Subtle Sips

If I were to post personal adds in search of the perfect cocktail partner, it would look something like this: To margaritas, I'm looking for a mate with balance and roughness to your sweet side, stand up for who you are and be strong. To my martini, as much as you might shake my core and stir my heart, I hate it when you're cloyingly sweet to me. You're hard enough to handle.

When it comes to cocktails, few ingredients move me in an irresistible way as dinner companions and warm weather friends- one is definitely fresh ginger. (The other is cucumber, but that warrants it's own post).

My earliest memories of the spicy-sweet punch of ginger were against the backdrop of lemongrass and peppercorns, at London's own version of the Blue Elephant Thai chain. Surely the most common experience is the pink or white pickled ginger that provides a welcome flower of refreshment between bites of spicy tuna rolls. I've eaten my fair share of candied ginger in homemade trail mix where the zest is a delicious textural and taste counterpart to dried pineapple. But perhaps the most intriguing ginger I've had has been fresh, infused in a lightly sweet, tart cocktail.

Ginger's stomach soothing properties seems a natural fit for booze (okay, the irony doesn't escape me either) but I tend to like my cocktails to be a cool, understated compliment to a more dominant dish, or else not at all. I discovered a whole menu of deliciously balanced cocktails when dining recently at Chicago's Veerasway. A modern take on Indian food, the restaurant balances traditional tastes like curries and raita with modern twists like tamarind glaze, cumin seeds in a very pure way. The beauty of Veerasway's updated yet authentic cuisine is that nothing overpowers - just like their 'mumtaz maharita', a gently spiced nod at what might be a margarita in another culture, using el jimador reposado tequila, fresh ginger, fresh lime juice and ground cumin seed. Deliciously surprising, and great through every course. I credit the ginger.

In searching for the next cocktail to toast the entry into summer, I stumbled upon Tyler Florence's recipe for a frozen ginger-lemon cocktail that might soon replace that pre-mixed margarita standby at your first cookout. Give it a try and put your own spin on ginger. I'd recommend substituting lime, or incorporating fresh herbs like mint, basil seeds or other exotic takes for a great cocktail to pair with international tapas or satay.

Now only if this Chicago weather would cooperate. Cheers!

Tyler's Icy Lemon Ginger Vodka Cocktails

(as featured in Food and Wine Magazine)

One 3 inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced

2 cups water

1 1/2 cups sugar

Finely grated zest of 1 lemon

1 cup fresh lemon juice

8 cups crushed ice

2 cups vodka

Create your simple syrup by combining the water and sugar in a saucepan. Simmer with fresh ginger for about 5 minutes. Puree and strain the ginger syrup, then add lemon zest and juice.

Freeze mixture overnight or at least 4 hours til firm. Chop into small pieces and divide in half. Take half of the ginger-lemon reduction, add 1 cup vodka and 4 cups ice to a blender and blend until slushy.

Each batch should pour 4 servings. Relax outside and enjoy the return of decks and patios!

(This post is dedicated to Melissa... thanks for the request for a cocktail recipe! Requests are always welcome for ingredients, dishes and drinks!)

Ham It Up for Easter

Not until we decided to make Easter weekend all about brunch did I really get excited for the holiday. Growing up, Easter ham and scalloped potatoes were about as anti-climactic as finding that Easter egg with no jelly beans inside.

This year, I highly recommend incorporating your Easter ham in a clever, tongue in cheek brunch item that invites guests to pick up their own portion and pile it on a plate full of sweets. After all, ham is always going to play second fiddle to a couple of Cadbury eggs, no matter how early you start your munching!

Read my notes built into the recipe below, as you'll see I've made quite a few adjustments to the preparation of this recipe. It's as flexible and creative as you want it to be, as long as you start with a muffin pan.

Green Eggs and Ham

Recipe adapted from Rachel Ray

1 tbs olive oil

1 tbs butter

2 large shallots, finely chopped

1 10-oz box frozen spinach, cooked and drained

1/3 to 1/2 cup heavy cream (eyeball)

salt and freshly ground black pepper

Pinch grated nutmeg to taste

6 large sliced of deli ham (or prosciutto di Parma)

8 eggs

(optional- pesto; freshly grated parmesan cheese)

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

This recipe should fill an entire muffin pan. Heat a skillet on medium and add the oil, butter and sweat the shallots. Add the spinach and heavy cream to the skillet, season with salt and pepper. Add nutmeg to taste and stir until the cream is thickened.

Truly, if you can pick only one ingredient that makes this dish, it's the nutmeg. It makes the spinach taste authentically creamed and plays beautifully as a brunch flavor with eggs. Don't leave it out!

I chose to heat the ham in a skillet with a little olive oil, making it more flexible and easier to fold the halves around the muffin tin. One cup is made from two halves of a slice. Spoon the spinach into the bottom of the cup for each.

When I made it earlier this year, I wanted the ease and popularity of scrambled eggs, which took the place of cooking the eggs in the oven. Traditionally, a cracked egg goes on top of the spinach and bakes until set, about 15 minutes.

For added 'green' flavor, I added a heaping tablespoon of pre-packaged pesto into the eggs and stirred gently. Make sure the eggs stay fluffy and moist. Add a spoonful on top of the spinach until the eggs are evenly distributed. Add fresh grated Parmesan cheese on top of each before baking for about 10 minutes.

The great part about this dish, especially with scrambled eggs, is that it can be reheated if you guests arrive gradually on Sunday morning.

Either way, it's a clever, handheld way to enjoy your Easter Eggs...and ham!

Some Like It Hot

On a recent trip to visit my family, I decided it would be fun to dig through the annals of our family's extensive photographic history. I paused to dissect a familiar pic dating back to age four. My dinner plate is filled with dietary options, with my parents hedging their bets on nature versus nurture. It was time for my orientation. A plump, happy little frank perched plainly atop a white bread bun, loaded with ketchup and untouched. I recoiled from the image of the boiled hot dog. Then, proudly, I noted that in my hands had been the proof that I willingly assumed my genetic role as a heat lover. I was munching on my trial run taco, followed by a sampling of my parent's beefy-hot, corn encased tamales. And just like that, another buffalo wing eater was born into the family.

My mother, whose family has the high Midwestern heat tolerance, would always sprinkle crushed red pepper flakes on her pizza, and Tabasco in her bowls of soup and chili. I admired her lack of water while eating such things. And while I won't turn down an 'atomic' wing or too, I've tried to locate more ethnic, sophisticated and perhaps even trendy (I say this because I found mine at the Chopping Block cooking school shop) hot sauces- and have found sriracha and sambal.

Sriracha, preferably the Huy Fong Foods variety, can taste more than a bit garlicky if not paired with the right food. It's made of a smooth puree of chilies and garlic, for a simple orange-red squirt of a sauce. A little goes a long way, as I often find when I overload my eggs or pad thai. I prefer to counter heavy doses with a bit of vinegar or perhaps some lemon juice.

Now I realized, that for a milder chili sauce, perfect to combine pre-cooking, I should choose sambal. I'll try to break down the difference here and let you decide your own instrument of pain!

I consider sambal a paste or side condiment, rather than a sauce. It has a thicker, heartier texture and often can catch someone by surprise if they happy to eat one of the chunkier chili seeds or bits when incorporated into a stir fry. I almost always use a hefty spoonful to add kick to darker sauces like korean bbq or kung pao hoisin (combos reign at Flat Top Grill's create your own bar in Chicago). It tastes incredible with beef.

Sambal, or Sambal Oelek as it is often labeled, describes the Indonesian mortar and pestle process of creating the condiment. Often, the addition of shrimp paste, onion, lime juice or lemongrass offer a brighter, more maleable flavor than sriracha. I personally am choosy about where I insert too much garlic flavoring in my meals, particularly those with high heat.

And so, it's amazing how the little chili proves a lot goes a long way in cooking. Give it a try next time you sit down in your local noodle shop. Many restaurants offer it on the table to add a little to taste.

A long time ago, when I lived in New Jersey and a few years following that trial taco bite, I discovered a virtual land of hot sauces in Red Bank, at a place called The Pepper Shack.

It was there that I was entranced by the metrics of 'spicy' and the all to scientific Scoville Scale. For those of you who are daring enough to try your hand at it's uppermost notches, all I can say is- 'that's hot!'

The Secret to Soda Bread

After reveling in Chicago's extended St. Patrick's Day festivities over the past few days, I wanted to share one ritual that isn't green, nor does it involve consuming a regrettable amount of beverages. My favorite holiday ritual is the baking of Irish soda bread, a simple, almost savory addition to just about any meal. This year, I decided to take my time and bake it from scratch. This scone-like bread is unique in that it only takes about 45 minutes to make, no yeast, no eggs involved. Easy enough to make me wonder why I only eat it once a year.

While the addition of buttermilk is the defining characteristic of soda bread, the pungeant fermented cream seemingly makes up for any other standard wet ingredients and creating a dense dough in no time. Yet, that's not the trick here. And while raisins or currants are often a sweetening element in Americanized soda bread, purists claim this makes the recipe the European 'spotted dick' instead. In Ireland, true soda bread was a brownish table bread made from baking 'soda', buttermilk, flour, etc. Rather dull. Dried fruits were considered a luxury item originally.

Still again, I'd argue raisins are delightful and I will always include them to please my party guests' tastes, but the true element I can't live without is the caraway seed. These tiny, buglike seeds provide the heavenly aroma of soda bread that whets my appetite even before the first butter-slathered hunk even enters my mouth. The scent is as rich as a folkloric tale of Irish ancentry and might be as heady as a Guinness stout in my book. Almost.

Caraway seeds, or actually fruits, are products of the biennial herb of the parsley family (also sometimes known as the Persian cumin plant). They are tapered on each end and have deep ridges throughout the length of their bodies. Caraway seeds are a defining characteristic of authentic rye breads and help make cheeses like havarti something memorable.

Thought to be the spice used longer than any other in Euroupe, Holland remains the largest producer of caraway fruit today. The Essential oils in caraway fruits contribute that anise-like aroma that is so savory it can't be replicated. The oils (like limonene) are known for yeast-killing attributes, which interestingly enough, makes for denser breads and might be why soda bread doesn't require any yeast in the first place.

To enhance the flavor of caraway seeds (or fruits if we are talking on a literal level now), add them in the last fifteen minutes of cooking. Try them in cabbage soups, krauts, cheeses, breads, pretty much anything that requires a deep, savory element. For dairy, you might want to try toasting them lightly first to enhace their flavors.

For my St. Paddy's treat, I used the recipe below:

2 cups flour

1 tsp baking soda

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp ground nutmeg

1 1/2 tbs sugar

6 tbs solid shortening (I stuck with the recommendation of Crisco, it maintains the color and is easy to mix in)

2 tsp caraway seeds (I tend to make these generous portions)

2/3 cup raisins (yellow or regular, also use as much or as little as you like here)

1 cup buttermilk

Sift the dry ingredients together, then add the shortening and combine with a pastry blender until crumbly. Add in raisins and caraways until thoroughly combined.

Add buttermilk 1/4 cup at a time until the dough is wet but not runny.

Position in a round on a greased baking sheet, hatch two deep lines in a cross down teh side (both for looks and traditionally, to ward off the any evil sprits!) Bake at 375 degrees for about 40-45 minutes

Slice and serve warm or cold with Kerrygold Irish butter.

Top O' the Morning to you!