So, a couple of weeks after my last post, I got a job.
A time-consuming job that, right before it started, expanded. I found myself teaching 3 courses instead of 2, in addition to doing all the things I was doing before. I got busy. Then I got sick. Really sick. But now I'm better, and of course, I'm back to cooking interesting foods again, rather than quicky casseroles (which are good, but not inspiring).
One of those recent meals came up totally by accident. I grabbed a hunk of pork loin out of the freezer to thaw for stir fry. When I began to cut into it, I noticed it was the reddest, fattiest pork loin I'd ever seen. Turns out, it was leftover chili beef that John hadn't labeled and had wrapped just as he had the pork loin. Let this be a freezer labeling lesson to us all.
I didn't think the chili meat would be tender enough for a quick stir fry, but we had a huge thing of grits, and we had some aromatics and some beef stock (leftover from chili too). Aha! Grits and Grillades! Let it never be said that when given the correct set of circumstances (not ill, not overwhelmed by duties), I can't show ingenuity.
For Grillades (Oven)
1/2 pound beef or pork, sliced thin
1/2 white onion, sliced medium thickness
a handful of baby carrots (or sliced carrots)
2 cloves garlic, roughly chopped
1/2 bell pepper, coarsely chopped
2 tsp salt
Pepper to taste
1 T smoked paprika
cayenne to taste
1/2 T cinnamon
1/2 cup beef stock (or water, or wine, or any liquid that seems tasty)
Preheat oven to 375.
In a Dutch oven, or oven safe pot, heat a 1/2 T of oil until warm. Salt the meat and and brown gently (don't cook through). Add the onion, then add the paprika. Cook until the onion just begins to soften, then add the carrots and garlic and the rest of the spices. Cook for a few more minutes until the onions begin to brown, then add the peppers (add them last so they hold their shape better). Add the stock and deglaze the pan. Place in the oven for 20-25 minutes while you make the grits.
Grillades (Crock Pot)
Same ingredients.
Create a rub for the meat with the spices and work it in well. Create a layer of carrots in the crock pot. Then add the onions, then the meat. Top the meat with the garlic and peppers. Add the liquid and cook on low until the meat is tender.
For Grits
1/2 cup grits
2 cups water
salt
pepper to taste
(if you want to be really decadent, stir in just a little cream after cooking)
Bring the water to a Boil. Add the grits and a little salt. Return to the boil, stirring constantly. Turn heat to low, cover and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the grits are creamy.
Spoon into bowls, top with grillades and eat!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
On $13 Chickens
When is a thirteen dollar chicken worth it?
And no, that's not a 13 dollar monstrosity of a hen. It was a fine little 3.25 pound lady, cleaned, without necks or giblets (sadly - I make tasty stock from those parts) from the farmers' market, specifically Eco Friendly Foods. I've written plenty about the importance of buying humanely raised meats, and of purchasing food raised locally, and of buying from the farmers' market, so I won't repeat myself. Nonetheless, the decision to buy a $13 bird for two people for no particular special occasion wasn't an easy one.
Having recently had a come to Jesus meeting of the worst kind with our finances (involving some credit card sticker shock, followed by budget entering sticker shock, followed by unforeseen expenses sticker shock, followed by... well, you get the picture), we've put the kibosh on eating out, with a couple of exceptions, to be done cheaply (like when we go to Baltimore this Friday to see Pirates of Penzance in which a dear friend performs), and we've decided to scale back our grocery purchases.
You see, in the past few months, the vast majority of our monthly money after rent and student loan payments had gone toward stuffing our faces, both in and outside the home. So, while we don't exactly have to go the Extreme Frugality route, things need to be reined in. Tightly.
For one, rather than choosing whatever suited our whim each evening, we've returned to our old habit of meal planning. And we've made what we dub a "Nom Book" - a list of the restaurants and meals we really want to try, old favorites excluded for the moment. In a sense, we're saving toward those things, making it easier to forego a second glass of wine at Happy Hour (not that I've been to too many lately, but booze is not a part of our terrible spending habits as I budget it separately - that's right, we have separate eating out and drinking out categories in our budget - and it's a tiny portion of the money we spend), or to eat leftovers rather than grab a piece of chicken at the deli near work.
But a big part of the problem has to do with making the best of what we buy as well, which is where the dilemma over the $13 dollar chicken came in. I knew it would taste good (and, oh, did it ever), but would it be worth it, when we could probably get twice the chicken, at least in thighs, at Whole Foods? We decided to gamble on it, and I planned out 3 meals with the chicken: roast chicken, veggies and corn; chicken and mushroom lasagna; and stuffed patty pan squash. I figured that by that point, all the meat would be gone, and I would boil the bones for broth. Given that chicken broth costs any where from 7 - 15 cents an ounce (at the Giant, via Peapod, probably more for organic, Kitchen Basics, or at Whole Foods), I figured I could at least break even on the chicken.
I began by brining the chicken. I knew it would taste a little more meaty, having been pastured, but I guessed that the meat might be drier from a lack of fat. So I brought some water, salt, brown sugar and lemon juice to a simmer, and when it cooled, I sat my chicken down in it for a few hours. Then, I dried her off, and rubbed her meat (under the skin) with a combination of salt, pepper, lemon rind, parsley, dill, and basil. There was enough leftover to rub into her skin too. I roasted her at 375 until done (I lost track of time, and our thermometers both crapped out on us during this process, so, I was afraid she might have been a little over done, but she wasn't at all).
We ate the drumsticks and a little of the thigh meat that night with some vegetables. The meat was rich, buttery, melt in your mouth chicken - probably the best I've ever cooked at home. This wasn't due to brine, although I'm sure that helped - it was what I had read about: a "chickenier" chicken. I liked it.
The next day I chopped the breast meat into cubes, layered it with a very slight amount of tomato sauce, noodles, cheese, herbs, and the first two steps of a duxelles (very finely chopped mushrooms with the liquid squeezed out - save the liquid and add it to broth or water to cook rice in, delicious). It was a fine lasagna; the breast meat was delicious and moist, and held the flavors of the roast and worked beautifully with the other ingredients. It gave us a dinner and three lunches.
Faced with the still astonishing amount of meat on the chicken, I decided to add a fourth meal - a vegetable pot pie with chicken (there wasn't enough for stuffed squash and a pot pie with chicken as the star). For the squash, I chopped about a 1/4 cup of chicken, added the diced tops of the squash, riced cooked with red pepper flakes and cumin, herbs, and parmesan cheese. The filled patty pans were salted and peppered and drizzled with olive oil, and baked. They were delicious, and served with roasted broccoli, were incredibly satisfying. We had two squash, and each got dinner and lunch. The pot pie was made of broccoli, celery, onion, 1/2 cup of chicken, frozen lima beans, and plenty of herbs. I warmed these in a sauce pan, then coated them with flour, which I browned. Then I spooned in some fresh made stock (more on that in a second) and made a thick sauce. I poured it all into a pie pan, topped with biscuit dough, and baked until the biscuits were dark brown on top. It was a huge success - and has been dinner and lunch for 2, with one lunch (mine!) for tomorrow.
So, just in terms of meals served, that chicken cost about 81 cents a meal for 16 meals. Not a terrible deal. But when you add in that I boiled the bones for approximately 2 quarts of stock (currently in my freezer), the chicken becomes an even better buy (especially because the stock is so good, and has no added stuff in it). At 32 ounces, the least expensive store bought broth would cost $22.40, more than my chicken cost in the first place.
Sometimes, I guess, an expensive chicken is worth it. I was okay with a couple of meals have less meat in them, but even if I hadn't been, the chicken still would have ended up being a huge bargain. It can be difficult to make those decisions - buying a 13 dollar chicken when you know you need to budget more carefully can feel self-indulgent - but looking at things from the point of view of the whole changes the view - this chicken produced more for me, cost less, made less trash, caused less pollution, and underwent less pain than I could reasonably argue that 3.25 pounds of inexpensive chicken thighs might have. I got what I paid for.
And no, that's not a 13 dollar monstrosity of a hen. It was a fine little 3.25 pound lady, cleaned, without necks or giblets (sadly - I make tasty stock from those parts) from the farmers' market, specifically Eco Friendly Foods. I've written plenty about the importance of buying humanely raised meats, and of purchasing food raised locally, and of buying from the farmers' market, so I won't repeat myself. Nonetheless, the decision to buy a $13 bird for two people for no particular special occasion wasn't an easy one.
Having recently had a come to Jesus meeting of the worst kind with our finances (involving some credit card sticker shock, followed by budget entering sticker shock, followed by unforeseen expenses sticker shock, followed by... well, you get the picture), we've put the kibosh on eating out, with a couple of exceptions, to be done cheaply (like when we go to Baltimore this Friday to see Pirates of Penzance in which a dear friend performs), and we've decided to scale back our grocery purchases.
You see, in the past few months, the vast majority of our monthly money after rent and student loan payments had gone toward stuffing our faces, both in and outside the home. So, while we don't exactly have to go the Extreme Frugality route, things need to be reined in. Tightly.
For one, rather than choosing whatever suited our whim each evening, we've returned to our old habit of meal planning. And we've made what we dub a "Nom Book" - a list of the restaurants and meals we really want to try, old favorites excluded for the moment. In a sense, we're saving toward those things, making it easier to forego a second glass of wine at Happy Hour (not that I've been to too many lately, but booze is not a part of our terrible spending habits as I budget it separately - that's right, we have separate eating out and drinking out categories in our budget - and it's a tiny portion of the money we spend), or to eat leftovers rather than grab a piece of chicken at the deli near work.
But a big part of the problem has to do with making the best of what we buy as well, which is where the dilemma over the $13 dollar chicken came in. I knew it would taste good (and, oh, did it ever), but would it be worth it, when we could probably get twice the chicken, at least in thighs, at Whole Foods? We decided to gamble on it, and I planned out 3 meals with the chicken: roast chicken, veggies and corn; chicken and mushroom lasagna; and stuffed patty pan squash. I figured that by that point, all the meat would be gone, and I would boil the bones for broth. Given that chicken broth costs any where from 7 - 15 cents an ounce (at the Giant, via Peapod, probably more for organic, Kitchen Basics, or at Whole Foods), I figured I could at least break even on the chicken.
I began by brining the chicken. I knew it would taste a little more meaty, having been pastured, but I guessed that the meat might be drier from a lack of fat. So I brought some water, salt, brown sugar and lemon juice to a simmer, and when it cooled, I sat my chicken down in it for a few hours. Then, I dried her off, and rubbed her meat (under the skin) with a combination of salt, pepper, lemon rind, parsley, dill, and basil. There was enough leftover to rub into her skin too. I roasted her at 375 until done (I lost track of time, and our thermometers both crapped out on us during this process, so, I was afraid she might have been a little over done, but she wasn't at all).
We ate the drumsticks and a little of the thigh meat that night with some vegetables. The meat was rich, buttery, melt in your mouth chicken - probably the best I've ever cooked at home. This wasn't due to brine, although I'm sure that helped - it was what I had read about: a "chickenier" chicken. I liked it.
The next day I chopped the breast meat into cubes, layered it with a very slight amount of tomato sauce, noodles, cheese, herbs, and the first two steps of a duxelles (very finely chopped mushrooms with the liquid squeezed out - save the liquid and add it to broth or water to cook rice in, delicious). It was a fine lasagna; the breast meat was delicious and moist, and held the flavors of the roast and worked beautifully with the other ingredients. It gave us a dinner and three lunches.
Faced with the still astonishing amount of meat on the chicken, I decided to add a fourth meal - a vegetable pot pie with chicken (there wasn't enough for stuffed squash and a pot pie with chicken as the star). For the squash, I chopped about a 1/4 cup of chicken, added the diced tops of the squash, riced cooked with red pepper flakes and cumin, herbs, and parmesan cheese. The filled patty pans were salted and peppered and drizzled with olive oil, and baked. They were delicious, and served with roasted broccoli, were incredibly satisfying. We had two squash, and each got dinner and lunch. The pot pie was made of broccoli, celery, onion, 1/2 cup of chicken, frozen lima beans, and plenty of herbs. I warmed these in a sauce pan, then coated them with flour, which I browned. Then I spooned in some fresh made stock (more on that in a second) and made a thick sauce. I poured it all into a pie pan, topped with biscuit dough, and baked until the biscuits were dark brown on top. It was a huge success - and has been dinner and lunch for 2, with one lunch (mine!) for tomorrow.
So, just in terms of meals served, that chicken cost about 81 cents a meal for 16 meals. Not a terrible deal. But when you add in that I boiled the bones for approximately 2 quarts of stock (currently in my freezer), the chicken becomes an even better buy (especially because the stock is so good, and has no added stuff in it). At 32 ounces, the least expensive store bought broth would cost $22.40, more than my chicken cost in the first place.
Sometimes, I guess, an expensive chicken is worth it. I was okay with a couple of meals have less meat in them, but even if I hadn't been, the chicken still would have ended up being a huge bargain. It can be difficult to make those decisions - buying a 13 dollar chicken when you know you need to budget more carefully can feel self-indulgent - but looking at things from the point of view of the whole changes the view - this chicken produced more for me, cost less, made less trash, caused less pollution, and underwent less pain than I could reasonably argue that 3.25 pounds of inexpensive chicken thighs might have. I got what I paid for.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
On Pictures
I've been cooking a lot lately, but the grant writing whirl has kept me from posting. I've taken lots of pictures, so here's a mini post with lots of photos:
(Excuse how horrid they are - I am still learning the camera, and I'm too lazy to really "fix" any of them with photoshop right now.)
Photos of antipasti from the party we had to celebrate the limoncello:
Mozzarella balls from Whole Foods - sweet and nutty
Olives with mustard seed
Pepperocini
Fromage Fort - not Italian, but close enough - it's a mix of hunks of leftover cheeses with white wine, garlic, salt and pepper. This one is mostly goat and bleu cheese, with some dry vermouth. It got good reviews.
Crackers and Sopressata
So, I didn't make any of my antipasti, except the fromage fort, but they were all so very pretty (despite my shoddy camera work), I wanted to share.
Here's the cake I made as a late birthday surprise for John:
It's a yellow cake with lemon curd filling and buttercream icing, as he had requested some weeks before his birthday, and which wasn't able to get done before this party. The cake and icing and curd were all very easy to make, but the day was so warm and humid that they did not want to stay together. I called my mother, very upset that, despite the fact that I can make a layer cake, have done so before, and did everything in my power short of using a dowel to keep this one together, including digging a trough for the curd, it would not stay together. She calmed me down, and reminded me that everything looks fine once it's cut - and sure enough, an hour in the fridge later, the cake cut beautifully, and the guests would have been none the wiser had I not entertained them with the saga.
We actually made two batches of the first round of limoncello, one large batch that steeped with the simple syrup in the freezer, and a very small batch that steeped with the simple syrup outside of the freezer. The small batch was much smoother and thinner than the first, and a little more drinkable, but the colors were wildly different:
.JPG)
Small batch steeped with sugar on the left, original on the right
I also made some new recipes recently. One was this recipe for chicken schnitzel from the NYTimes. I made the salad they suggest, too, and have been making herby salads ever since. I steamed some asparagus along the side:
Finally, a picture of our dinner tonight, made by John, from scratch. He has a favorite pizza dough recipe, and he sliced some mushrooms and some Japanese eggplants (fresh from the farmer's market) very thin. He salted the eggplant for a little while before cooking, then loaded the dough with the mushrooms, the eggplant and sliced garlic atop tomato sauce and mozzarella. It was delicious - the picture does not do it justice.
(Excuse how horrid they are - I am still learning the camera, and I'm too lazy to really "fix" any of them with photoshop right now.)
Photos of antipasti from the party we had to celebrate the limoncello:
Mozzarella balls from Whole Foods - sweet and nutty
Olives with mustard seed
Pepperocini
Fromage Fort - not Italian, but close enough - it's a mix of hunks of leftover cheeses with white wine, garlic, salt and pepper. This one is mostly goat and bleu cheese, with some dry vermouth. It got good reviews.
Crackers and Sopressata
So, I didn't make any of my antipasti, except the fromage fort, but they were all so very pretty (despite my shoddy camera work), I wanted to share.
Here's the cake I made as a late birthday surprise for John:
It's a yellow cake with lemon curd filling and buttercream icing, as he had requested some weeks before his birthday, and which wasn't able to get done before this party. The cake and icing and curd were all very easy to make, but the day was so warm and humid that they did not want to stay together. I called my mother, very upset that, despite the fact that I can make a layer cake, have done so before, and did everything in my power short of using a dowel to keep this one together, including digging a trough for the curd, it would not stay together. She calmed me down, and reminded me that everything looks fine once it's cut - and sure enough, an hour in the fridge later, the cake cut beautifully, and the guests would have been none the wiser had I not entertained them with the saga.
We actually made two batches of the first round of limoncello, one large batch that steeped with the simple syrup in the freezer, and a very small batch that steeped with the simple syrup outside of the freezer. The small batch was much smoother and thinner than the first, and a little more drinkable, but the colors were wildly different:
.JPG)
Small batch steeped with sugar on the left, original on the right
I also made some new recipes recently. One was this recipe for chicken schnitzel from the NYTimes. I made the salad they suggest, too, and have been making herby salads ever since. I steamed some asparagus along the side:
Finally, a picture of our dinner tonight, made by John, from scratch. He has a favorite pizza dough recipe, and he sliced some mushrooms and some Japanese eggplants (fresh from the farmer's market) very thin. He salted the eggplant for a little while before cooking, then loaded the dough with the mushrooms, the eggplant and sliced garlic atop tomato sauce and mozzarella. It was delicious - the picture does not do it justice.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
On Limoncello
It's the stuff that Danny DeVito was still drunk on when he visited the view. He also makes the stuff himself:
Thick and yellow, sweet and lemony, strong and flammable, the stuff is great, in small doses, and pretty easy to make. John has a skill for it.
After Memorial Day, he sat on the floor, grated 20 lemons and an orange into an canister and then poured in a bottle of Everclear on top. We let it steep for 2 weeks, until the yellow was stripped off of the zest and the lemony smell coming off the alcohol burned our noses a little. No worries; the burn is alleviated by the addition of plenty of simple syrup. Here, the recipes differ (John mostly followed this one from Serious Eats, but minus the flavored vodka) - some suggest bottling (which we did, in old liquor and wine bottles - ecofriendly!) and freezing, and some suggest letting it steep a bit longer. So, we poured a little into a mason jar (yep) and let it go for a while. We've not tried that yet.
Cool limoncello in a cordial is just the thing. A small little shot, just for sipping - we advised people at a dinner party we held in honor of the limoncello to NOT shoot it - goes a long way. While John can handle a couple of cordials worth, I take so long to drink and it's so strong that I can only really drink one in a sitting.
Limoncello isn't difficult to make, and there are tons of recipes out there (I have one in a Giada de Laurentiis cookbook that calls for lemon peels and vodka). There's a lot of fun in making your own digestive. While we don't have the space or the expertise of my friend Brian, who brews his own delicious beer and has for years, it's exciting to be able to whip up something so potent and tasty. It's a great summer activity and a perfect summer drink. And it's nice to have that - something that you enjoy, that's lighthearted and fun.
So long as no one's going on TV still drunk after leaving my house.
Thick and yellow, sweet and lemony, strong and flammable, the stuff is great, in small doses, and pretty easy to make. John has a skill for it.
After Memorial Day, he sat on the floor, grated 20 lemons and an orange into an canister and then poured in a bottle of Everclear on top. We let it steep for 2 weeks, until the yellow was stripped off of the zest and the lemony smell coming off the alcohol burned our noses a little. No worries; the burn is alleviated by the addition of plenty of simple syrup. Here, the recipes differ (John mostly followed this one from Serious Eats, but minus the flavored vodka) - some suggest bottling (which we did, in old liquor and wine bottles - ecofriendly!) and freezing, and some suggest letting it steep a bit longer. So, we poured a little into a mason jar (yep) and let it go for a while. We've not tried that yet.
Cool limoncello in a cordial is just the thing. A small little shot, just for sipping - we advised people at a dinner party we held in honor of the limoncello to NOT shoot it - goes a long way. While John can handle a couple of cordials worth, I take so long to drink and it's so strong that I can only really drink one in a sitting.
Limoncello isn't difficult to make, and there are tons of recipes out there (I have one in a Giada de Laurentiis cookbook that calls for lemon peels and vodka). There's a lot of fun in making your own digestive. While we don't have the space or the expertise of my friend Brian, who brews his own delicious beer and has for years, it's exciting to be able to whip up something so potent and tasty. It's a great summer activity and a perfect summer drink. And it's nice to have that - something that you enjoy, that's lighthearted and fun.
So long as no one's going on TV still drunk after leaving my house.
Monday, June 22, 2009
On Kristof and the Farmer's Market
Nicholas Kristof is one of my favorite journalists. I rarely miss his column and am often motivated by the things he says. Today's column is another hit.
Lettuce from the Garden, With Worms
An excerpt:
Over the years, though, I’ve become nostalgic for an occasional bug in my salad, for an apple that feels as if it were designed by God rather than by a committee.
I miss an outdoor space, mostly for the way that my basil and mint ran rampant and cheap last year, and all my cooking was spiced with chili peppers, but also for the huge bounty of cherry tomatoes that came over a 3 month period from one plant in a pot. Because I am lazy, I missed out on the chance for a community garden space this year, and all my attempts to sprout herbs in my apartment faded, because even a constant on grow lamp can't really make up for the lack of bright, direct sun. What's fantastic for dinner parties and gorgeous afternoons inside isn't so great for mint or basil.
So I return to the farmer's market, buying clumps of mint, cilantro and spring onions for three dollars a piece, splurging on a box of sweet cherries (eaten all in one sitting last night), gaping in awe at purple and yellow cauliflower, at tiny strawberries just bursting with sweetness, at fresh squash in all shapes, sizes, and colors (my favorites are the striped zucchini, their seafoam green streaked with forest, and the patty pan squash, only yellow and green right now, but the tender white ones are so sweet, and wonderful stuffed and roasted), and being unable to resist the new potatoes, red, white, purple, skins so tender, they flake off with the wipe of a finger.
I love a grocery store, because I love to look at the food, but I'll take a farmer's market for visual effect any day. Because these are not the usual foods, the "committee designed" ones. The cauliflower is yellow and purple, not white, because that's what color it is, not what color sells best. The strawberries, cherries and blueberries are small, because that's how they grow, not grown until huge because that's how they sell (well, I always try to buy the smallest in the store when they're not at the market - they're sweeter). The tomatoes are red-orange, and oddly shaped. Some of the cherry tomatoes are bright yellow. The butter is creamy and white, the eggs are all colors, brown, speckled, pristine white, the butcher sells fat back and pork belly, hard to find even at Whole Foods, the closest butcher to me. The scallions are purple before the greens begin, and the spring onions are sweet and fragrant and pink. The garlic scapes are curled around themselves, a tangle of soft spice. The food is uniformly not perfect - there are spots and rough patches. The cuts of meat are small - no giant ribeyes here. There are flowers, everywhere, and pots of tomatoes and herbs. At the risk of sounding cliche, it's a very real place.
I know the farmer's market does it's own branding of marketing and advertising. There are samples everywhere - 3 kinds of cherries to choose from, lots of homemade cheeses. There are the bigger sellers, like EcoFriendly, which gets lots of attention from writers, magazines, and restaurants in the area (of course, they took all our old egg cartons I'd been saving, so they're not too big!). There's the sense of things being somehow more natural (lots of "grass-fed" and "grown without pesticides" signs) and more healthy (although some information out there suggests that the less far food has to travel, and the fewer chemicals used in its growing, the more nutritionally dense it is), when it may be just a place to get variety. There's a sense of community, and crowd. People are nicer in line there than at Whole Foods or Safeway (although the Safeway checkers around here are so fantastic!). A lot of emphasis is placed on foods being grown by the sellers, or other products being produced locally. The markets near me also place emphasis on education, outreach, and gleaning. So, the way you feel authentic, like a regular do-gooder, when you shop at the farmer's market, even though you probably realize that doing so puts you in a definite position of privilege. But, its a privilege that at least doesn't rely on a middle man, or on "committee approved" packaging or creating.
Being at the farmer's market feels like being in my mom's garden, grabbing up butternut squash or peas before the rabbits do. Oh sure, it may be weirdly shaped, or it may have a little nibble taken out of it. But there's no substitute for the feeling, the hot little sun burnt gourd in your hand, imperfect and whole.
Lettuce from the Garden, With Worms
An excerpt:
Over the years, though, I’ve become nostalgic for an occasional bug in my salad, for an apple that feels as if it were designed by God rather than by a committee.
I miss an outdoor space, mostly for the way that my basil and mint ran rampant and cheap last year, and all my cooking was spiced with chili peppers, but also for the huge bounty of cherry tomatoes that came over a 3 month period from one plant in a pot. Because I am lazy, I missed out on the chance for a community garden space this year, and all my attempts to sprout herbs in my apartment faded, because even a constant on grow lamp can't really make up for the lack of bright, direct sun. What's fantastic for dinner parties and gorgeous afternoons inside isn't so great for mint or basil.
So I return to the farmer's market, buying clumps of mint, cilantro and spring onions for three dollars a piece, splurging on a box of sweet cherries (eaten all in one sitting last night), gaping in awe at purple and yellow cauliflower, at tiny strawberries just bursting with sweetness, at fresh squash in all shapes, sizes, and colors (my favorites are the striped zucchini, their seafoam green streaked with forest, and the patty pan squash, only yellow and green right now, but the tender white ones are so sweet, and wonderful stuffed and roasted), and being unable to resist the new potatoes, red, white, purple, skins so tender, they flake off with the wipe of a finger.
I love a grocery store, because I love to look at the food, but I'll take a farmer's market for visual effect any day. Because these are not the usual foods, the "committee designed" ones. The cauliflower is yellow and purple, not white, because that's what color it is, not what color sells best. The strawberries, cherries and blueberries are small, because that's how they grow, not grown until huge because that's how they sell (well, I always try to buy the smallest in the store when they're not at the market - they're sweeter). The tomatoes are red-orange, and oddly shaped. Some of the cherry tomatoes are bright yellow. The butter is creamy and white, the eggs are all colors, brown, speckled, pristine white, the butcher sells fat back and pork belly, hard to find even at Whole Foods, the closest butcher to me. The scallions are purple before the greens begin, and the spring onions are sweet and fragrant and pink. The garlic scapes are curled around themselves, a tangle of soft spice. The food is uniformly not perfect - there are spots and rough patches. The cuts of meat are small - no giant ribeyes here. There are flowers, everywhere, and pots of tomatoes and herbs. At the risk of sounding cliche, it's a very real place.
I know the farmer's market does it's own branding of marketing and advertising. There are samples everywhere - 3 kinds of cherries to choose from, lots of homemade cheeses. There are the bigger sellers, like EcoFriendly, which gets lots of attention from writers, magazines, and restaurants in the area (of course, they took all our old egg cartons I'd been saving, so they're not too big!). There's the sense of things being somehow more natural (lots of "grass-fed" and "grown without pesticides" signs) and more healthy (although some information out there suggests that the less far food has to travel, and the fewer chemicals used in its growing, the more nutritionally dense it is), when it may be just a place to get variety. There's a sense of community, and crowd. People are nicer in line there than at Whole Foods or Safeway (although the Safeway checkers around here are so fantastic!). A lot of emphasis is placed on foods being grown by the sellers, or other products being produced locally. The markets near me also place emphasis on education, outreach, and gleaning. So, the way you feel authentic, like a regular do-gooder, when you shop at the farmer's market, even though you probably realize that doing so puts you in a definite position of privilege. But, its a privilege that at least doesn't rely on a middle man, or on "committee approved" packaging or creating.
Being at the farmer's market feels like being in my mom's garden, grabbing up butternut squash or peas before the rabbits do. Oh sure, it may be weirdly shaped, or it may have a little nibble taken out of it. But there's no substitute for the feeling, the hot little sun burnt gourd in your hand, imperfect and whole.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
On Hamburgers
(Yeah yeah, I've not posted. There's reasons.)
I can't eat hamburgers out.
Or, more correctly, I won't eat hamburgers out. Part of this has to do with wanting to know where my meat comes from, but most of it has to do with a much more visceral reaction to the thought of possibly tainted ground meat, or ground meat that may have something un-beefy in it. This reaction was etched in my mind after a history of biting into one too many burgers to find a hunk of bone or gristle crunching between my teeth. The very memory makes me gag, and such experiences ended my burger love-affair.
Occasionally I can be tempted by a good turkey burger, like the one I had recently at Elmo's Diner in Durham, N.C., or a Five Guys meal, but for the most part, I have satiated a burger craving with Black Bean Burgers, which are a different thing, and not to be served on a bun, as they are big, and very filling. So, for a little while, I was really missing out on the whole burger bun all-American summer time grill experience.
Two things happened to change all that. One was very quick - John got a meat grinder for Christmas. It remained dormant until the second thing happened - John reread the Cook's Illustrated hamburger recipe. These two things combined perfectly when, about two weeks ago, we both began craving hamburgers.
A pack of shortribs and a pound of sirloin later (we ended up using about 6 ounces short rib to 8 ounces sirloin), we were in the kitchen. But, because this was John's equipment and John's recipe, it was John's show. I busied myself making fries (frozen oven fries), slicing onion and cheese, and chopping lettuce, while he prepped the equipment.
The whole show works best if everything is cold. The meat was carefully cubed (the grind does better with smaller cubes) and chilled. The grinder and a clean metal bowl were placed in the freezer to chill, as well. Finally, the grinder attached to the mixer and the bowl placed underneath to catch the meat, John began to gently push the meat through the grinder (I put the buns in the toaster and got the condiments out of the fridge).
Meat coming out of the grinder.
Ground Meat
Having decided that we wanted thicker burgers than the recipe suggested, we decided to hold them together with egg. We based this on the recipe's claim that meat handled too much would get tough (makes sense - what else doesn't get tough when it's played with too much?) - we didn't want to mash the meat together too densely, so we added an egg as a binder. Subsequent experiments would show that midsized burgers with no egg held together as well as big burgers with egg - that is to say, they're fantastic, but crumbly!
John seared the burgers, leaving a juicy, rare center, a feat not often attempted, by me at least, in restaurant burgers. Piled on a bun with ketchup, mustard, some white onion, a little romaine and some good cheddar, this was a premier burger. Juice dribbled down chins and between fingers. Bits of crumbled meat fell onto plates, and were promptly picked up and popped into mouths. Beefy and rich, this burger didn't last long enough for a photo. But at only 8 bucks a pop (with grass fed beef from Whole Foods), I will probably have a chance to try again. Besides, at the same cost as a restaurant burger I won't be able to finish (damn memory), it is worth it to have a hamburger returned to my world of culinary possibility.
I can't eat hamburgers out.
Or, more correctly, I won't eat hamburgers out. Part of this has to do with wanting to know where my meat comes from, but most of it has to do with a much more visceral reaction to the thought of possibly tainted ground meat, or ground meat that may have something un-beefy in it. This reaction was etched in my mind after a history of biting into one too many burgers to find a hunk of bone or gristle crunching between my teeth. The very memory makes me gag, and such experiences ended my burger love-affair.
Occasionally I can be tempted by a good turkey burger, like the one I had recently at Elmo's Diner in Durham, N.C., or a Five Guys meal, but for the most part, I have satiated a burger craving with Black Bean Burgers, which are a different thing, and not to be served on a bun, as they are big, and very filling. So, for a little while, I was really missing out on the whole burger bun all-American summer time grill experience.
Two things happened to change all that. One was very quick - John got a meat grinder for Christmas. It remained dormant until the second thing happened - John reread the Cook's Illustrated hamburger recipe. These two things combined perfectly when, about two weeks ago, we both began craving hamburgers.
A pack of shortribs and a pound of sirloin later (we ended up using about 6 ounces short rib to 8 ounces sirloin), we were in the kitchen. But, because this was John's equipment and John's recipe, it was John's show. I busied myself making fries (frozen oven fries), slicing onion and cheese, and chopping lettuce, while he prepped the equipment.
The whole show works best if everything is cold. The meat was carefully cubed (the grind does better with smaller cubes) and chilled. The grinder and a clean metal bowl were placed in the freezer to chill, as well. Finally, the grinder attached to the mixer and the bowl placed underneath to catch the meat, John began to gently push the meat through the grinder (I put the buns in the toaster and got the condiments out of the fridge).
Meat coming out of the grinder.
Ground Meat
Having decided that we wanted thicker burgers than the recipe suggested, we decided to hold them together with egg. We based this on the recipe's claim that meat handled too much would get tough (makes sense - what else doesn't get tough when it's played with too much?) - we didn't want to mash the meat together too densely, so we added an egg as a binder. Subsequent experiments would show that midsized burgers with no egg held together as well as big burgers with egg - that is to say, they're fantastic, but crumbly!
John seared the burgers, leaving a juicy, rare center, a feat not often attempted, by me at least, in restaurant burgers. Piled on a bun with ketchup, mustard, some white onion, a little romaine and some good cheddar, this was a premier burger. Juice dribbled down chins and between fingers. Bits of crumbled meat fell onto plates, and were promptly picked up and popped into mouths. Beefy and rich, this burger didn't last long enough for a photo. But at only 8 bucks a pop (with grass fed beef from Whole Foods), I will probably have a chance to try again. Besides, at the same cost as a restaurant burger I won't be able to finish (damn memory), it is worth it to have a hamburger returned to my world of culinary possibility.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
On Pie (particularly Chocolate Pecan Pie)
One of the things I like about cooking is the sense of connectedness it gives to my life. In fiction, we find all the little parts fitting together in the plot leading to some larger denouement, all the little puzzle pieces joining up with the corner piece and the audience saying, "Oh, wow" or "I totally saw it coming." Life doesn't quite fit so well together, so when I can, I like to draw the connections between things out to myself, so that I have a little map of sorts to remember and to follow.
So the chocolate pecan pie begins with my grandmother, whose pecan pies I rarely ate because for a long time I did not care for nuts in baked goods (I know, I was a silly thing). But she always turned up the pecans on top of her pies to face upwards, so it looked cohesive and pretty. I've always done that with my pies.
The next step, of course, is Karo syrup. I used the recipe on the label and have no idea how to make pecan pie without it, although there's definitely a part of me that feels somehow that using the Karo is betraying some sort of no corn syrup ideal.
Probably the next most important step is Nabil, for whom I started making pecan pies in the first place. He really likes them, and after a month of worrying about him during his first Ramadan with me, I made him one for Eid. As long as I lived in Boston, I continued the tradition (as he continued the tradition of going for a long run after not eating since 5 in the morning). I can't make pecan pie without thinking of him.
Pie crust is an essential step here. For a long time, I relied on my mom's crust recipe, and only switched when a much more fattening version appeared in the Cook's Illustrated one month. My pie crust is often a subject of marvel to my husband's family - it is one of the ways in which I have made myself indispensable to them. Its not that I have any special gift with it, its that I actually take the time to make it.
The next piece in the chocolate pecan pie puzzle is the first such pie I had, at Union Street Public House that I shared with Louise, Sarah, and Rachel. It was the first night I met Rachel, whom I adore, and the pie was great too. Plus, the pecans were chopped, which helped with the runniness that so often plagues pecan pies.
Finally, the inspiration for trying this pie recipe was Samia, another new friend, who mentioned her love for it over Bar-b-que last Saturday. She and her boyfriend came over to dye eggs, a first for Samia, last night, and I made the pie for her (and the rest of us) to enjoy. A new pie muse is always fun.
Really, all I did was melt two ounces of bittersweet chocolate (any sweeter and the sugar in the pie would make it just too much) and stir it in with the pie filling. I chopped the pecans to stop the runniness, which worked well, and I topped the pie with whole pecans, like my grandmother used to. I thought of all these things, these little pieces of plot as I made the pie, and of the little trails they make through my life. Cooking's like a constant scrapbook, or a kind of journaling, the most faithful kind I do. Maybe that's why I like to do it, and like to do it well. It's not just about feeding myself - its a much more complex kind of nourishment.
So the chocolate pecan pie begins with my grandmother, whose pecan pies I rarely ate because for a long time I did not care for nuts in baked goods (I know, I was a silly thing). But she always turned up the pecans on top of her pies to face upwards, so it looked cohesive and pretty. I've always done that with my pies.
The next step, of course, is Karo syrup. I used the recipe on the label and have no idea how to make pecan pie without it, although there's definitely a part of me that feels somehow that using the Karo is betraying some sort of no corn syrup ideal.
Probably the next most important step is Nabil, for whom I started making pecan pies in the first place. He really likes them, and after a month of worrying about him during his first Ramadan with me, I made him one for Eid. As long as I lived in Boston, I continued the tradition (as he continued the tradition of going for a long run after not eating since 5 in the morning). I can't make pecan pie without thinking of him.
Pie crust is an essential step here. For a long time, I relied on my mom's crust recipe, and only switched when a much more fattening version appeared in the Cook's Illustrated one month. My pie crust is often a subject of marvel to my husband's family - it is one of the ways in which I have made myself indispensable to them. Its not that I have any special gift with it, its that I actually take the time to make it.
The next piece in the chocolate pecan pie puzzle is the first such pie I had, at Union Street Public House that I shared with Louise, Sarah, and Rachel. It was the first night I met Rachel, whom I adore, and the pie was great too. Plus, the pecans were chopped, which helped with the runniness that so often plagues pecan pies.
Finally, the inspiration for trying this pie recipe was Samia, another new friend, who mentioned her love for it over Bar-b-que last Saturday. She and her boyfriend came over to dye eggs, a first for Samia, last night, and I made the pie for her (and the rest of us) to enjoy. A new pie muse is always fun.
Really, all I did was melt two ounces of bittersweet chocolate (any sweeter and the sugar in the pie would make it just too much) and stir it in with the pie filling. I chopped the pecans to stop the runniness, which worked well, and I topped the pie with whole pecans, like my grandmother used to. I thought of all these things, these little pieces of plot as I made the pie, and of the little trails they make through my life. Cooking's like a constant scrapbook, or a kind of journaling, the most faithful kind I do. Maybe that's why I like to do it, and like to do it well. It's not just about feeding myself - its a much more complex kind of nourishment.
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