Foolery

Accidental Cuisine From the Foolery Kitchen

We were going to have burritos made with leftover chicken for dinner.

We were going to . . . and then my shopping cart and I rounded the corner and saw the fresh turkeys. Thanksgiving dinner was turkey breast at Mom and Dad's, and there weren't a lot of leftovers. I love leftover turkey. Hmmmm, a fresh turkey.

 


(Photo stolen from these guys)

I could do that.

Never mind that I have never roasted a whole turkey, all by myself, with no input from my mom or anyone with brains. I knew I had the ultimate easy turkey recipe in my clutches (thank you, Kathi at I Think We're All Bozos On This Bus)! I can do this!

So I bought a 12-pound turkey and a cheapo-bendy roasting pan made of Kleenex or spider webs, apparently. I have pretty much everything I need in my kitchen and then some, but I don't own a roasting pan. Or a rack (hey now, simmer down, not THAT kind of rack, which I also don't own). Whatever.

Schlepped all of the groceries home and they pretty much didn't fit in the fridge. Yeah, time to consolidate and clean out the fridge. I can do that while the turkey's roasting. And it was roasting happily at 475F, just like Kathi's instructions said.

Now don't worry, this story ends happily, and no hunky firemen were called. Well, mostly happily.

 


(Photo stolen from this site -- wouldn't this fabric make great jammies?)

But unlike Kathi's instructions, which politely suggested a proper roasting pan and a rack and, oh, maybe a meat thermometer and perhaps a bit more attention than I give to my slippers, there was nothing careful about my roasting methods. I shoved that bird into the Kleenex-y pan -- at least I put a jelly roll pan under it for stability -- and into the oven, set the timer for an hour to check on it, and then my brain left for Uzbekistan, apparently, because it was nowhere to be found.

Checked on the bird and it was doing fine. How I knew that was anyone's guess, not having a meat thermometer stuck into the bird.

 


(Photo stolen from these guys)

After an hour and a half I remembered the meat thermometer, pulled out the pan, and stuck in the thermometer, which promptly pegged past 190F. Okay, so we're having turkey jerky for dinner, I'm cool. I tented the sucker and let it rest on a platter.

"Chas, would you carve the bird while I make the gravy?"

"Sure, if by 'carve' you mean "dismember.'" I made the gravy.

The secret to really great gravy is to not like gravy, apparently. I didn't taste it until after dinner, so it went to the table with mea culpas and warnings, but it was quite good, apparently.

Back to the carving station. Chas looked at the bird and wondered why it was on its tummy?

Oh. Did I do that?

Oh.

I had shoved the damn bird into the oven upside down. So that's why the wings looked like they were flapping.

BUT

it was among the top three turkeys I have ever eaten. No salt. No butter. No herbs. No careful basting. Upside down and poaching in its own juices, that breast was juicier than a fresh peach. Who cares if the back was crispy? Who eats the back?

I suspect that when I put the thermometer in it hit the air cavity and would have registered 475F if it could have. The bird was just done, and certainly not turkey jerky.

From now on I will cook all future turkeys upside down in a flimsy pan with no rack and no thermometer and no stuffing. I will, however, remember to remove the bag of offal from the body cavity. Next time.

 


(Photo stolen from these guys) 

None For Me, Thanks

 

(Photo stolen from the museum of awful food) 

Bad meals I have eaten:

• a French Polynesian pork dish smothered in a dark sauce which, for a while, successfully hid the skin and bristles

• the biggest plate of green beans I have ever seen -- pounds of them -- mounded on a platter, served family style with fried pork chops quite literally swimming in grease

• a tiny fan of fried breakfast potatoes sliced so thin they were translucent, arranged artfully on a plate (they were so tiny and delicate that we photographed them instead of eating them)

So what I want to know is, what was your worst meal ever? Extra credit if you paid a lot of money for the privilege. Post a comment here, or on your own blog, but be sure to post a link so we can come read it later!

Also, see that photo up there? I stole that from the nice lady at the museum of awful food. It looks really delicious but I have my doubts, since it was made with HAGFISH SLIME instead of eggs. Cholesterol freaks.

Peanut Butter and Jelly Power Muffins

This recipe came from relishmag.com, although I think it may have been reprinted in Parade magazine. My kids LOVE these muffins, and as a bonus? They're pretty healthy. As far as I know they are vegan muffins, unless there's something I've missed. I make a few changes which I will note. The only downside is they take a LONG time to make because of all of the tiny measurements, but go for it. The kids will think you're a genius.

Peanut Butter and Jelly Power Muffins

High Cotton Food Styling & Photography

Ingredients

1 cup whole-wheat flour
1½ teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon kosher salt (I use sea salt)
½ cup maple sugar (I use brown sugar)
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
6 tablespoons old-fashioned oats
3 tablespoons raisins (I use dried cranberries)
¼ cup chopped peanuts, divided
½ cup soy milk (I use cow's milk)
4 tablespoons canola oil
6 tablespoons maple syrup (in a pinch the pretend-O syrup works, though not as healthy)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
½ cup peanut butter (I prefer natural peanut butter)
1 tablespoon cider vinegar
2 medium bananas, mashed (I like them left a little chunky)
4 tablespoons strawberry jam (or any kind of jam, preferably sugar-free)

Instructions

1. Preheat oven to 350F. Grease 20 (2-inch) muffin cups. (DON'T GREASE! Use paper muffin liners because these muffins are VERY delicate.)
2. Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, maple sugar and cinnamon. Add oats, raisins and half the peanuts.
3. Combine soy milk, oil, maple syrup, vanilla, peanut butter, vinegar and bananas. Mash until well blended. Add to dry ingredients, stirring to mix just until all ingredients are incorporated. Do not overmix.
4. Fill muffin cups two-thirds full with batter, then drop a little jam onto the top of each muffin. Sprinkle with remaining peanuts. Bake about 20 minutes, until a toothpick comes out clean. Spoon extra jam on top, if desired. Makes 20 muffins. (Don't overfill! These muffins are too soft for much of a muffin top.)

These keep in an air-tight container in the refrigerator, but don't expect them to last long.

Reprinted with Permission from Lunch Lessons by Ann Cooper and Lisa M. Holmes (HarperCollins, 2006).
"Relish the Healthy Table," Sept. 2007

Nutritional Information
Per muffin: 96 calories, 5g fat, 3g protein, 11g carbohydrate, 1g fiber, 91mg sodium

Audubon Ron’s Rainy Day Gumbo

 

This is a wonderful recipe for gumbo without okra, courtesy of my blog friend Audubon Ron. He sounds like a fantastic cook, and he's definitely a funny and interesting person, so go visit him at his blog Ducks Mahal. 

First, the ingredients, followed by Ron's instructions and my notes in orange type, and photos. For the full unvarnished recipe from Ron, click here.

Rainy Day Gumbo
Serves 4

Prepare in advance the following ingredients:

4 Tbsp. flour
4 Tbsp. vegetable oil
½ yellow onion (diced into ¼ inch pieces)
½ green bell pepper (seeded, cored, diced into ¼ inch pieces)
½ red bell pepper (seeded, cored, diced into ¼ inch pieces)
1 stalk celery (sliced lengthwise into quarters and then diced into ¼ inch pieces)
½ cup of ale (as in beer)
1 Tbsp. Worcestershire
1 Tbsp. Tabasco
1 12-inch length sausage (Smoked Hillshire Farms will do), cut into thin slices
1 large chicken breast (boned and skinned, cut into 1-inch pieces)
2 cups uncooked shrimp (shelled and de-veined)
1 clove garlic
Chicken stock (use a 26-oz. container of packaged stock from the soup section)
1 bouquet garni (in a piece of cheese cloth about 5”x8” place 1 tsp. each of dried basil, oregano and thyme, draw the four corners together and make a small ball, seal the top with cloth string or I use a trash bag twister; make sure not to use anything made of plastic)

Roux

In a 2 quart heavy sauce pan, put in flour and then oil and mix into a smooth paste.  On medium heat, cook slowly for 20 minutes, stirring frequently, until the roux turns oak color.  Be careful not to scorch; if scorched, start roux over in a clean pan.

I used extra virgin olive oil, which has a lower scorch point than other oils, so next time I will turn my heat lower than medium. I never stopped stirring it; it passed oak color halfway through and went straight to mahogany, but it didn't scorch.

 



When the roux is ready, add onions, peppers, and celery and cook until tender on the same heat.  This will release the sugar in the veggies and the roux should darken a little more (about 10 minutes).

 


Add ale, Worcestershire and Tabasco and let cook while preparing the sausage.

 

Here was my ale choice. It's blurry because I drank the rest of it. Also, I cut the Tabasco to about a teaspoon, which was plenty spicy enough for my family.

In a separate pan sauté the sausage in a little oil and garlic; add to the roux.

 


Add the entire container of chicken stock.

 

I used two cans of chicken stock, about 28 oz. total.

Toss in the bouquet garni to the roux.  (Bouquet garni is the French term for a bundle of herbs tied together and tossed into the pot.)

Okay, this is important. If you don't use a bouguet garni, and I didn't because I'm just not French enough, call your brother the chef and ask him how much ground herbs to use. He'll say "to taste," which Laurie heard as "½ teaspoon each of basil and thyme, and ¼ teaspoon oregano." It was perfect. BUT! Don't add this until the last 20 minutes of cooking! You can just cool your jets and get back to the hard stuff.

Bring to a boil, then reduce to a low simmer and cook for one hour.  The lower the heat, the better.  The idea is to let the slow heat break down the flour and oil.

I have an electric rice cooker which usually takes 30 minutes to cook a cup and one-half of rice in 3 cups of water.  When the hour of cooking the gumbo is up, I cook the rice.

Let's talk about how to use that hour, shall we? You could check your e-mail. You could sample more of the Celebration Ale . . .

 

. . . but you're not going to. You're going to de-vein those nasty shrimps. Unless you were lucky enough to purchase them de-veined (unlikely), you probably bought a bag of frozen shrimp. Measure out a couple of cups of them into a colander; put them into the sink and run cold water over them. You gotta strip the poo tube right out of those dudes or you'll be eating poo. Use a paring knife and slice right down their bellies stem to stern, then scrape the poo tube out. You'll recognize it; it's brown. I'm sure Julia Child or Jacques Pepin or ANYBODY could give you a better tutorial than this, but if not? Call me. I'll walk you through it.

While the rice is cooking add the shrimp and chicken to the gumbo.

 

This is also the point at which I added the herbs -- remember them? -- and the salt and pepper. Easy on the salt; the sausage adds a lot already.

Cook for another 20 to 30 minutes. Cool some and serve the gumbo in a bowl on a bed of rice. Oh don’t that good yeah!!!

 

It WAS good, Ron -- thank you SO much! And next time I'll start the process at 2:30 instead of 4:00. I'll double the recipe because it's really good as leftovers, and I'll listen to Beausoleil and Harry Shearer the whole time.

"Ah guar-onn-teee."

Foolery in the Kitchen Again: Tamale Pie

(Original photo stolen from mforbes321 on Flickr)

Neither of my grandmothers were marvelous cooks, though both had specialties that they cooked very well. My father's mother, Gertrude, made the best beef stew in my memory, but my favorite recipe from her kitchen was tamale pie. My own mother made it once in a while and it was one of my favorite dinners. It tastes nothing like tamales -- nothing! -- but it's pretty easy and delicious and can be customized easily, so it's aces in my book. Here is the straight recipe as hand-written for me by Mom, in a recipe book (I think it was a hint to hurry up and learn how to cook and settle down, already):

Grandma's* Tamale Pie

• 1 lb. ground chuck
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 1 clove garlic, chopped
• 1 cup milk
• 1/2 cup yellow cornmeal
• 1 8 oz. can tomato sauce
• 1 small can (8 oz.?) or half of a 14 oz. can creamed corn
• 3/4 of a green bell pepper, cored, seeded and chopped
• 2 tsp. Grandma's Spanish Pepper (a.k.a. chili powder)
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1 can pitted olives, drained

Cook meat until done but not browned. Add onion, garlic, and bell pepper; mix well. Transfer to a greased casserole dish [just guessing: 2-3 quart round is what Mom and Grandma and I always use].

In a measuring cup mix milk and corn meal; stir well and dump into casserole. Mix chili powder with a little water and add. Add the remainder of the ingredients, mixing well.

Bake at 350˚F about 45 minutes. Can be refrigerated and reheated.



 

Okay, I wouldn't be Laurie if I didn't mess with stuff. Here's how I have changed it (in bold):


Laurie's Tamale Pie

• 1-1 1/2 lbs. ground chuck or ground turkey or I suppose even tofu cubes
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 1-3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 cup milk
• 1/2 cup yellow cornmeal
• 1 8 oz. can tomato sauce
• 1 can Mexicorn (7 oz.?) or a 14 oz. can of sweet corn (I hate creamed corn)
• 1 bell pepper, any color, cored, seeded and chopped (why have 1/4 bell pepper lying around?)
• 1-2 medium zucchini, diced
• 1 14 oz. can diced tomatoes (or fresh diced, if you have too many tomatoes)
• I omit the chili powder as my family thinks it tastes like feet. Sorry, Grandma.
• Dash of cayenne, being very careful
• Three shakes of Tapatio hot sauce, again with the careful
• salt and pepper to taste
• 1 can small pitted olives, drained

Mix it all up as in the recipe above, but I take it out of the oven after 45 minutes, stir it all up, and cook it a few minutes longer. Then I take it out of the oven, stir it again, put a lid on it and let it sit for about 20 minutes. Seems to be more even this way, with all of the different textures.

Notes:

• This is pretty much a one-pot meal, but I usually serve it with steamed zucchini, because GAHHH we always have a ton of zukes around here.
• I stuff as many vegetables in there as I can. There is no wrong way, except for carrots and broccoli. Don't ask.
• You could easily substitute pulled pork or shredded chicken or beef for the ground beef, in which case it would taste more like a real tamale (not really).
• Diced chilis would be excellent, but be careful about heat.
• Cumin would be great, but my family resists things that taste like feet.
• Kidney beans or black beans could be good.
• Great in the winter with corn bread, as if you need an excuse to eat corn bread. Or, you could make a cornbread crust on top, but since I don't know how to do that, you're on your own here.

(Photo stolen from these guys)

*The Grandma here refers to "Grandma's Spanish Pepper," which is one of the ingredients and is probably the source of this recipe. I like to think it refers to my Grandma, however, so humor me.

Night of the Living Peaches

Continuing the canned food theme, I had to share this note that I got today from my mother-in-law, who is a wonderful cook and a story teller in her own right (if she would only blog!):


 

My mother and grandmother both canned. I lived in Houston, Texas until I was 15. Summers were hot and humid and no AC.

During World War II we were always on high alert -- blackouts, rumors of German subs off Galveston, proximity to shipyards, etc. My mother was the original "drama queen" (now you know where the girls get it). One particularly hot day, when I was about eight, we were upstairs and we began to hear explosions!  My mother thrust me under the bed and told me to "save myself and not worry about her," and then went screaming through the house that the Japanese had attacked and we were all going to die! When it got quiet and we had survived, we tip-toed down the stairs and searched the house for damage. When we got to the kitchen we discovered that the canned peaches, which had been stored in the highest cupboards, had exploded.

That is my canning AND war story. After that we referred to it as "The Night The Peaches Attacked."


(Original photo stolen from this guy)

I remember it like it was yesterday.   Both my mother and grandmother were excellent cooks and I grew up eating anything (raw oysters, crawdads, etc.) but I never felt the same about home canned food after that.

Eat What You Can and What You Can't You Can, Part 1

(Photo stolen from this site)

There was a bag of fresh-picked peaches hanging on my kitchen door knob the other morning. Thanks, Mom.

As a full-time member of the work force, a part-time blogger and an ISN'T IT BEDTIME YET parent, I have no time to dedicate to a garden, and have subsequently become the beneficiary of other peoples' Farmer Brown instincts. Ask me how much squash I have in my refrigerator right now. Go on, ask me.

It struck me as I washed the luminous fuzzy fruits that this wouldn't have happened in my grandparents' time. There was no such thing as "extra food" when my parents were kids. You grew what you ate and you ate what you grew, and what you couldn't eat was not wasted, it was preserved.



(Photo stolen from these guys)

I grew up in the shadow of a home economics teacher. Not only is Mom a good cook, but she has also been very resourceful all of her life. She usually had a summer/fall garden, and therefore, she has canned a lot of food over the years. Tomatoes and peaches, mostly, but she would often buy a lug of fruit (or we would go to a U-Pick orchard and pick them ourselves) to make applesauce and apple butter, canned pears, cherries, and all kinds of jams and jellies.

I do not can. I do have lots of preserves, however, and they all look like this:

(Photo stolen from these guys)

So my generation may grow food, but we certainly can't eat all of the squash and cucumbers the plants produce. I am currently on THREE down-lists from abundant gardens of non-canning gardeners. We eat a lot of steamed zucchini. I make zucchini bread when vegetables start falling out of the refrigerator. I put zucchini in my homemade marinara sauce and tamale pie, in Glop -- I've even put it into meatloaf. But canning food?

No can do.

(Original photo stolen from this site)

So, anybody out there have any good canning stories? Please share!

Please check out my other blog, Reasonably Educated Bumpkins, for Part 2 of this story, due up soon.

Meatballs!

(Photo stolen from this site)

Köttbullar are Swedish meatballs.  I grew up loving them, but didn't realize that the ones I thought were Swedish were really quite American.  My Mormor and my mom each changed the recipe to use readily available American products, like Campbell's soup.  But MAN OH MAN if you ever need to take a main dish to a pot luck, the Americanized köttbullar are the ones to take.  Mom used to bring them to our school potlucks, and we kids never got through the line fast enough to get a meatball before they'd been decimated by throngs of hungry potluck-ers.  I am really not kidding.

If you can make a meatloaf you can make these.  Here is the Betty Crocker-ized version, which makes plenty for six normal people (good luck with rounding up a few of those):


Köttbullar

• 2 1/4 pounds lean ground beef
• 1/2 pound ground pork sausage (Italian pork sausage works fine)
• 2 cups dry bread crumbs
• 2 eggs, slightly beaten
• 1/2 cup ketchup
• 1/4 teaspoon dried ground sage
• 1 yellow onion, finely chopped
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 teaspoon pepper

• 1 1/2  to 2 cans cream of mushroom soup
• 1 package dry onion soup mix
• 1 cup water

Preheat oven to 350˚F.

Mix soups and water together in a bowl; set aside.  This is the gravy and will be used last.

Mix all remaining ingredients in a large mixing bowl.  Don't be a wuss -- take off your rings and mix it with your hands!  It's almost impossible unless you use your bare hands.

Form meatballs about the size of golf balls and place tightly into an oblong baking pan (about 9 x 13").  You may want to pop the meatballs into the oven for 10-15 minutes without gravy, and pour off any fat that bakes out before covering them with gravy.  I use a lower fat ground beef and there isn't any fat to pour off that early in the baking.  Cover the meatballs in gravy and bake for 45 minutes.  Test one meatball for doneness; they may need more time, especially if you have made them larger than golf ball size.

Serve as is or over rice or  -- if you REALLY want your guy to give you a foot rub and a back rub and a new car -- over mashed potatoes.  This is heart attack food, right here.

Tip:  When meatballs come out of the oven, take five minutes to spoon out as much fat as you can before it mixes with the gravy.  Your cardiologist will thank you.

Now, for a REAL recipe for Swedish meatballs, which are smaller, drier and fried in butter rather than baked, then served with lingonberries (I'm not making this up), try this link.  It looks a lot like my Mormor's Swedish recipe which was shelved in favor of the American one.  No, I haven't tried it yet; Yes, I plan to.  As soon as I figure out where to get lingonberries.



(Photo stolen from this site)

Add Caramel Until It Tastes Good

Have you made it through the first layer of See's Valentine Candy yet?  No?  Well, put it down and go check out this link because you're going to want to make this Right. Now.

 

(Photo stolen from the article at Bon Appetit)

Have I made it yet?  Um, well, no, actually, I haven't, but I have a very good reason.

I am a LAME-O.  On file.

But I will make that apple crisp.  And actually?  There are a lot more recipes in the March 2009 issue of Bon Appétit that are equally compelling and which I will be attempting, because they are from the very able, talented, likable and funny chef Sarah Patterson Scott, who is Chas's cousin, and it is my duty and pleasure to brag up the heck out of a family member whose success has absolutely NOTHING to do with me.

(Photo stolen with the blessing of Jim at  www.napaman.com)*

Sarah has worked for years bridging the two worlds of food and wine, working for wineries -- most notably that of Robert Mondavi, Sr. -- creating and pairing food with their wines.  Now stop and go back and read that sentence again.  Hellooo, working with food and wine?  Who do I talk to about THAT job?

And the other reason I'll be trying some of these recipes is self-evident: caramel.

Our family had lunch with Sarah in the Napa Valley last month.  She told us that she and a partner are working on a cookbook, which I will also be shamelessly plugging once it comes out, so fair warning.

Go check out Bon Appétit and leave Sarah a comment!

*Thanks for the photo goes to Jim White at Napaman.com, a beautiful blog and a great place to browse if you love wine, food, good photos, the Napa Valley, and pretending you understand anything fancier than Two Buck Chuck.

Greetings From the M.A.T. Bistro

My cooking has been described as

average

passable

makes a turd

fine

and

"Hello, Hospital?"

But perhaps the definitive description of my cooking style is

stubborn

I insist on doing things the hard way.  Well, not difficult, really, so much as TIME-CONSUMING.  But just between you and me?  I really love making stuff from scratch, from whole foods.*  Even if I could get the results in a jar in one-tenth the time, I wouldn't want to.

So today I am making pasta sauce.  It's really easy and there is no real recipe, which is a bonus.  But I'll still tell you about it, because you're gonna need an excuse to listen to "Wait Wait, Don't Tell Me" or "Le Show" on NPR next weekend, and here's your excuse: you've got FOOD to make!

Foolery's Extra-Chunky Marinara Sauce, Sort Of

Tools you'll need:

• a good stock pot -- this is my favorite:

(Photo stolen from these guys)

But you can use a tall stock pot if you want to -- just make sure you've got another one lying around to cook your pasta in later.

• a good chef's knife, because you'll be chopping chopping chopping

• a cutting board (see above reason)

• an outboard motor

• a long-handled mixing spoon

• a short-handled tasting spoon

• a beverage of choice, for inspiration

Ingredients, most of which are entirely negotiable:

• meat (2 diced chicken breasts, or a pound of hamburger, or a pound of ground Italian sausage, or any combination thereof).  If you're a vegetarian, I'm so, so sorry.

• olive oil

• 2-4 15-oz. cans of tomato product (I like 2 sauce and 2 diced or stewed, but you can also add a small can of tomato paste for thickness and concentrated flavor)

• one yellow onion, diced (red is too sweet and white is too hot)

• garlic, minced very fine (to taste -- I use five big cloves, but we're afraid of vampires)

• two stalks of celery, diced

• 1-3 zucchini, diced

• a buttload of mushrooms, sliced

• one bell pepper (green for color), diced

• a can of drained, rinsed black olives if you're feeling frisky, size small or sliced

• sugar (yes, sugar)

• red wine

• dried herbs, salt and black pepper to taste

Cooking the Sauce

Drizzle a little olive oil in your pot -- maybe two or three times around the bottom?  Coupla tablespoons, maybe, but I have no idea.  Brown your meat of choice.  If you have chosen ground beef and/or sausage, you'll want to drain the liquid off and give it to your skinny pets, (if you have any skinny pets) because this is PURE FLAVOR JUICE, which means, of course, FAT.  Restrain yourself.

To the browned meat add all vegetables but no herbs, spices, sugar or wine (yet).  Get that sucker bubbling, then turn your heat down, maybe to about 2 on a scale of 10, so the sauce continues to bubble and simmer just a little.

Add a bay leaf if you have one.  I don't know why.  I think it may be a trick.

Pour in some wine.  Some?  Maybe a cup?  Add a smattering of sugar.  Could be about a half teaspoon.  Less is more, but you need a bit of sugar to cut the acid from the tomatoes and the sour from the herbs, I think.  If someone has a better answer about why we put sugar in, lemme have it.

Let this simmer for anywhere from half an hour to three hours.  I'm serious.  I've done both, and while cooking it longer results in bigger flavor, I still sort of like the freshness of a short-cooked sauce.  It's always better the second day, anyway.  Use your judgment.

What I really like to do is cook it in the middle of the day, then turn it off at this point and let it stand for a couple of hours before I heat it up again and season it.  I'm sure my brother the chef would be HORRIFIED at that, and all of you health department types, please disregard what I just typed.  It's probably not ideal for food safety, but it's GREAT for letting the flavors commingle a bit.  Then I put in the herbs.



Seasoning the Sauce

I use thyme, basil, rosemary, oregano, parsley, and alfalfa.  Just kidding about the alfalfa -- seeing who's still awake.  I stink at measurements, but again, less is more.  Too much and your sauce tastes like lawn clippings.  If you must measure, start with 1/4 teaspoon, or even less.  This is where the all-important tasting spoon comes into play.  Stir that pot up and take a  taste -- need more?  Try a little more oregano and basil.  Parsley is really just to keep the dried parsley people in business, God bless 'em.  About right?  maybe a bit bland?  Before you reach for more herbs, give it a shake of salt and pepper -- one tiny shake of cayenne if you're adventurous -- and taste it again.  Oh, and remember to wash your tasting spoon between tastings.  Or not; you're probably alone in your kitchen and those skinny pets won't tell.

Once you're pretty sure you have the herbs right, add salt and pepper.  Go easy on the salt but don't skimp on the pepper.

This sauce is not particularly tomato-y because it's so chunky.  That suits my family as we're not big on red sauce.  You may want to use more tomato sauce and some tomato paste if you like really tomato-y sauce.  Also?  Don't forget to fish out the bay leaf!



This makes a huge amount, as you might imagine.  I ladle it over my pasta, mix it up, and then bag the rest in a gallon-sized freezer Zip-Loc.  Works great for lasagna later on.

Serve with a salad or something, but there are enough vegetables in this to choke a bunny, so it could almost be a one-pot meal.  As for beverages, I suggest this



or this



but avoid this

unless you, too, want to be horizontal and blurry.

Until next time, 'bye for now from the M.A.T. Bistro!**


*Okay, this includes canned tomatoes and dried spices from jars, and I don't kill any livestock, press my own wine or dig my own salt.  But other than that . . .

**So named by my friend Gubby, who is used to my cooking, and insists that "Bistro" adds the class that "Cafe" just doesn't have.

Buttermilk Pancakes The Hard Way

I will skimp on wine, good coffee beans, haircuts, clothing, music -- pretty much everything, but I will NOT skimp on pancakes.

Yes, I have a bag of Krusteaz in my cupboard, but it may have weevils, I don't know, because I insist on creating a shitload of dishes every time and making pancakes the long way.  My mom's recipe, sort of.  Mostly.  And it may be a standard Every Person In The World Has This Recipe, You Dumb Cluck, I don't know.  Please don't tell me, if it is.  Let me keep living this lie.  Take down this recipe as if it's really, really special.  Oooo and ahhhh as if I'm a culinary genius.

Get syrup in your hair and tell me about it.

So here it is:

Buttermilk Pancakes The Hard Way

You will need the following hardware:

• a large bowl
• a medium bowl
• a whisk
• a large spatula
• spoons and stuff
• a small squirrel
• a griddle, or at least a good frying pan
• a stove
• a kitchen

You will need the following edibles:

• 2 or 3 eggs, your decision (tick tock . . .)
• 1 1/4 cup buttermilf.  Damn, slip of the tongue.  BATTERMILF
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1 1/2 cups flour
• 1 tsp. salt
• 3/4 tsp. baking soda
• 2 tblsp. sugar
• 3 tblsp. butter, melted

First, separate the eggs.  Yolks go into the big bowl, whites go into the medium bowl.  Add the BATTERMILF* to the yolks, then the regular milf.*  Stir it up, baby, stir it up.  BUT NOT TOO MUCH!  (Did I scare you?  Sorry.)

Now for the dry ingredients.  Here's the weird part.  You can use regular flour, but I try to cram as much whole wheat flour into stuff as I can, so I use 1/2 cup each regular flour, whole wheat flour, and cake flour (for lightness).  This is NOT necessary, but is probably part of a larger illness I am refusing to acknowledge.  Dump 1 1/2 cups flour into a sifter, and add the salt, baking soda, and sugar.  Sift it right into the big bowl.  Stir it up, but only until it's just mixed -- still lumpier than a lazy advertising agency secretary's butt.  Now put it away and heat up your griddle -- 350F if you're particular, high heat then down to medium if you're sloppy.  I'm sloppy.

Melt that butter in the microwave -- how about 40 seconds on half power?  DON'T BOIL IT.  Let it cool off a minute while you beat the snot out of the egg whites.  Take your whisk and whip those whites into a froth.  Your forearms will thank me, and hate me.  Thank me.  Beat the whites until soft peaks form.  Or quit early; it's not that critical.  HA!

Sometimes I fold the egg whites in and then stir in the melted butter, and sometimes I do it the  other way around.  I'm sure there's a preferred way, but I'm here to tell you I have done both ways and it has not made a BIT of difference to my finished product, so you pick.  In any case, fold in the egg whites gently and mix in the butter only until it's mixed, not a second more.  Well, a second is okay.

Make your pancakes; you know the rest.  I think this should feed 5-6 normal people, or four gluttons.  You pick.  If you're in doubt, double the recipe.  Freeze the leftovers in a Zip-Loc.  Use real butter and pure maple syrup, or this whole dirty dish circus has been for naught.

* You do fnow I mean "buttermilk" and "milk," right?

Invasions Are Simpler to Plan Than Thanksgiving

We are gathering together -- all four siblings and the various children and grandparents and an uncle, from my side of the family -- for a major holiday, under one roof, for the first time EVER.  Next week.  In a rented cabin in Tahoe.  So the e-mails were flying today as we figure out who is bringing what.
 
My brother Bocci is a chef, and a master of food planning, prep and organization.  He's the one taking the bull by the horns.  You will be able to tell from his e-mails how commanding he is.  If he doesn't like your answer he just might make you cry (unless, of course, you're his big sister, and then you just write nasty things about him in your blog instead of crying).
 
I thought you might like to see what passes for communication in my family, so here are excerpts from the first round of e-mails.  There will probably be more, with accelerated levels of smartass and snarkiness, but this is only Round One.
 
Brother Bocci:  Hello All!  We're getting close to Thanksgiving, and I know there are a lot of questions.  I'm going to take the liberty of making some small assignments -- that will hopefully make everything easy for everyone.  If you disagree with the assignments, I'll be choosing where you sleep:
 

• ALL Parties - please bring two bottles of wine.  I should bring plenty of white, so red is great.  If you have a white or red you prefer, please don't be shy about bringing what you like, and we'll make sure that you get the lion's share!

(Photo stolen from this site)

• Beth - pumpkin pies.  Due to only one oven*, I won't be making them on Thursday.  Storebought pies are totally fine -- they actually do okay with pumpkin.  The Orlanders tell me that Costco makes a good pumpkin pie....  I also trust that you can bring some good coffee?  You're pretty swanky, so I think you'll do the best here.

Beth:  Swanky coffee and cheap pies - got it.  sniff.  2 bottles of wine somewhere in between?

Bocci:  What do you mean on the wine?  I'm bringing 12 bottles if you're concerned about volume.  With Dad there, I'd be concerned about volume.**

• Uncle - hors d'oeuvre stuff.  Cheese, meat, pate, crackers, nuts, etc.  Have a field day.  Remember you've got rednecks, so you might want some chips as well.

Uncle:  I'll bring saltines and cheese-whiz.  Anyone bringing jello?

(Photo stolen from this site)

• Laurie - first night's meal - lasagna!  Don't forget the no-cheese small one, too, plus some bread would be nice for carbo loading before bedtime.  You also are responsible for beer, as you live in Sierra Nevada territory, and not sure if we'll drink too much else.***  Anything special that your girls will want or need, in case they don't like my sloppy cooking.****

(Photo stolen from these guys)

• Mantel Man - bring dish gloves, as you're not getting off easy this time.  Also, your Baileys, Amaretto, and some of the more redneck snack stuff that you like.  Comics for my kids to read with you, and maybe some sugar of some sort.  Your tea as well.

 

(Photo stolen from this site)

• Mom is bringing gin and tonic and limes (I'm starting to think we won't need to turn the heat on).  Also, one breakfast.  That should keep you busy.  3 loaves sliced sourdough and one white for sandwiches.  If you make sugar cookies, you'll score big.

(Photo stolen from this site)

• The wife and I should have the rest.  Still working on Saturday night dinner idea, but I'll handle the Thanksgiving dinner, plus Friday night.  Anything else we can think of we'll let you know, but shouldn't be much.  Anything you want to bring, please feel free.

Beth:  Will bring extra food b/c my boys generally require their own refrigerator to store a weekend worth of eating.  And six signed copies of "Audacity of Hope".

 

(Photo stolen from these guys)

Bocci:  Bring a few dozen hot dogs for the boys to go with their light beer (kidding).  This is a Democrat free zone.*****  But we do like fluff (and People magazine), so please feel free to bring your Obama propaganda.  "Wow, this book is so light!"

Beth:  Can someone send the address?

Bocci:  The address  -- Bakersfield.******  And no damn canned whipped topping chemical crap.  I will bring the real stuff.

         

(Photo stolen from these guys)

Mom:  Hey, chef.  How's about your mother making a big stew for Saturday night, bringing it frozen, and Schwann frozen herb biscuits and green salad? 

Bocci:  Go green salad!  Blue cheese and walnut and balsamic dressing for me, please!

Mom:  And a cake (sheet) big enough for all of us.

Bocci:  Stew would be nice -- but I was thinking of a braised beef the night prior.  I could skip and do prime rib, though.  No frozen biscuits though -- bring 'em and you're out of the family.  Sheet cake great, but not too much sheet in mine, please.

        

Mom:  P.S.  Will you allow******* Beth to bring whipped cream in a can?  If so, I will tell her when I send her the directions to the house, which I am hoping to receive soon from youse guys.

Bocci:  Canned whipped cream only for whipits...I knew that hideous question would come up.  I have the technology to whip my own.

(Photo stolen from these guys)

        

Beth:  Since I agreed to my assignment, can I have a queen bed with feather pillows, south-facing windows, radiant flooring, turkish cotton towels, jacuzzi tub, and fresh pajamas?  Can't wait to see y'all,

Swanky
Director of Swanky Eating
Trader Joe's Eatery
Overpriced Bay Area, California

Laurie:  You DO realize that this is all going into the blog, don't you?  No?  Tough sheet.

        

Bocci:  To be read by nerds with perpetually runny noses, living in their mom's basement.  I can handle that.********

(Photo stolen from her)

 
* ONLY one oven.  This is how my brother the chef thinks.
 
** This is a joke.  Dad hardly drinks at all.  The rest of us, however, pull his load for him.

*** Chas is figuring an ounce per person per minute per waking hour.  Plus a little extra.
 
**** As if.
 
***** We run the gamut in our family, from almost Communist to not-quite-John Birch Society.  We tease each other quite a bit and no one seems offended, so don't you be offended, okay?
 
****** No it isn't.  We're going to Tahoe.
 
******* Check out that word, "allow."  Cut it out, Mom -- he's gonna get a swelled head!  We shoud be snapping him with towels and playing Hide From Bocci like the old days.
 
******** Obviously, Bocci has not met my readers.  Both of your are lovely, and certainly NOT runny-nosed basement-dwellers.  Although I wonder a bit about Bob Cleveland . . .

My Dinner With Foolery: The Chow Line

As usual, I have bitten off more than I can chew. Plus, I spent the evening laughing until I barely made it to the bathroom, on the phone with my long-time friend Cheryl. "I have to go write," I kept saying, but do you think she could stop the funny? NOOOOOOO. So here I am, with a post I've been working on for days, and yet it's like that piece of chuck steak that you chew, and it keeps getting bigger and bigger and bigger . . .

So here's the deal. The dinner party post has now officially become TWO dinner party posts, in order to a) collect more questions for our distinguished panel, and b) stall for time in the hopes that I'm being so gosh-darned cute that y'all don't even notice my slackitude.

Yeah, it doesn't work with my husband or family, either.

So Tuesday's part of The Great Dinner Party That Lasted Two Days will deal with the many succulent food offerings we shall have. To recap, the theme of the pot-luck is:

Delicious Food With One Hateful Ingredient, Because There's Always One Hateful Ingredient, Isn't There?

I plan to bring a lovely spinach salad with a warm bacon vinaigrette, and a shitload of beets all over it just to kill the mood.  Also, Lucky Charms, which is a bowl of hateful right there.


(Photo stolen from John-Morgan on Flickr)

Here's where we stand. Mmmmmm, my tummy is growling right now.

Chesapeake Bay Woman at Life in Mathews is bringing scrapple, "Because I can."  If you don't know what it is, and wonder what the hateful ingredient might be, go Google it, but make sure you reeeeeeally wanna know first. (She decided at the last minute NOT to bring muskrat kabobs, so that dish is open for the taking, for the moment.)


(Photo stolen from these guys)

TJ at Humble Origins has staked out Possum & Sweet Taters with hard boiled eggs and beer, before anyone else could. She's fast, that TJ. Her offerings promise a rip-roaring good time.

Beej has brought her patented chips and salsa. We may have to add a hateful ingredient. Any ideas?


(Photo stolen from SJM418 on Flickr)

Cow Punk, who is riding with Alias Liz, has a vat of haggis and a side of prunes. Hey now, Cow Punk, you're in prune country here in Northern California. May I assume that the haggis constitutes the evil part of the offering? Welcome!


(Photo stolen from these guys)

MamaMo was already making a fancy Persian rice dish, and she has graciously offered to add cardamom pods, which, as she says, are "a surprise in every bite!"


(Photo stolen from these guys)

Alias Liz Jones has the hot dogs under control, and if that's not hateful enough for you, she's topping it off with a big bowl of Cheerios. Works for me!

(Photo stolen from these guys)


Kathi D at I Think We're All Bozos On This Bus will be bringing cocktail wieners doing the backstroke in barbecue sauce, "which is so wonderful that I will bring a side of Lima Beans, which are so very hateful."


(Photo stolen from this site)

She has also promised to make mini pigs in blankets out of the non-swimming wieners, served with a side of sauerkraut. I leave it to you, dear readers, to find the hateful in this sentence.


(Photo stolen from these guys)


(Photo stolen from these guys)


My buddy Rick's Cafe HAS to bring beer. He just HAS to. Rick, load up the cooler with some fine domestic ales and stouts, and for lighter fare we'll need some European pilsners and Mexican lagers. Oh, and for the hateful part? Any Bud or Coors product will do (THAT should start a fight).

Texasholly at June Cleaver Nirvana is bringing, in her exact words, "a Southwestern Caesar salad: lettuce, dressing with a little kick, tortilla strip croutons, sprinkling of cheese and big fat anchovies all over. The anchovies are so big and ugly that their memory lives on after their removal..."


(Photo stolen from these guys)

Sarah at OK, Where Was I? has shown up with "Cheez Fries, which are gross and hateful already, but by the time I get there will be even worse b/c the cheez will have congealed.


(Photo stolen from raspberrii on Flickr)

And I'll bring some kind of health nut cookie. You know those kinds that you're excited about and put on your plate, and then you take a bite and realize that they're gross and weird. Like with carob chips instead of chocolate."

Meg at Soup Is Not A Finger Food will provide the time-tested favorite liver and onions, "because, you know, organ meats are good fer ya."  BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE! In case liver and onions aren't exotic enough for you, she will pick up some frogs' legs and pickled cow tongue at the 7-11 on her way out.


(Photo stolen from these guys)

The Mom Bomb has offered to provide "a delicious crab dip . . . made with fake crabmeat, of course."


(Photo stolen from these guys)

Mommy Pie finds the whole cooking activity itself hateful, and so she will man the phones for some take-out pizza. In keeping with our hateful theme, she will make sure they pile on lots of soggy Canadian bacon, which can't actually be blamed on our unsoggy neighbors to the north.


(Photo stolen from this site)

Scrappysue may get the prize for traveling the farthest distance, as she comes from New Zealand. On her lap on the plane will be lambs fry (again, go look this one up, if you dare) and bacon. "The lambs fry will be in giant dried up over-cooked clumps and the bacon will be barely fried and slimy. The gravy will be lumpy." Promises, promises.


(Photo stolen from samm portelli on Flickr)

Jason at The Jason Show had this to say: "Being of Mormon heritage, I shall bring jello. Lime flavored jello, cool and refreshing. With carrots, raisins, and tuna in it. Well? It was either that or corn fritters. But my first idea was enchiladas. With bunny meat. Or meatloaf. Made of goat meat.

But I'm sticking to the jello." Jello it is.


(Photo stolen from sanchoclos56 on Flickr)

Erin at Mamadance has a particularly unique sense of pot luck fare: "I'm bringing grilled snake for Auds at Barking Mad, covered with creamed corn, my least favorite food in the whole world. Yum." I'm with you on the creamed corn, Erin; it sounds both delicious and revolting at once, like a good pot luck dish should be.


(Photo stolen from this guy)

My party co-host Auds from Barking Mad! has loaded down the Volvo with fresh Maine lobsters and "my fabulous late summer salad which includes fresh Maine blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, honeydew melon and a honey yogurt drizzle." How do I tell her that there is not one hateful ingredient in the lot? OR, I could just leave everything on the counter for about four minutes and let the ants inject their own special hatefulness. Yes, that's it.


(Photo stolen from these guys)

Grandma J from Ask Grandma J had this to say: "I will bring a swimming pool cake that I made one summer with my grandkids. It's a sheet cake hollowed out in the middle, iced with cool whip, then the center is filled with blue raspberry jello that's partially gelled so it's bumpy. Then you put graham bears floating in gummy lifesavers in the 'pool,' a few more can sunbathe on the deck with cocktail umbrellas to shade them.

Otherwise I would have to bring corn dogs." That's okay, Grandma J -- we have the tube-shaped food category covered!

Please folks, send me any more questions you may have for the bloggers. I'd relist their links but it's 12:50 a.m. (that's IN THE MORNING for you readers who AREN'T freaks like me) and I can barely see, but I still have to post this. So please check the original post link for everyone's name and blog link, go check out a new-to-you blog, and e-mail me a question to pose to one of them, or more than one.

foolery (at) clearwire (dot) net

Nighty-night! See you back here Wednesday!

UPDATED TUESDAY 8/26, 2:08 p.m. to add:

Miss Heart Shaped Hedges (rumored to be a relative of Grandma J) just skidded in sideways with everyone's favorite, 7-layer bean dip. As she puts it, "6 yummy layers: cheese, scallions, olives, salsa, ground beef, refried beans, and then 1 layer that ruins the whole darned thing: sour cream!"

I got news for Miss HSH: sour cream is what I live for. As you were!


(Photo stolen from this site)

Post Pardon Depression

Well, I didn't get a post done last night, sorry. This whole dinner party has reduced my brain to pablum -- which, considering my brain was oatmeal to begin with, was actually not such a stretch.

 

I am sad.

 

Still, with one child suffering from possible strep throat and double ear infections, and the other missing a day of school because of impetigo, and battling a sore throat and swollen glands myself, I think a break is justified once in a while.

 

And then I read Mommy Time's post over at Mommy's Martini today. She has posted her dinner party, and what an elaborate affair! I was lucky enough to be invited, and my job will be to mingle and distribute appetizers and make small talk about aging musicians. That's not too hard. Bob Dylan alone is a veritable treasure trove of one-liners just waiting to be discovered.

 

And you need to go see the menu. The menu! Knowing MT, she'll actually have a menu, in gilded letters, with matching placecards, and perhaps little printed notes for each guest with a hand-picked quote pertinent to each guest.  I'll be lucky if I remember to put out bowls of Tums and throw the cats out, and to not get those two things mixed up.

 

But the reason I am bothering you at all is that Mommy Time has on the menu her widely-famous real-life signature dish, Salmon Fabulosity. I have read comments left by her sisters and friends BEGGING her to make this dish.

 

Silly Foolery, it reminded me of this video clip. It's over seven minutes long, but one of my favorites. Sher at Wreke Havoc will already know what this is, I'm sure.



Now wasn't that special?

 

Don't know how much posting or blog-reading I'll be doing in the next week or so, since we are MOVING, starting Whenever I Get Off My Duff. More to come. Happy Friday!

 

Love,

 

Laurie

Better Than Sex, Or So I've Heard

Oh holy heck, look what my husband brought home and didn't tell me.


(Photo stolen from the Blue Diamond site)

I found his secret stash.  I've already eaten about half of the can.

We eat a lot of nuts around here, living in Nut Country and being nuttier than fruitcakes and all, but usually I won't eat the salted ones.  Too salty.  BUT I was starving, so what the heck?

Jiminy Christmas, these are good.  Yikes.  My new favorite thing, which I should probably add to my list of Stuff That Makes My Heart Go Pitter-Pat.

Just so you know, NO ONE has paid me for this commercial endorsement.  (No one WOULD pay me, right?)  This is a freebie, out of the goodness of my skeevie heart.

4th of July a la Foolery

We did a little of this, and a lot of that.  In between I cooked.

We got together with Mom for dinner over at her house.  (Dad is still on the island of St. Martin, I think, and since there have been no Interpol alerts that I am aware of, he must be behaving himself.  Barring any international incidents he will be home Wednesday night.)  Chas barbecued Mom's steaks, and I finished the shrimp.  (Last week I browsed over at Bird on a Wire and found her recipe for BBQ Shrimp.  HOLY MOLY!  Was that good.  You MUST run over there and get the recipe.  She even has a good explanation for the name BBQ Shrimp, which I won't tell you because you have to go see for yourselves.  Yikes! were they good.  I don't even like shrimp all that much and I LOVED it.)

This photo is called "Sauce for BBQ Shrimp Simmering on the Cleanest Stove Ever Seen in Laurie's Kitchen While Still Managing to Be in Focus and Not at All Blurry."  Oh yes it is.

Aaaaaaand . . . it's all downhill hill from there.

See the butter?  You simmer this stuff until the butter is all melted.  I'd say we're at T minus 38 and counting.

Here are the little green shrimp, all ready to chill.  Yes, God makes them that blurry.  It adds to their flavor, apparently.  I don't know why; ask God.

Meanwhile, back at the parents' ranch, the ice cream was churning away.  I made "vanilla with prescription medication" flavor.  Mmmm, mmmm -- a surprise in every bite!  I had big plans to get the ice cream all frozen while the blurry shrimp were chilling, but I couldn't find my ice cream paddle, and without that, homemade ice cream is just a big cylindrical milk popsicle.  I had to take it over to Mom's house and use her freezer.  So, once again, a holiday dinner involved yelling over the ice cream freezer.

Here are the finished Blurry Shrimps.  This is a half recipe; only 2 pounds of blurry shrimps.  And yes, I know that is not the proper plural form of "shrimp," but I make up my own language as I go.  Regardless, the shrimp(s) were so good, and I didn't ruin ANYTHING.  Score.

After we stuffed ourselves Chas and I put the kids into the car and headed for Chico.  We were in a hurry to get to 20th Street park, which is now called Martin Luther King Junior Park.  (Sparky has shortened the name to King Bird Park, which I prefer as an obvious timesaver.)  We've never taken the kids to community fireworks before, since their bed time is between 8:00 and 8:00:30, but Chas spilled the beans that people could go watch big fireworks in the sky for free.  I had planned to keep that secret until they went off to reform school, but Daddy blew it, so off we went.

If you want to read about the Fourth of July fireworks, I've written it up at my other, ugly red-headed stepchild blog, Reasonably Educated Bumpkins.  Please no hate mail about redheads; it's just an expression.  I don't write 'em, I just use 'em.

I have included this photo to make you think I grew these blurry vegetables, most likely in my sterile garden, The Garden Where Weeds Refuse to Grow.  I can be only so deceitful; I didn't grow them.  My cousin brought them to me Saturday.  Now I have to go find a recipe for purple vegetables.

Let's Be Bitchin' in the Kitchen

WARNING: I have broken my own rule today about not swearing a lot at Foolery.  Today I have sworn like a sailor -- lustily and with gay abandon. Well, actually just a little bit.  Please be forewarned.

One of my favorite blogs to read when I want to really think about stuff is Is My Cape Fluttering?  Asthmagirl, the blog goddess at that site, wrote a great post last week about kitchen disasters that made me laugh . . . and then cry when I remembered some of mine.  Quick, go read her post, and then come back.  I'll just be here whistling and kicking tires and swearing like a sailor until you show up again.

Back?  Okay, good.

It's hard to imagine that the co-inventor of a dish called GLOP could fancy herself a good cook, but I'm somewhat self-centered and awfully opinionated and usually wrong, so you sort it out.  I am the sister of a chef and the daughter of a home ec teacher (and a great cook), so it stands to reason that I was brought up with a whisk in my hand and a spatula behind my ear.

Nope.

Guess whose job it was, when I was a kid, to set the table?  Mine.  Clear the table?  Mine.  Load the dishwasher?  Mine again.  Clean the kitchen?  That'd be me again.  So, did I learn NOTHING from my mother the great cook?  Well, I learned a few things that have been invaluable over the years:

1.  Never serve a monochromatic meal -- it's unappetizing.  Put lots of color on the plate.
2.  Homemade mayonnaise is easy to make, is a great way to use all the eggs your chickens keep laying, and tastes like shit.
3.  Anything worth eating is usually made from scratch, other than mayonnaise, but you already knew that.
4.  And, from my budding chef-brother, "Add sugar 'til it tastes good."  This is great advice for everything except marinara sauce.


(Photo stolen from these guys)

So it wasn't until I got married that I began to cobble together my hidden kitchen abilities and ideas into the beginnings of passable cooking skills.  Still, there have been disasters and lessons learned.  (Never open a bottle of red wine in a white-white kitchen after 10:30 p.m. unless the bottle is FIRMLY on the rock-hard tile when the cork gives way.  It's amazing how far wine-spattered glass shards can travel through your clean freak roommate's silent house.)

Lesson #1 begins with this sentence: "Well, it's the best recipe EVER with pasta . . . I'll bet it'll be just as good with RICE."

Lesson learned:  NO SUBSTITUTIONS ON STARCHES.  And thus was born my kitchen motto,  "Remember, we can always rent a pizza."  I've had to do it only twice, as I remember, the first time being the rice disaster, which I can describe with two (non-swear) words:

In. Edible.

(I left a nice space in the middle to insert the swear word of your choice.)

Lesson #2:  If you don't like mango, why the HELL would you think you'll like it in a wrap?

Lesson learned:  No amount of recipe cuteness can disguise a bad ingredient.  Mangoes are the world's nastiest food and they're a bitch to cut up.  Ditch the mangoes.  Rent a fecking pizza.

Lesson #3:  Four tablespoons of black pepper is rather a lot, even when the person who gives you a recipe warns you that Whiskey Chicken is "kinda spicy."

Lesson learned:  Avoid   recipes with "whiskey" in the name.  Drink the damn whiskey as you bake you up some bland chicken.   Salt and pepper to taste.

(Photo stolen from these guys)

Lesson #4:  Roasted meat on a platter is slippery.

Lesson learned:  ANYTHING can be rinsed off.  Well, not bread.  Or cereal.  And rice is tricky.  And sauce is pretty much impossible to rinse.  But meat rinses great, and that's why God created gravy.

Who's hungry?  I'm renting a pizza.

"First, You Take a Leek": Apple Crisp

No, I know that apple crisp is not savory, and there's not one leek to be found in it, but if you read the title as Julia Child, and if you've had a glass of red wine, it's positively HI-larious.  Maybe two glasses.


(Photo stolen from JKonig on Flickr)

Apple Crisp

• 4 cups sliced apples (granny smiths, gravensteins, or other tart baking apples)

• 1 tblsp. fresh lemon juice

• 1/3 cup flour

• 2/3 cup quick-cooking oatmeal, dry*

• 2/3 cup brown sugar

• 1/4 tsp. salt (I usually use less)

• 1 tsp cinnamon

• 1/4 cup melted butter

Peel, core and slice apples into greased 8x8" (or similar size) pan.  Sprinkle with lemon juice.

In a medium mixing bowl combine dry ingredients; add melted butter and combine until mixture is crumbly.  Spoon/sprinkle over apples.

Bake at 375˚F for 30 minutes, or until crust looks a little browner and the apples are becoming translucent.  Go ahead -- fork a slice out and have a look at it.  After it cools, taste-test it.  You know you want to, and here's your permission.  "The recipe TOLD me to!"

Easy, non?

~     ~     ~     ~     ~

Now, here's how it REALLY goes.

*I never, ever, ever use quick-cooking oats.  Won't even buy them, but that's just me.  First, I don't like the texture.  Second, old-fashioned rolled oats have more nutrition and fiber than the quick oats.  Third, I'm stubborn.  Fourth, I like to think I'm channeling my Swedish great-grandmother if I'm bull-headed and make stuff up as I go along (even if I sometimes have a beer or wine when I cook or bake, and Momminy probably never did that).

~ Fill up your chosen pan with sliced apples.  If it's the 8x8" size, keep slicing apples until that sucker is close to the top.  (If it's a 9x13", which is what I usually use, fill that sucker up and QUADRUPLE the topping ingredients (or at least three times, anyway)  I have no idea how many apples this takes.  Internet.

~ Squeeze an entire fresh lemon over the apples -- two if they're not really juicy.  I've even used fresh lime and I thought it was maybe better than lemon, but it's your call.

~ The topping ingredients?  DOUBLE THEM.  Believe me, you're only kidding yourself if you think you're not gonna pig out on this stuff, so you may as well go whole hog and roll in it.

~ Baking time definitely increases with a larger amount.  Start at 35 minutes and be prepared to go to 45, or even more.  It depends on the translucency of the apples, as my mom (the fabulous cook and home ec teacher) reminded me the other day when I was trying to decide if my crisp was done enough.  "Oh yeah -- translucency," I said.  Shucks.  I was ready to taste-test my way through the pan.

Serve warmish, or at least room temperature, with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream.  Bon appetit!

The Super Bowl: Competitive Eating Version

The New York Giants and the New England Patriots are very, very sore today; some more sore than others, no doubt.  I can relate -- my neck is TOTALLY out of whack from cradling the phone against my shoulder while cooking all morning and/or washing dishes.  My back is suffering from exposure to The Back-Eating Couch that I favored for four hours Sunday afternoon.  My lower G.I. tract has put out orange cones and ROAD CLOSED signs after yesterday's BingeFest.

 

We scooped up guacamole (with loads of onion, garlic, tomatoes, cilantro and spices) on corn chips.

(Photo stolen from these guys )

 

Ang's Tex-Mex Longhorn Relish was DEEEE-licious, and you can go snag the recipe from Miss Ang here; I'm sure she won't mind.  It went great with the guacamole, and it's basically salsa for people who hate tomatoes.

(Photo stolen from Ang at St. Fairsted Farm)

 

For the main course we had bean soup.  Or bean stew.  Let's call it Bean Stoup.  And then, because not one of us was feeling guilty enough about people having crickets for dinner in other parts of the world, we forced down some apple crisp for dessert.  I'll add that recipe later, but I'm at work right now and I don't have it.  (Edited:  here it is!)

(Photo stolen from these guys)

Thanks to Grandpa we watched the commercials game on a GigantoScreen TV while slouching on the Back-Eating Couch.  After our little bean festival we tooted all of the 1/8 mile home to our house.  A perfect day.

 

(Photo stolen from this lady)

 

Here's the recipe for Bean Stoup, even if you didn't ask:

 

Laurie’s Bean Stoup

• 1 bag 15-bean soup (sometimes 9-bean or even 16-bean), in dried beans section of the supermarket. Remove seasoning packet and set aside.
• 1 lb. or so stew meat (or pork roast), chopped bite-sized
• 1 polish sausage or kielbasa (I often use low-fat ones)
• 1 14-oz. can beef stock (or chicken stock with pork)
• 1 cup (more or less) red wine
• 1 yellow onion, diced
• 2-3 stalks celery, diced
• 1 bell pepper, diced
• 3-4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1-2 zucchini, diced
• 1 can stewed tomatoes, any style
• 1 14-oz. can tomato sauce
• salt and pepper to taste
• pinch of cayenne or shake of Tabasco or Tapatio, if you like

Sort beans for small rocks; soak beans overnight in 8-qt. stock pot.

The next day, while you lightly brown diced stew meat, drain and rinse beans. Return to stock pot and add cold water (I never measure; about 2/3 full pot). Add beef stock, wine, and browned meat. Slice sausage and add to pot. Bring to boil; reduce heat until beans are simmering (about med-low heat). Simmer 2 ½ hours, stirring occasionally.

As beans cook chop your vegetables into one big bowl and set aside. After 2 ½ hours, add all other ingredients except seasonings and cook 30 minutes more. Turn off stove and add the flavor packet from the bag of beans (if you want, or toss it and use only your own seasonings), plus any seasonings you care to add. Taste it a lot to make sure.

Experiment – other than the onion, all of the veggies are negotiable! Wine is negotiable, and you can vary the type/amount of tomato products you use, too.  Sometimes I saute the garlic in olive oil (if I'm feeling fancy), and then add to the garlic, a spoonful at a time, a few ounces of tomato paste.  Thin it gradually with a little of the broth, then dump it into the stoup pot.  Most of the time I'm too lazy, though.

Pour Me a Cuppa Sludge, Bob

(Photo stolen from Jane! Jane! Jane!)

Two new coffee kiosks have opened, since Christmas, along my route to work.  That makes six places to feed my caffeine jones over a 19-mile commute (and that's not counting convenience stores, gas stations and fast food restaurants).

Apparently, however, my caffeine jones is met with a cup of Bob's Blend, office-brewed at approximately 6:30 a.m. by the office early bird Bob, and allowed to stew in it's own juices until I roll in at 8:30.  The question of freshness rarely discourages me.  I pour myself a cup of the thick, black liquid, then anoint it with milk.  Depending upon its viscosity and molecular weight I may use half-and-half (I keep a dipstick handy).  If this foul potion has REALLY boiled itself into a roux, the half-and-half won't make much of a dent in its darkness.  Yesterday's coffee, for instance, formed a new interplanetary black hole, which swallowed light for inches around its malevolent center.  Mmmmmmmm, char.

So with a coffee house every 3.17 miles between home and work, you'd think I would give up the Bob's Black Hole Blend in favor of something fresher, right?  Something more like whatever brew's been on the burner since 2:00 a.m. at an all-night truck stop?  Nawwww, drinking Bob's Black Hole Blend is character-building.

Plus, I need the hair on my chest.


(Photo stolen from Slobber)

No, no no!  I said on my CHEST!


(Photo stolen from fuzzbearchest on Flickr)

That's better.