Katie Lowman + Kitchen Possible

Katie Lowman

I am so excited to welcome my guest Katie Lowman to the blog today! Katie is the founder of Kitchen Possible, a non-profit that builds empowered mindsets in kids through cooking. Kitchen Possible offers weekly cooking classes to kids (aged 8-12) in low-income Chicago neighborhoods. Over an 8-week session, kids use cooking to experience the benefits of patience, setting goals, following a plan, asking for help, and course correcting when things don’t go as planned.

Katie started Kitchen Possible in 2017, but it had been on her mind for several years before that. She realized that, for herself, cooking was a way to feel capable and in control. This led to the initial idea for Kitchen Possible. She discovered that kids in underserved communities are “less likely to believe that they have control over what happens in their life.” Katie thought that these children might be able to benefit from the the accomplishment and power that she felt from completing recipes as a kid. She tells me, “The idea behind Kitchen Possible is that we could use cooking to show kids how powerful they are–that when they set a goal, follow a plan, and follow it through (what we do every time we cook something), they can make amazing things happen.”

Katie’s exposure to a variety of foods started when she was young, in an unexpected way. “Growing up, I was a really competitive BMX racer, which gave me some interesting opportunities to travel the country and eat lots of different regional foods as a kid,” she tells me. “My parents always tried their best to expose me to lots of interesting foods. They insisted I at least TRY everything, and I’m really thankful for that today.” On top of her national travels, her dad began teaching her to cook when she was only 5 or 6.

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One recipe that she often made with her dad, and now teaches the kids at Kitchen Possible, is a simple barbecue sauce. “It’s actually the first food I learned to really make on my own, and it’s the thing that made me fall in love with cooking,” she says. “It made me feel so powerful at that age, being able to combine a handful of ingredients and turn them into something delicious,” and this is exactly the feeling she hopes her organization will stir up in a new generation of youngsters. She wants them not only to make something, but to make something that’s really theirs, which makes this recipe ideal. “It’s such a good recipe for them to start to learn to own their flavor preferences. It’s super adjustable, and they can really turn it into something they love, no matter what kind of flavors they like best.” That kind of flexibility is good for adults too, as Katie herself can vouch. “I usually start here, and depending what I’m using the sauce for, or what I’m feeling that day, I might add something else. You can add a couple of chipotle peppers or some cayenne pepper, some fresh or frozen fruit, or more mustard for extra tang. I’ve even added some instant espresso for something a bit more complex.”

Barbecue Sauce

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Simple Barbecue Sauce

Ingredients:
Olive oil
1/2 medium yellow onion, finely diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 cans tomato sauce, 28 oz. total
2 tbsp white vinegar
1 tbsp, plus 1 tsp Worchestershire sauce
Several pinches of black pepper
1/4 cup, plus 1 tbsp brown sugar
3 tbsp molasses
1/2 tsp crushed red pepper
1 tbsp yellow mustard
1/4 tsp celery seed

Instructions: 

Heat large pot over medium-high heat, adding a bit of olive oil to your pot. Sauté onion until soft, about 5 minutes.

Add garlic, and cook for another 2 minutes.

Add all ingredients to the pot. Simmer on medium heat for 20-25 minutes, until the sauce is thick and flavorful.

If the sauce gets too thick, thin with a bit of water. Adjust sweetness and spice as it simmers.

Blend with immersion blender until smooth.

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Katie tells me that the most fulfilling part of her work is the way the kids respond to their adventures in the kitchen. “I love watching them cook with such focus and intensity, and then seeing their faces light up when their food starts to come together. You can literally watch a kid go from thinking they might not be able to do something to realizing they totally can. It is so cool to see them experience the same sense of confidence and control that I felt, and still feel, when cooking,” she says.

The students show their confidence not only by their demeanor but by their desire to share their work. There’s an “amazing thing that happens at the end of each class,” says Katie. “While the kids are gobbling down their food excitedly, many of them intentionally save a very small portion, even just a few forkfuls. They love to bring a few bites home for mom or dad to try. It fills me with so much joy to see them so proud of what they’ve made that they want to share it with someone else. Last week, a kid brought a tiny portion of chicken stir-fry to me and asked if I could wrap it up for him. He said he’d be visiting his cousins the next day and really wanted them to try it. My heart just explodes over this stuff!”

Katie’s organization also checks in with the parents to track the kids’ behavior outside of class. “Ninety-one percent of KP parents have seen an increase in their child’s confidence since beginning the program. And 86% say their child is more willing to take on new challenges,” she reports. “I’m so proud of the results we’ve seen.”

In the coming year, Kitchen Possible has some exciting things on the horizon. Right now, the program is operating in East Garfield Park and Pilsen. However, Katie and her team are working to bring the program to a third (as of now, secret) neighborhood this summer! Eventually, Katie hopes to expand the program even further. She tells me, “With our new location this summer, we’ll have the opportunity to really expand our impact, but we’re not stopping there!”

Kitchen Possible is also gearing up for their May Menu Fundraiser, which partners KP “with some of Chicago’s best restaurants to raise money for our upcoming summer classes. Each participating restaurant will donate a portion of proceeds from a popular menu item to KP. It’s a really cool opportunity for Chicago’s food lovers to come out and support an important cause, while enjoying a delicious meal.” Stay tuned to find out where you can get a bite of this yourself!

If you’re interested, you can learn more about Kitchen Possible at their website, or follow them on Instagram

Thanks to Katie for sharing Kitchen Possible’s story and her family recipe! Keep up the great work!

First two photographs provided by Katie Lowman.

Shulamis Rouzaud + Challah

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For your post-Thanksgiving reading pleasure, I’m super excited to welcome my guest, Shulamis Rouzaud, to the blog today!

Shulamis is the founder of the Chicago Bread Club, an organization created to “share the art and knowledge of bread and to promote the regional grain economy.” She started the Chicago Bread Club when she was searching for work, but coming up disappointed. “I was not very satisfied with what was out there. Looking back, what I wanted didn’t exist until I created my own position.” It started with an Instagram message. “I messaged my friend, ‘Hey do you want to start a bread club?’ and she said, ‘Yes!'” It soon became a full-time organization. “Having someone say yes to my idea and support me in the initial planning processes was crucial,” she said. Once the organization took off, it was gratifying for Shulamis to see the impact she had on the community. “Our grain farmers, millers, bakers, and brewers need our support,” she said, “and it’s amazing to be a part of that effort. It’s also exciting to highlight the work of our researchers and extension agents on grain that is grown and can grow in our region.”

Shulamis was born in North Hollywood, California. When she was still quite young, her family moved to Cleveland for her father to attend dental school. She attended very strict Orthodox Jewish private schools through 10th grade, and halfway through 10th grade, she moved to Chicago, where she was accepted into an Orthodox private high school, and she has been in Chicago since. Shulamis told me she had trouble with the strictness of her school in Cleveland. About halfway through 10th grade I got expelled for not following the rules,” she said, explaining that the school was very strict about contact with the opposite sex. “I had friends that were boys,” she told me. “That was my first time in my life that I failed, and I would say that I failed up.”

After school, she struggled with the expectations placed on her as an Orthodox Jewish woman. “I was expected to become a wife and a mother as an adult. Everything I was pushed to be interested in was geared around that. I remember being told that I should probably not go to college but if I did that I needed to be careful to stay on the Orthodox Jewish path.” She attended the one Ultra Orthodox Jewish college in Chicago for two years before dropping out at the age of 22, when she got engaged. Shortly after she was married, she welcomed her daughter, Maya. After giving birth to her daughter, she was a stay-at-home mom, which led to her interest in food as a career. “When Maya was little, I became obsessed with baking and just couldn’t stop.” She began taking classes at Le Cordon Bleu, but within two semesters, she began having reservations. She realized, “The price tag for their culinary arts education did not match the wages and salaries of the restaurant industry and I did not feel I was learning anything I didn’t already know.” She thought she would learn more in professional kitchens, so she began interning, and worked as a pastry cook for over a year. She began asking folks in the pastry world about including whole grains in baking and pastry, having been raised by a mother who had insisted on healthy, Alice Waters-inspired California cuisine accompanied by “100% whole wheat bread that was amazingly dry.” Shulamis as a child wanted meals that were more fun and less healthy, but the spirit of nutritious eating stuck with her. “We never fried anything in the house. Even our latkes were pan-fried instead of fried in deep oil,” she told me. Without receiving much response to her inquiries about whole grains, she began thinking about studying nutrition herself, and she soon graduated from Dominican University with her degree in nutrition and dietetics in 2017. 

The recipe Shulamis chose to share was challah–fitting for her in a number of ways. “I have been making it forever. I’ve been eating challah since I was a baby. My mom hated baking and I started making the challah and desserts for Sabbath meals starting at the age of 11.” The religious significance of the bread was impressed on her through worship and through her Jewish day school. “It was the woman’s job to prepare it and say the blessing that is said when preparing to bake the challah. I learned about the history of challah straight out of the Old Testament in Biblical Hebrew,” she told me. “It is impossible to celebrate the Sabbath without it. There are certain Jewish laws governing what is challah and what is not. The laws differ according to custom, but it centers largely on the enrichment of the dough. Sephardic challah is eggless and unsweetened, often called water challah, and even Ashkenazic challah has laws governing how much sugar can be added. I often see people getting creative with their challah production, usually with largely sweet additions. That is not challah to me.”

The recipe she shared came to her from a member of the Jewish community in Chicago, which has been Shulamis’ favorite since she first ate it as a guest at a Sabbath meal. “Since I got the recipe, I haven’t changed anything, although I’ve been using whole wheat for at least half the flour for years.” Along with the recipe, she shared its meaning. “The symbolism of the cutting board and knife that that the challah rests on is as an altar. It hearkens back to when Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son, Isaac, on the altar. That is why challah is always dipped in salt by the person cutting it at the Sabbath meal (meat is salted after being slaughtered). Sorry if that sounds gross! The Old Testament is not for the faint of heart!” (No apologies necessary!) “Every religious Jewish woman has been making challah since biblical times. Recipes have been passed from woman to woman over time.” Shulamis was passed this recipe, and now passes it to you!

Challah

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Challah
Makes 4 loaves. 

Ingredients: 
150 grams sugar (approximately 3/4 cup) 
1 1/2 tbsp yeast
2 1/2 cups water, warm 
1 egg (plus one more egg for egg wash) 
6 tbsp oil 
3 tsp salt 
2 1/2 lbs bread flour (approximately 9 cups) 

Instructions: 

Whisk together the sugar, yeast, and warm water in a large bowl and allow to sit for 10 minutes. 

Whisk in egg, oil, and salt, then knead in bread flour on a floured surface until dough becomes smooth. 

Allow to rise in a warm area, covered, for 1 1/2 hours. 

After the dough has risen, punch down and divide into four equal pieces. Divide each piece into into 6 strands, roll into a rope that this thicker in the middle and tapered at the sides. Shape into a braid, and set on a parchment paper-covered cookie sheet. Cover and allow to rise for another 1/2 an hour. (If you’ve never braided six strands before, I found this video helpful.) 

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. 

Once the dough has risen a second time, baste with one whole egg (beaten) and sesame seeds or poppy seeds. 

Bake for 30 minutes, until golden brown. Allow to cool and serve.

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If you are interested in seeing what the Chicago Bread Club is all about, you can check them out at 6:30 tonight (11/28) at Dovetail Brewery! The guest host will be Andy Hazzard of Hazzard Free Farm! Most months, however, the Club meets the last Monday of every month at 6:30 pm. (This month’s was rescheduled thanks to Monday’s nasty weather.) The location changes each month to various local bars and breweries around the city that allow outside food. Most meetings are free (though those that have an admission fee are announced in advance), and no RSVP is required. Locations are announced each month on Instagram. Every month there is a guest host, who is either a farmer, baker, agent, or researcher involved in the regional grain economy. Occasionally there are special workshops and panel events, one of which, their collaborative event with Cheese Sex Death in October, sold out! In March of 2019, you can visit the Chicago Bread Club’s booth at the Good Food Expo.

To learn more about Shulamis’ work with the Chicago Bread Club, you can follow the club on Instagram @chicagobreadclub, or like them on Facebook. You can contact Shulamis directly with any questions or contributions at shulamis@chicagobreadclub.org

Shulamis, thank you so much for sharing your story with me! I look forward to seeing what is in store for you and the Chicago Bread Club in the future! 

Thanksgiving + Crawberry Pie

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While planning some upcoming travel recently, I had the shocking realization that Thanksgiving is, in fact, TOMORROW! And that there are only five weekends separating us from Christmas. Who plans these years, with January located directly next to November?? Anyway, I freaked out about that for a while, resisted the urge to take a stress nap, then decided to start planning what sides I am going to make for Thanksgiving dinner. If we have dinner here, we usually make Ina’s herb-roasted turkey breast (which is still enough to feed a small army and forces me to get creative with the leftovers). We also always have sweet potatoes of some kind, stuffing, and green bean casserole (did you know the creator of the green bean casserole died this year? Her name was Dorcas Reilly, she was 92). We probably won’t go all out this year. Is an all-carb Thanksgiving dinner a thing? Trick question. It is, and we’re having one! Oh, and pie. We will definitely have pie. I’m planning a sweet potato pecan with a gingersnap crust. It might be too adventurous, though. We’ll see.

Before I really get into my Thanksgiving planning, I’m doing a little procrasti-blogging, which leads me to today’s recipe: crawberry pie. Let me explain. Occasionally, we have Friendsgiving, often with our friends David and Quinn. When we do, one of my favorite parts of the dinner is Quinn’s family’s crawberry pie. If you are unfamiliar with crawberries, that’s OK. It’s actually just cranberries, written in Quinn’s grandmother’s hand, and mistaken for “crawberry”. Quinn was nice enough to give me the recipe, which she found out along the way was not her grandmother’s recipe, as she thought, but a recipe from one of her mom’s coworkers, who gave it to her grandmother and it became her specialty at family dinners after that. Funny how family recipes work sometimes. I suppose there are more than a few of our “grandma’s famous” bouncing around out there that are actually clipped from a magazine, or originate from other families. There’s beauty in that. (I was hoping to share a photo of the recipe in her grandma’s handwriting, but Quinn grew up in New Orleans and, unfortunately, the recipe didn’t survive Hurricane Katrina. Luckily, though, the recipe was preserved!)

How to describe this dessert? It’s basically a crustless pie, almost a cake, really. The top is not really a crumble, as it’s sweeter. However, it’s a little more dense than a cake. It’s hard to explain, but it’s in a class all its own, and it’s delicious.

Crawberry Pie

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Crawberry Pie
Makes 1 nine-inch pie.

Ingredients:
2 eggs
1 cup of sugar
1 cup of flour
3/4 cup melted butter
Cranberries, enough to cover bottom of pie pan
1/4-1/2 cup of sugar

Instructions:

Preheat your oven to 375 degrees.

In a medium bowl, beat eggs well.

Gradually beat in one cup of sugar. Then, beat in the flour and melted butter.

Grease the bottom of a pie pan, and add enough cranberries to cover the bottom.

Sprinkle the additional 1/2 cup of sugar over the top of the cranberries.

Pour the batter over the top of the sugared cranberries.

Bake for 30-40 minutes, or until the top of the pie is just golden.

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If you’re a cranberry fan like me, I think you’ll like this. The cranberries rise up through the batter as it bakes, distributing just the right amount of tartness throughout the sweet pastry. It’s a very simple-to-make (and probably welcome) addition to your Thanksgiving table. I hope you’ll give it a try and let me know what you think. Then I can pass all your kind words on to Quinn and her family!

Thanks so much for sharing, Quinn!

Amanda McLemore + Green Tomato Sandwich Spread

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I’m pleased as punch to welcome my guest today, Amanda McLemore! Amanda is a chef and urban farmer, originally from Detroit, Michigan, who now resides in Chicago. She runs the website Baguette and Butter, a resource for those interested in eating locally, sustainably, and growing their own food. 

Hoping to be a chef since she was a child, she began her career in food where most do: by attending culinary school. However, it was while she was in culinary school that she realized that she, and many of the people around her, didn’t really know where their food was coming from. So she began educating herself on the politics that surround food in the United States. She told me, “Knowing where my food comes from is so important to me because Americans have given such an essential part of how we survive to politicians, corporations, and industrial farms, yet we cannot trust ourselves to be able to cook and sustain ourselves as a local community.” But she says that outsourcing this fundamental part of our lives is no longer sustainable in terms of our health, the environment, or ethical transparency. It was with these worries in mind that she decided to start her website, with a mission of nourishing and advocating “for a new definition to our American food culture” that lives up to “high ethical standards, is intentional with our packaging waste, and uplifts foods and dishes that help our bodies become stronger.” As part of her own journey of discovering how to live and eat more sustainably, in 2014 Amanda gave up going to the grocery store. Instead, she grew her own herbs and some of her own vegetables, and utilized her local farmers market for the rest. This was not her first foray into gardening, though. Amanda was influenced by her grandmother, a teacher and gardener who had grown up in the south and moved to Detroit as an adult. Though her grandmother passed away when Amanda was only six years old, she told me that she remembers helping her grandmother in the garden. After rediscovering a love a gardening since then, Amanda set out to educate others. “Baguette & Butter was founded to change the way the American diet is defined,” she told me, “by teaching cooking skills that have been lost, simple gardening, and home skills to give Americans more time, money, and space for bettering our community.”

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For her recipe, Amanda decided to share her grandmother’s Green Tomato Sandwich Spread, which is not only delicious, but supports Amanda’s mission of using seasonal ingredients and wasting as little as possible. She tells me that she chose this recipe “since the garden season is coming to an end and green tomatoes are everywhere!” She was happy to share it because “lost recipes and the stories that go with them are important to talk about,” and recipes from previous generations carry with them “stories, memories, and lessons.” Though her grandmother passed away early in her life, Amanda tells me there are a few things she remembers clearly, “She was born in the south. She began working as an educator in Detroit as an adult and loved to cook, run, and garden. She used to make sure that the family was always first and together.” Amanda couldn’t be sure where her grandmother picked this recipe up, but her grandfather told her that “she most likely used it in class, as she taught home economics.” The recipe was saved in her handwriting, and kept in her recipe box. Amanda said, “I know very little about this recipe, but I haven’t found one out there like this either.”

The recipe, it turns out, is as delicious as it is original.

Green Tomato Spread

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Green Tomato Sandwich Spread
Makes 10 pints. (Recipe scaled down for photographs.)

Ingredients:
4 quarts of green tomatoes
6 onions
6 green peppers
6 red peppers
1/2 cup salt
3 celery stalks, finely chopped
1 quart white vinegar
4 cups white sugar
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 tbsp dry mustard
1 tbsp turmeric

Instructions:

Chop the green tomatoes, onions, green peppers, and red peppers together, and process briefly to combine. Add salt, and allow to sit overnight, covered.

Drain, and add finely chopped celery.

Mix in the vinegar and sugar in a large pan. Heat until boiling.

In a separate bowl, mix flour, dry mustard, and turmeric with some water to make a paste. Add the paste to the green tomato mixture and continue to cook until the mixture is thick.

Add to sterilized pint jars, seal, and boil in a hot water bath for 5 minutes.

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Eventually Amanda would like to “publish a couple of books and continue to build an online platform that will help others learn how to cook, shop, and eat sustainably.” In the meantime, she has some exciting things in the pipeline. For one, her Thanksgiving Field Guide is now available for purchase on her website. The guide is full of family recipes and walks you through how to throw a Thanksgiving dinner that’s “local, sustainable, and made from scratch.” She also has several online, live-streamed workshops coming up, as well as a cocktail pop-up at Mi Tocaya on November 2nd.

If you want to find out more about Amanda’s work, and get more information on her upcoming classes, you can visit the Baguette and Butter website, or follow her on Instagram or Twitter.

Thank you so much for sharing your story and your grandmother’s recipe, Amanda!

Abra Berens + Chicken in Lemon Cream Sauce

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After a longer-than-I-intended-hiatus, we’re back at it, and I’m beyond excited to welcome my guest today, Abra Berens! If you live in Chicago, and are even a little familiar with the Chicago food scene, you may recognize her name. For several years, Abra was the chef at Stock Cafe, the restaurant within Local Foods, a Chicago store that showcases goods and produce from several local vendors. She is now the chef at Granor Farm, an organic farm in southwestern Michigan, where she creates dining experiences based on crops grown at the farm.

Abra’s career in food started with a family influence. “My dad grew up in a pickle farming family,” she told me, “but he and my mom were both anesthesiologists. When I was young we were still farming while my parents were working in hospitals. I’ve worked in restaurants since I was 16 mostly because I didn’t want to work on our family farm any more! And it just evolved from there. I never intended to work in food my whole life, but I also never wanted to leave it.” 

After attending school in Ann Arbor, she worked there for several years at Zingerman’s Deli. “It was my time at Zingerman’s where I started to see that food touched so many aspects of people’s lives, from the producers to the customers to my co-workers.” Working in food began to make a lot of sense to her. “Zingerman’s connected me to Ballymaloe, where I went to cooking school.”

After six years in Ann Arbor, Abra moved to Chicago, where her husband was born. But eventually, the couple decided they wanted a more rural life, and Abra wanted to get back to cooking directly from a farm. But they didn’t want to go too far from Chicago, so Granor Farm in Three Oaks, Michigan, was “the perfect solution to all of those needs.”

Her work at Granor Farm is important to her, because she loves connecting people to their food. “I feel incredibly lucky to have grown up with a large garden, animals, and seeing industrial production of food,” she says. But many people live lives distant from that experience. “We are facing huge hurdles in terms of the sustainability of American agriculture–farmer shortages, soil health, farm income, food access and security. These things will only get better if our populace takes a real interest in food and agriculture. Thankfully, food is delicious and we can all be a part of the change simply by eating! Where that food comes from speaks to the people who are part of that food chain.” In her work at Granor, she brings the food chain, and the realities of farm life, closer to her guests. “You can’t respect the product without knowing something about the people who grow it–their successes and their hurdles. If we want to have a successful food system, we need to understand what that means to the people doing the growing. Similarly, people are often let down by the quality of their food. By knowing even a little about how it grows and seasonality, one is more likely to find food that they are excited about that tastes great and lasts after you get it home.”

She told me that the most fulfilling part of her work right now “is cooking food that is so closely linked to the ground and farmers who grew it.” The menus she creates for Granor begin in seasonality. “Sometimes that list is the most special items that we want to highlight. Sometimes it is what we have a lot of and need to use up. No matter the dish, it always has a direct connection to how we farm and what we want people to know about our plot of land and work.”

While Abra works hard at Granor, she couldn’t do it without a team that includes many hardworking men and women. But she particularly finds Granor to be an amazing place to work as a woman. In fact, as she told me, PureWow magazine recently named Granor one of America’s Best Restaurants Run By Women. “Granor’s Farm Manager is Katie Burdett, who has really revolutionized our farm,” Abra said. “And cooking and growing have long been women’s work, but there are serious hurdles to women running businesses in those two industries. We are lucky at Granor Farm to be able (with the unending support of the owners of the farm) to provide a space for women to come and work and learn and hopefully leave with the tools to carve out their own space in this industry.”

As with every feature post, I asked Abra to share a family recipe that has some importance for her. She sent her mothers recipe for chicken in lemon cream sauce. “My mom was a tremendous cook,” she said. “I feel so fortunate that she put so much energy into making delicious and creative meals regularly. I also feel so lucky that it was over food that we connected with each other as a family. It gave me a tremendous amount of reverence for the community and bonds that sharing a meal creates.”

Abra's Mother

This particular recipe “was an arrow in my mom’s dinner quiver. She took a cooking class from Le Cordon Blue in Grand Rapids once and this is the only thing any of us remember her making post class. One day we didn’t make this and the next we did, and now it is a family classic.” 

As good as it is, its ease of preparation is part of the appeal. “It was always a special occasion dinner because of the last minute nature of the sauce, often for dinner parties or when my sisters and I would come home from college. I’ve learned since that the sauce can hold fine warm and so doesn’t need to pull the cook away from the party–simply hold the cooked chicken in a warm oven, make the sauce, and then reheat and thin with a bit more cream (if needed) just before serving.” She added, “I love it because it was how I learned to make a pan sauce, and it goes with any sort of vegetables, be it spring, summer, fall, or winter. So this recipe bridges how I learned to cook (meat and cream focused) and how I cook now (just enough meat and cream to ground a big plate of vegetables).” 

Chicken w Lemon Cream

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Chicken Breasts in Lemon Cream Sauce

Ingredients:
6 boneless, skinless chicken breasts
2 tbsp butter
2 tbsp olive oil
1/4 cup white wine
1 lemon (for zest and juice)
1 cup heavy cream
Salt, to taste

Instructions:

Pound the chicken breasts until thin. 

Season liberally with salt and pepper. 

Heat the butter and olive oil in a frying pan over medium heat until hot. 

Pat the chicken breasts dry and pan fry until cooked through on one side (about 5 minutes). Flip and cook the other side (about 4 minutes). 

Remove the chicken breasts to a serving platter and tent with tinfoil to keep warm.

Add the white wine to the pan to deglaze (scraping up any browned meaty bits) and allow to reduce until almost dry (about 2-3 minutes).

Add the cream and a big pinch of salt and cook until bubbling.

Add the lemon zest and juice, and return to a bubble.

Remove from heat. Taste and adjust seasoning as desired.

Just before serving, pour the cream sauce over the chicken and serve. 

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Abra told me there are some big and exciting things happening for her soon. “We’ve added several months to our dinner series at Granor Farm–now from May through February. Farm dinners and local agriculture don’t stop after first frost. I’m so excited that we are going to be able to showcase produce from our farm through the dead of winter.” Second, her first cookbook, Ruffage, is coming out in March of 2019! “The premise for the book is that each chapter focuses on a vegetable: what to look for at the market, how to store, and other notes. Then there are several different preparation techniques (like for asparagus raw, roasted, and grilled) and a base recipe for that. After the recipe there are three variations to show how you can prep the veg the same way and then vary the ‘accessory’ flavors to make a whole new dish. The idea is to give readers the tools to make a myriad of dishes by selecting great produce and mastering a few techniques.” Ruffage will be available at all national bookstores and on Amazon.com in March. 

If you want to find out more about Abra’s work, you can visit her website, or follow her on Instagram or Twitter @abraberens. If you’re interested in making reservations for a Granor Farm dinner, you can do that here.

Abra, thank you so much for sharing your story with me! I can’t wait to see what you have coming up in the future!

 

First two photographs provided by Abra Berens.

Sponge Cake with Strawberries and Cream

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Hey! I jumped off here for a bit. My dude and I paid a nice little visit to New Orleans, the only other city we’ve ever lived in together. It was half vacation, half we’ve had too much Chicago winter and, even though it’s getting nice now, our bones are still frozen. Since we left, New Orleans is 300 years old (what?!) and way cooler. Us leaving may have even had something to do with that. We do not usually go to the swankiest places, but a quick rundown of our old and new favorites include: Elizabeth’s and Paloma Cafe, in the Bywater, for great food and drinks; our old haunt Cure on Freret (they just won the James Beard Award for Outstanding Bar Program!); Alto, the poolside, rooftop bar at the Ace Hotel; Bouligny Tavern, our favorite neighborhood spot (when Uptown was still our neighborhood); and Jacques-Imo’s on Oak, for really solid New Orleans cuisine (be prepared to wait for a table).

So, now the reason for this post: It’s the two-year birthday of my little blog-baby! As a person who studied and loves history, but has no interest or intention of ever teaching, my blog has become my little passion project of researching, writing about historical people, historical recipes, and family recipes. I’ve been lucky enough to have very, very cool women agree to share their family recipes and stories with me. I’ve learned some cool new things myself, and hopefully you have, too! I’m having a mini-celebration with cake.

When I was little, my favorite dessert was strawberry shortcake (and my favorite cartoon was Strawberry Shortcake–which came first??). I see recipes for strawberry shortcake online and they look amazing, but they are not what I had as a child. In fact, the only strawberry shortcake recipe I knew as a child was probably mostly chemicals: Those little store-bought, yellow, spongecake discs, accompanied by a tub of bright red glaze, strawberries (perhaps the only non-lab-created ingredient), and cool whip. As a child of the nineties, my body was raised on preservatives and corn syrup. I think it’s really nice when I hear people my age say that cookies and candies weren’t even allowed in their house, or that if desserts were allowed they were always hand-made from scratch. That just wasn’t my experience. Cake was available at every celebration, and almost always from a box. And I loved every minute of it.

As a grown-up who knows more about nutrition now, I eat a little better. Cakes are made, sure, but I enjoy only a little, or give them away as gifts. Also, I am blessed with a lot more time than my mom had. I am not working overtime in a factory, with two kids to feed. So, while I appreciate the tiny celebrations that we had, my happy medium as an adult is making things I love from scratch, with fresh and whole ingredients (including sugar and butter) when I can. This strawberry sponge cake is my version of my favorite childhood treat.

There is no history to this post, except for my own. It’s just a thankful strawberry spongecake recipe to remind me of summer days as a child, why I love food so damn much in the first place, and how grateful I am that people like you show up to look at my pictures and read my words.

To begin, and to really get the nostalgia flowing, instead of a biscuit-like base (like the ones I see online that are very beautiful and delicious), I made a yellow sponge cake. There are not one, but two, layers of strawberries, one layer floating just above the cake, dripping with a strawberry glaze that melts into the top, the second sitting on a cloud of fluffy whipped cream. It’s my own personal version of heaven.

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Sponge Cake with Strawberries and Cream
Makes one 9×13-inch cake.

Ingredients:
For cake:
2 cups unbleached cake flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
3/4 cup whole milk
4 tbsp unsalted butter, melted
1 tsp vanilla extract
5 large eggs, room temperature
1 1/2 cups sugar
For topping:
2 cups strawberries, hulled and quartered (measure after quartering)
3/4 cup sugar
2 1/2 cups strawberries, hulled and sliced (to add to sauce)
1 1/2 cups strawberries, hulled and quartered (to add to whipped topping)
2 1/2 cups heavy cream, very cold
1/4 cup sugar
pinch of salt
2 tsp vanilla

Instructions:

For the cake: Grease a 9×13-inch pan and line with parchment paper (you may want to use a binder clip to hold the parchment to the sides of the pans). Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Sift together the flour, baking powder, and salt into a bowl. Set aside.

Melt the butter and combine with the whole milk. Stir in the vanilla. Set aside.

In a double boiler, combine the eggs and sugar. Whisking constantly, heat the mixture over medium heat for 5-8 minutes. The sugar should be dissolved, and the mixture should be very light yellow and thin. Remove from heat.

With a hand mixer or stand mixer, beat the eggs and sugar together until about double in size. When ready, the mixture will be very light yellow in color, and will hold its shape for a moment, when you move the beaters through it.

Pour in all the flour mixture and gently fold from bottom to top until all dry ingredients are incorporated. Add in the butter and milk mixture and stir until combined. The batter will be quite thin.

Pour the batter into the pan, bake for about 25-30 minutes, turning the pan 180 degrees at the 15-minute mark.

When it is lightly golden brown on the top, springy to the touch, and a toothpick inserted into the middle comes out clean, it is done. Allow to cool in the pan for 10 minutes, then allow to cool completely on a wire rack.

For the topping: Hull and quarter strawberries and add them to a food processor with sugar. Blend until liquefied, then strain the mixture into a bowl.

Slice two cups of berries and stir them into the sweetened berry purée.

Beat the heavy cream with the sugar and vanilla.

Quarter the two remaining cups of strawberries.

Using a large serrated knife, slice the very top layer off the cake to make it a flat and porous surface. Pour the strawberry purée mixture evenly over the top of the cake. Add whipped cream. Then top with quartered berries and mint (optional).

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This cake is not for everyone. Not even my mom who used to make it for me, who says she doesn’t like “goop” on her cake. But for me, it’s perfect. It’s simple, it’s delicious, and it’s a little messy. Probably good for a picnic. It checks a lot of boxes.

If you share my passion for food and history, you’re always welcome here! This is not a business for me, but it does feel like more than just a hobby. Thanks so much for reading and I hope you’ll be back soon!

Maggie Hennessy + Oma’s Cabbage Rolls

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I’m extremely excited to welcome Maggie Hennessy to the blog today. If you often read about the Chicago food scene, you may already know her, or at least her words. She is a certified chef, freelance food writer and, since last summer, the restaurant and bars critic for Time Out Chicago, one of a very small number of female food critics in the city. Luckily for me, Maggie agreed to take time out of her busy schedule to talk to me about what food means to her, and to share one of her favorite family recipes.

For Maggie, food is a bond, a point of contention, and the subject of some of her favorite memories. Her mother prioritized her children’s diet, spending hours shopping for and preparing their meals. “I remember her saying ‘food is love’ every day,” she told me.

Her mother’s mother–her Oma–was a German immigrant who smuggled seeds for German mache lettuce to America in her socks, and grew and preserved her own comestibles–the definition of old-world cooking, who was nevertheless “thrilled when she got her first microwave.” Maggie sees food as an expression of love, but recognizes it also as a reminder of the traditionally narrow role of women. That’s why “making raspberry jam in the suffocating summer heat with my grandmother was almost terrifying–with pots slamming and fruit splattering, so we knew the true labor involved.”

The time and energy that both her mother and grandmother sacrificed to make sure their families were fed had a profound effect on Maggie. “Coming from a first-generation German mom who stayed home to raise her kids instead of pursuing a full-time painting career, whose mother came to the States during World War II, grew her own food and did all the cooking–food has this duality as an expression of love complicated by a burdensome sense of the ‘role’ of women first and foremost as caretakers,” Maggie told me. “It makes me appreciate that they fed us in spite of and because of this–and it connects me to them in a way I couldn’t possibly understand as a kid. That they did the best they could with their situation.”

Maggie’s older sister Madeline has also shaped Maggie’s relationship with food. Her mother’s excellent and healthy cooking led Maggie and her sister to a sort of rebellion, indulging in sweet cereals at sleepovers and “breakfast Cokes” on the way to middle school, and later, “mid-afternoon cheese fry and banana shake runs” when her sister could drive. Maggie’s sister went on to a career of non-profit grant-writing, with a great concern for social issues, which has put them on seemingly opposite sides of the food world. “You try bringing up the trendiness of bone broth over a couple drinks with someone who spends her days fighting tooth and nail to get sick, chronically homeless people into housing.” Their lifelong dialog has been fruitful for both. Maggie is “still smitten with the notion of food as a unifier—a source of joy and an expression of love,” she says. “But I’ve also developed a healthy skepticism about its pretension, which I owe in large part to my sister.”

This life with food led Maggie to a career in food, by a roundabout way. She moved with her family from Boston to the suburbs of Chicago when she was seven, and studied journalism in college. “After graduation and about 35 newspaper job applications that went mostly unanswered, I finally got a job as a financial journalist. I hated the work, but was too afraid to take the plunge and quit. So instead, I’d research culinary schools on my lunch break and fantasize about leaving to pursue a dazzling career in food writing.”

However, like many young professionals in 2008, Maggie was affected by the recession: “Two years later, my whole team got laid off.” Seeing this as an opportunity, Maggie took her meager savings and went to culinary school. “For one year, I spent my nights trekking to Kendall College in that tragically unflattering chef’s uniform to make crepes, sear lamb chops, weave challah bread, roll fresh pasta, and make blood sausage from scratch.” 

Still, she wasn’t sure how to transition from culinary school into food writing. But she found that the “chef-instructors were accommodating, letting me observe student dinner service and tirelessly document and photograph every moment of class. That year taught me wondrous things, too, like the magic of making consomme, the secret to Roman marinara (anchovies!), and the sound a perfectly baked baguette makes” 

Once she finished her courses, she was able to find work in business-to-business food journalism. She told me, “I worked at a series of trade publications covering every aspect of fine-dining and fast-casual restaurants, bakeries, supermarkets, and packaged food and beverage. I was desperate to maintain some connection to food, even if it meant covering high-volume bakery equipment or GMO labeling.”

But eventually she decided it wasn’t enough. With the support of her “husband / soulmate / best friend Sean,” she took the plunge to become a full-time freelance food and drink writer.

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Though she credits her mother and sister with shaping her ideas about food, her earliest experience came from her grandmother. “My grandma grew up in a little town in Germany not far from Frankfurt, in a family of poor farmers,” Maggie told me. “She married my grandpa, who was Croatian and a watchmaker, during World War II. They moved to Fairfield, Connecticut, where her sister lived, and had three children. My grandparents were very religious. Oma worked in retail and was a wonderful seamstress. She used to make these incredible retro dresses and coats for our Barbie dolls.”

Maggie tells me that her Oma “maintained a massive backyard garden, cooked and baked everything from scratch and made preserves out of what she couldn’t use up.” Even though she died of cancer at the young age of 64, when Maggie was only five, she and her story left a strong impression. Maggie dreamily recalls “the smell of newspapers in the kitchen, where my grandfather would sit reading and muttering about corrupt politics while he slathered thick pats of butter on his poppy seed bagel; hunting for deliciously grainy lumps in Oma’s famous cream of wheat laced with sugar and heavy cream; the tinny scraping sound of fork on metal as my grandmother whisked oil, lemon and green onion together to make her now-famous ‘Oma dressing,’ which my mom, sister and I still make almost daily to this day; the taste of syrupy raspberry-filled milk chocolate bars, which Oma always presented us with the moment we arrived.”

The recipe that Maggie decided to share is for her grandmother’s cabbage rolls. When I asked Maggie why she decided to share this recipe in particular, she told me a few reasons. “One, because as I’ve gotten older cooking has increasingly become a meditative pursuit in the sense that it requires us to truly live in the moment. The first part of the recipe fulfills this–with plenty of chopping, par-cooking, mixing, stuffing and assembling. Each step is simple, but you have to be present,” she said. “The second reason I shared this recipe is exactly the opposite of the first–and equally why I love it so much. Stuffed cabbage rolls are one of the most forgiving dishes you’ll ever make; I’m not kidding. Even if a few cabbage leaves rip, or you overfill them, or forget to add the sauerkraut till the very end, or the bottom of the pot burns a little, this dish always turns out delicious. There’s something to be said for submerging a bunch of stuff in liquid in a pot, leaving it alone over low heat, then it comes out the other side as a flavorful, fulfilling and coherent meal.”

Maggie clarified that she had never had these rolls from her grandmother’s kitchen, but only ever had them made by her mother. “We usually visited my grandparents in summertime, and stuffed cabbage rolls–filled with bacon, beef and rice and slow-braised in tomatoes and sauerkraut–are total winter food.” As Maggie was telling me this story, she said something striking: “I’m so glad she never made them for me.” It’s the sign of a true family recipe when it has life beyond the first person to make it. These are Oma’s cabbage rolls when Maggie’s mother makes them, and they are still Oma’s when Maggie makes them today.

These rolls define the type of food that Maggie always comes back to, “warming, hearty and comforting one-pot meals, heavy on vegetables and never without starch.” As I’ve often been told in previous posts (and as I’ve done myself with my family recipes), Maggie has adapted her grandmother’s recipe to her own taste, “upping the tomato because I’m an unapologetic sauce lover and seasoning every layer because being a chef turns that into a compulsory act. Adapting it filled me with endless joy, because I deem that the real mark of recipe mastery. “

I also like to think they’re the perfect expression of the type of woman my grandmother was–resourceful, labor-intensive, warm and tidy, with a slight bite.” 

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Oma’s Cabbage Rolls
Makes about 12 rolls

Ingredients:
1/2 cup white rice
Salt, as needed
1 large head cabbage
3-4 strips bacon, diced 1/4 inch
1 tsp butter
1 medium yellow onion
Pepper, to taste
2 pounds 85% lean ground beef
2 eggs
1 pound sauerkraut
1 14-oz can tomato sauce
1 14-oz can diced tomatoes
14 oz water

Instructions:

Bring 1 cup water to a boil in a small saucepan. Add the rice, and cook for about 10 minutes, until cooked about halfway through (it will cook the rest of the way inside the cabbage rolls). Drain off any excess water and dump the rice into a large bowl.

While the rice is cooking, heat a large pot two-thirds full of salted water until boiling. Carefully add the whole head of cabbage and boil for 5 minutes. Remove, and immediately plunge into a large bowl of ice water for 30 seconds, turning constantly, to stop the cooking process. Set on paper towels to drain.

Place diced bacon in a cold skillet with a large pat of butter. Turn the heat up to medium, and slowly render the bacon until slightly brown, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the onion and a sprinkling of salt and pepper. Saute until the onion is softened and slightly caramelized, about 5 minutes. Add the onions and bacon to the rice mixture. Then add the ground beef, eggs, and a generous sprinkling of salt and pepper. Puncture the yolks, and mix everything together until evenly incorporated.

To assemble the cabbage rolls, pull one cabbage leaf off at a time and place it on a cutting board with the inside facing up and the root end closest to you.

Place a few tablespoons of the beef mixture in the center of the leaf. Fold each side in toward the center so they’re overlapping. (Don’t worry if there are a few rips in the cabbage leaves. Everything will come together when it cooks.)

Roll forward and away from you, tucking in the sides as you go like you’re rolling up a burrito. Set the rolls seam-side down on a sheet tray, and repeat until you’ve used up all the filling. If there is only a little cabbage left, chop it up finely and toss it in the pot with the cabbage rolls. Otherwise, seal the rest in an airtight container and put it in the fridge.

Place a 5-quart Dutch oven or other large, heavy-bottomed pot on the stove. Cover the bottom with a layer of sauerkraut (and extra chopped cabbage if you have it), then a layer of cabbage rolls. Season with a sprinkling of salt and pepper. Repeat this process until all the cabbage rolls are nestled inside the pot.

Pour the tomato sauce and diced tomatoes over everything. Fill the 14-ounce tomato sauce can with water and pour that over the rolls as well. Top with a little more sauerkraut and season again with salt and pepper.

Turn the heat on medium, and bring the mixture to a simmer. Turn the heat down to low (the pot should be lightly bubbling), cover the pot and cook the cabbage rolls for 2 hours, until the meat is cooked through and the cabbage leaves are tender.

To serve, place 2 rolls in a shallow bowl or on a plate. Top with a few ladles of the sauerkraut tomato sauce. Serves 4 to 6.

Note: Stuffed cabbage rolls freeze beautifully. Place the cooked cabbage rolls and a few spoonfuls of sauce in airtight containers in the freezer up to 3 months. The day you’re ready to eat them, put them in the fridge 8 hours ahead to thaw, then reheat them gently over medium low on the stove.

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When I had coffee with Maggie to discuss this post, I had just made the cabbage rolls the day before. I told her I was skeptical before I made them, because I don’t count myself as a lover of cabbage or sauerkraut. But then I ate one. And then my husband and I ate every last one of them. Seriously, they’re that good. Cozy comfort food at its finest.

If you are interested in learning more about Maggie and her work, you can catch up with her on Twitter and Instagram, or on her personal website. She also recently co-authored a cookbook with Mitch Einhorn (of Twisted Spoke) that she hopes will be published later this year.

In addition, Maggie recently wrote a piece for Cherrybombe, that is not so much about food, as it is about muting other people’s negativity and overcoming feelings of inadequacy and inexperience to become a food critic. You should definitely read it. If you’re a woman in almost any occupation, but particularly a nontraditional one, this article will strike a chord with you.

Thank you so much for taking the time to share your story and your grandmother’s recipe, Maggie!