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

This is Dad Eater in 2005 with a plate of the real thing.

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

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. 

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.

Dad Eater admits defeat.

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.

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.

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.

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.

You see why I was confused, right?

"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.

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)

Fall in a bowl.  I meant to take a picture of the salad,
but was already eating it by the time I remembered.

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.

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.

By now you have figured out that I am not
a food photographer and that I am especially
fond of a particular potter.

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.)