1000 Recipe Cookbook by Arcturus Publishing [free books]


  • Full Title : 1000 Recipe Cookbook: Easy to Follow Recipes for all Occasions
  • Autor: Arcturus Publishing
  • Print Length: 1189 pages
  • Publisher: Arcturus Publishing
  • Publication Date: September 1, 2008
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: B006NYFCJ6
  • ISBN-13: 
  • Download File Format: epub

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With 1000 scrumptious and easy-to-follow recipes, this book provides the perfect answer to all those vexed questions about what to cook. No more agonizing over what to put on the table; you will easily be able to find something to tempt the palate and satisfy the appetite of even the fussiest eaters – whatever the occasion.

From time-honoured classics to the more unusual, there is plenty of choice here. The selection will appeal to both novice and experienced cooks alike, whether you are looking for ideas for a light, tasty lunch, a quick, hearty supper, a feast fit for family and friends, or something more elaborate for a dinner party.

• Soups and salads
• Starters and canapés
• Fish, meat and poultry
• Vegetarian and vegetable dishes
• Pasta and rice
• Desserts and sweet treats
• Cakes, biscuits and pastries
• Sauces and condiments

 

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of the table, along with warm soft-boiled eggs and thick slices of grilled bread rubbed with raw garlic, and wash it all down with a slightly bubbly rosé. For dessert, some overripe mandarin oranges and Annie’s pistachio macarons from the coffee shop.

cauliflower gratin with

aged raw milk cheese

SERVES 4 TO 6 AS A SIDE OR 2 AS A MAIN DISH

Kosher salt

2 small heads of cauliflower

2 large eggs

1 cup heavy cream

Freshly grated nutmeg

1½ cups grated aged raw milk cheese

Preheat the oven to 450°F. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil.

Cut the cauliflower heads in half with a sharp knife. Remove the cores and any leaves. Cut the cauliflower into large florets. Cook the florets in the boiling water for about 3 minutes until just tender but still firm in the center. Drain and arrange the cauliflower in a 9 × 13 baking dish.

In a small bowl, whisk together the eggs, cream, a little salt, and nutmeg to taste. Pour over the warm cauliflower. Bake for 30 to 40 minutes until the gratin is just barely set in the center. Remove from the oven and turn on the broiler. Sprinkle the cauliflower with the cheese and broil for about 3 minutes until the top is golden brown.

Grilled Broccoli with Parsley, Garlic, and Anchovies

grilled broccoli with

parsley, garlic, and anchovies

Delicate fresh broccoli and cauliflower from a garden or small farm don’t resemble the useful California sorts that are a fixture in our produce drawer the rest of the year, and so we enjoy them while we can. But because broccoli and cauliflower do travel and keep exceptionally well, I make these recipes year-round, just allowing for slightly longer cooking times when dealing with more mature vegetables.

SERVES 4

2 small bunches of tender broccoli

2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for serving

6 anchovy fillets, minced

2 garlic cloves, mashed to a paste

Grated zest of 1 lemon

⅓ cup finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves

2 teaspoons chile flakes, or to taste

Prepare a hot fire in a charcoal grill.

Cut the broccoli lengthwise to make long florets with all of the tender stem attached. Blanch in well-salted boiling water for just 15 to 20 seconds, a little longer if the broccoli is very mature. Drain well, transfer to a medium bowl, and toss with 1 tablespoon of the oil. When the flame has died down and the coals are completely covered with ash, grill the broccoli to slightly char it all over.

Mix the anchovies, garlic, lemon zest, parsley, remaining 1 tablespoon oil, and chile flakes in a bowl. Add the grilled broccoli, toss well, and serve with olive oil at the table for drizzling.

EASTER DAY

FRESH OSSABAW HAM

I drank a few cups of strong coffee outside on the patio this morning; it was almost strong enough to handle kids who have eaten nothing but chocolate and jelly beans since waking at 6:30 a.m. Silvia Pahola, my partner in the kitchen at Lantern, is here and we are cooking an Easter meal for about twenty friends. Her love of pork is unrivaled; in fact, if she ever writes a cookbook, she already knows its title: Pork Is a Fruit: It Grows on Pigs. To paraphrase the late novelist and food writer Laurie Colwin, Silvia is the best kind of friend to eat and cook with: someone who happily talks about what to have for lunch while still cooking breakfast. We both like to eat pork on Easter: she sometimes does ribs or roast shoulder, while I tend toward a fresh ham.

The ham in my oven now (so deliciously porky that a neighbor just rang the bell) was raised by another member of the pork-is-a-fruit school, Eliza MacLean of Cane Creek Farm, in Snow Camp (just outside of Chapel Hill). Pigs are joyful, emotional animals who take pleasure in almost everything they do, from rolling in the mud on a hot day to eating peanuts. Eliza’s pigs may be the happiest anywhere, frolicking in the woods and meadows of the 500-acre farm, which she runs with Dr. Charles Sydnor, who raises grass-fed Red Devon cattle next door at Braeburn Farm. A mom with young twins, Eliza is also a pig farmer on a mission: to help reestablish the Ossabaw, a rare breed descended from the Ibérico or pata negra hog, those free-roaming pigs who fatten up on acorns and wild grasses before becoming arguably the best ham anywhere: ibérico de bellota. Brought to the American South in the sixteenth century by Spanish explorers, these hogs were stranded on Ossabaw, a barrier island off the coast of Savannah, Georgia; the hogs adapted to island life, developing the ability to store ample quantities of fat, which has a silky, buttery quality all its own. As lucky as we are to have Eliza and her pigs as neighbors, we have also had success with Easter ham using pork from many sources: Berkshire hogs mail-ordered from Heritage Foods USA; conventional pork sourced from Cliff’s, our local meat market in Carrboro; and whey-fed pig from Chapel Hill Creamery.

Silvia carves the roast, which is finally out of the oven and done resting. The meat flips away from her knife into big, juicy slices—the amber crackling skin is the only condiment we need. It’s a very good ham, but also a recipe for a happy afternoon: making lunch with food from a farm we love, talking about our next meal. What’s left of the succulent meat will be thinly sliced for Cuban sandwiches tomorrow, and the bones will be the start of a pot of soup the following day.

Roast Fresh Ham with Cracklings

roast fresh ham with cracklings

Silvia and I have made this often over the years, the first time in my (illegal) home kitchen for an Easter catering gig when we made the entire meal twice, timing it so that the second roast was perfectly blistered and crispy when we arrived back home with a car full of dirty pots and pans to have dinner with our own families. It goes well with wilted spring scallions, roast potatoes (basted in the drippings), lightly dressed spicy arugula, and beans in all forms. One favorite bean dish for this ham is from Amanda Hesser’s The Cook and the Gardener: flavorful white beans simmered with hearty herbs and crème fraîche until slightly thickened.

SERVES 15 OR MORE, WITH LEFTOVERS

Kosher salt

2 heads of garlic, unpeeled, cut in half crosswise

1 large yellow onion, cut in half

1 tablespoon black peppercorns

1 tablespoon coriander seeds

3 dried bay leaves

1 small bunch of fresh flat-leaf parsley

1 tablespoon expeller-pressed vegetable oil

1 (15- to 18-pound) trimmed, skin-on fresh ham

Combine 4 quarts cold water, 1 cup salt, and the garlic, onion, peppercorns, coriander, bay leaves, and parsley in a container that is large enough to hold the ham, and stir until the salt is dissolved. Submerge the ham in the liquid and refrigerate for at least 24 hours and up to 3 days. (Alternatively, if you can’t fit the ham in your refrigerator, brine it directly in a clean cooler, just adding a little extra salt and enough ice to keep the ham cold, draining a little brine and adding more ice as needed.)

Preheat the oven to 350°F.

Drain off the brine, discarding all the seasonings, and pat the ham dry. Put a paper towel on top of a cutting board and set the ham on top of that so that it doesn’t slip. With a sharp knife, score the skin with incisions that run the length of the ham and are about ½ inch apart, and then again the other way to form a crosshatch pattern. The incisions should just barely reach into the fat under the skin; do not cut into the meat itself, in order to help the crackling skin stay in one piece once it is crispy. Allow the ham to come to room temperature.

Lightly oil and salt the meat, rubbing it in on all surfaces. Put the ham on a rack or on a few rolled-up sheets of aluminum foil in a large heavy roasting pan and put it in the oven. A 15-pound roast will take almost 4 hours total, while an 18-pounder will take as long as 5—about 15 minutes per pound. About 2½ hours in, when the temperature of the ham hits about 130°F, raise the oven temperature to 425°F to crisp the skin (cover any areas that start to get too dark with a piece of foil). When the meat thermometer reads 145° to 150°F, remove the roast and allow it to rest, loosely tented with foil, for an hour or so before carving.

Carrot Soup with Toasted Curry and Pistachios

carrot soup with

toasted curry and pistachios

I love any dish that can be made using water rather than stock. It’s a bit of useful laziness that can help establish the clean, pure flavor of the ingredient itself, whether it’s carrots or clams. One key is a slow, patient approach to cooking (or “sweating”) the onions and garlic, creating sweetness and depth. Homemade curry powder keeps well for a few weeks and warms up deviled eggs, beef stew, or hot buttered popcorn.

SERVES 6 TO 8

3 tablespoons unsalted butter

1 medium onion, thinly sliced

2 garlic cloves, sliced

2½ teaspoons kosher salt

2 pounds carrots

1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons Curry Powder (recipe follows), plus more for garnish

Pinch of cayenne

½ cup dry white wine

Thick Greek-style yogurt, for garnish

½ cup shelled roasted pistachios

Melt the butter in a heavy 4-quart pot. Add the onion, garlic, and ½ teaspoon of the salt. Cover and cook over low heat for 10 to 15 minutes, until the onions are soft and translucent.

Meanwhile, peel the carrots and slice them into thin rounds.

Raise the heat to medium, and add the curry and cayenne. Stir and cook for 1 minute, until fragrant. Add the carrots, wine, and another ½ teaspoon of the salt. Cook for 2 minutes, until the wine reduces a little. Add 6 cups water and the remaining 1½ teaspoons salt. Bring to a simmer, cover, and cook for 25 to 30 minutes, until the carrots are completely tender.

Puree in a food processor or with an immersion blender. Add water if the soup seems too thick. Adjust the seasoning and serve in warm bowls. Garnish with yogurt, the pistachios, and a sprinkling of curry powder.

curry powder

MAKES ABOUT ½ CUP

¼ cup plus 1 tablespoon coriander seeds

1 teaspoon cumin seeds

1 teaspoon black mustard seeds

1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds

1 teaspoon black peppercorns

2 large dried red chiles, such as de árbol

2 tablespoons ground turmeric

In a small pan over medium heat, toast the coriander seeds, cumin seeds, mustard seeds, fenugreek seeds, peppercorns, and chiles, tossing constantly, for about 2 minutes, until fragrant and slightly colored. Let cool completely.

Grind the mixture in a spice mill or clean coffee grinder until very fine. Transfer to a small bowl and stir in the turmeric.

EARLY APRIL

SPRING MOUNTAIN

The first time I met Joe Hollis, he was knocking on our front door at nearly midnight with thirty pounds of ramps in a beat-up cooler. I was looking for wild springtime plants that grow in the mountains a few hours west of here and he was looking for a restaurant customer. He stayed for a cup of tea, and on his way out revealed that his parents had built our house in 1960. Not a sentimental guy, he kindly declined a tour of his old home but was curious how the woods out back were doing. Today we went for a walk there together.

Climbing down onto the trail, beyond the thick mat of invading English ivy from neighborhood gardens, we begin to see the once-a-year native “ephemerals”—plants that appear for just weeks after the earth begins to warm and before the trees above them leaf out and shade them. Joe points out fairy spuds with pale pink blooms that float on skinny stems; bloodroot, white stars that flower for just a day; and a colony of mayapples, their pointed leaves propelling each one up through the dead leaves like an umbrella before opening, and whose white blossoms are followed by a small edible fruit. We see trout lilies (also called dog-toothed violets), which have leaves like a speckled brook trout and orchid-like yellow flowers. Flour made from their tiny tubers is prized in Japan as a silky thickener for subtle broths and stews.

The woods around Joe’s house near Black Mountain are slowly coming to life, too. There, Joe is cultivating and foraging for our own distinct sansai—the Japanese word for their celebrated native mountain vegetables, many of which have a close relative here in North Carolina. A few rare plants—including a native truffle—grow nowhere else in the world except here and there. Joe forages for fiddlehead ferns; the fresh, creamy hearts of new bamboo; tender shoots of giant solomon’s seal; and sweet, crunchy Indian cucumber root. He also cultivates rarities like peppery sansho, the green buds of a tree closely related to the one that produces Sichuan peppercorns; udo, which is similar to white asparagus; and in his stream, pale green wasabi roots and their spicy heart-shaped leaves.

But the very first thing he sends us each spring is ramps, another ephemeral, one that he forages deep in the woods at 3,200 feet, about an hour’s hike from his garden. Ramps are a mostly green, broad-leafed wild lily in the same family as onions, but with a delicious garlic edge. Ramps grow best in what Joe calls “coves”—low-lying ground that never dries out and is covered in a thick mulch of hardwood leaves. He cuts them by hand with a sharp pocketknife, leaving their bulbs firmly rooted in the earth so that they come back again year after year.

cast-iron-skillet fresh trout

with cornmeal

Not far from Joe’s Mountain Gardens in Celo is Canton, a mill town that is home to Sunburst Trout Farm (see Sources), where Sally Eason raises delicate pink trout in the pure water that rushes down Cold Mountain. If a campfire is not in your immediate future but you have some sparkling fresh trout, this works well on the stovetop, too. Serve it with wilted ramps or other greens.

SERVES 4

4 whole trout, about 12 ounces each, cleaned and gills removed

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 cups finely ground white cornmeal

Expeller-pressed vegetable oil, as needed

Prepare a hot campfire. Generously season each fish, inside and out, with salt and pepper. Pour the cornmeal onto a large plate and season it generously with salt and pepper.

When the fire dies down, place a grill rack over the bed of embers and assemble everything you will need: your largest cast-iron skillet, the oil, a thick dry towel or sturdy pot holder, a metal spatula, a pair of long tongs to adjust the embers or grill rack if needed, and a serving platter for the fish. When the grill is very hot, the flame has completely died down, and the coals are covered with ash, put the skillet on the center of the grate and let it get hot.

In the meantime, thoroughly coat each fish with a light dusting of cornmeal.

Add ¼ inch of oil to the hot skillet and test the oil: a sprinkling of cornmeal should immediately sizzle. Shake any excess cornmeal from the fish and slowly lay them in the skillet (you may need to work in batches if your skillet is not large enough to fit them all). Keep a close eye on the fish as they cook, and rotate the pan or gently adjust the fish with the spatula and tongs as needed. Cook the fish for 4 to 6 minutes, until crispy and golden brown. Flip them over and continue until cooked through, 2 to 3 minutes. If the pan becomes dry during cooking, add a small amount of additional oil to the skillet.

wilted ramps

On the first day of the year that is warm enough to open the windows, we all instantly crave spring foods. While the asparagus, peas, and strawberries we hunger for lag many weeks behind, the early tonics of spring—spring onions, green garlic, and ramps—step in to give us the jolt we need to wake up from winter.

Wash and dry 2 bunches of ramps, leaving them whole. Heat a few tablespoons of bacon fat or olive oil in a skillet over medium-high heat and then add the ramps. Season well with kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, and turn them frequently with tongs as they cook until they soften and begin to wilt, a few minutes. Add a splash of red wine vinegar and cook for another few minutes, until the ramps are completely tender.

Campfire Bacon and Eggs in a Bag

campfire bacon and eggs in a bag

I ate this magical meal at Girl Scout camp and then thought about it for the next thirty-odd years until we went camping in the mountains near Joe’s. It’s a full breakfast in a paper bag, easy to make if you already have a campfire burning (or hot embers in a charcoal grill or fireplace), portable, and delicious. As the bacon in the bottom of the paper bag renders and becomes crispy-chewy, the fat protects the paper from burning and gently steams the egg. This cannot be prepared in advance: after the eggs are cracked, the bags should be dangling over the hot coals within a minute. If your mess hall prefers scrambled eggs, they work well, too.

SERVES 6

6 lunch-size paper bags

6 thick slices bacon, cut in half crosswise

6 large eggs

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Prepare a campfire or a fire in a fireplace or charcoal grill. Let the flames die down and the coals become completely covered with ash. (Don’t attempt this on a gas grill—it doesn’t have the firepower to render the bacon before the eggs soak the bags.)

Lay 2 bacon halves across the bottom of each bag so that it is completely covered. Reach into each bag and carefully crack an egg over the bacon. Season with salt and pepper. Securely fold down the top of each bag three times and poke a hole through the fold with a sharp skewer. Thread a long, green stick through the hole and hold each bag so that the bottom is as close to the hot embers as possible—but without touching them and nowhere near any open flame. Cook for about 10 minutes, until the egg white is cooked all the way through.

SATURDAY NIGHT, MID-APRIL

WILD SHRIMP

We surprised the kids with a day at the beach, our mystery destination revealed only when we were on the bridge heading over the Intracoastal Waterway and they spotted boats. Our meal tonight is at a restaurant on the waterway itself, where boaters are docked for dinner, waiting for tables at the outdoor bar with icy beers and boiled shrimp—but the shrimp don’t jibe with the scenery. This restaurant, like many here, serves only farm-raised shrimp and frozen flounder when abundant pink shrimp and summer flounder swim just off shore. At coastal seafood restaurants in North Carolina, it can be a challenge to find seafood that is actually from here, and in this we join vacationers up and down the East Coast, eating king crab from Alaska and farmed salmon from Chile. Like German tourists having schnitzel for lunch at the restaurants that line the beaches in Mallorca, we take part in these sunburned evenings in something more ritual than actual meal, a shell of an eating experience.

Not long ago, shrimp was special-occasion food. Now with the availability of vast quantities of inexpensive shrimp made possible by farming, we can eat it nearly as often as we like. Almost all the shrimp we eat in the U.S. is imported from industrial farms in Asia and Latin America, where the industry erodes the local environment and coastal communities. Aquatic monoculture generally requires heavy use of pesticides, antibiotics, and hormones, and because of the high levels of pollution they create, the farms are generally short-lived, moving on after just a few years to new, unspoiled locations.

Industrial farming has transformed shrimp from a seasonal, small-scale, localized specialty into an inexpensive, but far less flavorful, industrial product that also now makes it hard for wild shrimpers to make a living off the original. Farmed shrimp wouldn’t be cheap if the producers paid the actual costs of production (you can imag

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