Something Out of Nothing: Homemade Almond Extract

A lot of people aren't into almond extract, and I can totally understand why.  I went through a serious period of hating all things almond, except almonds.  Marzipan, frangipane, almond extract--I didn't understand their relationship to almonds at all.  It was sort of like claiming that grape popsicles were related to grapes.  Uh, I don't think so.

Then, I went to Italy.  I ate almonds from Sicily, so fragrant they'd make roses jealous.  Holy schnikeys were they good.  Suddenly, I understood what almond extract was going for.

image source

Eventually, I learned about

drupes

, the family of fruits that includes both stone fruits like apricots, peaches and cherries, and almonds.  I ate peach leaf ice cream at Chez Panisse.  (Yes, PEACH LEAF!  Can you believe if you steep peach leaves in cream they give off an incredibly faint yet delicious almond flavor?!  Talk about making something out of nothing!)  As an intern in the pastry department, I'd spend hours liberating bitter apricot kernels, or

noyaux

, from the pits, so that they could be used to flavor desserts.  I think the most delicious ice cream I have ever had is Burnt Caramel-

Noyaux

from

Ici Ice Cream

.  I can't even begin to imagine how many

noyaux

 Mary had to stockpile to make a few gallons of that stuff.   Because that's the thing, you need kind of a lot of them to lend flavor to something.

Anyway, usually, I just crack all of the

noyaux

from my apricots, throw them in a cheesecloth pouch and cook them into the jam I make each June.  But last year, I had a little stash that didn't make it into the jam, so I decided to try my hand at almond extract.

As it turns out, almond extract is actually made from

noyaux

or other forms of bitter almonds, because they taste more almondy than almonds themselves.  Pure almond extract is made by suspending the oil extracted from bitter almonds in water and alcohol.  Since I don't have the sophisticated tools to do that on my own, I just cracked all of my

noyaux

, combined them with some lovely, fragrant almonds from Riverdog Farm, poured a bunch of vodka over them, and put them in a dark bottle in the back of a kitchen cupboard.

I wish we had smell-o-vision (smell-o-net?) so you could experience what I got.  Pure heaven.  Last night, when I made this year's batch of apricot jam, I added some of the

noyaux

liquor when it was done and almost fainted from the deliciousness.  Yikes.  Now, I'm turning all of the new

noyaux

into next year's extract.

One warning

:

Bitter almonds do contain a small amount of cyanide

, so you're not supposed to eat a whole bunch of them, and I assume that some of the cyanide makes its way into the extract, so please don't go drinking shots of it.  A teaspoon here, a tablespoon there in a recipe hasn't killed me yet.  But no overdosing on the extract.  Got it?

***UPDATE:

If you're totally freaked out about poisoning yourself, I've heard that toasting the

noyaux

 at 325°F for ten to fifteen minutes will destroy the enzyme that contains the cyanide.  

Homemade Almond Extract

30 apricot pits*

2 cups vodka or everclear, though I bet brandy would be nice, too

To extract the

noyaux

, simply line them on a kitchen towel placed on a counter or on the ground outside (I did it in the driveway), cover with another kitchen towel, and use a hammer to tap each pit until it cracks.  Then, remove the kernels.  Some will break, and that's ok.

Place in a mason jar or dark glass jar, and keep in a dry, cool cupboard.  Give it a shake every day (or as often as you remember).  It took mine about 3 months to really get sufficiently almondy, and at that time, I strained out the

noyaux

and replaced with fresh ones I'd kept in the freezer to really fortify the flavor.

To use, strain the extract through a cheesecloth or coffee filter, and keep in a dry, cool place.  Use as you would any other extract.

*If you don't anticipate eating 30 apricots in one sitting, you can freeze the pits until you've collected enough, and then extract the

noyaux

in one fell swoop.

something out of nothing: basic chicken stock

every time i teach a pantry or salt class, we end up on the topic of chicken stock.  so after salt class the other day, i promised to put up a recipe, or more accurately, a basic guide for how to make and keep it.

here's the thing: as a restaurant cook, i was trained to think that freezers are exclusively meant for storing ice cream, and maybe a few other little things.  and it's true--who wants to pay all of that money to eat in a restaurant only to be served reheated frozen foods that were made days, or even weeks, ago? no one.

as a result, i applied my restaurant-cook snobbery to my home-cooking philosophy for a long time.  and let's face it, as a restaurant cook, i wasn't really making dinner at home on a regular basis, so i didn't really realize what home cooks are up against.

since i left restaurants three years (!) ago, i've really changed my tune.  big time.  now, there is no bigger proponent of the freezer than me.  and the number one thing i use mine for is chicken stock, and chicken stock to-be.  because if you have chicken stock on hand, you're options for a quick dinner are practically endless: broth with spinach and a poached egg, noodle soup, stracciatella, pho, bean stew, risotto, paella, brown rice or quinoa cooked in stock, panade, stuffing.  i mean, seriously.  don't make me list all of the uses for stock here.

every time i roast a chicken, i cut off the neck/head, feet, and wingtips (and lately, the backbone) before salting it and throw them all into the freezer in a plastic bag.  then, after cooking it, i add the carcass into the plastic bag.  since one chicken carcass isn't really enough to warrant a pot of stock, i save up three or four and make stock every month or two.  i also save onion ends, the last stalk of celery that's about to go rubbery, parsley stems, and carrot bits in a bag in the freezer.  when my freezer can no longer contain the mess, i empty it all out into a big pot and prepare to make stock.

if all i have is roasted bones, then i'll trek out to the butcher shop and buy a pound of gelatinous chicken heads and feet, or some wingtips, which will add a ton of body and richness to the stock.  otherwise, i literally just clean out the freezer, and anything appropriate from the fridge, and go for it:

• 3-4 carcasses worth of chicken bones, including some raw ones, ideally
• one large or two small carrots
• one rib of celery
• one large or two small onions (peel on is fine)
• a few peppercorns
• a sprig of thyme, if i have it
• a bay leaf, if i have it
• some parsley stems, if i have them
• a leek, if i have it
• a head of garlic, halved, if i have it (unpeeled is fine)

i'll get out a nice, big pot, throw all of that in there, and then cover with water.  

bring it up to a boil over high heat, and then turn down to a simmer.  at this time, i'll add a splash of vinegar to help draw out nutrients and minerals from the bones into the stock, but you can skip that if you want. 

skim the scum with a ladle if you feel like it.  sometimes, i'm too lazy to do that.  just make sure the stock doesn't boil, and that too much water doesn't evaporate.  the bones should always remain submerged.  

i like to leave the stock on overnight (don't tell the landlord).  i'll cover the pot to ensure it doesn't all boil away, and leave it over the lowest flame possible, and let it go for 6-8 hours.  if this is completely terrifying for you, then do it in the daytime, for at least 4 hours from the time it comes to a boil, but preferably longer (that's when the bones really start to break down and let all of their goodness into the broth).

once you're satisfied that the stock is done, strain out the bones and let it cool.  now, you can let the whole pot chill and skim the hardened fat off the top, or try to skim the fat off the top with a ladle.  if it's near passover, save the chicken fat for your matzoh balls.

i like to pour the stock into old yogurt containers and mason jars and freeze it.  i like having different amounts available for quick use, so i'll put away some pints and some quarts, and some larger containers, too.  if freezer space is a big problem, you can reduce the stock by boiling it down after removing the fat from the top, and freeze smaller containers of the more potent stuff (ice cube trays work well for this, too), then just add some water back into whatever you're cooking later.

if you freeze mason jars, leave plenty of headroom for the stock to expand, and use wide-mouth jars to prevent breakage and headaches in the future.  you can also process mason jars of stock in a pressure canner, and then they'll be shelf-stable and you can avoid the freezer altogether.  

now, you can start saving chicken bones again for the next round of stock.

something out of nothing: fresh little picklese

photo by kimberley hasselbrink of

the year in food

because i am insanely lazy and have serious acid-mouth, this is one of my favorite ways to make quick pickles.  i first learned this method a few years ago from

sam greenwood

, the queen of exquisite-yet-challenging catering projects, and have adapted it to my needs.  if you've ever been to

tartine afterhours

, you've probably experienced the fresh carrot pickles we make, leaving the greens on when possible.  it's a sort of

trompe l'œil

 situation, with carrots that look raw but are pleasantly pickley.  kind of awesome.

my favorite veggies to prepare in this way are various colors of riverdog farm carrots, zucchini slices, cauliflower florets, jalapeños, radishes and green beans, but honestly, any vegetable that can be served raw would work great.  let me warn you that green things tend to turn grey or brown in acid, which is why when we make the carrot pickles with their greens left on, we tie them in bunches and suspend the carrots into the brine without submerging the tops.

fresh little pickles

• some veggies to pickle, cut into one or two bite-sized pieces, trimmed, and/or peeled when applicable
• vinegar--i typically use red or white wine vinegar, but rice wine vinegar could work, too
• ice, or cold water
• salt
• sugar
• aromatics--i like peperoncini, cumin and bay leaf, but black peppercorns, coriander seed, garlic cloves, turmeric, dill seed or anything else you like in your pickles would be good, too.

prepare your vegetables, then submerge them in a brine consisting of roughly two parts vinegar and one part ice.  if you don't have ice, use cold water.

add bountiful salt and a little bit of sugar, then stir to dissolve.

add aromatics.

stir.  taste.  adjust.

it should be saltier and vinegary-er than you think it should be, since the vegetables aren't getting cooked, and frankly won't be in the brine for very long.  the more intense the flavor of the brine, the better it'll penetrate the vegetables.  your lips should pucker with acid-mouth when you taste the brine, and you should be pleasantly aware of the salt and the sugar, too.

stir, make sure the vegetables are submerged, and place in the fridge for at least 30 minutes.  two hours is ideal.

when you're ready to serve, remove veggies from brine and plate them up.  save the brine for another round, or keep leftover pickles in the brine.  both pickles and brine will stay good (and in fact improve) in the fridge for up to a month, though if you sense a funk or mold, then by all means, discard!

serve these pickles along side sandwiches, cured meats, bites of fried things, or on their own.  they are so refreshing and really, really lovely when served cold on a hot summer evening.

something out of nothing: cabbage slaw

Festive Slaw

, a photo by 

PeaSoupEats

 on Flickr.

if you've ever been over to my house for dinner, you have probably eaten some version of this slaw. it's a variation of the slaw they make in the chez panisse cafe, and hence, a variation of alison's slaw over at bakesale betty.

at this time of year, when a little brightness on the plate is something we can all use, it's a great addition to anything from a humble dinner of beans and rice, a scrambled egg with tortilla, fish tacos, or even a steak. if you were to use a bit of rice wine vinegar, sesame oil, and ginger instead of red wine vinegar, and olive oil, you could serve it with any number of asian-inspired dishes.

slaw. so clean. so good. basically made out of nothing.

bright cabbage slaw

serves 4-6 people as a side dish

1 small head of cabbage--red, green, napa, or any combination of the three is fine

1 small red onion

2 jalapeños

1 small bunch cilantro

red wine vinegar

1 lime

1 lemon

salt

good olive oil

Halve the head of cabbage, remove the core from each half with a V-shaped incision, and slice thinly. Place in a big salad bowl and sprinkle generously with salt.

Let the cabbage sit for at least 20 minutes to release some of its water.

In the meantime, peel and halve the onion. Remove the stem end and slice thinly. Macerate with red wine vinegar.

Halve, seed, and slice the peppers.

Roughly chop the cilantro. Both leaves and stems are delicious, but trim any woody ends the stems might have before chopping.

When the cabbage has released a good amount of water, drain it, then add the onion (but not the vinegar), cilantro, and appropriate amount of peppers for your liking.

Dress with olive oil.

Now comes my favorite part: layering the acids. You've already introduced some acid with the macerated red onion, and vinegar is a sort of heavier form of acid, so try to balance it out with lime and lemon juice. Probably the entire lime and half the lemon is a good amount to start with.

Taste, adjust salt and oil if needed. Then, start to tinker with the acids. Does it need more vinegar? More lemon? Taste and adjust, taste and adjust, taste and adjust.

I like my slaw on the acidic side, since I usually serve it with fried or rich foods as a foil. If you're just eating slaw and say, grilled chicken or fish, it might not need quite as much acid. It's all about context, you know?

something out of nothing: frittata di spaghetti

Now that I work in an office, I have a commute, officemates, and a proper lunchtime three times a week.   Since--in case you didn't realize it--writing blog posts/ cooking class handouts/ a book proposal/ story pitches doesn't exactly yield a fat paycheck, I actually have to think ahead about what I'm going to have for lunch the next day.  For the first time in my adult life I'm in a position to eat leftovers for lunch.

As you might imagine, I find this disproportionately thrilling.  Especially because I'm so cheap.

It's like the world has dawned anew.  Possibilities for tomorrow's lunch lie in the unlikeliest of places.  At any moment, I might find inspiration.  And if not, there's always a slice of Chad's bread with peanut butter.

I'm sure it'll grow old.  But for now, I'm enjoying the challenge.

Last night was one of those nights where I couldn't bear the thought of leaving home to get groceries for dinner, so I rummaged through the cupboard and found an opened box of angel hair pasta.  Out of the freezer, I dug some tomato sauce someone had given me, made with tomatoes and basil from her Noe Valley garden.  I added some Calabrian chilies and parmesan, and had a perfectly respectable bowl of pasta for dinner.  And with what was left, I decided to make a

frittata di spaghetti

, or in this case, capellini.

Italians rarely cook more pasta than they'll consume immediately, but when they find themselves faced with leftover noodles, the

frittata di spaghetti

is often how they choose to serve them.

Before I started cooking the frittata, which derives its name not from the presence of eggs, but rather from the simple fact that it's fried together in the shape of a frittata, I peeled apart two pieces of string cheese I found in the back of the fridge and mixed them into the cold noodles.  I also grated a handful of parmesan and added that in.

I got out my one and only non-stick pan (in a braver moment, I might have considered using the cast iron, but between the cheese, tomato sauce, and all of that starch, I feared the worst.  Plus, using the non-stick meant I wouldn't have to watch the frittata as closely, and therefore, could watch Downton Abbey while the pasta cooked) and heated it.  Then I added a healthy splash of olive oil and the noodles, packed them down and cranked up the heat for a few minutes so the pasta could form a healthy crust.

After about three or four minutes, I turned the heat down to medium-low, rotated the pan, and dove back into the Grantham family saga (I'm only on episode three of season one, so I still have some catching up to do).  When I was able to pull myself away from the show about eight minutes later, I went back to the stove and swirled the pan to see if the frittata was starting to come together.  When I'm cooking straw cakes, the way I know they're ready to flip is when I can put my fingers in the potatoes and rotate the entire cake with a light twist of my wrist.  I figured it'd be something similar here, and it was.

After a little bit of peeking at the bottom crust with the aid of a spatula, I figured it was time, crossed my fingers, and went for the flip.  If the flip scares the bejeezus out of you, then just slide the cake onto a cookie sheet or large plate and invert it back into the pan.  Then, start over with the high heat to get the crust going, and the medium-low heat to finish.  When the frittata is done, slide it out of the pan and serve slices.  It's equally delicious hot or cold, perfect with a little salad, some hot sauce, and a bit more parmesan.

something out of nothing: raised waffles

one of the strongest traits i've inherited from my paternal lineage is a love of junk.

my grandmother has scoured garage sales every saturday morning since she moved to the states in the seventies.

my dad is not only a lover of the junk shop, but also a hoarder.  don't even ask for details--i can't go there.

i love junk.  i love the idea of uncovered treasure amongst someone else's discarded bits.  i love making something old new again, giving what's been exhausted a second life.  and of course, i love finding a use for something thought to be useless.  that is, after all, the way i cook.

every town has a junk store (and i'll readily admit that east coast and midwestern junk is far superior to california junk), but berkeley's

urban ore

has no equal as far as i'm concerned.  it's humongous, relatively organized, and has a constant stream of new junk.  there are those devotees, i'm sure, who visit every single day.  there are those, i know, who have renovated entire homes and businesses solely using materials from urban ore.  and then there are people like me, who go there when we need a new filing cabinet or just pull into the lot on a whim when we're in the neighborhood.

the other day, i did just that, and i found this beauty for $5:

the sunbeam w-2, produced from 1945 to 1955.  after a little web research, i learned that the same machine can now go for $295!  score!

it was a bit scuffed and greasy, but i got up close and personal with a stainless steel scrubbie and shined it up.

what next?  waffle party, of course.

and since i was planning ahead and had my wits about me, i made the best waffle recipe ever*,

marion cunningham's raised waffles.

the thing i love most about waffles is that even someone like me, whose refrigerator is usually populated with nothing other than two dozen half-empty condiment jars, reliably has all of the necessary ingredients on hand.  and even when i don't have maple syrup around, i do have all sorts of other sweet and delicious things to put on top.

this time, i made some berries with beaumes-de-venise and whipped cream, pulled out all of my jams and honeys down from the cupboard, fried up some bacon for the amy-dencler-original-bacon-in-waffle, and told everyone else to bring things to put on top of the waffles.  guests showed up with butters, coffees, and even maple syrup made by an old friend.

i was so busy running around, i didn't get a chance to take any photos to share, but they didn't look too far off from

these

(though molly's appear to have been made on a belgian waffle iron).  trust me when i say that much fun was had.

marion cunningham's raised waffles

(from

the breakfast book

, one of my most treasured cookbooks of all time)

yields about 8 waffles

1/2 cup warm water

1 package (1 tablespoon) dry yeast

2 cups milk, warmed

1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, melted

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon sugar

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 eggs

1/4 teaspoon baking soda

Use a large mixing bow, as the batter will rise to double its original volume.  Put the water in the mixing bowl and sprinkle in the yeast.  Let stand to dissolve for 5 minutes.

Add the milk, butter, salt, sugar, and flour to the yeast mixture and beat until smooth and blended.  Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let stand overnight at room temperature.

Just before cooking the waffles, beat in the eggs, add the baking soda, and stir until well mixed.  The batter will be very thin.  Pour about 1/2 to 3/4 cup batter into a very hot waffle iron.  Bake the waffles until they are golden and crisp.

This batter will keep well for several days in the refrigerator.

*even though most who taste these marvel at their amazing lightness, crispness, and all-around amazingness, there are those who are disappointed because they were expecting a chewy interior.  if that's what you're looking for, i suggest

marion's classic waffles

, which are also good for those times when you didn't plan for waffles ahead.

something out of nothing: provençal vegetable tian

i've been thinking a lot lately about how to sum up my approach to food.  chris lee calls it "cooking from weeds," i call it

something out of nothing

--using what's at hand, even what you didn't know you had in the back of the freezer, the corner of the garden, or lost in the pantry to make a meal.  that, and a careful attunement to the seasons, to your local geography, and to the traditions in kitchens near and far pretty much comprise everything i think you need to cook really delicious food, really simply.

i'm not saying it's easy.  being a good cook, like being a good anything, takes practice, patience, and presence.  but it's simple.  stick with it, and you'll get it a lot sooner than you think.

with that in mind, i'm going to start writing more about food here.  more recipes, more stories about how to put together a meal, and hopefully, more nice pictures.  let's start here with this lovely eggplant, zucchini, and tomato tian i made last week.

tian, like cassoulet, is the name for both the earthenware dish and the particular food that's cooked in it.  a true tian dish is a shallow, rectangular terra cotta dish into which a mixture of summer vegetables is layered, and then baked until caramelized, sweet and soft.

whereas a gratin is comprised of sliced vegetables (often potatoes) layered horizontally and then baked, the vegetables in a tian are shingled almost vertically, at about a sixty degree angle.

a classic tian starts with a base of sweated onions, and then alternating layers of eggplant, zucchini, and tomato are assembled onto it.  torn leaves of basil and paper-thin slices of garlic, as well as abundant salt, find their way into the dish before it's doused with a healthy dose of good olive oil and sent into a hot oven.

last week i found myself in a friend's kitchen, where she'd started stockpiling ripe early-girl tomatoes from the garden.  she was drowning in them, unsure of how to use them all up, so over the course of a few days i made swift work of scores of tomatoes--in sauce, salad, and this tian--so that by the time i left she was ready to face the plant and harvest another round to try her own hand at some tomato sauce.

we took a trip to the farmer's market, where i picked up:

3 medium italian eggplants

4 medium zucchini

3 medium red onions

1 bunch basil

in her pantry, i found:

good olive oil

salt

1 head garlic

from the garden, i used:

about 10 early girl tomatoes (or, about 5 heirloom tomatoes)

recipe

preheat oven to 400°F.

sliced and brown the onions with olive oil and salt, then place them into the bottom of a 9x13" (or thereabouts) earthenware or pyrex dish.

slice the eggplant, zucchini, and tomatoes into 1/4-1/2" slices.  it doesn't matter which thickness you decide upon, as long as you're consistent throughout.

pick the basil leaves.

peel the garlic and slice it.

season the sliced vegetables with salt, then layer into the dish at about a 60° angle, in shingled rows.  after every other row, tuck in a few torn basil leaves.  after every third row, tuck in a few slices of garlic.  make sure neither the basil nor the garlic is exposed to prevent it from burning.

when you get to the end of the dish, stick your hand flat against the final layer of vegetables and scoot it in tightly to compact the tian, then continue building.  do it again when you get to the end, until the dish is tightly packed with layers of vegetables.

drizzle generously with olive oil, and another pinch of salt for good luck, and then throw it into the oven, on a low-ish rack.

after about 20 minutes, take a look,  if it looks dry on top, add some more oil.  use a spatula to compress the vegetables down and let any dry parts (particularly dry eggplant) soak up some of the bubbling juices.

rotate the pan if it looks like it needs it.

keep cooking, and checking, and compressing with the spatula, until the juices have been released and then reabsorbed and reduced, and all of the vegetables are thoroughly cooked and caramelized.  if you cut the pieces into fatties like i did here, it can take about 90 minutes.  hey, i never said this was gonna be quick.

check it with a skewer if you're not sure it's done.  the eggplant should absolutely not resist in any way.

pull the finished tian out of the oven and let it rest for about 10 minutes before serving.  eat it with bread, fish, and a glass of rosé and call it a day.