Corned Beef

Corned beef is one of those foods I always assumed I couldn't make. Even by the looks of it - mysteriously pink inside, despite the brining process, perfectly I'm happy to try my hands at kimchi, sour cherry preserves, even babka, but deli sandwiches are best made by the pros. Or so I thought.

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But Mrs. Wheelbarrow knows better than to let nice, well-meaning home cooks like me get intimidated by something as easy (yes, you heard me, easy!) as corned beef. In fact, she's created a yearlong project devoted to dispelling just such a notion. And while these days, the Charcutepaloozans are conquering fancy things like homemade bratwurst and chicken liver terrine, corned beef is so very easy to make, that it was their very first challenge. If corned beef is just a warm-up for Cathy, I knew it wouldn't be too hard for me to make, either. And I was right.

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I can see the eye-rolls through the interwebs. Let's back up. Corned beef is nothing more than pickled, boiled brisket. That's why it's so easy to make: first you pickle it, then you boil it. The key, of course, is to use the best pickling spice there is, which, at least in this case, is a homemade concoction. I used the pickling spice recipe from Ruhlman, the king of charcuterie (no really, he's the author of the book Charcuterie and the godfather of Charcutepalooza). I'm really excited that his recipe made extra spice, because I'll be using it for green beans and cabbage later this week.

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So that's the rub with corned beef. Marinate in salt water with spices, rinse, boil with more spices. Poof. The real question is what to do once you've got a beautiful piece of corned beef. The possibilities! We've eaten quite a few sandwiches so far, and I'm planning for some very traditional corned beef and cabbage, with some egg noodles to wash it all down. I only wish I'd made more. Stuff's delish.

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Corned Beefadapted from Ruhlman

A note about pink salt: if you've got it, use it, and your brisket will stay pink. If you don't have it, don't sweat it.

for the brisket:

1 (2.5-lb) first-cut brisket 3/4 cup kosher salt 1/4 cup sugar 2 teaspoons pink salt (sodium nitrite), optional 2 cloves garlic, minced 2 tablespoons pickling spice

for the pickling spice:

1 tablespoon black peppercorns 1 tablespoon mustard seeds 1 tablespoon coriander seeds 1 tablespoon hot red pepper flakes 1 tablespoon allspice berries 1/2 tablespoon ground mace 1 small cinnamon stick, crushed or broken into pieces 2 bay leaves, crumbled 1 tablespoon whole cloves 1/2 tablespoon ground ginger

First, make the pickling spice: combine pepper, mustard, and coriander seeds in a dry saute pan and toast over medium heat, being careful not to burn. Let your nose guide you; I found everything fragrant and adequately toasted by the time the mustard seeds had just started to pop. When seeds are toasted, transfer to a heatsafe bowl. Combine with other spices. Let cool completely, then transfer to sealable jar.

Now, brine the brisket: in a pot large enough to hold the brisket, combine half a gallon of water, salt, sugar, pink salt (if using), garlic, and 1 tablespoon of the pickling spice mix. Bring to a simmer, letting salt and sugar dissolve. Cool liquid completely, then transfer to a storage container. Add brisket, weighing meat down with a plate if necessary to keep it submerged, and brine for 5 days.

After 5 days, remove brisket from brine and rinse thoroughly. Transfer to a large pot, add the remaining tablespoon of spices and enough water to cover the brisket, and bring to a slow simmer. Partially cover the pot, and cook brisket in the spiced water for about 2 1/2 hours. If water boils down to the point where the brisket is no longer covered, add enough water to cover the meat.

When brisket is fork-tender, remove it from the cooking water. If you're planning to serve the corned beef with vegetables reserve the cooking water and use it to cook the vegetables.

Once corned beef has cooled for about 10 minutes, use a sharp knife to slice against the grain into slices. Either serve immediately, or wrap tightly and store in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.

Pescado a la Veracruzana (Fish, Veracruz Style)

I grew up in a dairy household. This fact always elicits some "huh"s, lotsa "really?"s and even a few "ugh!"s but that's the way it was, and I actually didn't mind it, mostly. About two times a year, I'd really crave meat - but the only real option was takeout from Royal Dragon, the local kosher Chinese joint. It was always eaten on paper, always lukewarm. I taught myself pretty quickly to be satisfied without it.

At Friday night dinner, most of our crowd served chicken, meatballs, brisket. We usually had fish. Salmon teriyaki, tuna with mango salsa, flounder with lemon herb vinaigrette. (Gosh, can you tell I grew up in the nineties?)

If these fish dishes made occasional appearances on our Shabbat table, there was one that was so regular in its appearances, and so beloved, it was practically a part of the family. That dish is Huachinango a la Veracruzana. My mom's version originated in an unassuming little cookbook called "Latin American Cooking." It's a scrawny little volume, doesn't look like much. The recipes in it are simple and straightforward, and in my totally-not-expert opinion, they seem authentic.

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The best of the lot is my beloved huachinango. To my readers with delicate palates: for the faint of heart, this recipe is not! The snapper is baked in a plenty-spicy tomato sauce laced with capers, green olives and raisins. And, um, olive brine is one of the ingredients - so I guess this is a fish dish for those who like their martinis very, very dirty. (That's me.) It's sweet and spicy, sour and salty. It's addictive. I actually make extra sauce just to eat over rice.

Feeling curious? Try it.

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Huachinango a la VeracruzanaThis recipe is traditionally made with huachinango, or whole red snapper. I've had success making it with various kinds of white fish fillets - from tilapia to flounder and beyond - and it's a simpler dish that way, so that's what I recommend here.

As far as cooking, the recipe I've included is the more traditional - and more fussy - way to cook this dish, first pan-frying the fillets to crisp the skin, then making the sauce, and then combining the two in a sauce pan. When I'm making this for company, as I did when I photographed this recipe, I usually use the oven instead. For that method, you make the sauce first. Don't cook it all the way, since it'll have plenty of time in the oven: once you've added the jalapenos, olives, etc, skip the additional 5 minutes of cooking time and remove the sauce from the heat. Then, drain the raw fillets of their marinade, drizzle with some olive oil, spoon the sauce over the fish, and bake at 350 until a knife inserted into the middle of the fillet meets no resistance. My fillets took about 18 minutes; estimate around 8-10 minutes per inch of thickness, and check when the fillets should be close to done to ensure you don't overcook them.

3 cloves garlic, chopped 1 unsprayed lemon, juiced, peel reserved 1 unsprayed lime, juiced 3 tablespoons water 1 teaspoon cloves salt and pepper to taste 3 tablespoons vegetable oil 6 skin-on fillets red snapper, scaled and cleaned well 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon 1/2 cup vegetable stock 1 onion, halved and sliced 1 pinch dried oregano 1 bay leaf 1/2 cup raisins 1/2 cup tomato puree (fresh is best) 1 cup diced tomatoes, fresh if available about 5 pickled jalapenos, sliced (adjust to taste) 1 cup green olives, with pimento if available 1/4 cup olive brine 2 tablespoons capers 2 tablespoons fresh parsley or cilantro, chopped

In large nonreactive bowl, combine garlic, lemon juice, lime juice, water, and cloves and mix to combine. Reserve the lemon rind -- you'll add that back in at the end. Add snapper fillets, coat each fillet with marinade, and leave to marinate in the fridge about 10 minutes.

In deep saute pan or shallow braising pan, preferably non-stick, over medium heat, add 3 tablespoons vegetable oil. When oil is hot but not smoking, add fillets skin side down, in a single layer, and cook until skin has crisped and released from pan, about 5 minutes. If necessary, do this step in batches -- you really don't want to crowd the pan.

When skin has crisped, transfer fillets to large plate and set aside.

Pour off any fat that has accumulated at bottom of pan above 1 tablespoon. Add onions, and saute until softened, 2 minutes. Add stock, bay, oregano, raisins, tomatoes, and tomato puree, and reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer about 10 minutes, until tomatoes have softened and flavors begin to come together. Add pickled jalapenos, olive brine, capers, reserved lemon rind, and half the olives. Cover and continue to simmer 5 minutes more.

Carefully add fillets back into pan in single layer, skin side up. Cook, uncovered, about 10 minutes, until fish is cooked all the way through but still tender and flaky. Add in reserved olives about 2 minutes before finishing; they should be warm, but retain that fresh flavor.

To serve, two options: Either bring the braising pan to the table and present the dish family-style, or spoon a scoop of sauce onto each plate and top with a skin side up fillet. Either way, sprinkle the chopped parsley or cilantro overtop and serve immediately.

In the Small Kitchen: Noodles with Peanut Sauce

When a package arrived at my office earlier this week, I could hardly wait to tear it open. Inside was this gem:

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Cara Eisenpress and Phoebe Lapine, the lovely ladies behind Big Girls, Small Kitchen, recently came out with a cookbook, and people? It is beautiful. The book charts Phoebe and Cara's first year of cooking "in the real world," offering recipes, tips, hosting ideas, and more for the just-out-of-college crowd. I can't think of a better gift for new grads.

Naturally, the night it arrived, I read In the Small Kitchen cover to cover. The book is organized by occasion, rather than by type of recipe, which is surprisingly utilitarian: finger-food and drinks are grouped together in the cocktail parties section, while grainy salads and sandwiches can be found in the very comprehensive section on potlucking. Thinking back to my years as a recent college grad, I'm pretty sure the ladies cover basically everything I wanted to know at that time: how to host a good party, get drunk, and eat enough good food to keep down the liquor.

But this book isn't just for the post-college crowd. Over the past couple years, I've cooked many of Phoebe and Cara's recipes -- mostly from Food52, where we met, but also several from their blog. From secret ingredient beef stew tochicken tagine and more, these ladies know how to cook. They write thoughtful, funny recipes, and their book puts that talent on display.

Eager to cook from the BGSK book, I thumbed through, looking for something I could make with ingredients I had on hand. Noodles with BGSK Peanut Sauce jumped out at me: I had nearly everything in my larder, and what I didn't have, I could improvise. That's another thing about this book: if you follow the recipes to the letter, you'll make great food -- but you certainly don't have to.

I had just used all my scallions (two bunches!) to make scallion oil the night before, so I didn't have any left to slice fresh for the noodles. I also didn't have any cucumber (which, by the way, I recommend not skipping: it keeps the noodles light). I did, however, have loads of asparagus and a nice bag of pea shoots, so I used those instead.

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Lacking fresh scallions, I added some of the scallion oil to the sauce, which perfumed the noodles with that green, onion-y flavor. I started with about 3/4 of the sauce, which was plenty for me, and now I've got the leftovers in a jar for another day. Lots of the recipes in this book will make enough for leftovers, and when was that a bad thing?

College students everywhere are graduating. For those on the precipice of their first apartment, their first full-time job, and their first kitchen, I can't think of a better gift than In the Small Kitchen. Buy it, people!

...Ok. One of you won't have to buy it. We've teamed up with the awesome folks at HarperCollins to offer one lucky reader a copy of this book! Just leave a comment below describing your favorite post-college meal, and we'll select a commenter at random this Friday, June 3rd. Good luck!

Update: Julia E., you've won In the Small Kitchen. Congratulations! Hope you enjoy the book as much as I have.

Noodles with BGSK Peanut Sauceadapted from In the Small Kitchen

1 tablespoon fresh ginger, minced 2 cloves garlic, chopped 1/4 cup sugar 2 teaspoons chile paste/sauce (I used a mix of sriracha and sambal oelek; if you have neither, use 1 teaspoon chili flakes) 1/2 cup smooth natural peanut butter 1/4 cup soy sauce 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce 2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar 2-3 tablespoons sesame oil (start with less and add to taste) roughly 1/4 cup water

1/2 bunch asparagus, trimmed and sliced into 1-inch coins about 3/4 pound spaghetti, udon, or other noodles (soba would work well here too) 1 bunch scallions, chopped or 1/4 of a red onion, sliced into thin quarter-rings 1 large cucumber, julienned (I didn't have this but recommend including it) 1/2 cup coarsely chopped pea shoots (optional) 1 tablespoon sesame seeds

In a food processor or blender, pulse together the ginger, garlic, and sugar. Add the chile paste, peanut butter, soy sauce, Worcestershire sauce, rice wine vinegar, sesame oil, and water and process again until smooth.

Bring a large pot of water to a boil (no need to salt the water - the sauce is plenty salty). First, blanch asparagus: add to water, cook about 2 1/2 minutes, and use a slotted spoon to transfer to a small bowl. They'll cook a bit more out of the water, but still retain some of their crunch.

Next, cook noodles according to package directions. When noodles are al dente, strain, transfer to a large bowl, and add about 3/4 of the sauce to the noodles. Stir to combine, and taste. Adjust sauce quantity as desired.

Add asparagus, onions, cucumber, and pea shoots, and toss to combine. Portion noodles into serving bowls, and top with sesame seeds. Serve with additional chili paste on the side.

Strozzapreti with Broccoli Rabe

I've already revealed my affinity for curly pasta shapes. With strozzapreti, I've found the apex of my obsession. Strozzapreti literally means "priest choker." Not the type I generally keep in my company, but for these wiry hand-made noodles, I'll make an exception. They're thin at the ends, thick in the middle, and tightly curled. Even when fully cooked, they keep a deliciously chewy texture.

I like strozzapreti with tomatoes. (I like everything with tomatoes.) My usual approach to these slurpy little noodles is a take on this dish, an old-school NYT recipe. But sometimes, especially when tomatoes aren't in season, I opt for something more winter-friendly.

This pasta really couldn't get simpler. Chili flakes and sliced garlic join olive oil in a hot pan, followed by a big handful of broccoli rabe. The rabe cooks down, the pasta boils away, and when both are done, they marry in a big, deep bowl, with equal parts parmesan and pecorino romano. Maybe a little lemon zest to lighten things up. That's it.

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The important thing about this dish is getting the salt level right. Too little, and it all tastes bitter. Too much, and it'll feel like you're trying to kill the nip of the rabe with salt. Start slow, and remember that the cheese adds salt, too. Also, if you can't find strozzapreti, cavatappi, gemelli, or penne will work just as well.

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Strozzapreti with Broccoli Rabe

1 pound strozzapreti or penne 2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more to taste 2 garlic cloves, sliced 2 pinches chili flakes 3/4 pound broccoli rabe, washed, dried, and roughly chopped salt - start with 1 pinch 1 teaspoon lemon zest 1/4 cup parmesan cheese, grated 1/4 cup pecorino romano cheese, grated

Boil pasta in plenty of salted water according to package directions.

Meanwhile, heat olive oil in large saute pan over medium heat. When oil shimmers, add garlic and chili. Cook for 2 minutes, until fragrant.

Add rabe all at once, along with a pinch of salt; it may be difficult to get it all in the pan at first, but it will shrink significantly as it cooks down. Cook rabe about 4 minutes, stirring intermittently, until wilted and fully cooked. Taste; you want it to still be plenty bitter, with just enough salt to take the edge off (remember, you're adding salty cheese at the end as well).

By then, pasta should be done. Drain pasta and add to pan with broccoli rabe. (If it doesn't all fit in the pan, combine both in heat-safe mixing bowl.) Add lemon zest and cheese, along with a drizzle of olive oil. Mix, plate, and serve.