Food and Food History A la Carte
We were talking about leftovers – and then specifically about leftover bread.
Needless to say that one of the best ways to use up leftover bread is – as I said at the time – French toast.
So let’s talk about French toast. Or eggy bread, if you prefer that name. Continue reading “Still Looking at Leftovers: Bread, Part 2”
It was a quiet weekend – well, a quiet weekend as long as you weren’t driving at Silverstone , riding in the Tour de France or playing on Centre Court. As I was doing none of these things, I was having a quiet weekend and on quiet weekends, I often take the opportunity to bake and I knew what I wanted to tackle this weekend.
You see, earlier this week a friend from work brought a recipe to my attention – a recipe for Gin and Tonic cake. over on Pudding Lane, a British cooking blog. Gin and Tonic? A drink cake? I was not unfamiliar with the booze soaked cake concept. Remind me to tell you about effect of rum soaked pound cake on people from my past. It’s terribly amusing. But that’s for another time.
I pondered the cake. I read the recipe. I decided that this was something I was going to try. After all, my in-laws and a good many of my acquaintances are all about a good gin and tonic. To here them discuss it, it sounds the most refreshing drink in the history of drink. So, it sounded like a great idea for summer cake. It was a classic pound cake from a proportion point of view and I’m all about pound cakes as many of you know.
So Gin and Tonic cake was my intention. Until Saturday.
When I started to think, “well, but I don’t drink gin and tonic. Why couldn’t I swap in the making of one of my drinks?” And then it occurred to me, the lemon-infused vodka!
You see, several weeks back, we’d taken some half decent vodka, popped a mess-o-lemon rinds and a bit of bruised lemon grass into the bottle and left it to infused. We tasted it. DAMN it was smooth. It eventually took on SO much flavor from the lemon rinds that you could easily have just popped an ice cube into it and enjoyed it with no mixer at all. What about a twist on the drink in cake form?A Lemon Vodka Twist!
And so I did. I made a few changes beyond the choice of booze. I used caster sugar instead of granulated for the drizzle (I find it dissolves a bit better). I used SLIGHLTY less lemon juice since the lemony-ness of the vodka was VERY intense. Continue reading “‘When Gin’s Not Your Thing’ Lemon Vodka Twist Cake”
There are three things that are inevitable in my life: Death, taxes, and that at some point in my day, I will reach for a lemon. Actually, perhaps four things, as it’s also inevitable that at some point in their blogging life every food blogger must write a post extolling the virtues of the lemon. And here I am, to do just that.
There’s an old saw that goes “If Life gives you lemons, put nine in a bowl.” I’d have a better use for every one of those lemons. Lemons are so absolutely essential to how I cook and how I live in my kitchen. It’s not that I want all my food to taste lemony, but rather that they’re so dang useful. They’re the cornerstone of my cooking. I never don’t have at least one lemon to hand, even if it is a scraggy quartered thing lurking in the nether recesses of my fridge.
In fact, once when taking part in a radio program about matters foodie, I was asked “What food item do you always have in your kitchen?”, and instead of answering something appropriately glamorous like “Pink Himalayan Sea Salt” or “Truffle Infused Honey”, I heard myself say “A dried up quarter of a lemon in my fridge. Inevitably.” Continue reading “The Inevitable Lemon”
A couple of weeks ago, I was brought up short by a moment of hubris.
What happened was this: A very dear friend, who has known me as well as my family since college and with whom I, in fact, used to live, came to stay the night. On her last visit we had sampled a local Vietnamese place so this time we’d be eating in. Thence came my moment of hubris. Secure in the knowledge that my culinary prowess would thrill her whatever I made, I asked “What would you like me to cook?”
Never do this. You’re hosting a dinner, not taking requests at the cocktail lounge out by the airport.
Don’t put people on the spot (unless they’re family, in which they’ll likely demand a given dish before you’ve even asked). Guests somehow never say “Oh I’m sure whatever you make will be divine!”, thus freeing you up to make the fiendishly impressive Middle Eastern feast you’d been planning. Instead, they will ask for precisely the dish you just cooked last week and can now barely bear the thought of. Or worse, they’ll say what my guest said: “Oooh! How about you make your lasagna?”
My lasagna? What could she be thinking? I don’t have a lasagna! I’ve never made a lasagna in my life. And that’s what brought me up short: I HAD NEVER MADE A LASAGNA IN MY LIFE. Continue reading “The Tale of The Lonely Lasagna”
A few of years ago, NPR aired a segment called “Happy Birthday, Dear Mayo — We Hold You Dear” in order to mark the 250th ‘birthday’ of that useful and ever-present condiment, mayonnaise.
Mere condiment? Did I say condiment? Isn’t it so much more than that? It is the stuff of culinary creativeness. I don’t even like the stuff that much and even I admire its usefulness. It is the basis for sauces, the glue for salads, the moistener for many a sandwich – even a home remedy for aching joints.
That last one is according to Wikipedia and while I’ve not heard that myself (and I’m well aware that Wikipedia isn’t 100% to be counted on) why would someone make up something that weird and that random? We shall take it as given until someone makes a case otherwise.
There is no existing culinary celebration of mayo on any list I’ve found. So I am, partly because I can and partly at the request of a friend whose hubby puts mayo on everything, declaring that May 21st is, from this day hence, to be known as Fabulous Foodie Mayo Day. (insert sound of cheering crowds here)
And so that we all know what we’re talking about by then, I’ve dug around and herein lay bare the truth, the assumptions and the mechanics of mayonnaise, our fabulous food friend. Continue reading “The Myths and Making of Mayonnaise”
As I mentioned over on the Fabulous Foodie Facebook group, today (May 16) is Coquille St Jacques Day.
If this is the kind of thing that gets you cookin’ to get cookin’ – by all mean, go forth and seize the scallops. Me, I’ll be over here prepping for tomorrow – which is Cherry Cobbler Day. Prepping for Cherry Cobbler Day is about as easy a prep as you can get. You need only an hour (10 minutes prep, 45-50 minutes cooking) and a measly 3 ingredients.
And that’s it. Let it cool. It’s outstanding at room temp or out of the fridge the next day. If serving fresh and warm, put some vanilla ice cream on top. If your house is anything like my house, you’ll want to check on the pie a few times while it cools. Not because the PIE is likely to develop problems but because certain members of the household will pick chunks of topping off and eat it.
Enjoy! And if you’re still in a pie mood, check out Musings on Great American Pie Month
It started a few weeks, back, under the cover of night. I’d been aching to try it for a while, but it seemed so difficult and dangerous that I was nervous about an actual attempt. I’d read about it of course, and even seen a few videos on one of those specialty YouTube channels. They made it look so easy, but still I was afraid I’d wind up with a mangled corpse and a kitchen saturated with blood.
Finally I plucked up the courage to try my hand.
I waited until I knew there would be no witnesses to catch me should I fail. I brought my victim home, put on my apron and sharpened my largest, heaviest knife. Then, with a drink to steady my nerves, I sneaked up behind my victim, and set to work.
The relief and pride as the job was done were immense. And later, as I gazed down at my victim lying spread-eagled before me and sampled the juicy morsels of tender flesh, I knew I would do it again. And again and again. This was not some dark adventure to try only when the moon was full or when I could hold out no longer against my dark desires. This would happen regularly, perhaps once a week if I was lucky and could find people to share my new compulsion – and if my freezer could hold the rising tide of body parts. I had become a man obsessed.
Yes. Spatchcocking chicken had changed me forever.
You may have heard of Spatchocking as “butterflying,” but that’s far too pretty a term for what this process involves.
Spatchcocking – not to be confused with Spatchcock, which is a culled immature rooster, or Spitchcock, which has to do with eels- is when the backbone of a chicken is removed and the chicken is flattened out, ready for grilling or roasting. The term is apparently an Irish word, which is another culinary reason to thank them, along with flavored potato chips and chocolate milk. It’s been around since at least the 18th century, though it’s such a brilliant way to prepare a chicken for cooking that I’d be surprised if nobody had thought of it sooner. Spatchcocking has regained popularity for a while now, mostly because it’s perfect for the barbecue.
Flattening a whole chicken like that allows you to grill it in one piece, like it’s one big piece of meat. And who doesn’t go berserk for a big piece of meat?
Now that’s all well and good, but why lose my mind over it? Continue reading “Spatchcocking Psycho”
I can’t believe I never posted this here but apparently I never have. As someone has just asked for it, I take this opportunity to rectify the situation.
Ingredients
Directions
Cook the couscous according to package instructions. Drizzle with olive oil and toss to coat thoroughly. Then scatter some mint across the top and cover with a tea towel until couscous has cooled to room temp. Once the couscous has cooled, remove the tea towel and take larger pieces of wilted mint off top, then combine couscous, mint, almonds, cranberries, orange zest, and orange juice in a bowl. Drizzle with additional olive oil (enough so that the couscous isn’t sticky) and season with salt and pepper. Toss to combine. Serve chilled or at room temperature.
This is one of those infinitely flexible things where you can add pretty much anything or mess with proportions to your hearts content and you’ll still end up with something yummy. And make extra ’cause it lasts in the fridge for a week and you’ll be snacking on it for days. Make a meal out of it and use up leftovers by adding some shredded cooked chicken.
(1) I leave these out sometimes – depends on who’s coming over and/or my mood. They do add a nice crunch in an otherwise not so crunch dish but I wouldn’t recommend other nuts. For some reason almonds work far better than others
(2) I sometimes add dried apricots as well. Whatever dried fruit you like, add.
(3) Depends on how much juice you get out of the orange and how sweet it is. If it’s too sweet for you after a good mix, add a dash of lemon juice to balance it. Or lime. Lime works the same magic.
Does anyone remember that craze back in the 90’s, where people gave each other little pocket sized computer thingies that you had to ” feed” and “bathe”, or they pinged in an annoyingly loud manner? Or that episode in “Frasier” where Niles attempted to simulate fatherhood by looking after an eight pound sack of flour for a week? No?
I had forgotten them too – but they all came rushing back to me in the early hours of the morning about a month ago, when I found myself under the glare of my kitchen lights, giving it the full Colin Clive and screaming, “It’s alive! IT’S ALIVE!!”
I was making my own sourdough bread.
Moreover, I was learning – all too painfully – that making your own sourdough bread is not about the baking the bread, but rather about making the “starter.” And making a sourdough starter is uncomfortably like looking after a small baby for an extended period of time. There’s a lot of feeding and changing, quite a bit of gas, the regular disposal of beige goop, some malodorous smells, and far too much fretting and crying.
How did I get to that darkly cinematic moment in my kitchen in those wee small hours? Not naturally or easily actually. Continue reading “The Bread Baby”
This week finds me typing merrily away as my homemade chicken stock reduces over a low heat, ready to be labeled and frozen in one cup-size containers.
Also just in the freezer are the remaining three portions (in individual containers of course!) of the batch of Chicken Paprika that I made for our dinner tonight. I had made my Roast Chicken Othello on Sunday, you see, and had saved the carcass for just this purpose. As it was a small carcass, I also roasted a couple of chicken thighs and added them when it came to making the stock along with:
Then let it simmer away for several hours. I always take the lid off for the last hour or so, so the stock reduces and intensifies in flavor.
The Roast Chicken Othello, by the way, is quite the nicest way to roast a chicken.
What you do is
It also almost hermetically seals the chicken, and makes for an unbelievably juicy and sweet bird, so much so that you don’t even need gravy.
Don’t stuff the bird, but instead shove a lemon half and a clove or two of garlic in the body cavity to balance the sweetness of the honey and you have yourself a feast o’ fowl.