Results tagged “rachaelcoyle”

Faithful Seattlest readers will recognize Rachael Coyle, connoisseur of pho, lover of steel-cut oats and pastry chef extraordinaire. Since April of 2007 she's been employed by Seattle's frenchiest café, Le Pichet, and last night--at the first Beaujolais Nouveau party of the weekend--we had the pleasure of tasting her masterpiece, a coconut cream éclair with chocolate glaze.

Take a little break this afternoon at 2:40 p.m. and turn on KUOW to hear Seattlest Rachael Coyle. She'll be on their Sound Focus program, chatting with Susan Lerner about tips for making a good pie crust. If you're in the pie-making school that buys the pre-made, frozen crusts, you may be able to appreciate what a delicate quest making one from scratch would be. Tune in this afternoon, though, and get a new lease on life...then go make us a pie!

The dispiriting weather forecast--below, via Google.

If you are very lucky, old friends will on occasion fly across the country to visit you. They’ll sit on your couch and tell you which of your college chums became a body builder. When necessary, they’ll gently remind you whatever dating mishaps have recently befallen you, nothing could top the Beckett-quoting fool you were smitten with freshman year. These friends are to be treasured, given fresh towels and mints on their pillow. The morning after they arrive, when they make not a peep about your tiny bed or your 5’5” shower head--well then, then they should be given popovers. Steaming hot, fluffy popovers. Preferably with cheese and fresh jam.

Recently, we had the pleasure of rediscovering a cake that we used to make in college, long before our career as a pastry chef had begun. It’s a simple cake with sautéed apples, a healthy amount of butter and just enough lemon zest to make things interesting. It’s great for dessert, tea and--if you must--studying.

Sunday, we were the belle of the Ballard Farmers' Market. We’d like to attribute it to our warm countenance and general appeal, but really it was our Brussels Sprouts. For $3 paid to Sidhu Farms we became the proud mama of a majestic stalk of Brussels sprouts.

On a blustery day last week, with a check to deposit and a fall farmer’s market to visit, we happily set out on errands. However, when we arrived at the bank it was closed and it seems that we had (again) lost our ATM card. How frustrating. But in an ongoing personal effort to be buoyant in the face of unexpected change, we peacefully retreated to cancel our card and make do. Back in our cozy apartment, we discovered that like Dorothy we’d never really had to leave home at all. Everything we needed for a tasty warm meal was waiting in our kitchen.

Our cooking habits this summer have followed a peculiar pattern. First we go the farmer’s market when ravenous (always a bad idea), then we impulse-buy produce, and finally at home we wonder: what sort of a meal could we possibly fashion out the eclectic collection of ingredients now sprawled out all over our kitchen?

Blackberry week continues with Seattlest Rachael's blackberry sorbet recipe

Rifling through the remains of the house's cookbook library (which was amassed sometime in the 50's when it was used as the high school's home ec facility), we came across a promotional brochure from the Vermont Maple Promotion Board. It gave information about maple trees and sugar houses (it takes 35 gallons of sap to make just one gallon of delicious Vermont maple syrup!) and a few maple-laden recipes, a surprising number of which actually sounded good.

Sometime around 1987, we plopped a big scoop of canned beats from the Burger Master salad bar onto our plate, tasted, and then promptly took a break from beets for the next twenty years. Thankfully, in the past couple of years cold roasted beets have appeared on pretty much every Seattle restaurant menu (Full Circle Farms baby beet salad, anyone?) and at last, beets have worked their way back into our hearts.

Yesterday was a great day for bread-making: a touch humid and warm enough to get the yeast happy but not too excited--perhaps not the best day for turning on the oven, but since the two go hand in hand, we had to sacrifice our comfort for an hour or so.

Yes, technically it’s spring, but here in Seattle temperatures are still bouncing from arctic to downright balmy and almost everyone we know (including yours truly) is sick, so we’re going out on a limb and declaring Seattle safely inside the Chicken Soup Zone.

The long-awaited stalks of bright red local rhubarb arrived at the farmer’s market a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t until last weekend that we finally hit on a rhubarb dessert worth mentioning. Sure, we’d made a rhubarb cornmeal cake that was pretty good, and our friends insisted that our rhubarb compote atop rice pudding was quite pleasant, but we weren’t satisfied.

Last we spoke, Seattlest was in Morocco guzzling as much mint tea as we could find. Now back home in our studio apartment--this time with several pots of freshly planted mint--we found ourselves craving a particular treat that we’d enjoyed abroad, something we liked to call the salad that knows no boundaries.

We always thought we liked mint tea--as a child pressured by our caffeine-phobic mother, it was often the only choice--but we had no idea of what other mint teas awaited us in the world.

As you know, we work in the food industry, so naturally we have foodie friends; and though we love them dearly, sometimes they judge. So on the day of our last party, as our food-savvy guests merrily called in to see what we’d be serving, we found ourselves conveniently forgetting to mention the Sangria.

People make a lot of excuses when it comes to deep frying. “I don’t have a deep fryer.” “It’s bad for you.” “I’m still missing a patch of hair on my arm where I burned myself with hot oil in 1985.”

In cooking, a little redundancy with ingredients is to be expected. Sometimes it happens out of necessity--the season arrives and wham you have 50 zucchinis that are about to rot. Other times, an ingredient just sticks in your head and you find yourself unable to refrain from sneaking it into everything you cook. That’s how it’s been lately for Seattlest and chives.

There are a lot of crap candies that get peddled around Easter time, but there are only two worth talking about: Peeps and Cadbury Creme Eggs. Unlike other “Easter candies” that are actually the same boring thing that we see all the time but in a different shape (Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs?), these two are unique once-a-year treats. But which one is better?

The last time we wrote about buttermilk, we had only just begun to warm to the stuff. We regarded it as a nuisance, a leftover that wouldn't go away, and we were mainly concerned with finding ways to get rid of it. But over the passing months, buttermilk has become a staple in our kitchen: we buy it even if we don't need it and our fridge looks a little bare and sad without it.

Yesterday we had big plans. We were going to make some fresh pasta, maybe bake a cake or five, probably roast a suckling pig and generally outdo ourselves in the kitchen. It was to be a day of great culinary triumphs and we were looking forward to the challenge.

When we were small, our mom would occasionally treat us to an afternoon at the wonderfully over-the-top Queen Mary tea room, a “theatrical Victorian fantasy land” (according to their website) that serves high tea complete with mismatched bone china tea cups and piles of goodies. While there were many things we liked about high tea--scones, clotted cream, crumpets--what we loved was the lemon curd.

These days, our usually memorable visits to the farmer’s markets seem to blend into one another. Faced with the same dwindling offerings week after week, we find that the squash and potatoes and apples and that had us all atwitter in November have lost their shiny newness and ceased to appeal. No one is to blame. It’s February in Seattle; and if you are one of us who make a stab at seasonal cooking, you are hurting.

Everyone likes to set things on fire, so don’t lie. The good news is that in cooking, pyromania is often sanctioned. There exist a plethora of dishes that necessitate lighting a big alcohol fire, or flambéing. Our personal favorite is Crêpes Suzette.

Valentine’s day is complicated. So Seattlest likes to celebrate with something simple, something unobtrusive, something like shortbread. Shortbread is plain enough to please everyone, and when lovingly prepared, delicious enough to impress them too. Chummy coworkers? Shortbread. Been on a few dates, but not official? Shortbread. Shortbread says: I like you, but in a noncommittal sort of way.

The NY Times ran an article (select only) that shocked the baking world--alleging that you can make amazing bread without kneading.