Author: momsequitur

Open letter to me at age 25

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Hey Debbie,

So! How’s 1989 going?  I know that you think there’s nothing left to learn, but I’m writing to you from 2015 to stop you from making the same mistakes that this Debbie made.

First the bad news: There are no flying cars, and they still haven’t invented comfortable high heels.

They don’t call ’em killer heels for nothing…

But the good news is they’re done making “Police Academy” movies.

Never again will a child go to the movies and be at risk of seeing this.

Now take a deep breath, because I have a shocker.  In a few years you’ll have a baby.  And stranger still, it won’t be an accident, it’ll be on purpose.

katey duke grdns

Is this kid awesome or what?

The baby will turn out to be awesome.  Known as The Kid, this child will give you constant boatloads of joy, and only infrequent, fleeting moments of aggravation.

Becoming a mother will deepen your interest in cooking.  You’ll become pretty good at it.  In fact, your fascination with food and love of writing will result in your own culinary column in The Herald-Sun.  Don’t laugh — it’s true, I promise.

Now for the advice.

Pre-packaged and fast foods may seem convenient and a good idea right now, but don’t do it.  The Kid will possess a well-rounded palate, be curious about new flavors, and open to experimentation.  Take advantage of this.  Serve real food.

Just say no.

Petey will develop mild high blood pressure.  You will be tempted to cut salt from his diet.  It’s unnecessary.  Your husband’s sodium intake will be drastically slashed by doing one simple thing: ruthlessly limit processed food.

Seasoning food while cooking, and using the salt shaker with restraint is only about 10 percent of one’s sodium intake.  All the rest comes from pre-fab foods, like soda, canned soup, and even jarred spaghetti sauce.

processed

This stuff will happily see you dead.

So cut it out!

You’ve now been overweight for half your life.  And having a baby only makes the problem worse.  At one point you will weigh almost 250 pounds.

But as I write this, we’ve been at a healthy weight for 3 years now.  Believe it or not, we go down to 122 pounds, and wear a size 4.  Feel free to do your happy dance here.

It doesn’t come from a trendy diet or exercising like a maniac.  And there was no surgery involved.

You’ll finally crack the code and figure out what will work for you for the rest of your life.  Crazy diets may get you there, but are of no help once the goal is reached.  You need something you can live with.  Eliminating potato salad, pasta, cake, and other faves only creates a gut-busting time bomb.

You can eat this and still fit into your jeans.

Mindfulness, moderation, and consistency are the keys.  Eat healthfully whenever you can.  If the more nutritious alternative is just as tasty, then eat that.  Don’t ban treats; just be cognizant of everything that goes into your mouth.  Never take the whole bag of chips into the living room and stuff your face, zombie-like.

Balm for the soul.

The forest behind your house is beautiful and has miles of trails; get your hands on some rubber boots, grab the dog, put on some music, and go.  Don’t wait a quarter of a century before exploring.  No matter what’s going on, it’s impossible to be stressed out back there.  Before you know it, you’ll be going three miles at a stretch, and loving every step.  Besides, regular exercise works off the occasional Milky Way.

Stop wasting food.  You’re only cooking for two, so a 4-pound meatloaf doesn’t make sense.  Keep your fridge cleaned out and well-organized.  It will be easier to see what you have and eat it before it goes wonky.

Use your freezer for something other than Eskimo Pies and batteries.  Instead of tossing that one serving left from supper, freeze it, and have Petey take it to work for lunch.  If you don’t use an entire bag of frozen veg, put what’s left in a zip-top bag and add subsequent extras to it.  Soon you’ll have enough for a meal.  But please, always label and date the bags.  You may think you’ll remember what it is, but frozen, all food looks alike.

Pick the brains of all the good cooks you know, and one day people will ask you for advice.

Oh yeah, and Debbie?  About that mullet.

Ditch it.

But everybody was doing it.

Thanks for your time.

Letting go

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Originally Published in the Herald Sun 2/2012

In March, I bought a six inch piece of beef tenderloin. It was just ordinary grocery store meat, but still cost about twenty-four or five dollars. Due to circumstances too embarrassing to relate here, the dish it was meant for never got made.
So it has shunted around the freezer since then, forlorn and forgotten. The packaging was torn, and the longer it subsided in sub-zero hell, the more icy damage was done. Guilty and resentful, I ignored it.But the other day I was in a “what the hey” kinda mood, and I called that puppy up to the majors.

I thought about Beef Wellington, the original purpose for which it was purchased. But Welli is complicated and very time-consuming if it is made from scratch. I enjoy that kind of thing normally, but my heart would break if I went to all that work and it was awful because the beef was so freezer burnt.

Freezer burnt

Sad…just sad.

I thought about dishes that might hide the deficiencies of the meat and thought about chicken-fried steak. But it seemed both ridiculously indulgent, and crazy heavy, even for a lean cut like tenderloin. I thought about cutting it thinly, seared quickly, then served with a pan sauce of some sort. I went to Aunt Betty’s Cookie Store and bought a small bottle of cognac just for this purpose.
Yesterday when I went to clean it up and slice it, I cut it into three pretty 1 1/2 inch steaks, and a smaller one for steak and eggs, a favorite of Petey’s. I would cook it in my cast iron, and just go for it. Consequences be damned.
I’ve been seeing restaurants on TV that specialize in steaks. One of the things they all have in common is cooking at extremely high heat, some at higher than one thousand degrees. Now I can’t approach that temp, but I cranked the heat under my cast iron pan, and got it literally smoking, scary hot.

smoking cast iron

If you can’t stand the heat, just order take-out.

I tied the fillets with a piece of butcher’s twine to keep them round and attractive. Right before I put them in the pan, I massaged them all over with olive oil (I’ve since learned that canola oil has a much higher smoke point than olive, and can take higher temps without blackening) and heavily sprinkled them with just kosher salt, and coarsely cracked black pepper. I inserted a probe thermometer into the thickest steak set at 125 for medium-rare, and laid them into their molten metallic bed. And quickly jumped back, because them babies started hissing and spitting.
At the 43 degrees which they started out, they would need to cook for a while. But since I figured the meat was so damaged there was a good chance our protein that night would come from Burger King, I didn’t stress. I just barely lowered the temp under the pan and put a lid on it, slightly ajar, to keep most of the heat from escaping.
What I was looking for was a heavy crust on both sides and a beautiful juicy pink on the inside. But, in my eyes the meat was already ruined, so I threw caution to the wind.
When the probe reached 110, I flipped the meat over. I got a tad worried, because it looked browner than I would normally allow it to go on the first side. I lowered the heat a little more, forgot about it again, and took it out of the pan when it chimed at 125. I set it aside to rest and turned my attention back to the pan.
I threw in some diced shallots, and when they had colored and softened, I poured in the small bottle of cognac (3.8 ozs and I don’t buy the best, I’m cooking with it here). I scraped all the stuff off the bottom of the pan.

pan sauce

Building a pan sauce.

After it had reduced ’til it coated the back of the spoon (called nape; pronounced nap-ay), I took it off the heat and whisked in a little pat of butter (maybe 1/2 tablespoon). This is called mounting, and gives a silky finish to your pan sauce. Most French chefs would use way more butter mounting a sauce, but I’ve grown fond of my heart beating at regular intervals, and Petey’s getting older (unlike myself).
You know what? It was honestly the best filet mignon I’ve ever made (we really didn’t need the sauce, but the sauce was good). The lack of confidence in the meat, and the benign neglect had turned into a correctly cooked steak. Instead of fiddling and obsessing, I just let go.

It seems every time I have a culinary breakthrough, the lesson seems to be something like, “Get over yourself, you big drama queen! It knows what it needs. You’re just along for the ride.” Being alive for almost half a century, married for almost thirty years, and with a kid in college you think I would’ve learned that lesson by now. Maybe this time it’ll stick, I’m almost sort of sure it will.

The Herald-Sun | Christine T. Nguyen on Thursday, October 10, 2013.

That’s me, checking my steak for tenderness.

Thanks for you time.

’cause life is hard enough

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

My very favorite line from the original Star Trek series is, “I’m a doctor, not an escalator!”

Hilarious, yes, but I kind of know from where Bones was coming.

On any given day, most people’s plates are too full.  Jobs, school, families, you name it, folks barely have time to draw a breath.  And getting three meals a day into bellies is practically a full-time job by itself.

After putting your heart into making a meal for the family, preparing different dishes for each diner is just cray-cray.

Dammit Jim, I’m an exhausted mom, not a short-order cook.

When The Kid lived at home, the three members of the Matthews family band ate dinner together every week night.  I usually cooked, and each night spouse and child had two choices.

Eat what I’ve cooked, or PB&J.

I know the palates of Petey and The Kid, and what they particularly like or don’t like; neither can stand cabbage or beets, but don’t ever get between them and seafood or broccoli.  So, I seldom cooked stuff that they vehemently dislike.

Luckily neither are picky eaters.

Growing up, my brother Bud, on the other hand, was quite the picky eater.  We did discover later though, that if the food in question was drench-able in cheese sauce or ranch dressing, the chances of ingestion were vastly improved.

But often my mom would make, if not two entirely different dinners, at least two sets of sides.  There weren’t tons of foods that everybody liked.  Although my dad, having been in the military, will eat anything that’s on a plate and doesn’t move.

One time when I was in elementary school, we visited my dad’s family in Pittsburgh.  My Aunt Eliza made us dinner during our stay.

My dad’s big sister was what used to be called a “career girl.”  Unmarried, she was an executive of a bank, and lived by herself in her own home.  Nowadays it’s known as being a woman.  To me, she was very glamorous and exciting.  She is also the person that taught me that in the winter-time you don’t have to shave above your knees — big thanks, Aunt Eliza.

The dinner she made for us that night was a revelation.  We all loved it, even Bud.  It was a dish that was super popular for ’70s dinner parties.  My mom, between bites, asked for the recipe, and it’s become one of our family’s favorite dinners.

Here is that original dish.  I’ve tried different twists on it, but it’s never as good as when Mom makes it directly from the instructions Aunt Eliza gave her all those years ago.

Beef Stroganoff

 2 pounds sirloin tips, cut into bite-size pieces

 2 beef bouillon cubes

 3 or 4 cloves garlic, diced

 ½ yellow onion, chopped

 ½ cup sour cream

 1 tablespoon sherry

 2 cups water

 1 pound mushrooms, sliced

 3 tablespoons tomato paste

 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

 All-purpose flour

 Butter

 Salt & pepper

Season flour.  Put some butter into large frying pan and melt over medium heat.  Coat sirloin tips with flour and brown in butter. Put chopped onions and garlic in with meat to soften.  While meat cooks, heat water and bouillon cubes separately in a large pot.  When meat has browned, empty skillet into the bouillon-water along with sherry and turn to low, stirring often.  When meat is cooked tender, melt a bit more butter in the frying pan and cook mushrooms, then stir in tomato paste, sour cream, and Worcestershire. Cook a couple minutes, then add to pot with meat and combine.  Cook for about 10 minutes –bingo (the word bingo was actually in the recipe Mom sent me).

Traditionally, this is served over noodles.  The other night Petey and I enjoyed it over some porcini egg pasta I’d scored at Big Lots.  But like most unctuous, meaty, sauce-y types, it’s delicious over any kind of starch.

Although Bud and I share the same chin (thanks bunches, Dad), we are really very, very different people.  Like Donny and Marie used to sing, he’s a little bit country, and I’m a little bit rock ’n’ roll.

But we never disagree about our love of Aunt Eliza’s stroganoff, by way of Mom.

Je suis Charlie.

Notes on a spinach salad

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

When I was first given the opportunity to write this weekly love letter to food and the Bull City, I was completely at sea.  I had all kinds of questions.

What can I write about?

What can’t I write about?

What if nobody likes my recipes?

What if I stink at this?

To my surprise, I really only had two commandments.  The column should have something to do with food.  And, it should be warts-and-all-honest.  That’s why you have access to multiple humiliating facts about me, and all of the friends and loved ones about whom I write enjoy aliases.

So sit back and relax.  I’m about to share two strange personal mental facts, one mildly embarrassing, and one just plain bizarre.

First, the red-faced factoid: unlike the vast majority of preschool-aged children, I don’t know my right from left.  I’m not completely ignorant, if I really think about it, I can usually get it right two times out of three.  But it’s not instinctual the way it is for everyone else.  For the love of all that’s holy, do not ask me for directions.

The other odd fact is I hear numbers in a rhythm in my brain, and so remember them forever.  I know phone numbers from junior high, zip codes from places I haven’t written to in decades.  Driver’s license number?  Petey’s social?  Expired credit card numbers?  Yep, yep, yep.

And this, unfortunately, is pretty much it for my arithmetical prowess.  I’m straight-up bad at math.

But there’s one algebraic formula that I know inside and out.

Spinach salad computation.

Along with ranch dressing, this is another food I ate for the first time at Mama Cat’s table.

Her components remain the classic elements of anything calling itself a spinach salad.

Spinach: Years ago, when purchasing spinach at the grocery store, it was usually mature, and curly-leafed.  The pre-washed baby variety is currently everywhere.  Curly-leafed is now so rare, it is literally almost extinct.  I like a 5-6 leaf to bite ratio.

Mushroom: About ¾ cup of thickly sliced mushrooms should be in a main-course sized serving.  Use button, cremini, or portobello.  The ‘shrooms are important, but should be of a milder type, so as not to hijack the rest of the elements.

Red onion: Slice them paper-thin into half-moons.  Use about ¼ cup (although true raw onion-haters, like Petey, can be forgiven for omitting).

Bacon:  Was there ever a lovelier word?  The only constraint here is your own concern for cholesterol levels.  I use 3-4 slices, cooked until very crispy, and broken into the bowl at the very last minute, so as to retain that crispiness.

Eggs:  Two per, hard-cooked.  But hard-cooked skillfully.  No green yolks or funky odors.  To achieve this, place eggs in a pot of cold water and add a handful of salt and 2 tablespoons vinegar.  Bring to a boil over medium-high heat.  At that point, remove from heat, cover and let sit for 13 minutes.  Then drain and peel right away under cold water.

Cheese: Not in that first salad, but optional and acceptable.  Diner’s choice as to type.

Dressing:  Ranch, of course.  But the original, made from a packet with mayo, and real buttermilk (use fat-free buttermilk, you’ll never notice the difference).

Just like all of cooking, balance is key.  Balance between flavors and balance of textures.  You need sweet, sour, salty, and bitter.  You need silky, crispy, juicy, and soft.

All you need is a fork and a bowl...

All you need is a fork and a bowl…

The one item which would have perfected the balance of that first salad was something sweet and juicy.  Tomatoes or berries are traditionally used for this.  But last week I used fresh clementine segments, and it was really good.

You can also add nuts, or replace your bacon with them (1/4 to 1/3 cup).  It will bring the same crispy, salty crunch.  They’re also much more nutritious.

And because it’s a salad, each forkful will have a varied combination of ingredients and amounts.  So each component should be tasty on its own, and play well with everything else.

With a little practice and experimentation, you can produce your own stellar salad equation.  But if you stumble, just add more bacon or ranch, and it’ll be tasty enough.

Thanks for your time.

Fee day-o come and I want to eat some

/ momsequitur / 1 Comment

In my daydreams, I’m glamorous and alluring.  Late at night, after an exclusive party, my driver brings me home to my large tastefully-decorated apartment in a luxury building in Art Deco City.

There, still attired in slinky velvet and expensive shoes, I whip up an intimate late supper for my gentleman friend Cary Grant and myself.

This may look like Greta Garbo, but it’s me I tells ya!

In the real world though, money can be tight, and Petey and I need some grub to fill our bellies.  So I still make dinner for two but clothed in a sweat suit and my fuzzy Wigwam socks.

But in both realities, it’s the same dish; a fideo (fid-ay-oh) frittata.  It’s an Italian open-faced omelet.  They’re usually studded with potatoes.  This one isn’t.  This one’s flecked with fideo.

Fideo is the Spanish word for noodle.  This variety is about 2 inches long, and the width of angel hair pasta.  The La Moderna brand is widely available in the Latin section of most grocery stores.  It’s also usually very cheap—like 2 or 3 bags for a dollar cheap.It’s traditionally used in a Mexican soup.  The fideo cooking process though, is not the normal noodle soup method of just tossing it raw into pot of soup.  The secret is in the toasting.

Oil is added to a skillet, and the fideo is gently tossed until brown and nutty.  In my frittata, after rendering the bacon, I pour out all the fat, but don’t wipe the pan, and what little bit of bacon grease left is what I use.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Toasted fideo–it’s worth the effort in the finished product.

It’s the height of folly to employ neglect or abandonment during the toasting portion of the program.  It only takes 5-7 minutes, and even I; impatience incarnate, can manage that.

Getting all your fillings cooked off and out of the way will make the assembly and cooking a breeze whether you’re just in from a late night, or it’s simply time for dinner.   I make my fillings early in the day and stash ‘em in the fridge until it’s time to cook.  You can even do them the day before.  Then in less than 15 minutes you could be sitting down to a meal.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Tossing and coating.

This frittata can be eaten with toast and a fruit salad for breakfast, or some mixed greens, crusty bread, and a glass of dry white for supper.  The other night I served it with some herb-roasted grape tomatoes (and glasses of sun tea).

Fideo Frittata

3 cups broccoli, cut into small florets and blanched until just tender

1/2 small onion, chopped

2 cups mushrooms sliced

2 tablespoons sliced sun-dried tomatoes in oil

2 slices bacon

3/4 cups raw fideo

2 cups chicken stock

6 eggs, well-beaten and seasoned with salt and pepper

1/3 cup mozzarella cheese, cubed or coarsely shredded

3/4 cup Marsala

2 teaspoons olive oil

2 tablespoons butter

Salt and pepper

Cut bacon into 1/2 inch strips, and cook until brown and crispy in heat-proof non-stick skillet.  Remove and place on paper towels.  Discard oil, but don’t wipe out pan.

Put fideo in same pan, and stirring constantly, sauté until pasta has turned amber.  Pour chicken stock into skillet and cook pasta until tender, about 5 minutes.  Drain and set aside.

In same skillet, add olive oil, and cook mushrooms and onions until the edges have begun to crisp and caramelize.  Deglaze pan with Marsala and cook until the liquid has cooked out.

 At this point, you can stop, store everything, and finish later.

Preheat oven to 375.

Heat pan, and melt butter.  Add all the veggies and fideo and toss to coat.  Pour in egg, jiggling so it’s evenly distributed.  Scatter mozzarella and bacon over the top.  Cook for a couple of minutes, ’til bottom is set.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

After assembly, before the oven.

Place in oven and cook for 8-10 minutes.  Remove from oven when middle is just set (check by cutting small slit in center), cheese is melted, and bacon has begun to sizzle.  Don’t let it get brown.

Slice and serve.  Serves 2- 4.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Dinner elegante!

When sliced and plated with a crispy, bright salad, my fideo frittata looks pretty fancy (even though in my real life the closest I get to sophistication is watching BBC America while wearing pants).

Thanks for your time.

Me-O, My-O, Mayo

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Originally published in the Herald Sun 5/2012

Hello, my name is Debbie Matthews, and I am a white food addict. I just love starches. Right now in my kitchen there is rice, potatoes (white and fingerlings), six different bread products, and about eight different pasta shapes. Just tonight I came home from Costco with enough blue box mac to feed the whole Duggar family for a week. And, no children live at our house. Petey and I will take care of it all.

That’s the stuff.

As much as I love a fluffy baked potato, or a piece of sourdough toast, though, I’ve got to be honest. Just like cake is the delivery device for the frosting, white food is an especially scrumptious platform for the fat I put on it.

Mashed potatoes and gravy. Buttered rice with peas. Pasta with Alfredo sauce. Fresh bagels with obscene amounts of cream cheese.

…and I mean obscene.

And mayonnaise is always in my fridge, and I suspect in most of yours. Unfortunately, because of mayo’s familiarity, we tend to take it for granted. But think about it. Where would your tuna sandwich, potato salad, and deviled eggs be without our creamy friend?

Perfect resting place for mayo.

Perfect resting place for mayo.

It’s a little bit like family. They’re not really appreciated until we feel that they’re being dissed. You want to start a fight? Walk into a room, and announce that Miracle Whip is an abomination. Or, conversely, declare that Duke’s sucks, and Miracle Whip is the only true mayo. Folks will be riled up for hours. I promise.
For many, many years, I was a true-blue Kraft girl. That’s what my mom bought, and that’s what I grew up with. I did have a short-term fling with Duke’s. A cook gave me a terrific lemon potato salad recipe that only works well if made with Duke’s. Soon, though the egginess and lack of zing sent me back into Kraft’s awaiting arms.
One day, The Kid, Petey and I ate at the Raleigh Times (14 E. Hargett St, downtown Raleigh). We were there because we had heard their burgers were amazing. They are. But–they make their fries from scratch–even more amazing. When they brought us delicious mayo to dunk the wonderful fries in, we were convinced it was homemade. It wasn’t; it was Hellmann’s. From that day forward, we were a Hellmann’s family.
No matter which jar you grab at the grocery store, there is an interesting alternative. Make your own. It’s not hard to do, just hard on your arm muscles. You can make it in a blender. But, to really understand how the process works, making it the most basic way is best. Besides, I’ve never made it in a blender, so I can’t speak to that.
The tools are important. You need a nice round bowl, deep enough so you won’t cover yourself in mayo while whisking. A whisk–the bigger the whisk, the more work it will do for you. A vessel for the oil. The first few times I made it, I poured the oil into a large measuring cup, and moved it into the bowl with a small ladle. Eventually, when I got the procedure down, I bought a squeeze bottle, like what ketchup and mustard come in.
The ingredients are simple. It’s likely you have them on hand most of the time. Just remember to take your time. It’s easy to make, but just as easy to ruin.

mayo

Mayo.

Basic Homemade Mayonnaise

2 egg yolks1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
pinch of cayenne pepper
salt and pepper
1 lemon
2 cups (aprox) canola or other mild flavored oil

Place yolks in a bowl with mustard. Whisk them together. Now, here is where it can get tricky. Slowly, one ladle at a time, add the oil. As you’re pouring with one hand, whisk vigorously with the other. When all the oil is incorporated, add another. It should take 3-4 additions of oil before you notice the emulsion beginning. To check, scrape the whisk along the bottom of the bowl. It should hold, and you will see the bowl bottom. With an emulsion, you can add a little faster. But don’t just dump the oil in. You can still destroy your mayo, and end up with a bowl of a watery mess.
When you have a nice, thick bowl of mayo, stop adding oil. This is where you flavor and finish. Add half the juice of the lemon. Liberally salt and pepper. Add the cayenne. Then taste. Fiddle with the flavors ’til you are satisfied.

Homemade mayo is great on tons of stuff. I love to mix it in orzo, fresh aspargus, baby arugula, and some halved grape tomatoes. This makes a tasty, chilled, spring salad.
Made yourself, mayo has all kinds of flavor that doesn’t come in a jar. You can add Tabasco for spice. Or, for garlic mayo, poach a few cloves in some oil. When it’s cooled you can use the oil in the mayo. Use all of the lemon, and garlic infused oil, and you have a lemon-garlic aioli. The kind of stuff that goes for ten bucks a jar at a gourmet grocer. Add pickle relish, a teaspoon of sugar, and some vinegar, you’ve got tartar sauce. Let your imagination go wild.
I was always sure I couldn’t make an emulsion. But, once I tried making it, I realized, as long as I take my time, it’s hard to mess up. And it’s a flavor you just can’t buy.
Homemade is yummy and easy. But some dishes just needs the old supermarket stand-bye to taste right. That’s why I’m still “Team Hellmann’s”.
Which team are you?

Thanks for your time.

Pennies from heaven

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

I consider myself a pretty good home cook.

But even if I won the Nobel prize in brownies, the Pulitzer in meatloaf, or even an Oscar for my green pork chili, my friend Bosco would never let me forget about the cheese straws I made for him.

When The Kid was in preschool, I worked for my friend Bosco at his bookstore.  I thought of him as kind of favorite uncle, who needed my feminine ministrations.  He would let his glasses get so dirty that I had no idea how he was able to read with them.  So, I made it my job to keep them clean.

I also took it upon myself to make him treats.  On Tuesdays I would bring in some type of snack.  Because he was born and raised in NC, one of the first things I decided to make him was cheese straws.

I did some research, found a recipe that sounded authentic, and set to work.

Unfortunately, I had no idea that cheese straws were pastry.  And worse still, I had no clue about the care and handling of pastry dough.  Despite my ignorance, I jumped in and whipped up a batch.

The next day at the store I proudly presented the fruits of my labors to Bosco.

He bit into one, and got a very funny look on his face.

Bosco is a properly-raised Southern gentleman, so I knew him well enough by now to realize there was something very, very wrong with my gift.  So I took one, and bit into it.

If my goal had been to create a new material for rubber boots, they’d have been a rousing success.  But for a flaky cheese straw, it was a heart-rending failure.

When you overwork pastry dough it will develop the gluten and be tough and elastic.

Well, my batch was so developed that it needed a training bra.

I was mortified and grief-stricken, and try as he might, Bosco couldn’t keep peals of laughter from erupting.  And once the comedy dam was breached, all bets were off with my well-mannered, genteel friend.

Forever after any mention of straws, cheese, or my cooking ability has been met with witty one-liners referring to the rubber balls I’d tried to pass off as food.

A few years later, my baking skills had grown so that I was able to make him some pretty tasty tidbits.  But mine were a round cracker shape.  And because the cheese turned them a burnished amber color while baking, I renamed them.

Copper pennies

1 stick plus 6 tablespoons butter (14 tablespoons), room temperature

3 cups sharp Cheddar cheese

1 & 3/4 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling

1/8 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon ground cayenne pepper, more or less to taste

1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

Put the flour, cheese and butter into the container of a food processor. Add salt, cayenne, and Worcestershire. Cover and briefly pulse until the dough comes together and starts to form large lumps.

Remove dough from bowl of food processor, and gently knead just until it comes together and you can shape it into a disk (this is where you can go off the rails, overwork the dough, and end up with a tough finished product).  Divide the disk into four equal portions and roll into logs about 8 inches long by 2 inches in diameter.

Chill logs for at least one hour and then cut into ¼ inch slices. Sprinkle the tops with a little sea or kosher salt.  Place onto parchment lined baking sheet ¼ inch apart.

Bake in preheated 300° oven for 15 minutes and then spin pan 180 degrees and bake 15 minutes more.  At this point, without opening oven, turn off heat and let cheese straws sit inside oven 45 minutes to crisp up.

Remove and let cool.  Makes 6-8 dozen.

The rolls of dough can be refrigerated and baked off for cravings or visitors.  The Kid is serving them at a Christmas party.  For a change, press a pecan half onto each slice before baking.

There’s no joke to close out the column this week.  Just my heartfelt wish for the happiest of holidays for you and yours.

Thanks for your time.

Pink Sauce

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Originally published in the Herald Sun September 2011.

So, The Kid came home a few days ago, finished with six months of summer internship and first-time completely independent living. Petey and I filled the fridge with childhood favorites like Clementines and RC Cola, and counted the hours.
I made a big pot of childhood’s favorite guilty pleasure; pink sauce.
Despite being the child of an Italian girl from Jersey, I have never liked red sauce (called Sunday gravy by my mom and her sisters). Consequently, I never made it. If Petey or The Kid wanted spaghetti and meatballs, they had to leave home, and get their fix on the streets.
Because I wanted to make some kind of spaghetti for the family, but mainly because I’m always looking for something thick and yummy to ladle onto carbs, I came up with this coral-colored, indulgent concoction.
I invented this recipe before I could really cook, and The Kid has loved it for years. This sauce is not for the faint of heart. It should be no more than an occasional treat if you want to fit into your jeans or look your doctor in the eye. Fat is flavor, and can be the culinary equivilant of false eyelashes and push-up bra for the novice cook.
A big pot of this bubbling velvet starts the day before the finished dish. I make a batch of meatballs. My walnut-sized offerings are made with a mixture of ground veal and pork. Before the meat even comes out of the fridge, I make a panade. A panade is a bread ripped into tiny pieces and soaked until saturated.
My soak is egg, cream, shredded Parm, finely chopped garlic, chiffonade of basil, a splash of both olive oil and marsala wine, and salt and pepper. When the bread and the soak are one, I break the ground meat into small pieces and lightly mix, almost fold the mixture together. If you go nuts and mix your meatballs too much, they will be rubbery and dry.
I can’t fry a spherical meatball to save my life. So, I bake them, on a cooling rack over a cookie sheet, at 350 for twelve minutes, and a few minutes minutes under the broiler, flipped once. This gives them some color that translates to flavor in the finished product.
To get them uniform in size, I use a smallish cookie/portion scoop. I roll them into balls, sprinkle them with salt, pepper, and a little bit of freshly ground nutmeg. About eighteen or so go in the sauce, and any extra go in the freezer for future use.
The sauce itself is pretty simple. I brown 10-12 Italian sausages that I’ve cut into one inch slices. I remove them from the pot and carmelize about 1 1/2 pounds of sliced mushrooms, a small onion chopped, and five or six chopped cloves of garlic. Then I add back the sausage and a can of tomato paste. When the paste has cooked to a deep burgundy, I deglaze with a cup of marsala. When the wine is almost gone, I dump in a quart of chicken stock and 2 cups of cream. Into it I put a couple of tablespoons of sundried tomatoes, 1/2 cup shredded Parm, a tablespoon of sugar, 2 tablespoons of chopped basil, a drizzle of olive oil, and salt and pepper to taste.
When it comes to a boil I thicken it slightly with a peanut butter colored roux and add the meatballs. It then slowly cooks for hours on the stove top.
When we’re ready to eat, I toss in another handful of chopped basil for fresh flavor.
I serve it on spaghetti, bake it into ziti, and use it on a ton of other things. The Kid is convinced it would be tasty on an old tennis shoe. Tonight we’re having leftover sauce on rice, my personal favorite.
Thanks for your time.

Honest to goodness free lunch

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment
OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Roasties, sitting in a hot duck fat jacuzzi.

As much as we love it, our family jokes that the worst first date ever would be lunch consisting only of Costco’s free samples.

We adore nibbling our way through the warehouse, and grazing our weight in little bites.

But imagine a lunch date with a brand-new beau, dining on hand-outs.  Not a great first impression.

Last week Petey, The Kid and I visited Costco (1510 North Pointe Drive, Durham).  Because of the holidays, the number of silver food trollies had vastly increased.  We noshed our way through, made our purchases, and left for our next stop.

My mom and dad live in Greensboro, and when visiting, it’s a huge treat to stop by Fresh Market.  So much so, that a few years ago, I asked Santa for a gift card.

There’s a lot to love.  They have a large produce section, full of all the usual suspects, and many lesser known fruit and veg that are usually hard to find.  They have an awesome bakery with a huge variety of beautiful freshly baked breads, and dangerous, decadent desserts.

But no area has the ability to zombify me like the prepared food department zombifies me.

It’s a large island in the middle of the store, with a multitude of ready-to-eat consumables.  Deli, ethnic, finger food, dinner components, you name it.

Their store-made pimento cheese has ruined me.  I literally no longer eat or like any other kind—and I’ve tried.

So upon leaving Costco, we eagerly visited the new Fresh Market (4215 University Drive, Durham), which had opened the previous day.

The place was packed.  Walking into the vestibule where the shopping carts are stored, we were greeted by stacks of the biggest apples I’ve ever seen.  They were honestly as big as a baby’s head.

Creepy yes, but the apples were this big.

Inside the store was a battalion of employees offering a myriad of samples.  Here is only a partial list:

Green salads with 3 different types of dressing

A fruit platter with glossy strawberries, melon, and pineapple

Brie on crackers with roasted garlic, caramelized onion jam

Crab cakes with spicy remoulade

Large servings of slow-cooked baby back ribs

Apple pie

Blueberry banana walnut bread

Onion-y Jarlsberg dip

Smoked Gouda

Fresh brioche

Roasted chicken salad; the best I’ve ever had

And, enough wine to get completely snockered (I wisely stopped after 2 tastes, so as not to embarrass myself)

There was more, but being in a food coma will do things to one’s memory.

At one point, The Kid grabbed me.  In my child’s hand was a tub of rendered duck fat.  This hard to find item is the holy grail of culinary adipose.  It adds huge flavor to anything cooked with it.  Chefs don’t call it ‘liquid gold’ for nothing.

As soon as I saw it, I tossed it into our cart.  I already knew the first thing I would prepare with it.

Duck fat roasties

Roasties are the roasted potatoes traditionally served with an UK Sunday lunch; a big traditional family dinner.  They are beautiful golden spuds, lightly crispy on the outside, and creamy on the inside.

6-8 large, similarly sized and shaped Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled

¼ cup duck fat

1 tablespoon Canola oil

½ teaspoon kosher salt plus more for boiling water

Preheat oven to 400 degrees.  Place potatoes into a large pot of salted water and bring to boil.  Boil for 5 minutes.

Remove spuds from water and place in colander.  Roll potatoes around in the colander to rough up the outsides.  This step is very important as the rough surfaces will crisp up and color while roasting.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

A roughed-up spud, ready to roast.

Place roasting pan into the oven with the fat until the pan and fat are very hot.  Remove from oven, and put in spuds, making sure the pan is big enough so that they don’t touch.

Season potatoes, then roast, turning them every 15 minutes for 45-60 minutes, or until outside is golden, and insides are tender.

Serves 3-4.

After paying for the duck fat, and some of that amazing chicken salad, we hauled our bloated carcasses to the car.  And I decided that the gastronomic bacchanal at the new Fresh Market would have made the best first date ever (for me, anyway).

Thanks for your time.

Cook Today, Chili Tamale

/ momsequitur / Leave a comment

Originally published in the Herald Sun 1/4/2012

I’m not a chili fan. Never sat in front of a bowl of red with anticipation. Wendy’s chili moves me not. Keep that mess away from my dog, I’m a sauerkraut girl. The Kid feels pretty much the same way, except for the sauerkraut (loathes it).
But, we love, adore, and relish a big bowl of a homemade favorite; green pork chili.
It is a pot of many wonders. It’s cheap. It’s easy (not quick-but easy). It can be made on a Saturday afternoon, and will taste even better heated up on a busy Wednesday night. It freezes like a dream, so you can make gallons at a time. If you play your cards right, you can get an extra hunk of slow-cooked pork to use for another meal.
And it’s so very yummy. It’s rich and hearty, without being heavy or greasy. It is jammed full of fresh, healthy veggies, that have cooked down into a rich, roasted nirvana. It’s mellow and comforting, but has a little zip from fresh chiles, lime and cilantro.
It all starts with my old friend, a pork shoulder, or Boston butt (tee hee). Look for it on sale, and buy as big a piece as you have a pot for. You’ll need at least 2-3 pounds for a nice big batch of green. The amounts of the vegetables can also vary, according to taste.

Chili For Folks Who Don’t Like Chili
2-3 pound pork butt (or larger)
1/2-3/4 pounds fresh poblano peppers (for more heat, swap in hotter varieties as desired)
1/2-3/4 pound fresh tomatillos
1 very large white onion
1 head garlic
1 cup white wine or pale beer
6 cups chicken stock
1 large can hominy or posole
2 fresh limes
1 bunch cilantro
Goya Adobo powder with bitter orange (the one with the orange lid)
1/4-1/2 cup white masa (fine corn meal)
*Corn meal can go rancid, quickly. I keep mine indefinitely, in a labled zip-lock bag in the freezer.

The makings of a kick-ass bowl of green chili.

The makings of a kick-ass bowl of green chili.

Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Liberally coat and massage adobo into pig. Salt, pepper, dry thyme, cumin, and a dash of dry oregano will make a barely passable substitute for the powder, but the adobo is so much more flavorful and complex. In your biggest, heaviest, lidded pot, sear the meat on all sides in a tablespoon of olive oil. Start with the fat side down, which will add to, and flavor the fat already in the pot. Done right, this will take a good twenty to thirty minutes, so meanwhile, prep your veg.

Slice off the tops of the poblanos, and cut lengthwise in half (If you aren’t an experienced chili head, wearing rubber gloves now will make your life much easier later. The relatively mild poblano’s oils can stay on your skin, even after washing, and burn any tender body parts subsequently touched; yours or anyone else’s). Remove any ribs and all the seeds. Peel off the papery outer skin and rinse the tomatillos (take care: their sap is the stickiest substance known to man). If they’re small (plum-size) halve them, if they are the size of tomatoes, quarter them. Peel onion and roughly cut into five or six big hunks. Peel garlic, and cut off dried ends. Grab a handful of cilantro tops, to taste (I’m not a fan, so I don’t use much, maybe four tablespoons here, with another couple of chopped tablespoons at the end). Slice first lime in half and juice.

When the pork is browned all over, remove and add in the wine or beer. When it has almost all reduced, turn off the stove top, it’s veggie time (not unlike Hammer or Miller). Put about one-quarter of the veg on the bottom of the pot, set in the piggy, fat side up, and put in the rest of the prepped green stuff. Just tuck everything in; around and on top of the meat. Pour in about 2 1/2 cups of the chicken stock and the juice of the first lime. Cover and place in oven.
Check after two hours and then every thirty minutes until the meat is literally falling apart tender. This will probably take at least three hours, please don’t try to rush it, disaster will ensue.
When it’s done, remove the meat to cool some, and put the pot of roasted veg on the stove. Puree vegetables; you can either use a regular blender or an immersion blender (the wand type). Add a few cups of chicken stock, and then with the chili at a low simmer, sprinkle in the masa, a tablespoon at a time until it has tightened up to your taste. Add in drained, rinsed hominy.
Chop or shred three or four cups of the pork, discarding any pieces of fat, and stir it back into the pot with the lime juice from the second lime, and chopped cilantro.
Green Chili!

We serve this over rice. We spoon on some Mexican crema (like sour cream, which can be substituted), and sprinkle on cotija or queso fresco (both are white, salty, crumbly, Latin cheeses).
Rice, such a simple food, can cause acute stress when cooked at home. I promise, my method will eliminate the drama and produce evenly cooked, fluffy separate grains every time. And once you get this method down, you can flavor it to your liking, or even make pilaf this way. The secret is–don’t mess around with it, and it just about takes care of itself.

Basic White Rice
2 cups regular white rice (long grain, jasmine, basmati, all will work, but not the arborio type)
2 3/4 cup water
1 teaspoon kosher salt

Stir rice, salt, and water into a heavy pot with a lid (this is the last time you will stir the rice). Heat on medium-high, and let come to a boil. The second it starts to boil, reduce to medium-low, cover, and set timer for thirteen minutes.
When the time is up, carefully lift the lid, and peek; mindfully–there’s steam. If the water is all gone (you’ll hear hissing, but no bubbling sounds), replace the lid, and take it off the heat. If not, put it back and check every couple of minutes until it is gone.
Leave covered and unmolested for twenty full minutes. At 20, remove the lid, and with a big fork, fluff, don’t stir the rice, to separate the grains. Transfer to a serving dish and serve.
Makes about four cups.

If you have more pork than you need for the chili, bag and freeze. Last time I pulled out a bag, I served it on grilled Texas toast with mashed potatoes and German-scented mushroom gravy. The only limit to what you can do with the bonus meat is the potency of your spirit of adventure.
There’s tons of great things about green pork chili. But one of the best things is the way it makes your house smell all day while it’s cooking. And the way it makes your insides feel when you’re eating it.
Thanks for your time.