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Back when God was a child and I was dating my first husband, I offered to make dinner for him - his choice of menu. He chose spaghetti and I assented readily. I had never actually made spaghetti (or much of anything else, for that matter), you understand, but I wanted to impress him so I called my pal Meredith, who made the best spaghetti on earth, and asked her for the recipe. He was duly impressed; I'm not sure I ever confessed to my treachery in 25 years of marriage.
I have continued to make the same spaghetti recipe all my life. When I feel a hankering for it coming on, I don't even have to go to my recipe box any longer - I know it more or less by heart. This time, however, I did think I'd change it up a little, so I used half mild Italian sausage instead of all ground beef (I'll use spicy next time - you couldn't really taste the sausage) and I didn't have any ripe olives in the house, so I left them out.
The rest of the recipe is so simple that it's not really even a recipe. You just brown the meat crumbles thoroughly in olive oil in a deep pot, then remove them to a plate and soften garlic mince (you decide how much - I used about a tablespoon or two) and a chopped large onion in the rendered fat from the meat (You can pour off some if you have too much fat or add some olive oil if your meat was very lean). I set the aromatics aside afterward, too, while I brown about six large mushrooms, sliced, in the same pot. The idea is that each ingredient adds it's caramelized flavor to the pot but you don't crowd the components so they brown nicely.
Once all are browned, pile them back into the pot, add a big can of chopped tomatoes, a small (14oz) can of tomato sauce, a big glug of red wine (I used merlot since I had an open bottle in the fridge - about a cup and a half or two cups), a healthy pinch each of thyme and basil, and a big handful of chopped fresh parsley. You can also add a bay leaf or two, if you are so inclined. Now comes the "secret" ingredient - cinnamon. Meredith has always added cinnamon to her sauce; this time, I subbed in about two heaping teaspoons of ground allspice instead.
All this bubbles along on the lowest stove setting for a couple of hours with the lid on. If it gets too thick, add some more wine. The resulting sauce is rich and dark with lots of flavor layers, not like the bright red stuff that comes in a jar. It covers the pasta like a lover and the grated ParmReg puts on the finishing touch. Served in a pasta bowl with garlic toasts, it's as seductive a meal as you could ask for.
If you are courting, or just courting favor, try serving her/him a nice bowl of this spaghetti. It gets 'em where they live.
This is the third and last installment of the potential disaster my neighbor Theresa averted by giving away her defrosted hoard of freezer meats. The beef ribs were browned and went into my crock pot along with some chunked onions and carrots and a cup or so of both beef broth and red wine with which I deglazed the browning pan.
They simmered and bubbled together for several hours, until the bones gave up their essence and fell out. This was a fairly fatty cut of meat so I refrigerated it while we ate the other two dishes, removed the congealed fat that had risen to the top and, a few days later, set it back into the base to cook for another couple of hours, adding chunks of red potato to the final cooking.
Spooned onto the plate next to some bright green broccolette, the stew was as simple as a wedge and deeply, richly beefy. The goozle I didn't use on the plate went into a container in the freezer - it will make the base for a wonderful soup later in the fall. Theresa's generosity has fed us five or six times in the past week - maybe I'll make her a coming-home gift of something to eat as delicious as the food she lost.
I have an optimistic outlook and an appreciation for life's little pleasures. I didn't cultivate these traits; they just seem to be part of my DNA. Just lucky I guess. I expect good things to happen, and they usually do. I don't have to be reminded to take time to admire these glorious Western sunsets. I automatically stop to smell the flowers as I walk with Cora. I enjoy visiting for a few minutes with Kitty Sweet, the utterly imperturbable orange cat who lives two doors down. I like the occasional trashy novel and relish an afternoon nap. And, when in my travels I come across Westminster oyster crackers, I get a little lift of pleasure when I open the package.
All they really are is saltines but there is something extra fun about the little rounded shapes that crunch lightly between my teeth, spreading a light buttery taste and a little salt over my tongue. Once, when his mother was on a very restricted diet, My Beloved ordered her a whole case of these to be delivered to bring her a smile. They just do. He ordered a case for us, as well, and we grinned each time we fished out a packet for a snack.
Next time your seafood comes served with oyster crackers, my wish for you is an optimistic outlook and the small pleasure of Westminster oyster crackers in your soup.
This week, My Beloved's sales manager called him and "asked" him to deliver some samples the manager would need next week to a location about an hour's drive one way from our house. This request came on a Friday afternoon (and, by the way, MB had asked this knucklehead weeks ago if he would need these samples so MB could have taken them there in his normal work travels) and the samples are needed on Monday morning. The implication was clear; you must give up half a weekend day to do this "favor" for the boss. Grrrr!
In order to turn this task into a fun outing, My Beloved invited me to ride along. We left the samples at the Millbrae Railroad Museum (never mind why) and got a tour of their Pullman car while we were there. When I was about six years old, my mother, sister and I crossed the country on a train and we had our own Pullman compartment. It was fun to explore again the ingeniously designed folding sink, toilet, beds, etc. and to recall the adventure of crossing from car to swaying car and eating in the dining car. Each evening, the Pullman steward would come in and, using his big key, lower our freshly made bunks for us. As we neared Utah, which was a "dry state" in those days, my mother was warned by our porter that, if she wanted a drink before dinner that evening, she'd have to order it before we crossed the Utah border. All this was high adventure for us and I've never forgotten falling asleep between crisp white sheets to the clickety-clack of the wheels on the rails with the whistle blowing in the night.
Since we were down that way, we also made a return visit to the Old Port Lobster Shack in Redwood City. If you've never been, you really must go. I've heard that they now have a location in North Beach, too, but I haven't visited that one. The original has a huge tank of live lobsters and a fun-funky maritime theme - for example, the restrooms are labeled "Buoys" and "Gulls." They do a land office business in there, being open from 11am to "when we stop making money." I've been tempted by lots of items on their menu but I always order the same thing, the Naked Lobster Roll.
Overflowing with large chunks of fresh lobster, the bun is authentic (I've heard they actually fly them in from Maine) and lightly grilled on the outside as a crispy counterpoint to all that luscious, seductive lobster. You can get a lobster roll with lobster salad made with mayo if you prefer, but the plain lobster always gets my vote. There are cole slaw and French fries in the basket and a little cup of rich, clarified butter to pour over your naked roll if you wish but, let's face it, it's really all about the shellfish. Man, is that ever good!
Good enough, in fact, to smooth over my ruffled feathers and make me think that MB's boss isn't such a bad guy after all, if his requests mean a trip the the Lobster Shack.
If you love pecans as much as I do, pecan pie can be a bit of a trial. My problem is that I don't really like the gooey, too-sweet gel on which the pecans rest in most pecan pies. I only really enjoy the crust and the pecans.
We had dinner this week with the delightful Naomi and her beau Sam, a couple of students it has been my pleasure to befriend; they gave up a precious afternoon and evening to cook for and entertain us two old fogies despite the fact that Sam is only here for a few days before he has to head back to "pahk his cah in the Hahvahd Yahd" - he's doing a post-doc at Harvard and they let him off the leash only briefly and infrequently.
Sam and Naomi put on quite a spread - roasted sweet potato rounds as an appetizer, pork roast with homemade wheat yeast rolls and roasted acorn squash - and, hallelujah! a bourbon pecan tart for dessert. They said they got the recipe from epicurious.com and the closest one I can find there is this, only Naomi subbed out the bourbon with brandy instead (good choice!), and added a dollop of spiked whipped cream. The crust she used was seriously buttery and the tart was mostly pecans, with just enough sweet stuff to hold the nuts together - just the way I like it. If you're looking for a great recipe for a Thanksgiving pie, give this one a try - it's as close to pecan pie perfection as a pecan lover could wish for.
Probably the most talented home cook I know is my brother's wife, Ann, who has been known to make Julia Child's cassoulet from scratch, including making her own sausage to start. Imagine! When I received a gift of duck legs from my neighbor Theresa, I thought briefly about making that hallowed recipe but once I started reading it, I changed my mind. Even retired, I don't have that kind of time and with three kinds of meat needing immediate preparation, I really didn't have that kind of time.
Instead, I did what I usually do - I improvised. I read a number of online recipes as well as Mrs. Child's and came up with a version that incorporates, I hope, most of the wonders of this plain and hearty dish with a bit less of the fuss. I didn't have confit duck legs, so it wasn't the same, but I like to think it's still pretty good.
Impromptu Cassoulet
2 links of spicy Italian sausage (or bulk spicy sausage)
2 duck legs, cut into four pieces each (I used a big, heavy knife to chop through the bones)
1 cup small dry white beans, such as Navy beans
1 quart beef broth
1 bouquet garni* including 1 bay leaf (1/2 if it's a California bay leaf), 2 sprigs fresh thyme, a small bunch of fresh flat leafed parsley, 5 or so whole peppercorns, 2 sprigs of celery leaves)
olive oil
2 carrots, cut in 1" chunks
1 large onion, chopped
3-4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
Quick-soak beans by covering them in with water by about 1" and bringing them to a boil. Off the heat, let them sit for about an hour. (You can also soak them without boiling overnight or for at least 8 hours if you have lots of time).
While the beans are soaking, squeeze dollops of the Italian sausage out of the casings and into a preheated, oiled pan. Brown the sausage, then set aside. In the same pan, brown the duck legs thoroughly and remove the skin (you can make cracklings from the skin if you slowly fry it in a separate pan and I have heard that the rendered duck fat from this process is heaven to cook with, although I haven't tried it myself as yet). Set aside. Pour out most of the fat from the pan, then add the carrots and onion and cook until soft, deglaze with a little of the beef broth so you get all the goodies.
After the hour of soaking, drain the water from the beans and replace it with the beef broth; if you don't have enough broth, add some water - you want the liquid to cover the beans. Add the bouquet garni to the beans and gently boil until the beans are tender, about an extra 45 minutes-1 hour. Remove the bouquet garni and discard.
Assemble the dish by pouring the beans into a shallow, ovenproof casserole dish and mixing them with the onions, carrots and deglazing liquid. Nestle the meats in amongst the beans, making sure they are covered with liquid. If they aren't, add a little water or broth. Bake, covered, in a 350 degree oven for an hour or two - until the scents tell you that all is one in the universe. The duck will be falling off the bones and the liquid will have turned to savory sauce. You can mash some of the beans against the side of the casserole and mix them in to thicken the sauce if it seems too watery.
I like to serve this with lightly buttered garlic toasts, slices of baguette that have been toasted and rubbed with garlic. You can make a garlic crumb topping if you prefer. Add a little olive oil to a skillet and cook a clove or two of minced garlic until fragrant, just about a minute. Add 1-2 cups bread crumbs (fresh) and continuing cooking and stirring until the crumbs are crisp and golden, a few minutes more. Top the casserole with these crumbs, or serve them alongside in a bowl for sprinkling over each serving.
This is such a hearty meal that you won't need more than a green salad to finish the plate.
*A bouquet garni is a French term for a little "teabag" of herbs and flavorings made with a square of cheesecloth and tied with cotton string. Make the string extra long on one end so you can tie in to the handle of the pot for easy retrieval. You could just put all these seasonings loose in the pot but then they are the devil to fish out later.
How often does one have a neighbor call and say, "Can you do me a favor? Come over right now and let me give you three different kinds of meats." It was unprecedented in my experience, I can tell you.
My neighbor Theresa had discovered, on the very eve of a business trip to Amsterdam, that her big freezer had quit and all her carefully divided and vacuum-sealed meats had thawed. She was calling all the neighbors to offer them packages of viands - I scored marinated chicken thighs, beef short ribs and duck legs. I needed to cook them all in a single day as they wouldn't re-freeze happily, so I got to work the next morning in a flurry of culinary energy and made cassoulet with the duck legs and braised beef stew in the crock pot with the short ribs. More about those later; this evening, we enjoyed the marinated chicken thighs.
When I asked Theresa what the marinade was she couldn't remember, so it was a mystery as I cut open the package. One sniff told me garlic and soy sauce, maybe a sort of teriyaki? Theresa recommended baking at 400 degrees, so that's what I did, first nestling alongside the chicken some slices of bright orange kabocha squash and halves of ruby red potatoes. It made a beautiful fall color palette as it slid into the oven.
The chicken and veggies emerged about 40 minutes later, all browned on the bottoms, soft in the middle and ready to eat. The sauce wasn't really teriyaki, as there wasn't any ginger or sweetness, but it was garlicky, mildly salty and delicious - we enjoyed every bite.
While I wouldn't wish such a dilemma on anyone, I stand ready to do such favors for any of my neighbors who are in a bind in the future. It's what good neighbors do, right?
When pal Sari brought me the Buddha's Hand citron as a Hallowe'en trick, despite its creepy appearance I kept it in a basket on the dinner table and enjoyed it for weeks for its light and fresh perfume. I wasn't sure how to use it in cooking despite some fairy intense internet research.
Then, last evening as I was preparing a Cornish hen and butter-braised Brussels sprouts for dinner, I thought, "Man, this little bird would taste great with that and a few mushrooms" so I sliced three big mushrooms, chopped some green onion and, feeling a little squeamish, cut off two of the smaller digits from the Buddha's Hand and sliced them very thinly.
While I was wielding a big knife, I halved the hen and browned it in a little olive oil in a wide frying pan, skin side down, then flipped it over and added the mushrooms, green onion and citron slices to the pan, stirring them a few times to brown them and to coat with the pan juices, then put on a lid and allowed it all to sizzle gently for about 20 minutes. I'm always surprised at how long Cornish hens take to cook given their diminutive size.
After removing the hen halves to warmed plates, I reduced the pan juices for a few minutes on higher heat, adding a squeeze of fresh lemon juice to brighten the flavors and a big grinding of fresh black pepper.
The Buddha's Hand added an amazing amount of flavor with just a tiny tang of bitterness that we enjoyed very much. This was definitely not a trick, but rather a very nice treat!
Brawny. Vigorous. Hearty. What are the best words to describe soup made with lamb sausages, cranberry beans and assorted tasty veggies? Whatever the word, this soup is it.
My Beloved and I made it to the Marin farmer's market last Sunday for the first time all summer - we had been taking advantage of having our own small market in our little town. Now, that market has packed it up for the winter so we need to go farther afield. What a pleasure it was, too, as the Marin market is much, much larger and more varied than our local one was, with all kinds of interesting victuals available. It was also a lovely, crisp fall day and early enough in the morning that the pushiest of the goal-oriented Marinites were still abed.
Our first stop was at the Prather Ranch booth where we scored some lamb sausages. I was already dreaming of this soup as I left the booth. After a really good cup of coffee and a shared Belgian waffle at a little table in the sunshine, we collected veggies to go with the sausages and headed home via the park where we walked an excited Cora along the lake, actually less of a walk than a constant battle to deny her to either a swim in the water or an invigorating chase of the waterfowl. After that much unexpected exercise, hearty soup is just the ticket.
At home, I squeezed little lamb "meatballs" out of two of the sausage casings and browned them in my soup pot with a little olive oil, poured off the excess fat, then added chopped celery, onion, carrots, anise and fresh corn cut off the cob to cook in the same pot until they were softened. I added a quart of organic tomato soup that I had in the pantry and two cups of water, s & p, and about two cups of Full Belly Farm cranberry beans and brought the whole gmish to a boil. Once the boil was reached, I lowered the heat to a simmer, clapped on the lid and left it all to get acquainted for a couple of bubbly hours.
I always think soup is best the next day, so we waited to taste it until the following lunch. Brawny. Vigorous. Hearty. Deeply, deeply satisfying, it fueled all kinds of muscular activities around here from laundry and dog walking to sales calls and painting touch ups.
When greeting dear friends, they often ask how I am and I often reply, "Better now." Friends make everything better.
Even disappointing shrimp and grits.
My friend Wenirs and I chatted by phone over the weekend and laughed together over all the grits recipes I've been posting. You may get the impression that Wenirs is not a Southern cooking fan when I tell you that she opened the conversation by demanding, "When are you gonna get off of the grits?!" I laughed out loud. That's okay, she just hasn't tasted the cheesy grits yet; I know she'll be a convert.
As we chuckled and chatted, I was devising in my mind a 'fix' for the too-rich shrimp and grits leftovers. I couldn't bear to throw them away since they contained fully a half pound of shrimp, but I also couldn't face eating them in their super-rich state. I added another can of chopped tomatoes, a big squeeze of lemon juice plus some additional shrimp stock and served them over nice, chewy brown rice. They weren't perfect and I probably won't make anything quite like this again but they were, as I like to say, better now.
Back when God was a child and I was dating my first husband, I offered to make dinner for him - his choice of menu. He chose spaghetti and I assented readily. I had never actually made spaghetti (or much of anything else, for that matter), you understand, but I wanted to impress him so I called my pal Meredith, who made the best spaghetti on earth, and asked her for the recipe. He was duly impressed; I'm not sure I ever confessed to my treachery in 25 years of marriage.
