by | April 1, 2013 · 3:00 am

Trompe l’oink

Nut cutlet

This is not a post about how to treat your family to plump, juicy pork chops without frying. It is instead about Nut Cutlets—or “nutlets,” as Steve insists on calling them. We found this recipe in Kitchenology with Principia Friends, a 1933 cookbook written by “St. Louis mothers” as a fundraising tool for Principia College. Perhaps because of Depression-era budgets, the book has an entire section on “Meat Substitutes”—with ideas like Mock Veal Loaf (broken spaghetti, chopped walnuts), Cheese Rarebit (American cheese, crackers, tomato soup) and this gem Steve demanded we make one evening when he discovered a surplus of shelled pecans in the freezer.

We had a bit of fun whirling the ingredients together, forming a fake chop and frying it up. We won’t bother with a real recipe (pecans, egg, breadcrumbs, white sauce, pasta “bone”) because we can’t really say it was an acceptable substitute for our delicious local pork.

We do, however, think it’s an acceptable bit of April Foolery, and charitably hope this will be the most foolish you feel today.

Kitchenology was charmingly illustrated by Rudolph Tandler.

OK, so the recipes aren’t the greatest.
But Kitchenology was delightfully illustrated by Rudolph Tandler.

37 Comments

Filed under Cooking, Food

Tagged as ,

by | March 28, 2013 · 9:52 pm

Ramping up cheese biscuits with roast duck, slaw and (of course) ramps

Ramp biscuit with duck and slaw

It is wonderfully once again time for ramps, a benefit of Gourmandistan’s close proximity to Appalachia. (Other benefits are elk viewing tours, excellent attorneys/former judges and enormous amounts of dirty, dirty coal money to support Steve’s beloved UK Wildcats.) Michelle bought some ramps immediately upon spotting them at our first spring farmers’ market, and we happily enjoyed them in several dishes before inspiration struck twice and we ended up with what may be the best sandwich on earth.

It started when Michelle began to worry about some fast-fading ramps remaining in the refrigerator while simultaneously deciding we needed to re-up our supply of duck stock. While she pondered the fate of the ramps, Steve dutifully defrosted and roasted our lone duck. Michelle, meanwhile, determined that some surplus Fontina cheese and the soon-to-be-spoiled ramps might pair nicely in a fluffy biscuit. She set out to see if she was right as the duck slowly cooked in the oven. After the carcass cooled, Steve came back to the kitchen for dissection. Seeking to separate the breast meat as whole as possible, Steve carefully peeled back the roasted duck skin in large pieces. That’s when the second inspiration for one of the world’s best sandwiches came about.

Remembering a marvelous crispy chicken skin appetizer we enjoyed in Chicago at Yusho, Steve decided to try it at home. After stripping the carcass, separating duck fat and setting up the stock pot, Steve slowly rendered the skin in a skillet, turning up the heat on occasion until both sides were crackly and bubbly. At the same time Michelle made a sweet and sour slaw with sugar, mayo and cider vinegar, seeing the possibilities for a slow-roasted duck sandwich.

We stacked shreds of duck and a little slaw on top of a skin slab, slathered on a little sweet-hot mustard and HOLLA! Nutty from Fontina, gar-leeky with ramp, sweet, hot and tender with a stunning sparkle of crispy duck skin. They may have biscuits along with ramps back in the mountains—but they’ve damn sure never seen anything this good up in Rough & Tough Holler.

RAMP & CHEESE BISCUITS

(adapted from the Savory Cream Biscuits in Lauren Groveman’s Kitchen) (makes 9 or 10 2-1/2″ biscuits)

2 TB butter, for sautéing the ramps
1/2 c. finely chopped ramps (or substitute scallions), white and green parts separated
Black pepper
2 c. all-purpose flour
1 TB baking powder
1 TB sugar
1-1/4 t. salt
3 TB cold butter, cut into small dice
1-1/3 c. heavy cream (maybe more)
2 TB melted butter, for glaze
1/2 c. shredded Fontina or other melting cheese
Grated Parmesan cheese
 

Preheat oven to 425°. Lightly grease a baking sheet or line with parchment paper.

Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a small skillet. Cook white parts of ramps over low heat. Season liberally with pepper. Add green ramp leaves. Toss, then remove from heat.

Combine flour, baking powder, sugar and salt in a large mixing bowl. Cut cold butter into the flour mixture using a pastry cutter, a fork or your fingers.

Add ramps to cream. Add cream mixture to flour mixture, stirring with a wooden spoon until moist and holding together. Add more cream if necessary. Turn the mixture out on to a lightly floured surface. Knead lightly a few times, then roll out to a thickness of about 1/3″. Cut out as many biscuits as you can, in the size you want. (Ours were 2-1/2″, but you can make smaller.)

Place half the biscuit rounds on the prepared baking sheet. Top each with shredded cheese. Then, top with the remaining biscuit rounds, pressing the tops down gently.

Brush biscuits with melted butter and sprinkle lightly with some grated Parmesan.

Bake in center of oven for 15-17 minutes, until nicely browned.

47 Comments

Filed under Cooking, Food, Recipes

Tagged as , , , ,

by | March 24, 2013 · 4:11 pm

Refining Rocky Top Relais & Chateaux Roasted Broccoli Salad

Roasted broccolini salad

What with the luxury accommodations, lovely scenery and lavish menus, it’s not hard to see why people may confuse Blackberry Farm and Gourmandistan. Here are a few key differences:

• While Blackberry Farm remains firmly fixed in the foothills of Eastern Tennessee’s Smoky Mountains, Gourmandistan, when given the proper incentive, tends to wander about the globe.

• Relais & Chateaux property catalogs can be found at both places. But Blackberry Farm has them as a proud member of the association, while Gourmandistan merely collects them as part of Steve’s quest to stay in every R&C establishment on Earth.

• Along with Michelin-level cooking, you can find Roasted Broccoli Salad at both Gourmandistan and Blackberry Farm. However, Gourmandistan’s is better.

A number of years ago, we spent a cold but lovely winter weekend at Blackberry Farm.

Blackberry FarmBlackberry Farm 2 Blackberry FarmBlackberry Farm

And while we have memories of shiveringly enjoying S’mores by a bonfire and a cottage suite refrigerator stuffed with free Dove Bars, we don’t recall having broccoli salad. But we gave Michelle’s parents a weekend at Blackberry Farm as a 50th anniversary present, and they recently brought us The Foothills Cuisine of Blackberry Farm as a belated thank-you gift. As we were rooting out an oversupply of brassicas, Michelle leafed through the book and spied the recipe for Roasted Broccoli and Pickled Shallot Salad with Candied Pecans.

Deciding to do something with the coffee table tome besides use it as a memory trigger, Michelle followed Chef Sam Beall’s instructions and was less than satisfied. Blanching and drying the florets before roasting without any oil made them limp and mushy. Michelle ignored Beall’s somewhat fiddly way to candy pecans (involving boiling, then deep-frying) in favor of her own technique, because, really, how much better can you make a candied pecan?

Candied Pecans

A second round, this time roasting unblanched broccolini (we told you we had a lot of brassicas) with a bit of oil, created chewy green florets with deliciously charred end bits—a much better foil for the sharp pickled shallots and sweet pecans.

Roasted Broccolini

It made an absolutely delicious salad that we plan to make again and again.

Pickled shallotsRoasted Broccolini Salad

Gourmandistan has no indication that it will join Blackberry Farm as part of the Relais & Chateaux association (unless we can arrange some sort of time share-swap with Château de la Chèvre d’Or, which Steve is more than eager to discuss with anyone who cares to listen). But we’re happy to help improve the organization any way we can—as well as perhaps your next overabundance of broccoli or broccolini!

ROASTED BROCCOLI (OR BROCCOLINI) SALAD WITH PICKLED SHALLOTS AND CANDIED PECANS

(adapted from Sam Beall’s The Foothills Cuisine of Blackberry Farm) (serves 4-6)

Pickled shallots:

3 TB sherry vinegar
1/2 c. olive oil
1 TB sugar
Salt & pepper
2 shallot bulbs
 

Whisk together vinegar, oil, sugar, salt and pepper. Slice the shallots into very thin rings. Add to vinegar mixture. Cover and refrigerate for several hours or overnight.

Roasted broccoli or broccolini:

6 c. bite-sized broccoli or broccolini florets and bits of tender stem
1 TB olive oil
 

Preheat oven to 500°.

Toss broccoli or broccolini with oil. Place on a baking sheet. Cook, tossing occasionally, until vegetables are cooked and slightly charred, about 10-12 minutes. (Broccoli may take slightly longer than broccolini.)

Candied pecans:

1/2 c. pecans
1/8 c. sugar
Salt
Red pepper flakes
 

Place nuts in a small, nonstick skillet over medium heat. Toss to toast a bit. Add sugar. Let sugar melt, watching carefully and tossing nuts in it. Add salt and red pepper flakes. When sugar is caramelized and nuts are coated, place the candied nuts on a baking sheet to cool.

Salad assembly:

Place roasted vegetables in a bowl. Pour pickled shallots and their dressing over. Toss. Taste for seasoning. At serving time, top with chopped candied pecans.

 

43 Comments

Filed under Cooking, Food, Recipes, Restaurants, Vegetarian

Tagged as , ,

by | March 18, 2013 · 8:58 pm

Turning head cheese horror into souse-rousing success.

Fried head cheese

Working one’s way through a whole (or even half) pig at home can lead down some interesting avenues. Head cheese was starting to look like a dead end.

Last year, when we received our half hog from Bob Hancock, we insisted on as close to primal cuts as possible, including the entire head (which, apparently, the folks buying the other part didn’t mind giving up). We decided to make head cheese, and tried Nathan Foot’s recipe from Primal Cuts. We were told the mix of pig head, pistachio and parsley would be “straightforward, balanced and trancendent.” Instead, it was a dismal failure. The terrine refused to gel into firmness (hardly surprising since it contained no gelatin-yielding pig feet), slouchingly sullying plates with mushy, vinegar-soaked pistachios and enough slimy parsley to resemble this jerk.

This year’s pig head, we decided, should take a more traditional route, so we followed Edna Lewis’ directions for “Head Cheese or Souse” from In Pursuit of Flavor. We wrangled the head, four feet (two from this year’s pig, two from last), water, carrots, celery, sprigs of parsley and other stock-making stuff into our largest, least-used pot. After several hours, we (well, mostly Steve) removed the pig parts, cooled and then stripped meat, gristle and skin, chopping them into bits. We added cider vinegar and sherry to the stock as instructed, then ladled some over the piggy bits in two molds and let them refrigerate for a few days.

Once again, we felt we had failed, this time in a blandly liquid fashion. The terrine not only had not set, but had no taste—the stock so watery it barely tasted of pig. Michelle wanted to give the whole mess to the chickens, but Steve wanted to see if he could salvage the stuff. Dumping the terrines into a pot, he simmered the mix for a few hours, then strained the meat and boiled the liquid down further. He ended up with one terrine. With a little salt, a little mustard and a bit of cornichon it was acceptable, though a little bland.

Head cheese

At least Steve thought so. But even after he’d frozen 2/3 of the terrine, a large chunk sat aging in the refrigerator, with Michelle indicating she had no plans to eat even a bite. Steve also wasn’t really much inclined to eat more, especially since he’d enjoyed a much better version over the weekend at Nashville’s Rolf and Daughters. Things were looking bad for Gourmandistan’s requests for pig heads, something we as nose-to-tail folk were sad to admit.

Then Steve then had a flash of inspiration—a flouring, egging, breading and frying kind of inspiration. Cutting the aspic into small cubes, covering the cubes in crumbs and deep-frying them turned a barely acceptable head cheese into delightfully porky cromesquis that might even make Marc Meneau proud.

Fried head cheese

Just one of these delicate, crispy squares had Michelle declaring she’s now a souse-loving spouse, looking forward to the start of spring when Gourmandistan may feature our souse sensation again in a fresh green salad. Perhaps you’ll never have such a swine head problem to solve. But if you do, this tasty solution will serve you well.

FRIED HEAD CHEESE

Firm (cold) souse or head cheese
Flour
Eggs
Bread crumbs
Salt
Pepper
Paprika
Cayenne
 

Cut head cheese into small (about 1/2″ to 3/4″) cubes.

Place flour in a small bowl.  Beat eggs in another small bowl. In a third small bowl, place bread crumbs, seasoned with salt, pepper, paprika and cayenne.

Dip head cheese cubes first in flour, then in beaten eggs, then in seasoned bread crumbs.

Deep fry cubes in hot (350°) oil until browned.  Drain on a rack or on paper towels.

 

49 Comments

Filed under Food, Recipes

Tagged as ,

by | March 15, 2013 · 6:33 pm

Pee, pan-dairy pancakes & a pledge you should make

Pancakes

Gourmandistan is not normally a territory enthused about the prospect of kidneys. Even a fan such as Jaques Pépin is forced to describe their flavor as “an assertive taste that some may not find inviting.” Putting it bluntly, kidneys pretty much always taste of urine, quite possibly because their primary function is producing the stuff. While we’ve received them in several whole animal purchases, we’ve usually (somewhat secretly and shamefully as nose-to-tail enthusiasts) allowed them to go to waste. Today, however, we’re here to argue quite the opposite position on kidneys. Just not in a culinary way. That’s what the pancakes are for—along with celebrating the start of a new status for Michelle’s father as a transplant recipient.

Daffodil

Tom was on dialysis for several years—a time-sucking, location-limiting lifestyle adjustment the entire family had begun to accept as our normal way of life. Weekend before last, however, he received what the doctors called “a perfect match,” donated by the family of a girl who died far too young at the opposite end of the country. The procedure took the better part of what became a blurry, sleepless night, with Michelle and her mother stumbling home around 6:30 on Sunday morning to report a successful surgery before collapsing in happy exhaustion.

Daffodil

Steve needed a way to feed three ladies with different sleep schedules and asked Michelle’s sister for suggestions. The reply was “pancakes,” a food not seen in Gourmandistan for many years. Steve’s first sleep-deprived stab at finding a recipe was Edna Lewis, but waiting 8-10 hours for sourdough to ferment was out of the question. Turning to the “breakfast” shelf of Gourmandistan’s cookbook library, Steve’s tired eyes fell on Morning Food: From Café Beaujolais, possibly because its bright yellow dust jacket penetrated his gummy eyelids. “Cottage Cheese Pancakes” seemed simple enough, except Gourmandistan at the moment possessed no cottage cheese. Substituting a dab of almost-out-of date ricotta and some Greek yogurt seemed to do the trick, as Michelle’s sister pronounced the thin, tasty, almost crêpe-like cakes extremely satisfying. A few hours later Michelle’s mom awoke and, after a small plateful, agreed—noting that she often made the same recipe at home with the called-for cottage cheese.

In the days since, we’ve treated the entire newly-kidneyed clan to several other pancake breakfasts, once using all ricotta and another time using all yogurt. All versions were equally good, perhaps made even tastier seasoned with the anticipation of life after dialysis.

Pancakes

We may not care for the flavor of lamb or beef kidneys, but we surely hope to enjoy this one—and the idea that someday we might provide such a gift for another family. Because someone cared enough to be generous even in a time of grief, we can share this happy story and simple, family-synchronous recipe with you. And we urge you, if you have not done so already, to become an organ donor.

PAN-DAIRY PANCAKES

(adapted from Margaret S. Fox and John Bear’s Morning Food: From Café Beaujolais) (makes 7-8 small pancakes)

3 eggs
1 c. cottage cheese, ricotta cheese, Greek yogurt or some combination thereof
2 TB vegetable oil
1/4 c. all-purpose flour
1/4 t. baking powder
1/4 t. salt
 

Place all ingredients in a blender.  Combine on low speed until smooth and all flour is incorporated.

Pour batter in 1/4 cup increments onto a nonstick or lightly buttered hot skillet. Turn when bottoms of pancakes are browned.

Serve on a warmed plate with butter and/or maple syrup.

40 Comments

Filed under Cooking, Food, Recipes, Vegetarian

Tagged as , , ,

by | March 1, 2013 · 10:28 pm

Rotating Shrimp Balls (and coconut milk) in Hot & Sour Thai Broth

Thai Hot and Sour Shrimp Broth with Coconut Milk

This amazing mix-and-match shrimp event started as many things in Gourmandistan do, with dim sum. Our successful shao mai, semi-successful har gow and further representations of our growing repertoire created quite a pile of shrimp shells. Steve, taking inspiration from Conor Bofin, decided he would maximize the value of the wild-caught, non-frozen shrimp and make shrimp stock. (Stunning revelation on checking Conor’s post: Steve forgot to add bay leaf. The stock turned out OK anyway.) Michelle, seeing Steve’s proposal as adding another set of jars to our already stuffed refrigerator, decided to make a meal. Still feeling like something Asian (dim sum-making has had powerful effects on us), she turned to James Patterson’s Splendid Soups and decided to make this semi-simple recipe that was delicious in a variety of ways.

We say “semi-simple” because, as Conor notes, cleaning shellfish is quite a pain, and something Michelle in particular does not enjoy. However, once you’ve stripped the last bit of shell (and sh*t) from your shrimp, you’re really almost all the way home. Yes, wrangling hot oil to fry shrimp balls can be risky, but it’s nothing compared to cleaning the crustaceans. (Just ask Michelle, who’s an excellent fryer who has made Steve clean both of our last buys of shell-on shrimp.)

Thai Hot and Sour Shrimp Broth seasonings

The broth is everything we like about Thai: sour, spicy, hot, tangy and tasty. Using shrimp stock brings more shellfish flavor and a little more delicacy when the broth is plain. Throw in some hot, crunchy (and very clean) shrimp balls, however, and that hot Thai taste really starts to get interesting. Whether dropped in the soup or eaten on the side, the shrimp balls make a marvelous addition.

Thai Hot and Sour Shrimp Broth with Shrimp Balls

You can leave off the shrimp balls and stir in some coconut milk, making the soup rich and almost decadent.

Thai Hot and Sour Shrimp Broth with Coconut Milk

Add the shrimp balls with the milk and you’ll definitely have something sinful. So grit your teeth and get into cleaning the best shell-on shrimp you can find. Many marvelous soup meals await.

THAI HOT AND SOUR SHRIMP BROTH

(adapted from James Patterson’s Splendid Soups) (serves 4-6)

SHRIMP BROTH BASE:

Shells from about 1 lb. fresh shrimp
1 shallot, peeled and halved
1 celery stick
1 carrot, peeled
 

Place the shrimp shells in a roasting pan, along with shallot, celery and carrot.  Drizzle a little oil over if you want, but you don’t have to. Roast in a 400° oven for a half hour or so.

Remove from oven, and place mixture in a saucepan.  Cover with about 6 cups of water.  Simmer for about 2 hours, adding more water if it cooks down too much.

Strain.

SEASONED SHRIMP BROTH:

6 c. shrimp broth base (or pork or chicken broth)
3-4 chilies (preferably Thai chilies, but jalapeños or others will do), seeded and finely chopped
3-4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 shallots, finely chopped
Slice of ginger
4 kaffir lime leaves, very thinly shredded
Piece of lemongrass, finely sliced (or, if nothing else is available, a dried slice)
Juice of 2 limes
1/4 c. fish sauce
White pepper
Cayenne pepper (optional)
2 scallions, sliced thin
1/4 c. cilantro, finely chopped
1/2 c. coconut milk (if not using shrimp balls)
 

Place broth, chilies, garlic, shallots, ginger, lime leaves and lemongrass in a pot.  Simmer for 10 minutes.  Stir in remainder of ingredients and cook for just a couple of minutes longer just until warmed.

SHRIMP BALLS:

1 lb. shelled and deveined shrimp
2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
3 scallions, finely chopped 
1-1/2 t. sesame oil
1-1/2 TB grated ginger
1 egg white
Pinch salt
Japanese bread crumbs (panko)
Peanut or vegetable oil for frying
 

Combine shrimp, garlic, scallions, sesame oil, ginger, egg white and salt in bowl of a food processor.  Pulse, scraping down sides between pulses, until the consistency of ground meat.

Refrigerate mixture, covered, for several hours or overnight.

Make balls, about a tablespoon in size.  Roll in bread crumbs and place on a plate. Hold in refrigerator until ready to fry.

Heat oil in a saucepan to about 350°.  Fry balls, several at a time, turning with a slotted spoon, until browned.  Drain on a rack.

Serve shrimp balls alongside or in soup.

 

43 Comments

Filed under Cooking, Food, Recipes

Tagged as , ,

by | February 26, 2013 · 9:37 pm

Spuma spurs slight civil unrest in Gourmandistan.

Pig butter

Mutterings of dissent can still be heard every time the refrigerator opens and the speckled, pinkly pale jar of spuma is spied. Its funky, fatty taste did not please Michelle’s palate at all.

Despite Steve’s insistence that ceviche, salami and sun-dried tomatoes prove the world agrees that “cured means cooked,” Michelle could not get past the idea she was eating “raw bacon.” Steve’s admission that he’d happily sampled “raw” bacon as a child further sickened Michelle, who had already decided she really, really didn’t like spuma. Even adding toasted crostini with a smear of roasted garlic and a liberal sprinkling of fresh chives couldn’t drive the idea of “raw bacon butter” out of her mind. Steve, who has eaten many things (such as pigeon, beef, bone marrow and fresh fruit) at stages Michelle considers disgustingly undercooked, thought the puréed guanciale and ricotta mix was decadently delicious—a salty snack fit for the title of “pig butter” bestowed on it by Brian Polcyn in Salumi, co-written with Steve’s self-made-sausage-inspirer Michael Ruhlman.

And thus, conflict was born. Until now, we have presented a united front—each dish we’ve described to this point on the blog has been mutually  enjoyed, and we have both agreed people might like to hear about it. Spuma has shattered this serene state.

We’re not certain if anyone other than Ruhlman fanboys like Steve will replicate this recipe, if for no other reason than that guanciale (particularly home-cured) is hard to come by. But should you decide to make some yourself, you can also stir your spuma into scrambled eggs, as the cookbook suggests. Though, having tried it, Steve thinks cooking with spuma would be better without the added ricotta.

A fragile truce holds in Gourmandistan, but a line has been irrevocably crossed. The next flashpoint may be Michelle’s beloved (and Steve’s loathed) veal or chicken liver, or perhaps a meatless cutlet. Whatever it is, our world will never be the same.

SPUMA DI GOTA

(slightly adapted from Michael Ruhlman and Brian Polcyn’s Salumi: The Craft of Italian Dry Curing)

4 oz. semi-frozen guanciale, finely diced
1/8 c. ricotta cheese
 

Put the diced guanciale in a food processor and process until pasty. Add ricotta and process again, blending until a smooth paste with tiny flecks forms.

Serve on toasted bread, over a smear of roasted garlic with chopped chives sprinkled over.  (If you must. -Michelle)

38 Comments

Filed under Cooking, Food, Recipes

Tagged as ,