Nothing says, "Let's Celebrate" like a meatloaf. No, really. Of all the things I make, meatloaf is Uncle Eater's favorite meal. And, after working for 143 consecutive days (okay, there was a smattering of days off 10? 11?) that man deserved a hot, heaping plate of favorite dinner.
There isn't much one can say about meatloaf, though mine is especially good as it is topped with fat slabs of smokey bacon. I was also a lazy local spendivore that day. I went to the specialty Italian market to get the bacon, they carry a wonderfully meaty smokey slab bacon that I can get three or four slices of as I need it, and the rest of the ground meat (beef, pork, veal) I needed was right there. It was also $4/lb more expensive than the ground meat I could have gotten at the butcher just down the street. And I bought it anyway. I felt a little guilty about it, mostly for taking away a sale from Main Street butcher, but my spendivore dollar voted to cut the shopping trip short and head home sooner with Little Eater to play baseball in the yard. It amused me to note that, much like in the grocery store, one pays a premium for "convenience food." Unlike at the grocery store, however, I knew that this convenient purchase was buying me fresh, top quality, ethically sound food.
Anyway, make my meatloaf. Seriously. It's really, really good.
Meatloaf
1 - Tablespoon olive oil
1 - medium onion, chopped
1 - large celery stalk, chopped
3 - garlic cloves, minced You can use more or less to taste. We like garlic.
1 - jalapeno, chopped Chop it with the ribs and seeds if you want more heat
2 - teaspoons kosher salt
1/4 - teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 - teaspoon ground cumin I am also usually a little more generous with cumin
2 - eggs
1/2 - cup milk
1/2 - cup tomato sauce or ketchup
1 - cup dry bread crumbs
2 - lbs ground meat, 1 lbs beef, 1/2 lbs pork, 1/2 lbs veal (you can sub lamb here, if you prefer)
4 - strips thick, smokey bacon.
1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Heat oil in a skillet over medium heat. Add onion, celery, garlic, and jalapeno and cook until tender but not browned (about 10 minutes), stirring occasionally. Add salt, nutmeg, and cumin. Remove from heat to cool.
2. In a large bowl, whisk eggs. Blend in milk, ketchup/tomato sauce, and bread crumbs. Add meat and cooked vegetables and work with your hands to combine. Don't over mix.
3. Pat into a 9x5 inch loaf pan. Cut bacon strips in half and lay crosswise over the meatloaf. Bake for an hour or so or until an instant-read thermometer registers 150 degrees F. Remove from the oven and pour off most of the accumulated fat.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Turn Up The Heat - Day 16.
I have been so inspired lately on my trips to the grocerette on Main Street. Catering to the largely Latin local community, they carry a host of delicious looking foods that I have no idea how to cook or, in some cases, have never heard of. Colorful foods. Rich-smelling foods. And an entire wall of chili peppers, some I know, some I don't. I don't cook much with whole dried chilies other than readily available chipotles, because it seems that whenever I have a recipe that I want to try, I either can't find the pepper or they're $11 for a bag of 3 Whole Foods. That's too rich even for my foodie blood. It was a cold morning and I woke up wanting to make something for dinner that would warm the house, some spicy braise of something meaty. That's how the morning menu planning usually begins - I feel like making something that will make me feel something and smell like something and use something with a side of something and something and I want to cook it in/on something. I fill in the blanks for the somethings and a dinner plan was born. In this case, with a damp chill clinging persistently to the day and the image of that wall of enticing dried chilies in my head, the menu mad-lib ended up looking like this: I feel like making something that will make me feel warm and smell like meat and spice and use up some tomatoes with a side of white rice and salad and I want to braise it in my cheerfully green Dutch oven.
Bittman gave me the recipe and the grocerette practically gave me the chilies at $2 for a big bag of 12.
Lamb Shanks with Pasilla Chili Sauce
by Mark Bittman
1 - tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
4 - lamb shanks, about 1 pound each
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 - cups sliced onion
2 - cups chopped tomato (drained canned is fine)
2 - cloves garlic + 1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 - tablespoon fresh marjoram or oregano leaves or 1 teaspoon dried
1/2 - cup chicken, beef, or vegetable stock
1 - teaspoon ground cumin
1. Soak 3 to 5 pasilla or other mild dried red chilies in hot water to cover until soft, about 30 minutes. Meanwhile, put the oil in a large pot with a lid or a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When hot add the shanks and brown on all sides, sprinkling with salt and pepper as they cook. Remove the lamb and pour off all but 2 tablespoons of fat. Add the onion and 1 cup of the tomato and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until softened and onions are golden, about 10 minutes. Transfer the onion mixture to a food processor. Drain the chilies, reserving the soaking liquid, and tear them into pieces while removing their stems and seeds. Add the chilies to the processor along with 2 cloves garlic and puree, adding the chili liquid as necessary to get a smooth paste.
2. Add the minced garlic and marjoram to the Dutch oven and cook for a minute, then add the stock, the chili puree, and remaining cup chopped tomato. Sprinkle in salt and pepper and 1 teaspoon ground cumin. Return the lamb shanks to the pan, turn them once or twice, cover, and turn the heat to low.
3. Cook for 30 minutes and turn the shanks. Continue to cook for at least another hour, turning occasionally, until the shanks are very tender (a toothpick inserted into them will meet little resistance) and the meat is nearly falling from the bone.
Bittman gave me the recipe and the grocerette practically gave me the chilies at $2 for a big bag of 12.
Lamb Shanks with Pasilla Chili Sauce
by Mark Bittman
1 - tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
4 - lamb shanks, about 1 pound each
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 - cups sliced onion
2 - cups chopped tomato (drained canned is fine)
2 - cloves garlic + 1 tablespoon minced garlic
1 - tablespoon fresh marjoram or oregano leaves or 1 teaspoon dried
1/2 - cup chicken, beef, or vegetable stock
1 - teaspoon ground cumin
1. Soak 3 to 5 pasilla or other mild dried red chilies in hot water to cover until soft, about 30 minutes. Meanwhile, put the oil in a large pot with a lid or a Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When hot add the shanks and brown on all sides, sprinkling with salt and pepper as they cook. Remove the lamb and pour off all but 2 tablespoons of fat. Add the onion and 1 cup of the tomato and cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, until softened and onions are golden, about 10 minutes. Transfer the onion mixture to a food processor. Drain the chilies, reserving the soaking liquid, and tear them into pieces while removing their stems and seeds. Add the chilies to the processor along with 2 cloves garlic and puree, adding the chili liquid as necessary to get a smooth paste.
2. Add the minced garlic and marjoram to the Dutch oven and cook for a minute, then add the stock, the chili puree, and remaining cup chopped tomato. Sprinkle in salt and pepper and 1 teaspoon ground cumin. Return the lamb shanks to the pan, turn them once or twice, cover, and turn the heat to low.
3. Cook for 30 minutes and turn the shanks. Continue to cook for at least another hour, turning occasionally, until the shanks are very tender (a toothpick inserted into them will meet little resistance) and the meat is nearly falling from the bone.
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Sausage Fest - Day 15.
If there's one thing we all love in this household, it's a good old-fashioned blind taste test. You'd be amazed at the the number of like things we have found in recent years that can be tested blindly. But, mostly, it's either sausage or champagne. So, with three butchers within three blocks of each other who make their own sausage in-store, I was neither surprised nor confused when, upon asking Dad Eater what he wanted to do for dinner that night and he responded, "sausage fest." So, off we went in search of sausage. On the way, we decided to get two each of hot and sweet from each place. We went to the bikini butcher first where, upon checking out the shopkeeper enthusiastically gushed "That is such good sausage, isn't it?" with such pride it was inspiring. "Yes!" I replied, matching his enthusiasm, though I had not, in fact, ever had their sausage (why, oh why, am I so socially awkward). We then trotted down the street to the long-standing butcher, the one that's been there for 50 years, Little Eater racing ahead of us and then racing back laughing and gleefully shouting, "SAUSAGE! SAUSAGE FOR DINNER!" Two large links later we kept on marching down to the Italian specialty market. I let Little Eater do the ordering here. He walked right over to the butcher counter and, when asked what he would like "Sausage, please. Not too spicy." Both the bikini butcher and Main Street butcher sell their sausage for $3.99/lb. At the Italian market, the sausages go for $5.49/lb. We headed for home and the day went on as it usually does. When Uncle Eater got home from work and asked what we were having for dinner, he also understood, without further clarification, the rules of the meal. Like I said, we really love our taste tests.
While the guys hung out in the living room, I grilled the sausages without telling them what sausages came from where. So, the taste testing was only truly blind to Dad and Uncle. Little Eater had eaten his not-too-spicy sausage earlier. We started by tasting the sweet sausages. I sliced a small piece of each of the three, placing them in identical locations on all three plates. Top sausage, middle sausage, and bottom sausage. Everybody tasted and remembered but did not discuss their preference. We then repeated the process for the hot sausages. There was little deliberating and everybody picked their preferences. And the winner was...
By unanimous vote, the oldest butcher on Main Street was our favorite sausage both hot and sweet. The biggest surprise, though, was not that Main Street butcher was so tasty, but that the more expensive sausage from the fancy specialty market didn't make top pick on any list. In fact, though their sausage was quite good, and I wouldn't kick it out of bed for eating crackers, it was last choice for each of us with only one exception where it was my middle choice for hot sausage. In the case of this experiment at least, more money did not equal better quality.
 | |||
| Sausage Fest, Eater-style. And, Uncle Eater's foot. Hello, foot. |
By unanimous vote, the oldest butcher on Main Street was our favorite sausage both hot and sweet. The biggest surprise, though, was not that Main Street butcher was so tasty, but that the more expensive sausage from the fancy specialty market didn't make top pick on any list. In fact, though their sausage was quite good, and I wouldn't kick it out of bed for eating crackers, it was last choice for each of us with only one exception where it was my middle choice for hot sausage. In the case of this experiment at least, more money did not equal better quality.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Every Main Street Tells a Story - Days 13 and 14.
So much time passes so quickly. I have been both pleased and surprised with how easy shopping from Main Street has been. Every day I get a slightly deeper understanding of my community, learn a little more of the local story, and foster now important relationships with a street full of hard working merchants. But in many ways, my days are wholly unremarkable. I expected this to be harder. Two weeks in to this experiment, I expected to have daily things to say about one little struggle or another, one hard decision, one massive frustration. In the absence of these things, what the heck do I write about? I go out into the world, buy the food I need for dinner, go home, cook the dinner, and eat the dinner, just like millions of other people. I don't want this to simply become a recipe blog. Also, though the politics of food growing, buying, and selling are important to me, I want this to be a mostly apolitical project. I'm not interested in preaching. Everybody has to eat dinner, but I'm not about to tell somebody I don't know how to go about doing it. I am confident, though, that if you're taking the time to read this blog, you're willing to start thinking about what kind of spendivore you are and what kind of vote you're casting with your food dollar.
So what, exactly, is my point? I confess, that I've lost sight of it a little and that it's been stressing me out. I've worried that I'm not writing clearly enough about why I think this project is important. Then again, I've been thanked by readers for not beating people about the face and head with MY MESSAGE. Prattling on about it on Sunday during dinner - we had ordered in fried chicken - Dad Eater reminded me that this is an experiment. It would not have been at all experimental if I knew all the answers before I started. Thus far, I have discovered that some of what I thought were my most unmoving tenets of food buying went right out the window when, forced out of my comfort zone, I've had to do a little more research before making a choice. It turns out that some of the things I knew I did not actually know. Main Street taught me that. I've realized that for most of my adult life, whenever I purchased a chicken, I was thinking only from the perspective of the chicken. Now when I walk into the butcher shop, I look a man in the eyes and am learning there's more to the story. My understanding of what it means to eat ethically is being completely rewritten. Main Street had those lessons waiting for me. And they were free. What can your Main Street teach you?
So what, exactly, is my point? I confess, that I've lost sight of it a little and that it's been stressing me out. I've worried that I'm not writing clearly enough about why I think this project is important. Then again, I've been thanked by readers for not beating people about the face and head with MY MESSAGE. Prattling on about it on Sunday during dinner - we had ordered in fried chicken - Dad Eater reminded me that this is an experiment. It would not have been at all experimental if I knew all the answers before I started. Thus far, I have discovered that some of what I thought were my most unmoving tenets of food buying went right out the window when, forced out of my comfort zone, I've had to do a little more research before making a choice. It turns out that some of the things I knew I did not actually know. Main Street taught me that. I've realized that for most of my adult life, whenever I purchased a chicken, I was thinking only from the perspective of the chicken. Now when I walk into the butcher shop, I look a man in the eyes and am learning there's more to the story. My understanding of what it means to eat ethically is being completely rewritten. Main Street had those lessons waiting for me. And they were free. What can your Main Street teach you?
Friday, October 21, 2011
Dinner for One - Day 12.
A rarest of rare occurrences happened on Saturday, I had nobody to cook dinner for. Dad Eater was working late. Uncle Eater had dinner plans with friends. And, I decided to treat Little Eater to one of his favorite meals, spinach pizza from the pizzeria at the end of the block. So, with no menfolk to feed, I did as I often do when I'm on my own and unleashed my inner vegetarian. She's a rarely spotted creature these days, that sprout-eating, thanks-I'll-just-have-salad, turn-up-at-your-house-for-dinner-carrying-her-own-box-of-black-bean-burgers girl. In fact, she's kind of obnoxious, so it's just as well I usually have at least one ravenous carnivore to feed most nights.
I had on hand a sweet potato, a head of red bore kale, and garlic, so I needed only ricotta cheese to make this Sweet Potato with Kale and Ricotta recipe which is a standby favorite of mine (and of my inner vegetarian). I don't follow this recipe exactly these days, but it is a great place to start. I like lots of vinegar in my greens, I fry up extra slices of garlic, and generally use whole milk ricotta. A note on ricotta cheese - if you can find it freshly made, it is well worth it. It is incomparable to the supermarket stuff, sorry Polly-O. I got mine from the Italian specialty market; it was glorious. I did feel a bit like a cheating lover though as the butcher stared at me from across the market with a mixture of shock and confusion and finally what I am sure was genuine sadness as I meatlessly checked out and headed for home.
I had on hand a sweet potato, a head of red bore kale, and garlic, so I needed only ricotta cheese to make this Sweet Potato with Kale and Ricotta recipe which is a standby favorite of mine (and of my inner vegetarian). I don't follow this recipe exactly these days, but it is a great place to start. I like lots of vinegar in my greens, I fry up extra slices of garlic, and generally use whole milk ricotta. A note on ricotta cheese - if you can find it freshly made, it is well worth it. It is incomparable to the supermarket stuff, sorry Polly-O. I got mine from the Italian specialty market; it was glorious. I did feel a bit like a cheating lover though as the butcher stared at me from across the market with a mixture of shock and confusion and finally what I am sure was genuine sadness as I meatlessly checked out and headed for home.
 |
| World of awesome. |
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Two and a Half - Day 11
It was a dark and stormy night. Which gave way to a dark and stormy day. Which made me want to cook something hearty, delicious, and warming in a single pot. Though the day brightened up and dried out, it was still a one-pot meal kind of night. Little Eater was feeling a little under the weather in addition to being extra super specially two and a half. He was so two and a half that the Spendivore Stroll took an hour to buy the three things I needed for arroz con pollo (chicken, rice, and olives) since it became absolutely essential to him to assert his independence with every step. Main Street was treated to such toddler gems as lying down in the middle of the sidewalk and pretending to nap after telling me to, "Go away, I'll be right here resting." And, attempting to engage strangers in games of stick ball by stopping suddenly in front of them, pulling his hat over his face, screaming, "I'm wearing a face mask," and swinging a stick about wildly. It's a good thing he's cute. I confiscated the stick and told him he could have it back when we got home thinking it might motivate him pick up the pace a little. But no. Somehow, it convinced him that he was, in fact, a chicken. And the rest of the walk went something like this:
Me: Come on, sweetheart, we're almost to the butcher and then only one stop after that.
Little Eater: I'm chicken.
Me: Ok, you're a chicken. Let's go.
Little Eater: (stopping entirely to peck his beak on the ground) cluck, cluck
Me: (grasping Little Eater firmly by the wing) Now, chicken. March!
Little Eater: cluck, cluck, cluckcluckcluckcluckcluckcluckCLUCK!
And as such, we arrived at the butcher where Little Eater responded to being greeted with a genuinely warm, "Hey little buddy, how you doing today?" with an indignant "I'm CHICKEN!" and set about clucking and pecking the case of rolls. I took a perverse pleasure in purchasing several pounds of chicken thighs while I was there and mused momentarily on which of my chickens I felt more inclined to cook for dinner. We made it home without much in the way of incident though Little Eater would communicate with me only in clucks and requests to have his stick returned. He returned briefly to boyhood after we got home as he noticed the olives coming out of the shopping bag. 10 or so olives later, he was back outside in the yard, pecking, clucking, and sticking and I was putting together our meal. All seemed fine with the world. And then, shortly after tucking Little Eater into bed and having served up hot, comforting, chicken-y bowls of arroz con pollo, Little Eater woke up and began to cry. In his final, dramatic act of two and a half for the day he promptly ralphed his dinner and what seemed to be way more than 10 olives down the front of Dad Eater and Me.
Little Eater: Moooooooooommmmyyyyy. I burped.
Me: I see that, sweetheart. We'll get you all cleaned up and comfy, cozy again.
Little Eater: cluck, cluck.
Fortunately, arroz con pollo is just as good cold as it is hot. I used this recipe from Martha Stewart.
Me: Come on, sweetheart, we're almost to the butcher and then only one stop after that.
Little Eater: I'm chicken.
Me: Ok, you're a chicken. Let's go.
Little Eater: (stopping entirely to peck his beak on the ground) cluck, cluck
Me: (grasping Little Eater firmly by the wing) Now, chicken. March!
Little Eater: cluck, cluck, cluckcluckcluckcluckcluckcluckCLUCK!
And as such, we arrived at the butcher where Little Eater responded to being greeted with a genuinely warm, "Hey little buddy, how you doing today?" with an indignant "I'm CHICKEN!" and set about clucking and pecking the case of rolls. I took a perverse pleasure in purchasing several pounds of chicken thighs while I was there and mused momentarily on which of my chickens I felt more inclined to cook for dinner. We made it home without much in the way of incident though Little Eater would communicate with me only in clucks and requests to have his stick returned. He returned briefly to boyhood after we got home as he noticed the olives coming out of the shopping bag. 10 or so olives later, he was back outside in the yard, pecking, clucking, and sticking and I was putting together our meal. All seemed fine with the world. And then, shortly after tucking Little Eater into bed and having served up hot, comforting, chicken-y bowls of arroz con pollo, Little Eater woke up and began to cry. In his final, dramatic act of two and a half for the day he promptly ralphed his dinner and what seemed to be way more than 10 olives down the front of Dad Eater and Me.
Little Eater: Moooooooooommmmyyyyy. I burped.
Me: I see that, sweetheart. We'll get you all cleaned up and comfy, cozy again.
Little Eater: cluck, cluck.
Fortunately, arroz con pollo is just as good cold as it is hot. I used this recipe from Martha Stewart.
 |
| Simmering, chicken-y, rice-y olive-y goodness. |
Monday, October 17, 2011
Mom Eater And A Duck Walk Into A Bar- Day 10.
Q: Why do ducks have webbed feet?
A: For stamping out forest fires.
Q: Why do elephants have such big feet?
A: To stamp out burning ducks.
***
A man and a duck are walking down the street together. Suddenly the man notices a low-flying airplane coming right for them. The man yells "DUCK!!!!" and the duck looks back at the man with an angry face and yells "MAN!!!!"
***
Two monsters went duck-hunting with their dogs but without success. "I know what we're doing wrong," said the first one. "What's that then?" asked the second. "We're not throwing the dogs high enough!
Two monsters went duck-hunting with their dogs but without success. "I know what we're doing wrong," said the first one. "What's that then?" asked the second. "We're not throwing the dogs high enough!
***
There was a barman who owned a duck who danced on a tin box. He sold it to another bar man who phoned him later asking how to make him stop. He replied "Open the tin and blow out the candles!"
There was a barman who owned a duck who danced on a tin box. He sold it to another bar man who phoned him later asking how to make him stop. He replied "Open the tin and blow out the candles!"
***
A duck walks into a bar and says to the bar tender "I'll have a beer".
The bartender says "Hey! where did you come from?"
The duck says "I'm working the construction site across the street".
And the bartender says, "Well why are you working construction when you could be making millions in the circus?"
And the duck said "What would the circus want with a brick laying duck?"
A duck walks into a bar and says to the bar tender "I'll have a beer".
The bartender says "Hey! where did you come from?"
The duck says "I'm working the construction site across the street".
And the bartender says, "Well why are you working construction when you could be making millions in the circus?"
And the duck said "What would the circus want with a brick laying duck?"
***
I woke up feeling ducky, so guess what I made for dinner?
 |
| Served with sauteed bok choy and white rice |
Steamed and Roasted Duck
by Mark Bittman, from How to Cook Everything
by Mark Bittman, from How to Cook Everything
1 whole duck, 4 to 5 pounds, excess fat removed
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Salt and freshly ground pepper
2 Tbl soy sauce
2 Tbl honey
1 Tbl minced or grated fresh ginger (or 1 tsp ground ginger)
1 Tbl chopped garlic
2 Tbl dry sherry or white wine
2 Tbl dry white wine or water
1. Rig a steamer. Put 1 to 2 inches of water in the bottom. Put the duck on the rack or plate, cover the pot, and turn the heat to high. Steam for about 45 minutes, adding boiling water if necessary.
2. Remove the duck from the pot, put it on a rack, and cool for at least 15 minutes (you can also wrap it well and refrigerate for up to 2 days).
3. Heat the oven to 375 degrees F. Combine all the remaining ingredients in a saucepan and cook over low heat, stirring, until just shy of a boil. Put the duck, breast side down (wings up), on a rack in a roasting pan. Baste with the sauce.
4. Roast the duck for 15 minutes, baste it, then turn it breast side up. Raise the heat to 425 degrees F. Baste the bird again and roast it until the skin is crisp, another 15 minutes or so, until the internal temperature is 155-165 degrees F. Let the duck rest for a few minutes, then carve and serve.
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Chili Mac Supreme - Day 9.
Have you ever been to a Steak 'n Shake? I can't in good conscience advocate that anybody rush out to go to one, however, there was one in my home town. And, in my teenage years it became a hangout for my small group of friends and me. I'd go there after my shift ended at the restaurant where I had my first summer job. Somehow, I believed the food prepared at Steak 'n Shake was less, oh, I don't know; sometimes I think it's better not to know what goes on in the kitchen of the restaurant where you're eating. I also used to run there from my house with a friend. We'd arrive sweaty, gross, and starving and eat, in a manner and quantity that only teenagers can, and then run back home. My stomach does flip flops even now remembering that particular bit of youthful stupidity.
For me, the highlight of the menu was a dish called Chili Mac Supreme. When I look at the menu online I see it's no longer listed. Or, perhaps it's a regional thing. Chili Mac Supreme was a heaping plate of pasta topped with "chili beef," "special sauce" (essentially, ketchup), shredded cheddar jack cheese, and raw onions. Oh yes. And, for reasons slightly unclear, I set out to recreate the recipe. I think I did a pretty good job, though I "healthed" it up a bit with the addition of a single green bell pepper and a can of kidney beans. I got the ground beef from the Main Street butcher where I'd earlier failed to ask about sourcing some kinder meats. I did manage to ask him this go around and he happily responded that he could keep me in free-range chickens and happy cows, though pork and lamb are a little more challenging since he'd have to order more than he'd be likely to sell. He did, however, offer to let me know when restaurant clients are placing orders so that I might piggyback on their orders. I'm excited even though upon hearing what I was planning for dinner he looked stricken and croaked out a "Well, good luck with that."
Chili Mac Supreme, My Way
For the Chili Beef
2 lbs 80/20 ground beef
1 - onion, chopped
1 - green bell pepper, chopped
1 - 15 oz can kidney beans
2 - palm fulls chili powder or to taste
1 - palm full ground cumin or to taste
1 - small can tomato paste
1 - cup water
salt and pepper to taste
For the Special Sauce
4 parts ketchup
1 part Worcestershire sauce
grated cheddar jack cheese
diced raw onion
1 lb cooked spaghetti
1. Brown the beef, onion, and green pepper in a large skillet over med-high heat. When no trace of pink is left in the meat and the vegetables are tender, drain most of the fat from the skillet. If you want to it be really authentic, leave it in, but I promise, beef swimming in oil doesn't add much to this meal.
2. Meanwhile, mix together ketchup and Worcestershire sauce.
3. Return the skillet to the heat and stir in the beans, chili powder and cumin. Cook for a few minutes until fragrant and then stir in the tomato paste and water. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until the water is mostly evaporated. For a more chili-like consistency, add more water. Taste and season with salt and pepper as necessary.
4. Serve by ladling chili beef over cooked spaghetti, topping with a generous helping of special sauce, shredded cheese, and chopped onion.
5. Consume and immediately feel terribly, terribly guilty.
For me, the highlight of the menu was a dish called Chili Mac Supreme. When I look at the menu online I see it's no longer listed. Or, perhaps it's a regional thing. Chili Mac Supreme was a heaping plate of pasta topped with "chili beef," "special sauce" (essentially, ketchup), shredded cheddar jack cheese, and raw onions. Oh yes. And, for reasons slightly unclear, I set out to recreate the recipe. I think I did a pretty good job, though I "healthed" it up a bit with the addition of a single green bell pepper and a can of kidney beans. I got the ground beef from the Main Street butcher where I'd earlier failed to ask about sourcing some kinder meats. I did manage to ask him this go around and he happily responded that he could keep me in free-range chickens and happy cows, though pork and lamb are a little more challenging since he'd have to order more than he'd be likely to sell. He did, however, offer to let me know when restaurant clients are placing orders so that I might piggyback on their orders. I'm excited even though upon hearing what I was planning for dinner he looked stricken and croaked out a "Well, good luck with that."
Chili Mac Supreme, My Way
 |
| This is Dad Eater in 2005 with a plate of the real thing. |
2 lbs 80/20 ground beef
1 - onion, chopped
1 - green bell pepper, chopped
1 - 15 oz can kidney beans
2 - palm fulls chili powder or to taste
1 - palm full ground cumin or to taste
1 - small can tomato paste
1 - cup water
salt and pepper to taste
For the Special Sauce
4 parts ketchup
1 part Worcestershire sauce
grated cheddar jack cheese
 |
| The funny thing is, I was a vegetarian in 2005 so I got my chili beef on the side. Look closely. That is the reason I suggest you drain your beef. Also, yes, I really did pay somebody to bring me a plate of pasta with ketchup sauce. |
1 lb cooked spaghetti
1. Brown the beef, onion, and green pepper in a large skillet over med-high heat. When no trace of pink is left in the meat and the vegetables are tender, drain most of the fat from the skillet. If you want to it be really authentic, leave it in, but I promise, beef swimming in oil doesn't add much to this meal.
2. Meanwhile, mix together ketchup and Worcestershire sauce.
3. Return the skillet to the heat and stir in the beans, chili powder and cumin. Cook for a few minutes until fragrant and then stir in the tomato paste and water. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until the water is mostly evaporated. For a more chili-like consistency, add more water. Taste and season with salt and pepper as necessary.
4. Serve by ladling chili beef over cooked spaghetti, topping with a generous helping of special sauce, shredded cheese, and chopped onion.
5. Consume and immediately feel terribly, terribly guilty.
 |
| Dad Eater admits defeat. |
Friday, October 14, 2011
And then, nothing happened - Day 8.
After our deliciously decadent weekend, I decided to make rice, lentils, and swiss chard for dinner. A little less excess and a lot more simplicity. It was a necessary decision both for the wallet and the waistline. The Eaters peeped meekly about the lack of land-roving protein presented but, in the end, I think we were all glad for a vegetarian meal. I lacked only the lentils and, as such, made a quick trip to the grocerette on Main Street and $0.89 later, I had all the fixings I needed for dinner. I was also grateful for the ease of going downtown to buy the one item on my grocery list. Had I packed up Little Eater and gone to Whole Foods, I almost certainly would have ended up buying food that we didn't need, if only to justify the trip. Another win for shopping downtown.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
A Walkable Feast - Days 5, 6, and 7.
I don't miss Whole Foods at all. I really expected to. I figured after a week, I might start to get a little frustrated as I ran out of favorite products, or tired of having to walk to three different stores to get three items, or even bored at losing one of my most reliable daily activities with Little Eater. But, the daily grocery store drive has been replaced with our "Spendivore Stroll." We've left behind traffic, road work, and crowded parking lots. And we never run into overly manicured women wearing designer velour sweatsuits, cascades of jewelery, and floor length fur coats who bicker with each other at the prepared foods counter over who got there first and then proceed to try to out-order the lady before in a two-pronged effort to show off how much more she needs for her family and to make the lady she jockeyed out of position wait as long as possible. Instead, Little Eater and I make our way, hand in hand, onto Main Street stopping to look at every plane that flies overhead, touching every bit of grass poking up through the sidewalk, and stomping into every puddle along the way. It takes a long time. I don't mind. The time I was trying to waste in the car and the grocery store has been given back to me full of life, fresh air and my son's enthusiasm for small things.
I didn't manage to blog about our weekend shopping and eating mostly because we were all too busy eating our faces off. The whole family was home together all day each day, an occurrence rare enough in recent months, that I can't remember the last time it happened. Dad Eater kicked off Saturday with "bone in" French toast, so named by Little Eater who mistook the thick crust from the bakery loaf for a bone. We all dug into the garden with our hands, turning up the soil and giggling as we pulled out potato after lovely potato - reds, fingerlings, yukon golds - that we've been waiting for since spring. Little Eater could hardly contain his excitement, grabbing neighbors by the hand as they emerged from their houses to show them how to dig potatoes and giving the baby potatoes a hug. We left the taters out to dry and set off on the Spendivore Stroll, excited neighbor in tow, for the days groceries. I was uncharacteristically without a meal plan, confident that I'd find something exciting to toss on the grill. And did I ever. Two full racks of pork baby back ribs. They weren't in the case at the Italian Market, where they sell them cooked on the weekends, but when I asked after them the butcher replied with a cheerful, "For you? Of course we have some" and went to the back to fish some out of their brine. The next afternoon saw me back at the same counter as Uncle Eater ordered up a treat of four prime dry aged strip steaks and chatting with the butchers about how generally disappointed they were that I didn't bring Little Eater on this visit. On to the cheese counter where I selected a gorgonzola cremificato that the
cheesemonger was so excited about he exclaimed, "Look! Look a it. It's still alive!" I also got into a polite argument with the other guy behind the counter that a cheddar from Vermont isn't exactly what I'd label a "local cheese." Then again, Vermont is a lot more local than, say, Italy, so we agreed to disagree. The steaks were excellent. I served them with green beans, and the potatoes we dug up the day before. We opened and shared a bottle of wine we've been saving for a year; is there a more special occasion than a feast with your family? And sipped port and nibbled the gorgonzola for dessert.
We wrapped up the weekend by ordering in from one of our favorite family-owned local places. Dad Eater and I have been eating there for years and they know us, even when we call.
I have struggled a bit with this post. I really couldn't decide what it should be about, evidenced by the somewhat meandering scratchings above. Should I write in detail about the exquisite food? The relative prices between Whole Foods and local vendors? My internal worry that I should be shopping at the smaller, cheaper shop instead of at the specialty market? My slight embarrassment at being blessed with such a bountiful table when others struggle? I realized, though, that what stood out in my mind from this weekend was my beautiful, unique family with whom I shared those glorious meals, sun-soaked discovery-filled walks, and the vibrant community in which we live. In places it looks shabby, run-down, or even a too-strange mix of have and have not, but it is a rich, welcoming place. And we are becoming "of" this place, adding to it's vibrancy, bringing more life to Main Street not just with our dollar but with smiles and shared stories, a common interest and a common goal - to live, hungrily a part of the world around us.
Emily's Rib Rub
1/4 cup light brown sugar
3 generous Tbl kosher salt
1.5 Tbl sweet paprika
1 generous Tbl black pepper
1 Tbl garlic powder
1 Tbl dry mustard
1 Tbl dried oregano
1. Mix all ingredients together in a bowl. Rub on ribs and cook as you normally would. All measurements are inexact, and I adjust them to taste each time I make a batch. For my ribs, I liberally rub the racks on both sides with rub, wrap in foil, and let them sit for at least a few hours. I grill them 15 minutes or so on each side (starting with meaty side up) in the foil. Then, I remove the foil and grill, charring the outside just enough to mark them nicely and give them a bit of a crunch. They can be served with BBQ sauce, though I don't typically use any.
I didn't manage to blog about our weekend shopping and eating mostly because we were all too busy eating our faces off. The whole family was home together all day each day, an occurrence rare enough in recent months, that I can't remember the last time it happened. Dad Eater kicked off Saturday with "bone in" French toast, so named by Little Eater who mistook the thick crust from the bakery loaf for a bone. We all dug into the garden with our hands, turning up the soil and giggling as we pulled out potato after lovely potato - reds, fingerlings, yukon golds - that we've been waiting for since spring. Little Eater could hardly contain his excitement, grabbing neighbors by the hand as they emerged from their houses to show them how to dig potatoes and giving the baby potatoes a hug. We left the taters out to dry and set off on the Spendivore Stroll, excited neighbor in tow, for the days groceries. I was uncharacteristically without a meal plan, confident that I'd find something exciting to toss on the grill. And did I ever. Two full racks of pork baby back ribs. They weren't in the case at the Italian Market, where they sell them cooked on the weekends, but when I asked after them the butcher replied with a cheerful, "For you? Of course we have some" and went to the back to fish some out of their brine. The next afternoon saw me back at the same counter as Uncle Eater ordered up a treat of four prime dry aged strip steaks and chatting with the butchers about how generally disappointed they were that I didn't bring Little Eater on this visit. On to the cheese counter where I selected a gorgonzola cremificato that the
cheesemonger was so excited about he exclaimed, "Look! Look a it. It's still alive!" I also got into a polite argument with the other guy behind the counter that a cheddar from Vermont isn't exactly what I'd label a "local cheese." Then again, Vermont is a lot more local than, say, Italy, so we agreed to disagree. The steaks were excellent. I served them with green beans, and the potatoes we dug up the day before. We opened and shared a bottle of wine we've been saving for a year; is there a more special occasion than a feast with your family? And sipped port and nibbled the gorgonzola for dessert.We wrapped up the weekend by ordering in from one of our favorite family-owned local places. Dad Eater and I have been eating there for years and they know us, even when we call.
I have struggled a bit with this post. I really couldn't decide what it should be about, evidenced by the somewhat meandering scratchings above. Should I write in detail about the exquisite food? The relative prices between Whole Foods and local vendors? My internal worry that I should be shopping at the smaller, cheaper shop instead of at the specialty market? My slight embarrassment at being blessed with such a bountiful table when others struggle? I realized, though, that what stood out in my mind from this weekend was my beautiful, unique family with whom I shared those glorious meals, sun-soaked discovery-filled walks, and the vibrant community in which we live. In places it looks shabby, run-down, or even a too-strange mix of have and have not, but it is a rich, welcoming place. And we are becoming "of" this place, adding to it's vibrancy, bringing more life to Main Street not just with our dollar but with smiles and shared stories, a common interest and a common goal - to live, hungrily a part of the world around us.
Emily's Rib Rub
1/4 cup light brown sugar
3 generous Tbl kosher salt
1.5 Tbl sweet paprika
1 generous Tbl black pepper
1 Tbl garlic powder
1 Tbl dry mustard
1 Tbl dried oregano
1. Mix all ingredients together in a bowl. Rub on ribs and cook as you normally would. All measurements are inexact, and I adjust them to taste each time I make a batch. For my ribs, I liberally rub the racks on both sides with rub, wrap in foil, and let them sit for at least a few hours. I grill them 15 minutes or so on each side (starting with meaty side up) in the foil. Then, I remove the foil and grill, charring the outside just enough to mark them nicely and give them a bit of a crunch. They can be served with BBQ sauce, though I don't typically use any.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
We ordered in - Day 4
At the end of our block, there is a pizzeria. It is owned by a husband and wife team. The food is everything you hope for in a neighborhood pizza joint - made fresh, tasty, and inexpensive. Every day, Little Eater and I walk by this store. Every day the owners are there, opening early, prepping the food. Most afternoons, their two kids can be found sitting at one of the two tables working on homework. Every night, the family closes up shop, not finishing up until well after 11 PM most days. I never thought much about them, except when I wanted pizza, until this winter when Uncle Eater shared a conversation he had overheard while waiting there to pick up our order one evening.
A woman, also picking up an order, was, essentially, berating one of the owners for being closed New Years Day. "Don't you know you could make some money," she said. "You should have somebody in here." "I could have ordered something and now what will I do?" And so on and so forth until, finally, in her typically reserved, flawlessly courteous manner the owner responded, "Ma'am. We are only closed three days a year, Easter, Christmas, and New Years Day." It had, of course, little impact on the woman. She left shortly thereafter with her food, doubtless grumbling into the night about some other offense the universe had visited upon her. It had a great deal of impact on all of us, however. 362 days a year, this family works. There are no vacations. There is no sleeping in. There is work. And they care about the work they do; it's obvious. They care about their customers as well. I remember once when I actually called for delivery. I was so embarrassed to be asking for a pizza to be brought to me when I can see the restaurant from my driveway. But, Little Eater was asleep in bed, I was home by myself, and too exhausted to cook. Before I had a chance to explain myself, the owner recognized my voice and knew right where I lived; she had seen me walk down the street many times. She, too, was on her own that night but, she made my order, locked up the store, and walked it up the street to me. "I remember what it was like," she told me. "No reason to be embarrassed."
Try, if you will, on your next family pizza night, to go a step beyond Domino's. See if you can find a special place. Extend yourself and learn just a little of somebody's story. Use your dollar to take care of them and enjoy the care you receive in return. Spending locally is about a lot more than just the food, it turns out.
A woman, also picking up an order, was, essentially, berating one of the owners for being closed New Years Day. "Don't you know you could make some money," she said. "You should have somebody in here." "I could have ordered something and now what will I do?" And so on and so forth until, finally, in her typically reserved, flawlessly courteous manner the owner responded, "Ma'am. We are only closed three days a year, Easter, Christmas, and New Years Day." It had, of course, little impact on the woman. She left shortly thereafter with her food, doubtless grumbling into the night about some other offense the universe had visited upon her. It had a great deal of impact on all of us, however. 362 days a year, this family works. There are no vacations. There is no sleeping in. There is work. And they care about the work they do; it's obvious. They care about their customers as well. I remember once when I actually called for delivery. I was so embarrassed to be asking for a pizza to be brought to me when I can see the restaurant from my driveway. But, Little Eater was asleep in bed, I was home by myself, and too exhausted to cook. Before I had a chance to explain myself, the owner recognized my voice and knew right where I lived; she had seen me walk down the street many times. She, too, was on her own that night but, she made my order, locked up the store, and walked it up the street to me. "I remember what it was like," she told me. "No reason to be embarrassed."
Try, if you will, on your next family pizza night, to go a step beyond Domino's. See if you can find a special place. Extend yourself and learn just a little of somebody's story. Use your dollar to take care of them and enjoy the care you receive in return. Spending locally is about a lot more than just the food, it turns out.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Some confusion at the butcher - Day 3.
I like routine. I find it keeps me both sane and comforted against the onslaught of life, by nature random and relentless, especially with a two and half year old. So imagine if you will, my level of internal chaos when, in the hour before dinner last night, I had in my possession three pounds of cubed round steak I did not intend to buy, three pounds of sirloin steak cut into uneven slabs roughly the thickness of a piece of roast beef, and a menu plan gone right out the window. Also, I stopped at the Italian Market on the way home from the butchers to buy some milk for Little Eater. They carry milk produced and distributed by a non-profit dairy cooperative whose practices and principles I wholly support. But the market was out of milk until today. It had not occurred to me that milk might ever be a hard to come by item in my lifetime, even if only for a few hours. I was teetering dangerously close to the culinary edge. The kind of culinary edge that involves me calling Uncle Eater and asking him to stop at the Italian Market to pick up some steaks I understood (on sale for $19.95 /lb!) on his way home. Gathering my gumption and getting over myself, I decided to tackle at least half of the six pounds of meat I had just purchased. And I did. Woot.
Three o'clock rolled around yesterday and I had not figured out what I wanted to make for dinner. This is something I typically have nailed down by the time I finish my morning cup of tea. I love my morning ritual of pouring over cookbooks, deciding what looks good, and then getting to think about it all day. So I decided, as I often do on those days, to make steak. Grilled steaks, roasted taters, and steamed green beans, to be specific. I had in mind a few thick sirloins and I thought it a perfect opportunity to revisit the butcher from a few days ago and, perhaps, ask after his ability to get me some more humanely raised and slaughtered meats. The Little Eater and I were greeted warmly upon our arrival and, as I strolled the cases, Bar started chatting away with the butcher on topics ranging from baseball to a sudden overwhelming desire for a pizza bagel. I found the sirloin. It was unappealing - thin, small, and simply not what I wanted. I thought then that I'd get some rib eye or strip steaks. None of those either. And just as I started to wrestle with the confusing and curiously bad feeling of walking out of the store without buying anything and away from that friendly face who was presently chatting up my son, I heard the butcher ask,
"Can I help you with anything?"
Here's what I meant to say,
"Why, yes, thank you. I would like you to cut for me some nice sirloin steaks around an inch to inch and half thick. These ones in the case are not quite what I am looking for. Also, do you ever do custom orders? I like shopping here and am hoping to find a reasonably priced source for ethically and healthfully raised meat and chicken."
Here's what I actually said,
"No thanks. I just can't decide what to make for dinner."
I snatched up three packages of cubed round steak, paid the man $6.00, snatched Little Eater, who had just declared himself to be a "pizza bagel goat with a handle" and left. On to the Brazilian butcher, the one that also sells bikinis, to see if I'd have better luck.
We are again enthusiastically greeted when we arrive. It's a good feeling. And they had a lovely slab of sirloin just waiting to be cut into steaks. All seemed right with the world. I asked the butcher for three pounds or so of sirloin, cut thick, and told him that I was going to grill them. "Sliced," he asked? I held up my fingers to indicate "an inch or so" thick and watched as he began to expertly trim off a bit of the fat on top. At that moment, Little Eater began to ask for a lesson in the different bottles of sauces and seasonings on the low shelf. I squatted down and we talked about the different ingredients, purposes, and level of spice in each of the colorful bottles. I came back topside to see, piled before the butcher, that once beautiful piece of sirloin cut into what could only be described as strips. "Cut in half," he asked? "Um, sure," I replied. He slid the whole pile into a plastic bag, tied a knot in the top, and handed it to me. Off I went feeling confused and like a general failure at life. How could I possibly be carrying home six pounds of beef I did not want, 27 pounds of toddler who I want very much most of the time but was feeling much less enthused about feeding that night, and still have to blog about it all. Then there was the thing with the milk.
Menu scrapped and ravenous toddler at my feet, I did what any modern American mom would do and turned to Google. Google search that I thought: "what the heck do they eat in Brazil that would make anybody ever cut sirloin like this please help me Google, this is a total disaster." Google search that I entered: "meat" +"seasoning" +"Brazil" Some hasty poking around and remembering the vast array of hot sauce Little Eater and I had been discussing earlier led to the following, entirely tasty recipe. For sides, since potatoes and green beans no longer seemed to fit, I stuffed some pearl couscous, capers, tomatoes, and harissa into scooped out zucchini, because Bittman told me it would be good. It was.
"What the Heck Do I Do With This Steak" Steak
1/2 green bell pepper, seeded
1 medium yellow onion, quartered
1 small head garlic, cloves separated and peeled
2 hot chili peppers, ribbed and seeded, I used birds eye chilies
2 bay leaves
2 Tbl salt, more or less to taste
3 lbs oddly butchered sirloin steak
olive oil
lime wedges for serving
1. Pulse bell pepper, onion, garlic, chili peppers, and bay leaves in a food processor until well processed and almost paste-like. Stir in salt to taste.
2. Place meat in a large bowl pour pepper mixture over the top. Mix thoroughly with your hands being sure to coat the meat. Set aside to marinate for at least 15 minutes or so. I let it sit for about an hour.
3. Coat the bottom of a large skillet with olive oil, heat over med-high heat until quite hot. Scrape most of the marinade off a few pieces of steak and fry quickly on both sides, about a minute and a half total. Remove from pan to a platter. Scrape up anything burned in the pan, and repeat until you've fried up the rest.
4. Serve immediately with lime wedges for squirting on top.
Three o'clock rolled around yesterday and I had not figured out what I wanted to make for dinner. This is something I typically have nailed down by the time I finish my morning cup of tea. I love my morning ritual of pouring over cookbooks, deciding what looks good, and then getting to think about it all day. So I decided, as I often do on those days, to make steak. Grilled steaks, roasted taters, and steamed green beans, to be specific. I had in mind a few thick sirloins and I thought it a perfect opportunity to revisit the butcher from a few days ago and, perhaps, ask after his ability to get me some more humanely raised and slaughtered meats. The Little Eater and I were greeted warmly upon our arrival and, as I strolled the cases, Bar started chatting away with the butcher on topics ranging from baseball to a sudden overwhelming desire for a pizza bagel. I found the sirloin. It was unappealing - thin, small, and simply not what I wanted. I thought then that I'd get some rib eye or strip steaks. None of those either. And just as I started to wrestle with the confusing and curiously bad feeling of walking out of the store without buying anything and away from that friendly face who was presently chatting up my son, I heard the butcher ask,
"Can I help you with anything?"
Here's what I meant to say,
"Why, yes, thank you. I would like you to cut for me some nice sirloin steaks around an inch to inch and half thick. These ones in the case are not quite what I am looking for. Also, do you ever do custom orders? I like shopping here and am hoping to find a reasonably priced source for ethically and healthfully raised meat and chicken."
Here's what I actually said,
"No thanks. I just can't decide what to make for dinner."
I snatched up three packages of cubed round steak, paid the man $6.00, snatched Little Eater, who had just declared himself to be a "pizza bagel goat with a handle" and left. On to the Brazilian butcher, the one that also sells bikinis, to see if I'd have better luck.
We are again enthusiastically greeted when we arrive. It's a good feeling. And they had a lovely slab of sirloin just waiting to be cut into steaks. All seemed right with the world. I asked the butcher for three pounds or so of sirloin, cut thick, and told him that I was going to grill them. "Sliced," he asked? I held up my fingers to indicate "an inch or so" thick and watched as he began to expertly trim off a bit of the fat on top. At that moment, Little Eater began to ask for a lesson in the different bottles of sauces and seasonings on the low shelf. I squatted down and we talked about the different ingredients, purposes, and level of spice in each of the colorful bottles. I came back topside to see, piled before the butcher, that once beautiful piece of sirloin cut into what could only be described as strips. "Cut in half," he asked? "Um, sure," I replied. He slid the whole pile into a plastic bag, tied a knot in the top, and handed it to me. Off I went feeling confused and like a general failure at life. How could I possibly be carrying home six pounds of beef I did not want, 27 pounds of toddler who I want very much most of the time but was feeling much less enthused about feeding that night, and still have to blog about it all. Then there was the thing with the milk.
Menu scrapped and ravenous toddler at my feet, I did what any modern American mom would do and turned to Google. Google search that I thought: "what the heck do they eat in Brazil that would make anybody ever cut sirloin like this please help me Google, this is a total disaster." Google search that I entered: "meat" +"seasoning" +"Brazil" Some hasty poking around and remembering the vast array of hot sauce Little Eater and I had been discussing earlier led to the following, entirely tasty recipe. For sides, since potatoes and green beans no longer seemed to fit, I stuffed some pearl couscous, capers, tomatoes, and harissa into scooped out zucchini, because Bittman told me it would be good. It was.
 |
| You see why I was confused, right? |
1/2 green bell pepper, seeded
1 medium yellow onion, quartered
1 small head garlic, cloves separated and peeled
2 hot chili peppers, ribbed and seeded, I used birds eye chilies
2 bay leaves
2 Tbl salt, more or less to taste
3 lbs oddly butchered sirloin steak
olive oil
lime wedges for serving
1. Pulse bell pepper, onion, garlic, chili peppers, and bay leaves in a food processor until well processed and almost paste-like. Stir in salt to taste.
2. Place meat in a large bowl pour pepper mixture over the top. Mix thoroughly with your hands being sure to coat the meat. Set aside to marinate for at least 15 minutes or so. I let it sit for about an hour.
3. Coat the bottom of a large skillet with olive oil, heat over med-high heat until quite hot. Scrape most of the marinade off a few pieces of steak and fry quickly on both sides, about a minute and a half total. Remove from pan to a platter. Scrape up anything burned in the pan, and repeat until you've fried up the rest.
4. Serve immediately with lime wedges for squirting on top.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Two simple seasonal plates - Day 2.
Great news. I remembered to make a vegetable for us all to eat tonight. My garden is still offering a small nightly crop in this last gasp of summer and Bar and I headed out to harvest some purple beans, green beans, sungold tomatoes, and onions to toss in with our lettuce that came yesterday. There's nothing quite like shopping locally in your own back yard. There's also nothing quite like squabbling with a two year old about leaving enough veggies to actually toss into the salad. Bar has treated my garden for most of the summer as a collection of personal snacking bushes. I don't mind so much and we've shared more than one breakfast at 7:45 AM of dew-soaked vegetables. And, though autumn is my favorite of all the seasons, I feel a little sad this year seeing my gardens reach the end of their productive time and start to die back.
As much as our salad tonight called forth summertime, I offered up a decidedly fall main course in the form of fresh pappardelle with a butternut squash sauce. I drizzled it with sage (from my garden) brown butter. I also broiled a mixture of hot and sweet sausages that I had frozen from when the Italian specialty market had a $3.99/lb sale. I had everything needed for dinner in the house already except for the fresh pasta, so Bar and I wandered down to the Italian market late this afternoon. I went in for pasta, I came out with pasta and cannoli. That kind of thing happens a lot when you're me. The recipe was based, of course, on another of Mark Bittman's from How to Cook Everything. The following is actually his recipe for butternut squash pansotti, a "simply" folded stuffed pasta. For me, though it may be simple, there aren't enough hours in the day for me to put together enough lovely packets of pasta with just the right amount of filling to feed my hungry bunch. So, I dumped the filling right on top of the pasta, drizzled with the sage brown butter and served.
Pappardelle with Butternut Squash Sauce
1 large cooked butternut squash, I throw the entire squash on a baking sheet and bake for an hour or so at 375 degrees or until it can be easily pierced with a knife, then halve it, scoop out the seeds, and then peel the skin off the flesh and voila, cooked squash
2 eggs
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1 tsp sugar, or to taste
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (I generally use something closer to a cup)
1 lb fresh pappardelle, or any pasta you like
1. Puree the squash; I use a food processor. Combine it in a bowl with eggs, nutmeg, salt, pepper, and sugar and stir until it's well mixed.
2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Meanwhile, put the squash sauce in a medium saucepan and set it over low heat on the stove, stirring occasionally. You want it to just heat through. When the water is boiling, add the pasta and boil until it's cooked to al dente; it won't take long if you're using fresh pasta. Drain.
3. Place servings of pasta in individual bowls, top with large dollops of warm squash sauce, drizzle with sage brown butter and serve.
As much as our salad tonight called forth summertime, I offered up a decidedly fall main course in the form of fresh pappardelle with a butternut squash sauce. I drizzled it with sage (from my garden) brown butter. I also broiled a mixture of hot and sweet sausages that I had frozen from when the Italian specialty market had a $3.99/lb sale. I had everything needed for dinner in the house already except for the fresh pasta, so Bar and I wandered down to the Italian market late this afternoon. I went in for pasta, I came out with pasta and cannoli. That kind of thing happens a lot when you're me. The recipe was based, of course, on another of Mark Bittman's from How to Cook Everything. The following is actually his recipe for butternut squash pansotti, a "simply" folded stuffed pasta. For me, though it may be simple, there aren't enough hours in the day for me to put together enough lovely packets of pasta with just the right amount of filling to feed my hungry bunch. So, I dumped the filling right on top of the pasta, drizzled with the sage brown butter and served.
Pappardelle with Butternut Squash Sauce
1 large cooked butternut squash, I throw the entire squash on a baking sheet and bake for an hour or so at 375 degrees or until it can be easily pierced with a knife, then halve it, scoop out the seeds, and then peel the skin off the flesh and voila, cooked squash
2 eggs
1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1 tsp sugar, or to taste
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese (I generally use something closer to a cup)
 |
| Fall in a bowl. I meant to take a picture of the salad, but was already eating it by the time I remembered. |
1. Puree the squash; I use a food processor. Combine it in a bowl with eggs, nutmeg, salt, pepper, and sugar and stir until it's well mixed.
2. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Meanwhile, put the squash sauce in a medium saucepan and set it over low heat on the stove, stirring occasionally. You want it to just heat through. When the water is boiling, add the pasta and boil until it's cooked to al dente; it won't take long if you're using fresh pasta. Drain.
3. Place servings of pasta in individual bowls, top with large dollops of warm squash sauce, drizzle with sage brown butter and serve.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Tragedy Strikes - Day 1.
We ran out of tonic water.
I'll let that sink in a moment.
We ran out of tonic water.
That meant, it seemed, no *something* and tonics to drink. My husband, a devout x and tonic drinker if ever there was one, sprang into action. He stomped his feet into his sneakers and went charging out the back door, into the darkening night, to find some. There was wailing, gnashing of teeth, and wringing of hands, mostly on the part of little Bar who thought Dad had gone off on some elaborate adventure involving planes and race cars and missing bed time and trucks and tractors and construction work and pretty much everything he ever wanted to do in his entire life (2.5 years long yesterday). I confess, I was more than a little concerned that, after all my trumpeting today about my commitment to local spending, I'd be writing a contrite apology in the morning explaining just why I had to scrap this project entirely because life without an elderflower gin and tonic was just too hard. But! All was not lost, my spouse appeared at the door as quickly as he'd gone carrying a chilled bottle of tonic purchased from the bodega you can see from the end of our driveway. For those who follow my other blog, it's the same bodega where our cat, Ralph, used to be allowed to hang out and solicit cat food from unsuspecting customers. I liked these people then. I like them even more now. Throw another point in the local shopping column. Besides, if my husband had actually had to get in the car to drive somewhere, he'd have been gone long enough that Bar may well have run away from home.
On to the less eventful preparation of tonight's meal. I selected a recipe for Braised Chicken and Chickpeas from Mark Bittman's, How to Cook Everything. All I needed that I did not have on hand was a whole chicken. I purchased said chicken from the butcher on Main Street. They happily cut it for me into the 8 pieces I required, no more hacking away at my food with knives and scissors in an effort to inelegantly butcher my own meat. Butchering is a skilled trade, what a thrill to let the professionals do the work. $7.15 later, I had what I needed for dinner but stopped, at Bar's request, at the Italian specialty market. As he snacked away on the samples, I priced their whole, select breed, chickens. I was surprised to see them going for $3.99 /lb, not far off from the price of a Whole Foods chicken. I thought, since I'm already accustomed, though grudgingly, to paying that price for whole chicken, that perhaps I could always buy from here and know that I'm getting a select, local bird, free from antibiotics - all truly important to the rules of my ethical eating compass. And yet, for $1.69 /lb, I can vote yes to a local business operating out of the same location for 50 years as of this year. 50 years. I wonder what would happen, and what it might cost, if I asked if they could source me some "kinder" meat. I'll find out for sure.
Dinner itself was well received by the eaters. The recipe is below, taken from Bittman. I made a few changes, based on what I had on hand (black chickpeas from my freezer and parsley from my garden). I served it with a 7 grain pilaf, made by Kashi and poured directly from a pouch into boiling water. In these early days, I'll be using up a lot of things I already have on hand. Oh, and one more confession, I forgot to make a vegetable. Yes, Miss I-get-my-totally-awesome-socially-important-organic-produce-delivered-right-to-my-door forgot to make a single green thing for my family to eat for dinner. Now you know.
Braised Chicken and Chickpeas
by Mark Bittman
A simple, spicy North African-style dish made in one pot. Serve this with rice, warmed pitas, or any crust loaf.
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 whole chicken, 3 to 4 pounds, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 8 pieces, or any combination of parts
1 large or 2 medium onions, sliced
1 tablespoon chopped garlic
1 tablespoon chopped or grated fresh ginger or 1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 cup chopped tomato (canned is fine; include the juices)
1 teaspoon ground coriander
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 large bunch fresh cilantro or parsley sprigs, tied together with kitchen string
Two 3-inch cinnamon sticks
2 cups mostly cooked chickpeas (and a little of their cooking liquid)
1. Put the oil in a deep skillet with a lid or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When hot, add the chicken, skin side down, and brown it well, rotating and turning the pieces as necessary; the process will take 10 to 15 minutes.
2. When the chicken is nicely browned, remove it from the skillet and turn the heat down to medium. Pour or spoon off all but a tablespoon of the oil. Stir in the onions, garlic, ginger, tomato, coriander, and some salt and pepper. Add 4 cups of water, along with cilantro or parsley bundle, cinnamon sticks, and chickpeas. Adjust the heat so mixture bubbles gently but steadily, cover, and cook for about 30 minutes, or until the chickpeas are almost tender.
3. Discard the herb bundle and cinnamon sticks and return the chicken to the pan, skin side up. Cover and continue to let the mixture bubble gently until the chicken is cooked through, another 10 to 20 minutes; the chicken is done when an instant-read-thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the thigh reads 155-165 degrees F. Taste and adjust seasoning and serve. (At this point, you may let the dish sit for a few hours or cover and refrigerate for up to a day before reheating and serving; you may have to add a little water to thin the sauce a bit.)
I'll let that sink in a moment.
We ran out of tonic water.
That meant, it seemed, no *something* and tonics to drink. My husband, a devout x and tonic drinker if ever there was one, sprang into action. He stomped his feet into his sneakers and went charging out the back door, into the darkening night, to find some. There was wailing, gnashing of teeth, and wringing of hands, mostly on the part of little Bar who thought Dad had gone off on some elaborate adventure involving planes and race cars and missing bed time and trucks and tractors and construction work and pretty much everything he ever wanted to do in his entire life (2.5 years long yesterday). I confess, I was more than a little concerned that, after all my trumpeting today about my commitment to local spending, I'd be writing a contrite apology in the morning explaining just why I had to scrap this project entirely because life without an elderflower gin and tonic was just too hard. But! All was not lost, my spouse appeared at the door as quickly as he'd gone carrying a chilled bottle of tonic purchased from the bodega you can see from the end of our driveway. For those who follow my other blog, it's the same bodega where our cat, Ralph, used to be allowed to hang out and solicit cat food from unsuspecting customers. I liked these people then. I like them even more now. Throw another point in the local shopping column. Besides, if my husband had actually had to get in the car to drive somewhere, he'd have been gone long enough that Bar may well have run away from home.
 |
| By now you have figured out that I am not a food photographer and that I am especially fond of a particular potter. |
Dinner itself was well received by the eaters. The recipe is below, taken from Bittman. I made a few changes, based on what I had on hand (black chickpeas from my freezer and parsley from my garden). I served it with a 7 grain pilaf, made by Kashi and poured directly from a pouch into boiling water. In these early days, I'll be using up a lot of things I already have on hand. Oh, and one more confession, I forgot to make a vegetable. Yes, Miss I-get-my-totally-awesome-socially-important-organic-produce-delivered-right-to-my-door forgot to make a single green thing for my family to eat for dinner. Now you know.
Braised Chicken and Chickpeas
by Mark Bittman
A simple, spicy North African-style dish made in one pot. Serve this with rice, warmed pitas, or any crust loaf.
1/4 cup extra virgin olive oil
1 whole chicken, 3 to 4 pounds, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 8 pieces, or any combination of parts
1 large or 2 medium onions, sliced
1 tablespoon chopped garlic
1 tablespoon chopped or grated fresh ginger or 1 teaspoon ground ginger
1 cup chopped tomato (canned is fine; include the juices)
1 teaspoon ground coriander
Salt and freshly ground pepper
1 large bunch fresh cilantro or parsley sprigs, tied together with kitchen string
Two 3-inch cinnamon sticks
2 cups mostly cooked chickpeas (and a little of their cooking liquid)
1. Put the oil in a deep skillet with a lid or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. When hot, add the chicken, skin side down, and brown it well, rotating and turning the pieces as necessary; the process will take 10 to 15 minutes.
2. When the chicken is nicely browned, remove it from the skillet and turn the heat down to medium. Pour or spoon off all but a tablespoon of the oil. Stir in the onions, garlic, ginger, tomato, coriander, and some salt and pepper. Add 4 cups of water, along with cilantro or parsley bundle, cinnamon sticks, and chickpeas. Adjust the heat so mixture bubbles gently but steadily, cover, and cook for about 30 minutes, or until the chickpeas are almost tender.
3. Discard the herb bundle and cinnamon sticks and return the chicken to the pan, skin side up. Cover and continue to let the mixture bubble gently until the chicken is cooked through, another 10 to 20 minutes; the chicken is done when an instant-read-thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the thigh reads 155-165 degrees F. Taste and adjust seasoning and serve. (At this point, you may let the dish sit for a few hours or cover and refrigerate for up to a day before reheating and serving; you may have to add a little water to thin the sauce a bit.)
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
The exception to the rule.
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| Our produce for the week. Red potatoes, parsnips, rutabaga, cabbage, tomatoes, bok choy, butternut squash, green chard, green leaf lettuce, green beans, and a small chunk of raw milk sharp cheddar cheese. |
An experiment in spending and eating.
Hi, I'm Emily and I have a problem. I'm a compulsive grocery shopper. Most days see me packing up my son and visiting the Whole Foods at least once, stopping at the Stop and Shop on the way home, and then heading out on foot to a few local stores for special treats. Fortunately, little Bar is a happy participant in all this food shopping having nearly as great a love of food as I do. I spend a frustratingly large amount of money on food each month. That having been said, I budget carefully for our family and we eat within our means. We throw almost every dollar of our casual income/fun money into food (ok, and booze). Our meals are, in essence, our entertainment as well as our nourishment. Quality is key and with two hungry men, me, and a nearly insatiable man-child to feed, so is quantity.
On to the experiment. I wondered aloud a few days ago if I might shed my addiction to big grocery stores and do all my grocery shopping on foot. And a blog was born. Within a 5 minute walk of my house is a gourmet chocolate shop, a highest of high end specialty Italian Market, a family owned bakery, a small grocerette that carries a confusing mix of ethnic foods and what I would consider specialty items (organic dairy, 7th generation cleaning products), a family-owned butcher (one of the older business on the main street) which carries cheap and reliably tasty meats but they are all commercially sourced and slaughtered, and a Brazilian butcher and bodega that, near as I can tell, sells meat cut to order, simple shelf-stable groceries, and bikinis. More on the bikinis later.
The more I thought about it, the more possible it seemed. And not only did it seem possible, it seemed necessary. Main Street here, like Main Streets all over the country, is struggling. There are surges of development and progress next to buildings and businesses crumbling. My grocery dollar spent here makes a difference to real people. People I see every day. People who know my son and welcome him with warm enthusiasm and endless free samples, while boasting to other customers about having known him since he was born. People who are proud to have me as a customer.
And so, I have committed myself to becoming a Local Spendivore. For the next month, I will grocery shop only at my local businesses, I'll note the sole exception in my next post, and use my food dollar to fuel the local economy and see if I can maintain our typically high standard of eating. I'm betting I can. I'll share with you, readers, my results and recipes, my thoughts on eating in general, and, doubtless, my finds and frustrations. And maybe, just maybe, there will be a bikini.
 | |
| The eaters. |
On to the experiment. I wondered aloud a few days ago if I might shed my addiction to big grocery stores and do all my grocery shopping on foot. And a blog was born. Within a 5 minute walk of my house is a gourmet chocolate shop, a highest of high end specialty Italian Market, a family owned bakery, a small grocerette that carries a confusing mix of ethnic foods and what I would consider specialty items (organic dairy, 7th generation cleaning products), a family-owned butcher (one of the older business on the main street) which carries cheap and reliably tasty meats but they are all commercially sourced and slaughtered, and a Brazilian butcher and bodega that, near as I can tell, sells meat cut to order, simple shelf-stable groceries, and bikinis. More on the bikinis later.
The more I thought about it, the more possible it seemed. And not only did it seem possible, it seemed necessary. Main Street here, like Main Streets all over the country, is struggling. There are surges of development and progress next to buildings and businesses crumbling. My grocery dollar spent here makes a difference to real people. People I see every day. People who know my son and welcome him with warm enthusiasm and endless free samples, while boasting to other customers about having known him since he was born. People who are proud to have me as a customer.
And so, I have committed myself to becoming a Local Spendivore. For the next month, I will grocery shop only at my local businesses, I'll note the sole exception in my next post, and use my food dollar to fuel the local economy and see if I can maintain our typically high standard of eating. I'm betting I can. I'll share with you, readers, my results and recipes, my thoughts on eating in general, and, doubtless, my finds and frustrations. And maybe, just maybe, there will be a bikini.
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