More Figgy Delights: Fresh Fig Ice Cream

Everybody loves icecream, right?

That's what I thought when I entered to win David Lebovitz's The Perfect Scoop over at Warm Olives and Cool Cocktails. Kate is short on space and sick of clutter, so she's giving away all but her very favorite cookbooks... to the benefit of her readers. But, there is a catch. The winner of each cookbook needs to make one recipe from the book and blog about it within 30 days of receipt. Little did I know, when I entered, that I would actually win the book (yay for me!).

I received The Perfect Scoop last week. I'll admit that it was pretty difficult to pick the first recipe to try. The malted milk icecream was calling my name. The Guinness Milk Chocolate icecream looked truly intriguing. The Aztec "Hot" Chocolate icecream sounded right up my alley. And the Salted Butter Caramel sauce looked absolutely divine.

But, then my "eat seasonal" brain kicked in. I realized that we had fresh figs sitting right on the counter. And how glorious would fresh fig icecream be?? We didn't know. But we were eager to find out!
The fresh figs on the counter ended up going into a fabulous pizza (with bacon, caramelized onions, and bleu cheese). However, I went back to the market the next morning to procure more. The recipe calls for 2 lbs of fresh figs. Unfortunately, I could only find about a pound of the black mission figs Lebovitz suggests are best, since they give the ice cream a "lovely deep violet color." Since I didn't feel like driving around the city searching for figs, I settled for Turkish figs instead, and crossed my fingers that the final product wouldn't be TOO ugly.
I chopped up my figs, added a bit of sugar and the zest of one lemon to the pot. Easy, no?
Turns out the most difficult part of this recipe is the cooking of the figs. All told, it took me about 40 minutes to get my fig and sugar mixture cooked down to a "jam-like consistency." Fortunately, it was well worth the effort.
After adding a bit of lemon juice and a cup of cream, and whirring everything around in the blender, the ice cream base was looking pretty darned good. And I could hardly wait. Twenty minutes in the icecream maker, and we were pretty much set. I did give the ice cream a bit of time in the freezer to firm up -- but maybe not QUITE long enough, as it was still pretty soft when we ate it.
But, OH! the delight. Although this ice cream wasn't as creamy as those made with a French custard base, it was absolutely delicious. Sweet (but not too sweet), figgy, and fabulous. And not even such a bad color!

We were so impressed we've decided to continue making ice creams from the Lebovitz book for the rest of the summer (and possibly beyond). And heck, we'll even blog about them.

Which recipe should we try next??
If you have any opnions about the next recipe we choose, let us know! We'll take the suggestions in the order received (and/or give priority to the most requested flavors).

Oh -- and stay tuned for BIG news later this week.
We've been asked to participate in a recipe challenge that's going to put all our skills to the test... and we're totally stoked!


©BURP! Where Food Happens

Pizza with Figs, Bacon, and Blue

When one discusses the topic of nature versus nurture as it pertains to food, I'm a HUGE believer in the nurture side of things. I don't really buy into the fact that we're all hard-wired to like certain foods or food combinations; nor do I believe that genetics play a very large role in determining which foods we'll like or dislike. However, I'm utterly convinced that our experiences with food -- particularly those early on in our lives -- have a serious impact on what we eat as adults. Fortunately, I also believe that we can change our perceptions of food.

I grew up believing that fruit and meat nary should meet -- a concept frequently reinforced by my father, who felt that sweet and savory were things best kept discrete. My mother, conversely, grew up eating mincemeat pies, seared poultry with cherry sauce, and hams baked with generous slices of pineapple and clove baked on top. Despite her upbringing, she cooked to please my father. So, while we ate both fruit and meat, we seldom ate them together.

I continued with those dietary habits... until I got married. Fortunately for me, Peef was a daring little man with a penchant for "new." He brought his own set of food aversions into the marriage (asparagus, blue cheese, anchovies, and a few odd others), but he was more than willing to try anything once... or "once again," as it often happened. One preference he did NOT harbor was an aversion to the fruit-meat combo. So, we made a deal. He'd help me overcome my disinclinations, if I'd help him with his.

And so, we adventured forth together... and set out to conquer our food aversions together.
Thank goodness for that -- or this fabulous pizza would never have been possible.

It all started with a sighting of the luscious fresh black mission figs at the market. We couldn't resist. Visions of Greek Yogurt and fresh figs danced in our minds. So, we bought a bit of lamb, some pitas, and a pint of figs. Heh. Distractions ensued. Dinner got late. And our dreams of figs and yogurt were shattered.
The lonely figs sat on the countertop. Waiting for their day. Fortunately, they didn't have to wait long. Peef emailed me one afternoon with a recipe for a fig and proscuitto tart. It sounded good, but I was in the mood for pizza. And so, it happened. Figs chopped.
Onions caramelized with a bit of balsamic vinegar.
Mozzarella cheese.
Bits of delicious applewood smoked bacon. And those sugary delicious figs.
A few sprinkles of Wisconsin gorgonzola sealed the deal.
Everything went into a very hot oven for the standard amount of time.
And, when it came out, we showered it with a bit of torn arugula from the farmer's market.

Heaven.
Seriously.
Salty and sweet. Smoky and cheesy. With a bit of freshness and bite from the fresh arugula.

I'm so glad I don't listen to my dad anymore.



©BURP! Where Food Happens

Semi-Homemade Wisconsin Beer Ketchup

We're not normally Sandra Lee sort of people. In fact, most days we're pretty eager to embrace the challenge of a new dish -- even if it means delaying the dinner hour to 9pm or later. But, when you've got brats thawing in the fridge, the promise of dinner in less than an hour, and no ketchup in sight, it's time for some creative thinking.

And that, my friends, is how beer ketchup was born.

Ketchup is one of those things that I've entertained making in the past. You know -- on those hot summer days when there are scads of fresh-from-the garden tomatoes just lying there on the counter. I'm hot. And sweaty. And I can dream of nothing more sexy than sitting over a hot stove for three hours while my homemade ketchup reduces into a delicious red paste.

Yeah, it's true. Somehow, I never seemed to get around to starting the process.

The truth is, I tend to think of ketchup just before dinner when I notice that our condiment stash is running low. Not really optimum timing for starting any sort of tomato reduction project. However, on this particular occasion, I was having an unusual moment of clarity. And I happened to remember that I tend to keep a stash of "pre-reduced" tomato product sitting right inside my kitchen cupboard. And I had a sneaking suspicion that it would suffice if I wanted to throw together a quick ketchup.

And, why not throw some beer into the mix while I was at it? After all, we were having some classic Wisconsin bratwurst for dinner. So, I gathered up my supplies. A bit of vinegar, some agave nectar, tomato paste, nutmeg, allspice, cloves, cayenne, garlic, and salt.
And I began to whisk them together in a medium bowl... Not every part of the process really screamed "photo op"... but I thought I'd share with you anyhow.
... because the final product was really quite attractive.
This ketchup was "ripe" with tomato flavor. Just enough of a vinegar tang to keep things interesting. And all the right background flavors. Of course the subtle notes imparted by the beer wasn't bad either. It was GREAT with the bratwurst we ate for dinner -- and was also fantastic in the pot of "baked" beans I threw in the crockpot the next night. I might be tempted to try this with a darker brew next time... or maybe I'll just shake things up completely and use a bit of bourbon. Who knows??

Semi-Homemade Wisconsin Beer Ketchup



©BURP! Where Food Happens

Classic Wisconsin Bratwurst

What could be better on a long, holiday weekend than grilling up some of Wisconsin's finest bratwurst? Not much -- unless, of course, the bratwurst came from your very own Wisconsin-grown pig!

That's right. Peef's parents gave us one of those Christmas gifts that food geeks dream about -- a portion of our very own pig. He was processed into a variety of cuts -- pork steaks, ham, chops, bacon... and since this was a Wisconsin-bred piglet, you can't forget the most important part. The bratwurst.

We've been on freezer clean-out duty lately. So, when we found a package of these babies in the deep freeze, we knew they were the perfect thing to thaw out for dinner.
Now, a bratwurst afficionado will be the first to tell you that the bun you use to cradle your bratwurst is almost as important as the sausage itself. And we didn't really have anything appropriate laying around at home. So, we ran right out to pick up some delicious brat buns from our local bakery. These buns are bigger than your average hotdog bun, a little bit crusty on the outside, and perfectly soft and tender on the inside. Just perfect for a good Wisconsin brat fry.
Then we got to work setting up the grill. A good amount of charcoal is key to delicious, evenly cooked brats. And before you put those babies on the grill, you want to make sure that the coals are grey and glowing. Some people like to precook their brats in beer before they grill them -- but we're not big fans. The beer doesn't impart a ton of flavor during the precook, and it tends to dry the poor little sausages out. We prefer the indirect grilling method for our brats. You can approach it in a variety of ways, but we place those gorgeous hot coals right in the middle of the grill, and line up the brats all around the edges.
When the brats are browned nicely on one side, you'll wand to flip them over to brown the other side. Take care to note hot spots around the grill. If you sense that one of the brats is cooking too quickly, move him to a cooler spot. The sausages will start to smell amazing in pretty short order -- but you want to avoid rushing the cooking process. Your patience will be rewarded.
The key to great bratwurst is low, slow cooking. You don't want to cook the sausages too quickly or they'll split open and dry out. Instead, you want to give them a chance to really caramelize on all sides. Your brats will take 20-30 minutes to cook through.
When the brats are cooked, you can bring them in on a plate tented with a bit of aluminum foil. At that point, you'll want to immediately begin dressing your brat bun. First, take a bit of mustard and spread it on one side of the bun. Traditionalist might want a nice, old fashioned grainy German mustard; but, we like a simple, spicy Dijon.
Then, you want to quickly drain the juice from a handful of good sauerkraut. If you're the type who thinks ahead, you can drain the 'kraut while you're grilling the brats; but, you can also do it right before serving. We like to get a bit of lacto-fermented food into our diet whenever we can, so we buy delicious jars of fresh sauerkraut from Spirit Creek Farms in northeastern Wisconsin.
Pile some of the sauerkraut on the bun -- and then spread the other side with a bit of ketchup. This ketchup just so happens to be some of our (quick) homemade "beer ketchup" -- which is the perfect accompaniment for bratwurst. I'll be sure to share the recipe in a future post.
Tuck one of the hot bratwurst into the bun and cover him with a few freshly sliced onions. We opt for raw onions when Vidalias and Walla Wallas are in season, but fried onions are equally good on a bratwurst.
Brats served in this traditional fashion can be a bit messy to eat. You can think of them along the same lines as a chili dog or a nice loaded sloppy joes sammich. But, we like to think that's part of their charm. Tie that napkin around your neck, and bite right on in. I'm going to bet that little beer ketchup stain you get on the left leg of your bermuda shorts will be completely worth the effort it takes to get it out. Cuz once you've tasted a truly great bratwurst, you're never going back to eating those overly processed weiner-like imposters.
For those of you interested in more information about Wisconsin's favorite holiday weekend grilling treat, you don't want to miss The Bratwurst Pages, which describe bratwurst as "Wisconsin's Soul Food." The Web site includes hints and tips for proper bratwurst preparation as well as detailed instructions for eating the bratwurst themselves (don't forget the "bratwash"... AKA, beer). Oh, yeah -- and there's plenty of good humor thrown in there too.

Real Food for Real People!
Check out more posts about Real Food at the Real Food Wednesdays blog carnival!

©BURP! Where Food Happens

While the Internet was down... Strawberries!

So, last week we got a brilliant idea.
How about we switch over our ISP? We could save a little money by bundling our plan. Maybe get new cell phones... it sounded like the perfect idea. Hundreds of dollars (and a few hours) later, we were all set up. Interestingly, not one of those three (3!) friendly service people we worked with told us that we'd have to live without the Internets for five (5!) days while they switched over our home internet service.

Nope, they didn't.
And five days (if you didn't know) is a VERY long time. I was completely unprepared for the toll it would take on my (already harried) blogging schedule. Needless to say, I'm feeling a bit behind and more than a little miffed about it.

On the very fortunate side, we had an absolutely STELLAR (if quite Internet-less) weekend.

Sunday was a positively gorgeous day, weather-wise. So, what did we do? We packed up and headed an hour or so west to JenEhr Family Farm in Sun Prairie, WI for some strawberry picking. Of course, half the state of Wisconsin had the same idea... so there was some competition in the strawberry fields (including a guy who seemed to corner the market on strawberries by straddling the rows in awkward--yet very effective--fashion. See him there on the left?)
We started off slowly... ... but eventually we found our own private stash of berries, hidden beneath the surface of the bushes.
And there was much rejoicing in the land!
And that's when Peef pulled out the camera and started taking really unflattering photographs of me and my hopelessly wind-blown hair. This was a particularly great one (my "punk look" as he smirkingly called it). I figured I'd just post it right here on the Internets so that you can all point and laugh. That's what the Internets are for anyway, right?
I didn't exactly get Peef back by taking photos of his berry stained hands. But, that's OK.
He made it up to me by taking me on a journey to the WONDROUS land of the Sassy Cow Creamery.
What could be inside?
The sassy little cow wouldn't say. So, we ventured through the front doors... where we found...
Icecream!
Between the fresh air and our brilliantly churned treats, we had just enough sustinance to get us back home again. To wait for our Internets to return.


©BURP! Where Food Happens

Yay for Spring Veg: Vanilla Maple Rhubarb with Raspberries

I know. I know.
The equinox has come and gone, and it's "officially" summer. Heck, it's even gotten warm here in the Midwest. But... but... all the gorgeous spring veg are still lollygagging in the market. So, I'm going to keep writing about them. For maybe... another post or two.

I WILL spare you momentarily from ramblings about asparagus. But only because there is another spring vegetable that is NEVER neglected here at Burp! And that is the humble rhubarb.

I'll never forget the spring I discovered the joy of eating rhubarb stalks right from my mother's garden. The stalks themselves were almost intolerably sour -- but when bitten and dipped into a bowl of sweet sugar, I couldn't imagine anything better. The trick, of course, was talking my mother out of the bowl of sugar.

These days, we've cut back on processed sugars. But, that doesn't mean we don't enjoy our rhubarb in the springtime. In fact, it's one of our favorite sweet treats. Especially roasted.

Roasted, you say?
And I will confirm: yes, roasted.
If you ask me there's nary another way to prepare cooked rhubarb. And there are a number of reasons for that. For one, baking gets you a bit of caramelization. And we all know how a bit of caramelization really ups the flavor quotient. Secondly, roasting rhubarb is SUPER easy. You just throw it in a baking pan and let it bake.

Start off by preheating your oven to 350ºF. Save a few moments' time by putting two tablespoons of butter right into your roasting pan and putting it into the preheating oven. By the time the oven is preheated, your butter will be nice and melted. I told you this was easy!
Chop your rhubarb on the bias into 2 inch pieces. Toss them into a bowl with a split vanilla bean (or two).
Now pour some delicious maple syrup over the top -- somewhere between 1/3 - 1/2 cup. We like a nice, rich "Grade B" syrup. It carries more maple flavor, and it works perfectly in recipes like this. You can choose one of the grade A syrups, if you prefer a less pronounced maple flavor.
Mix the rhubarb thoroughly to distribute the maple syrup and vanilla bean seeds. Then pour the mixture into your prepared pan.
Roast the rhubarb for 15-20 minutes, or until the rhubarb is just shy of being as tender as you'd like.

In addition to its other assets, roasting rhubarb also circumvents one of my primary complaints about cooked rhubarb -- mushiness. Roasted rhubarb is less apt to cook down into a puddle of rhubarb gush. It's toothier, and it holds a bit more shape. And how can you argue with that?
We think rhubarb and berries are a flavor combo made in heaven, so we like to add a few raspberries (or quartered strawberries) to the mix. Add them right when the rhubarb comes out of the oven.
Then, cover the rhubarb mixture with a piece of aluminum foil and allow everything to steep until it is cool. The delicate raspberries cook while the pan is covered -- but they don't turn to mush as they might if you included them in on the roasting time.
You can enjoy your maple vanilla rhubarb warm, at room temperature, or chilled. We served ours over a bit of locally churned sweet cream icecream with a sprinkling of vanilla granola.
Like a cobbler, but without all the fuss.

One of the best desserts ever. Seriously.


©BURP! Where Food Happens