One of the best things about this weekend's Family Farmed Expo was the Rick Bayless demo. We got an easy to make, seasonal recipe, and we got needed advice on where to hide some of the babies.
Bayless spent most of the time on a potato soup. We got to sample, so I can tell you it's good, but he other thing he made, we made last night, a zip, zap zooey of a dish, and I can tell you it's good too. As I keep on reminding people, there is still food very much in season and very much at its seasonal peak. Not many plants take to cold better than spinach. We picked up a bunch from a farmer at the Expo. Rick told us what to do with it. Make tacos.
His method: he sautees chorizo with some onions, flavors with rice wine vinegar, sugar and salt (truth be told, our Supremo chorizo was so nicely seasoned, we did not do much else with it); then throw the stuff over the pile of washed spinach. Serve in tacos with some salsa, queso fresco and such. I made a quick salsa fresca with a few of my lingering tomatoes, a jalepeno, a tropea onion minced, lemon juice and some cilantro I've recently picked (another cold weather fan). Sliced radishes provided a nice crunch. See.
For some peppers, I did not get a chance to ask Rick, but I asked his sous chef. I was like, what the heck do I do with all these habeneros I still have. Freeze she said. I did. (Full list of frozen foods here.)
I got my money's worth from the Bayless demo at the Expo.
Showing posts with label Recipes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Recipes. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Thursday, October 02, 2008
A Head's Tale
My artistic ideas far out pace my artistic abilities. Luckily, like any good Chicagoan, I got my guy. My guy has a camera and editing software and very good abilities using them. And I got another guy. A Chef with a passion for whole beast eating but also the generosity to share his time. And this guy has a gal, his wife, with an equal passion for local food and a willingness to express it all to the Internet. And, before I go on, I got another guy, a local farmer with a huge commitment to real farming. Me and all of those guys plus a few with the onerous task of sampling and expressing their gastronomical opinions; we all made a new Sky Full of Bacon video. We all believe that if you are going to slaughter an animal for food, you should consume the whole animal. This includes the head. As the video demonstrates, with not too much work, you can make the head into something not the least bit gross.
Well, not all of us made the video. That would be Mike Gebert, the man with the camera and the ability to dice several hours of footage into an actual story. Emily and Dennis Wettstein raised the hog on organic pasture and organic feed, and Dennis Wettstein gave a bit of background on organic farming for the folks in TVland. Rob and Allie Levitt of Mado played the role of teachers and advocates, showing their passion for doing things the right way, as well as specifically showing how to turn an ugly part of meat, a pig's head, into something beautiful and tasty. A few folks from LTHForum as well as a special guest blogger turned up to see if it actually tasted as good as it looked. Check out the video to see how they liked it [SPOILER ALERT, IF YOU CLICK ON THE LINK TO HELEN'S BLOG, YOU'LL FIND OUT WHAT SHE THINKS, SO PERHAPS WATCH THE VIDEO FIRST].
There area a lot of "lessons" in this video--and thank the talent of Gebert it does not come across as too preachy--but the lesson I want to most emphasis is how easy it really is to make a dish from the pig's head. As Rob demonstrates, it does not take a lot of special skills, nor does it take an army of sous chefs. There are time elements, a long slow simmer, and then a few days set, but otherwise, the work time is limited. Mike has the recipe on his blog. Consider giving this a try. Before I sign off for now, let me add that it would not be a stretch to make this versions of this dish from other, perhaps more accessible, cuts of meat like beef shanks.
Well, not all of us made the video. That would be Mike Gebert, the man with the camera and the ability to dice several hours of footage into an actual story. Emily and Dennis Wettstein raised the hog on organic pasture and organic feed, and Dennis Wettstein gave a bit of background on organic farming for the folks in TVland. Rob and Allie Levitt of Mado played the role of teachers and advocates, showing their passion for doing things the right way, as well as specifically showing how to turn an ugly part of meat, a pig's head, into something beautiful and tasty. A few folks from LTHForum as well as a special guest blogger turned up to see if it actually tasted as good as it looked. Check out the video to see how they liked it [SPOILER ALERT, IF YOU CLICK ON THE LINK TO HELEN'S BLOG, YOU'LL FIND OUT WHAT SHE THINKS, SO PERHAPS WATCH THE VIDEO FIRST].
There area a lot of "lessons" in this video--and thank the talent of Gebert it does not come across as too preachy--but the lesson I want to most emphasis is how easy it really is to make a dish from the pig's head. As Rob demonstrates, it does not take a lot of special skills, nor does it take an army of sous chefs. There are time elements, a long slow simmer, and then a few days set, but otherwise, the work time is limited. Mike has the recipe on his blog. Consider giving this a try. Before I sign off for now, let me add that it would not be a stretch to make this versions of this dish from other, perhaps more accessible, cuts of meat like beef shanks.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
Who the Hell Dries Their Food
Readers, I asked you a few weeks ago, the question of our times: Who the Hell Cans. I followed that up by asking you if you do not can, can you simply concentrate and freeze? Yet maybe to my warped mind, canning seems downright mainstream to question, who the hell dries their food. We have have a local chef popular and notable enough to be asked to compete on Iron Chef America, who is also popular and notable for his work with the canner. Just yesterday, he was teaching a class on canning at Vie, and he will soon be teaching a canning class at the Chopping Block. If canning can be hard work, it also evokes nostalgia. It brings well-worn but favorite foods back to the home. A good deal of the interest in canning, I believe, is about the recipes, the relishes, chutneys, jams and jellies, pickles, that canning produces. It is only partially about the preservation. If you are really serious about putting aside, you not only can, you dry. Drying your food makes you sound not just like a locavore but like a survivalist.
Now, I say all of this as someone who's desire to dry has long succeeded more than his actual work in drying. My plans for drying have frequently gone awry. A 1/2 bushel of plums intended for prunes instead turned to mold. Ideas for celery powder for use in soups and braises remain conceptual. Still, when my wife and I purchased a new toaster oven last year, we specifically picked the one with a dehydrate setting. We are more than canners. We are driers.
OK, not we, like most of the hard work, it is she that has dried. Last week she took a big batch of Michigan plum tomatoes and dried them away. The nice thing about drying tomatoes is that you skip the skinning step. The tomatoes still need to be halved (the long way), cored and seeded, so pre-heat your oven to 200 degrees while doing the knife work. Put the tomato halves on a trays lined with parchment paper. Salt the tomatoes but not too much. Turn the oven down to 175 and insert the sheets. After a few hours, open the door but otherwise continue. Monitor the tomatoes after that, you do not want them to start cooking too aggressively. Occasionally, turn the sheets. The tomatoes will take about eight hours to dry nicely. Turn off the oven but allow the tomatoes to continue to air dry for several days, some recipes call for up to seven to ten days of air drying. My wife is not sure if she will wait that long. At this point, the tomatoes are ready to use but not ready to save. Long term storage requires the tomatoes one more step. Either the tomatoes can be frozen for a few days or they can be put back in the oven at 175 for a few hours.
Dried tomatoes are frequently used these days as a product in and of themselves, the dried texture being a feature of the recipes, like say a dried tomato pesto. Dried tomatoes, however, can be re-hydrated and used somewhat like you would use other forms of preserved tomatoes such as in sauces.
Complete list of what's been put aside here.
Now, I say all of this as someone who's desire to dry has long succeeded more than his actual work in drying. My plans for drying have frequently gone awry. A 1/2 bushel of plums intended for prunes instead turned to mold. Ideas for celery powder for use in soups and braises remain conceptual. Still, when my wife and I purchased a new toaster oven last year, we specifically picked the one with a dehydrate setting. We are more than canners. We are driers.
OK, not we, like most of the hard work, it is she that has dried. Last week she took a big batch of Michigan plum tomatoes and dried them away. The nice thing about drying tomatoes is that you skip the skinning step. The tomatoes still need to be halved (the long way), cored and seeded, so pre-heat your oven to 200 degrees while doing the knife work. Put the tomato halves on a trays lined with parchment paper. Salt the tomatoes but not too much. Turn the oven down to 175 and insert the sheets. After a few hours, open the door but otherwise continue. Monitor the tomatoes after that, you do not want them to start cooking too aggressively. Occasionally, turn the sheets. The tomatoes will take about eight hours to dry nicely. Turn off the oven but allow the tomatoes to continue to air dry for several days, some recipes call for up to seven to ten days of air drying. My wife is not sure if she will wait that long. At this point, the tomatoes are ready to use but not ready to save. Long term storage requires the tomatoes one more step. Either the tomatoes can be frozen for a few days or they can be put back in the oven at 175 for a few hours.
Dried tomatoes are frequently used these days as a product in and of themselves, the dried texture being a feature of the recipes, like say a dried tomato pesto. Dried tomatoes, however, can be re-hydrated and used somewhat like you would use other forms of preserved tomatoes such as in sauces.
Complete list of what's been put aside here.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Eat Seasonal Food - Suffering Succotash
If you are of a certain generation, you immediately think Yosemite Sam when you hear the word succotash. "Mommy was saying the same thing" was my daughter's bit of exasperation when I walked around the kitchen exclaiming, "suffering succotash". Who can make succotash without saying that. Who makes succotash?
Who makes succotash the right way. To the extent that it is eaten, succotash tends to be a bag of Birdseye frozen, corn niblets and starchy limas. It is the latter that give it its bad rap. Why Sam suffered with it. I would guess that most people believe that the corn got there to rescue kidz palates from suffering with too much lima. Local, as always comes to the rescue, that and a bit of tradition.
First, the tradition, how many of you knew that succotash was not just some school cafeteria side but rather an all in one meal. A meal based on what the early settlers in New England saw being eaten by those here ahead of them. Many, but not all, early recipes for succotash included some meat, especially the standard meat of the day, salt pork. A little history can be read here. So, what they saw being eaten was what was in season at that time, fresh beans and sweet corn. As Top Chef Tom Collichio is want to say, what grows together, goes together. You can make a superior succotash if using the season's fresh, fresh beans and fresh corn. Including some pork really makes superior succotash, an all-in-one dish.
I used slab bacon instead of salt pork, what I had around. I also used fresh Illinois crowder beans instead of fresh limas, but I do not think that matters too much. You cook fresh beans in a minimal amount of water (start with cold water); the water should be only about an inch over the beans. The beans need about 15 minutes of cooking once the water comes to a boil, at which time you turn to a simmer. The actual cooking time for the beans will vary based on what fresh bean you use. While the beans are cooking, make lardons of the slab bacon then crisp them up on medium heat in a skillet. Slice an onion. In the bacon grease get the onion a-cooking. A bit of garlic, not too heavy, this is New England cooking, and fresh chile (likewise) add dimension. If your corn is raw, a quick blanch could be done, but really, you could add it raw. The final product is the result of mixing in the beans and corn with the porky goodness. Season to taste, taking into account the saltiness of your pork. Serve with some spiced vinegar.
I suppose a good hard cider would go best, but that's something still for the local wishlist. I drank an Atwater Pilsner brewed in Detroit, Michigan. I toasted our early settlers and the ones here even earlier who inspired and taught this dish. Made proper, no one is gonna suffer with succotash.
Who makes succotash the right way. To the extent that it is eaten, succotash tends to be a bag of Birdseye frozen, corn niblets and starchy limas. It is the latter that give it its bad rap. Why Sam suffered with it. I would guess that most people believe that the corn got there to rescue kidz palates from suffering with too much lima. Local, as always comes to the rescue, that and a bit of tradition.
First, the tradition, how many of you knew that succotash was not just some school cafeteria side but rather an all in one meal. A meal based on what the early settlers in New England saw being eaten by those here ahead of them. Many, but not all, early recipes for succotash included some meat, especially the standard meat of the day, salt pork. A little history can be read here. So, what they saw being eaten was what was in season at that time, fresh beans and sweet corn. As Top Chef Tom Collichio is want to say, what grows together, goes together. You can make a superior succotash if using the season's fresh, fresh beans and fresh corn. Including some pork really makes superior succotash, an all-in-one dish.
I used slab bacon instead of salt pork, what I had around. I also used fresh Illinois crowder beans instead of fresh limas, but I do not think that matters too much. You cook fresh beans in a minimal amount of water (start with cold water); the water should be only about an inch over the beans. The beans need about 15 minutes of cooking once the water comes to a boil, at which time you turn to a simmer. The actual cooking time for the beans will vary based on what fresh bean you use. While the beans are cooking, make lardons of the slab bacon then crisp them up on medium heat in a skillet. Slice an onion. In the bacon grease get the onion a-cooking. A bit of garlic, not too heavy, this is New England cooking, and fresh chile (likewise) add dimension. If your corn is raw, a quick blanch could be done, but really, you could add it raw. The final product is the result of mixing in the beans and corn with the porky goodness. Season to taste, taking into account the saltiness of your pork. Serve with some spiced vinegar.
I suppose a good hard cider would go best, but that's something still for the local wishlist. I drank an Atwater Pilsner brewed in Detroit, Michigan. I toasted our early settlers and the ones here even earlier who inspired and taught this dish. Made proper, no one is gonna suffer with succotash.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Eat Seasonal Food - Summer Squash Recipes
The Raw and the Mushed
At least two of the judges sneered when the Iron Chef-testants recently faced off with summer squash as their secret ingredient (the third judge, Chicago's own Louisa Chu defended the stuff). The detractors claimed no flavor to this overly available summer staple. Me thinks the problem lies not with limited flavor but in a wrong flavor. I've been racking my brain to get a way to describe summer squash flavor. It is not too bitter like say kale or other greens; it lacks the sulfurous limitations of cruciferes, but its taste is often not entirely pleasant, at all. Bland would be better. This bad or what I would call the standard summer squash taste emerges with certain cooking techniques.
The bad rap for summer squash comes, I believe, because the most used technique, or the one so many eaters most know, is the worst. That is the minimally cooked 1979 Nouvelle Cuisine versions found on catered plates across the universe. The summer squash in these incarnations is either lightly steamed or lightly sauteed. Of course a big problem with the yellow squash on the plate of your award's banquet plate is its out-of-season-ness, but the prep never helps. Barely cooked summer squashes in medium sized slabs just taste bad. The bad flavor.
Here are two ways to avoid bad summer squash flavor.
The Raw
When people ask me about my locavorism, they invariable ask, "do you eat bananas." I say yes. My family and I do buy bananas, especially during the long apple only season of eating local. What we do not buy, however, is slabs of tuna or other sea fish, and I miss raw fish, like a pounded seafood carpaccio. My carpaccio choices are further frustrated by the frozen state of all our meat. I found the next best thing (well not really, but it worked nonetheless): summer squash carpaccio. Salting the squash firms it up and gives a texture, with a good imagination, like carpaccio. A simple prep:
Shave several younger summer squash with a mandolin--you must slice thin.
Salt the squash generously and wait about 45 minutes.
Rinse the salt, dry well.
Array the squash on plates, shave (again) a cheese like Parmesan over
Drizzle a good olive oil.
The Mooshed
Do not fear long cooked vegetables. You can almost never go wrong in cooking your veg to death. Unless you are a Southerner or fan of Fergus Henderson you may never have realized that the path to good zucchini flavor comes from cooking time. Long cooking erases the flavors Steingarten detests (even if he does not realize it) and brings out the latent sweetness in the veg.
Slice 1 onion, season, let it sweat for a few minutes in olive oil
Slice you summer squash (or cube if using patty pans) and add, seasoning again
Cook for a few minutes on higher heat, high enough to get the squash going but not high enough to burn the onions.
Add about a cup of water--don't worry if you add too much call it pot likker
A bit of herb, especially basil will be nice here.
Cook to death, about 20 minutes; it won't be a paste but the squash will have broken down a lot.
Before serving adjust the seasoning and add some of the same herb you used earlier in the cooking process.
At least two of the judges sneered when the Iron Chef-testants recently faced off with summer squash as their secret ingredient (the third judge, Chicago's own Louisa Chu defended the stuff). The detractors claimed no flavor to this overly available summer staple. Me thinks the problem lies not with limited flavor but in a wrong flavor. I've been racking my brain to get a way to describe summer squash flavor. It is not too bitter like say kale or other greens; it lacks the sulfurous limitations of cruciferes, but its taste is often not entirely pleasant, at all. Bland would be better. This bad or what I would call the standard summer squash taste emerges with certain cooking techniques.
The bad rap for summer squash comes, I believe, because the most used technique, or the one so many eaters most know, is the worst. That is the minimally cooked 1979 Nouvelle Cuisine versions found on catered plates across the universe. The summer squash in these incarnations is either lightly steamed or lightly sauteed. Of course a big problem with the yellow squash on the plate of your award's banquet plate is its out-of-season-ness, but the prep never helps. Barely cooked summer squashes in medium sized slabs just taste bad. The bad flavor.
Here are two ways to avoid bad summer squash flavor.
The Raw
When people ask me about my locavorism, they invariable ask, "do you eat bananas." I say yes. My family and I do buy bananas, especially during the long apple only season of eating local. What we do not buy, however, is slabs of tuna or other sea fish, and I miss raw fish, like a pounded seafood carpaccio. My carpaccio choices are further frustrated by the frozen state of all our meat. I found the next best thing (well not really, but it worked nonetheless): summer squash carpaccio. Salting the squash firms it up and gives a texture, with a good imagination, like carpaccio. A simple prep:
Shave several younger summer squash with a mandolin--you must slice thin.
Salt the squash generously and wait about 45 minutes.
Rinse the salt, dry well.
Array the squash on plates, shave (again) a cheese like Parmesan over
Drizzle a good olive oil.
The Mooshed
Do not fear long cooked vegetables. You can almost never go wrong in cooking your veg to death. Unless you are a Southerner or fan of Fergus Henderson you may never have realized that the path to good zucchini flavor comes from cooking time. Long cooking erases the flavors Steingarten detests (even if he does not realize it) and brings out the latent sweetness in the veg.
Slice 1 onion, season, let it sweat for a few minutes in olive oil
Slice you summer squash (or cube if using patty pans) and add, seasoning again
Cook for a few minutes on higher heat, high enough to get the squash going but not high enough to burn the onions.
Add about a cup of water--don't worry if you add too much call it pot likker
A bit of herb, especially basil will be nice here.
Cook to death, about 20 minutes; it won't be a paste but the squash will have broken down a lot.
Before serving adjust the seasoning and add some of the same herb you used earlier in the cooking process.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Iron Chef + Iron Chef Summer Squash Recipe
You think I'm bitter about my lack of reference in the CTrib's Sunday front pager on eating local [ed., won't give one that one up, huh?], what about the lack of notoriety I got for breaking the Paul Virant Iron Chef news. My sole blog scoop! Anyways, in anticipation of seeing my favorite local chef (although these days he's ably challenged by so many others, especially Rob at Mado) on a forthcoming epsiode of Iron Chef, my wife and I have have taken to recording and watching the week's episodes each Sunday on TV Food Network. We had more reason to catch this week's episode because it featured the judging of Chicago food writer and woman of the world, Louisa Chu.
Would we watch Iron Chef America but for the inclusion of people we know? Probably not. We barely watched it until we learned of PAUL VIRANT IRON CHEF CHALLENGER. Still, we now watch regularly. Flat out, it's not close to the original. Sure, you cannot duplicate the camp value of that one, from the giggling ingenue du jour to the What's Up Tiger Lily voicing to the older woman judge whose varied titles include soothsayer. Still, we miss many features of the original.
Foremost, the competing version of Iron Chefs contain competing versions of what it means to be a secret ingredient. It seems that secret is not quite as secret in the USA version. This is apparent in the USA version. As soon as the bell rings, the chef-testants know what they are doing. Contrast to the original where there was a true sense of improvisation. You could literally see them thinking and planning their meals. The rules in our version specify five dishes. In the real version, you never knew how many dishes the chefs could create. There were episodes where the chefs could barely manage two dishes. My wife and I like watching what the chefs create on the US version; how they treat the ingredients, and especially, the techniques employed. We watch mostly because it is the best cooking show on the station. It is not, however, as challenging or as riveting.
Our other complaints are mostly of style. The original's opening montages, the overly dramatic introductions of the histories of the Iron Chefs and the biographies of the challengers is not duplicated in the least. Moreover, the upstart version misses the rivalries, contrived or not (I say not) running through the series: the Ohta Faction, traditional vs. modern, redemption of family honor. Nothing against Alton Brown, who brings some wit and food expertise to the program, but he cannot come close to Dr. Yukio Hattori who could whip out some obscure culinary tidbit out of his tush. Finally, the US version excludes one of the key moments in the original, the over-the-top voice-over descriptions of the prepared dishes. My wife and I watch, but we know what we are missing.
Beyond the inclusion of Ms. Chu, this week's episode hit home for the localvore, summer squash. The judges and commentators maligned the vegetable, but anyone eating local about now is happy to get recipe ideas. Not to give away too much if you have not seen the show yet; one dish really appealed to me, zucchini in a harissa-spiked vinaigrette. I made my version last night.
4 smaller zucchini (think about six inches)
2 cloves of garlic
1 tablespoon of Aleppo pepper
5 (or so) beads of allspice
1 lemon
Olive oil, salt, pepper
Cut the zucchini in half lengthwise. From the small end, cut in 2; from the fatter end, cut in 4--if your squash is fatter cut the whole thing into fourths.
Bring a pot of salted water to boil, add the zukes, cook for about five minutes until tender.
Crush the garlic, Aleppo pepper and allspice, then salt and pepper, add the juice of one lemon. Let the flavors mingle and the pepper hydrate.
Combine the cooked vegetable with the dressing. Pour only a bit of olive oil over. It should taste bright and spicy.
Would we watch Iron Chef America but for the inclusion of people we know? Probably not. We barely watched it until we learned of PAUL VIRANT IRON CHEF CHALLENGER. Still, we now watch regularly. Flat out, it's not close to the original. Sure, you cannot duplicate the camp value of that one, from the giggling ingenue du jour to the What's Up Tiger Lily voicing to the older woman judge whose varied titles include soothsayer. Still, we miss many features of the original.
Foremost, the competing version of Iron Chefs contain competing versions of what it means to be a secret ingredient. It seems that secret is not quite as secret in the USA version. This is apparent in the USA version. As soon as the bell rings, the chef-testants know what they are doing. Contrast to the original where there was a true sense of improvisation. You could literally see them thinking and planning their meals. The rules in our version specify five dishes. In the real version, you never knew how many dishes the chefs could create. There were episodes where the chefs could barely manage two dishes. My wife and I like watching what the chefs create on the US version; how they treat the ingredients, and especially, the techniques employed. We watch mostly because it is the best cooking show on the station. It is not, however, as challenging or as riveting.
Our other complaints are mostly of style. The original's opening montages, the overly dramatic introductions of the histories of the Iron Chefs and the biographies of the challengers is not duplicated in the least. Moreover, the upstart version misses the rivalries, contrived or not (I say not) running through the series: the Ohta Faction, traditional vs. modern, redemption of family honor. Nothing against Alton Brown, who brings some wit and food expertise to the program, but he cannot come close to Dr. Yukio Hattori who could whip out some obscure culinary tidbit out of his tush. Finally, the US version excludes one of the key moments in the original, the over-the-top voice-over descriptions of the prepared dishes. My wife and I watch, but we know what we are missing.
Beyond the inclusion of Ms. Chu, this week's episode hit home for the localvore, summer squash. The judges and commentators maligned the vegetable, but anyone eating local about now is happy to get recipe ideas. Not to give away too much if you have not seen the show yet; one dish really appealed to me, zucchini in a harissa-spiked vinaigrette. I made my version last night.
4 smaller zucchini (think about six inches)
2 cloves of garlic
1 tablespoon of Aleppo pepper
5 (or so) beads of allspice
1 lemon
Olive oil, salt, pepper
Cut the zucchini in half lengthwise. From the small end, cut in 2; from the fatter end, cut in 4--if your squash is fatter cut the whole thing into fourths.
Bring a pot of salted water to boil, add the zukes, cook for about five minutes until tender.
Crush the garlic, Aleppo pepper and allspice, then salt and pepper, add the juice of one lemon. Let the flavors mingle and the pepper hydrate.
Combine the cooked vegetable with the dressing. Pour only a bit of olive oil over. It should taste bright and spicy.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Frittatine alle Verdue
With Eggs
In cooking, eggs often serve as a binder. For a locavore, eggs often serve as a binder too, bringing together the disparate ingredients one has obtained over the weeks. For a while I've been hankering to make frattanine alle erbe, tiny egg pancakes filled with greens and herbs. While I have greens in the Bungalow, I decided to make what I'm calling frittatine alle verdue, with vegetables instead as I mostly wanted to use some hanging around scallions and my large supply of garlic scapes. These made for a nice Sunday brunch, with a green salad on the side and challah from Friday night.
The mis en place is below, at least my attempt as such. As I noted the other day, I've been channeling my inner Italian Grandmother. I'm also trying to channel my inner Escofier these days as well. Notice the assortment of egg sizes from Farmer Vicki's Genesis Growers. Also, notice how I trimmed off some scraggy ends and long growing roots from my scallions.
I rough cut basil, scallions and scapes and sauteed them for about five minutes in olive oil over medium heat. Until soft but not ashen.
To make the frittatine, you crack one egg into a bowl. Mix with a fork. Season with a bit of salt, a shake of nutmeg cannot hurt if you got.
Lightly oil a small, heavy bottom pan, preferably cast iron, add a dollop of the verdue, then pour in the egg.
It took me several attempts to master or at least determine the right technique here. The idea is to make something akin to a crepe not an omelet. My problem was my pan was exactly the right size for the frittatine, but exactly the right size made flipping difficult. It was hard to get a spatula in under the eggs.
My tendency at first was to revert to French habits [ed. you?]. I used a fork to pull back the cooked eggs from the edge, letting some of the uncooked eggs fill-in. I wanted to fold the egg to cook the wet inside. Instead what I found was just be patient. Let the bottom cook long enough, over medium heat, to really firm up the whole thing. Then it was possible to slip the spatula in and give a good flip. Under this method, the second side needs only about 10 seconds.
I kept the frittatine in a 175 degree oven until I finished the dozen.
The finished product served with some grated (local) Parmesan style cheese and some salsa verde I've had around (freshening up a bit the other night with some new herbs).
In cooking, eggs often serve as a binder. For a locavore, eggs often serve as a binder too, bringing together the disparate ingredients one has obtained over the weeks. For a while I've been hankering to make frattanine alle erbe, tiny egg pancakes filled with greens and herbs. While I have greens in the Bungalow, I decided to make what I'm calling frittatine alle verdue, with vegetables instead as I mostly wanted to use some hanging around scallions and my large supply of garlic scapes. These made for a nice Sunday brunch, with a green salad on the side and challah from Friday night.
The mis en place is below, at least my attempt as such. As I noted the other day, I've been channeling my inner Italian Grandmother. I'm also trying to channel my inner Escofier these days as well. Notice the assortment of egg sizes from Farmer Vicki's Genesis Growers. Also, notice how I trimmed off some scraggy ends and long growing roots from my scallions.
I rough cut basil, scallions and scapes and sauteed them for about five minutes in olive oil over medium heat. Until soft but not ashen.
To make the frittatine, you crack one egg into a bowl. Mix with a fork. Season with a bit of salt, a shake of nutmeg cannot hurt if you got.
Lightly oil a small, heavy bottom pan, preferably cast iron, add a dollop of the verdue, then pour in the egg.
It took me several attempts to master or at least determine the right technique here. The idea is to make something akin to a crepe not an omelet. My problem was my pan was exactly the right size for the frittatine, but exactly the right size made flipping difficult. It was hard to get a spatula in under the eggs.My tendency at first was to revert to French habits [ed. you?]. I used a fork to pull back the cooked eggs from the edge, letting some of the uncooked eggs fill-in. I wanted to fold the egg to cook the wet inside. Instead what I found was just be patient. Let the bottom cook long enough, over medium heat, to really firm up the whole thing. Then it was possible to slip the spatula in and give a good flip. Under this method, the second side needs only about 10 seconds.
I kept the frittatine in a 175 degree oven until I finished the dozen.
The finished product served with some grated (local) Parmesan style cheese and some salsa verde I've had around (freshening up a bit the other night with some new herbs).
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Fryday
Eat Seasonal Foods - Zucchini Flowers
Some kinda random, somewhat unrelated thoughts. Sorry for the poor quality of the pictures I posted yesterday; between the two computers I use (sometimes three), I have about seven photo software programs. I use none of them very well. I realized recently, that I could change the size of the photos, and I figured I needed to do that because of the mondo pics I mostly litter this site with. In the software I used yesterday, I used the default size for web/blog, but it seems that the default is way to small and also seems to have awfully distorted the pics. To make amends, I went to take pictures of last night's fleur de calabaza, only to find the camera without battery power--this new Nikon seems to go through battery quickly. And the whole point of the zucchini flours is to talk again, as I have, about the need to develop relationships with farmers to enhance the locavore experience. After all, how many of you were allowed to grab about 50 zucchini flowers this weekend just for the asking? Anyways, on to the recipe.
OK, back to whining about the camera. I really wish I had pics here as I am really proud of this dish. Home frying is not the easiest of tasks. There is a certain amount of anachronism to local. One must become an Italian grandmother. That's where my older daughter and I thought we were going, as we had to get in the mental zone to patiently pull the stamens from all those flowers. But of course, we also imagined that Italian grandmothers could fry up zucchini blossoms with one hand tied behind their back. These came out as good.
OK, no one I do not think could do this with one hand tied behind their back. It is really a three handed process at least, which is where daughter really helped. Still, before her help, the help that really mattered came from another woman in the house, my wife. You see, last year when I fried up zucchini flowers, I did the batter the way I do most things in the kitchen. I winged it. That's what an Italian grandmother would do, no? When I asked my wife to help by making a batter, she did what she tends to do when cooking. Not wing it. She consulted several books. Of course about the first five recipes she found all call for letting the batter rest for a while, and we were getting to hungry to wait. She finally finds our friend Bittman who's been doing us good generally this year. The batter really made the dish happen. It was entirely greaseless in its eating.
Fried zucchini flowers as adapted from How to Cook Everything Vegetarian by Mark Bittman and cooked with three hands.
A lot of zucchini flowers - stamens and stems removed
1 cup all purpose flour plus 1 cup for dredging
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1 large egg
3/4th cup of beer
Good shake of cayenne pepper
Lightly mix all the batter ingredients--Bittman notes that it's OK to have some lumps in the batter. Ideally, a batter should rest, but what the hey.
Turn your oven on to 200.
Fill a large skillet with about an inch of pure olive oil, heat to 350 or to when a sprinkle of flour gets to sizzling.
With one hand, dredge some flowers in flower, shake off the excess.
With another hand, dip in batter, because the batter is thick, not too much should drip. Carefully drop the battered flowers in the oil.
With a clean hand on tongs, turn the flowers after about 3 minutes. Take out when lightly golden.
Season with salt.
Fry in batches, keeping them warm in the oven.
Some kinda random, somewhat unrelated thoughts. Sorry for the poor quality of the pictures I posted yesterday; between the two computers I use (sometimes three), I have about seven photo software programs. I use none of them very well. I realized recently, that I could change the size of the photos, and I figured I needed to do that because of the mondo pics I mostly litter this site with. In the software I used yesterday, I used the default size for web/blog, but it seems that the default is way to small and also seems to have awfully distorted the pics. To make amends, I went to take pictures of last night's fleur de calabaza, only to find the camera without battery power--this new Nikon seems to go through battery quickly. And the whole point of the zucchini flours is to talk again, as I have, about the need to develop relationships with farmers to enhance the locavore experience. After all, how many of you were allowed to grab about 50 zucchini flowers this weekend just for the asking? Anyways, on to the recipe.
OK, back to whining about the camera. I really wish I had pics here as I am really proud of this dish. Home frying is not the easiest of tasks. There is a certain amount of anachronism to local. One must become an Italian grandmother. That's where my older daughter and I thought we were going, as we had to get in the mental zone to patiently pull the stamens from all those flowers. But of course, we also imagined that Italian grandmothers could fry up zucchini blossoms with one hand tied behind their back. These came out as good.
OK, no one I do not think could do this with one hand tied behind their back. It is really a three handed process at least, which is where daughter really helped. Still, before her help, the help that really mattered came from another woman in the house, my wife. You see, last year when I fried up zucchini flowers, I did the batter the way I do most things in the kitchen. I winged it. That's what an Italian grandmother would do, no? When I asked my wife to help by making a batter, she did what she tends to do when cooking. Not wing it. She consulted several books. Of course about the first five recipes she found all call for letting the batter rest for a while, and we were getting to hungry to wait. She finally finds our friend Bittman who's been doing us good generally this year. The batter really made the dish happen. It was entirely greaseless in its eating.
Fried zucchini flowers as adapted from How to Cook Everything Vegetarian by Mark Bittman and cooked with three hands.
A lot of zucchini flowers - stamens and stems removed
1 cup all purpose flour plus 1 cup for dredging
1 tsp baking powder
1 tsp salt
1 large egg
3/4th cup of beer
Good shake of cayenne pepper
Lightly mix all the batter ingredients--Bittman notes that it's OK to have some lumps in the batter. Ideally, a batter should rest, but what the hey.
Turn your oven on to 200.
Fill a large skillet with about an inch of pure olive oil, heat to 350 or to when a sprinkle of flour gets to sizzling.
With one hand, dredge some flowers in flower, shake off the excess.
With another hand, dip in batter, because the batter is thick, not too much should drip. Carefully drop the battered flowers in the oil.
With a clean hand on tongs, turn the flowers after about 3 minutes. Take out when lightly golden.
Season with salt.
Fry in batches, keeping them warm in the oven.
Friday, June 20, 2008
The Raw Asparagus Food Movement Continues
I asked you the other day to join the raw asparagus movement. You may want to try the recipe I used last night.
A few stalks of purple asparagus, cut on a bias, thin
A few radishes, sliced likewise
A glop of fresh ricotta
1 TSP extra virgin olive oil (or so)
Salt and pepper to taste
Mush together
Serve on buttered bread
Note: scallions, green garlic or some herbs would be nice additions but I served this for me and my younger daughter who abhors "green things" in her food.
A few stalks of purple asparagus, cut on a bias, thin
A few radishes, sliced likewise
A glop of fresh ricotta
1 TSP extra virgin olive oil (or so)
Salt and pepper to taste
Mush together
Serve on buttered bread
Note: scallions, green garlic or some herbs would be nice additions but I served this for me and my younger daughter who abhors "green things" in her food.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Eat Boiled Meats
Passover Bollito Misto Sauces
The other night, we ate leftover bollito misto. I counted five sauces: herbal salsa verde, tomato-based (canned) salsa rossa, creamy horseradish, intriguing honey-walnut and using the cranberries that we've carried all winter, cranberry mostarda. Five sauces for four meats: veal shoulder, beef shank, brisket and capon. How did we go wrong. I wanted symmetry. How did we screw up I asked my wife. The merguez, I had forgot to count the merguez. We did have five meats. Happiness reigns in the Bungalow.
As I noted the other day, 1/2 the reason to eat bollito misto is for the sauces. Boiled meat, especially good local meat, is tender, rich, but yes, not exactly zooming with flavor. Bland. A vehicle. An excuse. To counter the plainness of boiled meat, bollito gets served with flavor-forward sauces, the sting of fresh horseradish, the cloy of honey, the salty jolt of anchovy mixed with herbs and the exotic, Renaissance taste of the salsa rossa.
All the ingredients were local except for the canned tomatoes, the tomato paste, the spices, the olive/mustard oils, the vinegar, the sugar, and have-to-admit, the parsley.
The other night, we ate leftover bollito misto. I counted five sauces: herbal salsa verde, tomato-based (canned) salsa rossa, creamy horseradish, intriguing honey-walnut and using the cranberries that we've carried all winter, cranberry mostarda. Five sauces for four meats: veal shoulder, beef shank, brisket and capon. How did we go wrong. I wanted symmetry. How did we screw up I asked my wife. The merguez, I had forgot to count the merguez. We did have five meats. Happiness reigns in the Bungalow.
As I noted the other day, 1/2 the reason to eat bollito misto is for the sauces. Boiled meat, especially good local meat, is tender, rich, but yes, not exactly zooming with flavor. Bland. A vehicle. An excuse. To counter the plainness of boiled meat, bollito gets served with flavor-forward sauces, the sting of fresh horseradish, the cloy of honey, the salty jolt of anchovy mixed with herbs and the exotic, Renaissance taste of the salsa rossa.
Salsa Verde
This is a standard in the Bungalow. Bollito misto was not the only meal centered around this sauce. It's probably easiest to make this in a blender or food processor (Robot Coupe as they said about five times on Top Chef last night), but I like to make it in a mezzaluna. I enjoy the workout, and I think the texture, rough, inexact, is more pleasing.Roughly chop a good amount of fresh herbs on hand; traditionally the dominant herb is parsley. Mint, oregano, basil, rosemary, chervil and tarragon are all good additions (I used the first four).
Garlic, three cloves. Finely minced. I start the garlic on a cutting board but then add to the mezzaluna board, so that I'm chopping the garlic as I continue to chop the herbs.
Dried local hot pepper. Minced. Just in the mezzaluna. The later liquid elements will hydrate the pepper a bit.
A good dollop of Dijon mustard. Not all salsa verde recipes include mustard, but I find it adds needed binding as well as complexity. The mustard goes into the eventual serving bowl with the ingredients from the mezzaluna board.
Salty elements, anchovies, cornichons, dill pickles, etc.; I used one salt-packed anchovy. Finely minced. I do this on a separate cutting board to keep things less smelly, then add to the serving bowl.
A splash of red wine vinegar.
Olive oil, extra virgin but not one of our fancier ones until I get the right consistency. The herbs should just float in the oil.
Horseradish Sauce
Equal parts sour cream, red wine vinegar, olive oil. Minced fresh horseradish to desired nasal-clearing.
Salsa Rossa
Adapted from David Rosengarten Entertains
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 onions, diced
6 cloves garlic, sliced
1 large carrot, scrubbed and diced
1 stalk of celery, diced
Good glop of tomato paste, more than a tablespoon
1 28 ounce can of tomatoes, drained
Cayenne, nutmeg, cinnamon, enough for an exotic, Oriental flavor + salt and pepper
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
At medium or lower, heat the olive oil in a skillet, add the onions, celery and carrots, cook for a few minutes until getting soft. Do not crisp. Add the garlic and cook a bit more. Add the tomato paste, cook for one more minute. Then, add the canned tomatoes, squishing them between your fingers as they go in. Add the spices. Cook over low heat until the stuff thickens. Let cool and puree in blender or food mill. Add the vinegar. Adjust the seasoning.
Honey Sauce
Adapted from Kyle Phillips
Handful of black walnuts, crushed
1/4 cup honey
1/4 cup cooking stock
Cranberry Mostarda
Adapted from Mario Batali
2 cups granulated sugar
1 pound cranberries
5 tablespoons Colman’s dry mustard
1 teaspoon mustard oil (available at specialty stores)
2 tablespoons black mustard seeds
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the sugar and 2 cups of water and bring to a boil. Add the cranberries and cook over until the cranberries are just beginning to burst.
In a bowl, make a paste from the other ingredients and some water. Stir this mixture in to the berries and cook over high heat until the mixture is thick and syrupy, about 20 minutes. Remove from the heat and allow to cool.
All the ingredients were local except for the canned tomatoes, the tomato paste, the spices, the olive/mustard oils, the vinegar, the sugar, and have-to-admit, the parsley.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Eat Boiled Meats
Passover Bollito Misto
Chicagoans, Midwesterners, Americans, collectively, we are not a boiled eatin' group of peoples. There are, I believe, several reasons for our boil-aversion. People associate boiled meats with poverty food; the ol' hobo cooking his shoe type of meal. Sort of hand in hand with that, the meats most associated with boiling, are stuff. I mean the classic inclusion in a bollito misto is a calf's head. Tongue is mostly also included; often the stuffed pig's foot called zampone is too. Now, of that group, Chicagoans, Midwesterners, Americans, are they a stuff-foot eating, calf-head buying, kind of crowd? Two strikes. In contrast, we groups tend to favor roasts. Roasts equal middle class prosperity. And there surely is a bias towards crisp, crisp meats. 'Tis a shame.
Eat boiled meat. Bollito misto, a giant collection of simmered meats with assorted sauces has appealed to me for a long time. Partially, I like any excuse to make and eat the herbal accompainment, salsa verde. Partially, I needed an excuse to clear out some room in our freezer. Partially, I have a particular fascination with the food of Piedmont, Italy, which has a cuisine and climate, in some ways, that matches ours (some ways Antonious, some ways). Of the various limitations keeping bollito misto out of the Bungalow (cf. see above), the biggest thing stopping me was the big mess of hungry eaters. We needed an occasion. Shortly after my agreed that we could have a Sedar at our house, she agreed that we could have a bollito misto. What a woman!
I took a picture of the meal, cooking and done, but neither image is worth posting, talking gray and grayer. Let me just say flat out. Eat boiled meat.
One does not so much really cook a bollito misto as compile it. First, determine the misto or mix of meats. The classic, fanciest, Bollito Misto alla Piedmontese, includes seven meats. Seven is a lot, but the number has to be more than two from a range of beef cuts, veal, fresh sausages, poultry and offal. We decided on capon (the one taking up so much space), beef shanks (so nicely marked by our locker as "boiling beef*"); brisket, and veal shoulder (from Sahar Meat). We have the tongue still from our 1/2 cow, but that's for a more private audience. We skipped the fresh sausage because, while we do not keep kosher, we decided that maybe, maybe, the Sedar should not include pork. Instead, from Sahar, we purchased a bunch of their house made merguez sausages (spelled merkens at Sahar), and baked them for that aspect of the meal. There should be a contrast of meats, both for texture and to flavor the broth.
My wife rolled and tied the brisket and veal shoulder. We (I say we, but my wife did 82.74% of the work) used stock and water for the boiling liquid, some recipes use just water. We seasoned with carrots, celery, onion, peppercorns, fresh thyme, allspice, cloves, not too much salt as the meat was salted before entering its bath--we forgot-slash-did not have the advanced time to season the meat too far ahead, but per Alice Waters, I think it would (surely not hurt) to season the meat as much as two days in advanced. Our problem was waiting for the meats to defrost, and having taken out on Tuesday, the capon was still a bit chilly on Saturday.
The meats go in stages. We start with the two cuts of beef, later the veal and finally the capon. The key with the boiling is, classically, not to boil. As one of the recipes says, you want the flavor to stay in the meat not the broth. It is a bit of a battle to find the sweet spot on the dial, where the bubbles break the surface enough to cook the meat in time for dinner but not so much as to render the meats tough. Just fiddle.
The harder question becomes can you fit all of the meat in your biggest stock pot. We have some big ones. We also had some big cuts of meat. The brisket was about three pounds, the shanks about four. The veal shoulder, on bone, took up a lot of space. By the time we got to capon, even a capon cut up, we were out of room in the pot. We needed to bring in Bruce Sutter, finishing the capon in its own pot, having ladled out some stock and adding fresh cold water.
The hardest question is the timing. For one thing, none of the recipes had the exact mix of meats as ours. For another, the recipes tended to have vague directions such as "cook until tender". The problem is, you want tender, yet firm. It's not bollito musho. Luckily, we have the excellent tome by our guru Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, River Cottage Meat Book. At least this book gave cooking times for several boiled meats. I would say the meats simmered for the following times:
Chicagoans, Midwesterners, Americans, collectively, we are not a boiled eatin' group of peoples. There are, I believe, several reasons for our boil-aversion. People associate boiled meats with poverty food; the ol' hobo cooking his shoe type of meal. Sort of hand in hand with that, the meats most associated with boiling, are stuff. I mean the classic inclusion in a bollito misto is a calf's head. Tongue is mostly also included; often the stuffed pig's foot called zampone is too. Now, of that group, Chicagoans, Midwesterners, Americans, are they a stuff-foot eating, calf-head buying, kind of crowd? Two strikes. In contrast, we groups tend to favor roasts. Roasts equal middle class prosperity. And there surely is a bias towards crisp, crisp meats. 'Tis a shame.
Eat boiled meat. Bollito misto, a giant collection of simmered meats with assorted sauces has appealed to me for a long time. Partially, I like any excuse to make and eat the herbal accompainment, salsa verde. Partially, I needed an excuse to clear out some room in our freezer. Partially, I have a particular fascination with the food of Piedmont, Italy, which has a cuisine and climate, in some ways, that matches ours (some ways Antonious, some ways). Of the various limitations keeping bollito misto out of the Bungalow (cf. see above), the biggest thing stopping me was the big mess of hungry eaters. We needed an occasion. Shortly after my agreed that we could have a Sedar at our house, she agreed that we could have a bollito misto. What a woman!
I took a picture of the meal, cooking and done, but neither image is worth posting, talking gray and grayer. Let me just say flat out. Eat boiled meat.
One does not so much really cook a bollito misto as compile it. First, determine the misto or mix of meats. The classic, fanciest, Bollito Misto alla Piedmontese, includes seven meats. Seven is a lot, but the number has to be more than two from a range of beef cuts, veal, fresh sausages, poultry and offal. We decided on capon (the one taking up so much space), beef shanks (so nicely marked by our locker as "boiling beef*"); brisket, and veal shoulder (from Sahar Meat). We have the tongue still from our 1/2 cow, but that's for a more private audience. We skipped the fresh sausage because, while we do not keep kosher, we decided that maybe, maybe, the Sedar should not include pork. Instead, from Sahar, we purchased a bunch of their house made merguez sausages (spelled merkens at Sahar), and baked them for that aspect of the meal. There should be a contrast of meats, both for texture and to flavor the broth.
My wife rolled and tied the brisket and veal shoulder. We (I say we, but my wife did 82.74% of the work) used stock and water for the boiling liquid, some recipes use just water. We seasoned with carrots, celery, onion, peppercorns, fresh thyme, allspice, cloves, not too much salt as the meat was salted before entering its bath--we forgot-slash-did not have the advanced time to season the meat too far ahead, but per Alice Waters, I think it would (surely not hurt) to season the meat as much as two days in advanced. Our problem was waiting for the meats to defrost, and having taken out on Tuesday, the capon was still a bit chilly on Saturday.
The meats go in stages. We start with the two cuts of beef, later the veal and finally the capon. The key with the boiling is, classically, not to boil. As one of the recipes says, you want the flavor to stay in the meat not the broth. It is a bit of a battle to find the sweet spot on the dial, where the bubbles break the surface enough to cook the meat in time for dinner but not so much as to render the meats tough. Just fiddle.
The harder question becomes can you fit all of the meat in your biggest stock pot. We have some big ones. We also had some big cuts of meat. The brisket was about three pounds, the shanks about four. The veal shoulder, on bone, took up a lot of space. By the time we got to capon, even a capon cut up, we were out of room in the pot. We needed to bring in Bruce Sutter, finishing the capon in its own pot, having ladled out some stock and adding fresh cold water.
The hardest question is the timing. For one thing, none of the recipes had the exact mix of meats as ours. For another, the recipes tended to have vague directions such as "cook until tender". The problem is, you want tender, yet firm. It's not bollito musho. Luckily, we have the excellent tome by our guru Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall, River Cottage Meat Book. At least this book gave cooking times for several boiled meats. I would say the meats simmered for the following times:
- Brisket/beef shank - 4 hours
- Veal shoulder - 3 hours
- Capon - 2 hours
Bollito misto requires a big platter as well as a big pot. I sliced the brisket, capon breast and veal shoulder against the grain. The capon thighs we chunked. The beef shank just sort of feel into pieces. For four boiled meats, we served four sauces. Sauces for another post.
*The fact that the standard Midwestern meat locker cutting order includes "boiling beef" suggests that maybe there is a sub-rosa society of boiled meat eaters around me.
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