![]() There are few things that could get me to turn on the oven in the middle of this oppressive heat wave. However, much to the dismay of my panting dog, clafouti is one of them. Unlike almost everyone else in the country right now, the red and golden raspberries in our garden are adoring the heat. They have just started to really take off, offering up several pints a week. (That is, those that aren't stolen when I'm not looking, right off the thorny branches, by aforementioned panting dog). Clafouti ("klau-foo-tee") is a both rustic and elegant dessert, with a ridiculously fun to say name, that originated in the Limousin region in the southwest of France. It was traditionally made with cherries, as they had an abundance they had to figure out what to do with each summer, poor things. I learned of it from my well-loved, dog-eared copy of Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, and was in love from the start. Further investigation revealed that when made with any other fruit other than the traditional cherries, it is actually not called Clafouti, but "Flaugnarde". Are you kidding me? I feel like those rogue Limousinians just came up with the most clumsy sounding word they could to shame the rest of the world into strict adherence to their recipe. My fancy, summer, whatever-berry-filled french dessert will be called clafouti, so there. (more…) | ||||||||||||||||
![]() I remember the first year freshdirect.com was operating they offered a somewhat genius valentine's day package. It was something along the lines of ready-to-cook surf and turf, fixings for chocolate fondue, a bottle of bubbly, and then parbaked croissants and orange juice for breakfast the next morning. One click, and you look like an exceedingly prepared and thoughtful superstar of a valentine. Whether you are cooking breakfast for your valentine on February 14th, or February 15th, or indulging in a weekly leisurely sunday brunch with the New York Times spread out around you, this recipe is perfect. I had many, many sleepovers at my grandparents' house when I was a child. Most mornings Nana (an amazing and adventurous cook, who ended up being my Maid of Honor) would make one of these magical puffy, eggy, warm breakfast crepes just for me. I felt so very special. I've seen them called dutch babies, German pancakes, and Bismarks, but on Nana's recipe card it says Breakfast Crepes, and so Breakfast Crepes it shall remain. (more…) | ||||||||||||||||
Ummmm...eggs...ramps...potato...
![]() When my brother returned from his junior year in Spain, he craved the egg tortilla espanola found on the counter at most tapas bars and eateries. It also happened to be one of my favorite recipes I learned in my "egg" lesson in my first weeks in culinary school (thank you Chef Justin). The farmer who I get my ramps from, Rick Bishop, has mentioned to me a few times how much he likes to cook ramps and eggs together. With a good amount of my own foraged ramps still left, this turned out to be a great combination.
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