March Cooked Poem: "Mele in Gabbia"

Several weeks ago when I was looking for a poem for this post, I noticed that Jane Hirshfield also has many poems about food. She writes about sticky figs and leatherskinned pomegranates. She also has one about a lover whose fingernails are blackened with marjoram and thyme and who mercilessly cuts up vegetables into very small pieces on the kitchen’s butcherblock. When I started reading her poems years ago this was not something I had noticed. It therefore was a new discovery, and one poem in particular, “Mele in Gabbia,” struck me as particularly tasty as I read each line.
I then started thinking about this one writing strategy I was taught in an education class in which you present students with a painting or photograph, and then have them generate a piece of writing from the image. They can write a poem, a story, or a song. Many writers and poets have done this (Ekphrasis is the official term to denote writing concerning itself with the visual arts), and my professor showed us Pieter Bruegel the Elder's Landscape with the Fall of Icarus as an example, and then William Carlos Williams's poem that was written as a result of the famous painting, also appropriately titled “Landscape with the Fall of Icarus.”
So then I thought, why not generate a recipe from a poem, just like a writer would generate a poem from a picture? “Mele in Gabbia” would be the perfect first poem to do this with! Surely I can make these little apple pastries that inspired Hirshfield's poem, I thought. And surely there are countless other poems that can inspire a culinary creation of some sort too. William Carlos Williams also wrote that little poem about the plums, Pablo Neruda is always comparing some lover’s body to a loaf of bread, and Billy Collins has a poem entitled “Osso Buco,” after all.
And hence my new blog project, Poems Cooked was born! That’s right, I know you are all as excited as I am to learn that every month from now until whenever, I will feature a poem inspired recipe. I will find a poem that describes a food or ingredient in detail, research the recipe, attempt to make it, and post it here for all of you. And please! Feel free to send me any poem you think is fit to be cooked!
I hereby now commence the Cooked Poem Project, but in truth, this first one is really a baked poem, since we are dealing with pastry. Here it is:

Mele in Gabbia
The pastry
is dusted with sugar.
The slices of apple inside,
just sour enough.

The name,
“apples in a cage.”

I eat them
in this good place-
the pastry warm,
a little bit chewy,
the linen
impeccably white-
and consider.

I had never encountered or even heard of “mele in gabbia” until I read this poem. I asked my father, who grew up in Italy, if he had ever eaten "mele in gabbia."

"No, never." He said.

Some internet research revealed that mele in gabbia is in fact just this, a baked apple in a pastry “cage.” I must admit that I do not traditionally enjoy making pastry. I find it annoying. But for the sake of the project I decided I would take it on. I found a recipe for pate brisee, which I had also never heard of before, and got to work.

Midway through, as I attempted to roll out my pate brisee and “encage” the apples, I realized I had perhaps embarked on something rather beyond my ability level. Every time I lifted my cut pastry to cover the apple, it would break into many small pieces and fall onto the counter (see photo # 4). I found myself cursing under my breath and declaring that if I was to ever try and make "mele in gabbia" (or whatever the heck it is) again, it would have to be for an extremely special person. An Extremely. Special. Person.

By the time I had gotten the apples somewhat successfully encaged in pate brisee, it dawned on me that it really is not as difficult as I was making it out to be. Patience is really all you need here, and the ability to not overcomplicate things, which I have a tendency to do. I think the first run through was the toughest, and that making it again would be much less complicated. So instead of an extremely special person, you really could make this for just a special person, if you really wanted.

Hishfield described the pastry as “a little bit chewy,” but mine was not. It was delicious and buttery, but not chewy. It is a rather simple dessert, since the apple is only brushed with water, and the pate brisee is not very sweet. The dates in the middle of the baked apple therefore gave it a little extra sweetness, which I think is a wise addition. A little ice cream on top would probably be nice with this too, but I just ate it plain.

Mele in Gabbia (Apples in a Cage)

8 dates, pitted and diced
4 apples (I prefer tart baking apples, like Granny Smiths) peeled and cored
2 jasmine tea bags
Pate brisee
Confectioners sugar for dusting

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

Submerge the dates in the tea and let them infuse for ten minutes. Drain and stuff the cavity of each cored apple with the dates. Brush apple with some water and set aside.

Quarter the pate brisee and roll each quarter out into a disk (do each apple/dough disk one at a time).
Cut a small hole in the middle of the disk, and then make small slices radiating out from the hole (like a sunshine, sort of). With a spatula carefully lift the dough and place it over the apple so the hole is at the top of the apple. Carefully press the dough together at the bottom of the apple and then place the “caged” apple on in a baking pan. Bake the apples for about an hour and a half, until the apple is completely baked through.


Pate Brisee (the pastry dough)

1 ¾ c. flour
2/3 c. butter, cut into small pieces
1 tsp. sugar
1 egg
1 Tbs. cold milk

Put the flour, butter, sugar, and egg in the food processor and pulse until the dough takes on a grainy texture. Add the milk and pulse until the dough comes together. Remove from food processor and form into a disk. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate until ready to use.

Today

I read this poem last night and it was so perfect I almost posted it, but then didn't. While I was walking down Narragansett beach this afternoon I couldn't get the line about the hammer and the paperweight out of my head, and the sun was so bright, my body so warm.
Before I got out of the car I had sat in the beach parking lot and wondered if I should take my shoes off. Was it too soon? Would I look ridiculous, parading down the shore with my naked, white feet? Clearly impatient, clearly foolish.
I left them on.
After I walked a little while I noticed that most people had chosen otherwise. The beach was littered, all the way down, with bare footprints.

Today

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,
so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that made you want to throw
open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,
indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths
and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight
that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight
on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants
from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,
holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,
well, today is just that kind of day.

From Nine Horses: Poems, by Billy Collins

Monday Night Dinner

Before you say anything I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “What two blog posts in one day!? What gives? Don’t you work? Don’t you have anything better to do?!” And the answer to that is that actually, no, I did not work today. And if you live in South County and dared to venture outside the house you will have also noticed that it is still raining. I mean seriously nature, it’s still raining? HAVEN’T YOU HAD ENOUGH? Because I have. Obviously.
Anyway, I decided to make my parents and our friend Glen dinner tonight, because the bottom line is that my parents are wonderful people and I realize I don’t do nearly enough for them. I really should do so much more. So I told them to relax and that I would be responsible for putting food on the table, just this one time. I told them to enjoy it because it won’t happen again for a loooong time.
I’m kidding! I make them dinner all the time….
Onion soup is one of my personal favorites, and I thought it would be appropriate considering aforementioned weather conditions. The recipe comes from a great cookbook, Bakery Lane Soup Bowl, and as long as you have a food processor to slice all the onions, it’s a simple and straightforward recipe. I also made garlic croutons to go on top, along with shredded Swiss cheese. Very tasty.
The Raspberry Clafoutis is a lovely baked confection I have newly discovered. I know it sounds like some sort of awful venereal disease, but I promise it does not taste like one. It's a French dessert that is traditionally made with cherries, however I used rapberries. Really, I think just about any type of fruit used for this would be delicious. It’s a quick, loose batter to make and only takes 30 minutes in the oven. Simple and gratifying. The cheery lemon flavor with the raspberries is like a little bit of sunshine with each bite.
Onion Soup au Gratin from Bakery Lane Soup Bowl
1 ½ lbs. yellow onions, thinly sliced
3 Tbs. butter
1 Tbs. olive oil
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. sugar
3 Tbs. flour
2 quarts beef stock
½ cup dry vermouth
Salt and pepper to taste
2 Tbs. cognac
Combine onions, butter and oil in a large soup pot. Cover and simmer over low heat 15-20 minutes, or until the onions wilt. Uncover and raise heat to medium. Sprinkle with salt and sugar and sauté about 45 minutes, stirring frequently, until onions are a deep golden brown.
Sprinkle flour over the onions and continue cooking for about 2-3 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in stock. Bring to a boil and add the vermouth, and salt and pepper to taste. Simmer over low heat for 30 minutes, stir in cognac and serve. Top with garlic croutons and grated Swiss cheese.
Garlicky Parmesan Croutons
Half a loaf of bread cut into cubes (French baguette, ciabatta- anything lying around will do really)
1 Tbs. olive oil
1 Tbs. butter
Two cloves of garlic, minced
Salt
½ grated Parmesan cheese
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Melt the oil and butter in a skillet and sauté the garlic. Add the cubes of bread and cook for about 5 minutes, until they have absorbed the fats and start to brown slightly. Sprinkle with salt and put on a baking sheet. Toast in the over for about 15 minutes, until they toast more and become dry and brown (doesn’t sound good, but it is). Take them out of the oven and toss with Parmesan cheese. Put on top of soup!
Raspberry Clafoutis
½ cup all-purpose flour
¼ cup plus 2 Tbs. sugar
Pinch of salt
3 eggs
3 Tbs. unsalted butter, melted
Grated zest of one lemon
¼ cup plus 2 Tbs. milk
3 cups raspberries
Preheat oven to 350 and grease a pie dish. In a bowl whisk together the sugar, four, and salt. Whisk in butter, eggs, and lemon zest and mix until smooth. Add the milk and whisk about 3 more minutes until nice and smooth. Pour into pie dish and top with raspberries. Bake for about 30 minutes, until the clafoutis is set and golden. Cool slightly, but serve warm. You can dust the top with some confectioners sugar if you feel so inclined.

Boiled Supper

Sunday morning was spring forward, and the culmination of this with a little too much to drink the night before, a fallen tree in the driveway, and the continued stormy weather caused me to move much slower than usual. After re-heating an old burrito for breakfast and drinking a couple cups of coffee in quick succession, I decided to venture down the driveway to assess the tree situation and any other possible damage from Saturday night's storm. I stared at the tree for a few minutes before shoving it with my hip thinking that just maybe I could move it myself. But after looking at it a little bit longer it was apparent that to move it would definitely require a chainsaw- and like, a man. Or a bad-ass lady, the definition of which I was anything but at 11 o’clock yesterday morning.
So instead I opted to give into isolation and an extended mid day bath. This was an exceptionally good idea. An hour later I emerged, warm and pruney, only to see the neighbors car drive slowly up the driveway, signaling that someone else had taken the initiative to move the tree. I admit a small part of me was disappointed because, you know, no more excuses.
When Rose called at 3 o’clock I was still doing absolutely nothing. Wait, that’s not true, I was doing something but I am not going to tell you what it was because it’s too embarrassing. I shouldn’t of even written that part. I should delete all of this. Oh the regret. Anyway, let’s just say I was watching TV when Rose called to tell me that our friend Katie was making boiled cabbage and corned beef for dinner and was I interested in going over.
Yes, I said, I very much was.
Two minutes later Katie called to tell me the same thing, and I told her I already knew and that I was already coming.
Corned beef and cabbage is one of those things that as a child I found utterly repulsive, but as an adult I find exceptionally satisfying and delicious. It’s so simple! And with a little vinegar over the boiled vegetables, some extra salt, and a squirt of mustard for the brisket (on a windy night) it is supreme. Katie, good Irish girl that she is, made this boiled supper with the expert's touch, and I have to admit I was feeling pretty in love with her by the end of the night for feeding me such sustaining food. It was one of those meals that unexpectedly nourishes more than just the stomach.
Boiled Corned Beef and Cabbage Supper a la Katie Martin
3 lbs. corned beef brisket
2 Tbs. pickling spices
2 onions, quartered
6-8 potatoes, peeled and quartered
1 lbs carrots, peeled and cut into large chunks
1-2 cabbages cut into 6-8 wedges
Put the brisket, pickling spices, and onion in a large pot or Dutch oven and cover with water. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat and let simmer until the brisket is cooked through (this will take about 2-3 hours).
Take the brisket out of the pot and transfer to a baking sheet. Put the brisket in a 375 degree oven for 15-20 minutes, just enough time to crisp up the outside of the brisket. Meanwhile, put the remaining vegetables into the pot, cover, and boil about 20 minutes, until all the veggies are nice and tender.
Transfer the vegetables onto a platter, cut up the brisket and serve! A little vinegar for the veggies and some mustard is a tasty added touch.

Not-Yet Flan

I have to be truthful and say I am sort of at a loss for any kind of commentary to go along with this flan I made on Sunday. I don’t have a good story to share, and while it almost made me say forget it, I’m not writing anything, I thought surely there must be some way to get around this lackluster mood I am in. Right? Right. So I have been thinking that instead of a story, how about a morning poem? Yes, a morning poem would be lovely.
I decided to flip open an old volume of poems I have by Jane Hirschfield, and this is the first one I read. I thought it was funny because the poem just happens to be about not yets, and the last blog post I wrote had to do with not yets as well. And when I read the poem over once more, I realized that one of the reasons why I feel as though I don’t have anything to write is because my whole week has really been a bunch of not yets, too. It is not yet spring, I have not yet gotten that job, and my flan is not yet very good. Usually this would not bother me so much except that lately I have been feeling ready. I am ready for the ground to thaw, for movement, and for my stupid flan to come out right. But then I find this poem and am reminded that along with all these not yets, it is important to realize that I am also not yet dead. No, I am not yet dead at all, and things are not yet over.

Not-Yet, by Jane Hirshfield

Morning of buttered toast;
of coffee, sweetened, with milk.

Out the window,
snow-spruces step from their cobwebs.
Flurry of chickadees, feeding then gone.
A single cardinal stipples an empty branch-
one maple leaf lifted back.

I turn my blessings like photographs into the light;
over my shoulder the god of Not-Yet looks on:

Not-yet-dead, not-yet-lost, not-yet-taken.
Not-yet-shattered, not-yet-sectioned, not-yet-strewn.

Ample litany, sparing nothing I hate or love,
Not-yet-silenced, not-yet-fractured, not-yet-

Not-yet-not.

I move my ear a little closer to that humming figure,
I ask him only to stay.

So, back to the flan. I used a recipe that Lea got from her friend Pedro, and then supplemented it with some guidelines from the Joy of Cooking. I had high expectations for it, especially after I successfully plopped it out of the soufflé mold to reveal the most beautiful round orb of pale custard submerged in amber sugary syrup I have ever seen. Truly, I cannot tell you what a joyful moment this was, and how the sight of it was one of simple, elated pleasure. I just wanted to hug and kiss it over and over. It looked so good in fact that I thought it was appropriate to have its photo taken beneath the droopy pink tulips I have on my kitchen table right now.
This was the highlight of the flan because in terms of flavor and texture I was a little let down. It tasted okay, but was a bit egg-y. Lea suggested that if it sat for a few days the sulfur flavor would eventually lessen.
Perhaps adding more sugar?
I also didn’t heat the milk when I was making the custard, and word on the street is that you should heat the milk.
I wanted the flan to be a little thicker and creamier- perhaps I will try it with condensed milk next time. Or coconut milk? Or even cream?
Who has a knock out flan recipe out there? Send it my way!

Here is the recipe I used for this flan, with some suggestions for changes.

Not-yet Flan

For the flan
9 eggs
4 cups milk
15 soupspoons of sugar (Pedro’s measurements)
1 tsp. vanilla

For the caramel:
¾ cup sugar
¼ cup water

In a heavy sauce pan heat the sugar and water without stirring it. Once the sugar has completely dissolved, cover and let boil for two minutes. Take off the cover and let boil until it turns a beautiful dark amber. Quickly remove from heat and pour into ramekins or a soufflé dish. Swirl the caramel around the dish so that it coast half way up the edges of the pan.

In a bowl crack the eggs and add the sugar. I then added the milk cold, but try heating it up and see what happens. Gently mix it up and add the vanilla. Pour into the dish and place in a water bath. Bake at 350 for at least one and a half hours. When it is goldenish on top and seems firm take out of the over, let rest a few minutes and then cover it with plastic wrap and put in the fridge. Leave it there for at least 4 hours, but preferably longer. A few days even.