New Year's Resolutions

This past weekend, I an invigorating, inspiring Sunday in Mrs. Wheelbarrow's Kitchen. In five hours' time, we blanched, shocked, peeled, and squished tomatoes for canned crushed tomatoes. We roasted the heck out of tomatoes, carrots, garlic, and onion for roasted tomato-vegetable soup. We charred, peeled, and chopped peppers for roasted poblano salsa. We chatted all things food over salad greens, fig vinegar, pistachio oil, cheese and baguette, and brownies, all the while keeping a watchful eye on the pressure-canner. We dunked big jars of tomato mush into a boiling water bath, then listened to the music of "ping! pop!" as the lids snapped into place. We perused cookbooks and canning guides, gushed over Dorie Greenspan's lemon cream tart and Mrs. Wheelbarrow's own tamari almonds. We got giddy about dishes we love, laughed about Food52 cooks we stalk, and commiserated about recipes that had unexpectedly let us down. I left feeling a renewed sense of kitchen productivity, and -- more importantly for you, dear readers -- a renewed drive to share what I'd learned, share the things I've been thinking about.

It starts here, today.

I've always had a list of kitchen aspirations: dishes I'd like to learn to make, techniques I'd like to master, skills I'd like to acquire. For too long, that list has been relegated to the back bit of my brain. No longer. This is the year to learn those skills, conquer those fears, make those delicious things.

Today, I'm launching a new feature: Kitchen Resolutions. You'll see it on the left side bar. It's a short-but-growing list of things I'd like to accomplish this year. Yes, it's a bit random -- everything from "sharpen knives" to "confit a duck" and more -- but that's the idea. They're here, and they're public -- now I've gotta do'em.

I can't possibly be the only one out there with kitchen fears; it would be all kinds of awesome if you all chimed in. Surely, you must have some sort of culinary phobia. Have you always been afraid to use anchovies? Are you intimidated by roast chicken? Whatever it is, we can do it. Here's my deal with you. Leave a comment. Share that one thing (or two, or three) that's got you stumped. I'll pick some of the entries over the next few months, and I'll post step-by-step tutorials, with pictures and everything.

If you don't, I'll go at it alone. But wouldn't it be so much fun to have company?

Meanwhile, I'm going to start crossing things off my own list. For starters, kimchi: check. And pressure canning? That's a check-plus, as of Sunday.

Cathy, aka Mrs. Wheelbarrow, is the canning expert in these parts. She offered all sorts of helpful tips on how to can properly and safely. First and foremost: when canning, follow the recipe. Canning isn't friendly to improvisation. Think the jam is too sweet? Want to cut the sugar? Don't. The ratio of fruit to sugar is an important element of successfully canning jam, and if you alter that ratio, your fruit may not preserve properly and could spoil on the shelf. Also important: ensuring sufficient acidity. Acid keeps food from spoiling, so don't skimp on that lemon juice. In fact, as we were finishing up our crushed tomatoes, Cathy explained that for canning (and only for canning), she uses bottled lemon juice. The flavor pales in comparison to that of freshly-squeezed lemons, but the acidity is consistent in the bottled stuff, whereas with lemons, you never know how acidic they'll be. Consistency is the key to success in canning.

There are two ways to can at home: a hot water bath and a pressure canner. More acidic things require only a hot water bath, which heats to 212º, or boiling. Products with lower acidity (our tomato-roasted vegetable soup, for example) must be processed using a pressure canner, which heats up to 241º, the temperature at which botulism dies.

Once cans have been filled, covered, and processed, you should leave them undisturbed. As the liquid inside the jars cools, the lids will be sucked downward onto the jar, and they'll pop into place. When the popping starts, you know the jars have sealed. After leaving jars for 24 hours, you test each to ensure that it has sealed properly. How to do this? Simple. Remove the band (that's the thing you screw onto the jar to hold the lid in place) and lift the jar by its lid (not too high off the table, in case the seal isn't strong and the jar drops). If the jar lifts, the seal is strong enough, and the jars are ready for storage. All home-canned food should be eaten within one year of processing.

There's so much more to tell, but that's for another time. For now, I hope you enjoy the pictures of our Sunday canning adventure, and that you start thinking about that one kitchen fear you've always wanted to conquer. Bring on the comments!

Peach Tomato Gazpacho

Ok y'all, I'm a bit late posting this, and you’ll have to forgive me. But then – and I mean immediately; do not pass go, do not wait for September to drift into fall – you must get off the couch and make this soup.

Just last week, the dog days of summer seemed a permanent fixture. Now, as I’m walking to the farmers’ market, I find myself rubbing my hands together, picking up that pace a bit, and reaching for….a cardigan. Fall’s crept up on me again. Every year, I bemoan the end of tomatoes and nectarines, my shortsighted lack of urgency in eating as many of those beautiful beefsteaks and heirlooms as possible. Now I’m making a mad dash for those tomatoes, eating a peach after lunch every day and one in the evening as well, trying to cram as much of the rapidly depleting summer produce down my craw as time will allow.

My fridge is only so large; not, apparently, large enough; those 5 pounds of peaches that I bought last week have softened, ripened, and softened some more. Last night, I came home to some peaches practically begging to be eaten. Ditto the beautiful red tomatoes, which, seemingly suddenly, after a short stay on my counter (never store tomatoes in the fridge; it ruins them), were near-overripe.

I didn’t have quite enough tomatoes to make a sauce-making project worthwhile. As for the peaches, in the past week, I’d made two cakes and a crostada with them and some nectarines. I needed a change of pace.

Here’s the part where we rewind a few days, and I explain the real reason I made this soup. Yes, I wanted to make something savory with peaches and tomatoes. That’s all true. But here’s the rub: my friend B brought this over one Friday night, and I ate so much of it, so quickly, I’m not sure I left any for her to try. This soup is the best thing since sliced bread, and since I first had it, I’ve made it three times. “And only now I tell you?!?” Yes. I’m sorry. (‘Tis the season of forgiveness!) Now go and make it, while peaches and tomatoes are still around. There’s plenty of time for apples and kale, squash and potatoes. We’ll talk about those next week. For now, make this soup, and drink up those last drops of summer while you can. And if you’re as bummed as I am about the end of this season, you can make a big batch of this soup to freeze or can; I’ll be doing just that.

Peach Tomato Gazpacho Adapted from Gourmet

Note: this recipe has you puree part of the ingredients into soup, and combine what remains into a rustic salsa with which to serve the soup. I’ve done this once, and it’s quite delicious – but feel free to simply blend everything together and serve with the cubed avocado and a light drizzle of oil, as pictured. If doing this, don’t add all the salt immediately; taste the blended soup and only add as much as is needed.

1 1/2 lb tomatoes, chopped (4 cups) 1 lb peaches, pitted and chopped (2 cups) 2 tablespoons chopped shallot (1 medium) 2 tablespoons olive oil 1 1/2 tablespoons white-wine vinegar 1 tablespoon chopped chives 1 teaspoon salt 1/2 teaspoon black pepper 1/4 to 1/2 cup water 1/2 avocado, chopped

Purée two thirds of tomatoes and half of peaches with shallot, 1 tablespoon oil, 1 tablespoon vinegar, 2 teaspoons chives, 3/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper in a blender until very smooth, about 1 minute. Force through a medium-mesh sieve, discarding solids. Stir in water to desired consistency.

Toss together remaining tomatoes and peaches with remaining tablespoon oil, remaining 1/2 tablespoon vinegar, remaining teaspoon chives, and remaining 1/4 teaspoon each of salt and pepper in a bowl. Serve soup in bowls topped with tomato peach salsa.

Kimchi

Sometimes, a post writes itself. As I was piling the big heap of pickled cabbage into my largest mason jar, I thought of all the times I'd pigged out on Kimchi in the past, all those times I'd been absolutely sure there was no way to make this stuff at home. I remembered the moment I'd received David Chang's Momofuku cookbook, how excited I was to discover that there was a recipe for kimchi -- a very easy, very doable recipe, involving no more than ten minutes of active prep time. I recalled how few recipes on this site are inspired by East Asia, how frustrated that's made me over the years, considering how prominently East Asian flavors figure into my home cooking and, to an even greater extent, my eating out. And I knew that as soon as work calmed down and Rosh Hashana had passed, I'd be telling you about this one-bowl dish that's quickly become a staple in my kitchen.

Like lacto-fermented pickles, the things that make kimchi so delicious are (mostly) environmental. Exposure to air and time turn the mixture of cabbage, chili, fish sauce, salt, and sugar into something much more intriguing than the individual components might suggest. Some of the kimchi I've had at restaurants has been overly pungent or funky, too sharply salty or sour, without proper balance. My favorite kimchi in the DC metro area, from the Annandale restaurant Ye Chon, is very good, but it sometimes lacks that hint of sweetness that balances the sour, salty, and spicy flavors and keeps your chopsticks coming back for more. Chang's kimchi gets that balance just right.

The most time-intensive part of this recipe is the shopping. If you don't already have fish sauce, you'll need to buy some. Don't be seduced by the tiny bottles they sell at Whole Foods; to make this properly, you'll need the stuff that comes in the big bottle (a bottle usually has between 3-6 cups worth). Yes, it's another thing to store in the fridge, and I get that that's a turn-off. And yes, I'm aware that fish sauce can smell like dirty socks. Have you already clicked away? No? I promise that kimchi reins in the funk of the fish sauce, and that the result will smell nothing like the locker room. My favorite fish sauce brands are Squid and Three Crabs, but anything you find at Hmart or an Asian grocer will be totally fine.

Another key ingredient is Korean chili powder, also called Kochukaru. I went to Hmart (the Asian grocery) in search of something by that name, and saw only pounds and pounds of "chili powder." Turns out, all the chili powder in the Korean aisle at Hmart is kochukaru. If you ask, the ladies behind the register will tell you it's what they use to make kimchi. You want the coarsely ground stuff. The last special ingredient is jarred salted shrimp, which I didn't use (I keep a kosher home, which means no shellfish). My kimchi was still delicious.

Other than that, we're talking basics. Cabbage, salt, sugar. Garlic and ginger. Soy sauce. Scallions and carrots round out the vegetables in this kimchi, and I've been known to dig to the bottom of the jar for some of those irresistible pickled scallion bits.

I've said before that my goal with this blog is convincing myself, along with you, that good food really isn't so hard to make. Yes, sometimes it requires ingredients that aren't exactly staples. Sometimes we end up needing to teach ourselves new tricks. But with one trip to the somewhat-obscure grocery store and a couple minutes of advance reading, something like kimchi -- which once seemed impossible to make at home -- can be in a mason jar, on your tabletop, in your mouth in practically no time. When good food is this simple, fear of cooking seems like a waste, doesn't it?

Kimchi Adapted from David Chang's Momofuku

1 small to medium head Napa cabbage, discolored or loose outer leaves discarded 2 tablespoons kosher or coarse sea salt (don't use table salt -- it's too harsh) 1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar 20 garlic cloves, minced 20 slices peeled fresh ginger, minced 1/2 cup kochukaru (Korean chile powder) 1/4 cup fish sauce 1/4 cup usukuchi (light soy sauce) 2 teaspoons jarred salted shrimp -- I didn't use this, and my kimchi came out great 1/2 cup 1-inch pieces scallions (greens and whites) 1/2 cup julienned carrots

Cut the cabbage lengthwise in half, then cut the halves crosswise into 1 inch wide pieces. Toss the cabbage with the salt and 2 tablespoons of the sugar in a bowl. Let sit for several hours or overnight in the refrigerator.

Combine the garlic, ginger, kochukaru, fish sauce, soy sauce, shrimp if using, and remaining 1/2 cup sugar in a large bowl. If it is very thick, add water 1/3 cup at a time until the brine is just thicker than a creamy salad dressing but no longer a sludge. Stir in the scallions and carrots.

Drain the cabbage and add it to the brine. Cover and refrigerate. After 24 hours, the kimchi will taste great. Don't eat it all right then and there, though -- it'll taste even better after a week of sitting, and at its prime 2 weeks out. It will still be good for another couple weeks after that, though it will grow stronger and funkier.

A Menu for the Jewish New Year

For serious, how has a year passed already? Eek.

The Jewish New Year is upon us. What's a girl to make for a holiday this big and momentous? Answer: a whole lotta food. But at the request of quite a few lovely readers, this year, I'm getting more specific. I'll be posting my Rosh Hashana menu from soup to cake, and -- per your requests -- I'll share my recipe for apple cake. In my humble opinion, it's a perfect recipe, with cinnamon-laced apples and the all-important crust. Let's get to it, shall we?

First things first: my work schedule is such that I'll have one day - one half day, if we're being precise -- to cook. With this in mind, my wonderful stepmother-in-law-to-be, Terri, is bringing a bunch of the staples with her from Detroit. Among the things coming on the plane are soup, 3 chickens, and 2 briskets. Clearly the lady is used to cooking for a crowd, and thank god for that.

Have no fear: just because she's doing brisket doesn't mean I'm not armed with a recipe for ya. It's hard to believe I haven't shared this brisket recipe yet, because it is my absolute favorite, and I rarely make brisket any other way.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Here's the whole menu:

Day 1:

Homemade challah Various homemade pickles Matza ball soup Salad of arugula and romaine, peaches, raw sweet corn, chives, and mustard vinaigrette Terri's chicken and brisket Moroccan eggplant (recipe to come shortly) Summer squash couscous with sultanas, pistachios, and mint

Day 2: Caponata Tomato Soup Fattoush Chicken and brisket Beets with fennel, orange, and walnuts Braised Sweet and Sour Cabbage

And, for both nights, I'll be making my new favorite Jewish apple cake. It's a not-too-sweet, plenty sturdy batter, laced with thin slices of cinnamon-and-sugar-coated apples. I used Cortland, which become soft but not at all mushy. Granny Smith would be great as well. Pretty much anything but Macintosh and Delicious will work.

Some folks like their apple cake with big chunks of fruit; I love that this cake has the apples in thin slices, woven through the body of the cake. When you're pouring the batter into the pan, it'll feel as though you took a bunch of apple slices, dunked them in batter, and baked them off. I love that. This cake is loaded with apples, but have no fear -- the batter expands in the oven, and the blob of batter-coated apples becomes a phenomenal cake.

We're rounding out 5770 here at NDP, and we're also sneakin' up on the blog's 3-year anniversary. It's hard to believe; I'm not sure what else to say. Blogging in this space, hearing your comments, reading your emails, and sharing my favorite recipes with all of you gives me no small measure of joy. I feel lucky to be a place you visit, and I hope this year brings all of us many, many blessings. Have a happy, healthy new year!

My Favorite Apple Cake

4 firm, tart apples; I like Cortlandt 3 tablespoons cinnamon 1 3/4 cups plus 4 tablespoons sugar, divided juice of half a lemon 3 cups flour 1 tablespoon baking powder 1/2 teaspoon salt 4 eggs 1 tablespoon vanilla 1 cup vegetable or corn oil 1/2 cup apple sauce

Preheat oven to 350º. Butter and flour either a bundt pan (for pretty slices but no real crust), or a 9-inch springform or round pan (more boringtown shape, great crust).

Core apples, slice into 1/2 inch slices, and toss in a medium bowl with cinnamon, 4 tablespoons sugar, and juice of half a lemon. Set aside.

In a small bowl, combine flour, salt, and baking powder. Set aside.

In a large bowl, combine eggs, remaining sugar, and oil. Beat with whisk or whip with electric mixer until frothy and somewhat satiny, about 60 seconds with a whisk or 30 with an electric mixer. Add vanilla and whisk to combine.

Add 1/3 of dry ingredients to egg mixture. Whisk to combine. Add half apple sauce, and whisk again. Repeat with second third of dry ingredients, remaining apple sauce, and finally, the last third of the dry ingredients. When batter is smooth and only a few lumps remain, add apples, with all accumulated liquid, to batter. Fold in to combine.

Pour batter into prepared pan, and bake approximately 60 minutes, maybe 70, until cake is set in the middle and crust is golden. Set pan on rack and allow cake to cool 15 minutes. Then gingerly run knife around perimeter of cake, set plate overtop, and flip pan, inverting cake onto plate. Allow to cool completely. Dust with powdered sugar before serving.

My Best Brisket Recipe

5 pounds first cut brisket, trimmed of any excess fat 3 tablespoons olive oil 2 leeks, cleaned and chopped 2 yellow onions, coarsely chopped 2 carrots, quartered lengthwise and chopped 2 stalks celery, chopped 5 cloves garlic, smashed, skins removed 2 bay leaves 2 tablespoons tomato paste 3-4 sprigs parsley, roughly chopped 2 sprigs thyme 3 tablespoons pomegranate molasses 1 cup pomegranate juice 1 bottle dry red wine minus 1 cup (to drink, of course 1/2 cup beef stock, optional

Preheat oven to 325º.

Pat brisket dry and salt liberally on both sides, If using kosher meat, do not salt.

Put your largest, deepest saute pan (preferably oven safe; a dutch oven is a great one to use) over medium high heat.

Using sturdy kitchen tongs, transfer brisket to pan and sear, undisturbed, for 4-5 minutes, until underside develops brown crust. Turn brisket and cook 3-4 minutes on second side, until similarly seared. If pan is oven-safe, transfer brisket to a plate. If not, transfer brisket to oven-safe pan and set aside.

Pour off any accumulated fat in pan, reserving the fond (the delicious brown bits stuck to the bottom of the pan, which have all the brisket flavor in them). Reduce heat to medium, add olive oil, and swirl to coat. Ad onions, leeks, carrots, and celery, and saute until onions are translucent, 4-5 minutes, stirring regularly. Add garlic and saute 3 minutes more. Add bay leaves and herbs.

Add tomato paste, and use the back of a wooden spoon to break it up and incorporate it into the vegetables. Saute 3 minutes more, and then transfer to plate or pan holding brisket.

Raise heat back to medium-high. Add a splash of wine to the pan, and use a wooden spoon to scrape up the fond from the bottom of the pan. Add the rest of the wine, pomegranate juice, and beef stock, if using. Cook on medium-high heat until reduced by half. Add pomegranate molasses and cook 1 minute more.

Transfer brisket, vegetables, and braising liquid to oven-safe pan (if using a dutch oven, cooking liquid already will be in it, so carefully transfer brisket and seasoning to pan.)

Braise, covered, at 325 for 3 hours, until soft and tender. At the 1 hour mark, taste sauce and correct for salt and seasoning. When 3 hours have passed, remove pan from oven and allow brisket to rest at room temperature approximately 20-30 minutes. To serve, slice against the grain as thickly as desired. Top each slice with a spoonful of sauce.