Speaking of 660 Curries (I never seem to shut up about it, do I), I recently tried a recipe from the back of the book, where he puts the curry accompaniments. It was a basic chapati, or roti, recipe, but with the addition of fenugreek leaves. These are one of those specialty items that we bought some time ago but then seldom used, so I was thrilled to find something new to do with them. And I was startled at how good it was – the leaves perfume the chapatis with a fresh green scent, and also seem to make the dough softer and better to eat. Amazing. I make chapatis all the time, but this variation is going to become part of the regular rotation.

I don’t measure too carefully when I make chapati. To make breads for the two of us (about 6 small chapati) I generally use about a half cup of whole wheat flour, a half cup of all-purpose, a pinch of salt, and maybe half a cup of warm water, then adjust with more flour or water as necessary to make a smooth dough. For the fenugreek breads, I added 1/4 cup of dried fenugreek leaves, soaked in cold water for 15 minutes then drained before mixing into the dough. If I had fresh or frozen leaves (which I’ve never seen anywhere), then it would have been half a cup of chopped leaves. I kneaded the dough for a bit, rolled it into a ball and let it rest about half an hour under its mixing bowl.

When the rest of the dinner was ready, I cut the dough into six pieces, rolled them out into thin circles, plopped them onto a hot griddle, turning once, then put them directly onto a gas flame to poof them up. We usually just cook them entirely on the griddle, but since I had a spare burner available I thought I’d try the direct-on-flame approach, and it worked really well. So often when we cook Indian food, though, every burner is in use, so this may not happen again soon.

The breads rested in a basket lined with a clean dishtowel while we set the table, and were perfectly soft and chewy. It was difficult not to overeat. Plus the house smelled wonderfully of fenugreek all evening.

We recently made hot and sour soup for the first time, and I can’t imagine why I waited this long. It was prompted by the annual advent of scallion-chive flatbreads, since the chives are shooting up in the garden and we happened to have a bag of cilantro in the fridge, and nothing goes better with these breads than soup. We just picked up a used copy of The Wisdom of the Chinese Kitchen by Grace Young, and I pulled this recipe out more or less at random. It looked simple and fast, useful features when you’re also making involved flatbreads.

I followed it pretty closely, while leaving out the lily buds, adding a bit of extra pork, and using the pre-shredded black fungus that we’ve become addicted to instead of whole cloud ears. The soup is heated with white pepper and soured with cider vinegar, and the main complaints we had were the lack of salt (fixed with a dab of soy sauce after serving) and the dullness of the vinegar flavor, apparently due to adding it early in the cooking process. When we ate the leftovers I added a bit of fresh vinegar and it was much peppier. But other than that it was really good – soothing and very textural, and the breads (which I made with hot chile oil and plenty of salt) were fantastic dipped into it.

I think we’ll try a variation on the recipe soon – maybe Barbara Tropp’s version which uses rice vinegar and soy. Does anyone have a recipe for hot and sour soup they really like? I think this could become part of our regular rotation.

Hot and Sour Soup

Adapted from The Wisdom of the Chinese Kitchen by Grace Young. Serves four.

• 1 quart chicken broth
• 1/4 cup dried black fungus
• 1 block silken tofu, cut into cubes
• 6 ounces pork (or less), sliced thinly
• 1 small can slivered bamboo shoots, rinsed and drained
• 2 Tbsp cornstarch
• 2 Tbsp cider vinegar
• 1 egg, beaten
• 1 bunch scallions, sliced thinly
• pinch of sugar
• 1/2 tsp white pepper

Soak the fungus in cold water for half an hour or until softened. Drain.

Stir together the cornstarch and vinegar in a small bowl with one tablespoon of water.

 Bring the chicken broth to a boil in a saucepan.

When the broth is boiling, add the fungus, tofu, pork, and bamboo shoots, and bring back to a boil. Add the cornstarch mixture and continue to cook at a boil, stirring, until the soup thickens. Remove from the heat and stir in the beaten egg, scallions, sugar and pepper. I would also add another splash of cider vinegar at this point, to taste.

Ladle into bowls and serve with soy sauce and hot sauce, with flatbreads or buns. Also good ladled over leftover rice.

Every year or two we try making injera bread, and are usually crushed by disappointment when it sticks to the pan, tastes weird and is just generally unsuccessful. This time it actually sort of worked.

Injera is a traditional Ethiopian flatbread made by souring a batter made of teff flour for several days, then cooking it like a large pancake to produce a stretchy, spongy sour bread which is perfect for mopping up spicy stews and is also used as a plate. Many cookbooks assume that you can’t get teff flour in the United States, and so suggest a blend of wheat flours. However, that adds gluten, and doesn’t really have the right flavor – teff is easier to find now that gluten-free baking is more popular, so I strongly suggest seeking it out. I also don’t recommend “quick” injera recipes that use baking soda instead of a slow yeast rise or sourdough starter. It’s not just supposed to be bubbly, you want it sour. Plan ahead!

After trying various recipes over the years, I decided to go back to the one really traditional version that I’ve found, from Flatbreads & Flavors. When I first made it years ago, we had so much trouble cooking it there was barely any worth eating. But I had no complaints about the batter this time, it behaved perfectly and tasted just right. The cooking…was a learning experience.

The first pancake is always the worst, right? We decided to try using our big enamelled Copco pan. I buttered it, poured in the batter, covered it to steam, then tried to get the bread out. It didn’t want to come, I suspect because I hadn’t let it cook long enough.

The resulting pile of partially-cooked sourdough teff goo was not attractive. We tried again.

Jon took over the cooking, as the resident pancake expert. Still, it didn’t work quite right – the bottom crisped up while the middle stayed raw. We dumped it out and nibbled on the crisp edges while we pondered our options.

We switched to a non-stick pan. This worked better, and didn’t seem to need the butter. Plus the lid fit better on this one.

The breads gradually improved. Jon experimented with different lids and heat settings.

Eventually, they started to look pretty good! We were afraid they would end up brittle as we’ve had happen before, but after they sat out on a towel for a few minutes they gained that soft, stretchy texture that injera is supposed to have. We scooped up our spicy chicken stew with no problems at all, and it tasted exactly like a good Ethiopian restaurant should. Now we just need to make it again before we forget everything we learned this time!

Teff Injera

• 2 cups teff flour
• 3 cups lukewarm water
• 1 tsp dry yeast
• 1 cup water

Begin three days before you plan to make the breads.

Combine the flour with 2 1/2 cups of the warm water in a bowl, stirring with your fingers to break up lumps.

Dissolve the yeast in the remaining 1/2 cup of warm water, then add it to the batter. Stir, cover and set aside for 2-3 days. Don’t bother it. It will smell funky and look worse – don’t worry.

An hour or so before you’re ready to cook the injera, pour off the water that has gathered on top of the batter. Heat a cup of fresh water in a small saucepan. When it boils, add 1/2 cup of the batter, lower the heat to medium, and stir until it becomes thick and smooth. Take it off the heat and let cool. When it’s just warm to the touch, add it back to the batter bowl and stir smooth. Let rise 30 minutes to an hour, until frothy.

To cook the injera: this has definitely taken some trial and error on our part to find which pan and lid work best. Ideally you want a 10-12 inch skillet that has a tight-fitting lid. Heat the skillet over medium-high heat. You may or may not want to butter the pan – it doesn’t seem necessary with non-stick cookware. Give the batter a stir, and pour about 1/2 cup’s worth into the skillet in a spiral, starting at the outside, then shake the pan to get the batter to flow into any remaining empty areas. Cover the pan and let cook for two minutes. Check for doneness and wipe the lid dry before continuing to cook for another minute or two. When the edges are curling and the surface is dry, remove the injera from the pan (if the bread is done this should be fairly easy) and lay it on a dry towel. Continue cooking breads until the batter is gone.

Lay the breads out on plates and ladle the food on top (you could make doro wat, or kitfo, or just dal – anything saucy and spiced). Serve with more breads alongside and use the injera to scoop up bites by hand.

This is ridiculous. Just as I was beginning to feel somewhat recovered (apart from what I consider normal – if irritating – seasonal allergies), Jon’s back went out in a spectacular manner. He’s beginning to feel functional again, but I’ve been keeping busy trying to cook interesting and comforting things that can be eaten while propped up with pillows.

I made braised lemon-olive chicken with couscous, which made a wonderful soup the next day, and baked cookies (my grandmother’s sugar pecan cookies with white chocolate added in), and made an enormous quantity of minestrone, and baked hamburger buns from scratch, which made for some truly fabulous burgers. I also ordered a pizza one night, but I rather felt like I’d earned it.

The hamburger buns were a real highlight of the week – very simple to make, and very rewarding. Soft and sweet, they still held up to sturdy burgers with all the trimmings. I cut the original recipe down by half, but I still have a nice big bag of leftover buns for future burgers. Well worth the effort.

Hamburger Buns

Adapted from Mary’s Bread Basket and Soup Kettle by Mary Gubser

Makes 8-12 buns, depending on the size you like. The dough is very similar to challah, so I’m guessing it goes stale quickly – I put all my leftovers directly into the freezer.

• 1 packet (2 1/4 tsp) dry yeast
• 1 cup warm water
• 1 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1/3 cup Canola or other vegetable oil
• 2 eggs
• 4-5 cups white bread flour

Combine the yeast and warm water until yeast is dissolved. Add the salt, sugar, oil and eggs and beat together. Add the flour gradually until the dough comes together, then knead ten minutes or so, added flour as needed, until the dough is soft and smooth. Put in an oiled bowl (covered) to rise for an hour or until doubled.

Punch down the dough and wait ten minutes, then divide it into portions. Splitting it 8 ways gives pretty standard-size buns, but you can easily make them smaller. Roll the dough pieces into balls, set them on oiled baking sheets, then press down lightly to flatten them out a bit. Cover them with a towel and let rise 30-45 minutes. Preheat the oven to 375.

When the rolls have risen, you can, if you wish, brush them with an egg wash and sprinkle seeds on top. I hate seeds on my rolls, so I never do this. Put the pans into the oven and let bake 10-15 minutes, until golden brown. Let cool before using for burgers.

We have been braising fiends this year, and we’ve begun to make inroads on some of our larger roasts, which means leftovers. Of course, the great thing about braised meat is that it’s better the next day, after the flavors have had a chance to really meld and settle in. Last weekend we pulled out a pork arm roast and braised it on a bed of cabbage, onion, and sauerkraut flavored with paprika, caraway and beer. It was pleasant enough the first night, but lunch the next day was when it really shone.

I had made a batch of buttermilk-caraway dinner rolls (from our go-to baking book for such things, Mary’s Bread Basket and Soup Kettle), which were wonderful eaten hot out of the pan with butter, but were also delightful split, toasted, spread with mustard, and turned into little pork-and-cabbage sliders. A pile of cornichons and a glass of Pacific Rim Riesling completed a rather dreamy lunch.

And because we made a truly enormous amount, I had those sliders again yesterday (maybe today, too). And for dinner last night, I threw together this interesting noodle dish. Some fresh shredded cabbage, sauteed in olive oil until well browned, tossed with some of the leftover braised pork, and mixed with cooked gemelli pasta and doused with Frank’s hot sauce. It came out well, with a sort of spicy Asian-fusiony sort of effect. I liked it.

I don’t normally have the attention span to eat the same thing every day, but I ate this sandwich for lunch three days running and was still not tired of it. I kept trying to decide whether to change it up a bit, add a different condiment…and then made it exactly the same way. Again.

This all came about because we thought a particular day was going to be cold and rainy, so we planned a pot roast. As it turned out, the weather all week was ridiculously warm and springlike, but once the beef was defrosted it was too late to back out. We based the braise on the Yankee Pot Roast Redux recipe in Molly Stevens’ All About Braising, using a rolled and tied cross-rib roast from our freezer and cooking it in Strongbow cider, chicken broth and onions, with carrots and potatoes going in near the end. It was fabulous, and we ate it two nights running with polenta and shredded Brussels sprouts, but there were still many leftovers.

Having thought ahead to this predicament, I had picked up a bag of rosemary potato rolls at the co-op, made by the Breadfarm, a wonderful bakery in Edison. These rolls, like so much the Breadfarm does, are spectacular – sour and chewy, with coarse salt on top and plenty of fresh rosemary scattered throughout. When it came time to make my sandwich, I cut a roll in half, toasted it lightly, spread it with mayonnaise (Best Foods), and fit a slice of pot roast onto it. I also remembered that we had a bag of cilantro in the fridge, so I pulled out a few sprigs to add. Squished down well, the ingredients melded together, and positively sang.

I ate that first sandwich and immediately made another.

Having recently rediscovered the joys of challah, I’ve decided that one of my missions for the next year is to find my favorite challah recipe. I’ve only tasted a few so far, so I’m not sure what my ideal is yet. There’s really only one way to find out, especially since there isn’t a single Jewish bakery in our vicinity. Time to get baking!

For my first attempt, I picked a recipe out of my America’s Test Kitchen cookbook, partly because it made just one loaf – a much more manageable amount than some, especially considering that challah does not keep. Another time I’ll try Jon’s aunt’s recipe, but I’ll need to either scale it down or be prepared to feed an army. It makes a lot.

We’ve made this recipe twice so far – or rather, we’ve each made it once, for two separate potlucks. When I made it, I did a simple three-strand braid. When Jon made it, he followed the suggestion for an extra smaller braid on top, which gave the loaf more height and complexity. He added poppyseeds; I didn’t. Both loaves were very good, eggy and sweet and excellent spread with soft butter.

So now I’m keen to try some different recipes. Milk or no milk? Butter? Raisins? What’s your favorite challah?

As a side note, I’d heard that challah makes excellent French toast. There wasn’t enough of the first loaf left for us to try, but with this latest one we had plenty left over for a breakfast. Jon made a batter of eggs, milk and flour with sugar and cinnamon, soaked the bread in it and fried it in butter. We ate it with maple syrup and sausages. The challah was so dense that it didn’t soak up the batter as quickly as we expected, but it was pretty darn tasty.

Challah

adapted from The America’s Test Kitchen Family Cookbook

• 1/2 cup warm water
• 2 1/4 tsp active dry yeast
• 4 Tbsp butter, melted and cooled
• 2 whole eggs
• 1 egg, separated
• 3 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1 1/4 tsp salt
• 1 tsp poppy seeds (optional)

Dissolve the yeast in the warm water in a large mixing bowl and let it proof for five minutes or so – it should bubble up a little. Add the butter, two eggs and one egg yolk, sugar, salt and 3 cups of the flour. Stir until the dough comes together, then turn out onto a board. Knead until the dough is soft and resilient, adding the remaining flour as necessary. Wash and oil the bowl, put the dough back in, and cover with plastic wrap. Set in a warm place to rise for 1-1 1/2 hours.

Punch down the dough. To make a simple braid, separate it into three equal pieces, roll them out into long strands, and braid them together, tucking in the ends. For a fancier loaf, save out a smaller portion before making the main braid, then divide the reserved piece into three sections and make a second, smaller braid to lay on top. Set the finished loaf on a baking sheet, cover with oiled plastic wrap, and let rise 30-60 minutes.

Whisk the reserved egg white with 1 Tbsp of water. Brush the egg wash on the loaf (optional – I don’t like egg washes, myself) and sprinkle on poppyseeds if you like. Bake at 375 for 30-40 minutes, until deep gold.

Let the loaf cool on a rack for an hour or two before eating. Use up within a day or two – challah goes stale very quickly.

This wasn’t an unqualified success, but it was fun. I had never, ever made sloppy joes before, so it was a total experiment. Both of us being products of the public school system, we were each traumatized by the high school cafeteria version of this dish (there’s a reason I ate peanut butter sandwiches all through school). As I recall, it’s basically a cheap hamburger bun topped with bad spaghetti sauce – anyone else remember more details? Anyway, we had some sweet potato rolls left over and I thought it would be fun to top them with a sort of piquant ground beef sauce and let them get all soggy. And it was!

For the sauce, I sauteed an onion, mixed in a pound of ground beef from our previous cow (the new cow is in the freezer, but there’s still a bit left of the old one) and added a bit of Pendleton’s barbecue sauce. That tasted a little odd to me, so I added half a can of diced tomatoes, some fresh garlic and quite a bit of salt, and it came together pretty well (I think the garlic really did the trick). I cut the rolls in half, toasted them lightly, and dumped the sauce all over, with a bit of fresh sauteed spinach on the side. We opened a rich toasty Zinfandel. It was not at all like high school.

Cold weather, orange and yellow leaves, windstorms, torrential rains, and a stubborn head cold have conspired to make me really feel the onset of autumn. I’ve roasted a chicken, made several pots of soup, and braised a brisket with Frank’s Red Hot chile sauce and dried onion soup mix (not to mention my first kugel - more on that later). I also made dinner rolls, which I haven’t done in a million years.

These aren’t just any dinner rolls, either. They’re sweet potato dinner rolls, which are sweet and earthy and soft and perfect for scenting the house on a cold fall evening.

Like so many things that I make, this is from a book by Alford and Duguid, although unlike most of their recipes I’ve found this one needed a little tweaking. Many of their yeasted breads tend to have far too little yeast and far too much salt for my taste, and my experience has been that even after a four or five hour rise, you have a barely-risen dough that tastes entirely of salt. Therefore, I referred to some classic American dinner roll recipes and adjusted amounts accordingly.

I particularly love these rolls, not just for their rich flavor, but for their beautiful pale orange color. They beg to be served with other autumnal dishes such as turkey, Brussels sprouts, cranberries and cheese.

The finished rolls are amazing eaten hot out of the oven, with lots of butter, but they’re also wonderful torn up and dunked into soup, or toasted and made into little sandwiches or sliders. I can particularly recommend a filling of leftover spicy brisket with bitter salad greens.

Sweet Potato Dinner Rolls

adapted from Home Baking: The Artful Mix of Flour and Traditions from Around the World by Jeffrey Alford and Naomi Duguid

1 sweet potato, about 1 pound (get a Garnet Yam, if you can, for a rich orange color)
2 cups water
2 tsp dry yeast
1/4 cup brown sugar
between 3 and 5 cups all-purpose flour
2 Tbsp butter, melted
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 eggs

Peel the sweet potato and cut it into chunks. Place in a saucepan with the water, bring to a boil and simmer 15 minutes or until tender. Drain, reserving one cup of the cooking liquid, and mash the sweet potatoes in a large mixing bowl. Let cool.

When the reserved cooking water has cooled to lukewarm, add the yeast to it and stir. Add this mixture to the mashed sweet potato and stir some more. Mix in the brown sugar, add a cup of flour, then stir in the eggs, melted butter and salt. Add more flour, a half cup at a time, until the dough is too thick to stir. Turn it out onto a floured board and knead for ten minutes or so, adding more flour as necessary, until it’s smooth and resilient. Turn it into a clean oiled bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and set in a warm place to rise for about two hours or until doubled.

Using a knife or dough scraper, divide the dough into 16 pieces (cut in half, then in half again, etc). Butter a large baking sheet and set the rolls on it, spacing them slightly apart. Cover and let rise another 30-40 minutes. Preheat the oven to 400°.

When the rolls are nicely risen, pop them in the oven (you can give them a butter or egg wash first, but I usually don’t bother) and bake for about half an hour, until they’re golden on top and make a satisfying thunk when you tap them on the bottom.

Eat some immediately, with butter. Let leftovers cool completely before sealing in a plastic bag or container.

Ever since I discovered the word “spatchcock” in a Nigella Lawson book, I’ve wanted to try it. And not just because it’s such a great word.

It’s a method of preparing a chicken for high heat cooking such as roasting or grilling, where you remove the backbone and flatten the bird so that it’s more or less an even thickness throughout. It has the effect of getting all the skin on one side, so you should be able to get lots of crispy chicken skin, plus the flesh side is all available for seasoning. This weekend we finally got around to trying it, and the result was sort of a Win-Fail-Win situation.

We had quite good luck with the actual preparation. I bought the smallest organic chicken I could find, which was unfortunately still more than 4 pounds (what is with the enormous chickens in the store these days?) We cut out the backbone with our kitchen scissors, and Jon managed to pull out the breastbone with his thumbs just like Steven Raichlen said to (his book How to Grill gives fantastic photographic instructions for this kind of thing). I cut off the wingtips and tucked the ends of the drumsticks through slits in the thighs. The backbone and other leftover bits went into a tub in the freezer for stock.

Once that was all done, I made a sort of cutting-board pesto of fresh mint, cilantro, garlic, paprika, olive oil, salt and pepper, and rubbed it thoroughly into the chicken. It went in to the refrigerator for the rest of the day.

It was a beautiful day. We gardened until we could hardly move. We had some cocktails. All seemed right with the world. Little did we know…

Grilling the chicken was where the problems arose. Raichlen claims that the grill should be at medium heat, which is defined by being able to hold your hand over the coals for a count of 6-Mississippi. Our grill was burning a bit hot, but we got it pretty close. The chicken went on, skin side down, for about 12 minutes, then on the flip side for another 15. According to the book, it should have been just about perfect. It was not.

Another twenty minutes, and many chicken-flippings, later, the legs had fallen off the chicken and it was still barely cooked through (too big a chicken? Not warm enough before grilling? Not sure). We eventually gave up and ate the most-done parts of it, feeling more than a little put out. Not even fresh tomato salad and Breadfarm allium bread from the farmer’s market could rescue the evening from the pall cast by eating undercooked chicken – not something I recommend, definitely.

But! I’m happy to report that the whole thing was rescued the next day at lunchtime. I pulled the carcass out of the fridge and cut off the breast meat, heated it in a pan to finish cooking it, then sliced it and tossed it with the remainder of the cherry tomato salad, some sprigs of mizuna, and the rest of the allium bread which I had cut into cubes and fried in olive oil. It made an amazing lunch salad.

The rest of the grilled chicken went into the stockpot. I figure a deep, smoky, herbed chicken stock could be just the thing for a pot of green chili later in the season. So I think you could call the chicken a success, in the end. Next time, though, we’re getting a smaller bird and starting it sooner. Less pain and suffering all around.