The base of vegetable fritters is mashed potatoes to which you
add one beaten egg. I like to add pepper and minced garlic. To this you add the leftover brussels sprouts or broccoli chopped up fine, a little finely diced carrot, some bean sprouts for crunch, scallions, onions—anything you have around. Form into cakes, roll in fine bread crumbs and fry in butter or olive oil or light sesame oil. Serve with either homemade tomato sauce, salsa or plain old catsup. These are a hit v^ith children, who use them as a vehicle for the catsup, but adults like them, too. Furthermore, they are easy, filling, tasty and they are also good for you.
Two winters ago, when our boiler shut down during a spell of arctic air in January, I discovered something that became a standby at once. To keep the oven on, I decided to make baked beans, which would keep the kitchen warm overnight.
For baked beans 1 like to use little white beans, sometimes called Yankee, sometimes called navy and sometimes just called little white beans. They are cooked with an onion and two cloves of garlic, a bay leaf and some black pepper until just tender enough so that you can blow the skin off.
I have a bean pot that has no top, and as I put the beans in I realized I was going to have to invent one, but first 1 seasoned the beans.
Many people like to put a chunk of double-smoked bacon in with their beans but some people do not. I omitted the bacon and made a sauce of tomato paste, tomato sauce, molasses, Worcestershire sauce and Dijon mustard. This sauce must be made according to taste. Some people like their beans sweet, some savory. The proportions are entirely up to the cook and the amount depends upon the amount of beans.
Then I made a dough of flour and water, kneaded it and rolled it out until it was wide enough to make a lid for the bean pot and seal up the sides. 1 put the whole thing in the oven at 250° before refilling the hot water bottles, stoking the fire and checking all the space heaters.
The next morning 1 removed the bean pot and there on the top was a beautiful dark brown lid that came off in one piece to the delight of my then two-year-old daughter. The oven had kept
the kitchen warm but there was no delicious smell of baked beans since the lid really was airtight. The beans were rich and savory and had the most wonderful texture: firm but tender. They had been gently steamed but had not gotten mushy.
By the time the heat came back on I decided I would make real Boston brown bread. I have now made this so many times 1 could make it under general anesthesia. If you make it you will come to know why generations of Bostonians lived on this perfect combination. I make it in an ornamental pudding mold but a pudding basin or Pyrex bowl will do as well.
REAL BOSTON BROWN BREAD
/ cup Stone-ground yellow or white cornmeal 1 cup rye flour
1 cup whole-wheat flour V4 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups low-fat buttermilk
(or milk mixed half and half with yogurt) V4 cup molasses I-IV2 cups raisins
1. Combine cornmeal, rye flour and whole-wheat flour with baking soda and salt.
2. In another bowl combine low-fat buttermilk (or milk-yogurt mixture), molasses and raisins.
3. Add the liquids to the dry ingredients and turn into a very lavishly buttered six-cup mold. Fill three-quarters full, leaving room for the bread to expand.
4. Cover with pleated waxed paper (which will expand as the bread rises) and tie down with a rubber band.
5. Place the mold in a kettle of hot water to come three-quarters
The Same Old Thing
87
of the way up the mold. Bring to a boil, slow down to a simmer. Cover and steam for three and a half hours, checking every once in a while to make sure the water level stays at three-quarters.
Unmolded, this is a beautiful thing. You can feed it to anyone. It can be eaten with butter and jam, or with cream cheese or with nothing at all. It will keep you going through the winter and by the time everyone is sick of it, it will be spring. By late fall you will be getting requests for it again.
And just as you are ready to branch out to, say, carbonnade a la flamande (beef braised in beer—good for at least seventy dinner parties) someone is sure to say: "Why don't you make that nice baked chicken anymore?"
And there you have it. The same old thing never goes out of fashion.
RED PEPPERS
A raw red pepper is a nice enough vegetable—crunchy and slightly sweet—but roasted or sauteed in olive oil, the red pepper takes on depth. It becomes soft and intense with a smooth, smoky aftertaste. I have been addicted to paprika—red pepper in its powdered form—all my life and I would not dream of cooking without it.
I have always believed that if you listen to your food cravings (I do not mean your constant desire for chocolate brownies) they will tell you what you need. If you long for bananas, it may be potassium you need. I myself once experienced a craving for red peppers so intense that I bought a large bag of them and ate them all as I walked home. Peppers contain large quantities of vitamin A and lesser amounts of vitamin C, as well as phosphorus and iron, but what the hell? As a doctor friend of mine once said, it is silly to do anything for reasons of health. My body may have been crying out for vitamins, but my spirit wanted red peppers.
Autumn is red pepper season and the tables of farmers' markets are heaped with them. The best are on the long and skinny
(as opposed to round and short) side, and the flesh is thin. The redder the better is my motto, but after peppers ripen, they have to be watched closely and used quickly or they develop unhappy-looking soft patches, and eventually they rot.
A large number of red peppers is a beautiful sight. Even more beautiful is the sight of them cut into strips and ready to be simmered in a large pot of fruity olive oil. And of course, most magnificent of all is a large glass jar packed v^ith fried peppers, studded with slivered garlic cloves, seasoned with salt, pepper, the juice of half a lemon and covered with the olive oil they were fried in. Some people might call this Red Pepper Conserve, but it will always be red pepper sludge to me.
This yummy condiment can be used to create a pasta sauce, or served with mozzarella cheese, or put on egg salad or a hero sandwich, or spread on Italian bread as an hors d'oeuvre. I confess that I have been known to stand over the jar with a long fork and simply eat the contents by themselves.
In the fall you can often get black and yellow peppers which, along with red and green, look beautiful in a jar to give away to a friend—if you can bear to part with it.
Anyone who has ever been to an Italian restaurant knows that red peppers and anchovies were made for each other and thus this combination appears on a thousand menus. Red peppers sometimes turn up instead of green for stuffed peppers, or they show up in a salad. For most people, that does it for red peppers, but for addicts, enough is never enough.
I love red peppers fried in olive oil more than almost anything else, but I am often alone in this adoration. Frequently people want a little something else with their peppers. For them:
WARM POTATO SALAD WITH FRIED RED PEPPERS
serves 4-6
8 medium red potatoes
3 red peppers
V2 cup olive oil
2 cloves garlic, cut on diagonal
black pepper
juice of one lemon
salt
/. Boil potatoes.
2. Cut peppers into strips and fry gently in olive oil, along witti a few pieces of garlic. Add a few grinds of fresh black pepper.
3. Cut tfie warm, cooked potatoes into chunks; add the peppers, garlic and olive oil. Sprinkle with lemon juice and salt and serve warm.
Baked vegetables are a wonderful thing, and always include peppers. Peppers of as many colors as you can get, onions, and large, waxy potatoes cut into rounds cook deliciously in a big roasting pan in a dousing of olive oil and pepper. This dish can be eaten hot, cold or lukewarm and is perfect in any season: with cold roast chicken in the summer, with a frittata in the spring, with a pot roast in the
winter, and with little quails in the fall.
But somewhere there are people who do not like olive oil and for them, pimientos are the answer. These are easy to prepare and interesting to young children. Roast the pepper over the gas burner on a skewer or long fork. The skin of the pepper will char and turn black. This is always quite fascinating to watch. Turn the pepper until it is burnt all over and then rinse off the charred skin under cold water. This roasting cooks the pepper and gives it a silky texture. At the same time it brings out its smoky taste. Pimientos can be eaten as is, with salt and pepper, or chopped
up in a sandwich, or made into a savory sandwich spread that calls for chopped pimiento, an equal amount of sharp Cheddar cheese chopped fine, a pinch of pepper and a binding of mayonnaise. A long time ago 1 fell in love with a dish called Pepper Zucchini served at a restaurant on the upper East Side of Manhattan called the Cafe Divino. Since I do not live on the upper East Side and therefore could not go to the Cafe Divino every day, 1 was forced to try to replicate this dish in my own insufficient kitchen.
PEPPER ZUCCHINI
serves 2-4
pimientos from 2 red peppers (see p. 90)
4 small, young zucchini
flour
olive oil
three cloves garlic, slivered
salt and pepper
lemon juice
/. Cut pimientos in flat pieces and set aside.
2. Cut zucchini into slices — not too thick or thin — lengthwise and dust with flour Fry gently in olive oil. They should be cooked on both sides, and when they are just beginning to get a little crisp on one side, they are done. Arrange them on a plate.
3. Place the pimiento on the zucchini. Strain the olive oil and sprinkle on top. Add garlic but remove before serving. Sprinkle with salt, pepper and lemon juice.
This is one of the nicest things you will ever eat, and it is good for you, too.
Some years ago at a dinner party 1 was served a braised loin of
pork with vegetables. As good as it was, the vegetables were much more delectable than the meat.
BRAISED FENNEL, CELERY, ONION AND RED PEPPER
serves 2-4 / bunch celery
1 head fennel
2 big yellow onions
2 red peppers 2 oz. butter
V2 lemon
V4-V2 cup chicken stock
salt and pepper
/. Use the bottom part — the heart — of the celery; celery root will not do for this dish. Cut celery into four pieces lengthwise.
2. Trim fennel and cut into four pieces lengthwise.
3. Cut onions into four pieces lengthwise.
4. Cut peppers into large strips.
5. Nestle these vegetables together in an ovenproof dish with a lid. Dot with butter Add lemon juice and some chicken stock (this can be omitted if you are a vegetarian).
6. Add salt and fresh pepper.
7. Bake in a moderate oven for about forty minutes.
It is clear that I have come a long way from the days when I would eat a bag of peppers on the street, but considering that I can eat a mess of them straight from the frying pan, perhaps I haven't come that far after all.
DINNER PARTIES
It is a fact of life that people give dinner parties, and when they invite you, you have to turn around and invite them back. Often they retaliate by inviting you again, and
you must then extend another invitation. Back and forth you go, like Ping-Pong balls, and what you end up with is called social life.
Of course, one person's dinner party is another's potluck supper. Glossy photos in magazines of women wearing eight-thousand-dollar dresses lighting huge numbers of candles in huge numbers of Georgian silver candlesticks on a table that seats forty can be pretty depressing when all you have is a ratty sweater and an old dishwasher. In the photos liveried footmen hover in the background hiding a battalion of cooks and cleaners. To the average person, the dishwasher stands in for any number of servants. Of course, some people actually have a servant who takes away the plates after each course and then brings new, clean ones. In other households, this person is often called a husband.
In the old days, women planned dinner parties by sitting
down with the cook and discussing what might be nice to serve. The cook or the cook's servant did the shopping. The table was set by the scullery maid. The hostess's job was to dress well and smile, and the husband poured the wine. Then, while the men smoked cigars in one room, and the women gossiped in another, the table was magically cleared and everything was washed and put away.
Nowadays, almost everyone works and the hostess usually spends a few days on and off consulting with the cook, a replica of the hostess, at about two o'clock in the morning when she can't sleep. The cook's servant, another twin to the hostess, does the shopping on the way to or on the way home from work, and the butler, a double of the husband, buys the wine and some flowers. The cook and butler rush home, set the table, start the meal, and just as they collapse exhausted in their chairs with a glass of wine, the guests arrive.
Some people like to feed lots of people at a time. Often this pays back several invitations at once. Others like to mix and match their friends. I know a couple who keep a kind of dinner party log: who came, who was matched with whom and what was served. 1 myself feel that eight for dinner without help makes the host and hostess jumpy. Six creates fewer dishes and less din.
But what to feed them? The idea of a dinner party is rather like the idea of a novel. People who have never written novels say: "Oh, but they're so long and have so many chapters!" Many people feel just that way about dinner parties: 'They're so long and have so many courses!" Just as novels are written chapter by chapter, so are dinner parties put together course by course. And just as novels are not necessarily written from beginning to middle to end (although they end up that way), it is easier to think about a dinner party course by course, but not consecutively.
The easiest thing to think about is salad. Salad, as a course by itself, requires almost nothing. A bunch of watercress, a few scallions is all it takes, plus olive oil, salt, pepper and vinegar or lemon juice. A dressing can be mixed beforehand: this takes
about five seconds; or the salad can be dressed at the table, which also takes about five seconds. Bread and cheese are often served with the salad course, both of which can be bought. This requires nothing more of the cook than some cash and a trip to a nice cheese store.
Dessert can also be bought if you are exhausted and not inclined to dessert making. But to some, dessert is the fun part, both in the cooking and the eating. Millions of delicious things can be made in advance.
That takes care of two whole courses, leaving a main course, a first course and hors d'oeuvres.
Because I am always hungry, 1 myself eschew hors d'oeuvres. When they come my way, I eat too many and then am full by the time I reach the table. This does not, however, prevent me from cleaning my plate and then 1 am angry at myself for eating too much.
Hors d'oeuvres were invented to eat with drinks, a long time before a meal. Often, people make a meal of them. Since people are bound to sit around talking and drinking before sitting down to dinner, you must give them something to nibble on. Salted nuts, olives or cheese straws are quite sufficient. If you happen not to have any of these things, French bread cut into rounds, brushed with olive oil and dusted with Parmesan cheese and toasted in the oven is quick and good.
Some diehards feel that to give a dinner party without a starter is barbaric. Mellower types want to get right down to the good stuff and not mess around with some funny little thing on a small plate. Some hosts and hostesses are too tired to worry about a first and a second course and wish they had called the whole thing off.
A first course can always be bought—for example, smoked salmon, or sliced cucumbers with a spicy dressing are extremely simple and cost next to nothing. Some people serve a vegetable as a starter, such as blanched asparagus or grilled eggplant, in the summer, sliced to
matoes with olive oil and basil make a perfect, effortless starter but this will not satisfy the
ambitious who like to produce spinach souffles and creamed soups. A great aid to the first course is the blender, in which, if you combine yogurt, chicken stock, peeled cucumbers and a little cracked wheat and lemon juice, you can make soup in less than ten seconds.
This leaves the main course to worry about. In the old days, it was just the other way around. Everyone knew what to serve for dinner: leg of lamb. It was all those other things that complicated a meal. Leg of lamb, beloved by hostesses of previous generations, is one of the easiest things to render inedible. Often leathery slices of gray cardboard or quivering pieces of red matting with the texture of wet socks were offered to dinner guests. Lamb must be pink. Rare lamb, so popular these days, is simply disgusting and should never be eaten. But it is hard to get a leg of lamb right and it is relieving to see that it has gone out of fashion. Also out of fashion, like the boxer dog and the poodle skirt, is roast beef, since people who will eat an entire strawberry shortcake feel funny about red meat and fat, or feel they cannot buy standing ribs for six and have anything left over for, say, school tuition or the dry cleaner.
Potential hosts and hostesses can learn much as guests in the homes of others. From the position of invited victim, I have learned that it is unwise to produce an exotic meal, especially one you have never made before, for a dinner party. I remember with a dread clarity a dinner party with a long drinks period. When every scrap of cheese, olive, and stick of celery had been devoured, we were called, still ravenous, to the table. Once we were seated, the hostess appeared bearing a large pumpkin. This puzzled us all.
"What's thatr said a rude guest.
"It's an Argentine dish!" our friend said cheerily. At these words I felt a little snake of unhappy anticipation crawl up my neck.
From the bowels of this pumpkin came forth a strange substance that was neither soup nor stew and contained overcooked meat and undercooked eggplant. I wondered how this had been
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