Please be seated, this may come as a shock to you.
The people who produce the foodie-grade edibles in this country are not, by and large, foodies. They are usually off-the-grid types who, 30 years ago would have gone on top of a hill with a bottle of Coke and warbled about how they'd like to teach the world to sing if only Coca-Cola weren't such an capitalist enterprise. Nowadays, they have made some grudging acceptance of the free-market (akin to a flat-earther acknowledging our planet's "slight curvature") to the very minimum extent required to stay in business. Why do they want to stay in business? "To make a difference."
The problem is that hoping against hope to make a difference often leads to stupid-@$$ decisions. In particular, I am railing against two major organic dairy producers...you know who you are.
The fact these are not foodies we're dealing with here was driven home when I noticed, to my regret, their milk is now "ultra pasteurized." This, as opposed to regular pasteurization, is done SOLELY to extend shelf life. The problem is that the fancy-pants milk now tastes exactly like regular milk and, from a foodie's standpoint, it no longer has any material advantage over milk that clocks in at 75% cheaper. The attitude being "never mind how it tastes...look how good for you/the environment it is!" All references to how much better it tasted have been dropped from the cartons, in favor of details on how the barns were built by communes from recyclables foraged by indigenous Elbonians and how a percentage of the profits have been donated to Hemp Growers Without Borders.
But that doesn't solve the problem of my finding milk that tastes like milk.
#$%& ultra-pasteurization.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Things Without Which You Oughtn't Live
Last night, I went to a tasting since my client (the guy who was supposed to be at the tasting) begged off and handed me his ticket. The tasting was of a few food purveyors who brought along interesting tidbits for the assemble to taste and, they hoped, order in staggering quantities. The tidbits were pretty good, actually...even if they were a bit unorthodox (trout caviar, cherry-smoked salmon, etc., etc.) but that's not what blew me away. THIS was:
This Glacier vodka was soooo smooth and haunting I spent a perfectly untenable amount of my nonexistent free time tracking it down to find out what it was. I strongly urge you to seek it out and drink it. Me? I'm dreaming of lacing the ideal Bloody Mary therewith but those of you who prefer abominations (like a vodka martini) or merely aberrations (such as vodka and tonic), will likewise adore it. And I'm not a vodka fan.
The ironic thing of it is that it's not Russian. Hell, it's not even Eastern European...or even European! It's from Ida-freakin'-ho. But they know their taters in Idaho and apparently they also know what to do with Rocky Mountain water and also what ought be done to surplus spuds.
You're welcome, Internet.
-J.
The ironic thing of it is that it's not Russian. Hell, it's not even Eastern European...or even European! It's from Ida-freakin'-ho. But they know their taters in Idaho and apparently they also know what to do with Rocky Mountain water and also what ought be done to surplus spuds.
You're welcome, Internet.
-J.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Mama's Boy
On Sunday, my mom (one of the member of my gene pool likeliest to be classified as Not Deranged and/or Functional) returned from Spain where she was doing some philatelic thing and visiting her relatives.
She brought back two KILOS of El Rey chocolate (84%!!) and a 5 gram (!) jar of saffron and somehow -- 'cause the FDA whines and moans about this -- a vacuum pack of Jabugo ham (made from the acorn-fed Iberic Blackfoot pig...think prosciutto to the Nth power)
I am so amazingly happy with this yumminess. Especially with the saffron, since it makes a lovely pasta (the Spanish have their own version--not quite as popular as in Italy--called tallarines) which ought go KILLER with some fresh mussels in broth.
-J.
She brought back two KILOS of El Rey chocolate (84%!!) and a 5 gram (!) jar of saffron and somehow -- 'cause the FDA whines and moans about this -- a vacuum pack of Jabugo ham (made from the acorn-fed Iberic Blackfoot pig...think prosciutto to the Nth power)
I am so amazingly happy with this yumminess. Especially with the saffron, since it makes a lovely pasta (the Spanish have their own version--not quite as popular as in Italy--called tallarines) which ought go KILLER with some fresh mussels in broth.
-J.
News from the Yummy Front
I was quite fortunate this weekend in that there was a large migration of shrimp, and my sister's husband took me a-shrimpin'. Normally noncommercial shrimpersons have a head start on shrimp and also there are some areas which are closed to commercial shrimping. (THERE IS NOTHING LIKE IMPOSSIBLY FRESH SHELLFISH. In fact, the taste and texture of fresh, never-done-froze shrimp is a close sibling to Maine lobster.) So I caught a fair few and proceeded to make--envy me!--the following:
Paella
6 T EVOO (extra-virgin olive oil, for you who are maladjusted, I like Carbonell)
½ medium Spanish onion, diced as fine as your patience will allow
1 dead-ripe tomato, skinned, seeded and diced tiny ("Concassé" for those who did the culinary school trip)
6 large garlic cloves, peeled and finely minced
¼ t Spanish smoked paprika ("pimentón ahumado" and for this I prefer the medium or the mild...the hot stuff kinda clashes)
¼ lb. sea scallops
¼ lb. shrimp, peeled, with the heads (if available) & shells reserved
3 cups seafood stock (previously made from shrimp shells, etc., otherwise replace use clam juice)
1½ cups clam juice (bottled is okay)
1 pinch saffron threads, lightly heated and then ground to a powder (powdered is oooookay, but get it FRESH)
1 cup Valencia rice (the bomba or calasparra are ideal, but you can even use arborio in a pinch), unwashed
½ lb. clams, cleaned (soak w. cornmeal to expel grit and dirt)
½ lb. mussels, cleaned
2 lemons, cut in wedges for garnish
1. Place 4 T of the EVOO in a 12½"-14" paella pan over medium heat. Add onion and cook until softened, about 2 minutes. Add tomato and garlic. Season with salt and the paprika, and cook gently, stirring nonstop, until the tomato water has cooked out and the mixture (sofrito in Spanish) has caramelized to a dark but not brick-y color and is very thick. This takes 15 to 20 minutes; if the sofrito starts to brown, add a few tablespoons of water to deglaze.
2. Shove the sofrito to the outer rim of the pan. Add another T of EVOO to the pan over medium-high heat. Add scallops and shrimp to the middle of the pan. Sear nicely on both sides, 2 to 3 minutes. Set the seafood aside and reserve.
3. Place the remaining EVOO in a stockpot set over medium-high heat. Brown the shrimp shells (and heads) until toasty, about 5 minutes. Add the fish stock (or clam juice) and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Strain the broth, discarding the shells, and return the stock to the pot. At a simmer add the clam juice and saffron. Taste for salt, adding more if necessary; it should be salted but not salty. Cover loosely with the lid.
4. Place the paella pan with the sofrito over medium-high heat. Add the rice and cook, stirring constantly to combine it with the sofrito, until the rice is translucent, 1 to 2 minutes. Pour in 4 cups of simmering stock and stir to even the rice throughout the pan. Bring to a strong simmer, but don't stir the rice once the water bubbles. This is key.
5. Keep simmering well, shaking -- but not stirring -- the contents whenever necessary to distribute and cook things as evenly as possible. After 5 minutes, add the clams to the pan, sort-of burying them into the rice. When the rice begins just peek out over the liquid (another 5 minutes or so), add the mussels in a way similar to the clams. Reduce the heat to medium low or low so the liquid barely simmers. After 5 minutes, add scallops and shrimp, but don't press them too hard into the rice. Continue to cook until the liquid has been absorbed and the rice is al dente, about 5 minutes more.
Taste a grain just below the top layer of rice. If the liquid is absorbed but the rice is too firm, add a bit more hot broth or water to the pan and cook a few minutes more. The rice usually cooks in about 20 minutes total.
6. If you want, check the bottom of the pan for socarrat/socorrat (the yummy caramelized crust of rice that sometimes happens at the bottom of the paella); you'll feel it on the bottom of the pan if there is any. If there is none, increase the heat to medium-high and cook until the bottom of the rice starts to caramelize, in about 2 min. When the cooking rice makes a crackly sound, remove the pan from the heat immediately.
7. If you're satisfied with the crust (admittedly, you may not even like that), remove the pan from the heat, and cover the pan with a clean towel. Let the paella rest for 5 to 10 minutes. Uncover, and serve with lemon wedges.
TIP: You'll get an even better stock if you use more shrimp shells. Reserve the shrimp shells from something else you've done and for another dish and freeze them to use here.
This will feed a happy 4-6 people, 6-8 if there have been lots of tapas to go around first.
-J.
Paella
6 T EVOO (extra-virgin olive oil, for you who are maladjusted, I like Carbonell)
½ medium Spanish onion, diced as fine as your patience will allow
1 dead-ripe tomato, skinned, seeded and diced tiny ("Concassé" for those who did the culinary school trip)
6 large garlic cloves, peeled and finely minced
¼ t Spanish smoked paprika ("pimentón ahumado" and for this I prefer the medium or the mild...the hot stuff kinda clashes)
¼ lb. sea scallops
¼ lb. shrimp, peeled, with the heads (if available) & shells reserved
3 cups seafood stock (previously made from shrimp shells, etc., otherwise replace use clam juice)
1½ cups clam juice (bottled is okay)
1 pinch saffron threads, lightly heated and then ground to a powder (powdered is oooookay, but get it FRESH)
1 cup Valencia rice (the bomba or calasparra are ideal, but you can even use arborio in a pinch), unwashed
½ lb. clams, cleaned (soak w. cornmeal to expel grit and dirt)
½ lb. mussels, cleaned
2 lemons, cut in wedges for garnish
1. Place 4 T of the EVOO in a 12½"-14" paella pan over medium heat. Add onion and cook until softened, about 2 minutes. Add tomato and garlic. Season with salt and the paprika, and cook gently, stirring nonstop, until the tomato water has cooked out and the mixture (sofrito in Spanish) has caramelized to a dark but not brick-y color and is very thick. This takes 15 to 20 minutes; if the sofrito starts to brown, add a few tablespoons of water to deglaze.
2. Shove the sofrito to the outer rim of the pan. Add another T of EVOO to the pan over medium-high heat. Add scallops and shrimp to the middle of the pan. Sear nicely on both sides, 2 to 3 minutes. Set the seafood aside and reserve.
3. Place the remaining EVOO in a stockpot set over medium-high heat. Brown the shrimp shells (and heads) until toasty, about 5 minutes. Add the fish stock (or clam juice) and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Strain the broth, discarding the shells, and return the stock to the pot. At a simmer add the clam juice and saffron. Taste for salt, adding more if necessary; it should be salted but not salty. Cover loosely with the lid.
4. Place the paella pan with the sofrito over medium-high heat. Add the rice and cook, stirring constantly to combine it with the sofrito, until the rice is translucent, 1 to 2 minutes. Pour in 4 cups of simmering stock and stir to even the rice throughout the pan. Bring to a strong simmer, but don't stir the rice once the water bubbles. This is key.
5. Keep simmering well, shaking -- but not stirring -- the contents whenever necessary to distribute and cook things as evenly as possible. After 5 minutes, add the clams to the pan, sort-of burying them into the rice. When the rice begins just peek out over the liquid (another 5 minutes or so), add the mussels in a way similar to the clams. Reduce the heat to medium low or low so the liquid barely simmers. After 5 minutes, add scallops and shrimp, but don't press them too hard into the rice. Continue to cook until the liquid has been absorbed and the rice is al dente, about 5 minutes more.
Taste a grain just below the top layer of rice. If the liquid is absorbed but the rice is too firm, add a bit more hot broth or water to the pan and cook a few minutes more. The rice usually cooks in about 20 minutes total.
6. If you want, check the bottom of the pan for socarrat/socorrat (the yummy caramelized crust of rice that sometimes happens at the bottom of the paella); you'll feel it on the bottom of the pan if there is any. If there is none, increase the heat to medium-high and cook until the bottom of the rice starts to caramelize, in about 2 min. When the cooking rice makes a crackly sound, remove the pan from the heat immediately.
7. If you're satisfied with the crust (admittedly, you may not even like that), remove the pan from the heat, and cover the pan with a clean towel. Let the paella rest for 5 to 10 minutes. Uncover, and serve with lemon wedges.
TIP: You'll get an even better stock if you use more shrimp shells. Reserve the shrimp shells from something else you've done and for another dish and freeze them to use here.
This will feed a happy 4-6 people, 6-8 if there have been lots of tapas to go around first.
-J.
Saturday, March 5, 2005
An opera pump in a sandal world
I am someone who, at least for the purposes of this blog, likes to keep his opinions on the weighty issues of the day under the surface. After all, about 40% of my pals fervently disagree with me on most things and 90% disagree strenuously on some things. So, as dear to my heart as these things may be, I don't use this blog as a soapbox to vent my spleen on the matter of tax reform, the gold standard, The Things Kids Do These Days, going to church, etc.
However, sometimes events happen that, given the mission statement of this blog, simply demand description and dissemination.
Astute readers will also know I am a serious foodie. In that capacity, I am very fortunate to be quite close to a VERY nice supermarket (similar to the now bought-out Bread & Circus stores in Bahstahn) that carries things like free-range veal, organic/heirloom produce, etc. But sometimes they will be out of stock of something. In this case I was out of whole wheat pastry flour, and so were they. I could have ordered it from King Arthur Flour, but spending $8 on shipping for $3.25 of flour seemed ridiculous, to say nothing of the 7 day wait.
So I went to one of those organic/sustainable chains that happens to be within a reasonable drive from my house. The evening was clear and cool, my car was running in excellent fettle and traffic was invariably light. So off I went.
What strikes me about these places, beyond the vegan cat food (because that's the way to keep a carnivorous animal healthy) and all the old VW microbuses seemingly held together against the likelihood of rusting apart by bumperstickers of the "Legalize it!"/"Question Authority" vein, is the crowd which provides such emporia their custom. These folks are the sort who look as if they would tar and feather Ben AND Jerry for not having enough one legged Elbonian trisexuals on their Board of Directors. Of course, the feathers would have to come from free-range poultry and the tar sustainably made from recycled oil spilled by people who likewise deserve to suffer the same fate as Ben and Jerry.
There were a good deal of men in (I assume) their late 50s and early 60s, who sported shiny pates and grey ponytails; on the principle, I'm guessing, that one does not prune a dead tree. One particular specimen, with a faded Che Guevara t-shirt (his safety would be a far dodgier thing in a different part of Miami), was not only bald and grey and ponytailed...but what little remained of his tonsorial glory was corn-rowed. (Stop and ponder that for a moment.) Fight the power...but first, some prune juice.
Lots of the women there were clad in black, devoid of the slightest hint of makeup and with hair that bespoke a disdain for conditioner, it being clearly a tool of the patriarchal hegemony that subjugates us all, including corn-rowed septuagenarian communists.
The food, might I interject, is ALWAYS impeccable and the employees (even if they had the tragic fate of being the children of those who went -- or claimed they went -- to Woodstock, thereby being saddled with names like Jared, Caitlin and I $#!+-thee-not "Tapestry") are unfailingly curteous and helpful, even to an obviously capitalist tool like me. So I grab my flour, a few other impulse buys and I head out to the register.
The register is another interesting variation on the supermarket experience. They have the usual gum and candy and magazines, but the gum is made from Indonesian chicle trees grown sustainably, the chocolate bars are made from cacao harvested in a way that protects the habitat of some semi-threatened species in the Amazon Basin from offshore drilling (without explaining why drillers want to cut down cacao trees) and the magazines have names like Modern Chakra, to say nothing of other frightful bilge.
You may ask yourself how this sort of store differs from the usual gourmet emporium. The differences are slight (not in the clientele, where the gulf is vast), but it can be summed up in the Label Manifesto. At the gourmet store the chocolate milk powder tells you the story of the cacao from the moment of harvest, through the roasting, conching and packaging (regaling you all the while with the complete excellentness of it all, such as the micro-climate, the precision of the roast and the choice of cacao varietals), whereas in the earth-mother store the label will tell you about the plight of indigenous Elbonians and how buying THIS chocolate bar will help preserve the emu population.
You see, the gourmet place showers its patrons with specificity of origin, whereas the earth-mother store provides a surfeit of specificity of intent. The gourmet shop asks that each morsel be an epoch-shattering delight, while the "crunchy" place wants to respect you.
But they both charge $8 for a gallon of milk.
However, sometimes events happen that, given the mission statement of this blog, simply demand description and dissemination.
Astute readers will also know I am a serious foodie. In that capacity, I am very fortunate to be quite close to a VERY nice supermarket (similar to the now bought-out Bread & Circus stores in Bahstahn) that carries things like free-range veal, organic/heirloom produce, etc. But sometimes they will be out of stock of something. In this case I was out of whole wheat pastry flour, and so were they. I could have ordered it from King Arthur Flour, but spending $8 on shipping for $3.25 of flour seemed ridiculous, to say nothing of the 7 day wait.
So I went to one of those organic/sustainable chains that happens to be within a reasonable drive from my house. The evening was clear and cool, my car was running in excellent fettle and traffic was invariably light. So off I went.
What strikes me about these places, beyond the vegan cat food (because that's the way to keep a carnivorous animal healthy) and all the old VW microbuses seemingly held together against the likelihood of rusting apart by bumperstickers of the "Legalize it!"/"Question Authority" vein, is the crowd which provides such emporia their custom. These folks are the sort who look as if they would tar and feather Ben AND Jerry for not having enough one legged Elbonian trisexuals on their Board of Directors. Of course, the feathers would have to come from free-range poultry and the tar sustainably made from recycled oil spilled by people who likewise deserve to suffer the same fate as Ben and Jerry.
There were a good deal of men in (I assume) their late 50s and early 60s, who sported shiny pates and grey ponytails; on the principle, I'm guessing, that one does not prune a dead tree. One particular specimen, with a faded Che Guevara t-shirt (his safety would be a far dodgier thing in a different part of Miami), was not only bald and grey and ponytailed...but what little remained of his tonsorial glory was corn-rowed. (Stop and ponder that for a moment.) Fight the power...but first, some prune juice.
Lots of the women there were clad in black, devoid of the slightest hint of makeup and with hair that bespoke a disdain for conditioner, it being clearly a tool of the patriarchal hegemony that subjugates us all, including corn-rowed septuagenarian communists.
The food, might I interject, is ALWAYS impeccable and the employees (even if they had the tragic fate of being the children of those who went -- or claimed they went -- to Woodstock, thereby being saddled with names like Jared, Caitlin and I $#!+-thee-not "Tapestry") are unfailingly curteous and helpful, even to an obviously capitalist tool like me. So I grab my flour, a few other impulse buys and I head out to the register.
The register is another interesting variation on the supermarket experience. They have the usual gum and candy and magazines, but the gum is made from Indonesian chicle trees grown sustainably, the chocolate bars are made from cacao harvested in a way that protects the habitat of some semi-threatened species in the Amazon Basin from offshore drilling (without explaining why drillers want to cut down cacao trees) and the magazines have names like Modern Chakra, to say nothing of other frightful bilge.
You may ask yourself how this sort of store differs from the usual gourmet emporium. The differences are slight (not in the clientele, where the gulf is vast), but it can be summed up in the Label Manifesto. At the gourmet store the chocolate milk powder tells you the story of the cacao from the moment of harvest, through the roasting, conching and packaging (regaling you all the while with the complete excellentness of it all, such as the micro-climate, the precision of the roast and the choice of cacao varietals), whereas in the earth-mother store the label will tell you about the plight of indigenous Elbonians and how buying THIS chocolate bar will help preserve the emu population.
You see, the gourmet place showers its patrons with specificity of origin, whereas the earth-mother store provides a surfeit of specificity of intent. The gourmet shop asks that each morsel be an epoch-shattering delight, while the "crunchy" place wants to respect you.
But they both charge $8 for a gallon of milk.
Tuesday, March 1, 2005
Better late than never
This is what I made that drove Badger up the wall. The [Mini] Chocolate Souffle' Cakes:
1 c. sifted whole wheat pastry or cake (a.k.a. "Graham") flour (this makes it less scary for SoBe Diet types)
½ c. cocoa powder, preferably "dutched" or "Dutch-process" (I like Droste)
½ t. salt
1½ c. light brown sugar (I think this is an apparent dealbreaker for diehard SoBe Diet types--who might wish to stop reading at this point--although it works out to 0.0625 of a cup, i.e. one tablespoon, per serving.)
¼ c. butter (i.e., ½ stick)
¼ c. buttermilk
2 large eggs (or one egg + two egg whites)
2 t. vanilla extract (the good kind will have the vanilla seeds, which will settle out, so shake before using)
1- Preheat oven to 325F.
2- Spray a muffin tin with cooking spray and then dust with flour, or better yet use the new baking sprays which combine the two.
3- Separate the eggs, reserve the egg whites
4- Cream the butter with the sugar
5- Mix all remaining dry ingredients
6- Mix remaining wet ingredients
7- Combine the wet ingredients with creamed butter, then add dry ingredients
8- Whip the whites to medium peaks
9- Fold the egg whites in with the mixture
10- Spoon into muffin tin (fill only about halfway)
11- Bake at 325 for about 30 minutes. Carefully invert and cut off any rough parts off the (now) bottom. Dust with powdered sugar.
Makes 24 (at 98 cal. each!)
-J.
1 c. sifted whole wheat pastry or cake (a.k.a. "Graham") flour (this makes it less scary for SoBe Diet types)
½ c. cocoa powder, preferably "dutched" or "Dutch-process" (I like Droste)
½ t. salt
1½ c. light brown sugar (I think this is an apparent dealbreaker for diehard SoBe Diet types--who might wish to stop reading at this point--although it works out to 0.0625 of a cup, i.e. one tablespoon, per serving.)
¼ c. butter (i.e., ½ stick)
¼ c. buttermilk
2 large eggs (or one egg + two egg whites)
2 t. vanilla extract (the good kind will have the vanilla seeds, which will settle out, so shake before using)
1- Preheat oven to 325F.
2- Spray a muffin tin with cooking spray and then dust with flour, or better yet use the new baking sprays which combine the two.
3- Separate the eggs, reserve the egg whites
4- Cream the butter with the sugar
5- Mix all remaining dry ingredients
6- Mix remaining wet ingredients
7- Combine the wet ingredients with creamed butter, then add dry ingredients
8- Whip the whites to medium peaks
9- Fold the egg whites in with the mixture
10- Spoon into muffin tin (fill only about halfway)
11- Bake at 325 for about 30 minutes. Carefully invert and cut off any rough parts off the (now) bottom. Dust with powdered sugar.
Makes 24 (at 98 cal. each!)
-J.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
More Later
I made chocolate mini-souffle cakes for Numbah One Son's school's booth at the Farmer's Market. I made 48. Within 20 minutes someone bought them all out.
I rule.
I rule.
Friday, February 25, 2005
A Misty Look Back At The Golden Age
...when my slow season meant I put in, say, 15 hours a week of labor and mostly puttered like a proper househusband.
I must also confess my shame that I have pilfered--in whole or in part, but usually the former--much of my bloggage from the lovely and gracious Poppy. At any rate, I will try to shed the straightjacket of Blog Slackage by raving about dinnah.
Since Friday is a No Meat Zone, I decided to go all out yesterday and roast a bit of pork loin. I had a lot of lovely sage and thyme and pork just suggested itself. The butcher had just the thing and I was off and running. One trick I figured out was to remove the griddle/grill from my cooktop, thereby exposing the lo-o-o-o-o-ong element. I then rested the roasting pan directly on the element. Normally, cookbooks that want you to do this sort of thing suggest you use cooktop burners, but those invariably leave a cold spot in the middle, owing to the gap between said burners. But with one long element, no gap, no cold spot.
A couple of tablespoons of EVOO went in the pan and once I saw the oil shimmer, the pork, having been rubbed with sea salt, pepper and grated lemon peel went in for a sear. Most people treat these sorts of cuts (loins, tenderloins etc.) as 2 sided, when in reality they are 4-sided. So I gave it a good sear on all 4 sides. I scattered the cut-up stalks of spring onions, 7-8 cloves of whole (& intact) garlic cloves, two juiced lemons (whence the peel came), put the pork on the rack and rested the rack (with the pork) in the pan where its juices would land on the alliums involved. I added about a cup of water to the pan to give the lemon juice a "cushion" while the pork juices materialized. Then I scattered fresh thyme and sage and put it in a 275F oven w. the temperature probe (the cheaper, non-remote version of this) set for 165F.
Two hours later I took out the pan, covered the pork in aluminum foil and let it rest while I sauteed some spinach with garlic, red pepper flakes and teeny touch of anchovy...WOW. The meat was JUST done (TFBIM doesn't care for any pork under well-done, no matter that any wee ferlie beasties would have died 15F degrees earlier), juicy, tender. The garlic and oniony bits had caramelized and the meyer lemon juice had cooked down to a (not TOO) tangy glaze.
I had also a pot of fresh cranberry beans simmering with a sprig of rosemary and EVOO and garlic. Molto yummy.
-J.
I must also confess my shame that I have pilfered--in whole or in part, but usually the former--much of my bloggage from the lovely and gracious Poppy. At any rate, I will try to shed the straightjacket of Blog Slackage by raving about dinnah.
Since Friday is a No Meat Zone, I decided to go all out yesterday and roast a bit of pork loin. I had a lot of lovely sage and thyme and pork just suggested itself. The butcher had just the thing and I was off and running. One trick I figured out was to remove the griddle/grill from my cooktop, thereby exposing the lo-o-o-o-o-ong element. I then rested the roasting pan directly on the element. Normally, cookbooks that want you to do this sort of thing suggest you use cooktop burners, but those invariably leave a cold spot in the middle, owing to the gap between said burners. But with one long element, no gap, no cold spot.
A couple of tablespoons of EVOO went in the pan and once I saw the oil shimmer, the pork, having been rubbed with sea salt, pepper and grated lemon peel went in for a sear. Most people treat these sorts of cuts (loins, tenderloins etc.) as 2 sided, when in reality they are 4-sided. So I gave it a good sear on all 4 sides. I scattered the cut-up stalks of spring onions, 7-8 cloves of whole (& intact) garlic cloves, two juiced lemons (whence the peel came), put the pork on the rack and rested the rack (with the pork) in the pan where its juices would land on the alliums involved. I added about a cup of water to the pan to give the lemon juice a "cushion" while the pork juices materialized. Then I scattered fresh thyme and sage and put it in a 275F oven w. the temperature probe (the cheaper, non-remote version of this) set for 165F.
Two hours later I took out the pan, covered the pork in aluminum foil and let it rest while I sauteed some spinach with garlic, red pepper flakes and teeny touch of anchovy...WOW. The meat was JUST done (TFBIM doesn't care for any pork under well-done, no matter that any wee ferlie beasties would have died 15F degrees earlier), juicy, tender. The garlic and oniony bits had caramelized and the meyer lemon juice had cooked down to a (not TOO) tangy glaze.
I had also a pot of fresh cranberry beans simmering with a sprig of rosemary and EVOO and garlic. Molto yummy.
-J.
Friday, February 18, 2005
Foodie ramblings
Given that it's Lent and that I am a practicing Catholic and that it is Friday, it is clearly inevitable that I'd be having impure thoughts about a bone-in ribeye (oh, shut up). I am an omnivore and always have been, although the actual amount I consume of beef, poultry, etc. is pretty slim.
So it stands to reason today I should crave something the size of a hubcap.
Instead I must make do and try to get my umami blast elsehow. I am thinking of making ceviche. I was thinking also of making some hard-seared tuna, but that makes Trilby wince (or gag, I forget). Tuna is good when one is craving something in the meat family, but for one reason or another, that isn't about to happen. I'd make tuna tartare, which I think makes Trilby happy, but which TFBIM cannot stand.
So this gets me thinking of grilled mahi-mahi with peanut sauce or maybe a honey/chipotle/lime glaze, which might do instead of ceviche (I'd go with scallops--if I can get fresh ones--and/or shrimp, which are always available fresh) if the evening proves cooler than warmer. Naturally, either would pair well with scallion/coconut-infused jasmine rice and some seared leeks or spring onions spiked with a chile/ginger dressing.
Then, if the evening is warm, I'm figuring on some sort of melon sorbet with mint and ginger...and if it's cool (I mean, really, we hit 83F today), grilled pineapple slices with a rum and molasses glaze. Not sure about the wine, but I have a couple of bottles of 2003 Edna Valley Vineyards Paragon Sauvignon Blanc which suggest themselves.
A lot of people--even those who might say "yum"--cannot understand thinking this way every day (and twice on weekends). Me? It's just the way I think and it has the added felicity of keeping TFBIM from getting angry with me, or minimizing her wrath when she has had quite enough of my drivel.
Tonight I could have done no wrong. I made a spinach salad with pancetta & gorgonzola dressing (kinda rich, but a little goes a long way and the buttermilk in the dressing alleviates any remnant of guilt) and then Rigatoni alla Romagnola (a medium simmered tomato based sauce with a little bit of ground beef [¼lb. for 4 people] and acres of very finely diced onion, and shavings of parmigiano-reggiano...muy yummy) and damned if TFBIM didn't go for seconds. (Even Numbah One Son ate his serving without complaint...very high praise indeed)
Between the food and the wine (2001 Bosco Montepulciano d'Abruzzo) TFBIM only wanted a cappuccino for dessert and as such my evening's foodiness was complete. It only stands to reason I should be curling up in my fave chair with a cookbook: Schlesinger & Willoughby's Let The Flames Begin.
So it stands to reason today I should crave something the size of a hubcap.
Instead I must make do and try to get my umami blast elsehow. I am thinking of making ceviche. I was thinking also of making some hard-seared tuna, but that makes Trilby wince (or gag, I forget). Tuna is good when one is craving something in the meat family, but for one reason or another, that isn't about to happen. I'd make tuna tartare, which I think makes Trilby happy, but which TFBIM cannot stand.
So this gets me thinking of grilled mahi-mahi with peanut sauce or maybe a honey/chipotle/lime glaze, which might do instead of ceviche (I'd go with scallops--if I can get fresh ones--and/or shrimp, which are always available fresh) if the evening proves cooler than warmer. Naturally, either would pair well with scallion/coconut-infused jasmine rice and some seared leeks or spring onions spiked with a chile/ginger dressing.
Then, if the evening is warm, I'm figuring on some sort of melon sorbet with mint and ginger...and if it's cool (I mean, really, we hit 83F today), grilled pineapple slices with a rum and molasses glaze. Not sure about the wine, but I have a couple of bottles of 2003 Edna Valley Vineyards Paragon Sauvignon Blanc which suggest themselves.
A lot of people--even those who might say "yum"--cannot understand thinking this way every day (and twice on weekends). Me? It's just the way I think and it has the added felicity of keeping TFBIM from getting angry with me, or minimizing her wrath when she has had quite enough of my drivel.
Tonight I could have done no wrong. I made a spinach salad with pancetta & gorgonzola dressing (kinda rich, but a little goes a long way and the buttermilk in the dressing alleviates any remnant of guilt) and then Rigatoni alla Romagnola (a medium simmered tomato based sauce with a little bit of ground beef [¼lb. for 4 people] and acres of very finely diced onion, and shavings of parmigiano-reggiano...muy yummy) and damned if TFBIM didn't go for seconds. (Even Numbah One Son ate his serving without complaint...very high praise indeed)
Between the food and the wine (2001 Bosco Montepulciano d'Abruzzo) TFBIM only wanted a cappuccino for dessert and as such my evening's foodiness was complete. It only stands to reason I should be curling up in my fave chair with a cookbook: Schlesinger & Willoughby's Let The Flames Begin.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
The Oil Crisis
The Oil Crisis
As I was straightening up in the kitchen this morning, I realized I was running low on one of my favorite oils: "O" Tahitian Lime infused EVOO.
This, as you might surmise, is a complete bite. Not because I have to schlep around and get a replacement bottle, but because I cannot find such a replacement bottle. If you cook Cuban* or "Floribbean" food at all, EVOO and lime are flavor cornerstones.
So now I am faced with the daunting task of making my own. I could, I s'pose, cook with EVOO and squirt lime juice...but cooked lime juice has its flavor profiled to really emphasize the sourness of the lime, and that's no good. Stay tuned to see if I ruin a harvest's worth of limes and a drum of gigabuck EVOO.
But that leads me to discussing essential oils. This is what you should, at a bare minimum, have oil-wise if you have any foodie aspirations, in order of importance.
1- EVOO. You can get Italian, which is a wallet-eviscerating thing most of the time. (There are 2-3 great exceptions to this, though.)
2- Peanut oil, cold-pressed
3- Citrus-infused EVOO
4- Basil-infused EVOO
5- Chile-infused peanut oil
6- Garlic-infused peanut oil
OPTIONAL:
- Sesame oil
- Madras curry-infused peanut oil
- Smoked paprika-infused oil
OK, off to gather and peel a gazillion limes.
-J.
* Cuban food is to Spanish food what New Orleans' Creole food is to French food- a lineal descendant. In fact, in Cuba (back when it HAD food) Cuban cuisine was called "Criolla" which is Spanish for "Creole." This is in contrast to, say, Mexican food which is essentially the indigenous cooking of the Native Mexicans (Aztecs, Toltecs, Mayas and those conquered by them) with some input from the Spanish colonists. Cuba had a steady influx of Spaniards pretty much until 1959, with an extra spurt during the Spanish Civil War, when many families fled to avoid the atrocities inflicted by either the Communists or the Fascists or both. At any rate, the arriving Spaniards made some modifications to their cookery (replacing the temperate lemon with the tropical lime is the most prominent such change), and just kept going. There, more than you needed to know.
As I was straightening up in the kitchen this morning, I realized I was running low on one of my favorite oils: "O" Tahitian Lime infused EVOO.
This, as you might surmise, is a complete bite. Not because I have to schlep around and get a replacement bottle, but because I cannot find such a replacement bottle. If you cook Cuban* or "Floribbean" food at all, EVOO and lime are flavor cornerstones.
So now I am faced with the daunting task of making my own. I could, I s'pose, cook with EVOO and squirt lime juice...but cooked lime juice has its flavor profiled to really emphasize the sourness of the lime, and that's no good. Stay tuned to see if I ruin a harvest's worth of limes and a drum of gigabuck EVOO.
But that leads me to discussing essential oils. This is what you should, at a bare minimum, have oil-wise if you have any foodie aspirations, in order of importance.
1- EVOO. You can get Italian, which is a wallet-eviscerating thing most of the time. (There are 2-3 great exceptions to this, though.)
2- Peanut oil, cold-pressed
3- Citrus-infused EVOO
4- Basil-infused EVOO
5- Chile-infused peanut oil
6- Garlic-infused peanut oil
OPTIONAL:
- Sesame oil
- Madras curry-infused peanut oil
- Smoked paprika-infused oil
OK, off to gather and peel a gazillion limes.
-J.
* Cuban food is to Spanish food what New Orleans' Creole food is to French food- a lineal descendant. In fact, in Cuba (back when it HAD food) Cuban cuisine was called "Criolla" which is Spanish for "Creole." This is in contrast to, say, Mexican food which is essentially the indigenous cooking of the Native Mexicans (Aztecs, Toltecs, Mayas and those conquered by them) with some input from the Spanish colonists. Cuba had a steady influx of Spaniards pretty much until 1959, with an extra spurt during the Spanish Civil War, when many families fled to avoid the atrocities inflicted by either the Communists or the Fascists or both. At any rate, the arriving Spaniards made some modifications to their cookery (replacing the temperate lemon with the tropical lime is the most prominent such change), and just kept going. There, more than you needed to know.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Random Musings, 1/27/05
WTF is with the word "catsup?" I'm rummaging through one of my favorite cookbooks (Let The Flames Begin by Schlesinger & Willoughby) and these guys keep using this affected, antediluvian "catsup" instead of the infinitely preferable "ketchup." Their other, otherwise excellent cookbooks are equally guilty.
Speaking of ketchup, I have managed to find what may be safely considered the pinnacle of the condiment: Heinz organic ketchup. I'm sure there are all sorts of enviro-reasons for making this purchase, etc., etc. etc. Frankly, it just flat-out tastes better than anything else in the ketchup realm. Probably the substitution of pure organic cane sugar instead of high-fructose corn syrup is the greatest factor at play here. If you don't care about ketchup, then pretend this ketchup will help save the earth.
While we're waxing organic and tomatoishly, I must issue a rave for the Coral Gables Farmer's Market. There are many misguided people who get all atwitter about living somewhere with four seasons. Well, you know, we live in a pluralist society...so have at it. I like living somewhere were dead-ripe tomatoes and corn are available fresh and locally in February. Every Saturday (or, at stone worst, every other Saturday) I meander over to the farmer's market. Last week the tomatoes were so stunning, I bought a whole damned flat of them.
Contemplating, on a Thursday evening, the huge number of tomatoes left in the flat (after making a killer pico de gallo salsa on Tuesday) and my beloved wife hinting she wanted a simple spaghetti marinara, I put 6 of them through a tomato press I bought on clearance at Williams-Sonoma. The tomato press cleanly and quickly separates the seeds and peel and other undesirables from the pulp. With said pulp, I made a simple, fresh, marinara sauce to go on spaghetti.
Wow.
I mean, really...WOW. The difference is off-the-charts. Most jarred pasta sauces are made with tomato puree or tomato paste or both. This is because tomatoes are mostly water and hauling the tomato puree/paste needed to make X pasta sauce is a HELL of a lot cheaper than hauling the fresh tomatoes needed to make the same amount of sauce. Since we live in a country where people eat things out of boxes, cans, freezers and drive-through windows (as Numbah One Son has learned, "That's not food, that's groceries") nobody seems to mind a whole bloody lot.
But the taste is so much fresher and more complex and the work required so minimal, I am amazed more people even foodies haven't picked up on this. So I issue my huge rave to the farmer's market and the organic produce they bring to our tables.
I'm sure there are people who buy from these farmers because they care about "sustainable farming" or worry about pesticides in the ecosystem, or because they get to shop with those European-like knit bags. Whatever. The food tastes better, and if you think I am doing the right thing for the wrong reason, that just shows how out of whack your whole reasoning is and, most importantly, how wooden your palate has become.
Tomorrow I am going to my local Italian deli, where they make fresh mozzarella (from raw milk!), and we shall be having Insalata Caprese and quaffing prosecco all weekend. This is what life in what passes for civilized paradise is supposed to be like. Now all I need to find is a hardcore butcher* and I am all set.
One last word on farmer's markets...get the Williams-Sonoma farmer's market cookbook. Sometimes the W-S cookbooks are absolute clunkers, but this one is great. The recipes avail the diner of what is freshest and combines the various ingredients to highlight the amazing flavors of perfectly ripe, lovingly grown produce, with intelligent wine/beer pairings too.
Now you know.
* The last time I was in Boston, I went to one of my favorite restaurants, The East Coast Grill in Cambridge, and had bone-in ribeye steak topped with a grilled kimchee and I have been jonesing for this for nearly a year.
Speaking of ketchup, I have managed to find what may be safely considered the pinnacle of the condiment: Heinz organic ketchup. I'm sure there are all sorts of enviro-reasons for making this purchase, etc., etc. etc. Frankly, it just flat-out tastes better than anything else in the ketchup realm. Probably the substitution of pure organic cane sugar instead of high-fructose corn syrup is the greatest factor at play here. If you don't care about ketchup, then pretend this ketchup will help save the earth.
While we're waxing organic and tomatoishly, I must issue a rave for the Coral Gables Farmer's Market. There are many misguided people who get all atwitter about living somewhere with four seasons. Well, you know, we live in a pluralist society...so have at it. I like living somewhere were dead-ripe tomatoes and corn are available fresh and locally in February. Every Saturday (or, at stone worst, every other Saturday) I meander over to the farmer's market. Last week the tomatoes were so stunning, I bought a whole damned flat of them.
Contemplating, on a Thursday evening, the huge number of tomatoes left in the flat (after making a killer pico de gallo salsa on Tuesday) and my beloved wife hinting she wanted a simple spaghetti marinara, I put 6 of them through a tomato press I bought on clearance at Williams-Sonoma. The tomato press cleanly and quickly separates the seeds and peel and other undesirables from the pulp. With said pulp, I made a simple, fresh, marinara sauce to go on spaghetti.
Wow.
I mean, really...WOW. The difference is off-the-charts. Most jarred pasta sauces are made with tomato puree or tomato paste or both. This is because tomatoes are mostly water and hauling the tomato puree/paste needed to make X pasta sauce is a HELL of a lot cheaper than hauling the fresh tomatoes needed to make the same amount of sauce. Since we live in a country where people eat things out of boxes, cans, freezers and drive-through windows (as Numbah One Son has learned, "That's not food, that's groceries") nobody seems to mind a whole bloody lot.
But the taste is so much fresher and more complex and the work required so minimal, I am amazed more people even foodies haven't picked up on this. So I issue my huge rave to the farmer's market and the organic produce they bring to our tables.
I'm sure there are people who buy from these farmers because they care about "sustainable farming" or worry about pesticides in the ecosystem, or because they get to shop with those European-like knit bags. Whatever. The food tastes better, and if you think I am doing the right thing for the wrong reason, that just shows how out of whack your whole reasoning is and, most importantly, how wooden your palate has become.
Tomorrow I am going to my local Italian deli, where they make fresh mozzarella (from raw milk!), and we shall be having Insalata Caprese and quaffing prosecco all weekend. This is what life in what passes for civilized paradise is supposed to be like. Now all I need to find is a hardcore butcher* and I am all set.
One last word on farmer's markets...get the Williams-Sonoma farmer's market cookbook. Sometimes the W-S cookbooks are absolute clunkers, but this one is great. The recipes avail the diner of what is freshest and combines the various ingredients to highlight the amazing flavors of perfectly ripe, lovingly grown produce, with intelligent wine/beer pairings too.
Now you know.
* The last time I was in Boston, I went to one of my favorite restaurants, The East Coast Grill in Cambridge, and had bone-in ribeye steak topped with a grilled kimchee and I have been jonesing for this for nearly a year.