In Too Deep...

Recently, Justin came to me and complained that he never gets to cook any more. With my ambitious plan to try new recipes in 2012, and the fact that I enjoy cooking as a hobby, he felt as if he was not getting the opportunities he would like to experiment in the kitchen in his own right. After all, he used to cook all the time for his family before he met me.

And, to be honest, the process of trying a hundred new recipes last year was leaving me feeling pretty burned out when it came to cooking. I needed a break, and I was all too happy to hand over the reigns. At the top of his list was deep dish pizza; it has long been one of his favorite dishes to prepare, in fact, I even gave him a special deep dish pizza pan for our six-month anniversary. That we had not yet used it even once after nearly a year of living together was a further motivating factor for him. His inaugural deep dish pizza in our own home was truly long overdue.

My only request was that he find a new crust recipe, because his old one was a concoction of his own devising, in which he had substituted whole wheat flour for whatever it had originally called for, and the flavor and texture weren't really working for me - it was just too hard and crunchy. He agreed to try a recipe from our Baking Illustrated book from America's Test Kitchen, since I've had pretty good luck with their pizza crust recipes in the past. Unusually, this recipe called for the addition of cooked potato, with the idea that it would create a softer dough by decreasing the amount of gluten by reducing the amount of flour, and that sounded like a plus to me.

Unfortunately, the potato-based dough took things a little too far in the softness department. The dough didn't brown well in our pan, and while the cheese was melted and the toppings were cooked, the crust was anemic and soggy upon eating. The rest of the pizza was good, but the crust just wasn't what I was hoping for. Clearly, we're going to have to keep looking for a dough that will live up to the standards set by some of our favorite deep-dish places from around town.

However, I must say that it was very nice to be able to kick back and not have to worry about dinner in the slightest. It was great to let Justin do all the work, and if he wants to do more of the cooking around here, I'm more than happy to make that happen. I could get used to this!

Beans, Beans, the Wonderful Fruit...

Continuing on in the theme of dishes inspired by the expensive Italian charcuterie I was able to pick up at Fox and Obel earlier this week, I decided to try out another unusual pizza recipe that I spotted when I was culling my collection of cooking magazines before we moved. Like the sweet potato pizza I tried last month, this recipe eschewed the traditional topping of tomato sauce in favor of a quick mash-up of white beans, garlic, and herbs. The idea of beans on pizza seemed a little out-there, but on the heels of yesterday's wildly successful orange pasta, I was feeling brave.

Since we'd frozen our leftover pizza dough from our last pizza-baking venture, this dish came together so quickly that I could have saved it to make on a busy weeknight. And just like the pasta, this recipe was definitely a keeper. The carbs-on-carbs aspect of the dish didn't bother me, a consummate carbohydraterian, but the addition of smoky, salty pancetta was what really made the dish. The bean layer was perhaps a little too thick, so I've reduced the amounts in the recipe below, but it was perfectly seasoned with a generous amount of garlic, rosemary, and a hint of crushed red pepper for kick. 

If you substitute bacon for pancetta (though I really recommend the pancetta if you can find it) and mozzarella for the fontina cheese, you could probably make this dish using ingredients you already have in your fridge. We could probably all use a little more fiber in our diets, so go ahead and give this recipe a try -- it will turn out better than you think!

White Bean and Pancetta Pizza

adapted from Food and Wine

4 oz. pancetta, cut into 1x1/4-inch pieces

2 garlic cloves, minced

3/4 teaspoon fresh rosemary

1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

1 15-oz. can cannellini beans, drained and rinsed

6 oz. fontina cheese

1 12-inch pizza crust, par-baked

Preheat the oven to 450.

In a skillet, cook the pancetta in 2 tablespoons of oil over moderate heat, until crisp; transfer to a plate. Add the garlic, rosemary and crushed pepper to the skillet and cook for 20 seconds. Mash in the beans. Stir in the pancetta; season with salt.  Brush the crust with oil and spread with the bean mixture. Top with the cheese. Bake the pizza until the cheese is bubbling, 7-10 minutes; slice and serve.

When The Moon Hits Your Eye...

Have I mentioned lately how amazing Justin is to put up with me? This point was driven home to me earlier this evening, after the two of us engaged in a ridiculous tug-of-war over a bowl of bread flour. You see, I tend to be rather anal retentive about my baking, and am a stickler for accurate measuring. The volumetric measurements preferred by American cooks, and therefore employed by American recipe authors, are the bane of my culinary existence. Depending on how hard you pack flour into a measuring cup, a seemingly standard measure can hold a wide range of actual product. Weight, however, is universal. A pound of flour weighs a pound, no matter how densely you cram it into a container.

So when I noticed Justin sweeping the excess flour from the top of a measuring cup into the bowl he was measuring it into instead of the regular container, I kind of freaked out. Cooking may be an art, but baking is a science, and I wanted the pizza crust he was making for our dinner this evening to turn out perfectly. It's hard to gauge the quality of a new recipe when you don't follow it to the letter the first time around.

Justin looked at me like I was from another planet when I asked him to re-measure it, and when I offered to do it myself, a tug-of-war ensued over the bowl of flour. Thankfully, he acquiesced, or we could have been vacuuming up bread flour from the epic mess that could have potentially ensued. I re-measured the flour using a kitchen scale, the pizza crust turned out just fine, and more importantly, Justin didn't leave me over the whole episode. When it comes to baking, I'm crazy, I know. I'm just incredibly lucky to have this man who is crazy enough about me to overlook my irrational perfectionist streak in the kitchen.

As for our dinner... it was interesting. I'd spotted an unconventional combination of toppings in Food and Wine that included sweet potatoes (which have been my recent object of obsession lately), caramelized onions in a balsamic vinegar reduction, mozzarella cheese, and soppressata, a spicy Italian salami, and was keen to try it, mostly as a potential way to use up leftover mashed sweet potatoes. While the onions were delicious, and will definitely be making an appearance elsewhere in my culinary adventures in the future, the pizza was far from the best I've ever made.

Sweet potatoes are not a good pizza topping -- very texturally challenging. I think this pizza would actually be fine without them, as the savory, spicy pork was a perfect foil to the sweet, tangy onions. Minus the sweet potatoes, I'd certainly recommend the other toppings on this pie, if you're into making your own pizza. Just don't follow my example of being a total kitchen drama queen if you decide to go that route.

If you look closely, it turned out somewhat heart-shaped...

Balsamic Onion and Soppressata Pizza

adapted from Food and Wine

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large white onion, thinly sliced

1/2 teaspoon dried oregano

1/4 c. plus 2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar

1 12-inch pizza crust, par-baked

1 1/2 c. shredded mozzarella cheese

4 oz. soppressata, cut into thin ribbons

Preheat the oven to 450.

1. In a large skillet, melt the butter in the olive oil. Add the onion and dried oregano, cover and cook over moderately low heat, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. Add 2 tablespoons of water to the skillet and cook over moderate heat until the onion is caramelized, about 10 minutes; add a few tablespoons of water to the skillet if necessary. Add the balsamic vinegar and cook over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until it has evaporated, about 10 minutes. Season the onion with salt and pepper.

2. Top pizza crust with the mozzarella, onion and soppressata. Bake for about 10 minutes, until bubbling and golden in spots. Cut into wedges and serve.

A Grape Idea...

Although I haven't blogged about it yet, I have been chipping away at my New Year's resolution of trying some new recipes. The results have been largely unmemorable up to this point -- certainly no permanent additions to my cooking repertoire. This weekend, however, afforded the opportunity to tackle some more ambitious recipe choices, as Justin and I decided to stay in this weekend and cook together.

The inspiration for today's project was a recipe I came across when perusing my favorite food blog aggregation site, Tastespotting, earlier this week. I'd spotted a photo of a pizza that looked interesting, and left the page open on my computer. Justin came across the open page when he was using my computer, agreed that it looked interesting and potentially tasty, so we agreed to take a stab at making it for ourselves.The original recipe called for a store bought pizza crust, but I've never had a particularly positive experience with one (not even the Trader Joe's brand, which I've seen uniformly praised), so I opted to use my favorite scratch recipe. I think that was the right call, as the fantastic crust elevated the unorthodox combination of ingredients to a nearly sublime level. Initially, we had been curious as to how grapes would work as a pizza topping, but not unlike the presence of pineapple on the classic "Hawaiian pizza," the grapes created a lovely sweet counterpoint to the salty cheese, pesto, and chicken. It was an extraordinarily balanced pie, and by far the best new dish to come out of my kitchen in ages.

My one piece of advice if you choose to replicate this dish at home (and I strongly recommend you do), is to seek out a high-quality pecorino romano cheese to grate over the top. It provides a very important salty/tangy flavor note. Chicken Pesto Pizza with Grapes
adapted from Cooking Light

1 batch pizza dough, either store-bought or homemade
1/3 c. refrigerated pesto
1 1/2 c. red seedless grapes, halved
8 oz. chopped rotisserie chicken meat
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
4 oz. part-skim, low-moisture mozzarella cheese, shredded
3 tablespoons grated Romano cheese
freshly cracked black pepper
1/4 c. sliced green onions

Preheat the oven to the temperature listed in your recipe or on the package, and par-bake the dough until spotty brown; remove from the oven. Spread pesto evenly over dough, leaving a 1/2-inch border around edges. Arrange grapes evenly over dough; top evenly with chicken. Top with garlic and mozzarella; sprinkle with Romano and pepper. Return to oven and bake until crust is golden brown, and cheese has melted. Sprinkle with onions.

One last post on the topic...

Okay, I get the sense that you are tired of reading about food, but this is what happens when I slow down my social life -- I finally have time to cook! Besides, I think food is fascinating. Just indulge me one last time, and I promise, I'll try to think of something else to talk about for a while.

According to yesterday's Red Eye, I'm somewhere between a "foodie" and a "food enthusiast." I own an immersion blender and although I can't name all five of the classical French "mother sauces," I can name bechamel, veloute, and the poorly defined category of emulsified sauces, such as bernaise, mayonnaise, or hollandaise -- characteristics of the foodie. However, I don't miss an episode of Top Chef, I can't wait for the Julie and Julia movie, I own a rabbit corkscrew, but I'm not above eating at P.F. Chang's -- the hallmarks of a food enthusiast.

Often, in my conversations with people about food, a central theme emerges time and time again -- how far are you willing to go for food? Once upon a time, an old friend of mine said to me, "It's just food, it can only be so good," while arguing against spending too much on what he deemed to be overpriced restaurants. To some extent, I agree. I've never eaten at Alinea, the restaurant typically heralded as the best in Chicago, and often included in lists of the best restaurants of the nation, and the world at large, but it is hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that the bare minimum you can spend there is $145 per person, before tax and tip. The food may be ground-breaking, but how much better can it be than your favorite dish at a local restaurant for a fraction of the price? In the end, you are really paying for the experience of enjoying food as a form of performance art, and only you can place a subjective value on what that experience is worth.

Although far less expensive, another vanguard of the Chicago dining scene recieves similar attention in my circles -- Hot Doug's. This "encased meat emporium" is the mecca of sausage afficianados nationwide, and yet, as much as I love sausage, in almost any incarnation (I'm going to exclude the tofu hotdog), I have never been to Hot Doug's. Why? It's too far, and I can't find anyone to go with me. Call me crazy, but the prospect of two trains, a bus, and a long walk, followed by an average two-hour long wait begs for some company. I think this is an affirmation that I'm not a true "foodie;" I just can't see myself devoting half a day to obtaining a hot dog by myself, even if it is the greatest available exemplar of said food product.

There is one area, however, in which I am willing to go the distance for food: actual cooking. This weekend, for instance, I prepared my caramelized onion and bacon pizza with gruyere for me and Mom, which only took a mere seven hours of prep time, spread over the course of two days. Yes, I live in one of the country's great pizza capitals, but this dish is worthy of the effort of making it at home. It was inspired by one of my favorite dishes at the Park Grill, in Millennium Park, which I used to order on every visit until it was taken off their seasonally rotating menu. My only choice was to devise a home version. When I first made it, my Mom asked me, "Okay, it's good, but is it really seven hours' worth of good?" The definitive answer is yes. It is that delicious, but more importantly, if you make someone a dish that takes seven hours to make, it shows that person that they are worth seven hours of your time. Sure, I like to cook for the soothing methodical process and the near-instant gratification, but cooking for someone else is a million times better than cooking for yourself. As the old cliche goes, 'tis better to give...

I'm not going to give you the recipe, because, as you might expect, seven hours' worth of instructions would take a long time to type, and the recipe for the crust comes from Cook's Illustrated, which actually scours the web for people who try to give their recipes out for free, and serves them with cease and desist orders. So, you'll just have to play your cards right, and if you're nice to me, maybe I'll make one for you...

Caramelizing the onions alone can take between 1-2 hours. Here are photos taken at each half-hour mark in the process. I always take my caramelized onions to about the point seen in the bottom photo. Much longer, and they start to burn.

The finished product. My mouth is watering just thinking about it...

Check out the crispy, golden delicious crust. We joked that we should have taken a audio clip of us eating, so you could hear the audible crunch of the crust. Using a non-insulated pan in a non-convection oven is key; the pizza is a soggy, under-baked disaster otherwise.