What are you, like, domestic or something?

Fresh artisanal bread

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 00:41:00 +0000

It may strike you as hilarious that I just transferred a heating pad from my oven (to maintain an even heat of around 70 degrees for dough rising) to my bed.

At least, that's how it struck me.

Doncha just love

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Sat, 24 Oct 2009 00:06:00 +0000

how I glossed over my protracted absence there?

Oh, Molly.

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Fri, 23 Oct 2009 23:48:00 +0000

There are some bloggers who seem to feel that they should be producing Gourmet-magazine worthy meals for every post. Maybe they should. Who am I to say? But what I do know is that the only recipes I have ever made from the lovely Orangette are simple, homely recipes that she seems to feel the need to apologize for.

Please don't apologize, Molly. I love you. I need you.

Now, she's been crazy busy lately, out there opening a pizza restaurant of all things, but I feel that she's still out there keeping an eye on us, because look: despite a prolonged absence lo these many months (due to restaurant-opening mayhem, for which I harbour no ill will), she recently posted the smack-your-forehead-I-can't-believe-how-good-this-is Warm Butternut and Chickpea Salad with Tahini adapted from Casa Moro, which I have now adapted from her.

She posted the recipe on Oct 1. Two weeks later, she saved me. It was fate.

Coming home from Boston to an empty fridge in the middle of the autumn harvest, I picked up a squash on the way home and wondered what I could make. I ambled around the web a bit, searching for recipes, and then thought of Orangette.

She had never done me wrong. A record kale crop and no idea of what to do with it? Kale with a fried egg and toast becomes a staple. Too many carrots and a vague memory of side salads at Montreal restaurants? A modified French-style carrot salad saves the day. And the easiest, most delightful, always in the pantry solution for desperate evenings (or something you'd like to whip up just 'cause it tastes good?)? The dead easy Chickpea Salad with Lemon and Parmesan, though I usually add garlic.

Now, she might not like to think of these as her legacy, but you ask me, she's done all right.

Thanks, Molly. I've made the exquisite butternut and chickpea salad with tahini dressing two times in less than two weeks. I can't get enough (even grabbing bite after bite - after dinner - as I walk by the bowl "cooling" on the counter).

Trimmings...

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Wed, 17 Sep 2008 00:06:00 +0000

Admittedly, the trip itself is somewhat faded by now, but I personally think that the faded bits, the jagged edges, the dogeared memories, they're just as good, if not better, than the crisp, clean, digital photos. And so.

The trip fades.

But the bbq doesn't.

I decided that we were going on a bbq odyssey, and that's more or less what we did. A haphazard, non-linear, back and forth sort of odyssey. With the exception of an unfortunate non-bbq meal in Durham (I believe you that there's great Mexican in Durham, I just don't believe you can get anything to eat in that town after 8pm), we were basically all bbq all the time.

Now, the tricky part is this though: We happened across the best, most succulent, richest, fattest bbq imagineable on the first day. And no, it wasn't at Lexington No. 1 (though that was our first stop).

Now, I knew enough (from my research, spreadsheet) to order "outside, brown and lean."

So that's what we ordered. And the bbq came, and it was good, and we were underwhelmed, both. We ate, we appreciated, but we both raised our eyebrows at each other, in a "We drove all the way to North Carolina and all we got was this stinkin' bbq?" kind of way.

But it was ok, and there would be more, and we would watch minor league baseball. After almost renting the honest-to-god scariest motel room I've ever seen (and I've stayed in some bad, scary places), we got a perfectly respectable room and decided to hit up one last bbq joint before heading up to Winston-Salem for some baseball.

And here is where I have to get down on my knees and thank the accidental, follow-the-wrong-map path that we took.

Here's the thing. Everyone has their own personal yardsticks for judging, well, anything, but in this case restaurants. Mine happens to be filth. Not rats running through the dining room, cockroaches in your food filth, but general dinginess, sloth, and disregard for decor. In my experience, the best, most surprising, most unexpected, most beautiful (cheapest, of course) food is found in places like this. Now, the opposite is not always true (just because it's filthy doesn't mean it's good), but a great restaurant that is soiled around the edges is usually where I'll find the best food.

So of course, when I read this unofficial review, I kicked up my heels:
A miniscule joint on the E. Center Street Extension called Lexington Style Trimmings. I stopped in and to my surprise had some of the best cue I have ever eaten. I opted for the sliced cue with slaw and hushpuppies -- all three were excellent. The puppies were unusually interesting, as they had a kind of moist, melting interior, and the onion-sugar contrast was especially sharp. A word of warning: the joint is seriously grubby (italics mine).

So that was where I chose to send us before our trip up north to see the Warthogs.

Except... the joint wasn't grubby at all, let alone seriously grubby. It's old, yes, faded around the edges (again with that image!?) and I would go so far as to say dingy. But unless I miss my guess, dingy is nothing more than shabby and run down, and by no means implies grubbiness. Like, yeah, the sink was chipped and cracked, but it looked plenty clean to me. The walls were ancient "paneled wood" but they were none the worse for that.

But I lose my thread. My thread is that, were it not for the description I happened across, specifically the warning of a serious grubbiness, this would not have been on my to-hit list. This one mention may well have been the only one I came across. So except for the fact that I have a prediliction for filth, we wouldn't have wound up there. But that's the amazing part. So it wasn't grubby, wasn't filthy, wasn't anything except a little dark and shabby. But had whoever reviewed it described it otherwise, we would never have found what is, based on a too-brief (or quite possibly not brief enough) bbq odyssey, the hands-down best bbq in NC.

(NC BBQ - never photogenic)

Oh, my little noodle.

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 02:46:00 +0000

I love making pasta. I love it.

(I made my first pasta last night. Does it show?)

Lordy. I do love it. Pasta is the first flour-related item that has ever come together in my hands as if by instinct. I was a new little spider spinning my first web. I just knew what to do. This is a first.

When I was a kid, most everything in the house was a frozen/canned/boxed delight. (Full disclosure: Despite my "cook it all yer darned self from scratch" tendencies, I still love this kind of food. So much so that I avoid the frozen foods aisle when I happen to frequent a Loblaws.) Which means that I come with no acquired kitchen lore. Kids who never did a lick of cooking but whose moms or dads whizzed around the kitchen licking spoons and dipping fingers in sauces seem to have a grasp of basics that I do not have. Everything I've learned, I've learned by rote. With trials and errors, because I always think I've got a knack for cooking. But I don't.

So I was terribly intimidated by the thought of making pasta (sure it would wind up a flop of playdough sitting on my kitchen table, glaring back at me balefully). But I was on such a roll yesterday, I just kind of decided to give it a whirl. At nine o'clock at night. After having spent seven hours cooking kind of randomly.

And so. I read here and there, I tried to get my head around it. But the words didn't mean much.

Except.

Except when push came to shove, I knew exactly how much flour to add to my little ball. I just kept adding it and adding it and presto! It was right. It was just right.

My kneading leaves something to be desired--maybe a slightly higher table would help--but after a slightly protracted kneading time, things seemed to be working out beautifully.

Except.

Except when I was ready to move on to the rolling out the dough step, I realized that basically everyone out there was saying that you have to be some kind of masochist to roll out your dough by hand. They were basically saying I was crazy and I should just run out to a 24-hour pasta machine store, or throw in the towel then and there. I started to get really scared. But then I said, you jerk. You bought that lovely rolling pin and it's just sitting there, pining away. Look at it, so sad and lonely. It's never even been oiled. (I always suspected I should oil it or something, but never received confirmation until I was doing my research for the hand rolling. Thanks to Marcella Hazan, of course.)

So finally I just threw in the research towel, literally said, "The hell with it," rolled up my sleeves (figuratively here) and got to work.

It initially seemed like those naysayers were right. My little ball wanted to stay a ball. It certainly didn't want to stretch or pull or flatten or any of the things you want pasta to do.

But then, after a couple of minutes, it seemed like maybe it did. Like maybe there was a flat sheet of pasta trapped inside the hulk of dough. I felt like Rodin. "The pasta is already in the dough. I just let it out."

And then, magically, there was.

And it was beautiful.

(And also delicious.)

Things I've learned this month

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 00:42:00 +0000

Don't cook an eye of round steak like you cooked up that gorgeous prime rib steak in your cast-iron skillet. It really is a different cut of meat. Listen when they tell you (marinate it, cook it slow like).
That said, do cook up a nice steak in your skillet. There is no shame in not having a bbq. And that pat of butter at the end, that you thought might be excess? It's not.
If you process a lovely batch of something (say, hypothetically speaking, pickled roasted red peppers) and then in the night (but within 24h) realize that while you followed the recipe, in a sense you didn't really follow the recipe, take those suckers out and repack and reprocess them immediately, because it will make you really sad to have to throw them out later because of botulism (or botulism paranoia) (who can tell the difference?).
Those peaches? Those peaches you can still taste, from that day you had to walk across the court to pick up your sister at the Hamiltons'? That were so intensely the essence of peach they had you turn around and beeline it straight to the kitchen not once but twice (for a total of three peaches) before you ever made it there? Those peaches? They're Blazing Stars. No doubt in my mind. Don't buy one basket. Buy three. They won't be around next week.
For some reason, you can't assume there will be bushels of Romas at the SLM. It is not the Jean-Talon market. Go early. Be there at 5am.
Despite having said this for the past five years, mean it next year when you say: Don't be a sap. Draw up a plot outline for the 3-day novel contest.

I seem to recall learning all kinds of other things this month, but they are not coming immediately to mind. One thing I can add is that if you are going to spend the day cooking (arancini and eggplant balls and roasted peppers (hot and sweet) and then a soup of roasted peppers and fresh sweet corn and other exciting things, and also another stuffed baked eggplanty thingy and some random peach cleanup dessert sauce and also now, incredibly, handmade, hand-rolled pasta?!?!) and you also happen to pretend to have a food blog, you might want to make sure that the batteries for your camera are charged.

Just sayin'.

I can't quit you, Baltimore.

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Fri, 22 Aug 2008 23:13:00 +0000

Having recently posted after an excruciating absence, I felt the need to scroll back through my previous posts to see exactly what I had said about our NC-BBQ adventure. As it turns out, I've said next to nothing, as I appear to be hung up on Baltimore.

That will clearly come as no surprise to those who know me.

In fact, I'm wondering if a short fall vacation to Baltimore might not be exactly what I need--but I digress.

I have basically repeated my love of Faidley's ad infinitum, and I think that cat, if you will, has been skinned as many ways as it can be.

I promise that my next post will be categorically below the Mason-Dixon line (as opposed to just straddling it).

A thousand words...and not a drop to drink?

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Thu, 14 Aug 2008 01:29:00 +0000

I hate to carry a camera and look like a tourist. I also hate to interrupt whatever it is that I'm experiencing by trying to capture it on film. So what that means is that when I'm parking on Paca (and the lovely Baltimorean flags me down to have me repark my car because the way that I've parked will get me a ticket (and give her free parking)!), I leave my camera in the car. Which is all fine and good until three months later when I want to tell you about Faidley's and would like to add an extra thousand or so words to whatever I'll spill here. And there's nary a lump to be found.

But that's fine. You don't need one. I'll just tell you what I think. Faidley's is fantastic. Now, you natives of the Chesapeake watershed, you may not agree with me. But I come from the (actually I don't know what it would be called in Canada, so I'll just go with the Yankee term) Midwest, and we don't really do crabcakes, or shouldn't, anyway. I've had the misfortune only twice in my life to bite into what I am forced to use air quotes to describe as crabcakes, and suffice it to say they are not something I need ever eat again.

But a crabcake from FAIDLEY'S...now that's another can of worms entirely. For those of you as ignorant as I was, let me assure you that what you want to order is a Jumbo Lump Crab Cake. There are other options, and they may well be delicious. I don't know, nor do I have any pressing need to learn. (There are also other eateries at Lexington Market. You can go there. I won't sulk. Just don't pass Faidley's by.)

And for the record, my very first raw oyster was eaten during this latest (though so far away now) trip to the market. It was fine, and certainly exhilarating, and I was lectured but good about how to eat it by a couple that makes a trip down to eat raw seafood at least once a week, but bof. I've got crabcakes on my mind.

Until next time...

(My lord! Whatever might those be?!?!)

You say aubergine, I say eggplant

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Wed, 04 Jun 2008 23:21:00 +0000

With a serious shout-out to Mallika (and indirectly to her inspiration, Bhags), I have to say that this baingan bharta (which I personally call bagnan bartha) recipe is genius. And beginner friendly!!!

I haven't cooked anything really since April or so, and decided to whip up a couple of delicious Indian dishes tonight. I always think that channa masala is quick (it is, don't worry), but when you make bagnan bartha AND channa masala AND brown rice (whole grains, whole grains) AND burn the leftover cumin-scented white basmati from last week, it does take about two hours.

So beginners: Don't try to do too much. One dish. One rice (leftover does me just fine) (except when I burn it) (I don't have a microwave and have to heat it up stovetop-style). You're laughing.

EASY BAGNAN BARTHA RECIPE (From Bhags, via Mallika)

2 large eggplants
1 regular onion, chopped (I like it really fine)
2 really very ripe tomatoes (the extra-cheap-because-they-look-decrepit kind are particularly good)
2 T yogurt
4 cloves garlic, minced
1 inch ginger, minced (or the stuff in a jar, maybe 1 heaping t)
1/2 t mustard seeds
1/2 t cumin seeds
1/2 t fenugreek seeds (methi seeds)
2 green chillies, chopped (not the really really small kind, the medium kind) (you can deseed them if you want, but they're really not that hot)
1 t turmeric
1 t cayenne
a handful of coriander, chopped
salt (be generous)

OVEN (or microwave oven) at 400 degrees.

Poke some holes in the eggplant with a fork, and bake it in the oven for around an hour. You can also microwave it, and it's way faster, but since I don't have one, I can't really guess at how long it would take you. Basically, you want to cook them till they're collapsing in on themselves and gettting all squooshy. Then take them out and let them cool. If you slice them in half at that point, they'll cool faster (obviously).

Meanwhile, back at the farm...

Heat some oil (I used canola), around 2 T. Get things nice and hot and add the seeds. They should pop after a bit, but if they don't, add the onions, garlic and ginger anyway. Let it all cook away till it gets nice and soft looking.

Add the tomatoes, yogurt, and powdered spices (turmeric and cayenne), lower the heat and simmer for about 5 min or so.

Meanwhile, hopefully the eggplant has cooled down enough for you to wrench its delicate flesh from the skin. Discard the skin and add the eggplant to the skillet, crank up the heat to high(ish) and stir. I smushed everything up with a potato masher, but you might not find that step necessary, depending on your own texture issues.

Add salt, to taste (don't be afraid). Stir in your coriander.

Serve with rice or flatbread. A side of channa masala is a nice complement...but you might want to make that tomorrow.

An adventure in pork, I mean, crabcakes

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 01:06:00 +0000

You never know what it's going to be that leads you to that x-marks-the-spot. You might have a map, or think you have a map, and it's true. You might. But sometimes the instructions that do direct you where you've got to go are flat-out wrong, but to further complicate matters, if they weren't wrong, you wouldn't have got there. So where does that leave you?

Still with me?

We'll get to BBQ, but first I need to pay homage to Faidley's. Oh, Faidley's, and your award-winning lump crabcakes. Oh Faidley's, how you do me wrong. I've made the mistake, on only a very few occasions, of trying to replicate my experiences at Faidley's here in Toronto and who am I kidding? Who even puts crabcakes on the menu in the middle of the continent? To what end? To mock me, I guess.

And Faidley's? You ship, do you? Oh, frabjous day, you ship... but not to Canada? You only ship in the continental US, Alaska, Hawaii and Puerto Rico? Surely Toronto is easier to ship to than Anchorage. We're really not that exotic. It's just Canada. (And believe you me, I've considered having them ship a few lump cakes to my sister to be turned around and forwarded to me, but days-old (unfrozen) seafood hardly seems like the greatest idea I ever had.)

Omar, a wise man indeed, enjoying a crabcake from Faidley's.

We stopped briefly in Baltimore before starting our pork odyssey, and it sucker-punched me again. Damn, that's a good looking town. Again, Michael got pegged as Canadian upon leaving the car and despite wearing a beat-up Orioles cap. Again, we stopped for oysters and crabcakes. Yes, lump. (You didn't really need to ask, right?) For sides? I had the collards and slaw, Michael had potato salad and something equally wild and unpredictable. The sides are stellar, but the cakes will have you on your knees. I am the Queen of condiments, and this time around, didn't even bother accepting any tartar sauce. Completely unnecessary. I guarantee it.

After some kindly parking instructions and mockery (of us), we headed south...

Tantalizing...

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Sat, 10 May 2008 01:50:00 +0000

So, you've got your slow food and your slow travel, but I'd venture to guess that for most of us mere mortals, the latter is more of a fantasy than a reality. I myself have a mere fifteen vacation days each year, which doesn't exactly lend itself to renting a Tuscan villa and settling in for the winter.

And as for slow food...well, yeah. There's slow food, and then there's America. Personally, I am of the belief that one of the most important things in this world is balance. (Though even a cursory examination of our menus for the last three days of the trip would appear otherwise.) So in this case, balance would mean a melding of cultures. Are you with me? How does this sound: It takes 7-10 hours to pre-prepare the dish that was the focus of this trip. And after a half-day of slow roasting over a slow heat, it's then pulled together in a couple of minutes and served on a paper plate. With a styrofoam cupful of refillable sweet tea. Yeah, it's southern. Yeah, it's good. It was an NC-style BBQ odyssey:

Yeah, that's how they rock it, Lexington style.

It didn't start with BBQ, of course. Because (at least if you're me and your sister lives in Philly) the first stop is in Philadelphia for cheesesteaks and hoagies at Cosmi's deli. (I know. You've probably never heard of Cosmi's. Let's just keep this between you, me, and the rest of the internet community.)

Those other joints? With the neon and the screwy politics? Skip 'em. Go to Cosmi's. It's like a dep (corner store). With a deli in it. Order your sandwich on a half-seeded (their bread is from Sarcone's, except you don't have to deal with Sarcone's seemingly arbitrary hours or their equally arbitrary preparation conventions like, "no, even though we've been open for an hour and a half and all we serve is sandwiches, our breaded chicken cutlets aren't ready, so you can't have a chicken parm hoagie").

NON-SEQUITUR

I like to pass. For local. I don't, of course, I pass for Canadian, but I like to try, wherever I am, to give the impression (however fleeting) that I am fully of the place. Paris? My proudest moment, actually being mistaken for a Parisian. Mexico City? I think I kind of look Mexican. Philly? Well, so visiting Philly over the years, I've worked hard to master the art of tossing off a curt order of 'One American with.'

(Extra non-sequitor: Picture me at my most conflicted. I am in an excruciatingly long line at Jim's (don't ask) and, approaching the order point, I start eyeing the lovely, muscle-bound, tattooed, dreadlocked cook. Just for kicks. But the view is nice. So I keep looking, but meanwhile, I'm very, very focused on my order: One American. With. One American. With. Remember, passing is key. I'm going to pass for a Philadelphian if it kills me. Until...one of the two ladies in front of me screws up her order. She's from NYC and doesn't know any better. So the cook leans over, holds up the line, rests his hand on the counter, looks at them real mean and growls, "Baby, you got to tell me what you want."

I almost died. I collapsed back against the railing. His greasy apron. That knife. The steam rising from the grill and his patient-impatient look. I wanted him to say the same to me. Lean over the counter, exhausted with these useless customers who don't know how to order a cheesesteak, but slow down the line, spend an extra minute looking into my eyes so I can tell him what I want.

But the call was stronger. The call to pass. So I ordered: One American. With.

The line never stumbled.)

END OF NON-SEQUITUR

It's more complicated at Cosmi's (I claim) in part due to the fact that they're actually friendly (incidentally, not at all a factor in my evaluation of their food, merely a bonus) and that throws me off. In addition, unlike the more traditional haunts, at Cosmi's, unless you have a jar in the fridge at home, you order your hot peppers (long hots) on your sandwich. I blame the long hots. Ultimately, it matters very little whose fault it is (though, as mentioned, I blame the long hots). The fact of the matter is that my orders at Cosmi's have been consistently wrong for the past year and a half. (Considering the timing, if you won't accept my long-hot defence, blame my beau.)

But back to my point. Yes, my first order at Cosmi's this past trip was also screwed up. Except. Except.

Did they screw it up and how. Would I ever--ever in a million years?--ever order a cheesesteak "American with"..."with cheese whiz"??? (I actually don't even know if that's how you would order it.)

Let it be said that I am, on principle, neither opposed to nor in favour of cheese whiz. My first cheesesteak (ordered as per the instructions of a real live Philadelphian of otherwise impeccable gustatory taste) (if you'll allow that awkward phrasing), was actually a "Pizzasteak, whiz, with." (Which, if memory serves, I actually also screwed up--proving only that I have come full circle in my ineptitude--ordering a "Cheesesteak, whiz, with."). This steak failed to impress, and I never returned to whiz. Until now.

My ordering error, or perhaps their scrutiny of my innermost desires, led to a magical discovery. If you decide to order yours simply "American with" or even "Provolone with" I won't blame you. But open your heart. Open your mouth. Give "American with, with whiz" a try. (Or maybe be more specific when you order. Don't listen to me. I don't know how to order.)

I've now written hundreds of words, and we haven't left Cosmis's, let alone even gotten to Baltimore yet! Gak!

A clue....

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Tue, 06 May 2008 22:35:00 +0000

I've been vanished for a long while, and I know my legions of fans have been chomping at the bit to find out what gives. Well, I was just ordinary busy for a while, but then I left on an adventure. This photo is a clue to keep you tantalized.

Is it working?

Three sprouts already!!!

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 22:31:00 +0000

Two teeny sprouts. In fact, here. Wait:

Mustard greens! I'll make sarsoon ka saag!!!!

I have no idea what else to do with them, but you can bet I'll figure something out.

Damn, that's good.

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Mon, 24 Mar 2008 22:15:00 +0000

What's so good? Fresh pasta with homemade Italian sausage and dandelion greens, with "aged" ricotta (whatever that is).

My version wasn't quite as good as the version I had at a restaurant which shall remain nameless (nameless because it was the most ridiculously awful service I have ever had the misfortune to experience and don't even feel like uttering their name) but whose version served as inspiration. That lunch was divine.

Since I knew I probably wouldn't go back (because of the really appallingly bad service), and since dandelions have been popping up left, right and centre, I felt it was my duty to learn to replicate that dish my own self.

So today, though I had a thousand and one things to do (and no excuse to cook since I have a fridge full of odds and ends), I impulsively hopped off the subway at Pape, dreaming of Masellis. I wasn't sure what I needed to get, but I was sure I'd find something.

Find something I did. A gorgeous bunch of dandelion greens (dandelion purples is more like it). So I hightailed it over to the butcher, grabbed their (to my memory) so-so "medium" Italian sausages (whatever that means) (they do have fennel seeds, so I'm not complaining) and some Crotonese, and sped home. (Incidentally, the sausages were better than I remembered.)

Short pasta with dandelion greens and a hint of garlic and Italian sausage and cheese. (I used the aforementioned Crotonese with some most excellent Romano imported from Windsor, not the nameless restaurant's "aged ricotta." Whatever that means.)

Damn.

Garden, garden, garden, garden, garden!

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 01:08:00 +0000

I've got a garden! One plot. Maybe two!!!!

Breathe.

I fell in love with my first community garden plot in Montreal, which I had for three more or less successful years. Montreal's community garden system is outstanding. It's run municipally, so there is a centralized database of all of the gardens that indicates whether or not there are plots available. If the garden nearest you is full, you can put your name on a list or sign up for the next most suitable garden. I lucked out and got a spot right across the street from my house.

Fast forward to Quebec City. The first year, I couldn't even find a garden. I did by the second year, and had an even less successful garden (yes, the season really is that much shorter in QC). It was still fun, and while I didn't successfully grow more than a dozen beefsteaks (what was I thinking?) I did have a bumper crop of cherry tomatoes that (picked while green, since I was moving to Toronto) managed to gradually ripen and inspire me to make neverending batches of cherry tomato risotto.

Skip a year. Finally find this plot. Looks good, just off the Don Valley, could conceivably make a nice extra-long bike ride home with a little garden-time in between. Would I get a plot?

(The suspense was killing me.)

Yes, I've got a plot. Maybe two. I might not need two. We'll see. I couldn't exactly check out the garden, seeing as how there are still several feet of snow on the ground and the low-hanging skies were spitting a nasty spray of rain and freezing rain down on my face, but it looks amazing. It's on the gentle slope running down into the valley and is gloriously exposed (perhaps even dangerously exposed, knowing me and my feckless ways with watering) to the sun. Damn, baby. I've got to get some seeds going!

Let's hear it for the East York Community Garden!!

Run, don't walk, to the nearest Minneola Tangelo

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 02:38:00 +0000

I don't even particularly like oranges. Clementines, of course. And I've come around, fiercely, to grapefruits. But that's it. So when Michael offered me a handful of 'orange' segments (and the orange was an oddly deep reddish hue), I only took them to be polite.

But damn, baby. As the University of Florida IFAS extension says, "The fruit is quite handsome and a genuine pleasure to eat." And they're right.

I mean, when was the last time you ran to the internet to look up a fruit by its label number?

Minneola Tangelo. It tastes even better than it sounds.

Isn't she a shiny pretty little thing?

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 02:06:00 +0000

I haven't cooked anything in days, unless you count toasting a Fairmount bagel, adding Liberté cream cheese and smoked salmon. Yes, I've been eating in Montreal and, while the cancellation of the Symphonie Portuaire (Port Symphony) did bring a tear to my eye, I think the food made up for it.

My freezer is full of Bombay Mahal.

I have a brand new 7-Q stand mixer to play with. Life is good.

Porc au lait

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 01:51:00 +0000

Ok, so it's not much of a title, but it is a hell of a dish. I know it doesn't exactly fit in with my schtik, but this is easily the most impressive and wildly popular dish I've ever made. I've made it five times in the past year, including twice over the past two weeks, and it is on the schedule in the near future.

Why so much pork braised in milk, you ask? The answer is simple. It rocks, it takes no preparation time, it cooks while you're chilling (or doing other things entirely), and it really is dead easy.

One caveat: It is interminably long to make. The problem isn't so much with the time (I'm warning you of that going in), but more with the fragrance. I guarantee that you'll find it hard to leave it in the oven long enough. Don't do it! Leave it in!!! It's worth it.

So, Mr. Meathenge's recipe is all you need, but it's so simple, I'll lay it out for you here.

Ok. Don't do this on a weeknight. Take the time, do it right, invite folks over, have a couple of bottles on ice.

Ingredients:

3-4 lb pork - the last two times I used butt, but I used something else the other times. Meathenge uses sirloin. Just don't use something too lean.
Several cloves of garlic (I used 7 this time)
Butter - a generous pat (really generous)
Milk - Homo (that's short for homogenized, for you 'mericans)
s&p

What to do? It is advised that you remove the pork from the fridge to take off the chill, but if you didn't, it would still turn out.
I washed it and dried it. At least dry it. It has to be dry.
Rub it in some s&p. I use a lot of freshly ground p and highly recommend doing so.
Heat butter (lots) over medium to medium-high, depending on your stove, in an oven-proof pan big enough to fit the pork and with a lid. (I have one enameled cast iron casserole and another enameled steel, both of which work just fine.) Throw in the pork DON'T STIR IT AROUND and let it sit for a few minutes (at least five+++). Oh, and pre-heat the oven to around 325. Proceed to brown the other sides of the pork. You're already regretting that this meal will take four or five hours to prepare. Throw in the garlic at any point now. The pork all seared? Good and seared? Good.
Ok, I take it out and add a little milk and scrape the bottom of the pan. Some people call this deglazing. Or maybe deglazing has to be with an acid, I don't know, but you can call this deglazing too. I do.
So you've scraped up the good bits and mixed them in with the milk? Put the pork back in and fill up the pot about half way up the pork. Lid that sucker and throw her in the oven.

Proceed to try to forget about it for an hour or so. Then investigate. Take it out. Stir the milk. I like to turn the pork (but have no idea if this is a help or a hindrance). Re-lid it. Put it back in.

Keep doing this. If the liquid isn't reducing fast enough, take off the lid. It'll be done when the meat is falling off the meat.

That's plenty good, but there'll be some delicious mess at the bottom of the pan. Strain out the fat and keep the curdy stuff. Mix it up with a fork and put a dollop on your pork. That broken sauce is brutti ma buoni. Eat it up.

Mis frijoles

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 02:02:00 +0000

This is the very first recipe I ever invented, ever. And I basically invented it from nothing, based on nothing, and it somehow came together. This isn't to say that it wasn't already a recipe in someone else's repertoire, mind you. Just that I am, and always have been, inordinately proud of this recipe. These are my beans, dammit. And I love them.

[I am now so far advanced that I generally make them with dried beans, but if you're to the point that you use dried beans yourself, you'll also be able to (easily) convert these proportions.]

[That said, the main reason, other than flavour, that these beans are so amazing is that they whip up in no time. But that's assuming you're cool with opening a can.]

Check it out:
1 can beans, drained (black, pinto, navy...basically anything but garbonzos, I would think)
1 small onion, chopped (finely)
1-3 cloves garlic, minced (pressed, if you so desire)
2 t cumin
1 t oregano
...and the kicker: chipotles (chopped) to taste (start with one and work up, unless you already know that will be too wimpy for you) (the canned kind, in adobo) (this ingredient is not to be omitted on penalty of excommunication or something worse) (my mom even likes them and she doesn't eat anything remotely spicy) (except Worcestershire sauce)

Plus water

Honestly, this couldn't be much easier. Start to fry the onion, and add the garlic when it starts to go translucent. Sound too precise? You can add them at the same time, or omit the garlic, it doesn't matter. Then, when they start looking a little cooked (read: not black, just clearish to caramelish) add the spices and the chipotles. Today, you can generally find chipotles in the grocery store near the Old El Paso section. If you're feeling really lazy (as I often am), you can just pour in a big slurp of the chipotle salsa--the kind that comes in a tall skinny jar. I use about a third of a jar (the really skinny jars).

Where were we? Ok, you've got the garlic and onion, the spices and chipotles, now add the beans. Stir it all up. Then add about a cup or so of water. Bring it to a boil, reduce the heat and let it simmer. Keep doing this for as long as you want. I mean, you can keep adding water, the beans will just get more and more infused with the nice slow burn you've got there, and the starch will work its way out, and they'll get mushier and mushier (you can also mush them with a potato masher if you want, or leave them whole if you happen to buy a particularly integral brand such as P.C.). If you only add the cup or so of water and let it simmer down, that'll be good, too.

How to serve them? With rice, of course. Got tortillas? Go nuts. Add jalapenos (from a jar, hence no prep). Add cheese (I personally have a horror of the concept of pre-grated cheese, but you certainly could). If you're feeling really fancy you could top it with cilantro, but really only buy a bunch if you're planning on using the rest. You could chop some up and add it to the beans near the end of the simmering. I've done it. It's good. As an extra-special treat, go avocado and lime. You won't regret it.

Oh. And salsa, of course. My preferred brand is Herdez' Salsa Casera (hot, but it also comes in mild and medium). If you want to serve the beans with eggs (preferably between two corn tortillas), I prefer La Costena's Salsa Verde.

So there you have it. Dinner (for one) and breakfast (or lunch) the next day.

Mis frijoles sabrosos. Que rico! (My keyboard is French, and I can't figure out how to set up an upsidedown exclamation mark. Sorry.)

New England Corn Chowder - from Auntie Betsy

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 23:01:00 +0000

The reason why you need this recipe in your repertoire is because:
a) You can make it entirely with ingredients you should always have on hand. Keep some bacon in the freezer if you don't go through it fast enough, or just as a backup. I always do. The other stuff is either pantry staples, dairy staples or canned.
b) It is damned good.

Looking over this recipe, I have to admit that I can't remember making it exactly as written, but must have, because I used to be (*still am*) (*some of the time*) a stickler for by-the-book-recipe-following. I am going to add one minor change of my own (in parentheses). Go as crazy as you want. I bet it would be good with red peppers, or heck, what if you threw in some kind of beans? I probably never will, being kind of a purist (whatever that means) when it comes to corn chowder, but please yourselves.

The recipe:

4 slices bacon
1 medium onion, thinly sliced
2 cups diced, peeled potatoes (I don't peel)
1 17-oz can creamed corn
(1 whatever-sized can corn niblets, drained)
2 cups milk
1 T butter

I'm not actually going to copy the recipe as written, because having read the whole thing, I think it's unnecessarily complicated, so here's my simplified version.

Bring a pot of water to a boil, add the potatoes and simmer until soft. DRAIN. Meanwhile, fry the bacon. Remove from heat and crumble (when it cools) or chop. Sauté the onions in the bacon fat. (Mmmm.) Drain off some fat if you feel like feeling healthy or if there is really an obscene amount.

Add the potatoes to the onions, along with the creamed corn and corn and milk, simmer five minutes more, crumble in bacon and serve.

(This has been edited for clarity and taste.)

There is absolutely no reason why you couldn't make this with frozen (or, gasp, fresh!) corn. What do you keep on hand? Use that. I mean, as a substitute for the niblets, of course. You can't substitute anything for creamed corn. And the recipe I have says that it's for a crockpot, but I can't actually see any good reason to make it in a crockpot. So don't. Start to finish, it's only about, what, forty minutes max. Absolute max. But you can hold off on it, it'll be fine. Think of it as a great, easy, delicious weekday meal. Grab a baguette from the bakery and whip up a green salad if you don't really believe that corn is a vegetable.

Halve the pasta, double the veggies

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Mon, 18 Feb 2008 21:42:00 +0000

This is my new way. For the classic rapini and shells, for example, I'd take an embarrassment of garlic, a head of rapini and a package of pasta. But I have seen the error of my ways. Forget the old school proportions. Take a half package of pasta and TWO heads of rapini. Not only will it be better for you, I guarandamntee that it will be more delicious, too. You may be increasing your prep time by a third, but you won't regret it.

All that to say that my proportions for this:

were perfect. Well, actually it was the previous version that was perfect, but this was close. Sitting on the subway trying to visualize my cupboards made me realize that aside from a grumpy sweet potato and dried legumes, I didn't have much. (Not having much meaning, of course, having five packages of pasta of varying sizes.) Later in the day, I did a search for something like "sweet potatoes" "pasta" and Google generously brought me to this recipe for penne with oven roasted sweet potatoes, pecans, and goat cheese.

And while I didn't have everything, I certainly had the key ingredients. The recipe's author highly recommended including the optional green beans. I thought she was crazy, but decided (after spotting a special on green beans at a stellar grocery store on the Danforth) that she was probably right, or at least not wrong, and anyway, I'm trying to add more vegetables to my diet, right?

It was amazing. I highly recommend it. I will not, however, include it on my list of simple recipes, just because there is an extra step that would have put me off in my previous incarnation. (Yes, Catherine, Michael and Scott, I will be posting those other recipes I promised.

What's up with juniper berries?

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 16:58:00 +0000

My posting just got swallowed up, but what I wanted to say was what's up with juniper berries?

I had never heard of them prior to last week, when they suddenly seemed to be popping up in every single recipe I looked at. I might have a vague memory of their appearance in my old British mystery novels, but that's my best guess.

What is up with juniper berries?

Are they the latest ingredient du jour?

Do they matter?

I'm so tough.

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 03:13:00 +0000

Yeah, this is a food post, but I just want to brag about how I just delivered a 6,800 word translation--that I only started on Friday night! And found time to celebrate my baby's birthday with some hard-drinking friends over pizza and five-pin bowling and the ever-lovely Linnsmore Tavern. Just look at those muscles. Plus I went to Yoga today. And made this bizarre dish...

When I started my cooking odyssey (bearing in mind that I was raised on Dainty Rice (yes, that's prepared rice in a can in a box that nobody believes exists) (check it out--I dare you: rice in a can, frozen peas and Mickey D's), all I could think of to eat were quasi-Mexican dishes. Nothing actually Mexican, but Mexican inflected lets say. That went on for some time. But then I grew increasingly obsessed with my beloved Bombay Mahal, and decided, with my heart in my throat, to try to start recreating their dishes in my kitchen.

God. It's intimidating. Prior to my foray into the cuisine of the subcontinent, my spice rack probably contained: Basil, oregano, cumin, cayenne, mace (I seemed to continually be buying mace, which was more expensive than really seemed justified to me at the time) and maybe one or two other mystery spices. I knew this wasn't going to cut it, and ventured up to Jean-Talon where I became a regular at the various deps that sold everything I could possibly need to wade thigh-high into Indian cooking...AND they knew alternate names for things.

"It says I need dhania, but I don't see it anywhere. It's not on the shelf."

"Sure it is, it's just cumin. It's right here."

And the man working the cash bolts over, pushes my new buddy aside and whispers, "He doesn't know what he's talking about. Here."

And shoves a packet into my hand. It turns out to be coriander. He throws in my green chilies for free.

And thus began my love of cooking Indian food in a halfway, sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, kind of way.

Which has nothing to do with my post. That's just mean to inspire those of you who might be afraid to dive into a new cuisine if you don't speak the language and don't understand the spices and haven't the foggiest notion of where to go to find out. I happen to live in a place where this isn't a problem, not even remotely, but you can usually get by just fine in one way or another. Don't be scared.

Because here's the thing. What I'm scared of at this point is Thai food. The ingredient lists are long and intimidating (much like Indian recipes used to be to me) and what's worse, when I've tried to use them, I've wound up more often than not with an inedible mass. Think lemongrass. If you don't know what to do with lemongrass, you might well wreck your best knife and make a vaguely edible soup with hard, chewy hunks of wood in it. That would be lemongrass.

And yet I'm somehow compelled to keep buying Thai ingredients. And let them accumulate on my shelves. So today I said, "To hell with that!" And decided to make a soup.

Of course I didn't jump in blind. I looked around, I thought of Thai dishes I had eaten. And I made a soup that, while not exactly a classic, is enjoyable enough, and certainly something that can be improved upon.

And while not everyone might think I need a schtik, I kind of feel like this could be my calling. So here goes:

1 squash. Any kind. Don't be scared. Butternut is easy, but any winter squash will do. Hell, a can of pumpkin (not spiced) would work if you don't feel like dealing with squash, but since the whole idea here is getting us into the kitchen, I say go for the squash. I paid $0.69/lb for this one.
1 can coconut milk. You really can find this in any grocery store, I don't care where you are. Maybe not in Utah, but who can say?
1 cup red lentils. Again, anything will do, but those little orange guys kind of go with the colour of the squash, plus they cook so darned fast that you really have no excuse for not keeping some around. Are you adding to your pantry list?
1 can Thai curry paste. I used green. I also used the whole can. My soup is quite spicy. Really very quite spicy. You don't need to use nearly as much as I did--I was just trying to keep things simple (for my own self).

Seriously folks, that's it.

What I did? I roasted the squash, because I have no idea who these people are that chop it and peel it. I don't have that kind of time. Cut it in half down the middle, put it face down in the oven (better yet, the toaster oven). Scoop out the seeds and strings. (Yes, you should totally destring and wash the seeds and bake them with oil and salt and pepper and any other spices you want, but I'm not going to make you do it if you don't want to.) Put it on foil, because when the starches come out, it'll make a sweet goo all over your pan. No foil? That's fine. Don't let that stop you from making this recipe. I just recommend keeping some around. Like most of my other ingredients, it doesn't go bad.

Right. So the temperature doesn't matter. 350? That'll take a little longer. 425? A little less time. I add a little water in the pan for some reason, maybe I read it someplace, but it doesn't matter. You can butter your pan if you want to, but again, you don't have to. All that will happen if you don't is the squash might stick to the foil/bottom of the pan a little more. It doesn't matter.

So the squash is cooking. In the meantime, I'm furiously revising my translation to try to finish things in time to go to Ann (going to Ann means going to Sunday afternoon yoga at the Yoga Sanctuary, because truly, it's all about Ann--she's amazing).

After the squash had been in there for some time, I put on a pan of water to boil. Actually, I had some leftover chicken stock from god knows what, so I used that, but water is more than fine. How much? God. Say three cups. It doesn't matter. I mean, not like ten gallons or anything, but anything in the ballpark is fine.

Water boils? Add lentils. You're supposed to pick them over for rocks, and I actually did this time, but you do what you want. A good way is to spread them out on a plate or a tray or something so you can really see them. I've also sometimes read that you're supposed to rinse them, but unlike with rice (I am a strict rice-rinsing and soaking nazi), I am completely inconsistent here.

So you've got the water boiling with the lentils. Stir it around a bit, or the lentils might stick a little to the bottom. No worries, nothing is going to go horrifically wrong. You'll see them pouff up in size eventually. If you taste them then, you'll see that they're fine to eat. I added a whole can of coconut milk at that point, simply because I knew that if I put half of the can in the fridge, even with the best of intentions, it would go green and moldy.

So, you've got your lentil water mixture, plus coconut milk, plus (whoo!) a can of chili paste. This, I don't know how available it is. I would assume somewhat, but also somewhat less than coconut milk. Look around. Ask around. How amazing is that? A whole can of delicious spicy stuff that means that you don't even have to think! It's all done for you! I call that gorgeous. I have the red stuff too, so if you find that, feel free to use it. I just happened to grab the green.

So that's all mixed into the pot, and bubbling away merrily. You can reduce the heat at this point (not to low, say med-low). The squash might be done. Check and see. Does it squoosh? Everywhere? (Mine didn't. I thought it was done, but the long neck-like part of the bigger half (of course I don't cut mine evenly either) was hard as a rock inside. It's fine. You can recover from that.) I recommend making sure it's done, but if it's not, do like I did. Scoop out whatever is done (soft and squishy) and lob it into the soup. The bits that don't seem to want to come off easily? Throw them back in the oven/toaster oven. They'll be ready in ten or so.

When you've succeeded in adding all of the squash to the pot, get out your hand blender. Don't have one? Got a blender? Use that. A food processor? That'll work too. Potato masher? You'll wind up with something less creamy, but just call it "Rustic Thai" and everyone will think it's great.

People jazz up their recipes with all kinds of stuff. Cilantro. Fish sauce. (Admission: I have a bottle of squid brand fish sauce that seems to have expired in 2006 but that was never opened--did I mention that I have a terror of preparing Thai food?--so I opened it today and threw some in. I have no idea what difference it made, if any. I would guess not much.) Chillies. Ginger. Garlic. Onions. That sort of thing. If you have some on hand, why not toss some in? Not too much. Be gentle. Think balance. Think moderation. It'll be great.

For the record, none of these ingredients goes bad (within reason I mean).
Dry lentils - personally have kept them on hand for years.
Coconut milk - ditto
Curry paste in a can - ditto
Squash - the only one of these that can really expire; it's happened to me once. I had a squash in a too-warm kitchen for like six months. Anything less than that and you're probably fine.

Concept Blog

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Tue, 05 Feb 2008 00:44:00 +0000

When I come to think about it, the blogs that I read tend to, in some way, large or small, have a concept. A premise. Like, I don't know, great presentation. Great photographs. Not eating out. Quick and Indian (Mallika, I miss you!). Meat. Southwestern cuisine. Trying new things. You get the idea.

And of course, I have no concept. I am a girl who rarely has a schtick and, if I do, it generally tends to fail. But today I realized what my schtick will be (and whether I'll stick with my schtick). Easy, delicious food for people who really don't know how to cook. I don't mean elaborate meals whose construction requires three pots, 17 ingredients and a knowledge of deglazing. I mean if you're someone who likes to eat delicious stuff, but maybe only has four spices in your spicerack (and they came with), one knife, one pot, and a can of beans in the pantry, and are kind of afraid to walk into a dep and come face to face with your own vast ignorance of Pakistani cooking, say, this could be for you.

This ties into (and was probably inspired by) my cabbage post. That is a perfect dish for someone who is afraid. You can't screw it up. And the ingredients? Ok, buy a cabbage (I have the idea that they last basically forever, so if you can't get to it sooner than later, later than sooner will be fine) (just leave it in the crisper, wrapped in plastic). So you've bought your cabbage? Every single other ingredient should be something you should have on hand. If you don't, start stocking your pantry/fridge now, with stuff that keeps for a really long time:

Some basic items:
Olive oil (pantry)
Onions (pantry/shelf/cupboard)
Garlic (pantry/shelf/cupboard)
Vinegar (pantry) (you should have at least two or three kinds, but you can get small bottles, they'll only cost a couple bucks) (say, balsamic, white, red wine)
Stock (pantry) (bouillon cubes or cans or boxes) (I'd say go whole hog and get chicken, beef and veggie)
Parmesan cheese (fridge) (get good stuff, from your deli counter - I usually get some in a block, that I grate myself, but I also get some grated, so it's already done and I don't have to bother to whip out a grater and bloody my knuckles when I just want some pasta)
Butter (fridge) (and counter)
[Um, and as the ever-lovely Veever pointed out, you also need to have, you know, rice. Risotto was called for, and excellent, but I imagine you could substitute with whatever you've got on hand. I'm going to make it with a mixed-bag of crazy rice varieties. I'll report back.]

Ok. Not only are these all things you should have in your kitchen at all times (I'll add to the list in future posts), but they are all you need for the cabbage. You can do it. Check out the cabbage post. Don't use red cabbage (use Savoy, the darker green, crinkly kind, or regular green). But if you get red by mistake? No worries. It'll just be uglier, but kind of a pleasant surprise.

Scaredy -cat

noreply@blogger.com (pouletsecret) — Mon, 04 Feb 2008 01:14:00 +0000

So, my baby's birthday just happens to fall on Chinese New Year's Eve, and I had no ideas when it came to gifts. Until of course I realized that it was New Year's Eve, at which point I suggested to him that it might be fun to go to a really, really, really, really nice Chinese restaurant to celebrate his birthday. So really nice that he won't get a present, since this will really be a supreme deluxe splurge. Like the kind of fancy I've never really even considered going.

So how escared am I? (Escared in a thrilled and excited way, I mean.) I want to make sure that we eat as much amazingly delicious food as possible, so I printed off all of the prix fixe menus we could order (as a party of two) and also printed the entire à la carte menu, and also printed the à la carte Chinese New Years' menu. Then I went through and made a mark beside everything I was interested in, and made my baby do the same. Then we went over it together to try and see if we should order a prix fixe (we shouldn't) and if not, what we would be ordering. (This is very atypical behaviour for me.)

It's terrifically thrilling. And nerve-wracking. So much so that I didn't find time to make the roast chicken that I was so psyched to make this weekend, or participate in some blogging event that involved a rutabaga that I was also really psyched about.

I've got a one-track mind right now. In fact, I'm going to go and peruse the menu one more time...

(The restaurant is Lai Wah Heen, in case any one of my four readers has any suggestions.)