dknippling Food Journal

I was over at some friends' house on Easter, and there was lamb. There were also too many cheesy (gratin) potatoes, which they sent home with me. What's good with cheesy potatoes? Well, lamb. Duh. I drooled about it until today, when I finally broke down and bought some lamb.

I hadn't seen some of my friends face-to-face since Thanksgiving (shocking!), so there were Christmas gifts to catch up on, too. After reading a few recipes in Simple Chinese Cooking, by Kylie Kwong, I knew it was finally time to buy a mortar and pestle. Having a new toy, I had to figure out a way to play with it. Recipes resulted.

The lavender tomatoes literally made me drool while I was waiting for the lamb to cook.

Gilled Lamb

1 leg o' lamb, deboned and butterflied
dried rosemary
sea salt

In the mortar, grind about a tablespoon of rosemary with a teaspoon of sea salt until a fragrant, greenish powder remains. Using your fingertips, rub a light coating of the mixture onto the lamb. --You will probably need to make more, but I found it easier to grind consistently with smaller amounts. Grill the lamb over low heat until medium-rare. Pull of the heat and let sit for five minutes to let the juices settle. Note: I was too impatient to let the lamb sit in the salt before it cooked. It would probably taste even better if I had.

Lavender Tomatoes

Grape, plum, or other small tomatoes
Garlic cloves, peeled (optional)
dried rosemary
dried lavender
sea salt
your best extra-virgin olive oil

Halve the tomatoes and lay them out on an oiled vegetable grill pan, skin sides down. (Add garlic cloves, if using.) Grind a half-teaspoon of lavender flowers, a teaspoon of rosemary, and a teaspoon of salt in a mortar until a smooth powder remains. (Grind more if you need it.) Drizzle olive oil over the tomatoes (and garlic) and sprinkle the cut sides of the tomatoes with the salt mixture. Grill for ten minutes over indirect heat (i.e., the top shelf of your grill, if you have one), then place directly over the heat for a few minutes for a little char on the bottom.

Serve beside the lamb or cut in half and pile atop some bruschetta.

Ah, asparagus, throughout my childhood known as a babied, shiningly precious vegetable that wouldn't grow for crap in the garden on our farm. The vegetable my mother never shared with anyone else (not that we minded). Then my grandfather died, we moved into his house, sold off the trailer, and moved sheep into the former yard. They ate everything right down to the ground, including the asparagus. Perverse, it turned into a weed you could harvest by the armful until the heat drove it to seed.

No joke, cream of asparagus soup is a pain (unless maybe if you have a food mill?). Make it for people you love.

My first batch of cream of asparagus soup, last year, was inedible, because I didn't run it through a mesh sieve. Let that be a lesson--no matter how delicate the stalks, no matter how much you snap off at the stem end and discard after cooking, you just have to strain it. Sorry. I didn't use a fine-mesh or chinois strainer, just an 89-cent backup strainer, so don't panic if your kitchen isn't professionally decked out. Some fiber will come through, but then, you want that.

Seems like pretty much every other element of cream of asparagus soup is your choice. I wanted something thick and even-tasting, more rounded than just a puree'd asparagus with a dollop of cream, so I based it on potato-leek soup. Caveats: Potatoes drink salt. Add salt fairly early so you have a chance to balance the flavors. Also, no pretense of being on a diet here.

My husband is still somewhat suspicious of any dishes that do not contain bacon; however, after finishing one bowl, he stood by the pot to keep "tasting" it, ending up drinking it by the ladle...

Cream of Asparagus Soup

1/2 lb. asparagus, about 1 1/2-inch of tips reserved, the rest cut up in 1/2-inch slices
1 med potato (Yukon gold used), 1/2-inch dice
1 med leek, stem and green parts set aside for your next batch of broth and otherwise sliced
1 1/2 quarts of unsalted chicken broth, or more
Cream
Balsamic vinegar (pomegranate if you have it)
Parmesan or Romano cheese, freshly grated (if all you have is the processed stuff, don't bother)
Salt
Freshly-ground black pepper

Croutons or cheese toasts, to serve

In a heavy-bottomed pot with a steamer insert, add the broth and vegetables. (It doesn't matter if the broth covers the veggies.) Cover and simmer over medium heat until the vegetables are soft. Pull out the insert and place it onto a plate to keep it from dripping. Working in small batches and using a blender or food processor, puree the vegetables (and about 1/2 cup of broth) and pour into a small-holed wire-mesh sieve over the broth. Smoosh the puree with a rubber spatula until all but the largest shreds are pushed through. Rinse the spatula, scrape down the puree clinging to the backside of the sieve into the soup, and rinse out the sieve.

Add salt and vinegar to taste (start with about a teaspoon of each), wait five minutes, and check the flavor. Continue to taste the soup as you go. The salt and vinegar should balance each other. The soup should taste neither salty nor vinegary, as the cheese will sharpen things in a minute.

In a small pot, steam the asparagus tips and reserve. Add the steaming liquid to the soup if you like.

Ensure the soup is warm enough to serve (reheating it if necessary after blending) and remove from heat. Swirl in 1/2 cup cream or to taste.

Ladle the soup into bowls* and add 1/4 cup of grated cheese to each bowl. Top with the steamed asparagus tips. Grind pepper over top, if you like. Serve with croutons or cheese bread.

*If you're a vinegar nut, this is the point to swirl in a few extra drops.

So my sweetie made me Irish Cheddar and Stout fondue for Valentine's Day. Unfortunately, the Brussels sprouts were looking a bit peaked, so we switched them with browned kielbasa slices. Mmmmm. --Note for people who don't like Guinness: Lee doesn't like stout, but he didn't think the fondue was too bitter, so you're probably safe.

For some reason, a little light went on. Fondue is melted cheese. Queso* is melted cheese. With fondue, you dip various things it it; with queso, you add various things and dip chips in it.

Queso is Mexican fondue.

(I know, I know, it's this kind of brilliant insight that has made me the famous chef, astrophysicist, and mother of seventy-five that I am today.)

And if you can make Mexican fondue (and Irish fondue), what else can you get up to? The mind boggles. Anybody know what kind of cheese Russians eat? Because rye bread cries out for cheese.

*Which, at my house, is called "Bjork" because we discovered both at the same time and couldn't resist making fun of the singer's name. "What's that?" "I don't know what they call it, but it looks like Bjork." And, obviously, Queso is Full of Love.

Some people crave meat. I crave tartness. Sourness. I like it when my lips purse like a prim old woman's. Pickled capers. Kosher pickles (never sweet). Pickled ginger. Lemons. Lemonade. Hell, I'll take reconstituted lime juice in a glass of water if I can't get anything else.

There was a time I didn't, though. Or at least, I didn't know what I was craving.

In college, I had a roommate and friend named Muriel. One of my first out-of-the-dorm, picked-on-purpose roommates. One day, almost broke, we went grocery shopping. She bought a plastic bottle of distilled white vinegar. When we got back to the house, she peeled off the seal, pulled off the cap, and drank straight from the bottle.

"Don't do that!" I cried. "That's for cleaning!"

Well, after we had more cash, we went back and bought different kinds of vinegar. Red wine. Apple cider. White wine. But the day I first tasted balsamic vinegar, that was a good day. I was working at a Panera Bread in Iowa. It was winter, and I'd been eating nothing but soup. So one day I made a salad. Tomatoes, greens, red onions--and premade balsamic vinaigrette. Even so, I couldn't stop eating it.

Say what you like about the place, I tried more new foods there than anywhere before or since. --Although it doesn't do all that much for me now; I can make it better and cheaper at home, now that I know what I'm looking for. Well, except the bread. I think I ate more tomato-fresh mozzerella-bread salad than was good for me the summer after that. At least, too much fresh mozzerella. You wouldn't think it could be possible. I still check out the menu for ideas.

Here's my latest vinegar recipe.

Pomegranate-Balsamic Vinegar Roast Chicken

1 pretty chicken, entirely thawed, & no cheating
salt
pepper
pomegranate balsamic vinegar

Preheat the oven to 425F. Rinse the chicken and pat it dry with paper towels. Tie the legs if you can't stand not to. Sprinkle the chicken with salt, pepper, and vinegar, put on a rack in a pan just large enough to fit the chicken, and slip it in the oven. Baste the chicken every so often, sprinkling more vinegar on it when you do. When the juices run clear, the chicken is done. (At my altitude, this runs for about an hour or so. Sea-level will be shorter.) Let the chicken sit for five minutes before you cut into it.

The smell should be nutty, almost vanilla-like, and dark. The thighs should be opulent, and the breasts should flow with juice like mother's milk. Serve with roast potatoes and a green salad dressed pomegranate vinegar and toasted pine nuts. I tried to make a jus, but I messed around with it too much. Better luck next time :)

(Promoted from the Diaries - K)

The motivation for this dish was twofold: first, to continue to find tasty fish recipes, and two, to obtain bacon grease. I'm making my first batch of gumbo...

Bacon Fish Lettuce Tomato Sandwiches

Makes four sandwiches

1/2 pound of bacon, slices cut in half
4 fish fillets, room temperature (I used tilapia, but what I really wanted was catfish)
whole grain bread, for toasting
1 clove of garlic
2 roma tomatoes, sliced
leaf lettuce
mayonnaise

Preheat the oven to 375F.

Keep in mind the perfect BLT is based on 1) summer tomatoes and 2) timing. The toast and the bacon must be simultaneously hot! and served fast! to make the perfect sandwich. Alas, it's not summer.

Cook the bacon over medium-low heat until it's about halfway done. Pull out the half-strips of bacon and place them on a jelly-roll pan to make four bacony "beds" for your fish. Lay the fish on the "beds" and put them in the oven. Keep an eye on them--as the fish turns white and begins to flake, pull them out of the oven.

Meanwhile, the toast. Cut the clove garlic in half. As each slice of bread comes out of the toaster, rub the cut side of the garlic on the bread, like you would for bruschetta.

Spread out the slices of bread. Mayo and tomato go on one side, lettuce on the other (and grainy mustard, if you like it). Add the fish and bacon via a large spatula, with fish toward the lettuce. Why? Because mayo + tomato + bacon = magic. Duh.

Right about now, my body changes cravings from "winter" to "spring." But before they do, a quick recipe for winter-cravings fish. Brussels sprouts!

Orange-Poached Fish

Serves 2-3

2c rice
6 tilapia fillets, room temperature
cooking oil
1 navel orange, juiced and the zest grated
ponzu or soy sauce
rice wine vinegar
mirin
sesame oil
2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1 box Brussels sprouts, stem ends removed and cut in halves or quarters, depending on size
3 large carrots, peeled and sliced diagonally into ovals

Prepare the rice according to package directions (steamed or boiled).

In a medium-sized skillet, heat the cooking oil over medium-high heat and saute one clove of garlic until fragrant. Add equal parts ponzu and vinegar (about 1/2 c. each), about 1 T. mirin, and 1 t. sesame oil. Add the orange juice and zest. Reduce the sauce by about half. (If the sauce is too salty, add more vinegar; if it's too sour, add more ponzu.)

In a wok or large skillet, heat a few T. cooking oil over very high heat. Saute the garlic, stirring constantly, and add the sprouts and carrots. Stirring more or less constantly, cook the veggies until browned (but not burnt) on the outside but still crunchy. If necessary, remove from heat while the fish cook.

Add half of the fish fillets to the sauce and cover. Cook until the flesh begins to turn milky at the bottom, then turn over. Cook until the fish flakes when pressed with a fork. Remove and place on a warm, covered plate. Cook the other half of the fish, remove, and cover.

Over high heat, add the rest of the sauce to the veggies and stir fry until the sauce has been absorbed/reduced into the veggies.

Serve in wide, flat bowls with veggies and fish over rice, with ponzu or soy sauce on the side.

I tell you, it's depressing. For every person I know who likes to eat, I know about twenty people who could care less. (Or they have one dish or cuisine they're picky about, usually because they're ex-military guys married to women from a tradition of Eating Food that Tastes Good. Usually this means a foreign country.)

Example. For Christmas last year, I passed out cards that said, "Good for One Free Dessert of Your Choice" to my coworkers. I had one Dutch apple pie, one batch of "cowboy cookies," one low-sugar cheesecake (which worked out pretty well with 1/2 sugar, 1/2 Splenda), one pecan pie...and one woman who Didn't Know What She Wanted. After six months, she said the only dessert she ever really liked was box white cake soaked in two colors of Jello-based syrup with Cool Whip on top. I made her angelfood trifle with vanilla custard, whipped cream, blueberries, and strawberries instead, because it sounded like the most innocent, sweet, comforting dessert I could possibly think of that didn't involve Jello. Her eyes lit up when she tasted it.

Another example. My parents came out to visit us last summer. When I offered to make them anything they wanted, they both said, "I don't know. Whatever." And when we ate out (another night), I asked them where they wanted to eat. "Wherever. Maybe a buffet."

Auuugh!

You know what I like? I like people who say, "My grandma used to make pierogies with cheese and bacon in them..." "Those dumpling things you made that one time..." "I've always wanted to try trout almondine..."

Part of the reason I love to cook is that I like to eat. Another part is that I like to give people things that they like to eat. I like surprising people, but I really like giving them a dish that has a meaning, a memory, a longing, a favorite. Don't be shy. No, really. Tell me what you want.

If you didn't know, a pot de creme = homemade chocolate pudding. It's creme brulee, with chocolate, without burnt sugar. It's richer and more grown-up (but, conversely, less comforting) than regular, cooked chocolate puddings.

I used this recipe on New Year's Day.* Although it only coughs up eight tiny, miniscule, itsy-bitsy, possibly even fussy (because you really should use separate containers, to prevent 1) overcooking and 2) fights) little puddings, think of it as eight large pieces of cake worth of calories, condensed. And totally low-carb.**

Now, the important element here is the chocolate. I used two bars of Green & Black's Maya Gold. Dark, dark chocolate, still my biased favorite. The pots de creme were dark. My daughter didn't like it; it was too bitter. I loved it. Everyone else, I think, was too full to care, and, admittedly, they don't like chocolate as much as I do.

But it almost called out for more bitterness. Coffee bitterness. I'm thinking you could really get down into the primal flavor of coffee + chocolate with this stuff. What's your favorite espresso drink? (Well, honestly, mine's a good cappuccino, but that's almost more about the texture and the way it sinks into the cockles of your heart like a good chicken noodle soup than it is about a particular flavor. Almost.) But anyway, the interplay of chocolate and coffee should be pretty yummy here.

If I live, I will let you know.

*Alterations:

• I melted the chocolate with the milk and did not quite reach a simmer; did not strain through sieve as the temp never hit high enough to mess with the milk proteins.
• Didn't use boiling water, only hot (which may have affected cooking time).
• I raised the temperature to 350F after 45 minutes of the damned things not setting up. I'm halfway up a mountain; YMMV.
• I normally throw creme brulees almost immediately in the fridge and end up with small cracks, which the sugar covers. I actually left the pots out on the counter for an hour as directed, no cracks. La! Let the light shine through the crack in my head :)

**Ha! I almost had you there, didn't I?

I like to say that a moment of enlightenment is the same as a "duh" moment. After the shining lights from the heavens turn off again and you're done thinking, "I am AMAZINGLY smart!" you realize...

...If I were so smart, how come I didn't think of it before, eh?

Many, many moons ago, I worked at a place that had an espresso drink called a Borgia with orange oil in it. We had a cruet of orange oil at the espresso bar, and we'd add it to a espresso, milk, and cocoa. Purrr. If I could have rubbed that stuff on for perfume, I would have, but everybody would have known what I was doing.

So today I'm roasting coffee* and I have leftover clementines that are about to turn and I say, "What if I grate some peel and throw it in the press with the coffee?"

Duh...

*Which is really easy and really, really good.

As I posted previously, we intended on having a Geek Christmas this year. Well, we did it.

My spouse bought me a set of Calaphon Tri-Ply pans this year. Ah, funny story: I came home one day to find the UPS had left a sticker on the door saying they'd left a box behind the gate. Walk walk walk. What do I see? A CALAPHON box with pictures of ALL KINDS OF POTS! I actually had to do a dance when I saw them. Then I realized that I'd seen my Christmas present early. I was tempted, I was actually tempted to pack up my daughter and drive to the library for a few hours so I could pretend I hadn't seen it.

Anyway, I held off until Christmas morning to open the box. What better way to spend my first day with my pots than to break them out, get them all dirty and otherwise abuse them, wash them, and gloat over all that shiny?

My honey was very amused. "You," he said, "got me a 22-inch widescreen monitor with [I don't remember the details here but I did a lot of research at the time], and all I got you were a bunch of pots."

Gloat gloat gloat...

Half the party got snowed in in Denver. The rest of us tried to eat for two.*

Here was the menu:

• Roast pork loin (didn't have time to butterfly it) with rosemary and 40 cloves of garlic
• Garlic mashed potatoes (that which does not kill you will make you really fat)
• Brussels Sprouts (see below)
• Apple/red lettuce salad with pomegranate vinaigrette
• Guinness Stout Cake with hazelnut whipped cream and dried cherries

I originally made the stout cake for a party on Saturday, but when I put it in a Bundt pan, the cake married the sides of the pan, or at least went on an extended and intimate honeymoon. I scraped it out and turned it into a trifle with vanilla whipped cream, maraschino cherries (and syrup), chopped dried apricots, pecans, and dried cranberries, and that turned out better than the cake I baked on Tuesday in the springform pan--the cake that pulled away from the sides like a reluctant virgin. Both were delicious, though.

The Brussels spouts disappeared. The extreme meat eaters said, "Unk, how you make vegetables taste good?" and tried to hit me over the head with clubs, but I ran away.

Brussels Spouts Love, Christmas 2007

1/4 lb. bacon
Red wine vinegar

Cook the bacon to the crispy consistency of bacon bits, or as preferred. Remove and drain on paper towels. Chop or tear into bite-sized pieces when cool. Increase the heat to medium high and deglaze the pan with a few tablespoons of vinegar. You can remove from heat at this point if you want to have everything prepped for serving. If so, heat the pan to medium high before moving on.

1 lb. Brussels sprouts

Clean and trim the spouts, cutting the larger ones in quarters through the stem ends and halving the rest. Add the sprouts over medium-high to high heat and saute them until they smell of cooked cabbage and are browned. Add more vinegar if necessary.

1 c. pecans, roughly chopped (or just crushed in your hands as you toss them in)

Toss the the pecans into the pan and saute the whole thing just a few minutes more, until the pecans add their nutty aroma to the mix. Remove the pan from heat.

1/4 c. bleu cheese or (I suppose) 1/2c. bleu cheese crumbles

Crumble the cheese and add it to the pan. Stir to combine. Adjust salt if necessary (I didn't). Serve.

*Wait. Is that what I meant to say?