Listening

If you asked any hundred cooks which they thought was the most important of their five senses that they used in the kitchen, I doubt that even one would say their sense of hearing.

Unless you asked me.

Yes, taste and smell are critical (I’m no neuroscientist, but I know they are linked). Touch is important, too--the most delicate touch is required to pick the a perfect avocado or peach. As is sight--if the pork chops are green, don’t receive them.

But I can’t imagine cooking without my sense of hearing.

When I was very young I learned to cook with my ears. I’m not sure who taught me that, but I think it was my grandma. You can tell when a cake is done by pulling it out of the oven, getting your ear really close and giving a listen. Does it still sound wet? Then it’s not done. If you want to ruin the smooth top of your cake you can stick a toothpick in it confirm it.

Have you ever been in a night kitchen when the bread is coming out of the oven? The loaves are placed on racks to cool, and as they do the crusts crackle. Multiply the sound by a few hundred loaves, and the night kitchen is filled with the sound of the bread “singing.” It’s one of my favorite sounds ever.

When a steak is placed in a ripping hot pan to sear the meat, it sounds exactly like a hard rain on asphalt in the summer.

A fresh bean or carrot or spear of asparagus should have a satisfying "snap" when you break it. If it doesn't, then it's not fresh.

I know many a cook who depends on the sound of a timer for success.

And who doesn't smile at the sound of the whistle on the kettle?

But perhaps the best sound of all is the spontaneous exclaimation of "mmmmm" or "yum" from a happy mouth to the ears of the cook.

The Sound of Honey

I like honey. On biscuits and English muffins and pancakes and in tea. On yogurt and granola and whipped into butter. It is a "secret" ingredient in lavender lemonade, baked apples, and bread pudding.

My Uncle used to keep bees in Tonganoxie, Kansas when I was a little girl, and I loved receiving a jar of it for Christmas or my birthday. I remember seeing the white boxes where the bees constructed their honeycomb off at the edge of his pasture, and how I was never allowed to watch when he went to go retrieve the honey. I think some astute grown up knew that if I saw how it was done, I would inevitably try to do it myself when no one else was watching.


It's the first week of Spring and I find myself in Atlanta. I've heard the Indigo Girls sing of the "Southland in the Springtime," but I never imagined it looked and felt and smelled this lovely. The trees are fluffed with blossoms of white and pale pink and magenta. The evening air brings whiffs of dreamy floral fragrances that seem strangely familiar. The warm air lingers, flirtatiously, even in the shade and when the sun goes down.

People here in the South take lots of walks in the evenings. They stop and chat with neighbors, ask after family members, pet the neighborhood dogs. People don't walk so much as they stroll. More than once, it has taken over an hour to walk to the end of the block and back with my niece and sister.

One night last week while out at twilight, I paused under a beautiful fruit tree (which I've been told is some variety of apple tree), the boughs heavily weighted with delicate white blossoms. As I stood under the umbrella of blooms I closed my eyes and inhaled their heavenly perfume, as delicate as the blossoms and powerfully intoxicating. I think I may have I swooned.

Lost in my moment of Zen with my eyes closed and my palms opened, I paused at the top of my breath...and was overwhelmed with a humming that caused my whole head to vibrate. Was I lightheaded? Having an out of body experience? I opened my eyes and looked up.

In the hushed glow of sunset through petals, hundreds of bees buzzed in and out of the apple blossoms, dipping into the sweet nectar, bumbling back home.

So this is the sound of honey. I paused for a moment and drank it in.

As Local as it Gets

I was delighted to read in the New York Times that the "Obamas Prepare to Plant White House Vegetable Garden." I'm not sure what influence the letter from Alice Waters played in getting here, but I'm still a strong proponent of writing letters, especially to one's elected officials.

To find a friendly farmer near you, check or search the listings at Local Harvest. Consider a CSA (Community Supported Agriculture) subscription.

And if you are growing your own little back yard or patio garden this year, here are a few tips to consider:

1. Plant ONLY ONE zucchini plant. (If you've already planted more than one, good luck. They do grate and freeze well for making baked goods and zucchini pancakes later.)

2. If you water from a hose, run the water into a bucket first to assure that it's not too hot for the plant roots. Water that sits in the hose can heat up during the day and scald roots, killing the plants and leaving you with a perplexing black thumb.

3. Got snails? Sprinkle dried and crushed egg shells around the base of your plants. If snails or slugs trail over them, the shells stick to their bodies and they, um, won't bother your plants any further.

4. Got aphids? Try ladybugs. You can buy them at many garden supply stores. Or, try a homemade spray of one quart water, 1 tablespoon of vegetable oil and 2-4 drops of dishwashing soap. Shake well and use a standard spray bottle to squirt leaves (don't forget the undersides) and stems of plants. Spray daily for visible aphids, every other day for prevention.

5. Don't water the plants right before bed. The additional moisture at night can encourage fungus, mold and root rot.

Context clues, knowing what you want, and the importance of communication

My fifteen month old niece is brilliant. Not that I'm biased.

My brother in law had his infamous birthday and St. Patrick's Day party last night. I had just the right amount of fun, and this morning it was time for hang over food.

I love a good day-after-drinking breakfast. Today the plan was french scrambled eggs and sharp cheddar on a toasted english muffin with Tapatio. Mmmmm. After fumbling through making coffee, I went on autopilot:

A pan goes on the stove over low heat. English muffin split and placed in the toaster (but don't start the toaster yet). Cream and eggs and cheese out of the fridge. Tapatio on the table. A small bowl to scramble the eggs, a fork to do the scrambling, a plate to eat off of, a cup for coffee out of the cupboard. A knob of butter goes in the pan. Cream and eggs and salt in the bowl. Drop the english muffins. Scramble scramble scramble. Drop the eggs.

At this point my niece noticed I was in the kitchen. Analyzing the context clues she determined something tasty was afoot. She toddled in with a piece of buttered toast she had been clutching for about half and hour and went straight to her chair at the table. After a minute of trying to get into it herself, she signed to me for help.

Buckle her in. Shake the eggs in the pan. Butter the muffin. Shake the eggs. Cheese on the muffin and under the broiler. Shake the pan. Pour the coffee. Finish the eggs. Everything goes on the plate. Grab the coffee and to the table I go.

Little Miss Smarmy Pants had been sitting at the table munching on her toast and, as it turns out, waiting patiently. As I tucked into my breakfast she tore off a piece of her toast and handed it to me. Then she lunged towards the scrambled eggs. I'd never known her to eat eggs before, but I'm all for kids getting to try any food they might find appealing. And I was amused at her impressive attempt at bartering.

"Would you like to try some eggs? "

She smiled and nodded. I gave her a forkful.

She threw down her toast and lunged at my plate again. The girl knew what she wanted.

"Do you want more?" I asked, mimicking the baby sign. She signed back definitively: more.

I proffered another bite, mindful to avoid the Tapatio.

Immediately, she signed more again.


Wow. That was the first time I'd ever seen her sign unprompted. I suppose that, even at fifteen months, if you know what you want, you figure out how to communicate it.

Pie

I love coming to visit the South if for no other reason than to shamelessly indulge in the making of pie.

My youngest sister fortuitously married a gregarious Southern boy. He happens to be her first beau from college in Upstate New York. There's is a lovely story of losing touch for a decade, finding each other again, a fairy tale wedding, and their version of happily ever after with their beautiful daughter and baby-number-two on the way.

That's where I come in. Time to visit Atlanta.

And since I'm in the kitchen, bring me the butter.

I've always enjoyed making pie. I have memories of making pie crust with my grandma--just one of those things she taught me, like how to tie my shoes, and thread a needle. You start with fresh flour, and fresh cold buttter (or lard, if you have it; but lard isn't the same today as when she was making pies). Work with strong fingers but a gentle hand to get a tender, flaky crust. Remember to rest and chill the dough.

Fillings are particular, too. Use fruit as close to picking as possible. Strawberries and cherries taste best when cooked on the stovetop and poured into a blind baked crust. Apples weep, so there are different approaches to preparation, depending on the apple. Rhubarb is good any day of the week. And don't forget savory pies. Chicken pot pie is one of the best comfort foods around.

Hank loves pie. Specifically Lemon Meringue Pie. Once, while visiting with his parents in North Carolina about five years ago, I copied down his Mother's recipe so my sister could have it in her collection. She laughed at me (she's not one much for baking), but I sent the recipe home with them anyway. Imagine my surprise when I walked into her kitchen for the first time and found the recipe card--in my own handwriting--stuck to her refrigerator with a magnet. "Hank actually made if for himself, once." I pulled out the butter right then and started baking.

The pie didn't last 24 hours.

The next day, I decided to let my pregnant sister choose a pie. "Chocolate Cream, Vanilla Cream, or Butterscotch Pie?" I offered. "Not chocolate," she replied. I grabbed the brown sugar and got to work.

Butterscotch Pie, for my Pregnant Sister in Atlanta

Make a pie crust like Grandma. Start with a stick of cold butter. Add a few fists full of flour, a bit of salt and sugar. Cut in the butter to the texture of coarse sand. Add a spoonful or two of cold water, just enough to bring the dough together. Pat it into a circle about an inch thick. Wrap in plastic and chill about half an hour. Roll out and press into a pie pan. Rest and refrigerate another half hour, then trim and blind bake. Cool completely.

Butterscotch Pie Filling

In a mixing bowl, combine:

2 large eggs

1 cup whole milk

1/8 tsp kosher salt

Whisk well to combine and set aside.

In a medium pot, combine:

1 cup dark brown sugar, packed

4 Tbsp all purpose unbleached flour

1/8 tsp kosher salt

1 cup whole milk

Whisk to combine, then heat to a boil over mediu high heat, stirring constantly.

Remove pot from heat and slowly add egg/milk mixture, whisking vigorously to combine. Return pot to medium low heat and continue to cook, stirring constantly, until mixture reduces and thickens.

Remove pan from heat. Stir in:

3 Tbsp butter

about 1 tsp good quality vanilla extract

Immediately pour filling into prepared pie crust. Bring to room temperature, then contact cover and chill at least four hours, or overnight.

Jambalaya

This story is about research and improvisation, and sisters.

I arrived in Atlanta on Marti Gras. I came to visit my youngest sister, who is pregnant with her second child. So I, the Super Aunt (dah-dah-da-dah!), offered to make dinner that night.

"How about Jambalaya?" asked my sister.

"Sure!" I replied. I'm a firm believer that pregnant women should have any reasonable request fulfilled.

When we got into the kitchen, I turned to my sister and said,

"I have a confession to make...

"I've never made Jambalaya."

"Well," she replied, "let's pull out the cookbooks."

If Jane Austen had written a novel about sisters such as us, she would have titled it Pride and Pragmatism.

My sister has only a handful of cookbooks, but they are well chosen. We consulted The Joy of Cooking, The Fannie Farmer Cookbook, and Better Homes and Gardens. While no one recipe appealed to us, we got the general idea and improvised. Here's what we came up with.

Jambalaya for Marti Gras 2009 with Alli, et al.

Ingredients:

3 (or so) tbsp bacon drippings

1 young chicken, about 4-5 pounds

1 cup water

1 pound andouille sausage links, sliced

1 medium onion, chopped

8 cloves garlic, chopped

1 orange bell pepper, chopped

3 stalks celery, chopped

4-5 cups chicken broth or stock

2 medium tomatoes, chopped

4 oz tomato paste

4 cups cooked brown basmati rice

several sprigs fresh thyme from Avalyn's garden (neighbor)

2 bay leaves

salt and pepper

cayenne pepper

Quarter the bird, and season liberally with salt, pepper and cayenne.

Heat a large dutch oven on the stove. Add bacon drippings; when melted, stir to coat the bottom of the pan. Add the chicken (including neck and back) skin side down and cook until well browned. Flip quarters and continue to cook about 5 minutes. Add 1 cup water to deglaze delicious brown bits, cover and cook until chicken is just done. If there's not enough room in the pan, cook chicken in batches. Remove chicken from pan and set aside.

Add sausage and onions to the pot and cook in pan juices until onions are tender--about 5 minutes. Add garlic, bell pepper and celery, seasoning with salt and pepper as you go. Continue to cook about 5 minutes.

In the meantime, peel off the skin and pick the chicken. Meat should be in bite sized pieces. (Reserve the bones for stock.)

Add chicken stock. Cover and bring to a boil. Add tomatoes and tomato paste. Stir well to combine.

Add rice, chicken meat, bay leaves, and thyme. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until liquid reduces and Jambalaya thickens.

Serve it up when it smells so good, you can't stand to wait any longer.

By the time we dished it up, a couple of neighbors had shown up at the back door. We pulled up some extra chairs and called it a party. Laissez les bons temps rouler!

White Chocolate Mousse for Miss D

My friend Jen, who lives in Dedham, Massachusetts, is a fan of white chocolate. While visiting with her recently, we discussed White Chocolate Mousse. She remembered seeing it on dessert menus everywhere a few years ago, then it just disappeared.

Jen had three recipes for White Chocolate Mousse in her collection, all from the teacher of a cooking class she had taken with her husband. The variations were typical--one was whipped cream based, another called for whipped egg whites, and the third employed gelatin.

It struck me was that all three versions seemed to be dark chocolate mousse recipes for which equal parts of white chocolate were substituted. But dark chocolate and white chocolate are not interchangeable. They are, in fact, very different. Dark chocolate is composed of cocoa solids, cocoa butter and sugar. White chocolate is composed of milk solids, cocoa butter and sugar. They melt differently, have different mouth feels, and react differently when combined with other ingredients.

I asked Jen if she'd tried the recipes yet. She had tried one, but was very disappointed with the results. She asked if I had a good recipe. I did. And I offered to make it.

We started with the white chocolate. First manufactured in the United States in the 1950's, it wasn't until 2004 that the FDA established a standard of identity for white chocolate. That's also about when Jen started seeing white chocolate appearing all over dessert menus.

I am not much of a fan of white chocolate, mostly because I've tasted very few white chocolate couvertures that I like. The general availability of white chocolate for baking has decreased with its decline in popularity in the recent years, although higher quality options can be found at gourmet and boutique food shops. At a regional Massachusetts grocery and at a Whole Foods Market, we found only Nestle Premier White Morsels (ingredients include palm kernel oil, sodium caseinate, hydrogenated palm oil, and artificial flavors), Baker's (subject to a recall in 2007 for Salmonella), Ghirardelli White Chocolate Baking Bar (which Jen doesn't care for), and Whole Foods 365 Brand White Chocolate Chunk (which we ended up using). If it had been available, I would have preferred Callebaut or Valrhona.

Next we contemplated cream. I like to use pasteurized organic heavy whipping cream. Unfortunately, none of the pasteurized cream at the store was organic, and all of the organic options were ultra pasteurized. Ultra pasteurized cream doesn't taste as good or whip up as well, since the molecular structure of the cream is compromised when it is heated to the required minimum of 280 F. Frequently, manufacturers ultra pasteurize cream and other liquid dairy products to give it a longer shelf life. The pasteurization process is the same for shelf-stable milk milk products, except the packing conditions are not sterile so they still require refrigeration. I stood in front of the dairy case for about five minutes, staring idly at my disappointing options, dreaming of the delicious cream from the Strauss Family Creamery in Marin County. Alas, my magical powers failed that day. I settled for the organic ultra-pasteurized and headed for the check out.

So, Jen, here's a new recipe for your collection. Throw those other ones out.

White Chocolate Mousse for Miss D

8 oz good quality white chocolate, such as Callebaut or Valrhona (in small chunks)
1/4 cup heavy whipping cream

1-1/4 cup heavy whipping cream

2 tbsp sugar

1) Keep cream well chilled for 24 hours before making mousse. Chill metal mixing bowl and beaters/whisk for 15-20 minutes.

2) In a large glass (microwave safe) mixing bowl, combine white chocolate and 1/4 cup heavy whipping cream. Heat in the microwave on high for 20-30 second, then mix with a spatula for 45-60 seconds. Repeat just until white chocolate chunks are indistinguishable and mixture is smooth. Set aside to cool while you whip the cream

3) Place 1-1/4 cup well chilled heavy whipping cream in well chilled metal bow. Beat with well chilled beaters/whisk until foamy. Slowly stream in sugar (while still whipping). Continue to whip at medium high speed until soft to medium peaks form.

4) Check the texture of the melted white chocolate. It should be slightly warm to the touch and easy to stir. If it is not, return to the microwave for 10 seconds, then stir well for 30 - 45 seconds. Repeat, if necessary, to acheive this.

5) Add about 1/3 of the whipped cream to the melted white chocolate and mix well by hand with a spatula or whisk. This step will lighten the white chocolate mixture.

6) Add another 1/3 of whipped cream to white chocolate and fold gently to incorporate.

7) Add last 1/3 of whipped cream to white chocolate and continue to fold until mixture is well blended. If necessary, briefly use a whisk at the end to acheive a smooth mixture.

8) Pour mixture into individual ramekins and chill until set--at least 4 hours. To store for up to 3 days in the fridge, cover chilled mousses with plastic wrap and protect from strong odors (e.g. cheeses, onions, fish). To freeze, wrap aluminum foil over plastic wrap and freeze for up to 3 months.

P.S. This mousse can be poured directly into a prepared graham cracker or cookie crust and chilled as directed for a white chocolate mousse pie.