White Fluffy Icing

Musings of a reasonably competent home cook.

Archive for March, 2010

Easter: The Ultimate “Two Meat Sunday”

Mar 29

Posted by Laura in Food of Love | 11 Comments

My mom had a peculiar terminology when it came to meals, and I wonder if it is a generational thing.

To her, a big midday meal after church on Sunday was dinner. As a teenager, sitting at the table, I would ask, “So if this is dinner, what meal will we have later tonight?” Supper, came the answer. “Okay then, when was lunch?” We’re not having lunch today, we’re having dinner. “But if a guy calls and asks me out to dinner, he’s not gonna show up at noon. Right?” It won’t matter, said my brother, because your sorry butt won’t be out of bed by noon anyway! My parents chuckled. I gave him the stink eye.

After many debates like this, I finally nailed down the distinction that Mom was unconsciously making. Dinner is the largest, most rounded meal of the day, regardless of whether it happens at noon or in the evening. If dinner happens at noon, the evening meal is supper. If dinner happens in the evening, the noon meal is lunch. “The only thing that was served on Holy Thursday was bread and wine,” she once told me. “That’s why it wasn’t the Last Dinner. Not enough food groups!” I couldn’t come up with a retort that didn’t include blasphemy.

Right then, I found a dictionary and looked up “supper”: 1) the evening meal, especially when dinner is taken at midday; a light meal served late in the evening.

And then, of course, “dinner”: the principal meal of the day.

Dang, I hated when she was right!

And a principal meal it was. We ate well during the week, but dinner on Sundays was good eatin’ – definitely something not to be missed. Rested up from the week, Mom would crank out a meal fit for a king, and we loved it. Mom was a big believer in intentionally making enough to have leftovers, which made things easier during the coming week. This meant that the selection on the Sunday table was huge, and she always made sure that everyone had a few things available that they really liked.

Often, there would be more than one meat to choose from. A roast and fried chicken, for example. Or a baked chicken and a ham. On these occasions, Dad would raise his head from being bowed for the blessing, comment on how great everything looked, and wow, it’s even a two meat Sunday! Just like the old days, he and Mom would say.

They were referring to the Sunday dinners of my mother’s youth, because at Grandma’s house, every Sunday was a two meat Sunday.

My favorite photo of "the eleven". Mom is standing, second from the right. Denise is standing, center.

Mom was the sixth of nine children, you see, so even without any guests, Grandma was cooking for eleven people (!). But on Sundays, there were always guests. Grandma’s brother and his family, cousins from down the road, family in from out of town. Later, sons- and daughters-in-law entered the picture, and eventually, us grandkids. So basically, the largest home-cooked meal I’ve ever made was just a typical Sunday for Grandma. She could run circles around me. She could do what I consider to be a “production” with one hand tied behind her back and blindfolded.

This explains a lot, actually. It explains why my mom and her sisters thought nothing of creating a “production” in their kitchens, because to them, it was perfectly normal to crank out enough food for an army. Simple was boring and, actually, impractical.  It explains why my mom always seems like she was rushing around in the kitchen, because Grandma was a flurry of activity.  She never actually sat down with the family to eat, but instead busied herself refilling glasses, serving seconds, and prepping the dessert.

Once, as a small child, just having learned the concept of fairness, I felt that Grandma must be starving. Here she was serving us, while we all ate right in front of her! Pigs at a trough, we were! I walked into the kitchen, pulled on her apron, and told her she could have my seat. “Child, I’m just happy we’re all together,” she said. And then, crouching down, in a whisper, “I’ve been tasting the food all morning – I’m full as a tick!” She sent me back to table with a knowing glance.

Just this week, I asked my aunt what the two meats were all about. Why not just make a giant roast, or a huge batch of fried chicken? Ah, Grasshopper, you have much to learn. The family was full of hunters and fishermen, you see, so the first meat was usually fish, fowl, or game. The second meat was more ordinary fare, so as not to frighten the young children (and daughters-in-law). Ohhhhhhh. As a people-pleaser, that makes perfect sense.  If I cook that much food, there better not be anyone turning up their nose at it.

Next question, Aunt Denise: if a normal Sunday dinner was a 2-3 dozen people requiring three tables (two it the dining room, one in the kitchen), was Easter Sunday any different? Not really, came the reply.

When you do it up right all the time, I suppose special occasion meals aren’t all that different.  Which is kind of neat actually, because then the focus can be on the holiday.  Which is as it should be.  Right?

Regardless of how (or whether!) you celebrate, I hope your Easter is as special as a “two meat Sunday”. 

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Mom taught me early in my “apprenticeship” that ham is the easiest way to feed a lot of people.  In fact, there’s an old quote in the food world: “Eternity is two people and a ham.” 

It’s easy because you’re basically just rewarming it to a specific temperature, and adding a glaze for flavor – definitely a no-fuss way to add a second meat to add to a meal.  Plus, it’s incredibly versatile left over.  Sandwiches, omelettes, quiche, risotto, chef salad – the list of ways to reinvent it goes on and on…

Another reason it’s easy is that it holds its temperature for so long. See the note at the end of the recipe.

Baked Ham with Honey-Brandy Glaze
Adapted from Thanksgiving (Williams-Sonoma)

1 fully cooked bone-in 18-pound smoked ham
3 cups water
1 cup brandy
1 cup unfiltered apple cider
¾ cup honey

Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat to 325°F. Slice away the rind (if any) and most of the fat from the upper surface of the ham, leaving a layer of fat about ¼-inch thick. With a sharp knife, shallowly score the upper surface of the ham into a diamond pattern.

Place the ham on a rack in a shallow roasting pan just large enough to hold it comfortably. Add the water to the pan and place it in the oven. Bake for 2 ¼ hours.

Meanwhile, in a measuring pitcher, stir together the brandy, cider, and honey. At the 2 ¼-hour mark, pour off the water from the roasting pan. Baste the ham with about one-third of the brandy mixture and bake for 12 minutes. Continue to bake, basting the ham with the brandy mixture at 12-minute intervals, first from the pitcher and then from the roasting pan, until the ham is glazed and shiny, for another 35 minutes or so (for a total baking time of about 3 hours).

Let the ham rest on a cutting board for 15 minutes before carving.  Serve hot or warm.

Make-Ahead Tip: Since the ham is as good warm as it is hot (and since it stays hot for eat least one hour after baking), don’t hesitate to let it rest, uncarved, while you use the oven for side dishes.

Makes 10 servings, plus ample leftovers.

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Tea Ring! Or, Violating the Health Code for Fun and Profit

Mar 22

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 16 Comments

I love spring.  Flowers in bloom, more hours of sunshine, and most importantly, I can don my flip-flops without comment.  (I still wear them during winter, but between Thanksgiving and Valentine’s Day, I feel the need to explain myself.)  

Spring also brings the buzz of plans for the approaching summer, and for kids of a certain age and socio-economic status, this includes talk of a summer job.  It’s been a while since I’ve sought temporary employment, and these days I’m sure the game is much different, especially in this economy.  But even if I were a teenager now, I’m sure I could score gainful employment doing something, because I had an entrepreneurial genius in my corner: my mother.   

Dough rising in my grandmother's crock; apricot filling.

My mom had this amazing wellspring of ideas inside her head.  She churned them out like I churn out… well, blog entries.  They were a dime a dozen, and almost all of them had an income component.  I wish I could tell you how many things she thought up, only to discover a few years later that someone had actually invented the very same thing.  Example: in the mid-80s, after observing the nurses making rounds at a hospital, she predicted that hospital records would be computerized and that they would use bar codes to identify not only patients, but medications, and which one went with the other.  Helllloooo.   

The thing about Mom was that, unlike her inventor father, she was long on ideas and short on execution.  She didn’t have the time or interest to pursue most of the stuff she was spouting.  But she had no qualms about suggesting that other people take up this or that idea and putting it to work.  And in my case, being her daughter and all, “suggest” is a mild way of putting it.  

The summer before I started the 10th grade, I was trying to figure out whether I’d be able to find a summer job that would allow me the flexibility to attend the various volunteering efforts, team practices, and camps I’d already signed up for.  That’s when she got the zany idea that I would run a quasi-bakery out of our house.  Looking back, I realize that not only was I a complete amateur, but I was completely undocumented as far as the health department was concerned, and I certainly didn’t collect or pay any taxes.  We were renegades!   

I also now realize that I got the sweetest deal imaginable, from an income perspective.  She essentially thought up my product line (although I had veto power) and stood over my shoulder while I pecked out an order form on Excel 2.0.  (To all of my friends that also know my nerd side – yes, spreadsheets and baking, all in one tidy story.)  She bought all the supplies – meaning that she not only paid for them, but she actually procured them and stocked our pantry.  I provided the labor, but since 95% of the orders came from her co-workers and friends, she handled virtually all of the deliveries.  And I got to pocket all the revenues without paying her for raw materials, or a finder’s fee.  But now that I think about it, all that money went toward the summer activities I mentioned, and guess who would have been bank-rolling that if I hadn’t?  Look who’s laughing now.   

The finished product.

She often told me that it was like magic to come home and just have a bunch of pastries laying around, ready to be delivered.  I thought it was like magic to have the shelves re-stock themselves and “work” whenever I felt like it (can you say “no alarm clock necessary”?).   

I probably got the equivalent of about 10 years’ worth of scratch baking experience during those summers.  Although I already knew how to make everything on the order form, Mom made me do a few dress rehearsals, under observation.  She would administer advice, I would ignore it, an argument would ensue.  (Ah, life with a teenage daughter.  Isn’t it dreamy?)  But eventually, the advice stopped.  Once, I asked her about how to approach a challenge of one type or another, and she said, “Laura, when you weren’t looking, you got better at this than me.”  Oh.   

And now I’m crying, because my mom is gone.  But her work ethic, entrepreneurial spirit, and sky-high standards still live on, in me and in others she touched.    

I love you, Mom.  Thanks for trusting me with your craft.  I will guard it closely, forever – I promise.   

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   

 The vast majority of what people ordered was a fruit-filled yeast pastry called a tea ring, which was a recipe that my mom learned from her mom.  In her honor, I made it for dessert on New Year’s Eve, for the first time in years.  Mom had died less than two months before, and I wasn’t prepared for how emotional the process would be.  The familiar smells of the fruit and motions of shaping the dough literally gave me flashbacks.  It was wonderful and unsettling all at once.  


 
Mom’s Tea Ring  

8 cups flour, divided  (preferably bread flour, but unbleached all-purpose works, too)
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup sugar
2½ tablespoons yeast
2 cups milk
1 cup butter
5 egg yolks
½ cup butter, melted
Coconut and chopped pecans, to taste (optional)
Prepared filling(s)
Powdered sugar glaze   

Combine 4 cups of the flour, salt, sugar, and yeast together in the large bowl of an electric mixer. Scald the milk (to  140-150ºF) and add 1 cup of the butter. Cool to lukewarm (about 115-120ºF).*   

Slowly beat the milk mixture into to the flour mixture. While continuing to mix, add the egg yolks one at a time. Gradually add the remaining 4 cups of flour until combined. Mix well and knead into a smooth dough. Shape the dough into a ball and place in a lightly greased bowl, cover and let rise in a warm place (set atop a running dryer works well) until doubled, about one hour.    

Deflate the dough and divide into four parts for small tea rings, two parts for large tea rings. On a lightly floured surface, roll each into thin rectangle about 20 inches long by 12 inches wide. Spread filling onto the dough in a thin layer. Sprinkle 3 to 4 tablespoons melted butter and coconut or nuts, if using. Roll up jelly roll fashion, starting with long edge. Gently transfer the roll to a greased baking sheet in the shape of a circle or oval with seam side down, overlapping the ends and pinching them together to seal. With a sharp knife or kitchen shears, cut  2/3 of the way through the roll at one-inch intervals all around, then turn the slices face up. Cover and let rise in a warm place until doubled, about an hour.   

Bake at 350ºF for about 20 minutes, checking after 10 minutes. If the top browns too quickly, cover loosely with a sheet of foil. Remove from oven and brush with melted butter. Drizzle with powdered sugar glaze, then sprinkle with coconut and nuts. (Mom’s first lesson in tea rings was that the most unsightly mistakes in shaping the dough would never be seen, thanks to glaze and toppings.)   

* I should look this up, but I suspect that scalding the milk is an old-school food safety measure that is no longer necessary.  But I’m not willing to risk a batch of dough to find out.   
  

I feel that I should warn you that baking is something best learned as an apprentice. You’ll notice that this recipe is full of approximations and subject measures (rise about an hour, knead until smooth, etc.). This is because much of the task is done by intuition and feel. If you’ve not baked much before, find someone who has and experiment together a few times.   


Mom’s Fruit Filling for Tea Rings   

3 or more (10-ounce) packages of dried fruit (apples, apricots, prunes, whatever you like)
Granulated sugar or brown sugar, to taste
Cinnamon, to taste   

This is one of those things that my mom just made without thinking, and I learned by watching. I am writing it down as best I can…   

Place the dried fruit in a heavy saucepan (heavy so that it doesn’t scorch easily) and add cold water to cover by one inch. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer, and cook until the fruit is tender.   

With a potato masher, start mashing the tender fruit occasionally in the pan while it continues to cook, until you have a fruit puree that you like the consistency of. Some folks like their filling chunky, but I always cooked and mashed it until it’s fairly smooth. Add water as needed during this process.   

Add sugar and cinnamon to taste. I’d start with 1/2 cup of sugar and a tablespoon of cinnamon and go from there. Let your preference along the tart to sweet continuum guide you.   

This can be scaled up massively. I used to make huge quantities of the more popular fruits and refrigerate until I needed them.  If you wind up with leftover filling, it’s great spread on bread or toast. 

 

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Bon Appétit Challenge: Welcome Back, New Year’s Diet

Mar 18

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers, Cover Announcements | 19 Comments

This week I’ve been firming up plans with my good friend Jamie for us to join her family at the beach this summer, and when I thought back to the wonderful time we had there last year (despite the fog of being parents to an infant), the idea of going back fog-free made me want to dance a jig. 

It was a merry but short-lived jig, because the old neurons got revved up and reminded me that beach = bathing suit.  DRAT.   Friends, I am becoming my blog.  I am entirely too white and more than a little fluffy.  I clearly need to cut back on the icing.

To make matters worse, back at the day job, I’m moving to a new floor of my office building.  Much like the beach house, this is great news, except that the dress code is more formal on that floor, which is no big deal except that all my “career wear” is at least a dress size smaller than I am.  DOUBLE DRAT.

Diet and exercise are difficult enough, but we food blogger types have a serious disadvantage in this area.  I mean, can a skinny food blogger be taken seriously?  (Don’t answer that.)

Barbara Fairchild must have foreseen my challenges, because this cover is just what the nutritionist ordered: Salmon with Sweet Chili Glaze, Sugar Snap Peas, and Pea Tendrils.  I think it looks great.  Not super exciting, I’ll grant you, and not the summery dessert I was hoping for, but this is right up my alley.

The headlines look great, too.  I would absolutely pick this up off of the newsstand.  I haven’t seen the actual issue yet, but I already want to make all the “fresh and easy dinners” on the list.  And triple layer chocolate cake?  Bloody Mary brunch?  Are you kidding me?

Babs, save something for May, won’t ya?  This is a marathon, not a sprint.

Who’s joining me???

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Bon Appétit Challenge: March Cook-Along

Mar 16

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers | 7 Comments

I’m thrilled to report that frequent commenter Lisbeth also made the eggplant parmesan rolls, and filed this report from Stockholm:

Hi Laura,

So, as I wrote you, I made the Eggplant (‘aubergine’ over here) dish last weekend. Apart from substituting Swiss chard for spinach (as I didn’t find the former), I pretty much followed the BA-recipe with regards to both ingredients and procedures.

While preparing it, my first thought was that it was really time-consuming and I did wonder why salting the eggplants should be necessary. I don’t usually do this when using eggplants in other dishes and don’t find bitterness or water (studying the topic afterwards – in Claudia Roden’s Middle East Cookbook – this was given as the reason. Roden doesn’t do it herself either) to be a big problem; particularly not when they are broiled afterwards. Anyway, rolling the broiled eggplant slices proved to be a lot easier that I had anticipated so that was nice.

Since we were off to the movies, I didn’t quite wait for the mozzarella to brown and since I had forgotten to save some parmesan for sprinkling, this step was also left out.

Ooh, yes, I also didn’t oil the glass baking tray since I found this rather pointless when filling the tray with a tomato sauce…

However, even if the eggplant dish was thought as a sidedish to something else, we enjoyed it with a rather simple salad and has brought left-overs for lunch this following week.

Liked:

- Rolling eggplants is a great twist to my usual layered aubergine dish and this is a great way to serve them for a big dinner party where you would want your guests to have a couple of rolls as opposted to a big slop served from a layered dish.

- I really like the texture of the filling and found it very easy to compile (despite my rather ‘rustic’ cut slices of eggplant).

- I guess I should add that tomato sauce and eggplant in general is a very good mix and therefore I really liked the overall taste and texture of this dish – but this flavour aspect is of course not unique for this dish.

Disliked:

- WAY to much cheese – and I even forgot the last sprinkle of parmesan! Also I didn’t find the mozzarella to make much of a difference to neither texture or taste.

- I had also expected that I would find the addition of mint to be a positive note but actually I think so many other herbs (fresh thyme; basil; oregano or marjoram) would accent the dish better.

Different next time:

- I wouldn’t go through the step of salting the eggplants before broiling.

- I would add some more vegetables such as chopped onions, zucchini, or more swiss chard/spinach to the tomate sauce layer below the rolled eggplants.

- Leave out the mint and substitute with another green leafy herb.

- Leave out the mozzarella and possibly sprinkle with bread crumbs instead.

So all in all, I liked the dish and will likely make it again but will also be making some changes to it.

Best regards from Stockholm,

Lisbeth

 

How fantastic is this, folks?  If nothing else, I’m going to start referring to eggplant as “aubergine” from now on.  “Eggplant” seems so common and clunky now.  “Aubergine” is clearly much more sophisticated.

I have heard rumblings about a certain someone else having also made the dish… if I receive any additional reports (hint, hint), they will certainly be posted.

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Bon Appétit Challenge: Eggplant Parmesan Rolls

Mar 15

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers, Cover Recipe Results | 2 Comments

It’s no secret that I wasn’t all that jazzed about the March cover, Eggplant Parmesan Rolls with Swiss Chard and Fresh Mint.  In fact, this is one of the few times that (in the old, pre-resolution days) I would have blown off the cover recipe and not even filed it one of the three-ring binders where good intentions die. 

I’ve been spending some time thinking about why, because my flexitarian status alone should have elevated my excitement level.  I’ve got nothing personal against eggplant parmesan, so what gives?

The truth is, I’ve come to expect certain things from a Bon Appétit cover recipe.  It will either challenge my skills and teach me a new technique, OR it has potential to be best in class (January’s cover had a shot at being the best spaghetti and meatballs ever), OR it’s a show-stopper (February’s grilled cheese and short rib sandwich made me do a double take).  For me, March’s cover didn’t do any of these. 

All that being said, I must admit that I had fun making this dish.  And you know what?  It was very well received by my dinner guests, and I really liked it, too.  I’ll have the Eggplant parmesan rolls with a side of crow, please…

Okay, now for the breakdown.  Three things jumped out at me about the recipe. 

One, I’d be salting slices of eggplant, which I’d heard about but never done before.  Kinda cool in a Bill Nye the Science Guy kind of way.  You know, osmosis and all that.

Two, it called for a can of tomato sauce.  That’s it.  No seperate recipe for the homemade stuff, with assurances that I could double the batch and use it for baked ziti or some such.  Nope, just a can-o-sauce.  Not organic, not reduced sodium.  Heck, not even Marzanos.  I wasn’t sure whether to sing hallelujah’s or wag my finger at the obvious decline of my favorite food periodical…

Three, I was going to be squeezing water out of cooked greens - swiss chard, in this case.  Lord have mercy, I thought I’d gotten out of that tedious business by foreswearing any recipe that calls for it.  Between that and drying out the eggplant slices, the list of ingredients should have mentioned that you’ll need a couple rolls of the Quicker Picker Upper to get the job done.

For this cover recipe, I knew I needed guests involved, because Matt just isn’t a eggplant/swiss chard/mint kind of guy.  In fact, the mint alone told me that I’d better call for backup.  In his world, mint belongs in chewing gum, on a dessert plate as garnish, and in ice cream (and even that’s stretching it).  So I called up my dad and my in-law’s, and as luck would have it, all three were available and up for recipe testing.  To hedge my bets, I picked up some chicken breasts to marinate and grill.  And since we were grilling, I threw some asparagus on, too.  Sourdough bread rounded out the menu.  Not bad for a Sunday dinner, I’d say – even if the eggplant bombed.

Which it didn’t.  I sliced the eggplant with a mandoline, which made life tons easier (thanks, Ryan and Shana!).  Then, only having one colander of any size, I decided to lay the salt-packed slices on a rack set over a rimmed baking sheet, to catch the moisture.  And man, was there moisture!  After an hour, I measured 2/3 cup of water that dripped out of those eggplant slices – I thought maybe I’d get a three or four tablespoons.  Clearly that hour of prep time served a purpose.  Alton Brown would be proud. 

Contrary to my fears, no one found the mint revolting or misplaced – in fact, no one really noticed before I mentioned it.  It was just the right amount to brighten the flavor and perk up the dish.

All in all, I must say, it was a hit.  Everyone had some, and everyone liked it.  Most said they’d have had it as a main entree, in lieu of meat.  Matt said he liked it, but wouldn’t request it – and considering that I expected him to try a bite and reject it outright, that’s a huge win.  Dad enjoyed it and said it tasted like lasagna – but added that for all the trouble, you might was well actually make lasagna.  Couldn’t have said it better myself, Pop.

I still say it’s not cover-worthy, but if you make this, don’t feel compelled to grill chicken just in case.  It’s tasty enough to carry a menu on it’s own.

In the end, I’m giving it a measly B.  I probably won’t make it again, because between the slicing and the salting and the patting and broiling and the squeezing, it’s just not worth it.  But it made my dinner guests happy, which makes me happy. 

Thanks for proving me wrong, Bon Appétit!  Now, how about some spring-time dessert for April?  I know you’ll be doing the requisite Easter and Passover menus, but how about some rhubarb pie?  Or berry cobbler?  I’m crossing my fingers…

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Ground Zero

Mar 8

Posted by Laura in Food of Love | 10 Comments

One of my biggest fears in life is that someone gets food poisoning on my watch.  The guilt would kill me, if my victim didn’t get to me first.  With grilling season right around the corner, I was flipping through Williams-Sonoma’s cookbook on grilling, and this quote caught my eye (emphasis mine):

Cooking meat beyond medium runs the risk of it drying out and turning tough.  Burgers are an exception; for safety’s sake, they should be cooked no less than medium, and many health experts say it is wiser to cook them at least medium-well. 

Why single out ground meat?  Beef is beef, after all.  Why is it that no one bats an eye at serving you a rare steak, but a rare burger is a cardinal sin?

As you may have guessed, I looked into it.  (Shocking, I know.)  I learned that the usual suspects are the cause for all the ruckus: bacteria.  As we all know from health class, those lovely little critters are everywhere – in our beds, on our skin, on the keys of our keyboards (ewwwww!).  Raw beef happens to be a very hospitable place for them, and if they aren’t annihilated during the cooking process, you run the risk of getting very sick.  As in, I’d-rather-be-dead-than-be-this-sick kind of sick.

Now comes the interesting part.  I never really thought about this, but when meat is put through a grinder, all the little heebie-jeebies are incorporated throughout the final product.  But with whole cuts of meat, they more or less stay on the outside.  And when you toss that T-bone on the grill, guess which part of the meat receives the most heat for the longest time? That’s right, kids: the outside!  So, it’s possible to sear a steak over high enough heat to quickly kill the heebies and still serve it rare.  But the heebies ground into the middle can live on inside a burger, and inside you, if you’re not careful. 

Friends, if this isn’t enough of a cautionary tale, check out this story from the New York Times last October.  It’ll scare you straight, no matter which side of the lawsuit you’re on.

This is one of the reasons why people grind their own meat:  It’s safer.  Whole cuts of meat run much less risk of picking up something sinister during processing, and once it’s in your hands, you take over as food safety czar.  Another reason is that it’s fun – sorta like having a Play-Doh Fun Factory in the kitchen.  But the best reason to grind your own is control.  You choose how much fat goes in the mix, what cut(s) of beef to use, how finely to grind it, and so on.  Among the best burgers I’ve ever had was one my parents made with fresh ground brisket.  And you don’t need any fancy equipment: your standard food processor will actually do the trick.

So the next time you hear of someone grinding their own meat, don’t write them off as an over-the-edge food technician.  They’re a safety expert with a sensitive palate!

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I’ve never seen it, but I feel certain that Martha Stewart has done a feature on grinding her own meat, probably with an antique hand-cranked grinder she found in a flea market in New England.  Here’s a recipe from her magazine from years ago, and the name fits: they are great cheeseburgers (whether you do any of the grinding or not!). The secret is not overworking the meat and tucking a pat of butter into the center of each patty.

Great Cheeseburgers
From Martha Stewart Living

2 pounds ground chuck
1 pound ground sirloin
3 tablespoons steak sauce
6 large egg yolks
1 ½ teaspoons salt
¾ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
4 tablespoons cold butter, cut into 10 pats
12 ounces white cheddar, thinly sliced

Use a fork to combine the chuck, sirloin, steak sauce, egg yolks, salt, and pepper in a large bowl; do not mash mixture. Divide into 10 equal parts; form into patties. Make an indentation in each patty; place a pat of butter inside, and encase completely with meat.

Heat a grill, grill pan, or broiler. Cook patties 5 minutes, flip, and top with cheese. Cook 3 to 5 minutes more, until almost cooked through. Transfer to a plate; cover with foil. Let rest for 5 minutes before serving.

Serves 10.

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Lagniappe: Something Exceedingly Cool, and Something Not Cool at All

Mar 4

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 5 Comments

First, the good news: Bon Appetit is linking to WFI.

Wait, let’s cover that again. BA is linking to WFI!



In a fit of shameless self-promotion, I’ve been adding comments to the cover recipes on the BA website, with links to the blog.

Their web editor, Emily, must have realized that through my project, I am linking to their site and basically giving BA some free promotion.

So what did she go and do, this crackerjack web editor of theirs? She added a blog section to the bottom of the recipes with links to all the blogs that have covered each recipe. Now, if that’s not symbiotic marketing relationship, I don’t know what is.

Check out the link on the short rib sandwich recipe here.

I told ya it was exceedingly cool.



The uncool news is that all the great “thingys” on the right sidebar of WFI have somehow migrated south for the winter. They’re on the bottom of my page! Not sure why that is, or how long it’s been that way. A quick scan of the WordPress support site seems to indicate that others are having this problem too, though I’m not smart enough to follow their suggestions to fix it. They start talking about tweaking zipzorps and optimizing lollygags, and gosh, I just don’t have the energy to translate that to English.

Anyone out there have a solution to this in lay terms?

Tea That Tastes Like the Ocean

Mar 2

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 12 Comments

Have you ever known someone for so long that you don’t actually remember meeting them? For me, that’s Andy. We grew up the same small town, albeit a generation apart.  And when you live in a place with less than 2,000 people, introductions just aren’t necessary.

Andy and I have gradually learned over the years that we have a lot in common, despite our age difference. Among other things, we both love the nuances of the English language, we’re astute people watchers, and we’re slightly obsessive about a few of life’s little details. But most importantly, we’re both chowhounds.

Andy’s a bit more serious about the whole food thing than I am. In fact, he opened a restaurant a few years back, which is something I am entirely too lazy to even think about – my years spent waiting tables in college taught me just how much work the food business is.

After learning for himself that the corporate world involves less work and more money, he scratched the whole restaurant thing off of his bucket list and moved on. But he still uses his restaurateur skills and equipment to cook when friends need a favor. And when the details line up just so, he asks me to help, which is always great fun.

Our most recent adventure was to cook Valentine’s dinner for fifty people, as part of a youth group fundraiser at Andy’s church. The kids served as the wait staff, provided entertainment, and set up and broke down the dining area. Andy donated the all the kitchen labor, and asked his daughter Jessica to help, along with yours truly. He also lined up underwriters to cover the cost, so the youth group could keep 100% of the proceeds. To top it all off, Laurie Heath, an amazing professional photographer* that belongs to the church, was on hand snapping photos of the guests for them to take home.  Pretty cool, huh?

It took Andy and Jessica about oh, ten seconds to develop the perfect menu: Cornish game hens, lemon mushroom risotto, asparagus, and edible pansies as garnish. Andy asked me to take on the bread and dessert, which happens to be the only thing I’m comfortable leading on and the only thing Andy and Jessica didn’t want to have to fuss with. Perfect.

The bread was an easy choice: sweet potato biscuits with honey butter. They’re slightly unexpected, come together quickly, and are always a melt-in-the-mouth crowd pleaser.

The dessert I obsessed over, of course. I needed something elegant, something a wide range of people would enjoy, and something Valentine’s-y but  not cliché. With Andy’s help, I settled on a dessert trio: raspberry mousse in an edible chocolate cup, a miniature red velvet cupcake, and homemade turtle candies.

Chocolate? Check.

Red/pink color palette? Check.

And what telegraphs Valentine’s better than candy?

The youth group and their fearless leaders. (Photo courtesy of Laurie Heath.)

Let me tell you, friends, we had a blast. Andy grilled the hens early and then finished them in the oven, which left him time to run the kitchen. Jessica prepped her mise en place ahead of time and made four huge batches of risotto on the range at once, just in time for service. At the very last minute, she steamed the asparagus.

I made the turtles the night before, and the cupcakes that morning. I made the mousse on-site a couple of hours in advance, and put the filled chocolate cups in the fridge to set up. I garnished everything I could before service and finished them while we plated desserts during dinner. It was awesome.

Andy is a great leader in the kitchen – confident, laid-back, assuring. The results showed: not only was the dinner a success, he produced it with a team that had never worked together before, and his wait staff was a crew of inexperienced teenagers, for crying out loud. Pretty impressive.

We did have our bumps, though.

I assumed that the wait staff would be taking care of the beverages, and I think Andy did, too. When service began, someone realized that we needed to brew some iced tea on the fly. Trouble is, it takes time to heat that much water – too much time. It was looking like we’d have to get by without beverages.

But Jessica, being the quick thinking culinary student she is, saw a pot of fresh water on the stove that had just come to a simmer. She suggested we divert it to tea, and Andy agreed. She put a second pot of water on to replace it, and we all went about our business.

I was up to my elbows in biscuit dough when servers started bringing back the tea. Something’s wrong with it, they said. What is it?, Andy asked.

“Um, like, it tastes like the ocean.”

By this point, I’m hovering over a work surface, cutting biscuits.  I can’t help sort out what I think I just heard and still stay focused on nailing the timing for the bread. But the audio was all I needed: Andy said, in his perfectly calm, matter-of-fact way, “The water was for cooking asparagus. It was salted.”

Yummy!

In the end, someone eventually cranked out a salt-free version of tea, and the food exceeded all our expectations. A great time was had by all, and the youth group raised a good bit of cash, which was, after all, the point.

And, as I have each time I’ve cooked on that scale (every time being with Andy), I walked away having learned a lot, having helped some folks, and having more appreciation than ever for my career that has nothing whatsoever to do with food.

* If you go to the “special offers” link on this page of Laurie’s site, you’ll see a promo pic of my little family’s feet, taken last fall… tee hee!

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Since several folks have requested the recipe for the biscuits, I decided to do a bit of cloak-and-dagger blog promotion and post it here. You can make the honey butter as well as cook and puree the sweet potato a day in advance.  Enjoy!

Sweet Potato Biscuits
Adapted from Thanksgiving (Williams-Sonoma)

1 sweet potato (about 8 ounces)
1 1/4 cups buttermilk
2 1/2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
1 cup cake flour
5 teaspoons baking powder
4 teaspoons sugar
3/4 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup cold solid vegetable shortening, cut into small pieces
1/4 cup cold unsalted butter, cut into small pieces

For the honey butter:
3/4 cup unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/3 cup honey

Preheat the oven to 400°F.  Prick the sweet potato several times with a fork.  Place it directly on the oven rack and bake until very tender, about 1 1/4 hours (or cook it in the microwave!).  Let cool completely.

Position a rack in the upper third of the oven and raise the oven temperature to 450°F.  Peel the sweet potato and force it through the medium disk of a food mill or a large-mesh sieve into a bowl.  Add the buttermilk and whisk until smooth.

In a large bowl, sift together the all-purpose flour, the cake flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt.  Add the shortening and butter and, using a pastry cutter, cut them into the dry ingredients until the pieces of fat are about the size of corn kernels.  Add the buttermilk mixture and stir until a soft, crumbly dough forms.  Turn the dough out onto a well-floured surface and knead 8-10 times, until it just holds together.  Try not to laugh when you hear that the tea has been made with salty water.

Roll and pat the dough out into a 6″ x 12″ rectangle.  Using a knife or a cookie cutter, cut the dough into 12 rectangular biscuits (rectangles mean no scraps, which means no re-rolling – yeah!).  Transfer the biscuits to an ungreased insulated baking sheet or doubled regular baking sheet.  Place them about 1/2 inch apart if you like pillowy soft-sided biscuits, further apart if you want each to develop it’s own crust all the way round.  Bake until the biscuits have risen and their edges and bottoms are nicely browned, 12-14 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the honey butter.  In a small bowl, cream together the butter and honey until light and fluffy. If you like, scoop it onto a waiting sheet of plastic wrap, shape it into a log, and serve chilled, cut into pats.

Serve the biscuits hot accompanied with the honey butter.

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