Review: Hawaiian Yellowtailfrom Kona Blue

Unadulterated Delight



A week or so ago I got an email from someone commenting on SG and wondering if I was interested in receiving some free fish: "I’d be happy to send you Kona Kampachi and invite you to prepare it any way you like. If you’d like to share about the fish with your readers, great, but if not, don’t worry about it – it’s completely up to you." I happen to be a great believer in getting free stuff I'm interested in with no strings attached, so after checking out Kona Blue's Web site I told her to send it along. I'd try it and might or might not write about it and I might or might not be positive about the experience.

I'm here to say, "Wow!"

Yesterday (as I write this) I received a large, heavy package from the company. I was expecting it having received notification that it had been picked up by Fed-Ex two days earlier. I opened the box and found a huge plastic bag. I opened the bag and found an aluminized thermal blanket. I opened the blanket and found about a dozen frozen freezer packs. I dug through them and found a smaller plastic bag. I opened it and found two fresh (not frozen) fillets weighing about a pound each wrapped in plastic. I stuck my nose in the bag and sniffed — pure ocean. Supper had arrived.

Kona Blue raises Hawaiian Yellowtail (also known as Almaco Jack and trademarked as Kona Kampachi) commercially in deep-water farms near Hawaii. The company claims their methods are sustainable and minimize environmental impact. I read about this type of ocean farming several years ago and from what I recall, if done properly it can meet both claims.

The fish I received had been harvested on Sunday. It then went into an iced brine which killed it. On Tuesday it was gutted, cleaned, and shipped. Kona only harvests enough fish at a time to serve that week's orders so the fish is always as fresh as they can make it, but most of their sales are wholesale and for whole fish to restaurants. The company's retail presence is limited.

It's not cheap. The two fillets I received retail for $17.00 each and shipping is another $33.00. Nevertheless, I could have easily fed six for that $67.00, about the cost of a good steak dinner at home. And as I said above, "Wow!" This was certainly in the top 10 of fish I've ever eaten. They say it's sushi grade so I tried a bit raw and it certainly is. But I elected to cook it.

I cut a fillet into thirds and brushed two of the thirds with olive oil, sprinkled sweet Spanish paprika on them along with a bit of salt, and then broiled it until barely cooked through. It was like eating butter. My plan had been to eat only one third and use the other cooked third in a salad for lunch today. Not possible. The fish was just too good and I ate it last night as well. I still have the third third and will do something with it this evening.

I also understand why the company was so laissez faire about whether I wrote them up or not. They knew that no real foodie could resist singing the praises of this fish once he or she had tasted it. It really gripes me to be so predictable, and I wish I could think of something negative to say to at least give the appearance objectivity, but the truth is saying something negative wouldn't be objective. The fish is just that good.

Hmmm, perhaps I should have held out for a press junket to Hawaii...

Technorati: Food | review | kevin d weeks | seriously good | seafood | hawaiian yellowtail | Kona+Kampachi

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Paisano: Senate Bean Soup

Legislative Legacy



I've been working on an article for NPR's Kitchen Window about bean dishes. One that I recall from my childhood is the famous Senate Bean Soup, which is served in the U.S. Senate dining room every day. The exact origins of the dish are unkown, but according to the official Senate Bean Soup Web site the original recipe is unknown, but one reputed original version contains mashed potatoes. However, the recipe served today doesn't include potatoes.

I never really cared for what my mother made (although as best I can recall she used the current version that now appears on the Web site). So recently I set out to see if I could improve it.

Senate Bean Soup is served in the U.S. Senate dining room every day.

First, both recipes published on the Senate site call for Navy Beans and these aren't a favorite of mine because I find both the texture and flavor somewhat chalky. My favorite white bean is the cannellini. This bean has a subtle sweetness and an almost silky texture.

Step two was hydrating the beans. In one case the recipe calls for a smoked ham hock and in the other for ham itself and a ham bone. Experience has taught me that the only opportunity you really have to flavor the beans themselves (as opposed to the liquid they're in) is when they're hydrating and soaking up liquid and whatever flavors that liquid contains — and as with pasta, if you want to salt the beans do it when they're soaking up liquid.

I decided to flavor the liquid with a smoked ham hock, salt (lots), dried sage, black pepper, celery, onion, and parsley. In effect, I made a stock.

For the final dish, I discarded the vegetables in the stock and added sautéed onions, country ham, and diced potatoes. The potatoes were primarily for visual and textural interest.

This was a great bowl of soup. Packed with flavor and with a marvelous texture.

Senate Bean Soup

1 lb cannellini beans
1 smoked ham hock
2 tbsp salt (seriously)
2 md onions
1 lg stalk celery — broken in thirds
2 tsp dried sage
1 sm bunch parsley
1/2 tbsp cracked black pepper
1/2 lb white potatoes — cut into 1/2" dice
8 oz country ham
freshly ground black pepper

Slice through the skin on a smoked ham hock in several places — this makes it easier for the hock to contribute flavor and to recover the meat at the end of cooking. Peel and quarter one of the onions.

Place beans, ham hock, celery stalk, quartered onion, salt, sage, and cracked pepper in a soup pot and add enough water to cover the beans by 2 inches. Over high heat, bring just to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover pot, and simmer for 3 hours. Check at two hours to see if you need to top up the liquid.

In the meantime, dice the remaining onion and country ham. Cook in a skillet over medium heat with a bit of oil or butter until the onions are translucent. Reserve.

When the beans have cooked for three hours, remove and discard the onion quarters, celery, and parsley. Extract whatever meat you can from the hock and add back to the pot. Add the diced onions, ham, and potatoes. Adjust liquid, and continue to simmer for 30 - 40 minutes until potatoes are done. Adjust seasonings and serve.

Technorati: Food | recipe | kevin d weeks | seriously good | soup | beans | senate bean soup

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Spot-On: Meat & Three

If you wander the byways of the South, avoiding the interstates and instead taking what William Least Heat Moon called the "blue highways" you'll eventually begin to notice signs for that mainstay of Southern eateries: the meat-n-three.

You can read the complete article at Spot-On.

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BLT 2007

First BLT of the season on homemade sourdough bread.

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Cannellini Méditerranée

Mediteranean Medley



As a personal chef I'm always on the lookout for dishes that will be new to my clients, but not too new. Dishes that are somewhat exotic, but not too exotic. Dishes that are easy for me to prepare, but don't seem easy to prepare. And above all, dishes that freeze well. A couple of years ago I came up with one such dish.

I didn't start out to make something suitable for my clients, instead I had an urge for cassoulet but didn't want to take the time to make it. True cassoulet involves a multitude of ingredients, a lot of separate steps, and anywhere from one to two days (I even ran across a recipe once that took four days to prepare). Cassoulet is well worth the effort, but isn't a task taken on lightly. I wondered if I could make something more quickly that, although not up to the standard of a great cassoulet, would still be good. I looked up several cassoulet recipes and developed the recipe below. It far exceeded my expectations.

It's only dinner, but cooking makes honest people of liars, realists of dreamers, and well-ordered minds of chaotic and impulsive ones. ~ Molly O'Neill

When cooking for myself I seldom repeat dishes. I have a small repertoire of favorites that I might fix at most twice in a year: tuna casserole, jambalaya, fondue, corned beef and cabbage, gazpacho… But for the most part there are just so many things I haven't tried yet that I avoid repeating myself. However, this bean dish has become a staple not only for my clients, but for my own table. It meets all the criteria for my clients (and is inexpensive to boot) and it's deeply satisfying to eat.

Don't think of this as a quick cassoulet, enjoy it as a good bean recipe in its own right. It's richly savory, has a nice herbal background, and the red pepper gives it a nice bounce. It's not too heavy for summer eating. Serve it with a hearty red wine, focaccia, and a green salad with a simple vinaigrette. (Note: I've published this recipe before, but it's so good I wanted to do so again.)

Cannellini Méditerranée

2 19 oz cans cannellini beans
1/2 lb Italian sausage — cut into 1/2" slices
2 tbsp olive oil
1 md. yellow onion — diced
1 15 oz can diced tomatoes
1 smoked turkey leg — skin removed and diced
2 garlic cloves — minced
3 tbsp tomato paste
2 sprigs fresh sage
4 sprigs fresh thyme
1 sprig fresh rosemary
2 bay leaves
healthy pinch of red pepper flakes
1 - 2 c chicken broth

Heat oven to 300F.

Brown the Italian sausage in olive oil in a dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until translucent. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant (about 1 minute).

Add all reamining ingredients to the pot along with just enough chicken broth to bring the liquid level with the other ingredients.

Cover the pot and place it in the oven for 1 1/2 hours. Remove the cover and continue cooking for another hour until a few beans began to split and release some starch into the broth for thickening.

Note: this is one of those dishes that improves with age.

Technorati: Food | recipe | beans | cannellini

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Coffee Granita

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Spot-On: Think About It

Three weeks ago in "Teach Your Children Well" I wrote: "It seems that more and more folks either don’t cook at all or cook as a matter of self-image and for the sake of conveying a lifestyle. But we should cook, mostly, to have something good to eat and because cooking itself is nourishing to our souls." Last week I added another thought to this in my commentary on the current glut of chefs. ...

You can read the entire article at Spot-On.

Technorati: Food | essay | spot-on | food column | food commentary

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Barbequed Beans

Beans Are Good for the Heart — and Soul



When I was a kid there were times when I took my lunch to school and other periods when I bought my lunch at the cafeteria. Thinking back, I don't recall a particular rhyme or reason to it nor do I particularly remember caring except in one case, when the cafeteria was serving beans I wanted to take my lunch.

In the South at that time beans were often a main dish — and they were horrible. Pinto beans would be cooked for six or seven hours, with perhaps a ham hock as the only flavoring, until they were a lumpy grayish-brown paste. Horrible things that turned me against dried beans.

Beans beans, they're good for the heart
The more you eat the more your fart
The more you fart, the better you feel
So eat your beans at every meal.
~ traditional

There were exceptions, I've always liked cassoulet and my mother made a mean pot of Senate Bean Soup, but even in those cases, a single helping was enough to last me for a year. But for the most part I've had problems getting past the memory of those nasty beans served in the school cafeteria.

But a couple of years ago something prompted me to make a quick cassoulet-like dish that completely blew me away and prompted me to further beanish experiments — among them a stab at making real (smoked) barbequed beans. As you can see from the article, that didn't work out, but this past Memorial Day I tried again and this time I succeeded.

Barbequed Beans
Serves 8.

1 lb dried, dark pinto beans
1 tbsp salt
1 smoked ham hock
1 onion — peeled and cut into eighths
6 oz thick cut bacon — cooked until slightly crisp and cut into lardons
1/2 onion — diced and sautéed in bacon fat
1/4 c brown sugar
1/4 c molasses
1/2 c barbeque sauce
1 1/2 c canned, plain tomato sauce
1 tsp dried sage
1/2 tsp ground mace
2 tbsp chili powder
salt and black pepper to taste

Put the beans, ham hock, onion quarters and 6 cups of water in a soup pot. Bring to a boil over high heat, then reduce heat to low and simmer, partially covered, for 2 1/2 hours. Drain beans, keeping about 1 cup of cooking liquid. Pick the meat off the ham hock and add back to the beans.

In the meantime, cook the bacon in a skillet and drain most of the fat, keeping about 2 tablespoons. Sauté the diced onion in the bacon fat until the onion begins to brown. Set aside.

In an aluminum-foil roasting pan, combine the beans and all other ingredients. (Everything to this point can be done a day in advance.)

If you don't have a smoker or don't want to use it, the beans should be cooked for about 3 more hours, uncovered, in 225F oven. But if, like me, you have a barrel smoker, then once your fire is going place a rack in the middle of the smoker (this is directly over the water pan in my smoker — and do fill the water pan). Set the beans, uncovered, on this rack, then add the top rack and set whatever meat you're planning on smoking on it. I did ribs, but even turkey or chickens would be all right. The idea is that as the meat cooks any juices drip into the beans adding still more flavor. Smoke for at least 3 hours and 5 to 6 is better.

The beans came out tender, but mostly whole (no lumpy mush) with a distinct smoke flavor. Absolutely delicious, a complete success.

Technorati: Food | recipe | beans | side dish | barbeque | bbq

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Spot-On: White Jacket, Blue Collar

Jacques Pepin, the master chef who helped popularize French cooking in the U.S., was apprenticed to a chef at age 14. Apprenticed. Cooking has always been a blue-collar job - at its best, a craft. It's a craft that was well-regarded in France, where people have long taken their food seriously, but nevertheless it held a position in the social framework not different in kind from such jobs as seamstress or automobile mechanic.

You can read the complete article at Spot-On.

Technorati: Food | essay | food column | food commentary | chefs | spot-on

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Potato Salad

Not Your Grandmother's Potato Salad



My family has few traditional recipes. There's Mummo's Bourbon Cake, a Christmas treat that's made Thanksgiving weekend and then aged (with regular shots of bourbon) until Christmas. And while Mom made the bourbon cake, Dad would make eggnog, which was also aged until Christmas.

During strawberry season there would be one Saturday or Sunday night supper that consisted solely of Strawberry Shortcake, which Mom made. And summers featured Dad's salad dressing, a soy sauce-based dressing that's particularly good on a green salad that includes leftover grilled steak.

Food has replaced sex in my life, now I can't even get into my own pants ~ Unknown

In fact, for a brief period of time my brother Loren cooked for banquets at a local hotel. The first time there was leftover steak from the banquet he brought it out to my parent's house for the dogs. My mother had a fit over feeding "perfectly good steak" to the dogs so she cut it up for salad. Loren was too squeamish to eat it, but I happened to be there that day and I agreed with my mother — after all, the only things that had touched the meat were a steak knife and my brother's hands.

But those few recipes are about it for traditions, except for Sutherland Potato Salad. And although this isn't your grandmother's potato salad, it is my grandmother's — maybe even her grandmother's.

This is an old recipe (if you can even call it a recipe) from my mother's family that's unusual because the dressing is just oil and vinegar, salt and pepper. The salad itself consists of nothing but potatoes and onions — no eggs, celery, pickles, relish, mayo, mustard, or anything else. Those who've never had this salad are often put off by the idea because it's so drastically different from most potato salads. Nevertheless, one bite always produces raves. It really is a case of the total being greater than the sum of it's parts.

But, given such simple ingredients, every Sutherland who makes it has their own little tweaks. Some swear by baking potatoes while others prefer red potatoes. Some use white onions and others red onions or yellow onions. My Aunt Gloria insisted on white vinegar while I think cider vinegar is best. My mother added fresh dill to her's for a while and I've come to consider the dill essential.

The basic recipe consists of:

3 lb potatoes
1 lg onion
salad oil (vegetable, corn, or canola)
vinegar
salt and pepper

My version consists of:

3 lb Yukon Gold (or baking/Russet/Idaho) potatoes
1 lg red onion (3" diameter)
canola oil
cider vinegar
1/4 c minced fresh dill
salt and pepper

Ingredients
Yukon Golds are perfect for this salad. I like their hint of sweetness and they're a medium-high starch potato. I avoid low starch potatoes for two reasons. First, higher starch potatoes are absorbent and will soak up the oil and vinegar, while with low-starch potatoes the dressing tends to pool in the bowl. Second, high-starch potatoes crumble a bit during mixing and these potato particles absorb more of the dressing and cling to the larger pieces of potatoes resulting in something akin in texture and function to mayonnaise. (Look at the photo, it isn't out of focus, it's grainy because of the potato sauce.)

Red (Bermuda) onions are relatively mild and slightly sweet, which offers a nice contrast to the sour vinegar. Also, the purple color makes for a much more visually appealing dish.

I use canola oil, but any neutral oil will do. The purpose of the oil is mouth feel, not flavor, so avoid olive oil.

I prefer cider vinegar, but white (distilled) vinegar is also fine. Avoid wine-based or flavored vinegars, they detract from the whole rather than contribute to it.

You can skip the dill, but of all the variations on this recipe that I've eaten over the years dill is the only one that works (although, Aunt Gloria was horrified by the idea). The dill adds an herbal, grassy note that gives the salad a freshness it is otherwise missing. And, like the red onion, it makes a more visually appealing result.

Assembly
Cut the onion in quarters vertically, then each quarter in half horizontally. Separate the layers and cut the larger pieces in half again. You should end up with a collection of 1/2 inch squares and some randomly-sized pieces from the center. Dump the onion into a large bowl.

Peel the potatoes and cut into bite-size pieces (1/2 to 3/4 inch square). Cook in boiling, salted water until completely cooked — about 12 minutes. Drain and immediately add to the onions. Mix with 1/2 cup of oil, 1/4 cup of vinegar, a tablespoon of salt and a tablespoon of black pepper. It's essential that the potatoes be hot when mixing in the oil and vinegar because they'll absorb the liquids.

Let the salad sit for a couple of minutes, then taste it (be sure to include a bite of onion). You will almost certainly need to add more oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper but at this point how much of each is a matter of your personal taste. Ideally the flavor will be on the tart side because the tartness will decline as the salad ages.

Let the salad cool to room temperature, then mix in minced dill. Taste again and tweak as needed. Chill for at least four hours, but ideally overnight. Stir and taste one last time before serving.

Note, with the coating of oil and acidity of the vinegar, this is probably the safest potato salad you could take on a picnic.

Technorati: Food | recipe | potato salad | potatoes | picnic | barbeque | salad

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Paisano: Saltimbocca

Jump in the Mouth



Saltimbocca is an Italian word meaning "jump in the mouth" and is the name of a Roman dish classically made with veal, prosciutto, and sage. It's also sometimes made with chicken or pork and cheese is a frequent addition. I've had it a few times made with either chicken or veal and although it was good, I can't say it jumped in my mouth.

This past Saturday I taught a class on Roman cooking and decided to see if I could really make Saltimbocca jump. The first thought that occurred to me was adding a few red pepper flakes – sort of a literal interpretation of "jump." But after a bit of thought I decided that was too literal and would detract from the flavor of the sage. What I wanted to do was to keep the classic flavors, but somehow boost them without altering them.

I decided to go with chicken breasts for the class. Although I have access to flavorful, humanely-raised veal it's expensive and the food allowance for the class wouldn't allow for it. The first thing I decided to do was marinate the chicken in Pinot Grigio with fresh sage for four hours. This would up the wine and sage flavors.

Next, I decided to briefly fry the prosciutto to intensify it's flavor. And lastly I decided to add a tough of anchovy paste and a squeeze of lemon to the sauce.

Anchovies are a natural source of glumates, which enhance savory flavors. The goal wasn't to taste the anchovies, but add just enough to lurk in the background adding deeper and richer savor to the dish.

Although this added four steps to a simple dish, the additional effort is almost nonexistent and this version does do a little skip, hop, and jump with each bite.

Chicken Saltimbocca
Serves 4.

4 boneless, skinless chicken breasts – pounded to 1/2 inch thickness
1 cup Pinot Grigio
2 sprig fresh sage – crumbled
3 tablespoons olive oil
2/3 cup flour
3 tablespoons minced fresh sage plus four sage leaves for garnish
8 slices prosciutto
4 slices provolone
1/4 teaspoon anchovy paste
2 tablespoons butter

Place wine, sage sprig, and chicken breasts in a ziplock bag and marinate for 4 hours, turning occasionally.

Heat oven to 375F.

Heat oil in a sauté pan over medium-high heat. Briefly cook prosciutto, about 5 seconds per side.

Remove chicken from bag, pat dry, and season with salt and pepper. Dredge chicken in flour, shaking off excess, and then brown both sides in the sauté pan. Set sauté pan aside but don't clean.

Place chicken breasts on a foil-lined baking sheet and cook in the oven for about 15 minutes. Top each breast with minced sage, two slices of prosciutto, and a slice of cheese. Cook for another 5 minutes until cheese melts.

In the meantime, deglaze the skillet with the wine, discarding the sage and reduce by 1/2. Stir in anchovy paste and lemon juice. Remove from heat and stir in butter.

Plate the breasts and drizzle each with sauce.

Technorati: Food | recipe | saltimbocca | chicken | italian | paisano

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Spot-On: Teach Your Children Well

I got an odd phone call a few weeks back. In fact, it began with the woman who’d called introducing herself and then saying, “I have an odd request.”

April 26 was “Take Your Child to Work Day” and the call was about the woman’s daughter Emma. It seems her son was going to work with her husband on the 26th, but Emma wanted to be a personal chef when she grew up — Lord knows how she got that particular idea. Wanting to be a famous chef a la Emeril is one thing, but wanting to be a personal chef is all about the food and cooking.

Read the complete article at Spot-On.

Technorati: Food | essay | spot-on | food column | food commentary

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Strawberry Gastrique

Quick & Dirty



I’m short on time, energy, and attention. But strawberry season is almost over and I wanted to share this while there are still good berries available.

A gastrique is a sweet, vinegar-based sauce. It’s marvelous on meats including chicken (which I originally made this for) and pork (which I had it on tonight.).

Strawberry Gastrique

3/4 c white wine
3/4 c balsamic vinegar
3/4 c sugar
1 1/2 c strawberries
1/4 tsp salt

Combine all ingredients in a small sauce pan and simmer until reduced by 2/3. Blend until smooth. If you wish, you can then force the mixture through a sieve to remove any seeds.

Technorati: Food | recipe | sauces | strawberries

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Popovers with Strawberry Conserves

Popping Fresh



My mother believed that three practical skills were essential for all civilized human beings regardless of gender: cooking, sewing, and something I can’t remember (so I'm probably not as civilized as she would wish). Consequently I was the one who sewed all the badges on my scout uniforms and at one point I borrowed a sewing machine, learned to use it, and made curtains for a house I rented, I even got hooked on embroidery, briefly, in my late 20s and did some small pieces as gifts (I think I still have a half-finished dragon and a rather tacky parrot in a basket somewhere). There's something indefinably soothing about embroidery and if I had any sense I'd cook a bit less and sew more. But I don't.

Cooking really stuck. When I was about six she taught me to make Jello, eventually I graduated to making brownies and the like from mixes and by the time I was 14 I was cooking entire meals on occasion. Today I make my living cooking (and writing about cooking and food issues).

Kissing don't last; cookery do! ~ George Meredith

There's a certain hubris in cooking a special meal (as I have each Mother's Day for years) for the woman who taught me to cook. Simultaneously, it is entirely appropriate to present your mentor, the master you learned from, with your best efforts. And, in fact, I'm a better cook than she is.

Perhaps this isn't surprising because she is a skilled and accomplished teacher (she taught at the University of Tennessee while I was growing up) as well an accomplished and skilled cuisinier. So I learned as much from her failures as her successes — because she insisted.

When I was a child we would sit down to a meal and rave about it. In response she'd note how she'd subbed skim milk for half and half because that's what she had and the dish should have been richer had she used half and half. I suspect that was largely a way of deflecting complements, but in doing so she taught me to examine my cooking critically. And over time, I learned her particular cooking faults and how to avoid them.

As usual, this Mother's Day, I fixed brunch. We had Cheshire quiche, asparagus with Mayonnaise Nicoise, and popovers with strawberry conserves and Devon Cream, It was all good, but the popovers and conserves were especially tasty. Mouth-achingly good.

Strawberry Conserves
Makes 1 pint.

1 lb strawberries
1 c sugar — separated
1/4 c Cointreau

Wash and stem strawberries. Cut berries in half or quarters (depending on size) place in a bowl and mix in 1/2 cup sugar and Cointreau. Cover and leave sitting on counter for 24 hours. Stir once or twice.

Pour juice into a small sauce pan over low heat and add remaining sugar. Heat, stirring frequently, for 10 minutes. Add berries and simmer for 30 minutes. Cool and pour into a sterile jar.

Butter Popovers
Makes six large popovers or 12 small.

<1 c Wondra flour (must be Wondra)
1/2 tsp salt
1/2 tsp sugar
1 c whole milk — at room temperature
2 eggs — at room temperature
4 tbsp butter — melted

Heat oven to 425F 30 minutes in advance. Place one oven rack on the bottom level and the other on the second level (this avoids having the popover rising into the other rack).

In a large bowl, whisk together flour, salt, and sugar. Slowly add milk using an electric mixer on low. Add eggs one at a time, thoroughly mixing after each addition. Add two tablespoons of butter to batter. Transfer to pitcher for pouring.

Brush popover cups with butter then distribute remaining butter evenly among the cups.

Heat popover pan in oven for 3 minutes. Fill each cup halfway with batter.

Cook popovers on the second rack for 15 minutes then reduce heat to 350F and continue cooking 20 - 35 minutes until well puffed and brown. Do not open oven for at least the first 20 minutes. Six - 10 minutes before popovers are done, use a small, sharp knife to poke a slit in the top of each popover ad allow steam to escape.

When done, remove popovers from the pan and cool on a rack.

Adapted from The Bread Bible by Rose Levy Beranbaum.

These are the best popovers I've ever eaten, the butter adds richness and tones down the strong eggy flavor most popovers have.

Technorati: Food | recipe | popovers | bread | strawberries

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Spot-On: Going for Silver

My mother gave me a copy of the first edition of The Silver Palate Cookbook for Christmas the year it came out and it quickly became my go-to book for recipe ideas, as it did for many other cooks. A couple of years later The Silver Palate Good Times Cookbook was published, followed in turn by The New Basics Cookbook. By this time my siblings also had copies and we took to calling them the White Book (because of its white spine), the Red Book (because of its red spine), and the Big Book (because it was big).

You can read the complete article at Spot-On.

Technorati: Food | review | food column | spot-on | cookbooks

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Chicken Stroganoff

Variations



Supposedly Beef Stroganoff was created by a chef in Saint Petersburg for a culinary competition held in the 1890s. Although the dish was almost certainly named for Count Paul Stroganoff, a Russian noble and diplomat, Larousse Gastronomique points out that similar dishes were described in the 18th century. However, it also states that the particular version named Stroganoff was created by Charles Briere.

On the other hand:

"It is doubtful that Beef Stroganoff was [Count Stroganoff's] or his chef's invention since the recipe was included in the 1871 edition of the Molokhovets cookbook...which predates his fame as a gourmet. Not a new recipe, by the way, but a refined version of an even older Russian recipe, it had probably beenin the family for some years and became well known through Pavel Stroganoff's love of entertaining." — The Art of Russian Cuisine by Anne Volokh with Mavis Manus, Macmillan, 1983

A recipe is only a theme, which an intelligent cook can play each time with a variation. ~ Madame Jehane Benoit

The dish didn't appear in American cookbooks until 1930. And according to Wikipedia, after the fall of Imperial Russia, the recipe was popular in Chinese hotels and restaurants before the start of the Second World War. Russian and Chinese immigrants, as well as U.S. servicemen stationed in pre-socialist China, brought several variants of the dish to the United States, which may account for its popularity during the 1950s.

As is usual with dishes that become popular, there was a rush to the lowest common denominator and I'm proud to have done my part in dragging it through the dust.

Seriously, though, I use the name "Stroganoff" advisedly in this instance. I don't claim that this is a version of the classic dish, but rather a related effort that is easy to make, is ready in an hour, and is delicious left over.

Chicken Stroganoff
Serves 6.

1 lb chicken tenders — but into 1 inch lengths
1 tbsp oil
1 c rice
1/2 lb musrooms — sliced
1 tsp dried thyme — separated
1 tbsp butter
1/2 ea lg onions — diced
1 clove garlic — minced
3 c chicken stock — separated
1/2 c vermouth
salt and black pepper
1 c sour cream

Make rice using 2 cups of chicken stock and 1/2 teaspoon of thyme. Set aside.

Add mushrooms to a dry 10" sauté pan over medium-high heat. Sprinkle with salt, and cook, stirring frequently until mushrooms begin to brown. Add 1/2 teaspoon thyme and 1 tbsp butter. Cook until well-browned. Put mushrooms on a plate and set aside.

Reduce heat to medium and add onions (you may need to add a bit more butter or oil). Saute, stirring occasionally until they just begin to brown. Add garlic and cook another minute. Add to plate with mushrooms.

Add 2 tablespoons oil and increase heat to medium-high. Brown chicken in two batches. When last batch is browned add vermouth and reduce by half, scraping up fond. Add remaining chicken stock and reserved vegetables. Reduce heat to medium low, cover, and simmer 15 minutes. Uncover, add rice and sour cream.

Technorati: Food | recipe | chicken | stroganoff

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Paisano: Strawberry Shortcake

Paisano: Strawberry Shortcake



There was a large patch of gravel in front of the rickety, boarded-up roadside stand, a plywood structure smaller than my closet that it seemed would fall apart if you looked at it closely. I drove by it each day going to and from work when I lived in California and never gave it much thought – just part of the landscape. Then spring arrived and one day I noticed the stand was open. There was no sign indicating what they had, but there was someone in the shadows of the hut, so I pulled in to see what they had.

Inside there was an old oriental man somewhere between 40 and 104 years old and a woman somewhere between 18 and 40. In front of them were trays of strawberries. Small berries, the size of the end of my thumb, perfectly ruby red and ripe. And now that I could look, I noticed that the field behind the stand – perhaps two acres in size – was filled with strawberry plants. I bought a container and, back in the car and headed home, ate a berry, then another, then a third. They were the sweetest, most intense strawberries I'd ever had in my life. Unbelievably good. I had plain strawberries for dinner than night.

They were the sweetest, most intense strawberries I'd ever had in my life.

For a week they were open every other day and I bought a container every other day. For the next week they were open every day and I exercised great will-power and still only bought them every other day, for a final week they were again only open every other day. And then they were gone, the season over, the gravel lot deserted.

I mourned, but this is what seasonal eating is about. You get while the getting's good. And I got good.

A year later the Paisano dropped by while the stand was operating and I had the pleasure of introducing him to these glorious gems. He was suitably impressed – and impressing him isn’t easy to do. I bought two quarts and told him I was going to make him strawberry shortcake. He was horrified.

He asked me how, as someone who loved food, who understood respecting the food, as a person he had taken under his wing and taught to eat (conveniently forgetting the 40-odd years I'd been eating before meeting him) I could make that… and he lapsed into Hungarian or Romanian or whatever language it is he uses when he's cursing. (He won't tell me and I can't figure it out beyond it being Central European.)

Anyway, I finally got him calmed down and determined his experience with strawberry shortcake had involved commercial angel food cake and that nasty gloppy strawberry jelly the grocery stores sell. I told him this wasn't what I was making. I told him I was making strawberry shortcake like my momma made – but even better.

We got back to my place and capped then halved the berries. I added just enough sugar to bring out the juices, and a healthy dollop of Fra Angelica. Strawberries pair beautifully with nut flavors and the Fra Angelica (as well as Amaretto) highlights them delightfully. While I was prepping the berries, I put Paisano to work skinning a handful of hazelnuts.

We let the berries macerate for about three hours.

When I was growing up my mother made strawberry shortcake using the shortcake recipe on the back of the Bisquik box. I confess I still do that myself sometimes, but for this occasion I wanted to convince the Paisano that this was a truly worthy dish. So I used a scone recipe and, after grinding the hazelnuts into flour substituted them for part of the flour. So now I had hazelnuts in the berries and the shortcake.

I placed a warm biscuit on each plate, added berries, and then unsweetened whipped cream. Paisano, took a bite. Chewed it slowly. Then another bite. He raised his glass of wine to me and said, "Bella." This is the word he uses to say something is as beautiful as a woman, it's a special complement.

Strawberry Shortcake

Strawberries:
2 quarts strawberries – capped and halved or quartered, depending on size
2 - 4 tbsp sugar – depending on berries sweetness
3 tbsp Fra Angelica
Shortcake:
1 3/4 c all purpose flour
1/4 cup hazelnut flour
1/4 c sugar
1 tbsp baking powder
3/4 tsp baking soda
1/2 tsp salt
3 tbsp butter – melted
1 c buttermilk

Prep the strawberries at least three hours in advance and as long as six hours before eating. Taste a couple of berries to get an idea of how sweet they are, then add the Fra Angelica and as much sugar as seems necessary. (Note: You do want to add some sugar because it draws the juices out of the berries.) Cover with plastic, and allow to macerate on the counter-top (refrigerating them will slow down the maceration and dull the flavor).

When ready to eat, heat oven to 450F.

To make the shortcake, place the flour, hazelnut flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a bowl and mix thoroughly. Add the buttermilk and butter and stir in. You’ll end up with a sticky dough. Flour your hands and turn dough out onto a well-floured surface. Using your hands gently pat out into 6 by 9 inch rectangle. Using a 3 inch biscuit cutter, cut out as many rounds as you can (you should end up with six). Place rounds on an ungreased cookie sheet, shape remaining dough into a round and add it to the sheet.

Bake until well-browned on top (if you wish, you can melt some additional butter and brush the tops) – 12 - 15 minutes. Cut hot cakes in half and set on plates. Drizzle with strawberry juices then distribute strawberries and top with whipped cream. Eat immediately.

And the Paisano? He was delighted. In fact he actually made me write down the scone recipe.

Technorati: Food | recipe | Paisano | desserts | strawberries | shortcake | gather

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Caution: Swallowing Hazard

It may be a statistical accident that in the past 12 months we've had three large and unrelated cases of e-Coli contamination. Pure happenstance that a Georgia peanut butter plant was shipping peanut butter contaminated with salmonella... A mere fluke that gluten contaminated with melamine has shown up ... in food fed to pigs and chickens. But I don't think so.

Read the compete article at Spot-On.

Technorati: Food | essay | food column | food commentary| spot-on | food safety

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Spot-On: Creation

Creation

As a cook and one-time musician, I'm much more likely to interpret someone else's work than create my own. But sometimes, I do manage work at a more imaginative level. I don’t claim, even as a cook, to operate at the level of a James Taylor, much less a Chopin. The culinary ideas of Daniel Boulud — and the skills and knowledge and imagination he brings to his ideas — are as far beyond my poor talents as Einstein's equations. Yet, why should Boulud have all the fun?

You can read the complete article at Spot-On.

Technorati: Food | essay | food commentary | food column | spot-on

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Paisano: Lamb Cannellini

Paisano: Lamb Cannellini



The Paisano sat across from me smirking into his wine. We'd gotten into a political argument over dinner and he was quite sure he had "won" the discussion. But the fact is Paisano has no more familiarity with the rules of logic than he does of playing a violin (and I've heard him attempt that). But if he proves a point to his own satisfaction, then it is, "Phhit! Proven!" Stephen Colbert is more capable of rational thought than the old man.

Phitt himself! He needs to trim his beard or shave, one. He looks like a homeless monkey. Yes, I know, an ad hominen attack, but he spent the evening attacking me and refusing to examine the facts of the issue. He says I'm effete, only he thinks "effete" means the same thing as "feminine" but without brains. He spends far too much time hanging around rich people and listening to their insular take on reality.

The discussion began with a remark I made about health care, and Paisano's response was, "Don't get sick." I averred and pointed out that getting sick isn't always a matter of choice, I offered being involved as a passenger in an automobile accident as an example.

His response was, "You just use what you have." I said, "But you have to have something." And, because we were in the kitchen and he had just complained I had nothing to eat, I thought I had won the point. Nope.

He glared at me. Opening the refrigerator again, he pulled out a plastic tub with some leftover kale. Rummaging further, he sighed. I smiled, "What's the problem?" I asked. He ignored me and opened the freezer, quickly discovering a lamb leg bone with some meat on it (a leftover from a cooking class). He pulled out a plastic tub labeled, "Duck Stock." He said, "Beans. You got beans?" I had canned beans, cannellini. He said, "My friend, you're gonna eat."

He thawed the lamb in hot water (unimpressed when I told him that wasn't safe) and the duck stock in a pot on the stove. He pulled down my chicken brick (a clay cooker), something I hadn't used in years, scrubbed it out, and soaked it with water. Complaining only that I didn’t have any wine in the house, he actually reached into his own pocket for money and sent me out to buy a bottle of "something red and good," saying, "You have my money for wine, use what you have. And I need cigarettes, too." Of course, he didn't give me enough money for both.

The meal was good, and beautiful to look at reflecting the Italian flag with its colors of red, white, and green. But when I pointed out that he wouldn't be able to make as good a meal again tomorrow night, and that the fact he could make it all reflected my efforts to anticipate the future, he shrugged and said, "Tomorrow we will worry about tomorrow." In his pea-brain he had won the argument. Stupid old man.

Lamb Cannelllini

1 lb lamb -- cut into 3/4" pieces
2 tbsp olive oil
1 md onion -- diced
3 cloves garlic -- minced
2 cans cannellini, 20 oz
1 can diced tomatoes, 15 oz
1 tbsp Herbes de Provence
salt and pepper
2 tbsp tomato paste
1 tbsp anchovy paste
1/2 lb kale -- torn and blanched
1/2 tsp ground rosemary
2 c duck stock (chicken stock may be substituted)
2 lemons -- juiced

Heat oven to 300F.

Season lamb generously with salt and pepper. Heat oil in a large skillet over medium high heat until the oil sheets. Heat another couple of minutes then add lamb and brown on all sides, remove to a large bowl. Allow pan to cool for a couple of minutes off the heat and reduce heat to medium. Add onions and brown them, scraping up the fond. Add garlic and cook until fragrant -- about 1 minute longer. Add onions to bowl with lamb.

Add all remaining except stock. and mix thoroughly. Pour mixture into a clay cooker or Dutch oven and add enough stock to fill to the level of the other ingredients. Stir again. Cover and cook in oven for 2 1/2 hours.

Ah well. He's a silly old fart, but what can you do?

Technorati: Food | recipe | lamb | beans | cannellini | clay cooking | food column | gather

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Spot-On: Vegetal Grace

Vegetal Grace

I eagerly anticipate the spring startup of the farmers' markets each year. They begin around the end of April and stretch through to October. There are four in my area, one on Wednesday, one on Thursday, and two on Saturday. I go to the May and June markets more out of hope and longing than expectation. This early in the season the markets are dominated by people selling vegetable "sets" — potted tomato, pepper, and herb plants. Not having a place to nurture these tangible symbols of hope and flavor, my visits are short and disappointing.

You can read the complete article at Spot-On.

Technorati: Food | essay | food column | recipe creation | food commentary | spot-on

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Reuben Braid

Waiter! There's Something in My Bread!



We have been amazed at the response to A Year in Bread, the blog Farmgirl Susan, kitchenMage, and I started a month ago. We seem to have tapped into a deeply pent-up desire to learn how to make bread — witnessed by the number of comments each post generates. But it's not just newbies to the bread world, old hands at the baking game are also logging on and offering their thoughts, insights, and tips. I confess that the three of us feel like proud parents.

About the time it started up, I got a press release on About Professional Baking: The Essentials by Gail Sokol. The timing was propitious so I asked them to send me a review copy (albeit with no promise to review it, or that the review would be positive if I did). The PR agency decided to take a chance and sent me a copy.

Note: this is not the review I didn't promise to write. Instead, as I paged through the book I found a recipe for something called a Reuben Braid that captivated me. It consisted of rye bread dough, rolled out, and then folded over the standard Reuben sandwich ingredients. This I had to try. Then Andrew at Spittoon Extra announced that the next "Waiter, there's something in my..." would be about bread. Clearly the planets were aligned and a couple of days ago I made it.

It's good. Not great, the buttery crunchiness of a properly grilled Reuben is impossible to beat, but this would be a great sandwich at some sort of sporting event party such as the Superbowl. It's easy to make and one sandwich will feed six big appetites. Making two of them wouldn't be much harder.

I may yet review the book, and my impressions of it are fairly positive so far, but I need to make another two or three recipes first. In the meantime, here's the Reuben recipe.

Rueben Braid
Adapted from About Professional Baking.

Bread:
2 1/4 c warm water
3 tbsp olive oil
22 oz (4 1/2 c) bread flour
5 oz (1 c) rye flour
1 3/4 tsp instant yeast
2 1/4 tsp kosher salt
Filling:
1/3 c mayonnaise
3 tbsp ketchup
2 tbsp finely minced onion
2 tbsp sweet pickle relish
8 oz thinly sliced corned beef
4 oz sliced Swiss cheese
1 c well-drained sauerkraut
Egg Wash:
1 egg
1 tbsp milk

In a medium bowl mix together 18 ounces of the bread flour, all the rye flour, and the yeast.

Combine water and oil in the bowl of a stand mixer. Using the paddle attachment, run the mixer at low and gradually add flour mixture until blended. Switch to dough hook and continue mixing, adding up to another 4 ounces of the bread flour until a soft dough forms. Cover the bowl and allow to rest for 10 minutes, then uncover, add salt, and knead at medium speed to incorporate salt. Continue kneading for a total of about 6 minutes.

Turn dough out onto a lightly floured board and knead a few more times. The dough should be smooth and elastic, but not sticky. Form into a ball.

Clean and dry the mixing bowl. Spray lightly with cooking spray, set the dough in the bowl, seam-side down, and lightly spray with cooking spray. Cover and allow to rise until doubled in bulk — about 1 hour. Heat oven to 375F.

Punch the dough down, re-cover the bowl, and allow to rest for 10 minutes. Turn a half sheet pan upside down and coat the bottom with cooking spray. Turn dough out onto pan and roll out to a 15 x 10 inch rectangle.

Mix together the mayonnaise, ketchup, onion, and relish. Spread on dough lengthwise leaving 2.5 inches uncovered. Layer dressing with corned beef, cheese, and sauerkraut. Using kitchen shears, cut uncovered edges into 3/4 x 1 inch wide strips. Fold edges over the filling and braid together the strips. Slide bread onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper.

Mix together egg and milk and brush on bread. Bake for 35 to 40 minutes or until nicely browned.

Technorati: Food | recipe | bread | reuben | sandwich | baking

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Paisano: Leg of Lamb

Paisano: Leg of Lamb



My good frend Kevin asked me for something to write. To write something? He is very busy right now making a menu for a birthday party. I asked him what he wanted me to write but he said, "I am very busy right now. Write whatever you wish to." I am many many things, but I am not a writer. But Kevin, he said "Write spmething, they will like you and whatever you write." So I hope you forgive me, but for my frend I will write.

But what about? And his birthday party he is planning for a customer gave me an idea. So I will write about a birthday party I made for Nataly. Nataly was very beautiful, not so rich, and she loved to eat. She could eat more than me! And still she was like a young willow tree so slim and wavy and she danced just by being alive like a willow does. She had eyes like a lamb and I told her many times, I will put you on my spit and roast you and eat you all up and Nataly laughed and poured more wine.

So it was her birthday and she was 23 and I went to my frend Michel and got a small leg from a lamb (because, like I said, she had the eyes like a lamb), and I cut the bone out of it.

Do you know it is very hard cutting out the bone when a beautiful woman has her arms around your waist and is kissing you neck and ears. So I made her make a gremolata. Do you know this? Peel a lemon and chop the peel up very very fine (this is I think called zest or gest) and smash some garlic. Two, perhaps three cloves. Then chop up some parsley (the flat kind, not that nasty curly stuff), about a small handful, and mix it all to a paste with some olive oil and salt and pepper. These are the smells of love, and when you love someone they should smell this.

With the gremolata, I spread the inside of the lamb leg so it was all in the niches and pockets. Then I took some string and tied it all up clean. I made a package. Then I took a big black pan and put some olive oil in it (Kevin says I should always say olive oil so people will know that is what I mean but why would you cook with some other oil? If I tell you to bath to I have to tell you the water must be clean?)

I turned on the oven, not hot, below the middle heat, and I put salt and pepper on the leg then I cooked the outside in the black pan in the oil on the burner with hot heat. When the lamb was nice and brown, I put the pan in the oven with the fat on top.

Then I had to take care of Nataly because she bent over the pan to smell it and some oil popped on her chest and I had to make it well.

When Nataly was better. I cut up and cooked some rapini very quick in boiling water. Then poured it into a calendar. I put more water in the pot and put some baby potatoes in it. These I cooked for perhaps 10 minutes.

Nataly had poured more wine and was being very loving because her chest was feeling better, but you can cook or you can make love. So when the potatoes were tender I gave her a fork to mash the potatoes a little bit in a bowl and then put in some chopped up chives and thyme and some greated Parmigiano and some olive oil and salt and pepper and mixed it all up.

The rapini I sautéed in olive oil with garlic, pancetta, and two little anchovy filets that I chopped very small.

When the lamb was ready I cut it and Nataly poured more wine.

The meal was simple and beautiful. It made Nataly happy which was good because Nataly made me happy. I hope my frend Kevin is happy. He is a nice, but a little bit correct.

(Paisano, you did a fine job and I didn't correct a thing. Thanks a bunch. And you'll have to tell me more about Natalie some day, she's sounds like quite a girl. -- Kevin)

Technorati: Food | recipe | gather | lamb | roast

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Cornish Pastie

A Handful of Delight



Pulled from the oven, the golden, pregnant crescents glisten with butter. The pastry is so flakey while hot it can barely maintain its shape. Savory steam escapes from vents filling the kitchen with the smell of onions and beef. I break a pie in half, engendering a new burst of steam and revealing pearly bits of onion, orange shreds of carrots, golden smudges of potato, and juicy browned beef. It's too hot to eat but, unable to resist any longer, I tear off a bite and blow on it before popping it in my mouth. Still too hot, but delicious anyway.

In "Sidewalk Meals" I wrote about my introduction to Cornish Pasties. I was addicted from my first bite and ate them frequently while I was in England. In fact, if I had pictures of my time in England you would probably have a shot of me at Buckingham Palace, pastie in hand; wandering up the lane at Windsor Palace, brushing pastie crumbs off my shirt; surveying Stonehenge, mouth full of pastie.

If the English can survive their food, they can survive anything. ~ Geroge Bernard Shaw

I did eat and enjoy other things. The fish and chips were good except for the chips (chips shouldn't be soggy, so dousing them with vinegar is just a bad idea). I liked Bangers and Mash. Spotted Dick isn't bad — once you get past the mental image. I ate lots of cheese, though I was seriously underwhelmed by the bread (having reached England from France). For the most part I ate pub food and for the most part it was fine, if not great — except for the pasties. They were superb.

Returning to the states, I attempted to duplicate my favorite English meal and eventually largely succeeded, if not in duplicating, then in producing something as good. But when it came to the crust I liked mine both more and less. What I had in England was usually tough and heavy, an industrial strength pastry suitable for carrying down into a mine, but not ideal under less stressful circumstances. I made a more typical American piecrust, something light and flakey. The texture was a genuine improvement in my book, but the flavor wasn't quite right.

Over the years I played with the crust, adding herbs (a good move), using just vegetable shortening without butter (a bad move), but there was always something missing. Then at a Cooks Bash I was discussing my efforts with an English friend and he said, "Lard. You've got to use lard." I tried lard (for the first time in my life) and he was right, that was the flavor I was missing. At long last I had a pastie recipe I was completely happy with.

So, in honor of St. George's Day (April 23) and dedicated to my two favorite English bloggers (Sam of Becks and Posh and Andrew of Spittoon Extra), I offer below my recipe for Cornish Pasties as part of Sam's Fish & Quips event.

Cornish Pasty
Pastry — click here
Filling:
1/2 lb ground chuck roast
1 c potatoes — 1/2" dice
1 lg carrot — shredded
1 c yellow onions — diced fine
1 1/2 tsps dried thyme
1 tsp mustard powder
1 1/2 tsps dried sage
3 good splashes of Worcestershire sauce
1/2 c beef broth
1 tsp salt
3/4 tsp cracked black pepper
Egg Wash:
1 ea egg yolk
1 tbsp milk

Heat oven to 375F.

Put diced potatoes and 1/2 inch of water in a covered microwave dish and cook in microwave until potatoes are just tender - seven to eight minutes. Drain potatoes and dump into a large bowl. Mash coarsely with a fork.

Add ground beef and all remaining ingredients to the potatoes and mix thoroughly.

Roll the pastry out to a 1/8 inch thickness on a lightly floured board. Using a five inch round plate as a template, cut as many circles as you can. The scraps can be combined and rolled out one more time. You should have nine to ten rounds.

Moisten half the edge of a pastry round and place about 1/3 cup of the filling in the center. Fold the round over the filling and press the edges to seal. Repeat for remaining pastry and filling. Arrange pasties on a pair of foil covered baking sheets.

Mix egg yolk and milk together and brush glaze over pasties. Cut two one inch slits in the top of each pastie and bake for 35 - 40 minutes or until golden.

These are wonderful for supper on a cold winter night served with potato chowder, boiled cabbage, and beer. If you're going to eat them hot then place a slice of cheddar cheese on top of each pastie that will be eaten that night about ten minutes before the pasties are done.

They're as good at room temperature as they are hot, so they also make great picnic fare. Cold hard cider is a great beverage for washing them down.

Technorati: Food | recipe | pastie | cornish pastie | england | fish and quips

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Pie Crust

It Only Took 30 Years



Most of us have weaknesses in the kitchen, things that no matter how we try we just can't seem to get right. For years I had trouble with soufflés before finally understanding my problem. They're a piece of cake now — I could almost make one in my sleep. In fact, one night after teaching a class on soufflés (and making eight in a single day), I did make them in my sleep.

I have another dirty secret, I have a problem with pastry — pie crusts. It's an odd problem though. I've been making beautiful pie crusts for years with no problem, so long as I make them completely by hand. But I have trouble making one in a food processor. Oh, I know, this doesn't seem like such a big deal, but it has ancient roots.

Sermons are like piecrust, the shorter the better. ~ Austin O'Malley

In 1977 I bought a Cuisinart, as I recall, this was just a year after they became available in this country. My wife thought I was crazy to spend that much money on a "mixer." So we compromised, I bought the food processor we couldn't afford and she bought a rolling butcher-block island we couldn't afford to put it on. But then the shame set in. Not for our stupidity in spending twice as much as we couldn't afford, but because Cindy started using the Cuisinart to make beautiful shells for quiches and pies — and I just couldn't do it.

Try as I might I ended up with tough pastry. Pastries that were a far cry from the delicate, flakey things I produced using a bowl and pastry knife. What the hell was I doing wrong? Cindy offered suggestions and I tried them, I read recipes in books and tried them, but I just couldn't pull it off. So after Cindy and I split up I mostly gave up (except for occasional efforts) and just made the things by hand. But it stuck in my craw — just like soufflés had.

However, over the past few years making pastry has become harder to do. My hands have started cramping when I cut in the shortening, and so it seemed time to finally figure out the technique once and for all.

The Cook's Bible by the Chris Kimball of Cooks Illustrated had a food processor technique that sometimes (but not always) worked for me so I started there. The first thing I figured out is that a one-second pulse really needs to be a one-second pulse. For me this means I process while I say "1001" out loud, then off, then "1002" out loud, then off. Saying it out loud is a far more dependable measure of time than thinking it.

Second, Kimball's recipe recommends dumping the processed flour and shortening in a bowl before adding the ice water. Getting another bowl dirty seemed excessive to me when so many recipes add water to the processor. I should have known better. Kimball and company never make a recommendation that isn’t critical — at least for their recipe, so I tried that. And I remembered that when I was a kid making piecrust from a mix the instructions were to use a fork to mix in the water, I found this worked better for me than a spoon or, initially, my hands (the final mixing is by hand). Lastly, I found (again, for me, if no one else) that cold butter isn’t good enough, frozen works best.

Ingredients are also an issue. Most recipes for American piecrust call for butter and vegetable shortening. Butter provides flavor and shortening provides flakiness. My understanding is this is a result of the different melting points of butter and shortening. The idea is that the shortening keeps the layers discrete while the water in the butter turns to steam and separates them into pockets. Then the shortening melts. However, I've found that the new non-trans-fat shortenings don't make as good a pastry because they appear to have a lower melting point, one closer to butter's.

I know trans-fats are currently considered a "bad thing," but I only make piecrusts five or six times a year, I figure that relatively small amount of trans-fat (and since I make almost everything I eat, I have a good handle on how much trans-fat I eat) is worth eating for the sake of a better pie. However, in the recipe below I use lard (that I rendered myself), because it's delicious in a savory crust.

Pastry for Deep-dish, Two-Crust Pie
Adapted from The Cook's Bible by Christopher Kimball.

2 1/2 c all-purpose flour
8 tbsp unsalted butter* — frozen
12 tbsp lard* — refrigerated
3/4 tsp table salt
2 tsp rubbed sage**
5 - 6 tbsp ice water

Place a small bowl of water with an ice cube in the freezer. Cut butter into 1/2 inch thick slices, then quarter each slice. Tear off two sheets of plastic wrap and lay out in a convenient place out of the way of your work area.

In a food processor, mix flour, salt, and sage.

Add half of butter to food processor and pulse once, briefly. Add remaining butter and pulse 5 times for 1 second per pulse. You will hear chunks of butter knocking against the bowl.

Add half of lard and pulse briefly, once. Add remaining lard and pulse 4 times for 1 second per pulse. If, after 4 pulses, you still hear chunks of butter, pulse twice more for 1 second each.

Dump the mixture into a large bowl. Remove ice water from freezer and sprinkle dough with three tablespoons of water. Stir thoroughly with a fork, pressing sometimes. Add two more tablespoons and mix again with a fork, then with your fingers. If dough isn't clumping together, add one more tablespoon of water and mix in by hand.

Shape dough into two balls, one somewhat larger (the one for the bottom crust — use your judgment, this ain't science) than the other. Place each ball on a square of plastic wrap, flatten and shape each ball into a 3/4 inch disc, wrap, and refrigerate for 30 minutes to absorb water thoroughly.

For a pie, roll out the larger disc to a 1/8th inch thick circle. Fold into quarters so that it forms a triangle and transfer to the pie pan with the apex of the triangle in the center. Gently unfold and press into shape. Using a sharp knife, trim to size leaving a 1/4 inch overhang.

Fill the pie, then repeat the operation with the top crust. Trim top crust to fit bottom crust, then press two crust together using your thumb and fingers. Fold welded crusted back toward center, and gently pleat with your fingers.

* If you're using shortening instead of lard, reduce shortening to 8 tablespoons and increase butter to 12. (This was Kimball's original proportions.)

** The herb is optional, but I like adding dried herbs to savory crusts, for a sweet crust add a couple of tablespoons of sugar, and consider adding a teaspoon of cinnamon, cardamom, or other appropriate dessert spice.

And by the way, I'm still using that same Cuisinart I bought 30 years ago. I'd like one with a bigger bowl and more features, but this little appliance has been more durable and dependable than the woman I was married to when I bought it — and not as inclined to over-heat.

Technorati: Food | recipe | pie crust | pastry | lard

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Spot-On: Tools of the Trade

Tools of the Trade

As a cooking instructor, the single most frequent question I’m asked is, "What kind of pans do you have?"

American's are probably the most brand-conscious consumers in the world. They care about their brand of car, they wear labels on the outside of their clothes (Polo, for instance), they buy Tide detergent when the store brand comes from the same factory, and foodies look for status in the cookware they choose. This isn't to say that the cookware you use can't make a difference in your cooking, but it is to say the importance is over-rated –— and choosing a single brand is often a bad idea.

Read the whole article at Spot-On.

Technorati: Food | essay | kitchen+equipment | food column | cookware | spot-on

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Ed, You Ignorant Slut

Ed, You Ignorant Slut



Ed Bruske, author of The Slow Cook, took issue with my Kitchen Window article on spring chowders. Ed and I have been reading each other's blogs for a couple of months now. He's a talented and thoughtful writer — and nearly as opinionated as I am. Ed's new on the flog scene, so do check him out. But as regards his issues...

The gist of his objections appears to be this: "It seems that if you simply twist the definition of a chowder a little — easy to do on a computer keyboard — anything that swims in a bowl can be called a chowder." (And note, Ed mostly blamed the editor and not the author for his objections, but in fact I signed off on the article before it was published, and, speaking as a one-time editor, this editor knows her business.)

The Food Lover's Companion defines chowder as: "A thick chunky seafood soup, of which clam chowder is the most well known," but continues, "The term is also used to describe any thick, rich soup containing chunks of food (for instance, corn chowder)."

According to The Food Encyclopedia chowder is, "a thick soup, frequently but not always made with seafood." And turning to the Joy of Cooking one finds: "Chowder — thick fish, meat or vegetable soups, to which salt pork, milk, diced vegetables, and even bread and crackers may be added."

I, too, have found myself pondering on the use or misuse of names associated with foods. Back in 2004 I wrote "By Any Name" addressing just this question. In the case of using the word chowder I checked my references first, and was vindicated. And if we look at the most likely origin of the word it's a reference to the cooking vessel (a cauldron or chaudière), not the contents. Does Ed argue that unless an 18th century-style cauldron is used it isn't chowder? Optionally, if you select jowter as the preferred etymology, then is the dish composed of fish purchased from a mounted peddler?

Words change. Just as the cauldron once used to make chowder in has now become a soup pot or Dutch oven (and there's another interesting bit of etymology) the ingredients have also changed. A Google search on "clam chowder" returns 953,000 results while "corn chowder" returns 412,000. But a search on "chowder" alone returns 3,850,000 — clearly there are a lot of things out there being call "chowder" that don't involve clams. In fact, in a comment to me Ed asserted that "To me, a chowder is still a pot of potatoes, haddock and fish broth." He did aver that there might be such a beast as "corn chowder," but didn’t even mention clams. (Note: "haddock chowder" garners only 14,100 hits.)

No man means all he says, and yet very few say all they mean, for words are slippery and thought is viscous. ~ Henry Brooks Adams

Words change. Awful begins as "to fill with awe" and ends with "horrible," bad becomes "good," and perhaps even the word for a mounted fish peddler becomes the name of a soup. And, for what it's worth, Google began as a proper name some 7 or 8 years ago and is now a verb — go figure.

However, Ed does make one valid point, albeit by implication, and that is that a given food is the version that to our minds is the archetype. To me macaroni and cheese is elbow pasta made with a cheddar mornay and baked in the oven as a casserole, to my nephews it's elbow pasta with a runny, bright orange sauce from a blue box cooked on the stovetop. And during the Only Annual Mac-n-Cheese Off we saw a lot of other takes on this supposedly simple dish.

And whatever it's called, doesn't that bowl of potato chowder look delicious? Whatever it's name, wouldn't it taste as good?

Technorati: Food | essay | chowder | soup | food commentary

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Chowders Lighten Up

Chowders Lighten Up

From its beginnings in New England, chowder spread westward across the continent, and was modified and adapted along the way. Potato chowder, corn chowder and potato-corn chowder are the most common variants, but chowders made of mixed vegetables, kale, and spinach have also popped up.

Read the complete article at NPR's Kitchen Window.

Technorati: Food | recipe | soup | chowder | kitchen window | npr

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Spot-On: Rituals

Rituals

On the surface, Easter is a connection with God — the supernatural — but if you look a bit deeper it's about connections with the past, with history. It's a means of asserting our continuity with the past generations that celebrated Easter and, deeper yet, perhaps by accident, with all of the religions that have celebrated the spring solstice. And so, still deeper, with the cycles of planets and stars — the physical universe.

Read the whole article at Spot-On.

Technorati: Food | food column | food commentary | spot-on | ritual

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Mushroom Bisque

Mycophilia



There are foods that make you wonder how they came to be eaten. For instance, raw olives are phenomenally bitter. They have to be cured in salt for several weeks before they're edible. Who figured that out? Or how about poi? The raw taro root (a corm actually) contains needle-like structures that cause severe stomach pain. It has to be cooked to destroy the needles, but why would you think cooking something inedible would make it edible?

You can theorize that such discoveries are accidental; perhaps some olives were exposed to sea water and then found to be edible. And maybe someone tossed some taro into a pot not knowing it was supposed to make you sick — and no one got sick. But here's the food that bothers me the most: mushrooms.

One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well. ~ Virginia Woolf

Many varieties are will make you sick and some will kill you. The problem is, a lot of those mushrooms we know to be safe look almost exactly like mushrooms that definitely aren't safe. So who was fool enough to keep eating them until they figured out the small differences between the safe ones and the dangerous ones?

I was pondering on this the other night. A friend of mine had sent me some dried wild mushrooms he'd picked in Oregon and I decided to take advantage of them by making mushroom bisque. I heated some chicken stock on the stove and then dumped the wild mushrooms in it to rehydrate, and as I did so I wondered how skilled my friend was at mycology. But, he's been picking mushrooms for a few years, and hasn't killed himself — yet.

Mushroom Bisque
Serves 4.

2 oz dried wild mushrooms
1 1/2 pounds assorted fresh mushrooms (button, shitake, porcini, ...) — coarsely chopped
1/2 c red wine (optional)
3 tbsp butter
2 tbsp fresh thyme
2 shallots — chopped
salt
1 1/2 c chicken stock
1 c half and half
1 tsp ground black pepper

Bring chicken stock to a boil in a small sauce pan, remove from heat, and add dried mushrooms. Steep mushrooms for 30 minutes while you prep remaining ingredients, then strain liquid through a coffee filter in a sieve to eliminate any dirt.

Place a soup pot over medium high heat and add half of the mushrooms (Note, do not oil the pan.) Sprinkle generously with sauce and cook, stirring occasionally to prevent burning, until the mushroom have reduced by half. Add remaining mushrooms, sprinkle with salt, and add thyme and shallots. Continue cooking until the volume is again reduced to half.

Add wine and reduce to a syrup. Add butter and toss with mushrooms to melt. Add rehydrated mushrooms and stock. Bring to a vigorous simmer, then reduce heat and continue to simmer for 15 minutes. Add half and half. Puree soup using either an immersion blender or standing blender. Return to heat and warm thoroughly.

Serve with a dollop of sour cream or crèam fraîche.

Elise at Simply Recipes offers a similar recipe.

Technorati: Food | recipe | soup | mushroom | bisque | mushroom bisque

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