Author: momsequitur

Nog me

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I was pretty young the first time I had eggnog, and since the grownups didn’t want to deal with a bunch of inebriated preschoolers (kindergarteners can be ugly drunks), my glass came from the kids’ hooch-free punch bowl.The flavor reminded me of when Dad would make a vanilla instant breakfast shake and add vanilla extract.  Only the nog had a strong egg flavor, and it was very milky.  I had given up milk after getting a carton of malodorous, lumpy moo juice during snack time at school.  Yeah, no, egg nog really didn’t move me.

Then a million years later, I was working as a bartender at a country club in Raleigh.  This is actually where my culinary fire was sparked.  I was friends with the kitchen staff, and they were my patient, generous tutors.

It definitely wasn’t Bushwood.  I never saw Bill Murray, not once.

I began to learn the traditions, unwritten rules, and rhythm of a professional kitchen.  I picked up how to observe without getting in the way.  I became familiar with, and learned to appreciate, the black humor that is woven through the very fiber of the denizens of the cook house.

And I learned that one of the very best places in the world to be is on the chef’s good side; especially when he or she develops new recipes and recreates old ones.

One night in early fall, Chef Wes came into the bar office bearing gifts.  It was a tall frosty glass full of what looked like a vanilla milkshake.  I got excited.  He told me it was eggnog.I got bummed.He then informed me it was made using the recipe of George Washington.  Yeah, the father of our country, and evidently, enthusiastic imbiber of spirituous beverages, George Washington.

I got intrigued.

He handed me the glass and I could immediately smell the hooch.  It wasn’t teased by some lightweight eggnog-flavored liqueur, it was chockful of multiple types of hangover-inducing hard liquors.

So, practicing enlightened self-protection, I took a small cautious sip.

First of all, it was boozy.  But not the throat burn-y thing that takes your breath away boozy.  It was mellow.  The alcohol flavor kind of reminded me of one of those fat, hearty gentlemen from a Dickens novel like Mr. Fezziwig; boozy, but jovial and refined.  Does that make any sense?The texture of this egg nog was very different.  It was thick and creamy, like the milkshake I’d mistaken it for.  And it wasn’t too milky or too eggy.  This cold creamy glass of good cheer made me understand what the whole eggnog fuss was about.  When made right, it was really good.

So, below is what scholars and cooks believe was served at our first president’s table.  And since recipes from that era are notoriously skimpy when it comes to details, the directions are from both me, and Chef Wes (Thanks, Chef).

George Washington’s EggnogeggnogOne quart heavy cream

One quart whole milk

One dozen tablespoons sugar (that’s 3/4 cup for you and me)

One pint brandy

½ pint rye whiskey (bourbon works just fine)

½ pint Jamaica rum (Debbie here-no disrespect to the prez, but I’m partial to rum from Puerto Rico)

¼ pint sherry

12 eggs, separated

Mix the alcohol and set aside.  Place egg whites into mixer and beat until they’re glossy and stiff peaks appear.  Remove from bowl and set aside.  Make sure you do the whites first because if there’s any yolk in the whites, they won’t beat into stiff peaks. 

Place yolks and sugar into the mixer bowl and beat on high until it’s the color of butter and runs from the beater in ribbons.  Stir in alcohols, milk and cream.

Then very gently, fold the whites into yolk mixture.

George recommends at this point to let the egg nog rest in a cool place (fridge) for two days before serving. 

Makes one honking punch bowl’s worth.  Enjoy.I hope you enjoy this Colonial nog.  And I hope you get every gift on your list.

But more, I really hope that you, Gentle Reader, and all of your loved ones can spend a few relaxed hours together having fun, and remembering why these are the people that populate your world.

And to all, a good night.

Thanks for your time.

Hot Cha-cha-colate

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I told Petey the other day it doesn’t matter who you are, or how much experience you’ve had, making marshmallows is a messy, sticky, sticky business.  Did I mention it’s sticky?All you can do is try to minimize damage.

Because I have more time than money, I make many gifts in my kitchen.

Our cocoa mix is easy and delicious.  Stirring in a small handful of chopped chocolate will make it crazy rich.

Special Dark Cocoa

In a food processor, mix until texture is powdery and homogeneous:cocoa

¾ cup powdered milk

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

¾ cup sugar

½ cup Hershey’s Special Dark cocoa powder

Then add:

4 ounces bittersweet chocolate, coarsely chopped

Store in airtight container.  To make a cup, mix ½ cup cocoa mix into 1 cup milk.  Makes 4 cups.And here are the marshmallows that go with the cocoa.  It’s a recipe adapted from Alton Brown. The response you get from people is worth all the heat and mess.  Most people don’t even realize they can be made at home.

Homemade marshmallowsmarshmallows-2

3 packages unflavored gelatin

1 cup ice cold water, divided

1 ½ cups granulated sugar

1 cup light corn syrup

½ teaspoon kosher salt

1 vanilla bean, scraped, reserving pod

½ cup confectioners’ sugar

Nonstick spray

Place gelatin into bowl of stand mixer with ½ cup water.

Prepare pan:

Put confectioners’ sugar into a small bowl. Lightly spray a 13 by 9-inch metal baking pan with nonstick cooking spray. Cover it with a piece of oiled foil.  Add the sugar and swirl to coat bottom and sides.  Save remaining sugar for later use.

In small saucepan combine remaining water, granulated sugar, corn syrup, salt, and empty vanilla pod. Place over medium-high heat, cover and cook for 3 to 4 minutes. Uncover, clip a candy thermometer onto side of pan and continue to cook until mixture reaches 240 degrees. Immediately remove from heat and take out vanilla pod.Using whisk attachment, turn mixer on low speed and slowly pour all the sugar syrup down side of the bowl into gelatin mixture. Once added, increase speed to high. Continue to whip until mixture becomes fluffy, white, and increases in volume approximately 500%; approximately 10 to 13 minutes. Add the vanilla bean caviar during last minute of whipping.

When ready, pour mixture into prepared pan, using oiled spatula for even spreading. Dust top with enough of the remaining sugar to lightly cover. Reserve the rest again.  Allow marshmallows to sit uncovered for a few hours before cutting.Once the candy is set, place a piece of parchment onto large cutting board.  Turn the marshmallows out and peel off foil.  Dust bottom and sides with more powdered sugar.  Using powder sugar dusted pizza cutter, cut the candy; 6 pieces wide and 8 long.  As you cut, place into a zip top bag that has some confectioners’ sugar in it.  Gently shake to coat, and place onto parchment to fully set.

Make sure you have everything out and organized.  Once the candy is ready to go from mixer to the prepared pan you have waiting, don’t fool around.  Move deliberately, but with a sense of controlled urgency.

Even if you do everything right, there will still be a mess.  During both the cooking and mixing stages you’ve got time room to load the dish washer and wipe down the stove, the counters, your dog, and mischievous family members.

I leave you with three simple words: Hot.Soapy.Water.

But then hand the out marshmallows and bask in the praise that will fall upon your genius shoulders like warm summer rain.Thanks for your time.

I will not comply

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I can’t live by your rules, man!

I have this contrary streak in me.  I absolutely cannot stand it when people think they know what’s best for me.  I’m not talking about highly trained, highly paid experts in their fields like lawyers, doctors, and plumbers.

I’m talking about the Mr. You Shoulds, and Mrs. You Oughtas.  The kind of folks that are ecstatic to tell you what you’re doing wrong in your life, and how to fix yourself.  Like the old lady who’s never had kids, but knows exactly how to raise them.  Or the guy, who because of his particular belief system, knows every answer to every question, and feels duty-bound to share his very special wisdom.I have such an aversion to those people and their rules, that I’m the girl that would rather have a spectacular failure than let somebody tell me what to do.

In the kitchen there are multitudes of experts, each with box cars full of do and don’ts.   But when cooking, as in the rest of my life, I gotta make my own mistakes, and learn from them.

What follows are a few rules folks have decided are mandatory iron-clad laws that should never, on pain of death be ignored.  And why I think they are so much horse hockey.

Never salt your steak before cooking.Nope, and here’s why.  Unless you’re purchasing and cooking restaurant quality aged meat, the best thing that can happen to your steak is some salt and a little rest in the fridge for a couple days.

A good portion of the weight in a piece of beef is water.  When you salt it, loosely wrap it in some paper towels, and let it rest in the refrigerator for a few days, you are doing a homemade dry age.  The salt draws out the water, which concentrates the flavor, and makes that Kroger New York strip taste closer to something you might get at Angus Barn.

Never make a recipe for the first time for guests.

No pressure there…

 

Wrong.  If this is a recipe you have the skill to tackle, do it.  Unless you’ve invited the queen or Coach K, there’s no need to be perfect.  The people who sit at your table are friends and family who want you to succeed.  Be careful, and don’t go too far off the reservation recipe-wise, but go for it.  At best you’ll have a new recipe with lots of feedback, and at worst, you’ll have a funny story they’ll tell at your wake.

The next one pinches a little.  I recently had one of the very few arguments I’ve ever had with my best friend of 37 years, Bo, over this very thing.  Neither of us changed our minds.

bo

My nutty friend, Bo.

Conventional wisdom is to never, ever wash fresh mushrooms.  Again, I say nay.

If I’m prepping for a salad that I’m eating right away, then I brush the dreck off the ‘shrooms.  If they have time to sit in a colander and dry off, I don’t.  If I’m cooking them, I always wash them.

Mushrooms are 90% water.  There is a negligible ability to absorb more.  The few drops left on them from a brief shower will make no appreciable difference to taste or texture.  And for the optimal flavor of cooked mushrooms, you should cook out all the water anyway.

So I guess the moral to this tale is learn, listen to advice, but make up your own mind as to the worth of that advice.

You do you.

Honey, you get that freak flag down from the attic, and you let it fly!

 

Thanks for your time.

I give up

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I’m not much of a joiner. After high school, I was a member of Columbia House, and that ended with dissatisfaction and letters demanding payment for “Easy Listening Hits of 1984”—which I swear I never ordered.

I’m especially dubious of the cult-like phenomena that can sprout up around a company or a product; think Saturn cars, Apple computers, or even Nutella.  If you like it, then drive it, use it, or eat it.  Does one really need a support group with newsletters and t-shirts?

So, the fanatical devotion that Trader Joe’s garners left me cold, and extremely skeptical.When I went to the Chapel Hill location on opening day, I was disappointed.  I was expecting Whole Foods with 2 dollar wine; lots of produce, gourmet items, and an esoteric collection of meat in a comprehensive department.  It wasn’t like that.  I visited infrequently, but still didn’t contract the Trader Joe’s virus.

I’m ever on the lookout for dried fruits and nuts to add to my always present, always changing bag of trail mix.  Recently I was at Trader Joe’s and picked up a bag of dried baby pineapple.

I hated it.  I’m sure there were fans of it somewhere, but I was not one, not even a little bit.

So one Sunday afternoon I headed to Chapel Hill, and Trader Joe’s, to return it.

Once inside I went over to customer service with the pineapple, and within seconds walked away with a credit for the full price.  There was no paperwork, questions, or judge-y looks; nothing.  The manager-person just wrote a number on a slip of paper and handed it over.And that’s how they handle all returns—no muss, no fuss, no exceptions.  It’s only one of a few pretty great store policies.

They will give you a sample of basically anything.  Just ask a crew member, they’ll open it up, and give you a taste.  They don’t sell any products containing high fructose corn syrup or genetically modified foods.  They are almost always offering samples.  Last time I was there it was delicious cauliflower ravioli and hot spiced apple cider that tasted exactly of apple pie.

But there are two factors at Joe’s that finally made me a fan.  And the intersection of those two?  There lies culinary nirvana.90 percent of their products are private label.  And in addition to breakfast cereal, canned soup, noodles, and jelly, they have items that are hard or impossible to find even in expensive purveyors of gourmet foodstuffs.

The frozen food they carry is the kind of things you dream about when you’re crazy hungry and know you won’t be able to eat for hours.  They’ve got the ethnic thing down, with Italian, Chinese, Mexican, Indian, and more.  Tons of different fish and pasta dinners.  They have mac & cheese with buckets of variations, even breaded deep-fried bites.

Their sweets are the devil.  They have enough yummy looking candies, cakes, and cookies, to throw me into an irretrievable diabetic coma.  Dark chocolate salted caramels, tons of different candy bars, desserts like Japanese mocha ice cream, French macarons, and cookie butter cheesecake, lemme say that again; Cookie.Butter.Cheesecake.But the huge Trader Joe’s lure is the prices.

Eggs, 99 cents a dozen.  Sour cream, a buck a tub.  Fresh oyster mushrooms for $1.99.  Ravioli is two portions for 3 or 4 dollars.  Even non-food items are cheap.  I paid 3 bucks for a ginormous jug of lavender-scented hand soap.  The Kid calls the store ‘the love child of Earth Fare and Aldi’s’.

But when gourmet and budget meet is the temptation that finally preceded my fall.  I got a jar of Middle Eastern style preserved lemons for $2.99.  And a tube of umami, which is a mixture of tomato paste, mushrooms, anchovy, to up the umami factor in anything you cook, is the unbelievable price of $1.99.  I’ve used another brand (now impossible to find in the US) that sold for $12.99.

So, put a fork in me, ‘cause I’m done.  I am a true Joe’s believer.  They’ve got me.

But I promise, you will never find me attending a Trader Joe’s fan club meeting.I’d rather give Columbia House another go.

Thanks for your time.

The Ballad of Crump Swamp

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I firmly believe that to test the viability of a relationship, nothing compares to a road trip.Petey and I, although as different as chocolate and rubber cement, are pretty compatible.  Each time we pull out of the driveway, it’s an adventure (luckily I have an extremely loose definition of the word ‘adventure’, and Petey is endearingly agreeable).

And adventure is precisely the word for the homeward stretch of the road trip we took on our first wedding anniversary.

We’d spent a couple weeks visiting my relatives up north, and it was time to head home.

Since it was summertime, we decided to travel at night.  This way there would be less traffic, and it would be a cooler drive in our non-air conditioned jalopy.It was sometime after midnight on a very lonely stretch of 64 in Virginia.  We left the highway at an exit marked Crump Swamp for a pit stop.  The only sign of life was a convenience store with no gas pumps.  We pulled in.

The parking lot was devoid of any other cars and the store empty save a solitary employee.  We hopped out to get a cold drink and ask if there was a nearby gas station.

As we approached the door, Petey and I slowed down, and then stood stock still.  What we saw inside the both confused and frightened us.

The lights inside were so bright they could’ve acted as an x-ray machine.  And the shelves were almost completely bare.  But it was the cashier that commanded our full attention and left us immobile.It was a woman of indeterminate age.  Her body was the approximate size and shape of a grizzly bear.  Her features and countenance reminded one of the maniacal, inbred cannibals from the film, The Hills Have Eyes.

The terrifying cherry on this appalling sundae were the actions of this individual.  She was running up and down the empty aisles clutching a can of Raid.  With demented glee she was chasing and spraying one of the most rare and beautiful creatures on the planet–a Luna moth.Without a word between us, we turned around and got back in the car.

The goal was to get back onto 64.  Only there was no access.  There was also no sound and no light.  It was like driving inside a heavy black bag.

Through the trees we could occasionally glimpse the headlights of cars traveling on the highway, but couldn’t discern a means to join them.  The whole time Petey and I got quieter and more uneasy.

At one point Petey could no longer ignore a call of nature and pulled off to the edge of the heavy woods that surrounded us.  Sitting in the car, I was so spooked I began entertaining the notion that my husband had been abducted while outside and replaced with a shape shifter.After almost an hour, we finally found a route leading us to 64 and the road home.  The lights and fellow travelers dispelled my fears, and I was 98% sure the man beside me was my Petey.

We still talk about that phantasmical sojourn.  Years later, out of morbid curiosity, I researched Crump Swamp.  I came up with nothing.  I searched for hours and found not one mention of the place.  It was as if it didn’t exist.

But I know it happened.  Maybe though, that place wasn’t in Virginia.  Maybe that night we were both abducted and Crump Swamp is a creepy little town in…Mars.aliensThanks for your time.

A Christmas Miracle

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Half the family thinks she puts crack in them.cookie-dustThe other half, a wide-eyed, innocent, ‘Happily ever after’ bunch if there ever was one, thinks it’s probably fairy dust.

I’m talking about my mother’s Christmas cookies.  They’re a simple sugar cookie, generously slathered with the frosting she learned to make when she took a cake decorating class in Puerto Rico, back in the 1970’s.

Each year she makes 8-10 dozen.  Then one day, a week or so before Christmas, she invites/conscripts a confectionary army to frost them.  After icing, each cookie is sprinkled with holiday-hued sugar, or jimmies, or nonpareils from her vast collection.  As each cookie is festively decked out it’s laid on the dining room table for the frosting to set.But the thing is; these are stealth cookies.

On the surface, they are the same boring sugar cookie everybody on the planet has eaten.

But take just one bite, and you get it.  Forget Helen, this cookie is so good it could launch ten thousand ships.  Both flavor and texture are perfectly balanced.  They are insanely delicious.

One of my favorite things is to watch a neophyte take their very first bite.  I’ll explain how awesome they are, and the newbie will smile politely, all the while thinking I need to get out more and taste a cookie or two.Then, they sink their teeth in and taste it.  Their eyes get real big and their faces light up.  “Oh my Gosh!  I get it.  What’s in these things?  They’re the best cookie I’ve ever eaten.  What the heck?”

Mom’s Christmas Cookies

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

Ingredients:moms-cookies1½ cups all-purpose flour

½ teaspoon baking powder

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon baking soda

½ cup sugar

½ cup butter flavored Crisco

1 egg

2 tablespoons milk (whole or 2%)

1 teaspoon vanilla

Sift dry ingredients into bowl.  With mixer, cut in shortening until it resembles coarse meal.  Blend in egg, milk, and vanilla.

Roll out to 1/8 inch, and cut into shapes. 

Bake on parchment lined cookie sheet for 6-8 minutes or until golden.  Remove to cooling rack.

Frost cookies when they are completely cooled.  Makes about 1 ½ dozen.

Mom’s Frostingmoms-frosting

1 pound box powdered sugar

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 scant teaspoon cream of tartar

1/3 cup butter-flavored Crisco

1 egg white

1/4 cup of water (or less)

1 tablespoon vanilla

1/2 teaspoon fresh lemon juice

For decorating: colored sugars and jimmies

Dump all ingredients, except water, into mixer. Beat ingredients at low until it starts to come together.  Put the water in at this point, so you can judge just how much to use. Beat until it is creamy and fluffy. We usually dye it festive colors.

A few notes about the recipes:

You might want to fanci-fy the ingredients or procedure.  Don’t do it!  The recipe is some kind of alchemy that only works if made as written.  I’ve tried, and was rewarded with mediocre cookies and regret.  If you have to change things, just make a different cookie.frosting-faceThe frosting is really good, and works on anything that needs frosting, and stuff that doesn’t.  My dad and I have been known to eat a bowl of it, on nothing more than a spoon.

And about the disagreement of what she puts in the cookies?

I’m pretty sure it’s not crack because mom herself is firmly in the wide-eyed camp.  She’s so sheltered she thinks crack is the thing you see when the plumber bends over too far.

So, it must be fairy dust.Thanks for your time.

Those Darn Christmas Cookies

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I have a highly embarrassing holiday story to share.

A few years ago on Christmas Eve, Petey was freshly home from a long hospital stay so we didn’t make the trip to Greensboro.  The Kid went alone to visit Gramma and Grampa and would bring home presents, plates of dinner, and boxes of homemade cookies, including my mother’s very special and extremely well-loved frosted sugar cookies.

Petey was upstairs in bed, while I sat, watching the clock, waiting for The Kid to pull up with dinner.Finally, I heard my child arrive, and ran outside to help haul in the booty.

It happened when I pulled out the final load.  The lid on the box of Mom’s sugar cookies was not completely closed, and when it tilted, many of those heavily anticipated confections spilled out and landed in the gutter.I almost cried (actually, I think I did).

I almost cried (actually, I think I did).I ran in for a flash light and came back to take an illuminated look at the crime scene.

I ran in for a flashlight and came back to take an illuminated look at the crime scene.

I’d lost about a third of those brave, sugary soldiers.  So, I did what any cookie-loving, former girl scout would do in these circumstances—I rescued some of those treats from the street.

I was pretty sad, but not that cute.

 

Luckily, it had been dry so they hadn’t floated down the street, or turned into cookie soup.  The ones that hit the concrete first had shattered; they were a total loss.  A few had landed upon their cookie brethren—they were good as new, and went back into the box.

That left the middle layer.

I performed a cookie assessment.  There was some errant pine straw mixed in—I removed it.  Once I picked out the vegetation, quite a few were seemingly untouched by the plunge.  They went back to the box.The cookies that remained were imperfect, but a portion was still salvageable.  The very small fragments were abandoned.  The bigger shards were inspected using two criteria.

Did they look soiled?  The sullied sweets were likewise abandoned.  I checked out the final population of clean acceptably-sized pieces with one question in my mind.

Did they have an obscene amount of frosting?

If so, in they went.  If not, they were voted off the island.

Picture me, Gentle Reader; 10 o’clock at night, in bare feet and pajamas, feverishly grubbing about in the gutter, snatching up cookies and secreting them away.

I resembled nothing so much as JRR Tolkien’s Gollum, desperately trying to possess his “Precious”.I recently asked The Kid what thoughts were present that night, witnessing my demented performance.

This was my child’s response:

“I was thinking, here’s where we’ve ended up after this hellish year.  We can’t even have a simple cookie without disaster and disappointment.”

Were my actions extreme?  You bet.  But it’s a great example of how good those cookies are.  I would do worse than gutter diving to hold onto those things.

In the end, I didn’t lose too many holiday treats.  And when we took our dog out, he made a beeline for the cookie carnage.

For my pup, those amazing cookies became his very own Christmas miracle.Thanks for your time.

*For the cookie and frosting recipe, see the next post, “A Christmas Miracle”.

Birds of a Feather

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When Petey and I first moved to Durham, I worked for a clothing chain that no longer exists, in a mall that no longer exists.The store was called Stitches, and we sold stylish unisex clothes for young adults.   Think Hot Topic, but more preppy, or Gap, but more trendy.

In this now extinct shopping center there was the obligatory food court.  There were also three eateries that I frequented.  One was Spinnakers; a fast casual which resembled Darryl’s or Bennigan’s.  Another was Picadilly, a cafeteria-style restaurant which was decorated in the style of a London gentlemen’s club with a dash of Southern gothic.

In this mall there was a Dillards.  And like many Southern department stores of days gone by, they had a restaurant in the back.  Like the Belks at Crabtree which had a famous cafeteria heavily patronized by genteel old ladies.  At 1:00 on a Wednesday afternoon, it was teeming with blue-haired doyennes of “Old Raleigh” (The old part is apt. I think some of these patrons might have dated the very Raleigh for which the town is named).After working at the mall for a while, I became friendly with many of my fellow mall employees.  Unsurprisingly, many of my new buddies were in the feeding business.

The gang at the Dillards eatery became good friends.  I’d always really liked their chicken salad so I asked one of the guys for the recipe.

They gave me the normal ingredients for a classic chicken salad.  But then he told me something shocking; something that I.WILL.NEVER.FORGET.That chicken salad I enjoyed so much?  Not much chicken in it, ‘cause it was made with turkey.  You could have knocked me over with a feather (chicken or turkey feather, either would have worked).

The guys told me that with a turkey breast (bone-in is best for favor and juiciness), you get only white meat.  It’s also easier to cook well, because unlike a whole bird the breast cooks to one temperature (165) at the same rate.  That way you don’t have a large chunk finished, but continuing to cook and dry out while the rest of the bird catches up.

But don’t fool around with that target temp.  You can cook it to 200 degrees or more if you like dry as dust turkey; that’s your choice.  But always, always make sure the temp reaches at least 165.  If you serve turkey sashimi you can literally kill people.  The bird will still be juicy at that safe, non-lethal temp, I promise.It’s possible you may have some leftover Thanksgiving turkey, hopefully in suspended animation in the freezer because a week in the fridge is too long for safe eating.  If you don’t have any turkey, maybe you’re planning on making more for another holiday meal.

Maybe there’s no turkey left, and none on the horizon—that’s ok, pick up a rotisserie chicken to make my faux chicken salad.  It’ll just be faux faux chicken salad (double negative; get it?).

But regardless the genealogy of the bird, my new recipe makes a tasty dish.

Autumn poultry salad

chicken-salad-solid

2 cup turkey (or chicken) into cubes

2/3 cup chopped pecans, toasted and cooled

2 apples of your choice, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes

2 teaspoons apple cider vinegar

Dressing:

Whisk togetherchicken-salad-dressing

¾ cup mayonnaise

2 tablespoons honey mustard

or

1 ½ tablespoons dijon and 2 teaspoons honey

1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

3 tablespoons (aprox) green onion sliced very thin

¼ teaspoon dry dill or 1 tablespoon fresh

Salt and pepper

Make dressing and refrigerate for at least 1 hour.

Sprinkle apples with 2 teaspoons vinegar to prevent browning.  Since the apples are crunchy, make the turkey cubes about 1 ½ times the size of the apple cubes.Stir together salad ingredients.  Fold in dressing, starting with half, adding more as needed.  Test for seasoning.  For best texture and flavor, serve right away (you can refrigerate the salad and dressing separately and mix right before serving).  Make 6 generous sandwiches.

When eating this, nobody will ever say, “Tastes like chicken.”

Because nobody will ever realize they’d just eaten turkey. Thanks for your time.

Chest Guard

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I know it’s practically considered heresy, but I firmly believe there’s only one good use for turkey.

And it’s the sandwich made from Thanksgiving leftovers; eaten very late, whilst in your pajamas.  And to make it right, it has to be on marshmallow-textured white bread, like Wonder bread or Sunbeam.

Coincidentally, this is the only acceptable use for this type of bread.

Historically, Petey and I have eaten at a relative’s home.  Under these circumstances, I would finagle a turkey doggy bag from the host.  We would swing by a convenience store on the way home for the necessary loaf of bread.  And later, we’d have our traditional midnight treat.

But for the past few years, we’ve stayed home, so there was no host to finagle.We didn’t have to miss our traditional treat, though.  Lowes Foods has roasted turkey breast at their deli.  I’d get 6 or 7 very thick slices, and make sandwiches that were a perfect post-Thanksgiving facsimile.

Last weekend I went in for the turkey.  All they had was a couple of sad bits and pieces left.  The very nice young lady behind the counter told me to come back tomorrow, because they might have more.  I was bummed, but out of luck.

Or so I thought.

Back in the meat department I found some bone-in turkey breasts.  I chose one as an alternative to the off chance of finding some in the deli in the next day or so.  On the way out, I picked up some fresh thyme.

Herb and bacon turkey breast

bacon-turkey-breast1 bone-in turkey breast (approximately 1 pound)

4 tablespoons softened butter

1 tablespoon fresh thyme, chopped

1 tablespoon fresh rosemary, chopped very finely

¼ teaspoon kosher salt

Pinch of freshly cracked pepper

4 or 5 slices bacon

4 red skinned potatoes, sliced in half along the longest side

½ cup white wine

2 teaspoons of olive oil

Preheat oven to 325.  Place potatoes, cut side down in a heavy 8 inch square baking dish.  Drizzle olive oil onto them and season.    

Mix butter with herbs, salt, and pepper. 

You may want to do the next bit wearing gloves.  Carefully loosen the skin from the chicken.   Massage the herb butter under the skin, and on the meat not covered by skin.

Lay strips of bacon across the top; covering as much of the turkey as possible.

Insert a probe thermometer into the thickest part of the meat, making sure it’s not touching bone. Set it to 165.

Pour the wine into the bottom of the baking dish and set breast on top of the potatoes.

Bake at 325 until the internal temp reaches 150.  Turn the oven to low broiler, and continue cooking until it reaches your target temp of 165 (And make sure it makes it all the way to 165.  Undercooked poultry can kill—no fooling).OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERALet it rest for 10 minutes or so and then carve and serve, along with the roasted potatoes.  The liquid in the baking dish can be poured into a small pot and cooked over medium-high heat until it reduces to sauce-like consistency.  Spoon it over the meat and potatoes.

The bacon serves a few purposes.  First, it continuously bastes the turkey while cooking, keeping it moist.  Second, the rendered bacon adds flavor and crispyness to the finished breast.

And third, it’s bacon.  It’s a universal truth that anytime and anyplace is the right time and place for bacon.

All hail our porcine overlord.  We acknowledge and welcome your bacon-y dominion over us puny mortals.Thanks for your time.

Thanks a lot, Durham

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

I was so beguiled by the bounty I literally forgot I had a family.I was standing inside Big Bundts, owned by Kristen Benkendorfer.  It’s in that striking brushed silver ADF building on Broad Street, where Hummingbird Bakery used to be.  I’d visited before and the brownie Bundt bite had already made me a true believer.  The bites are tiny, adorable little cakes; decadently moist and deeply chocolate.  They’re about 2-3 bites for any sane person, but I nibble on one for hours—it’s either pace myself or eat my weight in them.Well, I’d already asked for three of them, as they’re sold 3/$5.  But then I spied some cupcakes, which looked exactly like Hostess cupcakes.  You know, cream-filled chocolate, frosted with more chocolate, and a white swirly on top?

I ordered two of them as well.

I was floating through the parking lot with cheesy Carrie Bradshaw/Sex in the City visions filling my head: lounging on a stylish sofa in my gorgeous New York flat, hair and makeup perfect, wearing $7,000 couture pajamas, while attractively devouring my treats, which for daydream purposes contained zero calories and were as healthful as a kale smoothie.

Glamorous Fantasy

 

Embarrassing Reality

Then I got to the jeep, where Petey was waiting.  I crashed back to reality, “Oh crapola! Not only do I have a Petey, The Kid’s coming for dinner!”

So, they ate, and of course, loved my cupcakes.

But the confectionary-induced amnesia reminded me again, how lucky we Bull City denizens are to live and eat in such an amazing food town.  In honor of tomorrow’s day of national gratitude I thought I would offer a partial list of favorite food-connected businesses (to list every culinary tidbit of Durham that I’m thankful for would make War and Peace look like an abridged instruction manual for a fork).Dog House.  They sell the best dogs in town.  The food is consistently superior and the employees always friendly.  Plus; crinkle fries and pink lemonade.

For thoughtful, faithful, delicious Southern food, we’re lucky to have Amy Tornquist’s Watts Grocery.  Chef Amy takes no shortcuts, and both celebrates and elevates our culinary heritage.  They also have a stellar brunch, serving churros and homemade chocolate sauce that’re so good they practically reduce me to tears (or at very least, seconds).Over on 9th Street is Elmo’s Diner, which never disappoints.  Their sweet potato pancakes are the best flapjacks I’ve ever eaten.  Somehow they make something as simple as a spinach salad extra tasty.

Five points has an embarrassment of tasty riches. The Cupcake Bar’s rotating menu ensures that every visitor can find a flavor that makes them as happy as a kid at an amusement park.  Plus, they have Mexican Coke, ice-cold chocolate milk, and their miraculous frosting shots.

Boy am I glad I finally visited Dame’s Chicken and Waffles.  Somehow they turn the volume on flavor up to 11.  They’re constantly rocking, so unless you have more patience than a tree farmer, go online and make a reservation.Every time I walk into The Parlour ice cream shop I feel like I’m six-years-old at my own birthday party.  It’s a simple yet sophisticated pleasure that makes even the grumpiest among us grin like a demented game show host.

The Durham co-op has become a city institution.  I love everything about this place.  But I’m especially grateful for the pea shoots in produce, the seven-grain bread in the bakery, and the spinach/chick pea salad in the prepared case.For the second year in a row, Petey and I will dine at C&H cafeteria for Thanksgiving.  The food’s great, Petey can get a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for less than eight bucks, and I can get something other than turkey (here’s hoping they’ll have veal Parmesan again).  Plus they’ll put one of their delicious, homemade desserts in a to-go box for me.

This is truthfully just a tiny slice of the places and people that make the Bull City so very special.  And I know my feelings aren’t unique.  So, the next time you’re in one of your well-loved businesses, let them know how much you appreciate them.

You’ll make their day, I promise.Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.

Thanks for your time.