White Fluffy Icing

Musings of a reasonably competent home cook.

Archive for June, 2010

The Best (and Almost Worst) 4th of July Ever

Jun 29

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 10 Comments

 

Dad in uniform and Mom on his arm. Could they BE any cuter?

In August of 1999, Dad had an emergency quadruple bypass.  One minute he was on a treadmill flunking a stress test, the next minute he was being admitted into the cardiac unit and prepped for surgery.  We all learned a lot about ourselves and each other in the months that followed, but obviously no one was changed more by that experience than the patient himself.  Dad has worked incredibly hard since then to follow every recommendation from his doctors, and my own heart beams with pride when I think of how well he looks after his.

Eight years later, in late June of 2007, Dad’s heart started having trouble again.  We would eventually learn that one of his coronary arteries had re-blocked, and would require a stent to keep it open.   I can’t remember why I was at my parents’ house – was it by chance or did they call me for help? – but I do remember realizing that Dad was having a prolonged mild heart attack and that it could escalate in a split second.

I’m usually pretty cool-headed in these types of situations, but I remember doing an incredibly poor job at masking my feelings of fear and concern and love and helplessness.  My hands shook and my voice trembled as I helped them pack light overnight bags and load the car.  We prayed the Rosary on the way, and I remember thanking God that I was able to drive them and we didn’t need an ambulance.

We are blessed to have a world-class medical center in Houston, where wonderful people magically re-opened his arteries, and we all breathed a sigh of relief.  He would be in the Cardiac ICU for a couple of days, but his outlook was good.

But the night of July 2, everything changed.  I got a call from Mom in the middle of the night, and she had just hung up with the hospital.  The short version is that Dad had a near-fatal arrhythmia, in reaction to the stent procedure.  Basically Dad’s heart freaked out, and it was beating so fast that the chambers didn’t have a chance to refill with blood between contractions.  And because the heart wasn’t actually pumping anything, he lost blood pressure and his brain wasn’t getting oxygen.  He almost instantly slipped into a coma and was fading fast, but he was lucky.  He had the extremely good fortune of awakening with a doctor literally on top of him, pumping his chest and shouting his name.

His cardiologist told us later that this particular type of v-tach arrhythmia usually results in sudden death, and that if he hadn’t been in a cardiac ICU with a particularly adept crew that night, the outcome would have been much different.  If he’d been at home, he would have almost certainly died.

That night, once everything had settled down, Mom slept in a chair in Dad’s room, just so they could be within arm’s reach.  Kirk and I slept in the waiting room, or at least tried to.  Every time I drifted off, I had a recurring nightmare of waking up to a brightly lit, fully functioning hospital, completely devoid of any people.  In my dream, I wandered the halls, looking for any signs of a patient, a doctor, a nurse, anyone.  Each time, I would jolt awake just as I was reaching for the doorknob to exit, with the dread of somehow knowing that I was locked in.

I don’t remember who slept where the next night, July 3rd, but I’m guessing that my parents insisted I take the night off because it was Matt’s birthday.  But I’ll never forget the 4th of July that year.

Mom and Kirk headed home before dinner, and it was my turn to stay overnight with Dad.  At this point he was still feeling weak, but much better, and was up for chatting.  We turned on the TV and watched a parade or two, which got us talking about Dad’s Army days in Vietnam, during which he served as an engineer on a fuel tanker.

He started telling me specifics that I didn’t remember having heard before, about the loading docks near Saigon, and navigating up the Mekong River, and going to this and that bay of so-and-so.  There was a computer in the corner of the room, and with the nurse’s permission, I turned the monitor so Dad could see it from his bed and pulled up a map of Vietnam.  Before long, we were lost in conversation about the year and a half of his life he gave in service to our country.

It was a beautiful thing, just being able to talk to Dad this way after almost losing him.  I kept thinking that if it weren’t for the lightning fast response of his medical team, I never would have heard these details about his Army job, or how he spent his leave sight-seeing in the Phillipines.  We wouldn’t have struck up a conversation with his Filipino nurse that night about memories of her homeland in the 60s.  And I wouldn’t have heard about Dad’s draft letter from President Nixon, which opened with “Greetings!”.  (Greetings, indeed.)

We were engrossed in all these details when we heard a faint popping sound, and I saw Dad looking past me, out the window.  I opened the blinds to a spectacular third-story view of the huge fireworks show at Eleanor Tinsley Park, which Dad and I watched as I stood by his bed, holding hands.

It was a perfect ending to a day full of blissful gratitude: I was thankful to God for my Dad, to Dad and every other soldier for their service, and to my country for our many freedoms.

God bless America!

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

I asked Dad what home-cooked dish he missed most while away in Vietnam.  “That’s easy,” he said.  “Apple pie.”

I’m not sure if it was his favorite before he left for Vietnam, but as long as I’ve been alive, apple pie has been Dad’s favorite dessert.  And what could be more perfect for the 4th?

Dad is a simple, cinnamon-only kinda guy, but you could sub a pinch of cloves and half a teaspoon grated nutmeg for half a teaspoon of the cinnamon, if you like.  And these days, I make a heart-healthier version for him by replacing half of the sugar with Splenda and swapping the top crust for a crumb topping made with Smart Balance (instead of butter).

Dad’s Favorite Apple Pie

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
2 pie crusts (homemade or store-bought)
12 medium or 7 large Granny Smith apples, peeled, cored, and sliced
¾ cup sugar, plus additional for pie top
Zest and juice of 1 lemon
2 teaspoons cinnamon
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 large egg, beaten

Preheat oven to 375ºF. On a lightly floured surface, roll out crusts into two 1/8-inch thick circles to a diameter slightly larger than that of an 11-inch pie plate. Press one pastry circle into the pie plate. Place the other circle on waxed paper, and cover with plastic wrap. Chill all pastry until firm, about 30 minutes.

In a large bowl, combine apples, sugar, lemon zest and juice, cinnamon, and flour. Toss well. Spoon apples into pie pan. Dot with butter, and cover with remaining pastry circle. Cut several steam vents across top. Seal by crimping edges as desired. Brush with beaten egg, and sprinkle with additional sugar.

Bake until crust is brown and juices are bubbling, about 1 hour. Let cool on wire rack before serving.

Serves 10 to 12.

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Food of Love, Compliments of Dad

Jun 21

Posted by Laura in Food of Love | 16 Comments

Dad and my nephew, who borrowed his hat for the photo.

I spend a lot of time here talking about my mom, for what I hope are understandable reasons.  She taught me many things about life, and love, and people, and God.  And food.  Let’s not forget the food.

But I’m one of those kids that hit the parental jackpot, because my dad is pretty stellar, too.  Well, as “stellar” as a guy who avoids attention can be, I guess.  But I think he’s pretty great.

Dad is the yang to Mom’s yin, in every sense.  Very different, yet complementary.  And they loved each other deeply.  Still do, really.

I can’t be sure, but I think it was on a Father’s Day several years ago when Mom told me: “You’re father is quiet, but he’s a great man.  I spent years visiting Grandma almost every evening after work in the nursing home.  The only exceptions were when something big came up with you kids, like your weddings.  And you know what?  In eight years, he never complained, not even once.  He never so much as asked about his dinner.  He never said, ‘What about me?’  Never.  That’s a strong man, Laura.”

I told him that recently, what Mom said, just to make sure he knew how grateful she was.  And he said, “Well, hey.  That’s just what you do, when your family needs you.  I didn’t expect anything else.”

And that’s Dad.  Hey, it’s no big deal.  Let’s not get all worked up.  It’ll all work itself out.  For someone that can skew a little Type A on occasion, having a dad like this can keep you from astronomical therapy bills later in life.  Trust me.

Dad not only kept my OCD in check during my fragile adolescence, he also taught me lots of things. Things Mom didn’t know – or care to know – about.  Dad sparked my interest in science by sharing his fascination with astronomy and reading along in my science textbooks.  (Here’s a telling tangent:  About five years ago, Mom, Dad and I went to the planetarium at the Houston Museum of Natural Science.  Dad and I were just getting warmed up, spotting Orion and the Big Dipper, maybe five minutes in, when suddenly we heard a ripsnorting snore.  It was Mom: jaw dangling, eyebrows twitching, the works.  When the lights came up, she was unabashed: You have me walking around this place all morning, then put me in a cushiony reclining chair in a dark room and really expect me not to sleep?)

Anyway, back to Dad.  He loves science and nature, and he’s a terrific mechanic.  Occasionally, as a kid, I went to work with him at the filling station he and his uncle owned.  Uncle Joe would make sure I had enough Super Bubble bubble gum to last me a lifetime (he kept giant tubs of it on the shelf under the cash register), and Dad would give me the play-by-play as he rebuilt a carburetor.  It didn’t matter that I was a girl, or that I asked a thousand annoying questions, or that showing me slowed him down to a crawl.  You see, that’s just what you do when your kid comes to work with you.

When I grabbed stuff in the garage I shouldn’t have — parts, tools, whatever — that was perfectly okay with him.  And when my hands got all grimy, he’d spot me looking around for one of those orangey-red shop rags he kept in his back pocket, but there was no need.  He always just kind of jutted one knee out, with a bit of a twist at the hip, and I just kind of knew that meant to wipe the grime onto his jeans.  No discussion required, problem solved, rest of the day commenced.

(Many years later, I learned that not all men are into this particular method of grime management.  I wiped my hands on Matt’s jeans in our garage once, while helping him change the oil in my car, and his horrified look told me that my little habit was clearly a sacred father-daughter thing.  “Excuse me, these are my clothes.  I wear them.  What are you doing?”  Oops.)

Dad taught me that a shady parking spot beats a front row spot any day.  He taught me the value of a pun.  He taught me that doing good and being strong doesn’t necessarily mean being splashy.  He taught me that nice boys that come from good families make great husbands.  He taught me the value of simplicity and an honest day’s work.

When I was nine and made brownies on my own for the very first time, he sampled my wares and proclaimed them delicious… and suggested that next time I cook them about half as long.   Enthusiastic, but genuine.

Because I adore him, I could go on and on about my dad.  But I’ll skip to the Food of Love part, because by now, you’re probably wondering about that.  Well, Mom was the cook in the family, but Dad is no slouch in the kitchen.  He just doesn’t cook much because he’s rarely in the mood to meet his own standards.

When Leah and Demitri were getting married, we threw an engagement party at our house.  The happy couple requested a casual backyard barbecue, Texas-style.  I mentioned this to Dad, and he offered to make a huge batch of beans to help out.  He delivered them, sampled a little brisket, admired the set-up, then split before the first guest arrived, in true Dad style.  I’ll never forget standing on my back deck later that evening, doing some sort of requisite hostess duty, when a guy in his early 20s, sporting a pair of mirrored Oakleys (a veritable teenager, he was!), approached and said “Dude.  These beans are the sh**.”

(It was a bit of a challenge to explain to Dad later that this was a compliment, and a quite high one, at that.  I’m still not sure he gets it.)

So I told him that for Father’s Day, I wanted to write about him and his beans.  Why?, he asked. They’re nothing special. 

Dad, you have lots of lots of tricks, I said, tricks that people may not know about.  Like waiting until the very end to add the salt.

Well, yeah, he said, as if this is common knowledge.  If you add the salt early, the beans come out tough.

And so it went.  I would remind him of a point in his technique, and he would agree.  Pretty soon, I had a list:

  • I’ve never known Dad to cook anything but navy beans and pintos.  Cranberry pintos are his favorite – he says they have better flavor.
  • Dad always cooks beans with some sort of meat: ham hocks, a ham bone with plenty of meat left on it, or a smoked turkey leg.
  • Dad doesn’t soak the beans to shorten the cook time, because cooking them forever is what renders all the flavor out of the smoked meat.
  • Speaking of cooking beans forever, I do mean forever.  As in, just-before-they-lose-their-structural-integrity-and-fall-apart forever.  “I don’t need my beans rattling around on the plate,” he always says.  (He also feels this way about vegetables — al dente and crisp tender means you’re not done cooking yet.  I think maybe Dad was an unwitting pioneer in the slow-food movement…)
  • Herbs mask the flavor of the smoked meat, onions, and garlic, he says.  No herbs, no spices.  Just salt, pepper, meat, onion, garlic, beans, water.  That’s it.

Dad likes simple food, prepared simply, but done well.  Dad doesn’t always recognize this, the fact that he has high standards… but that’s his nature.  And I love him for it.

Happy Father’s Day, Dad.  I love you!

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As you can imagine, Dad doesn’t really cook his beans from a recipe.  But if I were trying to replicate his yummy goodness, this is what I’d do:

 

Dad’s Beans

1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 medium yellow onion, peeled and cut into ¼-inch dice
1 tablespoon of chopped garlic (Dad uses the jarred pre-minced kind), or more to taste
2 to 3 pounds of smoked turkey legs or well-trimmed ham hocks, or a ham bone with a good bit of meat left
1 pound dried beans, preferably cranberry pintos, picked over and rinsed
Cold water, about 8 cups to start
1 teaspoon kosher salt, or more to taste (possibly less, depending on the sausage, if using)
1 pound smoked andouille sausage (optional), cut diagonally into ½-inch slices

Heat the vegetable oil in a large pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and saute until golden, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic, and saute 3 minutes longer (the goal here is to infuse the oil with the garlic flavor, without overbrowning it).

Add the meat, beans, and 8 cups of cold water to the pot and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat and simmer, covered, stirring occasionally, until the meat is tender and/or has fallen off the bones (add water in ½-cup increments if it starts to dry out). Remove the meat and de-bone it once it’s cool enough to handle.

Meanwhile, continue cooking the beans until they’re almost to the desired degree of doneness.   Add the sausage, reserved meat, and salt to taste. Simmer until sausage is warmed through and beans are done.

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Lagniappe: Whole Fish

Jun 18

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | No Comments

Remember back in April, when I told you about our fishing trip on Espiritu Santo Bay?  I shuffled our entire Easter weekend around so that we could immediately cook the reds we caught on the half-shell, which is one my favorite meals.

Well, for anyone wanting to learn more about redfish and the expert version of the half-shell technique, check out chef Bryan Caswell’s latest entry on his blog, Whole Fish.  Bryan owns Reef, which, in my opinion, is the best seafood restaurant in Houston.  And he knows his stuff: he was named as one of Food & Wine Magazine’s Best New Chefs of 2009, and nominated for the James Beard Award for Best Chef of the Southwest for 2010.  (For those of you who may not know, those are both a big honkin’ deal.)  Houston is tremendously lucky that this home-grown guy has stuck around to share his passion with us.

I follow Whole Fish faithfully, because Bryan talks about lots of things I really love: how great Houston is, how much fun fishing is, how to respect nature and its bounty, and of course, cooking.  Plus, he admittedly geeked out at the Food & Wine Classic in Aspen, the year he won his award.  (I wouldn’t have just geeked out, I would have peed in my pants.)

One day, when Matt and I figure out how to vacation without The Boy, I’ll be making a huge case for the F&W Classic to be our first trip.  Until then, I’ll have to live vicariously through Bryan’s posts…

Bon Appétit Challenge: So Easy, A Caveman Could Do It. Or NOT.

Jun 16

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers, Cover Announcements | 5 Comments

When I saw the July cover of Bon Appétit today, despite being alone at my computer, I actually said aloud:

Holy… MOSES.

You see, BA started the year with spaghetti and meatballs, then grilled cheese and short rib sandwiches.  Winter-time man food, I get it.  The spring thaw came, and brought with it eggplant rolls, salmon, and fettuccine with veggies.  Now that summer is here, I was expecting light, breezy, no-cook picnic fare… Homemade ice cream.  Cucumber salad.  A berry concoction.  That kinda thing.

These expectations are exactly why my eyes bugged out when I saw Caveman Porterhouses with Poblano Pan-Fry.  That’s right, not just ”porterhouses with poblano pan-fry” (which has a nice alliterative ring to it, I must say)… no  no.  It’s a CAVEMAN porterhouse.  And can you see what’s right beneath the recipe name, in the yellow bubble?  “Grilled right on the coals!” 

Are you kidding me right now?  This means that I am going to take perfectly magnificent red meat and lay it directly on the burning embers of hardwood lump charcoal.  No rack, no foil, no nuthin’.  Talk about when food meets flame!

This is exactly why I love Bon Appétit.  They aren’t afraid to have fun.  And this is going to be (potentially pricey and very likely a huge hassle, but) very fun indeed.

And aside from the fun and the obvious conversation piece, the geek factor is huge.  We’ll get to:

a) finally look up what exactly a porterhouse is, anyway (just a giant T-bone?  from a steer, maybe?),

b) figure out how the heck one cooks directly on coals without producing something that tastes like an ashtray, and

c) navigate the world of chiles and learn why poblanos should not strike heat-related fear into our hearts.

So if you’ll excuse me, I have to figure out where to buy hardwood lump charcoal and whose charcoal grill I will borrow…

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On Flag Day, Let Them Eat Cake

Jun 14

Posted by Laura in Baking, Food of Love | 9 Comments

This was my first flag cake, back in 2003. These days, I use single rows of raspberries and make the technically accurate thirteen stripes... gotta feed the OCD somehow!

Today, we celebrate the Red-White-and-Blue. Old Glory. The Stars and Bars.

Happy Flag Day, ever buddy!

If you’re like me, you may not even be sure what Flag Day is all about. Does our flag really need its own holiday? Well, after reading up a wee bit, I’m convinced that yes – yes, it does.

June 14th is Flag Day because on that date in 1777, the Second Continental Congress passed the first Flag Act in order to establish an official flag for our new nation:

“Resolved, that the flag of the United States be made of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the union be thirteen stars, white in a blue field, representing a new Constellation.”

Before then, the flag already had the familiar thirteen red and white stripes, but the canton (the top inner quarter) consisted of the British Union Jack. Why is this significant? Well, I thought you’d never ask.

Britain’s colonies each had their own varied and distinct flags, for ease of identification — but they all had the Union Jack in the canton, to show their allegiance to the United Kingdom.

So our forefathers were symbolically saying hey, George III, we’re not a measly colony anymore. We’re our own country! So we’re tossing your Union Jack and replacing it with our own stuff. And by the way, our new design is so cool, it’s a constellation. Nyah!

To me, the funny part is that they did this six years before the Revolutionary War ended. Call me crazy, but it seems to me that they’d have been a bit more focused on trying not to get their hineys kicked.*  We’re at war with the world’s foremost superpower, but hey ya’ll, let’s huddle up and debate a new flag design!

Clearly, our flag was borne of our own hubris and rebellious attitude, and on Flag Day, we celebrate that attitude and everything else the flag has come to represent – both to us and to everyone around the world. On many an occasion, our flag has been a sight for sore eyes, designating freedom, safe haven, opportunity, and abundance. Some have set a lifelong goal to one day make it to America and build a life under that flag, like my mother’s grandparents, who came on a boat from Czechoslovakia when my grandmother was just a girl.  And to think that my lucky toosh was born here.

So yeah, I’ll give the flag its own holiday. Researching this post has actually made me want to buy a flag and display it. In reality, I’ll be lucky to have it up by this time next year – but it’s the thought that counts, right?

When Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there.

-From The American Flag, by Joseph Rodman Drake
(For the rest of this poem, click here.)



*I mentioned this to Matt, and he pointed out that back then, during war, having a flag was a big deal. A flag to be proud of was a huge morale booster. After all, he said, the soldier carrying the flag didn’t have a gun. Huh. Good point. Smart guy, that Matt!

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I make this flag cake every chance I get: Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, and now, Flag Day. Aside from being an impressive dessert to take to a summer party, it’s a blast to make and not nearly as difficult as it looks. Plus I have an excuse to break out the pastry bag and tips. I can’t draw to save my life, but making straight lines on a rectangular cake is something even I can manage.

If you don’t have a pan as big as the one called for, split the batter among two pans and reduce the baking time appropriately. Don’t try to halve the recipe, because - geek alert! – when cake recipes are halved or doubled, bad things happen. (In other words, the proportions are not linear.)

p.s., I adore Ina Garten – this recipe includes the cream cheese frosting that I now use on everything that it’s remotely appropriate for. Yum!



Flag Cake
from The Barefoot Contessa, Ina Garten’s show on the Food Network
circa 2003

2 1/4 sticks butter, room temperature
3 cups flour
3 cups sugar
6 large eggs
1 1/4 cups sour cream
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest (1 lemon)
1/3 cup cornstarch
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 recipe cream cheese frosting (see recipe on this post)
1 half-pint blueberries
3 half-pints raspberries

Preheat oven to 350ºF. Butter an 18x12x1-inch rimmed baking pan, line bottom with parchment paper, and butter the parchment paper.

Cream butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Reduce speed to medium and add eggs, two at a time. Add sour cream, vanilla and zest and beat until just incorporated.

Sift together the flour, baking soda, cornstarch and salt. Reduce speed to low and add to butter mixture until just combined. Pour into pan, spread evenly and bake for 25-35 minutes. Transfer to wire rack to cool.

To decorate, spread 3/4 of the frosting over top of cooled cake with spatula. Place remaining frosting in large pastry bag fitted with large star tip. Outline a flag on the cake with toothpick. Fill upper left-hand corner with a layer of blueberries. Place two rows of raspberries across top of cake to form first red stripe. Pipe two rows of stars just below raspberries to create first white stripe. Repeat with remaining raspberries and frosting until all stripes are formed. Pipe stars on top of blueberries.

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Bon Appetít Challenge: Jamie’s Cook Along

Jun 13

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers | 6 Comments

Pretty incredible, don't you think?

Pretty incredible, don't you think?

I have often mentioned my good friend Jamie here at WFI… our husbands met at work and decided by each other’s descriptions that their wives should also meet — which we did, on a fishing trip one day several years ago.  We hit it off, to say the least, and now Jamie and her family are among my favorite people on the planet.  Matt and I try to see Marc and Jamie as often as we can, which falls drearily short of “often enough”… but we’ve made it a point to share dinner on New Year’s Eve the past several years, come what may during the rest of the year.

Below, Jamie’s going to try her best to convince you that she can’t cook, but trust me, she can hold her own.  She decided to try out the June BA cover, and filed this report:

Ok, my dear Laura, here is the shrimp skewer report! I preface this for everyone by saying that for the most part my husband and an old roommate during my single girl years taught me to cook. I’m generally a bit clueless in the kitchen and I will lay it out right here on the blog with my honest feedback on this recipe.

The stage was a multi-family summer supper. We have some church friends who love few things more than a Friday night supper with friends outdoors watching the kiddos run around barefoot eating hot dogs and ice cream til dark! They are priceless memories and I thought this recipe was perfect for the occasion!

We had 6 adults so I automatically assumed I would double the recipe. The men folk in our crowd are members of the clean plate club and I don’t want anyone going home hungry. I prepped as much as I could but thankfully read through the recipe at lunch that day and realized that with my bamboo skewers I would need to soak them at least an hour in advance to avoid flaming k’bobs! I was able to at least chop all the parts of the skewers and make the glaze in advance. The glaze required a good bit of prep—I’m not a great chopper. If my hubby or father-in-law are ever around, I beg them to do the chopping for me. That was not an option in this case so I struggled along and did “ok”. But what’s up with fresh thyme? How do you properly go about chopping those twigs?! They look and smell special I guess but I think my glaze ended up a little twiggy given my elementary chopping skills. And I “think” I pressed my garlic. Is there a difference between mincing and pressing? I don’t know but doing a double recipe, pressing 8 gloves of garlic was less fun than I’d hoped though the kitchen smelled fabulous. And lastly, the sherry wine vinegar?? I didn’t pay attention to that little detail so my glaze was made with sherry cooking wine. I’ve never heard of sherry wine vinegar?! Hmmm… typing this I realize I was much more challenged by the glaze than I realized. On second thought, I’m really glad I was by myself. Funny.

On to the meal! We started with an appetizer made by–I’ll call him “Mr. T”. He’s a favorite appetizer/salsa/salad maker in our group always creating flavorful dishes and pairing appetizers beautifully with a main course. He did not fail us this time, making two different kinds of “toast points”. Some had pesto, chorizo and manchego cheese and the other half had a sun-dried tomato base with chorizo and manchego. Those didn’t last long—kids were passing up flavor blast Goldfish for the toast points! My friend, “the other Jamie”, made a beautiful salad. Each of us got a “mini” wedge with feta, cucumber, tomatoes and a fabulous balsamic vinaigrette dressing. It was so beautiful and I hated to disrupt the plate, but they were really tasty! And finally, the main course! The glazed skewers were wonderful! Like you, Laura, I was told growing up that paprika had no taste and was only used to dust the deviled eggs. I had no idea there were so many kinds and I certainly had no idea it would taste so good. The skewers cooked up beautifully—I used andouille and even our youngest member of the crowd, a barely toddling toddler, tried the sausage! The shrimp had a very earthy but not overpowering taste. I did stray a bit from the k’bob pattern on the second batch. Being the spicy Texan that I am, I added chunks of jalapeno pepper! I thought the skewers needed a little color and what better than a grilled jalapeno for the job! It was mouth watering. In addition I served a little Hatch chili pepper bread and closed the deal with a key lime pie which was the perfect complement to cool off everyone’s mouth. As I said earlier, I’m generally NOT the cook in our group but folks looked me straight in the eye that night and told me how wonderful my dinner tasted! Nice little ego boost! Ha!

I will definitely do this one again and of course make the jalapeno pepper a permanent part of the recipe! I hope to learn more about fresh thyme and possibly invest in some metal skewers so I might prep more in advance. This one goes in my book as a winner!

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Lagniappe: Loving on Houston

Jun 12

Posted by Laura in Lagniappe | 4 Comments

I live near and work in Houston, and I love this city.  That’s right: I said it.  I love Houston.

There are lots of reasons for that, and I actually have a few blog entries taking shape about just that topic, so stay tuned.  But in the meantime, I’m passing along this link from Forbes about the economic wonder that is Houston.

I’m not saying we live in the most beautiful place in the world, and there are lots of things to gripe about here (billboards, sprawl, mosquitos, and hurricanes, to name a few).  But if you need a job, and a cheap place to live, and an opportunity to make something of yourself, Houston will receive you with open arms. 

And hey, you can always visit pretty places.

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Lagniappe: The Rest of the Story

Jun 9

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers, Cover Recipe Results | 9 Comments

I have to confess that Monday night’s post fell drastically short of conveying what happened the day I made the June cover recipe.

I struggled with sticking to “just the facts, ma’am”, and ultimately I stayed on point.  The point being the recipe, of course.  So I decided to come clean and tell the rest of the story tonight, with the added benefit of giving a glimpse of frenzy that currently is my life.  If that interests you, read on…

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When I started this blog, my main concern was not having enough material to keep it going. After about two months, I realized that the opposite was true: the real challenge is editing down the boatloads of material that constantly presents itself.  So instead of sitting down to a blank screen on Monday nights and hoping that inspiration will strike, I generally have the next 4-6 weeks of entries sketched out at any given time.  (My friend Joy, who knows these things, tells me that this is referred to as an “ed cal”, or editorial calendar.) 

And the June BA cover was not only sketched out for last Monday night, I had my heart set on doing it then.  Why?   Because June is busy.  There’s Father’s Day, and a special date-specific dessert I want to share.  And the Monday before the 4th of July falls in June.  See what just happened?  I just killed all the Mondays left this month, and I didn’t even get to tell you the zucchini bread story - which, by the way, I’m dying to do.  So you can easily see that June 7 was THE date.

I had planned to make the shrimp skewers last Saturday night, but my son and I were having a blast at my dad’s house, playing with my niece and nephews.  They taught him Ring Around the Rosie, which, as you’ll recall, includes a delightful feature where everyone hurls themselves onto the floor at the end.  And after each hurl, my son would immediately get back up, grab hands, and say “Again!”.  Who’s gonna bust up that kind of party for the sake of shrimp?

Sunday, I had plans to celebrate Meredith’s birthday over brunch and a movie with “the girls”.  Meredith lives on the complete opposite side of Houston, so my plans to grocery shop on my way back through the sprawl were nixed when the post-movie chat lasted longer than expected.  Who’s gonna bust up that kind of party for the sake of shrimp?

Sunday night, I told Matt of my situation: I’m out of time.  The shrimp must happen tomorrow, Monday.  And they better be interesting, because I have to write about it the same night.  Being the reasonable person that he is, he didn’t quite understand the urgency of the circumstances – but also being a generally supportive and agreeable fellow, he played along.

So Monday rolls around, and when quitting time comes, I make a mad dash for the parking garage.  The goal is to dart in and out of the store and still beat traffic, otherwise we’d be sitting down to dinner at 10:00.  On my way, I call Matt to check in, but no answer.

So I hustle into the store, and wouldn’t you know it?  There’s a line at the seafood counter.  Time slows to a crawl.  Tick.      Tick.      Tick.      Seafood Dude finally calls on me, and in the same instant, I hear the special spousal ring tone.  Drat!  I quickly pick up and say that I’ll have to call him back, then proceed with the shrimp order.

I’m on my way to the check-out, close enough to see that (hallelujah!) there’s no line, when I return his call.  And get this… something’s come up and he won’t be home in time for dinner.

Raise your hand if you think that I considered not making the shrimp. 

I pay for the groceries, get on the road, and start making calls.  I have a pretty good idea that Dad will come, so I call him last, which lets me tell him who else is on the docket.  First call is to my father-in-law close friend Dennis, who is way more that just a father-in-law… maybe I can bat for the grandparent cycle. 

Hello, Twinkle Toes, can you and Nonnie come up for a last-minute dinner?  I’m cooking the June cover.  Aggggh!, is his reply.  We’re committed for tonight.  How about tomorrow?  Tomorrow’s no good, I say, because Day Two Shrimp are completely different creatures than Day One Shrimp.

Shrimp?, he asks.  Yes, I say… with sausage, on the grill.  Plus some redfish on the half-shell that my neighbor just caught.  STOP TALKING!, he says.  So I do. 

Next call: Andy.  He and Paula are honorary grandparents, plus they’re geographically closer.  Hello, Twinkle Toes, can you and Paula come over for a last-minute dinner?  I’m cooking the June cover.  What time?, is his reply.  Whatever time you show up, I say.  The Boy goes down at 7:30, so if you want quality time, plan accordingly.  Done.

The next hour and a half is a blur of daycare pick-up, household pick-up, and as much prep as I can do while The Boy eats his dinner in his high chair.  I’m moving at warp speed, trying not to think about the fact that I’m the only one who cares whether this blog entry is written tonight, or tomorrow, or never.  Too late now!

The guests arrive, and playtime ensues.  Bedtime comes, and The Boy cooperates, thankfully.  It’s 7:45, late to be starting dinner.

I inform Andy that in addition to unsupervised attic prowling, I also have a self-imposed ban from operating our grill.  Something about catching it on fire.  Big fire.  Twice.  And Andy, I start to ask, since the Grill Master is not here…?  Uh, he says, dead-panning, I’m pretty sure that between your dad (retired mechanic) and me (former chef), I think we can figure it out.

So that’s my confession: I didn’t actually grill the shrimp.  Andy did.  And while we’re at it, he prepped the sauce, too.  I assembled the skewers and took care of the redfish and two sides.  Paula set the table, gave me some fantastic reassurance on general parenting topics, and made sure I didn’t lose my mind, which was perhaps the largest job of all.

We finally sat down to dinner at 8:30.  Matt came home around 9:15, to a plate kept warm in the oven.  He doesn’t like surprises, so I warn him about the lamb in the sausage.  Interesting, he says.  How does it taste?

Dad and I lock eyes for a nanosecond, then Dad says, “Not bahhhhh-d.”  Without missing a beat, I add, “It’s mutton special.” 

Dad and I crack up. 

Matt tries unsuccessfully not to laugh.

Paula looks at me as though it’s the first time she’s ever laid eyes on me.

Andy buries his head in his hands.

And I stayed up until 1:30 am, writing the piece for WFI, swearing that I’d never do this to myself again.

And now you know the rest of the story.

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Bon Appétit Challenge: Grilled Shrimp and Sausage Skewers with Smoky Paprika Glaze

Jun 8

Posted by Laura in 2010 Bon Appétit Covers, Cover Recipe Results | 3 Comments

Hot off the grill...

I was grown and married before I learned that spices have a shelf life. Thinking back on the kitchen of my childhood, I’d bet good money that there were jars of stuff in there at least twenty years old. You could actually trace the evolution of McCormick’s label design through the years in mom’s cupboard by starting at the back (vintage whole allspice) and working your way to the front (last week’s garlic powder).

That explains why I grew up thinking that paprika was a tasteless red powder that had one use in the world: looking nice when sprinkled on deviled eggs. Seriously.

The reality is that while the color is gorgeous, paprika also packs a ton of flavor. I just didn’t know that because Mom had purchased a half-gallon of the stuff in 1979 and we’d been using it ever since. I’m not sure, but I’m guessing that the flavor departed somewhere around the time Reagan took office.

I learned of paprika’s true identity after reading about a rule of thumb: if you can’t tell what a spice is by sniffing it, without looking at the label, it’s old and should be tossed. So I went home and sniffed my paprika, and got nothing. The olfactory needle didn’t move a smidge. Unconvinced, I bought fresh paprika during my next grocery trip, just to prove the article wrong. I got home, stuck my beak in that jar, inhaled deeply… and almost passed out.

Why hello, Paprika. It’s nice to finally meet you.

Since then, I’ve learned that paprika not only has flavor, it has a family tree – sweet, mild, smoked, hot, Spanish, Hungarian. People in the know swear that it can revolutionize your cooking, like this guy (who, interestingly, also dismissed it as deviled egg dust before being converted).

And now, along comes Bon Appétit, with Grilled Shrimp and Sausage Skewers with Smoky Paprika Glaze. This is a big moment for paprika: a title role on the cover of a national magazine, instead of being relegated to also-ran ingredient status. Once I saw that sherry vinegar was involved, it was clear that the glaze would be the star of the show.

And how!

The shrimp and vegetables were completely reliant upon the glaze for flavor – there’s no marinade and no other seasoning in sight. The glaze required a bit of prep, but when it came together, it was a revelation: smoky, earthy, and amazingly complex for such a short list of ingredients. In this way, it was much like the Salmon with Sweet Chili Glaze from April – delicate protein, layered glaze, few ingredients. Very nice.

There was only one problem: the sausage. Actually, it was an execution problem, and not a sausage problem at all.

The recipe calls for “andouille or other fully cooked smoked sausages (such as linguiça)”. I didn’t notice the linguiça shout-out until just before it was my turn at the meat counter, and at that very moment, what did I see nestled between the bratwurst and the chorizo? Why it’s a pork/lamb linguiça! So I nabbed it and bustled along to my next stop.

I haven’t yet mentioned that Andy was there for dinner, along with his wife Paula and my dad. The skewers were already on the grill when Andy asked if I was concerned at all about the timing of the sausage vs. the shrimp. Not an issue, I said, because the sausage was already cooked… and as the words came out of my mouth, I realized that the sausage wasn’t already cooked. I just thought it was because the recipe had suggested it. Well, poo.

... and how it was actually served.

We grilled the skewer just long enough to cook the shrimp, and then cut through the sausage. No go. So I snapped a few photos of the beautiful yet undercooked specimens, and then proceeded to dismantle them and finish the sausage with a quick sauté. No harm, no foul, but if you plan to make this, be warned! I don’t know if all linguiça is fresh instead of cooked, but mine was.

And although the properly cooked linguiça turned out to be delicious, we thought it had a little too much flavor for this dish, and wound up competing with the glaze. Next time, I’d probably just stick to my favorite andouille. But I loved having an excuse to try it, and I’ll be using it again – just not with Spanish style surf-n-turf.

All in all, I had a lot of fun with this dish, and given the relative ease of prep compared to the punch of flavor and presentation, I’d make it again.  We’ll call it an A-.

Bring on the July cover! (Fingers crossed for homemade ice cream…)

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