In May of 2009, the American Academy of Environmental Medicine (AAEM) asked doctors to advise their patients, the medical community and the
public to avoid genetically-modified (GM) foods whenever possible, and
to provide educational materials regarding GM foods and their associated health risks.
The AAEM also called for a moratorium on GM foods, as well as long-term independent studies
and clear, concise and consistent labeling on all foods (AAEM. "Genetically modifed foods").
The AAEM position paper stated, “Several animal studies
indicate serious health risks associated with GM food,” including
infertility, immune problems, accelerated aging, insulin regulation, and
changes in major organs and the gastrointestinal system. They concluded
“There is more than a casual association between GM foods and adverse
health effects. There is causation,” as defined by recognized scientific
criteria. “The strength of association and consistency between GM foods
and disease is confirmed in several animal studies (AAEM "Genetically modified foods").”
According to the World Health Organization (WHO), Genetically Modified
Organisms(GMOs) are "organisms in which the genetic material (DNA) has
been altered in such a way that does not occur naturally" (for more information, see WHO's publication "20 questions on genetically modified foods"). This technology is also referred to as "genetic engineering",
"biotechnology" or "recombinant DNA technology" and consists of randomly
inserting genetic fragments of DNA from one organism to another,
usually from a different species (AAEM).
The first GM food (a delayed-ripening tomato) was introduced on the US market in the mid-1990s (GMO Compass). Although these tomatoes are no longer available and were pulled from supermarkets after increasing consumer concerns, GM strains of maize, soybean, rape and cotton have been adopted by a number of countries and marketed internationally (WHO, "Modern food biotechnology"). The cultivation of genetically modified plants worldwide also increased
in 2009. In comparison to 2008, field area increased by seven per cent
to 134 million hectares. For comparison, the total acreage of Germany is 35 million hectares. In the case of soybeans, 77 per cent of world
production is achieved with GM soy (GMO Compass).
GMO crops continue to be promoted as beneficial because of their hardiness and increased yield, not to mention maximized nutritional value (SUNY, The Levin Institute). The original vision of GMOs was to feed the world and to reduce the need for synthetic pesticides (MIT, "Mission 2014"). More crops, more nutritious food to underdeveloped countries. More better, more happy. More money for Monsanto (canola, cotton, sorghum, sugarbeets, wheat), AquaBounty Technologies (salmon), Okanagan Specialty Fruits (non-browning apples) and Syngenta (a variety of vegetables).
Why I am so worked up about this? I think the research is more than compelling regarding the adverse effects to human life. When we consider the currently available genetically modified strains of things such as wheat, corn, soy, canola, cottonseed, rice, potatoes, papaya, squash, sugar cane, beets and several other commonly ingested foods, including honey derived from these plant sources, the impact is massive. Add to that the fact that American consumers have not demanded GMO labeling, and the complacency among us is appalling.
Can you consider for a moment that perhaps allergies, attention-deficit disorder, thyroid issues, gluten-sensitivity, autism spectrum disorder and many other neurological disorders such as Alzheimers may be linked to what we casually toss into our baskets at the supermarket? Inflammation and heart disease? Diabetes and auto-immune disorders? And what about cancers? Cancer is big business in the U.S.
Shhhhh.
Call me paranoid, but does anyone else see the link among illness, Big Pharm, the food industry and the push for GMO production?
My arm-chair/amateur social-psychologist opinion is that people won't do anything about GMOs until: 1.) they themselves or their loved ones experience adverse effects from environmental illnesses or illnesses that can't be addressed by traditional medicine; and 2.) they're tired enough of being sick to do something about it, which means modifying what they eat. Admittedly, it is impossible to purge one's daily diet completely of GMOs, and I am a chronic offender. But there are still many things you can do:
Look for GMO products on supermarket shelves. READ YOUR LABELS!
Request that your supermarket carry more non-GMO products. Find out what those products are and give your supermarket a list.
Make a commitment to make one small change at a time in your food purchases--like buying soy milk that is labeled "non-GMO" and "organic."
Buy your whole foods from people you know and trust. Responsible and safe food production is happening all around you. Ask.
Talk to your kids and extended family about your concerns.
Talk to the people you know about your concerns about GMOs. If you are brave, talk to the people in line at the supermarket about concerns they may have.
Get the Non-GMO Shopper's Guide app for your mobile phone, or download a printable version here.
Boycott and refuse to buy products from companies that produce GM foods and crops, such as Monsanto, et al., and companies that process them, such as Kraft and Kelloggs, et al.
Demand that GMOs be labeled as such. Here is just one organization of many who are spearheading this movement.
Revive efforts such as Proposition 37, which unfortunately failed for a variety of reasons.
Good night, and good luck.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Hellaciously good holupki
I was weaned on holupki. Honest to God.
Coming from a large extended Polish family has its privileges. You get to eat the best kielbasa, hand made by your great-aunts, which pretty much makes store-bought keilbasa the equivalent of Cool Whip (not the real thing and not even close). Just a whiff of those garlic-laden links at family reunions made grown men weak in the knees. I remember hearing the women who made those sausages gossip later in irritated voices about how the menfolk piled their plates high with keilbasa, leaving little for the people in line behind them.
If you're from a Polish family, you get to eat the best sauerkraut--and never you mind that the house STINKS for days during the fermentation process because your grandmother got a wild hair during her annual summer visit and made a crock full. You get to eat the best dill pickles, which are made with garlic and dill and salt and good old lacto-fermentation. We were spoiled with real Polish pierogi, which are without peer--the dough thin and delicate, the fillings perfectly seasoned. Offer a Pole a Mrs. T's pierogi and you'll have insulted him. At Christmastime, you can get the best Polish nut bread and a vast variety of kolachki pastries, none of them too sweet to stop you from eating far too many.
And you get to eat the best holupki.
Holupki (you might know them as golabki or another alternate spelling that translates as "cabbage rolls") are a warming and satisfying comfort food that I remember my mother serving on chilly winter nights in upstate New York. I loved my mother's holupki, which were pretty much identical to my grandmother's holupki. I made holupki this way after I left home for years because they were homey and satisfying. And then I found a recipe called "Cabbage Bundles in Paprika Cream Sauce" in the Family Circle ABZ's of Cooking, a 12-volume set of paperback cookbooks that I had purchased week by week in a local grocery store during my first marriage.
Once I started making these and then later, adapted the recipe to my own tastes, I wanted no other holupki. Tender and flavorful with a tangy, creamy and gently-spiced gravy, they are a magnificent and elegant version of my childhood favorite. I made them recently for a large dinner party and they vanished. Several guests (who claimed they were of Eastern European descent) became misty-eyed when they tasted their first mouthful.
Yep, they're that good.
Now, I don't claim that these are authentically Polish. In fact, since I use white wine and chicken broth to simmer them in instead of the traditional beef broth or tomato juice, add a good dose of both sweet and half-sharp Hungarian paprika (where my grandmother would have used none) and then use both light cream and sour cream when finishing the sauce (which was never done in our house although Polish cooking does sometimes rely on cream), I would say that they're the best of all worlds. They're definitely the best of Vindaloo's world.
Cabbage Rolls for Company
( adapted from Family Circle ABZ 's of Cooking)
These are time-consuming to prepare, but worth every minute. I use a #40 scoop (about 1 5/8" in diameter) to fill the cabbage leaves quickly and less messily. Omit the light cream and sour cream if you want a less rich dish. Serve these with a carrot and apple salad (substituting honey for the sugar in the recipe), sourdough rye bread and a side of Polish dills. A fruity, dry Merlot like Bonterra 2010 (Mendocino County, CA) is a great accompaniment. Or you can go with a hearty, heavier beer.
1 large head green cabbage (approx. 3 to 3 1/2 lbs.)
2 cups fresh bread crumbs
1 tsp. kosher salt
freshly ground pepper to taste
1/2 cup cold water (or substitute dry white wine)
1 lb. ground chuck
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup cooked rice
1 large clove finely minced garlic
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1/4 cup butter
1 medium onion, diced
2 carrots, sliced
2 tsp. Hungarian sweet paprika
2 tsp. Hungarian half-sharp paprika
1 tsp. kosher salt
4 oz. dry white wine
4 oz. chicken or beef broth
8 oz. canned tomato sauce
4 oz. canned diced fire-roasted tomatoes and their juice
4 oz. sour cream
4 oz. light cream or half-and-half
chopped fresh dill or parsley, for garnish
1.) In a large kettle, bring enough water to boil to submerge the cabbage whole.
2.) Trim any damaged outer leaves from cabbage.
3.) Stick a large fork deep into the core and lower the cabbage into the boiling water, holding on to fork securely.
4.) With a small, sharp knife, cut loose and remove 12 to 16 leaves to a colander or plate; cabbage leaves should be slightly softened and the rib slightly pliable.
5.) Drain cabbage leaves and chop remaining cabbage coarsely to make about 6 cups.
6.) Combine bread crumbs, salt, pepper and water in a large bowl.
7.) Add ground chuck, eggs, rice, garlic and onion.
8.) Mix beef mixture well, tossing lightly.
9.) Using a small scoop or a couple of teaspoons, put about 1/4 cup meat mixture on each cabbage leaf near the thickest part of the leaf, folding in sides and rolling up leaf over stuffing.
10.) Repeat until all leaves are used.
11.) Heat butter in a large oven-proof skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat.
12.) Add onion and let it soften for a few minutes, then stir in carrots and chopped cabbage.
13.) Saute vegetables, stirring often, until soft, about 10 minutes.
14.) Stir in both paprikas, salt, white wine, broth, tomato sauce and diced tomatoes.
15.) Bring mixture to a simmer, then arrange cabbage rolls, seam-side down, close together, over cabbage mixture.
16.) Cover and simmer on the stove-top over low heat for about an hour (or you can bake these in the oven at 375 degrees for 30 minutes then at 350 degrees for another 30 minutes).
17.) To serve, remove cabbage rolls to a warm platter or serving dish, cover and keep warm. Stir together sour cream and light cream; add to pan and stir gently to incorporate. Spoon sauce over cabbage rolls, shower with chopped dill or parsley. Serves 6 to 8 people.
Coming from a large extended Polish family has its privileges. You get to eat the best kielbasa, hand made by your great-aunts, which pretty much makes store-bought keilbasa the equivalent of Cool Whip (not the real thing and not even close). Just a whiff of those garlic-laden links at family reunions made grown men weak in the knees. I remember hearing the women who made those sausages gossip later in irritated voices about how the menfolk piled their plates high with keilbasa, leaving little for the people in line behind them.
If you're from a Polish family, you get to eat the best sauerkraut--and never you mind that the house STINKS for days during the fermentation process because your grandmother got a wild hair during her annual summer visit and made a crock full. You get to eat the best dill pickles, which are made with garlic and dill and salt and good old lacto-fermentation. We were spoiled with real Polish pierogi, which are without peer--the dough thin and delicate, the fillings perfectly seasoned. Offer a Pole a Mrs. T's pierogi and you'll have insulted him. At Christmastime, you can get the best Polish nut bread and a vast variety of kolachki pastries, none of them too sweet to stop you from eating far too many.
And you get to eat the best holupki.
Holupki (you might know them as golabki or another alternate spelling that translates as "cabbage rolls") are a warming and satisfying comfort food that I remember my mother serving on chilly winter nights in upstate New York. I loved my mother's holupki, which were pretty much identical to my grandmother's holupki. I made holupki this way after I left home for years because they were homey and satisfying. And then I found a recipe called "Cabbage Bundles in Paprika Cream Sauce" in the Family Circle ABZ's of Cooking, a 12-volume set of paperback cookbooks that I had purchased week by week in a local grocery store during my first marriage.
Once I started making these and then later, adapted the recipe to my own tastes, I wanted no other holupki. Tender and flavorful with a tangy, creamy and gently-spiced gravy, they are a magnificent and elegant version of my childhood favorite. I made them recently for a large dinner party and they vanished. Several guests (who claimed they were of Eastern European descent) became misty-eyed when they tasted their first mouthful.
Yep, they're that good.
Now, I don't claim that these are authentically Polish. In fact, since I use white wine and chicken broth to simmer them in instead of the traditional beef broth or tomato juice, add a good dose of both sweet and half-sharp Hungarian paprika (where my grandmother would have used none) and then use both light cream and sour cream when finishing the sauce (which was never done in our house although Polish cooking does sometimes rely on cream), I would say that they're the best of all worlds. They're definitely the best of Vindaloo's world.
 | ||
| Photo credit: Family Circle ABZ's of Cooking (1982) |
Cabbage Rolls for Company
( adapted from Family Circle ABZ 's of Cooking)
These are time-consuming to prepare, but worth every minute. I use a #40 scoop (about 1 5/8" in diameter) to fill the cabbage leaves quickly and less messily. Omit the light cream and sour cream if you want a less rich dish. Serve these with a carrot and apple salad (substituting honey for the sugar in the recipe), sourdough rye bread and a side of Polish dills. A fruity, dry Merlot like Bonterra 2010 (Mendocino County, CA) is a great accompaniment. Or you can go with a hearty, heavier beer.
1 large head green cabbage (approx. 3 to 3 1/2 lbs.)
2 cups fresh bread crumbs
1 tsp. kosher salt
freshly ground pepper to taste
1/2 cup cold water (or substitute dry white wine)
1 lb. ground chuck
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup cooked rice
1 large clove finely minced garlic
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1/4 cup butter
1 medium onion, diced
2 carrots, sliced
2 tsp. Hungarian sweet paprika
2 tsp. Hungarian half-sharp paprika
1 tsp. kosher salt
4 oz. dry white wine
4 oz. chicken or beef broth
8 oz. canned tomato sauce
4 oz. canned diced fire-roasted tomatoes and their juice
4 oz. sour cream
4 oz. light cream or half-and-half
chopped fresh dill or parsley, for garnish
1.) In a large kettle, bring enough water to boil to submerge the cabbage whole.
2.) Trim any damaged outer leaves from cabbage.
3.) Stick a large fork deep into the core and lower the cabbage into the boiling water, holding on to fork securely.
4.) With a small, sharp knife, cut loose and remove 12 to 16 leaves to a colander or plate; cabbage leaves should be slightly softened and the rib slightly pliable.
5.) Drain cabbage leaves and chop remaining cabbage coarsely to make about 6 cups.
6.) Combine bread crumbs, salt, pepper and water in a large bowl.
7.) Add ground chuck, eggs, rice, garlic and onion.
8.) Mix beef mixture well, tossing lightly.
9.) Using a small scoop or a couple of teaspoons, put about 1/4 cup meat mixture on each cabbage leaf near the thickest part of the leaf, folding in sides and rolling up leaf over stuffing.
10.) Repeat until all leaves are used.
11.) Heat butter in a large oven-proof skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat.
12.) Add onion and let it soften for a few minutes, then stir in carrots and chopped cabbage.
13.) Saute vegetables, stirring often, until soft, about 10 minutes.
14.) Stir in both paprikas, salt, white wine, broth, tomato sauce and diced tomatoes.
15.) Bring mixture to a simmer, then arrange cabbage rolls, seam-side down, close together, over cabbage mixture.
16.) Cover and simmer on the stove-top over low heat for about an hour (or you can bake these in the oven at 375 degrees for 30 minutes then at 350 degrees for another 30 minutes).
17.) To serve, remove cabbage rolls to a warm platter or serving dish, cover and keep warm. Stir together sour cream and light cream; add to pan and stir gently to incorporate. Spoon sauce over cabbage rolls, shower with chopped dill or parsley. Serves 6 to 8 people.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
The commodification of cooking skill in a food-as-fetish culture
In a recent forum on Facebook, a friend and fellow food blogger initiated a discussion that raised some questions for me about convenience cooking products and about how the market for those products is being developed and presented. The discussion was about Saute Express, a new product from Land O' Lakes that is a prepackaged seasoned butter and olive oil "saute starter," and it centered mainly on whether or not this product appealed to those who were pressed for time in the kitchen (this is who convenience products appear to target), and how many additives and preservatives might be in the product (one of my concerns as well). So far, our discussion has lasted over two days and I expect there will be more lively reactions and comments trickling in about Saute Express and its existential importance and/or meaninglessness in the food world.
So why does this product and others like it get our backs up? In the foodie community, we are likely to be perplexed (or even disdainful) about consumers that lack or use a shortcut to execute what we consider a basic cooking skill. In regard to the recent Facebook discussion, this skill would be a rather simple one: combining oil and butter with various seasonings in order to saute something. Have you noticed that the simpler the procedure for which a convenience food product is offered, the more the disdain among foodies toward the people who use it?
We foodies also tend to think that non-foodies lack initiative and creativity if they purchase convenience items. After all, how many working synapses does it take to combine a little olive oil and butter in a skillet with some shallot, or garlic, or plain old salt and pepper? And, tending to be purists who are rather finicky about what we put in our mouths (read: snobs), we also cringe at a product that might be loaded with chemicals, preservatives and other 32-letter ingredients not spontaneously found in nature, while other consumers tend to just see the convenience and welcome a change in their weeknight dinner routine.
And--prepare yourself--Land O' Lakes isn't the only company marketing these convenience products. Two relatively new products that help consumers "create" meals are also found on supermarket shelves. One of them, Philadelphia Cooking Creme, is an "easy-melting" cream cheese product marketed by Kraft Foods that comes in several varieties. And then there is a product called Recipe Inspirations, packets of premeasured spices with accompanying recipe cards, marketed by McCormick. I'm sure there are other convenience food products like these, but these are the most mainstream items I've noticed in recent months. And for me, they generate the same "ick" response.
It would be easy for those of us with kitchen proficiency and a love of all things food to judge that the people buying these convenience products are lazy and lack creativity. Those of us who enjoy cooking are usually darn good at it and wouldn't dream of putting such things in our shopping carts, much less on our dinner tables. We would call on our imagination and skill base to create a great meal. Because we enjoy doing it. And I think we lose sight of the fact that there are people who do not enjoy doing it all all. Some of these people don't have a clue about how to do it, either. Most of them will admit that.
So I think there's another mechanism behind the production and marketing of these convenience products--one which caters to the ego and, at the same time, to the primitively enjoyable experience of eating, especially in a social setting. Arguably, the culture of foodie-ism is all about the enjoyment and experience of food, the preparation of food and an almost pathological need to determine the source of the food, as this clip from Portlandia shows. For those of us who are serious about it, cooking and food acquisition consume time and financial resources roughly equivalent to the ownership and maintainence of a small yacht. We venerate chefs and restaurants, some of which have acheived a status formerly reserved for athletes and rock stars. We view myriad shows about cooking, read a plethora of food magazines brimming with recipes and glossy photos, and produce a cornucopia of food blogs in which food is primped, pimped, pushed and photographed in such a way that this phenomenon is now referred to as "food porn." We call ourselves "foodies." We have our own language and we memorialize the food we eat with our cameras. And we have--don't deny it--considerable ego needs.
A culture that elevates eating, cooking and food to such high levels has done at least two things: it has created a subculture in which the kind of food you choose to buy, cook and eat is thought to be equivalent to your social status, intelligence and moral values, and that subculture has made of food a fetish, "an object of irrational reverence or obsessive devotion" as Webster states. I am unabashedly in this subculture and I am fluent in the language, trade in the currency, am fully socialized in its customs and worship at the altar on a frequent basis. But I do also recognize that there are people who are not my people. Those people, non-foodies who have perhaps created a fetish out of something else--yes you, dear husband the golfer--are, in my mind, divided into three groups: those who don't care about food (the eat to live camp, like my husband the golfer), those who enjoy good food as long as they don't have to prepare it (the unmotivated, like some people in my extended family), and those who are what I think of as foodie wannabes, or people who wish they could prepare stunningly brilliant food but lack the skill and time to do so. I won't name names here, since some of them are a bit delusional about their capabilities.
Foodie wannabes, arguably, may be the most important target group in the production and marketing of products such as Saute Express, Philadelphia Cooking Creme and Recipe Inspirations. People naturally want to be recognized and applauded for their efforts. If they lack cooking skill, they can "live the dream" and purchase skill and effort in the kitchen in the form of these products. They can, for a few minutes, enjoy the accolades of their family or dinner guests, and have the satisfaction of having prepared a meal that was appreciated, perhaps even complimented. In this way, cooking skill has been commodified in a food-as-fetish culture.
Foodies curl up and die at these notions, but there is, I think, a very real desire on the part of others who do not belong to our special club to be considered as part of its membership. To be seen as someone who might have some chops (forgive the pun) in the kitchen in a culture that idolizes food and food preparation is tantamount to a Kardashian getting her picture on the cover of People Magazine. You have arrived. And the world knows it.
But real foodies would never believe nor accept that. And it's not being on the cover of People Magazine but rather the cover of the "Best New Chefs" edition of Food and Wine that we want.
So why does this product and others like it get our backs up? In the foodie community, we are likely to be perplexed (or even disdainful) about consumers that lack or use a shortcut to execute what we consider a basic cooking skill. In regard to the recent Facebook discussion, this skill would be a rather simple one: combining oil and butter with various seasonings in order to saute something. Have you noticed that the simpler the procedure for which a convenience food product is offered, the more the disdain among foodies toward the people who use it?
We foodies also tend to think that non-foodies lack initiative and creativity if they purchase convenience items. After all, how many working synapses does it take to combine a little olive oil and butter in a skillet with some shallot, or garlic, or plain old salt and pepper? And, tending to be purists who are rather finicky about what we put in our mouths (read: snobs), we also cringe at a product that might be loaded with chemicals, preservatives and other 32-letter ingredients not spontaneously found in nature, while other consumers tend to just see the convenience and welcome a change in their weeknight dinner routine.
And--prepare yourself--Land O' Lakes isn't the only company marketing these convenience products. Two relatively new products that help consumers "create" meals are also found on supermarket shelves. One of them, Philadelphia Cooking Creme, is an "easy-melting" cream cheese product marketed by Kraft Foods that comes in several varieties. And then there is a product called Recipe Inspirations, packets of premeasured spices with accompanying recipe cards, marketed by McCormick. I'm sure there are other convenience food products like these, but these are the most mainstream items I've noticed in recent months. And for me, they generate the same "ick" response.
It would be easy for those of us with kitchen proficiency and a love of all things food to judge that the people buying these convenience products are lazy and lack creativity. Those of us who enjoy cooking are usually darn good at it and wouldn't dream of putting such things in our shopping carts, much less on our dinner tables. We would call on our imagination and skill base to create a great meal. Because we enjoy doing it. And I think we lose sight of the fact that there are people who do not enjoy doing it all all. Some of these people don't have a clue about how to do it, either. Most of them will admit that.
So I think there's another mechanism behind the production and marketing of these convenience products--one which caters to the ego and, at the same time, to the primitively enjoyable experience of eating, especially in a social setting. Arguably, the culture of foodie-ism is all about the enjoyment and experience of food, the preparation of food and an almost pathological need to determine the source of the food, as this clip from Portlandia shows. For those of us who are serious about it, cooking and food acquisition consume time and financial resources roughly equivalent to the ownership and maintainence of a small yacht. We venerate chefs and restaurants, some of which have acheived a status formerly reserved for athletes and rock stars. We view myriad shows about cooking, read a plethora of food magazines brimming with recipes and glossy photos, and produce a cornucopia of food blogs in which food is primped, pimped, pushed and photographed in such a way that this phenomenon is now referred to as "food porn." We call ourselves "foodies." We have our own language and we memorialize the food we eat with our cameras. And we have--don't deny it--considerable ego needs.
A culture that elevates eating, cooking and food to such high levels has done at least two things: it has created a subculture in which the kind of food you choose to buy, cook and eat is thought to be equivalent to your social status, intelligence and moral values, and that subculture has made of food a fetish, "an object of irrational reverence or obsessive devotion" as Webster states. I am unabashedly in this subculture and I am fluent in the language, trade in the currency, am fully socialized in its customs and worship at the altar on a frequent basis. But I do also recognize that there are people who are not my people. Those people, non-foodies who have perhaps created a fetish out of something else--yes you, dear husband the golfer--are, in my mind, divided into three groups: those who don't care about food (the eat to live camp, like my husband the golfer), those who enjoy good food as long as they don't have to prepare it (the unmotivated, like some people in my extended family), and those who are what I think of as foodie wannabes, or people who wish they could prepare stunningly brilliant food but lack the skill and time to do so. I won't name names here, since some of them are a bit delusional about their capabilities.
Foodie wannabes, arguably, may be the most important target group in the production and marketing of products such as Saute Express, Philadelphia Cooking Creme and Recipe Inspirations. People naturally want to be recognized and applauded for their efforts. If they lack cooking skill, they can "live the dream" and purchase skill and effort in the kitchen in the form of these products. They can, for a few minutes, enjoy the accolades of their family or dinner guests, and have the satisfaction of having prepared a meal that was appreciated, perhaps even complimented. In this way, cooking skill has been commodified in a food-as-fetish culture.
Foodies curl up and die at these notions, but there is, I think, a very real desire on the part of others who do not belong to our special club to be considered as part of its membership. To be seen as someone who might have some chops (forgive the pun) in the kitchen in a culture that idolizes food and food preparation is tantamount to a Kardashian getting her picture on the cover of People Magazine. You have arrived. And the world knows it.
But real foodies would never believe nor accept that. And it's not being on the cover of People Magazine but rather the cover of the "Best New Chefs" edition of Food and Wine that we want.
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Easy, elegant shrimp de Jonghe
For years, I have made and loved shrimp de Jonghe. Buttery, garlicky bread crumbs mixed with shallot and herbs, layered with small shrimp and a good splash of sherry, this classic recipe is easy and impressive every time. True Chicago cuisine, the ingredients come together in a magical alchemy that entices everyone to the kitchen with an irresistible aroma, and enchants everyone at the table especially if it's served as an appetizer portion in scallop shells.
Accredited to Henri De Jonghe, one of three brothers who later owned the DeJonghe Hotel in the Loop during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, shrimp de Jonghe was part of the signature cuisine of the original De Jonghe Brothers restaurant. Some say that Henri's long-time chef, Emile Zehr, was the creator of this delectable concoction, but history is murky here, as it often is when culinary miracles occur and two chef's egos are on the line. In any event, the original recipe for shrimp de Jonghe remained a secret long after De Jonghe and Zehr died, although versions of it have appeared in many incarnations for over a decade.
Sources also indicate that the De Jonghe brothers' restaurant originally opened on Chicago's South Side in time for the 1892 World's Columbian Exposition, had a successful debut, moved to the basement of the Masonic Temple in downtown Chicago, then later relocated in the heart of the famous Loop.
The restaurant in the De Jonghe Hotel soon became the "in" place to dine and its fame was widely known. The establishment flourished until a Prohibition agent posing as "a traveling man from Boston" visited during the summer of 1923 and arranged to buy, with the help of hotel manager James T. Hickey (himself no stranger to the inside of a police station), 3 pint bottles of whiskey from the head waiter. A raid ensued, 30 cases of liquor were seized and De Jonghe's was padlocked, never to reopen again. For more information on this turn-of-the-century hotel and restaurant (and yet another approximation of the original recipe for shrimp de Jonghe), see this article from the 27 January 1985 edition of the Chicago Tribune.
Although I am sad that the De Jonghe Hotel and Restaurant are no longer to be enjoyed, I am grateful for the one enduring culinary treasure associated with them--and for their part in making some colorful history during Prohibition. Shrimp de Jonghe is truly a timeless dish, but serve it with sparkling wine in a vintage coupe and voila! You're in the dining room of the Hotel De Jonghe making eyes with that sheik across the room.
Recently, I paired shrimp de Jonghe with an absinthe-based cocktail in an absinthe tasting. I took one of my favorite renditions of shrimp de Jonghe (from The New Doubleday Cookbook) and ramped up the anise profile by increasing the tarragon called for in the recipe and substituting Pernod for the sherry. As I said before, use those cute little scallop shells as part of your presentation and you'll have your guests eating out of your hand, er shell.
Shrimp de Jonghe with Pernod
Shellfish and anise are a natural combination. If you can't get Pernod, any high-quality pastis or anise-flavored liqueur that is not too sugary will work. This recipe is adapted from The Doubleday Cookbook. Fresh herbs are what make this work so beautifully--don't skimp.
1 cup unsalted butter, liquified
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 shallots, minced (or substitute 2 scallions, minced)
1 Tbs. minced parsley
1 Tbs. minced chives
1/2 tsp. minced tarragon leaves
1/4 tsp. dried marjoram leaves
1/8 tsp. freshly ground nutmeg
4 cups soft white bread crumbs, divided
2 Tbs. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 to 2 Tbs. Pernod, plus enough water to equal 1/3 cup liquid
3 cups cooked and peeled small cocktail shrimp, about 1 lb. (I often thaw out and use the frozen variety called Pacific Seafood, which you can find at most HEBs, because they're the perfect size for this dish)
Special equipment: scallop shells for baking, approx. 5" across (you can find them on sites such as this one), or use 4" individual ramekins
1.) Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
2.) If you are using scallop shells, you'll need a couple of baking trays filled with rock salt, or about three 12-cup muffin tins to balance the shells on while they're in the oven. If you're using individual ramekins, butter the insides well and place them on a baking tray.
3.) Cream together by hand the liquified butter, garlic, shallots, herbs and nutmeg until well-blended.
4.) Mix in 3 cups of bread crumbs, lemon juice and Pernod.
5.) Layer seasoned bread crumbs and shrimp in shells or ramekins, starting and ending with a layer of crumbs.
5.) Divide remaining crumbs evenly over the top of each shell or ramekin.
6.) Bake for 20 minutes, or until topping is lightly browned and mixure is heated through. Makes about 10-12 appetizer portions.
 | ||
| Original photo taken by CG |
Sources also indicate that the De Jonghe brothers' restaurant originally opened on Chicago's South Side in time for the 1892 World's Columbian Exposition, had a successful debut, moved to the basement of the Masonic Temple in downtown Chicago, then later relocated in the heart of the famous Loop.
 |
| Aerial view of the Columbian Exposition (Chicago World's Fair) in 1893. Photo: public domain. |
The restaurant in the De Jonghe Hotel soon became the "in" place to dine and its fame was widely known. The establishment flourished until a Prohibition agent posing as "a traveling man from Boston" visited during the summer of 1923 and arranged to buy, with the help of hotel manager James T. Hickey (himself no stranger to the inside of a police station), 3 pint bottles of whiskey from the head waiter. A raid ensued, 30 cases of liquor were seized and De Jonghe's was padlocked, never to reopen again. For more information on this turn-of-the-century hotel and restaurant (and yet another approximation of the original recipe for shrimp de Jonghe), see this article from the 27 January 1985 edition of the Chicago Tribune.
 |
| The De Jonghe Hotel and Restaurant c. 1910 from John Chuckman |
Although I am sad that the De Jonghe Hotel and Restaurant are no longer to be enjoyed, I am grateful for the one enduring culinary treasure associated with them--and for their part in making some colorful history during Prohibition. Shrimp de Jonghe is truly a timeless dish, but serve it with sparkling wine in a vintage coupe and voila! You're in the dining room of the Hotel De Jonghe making eyes with that sheik across the room.
 |
| Using a vintage hollow-stem coupe convinces me I've had another life as a flapper... |
Recently, I paired shrimp de Jonghe with an absinthe-based cocktail in an absinthe tasting. I took one of my favorite renditions of shrimp de Jonghe (from The New Doubleday Cookbook) and ramped up the anise profile by increasing the tarragon called for in the recipe and substituting Pernod for the sherry. As I said before, use those cute little scallop shells as part of your presentation and you'll have your guests eating out of your hand, er shell.
Shrimp de Jonghe with Pernod
Shellfish and anise are a natural combination. If you can't get Pernod, any high-quality pastis or anise-flavored liqueur that is not too sugary will work. This recipe is adapted from The Doubleday Cookbook. Fresh herbs are what make this work so beautifully--don't skimp.
1 cup unsalted butter, liquified
2 cloves garlic, minced
2 shallots, minced (or substitute 2 scallions, minced)
1 Tbs. minced parsley
1 Tbs. minced chives
1/2 tsp. minced tarragon leaves
1/4 tsp. dried marjoram leaves
1/8 tsp. freshly ground nutmeg
4 cups soft white bread crumbs, divided
2 Tbs. freshly squeezed lemon juice
1 to 2 Tbs. Pernod, plus enough water to equal 1/3 cup liquid
3 cups cooked and peeled small cocktail shrimp, about 1 lb. (I often thaw out and use the frozen variety called Pacific Seafood, which you can find at most HEBs, because they're the perfect size for this dish)
Special equipment: scallop shells for baking, approx. 5" across (you can find them on sites such as this one), or use 4" individual ramekins
1.) Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
2.) If you are using scallop shells, you'll need a couple of baking trays filled with rock salt, or about three 12-cup muffin tins to balance the shells on while they're in the oven. If you're using individual ramekins, butter the insides well and place them on a baking tray.
3.) Cream together by hand the liquified butter, garlic, shallots, herbs and nutmeg until well-blended.
4.) Mix in 3 cups of bread crumbs, lemon juice and Pernod.
5.) Layer seasoned bread crumbs and shrimp in shells or ramekins, starting and ending with a layer of crumbs.
5.) Divide remaining crumbs evenly over the top of each shell or ramekin.
6.) Bake for 20 minutes, or until topping is lightly browned and mixure is heated through. Makes about 10-12 appetizer portions.
Monday, January 14, 2013
Cauliflower and cheddar bites with creamy chipotle dipping sauce
Several weeks ago, having the remainder of a beautiful head of cauliflower on my hands, I made these galettes and swooned.
The combination of cumin and spice, the texture of the cornmeal and flour together and the dipping sauce THE DIPPING SAUCE! made of creme fraiche and chipotles compelled me to keep eating these incredible cakes until I almost burst.
Yes, my pretties, that is what it means to be out of control in the food department.
In the original recipe, these cauliflower galettes are fried, which means that they taste great, but they are very messy to cook. I don't know about you, but I don't like frying food because it makes a very messy stove and kitchen and then your house smells like fried food for days.
I wanted to rework the original recipe so that I could bake the batter in mini muffin cups and eat them as finger food with lots of that great sauce. I made a few adjustments and I think that the new recipe-- no frying involved--is very tasty with no sacrifices to texture or flavor. And the best part is I can still maintain my dysfunctional relationship with food by eating about a dozen in one sitting.
These little beauties make great party appetizers and can be made ahead and frozen or refrigerated until you are ready to reheat and serve them. Just make sure you reheat on a greased baking sheet or one lined with parchment to avoid leaving some of the deliciousness behind. Otherwise, you'll be scraping all those toasty little bits off the pan and eat them when no one is looking.
Cauliflower and Cheddar Bites with Creamy Chipotle Dipping Sauce
This recipe was adapted from the November 2012 issue of Southern Living. You can make these ahead and freeze or refrigerate until ready to serve. Reheat in a 375 degree oven on a greased baking sheet (or one lined with parchment) until warmed through and sizzling, about 5-7 minutes for refrigerated bites and about 10-12 minutes for frozen bites.
1 medium-size head cauliflower, cut into small florets
2 Tbs. olive oil
1/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1 1/4 tsp. salt, divided
1 cup plain yellow or white cornmeal
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. ground red pepper
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
3 eggs
3/4 cup Greek yogurt
1/4 cup olive oil
1 1/2 cups freshly grated Cheddar cheese
6 green onions, sliced and divided (plus more for garnish, if desired)
2 to 3 canned chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, finely chopped
1 cup crème fraîche, sour cream or Greek yogurt
1.) Preheat broiler with oven rack 8 inches from heat.
2.) Place cauliflower on a baking pan with sides and drizzle with olive oil, then sprinkle with black pepper and 1/4 tsp. salt; toss to coat.
3.) Broil cauliflower for about 10 minutes or until lightly browned, stirring halfway through.
4.) Remove from oven and reduce temperature to 375 degrees.
5.) Cool cauliflower for about 30 minutes.
6.) Whisk together cornmeal, baking powder, ground red pepper, cumin and remaining 1 tsp. salt in a medium bowl.
7.) Whisk together eggs, yogurt, olive oil and 3/4 cup water; blend well with dry ingredients.
8.) Fold in cheese and half of green onions.
9.) Fold in cooled cauliflower.
10.) Spoon batter into greased miniature muffin pans. It's OK if the batter rises above the pan because it's a chunky batter and fairly stiff.
11.) Bake cauliflower bites for about 13 to 15 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the batter comes out clean. Bites should be golden and puffed.
12.) Combine remaining green onions, chipotle peppers and creme fraiche and serve with warm cauliflower bites, sprinkling with extra green onions if desired. Makes about 4 1/2 dozen.
 |
| Photo by Iain Bagwell |
The combination of cumin and spice, the texture of the cornmeal and flour together and the dipping sauce THE DIPPING SAUCE! made of creme fraiche and chipotles compelled me to keep eating these incredible cakes until I almost burst.
Yes, my pretties, that is what it means to be out of control in the food department.
In the original recipe, these cauliflower galettes are fried, which means that they taste great, but they are very messy to cook. I don't know about you, but I don't like frying food because it makes a very messy stove and kitchen and then your house smells like fried food for days.
I wanted to rework the original recipe so that I could bake the batter in mini muffin cups and eat them as finger food with lots of that great sauce. I made a few adjustments and I think that the new recipe-- no frying involved--is very tasty with no sacrifices to texture or flavor. And the best part is I can still maintain my dysfunctional relationship with food by eating about a dozen in one sitting.
These little beauties make great party appetizers and can be made ahead and frozen or refrigerated until you are ready to reheat and serve them. Just make sure you reheat on a greased baking sheet or one lined with parchment to avoid leaving some of the deliciousness behind. Otherwise, you'll be scraping all those toasty little bits off the pan and eat them when no one is looking.
Cauliflower and Cheddar Bites with Creamy Chipotle Dipping Sauce
This recipe was adapted from the November 2012 issue of Southern Living. You can make these ahead and freeze or refrigerate until ready to serve. Reheat in a 375 degree oven on a greased baking sheet (or one lined with parchment) until warmed through and sizzling, about 5-7 minutes for refrigerated bites and about 10-12 minutes for frozen bites.
1 medium-size head cauliflower, cut into small florets
2 Tbs. olive oil
1/4 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
1 1/4 tsp. salt, divided
1 cup plain yellow or white cornmeal
2 tsp. baking powder
1/2 tsp. ground red pepper
1/2 tsp. ground cumin
3 eggs
3/4 cup Greek yogurt
1/4 cup olive oil
1 1/2 cups freshly grated Cheddar cheese
6 green onions, sliced and divided (plus more for garnish, if desired)
2 to 3 canned chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, finely chopped
1 cup crème fraîche, sour cream or Greek yogurt
1.) Preheat broiler with oven rack 8 inches from heat.
2.) Place cauliflower on a baking pan with sides and drizzle with olive oil, then sprinkle with black pepper and 1/4 tsp. salt; toss to coat.
3.) Broil cauliflower for about 10 minutes or until lightly browned, stirring halfway through.
4.) Remove from oven and reduce temperature to 375 degrees.
5.) Cool cauliflower for about 30 minutes.
6.) Whisk together cornmeal, baking powder, ground red pepper, cumin and remaining 1 tsp. salt in a medium bowl.
7.) Whisk together eggs, yogurt, olive oil and 3/4 cup water; blend well with dry ingredients.
8.) Fold in cheese and half of green onions.
9.) Fold in cooled cauliflower.
10.) Spoon batter into greased miniature muffin pans. It's OK if the batter rises above the pan because it's a chunky batter and fairly stiff.
11.) Bake cauliflower bites for about 13 to 15 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the batter comes out clean. Bites should be golden and puffed.
12.) Combine remaining green onions, chipotle peppers and creme fraiche and serve with warm cauliflower bites, sprinkling with extra green onions if desired. Makes about 4 1/2 dozen.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Impress your guests
Earlier this week, I hosted my second annual New Year's Day Open House as a way of thanking friends and guests of The Voluptuous Table for their support over the past year. The menu was long and varied (which you can see here on my Facebook timeline) and one of the desserts, a Cherries Jubilee Diablo, was THE BOMB! I'm so glad my flambe skills are adequate enough to avoid burning my house down, but I was most grateful for my assistant and friend, Bill the Wine Guy, who made the flame travel repeatedly up and down the spiral of clove-studded orange peel using just a small glass cream pitcher full of ignited brandy and kirsch.
In fact, it was so much fun, we wanted to do it again right away. Just to practice, you know, because flambe is a lot of fun if you know what you're doing. But next time, we'll need a longer handle on the vessel that holds the flaming liqueur. So sorry about those knuckles, Bill.
There is nothing like a flaming dessert to end a meal. If you've offered your guests enough alcohol, they're easily impressed with seeing fire in a pan right in front of them and they'll lean right in and utter plenty of oohs and ahhs. But this is not always a good idea if someone is wearing a polyester tie or scarf and gets too close so that their clothes catch on fire, or if someone is wearing a lot of hairspray and hair starts burning, or if someone has had too much to drink and their balance is off and both fire and dessert go flying. I say these things as warnings because they have happened to me or to people I know. In order to protect privacy, I cannot tell you specifics, but I have witnessed these mishaps and remember them vividly.
We are wise when we flambe to remember the words of George Santayana: "The one who does not remember history is bound to live through it again." Well, it's safe to say that I don't remember history very well because I like to flambe so much.
A flaming dessert is like a meteor--all flash in the pan and suddenly bright, and then it's over. You get only one shot at it to make it happen. If you fail at flambe, you fail miserably. And there are a lot of variables to contend with. Such as: not enough alcohol, alcohol not sufficiently vaporized, too much alcohol overly vaporized, not using long matches instead of lighters, being startled by the ignition process and dropping something in the food that is not edible or onto someplace flammable, not giving the flame enough space and most importantly, trying to flambe for the first time in or near an alcove. Again, due to privacy issues, I can't tell the whole sadly hilarious story but let's just say that there was a duck, a bottle of Grand Marnier, a chafing dish, a lit match and an inexperienced waitress in front of an alcove banquette containing six restaurant patrons.
Dinner for six, including two bottles of champagne and a fairly hefty bar bill, was comped that night. The waitress, although she should have been fired, was given a scourging lecture by a very irate, red-faced chef. The lecture was in French, but there was no doubt about the fact that the waitress had royally screwed up.
But she still plays with fire.
So that is why it is always a safe and good thing to have a fall back at your parties to impress your guests. The real star of any party is what I call a "workhorse" dish. It's the kind of dish that is offered in quantity, it's substantive, comforting, grabs your taste buds immediately, pleases pretty much everyone, and is the recipe everyone requests. My workhorse dish was a special New Year's Day soup. And no, I did not flambe it.
It's traditional to serve black-eyed peas on New Year's Day for luck. Add some collard greens to that and the belief is that you'll have more money in the coming year. Eat some pork and you'll be moving forward (pigs root in a forward direction, but you shouldn't eat chicken or turkey because they scratch backward--get it?). I love all of these foods--and the superstitions that go with them--and wanted to have them come together in a delicious way. So I went on a recipe hunt and found this one from Homesick Texan.
I made a few modifications because I had pork shoulder not ham (so I added some much-maligned Liquid Smoke). I also reduced the amount of chipotles and added some extra chicken broth to make the soup go a little further. I sauteed the collard greens in the olive oil that I substituted for the bacon grease to bring out their sweetness. I made this hearty soup the day before serving it, so it had the benefit of being seasoned through well by the time it was served. And it was so popular with my guests, I am lucky that I got some of it myself before it disappeared.
And that is why there is no picture of this insanely good soup. But do try it. It's an easy recipe and you can double it for a crowd. If you didn't get your black-eyed peas on New Year's Day, you still have time before the week is out to get some into you. But don't stop there. It's always the right time for black-eyed peas.
If you're adventurous and like to make impressive party desserts, let me know and I'll send along the recipe for Cherries Jubilee Diablo. Like I said, it's the bomb.
Good Fortune Soup (adapted from Homesick Texan and an original recipe from Gourmet Magazine, December 1998)
I don't think of myself as superstitious, but just in case, you've got the three essential ingredients for good luck in the new year, all in one pot. The chipotles bring a pleasant warmth.
3 Tbs. olive oil (or substitute bacon grease)
1/2 lb. collard greens, stems removed and chopped
1/2 lb. pork shoulder, diced (or substitute ham and omit Liquid Smoke)
2 15 oz. cans black-eyed peas, rinsed and drained (you can use fresh or frozen as well)
1 small onion, diced
6 cloves of garlic, minced
1 large carrot, diced
3 chipotle chiles chopped finely
1 can of Ro-Tel tomatoes
1 tsp. thyme
6 cups chicken broth
2 tsp. Liquid Smoke
2 tsp. apple cider vinegar
pinch of sugar
kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1.) In a large pot, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat until rippling and saute the diced pork until no longer pink, stirring frequently.
2.) Add the onion and carrot to the pot and continue to cook for 10 minutes or until onions start to turn transparent.
3.) Add the garlic and cook for three more minutes.
4.) Add the collard greens and continue to cook for about 7 minutes, covering the pot with a lid to help them shrink down. Stir the greens well from time to time so that they are covered in the oil and cooking juices.
5.) Add the vinegar, sugar, chicken stock, chipotles, Ro-Tel tomatoes and thyme.
6.) Bring pot to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for half an hour, stirring occasionally.
7.) Take one can of black-eyed peas and roughly mash with a fork.
8.) Add mashed black-eyed peas and also the remainder of the whole black-eyed peas to the pot.
9.) Continue to simmer soup for another 45 minutes. Serves 6-8
 | |
| Alcohol-fueled fire doesn't translate well on camera, but it's there. |
In fact, it was so much fun, we wanted to do it again right away. Just to practice, you know, because flambe is a lot of fun if you know what you're doing. But next time, we'll need a longer handle on the vessel that holds the flaming liqueur. So sorry about those knuckles, Bill.
There is nothing like a flaming dessert to end a meal. If you've offered your guests enough alcohol, they're easily impressed with seeing fire in a pan right in front of them and they'll lean right in and utter plenty of oohs and ahhs. But this is not always a good idea if someone is wearing a polyester tie or scarf and gets too close so that their clothes catch on fire, or if someone is wearing a lot of hairspray and hair starts burning, or if someone has had too much to drink and their balance is off and both fire and dessert go flying. I say these things as warnings because they have happened to me or to people I know. In order to protect privacy, I cannot tell you specifics, but I have witnessed these mishaps and remember them vividly.
We are wise when we flambe to remember the words of George Santayana: "The one who does not remember history is bound to live through it again." Well, it's safe to say that I don't remember history very well because I like to flambe so much.
A flaming dessert is like a meteor--all flash in the pan and suddenly bright, and then it's over. You get only one shot at it to make it happen. If you fail at flambe, you fail miserably. And there are a lot of variables to contend with. Such as: not enough alcohol, alcohol not sufficiently vaporized, too much alcohol overly vaporized, not using long matches instead of lighters, being startled by the ignition process and dropping something in the food that is not edible or onto someplace flammable, not giving the flame enough space and most importantly, trying to flambe for the first time in or near an alcove. Again, due to privacy issues, I can't tell the whole sadly hilarious story but let's just say that there was a duck, a bottle of Grand Marnier, a chafing dish, a lit match and an inexperienced waitress in front of an alcove banquette containing six restaurant patrons.
Dinner for six, including two bottles of champagne and a fairly hefty bar bill, was comped that night. The waitress, although she should have been fired, was given a scourging lecture by a very irate, red-faced chef. The lecture was in French, but there was no doubt about the fact that the waitress had royally screwed up.
But she still plays with fire.
So that is why it is always a safe and good thing to have a fall back at your parties to impress your guests. The real star of any party is what I call a "workhorse" dish. It's the kind of dish that is offered in quantity, it's substantive, comforting, grabs your taste buds immediately, pleases pretty much everyone, and is the recipe everyone requests. My workhorse dish was a special New Year's Day soup. And no, I did not flambe it.
It's traditional to serve black-eyed peas on New Year's Day for luck. Add some collard greens to that and the belief is that you'll have more money in the coming year. Eat some pork and you'll be moving forward (pigs root in a forward direction, but you shouldn't eat chicken or turkey because they scratch backward--get it?). I love all of these foods--and the superstitions that go with them--and wanted to have them come together in a delicious way. So I went on a recipe hunt and found this one from Homesick Texan.
I made a few modifications because I had pork shoulder not ham (so I added some much-maligned Liquid Smoke). I also reduced the amount of chipotles and added some extra chicken broth to make the soup go a little further. I sauteed the collard greens in the olive oil that I substituted for the bacon grease to bring out their sweetness. I made this hearty soup the day before serving it, so it had the benefit of being seasoned through well by the time it was served. And it was so popular with my guests, I am lucky that I got some of it myself before it disappeared.
And that is why there is no picture of this insanely good soup. But do try it. It's an easy recipe and you can double it for a crowd. If you didn't get your black-eyed peas on New Year's Day, you still have time before the week is out to get some into you. But don't stop there. It's always the right time for black-eyed peas.
If you're adventurous and like to make impressive party desserts, let me know and I'll send along the recipe for Cherries Jubilee Diablo. Like I said, it's the bomb.
Good Fortune Soup (adapted from Homesick Texan and an original recipe from Gourmet Magazine, December 1998)
I don't think of myself as superstitious, but just in case, you've got the three essential ingredients for good luck in the new year, all in one pot. The chipotles bring a pleasant warmth.
3 Tbs. olive oil (or substitute bacon grease)
1/2 lb. collard greens, stems removed and chopped
1/2 lb. pork shoulder, diced (or substitute ham and omit Liquid Smoke)
2 15 oz. cans black-eyed peas, rinsed and drained (you can use fresh or frozen as well)
1 small onion, diced
6 cloves of garlic, minced
1 large carrot, diced
3 chipotle chiles chopped finely
1 can of Ro-Tel tomatoes
1 tsp. thyme
6 cups chicken broth
2 tsp. Liquid Smoke
2 tsp. apple cider vinegar
pinch of sugar
kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1.) In a large pot, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat until rippling and saute the diced pork until no longer pink, stirring frequently.
2.) Add the onion and carrot to the pot and continue to cook for 10 minutes or until onions start to turn transparent.
3.) Add the garlic and cook for three more minutes.
4.) Add the collard greens and continue to cook for about 7 minutes, covering the pot with a lid to help them shrink down. Stir the greens well from time to time so that they are covered in the oil and cooking juices.
5.) Add the vinegar, sugar, chicken stock, chipotles, Ro-Tel tomatoes and thyme.
6.) Bring pot to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for half an hour, stirring occasionally.
7.) Take one can of black-eyed peas and roughly mash with a fork.
8.) Add mashed black-eyed peas and also the remainder of the whole black-eyed peas to the pot.
9.) Continue to simmer soup for another 45 minutes. Serves 6-8
Monday, December 24, 2012
The recalcitrant foodie's manifesto
Those of you who have been reading for a while know a few things about me: I like good food. I like good wine. I like to cook for my friends and family and to share meals with them as often as possible.
You also know that I married a man who eats because he has to. When Irescued met my husband, he was living on frozen burritos and Jimmy John's sandwiches. He claimed all the nutrition he needed came from a box of Kraft Dinner. Breakfast? What's that? Ice cream was a meal in itself (for proof of my in vivo experience with this, see here). Fresh fruits and vegetables did not exist for him. They were an anathema to his way of living. Getting a piece of iceberg lettuce and a slice of tomato on his sandwich more than met his criteria for the four basic food groups, he said.
The formula below, courtesy of my husband (who helped me create this post), is the differential equation for the principles that guide his food choices. It is also referred to as the actuarial rule of the Cs and Ss.
Coffee + Cigarettes + Coca Cola x (desire) massive
____________________________________ = life insurance
policy
Sugar + Salt + Starch x (stroke)
I live to eat. My husband eats to live. I don't understand this--especially because the above equation seems to be based on some pretty significant risk factors.
Since the beginning of our time together, my husband has made it clear that his only goal where food is concerned is to fill his belly. He has often shared with me his thoughts and musings on his relationship to food and wine. He has been quite generous with those thoughts and quite prolific, and I am often treated to his philosophical renderings at the very moment he makes eye contact with the plate I've put before him.
The man who claims, "I'll eat anything--I'm flexible," actually means that he'll balk at the unknown, the feared and the unfamiliar. He'll also define--out loud and on the spur of the moment--what he thinks is edible. Of course, all on his own terms. I was at first annoyed and slightly insulted by his openness about his relationship with food and wine. He is a forthright man and speaks his mind.
But I eventually realized that his gag reflex is often controlled by what information his wife offers about the food. So I have learned to shut up. Which, for me, as most of you know, is a Herculean task. And I have not given up on my mission to convert my husband (or at least sway him) to the glorious way of life that kindred spirits understand as foodie-ism, I have merely found other ways to circumvent his intractability. Some call this a manipulation.
I call it a marriage.
I want to share with you, in hopes of gaining a little sympathy and support, what I have come to call The Recalcitrant Foodie's Manifesto. Those of you in similar situations will recognize your partners--and yourselves. You have my condolences.
The Recalcitrant Foodie's Manifesto
1.) Welches over wine. Always. Screw caps? No problem for me whatsoever. You're the wine snob.
2.) Mushrooms: the flavor is fine. The texture is not. Don't put them in my food. Same goes for clams, avocados and olives. And capers. I mean, what the hell? You know I hate pickles, and tiny pickles just annoy me even more.
3.) Asparagus: no matter how you fix it, I'm not gonna like it. Not even wrapped in bacon, although that was a good trick.
4.) Don't tell me what you put in my food. I don't want to know that you use sour milk in my banana muffins because the thought of eating anything spoiled makes me gag.
5.) Lie to me. I don't want to know that I'm eating leftovers. I probably won't notice that tonight's dinner looks the same as last night's dinner, but just in case, smother it with cheese or ketchup. Do not cover it with parsley or anything remotely green. That will only make me suspicious.
6.) Don't mess up ice cream by putting stuff in it that doesn't belong there. Chocolate. Vanilla. That's it. No sauces, no toppings, nothing crunchy. Just the ice cream, please. And while we're at it, it should be softened before I eat it. That time I left the whole carton out on the counter for almost two hours was a mistake, but I can't help that I'm easily distracted by the Golf Channel.
7.) If I decide to eat fruit, it should be cold. If you cook it and make it mushy or put warm fruit sauce on anything, I'm probably not going to eat it. I don't care if apple pie is supposed to be warmed and served with ice cream or cheddar cheese. Warm pie is gross.
8.) The only way shrimp should be eaten is fried. The bigger, the better. Don't try to sneak those little shrimp into pasta dishes and call it "scampi," don't try to make me eat them cold disguised in cocktail sauce, or any other kind of sauce. I'll still know there's cold shrimp in there. And small, cold shrimp remind me of some kind of larvae.
9.) Chickpeas, kidney beans and white beans do not belong in pasta. If you want to empty a warmed can of Bush's beans over my spaghetti, bring it on. But otherwise, ixnay on the eansbay.
10.) Anything with stems still attached to leaves will be left on the plate. If it takes more than 10 chews to swallow it, then it will be left on the plate because it's not going down.
11.) Tuna fish salad is supposed to be eaten cold. It was never meant to be heated with cheese between two slices of bread. I know you call it a tuna melt panini because it came from that fancy grill thing that takes up too much space on the counter, but warm tuna panini is still nasty panini.
12.) To clarify my first experience with Chinese Forbidden Rice: what is this stuff that looks like rat turds?
13.) The only two acceptable toppings for desserts are Cool Whip and Reddi-wip. In that order. Whipped cream is a waste of time when you can get it in the freezer section or in a can. And Cool Whip or Reddi-wip are the only two things that belong on my pie, which should be buried under the whipped topping. Also, please reread #7 before you put anything on my pie, especially the part about "warm pie is gross." Have you noticed that warm pie, Cool Whip and Reddi-wip don't really work out too well?
14.) Meatballs should never be simmered in sauce. Meatballs need to be crispy and sit on top of the pasta and sauce. They get too mushy when they're wet and wet, mushy meatballs are just plain wrong.
15.) Hamburgers don't include pickles, onions, lettuce or tomatoes. If I had wanted a salad I would have asked for one.
16.) I like my meat cooked. My policy is that it needs to die twice. If you want to tell the waiter to "slap it on the rump and send it out" for you, that's fine, but don't make me eat it, and don't make me watch you eat it.
17.) Pizza: thin crust, sauce, pepperoni and cheese. That's it. You know, like they do at Pizza Hut. If you have questions about what should be on my pizza, see #15.
18.) Toast needs to be brown and warm so the butter will melt but the bread should still be soft. If you can't figure out how to use a toaster, I'll happily show you since you insist on toasting my bread until it's unrecognizable. And don't use that bread with the crunchy crusts. Have you noticed they get left behind on my plate?
19.) With regard to my eggs, "over easy" does not mean the same thing as "hard boiled." I can't dunk my toast in hard yolks. Not even your toast.
20.) I will occasionally eat a salad, but you'll notice I'll never ask for one. You can put iceberg lettuce in it and some tomatoes. A little red onion is OK too, but under no circumstances should you put anything in it that is a darker shade of green than the iceberg lettuce. Let me control how much dressing goes on the salad. I like it drowned.
21.) Also, don't put in things that don't belong in salads: olives, pickles, hard boiled eggs, red cabbage, apples, grapes or blue cheese. Or nuts. Nuts belong in the can so you can eat them easier. You know, straight out of the can like I do during the game.
22.) If you make a new recipe and I can't recognize it or pronounce it, then number it so I know whether or not to ask for it again or to avoid it in future.
23.) I will eat fish. I prefer the kind of fish that comes in the yellow and blue box with the fisherman on the front. Fish is always white inside and brown and crispy outside and is about the size of a Kit Kat bar. Don't try to sneak salmon, halibut or mahi mahi on my plate. I will find out that it didn't come out of the yellow and blue box. And you know it doesn't look like a Kit Kat bar.
24.) Also about fish: you like to try to get me to eat those nasty fish eggs on things like fancy potato chips with that cream stuff and those really small, dry pieces of bread (remember #18?). A word to the wise: if you want me to eat fish eggs, then make sure they're hatched and fully grown up first. Then make sure they come out of the yellow and blue box. Do I need to say anything about Kit Kat bars?
25.) I hope my wife knows that most of the time, I really like what she puts on my plate and I know she does it because she loves me. I tease her about being a foodie because I know she can take it. But I like to brag to my golf buddies that the first year we were together, I didn't eat the same thing twice. Now, how many guys can say that?
You also know that I married a man who eats because he has to. When I
 |
| A typical pre-nuptial meal for the hubster. |
The formula below, courtesy of my husband (who helped me create this post), is the differential equation for the principles that guide his food choices. It is also referred to as the actuarial rule of the Cs and Ss.
Coffee + Cigarettes + Coca Cola x (desire) massive
____________________________________ = life insurance
policy
Sugar + Salt + Starch x (stroke)
I live to eat. My husband eats to live. I don't understand this--especially because the above equation seems to be based on some pretty significant risk factors.
Since the beginning of our time together, my husband has made it clear that his only goal where food is concerned is to fill his belly. He has often shared with me his thoughts and musings on his relationship to food and wine. He has been quite generous with those thoughts and quite prolific, and I am often treated to his philosophical renderings at the very moment he makes eye contact with the plate I've put before him.
The man who claims, "I'll eat anything--I'm flexible," actually means that he'll balk at the unknown, the feared and the unfamiliar. He'll also define--out loud and on the spur of the moment--what he thinks is edible. Of course, all on his own terms. I was at first annoyed and slightly insulted by his openness about his relationship with food and wine. He is a forthright man and speaks his mind.
But I eventually realized that his gag reflex is often controlled by what information his wife offers about the food. So I have learned to shut up. Which, for me, as most of you know, is a Herculean task. And I have not given up on my mission to convert my husband (or at least sway him) to the glorious way of life that kindred spirits understand as foodie-ism, I have merely found other ways to circumvent his intractability. Some call this a manipulation.
I call it a marriage.
I want to share with you, in hopes of gaining a little sympathy and support, what I have come to call The Recalcitrant Foodie's Manifesto. Those of you in similar situations will recognize your partners--and yourselves. You have my condolences.
The Recalcitrant Foodie's Manifesto
1.) Welches over wine. Always. Screw caps? No problem for me whatsoever. You're the wine snob.
2.) Mushrooms: the flavor is fine. The texture is not. Don't put them in my food. Same goes for clams, avocados and olives. And capers. I mean, what the hell? You know I hate pickles, and tiny pickles just annoy me even more.
3.) Asparagus: no matter how you fix it, I'm not gonna like it. Not even wrapped in bacon, although that was a good trick.
4.) Don't tell me what you put in my food. I don't want to know that you use sour milk in my banana muffins because the thought of eating anything spoiled makes me gag.
5.) Lie to me. I don't want to know that I'm eating leftovers. I probably won't notice that tonight's dinner looks the same as last night's dinner, but just in case, smother it with cheese or ketchup. Do not cover it with parsley or anything remotely green. That will only make me suspicious.
6.) Don't mess up ice cream by putting stuff in it that doesn't belong there. Chocolate. Vanilla. That's it. No sauces, no toppings, nothing crunchy. Just the ice cream, please. And while we're at it, it should be softened before I eat it. That time I left the whole carton out on the counter for almost two hours was a mistake, but I can't help that I'm easily distracted by the Golf Channel.
7.) If I decide to eat fruit, it should be cold. If you cook it and make it mushy or put warm fruit sauce on anything, I'm probably not going to eat it. I don't care if apple pie is supposed to be warmed and served with ice cream or cheddar cheese. Warm pie is gross.
8.) The only way shrimp should be eaten is fried. The bigger, the better. Don't try to sneak those little shrimp into pasta dishes and call it "scampi," don't try to make me eat them cold disguised in cocktail sauce, or any other kind of sauce. I'll still know there's cold shrimp in there. And small, cold shrimp remind me of some kind of larvae.
9.) Chickpeas, kidney beans and white beans do not belong in pasta. If you want to empty a warmed can of Bush's beans over my spaghetti, bring it on. But otherwise, ixnay on the eansbay.
10.) Anything with stems still attached to leaves will be left on the plate. If it takes more than 10 chews to swallow it, then it will be left on the plate because it's not going down.
11.) Tuna fish salad is supposed to be eaten cold. It was never meant to be heated with cheese between two slices of bread. I know you call it a tuna melt panini because it came from that fancy grill thing that takes up too much space on the counter, but warm tuna panini is still nasty panini.
12.) To clarify my first experience with Chinese Forbidden Rice: what is this stuff that looks like rat turds?
13.) The only two acceptable toppings for desserts are Cool Whip and Reddi-wip. In that order. Whipped cream is a waste of time when you can get it in the freezer section or in a can. And Cool Whip or Reddi-wip are the only two things that belong on my pie, which should be buried under the whipped topping. Also, please reread #7 before you put anything on my pie, especially the part about "warm pie is gross." Have you noticed that warm pie, Cool Whip and Reddi-wip don't really work out too well?
14.) Meatballs should never be simmered in sauce. Meatballs need to be crispy and sit on top of the pasta and sauce. They get too mushy when they're wet and wet, mushy meatballs are just plain wrong.
15.) Hamburgers don't include pickles, onions, lettuce or tomatoes. If I had wanted a salad I would have asked for one.
16.) I like my meat cooked. My policy is that it needs to die twice. If you want to tell the waiter to "slap it on the rump and send it out" for you, that's fine, but don't make me eat it, and don't make me watch you eat it.
17.) Pizza: thin crust, sauce, pepperoni and cheese. That's it. You know, like they do at Pizza Hut. If you have questions about what should be on my pizza, see #15.
18.) Toast needs to be brown and warm so the butter will melt but the bread should still be soft. If you can't figure out how to use a toaster, I'll happily show you since you insist on toasting my bread until it's unrecognizable. And don't use that bread with the crunchy crusts. Have you noticed they get left behind on my plate?
19.) With regard to my eggs, "over easy" does not mean the same thing as "hard boiled." I can't dunk my toast in hard yolks. Not even your toast.
20.) I will occasionally eat a salad, but you'll notice I'll never ask for one. You can put iceberg lettuce in it and some tomatoes. A little red onion is OK too, but under no circumstances should you put anything in it that is a darker shade of green than the iceberg lettuce. Let me control how much dressing goes on the salad. I like it drowned.
21.) Also, don't put in things that don't belong in salads: olives, pickles, hard boiled eggs, red cabbage, apples, grapes or blue cheese. Or nuts. Nuts belong in the can so you can eat them easier. You know, straight out of the can like I do during the game.
22.) If you make a new recipe and I can't recognize it or pronounce it, then number it so I know whether or not to ask for it again or to avoid it in future.
23.) I will eat fish. I prefer the kind of fish that comes in the yellow and blue box with the fisherman on the front. Fish is always white inside and brown and crispy outside and is about the size of a Kit Kat bar. Don't try to sneak salmon, halibut or mahi mahi on my plate. I will find out that it didn't come out of the yellow and blue box. And you know it doesn't look like a Kit Kat bar.
24.) Also about fish: you like to try to get me to eat those nasty fish eggs on things like fancy potato chips with that cream stuff and those really small, dry pieces of bread (remember #18?). A word to the wise: if you want me to eat fish eggs, then make sure they're hatched and fully grown up first. Then make sure they come out of the yellow and blue box. Do I need to say anything about Kit Kat bars?
25.) I hope my wife knows that most of the time, I really like what she puts on my plate and I know she does it because she loves me. I tease her about being a foodie because I know she can take it. But I like to brag to my golf buddies that the first year we were together, I didn't eat the same thing twice. Now, how many guys can say that?
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