The Jamaican/Caribbean restaurant is now open! I happened to drive past it today on my way back from the pediatrician and saw the OPEN sign; karma decreed it would be jerk chicken for dinner!
The place is actually called Curry World, and has a few tables to eat in, but seems to mostly cater to the take-out croud. We tried to get a take-out menu, but they've only been open three days and the menus aren't printed yet. Much of the menu seems to be on the outside sign, along with the phone number. Curry goat, curry chicken, jamaican jerk chicken, beef patties and more.
Once they're established with a menu and all, I don't know if they will keep the same setup. For now, though, they have the dishes pre-made and waiting on a warming table; think food court chinese food. The menu was written on a chalkboard, but I was disappointed that they didn't actually have everything that was on it. They were out of the curry goat, for example. I've never had goat, and I'm not sure what I think about it, but it seemed like the thing to try. Apparently they are hoping to get a shipment of goat in tomorrow.
Choosing from what was available, we tried jerk chicken, oxtail, and meat patties. The jerk chicken was in pieces, skinless, and our portion was mostly the drumstick portion of wings. The seasoning was wonderful and quite spicy! The oxtail was obviously slow braised in a mild curry type sauce, with potatoes and butter beans. These items came with rice with red beans (quite a bit more rice than beans) that the nice lady told me was made with coconut milk. I wouldn't have guessed this, though, as the flavor was very mild. They also came with a choice of veggies: eggplant or squash. We chose eggplant.
Meat patties were not what I expected, but more what might, in another culture, be called a meat pasty. It's a finely ground beef and spice mixture (ground very, very finely, like a puree, which made it taste creamy) encased in a surprisingly flaky but yet dense dough. They offer both mild and spicy, though they were out of the mild. The spicy were pleasantly flavorful but not overwhelming and, to me, not very spicy.
I am excited they are open, and look forward to trying them again once they get their feet under them. They seemed to be doing a good business this evening, and I certainly wish them well. They're open Thursday through Sunday, and the woman I talked to there said they've had a very positive response. Good luck, Curry World!
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
My hotdog has a first name, it's S-M-I-T-H
I'll be perfectly frank (please forgive the pun); I don't want to know how hotdogs are made. I know the jokes, and I choose to believe they are urban legends and hyperbole. Worse than that, I know some of the fact and I choose to believe that hotdogs are spontaneous objects, not creations, with no genesis. Magic wands are surely involved. I can only hope this subject will not again be broached in this post.
However. When it comes to hotdogs, the wiener for me is a Smith's Natural Casing, grilled until the natural casing splits and a slight char gilds the hotdog. Biting into it and hearing that snap of the "natural casing," mmmh, there's nothing better. Until you stop to ponder what the natural casing is. And have to plug your ears and say "lalalalalalalala!!!" and go to your happy place.
People in Erie get a bit dogmatic (sorry again) about their Smith's hotdogs, with "natural casing" vs "skinless" debate carrying on in friendly but firm tones. Local restaurants proudly announce that they serve only Smith's, and who can blame them? I don't know how far outside of Erie you can still get Smith's hotdogs, but it's de rigueur at cookouts and picnics in these parts.
When I grew up, I didn't really eat Smith's. Which is strange, if you think about it, because I live five minutes from the hospital I was born in and am a "born and raised" Erieite. My parents, however, moved here from Pittsburgh and so presumably didn't drink the Smith's kool-aide and become followers from toddlerhood. My mom bought what was on sale, or what she liked, or what we liked, but I know it wasn't usually Smith's. I don't remember when I started to feel strongly about it myself, but I'm pretty sure I was an adult living on my own. I still don't mind the other hotdogs (not at all, really) but there's something very summery about the snap of a Smith's.
This year we grilled hotdogs and corn for the first hot day of the year, and it seemed to hint at better days to come. It has taken very little time for the weather to return to more seasonable temperatures (in the 50's as opposed to the 80's), but soon enough turning on our oven will be but a distant memory and we will cook almost exclusively on our propane grill on the back deck. I like seasonally cooking, making hearty cold weather casseroles and breezy hot weather salads, using what's in season and, when I can, what's local. It's ethically responsible, plus a good way to eat fresh, tasty food.
On a completely unrelated note, NPR today did a story where they gave chefs $10 and instructed them to create a simple, quick meal for four. Sounds like it's to be part one of several. They gave this challenge to Ming Tsai and he made chicken and corn stir fry over spinach salad with lemon. The idea is that the fried rice will wilt the spinach slightly, and that the whole thing experiments with different textures and temperatures. It's an interesting challenge... Darling Husband and I might take it on when Chopped gets bored. Considering the economic climate, it's maybe not a bad idea to practice creative economizing. Hmmm, if only I could get my victory garden in the ground before June...
However. When it comes to hotdogs, the wiener for me is a Smith's Natural Casing, grilled until the natural casing splits and a slight char gilds the hotdog. Biting into it and hearing that snap of the "natural casing," mmmh, there's nothing better. Until you stop to ponder what the natural casing is. And have to plug your ears and say "lalalalalalalala!!!" and go to your happy place.
People in Erie get a bit dogmatic (sorry again) about their Smith's hotdogs, with "natural casing" vs "skinless" debate carrying on in friendly but firm tones. Local restaurants proudly announce that they serve only Smith's, and who can blame them? I don't know how far outside of Erie you can still get Smith's hotdogs, but it's de rigueur at cookouts and picnics in these parts.
When I grew up, I didn't really eat Smith's. Which is strange, if you think about it, because I live five minutes from the hospital I was born in and am a "born and raised" Erieite. My parents, however, moved here from Pittsburgh and so presumably didn't drink the Smith's kool-aide and become followers from toddlerhood. My mom bought what was on sale, or what she liked, or what we liked, but I know it wasn't usually Smith's. I don't remember when I started to feel strongly about it myself, but I'm pretty sure I was an adult living on my own. I still don't mind the other hotdogs (not at all, really) but there's something very summery about the snap of a Smith's.
This year we grilled hotdogs and corn for the first hot day of the year, and it seemed to hint at better days to come. It has taken very little time for the weather to return to more seasonable temperatures (in the 50's as opposed to the 80's), but soon enough turning on our oven will be but a distant memory and we will cook almost exclusively on our propane grill on the back deck. I like seasonally cooking, making hearty cold weather casseroles and breezy hot weather salads, using what's in season and, when I can, what's local. It's ethically responsible, plus a good way to eat fresh, tasty food.
On a completely unrelated note, NPR today did a story where they gave chefs $10 and instructed them to create a simple, quick meal for four. Sounds like it's to be part one of several. They gave this challenge to Ming Tsai and he made chicken and corn stir fry over spinach salad with lemon. The idea is that the fried rice will wilt the spinach slightly, and that the whole thing experiments with different textures and temperatures. It's an interesting challenge... Darling Husband and I might take it on when Chopped gets bored. Considering the economic climate, it's maybe not a bad idea to practice creative economizing. Hmmm, if only I could get my victory garden in the ground before June...
Saturday, April 25, 2009
For Jeremy: Pork, Jicama and Wasabi
A few posts back, I challenged my readers to take control of this blog and suggest three ingredients that Darling Husband and I would use to create Chopped-style appetizers in head to head showdown. Two of you took on that mission; the first was Jeremy, who suggested pork steak, jicama and wasabi. Thank you, Jeremy! I don't know you but I appreciate you taking the time to weigh in!
Tonight we tried our first head to head challenge. Since we don't have his&hers stoves, we took turns using the kitchen in a very democratic way. I had a little bit of prep time, but then my bit needed to rest a little and so did I. Darling Husband used the kitchen for a bit then. We tagged back and I finished up mine and prepped his pork, too. Then I plated while he grilled (more on this later). Finally, he finished plating and we ate. Phew!
Pork steaks, jicama and wasabi. To start with, I should mention that we were unable to find "pork steaks," so we got a loin roast and cut it into steaks. This may or may not be a suitable substitution, but it was as close as we could get. The jicama was easy to find. (It's a large vegetable that looks like a cross between a potato and a giant white raddish. The flavor is mild but there is a definite starchiness to it. It's not as moist as a potato, but I wouldn't call it dry, either. It's a bit hard to explain, if you're not familiar.) We debated what form the wasabi should take; we had access to paste and powder. In the interest of conformity and accessibility, we chose paste.
For my appetizer, when I heard the three ingredients, the wasabi immediately swung me to the asian influences. I imagined the jicama in a water chestnut kind of way: crunchy but without much flavor on its own. Several options ran through my head, but I decided fairly quickly on an edamame and jicama salad with wasabi vinaigrette, soy marinated pork and a wasabi cream sauce. (One idea I had, then forgot, then remembered just now was to shred and fry some bok choy for crunchy interest on top of the dish. Darn it. Must remember that for later.)
I cut my pork into... well, I like to think of it as octopus, but Darling Husband referred to it as a hand. Point being, I sort of cut slits like a fringe for 3/4 of my pork steak, leaving it connected at the top. I made a marinade with soy sauce, grated ginger and garlic.
The edamame I buy comes frozen in the pod. I just defrosted in some cool water, removed from the pod and was ready to eat. Mmmmmm, edamame... I could (okay, I have) eat a meal of just edamame and some sea salt. But I digress. To add interest to my edamame salad, I found dried seaweed and reconstituted it in water, per the directions on the package. Dry, it looked like black loose leaf tea. It must've quadrupled in volume with the water, because I ended up with a huge mug of seaweed that tasted distressingly like seaweed. (I know, right? What did I expect?) As a remedy, I gave it a quick pickle in rice wine vinegar and sugar.
To achieve my water chestnut vision, I had considered cutting my jicama into little disks. Time and energy constraints led me to just do a small dice. My vinaigrette was just some wasabi, olive oil, pepper and some of the pickling liquid from the seaweed. Combine with the edamame, seaweed and jicama and voila, salad.
Only, I felt like it wouldn't tie in to the pork so I quick grilled two pieces of bacon that I brushed in maple syrup, chopped and mixed in to the salad. I also grilled the pork (or, more accurately, Darling Husband did) and then added it on the plate next to my salad. I finished the plate with some heavy cream that I had mixed with wasabi and grated ginger, then whisked until thickened but not at all whipped cream, then dabbed on the plate. It was creamy and yet flavorful, a subtle softener for the saltiness of the soy pork (in retrospect, I would have added something sweet to balance the salt in the marinade). The edamame was meaty, in its way, and paired nicely with the crunchy jicama; the seaweed added black color contrast, its own somewhat crunchy texture and sweet/sour interest. Wasabi was a subtle flavor in the dish, but was certainly present. I'm pleased with the way my dish turned out.
Presentation wise, however, it was nothing compared to Darling Husband's dish. He made beautiful pork nigiri, complete with nori belts and a wasabi dipping oil. Instead of sushi rice, he grated (for probably an hour) a surprising amount of jicama, then pressed the moisture out of it before combining with sushi rice vinegar and forming into the customary little pillows. His pork was flavored with a pineapple juice and szechuan peppercorn marinade which he made in a small sauce pan. It sounds simple, but it was a really labor intensive dish. The result was absolutely stunning visually, and the jicama was a real trompe d'oiel. It looked just like rice. It tasted a bit like rice, but also like a slaw in many ways. Darling Husband had also sprinkled a little black sesame seeds on top of his nigiri, and they added a subtle counter crunch and nutty flavor. The biggest thing I remember about this dish was how balanced the flavors were. Considering the assertiveness of the ingredients, it should've jumped up and hit me over the head, but it all harmonized and came together much like dancers on a stage. I'm surprised by how effortlessly he seems to put these complex dishes together... and pleased that I get to eat them.
Tonight we tried our first head to head challenge. Since we don't have his&hers stoves, we took turns using the kitchen in a very democratic way. I had a little bit of prep time, but then my bit needed to rest a little and so did I. Darling Husband used the kitchen for a bit then. We tagged back and I finished up mine and prepped his pork, too. Then I plated while he grilled (more on this later). Finally, he finished plating and we ate. Phew!
Pork steaks, jicama and wasabi. To start with, I should mention that we were unable to find "pork steaks," so we got a loin roast and cut it into steaks. This may or may not be a suitable substitution, but it was as close as we could get. The jicama was easy to find. (It's a large vegetable that looks like a cross between a potato and a giant white raddish. The flavor is mild but there is a definite starchiness to it. It's not as moist as a potato, but I wouldn't call it dry, either. It's a bit hard to explain, if you're not familiar.) We debated what form the wasabi should take; we had access to paste and powder. In the interest of conformity and accessibility, we chose paste.
For my appetizer, when I heard the three ingredients, the wasabi immediately swung me to the asian influences. I imagined the jicama in a water chestnut kind of way: crunchy but without much flavor on its own. Several options ran through my head, but I decided fairly quickly on an edamame and jicama salad with wasabi vinaigrette, soy marinated pork and a wasabi cream sauce. (One idea I had, then forgot, then remembered just now was to shred and fry some bok choy for crunchy interest on top of the dish. Darn it. Must remember that for later.)
I cut my pork into... well, I like to think of it as octopus, but Darling Husband referred to it as a hand. Point being, I sort of cut slits like a fringe for 3/4 of my pork steak, leaving it connected at the top. I made a marinade with soy sauce, grated ginger and garlic.
The edamame I buy comes frozen in the pod. I just defrosted in some cool water, removed from the pod and was ready to eat. Mmmmmm, edamame... I could (okay, I have) eat a meal of just edamame and some sea salt. But I digress. To add interest to my edamame salad, I found dried seaweed and reconstituted it in water, per the directions on the package. Dry, it looked like black loose leaf tea. It must've quadrupled in volume with the water, because I ended up with a huge mug of seaweed that tasted distressingly like seaweed. (I know, right? What did I expect?) As a remedy, I gave it a quick pickle in rice wine vinegar and sugar.
To achieve my water chestnut vision, I had considered cutting my jicama into little disks. Time and energy constraints led me to just do a small dice. My vinaigrette was just some wasabi, olive oil, pepper and some of the pickling liquid from the seaweed. Combine with the edamame, seaweed and jicama and voila, salad.
Only, I felt like it wouldn't tie in to the pork so I quick grilled two pieces of bacon that I brushed in maple syrup, chopped and mixed in to the salad. I also grilled the pork (or, more accurately, Darling Husband did) and then added it on the plate next to my salad. I finished the plate with some heavy cream that I had mixed with wasabi and grated ginger, then whisked until thickened but not at all whipped cream, then dabbed on the plate. It was creamy and yet flavorful, a subtle softener for the saltiness of the soy pork (in retrospect, I would have added something sweet to balance the salt in the marinade). The edamame was meaty, in its way, and paired nicely with the crunchy jicama; the seaweed added black color contrast, its own somewhat crunchy texture and sweet/sour interest. Wasabi was a subtle flavor in the dish, but was certainly present. I'm pleased with the way my dish turned out.
Presentation wise, however, it was nothing compared to Darling Husband's dish. He made beautiful pork nigiri, complete with nori belts and a wasabi dipping oil. Instead of sushi rice, he grated (for probably an hour) a surprising amount of jicama, then pressed the moisture out of it before combining with sushi rice vinegar and forming into the customary little pillows. His pork was flavored with a pineapple juice and szechuan peppercorn marinade which he made in a small sauce pan. It sounds simple, but it was a really labor intensive dish. The result was absolutely stunning visually, and the jicama was a real trompe d'oiel. It looked just like rice. It tasted a bit like rice, but also like a slaw in many ways. Darling Husband had also sprinkled a little black sesame seeds on top of his nigiri, and they added a subtle counter crunch and nutty flavor. The biggest thing I remember about this dish was how balanced the flavors were. Considering the assertiveness of the ingredients, it should've jumped up and hit me over the head, but it all harmonized and came together much like dancers on a stage. I'm surprised by how effortlessly he seems to put these complex dishes together... and pleased that I get to eat them.
Since we were doing appetizers, we had soup, cheese, crusty bread and little crudite type nibbles to round out the meal. Tapas, if you will. Of course we had underestimated how much food this was, so we only actually added on some cheese and bread to our prepared appetizers. We have soup and tapas for another night's dinner, I guess!
I would like to point out that my wonderful mother, when we were discussing how dinner went, was moved to muse and ponder the ingredients. She suggested wasabi honey would maybe taste good, possibly brushed on pork chops. Realizing she had inadvertently started playing the game, I urged her to come up with something for the jicama, too. "A slaw, I think. With a remoulade dressing." YAY! See how easy it is? Her idea sounded good, too. We're planning on trying it out soon.
First, though, we have to complete our other reader-submitted idea: clams, brie and avocado. Hmmm, better get thinking!
Thank you, Jeremy, for your suggestions. I hope you like what we made, and I'd love to hear what you think!
Friday, April 24, 2009
Stir fra-jitas
I have a theory on growing up. When you're a kid, the way your mom makes something is the right way. If you eat dinner at your friend's house and her mom puts mushrooms in her chili, then that's wrong, because that's not how your mom's chili tastes. When you get a little older, you start to realize that people make things differently, but you're still sure your mom's is the best and most logical. So when you start cooking on your own, you try to make it taste right, just like your mom's. Then you get a little older yet, and you evolve your own cooking style; you make things different from your mom's, and that's okay. Neither is wrong, but just different. Finally, you go home one day and have your mom's chili and you are struck with a sense of wrongness because you obviously make chili the right way.
I'm not sure where I fit in this.
When I was growing up, my mom made chicken fajitas that were fantastic. I loved them; it was easily one of my favorite meals. She cut chicken breast into cubes, marinated in soy sauce, stir fried onions and green peppers, flavored with chicken broth, cooked the chicken, and served it all with flour tortillas and a side of sour cream. (At least, this is the closest I can come to remembering her method, considering the taint of my own cooking and memory. She is free to comment and correct me.)
Then I got married and realized that everyone didn't make them this way. Oh, sure, I knew in restaurants they were different, but that's the whole point of restaurants, right? They try to put their own spin on things. Not that I thought about it, because I never questioned it. Darling Husband, however, had grown up thinking fajitas were a southwestern sort of thing, and to have soy instead of cumin was a very strange thing, indeed. I liked the fajitas he made, but they weren't really fajitas to me... they were wrong. Or, maybe not wrong, but different and when I needed the comfort of that familiar taste, they didn't cut it. He was pretty sure I was crazy calling this stir fry on tortilla creation a fajita, and in fact made a rather hurtful remark, as I recall, which was spoken entirely from the "but the way my mom makes it is right" sort of camp. (Although, come to think of it, I'm not sure his mom made fajitas because I can't imagine my father in law eating fajitas. Hmmm... Must ask him about this.) It was a momentary disagreement, or, rather, we decided to agree to disagree and make it a non-issue.
As time went on, we have made fajitas both ways. My stir fra-jitas, as we've dubbed them, might have broccoli or zucchini in them, might be made with beef, might have a little ginger and red pepper flakes, or they might not. The flavor profile remains asian and understated. Darling Husband's southwestern-jitas are usually made with the help of Wegman's fajita marinade. They might contain any of the above additions/substitutions, but also might include okra or jalapenos. I can make both kinds, and so can he. When it comes to making fajitas, we just clarify which we're in the mood for.
Last night we used a different marinade, the Wegman's Santa Fe. I was surprised how light the marinade was (not as thick or assertive as the fajita marinade) and also how strong the lime flavor. Frankly, I was surprised how different it was from the fajita marinade (though that seems silly). I was vaguely put off by the smell, and it was a while before I realized why. Years ago Darling Husband worked as a supervisor for a company that made salad dressings and marinades. They didn't make this one, but he came home smelling like... well, I guess like this marinade! Like pepper and oil, maybe? I'm not sure, but the smell permanently embedded itself into his clothes, shoes, the leather of his wallet and even his cell phone. He worked 2nd shift and often had to work until after 1 am, even though his shift should have been over at 11. It was a hard schedule and a tiring job, and he'd come and collapse into bed, this scent rising up as if in a puff. We didn't see each other very much, except late night, early morning and weekends--when he wasn't called in to work, that is.
Truthfully, I'm not sure which part of the marinade reminded me of that smell, because I realize it wasn't the whole of the smell. It is certainly a reminder, though, how strongly our memories are tied to our senses.
The fajitas were good, but different. I had used chicken, vidalia onion, red and green peppers, garlic and chayote squash. I ended up needing hot sauce on mine, but I believe Darling Husband tried his straight.
They were good... not right or wrong.
I'm not sure where I fit in this.
When I was growing up, my mom made chicken fajitas that were fantastic. I loved them; it was easily one of my favorite meals. She cut chicken breast into cubes, marinated in soy sauce, stir fried onions and green peppers, flavored with chicken broth, cooked the chicken, and served it all with flour tortillas and a side of sour cream. (At least, this is the closest I can come to remembering her method, considering the taint of my own cooking and memory. She is free to comment and correct me.)
Then I got married and realized that everyone didn't make them this way. Oh, sure, I knew in restaurants they were different, but that's the whole point of restaurants, right? They try to put their own spin on things. Not that I thought about it, because I never questioned it. Darling Husband, however, had grown up thinking fajitas were a southwestern sort of thing, and to have soy instead of cumin was a very strange thing, indeed. I liked the fajitas he made, but they weren't really fajitas to me... they were wrong. Or, maybe not wrong, but different and when I needed the comfort of that familiar taste, they didn't cut it. He was pretty sure I was crazy calling this stir fry on tortilla creation a fajita, and in fact made a rather hurtful remark, as I recall, which was spoken entirely from the "but the way my mom makes it is right" sort of camp. (Although, come to think of it, I'm not sure his mom made fajitas because I can't imagine my father in law eating fajitas. Hmmm... Must ask him about this.) It was a momentary disagreement, or, rather, we decided to agree to disagree and make it a non-issue.
As time went on, we have made fajitas both ways. My stir fra-jitas, as we've dubbed them, might have broccoli or zucchini in them, might be made with beef, might have a little ginger and red pepper flakes, or they might not. The flavor profile remains asian and understated. Darling Husband's southwestern-jitas are usually made with the help of Wegman's fajita marinade. They might contain any of the above additions/substitutions, but also might include okra or jalapenos. I can make both kinds, and so can he. When it comes to making fajitas, we just clarify which we're in the mood for.
Last night we used a different marinade, the Wegman's Santa Fe. I was surprised how light the marinade was (not as thick or assertive as the fajita marinade) and also how strong the lime flavor. Frankly, I was surprised how different it was from the fajita marinade (though that seems silly). I was vaguely put off by the smell, and it was a while before I realized why. Years ago Darling Husband worked as a supervisor for a company that made salad dressings and marinades. They didn't make this one, but he came home smelling like... well, I guess like this marinade! Like pepper and oil, maybe? I'm not sure, but the smell permanently embedded itself into his clothes, shoes, the leather of his wallet and even his cell phone. He worked 2nd shift and often had to work until after 1 am, even though his shift should have been over at 11. It was a hard schedule and a tiring job, and he'd come and collapse into bed, this scent rising up as if in a puff. We didn't see each other very much, except late night, early morning and weekends--when he wasn't called in to work, that is.
Truthfully, I'm not sure which part of the marinade reminded me of that smell, because I realize it wasn't the whole of the smell. It is certainly a reminder, though, how strongly our memories are tied to our senses.
The fajitas were good, but different. I had used chicken, vidalia onion, red and green peppers, garlic and chayote squash. I ended up needing hot sauce on mine, but I believe Darling Husband tried his straight.
They were good... not right or wrong.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Embracing my inner college student
Once and a while, Darling Husband and I have to drop whatever foodie pretension might have accumulated on us and hunker down in the trenches, embracing our inner college students and reveling in the wrongness of it all. Our mothers would sigh and cluck their tongues, and the grown up parts of us do, too. But the inner college student puts up with a lot of fru fru crap, and doesn't say a whole lot. Every once and a while, we've got to give that inner college student a little freedom, so we hand the grown ups a Starbucks and point them to a comfortable recliner, where they take a quick nap in the afternoon sun. (This can be college student behavior, too, but in this instance, the grown ups are going to claim it as their own.) With the grown ups safely tucked away, the college students pull on their wind pants and t-shirts and get to work.
What does it mean to embrace our inner college student? I'm sure it means different things to different people, but for us, it's reverting back to the kind of scavenger-style food prep at which 20 year-olds are adept. Cold pizza for breakfast. Microwaved left over mac & cheese. Rice and peas. Toast with spaghetti sauce and processed cheese. Canned corn next to canned tuna. Rice with A-1 sauce (my sister's vice). Hot pockets. Think microwaves and toaster ovens. And pint sized fridges.
When Darling Husband and I got together, we happily realized we could meal plan on a basic level with one simple rule: two side dishes make a meal.
Cut up cucumbers with dippy sauce? Not a meal. Cut up cucumbers with dippy sauce and mashed potatoes? Sure!
If all of this sounds vulgar and wrong, think for a moment to your leftovers. Might you have half a rotisserie chicken, some steamed asparagus and fixin's for a fresh salad? Then you are my mother, and you sigh and cluck your tongue at my leftovers. Might you instead have some mac & cheese with a little too much nutmeg, a small serving of lasagna left over from what your mother in law sent with you and a container of leftover curry that's mostly sauce? Now you're closer to me. Might you also have a 9 month old and a pile of clean laundry to fold and a floor to vacuum and all the will for housekeeping on this particular day as a concussed cockroach? Ah, now this is familiar. You might even have a few frozen pepperoni balls.
Does the inner college student always eat a balanced meal? Of course not. Even if that college student left the lasagna for another day. But he or she clears out some much needed fridge space without creating extra dishes to clean, if possible (college students rarely use plates) and goes to bed full. In the morning, she'll be a grown up again.
What does it mean to embrace our inner college student? I'm sure it means different things to different people, but for us, it's reverting back to the kind of scavenger-style food prep at which 20 year-olds are adept. Cold pizza for breakfast. Microwaved left over mac & cheese. Rice and peas. Toast with spaghetti sauce and processed cheese. Canned corn next to canned tuna. Rice with A-1 sauce (my sister's vice). Hot pockets. Think microwaves and toaster ovens. And pint sized fridges.
When Darling Husband and I got together, we happily realized we could meal plan on a basic level with one simple rule: two side dishes make a meal.
Cut up cucumbers with dippy sauce? Not a meal. Cut up cucumbers with dippy sauce and mashed potatoes? Sure!
If all of this sounds vulgar and wrong, think for a moment to your leftovers. Might you have half a rotisserie chicken, some steamed asparagus and fixin's for a fresh salad? Then you are my mother, and you sigh and cluck your tongue at my leftovers. Might you instead have some mac & cheese with a little too much nutmeg, a small serving of lasagna left over from what your mother in law sent with you and a container of leftover curry that's mostly sauce? Now you're closer to me. Might you also have a 9 month old and a pile of clean laundry to fold and a floor to vacuum and all the will for housekeeping on this particular day as a concussed cockroach? Ah, now this is familiar. You might even have a few frozen pepperoni balls.
Does the inner college student always eat a balanced meal? Of course not. Even if that college student left the lasagna for another day. But he or she clears out some much needed fridge space without creating extra dishes to clean, if possible (college students rarely use plates) and goes to bed full. In the morning, she'll be a grown up again.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Oatmeal and Guinness and pies we once knew
Please forgive my laxness in posting lately, but our lives have been very busy with the start of warm weather! Between holidays and my 9 month old becoming truly crawl-mobile, my energy is running low. This weekend we visited Darling Husband's parents and our little girl had a chance to spend time with her uncle from Miami. It was a fantastic visit with beautiful weather and a thrilling trip to the zoo and aquarium--Baby Girl loved the jellyfish!
Before I get off topic, please remember to submit ideas for our appetizer challenge, detailed in the previous post. We're excited for the idea already there and hope more come in! Darling Husband suggested we do all of them, but not on the same night. So submit a list of three ingredients and we're likely to make stuff and post about it!
Getting back to this weekend. We also had a fantastic cake that, as my father-in-law joked, I just have to blog about. When it was announced that desert was "oatmeal cake," I was admittedly a little wary. I'm not a huge oatmeal fan, and I tend not to like oatmeal cookies. Although, now that I think of it, it's not that I don't so much like oatmeal cookies as the fact that they so often have raisins in them. I like raisins on their own okay, but not in baked goods.
I just realized I spend an awful lot of time on this blog saying things I don't like! I don't think of myself as a picky eater, and I eat a wide variety of things. Hmmm... I wonder what that means? But back to the cake. It was a wonderful cross between regular cake and coffee cake, as it had a brown sugar crumble topping on it that gave a great crunch and mouth feel. The cake was moist but not doughy or chewy, the way oatmeal things can be. My mother-in-law served it with Cool Whip (or "licky-dab," as the family sometimes calls it) and I really looked forward to leftovers the second night. She gave me the recipe and I will be making it the next time I have occasion. It's really a pretty straightforward recipe--even baking-challenged me could probably make it okay!
Of course, I looked at the recipe and immediately started thinking of ways to change it. I wonder if I could make it into cupcakes, or put a layer of crunch topping in the middle for a little extra texture. She said you can add cocoa to make a chocolate oatmeal cake, and so I wondered about chocolate chips. Hazelnuts instead of walnuts? I don't have quick oats, but I do have steel cut oats (leftover from a challenge) so can I just make a few substitutions and alter it? Do I really need all that butter? This seemed like the start of a story that would end up in me throwing away inedible cake-like substance, so I stopped my train of thought. I'll try to be good and make it as directed. No promises as to when that will be, though!
Tonight was Steak and Guinness pie, a recipe we got from Jamie Oliver. Remember? The "naked chef?" Who was never naked (more's the pity) and cooked with a weird frenetic energy, bobbing and weaving like an amateur boxer while he clipped away in his working class English accent. Essentially, it's a pot pie. We seared cubes of stew beef and stirred in small leeks (usually we'd use onion), garlic, mushroom, parsnip, carrot and frozen peas. Add one Guinness, minus a sip or two, and let come to a boil. Thicken with a few spoons of flour, flavor with salt, pepper and rosemary, and you have a wonderful looking instant stew. We lined a casserole dish with a sheet of puff pastry, added the stew, topped with a generous mound of grated white cheddar, then covered with a second sheet of puff pastry that had been rolled lightly and scored in a diamond pattern. The edges of the pastry are not perfect, and that's just fine. Jamie Oliver just flopped the edges up and crimped the best he could, and we follow suit. Then we popped it in the oven for 40 minutes or so, until the puff pastry was golden and, well, puffed. If you cut and serve immediately, you'll have a big mess. We've found it's best to let it rest 20 minutes or so first, to allow the insides to settle and not lose all the wonderful gravy. It won't get cold, but it will cool down to a temperature that will not blister all of the skin on the roof of your mouth, which I appreciate.
It's warm and comforty, good for a wind stormy, rainy day like today. (I should mention that I saw a rainbow today, though.) Darling Husband thought today's pie might have been the best we've made it yet. I agree. That's what comes from cooking without recipe or measurement--it's never quite the same dish twice. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, sometimes just different. I seem to recall my father lamenting about this when I was growing up... I wonder if my daughter will be the same?
Before I get off topic, please remember to submit ideas for our appetizer challenge, detailed in the previous post. We're excited for the idea already there and hope more come in! Darling Husband suggested we do all of them, but not on the same night. So submit a list of three ingredients and we're likely to make stuff and post about it!
Getting back to this weekend. We also had a fantastic cake that, as my father-in-law joked, I just have to blog about. When it was announced that desert was "oatmeal cake," I was admittedly a little wary. I'm not a huge oatmeal fan, and I tend not to like oatmeal cookies. Although, now that I think of it, it's not that I don't so much like oatmeal cookies as the fact that they so often have raisins in them. I like raisins on their own okay, but not in baked goods.
I just realized I spend an awful lot of time on this blog saying things I don't like! I don't think of myself as a picky eater, and I eat a wide variety of things. Hmmm... I wonder what that means? But back to the cake. It was a wonderful cross between regular cake and coffee cake, as it had a brown sugar crumble topping on it that gave a great crunch and mouth feel. The cake was moist but not doughy or chewy, the way oatmeal things can be. My mother-in-law served it with Cool Whip (or "licky-dab," as the family sometimes calls it) and I really looked forward to leftovers the second night. She gave me the recipe and I will be making it the next time I have occasion. It's really a pretty straightforward recipe--even baking-challenged me could probably make it okay!
Of course, I looked at the recipe and immediately started thinking of ways to change it. I wonder if I could make it into cupcakes, or put a layer of crunch topping in the middle for a little extra texture. She said you can add cocoa to make a chocolate oatmeal cake, and so I wondered about chocolate chips. Hazelnuts instead of walnuts? I don't have quick oats, but I do have steel cut oats (leftover from a challenge) so can I just make a few substitutions and alter it? Do I really need all that butter? This seemed like the start of a story that would end up in me throwing away inedible cake-like substance, so I stopped my train of thought. I'll try to be good and make it as directed. No promises as to when that will be, though!
Tonight was Steak and Guinness pie, a recipe we got from Jamie Oliver. Remember? The "naked chef?" Who was never naked (more's the pity) and cooked with a weird frenetic energy, bobbing and weaving like an amateur boxer while he clipped away in his working class English accent. Essentially, it's a pot pie. We seared cubes of stew beef and stirred in small leeks (usually we'd use onion), garlic, mushroom, parsnip, carrot and frozen peas. Add one Guinness, minus a sip or two, and let come to a boil. Thicken with a few spoons of flour, flavor with salt, pepper and rosemary, and you have a wonderful looking instant stew. We lined a casserole dish with a sheet of puff pastry, added the stew, topped with a generous mound of grated white cheddar, then covered with a second sheet of puff pastry that had been rolled lightly and scored in a diamond pattern. The edges of the pastry are not perfect, and that's just fine. Jamie Oliver just flopped the edges up and crimped the best he could, and we follow suit. Then we popped it in the oven for 40 minutes or so, until the puff pastry was golden and, well, puffed. If you cut and serve immediately, you'll have a big mess. We've found it's best to let it rest 20 minutes or so first, to allow the insides to settle and not lose all the wonderful gravy. It won't get cold, but it will cool down to a temperature that will not blister all of the skin on the roof of your mouth, which I appreciate.
It's warm and comforty, good for a wind stormy, rainy day like today. (I should mention that I saw a rainbow today, though.) Darling Husband thought today's pie might have been the best we've made it yet. I agree. That's what comes from cooking without recipe or measurement--it's never quite the same dish twice. Sometimes better, sometimes worse, sometimes just different. I seem to recall my father lamenting about this when I was growing up... I wonder if my daughter will be the same?
Sunday, April 19, 2009
You have the power! You choose!
Gentle readers, I have appreciated the feedback I get from you. It has brought insight and color to the conversation, and I ask that you keep it coming!
Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to choose the next ingredients for our Chopped experiment. Darling Husband and I have decided to each use the same ingredients and create appetizers on the same night. It will be a true head to head battle, and you get to choose our mystery ingredients!
We usually do a protein, a produce (veg or fruit) and then a wild card. That can be an herb, another produce, a condiment... really, whatever!
I'm asking for THREE ingredients to be used to create ONE DISH, an appetizer. So please keep in mind, if you give me chocolate, salmon and kiwi, I'll have to make and eat chocolate covered salmon skewers with a kiwi puree. In other words, make it challenging but be nice, please... :o)
As many as would like can submit their ideas. If only one of you does, I guess that's what we'll do. If we have several to choose from, we'll probably draw the number out of a hat (unless it doesn't seem like cheating to actually choose...)
Thanks, everyone!
Your mission, if you choose to accept it, is to choose the next ingredients for our Chopped experiment. Darling Husband and I have decided to each use the same ingredients and create appetizers on the same night. It will be a true head to head battle, and you get to choose our mystery ingredients!
We usually do a protein, a produce (veg or fruit) and then a wild card. That can be an herb, another produce, a condiment... really, whatever!
I'm asking for THREE ingredients to be used to create ONE DISH, an appetizer. So please keep in mind, if you give me chocolate, salmon and kiwi, I'll have to make and eat chocolate covered salmon skewers with a kiwi puree. In other words, make it challenging but be nice, please... :o)
As many as would like can submit their ideas. If only one of you does, I guess that's what we'll do. If we have several to choose from, we'll probably draw the number out of a hat (unless it doesn't seem like cheating to actually choose...)
Thanks, everyone!
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