Got dopamine?

Several years ago, I realized that sugar could be my heroin.  To be more precise, sugar, combined with the right amount of salt and fat, is my China White.  Now, thanks to those pesky, determined research scientists, we know why, since the dopamine receptors that get stimulated during heroin use are the same ones that get triggered by sugar and fat.

So, now you know that I am a closet sugar and fat addict.  And every once in a while, I go on a binge.  But I don't want a mainstream sugar fix--I want something with a little panache. Like these Coconut Cashew Curry Rice Krispies Bites.

Sweet, spicy, salty, rich and exotic, these treats make my dopamine receptors light up like a pinball machine and it's hard to stop reaching for more.  My dirty little trick is to cut them very small (about 1" square) so I can have several and feel totally decadent about it.

No unusual ingredients here, get them at your local grocery.  Easy, fun and elegant at your next cocktail party.  Rice Krispies and martinis?  You bet!  But when you share them with your friends, they won't know whether to slap you or kiss you since they'll be hooked too.

Coconut Cashew Curry Rice Krispies Bites

         

           ~~inspired by an idea in Food and Wine Magazine~~

5 Tbs. unsalted butter, plus more for greasing pan

One 16 oz. bag miniature marshmallows

2 Tbs. mild curry powder (such as Madras-style)

1/4  tsp. cayenne pepper (optional)

1 tsp. kosher salt

1 c. toasted coconut

3/4 c. salted cashews, roughly chopped or smashed with a mallet

9 c. puffed rice cereal, such as Rice Krispies

Butter a 9" x 13" baking dish or a sided sheetcake pan (1" depth).  In a large kettle or 6 qt. Dutch oven, melt 5 Tbs. butter.  Add the marshmallow and reduce heat, stirring with a large spoon (avoid using plastic, it may melt) over low heat until marshmallows are melted. 

Stir in the curry powder, cayenne, kosher salt and toasted coconut, blending well.  Remove from heat, then add the cashews and puffed rice, stirring until completely coated.

Scoop the mixture into the greased baking dish and press into an even layer.  A nesting pan on top of a greased piece of waxed paper or foil laid over the top of the mixture is a great tool to use to press down evenly and to make sure mixture reaches into the corners of the dish.  Let stand at room temperature until cool and firm, about 45 minutes.

Invert the mixture onto a work surface and using a sharp knife, cut into 1" squares.  Makes about 6 dozen squares.

Dinner in a box

Several weeks ago, an offer for a mail-order dinner from a company called plated popped up in my Facebook feed.  It seemed like a pretty good deal: for the cost of shipping and handling (which was $20) I could get the ingredients for a meal for four people, delivered to my door.  I could cancel my membership any time.  Ordering was easy and I had my choice of several delivery dates. There was a choice of several menus; I chose the Basil Beef Bowl with Quinoa Stir-Fry.

One of the obvious appeals of plated is that a fairly inexperienced home cook could put together a dinner and look (and feel) like a competent cook; other reasons for purchasing ingredients from plated might be the time saved shopping and searching for recipes, as well as sprucing up a tired recipe repertoire.

Before this service came along, I remember having a friend who, when she wanted to impress a new date with a "home cooked meal," would purchase take out from one of the better restaurants in town, transfer all the food to her own baking pans and skillets, dispose of all the take out containers and then cleverly mess up the kitchen to make it look like she had been cooking all day.  Plated is much more sophisticated than that!

My box arrived on a warm Saturday afternoon, while I was running errands for several hours.  I knew by the time I got home, the box would have been sitting for several hours on my front step.  I was a little concerned about how long it had been sitting there without being brought inside, but I needn't have worried.  There were two large ice-packs inside a foam-filled Mylar-lined box and everything was cold and fresh, especially the two portions of flank steak sealed in heavy-gauge plastic packs.  I would assume that the company would have shipped this meat from a frozen state in order to insure maximum freshness.

There was a lot of food; in fact, it turned out that there was food for much more than four servings. That meant that we had leftovers, something that some folks may not like, but I happen to appreciate it since I often arrive home during the week too late and too tired to be imaginative in the kitchen.  Plated doesn't require much in the way of imagination, but it does require your attentiveness to detail and your willingness to work your way through the procedures.

Since each dinner is shipped in units of two servings, I had a chance to compare the two sets of ingredients for consistency.  One set had two onions, the other only one, but all the other ingredients seemed to be evenly and generously.

From a conscientious consumer's prospective, I wasn't thrilled with the amount of packaging for things like sriracha sauce (which came in plastic packets), honey (in small foil-topped plastic tubs), and soy sauce (which came in a multitude of tiny plastic squeezable fish).  There were a lot of plastic bags as well, and even though I typically will reuse or recycle heavy plastic bags, I would have liked to have seen the ingredients put into something that was biodegradable and less wasteful, since many people I know do not reuse or recycle plastic bags.

The labeling was clear on all the ingredients and the fresh ingredients were grouped together separately.  There was a large 8" x 11 1/2" card, printed on two sides, that gave step-by-step directions.  The pictures for each step appeared to be helpful and to clearly illustrate what the cook was to do.  There was also a picture of the finished dish.  The directions were clearly written and easy to follow.  A person with little kitchen experience should have no problems following the directions, nor identifying the ingredients in the box.

From the perspective of an experienced and competent cook, however, I thought that the directions and procedures could have been improved in two distinct ways.  First, when cutting the flank steak to prepare for marinating, it would have been a lot easier to cut the beef thinly if the instructions had directed cooks to partially freeze the beef first.  Even with a very sharp knife, it was hard to cut the flank steak well without freezing.  Most home cooks, especially those who do not cook ambitiously, do not have very sharp knives and flank steak is harder to cut than some other cuts of beef; dull knives also tend to cause more accidents when foods are harder to cut.

Also, the instructions called for cutting the beef before any of the other vegetables, presumably without using separate cutting boards.  Obviously, because the meat needed to be marinated before anything else was prepared, it needed to be handled first.  However, either the directions should have instructed readers to use two different cutting surfaces, or to cut the meat after the vegetables, which would not have affected the length of time it took to make the meal in a significant way.  I'm a stickler for separate cutting surfaces for meats and other foods.

The directions also asked the cook to wipe the pan out after stir-frying the quinoa and vegetables before cooking the meat.  With some of the flavor clinging to the pan from the sauce ingredients, I decided to not wipe the pan out, leaving that flavor for stir-frying the beef.  The applied heat is not so hot that it would burn the residue and I thought that this was an extra and unnecessary step.

When the dinner was completed and plated, it was attractive and appealing.  I had extra Thai basil in my garden, so I was able to garnish the plates, and the wedge of fresh lime was also attractive and added a lot of great flavor to the finished dish.

Would I purchase from plated again?  Even though my experience was positive, it's not likely I would be a subscriber to this service.  I cook well enough on my own and frequently tackle far more ambitious cooking chores than the dinner I prepared with the help of plated.  In addition, the cost of these dinners when paying full price on a non-promotional subscription service is too steep for me to feel like I'm getting a good value.

If you check the on-line feedback from plated customers (as I did), you will notice there are mixed reviews.  It seems that just as many people had bad experiences as those who had good ones.  My experience was fun, interesting and pretty tasty.  I would love to hear from those of you who decide to give plated a try.

I never said I knew how to make pierogies

About once a month, a group of brave individuals gathers in my kitchen for what I loosely call "Cooking Class."  We are very informal about everything, with folks jumping in to dice onions, cook rice, wash dishes or assemble a salad, sitting, standing, visiting and taking breaks when ever they want.  We proceed at a very relaxed pace, stopping in between courses to enjoy eating, talking and sipping wine before jumping into the next project.  There is plenty of gaiety (I'm thinking of last summer's pickling class, where everything that could get cut up and pickled, did) and frolic (the Thai cooking class in which our only male guest took to a whole coconut with a hammer, a cleaver and great gusto).

This past fall, we attempted Polish cuisine.  That decision was made for two reasons: I'm Polish (the only cultural heritage I proudly claim and identify with) and I have a friend who has Polish friends, a mother and son pair whom she contacted.  They both attended and turned our little gathering into a charming little Polish restaurant for the afternoon.  R and G, as I'll call them, brought expertise that I could not have hoped to have produced on my own.

And they also brought with them their big personalities.  R & G transformed a somewhat sedate and studious atmosphere into gales of laughter with their sense of humor and wisecracks.  And I hope they will be frequent guests at The Voluptuous Table from now on.

It all started innocently enough: with a Polish Apple Pie Cocktail (recipe here; take care to buy the very best Polish vodka you can, it makes a difference) and Polish fresh mushroom soup (made from this recipe).  R & G arrived a bit late; they had another obligation to attend to.  But once they arrived, they immediately got a cocktail in hand and things began to rock and roll.

ZU Vodka

G, who had suggested beef tartare because "all the best restaurants in Poland will have Befszytk Tartarski on their menus," waxed eloquent about the charms of Polish-style tartare, using grand arm gestures and a booming narrative.  He very competently overtook trimming and breaking down a piece of tenderloin, mincing it finely and expertly in the food processor, then preparing all the accompanying condiments with care and precision.  A surprising ingredient that G requested was Maggi seasoning, instead of the traditional Worcestershire sauce.  Because I'm that kind of food hoarder, I have both (and more!) in my pantry.  Another interesting accompaniment to Polish beef tartare that G introduced was minced dill pickle.  It's delightfully different and, along with the capers, onion, fresh parsley and egg yolk, a lovely addition.  I wish I had a picture of the beautiful individual presentations G made for us, but I think we were all so hungry by this point (and pretty fuzzy from the Polish Apple Pie Cocktails) that we just dug in.

Meanwhile, R blessedly took over the pierogi-making operation, while two other participants tackled two different kinds of fillings.  R was a literal pierogi machine, cranking out about 6 dozen in very little time.  She asked for two tea towels, extra flour, a rolling pin and a small glass.  These things I could easily produce.  Then came the litmus test of my Polish heritage: did I have a noodle board?  

"A noodle board?  Uh, no...but I have these wooden cutting boards," I pointed to my (I think) rather impressive display.

R snorted at me and said in her throaty, heavily-accented voice, "And you call yourself a Polish girl?  What kind of Polish girl doesn't have a noodle board?"  

I laughed and said, "Looks like your cocktail is running low...can I get you another?"  Apparently, mixing cocktails was my chief talent this afternoon.  R declined my offer, stating that she wanted to keep her wits sharp.  Apparently, she declined another mostly because I think she was really enjoying checking me in to The Smack-Down Motel of Warsaw.  "We'll keep the noodle boards ready for ya."

There was definitely more Polish heritage-vetting to come because R's next question was about making the pierogi dough.  I replied that I had already pre-mixed the dough that morning and that it was in the fridge.  

"Let's see it."  She demanded.  I produced my dough.  She poked it around, moaned, then looked at me.

"What's dis?" she asked.  I stammered, replying that the dough was made from a recipe from an authentic Polish cookbook of my mother's.  I showed her the cookbook and pointed to the recipe.

"Oh my god. You put all of that in here?" she asked, incredulous.  "What, you try to make lazy pierogi?"

I giggled nervously. First I'm not Polish enough and now she's calling me lazy?  I later found out that there is a version of pierogi called Lazy Pierogies that are made like large dumplings rather than filled ravioli.  We laughed about that later (after a lot of wine), but for now, I was quickly losing my Polish heritage cred. I wasn't sure that I could tolerate being stripped of my cultural identity and have my culinary skills challenged, all in one afternoon.

"Well, I couldn't tell from the recipe what to add when.  It's very badly written and I haven't seen my mother or grandmother make pierogi dough in years," I tried to defend myself, but I could tell by the look of pity in R's eyes that I had disappointed her.  In truth (and in my feeble defense), the recipes in many of these kinds of regional cookbooks are very confusing and difficult to follow.  R was having none of it.

"I need to fix.  Give me flour."  And away she went, flouring down the countertop after making sure it was clean enough to work on, throwing my inferior pierogi dough down on the counter with a THWACK, flouring the dough and the rolling pin, and working the dough until it met her approval.  But just barely.  

Not our pierogies, but ours looked just like this.  Photo credit: en.wikipedia.org

We had prepared two fillings: potato and cheese and sauteed mushrooms with sauerkraut.  The potato and cheese pierogies were gently sauteed in plenty of butter and onion; the mushroom/sauerkraut pierogies were served with melted butter and sour cream.  I had lekvar and extra sour cream on the side, two accompaniments that were always on our table when my mother and grandmother served pierogies.  We also enjoyed Polish creamed spinach and finished our very long, very enjoyable meal with a Polish apple cake, which is dense, rich and clove-scented.  That apple cake seemed to be the one thing that met with R's approval, even though she told me she put cinnamon in hers.  OK, I can take it now.

But we continued to laugh and talk, and this small group of unlikely-to-come-together people stayed well past dark, sitting on the outdoor patio in front of a crackling fire set against the chilly fall evening, sipping coffee, eating dessert and then enjoying more wine and after dinner drinks.  It was a lovely evening.  And the best part?  I still feel Polish.

You can find links to the recipes below:

A better pierogi dough recipe than I had access to originally:  http://www.tastingpoland.com/food/recipes/pierogi_dough_1.html

For savory fillings:  http://www.tastingpoland.com/food/recipes/mush_cabbage_filling.html  AND

http://easteuropeanfood.about.com/od/pierogidoughs/r/ruskiepierogi.htm (this recipe also has a decent dough procedure)

For a berry filling (delicious for dessert):  http://www.tastingpoland.com/food/recipes/fruit_pierogi.html

Make your own lekvar if you can't find it at Fiesta Market:  http://easteuropeanfood.about.com/od/fruits/r/lekvar.htm

For the Polish spinach:  http://polishmamaontheprairie.blogspot.com/2011/03/spinach-in-polish-style-or-szpinak-po.html  (we topped ours with Panko and broiled briefly to toast)

For the Polish apple cake:  http://easteuropeanfood.about.com/od/polishdesserts/r/applecake.htm

Smacznego!

A little late-night "research" in mixology with my Wine Guy

When my friend and personal wine guy Bill and I get together to do "research," we inevitably end up making up new cocktails.  Perhaps this is as a result of our late-evening blood alcohol content, when we are more likely to fancy ourselves capable mixologists.  But perhaps it's because, between the two of us, Bill and I have some pretty impressive cocktail making skills and knowledge about booze.  I'd like to give option #2 full credence for our results, but option #1 does assist in the creativity department.  Both options are fully responsible for hangovers.

Take our most recent progeny: The Coho Martini.  An alchemy of house-infused pomegranate vodka, Damiana liqueur, Aperol and fresh lime juice, this drink is perfectly balanced and beautiful in the glass. 

Although you could use another commercially-produced pomegranate vodka, infusing your own is easy (but you will need to start about 3 weeks out) and contributes a glow to this cocktail.  To make your own pomegranate vodka, remove the arils from the pomegranate and place in a large, clean container along with 750 ml of mid-price vodka.  Cover and let things take their course.  Your vodka is ready when the arils are bleached of their color and the vodka is a deep blush in color.  This process takes about 3 to 4 weeks, so you need a little patience.  Then strain the infusion into a clean container (use a coffee filter if you want it to be exceptionally clear), discard the arils and cover your new baby tightly until ready to use.  It lasts for several months if stored away from heat and light and will eventually darken if not consumed.  You can also add a few ounces of store-bought organic pomegranate juice to plain vodka and get similar results in about 3 minutes.  For some of us, patience is just not a virtue and believe me, I do understand that.

Now, let's talk a little bit about Aperol.  Aperol is like the friend you only see once in a while, but when you do, you wonder why you don't see more of each other.  And if you don't have a bottle of this incredibly versatile, lightly bitter, orange-scented aperitif, now made by the folks who make Campari, you should run right out and get one (since I hear you can buy your friends nowadays).  This lovely stuff is a gorgeous color and also makes a great cocktail when mixed with grapefruit juice.  I was hooked when I tasted my first Pamplemousse (find Orangette's version here).  Truthfully, Aperol makes a lot of great-tasting cocktails, period, and I tend to reach for it when I want a more complex flavor profile.  But a little goes a long way in something like a martini.

  

  

So now let's talk a bit about my shy friend in the middle there, Damiana.  Maybe she's in the middle background because she's not wearing any clothes and she's an old-fashioned girl.  I first bought Damiana for the bottle she came in, modeled after an Incan fertility goddess.  Lord only knows why I would have brought that kind of energy into my house, since I've prayed fervently from the age of 8 to not EVER be pregnant or, worse still, a mother. Managing pets, gardens and husbands for the past 30 odd years has been quite enough responsibility, thank you.

Nonetheless, Dami sits in my collection of mixers and oddballs, and often gets neglected.  Maybe that's really because Dami and I both have body image issues.  But when Bill comes over and we've been doing a little "research," he usually ends up rooting around in my liquor cabinet, looking for something fun to experiment with.  Being a very persuasive and congenial guy, Bill managed to coax Dami out of hiding.  She shyly acquiesced.

Don't ask me to recall the exact science behind this particular mixology experiment (because there is none) am I'm still a bit fuzzy about how the components were picked, except that I wanted to brag to Bill about my latest vodka infusion.  As a sidenote, I'd like my readers to know that I do a lot of infusions in my kitchen (just in case you'd like to drop by and try your hand at late-night mixology experiments).  Most of them are brilliant (in my humble opinion), like the Kashmir Mogra saffron and vodka infusion I did one year for an Indian dinner party.  It made a fabulously gorgeous infusion and an infamously lethal cocktail, along with some allspice dram, lime juice and Vietnamese cinnamon.  I called it The Bollywood Bhindi and after most of the cocktails had gotten inside everyone, there were some interesting interpretive dance moves in response to the sitar music later that evening, as I recall.  If it's one thing we're not short on at The Voluptuous Table, it's hilarity.

But the chocolate mint-cocoa nibs-vodka infusion I did last summer and that I thought was going to be wonderful, not so much.  I think that will have to be relegated to adult hot chocolate drinkers.

Sometimes Bill and I disagree on methods and ingredients in our cocktail experiments (and that's OK).  But one thing Bill and I did agree on were the proportions in The Coho Martini and the addition of enough lime juice to tweak all the other components into making you think that you were going to want to have at least 3 more cocktails.  Why did we name it The Coho Martini?  Well, I thought it looked rather like the color of salmon in the glass, and the name "Sockeye Martini" and "Alaskan King Martini" didn't seem to have that special, inviting ring.  So there you are.

Find the recipe below.  Have plenty of ingredients on hand (even if you're alone), because these little beauties are really tasty.  If you use a pretty glass, like I did, just know that I am not responsible if you drink too many and tag yourself in your pictures on Facebook.

The Coho Martini                          

1 oz. pomegranate vodka
1 oz. Damiana
1/4 oz. Aperol
lime wedge
ice

In a cocktail shaker with the ice, combine pomegranate vodka, Damiana and Aperol.  Stir well, then strain into chilled martini glass.  Squeeze lime wedge into cocktail, rim the glass with the wedge, then discard lime.  Makes one cocktail.

The world does not need another "best ever" lasagna recipe

As my friend Sandra says, "What the focaccia?!"

How in the internet realm of tens of thousands of recipes--a realm largely devoid of standard qualitative measures for rating recipes--do you offer accurate descriptors for your recipes?  Ideally, you would want to induce your readers to try your recipes in their own kitchens and at the same time, deliver results that live up to your claims.  But if you make a statement that your recipe is the "best ever," then you've made a claim that is impossible to verify and is a landmine of subjectivity.

And that's exactly what prompts this post.  I suppose I'm rather weary of "best ever" recipes.  Not because my palate is better than your palate, but because my palate often looks for a different flavor profile than most people.  My "best ever" recipe might include anchovies, while you might hate anchovies.  I tend to like deeper, richer flavor profiles while you might want something simple and uncomplicated.  I look for umami.  Maybe you don't.

Recently, I was looking for a lasagna recipe that would be both tasty (i.e., have a good amount of umami), economical, not terribly complicated and good for feeding a crowd.  Maybe my criteria are too unrealistic (and you are welcome to let me know if you think they are).  I searched the internet for a made-from-scratch version that would please me and my guests.  Being a sucker for hyperbole, I was drawn in by several recipes that claimed to be the "best ever," in addition to being easy and economical.

I'll admit that whenever I see something labeled the "best ever," I immediately want to find all the ways in which it's not the best ever.  The statement that something is the "best ever" is tantamount to claiming that my dad can beat the S#%* out of your dad.  Anybody who knew my dad would know he was a lover, not a fighter.  But not his daughter.

I didn't feel like I could take a swing at the recipes posted on sites like allrecipes.com, cdkitchen.com or cooks.com, since there are so many badly-written and sometimes disastrous recipes on those sites.  And there's a mighty big contingent of home cooks who are mighty proud of their lasagna.

But then I spied The Pioneer Woman's "The Best Lasagna. Ever."  Perfect.  I figured if anyone could take a whoopin' on her claim of "best ever" lasagna, The Pioneer Woman could.  The original recipe, at first glance, seemed to be the working mother's answer to prayer; Ree Drummond claims that "part of its appeal is that the ingredients used are totally basic; you don’t have to hunt down fresh basil or buffalo mozzarella or Parmigiano-Reggiano or handmade sausage from an Italian mama in old Napoli. Anyone can make this, anywhere, anytime. And it’s the easiest thing in the world." 

You are correct; that is NOT shredded mozzarella.

About these things, The Pioneer Woman is mostly right.  I was able to find all of the ingredients in my local HEB (which, as I've written before, is in a county that is demographically challenged where discriminating palates are concerned).  Yeah, I hear you callin' me a food snob.

But then, here's where The Pioneer Woman goes too far: "Aside from the simplicity and availability of ingredients, however, this lasagna is just dadgum good."  Because after testing Ree's sauce, I can honestly say that it lacks character, balance among the acid, sugar and salt components, and is missing some essential flavors that I consider necessary to good lasagna.  In other words, it lacks umami. 


Not to put too fine a point on it, if anyone can make this lasagna, anywhere, anytime, then this lasagna is going to taste fairly pedestrian and would certainly not impress nor offend anyone.  People, that is just not my way with food.  And I don't need specialty ingredients to get a better result, just some that are different than what's called for in the original recipe.

For instance, the Parmesan cheese The Pioneer Woman calls for is the kind in the green can that, to me at least, tastes like sawdust.  And the meat sauce?  Made with part ground beef (too much fat) and part "hot breakfast sausage."  Um, no.  Ground chuck and Italian sausage are, to me, the best way to get a good, rich flavor in your meat sauce.  The cheese filling?  Lowfat cottage cheese and sliced mozzarella.  Again, fail.

Sliced mozzarella in lasagna makes a rubbery layer that I find unpleasant. I found that out trying to make lasagna the Pioneer Woman Way.  Next time, I'll go back to using shredded mozzarella.  And while my mother used cottage cheese frequently in her lasagna when I was a child (mostly because cottage cheese was cheaper than ricotta and more often available in our refrigerator), I don't like the texture of lowfat anything in most recipes.  I would concede to mixing whole milk ricotta and whole milk cottage cheese in equal portions if you must, but I prefer the moist, creamy texture of ricotta that only milk fat brings, especially when it's enhanced with egg, freshly grated or shredded Parmesan cheese and other seasonings.

I also found the herbs and spices in the original meat sauce to be lacking in character, so I added more seasoning, a little sugar and a little dry red wine.  The addition of fresh parsley to both the meat sauce and the cheese mixture is, I think, worth the time and effort.  The resulting sauce was tasty and nicely cohesive without cooking any longer than the original recipe stated.

Since the world does not need another "best ever" lasagna recipe, I'll offer the rendition below as "pretty good" for a basic, straightforward lasagna.  What's more, I'll even say that it passes the husband test with flying colors. And that, modern women of America, is what's most important.

Sheesh.  I'm kidding.

Pretty Good, Basic, Straightforward Lasagna

I found all of the ingredients (except for the Italian herb seasoning) at my local HEB.

Meat Sauce:

1-1/2 lbs ground chuck

1 lb. Italian sausage (hot or mild) 

2 cloves garlic, minced

2  14.5 oz. cans whole tomatoes

2 6 oz. cans tomato paste

2 Tbs. Italian herb seasoning (such as Penzey's or Savory Spice; yes, you can use McCormick's)

1 tsp. fennel seed

1 tsp. salt

1 1/2 Tbs. sugar

1/4 cup dry red wine

1/2 cup water

freshly ground black pepper to taste

6 Tbs. minced fresh parsley, divided

Cheese Mixture:

3 cups whole milk ricotta cheese (you can substitute up to 1 1/2 cups whole milk cottage cheese for the ricotta if you like)

2 eggs, beaten

1 cup shredded Parmesan cheese (you can use grated if you promise not to use the stuff in the green can; use only 3/4 cup if you do), plus extra for the topping

1 tsp. salt

For assembling:

1 lb. shredded mozzarella cheese (reserve approx. 1/2 cup for the topping)

1 10 oz. pkg. lasagna noodles

1.)  Bring a large pot of water to a boil, salt it well (I use about 1 Tbs. salt) and add a little oil if you wish to prevent the noodles from sticking.

2.)  Meanwhile, in a large skillet or saucepan, combine ground chuck and Italian sausage (remove casings first). 

3.)  Cook over medium-high heat until browned; stir in minced garlic cook for 1 more minute.

4.)  Drain the fat if you wish and return pan to heat.

5.)  Add tomatoes, breaking up with your fingers, tomato paste, Italian herb seasoning, fennel seed, salt, sugar, dry red wine and water.  

6.)  Simmer the sauce for about 45 minutes while you prepare the cheese mixture and cook the noodles.

7.)  In a medium bowl, mix ricotta cheese, Parmesan, 2 Tbs. minced parsley and salt. 

8.)  Stir together well and set aside. 

9.)  Cook lasagna until al dente; drain and set aside.

10.)  Remove meat sauce from heat and stir in remaining minced parsley.  Taste and adjust seasonings if necessary.

11.)  Oil a large baking dish and preheat oven to 350 degrees.

12.)  Arrange 4 cooked lasagna noodles in the bottom of a baking pan, overlapping if necessary. 

13.)  Spoon half the cheese mixture over the noodles and spread evenly. 

14.)  Cover cheese mixture with half the shredded mozzarella cheese. 

15.)  Spoon half the meat sauce mixture over the top.

16.)  Repeat, ending with meat sauce mixture. 

17.)  Sprinkle top with remaining Parmesan and shredded mozzarella.

18.)  You can freeze or refrigerate the lasagna at this point and finish cooking later, or bake it immediately for 30-40 minutes, or until hot and bubbly.  Serves 8 generously.

If it has vodka, it must be Russian

This cocktail, with its exotic name and sweet, spicy and smoky sip-ability, is an intriguing way to enhance your Sochi Olympics viewing experiences.  Constructed of bourbon, lapsang souchong-infused vodka, elderflower liqueur, spiced tea, honey and lemon juice, this cocktail is seriously tasty.

The original Russian Caravan cocktail was created by Vitaliy Bukhtulov, a home mixologist who competed in and won the 2010 Brandy Library's Bourbon Cocktail Challenge. Since then, another version has been posted on Saveur.com.

Looking at both recipes, I didn't have everything called for: Russian Caravan Tea by Choice Organic Teas (as listed in Mr. Bukhtulov's recipe) or Russian Tea (as listed in the Saveur version). I wasn't sure what "Russian Tea" was except for my experiences with the intensely sweet, orange Tang-based version that my mother made countless jars of during my childhood for Christmas gifts to friends. In case you're curious about this sugary, retro instant hot drink recipe, find it here.

But after doing a little research, I discovered that I could approximate Russian Caravan Tea because I had infused some vodka last year with lapsang souchong tea.  And if a cocktail has vodka in it, it must be Russian, right?  I also had Constant Comment Tea on hand, which would capture the spice character of the Russian Tea of my childhood, without the sugary, synthetic orange aftertaste.

You need to know that true Russian Caravan tea is a blend of several black teas, at least one of which is smoky, and which tastes sweet and malty when brewed. Since my recent mixology experiment, I've ordered some of the same tea that Mr. Bukhtulov recommends and plan to remix the drink to the specifications of his original recipe, which includes St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur.

Using the Saveur.com recipe as my guide, I brewed 2 cups of hot water with one Constant Comment teabag for 2 minutes.  I used a Texas-produced bourbon, highly recommended by my wine guy, Bill, at my local Spec's.  Fresh lemon juice and lemon peel are a must of course, but you can be creative with the sweetener.  I used coriander honey because of the bright, citrusy and smoky characteristics it has.  But you could do a rich simple syrup, or use agave nectar, or use any honey you have in the pantry.  I didn't top my cocktail off with club soda, as called for in both recipes, but you certainly can.  Having made the drink both with the elderflower liqueur and without, I can tell you that both versions are lovely.

Vindaloo's Russian Caravan Cocktail

1 cup ice
2 oz. bourbon
2 oz. Constant Comment tea (steep 2 cups hots water with one teabag for 2 minutes)
1/2 oz. lapsang souchong-infused vodka
1/2 oz. St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur
1/2 oz. fresh lemon juice
1/4 oz. coriander honey (or substitute another kind of honey, rich simple syrup or agave nectar)
strip of lemon peel for garnish

Combine ice, bourbon, tea, vodka, liqueur and lemon juice in a shaker and shake for a few seconds to combine.  Pour into a highball glass and garnish with lemon peel.  Makes 1 cocktail.

Nastrovie!

Damascene brownies...damn!

Better call Saul.  There is a rich, fudgy gluten-free brownie that doesn't need a Get Out of Jail Free Card, and you can find the recipe here.  It's not my recipe because, after all, why the hell would I want to ruin a good thing and mess up my favorite brownie recipe?  But because I have friends that restrict gluten and because I love them, I wanted to make sure that they could eat dessert with the rest of us.  And I wanted to make sure that after offering them this brownie, I wouldn't have to leave town and assume a new identity.

These brownies kick some serious butt in the chocolate department, yo.  I do not want a cakey, dry brownie that looks and tastes as old as Hector Salamanca.  I want something moist and fudgy.  With substance.  No more half measures, these gluten-free brownies are bad ass.  They actually convinced me that I could give up [most of] my worldly possessions and follow a gluten-free lifestyle.  A kind of conversion, if you will.  Without the new identity.  Because, like Saul of the Damascene conversion, I have been fighting the need to forgo wheat gluten.

Was blind and now I see.

OK, so these look like little cupcakes because they are.

So, some rules about this gluten-free thing if you're going to do it.  Never use a mix so you can control better what is going into your food, always make from scratch because then you know your goodies haven't been sitting in a box in a non-climate-controlled warehouse for ages before they became goodies, and ALWAYS use best-quality ingredients. 

Additionally, make your own flours whenever you can.  One of the previous deterrents I experienced was sticker shock on those bags of almond flour and brown rice flour.  You can buy whole foods in bulk, grind your own flours and store in the fridge or freezer.  I milled my own almond and brown rice flours for this recipe with a blender on steroids (which is still inferior to my lusted-after Vitamix, and mind you, I WILL own one some day--when I'm in the empire business), which ensured that my flours were fresh and moist--and cost a lot less than the prepared versions at my local HEB. 

Know that if you use white rice flour, you will get a very middle-of-the-road, rather bland product that has less nutritional value than brown rice flour.  If you use brown rice flour, you not only get a boost in nutrition, you get all the richness and nuttiness of brown rice, which brings a lot of depth to things that need to be toothsome, like brownies.  Be aware, however, that rice flours produce a crumblier product and that they tend to absorb more water than wheat flours, so you will have to experiment with various recipes and techniques to get the finished result you want.  Whoever developed the brownie recipe at Ghirardelli knew what they were doing, because the dense mouthfeel, sugar and fat ratios of these little beauties is bitchin'.

How to make your own flours from whole grains, nuts and rice:

Making your own flours is easy.  To make almond flour, use whole, blanched almonds and process to a fine powder.  Making brown rice flour is less easy, but still very doable: soak brown rice in water at room temperature for at least 24 hours--I would do it for 36 hours next time--then drain well and process.  In both cases, you will have to stop your not-Vitamix machine and push the flour down into the work bowl and redistribute the larger pieces.  The beauty of a Vitamix is that all you have to worry about is that your flours are getting too hot during the milling process.

If the recipe calls for real butter, use real butter for God's sake.  And use best quality chocolate or cocoa powder.  It makes a difference.  Personal preferences for chocolate brands vary and I know I will alienate some people here but please do not use Baker's or Hershey's chocolate/cocoa for this recipe.  I find that for baking, Ghirardelli and Scharffen Berger make the best chocolate.

I did this for me.  Now, say my name.