tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11948349517315515032024-02-19T05:44:53.985-05:00CanonchefTomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.comBlogger486125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-58246158015589994802021-12-08T16:20:00.017-05:002021-12-09T16:48:28.759-05:00‘Tis The Citrus.<p>As the holiday food frenzys start to wind down, it might be a good idea to look ahead and (at least) <i>think</i> about lightening things up a bit. Nothing fits that bill more than a perky dose of bright fresh citrus. During the grey drab winter months, varieties of citrus are like welcomed wet bursts of sunshine and light. 'Tis the season for everyday citrus to step into the light. Sweetened up a bit, or a lot, their bright acidic undertones still poke through the fray and take center stage. I held to that notion with an unusual riff on tarte tatin. Oh sure, while an orange tarte tatin teeters on the edge of sweet, it still brings a bright acidity to the party for an interesting take on the usual tarte tatin. Typically filled with apples, pears, or other kinds of stone fruit, tarte trains can really be filled with just about anything. That said, they can also be very tricky. Anything, and I mean anything, that has to be assembled, cooked, and inverted is risky business. There's always that moment of truth that comes with the big reveal. The big flip and turnout. Will it slip right out? Will it Stick? Will it half stick, half slip? Will it be burned? Will it be cooked? Ultimately, will it fail? More times than not, tarte tatins behave beautifully. Go for it. No risk, no reward. Either it'll flip out beautifully or it'll flop out and make a great topping for ice cream Sundays. Either way, it's a total win. Go big and let the tarte tatin fall where it may.</p><p><b>Orange Tarte Tatin</b></p><p>Tart tatins are simple little things. That said, their simplicity belies their wow factor. </p><p><span>After melting 2/3 cups light brown sugar and 6 tablespoons salted butter in a cast iron skillet, I overlapped thinly sliced oranges concentrically around the skillet until they covered the bottom of the</span><span>s killet before returning the skillet to the flame. When the sugar started bubbling under and around the oranges, I pulled the skillet from the heat and let it cool for about 5 minutes before covering the oranges with a sheet of thawed puffy pastry and tightly tucking the overhanging pastry around the edges of the oranges, allowing the pastry to come in contact with the bottom of the skillet. To give it a little extra richness and crunch, I buttered the puff pastry with salted buttered, letting the extra butter drip down the edges and pool around the pastry before sliding the tarte tatin into a preheated 400 degree oven. At the 40 minute mark, the pastry was beautifully browned and crisp, so I pulled it from the oven to bubble down and cool for just a bit, about 5 minutes. Being mindful to catch it before the sugared oranges hardened and set up completely, I carefully inverted the tarte tatin onto a plate before drizzling the aromatic sticky syrup over the top to literally seal the deal.</span></p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnAKJPyrD5QHpMXrfHAV-N1C-xLWhmqgQztOX1g9RkMBXI6sNKr0WqwkZppf4rUGEl1sEOCoaEe9Ec6HOi7rEmvVEkg-uDkqfNtDimNYpzS8XoD1Ai7F0d0SKx65S1dQZpwhOC1pBM-l5nayS4MEpY1GHbjBd4wUg2Ge_BOG1l_VvnogPP8Fi-GtUhbg=s400" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="400" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhnAKJPyrD5QHpMXrfHAV-N1C-xLWhmqgQztOX1g9RkMBXI6sNKr0WqwkZppf4rUGEl1sEOCoaEe9Ec6HOi7rEmvVEkg-uDkqfNtDimNYpzS8XoD1Ai7F0d0SKx65S1dQZpwhOC1pBM-l5nayS4MEpY1GHbjBd4wUg2Ge_BOG1l_VvnogPP8Fi-GtUhbg=w200-h180" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">It slipped right out. No drama. No half in half out. </span></div><p></p><p>Glistening from the caramelized syrup, the glazed oranges seemed to melt into the shatteringly crisp pastry. Sticky and soft, the sweetened pulp countered the flaky crunch of the crust and the firm bite of the candied peels in a way that was reminiscent of freshly made fancy orange marmalade slathered over simple buttered toast.</p><p>Orange Tarte Tatin.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6T4EqvApeQ5Ag3VtVCtp_LHLh9Z2MI52XlhujScDenUoLkhoGnDKEetGZIDVgdtgFDjso-IYQaW1xCb4vZ9VzsTiPAUeu1fqTcfpwWtD-TqtIXEjtV41SW1pfG0BdXqixPI-fDa3D4TqezO0ZpslE_2XsdcfBMjT6iDiLkoJzJL73q-pFzFuSK7xKag=s400" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="396" data-original-width="400" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj6T4EqvApeQ5Ag3VtVCtp_LHLh9Z2MI52XlhujScDenUoLkhoGnDKEetGZIDVgdtgFDjso-IYQaW1xCb4vZ9VzsTiPAUeu1fqTcfpwWtD-TqtIXEjtV41SW1pfG0BdXqixPI-fDa3D4TqezO0ZpslE_2XsdcfBMjT6iDiLkoJzJL73q-pFzFuSK7xKag=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br />Marmalade on toast. <p></p><p>Fabulous. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-42793959518023090802021-01-23T14:41:00.004-05:002021-01-23T14:43:47.255-05:00Inside outLike most of the special occasions we've navigated over the past year,
Valentine's Day will be different. However, unlike those other special
occasions, Valentine's Day isn't a crowd fest. Fortunately, loosened restrictions now allow our local restaurants
(with fabulous service and fare) to offer limited dine-in service. Better yet, with social distancing and the required
table spacing, romantic privacy is built right into the mix. No crowded bars or long table wait times. Dinner for two peas in
a pod. Different. Safe. Special. That said, if dining out is off the table,
curbside, carryout, or delivery is the way to go for romancing the home. In any case, there must always be chocolate. Splurge on beautiful
pastries from a local bakery, snag heart-shaped boxes filled with assorted chocolates, or scratch
make a heartfelt Valentine's treat. Go big or go small. Chocolate is chocolate. And chocolate always
wins. <div><br /></div><div><b>Chocolate Ravioli With Sweetened Mascarpone.</b></div><div>Inside out.</div><div>Not chocolate <i>filled</i> ravioli. Chocolate <i>pasta</i> ravioli. </div><div>With hints of sweetness balancing the soft bittersweet undertones of dark chocolate, chocolate pasta is a perfect foil for sweet fillings and sauces. </div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Chocolate Pasta.</i></div><div>I sifted 2 cups all purpose flour, 1/3 cup unsweetened dark dark cocoa powder, and 1/4 cup powdered sugar until blended. After adding a pinch of salt, I made a well in the center of the flour and cracked 3 large eggs into the well. After gradually pulling the flour and eggs together until it form a shaggy dough, I pulled the dough together and kneaded it on a clean work surface for 10 minutes until it was smooth and pliable I shaped the dough into a disc, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and slid it into the refrigerator to rest and chill.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Filling.</i></div><div>While the dough took a break, I whipped together 8 ounces room temperature mascarpone cheese, 1/4 <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">cup super fine sugar, 1 teaspoon salt, 1/4 cup heavy whipping cream, and a splash of fresh lemon. I set the filling aside and pulled the dough from the refrigerator to take the chill off.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmhHCqH1pEKL4SXV5wA79SfUvmlowUTLKIg2doSvV_8ofhV11WPZ1k5Rtgq2QqKfIiHMlhlchUVFuXKANSsJi5agtVIobht2NMYmTiXGrUhn6_-mtQEBj5bq_luZalklzbbSFQMgPo55I/s986/thumbnail+%252814%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="986" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcmhHCqH1pEKL4SXV5wA79SfUvmlowUTLKIg2doSvV_8ofhV11WPZ1k5Rtgq2QqKfIiHMlhlchUVFuXKANSsJi5agtVIobht2NMYmTiXGrUhn6_-mtQEBj5bq_luZalklzbbSFQMgPo55I/w81-h200/thumbnail+%252814%2529.jpg" width="81" /></a></div><br /></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Roll.</i></div><div>In the realm of scratch pasta, ravioli isn't fiddly. Roll and fill.</div><div>I used a bench scraper to divide the dough into 1/4 sections. Working with one section at a time, while keeping the remaining dough covered, I used a hand cranked pasta machine to roll the dough. After flattening the dough to fit the width of the pasta roller, I I rolled it through the largest setting 3 times, folding it in half after each pass. When the dough became soft and easy to work with, I rolled the dough through each setting, lowering the setting after each pass and ending before the thinnest setting.</div><div><br /></div><div>While ravioli is simple enough to fill, fold, seal, and cut without a ravioli mold, I used a mold because...well...I had one. They're easy to use and roll out consistent shaped raviolis. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAacYtFs3pIx1m687O7WZFYacjTic4D81WZZA1wzgodzC0AjMcAkEG8oKydfjIeHUcQP_rtdhVWx7eWHrDLPO3QCMDcUKvDQheJNB_LTQbPVpgwqtiD-HrOvdTd6Dx-7jzVfH0pPX8AcBG/s533/thumbnail+%252811%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAacYtFs3pIx1m687O7WZFYacjTic4D81WZZA1wzgodzC0AjMcAkEG8oKydfjIeHUcQP_rtdhVWx7eWHrDLPO3QCMDcUKvDQheJNB_LTQbPVpgwqtiD-HrOvdTd6Dx-7jzVfH0pPX8AcBG/w150-h200/thumbnail+%252811%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />I draped one pasta sheet over the mold let the excess dough hang over the edge of the mold, and gently formed pockets in each ravioli well. I pulled the filling from the refrigerator, filled a pastry bag with the filling ( small spooned dollops would have worked as well) , and piped the mascarpone filling into each well. After covering the filling and pasta with another pasta sheet, I carefully pressed the between filled well to seal the dough, and used a rolling pin to press the sheets together against the serrated edges to seal and cut the ravioli. After removing the excess dough from the edges, I popped the ravioli out of the mold. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Cooked at a gentle boil for 8-10 minutes, they're fabulous straight up or dolled up with chocolate ganache and fresh berries.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4zBHcPXPyhhhP9U1o1FckRfuQtpnuFuUdEEwWC-fVgIRNxh54n8ZhWKPvJimzFUAA5-qSdbayXLXwHaqw55rZxwPQRj-reEbAPoLDTK_ot0SpwrYAlJ-IDosEcntEMWVMj48bWOggy-T/s400/thumbnail+%25287%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="392" data-original-width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW4zBHcPXPyhhhP9U1o1FckRfuQtpnuFuUdEEwWC-fVgIRNxh54n8ZhWKPvJimzFUAA5-qSdbayXLXwHaqw55rZxwPQRj-reEbAPoLDTK_ot0SpwrYAlJ-IDosEcntEMWVMj48bWOggy-T/s320/thumbnail+%25287%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />A chocolate Ravioli Valentine.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b><br /></b></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-11284815184389039852020-11-16T11:49:00.009-05:002021-12-06T12:26:10.337-05:00Austria <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGhM359tK10OVuqZKWf_HkLYWo_qHIrB2wJap0VHVuAc1xgS8Iss7-8bGIq_p869FGxMTSvtmgQEz92wZALLLjhTVXeBDAXciChj-bELXDXEvXrg1KQ7-BX_kg2aXJenPm1oIiHmCtneB/s533/thumbnail+%252842%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGhM359tK10OVuqZKWf_HkLYWo_qHIrB2wJap0VHVuAc1xgS8Iss7-8bGIq_p869FGxMTSvtmgQEz92wZALLLjhTVXeBDAXciChj-bELXDXEvXrg1KQ7-BX_kg2aXJenPm1oIiHmCtneB/w150-h200/thumbnail+%252842%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a></div><br />As a kid on the farm, scalloped canned oysters were a mysterious staple on my grandmother's Christmas table. Tucked alongside the<i> normal </i>food, they seemed oddly out of place. Unlike anything else on the table, they felt downright luxe. I adored those oysters. Left mostly untouched by the pickier eaters, they were mine for the taking. The world was my oyster. <p>Years later, the beat goes on. Whether shucked raw on the half shell, deep fried, poached, grilled, broiled, or baked, oysters are my holiday jam.</p><p><b>Baked Oysters Florentine With Hollandaise Mousseline</b></p><p><i>Shucked. </i>Shucking oysters can be tedious. It helps to have an oyster knife and glove. I learned a little trick to ease the angst. After bringing water to a rolling boil in a large stock pot, I blanched the oysters for 20 seconds before plunging them into an ice bath. After draining the oysters, I shucked them with ease into a strainer placed over a bowl to catch their liquor without any grit, dropped the oysters into their liquor, and set them aside.</p><p><i>Spinach. </i>I rinsed, dried and chopped 1 large bunch Madison Count fresh spinach. After frying 4 strips bacon until crisp in a cast iron skillet, I removed the bacon, drained all but 2 tablespoons bacon, returned the skillet to the heat. and added 2 minced shallots. When the shallots turned translucent, I added 2 cloves minced garlic. Before letting the garlic brown, I tumbled the spinach into the skillet along with 1/2 cup chopped fresh parsley, 1/4 cup chopped chives, and1/4 cup torn fresh tarragon. As the spinach started to wilt, I deglazed the skillet with 1/4 cup white wine and let the wine reduce by half before hitting it with salt and cracked black pepper and setting it aside. Mousseline. Mousseline is an airy light combination of hollandaise and whipped cream. I've made plenty of old school hollandaise sauces over the years. It's a mother sauce that most everyone should have in their back pocket. That said, it can be tricky. Blender hollandaise if full proof.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><p></p><p>After separating 6 large eggs, I dropped the yolks into the base of a blender along with. 4 tablespoons </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQtbaZKw2Z4Y5v6kvLFApZC-AL89m61SllqZzSLSkF7pupco-eKz4A1tZOICyo_sHTZ1xqC0gjuVkW-KXriFmG9vgyELsNwnGFWyJNDpPvWQlPnJnQ1k89RbJtkPZ6hzcyI5N90DHAZf2/s412/thumbnail+%252832%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="412" data-original-width="400" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQtbaZKw2Z4Y5v6kvLFApZC-AL89m61SllqZzSLSkF7pupco-eKz4A1tZOICyo_sHTZ1xqC0gjuVkW-KXriFmG9vgyELsNwnGFWyJNDpPvWQlPnJnQ1k89RbJtkPZ6hzcyI5N90DHAZf2/w148-h153/thumbnail+%252832%2529.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><br />freshly squeezed lemon juice, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and 1 teaspoon ground white pepper. I melted 1/2 pound unsalted butter over a medium flame and transferred it to a glass measuring cup. After blending the yolks and lemon juice until frothy, I slowly streamed the melted butter into the blender until the sauce thickened and emulsified, poured the hollandaise into a small dish, and set it aside.<p></p><p><i>Whip it. </i>After whipping 1 cup heavy whipped cream until it reached stiff peaks, I gently folded it into the hollandaise for the mousseline, and set it aside.</p><p><i>Stuffed.</i> I spooned a small amount of the herby spinach mix into the reserved oysters shells, nestled a plump oyster into each shell, topped the oysters with additional spinach, and spooned the mousseline over the spinach, letting it drip will-nilly over the sides. </p><p>After scattering panko bread crumbs mixed with grated parmegiano-reggiano over the mousseline, I slid the oysters into a 450 degree oven for 8-10 minutes.</p><p>When browned and crisped, I pulled the oysters from the oven and let them rest for 3 minutes before finishing with pearls of salmon roe and snipped fresh garden chives.</p><p>Although a far cry from my grandmother's oysters, they took me back to her holiday table.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6sxc3ADWqQyp75pmbFjTgUrisuFLx00pKkyeAYoBzZIOmKqEOVbICH14vqqAIXmBpKSQ3galRrvpl4c_Ba7oLgBcXH4Albgh-fb0-vSL5o3sVtvgHFv1l4dbcLjUCQRYZaSE5ofVFbaT/s533/thumbnail+%252845%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx6sxc3ADWqQyp75pmbFjTgUrisuFLx00pKkyeAYoBzZIOmKqEOVbICH14vqqAIXmBpKSQ3galRrvpl4c_Ba7oLgBcXH4Albgh-fb0-vSL5o3sVtvgHFv1l4dbcLjUCQRYZaSE5ofVFbaT/s320/thumbnail+%252845%2529.jpg" /></a></div><br />A Christmas Past.<p></p><p>A Christmas Present.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div><p></p>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-35288618086254104232020-10-20T13:27:00.003-04:002020-10-20T15:27:52.502-04:00Thankful<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Over the river and through the woods...<p></p><p>Maybe not this year.</p><p>I can still feel the warmth of my grandmother's kitchen on Thanksgiving morning. </p><p>When my family moved to Kentucky and settled in with my grandparent's on their remote rural farm, the notion of Thanksgiving was completely new to me. It just wasn't a thing in Austria, Germany, or Africa. There were no turkeys, dressings, or casseroles to share. No day after shopping. No football. Our large family was thousands of miles away. Thanksgiving never happened.</p><p>Life on the farm was a different kind of life. Big Sunday dinners followed long church meetings with a rotation of relatives stopping by to visit. While I eventually grew accustomed to the large family gatherings, Thanksgiving was a whole other story. Unlike other family get togethers, Thanksgiving was a hectic potluck affair. Most everyone had their time worn assigned and beloved sides to tote over the river and through the woods to our grandmother's house. And only one person, the turkey aunt, was allowed to bring the turkey. There were no surprises. Ever. </p><p>On Thanksgiving morning, my grandmother's demeaner changed. Through the flurry and hubbub, she'd quietly and serenely crank out countless sweet potato pies, chess pies, transparent pies, and pumpkin pies. As utterly contrary as she could be could be at times, her Thanksgiving serenity felt like an odd miracle. By midmorning, the family started piling in. Choreographed like a country version of Swan Lake, the array of sides and fixings were laid out over every inch of counter space, including a makeshift cover over the kitchen sink. Synchronized with clockwork precision, it was an absolute thing of beauty and smelled like heaven. Always feeling like an awkward interloper, I swooned with awe. How? Why? Yes!</p><p>After my grandmother filled her milkwood punch bowl with Cola Lemonade iced down with lemonade ice cubes, the Thanksgiving blessing opened the buffet. </p><p>Those early Thanksgivings made me realize I had missed something that I didn't even know was missing in my life. Family, friends, and even Thanksgiving.</p><p>During these times, it's ok to miss all the hoopla when you hold close what is missing. There's a simple joy in knowing that our friends and family share the missing. No doubt, this year will be different than than any other. Although smaller, simpler, safer, and softer, this year can also feel the same as years past. Hold fast to the missing and embrace the present.</p><p><b>Roasted Turkey.</b></p><p><i>Simpler.</i></p><p>Heaven knows, over the years I've done just about anything and everything you can do with a turkey. Depending on how fancified or low brow I wanted to go, I've deep fried, spatchcocked, brined, smoked,</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3v6lUzX2aSBxwXUV00zeI9xPoMaqfatlykvlGfEeOLqfyuQ-n8QP6vu56XNh8FOGZyPukdcvn6TsyqZknEqOfaZTmIh7tHN2jmf0JduMp30MehsnoQQdNbupYxLSVaOYHTDFm0fW1Zf3E/s628/IMG_1042.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="628" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3v6lUzX2aSBxwXUV00zeI9xPoMaqfatlykvlGfEeOLqfyuQ-n8QP6vu56XNh8FOGZyPukdcvn6TsyqZknEqOfaZTmIh7tHN2jmf0JduMp30MehsnoQQdNbupYxLSVaOYHTDFm0fW1Zf3E/w127-h200/IMG_1042.jpg" width="127" /></a></div>braised, buttered, herbed, stuffed, unstuffed, deboned, and ruined quite a few turkeys. They've all been fantastic. Each and every method had its pros and cons. ALL of them were fussy and labor intensive....because...well....isn't that the point? We go overboard for the sake of those we love. <p></p><p>These days are different. Overboard is overboard. Simple wins.</p><p>Surprisingly, I snagged a very small 11 pound fresh turkey. Big enough to feel festive, yet small enough to feed a few close friends. With adjusted cooking times, this simple method works with any sized turkey.</p><p>Shots. Injecting is the way to go. With no buckets to fill, ice to chill, or coolers to store, injecting is a great shot. </p><p>After melting 1 cup unsalted butter and letting it cool, I added 1/4 cup olive oil, 1/2 cup white wine, 2 tablespoons sorghum, 2 teaspoons salt, 1 teaspoon finely ground black pepper, 1 teaspoon ground poultry seasoning, 1/2 teaspoon rubbed sage, and 1/2 teaspoon ground thyme. I whisked to combine, and loaded an injection syringe with the mix before carefully injecting the breasts, thighs, and drumsticks under the skin in several locations, pushing the marinade and pulling the needle to evenly distribute the marinade throughout the flesh. After liberally salting the skin of the turkey, I massaged softened butter over every square inch of the skin and slid it into the refrigerator (uncovered) to dry out and marinate overnight.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkSoVXqbkrmN-vN4-ZVWY0f0gsDFOkQ9Nl-YW03c2_CzPZb5RHWJJ_SiPfCfJZFLM3UfGEmK0BJ-YKCST_xmkZcXd9R119vY-_VFIDb4t5DUeBHUICSAR1d1S-jHAUOIne8DiHYteyGB_/s400/thumbnail+%252814%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibkSoVXqbkrmN-vN4-ZVWY0f0gsDFOkQ9Nl-YW03c2_CzPZb5RHWJJ_SiPfCfJZFLM3UfGEmK0BJ-YKCST_xmkZcXd9R119vY-_VFIDb4t5DUeBHUICSAR1d1S-jHAUOIne8DiHYteyGB_/w200-h200/thumbnail+%252814%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />To keep things less fussy, I braised vegetables along with the turkey. Like any good roast, that method benefits from a 2 step process.<p></p><p>In leu of a roasting rack, I scattered 4 unpeeled carrots, 3 quartered unpeeled Madison County purple onions, 5 trimmed celery stalks 4 Scott County cleaned leeks, and 3 unpeeled parsnips into the bottom of a medium sized roasting pan. After stuffing the turkey with 1 halved lemon, 1 halved blood orange, 1 sliced celery stalk, onion, fresh sage, fresh rosemary, and 2 peeled garlic cloves, I tied the turkey legs together with kitchen twine, and nestled the turkey onto the vegetables. I poured 1 1/2 cups chicken stock into the roasting pan, let the turkey rest on the counter for 20 minutes to take the chill off, covered the breast with aluminum foil, and slid it into a preheated 335 oven.</p><p>The baste debate. I like to baste. It's hands on and allows ample opportunity to check on the browning</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>of the skin and level of pan juices, so I basted the turkey with the pan juices every 30 minutes or so. Midway ( 1 1/2 hours in), I added an additional 1 cup stock, removed the foil from the breast meat, and covered the legs with the foil to prevent overbrowning. At the 2 hour mark, I removed most of the spent vegetables before adding fresh peeled carrots, sliced fresh celery, sliced onions, and 2 seeded and sliced Casey County acorn squash. After basting the skin every 20 minutes during the last hour, I finished with a whisper thin glaze of 2 tablespoons sorghum mixed with 2 tablespoons fresh squeezed lemon juice. When the internal temp hit 165 degrees, I pulled the turkey from the oven, tented it, and let it rest for 30 minutes before nestling it onto a bed of fresh sage and fresh bay leaves along with apples, blood oranges, pears, and roasted acorn squash.<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKybHmhyAwwpjC4F8BEyzjlWAfUNvdpWMEi8fKpyPBvYkZyg4lY46IsLMo3YaBrQE-ZjPbLqD8HI_xLc-ZiEbCYctSjH5S2447gk1PYYRpgca-_tLVVNSkN07XN5YMZfXtbWMcc6LP0ss/s405/thumbnail+%252818%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaKybHmhyAwwpjC4F8BEyzjlWAfUNvdpWMEi8fKpyPBvYkZyg4lY46IsLMo3YaBrQE-ZjPbLqD8HI_xLc-ZiEbCYctSjH5S2447gk1PYYRpgca-_tLVVNSkN07XN5YMZfXtbWMcc6LP0ss/s320/thumbnail+%252818%2529.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p>Simpler.</p><p>Smaller.</p><p>Always Thankful.</p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-52913435359752098612020-09-24T13:30:00.004-04:002020-09-24T17:32:43.943-04:00Donuts In The Pumpkin Patch<div class="separator"><p style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </p><br /></div><p>Corn mazes. Fodder shocks. Pumpkin patches. </p><p>Yep, it's coming on autumn. The vibrancy of summer has slowly slipped into the calming pace of fall. Crisp cool breezes dance through the trees, gently releasing their worn leaves to scatter over long shadows on the tired grass. Like summer, autumn will be very different in our new normal. Still, we'll navigate the changes as we cling to familiarity. While gushingly ripe summer tomatoes, thin skinned cucumbers, tender summer squash, mush melon, honeydew melon, green beans, and fresh picked corn might be fading away, we have a new season to celebrate. We'll cling to pumpkins, winter squash, potatoes, and hardy greens to get us through our autumnal new normal. </p><p>And, through it all, there will always be pumpkin spice. And donuts.</p><p>As much as the pumpkin spice forces tried to rush us into fall before we were ready, it is finally pumpkin spice's time.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYVAmCLiNt4KxY3O8DBPJSE6LOQEeQOuggJe4D5UuCLO37RKNR9QLe068yuPwAlay9TqTVRFbSB4VCZdsA8TqKZWQa2Igxve3Cic2a4UxKg59DoiMpQB2nbHWpdQPCpz27Y3cKsxWXq2a/s504/thumbnail.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaYVAmCLiNt4KxY3O8DBPJSE6LOQEeQOuggJe4D5UuCLO37RKNR9QLe068yuPwAlay9TqTVRFbSB4VCZdsA8TqKZWQa2Igxve3Cic2a4UxKg59DoiMpQB2nbHWpdQPCpz27Y3cKsxWXq2a/w159-h200/thumbnail.jpg" width="159" /></a></div>So, go ahead, put it in anything and everything. Make pies, muffins, pancakes, coffees, and scented whipped creams. Or simply dab it behind your ears. It's pumpkin spice season. And, now, we're ready.<p></p><p><b>Maple Glazed Pumpkin Donuts With Candied Bacon.</b></p><p>Lord knows. I have and will fry anything. If it'll fit in a fryer, I'll fry it. Like most folks, I'm a fool for fried donuts dripping with glaze. That said, I went down the baked donut route with these pumpkin-y donuts because they're consistent and easier to work with. </p><p>Time to make the donuts.</p><p><i>Glaze/Donut lipstick.</i> Oh sure, for a subtle matte lipstick, cinnamon dusted donuts are great. In fact, these donuts are fabulous with a simple sugar dusting. But, no no no, I wanted <i>shiny </i>lipstick. Bawdy, even. I combined 1 1/3 cups powdered sugar, 2 tablespoons pure maple syrup, 1 teaspoon vanilla extract, 2 tablespoons milk, and 1 teaspoon Oberholtzer sorghum before whisking the glaze until it was just thick <i>and</i> thin enough to drape the donuts.</p><p><br /></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhuxaSDdoQjERZZ_QoqbzvU-QGxuIUR9n8kkBTGoxQIwyGcqxQYEOceAhOkd0RdrFPJVv6UE6x2Y2sWPa1sbz1tg5Zn1CSlbCvQuXARTjNC63Osy6TF0CrCsFbXvAMbHV6nErf4yrDtjtU/s472/thumbnail+%252811%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhuxaSDdoQjERZZ_QoqbzvU-QGxuIUR9n8kkBTGoxQIwyGcqxQYEOceAhOkd0RdrFPJVv6UE6x2Y2sWPa1sbz1tg5Zn1CSlbCvQuXARTjNC63Osy6TF0CrCsFbXvAMbHV6nErf4yrDtjtU/w169-h200/thumbnail+%252811%2529.jpg" width="169" /></a></i></div><i><br />Bacon.</i> After completely coating and covering 6 slices thick cut bacon with light brown sugar, I placed them directly onto a foil lined sheet pan (no wire rack) and slid them into a preheated 350 degree oven. As the they started to caramelize and crisp, I turned the bacon and swept it through the sweet sticky bacon fat, returned it to oven, repeated the flip/swipe until the bacon candied in its own fat., and removed it to wire rack to cool. Think about it.<p></p><p><i>Dough. </i>So, fresh or canned pumpkin? Although completely interchangeable, I get a kick out of roasting fresh pumpkins. More savory than sweet, fresh pumpkin seems to have a cleaner flavor. And, why not? It's pumpkin season. After halving and seeding 2 Madison County fresh sugar pumpkins, I roasted them in a 350 degree oven until they collapsed ( about 45 minutes), let them cool to the touch, scraped the warm flesh into a blender, and pureed the pumpkin until smooth.</p><p>After scooping 2 cups pumpkin puree into a large mixing bowl, I added 1 1/2 cups sugar, 1/3 cup vegetable oil, 4 tablespoons melted butter and 3 large organic eggs. Using an old school hand held mixer, I blended the wet mixture until well combined and silky smooth.</p><p>I sifted 2 cups Wiesenberger Mill all purpose flour, 2 teaspoons pumpkin spice (ground cloves, ground </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH682Qsw5x1isbZfmCJKPy1-nf698if-nQKZ_N4InyO3hs4FEbm5VBCn7Dk4Q-EgRL-2WMCFKoDRcg3oDg55rxsSsnauNZNhedlX5petCqWN4Ky8-uX5aoYdJxsG7SI7yuQUs17gRYGeam/s400/thumbnail+%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="310" data-original-width="400" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH682Qsw5x1isbZfmCJKPy1-nf698if-nQKZ_N4InyO3hs4FEbm5VBCn7Dk4Q-EgRL-2WMCFKoDRcg3oDg55rxsSsnauNZNhedlX5petCqWN4Ky8-uX5aoYdJxsG7SI7yuQUs17gRYGeam/w200-h155/thumbnail+%25281%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>cinnamon, ground allspice, ground ginger, ground nutmeg), 2 teaspoons baking powder, and 1 teaspoon salt into a smaller mixing bowl. After a quick whisk to combine, I added the spiced flour to the pumpkin puree, and gently folded the two together until well incorporated (without overworking the batter). <p></p><p></p><p>To make life easier, I spooned the donut dough into a pastry bag and piped it into 2 oil-sprayed silicone donut molds, cleaned the edges, placed the molds onto a sheet pan, and slid them into a preheated 350 degree oven for 15 minutes. When cooked though (clean toothpick test), I pulled the donuts from the oven and let them rest for 5 minutes for turning them out onto 2 wire racks to cool.</p><p>When almost completely cooled, I dipped the donuts into the maple glaze and let the excess swirl backinto the bowl before finishing with shards of candied bacon.</p><p></p><p>Suspended under the slightly hardened glaze, the baked donuts were soft, tender, and as light as air. While the warming pumpkin spice punched through the rich caramel-like maple glaze, the candied bacon added salty sweet crunch.</p><p>Sticky.</p><p>Sweet.</p><p>Salty.</p><p><br /></p><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzS_edQcW0yW53f9RqxNOcyL0a2jVhkdBZCnT3YpVZRUzn9UYDayANlHGP4UIO8LEOWiw8g4yNNbPczvACWTV_EvDljh0h3Yb7R83hL2TqUPDkkb9hB6XkL2UUflJk9JUjNk90UlRq1MaS/s320/thumbnail+%252812%2529.jpg" /><br /><br />Donuts in the pumpkin patch.<div>Get your spice on.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><i><br /></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-7786610588903679262020-08-24T15:37:00.005-04:002020-08-24T18:59:00.463-04:00Inside Out<p> As a kid, I believed that if I could swing high enough to fly over the swing set my world would turn upside down and inside out. My private little Wonderland.</p><p>Now, as an adult, the world is upside down and inside out. No swings attached.</p><p>These days, it seems that most everything has been shuffled around, rescheduled, rearranged, postponed, cancelled, or vitrualized. Even the 146th running of the Kentucky Derby has been moved from the first Saturday in May until the first Saturday in September, happily landing it smack dab in the middle of National Bourbon Heritage Month. Bourbon and horse racing. A winning ticket. Win. Place.Show. Oddly enough, the annual 2 weeks long Kentucky Bourbon Festival, which draws tens of thousands of people to the Bluegrass in September to celebrate all things bourbon, has been postponed and rescheduled as a virtual affair until October. Thinking back on my stints teaching the Culinary Arts: Bourbon Style Cooking School for hundreds of bourbonites at the Bourbon Festival, and remembering all the things that could and did go wrong during those live cooking demos, the thought of a virtual reality show now sounds somewhat appealing, but not as much fun. Take 1. Take 2. Cut. Edit. Silence. Repeat.</p><p>As things gets rearranged and the seasons change, bourbon remains constant.</p><p>Whether you sip it, shoot it, mix it, or cook with it, bourbon is always in season.</p><p><b>Bourbon-Sorghum Glazed Chicken With Late Season Succotash.</b></p><p><i>Make it shine. </i>Oberholzter sorghum, deep and rich, is like silken golden honey. After sauteing 2 minced shallots in 1 tablespoon olive oil until translucent, I hit the pan with 1/2 cup Bookers Bourbon, ignited it, and let it reduce before adding 1 cup Oberholzter sorghum, 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar, 1/4 cup light brown sugar, 2 tablespoons white balsamic vinegar, 1 teaspoon garlic powder, 1 teaspoon smoked paprika, and 1/2 teaspoon ground mustard. I brought the glaze to a boil, reduced it to simmer, and let it bubble away until it mellowed out into a smooth glaze, (about 20 minutes) and set it aside.</p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GWBh9cpqvVMVsvTPQoaHMNymomgeLsl1w272927WHrOChJkLPHdI4F6YCplhIW8JcyjqGdJPCVVLqpE1CDuqrzCTg4OK5vsD6GYX7LKlGphwXwQ0zKbfJGZRieHT4rLK5itjWPfk_Sxy/s533/thumbnail+%252872%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="400" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GWBh9cpqvVMVsvTPQoaHMNymomgeLsl1w272927WHrOChJkLPHdI4F6YCplhIW8JcyjqGdJPCVVLqpE1CDuqrzCTg4OK5vsD6GYX7LKlGphwXwQ0zKbfJGZRieHT4rLK5itjWPfk_Sxy/w105-h139/thumbnail+%252872%2529.jpg" width="105" /></a></i></div><i>Stic</i><i>k it. </i>I'm on team skewer. Not only are skewers inherently more fun, they provide a safer option for small gatherings celebrating the Derby and National Bourbon Heritage month. After slicing 2 pounds Garry Farm boneless chicken into manageable 1 1/2" pieces, I threaded the chicken onto pre-soaked bamboo skewers along with with Casey County red and green bell peppers sliced into wedges, peeled and quartered Stonehedge Farm purple onions, 2 sliced Madison County yellow squash, and 2 sliced and halved Woodford County Zucchini. I drizzled the skewers with olive oil and seasoned them with smoked paprika, salt, cracked black pepper, and garlic powder before setting them aside to marinate.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjea4AZPo2-dfuebz8G0jLF6ecZsC_VQg77rpxgJBmsbACflhvEsVWjK1UHJyUiteTKdJa37e2DXmEmhOBdaP5lZoTXseQlmx2RUgo2Kz_woM1RuO0HqEst9j5hgUVGP7M3JmaZvEIxeEe8/s400/thumbnail+%252871%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="123" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjea4AZPo2-dfuebz8G0jLF6ecZsC_VQg77rpxgJBmsbACflhvEsVWjK1UHJyUiteTKdJa37e2DXmEmhOBdaP5lZoTXseQlmx2RUgo2Kz_woM1RuO0HqEst9j5hgUVGP7M3JmaZvEIxeEe8/w164-h123/thumbnail+%252871%2529.jpg" width="164" /></a></div><p></p><p><i>Suffering succotash.</i> Succotash gets a bad rap. Oh sure, it's filled with a hodgepodge of garden stuff, but right now is the time of year to make that garden stuff shine. I grew up with succotash. On our family farm, during mid to late season when the garden was in full swing and everything was coming on strong, my grandmother's go to catch-all side was succotash. Her low brow country version was fried in bacon grease and smothered in pepper. Even then, it was fabulous alongside her refrigerator pickles, cornbread, and tomato pudding. Endless versions of succotash vary from region to region and even from family to family. The sky's the limit. As long as the three sisters (lima beans, corn, squash) join the party, anything goes.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbqQ2-qRXqZWfBg8Mv2wciOyfnUC03-nidzC9YmacuOerXFgON77-cKh2KOIB15qgiFcPfwMAg2QSLhc-6Iqsxn98_22wNIu1uTWaa8zTtPwU56biMNfnLIrbfi_kClKUH7Z6kbTB61eK/s400/thumbnail+%252870%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="400" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrbqQ2-qRXqZWfBg8Mv2wciOyfnUC03-nidzC9YmacuOerXFgON77-cKh2KOIB15qgiFcPfwMAg2QSLhc-6Iqsxn98_22wNIu1uTWaa8zTtPwU56biMNfnLIrbfi_kClKUH7Z6kbTB61eK/w131-h122/thumbnail+%252870%2529.jpg" width="131" /></a></div>Echoing some of the same ingredients as the skewers, I sauteed and salted 1 cup diced purple onion, 1 cup each diced Casey County red and green bell peppers, and 1 /2 cups shelled, peeled, and blanched Madison County lima beans, and 2 cloves minced garlic in 2 tablespoon olive oil. When the vegetables softened and the onions turned translucent, I added 3 cups (5 ears) fresh Pulaski County cutoff corn. After kissing the corn with a bit of heat, I deglazed the pan with 1/2 cup chicken stock and let it reduce before adding 2 cups Rolling Blue Farm diced big boy tomatoes and 1/2 cup heavy cream. When the cream reduced enough to lightly nap the vegetables, I pulled the succotash from the heat and added chives, fresh basil, and 1/2 cup freshly grated parmigiano reggiano cheese. <p></p><p><i>Fire. </i>With everything on deck, I slapped the skewers onto a grill over hot coals and grilled the chicken for 10-12 minutes, turning them from to time and liberally brushing them with the glaze after each turn.When they were cooked through and slightly charred, I pulled them from the grill to rest and grilled 3 halved Stonehedge Farm purple onions cut side down. When the onions softened and caramelized, I carefully scooped out the inner layers to serve on the side, filled the grilled onions with heaping spoonfuls of succotash, and nestled them alongside the sorghum-bourbon glazed chicken before finishing with snipped garden chives and fresh basil.</p><p></p><p>While the bourbon added subtle smoky oak undertones to the sticky glaze, the vinegar-spiked sorghum provided mellow sweet acidity as it napped the tender chicken. Spilling from the soft caramelized onions, the lightly creamed succotash countered the charred crunch of the grilled vegetables and the smoky sweetness of the bourbon glazed chicken.</p><p>Fresh.</p><p>Fun.</p><p>Fabulous.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFngofiO3rS3LzfBLCGJJBTHIsNFtdw2bYajOYauqycCYpWIGPuYR5_VNSn4jr3Dmq-m2tUeYNYgIZpzyNyhwkqFI2URa2Hh_uyGMDGgMa6_amo6rxYY1jVbt5PXEzzXT6I2wJ1l56D5b/s534/thumbnail+%252873%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="534" data-original-width="400" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzFngofiO3rS3LzfBLCGJJBTHIsNFtdw2bYajOYauqycCYpWIGPuYR5_VNSn4jr3Dmq-m2tUeYNYgIZpzyNyhwkqFI2URa2Hh_uyGMDGgMa6_amo6rxYY1jVbt5PXEzzXT6I2wJ1l56D5b/w205-h274/thumbnail+%252873%2529.jpg" width="205" /></a></div>Bourbon Season. Never postponed. <p></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-86212328805523534472020-07-19T16:02:00.001-04:002020-07-25T13:03:30.527-04:00Cracked<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUuuTm8lkVIXek77TuA8mwEUSttFCSVeV-wG2Sgb6XdbTjsrN8uJ_sKKHp_3qPIm8wBWKYbmzMMq2oXIMlV4XHMQjmB0mpFgx0rASwrc1DG1Z7i7nYutsHDZh4yzr9joT0_3Ad0le_wR0k/s1600/thumbnail+%252845%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUuuTm8lkVIXek77TuA8mwEUSttFCSVeV-wG2Sgb6XdbTjsrN8uJ_sKKHp_3qPIm8wBWKYbmzMMq2oXIMlV4XHMQjmB0mpFgx0rASwrc1DG1Z7i7nYutsHDZh4yzr9joT0_3Ad0le_wR0k/s320/thumbnail+%252845%2529.jpg" width="64" /></a>In the midst of this crazy lost summer, the arrival of sun-kissed tomatoes makes everything almost seem normal. Like crashing undulating waves, they flood the local markets with breathtaking color. The thrill of summer. Yet, while overwhelmed in the beginning, we eventually and quietly take them for granted. Another day, another tomato. And then before we know it, they're gone. In a flash, they vanish and summer slips away. Hang on to simple pleasures. Hold fast to this lost summer.<br />
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Like most folks, I'm a fool for the perfect jewels of summer. The pretty ones. They glisten, pulse, and beckon like sirens of the sea. Even so, I'm most smitten with the gnarled culls, cracked catheads, and scarred want-nots. The outcast jewels relegated to the back bins of the farm stands sold on the cheap. Oh sure, they're not pretty, easy to handle, or great for slicing , but they're mighty fabulous. Once manipulated and cleaned, they're great diced up for salads, roasted for sauces, or chunked up for snacks. Along with the pretties, they're also the reason for the season. Embrace the uglies.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAdkEJMsoTFR0AnSOYNf7aUFIzyeLcqHerqaTqhTfxzWhUaAWUDk3IpgRwoF_I3FQ8Lbx9b4U4NFgfWZdgNkPH08FXVIW8Dui2aMJCKxxZ7UpbQC2gNtUNXiVOaLW6VgkZ3ge7DGW7IWH/s1600/thumbnail+%252846%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdAdkEJMsoTFR0AnSOYNf7aUFIzyeLcqHerqaTqhTfxzWhUaAWUDk3IpgRwoF_I3FQ8Lbx9b4U4NFgfWZdgNkPH08FXVIW8Dui2aMJCKxxZ7UpbQC2gNtUNXiVOaLW6VgkZ3ge7DGW7IWH/s200/thumbnail+%252846%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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B.L.T.<br />
Bacon. Lettuce. Tomato.<br />
Summer on bread....or wrapped in lettuce.<br />
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<b>Pork Belly Tomato Jam Lettuce Wraps.</b><br />
Summer pig candy.<br />
BLT with a twist.<br />
86 the bread and mayo.<br />
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<i>Bacon.</i><br />
Bacon is simply cured and smoked pork belly. Belly <i>is</i> bacon. Bacon <i>is</i> belly.<br />
The key to good bacon and great pork belly is the crispy unctuous fat. Fat equals flavor.<br />
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Unlike fabulous jacked up methods for preparing pork belly, I kept it simple for a summer BLT.<br />
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After salting a 1 pound slab of Rolling Blue Farm pork belly, I slid it into the refrigerator to dry brine overnight.<br />
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After bringing the pork belly to room temp, I liberally seasoned the skin with additional salt and cracked black pepper before sliding it into a preheated 350 oven to roast for 2 hours, crisping the top under the broiler during the last 10 minutes. When crisped and evenly browned, I pulled the pork belly from the oven and let it rest for 15 minutes before slicing it into 1/4" lardons.<br />
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<i>Tomato.</i><br />
Lipstick on a pig.<br />
Tomato jam is my summer jam. It works great during early season when new tomatoes are iffy, during high season when they're unbelievable, and during late season when tomatoes are fading and we're holding onto memories.<br />
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Some tomato jams are labor intensive and persnickety No seeds. No skins. Precise cuts. Perfect perfect perfect. It's hard to jam when bound by fussy preciousness. Just go for it.<br />
Tomato jam should be fun.<br />
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I used a 2 pound combination of farmers' market tomatoes (beauties and beasts).<br />
After coring and chopping 4 large Pulaski County Beefsteak cathead tomatoes, 4 Shelby County Purple Cherokee tomatoes, 4 Hienkle Heirloom Romas, and 4 split Casey County Big Boys, I tossed them together into a large bowl and seasoned them with salt.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaXvTxlFp-yeE43R4TkRUA-vP367NdjPVbYdrqwRRo82V1fFQI7V6DH3w2qPRSgVoegjIIoCbTfQjfZtLZOuCU0MFHGvicpxgvnTY-mlrTWR3dJ1xpZxCpF5vxlAcIaPskZVf7gONw7-v/s1600/thumbnail+%252839%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihaXvTxlFp-yeE43R4TkRUA-vP367NdjPVbYdrqwRRo82V1fFQI7V6DH3w2qPRSgVoegjIIoCbTfQjfZtLZOuCU0MFHGvicpxgvnTY-mlrTWR3dJ1xpZxCpF5vxlAcIaPskZVf7gONw7-v/s200/thumbnail+%252839%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a>Jamming.<br />
Working over a medium flame in a large dutch oven, I sauteed 1 cup diced Boyd County candy onion, 2 teaspoons minced garlic, and 1 heaping tablespoon grated fresh ginger in 2 tables olive oil. When the onions turned translucent, I tumbled the tomatoes into a dutch oven, seasoned them with salt and cracked black pepper, mixed everything together, and let the tomatoes rip until they released their juices and started to break down. As the tomatoes softened, I added 1 teaspoon cinnamon, 1/4 teaspoon ground clove, 1 teaspoon grated nutmeg, 1 teaspoon allspice, 1 teaspoon ground mustard, 3/4 cup brown sugar, 1/4 cup Olberholtzer sorghum, 1 tablespoon Modena reduced balsamic, and 3 tablespoons cup apple cider vinegar. After giving it a good stir, I lowered the heat to a simmer, and let the jam gurgle away, stirring from time to time, until it reduced and thickened into a rich sticky jam.<br />
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After pulling the tomato jam from the heat, I let it cool before spooning it into pint sized mason jars.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGD2CdD1AAtnLcbx3irdobXTCKrXcj9rqfeA7mKVZNYA9X2ud5pxQFBWDz7aTu5IveLChNhAmJ8Gq54F7wotMZ9FyklBwDF-BCmsrjEHiTVI-MMHOi5ejEFGbrebE7ttpj6CTsbRLPGX_x/s1600/thumbnail+%252855%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGD2CdD1AAtnLcbx3irdobXTCKrXcj9rqfeA7mKVZNYA9X2ud5pxQFBWDz7aTu5IveLChNhAmJ8Gq54F7wotMZ9FyklBwDF-BCmsrjEHiTVI-MMHOi5ejEFGbrebE7ttpj6CTsbRLPGX_x/s200/thumbnail+%252855%2529.jpg" width="185" /></a><i>Lettuce.</i><br />
While the sticky sweet jam was still on the warm side, I tossed 1 cup of tomato jam with the reserved pork belly lardons, added 2 tablespoons snipped garden chives, and nestled the pig candy into wispy butter lettuce leaves before finishing with quick pickled sliced Stonehedge radishes and fresh basil.<br />
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Crunchy.<br />
Wet.<br />
Sweet.<br />
Salty.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeRjESgCMQd7AQwbf2hAuZy7hO_thmX3ecqljLEc8UThezNiVbe6ZNqL5mE4aaR8tGYudQakKBuI1obzj_e-3GOfjvXp4XnNNRpCVeZp_2fXZGPpYYqRM6mlI8NvUDsBngG9nanxd3eX9C/s1600/thumbnail+%252859%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="472" data-original-width="364" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeRjESgCMQd7AQwbf2hAuZy7hO_thmX3ecqljLEc8UThezNiVbe6ZNqL5mE4aaR8tGYudQakKBuI1obzj_e-3GOfjvXp4XnNNRpCVeZp_2fXZGPpYYqRM6mlI8NvUDsBngG9nanxd3eX9C/s320/thumbnail+%252859%2529.jpg" width="246" /></a>A lost summer BLT.<br />
Get your jam on.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-11023612193326715542020-06-20T16:17:00.002-04:002020-06-23T15:17:36.462-04:00Blistered<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19BW9QF7z2Ag6rfssu_kHM0-IWmUxrRKaB92rmsk6CxDJjJ9qxeU_4x1-Vo8LbMys6gcKLYExNyHZNixZ4VFlbJC9Ap1HoMbuTF7TJH0S9z7hZZyiKy73N925q1jU8Bf3f6NIxk5-0BzF/s1600/thumbnail+%25288%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="400" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19BW9QF7z2Ag6rfssu_kHM0-IWmUxrRKaB92rmsk6CxDJjJ9qxeU_4x1-Vo8LbMys6gcKLYExNyHZNixZ4VFlbJC9Ap1HoMbuTF7TJH0S9z7hZZyiKy73N925q1jU8Bf3f6NIxk5-0BzF/s200/thumbnail+%25288%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a>As restrictions loosen and we adjust to our ever changing new normal, it's time to think about firing up the grill for those backyard cookouts and barbecues. Things will be different. Very different. Although masked up at safe distances, it's still a time to be together and (most importantly) climb out of our bunkers for fresh air. And there's no better air than sweet smoky barbecued air. It's grilling season. Barbecue season. Corn season.<br />
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Few things set my heart aflutter more than the first sight of roadside corn stands spilling over with fresh corn or when the first fresh ears hit the local farmers markets. Corn season is summer slathered in butter.<br />
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Typically, when corn starts rolling in, I channel my grandmother and keeps things simple. Boiled with <br />
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butter, fried in bacon fat, or creamed with scraped-from-the-cob- milk juices are my go to preps. Simple. Pure. Fabulous. Eventually, I branch out into crazy land with deep fried corn on the cob, pureed fresh corn grits, corn puddings, and spoon breads. That said, I will forever be enamored with grilled corn. It hits every note. Smoky. Sweet. Crunchy. Soft. Once grilled, the possibilities are endless. Whether smeared with butter for a traditional take, slathered in mayo, dusted with chili powder, and sprinkled with cojita for a Mexican street corn spin, or sliced off the cobs for easier bites, grilled corn is everything.<br />
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So, go ahead, fire up the grill. Load it up with barbecued ribs, chicken, burgers, and dogs. Slather everything in sauce. Just remember, the sides are key. They're the reason for the season. And while fresh vegetables and salads keep things civilized, grilled summer corn bridges the gap between beauty and brawn.<br />
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<b>Blistered Corn Fritters with Quick Kentucky Chow Chow</b><br />
Unlike dense corn cakes flecked with corn, these airy cakes are filled with smoky grilled corn lightly bound in batter and are more fritter than cake. Teetering on the edge of precious, they can masquerade as delicate finger food. Or, better yet, they can be swiped through sticky barbecue drippings to keep it real. After all, that's what summer's all about.<br />
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<i>Quick Chow Kentucky Chow.</i><br />
Whether purchased or scratch made, I am never without a jar of chow chow on hand. Can't imagine soup beans and cornbread without chow chow. Sweet, spicy, tart, and crunchy, it's the ultimate southern relish.<br />
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Most chow chows are processed and canned for preservation to last over the long winter months. Quick pickled with a 2 or 3 week refrigerated shelf life, there are no long winter months in the waiting with this chow chow.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7X5ImMU3fzQRvAAB4FGEgpYQxi2ayIuBITlaPX73NpNkm_FftJS7qBtyN91sryev5uC39JlNcmKk_B9kA6Al5s5Enk9N0WjG1f-sq0_77aB1MZaSrDCM3vXhFouPj7v11GY0p5RauUD4_/s1600/thumbnail+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="386" data-original-width="400" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7X5ImMU3fzQRvAAB4FGEgpYQxi2ayIuBITlaPX73NpNkm_FftJS7qBtyN91sryev5uC39JlNcmKk_B9kA6Al5s5Enk9N0WjG1f-sq0_77aB1MZaSrDCM3vXhFouPj7v11GY0p5RauUD4_/s200/thumbnail+%25283%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a>After grating 2 cups Rolling Blue farm cabbage into a large bowl, I added 1 cup rolling Blue Farm diced green tomatoes, 1 cup sliced Stonehedge green onions, and 1 cup diced red bell pepper. I tossed the vegetables with 1 tablespoon kosher salt, covered them with plastic wrap, and slid them into the refrigerator to macerate overnight.<br />
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Once softened from the salt bath, I drained the vegetables and set them aside.<br />
Working over a medium flame, I toasted 2 teaspoons mustard seeds, 1 teaspoon whole black Tellicherry peppercorns, 2 tablespoons whole allspice berries, and 1 tablespoon coriander seeds. When the seeds started to pop, I hit the pan with 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar, 1 cup water, and 1/2 cup sugar. When the sugar dissolved, I added the reserved vegetables along with 1 teaspoon ground mustard, 1 teaspoon ground ginger, and 1 teaspoon ground turmeric. I brought the chow chow to a boil, reduced it to a simmer, and let it rip for 1 1/2 hours ( stirring occasionally and adding water when needed) until it thickened before pulling it from the heat. When cooled, I slid the chow chow into the refrigerator to chill.<br />
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<i>Fire.</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilX4iChkXIurMidX_ic16VxCENTA3L_ClDkLmoMJNTJVlTnCgEa6Za-EOiSboTN9gYVTcXaOizrDRccdXM8Z4vEURPgZSGMv5I2PTktufOkcR6swh-jqLveqwO1XEkFC53ErtYbAXRiINY/s1600/thumbnail+%25289%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="467" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilX4iChkXIurMidX_ic16VxCENTA3L_ClDkLmoMJNTJVlTnCgEa6Za-EOiSboTN9gYVTcXaOizrDRccdXM8Z4vEURPgZSGMv5I2PTktufOkcR6swh-jqLveqwO1XEkFC53ErtYbAXRiINY/s200/thumbnail+%25289%2529.jpg" width="171" /></a>Corn can be grilled with or without the husks. When grilled in their pre-soaked husks, the corn steams while picking up subtle smoky notes. When grilled without the husks, it blisters and chars from the smoky heat, hammering home a deeper flavor. I love<i> and</i> do both. For these finger sucking fritters, I wanted blistered crunchy corn.<br />
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After pulling the husks away from the cobs for easier handling, I scrubbed the silks from the ears, brushed the ears with vegetable oil, slid them onto a hot grill, turned them from time to time until they started to blister, and pulled them from the grill. When they were cool enough to handle, I sliced the corn from the cobs, stirred a cup of the grilled corn into the reserved chow chow, and set the remainder aside.<br />
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While the grill was still hot, I tossed a few Stonehedge green onions over the fire to wilt and char before pulling them off and slicing them into whisper thin ribbons.<br />
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<i>Batter up.</i><br />
I use one basic cornbread recipe for everything. It works with any kind of cornmeal and never fails. It's great for skillet cornbread, corn muffins, corn cakes, hush puppies, and old fashioned cornbread salad.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2DsIjdlmCIeugR3nHWPutVqJh56d_Yib65zCX61J0Mq-Ghh55duj1hQ8SoLWX9NrfI0oTnZ81meVVY2mgZgHil6cS4km8eatL_o6c8d19uN3m1ANKEQH_urRD6LpmBqRMLnJMer9RgW8y/s1600/thumbnail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2DsIjdlmCIeugR3nHWPutVqJh56d_Yib65zCX61J0Mq-Ghh55duj1hQ8SoLWX9NrfI0oTnZ81meVVY2mgZgHil6cS4km8eatL_o6c8d19uN3m1ANKEQH_urRD6LpmBqRMLnJMer9RgW8y/s200/thumbnail.jpg" width="158" /></a>After sifting 1 cup Weisenberger Mill all purpose flour and 2 tablespoons baking powder into a mixing bowl, I added 1 cup Weienberger Mill plain yellow cornmeal, 4 tablespoons sugar, 1 teaspoon salt, 4 tablespoons vegetable oil, 2/3 cups milk (or buttermilk), and 2 beaten eggs. I folded 1 1/2 cups of the reserved grilled corn into the batter, and gently mixed the batter until combined before setting it aside for 10 minutes to rest.<br />
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Working over a medium flame, I brought 1/4 cup vegetable to the edge of smoking in a large cast iron skillet. When the oil sizzled around the end of a wooden spoon ( a grandmother trick), I spooned 1/4 cups batter into the oil, spacing the fritters about 3 inches apart. When the batter settled into the hot oil and started to set, I twirled a few of the reserved grilled green onions over the cakes before carefully flipping them over and gently patting them down. As each batch crisped up and browned on both sides, I pulled them the skillet and set them aside. After brushing the tops with a smidgen of melted butter, I dusted them with sea salt, and finished each corn fritter with a puckery kiss of chow chow.<br />
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Suspended in the crisped batter, the corn popped with a smoky sweetness that played off the spiced sweet/tart crunch of the chilled chow chow.<br />
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Blistered corn fritters.<br />
Keep it real.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaoxTFzDm1Fa24aDQ7XJLdf9c3sYZl1UhghaaE7f-ntTz8fpGoTWznTaRThIhMzXxu5co2WNR_wMPl0RZFPR7ReebUNI2-FTkh7KeLOhyphenhyphenW8GjLU3LKTAJ1eBKl_97ZFxik1zwNToJb9QN/s1600/thumbnail+%252816%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQaoxTFzDm1Fa24aDQ7XJLdf9c3sYZl1UhghaaE7f-ntTz8fpGoTWznTaRThIhMzXxu5co2WNR_wMPl0RZFPR7ReebUNI2-FTkh7KeLOhyphenhyphenW8GjLU3LKTAJ1eBKl_97ZFxik1zwNToJb9QN/s320/thumbnail+%252816%2529.jpg" width="253" /></a>And get your grill on.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-70946995778911866222020-05-22T14:00:00.000-04:002020-05-22T17:57:30.603-04:00RevisitingWe left Ethiopia a couple of years before civil war devastated the region and ended the reign of Emperor Haile Selassie. Sensing the growing unrest and tense relations between the Ethiopian government and the Unites States , my father knew the percolating tension was reason enough to leave. After receiving a transfer to a new post back in States, we packed up and took a mini whirl-wind tour of the Mediterranean before boarding a ship for a Transatlantic crossing back to America. Even with his gruff army ways, my father loved a good adventure. With as much emotion as he could muster at the time, he wanted to share that joy with my brother and me. Although he was strict and hard-edged, his intent was founded in affection and love. He sacrificed a lot of his own happiness to keep our little fractured family together after my mother died. When we left Africa for our little adventure, he tapped into his quiet happiness and took us along for the ride.<br />
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After shipping his beloved beaten up Rambler across the Mediterranean Sea to Naples to load as cargo on the ship, we sky-jumped on several short flights for extended stays in Egypt, Morrocco, Turkey, and Greece before renting a snazzy car for a lazy tour through the entire boot of Italy to reach Naples for the crossing. My father was in heaven. He might not have displayed much emotion, but I could feel it.<br />
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Cooped up in our tiny one portal cabin, I gave him fits during the nine day crossing. While I wanted to hang over the railings and fish for whales, he insisted I play shuffleboard and cards. He won. Shuffleboard it was.<br />
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We finally made it back to the states for a short stint in Washington, D.C. before my father retired and moved us to the family farm in western Kentucky. With time, the calm that swept over him trickled down and swept over me. All the while, Africa stayed fresh in my heart. Years and years later, it still does. The food. The sand. The safaris. The Red Sea. The red-butted baboons. Most importantly, my father's insight and foresight to keep our little clan happy and safe.<br />
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Food is my memory trigger.<br />
I might not remember the small details of my childhood, but I can taste them.<br />
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Revisiting Doro Wat.<br />
Revisiting Africa.<br />
Ababa, our housekeeper in Ethiopia, occasionally cooked her food for us. Even now, those flavors wrap me in her warm and gentle hug.<br />
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My father took us out of Africa.<br />
I don’t know what became of Ababa.<br />
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Moments before boarding a plane to leave Africa behind, Ababa cupped my face with her calloused hands and kissed my forehead with her sun-parched lips. And we left.<br />
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My family lived in Ethiopia for a few years while my father was stationed on an army base located on the dusty outskirts of Asmara. It was a sprawling military base surrounded by 20 foot concrete walls topped with tangled webs of sharp barbed wire. As a kid, I wasn't sure if the walls were there to keep people out or to keep us in.<br />
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The isolated self contained base had everything we needed. Aside from occasional weekend jaunts to the Red Sea or adventurous Kenyan faux safaris, we happily lived our lives within our walled-in fortress.<br />
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Ababa was bussed onto base daily with other off base domestic workers. With a gentle grace and serenity, she took care of my family and me. I adored her.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9PD4Wyho4LMYkQ22iRl0yv0L_A9gLsqJnd49oE1J4ucFSYfoDCSh2eENRaCqnFoB5ET7Z61NzDjVt2XecRAHY0LcM1qEuDI19C4Ay7oD9Kju47tP2YBgG_Kr1dr62ha9-qydNUXae2Rx/s1600/thumbnail+%252837%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx9PD4Wyho4LMYkQ22iRl0yv0L_A9gLsqJnd49oE1J4ucFSYfoDCSh2eENRaCqnFoB5ET7Z61NzDjVt2XecRAHY0LcM1qEuDI19C4Ay7oD9Kju47tP2YBgG_Kr1dr62ha9-qydNUXae2Rx/s200/thumbnail+%252837%2529.jpg" width="151" /></a>Every day, in addition to her other tasks, Ababa cooked for us. Intermingled with Swanson TV dinners and frozen pot pies, she'd prepare curious interpretations of American food. But, once in a while, she'd pulled out the big guns and cook her food. Her intoxicating doro wat and tangy injera bread captured my tender young heart. I've craved it my entire life.<br />
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Nowadays, I don't prepare it as often as I'd like. While it seldom compares to her humble version of long braised chicken smothered and stained with spicy blood red berebere, the labor of love it requires to prepare takes me straight back to Africa. And to her. And to my father.<br />
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While the preparation of doro wat and injera is fairly straightforward, the days long process reveals its true essence and soul.<br />
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<b>Niter Kibbeh.</b><br />
Spiced clarified butter.<br />
I melted 1/2 pound unsalted butter in a small cast iron skillet. When the butter started to foam, I added 1 cup diced purple onion, 2 whole garlic cloves, 1 tablespoon grated ginger, 1/4 teaspoon cardamom seeds, 1/4 teaspoon fennel seeds, and three whole cloves. When the onions turned translucent, I covered the skillet, reduced the heat to low, and let the butter steep for 45 minutes before draining it through cheesecloth to trap the solids, covering it, and setting it aside.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBPgNuXAlAuGdUQ7C9zixsyfZcKLBSCqUF5MmaHQjWE4HxQ9K8zlEI8iWlE0k42KsmLhfISrKuoVUxCRiP7j_giNENqCYPvYlEMBVH7EU8Y8wuilzuYpWUQfkmwLT3XvWDQQm1Oogpc2h/s1600/thumbnail+%252836%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="522" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivBPgNuXAlAuGdUQ7C9zixsyfZcKLBSCqUF5MmaHQjWE4HxQ9K8zlEI8iWlE0k42KsmLhfISrKuoVUxCRiP7j_giNENqCYPvYlEMBVH7EU8Y8wuilzuYpWUQfkmwLT3XvWDQQm1Oogpc2h/s200/thumbnail+%252836%2529.jpg" width="153" /></a><b>Berbere Paste.</b><br />
After toasting 2 teaspoons cumin seeds,1 teaspoon dried red pepper flakes, 1 teaspoon cardamom seeds, 1 teaspoon fenugreek seeds, and 4 whole cloves, I pulverized them in a pestle before mixing them with 1 tablespoon kosher salt, 1 1/2 tablespoons paprika, 1 teaspoon ground ginger, 1 teaspoon ground turmeric, 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice, and 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg. After adding 1/2 cup peanut oil and 1/2 cup dry red wine, I blended the berebere into a thick fiery paste and slid it into the refrigerator to chill.<br />
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<b>Injera Bread.</b><br />
Injera can be tricky.<br />
To achieve the characteristic tang of the bread, a sour started needs to proof and ferment for several days. There are methods for quick starters, overnight starters, three day, five day, or seven day starters. The longer it proofs, the more intense the flavor. I took the middle road with a 4 day starter.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRh_Cvy41qLOXN_EsYfueFNj_sgBcBrXH-8bvPfdDgbAWLiDJ8BLv6WVBFHxHV5mStuYakZOuwDg9KMqCBZW2e-Zxwxi48ohBIXjAeDzAemzkxhvKcMBoQEf_sAfmrpwHCxJP-BczQc-L7/s1600/thumbnail+%252835%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="400" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRh_Cvy41qLOXN_EsYfueFNj_sgBcBrXH-8bvPfdDgbAWLiDJ8BLv6WVBFHxHV5mStuYakZOuwDg9KMqCBZW2e-Zxwxi48ohBIXjAeDzAemzkxhvKcMBoQEf_sAfmrpwHCxJP-BczQc-L7/s200/thumbnail+%252835%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
On the first day, I added 3/4 cup warm water to 1/2 cup fine teff flour. After sprinkling a pinch of active dry yeast over the mix, I covered the bowl with a kitchen towel and set it aside. Every morning, I added 1/3 cup teff flour and 1/2 cup warm water to the bubbling starter. As it slowly fermented, gurgled, and popped, the started exuded the familiar pungent aroma of injera bread.<br />
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After cranking an electric skillet (perfect for injera) to 400 degrees, I ladled 1/2 cup injera batter into a corner of the skillet and tilted it to swirl the batter over the bottom of the skillet (similar to crepe making). When it covered the surface, I let it cook until holes appeared in the batter and the bread cooked through . As each spongy injera crepe came off the skillet, I stacked them between sheets of waxed paper before rolling them up.<br />
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<b>Doro Wat. </b><br />
Chicken stew.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpn1n_eYTHCY7p-uWWJjqpUdH-E14_DckbK6lMmEV9CqIbWLwsb8aqMLw3YAgDt5HOX8cxyOPacwYwf-lW5v-bceKUBJIw0Hb2iy-W6YtF48Df4pIr8vYBztM-mNL09IuAgqDV9VRTngWL/s1600/thumbnail+%252830%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpn1n_eYTHCY7p-uWWJjqpUdH-E14_DckbK6lMmEV9CqIbWLwsb8aqMLw3YAgDt5HOX8cxyOPacwYwf-lW5v-bceKUBJIw0Hb2iy-W6YtF48Df4pIr8vYBztM-mNL09IuAgqDV9VRTngWL/s1600/thumbnail+%252830%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpn1n_eYTHCY7p-uWWJjqpUdH-E14_DckbK6lMmEV9CqIbWLwsb8aqMLw3YAgDt5HOX8cxyOPacwYwf-lW5v-bceKUBJIw0Hb2iy-W6YtF48Df4pIr8vYBztM-mNL09IuAgqDV9VRTngWL/s1600/thumbnail+%252830%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><br />
After breaking down a whole chicken into 8 serving pieces, I marinated the chicken in 1 cup freshly squeezed lime juice for 1 hour. Working over a medium low flame, I slowly sauteed 3 cups thinly sliced red onion, for 45 minutes. When the onions caramelized, I added 1/2 cup of the reserved niter kibbeh, 1/2 cup berebere paste, 1/2 cup red wine, and 1 cup chicken stock. I brought the sauce to a boil, reduced it to a simmer, and added the marinated chicken to bubbling blood red sauce. I covered the skillet and let it rip for an hour, adding boiled eggs to during the final 15 minutes.<br />
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In keeping with tradition, I covered a platter with pieces of the spongy injera<b>,</b> tumbled the saucy chicken over the bread, and nestled the reserved rolled injera to the side before finishing with parsley sprigs and the stained boiled eggs.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqX97uT5o-WfCrnsz0P2fmnLMWAbronB4uDEHWKwunXoMJwSUWMqEBYVdSHqMPr_69oAOWQIp6Ij0TqYn2_wPaXnh_UAXmKgQ-LtX4dYh66oRC6KW-j-ao9gTCRDwWopPqUHBg1jtWX6jH/s1600/thumbnail+%252838%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="569" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqX97uT5o-WfCrnsz0P2fmnLMWAbronB4uDEHWKwunXoMJwSUWMqEBYVdSHqMPr_69oAOWQIp6Ij0TqYn2_wPaXnh_UAXmKgQ-LtX4dYh66oRC6KW-j-ao9gTCRDwWopPqUHBg1jtWX6jH/s320/thumbnail+%252838%2529.jpg" width="224" /></a>No utensils.<br />
Just injera.<br />
Finger food.<br />
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Scoop.<br />
Sop.<br />
Repeat.<br />
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Hold fast to revisiting.<br />
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Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-65880306842545707182020-04-23T15:35:00.001-04:002020-04-23T17:55:02.713-04:00Time I've mopped my kitchen floor 4 times in the last 5 days. I'm not a mopper. Because of the new normal, our housekeeper is self isolating at home. So, now I mop.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZfCwQ-52Zr78Ody5JzfqANWrsHjJUHkwIeQhxdUNTggz573-uw8gWdHh-O6jP9sy5UckU-VRRdq5kJylzKBtYopDxAI5UGp4qCU6wJnInDseWxatMfD5pAEsE8HUPj69m9jDV4_MxvRp/s1600/thumbnail+%252815%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ZfCwQ-52Zr78Ody5JzfqANWrsHjJUHkwIeQhxdUNTggz573-uw8gWdHh-O6jP9sy5UckU-VRRdq5kJylzKBtYopDxAI5UGp4qCU6wJnInDseWxatMfD5pAEsE8HUPj69m9jDV4_MxvRp/s200/thumbnail+%252815%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a>We're living through crazy times these days. Navigating grocery stores, markets, curbside pick-ups, deliveries, and drive-up windows while maintaining proper social distancing in full protective gear can be a challenge. It's really hard to avoid people. They're/we're everywhere. Hopefully (and thankfully), most folks have a safe harbor to ride out what seems to be an unyielding storm. Michael and I are safe, happy, and anxious at home. Temporarily unemployed for who knows how long, I take refuge in my kitchen. On any given day, I end up covered in flour from baking things I would never bake in real life and making more fresh pasta than I ever would in real life. This isn't real life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXfox62kqSJ2_v68zModqHxgdJwVX6tWkJ_xobRSNV9nvBtCuMCEO_hFvsmCPCPMNDZ34waYCFWp79-hHozK4SiM5WAfn1H1pYq85_vk8P3txKK_P17FLBQ4fIR4skK1RL-lWssbW8sqF/s1600/thumbnail+%252819%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNXfox62kqSJ2_v68zModqHxgdJwVX6tWkJ_xobRSNV9nvBtCuMCEO_hFvsmCPCPMNDZ34waYCFWp79-hHozK4SiM5WAfn1H1pYq85_vk8P3txKK_P17FLBQ4fIR4skK1RL-lWssbW8sqF/s200/thumbnail+%252819%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a>Even in normal times, I keep a well stocked pantry. For years, I've gotten ribbed for saving stuff. I toss little, if anything, away. Everything has a purpose or an eventual purpose in another form.Waste not want not. I have the various grains and dried pastas covered. Canned goods, dried beans, sugars, and frivolous things are stored away in the pantry. Along with fresh fruits, I try to keep the vegetable bin stocked with the basics. I pickle, ferment, and put up almost anything and everything. That said, the freezer is my Fort Knox. Tucked beside (over, under, and in between) tomato sauces and cut-off from corn from last years bounty, I have chicken bones, shrimp shells, vegetables scraps, leftover things, bread scraps, extra scratch made doughs, stocks, dried shrimp, and anything I have a proper container to use for storage. I never dreamed a time would come, like now, that my little gold mine would be worth its weight in gold. Right now, it's all about the pantry and......time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeDDOKsQFC99lBr1czrkZI4NfhcKrEnMZfyKUUpktYd8tdh0_HWJ833YRjqsucsm4MmVgVskQg_zsm8o7MXEb6X1Jct7liVC0rTsvZ7hyphenhyphen5hU_Chyh9RqW-FL1R_F7lbJqwzGf6poVrU9pS/s1600/thumbnail+%252816%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeDDOKsQFC99lBr1czrkZI4NfhcKrEnMZfyKUUpktYd8tdh0_HWJ833YRjqsucsm4MmVgVskQg_zsm8o7MXEb6X1Jct7liVC0rTsvZ7hyphenhyphen5hU_Chyh9RqW-FL1R_F7lbJqwzGf6poVrU9pS/s200/thumbnail+%252816%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a>Just before the yeast shortages turned everyone into sourdough bread bakers, I bought a massive amount of active dry yeast. Boy, has it come in handy. I've also turned into a flour maniac. Sleuthing a bit, I'v managed to procure whole wheat flour, whole wheat pastry flour, white whole wheat flour, 00 flour, almond flour, bread flour, cake flour,wheat gluten flour, all purpose flour (bleached and unbleached.....because, why not?), and cornmeal.<br />
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For a cook, the luxury of time is everything. Time for long sexy braises. Time for marinating and brining. Time for stock making. Time to think things through. Time for patience. Baking is science. Baking is a lesson in patience. First things first, I'm not patient and I'm not a baker. At all. I suck at baking. Even in school, I squeaked through that part. I'm not much of a rule follower, either. Baking has rules. Big time rules. Even though I can barely follow a basic recipe without fiddling with it, self isolation has afforded me the time to be patient, pay attention, play along, and follow the rules.<br />
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Every morning at 6:00 am (after copious amounts of coffee), I mise en place meals for the day. Planned, prepped, and ready to go, I turn my attention to my flour collection. Bread. Pasta. Rolls. Biscuits. Croissants. Dumplings. Pie. Quiche. Turnovers. Hand Pies. Cinnamon Rolls. On and on and on. With time, anything is possible. I think it's driving Michael crazy.<br />
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In my case, it's mostly out of necessity. Most of my food deliveries are haphazard affairs. I order quickly to meet the limited delivery windows. In doing so, I forget things from time to time.When I needed bread sticks for sopping up pasta sauce, I made bread sticks. We reached a point when we needed sandwich bread, so I made rustic white loaves. Breakfast biscuits? While the jury is still out on that one, I keep plugging away. And in times like these, a bowl of chicken and dumplings is like a grandmother's warm and gentle hug. Gotta have dumplings. Respite from the madness.<br />
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On one of my rushed play-by-the-rules delivery moves, I accidentally ordered 3 dozen large organic eggs. I started rolling out a parade of quiches, stratas, omelettes, and pies with meringue. It's been fabulous.<br />
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"There's never enough time" used to be my mantra. Now I cherish the time.<br />
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<b>Fresh Egg Pasta.</b><br />
(When life gives you eggs)<br />
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<i>Get doughy with it.</i><br />
Over the years, I've made a lot of fresh pasta. This egg pasta using 00 flour was the most pliable and <br />
workable one I've ever played with.<br />
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After sifting 2 1/4 cups cups 00 flour, 1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt, and a pinch of freshly grated nutmeg into a large bowl, I made a well in the center of the flour before cracking 3 large whole eggs into the center of the well and drizzling 1 tablespoon olive oil into the well. Using a fork, I slowly incorporated the flour into the eggs until it formed a loose shaggy consistency. When it came together, I rolled the dough onto a floured board, and kneaded it for about 10 minutes until it formed a smooth dough. Still tight at this point, I wrapped the dough in plastic wrap and set it aside to relax for 45 minutes.<br />
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After 45 minutes, I divided the dough into fourths and worked with one piece at a time while keeping the remaining dough covered.<br />
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<i>Rolling right along.</i><br />
Pasta can definitely be made strictly by hand, but I have an old fashioned tabletop pasta roller/cutter <br />
that I adore.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiiVaBklPLhPh989qe1nEkegccgjD22RVPmiBKeGPSu_thos8hMus8Fy8Y6_dfFH2VGUkmdrVdGTDs1wIxokTObljqfY7LJNLHRjZmGRmv3PEkWdF1EdeYAFZGr8rV-Wgk8d_gJXJuZer/s1600/thumbnail+%252825%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="394" data-original-width="400" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRiiVaBklPLhPh989qe1nEkegccgjD22RVPmiBKeGPSu_thos8hMus8Fy8Y6_dfFH2VGUkmdrVdGTDs1wIxokTObljqfY7LJNLHRjZmGRmv3PEkWdF1EdeYAFZGr8rV-Wgk8d_gJXJuZer/s200/thumbnail+%252825%2529.jpg" width="200" /></a>I flattened the dough and rolled the first piece through the lowest setting of the roller 3 times, folding into in half after each pass. When the dough felt right (pliable), I dusted it with flour and started passing it through each setting (narrowing the setting each pass and flouring the dough) until I reached the second to last setting on my roller.<br />
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I dusted the sheet with flour, set it aside, and repeated the process with the remaining dough until I had about 8 sheets of pasta.<br />
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<i>Size matters.</i><br />
I wanted variety. While Tagliatelle pasta can stand up to most sauces, wispy capellini works great with lighter delicate sauces.<br />
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After moving the hand crank to the cutting section of the pasta cutter, I ran half the pasta through the capellini blades and other half through the tagliatelle blades. I dusted the ribbons with extra flour to keep them from sticking together, covered them with a dish towel,<br />
and mopped the kitchen floor.<br />
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Embrace the pantry.<br />
And the time.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-5584085552838191562020-02-16T16:04:00.000-05:002020-02-16T18:05:11.516-05:00Irish Fisherman's PieScoot aside Shepherd's Pie, there's another pie in town.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jb2IQycyP2W0qGLTq4sggi2Kpk1uA8kAO_eNI1ZRowW-TRd1idb0a8Egrmvh4tCZnYFmI_tzurRbk06d7y8kHvmN2TJOE-9cNLnfJfjsaZuFa2BeIvyAYv2E2X7vmLiGHP81_m8Je1Lt/s1600/thumbnail+%252814%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_jb2IQycyP2W0qGLTq4sggi2Kpk1uA8kAO_eNI1ZRowW-TRd1idb0a8Egrmvh4tCZnYFmI_tzurRbk06d7y8kHvmN2TJOE-9cNLnfJfjsaZuFa2BeIvyAYv2E2X7vmLiGHP81_m8Je1Lt/s200/thumbnail+%252814%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a>In general, we tend to think Irish cuisine is all about stews, bangers and mash, blood puddings, black sausages , corned beef and cabbage, rashers, bacon, trotters, shepherd's pies, or meat-filled pasties. While Ireland certainly celebrates all things meat, as an island surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean to the east, the Irish sea to the west, and the Celtic sea to the south, Ireland also celebrates seafood.<br />
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British in origin and akin to Shepherd's pie, Fisherman's pie is a simple baked casserole type dish filled with sauteed vegetables, fresh fish, and smoked fish napped in a silky cream sauce tucked under a blanket of pillowy mashed potatoes. Popular in local pubs and households alike, it's humble comfort food.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZp4zh_HtNrikszmchetVlpS9y7eryh4kJxT9C0kDQrxKUZVTmVNs1mmgJowJ9V-28q-I-YZgcs6J9aNgaFLSYsjKu86tIGbaTQvHlfbvKXFurwhCBd07MuLI38jmYIofbvkEUizUhtZA/s1600/thumbnail+%25286%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="703" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZp4zh_HtNrikszmchetVlpS9y7eryh4kJxT9C0kDQrxKUZVTmVNs1mmgJowJ9V-28q-I-YZgcs6J9aNgaFLSYsjKu86tIGbaTQvHlfbvKXFurwhCBd07MuLI38jmYIofbvkEUizUhtZA/s200/thumbnail+%25286%2529.jpg" width="113" /></a>It's coming on St. Patrick's day. Cue the bagpipes, pour a pint of Guinness or shot of Jameson's, and shake up the party with a different kind of pie.<br />
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<b>Fisherman's Pie</b><br />
A take on surf and turf.<br />
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<i>Turf</i><br />
Sweet Potato Puree.<br />
In lieu of the traditional white russet potatoes, I gave it a Bluegrass spin by using local sweet <br />
potatoes.<br />
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I rubbed 3 pounds Casey County Red Garnet sweet potatoes with olive oil, wrapped them in aluminum foil, and slid them into a preheated 350 oven to roast for 1 - 1/2 hours. When they were knife tender, I pulled them from the oven, let them cool to the touch, and slipped the off the skins. While they still somewhat warm, I roughly mashed (squished) the pulp it into a blender and added 1 1/2 teaspoons salt, cracked black pepper, 2 tablespoons lemon zest, 2 tablespoons freshly grated parmesan cheese, and 1/4 cup heavy cream before blending the potatoes into a smooth puree and setting it aside.<br />
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<i>Surf</i><br />
While any kind of fish would work with this pie, a combination of flaky white fish and smoked fish keeps with tradition and deepens the flavor profile.<br />
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For the smoky fish, I flaked 1/2 pound Shuckman's Fish Co. smoked alder salmon into bite sized pieces and set it aside.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OyN7zOeOydrTudqOQl8tchACMbthLj2s1n3-mWOJo8Rr6UILdAMEtSjp06oiJwgDhWWfeCPQHnFi4BY3U_0cxNuUcacDilmcguSfRt9a3qStw5qVNNVyWDAN4nNv_NSLAQ8KJWR3RHbc/s1600/thumbnail+%252813%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="542" data-original-width="400" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OyN7zOeOydrTudqOQl8tchACMbthLj2s1n3-mWOJo8Rr6UILdAMEtSjp06oiJwgDhWWfeCPQHnFi4BY3U_0cxNuUcacDilmcguSfRt9a3qStw5qVNNVyWDAN4nNv_NSLAQ8KJWR3RHbc/s200/thumbnail+%252813%2529.jpg" width="147" /></a>After bringing 2 cups whole milk to a gentle simmer in sauce pan, I added 1 bay leaf, a few whole peppercorns, and a handful of fresh parsley stems. With the milk at a gentle ripple, I used a fish spatula to lower 8 ounces fresh cod and 8 ounces fresh haddock into the milk to poach for 2 minutes before removing the fish to a side plate, flaking it into bite sized pieces, and reserving the warmed milk/stock.<br />
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<i>Pie</i><br />
After heating 2 tablespoons olive oil in large cast iron skillet over a medium flame, I sauteed 1 cleaned and sliced leek, 2 sliced celery stalks, 2 thinly sliced peeled carrots, 1 smashed and minced garlic clove, 1/2 teaspoon salt, and cracked black pepper. When the carrots softened and the leeks caramelized, I deglazed the skillet with 1/2 cup white wine and let it reduce to a glaze before removing the vegetables and setting them aside.<br />
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I wiped out the skillet, returned it to the heat, and brought it back to temp before adding 4 tablespoons <br />
unsalted butter and 4 tablespoons flour. When the butter and flour formed a light roux, I strained the reserved warmed milk/stock into the roux 1/2 cup at a time whisking between additions to assure a smooth sauce. When the sauce thickened, I pulled the skillet from the heat and swirled 3 tablespoons thinly sliced green onions throughout the sauce. After gently folding the reserved sauteed vegetables, poached fish, and smoked salmon into the sauce, I set the pie filling aside to cool.<br />
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<i>Sealing the deal.</i><br />
I filled a pastry bag with the sweet potato puree (a spatula for spreading instead of piping would have been fine) and piped the puree across the top of the filling, piping tiny rosettes at the seams to seal the filling under the potatoes. After brushing the top of the potatoes with melted butter I slid the pie into preheated 375 oven to bake for about 35 minutes. When the filling bubbled up and the potatoes browned, I pulled the pie from the oven and let it rest before finishing with sea salt and scallions.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwpD73KIgkEHKT6Hq9BCyIXRmqum9H6pqkOkeS2UHY3UHwyo2I2f2eZkshOvjEQCs4ACpF15a_9KQF7PGzCG3dsBgaZmFOcO3DXFbj0HX9RvnwGH9xFqXnCoJLmbaF2tpJX2T9Kzn3-IO/s1600/thumbnail+%252811%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwpD73KIgkEHKT6Hq9BCyIXRmqum9H6pqkOkeS2UHY3UHwyo2I2f2eZkshOvjEQCs4ACpF15a_9KQF7PGzCG3dsBgaZmFOcO3DXFbj0HX9RvnwGH9xFqXnCoJLmbaF2tpJX2T9Kzn3-IO/s320/thumbnail+%252811%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a>Simple, rustic, and totally unexpected.<br />
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Raise a pint to Fisherman's Pie.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-72934719099618477872020-01-25T16:15:00.002-05:002021-05-04T12:24:18.624-04:00Hail CaesarI mourn the demise of the table-side Caesar.<br />
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Caesar Cardini created the Caesar Salad in 1924 at his Tijuana restaurant by using ingredients he had on hand after an unexpected Fourth of July rush wiped out his kitchen. To bolster the oomph factor and woo his remaining hungry guests, Cardini had his chefs prepare, assemble, and toss the salads table-side. The notion took off and its notoriety catapulted its migration north to restaurants across the United States. Once considered a showstopping staple of high end steakhouses and restaurants, the grandeur of a tossed table-side Caesar Salad endured for decades. Over time, that grandeur slowly and sadly faded into extinction. Granted, from the production side of things, table-side Caesars were high maintenance. The rolling carts, huge wooden bowls, ingredients, and the gratuitous time involved probably bogged down the timing of busy dining rooms. But hey, from the other side of the cart, it was pure adventure. Time stood still when the server rolled the salad cart to the table and prepared the simple dressing with anchovies, garlic, lemon juice, egg yolks, worchestershire sauce, parmesan cheese, cracked pepper, and olive oil in a large wooden bowl before tossing it with chilled crisp romaine lettuce, hand torn croutons, and copious amounts of more parmesan. It was a moment. High drama. Cue the lights. And yes, showstopping. I still long for that bygone relic.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenuwd2WAZqGBpCxF-rOw4C76Nh27Po-VVtT2mPVgC4LwTOBNS4u_l6hNHKSxa-3TC3CM6OctA_9x-juj9q0soVBDx9c0dNYcEgrw0xSW112WBI-rw2iW2uwKKxUf7sqMQAwmNhB7OQW2R/s1600/IMG_4898+%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="992" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhyphenhyphenuwd2WAZqGBpCxF-rOw4C76Nh27Po-VVtT2mPVgC4LwTOBNS4u_l6hNHKSxa-3TC3CM6OctA_9x-juj9q0soVBDx9c0dNYcEgrw0xSW112WBI-rw2iW2uwKKxUf7sqMQAwmNhB7OQW2R/s200/IMG_4898+%25281%2529.jpg" width="123" /></a>My last table-side Caesar was at a newly opened restaurant on Valentine's Days years and years ago. Even through the reckless chaos of a boisterous dining room on a night of pure mayhem, time melted away when the cart rolled up to the side of our table and the server meticulously constructed a classic table-side Caesar. Pure magic.<br />
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Although the drama of table-side service might be a thing of the past, the ubiquitous Caesar salad still endures. In Cardini's original salad, dressed romaine leaves were left whole to be picked up and eaten as finger food. Nowadays, you're most likely to find them chopped, hand torn, smoked, grilled, or topped with various grilled proteins.<br />
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Whether for a special date night or cozy fireside dinner, invite Caesar to the party. And if you're feeling nostalgic, grab a bowl and toss it table-side.<br />
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<b>Grilled Caesar Salad</b><br />
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<i>Dress it up. </i><br />
Like a strand of pearls with a simple black dress, the dressing makes the salad.<br />
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Embrace the anchovy.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMM5z1IYNbTmlBVKL-5LlH6YeqHb5PPJewVOLhb6iz90NHqZcVj48vcyq4fo-QFA0u-Rl9y3RmYabJe3Y2W2mnaDVDbYz0lUCk9O2E26Fl5AYyTJrPdgQPhlmgL4jafN4ilrzjMRvYVcn0/s1600/IMG_4903.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1367" data-original-width="1048" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMM5z1IYNbTmlBVKL-5LlH6YeqHb5PPJewVOLhb6iz90NHqZcVj48vcyq4fo-QFA0u-Rl9y3RmYabJe3Y2W2mnaDVDbYz0lUCk9O2E26Fl5AYyTJrPdgQPhlmgL4jafN4ilrzjMRvYVcn0/s200/IMG_4903.jpg" width="153" /></a>After smashing, mincing, and pasting 2 whole peeled garlic cloves, I used the tines of a fork to mash 6 oil-packed flat anchovy filets into the garlic paste. When thoroughly combined, I added 2 tablespoons fresh squeezed lemon juice, a few dashes worchestershire sauce, 1 tablespoon dijon mustard, 3 tablespoons grated freshly grated parmesan, cracked black pepper, and two coddled organic egg yolks (unpeeled eggs simmered for 60 seconds in boiling water). After whisking the mix until smooth, I drizzled in 2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil and 1/2 cup neutral canola oil while using an immersion blender to emulsify the dressing.<br />
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<i>Dress it down.</i><br />
I'm a big fan of grilled lettuces. Hardy romaine can take the heat and caramelize just enough to wilt the edges while remaining crisp and fresh.<br />
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After halving 3 medium hearts of romaine, I brushed the cut sides with olive oil, dusted them with salt, and nestled them onto a screaming hot grilled pan for about 3 minutes. When they were slightly charred, I tossed them into a large bowl, added the dressing, and carefully massaged the dressing through the leaves of the romaine before finishing with Sunrise Bakery French bread grilled croutons, shaved parmesan, cracked black pepper, and flaked sea salt.<br />
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Suspended throughout the glistening leaves, the piquant creamy anchovy-flecked dressing tempered the slight caramelized char of the lettuce. While the shards of cheese added nutty bites, the crusty grilled croutons provided needed crunch.<br />
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Everything old is new again.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-13972889032959376482019-12-19T17:06:00.000-05:002019-12-20T11:43:42.295-05:00Slow Down With Slower FoodAfter a hectic holiday season, I suspect we all need to tap the brakes and slow down. When the blurred flurry of meals, snacks, parties, and celebrations dies down, we can finally exhale. Take it easy and slow down. Tuck away the cookie cutters, bundt pans, roasting racks, new fangled multi cookers, and angst. Embrace slower food. As languid as they might be, I'm not talking about the low and slow braises, hours long simmered stews, or crock pot cookery. Take it down one notch further and explore fermentation, the ultimate slow food. With little effort (a welcome respite) fermentation is<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70117CVZw1eaWD94JrHAKb9CRMIJAMtYwLmXtbNUVuqtgeVz6iOryhyqF2fS5y7AsVOJCqQ8grZiCUyy0XRWx-Nwk_Wyl-m7N-3_nz8-Rkvv6AgTY7YQV-A-JoSdRC4OZuR5uZbFHEGEl/s1600/IMG_4661.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70117CVZw1eaWD94JrHAKb9CRMIJAMtYwLmXtbNUVuqtgeVz6iOryhyqF2fS5y7AsVOJCqQ8grZiCUyy0XRWx-Nwk_Wyl-m7N-3_nz8-Rkvv6AgTY7YQV-A-JoSdRC4OZuR5uZbFHEGEl/s200/IMG_4661.jpg" width="150" /></a> a lesson in slow motion magic. With fermentation, there are no deadlines to meet, temperatures to monitor, or stress to endure. It simply needs time. As an ages old means of food preservation, just about anything can be fermented. While deli style sour pickles and saurkraut might be the most familiar examples, Korean Kimchi, fermented chili-spiked funkified napa cabbage, takes it to another level and lets the wheels fly off the cart. Better yet, it's fun to prepare, healthy (loaded with off the charts priobiotics), downright delicious, and utterly addictive. It can be be eaten straight up out of the jar, served as a side dish, or added to a myriad of other things. With time on your side, slow down and enjoy the ride.<br />
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<b>Kimchi.</b><br />
Packed with aged funk, tangy sour undertones, and peppery heat, kimchi is a sexy power hitter.<br />
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Funk it up.<br />
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<i>Brine.</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDiBAGNamT_BVnetDop-Az1KKynWYG60D2ZLScYsj69ju_z7K0p6ObA-3GtwDMcBL-5uOQyYvOHucbw0RUUnUOZoVEaCr_EJYmXsMZth2-qekDYDEJ-llRMqtzczXTNFwubr6I8n6_8V4T/s1600/IMG_4379.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1361" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDiBAGNamT_BVnetDop-Az1KKynWYG60D2ZLScYsj69ju_z7K0p6ObA-3GtwDMcBL-5uOQyYvOHucbw0RUUnUOZoVEaCr_EJYmXsMZth2-qekDYDEJ-llRMqtzczXTNFwubr6I8n6_8V4T/s200/IMG_4379.jpg" width="158" /></a>There are a couple of different ways to prep cabbage for kimchi. It can be chopped into bite sized pieces or sliced into quarters before the initial salt bath. For a variation in texture, I combined both methods.<br />
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I halved one 3 1/2 pound crisp napa cabbage, chopped one half into 2" pieces, quartered the remaining half, and tumbled the cabbage into a large bowl before tossing it with 1 large jullienned daikon radish and 4 jullienned carrots. After dissolving 1 cup kosher salt in 2 cups water, I poured the brine over the vegetables, massaged the salt into the nooks and crannies (making sure to have everything come into contact with the solution), and set the cabbage aside to brine overnight.<br />
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When the cabbage wilted and could bend without snapping (about 9 hours), I thoroughly rinsed it under cold water to wash away any excess salt and set it aside.<br />
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<i>Spice.</i><br />
Umami bomb.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht96UpL0yuZX6GwAGCRl2upqe-dTvnfMsRM4qUYqMItjPwyf1ndGpEZzGLAav6cMY99n_ACQ-8vMkiua4R6NzSXp25hUCZGhY8f-H_6or8mz2NdNlp87-ENLjOZ6BBZ-wxqvJHuEyaFfLp/s1600/IMG_4719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1319" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht96UpL0yuZX6GwAGCRl2upqe-dTvnfMsRM4qUYqMItjPwyf1ndGpEZzGLAav6cMY99n_ACQ-8vMkiua4R6NzSXp25hUCZGhY8f-H_6or8mz2NdNlp87-ENLjOZ6BBZ-wxqvJHuEyaFfLp/s200/IMG_4719.jpg" width="163" /></a>The spice paste is everything. It defines kimchi. Grab some rubber gloves.<br />
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After tossing 6 peeled and smashed garlic cloves into a food processor, I added a peeled 2" knob of chopped fresh ginger, 1 peeled and diced Red Valley Farm pear, 1/3 cup fish sauce, 2 tablespoons dried shrimp, and 2 tablespoons palm sugar. I buzzed the mix into a paste and mixed it with 1 cup Gochugara (Korean chili flakes). After tossing 2 bunches of scallions (sliced into 3"batons) with the wilted cabbage, daikon, and carrots, I slathered everything with the fiery paste before stuffing the kimchi into a large 3 quart glass container. After loosely covering the container, I set the kimchi aside in a coolish dark place to do its thing for 3 days, monitoring the bubbling fermentation every day. On the third day, I transferred the kimchi into smaller glass jars, sealed the lids, and slid them into the refrigerator to slow down the fermentation.<br />
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While the kimchi is good to go after one day of refrigeration, it gets better and funkier with time.<br />
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Slow down.<br />
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All good things take time.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-88118211340872386412019-12-16T16:43:00.000-05:002020-12-20T11:38:30.742-05:00Winter CandyIt doesn't take long for the cold gray days of winter to erase the warm embrace of summer. With a damp chill in the air, those sun-kissed tomatoes, overflowing corn trucks, delicate lettuces, and vibrant vegetables seem like distant childhood memories. The lucky folks, with enough fortitude to put up their summer hauls, have pantries and freezers stocked for the long haul. Constant visceral reminders of summer. Still, during the winter months, we all revel in the jeweled-toned winter squash, hardy greens, dried beans, pantry goods, turnips, and wild array of overwintered potatoes.<br />
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And just when the muted colors of winter seem to lull and blanket us with calm, perky winter citrus rolls into town, crashes the party, and changes everything. Sweet. Acidic. Bright. Sun bombs.<br />
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<b>Upside Down Grapefruit Polenta Cake with Candied Almonds.</b><br />
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<i>Sugar Sugar.</i><br />
<u>Candied Almonds.</u><br />
Unlike traditional sugar-coated baked candied almonds, these nuts are a fun riff on spun sugar without the frenzy of a whirling dervish.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbIcYO0u06OXl2NrCikk9XoAB8f3iFqgYZW_EUvERthwz5srp3YmZGpiMLVn5jYX_V_LXotRcsyRC5YFodY5D36HxES9yBqVna-XZBVnztVRJUjjTiVUzLd4WtIi8UF0fk2f5_jX8FM22/s1600/IMG_0220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1034" data-original-width="1080" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtbIcYO0u06OXl2NrCikk9XoAB8f3iFqgYZW_EUvERthwz5srp3YmZGpiMLVn5jYX_V_LXotRcsyRC5YFodY5D36HxES9yBqVna-XZBVnztVRJUjjTiVUzLd4WtIi8UF0fk2f5_jX8FM22/s200/IMG_0220.jpg" width="200" /></a>I combined 2 cups granulated sugar with 1/2 cup water in a heavy sauce pan. After bringing the combo to a boil, I let it rip without stirring (scraping down the sides with a pastry brush to prevent crystals ) until it bubbled and foamed. When it turned light amber, about 8-10 minutes, I pulled the molten sugar from the heat and carefully placed the pan over an ice bath to stop the cooking process. After letting caramelized sugar cool just enough to drizzle or spin, I skewered individual blanched whole almonds, slipped them through caramel, and hung them upside down to <br />
completely cool. When the sugar hardened, I snipped off the ends and set the candied almonds aside.<br />
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<i> </i><u>Almost Candied Grapefruit.</u><br />
Wanting to utilize the rind, pith, and flesh of the grapefruit, I knew I needed to temper the bitterness of the peel before incorporating it into the cake. Sidestepping the traditional method of an upside cake, I brought 1 cup sugar and 1/2 cup fresh squeezed and strained ruby red grapefruit juice to a rolling boil in a large cast iron skillet before reducing it to a gentle simmer and sliding 3/4" thick grapefruit slices ( in single layer batches) into the simmering syrup. When the pithy peels turned translucent, I scooped the grapefruit slices onto parchment paper, reserving the gloriously sticky grapefruit syrup.<br />
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<i>Eat Cake.</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNS0p057QoBC4akj-xjs3jiaB2FauPltP-lp7HjKTpbTDPJNnjX-5HmPtcWvPxdGJn4niTUFJVUXu-LJXmyE3siwZvJ94vt8zLDcCpMHpDM1pTWPCs09YddJ-HWJUxYM6rMJkyeiDXMuj/s1600/IMG_0306+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNS0p057QoBC4akj-xjs3jiaB2FauPltP-lp7HjKTpbTDPJNnjX-5HmPtcWvPxdGJn4niTUFJVUXu-LJXmyE3siwZvJ94vt8zLDcCpMHpDM1pTWPCs09YddJ-HWJUxYM6rMJkyeiDXMuj/s200/IMG_0306+%25282%2529.jpg" width="150" /></a>Grapefruit polenta cake.<br />
Polenta cake (gluten free) is very forgiving. Almost teetering on the edge of savory, it's a fabulous foil for the sweet/tart grapefruit.<br />
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I sifted 2 cups almond flour, 3/4 cup fine polenta, and 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder into a bowl and set it aside. Using a stand mixer with a paddle attachment, I creamed 1 3/4 sticks room temperature unsalted butter and 1 cup castor sugar until light and airy. With the mixer running, I added 1 teaspoon vanilla extract and incorporated 3 large eggs one at a time, alternating 1/3 of the flour mixture after the addition of each egg, until the batter was well blended.<br />
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After folding 2 tablespoons of grapefruit zest into the batter, I buttered 4" ramekins, lined them with trimmed parchment paper, buttered the parchment paper, and nestled the grapefruit slices into the bottom of each ramekin before pouring the batter into the ramekins, smoothing the tops with an offset spatula, and sliding them into a preheated 350 degree oven for 35-40 minutes.<br />
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When the toothpick test came out clean, I pulled the cakes from the oven, brushed the tops with the grapefruit syrup, and set them onto a wire rack to cool.<br />
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<i>Upside Down.</i><br />
After 10 minutes, I inverted the cakes, peeled away the parchment paper, and drizzled the remainder of the reserved grapefruit syrup over the now downside up grapefruit before finishing with flaked sea salt, candied almonds, and fresh mint.<br />
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Let the sunshine in.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfjHcLmdcaHkW-8Ew6ZWnWDdu4pJJsxMWf_WoT0CNQKrdTm8KTa6eEvBuM5ccNpjpj2F9MiOmcdlimtbj1FFQOZL7HzmTZc03wZiTLPCQYVkobEah9aNoGEHY2v89SHwoAuhDAFNtFhCl/s1600/IMG_0317+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1457" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZfjHcLmdcaHkW-8Ew6ZWnWDdu4pJJsxMWf_WoT0CNQKrdTm8KTa6eEvBuM5ccNpjpj2F9MiOmcdlimtbj1FFQOZL7HzmTZc03wZiTLPCQYVkobEah9aNoGEHY2v89SHwoAuhDAFNtFhCl/s320/IMG_0317+%25283%2529.jpg" width="237" /></a><br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-38959916212172444532019-11-21T16:42:00.000-05:002019-11-24T16:02:05.591-05:00Christmas Bread. My Stollen Heart.Loathed by many and loved by few, fruit cake can be a polarizing holiday treat. Even with their centuries old heritage, they're still often maligned. Some folks joke that there might only be one fruit cake that gets handed down from generation to generation. Re-gifted again and again Let's face it, loved or loathed, there will always be fruit cake. I'm on team fruit cake. Yep, I was that odd ball kid who <i>wanted</i> to win those cellophane-wrapped fruit cakes that showed up<br />
at festival cake walks. During the holidays, I still live for the sound of that glorious thud a fruit cake makes when it hits the front stoop for delivery. While I didn't grow up eating those dense holiday cakes packed with sweet candied fruit, I've always adored them because they remind me of Christmases past. My primer for fruit cake was German Christmas stollen or Christstollen, a dense yeasted spiced bread packed with boozy plumped dried fruit and covered with confectioner's sugar. In Germany, it was (and still is) unheard of to have Christmas without stollen. Whether scratch made or outsourced, most every household had stollen during Christmas. Ours was no exception. Frau Olga loved making stollen. Gliding through the kitchen like a graceful stout swan, she'd spend days proofing dough, rolling dough, and soaking various dried fruits in rum before shaping the dough, proofing it again, and sliding it into the oven to bake. When cooled, she showered the bread with an avalanche of powdered snow. Frau Olga's Christmas miracle. The stuff of boyish dreams.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWohLwvizyOfFu5JiENLRP2w7U9ZYGmbhiFcs3fyaDF7x306o6iB3evDtu13QyiPo-Cpaa1EVT8OKUP0e_ptBQooxgdWeciu7inGlPEOvT0uv8Vij736GhEZ1Km2Nj3cdNncZJ3V4ArKQA/s1600/IMG_4275.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="733" data-original-width="593" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWohLwvizyOfFu5JiENLRP2w7U9ZYGmbhiFcs3fyaDF7x306o6iB3evDtu13QyiPo-Cpaa1EVT8OKUP0e_ptBQooxgdWeciu7inGlPEOvT0uv8Vij736GhEZ1Km2Nj3cdNncZJ3V4ArKQA/s200/IMG_4275.jpg" width="161" /></a><br />
When my family left Germany and moved back to the States, the familiar flavors of holiday fruit cake took my heart back to stollen.<br />
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Stollen (jazzed up Christmas bread) is simple enough to throw together, but it takes time and planning. Like fruit cake, it's best aged for a few days or weeks. The plumped fruit gets fruitier and the booze gets boozier. Total win.<br />
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<b>Christmas Stollen.</b><br />
2 loaves.<br />
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<i>Fruit.</i><br />
Although traditional stollen has hard-to-find dried citron in the mix, any combination of dried fruit works with this sweet/savory Christmas bread.<br />
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Using separate containers to keep the dried fruits from bleeding into each other, I soaked 1 cup dried currants, 3/4 cup candied orange peel, 1 cup chopped dried apricots, and 3/4 cups dried sour cherries in 12 tablespoons white rum (3 tablespoons per fruit). After letting the fruit macerate for a couple of hours, I slipped them into the refrigerator to absorb the rum and plump overnight.<br />
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<i>Proof.</i><br />
I dissolved 1 1/2 tablespoons active dry yeast in 1/4 warm (not hot) water and set it aside to proof and bubble up.<br />
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<i>Rise.</i><br />
I love playing with dough.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEIIPSeWGighr4_XNvxYMDTuyk6SxXiEjjHpdlFXBVBIKs4ISvFLP9cKx0ce_mB8ujLulpBp5HxandfzMeN2QDs2TBIhADytjO0icfuX0QQmL36fU1aPppoeeLZ7KDzjtPgPO8uW7EH8u/s1600/IMG_3876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfEIIPSeWGighr4_XNvxYMDTuyk6SxXiEjjHpdlFXBVBIKs4ISvFLP9cKx0ce_mB8ujLulpBp5HxandfzMeN2QDs2TBIhADytjO0icfuX0QQmL36fU1aPppoeeLZ7KDzjtPgPO8uW7EH8u/s200/IMG_3876.jpg" width="200" /></a>After sifting together 5 1/2 Wiesenberger Mill all-purpose flour, 2/3 cups granulated sugar, 1 teaspoons salt, 1/2 teaspoon ground mace, I teaspoon ground cardamon, and 1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg into a large mixing bowl, I added 1 cup warm whole milk, 1 1/4 sticks melted unsalted butter, 3 lightly beaten eggs, 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract, 1 teaspoon almond extract, and the reserved yeast. I turned the shaggy dough onto a lightly floured work surface and kneaded the dough until it was smooth.<br />
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I flattened the dough into a workable rectangle before adding the reserved soaked fruit, 1 1/2 cups chopped blanched almonds, and 2 tablespoons grated lemon zest.<br />
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After kneading the dough for roughly 10 minutes until smooth (poking wayward fruit back into the dough from time to time), I transferred the dough to an oiled bowl, covered it with plastic wrap and tucked it aside in a warm place for 2 hours until it doubled in size.<br />
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<i>Braid.</i><br />
Traditionally, stollen is folded and formed into the shape of a swaddling baby. I took the braided<br />
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route.<br />
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I punched the down and used a bench scraper to cut the dough into 6 even pieces for 2 loaves. For each loaf, I rolled the individual pieces into 14" ropes, pinched the ends of 3 ropes together, braided the dough, and placed the loaves onto half sheet pans covered with parchment paper.<br />
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After covering the loaves with oiled plastic wrap, I tucked them away to rise again and double in size for 2 hours.<br />
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When doubled in bulk, I brushed the loaves with melted butter and slid them into a preheated 350 degree oven to bake for 35-40 minutes, rotating the pans midway, until they were golden brown before cooling them completely on wire racks and showering them with powdered snow.<br />
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Christmas Stollen.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJ4eFUpbiIPVURgKgc1MF2dW9k-Q4knALxoMvAG8UjjZfqEKnEphHtifpx9-HJKE7xi33g33TnKAjUsGCkG0Kj0XVXLWPH7_XIShk6igWd7PXb-xpl3SS9INz_TIXCeQILOgV5hoZJ3jI/s1600/IMG_4259+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="531" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWJ4eFUpbiIPVURgKgc1MF2dW9k-Q4knALxoMvAG8UjjZfqEKnEphHtifpx9-HJKE7xi33g33TnKAjUsGCkG0Kj0XVXLWPH7_XIShk6igWd7PXb-xpl3SS9INz_TIXCeQILOgV5hoZJ3jI/s320/IMG_4259+%25282%2529.jpg" width="305" /></a>Home for the holidays.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-14453444006316770332019-10-17T16:20:00.001-04:002019-10-27T17:55:45.550-04:00Drunken TurkeyIced tea or a shot of bourbon?<br />
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I suppose we've all heard tales of families that have that one relative who manages to overindulge at holiday gatherings. We didn't have that problem in my family. Aside from the underage kids or a few folks on-the-wagon, we ALL were <i>that</i> relative. It was pretty much a level playing field. Thanksgiving, in particular, was always very spirited.<br />
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Early mornings on our rural western Kentucky farm were usually quiet and peaceful. When the sun cracked trhough the trees and kissed the sleepy fields, only the muted sounds of hissing coffee or cattle chomping in a nearby field disturbed the quiet. Thanksgiving mornings were a whole other story. While the surrounding beauty of the countryside played out in form, everything else had a different tone. The mornings were crisper, the shadows longer, and the trees danced with multicolored leaves. Although the coffee still brewed and the cattle chomped, those familiar sounds were muffled by the quiet hubbub in the kitchen. Thanksgiving morning. Silent prep. Lots of busy work. By mid morning, the subdued chaos was shattered by cracked ice hitting empty mason jars for the forthcoming bloody marys made with cellar tomato juice we canned from summers past.Yep, that's how we rolled. To this day, I still believe we put up tomato juice just for Thanksgiving morning. After obligatory glasses of boxed red wine hit the table for Thanksgiving dinner, bourbon eventually made its entrance. While soft drinks and windowsill sun-brewed tea were at the ready, we were bourbon people. My father loved his bourbon. </div>
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Although our bourbonized Thanksgivings on the farm are long gone, I hold fast to memories of those crisp autumn mornings, quilted trees, and the serenity of the dew-kissed countryside.<br />
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Nowadays, on Thanksgiving, I let the turkey drink the bourbon. </div>
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<b>Drunken Turkey</b><br />
Bourbon all the way.<br />
Inside and out.<br />
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To wet brine, dry brine, or inject? I've done them all. Without the luxury of time and space, I'm on team injection. It's quick, simple, and dependable.<br />
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<i>A shot of bourbon.</i><br />
<u>Inside.</u></div>
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I rinsed and dried a 15 pound young organic turkey and set it aside. After combining 1 cup melted unsalted butter, 1/4 cup chicken stock, 1/4 cup Makers Mark bourbon, 1/4 cup fresh squeezed blood orange juice, 1/4 cup Evans Orchard fresh apple cider, 1 teaspoon dried rubbed sage, 2 teaspoons salt, and 1 teaspoon ground black pepper, I loaded a large turkey injector with the marinade and carefully injected the breasts, thighs, and legs in several locations. After the meat plumped from the shots, I slathered the flesh with softened butter, showered it with salt, and slipped the turkey into the refrigerator to marinate overnight.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4R_b2kcXKPWn-ZV6te50O30TUZJvbJmy8i85CUsHSzAR9-5-kq1KyKX231i-V-OuBEL43zzZNTqsnJauihTbs8dZeo0GX-qaOJCvNDMhIvAm7oa4GYizUirhwh21con9wLHEH3ZCcmrT/s1600/IMG_3332+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1411" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj4R_b2kcXKPWn-ZV6te50O30TUZJvbJmy8i85CUsHSzAR9-5-kq1KyKX231i-V-OuBEL43zzZNTqsnJauihTbs8dZeo0GX-qaOJCvNDMhIvAm7oa4GYizUirhwh21con9wLHEH3ZCcmrT/s200/IMG_3332+%25281%2529.jpg" width="152" /></a>After bringing the boozed up turkey to room temperature, I stuffed the cavity with 1 quartered Casey County onion, 2 quartered Pulaski County Macintosh apples, 1 quartered blood orange, 2 stalks celery, fresh parsley, fresh sage, and fresh thyme. In lieu of a roasting rack, I lined the bottom of a large roasting pan with fresh unpeeled whole carrots, celery stalks, and trimmed leeks. After tying the turkey legs together for an even cook, I nestled the turkey onto the vegetable rack, and added 1 cup chicken stock, 1/2 cup apple cider, and a 1/4 cup bourbon to the bottom pan before sliding the turkey into a 350 degree preheated oven to roast for roughly 3 1/2 hours. Being mindful to not over brown the skin too early, I covered the breasts with aluminum foil after an hour and basted the turkey with the pan juices every 30 minutes.<br />
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<u>Outside.</u><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3altuHb3xpflZJmieEIeOk5Qu43-WmkiPkvTWUc4OIyBwMqBJ-svDzsZXsw5IHzKfZSkzyFyt3u-d0mbgfp4KHqv07hhUq6_VD1UGv1f80iIoTexsT5v01lWyIBrrK70f-8F8gZnlhtNM/s1600/IMG_3352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3altuHb3xpflZJmieEIeOk5Qu43-WmkiPkvTWUc4OIyBwMqBJ-svDzsZXsw5IHzKfZSkzyFyt3u-d0mbgfp4KHqv07hhUq6_VD1UGv1f80iIoTexsT5v01lWyIBrrK70f-8F8gZnlhtNM/s200/IMG_3352.jpg" width="150" /></a>I combined 1/2 cup Makers Mark bourbon, 1/2 cup fresh apple cider, 1/2 cup fresh squeezed blood orange juice, 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar, and 1/2 cup fresh milled Oberholzer's Kentucky Sorghum (form the Morgan County Sorghum Festival). After bringing the mix to a boil, I reduced the heat and let it simmer until it softened into a loose sticky glaze.<br />
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After the turkey reached 155 degrees, I started brushing the glaze over the skin every 15 minutes.<br />
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When the internal temp hit the 165 degree mark measured in the deepest part of the breast meat, I pulled the bourbon burnished turkey from the oven, hit it with flaked sea salt for crunch, and let it rest for 20 minutes before nestling it over an aromatic bed of fresh herbs.<br />
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Thanksgiving turkey.<br />
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Bourbonized.<br />
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Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-73246070734510164842019-10-06T16:40:00.002-04:002019-10-07T18:23:17.531-04:00The Cusp<br />
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Well, it seems another slap happy summer has zipped by at a breakneck pace. Even our local markets joined the frenzy, amping things up as the season evolved. Week after week, we zeroed in on the ever changing produce and the simplicity of prep that matched the fast paced wonder of the season. Right now, we're straddling the seasonal cusp. Although a few late summer gems are still coming on strong, it's time to slow down and embrace the jewels of autumn. While they might not jar the senses with multicolored wonder, their calming muted tones soften the segue from summer to fall, quietly beckon, and pull us in. Let go of the frenzy. Give the grill a rest and take harbor in the solace of a<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6FiTmHu5K60z7gnMdrGUvKg6hl1Q80E9oY0vak1HA0kO_N3QcweJ5fg7ks2aHbI-9stVq3K8Np5VHnjbr0Pb4wttQFEg2kF4WRr4GldECYjHPEvjfUE-rbBV9rkPmTk5YXVE5XcJWhWr/s1600/IMG_3303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1298" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz6FiTmHu5K60z7gnMdrGUvKg6hl1Q80E9oY0vak1HA0kO_N3QcweJ5fg7ks2aHbI-9stVq3K8Np5VHnjbr0Pb4wttQFEg2kF4WRr4GldECYjHPEvjfUE-rbBV9rkPmTk5YXVE5XcJWhWr/s200/IMG_3303.jpg" width="166" /></a>long sultry braise.<br />
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<b>Braised Lamb Shanks With Pumpkin.</b><br />
There's more to pumpkin than pie.<br />
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Simple prep for a one pot wonder.<br />
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I rinsed, split, and seeded a 2 pound Casey County pie pumpkin before slicing it into 2" wedges and setting it aside.<br />
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After trimming the excess fat from three (1 pound each) lamb shanks, I liberally seasoned them with a mix of equal parts ( 1 Tablespoon each) salt, cracked blacked pepper, smoked paprika, dried thyme, dried basil, and dried coriander. Working over a medium flame, I heated 3 tablespoons vegetable oil to the smoking point before giving the shanks a hard sear on all sides and setting them aside. While the oil was still hot, I added 1 quartered unpeeled onion, 2 sliced carrots, 1 halved whole head of garlic, and a combo of 4 toasted/seeded/soaked dried pasilla and ancho chile peppers. When the vegetables softened, I added 2 tablespoons tomato paste, swirled it through the vegetables until it browned, and deglazed the pan with 1 cup dry red wine to release the fond. When the red wine reduced by half, I added 2 cups beef stock, 2 fresh bay leaves, 2 whole Mexican cinnamon sticks, the reserved pumpkin, 3 fresh whole cayenne peppers, 2 halved Pulaski County beefsteak tomatoes, 5 dried figs, 5 dried plums, fresh parsley, and fresh cilantro. After tucking the lamb shanks into the pan, I brought the stock to a boil, reduced it to a simmer, covered the pan, and slid it into a preheated 350 degree oven to braise for roughly 2 1/2 hours.<br />
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When tender, I carefully scooped the shanks to a side plate along with the braised pumpkin, whole cayenne peppers, and plumped dried fruit. After removing the bay leaves, cinnamon sticks, spent herbs, and onion skins, I skimmed the fat from the braising stock. I wasn't going for a full on puree, so I roughly mashed the long cooked vegetables and mixed them into the stock for a loosey-goosey riff on a Mexican mole rojo sauce (sans toasted nuts and seeds) before returning the shanks to the pan to warm through in the sauce.<br />
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Much like any long braised fatty meat, the tender lamb easily slipped from the bones like silken lingerie and melted into the sauce. Naughty <i>and</i> nice.<br />
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While the pumpkin added earthy back notes, the soft sweetness from the dried fruit and subtle smoky heat from the dried peppers tempered the slight gaminess of the lamb.<br />
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Riding the cusp.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-65622014100130767742019-09-13T13:50:00.002-04:002020-09-19T15:10:38.743-04:00Pumpkin Spice<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyssupwXqS-vbRgRSjWaJ1rCIYQ5jSYX_SzIsHCYQ-jnMTirA1TpDtxDGyYUDupihnjtkeE-brVOdMgKdmsX-I95t5gvjnw4WSbm83aJF30QYk4yc9ifQWDvbIZebR04dz79xCcdDUv1Zq/s1600/FullSizeRender+%25285%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="744" data-original-width="581" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyssupwXqS-vbRgRSjWaJ1rCIYQ5jSYX_SzIsHCYQ-jnMTirA1TpDtxDGyYUDupihnjtkeE-brVOdMgKdmsX-I95t5gvjnw4WSbm83aJF30QYk4yc9ifQWDvbIZebR04dz79xCcdDUv1Zq/s200/FullSizeRender+%25285%2529.jpg" width="155" /></a><br />
It's pumpkin time! All varieties and sizes are popping up everywhere.<br />
Right now, seguing into autumn, pie pumpkins are the darlings of our local markets. Try as we might to fight the seasonal change, pie pumpkins beckon and call. Their demure scruffiness kindles autumnal dreams of scratch made pies on cool lazy days.<br />
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That said, pie pumpkins aren't just for pie.<br />
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<b>Pumpkin Beignets With Salted Dulce De Leche.</b><br />
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<i>Pumpkin Puree.</i><br />
So, canned pumpkin or fresh pumpkin? Let the debate begin. While most folks agree that there is very little taste difference between either fresh or canned pumpkin puree, fresh puree has a lighter texture compared to the compacted dense texture of canned. . When incorporating it into airy deep fried doughnuts, lightness is key. While it might be a little more liquidy than the canned stuff, a few extra steps easily eliminates the wet factor. Obviously, canned pumpkin is a bit more convenient and accessible, but when everything's coming up pumpkins at our local farmers' markets, fresh pumpkin puree is the way to go.<br />
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After rinsing 3 Casey County pie pumpkins (about 1 1/2 pounds each), I split them in half, scooped out the stringy seeds, placed them cut side down on parchment paper-lined sheet pans, and slid them<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj77M0hqYnP05T9_uQmXJJ1Ua3xddxXDwABH4PM7ahkY5wDrannywqYebr9dExv_ZGA_4r2ylNMeUvQLUaKZtpvqdL3zkV0yHGE949T9qbGLykGQCZ3o4MrfxWYfLTuQOkoHub7ZqW0-Zpb/s1600/IMG_3055.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="1200" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj77M0hqYnP05T9_uQmXJJ1Ua3xddxXDwABH4PM7ahkY5wDrannywqYebr9dExv_ZGA_4r2ylNMeUvQLUaKZtpvqdL3zkV0yHGE949T9qbGLykGQCZ3o4MrfxWYfLTuQOkoHub7ZqW0-Zpb/s200/IMG_3055.JPG" width="200" /></a> into a preheated 375 degree oven to roast for 40-45 minutes. When knife tender, I pulled them from the oven to cool before carefully scraping the softened flesh from the wilted skins. After picking out a few stray wandering bits from the cooked pumpkin, I pureed it in a food processor (in batches), and spooned it into a fine mesh sieve set over a bowl to drain for 30 minutes. To help evaporate additional excess moisture, I placed the puree in a saute pan over a low flame, simmered it for 30 minutes, pulled it from the heat, and set it aside to<br />
cool. The whole shebang netted about 3 cups pureed pumpkin.<br />
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<i>Salted Dulce De Leche.</i><br />
Again, baked canned sweetened condensed milk or the fresher stove top version? Since I ditched the can for the pumpkin puree, I went with the fresh version.<br />
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After stirring together 4 cups milk, 1 1/4 cups sugar, 1/4 teaspoon baking soda in a heavy saucepan, I brought the mix to a boil, reduced the heat, and simmered it for about 1 1/2 hours until it thickened and caramelized. I pulled the dulce de leche from the heat and added 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract along with 2 teaspoons flaked sea salt before setting it aside.<br />
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Go nuts for dough.<br />
I sprinkled 1 1/2 teaspoons instant yeast over 1/4 cup warm water in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with a dough hook. When the yeast proofed, I added 3/4 cup pumpkin puree, 1/4 cup sugar, 2 beaten eggs, 2 tablespoons melted butter, a pinch of salt, and a 1/4 cup heavy cream. After mixing the wet ingredients on a low speed, I added 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon, 1/2 teaspoons ground ginger, 1/2 teaspoon nutmeg, and a pinch of ground cloves before gradually adding 4 cups all-purpose flour. When the dough pulled away from the bowl and formed a smooth pliable dough, I covered it with a clean dish towel to rise.<br />
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After the dough doubled in size, I turned it onto a floured work board, patted it down, rolled the dough 1/4" thick, cut it into diamonds, and covered it to rise again for 1 1/2 hours.<br />
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<i>Fry.</i><br />
Time to make the doughnuts.<br />
I heated vegetable oil ( 3" deep) in a heavy dutch oven until it reached 380 degrees. Working in batches, I carefully slipped the beignet diamonds into the hot oil and fried them for about 2 minutes per side to puff up and brown before scooping them out onto paper towels to catch any excess oil. While they were still warm, I showered the pillowy beignets with powdered sugar and nestled the salted dulce de leche to the side.<br />
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Crisp.<br />
Puffy.<br />
Utterly messy.<br />
Like eating powdery pumpkin-spiced clouds.<br />
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Pass the dulche de leche.<br />
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Fabulous.<br />
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<br /><br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-14139493446297414442019-08-21T15:46:00.001-04:002019-08-21T19:08:23.591-04:00The Watermelon PatchMy grandmother's vegetable garden was a wonderland. Tucked inside white planked fencing covered with grapevines, rows and rows of vegetables flourished in the well plowed clay-packed soil of our western Kentucky farm. Meticulously attended to and lovingly cared for, her garden was a lush and harsh workhorse of a garden that provided fresh food for our family during the summer months and cellar provisions for the bleaker months. As a newly transplanted city-to-farm boy, her garden felt like a beautiful secret garden. The stuff of dreams. Emotionally naked and eager to please, I was the fetcher of the family. Tomatoes. Green beans. Corn. Potatoes. Summer squash. Zucchini. Onions. Beets. Carrots. I didn't harvest. I fetched. Roaming her garden with my list drew me into her secret world, filling me with a sense of belonging I didn't know I needed or wanted. Her garden enveloped me like one of her worn tattered bed quilts. Wonderland.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQTk5nDG4qRUlzofYyIyvIVrR7mBbSe49C7fKCRk1tUCSdtPL2WvShqRIG3v8Byz6V7n180VQersnqBO7VG0q89d8OGe-HKp1zs9jpThl2qkKJE8sVFFOacjJiCMsTD9E6C_1EE1PnzKu/s1600/IMG_2927.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="841" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIQTk5nDG4qRUlzofYyIyvIVrR7mBbSe49C7fKCRk1tUCSdtPL2WvShqRIG3v8Byz6V7n180VQersnqBO7VG0q89d8OGe-HKp1zs9jpThl2qkKJE8sVFFOacjJiCMsTD9E6C_1EE1PnzKu/s200/IMG_2927.jpg" width="175" /></a>My grandfather's watermelon patch, on the other hand, was a whole other story. Yards from the farmhouse and vegetable garden, the watermelon patch covered a large portion of a cow field. Surrounded by a single row of barbed wire to keep the cattle at bay, the patch was left mostly unattended through the long summer growing season in wait of the August through September harvest. Out of sight and out of mind, dozens of watermelons were left to meander and grow through the dusty patch. If one split open from neglect, the wet beady seeds fell into the soil for the hovering hungry birds. As it wasn't my charge, I didn't tend to the watermelon field. I<i> played</i> in the field of melons. I was the watcher. I knew their every move. I watched them grow, roam, ramble, roll, split, and sometimes rot. Most importantly, under my watchful eye, I knew when it was watermelon time.<br />
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Here's the thing, we didn't fuss over watermelons. On our rural Kentucky farm, watermelons weren't utilitarian. They didn't need to be prepped, processed, preserved, canned, put up, or cooked. They were simply grown for pleasure. Big fat pleasure bombs. We'd throw a few newspapers over an outdoor table, slice open a watermelon, chop it into wet wedges, slurp the sweet juices, spit the seeds, and drink in the long hot summer.<br />
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Right now, varieties of watermelon are hitting their stride. Summer might be waning, but there are still picnics, cookouts, barbecues, and tailgates to be had. Stop by a local farmers' market and bring the watermelon patch home. Slice. Slurp. Spit. Repeat.<br />
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Or, think outside the box<br />
and take a walk on the Thai side.<br />
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Watermelon plays well with others. Salty feta. Briny black olives. Cucumbers. Tomatoes. Basil. The sky's the limit, really. As a wet blank canvas, fresh watermelon can take the tart heat, acidic punch, and earthy funk of a balanced Thai vinaigrette.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEdU9b0bYMHCwuBpLvZdJSdObIpzmOK-qEAYDdrHhQcN0WOlEn9-S0Y5DSqk__3ce9HuaQusFOpH0MOll9v-6pUBJKqIyPOkzTDqoz22ASQ9qQ2aGOWXNG03i4qhlLbzDBJEkHRfKEABED/s1600/IMG_2669.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEdU9b0bYMHCwuBpLvZdJSdObIpzmOK-qEAYDdrHhQcN0WOlEn9-S0Y5DSqk__3ce9HuaQusFOpH0MOll9v-6pUBJKqIyPOkzTDqoz22ASQ9qQ2aGOWXNG03i4qhlLbzDBJEkHRfKEABED/s200/IMG_2669.jpg" width="150" /></a><b>Thai Watermelon Salad.</b><br />
Aside from the vinaigrette, garnishes (<i>accessories</i>) are key.<br />
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<i>Crispy fried garlic.</i><br />
I sliced 5 cloves garlic into paper thin discs and tumbled them into a cold skillet along with 1/2 cup olive oil before turning the heat to medium to gently poach/toast the garlic. As the oil heated, the garlic slowly started to brown and crisp. Just before it went too far, I scooped the crisped garlic chips onto a paper towel to drain and cool. When completely cooled, I crumbled the garlic into pieces and set it aside.<br />
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<i>Vinaigrette.</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhRUu5qeDInM8-qS4ZHRsjogrx2DEk_4OBZIf_WwA7W0qIdBEKFnMSWJCl4kNpTjMLX6HbkQyCAcmO8DsIhzjEPJussMbUYGdit6rU60rPwBofRJQNFXn2fkaYH6ddxs0zU6BNw9-9GM6/s1600/IMG_2884+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1555" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLhRUu5qeDInM8-qS4ZHRsjogrx2DEk_4OBZIf_WwA7W0qIdBEKFnMSWJCl4kNpTjMLX6HbkQyCAcmO8DsIhzjEPJussMbUYGdit6rU60rPwBofRJQNFXn2fkaYH6ddxs0zU6BNw9-9GM6/s200/IMG_2884+%25282%2529.jpg" width="138" /></a>Few things match the addictive mysterious tart/sweet/funk of a Thai vinaigrette.<br />
Embrace the fish sauce. It's transforming.<br />
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After dissolving 1 tablespoon light brown sugar into 5 tablespoons fresh squeezed lime juice, I added <br />
1/4 cup fish sauce, 1/2 cup water, 2 minced garlic cloves, 1 teaspoon crushed fresh ginger, 3 thinly sliced Stonehedge multi-colored Thai bird chilies, Thai basil, purple basil, and fresh mint. I mixed the vinaigrette until combined and set it aside.<br />
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<i>Chopped salted roasted peanuts.</i> Check.<br />
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<i>Thai. basil.</i> Check.<br />
<i>Sweet basil. </i>Check.<br />
<i>Purple basil. </i>Check.<br />
<i>Mint</i>. Check.<br />
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<i>Watermelon.</i> Double check.<br />
After slicing and sectioning a 5 pound Pulaski County Sugar Baby watermelon, I removed the rind and sliced the firmer flesh closest to the rind into 4" by 1/2' batons, reserving the remaining looser watermelon flesh for snacks. Leaving a 1/4" space between pieces, I stacked the batons across each other Jenga-esque and drizzled the vinaigrette over the watermelon until it spilled through the crevices and puddled underneath. After splashing the melon with fresh lime juice, I finished with bits of crispy fried garlic, crunchy roasted peanuts, basil, mint, and additional chilies.<br />
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Simple.<br />
Fresh.<br />
Unexpected.<br />
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Find a watermelon patch.<br />
And play.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-54965721653689438842019-07-09T18:11:00.000-04:002019-07-11T18:25:05.156-04:00Jammin'. Summer BLT.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9NxJIkYsZc4Q9nlAt3XA7qV9BMSP3XAPSZWJPM37Qq8ic_lPfHTBU-hbghJCR4UJ1xi4zQzifAQrWuWtSdNdqJTBHMtJOddxp4gEPW3w5ZdDrzFeN-89j8G58XXtqby_b_ktLFulfkp7F/s1600/IMG_2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9NxJIkYsZc4Q9nlAt3XA7qV9BMSP3XAPSZWJPM37Qq8ic_lPfHTBU-hbghJCR4UJ1xi4zQzifAQrWuWtSdNdqJTBHMtJOddxp4gEPW3w5ZdDrzFeN-89j8G58XXtqby_b_ktLFulfkp7F/s200/IMG_2015.jpg" width="150" /></a>It's raining tomatoes. After a sleepy start, gushingly ripe heirlooms have finally crashed our farmers markets in dizzying waves. From farm stand to farm stand, brilliant patchworks of homegrown color tease, beckon, and shamelessly flaunt their bejeweled innocent flooziness. Lost in the spell of the sultry purples, perky greens, vibrant reds, carefree oranges, demure whites, and come hither hybrids, the challenge of choosing is real. With varying sugar to acid ratios, all the colors and varieties bring something different to the table. When it comes to summer tomatoes, we love what we love. Taste, like beauty, lies in the eye of the beholder. I'm easy. <i>Very easy.</i> Whether sweet, tart, ugly, gnarled, or drop dead gorgeous, I adore them all. They flaunt, I fall. Win.<br />
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With so many tomatoes, kick back, and enjoy the ride.<br />
Really, nothing tops the simplistic beauty of a sliced and salted ripe-to-the-core sun-kissed summer tomato. Boom, call it a day. Or, for a throwback to childhood, toss a few sliced tomatoes on cheap supermarket white bread with a mayo smear, take a bite, and feel the juicy drip. Not feeling it? More is more. Slap crunchy bacon, crisp wet lettuce, and ripe tomatoes on toasted bread for a classic summer B.L.T.. Salty. Wet. Sweet. Heaven. Better yet, take it up a notch and replace the crispy bacon with bacon jam for a slammin' heirloom tomato homespun home run.<br />
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Scoot on over B.L.T., there's a new kid in town.<br />
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<b>Bacon Jam, Basil, and Heirloom Tomato Sandwich.</b><br />
<b>The B.B.T.</b><br />
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<i>Bacon Jam.</i><br />
Bacon jam just might be the beacon for all that is good and right in this world.<br />
Small effort, big payoff.<br />
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After heating a large cast iron skillet over a medium flame, I sliced 1 lb Stone Cross Farm smoked <br />
bacon into 3/4" pieces and tossed them into the skillet. When the bacon started to crisp, I scooped it out with a slotted spoon, set it aside. reserved 1 Tablespoon bacon fat in the hot skillet, drained the remaining fat, and added 1 cup chopped Boyle County Red Bull candy onions. After sweating the onions until they turned translucent, I scattered 4 minced garlic cloves into the skillet. Just before the garlic browned, I deglazed the skillet with 1/4 cup apple cider vinegar and 1/3 cup brewed coffee, scraped the tasty bacon bits from the bottom of the pan, and I added 1/2 cup brown sugar, 1/4 cup Oberholtzer's sorghum, 3 tablespoons balsamic vinegar, and cracked black pepper. After tumbling the reserved bacon into the molten mix, I brought the jam to a boil, reduced it to a low simmer, covered the skillet, and let it bubble away for 1 1/2 hours, stirring and adding a splash of water from time to time.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbhE0sm7DTtNucy0xWL9IpjzwdH_4cA3fwQRuGtFrDro_brgAkoXr5YJbY0ntfChcYMsL52Gfpkc7Lq7vR-iATtsLGtrHnpyYIZPEn4XU3tkQc1qjhYR82U8zR80tVFjgEnTqgurNeram/s1600/IMG_2450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="948" data-original-width="1051" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbhE0sm7DTtNucy0xWL9IpjzwdH_4cA3fwQRuGtFrDro_brgAkoXr5YJbY0ntfChcYMsL52Gfpkc7Lq7vR-iATtsLGtrHnpyYIZPEn4XU3tkQc1qjhYR82U8zR80tVFjgEnTqgurNeram/s200/IMG_2450.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
When jammy enough, I pulled the bacon jam from the heat, scraped it into a container, licked the spatula bone clean, and set it aside.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Summer love.</i><br />
Heirloom Tomatoes.<br />
Toasted bread.<br />
Bacon jam.<br />
Say no more.<br />
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<i>Build it and they will come.</i><br />
After slathering bacon jam onto toasted Bluegrass Bakery Black Pepper Parmesan Bread, I feathered fresh garden basil into the sticky jam, piled wet juicy slices of Casey County, Pulaski County, Fayette County heirloom tomatoes over the basil, drizzled the jewels with extra virgin olive, and finished<br />
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with a flurry of flaked sea salt, cracked black pepper, and snipped garden chives.<br />
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Green Zebra. Lemon Boy. Mountain Trash Red. Cherokee Purple. Big White. Kentucky Beefsteak. Orange Persimmon. Purple Plum. Taste the colors.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OEbfJKYQU7txu0wuAC72mDFSMZg5M4GMzF46KRzETrnBSrlNFvkmrI3510Iiw1B1b04KO2rqDLSmF2snkbc_irstcxuZ6hDIOgO9H-7JIKHUyt9R_TF3g12vmmrY0a_IR5eZuNWY9aC4/s1600/FullSizeRender+%252836%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1336" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OEbfJKYQU7txu0wuAC72mDFSMZg5M4GMzF46KRzETrnBSrlNFvkmrI3510Iiw1B1b04KO2rqDLSmF2snkbc_irstcxuZ6hDIOgO9H-7JIKHUyt9R_TF3g12vmmrY0a_IR5eZuNWY9aC4/s320/FullSizeRender+%252836%2529.jpg" width="267" /></a>Kentucky wonders.<br />
With pig jam.<br />
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Fabulous.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-40173857262665215642019-06-20T16:45:00.005-04:002021-06-30T18:04:47.328-04:00July 4th. The Boys Of Summer.<i>"How do you measure a year?</i><br />
<i> In daylights, in sunsets,</i><br />
<i> In midnights, in cups of coffee,</i><br />
<i> In riches, in miles, in laughter, in</i><br />
<i> strife."</i> - Jonathon Larsen. RENT.<br />
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During the 1980's, the AIDS epidemic struck Key West to its core. Even through the difficult times, the small island community knew how to party and celebrate life. Michael and I joined the party for a couple of weeks in the summer of 1987 to celebrate our 3rd anniversary. Innocent times.<br />
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<b>July 4th. Key West, Florida.</b><br />
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Hot days. Hot Havana nights.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfSSx0urxfmbiEGJSxRBQ-tHKCQL7TCiz9JDzEHWQVhlGfMWCuKpGae6uvRtsNdm0_wAuKR0w8Nmr0nkQas699eQRHjly7GgO8M4HldCSxiDbyAzTUwwicNiw53QfBkjS1U3olbFA4GzMa/s1600/IMG_2332.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1519" data-original-width="1012" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfSSx0urxfmbiEGJSxRBQ-tHKCQL7TCiz9JDzEHWQVhlGfMWCuKpGae6uvRtsNdm0_wAuKR0w8Nmr0nkQas699eQRHjly7GgO8M4HldCSxiDbyAzTUwwicNiw53QfBkjS1U3olbFA4GzMa/s200/IMG_2332.jpg" width="133" /></a>After spending the week prior to the 4th drinking like locals, inhaling deep sunsets, dancing until dawn, eating seafood, and devouring Cuban fare, Michael and I found ourselves smack dab in the middle of the annual July 4th city-wide picnic benefiting the Key West Visiting Nurses Association and Hospice. It was a grand affair that brought the community together with heartfelt purpose. As the uplifting and melancholy picnic wound down, the antsy crowd shuffled en masse to the White Street Pier for the real party. Bedecked in matchy matchy beachwear, we joined the throngs on the massive concrete pier.<br />
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The first section of the White Street Pier had been parlayed into an elaborate disco with padded dance floors, gigantic speakers, tiered lighting, and multiple bars. Jutting hundreds of yards out into the Atlantic ocean, the heavy stark pier seemed to float above the water under the weight of bodies dancing in the heat of the sun. Hot. Wild. Free.<br />
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When the sun finally crashed into the sea, lamps submerged beneath the pier reflected silhouettes of graceful stingrays silently gliding through the dark water like lost sunken kites. Mesmerizing and beautiful.<br />
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Poof.<br />
Without warning, in the distance, wispy fireworks shot into the sky from an invisible barge anchored out in the ocean far from the pier. Flickering. Fluttering. Twinkling. Falling. As the fireworks grew more intense, the fiery rain shattered the empty sky with light. Suddenly, a deafening silence swept over the sea before a recording of Kate Smith's "God Bless America" blasted through the darkness, washed over the quiet water, and spilled onto the boys of summer. It. Was. Glorious.<br />
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It took a few fun filled days to recover from Kate Smith, the stingrays, the sun, and the concrete pier. On our final night, we bellied up to a walk-up food shack and ordered a shared paper basket of Cuban pork with black beans and rice. After moseying over to a nearby dock, we dangled our feet into the warm water, shared our last supper, and melted into the sunset.<br />
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Bringing the sunset home.<br />
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<i><b>Cuban Pork Belly With Mojo, Black Beans, White Rice, and Kale.</b></i><br />
Cuban pork with mojo, served with black beans and rice, is traditionally made with a fatty bone-in pork shoulder ( or whole pig roasted over an open pit) marinated in mojo and braised low and slow <br />
until the fat melts into the meat before a quick turn under a broiler to crisp the skin into crackling pork candy. For a more manageable riff, I took it for a Kentucky spin with a braised uncured pork belly with crispy black bean cakes and local kale.<br />
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<u>Mojo Criollo</u><br />
Mojo, a piquant marinade made up of tart citrus (sour oranges), oregano, cumin, and tons of garlic, packs a highly seasoned citrus punch that cuts the fatty richness of the braised pork .That said, sour oranges can be hard to come by. While some markets sell bottled sour orange juice, a combination of<br />
fresh orange juice and fresh lime juice is a great substitute to hit the acidic mark.<br />
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I mixed 1 cup fresh squeezed orange juice, 1 cup fresh squeezed lime juice, 1/2 cup olive oil, 2 teaspoons salt, 1 tablespoon oregano, 2 teaspoons ground cumin, 1 teaspoon freshly cracked blacked<br />
pepper, and 5 cloves chopped garlic until thoroughly combined. After pouring half the marinade (reserving the remainder) into a large plastic bag, I slipped a 2 pound slab of pork belly into the mojo marinade and tucked it into the refrigerator to marinate overnight.<br />
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After removing the belly from the refrigerator and patting it dry, I scored the fat and tossed it onto a<br />
hot grill (skin side down) to kiss it with smoke and render some of the fat. After 10 minutes, I pulled<br />
the belly from the grill, placed it onto a wire rack positioned over a foil lined half sheet pan, and slid it into a preheated 350 oven to roast for 2 1/2 - 3 hours, basting it with the reserved mojo marinade from time to time.<br />
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<u>Black Bean Cakes</u><br />
While scratch made black beans are fabulous, canned black beans are fine and dandy. Either one. Pick your poison.<br />
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I rinsed and drained 2 cans of black beans before mashing half of the beans with 1 teaspoon cumin, <br />
salt, and pepper. After combining the mashed beans with the whole beans, I added 3/4 cup cooked white rice, 2 tablespoons minced fresh cilantro, 1 tablespoon minced fresh oregano, 1 clove minced garlic, and a splash of fresh lime juice.<br />
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After forming the black bean concoction into 3 inch patties, I slid them into the refrigerator to chill and set up.<br />
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When the cakes were firm enough to handle, I carefully sauteed them in 2 tablespoon olive oil until<br />
crisp, carefully removed them to a side plate lined with paper towels to drain, and set them aside.<br />
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<u>Belly Up</u><br />
When the pork belly was tender and hit 165 degrees, I slipped it under the broiler to blister before pulling it from the oven to rest. After straining the mojo infused pan juices through a fine mesh strainer and removing<i> most </i>of the accumulated fat, I mixed 1/3 cup of the highly concentrated acidic mojo drippings with 2/3 cups olive oil, 2 tablespoons fresh snipped chives, 2 tablespoons fresh oregano, 1 1/2 tablespoons fresh mint, salt, and cracked black pepper to form a broken vinaigrette.<br />
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While the vinaigrette was still warm, I splashed it onto 2 cups washed and rinsed hand torn Casey County kale. After massaging the kale with the vinaigrette, I tumbled it over the black bean cakes, nestled the glazed pork belly into the kale, and drizzled the remaining mojo vinaigrette over the belly to kiss the pig before finishing with slivered red pepper for crunch, fresh oregano, fresh mint, and flaked sea salt.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKXkC7itWFhs5CtHaez8s-IwqztCJs74Z95Uq69zRZ2kk7ekQo24ES-h-zermhqXHTGUWXqB-IFoNJpvcgZESmGGRVrS0EYMOOmoYfKJ6LWaHXHyrfkBMkFdCEy0fXUQpzT1OqVuaWNuz/s1600/IMG_2283.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKXkC7itWFhs5CtHaez8s-IwqztCJs74Z95Uq69zRZ2kk7ekQo24ES-h-zermhqXHTGUWXqB-IFoNJpvcgZESmGGRVrS0EYMOOmoYfKJ6LWaHXHyrfkBMkFdCEy0fXUQpzT1OqVuaWNuz/s320/IMG_2283.jpg" width="240" /></a>Hot Havana days.<br />
Hot Kentucky nights.<br />
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Sunset included.<br />
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Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-4617040786521083262019-06-05T16:42:00.000-04:002019-06-05T18:15:05.743-04:00RadishingAs a haphazard urban gardener, if you grow it I will come.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2U1uLKRzt3t2K2ozuBj7occKZwzJFtKG0EKRyRyrjwl6VjSUa1Ph53c7F0PYDOLGlo-KihbrBoczmLihO-M19di9lxLzO9hMn3XFRU796eStlALLTS_KQy15cYrWhOK9X85c_pHxiwB7/s1600/IMG_7648.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ2U1uLKRzt3t2K2ozuBj7occKZwzJFtKG0EKRyRyrjwl6VjSUa1Ph53c7F0PYDOLGlo-KihbrBoczmLihO-M19di9lxLzO9hMn3XFRU796eStlALLTS_KQy15cYrWhOK9X85c_pHxiwB7/s200/IMG_7648.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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Oh sure, I have my tomato plants tucked into the soil, herbs over planted in giant clay containers, and micro greens sprouting in make-shift greenhouses. Still, this time of year, it's really all about our local farmers' markets. As we wait for the summer big guns to arrive, the markets are springing to life right now. Nestled among the baby vegetables, hardy greens, tender lettuces, turnips, squash blossoms, and bedding plants, gorgeous radishes burst from almost every farm stand like imperfect<br />
living kaleidoscopes.<br />
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No doubt thinly sliced or grated radishes add peppery bite to salads and cooling crunch to soups or stews. Left whole, they're also terrific swiped through good butter before quick dabs into pillows of sea salt. That said, radishes are more than a crunchy one trick pony. They can also bring their demure side to the party. When cooked, their vibrant punch softens and mellows into subdued unexpected jewels. Radishing.<br />
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<i><b>Butter Braised Radishes.</b></i><br />
Typically, I'd shoot for a hard caramelization with a deep long braise. Nope, not this time around. I kept it very simple. Pure and simple.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC0FcmHpUClYXIN4f6QAJW0D6AQk_CHYKEkH9JlwOtC51G2QSrckaaPD6IodHiLskaGF3lAN8M76Ff0YrmYUfwKe2-6OYQkF50v2iDeyv3doiK45uZtHiw-gFb65bSQO0sBKPBj8LxX22/s1600/IMG_2006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieC0FcmHpUClYXIN4f6QAJW0D6AQk_CHYKEkH9JlwOtC51G2QSrckaaPD6IodHiLskaGF3lAN8M76Ff0YrmYUfwKe2-6OYQkF50v2iDeyv3doiK45uZtHiw-gFb65bSQO0sBKPBj8LxX22/s200/IMG_2006.jpg" width="150" /></a>After soaking 3 bunches Stonehedge purple, red, rose, white, bi-color, and French Breakfast radishes, in lukewarm water to rinse away the soil, I trimmed the green tops to about 1/4" before halving the medium sized radishes, quartering the larger ones, and leaving the smaller ones whole. I melted 3 tablespoons unsalted butter in a large cast iron skillet, added 1/2 cup water, brought the buttery water to a boil, tumbled the radishes into the skillet, showered them kosher salt and ground white pepper, reduced the heat, covered the skillet, and let them simmer/braise for 15 minutes. When the radishes were knife tender, I removed the lid and raised the heat to evaporate the water until they shimmered in light buttery glaze. After splashing them with fresh lemon juice and spooning the radishes over fresh Stonehedge chicory greens, I finished with flaked sea salt and a scant scattering of windowsill radish micro greens.<br />
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Napped in butter with a hint lemon, the mellowed (almost sweet ) peppery crunch of the radishes countered the slight bitterness of the wilted chicory greens, reminiscent of slow braised baby turnips with turnip greens.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxa1PglB7d5Z_-JLQddBCyrLOBQl4H06ggL_gdAsovkp6G8OyCCGlwEqqkf4j0Djg1OsJLNsDJnzItTaMyz4moDOphAvK9Yi8kZWgfW2ObJDC3xkVjIypkvW8Zr1gllEF4nid9hfW6iUL/s1600/IMG_1993.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="679" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxa1PglB7d5Z_-JLQddBCyrLOBQl4H06ggL_gdAsovkp6G8OyCCGlwEqqkf4j0Djg1OsJLNsDJnzItTaMyz4moDOphAvK9Yi8kZWgfW2ObJDC3xkVjIypkvW8Zr1gllEF4nid9hfW6iUL/s320/IMG_1993.jpg" width="135" /></a><br />
Unexpected.<br />
Fresh.<br />
Fabulous.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-40211829255411073792019-04-24T16:51:00.003-04:002019-04-25T18:34:14.690-04:00PuffedFor years, I made the 300 mile round trip trek to my grandmother's house to plant pansies for her on Mother's Day. I'd load up the bed of my Ford Ranger with flats of multicolored pansies and ramble the back roads of Kentucky until I reach her farm, the very farm I grew up on years earlier. After scrubbing her weathered, chipped, and cracked clay pots, I packed them full for ultimate impact before maneuvering the heavy pots around her front porch for optimal country road curb appeal. When the dirt settled, I'd wash up and join her at the kitchen table for a short visit over warm chess pie and sweet iced tea before heading home. Even with cheery colors, the pansies certainly weren't showstoppers. They were barely tall enough to peek over the planters and flutter in the afternoon breezes. On top of that, we both knew their delicate nature would succumb to the heat of summer. But, that wasn't the point. They brought us together on Mother's Day and made my grandmother happy. So, was the long one day drive worth the trouble for a few potted flowers and brief visit? Driving away and watching her wave goodbye as she slowly disappeared through my rear view mirror made every single mile worthwhile. And, there was pie.<br />
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How much trouble is too much trouble? On Mother's Day, it's in the eye of the beholder.<br />
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<b>Spring Asparagus Tart With Smoked Salmon</b><br />
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<i>Trouble.</i><br />
To puff or not to puff.<br />
Store bought puff pastry is dependable, fabulous, and a very good thing. Here's the deal, with very simple ingredients (flour,water, butter, salt) and a lot of rolling, scratch made puff pastry is a doable labor of love.<br />
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Roll. Fold. Chill. Repeat.<br />
Classically, puff pastry is made by wrapping a simple dough around a block of butter, rolling it out, folding it into itself, chilling, and repeating the process 6 times to achieve a laminated dough with over 1000 layers. Working with a block of butter is the tedious hurdle that makes it intimidating. Skip the hurdle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9CY4IOHKuCkddCKhlBuzEKF7vJ1-t9amroiahKlxaSUi7BP4UfQuo6w4vqFl2dP31IZOhjYiR5unv7VHKa4oUoe4LiEq994JO7wlVmIfv1AAR7FOlc1p9z0wOTM2BVE2DwwCkw-YSaTTo/s1600/IMG_1444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9CY4IOHKuCkddCKhlBuzEKF7vJ1-t9amroiahKlxaSUi7BP4UfQuo6w4vqFl2dP31IZOhjYiR5unv7VHKa4oUoe4LiEq994JO7wlVmIfv1AAR7FOlc1p9z0wOTM2BVE2DwwCkw-YSaTTo/s200/IMG_1444.jpg" width="140" /></a>After freezing 1 3/4 sticks unsalted butter, I used a mandolin to shave the butter into 1/4" pieces, separated the pieces, and tossed them back into freezer.<br />
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I sifted 1 1/4 cups bread flour (stronger gluten) into the bowl of a food processor and added 1 teaspoon salt. With the motor running, I drizzled 1/2 cup cold water into bowl until the simple dough came together. After shaping it into a rough rectangle, I rolled it out into a larger rectangle about 14' x 6" and 1/4 " thick. Without overlapping, I positioned the shaved butter pieces over the dough and, starting lengthwise, folded the dough 4 times, brushing the excess flour off the dough as I folded it in. First turn.<br />
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Working quickly, I rolled the dough out to the same dimensions and folded it 4 times, brushing the excess flour off the dough as I folded it in. Second turn. To maintain the temperature of the butter and integrity of the layers, I slid the dough into the refrigerator to chill for 20 minutes.<br />
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Once chilled, I repeated the process an additional 4 times or turns, chilling the dough for 20 minutes after each turn. Roll. Fold. Brush. Chill.<br />
After 6 turns, the 800-ish layered laminated dough was ready to rest and chill out. And so was I.<br />
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<i>Double Trouble.</i><br />
The cure.<br />
There are gorgeous varieties of gravlax, lox, and smoked salmon available at the market. But, what the heck, it's very simple to pull off. Why not go all in and cure a little salmon? Labor of love.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKw_S5FB7By8ScIiqtCH8tFTNC0-UPCwWasEaMbbiYQ2ScwymB1IIhyfcJlphGy7wnys0fjF30PK1IZn4rlYrP5QZoAes-5SxQONuDaby1svWmaFW3e0OePU-qg04-yJFFRJBDjX_s6lUH/s1600/IMG_1609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1513" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKw_S5FB7By8ScIiqtCH8tFTNC0-UPCwWasEaMbbiYQ2ScwymB1IIhyfcJlphGy7wnys0fjF30PK1IZn4rlYrP5QZoAes-5SxQONuDaby1svWmaFW3e0OePU-qg04-yJFFRJBDjX_s6lUH/s200/IMG_1609.jpg" width="141" /></a>Although a variety ingredients can be added to the curing process (dill, juniper berries, gin, aquivat, fennel, spices), I kept it very basic. I mixed 2 cups sugars with 1 cup kosher salt. After drying off a beautiful 1 pound sockeye salmon filet, I brushed the flesh with 2 tablespoons vodka and placed the filet over fresh parsley sprigs and half of the sugar/salt combo. After covering the filet with the remaining cure and sprigs of parsley, I wrapped the salmon in parchment paper, sealed the salmon in plastic wrap, and slid it into the refrigerator to cure. After 48 hours, I rinsed the salt and sugar away from the salmon, patted it dry, wrapped it in plastic wrap, and tucked the cured (or cold smoked) salmon into refrigerator.<br />
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<i>Puff Tart.</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRduTWNiRDwIa_VnU19kkZNkAXzr7Zbq5TUzBo6EOjHilWU18RJU_bFv4PFAF3iLpSy7pN-zJCUZZnppoi0bz9PKpDlkmQK-vFnIEPWiKbG1ghIKqXSTwVMAxtJsbwg3NqEDTGThpA1tvy/s1600/IMG_1655.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1072" data-original-width="1080" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRduTWNiRDwIa_VnU19kkZNkAXzr7Zbq5TUzBo6EOjHilWU18RJU_bFv4PFAF3iLpSy7pN-zJCUZZnppoi0bz9PKpDlkmQK-vFnIEPWiKbG1ghIKqXSTwVMAxtJsbwg3NqEDTGThpA1tvy/s200/IMG_1655.jpg" width="200" /></a>Working on a floured board, I rolled the pastry into a large rectangle <br />
and used a straight edged ruler to cut it into a 14"x 5" slender rectangle. After carefully scoring a 1/2" border on the inside of all four sides of the pastry to help the borders puff, I added a few squiggles from rolled out leftover dough scraps, brushed the pastry with an egg wash (one beaten egg with a splash of water), docked the pastry with the tines of a fork, and slid it into a preheated 400 degree oven to par bake for 10 minutes. Before it poofed, I pulled it from the oven, poked down the slightly puffed base and brushed the base with a thin layer of dijon mustard. After scattering freshly grated gruyere cheese over the mustard, I nestled pencil thin spring asparagus into the cheese, drizzled the asparagus with good extra virgin olive oil, and slid the tart back into the oven for 20 minutes.<br />
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When the pastry puffed and turned golden brown, I pulled it from the oven and let it cool for 10 minutes before finishing with thin slices of the smoked salmon, flaky sea salt, and Elmwood Stock pea shoots splashed with lemon juice and olive oil.<br />
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Like eating buttery crisp air, the pastry shattered and scattered bits of flaky crumbs throughout the simple tart. Enveloped by the nutty cheese, the slight earthy undertones of the delicate asparagus countered the tangy bite from the dijon, the silky salinity of the salmon, and the bright acidity of the perky pea shoots.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfiF9A5dKsTITmwlNB0qkE08nkeYTPv2i4HYJL74NFknLdwX_L2OlJvKFgpQKZc5CbViX38E7f2LngFdeeInIBa0bDGvylzhmVvBFt5VezpX-5DD1GThQxn2RR5Z5eb74dMCT50WXlo0_y/s1600/IMG_1639.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1259" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfiF9A5dKsTITmwlNB0qkE08nkeYTPv2i4HYJL74NFknLdwX_L2OlJvKFgpQKZc5CbViX38E7f2LngFdeeInIBa0bDGvylzhmVvBFt5VezpX-5DD1GThQxn2RR5Z5eb74dMCT50WXlo0_y/s320/IMG_1639.jpg" width="274" /></a>Mother's Day.<br />
Puffed.<br />
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Get into trouble.<br />
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Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-80462862495375425942019-04-08T15:04:00.003-04:002020-03-25T11:50:39.759-04:00CrownedAs a kid, when Easter rolled around, I was a lamb loving boy in a ham loving family.<br />
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I had a steep learning curve when my father retired from the army and we settled onto the family farm in rural western Kentucky. Leaving the grandeur of Vienna and the starkness of Ethiopia for a much different life on a lakeside farm was overwhelming, to say the least. In the blink of an eye, life changed. I swapped my lederhosen for overalls, schnitzel for fried pork chops, and the Red Sea for a quiet Kentucky lake. Acclamation. It didn't take long for me to relish farm life. With rolling hills, windswept meadows, patches of shade trees, and a pristine lake, the farm was a lush playground for a weary retired kid. The roaming cattle, pecking chickens, vegetable gardens, ham shed, crooked red barn, apple trees, grape vines, tractors, barbed wire, and murky pond were all the stuff of dreams. Wonderland. A different land. I didn't miss my lost places as much as I missed the food I'd known. My grandparents stockpiled food out of necessity. We had blocks of government cheese neatly stacked in our <i> </i>refrigerator, a dank dark cellar lined from floor to ceiling with dusty jars of garden jewels, and 'Not For Sale' beef stashed in freezers from the very cows we regrettably named and loved. Still, with all of that beef stowed away and our coffers filled to the brim, we were ham people. Big time ham people. Go figure.<br />
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On most all special occasions, holidays, and family gatherings, ham was front and center. Staggeringly endless incarnations of ham hit the table at church pots lucks, funerals, family picnics, birthdays, reunions, Thanksgivings, Christmases (of course), and eventually... Easter. Don't get me wrong, I loved each and every sticky glazed, cola braised, and crispy fried shred of ham. It's just that by the time Easter rolled around, I didn't <i>crave</i> ham. I craved my lost lamb, Frau Olga's Easter lamb. Slow roasted and served in courses with Bavarian sides to suit her hotel chef mentality, I became a lamb boy at an early age. On the farm, it was another story. A ham story. For years, I hoped a fancy relative from a distant land would swoop into our Easter fest toting frenched lamb chops teetering on the edge of medium rare or roasted leg of lamb nestled on a bed of fresh rosemary. It never happened.<br />
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When I eventually moved away from the farm, I carried my familial love of ham and my familiar quest for Easter lamb right along with me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIY5vD0X8jUZBW_ab8HG1vHtiTZeOveli2nq9FrUmVAT4U97vgXaxyB9OY-LpP4vw5O0IQpHh8Qg48zz2Jpk94saLB6EP8kPjYpZvMZw-ujw3sIeKPjBMcDXnnUx3VKyHbUbvUq1jdlwiY/s1600/IMG_1344.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIY5vD0X8jUZBW_ab8HG1vHtiTZeOveli2nq9FrUmVAT4U97vgXaxyB9OY-LpP4vw5O0IQpHh8Qg48zz2Jpk94saLB6EP8kPjYpZvMZw-ujw3sIeKPjBMcDXnnUx3VKyHbUbvUq1jdlwiY/s200/IMG_1344.jpg" width="150" /></a><b>Herb Crusted Crown Rack Of Lamb With Spring Vegetable Salad.</b><br />
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Crowned.</i><br />
Crown rack of lamb is a glorious thing. While almost any reputable butcher would be more than happy to fashion a crown rack of lamb, it's fairly simple to throw together. A little prep goes a long way for a big payoff.<br />
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I positioned 2 frenched racks of lamb (1 1/2 pounds each with 8 rib chops per rack) flesh side down side by side on a large cutting board. After slicing small slits between the rib bones for easy bending, I stitched the two racks together where they met using kitchen twine and a butchers needle. I flipped the joined racks over, pulled the ends of the racks together ( loin side facing in) until they met, and secured the loose ends with additional twine. After forming the racks into the shape of a crown, I double looped the base of the crown with twine, pulled it taut, tied it up, trimmed the loose twine, and showered the meat with salt and pepper before setting the lamb aside.<br />
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<i>Crusted.</i><br />
I mixed 1/2 cup dijon mustard, 2 tablespoons local honey, and 1 tablespoon Makers Mark bourbon until combined before slathering the sweet boozy mustard over the outer side of the lamb.<br />
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After combining 4 minced garlic cloves, 4 tablespoons minced fresh parsley, 3 tablespoons minced fresh thyme, and 1 tablespoon minced fresh rosemary to form a lose paste, I patted the garlicky herbs over the mustard coating before placing the crown rack on top of a bed of chopped carrots, leeks, celery, and onions scattered willy-nilly in a large cast iron skillet. After adding 1/2 cup white wine to the skillet, I drizzled the lamb with olive oil, slipped aluminum foil caps over each of the exposed rib bones to prevent over browning, and slid the crown rack of lamb into a preheated 425 degree oven for about 40 minutes.<br />
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<i>Shaved.</i><br />
A perky salad for Easter lamb.<br />
After whisking 1/2 cup extra virgin olive oil, 3 tablespoons fresh squeezed lemon juice, 1 teaspoon dijon mustard, salt, and cracked black pepper until the dressing emulsified, I shaved 2 pounds rainbow carrots and 1 1/2 pounds asparagus into delicate ribbons with a v-shaped vegetable peeler, tossed the ribbons with the vinaigrette, and set the salad aside.<br />
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When the lamb reached an internal temp of 130 degrees, I pulled it from the oven to rest, removed the pieces of foil, and strained the pan juices to serve alongside the lamb.<br />
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After a 10 minute rest, I filled the cavity of the lamb with minted basmati rice and nestled the crown rack onto a bed of perky pea shoots and watercress before finishing with the shaved vegetable salad, slivered shallots, and crunchy fresh radishes.<br />
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Easter lamb.<br />
Crowned.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1194834951731551503.post-18034988193551762492019-02-23T15:32:00.000-05:002019-02-25T18:01:47.592-05:00Irish Hand Pies. Dingle All The Way.<br />
Cue the bagpipes and top off the Guinness, St. Patrick's Day is coming on soon. While some of us might celebrate the patron saint of Ireland with a one way ticket to boozeland, most folks might toast the day with iconic Irish fare. I'm on team both. Not only is St. Patrick's Day a great day to kick back with dyed green beer, pints of Guinness, or shots of Jamesons, it's also a day to celebrate and explore the food that evokes thoughts of shamrocks and pots of gold. On the other side of the rainbow, we're all a wee bit Irish on St. Patrick's Day.<br />
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Pick your craving. Although braised corned beef and cabbage is more Irish American than Irish, it remains the benchmark grub on St. Patrick's Day. And while sleepy shepherd's pies, bangers and mash, cottage pies, lamb stews, or Dublin coddles are calming comfort staples, Irish hand pies punch the ticket for serious on-the-go revelers who crave a drink in one hand with food in the other.<br />
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Almost anything can be fashioned into hand pies. Similar to Cornish pasties (meat and vegetable filled hand pies), lesser known Dingle hand pies, from County Kerry, bring spiced mutton or lamb to the party. Braised with humble root vegetables like a traditional lamb stew, the filling for Dingle pie gets an unexpected kick from the addition of ground cumin and cinnamon.<br />
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<b>County Kerry Dingle Hand Pies.</b><br />
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<i>A simple stew.</i><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwljd9ZozbJe01yEcd-lNkIo3poDHStMrHOCDFZM0nCU0S-oD_mpgW1o-omkqvrJPsmrPw6hQ2r2GhjKt4vaf9nUUIE1zS26NQlKwPsdqEgcKt-EpVwprbknqwycUITnCYZDBaZjyQGmH5/s1600/IMG_0899.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwljd9ZozbJe01yEcd-lNkIo3poDHStMrHOCDFZM0nCU0S-oD_mpgW1o-omkqvrJPsmrPw6hQ2r2GhjKt4vaf9nUUIE1zS26NQlKwPsdqEgcKt-EpVwprbknqwycUITnCYZDBaZjyQGmH5/s200/IMG_0899.jpg" width="150" /></a>I trimmed and cubed 2 pounds Double F boneless lamb shoulder into 1" pieces, seasoned the meat with salt and cracked black pepper, and dredged the meat in flour (shaking off the excess flour) before browning it in 3 tablespoons rendered bacon fat. When deeply browned, I removed the meat to a side plate and tumbled 2 chopped parsnips, 3 chopped carrots, 2 sliced celery stalks, 1 medium diced onion, and 2 diced yukon gold potatoes into the sizzling fat. After showering the vegetables with salt, I added 1 tablespoon tomato paste and swirled it through the vegetables for even cooking. When the tomato paste caramelized around the softened vegetables, I added 2 minced garlic cloves, 1 teaspoon ground cumin, 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon, 2 tablespoons flour, salt, and pepper. After the flour tightened the spiced vegetables, I added 4 cups warmed beef stock, 1/4 cup minced fresh parsley, and 2 fresh bay leaves. I brought the stew to a boil, reduced it to a simmer, added the reserved lamb (along with the juices), covered the pot, and slipped it into a preheated 350 degree oven.<br />
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After 1 1/2 hours, I pulled the stew from the oven and let it cool completely before sliding into the refrigerator to chill.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAZUpVhHcd1A38p71LP2xFDhqGKOll1-UjSeI2KG3Z65kSEN7fl5A4yyJI3Yti9jGmqVKPdKCAvA4OyMvsjmb6xKzwLmCdOd6qxV87x_HqYsigSgLwMup4bxBG5QryfEyeQY86KAO1eF8/s1600/IMG_1114+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAZUpVhHcd1A38p71LP2xFDhqGKOll1-UjSeI2KG3Z65kSEN7fl5A4yyJI3Yti9jGmqVKPdKCAvA4OyMvsjmb6xKzwLmCdOd6qxV87x_HqYsigSgLwMup4bxBG5QryfEyeQY86KAO1eF8/s200/IMG_1114+%25281%2529.jpg" width="75" /></a><i>Wrap it up.</i><br />
Once thoroughly chilled, I removed the thin layer of fat and scooped 1/3 cup of the meat and vegetable filling onto 1/4"x 4" rounds of basic short crust pastry. After brushing the edges with egg wash, I folded the pastry into half moons, carefully sealed the seams, brushed the pies with egg wash, used kitchen shears to snip tiny vents into the dough, and slid the pies into a preheated 450 degree oven.<br />
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When the pies turned golden brown, about 25 minutes, I pulled them from the oven and let them rest before finishing with flaked sea salt and fresh parsley.<br />
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One handed wonders.<br />
Sealed in crispy crust and kissed with subtle warm spice, the meltingly tender lamb swirled through the savory stew. While the root vegetables added soft sweet earthiness, the flaky crust provided buttery crunch. Perfect finger food. Hand pies.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHZQmUUB_pLJeiUhtXvYceXh7eAG272GkkgTtdQfBlzifnllF9y7hV86_WHlIuzEWX2RguS9r4FYAjrKEvQoZBdKQ8N0q2H8R0KFUWrrVv0cLybCIPw68HXGe1xLNtXV6PXNyHuChWdEi/s1600/IMG_0969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1029" data-original-width="1080" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBHZQmUUB_pLJeiUhtXvYceXh7eAG272GkkgTtdQfBlzifnllF9y7hV86_WHlIuzEWX2RguS9r4FYAjrKEvQoZBdKQ8N0q2H8R0KFUWrrVv0cLybCIPw68HXGe1xLNtXV6PXNyHuChWdEi/s320/IMG_0969.jpg" width="320" /></a>Grab and Go.<br />
Follow the rainbow.<br />
Dingle all the way.<br />
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<br />Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07437479659247872961noreply@blogger.com0