Prize Worthy Sweet Potato Galette

How did the North Carolina Sweet Potato Commission know we are growing our own sweet potatoes?

I just received an e-mail urging me to enter a "bloggers recipe contest" sponsored by the sweet potato commission. I might have blown it off, but the reward for best recipe is $1,000. That got me thinking maybe I should post one of our favorite methods for putting sweet potatoes on the dinner table--this sweet potato galette.

A potato galette in the French country style traditionally is made with standard potatoes. But we love sweet potatoes--they are so nutritious and full of flavor--and now we harvest them out of our own kitchen garden, right here in the District of Columbia about a mile from the White House. One day I was trying to think of a way to incorporate sweet potatoes with something else we grow plenty of: greens. And to continue the local theme, I decided to add one of our favorite Maryland cheeses. Why not layer them all together? The sweet potato galette was born.

To make the galette, preheat your oven to 350 degrees.

Coat the bottom of a well-seasoned, cast-iron skillet with extra virgin olive oil and place it over moderate heat. Peel three large sweet potatoes and slice them into thin rounds. (A mandoline makes quick work of this.) Shingle the rounds to cover the bottom of the skillet. The bottom-most potatoes will begin to cook and brown while you are assembling the rest. Between each layer, dot the potatoes with cooked greens, such as mustard greens or kale or collard greens. Or, better yet, a combination of greens. You will need about one pound of cooked greens total.

Alternate layers of cheese. I've used a soft Gorgonzola in the past. But for a strictly local galette, I bought a piece of blue goat's milk cheese from Firefly Farms in Bittinger, MD. Firefly is one of the regular vendors at the Dupont Circle market. Between each layer, after you've capped it off with more potatoes, press down very firmly with a flat object, such as a pot lid or another skillet. Then season with olive oil, salt and black pepper.

Continue layering the galette until the skillet is nearly filled to the top. Place in the oven and bake until the potatoes are easily pierced with a metal trussing skewer, about 20 minutes. Remove the skillet and allow the galette to cool. To remove the galette from the skillet, use a knife or spatula to cut around the edge, then invert it onto a large plate or cutting board.

This galette is delicious warm or even at room temperature, and it can easily be made ahead and reheated. The sweetness of the potatoes seems to meld exceptionally well with the pungency of the cheese and the pleasant bitterness of the greens. Try it with your favorite local salad and a crisp glass of Chablis. Or if you've got a particular hankering for meat, this galette would be an ideal partner for a juicy pork roast.

Kids Make Cheese Grits

The movie "My Cousin Vinny" gave us a classic laugh line when actor Joe Pesci, playing a New Jersey lawyer confronting breakfast in the Deep South, asks: "What's a grit?"

There's still some confusion over whether "grits" should be treated in the singular or the plural. But there's no mistaking where grits come from. They are ground corn, familiar as the indigenous grain to early Native Americans who passed them along to the first white settlers. Grits remain a staple of Southern cuisine.

The Indians soaked dried corn in lye, removing the tough shell or pericarp to produce large, soft kernels called "hominy." The large pieces could be ground into tiny grains we now call "grits." But it gets very confusing, because now grits are widely made from untreated corn but still called "hominy grits."

You can still find grits made the old fashioned way--dried corn ground between huge granite wheels. The process results in a fine powder, sold as corn meal, as well as the larger grains, sold as grits. These grits usually take an hour at least to fully cook and are considered by some the only proper kind of grits to serve. Otherwise, the grits sold in supermarkets under the Quaker Oats and other brands have been further processed to cook in as little as 20 or even 5 minutes, in the case of "instant grits." But be warned. Instant grits may taste more like library paste if you are used to the real deal.

Being from Chicago, grits were utterly foreign to me until I moved to the District of Columbia. In my student days, about a century ago, I worked at a federal job that started each morning before the crack of dawn. Our first break was breakfast. I recall musing over the strange mush I saw next to the scrambled eggs on the steam table in the cafeteria. I remember thinking it looked vaguely like cream of wheat. That, I was told, were grits.

Sadly, I never really developed a lasting taste for grits. A pity, because they can be truly delicious if made carefully and slowly in the traditional manner. In the South, grits are a virtual staple, served with ham and smothered in gravy. But grits are not just breakfast food. Shrimp and grits have risen to a fine art, suitable for the finest restaurants, in Charleston. Add eggs and they can become a sublime souffle.

While we are roaming around the South on our virtual world food tour, our "food appreciation" classes sampled old-fashioned grits seasoned with cheese. We used the yellow corn grits sold in bulk at the Whole Foods. Some cultures disdain yellow corn as unfit for humans. They insist on white corn. But I must say I don't detect any difference in taste.

First, soak 1 cup of fresh grits in a large bowl of water. Stir the grits at the bottom of the bowl. This will bring the tough bran from the milling process to the surface of the water where it can be swept away with a strainer. Meanwhile, heat 2 cups of water with 2 cups of milk in a heavy saucepan over moderately low heat. Strain the grits and add these to the pot. Cook very gently for about 1 hour, stirring frequently so that the grits do not stick to the bottom of the pan and burn. Slowly the grits will absorb the liquid, swell and become thicker. Add more milk if desired.

When the grits have reached your desired thickness (not thin and runny, but not thick enough to mound either), remove from the heat and add about 1 cup grated cheddar cheese. We used a yellow Vermont cheddar. Stir until the cheese is fully incorporated, then season with salt as needed. You can also add butter and/or cream if you like. But we thought our grits were perfectly delicious as is.

With our grits, I showed the kids how to cook bacon in the oven. I almost prefer bacon out of the oven to that fried in a skillet. It always comes out flat and pleasing to the eye--not all curly and wild--and it's so much easier to cook a large quantity on a baking sheet than on the stove top. We covered the baking sheet with parchment paper to prevent the bacon sticking. Cleanup is a breeze.

Do you keep a jar of bacon grease? There was a time when I stopped, thinking the pork fat would kill me. But I'm back to saving it, especially from the good Niman Ranch pork we get at Whole Foods.

Have Fire, Will Make Raclette

In my youth, I set a personal best at Raclette with 13 servings. That would be 13 swipes of the knife as you see in this picture, 13 times the cheese was set before the fireplace until it became molten. I don't know what possessed me to perform such a stunt. That was back in my student days, living in Switzerland. Anything like it now would probably induce a heart attack.

But I still harbor a kind of secret obsession with Raclette. Whenever I see a fireplace, I imagine a shortened wheel of this semi-hard cheese positioned before the flames, waiting for that magical moment when the cheese just begins to run. Then quickly lift the wheel and, using the back of a sturdy knife, swipe the melting goodness onto a plate. Give it a good grind of black pepper and serve with simple boiled potatoes, cornichons and cocktail onions.

So it was that I began to conjure up images of a Raclette feast when my sister and her husband found new digs in a rental overlooking the Potomac River in nearby Virginia. This 60s-style bungalow has a cozy little fireplace in the living room. We immediately planted the idea of a Raclette dinner and last night our number came up. I brought a 4-pound piece of cheese, the pickles, the potatoes. Tom, my oenophile brother-in-law, provided the progression of white wines: a lovely California chardonnay, an herbacious sauvignan blanc from Bordeaux, and a wonderfully fruity pinot gris from Alsace. (In Switzerland, some eaters prefer hot tea with their Raclette in the belief that cold wine causes the molten cheese to form a ball in the stomach. Personally, I've never experienced that problem. But apparently, balls of cheese in the stomach are to be avoided.)

The meal itself couldn't be simpler. Tom had already started the fire. I positioned a cinder block in front of the fireplace and covered it with aluminum foil. The open face of the partial wheel of cheese was set on top of the foil to catch any drippings. All that's left to do is wait for the fire to have its effect on the cheese. Then quickly take the cheese in hand and scrape a portion onto a plate. That's the one drawback--or perhaps the charm--of Raclette: Only one person gets to eat the cheese at a time. You have to wait your turn, and that makes this a very casual meal, perhaps best taken while gathered around the fire.

At a certain point enough cheese has been scraped away to reveal a subtantial portion of rind exposed and dangling off the edges. It gets nicely caramelized and crunchy facing the flames. With the sharp side of the knife you can trim this crunchy rind onto the next eater's plate as an added bonus.

You can see why Raclette in its country of origin constitutes a basic peasant food among the cow herders who make the cheese, perfect for winter using potatoes from your root cellar and some of the vegetables you pickled in the fall. By all means serve some of your favorite bread. My sister also made a salad and a chocolate bundt cake for dessert.

You meat eaters might also consider a platter of salamis or perhaps some paper-thin slices of Switzerland's famous dried ham, Bundnerfleisch. Save any leftover cheese for your next fondue.

Potted Cheese

When I'm throwing a party and not feeling very rich I often put a potted cheese out for hors d'oeuvres. This is one way to turn an economical slicing cheese into something exotic looking that spreads on a cracker.

Potted cheese is simply cheese grated and marinated in beer, then spiked with dried mustard and Worcestershire sauce and blended fine. Scrape it into a small bowl and guests will think you are an entertaining genius. (You don't have to tell them you're just trying to save a few pennies.) It has the added virtue of keeping almost indefinitely in the refrigerator.

To make this potted cheese, I used two kinds of cheddar, one from Vermont, the other from England, one orange, the other yellow. In general, I prefer a sharp cheddar cheese for flavor. This particular recipe is from Fancy Pantry, by Helen Witty, one of our favorite sources for making tangy dishes out of fresh produce and odd bits.

3/4 pound good quality cheddar cheese (you can combine different kinds if you like)
1 teaspoon dry mustard
2/3 cup excellent beer (I use a dark Belgian ale)
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter, slightly softened at room temperature
1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
generous pinch white mustard
pinch cayenne
salt to taste

Grate the cheese and combine it at the bottom of a mixing bowl with the mustard and the beer. Press the cheese down until it is covered by the beer, cover the bowl and let it stand for a few hours or overnight.

Place the softened butter in a food processor and process until creamy. Add the cheese mixture, Worcestershire sauce, white pepper and cayenne. Process everything until the mixture is smooth, scraping down the side of the bowl occasionally as needed. Taste and add more seasonings as you desire, as well as some salt if it needs it.

Pack the cheese into a crock or ceramic bowl. Smooth the top and cover with plastic wrap. For longterm storage, cover the cheese with clarified butter to a depth of about 1/4 inch, then cover the container and refrigerate.

Serve at room temperature, but leave the cheese out of the refrigerator long enough to soften. Crackers or toasted baguette are the perfect accompaniment.

Cheesy Cauliflower Casserole

Warning: Heart-healthy cooks, avert your eyes.


This dish is full of cheddar cheese. But it is also full of cauliflower, and now that we are approaching the "dark days," when the freshest local produce may consist mainly of cauliflower, Brussels sprouts and other hearty brassicas, a good cauliflower recipe is not such a bad thing.

I've been holding onto this one for years because it is so easy and so full of decadent deliciousness on a cold night. It could be a meal in itself, served with a salad, or wonderful next to a roast chicken or ham.

We purchased a huge head of cauliflower from the farmers market down the street along with a hefty wedge of cheddar cheese from the Keswick Creamery in Newburg, PA. So this is one guilty pleasure that is completely local.

If you know how to make a Bechamel sauce, there is nothing at all tricky about this casserole. First, divide a large head of cauliflower into florets and cook them until just done in a large pot of salted water. Drain and set aside.

For the Bechamel sauce, melt 3 tablespoons butter in a sauce pan over moderate heat, then stir in 3 tablespoons flour. Cook 3 or 4 minutes, stirring frequently, until the mixture becomes frothy. The object is to cook the flour without letting it brown. Begin adding about 2 cups room temperature milk (I use 2 percent), 1/4-cup at a time, stirring continuously.

The sauce will become quite thick as it cooks. Continue adding milk as needed. Remove sauce from heat and stir in about 1 1/2 cups grated cheddar cheese. Season to taste with salt, white pepper and ground nutmeg.

Add the cooked cauliflower to a souffle dish and pour in the cheese sauce. Top with bread crumbs and place in a 350-degree oven for about 1 hour, or until the bread crumbs are golden brown. The cauliflower should be extremely tender, and the kitchen filled with the aroma of baked cheese.

Serve hot.

My secret vice is the leftovers from this dish. They are impossible to resist. The souffle dish, covered with plastic, calls to me from the refrigerator. I warm a heaping serving spoon-full into a bowl and heat it in the microwave. A glass of white wine and I am content.