Washington DC

How to win friends and influence people

May 14, 2013 by Ann

Our nieces came to visit a couple of weeks ago — they are eight and four — and my husband and I planned a weekend of activities: zoo, pool, playroom. We scouted out the best kid-appealing food, including Shake Shack, Sweetgreen (they loved it), and pizza delivered right to our apartment door. And to seal my husband’s reputation as the Best Uncle Ever, we baked a batch of chocolate cupcakes.

The recipe is from the Barefoot Contessa and it’s perfect. The cake is moist with a light crumb, chocolaty, faintly bitter, not too sweet, dolloped with soft clouds of chocolate frosting. I’ve been making this as a layer cake for years, most notably last Christmas when my dad and I transformed it into a souche de Noël, or yule stump, complete with frosting bark and meringue mushrooms. (Behold.) But when you’re a kid, everything tastes better in tiny form (is this true, actually?) and so we decided to turn my trusty chocolate cake recipe into cupcakes.

The recipe is a snap to mix together especially when you forgo sifting the dry ingredients like I do (though I do sift the cocoa powder to remove lumps). The resulting batter is thin and soupy, which makes the task of spooning it into the cupcake liners a bit tedious. I recommend firing up NPR and doling it out as patiently as you can. Instead of baking for 35-40 minutes as the recipe indicates, start testing the cupcakes after 20 minutes. This recipe makes two layers for a cake, or enough cupcakes to feed a small army of nieces (seriously, it’s a lot of cupcakes — around 32 or so).

The Nieces loved the cupcakes and we loved watching them eat them. (Other highlights of the weekend included seeing a giant panda gorge on bamboo (me), wheeling toy cars in the playroom of our apartment building (the four year old), and swimming timed laps in the indoor pool (the eight year old). But after The Nieces and their parents had gone, we found ourselves with armfuls of leftover chocolate cupcakes. It turns out even the most enthusiastic chocolate cupcake consumers can only consume so many. What to do?

Thus began the great chocolate cupcake giveaway, as my husband and I walked around the lobby of our apartment building on a Saturday night handing out dessert. The driver idling in his taxi outside? Yes. The doorman? Yes. A woman walking her dog? Yes. The guy at the front desk? He ended up with four of them. Never have I seen so many happy smiles. Never have I felt so popular. I urge you to try it. Win a few friends and influence a few people yourself with this recipe for Beatty’s Chocolate Cake, straight from the Barefoot Contessa.

Ricardo

May 1, 2013 by Ann

Before I tell you about my favorite chocolate tart, I want to talk about Ricardo. Who is that? I wish I knew.

Here are some Ricardo facts:

He has a skin condition.
He has foot pain.
He is on prescription medication.
He has a telephone number very similar to mine.

Somewhere, somehow, Ricardo switched a few digits of his cell phone number and started giving out mine instead. The result? Hardly a week goes by without a message for him. They pour in: from his dermatologist’s office, his podiatrist, his pharmacist. Friends, I am embarrassed to tell you that Ricardo gets more calls than I do.

An older friend told me recently that my generation doesn’t like to talk on the phone; if Ricardo is any evidence, she is right. I feel more comfortable communicating via text and email — or even Twitter, Facebook, or blog comments — than I do chatting on the phone. When my mobile does ring, I think: “Oh no, bad news!” And when it turns out to be a call for Ricardo, I feel simultaneous relief and irritation.

Anyway, the other day I was making this chocolate apricot tart from the brilliant Moro cookbook. I love this recipe. It combines a top layer of creamy, melty chocolate fondant with a secret, hidden tangy skin of apricot purée. The contrast of deep chocolate and bright fruit is refreshing, a tart burst against a rich, seductive backdrop. After years of making this tart for dinner parties, preparing it has become relaxing, the closest thing I have to meditation. So, there I was, happily listening to NPR while pressing pâte sucrée into my tart pan, simmering dried apricots in a bit of hot water, and melting chocolate over a minute flame on the stove (I live on the edge and forgo the double boiler). My mind was filled with plans for my upcoming trip to France, ideas for articles and blog posts. And then the phone rang. I won’t keep you in suspense. It was for Ricardo.

“It’s the dermatologist’s office,” said the voice on the other line.

“You know what?” The words burst from me. “You have the wrong number. I get calls for Ricardo all the time but this is not Ricardo’s number.”

“I’ll make a note of it,” said the voice.

That was almost two weeks ago. I haven’t had a single call for Ricardo since. I can’t help but wonder how things are going with his blemishes, his foot problem. Did he pick up his prescription at CVS? Ricardo? Are you okay? Are you reading this? Call me. You know the number.

Chocolate apricot tart
Adapted from Moro, The Cookbook by Sam and Sam Clark

Serves 8-10

Pâte sucrée pastry:
4 oz butter, melted
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/4 cups flour
Pinch of salt

Filling:
7 oz dried apricots
4 tablespoons water
Juice of one lemon
5 oz butter
4 oz dark chocolate (70%)
2 eggs
2 grams sugar

Preheat the oven to 425ºF. Butter the bottom and sides of a tart pan. In a large bowl, combine the butter and sugar. Add the flour and salt and stir to form a soft dough, adding an additional tablespoon of flour if the pastry seems too wet. Transfer the dough to the center of the buttered tart pan. Using your fingertips, press the pastry into the bottom and sides of the pan, forming a thin, even layer. Prick the base all over with a fork and chill for about 30 minutes. Bake on the top shelf of the oven for 10-12 minutes until light brown. Remove and cool and a rack.

Reduce the oven to 350ºF. Make the filling. Roughly chop the dried apricots and place them in a saucepan with the water and lemon juice. Simmer over low heat for about 5 minutes, until soft. Purée in a blender (I use my immersion blender) into a smooth paste. Spread the mixture onto the base of the cooled tart shell and allow the paste to dry and form a slight skin.

In a double-boiler or saucepan, melt the butter and chocolate over low heat. In a bowl, whisk the eggs and sugar together until light and pale. Fold the chocolate mixture into the eggs. Pour the mixture over the tart shell and smooth with a spatula. Bake on the middle shelf of the oven for about 25 minutes, or until the filling jiggles slightly when you shake the tart pan. Cool and serve at room temperature.

The gentleman farmer

April 26, 2013 by Ann

I’ve been fascinated by Thomas Jefferson ever since I wrote an article following his 1787 visit through the vineyards and cellars of Burgundy. Four years as envoy to France had made Jefferson quite an oenophile — or, perhaps I should say, oeno-fanatic. When he returned to the United States in 1789, he received regular shipments of French wine and grapevine clippings at his Virginia plantation.

Last weekend in DC, I rented a car and followed Jefferson full circle. I visited Monticello, the home of the gentleman farmer.

Jefferson built his beloved house from the wine cellar up, hiding a dumb waiter in a side pocket of the dining room fireplace, which allowed for a smooth, unjostled passage of bottles. He planted a small vineyard on a southeastern slope of his garden, though he never succeeded in producing Virginia wine. Instead, he drank imported vintages from Italy and France, as well as North Carolina scuppernong.

I loved visiting the grand, gracious house: the wide hall, with its Great Clock displaying the time and day of the week; Jefferson’s library, with his evolving collection of volumes, sold to pay off debt and immediately collected again– “I cannot live without books,” he wrote to John Adams; his sunny study and alcove bedroom; the parlor decorated with portraits of his heroes; the dining room where he and General Lafayette (and assorted pals) drank over 300 bottles of wine during Lafayette’s week-long visit.

But the basement rooms and passages below the house — the kitchens and storerooms, the ice house and stables — portray a different life, one of, quite literally, slave labor. Jefferson’s enthusiasms are evident everywhere at Monticello, even in the smokehouse, where he devised a special shelf to keep mice away from the hams. Equally visible is the evidence of his slaves, who built that special shelf and smoked those hams, toiled in his greenhouses, tilled his garden, served his food — and so much more. When Jefferson died in 1826, a man in debt, he emancipated 10 slaves, including his alleged mistress, Sally Hemings, and two of their children. The rest of them — hundreds of men and women — were sold at auction to resolve his debts. Of course I’d known about Jefferson’s slave ownership, but our candid guide helped me fully realized the extent of it (I thought he’d freed all his slaves at death). It altered my perception of a man I greatly admired — but you can’t change history, I suppose. Jefferson thought so too: “I like the dreams of the future better than the history of the past,” he said.

Anyway. One of the last questions asked on our tour was what Jefferson and his friends ate to accompany their wine. Lots of vegetables, our guide said — Jefferson considered meat a condiment — some pork and chicken, wine-rich stews or daubes — prepared à la française — by Monticello’s French-trained chef. But as we headed out of Charlottesville, we kept passing horse farms, rolling hills contained by white fences, columned houses with deep porches. They made me crave Southern food — biscuits and chicken, tall glasses of iced tea. Alas, we didn’t pass anything resembling the Virginia road-side bakery of my dreams. So when I got home, I made the biscuits myself. Ah, self sufficiency. Jefferson would have approved.

Buttermilk biscuits

Makes 8-10 biscuits

1 1/2 cups flour
1 teaspoon sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
2 oz cold butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes
3/4 cup buttermilk (shaken)

Preheat the oven to 425ºF.

Stir together the flour, sugar, baking powder, salt, and baking soda. Blend in the butter with your fingertips until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs. Add the buttermilk and stir with a fork until the dough comes together — it will be sticky, with bits of flour on the side of the bowl. I like to knead the dough a couple of times in the bowl to bring everything together.

Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface. With a rolling pin (or your hands) pat out the dough into an 8-inch x 10-inch rectangle, about 1-inch thick. Cut the dough into 2 to 3-inch squares (or use the rim of a 2-inch juice glass). Place on a parchment-lined cookie sheet and bake for 12-15 minutes, or until lightly golden.

Blossoms

April 16, 2013 by Ann

There are some days when we are the best version of ourselves, and so it was for Washington last Wednesday. The weather — a raging 85 degrees F — said summer but the cherry trees insisted it was spring, bursting forth in clouds of pale pink, adorning the Tidal Basin in frills.

The first time I experienced the magic of cherry blossoms — and I don’t mean just one flowering tree, but an unfurling of soft petals en masse — was in Japan. My first visit to Tokyo coincided with ~~sakura~~ “hanami,” the period of peak blossom-viewing. In the parks that dot the city’s concrete jungle, I watched crowds of ecstatic locals gather to picnic under branches draped in voluminous blooms. I spotted women decked out in traditional kimonos wandering amid petal-strewn paths. Schoolgirls toted sacks of McDonald’s to eat beneath the trees, alternating bites of Big Mac with squeals and sighs. The entire city seemed to burst forth in joyous celebration — of nature, of beauty, of life.

In Washington last week, I felt that same palpable joy — perhaps no coincidence since the original cherry trees here were a 1912 gift from Japan. Crowds of locals and tourists circled the Tidal Basin, making it difficult to walk. But we were a happy and patient group, offering to take photos of one another, strangers united by a heady burst of sunshine, and heat, and nature (and, happily, no pollen — yet — to torment allergy sufferers). I wish I’d had the time to make a picnic; instead, I ate a store-bought sandwich in a shady spot and admired the ruffly ring of pale pink against the distant monuments.

“When the first rain comes, the petals fall and sakura is over,” a Japanese friend told me all those years ago on my first visit to Tokyo. On Wednesday, the flowers were lush and full, the petals scarcely fluttering from the trees. Two days later, a thunderstorm hit and the peak blossoms were finished. It was proof of nature’s beauty — so vibrant, so ephemeral — just like life itself.

Picnic ideas
Alas, I didn’t have time to pack a picnic. But I’m eyeing these recipes for next time:

Fantastic sandwich-building tips (Bon Appétit)

Savory cake with Roquefort and walnuts

Ugly but completely delicious spinach tikkis (Miss Masala)

Panzanella salad, broken down (Misanthropic Hostess)

My favorite peanut noodle salad

Edamame and pickled veg sushi (Art & Lemons)

Cranberry-chocolate chip oatmeal cookies

March 26, 2013 by Ann

I felt sure spring was coming because when I went to the Farmer’s Market this weekend I noticed the carrots had disappeared. True, there were Brussels sprouts, Swiss chard, and other winter vegetables that don’t hail from Europe. True, I saw nary a flutter of asparagus, or strawberries, or — that American peculiarity — ramps. But the bright piles of my favorite snacking vegetable were gone. “It’s a sign!” I told my husband.

It was not a sign.

Yesterday it snowed in Washington — snow! — and it’s the last week of March. This weather-seasonal disconnect calls to mind another post from my first weeks in this town, which documented 86 degrees in October. Though I’m more settled here now — an official cell phone owner with a full cabinet of Indian spices — this place still doesn’t really feel like home. Perhaps that’s because I know we’ll be moving again, sooner rather than later (my husband’s career as a diplomat transfers us often) — or maybe I just need to accept that DC is not my soulmate, as much as I appreciate its locavore salad bars, earnest plastic bag fees and independent bookstores.

So, there. I’ve finally got it off my chest: I have not yet fallen in love with my new town. (That’s okay, right?) I have, however, fallen in love with the health food store down the street. It has a funny patchouli smell, and packages of earnest-looking food, and bulk bins of nuts, grains and dried fruit. I know you’re probably thinking: she loves the bulk bins? But I do, I really do. I love how you can scoop out the exact quantity you need — a half cup of pine nuts, a cup of quinoa — no waste, no leftovers. This weekend, I eyeballed out a cup of walnuts and a half cup of dried cranberries. Then I went home and unearthed the bag of wheat germ leftover from this salad, and set about making my favorite cookies.

The recipe comes from Once Upon A Tart… (ellipses not my own), a Soho café I once frequented as an impoverished New York editorial assistant. Back then, splurging on a lunchtime sandwich or slice of quiche from Once Upon a Fart… (as I like to call it) felt like a celebration. And the giant cookies, oh, the cookies — those were reserved for very special occasions, like Saturday afternoons after my husband (at the time my, um, boyfriend?) got his hair cut and we would meet at the café to share one. I loved almost everything about those cookies — the bits of tart cranberry and chunks of chocolate, the marvelous airy, chewy-crunchy, oat-y texture. But I didn’t love the size. They were too big. I like having my own cookie.

When I left New York, a friend gave me a wonderful present: Once Upon A Tart…’s cookbook. Over the years, I’ve adapted the carrot-chick pea salad and ginger peanut sauce into kitchen staples, but for some reason I’ve only made My Favorite Cookie once before (mainly because it calls for dried cranberries and wheat germ, both rather particular ingredients). But this weekend, when I saw the array of dried fruit in the bulk bin and remembered the nearly-full bag of wheat germ in my cupboard, I knew what to do. The cookies turned out just the way I remembered, satisfyingly chewy and crunchy at the same time, thanks to the wheat germ. (They burn in a flash, however, so be careful not to singe a batch like I did.) Best of all, I made them in my favorite size — small enough so you can eat them two at a time.

Cranberry-chocolate chip oatmeal cookies
Adapted from Once Upon a Tart…’s Cookbook
Makes 5 dozen cookies

“A great way to tell if cookies are done is to lift one up with a metal spatula,” the book says. “If it’s brown underneath, it’s done.” I wish I’d followed this advice.

2 sticks butter, softened
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup packed light brown sugar
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup plus 2 tablespoons flour
1/2 cup wheat germ
3 cups rolled oats
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup chocolate chips
1/2 cup dried cranberries
1 cup walnuts, coarsely chopped

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.

With a hand mixer, cream the butter and sugars together until combined. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, and the vanilla.

To the wet ingredients, add the flour, wheat germ, oats, baking powder, baking soda and salt, mixing them in a bit at a time. With a wooden spoon, stir in the chocolate chips, cranberries and nuts.

Drop 2-inch scoops of cookie dough onto a baking sheet, about 2 inches apart. (The dough spreads quite a bit.) Bake for 10-12 minutes, until the cookies are golden brown all over, and on the bottom. Don’t undercook, as they’re better crunchy. Don’t overcook, as we’ve discussed. Remove from the oven and cool on a wire rack.

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