Food for a Bad Week

I have spent the past week engulfed in melancholy.

Backstory: I was in New York last weekend, visiting friends from college -- you know, the important ones: those who make much of college worthwhile. It was glorious and exhausting and I relished every instant with a profound joy. The trip was touched with a bit of sadness, though; I learned that most of them are... (how to put this delicately?)... not in the best of places right now. Being the nosy nice guy that I am, I want to step in and help, changing the world so that they can have an easier time of it. That's simply not possible, of course, and it infuriates me. As a result, I have spent all my time since then brooding, frustrated and morose.

My mood deteriorated even further when I saw the state of the kitchen upon my return. Not only did it have the usual filthy characteristics that I hate (recycling: overflowed; sink: full of dishes; all surfaces: encrusted with grime), but furthermore, the dishwasher was broken! I realise that as students, we are incredibly spoiled to have this machine. But it is of little use when it refuses to use water. Disgusted, I withdrew to (read: hid in) my room for a few days.

Passive aggressive? Maybe. But you know things are bad in this apartment when I refuse to cook, especially since I'm the one who suffers most from that decision. I get antsy and irritable (if I'm not already) when I can't create anything.

Fortunately, the weekend has witnessed an upturn of sorts. Melancholy has given way to grim determination, somehow fueled by the memory of joy. I've managed to spend a few hours cleaning and running errands, and the dishwasher has reconciled itself with water. Life is getting tolerable again. I haven't made a difference in New York yet; that's next on my To-Do list. Me vs. the Universe. Yeah. Let's do this.

In the meantime, to keep myself distracted and celebrate the returned-to-functional kitchen, I continue to make interesting things. This here is a fascinating pasta dish that I once made a while ago, but didn't blog about it for some reason. If the mix of red wine, grapes, and Italian sausage doesn't grab your interest already, then think about the taste when the grapes macerate in the wine for 8 hours, along with sugar and vinegar. Hard to imagine, isn't it? Take it from me: the result is a delightful mix of sweetness from the fruit, bitterness from the vinegar, and spice from the sausage. And don't be intimidated by the wait; after the overnight maceration, the rest of dish assembles very quickly.


Strozzapreti with Sausage, Grapes, and Red Wine

• 1 cup seedless red grapes, cut in half lengthwise
• 1 cup dry red wine
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 2 Tbs red wine vinegar
• 1 lb dried strozzapreti pasta // or whatever type of pasta you happen to have on hand
• 3 Tbs olive oil
• 1,1/2 lbs Italian sausage (about 4 links, recommended 2 spicy and 2 sweet), casings cut away and meat roughly chopped
• 1 medium onion, chopped (about 1 cup)
• 10 sage leaves
• 2 Tbs butter
• 1/2 cup grated pecorino cheese, plus extra for sprinkling
• 1/2 tsp black pepper
• 1 Tbs chopped parsley

Day 1:
Combine the grapes, wine, sugar, and vinegar in an airtight container, and store in the fridge so that the grapes macerate for at least 8 hours or overnight.

Day 2:
Put a large pot of salted water on to boil for the pasta.

Remove the grape mixture from the fridge, place it in a medium saucepot, and bring it up to a boil over high heat. Cook the mixture at a boil until the liquid has reduced by half, about 10min.

When the pasta water comes to a boil, add the strozzapreti and cook until the pasta is just al dente.

Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the meat and begin to brown it for about 3-4min, stirring and breaking up the meat as you go.

Add the onion and continue cooking, stirring well, until the sausage and onion have cooked through, about 5-7min.

Add the sage and stir to combine.

Add the grape mixture and stir well.

When the pasta is cooked, drain it (but do not rinse it). Add the pasta to the pot with the grape-and-sausage mixture and cook together so the flavours combine and the pasta cooks a bit more, about 1,1/2min.

Remove the saucepot from the heat and add the butter, cheese, black pepper, and parsley. Sprinkle with more cheese and serve immediately.

Hallelujah!

Supporting local food production, getting high quality ingredients, being challenged with new and unusual foodstuffs, learning what happens to the things you eventually put in your body... there are so many reasons to love farmer's markets, I don't think I could list them all if I tried. My local market just reopened from the winter hiatus. It's a little thing, hosting no more than a handful of stalls any given week, but compared to the goods at the grocery store ("America's Most European Supermarket!" - gag me) it's well worth the weekly pilgrimages to quality food. But since I would do my little market a great injustice by singing its praises insufficiently, I think I'm going to stop while I'm ahead. Instead, I'm going to talk about one thing about it that has me jumping up and down. And that thing is...

Meat.

Since moving to Chicago, I have encountered many interesting diets. Some are borne out of necessity (allergies, diabetes), and some of personal choice. With the exception of Zuckerberg's new diet, I can't think of any that are so overtly bizarre as to throw me for a loop. A little odd, sure. But friends who are vegetarian, vegan, kosher, allergic, or adherents to a particular culinary denomination are all welcome in my kitchen. In the meantime, however, I will remain happily omnivorous; I'll eat anything. Except licorice. Y'all can keep that shit to yourselves.

Moxie, on the other hand, is a locavore when it comes to meat. Make no mistake: she loves the stuff, but doesn't want to eat faceless-industry-processed muck. A fair opinion to have for an old farmhand. The issue is, what is local (and accessible) during a Chicago winter, when we live down in the south side? The answer: not much. Stray cat, maybe. Or the odd fattened rodent, if you care to catch it yourself (Zuckerberg?)

The result is that we've been eating mostly vegetarian during cold months. It hasn't been an issue: I have the odd meat dish when she's not around, and it's not difficult for either of us to get enough protein. But occasionally, that's not enough. There's a craving that arises. And sometimes, we heathen flesh-eaters - must - have - MEAT.

And now we can! Hallelujah and bless the farmer's market! To celebrate its reopening, we probably bought enough meat to last us a month, plus some other goodies (because, y'know, why not?). And to further mark the occasion, we planned to make a dish that I've been eyeing for a long time now -- to be precise, since I first got a copy of The Silver Palate, when Neen marked "Duck with Forty Cloves of Garlic" with 4.5 stars and the comment "use chicken!" Ultimately, we used two Cornish hens. Then joined forces with another apartment couple to have a spontaneous dinner party feast.

You may still be reeling from the title of this dish, in which case, further mention will probably throw you back into a frenzy. Yes, it actually does use 40 cloves of garlic. And it's delicious.

I'll wait for you to recover. Better? Good. 40 cloves of garlic! Blücher!

In all seriousness (hah), this dish deserves every bit of those 4.5 stars. Don't worry - since you roast the fowl with the cloves still in their skins, you won't be overwhelming the meat with a super-intense astringency. Instead, you enrich the moist bird with a faint je-ne-sais-quoi, giving it depth and flavour. The garlic is then added to the vinegary gravy, whose creaminess (coming from a stick of butter) is enough to tame it. As a whole, this recipe is a study in how to take disparate and pucker-worthy tastes and combine them to form a rich and satisfying meal. Definitely a celebratory meal.

"Duck" with Forty Cloves of Garlic

• 1 duck, 4.5-5 lbs, fresh or thoroughly defrosted // or equivalent in other fowl
• salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
• 2 Tbs vegetable oil
• 1 cup finely chopped yellow onions
• 2 carrots, peeled and finely diced
• 1,1/2 cups chicken stock or canned chicken broth
• 1 tsp dried thyme
• 3 parsley sprigs
• 1 bay leaf
• 40 large garlic cloves
• 2 Tbs sherry vinegar
• 1 Tbs Crème de Cassis (black currant liqueur) // I skipped this
• 8 Tbs (1 stick) sweet butter, chilled
• chopped parsley (garnish)

Remove neck and giblets from the duck; save the liver for another use. Chop neck, heart, and gizzard. Cut off wing tips. Remove all possible fat from the duck's cavity and prick the skin all over with a fork. Salt the inside and outside of the duck and set it in a shallow baking pan just large enough to hold it comfortably. Set aside.

Heat the vegetable oil in a small saucepan, add chopped giblets and wing tips, and brown over high heat. Season with salt and pepper, reduce heat, and add the onions and carrots. Cover and cook until vegetables are tender and lightly colored, about 20min.

Add the chicken stock, thyme, parsley and bay leaf, season with salt and pepper, and bring to a boil. Reduce heat, partially cover, and simmer while the duck roasts.

Preheat oven to 450 degrees.

Separate the heads of garlic into cloves, discarding the papery skin from the heads; do not peel the cloves. Select about 6 of the largest cloves and stuff them into the duck. Arrange the rest of the garlic around the duck.

Set the pan on the middle level of the oven. After 15min turn the temperature down to 375 degrees and roast the bird for another 35min for medium; 5 to 10 for juicy and still slightly pink. Transfer duck to a platter, cover with foil, and keep warm.

Strain the broth, discard the solids (aside: don't you dare. Keep them to make the gravy chunky later, or eat them as is), and measure the broth. You should have 1/2 cup. If you have less, don't worry. If you have more, return it to the saucepan and cook briskly for 5min or so to reduce it.

Lift the garlic cloves from the cooking fat with a slotted spoon and force them through the medium disc of a food mill. Reserve the puréed garlic and discard the skins.

When the broth is properly reduced, add the vinegar and Cassis, bring to a boil, and reduce the mixture by one third. Whisk in the garlic purée and remove the pan from the heat.

Cut the chilled butter into 10 pieces and whisk the butter, piece by piece, into the hot sauce, always adding another piece of butter before the previous one is entirely absorbed. The sauce will begin to look creamy and thicken slightly. Cover the saucepan and set it in a warm (not hot) place.

Carve the duck and divide the serving pieces among multiple plates. Spoon some sauce over the duck and transfer the rest to a sauceboat. Retrieve the garlic cloves remaining inside the carcass and use them to garnish the sauced duck. Sprinkle with parsley and serve immediately.

Winter Strikes Again

Remember last week's blizzard? You might have known it as the Snowpocalypse or Snowmageddon. I'm talking about the one that blanketed most of the country with several inches (read:feet) of white fluff, to be accompanied by 60mph gusts, followed shortly thereafter by far-below-freezing temperatures. The storm in which many of us got to enjoy thundersnow for the first time, cozily contemplating the apocalypse? The storm that convinced the UChicago administration to stop classes for a day, an event that hasn't occurred in several decades? And then went and made them do it again? Yeah, that storm.

It's still snowing.

Granted, it's not the violent windy downfall that besieged us last week. After that experience, I barely noticed the delicate flakes currently drifting down from on high. But they're there. And a quick gander over to NOAA's forecast informs me that it is currently 13 degrees with a windchill of -3 degrees (Fahrenheit, mind you). Tomorrow is supposed to be colder.

Can I stay home?

No, probably not. But I can do the next best thing: make myself a big steaming pot of stew for when I get back. The stew I have in mind is one that has actually already been posted once on this blog. But I feel that Do, the Guinness-hating heathen, did not do it justice the first time around. Also, it's one of my most common go-to recipes throughout winter, so why not share it again?

The obvious selling point is that the stew has "Irish" in its title. As well as garner a little pride from Irishmen & women around (of which I am not one), this means that there's a certain amount (read:big heaping portions) of booze in the dish. In this case, the meat and vegetables stew for a few hours in a pint (or more...) of Guinness, which gives the softened chunks that subtle aroma of the bitter stout (the way a dancing elephant with a tutu and a neon sign is subtle). The preparation of the meat, as Do points out, is also a nice touch: before stewing, you cover the beef with a mixture of cornstarch and paprika, with a later addendum of salt, pepper, and (sure, why not?) basil. Some of this will get washed onto the veggies when you pour in the beer, but the rest sticks to the beef and offers a bracing seasoning for the cold weather.

The original recipe can be found at the Thyme for Cooking blog, which I've recopied here for convenience.

Irish Beef Stew

• 1 lb beef suitable for stewing
• 1 onion
• 2 cloves garlic
• 3 carrots
• 1 bay leaf
• 1/2 tsp dried thyme
• 1 pint Guinness
• 2 tsp beef paste (or stock cube)
• 1 tbs oil
• 3 tbs cornstarch
• 1 tbs paprika

Cut beef into 1 inch cubes. Cut onion into quarters, then slice thinly. Mince or press garlic. Cut carrots in half the long way, then into 1 inch pieces.

Combine paprika and cornstarch in a plastic food bag. Add beef and toss to coat evenly.

In a large sauce pan, enough to hold everything easily, heat the oil over medium-high heat. Add onion and sauté until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add beef and brown on all sides. Add garlic and sauté 1 minute more. Add remaining ingredients, bring to a boil, reduce heat to low, cover and simmer at least an hour. If it starts to dry out, add more Guinness. If you would like the sauce thicker stir in 1 tbs cornstarch dissolved in 2 tbs water.

When ready to eat, remove bay leaf and serve with boiled jacket potatoes.

So not Kosher: Goat Cheese-stuffed Meatballs

Ok, so when I started thinking about this entry, I wanted to open by quoting Shakespeare. In case my previous post didn't suggest this enough, just take for granted that I'm permanently hard-wired into the Bard's collected works. I kept trying to find something that was said by Shylock, from the Merchant of Venice. He's Jewish, he's Italian. There ended my justification.

I couldn't find anything.

But then! It occurred to me that I was being too classical. Instead, I should be looking to open with a pop-culture reference. And I found the perfect one, too: this dish is very much like Inception. Bear with me: you know about the dream within a dream within a dream? This is goat cheese. Within meatballs. Within the pasta. Within my belly. Now I just need to work in some trains, explosions, and an all-star cast.

I may be trying too hard, but in all seriousness, this is an impressive dish that surprises you with sudden twist of flavour while you're eating it. It would well deserve an epic soundtrack. The idea is pretty simple, and accordingly relatively straightforward to implement: you mash all your meatball ingredients in a bowl first. Then you roll out small spheres of slightly chilled goat cheese, and work the meatball around it. While cooking, the cheese seeps through the meat, keeping it tender. The taste of the cheese spreads delicately in such a way that there's only a whiff of it along the outside of the meat. Of course, when you bite into one, you'll be digging right into the center, where the fresh cheesy goodness is waiting. It's an unexpected, delicious contrast.

This recipe is from another of my graduation cookbooks: "Urban Italian Cooking" by Andrew Carmellini and Gwen Hyman. Much of the food in it is just like this: the chefs take a traditional Italian dish and give it an innovative twist. Moreover, they do so without gimickery. The process is deft, never relying on a cheap "gotcha!" sensation. Instead, one wonders why food hasn't always been made like this. If you're looking to escape cheesy "American-Italian" and don't feel like reverting back to the Traditional ways, give Urban Italian a go. It's well worth it.

Lamb Meatballs Stuffed with Goat Cheese
For the meatballs:

• 3 Tbs extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 small onion, chopped (about 1/2 cup)
• 1 clove garlic, finely chopped
• 1/2 tsp ground coriander seed
• 1 tsp ground fennel seed
• 1 Tbs rosemary, finely chopped
• 1/4 cup fresh goat cheese
• 1/2 lb merguez sausage, about 8 links (or 2 links hot Italian sausage, if you prefer) with casings cut away
• 1 lb ground lamb /* if you don't want to be overly decadent, beef works well, too */
  
• 1/2 cup dried breadcrumbs
• 2 eggs
• 1/2 tsp salt

For the sauce:

• 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 medium onion, diced (about 1 cup)
• 1 28oz can Italian tomatoes (San Marzano, if possible) plus their juice
• 1/4 tsp red pepper flakes
• 1/2 tsp salt
• 1/2 tsp sugar
• 1/2 tsp dried oregano, preferably on the branch

To finish the dish:

• 1/4 cup Crumbs Yo! /* this is his special bread crumbs recipe -- toasted with salt, pepper, and spices of your choice. Nice, but not necessary */
• 1/4 cup grated Pecorino cheese

To make the meatballs:

1. Heat olive oil in a sauté pan over medium heat. Add the onion and sweat for 3min. Add the garlic and cook for 1min, stirring occasionally.
2. Add the coriander, fennel, and rosemary. Cook together 1min, so that the aromas of the spices and herbs are released. Remove to a bowl and place in the fridge to cool (about 5min), so that you're not combining hot onions with cold meat.
3. Meanwhile, roll the goat cheese between your palms to form 1/2-inch balls (the size of a pebble). Place them on a plate and reserve.
4. When the onion-herb mixture has cooled, combine it in a large bowl with the sausage, lamb, breadcrumbs, eggs, and salt. Mix well with your hands.
5. Form the meatballs: for each meatball, scoop up about 2 Tbs of lamb mixture and roll and press it into an oval, about the size of a distended Ping-Pong ball. Use your thumb to create a goat-cheese-ball-size dent in the middle, and drop a goat-cheese ball inside. Pinch the lamb mixture up around the goat cheese to close the hole, and roll the meatball between your hands till it's round and smooth. Repeat until you've used up all the goat cheese and the lamb mixture.

To make the sauce:

1. Heat the olive oil in a large pot over medium-high heat. Add the onion and cook until it starts to soften, about 1min.
2. Crush the tomatoes in a bowl with the heel of your hand. Add them to the pot, then add the tomato juice, red pepper flakes, salt, sugar, and oregano. Mix to combine. Cook over medium-high heat for 10min, until the flavours combine and the sauce is reduced.
3. Add the meatballs, being careful not to break them. Reduce the heat to low, so the sauce is at a very low simmer, and cover. It's very important that the liquid never come to a boil. You want as slow a simmer as possible, so the flavors really come together, the cheese melts, and the meat becomes rich and tender. Cook for 5min, turn the meatballs with a spoon, and simmer another 5min, until the meat is cooked and the sauce takes on the flavour of the meatballs. (Some goat cheese may find it's way out during the cooking process -- it depends on how tightly you've made your meatballs -- but don't worry about this: the meatballs will still taste good.)

To finish the dish:
Ladle the meatballs and sauce into 6 bowls. Sprinkle with the Crumbs Yo! and the grated cheese. Serve immediately.

Liver

I wish I had a camera to show you how beautiful my dinner is. Because who eats liver any more, anyway? Even at my somewhat elitist neighborhood grocery store, the chummy check out clerks who know me by name expressed their skepticism and dismay when I presented myself with a pound of beef liver, an onion, parsley, egg noodles (which I only later realized are "no cholesterol," a rather self-defeating perk given that they're being served with a POUND of liver), and 4oz of chocolate (for brownies!, I protest). Last week, in Paris of all places, where you'd think they'd refrain from turning up their noses to classic, simple preparations, Do and my best friend from high school bonded over their mutual disgust that I ordered seared veal liver with mushrooms at a restaurant. Of course, the only person who was actual French at the table is notoriously finicky (but lovable! very, very lovable!), so I probably shouldn't judge the whole country on that basis.

Liver is heritage. It's a cut that our great grandparents had absolutely no problem with, in the days before all American butchery was reduced to a mere dozen cuts of any given animal, unceremoniously bundled in styrofoam and plastic and discounted for 2.99 per pound. It is unctuous, like a rare steak or top grade salmon sashimi. It smells like earth mixed with blood -- life, really, in all its depth and raw-ness.

Here's how Julie Powell, of Julie and Julia fame, describes it in the first chapter of her new book, Cleaving (in which she becomes a artisanal butcher's apprentice, an ideal perch from which to wax poetical about under-appreciated cuts of carcass):

"I now slice off eight pretty burgundy flaps of liver. The cut organ releases a metallic tang into the air, and yet more blood onto the table. Changing knives now, I delicately excise the tight pale ducts that weave through the slices. Perfectly cooked liver should be crisp on the outside with a custardy-smooth center. Nothing tough or chewy should get in the way of that sensual quintessence. Six of these slices are for the gleaming glass and steel case at the front of the shop; the last two I set aside, to wrap up and take home after work for a Valentine's Day dinner tomorrow. Once, I thought the holiday merited boxes of chocolate and glittery cards, but in these last couple of eye-opening years, amid the butchery and wrenches of the heart, I've realized life has gotten too complicated for such sweet and meaningless nothings; I've even learned I'm okay with that." Julie Powell, Cleaving: A Story of Marriage, Meat, and Obsesssion, p.3.

Poetry. What a way to start a book! She then inserts a recipe for Valentine's Day Liver for Two, where she coats the beef liver with flour, and sears it on the rare side in butter, oil, salt, and pepper. That prose inspired my dinner tonight, but instead I used a recipe from Elizabeth Ehrlich's autobiography about acquiring a sense of self by learning to cook with her Holocaust-survivor mother in law. She devotes a whole chapter to learning how to cook liver, of which the sentences below are extracts:

"'Then we can start with the leybern.' Leybern - livers. Lukshn mit leybern: chicken livers with noodles. I am here to learn this, and next Friday, something else. For my husband, and for our children.

I remember my first taste of this dish. Just home from the hospital with Miriam's first grandchild, I found her in my kitchen, warming her pot on my stove and insisting I come to the table. The richness, the oil, the iron, the cholesterol, the onion, the salt overtook my body like an intravenous drug. Miriam beamed. "It's good," she stated. There had never been a dish like this one.

Many women of Miriam's generation and background have moved toward broiled fish or chicken. But Miriam stays with her chopping bowl, soup pot, and frying pan, with the old labor-intensive recipes, the rich and salty ways.

Can I use less oil, I wonder?"

Elizabeth Ehrich, Miriam's Kitchen, p.41-47

Miriam's recipe, which is the one that I made for dinner, is below. My comments are in italics.

Lukshn Mit Leybern. Serves 4.

1 lb chicken livers (I used top quality beef livers, because my butcher didn't have chicken)

1 large onion, diced (I'm tempted to use two next time)

Black pepper

1/4 cup vegetable oil

3/4 Tbs flour

3/4 Tbs sugar (I eliminated this, as unlike Polish Jews I don't fancy sugar in my mains)

1/4 tsp salt

Egg noodles, medium width (I used 1/2lb, could go with less).

Hot Water

Parsley, chopped, for color.

Clean livers. Slice into generous bite-size pieces. Broil gently until done, then drain on toweling to remove all blood (remember, this is a Kosher recipe).

Place onion in medium saucepan and sprinkle [generously] with black pepper. Cook on low heat until onion pieces sweat. [Or until you're so hungry you can't stand it any more.]

Add the oil to cover bottom of pan and onion. Mix. Saute until just golden. Stor in livers. Cook for a few minutes over low heat. Add the flour and sugar and mix together. Cover with hot water and simmer for 10 to 15 minutes over low flame. Add salt to taste. Simmer for a few more minutes. Serve hot on cooked noodles, sprinkle with parsely.

The broth tastes like that from a 6 hour long beef stew - the kind where you make your own beef broth from scratch with bones in order to enrich the broth with marrow. The richness of it all makes it kind of taste like Stroganoff... even though there's clearly no cream in it. I'm half tempted to add just a half teaspoon of mustard to emphasize the similarity. This isn't necessarily Liver at its most shocking - that would be seared, minimalist. But it's simple, honest. Rooted in another era.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to settle down with my bowl full of days gone by and my glass of wine, and enjoy.

Best German-style Pork Chops ever.

You wouldn't tell it from this blog, but eating habits in the Do-Neen household have changed dramatically since we moved to the land of amazing produce/long growing seasons. Without really meaning to, and despite Do's meat-and-potatoes midwestern background, we're cooking predominantly vegetarian these days. The other day I even put my foot down and declared that meat is too much of a pain in the ass to prepare, takes too long to cook for my grad student schedule, and that I just don't enjoy cooking it. This may or may not have been related to a browning chicken pieces incident, for which the damn browning took longer than the rest of the recipe and the oil splatters dirtied everything within 5 feet of the pot. And then there was that amazing NYtimes article about the dangers of mass produced ground beef. Maybe Michael Pollan has put something in the water. In any case, I rarely cook meat anymore.

Which leaves it up to Do. Every so often he'll put his foot down: "I. Need. MEAT." Then a series of things will happen:
1. He'll reach for Julia Child's MTAOFC Vol 1.
2. He'll realize the dish he wants is fairly time consuming (i.e. weekend only) and/or serves 12.
3. We end up throwing a spontaneous dinner party, for the sole purpose of drafting others to help us consume the product of his labors.

This happened, almost exactly as described, a few weeks ago. It started with Do deciding that he couldn't go another week without pork chops, and ended with one of the larger dinner+board game parties that we've hosted since moving to California. The whole experience yielded some revealing insights:

• This is why we've become closer to our meat-eating friends than to our vegetarian friends, even though we eat mostly vegetarian ourselves. We can (and do) have our meat-eating friends over at the drop of a hat -- or a couple hours after meat-related inspiration strikes Do. Vegetarian dishes are simply easier to scale and less of an event, and so less likely to prompt a last minute "We're making X, want to come over?"
• Do loves Julia Child. This cracks me up. I think his inner scientist really appreciates how precise she is, and his inner Midwesterner hearts her meat-centric take on food.
  
• Do makes effing good pork chops. I had always thought of pork chops as dry and leathery. Oh no. Not this recipe. Not this cook.
• Always serve a Julia Child dish over noodles. Best pasta sauce EVER. And face it, what else are you going to do with all that cream?

Cotes de Porc Sauce Nenette (serves 6)
6 thick pork chops (min 1"). Can be marinated ahead of time*
3-4 Tbs cooking oil
2 Tbs butter
2 cloves garlic
1/2 cup white wine or beef stock
1 1/2 c whipping cream
2 Tbs mustard
2 Tbs tomato paste
2 Tbs fresh chopped basil or parsely
salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Dry the pork chops with paper towels. Heat oil until almost smoking in a large heavy-bottomed casserole. Brown the chops, 2 or 3 at a time, on each side for 3-4min. Transfer to side dish. If you didn't marinate them, season with salt, pepper, and 1/4 tsp thyme.

Add butter and garlic to casserole. Return the chops, overlapping them slightly. Baste them with the butter. Cover and heat the casserole until the meat is sizzling, then set in lower third of preheated oven for 10-15min. Turn and baste the chops once or twice.

While the pork chops are cooking, simmer the cream, 1/4 tsp salt and a pinch of pepper in a small saucepan for 8 - 10 min, or until it has reduced to one cup. Meanwhile, beat the mustard and the tomato paste together in a small bowl, then beat into the hot cream. Set aside.

Once the chops are done, remove them to a serving platter and pour the cream mixture into the casserole. Simmer 3-4 min, deglazing. Correct seasoning, stir in the basil, return the pork to the casserole and let heat.

Serve over noodles.

Beer-Butt Chicken

Saturdays are great. I'm sitting here in the kitchen as Do makes Veal Stew and Lentil Soup, and the smells are getting better and better. He's been getting really in to "Freezer cooking" -- making large batches of stews, curries, or pasta sauces that freeze well on the weekends, so that he doesn't have to worry about cooking during the week. So far, the convenience far outweighs any nostalgia for last year's daily kitchen dances. It's not like I have time to hit the grocery store mid-week either!

He's currently manhandling 5.5 pounds of chuck roast. Sexy.

Last weekend, I decided that it was high time to introduce Do to beer-butt chicken. Most people know it as "beer can chicken" or somesuch nonsense, but c'mon. You stuff a beer can up a Chicken's BUTT people. Five year olds dissolve into giggles. Adults, moderately intoxicated (1st step in BBQing is to souse the cook), follow suit. And then you end up with the best chicken ever. Good food and a story, what's not to like?

My Mom gave my Dad a webster grill for his 50th birthday, which he then happily dragged to Switzerland and the Dominican Republic (the movers were really disturbed that they were being paid to ship woodchips across continents), taking diplomacy to a whole new level with Southern Bar-B-Q. I don't remember when Beer-Butt Chicken first made its appearance, though I do remember thinking it a rather deliciously heathen practice. Everything else was eclipsed by the amazingly succulent meat. This is really the most luscious way to cook chicken ever. The meat is spiced by the rub, emphatically not dry, and the skin is crispy.

My parents use Real Simple's recipe, so that's what I'm giving you here. We're probably going to reduce the sugar next time. Also, "medium heat" is relative -- our grill got really hot and the chicken was perfect in 40 minutes.

We then vegged out with really good chicken and watched West Wing. True Escapism. Just think that we used to live there...

Real Simple's Beer Butt Chicken

2 whole dried chiles, such as chipotle or New Mexico
2 tablespoons sugar (Consider reducing)
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 tablespoon oregano
1 tablespoon ground cinnamon
1 3 1/2- to 4-pound whole chicken
1 12-ounce can of beer

In a blender, food processor, or spice grinder, combine the chiles, sugar, salt, and spices.

Remove the neck and giblets from the chicken and discard. Rub the chicken inside and out with the spice rub. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 4 hours or overnight.

Light a charcoal grill and allow the coals to burn until covered with gray ash or heat a gas grill to medium. Drink half the beer; leave the other half in the can. Slide the chicken over the can and place in the center of the cooking grate, balancing the chicken on its two legs and the can, like a tripod. Cover grill.

Grill about 1 1/4 hours or until an instant-read thermometer registers 170° F inserted in the breast and 180° F in the thigh, or until the juices run clear. Carefully remove the chicken and hot can from grill. Let the chicken rest 10 minutes before lifting it from the can.

Yield: Makes 4 servings

NUTRITION PER SERVING
CALORIES 528(0% from fat); FAT 28g (sat 8g); CHOLESTEROL 223mg; CALCIUM 84mg; CARBOHYDRATE 9g; SODIUM 1912mg; PROTEIN 56mg; FIBER 2g; IRON 5mg

Poulet Basquaise

On Monday this week (yeah, the post has been in the pipeline for a little while...), I made a dish that I fell in love with. Really. The recipe comes out of our Bistro Cooking cookbook, which I highly recommend if you can get your hands on a copy. Ours comes from a used bookstore in Austin, and it is fabulous. We have made a number of recipes out of it in the last 6 months and they are consistently surprising. My only caveat is that, despite having an entire chapter on potatoes, they are mostly potato gratin dishes (which I am reluctant to make just because of the time requirement for slicing all those potatoes). The rest of the cookbook has fantastic recipes, most of which are fairly simple to make but have a distinctly French flavor. High marks overall. (Though, I don't think I will be so bold as to recommend it to Kate, over at Thyme for Cooking.... There are some distinct advantages to living in the French countryside....)

The dish in question, in case you managed to miss the title of the post, is Poulet Basquaise. The dish is centered around the contrast of sweetness of bell peppers/chicken and the spice of hot peppers, but actually only calls for two hot peppers (seeded) to be used. Of course, since there are only two of us, I halved the recipe. I just didn't halve the hot peppers - and I didn't seed 'em either. :) This is yet another example of the dilemma that Neen finds herself in almost constantly. The pleasure of having a lover that will cook her dinner (and enjoy doing it), while simultaneously wishing that he would lay off the heat. The problem is that I really enjoy hot food, and there are very few dishes that would not be improved by adding some hot pepper. I am trying to be better, though - if only so that she will keep eating what I cook. Last night I made a pasta dish (to be described later) that I was very tempted to add Serrano peppers to, but I didn't! It took so much self-control not to add those little packets of delicious heat. They would have tasted great... I hope she appreciated it!

Back to the Poulet Basquaise, though. The dish worked out really well, but it was not at all what I had expected it to be. It was cooked in three different pots. One pot for the noodles (of course), one pot for the tomato and onion sauce, and one pot to bring them all and in the darkness bind them... Wait, that's not it. The other pot was for the fusion of chicken, bell peppers, hot peppers, ham, and garlic. I also added a reasonable dash of white wine. The result was fascinating - after cooking for an hour while covered the bell peppers released so much liquid as to make an almost soup-like mixture. The flavors had melded together to form a seamless whole that tasted richly of chicken and yet also light, almost spring-like with the flavors of bell- and Serrano peppers. One taste was enough - I was sold. I loved the combination of the chicken, garlic, and Serrano peppers all brought together by the sweetness of bell-peppers. The flavor of the wine offered additional complexity to the flavors, without being over-bearing.

To serve, the directions were very specific: the tomato sauce should put down and then the chicken placed on top. Of course, I added noodles (it sounded like a noodle kind of dish) so I put those on the bottom of everything.

I should note that while this dish quickly gained a spot in my heart, Neen had a couple of reservations. The chicken came out looking fairly dilapidated and the chicken skin had a flabby texture. Also, the sauce, since it is so broth like, will seep to the bottom of a bowl making it tricky to get a piece of chicken, noodles, and sauce all in one bite. I have two suggestions for modification to the recipe to correct for these issues. One, I would coat the chicken in seasoned flour before browning. Two, I would use the extra flour at the last step to make a roux for the soup and thicken it slightly. Not too much - you might loose the lightness of the flavor, but I would want to thicken it just enough that it can grab onto pasta noodles.
[Neen inserts: or we can serve the dish over rice, as the original recipe suggests, and thereby bypass the whole problem....]

Patricia Wells' Poulet Basquaise: Chicken with Hot Peppers, Ham, Tomatoes, and Onions
4-6 Servings

4 small, mildly hot green chiles (such as serrano), or 2 hot green chilies, or 1/2 tsp hot red pepper flakes (I doubled the quantity of chiles)
1 chicken (3-4 pounds), well rinsed, patted dry, cut into 8 serving pieces, and at room temperature
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
5 Tbs vegetable oil
12 fat garlic cloves, cut into thin slices
2 large onions, coarsely chopped
2 lb tomatoes, peeled, cored, seeded and chopped (or substitute 1 28oz can plum tomatoes, drained)
White Wine (my addition)

1. If you're a weenie, Core and seed the chiles. Slice into 1/8-inch strips; set aside
2. Season the chicken liberally with salt and pepper. Ina deep 12-inch skillet, heat 3 Tbs of oil over high heat. When the oil is hot but not smoking, add the chicken and brown on one side until the skin turns an even golden brown , about 5 min. Turn the pieces and brown them on the other side for an additional 5 min. Work in batches, if necessary.
   
3. Return all the chicken to the skillet. Add the garlic, bell peppers, chiles, and ham, burying all the ingredients admist the chicken pieces. (Add a general cup or so of white wine). Cook covered, over medium heat, until the chicken is cooked through and the peppers are meltingly soft (45min-1hr). The pan will make a lot of crackling noises as the peppers give off much of their liquid. Turn the mixture from time to time, and adjust the heat to avoid scorching. You want a tender sauce.
   
4. Meanwhile, in another large skillet, heat the remaining 2 Tbs of oil over high heat until hot but not smoking. Ad the onions. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook until very soft, about 5 min. Add the tomatoes and continue cooking for another 30min. The mixture should be soft and well-blended. Season to taste with salt. (The dish can be easily made ahead at this point. Reheat both mixtures separately.)
5. To serve, layer the tomato and onion mixture on a preheated platter. Cover with the chicken mixture, and serve immediately, with white rice. (oops, I used noodles).
   

Beef Daube: Mustard Stew?

A couple of weeks ago I was very excited about cooking a new kind of beef stew I found, Beef Daube. I was attracted to the description of a lighter, herb flavored beef stew to replace it's stronger cousin in the spring. Well, when I came home this weekend I decided it was high time to finally cook Beef Daube. After all, what says "I love you" more clearly than a big pot of stew - and after a week apart (especially given my proclivity to not use my cell-phone), it was high time I got around to giving her an extended reminder of why she puts up with me!

On Saturday night, I made the stew. It only needed to cook for a little while (~2-3 hours) so I made us some drinks and we chatted for a while, took a nap, and then watched our favorite show, Battlestar Galactica. Now, for those of you who don't watch the show, I can only say that it is the most addicting show I have ever watched. It is the first really, really intelligent sci-fi show that has managed to also be an action/adventure flick. Usually I feel like I either need to turn my brain off and just enjoy the excitement, or I just appreciate shows on an intellectual level (battle-sequences mostly being fairly corny). Battlestar Galactica really appeals on both levels. It is not perfect, but the questions it asks are almost always interesting and the answers are usually satisfying on at least some level. So, with two new episodes released since I left, it was high time to cuddle into bed and watch them - and what better time than while a stew is cooking! - It is almost like I am still doing work, right...

Well, after the two shows, which were slightly disappointing, we chomped into the new stew. The flavors were very interesting - interesting enough, that we would pause our discussion of BG long enough to comment on how particular flavors were combining. The dominant flavors of the stew were: white wine, Dijon mustard, beef, onion, herbs (thyme, bay leaf, parsley). The beef flavor was fairly localized to the pieces of beef, while the broth tasted strongly of white wine and mustard with hints of herbal flavorings. I coated the meat with a seasoned flour that gave it just a little bit of spice (which was very nice - I might be interested in adding a little more spice next time I make this). I would also add even more herbs. Neen and I always have trouble tasting thyme and bay leaf in stews, so I added nearly 4x what the recipe called for. You could really taste the herbs, but a little more flavor would have been nice. Neen commented that she had a hard time getting past the mustard flavor of the sauce, since in her mind it is connected the heavy mustard and cream sauces that are common in German cooking. I didn't have this problem, though the sauce does wind up a little on the thicker side (I made some modifications to the recipe so that it was not beef chunks with a mustard sauce, but more stew like). For me, the white wine carried the day leaving the palate with the sense of a lighter dish.

I would be interested, however, in finding a beef stew/soup that was even lighter - probably without the mustard flavor. I think in my head I am attempting to formulate a Western equivalent of a beef udon since these are often made with chicken broth - giving them a wonderfully light flavor. I will poke around and see what I can find (and suggestions are more than welcome!).

Joy of Cooking (2006) Beef Daube

2 lb boneless beef stew meat
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp black pepper and/or 1/2 tsp paprika (I added both and doubled the paprika)
Optional: 1/8 tsp ground ginger or ground nutmeg (I didn't add either).
3 Tbs olive oil
3 cups white wine (I added more to cover the Bouquet Garni)
2 Tbs Dijon Mustard
One 16 oz can plum tomatoes, with juice
3 medium onions, halved and sliced
3 garlic cloves, halved
1 Bouquet garni (parsley, bay leaf, thyme sprigs, 2 cloves, white portion of one leek)

Pat dry and cut the stew meat into 3-inch cubes. In a zip lock bag, combine the flour, salt, pepper, paprika and ginger/nutmeg (if using). Dredge the meat in the seasoned flour.

Heat the olive oil in a dutch oven over medium high heat. Add meat in batches and brown on all sides, being careful not to crowd the pot or scorch the meat. Remove with a slotted spoon and set aside. Pour off all but a light film of fat from the pot.

Add 3 cups of white wine, bring to a boil, scraping up any browned bits on the bottom of the pot. Reduce the heat and gently simmer, uncovered, until the wine is reduced by half (7-10min). Add the mustard and whisk to blend. Return the beef and accumulated juices to the pot, and add the rest of the ingredients. Cover and simmer over low heat until the meat is fork-tender (2-3 hours).

With a slotted spoon, remove the beef, onions, and tomatoes to a platter. Increase the heat to high and boil the sauce until slightly thickened and reduced by a third (about 10 minutes). Reduce the heat to medium, return the beef and vegetables to the sauce, and reheat gently.
Garnish with fresh thyme.

Serves 6-8.

Guinness Beef: The Spirit of Irish Past

So, last Friday (errm.... I guess that would be Good Friday - Thank God that Shabbat takes precedent), I was overcome with a desire for Beef Stew. I had images floating in my head of big chunks of meat, coated in a thick brown sauce and they were driving me crazy (I will happily point the "blame" for these craving at a wonderful post about Beef in Guinness at Thyme for Cooking).

Well, my first hunkering was for this very interesting recipe I found in Joy of Cooking for Beef Stew with Mustard, Herbs, and White Wine (Beef Daube). Unfortunately this recipe takes 2-3 hours of simmering, and I just didn't have the time. So, instead I went back to that recipe at Thyme for Cooking and embraced my Irish ancestry (I don't know how far back you have to go to actually find the Irish in my ancestry, but we are pretty sure it is there).

So while Neen was updating the blog (after having attended a 3 hour service at the Cathedral), I was cooking up an Irish storm (paying homage to the gods of food and beer). The whole time, the bottle of Guinness was sitting on the counter giving me flash-backs from a trip to Ireland with my family during my college years. We were in Dublin for Bloomsday, 2004 (that would be the 100th anniversary of Bloomsday), and the commemoration included, of course, a traditional Irish Breakfast. And what is the most important part of this complete Irish breakfast? Guinness. A pint of Guinness! It was nine in the bleeding morning and there were these big Irish guys drinking pints of Guinness. Well, I admit to wimping out - I just couldn't bring myself to do it. My brother, on the other hand, happily drank the family supply of Guinness (I believe that brought him to 4 pints of Guinness with his breakfast - he was a source of great entertainment for the remainder of the day). It seems, somehow, appropriate to imagine these Irish guys drinking pints Guinness in the morning and then going home to a a big pot of meat cooking in Guinness. It would give a nice symmetry to their day.

However authentic this recipe might, or might not, be I was particularly pleased with the method for seasoning the meat in this recipe, which involved corn starch, paprika, salt, pepper, and some basil - okay, so I made up the basil :). This resulted in wonderfully tender pieces of meat with great seasoning. Even the uncooked chunks were delicious looking!

The end product was a wonderfully rich sauce, with a full bodied beer flavor, and generous portions of tender beef. Unlike other beef in beer recipes I have tried, this one really relishes in the flavor of the beer, making it the central point of the dishes flavor.

The only real problem I had with this recipe is that I don't like Guinness very much. (Okay, so maybe this is proof that you have to go a long way back to find the Irish). But, seriously, the bitter flavor of the Guinness was really emphasized in this sauce - giving it a very strange after-flavor. I tried a few quick tests to see if I could add something that would mask the flavor, but I had no big success there. Milk helped a little, but the added cream was a little too much for the rest of the flavors. I am not sure if there is an obvious way to fix this with Guinness, but I think if I were to make this again I would opt for a slightly lighter beer, maybe an ale.

You can find the original recipe at: Thyme for Cooking

Chicken Cacciatore, for when your brain hurts

During our 4th year in college, we lived in this gorgeous, old low-rise apartment building in Chicago. Unlike our current place, the rooms were ample and always full of light, making it a great place to have people over. Our dining room table was (and is) a well-used ikea number that doubles as a two person desk during most of the day, and we had more than enough room for two couches where you could often find my little brother hammering away at his 1st year English essays or Calculus problem sets. I would let him know that something yummy was on that night's menu, and that there would be more than enough to share (being as yet unwilling to experiment with the proportions of all these 4 person recipes. Without my brother to act as an appreciative garbage disposal, we have since become very good at halving every recipe off the bat), and he would wander over sometime after afternoon class and plug himself into our wall sockets for hours on end. D would drag himself away from lab and bring a graduate student friend with him, enticed away from experiments in favor of a non-cafeteria, non-eateria dinner. It was great. I really miss it. Unfortunately, neither one of us has a brother in D.C. and we live too far away from our jobs to casually drag unsuspecting colleagues home. Ah well, hopefully when we go to grad school in the fall...

This recipe, I believe, may have been what convinced D to defer grad school and follow me out to DC for a year. It's that good. Or at least, he reacted that positively when I made it for the first time in college... in retrospect that may say more about what I'd been serving him to date, but ehh. :) Chicken Cacciatore is like pure yumminess in a bowl, slathered in hearty tomato sauce over pasta. This recipe is hearty and flavorful and classic, without being reduced to some trite Italian reference. D inserts, "It's everything you like about a classic pasta sauce, but more. More spiced, more complex, deeper." The chicken is super moist and melts off the bone. We always serve it over noodles, to lap up that great sauce and to make the dinner stretch to feed 3 hungry University boys. Best of all, it's simple enough that even I, a super inexperienced cook (at the time) and nervous hostess (still), could pull it off without thinking twice. If I had to list only three culinary successes that we got out of that year, Chicken Cacciatore would top the list.

A quick word on the source. I clearly didn't take the photo above (notice the lack of pasta and the professional lighting -- definitely not me); it's the photo that accompanies the recipe in the "Real Simple: Meals Made Easy" cookbook. I really recommend it, we've had good luck with everything we tried. Unlike with most cookbooks that are marketed as "simple" or "college-level," these recipes have all been very flavorful, well-balanced texture-wise, aesthetically pretty, crowd-pleasers, and INTERESTING. I've heard some folks complain that Rachel Ray-type recipes are more "simple," but I find these recipes very clearly written, straight-forward in terms of steps and techniques, and really not requiring a lot of stressful juggling in the kitchen. And every one can be accomplished on a weeknight. The only drawback is that some of the recipes are less inspiring to me, mostly the "empty pantry" and the "no-cook" meals. Ah well, definitely worth leafing through in a bookstore!

Chicken Cacciatore with Pasta
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
kosher salt and black pepper
1 3 1/2- to 4-pound chicken, cut into pieces
1/4 cup olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, roughly chopped
1 carrot, diced
1 celery stalk, diced (eeh, optional)
4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
3 sprigs fresh thyme (more is always better)

1 bay leaf
1 28-ounce can plum tomatoes
Cayenne pepper to taste
1/3 cup dry red wine
1 lb pasta (more or less depending on how many you're feeding)
1/4 cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves

In a shallow bowl, combine the flour, 1 teaspoon of the salt, and 1/2 teaspoon of the pepper. Rinse the chicken and pat it dry with paper towels. Heat the oil in a Dutch oven or large saucepan over medium heat. Working in batches, lightly coat the chicken in the flour mixture, shaking off any excess. Add some of the chicken to the pan, being careful not to crowd the pieces. Cook the chicken until browned, 4 to 5 minutes per side. Transfer to a plate; set aside. Repeat with the remaining chicken.

Add the onion to the pan and cook for 2 minutes. Add the carrot, celery, garlic, thyme, and bay leaf. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes. Stir the tomatoes into the vegetables, crushing them with the back of your spoon as you go along. Add the wine, and salt, pepper, and cayenne to taste and bring to a simmer. Add the chicken, reduce heat, and cover. Simmer for 45 minutes, turning the pieces occasionally.

In the mean time, cook the pasta in boiling water. When the Chicken is ready, remove and discard the bay leaf. Serve the cacciatore on top of the pasta and sprinkle with parsley.

Serves 3-5, depending on how many starving college boys you have at your table.

Check out the Presto Pasta Nights roundup at Once Upon a Feast.

Lamb Stew in Three Layers

Sunday night, I took a turn at cooking a new stew. Stew is how I first began to cook for large groups in college. My father has recipe for Beef Stew that I have grown up with. It is an incredibly simple recipe (Beef, potatoes, carrots, onion, garlic, and a few seasonings), but it is my ideal for beef stew. That said, I have tried to branch into other kinds of beef stew before, but it has always ended in disaster. In particular, there was the beef and beer stew that we made about a year ago. It was a very nice rendition of beef in a brown sauce, but it hardly qualified as stew for me. So last night, I was not prepared to tackle another beef stew. Instead, I choose an easier opponent, a lamb stew from Gourmet Cookbook.

The first step in the recipe is to cut off and render the fat. Render? I render something inactive or, in my geekier moments, I render graphics - I do not render fat. For my companions in ignorance, rendering fat, refers to cooking fat over low heat, in an effort to melt it. At first taking special care to add fat to lamb (which is a fatty meat already) may seem counterintuitive, but it really did result in a stew with a full, rich flavor. After cooking the lamb meat, carrots, and onions in the rendered fat, the stew was then prepared in layers. That's right, layers - like a casserole. The bottom layer was lamb, then a layer of carrots and onions, and, finally, the potatoes. I have never used layers in a stew before, and I couldn't tell if it made a difference in the cooking. I may try this recipe again and not add the layers, just to see what happens.

If you have any interest in lamb stew, I would recommend this recipe as a lighter, fresher version of lamb stew. The short cooking time (1 hour of simmering), keeps the flavors from blending to the point of homogeneity, and the use of chicken broth and white wine (the recipe didn't call for it, but I thought it would make a nice addition) keeps the stew lighter then others made with beef broth.