Not as bitter as paying Stalin alimony, but still.

One of the advantages of being here in SoFla is that citrus grows on trees, as it were.

So, all of a sudden your backyard grove sprouts forth with several tons of fruit and they must be given use. In my case, we're talking about Seville (i.e. "bitter") oranges.

For the uninitiated, these are not defective oranges, these are oranges with especially low sugar content and are not so much bitter as really, really sour. Their juice is used in marinades, etc. in Caribbean cooking. (For future reference, their quality can be approximated by mixing orange juice, lime juice and lemon juice in a 2:1:1 ratio. But I digress.)

One of the biggest differences between regular oranges and bitter oranges is the peel and the aromatic content thereof. The bitter orange peel is reallllllly aromatic. So what to do?

There are several options, but the subject of this entry is making of bitters.

Here is my recipe:

1 (750-milliliter) bottle "grain alcohol" (the 190 --!-- proof stuff)
½ lb. orange peel strips
1 t. fennel seed
½ t. coriander seeds
2 cardamom pods
10 drops orange flower water
15 drops gentian extract

Put these in a glass bottle or jar (make sure you don't have a lot of airspace) and shake daily for a week, minimum. 2-3 weeks is ideal for me, but if you like sharper flavors, by all means let it go longer. Strain through a paper coffee filter and decant into a bottle. I like the clear glass swingtop bottles of "French lemonade."

But you do whatever works best.

Please Stand By

There is a WEIRD glitch here. Dropped images, and lost entries. Will attempt to recover. Be patient, people.

Do Not Try This At Home

One of the easiest and most impressive desserts known to man is that ol' "Continental" standby, Bananas Foster.

Epochs ago, on my 2nd or 3rd trip to New Orleans, I managed to have dinner at one of those grand ol' restaurants in New Orleans, a subspecies of the hospitality industry extinct nearly anywhere else. Back in the day, every major city would have 3-4 of these, where every single solitary dish was named using this format: [Main Ingredient] [Someone's Name] and so you'd wind up with something like "Veal Johnson."

Anyway, even at the early stages of man's estate, one never gets over the fondness for a colossal fireball, tableside. Thus began my fondness for Bananas Foster.

At this point, because I have befriended a significant number of attorneys, I must point out there really IS fire involved, and a lot of it. And you must be hyper-careful. Tie back any long hair, make sure there is nothing over the pan (chandelier, etc.) turn off any vents that may pull up flames. No, seriously, we're talking a for-real fireball. In your house.

So, after noodling around, here is MY recipe for Bananas Foster. Usually we have it following my spectacular gumbo, when we're (okay, "I'M") feeling New Orleans-ish.
Figure this will prove a fairly dainty dessert for 8 people, pretty decent for 6 people, or pretty impressive for 4. It doesn't multiply well, sadly.

4 tablespoons unsalted butter.
½ cup packed brown (dark or light, your call...I only had light brown on hand) sugar
¼ tsp of almond extract and ½ tsp. vanilla extract or 2 tsp amaretto
1 strip orange zest about 3 sq. inches.
2 large bananas (you want them JUST when there is no green showing, because they need to be firm enough to stand up to all the thermal abuse they'll have to undergo) peeled and halved (if feeding 4 or 8) or thirded (if feeding 6) lengthwise and then crosswise. If you want to divide it even more, you could slice them into ½" slices, I s'pose.
1 oz gold or dark rum (I used Bacardi 8)
2 cups vanilla ice cream - pineapple sorbet is a "healthier" alternative and just as yummy - divided into bowls and stashed in the freezer. You want this ice cream as cold and hard as a bureaucrat's heart.

Add extracts to rum and set aside.

Melt the butter in a heavy-bottomed 12-inch skillet over medium heat...do not let it foam yet. Add the brown sugar (break up any lumps...this is key) and zest. Dissolve the sugar by shaking the pan, about 1 minute. (If the pan's too hot, or if the butter has already foamed up, the butter will "clarify" and it and the sugar will NOT turn into a proper sauce).

When the sugar has dissolved and is beginning to bubble up, place the bananas, CUT SIDE DOWN. About a minute into it begin spooning the bubbling caramelly goodness over the curved side. Cook another 30-60 seconds. No more. Unless you like caramelized baby food.

Take pan off the heat. Immediately add the rum and shake pan gently. Put a flame (those loooooong "stick" lighters are ideal) just on the edge of the pan until the rum flames up -- it WILL flame up, and probably flame up even more than you thought it would -- shaking the pan to distribute the flame over the entire pan.

Keep shaking until the flames die down (about half a minute), serve the bananas over the ice cream and serve the sauce on top of that. A sprinkle of almonds wouldn't go amiss, either.

-J.

Beef. I like Beef.

In two separate discussions elsewhere the subject of steak came up.

Which prompted me to dig up and complete this post that had been mo(u)ldering away in a near-forgotten sector. (What the coarse and vulgah population might rudely term my "draft pile." But they'd be wrong.)
Anyway.
Last Christmas I received a sampler pack of seasonings from Big Fancy Food Emporium. Smallish tins of +/- 1 oz. each. Mexican this, Seattle that, etc. Anyway. They had a steak seasoning which I rather enjoyed. But, while one is trudging through The Great Recession, buying the large tin at $10 (!) for a mere 4 oz.* (!!) is not going to happen.
So.
I set about deconstructing it and, frankly, improving it. If you ever pick up these sorts of seasonings you will notice three things at the head of the ingredients list (in the USA, ingredients have to be listed in order, starting with the most abundant one) sugar, salt, and paprika. Sure, they may give them ultra-posh adjectives such as "Herne Bay sea salt" or "Peruvian sun dried paprika" but you must realize these things are cheap filler. Also there were some variants of ingredients which I thought (correctly, as my lab research shows) could be substituted or upgraded.
Thus, I gathered Joey (Davy is more of the quality control tester) and we assembled in the kitchen, gathering our spice jars and an old coffee mill we comandeered AGES ago for the purpose of spice grinding. You will NOT believe how helpful Joey was. He has an eerily accurate palate.
But I digress.
Here is my version. It is, on purpose, NOT identical to the original, because as noted above, I believed I should change some of the things I didn't like "while I was at it." I'll note those as I go.
(This is all by volume, use teaspoons, cups, or whatever.)
3 parts granulated garlic (Usually I'd go for fresh garlic, but in these applications, it'd fall off and/or scorch. So I got a good brand of granulated. The original rub had granulated roast garlic, but I found it got bitter over the charcoal grill's high/dry heat so I switched...oh, make sure you use the granulated and not the powdered stuff, which often has bizarro ingredients!)
1 part EACH black peppercorns and red pepper flakes (in the original, I couldn't detect much heat from the chile seeds/ribs...but I tend to like a bit of heat, so I used flakes instead of a seeded dry chile...although next time I might experiment with a varietal such as cascabel)
2 parts each coriander seed, dill seed, yellow -- I s'pose you could try brown or black -- mustard seed.
Put all in a spice mill and whiz 3-4 pulses...you want a pretty good crack, but not a homogeneous powder. I like mine a TINY bit finer than spice rubs straight out of the tin...in my opinion you get better adhesion that way.
Oh, and note the lack of salt. I like salting the meat first, letting the juices flow back and forth in an osmosis ballet and then adding the spices.
What I did is get a big ol' segment of cow (pretty cheap per pound at the warehouse-type places) and then slice myself. But before doing that, I let it wet-age. If you get the beef -- do not try this with pork, AMHIK -- you can age it in the original cry-o-vac if it has not lost its seal. I've let mine go 16 weeks and the results are spectacular. The taste isn't as minerally/gamy as with dry-aged beef, but it is equally tender.

Now.

What you do with your steak is salt it first as it comes up to room temperature. You will see some "perspiration" on the surface and then you sprinkle your spice rub. Then go light your charcoal fire. (Or wait 30 minutes if your BBQ grill is a gas model.) For max foodieness, I used real hardwood charcoal, but you use whatever. I also use one of those "chimney starters" so that I don't need to worry about (yuck) lighter fluid. When the coals glow, you dump 'em into the BBQ grill.

You drop the charcoal WAY to one side of the vessel. Pile it as far and high on ONE side as possible. This is key.

When the "coal side" is intolerably hot, you put your steaks on the grate. You could, if you are insufferable like I am, give them that quarter-turn for fancy-pants grill marks. The idea is to sear the outside, HARD. You want as much stuff caramelizing there as possible. This is also key. Do not peek, do not flip, etc. Let it go there. 1 minute per inch of thickness per side. So, a 2" thick steak would go 2 minutes per side. Then you slide them to the part of the grill where the coals are NOT. You want the steak to cook to your desired doneness as slowly as possible. The slower you go, the more time certain tenderizing enzymes have to do their voodoo. This is also key.

Finally, take them off and cover LOOSELY with foil, let them rest 10-15 or so, so the juices -- which are trying to exit as a result of the heat, much like water exits a boiling pot -- have time to calm down and go back into the steak where they should be.

There. (Photos to follow)

-J.

* That's 110gm for the metric kids.

No pictures, alas.

Today, dear Internet, I made and utterly savo(u)red a hamburger of such excellence it has left me marveling 4 hours after the fact.


I regret we are not yet capable of feasibly cloning cows, because this cow was definitely worthy of getting the whole Jurassic Park treatment. This was a Hall of Fame cow, whose sacrifice for a greater purpose was so noble and pure it was clearly maniftest to every single tastebud I currently own.

My sorrow will be great when it finally sinks in that the odds of ever again having a burger anywhere near as delicious are smaller than even purely theoretical particles. But my soul is still aglow and sorrow will have to wait, much like Suicide Tuesday for devotees of XTC*.

To anyone wishing to attempt to replicate it here is the basic road map.
Take a couple of pounds of beef from the short rib (sans bone and sinew, natch) and put it through your grinder**. If using your grinder is a complete PITA to you, feel free to skip to the end. Use the coarsest setting, and grind TWICE. This is key.

Form the burgers -- a gentle hand, s'il vous plait -- into burgers 1''/2.5cm thick. Very often in food programs you see skyscraper-ish burgers anchored by lumps o' cow 3''-4'' tall. Unless you have developed a way to unhinge your jaw, this is not a fun way to eat and you will not get a good, even bite of your burger and you will not get the full spectrum of taste of beef, bun and condiments. The diameter of your burger should be +/-½''/1cm greater than that of your hamburger bun, to compensate for the shrinkage in cooking. Give the burger meat a slight dent in the center, to compensate for the puffing that also happens whilst cooking.

At this stage there is a hotly debated divergence of opinion. Cook on an open grill or in a pan/griddle? Each has its advantages. An open grill allows for smoke and flame to interact with the beef, and a pan or griddle allows for greater searing (esp. in a cast-iron pan situation) and a greater retention of rendering fat. I prefer grill. The beef has enough fat that any which renders out will not go missing, and the searing is sufficient. You do whatever you want.

I salted the burgers, then dusted them with a certain steak rub which I hacked (because I was NOT going to pay $2.50/oz.) to my immense delight.

As far as bread goes, I went to my local bakery where they had these buns made out of the same eggy dough as challah. This is ideal, because the crumb is tender enough to collapse slightly under bite, absorbent enough to contain condiments and juices, and will toast slightly in a beautiful way.

Condiments:

Heinz Organic Ketchup - the ne plus ultra of ketchups. In a trial of a thousand years I might come up with something almost as good. So I just buy it.

Grey Poupon Dijon Mustard and Gulden's Spicy Brown Mustard - 50-50.

Vidalia onions, raw and sliced as thinly as your patience will allow. (In my case, I like one gossamer-thin slice that covers the surface area of the cooked beef.

McClure's Pickle relish, the regular not the hot. About a tablespoon, spread evenly.

Sea salt.

Cook the burger over a rocket-hot flame, and the nanosecond you have proper grill marks, flip over to a cooler -- think "medium" vs. "high" -- section of the fire. Cook 2 minutes for medium rare...which, because you ground this yourself, is a far safer proposition.

Enjoy.
-J.
* The recreational pharmaceutical, not the band.
** Mincer, for the rest of the Anglosphere.

Pretend, for a moment.

This is not really new content.

It really is NEW, so that's good. It's just not so content-ish.

But one cannot be deaf to the vox populi, so I must place digit to keyboard and issue dispatches from the front.

Today's dispatch is in the form of a cocktailian recipe.

Many, MANY epochs ago, my parents' go-to beverage was the whisk(e)y sour. Having grown up practically submerged in rum and its cocktail offspring, bourbon was seen as both The Done Thing in this new (to my parents) land, and also as quite an exotic quaff. So there you have it. At that time (i.e. the tail end of the Mad Men years) this was a very big cocktail, having supplanted in popularity the dry Martini and Manhattan as a looser and more relaxed beverage.

Then, of course, that ghetto of a decade (the 1970s) clamped its jaws upon the throat of civilization and all manner of vile beverages infested the land. But now cocktailness is making something of a rennaissance in the broader culture and with it come classic potions of yore.

So I go for the Whisk(e)y Sour. It is yummy, and soothing and also I have a gift bottle of Virginia Gentleman I'd like to finish so that I may free up shelf space to try something new, bourbonwise.

So here is my recipe.

Take an old-fashioned or double old-fashioned (i.e. "rocks") glass, and stash it in the freezer. Some people suggest filling the glass with ice, but the appalling slowness of my icemaker, I like not wasting such a precious commodity.
Assemble your ingredients. Lemon, bourbon (in this case Virginia Gentleman, which I am trying to finish) and simple syrup. (You will note the judicious use of the labelmaker.)

Slice your lemon in half, equatorially. (Incidentally, if you use a Meyer lemon you will need less syrup.) If you use a manual citrus press, cut two deep perpendicular scores into each lemon half.
Squeeze. An average lemon should get you 2oz (+/-60ml) of juice.Add your bourbon. 1½ ounces (+/-45ml).
Then your syrup. Call it one ounce (+/-30ml)

Fill your shaker's tumbler with cracked ice. (Some people like to add some of the lemon peel. I approve, but often don't remember or cannot be bothered.) Shake until a thin frost forms on the outside of the steel part of the shaker.Strain into the awaiting vessel filled with fresh, "dry" ice. (Not "dry ice" but ice that happens to be dry. This is crucial.)

There you go.

-J.

Foodies, you have a mission

Your task for this week is simple, but hardly easy.

Find yourself a GOOD butcher. This means either an independent shop, or a good butcher dept. in a good supermarket), because moving plastic wrapped sirloins and boneless/skinless chicken breasts from the back to the refrigerated case is not that. You need someone who can score you the good stuff, and the hard-to-find stuff. You may want breast of veal, or a saddle of lamb or free-range capon or Kobe (or grass-fed) beef, or some unusual cuts like flatirons or hanger steaks.
You need to find someone who knows his (or her) stuff. You need to hack away the distance between the front end of your personal food chain and you. You need to find a butcher who doesn't just sell "ground beef" but rather, sells beef that he (or, again, she) will grind to your specs on the spot.
It is one of the pillars of food sense that the fewer the number of people involved with your food, the better it will taste and the better it will be for you. Food that has been lovingly -- even passionately -- raised will give you a huge-@$$ jump on getting something delicious on the plate.

And a butcher is the person who can get you that.

Find one and cultivate that relationship. A butcher who is both knowledgeable and on your side will let you know when something beautiful has come in, when you should be guided into considering a different something, when you don't need that supah-pricy cut.
Of course, this is likely easier in the big cities that have enough of a population to make such a butcher establishment economically viable. But even mid-sized locales still have a good butcher shop somewhere. All you need do is find it.
Imagine how glorious that Thomas Keller roast chicken will taste with a real chicken; one that hasn't been swimming in weirdo ingredients and hormones and antibiotics.

Be a friend, make a friend.
-J.

Wherein the milk of human kindness curdles a bit.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.