Newly in love with my spring cleaned shelves, I decided to make arepas de dominó, stuffed with black beans and cheese, relying mostly on what I had on hand.  With little shopping to do apart from peppers and onions, I had to time to obsess about other things, namely what cheese to add.  Though Mexican queso blanco and some Colombian varieties have become common, Venezuelans always complain about the trouble they have finding cheese north of Miami.  Luis, my new market friend, pointed me towards El Cocotero that sometimes sells the fresh cheese they use in their restaurant.  He recommended queso llanero or guayanés though I was only able to find the latter. The queso quayanés was closer to a fresh mozzarella or burrata than the queso blanco I normally use, not quite melting but pooling into the black beans and worth the trouble of seeking out.

Arepa de Dominó/Arepas with Black Beans and Cheese
Since it opened up around the corner, I’ll use any excuse to visit Union Market.  Bright, always stocked with samples, and piping in the a soundtrack that inspires occasional dancing in the aisles, it’s the breakfast at Tiffany’s of neighborhood grocery stores in that I can’t imagine anything bad happening there.  Already planning on making arepas, this is where I met Luis who apart from the lead on Venezuelan cheese shared a few tips on how he makes arepas for his family, that Venezuelans call frijoles negros caraotas, and that where he’s from in the Eastern part of Venezuela they add a little sugar to the dough.  He also suggested stirring in a little butter or oil to the masa.  Small changes but they were definately the creamiest arepas I’ve made and even puffed up slightly as promised.  The filling can soak through the arepa so I made them larger and thicker than usual.

1 cup masarepa, preferably Harina P.A.N., white or yellow
1 teaspoon sugar
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1 ½ cup hot water
1 tablespoon melted butter or canola oil

1-2 tablespoons canola oil

For filling:
Caraotas negras, prepared (also known as frijoles negros or black turtle beans)
Queso guayanés or fresh mozzarella, cubed

Combine the dry ingredients. Pour water into a medium mixing bowl.  Add cornmeal in a steady stream, whisking constantly to avoid clumps. Stir in the melted butter or oil. Knead until well mixed and set aside to rest, about 5-10 minutes.

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.  Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil and set aside.

Divide the dough in quarters and shape each piece into a ball.  Using the bottom of a flat measuring cup or mixing bowl, lightly press down on the dough to form a disc about 1-1 ½” thick.

In a cast iron or heavy skillet, heat oil over medium high heat.  Add the arepas and cook until lightly golden and crisp, about 4-6 minutes on each side.  Transfer to a baking sheet and bake an additional 15-20 minutes until cooked through.  Split open and fill with caraotas negros and cubed cheese.

Makes 4-6 arepas.

Less easy to let go of is the overwhelming feeling that every action I engage in between December 26-January 1 forecasts the year to come.  I spent hours organizing my house not wanting to start the New Year with an unmade bed, unswept floor, or cluttered closet.  I spent so long deciding what to wear to a low-key party with friends, that I almost missed the countdown altogether.  Anxious about starting the year shoeless, I challenged my host’s shoes-at-the-door policy to no avail.  Then, after a great night (albeit in socks), I slipped backwards on some ice coming home.  Falling squarely on my Cuban passport, I pulled myself up for the first time in 2011 and decided not read too much into things.  A convenient resolution when the signs aren’t going your way.

With my annual New Year’s OCD somewhat in check, I went ahead with my plan to spend the day in the kitchen.  After years of forcing down lentils for luck (Spain, Cuba, Chile) every January 1st, I was looking for another dish to celebrate with and invited some friends over for dinner.  Really it was an excuse to try the turrón mousse recipe I’d found in Jose Pizarro’s Seasonal Spanish Food a couple of months ago.  I loved the idea of taking turrón, so closely associated with the sweetest and saddest time of the closing year, whipping them together with airy egg whites and little sherry, then serving them in a new way, taking a little of the past with me to the future.  Of course, in Mexico, I might make a list of unhappy events from the previous year then throw it in the fire before midnight but I worked too hard on 2010, good and bad, to let it go up in smoke.

Mousse de Turrón/Turrón Mousse
Adapted from Seasonal Spanish Food by José Pizarro.  Because the golden raisins (I prefer calling them sultanas) are left to marinate in sherry the night before, it literally took two years to make.  The original recipe called for just two egg whites but I increased it by one and added a little sugar to get more volume.

24 golden raisins
4 tablespoons sweet sherry
2 large egg yolks

3 large egg whites, at room temperature
2 tablespoons superfine sugar
1/8 teaspoon cream of tarter
Pinch of salt
2 tablespoons heavy cream
5 oz. soft turrón blando, suprema at least 60% almonds

Combine the raisins and sherry in a small bowl and marinate overnight.  Drain the fruit on the following day, reserving the sherry.

In a food processor, combine the turrón, egg yolks, heavy cream and sherry.  Pulse until well blended and smooth.  Pour out into a medium mixing bowl.

In a stand mixer fitted with the whisk attachment, beat the egg whites on medium speed until frothy.  Add the cream of tarter and pinch of salt and continue to beat on medium speed until they hold soft peaks. Gradually add the remaining 2 tablespoon of sugar and continue to beat until they hold stiff peaks.

Blend a fourth of the egg whites into the turrón mixture to lighten it.  Gently fold in the remaining egg whites until well combined, working quickly so the whites do not deflate.

Place 4 marinated raisins among four glasses or serving bowls.  Divide the mousse between the glasses and chill at least 6 hours.  Top with raisins or caramelized almonds and serve.

Caramelized Almonds (Optional)
The water evaporates quickly leaving behind a coating of sugar.  It’s important to keep stirring until the sugar melts and caramelizes.

7 oz. blanched whole almonds
1/2 cup superfine sugar
1/4 cup water

Heat a large pan over medium to low heat.  Add the ingredients and stir them constantly.  The water will evaporate and the sugar will melt and caramelize, about 15-20 minutes.

It’s always the little things that trip me up.  I was thinking of making arepas last weekend when I came across a recipe for Venezuelan arepitas dulces.  Also known as arepuelas or anisitas in Colombia, they’re smaller arepas sweetened with melado de papelón and fried for breakfast or dessert.  Infused with whole anise seeds, they seemed as soothing and comforting as the candies in your grandmother’s purse.

Comparing online recipes, I was able to follow the general idea but they were frustratingly unclear about measurements and times, what kind of cheese to add if any, and the best way to form them.  Picking and choosing my favorite elements, I gathered from Sumito Estévez that the hot water added to the cornmeal could be steeped in any combination of spices beforehand, that I was underusing allspice (guayabita, my new favorite ingredient) and that arepitas need to abombar when added to the hot oil (my new favorite cooking term that means to puff up but translates as “bombify”).

I thought they would be great to try on a quiet Sunday morning, but starting late, I rushed through the process.  Unsure of which recipe I wanted to follow, I decided to follow them all at once.  Not surprisingly, my Sunday plans went up in a cloud of grease.  The arepitas did not bombify but stayed defiantly flat, weighted down by canola oil and covered in splotches where the cheese I threw in at the last minute had burned.  They couldn’t be saved.Determined to try again, I brought in my favorite Venezuelan consultant/cousin-in-law, Andrea.  When I first started my blog, one of my earliest entries was for Kako’s Arepas.  I didn’t realize it then but the recipe had come from his wife Andrea. This time, I decided to go directly to the source.  Sending me a traditional recipe that started with grinding corn (why doesn’t Kitchen Aid have a corn mill attachment?), I fast forwarded to the post-P.A.N. present and picked it up from there.  I let the spices steep a little longer and the dough rest.  I was cautiously optimistic but mentally preparing for batch three.  When I added the first arepita to the oil and watched it go plump all over, I puffed up a little myself.  Frying up the rest, I finally had my Sunday morning.

Andrea’s Arepitas Dulces
These are best served immediately but I reheated a few later that night and they were fine.  I served them alongside thin slices of queso blanco and a mango and pepper jam.

1 1/2 cups of water
1 teaspoon whole guayabitas, crushed (also known as allspice, pimienta de Jamaica)
2 star anise, whole
1 cinnamon stick, whole

1/4 cup papelón, roughly chopped or dark brown sugar, tightly packed*

1 cup pre-cooked cornmeal, white or yellow (P.A.N.) or other arepa flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon anise seeds, whole
1/4 cup queso blanco, finely grated

Canola oil, about 1 1/2 cups if using a heavy pot or minimum amount required to fill deep fryer per manufacturer’s instructions

Bring water to a simmer.  Add crushed guayabitas, star anise, and cinnamon.  Remove from heat and allow to steep.

To make the melado, combine papelón with 1/4 cup of water in a small saucepan.  Set over medium heat and bring to a simmer.  Continue to cook for 5 minutes and set aside to cool.

Combine cornmeal, salt and anise seeds in a large bowl.  Strain spice infusion into bowl and discard spices.  Add grated cheese and cooled melado.  Knead well.  Add warm water one tablespoon at a time as needed to form a smooth mass.  Cover with a damp towel and set aside to rest, 20-30 minutes.

In a deep fryer or heavy pot (3 1/2-4 quarts wide), heat oil to 375 degrees.

Shape the arepitas by hand or roll out the dough, on a silpat or in between two sheets of wax paper, to about 1/4″ thick.  Using a round cookie cutter punch out circle about 2″ wide.  The scraps can be gathered together and re-rolled once.

Carefully add the arepitas to the oil, 2-3 at a time and fry until golden about 2 minutes, turning once.

Drain directly on cooling rack or on paper towels.  Serve immediately with jam and cheese.

Shopping Notes:
P.A.N., pre-cooked cornmeal comes in both white and yellow is sold in Latin American grocery stores though it’s increasingly available in larger chains as well.

Also known as panela, piloncillo, or rapadura, it’s unprocessed cane sugar sold in hard, flat discs or cones in Latin American grocery stores.

Tisana
Adapted with permission from Latin Chic: Entertaining with Style and Sass by Carolina Buia and Isabel Gonzalez-Whitaker.

1 bottle of dry white sparkling wine, such as cava or prosecco
4 cups passion fruit juice
1 cup club soda
1/4 cup sugar
1 small orange, sliced
1 small lemon, sliced

1 star fruit, sliced as garnish (optional)

In a punch bowl or pitcher, combine the wine, juice, soda, and sugar.  Add the orange and lemon slices.  Allow the mixture to steep in the refrigerator for at least an hour.  Serve over ice.

I have a regrettably low tolerance for alcohol.  Typically, I’ll sip a mojito till it’s watered down to nothing or nurse a light Mexican beer most of the night.  I’m that girl.  So it’s odd that I’ve spent this week spiking sorbet with cava, getting a lobster drunk on rum, and now drizzling lady fingers with vermouth and yet more rum for a Bien Me Sabe,  a Venezuelan dessert of lady fingers layered with coconut cream.

Whenever I have people over, I always go to Latin Chic written by my friend Isabel González-Whitaker and co-author Carolina Buia.  Living in the neutral territory of New York City where everyone is from somewhere else, it’s full of simple but great ideas to add a cultural twist that’s honest to entertaining in Latin American style.  Looking for a dessert to bring to a dinner party, I made their version of Bien Me Sabe or “It Tastes Good to Me”.  This one in particular comes from Carolina’s great-aunt Mercedes Camps.  The legend goes that she made it for Venezuela’s future president Rómulo Betancourt when he was hiding from political adversaries in her home.  It’s impossible not to admire a woman who not only offers refuge to those in need but then throws in dessert.  After three weeks, she smuggled out the father of Venezuelan democracy disguised in one of her dresses.

Bien Me Sabe/Tastes Good To Me
Barely adapted with permission from Latin Chic: Entertaining with Style and Sass by Carolina Buia and Isabel Gonzalez-Whitaker.  This recipe also works well with light coconut milk, taking only a few additional minutes to thicken.  I’ve also made it with only rum.  People made pretty wild guesses as to what additional flavors I’d used, but I think it was just really good rum.

24 ladyfingers, preferably the harder Italian kind
Sweet vermouth
Dark rum
3 tablespoons cornstarch
6 large egg yolks
Pinch of salt
3 1/2 cups unsweetened coconut milk or 2 14-ounce cans
1 14-ounce can sweetened condensed milk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
Ground cinnamon or toasted coconut to garnish

Dissolve the cornstarch in 5 tablespoons of cold water.  In a large mixing bowl, combine the egg yolks, dissolved cornstarch, and salt.  Whisk until combined, and then set aside.

In a medium saucepan, add the coconut milk, and condensed milk.  Bring to a low simmer over medium-low heat, stirring constantly.  The mixture should not come to a boil.  Remove about 1/4 cup of the warm coconut mixture and stir into the egg yolks to temper them.  Then pour the entire egg mixture in the saucepan, raise the heat to medium-low heat, and whisk constantly until the mixture begins to thicken.

The second the mixture thickens, remove it from the heat and stir in the vanilla.  This is very important:  it will take only a minute or so to thicken.  If it is left on the stovetop, the coconut cream will curdle and turn lumpy.

In a deep 8×8-inch baking dish, arrange a layer of ladyfingers ( some will need to be broken in half so that they fit).  Top with up to a 1-inch layer of the coconut cream.  Add another layer of ladyfingers and the remaining cream.  Smooth the top of the cake with a spatula.  Chill overnight or for a couple of days.

When ready to serve, use a sifter to delicately dust the top of the cake with the cinnamon or toasted coconut.

I was happy to hear that Miss Venezuela had won the Miss Universe title for a historical second year in a row.  Though I don’t follow the pageant and can’t speak for the universe, they do seem to want it more than any other country.  I think it was seeing this in the news that reminded me of a Venezuelan restaurant I had wanted to try for a few weeks.  When I read in the New York Times about the patacón Maracucho served in El Cocotero, I felt deprived.  Having grown up on fried plantains, how could I have not come across this version using flat green plantains as sandwich bread for shredded ropa vieja, lechón asado, chicken, black beans, and sometimes, even more plantains.  When I finally made my there, I was surprised at how small the restaurant felt inside; yet with only a few open tables, the restaurant expands.  As the waitress explained, it was designed to include every region of Venezuela.  A wall covered  with sepia toned photographs from Maracaibo faces horned masks from Oriente while a tiled roof over the kitchen represents the Andes.  Looking over it all, there is not one but two altars to Simón Bolívar and Venezuela’s patron saints.  I had the pabellón – a patacón of shredded flank steak, black beans and sweet plantains – a little bit of everything you could want in one perfect combination, not to be missed.

While I often hear about Venezuela’s petroleum industry, it’s less common to read about their cacao plantations.  That’s why I was so interested in this New York Times article by Simon Romero, In Venezuela, Plantations of Cacao Stir Bitterness.  I was fascinated by how cacao like oil becomes a mixed blessing.

2.  Coconuts have three little black eyes on one the top that should be dry and free of mold.  The holes can be punctured with a corkscrew then drained.  When punctured, the coconut made the same “ahhhhhh” sound as a can of soda.

3.  To crack open the drained coconut, a few hard taps of with the blunt side of a heavy knife where the coconut is widest may be more ladylike, but a hammer works faster.  I had beginner’s luck with my first coconut.  After a few taps, I saw a perfectly straight fissure open up along its center.  The next three didn’t budge.  After a quick Howcast check, I heated the other three in an oven at 400 degrees for 10 minutes.  Once cooled, they opened easily with a few hammer taps.  Though most sites advice using a sharp knife, I used a strong butter knife, that didn’t bend, to pry the meat away from the shell in larger pieces, making it easier to peel the skin away afterward.4.  Grating coconuts was time consuming, but my hands have never been so soft and my kitchen smelled wonderful.

5.  I blended 6 cups of shredded coconut with 2 cups of very hot water, then passed them through cheesecloth into a fine mesh strainer to produce about 3 to 3 1/2 cups of fresh coconut milk.  Though it seemed like too little at first, there was always more to wring out.

6.  With all the tapping and draining and shell specks flying it was easy think I was doing it wrong.  In the end the coconut gave me what I needed, a perfect liquid moon.

Now that I thought I had the right arepa pan, I was dying to test it out.  An increasingly popular street food trend, I wanted to master making them at home so I could have them with leftover guisados and the Colombian cheese I could only buy as a wheel.  Generally, I prefer the peaceful precision of baking, so I decided to follow the directions on the package and stuff them with ropa vieja I had left from earlier this week.  The results were disappointing, a little too messy, and definitely too raw.

I reached out to my Venezuelan cousins for the basic arepa recipe they grew up eating.  Outside of specifying P.A.N. pre-cooked cornmeal, they weren’t exacting about measurements; but I got a sense of what to look for and loved the result.  I tried again it again this morning and served them with Venezuelan perico, scrambled eggs with onions and tomatoes.

Kako’s Arepas*
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees.

You put about a cup of very hot water in a bowl and then add the P.A.N. harina little by little as you mix it with the water.  If you add it all at once it will take longer and be lumpy.  Let it sit for five minutes so that it has the consistency of playdough but a bit softer.

Once you have it right, you roll the mix into a golf balls then start to flatten the balls into a disc shape. If the edges crack a lot then you have to add more water to the mix and start over, but a little cracking is okay.

Get a pan, heat it up and add butter then cook the arepas so that the outside is crunchy. A few of minutes on each side.

Place the arepas in the preheated oven for about 15-20 minutes. You’ll know when they’re ready when you take them out of the oven if you pat them on top and they sound hollowish.

Time to eat!

Makes 6-8 medium sized arepas.

*Kako and I went to elementary school together which should explain the references to play dough and why I still call a 34-year old, well-traveled, married cinematographer named Carlos – Kako.