Viking Sunday Dinner

Grill-top flatbread

When we inherited a massive offset smoker this summer from our neighbors who moved to Boulder, I admit I had some reservations.  It had been sitting - no, lurking - in a dark corner, looking like a massive black iron steam engine, whipped out only on grand occasions when 8 hours of rib smoking were in order.  I was intimidated, a little.

However, when Donovan and I dug it out and installed it in a new place of honor, we discovered that it was actually a lot more functional than it looked - and could be used as a very servicable grill for projects both large and small.

One of the emerging favorite uses to which to put our new friend is grill-top flatbreads.  These are not quite pita, not quite foccacia - and have developed a cult following.   This makes 6 flatbreads, which 6 people will devour in record time.

• 1 packets of active dry yeast
• 1 cup warm water
• pinch of sugar
• 2 teaspoons sea salt
• 1/2 cup whole wheat flour
• extra virgin olive oil (so much olive oil)
• 2 cups white flour

This is a nice place to use your mixer, if you have one with a dough hook.  In a large mixer bowl, disolve the yeast in the warm water with the pinch of sugar.  Let it sit for about 5 minutes until you see some foaming action!

Stir in the salt, a few good glugs of olive oil and the 1/2 cup of whole wheat flour.  Things will be pretty gooey at this point.   Switch to your dough hook and slowly start adding the 2 cups of white flour, about a half-cup at a time.  Knead at medium speed until the bundle of dough is smooth and elastic.

If you don't have a mixer, just use a big wooden spoon to stir in the white flour until it gets a bit stiff, then tip it out onto a well-floured board and knead by hand, adding the remaining flour, until smooth.

Plop the ball of dough into a well-oiled bowl (more olive oil), cover with plastic wrap and let it sit for at least an hour until it has doubled in size.

30 minutes or so before you're ready to eat, prep the flatbreads.  Grab a tray or plate and some wax paper; you're going to roll out the individual flatbreads, oil them, and lay them out, seperated by wax paper. Tip your oily dough back onto a board - it should be sufficiently oiled that you won't need more flour - and divide it into six equally-sized pieces.  Roll each piece out flat to about 8 inches - no need to get too fussy about the shape - then brush it with olive oil on both sides and lay it on a piece of waxpaper that you've set out.  Repeat with the remaining pieces; you can stack them with wax paper between, just remember to oil them on both sides.

OK, grill time.  I'm assuming you have a hot grill prepared, and have already cleared it of its other recipes.  I like to cook these after I've finished cooking whatever meats we're eating for dinner (they need to rest after all!) and while people are sitting salivating waiting for Donovan to give the word.   Carefully peel the little slabs of dough off their pieces of wax paper and lay them reasonably neatly on the grill over the hot coals (or gas if that's how you roll).  They will cook quickly - maybe 1 minute per side.   Keep an eye on them for charring and flip them with tongs as soon as they start to brown. 

As soon as the flatbreads are browned and slightly puffy on both sides, yank them off the grill and give them a last brush with some olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt before you put them on the table for people to tear into with their bare hands.

If you want to get really snazzy, you can brush them with olive oil in which you've allowed a crushed clove of garlic and a few snips of fresh rosemary to marinate for a few hours.

You could also try making grill-top pizza this way, though I haven't tried that yet.  I may give it a shot this weekend - will keep you posted.

Fishpie!

After I made this for the first time, Fishpie became my bowling nickname.  That tells you the impact it had on those who ate it.

This isn't a pastry pie, but a kind of oceanic shepherd's pie, with a chowdery underside, and a luxurious mashed potato topside.  It is a very gently adapted version of a recipe by Nigel Slater from his extraordinary cookbook Appetite.  Nigel has a real thing for smoked fish, and while I love it too (witness husband's all-smoked fish birthday party), I don't find it particularly cost effective in the bulk that you need it for this recipe.  Fresh tilapia fillets, however, are fantastically cheap and delicious - and if you can find a few tidbits of smoked bluefish, trout or some other white fish (not salmon) to throw in here, it's great but hardly essential.  The mussels, however, are.  See my notes on moules and be reassured that they're probably the easiest part of the recipe.

If you break the recipe into a few phases, it's a nice afternoon project that culminates in a glorious Sunday evening feast.  It really comes into its own with a Belgian white beer and a big bowl of lightly buttered peas.   Serves six.

• 4 pounds or so fresh mussels
• glass of white wine
• 3 pounds tilapia fillets
• 3 bay leaves
• 2 cups milk
• 1/2 stick of butter
• 4 tablespoons of flour
• handful of chopped parley
• 3+ pounds of potatoes (Idaho or Yukon gold are nice here)

First stage:  mussels.  Rinse and inspect the mussels, tossing any open mussels or mussels with broken shells.  Throw the wine into a large saucepan with a lid and bring to a boil, then toss in the mussels and cook for ten minutes.  Transfer cooked mussels and juices into a colander with a bowl underneath to catch all the juices.  When the mussels have cooled somewhat, start pulling the meaty mussel bits out of their shells and into a prep bowl.  Sieve the remaining mussel juices and pour this smoky pot liquor over the mussels.  Set aside, or stash in the fridge; the mussels in their juice will store covered for about a day.

Second stage: other fish.  Put the tilapia (and any bits of smoked fish you've found) into another saucepan and pour over the milk.  Tuck in the bay leave sand bring - carefully - to a simmer over medium heat.  Do not let this boil over; I speak from experience when I tell you there are few stovetop messes less attractive than burnt fishmilk.  When the fish is opaque and flakes when you pull at it with a fork, it's done - probably about 10 minutes.  Turn off the heat and set aside.

Third stage: make your mash.  Peel (yes) and cut the potatoes into chucks, placing them in a large pan of water.  Bring the water to a boil and simmer until tender, probably about 20 minutes.  Drain these lovely babies.  If you have a mixer, this is a nice occasion to break him out.  Toss in the potatoes, about a tablespoon of butter, a bit of salt and a bit of the milky haddock juice, and mash.

Fourth stage: make a roux (this is an extremely fun trick that's great for lots of things).  Put a deep roasting pan (hello, Hellbelly) over medium heat, and melt the remaining butter in it.  When the butter's melted, tip in the four tablespoons of flour and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until the mixture begins to brown gently and smell nutty.  Slowly, about a half-cup at a time, add all the milk from the haddock pan, stirring as you go to make a smooth white sauce; let this simmer over very low heat for about ten minutes, stirring occasionally. 

Last stage: Assembly!  Using a fork, break up your cooked tilapia into big juicy chunks.  Throw these into the roasting pan with the simmering white sauce, along with the mussels and their juices, and the handful of parsley.  Stir this creamy chowder mess and add a little pepper and a few flakes of salt to taste.  Remove from heat and let the whole operation cool, then carefully pile on the mashed potatoes, smoothing them to the edges of the pan. 

Bake in a 400 degree oven for about an hour or until slightly golden and crusty on top.  Serve hot.

Vegetable Pot Pie

Principal among the traditions that I'm talking about in this blog is Viking Sunday Dinner.  I'm not sure exactly how the Vikings came into the picture, actually.  All I really know is that when we moved into our new place last winter we were trying to save money on restaurants, so we started having folks over on Sunday evenings for dinner.  We're both from families that said blessings before dinner, and Donovan can say a mean blessing in Low German, but we ended up settling on some vaguely Norse blessings thanking Odin and Thor for their gifts, because that seemed the most ecumenical.

Whether you do a blessing or an animal sacrifice before dinner, it's enormously gratifying to crack into a savory pie in the middle of the winter; this one is good for your vegetarian friends too (though vegans will be s.o.l).  It's a modified version of one from the brilliant Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook.  While warming, it also has some lovely summery qualities that make it really appetizing in the dead of the winter, with eggs, lemon, herbs, ricotta and parmesan setting off the fleshy, almost meaty quality of the mushrooms and tomatoes.  My version makes it wicked easy by using frozen spinach and canned tomatoes.  This recipe makes about six servings, but honestly it's almost impossible to make too much of this, as it's also incredible cold the next day for breakfast. 

I like to make this in a square spring-form pan, but any baking dish that'll hold 2 quarts works great.  The key with this recipe is to drain all the veggies so they're not too wet when they go into the pie, or it won't keep it's shape.

• One recipe basic pie crust
• 1 pound bag of frozen chopped spinach
• 10 oz package of mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
• 28 oz can of diced tomatoes
• 1 pound of ricotta cheese
• 1 cup grated parmesan cheese
• 4 eggs, beaten
• Juice and zest of one lemon
• 1 teaspoon salt
• Freshly ground black pepper
• Some butter (good to have on hand)
• Chopped herbs (basil is particularly nice if you have it, but parsley works too)

Make and chill the pie crust in the fridge for at least an hour.

Stick the frozen spinach in the microwave-safe bowl and cover with plastic wrap; cook for about 5 minutes until it's hot and steamy, then sling it into a colander in the sink and let it cool and drain.

Saute your sliced mushrooms in about a tablespoon of butter or canola oil and a heavy skillet.  Keep the heat low; the mushrooms will start out excruciatingly dry, then get really wet, then start to dry out again as the moisture evaporates.  Cook them to about this point, then transfer them to a bowl to cool.

Open up and drain your tomatoes and set them aside.

Combine the ricotta in a large mixing bowl with four beaten eggs, the chopped herbs, the parmesan cheese and the lemon juice and zest.  Season with the salt and a few good turns of the peppermill.

Now for the assembly!  Preheat your oven to 375 degrees.  Get your pie crust out of the fridge and cut it into two slightly uneven halves.  Roll out the larger of the halves and line your baking dish with it.  Spread about half the ricotta mixture in the bottom of the dish, then layer in the cooked spinach, mushroom and tomatoes.  Top with the rest of the ricotta mixture, then roll out the rest of the pastry to top the pie, crimping the edges together with a little water to form a tight seal.  Cut a few vents and slap that baby into the oven!  It'll bake for about an hour.

Serve with a sauvignon blanc and a leafy green salad.