Late-night asparagus

Late-night meals in my house usually don't revolve around asparagus. Even after the Wichita farmer's markets have opened in the spring and the only things one can buy are fresh asparagus, dewy blackberries, and blushing strawberries, asparagus is scarce in my home. I know my feelings toward asparagus may make Lynne Rossetto Kasper cry, but it can't be helped.

Perhaps the sparkling, mineral-rich broth asparagus leaves behind after a good steaming alarmed me in my younger days. Maybe the asparagus's awkward place between mini-tree, flower, and wheat stalk leave me unsure of how to eat it. Most of the time, I'm content to leave that vegetable to the other market shoppers.

But tonight, I discovered that asparagus, when paired with a good cheese, is not half-bad. Once again, Fontina saved the day in the Pickle House, with it's creamy, salty and unassuming flavor. Basically, the Fontina, leeks, and cream, formed a support group that encouraged the asparagus to just be itself.

This quiche came together easily, as quiches with pan-press crusts do, and required only some minor sauteing before you bake-it-and-forget-it. C'est parfait paired with some tinned tomatoes and a cool, rainy evening.

Asparagus and leek quiche with Fontina

filling

• 1 leek, cut into thin, thin slices
• 1 tb. butter
• 3/4 pound asparagus, with the tough bits of stalk removed, cut into pieces the size of a thumb print
• 4 large eggs
• 1/2 cup whole milk
• 1/4 cup cream
• pinch each of sea salt and nutmeg
• 1 cup shredded Fontina cheese

crust

• 1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/4 cup olive oil
• 1/4 cup cold milk
• pinch salt
• 1 tsp. sugar

First, preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Next, prepare the pie crust. Mix together your flour, salt, sugar, and perhaps a pinch of dried oregano. Add the olive oil and milk at the same time, and mix the wet and dry ingredients by lightly "fluffing" with a fork. Form the dough into a ball, handling as little as possible, and place the dough in the center of a 9" pie plate.

Smoosh and spread the dough across the bottom and up the sides of the pie plate, taking care to keep the dough no thicker than about 1/4" in any place. Crimp the dough on the sides of the plate with your fingers, then prick four or five sets of air holes into the bottom of the dough with a fork. Set aside the dough.

In a small saute pan, melt the butter over medium heat and toss in the asparagus and leeks. Cook the vegetables for 6-8 minutes, just until the vegetables are tender through. Turn off the burner and let the veggies sit while you prepare the filling.

Whisk together the eggs, milk, cream, salt, and nutmeg, then stir in the Fontina cheese and cooked vegetables. Pour the mixture slowly into the pie crust to avoid egg-tastic spills. Place the quiche on a cookie sheet and bake for 40-45 minutes at 350 degrees in on the center oven rack. You'll know the quiche is done when its center has a matte finish and the crust is golden brown.

Serves 6. I've been pairing the quiche with marinated tomatoes, toasted pine nuts, green salads, and/or avocado slices. My husband, who is not usually a quiche guy, say's he'd pay "in upwards of $7" for this dish. That's not bad in Kansas dollars.

If you liked this post, you might also enjoy:

Zucchini tart

Easy tamale pie

Barbecued peach pizza

With chocolate and fruit, and possibly booze

My husband's birthday was last week, and I never had time to bake him a cake.

Yes, I bought him a giant red velvet cupcake with sprinkles from Sugar Sisters and took him out for Cajun food, which both delighted him. But there's something especially cozy about baking a cake for someone. Especially a cake with chocolate and fruit, and possibly booze.


I made a non-birthday cake this week, in my husband's honor, that used up a can of pears I had around and involved some more of the rich Scharffen Berger chocolate chunks in the pantry. The cake also gave me a reason to crack open the bottle of Uncle Jim's pear brandy that's been sitting around since December.

My witty Uncle Jim and his wife, the jubilant JoEllen, like to experiment with fruit-infused brandies and cordials. They take batches of fruits, let them soak in alcohol, and wait. If the result of their experiment is tasty and non-lethal, they pour the results in bottles with waxed corks, to distribute among friends and family.

Jim and JoEllen also throw a bang-up Christmas party every year, complete with dinner and an all-star cast of my cousins' adorable children. Uncle Jim slid up to me after dessert at last year's fete and said, quite solemnly, "Do you drink, you know, alcohol?" When I affirmed that I did drink, you know, alcohol, he loaded my arms with pear brandy and boozy strawberries and grapes.

Ok. I haven't mustered the courage to try the grapes, though my cousin Clayton nonchalantly munched his way through many of them at the party with no ill effect.

The brandy, though, quickly weaseled its way into my affections after I used it to create a chocolate sauce to top this cake. Now, I sip the pear brandy straight.

I found this chocolate pear cake recipe by rooting around on Google, and despite the many perils of user-submitted online recipes, I fell for this recipe by Kasha on recipezaar.com. It's a light little French cake, nothing special, but her instructions regarding pears caught my eye:

Carefully stir in cubed pears (count out six half-pears, eat any extras.)

I was going to do that anyway, but I almost giggled when I read that, indeed, the recipe basically calls for the cook to lick the beaters. Since I am diligent in my execution of any new recipe, I did eat the extra pears when I baked the cake. The husband and I split them with dinner.

Kasha recommends serving the cake with a dusting of creme anglaise, powdered sugar, or a dusting of cocoa.

petit and studded with caramelized pears

Chocolate pear cake, with brandied glaze
original recipe from Kasha at Recipezaar.com

Cake:

• 6 egg whites
• 3/4 cup unrefined cane sugar
• 1 tsp. vanilla
• 1/2 tsp. sea salt
• 4 Tb. cocoa powder
• 1 tsp. baking powder
  
• 1 cup plus 2 Tb. all-purpose flour
• 1/3 cup unsweetened applesauce
• 1 can canned pear halves, in natural juice, drained

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees, then spray a small bunt or other decorative molded pan with non-stick spray. Slice each pear half in half, lengthwise, and artfully arrange each slice on the bottom of the pan.

Combine flour, cocoa, baking powder, and salt in a small bowl, then set it aside. In a larger bowl, whip egg whites on a medium mixer speed for 30 seconds, then whip in the sugar and vanilla. The sugar-whites mixture should be fluffy, but not stiff. Slowly mix in the dry ingredients, then stir in the applesauce. To preserve the batter's light texture, mix the ingredients only until they are just incorporated.

Carefully spoon batter into the prepared pan, taking care not to disturb your neatly arranged pears. Bake the cake for about 45 minutes, or until an inserted toothpick comes out clean. Our old, cantankerous gas oven cooked the cake in about 38 minutes, so keep an eye on it! Cool and unmold the cake on a cookie rack while you prepare the glaze.

Glaze:

• 1/3-1/2 cup fruit brandy (start with 1/3, and use more to adjust the thickness of the glaze)
  
• 1 Tb. cream
• 2/3 cup dark chocolate, (I used Scharffen Berger baking chunks)
  
• 1/2 tsp cinnamon

Gently melt the chocolate chunks using a double boiler on the stove top. Over a medium-low heat, whisk in the cream, then the brandy. Stir in the cinnamon. Turn off the stove, and let the sauce sit for several minutes, enough time for the sauce to cool and the cinnamon to showcase its flavor. Spoon the chocolate sauce directly on the pear cake, pouring extra sauce into any cracks or crevices you see. The cake serves 8 and keeps for about a week.

The next time I bake this cake, I think I will add a little more fat by substituting Greek yogurt for the applesauce. But the cake, as it's made, lacks for nothing. It's even better the next day, cold, for breakfast. The chocolate brandy sauce settles in the cake, snuggles around the soft pears, and makes each silky bite delectable.

These peanut butter cookies are great!

Today's cookies are loved by every mouth they meet.* They're rich, chewy, dense...and often confused for peanut butter cookies.

Not that peanut butter cookies are lacking in any way. Whether they're rolled in sugar or criss-crossed with a fork, I'm in love. PBC's are in vogue everywhere, from church dinners to the secret judge's lounge at forensics's tournaments. (What? You didn't know there was a tricked-out lounge just for the judges? You need to volunteer for more tournaments.)

The Marathana company already makes my number-one, super-favorite, dance-in-your-pants-good peanut butter. Paying $4.75 for a jar of is the least I can do to show my love and devotion for the no-stir crunchy peanut butter. Love at first spoonful.

However, to celebrate Easter, I thought I'd introduce you to the PBC's older, more refined sister, the Cash Mac Cookie. Cashews and macadamia nuts combine to make these in crispy-crunchy disks, which I usually dust with turbinado sugar or top with a cashew.

like Edward in Twilight, they sparkle

Like a cognac that's reserved only for the most special of occasions, Marathana also makes a decadent blend called Cashew-macadamia Butter. It combines a cashew's sweetness with a macadamia's richness, and it. is. good. The hardest part of loving this nut butter is deciding what to call it.

Sure, the name "Cashew-macadamia-nut-butter" gums up one's tongue. But shorter variants don't stack up: "Cash-mac-mash? Cash-mac-butt? Macadamia-cash-butter? Maca-cashew-spread!?!" Or, how about something in the middle? cash-mac-butter. Short, snappy, and informal. It's what I would call a friend, if I had a friend made of a pureed cashews and macadamia nuts.

If you aren't near a store that sells cash-mac butter, you could puree a 1/4 cup each of cashews and macadamia nuts to achieve a similar product.

Cashew macadamia nut butter cookies

• 1/2 cup butter, softened
• 1/2 cup cash-mac butter
  
• 1/2 cup cane sugar, plus a little extra for dusting
  
• 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/2 tsp. baking powder
• 1 egg
• 1/2 tsp. vanilla
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/4 whole wheat flour
• 2 dozen salted cashews, for decoration

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees Fahrenheit. Beat the butter and cash-mac butter together until they're creamy and dreamy. Mix in the sugars, plus the baking powder and soda. Scrape the sides of the bowl and make sure the rising agents are fully incorporated. Beat the egg and vanilla, and then stir in as much of the flour as you can with a wooden spoon.

The cash-mac butter is runnier than its peanut counterpart, so you may need to add an extra spoonful of flour to bring the batter up to cookie consistency. If that doesn't do the trick, refrigerate the dough for a few minutes until it's easy to handle.

Shape the dough into small spheres and place two inches apart on an ungreased cookie sheet. I used a tablespoon to measure and shape the cookies. Flatten the dough by criss-crossing them with the tines of a fork. I like to dip the fork into a small bowl of sugar before the criss-cross action, to keep the dough from sticking to the fork. Then, press a cashew into the center of each cookie. Bake the cookies for 7-9 minutes, or until the bottoms are lightly browned. Cool the cash-mac goodies on a wire rack and then eat! immediately!


*One summer, a friend invited me to his yearly soiree. My husband and I arrived, daintily attired, around 10 pm with these cookies in tow. His wife, the hostess, greeted me at the door with a cold "Do I know you?" She even physically placed herself between me and the living room. I put on my brightest, I'm-not-hitting-on-your-husband smile and said, "No! I'm Kate, this is my husband, and I brought cookies!" After taking a whiff of the golden discs, she softened and let us in. Later, I overheard another party-goer exclaim, "Man, these peanut butter cookies are great!" Now that is a powerful cookie.

Sandwich love

Oh dear.

I was forced to break up with a constant force in my life today: the Walgreens Photo department. The store near my home ruined yet another roll of precious 35mm film, and it did so after raising the price of developing 24 exposures to $7.99 + tax ($10.99 for doubles!) I can't continue in this relationship after so many terrible developments.

We've had our good times, me and Walgreens Photo. The Walgreens at 55th and Broadway, my old stand-by, developed this arresting picture of a cream pitcher last winter.

Mr. Fish never did sell on Craigslist...

That location always had the nicest deals on coffee, too. For months, I could get a free Lindt milk or dark chocolate truffle with only a 99-cent coffee purchase. Heaven, right? I stashed those truffles away, using them later to top Christmas presents. My new Walgreens, the one close to my new home, is not helpful in the photo department. This picture came out well from the last roll, but how could it not? It was taken of snow, in bright lighting, and focused by my (mostly) steady hand. At least I got to commemorate the freak Wichita snow blizzard of March 2009.

The blizzard of March, 2009: perfect for snowballs

But most of the roll turned out like the photo below. Who wants to eat that? Nobody.

Does the Contrast Fairy hate me?

I spent ten minutes taking pictures of this zucchini/red cabbage stir fry, adjusting the shades in my dining room, tinkering with sunlight, rotating the plate. Every one of those half-dozen photos turned out this way, with a white bleached spot and dark corners. Was no one watching the photos develop? I know those shadows weren't there when I took the pictures. Instead of a sumptuous photo of stir-fry, rippling with purples and greens and browns, I see a blackened pile of blah along several wedges of butter-colored Fontina. Now I own six bad photographs of blah with butter. Maybe I can work them into a collage of some kind...

So, after that lengthy and photo-heavy introduction, I offer you my sincerest apologies about the photos of today's recipe. I don't usually overhaul my blog pictures in Photoshop, to give an accurate portrait of what the food looks like, but I had to tweak the contrast on these. For the good of you, the reader, and for the good of The Internet.

Behold! The creamy Swiss and pepper sandwich, which combines the comfort of grilled cheese with the sweet crunch of bell peppers. I used Laughing Cow Swiss cheese on them, but any other Laughing Cow flavor (roasted garlic? onion?) or a good cream cheese will work well. It's the perfect sandwich for Wichita's "not-quite-spring-like" weather. Oh, April, you are so fickle.

roasted peppers, garlic, and cheese --> oh my!

Creamy Swiss and sauteed pepper sandwiches

• 4 slices of chewy artisan bread (I used a semolina sesame bread from a local grocery)
• 2 wedges of Laughing Cow Swiss (or 2 oz. cream cheese in a pinch)
• 2 cloves garlic, minced finely, finely, finely
  
• about 1/3 cup sweet bell pepper, cut into thin strips (I used a mix of red, yellow, and orange mini-peppers)
  
• 1/3 cup chard, cut into thin strips (optional)
• 2 tsp. olive oil
• 1/2 tsp. crushed red pepper flakes

In a small saucepan, heat 1 tsp. olive oil over medium heat. While the pan warms, prepare the vegetables: cut chard and peppers into thin strips, garlic into flaky, minced bits. Saute the vegetables in the saucepan, just until the chard is wilted and the peppers have begun to look toasty and to release a sweet fragrance.

While the vegetables are cooking, generously spread cheese on each piece of bread. Load up your sandwiches when the vegetables are finished, evenly layering chard, then peppers and garlic. Sprinkle crushed red pepper flakes on each sandwich half.

Coat the pan with more olive oil, then lightly grill each sandwich for 2-3 minutes on each side, enough to melt the cheese and to toast the bread. Remove the sandwiches, then carefully cut each one in half with a serrated knife. Serve warm and with complementary finger foods like olives and artichoke hearts.

served with olives, artichokes, peppers, and tomato pesto