Hey guys!
I missed this. Furey & the Feast is back, kinda, albeit with technical difficulties and all kinds of editorial dysfunction. (Where did the time go?) The redesign still in the works, but hey, we’ll go ahead as planned. An FAQ will be posted later this week explaining some of the editorial changes. In the meantime, if you think it looks exactly the same in here as it did before, well, you’re right. But we’re working through the chaos backstage, and it’ll happen, I promise!

So without further ado, here’s this week’s recipe. The following is from my Food 101 column in The Orange County Register: a sweet take on the classic grilled cheese sandwich. For best results, serve it with ice cream, whipped cream, chocolate sauce — or all of the above — and a tall glass of Champagne.

GRILLED CHEESE GOES SWEET

Do you remember the first time you tasted a grilled cheese sandwich? I do – and it wasn’t pretty. My childhood experience consisted of two cellophane-wrapped slices of that ubiquitous neon cheese, sandwiched between white bread, all of which was promptly nuked in the microwave for a handful of seconds until the cheese had melted. What resulted wasn’t quite a “grilled cheese” as it was a soggy, gooey mass, bordered by a rigid crust that only a superhero could munch through.

It had my mouth watering every single time.

Of course, back then, I was easier to please. Anything made with processed cheese was welcome to my hungry belly. But when I eventually tasted a real grilled cheese, there was no turning back to this microwaved monstrosity. That crisp, buttery bread; the way the warm, creamy cheddar sticks to the roof of your mouth when you take your first bite. In those lunchtime or dinner moments, there are few things in the world that are simpler and more satisfying than a classic grilled cheese sandwich. Unless, of course, you have one for dessert.

This dessert grilled cheese still has all of the typical grilled cheese components, though in different forms: Angel food cake stands in for regular bread, brie takes the place of American cheddar cheese, and balsamic strawberries are added to sweeten the sandwich up even more. If you’re not making angel food cake from scratch, you can buy it pre-made from your local supermarket. Some markets will carry “angel food bars” which are essentially loaves, and these are easier to slice into uniform pieces than the characteristic ringed cakes. Angel food cake also grills beautifully, and because of its small crumb, yields an even golden-brown crust. Flexing your creative muscles can be very, very delicious.

For this recipe, you’ll need is a nonstick frying pan, a non-metal spatula and a pastry brush, the latter to use with the melted butter. If you don’t have a pastry brush, you can always blot the butter onto the cake with a paper towel. Just be gentle, and make sure you cover the slice’s entire surface.

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This story originally appeared in The Orange County Register.

The homely russet potato is not much to look at — especially when you compare it to the swirling architectural beauty of a head of Romanesco broccoli, or the seductive lipstick-red of a radish. But the russet’s allure lies beneath its skin: a creamy, unblemished flesh so versatile, it can transform into a bevy of appetizing eats using just about any cooking method invented.

Yes, these grubby little tubers clean up real nice.

One of my favorite russet makeovers is the galette, where potatoes take a cue from the Romanesco’s structural swirl. To make a galette, potatoes are cut into thin slices, then arranged in an overlapping spiral to form a circular tart. Between potato layers, you can use your imagination to add aromatics, herbs and cheese to flavor. I love the combination of onions, garlic and rosemary — it’s a fragrant classic that never disappoints in a potato dish. This combo also works well if you plan to serve the galette with meaty main courses like beef and lamb.

Now, it’s true that traditional galettes are prepared with a pastry crust, but this isn’t necessary when you’re using russet potatoes. When the galette is baked, the potato slices act as both crust and filling — the top and bottom layers crisp and brown into a crust all its own, while the galette’s center remains pillowy and light. After baking, the galette is inverted to showcase a smooth, even surface of golden potato goodness. (And I promise, inverting it is a lot easier than you may think.)

There are a few methods for making a potato galette, but the breeziest is baking with a nonstick cookie sheet. The sheet acts as a blank, wide canvas for you to create your masterpiece, and the Teflon coating keeps individual potato slices from sticking to the sheet when you eventually flip the galette over onto a serving plate.

This is also a recipe where you can brush up your knife skills. Making thin, wispy potato slices may take a bit of patience if you’re a newbie, but the end result is well worth it. And don’t worry if your slices are uneven or slivered. You can arrange slices to mask these imperfections – but only if you want. In my experience, the flawed, rustic galettes are the best ones. (more…)

If you’ve been around long enough, you may have noticed things are getting a bit green in here, what with a salad and a broccoli rabe-heavy spaetzle as my last two recipe posts. Green just seems like the thing to do in the middle of February. Maybe it’s a subconscious thing to counteract all that V-day red we’ve been seeing, or maybe I’m jumping the gun into March. Either way, it just feels right.

These recipes were inspired by the simple pear, basil and parmesan salad I made for L.A.’s Stir It 28 event for Haiti last weekend (that of which I adapted from Leite’s Culinaria). People really seemed to like the combination of pear and basil.

For those not familiar with Stir It 28, read the rundown here. A handful of dedicated and super-friendly food bloggers, caterers and chefs descended on Greg/SippitySup’s lovely Hollywood Hills kitchen in the name of Haiti. (I’m compelled to mention here that Greg has excellent taste in knives. Shun, baby.) We cooked for an estimated 75 guests, all whom donated to the Stir It 28 Haiti fund. For more coverage of the L.A. event, visit the Duo Dishes, The Food Addicts, Uncouth Gourmands, South Bay Rants n Raves and Domestic Divas. (I’ll add more links as they come in!) If you didn’t attend the event, you can still donate to the cause by visiting Flanboyant Eats or CocoCooks and clicking on the logo. All proceeds benefit Share Our Strength and Yele Haiti. Donations will be accepted until Feb. 28.

So back to the recipe: The pesto portion of these recipes can be doubled, tripled – quadrupled even – to suit your needs. And if you have more than an hour on your hands, I suggest cooking the onions down until they’re really browned — not just a golden brown. The darker they are, the sweeter they will be.

PEAR AND PESTO CROSTINI
Yield: 2 to 3 servings (or if you’re me, 1 serving)

• 1/2 loaf French bread
• 2 cups packed basil leaves
• 1 clove garlic
• 1/4 cup pine nuts
• 1/4 cup Pecorino Romano
• 3 tablespoons your best olive oil
• Salt and pepper, to taste
• 1 Bosc pear

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Slice French loaf into 1/2-inch-thick slices, and brush (or spray, if you have one of those nifty Misto things) with olive oil. Place slices on baking sheet and toast in oven for 10-15 minutes, or until edges are a deep golden brown. Remove from oven and set aside.
2. While those are in the oven, make your pesto. In a food processor, combine basil leaves, garlic clove, pine nuts and Romano cheese. Pulse until pesto is coarse in texture, like coarse sand. Add in olive oil and process until fully incorporated. Taste. Add salt and pepper, if needed. Scrape pesto into a serving bowl or dish and set aside. (You should have about 3/4 cup.)
3. Cut pear into thin slices and place on a platter with crostini and pesto. To assemble: Spread pesto over crostini and top with pear and fresh ground black pepper, if desired. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for skirt steak/caramelized onion recipe.)

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My apologies for the light posting today. I can barely keep my eyes open — let alone attempt to say something with wit — because of all the meds I’m on right now. All I can offer you is this salad, and if my memory serves me well, it was a good one at that.

This peppery salad is the last thing I could taste before a nasty sinus infection set in and rendered my taste buds useless. But it could have been worse. The last thing I ate could have been something awful, like Brussels sprouts or a bowl of frozen peas. I thank my lucky stars.

It’s been a few days and I still can’t taste anything, but the memory of this simple salad still lives on. I loved the crouton-sized roasted sweet potatoes, which lent a sunny vibe to an otherwise wintery salad. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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I’m not gonna lie. This isn’t a gourmet dish that came about through many moons of research and testing. It was birthed when its parents, desperation and craving, met late one night in a refrigerator half-stocked with vegetables my mother has never heard of and more booze than I would ever care to tell her about. We all know that chance encounters sometimes don’t work out, but on that night, desperation and craving were at the right place at the right time. It was love at first sight.

Desperation wanted to use all of the ingredients in the kitchen that were on their last legs. Craving wanted nothing more than a giant bowl of wiggly spaetzle — the same spaetzle that caused a young culinary student (ahem) to hide in a corner of the kitchen storeroom while shoveling it into her mouth with her bare hands.

Together, desperation and craving created a meal with echoes of that curious day when three-quarters of the spaetzle mysteriously disappeared from the Culinary Arts 122 class. Only this time, there was broccoli rabe, prosciutto and toasted pine nuts to share the spotlight. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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My column ran today in The Orange County Register print edition today. It’s not available online, so I’ve posted it here. Thanks for reading!
*****
Every year, we look forward to the annual holiday eating rituals: A golden, grand dame of a turkey, savory sides and a sweet finale with pumpkin pie front and center. (And if you’re household is like mine, the obligatory post-feast nap follows soon after.)

Though there’s nothing wrong with these traditions, why not mix it up a bit? This year, you may want to surprise your guests by serving pumpkin pie at the beginning of the meal instead of at dessert. How? By turning it into a soup. The transformation can be made even easier by using canned pumpkin instead of fresh, yielding fantastic results.

Canned food often gets a bad rap for being, well, canned. And rightly so; fresh ingredients are almost always better in recipes. But there are few exceptions to this rule, and canned pumpkin is one of them. For one, the canned variety is way easier to use. When you’ve got your hands full with roasting a bird and preparing sides to go with it, chopping, boiling and mashing fresh pumpkin isn’t making the best use of your time. Tip: When buying canned pumpkin, make sure you’re getting “pumpkin puree” instead of “pumpkin pie mix,” which is offered in similar-sized cans with almost identical labels.

This recipe yields a spicy soup that’s just reminiscent enough of a pumpkin pie to seem like a before-dinner treat, but packs enough savory ingredients to warrant it a place as a starter or first course. And with the welcome addition of bacon, cream and butter (necessary ingredients for happiness, in my opinion), everyone’s a winner.

The following long list of ingredients may look intimidating, but I promise the procedures are quite simple: You simply cook everything in one pot. If you have a formal party and want an elegant soup, you can puree it for a soft, velvety texture. But it’s just as good when left as a hearty, rustic soup.

When I make this soup, I like to serve it with pie crust “crackers” on the side. Take some ready-made pie dough (or homemade, if you have it), roll it out and use cookie cutters to cut rounds from the dough. Bake rounds on a baking sheet according to package directions.

Another fun way to serve this soup is in shot glasses. If there are appetizers before dinner, you can easily slide a tray of these onto any table, and guests can help themselves to pumpkin soup shooters. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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Every now and then I wish I could poke little children with spoons. Why? Because there are few things in this world that we like to see inflated. A soufflé is one of them. A bratty little puffy-cheeked child is not.

Somewhere in time, children learned that the way to personal satisfaction was to fold one’s arms, inflate your cheeks and take as deep a breath as your little lungs will allow. You’d hold your breath until you got your way, no matter what kaleidoscope color action was happening on your face. Often, there would be a pleading parent in the immediate vicinity. This is called the Face-Off, and it ends horribly each time — with either a passed-out toddler or a bruised adult ego.

Ego-wounded adults, this is where spoons come in. We know that poking any soufflé with a spoon results with its collapse almost upon contact. My clever mother knew that the only way to deflate me during these patience-trying times was to poke me — lightly, but firm — with a spoon (or a pointer finger, if a spoon was not available). This resulted in giggles, which signaled that I had started breathing again. Mom, 1, me, 0. The experiment concluded with positive results every single time.

Children and souffles weren’t meant to remain inflated for long periods of time; they have to depuff at some point. With both subjects,  a little prodding allows the depuffication to happen sooner rather than later. I hope this information is helpful to the moms and dads who suffer through the public tantrums of their children (like the family I ran into at the supermarket a few months ago).

(Click “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe)

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When someone yells “FIRE!!” from your walk-in closet, one of two things can happen: You’ll either respond in ways that would make a ninja press his hands together and bow, or you’ll trip, faceplant, and yell back something totally unintelligible. How do I know?

So I’m in my kitchen measuring ingredients for a friend’s wedding cake (full rundown next week), elbows deep in cake flour and with a 38-pound tub of high-ratio shortening at my feet. I had hired Robert the Repairman to hook up the stackable gas washer/dryer I bought off of Craigslist (which by the way: not recommended.)

It was a totally uneventful evening until that frantic call-to-action of “FIRE!!” was put into place. I dropped my sifter and in an effort to bypass 38-pounds of fat, I tripped over my own toes and faceplanted slow-motion style into the speckled Berber carpet, rug-burning my lips in the process.

But I got up! I got up and as slowly as I seemed to fall, I yelled a stretched “WHAAAAT?” in the general direction of where smoke was now wafting from.

Robert the Repairman came running into the kitchen and together we filled glasses of tap water and ran back to the closet, where flames and ashes were shooting out of the dryer’s drum. And all the while I’m thinking, I’ve owned this home for a week and already it’s burning down?

Luckily, it only took a few minutes to put the fire out. Then we moved the behemoth appliance outta my house and waited for the Craiglist guy to pick it up. I got my money back (thank goodness), but I’m still working on my sanity.

So how do you go back to sifting flour after something like that? Well, you don’t.

Catastrophes give me the munchies, and all I wanted to do was eat away the buzz that was coming from my nerves. After that debacle, the question wasn’t “how long are my clothes going to smell like burning lint,” but rather “what am I going to stuff my wounded lips with?”

The answer was pie. Pie heals all wounds.

One of the first things I did on the day I moved into this place was make an apple pie for the sole purpose of watching it cool on my very first pie window. At various times of the week, I would be a geek and take it out of the fridge to place it on the pie window – just so I could see it there again. The whole pie was still sitting in the fridge, so I pulled it onto the counter and ravaged most of it like it was the last time I’d ever eat pie. Crisis-driven hunger solved. Lack of sanity, however, is another story. (Click on “Read the rest of this entry” for recipe.)

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