A Tale of Two Chickies

Once again, it's time to visit Gallus Domesticus, the Chicken. Such a multi-talented bird. The chicken serves as an egg factory, insect control, all-natural alarm clock, and even a schoolyard goading and insulting tool. Entire cookbooks have been written about them, and international conglomerates make billions of dollars by frying and selling them, albeit not before loading them up with all kinds of icky chemicals, enhancers, and artificial crud, but that's another blog.

The versatility of chicken carries two common pitfalls. The risk of cooking it to the point where it's a mass of dry stringy rubber, or having skin that is so pallid and mushy, that before we even taste it, we take the safer road and banish the skin to the side of our plates, covering up the maneuver by cleverly telling ourselves (and perhaps whoever did the cooking) that "I'm just really being careful with my diet these days."

I'll admit that my chicken dishes have on several occasions suffered at the hands of these two culinary specters. So I wanted to see if it is really possible to get juicy meat, and a tasty skin that doesn't taste like a deflated chunk of greasy rubber ball. But I also wanted something relatively easy to execute and college student friendly that could be done say with one pan and little else.

For starters, I wanted to minimize the risk of drying, so I decided to not cook chicken breasts which I think are the least flavorful part, and opted for whole chicken legs and thighs. These cuts I believe are more suitable for substantial "one dish" dinners because they all have a uniform shape and a leg joint that has a lot of yummy collagen we can convert to lip-smacking, finger licking gelatin. And we can fit 3 legs and 3 thighs into one pan, which makes for a pretty good bounty from just one cooking vessel. Also, I don't know what has gotten into the heads of grocers these days, but there is no way I'm shelling out ten bucks for a tiny pack of three or four chicken breasts, but I'll pay seven dollars for the family-size econo-pack of legs and thighs. Score 1-0 for frugality.

Now for both chicken dishes, I wanted to cook them in the same relative fashion, but make just a couple changes between two dishes to see if there would be dramatic differences in results. A relatively simple experiment I think.

Next for me was the cooking method. The most simple way I know to get good texture is to go low and slow when it comes to legs and thighs. So for the primary method, I took chicken A, lightly seasoned it with Lawry's seasoned salt (My pepper grinder disappeared on me, but that's a lament for another day), browned it up in a saute pan, and then braised it with some onions and a little garlic for about an hour and some change in a 300 degree oven. For a sauce, I went very simple, just a little bit of the pan jus with a squeeze of lime.

This method yielded chicken that fell off the bone, and it was moist, and it did make the most of the lip-smacking goodness from the leg joint. But the skin was a bit on the gummy side from being braised for so long, and the meat did fall apart a bit more than I would have liked. (Nothing wrong with shredded chicken, it's just not what I wanted here). Also, the sauce just kind of ran off the chicken and settled into a puddle on the plate. It wasn't bad, I just prefer my sauce to drape the meat in a cloak of yummy deliciousness. I don't like to have to go sauce hunting on the plate.

So, what could be done with chicken B that would correct these mild problems? I wanted to add flavor into the chicken meat itself, crisp the skin, and have the meat be fall off the bone tender, but still have some body to it along with a smooth, savory sauce that really stayed on the chicken where it belonged.

For starters, I wanted to layer flavoring into the meat itself. This I did by brining the chicken for about a half hour or so in a solution of water, salt, lemon juice and some good (but not great) tequila. After that, there followed the same procedure for chicken A: Stove-top browning followed by a good long and slow braise in the oven. Only this time when the chicken was done, I removed it to a plate and ran the pan juices through my gravy separator. Then, to ensure that the skin would not suffer again, the chicken went back in the pan and the whole thing got a 2 minute blast under the broiler. This crisped the skin nicely, and blackened it just a little bit for a "hot off the grill" flavor.

I wanted to make use of the fond in the bottom of the pan. After all, it's tough to beat the flavor of a good solid pan sauce when you can take advantage of a nice fond. So again, the chicken came out of the pan, and the pan went pack over the stove (and the dish ran away with the spoon ;) ). Since tequila went in the brine, I thought it would bring a nice balance to the dish if I included it in the sauce. I used tequila to deglaze all those yummy brown bits on the bottom of the pan and then added the pan juices back (leaving the fat in the separator). Then it reduced down a little before tossing in some lemon zest, a splash of lemon juice, and then a little fresh cilatro for brightening and a couple pats of butter to convert the mixture into a velvety smooth pan au jus that had the clinging power I desired. A little bit of seasoning to finish, and chicken 2.0 was ready.

Wow what a difference between the two. The few extra steps in making this dish gave it a depth of flavor that really turned up the volume here. The meat was again fall off the bone, but much more flavorful thanks to the brining process. The skin was so much better than before, the broiling helped the skin stand up to having a sauce layered onto it. There was a little bit of softening to the skin, but it still had a smokey, citrus and fresh, bright flavor. There was no harshness from any alcohol, which had long since cooked away, leaving only a light hint of agave in the background, almost as an after thought. All without any fatty "chewing gum" symptoms at all in the skin. Of course, the downside was that chicken B took about 2 hours to cook from start to finish, most of the wait time was for the brining. I think this will be one of those dishes I make on Sunday evening so I can have chicken for lunch on Monday, scoring two meals from one long cooking session.

I'm ecstatic that just a little bit of tinkering with this common and simple bird yielded such a dramatic result, and this post has gone on long enough. You all must be getting hungry by now from reading for so long. If you want to get a chicken like this, just brine it, brown it, braise it, broil it, blacken it (if you like), and you'll have a chicken formula that gives undeniable satisfaction and everything you could want from our versatile friend, Gallus Domesticus. The best part is, it leaves you free to use any flavors you like. It's not a "tequila and citrus only" method! It's an ideal canvas for trying flavors from around the world, and celebrating the diversity and versatility of our little clucking friends.

Yes, it's a little more work, and if you're thinking that all this sounds like too much of a challenge for you to try, all I can say is "C'mon, give it a try, what are you, Chicken?"

Lunch, the mostly forgotten meal.

On some occasions it's a powerbar from the vending machine. On others it's an extravagant business meeting disguised as a meal. Many times it comes from a pre-packaged Styrofoam coffin or value menu, and more often than anyone would like to admit, it is simply left off the menu. I'm talking about Lunch. The other daily meal.

So what happened to Lunch? I would postulate that Lunch became a casualty of the busy lifestyle of today. Gone are the feel-good images of mom working in the morning at the kitchen counter and packing a lunchbox with a sandwich, occasionally a coveted fruit roll up, and the cafeteria floor trading blue-chip, the jello pudding pack.

Now that I'm not on the insane schedule of 26 hour days, 8 days a week at Pasadena City College, I decided that I will not continue to relegate Lunch to cheap chinese takeout or Burgerman's greasified, nap inducing 99 cent offerings. At the same time, lunch doesn't (and in my opinion, shouldn't) be a place of fine dining cuisine experimentation.

Rather, I decided to take just a few simple ingredients, and put them into a pack that will keep well without getting funky. I wanted something refreshing for both my palate and my midday meal. So today, here is my take on a (relatively) healthy sandwich for my new (also, relatively) active lifestyle.

Portobello mushrooms sauteed in olive oil and a little butter, with roasted yellow peppers, thinly sliced shallot, fresh escarole and cilantro, and a little smidge of mayonnaise, on a whole wheat pita. Rest assured, this one has some serious flavors going on. Meaty goodness from the mushrooms, subtle but unique sweetness from the roasted peppers, a little bite (but not too much) from the shallot make for a somewhat traditional vege-sandwich. But here's where I had some fun.

Instead of done-to-death iceberg or romaine, I went out on a leaf and chose baby escarole and fresh cilantro for my greens. It was a gamble, but the slightly bitter and peppery escarole in combination with the bright cilantro really turned up the volume on this sandwich. I'm not much of a fan of Mayo, but just a thin spread on the whole wheat Pita gave the whole wheat pita just enough moisture to not dry out my mouth, potentially robbing me of the full experience of my little lunch creation.

All this sound like a little too much work for lunch? Think again. 10 minutes to roast a pepper, and 5 minutes to saute a mushroom is the bulk of the work to make this. After eating it I really wanted to eat another one, not because I was left hungry from eating "healthy" food, but because it was really pretty darned good. And given the longing yet jealous looks in the eyes of my classmates who were dining on, well, college student food (insert fast food brand name here), I am hoping to repeat this lunchtime experimentation, and hopefully bring back some enthusiasm to the oft maligned, and sometimes unanswered question: "What's for Lunch?"

461 dishes to go!

Warning! Berry Smooth Terrine Ahead

Occasionally one encounters a technique or dish that truly widens the horizon of culinary exploration. For example, the first time you ever cook eggs IN your hash browns, or bring a steak to sizzling perfection on a rocket-hot charcoal grill. These beautiful cooking milestones are exciting because they show that be it by experimentation, careful planning, or even by fortuitous accident, a cook can always discover new and exciting directions to take in the pursuit of cuisine. Tonight was such a night for me. Tonight, I discovered the simple elegance of the Terrine.

Now, I had no idea of what a terrine was 2 days ago, until I went to the Getty museum with a good friend of mine and noticed among the cultural treasures there a serving dish called a "Terrine". It had lobsters carved onto it, and this piqued my interest. Leave it to a food fanatic to be enthralled with the silver antique serving dish instead of the Monet collection. But I digress.

A little research led me to discover that a Terrine was not just a serving vessel, but a type of dish itself that can be savory or sweet. With near infinite choices before me for my first dive into the terrine pool, and considering that it was 105 degrees in my apartment, I decided to go with a sweet summer treat of fresh berries. But a Terrine is more than just a giant bowl of fresh berries (as great as that is!).

For my Terrine, I wanted all the flavors of my farm-fresh-picked strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries to come through, but be tied together with something that would offset the potential sour factor that is inevitable when gorging oneself on fresh summer berry bounty. After serious thought, I decided to go with a Rose wine, simmered with superfino sugar and some lemon juice to ensure the alcohol would cook off a bit, and not be too overwhelming. What secret ingredient did I use to tie everything together, you ask? Gelatin. Plain, unflavored, 70 cents a box Knox gelatin. That's right dear readers, my fancy Terrine was basically fruit cup jello, taken to it's highest peaks.

I'll admit I was a little apprehensive when my assembled and 24 hour chilled Terrine came out of the loaf pan I chilled it in. A little whip cream and strawberry garnish made for a nice accoutrement, and I gingerly took a bite, worrying if using wine for a jelly base was a good idea. Wow. Just Wow. The sugar and lemon in the Rose wine made a distinctly bright jelly, and brought out the natural sweetness in the berries. The whipped cream (homemade from heavy whipping cream, no spray cans this time) brought a smooth and velvety texture that helped hold the beautifully balanced flavors on the palate for just a few more fleeting seconds. It was so invigorating to taste a berry dessert that tasted like berries and not chumba-womba-mega-blue-fructose-berry-blast pancreatic shocking cocktail mix from hell.

I will not comment further on the tasting of this terrine, as this entry is long on the page already. But I will say that for what amounts to little more than berries and the original Jello, this new-found Terrine experiment in both the savory and sweet forms calls for more kitchen exploration on my part. And for me, "There's always room" for that.

Back to the Kitchen!

The velvety lemon and butter white wine sauce clinging to my taste buds is the ultimate indication that my move to UCLA is now complete. Now with a hopefully decent schedule, I will once again be able to work in my favorite lab of all time, the Kitchen (and yes, that is with a capital "K").

For my first meal in the new place, I took the kitchen through some light paces with steamed and lightly sauteed asparagus, and chicken saltimbocca, one of my all time favorite dishes. I also chose this dish for it's relative simplicity. After all, getting back to cooking after subsisting on horrid mass-produced fast food cardboard could render some horrid results were I to push the envelope too much.

Chicken saltimbocca is the string quartet of the culinary world. Thin and crispy prosciutto, juicy and flavorful chicken breast, fresh sage, and a bright sauce can either be gastronomic nirvana, or an acrid,dry, burned mass of dissappointment. All it takes is a little timing, some attention to detail (not TOO much attention), and patience. Why patience? because this dish is so good I nearly drove myself crazy wanting to skip the last bit of cooking and just chomp the chicken and proscuitto down, then chug the sauce as a chaser. But I held things together pretty well (hiccup).

A little bit of seasoned flour, some chopping, mincing, steaming and sauteing, reduction and garnish and before you could say "Mama Mia" my plate was adorned with my prize. Food. REAL FOOD.

I would love to drone on about the magnificent dish I made this evening, but tooting my own horn is not a great hobby of mine. My glass of pinot grigio is beckoning to me, and all I will say about this chicken saltimbocca is that I bought TWO chicken breasts to cook. One for tonight, and one for tomorrow. Because flavor like this cannot be left to just one tasting.

Until out next meal together, from my matchbook apartment overlooking UCLA, I bid you all "Good Eating".

Where's the cook?

I've been asking myself that question for the past month over every taco-double-cheeseburger-hot-dog-pita-monstrosity I consumed from the fast-food mongers of the world. The simple answer is: working my robust ass off! College finals are just around the corner, final projects are due, and all sorts of other collegiate tortures abound.
Following the end of school, I'm moving closer to UCLA for the next program that starts in July.
The good news is that once I'm moved into the new apartment, which is equipped with a humble kitchen I'll be able to have some more time for culinary relaxation. I may get in a dish or two between, but for now, every double-combo-#9-with twisty seasoned chipotle fries from Taco Hut is the norm.
Whoever is controlling time out there, I would like to have some more please. =)

One-Dish Wonderful

Surviving off of Taco-Hell, Chalupas of questionable origin, Burger King and Pizza hut is just surviving. My friend asked me the other day "How can you be so into cooking and still like eating this junk?" My answer was "I never said anything about liking this crap."

It's a fact that my current college program has me believing in time travel, because I'm working more hours than can fit into a week. I've been getting home exhausted, too tired to even cook a peanut butter sandwich. With finals approaching, yet still no end in sight to the fast-food quandry in which I find myself, I had to make a little escape. With little in the fridge or cupboards, I went with an old stand-by for dinner, the one-dish skillet meal, sans the "Hamburger Helper".

This time it was a baked pasta. Baked Penne to be precise. Normally, the only baked pastas one has regular exposure to are Lasagna and Zitis, but because both of these dishes are time consuming, I wanted to see what would happen if I tried this in one dish.

The ingredients were pretty simple. I had some mushrooms that looked good still, some garlic, onion, olive oil, and a big can of tomatoes. A little knifework, some mashing and sauteing yielded a very servicable duxelles, after which I deglazed with some white wine. I like telling people I made "Duxelles" for dinner. They think I'm all smart and Chefy, but it's just a fancy-pants word for "Sauteed onions and mushrooms." Deglazing also sounds cool, instead of "I dumped a bunch of wine in the pan." But I digress.

In went the tomatoes, a few cups of water for the 12 ounces of pasta to absorb, and then then top went on. Simmering away, my apartment went from smelling like dirty scrubs and carving wax to that of a small mom and pop style Trattoria.
Once the pasta was "pre-aldente but not raw, that's when the leftover 1/3 bag of mozzarella went in, along with some fresh chopped basil and a bit of parsley. I thickened the mixture with just a dousing of flour very gently to avoid lumps forming,
tossed more cheese on top, and into a 475 degree oven it went to get ooey gooey cheesey and good.

The result? Ok, so it's not the baked Ziti Mama used to make, but with a little basil and pecorino on top, it sure did come close. Bright tomato flavor balanced beautifully with the freshness of the herbs, the Pasta had finished to a perfect al dente, and the sauce was gravy-thick without tasting starchy. A few torn basil leaves over the top really made it a confort food dish for me, and for just a few short bites, the rigors of the scholastic environment faded from my mind; replaced by the aromas and taste of home. And that is truly a one-dish-wonder I can handle.

The "Spring-Broken" Soup Situation.

Ahh the joys of high-stress, close quarters college classrooms. Shared knowledge, fun learning, and there's always one sterling genius who comes to class with a bug instead of staying home, which inevitably passes it on to the rest of us. So after spending most of my spring break in bed, subsisting on cool water and a half eaten jumbo bag of Tostitos, I finally began to feel well enough (and hungry enough) to stagger into the kitchen to conjure up some basic nutrition, in the hope of aiding my recovery from this lovely tuition-free college perk.

Of course, only 1 guy in history has ever conjured a feast from virtually nothing, and seeing that I still can't walk on water, I had to go to the store for some chicken stock. There I also found some escarole that looked pretty fresh, so I snatched it up as well.

Once I got home, I wanted something doable in one pot. A small pot too, since I didn't feel like hefting a hulking cauldron of boiling whatever around. So I washed and chopped up the escarole and sauteed it up with some extra virgin olive oil and lots and LOTS of freshly minced garlic. If garlic doesn't have healing benefits, then I've been suffering from the worlds longest and greatest case of placebo effect. So about 4 cloves found their way into this soup. Vampires and first dates beware! A splash of lemon juice at the end helped bring some brightness and acidity to the party.

Setting the escarole aside once it wilted nicely I brought a quart of chicken stock to a boil. Without bothering to ask forgiveness to the food-god-powers-that-be, I mercilessly broke half a pound of spaghetti in half and tossed it into the stock, along with 3 crushed cloves of crushed garlic....yes, more garlic.

I am pleased to say that despite my dual gastronomic blasphemies (breaking spaghetti, AND cooking it in less than a gallon of water), a little attentive stirring gave the pasta enough motion to cook quite nicely and as soon as it qualified as al dente, it was unceremoniously dumped over the escarole. A hefty amount of black and red pepper, along with the king of cheeses and a quick shot of olive oil over the top finished out the main flavors. Still wanting some freshness, a handful of chopped parsley was ready and willing to fill that role.

Now granted, when you're sick you don't really taste much, but this concoction had the chickeny-goodness of chicken-noodle soup, a pleasant mild bitterness and earthy undertones of sauteed escarole, and the "turned up to 11" punch and pungency of garlic and spice to help make me feel better. Is it any coincidence that I feel much better today? I think not. The soup was so invigorating that shortly after I was well enough to work on some homework. I think I'll even make some more today. Hell I might even return to the land of the living by Monday.

The aftermath (1 of?)

Ohhhh how I wish I had taken my camera with me on Saturday. The meal that escaped was simple. Pot Roast, Baked Beans, and Potatoes. That's it. But it came out SO well. I know this because as everyone ate, the only conversation really going on was the sound of forks on plates, and various slurps, chomps, and lip smacks. Friends who were fortunate enough to take leftovers from the HUGE meal (a few people cancelled, so we had quite the surplus) told me the next day that it went over great on toast for breakfast. I had planned some sort of Po-boy sandwich with my leftovers, but instead, just went old school. I turned mine into a big bowl of shredded beef and bean stew.

It looks like....well, never mind what it looks like! The aroma of smoked bacon, molasses, brown sugar, spices and the unmistakable scent of slow-cooked beef permeated every square foot of my apartment. All combined into a bowl of hearty goodness. You can rest assured that I'll make pot roast, baked beans, and potatoes again, if for no other reason than to explore the seemingly vast leftover possibilities that this culinary combination yields. I should also make the dish again for the photographic opportunities. This is somewhat of a journal in culinary explanation after all, and I am trying to be scientific about it to some degree. .... Or I could just be looking for an excuse to make more pot roast!

446 to go, (just counting the stew here, not the baked beans or pot roast. I'll count those when I have the photos to match!)

Late night muchies

It happens to everyone. The inability to sleep. Too late to order pizza or go out for food, yet the munchie monster demands something tasty. What better opportunity to put some skill to the test. These times are making my pocketbook a bit anorexic, so I didn't have much of anything on hand. Except some eggplants, a few eggs, and some herbs. Knowing that I have had some pretty less-than-fabulous eggplant frying experiences before, I wasn't too keen on trying this purple orb again so soon, but either out of hunger or frugality, I decided to not let this last eggplant go to waste.

After 30 minutes of purging the eggplant in salt, I went for the fastest cooking method I could think of. Frying. A quick dip in some beaten egg, well seasoned flour, and it was time to plunge my eggplant into the hot-oil bath. Extra virgin olive oil was all I had on hand really, so that's what I used. You see, frying is only bad for you if you fry in something other than olive oil. Olive oil is healthy, therefore, in my twisted little mildly delusional world, frying is healthy too.

The thinly-sliced eggplant rounds cooked up surprisingly fast, just about a minute per side brought out a nice golden brown. I quickly pulled them from the cast iron skillet turned fryer, and set them to dry on a paper towel. Once they were all done and ready for the plate, all it took was a quick shot of olive oil across the top, some pecorino cheese, black pepper, and a few flecks of Fresh Thyme and this finished things off nicely.

I must say, This may be one of my new favorite snack foods. Crisp on the outside, slightly creamy on the inside, with the unmistakably fruity and salty taste of olive oil and pecorino cheese. All of it bound together with the bright flavor of fresh eggplant.

Yup, tonight the munchies monster met his match, and I found out that you really can fry eggplant if you take a little time to prepare them first. Cut'em thin, purge'em well, fry'em up good and fast, and devour right away. It's surprise meals like this that make cooking such a fun adventure. Sometimes it is just best to rummage around the kitchen, pick something, and just COOK it. Until next time. =)

447 to go

A chicken in every pot

Many people are familiar with this 1928 Presidential campaign slogan. Herbert Hoover promised the American people that there would be "A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage." Debating the veracity and wisdom of government providing the needs of a populace can wait for another blog, on another day. Hell, I'm more interested in this chicken-in-a-pot cooking scenario.

During the First Great Depression, everything was scarce, including food. Back then there was no internet, no recipe guides, no designer Whole Foods market selling people triple-organic soybean protein washed in unicorn tears. But many people, especially those still living on farms could conjure up a chicken or two. But without fancy French cooking techniques and even fancier ingredients and equipment, could someone cook a meal using only a pot, a chicken, and whatever they had on hand to make a meal that was not only nutritious, but actually GOOD too?

Tonight, I found out. I went and bought a big-ol'chicken at the store. Nothing else. Just a chicken. Now, I wasn't going to just throw my bird into a pot of water and boil it to dry and disgusting imperfection. I needed to add some aromatics at least.

Riffling around the fridge, I discovered a still-usable bit of celery. No carrots or other vegetables really, but there were a few sprigs of Rosemary. I found an onion in my sock drawer (yes, I keep onions in my sock drawer because it's a cool dry place).
A bay leaf and a few cloves of garlic rounded out the aromatics, and the chicken and his new companions soon found themselves in a nice and hot dutch oven, which then went into a 250 degree oven.

About 90 minutes later, I opened up the ducth oven and was very surprised. I found a marvelously cooked chicken, with about 2 full cups or more of pan juices!

Now I knew that I didn't want to just let that jus go to waste, so I did strain it and siphon off the fat to create a flavorful au jus. I had an old lemon sitting out, and there was enough juice in it to just brighten up the jus a bit. A fresh hit of black pepper and I was ready for dinner.

Wow. All I can say is WOW. Cooking a chicken in a pot (with no wine, broth, or any other real liquid) yields a very intense and "chickeny" bird indeed. I don't think I've had too many birds that tasted "just like chicken" as much as this chicken did.
The skin was soft, yet flavorful from browning. The meat was tender and juicy, and it was all draped gently in a coat of lip-smackin' au jus. And it was all done with just 1 pot, a chef's knife (and I confess, a strainer and gravy seperator for the jus). But that was about it. While I don't think a dish like this will influence my politics in any way, I can say that if people were eating chicken cooked this way during the 1928 elections, then I can certainly see how boasting that there would be "A chicken in every pot..." would lead to a victory for whoever boasted this sentiment. At least politicians were selling more than "Hope and Change" back then. Put that in your pot and cook it...

448 recipes to go!

My bouncing baby baguette

At some point in history, (God only knows when), somebody had the bright idea to combine flour, water, salt and yeast together. Then the concoction was somehow baked, and bread was born. At least that's how I imagine the origins of bread. A culinary "monkey and the bone" moment (an obscure Space Odyssey reference there).

Then came the French, who kneaded, stretched and perfected what to me has become the defining form of bread, the baguette. Yes I know I've already blogged about baguettes and my misadventures. But tonight my gripes come to an end, if only for a moment. Perhaps Providence saw fit on this Easter Sunday to grant me a success in bread-making so to remind us all that dough is not the only "risen" gift to come about today. Who knows?

Sadly, pictures and the printed page do not do this creation justice. Ladies and gentlemen, there simply is no explanation or pontificating I can muster that can convey the satisfaction of making a made-from-scratch baguette. At least I can't do so in this venue. Given a bit of time, I am fairly certain I could conjure endless eloquencies and praises for this glorified-giant-French-breadstick.

Warm; soft; chewey; golden; This little baguette was all of these things. The big differences this time around were my use of egg-wash, steam, and a little change in baking time and temperature. Such small details really do make such a difference, and a delicious difference indeed. This loaf, however, will have to live on in cyberspace because it lasted about 10 minutes after the photo-shoot. Devoured by a ravenous tubby Italiano. I still have some more dough in the fridge, and I plan on rectifying that situation in a few hours so I can share some of this "Bountious Goodnees" (as Pops would pray) with my fellow classmates.

Bilbo Baguette, and the Lord of the Loaves.

Literally... I was pinching a loaf of bread to try and get it nice and smooth. I've been experimenting with baguettes for the past few days, and though they taste really nice, they have been coming out UGLY as an ingrown wart on a baboon's back side.

Hideous splits are exploding my little cooked dough balls, and to keep it from hapening tonight, I just pinched the little leftover seams from rolling the dough out closed, thinking this would solve the problem. It doesn't. So tomorrow I may take a stroll down to the college kitchen and see if I can wrangle the chef into telling me the jedi secrets of baking a baguette with no open (or exploding seams).

Why this interest in baking all of a sudden? Well, as much as I love my porterhouses, pork chops, and yummy cheeses. It gets expensive after a while, and I'm a broke college student. So it is time to begin exploring the wide, WIDE world of baking. And where else to really start with proper baking than with what is perhaps the best known type of bread anywhere, the simple yet amazingly frustrating baguette.

I'm off to do more studying for our tests tomorrow. On the bright side of failure when it comes to bread making, my kitchen smells obscenely delicious for hours on end.

I came, I saw, I cooked eggplant

So I've been absent for a few days of blogging. I could blame school work, which would be the usual suspect. However, this has not been the case. I've been cooking more eggplants than you could beat with a stick. I stopped counting at 18 purple globes of bitter doom. And tonight was my final play. If I didn't get it tonight, I fully intended to relegate Eggplant to the "mystery bin", an imaginary bin where I place foods that I just cannot cook to an edible condition. And truthfully, I tried every cooking method known to modern mankind. I baked, fried, steamed (which was a horrid disaster), grilled, and burned a multitude of eggplant.

Tonight, in desperation, I turned to roasting. And all I can say is "BOOYAH BABY I GOT IT!" After consulting with my family and gleaning a few tricks from Grandma Rose's arsenal of eggplant cookery, I finally cooked my first eggplant properly. And it was so very simple, I felt like a dumbass for not getting it like this sooner.

To put it in perspective, the closest I had come thus far to edible eggplant involved skinning, slicing, purging, soaking, breading, frying, and broiling. The end result tasted like a mass of cheese with red sauce with a bitter-eggplant filler. Bitter eggplant tastes a lot like an ashtray in seltzer water. The point is that even after trying all kinds of steps to make eggplant taste like, well, NOT eggplant, tonight was so much better. All I did was:

1. cut an eggplant lengthwise (a critical difference, I'd previously been slicing them into rounds)

2. score the flesh with a knife and salt everything well to purge for 45 mins.

3. Toss them on a parchment paper lined baking sheet and bake for an hour or so in a roasty-toasty oven.

4. toss on cheese and some herbs (fresh thyme) and reap the benefits.

So simple, so easy, and it was really good. Very bright and perky, slightly smokey, a little oily, but pleasantly so, and the texture was soft, but it held together quite well.
I served it with another Italian classic. Spaghetti Carbonara. I went with this one becasue carbonara is basically a culinary trump card. It's unsmoked bacon (pancetta or procuitto), egg, some cream, cheese and copius amounts of black pepper. It can make literally ANYTHING taste good.

In making the carbonara, I was fortunate in that I could not find any unsmoked bacon anywhere, so I went with a top quality smoked variety. And boy did I hit pay dirt from that little faux pas. It turns out that the smokey flavor of the bacon melds beautifully with the bite of the eggplant, and the creamy, savory sauce tied the meal together beautifully. Fresh thyme and basil added right at the end imparted a fresh and clean aroma.

I am so pleased with this eggplant experiment, and now that I have a solid way of cooking them (at least the globe variety), I am actually looking forward to things like poor man's caviar, iraqi eggplant and lamb stew, and maybe another go at the eggplant marquis dish , eggplant parmesan.

For now though, I think I'll find something to cook that is a little less ... purple.

Until next time, I bid you all Good Eating.

Purple Haze

Strolling around Valu-Mart the other night while pondering what to cook and consume in ravenous fashion, I came across a big bin sitting in the middle of the produce section. It had about 20 people around it and they were all scrambling to get at whatever goodies were inside. Just like one can often choose a good restaurant based on how busy it, I figured whatever was in the box must be culinary gold based on the crowd around it.

I love being a big fat bald white guy sometimes. It works out especially well when everyone around me is 5-foot-nothing and timid. One authoritative "Excuse me, please." and the crowd parts ways. Like Moses and the Red Sea baby.

What I found in the bin were some perfectly ripe eggplants. And they were three for a dollar. I haven't bought anything for that kind of price since 1992. So my hand was forced. I grabbed three exra-terrestrial looking orbs and headed for the cash register. Eggplant. It's a vegetable. How hard can it be?

Turns out, eggplant is a pain in the ass and then some. I knew you had to purge it with salt for a little while, but to make those things edible requires a certain technique, and last night, I was totally out of my league.

I did learn this:

You cannot slice off a 3/4 inch chunk of eggplant, salt it for a half hour, bread it and then fry it and have something palatable. There is no amount of olive oil or even butter that could have saved my eggplant from a purple and parmesan coated grave. I think that it may be arguable that when Jimmy Hendrix was singing about "Purple Haze", he may have just had a really bad eggplant trip, man.

The end result was so bitter, I could swear it was almost weapons grade. My mouth was actually sore for hours afterward. I've had eggplant before so I can't say I am allergic to it, but tonight I am once again defeated by my kitchen. Defeated and fascinated. How could one thing be so unpalatable in one form, and delicious in it's cooked form, AND have a nice long and relatively difficult means of prep required to make it?

I have not given up on this purple Barney the Dinosaur egg-sack yet though. I'll be back tomorrow, armed with a font of knowledge on how to really, REALLY turn this purple bitter bomb into a purple masterpiece worth singing about.

Italian fungal fowl

Wow last week was hellacious. I'm now in school 7 days a week, pulling an easy 12-16 hour day. So the question last night was "what's good, easy, tasty, and fast? A bit of mental wrestling and I decided to try a take on a classic. Chicken Marsala and linguine, quite possibly the best combination of chicken and mushrooms yet devised.

Aside from the company of a pint or two of frosty brew, one of my favorite kitchen past times is pan-frying chicken. Why? Because you transform a piece of pale and floppy meat into a golden, brown and crispy piece of deliciousness.

I wanted something that would cook fast, and while chicken isn't exactly a slow-cooking dish, I didn't want to take the time to cut and pound a chicken breast into a milanese style cutlet. So while it cost me a little more than I would normally spend on chicken, I splurged and went with boneless, skinless thighs.

I wanted to pack in the flavor for this one, so some nice crimini mushrooms, plenty of garlic, a little onion, and of course marsala wine and some hearty chicken stock.

I'd love to have an artful and eloquent description of how this dish comes together, but it literally is a simple process of dredging some chicken in seasoned flour, browning it, cooking up some garlic, onion, and mushrooms, tossing in some wine and stock, and then finishing the chicken in the sauce. Simple, easy, and served over some linguine, it is one of the most easy and fast comfort foods that you can whip up in under about 20 minutes and some change.

The sauce makes itself as it reduces, thoroughly infused with the flavor of marsala wine, crimini mushrooms, butter and chickeny goodness. The chicken comes out so moist and tender, with a crispy crust that manages to remain so, even as it becomes saturated with the sauce.

This dish helps take the edge off a bit from nearly 24 hours a day of schooling. I cannot wait for this semester of rush-rush-rush to be over so I can really take some time and play in my kitchen.

Another round for Saint Pat's Day!

Ok, admit it, you like Saint Patrick's day. Not only is it an excuse to get drunk and refer to your inebriated condition as "pissed" (with a terrible Irish accent hopefully), but it's a reason to eat super-yummy foods that you normally wouldn't eat on a normal day of sobriety.

So in addition to my beloved gut-bomb of corned beef and cabbage, I salute all the Irish lads and lasses everywhere (even those of you who are only Irish for a day) with a split-pea soup. Not JUST a split pea soup, but a split peas soup with a cream finish served in a baked potato shell, topped with chive, monterey jack cheese, and one of the culinary Saints, bacon.

This dish is the result of a pleasant mistake. I had originally aimed for a twice-baked potato with soup on the side. However when I went to make my potato filling, I ended up with more of a hodge-podge of lumpy sour cream, heavy cream, butter, intermingled with chunky potato bits. Let's just say that it was something not even a blind-drunk and starving leprechaun would eat. But the Luck of the Irish must have been on my side, because in the midst of my kitchen-craft dismay, I realized that I had a hollow baked potato skin just sitting on the counter...Sitting on the counter next to a simmering bowl of split pea soup. It was a light-bulb above the head moment.

I finished the soup and ladled it into the potato bowl, tossing in a few stray chunks of good potato for kicks, and then put a healthy dose of monterey jack cheese on the top. A few minutes in a hot oven turned the shredded cheese into a melded batch of lucky goodness. A little chive on one side, and a healthy stack of bacon on the other, and I had myself an Irish bowl of hot and thick melty goodness. I don't know if Split Peas are Irish, but they're green, so for the next 24 hours, that makes them Irish. Plus I'm betting everyone will be too drunk to call me on it! (and hopefully they will also forget that "Melty" is not a word.)

Visuals aside, this soup boasts a sublime simplicity. A dish truly borne of the salt of the earth, and the toil of hard working farmers.It's tough to get more humble than potatoes and peas. The potato skin was crispy and firm, and did not get soggy from the soup. The earthiness of the split peas compliments the potato beautifully, and is given a velvet-like body from the cream finish and a bit of butter. The seasonings, like the dish itself are simple; a little bacon for smokiness, some celery, carrot and onion, a dash of garlic powder, 1 bay leaf, and some salt and pepper. Crisped potato skins make for a great batch of croutons for sopping up what your spoon doesn't get. All the ingredients here married into a dish of gastronomic elegance that belies the most humble of origins. Just peas and potatoes out for a pint or ten with a few well-seasoned friends. Makes me want another round just writing about it.

453 lucky recipes to go!

Better than a pot o'gold, and twice as lucky.

I'm Irish. Of course, nobody ever believes me when I say that, because I'm normally boasting about my Italian heritage, and I usually claim Irish heritage on St. Patrick's Day (along with the rest of the entire population of the universe for some reason).
Truth is I'm a Hybrid. The running joke is that the main advantage I have being half Italian/Irish is that I can go to the pub and get $hit-faced drunk and still be sober enough to drive home and beat my wife! A rather unfair stereotype really, since I am neither married, nor do I drink and drive (you can spill your beer that way!).

But one thing I do love, and I really do L-O-V-E it, is my family's traditional dinner on St. Patrick's Day. You already know what I'm referencing don't you? Yeahhhh you do. I speak of course of the only dish that personifies Irish fare, that miraculous combination of .... ..... Oysters and Yogurt Sauce! Don't start throwing things yet, I just wanted to see if you were paying attention. No, my belowed corned beef and cabbage is the only fare I desire when the only holiday "greener" than Earth Day rolls around.

This year I invited some friends over to share in this wonderful bounty. And also marking another first for me, I made corned beef. I don't mean I went to the store and bought a corned beef and cooked it, nooooo. I mean I MADE corned beef, from scratch. Turns out it was one of the best culinary decisions I've ever made. I went to the butcher and ordered up a USDA Choice flat-cut brisket. I thought I would have to make-out with a leprechaun or lick the blarney stone to figure out how the secrets of transforming a humble and stringy brisket into a real corned beef. Turns out all it took was some salt, water, brown sugar, cloves, allspice, black peppercorns, bay leaf, and mustard seeds, and about a week in brining time. Just in case my efforts yielded a moldy, musty chunk of gross meat, I also did buy a corned beef from the store. This was an ideal time to test storebought vs. homemade.

The hardest part of making corned beef is making the brine and then waiting, and waiting, and more waiting. The internet research I did said to let my meat brine for 10 days, but I only had a week. So everyday I checked on my meaty prize in the fridge, adding icepacks to keep it nice and chilly, and giving the ziplock bags I was using for the brining a little poke or flip. Brining corned beef is like having a really lazy pet guinea pig, you have to bother it every now and then just to see if it's stil alive.

When cooking time finally came, my friends arrived and I kept them entertained with beer and netflix. I simmered the meat for about 3 hours, and then braised some new potatoes and fresh cabbage wedges in the cooking liquid.

For saucing, I put together two concoctions. I stayed away from a gravy because I figured any kind of reduction sauce would have more in common with a salt lick than a sauce. So for some creaminess and bit, I made a horseradish sauce. Literally it was equal parts of whisked mayo, sour cream, and prepared horseradish. It doesn't get much eaiser than that. The same went for my hone mustard and citrus sauce. Equal parts tangerine juice (strained), honey, and dijon mustard. That's IT.

To go with the Lord's "Bountious Goodness" (as pops would say when he says grace), I wanted some bread, but not store-bought! So I whipped up what must be one of the most simple breads on the face of this earth. Irish Soda Bread. It's basically a giant leavened "Wheat Thin-esque" cracker. Nothing but Wheat and All Purpose flour, salt, baking soda, and buttermilk. What I appreciate about it is that not only is it a dish that could preach humility to a fussy croissant, but I don't think there is any bread invented by mankind that goes better with corned beef, cabbage, and potatoes.

After the initial "Ooooh's and Ahhh's" and soaking up the adoration of my friends, the room fell silent as we all devoured both the storebought and homemade corned beef. Not being a leftover stingy-man, I sent away all but two small cuts of corned beef with my friends, all of whom were more than happy to take some home. In my estimation, that is the sign of a truly excellent dining experience. There is no bigger compliment a chef can receive than to hear only the sounds of the dish being devoured, except for the possible exception of people wanting seconds (even if it's a to-go order).

The meat was so incredibly tender, it literally nearly dissolved in your mouth. With each chewing motion, succulent juices were released from the fibers and sent every tastebud into overdrive. The spice of the meat, the tenderness of the cabbage (without being mushy) along with the fork-tender potatoes simply makes for an orchestra of flavor that could make a classical composer jealous. And both of the sauces tied all the flavors together so nicely. This dish is one that I think easily rivals that of Christmas Ham and Prime Rib. Dare I even say it? Yes I think I shall. Corned beef even stands on par with the ultimate holiday food, the Thanksgiving feast. ESPECIALLY this home-brined one.

Truthfully, I was left in awe at the quality of the homemade corned beef. So much so that I do not think I'll buy a florescent bag'o'beef from the store again. What was so different? Well, I could go into some steep analysis of all the differences, but this is just a blog, not a culinary science university. Suffice it to say that one of the corned beef roasts contained sodium chloride, sodium erythorbate, and sodium nitrite; along with a dubiously positioned "flavorings" label at the very end of the ingredients list. The other corned beef contained salt, brown sugar, cinnamon, peppercorns, mustard seeds, cloves, bay leaf, and allspice, and a touch of patience.

I will surmise that it is simply the quality and freshness of the ingredients that speak for themselves when you home brine your own corned beef. And while a REAL homemade corned beef dinner may not drive an Irishman to drink, or an Italian to domestic violence, one could say that it's "So good, make you wanna slap yo' mama!"

Oh and one more thing....the bigger the roast you brine, the more LEFTOVERS you'll have. So break out the brine and and the brisket, I've got more seriously yummy foods to concoct in the next few days.

454 recipes to go (count'em: homemade corned beef, corned beef dinner, braised cabbage, braised potatoes, sour-cream horseradish sauce,honey-mustard-tangerine sauce, and Irish soda bread)

Never Cry Pork Chop

I know. I know, believe me. You're about as sick and tired of pork chops as I am. Hell I don't even like pork chops, but my red-blooded American male ego just cannot let the cooking of any beast beat me. So chop after chop has been chopped, trimmed, stuffed seared and cooked to any number degrees of almost perfection. So far, the closest I've gotten is my tangerine sauced and stuffed chops. Until tonight.

Tonight, I declare "almost victory". Why almost? Because I was honestly anticipating a less than perfect result, and lo and behold, it came out perfect. Only I had no side dish, no sauce, no bread, nothing. So pictures and my final claim of confuto victoria will have to wait, though I am posting some pictures that do illustrate the differences in what cooking method and time can do.

Notice these serrano and monterey jack stuffed pork chops are looking a little on the dry side. I had thought that by taking the cooking lower and slower, the meat would become more tender. After all it works with pot roast just fine. But I had forgotten one key point; that Pork Loin center cut chops are very, very lean, and don't have lots of marbling or connective tissues, so low and slow really just won't cut it for this cut! And you can notice the difference in the meat. Notice that in these chops vs. the last ones, the meat does look drier.

No, fast and furious dry cooking is the way to go. Being short a bbq grill, I still thought they could be done in the oven. And once again I turn to the pouch principle.
Tonight I kept it simple. I did brine the chops (again), but this time there was no stuffing, no complications to get in the way. Just a coat of canola oil, some salt, and a little white wine and black pepper in a pouch.

Now I'm not one for spouting recipes, but after all I've been through I have to at least share how I finally got the method down for these chops. The world's perfect non-stuffed pork chop goes something like this:

Start with 1 to 1.5 inch thick center cut pork loin chops.
Brine it for 2 hours or so in the fridge.
Rinse and dry meat thoroughly, let it come to room temperature.
rub with canola oil lightly.
Sear in cast iron skillet until golden brown on both sides.
Move to pouch, add seasonings, close pouch and insert meat thermometer into chop.
Move pan and pouch to preheated 350 degree oven.
Cook until internal temp reaches 145. (I never go with times for pork, I go with temperature)
Remove pan from oven and let rest for 5 minutes (Temperature should easily reach the 150+ range.
Open pouch, grind on some fresh black pepper, and consume a perfectly juicy and tender pork chop.

If I weren't so tired of eating pork, I'd make another one. Don't worry, I will at some point because I'll need pictures to show that I really did cook a chop right and I'm not just making all this up!

Tomorrow is a special event for me. My first "friends challenge". I'll be having some friends over to sample my cooking, and since St. Patty's Day is just around the corner, I'll be serving...

PORK CHOPS (Just kidding, but I'll give ye' a shiny new shamrock if ye' can guess what fare I'll be serving this close to St. Patty's Day).

461 to go

Sweet chops ya' got there.

I was so glad to get back into my kitchen tonight. I had one of those crazy days where you're not sure if you had gone to work, or been in a prize-fight.
I picked up a three-pack of nice and fresh pork loin chops from the butcher, and we chatted it up a bit. I got some nice nuggets of knowledge from him on how to cook the center-cut loin chop. To sum it up, the gist was that they should either be "hot and fast" on a BBQ, or "low and slow", in the oven.

Not wanting to try and eat three 1" thick loin chops by myself for fear of literally becoming what I was eating, I went for just one. If I could get just one chop to anywhere near edible tonight, I'd be happy.

A brine in some apple cider vinegar, brown sugar, salt, black pepper, mustard and allspice would help keep the meat moist. I've really developed a keen respect for the power even just an hour soak in a brine does for a cut of meat, especially the leaner ones.

Once the brine was done, I didn't want to treat the chop like another steak. I wanted some flavor, but not a side dish, since tonight I was more concerned with applying the proper technique than how many accompaniments I could whip up.

Some mushrooms, citrus zest (tangerine), minced shallot, black pepper, salt and chopped fresh sage made a nice gremolata-esque basic stuffing. I left garlic out of this one, since I wanted some flavor, but not an overly pungent aroma.

Searing the pork chops was difficult to do without constantly checking the undersides for over-browning. It had barely been a day since I turned what could have been a perfectly serviceable chop into a construction brick. But I managed to just let the pan do its thing and I did get a nice sear this time. Things were starting to look up!

To go with a very safe method, I chose to bake the chop in a pouch rather than open in the oven. I Macguyver'd a cooking pouch out of some flimsy aluminum foil and tossed in a little white wine for some extra acidity and moisture for the meat, and tossed the neat little pouch into my 350 degree oven.

35 minutes later, the package was ready for serving. I know this because it spent 30 minutes in the oven, had a 5 minute rest, and my brand new oven thermometer was showing a temperature of 157 degrees. Not quite the government-recommended temperature of 160, but I like disobeying government, it makes me feel all American founding-fatherish.

While the chop was resting, I took the pan juices that had gathered in the pouch and combined it with some tangerine juice, honey, pepper and some allspice. A few minutes over high heat, and it reduces into a semi-viscous sauce. A quick pat of butter gave a nice sheen to the sauce, and then it was plating time!

The only real criticism I can give for this dish was that the meat did dry out just a very little bit. But I have an idea for getting around that next time, which I will share with you, well..next time I suppose. Beyond the mild dryness, the meat had a wonderful flavor of fresh citrus and sage and shallot. The mushrooms got a little lost in the flavor department, but their texture added a nice depth to the overall dish.
I was pleasantly surprised at how the tangerine zest in the savory stuffing melded with the sweetness of the tangerine juice and honey pan sauce. There was definitely some culinary yin-yang happening with that combination. Savory and sweet at the same time, united by the curious addition of an ever so slightly "off the beaten path" citrus choice and the fresh sage.

I may or may not do pork chops again tomorrow. But based on how this dish came out, I am well on my way to a full recovery of the pork-chop blues.

For now, that's 1 more recipe down, 462 to go.

The other white meat?

Pork, the other white meat. Or so the saying goes. It should be more like "the other amazingly huge pain in the ass to cook in the kitchen when you think you know what you're doing and screw it up to the point where not only do you not cook it right, you don't even get to choke it down for dinner" meat. Ok so maybe that would be a bit long of a tag-line for the commercials.

Today I'm just frustrated. Once again everything went wrong, and what's got me so mad is that I don't know what I did to make everything go so poorly.

I had planned on once again knocking out two recipes with one stone. I picked up some very nice double-thick (1") pork chops from the store. Since pork has a talent for going very well in both sweet and savory dishes, I wanted to do one sweet pork chop and one savory. I wanted to be able to show the different outcomes of broiled vs. baked. Not so f*#&(@' much tonight.

I did everything that I would normally do for a nice juicy steak. Season, sear, and place in oven to come to temperature. Well the searing turned out to be blackening, and the oven thermometer I was going to use to get a perfect cooking temperature read went schitzophrenic on me and had some kind of meltdown, despite it "supposedly" being able to handle oven temperatures. So long story short, no thermometer means no pork chops.

Well, ok so today was a stumble. But now I'm mad. I'll eat pork chops every day for breakfast, brunch, lunch, snack, dinner, late night snack and midnight refrigerator raids if I have to.....and I don't even really LIKE pork chops.

Grrr. Ok, ok. Take a deep breath....count to 10....think of clouds and fluffy puppies and such.

So. Tomorrow I'll be spending plenty of time researching what it is I did wrong, how I can correct it. And I'll also buy a thermometer that doesn't have a psycho meltdown in a 300 degree oven. Now where's that bag of Cheetos I saw laying around earlier, It's beer and junk food time.

still four-hundred-sixty something to go.

The cookie man cometh

Getting out of class this early is a rare treat for my class. Feeling in a somewhat celebratory mood, my mind stretched for things to cook, but only one thing kept coming up repeatedly. Cookies. But what kind? Not the usual "Oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip. or sugar" dilema. I was thinking more along the lines of texture. There's crunchy, puffy, cake-like, chewey, crumbly, tender; the list goes on.

I could think of only one expert to consult on this matter. A quick google search found me the undisputed master of cookiedom on earth. What's that you say?
Julia Child? Noooo. Alton Brown? Guess again. That's right, my expert was none other than that boggle eyed, big blue walking shag carpet, Sesame Street's own Mr. Cookie Monster. In a stroke of genius pulled straight from Snow White, I consulted the image of his blueness on my screen and chanted to my computer;

"LCD screen on my desk, which yummy cookie should I make next?"

The image of cookie monster just sat there on my screen, motionless. And that's it... nothing else. Oh well, it works in the cartoons. Wondering a bit about my sanity, I banished the visage of cookie monster back to the realm of cyberspace. I needed something to listen to while I started cooking. Looking through my library, I settled on Star Wars. It's got everything I need. Luke and Darth and Leia, Obi-wan, and who could forget Han solo and... Chewbacca...or was it Chewie? Chewey?...no.. CHEWY!! I had my answer for my cookie selection dilema. Chewy-chocolate-chip it would be.

I wish I could tell you I had some amazingly secret chocolate-chip recipe, but I don't. Like pretty much every cook in America, my basic cookie formulation is based on the Constitution of Cookiedom, the "Tollhouse" recipe. But I do know enough about baking now to do a little tinkering.

It's really amazing what a little bit of ingredient-play can do in the world of baking. I went with bread flour for machines for the high protein content. I chose the darkest brown sugar I could find for the molasses, and I refrigerated the dough for a solid 3 hours before I even looked at the oven. It all gets pretty technical and food science-ish for a blog like this, so I'll spare you the long explanation. But for what must be the best "how to cookie" tutorial I've ever seen, lookup the "Good Eats" with Alton Brown episode "Three Chips for Sister Marsha. It's really fascinating science!

Enough with the technical stuff. Not being too much of a fan of semi-sweet chocolate chips, I went with milk-chocolate. For the dark chocolatey-ness, I had plans of my own for this batch of goodness.

Some parchment paper, a #50 disher, a baking sheet, and 15 minutes in a 375 degree oven yielded me some very nice cookies. However I wasn't done yet. I needed the "dark side" of chocolate to come through. For this, I turned to the life-blood basis of all chocolateering, ganache. The internet says there are 3,150,000 recipes for ganache in cyberspace. Looking through several of them, I became a bit irritated because for all the neat variations I came across (ranging from plain, to low-fat, raspberry, hazelnut, and the list goes on for volumes), ganache is really just two ingredients. Cream and chocolate.

Having never made it before, I decided on a fairly common ratio it seems of 12 oz chocolate (I went with 2 parts dark and 1 part milk chocolate), to one cup of heavy cream. I added a splash of vanilla extract just to deepen the flavor a little. I also added the barest, tiniest pinch of Cayenne powder, just for a little extra kick in helping the chocolate stay locked on those taste buds. I know, hot pepper and chocolate is insane to do, but if you do it right, people will not feel any heat at all, they'll just know that "something" is in there. Beyond that, there's not much to it really, though it is fun to watch a saucepan with cream and chocolate turn from an incompatible "mass of ugly", into a silken-smooth curtain of chocolate essence. Not much of a recipe, but I think I love this variation. And since everyone else on the internet has a recipe for Ganache, now I do too! Wow, this whole thing is getting long-winded tonight. On to the results and then a nap is in order!

Using a very, VERY well-rinsed plastic mustard-squirter container, I piped on some hot ganache onto my newly born cookies. A healthy dollop of some Ice-cream finished out my dessert-for-dinner plate and led me do taste-bud nirvana. Warm cookies pressed against ice-cream, mingled with the still-hot ganache creates a galactic empire of flavor in your mouth that just cannot be described with justice in a humble food blog. But I will say that adding the hot Ganache straight to the cookies before serving them made for one cookie dessert that was truly "Out of this world". Somehow, I think that both Chewbacca and The Cookie Monster would approve. Can't wait for tomorrow and another day in the kitchen.

463 to go!

Goodbye Joe, me gotta go, me-oh my-oh.

...Me gotta go pole the pirogue down the bayou.

Sorry, but I just can't make this dish without having this classic Hank Williams song come to mind. I don't even know what a pirogue (pronounced "Pee-rogue") is; but I know that of all the dishes in all the world, Jambalaya is one of my absolute favorites.

Unfortunately most times I have it, it's a mass of mushy rice with some hot pepper and an occasional shrimp or piece of sausage that comes up. Well not tonight. Tonight I went with my own version of this dish. The trouble is, I'm in Southern California, which is not known for a steady supply of crawfish and artisan andouille sausages.

A speedy conversation in my broken Spanish and the butcher's broken English yielded me some very nice Longaniza sausage in it's natural casing. I'm normally dubious about buying sausages that are very red in color, mostly because I don't like eating a giant wad of sodium nitrites. But this got its color from a mass of chiles and spices, not chemicals, so I went for it.

For the seasonings, I wanted to have something that would bring a certain "tex-mex" flair, but that would not destroy the core qualities of this classic Louisiana fare.
With the change in sausage, I kept it basic. Switching out the cayenne for chile de arbol, which would lower the peppery burn slightly, and one seeded and diced jalapeno, with the membrane removed. That would give a nice fruitiness in addition to the heat.
Beyond that, some black pepper, a bit of salt, bay leaf, and coriander rounded out the spice brigade. Of course, it wouldn't be Jambalaya without the "Trinity", a mixture of green bell pepper, onion, and celery. And just for an added bit of pungeoncy, I had to toss in a clove or three of stinky roses (garlic).

Wana know why shrimp are so expensive? because they are a pain in the ass to prepare! All the legs, and shells and "the vein", makes for a kitchen battle of epic proportions to the unprepared. Now I'll still do it for big important events, but when it's just me? No way, Jose. EZ-peel shrimp are the way to go for me. Already deveined, with the shells left intact. Thank you to the seafood mongers for saving me an hour of time.

What I think I like most about Jambalaya is that it is a literal "melting pot". You have a few core ingredients, but after that, you can toss in anything you want and the dish will still come out nice, and without much of a change (if any) in cooking time!

So for me, sausage, chicken thighs, and shrimp came together with the other aromatics , chicken stock and some Basmati rice. With about 30 minutes of slow-simmering in my blue-enameled dutch oven, the mixture was ready.

Now it's a common myth that "cajun" cuisine is synonymous blackened everything and mouth-searingly hot peppers. But I think that "spicy" is often associated with the heat of capsicum and the other flavors get left out of the equation when that term is used. This dish was certainly very spicy. The heat was definately there, and at just the right level for me. That level being the point where I wonder if I'm going to start crying, but am able to avoid doing so, barely. But what I really loved about it was that even though the dish was "hot", every bit of it was readily identifiable. I could feel the tingle of black pepper, followed by the slow-burn of the arbol, and then caught the subdued fruitiness of the jalapeno. Yet for all its heat, the dish was not overpowered for me because all the other seasonings came through, thanks to the soft sweetness imparted by the trinity, the laurel qualities of the bay, and earthiness of coriander. And carrying all that flavor in every single grain was the long-grain basmati rice. Little flavor bombs, each one exploding with the flavor of my bayou and painted desert infused bowl of hearty goodness. This is why I love cajun and creole cuisine. It's more than just a set of recipes, it's the art of combining anything you like into a simmered dish of joy that everyone can love.

465 to go

Osso Buco, Osso Good

I wandered through the grocery store aisle with no idea of what to cook. So I decided I would stroll through the new spring produce and shop until I found something that caught my eye. It didn't take long. I spied some fresh Rapini, kind of a cross between broccoli and a thistle.
"There's one down, what next?" I muttered to myself. Some parsley made its way into the basket, as did some garlic, onion, celery, lemons, an orange or two, and carrots.

Still feeling somewhat of a tomato hangover, I passed the bins of vine-ripened red deliciousness with hardly a glance. So it was on to meats. I've had my full of chicken for now, and wanted a cut I've never tried before. Passing the butcher's counter at a mozy, I saw some very juicy-looking shanks, and they looked very fresh indeed.

I made my choice. Rapini, and Osso Buco with a nice citrus, herb and garlic mix. People get all impressed when you say you're making "Osso Buco with Gremolata." It sounds so much more exotic and "chefy" than saying "I'm doin' lemon-herb pot roast." But I think food is as much about ideas and the imagination of the diner as it is about the food itself, and the former statement summons images of fancy little Italian eateries in some small village. Ok, enough waxing philosophical, let's get back to the food!

For a hearty beef shank cut like this, there is only one cooking vessel I could think of using. The great cast iron dutch oven.And for both the Greens and the Meat, the only technique that I wanted was the marvelous process of braising.

Just in the searing of the Osso Buco, I knew I was in for a treat. I let it cook with the aromatics in the oven, covered, for about 4 hours. The aroma of fresh thyme permeated every square inch of my place, and with any luck into several other apartments as well.

The Rapini, or Broccoli Rabe as it's also called; was tender, crisp and has a flavor that suits it look. Not quite broccoli, not quite thistle, and a great blend of the two. My favorite aromatic of all for such a vegetable is easily minced garlic. So that's what I braised the Rapini in, a mixture of olive oil, white wine, garlic, a bit of lemon and a splash of chicken stock just to keep things from burning.

There are some dishes that just take a tremendous effort to actually put on a plate instead of diving fork-first into them right off the stove. This was one of those dishes. After the photos I took for the blog, I didn't even get the power button on the camera pressed before I was enjoying gastronomic ecstasy. The crisp but unoppressive bitterness of the Broccoli Rabe made a perfect balance with the sheer sweetness of the Osso Buco. And the simple gremolata of citrus, garlic, and parsley brought forth such a bright and palate-cleansing quality that every bite bore a semblance to a zen-like state in and of itself. Bitter, sweet, juicy, lip-smacking heaviness on the tongue, and then the bright and cleansing rise of citrus and parsley. For this dish, there was no sauce required whatsoever.

And just to think that I had no idea what I was going to cook that night makes it all the more satisfying of a journey. It easily rivaled filet mignon in sheer flavor and enjoyment. I am becoming more and more convinced that you can literally slow-braise just about anything, and wind up with a dish that really satisfies. I should do this blind-supermarket wandering more often.

466 adventures to go!

Tomatos, Soup, and Tomato Soup!

Some combinations are timeless. Laurel and Hardy, popcorn and movie theaters, beer and football (or for me, beer and pretty much ANYTHING), and of course, the soup and sandwich. Come to think of it, the soup and sandwich combo is universal in scope. Pretty much anywhere you go in this world, there is a soup and sandwich combo that can be associated with your location. Po'boys and Gumbo in Louisiana; Cheese-steaks and Chowder in the northeast; Cubanos and Black bean soup in South Florida; and of course the Godfather of all soup/sandwich combinations, the immortal classic tomato and Grilled Cheese.

Today I wanted to test my skills a bit in this ethereal combination of culinary zen.
Not wanting to be merely traditional, I opted to stray ever so slightly from the beaten path and for the soup I chose a roasted red pepper and tomato-basil soup with a cream finish. The sandwich was to be a chicken salad sandwich with handmade-by-whisk-and-elbow power garlic and extra virgin olive oil aioli, with baby rasish sprouts, and basil.

A little strange you say? Why not go with grilled cheese? I dunno, I felt like chicken salad tonight I guess. And hey, most people who know me would probably say that I've always been a little "off" anyways. Call me a non-conformist.

I got started after a long day in class. It was about 7:00 pm when my knife clove in twain the first tomato. I used cherry and regular old "garden variety" globe tomatoes tonight. I went all out too, seeding every last one.
I loved roasting the pepper, mostly because I'm a guy, and pepper-roasting means I get to light stuff on fire with impunity.

A little sweat of some minced garlic and onion on the stove and everything went in the soup pot. A splash of white wine, basil and pepper is usually always welcome in anything I'd eat. My concoction simmered away in last bit of comsomme I had leftover from my chicken-stock experiment. 20 minutes later and the soup was ready. A shot of cream, some fresh basil for garnish, and I had a pretty little dish! But this was only 1/3 of the equation...One third, you say? Yup. Here's why.

Chicken salad sandwiches could usually be named "mayo and chicken" sandwiches. I didn't want to do mayo, I didn't have any mayo. But I did have eggs, oil, acid, salt and a whisk. So I decided I'd try my hand, wrist, and forearm at the fine art of making aioli. Aioli is just mayo made with extra virgin olive oil and garlic, pretty much Italian Mayo you could say. Lemme tell ya' make homemade aioli once, you'll never want storebought stuff again. And if you choose to make it by hand-whisking, you'll invest in a food processor or electric whisk! By the time I was done whisking (about 15 minutes in total), my forearms were revolting against me, and my kitchen had fine droplets of aioli, oil, eggs, and whatnot all over the walls. But I got it done nonetheless.

The rest of the sandwich flew together in a jimmy. Some sliced cherry tomatoes, sprouts, and basil, and two slices of honey-wheat bread tied everything together nicely.

The end result was sublime. The soup was light and somewhat airy, and had a nice bright acidity to it, but it was not overpowering. The roasted red pepper, garlic and basil added a nice multi-dimensional depth of flavor that melded well with the tomatoes and cream. The sandwich had a satisfying crisp texture thanks to the sprouts, and the celery and onion in the chicken salad gave it a delightful crunch. A wondrous combination with the tender chicken. The garlic aioli had a bright yet sweet "bite" to it, and was surprisingly light thanks in part to the extra virgin olive oil. But let me tell you this, the words "Whisk Vigorously" have taken on a whole new and calorie-burning meaning. The people who made this stuff before electricity must have had forearms that would make Popeye have inadequacy issues!

Overall, I am so satisfied with this dish, even though soup and sandwich is not exactly the most glamorous combination, I still feel a sense of pride in having done it all by scratch, and having it definately turn out to be some really yummy foods!
Can't wait for tomorrow!

468 recipes to go!

The "doctor" is in.

With my accursed cold beginning to fade, and my cough starting to subside, I planned on a grand reentry to my kitchen. Something simple, but with a "chef's touch". I won't tell you what it was, save that it was a spectacular "interpretation" of a classic soup/sandwich combo.

But my dreams of gastronomic grandeur were short lived. I spent most of the day napping, and cleaning my poor neglected apartment in-between lazy-sessions.

So when 7:30 rolled around, I was H-U-N-G-R-Y. You know the kind of hungry I'm talking about. Not the "Oh I'd really like some dinner" kind; nor the "Man I haven't eaten since lunch!" sort. No, after 3 days of good soup and cheap pizza I was the kind of hungry that could make a binging stoner blush. My stomach and brain were both threatening to go on strike unless I ate some yummy foods NOW!

So I was forced to do something quick, and easy. I had some leftover chicken from the chicken soup I had made the other day. My hand was forced. Spaghetti. Not just spaghetti, but spaghetti and CHICKEN red sauce. Yeeeeeeaaahhhhhhh.

For this one, I wanted it quick. 30 minutes or less. I would love to tell you that I whipped up a marinara sauce from scratch and simmered it slowly for an hour or so but that's not the case. No, it was "Doctor time". I normally save a premium jar of good sauce in my pantry (don't look shocked, we'll do more marinara from scratch later. Trust me, I'mma Italiano here). After all, I don't always make my chicken or beef stocks from scratch either, but store-bought will do in a pinch! And like my store-bought stock buying, with my jars of tomato sauce, I do have a few rules I follow:

1. I ALWAYS buy premium sauce in jars, never cans.
2. I buy marinara only. No extra-super-chunky; nix the garden herb and mushroom, just
plain ol' marinara works best. (after all, you may be adding other flavors later!)
3. When I buy from the store, I cook with white wine. Why? Because tomatoes contain
alcohol-soluble flavors, and just a splash of white wine will really help bring out
some of the flavors in the sauce that might have otherwise remained dormant.
4. Regardless of whatever "doctoring" I will be doing to the sauce, I add basil,
garlic and pecorino to my sauce. Sitting on the shelf sure doesn't
help things in the flavor department. Just these additions REALLY make a difference!


With my chicken and tomato sauce simmering away, my attention quickly turned to my spaghetti. I hastily brought a gallon or so of good water to a boil with some salt and oil. Then the pasta went into the hot-tub!

Ever wonder how to make sure you get 100% genuine foolproof "Al dente" pasta every single time? Forget the time and go with taste. Not just taste, but texture! It went like this:

With the pasta boiling away, I plucked one of the undulating strands from the pot after 6 minutes or so and tried it. It was like eating a hardened swizzle stick....Yuck.
So I tried another one in a couple minutes. Much better! still undercooked but wasn't "bad". I knew it was close because (here's the key) while it didn't taste like a swizzle stick, the spaghetti still stuck in the back of my teeth a little bit.
About a minute later, I made my final taste, and the texture was finally where I wanted it. A little "bite" was needed to get through the pasta, but it left my molars nice and clean. Now that's "Al Dente".

I strained the pasta and threw together a dish rather quickly, since my brain, stomach, and taste buds were now threatening revolt unless they all got something substantial. A last dash of parsley (I was out of fresh basil) and some cheese later, I was ready to dig in.

What I love about putting chicken in a sauce is that it is almost always just a tad sweeter than other meat sauces. Not like a bad pizza sauce, but there's a subtle nuance in the body and the flavor of the sauce that belies it's "Doctored up" nature. And when the chicken is cooked in the sauce, the sauce actually changes to a more reddish-orange color. Combined with a wonderful al dente pasta and simmered sauce, all but the most past-prime chicken will again become a mouth-wateringly tender and soft morsel of comfort food goodness.

Do you hear that? ... Me either. That is the sound of a stomach well satiated and not making a sound. No doubt that nap #5 is swiftly approaching. Until my return to self-perceived epicurious extravagance, I wish you all better health than I've had this past week, and I bid you all "Good Eating."

471 dishes to go.

"Feel-better" Chicken Soup

I had hoped that my sore throat was just due to the smog of Southern California. But the runny nose and slightly run-down feeling that followed confirmed that this was a healthy does of the cold. While the Hypochondriac in me screamed about the rare, deadly, terminal or just generally horrid diseases and conditions that this could be, the sane half of my mind said "If it don't kill you, somethin' else will someday, so call in sick to class and get some chicken soup going and then at least you'll feel better either way."

Now, if I ever end up teaching anyone about cooking, my first lesson to them will be: "There is NO substitute for homemade stock." There just isn't. Yeah, yeah I know the soup and stock aisle at the store offers a plethora of stocks, broths, and bullions; all ready to hop into your stockpot for making soup. But it just is not, and never will be the same. For starters, just take a look at the the salt-content of even the "reduced salt" versions of stocks and broths. No, for real "feel better" chicken soup that will actually make you feel better instead of thirsty, it's just gota be homemade.

This doesn't mean that I didn't think about cheating for this dish. Ohhh yeah as I meandered through the various aisles of the mega-mart, I fully intended on buying an already roasted chicken and just using that for my stock. But seeing that I would buy a roasted chicken for almost eight bucks, or a whole raw one for just over three smackeroos, I went with the raw one, I just had the butcher cut it into pieces for me.
After all, is 5 minutes of prep time and an hour of roasting worth 5 bucks to me? You bet it is.

I roasted this chicken with near-caveman like simplicity. I put the chicken pieces on a pan, sprayed them with some canola oil spritz, ground a little salt and pepper onto the skin (force of habit), and stuck the pan into a 350 degree oven for an hour and some change. I should have taken a picture of the results, but since I've already roasted a chicken before and shown it here, why be bothered with redundant bothersome redundancies?

I like stock making. It makes me feel like somewhat of a mad scientist. What goes into my stock? ANYTHING I WANT. Ahem... Well, you can put anything you would like into a stock, but since I was aiming for a more basic chicken stock, I went with basic ingredients. Big hunks of carrot, celery and onion, some garlic, some bay leaf, peppercorns, and the bones of my newly roasted chicken (the meat of which I had already shredded and reserved for later uses. What I like about making stock it that there is no need for fancy knifework for the veggies, all ya' gotta do is just hack and toss. It's very slasher-film-esque, in a vegetarian sort of way of course.

It all got tossed in a stockpot, and was covered in cold water just enough to cover the bones. It looked to be about a quart and some change I suppose.

Three hours of gentle simmering later and a quick pass through a strainer, and my chicken stock was golden, delicious, and ready. I didn't want to season it right away. I could have let it cool then put it in ice cube trays and froze it for later use, but this time around I was going to use it all.

I sauteed up some more fresh garlic, celery, onions and carrots, this time being much less the enraged vegetable slasher and much more the careful surgeon. A little more simmering with the vegetable mixture, a bit more bay leaf, black pepper, and a dash of ground coriander, and the soup was nearly ready. I cooked up some Orzo pasta (one of my favorite soup pastas ever) and added it to my chicken soup, along with the chicken chunks of course. Topped with a little bit of pecorino romano cheese for saltiness, and some fresh parsley for garnish, my soup was ready in about 20 minutes (if you forget about the hours of stock making and the hour for roasting the chicken pieces, of course).

As soon as that first full slurp of hit my lips, I could swear I hear the trepidation of the little buggers in my throat and sinuses. If illness could talk, the words would have been "RETREAAATTTTT!" Big chunks of chicken and veggies had a nice textural contrast with the tiny little al-dente Orzo's all melded together and left a lip-smacking goodness that can be described in a host of different ways, but is best left in the imagination of the reader, and on the palate of the lucky recipient.

Now, I'm not certain whether chicken soup really does cure illness. But chicken soup, when made from a home made stock with a little extra care from home instead of from a can (not to mention the near limitless applications of chicken stock to begin with), this is one home remedy that whether you are sick or not, will definitely make you "feel better."

472 to go!

A Clockwork Consommé

Ask nearly anyone to name one food that is good to eat when they are sick, and you’ll probably get the answer “Chicken Soup.” Chicken soup and its various permutations, Chicken and vegetable, chicken noodle, chicken dumpling; the list goes on for days.
But what about Consommé, the oft overlooked, very French, and somewhat fussy cousin of chicken soup? I suspect that few people (myself included) know how to make it, let alone know what to do with it once it’s made.

Consommé, despite the flashy name is simply a stock that is clarified using basically three items: Cheesecloth for straining, a little citrus for acidity, and the Albert Schweitzer of the culinary world, the egg (specifically the whites in this case).
Now I wasn’t about to try and make consommé from store-bought chicken stock. Not by a long-shot. Luckily, I had already made some chicken soup from scratch for this sore throat and runny nose affliction, and I already had some good homemade chicken stock on hand.

It was a surprisingly simple, albeit messy operation. I’m sure I went overboard on the cheesecloth since I didn’t have a suitable funnel, but the sheer transformation of cloudy stock to crystal clear consommé was well worth watching. A few whisked egg whites, some lemon juice, and a few minutes of hearty whisking was really all it took to get this thing going.

Over my simmering stockpot, I poured the eggwhite and lemon mixture and began whisking. Once it got to a boil, this scummy, crusty, and questionable lookingstuff settled on the surface of the stock. I followed the called for procedure for consommé making and did nothing…No stirring, whisking, skimming, skumming or agitating. I just let this toxic looking soup barely simmer for about an hour or so, then strained it through my cheesecloth into another pot.

The end result was miraculous. The egg whites latched on to all the suspended solids in the stock, and what made it through my cheesecloth was a light amber, yet crystal clear consommé. I was so excited that I nearly dropped the pan! It really was like watching a magic trick or one of those “Mr Wizard” science experiments. I wasn’t really hungry (since I already ate a fair amount of chicken-noodle soup), but this demanded a tasting. What better way to compare dishes than to make a similar dish, but with consommé instead of stock? I tried the consomme alone, and while I would feed it to someone who was deathly ill, it did lack body and texture. It was begging for some simple additions.

Invoking the name of Julia Child and Black-and Decker, my knife mowed through an onion, carrot, celery and garlic clove faster than a Jet-fuel-powered garden weasel. A quick sauté and a some tasty chicken chunks would bring the basics together. Choosing to go simple, I kept the seasonings on the easy side. Just a bit of salt and pepper, with a couple sprigs of parsley.

The result was amazing in its simplicity. The flavor was subtle, but the consommé provided a binding medium for each of the other ingredients that water alone would not do without flushing out and eradicating flavors. In every bite I could taste the distinct crunchyness and delicate saltiness of celery, the soft sweetness of the carrot, and the infused savor of the onions, all of it crowned with the tender, juicy pieces of chicken. The full measure of individual flavors miraculously carried together in the light, and ever so slightly thin veil of nothing more than clarified chicken stock.

This is what I would call "eater's food". It might seem bland at first, but what I liked about it was that it let the ingredients themselves remain the stars of the show. Truly a culinary experiment I was glad to have undertaken. Overall, it only took about 6 hours to make; that includes an hour for roasting a chicken, three hours for making stock from the bones, an hour for the consommé itself, and about 45 minutes of prep work between steps total.

Despite the relative ease of preparation, personally, I think I prefer the good ol’fashioned chicken stock for “feel-better” chicken soup dishes. But now that I have the consommé process down, I will not bat an eyelash at using it for other applications that require chickeny goodness, in a more refined setting.

473 to go

Big Choux's to fill.

What is it with the French pronouncing "oux" as "Oooo"?
I see that suffix on anything and I think "ow-ex". So when I came across the Baker's version of Roux, titled "Pate a Choux," I was naturally curious, both linguistically and culinarily speaking. I mean was this "Pat-eh ah Shoo", or "Pot-a-Shoe", or what? And what could you do with something so oddly named.
Turns out, you can do a LOT with this stuff. Cream, puffs, chocolate eclairs, jelly desserts, savory salad holders, the list goes on and on. And according to this new-fangled information superhighway, the stuff is really easy to make. Plus, I saw it would give me the chance to play with the most manly, masculine, macho, and all around Rambo meets Terminator badass kitchen implement ever devised. I speak of course, of the pastry bag...(ok, so I MIGHT have exaggerated a little bit there).

What I instantly liked about this stuff was the ease in which butter, water, flour, salt and sugar come together. Literally the wet stuff is brought to a boil, the dry stuff goes in, then you beat the tar out of it until it forms a yellowish ball. Then it all goes into a mixing bowl and eggs get beaten in until it's the stickiest mass of gelatinous goo this side of Capitol Hill.

Now let me publicly proclaim: "I apologize to every pastry chef I ever made fun of for using a piping bag for anything." These devices are amazing. They have the ability to lay with precision materials that are so sticky, that I'm convinced God used it to paste the universe together.
I will probably be cleaning Choux paste from my piping bag, mixer, counter, sink, and floors well into the next century, but it was still really fun to play with in a distinctly Macguyver sort of way.

I piped my paste onto some parchment, and tossed it into an oven and let it bake, wondering if I really had done everything right to provide a slightly crispy exterior, filled with a giant air pocket that would be ripe for filling.

The short answer is "No." But that hardly makes for good blogging, so I'll say that once again, I am happy to have technically failed in the kitchen. My little cream puffs were far too small to have any filling placed in them, and they looked "pasty" on top at best. I am thinking next time, I'll cook them a bit longer for more steam-powered leavening, and make them bigger in the hopes of achieving a more cavernous inside.

Techincals aside, There was major thing I forgot about. Fillings! I got so caught up in making giant-pastry-contained air bubbles that I forgot to do anything for the fillings. So a bunch of little mutant Easter-egg pastries hardly will do for Photography. So I'll try this again tomorrow I think, with a better understanding, and perhaps some chocolate ganache, some whipped cream, a bit of traditional vanilla filling, and maybe even some high quality Jam.

Sweet dreams everyone, and I'll be back tomorrow; and this time the Choux will be on the other foot!

still 475 to go!

Amazing Steak, How Sweet The Sauce.

Telling my classmates about last nights kitchen debacle was painful. My confession that I had completely blasphemed the sacred combination of steak and potatoes was difficult to say the least. My friends looked on in disbelief at my shamed visage, but were quick to offer consolation and support, even in this, my darkest culinary hour.
After much discussion of my plight, Phil, a seasoned-veteran of summer steak grilling sessions and worthy of an honorable mention here; offered this sage advice:
“Try letting the meat and potato rest at room temperature for 15 minutes at least. That should really make a big difference. A lot of problems come from starting to cook the food when it is too cold.” I took it to heart, and added his council to the laundry list of things I intended to change to avoid a repeat of last night.

Later in the day, at the store I skipped the bargain beef that was prepackaged and ungraded, instead opting for a trip to the butcher’s counter seeking not just a steak, but THE Steak of steaks. Yes my friends, I selected a precision cut three-quarter inch thick trimmed USDA Prime Porterhouse steak. I also picked up farm-fresh broccoli and real cheddar cheese, and I went through a dozen potatoes before hand-selecting the best in the bin.

When I got home, nothing went into the fridge. Rather, everything was laid out on a baking tray. From the steak and broccoli, to the butter and oil I would use in the pan. A full and proper “Mise en Place” that would do a French chef proud.
Starting with the potato, I lightly oiled and salted the skin, cranked the heat on the oven and began to “Allez Cuisine!” Being the longest cooking component, I wanted to start it first. Not only was tonight an exercise in gastronomic penance, but an exercise in cooking times and service. I wanted everything on the plate within 30 seconds of being finished. I had to not only replace the poor quality of the food from the previous evening, but also had to vastly improve my execution of the meal itself.

I normally don’t talk about the “how to cook” part of things, but tonight I will, if for no other reason to contrast the timing of tonight vs. last night.

As the potato approached the end of it’s cooking time, I had water already boiling fro steaming the broccoli, and a saucier standing by simmering water to begin making the sauce. A kitchen timer would help me with the steak this time, and my goal was a perfect medium rare.

In a flash-bubbling of foam and smoke, my butter and oil hit the rocket-engine-hot cast iron skillet, followed by the lightly seasoned steak. A few minutes, a flip, a few minutes more and it was finished. To a nice resting plate the steak went.
The potato then came out of the oven, also for a nice pre-cutting rest. I preheated my broiler and then turned to making my sauce, in this case, it would be a very nice gravy.

Immediately, I took the cooked juices and fat from the steak that remained in the skillet and went to work in the saucier. A dusting of flour, some whisking, a splash of white wine, more whisking, a bit of beef stock, followed MORE whisking. Now I threw the broccoli into steam, and it took about two minutes to go from dark green and stiff to a bright green and ever so fork tender. By this time, the sauce was nearly complete. Things were coming together, so I put butter, broccoli, and cheese onto the rested potato, and stuck it under the broiler. As the sauce tightened up, I tossed in the capers, some salt and pepper, and a pat of butter for a nice sheen to the sauce. This took about a minute, at which point the final product of the potato was ready….
Everything was ready within 27 seconds of each other. I made my mark, and already felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. The Plate was a thing of beauty, but only one obstacle remained; The state of doneness of my prized piece of beast.

My knife and fork went to work with some timidity, after all, any missed mark here either on over or under doneness would bring my sanity and confidence crashing down. The cut was made. I closed my eyes as I put a piece of meat onto the fork and raised it to my eyes. With all the tension of a courtroom just before the verdict is read, I held my breath and opened my eyes. And what did my wondering eyes behold? Nothing but the gloriously seared, crusty outside of a pan-fried steak; and the warm, pink, juicy, and delectable center of an absolutely flawless medium rare!

Tonight I feel utterly redeemed from certain culinary damnation, and I am proud to post my pictures and blog tonight. I wish I could describe the meal to you in detail... The sweet meat and velvety sauce. The cheesy sharp goodness of melted cheddar and butter over tender yet still crisp broccoli, and the heavenly cloud of fluffy baked potato. But some things are just best left unsaid because words cannot describe the sheer splendor. Suffice it to say that if they have dinners in heaven, they were one plate short tonight.

Now I’m off for a well earned frosty-brew, and I can happily proclaim:

475 recipes to go!

A perfect disaster

The plated image in my mind included steam rising from fresh broccoli with cheddar cheese on top, sitting on a beautiful baked potato with soft flesh and a nice crisp skin. Yet this paled in comparison to the main component of the dish, the porterhouse steak! Seared to a golden brown and delicious state, then broiled to a juicy medium rare perfection, topped with a savory pan gravy and sauteed mushrooms and olives.

...Yet the reality of what was on my plate was far from what I had imagined. Chunks of overcooked beef, the juices long left behind in either the pan or cooling plate.There was no potato because it was so grossly undercooked it had to simply be discarded. The broccoli turned out somewhat nicely, although there was no cheddar, and smoked gouda seems to be a cheese that simply does not melt, leaving only a sticky mess that bore a striking resemblance to a milk carton that had been tossed into a fire pit. And what about the smooth,savory, rich gravy I had planned? Well it was a mass of cereal and alcohol flavored starch. =/ If I wanted alcohol and cereal, I'd put beer on my wheaties for goodness' sake!

A staunch believer in the axiom of reaping what you sew, I ate my insipid veggies and burnt vittles. Doused in Worcestershire sauce, it was.....bearable.

What led to this? How did an aspiring chef screw up a staple dish of steak and potatoes? In the final analysis, I can think of a few reasons:

1. I did not follow "Mise en Place", or having everything properly prepared to cook. The chaos of running to the fridge, then the cupboard and the spice cabinet threw everything out of the synchronized ballet that a cooking session should be.

2. The food was too cold. It later occurred to me that I had taken both the potato and the steaks and began cooking them immediately, instead of letting them come to room temperature first. That meant I was essentially cooking the cold out of the food, not the food itself.

3. I *think* one of the problems with the steak was that I was going with Porterhouse. Much too large for pan frying, with the tenderloin being thicker than the strip end, and along with having the bone in. In retrospect, I think that a hot oven or broiler would be a better option for cooking this cut.

4. For the gravy, I don't really know what exactly went wrong, except that I need to study the proper gravy making procedure next time instead of trying to "throw something together" using only my intuition.

With all these lessons in mind, I feel somewhat better about the dismal outcome of my cuisine this time around. So tonight I relax, buy a New York Strip steak, a new potato, and in a freshly cleaned kitchen I will attempt this dish again. We shall see if I can not only identify my mistakes, but learn from and correct them. God I love the kitchen.

Still 478 to go.