Nutella & Filo Wrapped Banana with Toasted Coconut

Ooooh baby.

You done yet? No? Dirty minds, people, dirty minds.

I'm currently on an airplane (clearly not as I post this, but as I write this) on my way to San Jose. Don't ask, just accept. Last night I was puttering around the house, bored to death as I usually am this time of year. I decided I wanted to make something. The problem with this was that I didn't know what to make. I had decided on savory, but was rebuked by a certain female parent of mine, who also added that I should  use up the package of filo in the freezer. Due to my 6 AM wake-up call, I couldn't really occupy my time with anything substantial, and since my first (and only) experiment with filo was a bit of a disaster, I decided that I would make something that embraced my poor filo-wrangling skills.

For those of us who have the uncanny ability to rip every single sheet of this paper-like dough, it is imperative that we touch it as little as possible, utilizing as little tension as possible. This means that cutting is out. This also means that minimal folding is in, as is rolling. Oh, and any filling with potentially sharp edges? Death wish (you know, for the filo). First and foremost, I was inspired by the Nutella obsession currently making its way through my Twitter feed. The problem with using just Nutella is that it isn't a very bulky filling, which means the filo would require cutting, and if not cutting, lots of folding to pare down one sheet. My Nutella needed a friend.

A Love Story: Nutella, meet Banana. Banana, meet Nutella.  Together at last. And then they found a lawyer and adopted some toasted coconut. The End. Freaking delicious. Look, I know it's not normal to look at a banana and declare that you're going to smother it in Nutella and then wrap it in filo such that it resembles a poorly executed tribute to a yet-to-be-determined hazelnut-loving fertility god. I didn't intend for it to be so...phallic. I originally intended for it to look like a banana wrapped in filo. You see, my dears, I went against the rules and tried to wrap a banana--as is--in filo, and this was the result:

Ugliest picture to ever grace this blog. Small in size to protect your virtue.

Not pretty, right? I quickly learned that a slight adjustment in both the angle and curvature of the banana made all the difference (as such adjustments ought to do). My adventurous spirit triggered the ultimate success: an easy peasy suggestive dessert, sure to lighten up everyone's mood (regardless of one's tendency to live in the gutter). 

Party? Pork. Pork? Carnitas!

This is the first of two posts focusing on pork shoulder, as I have another one chilling out in the garage waiting its turn.

While sitting in the family room the other night, my parents each on their own computers and me on mine, my dad turns to me and bemoans the fact that he doesn't know how to cook a pork shoulder. You see, he was looking at the weekly grocery ads (a favorite pastime of both him and my mom--don't ask) and happened to notice that pork shoulder was ultra-cheap at one of the larger local Mexican markets. Seriously, dad? It's called Google. I took the challenge.

For those of you not in the know, pork shoulder is commonly known as the butt of the pig, often referred to as the Boston Butt. Now, I know a certain Miss Salty Seattle recently went the distance and prepared (and ate!) real pork butt. And while I applaud her tenacity and am amazed at the strength of her stomach, cooking and eating a piece of meat that's merely called pork butt, as opposed to actually being pork butt, is as far as I'll go. And lucky for me, my dad came home with fifteen pounds of pork for my experimenting pleasure.

Obviously I've never been confronted with such a massive piece of pork before. We tend to stick to the loins (and bacon!) in this household. After deciding that I wanted to make carnitas, I did my research. Carnitas recipes vary greatly in terms of cooking method--some cook the pork in a large vat of lard, while others prefer to braise or simmer. Then there's the flavoring--as minimal as a little orange juice and oregano, and as much as fifteen types of spices. Living in California, I've had a lot of carnitas in my lifetime. Unfortunately, the vast majority of purveyors sacrifice flavor and juiciness for crispiness. There is a balance, and I was out to find it.

Roasted garlic, warm spices & citrus.

My seasonings were inspired by the 40-something recipes I read, with quantities to fit my tastes (and borderline obsession with garlic). The initial cooking method was adapted from a The Food Lab article over on Serious Eats, which is also a very interesting read. I don't usually toot my own horn, but these carnitas were amazing. Moist and flavorful with lots of crispy bits--just how they should be. When my brother exclaims his praises without any prompting like he did tonight, I know I have a winner. And the lack of hands-on cooking time and quantity of food rendered makes this recipe even more of a winner--and the perfect party food for New Years or even that ridiculously large football game (meh, the Super Bowl) coming up at some point in the next few months. You know, the one I won't be watching...

A Post in Which I Address the Year's Best Keyword Searches

I'm obsessed with Keywords--the portion of Google Analytics that tracks the search engine phrases that lead to my blog. The things people search for sometimes induce fits of laughter, or, alternatively, make me want to cry for the sake of humanity. In the spirit of the season, I decided that, as a Jew who will be enjoying my stress-free Christmas with Chinese food and a movie, I would throw a little humor my readers' way in hopes of providing a little reprieve from the stress that family and cooking brings this time of year. The following is my response to the best of the best--the funniest and/or most mind-boggling Keywords this year.

DESPERATELY SEEKING GIRAFFES

Baffled and/or Horrified Giraffe

How to make giraffe cookies

Seriously, the amount of times I have seen this query makes me question the future of humankind. Cookie cutters, people. See Google Category.

How to make a giraffe from radish

I see a project in my future, but I’m still curious as to why someone would want a hot pink giraffe.

Cheese giraffe recipes

Yum?

Do giraffes like coconuts?

Twice. I’ve seen this twice. 

Why do giraffes lick inanimate objects?

…

Will giraffes eat pancakes?

I hope some kid went to the zoo and tried to feed a giraffe pancakes. I also hope the giraffe decided to use the opportunity for some head butting time.

YOU WANT TO EAT WHAT?

Marsala sauce contain blood; Bloody hand cakes; Blood sauces for cupcakes

I think the Twilight cast is getting a little too much into character.

Bugs in muffins

Contact me—you can probably sue somebody.

Miracle whip filet of sole casserole spinach

Please stop taking your cues from Sandra Lee.

Keesh in a salad

Regardless of the meaning of Keesh – whether it is meant to be Quiche, a shortened version of Keeshond, or a Jack London character – I am going to strongly advise against putting it in a salad.

How to beef up your dog

Nothing good can come from this query. Nothing.

I'M A LAWYER, NOT A DOCTOR

I can add liquor to this & not get hit up for malpractice.

Can a mixture of pineapple and kiwi loosen the stomach? 

What a lovely euphemism for “Damn, I'm constipated."

Are gingersnaps good for muscle pain?

Cookies make everything better. Except maybe the problem above.     

My sweat smells like green beans

Uh, eat a cookie and see if that helps?   

My wife does lots of kugels. What does this mean?

That you should either be very, very thankful, or ask her to please stop molesting the Jewish noodle pudding. 

Appetizing Appetizer: Bacon, Blue Cheese & Pomegranate Endive Spears

I'm sick of sweet stuff.

Recover yet? Okay, good. I've been stuck inside for days on end in this seasonal-yet-unseasonal rainstorm, puttering around the kitchen with my mom as we completed our holiday baking. There was a lot of baking going on. This means there was a lot of batter and dough tasting, as well as double checking to make sure the final product was satisfactory. Basically, I ate way too much sugar, which ended in me being too queasy to eat enough real food this past weekend. Bad idea, I tell you.

So I won't be posting anything sweet until 2011 falls upon us. I may not even eat anything sweet until then either. Unless it involves that jar of Nutella that miraculously appeared on our dining room table the other day, prompting dreams of Nutella cookie sandwiches, Nutella waffles, and Nutella on my fingers. I have a weak spot, okay?

Because no one wants to see a post laden with photographs of my Nutella-covered fingers as I lick them clean, I'm sharing a new creation borne of my need to eat cheese and fruit. And endive. I was really craving endive. These Bacon, Blue Cheese & Pomegranate Endive Spears make the perfect savory appetizer for your Christmas, Winter Solstice, Kwanzaa or New Year's celebration. In fact, I'd liken them to a party in your mouth. The blue cheese brings the tang; the Granny Smith apple and pomegranate arils cover tart and sweet; bacon has that salty deliciousness going on; the toasted walnuts bring a hint of nuttiness; and the endive completes the taste-train with its mild bitterness. There's just so much going on, including an array of textures to please the palate. Dare I say that they are...delicious?

I know, I'm weak on the explanation front today. I'm sorry. Just think how awesome it would be to take one of those apple-walnut-blue cheese salads served this time of year, distill it down into one flavor-packed bite, add in some bacon, and then sprinkle it with a little pomegranate. Can you resist that? I couldn't. I didn't. And I'm oh so glad.

Find Me Here: Spinach & Cheese Stuffed Focaccia & The Radio

Did you know that I have a guest post up on What's For Dinner? -- a food blog written by Miss Mara? Well, I do. I made some delicious Spinach & Cheese Stuffed Focaccia and waxed poetic about homemade bread. In fact, I think it's some of my best writing to date. One would think I would save that stuff for myself, but I'm a generous person. And in case you're wondering, which you should be, the salt used to top the focaccia was none other than Salty Seattle salt, distilled from the shores of Washington by Linda herself. Perfection. Anyway, check out the post and Mara's blog if you haven't. Leave a little comment love as well.

Spinach & Cheese Stuffed Focaccia

I'm also going to be on Chow & Chatter's radio show tomorrow (Friday, December 17th) at 8:30PM Eastern participating in a chat about holiday food. I'll obviously be focusing on Chanukah.

Click Here For Details

For your convenience, I'm also adding my usual printable recipe link below.

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California Crab Cakes

Note: I've been sucked into StumbleUpon. Follow me or something. It can be mutually beneficial, if you know what I mean. Wink wink.

Last night, when I mentioned my condiment preferences and what I would not be putting in these crab cakes, my Twitter feed decided to attack me for my apparently blasphemous ways. My first mistake was announcing that I was going to make crab cakes without mayonnaise. Mayonnaise is gross, people. It's oil and egg whipped into a frenzy. It's weirdly creamy and smells kind of funny--even the homemade kind. I do not eat mayonnaise. Ever.

Apparently, something is also wrong with me because I detest mustard and thus omitted it from my crab cakes. I promised a few of my followers the story of my relationship to mustard. The first thing you must know is that my brother is 14 months older than me. The second thing you must know is that I was a horrifically picky eater when I was a child. I don't recall why I didn't like mustard, but I just didn't. My brother, however, was in love with the stuff. He put it on anything and everything--from the typical burger to potato chips to even cantaloupe once. I think the cantaloupe was to freak me out. Basically, he'd be squirting tons of it onto his plate while I'd sit there grossed out. Somewhere along the line my distaste and his overuse morphed into a fear of mustard. I did not want it anywhere near me. My brother had to sit a few feet away from me along with the mustard. If we went to dinner, the mustard had to be moved onto the other side of the table. If it even possibly touched my food, I wouldn't eat it. And then there was the one time he chased me around the house until he cornered me in the kitchen and squirted mustard all over my arm. I cried.

Mustard is gross. While I am still traumatized all these years later, I have grown out of the no-mustard-on-the-table requirement (though my brother continues to put it right in front of my seat when at a restaurant). I, however, am steadfast in my refusal to not eat a piece of food that has possibly been contaminated by mustard. We're all entitled to our quirks.

So, uh, let's talk about these California Crab Cakes! After finding out that they were to have no mayonnaise or mustard, someone asked if they were going to be seasoned with Old Bay. I've never known a Californian that stocks the stuff, which means that the answer was no. There was a wave of hesitance at my plan, but I forged on anyway and decided I'd do crab cakes my way. California cuisine prides itself on using fresh, seasonal ingredients that are cooked in a way that highlights their freshness and unique taste. It also likes to dabble in the art of fusion. I decided to ultra-indulge in the essence of California cuisine by combining this distinctly American dish with the flavors of Baja, Mexico. My fresh (and seasonal!) Dungeness crab was paired with lime zest, spring onion, paprika, cayenne, and red onion. This made for a unique crab cake with bright flavors that complimented the crab, as opposed to overpowering it. A definite two thumbs up.

Roasted Dungeness Crab with Garlic Noodles

It's Dungeness crab season! You have no idea how excited this makes me. Hell, I even used an exclamation point. When I was much, much younger, my dad would bring home ginormous King crab legs and eat them in front of my brother and I. When he was feeling generous, he'd let us have a bite or two, but would quickly return to selfishly hoarding the rest for himself. At about the age of 11, when we were old enough to wield our own crackers and sharp crab forks, he finally gave us our own legs to attack and excavate. I still made him crack my crab for years after, complaining of the pain inflicted by sharp exoskeletons. I was kind of a brat--but a brat that loved crab.

There's nothing quite like fresh crab--sweet, salty and succulent. None of that canned or imitation stuff will ever do after trying it once. And for those of us who grew up cracking open legs and picking at claws? Well, don't even think about trying to feed us anything else--we're likely to cringe behind your back. Now, my favorite crab is admittedly of the King variety despite its spiny legs. It's just easier to eat. However, Dungeness crab is the perfect crab for dinner parties or meals with people you actually want to talk to. Not that I actually wanted to talk to my family during dinner, but if I did, the task at hand takes time and creates the perfect excuse for a slow, leisurely dinner. But don't invite those friends who don't like getting down and dirty--picking apart Dungeness crab is messy business that may or not require a full-body protective frock...

When I got the go-ahead to purchase this crab, I knew I wanted to cook it in something to add a bit more flavor. Saveur came to the rescue with a spicy roasted crab dish--perfect for a certain brother who demands I add red pepper flakes to everything (he is usually ignored). The marinade, albeit messy, adds a hint of spice and garlic to the meat, bringing a very welcome and new dimension. I had also originally planned to make a side of garlic noodles to accompany the crab, but once I got word that my dad wanted some crusty sourdough bread with softened butter, I decided to forego the carbohydrate overload. I obviously managed to get my garlic noodles anyway. At the end of dinner, I picked the rest of the meat out of the shell--the perfect accompaniment to today's lunch of garlic noodles. Serve the shelled crab with the noodles, or toss with crab meat, and you've got a winning combo for lunch or dinner. (Please note, that if you should want to save leftover crab for your noodles, it is likely that your crab will require a note such as this one to fend off familial crab thieves).

(C)hanuk(k)ah: Chocolate Covered Coconut Macaroons

My Chanukah Troll, which I've had since the age of 9, oversees the Coconut Macaroons.

Back when I first started this blog--when my photos were atrocious and no one read a word I had to say--I tried to make those fancy French macarons. They were, without a doubt, a disaster. I hadn't yet figured out that a tall glass works wonders for getting batter into a pastry bag, and had no idea that over-beating would destroy any chance at lightness. Even a delicious center couldn't salvage those babies. And this is why I have foregone those airy almond confections in favor of another O--and I mean that it in the most G-Rated way possible.

Jews love themselves some macaroons. This has a lot to do with the fact that they contain no leavening agent and are thus perfect Passover treats. I agree with this assessment as long as we're not talking about those disgusting store bought Manischewitz macaroons. I get it--macaroons started out as almond meringue confections and slowly morphed into more substantial cookies with bits of coconut. But those almond-coconut macaroons have the weirdest consistency--dry and crumbly, but oddly sticky. The random bits of coconut flakes also give me the feeling that I'm chowing down on stray hairs. Granted, that's always a possibility, as a long-haired dog has been roaming my house for thirteen years, but it's not a quality I particularly look for or strive to create.

This is why I'm glad that coconut macaroons these days are usually 100% coconut with no almond to be found. And even though it isn't Passover, macaroons in this form have been co-opted by the Jewish masses as a way to celebrate all of our holidays, including Chanukah. Some recipes use egg whites to bind the coconut, but neither my Mom nor I have been able to get the cookies to stay together with those sorts of recipes. Instead, we've been making these macaroons for years because not only are they guaranteed to stick together, they're tasty and consist of three ingredients that always sit in our pantry. Sweetened condensed milk is our binding of choice, producing a perfect sweetness and a wonderfully chewy cookie. Because of the sugar content in the SCM and the coconut, the bottoms and tops of these macaroons also tend to caramelize, bringing another dimension to their taste. I could eat an entire batch of these plain, but decided to spruce them up a bit as they were being sent out to a few readers. If you cringe at the idea of tempering chocolate, throw some mini chocolate chips into the dough and you're good to go--it's what my mom did when I was a kid.

This recipe doesn't use the entire can of sweetened condensed milk, but the remainder is the perfect amount for a third of a recipe of Magic Cookie Bars if you don't feel like letting it go to waste.

(C)hanuk(k)ah: Five Spice Cheese Latkes & Almond Apple Butter

I'm back with another Chanukah post, but this time it does not require power tools. I know you're disappointed, but I promise that the power tools will make another appearance sometime soon. So, in my Pomegranate Mascarpone Cream Puff post I talked about (and pointed you to) the story of Judith, the beheader, and the reason why my fellow Jews and I should be chowing on cheese during Chanukah. I know I also semi-eschewed the idea of eating oily latkes in favor of cheese, but that does not mean that I cannot appreciate a good latke. Especially when made of cheese.

Before I discuss my latkes and the specious logic underlying their creation, I think I need to provide a quick latke lesson. It has come to my attention, via Twitter (of course), that some people believe that latkes are not latkes if they do not contain potato. This is not so! Latke merely means pancake. This is why latke is often proceeded with potato or sweet potato or even zucchini. Latkes can be made of anything as long as the ingredients are bound together and cooked in a pancake-like form. I don't even think there's a frying requirement, but I may have to check on that. In conclusion, don't disparage potato-less latkes; they may be some of the best you'll ever have.

Now for a little bit of Barrister Logic (be afraid, very, very afraid). I found this recipe for cheese latkes over at King Arthur Flour and thought to myself, "Wow, fried cheese--how very Chanukah." But I didn't want to stop there. Later this month, on December 25th to be exact, this Jew will be partaking in another tradition: Chinese food. Like many Jews, my family normally eats Chinese food and takes in a movie on Christmas, cheering ourselves up from the resultant isolation that comes with being one of the Chosen People. In honor of this tradition, I decided that these latkes would not only be an ode to Chanukah, but also an ode to our other time-honored winter tradition. These latkes needed a little Chinese panache. Well, Chinese-American panache. A little Five Spice Powder worked wonders in the latkes, but I needed to bring the apple sauce to the party. And you know what goes well with apple and screams of Chinese food? Almonds. You know, like those delicious almond cookies they always bring you with your check? Or Almond Chicken? Yeah, I know I'm brilliant.

And yes, I made ghetto apple butter by cooking down unsweetened apple sauce. I was hungry. So sue me.