Easier Rugelach

Growing up, toward the end of Saturday morning services, we kids would lurk in the social hall of the synagogue, near the refreshments. Ostensibly, we were there to help set up. In actuality, about 5% of our effort went to helping out, while a round 95% we spent angling to be near our favorite snacks.

Among the universal favorites were rugelach, the flaky, jam-filled pastries that are now near-ubiquitous. (Last week, I even stumbled on savory rugelach. Sort of genius.) But at the time, they seemed special. Mostly, they seemed difficult. The first time I made them, I understood that while they aren't hard, per se, they are quite fussy. While the dough comes together quickly,it's the bit where you roll the dough into disks and cut it into pie slices. I end up fretting and fussing pretty hard to make sure that each skinny little pie slice you roll up doesn't lose its fillings in the process. Also, most recipes call for apricot jam - why must it always be apricot, which is just about the least likely jam to be in my fridge? The last time I made these, I decided the recipe was overdue for some hacking.

So what makes these easier? Two things. First, you can use whatever jam and whatever nuts you have. This is sort of “rugelach without a recipe.” Second, unlike my old favorites, these are rolled and cut much more easily and less fussily. One long strip of dough, filled and rolled into one long log, then cut into pieces on the bias. They're plenty pretty, and more importantly, they're easy.

Did I mention they freeze like champs? Might just need to make a double.

Easier RugelachAdapted this old Gourmet recipe and a bit of trial and error

For the dough:
1/2 cup (1 stick, 4 oz.) unsalted butter, softened
4 oz. cream cheese, softened
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon salt
2 tablespoons sugar

For the filling:
1/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon sugar
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 cup of any jam (for my most recent batch, I used a mixture of raspberry jam and orange marmalade - get creative!)
1/2 cup golden raisins or currants, chopped
heaping 1/2 cup (4 oz.) walnuts or pecans, finely chopped
Cream or milk for brushing cookies

Make the dough: In the bowl of a food processor or mixer, combine butter and cream cheese and pulse several times, until combined. Add flour and sprinkle salt and sugar over flour; pulse several times, until a soft dough forms. Transfer dough to a piece of plastic wrap, collect into a cohesive mass, and flatten inside the wrap into a rough rectangle shape. Refrigerate at least 1 hour, preferably 2, and up to a few days. Alternatively, freeze dough for later use.

Set a rack in the middle rung of the oven and preheat to 350°F. Line a 13x18 (half-sheet) rimmed baking pan with parchment paper. Whisk together sugar and cinnamon in a small bowl.

Assemble the rugelach: Cut dough in half; refrigerate one half while you work with the other. On a floured work surface, roll half the dough into a 12x8-inch rectangle, with a long edge facing you. Spread 1/4 cup jam evenly over dough, leaving a 1-inch border around the perimeter. Sprinkle half the raisins/currants and half the nuts over the jam. Dust with 2 tablespoons cinnamon sugar.

Using a bench scraper or sharp knife to assist, lift the long edge of the dough nearest you, and roll dough into a long log. Place seam-side down onto one side of the baking pan. Repeat with remaining half of the dough and filling ingredients.

Brush logs with cream/milk and dust with the little bit of cinnamon sugar that remains. Then use a long, sharp knife to make biased cuts most of the way through the dough, at 1-inch intervals. If dough seems too soft to cut cleanly, refrigerate 20-30 minutes before slicing.

Bake until golden, 45 to 50 minutes. Set pan on rack to cool for about 30 minutes, then transfer logs to a cutting board to slice the rest of the way through.

Rugelach will keep in a tight container for up to one week.

Nutmeg Apple Cider Doughnuts

It's Friday, which means it's almost the weekend -- which, in my strange wonderland, means it's time to choose weekend cooking projects. I've got my eye on this lovely, meringue-topped walnut cake from Food52, and possibly homemade bagels. I'm also contemplating steeping bourbon with some apple peels, a cinnamon stick, and some star anise, for when I'm allowed to drink the stuff again.

But I've got a different weekend cooking project in mind for you, if you're still shopping. In fact, it'd go very, very well alongside that bourbon I'm going to make. Or just some apple cider. Or some cold milk.  'Tis the season for apple cider doughnuts: They were my project last weekend and this weekend, they're all yours.

When I got a hankering for these guys last week, I went searching around for a yeast doughnut recipe, because everyone knows yeast-risen doughnuts are superior to their cake counterparts. Turns out - and here's proof of my goldfish cracker-sized memory - I made yeasted nutmeg doughnuts last year. They were delicious. (Make them!) But they take much more time to make, and I was nervous that between reducing the cider (key to getting a concentrated flavor) and all the rising, the doughnuts wouldn't be ready to bring to my friends Sunday afternoon, and that's what good friends do.

Instead, I opted for a basic cake doughnut recipe, with a shockingly short preparation process and -- given all the frying involved -- not much stress, either. The recipe comes from Deb; she loved it, and generally, the recipes she loves are keepers. You reduce a bunch of cider, make what amounts to a cross between cookie dough and pancake batter, refrigerate or freeze it until firm, then roll it out and fry it: Presto.

My one meaningful contribution to the recipe was swapping out the usual cinnamon for gobs and gobs of freshly ground nutmeg. Inspired by Marion Cunningham's Nutmeg Muffins and these doughnut beauties from Saveur, I figured I was on terra firma. If anything can elevate a hunk of deep-fried dough, it's fresh nutmeg. I'd tell you to just use cinnamon (and less of it) if you don't grind your own, but Ina Garten recently told Amateur Gourmet Adam Roberts that this is not essential. As much as I disagree, who am I to contradict Ina? I'll leave the choice to you.

Enjoy these doughnuts with a side of scarf weather, which it seems is headed our way. Happy weekend, and happy weekend cooking.

Other weekend cooking projects:

• this beautiful apple danish braid
• saltie's amazing focaccia
• you can never go wrong with Tartine's salted chocolate rye cookies
• salted caramel rice crispie treats from Cara, because duh
• is it too early for Monkey Gingerbread?
• or go all-out with these outrageous cranberry curd-stuffed nutmeg doughnuts from last year's Thanksgivukkah feast

One year ago: Grape-Cornmeal Snacking CakeTwo years ago: Vietnamese Leek and Eggplant Salad (which I'm making today!) and Perfect Chana DalThree years ago: Beef Stew with VadouvanFour years ago: Oven-Dried TomatoesFive years ago: Zuni's Roast Chicken with Bread Salad Six years ago: Steelcut Oatmeal with Peach CompoteSeven (!) years ago: Challah French Toast

Nutmeg Apple Cider DoughnutsAdapted from Hearth, via Smitten Kitchen

This recipe is pretty straightforward, so not a ton of notes here, but still: can't resist a few. I swapped out most of the cinnamon for lots of fresh nutmeg, and I highly recommend trying them that way. I also traded in some of the white flour for oat flour, which worked really well with the warm flavor of these doughnuts. If using all white flour, you need 3 1/2 cups, plus some for the work surface. Lastly, Deb took the plunge and fried in, eek, Crisco. She said the doughnuts were super-crispy, but I couldn't bear it; I just used vegetable oil. Again, choice is yours.

1 1/2 cups apple cider
1/2 cup oat flour
3 cups plus 2 tablespoons flour, plus additional for the work surface
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground nutmeg
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick or 2 ounces) butter, at room temperature
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1/2 cup buttermilk
Vegetable oil, canola oil, or shortening, for frying

Topping: 1 cup sugar + 1/8 teaspoon cinnamon + 1 1/2 teaspoons freshly ground nutmeg

Mix dough: In a medium bowl, combine flours, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, salt, and nutmeg. Set aside.

In a saucepan over medium heat, reduce cider to about 1/4 cup, about 30 minutes. Remove from heat and let cool.

Using a stand or electric mixer, beat butter and sugar on medium speed until smooth and light. Add eggs one at a time, mixing well after each addition. Reduce speed to low and add buttermilk and reduced cider; mix to combine. Scrape down the sides of the bowl as needed. Add flour mixture gradually, mixing just until combined.

Line a baking sheet with parchment or wax paper and sprinkle generously with flour. Put the dough onto the sheet, and sprinkle the top with more flour. Use your palms to flatten the dough until it is about 1/2 inch thick. Use more flour if the dough is still wet. Transfer the dough to the freezer until it is slightly hardened, about 20 minutes, or to the fridge for at least 2 hours.

Roll out doughnuts: Remove the dough from the freezer/fridge and transfer to a work surface sprinkled with flour. Using a 3 1/2-inch cutter for the outer shape and a 1-inch cutter for the hole, cut doughnuts. Transfer doughnuts and holes back to the lined baking sheet. Gently reroll scraps to cut the rest of the doughnuts.

Add enough oil or shortening to a deep-sided pan (I used cast iron) to measure a depth of between 2 1/2 and 3 inches. Attach a candy thermometer to the side of the pan and set over medium heat until the oil reaches 350°F. Have ready another rimmed baking sheet lined with paper towels and topped with a cooling rack.

Make the topping: Combine sugar, cinnamon, and nutmeg in a wide, shallow bowl. Set aside.

Fry the doughnuts: Slowly lower doughnuts into the oil, taking care to avoid splattering. Don't overcrowd the pan; my 10-inch pan comfortably held 2-3 doughnuts at a time. Fry each doughnut for 60 seconds on the first side, then slowly turn and fry 30-60 seconds on the other side. Transfer doughnuts to the cooling rack for 60 seconds, then dip into the spiced sugar and swirl around to coat about half the height of the doughnut. Set on the rack to cool completely; repeat with remaining doughnuts.

Serve warm, with cider or cold milk.

Tuscan Kale and Chickpea Soup

I have a (very cynical) theory that for every 10 vegetarian soup recipes out there, 9 of them had authors who sneaked in some chicken stock when no one was looking. I often read these recipes incredulously: you're telling me your meatless soup is deep and complex, and yet it contains no miso, no tomato paste, no porcini mushrooms, no smoked anchovies - no umami whatsoever. Heck, it doesn't even have much in the way of spices. This all seems mostly impossible.

But as I'm not coming to find, there are magical exceptions to this rule. There are owners of a certain restaurant in Brooklyn by the name of Franny's, which I have love-love-loved for a very long time, who make pretty much everything turn to gold. They are experts at pasta and pizza; masters of crostini and of fritti, those fried bites that start a meal. Well, no surprise: it turns out, they're pros at soup, too.

Making a vegetarian soup taste complex and flavorful absolutely requires attention to detail and process; this soup has steps. But, as usual, I did find a couple of shortcuts that'll make this soup use fewer pots and take less time. That said, as written, this probably isn't an ideal choice for a make-and-eat weeknight supper situation. I made a double recipe last weekend, and it lasted us much of the week. Fortunately, this is a soup that improves over time. I also suspect that it'd freeze beautifully, and I'm making a third batch this, the whole of which I'll be freezing for some very theoretical time down the road when time is more of the essence.

Speaking of said time: lots of you have emailed and commented to check in on preggo and bebe. Thank you so, so much. It's the home stretch around here. The babe is in position and ready to go. We've managed to not find out the sex (though this morning's appointment nearly spoiled that - be careful!), and I'm really glad we kept it under wraps; I think it's changed the nature of our anticipation. I thought this stage would be full of wondering and theorizing about what the kid will be like; instead, since that's a total mystery, I've been thinking a lot more about how we'll be as parents. I'm happy not to know more yet; I'm happy to be patient. (I'm also happy to be enjoying a not-at-all small number of peaceful restaurant meals with the lady and with friends; if only I could log them for later.)

The other good news about this phase, at least for my meat-loving wife, is that I've been clearing out the freezer of space-hoggers like spare ribs. In honor of our anniversary, I stovetop-smoked them for about an hour, then let them melt away in a low oven . The whole process was way easier than it sounds. Tutorials here and here, recipe inspiration here, if you're interested. We served them with some very good BBQ baked beans, which I'll tell you about one of these days.

Thinking more about those ribs, I'm happy to have the dregs of my last batch of this soup in the fridge. It'll make a healthy, filling supper.

Good to counteract those apple cider doughnuts I made this weekend, which I'll tell you about later this week. Till then -

Franny's Kale Chickpea SoupAdapted from Franny's: Simple Seasonal Italian Serves 8

On my shortcuts: I skipped the cheesecloth sachet, of course. Instead, I diced the onion small enough that it disintegrated into the soup; I cut the carrot and celery just in half, for easy removal; and the rosemary sprig was easy enough to find and remove. You're also supposed to put 3 garlic cloves in the sachet, but since garlic is such a prominent flavor in the soup anyway, I didn't see the harm in leaving them in there. I'm pretty sure 2 of the 3 found their way into the blender with the portion that got pureed, and I ended up with one of them in my bowl, all smooth and melty, which was delightful. I also sauteed the rest of the garlic in a pan big enough to accommodate the kale, saving one pan in the process. I'm sure you're wondering whether you can make this with canned chickpeas, and while I'm sure you can, I'm also sure the cooking time helps marry the flavors and textures of this soup. Still, I know time is of the essence. If you try it with canned chickpeas, will you report back?

One more note: this soup is pretty perfect as is, but I did just want to note that it works well with greens other than kale. I haven't tried it with collards and probably wouldn't start there, since they can taste a bit chalky after a long liquidy cook. That said, beet greens, in particular, are fantastic in this soup. So if you have a small bunch of kale and a big pile of greens from those beets, don't hesitate to make this.

And one tiny other thing: 1 cup of olive oil. A lot, yes, but not the 1 1/2 cups originally called for, and also not really that much, at 2 tablespoons per serving. Disagree? Think about the fact that most cookie recipes call for 2 sticks butter. That's a cup right there. I've already cut the amount of olive oil by 1/3 - don't skimp further. If anything, be more generous if you feel so inclined.

2 cups dried chickpeas
1 carrot, peeled and cut in half
1 celery stalk, cleaned and cut in half
1 onion, halved (or diced, if you don't want to fish it out with the carrot and celery; see note above)
11 garlic cloves, peeled
5 strips lemon peel
1 sprig rosemary
1 tablespoon kosher salt, more to taste
3 1/2 quarts water
1 cup extra-virgin olive oil, divided; more for drizzling
1/4 teaspoon chili flakes
2 big bunches Tuscan kale or beet greens Freshly cracked black pepper Lemon wedges, for serving
Grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, for serving

Put the chickpeas in a medium bowl, cover with at least an inch of water, and let soak overnight.

In a large pot, combine carrot, celery, onion, 3 garlic cloves, lemon peel, rosemary, 1/2 cup olive oil, 1 tablespoon salt, and the 3 quarts water. Bring to a boil over high heat,  then reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer until the chickpeas are tender, about 1 hour (more if chickpeas are old). Taste at the end of cooking, and add more salt as needed.

Meanwhile, finely chop or (faster!) crush the remaining 8 garlic cloves. Remove the center ribs from the kale and coarsely chop the leaves (you should have about 16 cups, but if not, no stress). Set up your blender and have the blender canister at the ready.

In a large skillet, heat 1/4 cup olive oil over medium heat. Add the garlic and chili flakes and cook until the garlic is fragrant but not golden, about 1 minute. Transfer to the blender canister (it's okay if some is left in the pan). Immediately add 1/3 of the kale, toss to combine, and cook, tossing occasionally, until tender, about 3 minutes. Transfer cooked kale straight into the blender. Add 2 tablespoons of olive oil and another 1/3 of the kale, and cook in a similar manner, transferring to the blender when cooked. Repeat with the last 2 tablespoons olive oil and the last batch of kale.

When the chickpeas are cooked, fish out the carrot, celery, rosemary, and onion if not diced. Then scoop 2 cups of them and their liquid into the blender with the kale, and puree until smooth. Add this puree back to the pot with the rest of the chickpeas, and cook over medium-high heat until hot.

Serve with grated Parmigiano-Reggiano, a drizzle of olive oil, and lemon wedges on the side.

Menemen - Turkish Eggs with Tomatoes and Peppers

It must have been 2005 when I first fell for shakshuka, the Israeli dish of eggs fry-poached in a spicy, oniony tomato sauce. For a few years, I obsessively sought it out at restaurants; eventually, I taught myself to make it at home. There are a few places - like the kitschily named but legit Dr. Shakshuka, in Tel Aviv - that make it consistently well: their whites are always set, their yolks perfectly runny, every time. Back when I lived in Jerusalem, there was a little cafe near my apartment that I loved, but that had a problem with runny whites in their shakshuka. It was either that or a hard yolk, and I wanted neither - so I learned to ask for my eggs "mikushkashot" - scrambled. They happily obliged, and I wound up with soft-scrambled eggs in that same punchy sauce. Don't tell anyone, but I've always liked my invented version better.

At the time, I thought shakshuka was something unique that you could only find in Israel. I should have known better: nearly every wonderful "Israeli" food, from falafel to shawarma to hummus to labneh, was cribbed from another Middle Eastern culture. Shakshuka is no exception; it's originally from North Africa, or so I understand from Google. And now, of course, it's on trendy menus all over the country. Shakshuka has hit the big time.

Israel isn't the only copycat. It seems every culture has its own name and nuanced method for cooking eggs in tomatoes. There's the classic Eggs in Purgatory (...is it a classic? I did a bit of poking for historical origins of the dish, and aside from finding several mentions of "Catholic" and "uovo in purgatorio," I came up short), and some folks have added more chile and renamed the dish Eggs in Hell. But the version I've come to love more recently is called Menemen, hailing from Turkey, which is basically the hacked-up version of shakshuka I've been ordering and making all along. Apparently, I didn't invent it after all. But all the good cooks steal ideas from each other, so the copycat badge is one I'm proud to wear.

Like shakshuka, menemen is a dish you'll like more if you make it your own. My brother and the internet have taught me that some like their menemen chunky - with defined pieces of egg, tomato, and pepper - and others like the dish reduced to almost a custard, where everything sort of blends together. I'm not quite at the point where I can control exactly how it comes out, but I tend to make it - and like it - somewhere between the two extremes.

According to my bro, the best menemen has a good mix of tomato and pepper, and plenty of egg - which, in Turkey, doesn't always happen; eggs are more expensive than vegetables. His favorite menemen also keeps the tomatoes on the slightly liquidy side, which I also enjoy (though it makes cooking the eggs a bit more challenging). And - shock! - he likes his menemen with beyaz peynir, which is like a mild feta, or tulum, a grassy Turkish goat's milk cheese. And plenty of pul biber, a Turkish condiment of chile and salt.

So that's the fully-loaded version. But I tend to keep things pretty simple: onion, tomato, pepper, some chile, eggs. A hunk of good bread to sop everything up. That's a happy morning in my book.

I broke the news to my brother that I'd be posting about menemen, and he said he'd try to get me a menemen set the next time he goes to Turkey. Who knew there were menemen sets? Turns out, because you're supposed to serve it in the same dish in which you cook it, there are beautiful stove-safe bowls - made of hand-formed metal - specifically for menemen. I'd love to get my hands on one of those eventually, but for now, a good old skillet and bowl do the trick.

What's your favorite way to eat eggs and tomatoes? You know you have one - now share it.

Menemen - Turkish Eggs in Tomatoes and Peppers Serves 2

Like all egg dishes, menemen is deeply personal. I like my peppers to retain some crunch; I prefer my tomatoes a little runny, even though it makes cooking the eggs harder; and I like my eggs less custardy, with some defined curds. With both personal preferences and stoves so idiosyncratic, it seemed silly to offer cooking times. I've done it anyway, but more important are the signs that my menemen is ready for the next step. Those trump cooking times here. If you want your peppers/tomatoes/eggs firmer or softer, then by all means. Make this dish your own.

2 tablespoons olive oil
1/2 a small onion, diced
2 long green (non-spicy) peppers, seeded and chopped (or substitute a bell pepper)
2 large tomatoes, chopped
2 eggs
salt z
1/2 teaspoon of your best semi-spicy red pepper flakes - ideally Turkish or Aleppo pepper
cheese, olives, more pepper, parsley, or whatever else you'd like to incorporate (optional)
crusty bread (less optional)

Add the olive oil to a large frying pan (stainless steel, cast iron, and non-stick all work) and set over medium heat. Add the onion and peppers with a pinch of salt. Give a few tosses, and cook until onions take on light color and everything smells fragrant but peppers are still somewhat firm, about 3 minutes.

Add tomatoes, another pinch of salt, and the pepper. Give a good stir, and let them cook until much, but not all, of their liquid has evaporated and they look saucy, about 4 minutes more.

Lightly beat eggs with a pinch of salt in a small bowl. When tomato mixture is ready, add eggs all at once, and use a wooden or silicone spatula to gently fold them into the tomato mixture. Because I like curds in my menemen, I take care to fold them only occasionally; if you prefer a more uniform dish, you can stir it slowly but continuously. Either way, you're looking for the whites to almost cook through. They should be basically opaque when you plate the menemen, as they'll continue cooking for a few seconds off the heat, but not much. If you prefer very runny eggs (and the uncooked whites don't bother you), you can add the eggs, stir a few times to incorporate, and transfer the menemen to bowls almost immediately. Your choice.

Serve menemen with any of your preferred fix-ins, and crusty bread on the side.