ceviche verde: or how to bring the beaches of Luquillo to your kitchen

Today is grey.
Today is rainy and grey.
The light coming through my window even has a dull grey tint to it.
The world outside is dull and muted.

...But that doesn't mean that your day will be a grey, dull one.
Today could be green.
Today, you could make ceviche.

As I mentioned in my last post, I survived mainly on ceviche during my recent getaway to Puerto Rico.  I ordered it every chance I got, comparing the different marinades and ingredients.  The best ceviche I had was in Luquillo at a tiny beachfront shack called the Ceviche Hut.  They make traditional Peruvian ceviche serving it with sweet corn and baked sweet potato, but added a giant fried plantain on the side just to make sure you hadn't forgotten you're in Puerto Rico.  I ordered their octopus dish, since I had never had one before and it intrigued me - I know that cooking octopus with heat is difficult and it can easily turn tough and chewy if you don't do it right, so I wasn't sure what the acid would do or not do to the texture.  But the octopus was prepared perfectly, tender and light, and full of flavor.  The plain corn and sweet potato worked wonderfully to cut through and balance the acid in the marinade.


A big part of the reason this was my favorite ceviche was because I ate it out of a styrofoam container while sitting right on the sand of Luquillo beach, sipping a mojito and watching the sun set behind the palms.  Might be my favorite meal of the weekend.  If you get the chance, I highly recommend making the trip just for this experience.  However, if you can't eat ceviche on the beaches of Luquillo this week, you can bring the ceviche to you...

Since ceviche deals with raw fish, I didn't want to wing it and screw up this simple, but delicate process.  So, like I do with most things I'm unsure about, I did a bunch of research.  I looked at a ton of recipes online until I found this one for a ceviche verde (green marinade made from lime juice) from the New York Times -it looked easy and incredibly delicious.  While it is very different from the ones I had on the island, I was excited to use a preparation that I hadn't tried yet - plus, it fit in with the green kick I've been on recently. The avocado and fresh radishes take the place of the corn and sweet potato in balancing the acid...though I think next time I'll do a combination - maybe corn, avocado, and sweet potato salad.

A few quick notes -
1) I left out the cilantro from the original recipe because my dad hates it.  So if you're not a fan either, it doesn't completely change the integrity of the dish if you leave it out.  I did add a tablespoon or so of chopped basil to add that fresh, herby greenness.
2) Make sure you get your fishmonger to take the skin off the fish, or have a really sharp filet knife at home.  I did neither, which resulted in a bit of a mess, and hacked, mangled chunks of fish.  Though, while they weren't the prettiest cuts of fish, they still tasted lovely.
3) The recipe recommends serving the ceviche on top of a tostada - a deep fried corn tortilla.  However, I didn't want a greasy, heavy base to weigh down the light, brightness of the fish.  So, I found a recipe for a baked tostada - brush both sides of a corn tortilla with olive oil, then bake on a tinfoil lined baking sheet at 400 degrees for five minutes on each side.  The result is a light, crispy tostada that adds a beautiful crunchy texture without the greasiness of a traditional tostada.

fighting the winter funk: or i am so sick of being cold.

These past two months have been a bit of a blur - a grey, cold, dark, snowy blur.  This is the winter that just won't give up.  During February it wasn't too terrible.  I mean, technically it's still winter so freezing cold and snow is expected.  Plus, it's my birthday month, so I'm more focused on myself and making sure everyone around me is also focused entirely on me and my happiness.  Both in an attempt to battle the weather and as an outward expression of the joy I was feeling on the inside, my February kitchen was full of warmth - soups and stews, lots of bread and baked goods, golden browns and oranges and deep reds.  However, as February came to a close, my longing and yearning for spring and warmer weather became much more intense, and when March failed to deliver, I fell into a deep psychological and culinary depression.  I was getting sick of constantly being cold.  I was sick of being stuck inside.  I was sick of heavy stews and soups.  I was sick of squash and cauliflower and mushrooms and sprouts and thyme and sage and rosemary.  I was just so terribly sick of winter.

I wasn't the only one feeling the winter blues.  And mid-way through March, my family decided to make an impromptu weekend getaway to Puerto Rico.  Now let me just say, this is completely out of character for us.  We normally plan vacations for moooooonths, doing tons of research and scheduling every day, jam-packing our itinerary to make sure we do everything we possibly can.  And we never ever go anywhere tropical.  Our vacations are usually educational, meaning we visit somewhere with lots of history, museums and culture, all of which we need to experience in a five day span.  However, this vacation was planned on the fly with the sole intention of spending three days doing nothing but laying out on the beach drinking cocktails.  Which is exactly what we did.  Alright, fine, we did spend a day exploring the rain forest and getting dinner in Old San Juan, but otherwise all I did was snooze on the beach and drink muchos margaritas.

In addition to a pukka necklace and a sunburn, I came home with a sunnier and more positive disposition.  The vivid colors and lushness of the island - such a stark contrast to the grey mundane, barrenness of home - seemed to shock me back to life.  And the food!  Everything was so bright and fresh and light that my taste buds were awoken along with the rest of me.  While much of the Puerto Rican cuisine is meat-and-cheese laden and deep fried (sometimes multiple times), I ate some incredible foods (my dad and I basically lived on ceviche - fish, shrimp, octopus, scallop, you name it, we ate it) and encountered some insane flavor combinations (my favorite thing I ate was poached halibut with a mango-sun-dried-tomato-mint sauce, mainly because I never thought that those ingredients would taste good together, but by god, they were ridiculously delicious).

And even though it was freezing cold and snowing when we landed back home, it didn't bring me down.  I realized that instead of being completely affected by and a slave to my environment, I needed to take control.  While Winter may still be holding on out of doors, I've decided to bring Spring into my kitchen.  I'm on a big green kick - peas, basil, broccoli, spinach, edamame, mint, lime, and avocado - all fresh and bright on the plate and on the palate.  And with the lightening of my dishes and my diet, I feel the heaviness of the winter-funk lifting.  It's incredible what a little change in diet can do for you physically and psychologically...but let's be honest, I won't be back to myself completely until the farm market season starts back up.  And it can't come soon enough...41 days and counting...

thai-peanut-baked-sweet-potato-mash: or quick-fire dinners.

As I've mentioned before, I love the throw-together dinners.  They're way better than the ones that I plan for days and make special grocery runs for.  My best creations are usually conceived on nights when a grocery run has been overlooked and I need to make dinner with leftover ingredients from planned-dinners and whatever I can find hidden in cupboards and the far reaches of the fridge.  Again, for someone basically spontaneous-less in life, flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants in the kitchen always seems to work out beautifully.

And sometimes, when throwing together a dinner, you get an absolutely fabulous idea in your head, but then you try to execute it and you mess something up in the middle and you have to be at work in a half hour, so you have to completely abandon your original idea and come up with an alternative on the spot.  It's like a Top Chef quickfire except you've got ten minutes instead of a half hour and if you fail you don't get dinner. And sometimes, those quickfire dinners are dishes that you would have never created otherwise, and which are way better than the seemingly "absolutely fabulous" idea you started out with.

And so, I present to you, my latest quickfire dinner: Thai-peanut-baked-sweet-potato-mash (I'll come up with a better name at some point...)  I mean, you could have it as a side-dish, but it's way better as your whole dinner. Slice some avocado on top and drink a glass of a big Cab, and bam!  That's your dinner right there, baby.

thai-peanut-baked-sweet-potato-mash
makes four very generous servings

3 large sweet potatoes
2 heaping tbs peanut butter (I used Earth Balance creamy coconut-peanut butter)
3 scallions, chopped (plus a little extra for garnish)
1 small red onion, minced
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbs fresh grated ginger
¼ cup soy sauce
2 tbs Thai chili sauce
sriracha
red pepper flakes

+ Preheat the oven to 400 degrees.
+ Using a fork or pairing knife, poke the potatoes all over (take out all your angst/anger/frustration from the day/week/year on those potatoes, it's cathartic and will help the potatoes cook faster). Wrap each potato in tin foil individually and place on a baking sheet.  Bake for an hour or until the potatoes are tender.
+ While the potatoes are cooking, combine peanut butter, scallions, onions, garlic, ginger, soy, and chili sauce in a large bowl.  Give it a quick mix, just to combine.
+ When the potatoes are finished cooking, allow them to cool for a few minutes, just until you're able to handle them without burning your fingers.  Cut each potato in half, then remove the skins (they should peel off very easily, but if they're a little tougher, use a spoon to scrape them off).  Then cut the halves into big chunks and add to the bowl with the peanut mixture.
+ Combine the potatoes with the peanut mixture using a potato masher until gently mashed and well combined (I liked leaving some nice bite-sized chunks of potato, but you can make it as mashed or un-mashed as you'd like).  Add the sriracha to taste.
+ Transfer potatoes to a medium baking dish.  Put under the broiler until the peaks of the potatoes begin to brown, about 10 minutes.
+ Serve warm right from the oven, garnished with scallions and red pepper flakes for added heat.

how i spent my snow day: or this is as spontaneous as i get.

I don't consider myself much of a baker.  I find that baking tends to be restrictive creatively.  For instance, if you forget to salt a filet of salmon before you bake it, you can always salt it when it comes out, or even right at the table after you've already had a bite.  If you forget to put salt in your country loaf dough, well, too bad, there's no fixing that one.  There's more careful planning and less spontaneity in baking - which is kind of ironic, since outside the kitchen I am the over-planner-to-a-fault and tend to stay as far away from spontaneity as possible.  However, there are some days that just beg for baking.  On days when I'm overwhelmingly anxious and I've gone through all the tools in my anti-anxiety toolbox but nothing is working, I bake muffins.  There's something about following a recipe entirely, not using your brain, focusing all your thoughts on making sure everything's right, and then in the end, being rewarded with a beautifully golden-brown creation.  Instead of having my anxiety take over, I use it to produce something lovely.  No matter how out of control your life feels, you can put flour and sugar and eggs and oil and baking powder and a little salt in a bowl, mix it up, bake it, and they'll rise and magically become muffins.  Its a wonderful thing.

snowdaylove.

The other times when baking takes my fancy are snow days - what better time to bake than when it's cold outside and you're stuck inside and there are big fat fluffy flakes floating past the kitchen window?  While high-anxiety breeds muffins, snow days breed scones and quick breads.  Don't ask me why, I don't make the rules, it's just how it works, okay?  Today was one such snow day.  Since Ol' Man Winter had confined me to the house, I did a quick inventory of the cupboards, seeing what ingredients I had to work with.  Since my anxiety has been pretty much in check this week and I had the whole day's time, I was up for a bit of baking-experimentation.  There were a couple of ripe bananas sitting out on the counter, I decided to start with a basic banana bread and then work off of that.  I love putting dried fruit in baked goods - it's so lovely when you get that bite with a little bit of sweetness and change in texture, but for me, there's never enough of it.  We always have a smorgasbord of dried fruits in the house, so that wasn't going to be an issue.  But what's fun or interesting about banana bread with dried fruits in it?  I did one more quick scan of the kitchen, including the fridge this time.  Which is where I found the carrots, buried underneath a carton of mushrooms and bag of lemons.  Carrot-banana bread with an obnoxious amount of dried fruits? Done.

I looked for a carrot-banana bread recipe (I may have been in an experimental mood, but I wasn't insane), but couldn't find one - well, at least one that wasn't a cake.  I decided to use a zucchini-banana bread recipe, tweak it to my liking, and then pray it'd come out as good as it was in my head.  And, not to brag or anything, but it was even better.  It wasn't a particularly sweet bread, but the dried fruit was a great balance, giving it just the right amount of sugar. At the last minute before baking, I decided to crush some raw almonds, mix them with a little cinnamon and brown sugar, and sprinkle them on top.  Let me tell you, best spontaneous baking decision I've ever made - it made the top super crunchy, which was a nice pairing with the soft, fluffy base.  I think this may just become my new go-to snow day baking recipe.

Carrot-Banana Bread
makes 2 loaves

3 cups AP flour
1½ tsp baking powder
1½ tsp baking soda
1 tsp cinnamon
½ tsp nutmeg
1 tsp salt
4 eggs
just shy 2 cups sugar
1 tbs honey
2 ripe bananas, mashed
1½ cups carrots, shredded
2 cups dried fruit, chopped (I used a mix of golden raisins, cranberries, figs, dates, and apricots)
¼ cups raw almonds, chopped
2 tbs brown sugar

+ Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Grease two loaf pans.
+ In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt.
+ In another bowl, whisk the eggs until broken.  Add the sugar and honey and whisk until smooth and creamy.  Add the bananas and stir until combined.
+ Combine half the dry ingredients with the wet.  Stir with a spatula or wooden spoon until just combined.  Add the rest of the dry and mix, but stop while there's still flour and its a little clumpy.  Add the carrot and dried fruit, then fold until just combined.
+ Divide the batter evenly between the two pans.  Bake for 50 minutes, or until a toothpick can be removed cleanly from the middle of the breads. (Note: I baked the loaves on the same rack, one in the back and one up front, then halfway through the baking, spun the pans and switched their positions to ensure even baking.)
+ Allow the breads to cool in their pans for 10 minutes, then remove from pan and transfer to a cooling rack to cool completely...well, not completely.  Let it cool for like five minutes, then cut that baby open while its still steaming, smear a little bit of butter on top, let it melt into the soft, fluffy insides and then enjoy this delicious snow day loveliness with big cup of coffee.

"well when i was in africa": or beth's birthday week stew

We're really big into birthdays in my family.  Like they're a big deal.  Like they last a whole week deal (sometimes I try to milk it out for an entire month, but the rest of the gang rarely indulges).  And this week is all about my mother, Beth Ellen.  Her birthday isn't until Friday, but the celebrations have already begun.  Yesterday, my brother spent the better part of the afternoon concocting a special cocktail for the birthday girl - an orange creamsicle martini.  It required many variations and much taste testing, but he nailed it just in time to greet the birthday girl as she got home from work with a drink.  While she was enjoying her cocktail, I was putting the finishing touches on her specially-chosen dinner.

Now normally when I ask my mother what she wants for dinner, she gets frustrated.  Mainly because I ask her everyday.  Usually more than once.  And usually before 10 AM.  But this time it was Beth who called me for the dinner-prep chat.  Before I could get done saying hello, she cut me off with "I want that African stew tonight."  I had stumbled across a recipe for a West African peanut stew a few weeks ago and immediately showed it to Beth - not only does she love stew and all things peanutty, but she has a very strong attachment to Africa.  About ten years ago, she had her first of many trips to Africa - participating in a walk for the Elizabeth Glazier Pediatric AIDS Foundation in South Africa.  I think she really fell in love with the country, especially the people that she met.  She couldn't stop talking about it.  I'd leave her alone for five minutes in the grocery store and next thing I know she's turned to the bag boy going, "Well, when I was in Africa..."  (a decade later and we still tease her relentlessly about it).  So, on a foggy, rainy birthday-week night, this stew seemed like the most perfect thing to have for dinner.

Beth's Birthday Stew

olive oil

1 medium red onion, chopped

2 tbs ginger, minced

3 cloves garlic, minced

¾ cup unsalted, smooth peanut butter

½ cup tomato paste

6 cups vegetable stock 

1 bunch collard greens, chopped

sriracha

salt & pepper

+ In a large pot, heat oil over medium-high heat.  Add the onions, stir so that they are evenly covered with oil.  Salt generously and continue to cook, stirring occasionally.  Once the onions are translucent, add the ginger and garlic.  Add a little bit of stock - this not only deglazes the pot and prevents burning, but it helps to create a nice base for the stew.  Once the onions are caramelized and the mixture is nice and thick, add the rest of the stock.  Turn the heat up and bring to a low boil.

+ While the onions are cooking down, combine peanut butter and tomato paste in a large bowl.  Add a couple ladles-full of hot stock from the pot into the bowl.  Stir until smooth, adding more hot stock if necessary.

+ Turn the heat to low, then add the peanut-tomato mixture to the pot, stirring until well combined.  Add the collards, cooking until the greens are wilted, stirring occasionally.  Salt, pepper, and sriracha to taste - but let's be honest, the more spice the better.

+ Serve to the birthday girl warm and garnished with peanuts in a orange clay bowl.  Pour over brown rice or slop it up with a big hunk of crusty bread or both.

potato waffle with thai chili sauce: or have i mentioned i really miss germany?

Quintessential Christmas Market.

So I'm not sure if I've made this clear or not, but I've been missing Germany a whole lot.  Maybe it's the end of the holiday season, or being back to work full-time, or this horrifically cold and nasty winter weather, or the fact that I've started to go a little stir crazy from being cooped up so much...whatever it is, there seems to be a gaping void in my heart that I'm having trouble filling.  It's the markets that I really miss, and while I can't re-create the experience in my living room, I've gotten pretty-damn close in my kitchen.

The market night that sticks out most in my mind is the one spent in Dusseldorf.  It was my first market, my first mug of gluhwein, and my first taste of traditional German fare.  I wasn't familiar with much of the food being sold in the stalls (flammkuchen: essentially a German version of a flatbread pizza) or with their foreign names (heisse maronen: hot chestnuts), but there was one food that I was very familiar with - kartoffelpuffer.

Me in my bier maiden get-up.

Every October we have a big Oktoberfest weekend-long celebration at the restaurant where I work; our brewers make huge batches of Pilsner and our signature Oktoberfest; the staff dresses up like idiots in "traditional" German garb (see photo); and the chefs re-do the menu with entirely German flair - we had a giant slab of wood piled high with various wursts, spatzel, sauerkraut, and, my personal favorite, the potato pancake, the kartoffelpuffer...mainly because its was so much fun to say.  Kar-toof-el-poof-er.  Whenever a table asked me what was good or what they should order, I would blurt out "kartoffelpuffer!" (lots of times before they could even finish asking me).  So, you can imagine my excitement when, walking through the Christmas Market, feeling slightly overwhelmed with all the foreign signs and people and smells, I caught sight of the first familiar thing I'd seen all day.  I may have grabbed my friend Jessica's arm, pointed and yelled "kartoffelpuffer!" causing concern in Jess and all the other market-goers.  She looked at me sideways as I said it again, a little quieter this time, "kar-toof-el-poof-er!"  "You mean kar-tofe-el-po-fer?"  Yes, I had been pronouncing it incorrectly the whole time, but the "real" pronunciation is waaaay less fun to say.  Needless to say, I dragged Jess over to the stall and made her order us a round of kartoffelpuffers.  Traditionally, they're served with applesauce, but we got the inside scoop from the teenage stall-boy who told us that you haven't had a kartoffelpuffer until you've had it with Thai chili sauce.  It sounds crazy, but by god it's amazing.  I've mentioned before the surprisingly overwhelming Asian influence in Germany, but I assumed that it was mostly in the metropolitan, newer parts of the country.  I was shocked that such a traditional dish was getting such a modern and strange spin.  But I loved it.  The salty, crunchy-on-the-outside, melt-in-your-mouth inside of the pancake paired beautifully with the sticky, sweet and wonderfully spicy chili sauce.  Add a mug of hot gluhwein and you've got a match made in heaven...or in the Dusseldorf Christmas Market.

Yesterday, after my first day back to work after the holidays, the void seemed bigger than ever.  Stumbling aimlessly around the internet, I inadvertently happened upon a recipe for a potato waffle, and I knew that's what I needed, what might aid in dulling the ache in my chest.  I'm not huge on fried foods and even less so on frying at home (the hot oil always spits all over, which always makes a mess of the stove and burns me at least ten times), so the waffle was the perfect way to get the kartoffelpuffer crunchy, yet soft consistency without having to fry.  I even made a special stop at the grocery store for Thai chili sauce.  And topped it with a poached egg, cause, I mean, why not?  And, oh, it was so good.  I mean, definitely not as good as having them made right in front of you, then eating them on the bar on the side of the stall in the middle of the market in Dusseldorf, but on a freezing, post-holiday night, it's the best way to fill the little hole in your heart.

Potato Waffle - adapted from Joy the Baker

4 tbs butter
¼ cup buttermilk
2 eggs
2 cups mashed potatoes
½ cup all-purpose flour
½ tsp baking powder
¼ tsp baking soda
½ tsp curry powder
Thai chili sauce
salt and pepper

+ In a small sauce pan, melt butter over medium-low heat.  Cook until the butter crackles and begins to brown.  Immediately transfer browned butter into a large bowl.  Whisk in buttermilk and eggs until well combined.  Mix in mashed potatoes.
+ In a small bowl, whisk together flour, baking powder, soda, and curry.  Add the dry ingredients to the wet and mix until just combined.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.
+ Heat waffle iron and grease well to prevent sticking.  Drop about a ¼ cup of batter into the middle of the iron.  Cook until brown and crispy on the outside.  Remove from iron carefully (they're super delicate!) and place on cooling rack to prevent the bottoms from getting soggy.
+ To serve, drizzle with Thai chili sauce and top with poached egg.  Best consumed standing out in the cold with hot mug of gluhwein.

my winter obsession: or taking chestnuts from strangers

It all started on a chilly Sunday this past November.  It seemed as though the Indian summer had finally run its course, and it was just starting to truly feel like autumn - the perfect day to take a long drive, look at the changing leaves, and hit up a winery (while I may not be religious, my father and I religiously stop at one of the many wineries in the area for our traditional Sunday tasting.  And yes, the employees of such establishments may be on a first name basis with us, though they have yet to waive the tasting fee *cough cough*).  These drives, while not completely aimless, tend to be meandering, allowing for a bit of discovery, spontaneity, and the unexpected.  On this particular day, we stumbled upon a barn sale.  What we thought was going to be yard sale-esque ended up being a local artist selling his found-art work in a barn (complete with a dozen scruffy, scrappy cats and a couple of old sheep) - sculptures made from bits of barn wood, antique toys and old farm equipment; intricate paintings made on scraps of metal that were lying around the barn; wood carvings from his days as a shop teacher...but I digress.  The best part (and the reason I'm telling you all this) was the chestnuts.  Yes, the chestnuts.  So, as I'm walking around this old farm, looking at all this incredible art, the wrinkled, greying farmer/artist, comes and stands next to me, and without any prompt or explanation, pulls his hand out of his pocket, holds it out to me and says, "Chestnut?"  Now, normally I'm a bit wary of anything that comes out of a strange man's pockets, but something in me said that yes, yes I really  did want a chestnut.  It was still warm from the fire and his pockets, cracked open easily between my numb fingers to reveal the delicate, fleshy meat within, which melted like buttah in my mouth...After that I may or may not have spent the rest of our time there hopefully trailing the poor man, waiting for him to offer me another chestnut.  Which he did.  Until his pockets were empty.

Barn. Art. & Roasting Chestnuts.

Awkwardly happy about chestnuts.

There was something so beautiful, romantic, quaint, and terribly singular about the whole experience that I went right home and tried to recreate this unique and irreplaceable moment again in my kitchen.  No matter how many batches of chestnuts I bought, I could never get them to open as easily or be as soft and buttery as the ones from the farmer's pockets.  The closest I came was at the Christmas Market in Dusseldorf - to be honest, it was less about the actual chestnuts themselves and more about the experience, walking the cobble-stoned streets of the Altstadt, warm chestnuts wrapped in paper in one hand and steaming gluhwein in the other.  Another experience that I have yet to adequately recreate - though I did find a recipe for gluhwein that is so spot on that after the first sip I thought for a fleeting moment I had been magically transported back to Germany...I hadn't, but it's damn good.

I hadn't realized the possibility and versatility of this beautiful little nut past roasting until last week when I stumbled upon a Mark Bittman recipe for a chestnut soup.  Not only did it include chestnuts and was created by Bittman (the Minimalist, the Flexitarian, the Vegan Before 6), but it was vegan.  How could I not make it?  And what better night for soup than tonight, so bitterly cold with the super storm Hercules pounding down on us; with fat, fluffy flakes drifting softly past my window; with snow accumulating faster than the plows can keep up with?  Exactly.  And it was. It was perfect.  And as we speak (or I write and you read later), my mind is currently working on a way to incorporate chestnuts into a snow day breakfast...I'm thinking chestnut-banana-date smoothie, but I'll keep you updated...

A few little notes before I get to the recipe.  De-shelling the roasted chestnuts is a labor intensive process.  Its not difficult, it just takes a little time and effort.  Though here's one trick I discovered tonight that makes the whole thing much easier - place the nut on a cutting board, then place a flat plate or another cutting board on top of it and then press down until it cracks (much like what you do with a knife to peel garlic).  If you're short on time or just don't want to have to roast your own, they do sell packages or pre-cooked, pre-shelled chestnuts that are actually really very good - though you lose the way the roasting flavors your house and your soup.  Oh, and I garnished my soup with some chopped-up chestnuts tossed in ground thyme.  I liked the texture of the chestnuts in the creamy soup and I'm also mildly obsessed with thyme so it seemed appropriate (thyme tastes like coziness and warmth and I use any and every excuse to use it my dishes all winter long).

Vegan Roasted Chestnut Soup - adapted from Mark Bittman

10 large chestnuts
2 tbs olive oil
2 cups chopped celery
½ cup chopped onion
4 cups vegetable stock
salt and pepper
ground thyme

+ Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Using a sharp knife, carefully cut an X into the flat side of each chestnut.  Roast in an open pan for 10 to 15 minutes, or until the shell begins to open away from the meat.  Remove the outer and inner skins from the chestnuts while still warm.
+ Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat.  Add the celery, onion, and a good amount of salt and pepper.  Cook for about 10 minutes, or until the onion is translucent, stirring occasionally.  Add the stock and chestnuts (reserve a whole or partial chestnut for garnish if so desired), bring to a boil and cover partially.  Reduce heat and simmer until the chestnuts are mushy, about 30 minutes.
+ Puree the soup with a stick blender.  Continue to cook until desired thickness is reached.  Season to taste.
+ Serve steaming hot in big bowls on a cold, snowy night.  Top with chopped chestnut and a little dash of thyme, and pair with a deep, round glass of Spanish Cabernet Sauvignon.

vegan kimchi stew: or my german korean thanksgiving 2013

Me and Jessie pre-German Korean Thanksgiving.

A few months ago I booked a flight to Düsseldorf.  I never really had Germany on my radar as a place to visit, but when my bestest friend Jessica asked me if I wanted to come and stay with her in Dortmund, how could I not?  She teaches English to middle and high school students, so we picked two weeks at the end of her semester so that she'd be free to traipse around Deutschland.  It wasn't until days before I was leaving that I realized Thanksgiving was right smack in the middle of my German excursion.  I wasn't too troubled.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I love me some stuffing and canned cranberry sauce, but it's not like I'm never going to have another Thanksgiving again (knock on wood).  Forgoing one Thanksgiving dinner seemed like a fair trade off for two weeks in Europe.

Fortunately, I didn't have to forgo the holiday at all.  This year I had three, yes three, Thanksgiving dinners.  Albeit they were all terribly unconventional, delicious dinners spent with strange, but friendly and welcoming faces.  The first was the night I arrived in Dortmund (a week before the actual holiday), hosted by another teacher at Jessie's school, a German who spent time in America over a decade ago, fell in love with the Thanksgiving tradition, and hosts the dinner every year to show her appreciation for her family and friends.  Our host's "American Thanksgiving" staples were meatloaf and a roasted-tomato and fresh corn cornbread that, while non-traditional, was probably the best cornbread I've ever had.  Jessie and I made a turkey (her first Americans and turkey at her Thanksgiving dinner table), stuffing, Brussels sprouts with chili peppers (my addition to the meal), and fresh-pumpkin pie (which totally freaked all the Germans out.  The idea of pumpkin pie completely disgusts them, which was hard to believe, but I didn't mind, because it meant more for me).

Dinner 1 & 2.

The second dinner was at Jessie's fiance's parents' house in London.  They were worried that we would be missing America terribly during the holiday season (we weren't), so made a huge meal with turkey and gravy, mashed sweet potatoes topped with roasted butternut squash, homemade cranberry sauce with scallions and brandy, pecan pie, and my favorite dish, "roasties" - crispy, crunchy baked potatoes cooked in goose fat reserved from last year's Christmas goose.  Goose fat is vegan, right?

Kimchi stew in the foreground with our ridiculous seafood platter behind.

My Thanksgiving day dinner this year was shared with Jessica at Namu, a cozy little Korean restaurant on the cobblestone streets of Dortmund, Germany.  Stuffing and mashed potatoes were replaced with bowls of bibimbap and udon noodles.  One of the most difficult and exciting aspects of the trip was not being able to speak the language (I know, I know, I'm a jerk and an ugly American, and I really should have at least attempted to learn a little conversational German, but being thrown into a foreign country without the ability to communicate gave everything an edge and air of spontaneity and possibility.  There's something freeing about it).  Not only did this make asking for directions and chatting up the cute guy sitting at the bar next you a struggle, but it made eating out down-right impossible.  Thank God I had my fluent friend with me, so she usually took control and ordered for us, or tried her best to translate.  However, trying to decipher the Korean menu written in German had us both lost.  Thankfully, we had a very nice waitress who set us up with the most traditional dishes - my favorite of which, was a kimchi stew. Kimchi is a combination of veggies fermented using a variety of spices - it sounds scary, but the sour and slightly sweet flavor was something I had never encountered before and its delightful. 

Which is why, while perusing the Vedge cookbook I got from Santa (more on that in a later post), and I found a recipe for a vegan kimchi stew, I knew needed to make it.  While it didn't quite reach the level of the German version I had (it had big chunks of beef in it, so already, the meat-less version was going to different), it totally brought me back to Dortmund.  Its a new favorite comfort food, reminding me of a time when I was cozy and happy, sharing a phenomenal meal with a true loved one...and isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?

My vegan kimchi stew.

Vegan Kimchi Stew - from Vedge

2 tbs toasted sesame oil

½ cup diced onions

1 tbs minced garlic

4 cups chopped napa cabbage

8 cups vegetable stock

2 cups vegan kimchi

¼ cup tamari

2 tbs gochujang 

2 tsp sugar

½ cup finely chopped scallions, white and light green parts only
1 cup peeled, shredded daikon radish

+ Heat the sesame oil in a large pot over high heat until it ripples.  Add the onions and garlic, cooking until brown, about 3 to 5 minutes.
+ Add the cabbage and continue to brown for an additional 3 to 5 minutes.
+ Add the stock, kimchi with its juice, tamari, gochujang, and sugar.  Simmer for 15 minutes, stirring often.
+ Serve in big bowls, garnished with daikon and scallions.

Note - if you can't find gochujang (because I couldn't), you can mix equal parts curry paste and miso to get the same effect.

Oh, also, I allowed the stew to simmer for about an hour, since I find that the flavors develop more the longer you stew a stew.  I might have liked to even cook it down more to thicken it up.  Though I do have very high hopes for tomorrows leftovers, since a night in the fridge seems to have the same effect as hours simmering on the stove.

a year in review: or i'm baaaack!

One year.  One whole year.  To the goddamn day.

The unexpected and unplanned twelve month hiatus from blogging has proved to be terribly enlightening.  This past year has exposed me to new, exciting, and mainly uncomfortable and anxiet-inducing experiences, that have sparked personal growth and change, which has spilled over into my cooking.  I started working as a server at brewpub, a job which requires you to be social and interact with strangers, putting a fairly substantial crack in the shell of social anxiety I had been retreating into.  It also revealed the back of house world and gave me the opportunity to learn from real chefs...mainly by skulking around the kitchen and bugging them about how certain things were made.

On top of working a full-time job, I also became primary cook at home.  Instead of making the occasional elaborate dinner with homemade pastas and port-wine reductions, my dishes became simpler and more efficient time and money wise, but I still strove to keep them healthy, fresh, and full of flavor.  I got to the point where when I ate something at a restaurant or saw a recipe or technique used on one of the many cooking reality shows I watch regularly, I could take it, put a little spin on it or tweak it in a way that I could use it in my weeknight dinners.  I'm always looking for something in others' food that will spark the excitement in me, which I then translate into creation and experimentation tested on the very brave and willing members of my family.  Even though I wasn't writing about my food this year, I became a bit of an Instagram-whore, posting pictures of almost every dinner plate and breakfast smoothie.  While the amount of photos might be on the verge of obnoxious, it helped me hone my food photography skills, especially in terms of plating - I can thank the chefs at my restaurant for that, too.  My family has even become experts, knowing which plates look best with which foods and that they can't start eating until I'm sure I got the best picture with the best plate.

This year, much of my inspiration came from travel.  In May, I was in New Orleans with my family and a few weeks ago spent two weeks in Germany and a little bit of that time in London - the latter trip was personally incredibly challenging, but an experience that I wouldn't do any differently looking back.  Both trips were spent mainly eating and drinking, taking in the flavors and soul of the respective cultures (I ate blood sausage in both Germany and London, something that honestly freaked me out and thought I would never ever try, but I did and it turned out to be ridiculously delicious, though it probably won't become a regular dish on my table).  My food-spiration came from some pretty surprising places, like being exposed to the best Asian food I've ever encountered in a small Korean restaurant in Dortmund, Germany on Thanksgiving Day.  When I got home from that trip, I told my family I was going to make them a dish that embodied my time spent there, and then served them a big bowl of miso soup with udon noodles, they were quite confused.

My year off provided me quite a bit of time for self-reflection, in which I realized that cooking is something I want to do.  All the time.  I need cooking and food in my life in some capacity, and at what capacity that'll be I still don't know, but I'm not in too much of a rush to figure my life out at this point.  But I want to make moves, take a leap, put myself out there, and do something.  So here we are.  I'm back, dread&butter has gotten a little update, a fresh start.  I'm just excited to share my food and to see where it takes me.

On the Seventh Day of Christmas...

While it may be after the calendar day, the Christmas Spirit is still a strong presence in the Confoy household - as are the Christmas spirits, if you get my drift.  We still have one side of the family to celebrate with this weekend, and our tree is still up, decorated, and encircled with Santa's bounty.  Speaking of which, I got a camera!  Finally, the days of impatiently waiting for my brother to come home from school with his camera are over!  And its a beaut.  Actually, its the exact same one my brother has, but its shiny and new and pretty and way better than his silly ol' one.  So, from now on, my food-photography should be better...or at least improving.

In my black rice pudding post, I mentioned that my Dad's Christmas cakes are one of favorite foods of the holidays...actually, his cake might be my favorite part of the holiday.  Made with mincemeat (the meatless kind), molasses, and a ton of spices, it's literally Christmas in a bite (well, not literally, but "figuratively Christmas in a bite" doesn't quite sound as nice).  Especially when its swimming in honey whiskey...did you see what I did there?

Craig's Christmas Cake
½ cup sugar
½ cup Crisco
1 egg
1 cup molasses
3 cups of flour
1 jar mincemeat (meatless version)
1 tsp nutmeg
1 tsp ginger
1 tsp cinnamon
¼ tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda dissolved in 1 cup boiling water
honey whiskey (or brandy or rum)

+ Preheat the oven at 350 degrees.  Lightly grease two loaf pans.
+ In a large bowl, mix sugar, Crisco, and egg.  Add the molasses and stir well.  
+ Next add the flour and salt.  Stir until just combined.  
+ Add the boiling water.  Then add the spices and mincemeat, stirring well after each addition.
+ Pour the batter into the loaf pans, then bake an hour or until a toothpick comes out cleanly.
+ Let the cakes cool, then begin soaking the cakes.  Slowly pour the liquor over the cakes, focusing on the edges where the cake has pulled away from the pan.  Allow the sit until all the liquid has been absorbed.  Repeat the process until the cake is thoroughly soaked through - you can do this over the course of a few days, if you want it really moist and boozy, which I highly suggest.

On the Sixth Day of Christmas...

Last night marked the return of my little brother and his lady-friend from their first semester of college.  The prodigal son's homecoming was celebrated with some bubbly, baked brie with jam, red wine, eggnog and whiskey, and our tree falling over.  Twice.  Thankfully it hasn't been lit or decorated yet, and by that time we were all pleasantly warmed by the evening's libations and it was more hilarious than upsetting.  After up-righting the tree, we stumbled off to bed and passed out immediately.  I had the morning off (an oddity and a blessing), so I took my time getting out of bed, made a big pot of Winter Blend coffee, and decided to whip of a welcome-home-Christmassy-breakfast-in-bed-special for the kids: eggnog soaked cranberry bread french toast with a fresh cranberry syrup.

French toast seemed to be one of those foods that embodies childhood and warmth and home.  I used a sliced cranberry bread, eggnog in place of milk for the batter, and cranberry syrup to imbue the dish with the holiday spirit.  Not to mention that I think the eggnog fulfills the "geese a'laying" quota nicely.

I woke the kids up with a spread of the french toast, coffee, and OJ set up on my brother's desk, then went out to run some errands.  My brother sent me a text that read, "So.  Effing.  Good."  One of the very few times that my cooking has gotten his stamp of approval.  So I think this dish was a ridiculously delicious, hands-down success.

Homemade Cranberry Syrup
1 cup fresh cranberries
2 tbs honey
½ cup water

+ Cook cranberries and honey in a covered pot over medium-high heat.  Once the berries begin popping, uncover and stir.  Recover and allow to cook until all the berries have burst.  Turn heat to low, stir, and cook until the berries have thickened to a jam-consistency.
+ Add the water, bring the heat back up, and cook uncovered until desired syrupy texture is reached.

Eggnog French Toast
1 cup non-dairy eggnog
3 eggs
pinch of salt
¼ tsp cinnamon
¼ tsp cardamom
1 tsp nutmeg
8 slices bread
¼ cup powdered sugar

+ Preheat skillet to medium-high heat.
+ In a medium sized, flat-bottomed or shallow bowl, whisk together eggnog, eggs, salt and spices.
+ Immerse the slices of bread, one at a time, into the egg mixture.  Using a fork to flip, make sure the bread is thoroughly soaked, but not mushy.  
+ Pull the bread out of the mixture, letting any excess egg drip off, and then place on the skillet.  Cook for about 3 minutes on each side, or until golden brown.
+ To serve, lightly butter each slice, dust with powdered sugar, and then drizzle cranberry syrup ontop.

On the Fifth Day of Christmas...

I'm pretty sure you've all guessed what today's recipe is.  I mean, "five golden rings"?  I couldn't help myself, could I?

Now, some of you might think, "Wow, way to phone on in, Claudia."  And to that I say, you try coming up with 12 original and innovative recipes in 25 days.  Speaking of which, since Christmas is technically 5 days away and I still have, oh, 7 more recipes, I think I'm going to extend my deadline until New Years.  But its not a cop out!  Part of the reason is that half of my holiday parties are the week after Christmas, and I want to be able to feature some recipes I use for them on the blog.  The other part of the reason is that I don't like rushing through the holidays, I prefer to drag them out for as long as physically possible - last year we had our tree up until February.  And hey, you get to enjoy Christmas and yummy food even longer now! Isn't that exciting?  I know, you can't handle your own happiness.  It might even scare you a little.  It's okay, accept your feelings, and express them appropriately.  Go ahead, do a happy dance.  I won't judge.

...finished your happy dance?  Good.  I used Not Without Salt's oven-fried onion ring recipe.  While a little on the messy side to assemble, they are otherwise super simple, healthier since they bake in a few tablespoons of oil, and are coated in crushed potato chips - yeah I said it, potato chip covered onion rings.  It's just crazy enough to be insanely delicious.  I used black pepper and salt potato chips and served them with a homemade curried honey mustard (curry strikes again!), which along with the cayenne pepper in the batter gave these little guys a surprising kick.

Curried Honey Mustard
2 tbs spicy mustard
1 tbs honey
2 tsp Vindaloo curry powder
1 tsp red curry powder

+ Combine ingredients in a small bowl.  Mix well.  Adjust amount of each ingredient based on taste.

On the Fourth Day of Christmas...

...my true love gave to me, four colly birds.  That's right - colly birds.  Apparently the version we know featuring "calling birds" is just a horrible bastardization of the original, which isn't really that hard to believe seeing as we live in America and just about all aspects of our culture are distorted, corrupted, twisted hollow shells of what they once were...but I digress.

This revelation was my muse for this recipe.  A colly bird is an English nickname for a blackbird; "colly" being an Old English word meaning "soot" or "coal".  My mind immediately started reeling off all of black foods I could think of...which ended up only being one: blackberries.  I then got the internet to reel off all the black foods it could think of, which ended up being quite a few more, many of which I had never heard of.  One of these was black rice.  My first thought was to do a blackened tofu over black rice with a black bean sauce.  I liked it, I really did, but it didn't feel like a holiday dish to me.  Nothing about it felt special or new or, well, like Christmas.  So, I scrapped the tofu-rice dish.  I started to think of all the foods that embody Christmas for me: the top three dishes being mincemeat cake, waffles and potato soup (both of which may or may not be making an appearance next week), and rice pudding.  Now, I wouldn't consider myself a big rice pudding fan, outside the occasional whipped cream-topped sundae-glass full eaten in a grimy diner booth with a cup of coffee in the middle of the night, of course.  However, every Christmas Day, I partake in the Confoy-Osenlund family tradition of eating rice pudding together with hopes that your bowl will contain the sole almond in the whole batch.  If you get the almond, you are the King/Queen of Christmas and you are forced to wear one of those paper Christmas-cracker crowns.  Its all terribly exciting, and usually results in some fairly embarrassing photos.

So, in honor of the original lyrics and Confoy-Osenlunds, I bring you a black rice pudding topped with blackberries macerated in port and black pepper.

I followed theKitchn's recipe for black rice pudding, minus the coconut.  Also, I highly suggest letting it sit in the fridge over night - it gets thick and creamy and absolutely wonderful.

Port and Black Pepper Macerated Blackberries
½ pint fresh blackberries
1 cup port
1 tbs honey
2 tsp fresh crushed black pepper

+ Place blackberries in a glass measuring cup.  In a small pot, cook port, honey, and 1 tsp of black pepper over medium-high heat.  Once it begins to boil, cook for a moment or two, then pour the hot port over the berries.  Allow to sit and stew for at least 30 minutes - the longer they sit, the more the berries will break down, and the port will infuse in the berries.  
+ After the berries have been sitting, pour the liquid back into the pot.  Add the last tsp of the black pepper. Bring to boil, then reduce to simmer.  Cook until the port has reduced into a thick syrup.
+ To serve, top the black rice pudding with a few blackberries, then drizzle a little of the port-black pepper syrup over the top.

On the Third Day of Christmas...

So, if you read last post, you know of my growing anxiety concerning this latest project, especially the bird heavy days ahead.  However, the fear has subsided as many of my friends and fellow-foodies have come to my rescue and suggested some absolutely wonderfully creative ways to interpret the song into food.  In fact, it was my high-school friend, Christina's idea to use Hen-of-the-Woods mushrooms for the third day's recipe.  A spark of culinary genius that would have never crossed my mind.  Brilliant, really, Christina.  

So, for the third day, I give to you a trio of Hen-of-the-Woods mushrooms: a maitake pate, honey-glazed and roasted whole maitake mushroom, and a simple maitake and mixed mushroom soup. While only one can truly be considered French, these three hens are delightfully delicious and a perfect holiday party starter.

I was introduced to the Hen-of-the-Woods, or maitake mushroom at the Stockton Market this past April (and even wrote a post about it), but I wasn't quite sure how to use them.  The only way I'd ever cooked mushrooms was sauteing them in butter with onions as a pizza topping.  It wasn't until I started working at Gravity Hill that I was invited into the magical world of mushrooms.  One of the vendors at the market every Sunday was Shibumi Farm, a local couple who cultivate nearly 30 different types of mushrooms using no pesticides and only plant-based materials to grow the fungi.  Not only did they broaden my horizons to so many different types of mushrooms, but they changed the way I cook mushrooms - the miracle that is the dry saute.  

How To Dry Saute: 

+ Place a large pan over high heat.  Once the pan is hot, add the mushrooms.  Cook while stirring occasionally.  The mushrooms will begin to squeak (or scream, as the seven year old daughter of the mushroom couple put it).  Cook until the mushrooms have released their liquid, shrunk a bit, and begin to brown.  

+ Once the mushrooms are cooked, de-glaze the pan (I usually use a splash of wine), making sure to scrape all the good mushroom bits from the bottom of the pan.  

+ Then, add butter, olive oil, salt, or other seasonings and saute as normal.  

I found the recipe for the pate on the Serious Eats site.  Just a heads up, it's not vegan (but don't worry, the soup is!)  I felt that the use of cheese as the fat was necessary in order to get get the right consistency and to keep it true to a real pate.  However, there are tons of nut-based pate recipes on the web, like this one from C'est La Vegan.  The only change that I made to the Serious Eats recipe was that instead of broiling the mushrooms, I dry sauteed, de-glazed with red wine, and then finished them off with olive oil, a little butter, salt, pepper, and thyme.

The whole roasted maitake mushroom is stupidly simple and quick, but looks beautiful and impressive.  Place a fist-sized cluster of the mushrooms into a small ramekin or other oven-safe dish.  Melt 1 tbs of butter and 2 tbs of honey in the microwave.  Drizzle the honey-butter over the mushroom, making sure to coat all of the little tops.  Bake in a 350 degree oven for about 15 minutes, or until the mushroom shrinks and begins to brown.  Sprinkle with sea salt and serve warm.  And make sure you soak up the extra mushroomy honey-butter in the bottom of the ramekin, you don't want that to go to waste.

Maitake Mushroom Soup

2 cups, maitake mushrooms

4 oz package of mixed mushrooms

½ cup dry red wine

1 tbs olive oil

1 tbs butter

1 tbs rosemary leaves, finely chopped

1 tbs thyme leaves

1 tbs sage leaves, finely chopped

1 can full-fat coconut milk

salt and pepper

+ In a medium pot, dry saute the mushrooms.  Once they're cooked, de-glaze with red wine.  Add butter, oil, herbs, and a bit of salt.  Cook until the mushrooms are soft and the liquid had thickened.  

+ Add the coconut milk, stir well.  Using a stick blender, blend until smooth.  Season with salt and pepper to taste.

+ Cook until soup is heated through and desired thickness is reached.  Serve hot, garnished with thyme leaves or sprig of rosemary.

On the Second Day of Christmas...

As of last post, the temperature has dropped a good 25 degrees, my father has put the lights up on the house, I've eaten fruitcake ice cream at Bent Spoon, and I've bought my first official Christmas present, so its starting to feel a tad more like the holidays than before.  However, I'm still not fully in that holiday mode yet.  I'm no hum-bug, I'm just taking my time, is all.

Oh, I forgot to mention (but hoped you noticed) that I'm going to attempt to have my 12 Days of Christmas Recipes correspond with the song, i.e. last week I made a pear-centric dish in honor of the partridge in his tree.  This may seem like a simple feat, but for a non-meat-eater, the six bird related verses serve as a bit of an obstacle (...not to mention the Lords-a-Leaping, but I'll worry about those guys later).  I mulled over the Turtle Doves for a while.  Mock turtle soup was a front runner until I actually looked up what mock turtle soup was and found out its made with calf head, feet, and brains.  I know, doesn't just scream holiday cheer, does it?  With the soup off the table, I turned to the only other food-related turtle I could think of - the pecan, caramel, chocolate candy.  However, I didn't want to just do a straightforward chocolate.  I mean, the whole point of this project was to create unique and original recipes.  So, I decided to take those three ingredients and put my own dread&butter-y twist on them.  And thus the Turtle Dove Tart was born - pecan crust, chocolate filling, salted caramel drizzle, with the addition of a layer of tart cranberries.  I thought the cranberries added a nice pop of color and balanced the sweetness of the chocolate and caramel.  It turned out differently than I had in my head, but I have to say, it might become a new Christmas dessert tradition.

And now, off to watch White Christmas and brainstorm for next week...

Turtle Dove Tart

Pecan Crust
1 large egg, separated
¼ tsp vanilla
½ cup pecans
½ powdered sugar
1 cup all-purpose flour
5 tbs cold butter, cut into ½ inch cubes
pinch of salt

+ Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
+ Place pecans on a baking sheet, toast for about 5 minutes, or until fragrant and just beginning to brown.  Once toasted, grind pecans in a food processor until fine, but not powdery.
+ In two small bowls, beat the egg yolk and white separately.  Measure out 1 tbs of egg white and add to yolk.  Add the vanilla and mix well.
+ In a medium bowl, combine flour, pecans, sugar, and salt.  Cut butter into the flour mixture until it as a crumbly texture.
+ Add the egg mixture to the flour, combine with hands until evenly moistened.  Add a small bit water if needed.
+ Press the crust into a pie pan.  Put in the freezer for at least 30 minutes.  
+ Place a piece of aluminum foil over the crust.  Poke a few holes in the foil, then place pie weights on top.  Bake for 20 minutes, then remove the weights and foil and bake for another 10 minutes, or until golden brown.  Let cool completely.

Tart Cranberry Jam
1 bag of fresh cranberries
2 tbs honey

+ Put cranberries and honey in a small sauce pan.  Cook over medium-high heat until the berries begin to pop.  Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until the berries have all popped and a thick consistency is reached.  

Chocolate Filling1 bag dark chocolate chips
⅓ cup coffee liqueur
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 package silken tofu, drained
1 tbs honey

+ Bring a medium pot of water to a simmer over medium heat.  Place the chocolate chips, liqueur, and vanilla in a medium metal bowl set over the simmering water.  Stir often to prevent the chocolate from burning.
+ Once the chocolate is completely melted, place the chocolate, tofu and honey in the food processor.  Blend until smooth. 

Salted Caramel Drizzle 
(from smittenkitchen)
¼ cup sugar
2 tbs butter
¼ tsp sea salt
2 tbs heavy cream

+ In a small saucepan, melt sugar over medium-high heat.  Cook for about 3 minutes, or until its a golden brown color. 
+ Take the pan off the heat, then add the butter and salt, stirring until the butter is completely melted.  Turn the heat down and put the sugar mixture back on the stove.  Add the heavy cream, stirring constantly, cook until it thickens and becomes a dark caramel color.

To Assemble the Tart
+ Spread an even layer of the tart cranberry jam over the bottom of the pecan crust.  Top with chocolate filling (you'll probably have a little extra).  Refrigerate for at least 2 hours until the chocolate has firmed up.  Then drizzle a healthy layer of salted caramel over the top of the tart.  It can be served while the caramel is warm, but I suggest putting it back in the fridge for another hour (or better yet, overnight).