Plenty. Good.

Playing with Food: A post-Project project.

30 Mar 2011 Leave a Comment

by andipanda1 in Uncategorized

It has been a hectic few months. January, February, and part of March were swallowed up in a flurry of research, rehearsals, meetings, performances, recovery from performances, evaulating performances, making plans, and oh, and that wonderful little thing called the “day job.”

Things all came to a head this week, coming home to post-Project house (it looks like a bomb hit it), post-Project duties (one of which involved Fed- Exing a bill payment) and post-Project reality (I gotta clean the postr- Project house). And through all of this, you still have to put food on the table (well, at least on the corner that isn’t filled with Project-Related paperwork, books, and stuff). So one day last week, I was grumbling about life in general, and sinuses were making my head feel like a football. You know, I should never cook when I’m angry.  Because I either make a horrible mess of it, or I make too much food.   I try to use these opportunities to “cook ahead” meals for those days when I’m too tired to cook an all-out meal.  It also helps to resist the temptation to go out to eat when you have a fridge or freezer full of food.

No need to go into what ticked me off, but my initial plan was to cook a pork shoulder I had marinating in the fridge (I coated it with Jamaican jerk  paste), and to stir fry some collard greens.  Once I dumped the pork into the Crock Pot, and pulled out the greens, which I had prepped that morning, I noticed something I had been ignoring in the fridge.

A huge eggplant.  And it was looking lonely, aubergine, and sad. So I took it out and washed it.  Then for some reason, I went into the fridge again, found some tomatoes, some leftover Trader Joe’s Puttanesca,  and some shredded mozzarella.  Then I had an “aha,” stir-fried the greens and chopped them up.

Then I remembered an idea that a friend had given me–use eggplant to make lasagna–that is, using the eggplant instead of noodles.   So that’s what I set about doing.

I augmented the TJ’s  sauce with my own quick sauce–chopped tomatoes, basil, a little anchovy paste, sliced black olives, oregano, salt and pepper–cooking it on medium-high heat until the tomatoes broke down, then added some tomato paste to thicken it.  Turned the sauce down to low.  Then I sliced the eggplant, sprinkled it with some salt and covered it with paper towels for about 15 minutes–this helps draw out some excess moisture.  Then I laid the slices in a greased baking dish, covered them with mozzarella and sauce (I didn’t have ricotta this time around); laid down a layer of the greens, covered it with sauce and mozz, and repeated until I had filled the baking dish.  I topped the lasagna off with mozzarella and some grated Parmesan.

I crossed my fingers and baked it at 350 degrees for about an hour (yes, I was guessing!).

It was delicious!  Next time I will use ricotta or crumbled tofu and see what happens.  I love playing with food! 

Now, about that pork shoulder…

Sweetness.

28 Mar 2011 Leave a Comment

by andipanda1 in Uncategorized

I’m back, and I’m sorry it took so long!  Life intervened, and gave me a really great Christmas Gift–a Big Music Project, which has finally wrapped.

This year, I decided that I would try my hand at making edible gifts for the bulk of our Christmas/holiday gifts.  There’s a recession on and all that, and I hate fighting in the stores for the elusive “perfect gift.”  Cooking is a way that I could give nice gifts without killing my pocketbook or spirit.

I wanted to do something new this year, so I decided to do a little candy making. Fleur de sel caramels are relatively easy, and I fell in love with the result.  They are actually kind of fun to make, once you get the hang of it. You need to dedicate the time to make the caramels–don’t do this while you’re trying to cook something else; you’ll just be courting disaster. Follow the recipe (link below) exactly–no tricks or shortcuts.

The secret to success is being patient, watching your candy (or deep fat) thermometer and letting the caramel take its time to develop.

I made about 10 batches, and the were a big hit.  People called me for the recipe; others asked me to make batches for their sweethearts (I gave them the recipe).  Friends and families snarfed them down and raved about them to their friends. The Hubster LOVED these, especially, so I decided these would be a great Valentine’s Day gift.

Then we were hit with the Big Music Project–which was wonderful, but left no time for cooking dinner, much less caramels!  Valentine’s Day was celebrated with cards, kisses, and a wonderful dinner–at a restaurant! No candy.

We’ve come to the end of our Big Music Project.  But I want to thank my husband for all the support he’s given me, and for the wonderful job he’s done on the Big Music Project.

So when I can squeeze out some time, I’m going to surprise him with these before we get hit with another Big Project.

And I have a Plan B. His birthday is in May.

Want to know how to make these gems?  Recipe is here, via Epicurious.  My biggest advice is that you watch that thermometer!

Life is sweet.

Celebrations, Survival and a Sinkful of Chitlins

20 Dec 2010 2 Comments

by andipanda1 in Uncategorized

The concept of “Nose to tail” eating–using virtually every part of an animal–has been kind of a foodie trend that is fascinating and can be tasty, but it’s nothing new. People like my grandmother, Mamma Jones, who lived through the depression and lived by the motto, “Waste not, want not,” was reusing and recycling way before the concept became popular. She knew how to use every part of an animal– my childhood memories are riddled with the sights and smells of kidney stew, the notorious “sweetbreads,” and at holiday time, chitterlings–better known as “chitlins.”

When I was a child, during the week between Christmas and New Year’s Day, my mother, Mamma Jones, or my aunt, depending on where dinner would be that year–would cook up what was aptly nicknamed “wrinkled steak.” Chitlins are pig intestines, meticulously cleaned and washed, then simmered for hours until tender. As children, we loved them (mostly because we didn’t know what they were). Served piping hot with peppered vinegar or hot sauce on the side, they were a feast and a holiday memory. We only ate them during the Christmas holidays, particularly close to New Year’s, as that was the traditional season, when the hogs were butchered.

And each year, my grandmother would tell us about our enslaved ancestors and the fact that the only time off they had from working was between Christmas and New Year’s Day. They celebrated Christmas Day by playing “Christmas Gif.” carrying little presents in their pockets–a bit of cake, candy, or fruit–in their pockets. When meeting with someone, the first to shout “Christmas Gif!” would be given the present. Then there was the day after Christmas, when the plantation owner would gather his slaves in front of his home, and give them presents–cast off clothing, shoes, and toys. And food, mostly leftovers from the “hog killin’ time’”–the pig ears, tails, feet, head, brains, and yes, the intestines. To people who only received a peck of corn or pint of salt, these were good eating. And the many foods and recipes that survived–head cheese, pig feet, chitlins, salted pork remnants, and hog maws, for example–continue to be traditional fare for African Americans and folks from the South. To Mamma Jones, eating chitlins was continuing the tradition of our ancestors and honoring their place in our lives and our history.

The chitlins came in a square plastic bucket, and we’d be shooed out of the kitchen, where they would be cleaned. And cleaned. And cleaned. They had to be absolutely clean–after all, they were intestines. Soaking, hand inspection under a good light, scrubbing with a round brush, and even a teaspoon of Tide or chlorine bleach was employed to get the chitlins squeaky clean. You had to use two sinks (one to wash, one to rinse) to insure cleanliness. (To see the painstaking process used to clean chitlins, look here). Once in the pot, chitlins gave off a thick, porky smell that gets old rather quickly and would stink up the house as they simmered. There were several “home remedies” to reduce the smell (a potato, a whole onion, for example) , but none of them really worked (other than opening a window in the middle of winter). And you only ate your family’s chitlins, because you knew who had cleaned them. I think of one distant relative who brought over a dish of chitlins once. She had bought the chitlins “out of season” (or so I was told–apparently chitlins were like oysters), had put red onions in them, which made them look pink. That was it. Her dish remained untouched and she had to lug it back home. This was a source of family legend for years. The next time we had a holiday gathering, she brought three packages of brown ‘n’ serve rolls.

My love affair with chitlins ultimately ended when I was faced with cleaning a sinkful of them for my family. It was shortly after Mom’s death, I was 15, and another female relative came into the kitchen and showed me how to clean them. It was at that moment that I realized what they actually were (you can block it from your mind if you don’t prepare them). After about an hour of supervision, I was left to clean the rest. It took me about two hours, because I was grossed out and terrified that I would kill someone because I wouldn’t get them clean. I was miserable, and once we finished cooking them, I didn’t eat them. I served them, and my grandmother beamed with pride because people were willing to eat the chitlins that I had cleaned and cooked, and I was trained and ready to continue the tradition. It was an honor that I quickly relinquished, because I haven’t cleaned one since, and I don’t eat them anymore.

But I understand their place in my history. And after all these years, and given what I know now, I realize that those “leftovers” given to my ancestors weren’t just a holiday treat–they were a means of survival that gave them the strength and energy to survive for another year. And for that I am very grateful.

In the spirit of tradition, my ancestors, and their wisdom, we’ll be having black-eyed peas, collard greens, and cornbread on New Year’s Day. We’ll continue the tradition of making sure that the first person walking through the door is male (an African American tradition that hearkens back to the Scottish Hogmanay), even if it’s just that I make Hubs walk out the back door and through the front.

I wish I had recorded Mamma Jones’ stories–the specifics of her stories have grown faded and tattered in my memories. But I suppose that I am continuing the tradition by telling them now; they are a great comfort to me, particularly at this holiday time, when those who have long gone before seem to be their nearest.

Here’s some “Chitlins Con Carne” you can enjoy from guitarist Kenny Burrell.

The Book That Made Me Love Food

16 Dec 2010 Leave a Comment

by andipanda1 in Uncategorized

I remember the first time I fell in love with food.  It was a few weeks before Christmas. I was about 10 years old; and I was sick in bed, recovering from the mumps.

I loved to read. My mother had begun teaching me before I entered kindergarten and as a result, pretty much all I did as a child was read and write.  That summer, I had ripped my way through about 20 books. So you can imagine how happy I was when my mother bought me a new book to keep me from being too depressed while I was sick.

It was an old story, a familiar story. I had seen it in movies before. But a whole new world opened up to me when I read the following:

“Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course; and in truth it was something very like it in that house. Mrs Cratchit made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible vigour; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple-sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long expected gush of stuffing issued forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried Hurrah!”

And then there’s that lovely business about the pudding.

“Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook’s next door to each other, with a laundress’s next door to that! That was the pudding. In half a minute Mrs Cratchit entered: flushed, but smiling proudly: with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quartern of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.”

I read the entire book in a matter of days, but I kept going back to that passage, back to the Cratchits’ feast. Reading it was like being there–I could taste the applesauce, imagined the stuffing coming from the goose, and was dying to taste a plum pudding (and I made it my business to try both years later).  Dickens’ masterful description of a poor family’s Christmas dinner was one of the first things that sparked my interest in food. It also made me realize as a child how special my family traditions were.

I read Dickens’ “ghostly little book”  every year–it never gets old to me. And I continue to relish the Cratchits’ Christmas and the many other scenes in the book–the Fezziwigs’ party, the Ghost of Christmas Present and his bountiful horn, and Scrooge’s journey back to loving humanity.  They are reminders of the things that bind us and sustain us as a human race: family, food, love, and tradition. The things that make us wealthy in spirit.

…here is the first sound movie version of “A Christmas Carol.”  In its entirety! Not entirely true to the book, but fun to watch.

Nutty as a….

09 Dec 2010 Leave a Comment

by andipanda1 in Uncategorized

Let’s talk holiday desserts, shall we?

The winter holidays are filled with  fermented foods and fluids.  Hearty, rib-sticking elements  too rich and heady to eat all year round, these special holiday foods are the product of an earlier harvest, and lovingly put by for the hard winter months and painstakingly maintained.  Stuff like winter ales, long-ripening cheeses, confits, dried fruit, and preserves, and rich foods.  For my family, it was beer cakes, bowls of nuts (complete with a huge nutcracker), home-made egg nog (with Southern Comfort for the grown-ups), filled hard candies,  candied fruit, sweet potato pie,  mince pies, and the ultimate Winter Holiday food.

Fruitcake.

Yep–the butt of holiday jokes in the United States for decades, the fruitcake is one of the most adored and despised holiday culinary tradition.  For my family, no holiday was complete without a slice of the family fruitcake, usually made by  Claxton Fruit Cake (“Baked in the Deep South According to A Famous Old Southern Recipe”) of Claxton, Georgia. The cake was usually bought weeks before and before and “fortified” with frequent pourings of rum.  Mom would bring out the family’s blue and white fruitcake tin, and when she opened it, it smelled like magic. She would only serve us kids a thin, golden-brown slice–and I would marvel at its boozy density, the stained-glass colors of the dried fruit, the burst of soaked raisins, and the moist texture of the cake that burned sweetly on the tongue.

My grandmother expected a fruitcake from the family every Christmas.  One year we did not get her one, as my dad and his siblings decided it wasn’t good for her failing health.  We kids knew that there would be hell to pay. When we visited her Christmas day, Dad and my uncles and aunt  got an earful. We didn’t hear the end of it until Dad rushed to the grocery the minute it opened December 26, found some (there were tons of it left) and drove it over to her house.  We never made that mistake again.

It wasn’t until high school (and after my mother’s death) that I would swear off fruitcake.  Part of it was losing the tradition after she died.  None of us really had the heart to eat it.  Later on, fruitcake became a hip thing for me to disparage.  Especially after a guy I dated in college showed me his family fruitcake, which they had since he was a child.  They had shellacked it and used it as a holiday doorstop.

But now, at the ripe age of ::cough, cough::  I can admit it.  I like fruitcake. There, I’ve said it.

My love was reignited when I had Jamaican “black cake” at a friend’s wedding.  Fragrant, moist, packed with flavors.  Wow.  It was so good that I wanted one for my wedding 11 years later, but the future Hubs vetoed it–based on his own hatred of fruitcake (he never tasted Claxton, I suspect) and the fear that it would intoxicate my in-laws.

I remember a Trinidadian friend who gave me a tin of black cake one Christmas.  I took some of it to a get together at a friend’s home  so folks could try it, then we set out for some ice skating.  When we returned, we found the tin had been knocked over, and  followed a trail of crumbs to my friend’s bedroom where her two Japanese bobtail cats were lolling on the floor on their backs, loudly purring and oblivious to the horrified humans staring down at them.  (They  were feeling just fine, thank you. Very fine. Meoaowaowr!)

Get adventurous this holiday season.  Free your mind and try some really good fruitcake.  I’m not talking about the leaden, cherry studded lump you see in grocery stores.

Ever had the German stollen, covered with powdered sugar?  That’s a light fruitcake.  Or have you ever tasted the light, airy Italian panettone, of Milanese origin? or the Italian “strong bread,” paneforte?  It’s fruitcake.  Or the British version, which I have never tried, but I fully intend to once I can get my hands on it.  Check out your specialty stores, or online.  As for the traditional fruitcake, my heart now belongs to Assumption Abbey, where the monks do it up right.

And here’s a ditty from the original musical revue, “That Time of Year:”

For those who want to be environmentally responsible, here’s The Great Fruitcake Recycling Project.

Stink. Stank. Stunk.

06 Dec 2010 2 Comments

by andipanda1 in Uncategorized

You know those holiday traditions I’ve been telling you about?  We had a particularly fun one.  It is the Tradition of the Stinky Cheese.  That is when I go out and find the most luxurious, creamy–and often fragrant–cheese I can find, and we have it over the holidays.  The Tradition of the Stinky Cheese began when we accidentally bought home some St. Andre.  It was like Brie on steroids: wonderful, silky, delicious…but just a little pungent.  We loved it.  A Tradition was born.  Since then, we’ve tried Stilton, Camembert, Taleggio  and a few others. Despite their pungency, the cheeses are spectacular.  Why do these cheeses have such a strong smell?  Well,  the bacteria used to ferment certain cheeses, Brevibacterium linens, is also present on human skin.  On human skin, however, it causes foot odor.

A friend of mine who knew about out stinky cheese tradition suggested we pick up some Epoisses for Christmas.  Epoisses, nicknamed “The King of Cheeses,” is a “washed rind” cheese. That means that the cheese is washed in brandy, which helps to spread the fermenting bacteria and gives the cheese its distinctive orange rind (and smell).  But after calling all over town, there was no Epoisses to be found.  A cheese shop suggested we get Stinking Bishop instead (Wallace and Gromit fans will know about this one).  So we bought some two days before Christmas–about a quarter of a pound, as it was quite expensive and we weren’t sure if we were going to even like it.

And stink it did.  It smelled like old gym socks. On the way home from the cheese shop. I’m not kidding.  After sitting five minutes, wrapped in waxed paper and inside a bag, the cheese made my poor little car smell like a locker room.

I got it home and put it in the fridge  until Hubs begged for me to take it out because the smell was so strong.   By this time I had placed the Bishop in a sandwich bag and banished it to the cooler where we were brining our turkey.  The cooler became rank (thankfully, the turkey was in a brining bag). We kept the cooler stocked with ice and on Christmas Eve, we took the Bishop out and placed it on the counter to let it “bloom,” then ran out to do a couple of errands.  When we came back about twenty minutes later, the Bishop had turned my cheerful cinnamon and clove-y kitchen into utter Stanktopia.

The cheese however, was at its runny best. We opened the kitchen window, put on the exhaust fan, then got crackers, spreaders, and some wine, cut away the rind (banishing it to the plastic bag ASAP), then tasted the cheese.

Delicious.

And the rind and the little bit of cheese that remained was promptly placed in two plastic bags and banished to the depths of the trash can.  The next morning it was taken out.  The squirrels and crows usually tear up the trash the moment it comes out.  That bag was untouched until the trash guys came to pick it up.  I can’t imagine what they were thinking when they picked it up.

Last week, I was in my local Trader Joe’s and spied this:

Can’t wait to try it!  And you should, too.  If you haven’t, you don’t know what you’re missing.

Here’s a fun article about Stinking Bishop. It’s named after a pear, not a person!

And now for something completely different:

Scenes From a Marriage 2: Thanksgiving Report

04 Dec 2010 1 Comment

by andipanda1 in Uncategorized

The press is all agog with the impending marriage of Prince William and Kate Middleton. Suffice it to say, once Kate joins “The Firm,” she will be expected to toe the line regarding family holiday traditions and rituals.  As the fairy-princess myth states, once you get married, you live “happily ever after,” and what’s his is yours and the rest is sunshiny tomorrows.

Not so fast.

When it comes to holidays, I don’t care if you’re the most lovey-dovey, enlightened couple on the planet, there’s bound to be differences in family holiday traditions that eventually cause culture shock.

And those differences really emerge surrounding Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the question of food.  Turkey or ham? Cornbread or regular bread stuffing? Are mashed potatoes a must?  And the relentless bombardment of Perfect Holiday images in the media don’t help to ease the stress. First off is the holiday baggage we each bring to the table. For example:

My Childhood Turkey Day Traditions:

(Keep in mind here, I grew up in a large family with six children in Detroit)

• Turkey: The bigger the better. Roasted slowly all day (however, we know better than that now!)
• Regular bread, sage and onion stuffing in the bird (and we don’t do this any more, either)
• Cranberry sauce; canned
• Lots of veggies: green beans (with almonds, no french fried onions or that soupy stuff); carrots; white potatoes (mashed, with lots of butter); beets; sweet potatoes (candied with lots of brown sugar).
• Desserts: Sweet potato pie, bundt cake, whipped cream.

We ate at six p.m. We dressed for dinner–nothing fancy, but our dinners were formal–place settings and all. Post meal, we’d retire to the living room to play games or to fall asleep.

His Childhood T-Day Traditions:

(Lovingly prepared by hubs’ grandmother in Baltimore)

• A large turkey, cooked slowly and painstakingly basted
• Cornbread stuffing and oyster stuffing
• Veggies: Green beans, collard greens, candied sweet potatoes, macaroni and cheese
• Jelled Cranberry straight from the can
• Sweet potatoes, candied
• Dessert: Sweet potato pie and pumpkin pie

His family ate at noon (!) at the family table.  Dress was casual clothes (okay, sweats). After diner, the family retired to the living room to watch football. and pick off turkey and food all evening.

When we were dating, I was appalled. The eating at noon threw me off. I remember my first Thanksgiving with Hubs’ family, stuffed at 1:30 and staring listlessly at the TV set, homesick and depressed.

Hubs couldn’t understand why my family took so long to eat.  He wasn’t a fan of the plain-bread dressing, either, or why we would spend hours talking around the table (hey, there was football to watch!)

But over the years, I learned some things from Hub’s family that I still do today.  I enjoy collard greens for Thanksgiving, and I marveled about his Grandmother’s moist, flavorful turkey (she was an amazing cook).  Her turkey breast didn’t taste like dried out sawdust (sorry, mom).  Oyster stuffing was a new taste for me, and I loved it! Hubs loved my family’s desserts and admitted the family time around the table–once he got used to it–was pretty cool.

But after a few years of being together, you develop your own traditions–a mix of your childhood and adult favorites. Or you try something new.  In past years, we tried duck (and nearly burned the house down); goose (bonus: all dark meat, yum!), oyster dressing, Cornish game hens, and making our own cranberry creations and stuffing combinations (my favorite was apple/cranberry/sage bread stuffing). On holidays where we’re not trekking toward Detroit, or I’m not making turkey and trimmings for the in-laws (somehow they got wind of the fact I like to cook…), we do some of our own traditions.

Our Traditions

This year, we spent Thanksgiving with each other.  This is what we had.

• A cheese platter to nibble on when Hubs and I are preparing dinner, chopping veggies, etc.  This year’s platter featured Maytag Blue, Grafton cheddar, and brie.

And on to dinner:

Appetizer: Rock shrimp with bacon, chard, and Italian polenta (“grits”) with Grafton maple-smoked cheddar:

• The centerpiece of our meal: a brined, roasted turkey, stuffed with apples, onions, sage and pablano peppers:

The “trimmings:”

• Sage Sausage stuffing with dried apricots (we usually do an oyster casserole, but are saving it for Christmas).
• Candied sweet potatoes with pineapple
• Roasted Brussels spouts
• Mashed potatoes
• Cranberry conserve, with apples and walnuts, made from scratch (we used a variation on Ina Garten’s recipe, adding pineapple and a hint of pablano).

It was, in short, yummy, comforting, and totally ours.  Had a ton of leftovers. Looking forward to a just-us Christmas this year, where we’re skipping the traditional ham and roast beef and having a seafood fest!

What what holiday traditions will you be bringing to the table this year?