Greek Farmer's Market Squash Meets Classic American Dessert

Part- sometimes most- of the pleasure of living abroad is the food. But there is no reason to forget a traditional dish from home. Nostalgia made with fresh things in your new world hits just the right note, like this pie- a holiday standard in our old country, usually with canned pumpkin, and perfectly fine. But it can be better- imagine silky flan enriched with roasted squash, baked in a flaky butter shell. We have fabulous winter squash in Greece- abundance is the mother of invention.

A squash always sits ready on the terrace-
a tiny Botero to catch the afternoon light.

The recipe takes a little planning, as we first need to roast the squash. There will be lots of squash- use the rest to make these gnocchi, or freeze for later.

We will need:

500 g/ 2 generous cups squash puree

450 ml/ 2 C canned milk

1 1/2 to 2 C sugar (depending on the sweetness of the squash)

6 eggs
2 or 3 tablespoons rum or whiskey 

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. cinnamon

1/2 tsp. ginger

a pinch of ground cloves

a few gratings of nutmeg

one pie crust (this recipe will be more than enough for a very generous pie dish), rolled out.

Line your largest, deepest pie dish (we used the classic Emile Henry 25 cm/10") with the dough, trim evenly all around with kitchen shears, and crimp however you wish.

Using a stick blender or electric mixer, blend the filling ingredients, using the lower amount of sugar. Taste, add more sugar if you need it, and maybe some more spice. Be gentle- the squash has a rich, delicate flavor that would be a shame to hide. 

Bake on the oven's lowest rack at 170 C/ 350 F for 45 minutes to an hour- it will jiggle, but a knife put into the center should just come out clean. The puffed filling will settle down and firm as it cools. When cold, it slices beautifully, and this crust will be flaky and crisp- quite a trick with a flan filling. 

Feeling a little lazy? Make only the filling and bake it in one large dish or several cups in a bain marie. 

Serve either with whipped cream- freshly beaten and just barely sweet if you want some sophistication, or sprayed from a can if you want to lighten things up.

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Pad Thai that's Quicker than Take - Out

This well-balanced fresh/hot/tangy Pad Thai is a nice break from the heavy holiday flavors of the season. It is also the most reliable recipe for anything I have ever made. Is it perfect? I don't know- but it tastes like really good take-out every time. Writing recipes for savory dishes, especially for people who may not have grown up eating a certain dish, I measure meticulously and assume nothing. That's the idea with recipes- they can just give nudge, an inspiration, if you are comfortable with the dish. If you're not, they can give you a reliable paint-by-numbers result. I never actually measure and follow to the letter Western, Middle-Eastern, and South Asian recipes. Any further east, and my intuition blanks out completely. The balance of flavors is elusive. Fortunately, my mother has this very tattered and treasured cookbook-

 - do exactly as the directions say, measure with measuring cups and spoons, and it will be as good as take-out. I have made this dish dozens of times and it always comes out exactly the same- less tempermental than an all'arrabbiata. The only changes to the original recipe are that I have removed things that I cannot easily get and have learned to live without- the dried shrimp and the fresh bean sprouts (too bad!)- If the dish is poorer for that I cannot tell. It is always fabulous. Also, I put on way more crushed peanuts than she calls for- they make the dish. And I left out the pork too, and added fresh or frozen shrimp. I wouldn't dream of tampering with the sauce or anything else. I have had no trouble finding these ingredients in Thessaloniki, and none of them are particularly expensive.

We will need:

1 package of wide rice noodles- "rice sticks" 400 g/ 14 oz.

500 g/ 1 pound shrimp (cleaned and tail-on are nice)

60 ml/ 4 tablespoons oil

4 cloves garlic

1 yellow onion

2 small dried chiles

30 ml/ 2 tablespoons fish sauce 

30 ml/ 2 tablespoons lime juice

1 tsp. sugar

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. ground black pepper (measure- it's a lot and provides some heat)

45 ml/ 3 tablespoons ketchup

1 bunch cilantro, leaves only, chopped

4 green onions, chopped

2 handfuls salted roasted peanuts, crushed with a rolling pin

This dish is not difficult- it comes together all at the last minute though, and a mis en place makes it a lot more fun to assemble:

In other words, get everything ready like it is a cooking show-  prepare the fresh things, make the sauce, crush the peanuts, and soften the noodles.

Get out a large strainer and have it ready in the sink. Boil a large pot of water, drop in the rice noodles, stir at once to make sure they are all submerged, and keep stirring for just 60 seconds. Drain and rinse with cold water- the  noodles will be pliable but by no means ready to eat. Blend the sugar, salt, pepper, fish sauce, lime juice and ketchup and set aside.

Saute the garlic, onion, and red chilies in the oil until they just begin to soften, then add the shrimp, stir-frying for a two or three minutes- test one to make sure it is opaque inside. Add the noodles and the sauce, stir frying for another 2 minutes, until noddles are soft. Shower with the scallions, cilantro, and peanuts, and serve hot.

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Greece's Sparkling Gems of Winter.

Happy December first! Blackout? Forget how to bake? Florist closed? No matter, because winter with its gems is finally here. Thessaloniki just chilled down enough to make it convincing. It's a festive month, but if you let November's store decorations and holiday carols set the tone, it could be a hectic one. A fun antidote to this sometimes tacky chaos? More chaos, but a different kind. The produce market is a riot of plenty, and is no crazier during the holidays than any other time- vendors sing, matrons shove, and those beautiful fresh things just keep coming. 

Persimmons- "Lotus" in Greek- hang like ornaments from their trees.
Forbiddingly tannic and astringent before ripening,
when they go from yellow to deep gold,
their flesh is a lush sweet pudding.

The glamour season for fruit is winter. Summer's produce may get all the attention- the fleeting season of fat cherries and heavy melons might make us think we pine for them more. But the pears, persimmons, quinces, pomegranates and apples of winter are not less succulent for being so reliable, giving us months of luminous glitter and juice.

It's a nice metaphor - all the beautiful stuff in your life is already there. I hope this month to share ways we are making it easier to enjoy everything. No one's suggesting tossing around an apple for a festive dessert, just taking a really good look at what's around, and letting ourselves be dazzled. And maybe adding some cream.

No matter how many times you have opened a pomegranate,
their ruby sparkle surprises.

More on Winter:

Athens in Winter is all Charm and Grace

The Pleasures of a Classic Spa Holiday

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Fresh Corn, Risotto Style- As Decadent as Vegetables Get.

Fresh corn on the cob has returned to the market for a fall encore. Its crisp sweetness is just as nice in October as it was in June. But with the busy season in full swing, we are less likely to be grilling for lunch. The pic-nic barbeque mood has given way to the sit-down lunch. Never skimping on glamour, we sometimes do skimp on time. This is such a dish.

We will need:

6 ears of fresh corn

50 g/ 4 T butter

200 ml/ scant 1 C heavy cream

salt and pepper 

grated fresh parmesan, for serving

Shuck the corn and slice the kernels off into a large basin (it is a little messy). With a serrated knife, like a bread knife, scrape the cob to get all the tender bits of corn and rich corn milk. This second step makes the dish. Put the corn and its pulp and milk into a pan and add a half glass of water and a little salt. Cover and simmer for about ten minutes to let the corn start to get tender. Add more water if necessary. When it seems nearly as soft as you'd like it, add the butter, and then half of the cream, plus salt and pepper to your taste, stirring all the while, until the cream turns golden with the corn. Taste again. Like a risotto, it will continue to absorb moisture on the plate and we will want plenty of sauce. Depending on how rich you want it, add water or the rest of the cream, or a little of both, aiming for a little saucier than you ultimately want it to be.

Just like for risotto, make everyone sit down before you serve.This is delicious very hot! Serve in mounds on plates or shallow bowls, top with a tangle of parmesan, and more fresh ground black pepper. It is sweet and creamy and rich and can take the drama of a lot of heat if you like, which we do.

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Stunning Flaky Galette in an Hour- Miraculous Low Tech Perfect Pastry Dough.

Efficiency may be sometimes necessary, but rarely desirable- certainly not the hallmark of a culture, or of a well-lived life. Our house is full of complication and chaos and generally elaborate goings-on. Physical life is a messy business (eh bien!), and no one wants to miss out. 

Not shying away from fuss or festivity in our house, complicated desserts like the dacquoise or tall layered cake or Paris-Brest show up regularly. But our table is sadly rather often pie-less. The truth is that pie crust is a tricky thing to get just right and easy to get wrong- overworked, tough- and particularly in the heat of summer when you'd want it most. But just this week I read a recipe for (Southern, not British) biscuits in the new issue of Cooks Illustrated, using a method that I remember using for pie crust a couple for decades ago and although it worked like a charm I forgot about it simply because it was at a time in life when the acquisition of new dishes was ever increasing. It is a delight to have it back, especially now that the plums are in- the finest of pie fruits baking up all jammy. Not so very much separates the poor dacquoise from the excellent one. Fruit pies on the other hand command a huge spectrum- The worst (and plenty to be had of them) are dreadful, the best are sublime, and so simple looking no one can imagine the effort and skill they so discretely display.

I love not schlepping the food processor around and washing it too. This recipe, suitable for even the hottest day, uses a hunk of frozen butter, and a simple box grater- the frozen butter is grated directly into your flour mixture and tossed up with it before it has a chance to even thaw, and some ice water is drizzled in with one hand while the other does more tossing and when you can just hold it together it is done, still cold- so cold that the only chill it needs is the quick rest in the refrigerator when you prepared the filling.

It is essential that small pieces of solid butter are dispersed throughout the dough- they melt, create steam, and this makes for flakiness. The right moment can be elusive. Not with the box grater though- this is foolproof- all the satisfaction on a hand tossed dough, none of the risk and frustration.

For our pie today we used:

250 g/ 2 C flour

3/4 tsp. salt

1 tablespoon sugar

170 g/ 3/4 C butter, frozen solid

80 ml/more or less a 1/3 C ice water

1 K/ 6 C plums

40 g/ 1/3 C flour

200 g/ 1 C sugar- if your fruit is quite sweet to taste, use a little less

a dash of salt

some vanilla and some bitter almond

or

a few gratings of fresh nutmeg and a little cinnamon

3 Tablespoons of coarse sugar- like demerara, for the top of the crust

Freezing the butter is essential. Keeping butter in the freezer is great anyway, pie or not- it keeps fresh for months and months, and thaws quickly when you need it. Having everything chilled, especially on a warm day, makes it easier to work with and turns out a perfect product. Mix the flour with the salt and sugar (if it is a very hot day, freeze this, too). Grate the butter on the large holes of a box grater directly into the flour, giving it a toss mid-way through, and tossing again so the butter is in separate long pieces, evenly distributed throughout the flour. This takes about half a minute.

Toss the butter into the flour right away- that pretty tangle of separate strips of butter will quickly meld together.

Have ice water (truly with ice cubes- the colder the better) ready. While the one hand tosses the flour and butter mixture, the other hand drizzles in the chilled water. 80 ml/ 1/3 C should be enough for it to make a dough that just holds together when pressed into a ball, if not, add another spoonful. Make sure to get all the way down to the bottom of the bowl. Pat gently into a rough disk, wrap in plastic and put in the refrigerator until you need it or, if you are using it right away, in the freezer while you prepare the fruit. When you are ready to roll out the dough and assemble the galette, heat the oven to 200 C/400 F- pie needs a nice hot oven to crisp the crust.

Cut the plums, pit them, and leave them in rough chunks of varying size. Here we have 2 varieties- tiny Italian prune-plums and larger red plums. Add the sugar, flour, flavorings, and a small dash of salt, and toss together.

To make a simple pie even simpler, roll the dough out directly on the parchment the pie will be baked on. Cut a square of non-stick baking paper the size of your largest flat pan, put it on the counter, and flour it and the surrounding counter very well. Put the disk of dough in the middle, flour it also, and roll to about half again as large as the pie you want. 

You need a little structure to hold in all fruit-  don't roll  too thin.The edges will spread beyond the paper. Carefully transfer the paper and disc of dough on to the baking sheet, pile the fruit into the center leaving a large border of dough around it, and fold these sides in, any which way. Clean any fruit/sugar juices off your hands first- any on the crust will blacken like coal in the oven.

Although much simpler to shape and so much more informal than a crimped and fluted crusted pie, this casual messy galette is no less elegant. Uncontained, it has glorious dimensions. It is a fine option when making a 2-crusted fluted and lattice topped classic pie would simply be overwhelming.

Not necessary, but dazzling and easy and very delicious is to coat the crust with coarse sugar before baking. Wet your hands, pat the surface of the crust all over, and sprinkle generously with coarse sugar. 

The surface of the crust will puff up all beautifully golden as it bakes-

Bake for certainly 40 minutes and they sometimes need nearly an hour- the crust should be richly golden all over, not at all browned. Watching during the last 10 or 15 minutes of baking. The thickened juices will have invariable gushed out in one or two spots- this is the most delicious part of the pie- scrape them up with a spoon and serve them with each piece. If you leave them they will turn to a chewy sheet of intense fruit essence.

Ours has collapsed altogether here on the right-
rolling the crust thicker would have prevented this. 

This is a fabulous last-minute dessert made of any stone fruits or apples or pears you have around (pears are very delicious like this), or berries- a mix is also nice. You can slip it into the oven while you are at the table and have it warm and smelling of butter for dessert. But nothing is so nice as cold pie for breakfast.

The same crust, doubled:

Apple Pie with Rum and Beurre Noisette

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Butterflied, Crisp-Fried Fresh Anchovies- A Suprisingly Glamorous Tuesday Lunch.

The anchovy is such an elegant fish- svelte, firm, clean-scented. They are very nearly scaleless, tight silver skin glinting beguilingly. In this case, like in so many others, elegance has no relation to cost; these are always the least expensive fish in our part of the Mediterranean. 

A fishless week is happily a rare thing in our house- specifically, an anchovyless week. It's easy to think of anchovies- salt-cured to rich dark suppleness- as a vital and transformative condiment rather than a food- a decisive element of Caesar Salads, Pizza. Fresh ones, lighter on the umami mystique, lighter on the palate, make an ideal fish fry. I never set out to get them, but nearly always do- they are usually 2 euroes a kilo, crisp like apples in the fall- always the freshest of the fish on offer. The light taste of sea never gets tiresome. Cleaning them is surprisingly not at all disgusting; it's satisfying in a primal, visceral sort of way. Short work, too- the guts generally come right out cleanly attached to the head when you cut it off. The blood smells cool and fresh. Owing to their price, freshness and availability, they are a common dish in many homes. So common that, although beloved and delicious, they are not usually thought particularly special. Taking the extra step of butterflying them changes this.

For a generous plate of fried fish, we will need:

A kilo of fresh anchovies

salt

a few handfuls of flour

good oil for frying- one finger-width deep

lemon

maybe some vinegar

Have a newspaper beside the sink, toss in the fish (they will bounce if they are nice and fresh!), and, holding the fish in one hand and a small paring knife in the other, remove the head, pulling the guts out along with it, leaving them on the newspaper. Put the fish in a bowl. A kilo yields about 75 fish. Of these, 5 or 10 may have some scales. They are easily taken off with a knife, drawing the blade from tail to head.

When all the fish are clean and in the bowl, run them under the tap, filling the bowl with water, massaging the fish gently, and changing the water- which will be cloudy and silver at first- until it is very nearly clear. Shake out handfuls of fish to remove most of the water and put them in a smaller bowl.

There are two things that can be done with them:

I. If they are to be fried up whole- which is really just fine and certainly the easiest thing to do- season them with salt and squeeze a lemon over them, leaving the lemon nestled among the fish. Refrigerate until you are ready to fry them, giving them at least a half an hour. The flavors of salt and lemon continue to build- if you plan to leave them long before frying, season them more gently. The bones can be eaten, or very easily removed at the table.

2. If you are of a mind to spoil everyone, you can butterfly them, loosening the spine from the flesh with your fingertips and removing it. 

This is not difficult, and slightly easier if you leave the fish in vinegar for a short time- as if you were making boquerones but more briefly. The flesh will become whiter and more opaque, like a cevice, and the bone will be easier to remove. The fish will take on some liveliness of the vinegar- much more than a half an hour, and they may take on more flavor than you would like for a simple fish fry. When they have been deboned, put them all in a strainer and salt them, tossing the fish abut so the salt gets everywhere. These are now ready for frying (and ready for making a magnificent en Saor- to be enjoyed for days from the refrigerator as a mezze or substantial cocktail snack).

Either way, when ready to fry, put on a large pan of oil (the depth of a finger) on high heat, toss the fish in a fine mesh strainer, dredge them in flour, and give them a vigorous shake to remove the excess before laying them individually in the hot oil so they do not clump together. Whole or filleted, they will need to be turned. The fillets are ready in a flash- they will be done before you need to turn down the oil. For the whole fish, you may need to adjust the temperature if they begin quickly to blacken. You may also find you need to change the oil after two or three batches- much as you may shake the excess flour off, some will fall into the oil, continuing to brown with each new batch. When golden, take them out with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. This makes a beautiful heaping tangle of fish, worth the very little trouble and even less money.

I have found that serving fish for Tuesday lunch sets a fine tone for the week, so fine that it covers for the eventuality of less elaborate meals later on. 

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Urban Canning: Nectarines, Chet Baker, and a Very Simple Recipe for Fabulously Perfect Jam.

You know how Chet Baker said "You have to be a pretty good drummer to be better than no drummer at all."? Jam is like that. A tartine of just sweet butter and flaky salt is splendor. To earn its place, jam has to be better than good bread and fresh butter, combined. It's unlikely that such a thing can be bought. 

But it can be made, more easily than you might think. Given the intimidatingly large sacks of nectarines I have been bringing home from the weekly market, it must be made (the 4 cakes we baked last week did not make use of them all.) Bounty is not just privilege but obligation- in Greece our season of generosity is full, nothing to take lightly. How to extend the pleasure?- Urban Canning. Classically the province of the homestead or farm, preserving scales down beautifully to a sleeker, more compact urban activity. Small batch (henceforth "Boutique Batch") canning gives excellent results. The lower volume's shorter cooking time makes for a fresher, brighter taste- its chief recommendation. Also, it is an approachable project. The quantities involved in serious traditional preserving are overwhelming for our urban scale- architecturally and above all psychologically. Boutique batch canning, on the other hand, is truly a delight, not as ambitious as it sounds, easily integrated into the urban kitchen. 

The low commitment batch size encourages risk-taking. Were I making 20 jars of jam, I might not be so casual in adding some orange flower water. Making just two or three jars, you can afford to play. I added some when I took it off the boil. I tasted it, and then I added some more. The ethereal perfume of spring in the fullness of harvest captured every nuance of the life of the fruit. It was transcendent- a very big word for jam.

We liked it so much I added orange flower water to the next two batches also. To apricot jam I add the noix- the almond-like fruit in the center of the pit that is a principal ingredient in amaretto. To some peaches I will add ginger and cloves, to watermelon rind, some cardamon and zest of lime.

No special ingredients are needed for assured success- no pectin, no special sugar.

We'll need:
a jar lifter

a wide-mouthed funnel 

a mesh strainer (for dipping the lids into the sterilizing boiling water)

jars short enough to be covered by water in your tallest kettle

freshly purchased lids

a cup to measure with

2 or 3 small white plates

2 tall pots- one in which to cook the jam, the other in which to boil the jars.

And for the jam:

fruit- nectarines

sugar

a lemon

some orange flower water

Begin with barely ripe (almost not ready to eat yet), vividly tangy fruits. You might think that in starting out with ripe fruits rich in natural sweetness, you could reduce the sugar. Alas no- reducing the sugar increases the time it needs to cook down into jam. The extra time on the stove boils the verve out of the fruit, in flavor and color both. Tangy fruits make lively jam.

The proportions could not be simpler, so simple in fact that we do not need a scale, just some kind of cup.
For firm fruits that are cut into small pieces:
1 C sugar : 2 C fruit.

For fruits that are chopped and mashed, such as apricots or berries (no air in the measuring cup):
3 C sugar : 4 C fruit

This is not at all difficult or complicated if we use the following steps:

1. Start by placing 2 or 3 small white plates in the freezer- an easy way to test when the jam is ready. 

2. Fill a large pot 3/4 full of water and put it on to boil- this is for sterilizing our jars before hand and processing them afterward. 

3. Cut up as much fruit as you plan to use. I ended up with 8 C/ 2 liters. 

4. Measure out the appropriate amount of sugar and set it aside- in this case, 4 C.

5. Put the fruit, without the sugar, on to cook until it begins to release some juices, rich with pectin in barely ripe fruits (for a quicker jell).

6. When the fruit starts to cook down, add the sugar. The pot will suddenly seem to be full of liquid, with some fruit floating on op. Do not be concerned.

7. Stir the jam with a wooden spatula- something to make as much contact with the surface as possible.

8. The water should be boiling now. Put the clean jars into it for a few minutes and then set them out on a towel next to the jam. Keep stirring the jam all the while.

9. After perhaps 15 minutes at a full boil, the jam will begin to thicken a bit. Hot jam is always a liquid. To see how close we are to the right thickness, take a plate from the freezer and put a spoonful of jam on it. Let it cool a moment and drag a finger through it.

If there is a clean path, like this, that does not close up, the jam is ready. Taste the jam from the plate. If it is too sweet, which is very likely, add a squeeze of lemon and taste again. Keep adding a few drops until you have a good balance- sweet yes, but lively. Add some orange flower water and taste. I started with one teaspoon, tasted, and added another teaspoon.

10. Ladle the jam into the sterilized jars, leaving a little space at the top.

11. Dip the clean new lids into the boiling water to sterilize for a half minute ad screw them onto the jars, not too tightly, making sure the rims of the jars are completely clean and dry and free of jam (if necessary clean with a folded paper towel dipped in the boiling water).

12. Put the filled and closed jars into the boiling water, making sure they are completely covered by a centimeter or so and adding more water if necessary. Let them boil for 10 minutes.

Remove them from the water with the jar lifter and place them on a kitchen towel. Every now and then you will hear a satisfying "ping!"- this is the sound of the lid sealing- it will go from being almost imperceptibly convex to clearly concave- the center of the lid has no give when you press on it, the sign of a good seal.

I will not say this is fast- you could easily listen to a whole album of Chet Baker for instance- but it is very simple and gives enormous satisfaction. Besides making bread from scratch, there are few things you can do in the kitchen that give you such a clear sense of self-reliance, a connection to the season, and a connection to the agrarian heritage most all of us share. When you see those jars glittering on your shelves, you may find it hard to stop. No matter- sharing is the sweetest of the kitchen's pleasures.

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Tres Gazpachos

Two of my favorite desserts have "3" in them- Pastel con tres leches, and the Three Cities of Spain Cheesecake (named for a cafe in Santa Fe, NM, where it was served), which, even as a New Yorker, I prefer to both the Lindy's and the Junior's versions. 

A favorite warm weather lunch for us is Gazpacho, a seemingly elemental cold soup of simple ingredients that prompts all kinds of experimentation. I had thought that experimentation had at last come to an end when I took my mother's copy of the César's cookbook. This is from a restaurant that thrives despite being down the street from both the venerable Chez Panisse and divine Cha Am, probably based on these excellent recipes. The roasting does much for a so-so tomato. (But we live in Greece- there is no such thing as a so-so tomato.) I love César's rich and full flavored gazpacho, which I leave rough textured-  Gazpacho 1. 

The suave, subtle suede of the excellent Mama Roux gazpacho.

So then, a friend of mine said "You have to try the Gazpacho at John's. It's even better than yours." I was all ears, not envious but definitely startled (I never heard that sentence before), and curious, and very hungry for it by the time I reached the restaurant. Well, it was good! And the difference, chiefly? One of texture- the Mama Roux* Gazpacho had been through a tamis and was suede on the tongue. Delicious balanced flavor. The rich texture (but not in the least heavy) put one more in mind of a meal than a blended salad. I made a basic gazpacho, and after blending, forced it though a fine mesh strainer. Excellent results. Gazpacho 2.

But I missed my version, the earthy roughness of it. What I did not miss was the slightly cooked flavor. The completely raw version was livelier, more vivid. And the Greek tomato needs no help from roasting, amply sweet and flavorful as it is. I do love a rough texture, but small bits of raw tomato skin make have the texture of cling film. In the roasted version, those skins just slipped right off. Blanching in scalding water sounded like no fun, and broiling would cook them too much, and also be no fun. You know what is fun though?- Blow torches**! Although I did not want a cooked flavor, a burnt flavor is a different thing altogether- rich bits of char fit in with the rustic roughness. I trained the blue flame on the skins and they blackened and crackled and hissed. The pulse of the Ur-pyromaniac in me quickened with glee. The smell was marvelous. The flesh between the cracks of blackened charred skin was as raw and vibrant as ever.

"When you're holding a hammer, everything looks like a nail," so goes the saying. When you're holding a blowtorch, everything looks like it might taste better charred. I started looking around for more things to burn. I avoid onion in gazpacho as the flavor of raw onion can sharpen over time. But not the flavor of charred onion- that mellows over time. To the pan I added some thick slices of onion, a garlic clove, and such peppers as I had lying around. The onion takes a surprisingly long time to take color. The garlic softened and took on some sweetness and richness from the flame. The cucumber I left cool and raw.

Was the flavor the equal of vegetables roasted over glowing coals? Perhaps not. But there were no coals to light and wait for, no smoke for the neighbors to complain about (and we already have a dog), no ashes to clean up, and no radiant sweltering heat to sweat over. There was also a level of control and immediate satisfaction that experienced cooking at its most fun provides, but without the need for any experience. And the cool hiss of the torch and the blue flame lend the lively zest of danger (which is real- no loose clothing, hair out of the way).

For Gazpachos 1, 2 or 3, we need the same things:

1 kilo of tomatoes
a garlic clove

a pepper or two

a long cucumber, peeled roughly

a thick slice of stale bread- ciabatta or old-leavened bread

1 tsp. of vinegar

2 T strong wine- sherry would be ideal but I had Cretan Romaico from a friend and it was excellent

120 ml/ 1/2 C olive oil

salt to taste

Maybe an onion

A glass of very cold water to loosen it up enough to be a soup

Gazpacho 1.

For the Cesar's- roast the tomatoes (great if you have a craving in winter!), slip the skins off and remove the cores, mash the garlic into a puree with some salt, and puree everything in the blender until it is the texture you like.

Gazpacho 2.

For my version of Mama Roux's version- Mash the garlic with the salt, core the tomatoes, and puree everything raw. Press through a fine mesh strainer into a bowl, and puree the remaining solids with some cold water and press through again. Only seeds and skin will remain in the strainer this time. Taste for seasoning.

Gazpacho 3. (3 times is a charm)

For the new one, char everything but the cucumbers and the bread. Prepare the vegetables- tomatoes and peppers washed and not wet, onion peeled and in thick slices, garlic whole and unpeeled. Put them in a large and deep metal pan and take it somewhere open and safe with nothing flammable around. The skins of the tomatoes should be entirely blackened (you will need to turn them once- let them cool first), and the peppers nearly so, the garlic golden and the onions browned. It will take 10 or 15  minutes. Mash the garlic into a puree with some salt, remove the cores of the tomatoes, and puree everything- including paper-thin, crisp, fragile and blackened skins in the blender until it is the texture you like. 

Beautiful black flecks are a smoky confetti in our rich red soup.

*Mama Roux is fabulous and is opening a barbeque restaurant soon and also has a talented and creative and passionate chef- here he is, talking about his research and experiments-

Chef Vasilis Sporos in front of Mama Roux

**there are excellent kitchen blow torches available at any culinary supply. But mine is a blowtorch from the hardware store- cheap, basic, given to uneven burst of flame that keep me on my toes, and best of all easy to refill- it takes a gas canister from the supermarket, just like the camping gas we use for Greek coffee. 

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