Today I was determined to be productive. I started at 9 am.
It is now 9 pm. I have made 27 brownie cookie sandwiches, filled with chocolate chip cream cheese dip. There were 16 red velvet cheesecake brownies, but I ate one. I made tuna noodle casserole. I also made Puppy Chow.
I wanted to make sure I could enjoy the weekend. I wanted to have things to snack on, and enjoy. I also wanted time later to tinker with breakfast ideas for Husband.
Sometimes, it's about unleashing your Inner Julia Child. Sometimes, it's about being prepared for an upcoming holiday. I sincerely hope, for all of you, that it has nothing to do with these things.
I hope at the end of your day, you feel as though you've accomplished creation. You've transformed ingredients from their original states into something altogether wonderful. I hope with all my heart and love that what nourishes the bodies of those for whom you care also nourishes your soul.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Breakfast Revisited
I made breakfast baskets for my husband 2 weeks ago. Biscuit on bottom, shredded cheese, egg, wrapped in bacon. Baked in a muffin tin. Yummy. A week ago, my husband picked out the bacon.
Oh wow.
There is a very big difference between Oscar Meyer bacon and the cheapest bacon you can buy. I'm not saying always buy the expensive stuff, but WOW is there a difference in something you don't pay a lot for, especially regarding the care and cut of meat.
Speaking of that, WHY IS HAM SO EXPENSIVE? Sorry, had to let that out.
Anyway, The Husband and I put our massive brain power together and came up with this idea.
Seamless crescent roll dough, cooked bacon (or sausage, I'm going to try both), cooked scrambled eggs, shredded cheese.
1. Spread eggs, pork product of choice, cheese across most of the interior of the dough.
2. Re-roll.
3. Bake per directions, adding a couple minutes if interior of roll seems to need more time.
4. Slice off pinwheel style breakfast sandwiches.
No execution yet - I'll include info on what happens when I'm done trying. I'm excited to give it a shot! I really want to find a solution to a fast, delicious, healthful breakfast for my husband so he eats well and doesn't miss Mickey D's breakfast.
Oh wow.
There is a very big difference between Oscar Meyer bacon and the cheapest bacon you can buy. I'm not saying always buy the expensive stuff, but WOW is there a difference in something you don't pay a lot for, especially regarding the care and cut of meat.
Speaking of that, WHY IS HAM SO EXPENSIVE? Sorry, had to let that out.
Anyway, The Husband and I put our massive brain power together and came up with this idea.
Seamless crescent roll dough, cooked bacon (or sausage, I'm going to try both), cooked scrambled eggs, shredded cheese.
1. Spread eggs, pork product of choice, cheese across most of the interior of the dough.
2. Re-roll.
3. Bake per directions, adding a couple minutes if interior of roll seems to need more time.
4. Slice off pinwheel style breakfast sandwiches.
No execution yet - I'll include info on what happens when I'm done trying. I'm excited to give it a shot! I really want to find a solution to a fast, delicious, healthful breakfast for my husband so he eats well and doesn't miss Mickey D's breakfast.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Pairing
It isn't about beer.
Really, it's not.
It isn't even about knowing why a thick red wine, slightly below room temp, enhances rather than detracts from that delicious medium-well steak lovingly prepared and sitting before you.
I don't even care what you drink, or even if you drink.
I want you to know, on some level, what you're doing to your tongue when you slam any-old-beverage up against correctly-seasoned-and-prepared food.
When was the last time you took a gargantuan swig of a sticky-sweet soda, then went to have a bite of dessert and thought, Really? This isn't nearly as sweet as I expected it to be. Perhaps, and I mean simply perhaps, the fact that you've overloaded the sweet-sensing aspect of your palette mere seconds before engulfing yet another sweet-tingling taste has rendered your ability to taste the balance of flavors.... oh, how does one say it.... a bit void?
Is that to say the bananas foster you ordered wasn't just a bit over-the-top? By all means, enjoy your petit fours and hazelnut-cherry fudge with delight. I am not telling you to stop. Nor am I suggesting that what you've chosen to wash down your meal with is in some way unsatisfactory.
What I'm trying to convey is that meals should have harmony. Your tongue is probably more analytical at any given moment than the rest of you. It is an entire system reset when you're told what you're about to eat will be salty, and when it gets into your mouth it's nothing but super-sweet. The soda you're chugging changes the way your dinner will taste. I promise you.
Don't believe me?
Experiment time!
Take a drink of whatever you usually have with dinner. Now eat a tiny bit of sugar. Got how that tasted? Good deal. Now, put a couple drops of lemon juice on your tongue. Did you make a face? It's okay, don't worry about it. Put the same amount of sugar on your tongue. I'll be impressed if you're brave enough to then follow that last sugar-taste with the same amount in salt.
Your body adjusts. You don't even realize that your palette normalizes itself. One of the silliest things I've ever heard in my life: "I had dinner at elBulli. Didn't make any sense at all. Just when I got into the groove, and was really understanding the flavors, out comes this bizarre thing that didn't taste right at all."
My instantaneous reaction? "Did the next course taste amazing?"
Response: "Well, yeah, but he seemed to be back on track."
Why is this? Why would a restaurant renowned for its culinary excellence (currently on a hiatus while its owners revamp/ retool/ reset the model from which their art descends) serve you something that, in the logic of a meal, seem absolutely out of sync?
To reset your palette.
That thing you didn't like, that taste that made no sense whatsoever in the larger scale of the meal was meant to throw you off. You should be a bit off balance for the next course, because the over-arching reality of the meal is taking you to entirely new territory from the course before the offending taste to the course after.
How does a 32-34 course meal that will cost you approx. $400 compare to making dinner at home for your family? Why am I even bringing this up?
You should still realize what you're doing.
A meal that tends to the sweet, like teriyaki chicken, for example, will be overpowering if everything you serve with it is sweet. A cured meat may be overwhelmingly salty, when salt is the primary seasoning in everything on the plate.
*gripe from childhood warning* Mom, don't make pork chops breaded in Italian breadcrumbs, match it up with "chinese-flavored" rice out of the box and steamed broccoli and expect me to go, "Wow, this makes sense to my mouth." There's no crunch anywhere on that plate. Trust me. Theoretically, the broccoli would still have some bite to it, but not if you're my Mother. Rubber greenery, something in the rice that looks like slivered cardboard, and not necessarily greasy but definitely heavy-in-the-stomach pork chops? No thanks, I'll make myself a salad.
Well, Miss Smarty Pants, what would you do instead?
If I had "chinese-flavored" rice in a box, pork chops, a relatively normally stocked pantry and broccoli, what would I do?
1 TBS brown sugar
4 TBS soy sauce
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
Marinate room-temp pork chops (at *least* 20 minutes). Prepare boxed rice per instructions. Medium-high heat on oven-safe pan, little olive oil in the pan, get a nice brown on the outside of the meat. Add a couple more dashes of soy/balsamic vinegar, throw in the oven at 350 for 10 minutes to finish it off. Broccoli in a rack over boiling water for 3 minutes. Toss in ice bath. Remove, place on warm plate next to rice. Drizzle with balsamic, little fresh-cracked pepper. Pork chops out of oven, straight to plate. Wait 7-10 minutes for meat to rest. Serve.
Done and done.
By the way, when I was 14, this was pretty much the meal I served when my Mother (I would imagine she was tired of hearing "this meal doesn't make sense" and decided then let the little snot figure it out for herself, I've got a 10-hour workday ahead of me) left me pork chops, "chinese-flavored" rice in a box and broccoli with a note. "Make dinner tonight. Don't ask me how to fix pork chops. You're smart, you figure it out. Love you. Mom." I wasn't so fancy I figured out how to finish meat off in the oven, but the rest is pretty much the same.
For the record, I learned a lot from Julia Child. Thanks, PBS. Martha Stewart can kiss my ass.
Really, it's not.
It isn't even about knowing why a thick red wine, slightly below room temp, enhances rather than detracts from that delicious medium-well steak lovingly prepared and sitting before you.
I don't even care what you drink, or even if you drink.
I want you to know, on some level, what you're doing to your tongue when you slam any-old-beverage up against correctly-seasoned-and-prepared food.
When was the last time you took a gargantuan swig of a sticky-sweet soda, then went to have a bite of dessert and thought, Really? This isn't nearly as sweet as I expected it to be. Perhaps, and I mean simply perhaps, the fact that you've overloaded the sweet-sensing aspect of your palette mere seconds before engulfing yet another sweet-tingling taste has rendered your ability to taste the balance of flavors.... oh, how does one say it.... a bit void?
Is that to say the bananas foster you ordered wasn't just a bit over-the-top? By all means, enjoy your petit fours and hazelnut-cherry fudge with delight. I am not telling you to stop. Nor am I suggesting that what you've chosen to wash down your meal with is in some way unsatisfactory.
What I'm trying to convey is that meals should have harmony. Your tongue is probably more analytical at any given moment than the rest of you. It is an entire system reset when you're told what you're about to eat will be salty, and when it gets into your mouth it's nothing but super-sweet. The soda you're chugging changes the way your dinner will taste. I promise you.
Don't believe me?
Experiment time!
Take a drink of whatever you usually have with dinner. Now eat a tiny bit of sugar. Got how that tasted? Good deal. Now, put a couple drops of lemon juice on your tongue. Did you make a face? It's okay, don't worry about it. Put the same amount of sugar on your tongue. I'll be impressed if you're brave enough to then follow that last sugar-taste with the same amount in salt.
Your body adjusts. You don't even realize that your palette normalizes itself. One of the silliest things I've ever heard in my life: "I had dinner at elBulli. Didn't make any sense at all. Just when I got into the groove, and was really understanding the flavors, out comes this bizarre thing that didn't taste right at all."
My instantaneous reaction? "Did the next course taste amazing?"
Response: "Well, yeah, but he seemed to be back on track."
Why is this? Why would a restaurant renowned for its culinary excellence (currently on a hiatus while its owners revamp/ retool/ reset the model from which their art descends) serve you something that, in the logic of a meal, seem absolutely out of sync?
To reset your palette.
That thing you didn't like, that taste that made no sense whatsoever in the larger scale of the meal was meant to throw you off. You should be a bit off balance for the next course, because the over-arching reality of the meal is taking you to entirely new territory from the course before the offending taste to the course after.
How does a 32-34 course meal that will cost you approx. $400 compare to making dinner at home for your family? Why am I even bringing this up?
You should still realize what you're doing.
A meal that tends to the sweet, like teriyaki chicken, for example, will be overpowering if everything you serve with it is sweet. A cured meat may be overwhelmingly salty, when salt is the primary seasoning in everything on the plate.
*gripe from childhood warning* Mom, don't make pork chops breaded in Italian breadcrumbs, match it up with "chinese-flavored" rice out of the box and steamed broccoli and expect me to go, "Wow, this makes sense to my mouth." There's no crunch anywhere on that plate. Trust me. Theoretically, the broccoli would still have some bite to it, but not if you're my Mother. Rubber greenery, something in the rice that looks like slivered cardboard, and not necessarily greasy but definitely heavy-in-the-stomach pork chops? No thanks, I'll make myself a salad.
Well, Miss Smarty Pants, what would you do instead?
If I had "chinese-flavored" rice in a box, pork chops, a relatively normally stocked pantry and broccoli, what would I do?
1 TBS brown sugar
4 TBS soy sauce
1 tsp ground ginger
1 tsp balsamic vinegar
Marinate room-temp pork chops (at *least* 20 minutes). Prepare boxed rice per instructions. Medium-high heat on oven-safe pan, little olive oil in the pan, get a nice brown on the outside of the meat. Add a couple more dashes of soy/balsamic vinegar, throw in the oven at 350 for 10 minutes to finish it off. Broccoli in a rack over boiling water for 3 minutes. Toss in ice bath. Remove, place on warm plate next to rice. Drizzle with balsamic, little fresh-cracked pepper. Pork chops out of oven, straight to plate. Wait 7-10 minutes for meat to rest. Serve.
Done and done.
By the way, when I was 14, this was pretty much the meal I served when my Mother (I would imagine she was tired of hearing "this meal doesn't make sense" and decided then let the little snot figure it out for herself, I've got a 10-hour workday ahead of me) left me pork chops, "chinese-flavored" rice in a box and broccoli with a note. "Make dinner tonight. Don't ask me how to fix pork chops. You're smart, you figure it out. Love you. Mom." I wasn't so fancy I figured out how to finish meat off in the oven, but the rest is pretty much the same.
For the record, I learned a lot from Julia Child. Thanks, PBS. Martha Stewart can kiss my ass.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Martha Stewart, For Example
Martha Stewart annoys me.
Any perspective that removes hope from possibility annoys me. Martha Stewart seems to enjoy the perspective that she is, in fact, the last of the dying vestiges of American Royalty, and as such, must vouchsafe to those bunkers where her kin are ensconced the fleeting solutions to so many agonizing problems good housekeepers everywhere have nearly died (DIED I TELL YOU) perfecting.
Did I mention that Martha Stewart annoys me?
Now, it's not that she's a brand. I can get past her speech patterns and phrasing. I can even be patient with the 28 steps she insists were necessary to make that darling ornament for her red-and-ravishing Christmas tree, to turn it from a drab eyesore into a trade-marked "good thing." I don't mind labor-intensive tasks (ask people, they know).
When and where did Martha Stewart give up her passion? This is the fundamental, underlying and overarching reason the woman makes my skin crawl.
Martha Stewart has an empire, vast and powerful. Ana Gastyer made much of her fame from her spoofs of Martha Stewart (loved the topless one, and Joan Allen as her Mother). Martha Stewart's own daughter enjoys saying "Whatever Martha" at any given chance.
I am passionate (again, ask people). My desire to make this world a better place, in addition to making myself a better me, drives much of what I do. How can someone who was driven to share "homespun techniques and ideas that bring elegance and charm from [her] Martha's Vineyard home of lore to the humble homes of the Midwest and beyond" become so self-involved she actually chides guest-cooks, explaining patiently how they're cooking their signature dish incorrectly? How is that reflective of an intelligent, inquisitive and knowledge-hungry host?
I'll answer for you: It isn't.
Do you see what I did, just there? I took your place. You aren't here to have this conversation with me, so I became your voice as well. This is what I'm talking about, specifically. Martha Stewart is supposed to be our ambassador, our conduit of questions and knowledge from people we have few opportunities to study in daily life. Rather than recalling her personal responsibility to the audience she cultivated in the 80's, 90's and through numerous cookbooks, Martha Stewart has become a Mogul.
Do you care how much time Wolfgang Puck spends tinkering with his menus? No. But you want to know how he gets that fish out of a pan so flaky and delicious every damn time, don't you. I know you do. You know you do. Martha Stewart knows this too, but it no longer applies to her station in life. She could care less how long it takes to perfect that wrist bend which means the difference between expertly tossed caramelized onions and a horrific mess your family is staring at while you scrub up, asking, "What made you think you could do that?" She already did that, 20 seasons ago.
Martha Stewart has, on the cover of her 2011 Halloween magazine, a picture of herself (of course; she's the Brand, kiddo) in make-up. I don't mean she has blush on and looks like she gets sun occasionally. She has butterfly wings attached to her eyelids. I'm not kidding.
Tell me, Mother of 3 from Des Moines, when was the last time your 3, 6, and 9 year old looked up at you with the time and patience of 86 year old men, saying, "You would look exquisite with dead aglossa wings glued expertly next to your bloodshot eyes?"
Even those younger women, whose lifestyles afford them more time and space to play with such frivolities as Halloween The Adult Holiday, I sincerely doubt will have the means to create the entire visage of Martha Stewart's cover. Because it takes more than just 1 or 2 things. This look requires: Money. Skill. Time. Patience. An audience unlikely to touch your face at any point. A wearer who will not freak out, get annoyed or at any point for any reason (including drinking) rip the dead butterfly off her face. Did I mention that the idea you'll get kissed in this outfit is about as realistic as the idea that you will, with $10 and a little elbow grease, look precisely like Darling Martha Stewart?
I hope, the next time you find yourself listening to what someone else has to say (whomever that person may be), you take into account the ways their narrative concerns vary from yours. Does this person ask the questions I actually want answered? Does the way this person reacts reflect the way I would? What could I have gained if I would have asked the questions myself, instead of the person asking them for me?
I may not always give you the information you wanted. I may give you more, or less, than you need. I do, however, strive to give you food I eat myself. I want to share a part of my world with you. Hopefully, this is a perspective you can use.
Any perspective that removes hope from possibility annoys me. Martha Stewart seems to enjoy the perspective that she is, in fact, the last of the dying vestiges of American Royalty, and as such, must vouchsafe to those bunkers where her kin are ensconced the fleeting solutions to so many agonizing problems good housekeepers everywhere have nearly died (DIED I TELL YOU) perfecting.
Did I mention that Martha Stewart annoys me?
Now, it's not that she's a brand. I can get past her speech patterns and phrasing. I can even be patient with the 28 steps she insists were necessary to make that darling ornament for her red-and-ravishing Christmas tree, to turn it from a drab eyesore into a trade-marked "good thing." I don't mind labor-intensive tasks (ask people, they know).
When and where did Martha Stewart give up her passion? This is the fundamental, underlying and overarching reason the woman makes my skin crawl.
Martha Stewart has an empire, vast and powerful. Ana Gastyer made much of her fame from her spoofs of Martha Stewart (loved the topless one, and Joan Allen as her Mother). Martha Stewart's own daughter enjoys saying "Whatever Martha" at any given chance.
I am passionate (again, ask people). My desire to make this world a better place, in addition to making myself a better me, drives much of what I do. How can someone who was driven to share "homespun techniques and ideas that bring elegance and charm from [her] Martha's Vineyard home of lore to the humble homes of the Midwest and beyond" become so self-involved she actually chides guest-cooks, explaining patiently how they're cooking their signature dish incorrectly? How is that reflective of an intelligent, inquisitive and knowledge-hungry host?
I'll answer for you: It isn't.
Do you see what I did, just there? I took your place. You aren't here to have this conversation with me, so I became your voice as well. This is what I'm talking about, specifically. Martha Stewart is supposed to be our ambassador, our conduit of questions and knowledge from people we have few opportunities to study in daily life. Rather than recalling her personal responsibility to the audience she cultivated in the 80's, 90's and through numerous cookbooks, Martha Stewart has become a Mogul.
Do you care how much time Wolfgang Puck spends tinkering with his menus? No. But you want to know how he gets that fish out of a pan so flaky and delicious every damn time, don't you. I know you do. You know you do. Martha Stewart knows this too, but it no longer applies to her station in life. She could care less how long it takes to perfect that wrist bend which means the difference between expertly tossed caramelized onions and a horrific mess your family is staring at while you scrub up, asking, "What made you think you could do that?" She already did that, 20 seasons ago.
Martha Stewart has, on the cover of her 2011 Halloween magazine, a picture of herself (of course; she's the Brand, kiddo) in make-up. I don't mean she has blush on and looks like she gets sun occasionally. She has butterfly wings attached to her eyelids. I'm not kidding.
Tell me, Mother of 3 from Des Moines, when was the last time your 3, 6, and 9 year old looked up at you with the time and patience of 86 year old men, saying, "You would look exquisite with dead aglossa wings glued expertly next to your bloodshot eyes?"
Even those younger women, whose lifestyles afford them more time and space to play with such frivolities as Halloween The Adult Holiday, I sincerely doubt will have the means to create the entire visage of Martha Stewart's cover. Because it takes more than just 1 or 2 things. This look requires: Money. Skill. Time. Patience. An audience unlikely to touch your face at any point. A wearer who will not freak out, get annoyed or at any point for any reason (including drinking) rip the dead butterfly off her face. Did I mention that the idea you'll get kissed in this outfit is about as realistic as the idea that you will, with $10 and a little elbow grease, look precisely like Darling Martha Stewart?
I hope, the next time you find yourself listening to what someone else has to say (whomever that person may be), you take into account the ways their narrative concerns vary from yours. Does this person ask the questions I actually want answered? Does the way this person reacts reflect the way I would? What could I have gained if I would have asked the questions myself, instead of the person asking them for me?
I may not always give you the information you wanted. I may give you more, or less, than you need. I do, however, strive to give you food I eat myself. I want to share a part of my world with you. Hopefully, this is a perspective you can use.
bon appetit And Slapping People, and A Snack
I like bon appetit, usually. A tidy, concise, well-written article is often a cure for all my ills, and when it comes to food, I can find it in the pages of BA.
I am, currently, annoyed and disappointed. "Always use non-boil noodles" for lasagna? Seriously? First of all, gross. Secondly, and probably more to the point, why are the revolting things non-boil in the first place? Doesn't that bother you? That is some seriously repugnant advice. Third, and finally on this point before I move on to something of actual value, I really see no value in this advice because I'm smart enough to figure out the following progression:
1. Lasagna was conceived and eventually made, for many many many years, using boiled lasagna noodles.
2. These boiled noodles added to the flavor and water-content of the dish, thereby directly contributing to flavor and texture.
3. Recipes were adjusted, better noodles were developed, and boiling continued.
4. (this is the key step) Someone thought it was tasty.
5. Survival of a recipe a majority of Americans (to say nothing of our Italian audience - Ciao) associate with family.
Nowhere in that progression does a non-boil revolution necessitate itself. I find absolutely no value in the idea that "noodles that aren't boiled will absorb more" of anything. If you can't make a delicious, boiled noodle lasagna, perhaps you have no business cooking it, and should leave your lasagna nights to the talents of Marie Calendar, or the fine people in Stouffer's kitchen. I have to say, after writing all that out, the idea makes its way across my cortex: "Do the writers/ editors at bon appetit think we don't read anymore?"
***
I need a snack. Don't you?
Puppy Chow
9 cups Chex cereal (doesn't matter what kind)
1 cup chocolate chips (mini ones work too)
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup peanut butter
1 1/2 cup confectioner's sugar
Non-Food Items You'll Probably Need For This
1 Large Bowl
1 Gallon ziplock Bag
1 Large Spoon
1. Measure Chex cereal. Set aside in large bowl.
2. Into a microwave-safe bowl: chocolate chips, butter, peanut butter. Microwave on high 1 minute. Stir. Microwave again for 30 seconds. Mixture should blend together smoothly when removed from microwave.
3. Add vanilla.
4. Mix with Chex cereal. Stir until all cereal is coated.
5. Place confectioner's sugar in gallon-size ziplock bag.
6. Add coated cereal.
7. Shake, shimmy and just generally agitate bag until all the yummy pieces of cereal are finely coated in sugar.
8. Eat.
Yes, it takes less than 10 minutes to make. Yes, it's delicious, and named a million other things depending on region and intent. Now, I'm going to take my yummy snack and enjoy this beautiful fall day. Try not to get addicted; this particular snack made many appearances during my college days. Now my husband can't stop eating it. I'm just saying - sometimes the best possible thing is the simple, delightful, full-of-memory taste that speaks to soul as well as stomach.
I am, currently, annoyed and disappointed. "Always use non-boil noodles" for lasagna? Seriously? First of all, gross. Secondly, and probably more to the point, why are the revolting things non-boil in the first place? Doesn't that bother you? That is some seriously repugnant advice. Third, and finally on this point before I move on to something of actual value, I really see no value in this advice because I'm smart enough to figure out the following progression:
1. Lasagna was conceived and eventually made, for many many many years, using boiled lasagna noodles.
2. These boiled noodles added to the flavor and water-content of the dish, thereby directly contributing to flavor and texture.
3. Recipes were adjusted, better noodles were developed, and boiling continued.
4. (this is the key step) Someone thought it was tasty.
5. Survival of a recipe a majority of Americans (to say nothing of our Italian audience - Ciao) associate with family.
Nowhere in that progression does a non-boil revolution necessitate itself. I find absolutely no value in the idea that "noodles that aren't boiled will absorb more" of anything. If you can't make a delicious, boiled noodle lasagna, perhaps you have no business cooking it, and should leave your lasagna nights to the talents of Marie Calendar, or the fine people in Stouffer's kitchen. I have to say, after writing all that out, the idea makes its way across my cortex: "Do the writers/ editors at bon appetit think we don't read anymore?"
***
I need a snack. Don't you?
Puppy Chow
9 cups Chex cereal (doesn't matter what kind)
1 cup chocolate chips (mini ones work too)
1 tsp vanilla
1/4 cup butter
1/2 cup peanut butter
1 1/2 cup confectioner's sugar
Non-Food Items You'll Probably Need For This
1 Large Bowl
1 Gallon ziplock Bag
1 Large Spoon
1. Measure Chex cereal. Set aside in large bowl.
2. Into a microwave-safe bowl: chocolate chips, butter, peanut butter. Microwave on high 1 minute. Stir. Microwave again for 30 seconds. Mixture should blend together smoothly when removed from microwave.
3. Add vanilla.
4. Mix with Chex cereal. Stir until all cereal is coated.
5. Place confectioner's sugar in gallon-size ziplock bag.
6. Add coated cereal.
7. Shake, shimmy and just generally agitate bag until all the yummy pieces of cereal are finely coated in sugar.
8. Eat.
Yes, it takes less than 10 minutes to make. Yes, it's delicious, and named a million other things depending on region and intent. Now, I'm going to take my yummy snack and enjoy this beautiful fall day. Try not to get addicted; this particular snack made many appearances during my college days. Now my husband can't stop eating it. I'm just saying - sometimes the best possible thing is the simple, delightful, full-of-memory taste that speaks to soul as well as stomach.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Fear of Cooking
Food has become intimidating.
When did that happen?
Don't get me wrong; I love my classics. A simple homemade marinara over angel hair is as culinarily exciting to me as crackling hot ortolan. What can I say? Food should be something that speaks to every inch of your experience. Sight, touch, sound, taste, memory, laughter, encouragement.
And now, achieving the new has become something altogether difficult. So much has been done, it's no longer easy to say, "Why don't we try this?" and have the dish be alien to everyone.
I suppose much can be said for a digital age where sharing any old recipe is easy. I've placed several up here. But why would I do that? The recipes are not new, the ideas nothing wildly inventive. I didn't take a peasant stew, deconstruct it and create an entirely different interpretation of the flavors.
Cooking isn't just about being the coolest kid in the kitchen. It's about lifestyle. (Oooooo!!! Blog Name Tye-In and it's not even NOON! I am *SO* getting Fantasy Food Fight points for this!)
Your food reflects your lifestyle. It truly does. If you choose to make time in your life for specific tasks and not others, you have made a choice that reflects some part of who you are and what you value. I love being busy. I am generally a very busy person. One of the things I will always make time for is a somewhat complicated and time consuming preparation for beef stroganoff. Why? Because this dish is my husband's favorite, and he likes it this way. I chose to make this difficult task a part of my life because I love my husband, and I love the way it turns out.
My food usually reflects my love of the intricate and complex. "What's Jess bringing to the party?" "She said brownies." And I unevitably turn up 20 minutes late with extremely fresh Bailey's brownies with Bailey's icing. Couldn't just make plain old brownies. That would, quite literally, be too easy.
Why am I telling you all this? What on Earth does this have to do with you, now that my rant has ended up here? It's all quite simple, really.
Stop. Being. Afraid. Of. Food.
Yes. I said to stop fearing your food. I mean that it's okay to love simple dishes. It's wonderful to strive for delicious, no matter how humble the ingredients or your skills. Start small. Remember: Sometimes, the most important food you'll ever have was the easiest in the world to make, and the hardest to forget.
Marinara
4 6-oz cans of tomato sauce
1 4-oz can of tomato paste
4 bay leaves
1/4 tsp oregano
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4 tsp sugar (I know it's weird, I will explain)
1/4 tsp rosemary
1. Open your tomato sauces. I prefer to use a skillet to get all this going, mostly because if I put meat in my marinara, I like to get the drippings in the pan into the sauce for that infusion of flavor. This technique cuts down on the actually amount of meat you need to use, and also increases the feeling thta there's meat in every bite. I learned to fake my father out at a very young age. Pots also work well. Since that's the more common preparation method, we'll go with the pot today.
2. Into a sauce pot (with lid) on the low side of medium heat, add your cans of tomato sauce. Stir as you add your tomato paste. The paste thickens the sauce, and adds enough texture to avoid the dreaded "This tastes like tomato water" critique. NOTE: You can make your own "paste" by blending fresh tomatoes and reducing the resulting yumminess until the tomato puree has become thick. This takes quite a while, some determination, and frankly, is not the kind of work in which I invest myself. I prefer to focus on other, less tomato-y projects. Like eating pasta.
3. Let the sauce begin to simmer. The lid comes in handy here, to avoid turning your cooking surface a bright red. Just to get the contents jiving together, about 2 minutes.
4. Add your bay leaves and other spices. Yes, including the sugar. No, I'm not kidding.
Now, you're looking at me with the sugar in your hand asking why on Earth I would suggest such a thing. Why add sugar to a tomato dish? Because tomatoes are acidic. In order to cut the natural acidity of a fresh, ripe, ready-to-be-rubbed-in-sea-salt-and-eaten-like-an-apple tomato, some kind of sweet is needed to balance it out. I've seen cinnamon used, even lavendar. I prefer just plain old sugar. Yes, I do this all the time, and yes, if you see my husband and I out at a mexican restaurant, there's a 75% chance you'll see me adding packaged sugar to the salsa. I like balance, and if you don't pay attention to what you're making, you'll create tasty salsa that leaves acid burns inside my mouth (aka canker sores). No way am I walking around in discomfort because someone in the kitchen couldn't be bothered to check their salsa verde balance.
5. Lower the temperature to "low", or if you prefer the clock method of setting as my mother did, it would be 5 minutes 'til. Let the sauce reduce.
Kind of a useless statement, isn't it? When I say reduce here, I mean that there is an over-abundance of water still in the ingredients we've combined. The flavors we've chosen to encorporate in this dish (particularly if you used the dried variety) need a chance to get frisky in the entire pot. Dropping dried oregano into tomato sauce with tomato paste does not a marinara make; the spices are suddenly experiencing the hydration for which they've been waiting in your cabinet. They're returning to their hydrated state. This takes time. Some cooks/ chefs call this "developing the flavors." I call it "time I usually make mistakes." You can't rush good food. I don't care who you are. Food takes time. This suace is simple, and scrumptious, but you have to be willing to stop touching it. You, hovering over it with a wooden spoon and a look of bizarre/ intense determination will only frighten your guests. You cannot intimidate food into deliciousness. Believe me, I've tried.
Okay, so how do you know when it's reduced enough? The smartass answer here is "When it's thick enough." A more reliable and reproducable way of telling when enough water is gone is to taste the sauce occasionally. I usually let my sauce simmer on low for about 2-4 hours. Yes, that's a long time. You could probably keep the heat on low-medium and get similar results in about 35 minutes. I like to do other things, though... and I know it'll be okay for 2 hours in a covered pot if I stir it at least 2 times in that 2-4 hour period.
6. Elaborate if so desired. Meaning: if you want to add bell peppers, mushrooms, any other kind of vegetable you enjoy in pasta sauce, now would be the time. Trust me: now is when you add the veggies you want to stay tasty and vibrant. A floppy mushroom you could swallow without chewing because it's so mushy? I have no idea why you'd want to do that to a mushroom, but it's your thing. I prefer my produce flavored, not killed. Stir occasionally, letting simmer for another 10 minutes.
7. Remove bay leaves. It is gross to bite into a whole bay leaf (thanks, Mom, but the aftertaste is still getting to me). To avoid watching a guest crunch through the woody unpleasantness of an otherwise delightful spice, fish them out of the sauce. Shouldn't be difficult if you left them whole. Please believe me when I say, it's better for everyone if you don't leave them in.
8. Add to pasta. Your choice. I like a good angel hair, but penne can be exquisite with a simple sauce and some parmesan cheese.
Why was today's recipe so incredibly simple? Because that's the point. Start with something very basic. Once you get comfortable, get more elaborate. Add some parmesan to the sauce before you reduce it. Add red pepper flakes and hot italian sausage if that's what makes your palate sing. You can customize this sauce in so many ways! It's about starting small, and walking your way into a delicious dish. That way, when you get a call at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning from a friend stuck in meetings until 10 pm who says, "Jess, I have no food. I have no options. Can you please bring me something tasty for dinner?" you have a recipe in your back pocket you know will be delicious, easy to make, and travels to hungry tummies very well.
Food is about your lifestyle. ;)
When did that happen?
Don't get me wrong; I love my classics. A simple homemade marinara over angel hair is as culinarily exciting to me as crackling hot ortolan. What can I say? Food should be something that speaks to every inch of your experience. Sight, touch, sound, taste, memory, laughter, encouragement.
And now, achieving the new has become something altogether difficult. So much has been done, it's no longer easy to say, "Why don't we try this?" and have the dish be alien to everyone.
I suppose much can be said for a digital age where sharing any old recipe is easy. I've placed several up here. But why would I do that? The recipes are not new, the ideas nothing wildly inventive. I didn't take a peasant stew, deconstruct it and create an entirely different interpretation of the flavors.
Cooking isn't just about being the coolest kid in the kitchen. It's about lifestyle. (Oooooo!!! Blog Name Tye-In and it's not even NOON! I am *SO* getting Fantasy Food Fight points for this!)
Your food reflects your lifestyle. It truly does. If you choose to make time in your life for specific tasks and not others, you have made a choice that reflects some part of who you are and what you value. I love being busy. I am generally a very busy person. One of the things I will always make time for is a somewhat complicated and time consuming preparation for beef stroganoff. Why? Because this dish is my husband's favorite, and he likes it this way. I chose to make this difficult task a part of my life because I love my husband, and I love the way it turns out.
My food usually reflects my love of the intricate and complex. "What's Jess bringing to the party?" "She said brownies." And I unevitably turn up 20 minutes late with extremely fresh Bailey's brownies with Bailey's icing. Couldn't just make plain old brownies. That would, quite literally, be too easy.
Why am I telling you all this? What on Earth does this have to do with you, now that my rant has ended up here? It's all quite simple, really.
Stop. Being. Afraid. Of. Food.
Yes. I said to stop fearing your food. I mean that it's okay to love simple dishes. It's wonderful to strive for delicious, no matter how humble the ingredients or your skills. Start small. Remember: Sometimes, the most important food you'll ever have was the easiest in the world to make, and the hardest to forget.
Marinara
4 6-oz cans of tomato sauce
1 4-oz can of tomato paste
4 bay leaves
1/4 tsp oregano
1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
1/4 tsp sugar (I know it's weird, I will explain)
1/4 tsp rosemary
1. Open your tomato sauces. I prefer to use a skillet to get all this going, mostly because if I put meat in my marinara, I like to get the drippings in the pan into the sauce for that infusion of flavor. This technique cuts down on the actually amount of meat you need to use, and also increases the feeling thta there's meat in every bite. I learned to fake my father out at a very young age. Pots also work well. Since that's the more common preparation method, we'll go with the pot today.
2. Into a sauce pot (with lid) on the low side of medium heat, add your cans of tomato sauce. Stir as you add your tomato paste. The paste thickens the sauce, and adds enough texture to avoid the dreaded "This tastes like tomato water" critique. NOTE: You can make your own "paste" by blending fresh tomatoes and reducing the resulting yumminess until the tomato puree has become thick. This takes quite a while, some determination, and frankly, is not the kind of work in which I invest myself. I prefer to focus on other, less tomato-y projects. Like eating pasta.
3. Let the sauce begin to simmer. The lid comes in handy here, to avoid turning your cooking surface a bright red. Just to get the contents jiving together, about 2 minutes.
4. Add your bay leaves and other spices. Yes, including the sugar. No, I'm not kidding.
Now, you're looking at me with the sugar in your hand asking why on Earth I would suggest such a thing. Why add sugar to a tomato dish? Because tomatoes are acidic. In order to cut the natural acidity of a fresh, ripe, ready-to-be-rubbed-in-sea-salt-and-eaten-like-an-apple tomato, some kind of sweet is needed to balance it out. I've seen cinnamon used, even lavendar. I prefer just plain old sugar. Yes, I do this all the time, and yes, if you see my husband and I out at a mexican restaurant, there's a 75% chance you'll see me adding packaged sugar to the salsa. I like balance, and if you don't pay attention to what you're making, you'll create tasty salsa that leaves acid burns inside my mouth (aka canker sores). No way am I walking around in discomfort because someone in the kitchen couldn't be bothered to check their salsa verde balance.
5. Lower the temperature to "low", or if you prefer the clock method of setting as my mother did, it would be 5 minutes 'til. Let the sauce reduce.
Kind of a useless statement, isn't it? When I say reduce here, I mean that there is an over-abundance of water still in the ingredients we've combined. The flavors we've chosen to encorporate in this dish (particularly if you used the dried variety) need a chance to get frisky in the entire pot. Dropping dried oregano into tomato sauce with tomato paste does not a marinara make; the spices are suddenly experiencing the hydration for which they've been waiting in your cabinet. They're returning to their hydrated state. This takes time. Some cooks/ chefs call this "developing the flavors." I call it "time I usually make mistakes." You can't rush good food. I don't care who you are. Food takes time. This suace is simple, and scrumptious, but you have to be willing to stop touching it. You, hovering over it with a wooden spoon and a look of bizarre/ intense determination will only frighten your guests. You cannot intimidate food into deliciousness. Believe me, I've tried.
Okay, so how do you know when it's reduced enough? The smartass answer here is "When it's thick enough." A more reliable and reproducable way of telling when enough water is gone is to taste the sauce occasionally. I usually let my sauce simmer on low for about 2-4 hours. Yes, that's a long time. You could probably keep the heat on low-medium and get similar results in about 35 minutes. I like to do other things, though... and I know it'll be okay for 2 hours in a covered pot if I stir it at least 2 times in that 2-4 hour period.
6. Elaborate if so desired. Meaning: if you want to add bell peppers, mushrooms, any other kind of vegetable you enjoy in pasta sauce, now would be the time. Trust me: now is when you add the veggies you want to stay tasty and vibrant. A floppy mushroom you could swallow without chewing because it's so mushy? I have no idea why you'd want to do that to a mushroom, but it's your thing. I prefer my produce flavored, not killed. Stir occasionally, letting simmer for another 10 minutes.
7. Remove bay leaves. It is gross to bite into a whole bay leaf (thanks, Mom, but the aftertaste is still getting to me). To avoid watching a guest crunch through the woody unpleasantness of an otherwise delightful spice, fish them out of the sauce. Shouldn't be difficult if you left them whole. Please believe me when I say, it's better for everyone if you don't leave them in.
8. Add to pasta. Your choice. I like a good angel hair, but penne can be exquisite with a simple sauce and some parmesan cheese.
Why was today's recipe so incredibly simple? Because that's the point. Start with something very basic. Once you get comfortable, get more elaborate. Add some parmesan to the sauce before you reduce it. Add red pepper flakes and hot italian sausage if that's what makes your palate sing. You can customize this sauce in so many ways! It's about starting small, and walking your way into a delicious dish. That way, when you get a call at 7:30 on a Tuesday morning from a friend stuck in meetings until 10 pm who says, "Jess, I have no food. I have no options. Can you please bring me something tasty for dinner?" you have a recipe in your back pocket you know will be delicious, easy to make, and travels to hungry tummies very well.
Food is about your lifestyle. ;)
Friday, September 23, 2011
Thomas Keller
I'm an intellectual, in everything that I do. I can be complex and annoying. I know this.
I also know that when I got Ad Hoc At Home by Thomas Keller, I fell in love. Thomas Keller, the amazing chef behind The French Laundry, Per Se, and the man who invented the deconstruction of Ratatouille seen in the movie of the same name, is an inspiration. In a profession defined by selfishness, by self-serving hubris, Keller stands as a man who believes cooking is a collaboration.
Isn't that exactly the essence of so much in the world of food? A collaboration of flavors, textures, moisture and dryness, cold and heat. The depth of human experience may never find expression in food. There may never be before you a meal that both speaks to your soul, and helps redefine a part of it.
To this I can only say that the experiences with which we end this life are the experiences we allow ourselves to have. If you are not brave enough to allow one person an avenue to your heart through the tastes, the palate he or she has worked so hard to put before you, can you imagine the depth you will miss your entire life?
What is your cooking perspective? How will you express yourself in your food? The next time you make a sandwich, take a moment to think about exactly you want to put in your mouth. And imagine how much love, how much thought must go into a chef like Thomas Keller preparing 15-32 courses that are all designed for you personally.
I'm going to go make chicken casserole for my husband, with his tastes and experiences in mind. Have a wonderful weekend!
I also know that when I got Ad Hoc At Home by Thomas Keller, I fell in love. Thomas Keller, the amazing chef behind The French Laundry, Per Se, and the man who invented the deconstruction of Ratatouille seen in the movie of the same name, is an inspiration. In a profession defined by selfishness, by self-serving hubris, Keller stands as a man who believes cooking is a collaboration.
Isn't that exactly the essence of so much in the world of food? A collaboration of flavors, textures, moisture and dryness, cold and heat. The depth of human experience may never find expression in food. There may never be before you a meal that both speaks to your soul, and helps redefine a part of it.
To this I can only say that the experiences with which we end this life are the experiences we allow ourselves to have. If you are not brave enough to allow one person an avenue to your heart through the tastes, the palate he or she has worked so hard to put before you, can you imagine the depth you will miss your entire life?
What is your cooking perspective? How will you express yourself in your food? The next time you make a sandwich, take a moment to think about exactly you want to put in your mouth. And imagine how much love, how much thought must go into a chef like Thomas Keller preparing 15-32 courses that are all designed for you personally.
I'm going to go make chicken casserole for my husband, with his tastes and experiences in mind. Have a wonderful weekend!
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