Baked Oatmeal

By now you all know that Sunday morning breakfast is practically an institution in this house of mine. Usually, it involves some form of yeasty, delicious bread, from apricot couronne to challah french toast to the fall-favorite, spiced pumpkin bread. This morning, D and I and our house guest Eric somehow managed to sleep past the crack of dawn, and when we rolled out of bed at 10, making bread for breakfast was totally, like totally, out of the question.

Sprawled horizontally on the couch, I started thinking about recipes that take little-to-no effort. Baked rice pudding instantly came to mind: I remember marvelling at how fantastically easy it was to make such a flavorful and luscious (and not all too unhealthy!) dessert. Inspired by the laziness of my rice pudding adventure, I decided to try the same technique with oatmeal. Granted, oatmeal doesn't require the stirring and monitoring that rice pudding does -- just zap it in the microwave and voila! you're good to go. But nuked oatmeal lacks the crust that I was so craving this morning (being without my bread and all.) Baking oatmeal would likely create a crisp exterior, which, when cracked, would yield soft, plump oats. And all it would involve was mixing everything together, transfering to a pan, and tossing in the oven. The whole thing sounded really promising. The result? Delicious, though I will say that I'd change a couple things the next time. And yes, dear readers, you will be privy to the lessons learned from my mistakes, so that you may make baked oatmeal perfectly the first go-round. Lucky you. :)

Lesson 1: a pinch of salt makes all the difference. Fortunately, I discovered this before serving, so I added a dash to each bowl and gave them a good mix before giving them to my eager taste-testers. It really is true that salt intensifies other flavors. Just a pinch helps balance the sugar and the creamy texture of the milk.

Lesson 2: A brulee-like top adds a dimension of luxury to an otherwise-rustic dish. This can be achieved in a variety of ways, not the least of which is sprinkling the finished product with sugar and crisping it with a torch. If you have a less-equipped kitchen, simply sprinkle sugar on top with three minutes remaining, turn the oven up to 400 degrees, and bake it off until the sugar has browned. This whole step, of course, is optional.

Lesson 3: Tart fruit are a key contrast to the sweet creaminess of the oatmeal. I used apples, but not enough; assume at least 2/3 cup of chopped tart fruit (peaches, plums, apples, and raisins are all excellent choices) for 1 cup of oats.

Now, without further ado....

Baked Oatmeal serves two, but easily doubled

• 1 cup oats
• 1 1/3 cups milk (I used 2%, but any sort will do)
• 2/3 cup water
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• a dash nutmeg
• 2/3 cup (at least) chopped tart fruit, such as apples, raisins, cherries, nectarines, plums, peaches, etc.
• 1/4 cup brown sugar, honey, or maple syrup
• pinch of salt
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
2. Mix all ingredients in a mixing bowl.
3. Stir to combine. Make sure that sugar begins to dissolve.
4. Lightly spray a shallow baking dish (I used an 8" casserole, but any old dish will do.)
5. Pour mixture into dish, and transfer to oven.
6. Bake 40 minutes, or until all most liquid has evaporated.
7. If desired, sprinkle with sugar when oatmeal is nearly finished, crank the oven to 400, and bake off until sugar has browned.
8. Add more milk to serve, if desired.
9. 

Saffron-Nutmeg Rice Pudding: Sugar High Friday!

Something has happened. There used to be no stopping me from gravitating straight toward the chocolate. In Baskin Robbins, I had no control over my constant need for chocolate raspberry truffle, and therefore tasted almost no other flavors for about six years. My mom could hide all the candy in the house and I wouldn't notice, but if chocolate had a hiding place, I could find it in a flash. Lately, my long-standing chocolate obsession has taken a backseat to simpler things. Exhibit A: this little rice pudding number, featured in the latest issue of gourmet. I turned the page to the letters section, noticed the recipe for rice pudding with (gulp) nutmeg as the only flavoring (not even vanilla!) and thought, I. must. make. this. now.

So I did.

Where has all the chocolate gone? No matter. If you make this rice pudding, I guarantee you won't miss chocolate, no, not one little bit. Nutmeg may sound "simple" when you shake it from the jar into your carrot soup (the subject of a later post...stay tuned!) But when it's freshly grated, when it stands alone on arborio rice -- with just some milk, cream and sugar to pull the pudding together -- why, nothing could be more complex.

Nutmeg is a "warm" spice, at once spicy and sweet, with a real bite and a pleasant bitterness that make it irresistible. In the jar, its flavor gets somewhat muted, so grate some from a whole nutmeg whenever possible. I bought 20 whole nutmeg pieces for a buck fifty, so it shouldn't set you back much, and it's truly worth it.

Now, I'll be honest: I didn't stop at the nutmeg. After all, something as simple as rice pudding provides a golden opportunity to play around. I happened to buy a (relatively) big box of saffron a couple weeks ago, and I've been waiting for a chance to use it. What better than a bright yellow, saffron-nutmeg flavored rice pudding? So it was settled.

Aside from the nutmeg, what drew me to this recipe was the stirring -- or lack thereof. Typically, rice pudding means hovering over the stove until your back aches, stirring the thing around and around so it doesn't clump or stick or overcook. Needless to say, it's a pain. But this recipe was for baked pudding: simply mix the ingredients in the ramekins themselves, stick'em on a baking sheet, and bake'em in the oven for an hour. Let's face it -- not much could be easier. And I'd be surprised if you don't scrape your bowl clean, as I did. Saffron-Nutmeg Rice Pudding: my entry for this month's Sugar High Friday.

Saffron-Nutmeg Rice Pudding adapted from this month's Gourmet
serves 4.

• 2 cups whole milk
• 1/3 cup Arborio rice
• 8 tsp. sugar
• salt
• whole nutmeg
• 12 threads saffron
• 4 Tbsp. heavy cream

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees, and put rack in the middle. Butter the ramekins.
2. Add 1/2 cup milk, 4 tsp. rice, 2 tsp. sugar, and a pinch of salt to each ramekin. Grate a bit of nutmeg over each, and put 3 threads of saffron in each. Stir well to combine, and ensure that the spices don't float, if possible.
3. Put ramekins in a shallow baking pan and bake until most of the milk is absorbed and the tops are golden-brown, about 1 hour.
4. A skin will form on each ramekin; remove the skin.
5. Stir 1 Tbsp. cream into each pudding until creamy. Allow to cool, and if desired, refrigerate 30 minutes until chilled.
6. Enjoy -- don't forget to scrape your ramekin to the last drop.

Chicken Cholent

I think I officially have enough blog traffic that my Jewish friends aren't the only ones reading! This means that I actually have to explain what cholent is. (This is very exciting.)

Cholent is what Ashkenazi Jews (from Eastern Europe) used to eat every Saturday for lunch. Sephardi Jews ate something similar, but they called it "Hamin" (which means "hot stuff" in Hebrew...funny, no?) We still make this today, and to my knowledge, little has changed in terms of the basic ingredients -- though every cook adds his or her special touch.

The key to cholent is cooking time. Because traditionally, no cooking is allowed on the Sabbath, people start cooking cholent by sundown Friday, and don't touch it until they're ready to eat it on Saturday for lunch. By Saturday afternoon, the watery, murkey pot-o-goodies is an entirely different animal: the barley has soaked up all the water and turned soft and supple; the meat (or, as here, chicken), having been braised for about 18 hours, falls off the bone unprodded. Potatoes have turned dark brown from steeping in chicken stock and whatever else is in the pot -- and the marrow in the bones is creamy, flavorful and delicious. Sound appealing?

Over the years, the basics of cholent have stayed the same (meat, potatoes, barley), but the little things change from chef to chef (and, in my case, from time to time). I find that meat sits in my stomach like a brick when I eat it on Saturday afternoon, so my new thing is subsituting chicken. Sometimes I add apricots and carrots, sometimes prunes or dates. Once I even did a tagine style and included preserved lemons. As for the liquid, I frequently add chili sauce or bbq sauce, which are both pretty common -- but anything will do.

The best part about cholent is that it only improves with age; leftovers are even thicker and more flavorful. I've included a recipe below, but that's really not necessary, for two reasons:

a) cholent is a method, not a recipe. Just throw some protein and carbs in a pot, cover with liquid, and cook forever.

b) my actual cholent recipe is someone else's prized posession, and it was given to me on strict condition that I never write it down, let alone pass it on. I wasn't even allowed to transcribe it as I heard the holy words uttered; I merely had to remember it as best I could, and try to replicate the recipe according to my (very flawed, very human) memory. You may not be surprised to know that he who gave me this recipe actually called it "Torah She-B'al Peh," or "Oral Law."

So that's that.

Cholent

serves lots.

1 whole chicken or many strips of flank steak

several potatoes or any kind, washed and quartered

a few cups of barley

a couple marrow bones, optional

salt and pepper

any or all of the following things and more: carrots, apricots, prunes, dates, raisins, gosh I don't know -- preserved lemons, olives, tomatoes, you name it.

Dump all this in the crock pot.

Cover with water by at least a couple inches or more.

Add any or all of the following sauces, if you wish: bbq, teriyaki, sweet chili sauce, tomato sauce, soy sauce, etc.

Turn on high until boiling, then switch to low and leave it alone until ready to eat!

I should mention one note: some people stick balls of tinfoil between the actual crock pot and the heating device in which it sits, so as to avoid the burnt crust that forms at the bottom of the pot. I like burnt, so I leave well enough alone.

Happy Cholent!

Crisp Potato Eggplant Tart

This is a dead-simple dish that can serve as a side to a good steak, or as a vegetarian main dish. It's not too difficult to make, and the payoff is worth the trouble. Crisp Potato Eggplant Tart adapted from Great American Food, by Charlie Palmer with Judith Choate

2 1/4 cups finely diced, peeled eggplant 1 teaspoon coarse salt plus more to taste 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons safflower oil 3 tablespoons minced shallots 4 large Idaho potatoes Pepper 1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter

Place eggplant in a nonreactive bowl. Toss with 1 teaspoon of salt and allow to sit for 20 minutes. Remove to a clean kitchen towel and tightly twist to squeeze out all moisture. Set aside.

Heat 2 tablespoons of oil in a medium sauté pan over medium heat. Add the eggplant and shallots and sauté for about 6 minutes, or until very tender. Remove from heat and set aside.

Peel potatoes. Using a hand grater or mandoline, shred potatoes into a clean kitchen towel. Tightly twist to squeeze out as much moisture as possible.

Preheat oven to 375°F.

Heat remaining 1/4 cup of oil in a 9-inch ovenproof, nonstick sauté pan over medium heat. Using a spatula, evenly press half of the potatoes into the pan. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Spread the reserved eggplant over the top. Pat remaining potatoes evenly over the eggplant. Again, season to taste with salt and pepper. Cook for about 10 minutes, or until bottom is golden. Carefully turn and dab the crust with bits of butter. Cook for about 5 minutes, or until bottom begins to crisp. Place in the preheated oven and bake for 25 minutes, or until potatoes are cooked and tart is golden and crisp. Remove from oven and allow to rest for 5 minutes. Using a sharp serrated knife, cut into 6 wedges and serve immediately.