(JS) Last Monday marked the so-called Great Conjunction, a once in every 800 years spectacle wherein the “huge gas giants” better known as Jupiter and Saturn briefly put aside their differences for a little late night hobnobbing. That this event happened on the winter solstice (the longest night of the year and somehow barely past base camp on my seasonal depression hike) is mere happenstance. To be perfectly honest I missed the opportunity to properly observe both of these events, but the coincidence has led me to some light celestial introspection. I’ve never quite identified with my sun sign, Pisces; a cursory survey of astrology memes suggests we’re intuitive and impressionable folk with an emotionally driven streak and a tendency toward rose-colored visions, but as Goop-approved astrologer (and friend of the newsletter Mat’s mother) Michele Bernhardt tells us, “no two fish are the same!” So readers, what comes after Co-star in my quest for self-discovery? I find The Pattern’s push alerts to be more pushy than alert. Perhaps 2021 is the year I finally sit down for a proper chart reading.
I’m rounding out the year with some hearty braises, including:
Itamar Srulovich and Sarit Packer’s sofrito, a simple recipe for short ribs glazed with date syrup from Michael Rakowitz’ sweet and sticky anthology A House with a Date Palm Will Never Starve, paired with this spicy cucumber salad from Yewande Komolafe to cut the richness a bit
Digaag qumbe and Somali cilantro and green chile sauce from Hawa Hassan and Julia Turshen’s In Bibi’s Kitchen; leftover sauce went into an improvised version of this coconut miso salmon
For requisite blizzard baking, I turned to Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock’s dark gingerbread; after reading the comments on a few different websites I reduced the molasses to just a cup, threw in a quarter cup of brown sugar, and upped the spices, adding fresh ginger, a couple cloves, and a bit of black pepper
(SB) Dear readers, I have a confession: I haven’t been taking advantage of the rare planetary conjunction to manifest my wishes and intentions for this next chapter of life. I’ve genuinely been looking forward to the opportunity to reflect and restore that this event provides. Instead, the week has found me inexplicably tired and irritable, and I’ve only been able to muddle my way through some rituals of life maintenance: observing my daily writing goals, getting my eyes checked, and making my way through a novel about neoliberalism interpolated through a plotline about Norwegian postal unionism.
In the absence of a more elevated mindfulness, I have been observing, with interest, the pathways my mind wanders down when untethered from the rhythms of some kind of collective workplace or, you know, society. Perhaps you, like me, have been bored of our news cycle undulating between a tepid stimulus package and yet-to-be-determined vaccine optimism, and would enjoy some leads: I was recently inspired by an uncharacteristically sweet episode of The Daily, and think I’ll be dipping my toes into the radio offerings of Delilah, once the Christmas Music rush has passed. Questions about Caliphate (and frankly, other batshit explorations of journalist ethics) have also prompted me to revisit the 2018 #MeToo shakeup at my favorite media outlet, WNYC. It turns out, it was even worse than I remembered.
I’ve also been eating, quite a bit:
Cassoulet, with guidance from Melissa Clark but executed freestyle with Rancho Gordo Cassoulet Beans, some naughty Foie Gras Sausage, and scraps of herb bacon from the recesses of the fridge in lieu of the full meat extravaganza. Enjoyed with Via Carota-style insalata verde, as told by Samin Nosrat.
Kimchi jjigae, with tofu and ground pork alongside some turnips braised in miso butter and chicken stock.
I’ve also been eating my way through a little downtown shopping bounty, acquired after visiting the Bluestockings pop-up: kippered salmon & lumpfish caviar from Nordic Preserves, samosa chaat from Punjabi Deli Grocery, and tacos from Yellow Rose.
(JS & SB) BTW, we’re doing something fun next week over at Sifted; we hope you’ll subscribe to the other foremost Nuts.com fanzine on Al Gore’s internet.
IT TAKES TWO: Torrone
We knew we wanted something chocolatey to close out our holiday baking roundup, so imagine our excitement when this fresh recipe for mint chocolate torrone landed on the Food52 homepage a couple weeks ago. Falling somewhere between chewy nougat and buttery American fudge, Natasha Pickowicz calls her infinitely customizable treats “the easiest candy you’ll ever make.” Just what did we think? Read on and find out!
(JS) Let’s get one thing clear off the bat: I don’t really fuck with mint chocolate. Fortunately, the lengthy headnote for this recipe includes a few suggested mix ins for the mint-averse among us. Try a couple drops of almond extract, dried fruit or citrus peels, some chopped nuts of your choosing; according to Natasha, “it all works.” Seeing this as an opportunity to clean out my pantry, I opted for crumbled digestives and nilla wafers in lieu of butter cookies and threw in a couple handfuls of pistachios and slivered almonds I’d fished out of the freezer. In retrospect I should’ve stopped here, but the kitchen Icarus within me wanted more. Fierce contenders for a little je ne sais quoi included candied fennel seed, freeze dried raspberries, and raw cacao nibs, but I ultimately went with crushed pretzels as the final ingredient for these slightly chaotic torrone.
I probably should have let my butter soften a bit more before starting, and definitely would recommend placing a kitchen towel over your mixer when you add the cocoa, lest you wish to dust your entire counter in the process. I added the egg and yolk and per the instructions beat them well until smooth, glossy, and thick (there is probably a Glossier joke buried somewhere in here, but I would be remiss not to mention that Salonee and friend of the newsletter Shriya have already declared dewy and rose-scented gulab jamun the official Glossier girl of desserts). I slowly streamed in my sugar syrup and added a splash of vanilla before folding in my mix ins. I spread the mixture in a saran wrap-lined sheet pan, hit it with a generous sprinkle of Maldon, and placed my torrone in the fridge for a few hours to chill.
The resulting confection was a delight to slice into, the smooth cuts revealing terrazzo-like cross-sections as promised — the look and flavor reminded me of chocolate salami, but in stackable form. Regrettably I must admit the pretzels were a mistake; unlike the cookies which mostly maintained their crunch, the pretzels absorbed moisture from the surrounding matrix and ultimately tasted sort of soggy and stale. You might have more success using chocolate or yogurt covered pretzels, but in the future I’ll likely stick to nuts and candied bits for maximum crunch.
(SB) While I am a mint chocolate fan, I tend to enjoy the occasional Andes Mint or Green & Black solo due to their toothpaste-adjacent boldness. I swiftly accepted when Jake proposed a little excursion East Village gem Dual to seek mix-in inspiration. With a stomach full of samosa, it wasn’t long before I was seized with visions of fusion-torrone, studded with crushed peanut chikki candy and Good Day butter biscuits. Like Jake, the temptation to clear out my pantry struck late in the game and I also included a handful of chopped, dark-chocolate covered cherries alongside a few Milk Bikis for good measure.
Equipped with some foresight from my partner in crime, I let my butter soften quite a bit before beating. Once I added my egg and yolk, my mixture still looked less Glossier-model and more “I need to remember to moisturize more often in the winter” (JS: couldn’t we all?!). In pursuit of that supple shine, I added a few spoonfuls of ghee (already soft) and turned my stand-mixer up to high. The combination worked, and we were soon in business. After slowly streaming in the hot sugar syrup, I folded in shards of crushed, (store bought) peanut chikki, cookies, and the chocolate cherries before spreading the whole mix out on a baking sheet. I let my torrone cool overnight before attempting a slice.
It’s been hard to keep my own greedy little hands off the results, though I have now cut and boxed up most of my torrone for gifting purposes. The chikki worked extraordinarily well as a mix-in, and I urge those without allergies to pursue some sort of nut in your torrone. I find the fudge-like texture pretty addictive, but I might add a few more butter cookies into the mix next time, as well. Suffice to say that I’m eager for round two, with some extra-good cocoa.
CECI N’EST PAS DES LATKES
(JS) I know what you’re probably thinking: Hanukkah is OVER! Get out of here with this belated recipe, you filthy Jew! (Before you ask, I can say it.) Hear me out: these are not your standard issue latkes. These Ukrainian style potato cakes from Olia Hercules are yeast-leavened, so they puff up a bit more than the familiar lacey varieties, and they’re stuffed with a salty and herby bean and cheese mixture for some added bulk. Served with a bit of garlic yogurt, some sauerkraut, and a dab of chile paste, they make for an excellent meal any time of the year.
People of the Book (SB: he does not mean art historians, goy gang) and fans of their culinary traditions will find the method mostly familiar, with a few unexpected twists; using a box grater, begin by grating a couple russet potatoes on the fine side (twist!), followed by an onion on the coarse side. Add this mixture to a fine sieve set over a bowl and squeeze out some but not all of the liquid. Transfer the “sloppy potato and onion mix” (🥴) to a fresh bowl and fold in a beaten egg, some flour (twist!), and yeast (here we go again!), then rest for ten minutes or so. In the meantime, you can work on your filling.
Dice an onion and fry it in a bit of oil until golden, then transfer to a bowl with half a can of white beans, crumbled feta, and a handful of chopped dill to mash. Hercules notes this recipe is merely a guide ready for adaptation. If you’re off dairy, you could stick with just beans, onions, and extra herbs. If you’re looking to fully veganize things, use the starchy water from your potatoes (what real latke heads may call “that good shit”) as a binder for your pancakes in place of the egg. Throw in some leftover meat or stewed veg. Clean out your freakin’ fridge and put it in a pancake!
Once your pancake mixture is looking a lil’ bubbly, season with salt and pepper and heat your oil over medium low. Hercules calls for only 2 tbsp, but the accompanying video shows her frying in at least a half inch; next time I make these, I’ll probably use more. Spoon the potato mixture into the hot oil and spread into pancakes about four inches in diameter. While they fry, dollop a bit of the filling on top, then delicately cover with another spoonful of potato mixture to seal. The recipe says to fry these for 2-3 minutes a side, but I fried mine for at least 4-5 and frankly wish I’d browned them a bit more.
WINE, BUT MAKE IT SPICY
(SB) For those of you who have never read a John Updike novel (as is your right, sweet readers), please take my word that they usually feature a cast of restless and repressed mid-century WASPs navigating sordid dramas in Northeastern academic bedroom communities. I have read several, and admit to drawing on some of this material when I imagine the secondary cast of the Glögg Parties that my boyfriend’s mother describes throwing in her own Inwood walk-up. In part, this is because after having tried my own hand at glögg I can attest that it is both delicious, deceptive, and will have you on your ass if you’re not careful.
I suppose this is the fundamental appeal of any punch: they’re sweet, they’re communal, and they, well, pack a punch. I certainly hope that the punch bowl does not go the way of the buffet, but realize that it may be some time before we know for sure. In the interim, perhaps you’ll find yourself scaling down this recipe (or not!) to meet the needs of your quarantine crew. Alternatively, it may just be the thing to bring along on a distanced holiday walk… if ever there was a time to invest in a giant thermos for hot drinks to share, this might be it.
I made this glögg at my own delightful, messy and merry solstice party last year using a mash-up of recipes from Willis’s mom and friend of the newsletter Eric — both follow a standard formula: a mixture of wine (dry, red, a whole bottle), port (also a whole bottle), and brandy (just about a cup or two) are simmered in a large pot with mulling spices, a charred orange peel, and some brown sugar over low heat until it’s steaming (but never boiling!). Remove the aromatics and ladle into glasses, topping with blanched almonds and raisins.
A little internet research leads me to believe that aquavit or steeped vodka are often traditional preparations here, but I have a soft spot for brandy. I personally enjoy leaving the glögg on the stove with a little sachet of mulling spices for the duration of a festive occasion — it smells delicious and doesn’t seem to over-infuse. A combination of personal experience and internet research leads me to caution you about serving sizes: this is stronger than it looks and feels, and you might find yourself three sheets towards a mid-function nap without some caution.
PERMANENT ROTATION: James Beard’s braised onion pasta. Go on, spend an hour deeply caramelizing onions in a shit ton of butter. Where else do you have to be this week?
WISH LIST
(JS) In keeping with the belated spirit of my prose, I’m craving these Iranian style carrot, eggplant and quince jams from Nasrin’s Kitchen for a little overdue Yalda indulgence.
(SB) I’ll admit that perhaps I’ve jumped the shark with this one, but I’ve been coveting vintage snow suits since last week’s storm. In case it ever snows again, I’d like to invest in a wearable sleeping bag. Feel free to send me your chic snow suits!
(JS & SB) What do we want this week? SAD lamps? Jobs? Purpose? Let’s forget all that and instead wish for better photographs on this newsletter in 2021! Does anyone have a ring light they especially recommend? We’re hopeful but we’re also lazy; please don’t suggest something that also requires a reflector.
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