A few months ago I tried baking French macarons for the first time, and they were incredibly time-consuming and difficult to make. When I read this simple coconut macaroon recipe, I figured these would be an easy alternative to my French favorite, but things didn’t turn out quite as I had hoped.
I followed the recipe, which requires few ingredients and is very straightforward, exactly. I set my eggs out hours beforehand to ensure they were exactly room temperature. I watched the accompanying video so I knew exactly how to whip the egg whites and exactly how to fold them into the coconut mixture. I did everything exactly. Exactly, exactly, exactly.
I expected, after doing everything exactly, perfect little orbs to emerge from the oven, but was instead met with flattened, misshapen balls. Disappointed and confused, I turned to the internet to discover what I had done wrong.
Several theories popped up: over-beaten egg whites changing the structure of the proteins that hold the shape, humidity making them essentially melt, too many wet ingredients in the recipe, under-beaten egg whites causing them to go flat. Some reviewers of the recipe shared a similar complaint of following the steps perfectly and still ending up with a puddly outcome. An hour of assiduous research later, I still didn’t have an answer as to what I did wrong. (I did acquire an abundance of information on beating egg whites, though.)
Typically I have an idea of what to do next time to improve, but this is quite a conundrum. The theories I read take me in all different directions, and I can’t decide which one I think is most likely the culprit. Perhaps next time I’ll try a completely different recipe and then compare. I’m at a bit of a loss. At least they tasted good.
When I was 18, I ordered chicken piccata for the first time, and my life was forever changed. With tender chicken, a rich and flavorful lemon butter sauce, and salty capers, it’s impossible not to swoon over this Italian dish. Chicken piccata is a meal I order any time I see it on a menu, and after learning how quick and easy it is to cook, I wanted to recreate this palatable entrée at home.
When choosing a recipe, I was sure use one created by someone with a penchant for Italian cooking, so I chose Giada De Laurentiis’s. I adapted it slightly to serve one instead of four, and to fit my palette, which has an affinity for anything salty and lemony. This required lessening the amount of meat, oil, and butter, but adding extra capers and lemon juice.
For the chicken, I butterflied one breast and pounded it down, which I will be doing any time I sauté chicken moving forward, as this gives the chicken a more consistent thickness, allowing it to cook evenly throughout. No one wants pink chicken. I used my meat tenderizer, but a rolling pin works, too. However, if you use a rolling pin, be sure to cover your chicken with cling wrap beforehand to avoid sticking.
Next I dredged each piece of lightly seasoned chicken and placed them in the pan already teeming with oil and butter. While those cooked, I readied a mixture to deglaze the pan and serve as the base of my sauce, which consisted of lemon juice, capers, and pasta water. The recipe called for chicken stock, but I opted for pasta water since it has more flavor than pure water.
After the chicken had cooked on both sides, I let it rest while I deglazed the pan, added butter, and simmered the sauce. Minutes later I added the chicken back in, taste-tested, and seasoned a bit more. All that was left to do was play “That’s Amore,” open a bottle of red wine, and pretend I was in Italy. Okay, I didn’t do that, but I should have. Next time.
What I actually did was prepare a plate and snap a quick and, sadly, unappealing picture before devouring my incredibly satisfying meal. I’m happy to spend hours cooking and baking to make something delicious, but I wish the joy of savoring food weren’t so ephemeral. My scrumptious piccata was gone just as quickly as it came. Thankfully it’s easy to make, so I’ll be enjoying it again soon. Maybe next time over mashed potatoes or arugula. The joy of eating may be fleeting, but the joy of cooking is eternal.
We’re nearing summer and my cravings are following suit. I can eat chips and salsa any day of the year, but with warmer weather approaching my palette is pleading for a sweet, fruity change. Originally I wanted mango salsa, but I was certain I would be unable to find a mango at the grocery store. I opted instead for pineapple, but it was hardly a concession.
I found a simple recipe on Taste of Home that perfectly amalgamated the flavors I crave in a fruit salsa: sweet and spicy. The pineapple provides the sweetness while jalapeños, coriander, and cumin add a spicy bite. Together, along with tomatoes, onions, garlic, salt, and cilantro, it’s heaven.
When choosing ingredients, I was forced to make some swaps, and bought dried cilantro and canned pineapple in lieu of fresh options. The grocery store was out of fresh cilantro, and I live in the Midwest where fresh pineapples are not always readily available. However, thanks to the technology that is canned fruit, I was able to purchase pineapple suitable for whipping up a quick, fresh salsa. Turns out you don’t have to reside in Hawaii to enjoy a tropical snack.
While canned fruit is certainly a blessing, it’s important to READ the labels closely. I purchased crushed pineapple instead of pineapple chunks, which I blame on discombobulation induced by the newly-implemented one-way grocery aisles. Never has navigating the market been more akin to finding your way out of a corn maze. Pandemic problems aside, buying crushed pineapple ended up being a happy accident because crushed pineapple is great for salsa. I’ll be sure to read the labels more closely when the stakes are higher.
This was certainly no culinary feat, but it was tasty. Very fresh with lots of flavor, it’s quick and easy when you’re in need of variety. I indulged with tortilla chips, but it’d be great with pita chips or atop fish tacos. A versatile recipe now added to my repertoire, I’ll be enjoying this for summers to come.
Quarantine’s got me craving comfort food, and comfort food is just a euphemism for carbs. I try not to keep tortilla chips, one of my favorite carbs, at home because I’d eat chips and salsa for every meal, but the world’s in a crisis, so I have two party-size bags of tortilla chips in my cupboard. What better way to utilize tortilla chips and indulge in comfort food than nachos?
Traditional nachos are amazing, but I was in the mood for a twist. A barbecue chicken twist. I slow cooked the chicken for eight hours on low in my own concoction of apple juice, brown sugar, chili powder, nutmeg, salt, and pepper. Typically I slow cook my barbecue chicken in root beer and a store-bought barbecue sauce, but this time I eschewed my go-to in favor of my own flavor, which was a total experiment.
After four hours in the slow cooker, I tasted the marinade to check the flavor and shred the chicken. I added more brown sugar to thicken the marinade, however it already was incredibly sweet, so I also added garlic powder, more salt, and red pepper flakes. Another four hours later I celebrated every spice I added and congratulated myself for shredding the chicken when I did. Shredding the chicken halfway through cooking allowed it to soak in all the flavor and moisture, giving it both an appealing color and robust taste when complete.
I wanted to incorporate some elements of a traditional plate of nachos, so I opted for Pico de Gallo. Pico is equal parts delicious and easy to make. All it takes is a chopped onion, chopped tomato, chopped jalapeño, lime juice, cilantro, and salt to taste. So fresh, so simple. The perfect flavors to top barbecue chicken.
In addition to Pico de Gallo, I topped my nachos with a simple cheese sauce. To make this, I melted butter; added and simmered milk; seasoned with salt, garlic powder, onion powder, and cayenne to taste; folded in shredded cheddar and mozzarella; and stirred until melted. Whipping up these toppings couldn’t be easier.
Once all my toppings were prepared, it was time to assemble. The secret to good nachos is similar to dressing when you’re unsure of the weather: lots of layers. My layers were chips, chicken, chips, chicken, cheese, Pico. Toppings can be layered and alternated with chips in any preferred order and should be ubiquitous to ensure a desirable chip-to-topping ratio.
The nachos were tasty: ample toppings, symbiotic flavors, balanced textures. And while I enjoyed my meal, I likely won’t use the leftover chicken for another plate of nachos. I received the comfort for which I was searching, and now I’m ready for something new. Thankfully barbecue chicken is versatile and can be used for several dishes, or eaten on its own. But I’m more thankful that I now have two dips for devouring all my tortilla chips. The party-size bags won’t last long.
I made croissants. I grappled over what clever story to seamlessly infuse into this post, but ultimately landed on a straightforward introduction. There’s no motive, no purpose. I just love croissants and wanted to trying making them from scratch, so I did.
And let me be clear: baking croissants is a PROCESS. It’s a process that requires fastidiousness and tenacity. Okay, that’s a bit dramatic, but it is time-consuming and demands attention to detail. It takes an entire day before you’re able to bask in the flaky, buttery goodness that is this French specialty. If they weren’t so tasty, it wouldn’t be worth the effort. However, if you love croissants and love baking, it’s a worthwhile process.
These layered wonders are labor-intensive and involve many steps, most of which are rolling out dough, folding, and refrigerating. The first step, though, is to mix the dough and chill overnight, a quick beginning in stark contrast to the subsequent steps.
The next day of baking begins by cutting butter into 1/2 inch pieces, arranging them into a square, and rolling, and rolling, and rolling. Rolling butter is tough. The pats are sandwiched between two pieces of parchment paper, and parchment paper is incredibly slippery. Rolling and beating down butter is exponentially harder when it’s slipping and sliding like a wet bar of soap. I tried holding the parchment paper in place with various items on my counter, but all attempts were futile. Flattening a butter square to its proper size is achievable, but not without significant effort. I’ll be nursing rolling pin blisters for the foreseeable future.
Once the butter is flattened, it goes back into the fridge to chill while the dough is rolled out. Thankfully the difficultly of rolling out the butter was offset by the ease of rolling out the dough. Once the dough is wide enough, the butter is laid in the center and the outlying flaps are folded around the butter, rolled out, folded again, and chilled. These steps are repeated a few more times, each with a nuanced fold. This results in those flaky, buttery layers. After folding the dough more times than you’d fold paper to make an origami bird, the dough’s chilled for an additional two hours.
Two hours later the time comes to roll out the dough a once more. This takes about as much time as rolling out the butter as the dough needs to span nearly three feet before it’s thin enough to be cut into triangles and rolled up to proof. The dough yields twelve rolls with ends left over.
I tasted the leftover dough out of pure curiosity, and no dough, no batter, no mix of any kind has ever been so delicious. The only explanation is the butter center that seamlessly spread throughout the entire dough with every fold. Butter really does make everything better.
I left to run to the grocery store while my dough proofed, and came home to dough that was exactly the same size, just a bit puffier. I concluded the baking sheets weren’t in a warm enough spot for the dough to rise, so I moved them under a light and turned up the heat. After rereading the recipe I discovered that the dough doesn’t need to get much bigger, just swell a bit, and decided that, twenty-seven hours after starting, my croissants were ready to be baked.
Although they didn’t turn out picturesque, the croissants tasted delicious. These little wonders are everything: buttery, flaky, savory and sweet. The layers are worth every second I spent pounding the butter into oblivion. I’m not sure who first baked croissants, but I owe him or her my sincerest thanks and praise. What an invention. On par with microwaves, if you ask me.
One Thanksgiving, maybe 6 years ago, my mom made store-bought crescent rolls. The little pop-open roll yielded about eight rolls, and I am the only person at the table who ate one. And by one, I mean all eight. I ate every single roll before my mom could even suggest passing them around the table. I absolutely love crescent rolls, but homemade croissants are better. Mom, I think next Thanksgiving you can skip the crescent rolls. I’ll bring these instead.