Hot Summer Nights: Embrace The Heat

I had an interesting day yesterday.  I ran into my Puerto Rican born friend at work.  I hadn't seen her in a while. I asked her how she was dealing with the heat.  "I love it!", she proclaimed. Uh.  Ok.  "But it's soooo humid", I said.  "This isn't humid.  In Puerto Rico, you can take a cold shower and as soon as you step out of the shower, you're sweating.  That's humid.", she replied.  I was clearly going nowhere fast.  Think.

"Have you ever been to The Caribbean Pot spice shop in Old San Juan?', I asked. We had been there on our last visit to Puerto Rico, bought a suitcase full of spices, and signed up for their newsletter. With perplexed curiosity, she said, "No".  "I get their weekly newsletter full of recipes with great photos.  Wanna check it out?", I teased.  Finally had her.  Hook, line, and sinker.  I scribbled the web sight, Caribbeanpot.com on scrap paper and handed it to her.  She then started thinking and talking about the food she grew up with. Her childhood food memories. Yuca Escabeche was one of her favorites.  She described it in minute detail. I took notes.  As she spoke, her face transformed into softness, her voice began to lilt, and her body totally relaxed.  I want that, I thought.  I want to feel that.

I did a bit of research, left work, and headed straight to the African Caribbean Market in search of yuca and other ingredients.  I was going to make the yuca escabeche with pernil, a pork shoulder roasted with sofrito.

Armed with my list, I walked into the market and went back to the fresh produce section.  I had no idea what yuca, or cassava, even looked like.  Everything looked like roots.  I grabbed a couple of narly looking things and headed to the front of the store where a beautiful woman was sitting behind the  counter on a tall wooden stool with her child in her lap.  They were reading.  I handed her my Sazon (annatto, culantro, achiyote, garlic, and salt seasoning), a bottle of sofrito, and my yuca.  "You want me  to slice it to make sure it's ok?', she asked.  "Uh, sure", I said."  It felt ok.

She pulled a machete out from under the counter and in one quick motion, whacked it in half.  Alrighty then.

"It is no good.  Needs to be snow white in the middle.  Get another one.", she said.  Rule follower.  I brought another one to the counter.  Whack. "No good either."  I followed her back to the yuca patch where she proceeded to destroy her entire stock of yuca  with the machete until she found two that were snow white in the center.  Thank God.

I left the store with my stash, all my fingers, and a smile on my face.  Mission accomplished.

Traditionally, yuca escabeche is served at room temperature.  As soon as I got home, I brought a pot of well salted water to a boil, peeled the yuca, and dropped it  into the boiling water to cook for 30 minutes until tender.

While the yuca boiled away, I prepared the marinade.  I poured 1/2 cup olive oil and 1/4 cup white wine vinegar into a small sauce pan, turned the heat on to medium, and added 4 thinly cloves of garlic, 1 large sliced shallot, 3 bay leaves, salt, and 10 pink and black peppercorns.  As soon as the marinade came to a simmer, I shut down the heat and set it aside.   When the yuca was fork tender, I pulled it  out of the water, sliced  it into rounds, and doused it with the marinade.

The pork was pretty simple.  Pernil usually calls for a roasted pork shoulder.  I had leftover shredded pork from a previous roasted shoulder in the freezer and pulled it out to thaw while I prepared fresh sofrito vegetables to combine with the purchsed jarred tomato based sofrito.  Using what I had on hand, I sliced green bell peppers, baby poblano peppers, garlic, onions, and Spanish green olives.

Everything was ready to go.  My place' was mised, so to speak.  Off to the parlor to drink wine and chat with Michael.

When it neared time to eat, I slipped back into the kitchen, got a saute pan screaming hot,  added olive oil to the pan, and sauteed the aromatics until tender before tossing in the sofrito, green olives, capers, the shredded pork, the Sazon seasoning, and a cup of wine to loosen the sauce. While that simmered, I threw on a pot of rice to serve as a base.  30 minutes later, it was done.

I plated the rice, topped it with the pork, and buffered the yuca escabeche with gorgeous sliced red tomatoes.

The yuca resembled a potato in texture, although a bit more dense.  It was nutty, flaky, sweet, and bitter.  It became translucent and absorbent when cooked which allowed it to completely soak in the unctuous marinade. The luscious oil was lip clinging and soft while the pickling-spiced vinegar gave a piquant jolt.  The paper-thin sliced garlic and shallots were cooked, yet firm, allowing their flavors to permeate the marinade along with tiny toothsome crunch. The pink and black peppercorns were strewn about about like hidden perfumed jewels. While eating it, I understood my friend's joy.  Her revelation about yuca escabeche.. Her wanting to have it and share it with me.  Got it.  Totally.

The pork was very complex.  Highly seasoned and savoury.  The sofrito was aromatic and rich, punctuated with occasional bursts of briny olives and tart salty capers.  It had deep flavor. Dark briny flavor. A stew with major attitude that paired beautifully with the buttery tart yuca escabeche.  The sliced tomatoes were perfect foil to the richness with mouth cleansing sweet acidity.

Two nights ago we sucumbed to the blazing heat and ate light fresh fruit for dinner.  Last night, inspired by my friend's food memories, I embraced the heat and cooked head on with  caribbean spirit at full speed.

I'm glad I did.

James And The Giant Peach

What a peach!

What a peach!

            -James

It was too hot to cook yesterday.  Knowing I wasn't going to cook, I stopped by the Farmers' Market in the morning on my way to work.  I was looking for fruit and tomatoes for a no-cook meal.  I came across a vender from Scott County selling gigantic peaches.  Really gigantic. They were labled very simply, Giant Peach.  I couldn't help but giggle and ask why they were so big.  Apparently one tree in their orchard suffered an early frost blossom thing and the result was a tree full of giant peaches.  I tried to pay attention to the horticulture reason for the big-ness, but couldn't get past the sheer whimsy of buying one. Sold.

I found a Johnson County vender selling heirloom tomatoes at a steep discount because they were picked on Sunday and they  needed to move them.  2 pounds of yellow and red heirlooms tomatoes snagged.

On the way to my car, I stopped by a vender selling melons.  Small yellow fleshed watermelons with mud clinging to the outer rind.  Who could possible resist that?  Into my bag one went.

When I cut open the fruit, I was so amazed at the bursting vibrant flesh.  The peach sprayed mist throughout the kitchen when halved.  The watermelon looked surreal.  Vibrant yellow specked with black seeds.  Beautiful.

I simply sliced and diced the fruits into nonuniform pieces and tumbled them together with  seedless purple grapes.  Small curd cottage cheese was the perfect light no-cook compliment.

My friend,  Erin,  asked me if bigger is better with peaches.  Well, I'm not exactly sure about size equalling pleasure, but that peach was so sweet and juicy.  Firm and juicy at the same time.  The yellow watermelon was a revelation.  Of course, it had the texture of watermelon.  It just seemed sweeter and softer. Tricky. A tromp l'oeil for the mouth.  It looked tropical, but the mouthfeel and flavor was down home familiar. It actually tasted yellow, if that makes any sense. 

Sliced unadorned red tomatoes, even though sweet, seemed savory in comparison to the fruit.

I used  the remaining yellow tomatoes to recreate my favorite gazpacho of the summer, Ace Weekly's Yellow Gazpacho. So sweet, smooth, velvety, and acidic. Balanced. I Didn't even use a spoon.  It was like drinking pure tomato and cucumber essence.

Fresh fruit, tomatoes, and cottage cheese.  A great way to beat the summer heat.

Perfect French Fries

The perfect French Fry?  Why yes, even the humble fry can gain lofty status....when prepared correctly with some care. Anyone can slice a potato and throw the pieces in some oil to fry until they're cooked and browned.  Double frying is the key to perfectly golden fires with a crunchy exterior and creamy interior.

We were having cheeseburgers for dinner last night.  Very standard.  Ground chuck, melted American cheese, shredded lettuce, dill pickle relish, tomato, sliced purple onion, mayonnaise, mustard, salt, and pepper.  We both wanted really good french fries to go with our basic cheeseburgers.

Perfect Fries.

Easy.  

There are two trains of thought.  To soak the sliced potatoes or not? I don't soak.  Too messy and time consuming.  Peeling is optional.  I don't peel.

After slicing one large russet potato into uniform slices, I set the deep fryer on a low temperature of 275 to fry-blanche the fries for 7 minutes. the lower temperature cooked the potatoes through without browning them.  I fried  them in several batches, draining them on paper towels until they were all cooked.

After turning the fryer up to a temperature of 350, I re-fried the potatoes until golden and crispy.  I like a snappy crunchy french fry, so I cooked mine a bit longer the second time than traditionally recommended.  After coming out of the hot oil, I salted them generously.  To take them up one more notch, I showered them with Grippo's BAR-B-Q Seasoning.  Uh huh. My favorite barbecued potato chips morphed into  french fries.  Go figure.

The result was  golden crisp french fries with  soft creamy interiors that tasted like Grippo's Barbecued Potato Chips.( seasoning, optional) Perfect.

It's not rocket science.  It's not even hard.  But, the extra effort and care is worth it.  If no deep fryer is available, use a heavy dutch oven and a thermometer to gage the heat of the oil. Double frying with different tempertatures is key.  Low and slow before fast and furious. 

That's the ticket to perfect fries.

Dueling Salmon

We were invited to a swanky gathering out in the woods yesterday. It was a perfect day with lovely weather, charming company, and very generous hosts.  A pool party pumped up.  Way up.  Everyone in this group loves to cook and share food.  Impeccable food.

I wanted to take something special. Something different.  Something easy.  Something that would transport to...well...the country.

I decided to cure salmon and serve canapes.  I love curing meats and fish. All it requires is a bit of time.  The rest is easy.  It practically and literally cooks itself.

I always use Jacque Pepin's recipe for curing salmon.  His twist is unusual and delicious.  I typically use recipes as a guide instead of as a rule. I wing most dishes, replacing ingredients if I don't have them in the pantry.  However. certain recipes need to be carefully followed both for safety and outcome.  Curing falls into that category.

It was a small gathering, so instead of curing an entire side of salmon, I found and used gorgeous fresh Atlantic Salmon filets.  After checking for pin bones, I rinsed the filets and patted them dry.

I tossed together 1 cup  kosher salt, 2 tablespoons sugar, 1 teaspoon ground cumin, 1/2 teaspoon ground allspice, 1/2 teaspoon paprika, 1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg, and 1/4 teaspoon cayenne.

After blending the curing mix, I generously rubbed both sides of the salmon filets, made sure they were coated thoroughly, and wrapped them tightly in several sheets of plastic wrap.  They went onto a sheet pan and into the refrigerator for the first 12 hour step of the process.

The next step was the unusual Jacque Pepin twist.  The following morning, after 12 hours of soaking up the spiced salt, I unwrapped the firm salmon filets and bathed them with a whisked blend of 1/4 cup  molasses and 2 tablespoons  soy sauce.  Odd and very interesting.

I rewrapped the filets and threw them back into the refrigerator for 24 hours to finish curing.

After 24 hours, I took the filets out of the plastic shroud, patted them dry, placed them on a wire rack, slid the rack over a sheet to catch any drips, and placed them into the refrigerator to air dry for another 24 hours.

That was it.  Sure, there was alot of wrapping, unwrapping, and  rewrapping, but it was pretty easy.  The most difficult part was slicing the salmon into paper thin pieces.  Using a very sharp boning knife, I started at the thickest parts of the filets and carefully sliced through the flesh while pulling the knife upward.  I knew it would tear.  It did.  It wasn't perfect, but I got some lovely ribbons of salmon meat.  I finely diced the remaining salmon.

I couldn't really decide how I wanted to serve the salmon..  I had two ideas in mind.  Each had very different flavor profiles while using the exact same salmon. 

I chose to do both. Dueling Salmon.

The first approach was very traditional.  I sliced seedless cucumbers on the bias, hollowed out a bit of the flesh, spread herbed goat cheese in the cavities, and topped them with the diced cured salmon, minced red onion, capers, snipped chives, and fresh dill.

The whacked part of my brain threw culinary wisdom to the wind and tried something a tiny less conventional with the sliced salmon ribbons.

After thinly slicing dark pumpernickle bread into rounds, I toasted them on crinkled foil to create undulating canape bases.  When cooled, I brushed herbed goat cheese over the toasts, swirled the shiny salmon over the cheese, and tucked sweet sliced white peaches, slivered shallots, and chive prongs into the salmon.

Very different looks, tastes, and approaches.

I loved what the molasses and soy did to the salmon.  It didn't penetrate all way through the flesh, but stained and flavored the outer layers, creating a two toned effect.  The slight earthy sweetness from the molasses paired nicely with the salt cure and the soy sauce.  In the first method, the sultry slamon was brightened by the capers, dill, and goat cheese, while the cucumbers provided refreshing cleansing moisture.

The whacked method was unusual.  Different.  Very good.  Who knew that peaches, shallots, and chives could work with cured salmon?  The white peaches had enough crisp and sweetness to tame the shallot and enough fruit juice to wet the silken salmon under the crunch of the canape.

Fun to make.  Fun to eat......if you have 60 hours to invest!

Into The Woods

Into the woods

And down the dell,

The path is straight,

I know it well.

Into the woods,

And who can tell

What's waiting on the journey?

                    Stephen Sondheim

Oh my.

A trip into the woods.  Out in the country. Out in the woods.

Michael and I were invited to a get together this weekend that was out in the woods.  We knew it would be beautiful.

It. Was. Stunning.

It was a physical and culinary journey.  What a joy to be surrounded by delightful joyous people who love life and food.  The day was devouted to relaxing, enjoying each other, and eating.  Heaven. 

We took the winding roads deep deep into the woods.  I'm talking deep into the woods. The drive alone was gorgeous.  Lush and green. The first stop was for amuse bouche snacks at Sandy and Ian's house, a charming home nestled along a hill side with a creek across the road. We made our way up the steps to the sounds of laughter spilling through windows and out into the holler.  Good start.  It was going to be a great day.

Round One: Amuse Bouche.

Ian was frying zucchini fritters and plating them while Sandy was pouring her Spanish Sangria.  Everyone was munching on Ian's fresh salsa.  Michael and I brought salmon canapes. The zucchini fritters were fantastic.  Hot from the skillet with fresh squeezed lime juice.  Brilliant!  The lime juice took the fritters to another planet.  Totally bright.  Totally unexpected.  I love being surprised.  Sandy's Sangria was another jolt of unexpected pleasure.  Fresh lemons, oranges, limes, peaches, and kiwi macerated in Spanish Funador Brandy mixed with Spanish Margues de Ceaceres red wine.  Wow!  Really? It was the best sangria to ever pass my lips.  Soaking the fruit in brandy was something that never occured to me...ever.  I will be making it.  Yup.

After a few glasses of sangria and plates of nibbles, we made our way up the hill to Harriette's place.

What can I say?  Nothing.  Can't even describe it.  Our Fairie Princess dubbed it The Bluegrass Hamptons. Indeed.

Gorgeous.  Chic.  Jaw dropping.

We checked out the pool for sunning.  Quiet and peaceful.  Now, I normally keep my clothes on in social settings.  It just seems proper.  Heck, I usually even wear underwear.  But, this was a pool party, after all.  Done.  Into the pool with not one ioda of care for the absence of hair product.

Round Two.  Dinner. 

The Princess brought it with her Yellow Tomato Gazpacho as a starter.  Velvety smooth and sweet.  Drinkable, literally. The acid  from the lime gave the natural tomato sweetness somewhere to land. Balance.

Harriette prepared Tenderloin of Beef with Gorgonzola Cream Sauce, roasted potatoes, and perfectly roasted asparagus with fresh cherry tomatoes.  The beef was butter-tender.  The gorgonzola cream sauce was.......crack in a bowl. (not that I have ever or will ever experienced crack cocaine).  It was just beyond delicious and addictive.  Butter-dripping bread was the perfect sponge for any wayward plate sauce juices.

We finished with Jan's Chocolate Cake layered and topped with Peanut Butter Cream frosting. Moist. Rich. Fantastic.

Wow.

As we cleared plates in the kitchen, we noshed on the remaining gorgonzola cream sauce.  Seriously. Jason, Greg, Sandy, and I used Tostitos Scoops to finish it off. Scoop after scoop after scoop.

What a great day!  What fantastic and  generous hosts! We were honored to be there.
Thank you Ian, Sandy, and Harriette.

Tortilla Soup

I was flying solo for dinner last night which gave me carte blanche.  Anything I wanted, I could have. 

After rifling through the vegetable bins and pantry, I realized I had the makings for tortilla soup.  Well, tortilla soup the way I  like it.  Restaurant versions are good, but not kicked up to the level I enjoy.

Mise en Place.

I prepped the aromatic vegetables by slicing and dicing baby poblanos, new carrots, celery, garlic, tomatoes, jalapenos, chipotle peppers in adobo sauce, and corn.

While the oil heated in a dutch oven, I gathered the dried spices: ground coriander, ancho chili, cumin, smoked paprika, mexican oregano, and dried espazote.

After dropping the vegetables into the hot oil to caramelize until tender, I added the dried spices to wrap around the vegetables, toasting and releasing their essential oils.

Once the spice mix sauteed to almost paste-like around the ingredients, I deglazed the pan with a splash of tequila and chicken stock.

Very fragrant.  Spicy air. Eye burning.

I let the soup simmer for 30 minutes before adding fresh squeezed orange juice to take the edge off with sweet acididy.

Most tortilla soups have shredded chicken.  Nope. Not me.  Not on solo night.  I tossed in  chunks of mahi, grouper, and cod to simmer in the spicy bath. 

When the seafood was cooked through, I ladled the soup into a large pasta bowl, showered it with fresh cilantro, scallions, sliced fresh avacado, tortilla chips, and lime juice.

The combination of  fresh orange juice and lime juice created a sour orange.  Bittersweet.  Refreshing. Awakening.  The broth was incredibly spicy.  Numbing and irresistable.  I could not stop eating through the fiery burn.  The spice stained fish pieces were sweet and tender, the melted vegetables sweetly soft, and the fresh avacado velvety. Butter soft.  They fought through and mellowed the stinging heat. Bright cilantro  finished with freshness while scallions provided mild onion snap

I flew solo for dinner last night with Seafood Tortilla Soup. It was the best flight ever.

Which Came First, The Chicken Or The... Salad?

Throwing  various forms of cooked meat on top of  entree salads is nothing new. It seems every restaurant has a salad of some kind topped with grilled steak, pan-seared tuna, grilled shrimp, or blackened salmon included on thier menus.  And, of course, there is  the ubiquitious grilled chicken caesar salad.  There is absolutely nothing wrong with any of those meat topped salads.  Nothing. I love them.  All of them.

However, Chicken Milanese delightfully reverses the order of things.  In the style of Milan, Chicken Milanese is parmesan breaded and pan-fried chicken topped with a lightly dressed salad of arugula. 

Intrigued, I decided to make it for dinner last night.  It was perfectly light for a hot summer evening and easy enough for a week night meal.

I took two boneless chicken breasts, butterflied the thicker tenderloin ends to open them up, placed them between plastic wrap, and pounded the breasts until thin and tender.

While a saute pan heated up with butter and olive oil, I prepared a three dish dredging station of  flour, beaten egg, and parmesan parsley lemon zest panko bread crumbs.

When the oil and butter combo heated to a sizzle , I dredged the garlic powder, salt, and pepper seasoned chicken breasts  in the flour, coated them with egg wash, and dropped them into the breadcrumbs,  pressing the coating on to adhere.

I carefully placed the breaded chicken breasts into the hot saute pan and pan-fried them one at a time until crisp and golden.  I held them in a low 225 degree oven while we had a few glasses of wine and awaited dinner.

Traditionally, Milanese is topped with an arugula salad.  I used a spring mix of baby arugula, red oak, baby spinach, and frisee.  Delicate leaves with soft bittery and peppery undertones.

After plating the crisp warm chicken, I tossed the spring mix with toasted almonds, capers, halved grape tomatoes, thinly sliced prurple onions, salt, pepper, a lighthanded lemon and olive oil  vinaigrette, and placed the salad on top of the chicken breasts.

Sliced room temperature window sill beefsteak tomatoes and lemon wedges finished the plate.

That was it.  

Michael and I were both totally surprised.  The salad was tender and boldly tart from the vinaigrette with stinging crunch from the onions.  The tiny capers popped with little briny mouth explosions while the halved grape tomatoes oozed with sweetness. Each bite of salad cut through the crisp fried rich parmesan herb-breadcrumbed chicken coating and created  a voluptuous mouthfeel when combined with the moist juicy chicken meat.  On every level, there was so much going on.

Chicken Milanese. A reversal of fortune.