, Sumac, Sweet Potato

Leftovers are a lifesaver for a cook who is short on time. They get you out of a bind in a jiffy, most of the work having already been done. My angelheart Eric and I often cook more than we need so that there is something for lunch or the beginnings of the following night's dinner. I often turn leftover roasted vegetables into soup with the addition of chicken or vegetable stock, but that is as far as I usually go in order to revamp. The Italians, on the other hand, are adept at refining leftovers. They are renowned for their recipes that incorporate leftovers, creating entirely different and delicious dishes out of them. The current infatutuation with la cucina povera is testament to this.

Arancini does not pass for dinner in Sicily, but it suffices as a snack or as part of a lunch. I do not typically have leftover risotto but everyone had already eaten when I cooked up Beetroot Risotto two days ago - and I ate as much as I could! To feed more, of course you would need more than my measly cup of leftovers, but I wasn't going to waste it.

I didn't go whole hog either, for there was not enough leftovers to merit going to the effort of deep-frying, which though faster than what I did, requires waiting around time for a vat of oil to reach the required temperature (around 190 C/375 F). If you want proper arancini, which is to say a "little orange", then deep-frying is the only way to achieve a ball of golden crust that completely encases the balls of risotto and cheese.

The following recipe makes 4 arancini, enough for 2 as a snack or 1 for lunch.

Arancini

1 cup leftover risotto (I had Beetroot Risotto, the recipe for which is here)
1 egg
3/4 cup breadcrumbs, divided use
1 tablespoon parsley, chopped, divided use
1/4 cup grated cheddar (feel free to be more traditional and cube mozzarella)
Red bran oil (or substitute with your frying fave: canola, olive or vegetable oil)
salt

1) Heat enough oil to come half-way up the balls of risotto, approximately 3cm/1.2".
2) Mix together the risotto, egg, 1/2 cup of breadcrumbs and 1 teaspoon parsley in a bowl.
3) Combine the remaining breadcrumbs and parsley on a flat plat and reserve. The balls will be rolled in this mixture before frying.
4) Use two tablespoons or the risotto mix per ball. Flatten out in the palm of your hand and sprinkle some grated cheese in the centre (or a cube of mozzarella). Close the risotto mix around the cheese.
5) Toss the ball from one hand to the next, gently forming a squat ball - a rounder meat patty.
6) Roll the balls in the breadcrumbs.
7) Fry until browned and heated through, approximately 4 mintues.
8) Drain on a paper towel and sprinkle with salt.
9) Serve after 2 minutes or else they will be too hot to eat.

This is a beautifully simple recipe to follow, and the result is rather incredible! It was good to use a relatively adventurous risotto, which has a bold flavour of sweet and savoury components. This complexity in initial flavour allows for more play with the crispy exterior - and more interesting bites, too! The cheese was gooey in the centre, as it should be. Each bite was sheer perfection. I'm beginning to think it isn't such a bad idea to make risotto for the purpose of making arancini. If that is not a sign of the genius of Italian cookery, turning leftovers into taste sensations, then I don't know what is.

Labels: Arancini, Beetroot, Beets, Italian, Risotto

For the longest time I had an aversion to beetroot (beets). My knowledge extended to canned, pickled fuschia slices in vinegar. They are ubiquitous in this form in New Zealand and Australia, where they are put into Summer salads and hamburgers. The stench from the cans still prompt a gagging response that used to urge me towards the nearest chunder vessel. Of course, my parents have always thought they were lovely, as many people do. And why wouldn't they? After all, they are products of housewives cooking post-WWII, which brought the "convenience" of mass preparation and production.

Though wars continue to be fought at different levels of intensity, and some more systemic than others, there is no need in New Zealand to still be paying homage to the canned, pickled beetroot. One can pickle them at home and preserve them in a manner that would not result in a malty waft whenever accessed. In a world that is trying to remember fresh fruit and vegetables, I have been largely re-educated on the beauty of the sweet, earthy beetroot.

One of my favourite applications of beetroot is in salad. It is roasted, peeled and grated, and finally served with grated apple and horseradish. There is an affinity between beetroot and horseradish, for they are both earthy, but the beetroot is sweet and the horseradish is hot/peppery. I first had beetroot risotto at Celestino's, an Italian restaurant in Pasadena, where the food is fresh, including the pasta, and the service is attentive and cheerful. I enjoy the savoury elements of their soffrito, which is given a mild zing with the addition of the beetroot. I have wolfed it down several times, at different restaurants, actually, and none has been better than the one at Celestino's, where the earthiness is never lost.

Because of their longevity when stored correctly, beetroot, like many root vegetables and some fruit (apples, particularly), give the impression of being harvested year-round. Their seasons are typically Autumn-Winter, making them the perfect, bright-coloured foil to dim, grey skies. Beetroot can be kept in the fridge or in a dark space, like a lined drawer designated for fruit and vegetables, as my angelheart Eric and I did when we lived together in Los Angeles. Choose beetroot that is hard and that has bright leaves. Tender, young leaves can be tossed into a salad; large leaves can be sauteed and served as a vegetable side.

Finally I have made beetroot risotto at home. My angelheart Eric is still in Southern California, where it is now Autumn. Missing him and our nights out on the town, I have turned to the beetroot, which, as noted above, I can get year-round. This risotto may not be as perfect as Celestino's, but memories were triggered when I ate it, which is what I needed. More than anything Winter Skies, Kitchen Aglow seeks to comfort.

This recipe serves two for primi. There are two main sets of ingredients and methods: one for pickling the beetroot, and another for the preparation of the risotto. Keep hot water on the side in case you need more liquid for the risotto.

Beetroot Risotto
(Closely following Diane Forley and Catherine Young's The Anatomy of a Dish)

For the pickled beetroot:

2 medium beetroot
1/3 cup dry red wine
1/3 cup red wine vinegar
1/4 cup sugar
1/3 medium onion, diced
1 bay leaf
1 sprig thyme
1 teaspoon black peppercorns
1 clove
1/5 cup water

1) Preheat the oven to 200 C/400 F.
2) Clean the beetroot and lop the tops off. Leave the roots intact, otherwise the beets will bleed.
3) Wrap beetroot individually in foil.
4) Roast for 50 minutes to one hour until beets are easily pierced with a fork.
5) Once cooled, peel, remove the roots, and dice.
6) In a saucepan, place the diced beets and the rest of the ingredients. Bring to a simmer over medium heat. Stir.
7) Reduce to low and cook until beetroot is very tender, approximately 15 minutes.
8) Strain beets. Reserve the liquid and beets separately. Discard the rest.

For the risotto:

1 tablespoon olive oil
2/3 medium onion, peeled and diced
1 tablespoon thyme
Kosher salt
Black pepper, freshly ground
Juice of 1/2 lemon
1/3 cup vermouth (or dry white wine)
2/3 cup arborio rice
1 1/3 cups chicken stock
1 teaspoon butter, unsalted
1/3 cup of liquid from pickled beets
Beets, as roasted, diced and pickled above

1) Heat olive oil in a large, deep pan/skillet over medium to low heat.
2) Add onion, thyme and season with salt and pepper. Stir occasionally until the vegetables begin to soften.
3) Add lemon juice and vermouth. Cook, stirring occasionally until the pan is almost dry and the vegetables are tender.
4) Add rice, season with more salt and pepper. Stir to coat rice with oil.
5) Add 1/3 cup chicken stock and simmer, stirring often with a wooden spoon.
6) When most of the liquid has been absorbed, add another 1/3 cup chicken stock. Stir until it looks like it is going to stick to the pan. Keen adding chicken stock by 1/3 cup and stir. If you run out of chicken stock and the rice is not yet tender, this is when you need to start using the hot water.
7) Once almost tender, add 1/3 cup of liquid from pickled beets. Stir in and keep stirring until the liquid looks slightly syrupy.
8) Ideally, you want the rice to still have a bite but not hard as a ball in the centre. It should yield easily when you chomp.
9) Stir in the butter and remove from the heat.
10) Gently stir in as many of the diced, pickled beets as you desire and serve immediately.


The colour is a bit of a shock, but it is au naturel and a large part of the charm of beetroot. This intense yet cheerful purply-crimson is enough to brighten any dreary day.

The creaminess of the risotto is not too rich as it is buoyed by the mildly spiced beetroot. The butter adds further richness without being too much. You may want to add a tangy or nutty cheese to add further dimension, but it is perfectly good as it is.




This post is being submitted to the glowing and generous Pille of Nami-Nami, who is hosting the 106th edition of Kalyn's Kitchen Weekend Herb Blogging.

Post script Please visit the round-up for this event, as posted on the glowing and generous Pille's food blog, Nami-Nami.

Labels: Beetroot, Beets, Diane Forley, Risotto, Weekend Herb Blogging