Scruffed not Charred

I am a fan of Adam Perry Lang's Charred and Scruffed, especially as it pertains to the secrets of cooking over open flame. His recipes never fail to disappoint, and even those that seem counterintuitive (clinching, for example, which means cooking directly on the coals; or microplaning charcoal into sea salt) beckon with force.

But I do have a few issues with Adam. One is that his technique threatens to overpower good beef with two flavors too many. Let's face it. Presalting a ribeye with a mix of garlic powder, garlic salt, sea salt, black pepper and cayenne, and then hitting it with a baste of butter, oil, twenty different herbs, lemon juice or vinegar might be a bit much, especially when you hit the cutting board with a dressing and then top it with a finishing salt. It's a lot of work, and the result may or may not be any better than a fine steak grilled and treated in the french style--that is to say, seasoned and then served with a pat of butter.

I also have a few observations about cooking that are worth listing here. All of this presumes that you are cooking a 2 1/2 inch thick ribeye, cowboy cut.

1. Go ahead and score the meat. Scoring the meat increases surface area for the seasoning and for the crust when it forms.

2. Heat the meat. I put it on as the fire is warming and let it warm up with the grill. This starts the cooking process and, more importantly, smokes the meat a little.

3. If you are a salt nut, then season the steak both before and after the heating process. I personally think it is unwise to do so. Season generously in advance, build up your meat paste, and then warm it and then let it sit.

4. Make sure that the coals are white. The grill hits 700 well before its time, so to speak.

5. 6 minutes of direct grilling at high heat (1 minute a side) seems to do well for creating a crust. Then close the grill and close the dampers, keep the temp around 350-415 degrees. Flip once.

6. 17 minutes total cooking time produces medium rare. SO, 5 1/2 minutes per side.

Instead of the Perry basting sauce. I made some sage and salt butter and used that during the grilling process. It sizzled wonderfully and I avoided the flareups that produce the acrid flavors in the crust. Also--much easier.

Timing and heat are vital, but if points 4 and 5 are considered together, you have a pretty good idea of how to time these steaks. I didn't put a whole lot of charcoal in the pit, and so when they burned white, it didn't throw up as much fire and heat as it otherwise would have. Nonetheless, the heat is somewhat irrelevant because once you close up the vents the heat will sit down at 400 pretty easily.

The steak could be rarer without being raw. Maybe cut it to 4 minutes per side.

Riffing on the Carbonara

One of my great guilty pleasures is preparing, cooking, and eating Spaghetti alla Carbonara. It is a fundamentally easy dish with minimal preparation, but is nonetheless fresh and creamy and delicious every time. My daughter loves it, and so it could easily slide into a staple position at dinnertime. It also works quite well as a Primi, I would think especially if it precedes fish or lamb or something less substantive.

But to make it a staple is a problem. First of all, no matter how one riffs on the carbonara, it is what it is: a pound of pasta soaked in five different kinds of fat. Consider the base sauce that I use: cubed pancetta crisped in olive oil into which I add sliced garlic before throwing in half a cup of wine. The noodles are coated in a mixture that begins with Parmigiano-Reggiano and Pecorino Romano cheese, to which I add anywhere from 2-4 eggs depending on whether I am excluding whites (general rule: 1 full egg, and then either 1 more, or 2-3 yolks more). So, to review, noodles coated in uncooked eggs and unpasteurized cheese into which I pour pig fat and olive oil. The healthiest part of this meal, aside from the handful of chopped parsley I toss in at the end, is either the fried garlic or the cheap Italian white wine that informs the sauce base.

So, not so good. At least, not so good for the heart and arteries and blood pressure. The whole meal strikes me as some kind of sodium and cholesterol conspiracy designed by pharmaceutical companies who really really really want to sell us those fancy drugs to make our numbers turn out right. But they won't get me. I cut the cholesterol by cooking with a glass of Dubonnet or Noilly Prat on ice, having a Burgundy-style pinot noir with the wine, and finishing with either a second glass of wine or a really nice bourbon. I figure that'll clean out the arteries and lower the blood pressure without resorting to a handful of pills. And if not, the booze'll get me before the cholesterol does.

Quinoa Tabouli

Quinoifik

This one is hardly original, but it meets a couple of demands made by my diet. Because I assiduously avoid meat products before six, I have a hard time meeting my protein needs. Or, at least, I am pretty sure that I have a hard time meeting my protein needs. One cannot be sure given the shifting sands of dietary wisdom precisely how much protein one needs in a given day, but a day of vegetables and fruit eating certainly makes protein difficult to locate. Obviously I could turn to soy, but I don't really like tofu that much and have heard some nasty things about too much soy in the diet.

Grains are a good, but not great, source of protein. My farro salads and steel-cut oats in the morning provide some--typically close to 5 g. of protein for each serving I have. Quinoa, however, is a better source, providing 8 g for the same serving.

My Quinoa Tabouli is simple. I chop up a garlic clove, or green garlic (came in my basket from Vegetable Husband this week), a couple handfuls of parsley, and a finger full of chives. The latter herbs all are produced in abundance in my garden.

The Quinoa cooks on a 2-1 ratio. Boil the water, 1 tbsp. of butter and salt, add quinoa, reduce to simmer, cover, and cook for 12 minutes. Pop the lid--you'll know if it's ready. Please don't overcook it. Even five more minutes will turn it into an usable mush.

Drain Quinoa, but leave in the pan. Then add 1 tbsp of olive oil. Allow the Quinoa then to sit and relax for the next four or five minutes. I then add the herbs and begin mixing. I squeeze a quarter lemon on the tabouli, add some salt and pepper, and continue stirring. Let it relax another few minutes, then try it. Adjust seasoning.

One cup of Quinoa is giving me four salads, parsed out in individual containers. They are a nice supplement to my farro salads for a daily lunch. My only complaint is the garlic, as I don't seem to do well with raw onions or garlic anymore. Alas! old age is upon me.

Real Men Massage Kale

Kale is upon us. In the roughneck neighborhood I call home, grown men talk about it in familiar tones. Pickup trucks sport bumperstickers ordering one to "eat more Kale." It shows up at barbecues and crawfish boils and pig roasts. Kale is here.

Kale Amidst the Chaos

Because I have trouble finding good preparation for Kale, I was ecstatic when a salad recipe suggested by a friend worked out so well. Start by massaging the kale with olive oil--just enough to wilt the lettuce and ply its texture, but not enough to make it too oily. Add sesame seeds and mango in proportions agreeable to common decency. Prepare separately a dressing of olive oil, lemon juice, honey, salt and pepper.

The salad will keep for days in the fridge, and makes for great lunches if dressed the day of. So go ahead. Massage the kale.

Can we be vegan before six?

Mark Bittman cut a deal with his doctor some six years ago, who advised him to give up meat. He'd turn vegan, he said, but every night at six (when the moon was just right) he'd transform into a carnivorous beast, sating his appetite with whatever flesh he chose to pounce upon that night.

Apparently, the diet worked, and he has a new book coming out about it, which I might well want to get at some point. But the point of this rambling post is to note that I made the same bargain a couple of years ago. While not vegan, I have been solidly vegetarian until 6 pm every day without fail. Of course, I exclude from this the occasional breakfast meat or egg (once every few weekends) and the once every two months or so pilgrimage to farmburger for lunch. (Speaking of which, I am overdue...) But day in and day out, my lunches consist of a mass of fruits and vegetables.

Such a diet is not always comfortable. Raw vegetables don't sit well with me, and as such I tend to avoid them--especially raw onions, broccoli, and cauliflower. When the tomatoes are ripe in the summer, I make endless tomato pita pockets, dressed with Spectrum's omega-3 mayonnaise and clover/alfalfa/broccoli sprouts. In fact, I eat so many tomatoes in the summer that I'm fairly certain some rare blood disease solely attributable to massive tomato consumption is my future. For this, I blame 4th & Swift, the restaurant that introduced me to Cherokee Purple tomatoes (and still probably the best tomato salad preparation I have ever had). But come October, the last of the tomatoes are off the vine and come November the last of them are ripening. Even green tomatoes at this point end up somewhat mealy in texture and grumpy in flavor. Finding another lunch staple has been, to say the least, difficult.

lunchy salads

But no longer. A trip to Empire State South changed this when I discovered the grain salad. I have always avoided grains on the idea that they were sugar and thus to be avoided. But now that I have turned away from most super-refined sugars, grains have proved a great way to fill the void. Lunch is now a farro and arugula salad, usually with sliced green olives and Parmesan cheese, dressed with a red wine vinaigrette. I add an apple and a banana, or sometimes blueberries, or any measure of the three in order to make it a proper lunch.

Farro, Steel Cut Oats, and Quinoa

Making oatmeal. Only this one had quinoa in it. Not to be repeated

Breakfast, which I once skipped on a regular basis, is now almost always steel cut oats loaded with fresh blueberries or strawberries (if I can find any), walnuts, raisins, and/or dried apricots. The grain cereal eaten at 6:45 holds me until 11 or 12, depending on when I eat lunch. And on the weekends, I use the oatmeal to make pancakes for Maia. That makes the pancakes *almost* justifiable.

My typical oat preparation is simple and rewarding. First, I start the kettle. Then I toast one cup of dry oats in a tablespoon of butter. Once they are fragrant, but before they burn, I add three and a half cups of hot water and bring to a boil. This usually takes not time at all. Then I cover the oats and remove them from heat and let them sit overnight. By morning, they are ready to go. This preparation has never failed me.

Not all of my experiences have been good. A tantalizing article in Bon Apetit asked the question "did you think Quinoa was just for savory salads?" Why yes, I thought, I did. But the article recommended an ambitious hot cereal recipe calling for half oats and half quinoa, as well as raisins and cinnamon and cardamom in the pot. As above, the recipe recommended letting the porridge sit overnight after bringing to a boil. For serving, it recommended any number of nuts and fruits and--and this should have given me pause--a drizzle of maple syrup.

By the end, the article had answered its own question: "Yes, Quinoa is just for savory salads." Never again.

Simply Manhattan

The Manhattan may well be the perfect cocktail. While not as pure as the Old Fashioned nor as lively as the julep or mojito, it is both solid and stylish, sophisticated yet simple. It showcases a fine whiskey, and the ready availability of fine vermouth and different styles of bitters allow for infinite play.

Look Mom, One Cube!

It does have its limits. While fine whiskey makes a fine Manhattan, the higher you go up on the shelf the more your returns diminish. One loses subtlety any time whiskey is mixed. Save the Pappy's for the bare glass.

Mixing a Manhattan most often takes place in a shaker, but I make the case now for a stirred variety. The colder the cocktail not always the better. What's more, the ice chips that invariably fill the glass melt some flavor away. Stirring and serving over a single ice cube may not blend perfectly, but it gives the cocktail a kind of musky feel. At present, I put bitters into an old fashioned glass, pour whiskey over that, then vermouth (on a 2-1 ratio), stir, add my ice cube, stir again, add a garnish, and serve.

I will offer up some recipes with notes, and will continuously update this post to keep a running tab on the Manhattans I try.

Recipe 1: The Cheapside

Weller's Reserve Wheated Bourbon
Noilly Prat Rouge
Fee Brothers old fashioned aromatic bitters

I prefer Fee Brothers to Angostura because of its enhanced clove nose. I have tried this version with other bitters as well--notably Bolivar and Chocolate Mole bitters. Noilly Prat does not require a whole lot. It is a delicious apertif all its own, so I dumbed down the bourbon in this case to showcase the spice profile.

Garden Recap 2012

In all, it was a successful gardening year, although it left me realizing just how much potential went unfulfilled. Given that my approach is still experimental and amateurish, this is not a source of significant anxiety, but it did leave me wanting more.

SUCCESSES:

The Tomato Row. Instead of clustering plants, I put them in one of the front rows, and this allowed for a continual source of varietals. We feasted on Cherokee Purples, Sunny Boys, and Jaune Flamees all summer. The determinate Orange Blossom variety gave us early tomatoes, and the Mortgage Lifters took the longest to mature. I will plant a couple more plants this next year, but the basic shape has now taken hold.

Peppers. I planted bell peppers that did beautifully, although I needed more plants. I really need a row of about six to make it work properly. Hot peppers seem to grow more fruitfully, although this year my jalepeno plant did not take.

Herbs. I got excellent use of my peppermint, spearmint (second year), oregano (second year), thyme, sage, cilantro, parsley, and lemonbalm. Chives were particularly helpful. More herb bushes in general need to be planted. As does garlic.

FAILURES:

My silver edge thyme was pretty, but useless as an herb.

My sweet olive tomatoes did not produce. I should probably replenish the soil in the spot and plant two grapes there, or perhaps a roma plant along with a grape plant.

Romas, actually, are a necessity I need to follow up on. We are on the verge of needing to make our own tomato sauce for use in all kinds of dishes. I should probably plant two roma plants this year, one in each of the "planters" to go along with the grape and cherry varieties. OR, I should consider committing several spots to determinate romas and then pulling the plants after they bloom and replanting a second summer crop.

No beans. I have all the capability to plant pole beans. I should do it. We eat green beans all the time. Twice a week on average.

Variety. On this last point, it would be nice to have a little more variety from the garden. More beans, more lettuce. In fact, I have never successfully planted lettuce. Time to start afresh this spring.

Farro Salad

Farro is the latest grain of the month, an ancient grain once enjoyed by the Romans, prized for its healthy attributes, nutty flavor, and a texture which can vary from chewy to creamy depending on how one cooks it. I discovered farro in a salad at Empire State South in Atlanta. They carry it by the tub at the DeKalb Farmers' Market, so I picked one up on our weekly shopping pilgrimage.

Cooking farro is easy. I tried three different preparations. In the first preparation, I rinsed one cup of farro and brought it and three cups of heavily salted water to a boil. I let it run about thirty minutes, and then drained the water. I allowed the farro to cool on its own. In the second preparation, I rinsed one cup of farro and brought it and three cups of unsalted water to a boil. I pulled this farro after about twenty five minutes, and then rinsed it in cold water. In the third preparation, I let the farro cook for just under twenty minutes, then added about two teaspoons of salt and cooked for another ten, and then rinsed the grain in cold water.

The Romans knew what they were doing...

The first preparation was too salty, the second not salty enough, although the two mixed together worked just fine. The third preparation was spot on. Rinsing the grains prevented them from becoming creamy, so one can control texture.

The salad recipe I made from it was also simple, and tasty. Into the three cups dry farro (I did not measure how much this yielded cooked), I chopped up three green peppers, one jar of kalamata olives, about six ounces of crumbled parmesean, and one bunch of chives. With the exception of the olives, it all came from the garden.

The dressing was:

1/2 cup sherry vinegar
1/2 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper



I dressed the salad about two hours prior to serving. Easy, quick, and (in my opinion), quite tasty.

The Bourbon Flip

It is time to begin the search for a signature holiday drink. The holidays invite tampering with classics, with bold moves and uncertain results. While the colder days of winter call for stiff and unassuming cocktails of no more than three ingredients, and the dog days of summer call for white liquors, fresh herbs and citrus, the holidays invoke a different feel. The weather is transitioning. Warm days give way to colder, although even in the more wintery north, warm days peek out for days at a time, tempting us to return the mitts and hats to the dresser and to shed that extra layer of clothing. The air is crisper. The leaves have turned, and begun their gradual migration to the streets. Ovens heat up. Turkeys and hams and roasts occupy our plates alongside yams and turnips and dressing. The frantic rush of the year closes in. Yet, somehow, this is when we breathe the best.

So it needs a cocktail. Actually, not necessarily a cocktail, which, as cocktail 101 informs us, historically requires the addition of bitters to make it such. I prefer the idea of a flip for the holiday. It can stand alone, or follow a decent meal. It feels wholesome and round. It even sounds festive.

So I am searching for a good bourbon flip recipe. I've had two excellent flips, one in Chicago at the Violet Hour, and another at Empire State South in Atlanta.

The Violet Hour served up a libation it called the "Cold & Delicious"

Pierre Ferrand 1840 Cognac, Dow's Ruby Port, Spice Trader Syrup, Nux Alpina Black Walnut Liqueur, Whole Egg, Apple Bitters. 

 It was both cold and delicious. But it felt wrong to me. I had just had the bartender make me an old fashioned, which he did with 12 year old rye and tobacco bitters. After such a simple and aromatic libation, the flip tasted overdone. The spices all came together, but it tasted no different from simpler flips I had had in the past (at least in my mind, this was the case).

The flip at Empire State South was decidedly simpler, and as such carried the unassuming name "bourbon flip." I had it at the end of a meal in lieu of a dessert. It was beautifully crafted, and immediately impressed upon me the fact that we had to anoint the bourbon flip as the libation of choice for the 2012 holiday season.

So I must find a recipe. The most basic seems the following, which appears as a standard recipe almost everywhere and in every book:

2 oz. bourbon
1 egg
1 tsp superfine sugar
1/2 oz cream
1/8 teaspoon grated nutmeg.

Another set of proportions over at Ladies United offers the following, which appears heavier:

3 oz. bourbon
2 oz. heavy cream
1 large egg
1 oz. spiced simple syrup

As for technique, the shaking method seems to be the popular one. To return to the classic How to Mix Drinks, the directions are as follows:

The essential in "flips" of all sorts is, to produce the smoothness by repeated pouring back and forth between two vessels, and beating up the eggs well in the first instance; the sweetening and spices according to taste.

It also calls for heating the beer (the recipe is for a rum and beer flip) to near boiling before mixing it with the rum and egg mixture. I think shaking will do, although I am untutored on the subject.

The Czech Republic, Goulash and Dumplings..

It's been a while, but I've been busy - finding temporary dwellings in Berlin while settling in and playing shows at night with friends on various stages in the city - but I've been eating and documenting still. :)

During early September, my boyfriend and I went to visit his family in a small town called Česká Lípa (about an hour or less north by train from Prague). We did visit Prague (divine), where we mainly walked around the city. We managed to find many good places to eat, including an amazing cocktail bar focusing on fresh ingredients. If you travel Europe and haven't been to Prague, you are a fool and must go right now. The details in architecture are beyond charming and unique. The views of the city from different points must not be missed, nor a trip across the bridge to the palace and nearby park. The pics below are just several examples of all the glorious buildings you walk across - all lined up, one after another..

We also stopped in to eat at a pub for some local fare - goulash and dumplings with a pilsner (this particular goulash was mainly juice from pork meat and powdered peppers), a common and hearty dish eaten in the Czech Republic. 

                                                      Goulash lunch special, local pub in Prague

Goulash comes from Hungary, but it is popular in Eastern and Northern Europe - and in Germany, I am finding. Typically onions and garlic are added, and additional spices such as cumin or marjoram. It can be more of a stew (as it was at this pub) or a soup. This lunch (only 3 Euros) was served with potato dumplings, filled with chunks of bread and little pig bits to make it extra tasty. I prefer potato dumplings over the bread-like ones - they are heartier and seem to have more flavor. And of course, one must order a Pilsner as after all, this is the country it calls home. Plus it helps wash down the slightly bitter after-taste of the paprika pepper sauce. This goulash was delicious, even without the tomato (which is often added in other recipes). 

After a few days in the city, we went up north to Česká Lípa. There I visited both parents and my boyfriend's Grandmother. I will be calling her Grandma Czech from now on, as she is the one who prepared most food while I was there and very true to the culture of her life in Česká Lípa and its surroundings. :) 

Both households (Grandma and Mom + Dad) had backyard gardens big and abundant enough to feed the entire neighborhood. Apple, apricot, plum, and pear trees filled the yard along with scores of tomatoes, strawberries, raspberries, aubergines, snow peas, yellow and black currents, lettuce, brussel sprouts, concord grapes…. I could go on but it's exhausting.

Grandma Czech didn't just have her garden - she also keeps chickens, turkeys and rabbits. I was told she once had a pig and a goat in addition - all in her backyard. She cares for all these animals but also uses them for food when the moment arises. You'd never guess she takes care of business when the time comes - but she does. I admit she has a lot more guts than I do where that is concerned.

But let's talk about Dumplings. :)

I woke up to Jan warning me if I didn't go downstairs I would miss Grandma making her special dumplings for breakfast. I quickly threw on some clothes and ran down to find her already rolling them. She handed me a square piece of dough (made from boiled potato mixed with a bit of salt and course flour) and plopped a small plum (picked right from her tree outside) into the middle of it and instructed me to roll until it covered the plumb completely. 

                                                            

                                                          Roll, Roll, Roll the Dumplings... 

                                                   That's course flour on the board, there...

                               

After rolling a number of these, she plopped them into a pot of boiling water and let them sit in there for about 6-7 minutes, warning me not to let them stick to the bottom of the pot. She then removed them and first poured a combo of sugar and poppy seeds over the top, then drizzling melted butter to finish them off..

After this they are ready to serve. I sat down and stuck my fork in - surprised at how easily it went in through the plum. It was hot and steamy but after a few seconds, I took a bite and I could not believe how delicious this was - and how simple. The tartness from the plum skin was divine, as was the flavor of the heated plum - not as sweet as it would have been but just perfect in my mind in this dumpling. I think I ate about 6 of them. The plums were fresh and in season, which of course makes a big difference. Even more romantic was the thought that they came right off of the tree in the backyard. I had to stop myself from gorging on more. Fortunately we were out the door soon for a long walk. 

After I ate all 6 dumplings, Jan and I took a hike around the village and visited a mountain nearby. The landscape is green and lush and full of fields for farming. Grandma was out in the field the day before picking up potatoes harvested that season - she had clearly gotten some sun and I was impressed by how vital and physically energetic she is in her 70s. She told us when we returned that afternoon we would have rabbit from the yard. That was an experience and will be the topic of the next post. Here's a pic of her trying to hold back her enthusiastic dog, whom was very keen to jump all over us upon arrival. Adorable.