Rat Bastard

Why? As representatives of the top of the evolutionary chain, why have we given the estimable role of spring prognosticator to a rodent? A big, furry, buck-toothed, beady-eyed rat? He doesn’t look like he wants the job, does he? Yet every year, on the second day of the shortest month, he is ripped from his mid-winter nap and thrust at a throng of screaming fans by a man in a top hat. Does that seem right to you? He doesn’t think so. No wonder he subjected us to 6 more weeks of winter.

I think he takes pleasure in making us miserable at the thought of a prolonged slog through slush, mud, and gray. Because if you are unwillingly given the official title of meteorological rat, you may as well be a bastard about it. Take THAT you silly two-legged hairless creatures! Rip me from my nice warm den in the middle of the night into the cold glare of klieg lights and TV cameras? Go right ahead. You deserve what you get. And should you happen to squeeze my middle too tight, or drop me on my head (thank you Mayor DeBlasio), I’m happy to add in a bite on your stupid gloved hand or pee on your $400 loafers too.

So thanks a lot Phil, or Chuck, or Dave, for seeing your shadow yet again. Perhaps we brought this upon ourselves, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t still one bucktoothed furry rat bastard.

To ‘celebrate’ the onset of 6 more weeks of belch, I’ve compiled a hit parade of CIMH comfort food recipes. In honor of Phil and his vermin brothers, I start with the mother-load of cozy, cheesy, comfort food goodness….Rat Bastard Mac & Cheese.

• Rat Bastard Mac & Cheese
• Granny Elsie’s Tarted Up Mac and Cheese
• Pasta al Forno
• Drunken Noodles
• Red Wine Pot Roast with Porcini Mushrooms
• Cozy Lamb Shanks with White Beans and Vermouth
• Easy Chicken Cacciatore 

If you like what you read here, please help me spread the word. Meantime, I’d love you to join me on Facebook (please click the ‘like’ button), and check out what else is going on in my kitchen at cookinginmyheels.com. Thanks!  🙂

A Soda Bread, a Lamb Shank, and an Irish Toast…

If you grew up in my hometown, the 17th of March was on the list of major holidays. Happens when the citizens number many with roots deep in the old sod. There were Meehans, and Feehans, and Sheehans (all in one class), and an O’ or a Fitz was not foreign to the front of last names. Sure there were others too with roots vast and wide, but on that day in mid-March, we were ALL Irish just a bit. So in that spirit I offer up two recipes and a toast. Bubbe’s Irish Soda Bread with Sour Cream fills the quick bread needs of the day deliciously, and what’s better than lamb and Guinness when celebrating the best of Ireland?  And as for that Irish toast? I can’t think of one more fitting than this:

May your home always be too small to hold all your friends…

Guinness Braised Lamb Shanks

Per lamb shank

• 1  cup of Guinness (I trust you’ll know what to do with any leftovers)
• 1 lamb shank (1 – 1.25 pounds)
• 1 medium carrot, chopped
• 1 medium rib celery, chopped
• ½ a medium onion, chopped
• 1 TBSP tomato paste
• ¼  cup red wine
• 1-2 TBSP balsamic vinegar
• ½ tsp sugar
• 2 cloves garlic, smashed
• 1 anchovy fillet, chopped
• ½  a bay leaf
• 2” sprig of thyme, left whole
• 1 “  sprig of rosemary, left whole
• water or stock
• salt and pepper
• olive oil

Heat a tablespoon of olive oil in a pan over medium-high heat. Generously salt and pepper the lamb shank. Brown the shank on all sides. Remove to a plate, turn heat to medium and add the chopped onion, carrots and celery and a pinch of salt to the pan. (Add some more oil to the pan if it is dry.) Cook the vegetables until they begin to soften and brown slightly. Add in the garlic and cook another minute. Add in the tomato paste and anchovy, stir into the vegetables, and cook another minute. Add the red wine and stir, scraping up any browned bits on the bottom of the pan. Add back in the lamb and any accumulated juices, the bay leaf, rosemary and thyme. Add in the beer and enough water or broth to come up to the top of the lamb shank but not cover. Bring to a boil, then cover and simmer for about an hour, turning the lamb once or twice. About 10 minutes before the hour is up, turn the oven on to 325°F.  When the lamb is starting to pull away from the bone, remove the cover, baste with the braising liquid and bake, uncovered for 10 minutes. Turn shank and bake another 10 minutes. This will give the lamb a beautiful shellacked finish. Remove lamb to a plate and cover with foil to keep warm.

Put the pan with the braising liquid over medium-high heat and bring to a boil. Cook until it is reduced and thickened a bit. Taste and add salt and pepper if needed. Serve with roasted potatoes and steamed asparagus.

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Deja Food

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This past weekend I hosted the inaugural dinner party at Chez Karin Ouest. For some people it’s planting a garden, repainting, or perhaps registering the kids in a new school. For me, it’s cooking. Actually, feeding would be more accurate. I never really feel like I’m home, in my home until I’ve fed friends at my table. And that homey feeling commenced Saturday night, when a few new friends scored the first reservation.

The first dinner in a new place, shared with new people who haven’t experienced your particular brand of epicurean handiwork could be daunting if you let it. So don’t let it. This is not the time for shock and awe, but rather an opportunity to provide a tasty backdrop to building friendship. In my view, first dinners should be welcoming, cozy, go with the conversation but not be the conversation, and involve as few utensils as possible. If you want to stretch your culinary muscles and go over the top, save it for dessert. An entire meal of gastronomical ambition is exhausting to everyone involved. And unless you are cooking for friends who moonlight as Iron Chef judges, most people aren’t all that adventurous when it comes to entrees that require too much explanation, especially when the cook isn’t well known. There will be plenty time for culinary fireworks another day. In fact, plan on it. Good cooks never seem to lack friends with appetites.

After almost three decades of dinner parties, I’ve learned that when it comes to welcoming friends the first time around my table there are a few simple rules to success: the meal has to be easy to serve, can be made ahead, and delicious. The other day as I was preparing my menu, I discovered one more thing about my “first” dinner parties. I seem to be stuck in a loop of culinary deja food. Apparently for the past three “new home” dinner parties I’ve hosted, I’ve served the exact same dish. Amazingly enough, it was entirely accidental.

I made the dish the first time about a month after moving into the big city. The guests were new friends who over the following 14 years, became my city family, sitting at my table (and I at theirs) more times than either of us can remember. The second serving was after moving from that first tiny apartment to the downtown home I would love for over ten years,  and the home I left to venture westward. The guests were 4 hungry men (it was Chelsea after all) and I made the bold move of serving Italian to Italians. They ate every speck and became dear friends and frequent guests at my table for over a decade. When I was preparing the menu last Saturday morning, I came across my “menus” file while looking for a recipe. Here was a written record of countless meals for countless occasions celebrated around the table at Chez Karin. And there it was….the same menu, three times prepared, in three new homes, over the past 14 years. The title of the dinner was the same for each – “First Dinner Party in New Place”, and while the players changed over the years, the theme, and the intention has been the same for all…Welcome Home.

Believe me when I say I was truly shocked when this deja food realization hit me. Obviously the star of the menu must have been a success, and I don’t know why I keep forgetting how delicious it is and haven’t made it more often. I have a feeling from now on I will. I found the recipe in my favorite, most dog-eared copy of Buon Appetit – the Tuscany Edition (circa 2000), and have made most of the recipes out of it countless times over the years.  This one is an all-time favorite, and obviously a crowd pleaser since each time I’ve made it the guests keep coming back. The perfect ragu for company, here is Pasta con Ragu di Vitello, Salcicce e Porcini – Pasta with Veal, Sausage and Porcini Ragu. I made it with homemade pappadelle last weekend, but dry pasta is fine, and it would be absolutely terrific over polenta too.

PASTA WITH VEAL, SAUSAGE AND PORCINI RAGU

Pasta con Ragù di Vitello,  Salsicce e Porcini

(Bon Appétit, May 2000)

• 1 cup water
• 1 ounce dried porcini mushrooms*
• 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 small onion, finely chopped
• 1 small carrot, peeled, finely chopped
• 1/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh Italian parsley
• 2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
• 8 ounces sweet Italian sausages, casings removed
• 8 ounces veal stew meat, coarsely chopped
• 1/2 cup dry red wine
• 2 14§-ounce cans low-salt chicken broth
• 1 28-ounce can whole tomatoes in juice
• 2 bay leaves
• 2 teaspoons chopped fresh sage
• 1 teaspoon fennel seeds, lightly crushed
• 1 pound fresh pappardelle or purchased fettuccine
• Freshly grated Parmesan cheese

Bring 1 cup water and mushrooms to boil in small saucepan. Remove from heat. Let stand 15 minutes. Strain soaking liquid through paper-towel-lined sieve into bowl. Coarsely chop mushrooms. Set liquid and mushrooms aside.

Heat oil in heavy large skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion, carrot, 1/4 cup parsley and garlic. Sauté until vegetables are tender but not brown, about 5 minutes. Push vegetables to side of skillet. Add sausage and cook until brown, breaking up with back of fork, about 4 minutes. Add veal and sauté until brown, about 5 minutes. Add wine. Increase heat to high and boil until wine is almost evaporated, about 5 minutes. Add 1 cup chicken broth; boil 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add reserved mushroom liquid. Simmer until liquid is almost absorbed, about 5 minutes. Transfer mixture to processor. Using about 4 on/off turns, process just until coarsely chopped. Return mixture to skillet. Mix in tomatoes with juices, bay leaves, sage, fennel seeds and porcini mushrooms. Reduce heat to low. Simmer uncovered until sauce thickens, breaking up tomatoes with fork, adding remaining chicken broth 1/2 cup at a time and stirring occasionally, about 1 hour. Season with salt and pepper. (Ragù can be made 2 days ahead. Cool slightly. Chill uncovered until cold, then cover and keep chilled.)

Cook pasta in large pot of boiling salted water until tender but still firm to bite, stirring occasionally. Drain. Add sauce to pasta pot and rewarm over medium heat. Add pasta and toss to combine. Transfer to bowl. Sprinkle with cheese and remaining 2 tablespoons parsley.

*Dried porcini mushrooms are available at Italian markets, specialty foods stores and many supermarkets.

Makes 6 to 8 servings.

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It Ain’t Pretty, But it Sure is Good

There’s a hotel in my neighborhood that straddles the High Line Park, and became rather infamous due to an aspect of its design. Rather than face the view of the Hudson a block away, the hotel windows face out on the park and surrounding neighborhood below. Which leads to the infamy. When the hotel opened, its guests were “encouraged” to exhibit. The art on display was the guest, preferably sans apparel. Naturally, the cheekier guests always oblige. I suppose if you are proud of what you’ve got there’s no reason to not show it off. Especially if you are encouraged to do so and 50 feet above the viewing public below, thus being somewhat anonymous to all but those with the sharpest eyesight. However, as one who walks along the High Line early morning, the scenery can come as a bit of a shock. Imagine walking along lost in thought and whatever tune is in your head, and looking up to see a buck-naked guest “stretching” in front of the window. (Naked folk who know someone is probably watching always seem to be stretching, obviously to give you the full effect). You glance away quickly, and then look again because that’s the arrangement between exhibitionist and unintentional voyeur. When the “view” is appealing, all this early morning activity isn’t all together bad. Hell, it works to wake me up almost as well as the cup of caffeine in my hand. However when it’s 7:30am and the view is less so, well, just because you can stand naked in a hotel window doesn’t mean you should. Perhaps that’s not fair or particularly kind, maybe the displayer is a terrific guy, but all I can think is “GOOD GOD MAN, put on a robe!”

Unfortunately we all have a tendency to jump to judgment on superficial data. If something doesn’t look appealing how could it possibly be appealing? This is especially true when it comes to food.  Sure we taste with our eyes, but sometimes beauty is in the tongue and nose of the beholder. Just because something doesn’t look pretty doesn’t mean it’s not tasty as all get out. Fact is, ugly food can be awfully good. For example, I have a wonderful recipe for creamy spinach soup that’s absolutely delicious. Unfortunately, it’s color of khaki. Khaki food would never make it into the glossy pages of a magazine. Food, tasty food isn’t supposed to be khaki. I’d bet it’s happened to you too. We’ve all made wonderful food, delicious dishes that when complete look like a train wreck. You follow a recipe to the T, yet when you’re done the stuff on the plate looked nothing like the picture in the cookbook. Sure it tasted great, but somehow you think you’ve failed because what was on the plate wasn’t pretty.  And I bet you would think twice before making it again.

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But I say there’s hope for tasty yet ugly fare. You didn’t fail; you just found a dish that is perfect for a romantic candlelit dinner!  What better to serve when you want the recipient to focus on you?  Of course it has to taste terrific, but if it looks like a mess never fear. Just light some candles, turn down the lights and tell your someone to close their eyes as you put the first bite in their mouth. Believe me, between you, the candlelight, the wonderful taste on their tongue, and the thoughts of what might be on the menu for dessert, they’re not going to be looking at the plate anyway. And that ugly food gets a little love too.

I seem to have accumulated several recipes that taste better than they look. It’s the culinary equivalent of buying a dress because you know it looks better on you than on the hanger. My Cozy Lamb shanks with White Beans and Vermouth is one of those dishes. One of the recipes that served as inspiration, (looking lovely on its clipped glossy page), called for serving the lamb standing proudly on the shank. Yet when I was done, the bone decided to go one way and the meat the other. That’s when I decided I liked it better with the meat shredded a bit and off the bone anyway. While not exactly ugly, the final dish is a bit of a mishmash of tender pieces of lamb, beans, and vegetables in a rich reddish sauce. While I doubt it would make the glossy pages of anything, it sure tastes good!

Cozy Lamb Shanks with While Beans and Vermouth

Serves 4

• 1 ½ TBSP olive oil
• 2 lamb shanks (about 2 lbs total), trimmed of some of the fat
• 1 cup chopped onions
• 2 fat garlic cloves, sliced thin
• 1 cup chopped carrots (about 2 carrots)
• 2 ribs celery, chopped
• 2-3 sage leaves, finely chopped
• 2-inch piece of rosemary
• 3-4 branches of thyme
• 1 14oz can diced tomatoes
• 1 can cannellini beans (don’t drain)
• 1 cup chicken stock
• 1/3 cup dry vermouth
• 1 TBSP white balsamic vinegar (you could substitute red)
• 1 tsp lemon juice
• Salt and pepper
• Flour for dredging

Season the lamb shanks well with salt and pepper and dredge in the flour.

Heat the oil in a large saucepan. Brown the shanks well on all sides and remove to a plate. Add the onions, carrots and celery and a good pinch of salt and sauté 5 minutes over medium high heat. Add the garlic and herbs and sauté another 1-2 minutes (don’t brown).  Off the heat add the vermouth and scrape up any browned bits on the bottom of the pan. Return the pan to heat and add tomatoes and stock and nestle the lamb shanks in (the liquid should be about half way up the lamb – add more stock if necessary.) Bring to a boil; reduce to a simmer and cover. Simmer for 1-½ hours. After 90 minutes, add in the beans and half their liquid. Cover and simmer another 30 minutes.  When done, remove shanks to a board, shred the meat and add back into the stew. Remove the stems from the thyme and rosemary. Light the candles, fill the wine glasses, slice some crusty bread and devour! Calories: approximately 400 calories per serving.

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My NEW Thanksgiving

Prepare yourself, because my next sentence could be considered heresy. I don’t make turkey for Thanksgiving. I haven’t for about ten years. Now before you fly off the handle and gather your pitchforks and torches, let me explain. I’ve never been all that crazy about turkey. It’s a rather flavorless bird. Oh sure, I grew up eating it every Thanksgiving like all of you, have countless recipes aimed at making it THE best turkey ever, blah…blah…blah.  Yet despite excellent cooks and creative methods from brining to stuffing things under the skin to wrapping in bacon to immersing in a giant pot of bubbling fat in the driveway (thus preventing that pesky burning-the-house-down tradition that seems to make the news every year), when all is said and done, I find turkey boring. Which, by the way, is the reason every year there is another new crop of recipes for the “best turkey ever.” And let’s just admit it once and for all. The best part of the holiday menu is all the stuff un-turkey on your table. The sides rule and you know it.

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It’s not that I suffered some turkey-trauma as a child. I had a lovely and very traditional Normal Rockwell-y holiday. Growing up we were anywhere from 16 to 22 around the table. My grandparents would board a train from Brooklyn at dawn and make the trek over the boroughs and thru the suburbs to our home. And the bird usually rode along with them. Since my grandmother was a cook in a deli and could therefore get a turkey the size of a small child to feed our hungry horde from her butcher, scoring the turkey was her job. The beast, sides, breads, pies and all the rest would land on the table at precisely 2:00 PM, and the great feast would ensue. It really was a lovely meal and one I looked forward to every year, but to me the turkey was never the point. The vast majority of real estate on my plate would be filled with every side on the table blanketed in delicious gravy, and I’d gleefully make my way through it and then some.  Year after year the usual fare continued, as family passed on and we kids grew up and away to our own tables. I would make a turkey with all the trimmings too because, well, that’s what you’re supposed to do. Then somewhere around 10 years ago the thought hit me. Why was I making something the centerpiece of my table, put all that time and effort into trying to coax it into being interesting, and at the end of the day it was still, well, turkey.  Couldn’t I be still thankful, still gather with family and friends, still keep the spirit of the day in mind and heart and not make that boring bird? That was the moment my NEW Thanksgiving began.

Since that day Thanksgiving has transformed to a day for playing with food together with family and friends. Rather than usual fare, our menu has become a food adventure. The only rule is the recipe has to be one we haven’t tried before. Weeks before the holiday we pour through clipped and dog-eared pages from magazines or cookbooks, searching for the one for that year. We debate and discuss the ingredients, what have we always wanted to try, what looks interesting and fun. The first year it was Thanksgiving in Algiers, with Algerian lamb shanks. Another year brought us to Provence with Provencal short ribs. Brisket has had starring roles twice, once crusted in horseradish and once braised in merlot with prunes. We laugh, drink wine and have a blast, together. The meal is never boring and always delicious. So what if the menu is not pilgrim-esque. The feelings and warmth in the kitchen and around the table is the same. We still gather together, express gratitude, share hopes, remember times past and laugh and love. Isn’t that, and not turkey, really the point of it all?

So, what’s on the menu this year? After a little debate, Fennel Crusted Pork Loin with Potatoes and Pears came out the winner.  The recipe was clipped from Real Simple magazine years ago and had all the prerequisite qualities. It was a roast, thus making the kitchen warm and cozy and filling the house with wonderful smells. Plus it will be a great meal to go with my mom’s apple pie, which is the only thing we MUST have on Thanksgiving every year. After all, some traditions you just don’t mess with.

I’ve also included a recipe I think will go beautifully the pork, Butternut Squash Caponata.  While this is not my idea originally (I saw Mario Batali make it on TV last week to accompany that other white meat), when I looked up the recipe on the show’s website it wasn’t listed. So I figured I’d try to reinvent it, adding in a few adjustments of my own. The result may not be exactly what Mario had in mind, but it sure is good!

Fennel Crusted Pork Loin with Potatoes and Pears  (From Real Simple Magazine)

Serves 4, and can easily be doubled for 8

• 1 tablespoon fennel seeds
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 4 tablespoons olive oil kosher salt and pepper
• 2 pounds boneless pork loin
• 2 red onions, quartered
• 1 pound small white potatoes, quartered
• 3 firm pears (such as Bartlett or Bosc), cored and quartered

Heat oven to 400° F.

Using the bottom of a heavy pan, crush the fennel seeds. In a small bowl, mix the seeds, the garlic, 2 tablespoons of the oil, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1/4 teaspoon pepper. Rub the mixture over the pork, then place the pork in a large roasting pan.

In a bowl, mix the onions, potatoes, pears, 1 teaspoon salt, 1/4 teaspoon pepper, and the remaining oil. Scatter around the pork, trying not to overcrowd the pan or the heat won’t distribute properly and the food will steam. Roast until cooked through, about an hour and 10 minutes (internal temperature 160° F). Transfer the pork to a cutting board and let rest at least 5 minutes before slicing. Serve with the roasted fruit and vegetables. Calories: about 415 per serving.

Butternut Squash Caponata  (Inspired by Mario Batali from “The Chew”)

Makes about 4 ½ cups

NOTE: Try to chop the vegetables all about the same size so they cook at the same time

• 4 cups or about 1 pound peeled and cubed butternut squash
• 1 ½ cups chopped onions
• 1 cup chopped fennel
• 1 cup chopped celery
• 1 TBSP unsweetened cocoa powder
• 2 TBSP honey
• ¼ cup balsamic vinegar, plus 1-2 TBSP to add into finished dish
• ½ cup dried currants (you could substitute golden raisins)
• ¼ cup toasted slivered almonds, pine nuts or hazelnuts
• 1 TBSP olive oil
• Salt & pepper

Sauté the vegetables in the olive oil and a generous pinch of salt over medium heat until they start to soften, about 10-12 minutes. Add in the cocoa and ¼ cup balsamic vinegar, honey and currants and toss well, scraping up any browned bits on the bottom of the pan. Continue to cook until the vegetables are tender but not mushy, about another 5-10 minutes more.  When the vegetables are done, turn off the heat and add in the remaining 1-2 TBSP balsamic and a few good grinds of black pepper. Taste and adjust seasonings if needed. The caponata gets better as it sits, so this is the perfect dish to make ahead and keep in the fridge until you need it. Serve at room temperature with pork, turkey, duck, or whatever you like. (It’s great with goat cheese on toast too.) Calories: about 100 per ½ cup.

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You Can Take the Girl Outta New Yawk, But…

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I consider myself a good traveler. Whenever I venture forth into exotic lands, I try to learn at least a little of the language, enough to say ‘hello’, ‘thank you’, and ‘please’ at the very least. And I always try to remember that ‘Dorothy isn’t in Kansas anymore’, or in my geographic parlance, ‘Hey Doorahthee, not fuh nuthin but, you ain’t in New Yawk any mawh.” So when I went to France, I learned to say ‘bonjour’, ‘merci’, and ‘un pain au chocolat s’il vous plaît’ like a native. In Italy, I schooled myself in when to use ‘buongiorno’, ‘buona sera’, or ‘buona note’, and would never order a cappuccino after noon. And should I find myself in a biergarten in Bremen, ‘ein Bier und eine Brezel mit Senf bitte’ rolls trippingly off my tongue (if anything in German could roll trippingly anywhere.) Of course, those are the easy ones, what with Rosetta Stone, Berlitz, and Google translate at virtual fingertips. But what about when traveling to lands were a driver’s license is the only ID necessary?

I happen to live in a city that people like to visit. A lot. And as many of my fellow New Yorkers will (or perhaps should) admit, we can be a pretty intimidating bunch. It’s not that we aren’t friendly, warm or kind. It’s just that when you live with one and a half million humans (and countless other creatures) on a two and a half mile wide, thirteen and a half mile long island, you tend to move around with shields up. Conversing with strangers without a specific and pressing reason to, well, let’s just say this kind of activity might raise an eyebrow and inspire swift movement in an away direction. And yes, we can be loud, and brash, and a tad opinionated. Believe me, you would be too if you had to compete with as many huddled masses yearning to breathe free as you order morning coffee and bagel with schmeer at the local deli. So imagine the Gothamite’s dilemma when venturing forth from the center of the universe. ( I know, it’s neither nice nor accurate to feel that way, but we can’t help it so allow me to apologize in advance for my kind.) When we behave as we’ve been conditioned, we come off as the ‘typical New Yawkah’ and let’s face it; no one really wants to be that. So what’s a Metropolitan Miss to do? Make a valiant attempt to try to blend. Ok, as soon as those words left my fingertips, the vision of Marisa Tomei in “My Cousin Vinny” popped into your head, right? Yeah, you’re thinking, like you’d blend! I’m not suggesting putting on fake accents or mannerisms that just scream “I’m not from these parts.” Mocking the natives doesn’t exactly inspire the milk of human kindness in the locals. So skip the “y’alls”, “yah, you betchas” and “whoa, gnarly, dudes.” Just follow these few simple tips, and you’ll do just fine:

• Traveling south of the Mason-Dixon? Learn the proper use of the phrase ‘bless their heart’. You can say damn near anything about anyone (and particularly the rather un-generous things) by post-scripting it with the phrase “bless her heart”. For example: “She’s a lovely girl, though bears a rather striking resemblance to Secretariat, bless her heart.”
• Dining in a Northern California restaurant? Don’t mention how much you prefer Argentinean Malbecs to Californian Cabernets, or rave over your love of fois gras. Remember that your glass of wine and meal is in Californian’s hands out of eyeshot before it reaches your table…
• Time travels differently the minute you exit NYC. It’s a fact that there’s a wrinkle in the fabric of the time-space continuum as you cross over a bridge or crawl through a tunnel, causing the earth’s rotation to decrease as the skyline diminishes in your rear view. Plainly put, no amount of foot tapping, stance shifting, tsk-tsking or harrumphing will make your coffee order move faster at Starbucks. All it will do is make obvious to everyone standing around you that YOU are the “one of these things that’s not like the others….”
• WE know bagels only come in a handful of varieties. Don’t assume everyone else does. Believe it or not, there are actually poor misguided folk who think blueberry, asiago, coffeecake and spinach cheddar are somehow not an affront to bageldom. And they’ve never even heard about a bialy, bless their hearts…
• Pizza outside of the Tri-State? Don’t. Just, don’t…

All kidding aside, if you are lucky enough to live in my amazing city, you know you can be a New Yawker anytime. So just embrace getting out, getting away, and enjoying not being one every once in a while…

I just got back from a trip to my favorite place to not be a New Yorker – Jackson Hole, Wyoming. My brother and his kids moved there 16 years ago. During that time Paul has not only blended, he’s become a native and hard-core river-rafting rat. And his place is assured on any raft provided he brings along his Elk Vindaloo. This recipe’s origins came from Madhur Jaffrey’s terrific book Quick & Easy Indian Cooking (Chronicle Books, 1996), but like any good cook, my brother has adapted it to his tastes and availability of ingredients, including whether he got an elk over the winter’s season. I’m sure venison would work as well as elk, but if neither is your bag, lamb, pork (or a combination) works well too. Give it a try. The river raft and rapids are optional, (except to Paul…)

Paul’s Elk (or Lamb or Pork) Vindaloo Makes 3-4 servings

From Madhur Jaffrey’s Quick & Easy Indian Cooking:

“The essential ingredients for this Portuguese-inspired Indian dish are wine vinegar and garlic. Additions of mustard seeds, cumin, turmeric, and chilies make it specifically colonial Goan. Most recipes for vindaloo involve grinding seeds in vinegar. To save this step, I have used grainy French mustard, which already contains vinegar. It works beautifully. This dish may be made in the pressure cooker (20 minutes of simmering time), or in a frying pan (1 hour or so of simmering.) Either way, once the simmering starts, the cook can read a book, sleep, or have a drink!” (This is Madhur’s suggestion, written in the recipe…I always liked her!)

Ingredients

For 3-4 servings:

• 1 ½ TBSP grainy mustard
• 1 ½ tsp ground cumin
• ¾ tsp ground turmeric
• ½ to 1 tsp cayenne pepper (depending upon how hot you like things)
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 tsp red wine vinegar
• 3 TBSP vegetable oil
• 1 small onion (about 4 oz.), peeled and cut into fine half rings
• 6 large cloves garlic, peeled and crushed to a pulp
• 1-¼ lbs boned shoulder of pork, lamb or elk roast (if you are lucky enough to get it!)
• 2/3 cup canned coconut milk, well stirred

Directions

To make the spice paste: combine the mustard, cumin turmeric, cayenne, salt, and vinegar in a cup. Mix well. **

Put the oil in a large, nonstick frying pan and set over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, put in the onion. Stir and fry until it is medium brown. Put in garlic. Sir and fry for 30 seconds. Put in the spice paste. Sir and fry for a minute. Put in the meat. Stir and fry for about 3 minutes. Now add the coconut milk and 2/3 cup water if you are going to cook in a pressure cooker, or 1-cup water if you are going to continue to cook in a frying pan. (Transfer to pressure cooker at this point if you are using one.) Cover and either bring up to pressure, or bring to a boil if you are using the frying pan. Lower the heat to a simmer and cook 20 minutes in pressure cooker, or 60-70 minutes in the frying pan.

Serve over basmati rice, or if you are on the river (or want to pretend you are) with flour tortillas or naan bread for sopping up the juices, alongside some cilantro leaves, and your favorite mango chutney.

** My brother makes up a big batch of vindaloo paste, since he is usually making this for a large group of hungry river rats after a day of rapids and rowing. His recipe of 5X Vindaloo Paste is below. What you don’t use for your recipe can be kept in an airtight jar in the fridge, and would be great as a marinade with chicken, shrimp, or even a thick meaty fish like cod or halibut.

*5X Vindaloo Paste:

• 7 ½ tsp grainy mustard
• 7 ½ tsp cumin
• 4 tsp turmeric
• 5 tsp salt
• 5 tsp red wine vinegar
• 4 tsp cayenne (he likes his vindaloo on the hotter side, you could use anywhere from 2-4 tsp depending on your tastes)

My favorite dinner guest

I love feeding people who love to eat.  I have no use for the “food is just fuel” crowd. And my hands down favorite eaters are the non-cooks who love to eat. Why? They make the BEST dinner party guests.

There are few opportunities in life when you have the chance to feel like goddess, genius, and Houdini simultaneously. Feeding a food-loving non-cook will do it every time. What you think is just throwing a few ingredients is pure magic to them. It’s as though you’ve just pulled a rabbit out of your ear dressed in a tuxedo doing a perfect Sinatra singing I’ve Got the World on a String…in French. I’m not kidding – it’s THAT miraculous! No matter how many times you feign modesty, it happens, every time.

Explaining how you made the dish doesn’t destroy the magic. As I recite recipe or explain technique, the non-cooking food lover’s head starts to cock to one side, their eyes glazed and smile growing. You know that adorable look puppies get when you talk to them in a high-pitched voice? That’s the look! Because they know that you know they will never make it, and you know that they know you will make it for them again. It’s the perfect circle really – a symbiotic relationship that makes everyone happy. Plus you get to feel like the best thing since sliced bread.

The suggestion for a recipe to share came from an authority on this subject, one of my BEST non-cooking-food-loving friends. While the non-cook may not care how something is made, they have excellent memory of what was made. I think this Red Wine Pot Roast with Porcini is the best pot roast I’ve ever had. Buttered noodles or mashed potatoes make a nice side for this, but in my mind there’s nothing better than dumplings to sop up all that good gravy. There are plenty dumpling recipes online, but since my Oma used Panni Potato Dumpling mix, who am I to differ? 😉

Red-Wine Pot Roast With Porcini 

(Inspired by a recipe from epicurious.com)

Makes 6 servings

• 1 cup chicken broth
• 1/2 ounce dried porcini mushrooms
• 1 4-pound boneless beef chuck roast, trimmed
• 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
• 1 large onion, coarsely chopped
• 2 celery stalks with some leaves, cut into 1/2-inch-thick slices
• 3 garlic cloves, smashed
• 1 TBSP chopped fresh marjoram, or a 1 tsp dried
• 3 cups or 1 28 oz. can of whole tomatoes, drained
• 1 cup red wine (a cabernet works well here)

Preheat oven to 300°F. Bring broth to simmer in saucepan. Once it’s simmering, turn off the heat, add mushrooms, cover and let stand until soft, about 15 minutes. Using slotted spoon, transfer mushrooms to cutting board. Chop coarsely. Reserve mushrooms and broth separately.

Generously salt and pepper the meat. Heat oil in large ovenproof pot over medium-high heat. Add meat and sear until brown on all sides, about 15 minutes total. Transfer meat to large plate. Pour off all but 1 TBSP drippings from pot, or if you don’t have that much, add more oil to make about 1 TBSP. Place pot over medium heat. Add onion and celery. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and sauté until beginning to brown, about 6-8 minutes. Add garlic, chopped marjoram, and reserved porcini mushrooms; sauté 1 minute. Add roasted tomatoes and their juice to pot. (If you are using canned tomatoes, crush tomatoes one at a time with your hands into pot.) Cook 3 minutes, stirring frequently and scraping up browned bits from bottom of pot. Add wine and boil 5 minutes. Then add reserved mushroom broth, leaving any sediment behind. Boil 3 minutes.

Return meat and any accumulated juices to pot. Cover and transfer to oven. Cook 1 1/2 hours. Turn meat and continue cooking until tender, about 1 1/2 hours longer. This is a great recipe to make a day ahead. Just cool and put pot a into the fridge. When you are ready, reheat on stove until heated through and proceed to next step.

If you are eating it right away, remove meat to a cutting board and tent with foil. Skim any fat from surface of juices in pot. Bring juices to boil and cook until liquid is reduced to about 4 cups, about 5-7 minutes. Taste and adjust salt and pepper if needed. Cut roast into 1/2-inch slices. Transfer to platter. Spoon juices over.

 

 

So…you’re single?

Well, yes. I Am. Not that I haven’t had some pretty wonderful men in my life. They just didn’t become husbands…well, my husband. And once you’re pushing 50, you have pretty much heard every question that can be asked in folks attempt to figure out why. Funny, as they are conducting their investigation I’m always left to wonder ‘why’ too…as in “why do you have to figure it out?” It just is, you know? No I haven’t ruled marriage out, in fact, I hope it happens. Hell, I’m only 49. According to statistics, half of the inquisitive are, have been, or will be ‘not married’ by the time they get to be my age. I just skipped the first marriage, that’s all. I really didn’t need the china, crystal and Tupperware. And speaking of Tupperware, I’ve noticed that you can instantly tell if a woman has been married by what I like to call the ‘Tupperware factor’. Never marrieds (NMs) don’t have Tupperware. Chinese food containers work just fine. Lost a lid? Just order in some wonton soup — you get the replacement and a meal, and you don’t have to sit through a sales pitch with crudite and punch.

But about those questions. By the time you reach middle age, NMs (nuns, priests, monks, and hermits excepted), have accumulated a reserve of handy responses to call on when the curious come along. One of my favorites goes something like this. The questioner asks the obvious “So, you married?” “No, I’m not.” “Ever been?” “Nope, not yet.” “Really???” It’s at this point NM knows she’s got an explorer here, who just won’t quit until he’s gotten to the bottom of this. This Ponce de Leon just knows if he keeps on it he’ll find the key to this NM sphinx. (PdL) “I don’t get it…how can that be? You’ve got a lot going from what I can see.” Could be a compliment, NM thinks. Or maybe not… Depends on the next question. And that can go a few ways. PdL could: 1) leave it (rarely happens); 2) call all of single mankind idiots for not discovering what a gem the NM sparkler actually is (nice, happened, once…); or, 3) ask the next question…”Why not?” NM is almost hoping for this one. And depending upon her mood/hormone level/blood alcohol content could: 1) bite off a chunk of Poncie’s head (thus answering that question quite sufficiently); smile like the Mona Lisa keeping her secret; or, my all time favorite (and I really DID say this)…”Well, I haven’t always been this fabulous.” Works every time.

I’ve always tried to be of the mind that that life begins when you want it to, not when some ‘milestone’ happens, like graduation, marriage, childbirth, etc. And so I try to enjoy what’s going on right now as much as I can. Some days are hard, and that’s not to say I don’t have hopes that I’ll have someone to share my life with — I do. But until it happens I have no problem making a fuss over myself and preparing a nice dinner for just me, wine and candles included (and if the Yankees are on too, it’s the perfect date!) Here’s one of my favorite ‘dinners for one’. (And what do you know… it doubles quite nicely for a dinner for two!)

Steak with ginger butter sauce, for 1

• One 4-6 oz boneless top blade, sirloin or rib-eye steak (about ¾” thick or less)
• 1/2 TBSP butter
• 1 tsp minced ginger
• 2 tsp soy sauce

Heat a large, heavy skillet over medium-high heat until it begins to smoke. Take a paper towel and dry the steak on both sides, then lightly salt & pepper both sides of the steak (the soy is salty so go easy.) Add the streak and cook until nicely browned, 1 or 2 minutes. Turn, and brown the second side, another minute or two. Remove the skillet from the heat and the steak to a plate.

When the skillet has cooled enough so that no smoke is rising, return it to medium heat. Add butter, and when it melts, add ginger. About 30 seconds later, add soy sauce and stir to blend. Return steak to the skillet, along with any accumulated juices. Turn heat to medium, and cook the steaks a total of 3-4 minutes, turning 3 or 4 times. (If pan juices dry out, add a couple of tablespoons of water). At this point, they will be medium-rare; cook a little longer if you like, and serve, with pan juices spooned over. Calories: 450 for 6oz., 300 for 4oz. steak.

For a nice side dish, steam green beans or snow peas until crisp tender. When the steak is ready, remove it from the pan and let it rest a few minutes on your dinner plate. Lower the heat in the pan, add in the veggies, and toss a few times until they are coated. Put the veggies on the plate, and pour the juices over the steak.

I also like to add a simple salad of cut up tomatoes drizzled with a little good olive oil, balsamic and a pinch of salt and pepper, and a piece of crusty bread to sop up the juices. Pour yourself a glass of something red and grapey, and enjoy!

Article first published as So, you’re single? on Blogcritics.