When I use that phrase about my cooking, I mean I'm not following my guidelines of seasonality and local products. I don't like to, but here in New York, there are times where it becomes very difficult to do that, and then you grant yourself an exemption from your own rules.
As I've written, we have soup every week, usually on Monday night, when Guy is in rehearsal. And you can make WONDERFUL soups from the winter vegetable family. But there does come a time when many of them are gone. For example, there are almost no storage carrots left. The leeks are gone. The only beets left are the monsters that could take out Godzilla with one shot. And of what is left, we've eaten so many of them that it has begun to be more than boring.
When this happens, some people, myself included, look west, to California, and see what's in season there. Indeed, while we are waiting for warmer weather, California is seeing asparagus, fava beans, snap peas, and other goodies. And do know that I have been taking advantage of this. No one seems to have any problem with this, and honestly, neither do I.
Controversy arises, however, over the issue of "storing" food. If you take some summer produce for example, and freeze it, or can it, and you use it during the winter, are you eating and living seasonally?
Know what? WHO CARES? But I have been thinking about these issues over the past few days because, faced with the prospect of YET ANOTHER potato based soup, I went into the freezer and found several bags of sweet corn that I had taken off the cob and frozen over the summer. Now, in late March, where summer still seems like a small speck of a ship on the horizon, a bit of that summer flavor is certainly welcome. So, into the kitchen I went, with my idea of a corn soup.
I will also say, up front, that corn on the cob is not something that I look forward to or relish. Call me unamerican, but I find it more of a bother than it's worth. I know that all of the United States is not with me on this one, but it just doesn't "do it" for me. Corn soups, on the other hand, of any type, make me extremely happy. As does cooking them. And one of the reasons I like cooking them is that corn , while not a vehicle like chicken stock, goes so well with so many things. (My favorite one, incidentally, which I will post in late summer, consists of corn, water and salt). Looking around the kitchen, I found some of the "sisters" of corn. Many of us here in the Northeast know the traditional traid of sisters : corn squash and beans. That's not universal, however. And one of the variables you'll find, especially southwest, is the use of chilis. And I had two cans of chopped green chilis on the spice table, and that's where I was heading. I also had a half a jar of some wonderful, spicy red pepper pickles. Sure sounded right to me, because in late summer, a simple saute of red pepper, green pepper and corn is superb eating.
Soup like this needs a base, though, and there was a simple one right there in front of me: carrots, onions and celery. A quick dice of each, to give me about 3/4 cup of onion, and 1/2 a cup of the others, and the soup was beginning to come together. I coated my soup pot with v egetable oil (olive oil doesn't seem to work here), and sauteed those aromatics, with about a teaspoon of salt. When the sizzle had dropped in intensity, I opened up the cans of chilis, and sliced up the red peppers and tossed them in. I sauteed for about three minutes, just to get them hot and slightly broken down. Then the corn went in. Probably about six cups of kernels. They were still frozen, for the most part, and you can do this with soup: add the veggies still frozen. Finally, in went 6 cups of chicken stock. I stirred this together, and covered the pot, until I could hear a vigorous bubble. When I got to that point, I lowered the heat, and let the mix simmer for twenty minutes. What I'm looking for in corn soups is the point where the kernels are just softening. I don't want mush, but I DO want the kernels to be soft enough so I don't have to chew them that hard (it IS a soup after all).
When this was finished, there was a lovely spiciness about the soup, that a bit more salt brought out brilliantly. There was one more thing to do . Remember when I wrote about corn previously, and talked about corn starch, that wonderful thickener? Well... there was the corn. So the thickener was there already. But of course, you have to get it out of the kernels.
That's what blenders do really well. I poured about three cups of the soup into a blender and, because it was still hot, I left the cap slightly ajar (don't puree hot liquids in a blender unless you've got some venting, and then don't fill the blender more than half full. Trust me here).
The pureed soup left a wonderful thickness and mouthfeel to the whole pot, and it's just wonderful.
Now, you can play with this soup. You can add half and half or milk, which will give you almost a "Southwest chowder" feel, or you can add some sausage or other left over meat and make it a more solid and substantial meal. You could even get more southwestern, and squeeze some lime juice into it, if you haven't used any dairy. And you could also put in creme fraiche, or some corn chips, or frankly, perhaps a spoon or two of a thick tomato paste. But in any event you've got some really good eating going on here, with very little work.
Give it a try. I'm not apologizing for using late summer produce in the early spring. Hey, a guy's gotta use wht he's got, huh?
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Finger food: drumsticks
You've heard that phrase, which I guess is supposed to mean "food you eat with your fingers." Well, as I've told you, I'm an uncouth eater. If I CAN eat it with my fingers, I do. For me, there is something rather satisfying about getting that "bit" that stays on the fork, and never makes it in your mouth, when you pick it up and eat it with your fingers. Of course, I can't ALWAYS do it. It's "not appropriate" to eat salad with your fingers, or to pick up a nice big chunk of mushroom and just swallow it down. And at some point we tell our kids they can't do it anymore, and there's this tension between wanting to be a "grown up" and not understanding why, yesterday, it was ok, and today it's not.
It moves over to food, too. For example, I don't think anyone could imagine eating a stuffed artichoke with anything but fingers. But what do you do when you get to the heart? I would just pick it up and eat it, but I'm told that's "uncouth." Now you have to use a knife and fork, cut it in small pieces and eat it that way. Okay. And I know people who would never eat a french fry with anything but a fork.
I jest NOT. These are the same people who cut pickle spears into pieces and use a fork. More power to them. I say : use your fingers when you can. It's more fun.
And these thoughts are engendered by my making a whole mess of chicken drumsticks for my boys in Guy's chorus. Some weeks ago I made meatballs, to go along the wonderful cakes Guy bakes and sells. The thought of "PROTEIN" was exhilirating to many, and 80 meatballs were gone, in a flash. Twenty servings. So, this week, I made chicken drumsticks.
To me, and to many people, drumsticks are the ultimate finger food. You pick it up and eat it. Well, etiquette books say that's not okay, you're supposed to use a knife and fork. Well... I've seen JULIA CHILD use her fingers, I've seen CRAIG CLAIRBORNE use his fingers, and countless other people who cook, who K NOW that the sauce on the chicken that sticks to your fingers is the best part of all. So, if you must, use a knife and fork. But for these, I want you to use your fingers I want you to get each drop.
Drumsticks are not the most flavorful part of the chicken. They need some help. So this is what I did. I had five pounds of them, which is aboug 20 pieces. First, I filled a bag with a cup of flour, and a big tablespoon of salt, mixed together. I "shook" the pieces in the flour, five or so at a time, and when they were coated, took them out and put them on a tray. I then squeezed a bunch of different kinds of citrus: blood oranges, grapefruit, navel oranges, cara caras, satsumas, and a lemon. The lemon was very important. The juice just didn't come to life without it. So mix and match your juices, but try to have at least one, nice size lemon juiced in the mix. I put that in a bowl with three tablespoons of a mild honey and an equal amount of mustard - dijon. Had I been making this for us, I would have added some spices, and if I had limes, I DEFINITELY would have added them to the juice.
Cover a big frying pan with oil - generously. I used vegetable, and then olive, when I ran out f the vegetable oil. I fried about six of them at a time, three minutes to a side, just until they picked up a nice brown color, and I drained them on paper towels. When I was done, I heated the oven to 350. Frying chicken for that short a length of time will not cook it.
I drained all of the oil out of the pan, and wiped it carefully, to get ride of the burned flour. Then, in thirds, I added the chicken with the orange mixture. The orange mixture thickens to a thick, sweet syrup. While this is happening, turn the chicken legs, over and over, until they're coated. You'll know when to stop. The liquid will be gone. Do repeat this until every drumstick is coated.
Now, get them in the oven, on a parchment lined baking sheet, for ten minutes at 350. After ten minutes, kick up the oven to 400 and turn the drumsticks, so the side that touched the parchment is now on top. And after ten minutes, you're done.
You'll have beautifully brown, tangy drumsticks. And after they're cool, you can run your finger along the parchment and eat with your fingers when no one is looking.
They're good. And you should take these instructions as guidelines and p lay with it. And tell me what you did, and how you turned out.
Boys, these are for you. Annalena's Monday evening kiss to all of ya.
It moves over to food, too. For example, I don't think anyone could imagine eating a stuffed artichoke with anything but fingers. But what do you do when you get to the heart? I would just pick it up and eat it, but I'm told that's "uncouth." Now you have to use a knife and fork, cut it in small pieces and eat it that way. Okay. And I know people who would never eat a french fry with anything but a fork.
I jest NOT. These are the same people who cut pickle spears into pieces and use a fork. More power to them. I say : use your fingers when you can. It's more fun.
And these thoughts are engendered by my making a whole mess of chicken drumsticks for my boys in Guy's chorus. Some weeks ago I made meatballs, to go along the wonderful cakes Guy bakes and sells. The thought of "PROTEIN" was exhilirating to many, and 80 meatballs were gone, in a flash. Twenty servings. So, this week, I made chicken drumsticks.
To me, and to many people, drumsticks are the ultimate finger food. You pick it up and eat it. Well, etiquette books say that's not okay, you're supposed to use a knife and fork. Well... I've seen JULIA CHILD use her fingers, I've seen CRAIG CLAIRBORNE use his fingers, and countless other people who cook, who K NOW that the sauce on the chicken that sticks to your fingers is the best part of all. So, if you must, use a knife and fork. But for these, I want you to use your fingers I want you to get each drop.
Drumsticks are not the most flavorful part of the chicken. They need some help. So this is what I did. I had five pounds of them, which is aboug 20 pieces. First, I filled a bag with a cup of flour, and a big tablespoon of salt, mixed together. I "shook" the pieces in the flour, five or so at a time, and when they were coated, took them out and put them on a tray. I then squeezed a bunch of different kinds of citrus: blood oranges, grapefruit, navel oranges, cara caras, satsumas, and a lemon. The lemon was very important. The juice just didn't come to life without it. So mix and match your juices, but try to have at least one, nice size lemon juiced in the mix. I put that in a bowl with three tablespoons of a mild honey and an equal amount of mustard - dijon. Had I been making this for us, I would have added some spices, and if I had limes, I DEFINITELY would have added them to the juice.
Cover a big frying pan with oil - generously. I used vegetable, and then olive, when I ran out f the vegetable oil. I fried about six of them at a time, three minutes to a side, just until they picked up a nice brown color, and I drained them on paper towels. When I was done, I heated the oven to 350. Frying chicken for that short a length of time will not cook it.
I drained all of the oil out of the pan, and wiped it carefully, to get ride of the burned flour. Then, in thirds, I added the chicken with the orange mixture. The orange mixture thickens to a thick, sweet syrup. While this is happening, turn the chicken legs, over and over, until they're coated. You'll know when to stop. The liquid will be gone. Do repeat this until every drumstick is coated.
Now, get them in the oven, on a parchment lined baking sheet, for ten minutes at 350. After ten minutes, kick up the oven to 400 and turn the drumsticks, so the side that touched the parchment is now on top. And after ten minutes, you're done.
You'll have beautifully brown, tangy drumsticks. And after they're cool, you can run your finger along the parchment and eat with your fingers when no one is looking.
They're good. And you should take these instructions as guidelines and p lay with it. And tell me what you did, and how you turned out.
Boys, these are for you. Annalena's Monday evening kiss to all of ya.
Friday, March 28, 2008
No recipe, but ruminations on cooking, teaching and friends
Why do I cook? Oh, my. This is an easy question, and a hard one. I wish I could be as cavalier as Moira Shearer was in "The Red Shoes" (don't know the movie? SHAME ON YOU. Go and rent it immediately. Especially if you like ballet). When asked "why do you dance?" She answers "why do you breathe?" When her interrogator replies "but I must," she answers "now you know why I dance."
No, it's not that easy. I've cooked for over forty years. Why did I get interested in it? Who knows. It's not a chore, not a job. Sometimes I say "it's just something that I DO," because in many ways it is. But it's more. My partner talks about how singing makes him feel whole, when the day breaks him. And cooking does that to me, in ways that I can't explain.
Why do I cook FOR PEOPLE? Well, that's an easier question to answer. It's the best way I have to show people that I love them. Gift giving is nice, so is hugging, so is talking on the phone for hours. But ultimately, if you think about it, everyone knows - you do - when someone gives something that is "a part of them." When I cook for someone, I don't just slap something together. I think about the person, think about the situation, the season, as much about things that are going on as I can. For example, I have a friend who has told me that he loves cherries, and cherry pie in particular. So if he comes over during the summer, you know that there will be a cherry pie on the table for dessert. Now I know, and now I remember. And I validate him, and also myself, by doing that. He knows I pay attention to him, and I know that I'm doing the right thing, because I make a good cherry pie. I cannot tell you how many times I have been horrified when I've served something that someone is allergic to, doesn't like, can't eat, etc, even if I didn't know... BECAUSE I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. That, of course, is ridiculous, but you see where I'm going . At least I hope you do.
I've been ruminating about teaching cooking for the last few days, because of a sweet little situation, with another one of the "young'uns" who have entered my life.
I've spoken about Matthew, the squash king, and his 30 something years. Well, now there's another Matthew in my life, who's even younger: in his 20s. Last week, he came over and set up and loaded the Ipod that I've had for two years and made the sign of the cross over every time I passed it. These electronic things, I just don't get. But the young'uns seem to pick up the knowledge on how to do these things as they pass through the birth canal. This is part of their "intellectual heritage" for lack of a better word. And they try - OH, how they try - to share it with me. It doesn't work. I'm a dunce. So they do it for me.
So, I try to share MY intellectual heritage with whomever wants to learn it. There are no guarantees that the people I teach are going to take it with them and use it again. I HOPE they do, but there are no guarantees with this kind of thing. I've taught pizza making to about a half dozen people. I know one made one pizza, and it wouldn't surprise me if that were the end of it, for all of them. And it doesn't matter, it really doesn't. For an afternoon, we got together, we had a whole lot of fun, and I learned, too, watching these folks make their first pizzas, answering questions that I take for granted, and seeing how they construct their pizzas, with a care that I just don't give them anymore.
And even though they know how to make the pizzas, that doesn't mean I'm going to stop making them for these folks. Hell no. These are my FRIENDS. This is how I show I love them. There have been times, when I'm preparing for a dinner party, when I close my eyes, and I see my arms just stretching out and encircling EVERYONE coming that night in one, big, strong hug. And I don't want to let them go. So if the dinner runs long, wonderful. More time with my friends. We all need that. And we all have to do it any way we can. We have to TREASURE the ones we love. And I can do it through cooking. Maybe you can, too. It doesn't take much. But if you can't, then find some way to do it. And do it often. Without any expectation of reciprocation. Because if you expect something back, it doesn't count.
Know what? I just realized. I have some people I owe some cooking lessons to. And I'm gonna get moving on that.
No, it's not that easy. I've cooked for over forty years. Why did I get interested in it? Who knows. It's not a chore, not a job. Sometimes I say "it's just something that I DO," because in many ways it is. But it's more. My partner talks about how singing makes him feel whole, when the day breaks him. And cooking does that to me, in ways that I can't explain.
Why do I cook FOR PEOPLE? Well, that's an easier question to answer. It's the best way I have to show people that I love them. Gift giving is nice, so is hugging, so is talking on the phone for hours. But ultimately, if you think about it, everyone knows - you do - when someone gives something that is "a part of them." When I cook for someone, I don't just slap something together. I think about the person, think about the situation, the season, as much about things that are going on as I can. For example, I have a friend who has told me that he loves cherries, and cherry pie in particular. So if he comes over during the summer, you know that there will be a cherry pie on the table for dessert. Now I know, and now I remember. And I validate him, and also myself, by doing that. He knows I pay attention to him, and I know that I'm doing the right thing, because I make a good cherry pie. I cannot tell you how many times I have been horrified when I've served something that someone is allergic to, doesn't like, can't eat, etc, even if I didn't know... BECAUSE I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. That, of course, is ridiculous, but you see where I'm going . At least I hope you do.
I've been ruminating about teaching cooking for the last few days, because of a sweet little situation, with another one of the "young'uns" who have entered my life.
I've spoken about Matthew, the squash king, and his 30 something years. Well, now there's another Matthew in my life, who's even younger: in his 20s. Last week, he came over and set up and loaded the Ipod that I've had for two years and made the sign of the cross over every time I passed it. These electronic things, I just don't get. But the young'uns seem to pick up the knowledge on how to do these things as they pass through the birth canal. This is part of their "intellectual heritage" for lack of a better word. And they try - OH, how they try - to share it with me. It doesn't work. I'm a dunce. So they do it for me.
So, I try to share MY intellectual heritage with whomever wants to learn it. There are no guarantees that the people I teach are going to take it with them and use it again. I HOPE they do, but there are no guarantees with this kind of thing. I've taught pizza making to about a half dozen people. I know one made one pizza, and it wouldn't surprise me if that were the end of it, for all of them. And it doesn't matter, it really doesn't. For an afternoon, we got together, we had a whole lot of fun, and I learned, too, watching these folks make their first pizzas, answering questions that I take for granted, and seeing how they construct their pizzas, with a care that I just don't give them anymore.
And even though they know how to make the pizzas, that doesn't mean I'm going to stop making them for these folks. Hell no. These are my FRIENDS. This is how I show I love them. There have been times, when I'm preparing for a dinner party, when I close my eyes, and I see my arms just stretching out and encircling EVERYONE coming that night in one, big, strong hug. And I don't want to let them go. So if the dinner runs long, wonderful. More time with my friends. We all need that. And we all have to do it any way we can. We have to TREASURE the ones we love. And I can do it through cooking. Maybe you can, too. It doesn't take much. But if you can't, then find some way to do it. And do it often. Without any expectation of reciprocation. Because if you expect something back, it doesn't count.
Know what? I just realized. I have some people I owe some cooking lessons to. And I'm gonna get moving on that.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The Way to Curds (and custard)
I keep on thinking about how we really prefer to eat the foods we preferred to eat as kids. Remember how much you liked custard? And pudding? And those other soft desserts that just tasted so intense, so good, so much like "DESSERT?" But when you order these in restaurants, they're either so gussied up and fancy that they've lost their innocence, or they're just so goddarn awful, that you feel yourself asking "why did I bother? " Or "did I REALLY like that once?"
Yes, you did. Because someone made it fresh, and with good ingredients, and it was RIGHT.
Why is it so hard to find the good stuff now? Well, there's no question about it. Custards and puddings and things like that take some time. They're not difficult, but it's not like making cookies, where you can be out of the kitchen in twenty minutes with a plate of warm, gooey cookies. And these desserts DO need some tending. You have to watch them. And you have to watch them carefully. Because if you don't , they'll burn, or the eggs will curdle, or SOMETHING will go wrong. And because, let's face it, all of us have this inherent insecurity about failure, and have been taught "I can't cook," that the idea of a custard, a pudding, or , heaven forbid LEMON CURD is just too intimidating.
Normally, I would be saying GET OVER IT about now, but no, not with these. They aren't hard to do, and I'm going to try to take you through two of them. I'm going to start with lemon curd, and then I'm going to move onto a lovely, alcohol enriched custard. And I'll give you some variations to play with . You will be spending some serious kitchen time to make these. But they wouldn't be on my blog if they weren't worth it.
Let me digress to say that I went through more lemon curd recipes than I can count before I found one that I liked. And that worked, consistently. It's from a book by Jody Adams called "In the Hands of a Chef." Ms. Adams' book came out during a time when just about every second article, book, or tv show, had "chef" in it. We had "think like a chef,' and "Work Like a Chef." and "Walk like an Egyptian Chef" (well, I made that one up). But we had the famous/notorious photospread of chefs as hunks, or "chunks" (thank GOD that passed). Rocco Dispiritu was on prime time (thank God that passed). And Emeril made his appearance (Why is he still there? Martha? GET WITH IT). So it was very easy to let this book go by. But it's a good one. And the lemon curd recipe, which is highly unconventional, is a five star winner.
Normally, you're taught to use a double boiler, to add ingredients in sequence, and to work, work work.
Right. Like we're gonna do that. That's why I like this so much. You'll see. You'll need the grated zest of 2 lemons, and then you'll need to juice them. Then you'll need 3/4 cups of sugar. You will also need 5 eggs, large ones. (Ms. Adams calls for extra large eggs, four of them; however, since every recipe I make uses large eggs , I'm not going to buy a different size for one recipe). Finally, you need 3/4 cup of butter, cold, cut into cubes.
Now, here I'm going to object to something recipes do. Ms. Adams says to cut the butter into "1/2 inch cubes." I don't take a tape measure into the kitchen. All butter sticks are the same. Why don't they just say "cut the butter into 20 cubes, " or something like that? I cut the butter into 12 pieces. Six lengthwise, and then each one, horizontal.
Cutting the butter into pieces is the hardest thing you'll do Put everything into a large pot, and then put the pot over medium heat, and stir, constantly, with a spatula or a wooden spoon. Make sure you get to the bottom of the pan, and stir around the edges, too. Keep your eye on it. It will take all of about three or four minutes to form a curd.
You can eat this hot, but you shouldn't. It's better cold. And you can substitute other acidic fruits for it. Meyer lemons, oranges, blood oranges, passion fruit if you're feeling flush. I have a feeling that pineapple juice would work, but I haven't tried it. I LIKE the way blood orange curd tastes, but it is NOT pretty. The yellow in the eggs and butter, and the red juice, produce a curd that is really the color of a bruise. If that doesn't bother you, great. If it does, cover it with whipped cream, or close your eyes when you eat it.
When you cool this, it thickens mightily. Alone, you can use it to fill a tart shell, but you may very well have to double it to make enough. You can fold it into whipped cream, to fill a cream puff. Know how I like it best? With blueberry , blackberry, or huckleberry puree folded into it. And when I make it, I add one extra lemon's juice, because I like it very tart. And DO know that if you use a fruit that is sweeter than lemons, your curd is going to be sweeter. You may want to cut back the sugar.
Now, onto a really lovely custard. The first time I had this, it had been made with sweet marsala. But you can make it with any of the sweet alcoholic beverages, like rum, or sweet vermouth, or amaretto. My favorite remains the marsala version. Experiment, but keep the proportions.
You need 2.5 cups of heavy cream, which may sound discouraging since cream comes in 2 cup bottles. Well, make some whipped cream to go on top of it. You'll also need six large egg yolks, a half cup of sugar, and 2/3 cup of the liquor of choice.
Heat the cream and the sugar in a saucepan, until the sugar melts. Won't take long. Then, break up the egg yolks a bit, and stir she cream into it. Then add the liquor
Ok, the moment of truth here. You're going to need to make what the french call a "bain marie," and which we call a water bath. Fill a 9x13 inch pan (like the pan you'd use for lasagna), with about an inch and a half of water. Put in six to eight custard cups - the ramekin things you see - fill them about 3/4 full of the mixture, and get this into an oven at LOW heat , (325), and bake for 20 minutes.
Jiggle the pot. The center should still look soft. If more than that is still liquid, keep cooking but check at five minute intervals. You can let this cool in the oven, but you risk overheating. You can avoid that and let it cool on a counter, but then you risk cracks forming in the top (remember the whipped cream????). I like to use the second method. I also try not to use a pyrex baking dish if I can help it, because the pyrex can sometimes be stressed by the temperature changes, crack and you wind up with burned feet, broken ramekins and a decision never to make custard again (You think I'm making that up?)
So, while I've given you two desserts, I've really given you a whole lot more. I'm not sure if you could substitute fruit juice in this recipe. I KNOW you can use sweet wine, like baume de venisse. You can leave it out completely, and substitute a few teaspoons of an extract. But maybe what you should do is let a vanilla bean steep in the hot cream for about fifteen minutes, and then proceed. If you do that, you'll want to step up the cream to three cups, and add an extra egg yolk, to make up the volume. And if you have too much, well, do you ever have TOO much custard.
Eat this with a cookie or something crisp on the side. You'll feel very good about yourself, as you eat like a very sophisticated kid
Yes, you did. Because someone made it fresh, and with good ingredients, and it was RIGHT.
Why is it so hard to find the good stuff now? Well, there's no question about it. Custards and puddings and things like that take some time. They're not difficult, but it's not like making cookies, where you can be out of the kitchen in twenty minutes with a plate of warm, gooey cookies. And these desserts DO need some tending. You have to watch them. And you have to watch them carefully. Because if you don't , they'll burn, or the eggs will curdle, or SOMETHING will go wrong. And because, let's face it, all of us have this inherent insecurity about failure, and have been taught "I can't cook," that the idea of a custard, a pudding, or , heaven forbid LEMON CURD is just too intimidating.
Normally, I would be saying GET OVER IT about now, but no, not with these. They aren't hard to do, and I'm going to try to take you through two of them. I'm going to start with lemon curd, and then I'm going to move onto a lovely, alcohol enriched custard. And I'll give you some variations to play with . You will be spending some serious kitchen time to make these. But they wouldn't be on my blog if they weren't worth it.
Let me digress to say that I went through more lemon curd recipes than I can count before I found one that I liked. And that worked, consistently. It's from a book by Jody Adams called "In the Hands of a Chef." Ms. Adams' book came out during a time when just about every second article, book, or tv show, had "chef" in it. We had "think like a chef,' and "Work Like a Chef." and "Walk like an Egyptian Chef" (well, I made that one up). But we had the famous/notorious photospread of chefs as hunks, or "chunks" (thank GOD that passed). Rocco Dispiritu was on prime time (thank God that passed). And Emeril made his appearance (Why is he still there? Martha? GET WITH IT). So it was very easy to let this book go by. But it's a good one. And the lemon curd recipe, which is highly unconventional, is a five star winner.
Normally, you're taught to use a double boiler, to add ingredients in sequence, and to work, work work.
Right. Like we're gonna do that. That's why I like this so much. You'll see. You'll need the grated zest of 2 lemons, and then you'll need to juice them. Then you'll need 3/4 cups of sugar. You will also need 5 eggs, large ones. (Ms. Adams calls for extra large eggs, four of them; however, since every recipe I make uses large eggs , I'm not going to buy a different size for one recipe). Finally, you need 3/4 cup of butter, cold, cut into cubes.
Now, here I'm going to object to something recipes do. Ms. Adams says to cut the butter into "1/2 inch cubes." I don't take a tape measure into the kitchen. All butter sticks are the same. Why don't they just say "cut the butter into 20 cubes, " or something like that? I cut the butter into 12 pieces. Six lengthwise, and then each one, horizontal.
Cutting the butter into pieces is the hardest thing you'll do Put everything into a large pot, and then put the pot over medium heat, and stir, constantly, with a spatula or a wooden spoon. Make sure you get to the bottom of the pan, and stir around the edges, too. Keep your eye on it. It will take all of about three or four minutes to form a curd.
You can eat this hot, but you shouldn't. It's better cold. And you can substitute other acidic fruits for it. Meyer lemons, oranges, blood oranges, passion fruit if you're feeling flush. I have a feeling that pineapple juice would work, but I haven't tried it. I LIKE the way blood orange curd tastes, but it is NOT pretty. The yellow in the eggs and butter, and the red juice, produce a curd that is really the color of a bruise. If that doesn't bother you, great. If it does, cover it with whipped cream, or close your eyes when you eat it.
When you cool this, it thickens mightily. Alone, you can use it to fill a tart shell, but you may very well have to double it to make enough. You can fold it into whipped cream, to fill a cream puff. Know how I like it best? With blueberry , blackberry, or huckleberry puree folded into it. And when I make it, I add one extra lemon's juice, because I like it very tart. And DO know that if you use a fruit that is sweeter than lemons, your curd is going to be sweeter. You may want to cut back the sugar.
Now, onto a really lovely custard. The first time I had this, it had been made with sweet marsala. But you can make it with any of the sweet alcoholic beverages, like rum, or sweet vermouth, or amaretto. My favorite remains the marsala version. Experiment, but keep the proportions.
You need 2.5 cups of heavy cream, which may sound discouraging since cream comes in 2 cup bottles. Well, make some whipped cream to go on top of it. You'll also need six large egg yolks, a half cup of sugar, and 2/3 cup of the liquor of choice.
Heat the cream and the sugar in a saucepan, until the sugar melts. Won't take long. Then, break up the egg yolks a bit, and stir she cream into it. Then add the liquor
Ok, the moment of truth here. You're going to need to make what the french call a "bain marie," and which we call a water bath. Fill a 9x13 inch pan (like the pan you'd use for lasagna), with about an inch and a half of water. Put in six to eight custard cups - the ramekin things you see - fill them about 3/4 full of the mixture, and get this into an oven at LOW heat , (325), and bake for 20 minutes.
Jiggle the pot. The center should still look soft. If more than that is still liquid, keep cooking but check at five minute intervals. You can let this cool in the oven, but you risk overheating. You can avoid that and let it cool on a counter, but then you risk cracks forming in the top (remember the whipped cream????). I like to use the second method. I also try not to use a pyrex baking dish if I can help it, because the pyrex can sometimes be stressed by the temperature changes, crack and you wind up with burned feet, broken ramekins and a decision never to make custard again (You think I'm making that up?)
So, while I've given you two desserts, I've really given you a whole lot more. I'm not sure if you could substitute fruit juice in this recipe. I KNOW you can use sweet wine, like baume de venisse. You can leave it out completely, and substitute a few teaspoons of an extract. But maybe what you should do is let a vanilla bean steep in the hot cream for about fifteen minutes, and then proceed. If you do that, you'll want to step up the cream to three cups, and add an extra egg yolk, to make up the volume. And if you have too much, well, do you ever have TOO much custard.
Eat this with a cookie or something crisp on the side. You'll feel very good about yourself, as you eat like a very sophisticated kid
Another one of those difficult vegetables: cabbage
It's clear to me that my mind is slowly going. I could have SWORN that I wrote about this already, and no one could remember reading it. So I went back and looked at everything (you know, some of these pieces are GOOD), and they were right. Nothing on cabbage. So, here goes.
You may not know it, but you DO like cabbage. Uh huh. Yup, you do. Most of you like coleslaw. You also like sauerkraut. And if you really think that most of that green stuff in the tacos and burritos you eat is lettuce, well.... cabbage is cheaper. And how much did you pay for that taco? And why do you think that, when you went home and made them yourself, with lots of shredded lettuce, it didn't taste the same?
But everyone has a memory of strong, stinky odors when cabbage was cooked at home. And of course, many of us remember the issue of, shall we say "inconvenient digestion". Yup, I hear ya. But you know, those are problems that can be taken care of really easily, if cabbage is cooked properly. And I'm gonna explain how I do it. When I do it this way, the house never stinks, and while I cannot say those inconveniences are gone, they are extremely reduced.
There are a lot of vegetables in the cabbage family, but I'm going to focus on the "head" varieites we know: the plain green one, the red one, and the frilly, fancy one we call savoy. Everything I say here you can do to all of them, but I have particular ways of cooking each one, differently, as I hope you'll see.
The distinct odor you recall from cooking cabbage comes from cooking it incorrectly. Cabbage is, in fact, loaded with sulfur compounds: the same ones that make eggs stink when they're boiled the wrong way. Sulfur is extremely soluble, and it's also very easy to form gasses from sulfur compounds. If there isn't enough water for the sulfur compounds to dissolve into, they will enter the air. So, here's issue number one, solved: you have to cook cabbage in plenty of water, if you're going to boil it (and I suggest you do NOT boil it). And here's the answer to the next question: but the cabbage is so BIG. I don't have a pot big enough.
Stop being so bloody cheap. Buy a smaller one. I never buy a cabbage that is more than two pounds, and that's a real tiny one. As they get bigger, it seems that there is more sulfur in them (they're older, and the chemical reactions making sulfur compounds continue), there's more volume, and it just becomes a truly serious issue of aroma. So, use a small one.
Now, the other one that makes sense when you think about it is this: expose lots of surface area for the cabbage to cook. You don't smell that nasty sulfur smell when you eat coleslaw, do you? No, because it's been shredded, and not cooked. We've talked about cooking already, but the other part of this is exposing surface area. If you shred the cabbage or slice it fine, you give the sulfur more of a chance to escape, and away it goes.
Now, there is another solution: cook the cabbage for a shorter length of time, and the sulfur stuff doesn't happen. "Shorter" for cabbage is a relative term. I cook it for thirty minutes. I will BET you that your mom, your aunt, your grandmother, your bubbe, whomever, cooked it for hours. That's because she cut it into big wedges, the way Fanny Farmer taught her to, and then had to cook these humongous hunks that were as big as your little sister's head, until they were tender. Poor women. They KNEW it stunk, they KNEW it tasted bad, but you know what? It was cheap. It was filling. And if you covered it with enough stuff like caraway seeds, sour cream, etc, maybe you didn't notice it.
Okay, how do you shred the cabbage? What I do is I cut the head, lengthwise. This will expose the base stem, that holds it to the ground. Make a triangular cut on both sides, and cut that away. Then, you have to waste a few leaves. The ones on the outside are very tough, and very leathery, and will peel away very easily. When you get to the part that's tight on the head, stop. Now, put the cut side down on a surface and make very thin cuts, all the way down. Use a BIG knife and work slowly. You can do this. You'll get a lot of fine shreds, and you'll also get chunks that really can't be cut. Again, you can get rid of them.
You can follow this technique with any of the three varieties I mentioned above. Italian cabbage, or "cavolo nero," is closer to kale, and the chinese cabbages (any vegetable that ends in "choy" or "choi" is a cabbage in Chinese. "Bok" as in "bok choi," is Cantonese for white, and so "white cabbage is bok choi. In mandarin, it becomes "bai chai" Don't ask me how I know this trivia. Just keep reading. And if you need it on Jeopardy one day, thank me . And give me part of your winnings).
To cook my cabbage, I use vegetable oil, or butter, or a combination of the two. This is very much an arbitrary, "mood" thing, but it seems that for idiosyncratic reasons I can't explain, when I cook red cabbage, I always use oil and when I cook green or savoy, I use the mixture. Can't explain it, it just "is what it is." So slick the pan, and put in the cabbage. If you want, slice an onion and add that too. I almost always do, because the onion is going to cook for the thirty minutes and add some sweetness to the dish. If you want - and again, idiosyncratically, I always do this with GREEN cabbage, never with red, peel an apple, shred it, and add it to the mix as well. Turn the heat to just under medium, add a teaspoon or so of salt, and let the thing cook, covered, for about fifteen minutes. You might want to stir it once during this fifteen minutes.
After the fifteen minutes, you get to play a bit more. Cabbage DOES have a strong, but bland flavor, even this way. I find that it needs some acid to kick it up. I have come to very much like a combination of cider vinegar and balsamic vinegar, perhaps 1/4 cup of the first, and a few tablespoons of the second, together with a sprig of thyme, or a sprinkle of caraway or both. But again, I'm idiosyncratic here. I use the vinegar with red cabbage. With green cabbage, I use white wine, that is not a dessert wine, but is just too sweet for us to drink as a regular beverage. But then, I also add a quarter cup of white vinegar. So let that whole mix cook away for another fifteen minutes, covered. Stir it once, if you like. After that fifteen minutes, uncover the pot. If it looks too wet to you, let it cook uncovered for about ten minutes, but keep an eye on it, because it has a tendency to burn. If it looks fine, taste it, and adjust it, either with balsamic (for sweetness), or other vinegars ( for tartness). Let it cool down, and you're set.
This makes more than enough for one meal for two people, but there are many ways you can use left over cabbage. At the suggestion of a friend, I once combined it with broad noodles and a spoon of sour cream, and it was really and truly satisfying. He told me a meatball or two would be even better with it.
I make cabbage like this when I'm serving something like sausage for dinner, which is what we're having tonight: lamb sausages with fruit salsa, pan fried potatoes, and the cabbage. There's plenty to go around. Wine is going to be interesting. The sausage says Syrah, the cabbage says riesling or gewurztramminer. Who will win? Ask, and I'll tell you. But try making the cabbage. I think you won't be disappointed.
You may not know it, but you DO like cabbage. Uh huh. Yup, you do. Most of you like coleslaw. You also like sauerkraut. And if you really think that most of that green stuff in the tacos and burritos you eat is lettuce, well.... cabbage is cheaper. And how much did you pay for that taco? And why do you think that, when you went home and made them yourself, with lots of shredded lettuce, it didn't taste the same?
But everyone has a memory of strong, stinky odors when cabbage was cooked at home. And of course, many of us remember the issue of, shall we say "inconvenient digestion". Yup, I hear ya. But you know, those are problems that can be taken care of really easily, if cabbage is cooked properly. And I'm gonna explain how I do it. When I do it this way, the house never stinks, and while I cannot say those inconveniences are gone, they are extremely reduced.
There are a lot of vegetables in the cabbage family, but I'm going to focus on the "head" varieites we know: the plain green one, the red one, and the frilly, fancy one we call savoy. Everything I say here you can do to all of them, but I have particular ways of cooking each one, differently, as I hope you'll see.
The distinct odor you recall from cooking cabbage comes from cooking it incorrectly. Cabbage is, in fact, loaded with sulfur compounds: the same ones that make eggs stink when they're boiled the wrong way. Sulfur is extremely soluble, and it's also very easy to form gasses from sulfur compounds. If there isn't enough water for the sulfur compounds to dissolve into, they will enter the air. So, here's issue number one, solved: you have to cook cabbage in plenty of water, if you're going to boil it (and I suggest you do NOT boil it). And here's the answer to the next question: but the cabbage is so BIG. I don't have a pot big enough.
Stop being so bloody cheap. Buy a smaller one. I never buy a cabbage that is more than two pounds, and that's a real tiny one. As they get bigger, it seems that there is more sulfur in them (they're older, and the chemical reactions making sulfur compounds continue), there's more volume, and it just becomes a truly serious issue of aroma. So, use a small one.
Now, the other one that makes sense when you think about it is this: expose lots of surface area for the cabbage to cook. You don't smell that nasty sulfur smell when you eat coleslaw, do you? No, because it's been shredded, and not cooked. We've talked about cooking already, but the other part of this is exposing surface area. If you shred the cabbage or slice it fine, you give the sulfur more of a chance to escape, and away it goes.
Now, there is another solution: cook the cabbage for a shorter length of time, and the sulfur stuff doesn't happen. "Shorter" for cabbage is a relative term. I cook it for thirty minutes. I will BET you that your mom, your aunt, your grandmother, your bubbe, whomever, cooked it for hours. That's because she cut it into big wedges, the way Fanny Farmer taught her to, and then had to cook these humongous hunks that were as big as your little sister's head, until they were tender. Poor women. They KNEW it stunk, they KNEW it tasted bad, but you know what? It was cheap. It was filling. And if you covered it with enough stuff like caraway seeds, sour cream, etc, maybe you didn't notice it.
Okay, how do you shred the cabbage? What I do is I cut the head, lengthwise. This will expose the base stem, that holds it to the ground. Make a triangular cut on both sides, and cut that away. Then, you have to waste a few leaves. The ones on the outside are very tough, and very leathery, and will peel away very easily. When you get to the part that's tight on the head, stop. Now, put the cut side down on a surface and make very thin cuts, all the way down. Use a BIG knife and work slowly. You can do this. You'll get a lot of fine shreds, and you'll also get chunks that really can't be cut. Again, you can get rid of them.
You can follow this technique with any of the three varieties I mentioned above. Italian cabbage, or "cavolo nero," is closer to kale, and the chinese cabbages (any vegetable that ends in "choy" or "choi" is a cabbage in Chinese. "Bok" as in "bok choi," is Cantonese for white, and so "white cabbage is bok choi. In mandarin, it becomes "bai chai" Don't ask me how I know this trivia. Just keep reading. And if you need it on Jeopardy one day, thank me . And give me part of your winnings).
To cook my cabbage, I use vegetable oil, or butter, or a combination of the two. This is very much an arbitrary, "mood" thing, but it seems that for idiosyncratic reasons I can't explain, when I cook red cabbage, I always use oil and when I cook green or savoy, I use the mixture. Can't explain it, it just "is what it is." So slick the pan, and put in the cabbage. If you want, slice an onion and add that too. I almost always do, because the onion is going to cook for the thirty minutes and add some sweetness to the dish. If you want - and again, idiosyncratically, I always do this with GREEN cabbage, never with red, peel an apple, shred it, and add it to the mix as well. Turn the heat to just under medium, add a teaspoon or so of salt, and let the thing cook, covered, for about fifteen minutes. You might want to stir it once during this fifteen minutes.
After the fifteen minutes, you get to play a bit more. Cabbage DOES have a strong, but bland flavor, even this way. I find that it needs some acid to kick it up. I have come to very much like a combination of cider vinegar and balsamic vinegar, perhaps 1/4 cup of the first, and a few tablespoons of the second, together with a sprig of thyme, or a sprinkle of caraway or both. But again, I'm idiosyncratic here. I use the vinegar with red cabbage. With green cabbage, I use white wine, that is not a dessert wine, but is just too sweet for us to drink as a regular beverage. But then, I also add a quarter cup of white vinegar. So let that whole mix cook away for another fifteen minutes, covered. Stir it once, if you like. After that fifteen minutes, uncover the pot. If it looks too wet to you, let it cook uncovered for about ten minutes, but keep an eye on it, because it has a tendency to burn. If it looks fine, taste it, and adjust it, either with balsamic (for sweetness), or other vinegars ( for tartness). Let it cool down, and you're set.
This makes more than enough for one meal for two people, but there are many ways you can use left over cabbage. At the suggestion of a friend, I once combined it with broad noodles and a spoon of sour cream, and it was really and truly satisfying. He told me a meatball or two would be even better with it.
I make cabbage like this when I'm serving something like sausage for dinner, which is what we're having tonight: lamb sausages with fruit salsa, pan fried potatoes, and the cabbage. There's plenty to go around. Wine is going to be interesting. The sausage says Syrah, the cabbage says riesling or gewurztramminer. Who will win? Ask, and I'll tell you. But try making the cabbage. I think you won't be disappointed.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
"Hunter's " chicken
Has it been that long? It's Wednesday, and I haven't written since Saturday. That's odd. It's been a busy period, lots going on, and not much cooking that you haven't heard about already.
In planning tonight's dinner though, I began wandering in an aimless, mental way (do I ever think any other way), and began making connections about a food combination that doesn't really get much play.
What the heck is he talking about now? Well, "ham and eggs" or "ham and cheese," or "bacon and eggs," and the more subtle like "tomato and basil," that kind of thing. You know what I mean, the combinations that come to mind right away. Mac and cheese?
Well, there's a combination that I couldn't believe I missed. Then when I thought about it, I figured out why.
Chicken and rice. Think about it for a minute. "Arroz con pollo," or paella, or fried chicken with rice, or even coq au vin with rice. It seems to me that, with very few exceptions, when I'm served chicken, the starch that comes with it is rice. And it IS a good combination, don't you think? And then, as I racked my brain, I realized that there is no such combination in Italian cooking. Since "classic" Italian cooking calls for starch, followed by the protein with vegetables, and no starch, the chicken would have to be up front with the pasta or rice. I don't really know of chicken risotto, and honestly, it just doesn't sound appetizing. Nor do fried rice balls filled with chicken. But there was a combination that began to make sense to me. Cacciatore, or "hunter's" chicken.
Cacciatore is something we've all had. And everyone of us has had it differently. And every version is valid. Some years ago, I had reason to explore the origins of this dish in some detail (I know. I have weird hobbies. You don't know the half of it. Oh, wait. Some of you do). Well, "chicken cacciatore," originally had no chicken in it. It was "coniglio cacciatore," or "hunter's rabbit." And you know, that makes sense. A hunter out on the hunt is way more likely to find a bunny than a chicken. The bigger animals that they might bring down, like a boar, or what have you, were of course too big to eat for lunch or supper, and rabbits were everywhere. So, when it got time to eat, you took out your weapon of destruction, took out a couple of long eared, short tailed cats (and cats are short eared, long tailed wabbits), and got to work. You cooked them with whatever you foraged. So frequently, but not always, that involved mushrooms, and some wild herbs. Also - and this is why I LOVE being Italian - the hunters used the food staples they brought with them. I'm serious about this. Italian hunters would leave the home in the morning, with olive oil, garlic, and whatever else was around. Sometimes it would be dried tomatoes, sometimes fresh ones, or whatever was in the house.
This says something about my people, I'm just not sure what it says.
Anyway, so the components would change. That's why it's different. And I guess, somewhere along the line, someone decided "let's cook like we're in the great outdoors, but at home," and did it with a chicken, rather than a rabbit. (No, rabbit does NOT taste like chicken. And it sure doesn't look like it. If you're the kind of person who skeeves at a chicken that isn't cut into pieces, don't ever allow yourself to look at a skinned rabbit). The taste is undoubtedly different, but the use of very strong flavorings can bring the bland chicken alive. And because it's very saucy, you would want something like bread.... OR RICE! So, make up a pot of rice, and then make cacciatore. I'm going to talk about it very generally here, because there are a skazillion variations.
First, what parts of the chicken do you use? This is a cross between a sautee and a braise, so I like to use the thighs. They're juicier, they can stand up to the long cooking better, and they're manageable. Whole legs would do fine as well. I have trouble cooking drumsticks evenly and of course there is all that loss from the tips of the bones, so the pan gets very crowded. Breast meat overcooks. If you insisted on using poultry breasts, I would suggest using guinea hen. Or maybe pheasant.
Ok, here we go. If you can, salt your chicken parts the night before, like I've discussed in other blogs. If you can't, no big deal. Just do it before you're cooking, and pat them dry.
You're also going to need some aromatic vegetables and some sturdy ones. I love using mushrooms with chicken. For two pounds of chicken, I use a pound of sliced mushrooms, cremini or portabello are the ones I prefer. Also, chop up an onion, and if you have some fresh herbs, by all means, have them ready. Thyme, marjoram, oregano, rosemary, will all work with this.
What if you don't have mushrooms, or you don't like them? Some alternatives would be red peppers, fennel, or maybe cubed butternut squash, which will make things very sweet. Look for something solid, that can hold its shape over longer cooking. Stay away from greens, and asparagus. Peas are nice at the end, as a garnish, but they shouldn't be your main vegetable.
Ok, let's start cooking. I start by putting my chicken parts into hot oil that covers a big pan. I leave the pieces, skin side down, for about five minutes, until they just pick up some nice golden color. Then I cook them for another two minutes on the other side. It isn't a long cook, because they're gonna go back in the pan again.
Drain out most of the fat, but not all of it. The chicken fat that renders into the oil will flavor it some, which is a nice thing. Add your chopped onion and a bit of salt. When it loses that clear look and begins to take up a translucent look, add your vegetables. Cook them down until they start wilting. The time will vary, depending on your vegetable. And put in your herbs if you have them. Now, put the chicken on top of the vegetables, skin side UP, and you have to make your final choice about the dish: liquid. I like using tomato sauce, or chopped tomatoes, but you dont' have to. You can make a lighter, less hearty version by adding chicken stock. If you were feeling truly naughty, you could use cream. Think before you use cream, however. If you're cooking with red peppers, they're going to leach into the cream and make a very odd colored sauce. If you're fine with that, I'm fine with it. But if not, well.. stick to something else.
I should say you can also combine liquids. So, for example, if you don't want to be THAT profligate, use half cream and half stock. Or half stock and half tomato sauce. Half tomato and half cream is hard to pull off in a dish, because when the cream heats up, something happens with the acid in the tomatoes, and you get a tasty, but ugly MESS. Put in enough to just come up to the top of the vegetable bed, and cover the pot. Let this cook at a gentle bubble, for maybe fifteen minutes. I say "maybe," because you're going to have variation depending on how big the chicken thighs are (I was GOING to say "how big your thighs are, in which case I'd be cooking this for about a year), how old the bird was (careful folks), and many factors. "Bottom line " is that you have to poke the chicken with a fork or knife, and see if it's tender enough for you. If it is, after fifteen minutes, stop. If it's not, cook it more.
While this is happening, you can cook up a pot of rice on the other front burner of your stove. I like to put saffron in mine, but of course, you don't have to. And if you don't want to make rice, this is perfectly wonderful on pasta (in fact, if you make too much, you have a wonderful second meal coming up, as you shred the meat off of the remaining chicken, mix it with leftover sauce, and use it as pasta sauce. And since you're breaking the rules of Italian gastronomy anyway, put some cheese on it), and if you felt really ambitious and wanted to make polenta, or barley, or any starch you like, well, that's just fine by me.
So give this a try. The ability to brown and then braise a piece of meat on a stovetop will suit you well for further dishes. In fact, you are very much on your way to making potroast, which is really just this preparation , with a very large piece of beef, and stock only.
It's good to be back.
In planning tonight's dinner though, I began wandering in an aimless, mental way (do I ever think any other way), and began making connections about a food combination that doesn't really get much play.
What the heck is he talking about now? Well, "ham and eggs" or "ham and cheese," or "bacon and eggs," and the more subtle like "tomato and basil," that kind of thing. You know what I mean, the combinations that come to mind right away. Mac and cheese?
Well, there's a combination that I couldn't believe I missed. Then when I thought about it, I figured out why.
Chicken and rice. Think about it for a minute. "Arroz con pollo," or paella, or fried chicken with rice, or even coq au vin with rice. It seems to me that, with very few exceptions, when I'm served chicken, the starch that comes with it is rice. And it IS a good combination, don't you think? And then, as I racked my brain, I realized that there is no such combination in Italian cooking. Since "classic" Italian cooking calls for starch, followed by the protein with vegetables, and no starch, the chicken would have to be up front with the pasta or rice. I don't really know of chicken risotto, and honestly, it just doesn't sound appetizing. Nor do fried rice balls filled with chicken. But there was a combination that began to make sense to me. Cacciatore, or "hunter's" chicken.
Cacciatore is something we've all had. And everyone of us has had it differently. And every version is valid. Some years ago, I had reason to explore the origins of this dish in some detail (I know. I have weird hobbies. You don't know the half of it. Oh, wait. Some of you do). Well, "chicken cacciatore," originally had no chicken in it. It was "coniglio cacciatore," or "hunter's rabbit." And you know, that makes sense. A hunter out on the hunt is way more likely to find a bunny than a chicken. The bigger animals that they might bring down, like a boar, or what have you, were of course too big to eat for lunch or supper, and rabbits were everywhere. So, when it got time to eat, you took out your weapon of destruction, took out a couple of long eared, short tailed cats (and cats are short eared, long tailed wabbits), and got to work. You cooked them with whatever you foraged. So frequently, but not always, that involved mushrooms, and some wild herbs. Also - and this is why I LOVE being Italian - the hunters used the food staples they brought with them. I'm serious about this. Italian hunters would leave the home in the morning, with olive oil, garlic, and whatever else was around. Sometimes it would be dried tomatoes, sometimes fresh ones, or whatever was in the house.
This says something about my people, I'm just not sure what it says.
Anyway, so the components would change. That's why it's different. And I guess, somewhere along the line, someone decided "let's cook like we're in the great outdoors, but at home," and did it with a chicken, rather than a rabbit. (No, rabbit does NOT taste like chicken. And it sure doesn't look like it. If you're the kind of person who skeeves at a chicken that isn't cut into pieces, don't ever allow yourself to look at a skinned rabbit). The taste is undoubtedly different, but the use of very strong flavorings can bring the bland chicken alive. And because it's very saucy, you would want something like bread.... OR RICE! So, make up a pot of rice, and then make cacciatore. I'm going to talk about it very generally here, because there are a skazillion variations.
First, what parts of the chicken do you use? This is a cross between a sautee and a braise, so I like to use the thighs. They're juicier, they can stand up to the long cooking better, and they're manageable. Whole legs would do fine as well. I have trouble cooking drumsticks evenly and of course there is all that loss from the tips of the bones, so the pan gets very crowded. Breast meat overcooks. If you insisted on using poultry breasts, I would suggest using guinea hen. Or maybe pheasant.
Ok, here we go. If you can, salt your chicken parts the night before, like I've discussed in other blogs. If you can't, no big deal. Just do it before you're cooking, and pat them dry.
You're also going to need some aromatic vegetables and some sturdy ones. I love using mushrooms with chicken. For two pounds of chicken, I use a pound of sliced mushrooms, cremini or portabello are the ones I prefer. Also, chop up an onion, and if you have some fresh herbs, by all means, have them ready. Thyme, marjoram, oregano, rosemary, will all work with this.
What if you don't have mushrooms, or you don't like them? Some alternatives would be red peppers, fennel, or maybe cubed butternut squash, which will make things very sweet. Look for something solid, that can hold its shape over longer cooking. Stay away from greens, and asparagus. Peas are nice at the end, as a garnish, but they shouldn't be your main vegetable.
Ok, let's start cooking. I start by putting my chicken parts into hot oil that covers a big pan. I leave the pieces, skin side down, for about five minutes, until they just pick up some nice golden color. Then I cook them for another two minutes on the other side. It isn't a long cook, because they're gonna go back in the pan again.
Drain out most of the fat, but not all of it. The chicken fat that renders into the oil will flavor it some, which is a nice thing. Add your chopped onion and a bit of salt. When it loses that clear look and begins to take up a translucent look, add your vegetables. Cook them down until they start wilting. The time will vary, depending on your vegetable. And put in your herbs if you have them. Now, put the chicken on top of the vegetables, skin side UP, and you have to make your final choice about the dish: liquid. I like using tomato sauce, or chopped tomatoes, but you dont' have to. You can make a lighter, less hearty version by adding chicken stock. If you were feeling truly naughty, you could use cream. Think before you use cream, however. If you're cooking with red peppers, they're going to leach into the cream and make a very odd colored sauce. If you're fine with that, I'm fine with it. But if not, well.. stick to something else.
I should say you can also combine liquids. So, for example, if you don't want to be THAT profligate, use half cream and half stock. Or half stock and half tomato sauce. Half tomato and half cream is hard to pull off in a dish, because when the cream heats up, something happens with the acid in the tomatoes, and you get a tasty, but ugly MESS. Put in enough to just come up to the top of the vegetable bed, and cover the pot. Let this cook at a gentle bubble, for maybe fifteen minutes. I say "maybe," because you're going to have variation depending on how big the chicken thighs are (I was GOING to say "how big your thighs are, in which case I'd be cooking this for about a year), how old the bird was (careful folks), and many factors. "Bottom line " is that you have to poke the chicken with a fork or knife, and see if it's tender enough for you. If it is, after fifteen minutes, stop. If it's not, cook it more.
While this is happening, you can cook up a pot of rice on the other front burner of your stove. I like to put saffron in mine, but of course, you don't have to. And if you don't want to make rice, this is perfectly wonderful on pasta (in fact, if you make too much, you have a wonderful second meal coming up, as you shred the meat off of the remaining chicken, mix it with leftover sauce, and use it as pasta sauce. And since you're breaking the rules of Italian gastronomy anyway, put some cheese on it), and if you felt really ambitious and wanted to make polenta, or barley, or any starch you like, well, that's just fine by me.
So give this a try. The ability to brown and then braise a piece of meat on a stovetop will suit you well for further dishes. In fact, you are very much on your way to making potroast, which is really just this preparation , with a very large piece of beef, and stock only.
It's good to be back.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
More on kid food: chicken cutlets
In thinking about the whole "issue" of cooking things that kids like, I realized something that I think we all have to admit: GROWNUPS like kid food too. 'Fess up. You go to the zoo, you get the "kids" a big bag of caramel popcorn. Who eats most? You'd turn down french fries. "Oh, I have to finish them because otherwise, we'd have to throw them out." Uh huh. I think the only difference, ultimately, between what kids eat and what we eat, is guilt. Kids have no guilt about what they eat. We do. And part of it, I think, is because we feel that as "grownups" we should be eating something more sophisticated, fancier, more, well, "adult."
GET OVER IT. Last weekend, when I was preparing the dinner for Becky, I was making her a chicken cutlet. (You love them, admit it). But you can't buy ONE chicken cutlet. I had the "economical three pound package," and there were about eight of them in there. I cooked them all. And then we ate them during the week. On sandwiches. With lettuce and mayonnaise. They were GOOD. And then for dinner during the week, "dressed up," and I'm gonna talk about that. But hell, there is nothing wrong with a good chicken cutlet.
It's very easy to cook one of these babies to the point where they are dry as dust. Breast meat is not very moist and has very little fat. So if you cook it too long, the moisture leaves, and you have a dry product that you have to 'cover' somehow. One day, if you eat that abomination of abominations, chicken cutlet parmagiana, try to clean out a piece of the chicken apart from the two inches of breading, the overly sweet red sauce and the cheese, and see how it tastes.
YUCK.
Here's how you do them really well. Like most leaner cuts of meat, cutlets do better staring on the stove, and being finished in the oven, at LOW heat, say 350. So I preheated the oven, and then I beat up three eggs. I plunked the cutlets into the egg wash, and then pulled them out, one at a time, dipping them in panko.
Panko, if you don't know what it is, is Japanese bread crumbs. I don't quite know how they're made. I THINK I do, but I'm not sure. Bottom line is that they are very , very crispy. If you don't have them, use dry bread crumbs. Season the with salt only, if you're going to make some for kids, or salt and pepper and whatever else you like, if they're for grownups (and you can start with just salt for the kiddies, and then add seasoning for yourself). You can let these dry for about a half hour, to fix the coating more firmly, but you don't have to. Heat up about a quarter cup of oil (I DO use olive oil here), with half a stick of butter, unsalted. Have more of these fats available. You may need them. Heat the fats together, and when the butter has melted, put in the cutlets. D on't overcrowd the pan. You'll hear a sizzle, and after about four minutes, check. Is it brown enough for you? (this is a judgment call. Less for kids, and maybe for you, darkear, perhaps for you). Do the same thing on the other side. Then put the cutlets onto a baking sheet and let them finish in the oven for about six or seven minutes, no longer.
These are fine, as they are, for kids. I served Becky hers with a little honey on the side. But now, we're gonna make something very versatile, in a non-sexual way, that you can use on the cutlets or anything else.
Remember back on my rant and rave about the seven mother sauces? Well, sometimes it's good to know what to do with one of them. I use bechamel type sauces a lot. This is a sauce based on the principles of bechamel. I had some grapefruits that needed to be used or I was gonna lose them. So I squeezed about half a cup of grapefruit juice. These were pink grapefruits, and I must be honest, it was hard for me not to drink it down. I put this to the side, as well as a cup of chicken stock.
Then, I melted two tablespoons of butter in a big pan, and shook in two tablespoons of flour, using my whisk. This clumped almost right away, but I've done this enough not to be worried. You shouldn't be either. I poured in the chicken stock, little by little, stirring. The clumps broke up, and I got a thick, mass of sauce. "Sauce" is the wrong word. You could NOT have poured this. It needed more liquid. So, in went the grapefruit juice, with more stirring and then, finally, the juice of two lemons. Stirring all the while, until I got a thick, but still liquid emulsion, which I seasoned with a little salt at the end.
Grapefruit bechamel. Not only did it go over the "grown up " cutlets, but it also went over some left over veal tenderloin, making a lovely lunch for the best fed doorman in the world. And there's still some left over. I'm wondering if perhaps I should stir it into some rice.
So, make some chicken cutlets. And in fact, make extra. They aren't inexpensive, so buy the economical pack, cook them all, and eat them all during the week. Make sandwiches, make dinner but DON'T make chicken cutlet parmagiana.
PLEASE. If you do, I'll never talk to you again
GET OVER IT. Last weekend, when I was preparing the dinner for Becky, I was making her a chicken cutlet. (You love them, admit it). But you can't buy ONE chicken cutlet. I had the "economical three pound package," and there were about eight of them in there. I cooked them all. And then we ate them during the week. On sandwiches. With lettuce and mayonnaise. They were GOOD. And then for dinner during the week, "dressed up," and I'm gonna talk about that. But hell, there is nothing wrong with a good chicken cutlet.
It's very easy to cook one of these babies to the point where they are dry as dust. Breast meat is not very moist and has very little fat. So if you cook it too long, the moisture leaves, and you have a dry product that you have to 'cover' somehow. One day, if you eat that abomination of abominations, chicken cutlet parmagiana, try to clean out a piece of the chicken apart from the two inches of breading, the overly sweet red sauce and the cheese, and see how it tastes.
YUCK.
Here's how you do them really well. Like most leaner cuts of meat, cutlets do better staring on the stove, and being finished in the oven, at LOW heat, say 350. So I preheated the oven, and then I beat up three eggs. I plunked the cutlets into the egg wash, and then pulled them out, one at a time, dipping them in panko.
Panko, if you don't know what it is, is Japanese bread crumbs. I don't quite know how they're made. I THINK I do, but I'm not sure. Bottom line is that they are very , very crispy. If you don't have them, use dry bread crumbs. Season the with salt only, if you're going to make some for kids, or salt and pepper and whatever else you like, if they're for grownups (and you can start with just salt for the kiddies, and then add seasoning for yourself). You can let these dry for about a half hour, to fix the coating more firmly, but you don't have to. Heat up about a quarter cup of oil (I DO use olive oil here), with half a stick of butter, unsalted. Have more of these fats available. You may need them. Heat the fats together, and when the butter has melted, put in the cutlets. D on't overcrowd the pan. You'll hear a sizzle, and after about four minutes, check. Is it brown enough for you? (this is a judgment call. Less for kids, and maybe for you, darkear, perhaps for you). Do the same thing on the other side. Then put the cutlets onto a baking sheet and let them finish in the oven for about six or seven minutes, no longer.
These are fine, as they are, for kids. I served Becky hers with a little honey on the side. But now, we're gonna make something very versatile, in a non-sexual way, that you can use on the cutlets or anything else.
Remember back on my rant and rave about the seven mother sauces? Well, sometimes it's good to know what to do with one of them. I use bechamel type sauces a lot. This is a sauce based on the principles of bechamel. I had some grapefruits that needed to be used or I was gonna lose them. So I squeezed about half a cup of grapefruit juice. These were pink grapefruits, and I must be honest, it was hard for me not to drink it down. I put this to the side, as well as a cup of chicken stock.
Then, I melted two tablespoons of butter in a big pan, and shook in two tablespoons of flour, using my whisk. This clumped almost right away, but I've done this enough not to be worried. You shouldn't be either. I poured in the chicken stock, little by little, stirring. The clumps broke up, and I got a thick, mass of sauce. "Sauce" is the wrong word. You could NOT have poured this. It needed more liquid. So, in went the grapefruit juice, with more stirring and then, finally, the juice of two lemons. Stirring all the while, until I got a thick, but still liquid emulsion, which I seasoned with a little salt at the end.
Grapefruit bechamel. Not only did it go over the "grown up " cutlets, but it also went over some left over veal tenderloin, making a lovely lunch for the best fed doorman in the world. And there's still some left over. I'm wondering if perhaps I should stir it into some rice.
So, make some chicken cutlets. And in fact, make extra. They aren't inexpensive, so buy the economical pack, cook them all, and eat them all during the week. Make sandwiches, make dinner but DON'T make chicken cutlet parmagiana.
PLEASE. If you do, I'll never talk to you again
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Border crossings: French and Italian
The subject of the last couple of blogs, having to due with feeding kids, and "kid food" that becomes grownup food, is very fascinating, at least to me (and it IS my blog), so I am going to come back to it. Who amongst you, for example, can fairly say s/he does not like chicken cutlets? But for today, given that I'm trying to write contemporaneously with what I'm cooking, we have another topic.
Many food writers, especially Italian, French, and old school writers, feel that the greatest cuisines in the world are Italian and French. As our culinary horizons have expanded, of course, we've all tasted things from other cuisines that just HAVE to make us sit up and notice those foods. A good paella? Well, I would be hard pressed to turn it down, even with excellent risotto. A wonderful "mole negro?" Hmmm. Do I eat that or lasagna. Beijing duck (which USED to be Peking duck), or cassoulet? Roast Beef, rare, or beef bourginone? See what I mean? To use a phrase that is overused "it's all good." I will add "IF it's made well" But let me turn back to this Italian/French thing.
In many ways, French and Italian cooking are similar, particularly the parts of France that are along the meditteranean. Other areas, not so. For example, there is no word in Italian for cider, the "wine" of Northwest France. One of the cliches, that I think is very true, is that the big difference between French and Italian cooking is sauce. Think long and hard. Putting aside "tomato sauce," which is really not a sauce, can you think of an Italian dish that comes with a sauce? I can think of vitello tonnato, and also "maiale al latte," that wonderful stew of pork shoulder and milk (we may get to that one soon), but that's about it. Italian cooking is about serving forth the meat, the poultry, the fish, in its own juices, or with fish, perhaps a squirt of something acidic and some oil. And that's it. Meanwhile, over in France, you have to know the "seven mother sauces," (and I can never remember them), some of which take so long to make you will vow "NEVER AGAIN." (I said that of sauce espagnole the first time I made it. And when I learned a shortcut from Daisy Martinez, I almost sent her a statue of Julia Child in gratitude). I DO make some of them, like mayonnaise, but I almost never make sauces for food.
Last night was kinda different. We were having veal tenderloin for dinner. Now, this is not a cut of meat you're going to see a lot, but it, like other tenderloins (beef, pork), is very lean, very "tender (DUH), and very tasty in a mild, meaty kind of way. But like any meat without much fat, you're not going to get much in the way of drippings. So while the meat will be juicy if you cook it right, if you want another layer of flavor, like you would get from drippings, you'll be out of luck. So, here I combined simple Italian cooking, with a simple "sauce," that will bring together some ideas we've been developing here, over time.
The "classic" accompaniment to beef and veal tenderloins, is truffles. Black truffles. White ones don't taste right. Well, I love black truffles. But, believe it or not, I don't really have them in the house as a kitchen staple. But I DO have dried mushrooms. LOTS of them, different kinds. And I have to tell you, they are invaluable. They don't go bad, they can be your best friend when you're pushed for something really savory, and they're fun. I WANTED to use dried morels, but since my kitchen should be declared a federal disaster area, I couldn't find them - until I finished cooking. But I DID find a package of dried black oyster mushrooms. Use whatever kind you like. I think porcinis might not be good in this preparation, but to be honest, I don't know.
First, I prepped the tenderloins. All tenderloins should be browned, at high heat in fat, and then finished in a very hot oven, very quickly. So I heated vegetable oil while the oven heated to 475. Vegetable oil, because veal has such a delicate flavor, that I didn't want it to be obscured by my good, savory olive oil. It took me about five minutes to brown the tenderloins all over.
Digression here. The morning of the day that I cooked these, I patted them dry, and salted the tenderloins with about a half teaspoon of salt. Then I left them uncovered in the fridge. This is a technique that Judy Rogers advocates in her book. USE IT. What happens is the salt draws out the moisture from the meat, and then goes back into the meat, with the salt. It's "brining" without the mess. And because refrigerators dry things out (that's why you should never refrigerate bread), the meat also develops a nice crust for cooking.
Ok, digression over. When the meat was finished browning, I put it aside for a few minutes while I made my sauce. Just before I had started browning the meat, I had covered the mushrooms with hot water (I was boiling potatoes, so I had some ready. If you don't, just boil a cup or two), and I rehydrated them for that five minutes or so.
When you read cookbooks about rehydrating dried mushrooms, you'll see instructions about how to prep them to avoid the sand. I have to be honest: I have never found sand in my mushrooms. Maybe it's a question of better quality control, maybe I'm lucky. But if you're concerned, remove them from the liquid with a slotted spoon. If you want the liquid (and yes, you DO want the liquid), and you see sediment, you can either filter through a coffee filter, or you can just pour it off and lose the last little bit.
I also cut a small onion in half and diced it, and also two stalks of celery. NOW I used my olive oil. In the pan I had used for the meat, I poured out the spent vegetable oil, and sauteed the celery, and the onions, with a half teaspoon of salt and a HUGE sprig of thyme. When the onions had lost that clear color and began to go translucent, I put in the mushrooms.
Another digression. As it happened, my mushrooms were small and bite sized, because the oyster mushrooms are, by their nature, small enough to eat. If they're too big, cut them up before you add them.
The mushrooms are wet, so they'll sizzle. Now, you add some alcohol. Since I was trying to stay more Italian than not, I added dry marsala. It cooked off almost immediately, and I added more. Same thing. All in all, I used about a third of a cup, and boiled it all off. A tasty "sauce" was left. I put this aside while I put the tenderloins into the oven to finish for another five minutes. They came out, nice and hot, and after a minute to rest, I sliced one, and put the mushroom sauce over it.
VOILA. Or "ECCOLA." However you say it, that's it and they were done.
I think the technique outlined here would work, for example, with boneless chicken breasts with the skin on, or with beef tenderloin . For pork, I think I'd change the thyme to sage, and perhaps there I WOULD use the porcinis (because, after all "porcini" means little pigs). Lamb? Hmmm. I think I would go with rosemary, and stick with my original mushrooms.
Now if you look at the cooking times, you probably figured out that you could have made the dish in the time it took you to read my latest magnum opus. So, what's stopping you? No question, tenderloins cost a fortune. So here's a suggestion: use a steak. Or chops. The "sauce" you have here will work on pork chops, lamb chops, veal chops a steak, and frankly, I think you could put it on eggs too.
So, cross some borders. I could make U.S. imperialist jokes here, but I'll refrain. It is officially the first day of spring, and while it doesn't feel especially springlike outside, one can tell that it's almost here. I can almost see a "greening" in the trees when spring HAS arrived, and it's not there yet. Nor do the buds on the magnolias and the cherry trees show that "sign" yet. But it's coming.
Many food writers, especially Italian, French, and old school writers, feel that the greatest cuisines in the world are Italian and French. As our culinary horizons have expanded, of course, we've all tasted things from other cuisines that just HAVE to make us sit up and notice those foods. A good paella? Well, I would be hard pressed to turn it down, even with excellent risotto. A wonderful "mole negro?" Hmmm. Do I eat that or lasagna. Beijing duck (which USED to be Peking duck), or cassoulet? Roast Beef, rare, or beef bourginone? See what I mean? To use a phrase that is overused "it's all good." I will add "IF it's made well" But let me turn back to this Italian/French thing.
In many ways, French and Italian cooking are similar, particularly the parts of France that are along the meditteranean. Other areas, not so. For example, there is no word in Italian for cider, the "wine" of Northwest France. One of the cliches, that I think is very true, is that the big difference between French and Italian cooking is sauce. Think long and hard. Putting aside "tomato sauce," which is really not a sauce, can you think of an Italian dish that comes with a sauce? I can think of vitello tonnato, and also "maiale al latte," that wonderful stew of pork shoulder and milk (we may get to that one soon), but that's about it. Italian cooking is about serving forth the meat, the poultry, the fish, in its own juices, or with fish, perhaps a squirt of something acidic and some oil. And that's it. Meanwhile, over in France, you have to know the "seven mother sauces," (and I can never remember them), some of which take so long to make you will vow "NEVER AGAIN." (I said that of sauce espagnole the first time I made it. And when I learned a shortcut from Daisy Martinez, I almost sent her a statue of Julia Child in gratitude). I DO make some of them, like mayonnaise, but I almost never make sauces for food.
Last night was kinda different. We were having veal tenderloin for dinner. Now, this is not a cut of meat you're going to see a lot, but it, like other tenderloins (beef, pork), is very lean, very "tender (DUH), and very tasty in a mild, meaty kind of way. But like any meat without much fat, you're not going to get much in the way of drippings. So while the meat will be juicy if you cook it right, if you want another layer of flavor, like you would get from drippings, you'll be out of luck. So, here I combined simple Italian cooking, with a simple "sauce," that will bring together some ideas we've been developing here, over time.
The "classic" accompaniment to beef and veal tenderloins, is truffles. Black truffles. White ones don't taste right. Well, I love black truffles. But, believe it or not, I don't really have them in the house as a kitchen staple. But I DO have dried mushrooms. LOTS of them, different kinds. And I have to tell you, they are invaluable. They don't go bad, they can be your best friend when you're pushed for something really savory, and they're fun. I WANTED to use dried morels, but since my kitchen should be declared a federal disaster area, I couldn't find them - until I finished cooking. But I DID find a package of dried black oyster mushrooms. Use whatever kind you like. I think porcinis might not be good in this preparation, but to be honest, I don't know.
First, I prepped the tenderloins. All tenderloins should be browned, at high heat in fat, and then finished in a very hot oven, very quickly. So I heated vegetable oil while the oven heated to 475. Vegetable oil, because veal has such a delicate flavor, that I didn't want it to be obscured by my good, savory olive oil. It took me about five minutes to brown the tenderloins all over.
Digression here. The morning of the day that I cooked these, I patted them dry, and salted the tenderloins with about a half teaspoon of salt. Then I left them uncovered in the fridge. This is a technique that Judy Rogers advocates in her book. USE IT. What happens is the salt draws out the moisture from the meat, and then goes back into the meat, with the salt. It's "brining" without the mess. And because refrigerators dry things out (that's why you should never refrigerate bread), the meat also develops a nice crust for cooking.
Ok, digression over. When the meat was finished browning, I put it aside for a few minutes while I made my sauce. Just before I had started browning the meat, I had covered the mushrooms with hot water (I was boiling potatoes, so I had some ready. If you don't, just boil a cup or two), and I rehydrated them for that five minutes or so.
When you read cookbooks about rehydrating dried mushrooms, you'll see instructions about how to prep them to avoid the sand. I have to be honest: I have never found sand in my mushrooms. Maybe it's a question of better quality control, maybe I'm lucky. But if you're concerned, remove them from the liquid with a slotted spoon. If you want the liquid (and yes, you DO want the liquid), and you see sediment, you can either filter through a coffee filter, or you can just pour it off and lose the last little bit.
I also cut a small onion in half and diced it, and also two stalks of celery. NOW I used my olive oil. In the pan I had used for the meat, I poured out the spent vegetable oil, and sauteed the celery, and the onions, with a half teaspoon of salt and a HUGE sprig of thyme. When the onions had lost that clear color and began to go translucent, I put in the mushrooms.
Another digression. As it happened, my mushrooms were small and bite sized, because the oyster mushrooms are, by their nature, small enough to eat. If they're too big, cut them up before you add them.
The mushrooms are wet, so they'll sizzle. Now, you add some alcohol. Since I was trying to stay more Italian than not, I added dry marsala. It cooked off almost immediately, and I added more. Same thing. All in all, I used about a third of a cup, and boiled it all off. A tasty "sauce" was left. I put this aside while I put the tenderloins into the oven to finish for another five minutes. They came out, nice and hot, and after a minute to rest, I sliced one, and put the mushroom sauce over it.
VOILA. Or "ECCOLA." However you say it, that's it and they were done.
I think the technique outlined here would work, for example, with boneless chicken breasts with the skin on, or with beef tenderloin . For pork, I think I'd change the thyme to sage, and perhaps there I WOULD use the porcinis (because, after all "porcini" means little pigs). Lamb? Hmmm. I think I would go with rosemary, and stick with my original mushrooms.
Now if you look at the cooking times, you probably figured out that you could have made the dish in the time it took you to read my latest magnum opus. So, what's stopping you? No question, tenderloins cost a fortune. So here's a suggestion: use a steak. Or chops. The "sauce" you have here will work on pork chops, lamb chops, veal chops a steak, and frankly, I think you could put it on eggs too.
So, cross some borders. I could make U.S. imperialist jokes here, but I'll refrain. It is officially the first day of spring, and while it doesn't feel especially springlike outside, one can tell that it's almost here. I can almost see a "greening" in the trees when spring HAS arrived, and it's not there yet. Nor do the buds on the magnolias and the cherry trees show that "sign" yet. But it's coming.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Eating like a child: grilled cheese (for Becky)
In all the years that I have been cooking, I can honestly say that I have cooked for less than 20 "children" in total, and probably as few as ten. (I need to define terms here. By "children," I'm talking about our friends who are under the age of 13). But because I am fascinated by how people develop their taste memories and preferences, I am fascinated by how children eat.
There are scads of articles, books, scholarly notes, and heaven knows what else, about how to get children to develop "proper palates," how to get them to eat "nutritious food," etc, etc, etc. For every nutritionist, for every person concerned with how our children eat (and they are OUR children, every one of us, and there aren't enough people concerned), there is a theory. I've heard "just feed them like everyone else," I've heard "let them pick what they want to eat," I've heard "never add salt," etc, etc, etc.
Know what? I don't have children, but from the limited experience I have feeding them, and hearing people talk, I think I have the answer: there is NO theory, no plan, no overall approach that is going to work. Every child is different. You're going to have to "wing it," just like you do with adults. From what I've seen, children have very extreme reactions to food, and that's simply because they haven't been "trained" not to. Let's face it. There has got to be a time when you put something in your mouth that you found absolutely vile, (maybe a raw oyster? Maybe broccoli? Maybe an overripe pear?), but because "adult behavior" doesn't allow it, you didn't spit it out, gag, and go EWWWWWWWWWW. But you wanted to, didn't you? Honestly, as a cook, there is something very refreshing to an honest response to what I cook. Not everyone is going to like everything I prepare. We ASK adults if they would like something, because we assume they have experience, which is frequently an unfair assumption. With children, we assume the contrary: that they have limited palates, they don't want to try something new, and that's that.
It's all terribly confusing to be honest. But like I say, the honesty of children is refreshing. In fact, honesty about food is always a good thing. Because ultimately, what it lets us realize is what our favorites are, what we could do without if we didn't have it, and what we really and truly don't like.
Thinking about how a kid eats is what inspired me to make the tomato soup I wrote about a few essays ago. My thinking was very simple: I was feeling very fragile, very childlike, and when there isn't anyone there to make you something that tastes good and makes you feel better, you have to do it yourself. Hence, the tomato soup. And a few nights ago, when we had it, I did in fact make something that I had forgotten was such a big favorite. Grilled cheese sandwiches.
Are there children who don't like these? I don't know of any. I don't want to make a universal statement that every child likes them, but most do. So do adults. In fact, most adults REALLY like them. So answer me this: when was the last time you had one? What were you afraid of? The fat? The calories? Hmmmmm. You DO get sandwiches from one of the take out places occasionally , don't you? Get my drift.
At its most basic, a grilled cheese sandwich involves white sandwich bread, that yellow stuff called "American cheese," and that's it. Anything beyond that is embellishment. And honestly, to me, this is one where going beyond the basics is better. You can use any bread you like, you can use any cheese you like, and you can embellish freely.
To make them the way I do, first, turn on your oven to the broiler setting, and then get a pan that is going to be safe at that heat. You will need, of course, two slices of bread per sandwich. I like to use a good, sturdy whole wheat or rye bread. For cheese? I like to use two kinds. One soft one, like mozzarella or fontina, and one stronger, harder one. Good cheddar works well, so does Swiss, combine as you like. And maybe you want to put something in the sandwich with the cheese. Nice, ripe tomato is a classic. So is bacon, or in my case, fried pancetta. So, too, could you use ham, or chicken (these, with a dip, become "croque monsieur or croque madame," I believe), or really just about anything. Here, however is a tip for cooking these. LAYER the sandwich, so that whatever your "additive" is is between two layers of cheese. If you don't do this, and you're using, say, ripe tomato, it will leak out of the bread and destroy your sandwich. It will still taste good, but it will be a mess. So put the first kind of cheese on a slice of bread, then the other stuff, and the second type of cheese on top of that. Then the second slice of bread.
Notice that I didn't put any mustard, or ketchup or anything else like that in the sandwich. I stay away from those wet things, that might make the bread less crisp. If you like them, spread them on the sandwich AFTER it's done.
I melt a tablespoon of butter for each sandwich in my pan. When it begins to bubble, I put the sandwiches in. Usually, I can't get more than three sandwiches in a pan at a time, so if you need to make more than that, do it in stages, and serve half sandwiches, in several waves. I also "help" the sandwiches along by putting a weight on top of them for a few minutes. A full teapot, a couple of cans of tomatoes, or a heavy pan all work. After about three minutes, get a flipper and check the cooked side to see if it's browned slightly. Brown it less than you think you'll need to. Then do the other side, by flipping the sandwiches with a pancake flipper or something like that. I admit, this is not as easy as it sounds. Move carefully, and don't be afraid. It's just a sandwich, and if the fat and fire are hot enough, the cheese will have melted enough to hold it together.
You're going to broil the sandwiches for a couple of minutes. Keep an eye on them. I happen to like mine very dark, almost burned, but that's not how children like them. In fact, you can probably serve them right out of the frying pan to most kids, and put yours under the broiler for a few minutes. You'll get good color.
Protect your hand with a mitt or pot holder, and take out the pan. It's good to let these sit for a few minutes if you can, but I almost never can. Cut them in half with a serrated knife (they're hard to eat as one whole unit), maybe put a pickle or some chips on the plate, and if you have some tomato soup, well, even better.
Make some for your local child. Make some for you. I betcha you'll enjoy the sandwich as much as he or she does, maybe more. And you can laugh at each other as the cheese pulls out of the sandwich, and next time, he or she can help you do it, maybe by layering the cheese and goodies, and maybe by cutting the finished product into pretty pieces.
Becky, I hope someday you read this, and you remember the time you came over. It made me reconsider parenthood.
There are scads of articles, books, scholarly notes, and heaven knows what else, about how to get children to develop "proper palates," how to get them to eat "nutritious food," etc, etc, etc. For every nutritionist, for every person concerned with how our children eat (and they are OUR children, every one of us, and there aren't enough people concerned), there is a theory. I've heard "just feed them like everyone else," I've heard "let them pick what they want to eat," I've heard "never add salt," etc, etc, etc.
Know what? I don't have children, but from the limited experience I have feeding them, and hearing people talk, I think I have the answer: there is NO theory, no plan, no overall approach that is going to work. Every child is different. You're going to have to "wing it," just like you do with adults. From what I've seen, children have very extreme reactions to food, and that's simply because they haven't been "trained" not to. Let's face it. There has got to be a time when you put something in your mouth that you found absolutely vile, (maybe a raw oyster? Maybe broccoli? Maybe an overripe pear?), but because "adult behavior" doesn't allow it, you didn't spit it out, gag, and go EWWWWWWWWWW. But you wanted to, didn't you? Honestly, as a cook, there is something very refreshing to an honest response to what I cook. Not everyone is going to like everything I prepare. We ASK adults if they would like something, because we assume they have experience, which is frequently an unfair assumption. With children, we assume the contrary: that they have limited palates, they don't want to try something new, and that's that.
It's all terribly confusing to be honest. But like I say, the honesty of children is refreshing. In fact, honesty about food is always a good thing. Because ultimately, what it lets us realize is what our favorites are, what we could do without if we didn't have it, and what we really and truly don't like.
Thinking about how a kid eats is what inspired me to make the tomato soup I wrote about a few essays ago. My thinking was very simple: I was feeling very fragile, very childlike, and when there isn't anyone there to make you something that tastes good and makes you feel better, you have to do it yourself. Hence, the tomato soup. And a few nights ago, when we had it, I did in fact make something that I had forgotten was such a big favorite. Grilled cheese sandwiches.
Are there children who don't like these? I don't know of any. I don't want to make a universal statement that every child likes them, but most do. So do adults. In fact, most adults REALLY like them. So answer me this: when was the last time you had one? What were you afraid of? The fat? The calories? Hmmmmm. You DO get sandwiches from one of the take out places occasionally , don't you? Get my drift.
At its most basic, a grilled cheese sandwich involves white sandwich bread, that yellow stuff called "American cheese," and that's it. Anything beyond that is embellishment. And honestly, to me, this is one where going beyond the basics is better. You can use any bread you like, you can use any cheese you like, and you can embellish freely.
To make them the way I do, first, turn on your oven to the broiler setting, and then get a pan that is going to be safe at that heat. You will need, of course, two slices of bread per sandwich. I like to use a good, sturdy whole wheat or rye bread. For cheese? I like to use two kinds. One soft one, like mozzarella or fontina, and one stronger, harder one. Good cheddar works well, so does Swiss, combine as you like. And maybe you want to put something in the sandwich with the cheese. Nice, ripe tomato is a classic. So is bacon, or in my case, fried pancetta. So, too, could you use ham, or chicken (these, with a dip, become "croque monsieur or croque madame," I believe), or really just about anything. Here, however is a tip for cooking these. LAYER the sandwich, so that whatever your "additive" is is between two layers of cheese. If you don't do this, and you're using, say, ripe tomato, it will leak out of the bread and destroy your sandwich. It will still taste good, but it will be a mess. So put the first kind of cheese on a slice of bread, then the other stuff, and the second type of cheese on top of that. Then the second slice of bread.
Notice that I didn't put any mustard, or ketchup or anything else like that in the sandwich. I stay away from those wet things, that might make the bread less crisp. If you like them, spread them on the sandwich AFTER it's done.
I melt a tablespoon of butter for each sandwich in my pan. When it begins to bubble, I put the sandwiches in. Usually, I can't get more than three sandwiches in a pan at a time, so if you need to make more than that, do it in stages, and serve half sandwiches, in several waves. I also "help" the sandwiches along by putting a weight on top of them for a few minutes. A full teapot, a couple of cans of tomatoes, or a heavy pan all work. After about three minutes, get a flipper and check the cooked side to see if it's browned slightly. Brown it less than you think you'll need to. Then do the other side, by flipping the sandwiches with a pancake flipper or something like that. I admit, this is not as easy as it sounds. Move carefully, and don't be afraid. It's just a sandwich, and if the fat and fire are hot enough, the cheese will have melted enough to hold it together.
You're going to broil the sandwiches for a couple of minutes. Keep an eye on them. I happen to like mine very dark, almost burned, but that's not how children like them. In fact, you can probably serve them right out of the frying pan to most kids, and put yours under the broiler for a few minutes. You'll get good color.
Protect your hand with a mitt or pot holder, and take out the pan. It's good to let these sit for a few minutes if you can, but I almost never can. Cut them in half with a serrated knife (they're hard to eat as one whole unit), maybe put a pickle or some chips on the plate, and if you have some tomato soup, well, even better.
Make some for your local child. Make some for you. I betcha you'll enjoy the sandwich as much as he or she does, maybe more. And you can laugh at each other as the cheese pulls out of the sandwich, and next time, he or she can help you do it, maybe by layering the cheese and goodies, and maybe by cutting the finished product into pretty pieces.
Becky, I hope someday you read this, and you remember the time you came over. It made me reconsider parenthood.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
of puffs, education, and the old days
There WAS a time, many years ago, when education was very different. We took classes like penmanship, and citizenship, and things like that. And then there were the gender based classes. If you went to public school, at some point, probably in 7th grade or thereafter, the boys took "shop," and the girls took "home economics." In shop, you probably had some beer bellied teacher with tenure who was really useless, but they couldn't get rid of him, so you did things like poke under the hoods of engines, or "learned" how to use power saws, that kind of thing. Go and see the movie "Grease," and you'll get a feel for it. Girls got to learn how to make clothes, how to iron, and how to cook.
I went to private school. I didn't get that choice. I was taking spirituality and "Jesus and the Christian Community" and things that were "relevant for the contemporary christian."
Right. My gay brothers will tell you, almost to a man, that they wanted to take home ec. And then there were the girls, and my mom was one of them, who wanted to ditch the aprons with lace on them, and get their hands under the hood of a car and replace fan belts . Law suits, and arguments, and Title IX, were all necessary to make the changes that allowed people to take what they wanted. So girls could get their hands dirty, boys could make yeast dough, and we could all do what we wanted . It came too late for my mom, who was actually accepted at a school for mechanical tradesmen, when she used her first initial on the application form, but was sent home when she showed up in her coveralls for the first day of class. I have a lot of issues with my mom, but on this one, all I can say to her, from here to heaven is "YOU GO GIRL"
Well, after all that fighting, and all those battles, know what? No one takes these classes anymore. I'm not sure if we lost anything when penmanship and citizenship were dropped, but maybe we did. We DID lose something when we stopped learning how to fix leaky pipes, and how to sew. Now they are "arts." Then, they were "trades." Things change.
Why this digression? Well, one of the things that girls learned how to do, almost right away in home ec, was how to make creampuff shells. Now, it seems to be a lost art. And I intend to revive it. Because if you can make these, and you CAN make these, you have a world of goodness in front of you (and I'm NOT kidding about that).
Cream puffs are made from what the French call "pate au choux" or "cabbage paste." How they ame up with this name, I dn't know. They say it's because when the paste bakes up, it looks like a little cabbage.
I have NEVER been able to figure out the French. Go and check out www.davidlebovitz.com for a more thorough discussion of figuring out the French, and let me end this by saying that when I bake them, they've never looked like little cabbages.
Anyone who took, and remembers, home ec, is going to remember this basic recipe. It's what you use for creampuffs , eclairs, a dessert called "Paris Brest," something called a croquembouche, and also for a savory called gougeres. So, it's "versatile" (and NO, for you pigs out there, that does not mean "it's a bottom. " Can't we leave filth out of the kitchen? No. Oh. Ok).
Anyway, here's how you do it. It's very easy. I promise. You need a cup of water, a stick of unsalted butter, a cup of flour and four eggs. You also need to preheat your oven to 425, and get a baking sheet with some parchment on it.
Put the stick of butter and the cup of water into a BIG pot (you're going to do some mixing here, and it's going to be a bit messy). Bring this to a boil, and simmer it, until the butter melts. When that happens, take it off the heat, and then take your cup of flour and add it ALL AT ONCE (very important), and then stir this together. You're going to get a golden colored lump around your spoon. When you have that, break in the first egg, and stir. You're going to be convinced you did something wrong, because your dough is going to break up into shards, and just look like a mess. That's what it's supposed to do. Put some elbow grease behind it, and combine that egg. Then do it again. And repeat until you've used up all four eggs.
I'm not going to lie. It will get harder, with each egg. When you're done, you'll have this gooey, thick, yellow colored mass.
We're going to come back to this in a minute, but first, we're going to make cream puff shells, or eclair shells. Take that covered baking sheet, and start scooping out big tablespoons of the stuff and separate them. You can probably get about 25 on the sheet, in six rows of four (or, four rows of six if you're horizontally inclined), and then sneak one more in there somewhere. I use an ice cream scoop and I dip it in water occasionally, because the dough sticks. You do that for creampuff shells. If you want to make eclairs, and you have a piping bag, hey, don't let me stop you from squeezing out cylinders of whatever length you like. If you despair at the use of pastry equipment, as I do, either stick to creampuffs, or use two tablespoons and then gently work them together (don't worry about the looks. With eclairs, you're going to make a chocolate glaze and fill them with whipped cream. Who's gonna look?). Put the sheet in the oven, at 425, for fifteen minutes. Then reduce the heat to 350 .
For how long? Now this is an interesting question. Normally, I let it go for another thirty minutes, but that can be too long, if the oven is too hot. I made a batch this weekend and they were done in twenty. Keep your eye on them. You will see bubbling as the butter cooks and then it will stop and then the puffs will crust up nicely and turn brown. That's what you want.
"Conventional wisdom" says to leave these in the oven and let them cool there. Following conventional wisdom, I have always burned mine. So I get them out of the oven and let them cool on a table top.
Now, if you want to make a savory, like gougeres, then when you make the paste, stir in a cup of grated cheese, maybe more if you like a really cheesy flavor. Gruyere is classic, parmesan is nice, so is pecorino romano, use whatever you like. For me, I add fresh ground pepper, or even cayenne pepper. And then you have a nice little snack with drinks.
If you make the regular, dessert type of puffs, for either creampuffs or eclairs, you have a whole bunch of options. Whipped cream sounds good, doesn't it? If you fill them with ice cream, and cover them with chocolate sauce (traditional), or a fruit compote (not so traditional, but sure is good), you have profiteroles. Traditionally, you make one of those things that I have to admit is crucial but I hate making, and that's pastry cream, and you flavor it with something and fill the shells with that. This is, in fact, how you usually get cream puffs , i.e, filled with pastry cream. Eclairs seem to be filled with whipped cream more often than not.
Now, here's an idea as well. Why fill those very neutral tasting shells with sweet stuff? Does anyone still make shrimp salad? Well... Or chicken salad. Or even tuna salad (does anyone make rEALLY GOOD tuna salad anymore?). I've done all of these, for simple lunches. You'll also occasionally encounter crab meat, in a cream sauce, in the shells. Of course, you have to do that as close to service as possible, because the shells will "sog out" if you do it ahead of time.
You can also do something called a "paris brest," but this is hard. In paris brest, (named for the train on which the dessert was first made: between Paris and Brest), the pate au choux is baked in the shape of a ring. It's then split, and filled with a praline based cream.
Too much work for me.
So, too, with croquembouche, which is usually done at Christmas. In a croquembouche, you fill the puffs, and then you use caramel to stick them together, in a long, tall tree shape. Guests pick off the puffs and help themselves.
My view on that? Pour the caramel over individual shells and leave the shaping alone. Again, too much work.
My favorite way to eat these? Well, with sweets, I fill them with lemon curd (I'll give you the recipe soon), and put some stewed berries - huckle or blue - over them (this, incidentally, is how my friend Michael got his nickname Huck: from that dessert). Savory wise? I could eat gougeres all day.
Ok gang, it's a long blog but you've been "enabled" to make a lot of goodies. Now as my old buddy Richard Sax (miss you Richard, very much) wrote 'GET IN THERE AND COOK"
I went to private school. I didn't get that choice. I was taking spirituality and "Jesus and the Christian Community" and things that were "relevant for the contemporary christian."
Right. My gay brothers will tell you, almost to a man, that they wanted to take home ec. And then there were the girls, and my mom was one of them, who wanted to ditch the aprons with lace on them, and get their hands under the hood of a car and replace fan belts . Law suits, and arguments, and Title IX, were all necessary to make the changes that allowed people to take what they wanted. So girls could get their hands dirty, boys could make yeast dough, and we could all do what we wanted . It came too late for my mom, who was actually accepted at a school for mechanical tradesmen, when she used her first initial on the application form, but was sent home when she showed up in her coveralls for the first day of class. I have a lot of issues with my mom, but on this one, all I can say to her, from here to heaven is "YOU GO GIRL"
Well, after all that fighting, and all those battles, know what? No one takes these classes anymore. I'm not sure if we lost anything when penmanship and citizenship were dropped, but maybe we did. We DID lose something when we stopped learning how to fix leaky pipes, and how to sew. Now they are "arts." Then, they were "trades." Things change.
Why this digression? Well, one of the things that girls learned how to do, almost right away in home ec, was how to make creampuff shells. Now, it seems to be a lost art. And I intend to revive it. Because if you can make these, and you CAN make these, you have a world of goodness in front of you (and I'm NOT kidding about that).
Cream puffs are made from what the French call "pate au choux" or "cabbage paste." How they ame up with this name, I dn't know. They say it's because when the paste bakes up, it looks like a little cabbage.
I have NEVER been able to figure out the French. Go and check out www.davidlebovitz.com for a more thorough discussion of figuring out the French, and let me end this by saying that when I bake them, they've never looked like little cabbages.
Anyone who took, and remembers, home ec, is going to remember this basic recipe. It's what you use for creampuffs , eclairs, a dessert called "Paris Brest," something called a croquembouche, and also for a savory called gougeres. So, it's "versatile" (and NO, for you pigs out there, that does not mean "it's a bottom. " Can't we leave filth out of the kitchen? No. Oh. Ok).
Anyway, here's how you do it. It's very easy. I promise. You need a cup of water, a stick of unsalted butter, a cup of flour and four eggs. You also need to preheat your oven to 425, and get a baking sheet with some parchment on it.
Put the stick of butter and the cup of water into a BIG pot (you're going to do some mixing here, and it's going to be a bit messy). Bring this to a boil, and simmer it, until the butter melts. When that happens, take it off the heat, and then take your cup of flour and add it ALL AT ONCE (very important), and then stir this together. You're going to get a golden colored lump around your spoon. When you have that, break in the first egg, and stir. You're going to be convinced you did something wrong, because your dough is going to break up into shards, and just look like a mess. That's what it's supposed to do. Put some elbow grease behind it, and combine that egg. Then do it again. And repeat until you've used up all four eggs.
I'm not going to lie. It will get harder, with each egg. When you're done, you'll have this gooey, thick, yellow colored mass.
We're going to come back to this in a minute, but first, we're going to make cream puff shells, or eclair shells. Take that covered baking sheet, and start scooping out big tablespoons of the stuff and separate them. You can probably get about 25 on the sheet, in six rows of four (or, four rows of six if you're horizontally inclined), and then sneak one more in there somewhere. I use an ice cream scoop and I dip it in water occasionally, because the dough sticks. You do that for creampuff shells. If you want to make eclairs, and you have a piping bag, hey, don't let me stop you from squeezing out cylinders of whatever length you like. If you despair at the use of pastry equipment, as I do, either stick to creampuffs, or use two tablespoons and then gently work them together (don't worry about the looks. With eclairs, you're going to make a chocolate glaze and fill them with whipped cream. Who's gonna look?). Put the sheet in the oven, at 425, for fifteen minutes. Then reduce the heat to 350 .
For how long? Now this is an interesting question. Normally, I let it go for another thirty minutes, but that can be too long, if the oven is too hot. I made a batch this weekend and they were done in twenty. Keep your eye on them. You will see bubbling as the butter cooks and then it will stop and then the puffs will crust up nicely and turn brown. That's what you want.
"Conventional wisdom" says to leave these in the oven and let them cool there. Following conventional wisdom, I have always burned mine. So I get them out of the oven and let them cool on a table top.
Now, if you want to make a savory, like gougeres, then when you make the paste, stir in a cup of grated cheese, maybe more if you like a really cheesy flavor. Gruyere is classic, parmesan is nice, so is pecorino romano, use whatever you like. For me, I add fresh ground pepper, or even cayenne pepper. And then you have a nice little snack with drinks.
If you make the regular, dessert type of puffs, for either creampuffs or eclairs, you have a whole bunch of options. Whipped cream sounds good, doesn't it? If you fill them with ice cream, and cover them with chocolate sauce (traditional), or a fruit compote (not so traditional, but sure is good), you have profiteroles. Traditionally, you make one of those things that I have to admit is crucial but I hate making, and that's pastry cream, and you flavor it with something and fill the shells with that. This is, in fact, how you usually get cream puffs , i.e, filled with pastry cream. Eclairs seem to be filled with whipped cream more often than not.
Now, here's an idea as well. Why fill those very neutral tasting shells with sweet stuff? Does anyone still make shrimp salad? Well... Or chicken salad. Or even tuna salad (does anyone make rEALLY GOOD tuna salad anymore?). I've done all of these, for simple lunches. You'll also occasionally encounter crab meat, in a cream sauce, in the shells. Of course, you have to do that as close to service as possible, because the shells will "sog out" if you do it ahead of time.
You can also do something called a "paris brest," but this is hard. In paris brest, (named for the train on which the dessert was first made: between Paris and Brest), the pate au choux is baked in the shape of a ring. It's then split, and filled with a praline based cream.
Too much work for me.
So, too, with croquembouche, which is usually done at Christmas. In a croquembouche, you fill the puffs, and then you use caramel to stick them together, in a long, tall tree shape. Guests pick off the puffs and help themselves.
My view on that? Pour the caramel over individual shells and leave the shaping alone. Again, too much work.
My favorite way to eat these? Well, with sweets, I fill them with lemon curd (I'll give you the recipe soon), and put some stewed berries - huckle or blue - over them (this, incidentally, is how my friend Michael got his nickname Huck: from that dessert). Savory wise? I could eat gougeres all day.
Ok gang, it's a long blog but you've been "enabled" to make a lot of goodies. Now as my old buddy Richard Sax (miss you Richard, very much) wrote 'GET IN THERE AND COOK"
Monday, March 17, 2008
souffles
Last week, you may recall, I was waxing quite indignant over how "professionals" were freaking out about making souffles, on "Top Chef." I've considered that position over the last few days, to see if I might have been overreacting.
In one of those situations that is sort of like all of the planets lining up in a row, i.e., that happen once in a million years, maybe, in fact, I feel like I UNDER reacted.
HOW CAN A PROFESSIONAL CHEF GET FREAKED OUT BY A SOUFFLE? One guy, in fact, made his with a base of potatoes. Yup, potatoes. He seemed stunned by a question to him about "well, souffles are supposed to be light. Didn' t you think potatoes would defeat that?'
Oh, LORD, heaven help us. We are in fact in an age of...
Ok, we're gonna make souffles here. Today, we're going to make one of the most basic of souffles, and one of the best, a cheese souffle.
There IS so much mystique about these guys, and some of it is very funny. Rent "Sabrina," like I suggested (when I make a suggestion, consider it an order), and laugh at Audrey Hepburn's failed attempt. But remember, she was deeply in love, and no one should be cooking when they are deeply in love. You DID see "Like Water for Chocolate, " didn' t you?
One of the reasons for the mystique, I think, is in the carriage of the enormous, puffy souffle to the table, that you then cut open, to "oohs and ahs" as you serve it. Let me make a suggestion: if you need more drama in your life, start a relationship, or start an affair with someone, or do both. Who needs more drama? And you will get the same 'Oohs and ahs," and everyone will feel special, if you make individual souffles, in baby ramekins. They are much easier to deal with, they're a bit sturdier, and of course, there's the element of "MINE."
One of the things they don't tell you about souffle making is that you can do the hard parts ahead of time. So here we go. Cheese souffle today, fruit souffles soon.
I'm going to give diretions for doing this in two parts. But if you are doing it all at once, start preheating yoru oven when you make your souffle base, which is, essentially, a flavored bechamel.
The ONE thing that you MUST remember with souffles, is that your container cannot have any free fat on it. The eggs need to climb. If there is fat, i.e., oil, or grease, they will slide right down and never rise. So I would stay away from a step you see sometimes, which says to butter the inside of the ramekin or souffle dish and coat it with cheese, or sugar, or something else. To me, this is asking for trouble, because if your coating isn't complete, you'll be like Audrey in Sabrina. In fact, what I suggest that you do is wash your ramekins thoroughly, and let them dry completely, the day before.
Ok, let's make the base. This is, like I say, flavored bechamel. You'll melt half a stick of butter , unsalted, in a big pot. Then you stir in whisking all the time, about 4 tablespoons of flour. You don't have to be a microbiologist about measuring here, but try to be close. You're going to stir this in until the flour dissolves, and cooks a bit. They say that this takes away the raw taste, and it's true.
Now, you add milk. 1.5 cups of whole milk. You will hear disputes on this, as to whether or not the milk should be cold, or heated up. Cold milk CAN cause the flour to seize up and depress you tremendously. The seizing will end as you cook it, but again, who needs the drama? If you don't want to warm the milk, try to have it at room temperature, which is what I do when I remember (When I don't, I use it cold, watch the seizing, berate myself for not being better prepared, and move on. Please. I have better reasons for self flagellation than using cold milk, don't you?). What you will have done beforehand is to have separated six eggs. You're going to separate two more, soon, but for now, take those six egg yolks, and, off the heat, beat them into your flour and butter mixture. Then, add a half pound of grated cheese. Gruyere is traditional, I like peppered monterey jack, or some of the hard sheeps milk cheeses. Do what you like. If you stick with a milder one like gruyere, though, you're going to probably want to add something like cayenne pepper, or a good bit of salt, or something. TASTE the mixture. You're going to be diluting the taste very soon, so if you have a taste that is too light, then add more cheese, or more seasoning.
You can do the recipe up to here, cover the pot, and go away. So if , for example, you're having some people over for lunch and you want to impress them, do this while you're having your third cup of coffee. Then go and clean the house up, smile when they come in, and go on to the next step.
Remember those six egg whites? Ok, now separate two more eggs and add the two new whites to the six, so you have eight all together. If you have a superduper mixer, use that to beat the eggs to firm peaks. I have learned, from Joanne Weir, that putting a little vinegar (maybe a teaspoon of white vinegar), helps this immensely. When you can pull the beater out of the whites and get a firm spike, you're ready. Fold these whites into the mix you already made, and know what? You have your souffle batter.
Spoon the stuff into the ramekins, and then, to be really neat about them rising well, take a paper towel and run it around the edges. You're doing this so that they can rise properly, without sticking, and uniformly. Put them on a baking sheet, and put the whole thing in the oven. Bake this for about 40 minutes. Ovens all have lights these days, so you can turn on the oven and peek, without having to worry about opening the oven door. If you like your eggs runny, take out the souffles now. If, however, you like a firmer product, bake for another five minutes. Have your guests take their drinks to the table, and then present the souffles on little plates.
This, and a salad, is a fabulous festive lunch or brunch dish. And once you make this, you will never be afraid of the souffle police again. Now, you're enabled for any cheese souffle, any fish souffle (use a fine grind of the fish you want to use), as well as vegetables (use purees, try not to use wet ones). Asparagus, broccoli, mushroom, sun dried tomato, are all good vegetable souffles. Crabmeat ( talk about Cholesterol!), shrimp, smoked trout, all make good seafood based ones.
In my experience, meat based souffles don't work. there's too much fat, and it leaches into the souffle and makes it very hard to pull it off. But this should be about the fun of the rising souffle. If you MUST have meat in your eggs, make a fritatta or a tortilla.
Have some fun, get back to your roots.
We're going to make another risen egg thang tomorrow. Get set for cream puff shells, and their cousins, gougeres, eclairs, and profiteroles. When you learn how to make them, you will be so proud of yourself you will invite people to dinner immediately.
In one of those situations that is sort of like all of the planets lining up in a row, i.e., that happen once in a million years, maybe, in fact, I feel like I UNDER reacted.
HOW CAN A PROFESSIONAL CHEF GET FREAKED OUT BY A SOUFFLE? One guy, in fact, made his with a base of potatoes. Yup, potatoes. He seemed stunned by a question to him about "well, souffles are supposed to be light. Didn' t you think potatoes would defeat that?'
Oh, LORD, heaven help us. We are in fact in an age of...
Ok, we're gonna make souffles here. Today, we're going to make one of the most basic of souffles, and one of the best, a cheese souffle.
There IS so much mystique about these guys, and some of it is very funny. Rent "Sabrina," like I suggested (when I make a suggestion, consider it an order), and laugh at Audrey Hepburn's failed attempt. But remember, she was deeply in love, and no one should be cooking when they are deeply in love. You DID see "Like Water for Chocolate, " didn' t you?
One of the reasons for the mystique, I think, is in the carriage of the enormous, puffy souffle to the table, that you then cut open, to "oohs and ahs" as you serve it. Let me make a suggestion: if you need more drama in your life, start a relationship, or start an affair with someone, or do both. Who needs more drama? And you will get the same 'Oohs and ahs," and everyone will feel special, if you make individual souffles, in baby ramekins. They are much easier to deal with, they're a bit sturdier, and of course, there's the element of "MINE."
One of the things they don't tell you about souffle making is that you can do the hard parts ahead of time. So here we go. Cheese souffle today, fruit souffles soon.
I'm going to give diretions for doing this in two parts. But if you are doing it all at once, start preheating yoru oven when you make your souffle base, which is, essentially, a flavored bechamel.
The ONE thing that you MUST remember with souffles, is that your container cannot have any free fat on it. The eggs need to climb. If there is fat, i.e., oil, or grease, they will slide right down and never rise. So I would stay away from a step you see sometimes, which says to butter the inside of the ramekin or souffle dish and coat it with cheese, or sugar, or something else. To me, this is asking for trouble, because if your coating isn't complete, you'll be like Audrey in Sabrina. In fact, what I suggest that you do is wash your ramekins thoroughly, and let them dry completely, the day before.
Ok, let's make the base. This is, like I say, flavored bechamel. You'll melt half a stick of butter , unsalted, in a big pot. Then you stir in whisking all the time, about 4 tablespoons of flour. You don't have to be a microbiologist about measuring here, but try to be close. You're going to stir this in until the flour dissolves, and cooks a bit. They say that this takes away the raw taste, and it's true.
Now, you add milk. 1.5 cups of whole milk. You will hear disputes on this, as to whether or not the milk should be cold, or heated up. Cold milk CAN cause the flour to seize up and depress you tremendously. The seizing will end as you cook it, but again, who needs the drama? If you don't want to warm the milk, try to have it at room temperature, which is what I do when I remember (When I don't, I use it cold, watch the seizing, berate myself for not being better prepared, and move on. Please. I have better reasons for self flagellation than using cold milk, don't you?). What you will have done beforehand is to have separated six eggs. You're going to separate two more, soon, but for now, take those six egg yolks, and, off the heat, beat them into your flour and butter mixture. Then, add a half pound of grated cheese. Gruyere is traditional, I like peppered monterey jack, or some of the hard sheeps milk cheeses. Do what you like. If you stick with a milder one like gruyere, though, you're going to probably want to add something like cayenne pepper, or a good bit of salt, or something. TASTE the mixture. You're going to be diluting the taste very soon, so if you have a taste that is too light, then add more cheese, or more seasoning.
You can do the recipe up to here, cover the pot, and go away. So if , for example, you're having some people over for lunch and you want to impress them, do this while you're having your third cup of coffee. Then go and clean the house up, smile when they come in, and go on to the next step.
Remember those six egg whites? Ok, now separate two more eggs and add the two new whites to the six, so you have eight all together. If you have a superduper mixer, use that to beat the eggs to firm peaks. I have learned, from Joanne Weir, that putting a little vinegar (maybe a teaspoon of white vinegar), helps this immensely. When you can pull the beater out of the whites and get a firm spike, you're ready. Fold these whites into the mix you already made, and know what? You have your souffle batter.
Spoon the stuff into the ramekins, and then, to be really neat about them rising well, take a paper towel and run it around the edges. You're doing this so that they can rise properly, without sticking, and uniformly. Put them on a baking sheet, and put the whole thing in the oven. Bake this for about 40 minutes. Ovens all have lights these days, so you can turn on the oven and peek, without having to worry about opening the oven door. If you like your eggs runny, take out the souffles now. If, however, you like a firmer product, bake for another five minutes. Have your guests take their drinks to the table, and then present the souffles on little plates.
This, and a salad, is a fabulous festive lunch or brunch dish. And once you make this, you will never be afraid of the souffle police again. Now, you're enabled for any cheese souffle, any fish souffle (use a fine grind of the fish you want to use), as well as vegetables (use purees, try not to use wet ones). Asparagus, broccoli, mushroom, sun dried tomato, are all good vegetable souffles. Crabmeat ( talk about Cholesterol!), shrimp, smoked trout, all make good seafood based ones.
In my experience, meat based souffles don't work. there's too much fat, and it leaches into the souffle and makes it very hard to pull it off. But this should be about the fun of the rising souffle. If you MUST have meat in your eggs, make a fritatta or a tortilla.
Have some fun, get back to your roots.
We're going to make another risen egg thang tomorrow. Get set for cream puff shells, and their cousins, gougeres, eclairs, and profiteroles. When you learn how to make them, you will be so proud of yourself you will invite people to dinner immediately.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Ok, enough of winter
Today, it's in the high 50s. The sun is bright, it's warm and I took my coat off while we were out, because I had on too many clothes. It's time for spring to begin. Where, oh where, are the spring greens. Where, oh where is the rhubarb? Where are the strawberries?
I get this way every year near the end of March. I have had my fill of jerusalem artichokes, and celery root, and potatoes, and turnips, and leeks. If I see one more beet, I'm going to turn as red as they are. Patience is not my strong suit, and this period between the dead of winter and spring, where I want to cook "something green," is maddening.
So today, when I was making the soup for the week, I broke down. And I'm glad I did. I could not face one more winter tuber soup. Or one more bean soup. If I had had enough California asparagus in the fridge, I would have made soup of that. BUT.... instead.... something else. Something really good. And something you should have in your repertoire: tomato soup.
And as I think about this soup, I feel that it defies seasons. Really, in many ways, it strikes me as another "basic black dress" of cooking. You CAN make soup out of fresh tomatoes, you can make really GOOD soup out of fresh tomatoes, but what's the point? Isn't the point of f resh tomatoes eating them with that wonderful, fresh "TOMATONESS" that you get only from the fresh, ripe ones? No, save the fresh ones for eating as they are, and eat them as often as you can, but when you want to make soup, reach for the cans. Get the good stuff.
I say that this is a "basic black dress," because once you make the soup, you can add accoutrements that suit the season. No question about it. It goes with everything.
I'm going to give you a recipe that makes three quarts, which is of course a lot of soup. Cut the recipe in half if you want. It's really easy.
You need two, big cans of whole tomatoes. 28 or 35 ounces is the right size. Try to get San Marzano tomatoes, and get the whole ones, even though you're going to puree them. The quality is better. Okay, like I said, you're going to puree them, so puree them. Dump them, one can at a time, into a blender and puree to a smooth texture. Pour this into a bowl, and reserve.
Then, dice two onions, yellow or white, whatever you have. You want about a good solid cup of them. You also want three cloves of garlic. Don't worry about chopping it, just smash them and get rid of the peel. You'll also want a few stalks of fresh thyme. Try to get it for this, but if you can't find it, use a big tablespoon of dried. You won't be sorry you used that much.
Now, if you're making this soup vegan style, put three tablespoons of olive oil in a big soup pot. If not, use two of olive oil, and one of butter, and heat the fat until the butter melts. Otherwise, heat it until it's just warming. Then add the onions and the garlic, and cook at medium heat, for about 5 or 6 minutes. Add a pinch of salt while you do this. Stir in three tablespoons of flour, and just coat the vegetables. Then, add the tomatoes, as well as 5 cups of stock, be it vegetable or chicken, to the tomatoes, as well as the thyme. Also, put in a half tablespoon (which is 1.5 teaspoons) of sugar. Mix this all up, raise the heat a bit, and stir. Keep stirring until you get a simmer, then cover the pot, and lower the heat, and come back in forty minutes.
That's it. You can eat this just the way it is, and it's absolutely wonderful. But now is the time to think seasonally. If it's cold, heat up the soup, and maybe add some grated cheese, or some slices of avocado to it, maybe pepper jack cheese. Or, maybe some croutons? Perhaps a dash of pesto on the top of it. Sour cream? Yes, I'd like that too. Or creme fraiche. Maybe it's a warm day, and chopped cucumbers, or pickles will do it for you. I have a jar of spicy stringbeans, called "mean beans, " and I'm looking forward to doing it as a spicy starter to a meal . If you think along the lines of pizza, put some left over cooked sausage in, or just cook some and put it in.
Which one is my favorite? Well, they all are. I like all of the ideas. I also like putting corn chips that I've fried myself into the soup. But you know what's sounding best to me today? A big scoop of ricotta, right in the middle of the bowl, with the soup around it. And so is eating it plain, with that wonderful comfort accompaniment, a grilled cheese sandwich. On white bread. With bacon on it. Nothing healthy about that, but if it's healthy, it's not comfort food.
So, make the soup. And then go play. Be a kid again (I'm saying that a lot, aren't I? Maybe it's because I'm feeling that we all lost our childness, somewhere along the way, and we need to get it back. Seriously, when is the last time you looked at a magic trick or a balloon in the air, or a firework and said "Ooooooh"? If something as simple as tomato soup and a cheese sandwich will get that back for me, then I'm doing it, and I'm doing it a lot. )
Be a kid again.
I get this way every year near the end of March. I have had my fill of jerusalem artichokes, and celery root, and potatoes, and turnips, and leeks. If I see one more beet, I'm going to turn as red as they are. Patience is not my strong suit, and this period between the dead of winter and spring, where I want to cook "something green," is maddening.
So today, when I was making the soup for the week, I broke down. And I'm glad I did. I could not face one more winter tuber soup. Or one more bean soup. If I had had enough California asparagus in the fridge, I would have made soup of that. BUT.... instead.... something else. Something really good. And something you should have in your repertoire: tomato soup.
And as I think about this soup, I feel that it defies seasons. Really, in many ways, it strikes me as another "basic black dress" of cooking. You CAN make soup out of fresh tomatoes, you can make really GOOD soup out of fresh tomatoes, but what's the point? Isn't the point of f resh tomatoes eating them with that wonderful, fresh "TOMATONESS" that you get only from the fresh, ripe ones? No, save the fresh ones for eating as they are, and eat them as often as you can, but when you want to make soup, reach for the cans. Get the good stuff.
I say that this is a "basic black dress," because once you make the soup, you can add accoutrements that suit the season. No question about it. It goes with everything.
I'm going to give you a recipe that makes three quarts, which is of course a lot of soup. Cut the recipe in half if you want. It's really easy.
You need two, big cans of whole tomatoes. 28 or 35 ounces is the right size. Try to get San Marzano tomatoes, and get the whole ones, even though you're going to puree them. The quality is better. Okay, like I said, you're going to puree them, so puree them. Dump them, one can at a time, into a blender and puree to a smooth texture. Pour this into a bowl, and reserve.
Then, dice two onions, yellow or white, whatever you have. You want about a good solid cup of them. You also want three cloves of garlic. Don't worry about chopping it, just smash them and get rid of the peel. You'll also want a few stalks of fresh thyme. Try to get it for this, but if you can't find it, use a big tablespoon of dried. You won't be sorry you used that much.
Now, if you're making this soup vegan style, put three tablespoons of olive oil in a big soup pot. If not, use two of olive oil, and one of butter, and heat the fat until the butter melts. Otherwise, heat it until it's just warming. Then add the onions and the garlic, and cook at medium heat, for about 5 or 6 minutes. Add a pinch of salt while you do this. Stir in three tablespoons of flour, and just coat the vegetables. Then, add the tomatoes, as well as 5 cups of stock, be it vegetable or chicken, to the tomatoes, as well as the thyme. Also, put in a half tablespoon (which is 1.5 teaspoons) of sugar. Mix this all up, raise the heat a bit, and stir. Keep stirring until you get a simmer, then cover the pot, and lower the heat, and come back in forty minutes.
That's it. You can eat this just the way it is, and it's absolutely wonderful. But now is the time to think seasonally. If it's cold, heat up the soup, and maybe add some grated cheese, or some slices of avocado to it, maybe pepper jack cheese. Or, maybe some croutons? Perhaps a dash of pesto on the top of it. Sour cream? Yes, I'd like that too. Or creme fraiche. Maybe it's a warm day, and chopped cucumbers, or pickles will do it for you. I have a jar of spicy stringbeans, called "mean beans, " and I'm looking forward to doing it as a spicy starter to a meal . If you think along the lines of pizza, put some left over cooked sausage in, or just cook some and put it in.
Which one is my favorite? Well, they all are. I like all of the ideas. I also like putting corn chips that I've fried myself into the soup. But you know what's sounding best to me today? A big scoop of ricotta, right in the middle of the bowl, with the soup around it. And so is eating it plain, with that wonderful comfort accompaniment, a grilled cheese sandwich. On white bread. With bacon on it. Nothing healthy about that, but if it's healthy, it's not comfort food.
So, make the soup. And then go play. Be a kid again (I'm saying that a lot, aren't I? Maybe it's because I'm feeling that we all lost our childness, somewhere along the way, and we need to get it back. Seriously, when is the last time you looked at a magic trick or a balloon in the air, or a firework and said "Ooooooh"? If something as simple as tomato soup and a cheese sandwich will get that back for me, then I'm doing it, and I'm doing it a lot. )
Be a kid again.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Dressing up the bird
The pieces I write here are intended, in large part, to talk about what I cook, and why I cook it. The description which follows is going to be about last night's dinner, and it will tie together some of the themes of the whole blog, review some techniques, and maybe give you some ideas for future cooking. But first I have to get something off my chest.
The new season of "Top Chef" started this week. Yes, it's going to be another eye roller for me, but the part of the episode that made me not only roll my eyes, but twist my neck in circles like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist" had to do with the elimination challenge. Contestants had to draw knives to see when they would pick, from a list of "classic dishes" that they would then have to cook. Everyone was dreading getting "souffle." And when the guys who got the souffles presented theirs, you could see why.
God help the kitchens of restaurants everywhere. You're a cooking school graduate, you have experience, and you can't whip up a souffle? We are all in trouble. So in days to come, you're going to learn how to make souffles. A savory one, and a dessert one. And for homework, you should review the movie "Sabrina" (the original one, with Audrey Hepburn, NOT the remake. Audrey Hepburn is one of the two or three most beautiful women to have ever lived. Get familiar with her).
Ok, enough of that . To the item at hand. Last night, I knew I was cooking duck breasts for dinner. I knew nothing more than that. I was planning "some kind of sauce," but really didn't have any idea of what I was doing. Finally, I had decided on a carmelization based on honey, soy sauce, and a few herbs.
Then I opened the citrus boxes, and found the first bag of kumquats for the season.
Here's where your ability to roll with what you have, is very important. The sauce I had in mind is a good one. I've made it before. But KUMQUATS (incidentally, that's a good way to tell if a man is gay or straight. Ask him to pronounce the word. Gay men have no trouble. Straight men turn red or just won't say it. Don't believe me? Try it. Go ahead. And it's even better if you ask a straight guy to say it in front of a gay guy. WATCH HIM SQUIRM. It's really fun). I had to do something with them.
So, let's review how we cook duck breast. The night before, I had scored them through the fat, down to the meat, and salted them. Then I left them to "cure" in the fridge. To cook them, I put them, skin side down in a cold pan. I turned the heat to medium high, and let them cook away for four minutes. Much of the fat rendered out and I poured it off, and put the breasts back to cook for another four minutes. While this was happening, I sliced about ten kumquats on a diagnonal, in thin slices. I dropped these into boiling, UNSALTED water for ten seconds, just to soften the skin and make them easier to chew. I drained them. When the duck breasts had cooked for that eight minutes, I poured off almost, but not quite all of the fat, and turned them skin side UP, to cook for another four minutes. I had crispy, rare duck breasts. I put them to the side, to make my sauce. There was a little fat left, maybe a tablespoon, and I tossed in about four good tablespoons of blood orange marmalade (any marmalade would work), and then the kumquat slices. When the marmalade had melted, I put the duck back in, skin side down, and let them cook for just a minute or two, to coat the skin. I turned them, to cover the meat side, and that was it. I let the duck rest for five minutes before I sliced it, and then served it with the remaining sauce and kumquats poured over it.
Two duck breast halves (one whole breast), fed three of us nicely and the sauce is a new addition to my repertoire.
And here's something easy to do with kumquats. Really pretty too. You need Belgian endive, and the kumquats. Plan on half an endive, and three kumquats per person. Slice the endive on an angle, and toss it with some vinegar - just a bit - to keep it from browning. Do the same thing for the kumquats and add them to the endive. Then make a very quick, light vinaigrette of white or champagne vinegar, olive oil and salt, and toss everything real quick. And you have a lovely, pretty salad that is hard to beat during the winter.
Kumquats are great with beets too, and I'll come back to that soon. For now, though, get your beaters ready, because next time around, we're gonna make souffles
The new season of "Top Chef" started this week. Yes, it's going to be another eye roller for me, but the part of the episode that made me not only roll my eyes, but twist my neck in circles like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist" had to do with the elimination challenge. Contestants had to draw knives to see when they would pick, from a list of "classic dishes" that they would then have to cook. Everyone was dreading getting "souffle." And when the guys who got the souffles presented theirs, you could see why.
God help the kitchens of restaurants everywhere. You're a cooking school graduate, you have experience, and you can't whip up a souffle? We are all in trouble. So in days to come, you're going to learn how to make souffles. A savory one, and a dessert one. And for homework, you should review the movie "Sabrina" (the original one, with Audrey Hepburn, NOT the remake. Audrey Hepburn is one of the two or three most beautiful women to have ever lived. Get familiar with her).
Ok, enough of that . To the item at hand. Last night, I knew I was cooking duck breasts for dinner. I knew nothing more than that. I was planning "some kind of sauce," but really didn't have any idea of what I was doing. Finally, I had decided on a carmelization based on honey, soy sauce, and a few herbs.
Then I opened the citrus boxes, and found the first bag of kumquats for the season.
Here's where your ability to roll with what you have, is very important. The sauce I had in mind is a good one. I've made it before. But KUMQUATS (incidentally, that's a good way to tell if a man is gay or straight. Ask him to pronounce the word. Gay men have no trouble. Straight men turn red or just won't say it. Don't believe me? Try it. Go ahead. And it's even better if you ask a straight guy to say it in front of a gay guy. WATCH HIM SQUIRM. It's really fun). I had to do something with them.
So, let's review how we cook duck breast. The night before, I had scored them through the fat, down to the meat, and salted them. Then I left them to "cure" in the fridge. To cook them, I put them, skin side down in a cold pan. I turned the heat to medium high, and let them cook away for four minutes. Much of the fat rendered out and I poured it off, and put the breasts back to cook for another four minutes. While this was happening, I sliced about ten kumquats on a diagnonal, in thin slices. I dropped these into boiling, UNSALTED water for ten seconds, just to soften the skin and make them easier to chew. I drained them. When the duck breasts had cooked for that eight minutes, I poured off almost, but not quite all of the fat, and turned them skin side UP, to cook for another four minutes. I had crispy, rare duck breasts. I put them to the side, to make my sauce. There was a little fat left, maybe a tablespoon, and I tossed in about four good tablespoons of blood orange marmalade (any marmalade would work), and then the kumquat slices. When the marmalade had melted, I put the duck back in, skin side down, and let them cook for just a minute or two, to coat the skin. I turned them, to cover the meat side, and that was it. I let the duck rest for five minutes before I sliced it, and then served it with the remaining sauce and kumquats poured over it.
Two duck breast halves (one whole breast), fed three of us nicely and the sauce is a new addition to my repertoire.
And here's something easy to do with kumquats. Really pretty too. You need Belgian endive, and the kumquats. Plan on half an endive, and three kumquats per person. Slice the endive on an angle, and toss it with some vinegar - just a bit - to keep it from browning. Do the same thing for the kumquats and add them to the endive. Then make a very quick, light vinaigrette of white or champagne vinegar, olive oil and salt, and toss everything real quick. And you have a lovely, pretty salad that is hard to beat during the winter.
Kumquats are great with beets too, and I'll come back to that soon. For now, though, get your beaters ready, because next time around, we're gonna make souffles
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Pushing spring a bit
Every year, just about this time, my taste buds get restless. It's still roots and tubers, and limited numbers of those. All the leeks are gone. This year, celery root is in good supply. If I see another one of those gnarly roots, I may lose it. Bags and bags of beets in the fridge that I'm ignoring. Oh, I can always make something tasty with potatoes, but where's a vegetable that TASTES like GREEN.
Then the first southern california asparagus show up.
I will admit, right up front, that this is a poor substitute for the wonderful "Jersey grass" that we'll have available in about two months. When that comes in, we could wind up eating asparagus every day of the week. One day steamed, one day in a salad, one day in a soup, and so on and so forth. The green ones. We don't really see "spargel," those kind of weird, all white asparagus that make me feel like I'm eating space ship food, and that's fine with me. But for now, those veggies from the twin cities of "Calexico" and "Mexicali" are coming in (Yes, it's true. One is in Mexico, the other is in California, right across from each other. Serious agriculture this time of year).
I know I COULD get asparagus all winter long, from Peru or heaven knows where. When the full season comes in locally, I'll go on my "don't by South American asparagus " rant, but for now, I'll just introduce the issue of these wonderful veggies.
And I will also confess that, when I was a kid, I turned my nose up at them. But they were CANNED. I think they were the inspiration for every green slime movie that was ever made, and I would NOT eat them. Or eggplant. Or artichokes. But Nana used to stand there and shake her finger "Ascolta ragazzo. One day, these will be your favorite vegetables.
She was right. I LOVE asparagus. Even though it has that, ahem, side effect. Do you know what I'm talking about? You don't. Oh.
Well... see... there's a molecule in asparagus that some of us can process, and some of us cannot. And it's not like those molecules in beans that some of us do well with and others don't, except in one way: it stinks. And you see, well.... if you drink a bit too much water or any liquid with your meal, you'll start smelling it sooner rather than later.
EWWWWWWWWWWWW. But you know what? I don't care. I love them too much.
When you read food writers on asparagus, they seem to fall into the "thick stalk" and "thin stalk" camps. Know what I think? Stalk, schmalk. If you know what you've got, you know how to cook them. So , how DO you cook them?
As little as possible. But you do have to cook them. With all due respect to the raw foodists out there, raw asparagus isn't all that tasty. I find it very hard to digest as well. So I think you need to do SOMETHING with them. With the thicker ones, I peel them with a vegetable peeler, almost all the way up and down the stem. And then I steam them. Ideally, you steam them standing up in a pan, so that the bottoms, which are thicker, get more cooking than the tips, which are thinner. You can get a special b asket for that.
Gimme a break. If you're THAT obsessive about the cooking, what you should do is cut them up before hand, because you're going to cut them on your plate anyway (unless you're ill mannered like me and you pick them up whole and put them down your gullet. Nana would faint). And if you're going to serve them cut up, then cut the thicker pieces, put them in boiling salted water first, wait for thirty seconds or so, then add the middle parts, and then finally, the tips. Each gets thirty seconds, so you've been cooking the toughest section for a minute and a half, the middle for a minute, and the last bit, for half a minute. That's really all you need. You'll see the green kind of "bloom" on them and the flavor will come out. For me, a quick dressing of olive oil, or lemon juice is all I need with these, but you could put a sprinkle of parmesan on them, or you could toss some chopped nuts, or even use hollandaise ( we haven't made hollandaise yet, have we? Ok, we'll do that this week coming up. I promise. You'll want them for Easter). You can get a bit more elaborate, and make something right fine, by wrapping two or three of them in a piece of prosciutto, putting some fontina on top of that, and then broling them for a minute or two. Not THAT's good eating, it's getting fancy, and you should be doing that when you get tired of just plain asparagus (which I never do).
Now I talked about the thick ones. Well, for the thin ones, I use the trick that everyone is taught: hold the asparagus horizontally, one hand on the tip, and the other on the base (3 dimensional enough for ya, SR?). Bend it. And it will SNAP where a tough part meets a tender part. Almost always. What you'll find when this happens is that you get a lot of waste, but save those tough parts. They make good stock for things like asparagus soup, and asparagus risotto (yup, we'll make those when the Jersey grass comes in). And then just use the tender parts the way I told you how to use the peeled, whole ones.
If you make extra, or you have extra, you can make a lovely salad of asparagus and greens, with a lemon type of vinaigrette: use one part lemon juice to three parts olive oil, a bit of mustard and salt, and you've got an interesting, unique salad. Perhaps it's even worth making the asparagus to do this (I think so, and do it a lot).
So it's a ways to Spring. We'll be doin the "wearin of the green" next week, but the "eatin of the green" has got to start. I'm still waiting for dandelions, and the other goodies of early spring, but for now, it will have to be "california here I come." We're going to have some tonight with duckbreasts. Dontcha wish you were comin over? I got plenty....
Then the first southern california asparagus show up.
I will admit, right up front, that this is a poor substitute for the wonderful "Jersey grass" that we'll have available in about two months. When that comes in, we could wind up eating asparagus every day of the week. One day steamed, one day in a salad, one day in a soup, and so on and so forth. The green ones. We don't really see "spargel," those kind of weird, all white asparagus that make me feel like I'm eating space ship food, and that's fine with me. But for now, those veggies from the twin cities of "Calexico" and "Mexicali" are coming in (Yes, it's true. One is in Mexico, the other is in California, right across from each other. Serious agriculture this time of year).
I know I COULD get asparagus all winter long, from Peru or heaven knows where. When the full season comes in locally, I'll go on my "don't by South American asparagus " rant, but for now, I'll just introduce the issue of these wonderful veggies.
And I will also confess that, when I was a kid, I turned my nose up at them. But they were CANNED. I think they were the inspiration for every green slime movie that was ever made, and I would NOT eat them. Or eggplant. Or artichokes. But Nana used to stand there and shake her finger "Ascolta ragazzo. One day, these will be your favorite vegetables.
She was right. I LOVE asparagus. Even though it has that, ahem, side effect. Do you know what I'm talking about? You don't. Oh.
Well... see... there's a molecule in asparagus that some of us can process, and some of us cannot. And it's not like those molecules in beans that some of us do well with and others don't, except in one way: it stinks. And you see, well.... if you drink a bit too much water or any liquid with your meal, you'll start smelling it sooner rather than later.
EWWWWWWWWWWWW. But you know what? I don't care. I love them too much.
When you read food writers on asparagus, they seem to fall into the "thick stalk" and "thin stalk" camps. Know what I think? Stalk, schmalk. If you know what you've got, you know how to cook them. So , how DO you cook them?
As little as possible. But you do have to cook them. With all due respect to the raw foodists out there, raw asparagus isn't all that tasty. I find it very hard to digest as well. So I think you need to do SOMETHING with them. With the thicker ones, I peel them with a vegetable peeler, almost all the way up and down the stem. And then I steam them. Ideally, you steam them standing up in a pan, so that the bottoms, which are thicker, get more cooking than the tips, which are thinner. You can get a special b asket for that.
Gimme a break. If you're THAT obsessive about the cooking, what you should do is cut them up before hand, because you're going to cut them on your plate anyway (unless you're ill mannered like me and you pick them up whole and put them down your gullet. Nana would faint). And if you're going to serve them cut up, then cut the thicker pieces, put them in boiling salted water first, wait for thirty seconds or so, then add the middle parts, and then finally, the tips. Each gets thirty seconds, so you've been cooking the toughest section for a minute and a half, the middle for a minute, and the last bit, for half a minute. That's really all you need. You'll see the green kind of "bloom" on them and the flavor will come out. For me, a quick dressing of olive oil, or lemon juice is all I need with these, but you could put a sprinkle of parmesan on them, or you could toss some chopped nuts, or even use hollandaise ( we haven't made hollandaise yet, have we? Ok, we'll do that this week coming up. I promise. You'll want them for Easter). You can get a bit more elaborate, and make something right fine, by wrapping two or three of them in a piece of prosciutto, putting some fontina on top of that, and then broling them for a minute or two. Not THAT's good eating, it's getting fancy, and you should be doing that when you get tired of just plain asparagus (which I never do).
Now I talked about the thick ones. Well, for the thin ones, I use the trick that everyone is taught: hold the asparagus horizontally, one hand on the tip, and the other on the base (3 dimensional enough for ya, SR?). Bend it. And it will SNAP where a tough part meets a tender part. Almost always. What you'll find when this happens is that you get a lot of waste, but save those tough parts. They make good stock for things like asparagus soup, and asparagus risotto (yup, we'll make those when the Jersey grass comes in). And then just use the tender parts the way I told you how to use the peeled, whole ones.
If you make extra, or you have extra, you can make a lovely salad of asparagus and greens, with a lemon type of vinaigrette: use one part lemon juice to three parts olive oil, a bit of mustard and salt, and you've got an interesting, unique salad. Perhaps it's even worth making the asparagus to do this (I think so, and do it a lot).
So it's a ways to Spring. We'll be doin the "wearin of the green" next week, but the "eatin of the green" has got to start. I'm still waiting for dandelions, and the other goodies of early spring, but for now, it will have to be "california here I come." We're going to have some tonight with duckbreasts. Dontcha wish you were comin over? I got plenty....
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
OLE!
Last night, I did something that I haven't done in so long I can't remember when I last did it. The boys of Uptown Express, who did SO much remedial work in making me feel good about myself last December invited me to join them for drinks after their rehearsal.
I am SORELY out of practice. Sometime today, the camel poop will get out of my mouth, the boot will get off my head, and I'll be a real person again, but let's just say that, in the future, I will eat something more substantial than a bowl of soup before drinking two, large martinis.
Well, while I was having a wonderful time with these guys, someone bought a platter of nachos and guacamole over to the table for nibbles. I won't say I was "challenged," that's too confrontational, but I was asked to comment on the platter in front of me, and perhaps talk about this kind of food in a blog.
For Uptown? Hell yeah. At this point, I'm not sure who adopted who, so let's just say we adopted each other. Walk on hot coals? Sure. Write about nachos and guacamole? YOU GOT IT BOYS.
I do need to confess, up front, that while I make guacamole , I have never made nachos. But this is really a rather simple dish to deconstruct, and I will have some comments on it below. But to guacamole, first.
This is another one of those dishes that people have very strong opinions about. Beyond avocados, there are probably no two people who make it the same way. In fact, I can say with honesty that I don't think I have ever made it the same way, twice, although there are certain constants in mine.
The legendary Queen of Mexican cooking, Diana Kennedy, writes extensively about "guac" in her books. She even gives a recipe for a very intriguing one that scares me, which contains avocados, pear, and pomegranates, and nothing else except salt. Hmmm. Certainly colorful. And apparently, the further south you get in Mexico, the more likely it is you will have fruit in the guacamole, IF they don't give you "gringo verde," as they call what tourists like. The differences in how people make a "classic" dish is an idea that intrigues me. And I got my "comeuppance" once, many years ago, when I was talking to Zarela Martinez, as she explained Mexican "REGIONAL" cooking. I told her I was astounded, and she looked at me, with her big brown eyes and said "You have no problem with the idea of regional ITALIAN cooking, but have you ever compared the size of Mexico to Italy?'
Point well made.
Anyway, to the food. Now, something that you may not know: avocados are a winter crop. If you're eating avocados in the summer, they are coming from FAR away - certainly not Mexico or California. Keep that in mind, if you're looking for good avocados, or wondering why the guac you made at Labor Day isn't as good as what you made at Christmas, even though it's the same recipe. And avocados come in different varieties. What you will see recommended, over and over again, with good reason, are "Hass" avocados. These are the smaller, ridged ones. They're easy to find, but if you can find something like "Gwen" avocados, use them. They are more fragile, and more expensive, but they're better. Hass are good solid staples for guacamole, though. There are other good varities, like Pinkertons, but they are very hard to peel.
For me, making guac calls for advanced planning. You've seen ripe and unripe avocados, I'm sure, and you know that you can let them sit out on a countertop or something and ripen, or you can buy them ripe. Every time I've bought the ripe ones, I've been disappointed. So I buy them when they're just starting to soften, and I let them sit for three or four days. When I'm ready for making guacamole, I gather my ingredients. And like I said, there are some that are constant, and then there are variations. I always use lime juice. LOTS of lime juice. And garlic. NOT a lot of it. Maybe one clove to every two avocados. And salt. That's it. And if you used, just that, you will make a damn good guacamole. I use at least one lime per avocado, because my palate runs to the sour. Use less if you like.
So, this is what I do. I chop up my garlic and put it in the serving bowl, and then a teaspoon of salt. And I mash. The salt, being a crystal, will "cut" the garlic even more (someday, look at sugar or salt crystals up close. You'll see what I mean. These are SHARP, on the molecular level. And you'll learn something about how they work by seeing that and thinking a bit).
Once the garlic has been mashed up, I get to work on the avocados. Now, I never make this stuff with less than six avocados, so what I do is slice off the peel, sort of in apple slicing fashion and dump the slices right into the bowl . If the avocados are ripe, they will come away from the pit easily. If they don't, you shouldn't be using them (and sprout a pit or two. I have a 15 year old avocado tree I sprouted from a seed. Be a kid again). I like guacamole that's chunky, so I just get the potato masher, and go to it until the texture is where I like it. I squeeze in the lime juice, stir it in, and taste. Usually, it needs more salt. And that's it.
Guacamole is going to brown, period. If you dont' serve it right away, it's going to oxidize. There are a million tips for how to keep this from happening. They don't work. If you make your guacamole ahead of time, and you've got that brown coating on the top, do what restaurants do. Stir it. No one will know. And it will still taste good.
Options? I like cilantro very much, but it will literally close the throats of some people. And I like hot peppers. So I like fresh jalapeno in it. Scotch bonnets are a bit much in guacamole, in my opinion, so I stick to the jalapenos. Other people add things like sour cream, or onions, or lemon juice, and that's all fine. They don't go into mine, but that doesn't mean I'm right (well, actually it does, but I'm trying to be humble here).
So you've got guacamole, what about the chips?, he asks as he segues into nachos. I'm obsessed with corn chips. I'm so obsessed that I'm going to suggest something: make your own. HOW???
Get some corn tortillas. Get a good brand. I'm serious about this: follow a Mexican, or simply ask one, when he or she is buying them, and buy what they do or just ask. Cut the tortillas into the shape and size you like. Get a big, flat pan, and fill it with about an inch of oil. Heat it at medium heat. Now, test for it being the right temperature by putting a small fragment of tortilla into it. You'll know. Oil that's hot enough will sizzle the stuff like a french fry. And while you're waiting for the oil to come to temperature, line a few baking sheets with paper towel, or newspaper, and get a strainer, like a Chinese strainer, or something that will let you get the stuff out of the oil without taking too much oil with you. You're going to have to be ready to work fast. Put as many chips into the oil as will fit in one layer, and after two minutes, take them out onto the paper to drain. Sprinkle them with salt immediately. The heat will "melt" the salt a bit, and flavor the chips. If you want to add hot pepper or anything else of that nature, now is the time to do it. Keep on going until you've finished.
I guarantee you, if you do this once, you will never buy chips again.
Now, if you don't want to use them all for your guacamole, let's make some nachos. The plate of them that we had last night both delighted and confounded me. They had "refried" beans in them. I don't know why we call them "refried," because they're only fried once, but in any event, I don't think they have any place in nachos. (My buddy Nora has since advised me that "re" in Spanish generally means "well done" so that "refried" beans are really "well fried" beans. Well, too often they ain't). I DO like the idea of cheese, in two forms: a solid one, something like a feta or something sharp, together with a "melty" cheese, like Monterey jack, or something soft, that helps them form this wonderful soggy, drippy mess. And I like hot pepper or hot pepper sauce in mine, preferably both. I like them both because there's the contrast of the firmer bits of fresh pepper, plus the hot sauce. And that's really all that I would put into mine.
I'm going to write some more about tortilla based dishes in the future, but for now, please enjoy this little tribute to the guys of Uptown.
Boys, if you want me to make these for you, all you have to do is ask. In fact, all you have to do is ask for whatever you would like to eat, and it's yours.
Now let me go swallow some more aspirin. Oh, you guys!!!!!
I am SORELY out of practice. Sometime today, the camel poop will get out of my mouth, the boot will get off my head, and I'll be a real person again, but let's just say that, in the future, I will eat something more substantial than a bowl of soup before drinking two, large martinis.
Well, while I was having a wonderful time with these guys, someone bought a platter of nachos and guacamole over to the table for nibbles. I won't say I was "challenged," that's too confrontational, but I was asked to comment on the platter in front of me, and perhaps talk about this kind of food in a blog.
For Uptown? Hell yeah. At this point, I'm not sure who adopted who, so let's just say we adopted each other. Walk on hot coals? Sure. Write about nachos and guacamole? YOU GOT IT BOYS.
I do need to confess, up front, that while I make guacamole , I have never made nachos. But this is really a rather simple dish to deconstruct, and I will have some comments on it below. But to guacamole, first.
This is another one of those dishes that people have very strong opinions about. Beyond avocados, there are probably no two people who make it the same way. In fact, I can say with honesty that I don't think I have ever made it the same way, twice, although there are certain constants in mine.
The legendary Queen of Mexican cooking, Diana Kennedy, writes extensively about "guac" in her books. She even gives a recipe for a very intriguing one that scares me, which contains avocados, pear, and pomegranates, and nothing else except salt. Hmmm. Certainly colorful. And apparently, the further south you get in Mexico, the more likely it is you will have fruit in the guacamole, IF they don't give you "gringo verde," as they call what tourists like. The differences in how people make a "classic" dish is an idea that intrigues me. And I got my "comeuppance" once, many years ago, when I was talking to Zarela Martinez, as she explained Mexican "REGIONAL" cooking. I told her I was astounded, and she looked at me, with her big brown eyes and said "You have no problem with the idea of regional ITALIAN cooking, but have you ever compared the size of Mexico to Italy?'
Point well made.
Anyway, to the food. Now, something that you may not know: avocados are a winter crop. If you're eating avocados in the summer, they are coming from FAR away - certainly not Mexico or California. Keep that in mind, if you're looking for good avocados, or wondering why the guac you made at Labor Day isn't as good as what you made at Christmas, even though it's the same recipe. And avocados come in different varieties. What you will see recommended, over and over again, with good reason, are "Hass" avocados. These are the smaller, ridged ones. They're easy to find, but if you can find something like "Gwen" avocados, use them. They are more fragile, and more expensive, but they're better. Hass are good solid staples for guacamole, though. There are other good varities, like Pinkertons, but they are very hard to peel.
For me, making guac calls for advanced planning. You've seen ripe and unripe avocados, I'm sure, and you know that you can let them sit out on a countertop or something and ripen, or you can buy them ripe. Every time I've bought the ripe ones, I've been disappointed. So I buy them when they're just starting to soften, and I let them sit for three or four days. When I'm ready for making guacamole, I gather my ingredients. And like I said, there are some that are constant, and then there are variations. I always use lime juice. LOTS of lime juice. And garlic. NOT a lot of it. Maybe one clove to every two avocados. And salt. That's it. And if you used, just that, you will make a damn good guacamole. I use at least one lime per avocado, because my palate runs to the sour. Use less if you like.
So, this is what I do. I chop up my garlic and put it in the serving bowl, and then a teaspoon of salt. And I mash. The salt, being a crystal, will "cut" the garlic even more (someday, look at sugar or salt crystals up close. You'll see what I mean. These are SHARP, on the molecular level. And you'll learn something about how they work by seeing that and thinking a bit).
Once the garlic has been mashed up, I get to work on the avocados. Now, I never make this stuff with less than six avocados, so what I do is slice off the peel, sort of in apple slicing fashion and dump the slices right into the bowl . If the avocados are ripe, they will come away from the pit easily. If they don't, you shouldn't be using them (and sprout a pit or two. I have a 15 year old avocado tree I sprouted from a seed. Be a kid again). I like guacamole that's chunky, so I just get the potato masher, and go to it until the texture is where I like it. I squeeze in the lime juice, stir it in, and taste. Usually, it needs more salt. And that's it.
Guacamole is going to brown, period. If you dont' serve it right away, it's going to oxidize. There are a million tips for how to keep this from happening. They don't work. If you make your guacamole ahead of time, and you've got that brown coating on the top, do what restaurants do. Stir it. No one will know. And it will still taste good.
Options? I like cilantro very much, but it will literally close the throats of some people. And I like hot peppers. So I like fresh jalapeno in it. Scotch bonnets are a bit much in guacamole, in my opinion, so I stick to the jalapenos. Other people add things like sour cream, or onions, or lemon juice, and that's all fine. They don't go into mine, but that doesn't mean I'm right (well, actually it does, but I'm trying to be humble here).
So you've got guacamole, what about the chips?, he asks as he segues into nachos. I'm obsessed with corn chips. I'm so obsessed that I'm going to suggest something: make your own. HOW???
Get some corn tortillas. Get a good brand. I'm serious about this: follow a Mexican, or simply ask one, when he or she is buying them, and buy what they do or just ask. Cut the tortillas into the shape and size you like. Get a big, flat pan, and fill it with about an inch of oil. Heat it at medium heat. Now, test for it being the right temperature by putting a small fragment of tortilla into it. You'll know. Oil that's hot enough will sizzle the stuff like a french fry. And while you're waiting for the oil to come to temperature, line a few baking sheets with paper towel, or newspaper, and get a strainer, like a Chinese strainer, or something that will let you get the stuff out of the oil without taking too much oil with you. You're going to have to be ready to work fast. Put as many chips into the oil as will fit in one layer, and after two minutes, take them out onto the paper to drain. Sprinkle them with salt immediately. The heat will "melt" the salt a bit, and flavor the chips. If you want to add hot pepper or anything else of that nature, now is the time to do it. Keep on going until you've finished.
I guarantee you, if you do this once, you will never buy chips again.
Now, if you don't want to use them all for your guacamole, let's make some nachos. The plate of them that we had last night both delighted and confounded me. They had "refried" beans in them. I don't know why we call them "refried," because they're only fried once, but in any event, I don't think they have any place in nachos. (My buddy Nora has since advised me that "re" in Spanish generally means "well done" so that "refried" beans are really "well fried" beans. Well, too often they ain't). I DO like the idea of cheese, in two forms: a solid one, something like a feta or something sharp, together with a "melty" cheese, like Monterey jack, or something soft, that helps them form this wonderful soggy, drippy mess. And I like hot pepper or hot pepper sauce in mine, preferably both. I like them both because there's the contrast of the firmer bits of fresh pepper, plus the hot sauce. And that's really all that I would put into mine.
I'm going to write some more about tortilla based dishes in the future, but for now, please enjoy this little tribute to the guys of Uptown.
Boys, if you want me to make these for you, all you have to do is ask. In fact, all you have to do is ask for whatever you would like to eat, and it's yours.
Now let me go swallow some more aspirin. Oh, you guys!!!!!
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
We revisit soup
I'm coming back to soup making in this entry, because of a very brief, but in many ways, telling, email chat with a friend.
My friend recently had some oral surgery that requires that he take no solids for a while. Over the weekend, Guy and I had a lovely visit with he and his partner. We brought over some ice cream, and some soup I had made: celery root soup. Yesterday, he wrote back marveling at how much flavor there was in the soup.
Well, GEE! I'm serious about that. Never forget to compliment the person who cooks for you. First of all, it's the right thing to do. Second of all, cooks work hard. And don't ever assume that they KNOW their food is good. I can honestly tell you that well over 75% of the time, when I taste something I have cooked, I think "it's ok. Nothing great about it." So, to hear someone else actually say they like something is a real thrill to anyone who cooks. I'd say it's what we live for, but I don't want to speak that rashly. It is certainly one of the things I live for, and I love it anytime someone hands me praise about a dish, especially if it's not a dessert. See, I sort of consider desserts "easy to like." Put some sugar and some butter in front of someone, and it's hard not to like it. But something like soup, which, let's face it, has the appeal of a sixty year old maiden aunt to some people (apologies to sixty year old maiden aunts out there. I hope you know I don't mean anything derogatory, but I know you know about the stereotype), doesn't immediately cry out for praise.
It's easy to make good soup. It's also easier to make BAD soup. There are a few key words to remember: salt. brown. TIME. That third one is the most important one. And I don't necessarily mean a LOT of time, but good soup does take time. And the final word: imagination.
The soup I made was not from a recipe, but out of my head. I'd like to share the process by which I came to it. To start, I had accumulated a bunch of celery roots in the refrigerator. Frequently, when I'm out shopping, I forget what I've got in the fridge. And I wind up buying some more. Celery roots are bulky, and I had five of them sitting on a shelf, blocking me from putting in just about anything else. So I wanted to use them. And we hadn't had celery root soup in a while. So, that was the "core" of the soup.
Soup, made with just the vegetable in question and stock, is not really soup in my view. It's pureed vegetables. Or vegetables cooked in broth. Soup needs to transcend that. It needs a base. Italians call this battuto . I believe the Spanish call it soffrito. There's a word for it in French as well, that I don't remember. But in any event, at its core, it's chopped, "soup vegetables," as my grandmother called them. They can vary, but there's just about always an onion or a leek or something like that in it. Celery is almost always there, and as the soup was celery root, it was certainly there in mine. I'm ambivalent about including carrots. If I do, I don't use a lot of them. Carrots are very sweet. While onions do have more sugar in them than do carrots, it takes longer to get that sugar out, so the issue of a "sweet soup" does not raise its head when you're using only onions. It DOES with carrots. So I work with 2 parts of onion, to 2 parts celery, to one part carrot. I don't include garlic in most of my soup battuti. I will use it with something like mushrooms. You have to develop a little "taste imagination," and I'm going to come back to this later on. Ask yourself: would garlic taste good with this? If the answer is no, then don't put it in the battuto.
Okay, so we had the base. Now, that base is going to be fried. In what? For me, NEVER butter only. Butter is wonderful, but it burns. It burns fast, and unless you are looking for that strong, nutty burned butter flavor in your soup, you should stick to all oil, or oil and butter combined. This time around, I used only oil, but this was a closer call.
Okay. What kind of oil? Again, some taste imagination. I put olive oil and celery root together, and it didn't work. So vegetable oil it was. I cut the vegetables coarsely, and got them into a pot, which I had covered with oil.
Why don't I tell you how much oil? I just did. I don't know how big your pot is. For some pots, three tablespoons is too little. For others, it's too much. Free yourself from measuring spoons boys and girls. Use your eyes. Put enough oil into the pot so that it's covered. Then heat it up at medium heat and add your vegetables. When they begin to sizzle, add a good sized pinch of salt. This may be the most important thing you do for the soup. Now let those veggies cook for a few minutes. If your soup is going to be dark colored, you can let them brown. If not, then when you hear the sound change from the sizzle to the slow crackle, stir them. Now, you're cooking, and you're almost done (I promise).
I've written earlier about how to prep celery root. I had peeled mine already and had them cut into big cubes. How big? The distribution of sizes was not uniform, because I was going to puree this eventually, so it didn't matter. The roots went into the pot, and stirred with the battuto, and then another little bit of salt.
Now, add some stock, or some water. Stock is better. Home made is best. You're sick of hearing me give the reasons why I don't make it, so I won't repeat it. I used it out of a box. Enough to cover the vegetables, plus about two inches. Cover the pot, and let it come to a boil. And then, lower the heat, and let this simmer. It's going to take a while, because celery roots are dense. Other vegetables will take less time. My celery roots took about an hour. How do you know when they're soft enough? Put a knife through them. A sharp one. If there's no resistance, they're ready.
I had planned to puree this soup, so I put it aside to cool down, because pureeing hot soup is one of the most dangerous things you can do , if you use a blender . If you want to use a food mill, as I sometimes do, that's fine. So, too, is an immersion blender. But using a standard blender with hot soup is a mild death wish. You WILL hurt yourself. Trust me on this.
Now, here's where your most important kitchen skill comes into play: your imagination. What makes a good soup become a great soup? Yup, your imagination. What do you think would be good? And that can change. When I was making this soup last week, I was thinking that it was strongly flavored, very herbaceous (from the celery flavor), and could use the "boost" from something smoky or hammy. There was pancetta in the refrigerator, that wonderful, unsmoked Italian bacon. But it needed something too. Putting raw pancetta into the soup would have been a disaster. Slimy, greasy and unpleasant. So I fried it. Now, when you fry a pork product, DON'T fall into the trap that a lot of people do. They think "pork, fatty, doesn't need any fat to cook."
WRONG. It needs SOME . Not a lot, but SOME. The fat in pork is locked up. By the time it renders out, any meat will burn. So put in some fat to help things along. I fried the pancetta slices until they were crisp, which took all of about five minutes. Then I drained them on paper towels, and immediately ate half of them.
So I fried some more. And when they were done, and I was finished berating myself for being such a pig, I crumbled them into small little pieces. A natural, Italian v ersion of that disgusting product "Bacos" (remember those? OH GOD. The things we ate on our way to being food sophisticates). The would, and did soften a bit in the soup, but they retained their "solidity" to give me some mouth feel, and to add some depth and meatiness to the soup. I added them after the soup had cooled and I had pureed it. When it was pureed, it was very thick. I could have served it like that, but when soup is too thick, you will find people have difficulty eating more than a spoon or two of it. Thin it if it seems too thick. How do you tell? LOOK AT IT. If it's too thick to you, it's too thick. If it's fine, it's fine. Cook your soups so that they will be too thick. You can always thin them. It's hard to thicken a thin soup without spoling it. Mine was too thick. I added half and half because I had it, it was white, and the soup was white. Did it HAVE to be half and half? Of course not. Milk would have been fine, so would stock, so would water. I had half and half around, it sounded good, and in it went. You think the same way when you cook. And of course, in went the pancetta bits ("PAICOS????").
And there it was. A soup good enough and honest enough to serve to a good friend.
As I have said, and will say, over and over again, engage your senses in the kitchen. Work with all of them. Remember how you hear the p hrase "you eat with your eyes?" Well, you do. But you also eat with your sense memory, with your heart, and with your imagination. And you should cook with them too.
I know, I know, I keep saying this, but I'll say it again: make some soup.
My friend recently had some oral surgery that requires that he take no solids for a while. Over the weekend, Guy and I had a lovely visit with he and his partner. We brought over some ice cream, and some soup I had made: celery root soup. Yesterday, he wrote back marveling at how much flavor there was in the soup.
Well, GEE! I'm serious about that. Never forget to compliment the person who cooks for you. First of all, it's the right thing to do. Second of all, cooks work hard. And don't ever assume that they KNOW their food is good. I can honestly tell you that well over 75% of the time, when I taste something I have cooked, I think "it's ok. Nothing great about it." So, to hear someone else actually say they like something is a real thrill to anyone who cooks. I'd say it's what we live for, but I don't want to speak that rashly. It is certainly one of the things I live for, and I love it anytime someone hands me praise about a dish, especially if it's not a dessert. See, I sort of consider desserts "easy to like." Put some sugar and some butter in front of someone, and it's hard not to like it. But something like soup, which, let's face it, has the appeal of a sixty year old maiden aunt to some people (apologies to sixty year old maiden aunts out there. I hope you know I don't mean anything derogatory, but I know you know about the stereotype), doesn't immediately cry out for praise.
It's easy to make good soup. It's also easier to make BAD soup. There are a few key words to remember: salt. brown. TIME. That third one is the most important one. And I don't necessarily mean a LOT of time, but good soup does take time. And the final word: imagination.
The soup I made was not from a recipe, but out of my head. I'd like to share the process by which I came to it. To start, I had accumulated a bunch of celery roots in the refrigerator. Frequently, when I'm out shopping, I forget what I've got in the fridge. And I wind up buying some more. Celery roots are bulky, and I had five of them sitting on a shelf, blocking me from putting in just about anything else. So I wanted to use them. And we hadn't had celery root soup in a while. So, that was the "core" of the soup.
Soup, made with just the vegetable in question and stock, is not really soup in my view. It's pureed vegetables. Or vegetables cooked in broth. Soup needs to transcend that. It needs a base. Italians call this battuto . I believe the Spanish call it soffrito. There's a word for it in French as well, that I don't remember. But in any event, at its core, it's chopped, "soup vegetables," as my grandmother called them. They can vary, but there's just about always an onion or a leek or something like that in it. Celery is almost always there, and as the soup was celery root, it was certainly there in mine. I'm ambivalent about including carrots. If I do, I don't use a lot of them. Carrots are very sweet. While onions do have more sugar in them than do carrots, it takes longer to get that sugar out, so the issue of a "sweet soup" does not raise its head when you're using only onions. It DOES with carrots. So I work with 2 parts of onion, to 2 parts celery, to one part carrot. I don't include garlic in most of my soup battuti. I will use it with something like mushrooms. You have to develop a little "taste imagination," and I'm going to come back to this later on. Ask yourself: would garlic taste good with this? If the answer is no, then don't put it in the battuto.
Okay, so we had the base. Now, that base is going to be fried. In what? For me, NEVER butter only. Butter is wonderful, but it burns. It burns fast, and unless you are looking for that strong, nutty burned butter flavor in your soup, you should stick to all oil, or oil and butter combined. This time around, I used only oil, but this was a closer call.
Okay. What kind of oil? Again, some taste imagination. I put olive oil and celery root together, and it didn't work. So vegetable oil it was. I cut the vegetables coarsely, and got them into a pot, which I had covered with oil.
Why don't I tell you how much oil? I just did. I don't know how big your pot is. For some pots, three tablespoons is too little. For others, it's too much. Free yourself from measuring spoons boys and girls. Use your eyes. Put enough oil into the pot so that it's covered. Then heat it up at medium heat and add your vegetables. When they begin to sizzle, add a good sized pinch of salt. This may be the most important thing you do for the soup. Now let those veggies cook for a few minutes. If your soup is going to be dark colored, you can let them brown. If not, then when you hear the sound change from the sizzle to the slow crackle, stir them. Now, you're cooking, and you're almost done (I promise).
I've written earlier about how to prep celery root. I had peeled mine already and had them cut into big cubes. How big? The distribution of sizes was not uniform, because I was going to puree this eventually, so it didn't matter. The roots went into the pot, and stirred with the battuto, and then another little bit of salt.
Now, add some stock, or some water. Stock is better. Home made is best. You're sick of hearing me give the reasons why I don't make it, so I won't repeat it. I used it out of a box. Enough to cover the vegetables, plus about two inches. Cover the pot, and let it come to a boil. And then, lower the heat, and let this simmer. It's going to take a while, because celery roots are dense. Other vegetables will take less time. My celery roots took about an hour. How do you know when they're soft enough? Put a knife through them. A sharp one. If there's no resistance, they're ready.
I had planned to puree this soup, so I put it aside to cool down, because pureeing hot soup is one of the most dangerous things you can do , if you use a blender . If you want to use a food mill, as I sometimes do, that's fine. So, too, is an immersion blender. But using a standard blender with hot soup is a mild death wish. You WILL hurt yourself. Trust me on this.
Now, here's where your most important kitchen skill comes into play: your imagination. What makes a good soup become a great soup? Yup, your imagination. What do you think would be good? And that can change. When I was making this soup last week, I was thinking that it was strongly flavored, very herbaceous (from the celery flavor), and could use the "boost" from something smoky or hammy. There was pancetta in the refrigerator, that wonderful, unsmoked Italian bacon. But it needed something too. Putting raw pancetta into the soup would have been a disaster. Slimy, greasy and unpleasant. So I fried it. Now, when you fry a pork product, DON'T fall into the trap that a lot of people do. They think "pork, fatty, doesn't need any fat to cook."
WRONG. It needs SOME . Not a lot, but SOME. The fat in pork is locked up. By the time it renders out, any meat will burn. So put in some fat to help things along. I fried the pancetta slices until they were crisp, which took all of about five minutes. Then I drained them on paper towels, and immediately ate half of them.
So I fried some more. And when they were done, and I was finished berating myself for being such a pig, I crumbled them into small little pieces. A natural, Italian v ersion of that disgusting product "Bacos" (remember those? OH GOD. The things we ate on our way to being food sophisticates). The would, and did soften a bit in the soup, but they retained their "solidity" to give me some mouth feel, and to add some depth and meatiness to the soup. I added them after the soup had cooled and I had pureed it. When it was pureed, it was very thick. I could have served it like that, but when soup is too thick, you will find people have difficulty eating more than a spoon or two of it. Thin it if it seems too thick. How do you tell? LOOK AT IT. If it's too thick to you, it's too thick. If it's fine, it's fine. Cook your soups so that they will be too thick. You can always thin them. It's hard to thicken a thin soup without spoling it. Mine was too thick. I added half and half because I had it, it was white, and the soup was white. Did it HAVE to be half and half? Of course not. Milk would have been fine, so would stock, so would water. I had half and half around, it sounded good, and in it went. You think the same way when you cook. And of course, in went the pancetta bits ("PAICOS????").
And there it was. A soup good enough and honest enough to serve to a good friend.
As I have said, and will say, over and over again, engage your senses in the kitchen. Work with all of them. Remember how you hear the p hrase "you eat with your eyes?" Well, you do. But you also eat with your sense memory, with your heart, and with your imagination. And you should cook with them too.
I know, I know, I keep saying this, but I'll say it again: make some soup.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)