Gnocchi with Butternut Squash and Shiitake Mushrooms

As you probably already know, I've had a pretty big food week. For one thing, I managed to roast a whole fish in a big pile of salt. I also made 2 loaves of bread, and 4 pizzas -- pizzas that actually tasted as good as something I could buy, which has never happened before. If that's not enough, I decided to take advantage of my already gutsy week and try a Thomas Keller recipe. People, the sky is falling.

Thomas Keller is the renowned chef of The French Laundry, Bouchon Bakery, and a handful of other spots. He's certainly one of the most famous chef in America. He's known for his particularity, his precision, and his meticulousness. Every recipe of his -- even the simplest, most elemental -- consist of countless steps, involve several pans, and have you running around the kitchen in a mental state that's pretty much the opposite of the low-key way I like to cook. See why I was nervous?

If you read Carol Blymire, you probably think TK recipes are no biggie. After all, she made a whole book of them. And now she's working her way through the only cookbook I can think of that seems more intimidating than Keller's: Alinea at Home, Grant Achatz's documenting of the molecular-gastronomy-heavy dishes at his Chicago restaurant Alinea. Not all of us are as adept at guestimating weights in grams, using products like methocel F50, and generally rocking out. But we've gotta start somewhere, now don't we.

This here recipe, which I found on epicurious, seemed a pretty comfortable place to start. It's something I might have made up myself (in a much less sophisticated manner with many fewer steps, of course). I had planned to serve it for a dinner party, but I made a little trial batch to make sure I had the method and flow down pat. That's what you see here.

The gnocchi in this recipe are Parisian gnocchi, not Italian: instead of being made with potato, they're made from pate a choux, a versatile dough that's used for everything from gougeres to eclairs to dumplings and beyond. You'll be a bit awestruck the first time you make pate a choux. When the flour goes in, and it looks all messy and bumpy, you wonder if you've made a mistake; but then your eyes grow wide and you do a doubletake as the dough suddenly pulls away from the sides of the pan and becomes a smooth, perfect mass. It's very cool. After that, the gnocchi are pretty simple. The most time-consuming part is squeezing the little cushions through the piping bag. Worth it, though, I promise. I also used a very small tip (the largest I had) -- so if you use a normal size tip, you'll have an easier time.

One caveat: this dish is best eaten the moment it's made. If making this for a crowd as part of a dinner party, make the rest of the menu low-maintenance so that you can finish this dish immediately before serving.

Lucky I snapped these pictures before tucking in: this was so absolutely delicious, I polished it off in ten seconds flat. The squash and mushrooms, browned in butter, are sweet and earthy. The gnocchi are crunchy outside and pillowy within, a real treat. Crispy herbs and their fresh counterparts give depth and contrast. And the lemon, combined with that extra brown butter, finish everything off with a pow. YES. Really, I can't bear to carry on writing this post when there's gnocchi to be made.

Gnocchi with Butternut Squash and Shiitake Mushrooms from Thomas Keller's Bouchon serves 6 as a side or 4 as a main

Squash One 2 1/2- to 3-pound butternut squash (one with a long neck) Canola oil 1 tablespoon unsalted butter Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper 12 small sage leaves

Mushrooms 12 ounces shiitake mushrooms, cleaned Canola oil 1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt 1 tablespoon unsalted butter 3 tablespoons minced shallots 1 tablespoon minced thyme 3/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper Extra virgin olive oil 4 tablespoons (2 ounces) unsalted butter 1/2 recipe Herb Gnocchi , thawed if frozen (see recipe below) Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper 2 tablespoons minced chives 1 tablespoon chopped Italian parsley 1/2 lemon print a shopping list for this recipe

preparation

For the squash: It is easier to dice the neck of the butternut squash uniformly than the bulb, which is important for this recipe. We use the remaining bulb for soup. Cut off and discard the stem end of the squash, then cut off the neck. Use a paring knife or sharp vegetable peeler to slice away the peel deep enough to reach the bright orange flesh of the squash. Trim the neck to straighten the sides, then cut it lengthwise into 1/2-inch-thick slices. Cut the slices into 1/2-inch dice. (You need about 3 cups diced squash.) If you have less than 3 cups, peel the bulb of the squash, cut it in half, and scrape out the seeds. Trim and cut as much of the bulb as you need into 1/2-inch dice. Reserve the remaining squash for another use.

Line a baking sheet with paper towels.

Heat a thin film of canola oil over medium heat in a skillet large enough to hold the squash in a single layer (or cook the squash in two batches). When the oil is hot, add the butter and brown it lightly. Add the squash, salt and pepper to taste, and the sage leaves. Cook, stirring the pieces to brown them on all sides, for 4 to 6 minutes, or until tender throughout. Reduce the heat as necessary to cook the squash and brown it lightly, without burning; the best way to see if the squash is fully cooked is to eat a piece. Drain the squash on one end of the paper towel–lined baking sheet and set aside the sage leaves for the garnish. Wipe out the skillet with a paper towel and set aside.

For the mushrooms: Trim away the tough stems and cut the caps into 1/4-inch-thick slices. Heat a thin film of canola oil in the same skillet over high heat. When the oil begins to smoke, add the mushrooms and salt and sauté for about a minute. The mushrooms will absorb the oil and should not weep any liquid. Add the butter, shallots, thyme, and pepper, then toss and sauté until the mushrooms are thoroughly cooked, 3 to 4 minutes total. Drain the mushrooms on the paper towel–lined baking sheet. The gnocchi should be cooked in two skillets: Wipe out the mushroom skillet with paper towels and add a light coating of olive oil to it and to a second large skillet.

To complete: Heat the oil over medium-high heat until hot. Add 1 tablespoon of the butter to each skillet. When the butter has browned, divide the gnocchi between the two skillets and season to taste with salt and pepper. Once the gnocchi have begun to brown, shake and rotate the skillets, tossing the gnocchi so that they brown and crisp on all sides, about 2 1/2 minutes.

Add the squash, mushrooms, and chives and heat just through. Spoon the gnocchi and vegetables onto serving plates and return one skillet to high heat. Add the remaining 2 tablespoons butter and cook until it is a rich brown, then quickly add the parsley to crackle for a few seconds. Standing back—the butter will spatter—add a squeeze of lemon half. Spoon the brown butter and herbs over the gnocchi and around the plates. Garnish with the reserved sage leaves.

Parisian Gnocchi:

1 1/2 cups water 12 tablespoons (6 ounces) unsalted butter 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon kosher salt 2 cups all-purpose flour, sifted 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard 1 tablespoon chopped chervil 1 tablespoon chopped chives 1 tablespoon chopped parsley 1 tablespoon chopped tarragon 1 cup loosely packed shredded Comté or Emmentaler cheese 5 to 6 large eggs

Set up a heavy-duty mixer with the paddle attachment. Have all the ingredients ready before you begin cooking. Combine the water, butter, and the 1 teaspoon salt in a medium saucepan and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to medium, add the flour all at once, and stir rapidly with a stiff heatproof or wooden spoon until the dough pulls away from the sides of the pan and the bottom of the pan is clean, with no dough sticking to it. The dough should be glossy and smooth but still moist. Enough moisture must evaporate from the dough to allow it to absorb more fat when the eggs are added: Continue to stir for about 5 minutes, adjusting the heat as necessary to prevent the dough from coloring. A thin coating will form on the bottom and sides of the pan. When enough moisture has evaporated, steam will rise from the dough and the aroma of cooked flour will be noticeable. Immediately transfer the dough to the mixer bowl. Add the mustard, herbs, and the 1 tablespoon salt. Mix for a few seconds to incorporate the ingredients and release some of the heat, then add the cheese. With the mixer on the lowest speed, add 3 eggs, one at a time, beating until each egg is completely incorporated before adding the next one. Increase the speed to medium and add another 2 eggs, one at a time, mixing well after each one. Turn off the machine. Lift some of the dough on a rubber spatula, then turn the spatula to let it run off: It should move down the spatula very slowly; if it doesn't move at all or is very dry and just falls off in a clump, beat in the additional egg. Place the dough in a large pastry bag fitted with a 5/8-inch plain tip and let it rest for about 30 minutes at room temperature. (If you have only a small pastry bag, fill it with half the dough two times.) Bring a large pot of lightly salted water to a simmer. Line a baking sheet with paper towels. Line a second baking sheet with parchment paper. Because this recipe makes such a large quantity of gnocchi, your arm may get tired: An easy way to pipe the gnocchi is to place a large inverted pot, canister, or other container that is slightly higher than the pot on the right side of the pot (left side if you are left-handed) and set the filled pastry bag on it so that the tip extends over the side and the container serves as a resting place for the bag. Twist the end of the pastry bag to push the dough into the tip. (From time to time, as the bag empties, you will need to twist the end again.) As you squeeze the back of the bag with your right hand, hold a small knife in your left hand and cut off 1-inch lengths of dough, allowing the gnocchi to drop into the pot. Pipe about 24 gnocchi per batch. First, the gnocchi will sink in the pot. Keep the water temperature hot, but do not boil. Once the gnocchi float to the top, poach them for another 1 to 2 minutes, then remove them with a slotted spoon or skimmer and drain on the paper towel–lined baking sheet. Taste one to test the timing; it may still seem slightly undercooked in the center, but it will be cooked again. Repeat with the remaining dough. When all the gnocchi have drained, place them in a single layer on the parchment-lined baking sheet, cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes, or up to a day. Or, for longer storage, place the baking sheet in the freezer. Once the gnocchi have frozen solid, remove them from the baking sheet and place in a freezer bag in the freezer. Before using frozen gnocchi, spread them in a single layer on a baking sheet and defrost in the refrigerator for several hours.

Spinach Bourekas

At some point last year, I fell off the puff pastry cliff. It all started with this onion-date tart, one of the best and easiest recipes I've ever written. I made it once, twice, three times, and more; I couldn't stop. I'd tweak a thing or two every time: I'd add mushrooms, swap the goat cheese for feta, add some roasted red peppers, etc. The tart never failed to please, so I just didn't stop making it.

From there, I branched out to other similar tarts, like this one with zucchini and olives. Why hadn't I thought of this sooner? Why had it taken so long to realize that when you pile delicious stuff on a buttery piece of dough and bake it off, the results are...delicious?

Just when I thought I'd had my revelation, D had had just about enough. She finally confessed that she hated all these tarts -- these big pieces of flaky dough meant to pose as entrees -- and that if I could stop making them, forever, that'dbegreatthanks. I was bummed: had I reached the end of puff pastry heaven so quickly? Without it, what else would I make? There was NOTHING else to make! Nothing but puff pastry! AACK!

Needless to say, I moved on. I made other delicious things like baked pastas and quiches and even the occasional (gasp!) meat dish. I moved on so well, in fact, that I actually forgot about puff pastry entirely. That is, until my friend Jeremy asked me to make some bourekas for a potluck he and his wife Beth hosted this weekend.

Given that I lived in Israel for two years, where bourekas could easily make a run against falafel, hummus, and schnitzel for the country's national dish, it's hard to believe that they haven't come up on NDP before today. I guess I don't make them as often as I'd have thought. But they're really very easy to make, they keep well and reheat like a charm, and they're as appropriate for a fancy meal as they are in a ziplock baggie.

Using the recipe below, I made about 50 bourekas before running out of puff pastry. I sandwiched the leftover filling between layers of filo dough for an easy mid-week pie that was a close relative of spanikopita.

Spinach Bourekas adapted from Ina Garten's spanikopita recipe makes about 50, plus extra filling

1/4 cup good olive oil 1 cup chopped yellow onion 3 scallions, white and green parts, chopped 2 (10-oz) packages frozen chopped spinach, defrosted 4 eggs, lightly beaten 3 tablespoons parmesan cheese 3 tablespoons plain dry bread crumbs 1 teaspoon freshly-grated nutmeg 2 teaspoons salt 1 teaspoon black pepper 2 cups diced feta cheese 3 tablespoons toasted pine nuts 3 tablespoons golden raisins 1 small wedge lemon 3 packages (6 sheets) puff pastry, defrosted

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees

Heat olive oil over medium heat in a large saute pan. Add onion and cook for 5 minutes, until soft but not browned. Add scallions and cook two more minutes, until wilted. Meanwhile, squeeze the water out of the chopped spinach and transfer to a large bowl.

Add cooked onions and scallions to spinach and stir to combine. Mix in eggs, parmesan, bread crumbs, nutmeg, salt, pepper, and raisins. Squeeze in lemon juice; gently fold in feta and pine nuts.

Sprinkle working surface with flour. Place one sheet of puff pastry on suface and roll it out to about 1/8-inch thick, rotating it 90 degrees after each roll to ensure that dough grows evenly and doesn't stick. Use more flour as necessary. Once dough is proper size, cut the dough into three lengthwise and three horizontally, dividing the dough into nine equally-sized squares.

Place two tablespoons filling into the middle of each square. Dip your finger in a bit of water and run it along the edges of the square, then bring one corner its opposite corner and seal to make a triangle. Use the tines of a fork to make a decorative edge and ensure that bourekas stay shut.

Place bourekas on parchment or silpat-lined baking sheet and bake about 25 minutes, until golden on top. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Down and Dirty Pasta e Cecci

Anything that has the words "down and dirty" in the title is something I will, sooner or later, make. "Down and dirty" suggests a rough-and-tumble version of the refined original, something you're more likely to eat on your front stoop than in a dining room. When I hear down and dirty, I see myself in cutoff jean shorts and one of those ribbed white tank tops, sitting outside on a balmy summer day. There are mosquitos in the air, bangs in my face. I'm eating from a clay bowl I threw in the pottery studio down the street. When lunchtime rolls around, I notice some chickpeas in the cabinet, so I decide to throw them in with some chili, anchovies, and pasta, and call it lunch. Down and dirty lunch, that is.

Surely you can understand how, when I saw a recipe for "down and dirty pasta e cecci" on Food52's website (via Jennifer Steinhauser of NYT, via her friend fisheri -- that's his username, not his real name -- oh, the confusion!), I simply had to make it. Mind you, I didn't even know what "cecci" were. I don't speak Italian. But down and dirty pasta is something that best be coming out of my kitchen, like, pronto.

I read the recipe around 8am. Turns out cecci are chickpeas. Great! I love chickpeas. At 8:03, I was in the kitchen, a pot of water boiling on the stove, rummaging through my cabinets for a (suddenly precious) can of chickpeas. With good anchovies in the fridge and a can of tomatoes by my side, I was moments away from having a tupperware of down and dirty pasta and cecci for lunch. Chickpeas were found, I got down and dirty in the kitchen, the rest is down and dirty history.

As Jennifer rightly points out, this is the kind of recipe that lends itself to adjustments -- both intentional and entirely accidental ones. Fisheri calls for fresh tomatoes, but I assure you if he'd written the recipe during an East Coast winter, he'd have called for canned. I actually cheated and used half canned tomatoes, half sundried tomatoes that I reconstituted in a bit of boiling water. Come summer, I'll try this with fresh ones, but not these days. I have a unconquerable weakness for spice, so I've added chili flakes both times I've made this recipe, and highly recommend them. Fisheri called for farfalle or another small pasta, but I broke all the rules and used spaghetti. Know what? It was still delicious. In terms of the liquid used, I've tried it with chicken broth and water; both are fine, broth is is better. If you use water, be sure to really load up that bowl with cheese. As for the rosemary: it's delicious, but so was a sprig of thyme that I accidentally used instead. Any which way you make it, dinner (or lunch) just doesn't get much easier.

Also, now that I have your attention, apologies for the shameless self-promotion, but if I can't do it here, where can I? I'm super excited to announce that I'm featured in this week's Washingtonian Blogger Beat! Check it out!

Down and Dirty Pasta e Cecci From Food52, via Jennifer Steinhauser, via her friend Fisheri

2 cloves garlic 4 filets anchovies 3 sprigs rosemary 3 tablespoons olive oil chili flakes to taste 1 can chickpeas, drained 4 ripe plum tomatoes (or 4 canned tomatoes, strained if desired; or a mix of canned and sundried, reconstituted; you get the drift: anything goes.) 1/2 pound small pasta like farfalle (I used spaghetti) 4 cups chicken broth or water heaps of grated parmesan salt and pepper

Dice garlic, roughly chop anchovies, and cut up tomatoes.

If using water instead of broth, bring water to a boil in small pot.

In a large pot over medium heat, saute the garlic, anchovies, and two sprigs of rosemary in olive oil until anchovies melt into the oil. Add chili flakes, if using.

Add chopped tomatoes. Saute 10-15 minutes, until tomatoes are cooked through. Taste, and salt if needed.

Turn heat to medium-high and add chickpeas, along with a few cups of boiling water or chicken broth. Ad last sprig of rosemary and bring the whole thing to a gentle boil.

Add pasta. If liquid doesn't cover pasta, add enough that it's just covered. Reduce heat to simmer and cook for one minute less than the pasta package recommends. You want the pasta to be cooking in what will become its sauce, so add liquid only if necessary; you don't want the sauce to be too thin.

When the pasta is done, spoon it into bowls, grind in some pepper, and top with as much parmesan cheese as your heart desires. Add a glug of olive oil, if you like. Dig in.

Moroccan Salmon with Curried Yogurt

Though it doesn't appear very often on this site, fish -- salmon in particular -- is a staple in the NDP kitchen. I like it because it's a substantial cornerstone of a meal without being as heavy as meat often is. I frequently host lunch on Saturdays, and I almost always cook for these lunches in advance; salmon can be served cold with a dipping sauce, obviating the need to carefully par-bake it before reheating the next day to serve. Also, it's delicious.

Last year, I frequently cooked fish "en papillote," each filet wrapped with care in its own little parcel of parchment paper. It's a very healthful way of cooking fish, in its own juices and little else. Sometimes I'd add slivers of thai bird chillies or slices of peach, but the method was always the same. This year, I'm planning to broil my fish more often. That little spot at the bottom of my oven doesn't get enough airtime, and considering its ability to make sugar into caramel and turn anything that beautiful shade of brown, it really should.

The method here couldn't be simpler. Clean the salmon and slice into individual servings (or don't, if you prefer the drama of bring a long side of salmon to the table). Season generously with salt and just about anything else. My favorite of late is Ras El Hanout, a Moroccan spice blend of nutmeg, mace, cloves, black pepper, saffron, and more (recipe below), that's mellow but still intensely flavorful. Salmon has plenty of natural fat, so drizzling oil over the fillets is optional. Either way, tuck it under the broiler for about 15 minutes, until it's just cooked through.

When it comes to serving the salmon, serve warm or chilled, and offer plenty of lemon slices. I also served a super-easy curried yogurt that comes together in a jiffy. I used a spice blend called Hawaij, a Yemenite blend of cumin, tumeric, cloves, black pepper, and more. I've included the recipe below, but you could also use a curry powder or a different spice blend.

Moroccan Salmon with Curried Yogurt serves 4

For the Ras El Hanout:

2 teaspoons ground nutmeg 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon ground ginger 3/4 teaspoon ground black pepper 1/2 teaspoon ground mace 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice 1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon 1/4 teaspoon crushed saffron threads

Blend in spice blender. Best if used within a week.

For the Salmon:

Preheat the broiler. Slice salmon into individual portions, if desired, and transfer to broiler-safe baking sheet or 9x13 pan. Season generously with salt and about 5 tablespoons of a dry spice mixture. Drizzle lightly with olive oil or dot with butter, if desired. Place salmon underneath broiler about 7 minutes, until top is browned. Transfer to oven and lower heat to 400; bake another 7-9 minutes, until salmon is fully cooked.

For the Hawaij:

6 1/2 tablespoons black peppercorns 1/4 cup cumin seed 2 1/2 tablespoons coriander seeds 1 1/2 tablespoons green cardamom pods 1 1/2 teaspoons whole cloves 3 1/2 tablespoons ground turmeric

Blend. Add two tablespoons to 1 cup yogurt and stir to combine.