I just spent 8 days in Vietnam. The food was heavenly. Now I'm back in the United States. Need recommendations for Vietnamese restaurants--not sure when I can go back to any other kind of restaurant food--it all seems so heavy now after the lightness of every single dish I tried there.
Also, on the hunt for Vietnamese cookbooks. This cuisine is my new obsession.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Monday, November 14, 2011
Lentils
I recently used an LA Times news article in class, "Meat Eater's Guide to the Environment." (http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/greenspace/2011/07/meat-eaters-guide.html)
I've known for a while that beef contributes more to global warming than cars do, but I was amazed to see the numbers spelled out on paper.
The bottom line is, eat more lentils.
Not only are lentils delicious, nutritious, and easy, but they have the smallest carbon footprint of all the foods the researchers studied--1/60th that of beef. There is no downside to this food!
Indians love red lentils in thick flavorful Masoor dal. Lebanese cooks favor the brown or green lentils in some of the yummiest Middle Eastern cooking I've ever encountered.
I love a good brown lentil because that's what I grew up on, but the back Beluga is equally my favorite, for its hearty flavor and firm shape. When Trader Joe's quit carrying them, I searched the internet and now have 10 lb sacks delivered right to my door.
There are many gourmet ways to have fun with lentils, but first let's honor their humblest and most satisfying form:
Lentil Stew.
Two basic elements--mirepoix* and lentils. That's it. Whatever else you add is icing on the cake. I don't even remember the first time I made lentils because I was so young. That's how easy this is.
In a heavy-bottomed pot, saute the mirepoix in a little olive oil. Add water or chicken stock, lentils, and a bay leaf. Cover, bring to a boil, turn flame down to lowest level, and cook until lentils are al dente, or longer until they are softer (it's hard to ruin lentils, unless you let them dry out and burn). Check on the pot from time to time, add more water if necessary. Should take about 30-45 minutes for brown lentils, 60 or so for black lentils (they're firmer, have a little more fiber than brown lentils. Red lentils cook the fastest, by the way, since they have the least fiber and can make nice mushy dal).
You can dice up potato and saute with the mirepoix. And bacon. Canned tomatoes make a nice thick base. Add other herbs along with the bay leaf. Any vegetables such as squash or peas can be added either along with the lentils or halfway through the cooking, depending on how soft you want them. Add spinach at any time, especially toward the end of cooking. Play with curry flavors, or an Ethiopian spice blend.
I love all these variations, but more than anything I love the most basic one--lentils, onions, celery, carrots, and bay leaf. It's so easy, so nourishing, and such an anchor to my childhood.
*Mirepoix: the French term for the aromatic foundation of any savory dish: equal parts chopped onion, celery, and carrot.
I've known for a while that beef contributes more to global warming than cars do, but I was amazed to see the numbers spelled out on paper.
The bottom line is, eat more lentils.
Not only are lentils delicious, nutritious, and easy, but they have the smallest carbon footprint of all the foods the researchers studied--1/60th that of beef. There is no downside to this food!
Indians love red lentils in thick flavorful Masoor dal. Lebanese cooks favor the brown or green lentils in some of the yummiest Middle Eastern cooking I've ever encountered.
I love a good brown lentil because that's what I grew up on, but the back Beluga is equally my favorite, for its hearty flavor and firm shape. When Trader Joe's quit carrying them, I searched the internet and now have 10 lb sacks delivered right to my door.
There are many gourmet ways to have fun with lentils, but first let's honor their humblest and most satisfying form:
Lentil Stew.
Two basic elements--mirepoix* and lentils. That's it. Whatever else you add is icing on the cake. I don't even remember the first time I made lentils because I was so young. That's how easy this is.
In a heavy-bottomed pot, saute the mirepoix in a little olive oil. Add water or chicken stock, lentils, and a bay leaf. Cover, bring to a boil, turn flame down to lowest level, and cook until lentils are al dente, or longer until they are softer (it's hard to ruin lentils, unless you let them dry out and burn). Check on the pot from time to time, add more water if necessary. Should take about 30-45 minutes for brown lentils, 60 or so for black lentils (they're firmer, have a little more fiber than brown lentils. Red lentils cook the fastest, by the way, since they have the least fiber and can make nice mushy dal).
You can dice up potato and saute with the mirepoix. And bacon. Canned tomatoes make a nice thick base. Add other herbs along with the bay leaf. Any vegetables such as squash or peas can be added either along with the lentils or halfway through the cooking, depending on how soft you want them. Add spinach at any time, especially toward the end of cooking. Play with curry flavors, or an Ethiopian spice blend.
I love all these variations, but more than anything I love the most basic one--lentils, onions, celery, carrots, and bay leaf. It's so easy, so nourishing, and such an anchor to my childhood.
*Mirepoix: the French term for the aromatic foundation of any savory dish: equal parts chopped onion, celery, and carrot.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
So, here's the thing about lavender...
On the agenda for today was a lot more work on that bathroom project, so of course when my friend Kathleen posted a question about quiche on my facebook page, I had to spend a fair amount of time pondering and researching the topic. Installing that vanity cabinet could wait!!
Anyway, the time spent exploring the concept of eggs and cheese and herbs brought back to my mind yesterday's topic of lavender. It's such a lovely herb--spicy, floral, and so pleasing to the eye. One of my basic cookbooks offers a great quick-bread recipe with a few variations like apricot/hazelnut or chile-cheese. It's the recipe that started me incorporating lavender into my cooking, when I wanted to make it with herbs, but wasn't in the mood for the oregano the recipe called for. Looking out my kitchen window, I saw all these sprays of lavender. I've refined the recipe since then, and here's what it is at this point:
Lavender Bread
Heat oven to 350. Butter or spray 1 large or 5 small loaf pans.
3 cups flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 tbl baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp soda
Several tsps lavender (fresh buds and minced leaves, or dried lavender)
1 beaten egg
1 2/3 cup milk (I use nonfat)
1/4 cup oil
1 cup shredded cheese (sharp cheddar, or swiss/gruyere)
Zest of about 1/2 lemon
Combine dry ingredients. Whisk together wet ingredients and add to dry. Stir until just combined, adding cheese and lemon zest toward the end of ingredients coming together.
Pour into loaf pan(s). Push the batter into the corners of the pan, making a slight dent in the center of the pan (so that it doesn’t rise too high in just the center of the loaf). Bake at 30-35 minutes for small loaves, 1 hour for large loaf, until lightly golden. Let cool a little, then turn out onto rack. Once the bread is completely cool, wrap and store in fridge for a couple of days, or put into freezer bags and store in freezer for up to 2 weeks. This bread tastes good right away, but the lavender flavor will develop further over the next few hours. Make in the early afternoon to eat in the evening.
If you have fresh lavender, you can lightly press a flower head or two into the surface of the batter—it just makes a nice decoration.
Serve plain, or with butter and/or honey (I like to mix a little lemon zest into the butter—let it sit for a few hours to develop flavor).
Now, after my conversations with Kathleen this afternoon, I'd like to try a lavender quiche. It just seems like quiche would be the perfect vehicle, especially since you have that whole surface to feature lovely sprigs of lavender. I think at first I'd keep it simple--just Gruyere cheese, the egg mixture, and a lot of fresh lavender. Maybe some lemon juice and zest in the eggs. And I'd substitute Greek yogurt for about 1/2 the milk. Lavender and yogurt complement each other so well.
Even though I indulged in a fair amount of quiche research, I did manage to get quite a bit done on my bathroom project. I think it may be time for another lavender gin & tonic. Two days in a row is a huge departure from my normal drinking routine, but it isn't every weekend that I install flooring on one day, and then a toilet and vanity cabinet on the next. Time to do a little more lavender research, fine-tune that cocktail.
Anyway, the time spent exploring the concept of eggs and cheese and herbs brought back to my mind yesterday's topic of lavender. It's such a lovely herb--spicy, floral, and so pleasing to the eye. One of my basic cookbooks offers a great quick-bread recipe with a few variations like apricot/hazelnut or chile-cheese. It's the recipe that started me incorporating lavender into my cooking, when I wanted to make it with herbs, but wasn't in the mood for the oregano the recipe called for. Looking out my kitchen window, I saw all these sprays of lavender. I've refined the recipe since then, and here's what it is at this point:
Lavender Bread
Heat oven to 350. Butter or spray 1 large or 5 small loaf pans.
3 cups flour
1/2 cup sugar
1 tbl baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp soda
Several tsps lavender (fresh buds and minced leaves, or dried lavender)
1 beaten egg
1 2/3 cup milk (I use nonfat)
1/4 cup oil
1 cup shredded cheese (sharp cheddar, or swiss/gruyere)
Zest of about 1/2 lemon
Combine dry ingredients. Whisk together wet ingredients and add to dry. Stir until just combined, adding cheese and lemon zest toward the end of ingredients coming together.
Pour into loaf pan(s). Push the batter into the corners of the pan, making a slight dent in the center of the pan (so that it doesn’t rise too high in just the center of the loaf). Bake at 30-35 minutes for small loaves, 1 hour for large loaf, until lightly golden. Let cool a little, then turn out onto rack. Once the bread is completely cool, wrap and store in fridge for a couple of days, or put into freezer bags and store in freezer for up to 2 weeks. This bread tastes good right away, but the lavender flavor will develop further over the next few hours. Make in the early afternoon to eat in the evening.
If you have fresh lavender, you can lightly press a flower head or two into the surface of the batter—it just makes a nice decoration.
Serve plain, or with butter and/or honey (I like to mix a little lemon zest into the butter—let it sit for a few hours to develop flavor).
Now, after my conversations with Kathleen this afternoon, I'd like to try a lavender quiche. It just seems like quiche would be the perfect vehicle, especially since you have that whole surface to feature lovely sprigs of lavender. I think at first I'd keep it simple--just Gruyere cheese, the egg mixture, and a lot of fresh lavender. Maybe some lemon juice and zest in the eggs. And I'd substitute Greek yogurt for about 1/2 the milk. Lavender and yogurt complement each other so well.
Even though I indulged in a fair amount of quiche research, I did manage to get quite a bit done on my bathroom project. I think it may be time for another lavender gin & tonic. Two days in a row is a huge departure from my normal drinking routine, but it isn't every weekend that I install flooring on one day, and then a toilet and vanity cabinet on the next. Time to do a little more lavender research, fine-tune that cocktail.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
Lovely Lavender
Last spring my friend Maryanne and I went to the lavender festival at Highland Springs Resort in Beaumont. We wandered through lavender fields, browsed lavender crafts, and feasted on lavender-laced cuisine, including kabobs with lavender yogurt sauce, and la piece de resistance--lavender ice cream. Along with lavender sachet wands and a lavender massage candle, I picked up a bottle of lavender syrup. It wasn't cheap, so I tucked it away until I had a worthy occasion.
Finally getting the VCT tile floor installed in my bathroom turned out to be such the occasion. Who'd a thunk? When I was done and cleaned up, late in the evening, I decided it was time to celebrate.
Time for a gin and tonic.
When my friend Jana and I stopped for iced tea at a little bar on our way out of Palm Springs one scorching summer afternoon, we fell into conversation with the bartender about all his infused vodkas we saw lined up against the mirrored wall. He had blood orange, basil and cucumber, jalapeno, lime, and fig. He gave me little tastes of each one, and for a finisher, he reached into the last jar and pulled out a vodka-soaked fig. Oh, heaven in a tumescent little fruit. However, what I most gained from that afternoon's conversation was his introduction to Hendrick's gin ("Here, taste this, it's my favorite").
So now I have a bottle of Hendrick's stashed up in my cupboard and every few months I pull it down, dig out the cocktail shaker, and make myself a gin and tonic. As I was pouring the ingredients into the shaker, I thought of that little bottle of lavender loveliness stashed in my pantry. I added a splash of the syrup, and ended up with the most amazing drink I've ever had. I'm not even sure yet what to call it, so I may have to return and edit that in when I come up with a name. The sweet and spicy herbal notes of the lavender complement the juniper essence of the gin so perfectly.
Here's the recipe:
Lavender gin & tonic to be named later
Over ice in a shaker, pour the following:
1 shot Hendrick's gin
2 shots tonic water
1 splash lavender syrup
Shake well and pour into a martini glass. The drink evokes late-summer Mediterranean fields, so as an aperitif, I would recommend crackers with goat cheese and olive accompaniments. As a late-night celebratory indulgence, I'd recommend a little sea-salt encrusted dark chocolate and a side of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon on the DVR.
Finally getting the VCT tile floor installed in my bathroom turned out to be such the occasion. Who'd a thunk? When I was done and cleaned up, late in the evening, I decided it was time to celebrate.
Time for a gin and tonic.
When my friend Jana and I stopped for iced tea at a little bar on our way out of Palm Springs one scorching summer afternoon, we fell into conversation with the bartender about all his infused vodkas we saw lined up against the mirrored wall. He had blood orange, basil and cucumber, jalapeno, lime, and fig. He gave me little tastes of each one, and for a finisher, he reached into the last jar and pulled out a vodka-soaked fig. Oh, heaven in a tumescent little fruit. However, what I most gained from that afternoon's conversation was his introduction to Hendrick's gin ("Here, taste this, it's my favorite").
So now I have a bottle of Hendrick's stashed up in my cupboard and every few months I pull it down, dig out the cocktail shaker, and make myself a gin and tonic. As I was pouring the ingredients into the shaker, I thought of that little bottle of lavender loveliness stashed in my pantry. I added a splash of the syrup, and ended up with the most amazing drink I've ever had. I'm not even sure yet what to call it, so I may have to return and edit that in when I come up with a name. The sweet and spicy herbal notes of the lavender complement the juniper essence of the gin so perfectly.
Here's the recipe:
Lavender gin & tonic to be named later
Over ice in a shaker, pour the following:
1 shot Hendrick's gin
2 shots tonic water
1 splash lavender syrup
Shake well and pour into a martini glass. The drink evokes late-summer Mediterranean fields, so as an aperitif, I would recommend crackers with goat cheese and olive accompaniments. As a late-night celebratory indulgence, I'd recommend a little sea-salt encrusted dark chocolate and a side of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon on the DVR.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Madame Mix-a-Lot
From previous posts you know of my appreciation for a good baking mix. Why reinvent the wheel?
Yesterday's rain put my friend Dita in an autumn mood--she said it was time for my special ginger snaps. The person with us said, "Oh, you make ginger snaps? from scratch?" and I was about to admit the truth when Dita assured her that I have a secret recipe. Now, I know I admitted to Dita sometime in the past that those ginger snaps come from a Trader Joe's mix. But I honestly think she doesn't remember--because she doesn't want to. There's something about the idea of your friend pulling all the ingredients out of the pantry and measuring and mixing them together before rolling out the dough and cutting out the holiday shapes that makes you feel special and nurtured.
Yes, I do form my ginger snaps into beautiful leaves with my treasured collection of copper cookie cutters--oak, maple, aspen, birch. But Dita wants the whole experience--"special recipe" means "specially made for me."
Well, I'm too lazy to test a bunch of recipes just to find something anywhere near as good as Trader Joe's Ginger Bread Mix (with ginger snap directions printed on side of box). Because Dita needs to know her friend cares enough to spend hours testing, mixing, and refining, these cookies are my "secret special recipe." So don't tell her my secret.
Yesterday's rain put my friend Dita in an autumn mood--she said it was time for my special ginger snaps. The person with us said, "Oh, you make ginger snaps? from scratch?" and I was about to admit the truth when Dita assured her that I have a secret recipe. Now, I know I admitted to Dita sometime in the past that those ginger snaps come from a Trader Joe's mix. But I honestly think she doesn't remember--because she doesn't want to. There's something about the idea of your friend pulling all the ingredients out of the pantry and measuring and mixing them together before rolling out the dough and cutting out the holiday shapes that makes you feel special and nurtured.
Yes, I do form my ginger snaps into beautiful leaves with my treasured collection of copper cookie cutters--oak, maple, aspen, birch. But Dita wants the whole experience--"special recipe" means "specially made for me."
Well, I'm too lazy to test a bunch of recipes just to find something anywhere near as good as Trader Joe's Ginger Bread Mix (with ginger snap directions printed on side of box). Because Dita needs to know her friend cares enough to spend hours testing, mixing, and refining, these cookies are my "secret special recipe." So don't tell her my secret.
Monday, September 26, 2011
You know a properly roasted chicken earns you the Good Housekeeping Seal of Approval, right?
Today my friend Maryanne and I were talking about roasting chicken, and it inspired me to put a few thoughts down on the subject.
I love roast chicken.
There are so many ways to go about it and I feel like I've barely begun to explore the options. However, every time Russ Parsons (my favorite LA Times food authority) or pretty much anyone else writes about it, I pay close attention. My current go-to chicken roasting method is based on trial and error, a bit of this and a bit of that from cookbooks and food writers, and a great insight from Russ Parsons. When feeling adventurous I try methods and seasonings I find in my various exotic cookbooks; but on regular days I do this:
First of all, start with a good chicken. This means preferably organic, and definitely not pumped full of saline. You aren't going to need that crutch if you roast the bird right, and saline just messes up the texture and nutrition benefits of said bird.
After rinsing and drying the chicken, massage olive oil into all the skin. I always feel a little self-conscious in this step, since the chicken has the heft and feel of a small baby. But I am a carnivore, and I just remind myself that taking care of the bird is the best way to honor it. It needs to be treated with TLC and respect.
Sprinkle sea salt and cracked pepper over the whole bird. A little Tony Chachere's never hurts. It's my go-to for all sorts of seasoning opportunities. Throw a little salt into the cavity and stuff in some garlic cloves (no need to peel), lemon wedges, and a bunch of fresh herbs (I love the combination of sage, rosemary, and thyme. They grow in a planter right next to my front door; I have to keep using them or they’ll overtake the space). I don't even bother to close up the opening half the time, although I have a nifty spiral doo-dad that makes it pretty easy.
I place the chicken in a roasting pan on a rack if I'm feeling ambitious and want to haul the thing out of the closet; otherwise it goes in my Corningware oval dish, which I like because it's just big enough to contain the bird.
Pop in the oven at 250 degrees. That's right--250. Sloooow roasting takes a little longer but so worth it. This doesn't toughen up the protein strands, and the bird stays tender naturally (this is the most important thing I learned from Russ Parsons). Insert a thermometer between the thigh and breast and when it's about 140 switch the oven to convection heat and crank it up to 400 or so. That gives the skin its nice crispy crust. Within 10-15 minutes the internal temp should be 165-170, which is hot enough to please most careful cooks (some insist on 180; many chefs consider 160 to be the perfect temp; for me 170 is fine but I have let it go too long and taken it out at 180, and with this method the breast meat still wasn’t dried out. Parsons actually starts the bird out at high heat and switches to low as soon as the skin is brown; he says low-to-high is preferable but he can’t determine exactly the moment to switch from low to high to achieve the final internal temperature and perfect brownness at exactly the same time. Since I’m not as picky about exact internal temperature—I like mine roasted a bit hotter than he does—I go with the order he says is ideal for tenderness. It requires paying closer attention to the roasting bird—you do need to catch it at 140 to turn up the heat and get the skin properly brown—but unlike Parsons I’m not making a lot of fa-la-la dishes to go with it, and can give my attention to the roasting bird).
Take the chicken out and let stand (under foil if you wish) for at least 20-30 minutes. Don't touch it. Let the juice reabsorb into the meat while you make the rest of your meal. Then, remove the bird and use the drippings to make yummy gravy (want the recipe?). The chicken will be beautifully brown on the outside, and tender on the inside, ready to perch proudly on your favorite platter or be carved into a heap of gorgeous goodness.
PS: this method works pretty well for turkey, too. I use another of Russ Parson’s ideas and, while the turkey is sitting out on the counter coming to room temperature, I strap a bag of ice to the breast area to keep it nice and cold, right until I pop the bird in the (250 degree) oven. I also place a folded pad of aluminum foil over the breast for a while. The dark meat has to roast for so long in comparison; this keeps the breast from overheating and drying out. You have to factor in more roasting time (sorry, I don’t have a conversion table to guide you—I just start early enough that I know it’ll finish in time).
I love roast chicken.
There are so many ways to go about it and I feel like I've barely begun to explore the options. However, every time Russ Parsons (my favorite LA Times food authority) or pretty much anyone else writes about it, I pay close attention. My current go-to chicken roasting method is based on trial and error, a bit of this and a bit of that from cookbooks and food writers, and a great insight from Russ Parsons. When feeling adventurous I try methods and seasonings I find in my various exotic cookbooks; but on regular days I do this:
First of all, start with a good chicken. This means preferably organic, and definitely not pumped full of saline. You aren't going to need that crutch if you roast the bird right, and saline just messes up the texture and nutrition benefits of said bird.
After rinsing and drying the chicken, massage olive oil into all the skin. I always feel a little self-conscious in this step, since the chicken has the heft and feel of a small baby. But I am a carnivore, and I just remind myself that taking care of the bird is the best way to honor it. It needs to be treated with TLC and respect.
Sprinkle sea salt and cracked pepper over the whole bird. A little Tony Chachere's never hurts. It's my go-to for all sorts of seasoning opportunities. Throw a little salt into the cavity and stuff in some garlic cloves (no need to peel), lemon wedges, and a bunch of fresh herbs (I love the combination of sage, rosemary, and thyme. They grow in a planter right next to my front door; I have to keep using them or they’ll overtake the space). I don't even bother to close up the opening half the time, although I have a nifty spiral doo-dad that makes it pretty easy.
I place the chicken in a roasting pan on a rack if I'm feeling ambitious and want to haul the thing out of the closet; otherwise it goes in my Corningware oval dish, which I like because it's just big enough to contain the bird.
Pop in the oven at 250 degrees. That's right--250. Sloooow roasting takes a little longer but so worth it. This doesn't toughen up the protein strands, and the bird stays tender naturally (this is the most important thing I learned from Russ Parsons). Insert a thermometer between the thigh and breast and when it's about 140 switch the oven to convection heat and crank it up to 400 or so. That gives the skin its nice crispy crust. Within 10-15 minutes the internal temp should be 165-170, which is hot enough to please most careful cooks (some insist on 180; many chefs consider 160 to be the perfect temp; for me 170 is fine but I have let it go too long and taken it out at 180, and with this method the breast meat still wasn’t dried out. Parsons actually starts the bird out at high heat and switches to low as soon as the skin is brown; he says low-to-high is preferable but he can’t determine exactly the moment to switch from low to high to achieve the final internal temperature and perfect brownness at exactly the same time. Since I’m not as picky about exact internal temperature—I like mine roasted a bit hotter than he does—I go with the order he says is ideal for tenderness. It requires paying closer attention to the roasting bird—you do need to catch it at 140 to turn up the heat and get the skin properly brown—but unlike Parsons I’m not making a lot of fa-la-la dishes to go with it, and can give my attention to the roasting bird).
Take the chicken out and let stand (under foil if you wish) for at least 20-30 minutes. Don't touch it. Let the juice reabsorb into the meat while you make the rest of your meal. Then, remove the bird and use the drippings to make yummy gravy (want the recipe?). The chicken will be beautifully brown on the outside, and tender on the inside, ready to perch proudly on your favorite platter or be carved into a heap of gorgeous goodness.
PS: this method works pretty well for turkey, too. I use another of Russ Parson’s ideas and, while the turkey is sitting out on the counter coming to room temperature, I strap a bag of ice to the breast area to keep it nice and cold, right until I pop the bird in the (250 degree) oven. I also place a folded pad of aluminum foil over the breast for a while. The dark meat has to roast for so long in comparison; this keeps the breast from overheating and drying out. You have to factor in more roasting time (sorry, I don’t have a conversion table to guide you—I just start early enough that I know it’ll finish in time).
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Uber-chocolate Uber Brownies
Last school year, I'd been promising my 2nd period seniors I'd make them brownies for ages (they got the highest cumulative score on a benchmark exam). I never set a deadline though, so of course never found the time. When I finally committed to making them (THIS WEEK, kids, I swear!), I wanted to put in a little extra effort, make the brownies memorable, since they were so long in coming to the class.
First I pulled out my trusty Stater Bros store brand brownie mix. For whatever reason, I like its texture better than most name brands (Ghirardelli also makes a great mix, but you pay more for the same Stater Bros flavor). I was in a hurry and put three boxes of mix into the mixer at once, which turned out to be a bit much--two works best. After adding the called-for ingredients, I started thinking of ways to special it up. I powdered some instant decaf coffee crystals in my coffee grinder, and added that (coffee always makes chocolate taste more intense, and unless you add a bunch, all you taste is just better chocolate. It's like adding a splash of balsamic vinegar to a bowlful of fresh strawberries--they become the best strawberries ever). Then I tossed in a bunch of shots of Tabasco, which makes ANYTHING taste better
The final product tasted uber chocolatey. The coffee, ginger, and Tabasco
Toward the end of the school year I made brownies again and tried them out on my first period sophomores (sometimes testing experiments on less-than-adventurous palates can be a good idea, because if even they like it, you know you have a winner). Since I love the way chili makes other flavors pop in your mouth (even when you can't taste the chili) this time I decided to just commit to it, adding chili powder to the batter rather than just Tabasco
Anyway, I hope this inspires you to throw in some kicky support ingredients next time you make brownies, and then try to keep yourself from sampling "just one little bit more" before you wrap them up to take to work or school the next day.
Friday, September 9, 2011
Popcorn
Just browsing through the paper's Calendar section, deciding whether to go see Contagion or The Debt tomorrow (I'm leaning toward Debt because it's Helen Mirren, my idol), watching the Dodgers whilst eating supper (rotini with yellow zucchini, onions, tomatoes, basil, and walnuts--basically a fridgeluck dish).
Anyway thinking of movies brings to mind popcorn, but not the ridiculously priced little bits of yellow butter-substitute-coated styrofoam you get at the concession counter. When I was a kid, popcorn at the movies was still homemade, eaten out of a bag tucked into my mom's big drawstring purse, alongside a couple Hebrew National hot dogs and Shasta sodas if it was near dinnertime.
All this brings me to my current thoughts on popcorn in general. I grew up on corn popped in a saucepan and I'm still a purist in that regard. What I use now is even better--one of those popcorn pans with the hand-cranked paddle that stirs the popping kernels, bought on sale at Target for something like $9.99. The popcorn my family ate every Saturday night always got a nice dose of butter--my mom showed us how to melt a chunk in the hot saucepan, throw in a couple handfuls of the popped corn, then toss those buttery kernels into all the rest to distribute the goodness. Oh, man, just writing about this takes me back 40 years...
I can't eat like that now. As much as I would enjoy the flavor, I'd have to limit my intake to very infrequent indulgences. And I just love popcorn too much. For quite a while I ate plain, salted popcorn because it's still fairly good, but not as much something to look forward to. I tried butter-flavored oil, but it poses the same problem as movie popcorn--just doesn't taste real. I thought of rosemary oil, but for some reason the rosemary doesn't hold up, and deliver flavor to the popped corn. I've tossed Tony Chachere's Cajun seasoning, but then it tastes too much like the Tony C, and not the corn. Same with other flavored coatings.
Finally I thought of chili oil. I started with a few drops along with the olive oil in the pan, and loved the fuller flavor this imparted. Now I often use about 1/3 chili oil so I can actually taste a lil' bit of heat with the popcorn. Even then, it's still just a backdrop to the lovely corn taste itself. When I come home from running a few miles or taking a challenging class at the gym, I need to replace sodium I've lost. There's nothing like a big bowl of popcorn, salty with that subtle undertone of heat that opens up my taste buds and makes 'em sing. And while I don't have a big drawstring purse to smuggle a bag into the movies, chili-popped corn and a glass of chardonnay make the perfect accompaniment to Project Runway every Thursday night.
Anyway thinking of movies brings to mind popcorn, but not the ridiculously priced little bits of yellow butter-substitute-coated styrofoam you get at the concession counter. When I was a kid, popcorn at the movies was still homemade, eaten out of a bag tucked into my mom's big drawstring purse, alongside a couple Hebrew National hot dogs and Shasta sodas if it was near dinnertime.
All this brings me to my current thoughts on popcorn in general. I grew up on corn popped in a saucepan and I'm still a purist in that regard. What I use now is even better--one of those popcorn pans with the hand-cranked paddle that stirs the popping kernels, bought on sale at Target for something like $9.99. The popcorn my family ate every Saturday night always got a nice dose of butter--my mom showed us how to melt a chunk in the hot saucepan, throw in a couple handfuls of the popped corn, then toss those buttery kernels into all the rest to distribute the goodness. Oh, man, just writing about this takes me back 40 years...
I can't eat like that now. As much as I would enjoy the flavor, I'd have to limit my intake to very infrequent indulgences. And I just love popcorn too much. For quite a while I ate plain, salted popcorn because it's still fairly good, but not as much something to look forward to. I tried butter-flavored oil, but it poses the same problem as movie popcorn--just doesn't taste real. I thought of rosemary oil, but for some reason the rosemary doesn't hold up, and deliver flavor to the popped corn. I've tossed Tony Chachere's Cajun seasoning, but then it tastes too much like the Tony C, and not the corn. Same with other flavored coatings.
Finally I thought of chili oil. I started with a few drops along with the olive oil in the pan, and loved the fuller flavor this imparted. Now I often use about 1/3 chili oil so I can actually taste a lil' bit of heat with the popcorn. Even then, it's still just a backdrop to the lovely corn taste itself. When I come home from running a few miles or taking a challenging class at the gym, I need to replace sodium I've lost. There's nothing like a big bowl of popcorn, salty with that subtle undertone of heat that opens up my taste buds and makes 'em sing. And while I don't have a big drawstring purse to smuggle a bag into the movies, chili-popped corn and a glass of chardonnay make the perfect accompaniment to Project Runway every Thursday night.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Potluck (fridgeluck?) pasta for supper
I'm copying this from a food note I wrote last January, because I remember this being one of my favorite dishes, and it was just spur of the moment...
After an afternoon of yardwork, I came inside hungry for something hearty. I also wanted to use up all the little bits of veggies left in my fridge, and the last bit of short rigatoni left in my pantry. Together, it made something tasty and really beautiful!
While the pasta was boiling, I chopped the veggies into 1/4 - 1/2" chunks so they would combine well with the sturdy pasta:
§ onion
§ mushrooms
§ crookneck squash
§ zucchini
I minced some garlic and roughly chopped up some baby spinach leaves
In a cast iron skillet I fried up the onion and mushroom with some minced garlic. Threw in some dried thyme, dried basil, and pepper flakes. Added the squash and zucchini, and in a bit, the spinach. Sauteed on low for awhile. Drained the pasta, leaving a little liquid. Added the veggies to the pasta, tossed in some chopped walnuts, then on a whim squeezed a little lemon over everything.
There're no unusual ingredients in this, but the flavor combination was so rich for how simple it is. I think the lemon was the key, just brightened everything up. It would be even better with fresh herbs, but I didn't have any on hand. I also loved the hearty element the walnuts add. I had a little grated romano cheese left, just the perfect amount to sprinkle over a plateful of this pasta, so satisfying after an afternoon of hard work! Also, I used up my leftover bits in the fridge, and now I can go shopping for fresh supplies.
Danielle, this first one's for you
I have papers to grade and poor work notices to finish, so what better time to finally start my food blog? However, being in the mood to actually write about food is different from being in the mood to create a blog, so I figured I'd get this part of it accomplished when in the blog-creating mood, and then start posting when the other mood hit. Or what I might do is grab some of my posts from facebook (the ones that people read and say "when are you going to just start a food blog??") and put them here just to seed the garden. Think that sounds lazy? Yeah, well, it's 95 degrees outside, and I'm sprawled on the sofa watching US Open tennis and eating kashi for supper. Now, the kashi IS sporting fresh organic blueberries that were washed in my baby orange flower colander from Sur la Table. It's my favorite kitchen furnishing; anything tastes better if rinsed in its bright happy orange petals. But I haven't cooked a thing since friends came last Saturday, and even then I switched from a more ambitious Persian menu (I just got another Claudia Roden cookbook) to some basic gyro-ish Greek tacos that I saw the Sandwich King make on FoodTV. Those (sort of) gyros were pretty damn good, though. And it was fun to eat them and discuss with everyone else at the table what worked, what could be refined for next time, etc. I made both lamb and beef, even though those are two meats with ginormous carbon footprints. However, when the meat is as savory as this recipe, you don't need to eat as much to feel wonderfully satisfied, so I'm not going to feel too bad about it.
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