Is it Thanksgiving already?! Here's some pie.

November 23, 2015 Hannah Kirshner

Photgrapher: Allison E. Davis, Food Stylist: Hannah Kirshner.

This Thanksgiving, I'll be in Japan, attending a tea ceremony lesson. I thought about making pie to share with my friends here—perhaps this one that works so well with kabocha, or the persimmon curd pie I improvised in Los Angeles last fall would suit what's in season in Japan—but I don't have an oven. For those of you who will make a pie, and haven't already decided on a recipe, here I some favorites from my personal archive:

my pie crust

how to weave a lattice

cardamom honey squash pie (I recommend using kabocha squash)

salty caramel apple pie with a bourbon crust

beaujolais apple tart

My Kind of Camping: Cheese Grits with Collards, Eggs and Chorizo

November 3, 2015 Hannah Kirshner

Photographer: Melissa Goodwin, Prop Stylist: Vaughan Glidden, Food Stylist, Hannah Kirshner.

Somewhere between glamping and mountaineering, there’s a style of camping that most appeals to me. You head up with a couple of friends on a short hike to a basecamp, with everything you need on your back (not in a car). It’s not a far walk, but the setting is pristine. You set up camp for a few days: From there you do day hikes, swim in a lake, and make good food together.

While you’re not going to haul a cooler, you could bring a couple of beers to chill in a stream. The food needs to be light, but not as light as for a multi-day trek, and you can bring fresh groceries that might not last a week, but will keep for a day or two.

Photographer: Melissa Goodwin, Prop Stylist: Vaughan Glidden, Food Stylist, Hannah Kirshner.

Collards are the sturdiest green I know of, and—I tested this—will hold up after a day strapped to your backpack in cool weather. Serve them for breakfast with cheese grits, eggs and chorizo. There’s no reason not to make good coffee when you’re camping. And it will taste better than ever on chilly morning in the great outdoors. Bring a nel drip or a good ol’ plastic Melita, and your favorite beans (ground just before you leave).

Photographer: Melissa Goodwin, Prop Stylist: Vaughan Glidden, Food Stylist, Hannah Kirshner.

You’ll want to make coffee first, of course, and then begin cooking breakfast. Start by pouring hot water into instant or quick-cooking grits. Cover them and set them aside—if it’s really cold out, wrap the pan in a bandana or towel to keep it warm. Cut the collards into thin strips and toss them with oil and garlic; in a hot pan they’ll cook in a flash, without using up all your camp fuel. They’re done when bright green and tender, just a minute or two.

After you turn the collards out of the pan, you can put in a handful of chopped chorizo. When it’s crisp and its red oil has greased the pan, push it to one side and crack in a few eggs. (Yes, you can take eggs camping! Truly farm fresh eggs are ideal, because if they’ve never been washed they have a natural protective coating). Stir some parmesan cheese into the grits (the kind you shake from a can is fine, we’re camping), and a pat of butter or glug of olive oil.

Serve all this together in a bowl, with more coffee alongside. Is this not the best backpacking breakfast you’ve had? Back home, you can make it again and invite friends for brunch, inspiring envy with tales of your gourmands' camping trip.

Miso Grilled Oysters to start the Evening

September 8, 2015 Hannah Kirshner

So there's a newspaper editor, a sake sommelier, an artist, a play producer, and a concert pianist—this isn't the set up for a joke but the guest list for a dinner party in my Brooklyn apartment.

The sommelier (for lack of a better translation) who is staying with us for a week has brought an entire suitcase of sake with him from Japan. This isn't hyperbole—there are at least seven bottles, four of them magnums. He got so excited about the idea of a dinner party, that he also brought his framed calligraphed certificate (less than 300 people have his level of expertise), and his uniform: a vest with lapel pins, a red tie, and one of those Japanese aprons made of fringed heavy canvas with his bar’s insignia (the editor and I try to bribe him for the apron, but it only makes him blush). He even brought his own glassware—five different kinds.

Meanwhile, I've set out mismatched napkins, and plates that I consider a set because they are all white (but not really the same). I made a bouquet with branches from my back yard and a few flowers from the abandoned house across the street. How will I cook a meal to match a suitcasefull of sake? To match our traveller’s ernesty and precsion?

I approach dinner parties with the same mix of excitement and apprehension you might feel before a first date—what if I get all dressed up/plan an elaborate menu, and then they cancel at the last minute? It’s happened plenty of times. And you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard. But this time, everyone is here, and I’ve gotten a little carried away with the menu in spite of my efforts to be cool.

It’s a muggy summer night. I’ve cooked as much as I can on a tiny charcoal grill in my back yard so I don’t heat up the apartment. It starts to drizzle as I carry the food back upstairs. I set down a platter of grilled oysters, bubbling with miso and scattered with slivers of scallion. Our sommelier pours a savory aged sake into laquerware cups, and we oohh and ahh at its funky and refreshing counterpoint to briny oysters and earthy miso.

I return to the kitchen but I can hear lively conversation and laughter. I’m dressing mizuna greens and citrus slices with a sesame oil and ponzu. I’m simmering clams in dashi for clam miso soup, and keeping the rice warm in a heavy pot on the back of the stove. I arrange packets of steamy shio-koji marinated flounder wrapped with banana leaves—with their faintly floral and charred scent. I paint some squid ink on a plate while the grilled squid reheats under the broiler. I sprinkle a chiffonade of shiso over watermelon and feta. These are mostly Japanese flavors—subtle and fresh so they don’t compete with delicate sake—cooked in my own way.

The sommelier joins me in the kitchen and we lean over the plates, gesturing; we speak only a few words of each others’ languages, but we both get giddy about flavors. Pairing food and drinks is a game, and we’re having fun! He sprinkles more salt on the watermelon, showing me that it makes a bitter sake taste less bitter, then returns to the dinning room for a parlour trick where the flavor of one sake is transformed by drinking it from different shapes of glasses.

I keep bringing out food and he keeps bringing out sake. There’s not a grain of rice left on the table at the end of the night. It wasn’t just the amazing sake or the fresh seafood and vegetables but the wide-ranging and lively conversation that made this dinner so delicious, and the chance to share it with a group whose enthusiasm could match that of a man who brings an entire bar in his suitcase.

Recipe: Miso Butter Grilled Oysters with Scallion Mignonette

This recipe has evolved since that dinner party. I was told that butter doesn't go with sake, so for the original version I simply thinned the miso with sake. But I made it several more times over the course of the summer and concluded that butter is better. The balance of flavors in this recipe is just right—try drinking a Muscadet or lager if sake doesn't suit.

2 tablespoons butter, room temperature
1 tablespoon red miso
2 scallions
1 tablespoon rice vinegar
1 tablespoon dry sake
2 dozen oysters

In a small bowl, make a compound butter by mixing the miso and butter together into a smooth paste; set aside. (This compound miso-butter is delicious on toast, or melted and brushed on vegetables for the grill, or...just use your imagination)!

Mice one of the scallions: you should have about a tablespoon of minced scallion. In another small bowl, make the mignonette by mixing the minced scallion with the rice vinegar and sake; set aside.

Slice the remaining scallion very thinly on an extreme diagonal. Put the sliced scallion in ice water until ready to use to keep it crisp and take away some of its sting.

Get the grill hot. Shuck the oysters, leaving the meat in the deeper half of the shell. Yes, they would open on their own on the grill, but by the time they open and you get the miso-butter in they'll be over cooked. It's worth it to shuck them first.

Put a tiny dollop of miso butter into each oyster, about 1/2 teaspoon. Place them on a very hot grill, you don't want flames licking them, but you want it pretty darn hot. Leave them there just until their liquid bubbles and the butter browns ever so slightly around the edges of the shell, then remove them quickly.

Scatter the thinly sliced scallions over the oysters, and serve immediately with mignonette on the side.

You might also like:

Kamo Negi (duck and scallion) Ramen

American Made Yuzu-Kosho

Making Ice Cream Sundaes out of Mistakes

July 15, 2015 Hannah Kirshner

I remember a phone call from my friend, nearly in tears, because the chocolate cake she baked from a recipe I gave her broke coming out of the pan. She was cooking for a date and he would arrive soon. We devised a plan the serve cake chunks in a bowl with ice cream and berries: she could pretend that was her intention all along. She called the next day to tell me that the dessert—and the date—was a success.

A macaron isn’t technically a macaron unless it has a foot (that little ruffled bleed around the bottom), and if the top cracks instead of forming a smooth dome that’s a dead giveaway that you did it wrong. When a batch of my green tea macarons failed (they tasted wonderful but were not pretty enough) I stored them in the freezer so I could figure out another way to use them. Months later, tasked with making dessert for a party, I sandwiched strawberry ice cream between the cookies and dusted them with matcha. The delicate pink and green ice cream sandwiches produced ooohhs and ahhhs! Another failure turned into a success.

I mess up all the time. I skim recipes and skip steps, I let things overcook while I scroll through Instagram, I forget to add the salt, I drop a pot on the floor and spill a sauce that’s been stewing for hours. Being a good cook doesn’t mean getting it right every time. It means rolling with the punches, transforming mistakes into new recipes. Many a restaurant special is the result of emergency improvisation. With confidence and good seasoning, you can pull of almost anything. Don’t apologize: if it tastes and looks good, no one cares how it was supposed to turn out.

I got really excited to make the miso sugar I saw in the pages of Bon Apetit. Without really consulting the recipe, I prepared a batch to serve as a salty-sweet ice cream sundae topping for a dinner party. I had the whole thing in my head: cornflakes at the bottom for crunch like they do in Japan, vanilla ice cream, in-season strawberries, and a sprinkle of salty-sweet miso sugar on top.

With five guests sitting at my table, I opened my cool oven where the miso sugar had been drying for 24 hours and discovered that it was just burnt goop. Quickly, I mixed up a batch of miso butterscotch instead, so I could put those same flavors into my sundae. Ten minutes later we were eating sundaes, and they were perfect (at least, I thought so). This is now one of my favorite desserts ever! Here’s the recipe.

Recipe: Miso Butterscotch Sauce

I got the idea for a miso-strawberry-cornflake sundae from a miso caramel ice cream at the Good Fork, a giant parfait I had in Japan, and this recipe from David Lebovitz for roasted strawberry and miso ice cream. It might sound like an odd combination of flavors, but try it! As strawberries go out of season, you could try using raspberries or peaches, which might be even better. Layer the cornflakes, then a little fruit, then ice cream, more fruit, and finally the miso butterscotch sauce.

4 Tablespoons unsalted butter
½ packed cup dark brown sugar
¼ cup heavy cream
1 plus 1 teaspoon Tablespoon red miso

Place the butter and sugar in a small saucepan, and cook over medium heat. Stir until the butter melts completely, and the sugar is fully dissolved. When the mixture is thick and glossy, about four minutes, stir in the cream. Remove from heat, and whisk in the miso. Serve warm—the mixture will thicken as it cools. Keeps for several weeks, refrigerated; reheat gently to serve again.

Hand Roll Sushi with Brooklyn Slate

June 8, 2015 Hannah Kirshner

This post originally appeared at brooklynslate.com.

Photo by Flider Zuyderhoff-Gray

Who doesn't love a make-your-own party whether for pizza or ice cream sundae's—or even sushi?! To serve hand-roll sushi, temaki, put out a platter of cut fish and vegetables, a bowl of rice, and a stack of seaweed, and let guests assemble their own rolls like they would a taco. To form temaki you just hold a square of nori in one hand, fill it with it with rice and whatever fillings you like, and loosely fold or roll it to eat.

When Americans think of Japanese food, we often think first of sushi. The truth is, sushi chefs spend a lifetime perfecting the craft of forming rolls and nigiri, seasoning and slicing the ingredients, cooking the rice just so, and even serving everything at the ideal temperature. That's not home cooking! When people in Japan do make sushi at home, it's more rustic. Temaki is perhaps the most casual presentation––and you can have fun making hand-rolls with your friends instead of struggling to impress them by constructing neat maki.

Throwing a sushi party requires more shopping than cooking. You'll be in the kitchen only as long as it takes to cook a pot of rice, slice some vegetables, and snip standard-size sheets of toasted nori into quarters. Though a Japanese market will offer more variety of authentic ingredients, you can probably find everything you need in any large grocery store these days. Don't be afraid to experiment with some unconventional fillings (in Japan you'll even find things like creamed corn and tuna salad on sushi). A more traditional assortment includes sashimi, roe, sprouts or microgreens, julienned carrot and daikon, cucumber matchsticks, umeboshi (pickled plums), and shiso leaf.

You can get sashimi grade fish from a good fishmonger or a high-end grocery store and cut it up yourself, but you will need a very sharp knife and a little skill. The easier route is to buy pre-cut sashimi. If your fishmonger or grocery doesn't have it, get an assortment of sashimi from a Japanese market or even as takeout from a sushi restaurant. Perhaps it goes without saying that you'll want to serve soy sauce, wasabi, and pickled ginger alongside the sushi — if you buy pre-cut sashimi, they'll come with it.

Take care with the rice, and you won't be disappointed. Cook it precisely and flavor it gently. Sushi rice isn't really sushi rice without seasoning; making your own seasoned vinegar is easy, and you can adjust it to your taste (but if you can only find seasoned vinegar to buy, just omit the sugar and salt in the recipe). You won't become a sushi chef overnight, but you can make something really tasty and fun. Here's the only recipe you'll need to throw a great sushi party!

View more photos on Brooklyn Slate's website.

Recipe: Seasoned Sushi Rice

Photo by Flider Zuyderhoff-Gray

serves 6

3 cups sushi rice
3 cups filtered water
1 4–inch square piece konbu (optional)
1/4 cup rice vinegar (not seasoned)
2 Tablespoons sugar
1 1/2 teaspoons kosher salt

In a heavy bottomed pot, rinse the rice in several changes of cool water, until the water runs clear. Pour off all the rinse water. Add the filtered water and the (optional) konbu.

Cover the pot with a tight fitting lid. Do not remove this lid until the rice is finished, listen to the pot to know what is happening inside.

Bring the pot to a full boil. You will hear it rumble, and steam will push its way out at the edges of the lid, and the water may even boil over a little.

Turn the burner down to the lowest possible setting, and set a timer for 18 minutes.

While the rice is cooking, make the seasoned vinegar. Combine the sugar and salt with the vinegar in a jar, and shake until they dissolve; set aside.

When the timer goes off, return the heat to high for one minute, or until you hear the rice crackle. Turn off the heat, and leave the lid on for five more minutes (if your stove is electric, remove the pot from the burner).

Lift the lid and gently fluff the rice using chopsticks; discard the konbu if using. Transfer the rice to the largest bowl you have, or better yet to a large cutting board. Enlist an assistant if you can: you need to sprinkle the seasoned vinegar onto the rice and toss the rice to coat it evenly, at the same time as you fan the rice to cool it (a small rectangle of cardboard makes an effective fan). When the rice is evenly seasoned, shiny, and dry, it's ready. Serve right away or within a few hours.

In cool weather, leftover rice can be stored at room temperature overnight. Refrigeration will make the rice hard, but then it's perfect for making fried rice the next day.

Market Brunch with Nourish

June 27, 2014 Hannah Kirshner