Category Archives: cooking basics

Happy discovery: #1

08 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by in Breakfast/Brunch, cooking basics

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Yesterday morning for brunch (a somewhat late brunch), we resorted to pancakes and bacon.  Not to say that we don’t like pancakes and bacon because we really do.  I say “resorted to” because once again, even after buying the obnoxiously large 24 pack of (organic) eggs, I found myself this Saturday morning, left with only one egg.  I didn’t even get around to thinking about brunch until much later than usual because Tom and I woke up, showered and each went to our computers to work with a mug of coffee in hand.

Next thing we knew, it was 2:00 pm and I was starving (not Tom, I think he might be part camel??). Lunch-like foods were not sounding that good to either of us; it was Saturday and we felt deprived of brunch!

So, knowing what I could do with one egg, I began to make pancake mix; only to discover that I was without dairy. I rarely have milk, unless it is buttermilk, but I had no plain yogurt or cottage cheese either.  I eyed a suspiciously empty jar of Wildwood aioli (our substitute for mayonnaise) and decided that adding water to the jar was a bad idea, for many reasons.  I quickly moved on, scanning the fridge one last time before giving up, when I spotted a possibility.

My eye had stopped at the tapioca pudding from Trader Joe’s (TJs).  I had choices here; I could just drive down to TJs and buy milk, but then I would also buy eggs… which would make me question what I had already decided to prepare.  Pancakes, because I only had one egg.  It was only minutes away though.  Yet I knew that I would not stop at buying milk; I would obviously buy eggs too (well, not obviously) and then it would snowball from there, arriving home an hour later with just as much time needed to put everything away.  Then I would begin making dinner instead. Okay, okay, tapioca!

I looked at the label and the first ingredient was milk; this was promising.  I decided that it had enough sugar to not need more and it was also flavored with vanilla; this might actually be good.  Turns out, it was!  Really good!  Happy discovery #1 – enjoy with a glass of prosecco!

Tapioca Pancakes

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INGREDIENTS

1 (not quite full, packed or fussed over) cup of whole wheat pastry flour
1/2 tsp kosher salt
1/2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda

1 TB butter, melted (I like to do this in a Pyrex measuring cup put in the microwave, because then I can just whisk in the egg and stir in the dairy without fussing too much).

1 egg – whisked into the butter
A glob (technical term, no?) of TJs tapioca pudding – I had about 1/4 of the package left so I estimate it was about 1/2 cup – whisked into the butter and egg.

Water – whatever is needed to bring the consistency to a good pancake batter (I probably added 1/4 cup)

SIDES and GARNISH

Strawberries, cleaned, hulled and quartered to go alongside
Maple syrup and butter for serving

Bacon –  2-3 slices for each, preferably thicker cut (we like apple-smoked from Whole Foods the best, but there are many good ones to choose from).

PREP

MIX all of the dry ingredients together in a medium mixing bowl.

WHISK TOGETHER the melted butter, egg and tapioca, adding just enough water to make it fluid.

PREHEAT THE OVEN to 400-degrees.

PLACE THE BACON, on a baking pan lined with foil.

COOK

HEAT A CAST IRON SKILLET over medium heat.  Lightly DRIZZLE with olive oil and spread evenly over the surface.

MEANWHILE, POP THE BACON into the oven for about 10 minutes.  Be sure to turn on the fan, and don’t forget that it is in there and pull it out when done.

DROP DOLLOPS OF BATTER onto the skillet and cook until it starts to bubble.  Flip and cook until cake-like and done.

SERVE

Pile the pancakes into a stack of three or so per plate.  Butter and drizzle with maple syrup.  Serve sliced strawberries and the bacon alongside.

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Hot Nuts

22 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by in cooking basics, the kitchen

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When I was young, I loved to fly; or more specifically, I loved going to the airport when we had to fly, or went to pick somebody up.  Why?  Because of the “nuts”, I mean “club”, the club.  The Horizon Club was a destination in itself (now known as the Alaska Airlines Boardroom).  I loved that you had to ring the doorbell as if entering a secret hideaway, then were whisked away to a room that had swanky furniture and private TV’s (swanky as it got in the 70’s).  A women dressed in uniform would come by and take our beverage order, letting us know that we should help ourselves to the food.  Yes please, I’m in.

Of course, me being me, even back then, I was in it for the food!  The winning combination, I could always count on, and highly anticipated, was the fresh orange juice, warm doughnuts and hot roasted nuts.  There was a bright red electric wok that kept a vast quantity of cashews warm, as if just freshly roasted.  I don’t think a hot nut ever passes my lips without recollecting the satisfaction I got from scooping them out into my own little cup, salt hanging onto the warm silken skin that was toasted to the color of perfection.

The doughnuts were warm too, which I realized, made them the perfect texture and elevated their standing into that of a decadent dessert.  The orange juice was not what we drank at home; it actually tasted of orange and exploded with flavor and substance that went equally well with the doughnut or the hot nuts.

I remember thinking how clever it was to use the electric wok, which elevated the deliciousness of the nuts, and noticed we had a similar vessel tucked up near the back, over the top of our refrigerator.  I never got it down though, to try it at home.  The sight of it made me crave nuts, specifically, warm cashews, and I now wonder why I haven’t done this myself, for a party, or a potluck (not that I can truthfully say I’ve attended any in recent memory, but I might just do it!).  I rarely eat warm nuts anymore anyway and even though I look, I don’t see them in “the club” anymore either.

Rosemary & Black Pepper Roasted Cashews

Recently, I had purchased a bag of organic raw cashews from the bulk bin and decided they might benefit from a little time in the oven.  So, I emptied them out onto my baking tin (AKA, pizza pan) and drizzled just one drop of olive oil over the center.  I then rolled them with my hands to coat, ever so slightly, so as to welcome the flakes of salt to hang on.

Sea salt (the flaky kind), just a pinch, was rubbed between my fingers to break up the crystals and distribute over the nuts.  The pepper, copious amounts, ground fresh from my mill.  Next up, fresh rosemary, my favorite Winter friend, was removed from it’s stem, chopped, sprinkled over and massaged onto their skin.

The oven was waiting at 350-degrees, to make them golden and warm.  Ten minutes later, they emerged and asked for a moment of rest.  More salt was rubbed over, a little pepper again and a final rub from a fresh stem of rosemary (break the pines with your finger to release the oils from the herb).

Once they have rested, ever so briefly to develop their crunch, they are best eaten as every good roasted-nut should be eaten, right then and there, whilst still warm (or even hot).

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Rule of thumb:  Make your own “club” in the sky.

This snack traveled to California with us over the weekend (don’t worry, the pups were well taken care of by “Unca” Pete).  Albeit cool, rather than hot, I still shared them with my traveling friends.  We weren’t sitting in “the club”, but fresh orange juice still washed them down.

We believe…

28 Sunday Dec 2014

Posted by in cooking basics, Ginger + Buddy, holidays, the kitchen

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2001: dear sandypaws, my name is ginger and i’m a pup.

What is life without hope?

Without hope, there is no hope and no hope brings dismay.  With a world filled of naysayers and unhappiness, I choose to remain hopeful (period). (exclamation point)!

The mind is a powerful thing.  The power of belief can fuel us to go on, knowing that good things will happen, or we can turn away and know that they will not (necessarily happen).  As children, my brothers (Scott and Mark) and I never questioned our belief in Santa Claus.  Even as we became pre-teens and many of our friends began to pellet us with doubt, we woke up every year to the magic of a child’s Christmas.  The magic was ours to believe in or turn away from.  To this day, we have yet to turn away.

PS_scott staceyScott & Stacey, ages 6 and 5.  Bad Santa, nice kids.

Scott is one year older and Mark, seven years younger than I.  In the past, as siblings so close in age can be, Scott and I were at odds with one another much of the year.  At Christmas though, we were elves together (we even have real pointed ears).  No bickering, or name-calling, just two kids eagerly awaiting the magical day: teaching our younger brother Mark, the traditions that we had come to know.

Christmas in Alaska is a magical place to be that time of year, and of course, is snowy white.  Darkness sets in early but earlier, the sun reflects off the snow and makes everything seem extra-bright.  As nighttime came, the glitter of Christmas used to light up the sky, as well as houses, yards and the trees from Cook Inlet to the mountains.  My Dad always went over the top with our twinkle lights, carefully stringing them up (in September to avoid the real chill) to emphasize the frosty trees.  Our garage was finished with a line of large, red, lit bells, that usually never came down until Spring, if at all.

Our grandparents, on my mom’s side, lived in our neighborhood and we saw them often.  Our paternal grandparents lived in California, so we didn’t see them nearly as much, but as Scott recently pointed out, they came for Christmas, every year; enormous trunks filled with warm, winter clothing in tow (something they only needed on their visits).  We always looked forward to their visit, timed perfectly with our last day of school for the Winter break.  I would come home to find them nestled in the living room, Grandpa in the his favorite lounge chair, dipping Christmas cookies into milk (of which he went through a gallon a day), and Grandma on the couch, awaiting our arrival home from school.

In addition to the trunks filled with long johns and down parkas, without fail, they came loaded with boxes of food to keep us munching happily throughout Christmas and into the New Year.  The line-up was predictably the same, and always anticipated.  There were boxes of fruit (apples, oranges and pears), because we couldn’t get good produce in Alaska that time of year (or ever really) back then.  There were bags and bags of nuts.  Pistachios for my Mom, cashews and almonds for roasting; my Grandpa had a special recipe he liked to make.  Best of all (in my humble opinion) there were mixed nuts, in large quantities, salted and without their shell; filberts, almonds, walnuts and pecans, Brazil nuts, cashews, hazel nuts and peanuts.  Then there were the bags of nuts, still in their shell.   It was one of our family’s past-times to sit around reading novels, telling stories, playing games… a n d . . .cracking nuts.  My mom had a collection of nutcrackers (Tom says, insert clever retort here).  They were put to great use.
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Grandpa also brought candy.  Every year, it was the 5 lb box of See’s chocolates we looked forward to opening; he always brought two.  He also brought stories; never to be one who was short on words.  My brother Scott, would wake up early every morning and sit talking with him for hours.  No matter how early Scott got up, Grandpa would always be there, sitting in the lounge chair, even on Christmas morning, waiting to tell him more stories, of life, the war, and the world.

The night before Christmas, we would all pile into the car and drive the five blocks to our other Grandparent’s house.  After dinner, we would open up presents, of which there were many, we were blessed.  Before heading over, Scott and I snooped around under our tree at home.  The packages kept growing in unison with our anticipation.  Mom always let us open one gift, which she cleverly made sure were our new pairs of pajamas.

It wasn’t just about the opening of gifts that we anticipated though, it was the magic of Christmas.  From the moment the large metal trunk of ornaments was brought out from under the stairs to Bing Crosby’s last verse of White Christmas being sung (and played on the reel to reel) for the last time until the following year, the season swept us up and united us.

PS_2006Ginger’s letter to Santa, 2006.

When we returned home from dinner on Christmas Eve, it was usually much later than Mom and Dad wanted it to be, so after leaving out cookies and milk for Santa, we were expected to go straight to sleep.  Scott and my bedrooms were downstairs, 15 feet down the hall from the tree.  He and I would sit in his room telling stories of past Christmases, making plans to wake up in time to see Santa Claus.

I was always too tired though and ended up falling asleep until morning when Scott would barge into my room, beaming from ear to toe, exclaiming that Santa had come!!!  Hurry, he would urge me, our stockings were filled to the brim, Santa had come and I needed to see what he brought.  We were allowed to look at the things in our stockings but had to wait to open presents until after breakfast (Dunkin Dougnuts or homemade quiche).

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Ginger waiting in anticipation of her stocking.

I would jump out of bed and follow him out to the family room, heart racing, to see what there was to see.  I was always blown away by the sight; packages everywhere, almost entirely filling the large room (no, we weren’t spoiled).  How did Santa make it to everyone’s house in time?  The cookies we left him were always eaten and milk stained the glass that was left for dunking the cookies.

PS_2007Ginger’s letter to Santa, 2007.

When Mark was born and old enough to join us in our Christmas morning ritual, there were even more things filling the room.  Three stockings would be placed next to a separate pile of gifts wrapped in special paper from the North Pole.  There was usually also a sheet covering the presents that “Santa didn’t have time to wrap”.  Santa sometimes also left a large gift for the family, set up and ready to use.  One year it was an Atari console, another it was a foosball table, which kept us busy for hours, filling the time before Mom and Dad could be awakened for breakfast.

PS_drumsApparently one year, little Mark got a rockin’ (?) set of drums! (shhhh…)!

I loved the sight of the packages.  I didn’t want to open them though because I wanted the magic to last all day.  It was usually after 2:00 in the afternoon by the time the gifts were all opened, one-by-one, taking turns from youngest to oldest, stopping to appreciate each item.  I would end up skipping my turn, embarrassed to be in the spotlight and hoping that nobody would notice that my pile was stacking up.

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2011: Dear Santa, I have a brother now??!…

PS_stockingdBuddy’s little stocking joins Ginger’s.

The three of us are all grown up now with children of our own (and yes, mine happen to be furry and four-legged).  The anticipation of Christmas has never wavered.  Now my pups leave a cookie with milk and a note for Santa, plus a carrot for the reindeer.  Ginger awakens early to go peak under the tree and stares longingly at her stocking.  The remnants of Santa’s cookie and carrot are left on the table and my favorite part of Christmas is waking to read her note to Santa and watching her dig under the tree.

IMG_10632013: Dear Santa (I guess my brother’s okay)…

ginger snoopingGinger can always sniff out her own gifts.

This year, my favorite part of Christmas was helping my brother Scott surprise his wife with an Audi TT.  He was like a six-year old kid again, beaming from ear to toe.  After two deals falling through, long conversations and advice, Tom and I went with him to buy the car and drove it home to store in our garage before delivering on the ferry to the island on Christmas Eve.  At midnight, he would sneak out of the house to collect it and place it in the garage with a big red bow and the key haphazardly wrapped under the tree.  The holiday spirit he exuded was infectious and it had been a long time since we spent so much time together near Christmas, reminiscing and plotting the day.  Giving is so much better than receiving and spending time with loved ones is the best gift of all.

GB stocking 1Kiss, kiss…

photo 3Happy Christmas, 2014!  Love, Ginger.

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Christmas Strata – Serves four (easily doubles)

Our Christmas breakfast, growing up, was similar to the whole holiday season.  A good way to describe it is the scene from “When Harry Met Sally” where they are talking about sex fantasies.  Billy Crystal’s character asks Meg Ryan’s character to describe her sex fantasy, so she does (it is classic, yet Sally-predictable) and Harry exclaims, “That’s it?  Some faceless guy rips off all your clothes, and THAT’S the sex fantasy you’ve been having since you were twelve?”.

Sally: “Well sometimes I vary it a little.”
Harry: “Which part?”
Sally: “What I’m wearing.”

Our Christmas breakfast varied by what flavor of donuts we ate.  Each year growing up, our breakfast consisted of Dunkin Donuts and orange juice.  I liked the maple-glazed but sometimes chose the apple fritter; now I am partial to an old fashioned, but Tom is lucky to ever see a donut in our house.  Then in the eighties, breakfast moved into quiche; apparently “real men didn’t eat it”, but we did.  We gave my Mom a hard time and put up a pretty good fuss, but I secretly loved it and still do.  I have never actually made quiche (because there are so many great French bakeries from which I can purchase a far better version).  Strata is our country’s cousin.  It is easy to make for two or for a crowd.  I have experimented with many fillings, but this is the version Tom and I eat about every Christmas morning.

Using high-quality eggs and milk make a noticeable difference; I recommend sticking with whole milk, but skim milk works too.   I used to think it was important to be prepped the night before for the bread to soak up the egg, but I have found that not to be as important as I once did.  As it bakes, the air fills with wonderful smells, Christmas music is played, and gifts are still being opened.

INGREDIENTS

4 eggs (the best quality you can attain, preferably pastured)
1/2 cup milk (I use whole milk from Grays Harbor)
Pinch of salt
Many grinds fresh pepper
1/2 cup coarsely chopped, caramelized onions
1/4 cup diced, red bell pepper
6 oz diced ham (I used Beeler’s this year)
1 tsp chopped, fresh thyme
1/2 cup shredded gruyere and drunken goat cheese (or a mix of your favorite combination)
3 cups of 1/2″ cubes of crusty white bread

PREPARE

Whisk the eggs, milk, salt and pepper in a medium-sized bowl.  Add the rest of the ingredients and stir well.  Pour the filling, divided amongst 4 ramekins (or one small baking dish) that have been wiped down with butter or olive oil to keep things from sticking.

I like to top them with a little extra shredded cheese.  Bake in a pre-heated 375-degee oven for approximately 45 minutes.  They will puff up and turn golden.  To prevent them from burning, loosely cover with foil if they brown before being cooked through.

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PS_strata plateServe with tomato sauce for a nice (and yes, blurry) finish! 

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Exhausted Christmas pups “in” their new blankies.

photo 2…and to all, a  g o o d  n i g h t !

Burnt Toast (and IFBC 2014)

19 Friday Sep 2014

Posted by in cooking basics, the kitchen

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There are several ways to cook corn, none of which I spent too much time pondering until recently. For me, corn always goes on the grill and often gets treated with butter before biting into, straight off the cob.

It was pointed out to me though, during a series of semi-“deep” discussions regarding corn at our recent family reunion in Minnesota, that if you are not lucky enough to eat it raw when it is freshly picked, the microwave might be the most perfect method for it’s cooking. I was skeptical, but willing to listen and then, eager to give it a try. I also wanted to share a few other methods of cooking corn and an idea (or two) of what I like to do with it every summer (one of which I already did). However, I realize this might be less-than-timely seeing that the summer is coming to an end, for now, so perhaps I will pick that thought back up again next year…

As I ponder the subject of corn though, I turn to pondering the subject of eating. This brings me to food, which of course, is the center of this years International Food Blogger’s Conference (IFBC 2014) taking place at the Westin in downtown Seattle, which brings me to writing. Many of us attending the conference (obviously) write about food. My guess is that most of (if not all of) us enjoy food, more than might be considered normal. I am happy to fit into this category of “not” normal because it means I eat particularly well and who can complain about that?

What most excites me about the upcoming conference (beginning tonight), is the optional workshop I signed up to attend on Sunday. The workshop is about writing, creatively, concerning food, but also concerning memoirs (clarifying voice and story). This is of particular interest to me because I have been trying to write just that. Not just about food but also memories, and memories about food. Well, not just memories about food but memories that involve food (which is an extensive bank of memories).  Actually, what I really want, is to write about those things in a way that captures my voice and makes you want to read what I am writing, enthusiastically.

Burnt Toast

Not only is the content of the workshop something I am looking forward to, it is being led by New York Times Best-Selling food writer Kathleen Flinn, author of “The Sharper Your Knife, the Less You Cry” (which I have read and thoroughly enjoyed) and her third book “Burnt Toast Makes you Sing Good” (which I have not read, but will read as soon as I can buy a copy). The title of that one makes me smile because my father is a notorious burnt toast fan and I just sent him an after-surgery care package containing some burnt biscuits I made because they tasted of burnt toast. Needless to say, burnt toast doesn’t travel well and they went to the trash. Perhaps I will ring the hospital and ask them to prepare him some freshly burnt toast? Or not. In any case, I will ring him to share my experience after the workshop and if we are lucky, I will have learned a thing or two to make me a more engaging writer (when I share the experience with you). That is the plan.

If you haven’t read Kathleen’s writing, I encourage you to pick up a copy of one of her books; well worth the read. Also, if you are attending the conference, perhaps I will meet you there and maybe you are joining the workshop too, which you do not need be at the conference to sign up for, cost is $75, you can sign-up here). Until then, inspired by the title of Kathleen’s third book, I have gone to the kitchen in the hopes of recreating the perfect burnt toast without the “burn” (and come to think of it, without the toast). Curious?

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Biscuits and “cream”
(Aka: not “burnt” toast)
loosely adapted from Molly Wizenberg (and Marion Cunningham)

I know what you’re thinking. I think I do anyways, because if Kathleen were writing this, I would be thinking “burnt toast has nothing to do with biscuits and certainly to do more with butter than with cream”. Hear me out though.

Biscuits are where I started and biscuits I am still trying to make. Ones that don’t taste of burnt toast (even though I think Dad would have liked them straight from the oven before being shoved into a wobbly envelope and flown across the country). I started out wanting to make buttermilk biscuits. I bought one from “Honest Biscuits” at the Pioneer Square Farmer’s Market a few weeks ago. It had butter dipped into the center and honey too, which oozed out the side. They were tall (double story tall) and slightly reminded me of the biscuits I missed out on at the Willow’s Inn. Almost, but not quite. I say not quite because they didn’t look quite as pretty (as the ones at Willow’s Inn).  In reality, I never actually tasted the ones at Willow’s Inn (if you recall from my lengthy post) but this Honest Biscuit was a very good biscuit.  Very good, yes.

I did not want to recreate the Honest Biscuit. What I actually wanted was a cream biscuit. One that was fluffy and moist. One that tasted, well…of cream. What I didn’t want was to actually use cream. Or white flour. But that was a minor detail. What I ended up doing was going to Orangette to find Molly’s cream biscuits I had read about years before. She has a version by Marion Cunningham (no, not the one from Happy Days) that she swears “you can’t screw up”, yet I am here to tell you that I did (screw up), twice. I had only made a few alterations: I used quinoa & whole wheat flours + corn meal rather than all-purpose flour. I used honey rather than sugar and (most notably) replaced the cream and butter for buttermilk and yogurt. So you can see why I was surprised with the unforeseen outcome?  No?

Well, I do confess that there were two attempts at this recipe, because after the first version, I was convinced that the flop was to do with my outdated baking soda (expired February of 2013) and I (reluctantly) had in-fact brushed the outside of the biscuits with melted butter (only 1 TB, but that was likely why it tasted of toast at all; their only redeeming feature). I thought the burnt part was to do with using honey (and perhaps that darn TB of butter that I diligently brushed on even the underside of the biscuit; the side that actually did burn)?  In any case, as it turned out, this was the better batch of the two (yikes!).

PS_close burnt

The second batch received a freshly-opened can of baking powder (no, not the whole can), just 1 TB).  I reduced the amount of quinoa flour and corn meal by half, replacing it with more whole wheat pastry flour.  Then, thinking I needed some “cream”, rather than use actual cream, I used 1/2 cup cream on top, whole milk yogurt (which had already been depleted of said top cream) in addition to buttermilk (because I really didn’t learn the first time).  I also opted to use sugar rather than honey but I brushed the tops with yogurt instead of butter (not advised).

So now that you know what not to do, this is what I just did.  Just a few moments ago.  I don’t have burnt toast and I don’t have (real) cream biscuits, but I do have something that looks more like a biscuit than a hockey puck, and tastes more like a biscuit than a (hockey puck) piece of burnt toast.  Plus, it is healthier than a cream biscuit (although, full disclosure, it does use actual cream).  If you didn’t read about my corn butter, I think you should.  I replaced half of the cream with the same portion of corn butter.  I used spelt flour rather than whole wheat.  I kept with the quinoa flour (because I like the color and the sweet richness) and I replaced the cornmeal with fresh sourdough breadcrumbs (because it started out as bread, which is what we use to make burnt toast; you following?).

I made the breadcrumbs without toasting the bread, hence the term “fresh” bread crumbs.  The bread I used was the sourdough from London Plane in Pioneer Square, but any good bread will work just as well.

NGREDIENTS

1 cup spelt flour
1/4 cup *quinoa flour
3/4 cups fresh breadcrumbs (simply purée day-old bread inners, not crust, in a blender or food processor until coarsely crumbly; it will be warm and moist to touch)
1 TB baking powder
1 tsp kosher salt
1 TB honey
1/2 cup whipping cream
1/2 cup corn butter (or another 1/2 cup cream)
Another bit of corn butter or melted butter for brushing

*quinoa flour can be purchased from some grocery and specialty stores (for a hefty price).  When I discovered the Blendtec, I am now able to make my own (well worth the small investment).

PREPARE

Pre-heat the oven to 425-degrees.

Mix the flour, breadcrumbs, salt and baking powder in a medium-sized bowl.  With a fork, blend in the honey, then add the cream.  Continue to blend with a fork until it quits “shagging” (Marion and Molly’s term).

Lay it out onto a floured work surface (which I find helpful to have fall onto a piece of wax paper).  Knead to pull it together (it will be wet and sticky). Roll it out with a pin.  In order to keep it from clumping onto the pin, I had to throw a handful of flour onto the dough.  Then, because it looked pasty, I threw over a teaspoon of corn butter to rub over too.  Roll it to 1/2″ thickness.

dough only

Now, you could cut into 12 squares (as Molly says) but I prefer round.  It was quite sticky and did not cooperate very well so my rounds were cattywampus and thin.  This is where I had an epiphany.  I took my thin discs and doubled them up with a layer of corn butter in between.  I also left one or two single-layered and half of them were top-coated with melted butter, while the rest were coated with more corn butter; all of them turned out just fine.  Better than fine, actually.  They are quite good!  yes, this is me admitting to them being good (my family will be shocked).

try thisPretty is not what these are about…

Sometimes it is about the food and flavor, not the…pretty.  Think about that. (pretty gutsy for a lead in to a food bloggers conference…no food porn here)!

How ’bout a random cute photo of my cutie pies instead?

PS_random 2They are acting a little pouty because they don’t get to go to the International Food Blogger Conference even though they are part of the “team”.

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Pretty good with boiled down blueberries though (no additives).PS_bittenI guess I should give the pups a nibble.

Down on the Farm and back to the City

16 Tuesday Sep 2014

Posted by in cooking basics, family gatherings, From the journals, the kitchen

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I used to tease my brother, Scott, that he was the Country Mouse and I was the City Mouse. As the years go on though, I start yearning more for the tranquility of Nature’s melodies than for the sounds of the energy bursting from the bustling city. I don’t think I would ever completely trade the skyline for clear sky but I can appreciate more now, what a sweet life country living would be.

Last month, Tom and I went to Minnesota for a family reunion. My Grandpa, on my Mother’s side, grew up in Hager City (“City”, current population 338), Wisconsin, which is just a stone’s throw across the mighty Mississippi from Red Wing, MN. It had been over thirty years since I last visited; my Great Grandmother had still been alive. One of my cousins, Sabrina, ended up marrying a gentleman there and now lives on a large farm that houses some of Wisconsin’s premiere dairy cows, supplying milk to the creameries that produce those famous Wisconsin cheeses.

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Grandpa Brown stepp’in out and me…ssshhhh, I adopted (temporarily) a dog; don’t tell Ginger and Buddy.

I had the opportunity to accompany Sabrina’s husband, “Farmer John”, while he made his rounds at milking time (PM that is, I’d have only been in bed mere hours before AM milking). I had never milked a cow before and didn’t realize what an interesting operation the whole thing was. He let us (me and a half dozen bright eyed wee ones) milk a cow, although I wouldn’t say It was of any help to him, or the cow. In fact, I felt like an intruder, knowing that the cow was being burdened by my/our inexperienced technique. It was not as I expected either. It looked so easy when he showed us.

When I went to place my hand on the cow’s teat, I expected it to be soft and squishy but it was so much larger than I thought and was taut beneath my skin, requiring a swift pull that I did not deliver well. The warm liquid shot out sideways as I did not control my grip.

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“Farmer John”

Right before we went into the barn, my sister-in-law, Irma, told me how they used to milk the cow’s milk right into a glass, pour in a shot of tequila and drink it fresh on the spot; (her family has a ranch back in Oaxaca, Mexico). When I saw the liquid squirt out toward me sideways, I couldn’t imagine having an aim good enough to hit a small opening on a glass, let alone wanting to drink it. Watching it hit a pail though (as someone more experienced did) it was cloudy white with frothy bubbles as if it had been warmed to place in a shot of espresso, so the image of their drink seemed like an intriguing ritual.

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In addition to milk, one of their main crops is corn.

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This is at the Farmer’s Market, not my cousin, but a big heap of corn to unload.

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Looking around the property, corn stalks surrounded us for as far as you could see. They were bigger than I would have imagined, perhaps twelve or fourteen feet tall. Other than the corn, the only tall structures where the barns and the silos. At night you could hear the whisper that the stalks made as they blew easily in the nights breeze. The only light came from the moon as it lit up the sky, and the flicker of the fire pit around which came good conversation accompanied by wine, until the rain came in and cleansed the earth for the next day.

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Tom and I (being ones to elevate every travel experience) stayed at the historic St. James Hotel in Red Wing. My Mom fondly remembers my Grandmother taking her there for lunch as a young child. Then, she wore her white gloves, was taught the proper placement of silverware and to say please and thank you. Our room looked out over the River and the train tracks were nearby (well, across the street). The startling and frequent blowing of the whistle both excited and lullabied us as the trains raced past.  Tom didn’t even use ear plugs after the first night (shocking!).

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There was deep-rooted history there, but apparently, no food served after 10:00 pm.  Our first night got us in past this hour and we dined on Chex mix, pretzels and Manhattans (classy, right?).

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We later asked that the cherries (we forgot that was “traditional”) be replaced with lemon twists (although they might have gone nicely with Chex).

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The bartenders there were really good though, Chris, in particular, is one I would expect to find behind a serious hipster bar in Portland.

With no coffee pots in the room (gasp!), Tom went down for cappuccinos in the mornings while I showered. We would meet on the veranda where he sat, waiting in a rocking chair with the newspaper, his coffee and a wonderful view of the river, boats and folks.IMG_6458

Later, the scratch Bloody Mary’s would come, served refreshingly good, with a chaser of light beer. A (not so) light breakfast set us up for a day of family and fun.

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So, this trip brought us from city to farm and back again.

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And back at our “homestead”…

Milky Corn Broth with shrimp meat, sweet tomato and avocado  

Needless to say, we were sent home with many ears of fresh corn so when we got back I made a long-time summer favorite, corn broth; it is a broth that eats like a soup.  It is refreshing and pure, tasting deeply of corn which mingles happily with it’s favorite comrade, shrimp.  The sweetness of the corn is offset nicely by the subtle, sweet saltiness of the shrimp and further enhanced by the creamy avocado and textural nuances of tomato.

As I was straining this through my chinois, the liquid resembled the milk from a cow, slightly warm and bubbling as it pooled out and into the bowl.  The final liquid is milky, sweet and gold.  I can’t imagine a more fitting recipe (of mine) than this, to illustrate the influence and coupling of these two commodities; even though there is not actually dairy in this soup (unless you count the butter), it tastes of fresh cream kissed with corn.

The amount of salt and lemon juice will depend on the sweetness of the corn. If overly sweet, the salt and lemon juice help to balance it out.

INGREDIENTS

5 ears fresh corn, husks and silk removed
1 large (or 2 medium) sweet onions, chopped
2 TB butter
2 cloves garlic, chopped
2 cups dry white wine or vermouth
4 cups water
1-2 tsp kosher salt (or to taste)
Lemon juice to taste (perhaps 1-2 TB)

Garnish: Per person, approximately 2 oz shrimp meat (Oregon or Canadian if you can), 1 wedge avocado (diced), 3 sweet baby cherry tomatoes (cut in half or quarters).

PREPARE

Remove the corn from the cobs and reserve the cobs.

In a large pot, sauté the onion, garlic and corn in the butter until soft, approximately 5 minutes. You don’t want it to brown though so keep the temperature slightly low.

Add the white wine, water, reserved cobs to the pot and bring to a simmer. Put the lid on and turn the heat down. Let it simmer over low heat for 45 minutes to an hour. The lid should help the liquid to keep from evaporating. I like to participate in the process so I check in pretty often to see how the flavor is coming along. I might remove the lid if I feel if it seems too watery and as long as the liquid is not going away altogether, I let it simmer as long as 1 1/2 hours to allow the aromatics to really permeate the liquid. There is not an exactness to the amount of time or liquid quantity, just taste and instinct.

Remove the pot from the heat and let cool slightly. I like to leave it sit until the cobs are cool enough to handle but that is not necessary. Remove the cobs from the pot with tongs and set in a bowl.  Pour the rest of the contents into a chinois placed over a bowl and push on the solids to extract all the liquid and flavor. When the cobs are cool enough to handle, use a knife to squeeze whatever liquid you can from them and add it to the bowl.

Return the liquid to the pot season with salt and lemon juice. Simmer a little more to thicken it slightly. It will be broth but should thicken enough to look like cream.

Chill for at least 2 hours or overnight.

SERVE

Place the shrimp meat in the bottom of individual bowls. Ladle the corn broth over the shrimp meat. top with the avocado and tomato.

If you had a bit of crispy bacon (say left over from breakfast), that might taste good as well (says Tom).

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BONUS: Corn Butter

I recently got a Blendtec.  It competes with Vitamix and as far as I know, works every bit as good, if not better.  Plus, it fits under my cabinet and is easy to clean.  I usually throw out the mash of solids after pressing them through my chinois but, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to add them to my Blendtec and put the switch on soup mode.  I ended up with a lovely bowl of corn butter.  It is delicious on toast and I imagine many other things I have yet to discover.

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And lastly, while we were in MN, we went to a park that had a special place just for monarch butterflies.  This shot is for Sheri at Unfettered Fox, I thought of her as I followed this fellow (and it’s friends) from spot to spot.

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And when a late Summer storm passes through when the special guests need to be escorted to their vehicles, creative pop-up valet service ensues…

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The quick little “big salad”

11 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by in cooking basics, the kitchen

≈ 28 Comments

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I set out to make a small salad to supplement our dinner of leftover fried chicken (yum, yummy, yum). I began with various lettuces, growing in my “garden” (read pot, sitting on my patio table), then, because they looked lovely, I picked a few snips of fresh herbs as well as fragrant chives to layer over and toss within. I found myself boiling an egg, which sounded, yum; perhaps because I had just purchased sweet Canadian shrimp meat that I was toying with setting on top (of the salad). A small handful of baby tomatoes, sliced, slowly began building it up, mushrooms (thinly cut) and corn, (shaven from it’s cob). A large crumble of blue cheese (Pt. Reyes, Oregon) mashed into a bowl of freshly squeezed lemon juice, ground pepper and green onions dissolved lovingly into a puddle of buttermilk. When we sat down with wine poured and ready to dig in, the ensemble looked rather large and I said, “Looks like the big salad”. Tom, being who he is, pulled up this clip on his phone (or click here for a short version). Enjoy!

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Buttermilk Bleu Dressing

Freshly made bleu cheese dressing is a bleautiful thing, it is not only great for dipping, with carrots, cauliflower and fried chicken (or fried gizzards for that matter) but is also a nice way to enjoy a salad of crispy greens on a warm summer evening. No hydrogenated, overly processed ingredients required.

Full disclosure: I have made this for years and have, at a few points in time, written the quantities down as I make it but…this is not one of those times and I am just guessing here…. As with most dressings, it does (loosely) conform to the typical rules:
1. Use a 1:3 ratio of acidity to fat.
2. Garlic and onions are well served soaked first in the acidity, even if just for a few moments prior to adding in the rest.
3. Taste, adjust, taste, adjust….instinct.
3. Salt, pepper & sugar are to taste. If too salty, add more acidity, if too tart, add more sugar.
4. Whisk the fat with the acidity to emulsify. Adjust consistency as desired.

Specific to this dressing rules:
1. The buttermilk, bleu cheese and sour cream will knock out the typical 1:3 ratio rule but as a rule of thumb, I would use 1 TB sour cream and 1 TB lemon juice for every 2-3 oz cheese. The buttermilk is used to thin the dressing and quantities can be altered depending on your desired thickness (perhaps 3-5 TB for 2-3 oz cheese).  Also, I always use low-fat buttermilk since that is more readily available to me.
2. If using shallots, soak them in the acidity (lemon juice), if using green onions, add them in at the end. Use more green onions than you would shallots (perhaps 1 TB chopped shallots for 2-3 oz cheese)
3. Soft herbs are good in very large quantities (and multiple varieties). This go ’round I did not put them in the dressing, as I usually do, but rather tossed them in with the lettuces (the dressing keeps longer this way + I was lazy).

INGREDIENTS

Lemon juice
Diced shallots or chopped green onions
Fresh ground pepper
Raw sugar to taste

Good quality bleu cheese
Buttermilk
Sour cream
Mix of fresh soft herbs, chopped

PREPARE

Combine the lemon juice with the shallots, fresh pepper and sugar (just a pinch to start).

Crumble in the bleu cheese and mash with a fork. Add the sour cream and mix well. Drizzle in the buttermilk to thin and bring the dressing to the desired consistency. Mix in the herbs.

“Big” Bleu Shrimp Salad

This can be as little or “big” as you like (and no, Dad and Linda, I’m not referring to “big blue” the suburban).

INGREDIENTS

Mixed lettuces (from your garden if you have), cleaned and patted dry

Hard boiled egg, peeled and cut in half (1/2 per person)

Cherry tomatoes, cut into quarters (2-3 tomatoes per person)

Crimini mushrooms, thinly sliced (1-2 mushrooms per person)

Freshly grilled corn, removed from the cobb (1-2 TB per person)

Green onion and mixed soft herbs, chopped (even if you added to the dressing)

Fresh ground pepper and sea salt to taste

Buttermilk Bleu Dressing to taste (see above for “recipe”)

ASSEMBLE

Squeeze a little lemon juice over the lettuces then lightly sprinkle some sea salt and grind fresh pepper over. Carefully toss with your fingers (you may toss some dressing in too, if you like, but be gentle and stingy so as not to make soggy).

Divide the lettuces among individual plates. Spoon over a few bits of dressing then layer on the vegetables and pile the shrimp meat in the center, slightly scattered; place the egg half on one side. Sprinkle with green onions and herbs and grind over more pepper, if desired.

I used to swear by our (local) Oregon shrimp meat that can be had fresh, for a short bit of the year. I have been having a harder and harder time finding it to be as fresh as I would like (it is delicate, for sure) so one day, on the recommendation of my trusty fishmonger’s at Gemini Seafood, I purchased the Canadian shrimp meat. It is as delicious and sweet as they said!…some day, I’ll have to tell you the story of how Ginger became our head “shrimp-tester”. Until then, just know that she endorses this statement (and will be telling everyone over at the Novice Gardener’s shin dig. For sure she will let Selma, Hilda and Indu (the co-hosts) know about these yummy shrimp (and for now, we will offer this to Angie as the elusive “blue fish”).photo 5

 

His kind of gal, her kind of guy!

04 Friday Jul 2014

Posted by in cooking basics, family gatherings, Ginger + Buddy, the kitchen

≈ 16 Comments

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My mom has skills. Had I paid more attention and wasn’t put off by blood and guts, I might have learned to clean and fillet a fish, but alas, no. This is one thing I now wish I had paid attention to, because unlike the other skills she has, this is one that would be of particular benefit to someone who loves food as much as I.

Needless to say, I did not need to perform that task on her last visit to Seattle, boasting her freshly caught salmon, because she had already exercised this fishing ritual prior to getting on the plane. She delivered a chunk to a friend of hers who lives in Tukwila, took another large portion to my brother’s house (where she spent the next couple of days) and sent the rest of it with her “opposite sex partner”, John, to bring to our house where he would be camped out working with Tom to finish our deck.

When John and my mom met, he was living/working in the Bay Area but had a cabin and airplane in Alaska (where his heart lived).

Despite the un-commonalities between them, they are at their core, kindred souls. Mom can fish with the best of them, sleep on a cot, squat in the woods, and spin a good yarn. They both like to travel, both love to fly, and the crisp chill of Alaska will never be replaced by the wet dampness of Seattle or the sunny bustle of California. They thaw their chilled bones in Tucson part of the year, but can mostly be found doing those things that only true Alaskans do… such as fishing.

So… a man, a woman and a fishing pole:

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I asked Mom to write a few words about Alaskan salmon and this is what she had to say:

“Simply put—I love it! And that means fishing, catching and best of all: eating.  Usually John and I fly to the Deshka River. It is about 15 minutes from the cabin or a several hour drive + boat ride from Anchorage. Weekends are horrendous but it’s pretty crazy any time the kings are running since so many boats anchor at the mouth and plug up the river. We prefer to troll a bit upstream since it’s much more civilized, our lines don’t get tangled with everybody else, and we are much more successful! We also make certain to be in the boat, hooks in the water, at precisely 6:00 am. Fish and Game closes the river between 11 pm and 6 am to allow for sufficient escapement, so you will often see 10-20 fish being caught the first five minutes. As you alluded in your previous blog (post), not too many women are as avid as I am, so even though the regulars are nearly all men, through either luck or skill, I definitely keep up.

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The picture on the right is a view out the cockpit window of the propellers spinning around.

John goes to the Nushagak River in Western Alaska every year with friends and I went for the first time in June. It was three hours by John’s Cessna but so worth it. The fishing was great, but I was surprised at how many boats were on the river so far from civilization. Most of the boats were chartered and the camps were leased from the local Native corporations. The village store carried a few essentials and sold gas for $7.50 a gallon.

While I like every kind of salmon, especially when fresh, king (Chinook) is my favorite. I could eat it every night and never get tired of it.

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Mom prepping and the glorious outcome.

My favorite method of cooking is with nothing but lemon pepper, Wondra flour and maybe a few sprinkles of brown sugar. I very lightly grease a hot pan with olive oil and butter, brown the filet good side down, turn it once and finish it off in the oven. The critical thing is to not overcook it. I usually leave it a little red in the thickest part. Salmon is also good on the barbeque, but I miss the crust you can get in the pan.”

Mom forgot to mention Grandpa’s “fried salmon” which is what the lucky (no pun intended) recipients of my Grandpa’s fresh catch will get when he cooks some up at his restaurant, the Lucky Wishbone (never to be found on the menu… This is a “special treat” for his friends and family only).

My favorite way to cook salmon is on a wood plank on the grill.  When John and Tom finished the deck, I asked Mom to cook the salmon she brought her favorite way.  She was perplexed that I did not have lemon-pepper, “everybody in America has lemon-pepper,” she said in disbelief.  But not us, so we used lemon zest, sea salt and fresh ground pepper instead.

The next day we went shopping (stopping also for her stock-up at Trader Joe’s).  When we returned home, she handed me a jar of lemon-pepper and Tom and I had a hearty laugh.  I promised I would give it a try on the other half of the salmon that night (they were on their way to the airport, time to go home).

I still prefer fresh lemon, salt and pepper but hey, I at least gave it a try.

Cedar Planked Salmon

A big, big… no, HUGE thanks to John for his stamina, endurance and encore on our deck; we could not have done it without you!  Mom – thanks for everything else.  I love the way you cooked your salmon for us!  However, in honor of our new cedar deck, cedar-planked salmon (using planks left over from construction) it had to be – the night we ate dinner for the first time on our new deck.

INGREDIENTS

1 lb. fresh king salmon fillets (in one piece or cut into individual pieces), de-boned, skin removed

1/2 – 1 tsp sea salt

1/4 tsp raw sugar

Many grinds of fresh pepper

Herbs (of your liking – basil, thyme, tarragon, fennel frond, etc.)

5-plus thin slices fresh lemon (enough to cover circumference of fish)

1 cedar (or any type (alder is especially great) of clean, untreated wood) plank, sized to fit the fish; soak in water for at least one hour before grilling to prevent from burning

1 very hot grill, heated to 400-plus degrees

TO COOK

Pat dry the salmon and season both sides with sea salt and pepper, then sprinkle over sugar on the top side that had no skin (inside).  I like to add a little more salt than I normally would since it is slightly curing first, but I also don’t want to overdo it as to make it too salty.  The sugar is to offset the salt and adds a little color.

Top with fresh herbs and slices of lemon.  Set aside until grill is hot and plank is ready to accept the salmon.

When you are ready to cook, put the soaked cedar plank, top-side down, on the hot grill for 10 minutes to heat.  When hot, turn plank over and top with salmon fillet.

Place the plank of salmon on direct heat and close lid.  Let cook until it is opaque with just a slight bit of red at the thickest part, approximately 10 minutes.

Remove plank with a hot pad or spatula and let rest a minute or two.  Divide the salmon amongst plates, letting guests squeeze the juice from the lemon slices over their salmon.

FOR THE PUPS

I like to trim the ends of the salmon that are the fattiest (lots of good omegas) and the brown part on the back side left from the skin.  I place the trimmings into a piece of foil, seal the foil and cook it on the top warming rack of the grill (not direct heat) or in the oven, until cooked through.  I then open the foil, let it cool to a manageable temperature and feed it to Ginger and Buddy.  This is not only healthy for their coat, cancer-fighting and good for their hearts, but it is also something that lets them enjoy the good eats of life too (AKA – good for their souls).

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Buddy on patrol on the new outpost (staining and furniture to come later…).

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Plotting the next (t)ask on the tiny mobile device.

Lead and Follow

03 Saturday May 2014

Posted by in cooking basics, From the journals

≈ 31 Comments

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There must be as many recipes for roasted red peppers as there are cooks but that’s okay because this is not about the red pepper, roasted, charred or otherwise. This is about the mustard (certainly not about the tuna). Okay, kind of silly I know, but typically mustard is the dance partner, not the lead. In this humble sauce though, mustard can both lead and follow. It can be assertive, or gentle but is rhythmic, if not tame. The red pepper will follow mustard’s lead or give up a twirl of its’ own without stealing the show. They can do the tango if you like it caliente, or the waltz if you prefer a little more cream. Bottom line is, this sauce is a workhorse that can do the job better than many. Since a sauce, by nature, always has a leading lady, I wanted to pair it with a real star, ahi tuna (unadorned) to show that, as in life, there is always room for more than one star in the show.

Charred red pepper mustard (sauce)

I’ve written about this here before, but didn’t give it a proper bit of space. As I often pull it out to use for a party, I felt it worthy of sharing with everyone for Fiesta Friday (to disguise the fact that the real star on the plate might actually be the red fish…ssshhh, don’t tell Angie).

There are as many uses for this mustard (sauce) as there are ideas. I like it best with fresh tuna, grilled sausage or to dress white beans. It is good with each of these separately, but all actors combined and you have a real show. It goes well with crab cakes, roast pork and grilled prawns. I’m also thinking fennel, chicken, or a seasoning for soup. Sky’s the limit – so think big and give it a whirl.

INGREDIENTS (loosely)

1 large red bell pepper
1 small paper bag
2 TB Grey Poupon Dijon mustard
2 (+/-) shakes cayenne pepper
2 TB (+/-) tap water
1 – 3 TB crème fraîche or olive oil

You can roast the red pepper with any method by which you are accustomed. I like to char mine over an open flame until very black and slightly peeling. You should have a good fan so as not to disturb the occupants of the house. When the weather is agreeable, outside on the grill works too. When the pepper resembles a charred shell, put it into a paper bag and let sweat for a good 10 minutes or for as long as you might need. Before using, remove from the bag, peel away the burnt skin and tear it into half. Remove the seeds and stem, tossing away for compost. I sometimes cut off a few slivers of the meat to put in a salad or omelette before giving the rest up for sauce (I did go to the trouble of charring this and upsetting the nose of my dogs and husband you know?).

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In the bowl of a food processor, place the meat of the red pepper along with the mustard, a few shakes cayenne and 1 TB water. Process until smooth adding more water if needed. Add the crème fraîche or olive oil, starting small and adding more to your taste. If you feel spicy, add more cayenne; to mellow, add more crème. That’s it; pretty simple yet the taste is complex.

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A “Classic”

25 Friday Apr 2014

Posted by in cooking basics

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Most things that we eat or drink today have an origin, a history and an evolution. Just as with fashion, things come into and go out of style without so much as a warning. Then there are those things that enter quietly, take up residence and settle in. We might try to dress them up or make them fussy but inevitably, we go back to the original because it was already perfected the first time. A Bloody Mary is just such one of those things. Even though it was the second try that really cemented it into history, many bartenders would agree that this recipe is on par with what they would consider to be the “classic” style.

“CLASSIC BLOODY MARY” Chez Stacey Style

I make each glass to order so the ingredients are per drink. You can garnish this several ways and most people might favor pickled vegetables, but I find the crisp, pure quality of the raw vegetable to wonderfully balance the salty. I often use low sodium Knudsen vegetable juice in order to cut the sodium from 600-900 grams per serving down to 50 grams. Some would argue that this takes us away from the “classic” realm, but I say “live long and prosper” (thanks Spock), and the taste honestly doesn’t suffer.

INGREDIENTS

1 drink glass (approximately 8 oz.)
Ice to fill the glass
3 oz good-quality vodka (it really does make a difference; I typically use Kettle One)
1 long-pour Worcestershire sauce (approximately 1 TB)
1 tsp prepared horseradish sauce (I swear by Bubbies)
2 dashes celery salt
3-6 dashes Tobasco (depending on your preference of spice)
Fresh ground pepper to taste
Tomato (or veggie) juice, enough to fill the glass
1 lemon wedge

Garnish: 1 celery stalk, sliced carrot stick (or both), kosher salt

PREPARE

Fill each glass with ice.

Pour in the vodka. Rather than measure, I usually pour to a count of 1, 2, 3… (sometimes 4).

Add the rest of the ingredients except the garnish, ending with the tomato juice and then lemon (which should be squeezed and dropped into the glass).

Pour the contents of the glass (1 glass at a time) into a martini shaker, shake well; Ka thunk, ka thunk, ka thunk, thunk, ka thunk (hold it high, hold it proud).

Wipe the rim of each glass with a lemon wedge and press it into a small plate of kosher salt.

Pour the Bloody Mary into the glass, repeat with all the other servings.

Garnish as you desire. I desire my garnish to be crisp, fresh and shaped like a carrot (as do Buddy and Ginger; celery is not to their liking).

Now it must be said, that while this Bloody Mary is a classic, it has had many variations and additions that also work well but make it another drink altogether, kind of like a grilled cheese sandwich. I love grilled cheese sandwiches dressed with a little mustard and truffle but a purist would require only regular bread, spread with a soft butter and layered with good quality cheese (as Tom insists on informing me, now that I have mentioned the truffle, yet again).

I think a Bloody Mary would partner well with a classic (or even not-so classic) grilled cheese. I recommend checking out Indira’s wealth of advice and ways for deviations from the classic grilled cheese sandwich, here. Or, if you are up for a twisted take, check out what Prudy has to say about the grilled cheese here.

In fact, this combination (classic, modified or twisted), would serve the partygoers well after a few hours of carrying on over at Angie’s Fiesta Friday, so I am taking this along. In fact, lucky us, Indira and Prudy wil be co/hosting along with our ever-present hostess, Angie. Indira brought her grilled cheese last week, but there will be plenty of wonderful food that you will want to add to your repertoire. When you wake up in the morning, you can pull out my ramblings about this classic Bloody Mary and whip yourself up a little “hair of the dog(s)”.

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The Dirty Dozen

19 Saturday Apr 2014

Posted by in cooking basics, From the journals, holidays, the kitchen

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Why is it that we call a sandwich, when filled with mashed-up egg and drowned in mayonnaise, a little seasoning and perhaps a hint of “vegetable” (celery?) an egg “salad” sandwich? I’m okay with this, but just asking?

I also used to question the “devil” in deviled eggs. This is just something I do, question things. But some of you probably already know that, or would really rather not (know).

I am not an easy one to crack. As a child, I wasn’t one for breakfast, especially involving eggs, yet an egg salad sandwich, as well as a deviled egg was, in fact, amongst my favorites. Perhaps, to do with the mayonnaise, which by the way, I am quite fond of too. So, how is it a brother of mine, an actual sibling of the blood relation, does not eat salad dressing? Ever? As in, nope, never. I glop it on, or at least used to, before I understood the amount of effort it took to glop it back off my body. I loved the creaminess of a salad dressing which often involved mayonnaise. These days, it is the acidity in the dressing that takes priority over the cream, for me. There is an art to the perfect balance of savory to sweet, and tangy to tart. We aren’t here to talk salad though. We are here to eat eggs! Deviled eggs, for Easter (something ironic about that perhaps)?!

Into making a good quality mayonnaise, goes an egg (or two). So, why is it that to this mayonnaise we actually insert more egg, the hard cooked yolk part, to make it deviled? What is it to be deviled, again? Is it to do with the cayenne or the mayonnaise? I believe it is to do with the cayenne, but the devil is in the mayonnaise (at least devilish for our health). So now you know, this is the type of random bits of information I so often ponder.

Yet, it will not stop me from making a batch of deviled eggs for Fiesta Friday (because it makes good party food) and another batch for Easter (because it makes good Easter food). Plus, Tom will insist on coloring eggs and what else am I going to do with a dozen hard cooked eggs (rhetorical question)? The first batch will be clean (I am sure you are relieved). The second batch will be dirty; from the stain of the dye soaking through (kind of festive though).

I like a good old fashioned deviled egg as much as the next person, but if we decorate the outside of an Easter egg, I think it only fair to decorate the deviled egg too, so I usually dress them up a little. I also like to crank up the flavor without getting too wild; (truffle oil will sneak into the ones going to the party; not Tom’s favorite). Tulip petals are their Easter dress.

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Deviled eggs, Chez Stacey style

I’ve shed my need for so much mayonnaise, so to lighten things up, I now use plain yogurt (the local kind) to make it creamy. I love the addition of truffle oil which is a natural partner to an egg. Tom continues to proclaim himself a non-truffle eater so I fill his eggs first then add the truffle oil to the mix (for me and any other guests that might be joining). Truffle oil is strong, so adjust the quantity to your taste by adding it a few drops at a time. If you have fresh truffles, truffle shavings would be delicious to mix in. If you don’t like truffle, simply omit it altogether.

INGREDIENTS

6 eggs, hard boiled, cooled and peeled
1 TB Dijon mustard
1 TB lemon juice
1/8 tsp salt
1/4 tsp smoked paprika
1/8 tsp cayenne
4 TB plain yogurt
1 tsp chopped fresh chives
1 TB chopped Spring onion or shallot
1/2 tsp white truffle oil (+/- to taste), optional

For garnish: fresh chives cut into 2 inch lengths. Good quality ham cut into 2 inch x 1/8″ strips, smoked paprika, tulip petals

PREPARE

Cut the cooked, peeled eggs in half lengthwise. Scoop the yolk, out from the white and place in a bowl.

Add the rest of the ingredient and mash well with a fork.

Chop one of the cooked egg whites and add to the bowl mixing well.

Fill the center of each cooked egg white with spoonfuls of the yolk mixture.

Sprinkle with smoked paprika and top each with 2 chive strips and 1-2 ham strips.

20140419-100305.jpgTo serve, put each deviled egg on a tulip petal placed on a platter or individual plates. Admire momentarily and watch them disappear.