The Wednesday Chef

Liz Pearson's Yogurt-Rubbed Roast Chicken with Red Pepper Sauce

Let's start things off with a big, happy, declarative statement, shall we? It's Monday and it's awful out and despite being almost mid-May, we're dealing with March-like winds and rain instead of flowers and sunshine. I need something to cheer me up, perhaps you do, too, and I'm thinking this might just do the trick:

I may have found my new favorite way to roast chicken.

There. Things feel like they're looking up already, wouldn't you agree?

I'll always love the high-heat, Judy-Rodgers sanctioned way of roasting chicken, but the last time I did that we ended up having to live with the stench of scorched chicken fat in our apartment for nigh on a week. Since then, I've been banned from preparing chicken that way. Apparently, until we have a little elf living with us whose sole purpose is to run around silently behind me, cleaning up in the wake of my cooking endeavors and periodically scrubbing the inside of the oven (and while little elf is at it, also mopping), I won't be roasting at high heat again.

(Tragic, I know. How do I stand it?)

But over the weekend I found myself repeatedly coming back to a recipe printed in the LA Times a few weeks ago that has you stir Greek yogurt together with some herbs and spices and then massage big handfuls of the stuff onto (and into) a chicken, before letting it marinate for an hour and then roasting it at relatively average heat until cooked through.

See, doesn't that sound good? Something about spiced yogurt and marinating chicken... and I'm bewitched all over again.

Yogurt tenderizes chicken, don't you know, and the herbs and spices infuse the meat subtly. The marinating time and then the relatively long, slow roasting ensure an incredibly juicy bird. And to gild the lily - but this gilding I found absolutely necessary - the recipe has you roast shallots and red peppers beneath the chicken. After the roast is done, you gingerly peel the peppers (watch your fingers, they'll be hot!) and then puree them with the shallots and a disc of puckery goat cheese into an ochre-tinged sauce.

The original recipe has you do a fancy pan sauce with drippings and stock and flour and whisking, but is it a surprise to any of you at this point that I was far too lazy to follow suit? It was late, we were hungry, and that burnished bird was sitting on its platter making our stomachs growl. So I scraped up the pan drippings, separated the fat as best I could and dumped the drippings into the creamy sauce before whizzing it one last time.

And it was fabulous. Sweet and savory and with the faint funk of goat cheese about it. We slathered the sauce onto our forkfuls of chicken, dragged the chicken through great puddles of the stuff on our plates. If we hadn't been in the presence of dignified company, I might have even taken a spoon to the bowl. Best of all, while the chicken disappeared in a flash, there's sauce to last us another night at least.

I'm planning on using this yogurt-marinade technique over and over again - committing it to memory, even handing it over to the lamination files, if you will! The chicken was dreamily moist and juicy and would make fantastic leftovers.

This is the perfect Sunday supper - one you can start as the sun starts its slow descent in the late afternoon and can have on the table by the time the light is gone, but the birds are still out doing their early evening calls. I love this time of day in spring and especially where we live now, where we can actually hear the birds over the sounds of the city. If I go out on the balcony, I almost feel like I'm back in Berlin again - close enough to the city that I see the sunlight sparking off the buildings in Manhattan, but far enough away that I hear more birds than sirens; birds and the rustling of leaves in the trees around our building.

And there we go! Suddenly this cold, gray day doesn't seem so bad anymore. I have red pepper sauce, Ben, and a movie waiting for me (how to choose: Scarface on DVD or Iron Man at the theater?).

Happy Monday, folks. I hope it's a good week for you all.

Yogurt-Rubbed Roast Chicken with Red Pepper Sauce
Serves 3 to 4

Note: I made a half-recipe - the original makes two birds, and enough sauce to last for a week's worth of sandwiches, I think. Also, I omitted the steps and ingredients for the pan sauce. Click here for the original.

1/2 cup plain Greek-style yogurt
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 1/2 teaspoons dry mustard
1 1/2 teaspoons chopped thyme
1 teaspoon ground coriander
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 (3- to 3 1/2 -pound) chicken
1/2 pound (about 8) shallots, peeled and left whole
3 carrots, peeled and cut into chunks
2 red bell peppers, halved, cored and quartered
1 2-ounce piece goat cheese, softened

1. In a small bowl, stir together the yogurt, 1 tablespoon of the olive oil, the dry mustard, thyme, coriander, 2 teaspoons salt and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Loosen the skin around the breasts and thighs, then rub both chicken all over (beneath the skin and inside the cavity, too) with the yogurt mixture. Refrigerate the chicken, uncovered, for 1 hour.

2. Heat the oven to 350 degrees. Place the shallots, carrots, peppers, the remaining 2 tablespoons of olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste into a large roasting pan and toss well. Arrange a rack over the vegetables.

3. Arrange the chicken on the rack, breast-side up, and roast, basting occasionally with pan juices, until the vegetables are very tender and the chicken is deep golden brown and cooked through, 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Transfer the chicken to a large platter and tent with foil; set aside.

4. Drain the pan drippings into a bowl, then skim off and discard the fat; set aside.

5. Remove and discard the skin from the peppers (it should peel off fairly easily), then transfer them to a food processor. Add half the shallots and pulse until roughly chopped. Add the goat cheese, salt and pepper to taste, and pan drippings and puree until smooth.

6. Carve the chicken and transfer to plates. Spoon 1 to 2 tablespoons of the red pepper and goat cheese sauce over each serving and serve with the remaining roasted shallots and carrots on the side.

Role Reversal

Isn't that the cutest little globe you ever did see? (Muir Glen tomato can standing there for size comparison.) I found it this morning at the Brooklyn Flea and have decided it is already my most favorite possession. I might snuggle with it tonight, in bed. Little globe! I think I love you.

Okay! Moving on. As I type, a chicken is marinating in spiced yogurt in the fridge. It will be our dinner tonight and I have high hopes for it. Let's all hope there is good news to report tomorrow. In the meantime, however, I have to tell you about an idea I had earlier, when I was sorting through some more recipe print-outs (unfiled! loose-leaf! gah!) and was suddenly overcome with a desire to Purge! Purge! Purge! Because, honestly, people, sometimes the recipe collecting feels a bit out of hand. I had a hard little talk with myself (sotto voce, natch) and then plucked out a nice wee stack of recipes I know that I will never - in my heart of hearts - make. Ever. I marched them out to the recycling bin, dropped them down with a satisfying thwap, and felt all clean and good for a few minutes.

Um. And then. I felt sort of bad! (I clearly need to get out more.)

So I had an idea: What if I told you folks what those abandoned, discarded recipes are and if any of you are enterprising folks or just have different taste than me, you send me an email or leave me a comment telling me which recipe you'd like to make, and then I send that recipe over to you and you make it and tell me/us all about it? Doesn't that sound like fun? Or am I totally losing my mind?

I don't mean to be entirely pathetic, but I actually went back to the recycling bin and pulled the recipes out. They're sitting here now, looking up at me dolefully and I'm feeling sort of foolish. So for that reason alone, don't let me lose face, intrepid readers and cooks! Maybe there's one in here for you right now! Let's play.

1. Pommes Dauphine taken!
2. Duck Rillettes taken!
3. Salad of Yellowfin Tuna Confit with Cannellini Beans taken!
4. Golden Apple Triangles taken!
5. Pumpkin Pots de Creme with Amaretti-Ginger Crunch taken!
6. Caramel Coulant - taken!
7. Pumpkin Panna Cotta - taken!
8. Overnight Coffee Cake (with variations!) taken!

Rancho Gordo's Giant White Lima Beans

My beans have arrived! With their cheeky packaging and glossy little hulls, they are simply gorgeous. Giant white limas, Good Mother Stallards, Ojo de Cabras, and Christmas limas. Speckled and smooth and a delight to behold, I've quite literally not been this excited about something in my kitchen in a long time.

Ben and I had a plate of gigantes in Astoria this winter, so good we licked the plate clean, so I thought I'd just scrounge up a recipe for that stewy Greek dish, fragrant with tomatoes (and sometimes polluted by dill). But then I got sidetracked by a dish from Diane Kochilas's book on meze that combined the giant limas with roasted peppers and promptly changed my mind. I guess I sometimes have a short attention span.

I did a lot of things differently from the original recipe, which didn't seem to make much sense (1/4 pound of beans for 4 to 6 people?). I'm not sure you should necessarily attempt this on a weeknight, unless you get home far earlier than your eating partner, because it takes a little more than 2 hours to get this on the table.

But it's such a delicious pay-off. The beans are creamy, yet still pleasingly firm. The ones at the top have a chewy little crust that is browned in spots. The peppers and onions are stewy and sweet, and the vinegar gives the dish just the right amount of acidity. You could swap out the bay leaf for oregano, scattered throughout, or sage could also be a nice choice. We ate our beans with fresh slices of country bread and murmured delightedly through bites that we should eat nothing but beans and vegetables (steamed asparagus with a mustard vinaigrette) forever and evermore.

To further the conversation about sustainability and locavorism, it's true that buying Rancho Gordo beans is a double-edged sword. On one hand, you're supporting a small business that aims to keep heirloom beans alive and well and in our tummies, and that supports small farms. On the other hand, the beans are expensive (relatively speaking) and need to be shipped all the way across the country, if you live on the East Coast. Not exactly great for the environment.

I loved these beans and I can't wait to cook the rest of them, but I'm not sure how often I'll be able to justify ordering them. What do you think, readers? Am I overthinking? Not doing enough? And all that heavy stuff aside, what else should I be doing with beans? Recipes, please! Links! Ideas! We have a lot of beans to get through.

Giant Lima Beans with Roasted Peppers
Serves 2 amply as a main course    

1/2 pound giant white lima beans
5 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 yellow onion, finely chopped
1 large garlic clove, finely chopped
2 roasted red bell peppers
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste
1 bay leaf
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar, to taste    

1. Put the beans in a pot with ample water to cover (enough to come about 3 inches above the beans). Let sit for half an hour. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce the flame to low and simmer the beans for approximately 1 hour, or until al dente. About 15 minutes before removing the beans from the heat, season with salt. Drain and reserve the boiling liquid.

2. As the beans simmer, heat the 3 tablespoons olive oil in large skillet over medium heat, and sauté the onion and garlic until translucent, about 5 minutes. Remove the peppers from their oil and finely chop. Add them to the onions and garlic, and stir over medium heat for about 3 minutes to meld the flavors a little. Remove from the heat and add the beans to the pepper mixture. Season with salt and pepper to taste, and stir gently to combine.

3. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Scrape the bean mixture in an ovenproof glass or ceramic baking dish. Add about 1/2 cup of the reserved bean cooking liquid. Drizzle 2 tablespoons olive oil over the beans. Tuck a bay leaf into the center of the dish, covering the leaf well with the beans. Cover the dish and bake for about 45 minutes to 1 hour, or until the beans are very tender and their centers creamy.

4. Five minutes before the beans come out of the oven, pour in the vinegar. Remove from the oven and serve. You can let the beans cool to room temperature as well and serve the next day.

Mario Batali's Pappardelle with Peas and Parmesan

Oh, how I love thee, Internet.

Shall I count the ways?

I saw this recipe in a magazine - I can't remember which one - like, almost 10 years ago or something. Way before this blog was a twinkle in my eye and way before I even really understood what the Internet was all about. (Er - not that I now have much of a clue, but still. Fiber optic cables! Coal-fired power stations! Personal websites! I am way more informed.) I clipped it and made it and filed it away and then totally forgot about it, only to have an inquisitive reader ask me about it recently (hi, Charlotte!) because she'd read a comment I left on Adam's blog two years ago in which I waxed rhapsodic about said pasta.

So! I set myself to digging among my recipe clippings. It embarrasses me slightly that it took me, a somewhat neurotically organized person, more than ten minutes to find the darn thing. In fact, it took me more like a week.* A week in which I desperately emailed Adam (Hadn't I emailed him the recipe? Apparently, I had not.) and had to slowly face up to the fact that perhaps my organizational skills weren't quite what I imagined them to be.

(Sob!)

And then, of course, ten minutes after telling myself this, I found the recipe, glued sweetly and snugly into some binder page, exactly where it should have been, obviously.

After all that effort, I was hungry and, frankly, a little curious. Wouldn't it be fun to see how the recipe stood up, after hiding out for so long? I marched myself out to the store, bought a pound of fettucine and got to work.

And it is, just as you might have already imagined from the words "Mario", "Batali", and, oh, perhaps "Pappardelle", "Peas", and "Parmesan", quite tasty. Peas and mint are a match made in heaven, of course, and when you throw a silky tangle of fettucine into the mix and the long strands get all green and velvety from the pea puree and sweet-salty from the honey and Parmigiano, well then, you can imagine your delight at dinner. But there are a few things I have to note, because I strayed from the original recipe ever-so-slightly, and I think you should, too.

First of all, watch it with the honey, folks. Mario asks for two entire tablespoons of the stuff, but this makes the dish brazenly sweet instead of delicately nuanced and I think we can all agree that nuance is better than in-your-face sweetness, no? Then, he also says you need an entire stick of butter. And you know, if you're into that kind of thing, by all means toss the whole stick in there. But this dish can do with a whole lot less of the stuff. Also, one more thing, you need to loosen the sauce with pasta water before you toss it with the pappardelle, otherwise you lose precious minutes trying to coat the pasta properly, so that by the time you do and bring it to the table, it's well on its way to being lukewarm. And we all know there is nothing worse than lukewarm pasta.

(Don't we? DON'T WE? Sheesh.)

Anyway, this is the story of the little recipe that could, powered by the Internet - it made it into a magazine, into a binder, into a comment section, into an email, and now finally, out to you all. May you all like it as much as I do.

*Yes, I tried Googling it, but heavens to Betsy, this recipe was nowhere to be found online. So now it is. Thank God for blogs, wouldn't you say?

Pappardelle with Peas and Parmesan
Serves 8 as an appetizer or 4 as a main course

4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1 medium Spanish onion, chopped fine
1 tablespoon wildflower honey
3 cups fresh shucked peas (or frozen)
Sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 pound fresh homemade pappardelle or 1 pound dried fettucine
1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano
1/2 cup packed fresh mint leaves, torn in half

1. In a large saute pan, heat the oil until it is just smoking. Add the onion, honey, and 2 cups of the peas, and saute until softened and cooked through, about 10 to 12 minutes.

2. Place peas in a food processor and pulse until coarsely pureed, season generously with salt and pepper, and set aside.

3. Bring 6 quarts of water to a boil and add 2 tablespoons salt. Melt the butter in the saute pan, add the remaining peas, and cook slowly until just softened, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the pea puree to the whole peas and set aside.

4. Just before the pasta is done, pour a ladle of the starchy cooking water into the pan with the pea puree and stir to loosen the sauce. Cook the pasta until al dente and drain well, reserving more of the pasta water. Immediately toss the pasta into the pan with the pea mixture and place over medium heat. Stir gently to mix well, adding a little pasta water to achieve the correct texture, not too dry and not too wet - the noodles should be dressed like the greens of a salad. Add the cheese and mint leaves, and toss to combine. Serve immediately.

The Wednesday Chef on The FN Dish

Adam, the intrepid Amateur Gourmet, rustled up a few of us for a little discussion on food blogging the other day. If you're interested in starting your own food blog or just want to see me talk with my hands (grandfather in grave, rolling over), have a look!