Of all of the amazing things I learned in culinary school, by far the most valuable was how to make great stock. I clearly remember the lightbulb moment when it was demonstrated to us. I clearly remember rushing home that weekend with a bag of carrots, celery, and onions, dying to practice it on my own, and proudly showing my husband my new skill. At this point it is totally ingrained in our weekly life. We whip up a pot of stock almost without thinking, whenever we have extra bones or the reserve in the freezer is getting low. Daily we use lovely homemade stock in all areas of cooking, sometimes where you would just add water, adding a huge boost of flavor and protein. It is such a joy to have it always on hand, know exactly what is in it, and have such a superior ingredient. I can't even smell store-bought broth in a can anymore. There. Is. No. Comparison. I also really value that we are using every bit of the animal, right down to its bones, neck and feet. There is incredible flavor and protein in there. But also if that animal is going to die for me to eat it, and I am certainly not going to take that for granted and be wasteful. Do yourself a giant favor and have a few quarts of this on deck in your freezer. Use it to cook rice and grains, reduce it for sauces, throw in shredded vegetables and thin noodles for a quick soup, and hundreds of other applications. I also love sipping a mugful for a mid-afternoon snack.
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I'm covered in flour and the entire house smells like warm bread. A good day by all standards.
 With slender baguette pans, gurgling jars of sourdough starter, and an array of silky flours, my father was a talented bread baker. One of his specialties, the one I hold dearest, was Anadama Bread. As a kid, the lore of the New England fisherman who threw his bowl of molasses-sweetened cornmeal mush at his bread baking wife, exclaiming "Anna, damn ya!", mixing the ingredients and thus giving birth to this accidental recipe was consistently intriguing, and consistently an excuse to use an unapproved word. But the flavor, aroma, and character of this bread, far outweighed it's value for smut-mouthed opportunities.A yeasty moist bread, it is made hearty with the addition of cornmeal, and sweet and tangy with the addition of molasses. This is the quintessential eat at least a half a loaf slathered in butter right out of the oven as soon as it is cool enough to slice homemade bread. Chewy, with a pillowy crumb, this also makes the best, the best, toast. The sugars in the bread form a delicate crust all over the surface, providing just enough slight crunch before giving way to a slightly sweet supple center. It also makes an amazing sandwich. As it is baking, largely thanks to the molasses, the bread will perfume your home with a distinct comforting gorgeousness, certain to lay tracks for intense sense-memory experiences decades from now. As has absolutely proven true for me. (more…) | ||||||||||||||||
My mother and grandmother, 1951. Just a year ago today I published my first blog post. There have been a bunch of changes over the year (including the name and url), but I am so thrilled where I have landed and am so excited for all that is ahead. In the past twelve months I've published 35+ original recipes, about 15 DIY tutorials, and am just shy of 80 posts--which included a handful of months I needed to be away from my laptop to get our heirloom vegetable micro farm planted, weeded, and thriving. I have finally managed to set up a Pitchfork Diaries facebook fan page, am no longer intimidated by twitter (@pitchforkdiary), and just this past weekend had an incredibly flattering feature on thekitchn.com. A splendid way to start year number two. Thank you so much for all of your invaluable interest and comments. More delicious days to come. Some of my favorite posts from the last year...
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 Soon after I finished culinary school a wise and wonderful chef and cookbook author asked me, as I was first meeting her, what kind of food do you cook? I was a little stumped. I was just out of a year of cooking little other than classical french cuisine. And a year of cooking predetermined recipes that I had to master, in order to learn said classical french cuisine. Eating locally, and seasonally, and knowing where my ingredients come from are always paramount when I cook, but beyond "farm to table", I didn't really have a ready response as far as my personal style with food. But after some introspection, I think at least one of my approaches to cooking, though perhaps somewhat obvious, is to get the finest possible ingredients, at the height of their season or freshness, from the best possible sources, and then: get out of their way. Or compliment their strengths that are already therein, rather than transforming or imposing. At least that's the goal. How can I possibly improve upon a homegrown, just-picked Jaune Flamme heirloom tomato, drizzled with exceptional olive oil  and a hit of crunchy fleur de sel?This recipe does just that. Blood oranges are in season right now, and at the height of their glorious flavor. They are a stunning deep garnet color, with a taste that ranges from orange to raspberry to grape. A phenomenal homemade pastry crust, along with the roasted fruit, this galette reminds me a lot of my great grandmother's jam-filled thumbprint cookies, or a very sophisticated Pop-Tart. And brings some necessary brightness to a dull week of winter. (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…) | ||||||||||||||||
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Catie Baumer Schwalb is a chef, food writer and photographer, who splits her life between the city and the country. Not too long ago Catie was a New York City based actress and playwright for more than a decade. She has her Master of Fine Arts from the National Theater Conservatory, and her Grand Diplôme in classic culinary arts from the French Culinary Institute in New York City.
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