Brownie Buttons

When I was a kid, my mom and I baked brownies about once a week. My mom had her homemade recipes, which of course are excellent -- but as a kid, all I ever wanted was Duncan Hines. I would always make sure I was on my best behavior throughout, so that when we were done, I could take my spoon to the mixing bowl and lick it spotless. Duncan still has a special spot in my heart, but when I'm craving brownies these days, I turn to these. They're a more grown-up, sophisticated version of the classic treat. Rest assured, they'll quiet even the strongest of brownie cravings.

Other times, I want a nibble, an after-school snack of a brownie that's just big enough and chocolatey enough to take the edge off my hunger and stave my appetite till dinner. That's when these brownie buttons come in oh-so-handy. I can see the parents and babysitters sitting up straight in their chair: bring your kids one or two of these buttons, and I doubt they'll give you a hard time for the rest of the evening. Ok, maybe just the babysitters will get off that easy -- but I know I'd have liked to have these to give to those kids I used to sit for. Not that they weren't wonderful. But pop a brownie in those little hands, and I can only imagine the little angels they'd have become!

Brownie Buttons adapted from Dorie Greenspan's Baking from My Home to Yours makes 12-16, depending on size

1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour 1/4 teaspoon salt 1/2 stick (4 tablespoons) unsalted butter, cut into 4 pieces 2.5 ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped 1/3 cup packed light brown sugar 1/2 teaspoon vanilla 1 egg

Preheat oven to 350. Butter two mini-muffin tins and place on a baking sheet

In a small bowl, whisk together flour and salt.

Melt butter, chocolate, and brown sugar in small saucepan over very low heat, stirring constantly to ensure that chocolate doesn't burn. When mixture is smooth, remove from heat and cool 2 minutes.

Stir vanilla and egg into chocolate mixture and mix until combined. Then add flour mixture and stir just until it disappears into the chocolate. The batter will be smooth and glossy.

Spoon batter into muffin cups about 3/4 full. Bake 14 minutes; then transfer pans to racks to cool for 2-3 minutes before releasing the brownies from the tins, using a dull knife if necessary.

Singapore Slaw

A couple weeks ago, a bunch of us went to a newish restaurant in town. Within days of the restaurant's grand opening, word of its 19-ingredient Singapore Slaw had spread like wildfire. If there was a gold medal for slaw affection, I'd have it. So naturally, I needed to go check it out.

I'd pretty much planned my meal in advance. I'd have an app of crudo or sushi, and the slaw as my main. But from the moment we sat down, I know we'd met trouble. We sat down, and the waitress asked if we'd been to the restaurant before. "Yes," I said. I always lie about these things: saying "no" inevitably subjects you to a treatise on "what you're about to experience," or "how many dishes the chef recommends per person" (yes, we know the chef would like us to each plunk down 100 smackeroos, but it's just not in the cards tonight, thanks), or, worse yet, which dishes we "absolutely must try" and which ones are "terrible and should be removed from the menu." Ask and you shall receive, I suppose. I always say I've been to the restaurant before. Unfortunately, my companions were the wholesome, truthful types, and they revealed that it was our first time. Ten minutes later, we'd been coerced into ordering a slaw for the table while we mulled our orders.

I felt I couldn't, in good conscience, be the girl who eats the same salad as an app and a main. I ordered the next-best thing on the menu (way too rich, not particularly delicious) and secretly stewed. The slaw had been salty and a bit sweet, crunchy and nutty and fresh and truly addictive. I was determined to have more.

On the way home, I was already running through my mental rolodex of possible ingredients. Definitely fried rice or bean thread noodles; definitely carrots and cucumber; maybe some sort of radish; definitely some toasted nuts, definitely some pickles. As for the dressing, who knew? salted plum was the main ingredient, but the rest I could only guess: miso? mirin? rice wine vinegar, probably.

I started playing around with the vinaigrette; I figured once I had a sufficiently addictive dressing, it would matter much less what I drizzled it on. Hell, a good dressing can make a salad of just cabbage taste otherworldly.

Just when I thought I couldn't quite get the proportions, I saw a Washingtonian mag feature in which the chef from said restaurant makes the dressing. Washingtonian offers a recipe, but some ingredients mentioned in the video aren't listed in the recipe -- so it's only quasi-reliable. But you know what? It doesn't matter. Armed with some tips from the video, I went back to work -- and what I'm sharing today is a recipe that'll make any old bowl of cabbage taste rockin'.

This is one to bookmark for those hot summer days when nothing but slaw will do. I know I'll be making it for the fourth (fifth?) time soon.

Singapore Slaw Serves 6

1 head Napa cabbage, quartered lengthwise and thinly sliced 3 green onions, both white and green parts, thinly sliced on the bias 
2 ounces bean thread or rice vermicelli noodles, broken into pieces
 (it's hard to control how they break) 1 large English cucumber, julienned
 1 large carrot, peeled and julienned
 1 small jicama, peeled and julienned
 1 daikon, peeled and julienned 1/2 pickled red onion (see recipe below) 2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds 
1/4 cup chopped roasted hazelnuts 2 shallots
, thinly sliced 
2 tablespoons pickled ginger

Salted-plum dressing (see recipe below)
 Vegetable oil for frying
 Salt as needed



Set a large plate or platter next to the stove, and line it with 2-3 layers of paper towels. Set a large pot over medium-high heat, and add about 3 inches of oil to it. When the temperature of the oil reaches 400 degrees, deep-fry the shallot slices until very crisp and golden, about 30-45 seconds. Remove with slotted spoon and transfer to the lined plate and salt lightly. With the oil at the same temperature, quickly deep-fry the vermicelli, a handful at a time, for 2 seconds, or until they curl. They will pop pretty violently, so be prepared. Remove the vermicelli from the oil, place on a paper towel, and salt lightly.



To serve: Put the cabbage, scallions, cucumber, carrot, daikon, red onion, and pickled ginger in a large salad bowl. top with a big pile of the vermicelli noodles. 

Sprinkle the salad with the sesame seeds, hazelnuts, and fried shallots. Drizzle with salted plum dressing at the table, and use salad tongs or spoons to crush down the noodles and toss the salad.

Pickled Red Onion

 1/2 red onion, peeled, halved, and thinly sliced 1/2 cup rice-wine vinegar
 1/2 teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons sugar



Place the onion in a medium bowl. In a small saucepan, bring the vinegar, water, and sugar to a boil. Season the mixture with the salt, and continue boiling for another 5 minutes. Pour it over the julienned onion while still hot, and let it sit for 1 hour.



Salted Plum Dressing 4 umeboshi (salted plums), pitted, or 4 teaspoons umeboshi paste 4 tablespoons rice wine vinegar 5 tablespoons mirin 2 teaspoons sesame oil 2 tablespoons grapeseed oil 2 tablespoons water



Put all ingredients in medium bowl and either whisk with a fork till combined, or blend using an immersion blender.

Crescent Cookies

Either my blog has secretly been hoarding some of my recipes for its hungry self, or I'm dreaming. I could have sworn that I waxed poetic about these cookies last July, when I made them as the finale for a balcony barbecue I had with some friends. But I've searched -- in the archives, in the recipe index, under every conceivable name -- and they're nowhere to be found.

Let's remedy the situation right here and now. You need this cookie recipe. It's a soldier of a cookie, one whose sturdy crust cloaks a tight log of nuts, dates, zest, and just a bit of orange blossom water. It's intensely flavorful, but, amazingly, dairy-free. Everyone needs a good dairy free cookie recipe for the back pocket.

The recipe is an adaptation of one from Claudia Roden's book Arabesque. Arabesque is a beautifully photographed book, and looking through it brings me back to my years living in the Middle East; Roden knows her regions, and the recipes -- grouped by location, including Morocco, Lebanon, Turkey, and more -- have the nuance to reflect that knowledge. Are the cookies fussy? Why yes. But fuss a little, and you'll be rewarded with cookies that smell like a cross between fall holidays and fresh flowers. They aren't ugly, either.

Crescent Cookies adapted from Arabesque

For the dough: 3 1/3 cups all-purpose flour 1/2 cup vegetable oil 2 eggs 6 tablespoons orange juice Powdered sugar, for dusting

For the filling: 1/2 cup medjool dates, pitted 3 1/3 cups ground almonds 3/4 cup superfine sugar (run sugar through a food processor for 30 seconds to make) 1 egg plus 1 egg yolk zest of one lemon or orange 1/4 teaspoon vanilla 1/8 teaspoon orange blossom water

To make the dough, combine flour, oil, and eggs in a medium mixing bowl. Add enough orange juice to bind the dough: I used all 6 tablespoons, and possibly an extra one.

Knead dough until it comes together, into a soft but quite firm dough. Wrap in plastic, and set aside on the counter to rest about 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the filling:

Put dates in a small saucepan and add enough water to cover. Cook 5 minutes over medium heat, until dates have softened. Drain and set aside to cool.

Combine dates and all other ingredients in a medium bowl, and use fingers to work into a paste.

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Divide dough into four equal parts. On a clean (but not floured) workspace, roll one part of the dough into a thin (1/4-inch) square. Cut as many 4x4 squares out of the dough as possible. Take about a tablespoon of the filling and roll it in between your fingertips to form a 3.5-inch log. Place the log of filling onto center of the square at a diagonal. Repeat with enough filling for all the squares you've cut. Now, use a wide-blade knife to lift a point of one of the squares off the workspace, and gently wrap the square of dough around the log of filling, as pictured above. One the dough is wrapped around the filling, gently coax the long cookie into a crescent shape. Repeat with remaining squares of dough, and continue with 3 remaining quarters of dough.

Bake about 15 minutes; the bottoms will turn light brown but tops should remain pale. Set cookies on a rack to cool. Dust with confectioners' sugar before serving.

Peas with Leeks and Tarragon

This isn't the recipe I planned to share with you today. There's a recipe for a cookie that I absolutely adore, that I was sure I posted last July. Thing is, I've been searching and searching for it on this site, but it seems either to have gone missing or to have never been posted. I'm still totally confused about where it's gone, but I'm getting to the bottom of this and will post the recipe later this week...so stay tuned.

In the meantime, peas, anyone?

Fresh peas a staple of springtime, on the menus of every restaurant in the city, and when they're really fresh, they're amazing. But I mean really fresh. Like, 1 day old or less. Sometimes, you get a lucky batch of pods, and the peas inside are small and young enough that they never take on that starchy texture or lose their sweet, clean flavor. But generally, fresh peas are hit-or-miss if you buy 'em more than a couple days out. That's why this recipe calls for frozen peas (*collective sigh of relief*).

Traditional partners for peas include mint, which I adore, and tarragon, which is a relatively new friend of mine. Tarragon is incredibly intense. It smells of a cross between fennel, anise, and basil. And it ain't messin' around -- so use it sparingly. For 2 pounds of peas, I used between 1/2 and 1 teaspoon of chopped tarragon. Start small, and only add if you really can't taste it. Trust me...you'll know if it's there.

Also, a word about leek confit, which you'll make as the basis of this dish: it's a gift to mankind. It makes everything taste good, from rice to chicken to hell, some plain ricotta. Think of it as next-generation caramelized onions. And then go play around.

Peas with Leeks and Tarragon serves 6

2 large leeks 3 tablespoons butter 1 tablespoon olive oil 1-2 pounds frozen peas 1/2-1 teaspoon tarragon salt and pepper

Slice leeks lengthwise into quarters, then slice crosswise into small pieces. Transfer leeks to a strainer and rinse carefully, making sure all the dirt comes out. Leeks are often covered in dirt, and cleaning them already chopped is definitely the easiest way.

Shake leeks dry. In a large saute pan over medium heat, melt butter with olive oil. Add leeks, and cook, stirring occasionally, until they start to soften and get pale. Turn heat down to medium-low and continue to cook until leeks have really softened and some have turned golden, about 20 minutes. Add a pinch or two of salt.

When leeks are very soft, add peas, still frozen is fine. Cook until peas are warmed through, stirring regularly to make sure heat gets evenly distributed. If too much liquid collects in the bottom of the pan, turn heat back up to medium to boil it off. When peas are warm and liquid has been mostly reduced, add tarragon and stir through. Taste, then adjust for tarragon and salt levels. Finish with a couple grinds of black pepper, and serve immediately.

If you want to serve these as an appetizer, toast some slices of baguette; smear them with some good ricotta; and smash some of the peas overtop.