Corned Beef and Cabbage

Well, St. Patrick's day has come and gone, and since I wasn't about to eat two corned beefs this year -- a test recipe and then some on the actual day, although D would have jumped for joy -- I wasn't able to post this recipe before the actual holiday. So sue me -- it's late, but better late than never. I suppose I could have live-blogged the whole thing, but... corned beef just isn't that interesting. It's pretty basic: throw some spices and a lump of beef into a pot, add some water, and simmer. For hours. See, not a very wild and crazy event that necessitates live-blogging -- lots of down time and wasted minutes peering into a pot of meat. But the results are fabulous, about what you'd expect from boiling four pounds of beef for three hours, so it's certainly something worth making. We selected a 3-pound brisket made by Vienna Beef.
Vienna Beef is one of Chicago's true treasures. They claim to have invented the Chicago hot dog, which is the best type of hot dog in the entire universe: an all-beef kosher dog, eight to the pound, nestled in a poppyseed bun and topped with yellow mustard, chopped onion, neon relish, tomato wedges, a whole pickle spear, celery salt, and sport peppers. If you want to see a handy, clickable chart (which has an error: ketchup is not permitted on Chicago-style dogs no matter what you say, Vienna Beef People, and I know this as fact: Hot Diggity Dogs, one of my favorite hot dog shacks, has a pretty strict rule about this that necessitates a stern warning sign) head on over to Vienna Beef's Periodic Table of Hot Dog Elements. I promise this now: I will force D to do a guest post on hot dogs, done up proper Chicago-style, sometime in the near future. They're one of his favorite things about Chicago, and for good reason. Anyhow, Vienna Beef is also good for other meat-based and meat-related products, such as corned beef. Did you know, by the way, that the corned beef we know and love isn't what they eat in Ireland? Surprise! It's been Americanized! While we cure our corned beef by brining or pickling it, the traditional method was to cure it by rubbing a side of pork using large grains -- or corns -- of salt. So the dish is very different than traditional Irish fare, which is more like boiled bacon. Do you want to try and make that? Be my guest: check out this wonderful recipe for authentic "corned beef" -- they call it Boiled Bacon -- at EuropeanCuisines.com. But that's not what we made: I was raised on American Corned Beef, and that's what I have to have in my kitchen on St. Patrick's Day.
One of the best things about cooking corned beef is that it's a one-pot recipe, which I always enjoy. Instead of mucking around with the entire stove, four pots boiling away, you only need one large pot for this recipe. We used our lobster pot, which isn't good for much but taking up room in the cabinet -- it's got a very thin bottom -- but it's perfect for boiling a large hunk of meat. You'll need at least an 8-quart stockpot for this recipe, but the larger your pot is, the better your dish will be: more water means more leftover stock, which can turn ordinary rice, couscous, soups, and stews into phenomenal culinary masterpieces.

Corned Beef and Cabbage
Begin by rinsing one corned beef brisket -- we chose one that was 3 pounds -- and place it in your stockpot, fatty side up. You need a stockpot that's at least 8 quarts. Make five to eight deep X marks in the beef using a sharp knife. Insert 2 to 3 whole cloves in some of the X's and 5 whole cloves of peeled garlic into the remaining X-marks. Our beef had slightly too many cloves in it -- we used four whole cloves total -- and I'd recommend only using two for better results. Cover the meat with water until the meat is about three inches below the water level (we used about 12 cups of water total).
Add spices: the Vienna Beef recipe requires 1/2 a teaspoon of Old Bay seasoning, which isn't something I keep on hand, so I improvised. Old Bay is just a blend of spices, typically made with bay leaves, dry mustard, celery salt, ground black and white pepper, nutmeg, cloves, allspice, ginger, paprika, crushed red pepper flakes, mace, cardamom, and salt, so it's fairly easy to replicate. I simply put a dash of whatever I had in my pantry from that list (see photograph) and the resulting blend was intoxicating. In addition to the Old Bay seasoning, add 2 cinnamon sticks (again: don't keep those in my house, but I probably should: a simple shake of cinnamon worked just fine) along with 2 bay leaves and 8 whole peppercorns.
Slice two large carrots and one stalk of celery into 2-inch long chunks and add those to the pot as well. Now that all of the major ingredients are in the pot, add some heat. Bring the entire thing to a boil and skim off any of the foam that rises to the top of the water, then reduce the heat to a simmer. Simmer for two to three hours, until the meat is tender, then add vegetables.
We used cabbage, of course, and simply quartered one large head into manageable chunks. In addition, we threw in about 1-1/2 pounds of scrubbed baby red potatoes, skin on; 4 parsnips, peeled and sliced into 1-inch chunks; 2 turnips, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes; and 1 pound of carrots, peeled and chopped into 2-inch pieces. When you have about 30 to 45 minutes remaining, add the vegetables to the pot and simmer until they're tender. The beef should be 160º before serving, and will still look pink when served.
The best thing about corned beef and cabbage has got to be the leftovers. Not only do you end up with a fantastic stock, you'll undoubtedly have at least some meat leftover. It's perfect in sandwiches, delicious when cut into small cubes and fried with potatoes into corned beef hash, and is a great appetizer when served with capers and mustard. Of course, a cold corned beef sandwich is the perfect way to get rid of any remaining meat: simply throw some on a roll with a generous slather of mustard and top with leftover cabbage.

Pork Chops with Dijon and Thyme

We don't eat pork often, but when we do, we like to fry up some pork chops in a skillet -- or on the grill, if it's nice enough out -- and serve them with some vegetables on the side. It's a simple meal that's a great alternative to our usual protein staples: chicken and red meat. D isn't a big pork eater -- I don't think he had it when he was growing up at all -- but we used to eat it occasionally. Probably because it was on sale.
That's actually the precise reason we got some pork chops last weekend at the grocery store: it was cheap and it looked fantastic. The chicken was looking a bit grey around the edges, the meat was unspeakably gross, and all we wanted was something to eat that didn't require thawing out for Monday night. So we went for the pork chops and were, as usual, pleasantly surprised. They were the perfect texture, with just enough fat around the edges to lend the whole chop a slightly buttery taste, and they were the perfect thickness: about a half an inch or so, which makes for an evenly-cooked yet juicy pork chop after it's done.
We served this with green beans on the side (recipe forthcoming) and, since there were three chops per package, ate one and a half each to round out the fact that we didn't serve them with rice or bread. That was kind of foolish: a starch would have perfectly rounded out this meal, making it whole. At least we did the beans, though: there's nothing I dislike more than a piece of meat sitting lonely on a plate.
We adapted, pretty radically, our recipe for Baked Dijon Chicken for these pork chops. Omitting the breadcrumbs, we opted to slather each side of the chops with a layer of mustard and fresh thyme. Instead of baking the pork chops, like we would with the chicken, we opted to sear them in a pan. We did this for two reasons: one, I've never baked pork, and I just didn't feel like researching it while starving; two, we were starving and didn't want to wait for the oven to preheat. With the green beans boiling away on one side of the stove, cooking the chops was easy. Everything was done at the same time this way, too, which is one of the best things that can happen in the kitchen. Hot food! All in one moment!

Pork Chops with Dijon and Thyme
We began by chopping some thyme -- about three tablespoons in all -- in our new Cuisinart Mini-Mate Chopper. D's father had this little gadget sitting in his basement, unused and still in the original box. We snatched it up like it was candy: I've been honking about my desire for a proper food processor for some time now, and this is the next-best miniature version. At least now I don't have to chop herbs by hand, which is a pain and stains the cutting board every time I do it. Still want a food processor... but my desire is waning and is being replaced with one for a Wusthof chef's knife.
Anyhow: mix the 3 tablespoons of chopped fresh thyme with about 2 tablespoons creamy Dijon mustard. Coat this mustard mixture on one side of each pork chop, using only half (the rest will be brushed on the other sides when the chops are already in the hot pan.) Top with some fresh ground black pepper and place, mustard side down, in a hot greased pan. To grease the pan, drizzle in about 2 teaspoons of olive oil as the pan heats up so that the oil is hot as well when you begin to cook the pork.
When the chops are in the pan, brush the remaining mustard mixture on the tops of each one. Doing it at this stage makes it easier and less of a mess, and you waste less sauce this way also.
Cook for about five minutes on each side, until the juices run clear from each piece. If possible, use a meat thermometer to ensure that the pork is cooked, especially since it comes in such variable widths. The center of the chop should reach 160º before it can be eaten. Make sure that you flip the chops about halfway through, though. A lot of the mustard will stick to the pan, but that's the nature of these kinds of things. It still imparts a lot of flavor to the pork, especially with the fresh thyme, and searing it in the pan gives the edges a nice crunchy texture that almost tastes like butter.
Tomorrow, I'll give you my recipe for green beans. They're so simple, so fresh tasting, and so easy to find that they're a staple on our dining table: we eat them about once a week or so. If you want a fresh, easy vegetable? Green beans are your best friend.

Wisconsin Style Bratwurst

We made this awhile ago, on the highly acclaimed Superbowl Sunday, but I neglected to post about it until now. So sue me -- I was busy making other tasty meat dishes (and a few healthy things on the side.) I can't believe we ate bratwurst, chicken wings, guacamole, and bean dip all in one day, by the way. Ridiculous amounts of food. At least it rocked: that's all I'm watching football for anyhow!
This is actually not my recipe, and I didn't take any part in the actual cooking of the brat: it's all D on this one. He did a fantastic job and I even ate some of it. Being a beer-hater, it's pretty difficult to get me to go near anything even beer-related, but this brat was tasty and awesome. Even though it had touched beer. Been soaked in beer, as a matter of fact. I'll give you his two recipes: one for bratwurst that has been pre-cooked, and one for brats that are raw.

Wisconsin Style Bratwurst
Ok. First you get some tasty brats. Don't let anyone try to talk you into getting pre-cooked turkey brats (as I did for the Superbowl: I wanted to be as healthy as possible! Besides, they didn't even have regular ones anyhow!) You might need to just hop in the car and drive to Wisconsin for this, actually -- skip the cooking and get right down to the eating. If at all possible, hit the Brat Stop at the corner of Highway 50 and I-94 in Kenosha. We went there during a weekend getaway in Wisconsin and it was awesome, although there was a slight issue with the coffee: be careful when you pour. Otherwise, you'll end up with sticky feet and burned hands. But they do give you the full pot and sit it right on your table, which is something that I always appreciate.
If the bratwursts are pre-cooked or smoked, put them into a heavy-bottomed frying pan and add a little beer (something that you'd enjoy drinking, tasty beer.) It should be enough beer to cover the bottom of the pan easily. Place a lid on the pan and cook over a medium heat for about five to seven minutes, turning occasionally with tongs.
Remove the cover and add 1/2 a sliced onion, cut into skinny strips. Continue cooking, uncovered, until the liquid evaporates. Make sure you turn the bratwurst frequently with the tongs so it browns evenly. Remove the bratwurst from the pan and continue to cook the onions. Slather both sides of a roll -- for this, we used a loaf of French bread cut into pieces, then halved -- with some nice whole seed mustard and put the bratwurst in the bun. Top with the caramelized onions and serve, with a beer on the side of the same variety that you cooked the bratwurst in.
If the brats aren't pre-cooked, then you're in for a real treat. D says that you should cook these without any girls that don't like beer around, then make sure they taste the bratwurst after it's cooked so that they'll realize how great beer is. That isn't going to happen, but a boy can dream! Add the uncooked brats to a large pot and cover with sliced onions and a pat of butter. Add several beers to the pot until bratwurst and onions are completely covered and put over a medium-high heat. Simmer for 15 to 20 minutes. Transfer the bratwursts to a hot grill and cook until browned, then place in a roll slathered with whole grain mustard. Top with the cooked onions. This, D says, is the real way to cook a bratwurst.

Meatcake

After traveling, there's nothing I want to come home to more than a prepared hot meal. Or semi-prepared, as was the case this last weekend, when D. made us a meatcake in celebration of my return -- I had a short visit home to see my parents this weekend. What is a meatcake? How dare you ask! Our lovely friend Sarah tipped us off to the existence of meatcake through this link, which opened up a whole new world of meatloaves for both D and I. I never thought of making a meatloaf in cake form, but it's so great: D loves meat, I love cake -- how could it possibly go wrong?
It couldn't, and it didn't. This was one of the coolest dinners I've had in a long time. The best part? When I got home, the mashed potatoes were done, as were the round meat loaves. I got to frost the cake while we cooked the crescent rolls. I love to frost, so that was a real treat.
We usually use a different recipe for meatloaf (turkey meatloaf with sundried tomatoes and roasted pinenuts is our standard fare) but I guess D decided this was a good recipe to experiment on. He threw just about everything in this loaf, and when he told me the ingredient list, I was shocked. I can't believe how much stuff he fit into that one meatcake! You could use any meatloaf recipe you like to make the cake, but I'll supply this one here, because it really is great. I think the addition of jalapeño pepper really adds a kick to the cake. We adapted Martha Stewart's Birthday Meatloaf Cake recipe to our liking and topped the cake with crescent rolls instead of cut out carrots and peas. Which would have been hella cute, but -- I don't own a "plain round tip" or pastry bags or anything like that, adding to the difficulty of creating a cute cake. But ours turned out pretty rad in the end, I must say.

Meatcake with Mashed Potato Frosting
Preheat the oven to 350º and finely dice 2 medium onions and two cloves of garlic. Cook in 1/2 tablespoon butter until soft, with a healthy handful of red pepper flakes for spice. All the vegetables in this recipe should be diced very small in order to provide a pleasant texture to the meatloaf, by the way -- we don't want no chunky loaf in our house! Add 1 diced jalapeño pepper (seeds and ribs removed, if you're wimpy like me) and 1 stalk diced celery to the pan and cook until everything is soft. In the last three or four minutes, throw in 1 handful diced mushrooms -- too many and the meatcake will get soggy, so be careful. No one likes soggy meatcake.
Set the vegetables aside to cool and mix about 2.5 or 3 pounds of raw hamburger meat with 1 cup of breadcrumbs. You can use ground turkey if you wish, but this is a meatcake, after all, so we went with pure meat. Also add 1 raw grated carrot to the meat -- grate with a zester, microplane, if possible -- you don't want long strips of carrot in your loaf. Add some fresh diced thyme -- about 2 tablespoons or so -- and mix in the cooled vegetables.
In a separate bowl, combine 2 eggs, 2 tablespoons of tasty whole seed mustard, 2 tablespoons Worcestershire sauce, and 1 tablespoon of sundried tomato paste. Regular tomato paste would also work here, but we happened to have some sundried just hanging around, so... why not? Add these liquid ingredients to the meat and combine. You want to mix the meat by hand -- we're saving the KitchenAid for the mashed potato frosting, which needs to be as smooth as possible. Besides, this much meat won't fit in my KitchenAid anyhow. Got that? Mix by hand. Literally. Squish around in that raw meaty goodness -- it's not as bad for you as it seems. But what do I know? I always make D do that part!
After the meat mixture is throughly combined, press it very gently into two very-very-well greased cake pans (9 inch is fine.) Bake for about 20 to 25 minutes in your preheated to 350º oven or until the meat is 160º in the center -- you can use a meat thermometer for this. While the meatloaf bakes, prepare your potatoes.
Wash, peel, and cut five large russet potatoes. Rinse them to remove any lingering starch, then put in a pot and cover with cold water. Turn the stove to high and cover. Cook for about 25 to 30 minutes, until a paring knife slides into the potatoes easily. Drain the potatoes and mash with a wire whisk, a potato ricer or masher, or a KitchenAid mixer. Add milk and butter as you mash them until the potatoes are very smooth -- about 1/2 a cup of milk and 1 tablespoon of butter total, although the amount varies depending on the potatoes. You want to add the milk gradually as you mash, in order to get the right consistency. You can, if you desire, heat up the milk a bit before using it to keep the potatoes hot; alternatively, you can mash them right in the hot pot to keep them hot. Once you reach a smooth consistency with no lumps, you don't need any extra milk. If you make them with a little too much milk, simply turn the heat on medium-low and whisk until they firm up.
After your meat reaches 160º in the center, take it out of the oven and let stand in the pans for five minutes. Remove the loafs from the pans and place on a wire rack with a cookie sheet underneath it to catch any drippings. You can tent some foil over the rack to keep the meat hot at this point. Place one loaf on a cake stand (or on a platter, if you're a normal person who doesn't happen to have a cake stand lying around) and frost only the top with a generous layer of mashed potatoes. Top with some ketchup, being careful to leave a large margin around the edges so that the ketchup does not bleed through and make your cake look funny and pink instead of smooth and white. Top with the second loaf and frost the entire cake using a spatula.
You can decorate your cake a variety of ways. Martha Stewart suggests peas and sliced dots of carrot, the blackwidowbakery uses a ketchup glaze to paint a t-bone onto the cake, and we used crescent rolls -- some of which were mini (made from cutting the dough into smaller triangles.) Want cute mashed-potato roses? Fill a ziploc or sandwich bag with mashed potatoes, pressing out any air bubbles, and snip off one of the bottom corners. Squeeze the mashed potatoes onto the cake through the hole. If you know what you're doing, you can make some pretty fancy whirly things on your cake.
You just made a meatcake!! Congratulations!
You better have some company over for this one -- or some room in your fridge. Maybe even in your freezer. It makes a lot of cake.