From the East Bay to Montego Bay

I'll just go ahead and apologize on behalf of Graham for a rather long hiatus from the blog. The last few months have been filled with a lot of physics, scrambling to figure out where we are off to next, planning our wedding, and very little creativity in the food department or time for extra-curricular blogging.

To make up for it, I bring you something spectacular: a perfect cocktail. Cocktails generally have been a thing I chose to splurge on when someone else makes them for me. Upon sampling this beauty on a dear friend's back porch in Oakland, however, I made an almost immediate trip to the liquor store to procure the necessary (and admittedly pricey) ingredients to make it at home... ten nights in a row. Having just finished our third bottle of rum devoted entirely to making this drink, I don't think it is much of a stretch to call this the best cocktail I've ever had.

Montego Bay

via Ashleigh via Flora via... Jamaica?

All Said and Done

• 1.5 shots Jamaican rum
• 0.75 shot honey syrup (see below)
• 0.25 shot allspice dram
• 0.5 shot lime juice
• 0.5 shot grapefruit juice
• Dash of herb saint
• Dash or few of bitters

The Minimal Directions

1. For the honey syrup, heat equal parts honey and water over low heat in a sauce pan and stir until well mixed. Let cool to room temperature before use (feel free to throw in an ice cube to encourage cooling).
2. Mix everything together and serve with crushed ice or a couple of ice cubes. We are normally too impatient to make the former.

NB: If you are not a fan of manual labor, you may want to consider purchasing some volume of lime juice ahead of time.

When Life Gives You Intestines...

I can't imagine what was going through the head of the first person who decided that repackaging an animal in its own innards was a good idea — seems like it would be hard to arrive at this conclusion without very intense deliberation (oh my! this meat emulsion has accidentally fallen into this cleaned intestine, and it's delicious!) Nevertheless sausage, mostly in the form of various offerings at Berkeley Dog, has become the perpetual exception to an otherwise meatless existence. Following the unexpected arrival of a Charcuterie book from Annie, it's been in the back of my mind to take advantage of these under-appreciated pig parts. Reading about all of the cured meats builds a healthy appetite, though it also nurtures a slight but nagging fear of botulism. What's life without risk! We'll stick to fresh sausage for now — mostly since the chosen packing method isn't particularly conducive to sanitation.

The original intent of the weekend was to head out climbing somewhere for a few days with Nick. Extended intense outdoor activity was cut short by weather and scheduling issues — so the plan was to fall back on some equally absurd culinary adventure. It's not like we were prepared to pack sausages — far from it. Chrome plated sausage cannons are available on Amazon but carry the price tag of a used car — an unlikely purchase. Nothing so fancy is required at any rate. As it turns out one can stuff an astonishing 6 sausages an hour with a sawed-off turkey baster and a wooden-spoon turned ramrod. I might recommend exploring other options. Nevertheless, the mission was accomplished. You could just make lamb patties, which I'm sure would be equally tasty.

You should be able to get the necessary lamb or pork fat from most meat establishments. Lamb fat comes highly recommended — we even rendered some for imparting lamby flavors in the least expected circumstances. The sausages were staggeringly good given the circumstances of their creation. I'd say it's worth trying this out at least once. In the words of the book's sender: "Like a fine terrine, let your love be a meat pot." Words to live by.

Fresh Lamb Sausage

Inspiration from the cookbooks "Fat" and "Charcuterie"
Makes 6 Large Sausages
8 Hours Prep, 10 Minutes to Cook

The Goods

• 2.25 Lb. Lamb Shoulder
• 0.5 Lb. Lamb or Pork Fat
• 0.25 Cups Rosemary or other desired herbs and spices
• 3 Cloves Garlic, mashed or minced
• 0.8 Oz. Salt
• 1 Tsp. Ground Black Pepper
• 0.5 Cup Red Wine, chilled
• 6 Feet Sausage Casing

The Procedure

1. Chop the meat and fat into smaller chunks, removing any connective tissue. Mix in the herbs, salt, and pepper and let stew for several hours in the refrigerator (or until very cold, almost frozen, in the freezer.) Place any grinder parts, and the bowl you'll use for collection in the freezer for a while before starting to grind. Also let the casings soak in warm water for an hour or so before stuffing, and flush with cool water before using.
2. Grind the meat into the receptacle bowl, and then mix (either with a stand mixer or by hand) until somewhat pasty. Add the red wine and mix for a while longer. Let chill in fridge for another hour or so, or in the freezer if you're impatient.
3. By whatever means available to you, stuff the sausage mixture into the casings. You may, of course, completely skip this step and simply make patties instead. If making sausages, twist off every six inches or so.
4. Cook by your favorite means — we braised them in a pan, but anything should work. Low heat and time is best.

NB: Please ignore the large amount of fat that escapes during cooking… it's the good kind of fat...

A Non-Standard Pizza

Another post from Meg, savior of the blog...

Our tomatoes ceased ripening before our summertime pizza cravings subsided. Fortunately for us, tomatoes are not a necessary constituent of a tasty pizza. Recall the "white pizza:" leave off the tomato sauce and add a healthy dose of ricotta, parmesan, and mozzarella. I remember hating it as a kid, likely because the removal of tomato meant adding way too much cheese as a substitute for which, it seemed, my childhood palette wasn't quite ready. Even now, gobs of cheese are exactly what we shy away from when attempting to craft a satisfying pizza. We are here to offer you a tame twist on the thing we hated as kids, but can't seem to get enough of now.

In the true spirit of Meg and Graham cooking, we suggest making your own ricotta cheese. The thought of making cheese often scares otherwise talented kitchen explorers, but we are here to proclaim that soft cheese making (we haven't tried the hard stuff yet) is not difficult. Not at all. Heat up some whole milk, add a little citric acid, watch the curds separate from the whey, and let drain in a cheese cloth until desired consistency is reached. If citric acid sounds a little too science lab for you, others make it with buttermilk, vinegar or lemon juice. We leave it to you to explore the options and report back.

But sauce-less pizza with homemade cheese isn't the craziest part. Oh no.

We started putting grapes on our pizza.

It sounds like something a three year old child would request and, really, I was skeptical too. But, I came across this recipe a while ago and have been intrigued ever since. It wasn't until I started spending my Saturday mornings working for a fruit vendor at the Irvine farmers market that grapes became an abundant feature in our kitchen. So, having a mound of homemade ricotta still waiting to be used, I decided to adapt this recipe to our pizza ritual. It's so good I almost forgot that tomatoes once inhabited the same space. So, here you have it, a not-terribly-cheesy white pizza with some late summer grapes to keep life interesting.

White Pizza with Grapes

Inspiration from here

Makes Two Pizzas

2 Hours Prep, 30 Minutes to Cook

The Goods

• 2 Pizza's Worth of Dough, try our Recipe
• 2 Cup Ricotta (see suggestions for homemade version above)
• 1 Cup Parmesan or other hard aged cheese, grated
• 4 Cloves Garlic, Minced
• 1 Cup Grapes
• 2 Shallots
• Few Tbsp. Olive Oil
• Few Pinches Thyme
• Few Pinches Salt and Pepper

The Procedure

1. Make and prepare the pizza dough. Might we suggest our recipe...
2. Cut grapes in half. Slice shallot into not-terribly thing rounds. Place together on a baking sheet with a little bit of olive oil and roast at 375F for 10-15 minutes. Check to be sure the shallots are not burning every now and then. Once the roasting is finished, adjust oven temperature to 450F.
3. Stir garlic into ricotta. Add salt, pepper, and a few pinches of thyme to taste.
4. Shape pizza dough and coat with a tablespoon or two olive oil. Spread ricotta mixture onto dough. Depending on the size of your pizza dough, 1 cup of ricotta might be too much or too little. Think "thin layer," not "how much can I fit on here." Sprinkle with parmesean (again, not too much) then top with the roasted tomatoes and shallots.
5. Cook pizza at 450 for about 10 minutes. Let cool and serve.

NB: For the beer brewers out there, try adding some of your spent barley to your pizza dough crust. You won't be disappointed.

When Life Gives You Tomatoes

Yes garden, furnish us with tomatoes. No garden, not that many at once please. As with zucchini overpopulation crises weathered earlier in the season, I suppose this is a manageable abundance. If only there were some dish consisting predominantly of tomatoes thrown into a pot and left alone — ah ha! I recall following at least some of the unnecessary extra steps back at BU: a roux? a food mill!? Perhaps it was youthful exuberance driving me to do such things, though I'm inclined to believe it was more of an embarrassing excess of time than anything else. Well now we are down to the essence of things. Screw the food mill, we have a stick blender!

This comes from a rather intense book, Classic Techniques of Italian Cooking, that includes a recipe for a whole pheasant. One should, of course, display the original wings alongside the cooked bird in a fruit bowl thereafter "placing the neck and head in position, creating the pleasant illusion that the live bird is eating the fruit." No, thanks. Tomatoes are cooked whole, wings or not. The sauce is unlike any other I've had, given the heavy citrus flavor afforded by the two uncharacteristic ingredients, enjoy!

Tomato Sauce with Lemon and Capers

Makes Four Cups
5 Minutes Prep, 30 Minutes to Cook

The Goods

• 2 lb. Fresh Tomatoes, Quartered
• 2 Cloves Crushed Garlic
• 4 Tbs. Capers
• 2 Pieces Fresh Lemon Peel
• 2 Tbs. Olive Oil
• 4-5 Tbs. Butter
• 1 Lemon's Worth Lemon Juice

The Procedure

1. Add the olive oil to a large saucepan and then add the tomatoes, capers, garlic, and lemon peel. Cook over medium heat for around 25-30 minutes. Cooking time is a matter or personal preference for sauce texture.
2. Remove the lemon peel. Blend thoroughly with a stick blender, by other means, or not at all.
3. Add the butter and lemon juice, mix, and season to taste with salt and pepper.

NB: Don't underestimate the power of butter…

A Nod to Nud Pob

The culinary white whale. The ruiner of woks. The thing that never tastes even remotely like what can often be found at a dingy restaurant for far less money and effort. Yes, pad thai. Most recipes I've seen call for careful and deliberate mise en place, followed promptly by the sequential yet manic addition of ingredients that somehow burn unless you manage to maintain constant eye contact. Not so much a fan of this, mostly since I almost always end up getting distracted by having forgotten something or other.

The best solution would probably be to get a really nice wok and crank it up high enough to cook food before it's even hit the pan. This sounds untenable mostly owing to the obvious financial burden of such a purchase. Instead, it works pretty well to cook separately those things which normally give our somewhat uncooperative wok a hard time: eggs and tofu.

As far as getting the authentic cheap-but-awesome pad thai flavor I couldn't possibly understate the importance of one particular ingredient: sugar. Really, that seems to be the primary factor. If you piled on twice as much as we use in the recipe below it would probably taste twice as familiar. Shrimp and chicken are possibilities as well, though I would recommend keeping the overall number of shrimp down to limit frustration during consumption. Serving with limes is really a must, and sriracha deserves mention as a worthy condiment.

A shout out to the Nud Pob near BU for getting me hooked on this stuff during undergrad (even though I remain unsure of the pronunciation). Where else could one get a quick mound of noodles if not three doors down at Beijing Cafe. Cities, I miss you.

Pad Thai

Makes Four Servings
20 Minutes Prep, 10 Minutes to Cook

The Goods

• 18 oz. firm tofu, cut into strips and patted dry
• 3 eggs
• 1 bunch scallions, chopped
• 1 cup peanuts, finely chopped
• 12 oz. bean sprouts
• 4 cloves garlic
• 4 tbs. fish sauce
• 2 tbs. rice wine
• 1 heaping tbs. tamarind paste
• Some chili powder, to taste
• 4 tbs. sugar, or more
• 14 oz. rice noodles
• 2 limes

The Procedure

1. Completely immerse the rice noodles in the hottest water your faucet can muster. If you don't plan on leaving them soaking for very long, or have some wimpy tap water, consider heating some water up on the stove to supplement. They should be getting soft well before you add them to the pan.
2. Cut everything that needs to be cut, chop everything that needs to be chopped.
3. Boil a cup of water and add it to the tamarind, stirring until it is mostly dissolved. If using a fresher block of tamarind you will need to break it apart by hand to some extent and let is soak as well. Once the mixture has cooled down a bit you can add the fish sauce, rice wine, sugar, and chili powder.
4. In a non-stick pan on medium-high heat, saute the tofu in vegetable oil until golden-brown on all sides. Remove the tofu, add some more oil and scramble the eggs, removing them when done. The rest of the cooking proceeds fairly quickly but is less prone to disaster than trying to keep the tofu together in the wok.
5. Put the wok on high heat, add oil and wait until it is shimmering. Make sure the noodles are waiting in their water nearby. Add the scallions and stir-fry for about a minute. Next add the garlic and cook very quickly, maybe 20-30 seconds.
6. Making no attempt to thoroughly drain the noodles, move them directly from the water into the pan. Stir until the water is mostly evaporated, then add the sauce and cook for a while longer. After making sure the noodles are appropriately cooked mix in the bean sprouts, peanuts, tofu and egg. If things ever get too dry just add some more water. Add more chili powder to taste. Serve with something grabby, as a spoon is mostly useless. Don't forget the limes!

NB: To cut down on time, chop the peanuts in a food processors or spare coffee grinder.

The New Usual Breakfast

Though it isn't really much of a surprise, there turns out to be a dearth of proper bagels here in Orange County. Making them turns out to be the sort of activity that consumes more time than we'd like to invest during the average week. Breakfast options can seem somewhat limited: toast is boring, eggy dishes aren't something one wants to bother with on a typical morning, and I have a hard time justifying the fist-fulls of cash one must pony up in order to take home a modicum of granola.

Of course we could just make the granola — somehow this thought hadn't worked its way into the breakfast calculus. As it turns out there is a pretty hilarious divergence in cooking times and temperatures among recipes we found scattered across the internet. Suffice it to say that some out there must have some pretty seriously dysfunctional ovens that they need crank them up to 450F to produce a batch of granola. The most important thing one can seemingly do is just stir the stuff every few minutes and stop when it's reached a nice golden brown.

Some of you may be living in some ridiculous place like Brooklyn, where local establishments carry a pretty serious comparative advantage in bagel making. I'm jealous, don't get me wrong, but the rest of us can opt for something a bit crunchier as a substitute:

Extensible Granola

Makes Four Cups
10 Minutes Prep, 30 Minutes to Cook

The Goods

• 4 Cups oats
• 1.5 Cups nuts
• 1.5 Cups dried fruit
• 3/4 Cup honey
• 2 Tbsp. oil
• Pinch cinnamon
• Pinch salt

The Procedure

1. Preheat the oven to 275F
2. Separately reduce the nuts and fruit to a small size either with a food processor or by other means.
3. Toss the cinnamon and salt into the oats, then thoroughly mix in the honey followed by the nuts and oil.
4. Spread out onto lightly oiled baking sheets and bake for 7-8 minutes at a time, stirring in between cycles. The total time will typically be around 30 minutes, but it really needs to be taken out every once in a while to avoid burnage. The oats may not seem crispy even when they reach a good color, but they will firm up as the mixture cools.
5. Once cool, mix in the fruit and store in some suitable container. It seems to keep for at least a week, though we've generally exhausted the supply well in advance of such a deadline.

NB: To keep the price down, it seems like almonds and raisins/cranberries are good choices.

A Pancake Like No Other

In case you haven't already used that extra kimchi left over from a post or two ago, it's probably time to get on that before your fridge starts to take on even stronger odors. I offer pancakes, which taste pretty great despite coming from a batter that looks slightly radioactive.

Our neighbors kindly brought us an exemplary specimen a few weeks back, not knowing that we'd made approximately ten of them in the prior few weeks (this probably would have been a little hard to admit). They didn't chop up the kimchi or onion nearly as much, which made for perhaps a more desirable texture.

The process is simple and they cook quite quickly — the only tricky part is the flip. Give it a try either out of love for this stuff or simply as a way to pass it off on unsuspecting guests.

Kimchi Pancake

Makes Two Large Pancakes
10 Minutes Prep, 10 Minutes to Cook

The Goods

• 2 Cups Coarsely chopped kimchi
• 8 Tbsp. Kimchi juice
• 1/4 Onion, thinly sliced
• 1 Cup Flour
• Scant 1/2 Cup water
• 1 Tsp. Sugar
• 1 Tsp. Salt
• 1 Tbs. Oil for the pan

The Procedure

1. Add everything but the oil together in a bowl and mix until combined.
2. Heat a half tablespoon of oil in a large nonstick pan over medium high heat.
3. Add half the above mixture (or less if making smaller pancakes) and spread around until it is reasonably thin, a bit shy of a half inch thick. Cook for a few minutes until the bottom is crispy and beginning to brown.
4. Flip using your preferred method, then cook until the other side is also beginning to brown. Remove, and add a bit more oil before making the next one.
5. Either cut up before serving or simply tear at it with chopsticks, either way works.

NB: Go for the aerial flip.

Engagement Soup

Another one from Meg, consistent with the general theme of her posts. I contest that this one is slightly out of the ordinary, though.

This soup was inspired by an amazing day-trip to Toronto with a wonderful friend from college who now resides on that side of the border. We set out in search of thrift stores, art galleries and, ultimately, the acclaimed best nachos in the city. This led us, happily, to Utopia. I've referenced my nacho obsession in previous posts, something that began in college having lived a little too close to Sunset Cantina in Allston, the student "ghetto" for BU upperclassmen.

But, this post is not about nachos but rather the soup that preceded our nacho "entree": spicy black bean and corn soup. We were impressed, and Denali challenged me to figure out its constituent parts. This soup is even vegan friendly (if that suits your fancy) and will make your day better, even without a hearty side of nachos.

When in the testing phase, Graham and I also noticed that we normally double the spices recommended in most recipes, meaning we either like things with lots of flavor or have slowly eroded our tastebuds over time. Either way, take this as a note of caution when spicing your soup. Start with half of what we recommend and add as you like.

Also, as many faithful readers (hopefully) already know, Graham and I recently decided to make nostalgia for our college years a permanent feature of our lives. Yes, a wedding is in the works, however far off the actual date may be. We've taken to attaching the "engagement" prefix to everything lately — "let's have some engagement granola for breakfast" and " what sort of engagement salad dressing should we make?" — so humor us with a helping of this fabulous engagement soup. I think I can already hear Denali heckling several time zones away.

Spicy Black Bean and Corn Soup

Inspired by Utopia Cafe

Everything and Then Some

• 2 stalks celery, cut into small pieces
• 1 cup frozen corn
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• 2.5 tsp. ground cumin
• 2.5 tsp. ancho chili powder
• 1 tsp. smoked paprika
• pinch of cayenne pepper
• 14 oz. can coconut milk
• 1.5 cups of stock or water
• 3 cups drained and soften black beans (which should translate to 2 15 oz. cans or 1 cup dried black beans soaked all day)
• Salt and pepper to taste

The General Ordeal

1. Saute onions and celery in olive oil (or butter for the non-vegans) until soft. Add frozen corn, garlic, and spices. We would recommend starting with half the spices we note here, then adding as you taste. Let cook together over medium heat for about five minutes stirring regularly.
2. Add black beans, coconut milk and stock or water. Bring to a boil then reduce heat to simmer for about 20 minutes. I normally let simmer without the lid to let the soup thicken, but feel free to top the pot if you want to contain more of the moisture.
3. Puree the soup, if you would like. Either ladle into a food processor or use a stick blender. Adjust spices and sprinkle with cilantro before serving.

NB: Enjoy with heaping plate of nachos.

Not Your Mother's Cabbage

I'll just pretend that posts have flowed at some regular interval. Having made relatively poor use of the various exciting grocery stores in the area, this dinner was inspired by seemingly unrelated food products — a pan-Asian extravaganza of chance. It is probably a bit of an exaggeration to say that noodles and kimchi don't inspire a host of ideas — I would be content to plop one on top of the other and call it dinner, but that doesn't seem worthy of a post.

This came out well, and is actually really quick to throw together — the udon are fresh and cook with remarkable alacrity. The faint of heart can try to hold back the kimchi juices, but there is enough stock involved that the potential for unbearable spiciness is fairly low. Probably we could have added some tofu, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Kimchi Udon Soup

Everything

• 4 Cups Chicken Broth
• 2 Cups Water
• 1.5 Cups Kimchi, Coarsely Choped
• 6 Shitake Mushrooms, Sliced
• 1 Clump Oyster Mushrooms, Sliced
• 1 Medium Zucchini, in Large Slices
• 3 Packages Udon (24 Oz.)
• A Few Scallions Chopped Small
• Maybe Some Tofu, cubed
• 1 Tbs. Soy Sauce
• 1 Tsp. (Asian) Sesame Oil
• Oil for Sauteing
• Salt and Pepper to Taste

Everything in Detail

1. Salt the zucchini slices (we're talking full cross-sections here) and leave to sweat on a sheet pan for a while. If you are feeling fancy, remove the seeds since they turn to mush when left to sit. Once they have released a fair bit of water squeeze what you can out of them and slice them into long strips the approximate size of the udon noodles. Heat a few tablespoons of oil in a pan and saute for just a minute or two, removing to make room for the mushrooms.
2. Saute the mushrooms in a few tablespoons of oil for several minutes until tender, then ignore until later.
3. Bring the water and stock to a boil in a large pot with a pinch or two of salt. Throw the kimchi in now so the flavor permeates the udon (or so one hopes).
4. Toss the udon into the boiling water and cook for just a few minutes until tender.
5. Add the scallions, soy sauce, and sesame oil — adjust seasoning.
6. Throw in the mushroom and tofu if using.

NB: Kimchi can get a little stiff after several days, so this is a good way to take the edge off...

Freakin' Cold Ice Cream

Prolific safety gear, careful planning, mise en place — not so much. Though one might think making liquid nitrogen ice cream requires some sort of scientific apparatus, a steady pour and persistence is all it takes. I wouldn't want to do this by hand, but in a pinch a wooden spoon and ski glove could probably get you through the evening with all appendages attached.

The most laborious task here is holding the dewar up for the few minutes it takes to get the mixture down to temperature. Whatever ingredients you want to use should be combined with the dairy until homogenous. Something that's taken for granted in the lab, this stuff is still pretty cold. Stick a hand in a cup quickly and you'll be fine — just don't grab whatever object you've inevitably subjected to the cryogen. I would avoid plastic and glass bowls, both of which don't love thermal shock. A stainless steel vessel is probably best.

Really this turned out exceptionally well: creamier than I would have imagined. Additionally the process is not terribly sensitive to starting conditions, as my measurements were less than thorough. I would highly recommend experimentation. As for a source of the stuff, surely you know a few physicists or chemists...

Dark Chocolate and Espresso Ice Cream

The Cake

• 3.5 Cups whole milk
• 1 Cup heavy cream
• 1 Cup sugar (raw)
• Around 0.4 Lbs. dark chocolate
• Two double-shots espresso (or strong coffee)
• Pinch of salt
• A few liters liquid nitrogen.

The Whole Shebang

1. Melt the chocolate in the dairy on the stove, also adding the sugar and allowing it to fully dissolve. Throw in a pinch of salt for good luck.
2. Add the shots of espresso or coffee off heat.
3. (If using a stand mixer) Add the mixture to the bowl and set up the paddle attachment. Get things going on low speed before letting loose a slow stream of liquid nitrogen into the bowl. Check periodically to see if anything has frozen to the sides, if so it can generally be scraped off with one utensil or another to join the rest of the bowl's contents.
4. (If braving by hand) Put on a glove, seriously. Grab a whisk for the preliminary stages and generally follow along with the other instructions until the mixtures gets hard enough to warrant switching over to a spoon.
5. (If using a hand-mixer) Probably wear a glove here too, really you are on your own here.
6. Keep adding the liquid slowly until the mixture starts to firm up, here I would crank up the speed a bit to make sure everything gets uniformly cooled. Continue further until everything gets stiff — you'll know by taste when the texture is right.
   

NB: Adding the liquid too quickly can cause local regions to freeze and gunk up the mixer, scrape the sides of the bowl and pause for a while until you reach thermal equilibrium.

Vegetable in Name Only

The similarities between this post and last do not cease at mere geometry of the subject matter. Logic forces me to admit that most quick-breads are hardly deserving of the connotation of nutrition evoked in their names. Zucchini bread is, let us face the facts, cake. Referring to it as such may decrease consumption — an unfortunate affair since this "bread" has come to serve as a zucchini disposal technique as of late. What else to do with the freakishly large specimens sturdy enough to use as columns for a portico? One gigantic zucchini usually affords me two loaves and change — this recipe is generally forgiving in proportions, so a bit of extra plant matter won't perturb the balance.

As usual I've opted to substitute butter where most recipes call for oil. In my mind it's better to consume fat that tastes wonderful than to simply dump in a bunch of tasteless canola oil. It's best to fill loaf pans less than halfway to facilitate proper cooking — a double batch of the recipe below manages well in three pans, while a single batch should probably be done in two. It keeps for what seems like forever, though one is hard pressed to let such a thing age beyond a few days.

Zucchini Cake

The Cake

• 3 Cups Flour
• 1.5 Cups Sugar (raw)
• 0.5 Cups Butter
• 1 Tsp. Baking Soda
• 1 Tsp. Baking Powder
• 1 Tsp. Salt
• 3 Tsp. Cinnamon
• 2 Cups Grated Zucchini
• 3 Large Eggs
• 3 Tsp. Vanilla

Fabrication

1. Preheat to 325F.
2. Melt the butter and bring the eggs up to room temperature. Mix the butter and sugar together vigorously before adding the eggs. Add the remaining wet ingredients, including the zucchini. Mix together all of the dry ingredients in a separate bowl, and then combine the two until uniform.
3. Butter enough loaf pans such that the batter will not go much over half the volume of any individual pan. Pour in the mixture and shake the pans to settle everything.
4. Bake for somewhere around 45 minutes, until something plunged into the thickest part of the loaf comes out clean. Rotate the pans in the oven once or twice, since in my experience burning is a distinct possibility. Let cool before slicing.

NB: More batches make more friends.

Happy Birthday Meg!

Welcome to Meg's virtual cake! Kenya is well beyond the shipping range for perishable goods, so this will have to suffice. Cakes are apparently not my thing, as I can tell from more data points than just this one. Bagels and bread seem more familiar territory, none of these weird ingredients like sugar and fat. Nonetheless I stuck a candle in what amounts to a coffee-cake and declared my attempt celebratory but lacking in finesse. It's better than sticking a candle in a bagel.

So here is to a quarter century, celebrated wandering around rural Kenya (sounds fun to me!).

Another momentous occasion here is that I don't think I've ever actually purchased hard alcohol, no kidding! For some reason it felt like I should be required to produce some identification beyond a drivers license — the equivalent of a commercial license or something. Alas, it was anticlimactic to say the least. I'll have to figure out something to do with this rum — I'm thinking back to Anna's adventurous Bananas Foster Cocktail and wondering whether I could really have more than one of those despite their allure.

The inspiration here is, of course, the bellowing cake-monger at the farmers market. He espouses his butter-rum cake as a cure-all, bound to increase your energy level as well as your GPA. My cake will raise my carbon consumption a hair, but I don't foresee any secondary benefits. The recipe is an amalgam of a few random samples distributed across the internet — buttermilk and baking soda won out as the leaveners.

Butter-Rum Cake

The Cake

• 3 Cups Flour
• 2 Cups Sugar
• 1 Cup Butter
• 1 Cup Buttermilk
• 4 Large Eggs
• 1/2 Tsp. Baking Soda
• 1 Tsp. Baking Powder (not really necessary)
• 1 Tsp. Salt
• 2 Tsp. Vanilla

The "Sauce"

• 1/4 Cup Soft Butter
• 1/4 Cup Water
• 1 Cup Turbinado Sugar
• 4 Tbs. Rum

Fabrication

1. Preheat to 325F.
2. Bring the butter and eggs up to room temperature. Cream the butter and sugar together, preferably with some sort of mixer. Add the eggs (on slow speed at first lest they fly out of the bowl) one at a time. Combine wet and dry ingredients separately and add, alternating between the two until everything is incorporated.
3. Butter a pan, hopefully a bundt pan, and lightly dust with flour as shown in the picture above. Whack the pan a few times to make sure there is an even coating and dump out any loose flour.
4. Bake for about an hour in a large pan or about 25 minutes for several smaller cakes.
5. Bring to a boil all the sauce ingredients aside from the rum and then remove from heat. Now stir in the rum.
6. Poke an absurd number of holes in the top and dump the sauce on slowly so it saturates the cake.
7. Coax out of the pan and enjoy. Perhaps sing happy birthday.

NB: Happy birthday Megan!

Some Representative Crepes

My parents have a crepe pan somewhere, of which I'm quite envious. Even though it looks to have been used as a buckler at some point in history, the thing produced perfect crepes. I've now, with this comparatively fancy non-stick pan, produced more than a few specimens resembling cardboard more than any sort of a pancake. What could be the problem? Apparently butter is as crucial a factor for the texture and appearance as it is for the taste. Don't skimp on the butter in the non-stick, coat liberally.

We never seemed to have this problem in the purple house in undergrad, but in that house we also went through 12 sticks of butter at thanksgiving, case closed. I remember the construction of a crepe cake there — based purely on a passing mention gleaned from some show on the food network. Something like 30 crepes with a pastry cream slathered on top of each. Eating this thing was a chore, and construction was a substantial part of the evening. Crepes have become a less frequent endeavor since.

These latest ones tasted best the first time I made them, after which I failed to write anything down. I think I've worked approximately back to that level now. The crepes will be excellent as long as the batter is thin and there is enough batter in the pan. The filling can be composed of anything one cares to prepare, and here I've opted for some mushrooms, caramelized onions, and spinach. The crepes take by far longer than any other element of the meal unless you have a second pan running. This really isn't an option with the amount of stove real estate I have to work with, so really you may as well just get all the crepes done ahead of time so you don't get distracted by other tasks while churning them out.

Mushroom and Spinach Crepes

For perhaps 20 crepes

The Crepe Batter

• 2 Eggs
• 3/4 Cup Milk
• 1/2 Cup Water
• 1 Cup Flour
• 3 Tbs. Melted Butter with reserves
• 1/2 Tsp Salt

The Filling

• 1 Lb. or more Mushrooms
• A few handfuls of "adult" spinach
• 2 Large onions, sliced thin
• Sour Cream
• Thyme or other spices
• Maybe wine for deglazing
• Perhaps some parmesan for the filling as well

The Crepes

1. Blend the ingredients in a blender or in a bowl with an immersion blender until smooth. Refrigerate for a few hours if possible. The texture should be kind of like that of heavy cream, but a bit more on the thin side.
2. Heat a non-stick pan (or otherwise) until water skips around the surface daintily.
3. Butter the pan so the entire bottom has a nice sheen. Remove from the heat and ladle in some of the batter — quickly gyrate the pan around until all of the batter has set and is relatively even across the bottom. The general method can be seen here
4. Cook until the bottom is starting to get nicely browned, then flip with your fingers or a spatula. Continue cooking until the bottom is slightly brown (it will be more spotty than anything.)
5. Adjust the amount of batter to suit your pan size, and repeat!

The Rest

1. With a liberal amount of butter, saute the mushrooms making sure not to overfill the pan. When done cook the onions slowly until caramelized to some degree (25 minutes maybe.) This would be the opportune time to rinse the spinach, though instead of drying it off just throw it into the pan wet with maybe a dash or two of wine to scrape some bits of the bottom of the pan. Clap on a lid and let the spinach wilt.
2. Add any spices if desired, and return the mushrooms to the pan until they are heated through. Adjust salt and pepper levels.
3. Slap a heaping spoonful or two of the mixture in the center of a crepe and add a dollop of cream to smooth things out — the ratio in the picture above is probably a bit excessive on the part of the cream. Add some grated parmesan and roll up the crepes for completion.

NB: I had to use baby spinach here for lack of another choice, but really it doesn't hold a candle to the taste one gets from the mature stuff. The first crepe always fails, so you may as well just eat it as soon as it reaches tolerable temperatures.

Smoky Strawberries

What to do with so many strawberries? At first they were eaten as is, though more recently they've been robbed of their solid nature by perhaps the loudest kitchen appliance ever created. Some sort of dessert was needed this week, and TJs furnished me with an 18 ounce slab of dark chocolate to this end. I've been slightly obsessed with chili-spiced chocolate ever since having some gnarly concoction in Santa Fe over thanksgiving. I normally find chocolate-covered strawberries somewhat boring, so the anchos are meant to make everything a bit more interesting.

As with most experiments, I decided some cumin would even things out a bit. This apparently satisfied some people and turned others off — not everyone seems to have the same cumin tolerance I've developed. I used to have some ancho powder sitting around, but it got used up long ago. Making chili powder is luckily a pretty easy affair as long as one has an extra coffee grinder sitting around (or doesn't mind a little kick in the morning coffee). I would recommend adjusting the amount of chili powder purely by taste, as my measurements were highly imprecise.

As I said before one can omit the cumin, though I'd be curious to go all the away and shoot for mole-covered berries. That would be interesting!

Strawberries Covered in Ancho Chili Chocolate

For around two dozen large strawberries

The Chili Powder

• Two ancho chilies, stemmed and seeded, torn into smaller pieces
• One, two, or maybe no tbsp. cumin seeds
• 1/2 Tbsp Oil

The Rest

• 2 Tbsp. Butter
• 8 Oz. Dark Chocolate
• Around 4 loose Tbsp. Chili Power, above
• 2 Dozen or more strawberries, washed and dried
• Wax paper

The Chili Powder

1. Heat a skillet to medium heat and add oil
2. Add chilis, torn into smaller pieces, and coat with oil. Allow to toast until very fragrant.
3. Add cumin and toast until its smell can be discerned
4. Remove from heat and let cool before grinding up in coffee or spice grinder

The Rest

1. Put wax paper on a sheet pan and let it chill in the freezer while melting chocolate
2. Set a metal bowl over a saucepan of simmering water to approximate a double boiler.
3. Add the butter, let it melt before adding the chocolate. Stir until the chocolate is completely melted — the length of this process will depend largely on the size of the chocolate pieces.
4. Add chili powder until the desired flavor is arrived at. I think I ended up using a full 4 loosely packed tablespoons or so. A dash of salt may also be desired.
5. Lower heat to almost nothing, dip strawberries so they get a reasonably thick coasting, then place on the wax paper to cool. Place the sheet pan back in the fridge until everything has solidified and cooled back down.

NB: It will be really hard to make this too spicy given the nature of ancho chili, the adventurous soul may try adding some cayenne for a real kick.

Fish in a Bag

The threat of summer has been looming here for some time. One would think that we wouldn't suffer from such a drawn out spring here in Sunny Southern California, but this has been the case. This weekend seemed the starting point of warmer weather, though, with the added benefit of inciting grilling sessions. This particular entree is something I've never cooked outside of an oven, but decided to throw on a grill earlier as an experiment.

A heart-shaped piece of parchment is transformed into a steaming vessel — the moisture in the vegetables isn't necessarily enough to steam everything so I typically throw in some lemon juice and wine. As with most of my recipes, it consists largely of those items that were on hand (fish excluded of course). I opted for shallots and asparagus, but squash would probably be a better summer choice. The couscous is highly optional, but rounds things off in a way. I dripped a few tablespoons of water directly onto the couscous to make sure it didn't dry out during cooking. This seemed to work pretty well though the heat from the grill seemed to give it a bit of crunch in some places. Normally I cook these sorts of packages in the oven at, say, 425F. Today I had next to no idea what clip the grill was going at, and the best indicator of doneness was actually the temperature of the fish as felt directly through the parchment.

Folding the parchment up can be a little tricky, so I urge one to take part in the following visual aid. The most important part of the procedure is keeping the bag relatively steam-tight, so care should certainly be taken when the bag is being closed. Most helpful to one's success is the avoidance of an over-stuffed package.

Pictures of the final product are lacking not for want of aesthetics, but instead because I felt somewhat awkward snapping pictures of my food in the particular circumstances. All I had with me was my phone though, and those pictures would not have benefited from the faux-professionality of extreme depth-of-field.

On to the fish, which is usually referred to as being cooked "en papillote." I will spare you from such pretensions. Simply multiply the recipe by the number of people you want to feed.

Salmon in Parchment

For One Serving

The Crust

• Parchment paper
• 1 Salmon (or other fish) fillet
• 1 Shallot, minced
• Few stalks asparagus
• Few tablespoons couscous, with enough water to hydrate
• Few small bits of butter
• Few tablespoons white wine
• Few slices lemon
• Seasoning

Everything Together

1. Preheat oven to 425F or start the grill and hope for success.
2. Tear a piece of parchment larger than you think is necessary to fold up your ingredients. Fold it in half to easily cut out a heart shape.
3. Start by placing the vegetables: cut fairly small to allow for easy steaming, position on one half of the parchment near the heart's cleft. The point of the heart is soon consumed by folds, so leave this area untouched unless you want to attempt folding asparagus.
4. Add the couscous and enough water to hydrate (just a few tablespoons), then a tablespoon or two of wine. Season lightly and add a pat or two of butter.
5. Stack the fish on top, season, and then add the lemon wedges. Add some more butter or olive oil if you prefer.
6. Roll up in the manner shown here, making sure to keep everything pretty tight.
7. Cook for 12 minutes in the oven, or check frequently around that time on the grill. In either case the fish should be, well, fish temperature to the touch while the parchment becomes somewhat browned.

NB: The visual aid, referenced above, reveals that this can be prepared even more easily by microwaving for 5 minutes on high.

Finally, a Quiche

Food blog I have forsaken thee — to what limited readership exists I issue an apology for this natural stage in the life of a blog. A humbling thought is that more people have probably looked at this site than will ever read my academic papers. All the more reason to photograph my food from time to time — clearly it is fame that I seek.

Let me attempt to ease back into this with a relatively low key post: the quiche. Half a piecrust and a smorgasbord of dairy and other ingredients pulled from the far reaches of the refrigerator. I happen to have a tart pan, though frankly I find the thing more trouble than it may be worth. Magically my crusts retract down the already-short sides, perhaps an artifact of pre-baking. My measurements are for such a vessel, though, so those of you opting for an actual pie dish will need to increase the volume of the filling by nearly half (a complete guess of course). Another irregularity in my measurements will be the number of eggs: these things are enormous. It seems the wealth of Orange County has been invested in chicken feed, since the eggs I get from the farmers market could be mistaken on easter for avocados.

The astute reader will note that the leading photograph contains no chard, but rather spinach and bacon. No matter, the procedure is identical.

A Quiche of Chard or Similar Things

The Crust

• 1 1/4 Cup Flour
• 1 Stick Cold Butter
• Dash Salt
• Ice Water

The Filling

• Several leaves of chard, stems diced and leaves coarsely chopped
• A reasonably sized onion, thinly sliced
• Perhaps some bacon
• Three gigantic or maybe four normal eggs for a tart pan, more for a pie dish
• 1/2 Cup sour cream, more for a pie dish
• 1/2 Cup whole milk, more for a pie dish
• Pinch of nutmeg
• More seasoning

The Crust

1. Either in a food processor or by hand, process the butter, flour, and salt until coarsely mixed with some larger bits. Add just enough water to make the dough cohere when pressed together.
2. A handful at a time smear the dough on your work-surface — ostensibly to increase flakiness.
3. Gather into a fattish pancake and refrigerate wrapped in plastic wrap for an hour. Preheat oven to 375 F before proceeding further.
4. Roll out to the necessary size, and after transferring into your dish build up some extra dough at the edge to avoid shrinkage during baking. Poke the bottom with a fork a few times and line with foil and weight with rice or beans (since who has pie weights, really). Bake for 20 minutes, remove foil and bake for another 10.

The Remainder

1. If using bacon: cook to desired crispiness and remove, leaving a tablespoon or two of fat in the pan.
2. Saute the onion and chard stems slowly in either bacon fat or olive oil, until the onions are very soft.
3. Give the chard stems a quick rinse and throw them in while still wet. Cover and let steam until the chard has cooked down.
4. Meanwhile whisk together the other ingredients, adjusting volume as you see fit.
5. Distribute the chard and onion mixture in the shell and then pour in the dairy being careful to avoid overflow.
6. Bake for 35-40 minutes until browned and puffy.

NB: If the crust browns too much before the quiche is finished, cover the entire thing with a sheet of foil. Pre-baking the shell is probably optional given a slightly longer bake, though I am too adjusted to the procedure to try such a heresy.

The Usual Breakfast

If there is one breakfast food that has claimed a majority among all others in my life, it has been the bagel. Everything, perhaps sprouted, doused with cream cheese — not overflowing of course. At any rate, I go through these things at such a rate that it seems silly to head to the store and buy them every four days. This isn’t to say that biking around with sacks of flour is less annoying, but then there is the satisfaction of making one of those things that seemed at one time unfeasible.

As with my recent baking attempts, the active time in this recipe is some vanishing fraction of the entire process. Mix for two minutes, wait for two hours. Mix some more, then wait overnight (only after poking holes, of course.) There really is nothing obscure about the ingredients aside from the optional malt syrup, of which I stole a few tablespoons during the last batch of beer. Molasses makes a good substitute here, as long as it is used sparingly.

After a few attempts I’ve thought it best to replace roughly a quarter of the flour with whole wheat, a substitution that has had no measurable impact on the final texture of the bagels. On this note, I must confess that have a much airier texture than one’s average bagel — so far I’m undecided as to whether my preference lies with the chewy variety I’ve grown to love or these behemoth fluffy newcomers.

Topping are limited of course by only one’s imagination. While onions and garlic are fun to apply, I find that they end up more as carbon than anything else when toasted. For this reason I will stick to seeds only. I haven’t experimented with any sorts of flavored dough, and see no reason to muck with what has been a very tasty final product.

As for the intended volume: make more than you think necessary. This is a cliché line for baked goods, but bagels have many more justified uses than most. I haven’t yet seen someone attempt to make a sandwich capped by, say, chocolate chip cookies. A dozen to start never leaves more than one or two at the end of the usual Sunday brunches here, though a ravenous lot we are.

At the risk of being the three-thousandth person to blog about Peter Reinhart’s bagel recipe, I will proceed shamelessly with an only slightly modified recipe. Also, a thanks to Greg Jordan, who brought my attention to the bagels and the book they came from more generally.

Slightly Whole-Wheat Bagels

Adapted From Peter Reinhart's
The Bread Baker’s Apprentice
Makes 12 Bagels

Sponge

• 1 Tsp. Instant (Rapid Rise) Yeast (0.11 Oz.)
• 4 C. Bread Flour (18 Oz.)
• 2.5 C. Water, not too cold (20 Oz.)

Actual Dough

• 0.5 Tsp. Instant (Rapid Rise) Yeast (0.11 Oz.)
• 2.0 C. Bread Flour (10 Oz.)
• 1.75 C. Whole Wheat Flour (8 Oz.)
• 2.75 Tsp. Salt (0.7 Oz.)
• 1 Tbs. Malt Syrup or Molasses (0.5 Oz.)
• Semolina flour or cornmeal for dusting
• Parchment paper a must!
• Seeds and coarse-grained salt for topping bagels

For The Sponge

1. Simply stir together until smooth the detailed ingredients. If using active dry yeast, perhaps warm up some of the water and let the yeast proof for a few minutes before adding the rest of the water and flour.
2. Cover and let sit for one hour at room temperature.

For The Actual Bagels

1. Add the rest of the dough ingredients to the sponge and knead by hand or machine until the dough passes the window-pane test. This will be in the 6-10 minute regime.
2. Divide into 12 equal pieces and form into tight balls on slightly dampened counter using repetitive “wax-on” or “wax-off” (but not both) maneuvers. Let sit covered on counter for 20 minutes or so.
3. Poke a hole in the center with thumbs and work into a torus. Make the hole much larger than one would expect, the shape one might have in mind is that of a car tire (without the squareness of course.) Place on a lightly oiled parchment sheet (in a sheet-pan), and let rise for 30 minutes or so, longer if nippy outside.
4. Put in fridge until the next day, or perhaps the day after.
5. Preheat oven to 500F with the racks in the center. Bring to a boil a good sized vat of water primed with a bit of baking soda. Prepare seed and salt mixture ahead of time.
6. Without crowding the vat, boil the bagels for roughly a minute per side. Dust the parchment with semolina or corn meal in the meantime, and return the bagels to the sheet pan when finished. Immediately sprinkle the seed mixture on the bagels in the desired quantity while they are still wet.
7. Bake for 20 minutes, rotating pans and shelves halfway. This may be longer or shorter depending on your oven, just cook them until they look like bagels (malt syrup and molasses make them substantially darker than they would otherwise become during baking.)
8. Let cool and enjoy!

NB: Don’t handle them too much to avoid deflating before baking. Make sure to drain thoroughly before setting back down on the dusted parchment.

Ole Mole

It is once again my honor to present a post from colder climates, not from Mexico as this post might have one believe. And yes, my bike does have a name. Without further ado, here is Meg!

When trying to come up with a name for Graham's bike, his all-important transportation compatriot, we tended towards Mexican foods. Southern California and our affinity for good Mexican were probably the inspiration, but for some reason "taco" and "nacho" were stricken from the list, perhaps because the nacho fetish is more mine than Graham's. Alas, "mole" was the obvious choice, the beautiful brown sauce that came into our lives senior year of college.

I spent a good part of my winter break senior year in the Huatusco region of Mexico trying to understand the impact of Fair Trade certification on coffee farmers. It was not the party-filled adventure that most Americans associate with the coast of Mexico, however I did need a souvenir and was rightfully instructed that mole was the proper choice. The wonderful coffee farmer who hosted me drove down a windy road to a little, mostly dilapidated, house. Together, we walked up to the front door and knocked, and a plastic bag of brown goo was presented to me. I must admit that my initial thoughts were mostly negative: "you want me to go through US customs, admit to hanging out on Mexican farms with all sorts of livestock, and carry this bag of unidentifiable mass?" But, I did make it back to Boston with mole in hand, enjoying it's complex tastes shortly after taking a much needed shower.

Imagine. A sauce of chocolate, chilies, almonds, cinnamon, tomatoes, onion, sesame seeds... the list goes on. This is mole poblano, one from a long line of moles native to Mexico. It can be served over any meat (this particular recipe calls for an entire turkey) or with tamales or enchiladas. I should make it clear upfront, though, that this is not a quick meal. Most Mexicans only prepare mole on special occasion given the length of time required. The recipe I am about to present actually recommends spreading the tasks over four days, although I think an entire day spent at home (with ingredients already procured) is sufficient. On our first attempt, we spent about three hours, but most seem to agree that more time means more amazing mole. The aromas aren't so bad either.

This recipe makes about 3 quarts (apparently enough to feed a dozen hungry graduate students with leftovers.)

Mole Poblano

Adapted From Rick Bayless'
Authentic Mexican

Everything and Then Some

• 16 medium dried mulato chiles
• 5 medium dried ancho chiles
• 6 dried pasilla chiles
• 1 dried chipotle chile
• 1/4 cup sesame seeds
• 1/2 teaspoon coriander seeds
• 1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons vegetable oil (or lard)
• 1/3 cup unskinned almonds
• 1/3 cup raisins
• 1/2 medium onion, sliced
• 2 cloves garlic
• 2 slices bread (stale preferred but toasted works)
• 15 oz. can of diced or crushed tomatoes, drained
•  3 oz. Mexican chocolate, roughly chopped (or 3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa)
• 4 cloves (or 1/8 teaspoon ground)
• 10 black peppercorns ( or 1/4 teaspoon ground)
• 1 inch cinnamon stick (or 1 teaspoon ground)
• 8 cups broth (I used chicken)
• salt (to taste)
• 1/4 cup sugar (or to taste)

The General Ordeal

1. Prepare. Seriously. With this many ingredients, you need to accumulate, chop, and measure everything before turning on the stove. I like to put my ingredients in lots of little bowls so they are on hand and ready to be added to the pot. In separate bowls, measure out the almonds, chocolate, sesame seeds, raisins, coriander. If using whole peppercorns, cinnamon, and cloves, pulverize those together (either with a mortar and pestle or a spice grinder) and dump those into their own bowl. Slice half an onion and add to its own bowl. Get out your two slices of bread and peel two cloves or garlic. Have your broth and oil (or lard) on hand. Drain the can of tomatoes and dump into a large bowl (other things will be added). I will call this the "tomato bowl."
2. Now the chiles. Carefully devein and remove seeds (keep 2 teaspoons of the seeds and add to another bowl), ripping into flat pieces. Just pile them all together somewhere in your cooking area.
3. Time to turn on the stove. I use a dutch oven for the process, but a large pot will work too. Turn the stove on to medium heat. First we will toast the seeds: sesame, coriander, and chili (not the chiles themselves, just the reserved seeds). Dry toast (no oil) until they are slightly browned. I chose to do them separately just to be sure not to burn. Add the toasted seeds into the tomato bowl. Add 1/4 cup oil to the dutch oven. Once hot, add the almonds and toast for about 4 minutes Remove from pot and add to the tomato bowl. Add the raisins and cook until they start to puff up. Remove and add to the tomato bowl. Then add the onions and garlic and let cook down for about 8-9 minutes, until soft but not brown. Add to the tomato bowl. Add the two pieces of bread, just a few seconds on each side, then remove, tear into small pieces and add to the bowl. Add the chocolate, ground peppercorns, cinnamon, and cloves into tomato bowl too. Set this bowl aside for now.
4. Now onto roasting the chiles. Chile fumes can get intense, so you might want to warn your housemates and also turn on the exhaust fan above your stove. In the same dutch oven still on medium heat, rid of the old oil and add another 1/4 cup vegetable oil (or lard). Once hot, dump in a handful of chiles. You want to brown them a bit on each side, just a few seconds each. Once they seem a bit soft, take them out of the pot and dump into a large bowl (a new bowl, not the tomato bowl). Repeat with all of the chiles. Bring some water to a boil and dump over the bowl of toasted chiles. You want to submerge them all, so I put a plate on top to make sure they all remain under water. Let sit for at least one hour (I opted for 1.5 hours).
5. Time to puree. The contents of each of our two bowls will be pureed separately. Add 1/4 of the mixture from the tomato bowl into the bowl of a food processor along with 1/2 cup of broth. Puree until smooth. Repeat with each portion of the tomato mixture (use 2 cups broth total for all of the tomato mixture). Dump back into a clean bowl. Now we will do the same thing with the chiles. First, drain the chiles in a colander to remove steeping water. I took 1/3 of the chiles at a time into the food processor along with 1/2 cup broth. Repeat with all portions of chiles (use 1.5 cups broth total for all of the chile mixture). Return to a separate clean bowl.
6. Now we can combine. Reheat your dutch oven or pot and add 2 tablespoons oil. Once warm, add the chili puree mixture through a metal strainer, trying to rid of larger chunks. I started to do this, then decided I wanted those chunks of chili and just dumped it all in. Completely up to you. Then stir constantly for about 5 minutes or until the mixture appears to thicken. Do the same thing with the other mixture, adding to the chile mixture, straining of you desire. Stir again and let cook together for about 5 minutes. Add another 4 cups of broth or so (the consistency should resemble thick cream) and let simmer on low heat for at least 45 minutes (I went for about 2 hours). You probably want to cover, at least partially, to prevent a large amount of mole from splashing onto your stove top. Here, add a pinch of salt and the sugar. Stir and taste. Feel free to add whatever other spices seem necessary and serve with your chosen accompaniment.

NB: I served this over chicken, but I am sure you can be more creative. The sauce could easily be made vegetarian by using vegetable broth and serving with a variety of squash or pumpkin.