Just Taste the Rainbow Already!

(Okay, you so don't want to know all the images that Google gives you  when you search on "taste the rainbow."  Trust me on this one.)

If I were to take one of those inane Facebook quizzes about "what kind of bird are you?", I would probably score as a crow or a magpie, based on my love of shiny and colorful things. In this episode of "Baked:  or Why Don't I Just Go Ahead and Put My Head in the Oven Already," I get distracted once again by something pretty on a baking blog of someone who has way more luck and experience than I do with getting something edible out of the oven.

I know I whine a lot about baking, but I really, really, really want to be able to do it.  And I don't understand why I can't.  I know practice makes perfect, but sometimes, you need more than practice.  I think you need either magic, the appropriate gene structure, or possibly voodoo.

And, we can just blame it on Linna for sending me links to the The Food Librarian's celebration of Bundt cakes, appropriately named "I Like Big Bundts."   (You have to love the Sir Mix-a-Lot reference...the man is nothing, if not honest.)  Somehow, I got a link from there, at least I think it was from that site, to this one for the Kitchen Koala, who posted one of the coolest looking cakes that I have ever seen:  a Rainbow Cake.

It's not just enough that all the layers are different colors; they are all different flavors, too.  KK got her recipe from the Cheeky Kitchen, which is where I got the actual recipe as well.  I used some of the techniques described in the Koala post, like using thawed frozen fruit and pureeing the beejeezus out of it, and the Billowed White Chocolate frosting recipe that Cheeky Kitchen used.  And, this is what I got:

 Pretty cool, huh?  Each layer is obviously a different color, but they are also different flavors.  The red one is raspberry with pureed raspberries; orange has orange zest and orange juice; lemon has lemon zest and juice, as does the lime, with lime zest and juice.  I whirled up some blueberries for the blue layer, and blackberries for the violet layer.  (Indigo was put in the corner and had to wait this one out.  I suppose I could have gone right on out on the crazy tree limb and made a 7th layer for indigo, combining blueberry and blackberry, but I feel that 6 layers was quite enough, thank you.  "ROYGBV" works just fine in my spectrum.)

While making this cake, I felt a kinship with Tim "The Toolman" Taylor--I got all the tools and a lot of enthusiasm, but I might be a little lacking in the innate talent department.

The slippery slide down the path of baking construction started out auspiciously, when I borrowed 3 8-inch cake pans from Linna to add to the 3 8-inch pans I already had  and discovered that I have no idea how to measure.  I have 9-inch cake pans, and as with most things, an inch makes a BIG difference.  And, really cake pan manufacturers, is it so hard to put the size on the darn pans?  Pyrex manages to do it...just sayin'.

You know that I have already mixed the cake batter up and divided it out and mixed the colors and flavors in by the time that I discovered the discrepancy.  I call Linna in a panic, and she talks me off the ledge and assures me that I can just run a little cool water in the pans after I take the first 3 layers out to cool, and I should be fine to bake the next three layers.

I am very concerned about making sure that my batter is divided evenly--the recipe says to scoop out 6 cups and divided them in to 6 different 1-cup containers.  I double-checked that all the layers had the same amount of batter by weighing them to make sure they all weighed the same before adding the fruit and color.  I was kinda proud of myself for thinking of that method, if I do say so myself.  (Yes, if you look closely, that is a ladybug toaster on my counter, which was a wonderful Christmas present from Linna.)

When I added the fruit for the red, blue,and purple layers, I measured out 4 oz of each fruit before pureeing it and adding it to the batter.

Yep, that is ladybug tea kettle...

Before I put the pans in the oven, I spun them around and tried to make sure that I had distributed the batter evenly in each pan.  I have no idea what happened in the split second that it took me to stop the spinning the pans and toss them in the oven, but they came out in all different depths.  I was rather surprised when the green layer came out, and it was significantly flatter than the other 5 layers.  I had expected that the red, blue, and purple layers might have been a bit thicker, because they had more ingredients with addition of the pureed fruit.  I assume there must have been some sort of extra reaction to the acidity in the lime juice which caused it not to rise more.  (If I'm wrong, don't tell me...just let me add it to the mythos and madness of what I think baking should be...it will keep me happy and stop me from over analyzing my fool ass off.)  I was afraid to try and level them, especially that ol' green layer...Hulk say leveling bad.  Besides, I figure I can fill in the gaps with icing. (Hah!  I can hear you all laughing about this now.)

I watched them very carefully, since my oven tends to run a little hot, and did my best not to overcook them, and started preparing the icing.  I used the Billowed White Chocolate recipe from Cheeky Kitchen's original post, which involves 2 sticks of butter, a bag of white chocolate chips, milk, and 3 pounds of powdered sugar.  Yeah, that was 3 pounds and not a typo.  I am fascinated with how you can take an enormous amount of powered sugar and have it absorbed by a small amount of liquid and become frosting.  When I turned to the Internet to find out why, I got distracted by this post of baking substitutions on Joy of Baking and remembered that I really needed to finish this post...

The icing just about did my little hand mixer in...at this point in the evening, I did not have the strength nor the mental acuity to wrestle with the stand mixer.  Besides, I think my stand mixer hates me, because it knows I don't have any baking genetics.  The frosting came together well; it was just hard going at times when adding in a fresh dump of powdered sugar..."dump" might not be the best word to use here, but I'm going with it anyway.

I start stacking and frosting and stacking and frosting, until I end up with something that looks like the Leaning Tower of Cake-a.  I put about 5-6 long wooden barbecue skewers in to try and hold the cake together while I finished frosting it, so the whole thing wouldn't slide off into the floor, possibly crushing the Goldfish and have the other two devil poodles in cake and frosting sugar coma heaven.

Frosting this cake is tiring and a real arm workout. After I get frosting all over the cake and me, I decide that I am throwing it into the fridge overnight and dealing with it tomorrow.  Hopefully, it will magically straighten up and be perfect when I pull it out.  Because, you know I wasn't just making this completely for my own amusement...I was going to inflict it on people who were Coming Over.

A couple of hours before the victims guests were to arrive, I pulled it  and the rest of the frosting out of the fridge to soften and come to room temp before trying to finish it off.  Kimma showed up early, and I immediately threw myself at her mercy, handed her an offset spatula, and begged her to "fix it."  She smoothed out the icing, filled in the gaps, and then we sprinkled multicolored sugar on it to liven up the stark white frosting.  It was pretty darn impressive looking, all tall and white, and not quite so leaning, if I do say so myself.

At this point, I have ingested so much cake batter and frosting in the process, trying to determine how the finished product will taste, that I am so over and done with this cake that I can barely stand to look at it.  My guests are brave and try it, proclaiming it to be delicious, and that all the fruity layers seem to work together...which is good, because I had visions of it tasting like a bad bowl of Froot Loops.  Everyone seems to have a favorite layer, and not necessarily the same flavor.  I was sort of worried about all the flavors, because in tasting the batter before baking, the purple/blackberry layer was the only one that seemed remotely edible.  Amazing what a little heat and a tone of frosting can do, isn't it?

I foist off as much as I could on folks and wrapped up a couple of slices to throw in the freezer, waiting until I could work up my nerve and appetite to try it.  The Poodle Sitter came over the night before Thanksgiving, and she was pretty excited about the rainbow cake, so we pulled some out of the freezer to try.  And, you know what?  It was pretty tasty.  It was moist and tender, even after being in the freezer, and the fruit flavors really did taste fruity and light and did not clash with each other.  I think my favorite layer was the purple one (blackberry), followed in a close second by red (raspberry).

Lessons Learned

First and foremost, I would not attempt this cake again in a single session...especially not on a work night.  It's a 2-day project at the very least.  If I ever get crazy enough to do this again, I will definitely make the layers in advance and refrigerate or freeze them.

I would also like a better frosting recipe...as much as I hate to say it, the old standby cream cheese frosting might have worked better for this cake.  The white chocolate one that I used was just too sweet and didn't really have any flavor but sweet, if that makes any sense.  I am right fond of marshmallow icings, and I realize they might be an acquired taste, but I think that would have went well, as would a basic butter cream or 7-minute.

And, I will start leveling my cakes better...even if the green layer becomes nothing more that a sliver between the yellow and blue.

Also, since this started life as a box mix and all the fruity flavors seemed to turn out well, I'm thinking that might be a tasty way to quickly jazz up the cake and have something a little bit out of the ordinary when you need a cake in a pinch.

Part of me (probably the logical rational part that I keep buried in a box) says give up and leave well enough alone and stick to the Bundt cake, because it is hard to screw one of those up.  Bundts always looks nice and neat, with those handy lines for portion control.  The Crow side, the wild and crazy part that is sucked in by bright colors and shiny things, is wondering if we can conceivably turn this rainbow cake thing into a Bundt and then cover it with those little silver dragees.  Luckily, Crow is in her cage and distracted from picking the lock because I threw in one of those Fushigi balls to keep her occupied.

Am not completely sure why it's art and why "everyone loves" it, but it keeps her out of baking trouble...

Born in Arizona..."Flipped" to Babylonia

Okay, the title makes no sense unless you 1) remember "King Tut" by Steve Martin, and 2) understand that I went to the King Tut exhibit in Atlanta this past weekend, AND 3) ate at Flip Burger Boutique, Richard Blais' newest restaurant adventure.

Let's chat about Tut first...I gotta say that I'm torn between thinking that the "Tutlanta" logo is cool or extremely goofy.  After all, the Boy King's stuff did travel 3500 years and across the ocean to be gawked at by the masses, so shouldn't we show a little more respect?  (Confession time...I did get a Tutlanta shirt, because they were on sale for $9.95...that sort of cheapens my moral stance, doesn't it?)

Atlanta is into "peachifying" everything they can lay their collective little hands upon...it's not enough that there are a gazillion streets with "Peach" or "Peachtree" as part of the name, which will drive your GPS insane, but everything else has got to have some degree of "peachiness."  Sometimes it works, sometimes...not so much.

The exhibit was good...too short, I thought, because I want to see EVERYTHING that Howard Carter dragged out of the pit.  Unfortunately, Egypt won't let the gold death mask and many other iconic Tutankhamun items out of the country any more...and who can blame them?  Tut's coffin might end up at one of those "home gold parties" that seem to be all the rage now.  Plus, there is a concurrent Tut exhibit in Dallas, which has a different set of artifacts.  However, some of the Tutlanta artifacts have never been out of Egypt, either, so it all works out...and is cheaper than traveling to Cairo. : )

(You can actually see a fairly faithful replica of the tomb and the artifacts at the Luxor in Las Vegas.  It looks a lot like it did in the photographs from when Howard Carter opened the tomb...without the dust/sand and there's an exit into the gift shop.)

I think what was so amazing to me was standing there looking at a carved frieze or a statue and taking in the level of detail that has lasted for close to 3500 years.  Some of the items looked as if they could have been carved yesterday.  And, there is a golden death mask of another pharaoh, so you get an idea of what Tut's looks like.

(The Man and I looked for the Stargate, but that must be part of the special private VIP tour...alas.)

(And, when you Google "condo made of stone", you get this from www.lovelylisting.com, a website of real estate ads gone terribly wrong.  Browse awhile...it's lots of fun.  You know...the Stargate could very well be in the master bedroom of this place.  Hmm...things to ponder.)

After we tromped through the sands of ancient Egypt, The Man suggested that we have lunch at Flip Burger Boutique.  Hell yes! I say, if we can get in on a Sunday afternoon.  So, off we go...

Flip is hip!  Flip is cool!  Flip is very noisy and a little on the pricey side, but Flip was good!

The menu is burgers, of course, with a listing for beef and then the "Flip" burgers, which veer off into the wild side of pate, lamb, smoked salmon, etc. Prices ranged from $7-$7.50 average up to $35 for a Japanese Kobe beef burger with seared foie gras and shaved truffles. I had the Butcher Cut, with caramelized onions, blue cheese, and red wine jam. The Man had the Pate Melt of veal & pork, swiss cheese, cornichons, and lingonberry dijon. Yeah, it sounds like a bunch of weird and odd flavors, but they worked well together.

Nothing on the menu totally scared me off...well, maybe the Philly, because it actually has Cheese Whiz.  (No offense to the great city of Philadelphia, but what is up with using that fake orange stuff on a sandwich?  Yeah, I know it is traditional, but I much prefer the noveau method that involves lots of melted Provolone.)  One thing to keep in mind is that these burgers are not giant burgers--nothing like Ann's Ghetto Burger over off of Memorial Drive--more like large sliders.  If you only order one, plus a side, and a shake,  you will be full...a bit less flush with cash, but full.

The sides are all a'la carte, which drives the price of the meal up, ranging in cost from $3-$7.  The fries are very good fries...nothing fancy, just hot and crispy and potatoey.  We got the fries and the sweet potato (tater) tots, which I had high hopes for, but have to admit that they might have been the most unimpressive part of the meal.  Although, they came with this creamy, foamy blue cheese dip, which rocked with the fries.  (You may have figured out by now, if the cheese is blue, bleu, blau, whatever, it's mine!)

And, let's not forget the shakes...the Liquid Nitrogen Shakes!  Is $7 too much to pay for a shake ($9 for the foie gras one)?  In this economy--probably, but this meal is an experience.  It's not a meal that I would have every day, every week, or probably every month.  I sort of look at it as a "total dining experience"--the atmosphere, the celebrity chef, et cetera, et cetera...just not the normal run-of-the-mill fast food burger.  

(Speaking of fast-food burgers, somebody needs to do some sort of intervention with Padma Lakshmi.  WTH--Hardee's?!  Has she lost her mind?  Are her taste buds just gone after eating whatever slop some of the Top Chefestants throw her way?  And, that whole little close up of her sitting on the steps and eating the burger is just wrong on many, many levels.  Do not lick your own leg!  Let someone lick it for you.)

Back to the shakes...The Man opted for the Nutella + Burnt Marshmallow...sort of a high-end s'mores effect.  It came with a layer of torched marshmallows on top, and tasted like the best chocolate milk drink ever.  It was smooth, not too sweet, and not too chunky.  I could actually drink that shake every day...not for $7 a pop, but if Richard wanted to give up the recipe and a nitrogen tank and a blow torch, I'd cheerfully make my own.

I had the Spicy Chocolate Mole, which is made with a hint of hot peppers...the initial taste was smooth chocolate, but then there was a bit of a fiery afterglow at the back of your throat.  I thought it was great fun--something a bit unexpected...maybe a bit "flip"? Ha!

So, I'm chomping my burger, slurping my shake, stealing dips of the blue cheese stuff for my fries and generally thinking that my whole Flip experience would be complete if the man himself would walk in...and, I might have to start believing in the power of prayer or at least the power of wishing, because who do I look up and spy at the end of the bar counter?  The Blais himself, along with Mrs. Blais and the little Blaisling!

He's casually dressed--long-sleeved t-shirt and flipflops--fauxhawk on the rise, with some weird little thin elastic head band around his head...like he was getting ready to have a facial or something.  Maybe it's some metrosexual fashion statement that hasn't made it to the Rocket City yet...and probably won't.

He's a bit thinner in person than he looked on Top Chef, and he seemed friendly and relaxed while talking to the staff and tickling the baby.  He wandered around the restaurant for a few minutes and greeted a few people, and I managed to not fall out of my fancy aluminum bar chair when he walked past me.  I totally could not bring myself to snap a quick shot with my cell phone, because I thought it would be rude, but if he'd come by the table again, I probably would have thrown good manners to the wind.

As with every restaurant review, you get the experience that the reviewer had that day...some days are probably better than others, and I feel like my day was just fine.  It's a great little memory that I can hold in the wrinkles of my brain of a good meal and a fun experience...and it's good the way it is...don't have to do it again...unless you'd liked to take me back? I know how to get there...and maybe my presence is a good luck charm for Blais to appear.  You never know...so,  let me know when you're ready!  Hahahaha!  

Matzoh! Matzo! Matza!

I was rummaging around in the pantry tonight, looking for something to prepare for dinner. Yes, I had a perfectly lovely package of chicken breasts waiting in the fridge, which I had planned to grill, and I just wasn't feeling the flame-broiled love. Probably because it has dropped about 20 degrees since yesterday.

Welcome to Spring in the South...weather changes day-by-day, and for the love of Pete, do not get tempted to actually plant anything in the ground outside before Easter. And, if you put out some lovely hanging baskets of petunias, be prepared to haul them in at least once before Easter, if not multiple times.

I was wandering through Lowe's yesterday, in the 78-degree afternoon, looking longingly at the herbs...basil, rosemary, and wishing they had some thyme. With steely resolve, I turned away, because I knew it wouldn't last. Sure enough, today's high was around 56, with a nice chilly wind.

So, back to the chicken...was feeling too wimpy to stand outside and grill chicken, so am looking for a boxed something to whip together. I don't even want to touch the chicken at all, for some reason...probably relates to that whole pain in the ass that cooking for one is...or I could just be incredibly lazy today. I'll let you make the choice.

Hidden behind 3 boxes of couscous and a couple of quarts of chicken stock, I spy a box of Streit's Matzo Ball and Soup Mix. An odd thing for a goyim gal to have, but y'all should know me well enough by now that if it's a dumpling or any form of pasta...oh, heck who am I kidding? Any form of carbohydrate, then I'm all over it.

What the heck, let's make this, I think...is cool outside, is soup, and doesn't really involve handling chicken. Although, I immediately start thinking about how to spruce it up...and wondering if I should add the chicken into the soup, or if that was somehow sacrilegious...even though I am not Jewish. (And, did you know that if you say something sacrilegious out loud, it then becomes blasphemy. Furthered all our educations today, didn't I?)

Matzo is a flat, unleavened cracker that is used as bread during Passover, because eating leavened products is forbidden. Wikipedia has much more reference material on the who, what, and how of this tradition, and can explain it in much greater detail than I can...and thereby making sure that I don't inadvertently get something wrong and offend anyone. I know about the whole dairy and meat shall not meet restriction, and the avoidance of bacon and shrimp, but honestly, all I really know about Jewish dietary law, I got from the visiting rabbi's lecture during my 15 minutes in Banquet Class. Plus, there seem to be a whole lot of ways to spell the word, so I'm picking "matzo" and going with that for consistency's sake.

I've eaten matzo crackers for years, because they are incredibly plain and boring...which makes them a great vehicle for very savory dips and spreads, in my opinion. I don't want my cracker to compete with my dip/spread; I want it to complement it, or really just carry it to my mouth. The downside of that is that the plain mazto is also an unsalted vehicle for my dip...and sometimes that little kick of salt on a cracker is just what the spread calls for and is sorely missed. Sometimes, you're the bug, sometimes, you're the windshield.

The one thing I have absolutely no desire to do is make my own matzos, so we won't even talk about that.

Onto the soup...Matzo Ball Soup is essentially comfort food, and it seems that lots of cultures have a version of a comfort dumpling soup. Just this weekend, my friend Kimma, made Chicken and Dumplings, which might be comparable as Southern Matzo Ball soup. She did it pretty much from scratch, cooking a chicken and making the dumplings by hand, and they were fluffy and good. (Bisquick was involved, but that is an acceptable option for making dumplings. DO NOT get me started on people who use canned biscuits for dumplings. It will not be pretty, and it's too late in the evening for bloodshed.)

My great-aunt, who was essentially the family matriarch, even though she never had children of her own, was the champion chicken and dumplings maker in our family. Unfortunately, she's gone now, and I have no idea how she did it. If you have a family cook or a family recipe that's in danger of being lost for good, I strongly encourage you to get it recorded somehow--writing, pictures, video, etc., because once it's gone, it's gone.

Oh, yeah, soup. So, the little box tells me to mix 2 eggs and 1/4 cup of vegetable oil with the packet marked "matzo," and let it sit for 15 minutes, while bringing 2.5 quarts of water to a boil. I decided to sub a quart of chicken broth for 1 quart of water, and I think that added a lot of flavor.

After the 15 minutes were up, and the liquid was boiling, I added the contents of the package marked "soup." I then wet my hands and formed the dough into walnut-size balls and dropped them into the soup. I also added a few sliced carrots and some diced celery. I clamped the lid on that sucker, reduced the heat to low, and simmered it for about 25 minutes, and viola! Matzo Ball Soup a'la Poodlevania.

The texture was slightly similar to the Bisquick dumplings, in that it was fluffyish on the inside, but the Bisquick was definitely a Pillowtop Serta Comfort Sleeper Matress in comparision to the matzo ball...leavening does that for you.

The nutritional info is not too bad on this stuff, either. 1 cup prepared is approximately 50 calories, and the ingredient list is not awfully horrible and unpronounceable, either. When was the last time you saw a packaged soup mix with white pepper, celery seed, and dill seed included? (Although, it says there are approximately 9 servings, of which I probably ate 4...and not sure how the whole mazto ball calorie count plays into it--those tricky marketing folks, you know.) However, I do have some leftover for lunch tomorrow or the next day...will be interesting to see how the matzo balls hold up as leftovers.

Here's a great column by Steve Almond, a funny guy, author of Candy Freak, describing his trials and tribulations on learning how to make matzo balls and taking up the family mantle of mazto ball maker. He includes his family recipe, which seems simple enough, except, I'm not sure where I would get the chicken fat (schmaltz)...not a lot of kosher grocers in this neck of the woods, but I could probably figure it out.

Messing (Around) with Texas

On my way to Northwest Texas this past week, I read a fun little memoir of sorts about Chinese food in America. The Fortune Cookie Chronicles tracks an American-Chinese woman's search for the roots of Americanized Chinese cuisine. It was pretty fascinating--you probably know that fortune cookies aren't really Chinese, but did you know that they are probably Japanese in origin? And, that the soy sauce in those little packets you get with the carryout Chinese dinner aren't really soy sauce, but more like colored salty water? And yes, Virginia, there really was a General Tso, but that ain't *his* chicken.

I love reading about food--research, memoirs, etc.--but the downside is that I get totally consumed by wanting and craving that food. A few years ago, on a trip to California, I picked up Candy Freak by Steve Almond. It's a funny read, but I was dying for candy bars for days afterward, and some of those candy bars didn't even exist any more.

Being as I was in a smallish town in Texas, about 45 minutes from Fort Worth, which is more of a meat and potatoes kind of place, I wasn't sure if I could satisfy my craving for Chinese without going to a giant buffet. Luckily, there was a local place that wasn't too bad--had both Thai and Chinese--so I could calm the beast that was my appetite.

Unfortunately on this trip, I did not make it to any barbecue joints. Ate a lot of Tex-Mex stuff that was pretty good...tried a new dish for me called "migas." Migas are usually a breakfast food in Texas, and this place serves egg dishes all day. The migas consisted of scrambled eggs mixed with corn tortilla strips, roasted chicken, peppers, onions, and tomatoes, and served with refried beans, rice, and tortillas. Pretty fine stuff.

In my driving around town, I noticed that there were a blue million donut shops...it seemed that there was one on every corner, sometimes two. I've seen this in other Texas towns, and just have to conclude that Texans love donuts...a whole whole lot...over a 1000 hits on Google when iI looked up "donut shops in (Texas town)." And, they weren't national chain places either. Alas, no Tim Hortons....sigh.

The last night I was there, I hit the fine dining spot in town, where I had truly wonderful meal. It was located in the downtown area, and according to the owner, was a brothel about a 100 years ago...gotta love the repurposing of old buildings. I started with an appetizer of grilled jalapenos wrapped in bacon that had been stuffed with chipolte cream cheese and shrimp. I made it through 3 of the 4 peppers before I had to cry "Uncle," if I wanted to have any tastebuds left for the main course. My entree was a lovely pan-fried rainbow trout encrusted with locally grown pecans. I'm not usually a freshwater fish eater, but the local pecan thing in the description piqued my curiousity. It was piping hot and encrusted with a generous coating of pecans, with a little butter sauce on the side. Very nice.

I also got a real idea of the actual size of a Texas ranch, as we drove to some of the libraries...there's a reason for that old saw about everything being "bigger in Texas." And, I saw a longhorn cow. Yep, just one. Lots of horses, though. This area is the cutting horse capital, and lots of champion horses come from here. Also, every single time I go to Texas, I am wholly overwhelmed with the desire to get boots and something with fringe. I managed to stamp down my inner cowgirl and leave without anything, but it was from the lack of her trying...coupled with my unwillingness to pay $1700 for a pair of Lucchese boots that screamed my name as I left the store. It was hard to leave them, I tell you...hard.

As I write this post, I am halfway paying attention to a show that is new to me on Food Network, called Cooking for Real. The hostess, Sunny Anderson, is making chicken wings with 3 sauces. I like chicken wings as much as the next person, and as usual, I'm kind of persnickety about my wings. So, I'm listening with half an ear as she is making a hot sauce, and she mentions how spicy the wings are at Hooters. My head snaps up and I really begin to pay attention to what she is saying. Anyway, she's going on about how when they brought them to the table, the smell almost singed her nose hairs (eeewww! do you really want someone who's cooking for you to talk about her nose hairs? NO!), and burbles on for a few more seconds about Hooters..

Hooters? Seriously? She was in immediate danger of losing her credibility with me. Don't think I'm going all conservative on you, because I have no problem with the concept of Hooters exploiting women--hah! It just proves that men are willing to pay for anything, including crap food served by pretty women. : ). Personally, I have plans for when I win the lottery to open my own version of Hooters called "Jewels." The decor shall be very opulent and cocmfortable, and the hosts will be incredibly good looking men who dress like Chippendale's dancers--tight tuxedo pants, no shirts--just collars and cuffs. Of course, the servers will have to wear a little more, because I'm sure there's some health department reg about shirtless food servers...maybe some tight t-shirts and bike shorts? Tight jeans and t-shirts?

What I have a problem with is the FOOD at Hooters. The couple of times I have been strong armed into eating at Hooters, the food has just been plain mediocre at best, and their wings were really bad. Honestly, how hard is it to make chicken wings? Yeah...it's wings that you can fry or bake, covered in hot sauce and served with bleu cheese dressing (never ranch!!! Hate ranch with the fury of a million suns--the most overused and abused salad dressing ever) and a celery stick or two. You can go sub-atomic if you like with the various levels of heat in your sauce, but let's face it, chicken wings are not hard to cook, but so many places get them wrong, and I could write blog posts for 6 months on the badness of wings. However, her wings do look tasty, and the Red, White & Blue Mashed Potatoes sound and look pretty awesome--bleu cheese, bacon, heavy cream, and potatoes--what more do you need?

Back to Hooters...I search on "food at Hooter's," and the first hit I get is this article on Chowhound. The author is having a little rant fest about this article in the Newport Daily Pilot that posits the idea that people actually like the food at Hooters. I kind of agree with the Chowhound author in his/her disbelief that Hooters rates a featured review. One of the comments to the Pilot critic's review sums it up best, "Anybody can review. Not everybody should. " (We could probably say that about bloggers to, and I probably fall into that category!)

Seriously, the Pilot's critic starts out by telling us that "the reason it [Hooter's] is popular is the food. For what it is, Hooters does it well." Really? Then he tells his readers that "the chicken parmesan platter is one of the better selections. It is a fried chicken breast smothered with provolone cheese and marinara sauce." (I'm betting that Stouffer's does it better in the frozen food section.)

I don't think chains are inherently wrong, or that it's a bad idea to review chain places, because sometimes I am extremely grateful that there is a chain place in a small town...at least I can get a grilled chicken salad of some sort after traveling all day and just wanting to eat and head to the hotel. And, there's chains that I really like--Claim Jumper and In & Out Burger in California, Longhorn (you get a consistenly decent steak and salad; pricey, but consistent), and Carraba's (would kill for the recipe for the herb mix they put in their olive oil for dipping bread.) to name a few.

What would have made the Pilot article better was if the "critic" had decided to review a selection of wing/sports bar places, and maybe ranked the best and worst things about each place. Surely, he could have found something a little better than Hooter's, and maybe he would have expanded his and his readers' collective minds about the local offerings.

Next week's adventures should be rather entertaining...I'll give you a hint--goats will be involved!

Sometimes, "easy" is not the way to go...

While I lazed about the house in my post-New Year's Day food coma, I caught up on some blog reading that I've neglected for the last few months. This October blog post is just one of the reasons I love Michael Ruhlman. (The other reasons have to do with that episode of No Reservations, where he and Bourdain do the Hunter S. Thompson version of Vegas...plus, the man is c-u-t-e cute. And, he can cook, which is like a double-whammy. Looks good, cooks good...probably cleans up after himself in the kitchen.  Lucky, lucky Mrs. Ruhlman.)

Anyway, the gist of his post is that he received a press release of a new cookbook, which is essentially how to take a Michelin-starred chef's cuisine and make it at home...deconstructed, demystified, and declassified. Ruhlman makes some very salient points about not demystifying great good food...and that not everybody is cut out to be a 3-star chef...or even a 1-spatula fry cook at Denny's. (Okay, that last part, about Denny's, is my own snarky take on it.)

Honestly, if we were all Iron Chefs, why should we even bother to go out and eat? Personally, there's some foods that I don't want to make at home...ranging from simple fried chicken to those damned short ribs. And, there's food that I want to eat that is better than what I can cook at home, and I'm happy to go and eat it somewhere else.

I don't want to make fried chicken, or anything else deep fried, at home, because I cannot stand the smell that lingers for days and days. And, I swear up and down that, as Julia Child as my witness, I'm never making short ribs again...they were just too much work! Although, my friend Cheryl tells me that she has a recipe for making them in a crockpot that works...so I might give it another whirl. (Or, I'm moving in with her parents, because her dad makes the most amazing short ribs in a cast iron Dutch oven...)

Don't want to make sushi, either.  I love sushi...have even taken a couple of sushi classes.  Went out and bought a little mat to cover in plastic wrap to help roll and shape the sushi, got a wooden paddle for the rice, got the rice wine vinegar, and the coolest thing--a sushi press--which looks like a little wooden box, but actually allows you to layer and press sushi into

 something that halfway resembles something you might get at a sushi bar...or the grocery store "gourmet sushi" cooler.  (Yeah, yeah, I know it's for beginners, etc., but I thought it made some nice pretty rolls.)

The first time I made sushi at home was pretty much the last time.  After I kept finding tobikko (flying fish eggs) for the next 3 weeks in my tiny apartment kitchen, I decided that some things are best left to the experts.  (But they're pretty, aren't they?)  Plus, the availability and suspectibility of the fish I had available in the local markets was another deciding factor.  

I'm not an amazing cook...I'm not bad at it, and I've managed to pull off some pretty outstanding dishes, but I'm nowhere remotely in the same airspace of people like Ruhlman, or even the flat top cook at Waffle House--you remember how much I stressed out about making an omelet in Pantry Class, don't you?  And, I don't want to be...too much pressure to perform.  Plus, I'd have no excuse to dine out, now would I?  (And, you people would have nothing to read.)

Happy New Year to all, and best wishes for a safe and prosperous 2009.  I think I'm going to have another piece of Red Velvet Cake to celebrate. : )

The Spice Grinder of Doom

I'm whipping up a batch of spaghetti, because that is what we single people do...make large pots of food and eat it for days! So, I grab my nifty little McCormick Italian Herb Grinder that I got at Publix for 1.99 and proceed to grind some Italian herbs into the sauce. I am talking on the phone while I do this, because hey--I am woman, I can multi-task! Plus, I've made spaghetti sauce a bazillion times...can do it blindfolded, which is probably what I should have tried.

I set the grinder on the counter beside the stove and put salt in the pasta water. I pick up the grinder again to give it another shot and realize that not only did I not grab the Italian Herb grinder, I grabbed the Cinnamon Sugar grinder! (Yeah, they were "Buy 1, Get 1," and I thought it would be cool to have a little grinder of sugar and cinnamon for guests to use on baked sweet potatoes. This is what I get for "thinking.")

In my own defense, the damn things look exactly alike. See for yourself:
















Well, they sure look like they are related! Half siblings or the Patty Duke look-alike cousins, at the very least.

Anyway, I just threw in some salt and added a lot of black pepper, and it turned out okay. I've made a tomato sauce with a little cinnamon in it before, and I've certainly added a little sugar to cut the acidity of tomato sauce, too. It's the little things like this that just drag you back to Earth sometimes.

While at the McCormick site looking for pictures, I poked around a bit and checked out their Spices 101 link and found a section about telling the age of your McCormick spices. They have a little calculator for you to enter a code and pick a city. Right up front, they tell you 1) if it's from Baltimore, it's 15 years old; and 2) if it's in a tin, it's at least 15 years old, too. (Except for black pepper--that still comes in a tin instead of a jar...or a damned grinder.)

They have a great little timeline at the bottom of the Keeping it Fresh page that follows the evolution of the McCormick spice package and tells you that some of the things in mom's spice cabinet really are older than you!

I know you should rotate your spices for freshness, and I read somewhere once, that you should replace them all every year...which seems sort of wasteful to me. According to the McCormick folks, we can keep our ground spices for 2-3 years, our whole spices for 3-4 years, but the herbs and spice blends have a shorter shelf life, which makes me feel better. And, pure vanilla extract never goes bad. Ever. There's probably some in King Tut's tomb that's still good.

I did glean this little tidbit, of which I was not aware: "Members of the red pepper family, including paprika and chili powder, will retain their color and remain fresher longer when stored in the refrigerator." (Of course, I store all my spices in the cabinet next to the stove...it's not over the stove, which is definitely frowned upon, but probably too close for the McCormick comfort. But honestly, do I really want to run across the room to the pantry to get spices? Yes, am lazy...as is everyone else. Besides, if we weren't storing our spices near the stove where they would go off sooner, then McCormick would lose money. So, I'm stimulating the economy by breaking the spice rules!)

Kind of like these Spices broke some rules, no?



(You know I had to go there...this post was screaming to go there...in a Zigazig ah! kinda way.)

Them Road Food Blues

Oh, Canada...you kinda let me down this trip. I'm languishing in an out of the way part of Ottawa, with nothing really grand going on, dining-wise. Is a disappointment, for sure.

It can be a struggle for the road warrior to always find a good meal. Sometimes, you end up in places where your options are limited...which might be a good thing since you GAINED weight on the last road trip, and had to work all the next week to get it off.

However, there is a least 4 Tim Hortons within a 10-mile radius, so all is not lost. (Do not ask me why Tim Hortons is not Tim Horton's...I have no idea if this some sort of Canadian grammar rule against the apostrophe/possessive or just marketing language like the Chick-fila cows' bad spelling, and I don't care...just hand me another donut. I have a hard enough timing trying to remember to spell "centre" and "cheque" while I'm here. And not picking up "eh," lest my customers think I am mocking them. "Eh" is a pretty good all-purpose word...much better than "you know," and it sounds sort of friendly and cheerful...like "y'all" does. You hang out in a room of 10 Canadians for about 8 hours, and it will roll naturally off your tongue, too.)

If you're not familiar with Tim's, try to move closer to one...it's way better than Starbucks, in both taste and value. I like a well-rounded cuppa joe...not too bitter or acidic, and not $4 a pop.

Tim Horton was an NHL Hall of Fame player for the Toronto Maple Leafs, as well as the Flyers, the Rangers, and the Sabres, who opened his first coffee and donut stand in 1964...he's the Ray Kroc of the donut world. There's a blue million of them now, one on practically every corner in all of Canada. Sometimes, I think the official symbol of Canada should be a hand with a Tims cup instead of the maple leaf, because everybody goes to Tim's.

(I was wicked annoyed when I was in Toronto last month and there wasn't a Tim's on the other side of Customs. Seriously. I had just expected there would be one, and since I had to be at the airport at 4:30 am, it was not unreasonable to want my Tims fix...I purposely did not stop at the 27 Tim Hortons that I passed on the way to the airport, because I *knew* there would a Tim's fix in the airport...and there is...just not on the US side. That Toast! kiosk does not, I repeat, does not hold a candle to Tim Hortons! Will not make the same mistake tomorrow when I fly out of Ottawa...I may hit every Tim's I pass on the 90-minute drive to the airport.)

I like Tim's donuts, because I like cake donuts the best (the Honey Dipped is mighty fine)...and if you show up anywhere with a box of Timbits (donut holes), you are an instant hit, no matter how deadly dull and boring your meeting material might be.

Tim Hortons is now part of Wendy's International, and there are inroads into the U.S. Mostly in the northern states, like Michigan, New York, and Ohio, but I'm hopeful they will continue to march southward. Tim's is scheduled to open in Syracuse in the next year, so that will make visits to the home office a bit more enjoyable. And, if anyone has a spare $400K or so just lying around, I'd be more than happy to help you do the paperwork for a Tim Hortons franchise in the Rocket City...just let me know when to sharpen my pencil.

Barbecue Coma

From the Silver Lining Department:  One of the good things about being back in the Rocket City is the proximity to decent barbecue.  (I know I've yammered on and on and on ad nauseum about barbecue, and will probably continue to do so, until I can't even remember how to spell barbecue.)

This week was an interesting one.  I went on my first site visit for the new company, and much to my relief, it's a lot like the old company's version (the one I got laid off from 3 years ago).  It's nice to know that the learning curve will not be quite as steep as it was waaaay back then.

Since the site was in Kentucky, close to the Indiana border, I decided that it would be easier to drive instead of fly.  It was going to take about the same amount of time, so why not be moving the whole time?  Plus, we were going to need a rental car anyway, and what's 4 and a half hours?  Especially if barbecue can fit into the equation.

As I started my journey, I decided to hit a barbecue joint in the little town directly to the west, since it was on the way.   Had a bit of a scare when the road in front of the barbecue shack was all torn up and required a detour...I wasn't sure that the barbecue shack was still there.  It was, thank the pig!  I got a sandwich, chips, and a big ol' sweet tea.  Heaven.

What is is with potato chips?  I remember as a kid, I could take them or leave them, but now they are like food of the gods.  Maybe it's because they're sort of "forbidden fruit" now that I know they are bad for me, will add inches to my hips, and take years off my life by eating, blah, blah, blah, blah, but damn, they are good!  All salty and potatoey...yum.

So, the site visit was near Owensboro, KY, an area long famed for its barbecue, and especially for an oddity even for the barbecue worlds--mutton.  Mutton does seem like an odd choice for barbecue, but I'm game to try it.  

The people we are working recommended a couple of places, one of which had burned 4 times!, and we settled on the Moonlite Barbecue Inn.  Located in Owensboro, KY, its parking lot was a veritable convention of pickup trucks, which is always a good sign for a barbecue joint.

We go in, and lo, behold, they have a buffet.  A freakin' barbecue BUFFET!  I am positively aquiver with excitement and the almost overwhelming thought that I can actually achieve smoked meat nirvana.  It's heady stuff, I tell you!

There's a salad bar, a hot bar with meat and vegetables, and a dessert bar.  I promptly make the call to punt the salad bar and move directly to the hot bar.  Amazingly enough, ALL the vegetables that I tried were wonderful.  Bad for you?--yes; tasty?--even more yes!  And this is very unusual for any buffet, you know.

And then, there was the meat end:  brisket, pulled pork, ribs, chicken, the mutton, and country ham.  I just knew that my ankles were going to swell to the size of my head by morning from this little foray into Sodium Land, but I didn't care...because, repeat after me, how often do you see a barbecue buffet that actually looks worth eating?  (Refuse to count chain "barbecue" places...is not real barbecue, according my version of the barbecue bible.)

I piled on some beef, pork, country ham, and a little mutton...remember, lamb is not all that high on my list, so old sheep is probably not going to be up there, either.  It actually was not bad...very moist, a little fatty, and not too gamey.  I would not order a whole barbecue mutton meal, but if given the opportunity to go back to the Moonlite, I'd put a little on my plate.

The meats were all tender and tasty, with the right amount of smoky flavor.  The Moonlite also has a couple of house specialities, like burgoo, which I did not have room to try, and "banana salad."  Banana Salad seems to be sliced bananas mixed with a little mayo and some chopped peanuts.  Not my favorite way to eat a banana for sure.

We moved on to the dessert portion of the meal, and I finally didn't have to make that hardest of choices:  chocolate pie or coconut cream pie?   I'm always torn between the two...homemade pie is hard to pass up anyway.  I try to remember which one I had last, so I can pay fair homage to the other flavor, but chocolate may be ahead.

Since the Moonlite has so thoughtfully provided the opportunity to eat both, along with banana pudding, buttermilk pie, cherry cobbler, blackberry cobbler, peanut butter pie, and a few other  goodies, I just had to build myself a dessert sampler with small slices and scoops of each.  It was all I could do to stay awake on the drive back to the hotel.

I decided that I would not subject my traveling companion to another night of barbecue...especially since she had just spent a week in Kansas City and had eaten barbecue practically every night.  But, I really wish I had.  We spent the last night in Evansville, IN to be closer to the airport for her flight out in the morning.  We ate at a local place that was sort of an Italian bistro kind of place.  I had the short ribs with risotto and asparagus.  The asparagus was great, the short ribs were so-so, and the risotto tasted like it came  out of a box and an off-brand box at that.  Ah, the joys of eating on the road--sometimes you win, sometimes you would have been better off going to Steak and Shake.

Seriously...the risotto really sucked.  And, I have actually made boxed risotto that tasted better.  (The key to using the boxed risotto is not to really think of it as risotto, but just as a rice side dish.  Your brain will be in a much better place if you do that.  Oh, and add about 1/2 cup of shredded Parmesan cheese.  Then, you won't care what you call it.)

And, to top off my trip, I get home to a dead refrigerator.  I walk into the house and smell something that is faintly reminiscent of burned electronics.  I think this is odd, but write it off to the AC not being on for a couple of days.  Then, when I go to get a glass of ice and water pours out of the ice chute, I realize something is up...or down.  Sure enough, I open the door, and while I still have some ice in the bin, it's pretty obvious that we're no longer freezing.  the fridge side was still cool, so this event must have occurred within the last 12 hours or so, and luckily, there was not much in there besides beer and butter.  

No one can come to fix it until Monday, so thank heavens for the garage fridge.  I can at least keep the beer cold...which is of utmost importance, you know.

And now, I must find the remote control and turn off the television, because The Semi-Ho Sandra Lee is doing Oktoberfest in La Crosse, WI, and she's scaring me in her dirndl and flower wreath.  She's promised us something called "Apple Lager" for the cocktail, and I am afraid...very afraid that she is going to add apple juice to beer.  You should be afraid, too.

(Okay, I had to watch to the bitter end to see if she really did put apple juice into beer.  She actually put a shot of apple brandy and an apple slice in glass of lager...which still makes me shake my head, but at least it's not apple juice...or Cool Whip.  Ah, now Paula's Home Cooking is on, so I can relax.  And laugh when Paula, who is making weiner schnitzel, which is essentially German country fried steak, says that it must be a diet dish because the meat is pounded so thin-hahahhahhahaa!  I love Paula!)   

 

Still here...still not unpacked

Okay, I really want to know where I got all the crap that I have.  I think fairies and brownies have been stockpiling stuff in my old basement, and I just moved it, thinking it was mine.

You aren't buying that, are you?  It was worth a shot.

Just a quick update on what's going on, so you won't think I forgot you, the blog, or the idiotic project/task that I set myself.  (Did you forget?  Good!  That means I have more time to work out the particulars.)

I've got the kitchen mostly unpacked, but I seem to be missing an entire box of Fiestaware bowls--think cereal and chili--that I'd dearly love to have back.  I have a feeling they are somewhere in the middle of the mountain of boxes in the garage, and it may take me until I move again to find them.

I've found the odd cookbook or two jammed into a box--you know, the ones that appeared after all the others had been corralled in a box labeled "cookbooks" and sealed?  And, when I flipped one open, the first recipe I saw was for "Turnip Flapjacks."  I guess the old "open it at random and cook the first recipe you see" method is not exactly the best way to do it...especially if I want to eat what I cook!

I'm getting off to an auspicious start of cooking for myself, because it's possible that I've given myself a nice little dose of food poisoning this evening.  I had a couple of nice looking pork chops that I threw on the grill, with a little salt, pepper, and olive oil.  I sauteed up some kale with onions and smoked paprika, and sat down to have myself a nice little feast after a hard day of furniture shopping.  I had 2 or 3 bites of the pork chop and something just seemed a little odd.  I had a couple more bites, and then just decided to go with my gut (ha!) feeling that something was awry.  I looked at the package label, and the sell by date was on the 18th.  Today is the 20th, but they have been under refrigeration the whole time, so I would think they would be okay.  They looked okay when I took them out of the package--no grayish spots or anything--and no off odor that I could smell.  Granted, my head is a little stuffy today, but if they'd been really bad, I'm sure I would have smelled rotting pork chop, don't you?  Even so, I decided I would stop eating the pork chop and just eat the rest of the kale.  I tossed the other one, which had been destined for lunch.  It's probably nothing, but my stomach has just let off a strange gurgling noise, and I'm thinking uh oh...and then again, maybe if you eat just an entire bag of kale for dinner, that might also wreak havoc with your digestive tract.

Which kind of brings up eating for one...when you're dining solo, there's nothing that says you can't eat a can of peas for dinner...or an entire bag of kale.  It's like the Lean Cuisine commercial where all the women talk about consuming the oddest stuff for dinner--a bag of M&Ms, a jar of olives, the bathroom rug, etc.  The one oddball person says she had the equivalent of a 3-course dinner and when her companions stare in disbelief, she says "it's Lean Cuisine!"

It would be easy to just eat Lean Cuisines or other frozen meals...no mess, no fuss, no pots to wash.  And no leftovers, no joy of cooking, no experimentation with ingredients like smoked paprika or fresh sardines (well, I could cheerfully eat a non-stop diet of Lean Cuisine if the other option was fresh sardines, but at least I gave it a whirl!), or techniques like spatchcocking.  And, that's what makes it fun.  Eating is fun and makes you feel good, but the preparation should be fun and make you feel good, too.  It's hard to get excited about peeling the plastic film off half way and cooking on low power for 2 minutes, stir, and cook for 2 more minutes on high, isn't it?  (Although, if my stomach makes that rumbling noise one more time, I'm probably going to wish I zapped that package of Stouffer's mac and cheese languishing in my freezer.)

So, as Gene Kelly said in Singing in the Rain, "Gotta dance!," I guess I "gotta cook," no matter if it's for me or 2 or 10.  But, I'm not eating a whole bag of kale for dinner ever again!

The New Favorite Vegetable

"I think Brussels sprouts might be my new favorite vegetable," says The Man. I am still on the fence about this, because macaroni and cheese is my favorite vegetable...wait, are you saying that mac and cheese is NOT a vegetable? Ha! Tell that to generations of Southern cooks and purveyors of the classic "meat and 3" cafe offerings...mac and cheese are always on the vegetable side of the menu.

(Actually, I'm not sure I have a favorite vegetable...one that I prize above all others. I like just about all veggies, especially vine-ripened tomatoes...which aren't really vegetables, but fruit, so go figure.)

To recover from the trauma of the sardines, I sort of went all out in the comfort food direction for Tuesday night's dinner. Those lovely Berkshire pork chops, a creamy Parmesan risotto (yes, it was from a box, but it was still good!), and the baby Brussels sprouts sauteed with butter and bacon. I even gave Mark Bittman the chance to redeem himself with the pork chops...still not forgiving him for the vinegar pork roast.

The problem with grilled pork chops, as my buddy Mr. Bittman says, is that they get dry, and it's because American pork has been bred to be leaner, yadda, yadda. Hence the whole brining thing. But, he says no matter that they have the propensity to get dry, he likes the taste of grilled pork chops and makes and eats them anyway. He's come up with some tips and tricks to try and keep them moist and flavorful...the foremost trick is to get a pork chop that's at least 1-inch thick, because the thinner ones will cook fast and are more prone to dryness.

Behold the Berkshire pork chops from the farmer's market...the $11.99/pound pork chops from the farmers market, which were worth every single penny we paid for them. They were like small pork roasts, and the flavor was amazing. (I forgot to take before shots, but the after shot is pretty sweet, don't you think?)

Bittman suggested that you bring the pork to room temp as you preheat the grill. Then, generously season your chops with salt and pepper, slather them with a tablespoon or two of olive oil and throw a tablespoon or so of lemon juice on them right before putting them on the grill.

Sear them on the hottest part of the grill for about 2 minutes on both sides, then move to a cooler section and cook for about 10-20 minutes, depending on the size of the chops. After they have finished cooking (use a meat thermometer to test the temperature--needs to be about 140 degrees F for medium--pull them off, drizzle a little olive oil over them, and let them rest for a few minutes before serving.

Back to the sprouts...Brussels sprouts have never been high on my list of things to eat. Many times, while on the road, I was asked by my project team what I wanted for lunch. My standard answer was "I eat anything except canned tuna, liver, and Brussels sprouts, so if we could avoid the All Canned Tuna-Liver-Brussels Sprouts Cafe, I'll be fine."

It's not that I don't want to like Brussels sprouts, because I do...they are such wee tiny cute veggies--sort of the Pop'ables of the vegetable food group. (Unfortunately, it seems that Pop'ables have been discontinued...I really liked the Reese's Peanut Butter ones.) But, I've never been able to get past the bitter, overcooked cabbagey taste of them...probably because most of the ones I've ever had have been old and overcooked.

(I also feel the same way about kumquats. They're cute, so they should be tasty. I've not had one in decades, but I vividly remember NOT liking them at all, and feeling very duped when I tried them. Because, they look like miniature oranges and should taste like miniature oranges, is probably what my child mind was thinking, and it was a cruel, cruel joke that they did not. Damn the universe for being so unfair!!)

Enter the bacon. Just about everything on the planet is better with bacon, and what's not better with bacon just needs cheese or chocolate. We have about a half pound of Nueske's bacon left in the freezer from an extremely thoughtful holiday gift that The Man received from my friend Tessa. It is some damn fine bacon.

I chopped 3-4 slices up and sauteed them to render the fat and get them crispy. I put the bits on paper towels to drain, and set the pan with the bacon fat aside while I worked on the sprouts. While the bacon was cooking, I put a small pot of water on to boil. Then, I pared off the tough bottom core of the sprouts and removed the outer couple of leaves, which sort of came off when I cut off the core. Then, with my paring knife, I made an "X" in the bottom of each one, not going all the way through, to facilitate the blanching. I popped them into the boiling water for 5-6 minutes, then pulled them out and plopped them into an ice water bath to "shock" them and stop the cooking.

After they had cooled, I patted them dry and cut them in half. I heated the bacon fat back up and added a tablespoon of unsalted butter, then sauteed the Brussels sprout halves until they started to caramelize a little bit. And, you know what? They weren't bitter and were darn tasty, if I do say so myself. I'm wondering now if I can use the bigger fresh ones and get the same result by blanching and then sauteeing, or if it really has more to do with the size. I'll keep you posted.

Here's a cool blog post with pictures of Brussels sprouts in progress--very interesting--plus a recipe for Brussels sprouts with lemon-mustard sauce, which I think I might try in the next week or so.

I'm still wary of the kumquats, though...but, maybe, just maybe they will surprise my adult self, and we'll find out they aren't Satan's Citrus after all.

The Sardines & I

Or, the things we do for love...

Food Network is simultaneously one of the best and the worst things in my life. The best things about it include introducing the masses to folks like Mario Batali and Anthony Bourdain, along with some fun shows like Iron Chef. Some of the worst are anything with that Guy Fieri dude (OMG--the hair! the "dudeness!"...it boggles the mind) and of course, Semi-Ho-made Sandra Lee.

Now, I love, love, love Mario. Notwithstanding that he sort of looks like someone who I'd cross an ocean not to ever see again...but, still, I like him. I admire his passion for food, which was very evident during Molto Mario and the show where he ate his way across Italy (lucky bastard!), and he really introduced us to the joys of Italian food that weren't all meatballs and red sauce. (Note: am in no way knocking meatballs or red sauce!)

Once or twice, he's mentioned fresh sardines grilled with a little olive oil, and he made them look and sound like they would be the best things on earth...if you were only sitting in his studio kitchen.

Sunday afternoon, after gallivanting around ye olde Renaissance Festival, we swing by our old stomping grounds at the international farmer's market to pick up some fresh veggies, spices, cheese, and cured Italian meats.

We're looking at the fish cases, and The Man spies fresh sardines and gets a wild hair that he wants to try them. I start rueing the day Molto Mario ever hit the airwaves. Sure, Honey, I think...I want to try them too, but IN ITALY! And, prepared by someone else...that goes without saying, doesn't it?

He makes noises like he will assist me with "dealing with the fishies," but we all know who is going to "deal," don't we? (Yes, you did...you know you did, dear.)

And, did I mention that I really hated the days we cleaned fish in class? I'm sure I did.

So, I spent part of that evening researching how to cook the damnthings. Mario is no help. In both the books I have, Molto Mario and Simple Italian Food, he wants me to whack up a bunch of colored peppers and make a pepperonada to go with the silvery little demon fish. Like I'm wasting perfectly good peppers and onions on this experiment...ha!

I even consulted Mark "How to Cook Everything, even though I made you ruin a perfectly good pork roast" Bittman, and he fared no better than Mario.

So, as I type now, trying to recover from the trauma of actually severing their little fish heads and scooping out their little fish guts, I am torn. Torn between thinking that these damn things better be the best dish I've ever made, and if they really are that great, The Man will want them again. Oh, the agony.

(You know I have back-up dinner, don't you? Some nice grilled Italian sausages and my new favorite pasta. Someone's cuisine is gonna "reign supreme" here.)

At the best of times, I want to stay as far away from sardines as I possibly can. They really aren't for me, period. I'm working my way into anchovydom, because I like the depth that anchovy paste can give to certain dishes. I just cannot feel the love for sardines...can't do it.
(I'm reserving the right to rescind my dislike for sardines if I 1) find myself in Italy, dining at a seaside cafe; or 2) am sitting in front of Mario Batali, who is cooking for me...I would probably try damn near anything he put on a plate, a skewer, etc.)

The good news is that I managed to successfully skewer and grill the sardines, with only a few minor mishaps...one of them did not want to leave the grill intact. Nothing quite like the smell of burning sardine, let me tell you.

The even better news is that they were kinda so-so, and I'm thinking they won't be in my regular dinner rotation during this decade or the next. Whew!

But, I am (maybe) a wee bit saddened, since sardines are chock full of nutrients, protein, omega-3 fatty acid, and they were cheap! Like .99/pound cheap. But, cheap just can't cut the taste for me. Plus, I was really having a hard time cleaning the little buggers. I'm not usually grossed out by food preparation, but this was just plain yucky, with a capital "Y."

I shall make up for the indignities of this evening with tonight's dinner. The farmer's market carries Berkshire pork products, and we scored some lovely pork chops that looked good enough to eat straight from the meat case.

And, in a radical, radical departure for us, I am going to make Brussel sprouts as the side dish. When we were at Epcot in December, we had a meal somewhere that included the tiniest Brussel sprouts, which were so very good that we started to change our minds about sprouts...they were probably sauteed in bacon, which contributed to their tastiness, but whatever!

The farmer's market had some of these cute little beasties, so I picked out the tiniest ones and am gonna give it a whirl. I will admit that no matter what, I will probably like the sprouts waaaaay better than I like sardines...way better.

With some fava beans...

...and a nice Chianti.

Well, I subbed in chardonnay, because that was what I had on hand, but we did have the fava beans. First time I have ever tried them, and you know what? They tasted a lot like lima or butter beans…just browner, if that makes sense.

I had this can of them knocking around in the pantry, just waiting for the perfect dish, and seeing as how I hate liver, it wasn’t going to be that dish.

I decided to use the fava beans along with some canellini (white kidney) beans in this recipe--Tuscan-Style Chicken with Italian Sautéed Beans, which I swiped from the Publix Aprons recipes and made a few minor adjustments.

Tuscan-Style Chicken

Ingredients

4 boneless skinless chicken breast, pounded to an even thickness.
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon pepper
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
1/4 cup white wine
1 bag fresh baby spinach leaves (5–6 oz)
1 cup fresh pre-sliced mushrooms (rinsed)
1 (14.5-ounce) can Italian-style diced tomatoes (undrained)
4 ounces fresh mozzarella cheese


Procedure

1. Preheat oven to 350ºF. Place chicken between 2 pieces of waxed paper or plastic wrap and gently pound to an even thickness.

2. Preheat large sauté pan on medium-high 2–3 minutes. Season both sides of chicken with salt and pepper.

3. Place oil in pan; swirl to coat. Arrange chicken in pan; cook 3–4 minutes on one side or until lightly browned.

4. Remove chicken to an ovenproof dish and place in oven to finish cooking. Sauté mushrooms until browned, and add remaining ingredients to pan (except cheese). Cover and cook 4–5 minutes or until spinach wilts. Meanwhile, slice mozzarella thinly.

5. Add chicken back to pan, and remove pan from heat. Top chicken with cheese slices; cover and let stand 2–3 minutes or until cheese melts.

Italian Sautéed Beans

Ingredients

1/2 cup roasted red peppers
5 fresh garlic cloves
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 (19-ounce) cans cannellini beans (drained and rinsed), (or a combination of beans—white and dark red kidney or fava)
1/4 cup white wine
1/2 teaspoon dried Italian seasoning
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
3 fresh basil leaves (rinsed)

Procedure

1. Cut peppers into 1/4-inch slices. Preheat large sauté pan on medium-high 2–3 minutes. Chop garlic coarsely.

2. Place oil in pan; swirl to coat. Add garlic, peppers, and remaining ingredients (except basil); cook 4–5 minutes, stirring occasionally, or until beans are thoroughly heated. While beans cook, stack basil leaves and roll tightly; slice thinly into fine ribbons (chiffonade).

3. Stir in basil; cook 1–2 more minutes or until fragrant. Serve.

The original recipe called for using chicken cutlets and sort of cooking the chicken and other ingredients all together. I had the breasts on hand, so I pounded them out, but I still felt they were too thick to completely cook in the pan...possible pan overcrowding, but hey, why not use the oven to finish? It wasn't busy...

This dish also got better the next day, because we had it for leftovers with a salad, plus I had a portion the day after that for lunch. The flavors really melded together well, and even though I'm not a big lima bean fan, the favas weren't bad. And, you know you've always been curious about them since you saw Silence of the Lambs. I thought this was an interesting tidbit from the SotL Trivia section on IMDB:

Note Lecter's mention of having consumed a victim's liver with, specifically, fava beans and chianti. Liver, fava beans, and wine all contain a substance called tyramine, which can kill you if you're talking a certain class of antidepressant drugs known as MAO inhibitors. MAO inhibitors were the first antidepressant drugs developed, and were used primarily on patients in mental institutions... and Lecter both worked in, and was committed to, a mental institution.

Nothing like eating things that can kill you, or at least drive you crazy. All the creepy stuff aside, try this dish--it's quick and tasty, and best of all, it can be served to census takers!

“I do wish we could blog longer, but... I'm having an old friend for dinner.”

Hola Taqueria, Batman!

The Man and I have been attempting to expand our local eating out options by trying a couple of local taquerias. With the large influx of Hispanics in the Southern U.S., it’s hard not to find a least 1 or 2 of these little places hanging out in strip shopping centers in every town.

Being the curious type, I’ve sort of been warily circling these places…like some sort of great gringo shark, I guess…and trying to find out what the deal is and the whole "etiquette," if you will, of eating in one of these places.

I know that tacquerias serve more authentic food that your local Big Gaudy Mexican chain restaurant (BGMCR), even if your BGMCR is sort of a locally owned chain, owned by actual Hispanic peoples. And, I’m not totally knocking the BGMCR, because I truly loved Rio Bravo, even though they were once owned by the hated Applebee's. They had this little corn soufflé garnish thing that was to die for!, and I was most sad when they pulled up stakes and moved out of the ATL. It looks like they are totally gone now...sniff.

In my Previous Life, i.e., the job from which I was “downsized,” I had the opportunity to travel to Puerto Rico to work with a customer. The Man went with me, and we had a really grand time roaming around the “other side” of Puerto Rico, i.e., the part that was not San Juan.

The first day I was on site with the customer, we were preparing to go to lunch. The head of the project on their side, a woman named Norma, offered up Quiznos, KFC, Subway, etc….all these franchise options. Who the hell would want to eat that, when I was essentially in a foreign country (foreign to me, at least, since I had never been to PR before)?

In no uncertain terms—well, I was polite about it—I told her that I wanted to eat local. That I wanted to eat what she would have eaten for lunch today, provided it wasn’t Quiznos, KFC, etc. She sort of reluctantly agreed, probably thinking it was a BAD IDEA, and that I would hate whatever we had to eat.

Norma took me to the PR equivalent of a “meat and three,” meaning a little local café that had a lunch menu that offered several entrees and a list of vegetables. If you are unfamiliar with this type of eatery, it’s usually found in small Southern towns and has the words “down home cooking” as part of their signage. You select one meat offering and 3 vegetables, and the meal usually comes with either a drink or dessert, or sometimes both.

The menu of course is in Spanish, of which I do not speak, much to my chagrin. I told Norma that I wanted pork, rice, and beans in some combination. She helped me puzzle out the many words for the pork preparations that were on the menu, and I essentially ended up with carnitas and rice with pigeon peas…and flan! After I had essentially licked the plate at the end of our meal, I think Norma decided that I was serious about eating local and would be worthy of a meal at a bigger and better café the next day, AND directions to a great place near the water for dinner.

So, the whole point of that story was the guidance I received from Norma in ordering in places where English is not the first language spoken, which is pretty normal in the tacquerias. You need to be armed with a smattering of knowledge about what “pastor” means (usually pork roasted on a spit), and know that if you order a torta, you are getting a sandwich, etc.

A couple of Saturdays ago, on our way out of town for the infamous Easter Brunch and Peep Spitting Contest, we stopped at a place that was highly recommended by some folks on our local online dining forum. It's part supermercado (super market) and part tacqueria, with a butcher counter and produce bins, along with many shelves of neatly arranged Hispanic products.

We each got a couple of tacos (I got the al pastor and the carne asada, and The Man got the al pastor and the pork skin (cuertos, I think...). They were great! And about a million light years away from Taco Hell (Bell). Little chunks of meat on small corn tortillas, with grilled onions a nd jalapenos, and an addition of a little fresh cilantro and some salsa from the salsa bar.

We sat on the tacqueria side, at a little bar that runs the length of the grill area. There were some fine looking chickens on a side grill, which had been spatchcocked and were slowly being roasted.

And, we got Mexican Coke! No, not *that* kind, but Coca Cola that had been bottled in Mexico and imported into the U.S. What makes this so "speshul," you ask? Pull up a chair and let me tell you. This Coke is made with cane sugar, like the Coke of my youth...none of that nasty corn syrup business, but pure, honest, refined cane sugar! (ha!!)

Here's an article with a little insight to the practice of "importing" Coke...you can also get Coke with sugar and not corn syrup around Passover. For some reason, high fructose corn syrup doesn't seem to be kosher. And, this article seems to say that high fructose corn syrup is way bad for you...just like everything else that tastes good.

We also tried another place last week. I got the Carne Asada plate to sort of compare the difference between it and what was offered at my favorite local family chain restaurant. It came with a generous helping of meat, some sort of nondescript scoop of rice and some pinto-ish beans. The beans had defnitely been cooked with lard, and it gave them a weird flavor. Not that I'm knocking the pork fat, but these beans were just blah. I know--whodathunkit? The carne asada was good, but the best part was the tortillas, which were made to order with my meal. Not just heated up for my meal, but actually pressed and cooked. These, my dears, were awesome. I'm usually not a big corn tortilla fan--probably based on all those years of consuming Old El Paso products.

This weekend, we went back to the first taqueria and had tacos for lunch. There were a couple of families and other folks who had big steaming bowls of a red soup that looked and smell scrumptious. I was dying to know what it was, and when I looked at the menu, it noted that the regular weekend specials were menudo and borrego. I know what menudo is--tripe soup with hominy, and I'm kind of up for trying it, but that big bowl is sort of daunting for a beginner.

I had The Man google up what borrego meant, and it means barbecued lamb, which piqued The Man's interest, but we stuck with the tacos. We're trying to be better on portion control and calorie counting, and I know I could have eat 6 of the tacos we had without blinking, because they were so good. I am going to work up the culinary courage to try the menudo soon, and I'll let you know how it goes. I'll learn the word for "smaller portion" and see if I can get a cup instead of a bowl.

There's a couple more places in town still left to try, and I'll let you know if we find anything truly noteworthy. So, if you have a little taqueria in your hometown, be brave and give it a whirl. Your tastebuds will thank you.