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!
Saturday, February 27, 2010
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
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
Thursday, February 25, 2010
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!
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!
Monday, February 22, 2010
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!
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.
...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.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
The (almost) identical twins
Normally when someone tells me “I hate ____” when talking about vegetables, the phrase is usually followed by a carefully itemized and well-thought out list of why such-and-such a vegetable is horrible, and the oft entertaining if not rational diatribes end with “…and it tastes like $^&(!” Such was the rant I received today when, while discussing various food stuffs with a colleague, I started talking about asparagus, (which I oft refer to as "sparrow-grass" becuase I enjoy wordplay hehehe).
After plucking all the knives out of my hide that had been thrown at me from dagger-eyes after mentioning my apparently horrid conversation choice, I had an epiphany. “It tastes like %@#^” is always the last thing people mention, and words like “stinky, limp, soggy, mushy” are often used to describe the cooking and texture of this vegetable. So of COURSE it tastes bad. I decided to change that tonight not once, but twice, and do it using the exact same ingredient list (almost).
First things first: the main ingredients I would go for would be baby asparagus (that’s what was looking most fresh at the store today). Also some eggs, some smoked gouda cheese, salt and pepper, extra virgin olive oil, and parmesan cheese. A few extra bits would include red onion and romaine lettuce. To be extra-sneaky, I used the asparagus spear tips in one dish and the stalks in the other.
For the first dish, I decided to go with a frittata. The second dish would be a relatively simple salad, but in order to expand my cooking technique repertoire, the egg would be poached instead of hard-cooked this time. That’s right, I’m aiming high tonight!
Frittata is a great exercise in kitchen simplicity. Saute the filling a bit, toss in an egg mixture of milk, eggs, cheese, and stir it around. Then let it cook for a bit and finish the job under the broiler. Badda-bing Badda-bang! That’s all there is to it.
For the salad, I combined essentially the same ingredients as for frittata, trading the milk for a nice crispy Romaine lettuce leaf. The biggest challenge was poaching the egg.
I had expected some grandiose operation for egg poaching. I mean, any dish that requires acidulated, boiling water before anything else happens could understandably make anyone nervous. Then gently plopping an egg into this boiling acid-bath, killing the heat and letting it sit there is also a bit disconcerting because the darn thing resembles a big, watery booger at first. But a after a short bath in this Ph-imbalanced hot tub, the end product is a creamy yolk and fluffy white. Poached eggs, a true miracle of kitchen science.
On the plate, the dishes couldn’t look more different, in both looks and flavor! The pale yellow and slightly browned frittata slice looked like a piece of breakfast pie. Little flecks of green poked out here and there, and the cheese melded beautifully with the egg. There was an unexpected sweetness to the omelet, and it balanced perfectly with the saltiness of the parmesan cheese and crunchy little bits of delectable little veggies.
The salad looked great on the plate! I must say that the poached eggs stole the show with the rich yolk and fluffy white clouds of white. The asparagus tips and red onion melded surprisingly well. I think I lucked out with this onion because it was much more sweet than hot. In both dishes, the slightly musky quality of the smoked gouda cheese was a perfect compliment, enhancing the flavor as a whole but not overpowering any one element.
Sitting at my kitchen table, my thoughts returned to my conversation past. I imagined serving these two little culinary gems and reaping heaps of praise to my friend, only to reveal that asparagus was a component in both dishes. Would there be a pleased reception? I’d like to think so, and that makes even the slight bitterness of sparrow-grass oh so sweet indeed!
478 to go.
After plucking all the knives out of my hide that had been thrown at me from dagger-eyes after mentioning my apparently horrid conversation choice, I had an epiphany. “It tastes like %@#^” is always the last thing people mention, and words like “stinky, limp, soggy, mushy” are often used to describe the cooking and texture of this vegetable. So of COURSE it tastes bad. I decided to change that tonight not once, but twice, and do it using the exact same ingredient list (almost).
First things first: the main ingredients I would go for would be baby asparagus (that’s what was looking most fresh at the store today). Also some eggs, some smoked gouda cheese, salt and pepper, extra virgin olive oil, and parmesan cheese. A few extra bits would include red onion and romaine lettuce. To be extra-sneaky, I used the asparagus spear tips in one dish and the stalks in the other.
For the first dish, I decided to go with a frittata. The second dish would be a relatively simple salad, but in order to expand my cooking technique repertoire, the egg would be poached instead of hard-cooked this time. That’s right, I’m aiming high tonight!
Frittata is a great exercise in kitchen simplicity. Saute the filling a bit, toss in an egg mixture of milk, eggs, cheese, and stir it around. Then let it cook for a bit and finish the job under the broiler. Badda-bing Badda-bang! That’s all there is to it.
For the salad, I combined essentially the same ingredients as for frittata, trading the milk for a nice crispy Romaine lettuce leaf. The biggest challenge was poaching the egg.
I had expected some grandiose operation for egg poaching. I mean, any dish that requires acidulated, boiling water before anything else happens could understandably make anyone nervous. Then gently plopping an egg into this boiling acid-bath, killing the heat and letting it sit there is also a bit disconcerting because the darn thing resembles a big, watery booger at first. But a after a short bath in this Ph-imbalanced hot tub, the end product is a creamy yolk and fluffy white. Poached eggs, a true miracle of kitchen science.
On the plate, the dishes couldn’t look more different, in both looks and flavor! The pale yellow and slightly browned frittata slice looked like a piece of breakfast pie. Little flecks of green poked out here and there, and the cheese melded beautifully with the egg. There was an unexpected sweetness to the omelet, and it balanced perfectly with the saltiness of the parmesan cheese and crunchy little bits of delectable little veggies.
The salad looked great on the plate! I must say that the poached eggs stole the show with the rich yolk and fluffy white clouds of white. The asparagus tips and red onion melded surprisingly well. I think I lucked out with this onion because it was much more sweet than hot. In both dishes, the slightly musky quality of the smoked gouda cheese was a perfect compliment, enhancing the flavor as a whole but not overpowering any one element.
Sitting at my kitchen table, my thoughts returned to my conversation past. I imagined serving these two little culinary gems and reaping heaps of praise to my friend, only to reveal that asparagus was a component in both dishes. Would there be a pleased reception? I’d like to think so, and that makes even the slight bitterness of sparrow-grass oh so sweet indeed!
478 to go.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The King Salmon and I.
After all the heart-stopping dishes of the past few days (waffles, late-night quesadillas and such), I received a phone call from the United Nations Council on Cardiac Relations, stating that if I did not make SOMETHING healthy and delicious, that the U.N. as a whole would be very angry with me, and that they would write me a letter, telling me how angry they were…
In order to stave off an international culinary incident, I took it upon myself as a benevolent kitchen dictator to rectify this situation. But a dish that was heart-healthy AND delicious? Herbs, garlic, lemon, and extra virgin olive oil would work for the delicious side of things, but what about the healthy side of the coin?
Pork was out, I was tired of chicken, lamb was too exotic and fussy, shrimp was no good, and I don’t think there is enough lemon and rosemary on earth to save the can of sardines that’s been sitting in my cupboard since I moved into this place a year and a half ago….but wait. Sardines are fishies, and fishies are good for you… And a fish that tastes great (when properly prepared) is SALMON.
A quick visit to the frozen food section of my local mega-mart yielded me a nice big salmon filet. Taking it home, I thawed it using the chef’s trick of immersing it in water in the sink, then letting just a trickle of water fall into the sink. In 20 minutes, my 1.5 lbs side of salmon was thawed and ready for baking! Nifty trick, no?
I wanted the maximum amount of flavor I could get, without adding too much heavy ingredients. No cream or béchamel sauce, no hollandaise or mornay, no. This dish would rely on the raw culinary prowess of aromatics and some simple salt and pepper/
A quick rubdown with oil helped my seasonings adhere to the salmon during cooking, and the rosemary, lemon zest, onions, salt and pepper was almost immediately fragrant as the baking dish hit the oven. I put some lemon slices over everything just to keep the heat from drying the filet out so much, The little fishy was ready in just about 20 minutes, with nice, fork-flaky flesh, and no “fishy” smell at all.
I removed the onions and lemon slices, and served up the salmon with a little fresh lemon and rosemary sprigs, along with some fresh ground black pepper and a dash of parmegiano reggiano cheese. I served it with the veggies below.
For a side dish, I needed something that could give me some good kick. For this I chose onions and zucchini. The onions would complement the fish (which was cooked with onions also), and the zucchini gave a nice color to the dish as a whole. Since I had been fed countless rounds or half-moons of stewed, nasty zucchini through the years, I wanted to have something bright and different. So I went with a cut that gave me a lot of surface to mass ratio, RIBBONS! And the best tool I could find for the job was my trusty vegetable peeler. It made quick work of the zucchini, and my chef’s knife finished off the “seedy” part.
For extra flavor, I sweated some hot chile and garlic in some olive oil and just a small pat of butter. This helped up the ante quite a bit, and to help more I tossed in just a bit of garlic powder. I cranked the heat to high and sautéed the zukes and onions to perfection, tossed in a little white wine for brightness, and served it up with the salmon.
I am pleased to say that the dish did meet both requirements of the council, the salmon was flaky but not dry at all, infused with bright citrus notes and pungent rosemary. The onions and zucchinis had a detectable, but not overwhelming heat from the chile and infused garlic oil, and the bit of sweetness from the onions complimented the salmon nicely. Overall, the dish was a success, and a tragedy averted.
Now I can rest easy, knowing that not only is the world safe once more from the threat of a UN letter writing, campaign, but once again, the UN came sniffing around and never did find any WMD’s…this time.
480 to go!
In order to stave off an international culinary incident, I took it upon myself as a benevolent kitchen dictator to rectify this situation. But a dish that was heart-healthy AND delicious? Herbs, garlic, lemon, and extra virgin olive oil would work for the delicious side of things, but what about the healthy side of the coin?
Pork was out, I was tired of chicken, lamb was too exotic and fussy, shrimp was no good, and I don’t think there is enough lemon and rosemary on earth to save the can of sardines that’s been sitting in my cupboard since I moved into this place a year and a half ago….but wait. Sardines are fishies, and fishies are good for you… And a fish that tastes great (when properly prepared) is SALMON.
A quick visit to the frozen food section of my local mega-mart yielded me a nice big salmon filet. Taking it home, I thawed it using the chef’s trick of immersing it in water in the sink, then letting just a trickle of water fall into the sink. In 20 minutes, my 1.5 lbs side of salmon was thawed and ready for baking! Nifty trick, no?
I wanted the maximum amount of flavor I could get, without adding too much heavy ingredients. No cream or béchamel sauce, no hollandaise or mornay, no. This dish would rely on the raw culinary prowess of aromatics and some simple salt and pepper/
A quick rubdown with oil helped my seasonings adhere to the salmon during cooking, and the rosemary, lemon zest, onions, salt and pepper was almost immediately fragrant as the baking dish hit the oven. I put some lemon slices over everything just to keep the heat from drying the filet out so much, The little fishy was ready in just about 20 minutes, with nice, fork-flaky flesh, and no “fishy” smell at all.
I removed the onions and lemon slices, and served up the salmon with a little fresh lemon and rosemary sprigs, along with some fresh ground black pepper and a dash of parmegiano reggiano cheese. I served it with the veggies below.
For a side dish, I needed something that could give me some good kick. For this I chose onions and zucchini. The onions would complement the fish (which was cooked with onions also), and the zucchini gave a nice color to the dish as a whole. Since I had been fed countless rounds or half-moons of stewed, nasty zucchini through the years, I wanted to have something bright and different. So I went with a cut that gave me a lot of surface to mass ratio, RIBBONS! And the best tool I could find for the job was my trusty vegetable peeler. It made quick work of the zucchini, and my chef’s knife finished off the “seedy” part.
For extra flavor, I sweated some hot chile and garlic in some olive oil and just a small pat of butter. This helped up the ante quite a bit, and to help more I tossed in just a bit of garlic powder. I cranked the heat to high and sautéed the zukes and onions to perfection, tossed in a little white wine for brightness, and served it up with the salmon.
I am pleased to say that the dish did meet both requirements of the council, the salmon was flaky but not dry at all, infused with bright citrus notes and pungent rosemary. The onions and zucchinis had a detectable, but not overwhelming heat from the chile and infused garlic oil, and the bit of sweetness from the onions complimented the salmon nicely. Overall, the dish was a success, and a tragedy averted.
Now I can rest easy, knowing that not only is the world safe once more from the threat of a UN letter writing, campaign, but once again, the UN came sniffing around and never did find any WMD’s…this time.
480 to go!
Monday, February 15, 2010
Waffle me this.
Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not much of a baker. Aside from my first experiments with baking soda and vinegar bottle rockets when I was a kid, baking, mixing, leavening, and measurements never had much interest for me. But I do respect how subtle variations in combining flour, sugar, butter and leavening can create such a vast array of different results. So I felt it best to wade into the wide world of baking with one of the simplest yet sublime and versatile creations ever imagined, the waffle.
My internet research led me to recipe after recipe, all precisely calculated. It seems that waffles (and I suspect, every other baked good) begins not as a recipe, but as a science experiment. I decided that what turns a baking experiment from science into a recipe is the flavorings that are added during construction, and also the techniques involved in bringing the ingredients together. This is why I decided to try two waffle recipes.
The first “application” (taking a cue from Alton Brown, I won’t call this a recipe) using a low-protein cake flour, and the “muffin method” (sounds like a nursery rhyme to me), with the added step of beating egg whites into the mix. I added pecans, nutmeg, and cinnamon for flavoring, so I feel comfortable calling it “my” recipe (though I have no doubt that countless others have likely come up with something similar before, it’s not exactly rocket science).
The result of experiment #1 was a very light, and not surprisingly, cake-like waffle with a light texture, but little to no crispness to the waffle exterior. It reminded me of strawberry shortcake really, with waffle impressions in it. The strawberries and cream were a welcome addition (but then again, I haven’t seen too many baked goods where Strawberries and whipped cream were persona non grata.)
For my second experiment, I was hoping to end up with a waffle that had more “oomph” to it. Something that was more than just a cake. Crisp exterior and soft, but not chewy interior would be nice. And since it was Valentine’s day, why not make it a little special. So I went with CHOCOLATE waffles. For these I followed a similar muffin method procedure, but I just combined all the ingredients together without beating the egg whites.
The difference in texture was very noticeable. The waffle had a nice body to it, but it was not chewey like a baguette. I think this was the AP flour’s doing, (but it may have been because I tossed in the whole eggs instead of whipping them first ?). And I think that French vanilla Ice cream never had a better friend than a warm chocolate waffle. Add a little shaved milk chocolate and some coacoa powder, toss on some strawberries and cream (why not?) and WOW. This was a dessert to remember.
This waffle thing is definitely worth the little bit of work that goes into prepping it. And it’s a good start for wading into the pool of baking without jumping into the deep end! I like the difference in textures that the different methods offer, and I may even include waffles in savory dishes if I get daring enough!
482 recipes to go!
My internet research led me to recipe after recipe, all precisely calculated. It seems that waffles (and I suspect, every other baked good) begins not as a recipe, but as a science experiment. I decided that what turns a baking experiment from science into a recipe is the flavorings that are added during construction, and also the techniques involved in bringing the ingredients together. This is why I decided to try two waffle recipes.
The first “application” (taking a cue from Alton Brown, I won’t call this a recipe) using a low-protein cake flour, and the “muffin method” (sounds like a nursery rhyme to me), with the added step of beating egg whites into the mix. I added pecans, nutmeg, and cinnamon for flavoring, so I feel comfortable calling it “my” recipe (though I have no doubt that countless others have likely come up with something similar before, it’s not exactly rocket science).
The result of experiment #1 was a very light, and not surprisingly, cake-like waffle with a light texture, but little to no crispness to the waffle exterior. It reminded me of strawberry shortcake really, with waffle impressions in it. The strawberries and cream were a welcome addition (but then again, I haven’t seen too many baked goods where Strawberries and whipped cream were persona non grata.)
For my second experiment, I was hoping to end up with a waffle that had more “oomph” to it. Something that was more than just a cake. Crisp exterior and soft, but not chewy interior would be nice. And since it was Valentine’s day, why not make it a little special. So I went with CHOCOLATE waffles. For these I followed a similar muffin method procedure, but I just combined all the ingredients together without beating the egg whites.
The difference in texture was very noticeable. The waffle had a nice body to it, but it was not chewey like a baguette. I think this was the AP flour’s doing, (but it may have been because I tossed in the whole eggs instead of whipping them first ?). And I think that French vanilla Ice cream never had a better friend than a warm chocolate waffle. Add a little shaved milk chocolate and some coacoa powder, toss on some strawberries and cream (why not?) and WOW. This was a dessert to remember.
This waffle thing is definitely worth the little bit of work that goes into prepping it. And it’s a good start for wading into the pool of baking without jumping into the deep end! I like the difference in textures that the different methods offer, and I may even include waffles in savory dishes if I get daring enough!
482 recipes to go!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Top Ramen, the way it should be
Ever since I found out that the "flavor packet" of my ramen noodles was primarily comprised of mono-sodium-glutamate and onion powder, I have tended to stay away from asian noodles, unless I go get them at a fine noodle house.
Now yesterday I was just feeling like something quick, so I decided to get a little familiar with ramen noodles again, but this time I was going to make them better than that dubious looking preservative "flavor pack" could ever dream.
Now, not having any home made stock on hand with which to make concomme, I did go with chicken broth here. But to make it more flavorful, I tossed in some crimini mushrooms, baby bok-choy, beef, green onion, black pepper, ginger and celery. I gave it all a nice sear in my saucepan to create bit of fond. Deglazing this with some chicken stock, I then tossed in some EZ-peel shrimp ("veins" removed) and simmered them with the noodles. It all came together really quickly, the shrimp cooking in about the same time as the noodles.
Now while this is certainly not a made-from-scratch consomme based dish, it was fast, and it tasted a world better than the MSG-laden foil pack ever would. The shrimp were succulent and sweet, while the savory chicken stock took on a life of its own from the aromatics and beef. The harmonious zen of flavor was completed with the subtle yet clean taste of ginger, cleansing the palate on its own with each bite.
I think I like this soup-making stuff. I'm going to try a consomme next. It seems to be labor and time intensive, but if the final result is a truly shining example of this type of cuisine, I figure why not go for it! That is what I'm here for after all!
484 to go.
Now yesterday I was just feeling like something quick, so I decided to get a little familiar with ramen noodles again, but this time I was going to make them better than that dubious looking preservative "flavor pack" could ever dream.
Now, not having any home made stock on hand with which to make concomme, I did go with chicken broth here. But to make it more flavorful, I tossed in some crimini mushrooms, baby bok-choy, beef, green onion, black pepper, ginger and celery. I gave it all a nice sear in my saucepan to create bit of fond. Deglazing this with some chicken stock, I then tossed in some EZ-peel shrimp ("veins" removed) and simmered them with the noodles. It all came together really quickly, the shrimp cooking in about the same time as the noodles.
Now while this is certainly not a made-from-scratch consomme based dish, it was fast, and it tasted a world better than the MSG-laden foil pack ever would. The shrimp were succulent and sweet, while the savory chicken stock took on a life of its own from the aromatics and beef. The harmonious zen of flavor was completed with the subtle yet clean taste of ginger, cleansing the palate on its own with each bite.
I think I like this soup-making stuff. I'm going to try a consomme next. It seems to be labor and time intensive, but if the final result is a truly shining example of this type of cuisine, I figure why not go for it! That is what I'm here for after all!
484 to go.
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Late night refrigerator-pillaging quesadilla!
Now what could be the motivation for a dish like this? Well, quite honestly, there wasn’t one, I just had the munchies reeeallllyyy baaadd last night and I spied with my little eye a package of tortillas and a hot dog…the rest was all just a happy accident of late night kitchen chaos! Don’t underestimate the power of a few frosty brews to inspire the need to acquire some yummy-foods with a quickness! With that in mind, here is what happened last night, about 10:30 pm in my kitchen…It was all over by 10:40.
In the small village of frostyville, the poor hot dog wasn’t doing anything to anyone. He was just sitting there in his package, flirting shamelessly with the sassy Dijon mustard container, when out of nowhere a big hulking ogre snatched him and chopped him up (on the bias) in front of everyone. Panic ensued in the refrigerator village, but none were safe from the ravenous giant. “Fe-Fi-Fo-Fum, I got the munchies and I needs me some….good eats” Yelled the giant as he snatched an entire package of tortillas that tried to take refuge behind the apple juice bottle. Tortillas, Hotdogs, the poor package of shredded cheese, the last of the cilantro crop, and a hapless avocado all were taken by the giant ogre man who reeked of Samuel Adams Pils beer. By the time the mayo jar and the sliced onion defense force could organize, the attack was over and nothing could be done…
The giant slathered the tortilla with some melted butter, tossed on the other ingredients, and broiled them in his Mt. Doom signature series mountain fortress broiler until everything was a heap of bubbling, melty deliciousness. Then the giant tossed in the avocado which had been mercilessly cut into chunks, folded over the tortilla on itself, brushed it with more butter and tossed on some more cheese and broiled it AGAIN until it was lightly browned.
At this point, the giant cut his meal into pieces and enjoyed a feast of good eats. The melty cheese, salty sausage hot dog, creamy avocado, perky cilantro and slightly crisped tortilla all melted in the giant’s maw, driving away his midnight hunger and helped him drift off to sleep.
Meanwhile, the inhabitants of frostyville are all sleeping with one eye open, Mayo jar and the sliced onion stand guard over the crisper drawer, watching…waiting..and preparing for the next attack.
485 to go!
In the small village of frostyville, the poor hot dog wasn’t doing anything to anyone. He was just sitting there in his package, flirting shamelessly with the sassy Dijon mustard container, when out of nowhere a big hulking ogre snatched him and chopped him up (on the bias) in front of everyone. Panic ensued in the refrigerator village, but none were safe from the ravenous giant. “Fe-Fi-Fo-Fum, I got the munchies and I needs me some….good eats” Yelled the giant as he snatched an entire package of tortillas that tried to take refuge behind the apple juice bottle. Tortillas, Hotdogs, the poor package of shredded cheese, the last of the cilantro crop, and a hapless avocado all were taken by the giant ogre man who reeked of Samuel Adams Pils beer. By the time the mayo jar and the sliced onion defense force could organize, the attack was over and nothing could be done…
The giant slathered the tortilla with some melted butter, tossed on the other ingredients, and broiled them in his Mt. Doom signature series mountain fortress broiler until everything was a heap of bubbling, melty deliciousness. Then the giant tossed in the avocado which had been mercilessly cut into chunks, folded over the tortilla on itself, brushed it with more butter and tossed on some more cheese and broiled it AGAIN until it was lightly browned.
At this point, the giant cut his meal into pieces and enjoyed a feast of good eats. The melty cheese, salty sausage hot dog, creamy avocado, perky cilantro and slightly crisped tortilla all melted in the giant’s maw, driving away his midnight hunger and helped him drift off to sleep.
Meanwhile, the inhabitants of frostyville are all sleeping with one eye open, Mayo jar and the sliced onion stand guard over the crisper drawer, watching…waiting..and preparing for the next attack.
485 to go!
Sirloin and Onions por los amigos.
It’s days like this that make kitchen failures all worthwhile. Experimenting with a recipe and having something come out ho-hum, then going back to the drawing board and coming up with a new battle plan and ending up with a dish that is really wonderful, using the same ingredients, but just a different technique. Such was the case today with my sizzlin’ steak fajitas with onions and roasted chiles; served alongside some nice Maize in a garlic and chile infused butter.
I switched from rubbing the steak with chile powder to a marinade of Worcestershire, white wine, and spices. I think this is a better move because the meat is so thin and cooks so fast, having flavor already inside the meat from the liquid helps a lot. Also, not dousing the meat in powder means there’s more direct contact with the meat and pan, so it makes for a better sear.
With the onions, caramelization was out for this dish. I wanted them done hot and fast! This would let them cook a little bit, but would prevent them from developing an over-sweet character. For the peppers, I didn’t want to use big honkin’ chunks of bell pepper, but I didn’t want to sear my mouth off from a habanero either. My solution? To roast a red chile and a jalapeno, then remove the skin, seeds, and inner membrane with a paring knife so sharp it could be used as a surgical implement. This way it let the fruity essences of the pepper come out, while removing a lot of the outright heat. Plus it gave the dish some nice “tex mex” colors.
Half the fun of fajitas is the fireworks when the meat hits the pan. That strong, fast sizzle could only be more grand with the 1812 overture playing in the background. It’s the unmistakable sound of “something’s cookin’!” It took less than a minute to cook the meat, and the whole dish came together in about 5 minutes once I started cooking.
Now for serving, there was a dilemma. Every fajita I’ve ever had has come with two things. First they come on an insulated iron plate that is sizzling violently.
Secondly, they always came with a Mexican waiter who would warn me that said smoking, sizzling, steaming plate was very hot.” Having neither of these two essential items, and thinking better of placing a rocket-hot cast iron fry pan onto my table, I elected to plate them up on a warmed flour tortilla, lightly buttered, served alongside my chile-buttered maize.
Speaking of Maize, I’m trying to use that word instead of “corn” simply because I understand that the entire rest of the population of the world calls it maize, or masa, and I’m just international that way. Plus Maize sounds more exotic, like I’ve “done something” to the corn using super-secret-jedi-master-chef skills. Really I’m a minimalist when it comes to cooking maize. For me, the biggest part of the dish is the sauce, which is nothing more than some chile peppers and garlic steeped in a little butter. I boiled the corn only long enough to warm it through, then tossed it with the spicy garlicky goodness and served it next to my fajitas, garnished with a little cheese and fresh cilantro.
These might just be the best fajitas I’ve ever had! The fruitiness of the roasted chiles had a bit of spice left in them, but it certainly was not overpowering. Roasting them first was a good call because it took off the waxy skin and made for an almost velvety texture. The heat itself was offset a little from the saltiness of the meat, which was just enough to add flavor to the meal, but was not overpowering. The onions gave everything a nice pleasant crunch, and had cooked down just enough so that they began to get traces of sweetness, but still had some nice bite to them.
All this combined with the chile-garlic buttered maize made for a well-tied together dish. It was such an improvement over the chile-rubbed ho-humness of a few days past. I served it up with a frosty Sam Adams Pils beer, now that’s what I call good eating!
486 to go!
I switched from rubbing the steak with chile powder to a marinade of Worcestershire, white wine, and spices. I think this is a better move because the meat is so thin and cooks so fast, having flavor already inside the meat from the liquid helps a lot. Also, not dousing the meat in powder means there’s more direct contact with the meat and pan, so it makes for a better sear.
With the onions, caramelization was out for this dish. I wanted them done hot and fast! This would let them cook a little bit, but would prevent them from developing an over-sweet character. For the peppers, I didn’t want to use big honkin’ chunks of bell pepper, but I didn’t want to sear my mouth off from a habanero either. My solution? To roast a red chile and a jalapeno, then remove the skin, seeds, and inner membrane with a paring knife so sharp it could be used as a surgical implement. This way it let the fruity essences of the pepper come out, while removing a lot of the outright heat. Plus it gave the dish some nice “tex mex” colors.
Half the fun of fajitas is the fireworks when the meat hits the pan. That strong, fast sizzle could only be more grand with the 1812 overture playing in the background. It’s the unmistakable sound of “something’s cookin’!” It took less than a minute to cook the meat, and the whole dish came together in about 5 minutes once I started cooking.
Now for serving, there was a dilemma. Every fajita I’ve ever had has come with two things. First they come on an insulated iron plate that is sizzling violently.
Secondly, they always came with a Mexican waiter who would warn me that said smoking, sizzling, steaming plate was very hot.” Having neither of these two essential items, and thinking better of placing a rocket-hot cast iron fry pan onto my table, I elected to plate them up on a warmed flour tortilla, lightly buttered, served alongside my chile-buttered maize.
Speaking of Maize, I’m trying to use that word instead of “corn” simply because I understand that the entire rest of the population of the world calls it maize, or masa, and I’m just international that way. Plus Maize sounds more exotic, like I’ve “done something” to the corn using super-secret-jedi-master-chef skills. Really I’m a minimalist when it comes to cooking maize. For me, the biggest part of the dish is the sauce, which is nothing more than some chile peppers and garlic steeped in a little butter. I boiled the corn only long enough to warm it through, then tossed it with the spicy garlicky goodness and served it next to my fajitas, garnished with a little cheese and fresh cilantro.
These might just be the best fajitas I’ve ever had! The fruitiness of the roasted chiles had a bit of spice left in them, but it certainly was not overpowering. Roasting them first was a good call because it took off the waxy skin and made for an almost velvety texture. The heat itself was offset a little from the saltiness of the meat, which was just enough to add flavor to the meal, but was not overpowering. The onions gave everything a nice pleasant crunch, and had cooked down just enough so that they began to get traces of sweetness, but still had some nice bite to them.
All this combined with the chile-garlic buttered maize made for a well-tied together dish. It was such an improvement over the chile-rubbed ho-humness of a few days past. I served it up with a frosty Sam Adams Pils beer, now that’s what I call good eating!
486 to go!
Friday, February 12, 2010
Bear-den, Home-invasion Porridge
My grandpa Frank used to tell me the story of Goldilocks and the three bears. As much as I loved attention from Grandpa, I never understood what was so special about “porridge” (essentially boiled oats) that it would lead anyone into a bear-den to burglarize a food supply. Anytime I had eaten oats(or more appropriately, been “force-fed”), they had been globby, gloppy masses of unidentifiable cereal-like substance. It was always….nutritious.
In my recent experiments with Irish oats, I have noticed potential in their chewy texture and slightly nutty flavor. Some experiments worked but were uninspiring, and others were just plain awful. So before I relegate the Irish oat can to the deep, dark recesses of my pantry, never to be seen or heard from again, I felt it appropriate to give them one last chance at redemption. After all, Goldilocks got to sample three bowls of “porridge” before she got busted by the rightly indignant bears, so I’d try three attempts before moving on to higher culinary ground. This called for assistance from some culinary heavyweight champions; butter, brown sugar, milk, and raisins for backup.
Melting some butter in a saucier, I thought it would be a good idea to “toast” the oats to develop some more of that nutty flavor I had liked from last time. So this I did, and once my keen olfactory sensors detected the smell of nuts and butter in the air, I then added raisins and some water and let the oats cook at a simmer, until they were ready for the next additions.
Once the oats were ready (al dente, you could say), I added in a tablespoon of brown sugar, some freshly ground cinnamon, and some whole milk for a velvety consistency. Once everything was combined, I garnished it with a couple strawberries and somewhat nervously sat down at my table with my porridge.
I will never think about “oatmeal” the same way again. This was a far cry from the pasty bowl’o’doom oatmeal I was forced to choke down in my youth. These oats were fantastic, in fact, if it were being served in a formal setting, you could get away quite easily in describing it as a sweet breakfast risotto! The oats were creamy, yet held a nice texture that actually required some chewing (think about it, when was the last time you HAD to really “chew” oatmeal?). Toasting the oats really did intensify their flavor, which balanced perfectly with the brown sugar and raisins so that it was in the forefront of flavor, but not overpowering like brown rice might be. The butter and the milk made for a sleek and velvety flavor delivery system. Oh yes, this was a very hearty bowl of breakfast porridge, and saved my Irish oats from the dungeon of my pantry.
Now with this new perspective, I can see what would drive little Goldilocks to a life of crime. Home-invasion, burglary, and evading arrest is a big-rap sheet for such a young one, but if the Bear’s porridge was anything like this one, I can completely understand why poor Goldilocks was driven to brave the dangers of a bear den.
488 recipes to go!
In my recent experiments with Irish oats, I have noticed potential in their chewy texture and slightly nutty flavor. Some experiments worked but were uninspiring, and others were just plain awful. So before I relegate the Irish oat can to the deep, dark recesses of my pantry, never to be seen or heard from again, I felt it appropriate to give them one last chance at redemption. After all, Goldilocks got to sample three bowls of “porridge” before she got busted by the rightly indignant bears, so I’d try three attempts before moving on to higher culinary ground. This called for assistance from some culinary heavyweight champions; butter, brown sugar, milk, and raisins for backup.
Melting some butter in a saucier, I thought it would be a good idea to “toast” the oats to develop some more of that nutty flavor I had liked from last time. So this I did, and once my keen olfactory sensors detected the smell of nuts and butter in the air, I then added raisins and some water and let the oats cook at a simmer, until they were ready for the next additions.
Once the oats were ready (al dente, you could say), I added in a tablespoon of brown sugar, some freshly ground cinnamon, and some whole milk for a velvety consistency. Once everything was combined, I garnished it with a couple strawberries and somewhat nervously sat down at my table with my porridge.
I will never think about “oatmeal” the same way again. This was a far cry from the pasty bowl’o’doom oatmeal I was forced to choke down in my youth. These oats were fantastic, in fact, if it were being served in a formal setting, you could get away quite easily in describing it as a sweet breakfast risotto! The oats were creamy, yet held a nice texture that actually required some chewing (think about it, when was the last time you HAD to really “chew” oatmeal?). Toasting the oats really did intensify their flavor, which balanced perfectly with the brown sugar and raisins so that it was in the forefront of flavor, but not overpowering like brown rice might be. The butter and the milk made for a sleek and velvety flavor delivery system. Oh yes, this was a very hearty bowl of breakfast porridge, and saved my Irish oats from the dungeon of my pantry.
Now with this new perspective, I can see what would drive little Goldilocks to a life of crime. Home-invasion, burglary, and evading arrest is a big-rap sheet for such a young one, but if the Bear’s porridge was anything like this one, I can completely understand why poor Goldilocks was driven to brave the dangers of a bear den.
488 recipes to go!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The good, the bad, and the chili-rubbed.
Usually my dishes seem to go one of two ways, absolutely beautiful, or horribly, horribly wrong. Tonight was one that was pretty much inbetween these two extremes. It wasn’t a rapture to flavor nirvana, nor was it a banishment to taste-bud purgatory. Tonight I think is my first instance of “good technique, poor combinations.”
If I told you that dinner would be chile-rubbed sirloin with caramelized onions and herbed goat cheese, that may get your culinary mind racing, or at the very least raise your eyebrows. In theory, this should work just fine. After all, onions and steak are natural companions, and a soft herbed goat cheese is often a welcome addition to most dishes for the average foodie.
Yet despite this description, something was….off… The chile rub was “powdery” in my mouth, not well combined with the steak. The onions were too sweet for the seasonings in the meat, and things generally clashed. Yet the searing of the meat was perfectly done. The caramelizing of the onions was performed to exacting standards of GBD (golden, Brown and Delicious). So how was this dish underwhelming, and what could I do to improve it? This is such a fun puzzle for me to figure out, that I will have to enjoy an extra glass of wine tonight to allow myself respite from this glorious culinary dilema.
The answer I believe lies somewhere in the pre-cooking preparation and the combination of techniques I used to construct the dish, not in ingredients or seasonings really. I am thinking I would like to try this again, but using a brine to increase the tenderness of the meat, and higher heat for the onions so they grill rather than get too caramelized. We’ll see. I have some steak leftover and I will try this again, probably tomorrow just to see what I can learn.
The estute observer will also notice some risotto with sausages and mushrooms on the plate. Suffice it to say that I have now determined that Oats do not belong in this type of application. The nuttiness that I thought would blend well with other flavors actually served to be very overpowering, and the saltiness of the other ingredients clashed with the nuttiness of the oats. No, I will leave Irish Oats from now on in the realm of sweeter creations and breakfast porridges. Oh well, it was a conderful try though, and I’m glad I did it!
I am not counting the recipes I did tonight, because I believe I can do better, and once I can, I’lldefinately be sharing them with you.
489 recipes to go (still)!
If I told you that dinner would be chile-rubbed sirloin with caramelized onions and herbed goat cheese, that may get your culinary mind racing, or at the very least raise your eyebrows. In theory, this should work just fine. After all, onions and steak are natural companions, and a soft herbed goat cheese is often a welcome addition to most dishes for the average foodie.
Yet despite this description, something was….off… The chile rub was “powdery” in my mouth, not well combined with the steak. The onions were too sweet for the seasonings in the meat, and things generally clashed. Yet the searing of the meat was perfectly done. The caramelizing of the onions was performed to exacting standards of GBD (golden, Brown and Delicious). So how was this dish underwhelming, and what could I do to improve it? This is such a fun puzzle for me to figure out, that I will have to enjoy an extra glass of wine tonight to allow myself respite from this glorious culinary dilema.
The answer I believe lies somewhere in the pre-cooking preparation and the combination of techniques I used to construct the dish, not in ingredients or seasonings really. I am thinking I would like to try this again, but using a brine to increase the tenderness of the meat, and higher heat for the onions so they grill rather than get too caramelized. We’ll see. I have some steak leftover and I will try this again, probably tomorrow just to see what I can learn.
The estute observer will also notice some risotto with sausages and mushrooms on the plate. Suffice it to say that I have now determined that Oats do not belong in this type of application. The nuttiness that I thought would blend well with other flavors actually served to be very overpowering, and the saltiness of the other ingredients clashed with the nuttiness of the oats. No, I will leave Irish Oats from now on in the realm of sweeter creations and breakfast porridges. Oh well, it was a conderful try though, and I’m glad I did it!
I am not counting the recipes I did tonight, because I believe I can do better, and once I can, I’lldefinately be sharing them with you.
489 recipes to go (still)!
Roast of Ages, Cluck for Me
Roasted Chicken. When was this household staple banished from our ovens and given over to the world of mega-mart deli departments, heat lamps, and little waterproof plastic coffins. I decided I was going to try my hand at this one. I wanted to do it simple. This was more about technique than crazy flavors and spices. I needed to know, can I roast things?
The cavity of this bird got stuffed with a few handfuls of herbs. Some fresh parsley and basil, lemon slices, some onion, and crushed garlic cloves. You know there’s quite a bit of space in one of those things. I half expected a parade of Cornish-game hen clowns to start coming out of that thing after a while.
I took some lemon zest and minced garlic and rubbed it between the skin and meat as best I could, then gave the skin a light rubdown with some vegetable oil and a sprinkle of coarse sea salt. Wow this sounds pretty good so far. This lucky chicken probably never got this kind of treatment in the barnyard! You know people pay a lot of money for this kind of treatment at spas.
It roasted in the oven for about an hour over pretty heavy heat, a hefty 450 degrees, though next time I’ll probably lower the temperature to 300 in the last few minutes just because I started getting a few wisps of smoke, but nothing even a half-dead exhaust fan couldn’t handle. It was totally worth it, because the smell of a roasting chicken, lemon, and fresh herbs permeated every corner of my tiny apartment, and probably other apartments too!
For sides, I went with some red braised cabbage, apples and caraway seeds. I was pleased with the nice purple color, and much more pleased with the total absence of “cabbage cooking smell” (read: fart) in the air. I had never tried braising cabbage before, so I wanted to try this take on it, and all the research I did said “cook red cabbage with apples, or the world will explode.” Not wanting to be the cause of the apocalypse, I stuck with tradition, though I used white wine and some bay leaf instead of just apple cider. It came out really nice, but I think it would be better served alongside pork instead of chicken. The sweetness of it clashed a bit with the turned up savory level of the chicken and potatoes.
Speaking of potatoes, I didn’t feel like baking, so I went with boiling, and just some butter, parsley, salt and pepper followed by a quick browning in some butter. Simple. Traditional, and a perfect accompaniment to the chicken. Speaking of the chicken…
When it was time, I ended up with a beautiful golden bird. The skin was golden brown, delicious, and somehow crispy without being “dry”. Every bite was an adventure in flavor, first the slightly salty yet crispy skin, then the burst of lemon and garlic, followed by juicy deliciousness of chicken.
What was the final outcome of this little experiment? Well it’s more work than grabbing one of those churn-a-bird displays to be sure, but I’ll go out on a limb and say that the satisfaction of a simple home-roasted chicken truly rivals that of even the Thanksgiving Turkey. I am now a roasting fan!
The cavity of this bird got stuffed with a few handfuls of herbs. Some fresh parsley and basil, lemon slices, some onion, and crushed garlic cloves. You know there’s quite a bit of space in one of those things. I half expected a parade of Cornish-game hen clowns to start coming out of that thing after a while.
I took some lemon zest and minced garlic and rubbed it between the skin and meat as best I could, then gave the skin a light rubdown with some vegetable oil and a sprinkle of coarse sea salt. Wow this sounds pretty good so far. This lucky chicken probably never got this kind of treatment in the barnyard! You know people pay a lot of money for this kind of treatment at spas.
It roasted in the oven for about an hour over pretty heavy heat, a hefty 450 degrees, though next time I’ll probably lower the temperature to 300 in the last few minutes just because I started getting a few wisps of smoke, but nothing even a half-dead exhaust fan couldn’t handle. It was totally worth it, because the smell of a roasting chicken, lemon, and fresh herbs permeated every corner of my tiny apartment, and probably other apartments too!
For sides, I went with some red braised cabbage, apples and caraway seeds. I was pleased with the nice purple color, and much more pleased with the total absence of “cabbage cooking smell” (read: fart) in the air. I had never tried braising cabbage before, so I wanted to try this take on it, and all the research I did said “cook red cabbage with apples, or the world will explode.” Not wanting to be the cause of the apocalypse, I stuck with tradition, though I used white wine and some bay leaf instead of just apple cider. It came out really nice, but I think it would be better served alongside pork instead of chicken. The sweetness of it clashed a bit with the turned up savory level of the chicken and potatoes.
Speaking of potatoes, I didn’t feel like baking, so I went with boiling, and just some butter, parsley, salt and pepper followed by a quick browning in some butter. Simple. Traditional, and a perfect accompaniment to the chicken. Speaking of the chicken…
When it was time, I ended up with a beautiful golden bird. The skin was golden brown, delicious, and somehow crispy without being “dry”. Every bite was an adventure in flavor, first the slightly salty yet crispy skin, then the burst of lemon and garlic, followed by juicy deliciousness of chicken.
What was the final outcome of this little experiment? Well it’s more work than grabbing one of those churn-a-bird displays to be sure, but I’ll go out on a limb and say that the satisfaction of a simple home-roasted chicken truly rivals that of even the Thanksgiving Turkey. I am now a roasting fan!
Monday, February 8, 2010
Sowing My Wild Irish Oats.
"What you sow, you shall reap." So says the proverb, and tonight in my kitchen, proved quite true, at least partially. When I saw "Irish Oats" at the store, I could not resist picking up a big can. The basic cooking instructions were simple enough, requireing that the cook combine oats, water, and salt if desired in a specific proportion and let it cook for some time. Basically just like any dried pasta recipe you've ever seen on the side of a box.
Figuring my self as a budding epicurist, I foresaw tonights dinner being a butterflied roast chicken, with some braised red cabbage and an artful rendition of Irish oats. Luckily, before I began prepping my bird and cabbage cabesa, I decided to make a quick test batch of these oats.
Following the directions exactly (admittedly a trait I notoriously lack), I cooked my "Irish Oats" according to package directions. I am convinced it was this dish that drove Irish immigrants to America, not a potato blight. Truly a horrid porridge of sticky, tasteless mush. I do believe this has all the flavor of kindergarten sticky paste glue, and probably twice the sticking power.
So bland was this concoction that it did indeed kill my appetite for the evening. Nevertheless, in the aftertaste, once I "glorped" down the stuff, there did emerge a slight nuttiness. A subtle hint of a flavor that had been abused by cooking instructions on the side of a box.
It then dawned on me that just as is the case with dried pasta, only a madman would "follow the directions". Doing so would yield an end product that was more mush than pasta, and would leave an insipid flavor that no sauce could mass. Real pasta makers know it's done by sight, taste and texture. I decided to treat these oats the same way I would treat my pasta. I am going to cook it how I want to, not how the good people at the Irish Oats Company told me to.
But alas, it is too late to continue my gastronomic experimentation this evening. My dreams of culinary grandeur shall remain in my dreams for tonight. But tomorrow, I intend to reap what I have sown! Not a bowl of mush, but a wondrous and savory harvest featuring the flavor of these Irish "steel cut" oats as I believe they were meant to be. So tonight, sleep well everyone! I bid you all, "Good Eating". =)
Figuring my self as a budding epicurist, I foresaw tonights dinner being a butterflied roast chicken, with some braised red cabbage and an artful rendition of Irish oats. Luckily, before I began prepping my bird and cabbage cabesa, I decided to make a quick test batch of these oats.
Following the directions exactly (admittedly a trait I notoriously lack), I cooked my "Irish Oats" according to package directions. I am convinced it was this dish that drove Irish immigrants to America, not a potato blight. Truly a horrid porridge of sticky, tasteless mush. I do believe this has all the flavor of kindergarten sticky paste glue, and probably twice the sticking power.
So bland was this concoction that it did indeed kill my appetite for the evening. Nevertheless, in the aftertaste, once I "glorped" down the stuff, there did emerge a slight nuttiness. A subtle hint of a flavor that had been abused by cooking instructions on the side of a box.
It then dawned on me that just as is the case with dried pasta, only a madman would "follow the directions". Doing so would yield an end product that was more mush than pasta, and would leave an insipid flavor that no sauce could mass. Real pasta makers know it's done by sight, taste and texture. I decided to treat these oats the same way I would treat my pasta. I am going to cook it how I want to, not how the good people at the Irish Oats Company told me to.
But alas, it is too late to continue my gastronomic experimentation this evening. My dreams of culinary grandeur shall remain in my dreams for tonight. But tomorrow, I intend to reap what I have sown! Not a bowl of mush, but a wondrous and savory harvest featuring the flavor of these Irish "steel cut" oats as I believe they were meant to be. So tonight, sleep well everyone! I bid you all, "Good Eating". =)
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Brunch Anyone?
The best part of not having to set my alarm clock is the mystery of "When will I get up?" Today, that was a bright and early 9:08 am. A bit late for breakfast, too early for lunch, therefore it was BRUNCH time!
Scouring my cooking technique book, I came across something I've always wanted to try, but have never attempted. A real, honest to goodness French Omelette. And I didn't want plain, I wanted CHEESE. I had some smoked provelone left, so that was my choice. Some green onions wouldn't hurt either. I wanted chives, but hey I didn't have any and it's too rainy for my lazy ass to wander to the store to get some, so green onions it was.
Let me say this, Omelettes are amazing. I was worried that the inside was going to be undercooked, thus summoning the infamous food police and CDC for salmonella control. But it turned out only slightly runny and deliciously moist inside. The beauty of it is that it made its own cheese sauce on the inside.
Now I can't have eggs without bacon, so naturally I cooked some up. I didn't want it too crispy (I like mine with some "give" to it for breakfast). This time I also did a new technique. I cooked the bacon in the oven, and it was great. It didn't get all rippled up and half burnt. It rendered out some good drippings, which I mournfully threw away...into a bowl...to make a vinagrette for my salad.
Since we are talking brunch here, I got out some baby greens and a fresh vine-ripened tomato, some kalamata olives, and some cheese. Tossed together and used a little bacon drippings to whip up a simple balsamic dressing.
The whole meal was wonderful! The sheer creaminess of the inside of that omlette was pure magic, I really could have just eaten that and been happy, but coupled with the bite of the baby greens and tomatoes and the smokiness of the bacon, it was truly a brunch to remember. These two recipes (the omelette and the bacon/side salad) make such a filling and tasty combination (though I'll probably get a letter from the surgeon general about it). Nevertheless, perhaps tonight I'll stay up a little later than usual, so I can wake up tomorrow, hopefully just a little too late for breakfast and too early for lunch.
Scouring my cooking technique book, I came across something I've always wanted to try, but have never attempted. A real, honest to goodness French Omelette. And I didn't want plain, I wanted CHEESE. I had some smoked provelone left, so that was my choice. Some green onions wouldn't hurt either. I wanted chives, but hey I didn't have any and it's too rainy for my lazy ass to wander to the store to get some, so green onions it was.
Let me say this, Omelettes are amazing. I was worried that the inside was going to be undercooked, thus summoning the infamous food police and CDC for salmonella control. But it turned out only slightly runny and deliciously moist inside. The beauty of it is that it made its own cheese sauce on the inside.
Now I can't have eggs without bacon, so naturally I cooked some up. I didn't want it too crispy (I like mine with some "give" to it for breakfast). This time I also did a new technique. I cooked the bacon in the oven, and it was great. It didn't get all rippled up and half burnt. It rendered out some good drippings, which I mournfully threw away...into a bowl...to make a vinagrette for my salad.
Since we are talking brunch here, I got out some baby greens and a fresh vine-ripened tomato, some kalamata olives, and some cheese. Tossed together and used a little bacon drippings to whip up a simple balsamic dressing.
The whole meal was wonderful! The sheer creaminess of the inside of that omlette was pure magic, I really could have just eaten that and been happy, but coupled with the bite of the baby greens and tomatoes and the smokiness of the bacon, it was truly a brunch to remember. These two recipes (the omelette and the bacon/side salad) make such a filling and tasty combination (though I'll probably get a letter from the surgeon general about it). Nevertheless, perhaps tonight I'll stay up a little later than usual, so I can wake up tomorrow, hopefully just a little too late for breakfast and too early for lunch.
New book and baked apples!
All day I was agonizing over what to cook. I wanted payback for my Johnny Cakes disaster, so I went looking for a good cooking technique book. Not one that just had a bunch of “how to make such and such”, but literally “How to… sauté, make stock, bake, braise, you name it.” I found what I was looking for at Borders, and what a find I made! Le Cordon Bleu’s own “Complete Cooking Techniques”. Oh yeah, it’s on now babe!
The rest of my day was spent pouring over the possibilities. Blessings really do sometimes come disguised as mis-made Johnny Cakes.
Before I knew it, it was 11:00pm and I had nothing going on. So I put down my new treatise on culinary technique mastery, and wandered into the kitchen, somewhat aimlessly.
It was too late to bake anything really (the mixer would probably wake up the building), Or was it? Everything I’ve done so far has been a main dish, savory and usually somewhat involved. I wanted something sweet, comforting and easy. Baked apples to the rescue! I tossed some fresh grated nutmeg and a cinnamon stick into my coffee-mill turned spice grinder, and made enough noise to only wake up three or four neighbors, instead of the entire city block. A few chefish-like ninja moves with a couple knives, and halved apples, chopped toasted pecans and raisins, some brown sugar and butter had made a nice little flavor bomb for my apples. Into the oven they went.
Apples went in, bliss came out. Pure, sugary, nutty, tangy bliss. The apples were still a bit firm, not puddles of mush, and the skin had a nice tartness to complement the sweetness of the filling. Next time, I’ll dress it up with some Ice cream!
I’m glad I got another dish done. But I’m so excited about this book, I wonder if I’ll sleep (?). If I do though, I’ll be headed to my dream kitchen anyhow, so for now, all is good and right in the world.
494 to go.
The rest of my day was spent pouring over the possibilities. Blessings really do sometimes come disguised as mis-made Johnny Cakes.
Before I knew it, it was 11:00pm and I had nothing going on. So I put down my new treatise on culinary technique mastery, and wandered into the kitchen, somewhat aimlessly.
It was too late to bake anything really (the mixer would probably wake up the building), Or was it? Everything I’ve done so far has been a main dish, savory and usually somewhat involved. I wanted something sweet, comforting and easy. Baked apples to the rescue! I tossed some fresh grated nutmeg and a cinnamon stick into my coffee-mill turned spice grinder, and made enough noise to only wake up three or four neighbors, instead of the entire city block. A few chefish-like ninja moves with a couple knives, and halved apples, chopped toasted pecans and raisins, some brown sugar and butter had made a nice little flavor bomb for my apples. Into the oven they went.
Apples went in, bliss came out. Pure, sugary, nutty, tangy bliss. The apples were still a bit firm, not puddles of mush, and the skin had a nice tartness to complement the sweetness of the filling. Next time, I’ll dress it up with some Ice cream!
I’m glad I got another dish done. But I’m so excited about this book, I wonder if I’ll sleep (?). If I do though, I’ll be headed to my dream kitchen anyhow, so for now, all is good and right in the world.
494 to go.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
A virgin sacrifice to the food gods
I got in pretty late this evening, and I didn't want to go back out to the store. So, thinking about the meager ingredients left in my fridge...Hmmm..Corn meal, celery, 1/2 a carrot, mustard..Flour, eggs, milk, butter, frozen blueberries,....cookies? Nah, too late at night.... Pancakes? DEFINATELY too late at night. I'm not much of a baker (yet), but Cornbread is kind of a hybrid of baking and cooking. And I remember having some corn-meal johnny cakes back in a former life when I was in the Marines and stationed at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba. There was a place there called the "Da Jerk House" (It should have been called "2 jamaicans and a grill"). They used to make these things called "Johnny Cakes". So I looked up some basic ratios of various cornbread concoctions, and it seems to be that a fairly simple 2 cups liquid to 1 cup dry ingredients is pretty common. So I went with it...
Reaching deep into my cabinets, I retrieved a brand new Lodge Deep Sided Cast Iron Skillet. Tossed in some oil, stoked a sapphire-clue propane flame to "medium high", and combined a basic batter of milk, cornmeal, salt and some honey (and frozen blueberries, just to see what would happen).
At first, I was optimistic. The batter hit the pan with the riveting music of hot oil meeting the mash. Sparing you a description of flipping an object with a spatula, suffice it to say that I finished my "cakes", and ended up with....well...a medium-rare batch of corn meal. Well seared on the outside, and "grainy" in the middle.
Normally I would get all butt-hurt over something like this, but since I'm learning, I am really looking forward to finding out what went wrong, and how I can fix it! No pictures of these horrors this time, and no recipe count. But tomorrow is another day, and I think it's time to try my hand at this baking business... =)
still 494 recipes to go.
Reaching deep into my cabinets, I retrieved a brand new Lodge Deep Sided Cast Iron Skillet. Tossed in some oil, stoked a sapphire-clue propane flame to "medium high", and combined a basic batter of milk, cornmeal, salt and some honey (and frozen blueberries, just to see what would happen).
At first, I was optimistic. The batter hit the pan with the riveting music of hot oil meeting the mash. Sparing you a description of flipping an object with a spatula, suffice it to say that I finished my "cakes", and ended up with....well...a medium-rare batch of corn meal. Well seared on the outside, and "grainy" in the middle.
Normally I would get all butt-hurt over something like this, but since I'm learning, I am really looking forward to finding out what went wrong, and how I can fix it! No pictures of these horrors this time, and no recipe count. But tomorrow is another day, and I think it's time to try my hand at this baking business... =)
still 494 recipes to go.
The slow-cooked calamari experiment
Now I've had rubbery, overcooked, gross calamari in restaurants before. After all, everyone knows that squid are best when cooked, hot, fast, and not too much, or they become little marine-based chunks of tire rubber. But I had heard somewhere that if you cook them low and slow, they will become very tender again and delicious. I had to try this. So I made up a nice quick tomato sauce of carrot, onion and garlic, a little white wine, some tomatos and tomato paste, some dried herbs, and a pinch of both salt, pepper, and suger (to cut the acidity from the tomatos and the wine a bit).
I let that dutch oven simmer over the lowest flame my stovetop could muster. Since it took 3 hours to cook, I took the liberty of roasting a little garlic, smearing it on some bread with some pecorino and olive oil, adding a few freshly torn basil leaves, and having a snack. Simple garlic bread? Yes, I know it's not too creative, and I don't really count it as a recipe quite yet, since it was basically just a sauce and roasted garlic delivery device (for me, garlic bread is more of an eating utinsil than aside dish!) Of course I made enough for dipping in my squiddy-masterpiece haha.
Well, after 3 hours for a project I thought at first might just take 1 or 2 tops, I dished out a bit of the calamari tomato sauce, topped it with some fresh herbs and pecroino and took a big bit of my squid sauce (technically, a mariner's sauce or marinara? I'll look into that hehe). Wow. I must say this is probably my favorite way to eat squid now. It was almost as soft and tender as cheese! The acidity balance I had been so concerned about earlier was perfectly balanced with the taste of fresh herbs, cheese, and the subtle hints of clean ocean in the sauce, as though it had been flavored by the Mediterranean breeze itself. It's a simple dish, with no real accompaniment aside from some simple and crusty garlic bread, and to be quite honest, that's all this dish really needs...aside from a nice glass of wine of course!
1 more dish down, 494 to go!
I let that dutch oven simmer over the lowest flame my stovetop could muster. Since it took 3 hours to cook, I took the liberty of roasting a little garlic, smearing it on some bread with some pecorino and olive oil, adding a few freshly torn basil leaves, and having a snack. Simple garlic bread? Yes, I know it's not too creative, and I don't really count it as a recipe quite yet, since it was basically just a sauce and roasted garlic delivery device (for me, garlic bread is more of an eating utinsil than aside dish!) Of course I made enough for dipping in my squiddy-masterpiece haha.
Well, after 3 hours for a project I thought at first might just take 1 or 2 tops, I dished out a bit of the calamari tomato sauce, topped it with some fresh herbs and pecroino and took a big bit of my squid sauce (technically, a mariner's sauce or marinara? I'll look into that hehe). Wow. I must say this is probably my favorite way to eat squid now. It was almost as soft and tender as cheese! The acidity balance I had been so concerned about earlier was perfectly balanced with the taste of fresh herbs, cheese, and the subtle hints of clean ocean in the sauce, as though it had been flavored by the Mediterranean breeze itself. It's a simple dish, with no real accompaniment aside from some simple and crusty garlic bread, and to be quite honest, that's all this dish really needs...aside from a nice glass of wine of course!
1 more dish down, 494 to go!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Lentil Soup and Spaghetti with herbs
After a grueling day of classes, I came home and before I even thought about dinner, food, or cooking, I thought about how comfortable my bed was….four hours later, I woke up from a hearty nap, and I was hungry. It’s been a bit chilly lately, so I wanted something warm and comforting, and for me, that (usually) means pasta and some sort of soup.
Tonight, it was spaghetti and lentil soup. I kept the pasta fresh, and clean tasting with just some nice handfuls of chopped fresh parsley and basil, a little black pepper, a pat of butter, and of course, the king of cheeses, Pecorino Romano. I did learn this. Bacon is not always the best thing to add to spaghetti! A first for me, since I’ve been known to eat bacon with anything (Bacon with beef, bacon with jello, bacon with bacon, (you get the picture). The problem was the texture. The bacon overshadowed the fresh parsley and basil with its smokiness. Next time I’ll put the bacon in the lentil soup. Ohhhh yeah babe.
The lentil soup was simple. Celery, carrot, onions and garlic, coriander, black pepper, bay leaf tomato paste and some salt. Mixed together in one of my favorite solvents (chicken broth), it took about half an hour to bring this meal together. A little smoked provolone right at the end gave this dish a nice smoky introduction to the palate , which was followed with the wonderful earthiness of the lentils. However, when I make this dish again, I’ll swap the smoked provolone of the lentil soup with the bacon I put in the pasta.
I am really learning the value of sweating some lardons before cooking a dish. I used to think “How come these chefs use so little bacon for such a huge dish? There’s not even enough to SEE the bacon in the end!” Now I realize that the flavor of that bacon just blends so well with the other ingredients throughout the cooking process, that the cooked bacon is just an added bonus at the end. I learned that using a gallon of water or more (ata minimum) is an absolute MUST for the pasta, since it gives the strands plenty of room to dance in their vigorous water bath without being crowded.
The biggest lesson I take away from preparing this meal is that sometimes fresh herbs, a little butter, and some cheese on spaghetti really can be a simple comfort food, and that man cannot live on bacon bits alone. 5 recipes down, 495 to go.
Tonight, it was spaghetti and lentil soup. I kept the pasta fresh, and clean tasting with just some nice handfuls of chopped fresh parsley and basil, a little black pepper, a pat of butter, and of course, the king of cheeses, Pecorino Romano. I did learn this. Bacon is not always the best thing to add to spaghetti! A first for me, since I’ve been known to eat bacon with anything (Bacon with beef, bacon with jello, bacon with bacon, (you get the picture). The problem was the texture. The bacon overshadowed the fresh parsley and basil with its smokiness. Next time I’ll put the bacon in the lentil soup. Ohhhh yeah babe.
The lentil soup was simple. Celery, carrot, onions and garlic, coriander, black pepper, bay leaf tomato paste and some salt. Mixed together in one of my favorite solvents (chicken broth), it took about half an hour to bring this meal together. A little smoked provolone right at the end gave this dish a nice smoky introduction to the palate , which was followed with the wonderful earthiness of the lentils. However, when I make this dish again, I’ll swap the smoked provolone of the lentil soup with the bacon I put in the pasta.
I am really learning the value of sweating some lardons before cooking a dish. I used to think “How come these chefs use so little bacon for such a huge dish? There’s not even enough to SEE the bacon in the end!” Now I realize that the flavor of that bacon just blends so well with the other ingredients throughout the cooking process, that the cooked bacon is just an added bonus at the end. I learned that using a gallon of water or more (ata minimum) is an absolute MUST for the pasta, since it gives the strands plenty of room to dance in their vigorous water bath without being crowded.
The biggest lesson I take away from preparing this meal is that sometimes fresh herbs, a little butter, and some cheese on spaghetti really can be a simple comfort food, and that man cannot live on bacon bits alone. 5 recipes down, 495 to go.
Monday, February 1, 2010
REAL Lemon-Garlic and herb chicken.
So what's for dinner? I muttered to myself as I packed up my stuff and readied to leave my school internship for the day.
Pot Roast? Too long to cook. Potatoes Au gratin, too complicated sounding. Beans, Too “musical”. Ahh. CHICKEN! I feel like chicken tonight, like chicken tonight!
I decided that tonight I wanted to do a lemon and herb chicken. But I didn’t want to just sprinkle on some of Larry’s Lemon Seasoning and be done with it. I wanted the real thing. Plus if I researched this right, it would teach me how to really get golden and delicious chicken every time.
The technique was pretty much similar to a pot roast I suppose. Brown chicken in pan, braise, and chomp. What did I learn? Well I’m glad I did a little bit of reading on How to get a nice brown chicken skin. Because I found out I have been doing things wrong. First is to make sure the chicken is dry going into the pan, or else it just steams instead of browns. Second is do not crowd the pan, or else the chicken steams, and doesn’t brown. Since browning is what I wanted, I followed both these bits of wisdom to see what would happen. Alos I figured out that blasting the chicken under the broiler for a few minutes before serving made the skin nice and crispy in addition to being brown. (after sitting in the braising steam and liquid, the skin was a bit...flabby).
I stuffed some lemon slices, rosemary, thyme, salt, black pepper, and one diced red chile UNDER the skin of my chicken. I figure that skin is supposed to keep things OUT of a critter, and I wanted to flavor the meat, not just the skin.
Then I dried off my pretty chicken legs and thighs, and put them in my hot pan with butter and oil, where a symphony of sizzling sounds, aromas and little steam vapors wisped from the pan.
It was not long before my entire apartment smelled like chickeny-goodness! I still had a bit of time before the stuff was done so what do I do? I looked in my fridge and I had some mustard greens I wanted to try out. Since they cook fast, I decided to go with it!
I sweated some garlic in butter and olive oil, then sauteed the greens over high heat until they got nice and wilty. A dash of minced garlic near the end and some salt and pepper really gave the greens some extra bite!
When the chicken was ready, I took it one step further. I broiled the chicken for 5 minutes just to crisp the already browned skin a bit.
I made a quick white wine pan sauce (thank god for the gravy seperator!) and soon I was digging into a piece of poultry heaven, Lemon, herbs, and garlic leapt from the chicken straight to my taste buds. I served the mustard greens below, and it was a beautiful mix of bitter and a little sour, yet buttery garlic was in every bite. Along with a little pinot grigio, which added a mellow sweetness, I was in culinary heaven. I am so glad I wrote this recipe down. I’ll be making it again in the future, the very very near future.
So that’s 2 more recipes in one day. 497 to go!
Pot Roast? Too long to cook. Potatoes Au gratin, too complicated sounding. Beans, Too “musical”. Ahh. CHICKEN! I feel like chicken tonight, like chicken tonight!
I decided that tonight I wanted to do a lemon and herb chicken. But I didn’t want to just sprinkle on some of Larry’s Lemon Seasoning and be done with it. I wanted the real thing. Plus if I researched this right, it would teach me how to really get golden and delicious chicken every time.
The technique was pretty much similar to a pot roast I suppose. Brown chicken in pan, braise, and chomp. What did I learn? Well I’m glad I did a little bit of reading on How to get a nice brown chicken skin. Because I found out I have been doing things wrong. First is to make sure the chicken is dry going into the pan, or else it just steams instead of browns. Second is do not crowd the pan, or else the chicken steams, and doesn’t brown. Since browning is what I wanted, I followed both these bits of wisdom to see what would happen. Alos I figured out that blasting the chicken under the broiler for a few minutes before serving made the skin nice and crispy in addition to being brown. (after sitting in the braising steam and liquid, the skin was a bit...flabby).
I stuffed some lemon slices, rosemary, thyme, salt, black pepper, and one diced red chile UNDER the skin of my chicken. I figure that skin is supposed to keep things OUT of a critter, and I wanted to flavor the meat, not just the skin.
Then I dried off my pretty chicken legs and thighs, and put them in my hot pan with butter and oil, where a symphony of sizzling sounds, aromas and little steam vapors wisped from the pan.
It was not long before my entire apartment smelled like chickeny-goodness! I still had a bit of time before the stuff was done so what do I do? I looked in my fridge and I had some mustard greens I wanted to try out. Since they cook fast, I decided to go with it!
I sweated some garlic in butter and olive oil, then sauteed the greens over high heat until they got nice and wilty. A dash of minced garlic near the end and some salt and pepper really gave the greens some extra bite!
When the chicken was ready, I took it one step further. I broiled the chicken for 5 minutes just to crisp the already browned skin a bit.
I made a quick white wine pan sauce (thank god for the gravy seperator!) and soon I was digging into a piece of poultry heaven, Lemon, herbs, and garlic leapt from the chicken straight to my taste buds. I served the mustard greens below, and it was a beautiful mix of bitter and a little sour, yet buttery garlic was in every bite. Along with a little pinot grigio, which added a mellow sweetness, I was in culinary heaven. I am so glad I wrote this recipe down. I’ll be making it again in the future, the very very near future.
So that’s 2 more recipes in one day. 497 to go!
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