Author: momsequitur

Scent of an autumn

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Even though it was a dog biscuit, anything that smells that good baking has got to taste amazing, right?
Well, we’ll see.
Y’know, I should probably back up a bit here.
Last year our Anatolian shepherd, Riker was having skin issues. The poor guy had allergies and infections. He was miserable. Licking, chewing, and scratching left him looking like Chupacabra; balding and kind of scary.
While our vet worked on getting him over it with medication, I decided to see what I could do from our end.
His kibble was as simple and healthy as could be purchased. I cut out all table scraps, and looked at the one other thing he ate regularly—his doggy treats.
We’d been giving Riker chicken jerky. I’d heard something about problems with chicken from China. I did some research, and found out that thousands of dogs had been sickened, and many had died after eating the Chinese chicken. Frighteningly, our pup’s brand was sourced from there.
I wasn’t sure if it was the jerky that was plaguing our pooch, but it got tossed that day. I decided to only feed Riker treats that I had made from scratch, so I knew each ingredient.
Every month or so, I make a fresh batch of pumpkin-peanut butter cookies for him. They take about 20 minutes to get in the oven, and bake for another twenty. After that I turn off the stove and they sit inside until they’re completely cooled, so that they dry out and get crispy.
And for whole time, they smell absolutely amazing. Somehow, putting heat to the combination of peanut butter and pumpkin produces a stunningly fantastic aroma. Because they sit for a while in a warm oven after baking, the house is perfumed for hours.
And this is where we came in. I didn’t want to eat Riker’s biscuits, but I knew that a fragrance like that had to translate into fabuliciousness.
I’d never heard of any recipes that used the combo, so I looked online.
Bupkis. There were no recipes to be found. I decided there were two possible explanations for this.
One: it had been tried, but the combination of peanut butter and pumpkin was so horrifyingly noxious that there was an unspoken agreement among the population of the earth to never speak of it.
Two (and much more likely to my mind): that I was a straight-up genius. That future generations would speak my name in hushed tones of confectionary reverence.
So it was up to me to come up with a recipe to test my theory. I ultimately decided to make a gooey butter cake. It’s a sort of cheesecake with a cookie crust, and a sweet, rich filling.

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Peanut/Pumpkin Gooey Butter Cake with nutmeg flecked, honey-sweetened whipped cream.

Peanut-Pumpkin Gooey Butter Cake
Crust:
1 (18 1/4-ounce) package yellow cake mix
1 egg
8 tablespoons butter, melted and cooled
1 teaspoon vanilla
Filling:
1 (8-ounce) package cream cheese softened
3/4 cup canned pumpkin
1 cup smooth peanut butter
3 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
8 tablespoons butter, melted and cooled
1 (16-ounce) box powdered sugar
2 big pinches salt
1 pinch cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon smoked sweet paprika
1 teaspoon vanilla
Directions
Preheat oven to 350. Combine the cake mix, egg, butter and mix well with an electric mixer. Pat the mixture into the bottom of a lightly greased 13 x 9 baking pan.
To make filling: In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese, peanut butter, and pumpkin until smooth. Add eggs, vanilla, butter, and combine. Next, add the powdered sugar, salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, paprika and mix until smooth and glossy. Pour over cake batter and bake for 40 to 50 minutes. Don’t over-bake; the center should still be jiggley. Let cool before serving. If desired, top slices with honey-sweetened whipped cream.

Baking it, the same amazing aroma filled my kitchen. I was crazy impatient for it to finish and cool.
Finally I tried it. It tasted like flannel pajamas fresh from the dryer; warm and cozy.
I’m not sure why nobody’s done this before. But I also suspect I’m probably not the culinary genius of my generation—darn it.
And by the way, Riker’s skin is doing just fine.
Thanks for your time.

Copper and Kale

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Originally Published in The Herald-Sun 2/13/2013

“More Kale? Really? Kale. How nice…”
When small, The Kid met most food challenges head on. An unfamiliar item would usually merit at least a couple of nibbles.
There was a question which always accompanied our forays into snacking incognita.
“Taste it. What if this is your new favorite food? What if this were ice cream?”
Sometimes it was ice cream, or close to it.
Sushi took two tries before it became a huge hit.
But color me impressed because the initial sample was requested the summer before kindergarten, and by first grade it was being gobbled up like The Kid was an 1980’s Hollywood agent.
That stuff gives me the heeby jeebies. Where I come from, we call it bait.
Y’all go ahead, just drop me off at Mickey D’s for my filet ‘o fish.
Did anybody ever notice that the tidy, dignified little box protecting our beloved macmaritime treat is a perfect Tiffany blue?
Just saying…
This brings me back to ice cream. Of the kale variety.
What I mean is the very first taste of something that you absolutely adore, and will ‘till your taste buds fall out of your head.
A while back I picked up a sweet potato at Carlie C’s. It was so big we could have painted it yellow and comfortably fit inside the fab four, their instruments and spouses.
I usually eat sweet taters a couple of nights a month when Petey is at work.
He doesn’t like baked sweets, and at Thanksgiving he ruthlessly rations everything that isn’t turkey and dressing.
On Turkey day, I like ‘em from a can, warm, and smothered with my special, extra-thick, guaranteed to block important internal avenues that once were clear, gravy.
Baked for solo dinners, they’re covered with an experimental performance art of toppings. Each one is different. But it has to have strong sweet/savory action. It’s just gotta.
Tonight, I decided to cut it up and roast it. It was huge, and leftovers would be easier.
I’ve been liking creamed spinach on my yam, but I had thrown our only bag into a pot of rice and beans the other night.
I had enough dino kale to feed an entire stable of stegosauruses. I pulled a bunch out of the fridge to sub in for spinach.
It was a gamble, as I told The Kid on the phone. There was clear-eyed certainty in Vermont. Bad idea. Gross. My child is still a hater.
So, I set about making roasted, glazed, sweet potatoes, smothered in steak house-style creamed kale.
You guys.
The kale was showered down over the sea of yams. I dug in. There were no leftovers.
The for-sure elements of my dinner were kale and NC sweets. Otherwise it was a complete and utter improvisation.
Since I was winging it the entire time, I’m writing about the process, so you know my thinking (?) during certain steps along the way.
For sweet potatoes, I was trying to recreate the sweet, soft, copper cubes from the can.
I cut up the freshly scrubbed spud into 1-2 inch cubes, and dropped them into a plastic bag. I also put in a splash (1-2 tablespoons) of olive oil, a big pinch of salt and pepper, 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce, 2 teaspoons smoked paprika, and 8 or 10 grinds of nutmeg.
Then I needed something to play on the sweetness of the potato, and to get gooey and glaze-y in the oven.
I had an embarrassment of options.
Honey; at least five kinds. Syrup; both the artificially flavored, neon colored, and the organic of such an artisanal level the farmer knows the trees on a first name basis. Sugars and juices, marmalades and jams.
I settled on a really yummy sassafras jelly I picked up at the last Got To Be NC fest. It’s produced by a crazy culinary crew down in Elizabethtown, called D’Vine Foods.
It’s mildly sweet, but with the tiniest spicy twist that I thought would work well.
When everything was in the bag, I sealed it, manhandled it to mix well, and let it marinate for three hours.
About an hour and a half before eating, I dumped them and all juices into an oven safe dish, and baked for one hour, tossing every ten minutes or so.
When there were thirty minutes left on the spuds, I started the kale. I threw ¼ of a chopped yellow onion into a skillet with a tablespoon of butter.
I stacked the washed, de-spined kale leaves to cut them up. Because I used dino kale, they were nice and straight, making the chiffonade a breeze.
I put the kale in the pan, and seasoned them. When they started to wilt, I added a little sherry. When the booze scent was gone, I poured in about ½ cup of chicken stock and another tablespoon of butter. I covered it, and turned it down until it was cooked. Then I uncovered, turned up the heat and added a couple of tablespoons of manchego cheese, and ¼-1/3 cup of heavy cream.
It simmered until the thickness was correct, and I ladled it over the orange nuggets.
Golly Gee it was good.
But just as good as the dish, was the fact that at this advanced age, I’m still capable of having ice cream for the first time.
Thanks for your time.

Cheap Eats

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From a Herald-Sun column published 5/16/2012
Mario Battali, an iron chef and successful restauranteur, is participating in an interesting, touching experiment. For one week, he, his family, and others in the food community are eating on $31.00. The amount is the maximum of one person’s food stamps.
That’s $1.48 per meal.
The object of the exercise is to illustrate how tough this can be. And, to persuade the government to stop cutting food aid in this very precarious economy.
This started me thinking about trying to put meals on the table for practically pennies.
It ain’t easy.
Free-range, organic, hormone-free? Forget it. That stuff automatically adds about 50% to the price. Frozen meals, pre-fab boxes, and prepared food is also out.
Think simple, think from scratch. Think starch.
Pasta, rice, and potatoes. They’re cheap and filling. But, as far as nutrition goes, they’re lacking.
So, that leaves meat and vegetables for vitamins and minerals. But generally, meat, dairy, and veg are the most expensive things in your cart. So, what to do?
You have to shop the bargains. Cheap cuts of meat, store brands of dairy, and look for sales.
As for vegetables, canned will be the bulk of them. Occasionally stores will have sales in the produce section, but not often. An eagle-eye and some luck will score fresh veggies, but it’s an uncommon occurrence.
All of this made me think about some dishes that I make which are inexpensive. Things that can stretch to feed extra mouths. Filling satisfying meals that don’t cost much.
Starches are great for bulking up a dish. Use meat more as an accent, rather than the main food of the meal. Or buy a cheap cut, say a pork butt, and it can be eaten for days, in different dishes.
One dish that I make, is cheap, and stretchable. My mom’s version is called porcupine meatballs. But I can’t cook a meatball that stays round and pretty. So I make the same thing into patties, and we call it “roadkill”. It’s actually one of our family’s favorite dishes. We all look forward to roadkill day.

Roadkill
1 pound ground beef (or turkey)
1 1/2 cup uncooked rice
1 egg
1 head garlic
1 can tomato sauce
2 cups beef stock (or water)
1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary or 1 teaspoon dried
1 1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
2 tablespoons cooking oil
salt and pepper

Roast the garlic: cut the head in half, and put both pieces into a piece of tin foil. Drizzle with a bit of oil, and sprinkle with salt, pepper, and a little thyme. Close tightly, and bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool, still in the foil.
In a large bowl, put rice, the roasted garlic cloves, hamburger, the egg, a tablespoon of oil, the herbs, salt and pepper and a tablespoon or so of the tomato sauce, reserving the rest. Mix well, and form into patties about the size of a hamburger patty.
Heat a large heavy pot with the rest of the oil. Brown the roadkill on both sides and remove to a plate.
Into the hot pot, pour in the rest of the tomato sauce, and the beef stock or water. Replace the burgers, and when it comes to a boil, reduce the heat, cover, and cook on medium low for about an hour. The rice takes longer to cook than the meat, so when the rice is cooked all the way, the roadkill is done.

The great thing about this dish, other than the flavor, is you can add more rice if you need to. I usually use about half of the amount of rice to meat. But you can change the proportions depending on cash and diners.
As cheap as this dish is, it would still probably be a treat on a food stamp budget. And the people that have to rely on food assistance are your neighbors and co-workers, not some mythical “welfare queen”.
The next time you go grocery shopping, try to imagine feeding your family on $1.48 a piece. Frankly, I don’t know how it’s done.
I talk a lot about being broke. But, I am spoiled. I don’t really know what it’s like to be broke or look into my hungry child’s eyes, and have nothing in the cupboard.
So take a moment, and realize just lucky you are. Because for most of us, it could be a lot harder.
Thank for your time.

Tastes like chicken

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I’ve always felt that there are two kinds of people who frequent tea parties (not counting little kids and their guests drinking imaginary tea out of thimbles).
First, genteel ladies and gentlemen who like to get dressed up, and be around other fancy types. I don’t know a whole lot of those people; I mainly hobnob with the sweat suit set.
Next are folks who are just nuts about tea; the history and lore, the various types and flavors. My tea appreciation begins and ends with giant Luzianne bags for pitchers of sun tea. Somehow, I produced The Kid, who is a genuine, over-the-moon tea fanatic. In my child’s pantry are two full shelves dedicated to all things tea.
Last week I discovered a third variety of tea party enthusiast, and also discovered I am one of them.
It’s that enlightened subset who shows up at tea parties for the grub.
I was invited to the Washington Duke Inn (3001 Cameron Blvd.) for tea. Constance Lue, the founder of the Old North State Tea Society, was our guide through the history and etiquette of the phenomena that is afternoon tea.
Here are a few tea facts I’ll bet you didn’t know:
Tea was responsible for much of the suffragette movement. Tea houses were the first respectable venues where a woman could go unaccompanied. High tea, contrary to popular belief, is not an extra-fancy tea, but is a working man’s tea, with a full supper. And my favorite tidbit; one of the welcome benefits of an at-home ladies-only tea, was the opportunity to remove one’s corset, and actually take a nice, deep breath for the first time all day.
At the hotel, in addition to an offering of various teas, we were presented with a three-tiered stand upon which was heaped both sweet and savory treats. There were finger sandwiches, tiny quiche and deviled eggs. On the sugar-coated end of the spectrum were brownies, truffles, chocolate-dipped strawberries and fruit tarts.
In the middle tier, next to the quiche, was a tart filled with chicken salad. Petey is a chicken salad man, I’m not really a connoisseur. But since I’d recently made a batch with a giant roasted Costco chicken, I was eager to sample their version.

Culture and civility abound at the afternoon tea at the Washington Duke Inn, in Durham, NC, held daily. And the food's pretty darn good, too.

Culture and civility abound at afternoon tea at the Washington Duke Inn, in Durham, NC, held daily. And the food’s pretty darn good, too.

Chef Jason Cunningham kindly offered the recipe off the top of his head, which I hurriedly transcribed. So the amounts may be off a bit, but the beauty of chicken salad is its flexible and forgiving nature.

Chef Jason’s WaDuke chicken salad

3 chicken breasts, poached in chicken stock spiked with orange juice, chopped
1 teaspoon fresh rosemary, minced
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
½ small red onion, diced
½ bell pepper, diced
Duke’s mayonnaise, to taste
1/2 cup seedless grapes, sliced in half
1/3 cup toasted pecan pieces
Salt & pepper

Toss first 5 ingredients with enough mayo to moisten. Fold in grapes. Season, and taste for seasoning level. Sprinkle top with pecan pieces, so the nut intolerant can remove if needed.

I thought for fun, I’d give you my newest chicken salad recipe, to compare.
My original salad had toasted pecans. But I decided since the WaDuke salad has pecans, I’d switch to pistachios, as a nod to them. The Fairview at the Washington Duke consistently does amazing things with pistachios.

Debbie’s WaDuke-kissed chicken salad

Dressing:
3/4 cup Hellmann’s mayonnaise
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 tablespoons garlic oil (slowly poach 2 cloves garlic in 2 tablespoons olive oil until golden, then strain )
Salt and pepper to taste

Whisk ingredients together.

Salad:

2 1/2 cups shredded chicken from supermarket roast
1 ½ tablespoons parsley, chopped
1 shallot, diced
1 ripe Bartlett pear, peeled, cleaned, cut into ¼ inch cubes, and tossed with 1 ½ teaspoons vinegar
½ cup chopped pistachios

Mix together with desired amount of dressing. Taste for seasoning. Refrigerate 30 minutes before serving.

You can have chicken salad on dainty, crust-less bread with a cup of tea.
Or, you can eschew the gloves and hat, throw on a sweat suit, load up some Wonder bread, and serve with Funyuns and a bottle of Yoo-hoo.
But regardless of which style you choose, don’t stick out your pinky. That’s actually rather tacky.
Thanks for your time.

The Secret Is Out

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Retail is a tough job. It’s not just that it’s hard, physical work, and long hours. The folks that staff your favorite store don’t really have Christmas. It’s the busiest time of the year, and it doesn’t stop until well after the big day. It’s difficult to even run and grab some take-out for lunch (And supper, and breakfast. I told you the hours were brutal).
Thanksgiving weekend is the ultimate insanity. With only thirty minutes for a meal, there is no way to go to the food court, stand in line, order, wait for it, and eat.
When I managed a store, I would have everyone bring food that weekend, and we would have a potluck kind of thing in the back. One year, I had a young woman named Sherry working for me. On Black Friday, she brought a dish I had never seen before. She called it tuna mousse. I know, it sounds a little fishy (sorry for the bad pun).
It was pinkish, and molded into a fish shape. Truthfully, it kinda scared me. But I bravely tried a bite. The moment it passed my lips, the heavens opened and I swear, I heard angels singing. It was amazing. I was in love.
At the time, I was most definitely not a cook. For dinner, I could make reservations, and make Petey take me out. That was pretty much it. But this stuff was so good, I was ready to try.
There was one small problem. Sherry wouldn’t share with me. I asked her for the recipe. Nope. I begged for it. Nope. I even half-seriously threatened her (I’m not exactly intimidating). Nope. It was a family held secret, and not to be shared. She did offer to make it when I wanted it, but I wanted that darn recipe. No dice.
I figured that was that. And when Sherry changed jobs, we lost touch. But I still remembered that mousse with longing.
Before I was banned by Petey, I was a cookbook junkie. I was constantly picking up cookbooks at book stores, grocery stores, and yard sales. But eventually, I had so many that we would soon need an addition on the house to store them all. Thus, the ban.
In my collection I had a Sunset appetizer book (the book is now lost, this recipe is my rendition). Leafing through it one day, I came upon a recipe for salmon mousse. I had flipped past it many times, but because I would rather eat dry dog food than salmon, I had never really read the recipe. One day, for some reason, though, I did.
The ingredients niggled at me. They seemed familiar. Then I had a realization. The ingredients, and procedure looked something like what I imagined was the long yearned-for tuna mousse. I decided to give it a whirl, substituting tuna for the despised salmon.
I guess the tuna gods were smiling on me that day, because I decrypted the recipe. It tasted exactly like Sherry’s secret family dish. It’s easy and yummy. And I finally had my recipe.

Secret Tuna Mousse

2-6.4 ounce albacore tuna pouches (I like Starkist)
2-2.6 ounce albacore tuna pouches
1 large and 1 small block cream cheese
1 can tomato soup
1 cup mayo
1/2 small white onion
2 envelopes unflavored gelatin
1/4 cup cold water
salt and pepper

Put drained tuna and onion in food processor. Run until the tuna and onion are finely chopped, and thoroughly mixed. Add mayo and pulse until it’s all combined.
Meanwhile, mix water with gelatin and allow to bloom, or gel a bit (it will get a little stiff, but that’s okay).
In a saucepan, warm soup and melt cream cheese into it. Just warm it, don’t let it boil, or even simmer. When the cheese has all melted, fold in gelatin and allow to melt.
Mix tuna mixture and soup mixture together. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Pour into lightly greased mold, and place into fridge for at least four hours to set.
Unmold, and serve with crostini or crackers.

Crostini or crackers are the classy route, but I just love it on “Fritos Scoops”. Something in the combination of the salty, corny, crunchy, fritos and the mousse is ambrosia to me.
And, I’ve got a confession to make. As much as I love this stuff, the fact that I’ve figured out the forbidden recipe gives me an extra, evil thrill each time I make it. And it’s an even bigger thrill to share it with you all.
Thanks for your time.

Heidi, cuckoo clocks, and enchiladas

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The sad, grubby little clipping had been stuck on the fridge forever. I’d torn the recipe from some magazine months, or even a year ago.
But the last time we were in Costco, I decided I was going to put up or shut up. I’d give that recipe a try. So, I bought one of their roast chickens.
I’d like to stop right here, for a moment, and talk about the rotisserie chickens at the supermarket.
I think a few years ago a law must have been passed that every grocery store in the country has to sell a roasted chicken.
Costco has one of the best clucker deals around. For 5 bucks you get something so large, it might possibly have been a pterodactyl. I got 8 cups of meat from the one I bought. Since I only needed 3 cups, I froze a large zip bag of the rest. I made a big pot of pasta with some of it, and a bunch of chicken salad with the rest. So for $5, I got meat for 8 meals, counting leftovers.
But, back to the recipe.
When I was in the ninth grade, all the kids who had taken Spanish for 3 years went to Mexico for spring break. We visited Mexico City, Jalapa; a university town, and Veracruz; a beach town.
Most of the meals we ate were at the hotels, as part of the package. But one night in Veracruz we went to a restaurant and ordered off a large menu. One of our chaperons ordered fish, and a whole fish (eyeballs and all) was brought to him. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. Freaked me right out.
I finally picked something that the other kids assured me wouldn’t be too spicy for my famously wimpy palate—enchiladas Suizas de pollo (Swiss chicken enchiladas).
They were brought out to me, and my classmates were right on the money. They were zippy, but not crazy-hot. There was an abundance of cheese and sour cream (which is why they are called “Swiss”). I loved them. They have become one of my favorite Mexican meals.
The recipe I cut from the forgotten magazine was a casserole that had a hot red sauce and was a riff on tamales. But I don’t do hot sauce, and once I had changed ingredients, added stuff, and made it my own, the experience was very much like my beloved enchiladas Suizas. The casserole was easy to assemble, and could be done in stages. The traditional enchiladas are more labor intensive and the results are not always consistent. The casserole gave me all the flavor and texture, without the work and drama.
Recipe note: I used homemade guacatillo sauce, or you can buy some from Chubby’s. A very good bottled alternative is La Victoria mild green taco sauce. Also, I split the casserole into two 8X8 pans. One pan I finished cooking and we ate that night. The other I got to the point of the second bake, wrapped it up tightly, and froze it.

Chicken enchilada Suiza casserole
1-8 1/2 oz. package Jiffy corn muffin mix
1-14 3/4 oz. can creamed corn
1-4 oz. can green chiles, drained
2 eggs lightly beaten
1/2 cup milk
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon Goya bitter orange adobo
2 cups shredded cheddar or pepper jack cheese
2-3 cups guacatillo sauce
3 cups shredded cooked chicken (white and dark meat)
Sour Cream
Preheat oven to 400. Spray 13X9 pan with cooking spray.
In a large bowl mix first 7 ingredients and 1 cup cheese. Pour into pan and bake for 20 minutes.
Remove from oven, and pierce casserole about 12 times with sharp knife. Spread guacatillo over top. Scatter chicken over, and cover with the rest of the cheese. Bake for 20 minutes. Let rest out of oven for 10 minutes, then slice and serve. Makes 8 servings.

I was delighted with the finished dish; we loved it. Poor old Petey overindulged, and got a bit of a tummy ache. But not too much of one, because at lunch the next day I nuked the last slice for him, and he happily devoured it.
Thanks for your time.

Meat Loaf:Mother’s Love On A Plate

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Sometimes you just have one of those days. The kind of day that you need a hug from your mom. You just want somebody to wrap you up in comfort and love.For most of us, snuggling up with Mommy isn’t really an option. Mom’s not around, or being a grown up human being, you feel kind of silly snuggling up in someone’s lap. As a woman, sometimes my relief comes from food. There is something soul-satisfying about tucking into a plate of old-fashioned, homemade, comfort food. On the top of most lists of soothing foods is meat loaf. It’s retro, cheap, and a good meat loaf can leave you feel like a freshly bathed toddler, tucked into warm pajamas. Somehow, my own recipe became a family favorite. My mom, who makes a pretty mean meat loaf herself, likes mine better than her own. Her meatloaf is red based.  Tomato sauce in it, and red sauce on top. I like my sister’s-in-law red version, she puts ketchup on top, that, in the oven, carmelizes into a sweet sticky glaze. But, my own is a mushroom gravy based. Petey loves it, and The Kid will fight over red versus brown. My child likes the brown better because then there is thick, rich gravy to ladle over the obligatory mashed potatoes. There are jars and envelopes of stuff in the grocery store that one can mix into ground meat, which makes a meat loaf-like product. But for a food that has the power to make a bad day into a good one, take the trouble to make it from scratch. It’s the difference between okay, and oh my gawd.

It’s not a painless process, there is a little work to it.

Debbie’s Brown meat Loaf

Mushroom Gravy:
2 pounds button or cremini mushrooms, cleaned and sliced
1 small onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1 1/2 tablespoons butter
1 1/2 tablespoons canola oil
1 1/2 teaspoons dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried rosemary, or 1 tablespoon finely chopped fresh rosemary
1 bay leaf
1 tablespoon Worchestershire sauce
1 teaspoon honey
1 teaspoon grated horseradish
1/2 cup sherry
1 quart beef stock
salt and pepper to taste (so taste it, please)

For roux:
1 stick butter
1/2-3/4 cup all-purpose flour
Melt butter and stir in flour. Cook on low until it has browned to the color of peanut butter.
Set aside.

For gravy:
Into the hot fat, put mushrooms, and cook until the liquid is cooked out, and they begin to brown. Add onions, and cook until they soften and start to lightly brown. Add garlic, and when you can smell it, pour in sherry and let it reduce until it almost dry. Pour in beef stock and the herbs and flavorings. When it comes to a boil, slowly stir in roux, a bit at a time until the thickness is to your liking.
Put about 1 1/2 cup of gravy into a small vessel and let cool. Refrigerate the rest for dinner.
This is a basic gravy that can be used for many other dishes.

Panade (The goo that will flavor the meat and keep it moist):
Reserved gravy
2 eggs
1 cup bread crumbs (try making your own from ground, leftover bread, they’re much less sandy)
In a large bowl put about 3/4 cup of cooled gravy, eggs, and bread crumbs. Stir it all together until it is completely mixed. It should be the consistency of loose, wet oatmeal.

You’re now ready to make meat loaf.

Meat loaf:
2 pounds 80/20 ground beef
panade
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
reserved gravy
In the bowl of panade, break the meat into smallish pieces. Gently mix hamburger and pande. You don’t want to mix it too much, or it will get rubbery while baking. You should still see bits of meat and goo in the final mixture.
Firmly press the mixture down into the bowl bottom; this will keep it together, while not overworking it.
Turn out into baking dish and shape into a meat loaf shape.
Cover the top with the reserved gravy, and place into oven heated to 350 degrees. Bake for one hour and twenty minutes.
While it finishes cooking, reheat the gravy on gentle heat on the stove top.
Slice and serve, topped with a little of the gravy.

We like ours old school, with mashed potatoes and peas. Grill slices and it also makes a terrific sandwich, on a hearty bread, with melted cheese, and a little arugula (you can even go nuts, and add a couple slices of bacon).
Life can really be a stinker sometimes, and everybody needs a little succor from time to time. It won’t balance your checkbook, or help you understand your teenager any better, but a yummy, comforting plate of meat loaf can dull the pain a bit.
And sometimes, that’s the most you can ask for.
Thanks for your time.

Worth it, salt

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“But it wears out the pasta pots!”
That was the Newtonian-level reasoning behind Olive Garden’s policy of cooking pasta in unsalted water.
Wait, what!?!

I ate there once.

An Italian restaurant chain, with much ballyhooed Italian-trained chefs, doesn’t salt the pasta water. That’s the foundation. After neglecting this basic, basic step, all that follows will not make up for it. You get one chance to get flavor into the pasta–one. If you’re afraid of pitting your pots, add the salt to water after it comes to a boil, and you’ll be safe.
And a pinch or a teaspoon ain’t gonna cut it. Salt your pasta water with wild, shameless abandon. Chef Anne Burrel has an awesome phrase for how much to use. She says the water should be “shockingly salty”.

Anne Burrel. I’m convinced that hairdo involves sorcery. Or buckets of product.

Seriously, think ocean.

All of your food should be salted while cooking as well. The difference between unseasoned and well-seasoned food is vast.

It’s embarrassing, but I enjoy too much salt. As a child, I held a very strange belief. I knew that pepper made food hot. I decided that salt was the opposite of pepper. So, salt must make food cold (I told you it was strange). Since I like my food considerably cooler than piping hot, I heavily salted my food, which in my mind, cooled it off. Thus I developed a taste for saltiness.

Because of this foible, when I started cooking, I was afraid of over-salting. Consequently, I under-seasoned everything.

Now I taste as I go along. Most foods don’t need a blizzard of salt. But some ingredients need more. Acid, avocado, and red meats are a few. Fried foods need more. It doesn’t take much salt to satisfy Petey, but he always salts his fries.
Desserts need salt too. It perks up the rest of the ingredients, like a twinkle in the eye. And lately, many confections are based on the interplay between salty and sweet. The Kid and I have one dessert that although tricky to prepare, rewards you with rapture.OMG Salted Caramel Short Bread
Shortbread
1 cup butter, softened
½ cup confectioners’ sugar
¼ cup corn starch
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
Pinch of salt
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
Line the bottom of an 8-inch square baking pan with parchment paper, then brush the paper lightly with oil, allowing it to drape over 2 sides.
Whip butter until fluffy. Mix in confectioners’ sugar, cornstarch, and flour. Beat on low until combined, then on high for 3 to 4 minutes. Press dough into pan.
Bake for 12 to 15 minutes until lightly golden. Let cool.
When the shortbread comes out of the oven, begin making caramel.
Caramel
½ cup sugar
¼ cup light corn syrup
½ cup water
1 ½ cups heavy cream
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon flaky sea salt, plus extra for sprinkling
1 teaspoon vanilla
In a deep saucepan combine the sugar, corn syrup, and water. Bring to a boil over medium heat. Continue to boil until the caramel is a warm golden brown color. No stirring; just swirl pan, otherwise it could seize up and turn into a giant crystal. Don’t rush this–it can burn in seconds and you’ll have to start over.
In a separate pan, bring the cream, butter, and 1 teaspoon salt to simmer on medium. Remove from the heat, set aside.
When the caramel is light amber, slowly whisk cream mixture into the caramel–use caution; it will boil up volcanically. Stir in vanilla and cook over medium-low to 248 degrees. When it’s close (243-ish), turn down burner, and coast to final temp for more control.
Immediately pour over shortbread, allow to set, and sprinkle lightly with salt. Lift the parchment out of pan. Cut into 1×2 inch pieces with large, sharp knife.

The shortbread is easy-peasy, and can be eaten alone or flavored (Kate Middleton loves lavender shortbread). But carefully follow the caramel instructions. A few degrees off and you’ll have runny caramel sauce, or break a tooth on it.


I invite you to take everything I ever say with a grain of salt. But please, add about a million more to it and put them in your pasta water—every single time.
Thanks for you time.

The evolution of a cookie, or Darwin was right

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A jillion years ago, when Seinfeld was still on, Us magazine interviewed the caterer that fed the cast and crew onset. She talked about the favorite dishes of Jerry and the other stars. And she mentioned a kind of a chocolate chip cookie that she made that everybody adored. The recipe was printed within the article.
As with almost everything that exists, I have an opinion about chocolate chip cookies. The naked cookie, sans chips, should be chewy and delicious, or don’t bother. Don’t make a miniature piece of chocolate be the sole savior of a cookie. It’s like having a baby to save a faltering marriage. It just ain’t right. And it usually goes wrong.
The nice lady used mocha chips. I’m guessing they’re some kind of chocolate/coffee chip. They sound good, but I have never in all the years between then and now, found them on a store shelf. There are many foods that professional cooks use that home cooks can not get their hands on. It’s a pet peeve of mine. I guess those chips are on that list.
So, I made the cookies with regular Hershey’s milk (don’t like semi-sweet) chocolate chips. They ran all over the cookie sheet in a frenzy. These cookies were more like a tuile, an extremely thin crispy cookie that is often rolled into cigars when warm and stuck into ice cream.
Imagine chocolate chip ice cream cones (you know, that actually sounds interesting).
The cookie had too much fat without enough flour. I tinkered with the flour for a few batches, and finally found the amount that would give structure, without becoming cakey. After I found the right flour ratio, I switched the all-purpose I had been using to cake flour, the measurement of which had to be adjusted, as well. The cake flour lightens the feel of the finished cookie, and made the texture more layered and distinct, while keeping the sticky, chewy mouth feel.
As for the chips, I put in all kinds of things. Chocolate chips, toffee chips. Coconut and dried fruit. In fact, in this incarnation, we called them, “Whatever Kind of Chip Cookies.” This cookie was also the beneficiary of the discovery of cheap abundant vanilla beans at Costco. Instead of two lowly teaspoons of vanilla extract, this recipe had two lowly teaspoons of vanilla extract, and the caviar of an entire vanilla bean.
Then one summer, The Kid went to camp. Like any American mother who’s seen her share of Leave It To Beaver and The Brady Bunch, I sent my child off to camp with a big box of homemade cookies. My Whatever cookies.
I offered to make another batch, and asked what kind of chips were desired. Since the cookie-eaters (The Kid’s entire dorm floor), couldn’t come to a concensus, chipless was requested. The spotless treats were a huge hit. Without the chocolate flavor competing, the cookie became all about the vanilla. The campers loved it, and renamed it, “Vanilla Explosion”.
The Kid and I were planning on making the cookies one day, and were thinking about what would enhance the rich, buttery, caramelized taste. Simultaneously, we had the same thought. Brown butter. We already loved the nutty, complex flavor that browning imparted to regular, old butter. It’s terrific on pasta, but we just adore it on cauliflower. We hadn’t yet tried it in a sweet application.
The butter in the cookie dough is used softened. First I scraped my vanilla bean, and put the caviar aside. The empty bean, I put in a pan with the sticks of butter. I melted, then browned it with the bean floating alongside. I poured the newly brown butter into a bowl. After it has cooled for bit, I stir in the vanilla caviar. While the butter is cooling to solid, I stir it from time to time so it won’t be separated into layers when it hardens again. I do this the day before I intend on making cookies, so the flavors can intensify with a night in the fridge.
When I’m ready to make the cookies, I soften the brown butter, and use it just like normal.
I would never offer someone else’s recipe as my own, but this recipe has been through so many permutations that I don’t think the original caterer would even recognize it. So, here you go, this is what happened when I cut a recipe out of Us magazine.
Thanks for your time.

Vanilla Explosion Cookies

1 Cup brown sugar
1 Cup white sugar
8 ounces butter, browned with vanilla bean, and resoftened
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 1/4 cups cake flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt

Preheat oven to 4oo degrees (make sure the oven is HOT when the cookies go in). In a large bowl, mix butter and sugar. You can mix this cookie dough by hand, but a stand-up mixer makes it much easier. Add eggs and vanilla. In a separate bowl, sift together dry ingredients. Slowly stir together wet and dry ingredients. Make the cookies any size you like, baking all one size together. A large cookie bakes for about 10-12 minutes, a bite-size cookie may only need 7-8. Bake until golden brown, the darker the chewier. Makes about 3 dozen large cookies.

The untitled Joe Cuffy Project

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In high school, there was a guy named Kenny Brite. He was one of those old geezers that sit around the general store spinning yarns, only in a teenager’s body.
One of his stories was completely fictional, but so epic, everybody remembers it to this day. If you asked Petey and the Kid, they could recite it verbatim—although neither has met Kenny.
Way out in the country lived a solitary man named Joe Cuffy. Every morning, almost before the sun came up, Joe would get up and go for a walk. He’d pull on his overalls and work boots, and walk a couple of miles along the rutted roads near his house.
In the fall in eastern North Carolina many farmers burn their harvested fields, to clear them and nourish them for the next growing season. This is also the time of year when fog often lies heavy and thick in the flat countryside.
This particular morning was a perfect storm of fog and smoke. Visibility was almost nil. It was as if the world was a snow globe filled with cotton batting.
Any other man might have waited for the sunshine to eliminate the miasma, but Joe was not any other man.
When the Maola milk truck knocked him into the ditch, neither the driver nor Joe saw the other. On such a bumpy road, it was just a little more jostling in a spasmodic drive. The truck quickly vanished into the murk.
Because Joe lived alone, and sour and misanthropic were some of his better qualities, it took a bit before anyone in the community noticed he was missing.
Finally, three days later they found the old farmer’s corpse just off the road.
And. The Rats. Had. Eaten. His. Head.
Why, you may ask did I just share this legendary tale?
Because every time I grab a carton of Maola buttermilk out of the dairy case, I think of poor old Joe Cuffy.
And when I buy buttermilk, it’s always that brand, because they consistently carry the fat-free variety. To me, this odd, tart liquid is almost magic. It’s thick, rich, and clingy. It makes the best biscuits, my famous chicken fingers, and the most authentic ranch dressing.
When doing a three part dredge, normally it’s flour, then an egg wash, and a top coating. But when you use buttermilk, it seals the first coating, and perfectly becomes the glue for any type of top coat, no matter whether it’s more flour, breadcrumbs, or even something heavier.
Recently I picked up some chicken cutlets on sale. I did a quick inventory to see what I could do with them. I had some pecans in the fridge, but I was low on eggs. I did have some buttermilk, so I decided to make pecan chicken, and instead of an egg wash, I would use buttermilk.
It exceeded my hopes. There was a golden crust of pecans, and the buttermilk added a bit of a bite to what could have been cloying. The meat was juicy, and you could actually pick out the chicken flavor amongst everything else.
Joe Cuffy’s Pecan Chicken
4 chicken breast cutlets
2 cups flour, divided
1 cup fat-free buttermilk
2 cups pecans, chopped in a food processor until about the size of large breadcrumbs
2 tablespoons butter
Oil for frying
Salt and pepper
Make a three-part dredge. First, 1 ½ cups flour. Second, buttermilk. Third, the pecans and ½ cup flour, well-seasoned. Season the chicken. Coat with flour, shaking off excess. Dip into buttermilk, then lay them into the pecans, patting them onto entire surface of chicken. Plate and refrigerate for thirty minutes for coating to set.
Heat skillet with butter and about ½ inch of oil until hot. Turn heat to medium, and place in chicken. When the first side is browned, flip and cook on the other side (about 5 minutes on each side).
Remove to paper towel-covered plate. Makes four servings.
I hope you enjoy Joe’s chicken.
Two pieces of advice: keep some buttermilk on hand. You’ll be surprised at the places you can use this rich, tangy stuff.
And please be careful when walking in the fog.
Thanks for your time.