Friday, October 1, 2010

Inspector Gadget

I have been on a cooking rampage lately. I can't begin to tell you how many hours I have spent pouring over recipes, on the hunt to find the next perfect meal. Yesterday I was determined to make yet another American staple: the meatloaf.
It's incredible to me that I have made steak au poivre and lemon chicken piccata but I have yet to make a meatloaf. I think it's because meatloaf has such a bad rap for being so bland and dry. Because I love a challenge, I decided I would take the cliche and make improvements.
After several searches for the perfect meatloaf, I found a recipe for a spicier meatloaf with a sweet and tangy glaze.
One of the tools needed to make this perfect savory loaf was a probe thermometer, ensuring that within one-tenth of a degree it would reach 155 degrees and thusly avoid a dried out disaster. Trouble is, I didn't have a long-probe thermometer.
Most people would probably have picked a different dish, one that they knew they had the tools or ingredients to complete the meal. I, on the other hand, spent time investigating consumer feedback on the best probe, best thermometer and compared that to what the retail associate ascertained. Satisfied with my selection, I ran to the nearest Williams Sonoma to get my hands on this high-tech gadget.
With the my birthday around the corner, and with much desire to make an even tastier dish using newer, better tools, I have spent an exhausting amount of time admiring cooks tools.
While the kitchen is certainly gender neutral, it does seem that the more casual cook is typically female. Women don't usually get excited by specs or newest models. They just don't. But give us a Williams Sonoma, Dean and Deluca or Sur La Table catalog, and we turn into excited little boys admiring a new Ferrari.
Not quite the molecular gastronomist, I prefer tools that my grandmother might not recognize but at least my mother would. Give me a hand blender with a high powered blade any day. Add a Kitchen Aid attachment to churn ice cream out smoother and faster and I die. Consider throwing in a top of the line espresso machine and I'm yours.
A gadget doesn't have to plug into the wall to make you happy. Yesterday, besides a probe thermometer, I also bought a hand held pastry blender. Nothing fancy, but it has a thumb grip to give you better control over cutting through the butter. At under ten dollars it was a slice slice of non high-tech heaven.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Bye Bye Birdie

There is nothing more delectable than a whole roasted chicken. It's savory, it's well seasoned, it looks beautiful when served on a platter. The smell of it cooking in the kitchen is indescribable.
I have been craving a whole roasted chicken for some time now. I allowed myself to substitute the braised chicken with mushrooms the other day but somehow it didn't quite satisfy the "homeyness" that I was going for. Roasted chicken is one of the simplest things to make and in many ways, like the egg, the easiest way to identify a true chef.
Like it's offspring, the chicken seems to be fairly innocuous. But oh, the places you can go. Why is it that chicken has been the centerpiece at many an American dinner table? I'll tell you why. It's inexpensive, readily available, and most importantly, allows the cook to be a master of it's destiny.
There are many ways to prepare a whole bird. While brining is largely recommended because it seals in the juices, I find that brining is left best to the big birds like Thanksgiving turkeys. The mighty young chicken can be marinaded in a buttermilk bath, seasoned with simple salt and pepper, spiced up with exotic herbs or greased down in either butter or oil.
The reason I chose to prepare my poultry today in a simple marinade of cayenne pepper, fresh, coarsely chopped rosemary, salt, pepper, loads of garlic and butter was quite frankly because of time.
Today I spent all day cleaning. It was near a hundred degrees and was probably the last day that you would want to clean, or cook for that matter. But, I felt it was necessary to tidy the house so that the other days that I would come home from work I could enjoy a peaceful (and clean) sanctuary.
For that reason I wanted to find a quick recipe that would keep me out of the kitchen and away from the heat, while still satiating my need to provide my husband with a wholesome and iconic dinner.
With the bird properly dressed, baking away in the oven, turning a toasty brown, it was time to turn my attention to the veg. A sweet potato has been popped into the oven, protected by a coat of aluminum arms, the asparagus peeled at the tips and laid to cook with a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkling of lemon rind.
Tonight we feast.

Monday, September 20, 2010

The Brunchy Bunch

For many years I have envisioned what my perfect brunch would look like, what I would serve, who I would invite and even what I would wear. My brunch would be the height of fifties entertaining; the food would be delicious, the hostess charming, and everyone would be properly turned out in their Sunday best.
Yesterday, my dream came to fruition. Perhaps it was not the dream I had when I was thirteen and picked up a copy of my mom's "Best Brunch" cookbook, but in many ways it was much better.
The Sunday Brunch is one of the most sophisticated meals in many ways. Not quite breakfast, not quite lunch, brunch is a carte blanche of cuisine. Want a scrambled egg? You got it. Feeling more like a shrimp cocktail? That's fine too. Unlike breakfast (or even lunch for that matter), drinking is never frowned upon. In fact, the delectable mimosa and the savory bloody mary are best served at this time of day.
Because of the range of options with the Sunday brunch, it can almost seem daunting to create a menu. What does one make in a short amount of time, still hot and in this case catering to vegetarian diets as well? For me, it was not an easy answer.
Since my brunch fantasies began many years ago, I have accumulated a library of brunch cookbooks to assist me in this possible best case scenario. Crepes, waffles, pancakes and scones seemed like the most likely options for the palates of my animal friendly guests, but to be honest, it didn't sound very tempting to those of us who need a little more protein to start the day off right.
I spent hours doing research on my beloved Williams Sonoma website, I poured over my Culinary Institute "Breakfasts and Brunch" cookbook. Entertaining books, Betty Crocker, Bon Apetit and even Food and Wine magazine ensued, and still no menu.
Agonizing over the menu didn't seem to help me further along, so I finally decided that I would just make what I knew I could do best and leave it at that.
My guests were invited via Evite, a modern concept that would have Ms. Post rolling over in her grave, but it's the modern girls guide to realistic etiquette. With invites set out, menu finalized and guests confirmed, the big B day arrived quickly and with much anticipation.
The purpose for our reunion yesterday was to bring budding friendships together and progress a series of promises to get together soon and get to know each other betters.
My best friend, Kristi was at my house the weekend of said brunch, having celebrated a friends' wedding the previous night at the beautiful Presidio in San Francisco. Together, Kristi and I attacked the mountain of tasks that needed to be completed under Top Chef-like timelines. Expecting to have the brunch ready by the time our guests arrived at ten a.m., we were surprised to see that it was already ten after ten and only the first dish had been started.
In my original fantasies of yore, I would have been wearing a bouffant and my mothers' pearls, the spread would have already been laid out in such a way that Martha would be proud, and my guests would marvel at what a great hostess I am.
The reality went something like this: no time for make-up, so I'm going "natural". Not wanting to wear heels or a dress, since I had already worn that garb dancing the night away the night before. Food ready? Not a chance. Table beautifully adorned? Try having to ask my guests to help so that the food could be served only forty minutes after everyone arrived, instead of two hours after.
To her credit, Kristi kept me very calm in what could only have been described as a potential nuclear meltdown situation. She jumped in where needed, took on any task that was delegated and acted as my charming co-host to help put the guests at ease. And you know what? It actually went better than expected BECAUSE of the hiccups, not in spite of them.
The formality that can sometimes cripple a new social situation was diminished because of assigning everyone a task, and as a result everyone felt easy and natural with each other.
The menu was simple but tasty and consisted of homemade biscuits, homemade honey butter to accompany, apricot-orange marmalade, raspberry jam, roasted potatoes, heavily seasoned with spices and garlic, scrambled eggs, honey smoked bacon and roasted tomatoes, not to mention a fresh fruit platter of sliced cantaloupe, sliced at the peak of freshness, pineapple, blueberries and strawberries. To drink we had guava and mango mimosas, coffee, milk and tea.
During the meal, easy conversation ensued and all was falling into place. One of my guests, Aronn, suggested we play a fun guessing game where the intention is to guess the anonymous answers of others and simultaneously demonstrate memory skills.
It's funny what you discover about people once the velvet ropes have been lifted. We learned things about each other that you might not normally learn until late night drinks have been had and yet it was only midday.
What ultimately made the brunch a success wasn't the food, the decor or even the dress code. It was about following up on a promise to see each other soon and making good on the promise to get to know each other better.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Welcome Home

It's been a long time since I've thrown on an apron and picked up a knife. It's been an even longer time since I've logged in and written about my cooking (or lack thereof). To be honest I even thought that my account may have closed from lack of use. So you may be surprised, dear reader, to find a new post from yours truly. "Why return now?" you might ask. Because it's Fall.
I can't begin to tell you how happy it makes me to say that autumn has descended upon us. Although dear Father Time may not agree with me, there are a few things contrary to the calendar that make me think otherwise. First, kids are going back to school and with that come fond memories of buying new school supplies, wearing your newest, favorite clothes and deciding how you had reinvented yourself enough over the summer to present yourself as a changed person. I have also begun to notice that leaves are falling and dusk is creeping in earlier and earlier.
With the idea of Fall comes the promise of good things to come. Pumpkins need to be picked, cashmere sweaters pulled out of the closet and worn with a beloved scarf. Caramel apple cider tempts you and suggests that you might want a slice of pecan pie with whipped cream while you are at it. But, most of all, Fall means cooking.
There is nothing more seductive to me than the ritual of cooking a gourmet meal. From the moment I put on my cherished Dean and Delucca apron and tie a hand towel through the loop, I enter the arena as Chef Flay and my regular existence gets put away in the closet for the night. I put on a little jazz music to start (Ella being the perennial favorite), pull out my cutting board (my new, hot pink one from Crate and Barrel being my current favorite), and reach for the melange of ingredients needed to make my masterpiece.
In thinking about my re-entry into the cooking arena, I began to think about the meaning of cooking. I'm not talking about it's definition or even need, I'm talking about the little rituals that we associate with food. From the requisite barbeque on Fourth of July to the traditional pheasant at Christmas, Americans have always associated socializing with food. In fact, we've built an entire 3 day holiday around it: Thanksgiving!
The kind of ritual that I am thinking about though, is Sunday dinner. When I was first married I had every Sunday off and I vowed to myself that I was going to make a nice dinner every Sunday, that we would use the china, and that we would turn off the t.v. and eat at the dining room table. That fantasy lasted 1 Sunday. The reality turned out that we would pick up something and bring it back home, like Marie Callenders. Most often we would eat dinner in the living room from the coffee table. And instead of talking about our day, we would turn on the t.v. and allow the Simpsons and Family Guy to lull us into a lazy stupor. This wasn't every Sunday, but it certainly wasn't once in a while either.
Because I had Sunday off again and for once didn't have plans to see anyone, I decided I would resume my place in the kitchen, dust off the old knife block and tip my hat to the typical Sunday dinner.
Originally planning to make a whole roasted chicken with a side of roasted vegetables cooked in the dripping from the bird, I instead decided to stay in the vein of poultry, while not having to marinade and brine my dinner for 3-4 hours before cooking could even commence.
I poured over the Williams Sonoma website and found a salivating recipe for braised chicken with mushrooms cooked in a sherry reduction. With a shopping list in hand, I set out for the grocery store.
Have you ever shopped for whole, fresh fennel before? I hadn't until yesterday. Let me tell you, it was the most adult thing that I have shopped for in a long time. I picked up the long stemmed produce and set out to pick out the other ingredients that I would need to make the small salad that I would be serving with said chicken.
Getting home, I unpacked my motley group of ingredients and set out to make my dinner. The salad began with fresh arugula, radicchio, and spinach. I then added in a diced red pear, tiny pieces of prosciutto and then added in shaved fennel and freshly grated parmesan. For the final touch, a pear and rice vinegar vinaigrette was seasoned and swirled within my new Williams Sonoma dressing emulsifier.
With the salad made, it was time to move on to the main course. The chicken was cleaned and heavily seasoned with salt and fresh, ground pepper. The chicken was then added to the frying pan and left to cook on both sides within a buttery bath. Then the chicken was removed and more butter was added in along with the onions, mushrooms, dry sherry and worcestershire. Finally the chicken was added back in and served over a bed of egg noodles.
The salad was laid out on the dainty, china salad plates, the dinner was served on the formal, dinner plate, a bottle of full bodied, buttery Chardonnay was chilled, uncorked and poured, and Sean and I sat down for dinner at the coffee table and watched Simpsons and Family Guy. Four years of marriage and we were finally at home.