Yes, my dears, your faithful blogger and amateur
P’tit Dej at Café de Flore
5 days ago
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Leavin' on a Jet Plane
Yes, my dears, your faithful blogger and amateur
Monday, April 28, 2008
The Getty Villa
If you live in LA or are planning to be here this summer, I would strongly recommend a visit to the newly renovated Getty Villa. It sits atop a small hill just off the PCH in Malibu, so close and yet so far away from the beach traffic down below. J. Paul Getty, flush with oil money, built this as a replica of a 2,000 yr old excavated Roman villa and filled it with his priceless collection of paintings and antiquities. The paintings (among the greats are Monet's Japanese Garden, one of the Haystacks and one of the Rouen Cathedral series - my favorite) have migrated to the new and wonderful Getty Center, which you should also put on your "to do" list, just for the architecture alone. What's left is an impressive (for a private collection) set of Greco-Roman statues, pottery, mosaics, etc, and several exquisite early-man artifacts, some 4.5 thousand years old.
This all sounds quite dry, unless you are an enthusiast of Greek pottery and old Roman busts, but believe me, it's a lovely experience. The grounds are shady and quiet, with gurgling fountains, the faint perfume of roses and the sun playing hopscotch on the mosaic floors. The collection itself is interesting enough and small enough not to become boring or overwhelming, but large and varied enough to keep your interest for an hour or two. The rest of the time you can spend wandering around the gardens, gazing at the ocean and having lunch at a cafe carved into the mountain, which makes you feel as if you are on the site of some extremely well preserved and beautiful Roman excavations.
We spent a couple of very peaceful hours ambling from one room to another, stopping to look at the pieces that happened to catch our eye, smelling one flower or another (ok, that was only me) and dipping our hands into the fountain. Then we stood on the terrace, away from the tourists, and let the ocean breeze cool us off (it was 90 degrees! Summer is officially here). It's a lovely legacy that the Getty family preserves for us, I must admit, and definitely one place I would love to take someone who thinks that LA is all glitz and glamor and Hollywood (*cough**New York people**cough*). Of course, one could argue that as a replica, the Getty Villa fits in with Hollywood perfectly. It's a paradox, but I think that we Angelinos wouldn't have it any other way.
I have to warn you, though -- you need tickets to get in. They are free, except for an $8 parking fee, but a ticket reservation is necessary at least a week in advance. When we drove in and presented our tickets, the security guard (who had the unmistakable whiff of an off-duty-cop) looked us over very doubtfully. "Just the two of you?" he asked, checking out our backseat, as if absolutely certain that we were smuggling some miscreants into the place. I said jokingly: "It's like Fort Knox in here!" He gave me a grim look that instantly silenced me. "I thought I heard something bumping in your trunk," he remarked accusingly. "Nothing but the two dead bodies," A. murmured, driving to the second check point.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Flourless chocolate cake
I don't have a picture of the cake for you this week - before I could even whip out my camera, the whole thing practically evaporated in front of my eyes. Really, I was lucky to grab a bite.
It all started with Passover. I'm not going to recount the story, other than to say that this holiday is special to me in particular because my family came here as political refugees from the former U.S.S.R., seeking, like so many other Russian-Jews, to escape religious persecution in what is now Ukraine. As a child, one is supposed to be insulated from racism and anti-semitism and live in the happy world of toy cars, dolls and play-doh, but I wasn't so lucky. I remember being called nasty names and a kid throwing rocks at me (until I threatened to get my older cooler guy friends to beat him up) because being Jewish meant that I was somehow inferior, dirty and should be ashamed of myself and my family. So Passover, during which we say the words "we were slaves, and now we are free," resonates very strongly for all of us who were lucky enough to make it to the U.S. During the Seder, Jews dip herbs in salt water to remember the tears and deny ourselves bread, the most basic of foods, to remember the pain of our ancestors and of all the people in the world who suffer under oppressive governments. The pain, for my family, is recent enough so that there is no chance we can possibly forget about it, and thus, the words "and now we are free" are particularly sweet.
In olden days, Passover meant that you really couldn't eat much of anything - European Jews especially like to make it difficult on themselves by removing from their diet not only any kind of grains and yeasts, but also rice and corn products. Aaah! That's like in 80% of my food! Of course, now, supermarkets have gotten so sophisticated that there are Kosher for Passover cakes, cookies, even PASTA and bread. For me, that takes away the whole point of the holiday, that of denying yourself something that is important and ever-present in our daily diet, so that you can take yourself out of the present time and feel a connection with the past. Most people I know don't feel this way, but I do, and I try to walk around the "Kosher for Passover" aisle that beckons with egg noodles and matzah cake meal.
So I flipped through pages and pages of posts on Passover desserts; I opened magazines that gave me tempting names like "Apricot-orange Passover cake with chocolate glaze"; I wandered aimlessly around my kitchen, surveying my ingredients and waiting for a flash of brilliance. Mmmm... yeah, right. I finally just gave up and decided on my old nemesis - the flourless chocolate cake. You see, I must be one of the only people on the planet who is not that crazy about chocolate. All the flourless chocolate cakes I've ever had at restaurants have been the consistency of a brick, or at best, reminded me of a truffle (which, while is certainly wonderful in a small candy, gives me the shakes when presented in the form of a block of chocolate that stares at me from the plate). So I've never made a chocolate cake - any kind of a chocolate cake. Not even a chocolate glaze or filling, nothing. To me, cooking with chocolate is intimidating, to say the least.
With wilting enthusiasm, I clicked through pages of flourless chocolate cake recipes until I came to Epicurious, my last and best resort when it comes to recipes. I closed my eyes and pointed at the page. I read the ingredients - butter, chocolate, eggs, sugar, vanilla extract (not technically Kosher for Passover, but I could omit that)... okay, okay, I think the ancient Jews might have had all of these on hand, right? What especially enticed me was the whipping of the egg whites and folding them into the cake before baking. I felt like this might take care of some of my "brick" fears and well, I could just tell my mom that the cake had egg whites, thus obscuring the exact proportions of butter/chocolate/sugar (that, if she knew, she would have a heart attack about).
It all started with Passover. I'm not going to recount the story, other than to say that this holiday is special to me in particular because my family came here as political refugees from the former U.S.S.R., seeking, like so many other Russian-Jews, to escape religious persecution in what is now Ukraine. As a child, one is supposed to be insulated from racism and anti-semitism and live in the happy world of toy cars, dolls and play-doh, but I wasn't so lucky. I remember being called nasty names and a kid throwing rocks at me (until I threatened to get my older cooler guy friends to beat him up) because being Jewish meant that I was somehow inferior, dirty and should be ashamed of myself and my family. So Passover, during which we say the words "we were slaves, and now we are free," resonates very strongly for all of us who were lucky enough to make it to the U.S. During the Seder, Jews dip herbs in salt water to remember the tears and deny ourselves bread, the most basic of foods, to remember the pain of our ancestors and of all the people in the world who suffer under oppressive governments. The pain, for my family, is recent enough so that there is no chance we can possibly forget about it, and thus, the words "and now we are free" are particularly sweet.
In olden days, Passover meant that you really couldn't eat much of anything - European Jews especially like to make it difficult on themselves by removing from their diet not only any kind of grains and yeasts, but also rice and corn products. Aaah! That's like in 80% of my food! Of course, now, supermarkets have gotten so sophisticated that there are Kosher for Passover cakes, cookies, even PASTA and bread. For me, that takes away the whole point of the holiday, that of denying yourself something that is important and ever-present in our daily diet, so that you can take yourself out of the present time and feel a connection with the past. Most people I know don't feel this way, but I do, and I try to walk around the "Kosher for Passover" aisle that beckons with egg noodles and matzah cake meal.
So I flipped through pages and pages of posts on Passover desserts; I opened magazines that gave me tempting names like "Apricot-orange Passover cake with chocolate glaze"; I wandered aimlessly around my kitchen, surveying my ingredients and waiting for a flash of brilliance. Mmmm... yeah, right. I finally just gave up and decided on my old nemesis - the flourless chocolate cake. You see, I must be one of the only people on the planet who is not that crazy about chocolate. All the flourless chocolate cakes I've ever had at restaurants have been the consistency of a brick, or at best, reminded me of a truffle (which, while is certainly wonderful in a small candy, gives me the shakes when presented in the form of a block of chocolate that stares at me from the plate). So I've never made a chocolate cake - any kind of a chocolate cake. Not even a chocolate glaze or filling, nothing. To me, cooking with chocolate is intimidating, to say the least.
With wilting enthusiasm, I clicked through pages of flourless chocolate cake recipes until I came to Epicurious, my last and best resort when it comes to recipes. I closed my eyes and pointed at the page. I read the ingredients - butter, chocolate, eggs, sugar, vanilla extract (not technically Kosher for Passover, but I could omit that)... okay, okay, I think the ancient Jews might have had all of these on hand, right? What especially enticed me was the whipping of the egg whites and folding them into the cake before baking. I felt like this might take care of some of my "brick" fears and well, I could just tell my mom that the cake had egg whites, thus obscuring the exact proportions of butter/chocolate/sugar (that, if she knew, she would have a heart attack about).
I was very skeptical of the whole process of melting the chocolate and the butter, but it did all come together in the end and I even enjoyed stirring the dark, velvety mass, sneaking a few strawberries from the refrigerator and dipping them on the side of my spatula. I didn't have a spring-form pan, so I just baked it in a regular cake pan lined with parchment paper. It came together beautifully and puffed up like a souffle (oh, how much, self control it took not to eat it right then and there!), but then deflated to lovely, un-intimidating proportions. I packed my other dessert (more on that later), whipped some cream (Land O'Lakes, kosher for passover, if you want to know) and with fingers crossed, I brought the whole thing to my mom's house. In the loud, wonderful chaos that followed (as per usual during our family gatherings), I really didn't have time to worry about my cake, and by the time dessert came about (hurry, hurry, cut and plate the cake! make tea for your grandfather! wipe the invisible spots from the dessert spoons! put the fruit on the table!) I was resigned to the idea.
I guess I shouldn't have worried so much (but I'm Jewish, so I worry, I worry! especially about food), my family loved it. It wasn't brick-like at all, not even a little bit. Maybe it was the egg whites that gave it an extra lift and airiness, maybe it's because I whipped and folded the heck out of everything very conscientiously, tiptoeing around the cake as it baked so as not to deflate it, but my grandfather asked for a piece (the last one, the one I was meaning to take a picture of) to take home, and my grandmother -- are you ready for this? -- she asked me for the recipe. I think the ground shook a little; my grandmother NEVER asks for the recipe because she is completely convinced she can do it better (and it's not an idle boast, she can). I was too flabbergasted to reply and she patted me on the shoulder sympathetically, thinking that maybe I was in a food coma or something from the hundred dishes she and my mom made. Of all the food-related things I've achieved in life (whipping egg whites stiff, making lemon curd of just the right tartness and texture, baking bread), I felt that this was the pinnacle, like maybe, I should just put away my tart pans and fold my towel because I'm not sure this sort of thing will ever happen again. Not too shabby for an unassuming flourless chocolate cake, the ingredients of which you can count on the fingers of one hand.
You can find the recipe at Epicurious. I used Ghirardelli semi-sweet chocolate, omitted the vanilla extract and tossed the idea of the chocolate glaze in favor of slightly sweetened whipped cream and fresh fruit, and served the cake slightly warm. It's not very difficult to make, and it tastes just lovely. After all, Passover is only one part remembering the sufferings - the second part is enjoying our sweet, chocolaty lives. :)
Continued after the jump...
I guess I shouldn't have worried so much (but I'm Jewish, so I worry, I worry! especially about food), my family loved it. It wasn't brick-like at all, not even a little bit. Maybe it was the egg whites that gave it an extra lift and airiness, maybe it's because I whipped and folded the heck out of everything very conscientiously, tiptoeing around the cake as it baked so as not to deflate it, but my grandfather asked for a piece (the last one, the one I was meaning to take a picture of) to take home, and my grandmother -- are you ready for this? -- she asked me for the recipe. I think the ground shook a little; my grandmother NEVER asks for the recipe because she is completely convinced she can do it better (and it's not an idle boast, she can). I was too flabbergasted to reply and she patted me on the shoulder sympathetically, thinking that maybe I was in a food coma or something from the hundred dishes she and my mom made. Of all the food-related things I've achieved in life (whipping egg whites stiff, making lemon curd of just the right tartness and texture, baking bread), I felt that this was the pinnacle, like maybe, I should just put away my tart pans and fold my towel because I'm not sure this sort of thing will ever happen again. Not too shabby for an unassuming flourless chocolate cake, the ingredients of which you can count on the fingers of one hand.
You can find the recipe at Epicurious. I used Ghirardelli semi-sweet chocolate, omitted the vanilla extract and tossed the idea of the chocolate glaze in favor of slightly sweetened whipped cream and fresh fruit, and served the cake slightly warm. It's not very difficult to make, and it tastes just lovely. After all, Passover is only one part remembering the sufferings - the second part is enjoying our sweet, chocolaty lives. :)
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Enzo & Angela
It is often said that all the greatest discoveries are spontaneous, and so it was tonight, when a simple invitation to have dinner with my mom and my sister gave my palette a long needed feast.
The restaurant we went to is on the second floor of one of those small neat plazas with the ubiquitous sushi place and three very eager valet guys, smiling and trading jokes as they drive your car (a little too cavalierly) into the underground parking lot. The moment I walked in, I knew I was somewhere special. Maybe it was the white table cloths, crisp and fresh as if just laundered. Maybe the soft lighting or the enticing smells coming from the kitchen, or the low hum of content voices and the quiet clinking of glasses and utensils... I was too tired and too tense after a very full day at work to really notice the details all at once -- they permeated my consciousness gradually and I felt some of the tension leaving my shoulders. I was late, as usual, and my mom and E. had already ordered wine, which, seeing my face, they pushed in front of me and made me take a sip. I never did find out what the wine was called, but it was fantastic and, more importantly, it woke up my taste buds. It made me sit up and take notice. I wasn't even hungry the minute before, but after a sip of the wine, I was perusing the menu with renewed interest.
Our waiter was my favorite kind of waiter -- the kind you would love to invite to sit down with you and have a bite to eat himself. Maybe if there hadn't been other people there and we weren't going to talk about "girly things" (as my husband phrases it), I would have made him sit and have a glass of wine. The poor guy was as unobtrusive as we would let him be (which, if you know anything about my mother, was not much). We made him, positively made him linger at our table, and he told us stories of the restaurant, the food, the wine and Enzo, who is the Chef and who is from around Naples (there were paintings, beautiful paintings, of Positano and the Amalfi Coast on the walls that made me want to take the next plane over the pond). I haven't enjoyed a restaurant experience quite like this for such a long time. It was a great pleasure to be in the company of the wonderful people who run Enzo and Angela.
I had thin, tender pieces of chicken breast lightly sweetened with plum-colored port sauce and garnished with a few hot, crisp roast potatoes and fragrant stems of broccoli. Even describing it makes my mouth water for it again. Mom ordered chicken ravioli that were so completely differed from the thick, gooey ravioli that one sees at Italian restaurants, that the other ravioli would have just been ashamed to stand up next to its cousins. With barely a hint of sauce to enhance the flavor, these little al dente pockets held perfectly spiced chicken (yes, I stole one from my mom, what?).
My sister's dish, however, completely transcended the ... well, it just transcended, trust me. In prosaic terms, it would be called risotto with Maine scallops (Maine scallops are cooked fully, they sear the sea scallops, ok?), shrimp and crab, but you guys, it was out of this world. I don't know what Enzo put in the risotto to make it so fragrant, so beautiful for the palette, the flavors merging in such complex unity... Angela, whoever you are, my dear, you are one lucky woman. If I had a husband who could cook like this, I don't know if I would ever let him out of the house.
But wait, oh, wait. We had dessert too! The portions were actually medium sized and allowed us a leeetle room to splurge. We got slightly tipsy off of some lovely port and tasted a heavenly Frutti di Bosco, which the menu describes as "layers of short pastry filled with Chantilly cream covered with blueberries, blackberries, raspberries and strawberries." No, no no no. Can these words really give you any idea of the thin layers of moist, sweet pastry paired with the light coolness of Chantilly cream and finished off with a tzing of fresh fruit? It is a linguistic travesty.
I am already plotting my return. How soon is it polite to come back? Is two days enough of a wait? Maybe next time, I will have the Risotto with porcini mushrooms and a hint of fresh tomatoes, and I will deny the existence of calories and order the Torta di Ricotta & Cioccolato (home made ricotta cake made with a hint of dark chocolate bits, fresh ricotta and mascarpone in a flaky pastry base, served "just" warm). I think tonight, I am going to dream of home-made bits of sweet, flaky things together with hints of cream and fruit and oh my goodness, I need to stop, I just ate for goodness' sakes.
Enzo and Angela
11701 Wilshire Blvd # 12
Los Angeles, CA 90025
(310) 477-3880
http://www.enzoandangela.com/
Continued after the jump...
The restaurant we went to is on the second floor of one of those small neat plazas with the ubiquitous sushi place and three very eager valet guys, smiling and trading jokes as they drive your car (a little too cavalierly) into the underground parking lot. The moment I walked in, I knew I was somewhere special. Maybe it was the white table cloths, crisp and fresh as if just laundered. Maybe the soft lighting or the enticing smells coming from the kitchen, or the low hum of content voices and the quiet clinking of glasses and utensils... I was too tired and too tense after a very full day at work to really notice the details all at once -- they permeated my consciousness gradually and I felt some of the tension leaving my shoulders. I was late, as usual, and my mom and E. had already ordered wine, which, seeing my face, they pushed in front of me and made me take a sip. I never did find out what the wine was called, but it was fantastic and, more importantly, it woke up my taste buds. It made me sit up and take notice. I wasn't even hungry the minute before, but after a sip of the wine, I was perusing the menu with renewed interest.
Our waiter was my favorite kind of waiter -- the kind you would love to invite to sit down with you and have a bite to eat himself. Maybe if there hadn't been other people there and we weren't going to talk about "girly things" (as my husband phrases it), I would have made him sit and have a glass of wine. The poor guy was as unobtrusive as we would let him be (which, if you know anything about my mother, was not much). We made him, positively made him linger at our table, and he told us stories of the restaurant, the food, the wine and Enzo, who is the Chef and who is from around Naples (there were paintings, beautiful paintings, of Positano and the Amalfi Coast on the walls that made me want to take the next plane over the pond). I haven't enjoyed a restaurant experience quite like this for such a long time. It was a great pleasure to be in the company of the wonderful people who run Enzo and Angela.
I had thin, tender pieces of chicken breast lightly sweetened with plum-colored port sauce and garnished with a few hot, crisp roast potatoes and fragrant stems of broccoli. Even describing it makes my mouth water for it again. Mom ordered chicken ravioli that were so completely differed from the thick, gooey ravioli that one sees at Italian restaurants, that the other ravioli would have just been ashamed to stand up next to its cousins. With barely a hint of sauce to enhance the flavor, these little al dente pockets held perfectly spiced chicken (yes, I stole one from my mom, what?).
My sister's dish, however, completely transcended the ... well, it just transcended, trust me. In prosaic terms, it would be called risotto with Maine scallops (Maine scallops are cooked fully, they sear the sea scallops, ok?), shrimp and crab, but you guys, it was out of this world. I don't know what Enzo put in the risotto to make it so fragrant, so beautiful for the palette, the flavors merging in such complex unity... Angela, whoever you are, my dear, you are one lucky woman. If I had a husband who could cook like this, I don't know if I would ever let him out of the house.
But wait, oh, wait. We had dessert too! The portions were actually medium sized and allowed us a leeetle room to splurge. We got slightly tipsy off of some lovely port and tasted a heavenly Frutti di Bosco, which the menu describes as "layers of short pastry filled with Chantilly cream covered with blueberries, blackberries, raspberries and strawberries." No, no no no. Can these words really give you any idea of the thin layers of moist, sweet pastry paired with the light coolness of Chantilly cream and finished off with a tzing of fresh fruit? It is a linguistic travesty.
I am already plotting my return. How soon is it polite to come back? Is two days enough of a wait? Maybe next time, I will have the Risotto with porcini mushrooms and a hint of fresh tomatoes, and I will deny the existence of calories and order the Torta di Ricotta & Cioccolato (home made ricotta cake made with a hint of dark chocolate bits, fresh ricotta and mascarpone in a flaky pastry base, served "just" warm). I think tonight, I am going to dream of home-made bits of sweet, flaky things together with hints of cream and fruit and oh my goodness, I need to stop, I just ate for goodness' sakes.
Enzo and Angela
11701 Wilshire Blvd # 12
Los Angeles, CA 90025
(310) 477-3880
http://www.enzoandangela.com/
Thursday, April 10, 2008
The Most Impulsive Decision I've Ever Made
I'm just going to come right out and say this -- I am going to PARIS. Deep breath. I can't quite believe it yet -- the whole idea seems too much of a dream to have finally taken tangible shape, and I want to pinch myself a little just so my head doesn't float away into the clouds.
Let me tell you how it came about. My sister and I are going to be in Europe in May, and we just happen to be flying Air France (love) with a lay-over in Paris. We thought nothing of it until my sister, for reasons of her own, decided to extend her Paris lay-over from two hours to two days, my parents freaked out (because my 23 yr old independent sis certainly can't take care of herself, right?), there were numerous phone calls back and forth (mom: please talk to your dad, he is driving me crazy! dad: please talk to your mom, she is so worried! both: me? what? I'm not the one who is worried, he/she is worried!). I love my parents, they are too cute. Anyway. I get on the phone with my dad for the umpteenth time and start telling him not to worry. I'm almost on auto-pilot at this point, but suddenly, my dad cuts me off: "Hold on a second," he says, "I'm on the phone with Air France trying to change your sister's ticket."
You know how in movies, someone says a word and time kind of slows down and everything falls into place? I kid you not, this is what happened to me. An eternity passed, or perhaps a second, and I blurted out (before I could re-think): "Dad, is there another ticket for me?" My long-suffering father sighs very, very deeply... and finds me another ticket. "I'm never going to get bored with life with the two of you," he says, half jokingly and half despairingly. And that's it, that's how it came about that I'm going to spend two whole days in Paris. Since the decision was made, I've felt like my feet have barely touched the ground. All I can think about is, "I'm going to be in Paris!"
This will be my second time in the city of lights (I wonder if Parisians hate us calling it that?), and I'm glad that I don't feel obligated to go and "see the sights" as I did last time. I can just wander around the beautiful parks and avenues of Paris and go where my fancy calls. If you were to spend only two days in Paris and you could do anything you wanted to do, what would it be?! My mind is a-whirl with possibilities... Paris, Paris, Paris.
Monday, April 7, 2008
Frutiest Fruit Tart
Spring is here! Yes, the morning mists are still cold and depressing, and the thermometer barely makes it past 60, but I can tell you absolutely and unequivocally that "it" has finally come, with all its unmistakable sounds and smells and the unrestrained joy of music. The bare branches of the tree outside of my window were covered with tender green buds one day, and the next, there was a virtual explosion of a thousand different shades of color so bright, your eyes hurt to look at it -- it seems like spring came overnight this year. I pity you, those unlucky cities where Spring is still flirting capriciously with good weather. In my city, the flirtation has developed into a full fledged romance, an affair of Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall proportions that sweeps every old vestige of winter away like old cobwebs. In short, goodbye, my November guest. Take your clinging silver mist and retire for another year in dignified silence. This is a time for new tastes, new colors, new life.
To celebrate spring, I made my very first ever fruit tart. Now, you must know that fruit tarts are my all time favorite dessert. Especially wee little ones, that I just think are so cute and adorable, with the not-low-fat-fantabulous pastry cream, the crumbly sweet crust and the taste overdose of fresh fruit. And I live within minutes of a French bakery that makes ooh la la fruit tarts. So it is no surprise that I've been too intimidated to make my own. It's like a date with your favorite movie star -- if it goes badly, your fantasy will be ruined forever (Christian Bale, call me. I'll take my chances with the ruined fantasy). However, I am not one to shrink from my fears, and the arrival of my Dorie Greenspan cookbook gave me hitherto unknown courage and a foolhardy optimism in my abilities. I love Dorie, and not only because she shares a last name with Alan Greenspan.
You may remember that last time I made pâte sucrée, it shrank on me like ... well, I'll let you pick your own analogy, but I'm sure you can imagine what I'm thinking. This time, I decided to entirely put my fate in Dorie's capable hands, and wow, let me tell you guys, it was a revelation. I followed the instructions to the T, using the "press in" method, and my crust DID NOT SHRINK. Yeah. Maybe it's the spring air that gave it staying power? Maybe it's my magic touch? (I suspect it's the freezing it for 1/2 hr, but please be kind and let me imagine the best). I also made her pastry cream and really, there is only one way to describe it, and the word is decadent. Juicy, crisp strawberries straight from the market, bananas salvaged from the refrigerator and tart blueberries finished off my creation. I gotta say, I was pretty proud of myself, and when we cut the tart, I was even prouder for it was amazing, although I think the credit goes all to Dorie's fantastic recipes. Hello and welcome to my bookshelf! I'll stop gushing now. Seriously, though - make the tart. It tastes like Spring is finally here, and that's the best I can say about any dessert.
I didn't futz with the recipes this time (I was too much in awe), but these have been reproduced a number of times on the web, and Dorie Greenspan likes people making her recipes, so I don't feel bad re-printing them here. Really, if you think about it, it's a service to humanity, because fruit tarts just make people happy. Don't let the length of the recipe fool you, it's really quick and easy. I made the pastry cream the night before (a breeze) and let it chill overnight.
Ingredients:
1 fully baked sweet tart crust (recipe below)
2 cups (approx.) pastry cream (recipe below)
8-10 oz strawberries, hulled and sliced
1 banana
6 oz blueberries
Bake the crust and let it cool to room temperature. Make the pastry cream and chill it (preferably the night before), and then spread chilled pastry cream inside the tart shell. Arrange fruit on top. Yeah, it's that easy.
Dorie Greenspan's Sweet Tart Crust
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup confectioner’s sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 stick plus 1 tablespoon (9 tablespoons; 4 1/2 ounces) very cold (or frozen) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1 large egg yolk
1. Put the flour, sugar and salt in the bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times to combine. Scatter the pieces of butter over the dry ingredients and pulse until the butter is coarsely cut in—you should have pieces the size of oatmeal flakes and some the size of peas. Stir the yolk, just to break it up, and add it a little at a time, pulsing after each addition. When the egg is in, process in long pulses—about 10 seconds each—until the dough, which will look granular soon after the egg is added, forms clumps and curds. Just before you reach this stage, the sound of the machine working the dough will change—heads up. Turn the dough out onto a work surface and, very lightly and sparingly, knead the dough just to incorporate any dry ingredients that might have escaped mixing. Chill the dough, wrapped in plastic wrap, for about 2 hours before rolling.*
2. To roll the dough: Butter a 9-inch fluted tart pan with a removable bottom. Roll out chilled dough on floured sheet of parchment paper to 12-inch round, lifting and turning dough occasionally to free from paper. Using paper as aid, turn dough into 9-inch-diameter tart pan with removable bottom; peel off paper. Seal any cracks in dough. Trim overhang to 1/2 inch. Fold overhang in, making double-thick sides. Pierce crust all over with fork.
3. Freeze the crust for at least 30 minutes, preferably longer, before baking.
4. To fully bake the crust: Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 375°F. Butter the shiny side of a piece of aluminum foil (or use nonstick foil) and fit the foil, buttered side down, tightly against the crust. (Since you froze the crust, you can bake it without weights.) Put the tart pan on a baking sheet and bake the crust for 25 minutes.
5. Carefully remove the foil. If the crust has puffed, press it down gently with the back of a spoon (or prick it with the tip of a small knife). Bake the crust about 10 minutes longer, or until it is firm and golden brown, brown being the important word: a pale crust doesn’t have a lot of flavor. Transfer the pan to a rack and cool the crust to room temperature.
Storing: The dough can be wrapped and kept in the refrigerator for up to 5 days or frozen for up to 2 months. While the fully baked crust can be packed airtight and frozen for up to 2 months, the flavor will be fresher bake it directly from the freezer, already rolled out–just add about 5 minutes to the baking time.
* Alternate press-in technique: If you want to use the press-in method, you can work with the dough as soon as it’s processed. Just press the dough evenly over the bottom and up the sides of the pan. Don’t be too heavy-handed–press the crust in so that the edges of the pieces cling to one another, but don’t press so hard that the crust loses its crumbly texture.
Dorie Greenspan's Pastry Cream
2 cups whole milk
6 large egg yolks (I'm going to use a few less next time to cut some calories)
1/2 cups sugar
1/3 cup cornstarch, sifted
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
3 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into bits at room temperature
Bring the milk to a boil in a small saucepan.
Meanwhile, in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan, whisk the egg yolks together with the sugar and cornstarch until thick and well blended. Still whisking, drizzle in about 1/4 cup of the hot milk– this will temper, or warm, the yolks so they won’t curdle. Whisking all the while, slowly pour in the remainder of the milk. Put the pan over medium heat and, whisking vigorously, constantly and thoroughly (making sure to get the edges of the pot), bring the mixture to a boil. Keep at a boil, still whisking, for 1 to 2 minutes, then remove the pan from the heat.
Whisk in the vanilla extract. Let sit for 5 minutes, then whisk in the bits of butter, stirring until they are full incorporated and the pastry cream is smooth and silky. Scrape the cream into a bowl. You can press a piece of plastic wrap against the surface of the cream to create an airtight seal and refrigerate the pastry cream until cold or, if you want to cool it quickly–as I always do–put the bowl into a larger bowl filled with ice cubes and cold water, and stir the pastry cream occasionally until it is thoroughly chilled, about 20 minutes.
Continued after the jump...
To celebrate spring, I made my very first ever fruit tart. Now, you must know that fruit tarts are my all time favorite dessert. Especially wee little ones, that I just think are so cute and adorable, with the not-low-fat-fantabulous pastry cream, the crumbly sweet crust and the taste overdose of fresh fruit. And I live within minutes of a French bakery that makes ooh la la fruit tarts. So it is no surprise that I've been too intimidated to make my own. It's like a date with your favorite movie star -- if it goes badly, your fantasy will be ruined forever (Christian Bale, call me. I'll take my chances with the ruined fantasy). However, I am not one to shrink from my fears, and the arrival of my Dorie Greenspan cookbook gave me hitherto unknown courage and a foolhardy optimism in my abilities. I love Dorie, and not only because she shares a last name with Alan Greenspan.
You may remember that last time I made pâte sucrée, it shrank on me like ... well, I'll let you pick your own analogy, but I'm sure you can imagine what I'm thinking. This time, I decided to entirely put my fate in Dorie's capable hands, and wow, let me tell you guys, it was a revelation. I followed the instructions to the T, using the "press in" method, and my crust DID NOT SHRINK. Yeah. Maybe it's the spring air that gave it staying power? Maybe it's my magic touch? (I suspect it's the freezing it for 1/2 hr, but please be kind and let me imagine the best). I also made her pastry cream and really, there is only one way to describe it, and the word is decadent. Juicy, crisp strawberries straight from the market, bananas salvaged from the refrigerator and tart blueberries finished off my creation. I gotta say, I was pretty proud of myself, and when we cut the tart, I was even prouder for it was amazing, although I think the credit goes all to Dorie's fantastic recipes. Hello and welcome to my bookshelf! I'll stop gushing now. Seriously, though - make the tart. It tastes like Spring is finally here, and that's the best I can say about any dessert.
I didn't futz with the recipes this time (I was too much in awe), but these have been reproduced a number of times on the web, and Dorie Greenspan likes people making her recipes, so I don't feel bad re-printing them here. Really, if you think about it, it's a service to humanity, because fruit tarts just make people happy. Don't let the length of the recipe fool you, it's really quick and easy. I made the pastry cream the night before (a breeze) and let it chill overnight.
Ingredients:
1 fully baked sweet tart crust (recipe below)
2 cups (approx.) pastry cream (recipe below)
8-10 oz strawberries, hulled and sliced
1 banana
6 oz blueberries
Bake the crust and let it cool to room temperature. Make the pastry cream and chill it (preferably the night before), and then spread chilled pastry cream inside the tart shell. Arrange fruit on top. Yeah, it's that easy.
Dorie Greenspan's Sweet Tart Crust
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 cup confectioner’s sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 stick plus 1 tablespoon (9 tablespoons; 4 1/2 ounces) very cold (or frozen) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
1 large egg yolk
1. Put the flour, sugar and salt in the bowl of a food processor and pulse a few times to combine. Scatter the pieces of butter over the dry ingredients and pulse until the butter is coarsely cut in—you should have pieces the size of oatmeal flakes and some the size of peas. Stir the yolk, just to break it up, and add it a little at a time, pulsing after each addition. When the egg is in, process in long pulses—about 10 seconds each—until the dough, which will look granular soon after the egg is added, forms clumps and curds. Just before you reach this stage, the sound of the machine working the dough will change—heads up. Turn the dough out onto a work surface and, very lightly and sparingly, knead the dough just to incorporate any dry ingredients that might have escaped mixing. Chill the dough, wrapped in plastic wrap, for about 2 hours before rolling.*
2. To roll the dough: Butter a 9-inch fluted tart pan with a removable bottom. Roll out chilled dough on floured sheet of parchment paper to 12-inch round, lifting and turning dough occasionally to free from paper. Using paper as aid, turn dough into 9-inch-diameter tart pan with removable bottom; peel off paper. Seal any cracks in dough. Trim overhang to 1/2 inch. Fold overhang in, making double-thick sides. Pierce crust all over with fork.
3. Freeze the crust for at least 30 minutes, preferably longer, before baking.
4. To fully bake the crust: Center a rack in the oven and preheat the oven to 375°F. Butter the shiny side of a piece of aluminum foil (or use nonstick foil) and fit the foil, buttered side down, tightly against the crust. (Since you froze the crust, you can bake it without weights.) Put the tart pan on a baking sheet and bake the crust for 25 minutes.
5. Carefully remove the foil. If the crust has puffed, press it down gently with the back of a spoon (or prick it with the tip of a small knife). Bake the crust about 10 minutes longer, or until it is firm and golden brown, brown being the important word: a pale crust doesn’t have a lot of flavor. Transfer the pan to a rack and cool the crust to room temperature.
Storing: The dough can be wrapped and kept in the refrigerator for up to 5 days or frozen for up to 2 months. While the fully baked crust can be packed airtight and frozen for up to 2 months, the flavor will be fresher bake it directly from the freezer, already rolled out–just add about 5 minutes to the baking time.
* Alternate press-in technique: If you want to use the press-in method, you can work with the dough as soon as it’s processed. Just press the dough evenly over the bottom and up the sides of the pan. Don’t be too heavy-handed–press the crust in so that the edges of the pieces cling to one another, but don’t press so hard that the crust loses its crumbly texture.
Dorie Greenspan's Pastry Cream
2 cups whole milk
6 large egg yolks (I'm going to use a few less next time to cut some calories)
1/2 cups sugar
1/3 cup cornstarch, sifted
1 1/2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
3 1/2 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into bits at room temperature
Bring the milk to a boil in a small saucepan.
Meanwhile, in a medium heavy-bottomed saucepan, whisk the egg yolks together with the sugar and cornstarch until thick and well blended. Still whisking, drizzle in about 1/4 cup of the hot milk– this will temper, or warm, the yolks so they won’t curdle. Whisking all the while, slowly pour in the remainder of the milk. Put the pan over medium heat and, whisking vigorously, constantly and thoroughly (making sure to get the edges of the pot), bring the mixture to a boil. Keep at a boil, still whisking, for 1 to 2 minutes, then remove the pan from the heat.
Whisk in the vanilla extract. Let sit for 5 minutes, then whisk in the bits of butter, stirring until they are full incorporated and the pastry cream is smooth and silky. Scrape the cream into a bowl. You can press a piece of plastic wrap against the surface of the cream to create an airtight seal and refrigerate the pastry cream until cold or, if you want to cool it quickly–as I always do–put the bowl into a larger bowl filled with ice cubes and cold water, and stir the pastry cream occasionally until it is thoroughly chilled, about 20 minutes.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Blueberry Muffins
Cervantes once said that "all sorrows are less with bread." What he neglected to add was that all sorrows are even less with blueberry muffins. Sure, bread is lovely, but muffins... warm, moist, a little crumbly, soft with sweetness and spilling with the dark mystery of blueberries... If I may be so bold to interpret the great writer, these little cakes transcend the prosaic. In fact, I hesitate to even call them muffins -- next time, they will be reincarnated as wee little bundt cakes and we will all be much, much happier.
I'm not really sure when my love affair with muffins began. I think it was in high school when the most wonderful bakery opened a few blocks away from my house. One of the chief attractions of this place (besides the absolutely mind-boggling array of muffins -- strawberry, rhubarb, blueberry with streusel top, be still my heart) was the management's penchant for hiring hot bakery boys. This was top notch marketing because after school and on weekends, the shop was crammed with giggling and blushing 16-yr old girls hoping for a glance from the dreamy muffin-dispensing staff. My best friend and I, of course, were too cool for anything but dignified hair-flips at these silly creatures (the girls), but in secret, we had crushes on all the boys who worked there and referred to them (with much creativity) as "Bakery Boy 1, 2 and 3" respectively. Sure, it all seems funny now, but imagine Christian Bale or George Clooney or Antonio Sabato Jr. (google him, just trust me on this one) offering you himself *and* a hot, buttery muffin for dessert? I'm sure there is a way for life to get better than that, but I can't think of one right now.Blueberry Muffins/Cakes
1/3 cup butter, softened
1 cup sugar, plus 1/4 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 cups flour
1 1/4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 cup sour cream and 1/2 cup whole milk*
(*OR just 1 cup sour cream)
8-11 oz blueberries
1/4 cup slivered almonds for topping
Preheat oven to 350. In a large mixing bowl, cream together butter and 1 cup of sugar. Add eggs, one at a time, until well blended. Stir in vanilla.
In a separate bowl, whisk together baking powder, baking soda and salt. Add half of the flour mixture to the creamed butter and mix until incorporated. Then, add the sour cream and milk. Mix until incorporated, scraping down the bowl. Add the rest of the flour mixture.
In a separate bowl, mix the blueberries with the 1/4 cup of sugar. Gently fold the blueberries into the batter so that the berries do not break.
Spoon into a muffin pan, either greased or lined with muffin cups, or into a greased mini-bund-cake pan. If making muffins, top with a pinch of slivered almonds.
Bake for about 20-22 minutes or until the tops of the muffins are golden and a toothpick inserted into the middle of the muffin comes out clean. Enjoy with
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Honey-Glazed Salmon & Arugula Salad with Lemon-Pepper Dressing
You know how sometimes, you go shopping and you see in the corner an unassuming little black dress... And you walk away because, well, you already have three of those hanging in your closet and it'll probably be too plain and you wanted something a little jazzier for the summer anyway? And then you notice a little something out of the corner of your eye, and you turn around, and there it is again, sort of... winking at you? So, you sigh and decided to FINE, give it a try, totally expecting it to be meh and blah and whatever. Then, you put it on and turn to the mirror... and the dress just sings in the way it hugs all the right curves and brings out your eyes and puts a little blush into your cheeks, and you think, "hot damn, it works!"
Well. This recipe was something akin to that experience for me. I stared at it for about a month, sort of intrigued but not really inspired enough to give it a go, until one day, I just had all the ingredients together, and I had the recipe, and ... it sort of winked at me. And I said, FINE, I'll try it out, but I was really kind of skeptical about how it's all going to work. I made the salmon. I tasted it - too sweet! I made the salad. I tasted it - too tart! And then... I tasted them TOGETHER, cooled by a sip (or two, or three; ok, by a couple of glasses) of a dry white wine, and kids, I had the sort of "hot damn, it works" revelation that did actually put the blush back in my cheeks (although, maybe the wine had something to do with that).
I don't make salmon very often, mostly because I eat it at restaurants and it's almost always prepared the same way. In this dish, however, the balance of flavors is so perfect -- sweetness offset by tartness, crispness in perfect harmony with creaminess, tender pink salmon blushing next to the emerald arugula leaves -- that it gives this little black dress a whole new twist.
Honey-Glazed Salmon and Arugula Salad with Lemon-Pepper Dressing
(Adapted from Bon Appetit, March 2008)
6 6-oz salmon fillets (I had 4 slightly larger pieces)
3 tablespoons plus 2 tsp lemon juice, divided
2 tablespoons of honey
1 tablespoon plus 2 tsp olive oil
1 large shallot, chopped
1 1/2 cups arugula
1 cup creme fraiche or sour cream
2 sprigs of rosemary
6 lemon wedges for garnishing
salt and pepper
Whisk honey, 1 tbsp olive oil, chopped shallots and 2 tbsp lemon juice in a small bowl. Place the salmon fillets in a large dish that will hold all of them in a row, rub rosemary over them, then pour marinade on top and stir to coat. Cover and chill for 15 min - 1 hr, turning salmon fillets occasionally.
Position rack in top third of the oven and preheat to 400F. Line a large baking sheet with foil and brush with olive oil. Transfer salmon fillets with some marinade still clinging, to baking sheet and roast until salmon is opaque in center, about 14-16 min.
Meanwhile, toss the arugula leaves in 2 teaspoons of lemon juice and 2 teaspoons of olive oil. Season with salt and pepper. In a small bowl, whisk creme freiche or sour cream with 1 tbsp lemon juice, and season with salt and pepper.
Place 1 salmon fillet on each plate. Place some of the arugula salad next to the salmon and drizzle the salad with the creme fraiche dressing. Garnish with lemon wedges, and pass some additional sauce alongside. Personally, I liked the sauce so much that I just tossed it with the salad, but the presentation isn't as impressive as the drizzling and garnishing bit, so I guess it depends on your audience. My particular audience (pictured digging in above) was just coming from work and very hungry. He grabbed the plate so fast that I was afraid he would take off my arm along with the plate. As you can imagine, the dainty drizzling really wasn't an option here!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Butternut Squash Soup With Crisp Shallots
"Irene," you will say upon careful reading of the title of this post, "honey, baby, sweetums. Look outside - the sun is shining, the birds and the bees are frolicking and the thermometer has finally crawled up above 60 degrees. What's with the winter vegetable?!" You would be right, of course, but the heart wants what it wants, and my heart wanted squash. And I try not to argue with myself too often - it gets very confusing, if you know what I mean.
Besides, when I was a wee little girl and I hadn't yet figured out that eating vegetables was uncool, my mom roasted squash and then mixed its earthy, rich, slightly smoky innards with a little butter and salt, and I still associate the sweet aroma of roasted squash with childhood and the comfort of my mother's apron-clad embrace.
I think food is funny that way, in terms of how our formative years shape our tastes and preferences for the rest of our lives. I still can't pass by the squash section at the market without stopping for a moment to give their smooth bottoms a surreptitious pat, and in the autumn, I try to roast everything in sight. A., on the other hand, whose mom clearly didn't think much of the pumpkin family, is completely indifferent to any of those vegetables unless they are smothered in sugar and made into a pie. Go figure.
So I guess what I'm trying to say is, if you like squash and its other cousins, this soup will tip you over to the other side of heaven. But if the only pumpkin you've ever had was in pumpkin cheesecake, you might just want to halve the recipe. Even if you are at this moment shaking your head doubtfully and saying, "Squash soup? I really don't know about that...", you will want to make this if only for the awesome cuteness that are the sour cream hearts. Even the most food-cynical and jaded among us will want to take a swipe at these babies with our spoons.
Butternut Squash Soup With Crisp Shallots and Sour Cream Hearts
(Adapted from the Williams-Sonoma Bride and Groom cookbook)
1 butternut squash
1 med. yellow onion, chopped
2 shallots, and butter for frying
2 cups of chicken or vegetable stock
1/2 cup of milk
2 tbsp of sour cream
salt and pepper to taste
Preheat the oven to 400F. Cut the squash in half (lengthwise) and brush the cut sides with a little olive oil. Arrange in an oven-proof dish and roast for 1 - 1.5 hrs. Check every 10 min after the hour mark because depending on your oven, it could take anywhere from an hour to an hour and a half. The flesh of the squash should be soft and pliable. After it's done roasting, let it cool for 20 minutes. Scoop out the seeds and discard. Then, scoop the flesh out into a bowl.
While the squash is cooling off, chop a medium yellow onion and then sauté in 1 tbsp of butter until soft but not colored (about 5 min). Set onions aside. Thinly slice the shallots and sauté in another 1 tbsp of butter until shallots become soft and are light brown (about 10 min). Spread the shallots thinly over a paper towel; they will crisp up once dried.
In a blender or a food processor, combine 1 cup stock, 1/4 cup milk, 1/2 of the onions and 1/2 of the roasted squash and process until very smooth. Pour the mixture into a medium, heavy bottomed sauce pan. Do the same thing with the other half of the ingredients and also pour into the sauce pan. At this time, you can add more broth or milk to get the desired consistency. Over medium-low heat, bring the soup to a simmer and season it with salt and pepper to taste. Simmer for a couple of minutes until hot and the seasoning is incorporated, then distribute among soup bowls.
Mix the sour cream in a small bowl until very smooth. If you are using thick sour cream (like I did), you can thin it out with a teaspoon or two of warm water. Drop five pea-sized dollops of sour cream in a circle, about an inch apart, on top of the soup. Take a knife and swirl it so that it goes through each dollop of sour cream (that'll give it the heart shape). I had to... erm... get rid of the evidence of several failed attempts, so don't worry if it doesn't work out the first time. Put a pinch of crisp shallots in the middle (not obscuring the hearts, clearly, duh). Voila! This makes about 4 bowls of soup.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Creamy Penne with Mushrooms and Goat Cheese
How can you forget those Nike "Just Do It" commercials? Swoosh! Check, done, yes! Wham, bam, just do it, it's done! It remains, in my opinion, of the greatest advertising slogans of all time, and it works so well precisely because it taps into our hidden frustrations. You know what I'm talking about. It's that lady in front of you at the deli who can't make up her mind whether she wants pastrami or egg salad. The guy on the freeway who just can't take that decisive step of pressing his gas pedal. The person at work who asks a million follow up questions about the simplest assignment without doing a minute of work. Even your favorite sports team, when they toss the ball to each other and never seem to get around to scoring. At home, at work, to your husband and your kids, we've all yelled "JUST DO IT." But because we live in a PC, polite society (or try to), we can't just go around yelling "just do it" to anyone and everyone, so we just grrrrrr it out in our minds, using our "inside voice," as one of my friends says. Besides, you know that no one would listen to you anyway, and that lady would take three times as long to pick out her sandwich (smoked turkey breast, tomatoes and avocado, for the curious). That's why when it comes to doing things myself, it's almost a relief to say "Just Do It" to someone (me) who will actually listen (to myself). Makes sense? No? Oh, I'm a Gemini, didn't I tell you? I talk to myself all the time, it's totally normal.
Anyway, here's the thing. Last week, while y'all were snug and cozy, like little maraschino cherries in a smooth, glass jar, anxiously anticipating my return, I made a pasta so stupendously delicious, that I will throw my polite society "inside voice" rules to the wind and tell you to JUST DO IT. Put away the tart pans for a moment (yes, I really just said that) and let a little penne, mushrooms and goat cheese take you to rich, creamy, dreamy pasta heaven. Now, I'll be the first to admit that this isn't one of those delicate-nibble-champagne-and-caviar sort of dishes. It's bold, it's rich, it's a shamelessly-reach-for-seconds-if-you're-still-standing kind of pasta. It can happily hang out in the oven for an additional 15 minutes if you need it to, and if you have any leftovers -- and you won't -- they are even better the next day. I imagine serving it to a bunch of good friends with a glass of red wine (sacrebleu, she said red wine with pasta!) and an arugula salad, and watching them all fall back into their chairs with a happy pasta and cheese hangover. Oh yeah, this is the life.
The recipe originally comes from Lisa's Kitchen, but I futzed around with it a little, so here's my own version of it.
Creamy, Dreamy Penne with Mushrooms
1 lb penne pasta (or rigatoni, but I like penne for this)
1 lb chopped mushrooms (I used white button mushrooms, but you can make it fancy with shiitake, portobello or porcini mushrooms, whatever's under hand)
1/4 cup of unsalted butter
1/4 cup of all purpose flour
2 cups milk
4 oz goat cheese or feta cheese
1 cup grated Parmesan cheese
1 large onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup finely chopped flat leaf parsley
2 tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp dried thyme
1 tsp dried oregano
salt and pepper to taste
Cook the pasta according to the directions on the package until al dente. Drain, douse with cold water to stop the cooking and set aside.
In a saucepan, melt the butter over medium heat. Whisk in the flour and cook for a minute, then pour in the milk and bring to a boil, whisking continuously. Reduce the heat and simmer for 5 min or so to thicken, whisking once in a while to prevent lumps. Season with salt and pepper.
With a little olive oil, sauté the onions and garlic in a large pan over medium-high heat until softened, for about 5 minutes. Add the mushrooms, thyme and oregano and cook for a couple of minutes until the mushrooms give off liquid. Add the parsley and lemon juice and season with salt and pepper.
Preheat the oven to 350F and oil an 8x8 baking dish. Stir the sauce and the mushroom/onion/parsley mixture into the pasta until well incorporated. Crumble the goat cheese and stir gently into the pasta (don't overmix if you want to retain little creamy nuggets of warm goat cheese in the finished pasta). Layer 1/2 of the pasta in the baking dish, then sprinkle with 1/2 of the parmesan. Pile on the rest and sprinkle with the rest of the parmesan. Bake for 25 minutes or until lightly browned on top. If you're going to bake it longer, just cover with foil so that it doesn't get too brown.
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