August 2, 2008
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Always in high demand:
Say hello to open-faced steak sandwiches on garlic buttered bread with provolone and parsley oil. This is one of those recipes that you should never serve to your friends unless you’re okay with making it many, many more times. I am, so I did. I did however, make the mistake of calling them “steak sandwiches,” and was met with the inevitable “sandwiches have two pieces of bread!” comments. So now they are lovingly referred to by many as my “steak toasts.”
This is one of that damnable Bobby Flay’s recipes. I can’t eat one of these without experiencing internal conflict. Despise the man, love his food. I shake my fist at you, Bobby Flay!
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Well, no. I don’t. Mostly Irish and German, but something in my soul relates to the Italians. I love the culture, the food, the wine; I’d like to say I love the countryside but I haven’t been there. Yet. For whatever reason, when I first began cooking it was mostly Italian style. Not Italian proper of course, because thinking back, my first forays into Italian cooking consisted of nothing more than Buitoni and Classico. Fast forward about fourteen cookbooks, the happy discovery of La Cucina Italiana, and now I’m fiddling with Pancetta vs. Guancale.
To be honest, it’s a darn good thing I’m not Italian. If I were, my grandmother would be slapping the hell out of me for what I’m about to say. But I’m just going to say it, while the angels weep. In my Spaghetti Carbonara, I did not like Guancale nearly as much as I like Pancetta. So there. The photos below are of my Guancale version.
It just doesn’t have the charm Pancetta has. And if you know me at all, you know that I will gladly defy Italian tradition in the interest of charming pork products.
To date, the above is definitely my most ambitious Italian attempt. It gets easier with time; a good set of tongs is crucial and I’ve learned to temper the eggs with the pasta water. The first time I ever made this, it was basically noodles, bacon and scrambled eggs with a ton of pepper. Ideal? No. Delicious? Yes. This is a pretty great recipe, and it’s generally what I go on. But really, once you do this once it’s hard to forget how it goes.
But I’ve found that authenticity and degree of difficulty aren’t what impresses friends. What does impress them, you ask? Lemons and grain alcohol. More specifically, high proof liquor that over a period of time, extracts the oils from lemon peels then is married with sugar and water and kept at freezing temperatures to create a divinely thick, syrupy, creamy and sweet lemon flavored Italian digestivo.
Also known as, Limoncello.
If you’re familiar with the Gumbo debacle, you might know by now that when I embark on what can only be described as a culinary project, I do research. And lots of it. In fact, my tendency to procrastinate on the actual execution of my hairbrained schemes gives me lots and lots of time for research. But finally the day came where I was ready to inflict myself with carpal tunnel syndrome by painstakingly peeling (not pithing) dozens of lemons and dumping them into two liters of 165 proof everclear. Below is the result of my first half-batch being combined. This was on July 10th. I have been diligently agitating daily. I even passed the Jar of Holiness to my mother to shake for me when I was on vacation in Portland. It is now August first, and I’m just about ready to combine the whole mess with simple syrup and toss it into the freezer.
Assuming I can keep from drinking it all, this will probably be everyone’s christmas presents this year. A couple ounces of homemade Limoncello in itty bitty apothecary bottles. Of course, even if I do drink it all I can always make more.
More pictures to come. I got most of my guidance here and here.
February 21, 2008
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When I went to New Orleans last March, I was in heaven. And by that, I mean culinary heaven. It shouldn’t shock you too much to know that I could easily live on beingets and hot chocolate for the rest of my life. Any regional cuisine that revolves heavily around shellfish, vibrant spices, and carbs galore is absolutely fantastic in my book.
So when I finally got my hands on the le creuset pot I’ve been dying for (in lemongrass green, natch), the absolute first place my mind went was: gumbo. I won’t lie and say the research process was simple. I agonized over recipes for the better part of a week. I’m an incurable shellfish addict, but did I want to spend a bunch of money on shrimp and crab for a first-try gumbo that may turn out awful? I decided not, and went with andouille and chicken.
Throughout all my gumbo research, the recipes I saw kept ping-ponging back and forth between okra and file. File and okra. It’s enough to make a Californian’s head spin. The recipe that appealed to me the most actually called for neither. I didn’t trust this, so I plugged in the okra instructions from another recipe. To make matters worse, I’d read somewhere that you never, ever use both file and okra. But my coworker, a seasoned gumbo maker at the wise age of 56, insisted I use both. Well, it ended up a moot point, because by the time I tossed my broth and chicken thighs in the pot, I’d completely forgotten to add the okra.
In typical Juli form, my first instinct was: panic. Alas! I did not. I trudged onward and let that bad boy cook for two and a half hours, skimming from time to time, and when it was ready we sprinkled some file and went to town. I was a nervous wreck over my roux, and babied it incessantly. Thankfully, the milk chocolate roux I ended up turned out to work perfectly as my thickening agent.
And while I’ve had better for sure, my gumbo was DAMN good for a west coast girl’s first stab at the dish. So good in fact, that I forgot to take photos of the finished product. So here’s one in the next morning’s tupperware.
Please also note that I made bread pudding. Spongy, creamy, rich, cinnamonny, and crisp where it counts. Hot damn, that stuff was good (again, so good the Canon was utterly neglected). My date doesn’t enjoy food with alcohol in it, but I whipped up a whiskey cream sauce to drizzle on top and it was divine.
As for the recipes, you can find them both here:
Chicken and Andouille Sausage Gumbo
Bread Pudding
October 18, 2007
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Did I say burned? I meant caramelized.
While grocery shopping last weekend, I stumbled across some lovely looking, inexpensive lamb chops. I’ve always wanted to do lamb chops. I went ahead and snagged them, confident I would find a great recipe. I’d also never done brussels sprouts (aside from steaming and buttering frozen sprouts, which I regret to inform you all, does not count), so I decided on those today. Here are the little guys prior to being blackened.
The recipe I decided on for the lamb called for a garlic and rosemary coating. In the store, I made a spur of the moment switch to Thyme instead. I. Love. Thyme. More on that later. They were delicous, but very fatty and mostly bone. 2-3 bites of meat in each chop. I’m pretty sure this is simply the nature of lamb chops, but it also explains why they were on the thrifty side. If you make the chops, you absolutely have to reduce the salt by at least half.
The deliciousness atop the sprouts is garlic. Great recipe, I’ll be using it over and over.
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I thought I was losing my mind for a few days, there. I was eating things I generally enjoy, and they were no good. I whipped up a couple recipes I’ve been drooling over for a while, and while I was very pleased with myself immediately after plating. Once I tasted each, well … let’s just say, not so pleased. The shrimp tasted like something you’d get at Panda Express, and the bok choy was drowning to death in an overly salty, too-rich sauce.
I’d like to point out, for the record, that I followed the recipe exactly and used high quality ingredients.
It’s pretty though, no? Oh well. Two recipes to avoid:
Spicy-sweet tangerine shrimp
Braised baby bok choy
Sorry, epicurious!
September 10, 2007
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There’s an old man who stands on a corner near my house sometimes, selling fruit. In the past it’s been mangoes, and while they always look beautiful, I can’t possibly imagine what I would do with an entire box of mangoes. This weekend, it was strawberries. I couldn’t resist, and called my mom to see if she wanted to split a box. I snacked on some for dessert last night, had a few more for breakfast this morning, and was poking around online for a recipe to use these delicious morsels up.
I wasn’t really interested in doing a cake, or a shortbread dish. I wanted to do something creative though, because I’ve never really cooked with fruit before! I briefly considered a granita, but a gelato recipe caught my eye. I googled the process of making ice cream without an actual ice cream maker, and away I went! Of course, it turns out that what I made is actually a sorbet, and not gelato because there is no milk or cream in it. But either way, it’s damn tasty and elegantly showcases the character of the berries.
Believe it or not, I’d never really used my paring knife for a proper paring knive use. I hulled and halved these beauties, so they could fit in my little Cuisinart mini-prep.
The final product. I made too much! Someone needs to come help me eat this.
August 26, 2007
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The other night, I was a little hungry, but not really. there wasn’t much to eat in the house and I certainly didn’t feel like driving or biking to Trader Joe’s. But I knew if I didn’t eat, I’d wake up frustrated at about 3am.
So the answer? Corn tortillas, oaxaca cheese and chorizo from the mercado across the street. Like many Americans, my idea of a quesadilla was originally jack or cheddar cheese, or even american cheese, in a flour tortilla. That is until I met my first boyfriend, who was born in mexico. And thusly met his cousins, who are to this day two of my best friends; the people to whom I give all credit for my valuable albeit limited knowledge of Mexican cooking. I can make a mean tostada with shredded chicken, tomatillo salsa, guacamole that’ll sear your nose hairs, and of course, quesadillas.
I might be one of the only white girls around to whom this is “comfort food.”
I think what I love most about these is that in the past, I’ve generally had them made for me after a night of fun times and alcohol. So I’m sure there’s a component of good memories here. They go so great with a Corona. Not to mention, the ultra-nourishing grease factor. We mustn’t ever forget the grease factor. Odelay!
Fast forward to today, when I wanted to hit the farmer’s market for the week’s goodies, and overslept instead. I ended up at the Milk Pail, and couldn’t resist the beautiful mint, which would go nicely with an eggplant recipe I eyed a few weeks back.
When I got home, the overpowering scent of fresh mint said one thing: Mojitos. Except this posed a problem: no light rum, only dark. Hey, when the craving hits, compromise, right? So I did. After checking with an online source first, to ensure it wouldn’t be a hideous mistake. I gotta say, it was pretty tasty.
I wonder what kind of dirty looks I’d get if I ordered this in a bar. A mojito with dark rum, that is. I should try it sometime. Until then, salud!
August 22, 2007
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need I say anything more?
August 12, 2007
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I intended to start a garden as soon as I moved into my new house, about a month ago. Amidst all the havoc, rampant consumerism in other areas, and of course some well deserved relaxation and laziness … it didn’t happen. The time has come and gone. I’ll look into further opportunities come fall. But is all this stopping me from enjoying delicious summertime fruits and vegetables? I think not!
When I got home yesterday, my neighbor was watering his plants and his dog. The dog was cute, but I was more interested in talking tomatoes. His plants are a couple years old, and are on the verge of an overwhelming crop of ripe romas and big boys. He gave me a sneak preview. I had it today, sliced and dressed with nothing but a pinch of sea salt.
Speaking of neighbors, the ones on the other side supply me with wonderful lemons. They just don’t know it. It’s thanks to them my tuna and provolone melt last week had bite not just from the capers I tossed in, but from fresh picked and fresh squeezed citrus.
Does the mercado across the street count as a neighbor? Because they have some lovely mangoes. This is actually an older photo, from a month ago or so. I was waiting for a friend to be ready so we could head out to dinner, but my stomach was having a hunger fit. So I diced up this mango and had it with an ice-cold glass of pinot grigio. It was pungent and fragrant, and so ripe. A little stringy due to the aforementioned ripeness, but who cares? Not me.
And finally, peas. Sweet peas and sugar snap peas, with ginger, soy sauce and sesame oil. Complemented my fish nicely. The fish which turned out tasty, but not pretty. Therefore, the peas and only the peas are pictured. Pretty, those peas. Don’t you think? Actually, if anyone knows why the shelled ones puckered, I’d appreciate the feedback. I don’t think I overcooked them, it was a quick blanch.
And so I leave you with the words of the great Paul McCartney: what’s so funny about peas, love and understanding?
July 30, 2007
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Anyone who’s been following my blog might be starting to understand why it is I’m a bit of a chubster. Pasta with cheese sauce, risottos, and now, ravioli with sage brown butter sauce.
Rest assured, I eat plenty of salads and fish as well, but I’ve been having a bit an indulgent streak. I go through phases where I’ll try new, elaborate recipes several times a week. I also go through phases where I eat cereal for dinner, and lots of Trader Joe’s frozen stuff. Anyway, I’ve made this sauce before, but at the old house with a ceramic cooktop. I think due to the fact that I’m still not quite used to this gas cooking, I burned the holy heck out of a brown butter sauce earlier this week. I actually took two shots at it and turned both pans of sauce into nothing but a black, rancid disaster. Needless to say, I was frustrated.
Everything came out perfectly tonight, though. This is the porcini mushroom ravioli from A.G. Ferarri’s, with the brown butter recipe courtesey of Epicurious.
I should point out that I don’t really consider myself a chef. More of a novice cook. But “chubby chef” sounded better.
July 27, 2007
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At some point, fairly recently, I reached that certain age. The age where to me, it’s not really ideal to show up at a friend’s BBQ bearing nothing but beer. And it’s entirely unacceptable to show up completely empty-handed. I like to whip up tasty and mildly impressive things for parties. But I learned long ago not to go too far out of my way (or wallet), because a potluck-style addition will never be the center of attention, so it’s a waste of money to dress to impress, if you will. So, one of my favorite staples is bruschetta. It’s deceptively simple and great for parties. Bruschetta is just classic.
I toyed with a few ideas for the BBQ at G & M’s house, but it’s pretty hard to top this. And when I got there, the fabulous and beautiful G had already put out caprese mini-kabobs and an olive medley. We had a little Italian theme going, it was delicious. And while I’m on the subject, I’d like to thank them both for the good times, fantastic mojitos and amazing BBQ fare.
July 26, 2007
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I don’t mind cold leftovers. In fact, in many cases, I prefer my leftovers cold. Pizza, chinese, buffalo wings. I’ve been known to eat many if not most of my leftovers cold. So today, when my leftovers are an amazing penne pasta with shrimp, mushrooms, plum tomatoes, parmesan and feta … why is it that I can’t think of anything other than heating it up and enjoying a steaming, luscious tupperware full of sin?
Too bad I’m at the damn office. And microwaved seafood is the ultimate workplace no-no. I know this because I myself have sat festering in my chair, smelling someone’s reheated fish, wondering to myself how someone could be so inconsiderate. So I guess I’ll walk the walk today, and eat my leftovers cold.
But what about if I walked around the office, offering everyone a bite? Or posted a sign in the kitchen saying, “Sorry, but my leftovers were to die for and you would have done the same thing!” I probably shouldn’t. But it’s tempting.
I can’t wait until lunchtime.
Recipe courtsey of Epicurious.
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Has anyone ever noticed that after making risotto, it’s actually really difficult to eat it? Or is that just me? After chopping, sauteeing and especially the nonstop stirring, I could barely lift my fork to my mouth. But! I mustered the strength, because it’s just that good.
I love making risotto because it’s beautiful. It’s one of those dishes that first inspired me to start photographing what I was cooking. I’ve done Giada’s Mushroom Risotto with Peas before, and wanted to try a more elegant version. Of course, I added peas. Peas make everything better. So, this particular recipe was a new one, and it marked the first time I’ve ever used Marjoram. Exciting, right? The aromatics looked wonderful in the bottom of my pot.
And although risotto is time consuming, it’s a great opportunity to spend some alone time in the kitchen, stirring goop with one hand and drinking wine with the other. It’s the traditionalist within me that finds it comforting to be cooking away in the kitchen while the man is out on the couch in the living room, watching Reno 911. Or whatever he was watching.
So, making risotto never fails to make me feel like an accomplished home cook. I think it left the SO lukewarm, as does a lot of the “froo-froo” things I make, but I don’t mind much. There are definitely things I make for him, and things I make for me. This, I made for me.
Recipe courtesey of Epicurious.
July 7, 2007
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So I’ve been wanting to start a food blog for a while. I love to cook, and I love to take pictures of the finished product, and often times some of the sliced and diced ingredients as I’m moving along in the process. I won’t lie; it’s nice to brag, and be able to show off, “look what I made!” But I think it will be nice to be able to share some of my trials and errors (of which there are many) with others, and have an archive of the things I’ve made over the months, and maybe even years.
I just moved into a new home, and the counter space in here is seriously lacking. That will be a big challenge for me. I might be able to fit a kitchen island in if the stove could be moved a foot to the right, but it’s gas and I don’t want to blow my casita up. So I’ll leave that to PG&E.
Another thing I’m getting used to is cooking on gas. The other night after searing some shrimp, I tossed some garlic in the pan to saute, and obviously had not waited long enough after reducing the heat.
My stainless steel cookware is relatively new as well, and I’ve read in several places that you really don’t need to use as much heat. So this is a learning process, for sure. Thankfully, I had plenty more garlic on hand (who doesn’t?)Eventually, I was able to turn this
Into this. And it was delicious! Seared Shrimp & Asparagus with a Lemon-Garlic Sauce, Fine Cooking May 2007.
