Kitchen Shenanagins

"What are you making for dinner?", Michael asked, as he strolled into the kitchen after his afternoon nap. I was frying parmesan breaded baby eggplant medallions at the time.  "I have no idea.", I replied.

I didn't. 

No clue.

I had a lot of ingredients.  I was trying to figure out a dinner plan while I fried the tiny and cute baby eggplants as a jumping point. Frying and thinking.  Frying and thinking.  I thought about eggplant parmesan.  Nope.  The last one I attempted sucked.  It looked awful and tasted even worse. Scratch that.

Moussaka?  Hardly. They were too small for a proper moussaka.

I had  fresh pasta, caperberries, nicoise olives, capers, and farmers' market red peppers. Should I place the fried eggplant on top of the pasta?  Or, make a pasta nest and rest the eggplant into the nest before saucing? Should the eggplant and pasta be sauced together or seperately?  And, if so, with which sauce?Alfredo?  Carbonara? Puttanesca? Marinara?

I fried all the eggplant rounds with their stemmed tops, sprinkled them with sea salt,  and stared at them for a while before deciding to construct individual eggplant napoleans.  Deconstructed eggplant parmesan napoleans.

Fun!

I stacked repeated layers of the parmesan breaded fried eggplant rounds with fresh mozzarella,  fresh basil leaves, and tiny dollops of fresh marinara before topping the individual stacks with their fried lids. I set them aside and heated the oven to 350.

I finally settled on  fresh marinara sauce to dress the eggplant napoleans and decided to serve them   alongside olive oil  sauteed al dente fresh pasta, sliced red peppers, slivered onions, caperberries, capers, minced garlic, and nicoise olives.

Whew. With decisions made and mise en place,  it was time to enjoy a few glasses of wine.  Not a moment too soon.  My head was exploding.

When it was time to dine, I slid the eggplant napoleans into the well heated oven to melt the cheese and warm through.  While they warmed, I sauteed sliced red peppers, onions, and minced garlic until softened and caramelized.  After cooking  fresh linguini in heavily salted water until almost al dente, I scooped it out with a spider and tossed it into the hot saute pan to finish cooking with the sizzling vegetables.  Torn fresh basil, scattered caperberries, capers, black olives, salt, pepper, and a glug of olive oil finished it off.

I pooled fresh marinara onto our plates, nestled the eggplant stacks onto the sauce, and drizzled additional marinara over the top.  Using tongs, I twirled and swirled the jeweled pasta to the side of the napoleans with  garlic-butter slathered ciabatta slices as soppers.

The eggplant was crisp and salty with gooey dripping mozzarella streaming down the layers.  The slight anise  flavored baked basil flavored the mild cheese with its inherent essential oils as it oozed from the napoleans.  The thick fresh marinara sauce added a sweet tomato acidity that cut through the fried eggplant and baked cheese, adding a needed freshness.  Fantastic.

The lip sticking olive oil draped linguini was tarted up by the briny pickled caperberries and capers with mouth popping explosions.  Acidic.  Sharp. Perfect. The black olives played off the crisp red peppers with salty earthy undertones. Side by side, the vegetable studded olive oil dressed pasta wonderfully balanced the crunchy cheesy richness of the marinara napped eggplant napoleans. 

It was fun to fly by the seat of my pants.  To not have a plan.....at all.

Farmers' Market: Fall Harvest

Throughout the entire growing season I have stopped by the farmers' market every Tuesday morning on my way to work.  Some days I had particular things in mind to purchase, while other days I simply strolled through the stalls for inspiration.  I made occasional trips to the crazy, vibrant, and bustling Saturday market, but Tuesday mornings were  always my market time.  It's been interesting watching the seasons morph into each other as the fresh produce changed over time.  Beautiful fresh locally grown vegetables would come in for a short stay before overlapping with newly arriving vegetables until gone.  Change.

Lately, the bright colors of tomatoes, plump blackberries, raspberries, summer squash, melons, and cantelopes have been replaced with the muted autumn hues of winter squash, potatoes, kale, turnips, pole beans, roma beans, okra, hickory nuts, and garlic.  The glorious fresh bursting plentiful piles of  corn  now have tall bundled proud corn shocks in thier place.   The autumn vegetables are all glorious and beautiful in a melancholy way. 

With crisp cool air erasing  memories of long gone stifling summer heat under a steel blue sky, I made my weekly pilgrimage yesterday morning amid long cast morning  shadows.  Serene.  Quiet.

The venders have dwindled to a few, slowly dropping away from the grounds. The ones still remaining exude hopeful exhuberance and, as usual, I was entranced.  Delicata squash, striped acorn squash, Casey County turnips with greens, tender tiny collard greens, baby bulbous eggplant, and orange fleshed sweet potatoes caught my eye yesterday morning. 

An autumn harvest meal was in the making and I was happy.

I ripped open my morning haul when I got home from work.  I needed to get the striped acorn squash in the oven because of the long braise it required.  I halved the squash, scraped out the seeds, and salted it before laying it cut side down in a covered  casserole dish with juiced oranges to braise for 1 1/2 hours.

I prepped the beautiful tender tiny collard greens by washing them before slicing them into 1/2 inch ribbons.  Late season collards can be large and tough.  The greens were picked that morning from a Casey Country farmer trying to avoid the possible early frost that had been predicted. They were  like  baby collard green leaves with tender slim central stems that did not require removal.  Just gorgeous. After slicing them into ribbons, I set them aside to work on the chicken.

After rinsing two organic chicken breasts under cool water, I carefully slid a very sharp knife into the thickest part of the meat and gingerly sliced pockets into each breast before stuffing them with herbed goat cheese.  Once stuffed, I dipped them in egg wash, rolled them in panko bread crumbs, and placed them in the refrigerator to set up before dinner.

With mise en place while the squash braised away, I joined Michael in our 130 year old victorian parlor for wine, music, and our daily catch-up conversations. Comfort.

After the squash had braised into buttery goodness, I heated a skillet until screaming hot, added olive oil until it sizzled, and carefully placed the panko breaded goat cheese stuffed chicken breasts into the pan.  When both sides had fried to a golden luxurious brown, I removed them to rest while I whipped up a quick white wine sauce.

At the very last minute, I sauteed sliced bacon in a tad of olive oil until crisp, tossed in 2 minced garlic cloves to caramelize, and feathered the ribbony collard greens into the garlicky bacon fat to cook for exactly 4 minutes before pulling them off the heat.  A final splash of balsamic vinegar bathed the bright green bacony garlic greens.

I inverted the striped acorn squash onto our plates, added a knob of butter, a drizzle of pure maple syrup, a sprinkling of sea salt, and finger torn parsely.

I tonged the collard greens next to the squash, topped them with the crisp chicken, and ladled the translucent  white wine sauce over the chicken before sprinkling with finely sliced scallions.

I nestled traditional sliced boiled eggs into the collard greens as a nod to southern heritage.

Usually, greens   are cooked for hours with smoked ham hock until greyish brown.  Tasty and familiar.  Old school.

Our new school greens were vivid green, fresh, and had body. They were bold and flavorful.  They tasted, smelled, and snapped like fresh collard greens. 

When sliced, the golden crisp chicken unleashed the tangy goat cheese filling, allowing it to spill onto the plate and into the greens. The combination of white wine-sauced crackingly crisp chicken, tangy soft melted warm goat cheese, and earthy garlicky sauteed collard greens was unbelievable.  Really unbelievable. We were undone. Totally.  Think about it.

The rich velvet squash oozed with butter and maple syrup.  Gutteral goodness.  Spoonable heaven.  Calming and comforting.

The bright freshness of summer vegetables may be on hold until next year.  We'll have to wait and yearn for their return.

But, right now there is bountiful beautiful harvesting to be enjoyed. 

Fall.  I welcome you with open arms.

Got Green Tomatoes? Roast Them For Chile Verde

I usually don't cook a lot of southwestern or Mexican dishes.  Lately, I have had  the ingredients on hand and the umph to do it.

Our tomato jungle is still producing gorgeous plump tomatoes. The ripening process has slowed a bit with the cooler weather. Consequently, we have many more green tomatoes than bright red ripe ones.  With so many of them out back, I decided I would cook them. With yesterday being a cool grey lazy Sunday, I wanted to make something that could simmer all day.  Fried green tomatoes didn't fit the bill. Even though I have fried everything under the sun this summer, I just wasn't in the mood for fried green tomatoes.

After the last summer's tomato blight, I ended up canning most of the unripened green tomatoes into chow chow, pickled greens tomatoes, and green tomato salsa verde.  Although, they are very different plants with very different characteristics, green tomatoes are not a bad substitute for tomatillos in Mexican cooking.

Chile Verde.  Perfect.

It was very straightforward and fairly traditional. I combined  ingredients for New Mexico Green Chili with those of Mexican Chile Verde for a hybrid chili....or stew.

I broiled Anaheim and poblano chiles until they were charred and blackened before tossing them in a bag to steam and soften.  While they self-steamed, I roasted seasoned halved green tomatoes, sliced onions, and peeled garlic until they collapsed and caramelized.

I peeled the skin off the charred peppers and scraped the seeds away.  Though some might rinse the seeds under running water, I didn't want to wash away the smoky flavor. When the tomatoes, onions, and garlic were cooked and softened, I coursely pureed them with the peppers until blended.

I chose big fat country style pork ribs for the stew.  They were easier to manipulate and to slice into one inch cubes before sauteing in olive oil until browned.  After they browned, I added the tomato pepper puree,  2 cups of chicken stock, cumin, ancho chile powder, oregano, salt, and pepper.  I plopped a lid over the dutch oven and let the stew simmer for 3 hours.

2 hours into the stove-top braise, I dropped in diced Delicata winter squash, diced new potatoes, chopped green bell peppers, and quartered red tomatoes to simmer uncovered for another hour. The house smelled amazing as the stew bubbled and reduced into a thick chunky chili.

Thankfully, at some point during the cooking process, I realized the chili was going to be way too spicy hot for Michael.  I kept tasting it and tasting it.  I knew it was totally not going to work for him.  The long braise afforded me the time to whip  up a milder pot of red chili that he could actually enjoy eating. I made it in the exact manner as the green chili, but used san marzano tomatoes in place of the fiery chiles.  Thank God.

I filled my bowl with the New Mexico Green Mexican Chile Verde, topped it with a dollop of sour cream, a squeeze of fresh lime juice, minced fresh green peppers, and a shower of cojita cheese.  I finished Michael's bowl of red the same way.

It was incredibly spicy, even for me.  I squirt Sriracha sauce straight from the bottle into my  mouth and suck Tobasco sauce from the tiny jar opening.  I know and like hot stuff.  It. Was. Spicy.

I loved it.  I loved the many-layered levels of flavor.  The sweet soft butternut-like Delicata squash tempered the heat with richness while the fatty pork offered up an unctous luxurious mouthfeel.  With welcome relief, the tangy sour cream and cojita cheese tamed the stew with tart creaminess. Cilantro added bright freshness while crisp minced green peppers crunched with tiny wet pepper bursts. Fantastic.

 Even through that fine line between pleasure and pain, I couldn't stop eating it.

Got green tomatoes?  Go ahead, roast them.!

Waste Not Want Not

I throw nothing away.  I know I can always find a use for anything and everything. At this very moment, my freezer is packed with shrimp shells, chicken backs, chicken necks, frozen parsely stems, fish stock, chicken stock, scratch made berbere sauce, squid, and on and on and on. Michael won't allow me the luxury of a big deep freezer because I would fill it to the gills. Point taken.  I'll get along just fine, thank you very much.  Good luck finding the ice cubes.  They might be under the frozen rendered duck fat.

I had a few bites of leftover short ribs from our dinner the other night. We could have enjoyed the fabulous braised short ribs, climbed onto our white horses with full stomachs, ridden off  into the sunset, called it a day, and thrown the short ribs away.  We could have, but didn't. Nope. No siree. There was just enough succulent rib meat to use for something.

 A few months ago, we had the most wonderful fresh tamales at La Azteca's Mexican Restaurant in downtown Louisville prior to one of our Broadway Series shows.  We fell in love the lightness and freshness of those tamales. We haven't had them since that day and I have longed for them.

Hmm. Tamales.

I took stock of the pantry and decided tamales would be the perfect vehicle to transport our leftover meat to another level.  I shaved the meat off the ribs, sliced it into strips, set it to aside,  and scraped the long braised jellied meat juice  from the bottom of the storage container.  Fat = flavor! To change the flavor profile of the meat for the tamales, I sauteed the sliced rib meat in olive oil, garlic, onion, celery, green pepper, cilantro, chile pepper, cumin, and achiote.  I simmered it on low to reduce,  concentrate,  and tighten up.

While the filling simmered away, I prepared the tamale dough by mixing 2 cups of masa flour, 3/4 cups combined vegetable shortening and bacon fat, 1 teaspoon salt, dried mexican oregano, garlic powder, and 2 cups of chicken stock.  To punch up the corn factor, I pureed 2 ears of late season starchy farmers market corn and added it to the masa dough.  After a short wine break, I kneaded the masa until it was the consistency of cookie dough, spread it over pre-soaked corn husks, topped the dough with  glistening rib meat , rolled the husks tightly, tied the ends with strips of husks, and placed them pointed up in a colander inside a covered steaming stock pot  to steam for 2 hours. 

I took leftover pinto beans from the refrigerator, mashed them into a sticky bean pulp and pan fried them in bacon fat before adding garlic, onion, and minced chorizo.  Once the insane re-fried beans concoction was hot and incorporated, I tossed it in the oven to keep warm.  Crazy.

Two leisurely hours later after several glasses of wine, it was time to plate for dinner.

I tossed thinly sliced lettuce with diced tomatoes and  avocados in fresh squeezed lime as a crisp side for a palate cleanser.  After spooning the re-fried chorizo beans onto our plates, I perched the hot tamales atop  the beans, slit open the tamales, and squished them like enormous fluffy baked potatoes.

Steam exploded from the tightly rolled tamales.. Heavenly aromatic steam.  While they were still blazing hot, I drizzled enchilada sauce into the cavities, dolloped Mexicana crema over the tops, and showered them with crumbly cojita cheese.  I let fresh cut cilantro fall where it may from my finger tips.

There was so much going on.  The deep rich meaty filling encased inside the pureed corn-infused steamed masa tamale dough was intense.  Very intense.  The airy highly seasoned masa managed to tame the intensity with subtle softness. Edible beef-filled corn masa  pillows. The enchilada sauce provided spiced wetness while the crumbly cojita cheese exploded like tangy mouth daggers. Think Pop Rocks.  Cheesy tangy Pop Rocks.  Oh. My.

Oh yeah, fresh cilantro added freshness and fresh sqeezed lime juice added brightness.

The chorizo flecked re-fried beans? Unbelievable.  The combination was relentless.

Were our tamales as good as Los Azteca's?  Probably not. But, it was home cooking....and pretty damn stellar.

Waste not want not.

I need a bigger freezer.

Horses, Hot Dogs, & Short Ribs

We spent the entire day this past Saturday at the Alltech FEI World Equestrian Games at The Kentucky Horse Park.  It was stunning.  We arrived through a winding road  amid weeping willows until we reached the lake at the base of the Main Stage Arena.

What a beginning.

We got to the Park at noon with plenty of time to spare before our Reining Event at 2:00 that afternoon.  Our first order of business was to find a bar.  We are usually very good at that.  No bar left unturned is our combined motto.  Not Saturday.  There was so much to see and do.  We thought we would have plenty of time once we found a bar and had a drink or three before moseying around exploring until our event.

There were horses everywhere. Go figure.

We walked through the trade show surrounded by boots, saddles, blankets, belt buckles, and horse paintings in search of a cocktail.  Nope.  Fresh squeezed lemonade was the closest thing.  Onward.  We passed the Makers Mark Cabin and found the official Souvenier compound.  Still no bar.  We decided to back track and start over.  Surely our bearings were off. At that point we were lost and couldn't find a bar. We made a left at the mammoth Alltech Experience Pavillion and walked down a road to nowhere.  We saw tents and people.  Happy People.  We made a bee-line to them.  I spotted tables with drinks scattered about as if people had grown tired of their cocktails and wandered away to play.  My bloody mary radar zoned in on what appeared to be a  beautiful dark red bloody mary.  Bingo!  Not.  It was a glass of red paint left unattended for finger painting in the children's play area.  Damn.

We bought a 25 pound $15 program just for the maps to help us navigate the vastness of WEG.  It was huge. We were running out of the luxury of  time and had to find our venue, the Indoor Arena. We walked and walked and walked. It was very, very far away.  Like....maybe...in West Virginia.  We walked an hour and a half to reach our venue for the Reining event.  Blissfully and thankfully, there were two bars.  Score!

Once the event ended, we went in search of food.  The concessions at the Games turned out to be less than good.  There was a food court offering pasta bowls, burritos, hamburgers, hot dogs, and fried chicken.  We had bulbous cold hot dogs on brittle dry buns.  10 packets of ketchup, mustard, and relish couldn't even  revive the long gone juicy moisture of the hot dogs.  We ate them because we were hungry.  It wasn't as if we had $350.00 tickets to The James Beard House Celebrity Dinner Series.

The Opening Ceremonies were divine.  We snuck out during a slow moment to smoke and snack.  They were out of everything.  They had popcorn, but nothing to put it in.  We could see it.  We just couldn't eat it.

The following day I decided to cook a lot of food.  Comforting food that could simmer all day and make the house smell amazing while we recovered  from our 14 hour day at the World Equestrian Games.

No recipes invloved.  I decided to shoot from the hip.

After browning seasoned short ribs until they were intensely dark, I added garlic, celery, carrots, onions, thyme, basil, salt, and pepper to simmer until softened.  I deglazed the pan with aged balsamic vinegar, diced tomatoes, and beef stock. I brought it to a rolling boil, reduced it to a simmer, and place it in a 325 oven to slowly braise for 4 hours.

To gild the lily just a bit, I made fresh bread for sopping. I proofed yeast with 1/4 cup warm water mixed with honey, added 2 cups of flour, kneaded it until it was pliable, rolled it into a ball, plopped it into an oiled bowl, and placed it by the warm oven to double in size.

Once the dough rose, I punched it down, cut it into thirds, hand-rolled the thirds into ropes, and braided it. I covered it to rise again and double in size.

I cranked the oven to 400 and slid the braided loaf into the oven to bake side by side the braising short ribs.

The  combined aromas of fresh baking bread  and long simmering short ribs was intoxicating.

After 45 minutes, I pulled out the bread and buttered the top.  The sweet yeasty bread was comforting.  Buttered and torn, it was the perfect sopper for the deep flavored unctous sticky short ribs. The vegetables disentegrated into the sauce, the garlic roasted into sweet garlic cream, and the short ribs braised down into  utter tenderness. Familiar. Soulful. Finger sucking and lip smacking satisfying.  Fresh celery leaves scattered over the top lent freshness while steamed crisp snow peas topped with lemon zest provided brightness.

The comforts of home.

Spaghetti With Tomato & Basil

Our last big tomato haul has been resting on the window sill for a few days.  Every morning I glance at the haul and wonder what I should do with the gorgeous heirlooms.  Salad?  Simply sliced with salt and pepper?  BLT's?

I haven't watched the FoodNetwork much lately since discovering The Food Channel with its gritty and real  cooking format.  The other night, in a mindless stupor, I found myself staring at the television.  The FoodNetwork was airing Alton Brown's new series, America's Best: Comfort Foods.  I thought I'd just stare and deal with some comfort food teasings.  The best mashed potatoes.  Check.  The best mac & cheese. Check.  The best no-nonsense pizza. Check.  It fed my mindless vanquished mind.

Until...The Best Fresh Spaghetti.  Scott Conant's Spaghetti and Basil jarred me to attention.  It is the simple pasta signature dish at Scarpetta, his restaurant in the FountainBleu Hotel in Miami Florida.  It is widely considered to be one of the most delicious simple pasta dishes on the planet.

I had to have it.  I had to taste it. I watched it over and over and over again.  I googled the recipe and found it everywhere.  A written recipe can be found at travelchannel.com, Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations Techniques episode.

It took very few very good ingredients;  fresh tomatoes, fresh basil, garlic, pasta, parmesan reggiano, olive oil, salt, and pepper.

Period.  That was it.

I bought dried spaghetti. I took one last look at our beautiful heirloom tomatoes bursting with ripeness and tossed the store bought spaghetti.  They deserved better.  The last haul of a long growing season deserved the honor of freshly made pasta.

I can make pasta in my sleep, but wanted  to raise the bar for myself and used Thomas Keller's egg yolk-based pasta recipe from The French Laundry.  I wanted the best for Michael, me, and our lovely heirlooms. I hand-mixed 6 egg yolks, 1 whole egg, 1 3/4 cups flour, 1 tablespoon milk, and kneaded it gently on a floured surface.  After letting it rest for an hour, I rolled it out, let it dry, and cut it into angel hair pasta strands. It was a good start.  The pasta was a thing of beauty.

I briefly blanched the tomatoes in boiling water to release their skins, cut them into quarters, and sauteed them in olive oil. I followed Scott Conant's masterful method and mashed the tomatoes with a potato masher as they simmered in the olive oil. They cooked briefly for 45 minutes to retain their freshness.

While the tomatoes gently simmered on the stove top, I infused olive oil with fresh basil and garlic. 

Mise en place.

It went really fast.  Once the sauce had simmered into a soft  puddle of fresh  tomato goodness, I ladled it into a saute pan to bubble and dropped the pasta into heavily salted boiling water to cook for 3 minutes.

When the angel hair was al dente, I tossed it into the sauce with the basil oil, jullienned strips of fresh basil, and a large handful of grated parmesan reggiano.  The kicker and final touch?  2 tablespoons of unsalted butter.  Perfect.  Once the butter swirled throughout the sauce, I plated  the lightly dressed angel hair pasta into large bowls.  I made my father's old fashioned buttered oven toast to sop.

It was the best pasta either of us had ever eaten. Buttery and light as air. The angelic ribbons absorbed the soft fresh tomato sauce just enough to coat it lightly and still taste like pasta.  The knobbed butter finish gave it a velvet mouthfeel and richness while the melted parmesan painted it with salty nuttiness.  Hints of anise flavor and aroma poked through from the tiny specks of basil.

It was simple, fresh, delicious, and utterly beautiful.

An Italian expression that means "little shoe"- or the shape bread takes when used

to soak up a dish- scarpetta represents the pure pleasure of savoring a meal down

to its very last taste.

Point made.  Point taken.

A Humble Gardener: Revisited

As fall approaches and summer ends, I have been thinking back on this summer, mid-June, when our gardens were lush, vivid green, and full of hope.  The weather was pleasant and the rains plentiful, producing  tiny yellow flowers on plants that bore promise of what was to come.  The possibilities seemed endless.

I had a wonderful summer as an urban humble gardener, cherishing every bite of our back yard crop..  The cucumbers came in early with their climbing vines twirling up the garage trellis.  We ate them daily while they lasted.

The green bell peppers thrived and the jalapenos kicked butt.  Even through the heat of summer, the basil, thyme, parsley, and lemon balm kept going and growing.  The dill couldn't take it and vanished.

Because  Michael purchased 19 heirloom tomato plants this summer, our tomatoes were plentiful.  They lined the back deck in containers like soldiers on guard.  We tended them carefully and lovingly;  and they responded in bounty.

All summer long, we ate tomatoes every way possible. Every. Way. Possible. We've enjoyed them in some form every night since they started coming in,  just plucked from the vine and still warm from the sun. Eden.  Paradise. Perfect.  They made me think of my father, Marge, Granny, and everyone I ever knew that grew and loved fresh summer tomatoes. We did it. We grew our own . Michael and I tended them, shared them, cooked with them, and fully enjoyed them.  I regret now having grown a bit weary of them. 

This morning I went out to water the ragged tomato jungle.  Even though we've watered them twice daily, they're brown from the relentless intense heat, lack of rain,  covered with fallen pin oak leaves, and sad. It seemed pointless to nourish  the fallen soldiers.  Why? 

Although tattered and ugly they were, and are,  still trying to please Michael and me.  Even though tired and spent, they're producing fruit.  Beautiful glistening jewels dotted through browned crackled leaves.

I watered them this morning without hope,

only to be surprized by their resilience and bravery and filled my T-shirt with gorgeous ripe sun-kissed tomatoes.  My morning haul.

Humbled, indeed.