Migas: The breakfast you’ve been waiting for

There’s a cookbook out there with the brilliant title I am Almost Always Hungry. I think it highly unfair for someone to have stolen MY ideal book title (not that I had thought of it before, but still). It wouldn’t necessarily have to be a cookbook, though; it could be my autobiography.
I am especially almost always hungry just as I arrive at work, which is unfortunate as I a) have just eaten breakfast, b) won’t be having lunch for several hours, and c) am surrounded by sweets and food that I am not supposed to eat. To mitigate this regrettable circumstance, I try to have a nourishing, protein packed meal before leaving for work to stave off the inevitable starvation a tad longer. But I can’t always face a plate of eggs first thing in the morning. It is times like these that I call upon migas.

I found migas in Deborah Madison’s spectacular tome Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, which has the same breadth of recipes as the Joy of Cooking without the jell-o molds, microwave instructions, and recipes labeled ‘cockaigne’ (what on earth does that mean, anyway?) As the title infers, the book is purely vegetarian. I am not vegetarian (you saw all those bacon posts, right?) but I do like to eat lots of vegetables, cheese, grains, legumes, fruit, and desserts, and this book covers all of that and more in an abundance of stylish, straightforward recipes.
You can put all the veggies you want in migas, a tex-mex dish related in theory to chilaquiles. Tortilla strips get crisped in oil, then sauteed with eggs, vegetables and salsa, and topped with all the lovely things you would want them topped with: avocado, cheese, sour cream, and more salsa. Fresh corn, strips of bell pepper, diced tomatoes, roasted green chiles, spinach, summer squash, and ribbons of cabbage all go beautifully, while adding color and healthiness (similar to ‘truthiness?’) to the dish. We almost always have a container of salsa and a stack of corn tortillas in the fridge ready and waiting to disguise eggs as a vibrant, nourishing, and appealing repast.
One morning, my mexican co-workers asked what I’d had for breakfast and I excitedly began describing migas to them. They snickered among themselves, then informed me that hormigas are ants en español.
I hope you enjoy these migas as much as I do. Feel free to add your own flair; but please, hold the formicidae.

Migas
Serves 2 generously
While the original recipe called for adding salsa to the tortilla strips and eggs, we’ve found that they stay crispier if you just use the salsa as a garnish when the migas are done cooking. Use any vegetables you like in place of or in addition to the zucchini and cabbage, such as fresh corn, strips of bell pepper, diced tomatoes, mushrooms, roasted green chiles, spinach or chard. Any mild melting or crumbling cheese goes well, including queso fresco, jack, goat gouda, and fresh chevre.
2 corn tortillas, cut into approximately 2 x 1″ strips
2-3 tablespoons vegetable oil, such as olive or sunflower
1/2 onion, any color, or 1 medium leek, chopped
1 large zucchino, chopped
a cup or two finely shredded cabbage
3 eggs
a few ounces cheese, crumbled or grated
1/4 cup or more tomato salsa (we love Primavera’s organic roasted tomato)
Preheat your broiler.
In a 9 or 10″ skillet over medium heat, cook the tortilla strips in a tablespoon of oil until golden and crisp-ish, about ten minutes (they will crisp up more upon cooling). Season with a few pinches of salt, and tip out into a bowl or plate.
Add another tablespoon of oil to the pan along with the onions, and saute until tender and golden, another ten minutes or so. Add the veggies and saute until tender, five or ten minutes. Season with salt to taste.
Whisk the eggs with a few pinches of salt to break them up, then pour into the skillet with the veggies, adding oil first if the pan looks dry. Cook as you would a scramble, adding the tortilla strips when the eggs are about halfway cooked. When the eggs are done, sprinkle the cheese over the top and put the whole pan under the broiler for a few minutes to melt it. Serve with your toppings of choice.
Some possible toppings and sides:
avocado or guacamole
sour cream, crema, yogurt or creme fraiche
epazote, cilantro, basil, mint or parsley
shredded lettuce
shredded red or green cabbage
tomatoes or cherry tomatoes
slivered red onion or scallions
cilantro or basil pesto
sourkraut or escabeche
black or pinto beans

Horchata Ice Cream

Horchata, a mexican rice milk flavored with cinnamon, can be the perfect beverage for putting out the fire in your mouth while you put away a spicy taco or chile relleno. Imagine those sweet, delicate flavors conveyed in a buttery soft scoop of ice cream, and you’ll know what’s currently taunting me in my freezer.
With the amount of mexican food that the doc and I consume, it’s a shame there aren’t more taquerias using local, organic ingredients. We try to do most of our cooking at home, bojon style, but in a pinch nothing beats a seven-dollar veggie taco platillo from El Metate, brimming with sauteed carrots, broccoli, cabbage, salsa, crema, queso fresco, guacamole, rice, beans, lettuce and escabeche. I’ve been meaning to tackle horchata for a while now, made with happy ingredients, but have yet to find a reputable recipe. I made a batch of coconut milk horchata a couple years ago, from a recipe clipped from a magazine, and found it quite satisfactory. But when I gave a sample to a mexican friend, he balked at the flavor of ‘raw rice.’ When I tried to wrangle a recipe from him, all he would divulge was the toasting of the rice in a skillet. I recently asked another co-worker, who knows everything about the cuisine of his culture, how to make the stuff; he only shook his head, saying it was ‘muy complicado’.
So while I still have yet to make bona fide horchata, which I know little about, I decided to make something I know a lot about instead: ice cream. Contrary to what you may think, ice cream is one of the easiest desserts to make. You know how people get all crazy about making things they think are hard? Pie dough, bread, creme brulee, chocolate mousse; all of these things have their tricks, but when it comes right down to it, the processes and ingredients are all quite simple. It’s like how a handful of obnoxious people travel to Paris and act like doofuses, then they come back here and spread rampant rumors about how the French are snooty and rude. Stop freaking everyone out ’cause of your own dumb mistakes, people!
For this recipe, the rice gets toasted in a skillet until golden, then steeped in milk with a cinnamon stick. The whole deal gets cooked with sugar and egg yolks, mixed with heavy cream, strained, chilled, and spun into ice cream. The whole process takes a bit of time what with all the steeping and chilling, but the active time for the whole recipe is minimal – maybe half an hour, tops.
I am fascinated by ice creams and custards which, though frozen, taste of warming flavors. The toasty rice and spicy cinnamon in this ice cream accomplish just that, making it welcome on either a hot summer day or chilly winter night. As an added bonus, the rice starch, which leaches into the custard base, works as would gums or stabilizers in commercial ice creams, or cornstarch in gelato, lending a voluptuous mouthfeel and making the cream soft and pliable right from the freezer.
This ice cream is delicious served on its own, with a bit of cinnamon grated over the top, especially after a hot and spicy meal. You could also use it to top an apple pie or tart, along with a drizzle of cajeta. Or serve with some ripe berries, sliced peaches or poached apricots in the spring or summer.

Horchata Ice Cream
Makes about 3 cups, or 6 servings
Start this recipe at least a day before you want to serve it. Ice cream base should be chilled for at least 4 hours before churning, but chilling it overnight will yield a smoother, creamier texture and improved flavor. The ice cream needs to ‘cure’ in the freezer for a few hours after churning, too, unless you’d rather put the ice cream maker on the table, with spoons, and let your guests eat out of it like pigs feeding from a trough.

1 cup whole milk
1/3 cup medium or long grain white rice
3″ cinnamon stick, plus an extra one for grating over the finished ice cream (optional)
4 or 5 egg yolks
1/2 cup sugar

1/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
pinch salt
1 cup heavy cream

In a dry, medium saucepan, toast the rice and cinnamon stick over medium heat until the rice is fragrant and barely golden, 1 – 2 minutes. Pour in the milk and heat until small bubbles appear around the sides of the pan, stirring occasionally. Remove from the heat, cover and steep for 30 minutes, or whenever you are ready to get on with the rest.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the yolks, sugar, cinnamon and salt to combine. Pour the cream into a quart sized mason jar or metal bowl and set a fine mesh strainer over the top. Reheat the ricey milk until the small bubbles appear again, then slowly pour into the yolks, whisking constantly. Pour the whole deal back into the pan and cook over medium-low heat, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon or heatproof rubber spatula, until the mixture just starts to thicken on the bottom of the pan (170º). Immediately strain into the cold cream, stirring to combine.

Refrigerate the ice cream base for at least four hours or up to a couple days. Spin in an ice cream maker until the ice cream reaches the consistency of a very thick milk shake. ‘Cure’ in the freezer for an hour or two to firm to a scoopable consistency. Grate a bit of cinnamon stick over the ice cream to serve, if desired.

Triple Ginger Molasses Cookies, Three Ways


I have a bit of a problem making decisions sometimes, and have spent many hours agonizing over things like restaurant menus, socks, and especially recipes. Today I wanted to make triple ginger molasses cookies, but couldn’t decide whether to make them classic, with chocolate chunks melting inside them, or dredged in orange sugar. So I divided the dough into thirds and made all three. Sometimes being indecisive pays off.

I was the most wary of the chocolate ones, but they turned out to be my favorite, especially soft, gooey and warm from the oven. The bitterness of the 70% chocolate enhances the deep richness of the molasses, all blending together with the various types of ginger.

Jay prefered the orange ones, and they do have a palette-pleasing zing to them.
But the classic ones are by no means dull, flecked and spicy with candied, ground and freshly grated gingers. They all make the house smell gorgeous as they bake.
I’m not a kitchen gadget person, but there are some tools that I sorely miss when I am without them. One is the spring loaded ice cream scoop. They come in handy for various purposes including portioning out drop cookie and scone dough, muffins, and cupcakes. I have a few different sizes ranging from small baby truffle to big daddy scone, and employ them all fairly regularly. They come in color coded handles; for modest-sized cookies, such as these, I use the purple one; for big, bakery sized cookies I use the red one.
Another tool is the plastic bench scraper. They cost about a dollar, so there’s really no excuse not to have one. Stiffer and sturdier than a rubber spatula, they make scraping and mixing stiff doughs a breeze. Plus the lack of a handle means you usually get a lot of batter on your fingers, and who could blame you for licking it off?
The third and dearest to my heart is my little electronic scale, useful for weighing ingredients which are a drag to try to squish into a cup and then get back out, such as peanut butter, coconut oil, maple syrup or molasses. Instead, you can blithely just weigh everything into a bowl or two as you need them, thinking smugly how clever you are.
A fourth necessity is parchment paper. I despise those little rolls you often find in grocery stores and even cooking stores that should be more enlightened than that. It is always the wrong width, and annoying to cut each time you need a piece. You can order real, full-sized sheets here, or a friendly neighborhood bakery might sell you some if you ask nicely.

I’m not generally a milk drinker, but these deep, dark, spicy cookies call out for something mild and creamy to offset their richness. Enjoy with a glass of milk or a mug of hot apple cider, or one of each if you just can’t make up your mind.


Triple Ginger Molasses Cookies
Adapted from Baking Illustrated
Makes 3 dozen 2″ cookies
6 ounces (1 1/2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened but cool
1/3 cup dark brown sugar
1/4 cup granulated sugar
1″ knob fresh ginger, peeled and finely grated
1 egg yolk
1/2 cup (6 ounces by weight) unsulphured blackstrap molasses
1/3 cup candied ginger, finely chopped
2 1/4 cups flour (11 1/4 ounces)
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon allspice
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/3 cup granulated or turbinado sugar, for rolling the cookies
Position a rack in the upper center of the oven and preheat to 375º. Line two or three rimless baking sheets with parchment paper.
Combine the butter, sugars and fresh ginger in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Beat on medium speed until light and fluffy, 3 – 4 minutes, scraping down the sides of the bowl as necessary. Beat in the yolk until combined, then the molasses and fresh and candied gingers.
Whisk together the dries in a medium bowl, and add to the butter mixture. Mix on low speed until barely combined. Remove from the mixer and fold by hand a couple times to make sure everything is hunky-dory.
Put the 1/3 cup sugar in a small bowl. Use a spring loaded ice cream scoop or a spoon to make 1″ balls of dough, and roll each between your palms to round. Toss each ball in the sugar to coat, then place them on the parchmented sheet pans, spacing them two inches apart. Bake for 10 – 12 minutes until the edges are set but the centers are still very soft. They will seem under baked, but will firm up as they cool. Slide the parchment onto a cooling rack to stop the cookies from over baking, and let cool. Store in an airtight container for up to a few days.
Variations:
 
For triple ginger chocolate chunk cookies, add 1 cup finely chopped bittersweet chocolate to the dough along with the dries. Place a chunk or disc atop each cookie before baking.
For triple ginger citrus cookies, zest one orange into the batter along with the gingers. Zest a second orange into the rolling sugar and smush with your fingers until the sugar is clumpy with orange oil.

Smoked Porter Chocolate Cake


Although everyone knows the only thing better than your dream job is no job (that is to say, bojon), I once had a dream job that lasted 16 months when a pair of fabulous sisters opened a tiny, organic bakery in my hood. The community of bakers that wound up at Petite Patisserie consisted of smart, fun, talented, compassionate, kick-ass women, and we were all dismayed when Rachel and Kirsten decided to sell the space in December of 2007.

Me and my co-worker, Yana inside the bakery, taken by our other co-worker, Alexis

Every ingredient we used at Petite Patisserie was one hundred percent organic, although sometimes that meant altering recipes, shipping ingredients from far away, or jumping through hoops to work with what we had. For example, no one makes blanched organic almonds, so we had to buy unblanched almonds, boil them for 30 seconds, let them cool, then spend hours slipping the skins off each almond, one by one. The almonds then got dried out in a low oven overnight, cooled, and ground finely to be made into pate sucree or frangipane. Also, though many baking recipes call for dutch-processed cocoa powder, no one makes the organic stuff. Dutch-processed cocoa gets processed with alkali to neutralize its acidity, making the color a richly deep reddish-brown, and smoothing out the flavor. Some recipes work with either kind of cocoa; others, not so much.

Anyway, one day I asked Rachel if she would order some Valrhona dutch-processed cocoa powder for me through our vendor. When I came to work the next day, she had. They’d sent us 10 pounds of it. It cost $40. We couldn’t send it back, and we couldn’t use it at the bakery. So I took my ten pounds of cocoa powder home and started looking for recipes that used it. I had never baked with it much, for whatever reason, and even sort of shunned it, thinking that any chocolaty baked good worth its salt had to be made with actual chocolate.

Somehow I finally used up the last of my cocoa a few months ago. And now that it’s gone, I miss it.

I made this cake while in the midst of a baking-with-beer phase, using an Alaskan Smoked Porter I picked up at Rainbow. The beer goes in the cake, and also gets whisked into powdered sugar to form a thin glaze which locks in the cake’s moisture while it’s still warm. The smokey flavor is subtle; you might enjoy it with a mug of milky lapsang souchang tea (like this organic one from Arbor Teas). The recipe, adapted from Suzanne Goin’s Sunday Suppers at Lucques, originally called for Guinness, but you could use any stout or porter. Some nice options would be Bison’s Organic Chocolate Stout, or their Gingerbread Ale.

This moist, springy, tender cake would make perfect cupcakes. Enjoy it with a cup of tea or coffee for an afternoon snack, or alongside a scoop of milk chocolate stout ice cream for a decadent dessert.

Related recipes:
Pumpkin chocolate chunk coffee cake
Chocolate Granola
Curried coconut sweet potato tea cake

Smoked Porter Chocolate Cake

Adapted from Sunday Suppers at Lucques, by Suzanne Goin

Makes one 8″ round cake, 8-10 servings

The cake:

5 ounces (1 cup) all-purpose flour
1 1/2 ounces (6 tablespoons) dutch-processed cocoa powder
3/4 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon cloves
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup smoked porter (or other dark beer)
1/2 cup molasses
3/4 teaspoon baking soda
2 eggs
1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup vegetable oil (such as sunflower)

Preheat the oven to 350º. Grease an 8″ pan and line it with a round of parchment paper.

Sift together the dry ingredients.

In a large saucepan, heat the beer and molasses to a boil. Whisk in the baking soda. It will foam up A LOT so don’t try using a smaller pan or you will be very unhappy. Remove from the heat.

In a large bowl, whisk together the sugar, eggs and oil until combined. Add the beer mixture, whisking to combine. Add the dries and whisk until smooth. Pour into the prepared pan.

Bake in the center of the oven until the cake pulls away from the sides of the pan and springs back when pressed with your finger, 30-40 minutes. Cool ten minutes, then invert onto a plate, remove the parchment, and reinvert so that the cake is right side up.

The glaze:

1/2 cup powdered sugar, sifted
1 – 2 tablespoons smoked porter

Whisk together to form a glaze. Spread over the top of the warm cake.

The cake will keep well for a few days, stored airtight at room temperature.

Satsuma, Ginger and Oat Scones


Until recently, I never really *got* citrus fruits. Where I often spent winter longing for sweet strawberries and succulent peaches (and frankly still do), I never gave oranges and grapefruits much thought. Sometimes they appeared in my lunch bag, sometimes not. It didn’t much matter either way.

Except for the aforementioned summer fruit, I never thought much about the seasonality of produce, either, until one June day when I asked for leeks at a Bolognese produce stand. ‘Non sono di stagione,’ the vendor brusquely notified me; they are not in season. Leeks don’t have a season, I thought indignantly. They were like potatoes, onions, garlic, and lemons: available in the states any time of year.


Now that I work in the food industry in San Francisco, it’s rather impossible to remain ignorant of what comes into season when. But it wasn’t until we started receiving a CSA box that the citrus thing really began making sense to me.

Looking at a meyer lemon or a clementine when the sky has been overcast for a week feels a little like looking at the sun. And a sip of sweet juice from a fresh satsuma or pomelo tastes bright and vibrant. How clever of citrus to come into season just when we feel a dearth of those qualities, and need a dose of vitamin C to ward off flues and colds. I now cherish the glowing orange and yellow orbs that grace our eyes and taste buds in the dark, cold, and short days of winter, and look forward to the parade of citrus that marches through our kitchen each winter.

These scones are an excellent way to utilize the precious, flavorful zest of mandarins or tangerines, which gets rubbed into the buttery dough. Some of the juice gets whisked into powdered sugar for a simple glaze, and minced, candied ginger creates another layer of flavor. These scones were nothing short of spectacular dolloped with sour cream and our last jar of vanilla-meyer lemon marmalade. Any marmalade would be delicious here, or, if you just can’t wait til next spring, a spot of strawberry jam.


Thanks to Heidi Swanson at 101cookbooks for posting Romney Steele of Nepenthe’s awesome and simple oat scone recipe! I’m already plotting more variations…


Satsuma, Ginger and Oat Scones

Makes 8 reasonably-sized scones
Time: about 1 hour

1 1/2 cups all purpose, whole wheat or spelt flour (or a combination)

1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
zest of one or two satsuma mandarins (or four small clementines)
zest of one lemon (preferably meyer)
4 ounces (1/2 cup, 1 stick) cold, unsalted butter, cut into 1/4″ dice
1 cup rolled oats
5 tablespoons minced, candied ginger (one set aside for the topping)
1/2 cup buttermilk
Glaze:
1/3 cup powdered sugar
pinch salt
1 or 2 tablespoons satsuma juice, as needed

Position a rack in the middle of the oven and preheat to 425º. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper.

Combine the dries and zests in a large bowl. Work in the butter with your fingertips until the mixture resembles coarse sand with some pea-sized butter bits remaining. Toss in the oats. Add the buttermilk little by little, tossing with a rubber spatula, until the dough just comes together. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and pat into a 1′ high round, about 6″ in diameter. Cut the round into 8 wedges (they will look small, but will grow a lot as they bake). Place on the parchmented pan. Bake 15-20 minutes until golden, rotating once or twice. Let cool slightly.

Whisk together the powdered sugar, salt, and enough juice to make a thickly pourable glaze. Drizzle over scones. Sprinkle with 1 tablespoon minced ginger.

These are best served warm. They will keep at room temperature for a few days.



Roasted Winter Squash and Sage Tart

Growing up in the porn capital of the world in the 80’s and 90’s, I inevitably developed a valley accent. One night I said to my dad over a dinner of Trader Joe’s quiche, ‘Is this crust, like, whole wheat?’ My dad smirkingly replied, ‘It’s not only like whole wheat, it is whole wheat.’
You thought you were pretty clever, huh, dad?
The nutty richness of this tart crust reminds me of those heady days spent shopping at the mall, seeing movies at the mall, and just hanging out… at the mall. Of course, it never got as cold in LA as it does here. A snap like this makes it virtually impossible not to make a savory roasted squash tart with gruyere, goat cheese and truffle oil.
I mixed up a sourdough pate brisee, let it chill, then rolled it out and fitted it into a ceramic tart pan, which I like to use when making custard based tarts. While living in Santa Cruz, transitioning from a valley girl into a dirty hippy of whom people would often say, ‘Wow, I can’t believe you’re from LA,’ I once had the traumatic experience of making a quiche with a quinoa flour crust. I know; I’m better now. Since quinoa contains no gluten, my parbaked crust ended up peppered with dozens of tiny cracks and holes. I thought, what the heck, and poured my custard filling into the crust, which had been baked in a tart pan with a removable bottom. No, I had not placed the pan on a rimmed baking sheet. Yes, the filling leaked all over the oven. Disaster. Now I fearlessly use a one piece ceramic dish when making custard-based tarts, and I also reserve the dough scraps so that if the crust bakes up with a tear or hole, I simply patch it up before pouring in the filling. If using a two-piece pan, though, for the love of god, set it on a rimmed baking sheet before you go putting it in the oven willy-nilly. Unless you like scraping up burnt egg from the oven floor, in which case, don’t listen to me.
For the filling, I sauteed some chopped leek in butter and olive oil (yes, everything needs some of both) then tossed it with some white truffle oil, a secret weapon that I keep hidden in the cupboard which gives any food you put it on what the French call a little ‘I don’t know what.’ Cauliflower velouté, potatoes dauphinoise, wild mushroom duxelles, you name it. I have yet to make truffle oil ice cream, but it’s only a matter of time.
The leek got layered in the shell along with grated gruyere, cubes of roasted winter squash, goat cheese, sage, and some eggs beaten with milk and cream. Baked for 40 minutes and voila. The squash cubes make a pretty mosaic when the tart is sliced, and the velvety pockets of warm goat cheese contrast the flakey, crisp tart shell. Just the sort of thing to eat on a frigid 40º San Francisco evening… or morning.
My ideal accompaniment to this tart would be a crisp salad of arugula and chicories and a glass of sauvignon blanc or cava. It would be, like, rilly good.
Roasted Winter Squash Tart with Gruyere, Truffle oil and Sage
Makes one 10″ tart

Sourdough pate brisee:

You can substitute any pie dough for the crust, such as a half batch of Martha’s pate brisee. I prefer the following recipe as I always have an abundance of sourdough starter to use up. The starter gives the crust a little extra flavor and flake.

1 1/4 cups flour (all purpose, whole wheat or spelt, or a combination)
1/2 cup (4 oz.) unsalted butter, cold, cut into 1/2″ dice
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 – 1/2 cup liquid sourdough starter, cold or room temperature
Combine the flour and salt in a medium bowl. Add the butter and work with your fingertips or a pastry blender until the mixture resembles coarse meal with some larger, pea-sized chunks remaining. Gradually add the starter tossing the mixture with a rubber spatula or your hands, pressing it against the sides of the bowl, until the dough barely holds together when squeezed. You may not need all the starter, or you may need to add more. Gather the dough into a ball, put it in a plastic bag, and squash it into a 6″ disc. Chill at least 1/2 hour.
Place a rack in the lowest position of the oven and place a baking stone on it if you have one. Remove the other racks. Preheat the oven to 400º.
On a lightly floured surface, roll the dough into a 12″ round. Fit into a 10″ tart pan, double over the sides and press to even them out. They should be flush with the top of the pan. Chill at least 1/2 hour.
Line the crust with parchment paper and pie weights, dry garbanzos or cleaned pennies (I keep mine in a cheesecloth bag and put the whole thing atop a round of parchment placed in the crust). Press the weights so they snuggle into the corners, and bake on the stone until the bottom is mostly dry, about 10 minutes. Carefully remove the weights and parchment and continue baking until the bottom is dry and firm, another 10 minutes or so. Lower the oven to 375º.
Tart filling:
1 large leek, sliced, washed thoroughly and drained
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 teaspoon white truffle oil
2 oz. gruyere cheese, grated
1 1/2 – 2 cups roasted winter squash cubes (roast squash, cool, peel and cut into 1″ cubes)
2 oz. fresh goat cheese
2 tablespoons slivered fresh sage leaves
2 large eggs
3/4 cup whole milk
3/4 cup heavy cream
salt

Melt together the butter and olive oil in a medium skillet over medium heat. Saute the leek with 1/4 teaspoon salt until very tender and beginning to brown in places, 10 – 15 minutes. Remove from heat and toss in the truffle oil. Set aside.
Sprinkle the gruyere evenly over the bottom of the parbaked tart shell. Sprinkle the leeks over the cheese, then the squash chunks and the goat cheese in marble-sized bits, and finally the sliced sage. Sprinkle 1/4 teaspoon salt over the squash. Beat together the eggs with 1/2 teaspoon salt until very smooth, then beat in the milk and cream.
Place the tart on the baking stone and carefully pour in the milk/egg mixture until the tart is as full as possible without overflowing. (A tip from the Tartine cookbook: when the custard has barely set, make a small hole in the center of the tart with a knife, and pour in any extra custard.) Bake at 375º until slightly puffed, set, and browned in places, about 40 minutes. Remove and cool slightly before slicing into wedges and serving.