stacey . smoore . the staceyfish . 
Life in a Northern Town: the exploits of an ecstatic Alaskan
Lens: the adventures of a girl and her camera
Who doesn't love biscotti? This Italian twice-baked crispy cookie is wonderful with a cup of espresso or an after-dinner cordial, but let's admit it: sometimes we get tired of the usual almond or lemon flavor.
Enter the humble cranberry and pistachio, the two secret ingredients that make the flavor much brighter and crunch more satisfying. I like this recipe so much that when
I recently learned my friend Jeremy was studying for his impending bar exam and I resolved to make him some yummy treats for a morale package. Cookies were a given, but what else to add? And it occurred to me: Jeremy is probably drinking lots of coffee right now, so biscotti were the logical choice to add to the list of goodies. Using this recipe was a no-brainer. I mean, we all love chocolate and I make a mean chocolate-almond biscotti, but I ended up eschewing this because Jeremy doesn't like almonds in cookies. Surely he has access to lots of great biscotti (he lives in Seattle!) so needed a departure from biscotti boredom.
He, it seems, agreed. They were the highest-rated of the three types of baked goods I sent him, and he called them "exceptional." The bonus? These are relatively healthy (for a cookie, at least), so feel free to indulge in an extra one or two the next time your nose is stuck in a book and your hand is cramping from all of the essays you're writing.
Click here for the recipe for "Cranberry Pistachio Biscotti" »
All spring and summer I've been humming a snug self-satisfied little tune to myself. Why, you ask?
Because I am growing my own herbs in my back yard. Oh yes, glorious rosemary, sage, and oregano, oh-so-fresh and free for the harvesting to better make my dishes so yummy! Raspberries bursting out of pods and ripening! And thyme, Italian parsley, and cilantro, on the way! But these were to pale in comparison to the prize plant in my herb garden, the crown jewel that was to grow in abundance and make my kitchen floweth over with the deliciousness that would be produced within.
I am speaking of course of that king of herbs (no, really, that's what the name translates to) -- basil!
I was so proud of myself, planting the seeds, watching with delight as the little sprouts poked their heads out of the soil and unfurled themselves, sprouting leaves with exponential abandon.
My dad -- gardener extraordinaire -- sounded impressed. "I've never grown basil from seeds before.... well, intentionally that is." (I should mention that my parents live in Texas, whose climate basil loves maybe even more than I love chocolate, and at the end of each summer there is a literal basil forest in their garden. Needless to say, they get enough volunteers from the previous year's flowers and seeds to supply pesto to all of Italy. Twice.) I was well pleased. There was life -- it was germenation, biology, SCIENCE ITSELF -- happening in my own backyard! How cool is that?
Well, before long, my basil got too tall to support itself. "No matter," I thought, "it's just these really long (20 hours long) Alaska days. The plant is growing too tall too fast to grow any supporting, er, infrastructure." So I staked the plants. I had also noticed that some weird other spouts were coming up in the pots. This wasn't terribly surprising since weeds compose, oh, about 50% of the plant life in my yard, so I pulled those sprouts out, again well pleased with myself. I was keeping invasive plants at bay, thus FURTHERING SCIENCE!
Before long, I noticed the plant itself wasn't really growing in the shape I thought it would, but having only previously bought basil pre-sprouted and never having experienced BASIL SCIENCE before I figured it was just an awkward teenage phase and it would soon grow into the shape I associated with basil. And the lack of scent in the leaves could totally be explained by the lack of scorching heat in Alaska that the herb loves so much.
Alas.
These illusions were to crumble like a cookie before me today, when I abruptly stopped singing my little self-satisfied tune. I'm no longer walking tall, proud of my contribution to science. It turns out that those sprouts -- the ones that had first appeared in the pots, growing so expediently -- were weeds. I've been nurturing invasive plants in pots on my back deck, and those smug little bastards were all too happy to keep the wool pulled over my eyes!
And the worst part?
Those sprouts I pulled up in the name of SCIENCE? As photos from the internet were able to verify, (Google Images knows all) those were the real basil sprouts! Oh, the horror. I killed the very thing I was trying to cultivate! Instead of preening a lovely and understated herb, I may as well have been helping along the plant from Little Shop of Horrors. You'd better believe that it was screaming "FEED ME, SEYMOUR!" when I came 'round each day with the watering can (maybe that's why they call it horticulture. It should really be horrorculture.).
Little green terranean terrorists. You're about to get a taste of your own medicine tomorrow when you get pulled up and shredded.
And this time, I shall be sprouting the seeds indoors!
Around this time of year I'm always looking for delicious, light food that really takes advantage of the season's freshest produce. If it happens to pair with the fresh bounty from the sea that Alaska has to offer, all the better.
Right after I got back from my honeymoon I realized that halibut was in season and that was, of course, a perfect reason to have people over. Halibut needs little accompaniment on its flesh -- but that's another post. The tough question was what to serve beside it. Really, just about anything could go next to, but I needed something bright in color, texture, and flavor. Then I remembered green beans with red pepper, lightly sauteed and adorned with garlic.
It was perfect -- this light, flavorful, and wonderfully textured vegetable side dish just screams "SUMMER!" to me.
This is also a great dish to serve while entertaining. It comes together in mere minutes and is visually pleasing, thanks to the red and green. I've also found a couple of key substitutions that help adapt this recipe to different palates -- if you want something with a bit of spice to complement the garlic, use the red pepper flakes. If you want to add a different kind of crunch that brings some white to the presentation, use sliced almonds instead. You could also substitute other vegetables in, or just add them. It's a great, versatile, healthy dish that often finds its way to my table.
Click here for the recipe for "Green beans with red pepper and garlic" »
My love affair with pizza margherita can be traced back to my absolute smittenness with caprese salad. It's really not all that surprising -- you start with basic, fresh, delicious ingredients, then you put it on a pizza. What could go wrong????
I had made this pizza before about two years ago. The first time, Cory was my dining companion and instead of a tomato sauce base we used freshly made pesto and topped the pizza with tomato slices. Delicious, but I would recommend custom-making the sauce for the pizza and using a lighter hand with the oil, as it will mix with the fat in the mozzarella. While I loved it, it certainly wasn't truly authentic.
So, of course, when Cory and I went to Italy, one of the things I had to eat over there was the pizza margherita. We wasted no time on that count -- our first lunch in Florence was in a trattoria outside of the city's famous Mercato Centrale. Cory had a pizza topped with prosciutto and I, of course, indulged my tricolore tastebuds.
The pizza was unlike any I had ever had before. The crust was very, very thin but not cracker-crunchy and the sauce was, for lack of a better description, true tomato red. I thought it was pure, simple, and delicious, and Cory was known to say "the sauce is so fresh it still had seeds in it!" The pizzas we were served were probably a good 12 inches, but they were nowhere near as heavy as their American counterparts. Since we had had a typically light Italian breakfast and had been walking all day and climbed to the very very top of the duomo (the Santa Maria del Fiore) Cory polished his off easily. I packed my leftovers out and devoured them later that day.
Of course, upon returning to the States, I wanted to make it, but the whole-grain fiend in me wanted a whole wheat crust. I finally found a recipe for it, and of course wasted no time making it. Next time I make it I will probably try to lengthen the rising time (true Stacey fashion) and I will make my crust much much thinner, even if I have to discard some dough. And I will buy a pizza peel. Save yourself the anguish -- buy one too!
Click here for the recipe for "Pizza Margherita with a Whole Wheat Crust" »
Since I've discovered all of the wonderfully yummy things you can do with bread, making plain ol' whole wheat just seems so... blasé. You can add herbs or bulgar wheat or seeds or oats or hundreds of other things. So when I got back from my honeymoon I wanted to make something delicious, but since I was tired I didn't want it to be too taxing. I was looking for the ease that comes with familiarity with a recipe.
I first gravitated towards an herb bread I've made before. That particular recipe is labeled as a good soup bread because it will rise and bake and give you a wonderfully high-rising loaf in about the time it takes to make a pot of soup, but there was so much yeast in it (how else could you get such eye-pleasing results that quickly without it?) that it was very sour and not very yummy.
So, I'll admit it -- I took the basic whole wheat bread I've posted here and just added herbs to it. There is something special about it though -- this bread is the first I'd used the long-rise methods with. I was simply amazed with the results! Allow me to extoll the virtues of long-fermented bread once again:
The dough was a joy to work with. It was soft, supple, contained plenty of air to press out during deflating, rounding, and shaping, and shaped more easily than any loaf I've ever formed. It also filled out the loaf pan completely -- all the way to the corners -- something no yeast dough of mine has done before.
In short, this loaf defied my already raised expectations. I had looked forward to a loaf with superior flavor but stiff dough and a lackluster rise. Instead, I feel like I'm eating bread like it is supposed to be now -- light, airy, wholesome, with great texture, flavor, and shape. Consider me a long dough convert! (A note: my bread-baking methods have improved considerably since this picture was taken -- I now achieve oven spring with each loaf. Next time I bake it I'll post a new picture of the impossibly high-risen loaf.)
Click here for the recipe for "Whole wheat bread with herbs de provence" »
I'm normally a fan of healthy breakfasts -- y'know, oatmeal, whole-grain low-fat muffins, or multi-grain pancakes or waffles. Every once in a while though, an indulgence is so much fun.
The first time these pancakes got busted out was a couple of weeks ago when a new bunch of people was assigned to me. I thought a good icebreaker would be a big breakfast feed, so everyone signed up to bring an ingredient. I nominated a couple of trusty helpers and we went down to the kitchens to cook this meal for thirty people.
These pancakes were certainly yummy, but I had a sneaking suspicion I wasn't doing the recipe justice. See, the recipe has you fold in beaten-into-peaks egg whites and I could tell that by the time the batter met the griddle -- hours after everything had been mixed together -- the volume was definitely lower. I was pretty sure these pancakes could be even lighter and fluffier.
This morning, I tested that theory. The result has me pretty well convinced I'll never order pancakes in a restaurant again. Why would I, when I could make these at home??? They're so sinfully delicious, so light and fluffy. And the aroma as the batter is mixed is indescribable.
The next time you feel like treating yourself -- or someone you love -- make up a batch of these. I know I'll be making these for my favorite person when he comes to visit in ten days! (squeeeeeeeeeeee!)
Click here for the recipe for "Blueberry buttermilk pancakes" »
I hate to tell you this, but if you live anywhere that is not Alaska or Washington and you think you've been eating salmon, you've been lied to. That pale, flavorless fish dubbed "Atlantic salmon" that is farmed and sold all over the country is a very poor facsimile of the real thing.
This time of year in Alaska, salmon doesn't get any real-er. The reds are running and the prized Copper River salmon is in season. This wild fish is deep red in color when raw -- it's as deep in hue as a tuna steak but much, much brighter. Think Crayola red, and you're just about right. It has superb flavor unrivaled by its commericalized cousin. It's just asking to be grilled simply adorned and devoured.
It only comes around once a year -- get it while it's here!
Click here for the recipe for "Grilled Copper River Red Salmon" »
Growing up, one of my family's favorite accompaniments to meat dishes was steamed red potatoes and green beans. For some reason, the flavors go together quite well, especially when paired with a meat dish. I brought this idea along with me when I moved out, but as I learned more about cooking I couldn't help but modify it.
My experimentation all started with a recipe I found for a Salade Niçoise. It called for roasted potatoes, green beans (good so far) but then added in all this other stuff like chopped kalamatas, onions, anchovies, capers, and lemon and was served along unadorned flavorless grilled tuna steaks. Something had gone terribly wrong. I like a lot of those things, but the combination was simply too much. This recipe was trying way too hard. Instead of being warm, inviting, savory, simple, and satisfying, it was bitter, salty, and, well, gross.
Nevertheless, it did introduce me to roasting, and I knew that I was on to something good here. Knowing that the basic premise of red potatoes and green beans was pure and solid, I made it several more times over the coming months, but omitted the offending ingredients and added an aromatic or two.
Of course, the potatoes are heavenly on their own without the green beans. Last Christmas, my mother-in-law was roasting those red potatoes I love so well, and was of course adding in the requisite rosemary. This caused her father to protest loudly "Don't add so much rosemary! You'll ruin the flavor!" I couldn't help but laugh at this well-meaning but misguided advice, given that the potatoes have practically no flavor on their own. Potatoes and rosemary go together like tomatoes and basil: a match made in heaven. What would be the point of roasting them without it?
Click here for the recipe for "Roasted rosemary red potatoes with green beans" »