Ginger Junky

Back in cookie land, babes still dream...

While some swooned over the chocolate ones, a batch of gingery cookies actually won the cookie contest. Wanting to make something seasonally warming, I was particularly attracted to the recipe on page 38 of my library-loaned copy of The Ultimate Cookie Cookbook. The combination of candied ginger, vanilla, brown and sugar and baking spices made these an absolute must.

Watching them spread out thin and flat under the oven light, I knew they were developing the crispy texture I was after. Generally I’m a soft & chewy cookie lover, but the boy has been swaying me.

Always seeking to please, I knew these cookies were a success as I watched the boy gobble down all 4 off a plate. He claimed the crisp golden edges as his favorite while I savored the chewy center bite. It satisfied both our sweet desires. The only problem with these treats is that they’re such short-lasting treasures.


Candied Ginger Cookies

Adapted from The Ultimate Cookie Cookbook by Barbara Grunes and Virginia Van Vynckt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter at room temperature
1/3 cup granulated sugar (I shorted it by few spoonfuls)
1/3 cup light brown sugar
1 egg
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 vanilla bean (optional)
1 1/2 c all purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 cup minced candied ginger

 NOTE: My ground ginger (which had come in a friend's suitcase from Indonesia about a year ago) tasted off. Instead substituted 1 full teaspoon pumpkin pie spice for everything (it's a mixture of cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and allspice). I also didn't have cream of tartar, so replaced that and the baking soda with 3/4 teaspoon baking powder. The results were still wonderful.

Cream butter and sugars on medium speed until light, about 2-3 minutes. As an alternative, it's also nice with vanilla bean. Add the scraped seeds when creaming butter. Blend in egg and vanilla. Whisk dry ingredients in a separate bowl. Slowly stir into butter-based batter to make a soft dough. Mix in candied ginger.

Either stick saran wrap directly to the surface of the dough, or gather in a ball in your hands and wrap completely in the plastic. Refrigerate for at least 1 hour and up to 2 days.

Cook on cookie sheet for a couple minutes before removing to a wire rack. And please, if you're intent on baking, buy a wire rack!

When ready to cook, preheat oven to 350. Lightly grease a cookie sheet or bust out your silpat mat. Scoop spoonfuls of dough and shape into 3/4-inch to 1-inch balls, then flatten slightly with your hand to make a thick disk. Set the cookie balls at least 2 1/2 inches apart on a cookie mat, as they'll flatten quite a lot in a cooking. These cookies really spread out, creating a sweet, crispy cookie with just a hint of chew in the center. Grunes and Bynckt say to bake for 8-10 minutes at 350, but these take at least 14 minutes in my oven. If baking for someone who likes crispy cookies (ahem, my sweetheart), you can push it until 16 minutes. The results are still fabulous - it's just a matter of taste.

Dense Cookbook, Delightful Cookies

I was recently amazed to discover I can check out cookbooks from the library. It’s sounds quite obvious, but the applicability of it had somehow never occurred to me.

When I told Lacy, she said “Yeah sure, but I’m afraid of spilling all over it in the kitchen.”

“Naw....” I said, imagining my cleanly cooking adventures. I silently pledged even measuring, steady pouring and fastidious use of my plastic cookbook holder.

“You were totally right,” I said post-due date, having returned the recipe for Rich Fudgy Delights smeared with you-know-what. But these babies are worth the mess.

But my coworker said the cookies “had great chocolate flavor and chewy texture!” Via email. With lots of exclamation marks.

“They taste like the Triple Chocolate cookies at Grand Central!” Lacy gushed, pairing cookies with port at my kitchen table. I’ve yet to try Grand Central’s, but funnily enough, The Ultimate Cookie Cookbook reminded me of their recipe. Before making the cookies, I even pulled open both cookbooks to compare the ingredients and instructions for their most decadent, chocolate-thick goods. If it’s any recommendation, the following recipe requires less labor and fewer eggs.

Fudgy Rich Chocolate Delights
Adapted from The Ultimate Cookie Cookbook by Barbara Grunes and Virginia Van Vynckt
These delicious, brownie-like cookies require investing some time. I recommend making the dough the day before you plan on baking and serving them. Store in a bowl and stick saran wrap directly to the dough's surface before popping it in the fridge.

Ingredients
5 oz semisweet or bittersweet chocolate (I did 2.5 oz of each) I love Scharffen Berger, but buy a lot of Ghiradeli too.
1/4 cup (1/2 stick ) unsalted butter, room temp.
1 egg
1 egg white
1/2 cup plus 2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon instant coffee
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup chocolate chips (I did 1/2 white chocolate, 1/2 semisweet chocolate, cutting  blocks into very small chunks)
1 cup chopped nuts (I used almonds, though hazelnuts would be amazing)

Preheat oven to 325. Lightly grease a cookie sheet or bust out your Silpat.
Melt chocolate with butter in a microwave or over a double boiler, stirring occasional. Set aside to cool.  Ideally, you want it between 80 and 85 degrees, which could take up to 20 minutes.

Beat egg, egg white and sugar on medium to high speed until thick and light, 4-5 minutes say Grunes and Vynckt. I did it for a full 10 minutes. Grand Central prescribes a whopping 14 minutes, but at 2 am on a weeknight I deemed it unnecessary.

Add the instant coffee and vanilla. Slowly stir in the chocolate mixture until blended. In a separate bowl, whisk flour, baking powder and salt. Add to chocolate, but do not overmix. The batter will be loose, but thickens as it stands. Fold in chocolate chips and nuts. Using a tablespoon, scoop out batter. Shape into mounds using 2 spoons. Don’t do what. But if you have a salty palate, do top each mound with a few grains/flakes of finishing salt.

Bake at 325 for 14-16 minutes.

Crispy Chicken for Two

I’m a girl who finds extraordinary comfort and satisfaction in a whole roasted chicken. But last week as the weather cooled, my stomach stumbled upon a desire for crispy skinned chicken. I didn’t want to deep fry anything, though I craved the sound of crackling meat in a pan and crunchy, paper-thin skin between my teeth. Something to savor September.

What I had to do, I knew, was butterfly and flatten the bird for a good pan-frying, a dinner ordeal I’d previously undertaken with Lacy’s help. On Thursday, for the first time, I butterflied a chicken all by myself!

First I arranged the chicken, rinsed and patted dry, breast side down on a large cutting board (I prefer one with a “meat moat” and used the large butcher block Lacy’s grandpa made for me). Wielding my Henckle kitchen shears with fiegned confidence, I cut up one side of the spine, snipping away from me, tailbone to the back of the neck. Then I cut along the other side to remove the entire spinal cord. Turning the chicken over, wings tucked under for leverage, I used my palm to apply quick pressure on the sternum, cracking it open so I could flatten the entire chicken.

With the breast side still up and the legs pointing away, I exchanged my shears for a paring knife. Time to remove the wishbone! I find that doing away with this little bone makes slicing the breast meat a breeze later (and fun fact: the wishbone is similar in size and shape to the clitoris!). I like to feel for the bone with my fingers, then insert the paring knife on it’s underside, tracing the curve from left to right. Next, easing the knife into the same incision, I angle the point upwards and feel along the top side. With that little wish all stenciled out, I insert my pointer and middle finger, wrap them around the bone and give a good pull. It usually comes out with one tug, but sometimes it snaps in the middle and I have to grasp and yank each side separately.

Is it sick to admit I love the textiles of butchery? I feel a strange intimacy with my food when prodding it, scraping away extra fat accumulations and petting it down with salt. Well, clearly I don’t think it’s sick at all, considering I ate the entire chicken over the course of the weekend, with the help, be assured, of someone dear.  

Now bear in mind that this was Thursday and I was actually prepping for a Friday night dinner date. After mincing together thyme, rosemary, parsley, garlic and kosher salt, I rubbed it under the skin, rubbed lemon juice and salt on the outside of the skin, wrapped the whole plated thing up in saran wrap and let it live in my fridge for 24 hours. Of course, you could rub it down and let it sit out for an hour before patting dry and setting it to sizzle in your biggest skillet. To do so the next day, I threw a slice of bacon in my pan, rendering the fat and flipping it a few times to crisp and brown on each side. I removed the little piece of pork for later (to crumble sparingly atop the chicken and salad greens) removed any little brown bits, and supplemented the bacon fat with an extra tablespoon of olive oil. When jumping-but-not-quite-smoking hot, I add the chicken, splayed out, skin down. I then placed my stock pot on top and weighted the whole thing down with my blender (my kitchen is a place of improvisation) to press the chicken into the pan and brown up every inch possible. If you have two large cast iron pans that nestle together, they are the perfect tools for this job.

Trying to disturb the chicken as little as possible, I tune into my kitchen spidey-sense, lowering the heat slightly and checking under a breast when I think it’s approaching the right shade of golden. When achieved, I lift up the stock pot (thank goodness my sweet date had arrived by then to help me, but you can set it aside, assuming you have a clean sink or counter surface), flip to the ugly, skinless side, and brown up again. Check a small chicken for doneness after 30 minutes of total cooking time, but a large chicken could require an entire hour. You can pop the chicken, pan and all, into the oven, but do NOT cover or your crispy skin will lose its integrity.

Clearly Friday night dates are a serious prospect in my kitchen, but it all proves worth it when served with scalloped sweet potatoes and a bottle of pinotage, and the sweet boy sitting across from me gently places a linen napkin in his lap. I really enjoy eating this chicken atop a green salad, barely dressed in a lemony-mustardy vinaigrette.

On Saturday, after sex and french toast and adventures in Grand Central Bakery and Uwajimaya, we came home to pick apart the cold leftovers. I cubed up a collection of white and dark meat for chicken noodle soup and sliced up the rest for sandwiches. He sliced the rye bread sturdily, the tomato thinly, and assembled, meticulously, a spread of other fixings. Looking over at him I exclaimed “You have a perfect mis en place!” Beaming back, he confirmed my mustard selection (“Just the dijon”) and slathered on extra. More pepper and parsley, I decided, tasting my soup.

Finishing leftovers always feels like a bit of an accomplishment. With company, the completion is utter enjoyment.

“We had a really good weekend,” I responded on Monday to a coworker’s inquiry.
“We?” she asked incredulously. “I go on vacation for a week and come back and now you’re a we?”

The next words out of my mouth were “Oh, shit.” I felt caught. And by my own net, no doubt.  

Summer’s ending and we’re still standing here together, he and I. The cooling weather has me not just crisping chicken skin and browning sweet potatoes, but even baking pumpkin pie, his favorite. And more than food, I’m craving him. Sometimes I feel so saturated in sweet syrupy feelings, you could just pour me on a waffle.

When I’m with him, I feel so confidently that I’m in the right place. Across from a kitchen table or side by side in bed, what could feel more right? But later, after the Tupperware is empty of leftovers and my apartment void of his presence, I admit I feel even smaller than before. My body aches with indecision. I can’t even discern if it needs to be fed.