Culinary Casual

Moving, moving, moving

2009-05-11T19:59:00.002-04:00

Hello readers! Culinary Casual is moving to AprilStamm.com!! Please check www.aprilstamm.com soon for the fresh new blog, recipes, article links and more!

Thanks for your support,

April

Adios Verano

2008-09-14T21:49:00.001-04:00

How could it be over so quickly? It was already dark when I emerged from the subway last night. It was only 7:30pm. Two days ago, I left for work a little earlier than normal in the morning and that very particular smell hung in the air. Instead of the air being heavy with the impending humidity of the day, it was the crisp, cool mustiness of fall that rushed my nostrils. Part of me is seduced by the idea of brisk nights spent with apple cider spiked with bourbon and cinnamon, creamy pumpkin pie, and roasted poultry stuffed and rubbed with copious sage. There’s something appealing about dragging out that box of sweaters, scarves, and furry boots and dusting them off while tossing all these boring tank tops and tattered flip flops back into storage.

Now wait one minute here, let’s not get in some sort of poached pear and spiced cream induce autumnal daze. Sure we’ve had three solid months of hot, sticky, sweltering heat here in the Northeast. We may be sick of the putrid heat on the subway platforms, our tired summer uniforms of jean shorts and scant tops, the stomach churning change from sauna to icebox of central air, and our astronomical Coned bills because of those damned window air-conditioning units. . .but don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what we lose at the end of summer. I know I, for one, will pine for ragtag picnics at outdoor movies, guilty street fair pleasures like charred corn and dripping gyros, and fruity slushy drinks at the beach. I don’t know about you, but I think I can choke down a few more ears of sweet corn, and I know for certain I have not had even close to my fill of honeyed-juice-running-down-your-chin peaches or warm perfect field tomatoes.

At least for a week or so, I plan to cling desperately to summer and make the best of it, at least culinarily speaking. I am not ready to start braising and roasting. The pumpkins and pears can wait. So join me in a dish that celebrates both the best of the season (fresh produce, bright flavors) and makes the best of the worst of it (no need to turn on a stove or oven).

Shrimp Ceviche

Ceviche is a traditional Latin American seafood dish. It’s light, fresh, and lively, perfect at the height of a sweltering summer. The citrus juice in ceviche denatures the proteins or “cooks” them in fruit acid without the use of heat. When making ceviche with less dense seafood like bay scallops or white fish (red snapper, Chilean sea bass, halibut, etc.) there is no need to pre-poach the seafood; cut in small pieces the seafood will “cook” thoroughly in the citrus juice. Shrimp, however, are dense, and it is wise to pre-poach them briefly before they marinate.

1 lb Fresh Shrimp, peeled and deveined leaving the tails attached

3/4 cup diced fresh jicama, 1/4 inch pieces

1/2 cup finely chopped red onion

3/4 cup diced pineapple, 1/4 inch pieces

1/2 c fresh squeezed lime juice

1 lime, cut in half, not juiced

1/2 c fresh squeezed lemon juice

1/2 c finely chopped fresh cilantro

1 T very finely chopped fresh jalapeño, ribs and seeds removed

2 avocados, diced into 1/4 inch pieces

1 T salt for ceviche, 2 T salt for poaching water

For Serving: Extra jicama thinly sliced into planks or Blue or Yellow Tortilla Chips

Bring a large pot with approx. 1 gallon of water to boil with 1 lime cut in half and squeezed into the water (put the squeezed rind in the water as well) and 2 T salt. Reduce the water to a slow simmer and add the shrimp. Poach for 40 seconds (do not overcook) and remove them to a bowl full of ice water to stop the cooking immediately. Drain the shrimp, remove the tails, and dice them in 1/4 inch pieces. The shrimp should look underdone in the middle, as they will finish “cooking” in the citrus juices. Put the shrimp in a non-reactive (not aluminum or copper) bowl with the lemon and lime juice, cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes. After 30 minutes, add all of the rest of the ingredients (including the 1 T salt) except the avocado and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes and up to 2 hours. Just before serving, gently fold the avocado into the mixture. Serve the ceviche on Tortilla Chips or thin slices of jicama as hors d’oeuvres or by itself for a light, refreshing lunch.

Money, Manicures, and Mussels

2008-09-01T22:15:00.001-04:00

There are two things that are cheap in New York City, manicures and flowers. Since moving to New York City seven years ago I have tried to figure out why in place where a casual meal for two in a average restaurant costs more than $80, a pint of beer in a dive bar can hurt you for $7, and a studio apartment with the bathtub conveniently located in the kitchen is over $1000 a month, you can buy 2 dozen glorious roses at any corner bodega for less than $10 and get your nails sparkled and shined at your neighborhood nail salon for less than the price of a Brooklyn Lager on tap. I suppose it’s supply and demand, at least in my primitive understanding of supply and demand. There are a bazillion people in New York City clamoring to buy flowers and get their nails done, so clever bodega flower purveyors and neighborhood salon owners can make money not by lots of mark-up but by lots of sales. Wait though, there are lots of people to buy beer and eat in casual restaurants. As far as apartments go, New Yorkers are constantly asking friends if they know a friend who knows of an apartment. . . but I guess that’s maybe sort of supply and demand too, just the other way around? O.k., so clearly my expertise does not lie in the subjects of consumerism or business practices, maybe I should just stick with what I know.

Especially as of late, New Yorkers aren’t the only ones that have been feeling the hurt when it comes to their food dollars. Grocery prices all over the country are skyrocketing, and we all need some culinary penny saving inspiration. After years of living in one of the most expensive cities in the world and years of struggling in this city as a wish-I-wasn’t-so-starving artist, I have cultivated some tricks and perfected some go to recipes.

1. Frozen vegetables are your best friends. Unlike their canned cousins, frozen vegetables are generally picked at the height of their growing season and often flash frozen individually using a process called IQF, which preserves their texture and flavor. My personal favorites are frozen peas. Thaw these brilliant nuggets on the counter or under running tepid water and throw them strait into soups, stews, salads, and pastas for freshness and flavor for mere pennies. Warning: Simply thaw, do not cook them before you toss them in to your favorite dishes. They are cooked quickly and then frozen immediately to retain their color and texture. You don’t want to ruin all of that hard work by microwaving or boiling them so that they wrinkle and mush. Just put them into your creations with enough time to warm through.

2. When only steak will do, think skirt. Skirt steak, found in most grocery meat counters for a fraction of what any of the “steakhouse” cuts go for, is extremely flavorful and easy to prepare. Similar in to flank steak, but in my opinion far more succulent and tender, skirt steak takes well to marinating, but there is no need. Simply liberally salt and pepper the skirt steak, grill or pan fry in just a little neutral oil on very high heat for just a few minutes per side and let the steak rest before slicing. The key to succulent skirt steak is to slice it before serving, fairly thin, and always across the pronounced grain of the steak to enhance tenderness.

3. Don’t be afraid of the bi-valves. Many of us have only enjoyed oysters, mussels, clams, cockles, etc. in restaurants. That must mean they are incredibly expensive and difficult to prepare, right? Not on your life. Mussels and clams, specifically, are shockingly affordable (often under $3 a pound, a pound of mussels or little neck clams can mean 2-3 dozen, plenty for a hearty meal for two). As for ease, both clams and mussels simply need to be steamed in a little liquid in a covered pot just until their shells open on their own. Of course, a few more flavorful ingredients can really sweeten the pot.

Spanish Steamed Mussels

Serves 2 (double, triple, quadruple the recipe to feed more, just make sure your pot is big enough)

3 dozen Fresh Mussels

1/2 lb Spanish (dried not fresh) Chorizo, sliced thin

1 12 oz jar Roasted Sweet Red Peppers, very roughly chopped (about 1 cup when chopped)

1/4 c Finely Chopped Shallot

1 T Olive Oil

1 c Finely Chopped Fresh Flat Leafed Parsley

3/4 c White Wine

2 T Unsalted Butter

Crusty Bread such as a baguette, Italian loaf, sourdough, etc.

Wash the mussels under cold water to remove any dirt from their shells. If any mussels still have the “beard” attached – hairy looking filaments coming from the shell - pull off the beards and discard. If a mussel is not tightly closed or will not close tightly and stay closed when pinched together, discard it. When clean, keep the mussels in the fridge or on ice until right before they go into the pot. In a large heavy bottomed dutch oven or stock pot, heat 1 T olive oil over medium high heat. Sautee the chorizo and shallots together, until the shallots soften and the chorizo browns a bit at the edges. Add the red pepper and cook just to warm through. Add the wine and let it come to a simmer. As soon as the wine is simmering, add the mussels all at once, stir once gently and immediately cover. Steam for 4-5 minutes shaking the pot every minute just until the mussels open. Discard any mussels that don’t open. Do not over cook mussels or they will get tough. As soon as the mussels are open add the parsley and butter and stir gently to melt the butter and combine. Serve the mussels and their flavorful juice in large bowls immediately. Sop up the delicious juice with the crusty bread.

Avocado Dreamin'

2008-08-11T17:48:00.001-04:00

Avocados have followed me throughout my life, or perhaps I have followed them. After spending their entire lives in the St. Louis area, my parents, with youthful abandon, decided to pick themselves and little six-month-old April up and flee the Midwest to settle in sunny California amongst shining stars of L.A., the citrus trees, the smog, and the avocados. It was there that my family embraced, no obsessed over, California’s take on Mexican cuisine. To this day, you would be wise not to get my mom started on the topic of the “real” way to make a Chile Relleno. It is a debate you will not win and will walk away from feeling abashed. Avocados were everywhere in my California youth; growing in my neighbor’s backyard, starring in simple guacamoles in pig shaped molcajetes at our neighborhood Mexican restaurant, and sliced and scooped up with fresh made flour tortillas at my babysitter’s house just down Golden Street. When my family moved back to the Midwest when I was in 4th grade, it was that Cal-Mex flavor we would seek like the grail, rarely to much avail. Just starting out as a young actor in New York City, I was thrilled to get my first gig. . .as a hostess and later server at Bobby Flay’s Mesa Grill. If a dish of Bobby’s didn’t have chipotle it had avocado in it; who am I kidding, it usually had both. Now, as a chef, avocados are one of my go to ingredients.

There is something so complete about the avocado. Few foods feel so decadent and so enriching at the same time. Avocados are high in vitamins B, E, and K and have more potassium than bananas. Although they do have high fat content for a fruit, most of that fat is monounsaturated and they are packed with more fiber than any other fruit. Avocados can take a simple salad of romaine, tomatoes, and red onion and make it a rich and satisfying meal. Normally, I would never mess with the perfect balance of something like the BLT, but add a little sliced avocado and perfection becomes ambrosia. Avocados are such an amazing ingredient because they can not only scrumptiously heighten the everyday but are also sublime with little to no finagling.

The epitome of that simple lusciousness shines in guacamole. In fact, my golden rule of guacamole creation is the simpler the better. Adding sour cream, salsa, cream cheese, or any other such nonsense will only serve to distract from the perfection of the avocado. On the flip side, certain additions like cilantro, lime juice, and salt will actual serve to bring out the flavor of the naturally mild avocado. The crunch and bite of onion (in moderation) makes the silken flesh of the avocado feel even more sensuous.

Guacamole can be a very personal thing. Some will argue that it is just plain offensive to not include jalapeños in the recipe. Personally, I don’t want to mask the avocados brilliance with heat. Some may wonder, if guacamole is good why not add other good things like corn and black beans and make it even better? I say if I’m making guacamole, I want to eat avocados, no distractions, no masking, and no adding. Truthfully it feels a little uncomfortable to call the following a recipe. I didn’t create its deliciousness, nature did. I just mashed it up a little and put it in a bowl.

Guacamole

Makes 1 ½ cups of dip

2 ripe Haas Avocados*

½ cup yellow onion chopped fine

1/3 c fresh lime juice

½ c fresh cilantro, chopped

Kosher Salt

Mix avocado and lime juice, mashing avocado with a fork until slightly creamy but not completely smooth. Stir in onion and cilantro. Season with salt to taste. Note, salt really brings out the flavor of the avocado and is an important ingredient in guacamole.

*Avocados oxidize and turn brown very quickly, the lime juice will slow the process, but serve guacamole as immediately as possible.

Enter into Summer

2008-07-28T10:18:00.001-04:00

The best thing about my new job is walking in the front door. When you walk into Whole Foods Market, Union Square, you walk through an automatic sliding door into a small vestibule before you walk through another sliding door in to the store. By no accident, this vestibule is always stocked full of the most fragrant fruit. One day it is stacked high with bright, bumpy pineapple, another with brilliant red, plump strawberries. . . and then there are the peaches, bright and warm smelling. The honeyed sweet smell almost knocks you over. If it weren’t for the throngs of people constantly streaming into the entrance pushing me to that second door, I could stand in that vestibule for hours.

Filled with the tedium of email set up, benefit paperwork, orientations and trainings, my first week was not exactly a culinary dream. Yet, each morning I would walk through that vestibule and be transported to the warm summer afternoons of my youth, coming in from playing on the swing set in the backyard or later coming home from a day idling cruising around in someone’s nearly broken down boat of a car with the windows down and the music up to a dinner of chicken and dumplings, sliced tomatoes from pop’s garden, and a warm peach crisp for dessert. Each morning I walked through that vestibule, I knew as soon I could start cooking, it would be that memory I wanted to share first.

There are many ingredients that beg you to do nothing. It can be a shame to fiddle with the sheer perfection of a juices-running-down-your-arm peach, a pristinely briny oyster, or a tomato still hot from the garden by sautéing, braising, or any such nonsense. I am, however, a chef, and sometimes I just can’t help myself. I need to get my hands in and my creation on. Early this summer, when I first started walking through that vestibule it was the strawberries that called to me. So, I did what I had to do. For my very first cooking demonstration, I made strawberry rhubarb crisp. The crisp is a fantastic way to do almost nothing to perfect fruit, whether the fruit is sweet juicy summer berries, luscious stone fruit, or tart fall apples. I knew it would be a great way for me to celebrate the coming summer, the glorious produce, and – secretly – present to strangers what moves me about food. And they got it.

So I suppose being able to share what food inspires in me with random strangers as they gobble up what I created, snap up the recipe, read it carefully, and ask me questions about, may indeed be the best thing about my new job. . .but that vestibule really is something to behold.

Strawberry Rhubarb Crisp

Fruit:

3 lbs Fresh Strawberries

2 lbs Fresh Rhubarb

1 c White Sugar

½ c Brown Sugar, packed

1/3 c All-Purpose Flour

Streusel (Crisp Topping):

1 ½ c All-Purpose Flour

1 c Brown Sugar, packed

½ c White Sugar

½ lb (2 sticks) Unsalted Butter, Cold, plus an extra T room temp for buttering pan

1 c Quick Oats

½ t Kosher Salt

¼ t Ground Cinnamon

¼ t Ground Nutmeg

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Dice butter into small pieces and then return it to the refrigerator so it stays very cold. Butter a 9x13 baking dish.

For the Fruit:

Trim the ends of the rhubarb, split them in half lengthwise, and slice the stalks into ¼ inch slices. Hull and cut the strawberries in halves or quarters, depending on the size of each berry, the pieces should be fairly uniform. Toss the fruit with sugars, salt, and flour and let the mixture sit at room temperature while you make the streusel. The liquids will release somewhat.

For the Streusel:

Mix flour, sugars, oats, and spices with a whisk so they are incorporated, making sure to break up the brown sugar. Cut the cold butter into the mixture using a pastry cutter, stand mixer, or two knives until the biggest pieces are the size of lentils.

Putting it all together:

Pour the fruit mixture into the buttered baking dish. Top with the oat mixture loosely; use your hands or a spoon to do this. It will be a thick layer, slightly higher than the sides of the baking dish. Do not pack the mixture down.

Bake at 350 degrees F for about 1 hour until the top is brown and the fruit is bubbling at the edges. You may put the baking dish on a sheet tray to catch any dripping. Let the crisp cool at least 30 minutes before digging in or the fruit will be too runny. Serve it warm or at room temperature; plain or topped vanilla ice cream.

And so here I am with a career. . .

2008-07-22T20:56:00.001-04:00

School’s out, and I lucked out and got an amazing job as my very first job as a chef. I am the Demonstration Chef Specialist for Whole Foods Market, Union Square, NYC. Quite a mouthful, I know. What it means is that I create recipes and food programs using the products we sell at Whole Foods Market, and then do “demos” on the sales floor. Sometimes these demos are simple; sampling an ice cream, olive oil, or beverage the company is excited about and wants to sell. The demos I love and the ones that really allow me to shine, though, are my creative demos. I create recipes highlighting something in the store; our farm-raised catfish, jicama, our private label dried pastas, etc. I test the recipes. Our store graphic artists put these on my official recipe cards (cool, huh). Then I cook the dish on the sales floor and answer questions about the recipe. I also get to do similar demos exclusively for the staff. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t even imagine a job like this existed, blending my passion for food, and my background in public speaking, writing, and teaching.

Finishing school, leaving my old 9-5, and starting this new job has really enveloped me, and poor little Culinary Casual has been the hardest hit. From here on out, however, I vow to no longer leave my blog and its faithful readers in the cold. I will be posting new entries weekly, every Monday morning. So, tune in, read, cook, and comment.

Mid-Winter Day's Dream

2008-02-25T13:47:00.002-05:00

I’m dying here. Down with boots, scarves, and sweaters! Is it ever going to be daylight anymore? It never is when I get to go outside. Speaking of outside, why does going there have to be such a physically painful experience, what with biting wind and stinging snow and sleet? Sure when the snow fell last week it was gingerbready for all of about ten minutes, until the cars whizzed past and people trudged by in the dirty, fuzzy boots.

Even the food is getting me down –gasp. Sure, brussel sprouts, butternut squash, and braising were exciting in October, November, December, and even a few weeks into January, but enough is enough. I want vegetables that are still warm from the fields when I pick them out of the bin at the farmers’ market. I want the smell of berries to be so overwhelmingly fragrant and sweet you can still smell them on your clothes when you get back home. I want cold, fresh ceviche and hot, sticky bar-b-que. I want pink, crisp rose wine and Mexican beer spiked with lime. . .and I want all of it all outside under the glowing sun! I want it to be summer.

I realize, of course, that I am out of luck here in blustery New York City, at least for two or three more months. What I also know, and believe like a religion, is that food can transport you. Fresh, seasonal ingredients are the first and most important step to making a truly great dish, and I am not proposing that anyone start grilling up corn on the cob and eating tomatoes simply sliced in the middle of January. Ewww. However, there are a few things you can cook up on these endless winter nights, with ingredients that don’t take too much of a winter beating, that can help you ride it out. It won’t be quite the same as slicing a warm tomato just brought in from my dad’s garden to eat with BBQ ribs cooked all day outside on the grill followed by fresh peach crisp, but it might just help you see the light at the end of the snow storm.

Ian’s Frozen Tequila Sunrise

Ian and I constantly have at least five bottles of amazing tequila in our apartment. Now that may sound a little suspicious, but it is because we are fortunate enough to be able to get it from the source. Ian’s mom, a native of Mexico, travels to see her family in Mexico City about once a year, and in her infinite kindness makes sure to bring home to us plenty of liquid souvenirs! While this drink is a simple twist on a classic, that little twist turns an ordinary bar cocktail into a summery treat.

For 1 Drink

1.5 oz Silver (Blanco or Plata) or Reposado Tequila (if it’s not 100% agave it’s not tequila if you ask me)

3 oz Fresh Orange Juice (or as fresh and you can get)

1 oz Grenadine

Lots of Ice

Fill a blender with ice and pour in the tequila and orange juice. Blend until frozen drink consistency and pour into a pint glass (or a hurricane glass if you happen to have them). Float the grenadine on top. To do this, pour the grenadine over the back of a spoon held over the drink. You can also gently push the spoon down the sides of the glass to aid the grenadine in dripping down the edges. Garnish with an orange slice, cherries, an umbrella, etc.

American Tacos

I grew up on my mom’s tasty tacos made ‘70’s ethnic food style with powdered taco meat seasoning, hard fried corn tortilla shells, jarred salsa, sour cream, onions, tomatoes, etc. etc. etc. - lots of toppings. I’ve had real taco stand tacos in Mexico. They are glorious in their absolute simplicity; just two extraordinarily thin, warm soft corn tortillas (like none you’ve ever eaten) with flavorful meat inside (barbaquo, carnitas, chicken). They are adorned simply per your taste with pico de gallo, fresh cilantro, or salsa verde and other salsas depending on the place, sparingly. This version falls somewhere in between and while not as good as those in Mexico, much more tasty and “authentic” feeling than the topping laden monstrosities sold by many “Mexican” restaurants in the States.

1 lb Ground Beef, chicken (diced small), or lean pork (diced small)

3 T Chili powder

2 T Ground cumin

Neutral oil such as Canola, Vegetable, Corn

1/4 c Fresh Cilantro picked from stems but not chopped

4 Scallions (green onions) chopped in ½ inch pieces

2 Limes cut in 6 wedges each

2/3 cup Chopped tomatoes (best you can find), squeeze out most of the liquid as you chop

12 Corn tortillas

Sprinkle the meat with all of the chili powder and cumin and season with salt and a little black pepper. Brown the meat in a neutral oil (canola, corn, vegetable). In a small, dry (no oil) pan on medium heat warm and very slightly brown the tortillas one at a time on both sides (they will stay soft). As each tortilla is done, keep them warm on a warm plate and cover with a clean kitchen towel. After the tortillas are all warmed and slightly brown, pour 1 teaspoon of neutral oil in the pan and turn the heat to high. Quickly sauté the green onions. You are not cooking them all the way through. They should retain their crunch, but get a little caramelization on the outside.

To build the tacos, fill a corn tortilla with 2 T of meat, 1 T tomatoes, a few pieces of onion, and 1 T cilantro. Squeeze one wedge of lime over all the ingredients. These tacos are best if they are not overfilled, so you can taste the corn in the tortilla, not just the fillings.

Tips from Culinary School: Tip #1 Duck Breast for Chickens

2008-02-12T14:08:00.000-05:00

Culinary school has been an amazingly enlightening experience. I have learned so much about ingredients, technique, organization, and flavor balance. Much of it has been ingrained after many weeks of practice and refinement. There are a few tidbits, however, epiphanies even, that are quick to learn and indispensable once you know them. The first trick of the culinary trade I want to share with you is how to perfectly cook duck breast.

Duck is scary. Even the most accomplished home cooks, who don’t bat an eye at the thought of roasting whole turkeys, searing tuna, or grilling swordfish, quake at the thought of the duck breast. Duck can so easily become both greasy and dry with its rich but lean flesh and thick fatty layer of skin. What you need is some way to melt this fatty layer, keeping just enough to be crispy and tasty while keeping the flesh moist. Here’s how it’s done.

Season a boneless (but skin on) breast of duck liberally with salt and pepper. Place it skin side down in a cold, dry, heavy-bottomed sauté pan. This means the pan should not be a non-stick pan. The pan should have no oil or butter or Pam spray or anything of the sort in it. The pan should be “sitting on your counter” cold. Put the pan with the duck in it over a low flame and do nearly nothing for 15-20 minutes. Do not move the breast. Do not flip it over. Every once in a while, pour out the fat that accumulates in the pan (tip the pan while holding the breast in place so it doesn’t fall out). After about 15-20 minutes, you will start to see the flesh facing upwards change in appearance (it becomes redder, almost leathery and more convex). The skin will be nice deep brown on the bottom. When these two things happen and you can no longer see a line of white between the brown skin and the flesh, turn the duck breast over, very briefly searing out the rawness of the flesh side. It should be on the flesh for only about 45 seconds, just becoming grayish-red. Feel free to pick up the breast and hold with a pair of tongs to evenly sear this flesh, getting the rounded parts. Let the breast rest on a rack with the skin side down for about five minutes to redistribute the juices. Put the breast skin side down on a cutting board and slice with a sharp knife (with the skin side down it will make it easier to keep the crispy skin in tact and on the pieces of duck). Enjoy with any number of sauces, on a salad, on sandwiches, etc.

Perfecting vs Inventing

2008-02-06T14:05:00.001-05:00

If something is worth doing. . .well some people would say it’s worth doing in the newest, most ingenious way you can think of doing it. Why make meatloaf when you can curried ostrich meatloaf? Who needs regular old lasagna when you can make foie gras and morel lasagna with balsamic gastrique? Why? Because meatloaf and lasagna are delicious in their “natural” state. Period.

I’m not saying that cooks, whether they are professional chefs or home cooks, shouldn’t be creative. Of course they should, that’s what is amazing about food, there is an infinite number of ways to cook it, pair up flavors, and play with textures. Take a lovely piece of halibut and try to come up with the most exciting way to cook it and try to think of the most brilliant thing to serve it with and voila you are a genius, if only for the length of the meal. However, some things need to not be about innovation but about perfection. Instead of wracking your brain to reinvent the cheeseburger, wrack your brain, experiment, and find the absolute best way to make a cheeseburger. Try different grinds of beef, more fat, less fat. Try mixing the salt and pepper in the meat, try forming the patties and only salting the outside. Toast the bun, don’t toast the bun. Believe me, it will not be boring, there is something wholly satisfying about making something simple and traditional the very best way you can imagine making it. You will be surprised how much the people who eat it respect it as well. While a clever new concoction of halibut, ramps, and shitake mushrooms might be gobbled up with gusto at a dinner party, people will gush, tell tales, and beg for the recipe for the perfect chili. They will then pass that recipe down to their children and their grandchildren, probably somewhere along the way claim it is theirs. . .but oh well, it’s that perfect chili that matters, isn’t it.

And so here is the perfect chili. Feel free to take it as your own. Serve it at your next Super Bowl party, make it every chilly Sunday throughout the winter. Pack up the leftovers, freeze them and reheat them on a bright winter afternoon after you come in from ice skating. But whatever you do, please, for the love of food, don’t reenvision it in the style of Thailand, or add tofu, fava beans, or anything else of that ilk. All you have to do is make this one.

Chili

1 lb ground sirloin

1 medium yellow onion, chopped medium fine

1 large (28oz) can Tomato Sauce

1 small (14.5oz) can Chopped Tomatoes

1 small can (15oz) pinto beans

3 T neutral oil

3 T all-purpose flour

1/2 c ground cumin (may seem excessive, but it is the secret)

1/4 c chili powder

3 T fresh ground black pepper

1 small red onion, finely chopped for garnish

2 c shredded cheddar or Colby-jack cheese

Salt

In a large stock pot or Dutch oven, sweat the chopped yellow onion, salted lightly in the oil on medium low heat until slightly soft but not brown. Season the ground beef with salt and 1 tablespoon of both the cumin and the chili powder. Add the ground meat to the onions, turn up the heat to high and brown the ground beef. Do not drain the fat and juices released by the ground beef. Sprinkle the flour evenly onto the cooked meat and cook for 1 minute stirring constantly. Add the tomato sauce, chopped tomato, and drained but not rinsed beans. Stir to combine, make sure to get the solids at the bottom of the pot. Add all of the cumin and chili powder and black pepper. Stir to combine. Bring the chili to a boil and then reduce to a simmer and cook uncovered for 30 minutes to 2 hrs, stirring occasionally. The longer it cooks the better it will be. Serve the chili topped with shredded cheese and finely chopped red onion. The chili is also delicious served over pasta (chili-mac) or over corn pancakes (corn bread batter with a tablespoon of vegetable oil added to thin, cooked on a griddle or in a pan like regular pancakes). Leftovers store wonderfully in the fridge for a few days and in the freezer for a few months.

An Affair to Remember

2008-01-22T16:31:00.000-05:00

When Ian and I starting dating, his friends definitely fit the starving artist profile. They had all just finished or were finishing their film degrees at NYU. They lived in postage stamp sized studio apartments or 3-bedrooms with 6 roommates on avenues with letters. Socially, I was thrust into a world of intense discussions of steady-cams, jump-cuts, and Sidney Lumet over Brooklyn Lager and the occasional reasonably priced Shiraz. This was not a world entirely unknown to me, although the subject of film certainly was. I came from the world of theatre, and it was pretty much the same drill, except the Brooklyn Lager and reasonably priced Shiraz was served over heated discussions of Brecht’s Alienation Theory and the modern validity of Method Acting. Food was never exactly top priority at these gatherings. Our nourishment mostly consisted of late night slices and burgers and mushroom burgers from the now oh so sadly defunked 7A restaurant in the East Village.

So, when Ian and his old friend Gina concocted a plan to have a dinner party recently, reuniting the scattered old gang, with Gina and myself at the food helm, I have to admit I was trepidatious. Would these brilliant film minds want to turn their thoughts towards food long enough to praise me the appropriate amount to support my moderately fragile food ego? Would they go all artsily and/or fartsily veggie or macrobiotic causing me to reevaluate my entire menu?

Oh me of little faith. We really have all grown up. It was a bit shocking really. Gina and Ian’s invite asked everyone to bring two bottles of wine. The three of us assumed many would flake or bring the undrinkable. Lo and behold, every single attendee came dutifully with two delightful bottles in hand. My hors d’oeuvres set out to start the night were not only gobbled up happily, but interest was paid to them; wondering what was in them, commenting on their general yumminess, etc. The rest of the evening followed pat.

I suppose we’ve all been out in the world for some time now. Sitting in that room, a heated debate on the final scene of There Will Be Blood to my right, a discussion on the relevance of the Sundance Film Fest to the real independent filmmaker to my left, and me deep in a ponderance of local vs. organic food with one of Ian’s former A.D.s, I realized that growing up does not mean you lose your passion. What growing up means is that you share your passion with people outside of your little world and want to know about people’s passions outside of your own.

Goat Cheese Stuffed Mushrooms

10-12 large button mushrooms

1 small (approx. 4 oz) package of plain young goat cheese

1/4 cup plus 2 T dried plain bread crumbs

1/4 t fresh thyme finely chopped

4-5 sun dried tomatoes packed in oil, drained and finely chopped

3 slices of bacon chopped in ¼ inch pieces raw and sautéed to crispy –or- ½ lb sweet Italian sausage browned and drained

Olive Oil

Salt and Pepper

Clean the mushrooms and fully remove the stems (a melon baler is helpful). Remove the dry end of the stem and finely chop the rest of the stem and set aside. Place the mushroom caps, stem side up on a baking sheet, drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Bake until just tender about 7-10 minutes. When they have cooled slightly, pour out all of the liquid that formed while baking. In a bowl mix the mushrooms stems, bread crumbs, thyme, sun dried tomatoes, and cooled sausage or bacon. With your hands, break up the goat cheese into the mixture and mix all completely (hands are the best way to do this). Taste and season the mixture with salt and pepper. Stuff the mushroom with the mixture, mounding it up as much as you can. Sprinkle the stuffed mushrooms with additional bread crumbs and drizzle with olive oil. Bake at 350 for 10 minutes or until just golden brown and warmed through.

Welcome to the Family

2008-01-07T10:23:00.000-05:00

This year for Christmas families collided. There was nervous trepidation, frantic preparation, nail-biting anticipation, and finally, perfect assimilation. No, we did not have a worldwide Stamm Family Reunion (shudder). There were no sudden marriages to members of feuding families. As a matter of fact, it was just me, Mom, Pop, Liesl (little sis), and Ian (boyfriend). There was an outsider, however. . .a leg of lamb.

Ian and I have been quite the holiday jet setters since our inception as a couple. We have spent holidays in West Palm Beach, Asheville, North Carolina, good old Brooklyn, and even Mexico (ah Christmas in Mexico, hands down the BEST trip I have ever taken, details for another time, another blog entry). Strangely, we have not been able to head back to my roots, Kenosha, Wisconsin (a medium size “suburb” of Chicago right over the Wisconsin/Illinois border) for a holiday since we’ve been together.

My family is big on tradition. Mom and Pop sill decorate our Christmas tree not with fashionable color coordinated tinkling ornaments, but with cardboard evergreens pasted with cheerios painted red and yellow (Liesl and my handiwork from many moons ago), psychedelic colored wooden ornaments my parents painted on their first Christmas married, and, well, you get the sentimental picture. We have “normal” traditions like watching A Christmas Story on Christmas Eve, and not so normal ones, like giving blood at the local blood center Christmas Eve day. What we don’t have is a specific food tradition on Christmas Day. So, this year, I decided to take a cue from Ian’s family and make the famous Ogden Family Leg of Lamb.

Drama #1: Ordering the Meat

In New York City, in large part, we live like Europeans - food shopping wise. We don’t have the space for expansive grocery Mega-marts. So, instead we have small grocery stores that have staples (but are not necessarily known for their meat, produce or fish), outdoor green markets, small butcher shops, fish mongers, cheese shops, candy stores, and the like. It’s all very continental. However in Kenosha, Wisconsin they have the Mega-most of mega-groceries stores, Woodman’s. . .and that’s where you get everything. And in their football field upon football field expanse, it does seem like the really do have everything. However, if you want a specific kind of large cut of meat, you generally have to call ahead to get the exact cut and size you want. I put this mighty task in Mom’s hands. Let’s just say she was bamboozled. The probably well-meaning grocer she spoke to decided that she needed a partially-boneless leg of lamb, not an actual whole bone-in leg. Well, that’s just plain blasphemy to any chef. Why would I EVER want to get rid of a perfectly wonderful flavor packed bone for holly’s sake? And even if I did want to take a bone out of something, by Scrooge, I can do that my self, thank you very much.

Luckily, I caught wind of the folly before it was too late, made a call myself, and gave that grocer what for. Well, actually, I just calmly told him we wanted the full bone-in leg and he said sure, no “what for” was really necessary.

Drama #2 Will there be enough?

Now, judging the amount of lamb for the traditional Ogden Family Leg of Lamb is quite similar to judging the amount of turkey you need for Thanksgiving. The actual amount you calculate is needed to eat at the big holiday meal is really only about 30% of the meat you actually need to order. For, of course, there are sandwiches. Lamb sandwiches made late Christmas night, the next day, the next, and so forth, hopefully, can arguably overshadow the big meal itself. There is a specific way to make them, and they are sublime. You must cook chunks of lamb in a sauté pan in butter until they are heated through with a little color on the outside. Pile these warm scrumptious pieces on whole grain sandwich bread with mayo and raw sliced red onion. Enjoy easily one of the best sandwiches you will ever have.

Drama #3 Will it, could it, ever really be as good as grandma’s/mom’s?

I’m sure Jacques Pepin and Thomas Keller don’t cook as well as their mothers and certainly not as well and their grandmothers. Maybe that’s not entirely true, but I’m positive there is at least one dish passed down through the generations that try as they might they just can’t quite do as well as their maternal linage. My grandma’s ace in the hole is pork roast and gravy, and my mom’s cheese pie is impossible to replicate. So, could I hope, even with years of culinary curiosity and my recent culinary training, I could even come close to those hallowed legs of the Ogden family’s past?

Well, it was delicious. The lamb was succulent and the potatoes that cook along with the roast were lusciously rich. All in all, it was a success. My family was all compliments, as was Ian. I have a sneaking suspicion though, knowing what I know, what I’ve come to terms with, it was not quite as good as the Ogden women’s. I’m o.k. with that. I have to be. . .

Ogden Family Leg of Lamb

Whole leg of lamb

Fresh Garlic, chopped fine (as much as you can stand, don’t be shy)

Dried Rosemary (fresh really doesn’t work)

Paprika

Small, waxy potatoes, such as Red Bliss, peeled and cut in quarters or thirds

Olive oil (not extra virgin) or Neutral oil (canola, etc.)

Preheat the oven to 325

Rub the lamb with oil. Rub the lamb with lots of garlic, a sparing amount of rosemary, plenty of salt and pepper (make sure to salt it well, it is a big piece of meat), and dust with paprika. Place lamb fat side up in a roasting pan (without a rack) and cover the pan with foil. Roast the lamb for about 30 minutes per pound until thermometer inserted in the meatiest part of the leg reaches 165.

While roasting, parboil the potatoes until they are about ¾ of the way done (remember always start potatoes in cold water and just add a little salt to the water-the salt can break down the potato). Drain the potatoes and set aside to fully dry. In the last hour of cooking the lamb add the potatoes to the bottom of the pan, rolling around in all the juices. Also, at this time, take the foil off the roasting pan. Every 15 minutes in this last hour turn the potatoes so each side gets covered in the juices. For the last 30 minutes of cooking, if the lamb is not sufficiently browned, turn the oven up to 400 to brown the meat. When the lamb reaches 165 and the potatoes are tender, take the roasting pan out of the oven. Take the lamb out of the pan to rest 15-30 minutes before carving (leave the potatoes in the pan and cover with foil to keep them warm). Carve in the lamb in big chunks, not slices.

I haven't died

2007-12-21T11:08:00.001-05:00

As you may have noticed, I am on a bit of a hiatus for the holidays. . .I promise more exciting food talk soon. Stay tuned!

Art for art's sake? Food for food's sake.

2007-12-12T09:46:00.000-05:00

I’d like to get a little theoretical for a moment. I know, thus far, my posts have been light and recipe centered, focused on specific foods and how they immerge from my life. I do hope, however, that you’ve been able to pick up on my dirty little secret. While my tales are actual occurrences from my life as a not-as-young-as-most-of-my–classmates, culinary student living and loving in New York City, they are really about how I think food and life intertwine.

I read something disturbing on Saturday in a book by one of my, dare I say, idols in the culinary-lit world. Michael Ruhlman on page 13 of The Soul of a Chef says, “Poetry is an art form. Cooking is a craft. (Oh, I know how the foodie blowhards – and even a lot of chefs – love to talk about food as art! But I’m sorry, noodles spun into towers and designs on plates with different-colored sauces do not equal art, so don’t talk to me about food as art or chefs as artistes.)”

Well, certainly Mr. Ruhlman is correct, in a way. Plating is not art. It can be a pretty and a sometimes ingenious craft. Anyone who has ever eaten at Grant Achatz’s Alinea (or at his last gig Trio) can confirm that. If you don’t believe me, check out this wackiness: http://www.alinea-restaurant.com/pages/gallery/gallery_cuis.html

Art is not simply arranging things - paint, bits of clay, musical notes, or food - in a pattern pleasing to the eye. Art is how the arrangement and how the items themselves inspire thought, feeling, and even action. How do you like that all you art scholars worldwide?! I figured it out for you! While this may be a facile statement on the oh so complex subject of art, I think there’s something to it for our discussion here. The artistry of cooking, food, chefs, and grandma in her kitchen is not what the food is or even how it tastes, but what it can do to you. What could be more truly artistic than making something that with one glance, one whiff, one tiny taste can send your mind rushing back to October 28, 1984 when you in your red corduroy jumper walked hand-in-hand with your mom along delightfully muddy paths of the Apple Holler orchard in Bristol, Wisconsin. . .your hands sticky with the honeyed-tartness of Macintosh and Red Delicious picked, tasted, and bushelled? I’ve had an apple pie that could do that. What could in one eye and heart opening meal of impossibly pillowy gnocchi and decadently rich and tender osso bucco make you plan a week long trip that leads to a month sojourn, which leads to a new life in a new home with a new purpose? I’ve had a meal, which has made me come close to that, oh so close.

Chefs as artists: clearly not all of them are. Most cooks and chefs would never claim to be artists and would never want to be called such a dirty name. Some believe themselves to be, but really for all the time they spend arranging and all the time they don’t spend thinking, feeling, and remembering, they are really just painting Elvises on velvet. Maybe there aren’t even any chefs that are artists all the time, but there are certainly meals and dishes that are works of art. Some dishes can transport us not just to another place and time in our own past, but allow us to see a future we couldn’t fathom before we sat down at the table. If that’s not art, I sure as heck don’t know what is.

Oatmeal Wonderland

2007-12-07T14:02:00.000-05:00

Baby it’s cold outside. . .New York City is all a flutter with winter pleasures and winter pains. Sure, Central Park (and Prospect Park, it’s younger, some say more intelligent sister) was breathtaking and glistening for approximately 6 hours after that first snow fall. Fifth Avenue is ablaze with giant star-shaped light installations and red velvet bedecked wreaths. It’s also a jumble of holiday shoppers, tourists craning their necks, angry cabbies with scores to settle, and well, general chaos. It seems a festive idea to bundle up in your puffer coat and scarf and shop till you drop, accomplishing all of your holiday shopping in one successful day. At least that was my plan last Saturday. Somehow it didn’t quite work out that way.

I woke up bright and early Saturday morning with visions of shopping bags and crossed off holiday lists dancing in my head. Industriously, I made coffee and jumped in the shower. I immerged to find we were sadly out of milk. Now, I am a New Yorker, I must have my coffee light. So I quickly grabbed my coat to trot down to our local deli to pick up a gallon. Wowza McGowza, it was frigid out there. Colder than body parts of witches that will remain nameless.

After sprinting home with my milk, I sat warming myself with my coffee, cuddled in an afghan, desperately trying to summon the courage to go forth on my mission of commerce. Just as I was about to leap up, grab my purse, head for the door and not look back, Ian (my boyfriend) awoke, yawning and asking, “What’s for breakfast?” Hmmm, interesting, breakfast. “Can you make oatmeal?” he poked. Indignantly I replied, “Of course I can, I’m in culinary school for goodness sake. Just sit down, I’ll hook you up.”

Of course all of the bravado was to hide the fact that, truthfully, I couldn’t recall ever having actually made oatmeal. I have always been a cream of wheat girl myself. But to keep up my rouse, I would have to make, pretty much, the best oatmeal ever made. With only what was rattling around in my fairly barren kitchen, I pounded it out. If I have to say so myself (although, actually Ian said so as well, and the cat sniffed happily at it too) it certainly turned out to be pretty scrumptious.

Now, I’m sure you’re thinking, “Wow, how productive she is, making a warm and tasty breakfast to fortify her on her valiant journey through the crowded New York City tundra to single-handedly finish all her holiday shopping in a single bound!” I must admit. I never went shopping. While certainly the oatmeal had warming, sticking to your ribs qualities, somehow after my steaming bowl on the couch with Ian, a nap and a pay-per-view movie seemed more in order than elbowing tourists to get at the last periwinkle cashmere scarf marked down to $29.54 at Century 21.

Maybe this weekend. . .although we do have some overripe bananas on the counter, they may do well in a little oatmeal themselves. . .perhaps a little maple syrup. . .

Oatmeal Indulgence

Serves 2

2 cups whole milk

1 ¼ cups Old Fashioned Oats

Pinch of Salt (VERY IMPORTANT, salt brings out the sweetness, don’t skip, one pinch of salt won’t kill you)

1 cup dark brown sugar

1 Granny Smith apple (or other tart, firm apple) pealed and cut in a small dice (cubes)

½ c pecans, chopped

1 t cinnamon

½ t nutmeg

½ T vanilla extract (real, imitation is a waste of money)

Combine milk, salt, and oats. Bring mixture to a boil and reduce to a low simmer. When simmering stir in cinnamon and nutmeg. Simmer stirring constantly about 5 minutes until thick and creamy. When the proper consistency, add the vanilla and ¼ cup of the brown sugar and stir to incorporate and dissolve the sugar. Pour the oatmeal into warm bowls and top with the chopped apple, pecans, and the rest of the brown sugar (split between the two bowls). Do not stir in the apples, pecans, and sugar. It’s more fun to do so as you’re eating!

I have been remiss

2007-12-06T22:06:00.000-05:00

After 10,873 requests, I have decided to include the recipe for the Chicken and Dumplings. Please understand, I am risking disownment. How will Pop and Mom in Pleasant Prairie, grandma from Kentuky, Liesl in Minneapolis and that 1950's T.V. chef react to my blatent commercialization of my proud heritage? But as a wise man once said; don't worry about the mule going blind, just load the wagon. So here we go. . .

Chicken and Dumplings

Makes 4 servings (truthfully we usually double the recipe, just for kicks)

1 chicken cut in pieces

Chicken stock to cover chicken while cooking by 1/2 inch

4-5 stalks of celery trimmed and cut in half

1 ½ cup flour

½ tsp salt

½ tsp baking powder

¼ cup shortening

1 egg slightly beaten in a measuring cup

¼ cup milk approximately

Salt and Pepper

In a dutch oven or small stock pot, put chicken and celery in cold stock (don't heat stock before you put in chicken). Season with a little salt and pepper (not too much, stock will reduce a bit when cooking). Bring to a boil and lower to a simmer. Simmer until chicken is done, about 1 hour. Take chicken and celery out of the pot. You can either keep the chicken warm and serve along side the chicken and dumplings (Pop and grandma style) or remove the meat from the chicken and mix into the dumplings just before serving. Celery, some people love to eat it, some people hate it, your choice.

For the dumplings: mix the dry ingredients. Cut in shortening until lumps are pea sized. Break egg into measuring cup and beat slightly. Fill cup with egg inside with milk until it reaches ½ cup. Mix milk and egg mixture gradually into the flour mixture until a soft dough is formed. Turn onto a floured board and knead 20 times, working flour into the dough until it is pliable, not gooey but not too stiff. Roll as thin as possible using flour extremely liberally (it makes a thickening for the broth.) Grandma says that you should be able to see the table through the rolled dumplings.

Cut into strips about 1 ½ inch wide and 2 inch long. Bring liquid back to a rolling boil. Drop into the boiling chicken stock individually, stirring constantly. When all of the dumplings are in, reduce the heat and simmer for 20 minutes. Stir occasionally to make sure dumplings don't stick.

Serve. Enjoy. Make a tradition.

Home Schooled

2007-12-06T13:48:00.000-05:00

I grew up in a culinary world of comfort. I come from Midwestern parents who are also from Midwestern parents (with a branch of the tree reaching a bit into the South). We ate, and still eat; pork roast, corn on the cob, meatloaf, mashed potatoes (from the box), and most importantly Chicken and Dumplings.

Chicken and Dumplings (rightfully pronounced Chicken 'n Dumplins) is my family’s food equivalent of a family heirloom. It is our go to dish for any out-of-town guests we want to impress, everyone’s favorite birthday dinner, and the menu every year on the last Sunday of the summer before we trudged back to school. It even has a legend that goes along with it, told over and over every time they are served, morphing each time to fit the teller’s fancy.

Sometime, round about 1956, my father, as a boy of 7 sat in his family’s living room gazing at the black and white, wood encased T.V. set. His mother was busy in the kitchen readying the evening meal. Suddenly a howl came from the living room.

“Mom, mom, hurry, come here. . .” As she rushed to the living room, carrot and peeler still in hand, fearing the worst, little Gary continued, “. . . and bring something to write on!!”

On the screen a TV chef (well, they weren’t exactly called that then) was putting chicken in a pot, cutting celery, and rolling dough into thin dumplings. My pop sat enthralled and drooling (newest embellishment to the story by my sister, a nice visual touch, possibly added to embarrass my father). And so the famed Chicken and Dumplings came into my family, changing us and making us all fuller and happier people.

Currently in culinary school, I am in the level in which we cover aspects of catering, and generally cooking for large groups. So, each night, we prepare a meal for the entire staff of the school and the restaurant. In addition, once a week, we prepare a formal buffet for the staff. As scheduling would have it, with the holiday season, those of us in the group of students in charge of the formal buffet were left with an extra day. We had just presented our buffet the class before and weren’t scheduled to move on to our next area until the class to follow. Our very French chef suggested we each think of a dish, something that can be made with fairly readily available ingredients, make it and add it to the “family meal” for the day.

Well, of course what else could I possibly choose, but “The One” the fabled and famous Chicken and Dumplings.

Chef was skeptical. He kept looking at my pot containing only chicken, stock, and celery, "You want to put some carrot, onion. . .bouquet garni inside, yes?" he proposed. My response a solid "No."

As it bubbled away, he passed by and said, slightly baffled, "hmmmm, smells good.” While at my cauldron sized pot with my huge sheet pan of cut dumplings, dropping and stirring, he pushed "So what you do with rest” After several back and forths trying to decipher his “Franglish”, I discovered he meant the dumplings. He doubted that such a large number should go into the amount of broth. My response, "Chef, it's Chicken and Dumplings, not soup, just wait, you'll see."

And see he certainly did. The moment of truth, my vast hotel pan (a large rectangle pan often used on a steam table) of Chicken and Dumplings went down, no parsley sprigs, no pretty piles towering, nothing but the chicken and the dumplings swimming in their thick and lusciously simple gravy. My chef was the first in line to taste it. After the first bite, he exclaimed, "Wow this isss goood! Iss very goood for a nice cold day by the fire. Very nice. Grandmas always know the best way, yes?!" I laughed secretly, while my grandmother does magically make them the best, she would never be so bold as to claim they were anyone but my father’s and the T.V. chef’s invention.

Chef proceeded to eat three plates himself, badger every chef and most of the students who came through the line to try it, "Issss good!", and package up a quart container of the extra to take home.

So, last week in culinary school we made seckel pears poached in Poire Williams, stuffed with bleu cheese with a spiced red wine reduction sauce. The week before that I butchered an entire leg of veal. Yesterday, I showed an exalted, experienced French chef the simple ecstasy of Chicken and Dumplings. Culinary school is really a kick. . .