Notes from an uninspired cook

For some reason I've been an uninspired cook lately. Of course, I could go on with excuses, but come on, it's all the same isn't it? Busy with work, crazy schedules, feeling blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Perhaps it's a form of immersion journalism, though. I am finally getting serious about something I've been thinking about for years -- saving the dinner hour in our culture. Perhaps resuscitating it is the preferred term.

Don't worry, I'm not going all holier-than-thou. I'm not even thinking big -- well, too big, that is. I'm thinking about my community. I've finally found a platform, and that has provided a new kind of inspiration. So, I am doing research and creating a documents meant to help families come together around their own dinner tables.

This is a huge undertaking, but with the way food, obesity and politics are colliding, the time is right. People are willing to listen. The trouble, though, is that the way we eat, the literal way food finds its way to our mouths, is so deeply wedded to our own familial cultures that is becomes a very difficult and personal habit to change. Meals become rituals that are passed down from one generation to the next. Some of them start in the drive-through at McDonald's, and others with the slick plastic-covered brick of Ramen Noodles. Fewer and fewer start with raw foods. The end result is generations of people who know only how to cook from boxes and kids who have trouble identifying simple fruits and vegetables in their original form.

My goal is to help families plan healthy meals, shop for groceries and cook healthy meals for their families. Sound simple? We'll see.

Pie lies

I thought I was done writing about pie.

Last weekend I was chatting with my mom on our usual Sunday evening phone call. She told me she'd been reading my blog. "Your pie looked good!" she said.

Then, she said something that made me laugh. At first.

"Susan says Grandma used Jell-O in her pie."

My mom must have been talking with her sister about the pie, when Susan mentioned that she was sure their grandmother, Grandma Peach, didn't make her custard from scratch, taking some help from Jell-O, the gelatin mix that has been helping home cooks since the late 1800s.

This really should come as no surprise. The 1950s were a roaring time for the powdered gelatin. And although I do not know it for fact, I also imagine that decade as the time when Grandma Peach began making pies. In the early 1940s, she and her husband operated a gas station in tiny Seminole, Oklahoma. As World War II rations set in and business dried out, Peach and Ira Wilson drove to Portland, Oregon, on their own gas rations. There, they took jobs in the Kaiser Shipyards, working not far from where we live today. Peach welded in the keel of huge ships. Ira, whose arthritis afforded him civilian status, managed welding rods and supplies. The tiny trailer they lived in near Gresham surely lacked counter space much as Peach likely lacked the energy.

So, it makes sense -- in my mind at least -- that the post-war era was a time for Peach to use Jell-O. Smart ad execs pushed a Jell-O campaign that touted the product as the "Busy Day Dessert" on television shows such hosted by the likes of Roy Rogers, Red Buttons and Bob Hope.

And days were busy for Peach, who was then in her 30s. She and Ira returned to their small Oklahoma home after a year and a half of hard work and a hard life in Oregon where my grandmother remembered being treated as a second-class citizen -- not only the daughter of poor shipyard parents but an Okie, too.

Back in Oklahoma, Peach and Ira spent their days at the gas station where my mother remembers playing as a young girl. The tiny brick building's floors were covered in sawdust and then swept up to absorb the greasy pools, my mom recalls. The work was dirty, the days were surely long. But long days of tough labor were as much a part of Peach's routine as afternoons in the kitchen were to other women of her generation.

Grandma Peach was a good cook -- a result of years of practice feeding a family and not a passion for the science or art of cooking. She likely knew that using Jell-O in her pie produced consistent, good results. A recipe with such promises was certainly one to repeat.

I do not know if she ever even made the lemon meringue pie with a true egg custard. Either way, she probably didn't know why the custard was difficult, only that the Jell-O made it easy. The custard must be slowly heated to kill an enzyme in the yolks that can cause a soupy mess instead of a soft, firm lemony mass that cuts with a knife. The gelatin in the Jell-O recipe skips the eggs entirely, providing structure to the corn starch and sugar ooze.

Writing this now makes me realize all the more that the Jell-O isn't a bad idea. It's practical. It's good, and it frees up your afternoon to drink a beer in the back yard or blog about last night's dinner or, in the case of women such as Peach, a little time to hang laundry on the line.

So talking about it now doesn't make my heart sink as it did when my mom uttered the "J" word. And to be honest, I'm glad I didn't know before. It gave me the drive to make the pie from scratch. I thought I needed some great from-scratch cook in my past to justify my own infatuation with food. I was searching for a connection to Peach, and for a split second I thought that connection was crushed.

I will make the pie again. I think I'll chance the soupy mess with the egg yolks even though I've been given a free Jell-O pass.

Perhaps what I inherited from my great grandmother was the tenacity of her work ethic.

A Pie to be Proud of

So this is the pie, take two.

It turned out well. That is to say, better than the first attempt. The custard was firm, and each individual slice held its shape. If Grandma Peach's Lemon Meringue Pie means nothing to you, reader, skip down and read the past two posts first.

For those of you who know of Peach's Pie (I am hopeful that readers exist), you know why this was special. And how fitting that it came as the cap to a truly special evening.

Last night we hosted a Sunday Supper in honor of our home's 100th birthday. We thought there was no better way to toast our house than by filling it with friends -- our Northwest family -- and eating a fabulous meal. The night was nothing less.

Four couples, four kiddos, a couple of bottles of wine and, the food.

We had a 5 pound hen I bought from Millennium Farms. I spatchcocked the bird, let him soak all day in a brine of water, brown sugar, whiskey, molasses, crushed red pepper and black pepper corns, and, of course, lots of salt. Then, we charcoaled the guy on our new, old-school Webber.

Alongside the bird was a wild salmon fillet grilled in a foil packet with a little salt, lemon zest, oil and fresh herbs. I also made skins-on mashed potatoes with loads of butter, salt and cream. Then some oven-dried tomatoes served with fresh, blanched green beans, olive oil and sesoning. And a few ears of grilled corn and bread.

Then one added touch that, in my mind at least, elevated the meal to a true Sunday Supper -- gravy.

From the spatchcocked bird, I reserved the neck and backbone. I boiled this down in some heavily salted water, and after reducing for several hours, I discarded the bones, and used the liquid for the gravy base. (For the kitchen techies, this was a day of wonderment in the world of corn starch with the custard, meringue and gravy!)

The result of a day's worth of work in the kitchen was phenomenal. Not just the food, but the conversation, the kids, the love. The evening wasn't about verbose toasts or even reflection. It just was. A meal time, a dinner hour, a family thing. The casualness and routine of the night explains the lack of photos. It was just like I remember dinners at Mom and Pop's, Saturday night fish fries at the lake and the informal meals that turn into block parties at the Princes'.

The kids were the first to scatter from the table. Then slowly, the gals cleared plates, and the boys moved to the living room for a little all-male chatter. We washed dishes and talked, until the kitchen was clean. Then, Dina grabbed dessert plates and forks, and we sliced the pie.

The conversation had drifted outside to the front porch, where little ones were preoccupied with the swing and Wiley The Dog. We sat outside on the late-summer evening, catching up, sharing stories, laughing, and, most importantly, enjoying the company.

Sunday Supper was the perfect celebration for our house, our home. And eating pie on the porch may someday become a memory, or perhaps a tradition, for my family.

Peach, I think, would be proud.

The Problems with Pie

So, I've been purposefully avoiding this post.

The last one was written as my pie was chilling. I was feeling good about it, then.

Well, it turns out, it was merely OK. The meringue was great. I could have beaten the egg whites just a bit stiffer, and I probably loaded too much atop the pie, but overall, it held up, tasted great and had wonderful texture. The custard on the other hand was not so good.

I'm probably selling it a little short. The flavor was wonderful; it was merely a problem with the consistency of the custard. It didn't hold. It was too runny. There was no way to get a perfect wedge of pie. And although it is no surprise, it certainly didn't look like the beautiful pillowy pie in the picture of the cookbook.

So, since it wasn't a flavor issue, I'm thinking that with some tweaking of technique that I can get it down. And by tweaking, I mostly mean practice on my part. I'm going to believe that the recipe is good, and my practice is rusty.

That said, we still enjoyed the pie. Seth was probably irritated how I was critiquing every bite. But, alas, he knows me well, and likely anticipated this, or was nonetheless surprised by my analysis of the creamy yellow custard.

To vindicate myself, I have to share a happy accident. These happen in kitchens all the time. Christiane once told me some great story about a kitchen accident that turned into a wildly popular item. I can't remember the story, but the theme rings clear. It's like when Christiane made her great cheesecake recipe in mini-muffin molds. They tasted great, but for some reason, the centers of the cakes depressed after cooling. The look was less than attractive, so we fixed them by piping a whipped strawberry cream cheese frosting on top. They turned out beautifully and tasted great.

We ended up making the recipe again, the next time, counting on the depression to hold the yummy frosting. A fabulous mistake turned great!

Well, on a recent weeknight I arrived at home tired from work. Knowing we'd probably eat out the next night, I decided to cook dinner. I stepped in the back yard with Wiley and found inspiration in the garden. With a yellow squash and tomatoes, I set out to make a pasta sauce.

I anticipated a thin cream sauce with tomatoes and squash over pasta. I sauted onions and garlic, then added squash and tomatoes. As I was moving along, I decided to add some cream and puree the mixture once it was cooked down. The puree was much thicker than I anticipated, so I attempted to thin it a bit with my pasta water. As I left it bubbling on the stovetop while my pasta finished cooking, I took a taste.

At first I was wildly disappointed. It was a texture thing, just not at all what I expected, and it was a little bland. I added some seasoning and some fresh grated parm. Once the pasta was cooked, I added it into the sauce pan and stirred. The sauce, thick from the pureed squash, clung to the pasta quite well.

The result looked very much like a mac' 'n' cheese. The orange-tinted sauce (achieved by the yellow squash and red tomatoes) coated the corkscrew pasta (Roa's brand I buy at Safeway. Noting the brand and type of pasta is important because it really impacts the way pasta interacts with sauce.). I topped with a little more grated parm and some toasted pine nuts.

I decided to call the dish "Faux Cheese." It did, of course, have some cheese in it, but it turned out to be a way healthier version of homey mac' 'n' cheese. And I'm not even talking about fat content. I just mean healthier in the sense of a more well-rounded meal. It had some dairy, but it also had some great veggies. I even topped it with spinach leaf stems, chopped to resemble green onions. (When I buy spinach -- not the baby bagged kind, the real deal -- I rinse the stems, pat them dry and freeze them. You can easily pull them out of the freezer individually, slice them just like a green onion and add them to dishes for a little color and nutrition!)

So, looking back, it's probably good that I waited this long to blog about the pie. I have perspective. Instead of being totally disappointed about how it turned out, I am able to remember that seldom is there perfection in the kitchen. However, sometimes the accidents turn into unexpected surprises. That wasn't the case with the pie, nor a recent batch of oatmeal cookies in which the butter melted too quickly in the oven, causing flat, thin cookies, but, hey, the pasta was worth remembering.

To love to cook, to love the vibe in the kitchen -- the way the oven warms a cold winter morning or the open window whips the stove's flame on a breezy summer evening -- is why my kitchen is a haven in my home. And why, to cook is nourishment for my soul, not just my stomach.

Lemon Meringue Pie

This entry could be one of many that falls under Peach. As in my Grandma Peach.

She was actually my great grandmother. My mother's mother's mother. I am a lucky woman in that I have the pleasure of knowing all four of my great grandmothers. I have lovely, and, yes, quirky, memories of them all. It should come as no surprise that I have the most of Grandma Peach.

For starters, Peach was the youngest of my great grandmothers, and she outlived the others, passing away two years ago at the age of 90. She also lived on the black angus ranch she and my Great-Grandfather Ira Wilson started in Seminole, Okla. It was family tradition that at least once each summer all of my mother's side of the family would gather at Peach's house. As kids, this was a real treat.

A hot, sunny afternoon at Grandma Peach's was a childhood dream. After a few hours climbling and crawling over and atop of stacks of dry, scratchy hay bales, the kids would climb into the back of Uncle Butch's rusty Chevy truck bed. We'd hurry for seats on the wheel wells and make sure not to step on the pile of rusted, cracking fishing poles. He'd ramble along, giving us a ride, point out cows, telling stories about them once we got close enough to identify their tag number. Eventually we'd wind our way to the top of a berm giving way to a red-tinted muddy pond where we'd smash stink bait around rusty hooks and drop them in the water. It wouldn't take long before the top white round of a bobber would drop below the surface. Even with the slow, old reels, the odds were great that even the littlest of kids would pull out a decent-sized catfish. We always threw them back, knowing that next summer they'd be even bigger.

After hours of play, we'd always wind up back in Grandma Peach's kitchen. When I was very young, Peach still cooked. She would often make her chicken and noodles, boiled corn on the cob and iced tea. But the thing in the kitchen that drew the kids were the pies. In the back of her kitchen, a china hutch and buffet lined the wall. The built-in piece was painted pale brown with a mirrored back and inexpensive flecked-laminate counter top.

And, without fail, there were always at least two pies -- a chocolate meringue and a lemon meringue. I was always drawn to the lemon pie, a vivid yellow lemony custard topped with beautiful, pillowy meringue. I remember them always having small beads of moisture on top, something I'm sure only sticks in my head because Grandma Peach would always mention the weeping pies, as if the pies were ruined.

Alas, they were not. I still remember the pies. Not just the smooth lemon custard, but the exact spot on the buffet where they sat. At some point I probably even knew the number of steps from the front door, past the washer, the dryer, the kitchen table and the main hall to the pies. I also remember that her lemon meringue pie was the gold standard in my mind. It was what the pie was supposed to taste like. It was golden; it was summer; it was delicious.

Today I got a hankering to make a lemon meringue pie. I don't have her recipe, but that didn't matter so much. The proportions would have been nice to know, but no words would even convey years of technique and talent.

I settled on a recipe from "Cookwise" by Shirley Corriher. It gave a great base of why each step was necessary, not quite the same as a teacher in the kitchen, but it would do.

It took me nearly two hours. It was complicated. Slowly cooking the custard by first tempering egg yolks and then whisking the entire mixture together. Working with corn starch to achieve the nice balance of smooth yet thick. Beating the egg white mixture into stiff peaks.

Once the pie was in the oven, I started the clean up. I thought back about how this really wasn't a high-pressure pie. It wasn't destined for a dinner party or a picnic, or even anyone at all, really. And yet, for some reason, I wanted it to work. I wanted the peaks to come out beautifully and the pie to slice into firm yet delicate pieces.

All of this, just for a memory. A memory of Grandma Peach's Lemon Meringue Pie. A memory of those great childhood summers spent catfishing, eating salted watermelon slices behind the house and gathering around the table in Grandma Peach's kitchen.

Perhaps I'll adopt this recipe as my own. I asked my mom about the recipe, and she said she might be able to find it, although she never remembers her grandmother referencing a recipe. Either way, it's important that I continue to bake it.

My children will never know their Grandma Peach, and they won't spend summer afternoons on her cattle ranch. But the pie, like a few other dishes of hers I make, can be a concrete connection, not so much to pass along the precision of my memories but to give an opportunity for my family's future generations to create their own.

Sarah's Potato Salad

Most great dishes have a story. I'm not necessarily talking about gourmet or foo-foo food. I'm talking about regular old Sunday dinner food. I grew up in a family that regularly had dinner together, but I've always loved the (seemingly) old school idea of a Sunday Dinner. And I guess, albeit informal, Seth and I have established that routine.

Because of our work schedules for the past six years, Sundays have always been the day we'd cook a big dinner. Often friends will join us after an impromptu invitation. We relish the summertime Sundays where we spend an evening in the backyard with friends.

We did this last night with the Hovdes. It was a blast. We ate (in my opinion) THE summer Sunday dinner -- oven friend chicken, potato salad, green bean salad, potato rolls with honey butter and fresh peach cobbler for dessert.

I had a ball playing with Luke in the garden. Dina was shocked he at peas and blueberries straight from the plant. Much like his dad, I couldn't get him to try the tomato or a fresh little squash. He did sniff herbs though and made funny faces at the smell of mint, sage and rosemary.

One of my favorite summer sides, the potato salad, has become well-known among my friends. It's quickly recognized and always enjoyed. And while friends will say, "Amy's Potato Salad," I often mention it's really Grandma Sarah's Potato Salad.

I don't have a Grandma Sarah.

Sarah was the grandmother of an ex-boyfriend. (The one whose house was blown away by a tornado, so he moved in with me, causing me to realize we weren't meant to be. I don't make shit like this up!)

Sarah was a thin woman with big hair and a chain-smoking-habit that put more wrinkles on her face than time would ever have allowed.

I believe she probably lived most of her life on the lower end of the middle class. And while she likely never cooked with truffle oil or creme fraiche, her food was good.

She made this potato salad for everything. Her daughters did the same.

I don't know if Sarah created this recipe, or whether she plucked it from a Southern Living or the Sunday paper. I do know that in my book she owned it. She taught me to make it. And although it's been years since I last saw her, I still think of it as her recipe. Something of an unspoken respect among home cooks -- those who aren't creating meals to impress or fall in line with the trend. These are cooks who put dinner on the table for their families, shop for groceries on a budget, and prepare the same casseroles their mothers did.

All the while, without intention, these cooks create memories for family, friends and, sometimes, a grandson's ex-girlfriend.

Sarah's Potato Salad
5 pounds of Russet potatoes
1 bunch of celery, chopped
1 medium red onion, diced
2 eggs, hard boiled and peeled
3 cups of mayonnaise (no Miracle Whip, please)
1 4oz jar of diced pimentos (find them in grocery aisle near pickled asparagus and such)
S & P to taste

Peel, rinse and dice potatoes. Boil until tender in a large, liberally salted pot of water. Drain. Lay potatoes out on a cookie sheet to cool. Speed up the process by placing freezer bags filled with ice on top of them.
Chop one bunch of celery, dice the onion and egg. Combine celery, onion, egg, pimentos (juice and all), mayo, salt, pepper and potatoes in a large bowl. Gently mix to combine, making sure not to mash potatoes.
Season to taste. Chill, serve cold.

Note: Obviously, one only needs five pounds if you're feeding the entire church congregation. Scale down as necessary. Also, you can leave out ingredients you don't like, but do keep in mind that potato salad is not only about taste, but texture, too. The onions and celery add a delicious crunch.

Ice Cream Memories

Making homemade ice cream has long been a tradition in my family. I remember the buzz of the ice cream maker on the front porch of my grandpa's lake house. My mom always made a recipe with sweetened condensed milk. The small, red and white Eagle Brand can of the syrupy milk still reminds me of the ice cream.

We seldom let the ice cream set up to get hard, leaving me with the impression that all homemade ice cream was soft, to be eaten only out of a bowl and never a cone. My mom often topped her vanilla ice cream with fresh sliced strawberries or sometimes chunks were blended into the mixture.

Sure, ice cream isn't hard to come by. There's an ice cream shop and a Dairy Queen within walking distance of my house, not to mention the coolers full of the cream at my neighborhood Safeway. While I do enjoy a scoop of Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia, there's something magical about homemade ice cream.

Perhaps it's because the hum of the electric ice cream maker takes me back to my hot childhood summer evenings outside with my family at the lake. There's also a part of me who relishes the day I can pick up fresh berries at the farmer's market and turn them into the perfect summertime treat in a matter of hours. And every time I combine these five ingredients, I am transfixed by the simplicity of a recipe. Just a few humble ingredients, basic kitchen tools and the ice cream maker I bought for less than $20.

Sure, it takes some time to create, but frankly, what great memories don't?

1 1/3 cup milk
1 1/3 cup heavy cream
3/4 cup honey
1 egg
2 pints fresh blueberries

In a blender or food processor, puree half of the berries. Pour through a fine sieve, if desired.
In a heavy-bottomed sauce pan combine cream, milk and honey. Gently warm, stirring to melt all honey. Remove from heat. Cool liquid mixture.
Seperate the egg white and yolk into two bowls. Beat the whites to soft peaks and set aside (about 2-3 minutes by hand). Beat the yolk until light yellow in color (about 45 seconds). Gently fold the yolk into the white. Set aside for a moment.
Fold the berry puree into the milk and cream mixture. Then fold the egg mixture in, being careful not to overmix. Add in the remaining whole berries.
Transfer the ice cream mixture into the ice cream maker and follow maker's instructions. Be sure to allow ice cream to set up for a few hours in the freezer once it is made.

Variation: Substitute any type of fresh berry or other fruits such as peaches (which would need the skins removed).

The Picture

If there are any regular readers of The Dinner Hour, it's possible you were as surprised as I was to see the picture now on the "flag" of my blog. Seth did some redesign.
Well, it is me in the pic. I'm at some roadside gas station/restaurant in Morocco. Where, exactly, I do not know except to say that it is somewhere in the northwestern part of the country. It was one of many fabulous experiences in the country. You ordered your meat by weight and cut from the butcher. He then slides it through a window to an open kitchen bustling with cooks working over hot grills.
We took shelter in some shade seated at pleasant outdoor tables. After a short wait, a young man brought us a fresh ground meatball tagine with bread and small bowls of ground cumin in place of our traditional black pepper. It was our first of several great meals at small roadside restaurants in Morocco. For those of you unsettled by the photo, name the last place you ate where butchers worked so closely with cooks, the freshness of meat was so important and you could watch it all.

Crock Pot Curry Shrimp

While the kitchen remodel is nearly complete (they say in two days we'll actually be in there completely), I would feel a little guilty if I didn't pass on at least one more cooking-without-a-kitchen recipe.

This is inspired by one of Christiane's creations. For those of you who don't know her, she's the chef at Around the Table. Of course, Christiane doesn't use a Crock Pot for this one, but hey, home cooks ghettoize the gourmet all the time!

One note about this recipe. It's not the kind of thing you can prepare in the morning, leave for work and come home to a great dinner. I'm sure with some tweaking you could come up with that, but this particular recipe is intended for the cook who's around to tend the Crock Pot but simply doesn't want to spend all day over the stove.

Ingredients
1 package of cherry tomatoes (the kind in the red mesh bag work great)
1 can coconut milk for every three to four servings you want
Root veggies such as carrots, potatoes and onions, peeled and diced into equal pieces
Shrimp (I buy a bag of the raw frozen and keep it around. They thaw very quickly in a little water.)
Olive Oil
Salt
Curry powder

Slice the tomatoes in half. Toss 'em in the pot with a liberal amount of olive oil and salt. Turn the Crock Pot on high and let cook for about an hour or until the tomatoes are mush and all of their liquid has been released. Add the coconut milk and curry powder. Season to taste. Add the veggies, stir and leave the pot alone for another one to two hours, or until the veggies are cooked through. At this point the liquid should be slowly bubbling. Turn the Crock Pot off and add the shrimp. Stir. The shrimp should cook within a minute or two (the smaller the shrimp, the quicker the cook time).
Serve immediately.

For a variation, skip the potatoes and add some cabbage. Serve over rice.

(Insert title here)

So since my last post was labeled "Neglectful cook," I'm at a loss for what to call this one. What do you think?

Tired cook
I-only-cook-for-money cook
Burgerville-is-better-than-my-food cook
Cook without a kitchen

I'm hoping it's the last one. Check out the McPrince Chronicles to see the progress on the kitchen. We're told it will be only a short two weeks until we can be back in there. Technically it's two and half weeks if you'd like appliances, but hey, I'd be happy with a damn sink!

Our remodel has been trying to say the least. I don't like mess, but I tolerate it a heck of a lot better than Seth. And his not tolerating the mess makes me not want to tolerate him at times. Just kidding. But to say it's been easy would be a flat out lie. And in addition to our very own construction zone, work has been crazy for the both of us.

So, I promise this post really is about food and cooking, or lack thereof.

We have always known how important the kitchen is to our home, especially here at this house. But it wasn't until we were cordoned off from it that we realized how much the kitchen is the absolute foundation of our home lives. We have felt disjointed, unsatisfied and hungry for a cozy spot to spread out the paper and enjoy a morning coffee.

Seth and I miss lazy Sunday mornings capped off with banana nut pancakes or herb and cheddar scrambled eggs. We miss sharing a bottle of pinot around the island as we cook one of our Sunday dinners. I miss real oatmeal, sprinkled with brown sugar and walnuts in the mornings, and Seth, of course, misses his warm chai tea.

And while the food sounds great, it's more than our bellies that ache for nourishment. We need the time around the stove, the moment over breakfast and that lingering conversation at the dinner table.

And as soon as the dust clears, we cannot wait to break bread with friends again in our home.

Until then, here's a little salad that we've been eating a lot around here:

Mixed greens
Walnuts
Apple
Cheese (I like an aged white cheddar)
Olive oil
Balsamic vinegar
Salt and pepper

Thinly slice the apple, crumble the cheese and lightly chop walnuts. Toss the ingredients along with salt and pepper in a large bowl. Drizzle with oil and vinegar and toss to coat. Serve immediately.

Variation: Make the dressing in a separate bowl using 3 parts oil to 1 part vinegar, salt and pepper.

Neglectful cook

So, I am beginning to understand why folks in the restaurant biz are never cooking at home.
They simply don't have time!
In addition to my crazy work schedule, Seth has taken a new post at The O, and is spending about hour commuting one way. We get evenings together, but we know no whistle that blows at 5 o'clock.

In order to get us a decent meal now and then, I busted out the Crock Pot. Seth made this recipe. Yes, he cubed all of the pork the other night. It simmered all day and was quite tasty that evening. We did the prep the day before and dumped it all in the pot the next morning. The recipe is taken from a book and comes to us through fellow Okie friends who now live here in the Northwest as well.

So enjoy the dinner, even when life is hectic!

3 pounds of boneless pork shoulder or butt
1 1/2 cups of prepared tomatillo salsa
2 cans chicken broth
1 medium onion
1 teaspoon ground cumin
3 plum tomatoes, sliced
Cilantro and sour cream for garnish

Trim fat and cut meat into 2-inch chunks. Slice onion. Combine all ingredients in the Crock Pot and cook on high for 6 to 7 hours.

I'm serving leftovers on top of rice tonight!

Feel Better Soup

It seems that soups have been on my mind a lot lately, but hey, it's officially winter now. 'Tis the season for warm soups!
My work days are filled with chats about menus, service, procedures, construction, sodas and creamers. Opening a restaurant is hard work, and I know I'm only being exposed to a fraction of it. We spend lots of time talking about wonderful food and horrible food (usually someone's bad experience at a restaurant recently).
And while I'm surrounded by discussions of wonderful food, it seems I haven't been cooking too much lately. Perhaps that's why I was eager to make a great soup for a friend who was not feeling well.
The soup was a basic chicken noodle. What sets it apart is its homemade egg noodles borrowed from my Great Grandma Peach's recipe.
I'll share the ingredients and the techniques. I won't, however, tell you exact portions of ingredients. Now this isn't because I've turned into a food snob whose dishes are too good to duplicate. Quite the opposite.
I simply don't keep track. The meal came from the heart, guided by close attention to my sense of smell and taste.

I started the soup by roasting bone-in chicken thighs that had been drizzled with olive oil and seasoned with salt and pepper.
While the chicken is roasting, take out celery, two medium onions, a few carrots and sprigs of herbs such as thyme, sage and rosemary.
Rinse/peel veggies. Roughly chop a couple of the celery stalks, carrots and one of the onions. Place the rough chopped veggies in a stock pot. Rinse the herbs, and place in the pot, stem and all, if you're lazy like I am.
Take remaining veggies and slice more thinly for the soup. Store covered in the fridge for now. Fill the stock pot three-quarters of the way with water. Add a generous dose of salt. Then add a little more. Set aside.
Once the chicken is cooked through, remove from the oven and let cool until you can handle it. At that point, get ready for the mess.
Ready yourself by donning kitchen gloves if you have them. Set up your meat cutting board, a garbage bowl for skins and a storage container for the chicken.
Begin removing skins and pulling meat from the bone. As you remove the meat, pull it apart into bite-size chunks. Put the meat into the bowl. Place the cleaned bones in the stock pot.
Once this process is complete, cover the chicken and stick in the fridge. Put the stock pot on the stove top and turn on high. (It should be filled with veggies, herbs, salt, water and bones.)
Bring the water to a boil and then reduce heat to a simmer. Now it just needs time. A couple of hours.
Start on the noodles by taking about two cups or so of flour. Add salt. create a well in the flour. Crack two eggs into the well. With a fork, break the yolks and begin slowly incorporating the flour. Be gentle with the eggs during this process, too much handling will toughen the noodles. Once you get the dough formed, generously flour the board and the top of the dough and roll with a rolling pin. Repeat until the dough is thin (think pie dough only a bit thinner).
Then I take a pizza cutter to cut the noodles from the dough. Once they're cut, toss with a little more flour and spread them out on a flat surface to dry for about an hour. Once they've become slightly dry, move them to the fridge until the last minute.
When the soup stock tastes right, remove from heat. Pour through a sieve or cheesecloth to separate solids. Discard veggies, herbs and bones. Return liquid to pot. Add remaining veggies as well as frozen corn and peas to the pot. Bring to a boil to cook veggies. Pull the chicken and noodles from the fridge to rise to room temp.
Once veggies are cooked through, turn the heat to lowest setting and let set for a couple of minutes. Add the noodles and immediately stir to make sure noodles don't stick. Add the chicken.
Stir soup and keep on low heat for a few more minutes.
When the soup is done, serve immediately or store in covered containers for the fridge or freezer.
Serve with a green salad and warm bread!

Pumpkin Squash Soup

The past 24 hours here in Vancouver, Wash., have been wild. We had driving winds that took down tree limbs, fences and power lines. A tree along Main Street was uprooted and slammed onto the car windshield of a woman driving by. She was not hurt, but her car is surely out of commission for a bit.

Today the winds calmed down, but the wild weather did not. During about a two-hour span this afternoon we had sun, rain, sleet and snow. The snow was big and flaky and blowing around. For about 45 minutes it was beautiful and felt very Christmas-like.

So after a lazy afternoon at Mon Ami working online, I decided it was a soup night. And being a Friday, the fridge was empty. I peeked at the pantry shelf of canned goods. A can of pumpkin puree became my inspiration.

The result was warm, creamy and the perfect balance for a light meal. Of course, I'm quite sure that fresh pumpkin and squash would have a more robust flavor, this meal was quite good for a dish straight from the pantry (and freezer). If I had some fresh greens a wonderful salad with a little olive oil and sea salt would have been the perfect pair.

Pumpkin Squash Soup

1 can pumpkin puree
1 can chicken stock
1 package of frozen, cooked squash
1 cup of milk
1 cup of sour cream
Salt
Olive oil
Spices (see below)

Thaw the frozen squash in the chicken stock on the stove top. Once thawed, add the pumpkin, milk and sour cream. Whisk to combine. In a small bowl combine spices. I used salt, white pepper, ginger, ground coriander and paprika. The combined spices were probably roughly a tablespoon. Use whatever spices you like, or simply go with salt and pepper.

Stir in spices. Let soup simmer over a low heat for five to 10 minutes. Taste. Add salt if needed. Stir in a drizzle of olive oil to finish.

I served the soup garnished with scallions and chopped walnuts. I would have added sour cream to that if I'd had any left.

Chili Night

So Dina wrote me the other day asking about my chili recipe. I'm sure most of you have your own chili recipe. And frankly, there's nothing too special about mine, just a little twist on the way Mom always made it.
About a year ago I managed to get Seth in the kitchen to make chili. In order to make it a bit more interesting for him, I decided to have him add beer. It made him have fun making dinner, and the results tasted pretty good.
Chili is pretty fool proof. Get the tomatoes and meat down, and everything else is gravy. Add corn if you like. Skip the beans if you want. Add less liquid if you like it thick, more if you like it thin.
Here's the recipe. If you have some good chili tips, ingredients or recipes, please leave a comment and share them with others here.
Enjoy.

Seth's Chili

1 pound of ground chuck or sirloin browned, grease drained
1, 16-oz can of crushed tomatoes
2, 6-oz can of tomato paste
1 can of kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 medium-dark beer such as an amber
water
chili spice mix (store-bought or created from chili powder, garlic powder, cumin, red pepper, ground coriendar, salt and black pepper)

Add the canned ingredients to the browned meat in a large soup pot. Add one can of water using the 16-ounce can and the beer. Stir and add spices. Bring chili to a slow simmer for about 20 minutes to cook out the alcohol. The chili could be served then or allowed to slowly simmer for another half hour or so until ready to serve.

Around here we pile on Fritos, sour cream and shredded cheddar on our chili.

Thanks, Dina

A nice column from our friend Dina on the joys of Thanksgiving cooking. Includes a reference to Amy and a certain quote in our kitchen nook.

Thanksgiving exhale

It's been a while since my last posting. My excuse is that I quit my old job, flew home for a few days, started my new job and then hosted the in-laws for a week over the Thanksgiving holiday.

It was a busy few weeks, but all is going well. Very well.

Seth and I hosted our first holiday here in our home, and it felt very good. I managed to pull off the traditional meal, complete with a brined, 15-pound turkey, mashed potatoes, my Grandma Pat's cornbread dressing, giblet gravy (my personal favorite), cranberry-apple bake (thanks, Janet), green beens and carrots steamed with orange zest, rolls and a pumpkin pie.

I even started the day out with Mom's bacon and onion quiche recipe she got as a college student at Oklahoma State from a friend enrolled in a French class. With the quiche I served a fruit salad and warmed pumpkin bread I'd made the night before. It was wonderful. Seth even put on Bing Crosby's White Christmas album as Thanksgiving is the day it is officially OK to begin listening to Bing! What a treat.

The biggest mishap came from the pie. A self-proclaimed awful baker, I was reading (and mixing up) two different recipes. I wound up tossing the batter of one because I thought I'd screwed it up only to find out after speaking with my mom on the phone that I hadn't messed it up at all. Oh well. Randy saved the day by running to Safeway to pick up an extra can of pumpkin and evaporated milk. The pie baked up OK, and a few leaves made from crust covered a minor imperfection.

The day was exhausting and an intense delight. Randy said he thought the whole Thanksgiving meal seemed like too much work. Perhaps. But the hours of preparation, fretting, tasting, estimating times and fixing my mistakes made my day. And when I sat down to a beautiful table filled with food and surrounded by family, I know that moment alone was enough to be thankful for.

This afternoon I'm back to the kitchen to make a soup. Leftover turkey and Grandma Peach's wide noodles.

Happy holidays indeed.

Morocco revisited

Since Dina was going to be stuck at home on her birthday, we decided to take dinner to her. She was craving a taste of Morocco, so I volunteered to bring the main dish.

This was my first attempt at cooking Moroccan food. Ever. I'm glad for this.

Had I tried to cook the dishes before going there, I likely would have found it complicated. I would have certainly misunderstood the food, not to mention the people.

Having visited Moroccan families in their homes, sampled their food and shared great times with friends over steaming communal dishes of chicken, dried fruits and couscous, I have a better understanding of the food, and, of course, the people who lovingly prepare it.

Wander the markets in Meknes and Fez to see vendors selling dried apricots, figs, dates, prunes and raisins. Nuts of all kinds. And spices shaped into mounds so colorful and brilliant they become a piece of art on their own. The food isn't mysterious. Nothing comes in boxes with unpronounceable chemical names. In fact, on your plate it looks very similar to the raw product in the market.

So for Dina's birthday I make a chicken dish cooked with apricots, prunes and almonds. I added saffron and some tagine spice I bought from Abdul's friend Yassin. The spice mix is called "head of the store." Abdul told me this refers to the man who runs the shop. Each man creates his own spice blend. Yassin's was delicious.

Here's the basic way I cooked this meal. I'm not offering amounts because this dish is simple enough. Simply add what you need or what you have available. Don't make it complicated. Enjoy the company and the recipe is a success.

Ingredients

Bone-in chicken (I used thighs)
Olive oil
Saffron (if available)
Dried apricots
Dried prunes
Whole almonds
Onion, sliced
Salt
Spice mix

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Create a spice mix by combining red pepper, cumin, turmeric, ginger, pepper, cinnamon and salt. Use about 1/8 to 1/4 tablespoon per serving.

Fill a small dish with about a cup of warm tap water and drop in a few threads of saffron. Set aside. Slice onion, set aside.

Add olive oil to coat a large pan. Heat to medium-high. Add chicken, salting while cooking. Lightly brown one side. Flip and brown the other. Add saffron water and all other ingredients. Stir over medium heat. Add about a cup of additional water and cook down for about five minutes. Remove from heat.

Place chicken pieces in an oven-safe dish. Pour liquid and other ingredients over the top. Cover with foil and bake 40 to 45 minutes, depending on the size of chicken pieces. If you are making this dish for a dinner party, simply leave in a warm oven until ready to serve.


As an appetizer I served this Moroccan salad. I took some to Abdul, who said he approved. I made it with eggplant. And go easy on the red pepper; the amount called for makes it very spicy. The recipe is simple, but I suggest prepping all of the veggies and spices first. That will make cooking the dish very easy. Serve this room temp with some bread for dipping.

I got this recipe from a random Web site, so no credit to me!

ZALOUK - MOROCCAN SALAD (Bensafiddine)

Ingredients:

2-3 green peppers (this salad can be made with eggplant instead of green peppers)
1-2 cloves garlic, minced
3-4 small tomatoes, chopped
1 medium onion, minced
2 tsp. red pepper
2-3 Tbs. tomato paste
1 tsp fresh parsley, minced
1/2 tsp. pepper
1/2 tsp. powdered ginger
1/2 tsp. turmeric
1/2 tsp. cumin
olive oil

- Put the green peppers on an open flame or under the broiler until the skin is burned black; put the peppers in a plastic bag rubbing briskly between the hands to remove the burned skin (if you are using eggplant instead of peppers, char them in the same manner, but simply scrape off the burned skin with a fork)

- Sauté the onions and garlic in the olive oil over medium to high heat; when the onions have become soft add the peppers, tomatoes, red pepper and other spices; when the tomatoes are soft add the tomato paste; lower heat, cover and simmer for 15-20 minutes

- Allow to cool before serving, sprinkle with minced parsley

Better than Marie Callender's

A few Sundays ago I got a hankering for Chicken Pot Pie. I'd made the dish before, but it had been a while. And I think I used Veg-All. I wondered if I could make a pie better than Marie Callender's.

I think I did it. The secret to good homemade pot pie is to make a homemade sauce. Anything canned simply tastes too salty. It overpowers the veggies. Making a white sauce isn't difficult, and once it's tackled it opens the door to lots of hearty dishes.

The best part about the pot pie was it was way easier than I thought it was. The trick to cutting down on the prep time is to have the chicken already cooked and use the ready-made pie dough. Although I didn't try it, I'm thinking that you could prep the whole thing and pop in the fridge if you wanted to wait a bit to cook it. The leftovers kept us happy for days.

Ingredients

Two cooked chicken breasts, cubed
Two medium carrots, peeled and thinly sliced
One small onion, diced
One large potato
1 cup peas (thawed, if frozen)
2 cups warm milk
3/4 cup flour
3 to 4 tablespoons butter
One package of Pillsbury's ready-made pie crust (in the dairy section of the grocery store)

Method
Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Line a deep pie pan with crust. Set aside top crust.

Combine the chicken and vegies in large bowl. Set aside.

Warm the milk just enough to take the chill off (in the microwave is fine). Have the milk, flour and a whisk handy next to the stovetop. Melt the butter over low heat, watching until the white flecks and foaminess is nearly gone. Then, slowly add the flour while continuously whisking. The mixture will begin to thicken. Whisk, cooking the flour and butter together on a low-medium heat for about a minute. Be sure not to burn the mixture, pulling it away from the heat or lowering heat as needed. Then slowly add the milk in small batches. Whisk to encorporate. Repeat until all the milk is used. Let the sauce cook over the stove top until thick. It should take only a couple of minutes until it can coat a spoon. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Remove the sauce and pour into the bowl of veggies and chicken. Mix to coat. Pour the veggie and chicken mixture into the pie shell. Top with second crust and crimp edges. Cut a few vent holes in the top crust with a sharp knife. Brush with melted butter for a more golden crust if desired. Cover with foil.

Bake for 30 minutes. Remove the foil and cook another 10 minutes or until crust is golden and sauce is bubbling through vents.

Crab Roll

Last weekend our friends Jake and Tiff introduced to the fun adventure of crabbing. We camped on the Oregon coast and got up early to head out on the water. The good news is the weather was fabulous. The bad news is the crabbing wasn't so good. Nonetheless, we made it back with some crab (albeit sympathy crab given to us by the guy who rented us the boat).

I pulled out all of the warm, fresh, flaky meat from the crab and asked Seth to slice four potato rolls left over from our dinner the night before. We plopped the sliced rolls down in a pan of melted butter, pulled them out and seasoned them with salt and pepper. I put a couple of tablespoons of melted butter, some salt and pepper into the crab meat. I toss around to coat. Then piled the crab mixture onto the rolls. We ate them like sandwiches. Then we wished we'd caught more crab!

Nothing beats simple, fresh food.

Avocado smoothie

This recipe is inspired by our trip to Morocco. As I was on the rooftop of Abdul's family home, I was looking at several potted plants. In a fun conversation with one of Abdul's brothers, I discovered what each plant was. He spoke Arabic; I spoke English. We pulled on our knowledge of a little Spanish and together we were able to communicate largely through gestures, smelling and touching the plants.

I saw a small avocado tree, which I recognized by the leaves. I often buy them dried in Mexican markets to make my Oaxacan black beans (I'll share that recipe sometime). I asked what they did with the avocados in Morocco. Through motions, he shared with me that they make a blended drink out of them. I was sure I misunderstood.

In fact, I had not. At a cafe in Marrakesh I ordered an avocado smoothie. Theirs was made with milk and it had hint of banana in it. It was great. Of course, I LOVE avocados.

Here's my twist on that tasty snack. For those who are counting, it's very healthy, pulling from three food groups at once!

Ingredients

3/4 cup plain, nonfat yogurt
1/2 small, ripe avocado
1/2 ripe, browning banana
honey to taste

Dump the first three ingredients in a blender or food processor. Blend until you get a smooth, light green yogurt. Taste. Add honey to achieve desired sweetness, which varies depending on the banana.

Eat immediately. You could try to keep some in the fridge, but not for too long. If you do, however, put plastic wrap directly on the mixture to keep air from browning the avocado.

Don't tell the picky eaters about the avocado. Enjoy!