BingoFest

How to scald milk, Second installment

April 27th, 2024

27 April Saturday

Lots of new and exciting things, people. I was gifted a smokeless grill several months ago, and it took pride of place on the top of a difficult to reach shelf where it was almost guaranteed to age, rust, gather dust, and fall apart without ever getting used for its intended purpose. Almost, but not quite. I confidently pulled it from the shelf, unwrapped it, washed it, put it together, plugged it in, and grill my kebabs on it. I absolutely love it.

What moves in the mind of a man while he sleeps? I woke with a shudder at 5:17 AM. I had but one objective, one reason for being: to cut the leg of lamb into manageable cubes and marinate it. Yes, I had a full day of actual, out in the world, making the Benjamins, work ahead of me, and if I’m gonna throw down some kebabs for suppa, my guests deserve well-marinated ones. As I explained in the last cliff-hanger, Ms. Duckitt transcribed the recipe for this dish, and the marinade, a South African creation, is key to its success. Tamarind paste is wonderful, subtly sour and fruity, plus curry powder. I used a Japanese curry powder that balanced in sweetness the sour of the tamarind. Lemon zest, salt, onion, and milk. Yes, milk. Lactic acid helps tenderize the meat. Buttermilk fried-chicken is familiar, no?

Thar she blows, kids. I let them sit in the fridge all day long while I worked. I came home to a very satisfying activity- skewering meat. That feeling of piercing flesh with a sharp stick is very stress relieving. I was surprised, delighted, and impressed with how my kebabs looked exactly like what I imagined, and how it felt to set the skewers on the grill.

There they are, a’grillin on the grill. It is a different type of cooking. When something is in the oven, it’s like patiently waiting for someone to give birth. It takes its time, it happens in secret, and when it is ready, forth it comes. Grilling happens right in front of you, and like cavepersons of old, I intently watched the meat get its char, on all sides. It’s more celebratory, immediate, the scent of the marinade grilling was seductive.

There was only one little issue I encountered. Maybe a friend can help me out. When I went to flip the skewers over to grill another side, the skewer would flip but the meat would not. Perhaps that’s what happens when you get the cheapest metal skewers money can buy. The bamboo sticks are a real pain in the patootie cause they frequently snap under the weight of the meat, and even if they’ve been soaked thoroughly, they still dry out and burn before the meat is all cooked. I’ll do a little investigating and see how I can fix this.

Oh gosh golly, I just did and you know what? I figured out how to fix the problem-double skewer the meat. Now these are flat skewers but thin, so put one through one way with the ring on the left and the other with the ring on the right, and flip both skewers at the same to to fliperoo the meatarino. Problemo solved.

Wait a minute, wait a minute here. I am reading this post-in-progress, and a friend has indeed come through. Miraculous! The meat needs to be grilled for a few seconds and flipped, then flipped and flipped at regular but increasingly longer intervals so the meat doesn’t get heavy on one side, gravity pulling that side to the earth instead of flipping with the skewer! Thank you muchly!

There it is, the full meal, human hand for scale. From the top, cucumber salad, purple onion, salt, mint, yogurt, vinegar. Clockwise looking, the deskewered meat chunks, juicy tender, cooked medium. Bottom center, Khichri, red lentils, basmati rice, fresh from a friend’s garden fava beans, tamarind paste, and a heaping helping of crazy and diverse spices. TEEERIFIC! Finally, the Naan. The dough could have used a little bit more kneading, and the first batch I overcooked making it more like a crisp thin pizza crust. The subsequent batches were good, though they were a little thick, I could have stretched them out a bit more. Someone suggested a touch more salt. These imperfections aside, the bread was tasty and everything. Nothing was left for today.

Well, except for one thing. Unbelievable. I forgot to serve dessert. I realized I didn’t quite have time to make the Junket, and the primitive recipe with lots of guessing made me anxious, so as the ole saying goes “go with what you know”. By the way I should tell I’m thinking of going Cormac McCarthy on you all and stopping using quotation marks. Back to the subject- a Junket was no longer in the cards. But I wanted something spiritually related, a light, cool, pudding with something bright and a funny sounding British name. I swapped cinnamon for Meyer lemon and milk and rennet for cream and sugar and made a Posset. They look so clean and creamy and beautiful in their little ceramic custard cups gently wobbling when commanded. That’s where they are sitting right now. I forgot to serve them, I haven’t been serving dessert at regular meals all the time, so it’s natural that no one would ask about it.

Here, then is a solution. This same friend arrived a grand box of tomatoes, tight fresh green bell peppers, and other sundry goodies. There is some leftover Khichri in the fridge, tomorrow night we’ll have vegetarian stuffed bell peppers and the lemon posset.

In the meantime, I really like this grill, and I’m very happy that it is here in time for summer. I want to grill lots of things. More and more to come.
How to scald milk after the Western fashion

April 23rd, 2024

23 April Tuesday

If music be the food of love, play on. Happy Birthday, Will! Oh that you were with us still. Here’s what I got today:

What Shakespeare was to play-writing, Elizabeth David was to cookery writing. She was just as British, too. One of her best books, Spices, Salt, and Aromatics in the English Kitchen, is the basis for this week’s menu. This book has a beautiful little section on kebabery. And boy did I find something fun.

I’ve always been excited by dishes that have poetic names or are named after people or occasions. The French and Italians enjoy naming things after famous people, like Crepes Suzette or Pizza Margarita. Every pasta shape has its own cute little name like orecchiette (little ears), farfalle (butterflies) and my favorite, Strozzapreti (priest strangler). Chicken Marengo. In Chinese cooking, there are wonderful names for dim sum and noodle dishes like Lion’s Head meatballs, Dragon Noodles, Dragon and Phoenix, a great dish of mushrooms and cabbage and sesame oil called Three Winters. I remember as a kid we’d go to the House of Hunan in Fairlawn Plaza (you can fill in the Midwestern suburb, American/Chinese restaurant, and mall/plaza/outlet that applies to you) someone would order Happy Family and I’d wonder why everyone didn’t eat it if makes the family happy. Some items have names that are meant to be funny like Nun’s Farts or Rocky Mountain Oysters. Nipples of Venus. The British really take the cake with hilarious names-Eton Mess, Bangers and Mash, Bubble and Squeak, Rumbledethumps, and that perennial giggle-giver, Spotted Dick. So, I’ve found three dishes in this great little book that I think will taste harmonious together and have clever names that have a nice rhythmic lilt. Here is the menu and a brief description.

Sassaties, Khichri, and Junket. That’s it. That’s it, my friends. Sound yummy? It could be the name of a law firm. Well, let’s investigate. So, Sassaties. What are they, where did they come from? Sassaties are South African kebabs made with lamb marinated in tamarind paste, curry powder, onion, lemon, and milk. After a day or so the marinated cubes of meat are threaded on kebab sticks and grilled. There is almost zero information on this recipe. There are only two in the database collection of over two and a half million recipes. There’s one with apricots in the Joy of Cooking, and this one. No other recipes for this dish, anywhere, zippo, zero, notta, nothin. Elizabeth David writes that she discovered the recipe in a cookery book from 1891 entitled Hilda’s Where is it? by Hildagonda Duckitt. So, I need to find out who Hildagonda is.

Well, put simply, Hildagonda was South Africa’s first celebrity chef. She is known for her two books Hilda’s Where is it? and Hilda’s Diary of a Cape Housekeeping. She is considered an important chronicler of daily life in Victorian South Africa. You knew it had to be someone. Anyway, I may need to find a copy of those books and check them out.

She doesn’t seem to be particularly interesting, life-wise speaking. She wasn’t thrown as an infant from a burning apartment building; she wasn’t raised by bears. She was just a grande dame of Capetown living, and she knew how to throw a party and write a couple of books about it. I like her look, though. Very Victorian-hip.

Now Khichri or more commonly spelled Khichdi is a familiar dish to many in South Asian cuisines, lentils and rice and all manner of spices. Earliest mention of it dates way back to good ole 305 BC. I think these two dishes will go well together even though they grew up so far away from each other.

I ate a large bowl of minestrone soup made with my own delirious turkey stock and realized I really needed to take a walk, get my butt movin and go to the local market and get some of that kebab stuff.

The Rite Spot, a delightful tavern in the Mission District, near Gus’s Community Market, a delightful grocery store in the same neighborhood. I passed it on my way home, leg of lamb in hand. I was not able to find certain other ingredients and decided to go to one of several local Produce Markets that carry large quantities of spices and other less usual things like Tamarind Pulp. Which I got.

Tamarind pulp comes from tamarind pods surprise surprise and is a popular ingredient in African and Asian food. It is also an essential food to the survival of the African ring-tailed lemur, so I hope it’s not too popular! Anyway, the pulp is for paste, and I’ll know how to prepare that in the coming days. It will be included in both the kebab marinade and the rice and lentil dish. OK, more to come. I can’t give it all away in one writing! You!
A little night music

April 15th, 2024

15 April Monday

The time was seven twenty three. The place, my kitchen. The food, a spinach, bacon, cheese quiche and a blueberry cobbler. A quick improvised dinner made from ingredients I had in the fridge.

First, a pie crust is easy to perfect and easy to make. It improves many things, and I am indebted to Erin McDowell for the formula for pie dough that I have adopted for myself and have memorized. I won’t share it here, because it is hers and she should get any credit, financial or symbolic, that she is due. I can only tell you this, that it works out beautifully every time. You know that.

Quiche thoughts:

Parbake the crust, roll it out only to fit the pan plus a little bit extra to make the rim. A quiche is a savory custard and thus should have more milk and cream than eggs. Eggs are there to bind. Do not brown the top except for a tiny bit maybe. The center should wobble when you take it from the oven. Just like a sweet custard pie. Parbaking means the crust will be brown and crisp all the way around, whereas the custard will still be smooth and silky, not rubbery over scrambled eggy.

I haven’t made a quiche since I lived in Atlanta. One day, I made this very dish, minus the spinach, and attempted to serve it to a southern friend, who announced “Real men don’t eat quiche”. Now, I don’ t know about you, but it seems to me that not only would real men eat quiche, real men would be particularly drawn to quiche. Now, what is a real man? I don’t know. But, I know what a real quiche is. It’s eggs! It’s bacon! It’s cheese! It’s buttery salty, crusty, crust. What is there for a man, a real man, not to love? Real men eat bacon and eggs every day, here they are in one, cheesy crust to eat right out of hand.

Somehow, this poor young man had been shamed. Someone once, and I assume this person was equally misguided, told him that men don’t eat quiche. Have you ever heard something so inexplicably random? Real gals don’t wear black socks on days that end with the number two! If you do, you’re hell bound, lady! Or maybe you’re just not real.

Anyway, I served my quiche as a registered voter, a real American. I served my quiche without pride or shame. This is a little night music. A wonderful and simple done in a moment food that ticks every box. Real men eat quiche. Other men? What do they eat?

Cream biscuits, plopped on top of blueberries macerated in sugar and lemon juice. Sprinkled with brown sugar and cinnamon. Cooked in cast iron. Enough.
Kebababa

April 13th, 2024

13 April Saturday

Another cold, wet, windy Saturday here in San Francisco. A great time for research. That’s right, friends we’re picking up where we left off in Kebabville. First, a gentle off-topic reminder. Always pull the book off the shelf by its sides, not down from the top of the spine. I remember this because several years ago I bought a book called the Turkish Cookbook. It is a thick red hardcover cookbook loaded with items I’m not likely to serve to my guests, like ram’s testicles and whole sheep’s head. It’s not that I’m not up for an adventure, it’s the leftovers I fear most. I imagine everyone would take a polite little nibble of ram’s nut on a skewer, and I’d be the one eating them for breakfast lunch and dinner for the next four days.

At any rate, I had this book taking up space on the shelf, half or whole knowing that I would not be cooking from it ever. Plus, one day, when I went to peruse it, I pulled the book off the shelf from the top of the spine and tore the whole binding off. After a pretty good job of package-taping it back on, I decided it would be one of the very small number of cookbooks that would have its next chapter at the thrift shop. That was four years ago. Ever since then, it has snoozed in a small pile of books destined for the charity shop and never quite making it there. It has been shunned, separated from the community of active cookbooks. It is in a closet.

Naturally, the subject of kebabs came up yesterday in our dinner conversation. The subject was Doner Kebab. I am not going to go into it right now, but Doner Kebab is similar to Gyro and don’t you need one of those rotating stand thingys with the heat lamp and a sword to shave it all down and where are you going to get a giant vertical rotisserie? Do you need a vertical rotisserie? Surely, there must be a recipe for this wonderful dish that has a homemade work-around. I investigate.

First thing, I return to the database where all of my cookbooks are indexed so I can search by recipe. I type Doner Kebab. Nothing. I am surprised. I type Gyro. One recipe. I am again surprised. I thought there’d be more. I leave my personal database and go a general cookbook index. This index has of this writing 167,816 cookbooks indexed. I type Doner Kebab. Out of the 2,550,773 recipes, 34 of them were for Doner Kebab. Many of the 34 recipes were weird and wild variations on Doner Kebab, including a mince pork Banh Mi, pressed duck, and a vegan type of deal no thank you bob. Of all the recipes I, well, skimmed, I found 3 recipes that seemed authentic and familar. One of them is from my big red Turkish cookbook destined for the charity shop and never quite making it there.

I have only ever regretted parting with a cookbook once, and that was when I gave my copy of The Jewish Cookbook by Claudia Roden away. Why did I do this? What was I thinking? I still search in used bookshops. What fool would give away their copy of The Jewish Cookbook by Claudia Roden? Well, this fool did. Maybe that’s why the little stack of books never makes it to the thrift shop. Someday, I will look for something, a new cooking challenge, something neglected, and realize that what I was looking for was in one of those books, and hadn’t that happened this morning? I leaped from the chez lounge and ran down the hallway. I opened what used to be a coat closet and is now a book warehouse. My eyes darted to and fro, scanning quickly every spine up and down and side to side. I see it, I grab it (carefully, carefully), I rush it my table and go quickly to the Doner kebab recipe, the first line of which reads as follows: For this recipe you will need a large vertical rotisserie.
Bits and kebabs

April 11th, 2024

11 April Thursday

Having crested my turkey wave, I’d been at a bit of a loss to come up with a new food frontier. Last night, in a dream, it came to me. It is time to confront my thing with kebabs. In vivid detail, at a tented food cart out on the street, I was cutting vegetables, forming meat around stainless steel skewers and setting them tenderly on a grill. When I woke up this morning, I fully expected there to be kebabs for breakfast in my kitchen. Peace, peace, Mercutio, I talk of dreams which are the children of an idle brain. Still and all, I believe my time with kebabs has come.

I remember my mother occasionally making them when I was a kid, which was not too exciting in my opinion grown-up food. It seems to me as my tastes expanded, I loved foods that were mixtures of things. A stew, or quiche or vegetable stir-fry, an amalgam of shapes, flavors, textures. Sauces, secret ingredients, surprise additions. Flavorful formulae, magical potions devised by Merlin. Kebabs, are of course, an anti-mixture. By nothing less than the point of a sword these items are ruthlessly segregated. The clump of meat tastes like a clump of meat, and the crunchy vegetable tastes like crunchy vegetable. No mystery, no subtlety, no perfume, just hacked up bits on a stick. To me, I didn’t like pulling the charred morsels off the skewer, some of which would stick, leaving little shreds of meat behind. Or the mushroom would resist, only to go flying off across the room when I tried to pry it. What a hassle. So, inspired by good sleep, I am going to explore my relationship with kebabs. OK, back to this in a second. First things first.

I have come into a great bounty of oranges. It is a great thing, but also a bit of a tragedy because I am in competition with the white and blue mold that quietly develops on the bottom of the oranges at night to consume them. Before any other activity today, I processed all those babies. Now, I have a red kettle full of candied orange peel, and a large pitcher of wonderful tart juice, which I am sipping now. What a treat. Next, a glut of bell peppers and hot house tomatoes. What to do? Well, of course, we’re having black bean veggie tacos for lunch! Finally, three rotten bananas. Banana bread. These clear the table space and head space for kebabs to come.

Now wait a minute here. My mother makes the kebabs known as Shish. I found a website that says “Let’s explore the 21 most popular types of kebabs”. There are a least 21 types of kebab. Great, there goes my summer. Shish kebabs are not the ones I was making in my dream. Kebabs originate in whatever country the recipe writer comes from. I have recipes for Russian, Turkish, Greek, German, Iranian, Persian, Egyptian, and Brazilian kebabs, not to mention the French and their precious brochettes. There is even a US State, South Dakota to be exact, which has its own unique variation called Chislic kebab. So that is where they come from. Shish is the most popular in the United States. It is widely believed to have come from Turkey and is the cubes of meat and vegetables on skewers. What kind was I making in my dream? It was like a meatball paste mixture which is molded around the skewer. OK, I found it. I was making Shish kofte kebabs. Sheesh! Shish kebabs are typically made with cubed lamb. Mother uses cubed beef, a variation called Basturma, which originated in Russia. I feel like I may have lifted Pandora’s grill lid here.

Day is done, and my black bean chili was delightful. I used a green Chile blend I got from Oaktown Spice Company and it is tangy, sour, and piquant. Yes, piquant is the word. More to come.
Turkey treatment, Part the Second

April 3rd, 2024

3 April Wednesday

The next day, when all others were at rest, this happened:

First, the rested bird was spread open to receive the glory of the stuffing. Yes, fresh sausage, apples, prunes, sage, all the good things, mixed together. Next:

The whole thing is tied up together. The strings hold all of that meat and stuffing and whatever else ended up in there. All will be well. One more step. :

The buttered shroud of turkey. In this shall the turkey rest and roast. Resting and Roasting, what else is there to do? So, the roasting:

It was tasty, it IS delicious, it is, it is, The sum of its parts is better than the total of it whole. Or something like that. The turkey meat was lovely, but I have had better, meaning more juicy, more moist and supple. Whatever, the stuffing was amazing, and the gravy was simply out of this world and into the the next.

OK, would I bone a whole turkey and do this again, should the occasion arise? Yes, yes, yes. But then again, I’d do many things again if the occasion arose.

The abode, including my freshly cleaned bedsheets, smell of turkey fat. Turkey fat smells so much better than other molten bird fat. And why is sage the ideal herb to go with this meat? Yes, the cheesy, skunky, and herby scent of sage goes so well with turkey fat.

In the dining room, my front room, the cool sea breeze blew through the open windows. The clouds were thick and the wind heavy. The steaming, sliced turkey and stuffing was brought to the table. The colcannon, with its pond of deep yellow butter was brought. Thick deep brown gravy with giblets poured all over. Cranberries, yes. Bread. Easter, yes, spring, yes, winter holding on, yes, that too. With plenty of wine, it all went down well.
The turkey treatment Part One

April 2nd, 2024

2 April Tuesday

The whole house is filled with the wonderful scent of turkey stock bubbling away on the stovetop. It started like this:

Now, this is not the turkey we are eating. But it is an actual photo of an actual turkey I snapped on Easter morning. It was gobbling away, making all kinds of noises, one of which almost sounded like Burn in hell! Burn in hell! Which made me feel a little guilty.

There he is, Tom Turkey.

There she is, the crockpot, stocked with vegetables that will be the stock. The whole object of the next hour or so will be to get the two together. This will be an epic turkey stock because all all all of the bones are going in.

Now I know we’ve all been having a really good time, reading the blog, hot cross buns and that, but this is surgery folks. This is, this is, sharp knives and stuff. The first incision. Cutting the breast meat off the bone all the way down, freeing the central cavity. In all my research, there have been two prevailing methods of butchery. The first, and more common, is cutting the back out first and shaving the meat off the breast bone from the bottom. However, I took the road less traveled by and removed the breasts from the top of the bird, which seemed a better way of keeping the meat in one piece. I don’t know if it actually makes a big difference, although I will say this operation was easier than I thought it would be. It’s the damn legs that are so annoying. Later.

There, see the breast cavity has been entirely removed and is now nestled amongst the vegetables in the stock pot.

Pop! Go the thigh bones. Almost there. I spared us all the photos of leg bone removal as they were most unbecoming as Mary Poppins would say. For some reason, I have been thinking about Mary Poppins all day. She doin ok?

Of course, at the base of the legs were the dreaded tendons. They were really annoying and stubborn. I guess that’s why they’re there. Anyway, I musta pulled out a dozen.

The fully boned, seasoned turkey meat. I wrapped him in plastic and covered with foil, where he will rest. This was not a difficult process, I didn’t hurt myself, and all is well. It took a little time, sure, about fifty minutes, but I am happy with the results. After a nice rest in the fridge, I will pull it out, spread a stuffing in the center, roll it up, tie it up, wrap it in buttered cheese cloth, and bob’s your uncle.
Goodnight, moon

March 30th, 2024

29 March Friday

A first request! The question is this: Why are hot cross buns, a sweet treat served on a day and in a season wherein sweet treats are renounced, served? Pictured above is one of the last hot cross buns of the season; friends have begun to pat their tummies and say no thank you. Here is an answer:

Hot Cross Buns were originally baked by a monk somewhere (St. Alban’s) and given to the poor on Good Friday. Then, as now, these buns are somewhat expensive to make, with milk, eggs, butter, spices, and dried fruit. It was an act of charity from those who had much to those who had little. Sweets were not made with sugar back then (1300’s) so many things were sweetened with only raisins and honey. Tooth rotting, Diabetes inducing, hyper-active, manic, sugar foods were not as common back in those primitive days, apparently.

Next, the Lenten fast was traditionally a communal one, and one that involved meat. People gave up meat together, as prescribed by Mother Church. Individually customized fasts were not common or even expected. It turns out, people that already have too much are ok with giving things up for a few weeks. Whereas, if you are involuntarily giving things up all the time as a way of life, doing it intentionally seems unnecessary, even ill-advised. The idea of people giving up alcohol and/or sweets as personal sacrifices for Lent is a very modern one, and non-hot cross bun inclusive.

After the big service, many broke their Good Friday fast with a hot cross bun, and I, having done that today, could not recommend it more. More sweet, more savory, more wholesome than any one before it. By the way, buns were also served to the ill and infirmed as they were believed to have medicinal properties.

Some people believe that if you bake the buns on Good Friday and hang one in the hallway by a thread, nothing bad will ever happen. I haven’t tried it because I think it’s a bunch of bullshit.

Next. Hit’em up a tune they call turkey in the fridge. I am getting excited for the big day, which in this case, is Wednesday. Not enough parties happen on Wednesday in my opinion. Monday and Tuesday, sure, we need to rest and recoup, but by Wednesday one’s weekend has begun. This is going to be a party if it all works out. A real big step up for me, cooking wise speaking.

I’ve been watching tutorials, reading, practicing on imaginary birds. It’s like performing surgery on a patient that has already thankfully died. It is the project. It is the cooking. I will rejoice. I will breathe deeply as my fingers work their way through raw meat, tendons, skin, and bones in this dissection exercise reminiscent of high school biology class. I think that this will all happen on Tuesday, so that the day of can just be the fun part of cooking and setting the table. Yes, I am going to set the table for the first time in 2024. I don’t mean my little kitchen table, I mean the grand dining room table. The one I got for thirty-nine dollars at the thrift store and wheeled down Mission Street on a dollie. As my friend and I were crossing the street, someone yelled my name from a car window. I turned to wave at them, and the table fell off the dollie just as the light was changing. Well, you can imagine what ensued! Horns honking, people screaming colorful phrases and suggestions, we trying to upright the table, it was great. Just another day on Mission Street. So yeah, that table.

It turns out, serving turkey on Easter is not that uncommon. It appears to be a thing in Canada. And yes, there will be cranberry sauce!! And yes, there will be gravy, and instead of mashed potatoes, colcannon. OK, I’m getting ahead of myself, and there appears to be another me ahead of him, so I better slow down a second. More to come.
Worthy

March 26th, 2024

25 March Monday

A double rainbow. The most brilliant I’ve ever seen. Right from my back porch. Many saw but few believed. I almost think there was a third rainbow below the strong middle one. Is there something springing in the heart? Something that says despite all other reasons, everything is going to be OK? Or even wonderful? Isn’t everything still wonderful after all?

The beautiful Irish Stew. Oh, the glories of the New Year! Spring here, slowly, day by day. A day of warm, a day of cold, a dry day, a wet one. You know, it’s all like that. Northern California looks like Wales this time of year; deep green verdant hillsides fresh for grazing. How amazing.

Sunday is Easter Day, and I am not hosting. I like to make a party during Easter week, maybe Wednesday, maybe Friday, who knows? I do think I’m going to cook something unusual for my gathering- turkey. I bought one at the end of the holidays and put it in the freezer. Discount meat!! Well, now I’m gonna pull that baby right of its freezer tomb and bring it back to life just in time to cook and eat it! Worthy is the turkey. I will do it the same way as on Thanksgiving but maybe go one step further. I am going to remove all the bones and do a turkey roulade. oh yes! I can’t wait. Wait, wait, wait, is it a roulade, a galantine, rolled turkey? (aren’t roulade and rolled the same?) Yes, they are basically. One has a French name.

I am definitely not doing a galantine. I have to put all sorts of veal and chestnuts and cognac and other tidbits I’d have to go all over earth to assemble. And the cost. No, not this time. I will defrost my bird, carefully remove its big bones, and roll it up with something reasonable, like nuts and spinach. Everyone loves nuts and spinach. Speaking of people loving things, I’ve made a number of delightful dishes for myself and friends. I made a good baked Ziti with pesto and cauliflower. A nice salad with arugula, raisins, pumpkin seeds, ya know. My local grocery has begun carrying Banh Mi, which could be dangerous. For those of you that don’t know or only half know, Banh Mi is a Vietnamese baguette, except it’s lighter and airier and delicious (more delicious). It is perfect for sandwiches of all kinds and sorts and stripes, not the least being a perfect vehicle for the breakfast sandwich.

Why? Regular baguettes, like bagels, are terrible mouth delivery systems for egg sandwiches. The soft, fluffy eggs are squeezed out of end of the bread when the cuspids tear through the tough chewy crust. It’s like when we all go to France and are walking around and the only thing to get is a tuna salad baguette or a baguette Capresi. You go to eat the damn thing, and you end up with a lump of tuna salad on your lap, a large leaf of Bibb lettuce hanging out of your mouth, and your jaw getting the workout of a lifetime. Wait, did that happen in France? Maybe, maybe not. But it was definitely outside, and there was a sandwich paper on my lap, and it was blowing away in a chilly sea wind. So, I must have been near the sea. This has happened to me many times throughout my life. Eating things off your lap outdoors is not a great experience come to think of it. And the pigeons!

Many think Banh Mi is the name of the sandwich, but it is the name of the roll, so you can put anything inside it, and tell people you ate Banh Mi for lunch. Try it soon and let me know the reaction you get from friends! My Banh Mi was a breakfast one. Scrambled eggs, Gorgonzola, Ham, arugula. Wonderful. I prefer these sandwiches without any kind of sauce on them, be it ketchup or a spicy mayonnaise, or aioli or whatever. Too much gloop and flavor confusion. I hate flavor confusion. I wrapped the whole thing in foil (important!) and brought it all together in the toaster oven. Hip hip hooray. OK, enough, more to come. I think there may be another batch of Hot Cross Buns in the near future, and probably more candied citrus peel before the season is over. Citrus still local, still cheap(er).

Yes, friends, we are all worthy to be here, and you can eat whatever you want whenever you want unless you have terrible health problems, then maybe don’t. Or do! We only live once that any of us can remember, and if we don’t eat the turkey now, we may not be able to later especially if you’ve left your teeth in a baguette sandwich. Don’t kill yourself trying to take care of yourself when you could live, really live, not taking care of yourself. Anyway. Nap time?
Signs of life

March 18th, 2024

18 March Monday

One of the most looked forward to of foodstuffs, Irish Soda Bread. If ever I were to teach baking, I would begin with Irish Soda Bread. It may be the single easiest recipe in the world. And the effect it has on people! It is thick, dense, sturdy, slightly tangy, craggy, chewy. It is amazing dipped in the drippings, makes great toast, amazing grilled sandwiches. Every time I make and eat it, I wonder why I don’t make it more frequently. Then I forget about it till next year.

The soda bread made a wonderful bed fellow of Irish Stew; a warm duvet sopping up the au jus of melted lamb shoulder, potatoes, carrots, onions, and thyme. A little dinner conversation revealed that I’d used a recipe which had the ingredients stacked in a specific order, the liquid added without disturbing the order of the contents. It is never stirred, or indeed disturbed in anyway. So, is it a stew or a braise? I think technically a braise. The liquid added (water!) didn’t reach an inch of the way up the pan. It was the low, slow cooking, the meat giving its essence, the vegetables releasing their water. Heavenly. It braised on Saturday night, I left it in the turned off oven overnight, and when I got home from work on Sunday, turned the oven back on for another hour until it was piping, gently bubbly hot. Supremo.

Both of these foods seem in every way to be authentic. The stew tastes only of its components, there are no flavor surprises. We taste the lamb, and each vegetable holds on to its own flavor. Which is surprising. Things that are so simple, guests nod and their eyebrows go up (both of them, at the same time) when you tell them what isn’t in it.

Another batch of hot cross buns, with raisins, currants, homemade candied citrus peel, allspice, cinnamon, glazed with well, glaze. You can clearly see I am not so into the cross. It’s actually a nice looking design-a pastry intended to remind one of public execution. Kinda fun. At the same time, it is exactly the correct amount of icing these buns need. Thank you, Jesus.

Finally, on my morning walk, I beheld them. Local, fresh from the farm, standing tall and proud-the might Californian Asparagus. The asparagi of other places are thin and tender, but these west coast babies are the Sequoias of the vegetable world. That means spring onions, green garlic, salmon, chicken, lamb, and other springy things are springing into spring. Everywhere I look, signs of life.