The "Spring-Broken" Soup Situation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The aftermath (1 of?)

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

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

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

Late night muchies

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

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

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

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

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

447 to go

A chicken in every pot

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

448 recipes to go!

My bouncing baby baguette

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

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

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

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

Bilbo Baguette, and the Lord of the Loaves.

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

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

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

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