Weekly Dish

Spring is in the air and the end of the semester is here, which means the less time I spend in front of a hot stove, the happier and less stressed I am. Normally, I am not much of a television person–we don’t even have cable. But there are a few shows David and I love to watch, and the more involved I become in my academic work, the more of a break those shows offer.

Gilmore Girls is one of our weekly favorites, and these nachos evolved out of a need to find a quick, throw-together dinner before 7 pm one Tuesday night (when the show comes on here). If you watch the show, you’ll understand why we felt that these nachos were appropriate Gilmore-watching food; no utensils were used to eat them. Of course, making my own tortilla chips was a very un-Lorelai thing to do, but I had corn tortillas and no chips on hand, so what choice did I have? These nachos, for us, are the perfect TV-dinner food: messy, fun, and a lot like take-out (except I control the amount of oil used to make them!)

Chorizo Nachos

Tortilla chips, enough to cover 2 dinner plates (directions for making your own follow)
1 pound chorizo* sausage, bulk or removed from casings
Half a large yellow onion, sliced into thin rings
1 jalapeno pepper, chopped
1 15-ounce can yellow corn, drained
1/2 t. ground cumin
1/2 t. seasoned salt
4 ounces queso fresco or other soft, mild cheese
1 ripe avocado, sliced
1 lime

Brown the chorizo in a large skillet, breaking it up with a wooden spoon as it cooks. When it’s brown (about 10 minutes), remove from skillet. If there’s excess oil standing in the skillet, pour it off; you still want a tiny bit to remain to cook the onions and pepper, but you don’t want the vegetables swimming in grease. (My chorizo was very lean; I had to add a drop of olive oil.) Add the onion and jalapeno to the skillet, and cook over medium-high, until the onions begin to caramelize. Season with the cumin and seasoned salt. Return the chorizo to the skillet; add the corn and reduce the heat to medium-low. Lay a single layer of tortilla chips on each plate; then, spread the chorizo mixture on top of each bed of chips. Crumble (or grate) the cheese on top, and finish with the sliced avocado. Squeeze lime over the whole plate. Serves 2 hungry people.

*Chorizo is Spanish sausage. If you can’t find it at your grocer, ground beef with extra cumin, chile powder, and seasoned salt would probably work.

To make your own tortilla chips: Preheat the oven to 325 degrees. Cut corn tortillas into triangle-shaped wedges with kitchen scissors. Spray each side with canola or vegetable oil cooking spray. Spread in a single layer on baking sheets. Sprinkle with seasoned salt and chile powder. Bake for about 20 minutes, but watch carefully. They should be crisp, but they will brown quickly at the end.

If you have any of the chorizo mixture left, it also makes a good filling for quesadillas or soft tacos.

Every girl knows that a plain old salad needs the proper accessory to stand out. This sherry mustard vinaigrette is one I learned how to make at the restaurant where I waited tables in college; it was a house favorite. I think I ate a salad coated in its tangy sweetness nearly every workday for lunch. The greens in this photo came from our backyard (arugula, I think?), and the grilled chicken is made according to this recipe. It’s busy around our house, and this salad was the perfect throw-together springtime dinner.

Sherry Mustard Vinaigrette

3 T. cooking sherry (sherry vinegar will do in a pinch)
1 T. cider vinegar
2 t. cane syrup or honey
1 T. dijon mustard (I used the sweet-hot kind, but any mustard you like will do)
5 T. olive oil

Whisk together the vinegars, syrup or honey, and mustard. Whisk in the olive oil a drop at a time, stirring constantly, to emulsify. You can also do this in a food processor or a blender (but I would double the recipe; this amount hardly warrants a dirty blender, in my opinion).

Notes about the recipe: Many people prefer their vinaigrettes with a higher ration of oil to vinegar, but I like mine almost 1 to 1 for a couple of reasons. The first is that it slightly reduces the fat content of the dressing. Secondly, if the dressing is very flavorful, I am apt to use less of it, which also helps to reduce fat and calories. After all, if you’re going to eat salad for dinner, it might as well be as good for you as possible. Right?

(the last of the Oscar-night series, I promise)

For the main course of our Oscar-night dinner, David and I chose ribs, purely for the appropriateness of the name. I’d never cooked babyback ribs before, and to be honest, I’m usually not a huge barbecue fan. Sure, I like to eat it every now and then (and of course whenever I’m in Memphis), but it just isn’t something I crave.

So I wanted more than just a plain barbecue sauce for these. Traditionally, ribs are either dry or wet, meaning the flavor comes from a dry spice rub or from a sauce. I decided to combine these methods, cooking the ribs at a high temperature for a brief period of time after they’d been coated with the spices, and then covering with sauce to cook at the lower temperature. Most rib preparations take hours and hours; the cooking time for these was reduced to about an hour and a half.

The sauce is by far the best part about this recipe–I love the smoky flavor of the chipotle combined with the marmalade, garlic, and molasses; the spice rub added an extra layer of depth that was nice too. The salad is a simple early spring-time one I make a lot with strawberries and goat cheese; the ingredients follow the rib recipe.

Brokeback Ribs

2 1/2 pound slab of babyback ribs

Spice rub:
1 t. Kosher salt
1 t. brown sugar
1/2 t. cinnamon
1/2 t. ground cloves
1/2 t. allspice
1/4 t. cayenne pepper

Sauce:
2 T. butter
4 cloves garlic
Zest and juice of one orange
2 T. cider vinegar
2 T. cane syrup or molasses
1/4 c. oyster sauce (hoisin sauce would work too)
1/4 c. chipotle peppers in adobo sauce
1/2 c. orange marmalade

Preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Cut the ribs into sections of 4, cutting close to the bone to separate. Mix the spice rub ingredients together. Rub the mixture evenly over the ribs on both sides. Arrange the ribs on a broiler pan or rimmed baking sheet, and slide into the oven. Bake for 8 minutes; turn them, and bake for 10 minutes more. Reduce the oven tempreature to 300 degrees.

Meanwhile, prepare the sauce. Melt the butter in a skillet over medium. Add the garlic and orange zest; cook until golden brown, about 4 minutes. Increase the heat to medium-high, and add the vinegar and the orange juice. Let it reduce for a few minutes, until some of the liquid has evaporated. Reduce the heat to medium-low, add the remaining ingredients, and let them cook until the mixture is thick and syrupy.

Pour the sauce evenly over the ribs and cover tightly with foil. Cook at 300 for about an hour (ours were done at this point, but you’ll need to check; you want to make sure that the meat is falling off the bone and that no pink remains). Because our sweet potatoes needed to cook at a high temperature for another few minutes, I uncovered the ribs and slid them into the oven too at 450 degrees. This step is probably not necessary, but it helps to seal the glaze, making the sauce into a dense, sticky coating, which we liked. Let the ribs rest for a few minutes after they’ve finished cooking.

I spent those minutes throwing together our Constant Garden Salad, which consisted of greens, strawberries, green onions, and goat cheese drizzled with basalmic vinegar, olive oil, honey, and salt.

Thanks to everyone who has patiently endured my Oscar dorkiness; it has been fun, but now it’s time to retire the tiara until next year. Until then, Good Night and Good Luck. (how could I resist?!)

To celebrate our Mardi Gras vacation from school (we’re off until Thursday!), I decided I should make a meal using the rich culinary heritage of southern Louisiana. Crawfish season is well underway here–they usually become widely available in January–so they seemed an obvious choice. Having already learned how to make the more traditional etouffee, I wanted to try something a little different.

When I worked at the Brick-Oven Cafe in Jackson, we served a crawfish pasta dish that was one of our most popular. The sauce was laden with cream, butter, and cheese, and I didn’t want anything quite that heavy, but the distinct Louisiana flavoring, I remembered, came from the combination of the crawfish and the Cajun-spiced ham called tasso.

After finding tasso in the deli at my neighborhood grocery store, David and I set out for the famous fish market here in town, Tony’s. This was our first trip there, and it was quite an experience. We entered a loud, concrete-floored room and met a tank of fresh lobsters on our left and catfish swimming in water-filled troughs on our right. On the back wall are two counters–on the left side you can buy already-prepared dishes like crawfish pie and jambalaya, and on the right, you buy crawfish, shrimp, and other fresh fish. I wanted to buy the crawfish live, so that we could boil them ourselves, but only the already-boiled ones were available.

To make the pasta, I peeled the crawfish, tossing the heads and tail shells into a large stockpot, and the tail meat into a separate bowl. I boiled the shells with a lemon and salt to make stock, and then gathered the other ingredients to make the sauce.

Two tricks make this dish full of flavor: the first is that you cook the tasso in a little olive oil in the pot you are going to use for the roux. The ham gives off its spicy flavor and provides a little bit of fat so you don’t have to use so much butter. The second trick is to boil the pasta in equal parts water and crawfish stock. The stock is rich with the spice from the crawfish shells and imparts that flavor to the noodles.

The results were delicious, if I do say so myself. The ridges in the rigatoni provided the perfect place for the sauce to stick, and the consistency of the sauce worked well to evenly coat the crawfish, ham, and noodles. Add a piece of crusty bread and a glass of dry white wine. . .and we had ourselves a very happy Monday-before-Mardi Gras indeed.

Cajun Crawfish Pasta

3 pounds crawfish, cooked
1 lemon
1 pound rigatoni
1 t. olive oil
1/2 pound tasso
2 T. butter
1 T. olive oil
1/4 cup flour
1 yellow onion
3/4 cup chopped tomatoes
1 T. Kosher salt
2 cups stock

For the stock: Shell the crawfish, piling the heads and shells into a large stockpot. (Reserve the tail meat). Add a quartered lemon and a palmful of salt and cover with water. Bring to a rolling boil, reduce the heat, and simmer for at least 20 or 30 minutes (the longer you simmer, the more flavorful the stock will be). Strain off the liquid and discard the solids.

Cook the pasta in equal parts stock and water (I used 2 cups of each for a pound of rigatoni). Drain when al dente and set aside.

Heat a teaspoon of olive oil in a large pot or skillet over medium (I used the same pot I cooked the noodles in). Add the ham and cook, stirring until the pieces are a golden brown, about 10 minutes. Remove the ham, but reserve the fat. Add 1 tablespoon of olive oil and 2 tablespoons of butter. When the butter has melted, stir in the flour. Cook over medium-low, stirring, until the roux turns a light brown. This step took me about 10 minutes. Add the chopped onion and stir to coat with the roux. Cook over medium until very soft, 15-18 minutes. Add the chopped tomatoes and cook for another couple of minutes. Season with salt.

Stir in 2 cups of stock and cook, stirring, until smooth. Stir in the crawfish tails, the ham, and the pasta. (Note: If you want the pasta to be saucier, you can always add more stock; I wanted a thick consistency that would coat the noodles and meats rather than a thin sauce.) Cook for about a minute until everything is nicely blended and warmed through. Serve immediately.

My love of all things Ina is no secret to those who know me well. I have learned much about cooking from the Barefoot Contessa, and her cookbooks remain my most-often referenced.

For Christmas, my dear sister-in-law, who shares my love of the Contessa, gave me Barefoot in Paris. The reason I haven’t posted about it yet is because I believe in getting to know a cookbook before I commit to a full-blown evening with it. Call me old-fashioned, but I tend to take things slowly, reading the book through over a cup of coffee once or twice, getting a feel for what it has to offer, before I settle on my first recipe.

As the weather has been truly stew-worthy and as I thought my foray into French cuisine should start with something simple and classic, I began with Beef Bourguignon. Not the most photogenic dish, mind you, but don’t be fooled by its humble appearance. This stew is well worth the time you must wait for it to come to full flavor and the price of the wine and brandy you must put up to coax the homely beef, carrots, and onions into saucy decadence.

One of the things I most like about the dish is its versatility. The first night we ate it over garlic-rubbed bread, as the Contessa instructs. But rice and egg noodles also made good accompaniments, and thinned with some beef broth, it makes an excellent soup. The best thing about it, though, is that I made it on a Monday and it provided at least 3 other meals for us throughout the week (that’s 8 servings altogether), and I thought it was even better each time I ate it again, which doesn’t usually happen with me and leftovers. For a busy, cold week, this beef stew was my perfect match. Definitely worth the wait.

Beef Bourguignon
adapted from Ina Garten’s Barefoot in Paris (thanks, Hannah!)

Olive oil
1/2 pound bacon, diced
2 1/2 pounds beef chuck, cut into 1-inch cubes
1 pound carrots, sliced thickly on the bias
1 yellow onion, sliced
1 red onion, sliced
4 cloves garlic, chopped
1/2 cup brandy
1 bottle dry red wine
1 14 1/2-ounce can beef broth
1 T. tomato paste
1 T. chopped fresh rosemary (or thyme or sage)
3 T. butter
3 T. flour

Preheat the oven to 250 degrees. Heat a teaspoon or 2 of olive oil in the biggest skillet (with a lid) you’ve got or in a Dutch oven.  Brown the bacon until it’s done, but not crispy. Remove the bacon, but leave the fat; return to medium-high heat. Add the cubes of beef in batches, making sure not to overcrowd the pan. Turn the pieces quickly to brown the meat on all sides; remove to the plate with the bacon.

When all the meat is seared, add the carrots and onions to the pan and cook for about 12-15 minutes, until the onions are golden brown. Add the garlic, and cook for another few minutes. Season with plenty of Kosher salt and cracked pepper. Now comes the fun part. Have the half cup of brandy and a match or lighter. Add the brandy, and light it on fire, standing away from the stove. It will burn off in less than a minute, but it’s fun to watch!

Stir in the beef and bacon pieces, and pour in the wine. Stir and season with salt and pepper. Add the beef broth; make sure that the meat is sufficiently covered. Stir in the tomato paste and rosemary. Bring the mixture to a boil, then pop it into the oven to cook for about an hour.

Remove the pan from the oven and return to the stove top. Mash the butter and flour into a paste, and stir into the stew to thicken. Bring it to a boil; reduce and simmer for about 10-15 minutes. To serve, layer thick slices of crusty bread, rubbed with cut garlic, into bowls; ladle the stew on top.

Note: Ina’s recipe calls for small frozen onions and sauteed mushrooms, to be added after the stew has been cooked in the oven. I was too hungry to slice and cook mushrooms by the time the stew was ready, but I’m sure they would make a nice addition. In my opinion, the stew is onion-y enough, so I left out the frozen ones altogether.

I’ve decided to take my battle with the cold weather to a new level. Making hearty food that warms me and standing in front of a hot stove are certainly tactics worth their salt. There’s nothing quite like the sensation of being warmed from the inside out, as hot or spicy food fills you up and radiates its magic.

But, what if, instead, I asked myself, I simply pretended it wasn’t cold at all? What if I channeled the warmth of spring by cooking springtime food? This sounds crazy, you say. You can’t trick yourself into a season!

Usually I wouldn’t be in favor of such trickery because it would probably mean cooking with out-of-season vegetables, which I don’t like to do (mealy tomatoes, anyone?) But perhaps it’s no accident that citrus is in season in the dead of winter. Perhaps the lemons and oranges on the trees this time of year are meant precisely to coax us out of our cold-weather slumber, to give us a glimpse of the light, bright flavors of spring, to tide us over until warm air returns.
Springtime in Mississippi has always been my favorite time of year. The whole green world seems to come to life in a matter of days, and the temperature is balmy and pleasant, not too hot like summer. This coming spring will be my first in Louisiana, but I’m already a bit disconcerted. The Japanese magnolias and pear trees have already bloomed out, and the azaleas are starting to show their vibrant pinks in full flower. And it’s 40 degrees outside!

Well, instead of complaining about it, I decided to channel the warm spring air from my kitchen. Last spring, as soon as it was warm enough, David and I spent many a Sunday afternoon with our friends Jerrod and Jessie and Lydia in a park not far from our neighborhood. We packed whatever food we had on hand that seemed appropriate, tossed a blanket in the trunk, and headed outdoors.

This pasta salad recipe is one Jessie gave me a long time ago, and it reminds me of springtime, picnics, and most of all, good friends.

Jessie’s Pasta Salad
I made this with leftover chicken from one of David’s Roasted Birds; it comes together in a snap and tastes even better the next day.
1/2 cup sour cream
juice of 1 lemon
6 T. olive oil
2 T. Cavender’s Greek Seasoning
1/2 T. lemon pepper
3 1/2 cups cooked chicken, chopped (I don’t think I use quite that much)
Olives, either a small can of the sliced black ones or a handful of your favorite fancier ones (I used Greek ones this time because I had them)
4 green onions, sliced
1/2 red bell pepper, diced (I omitted this, but I bet the color would be nice)
12-ounce package bow tie pasta

Cook the pasta until al dente; drain and set aside. Mix up the dressing in a large bowl by whisking together th sour cream, lemon juice, olive oil, and seasonings. Toss in the pasta and stir to coat. Add the chicken, green onions, olives, and bell pepper if using. Mix well, until everything is coated with the dressing. Eat immediately, or refrigerate until you’re ready for your (pretend) picnic.

I am not a lover of controversy. In fact, I hate confrontation of all kinds. Probably one of the main reasons I did not make a very good middle school teacher, in fact, was my reluctance to incite any ill feelings in my (12-year-old) students by confronting them. (They, of course, did not practice the same kind of restraint). This personality is much better suited for college teaching; I have had to have the occasional confrontation with a student, but very seldom.

Due to my non-confrontational-ness, I have been hesitant to post about or respond to any of this week’s food blogging controversy (involving this article about food blogging in Food and Wine magazine).

The sandwich pictured above has cheese on it, though, and it is, in fact, what I had for dinner last night, which is usually what I write about. Those of you who read regularly know why I write this blog, and it certainly isn’t to impress any professional journalist. I did my stint with a glossy magazine, and frankly, I’ll take writing about real food that real people might eat and cook any day. And, when I’m looking for writing about food to read, or recipes to use, I follow the same principles.

Take this Philly Cheese Steak sandwich, for instance. Earlier in the week, I made pizza dough, and baked a round of focaccia bread with what I had leftover. So, exhausted when I got home from class at 8 pm last night, I made a quick supper by slicing up some sweet potato fries to go in the oven, and then sauteeing some red onions, adding some thinly sliced steak, and stirring in some cubed cheddar cheese to melt. Is dumping this mixture on the focaccia and serving it with the fries (on a paper plate, to boot) worthy of professional food magazine snobbery?

No, and that’s exactly why I’m posting it. Because I simply don’t buy into the dichotomy: the choices cannot be reduced to either frozen already-prepared dinners or fancy-schmancy food that takes hours and hours. There is a happy medium: good, simple, not-processed food that anyone can make at home.

That space is the one this blog seeks to fill, and if, by entering into that space, someone finds something worth making for dinner, then I consider it well worth my time. I hope it’s been worth yours too.
Tagged: Pete Wells Loves Cheese Sandwiches

Pasta is such a staple around here that it’s hard for me to remember whether I’ve shared certain pasta recipes or not. Several are good solid stand-by dishes–I’ve made them so often no recipe is necessary, and I know they will turn out to our liking.

This sausage pasta is one such dish. But before I convince you of how good it is, I have to tell you something about it. Are you ready? Here comes my confession:

The original recipe for this pasta comes from Rachael Ray (gasp!)

Are you still with me? Okay, so the food community seems to love Rachael or hate her (and my southern aunts are among the hate crowd), but I am completely ambivalent. Do I like some of her cooking ideas? Yes. Do I dislike some of her cooking ideas? Yes. Do I think she’s a culinary genius? No. But I don’t remember her ever claiming to be one.

In all fairness to the 30-minute meal queen, I picked up several useful tips from watching her show when I was a new wife, working a stressful full-time job, and trying to learn to cook edible meals. This pasta dish comes from that phase of my life, and I still really like it. For those of you who count yourselves among the Rachael-loathing readers, I’ll try to write my recipe instructions in such a way that could not possibly come across as obnoxious, and I’ll try to leave out measurements like “a big glug.” But I must give credit where it’s due. Love Rachael Ray? Hate Rachael Ray? I really don’t care. But this pasta is good, fast, and super easy. So there.

The Anisette or Pernod is probably not something you normally have on hand, but I can find it pretty cheap, so I just keep a bottle just for this dish. The flavor enhances the sweet licorice of the fennel in a way I can’t imagine anything else would. Oh, and if you’ve never cooked with fennel, please try it. I don’t much like it raw–too bitter–but it has a lovely sweetness when cooked that I find fresh and unique. It’s actually fennel month over at A Veggie Venture, so if you’re in the mood to try this feather-topped vegetable, head over there for Alanna’s round-up of fennel recipes. And, of course, if you’d prefer a slower, less committed introduction, this pasta might be just the thing to win you over. It did me.

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Roasting a whole chicken (or two) is a fabulous way to make a meal that lasts all week. We’ll have the plain old chicken itself with crispy roasted potatoes the first night, and then there will be meat leftover for at least two more meals in the week, plus stock. What’s not to love about that?

Who gets to actually cook the chicken on the other hand is a whole different matter.

The right to roast the birds in our family has often been the source of controversy. My aunts have fought long and hard over who’s roast chicken is best, but the truth must finally be known.

Here’s my confession: the best roasted chicken in my house has been made, not by me (who follows the aunts’ recipes), but by my husband. In the days when he worked in an office, he made the Thanksgiving habit of roasting turkeys every year, and apparently, over the years he learned a thing or two. His roast chicken is DELICIOUS. It’s usually much moister than mine (even though he had an off night the other night and it cooked too long, his record is still pretty good), and the flavor is the perfect balance of lemon and piny rosemary. So, when he put together his perfect creation over the weekend, he agreed to dictate the instructions to me so I could share them with you. Let me reiterate that I quote verbatim. These are not my words, I tell you, but his. Got that? THESE ARE NOT MY WORDS. Okay. Here are his instructions:

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I love fresh figs. If you’ve only ever had the dried ones or the filling inside a newton, there is no comparison with the drippy sweetness of the fleshy fruit straight off the tree. My in-laws have a fig tree, and my mother-in-law is so sweet to save bags of them for me because she knows I love them so. Often, if they’ve been frozen for a short period of time and when the fruit was just ripe, I can eat them all by themselves, straight out of the fridge. Or with a drizzle of cream in the mornings. But sometimes, the frozen ones lose their shape and some of their juices–these are the perfect ones to cook with.

Figs and sausages may seem an unlikely pair. The recipe comes from my most beloved aphrodesiac cookbook, Intercourses. (It feels strange to say that to you, but I really do love the book for its recipes. Honest.) I felt really adventurous the first time I made it. It seemed a bit strange on paper, but really simple too, and I had a bag of cooking figs on hand. Since then, every time I have figs I need to use, this is the dish I make.

Cooking the figs with the vinegar, lemon, and spices gives them a rich, jammy flavor, and letting those flavors mingle overnight gives the dish an interesting complexity and depth of flavor. Your tastebuds move from the tang of the vinegar and lemon to the soft sweetness of the figs, spiced with clove, cinnamon, and nutmeg, and on to the salty, meaty sausage. Although the dish is not terribly appetizing to look at (I’ve photographed it on two different occasions now–it just ain’t pretty), once you’ve made the fig sauce, it comes together in about 20 minutes. I have served it over rice, toast points, and grits; last night we had it over cous cous. And although I haven’t tried it, the recipe might work with canned figs too–I’d just rinse off any syrup. This sauce is sweet enough on its own; in fact, I think it would be good in a variety of ways. Perhaps I’ll experiment with the leftovers…
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