Nosh: Roasted Brussels Sprouts

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I used to hate Brussels sprouts.

I mean, haaaaaaate, you know.  They looked like little cabbages (mainly because they are), and when I was seven, cabbage was the noxious side dish of the devil.  I have friends well into their adulthood who still feel the same way (and you know who you are).  But for me, one day?  Wham!  It was like someone flipped a switch, and I loved them with an unrepentant fervor that continues to this day.  I can’t explain it.  It’s just what happened.

So imagine my delight one day at the Wednesday market (Lewisburgians, represent) when I encountered a bag of Brussels sprouts roughly the size of a tricycle.  For $4.  Must have must own must have must own.

Must roast.  With soy sauce and pungent, nutty caraway seeds.  Yes, way.

Many, many times in the (relatively recent) past I’ve discussed the benefits of roasting vegetables.  It deepens their flavors.  It brings out their inherent sweetness.  It makes them nutty.  And it’s easy to keep an eye on roasting sprouts and not let them overcook, since overcooking to mushiness is the enemy of joyful sprout eating.  That’s when sprouts get that nasty, bitter, cabbage smell.  Can roasting be any more awesome?  I think not, friends.  I think not.  The great thing about a recipe like this is that it’s totally easy-peasy and dictated by your tastes, so once you learn how to roast Brussels sprouts you can substitute a world of flavors, like garlic or ginger or orange zest.  Just keep the soy sauce.  I’d say that’s mandatory.  Here’s what you need:

  • About a pound of Brussels sprouts (yes, we bought a giant bag, but we cooked them in batches)
  • A teaspoon of soy sauce and/or to taste
  • Fresh-ground pepper to taste
  • About a palmful (maybe a tablespoon) of caraway seeds
  • Oil for coating and roasting

Preheat your oven to 400°F.

Clean and trim your sprouts.  Strip off the gnarly outer leaves, cut off the hard end sticking out of the core, and cut the sprouts in half.  Toss with oil, soy sauce, and pepper.  Since soy sauce is inherently salty, you really don’t need actual salt-salt, unless you have no blood pressure and need something to keep the blood pumping through your veins.

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It’s so simple it sounds crazy, but really, it works.

And then?  Into the oven for about 20-25 minutes.

Coat with the soy sauce to your liking.  Just mind the salt!

Coat with the soy sauce to your liking. Just mind the salt!

Let that start cooking along in your nice, hot oven, and after about twenty minutes pull the sprouts, give them a stir and then toss them with caraway seeds.  How much should you use?

About this much.

About this much.

It was about a tablespoon’s worth of seeds; I know that may be difficult to judge considering I have delicate, petite lady-hands.

Actually, I don’t.  Look at those things!  They’re built to dig potatoes out of the ground.  But I digress, and it’s about a tablespoon’s worth of caraway.  Sprinkle the seeds on the Brussels sprouts, give it all a stir and toss ‘em back in the oven.

Only twenty minutes 'til perfect.

Only twenty minutes ’til perfect.

Notice how they’re already picking up a nice char from the higher heat?  Roasting at 350° provides a nice, even roast, but once you start to crank it up it does super-fun crispy charred things to your veggies, which you want even if you don’t know it yet.  I’m here to help you, people.  You have to trust.

Twenty-ish minutes later, your sprouts will be done to crispy, cooked-through-but-not-overcooked awesomeness.

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It’s crispy and crunchy and nutty and umami. Wins all around!

The soy sauce provides a deep sort of umami flavor that we generally associate with greens and get from sources like bacon, so this dish is a succulent green that is totally vegan, and you can make this as a side dish for just about anything.  Don’t worry, the soy won’t relegate the sprouts to Asian cuisine any more than adding garlic would make it strictly Italian.  It just makes them deeply savory and delicious.

Did I mention this dish was easy?

Did I mention that I served the sprouts with butternut squash risotto?

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That is one colorful meal.

Nutritionists say you should eat the rainbow to get a full complement of nutrients.  A meal like this?  Is a great way to start.

How do you like your Brussels sprouts? (And Shelby, saying “on fire in a corner while I eat chocolate” is not an appropriate answer.)

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The Abercrombie & Fitch Guy

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In case you haven’t heard because you have no TV, or no newsfeed to your smartphones, or you only ever log in to the interwebs in order to read my blog (thank you for that, BTW), Mike Jeffries, the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch, is an asshole.

He’s apparently a really difficult diva-asshole, too, with a rigidly proscribed concept of beauty.  He requires his employees to be amongst The Beautiful People, and only ever markets his line or sells to The Beautiful People.  He admits his clothing line is exclusionary and he won’t stock women’s clothes in sizes larger than L/10.  And people are now in a fine lather about this, going so far as to start a change.org petition that reads:

Mr. Jeffries owes young people an apology, because contrary to what he may believe, whether you can fit into Abercrombie or not, you are beautiful. It’s time Abercrombie & Fitch to embrace that beauty! Please join me in this fight by adding your name to this petition and asking Abercrombie and Fitch to embrace the beauty in all sizes by offering XL and XXL sizes for women and men!

In other words, they’re trying to demand that he not be an asshole.

But he is.

And he’s been one for 67 years.

I don’t think change.org is going to stop that.

As someone who has struggled with body and image issues (because really, who hasn’t?) during the course of my life, I get that what he said is inherently offensive, and not just to the person who might be larger than an L/10.  It should be offensive to anyone who loves someone whose body falls into such an excluded zone, someone with empathy who hates to see another person made to senselessly feel negative about him or herself, or someone who hates that dicks like him make $47 million a year while hanging out in the Mean Boys Club.

I get that what he said is hurtful, especially to the insecure, body-conscious teenager/young adult who might not have much of a sense of self-esteem and is just trying to fit in to the predatory world that is high school.  And college, that can be tough too.

I get that there’s this really fucked-up value system that he’s promoting.  Proudly, happily.  Where the label on the back of your jeans helps legitimize your worth as a person.  Though to be fair, he’s only capitalizing on this system.  He didn’t invent it.

I wish I could feel more shock and horror over this, but I don’t.  I feel like I’ve always known this about this store.  I mean, the Salon article that he’s originally quoted in is from way back in 2006, so I don’t know what thrust it into the limelight now.  But even without the article, their stores emanate waves of exclusion.  Just like every other store that’s a self-designated status symbol.  Try walking around a Gucci store when you look like a working class kid from New Jersey; my bet is security will follow you around until you walk out the door.  (Trust me on this one.)  So again, what he’s saying or doing isn’t new.

Do I hate what he said?  Yes.  But I almost want to thank him for being honest.  At least you know who and what you’re dealing with.

Do I think a petition and self-righteous public outrage are going to change anything?  No.

The only thing that will change things is if people DON’T FUCKING SHOP THERE.

If you’re one of the anointed and can shop in A&F, but you have a friend or loved one who can’t, then stand in solidarity.  Feel free to send that card or email to their corporate offices to let them know why you’ll never shop there again.  But the important thing to do is vote with your wallet, not pointlessly froth about your outrage.  That’s sound and fury signifying nothing.  Do you think he’ll care if people complain on the internet about how he’s mean and hurt their feelings?  Not even a little.  But if sales drop and there’s evidence that he’s the reason?

That’ll get some attention.

If you decide that the logo on your shirt is more important than your BFF/sister/brother/neighbor/kid, then Mike Jeffries isn’t the problem, it’s you, and you need to figure out why you’re such a pretentious status whore.

Understanding that could do you a world of good, really.  And it would be good for the world.

So if you’re serious about putting the hate on A&F, then hit them in their accounting books.  Direct your money elsewhere.  There are plenty of other places that will happily sell you free-spirited, spending-the-day-on-a-boat-with-my-besties clothing.  To someone like Mike Jeffries, the only voices that matter are the ones coming out of your credit cards. Silence those voices, and then let’s see what happens.

Meanwhile, At the Restaurant: How to Get the Bartender’s Attention

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Having spent an unreasonable amount of time in food service, in several different states in the US, I generally think that I’ve seen most of what can be seen (though I do realize that claiming I’ve seen it all does a grave disservice to “it all”.  But really, people.  I don’t need to know).  Despite the quasi-iconic public concept of the surly bartender who hides in the corner and has to be coaxed out like they’re a mouse and you’ve got a pocket full of cheese, most bartenders do want to offer their customers timely and friendly service in a welcoming atmosphere.  In a tips-based economy, it’s the smartest way to make money.  And in my time in restaurants and bars, I’ve encountered a vast and often confusing array of ways customers deem acceptable to get a bartender’s attention.  In the interest of public service and to help out my bar brethren across this great land, I give you the do’s and don’ts of:

Ta da!

Ta da!

THE DON’TS

The Tapper

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The Tapper thinks the most effective way to get his drink refilled is to tap his empty glass repeatedly on the bar as though he’s tapping out distress signals in Morse code.  Unless you’re warning me about icebergs dead ahead, this is an inappropriate way to communicate.  I can let you tap all day.  Plus, if you’re that anxious that you need to bang your glass on the bar until you get another drink, then you don’t need another drink, and I would recommend trying some yoga, or perhaps taking up meditation.

The Barker

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The Barker thinks that raising his voice above the din of a bar is a surefire way to entice a bartender over.  The Barker doesn’t seem to realize that he is the human equivalent of WRITING IN ALL CAPS and as quickly as I will delete the email written in that manner, so will I dismiss the person who behaves in this manner.  He may express himself in a way that seems callous (Hey, you!) or try to sound charming and/or endearing (Hey, honey, sugarplum, dollface!).  But no matter how you phrase it, he’s still the obnoxious drunk yelling at you from across the bar.  Avoid whenever possible.

The Whistler

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Very closely related to The Barker, The Whistler shares the sentiment that making loud noises to attract the bartender is effective.  The problem is, The Whistler chooses the same manner in which he calls his dog in for dinner.  The Whistler doesn’t always necessarily whistle, per se, but he will clear his throat repeatedly or make “Pssst!” sounds.  One memorable time, the owner of the bar I worked in was on duty when a customer tried to attract his attention by making that repeated “psst psst psst” sound you make while trying to convince a cat to come near you.  The owner turned around and, without missing a beat said, “You’d better have some Friskies in your pocket if you’re calling to me that way.”  At least that once, the errant customer grew momentarily embarrassed enough to stammer out an apology before asking for a refill.

The Grabber

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If I’m ever back behind the bar, do not–and I mean DO NOT–ever reach all the way across the bar and touch me.  I will wreck you.

And so we come to the end of my general guidelines for DON’T bar behavior.  This is by no means an exhaustive list, but it’s a good place to start.  Do note that the “DON’T” behaviors are generally demeaning and/or hostile and/or aggressive.  Use that as your measuring stick for what not to do, and you should be off to a good start.

THE DO’S

The Cash Presenter

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Most bartenders, you see, are fairly bright, and understand that being attentive to the people standing or sitting at the bar impacts their tips.  If someone stands at the bar with money in their hands, bartenders will generally investigate such an event because people don’t randomly walk around holding money.  In a bar, it’s a specific signal that means, “I want something and I’m ready to pay.”  Yes, it’s true.  Money talks.

The Discreet Signaler

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You can gesture to your bartender, so long as you’re chill about it.  If your bartender looks like he’s in the middle of a conversation and isn’t likely to end it any time soon, you can gesture.  If you want to get drinks ASAP for yourself and that fine individual you’re successfully chatting up, you can gesture.  Or if you realize you need to leave, you can do the universal “I’m pretending to sign my name” gesture.  Gesturing does, for the most part, imply necessity so don’t go overboard pointing and waving at will!  Then you become the barfly who cried wolf, and your gesturing just becomes a silent extension of The Tapper and nobody needs to cross into hybrid signals because then everyone is unhappy.

The Empty Glass Bearer

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The Empty Glass Bearer is the mellowest of all patrons and has an inherent understanding that a bartender intends to do his job to the best of his abilities.  A bartender who’s even half-paying attention knows that an empty glass requires some sort of attention.  Empty Glass Bearers tend to be easy customers for bartenders to deal with–they’re not overly demanding, they don’t need babysitting, and their lack of aggressive behavior towards the bartender generally means the bartender will like them.  Bars are a great place to have a high-fivin’, belly-bumpin’ good time, but not necessarily with the bartender, who has five or fifteen or sixty other people to manage simultaneously.  Have faith that the bartender will get to you.  While people may think the squeaky wheel gets the grease, when you’re in a bar it’s the quiet glass bearer who gets the best consistent service.

It’s true.

I’d love to hear about other bartender-approach behaviors that I might have forgotten or have blocked from my memory.  Feel free to comment!

Lemony Asparagus Soup

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Ahh, the spring growing season is upon us, and I have already feasted on several forms of asparagus.  Roasted.  Grilled.  Grilled again.  And so on.  When I was a kid I discovered that I really liked fresh asparagus, which was unusual because I was the insanely picky child.  The next time we had asparagus, my mother pulled the worst bait-and-switch in history and served canned instead of fresh, and it was grossly inferior, with the accent on gross.  I cried.  And I didn’t touch asparagus again until I was an adult.

Sorry, Mom.  But it’s true.

Childhood trauma notwithstanding, I have come to love the mighty asparagus spear.  Using the entirety of my food and creating as little waste as possible gives me a sense of virtue that I don’t often have in my daily life.  When we can combine the two?  Bliss.  Eating asparagus involves inherent waste because there’s that tough, woody end that you have to cut off, which gives me a sad.  But never fear!  Put those babies in the freezer until you’re ready to make stock, and then?

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OK, five bags is a little excessive, but still…

Homemade asparagus stock leads to homemade asparagus soup.  Yes!

Making asparagus stock is super-super simple.  Gather up your asparagus butts and put them in a stock pot.  Toss whatever else you want in there; I used an onion, a celery stalk, two carrots, five cloves of garlic, six or eight bay leaves and maybe two teaspoons of black pepper.  Do you want to throw in some parsley?  Go ahead.  Mushrooms?  Sure!  Another celery?  Go for it.  Do bear in mind that asparagus is a more delicate flavor and can be overwhelmed, so you might not want to put in a whole head of garlic…or maybe you do, so go for it!  The only thing I held back on was the salt.  I didn’t put much in at this stage of the stock-making, maybe only a teaspoon or two.  I wanted to be able to toss some in at the end to bring out the flavor once the stock had come together.  Anyway.

How much more simple could it get?  You don't even have to peel stuff.

How much more simple could it get? You don’t even have to peel stuff.

So you use twice as much “per height” water as there are veggies in your pot.  Meaning, if you have three inches of stock vegetables loaded into the bottom of your stock pot, then you would put in about six inches of water.  Did it make a ton of stock?  Yes.  Did I care?  Not even a little.

Bring your stock veggies to a boil, and let it rip for about five minutes.

Rocking out.

Rocking out.

And then turn it down to a simmer and let it cook for an hour.  That’s it!  Once it’s cooked you can taste the broth and adjust it for seasonings, then strain it into another large pot, through a mesh colander lined with cheesecloth.  You should have a beautiful, clear brown stock that looks something like this:

My house smelled really cozy that day.

My house smelled really comforting that day.

So, you could leave this alone, let it cool, divide it up into usable portions and put it in your freezer for future use.  Or, you can let your stock start working for you and use it towards that night’s dinner.

Or both, which had been my intention all along.

Assemble ingredients for soup.  I used:

  • 1 medium yellow onion
  • 2 carrots
  • 1 celery stalk
  • 3 or 4 cloves of garlic
  • 1 bunch of asparagus
  • 1 lemon
  • 1-2 tablespoons of your herb(s) of choice; I used marjoram and some sage here, but it easily could have been thyme or oregano or fennel
  • 2-3 bay leaves
  • Asparagus stock
  • Salt & pepper to taste
This won't take long to come together.

This won’t take long to come together.

FYI, I wanted some kind of starch to go in the soup  so I made orzo.  This soup would also be nice with diced boiled potatoes or sweet potatoes or maybe brown rice.  If you’re going to make something like that to go with your soup, now is a good time to start thinking about when you need to get that water started.

Get some oil heating in another large pot, then start by sauteing the onions for a minute or two.  Then add in the celery and carrots and let them cook together for three or five minutes; let everything start to get soft and mingley.  Add the garlic and let that saute for another minute, then zest your lemon right into the pot.  Cut the lemon into wedges and reserve as a garnish for your dinner.

So far, so good, right?

So far, so good, right?

Once that’s done add your bay leaves and herbs, and some salt and pepper (but go easy on the S&P so you can tinker with it some more at the end).  Let these all saute together another couple of minutes, until the veggies are starting to brown onto the bottom of the pot and everything smells summery and fragrant.  Add your asparagus stock.  I used about eight cups, but you can use more or less depending on how chunky you want your soup.  Actually, here’s what I did.  I put six cups in with the veggies for soup, then I measured out various sizes of asparagus stock to freeze for future soups and risottos (labeling what it is, how much is there and when it was made, of course).

We shall meet again.

We shall meet again.

Then whatever broth was left?  Also went in the soup.  There’s only so much measuring I can do before I start to make myself nuts.

Let that come to a boil for a few minutes, then reduce it to a simmer.  Chop the asparagus into bite size-ish chunks and cook it lightly.  I have a grill pan so I used that, but if you don’t then just saute it for a few minutes and all will be well.

Asparagus, orzo and soup, all happily doing their cooking thing.

Asparagus, orzo and soup, all happily doing their cooking thing.

When the orzo is ready, drain it and put it in a serving bowl.  When the asparagus are grilled or sauteed, put them in a serving bowl.  This soup doesn’t take long at all to cook so by the time orzo and grilled asparagus are ready the soup should be too, so just taste it again and add more salt or pepper as you see fit.  BUT!  Don’t add the asparagus or the orzo directly into the pot of soup.

Why, you ask?

I’m here to tell you.   The asparagus will get soggy and unappetizing and the orzo will continue to soak in soup and will swell to a gooey and unpalatable mass.  This is a soup that is greater than the sum of its parts, so long as those parts are maintained separately until they’re ready to be eaten.  And then?  All bets are off.

You’ve already got those lemon wedges waiting to be used, and I have certainly never complained about tossing a little parmesan cheese into my soup.  Chop a little fresh mint as a bonus garnish, and drizzle with olive oil.

It's like a bowl full of summer.

It’s like a bowl full of summer.

And if you’ve got a swanky back porch to eat it on, even better.

*Bliss*

*Swoon*

Happy cooking, everyone!  See you ’round the farmer’s market!

Charleton Heston: Proclamation of Hest-Fest

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WHEREAS Charleton Heston is one of the greatest movie actors of the 20th century,

and

WHEREAS Charleton Heston’s movies have become deeply ingrained into the global cinematic experience,

and

WHEREAS there are very few men who can rock a leather tunic

Image from dailymail.co.uk

Image from dailymail.co.uk

A velvet jacket and white poufy shirt with a massive ruffled lace jabot

Image from lileks.com

Image from lileks.com

A princely side braid

Image from fark.com

Image from fark.com
(Who’s a saucy minx?)

Biblical hair (from the same movie, no less)

Image from classicmoviestills.com

Image from classicmoviestills.com

A neckerchief

Image from bnnreports.com

Image from bnnreports.com

And a loincloth, some chest hair and a choke collar

Image from brusimm.com

Image from brusimm.com

all within the span of one storied career,

and

WHEREAS in the 30 seconds of screen time Charleton Heston has  in Wayne’s World 2, he steals the entire movie from Mike Myers,

and

WHEREAS Charleton Heston’s career as sci-fi’s greatest testosterone-dripping manly icon should not be overshadowed by newer and flashier movies (because let’s face it, people…James Franco is no Charleton Heston),

and

WHEREAS Charleton Heston movies go great with beer, pizza, and a roomful of friends,

and

WHEREAS I had a lot of fun discussing Charleton Heston films with a fellow blogger/Heston movie enthusiast over at meangoblin.com, and we both thought this would be a groovy thing to do,

IT IS RESOLVED that April 30th shall henceforth be proclaimed throughout all the lands as Charleton Heston Day. HEST FEST, as the day shall be known, will be a day of film, pizza, beer, friends, and the celebration of a legendary cinematic career.   It will be a day where the world will look at Charleton Heston’s career and ponder the immortal question: Why did they often choose such strangely effete clothing for him, and how did he manage to make it manly anyway?

Oh, Moses, Moses. You stubborn, splendid, adorable fool.

Let’s make this happen, people.  HEST FEST 1, April 30, 2014.  We’ve got a year to make this global.  We can do it.

Soylent Green fans, I know your first question is: but what do you really serve your guests?  That, friends, is entirely up to you.

Nosh: Cauliflower with Whipped Goat Cheese.

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You read that right.

Whipped goat cheese.

WHIPPED GOAT CHEESE.

whipped goat cheese

Yes.

How, you wonder, does one go about preparing such a culinary delight?  Such a feast for the senses?  Such a groovy thing to do with cauliflower?

Easy!  It takes a little time, but that doesn’t change the “easy” factor.  Here’s what you need for the cauliflower.  I’ll talk about what to do with the goat cheese later, mostly because I’m evil and want to heighten your anticipation.  Can’t bring it home too early, see.  Anyway.  Cauliflower.

  • 2 1/2 cups dry white wine
  • 1/3 cup olive oil
  • 1 tablespoon kosher salt
  • Juice from 1 lemon and juiced lemon remains
  • 1 tablespoon unsalted butter
  • 1 tablespoon sugar/honey/agave nectar
  • 2-3 bay leaves
  • 10 whole peppercorns
  • 1 head of cauliflower, leaves removed
  • 1 teaspoon red pepper flakes, optional

Cooking this cauliflower requires two steps; braising makes the cauliflower tender and infuses it with a variety of flavors, while roasting coaxes out the savory nuttiness and gives it a crusty texture.  Plus, it looks and sounds elegant as hell.  (Is that a legitimate term?  Who cares.  You all dig, I’m sure.)  I’m a hearty advocate of making things that sound impressive to boost my cooking cred.

Oh, yeah.  P.S., it tastes great.

Trim the cauliflower so it’s cleared of leaves and its stem is pared down so that the cauliflower can sit flat on a serving plate.  Assemble all the ingredients you need for the braise.

Pretty uncomplicated ingredients, I'd say.

Pretty uncomplicated ingredients, I’d say.

When choosing the braising wine, make it as dry as you can stand.  You don’t necessarily want the cauliflower to become oaky or sweet, you just want it to become fragrant and delicious.  So go dry, and make it a decent bottle.

Put the wine, salt, butter, oil, lemon (juiced, and then toss in the halves as well because why not?), sugar, bay leaves, and peppercorns in a large pot and get them cooking over a high heat.  I did add some red pepper flakes when I made my cauliflower but frankly, I didn’t think they brought much at all to the party, so meh, only add them if you’re really committed to their presence.  When everything’s going along at a pretty steady boil, add the cauliflower.  CAREFULLY, so you don’t cause a big splash and burn yourself with water and boiling oil.

Hooray for the incredibly practical mesh spider!

Hooray for the incredibly practical mesh spider!

If you think you still need a little extra cooking liquid in the pot, feel free to add some water or broth.  Lower the heat to a simmer and let it cook for 15-20 minutes or so, until the cauliflower is soft enough to sink a knife in but still offers some resistance.  You don’t want it to be mush, you just want it to be soft-ish.  When it’s ready, take it out and let it drain.

The nice thing about this dish is, you can park the cauliflower here for a while if you need to take care of other business in the kitchen; once the braise is done you’ll only have to worry about getting it in the oven when you’re in serious dinner-prep mode.

When you are ready for Phase Two: Roasting, make sure your oven is pre-heated to the not-messing-around temperature of 475° and that your oven rack is positioned roughly in the middle of the oven.  Put the cauliflower in a baking dish, give it a light drizzle of olive oil and toss on some salt and pepper.  Then?  In it goes, for 30-40 minutes.  Turn it once halfway through.  You’ll want to pull it out of the oven when it’s nice and browned and toasty on the outside.  It should look something like this:

Roasted cauliflower perfection.

Roasted cauliflower perfection.

While it’s roasting you can whip your goat cheese.

Because seriously, words fail.  Just saying it is sexy: Whipped goat cheese.  Yes!  It’s that good.  You need:

  • 4 ounces fresh goat cheese
  • 3 ounces cream cheese
  • 3 ounces feta
  • 1 tablespoon unsweetened Greek yogurt (or more, in the interests of a smooth and creamy texture)
  • drizzle of honey
  • Fresh-cracked pepper to taste

Measure out your ingredients.

That extra 1/8 oz is a nibble for the cook. :)

That extra 1/8 oz is a bonus nibble for the cook. :)


And then…ready for this?  Put all the ingredients in a food processor.  Process.

That’s it.

I mean, taste it and see what you need to add.  I don’t say you should add salt because feta and goat cheese are plenty salty on their own, but if you feel like the salt–or the pepper, or the honey–are lacking, then adjust accordingly.  If you think it needs to smooth out a little more you can add some more yogurt, or some milk or water, but only do so in small increments so as to not make it too soupy.  You want it to stick to the cauliflower, not run off.  As further evidence that this may seem complicated but isn’t really, your goat cheese can be whipped ahead of time.  I made mine the night before and it was perfect, I just had to let it warm up to room temperature and give it a couple of stirs to loosen it up.

Your guests, your family, your dining companions will be dazzled sho’ ’nuff when they walk in your kitchen and see this waiting for them.

I repeat: Elegant as hell.

I repeat: Elegant as hell.

It’s soft enough to cut with a serving spoon, so don’t be afraid to dive into the cauliflower, dress it with a happy dollop or seven of goat cheese and feast yourself silly.  A dish this gorgeous makes every dinner better.  Set aside a little time.  It’s worth it, if for no other reason that it’s ultimately really simple and if you do what the dish requires (braise, roast, food process), you’ll look like a kitchen rock star.

Travel Theme: Light

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The travel theme this week at Where’s My Backpack? is…light!  Right on.  Let’s get to it.

At the local bar the other night, the bartender had an (uncustomary) array of candles set out on the bar. As I am the annoying person who likes to play with a camera when I’ve got a cocktail or two in me, I couldn’t help but play with the votive candles.

Maybe they don't set these out because I play with them.

Maybe they don’t set these out very often because I play with them.

When in France…check out the ladies in Chartres Cathedral, lighting votive candles in hopes of assistance from a higher power.

This lady looks so much like my boyfriend's mother, we gave her this picture for Christmas.

This lady looks so much like my boyfriend’s mother, we gave her this picture for Christmas.

In the next picture, I happened to encounter a student project in process, in which my friend Andy graciously agreed to participate.

Say cheese!

Say cheese!

This alleyway leads to the entrance of Zocalo, a fun Mexican restaurant and tequileria (get the Don Julio flight, cue chorus of angels) in Cleveland.  I spent a lot of time here.

Much fun was had here.

Much fun was had here.

And finally.  Check out the bored sound tech as he watches a triggered light-and-smoke effect at a Fear Factory show.

Yeah, rock & roll. Whatever.

Yeah, rock & roll. Whatever.

Thanks for checking this out!  Feel free to play along.

Happy travels!

~XOT

Roasted Red Pepper-Walnut Dip (Muhammara)

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During one of my semi-annual trips to visit my old Russian professor in the Boston area, George and I got to experience the red pepper dip known as muhammara for the first time.

Oh. Em. Geeeeee.

Amazing.  It was deeply flavored and fruity and sweet and spicy and roasty and redolent of garlic and rich, toasted walnuts.  All that in one dish?  Yeah!  I knew after trying it that my mission (which I chose to accept) was to learn how to make it myself, since my local supermarket sure isn’t carrying pre-packaged muhammara.  Happily, they carry all components.  After years of tasting and experimentation (a rough job, I know), I can finally say neener neener, made it myself, and celebrate one more weirdo recipe in the repertoire.

Here’s what I used:

  • 2 fresh roasted red peppers, peeled and seeded, plus the liquor they exude after roasting
  • 2/3 cup (ish) plain bread crumbs (or maybe not as much, or maybe more; it depends on what you need to achieve the right texture)
  • 1/2 cup walnuts, toasted
  • 2 or 3 or 4 garlic cloves, to taste
  • 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
  • 2 teaspoons pomegranate molasses (check the ubiquitously dubbed “international” section of your grocery store)
  • 1 teaspoon ground cumin
  • 1/2 teaspoon dried hot red pepper flakes (or none, or more, purely to taste)
  • salt and pepper to taste (if you use pre-roasted peppers, be sure to go easy on the salt since they will be saltier than if you roast them yourself)
  • olive oil for garnish

The first thing to do is roast the peppers.  (If you are pressed for time you surely may use jarred or frozen roasted peppers.  Just drain or defrost them and make sure they’re peeled and seeded.)  There are two different camps surrounding roasted peppers; you can char them at high heat just so the skins blister off, but the flesh of the peppers really won’t cook.  Or, you could roast them at a lower heat so the peppers cook thoroughly.  It depends on what you want to achieve.  I chose to roast the peppers at a lower, slower heat since I wanted them to be softer and more amenable to become a dip, and not as dependent on a fatty olive oil added at the end to provide a soft texture.  Plus, I love the liquid they exude.

Mmmm, peppery goodness.

Mmmm, silky pepper goodness.

See that golden liquor oozing out among the roasted peppers?  That’s pure concentrated pepper sweetness, and it would be a crime to not include that in your dish; it is TOO GOOD.  Once the peppers are roasted and cooled, peel them, pull out the stems and seeds, put the roasted pepper flesh into a food processor and strain that pepper liquor into your food processor as well.  You won’t regret it.  If you use jarred or frozen peppers, you won’t have this, and you’ll need to resist the temptation to use the liquid from the jar.  It’s probably going to be too salty and/or vinegary to be of much use; you can throw in a splash of cranberry juice or broth or water if you want to get a little extra liquid rolling around in your dip.

While the peppers are roasting, measure out your walnuts, put them in a dry pan (meaning, one with no oil in it) and let it start warming over a medium heat.  Don’t wander too far away since it won’t take long for the walnuts to start to brown and once they’re brown they’re ready to burn.  Don’t let that happen.  Also, you need at least 1/3 cup, but make 1/2.  You may need more than the third, depending on how soft (or not) the dip is when you first blend it, and walnuts will help add structure.  Besides, the temptation to snack on fresh-roasted walnuts is great, and you wouldn’t want to short the muhammara.  I speak from experience here.

And so.  Put all ingredients except the olive oil in a food processor; remember to start with 1/3 cup each of bread crumbs and walnuts, and then taste test your muhammara so you may appropriately tinker.

Give it a whirl!

Give it a whirl!

Blend, scrape down the food processor bowl, taste.  Repeat.  Bread crumbs and walnuts will provide structure so if your dip is too runny, add in a little bit more of one or the other (or both!) at a time.  You’ll want it to be firm yet scoopable, like a really thick hummus.  Scoop it into a bowl, drizzle it with a little olive oil for a garnish and serve with bread or crackers or pita wedges.

Hell yeah.

Hell yeah.

Trust me, once you try this you’ll want it again.  And again.  And again.  Bonus: it’s easy!  Enjoy.  xoxo

Travel Theme: Contrast

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This week at Where’s My Backpack?, Ailsa’s theme is “contrast”.  My photos are all about the visual contrast of the silhouette, which I love.

The view from my room at Belhurst Castle.  Yes, that’s a boat dock looking out over Seneca Lake.  And yes, I was literally (and I don’t mean that figuratively) hanging out my hotel room window so I could get this photo.

Not too shabby!

Not too shabby!

This photo was taken in Cleveland. It’s the War Memorial Fountain, formally known as the “Fountain of Eternal Life”, which symbolizes mankind rising victorious from the ashes of war.

I love that the brightest light makes for the darkest shadow.

I love that the brightest light makes for the darkest shadow.

Next: Paris.  Which is in my heart forever.  This is at the bottom of the Eiffel Tower, and the contrast helps illuminate the complicated and gorgeous metalwork.

Must. Go. Back.

Must. Go. Back.

I saw this tree at the Elizabethan Gardens in the Outer Banks.  I adore the multi-level contrast of this.  Light/dark, and the tree itself stands in total opposition to what tree trunks are supposed to do.

No idea how or why this happened.  But cool!

No idea how or why this happened. But cool!

And finally, this picture was taken at sunset from the foot of the Ponte Vecchio, looking out across the Arno.  Because Florence, that’s why.

Does this need further explanation?

Does this need further explanation?

Join Ailsa and play along!  Hope you enjoyed the show.

Beans! Enjoyable the World Over

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While I was out shopping in our local flea market and home of amazeballs finds, I came across BEANS: Enjoyable the World Over.  A mini-cookbook and repository of bean knowledge, this li’l joybomb was distributed by the Michigan Bean Shippers Association in 1963.  And!  Its cover features a foppish kidney bean with pomaded hair and a vest, who sports a cane and carries a top hat.  It’s hard to fail when you start this strong.

Hey there, Mr. FancyBeans!

Hey there, Mr. FancyBeans!

Thanks to this pamphlet, I’ve learned a lot of things.  I know that:

  • Nobody knows why we’ve started eating beans.
  • Egyptians thought beans were the symbol of life.
  • Greeks and Romans voted by tossing beans  of different colors on a table.
  • People have used beans as a cure for baldness.
  • A bean found on the coast of Africa was used to establish the size and weight of a jeweler’s carat.  (Though somehow, “It’s a two-bean ring!” doesn’t hold the same allure.)
bean king

Why does the title “Bean King” seem most suited to belong to a 15-year-old boy?

And there is a nobility to bean commerce that we ought not to overlook.  This pamphlet reminds us, “Out of the seaway terminals at Bay City and Port Huron, ships loaded with Michigan Navy Beans sail to the far corners of the earth.”

The tale of Michigan beans is clearly global, and next time I’m at a great lake I will scan the horizon looking for the bean traders making their way back home.  I can only hope that’s not what the Edmund Fitzgerald was carrying on its final voyage, as it would be too much to bear for all those beans to have met their dreary demise at the bottom of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee.

The Enjoyable Bean reader is also given an overview of beans and their significance in American culture.  Delmonico’s, America’s first official restaurant, apparently served beans on its menu, much to the surprise and delight of New York City diners (though it seems that modern investigative techniques have turned this idea on its head, as the much-touted 1834 Delmonico’s menu may not be the Real Deal.  Scandal!  Horrors!  Where is my fainting couch when I need it?).

General Eisenhower baked his beans, though I suspect he piggybacked on Mamie’s skill to achieve bean-making success.  Plus, he used fancy-pants tarragon in his cooking, which I can only imagine was some ill-gotten taste he acquired while traveling overseas managing wars.  Conversely (and according to the recipe provided), First Lady Jackie Kennedy was an old-fashioned stay-at-home American-type Mom, who baked her beans with sugar and molasses and love (and the assistance of a classically-trained French chef named René Verdon).

This cookbook is interspersed with all manner of information and advice.  For example, did you know that there are about 2100 navy beans in every pound?  And did you ever think, when you were out in the wild…

OMG Really?

Who knew “going native” required a can opener?

Because the fields of canned beans are heavy with produce; it is exactly what the natives ate.

Though actually, sometimes, their advice is kind of interesting.

Maybe I *will* try this.

Maybe I *will* try this.

I can find out how the French like to eat their beans.

Mais oui!

Mais oui!

How to prepare Freedom Beans when practicing military maneuvers (because it’s not like you can trust the French;  Capitulée!  Capitulée!).

norfolk

And what intoxicating Michigan bean concoction Governor Romney (that’s Mitten’s dad George Romney, mind you, not Mittens himself) can’t live without.

How...wholesome.

How…wholesome.

Though I can’t stop giggling over the inclusion of a recipe called “Bean Hole Beans”.  *hee hee*  You can learn how to make Taco Beans, what to do with leftover baked beans, and why congress is full o’ beans.  There are recipes in here for party dips, bean salads and after-school snacks, though the “hint” that tells you to mix beans with raisins punches me square in the gag reflex.

This pamphlet is a 37 page powerhouse full of bean lore and succotash, culminating in what can only be the most lucrative of all the gifts beans can bestow upon humankind. (wait for it…wait for it…)

Toot toot a root toot tooooo!

All hail the beautiful bean queens!  May their glory never fade.

All hail the beautiful bean queens! May their glory never fade.

A bean queen “travels in behalf of beans and reigns throughout the year”.  That, friends, is a direct quote, and would be something to aspire to indeed.  And really, it’s best that produce has a liege lord that rhymes.  Bean Queen.  Cuke Duke.  Or at least is pithy, like Pump-King.

I have come to the end of my charming little slice of 1963-era bean cookery, and it was absolutely worth all 100 pennies I spent on it in MegaAwesomeFleaMarket.  And for you food academics, remember.  I have this baby entirely scanned, not just the comedic bits.  You know were to find me.  I’ll be right here, lost in the splendor of a home-grown Michigan bean.

Please enjoy the melodious melodyings of Brak, childlike imprisoned criminal and TV co-host of Space Ghost on Space Ghost Coast to Coast, singing about his favorite source of plant-based protein.