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.

Fried Yukon Gold Potato Chips

This isn't revolutionary, by any means, but it's thrilling: last night, we made our own potato chips. Ever since last week, when I made those scrumptious scallion cakes, I've been chomping at the bit to get frying. It's exhilarating, frying food: not only does it make a glorious mess, the result is addictive. I couldn't stop thinking about those scallion cakes -- their crunchy edges, their soft middles, their bold flavor... see, now I want some this instant! But the key to those little buggers is that they are fried: you could fry a shoe and it wouldn't taste half-bad. But when you fry something that already tastes good -- say, Yukon Gold Potatoes -- the result is nearly always to die for. Oh, I know, it's bad for you. Very, very bad. But once in awhile? It's ok -- especially since I don't usually eat fried food when I go out. That's sort of a lie, but we don't even stock potato chips in our apartment anymore. And I haven't eaten McDonald's in months -- I suppose this isn't something that I should be too proud of, but I live in America. There are always at least three McDonald's within walking distance, no matter where I am. I can see one from my office window, for crying out loud: fried food is everywhere. At least I'm making these potatoes myself, so I have some kind of control over the whole thing. We dried the chips pretty thoroughly and didn't salt them too heavily, which are two things that you could rarely ever say about fried food you get in a restaurant, fast food or otherwise.
So, to satisfy my craving for both eating and making fried food, we sliced up two round Yukon Gold potatoes and got to frying yesterday as a nice peppered roast broiled in the oven. It's fairly easy to fry things: all you need is a semi-deep frying pan, a set of tongs, and oil. We used Crisco vegetable oil, which is made from soybeans. Soybean oil has a very high smoke point* -- of about 440º -- which makes it ideal for deep-frying. The concept of smoke points is an essential one to master, especially if you frequently use fats while cooking. It refers to the point at which the fat (usually oil or butter) begins to smoke, which indicates that it is beginning to break down and is no longer good to consume. Essentially, when a fat reaches its smoking point, it burns and becomes unusable. Therefore, a higher smoke point allows one to heat the oil to a temperature that ensures quick, easy, and successful frying. Soybean oil is also wonderful to fry with because it has a mild taste and virtually no discernible flavor, allowing you to fry more delicate foods without fearing that their unique taste will be lost in the process. This is especially true with something like potato chips, which I like to cut extremely thin: they'll still taste like potatoes if you fry them in a mild oil, even if they're skinnier than a sheet of paper.

Fried Yukon Gold Potato Chips
Speaking of cutting the potatoes, D and I tried a new method yesterday, and it was fairly successful. Since we didn't want to stand in the kitchen all day, we decided to only fry two Yukon Gold potatoes, on the large side -- this whole debacle was a test, really, of our frying prowess, especially since I didn't let D participate very much when I made the scallion cakes. We each took a potato and tried separate methods. I did a standard knife-chop while D put our new box-grater to the test: it has three razor-like cuts along one side, sort of like a low-end vertical mandoline. Well, not exactly, but that's the closest thing I can imagine. If you own a box-grater, you'll know what I'm talking about. Anyhow, since this was a new kitchen item, D couldn't resist gliding a potato over it to see exactly how it would slice. It worked fairly well, although the potato was a bit large and kept getting caught on the second blade, and the slices weren't very uniform looking. Some of them were a bit raggedy for my tastes, but that didn't really effect the outcome, so it was fine. I would recommend using a real mandoline or just chopping by hand, though -- it seemed like more trouble than it was worth, especially given the results.
After chopping the potatoes, we poured about 1/2 to 3/4 cups of soybean oil into a frying pan over medium heat. We let the oil sit on the burner until it was wavy and shimmering, then we added about seven slices of potatoes to the oil. They began frying immediately, bubbling and jumping about recklessly. About 2 minutes in, we flipped them over with the tongs and allowed them to cook until both sides were beautifully golden -- about five minutes, total (2 minutes on the first side and 3 on the second.) Since the potatoes are essentially dunked and bathed in the hot oil, there's no need to watch them obsessively to make sure that both sides brown evenly -- the one flip should ensure a pretty even coloring. When they looked crispy, we removed them, one at a time, from the oil and allowed the excess to drip back into the pan. Then, we transferred them to a plate on two paper towels, sprinkled a tiny bit of salt over them, and placed three more towels on top of the potatoes. I patted them dry while D added the next batch to the oil. It took about 30 minutes to complete the entire batch (we got lazy at the end, a bit, and added many more than 7 to the oil) but the labor was well worth it. It was the perfect amount of chips for two people, and I found myself hankering for more. But I'm good -- I had a banana instead. See? Eating fried food doesn't totally ruin you! Especially if you follow it with fruit.
Wow: I just had a thought: fried fruit. Everybody wins!

*For more information on smoke points of other fats, visit this article at Cooking for Engineers, which is one of my favorite cooking websites. Check out the handy conversion window in the top right corner!

Potato and Green Olive Stew

I'm back from the dead! Well, back, at least -- I feel quite close to not-alive, as a matter of fact. Although the weekend was wonderful and super relaxing (as well as warm! I think Spring is finally here!) I had one of those nights where my eyes just wouldn't stay shut. So Spring Break begins in exhaustion, for me. It's really a pity that they don't give us a little time off at the library, although I suppose I can't really complain: I get to come in almost two hours later than usual.
This past weekend spring was in the air, as I mentioned, and we couldn't think of a better way to welcome it into our home than opening all the windows, scrubbing everything down, and preparing a fresh springy stew. D chose this one, and I must admit that I was wary at first. Olives and lemons with potatoes? Sounded weird to me. I was imagining a very briny, bitter tasting mush. Boy, was I wrong. I mean seriously, seriously wrong: this stew was far from bitter or briny. It didn't have an acidic taste at all; in fact, it was extremely mild, with just a hint of spiciness. And the potatoes were fabulous -- they made up most of the stew, really. It wasn't much of a stew, since there is less than one cup of water in the whole dish; instead, it was more like a vegetarian goulash. I can't wait to try some of it cold -- I feel like the flavors will really stand out more solidly after it has chilled, and I'm sure that the remaining liquid will turn into a wonderful starchy mush, coating the potatoes and olives splendidly.

Potato and Green Olive Stew
This stew only takes about 40 minutes on the stove, from start to finish, which makes it a really easy dinner to whip up. Unfortunately, you have to marinate the olives for a few hours before beginning -- outside of the fridge -- so that adds a big chunk of time to the preparation of this stew. I suppose you could set them on the counter right when you get home from work if you're planning on a late dinner; alternatively, they would be fine if you left them to sauce around in the fridge for a day in the lemon juice. The marinating part is extremely simple: mix 1/2 a pound (8 oz.) of cracked green olives with 1 tablespoon of fresh lemon juice and allow to rest on the counter, stirring occasionally, for at least three hours. Cracked green olives shouldn't be too hard to find: they're usually at the olive bar and are fresher than those that come in a jar or a can. They're unpitted and scored along the sides (cracked) in order to allow the marinade to seep into them more readily. You should not use pitted olives for this recipe: the pit helps the olive hold its shape when you add it to the stew. Without the pit, it would most likely break apart and become mushy, absorbing all the flavors without retaining its essential oliveness.
Now that the olives are marinating, you're free for a few hours. If you're anything like D and I, however, you'll stay in the kitchen to prepare the rest of your ingredients. Besides, peeling and cutting three pounds of red baby potatoes into 1/3-inch-thick slices takes a bit of time. We soaked them in cold water to prevent them from turning brown or mushy, and drained them when we were ready to add them to the stew. We also chopped two medium-sized yellow onions (to make two cups diced onions, total) and 3/4 a pound plum tomatoes -- diced as finely as possible after removing the seeds and liquid. The tomatoes, by the way, are an essential part of this dish. Until we added the tomatoes, I remained skeptical about this whole affair; after the tomatoes were added, the stew finally started to look like something I wanted to eat.
Once the olives have marinated for at least three hours, heat 1/3 a cup of olive oil in a large, heavy stew pot until it begins to shimmer and wave. Add the two cups diced onions at this point and sauté for five minutes, stirring occasionally. The onions should be translucent, not burned, when they are ready. To the onions, add 1-1/4 teaspoons sweet Hungarian paprika, 1 teaspoon fresh ground pepper, and 1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper. Stir to coat, then add the drained potatoes, marinated olives, and lemon juice that the olives were marinating in to the pot. Stir again until the ingredients and spices are blended.
Add 1-1/2 cups of water and bring the mixture to a boil. The water level won't seem high enough, but don't worry: once you add the tomatoes, the dish will become appropriately saucy and stew-like. After the water boils, reduce the heat to a simmer and cover the pan. Cook until the potatoes are tender -- about 15 to 20 minutes, depending on the size of your potato slices -- stirring occasionally. After the potatoes are tender, add the 3/4 pound diced plum tomatoes and stir. Continue to simmer until the flavors have blended together, which doesn't take long: about ten minutes should do it. Season with a pinch of salt and serve with a lemon wedge and a small dish for the olive pits to rest in. D and I discussed the possibility of removing all the olives from the stew and pitting them before serving, which we would do for company, but it's far too much work (and we knew there would be leftovers, so the pits needed to be intact in order to preserve the olives) for just us two.
This is such a bright, invigorating surprise of a stew. I wasn't expecting it to taste so spring-like. It has the most wonderful underlying hint of lemon -- not overwhelming, by any means, but the taste is there -- and the olives and potatoes are such a unique combination of ingredients. We'll definitely be making this stew again.

Scalloped Potatoes

It was so foggy out on my walk home yesterday that I could barely see past the tip of my nose. It certainly made for interesting travel, although it was a bit dangerous -- I nearly got smashed by a bicyclist, a bus, and two cabs in my short walk from the bus stop to my apartment. I'd say that I have to be a bit more careful, but this was all on them: stop driving so quickly without paying attention to lights and traffic signals and people! Just because you're riding around in a metal box doesn't mean it's safe to speed.
Anyhow. The fog makes me sad -- it's so drippy and dreary and downright depressing that it's hard to do anything with that outside the window. It wasn't pretty fog, either -- just a mass of grey-white wetness. I am so ready for this weather to disappear, by the way. Where's the sun? Where's my promised early spring, Mr. Groundhog?! While I wait, I'll busy myself with some more winter food -- time is running out for those heavy, oven-intensive casserole type dishes. There's a bright side to every foggy day, and yesterday, that bright side was found in a hot dish of scalloped potatoes. We used to make these when I was growing up, and they're major comfort food. Just the smell makes me feel cozy, like I'm sitting in front of a fireplace with my favorite book, curled up like a cat. Is it time to go home and get under the covers, yet?
Although this is a slightly time-intensive recipe for what amounts to a side dish, it's well worth the effort. We ate the entire thing in one sitting -- but we made a half-recipe, so I suppose that's fair. It's really not all that bad for you, especially since I used skim milk and only two tablespoons of butter instead of the required four. It took me about an hour and a half, from start to finish -- that's with about 45 minutes in the oven, mind you, so it really only took 45 minutes of pure kitchen work and an additional 45 of agonized waiting.
This is a slight adaptation of Julia Child's recipe from Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume 1 (page 523) and the only change I made was adding a middle layer of caramelized onions. Since we only had half of a bag of potatoes -- remember those rainbow beauties I used for the potato soup? -- I was working with a smaller amount of food that I needed to succeed. So I added an onion to the dish to round it out and give it more heft, and by golly, it totally worked; in fact, I think the onion might have been the best part of the whole dish. She calls them Gratin Dauphinois [Scalloped Potatoes with Milk, Cheese, and a Pinch of Garlic]. The garlic, by the way? Totally can't taste it. It's kind of a pointless step, actually, and the only thing it did was make my hands smell like garlic for the rest of the night. But I actually like that.

Scalloped Potatoes with Caramelized Onion
Begin by preheating the oven to 425º.
Slice a medium sized white or yellow onion into long thin strips -- I do this by halving it, taking off the outer layer of tough skin, and slicing it into sections from the tip down towards the root with your knife parallel to the cutting board. Don't slice through the root, however -- it holds the onion together and makes it easier to chop. Besides, it's one of the juiciest parts of the onion and caramelizes wonderfully. After slicing it down the middle, bring your knife to the top, rounded part of the onion and slice into thin strips from the side to the middle and back to the other side. Halfway through the process, your knife will be at a 90º with the board and the onion. It's hard to explain; perhaps I'll take some photos next time.
Heat a heavy frying pan on the stove and add about a tablespoon of butter. When the foam begins to subside, add the onions to the pot. They should make a satisfying sizzle when they hit the pan; if not, the butter wasn't hot enough. This is a trick to master in the kitchen, the butter/foam/heat skill, because the foam is an indication of how hot the butter is. See this wonderful post from cookthink for more details and procedures regarding heating butter over the stove. Throw a pinch or two of salt on the onions -- it helps them sweat, releasing their juices and allowing them to steam -- and cover the pan. Lower the heat to medium-low and allow the onions to cook while you chop the potatoes, stirring occasionally to prevent burning. If they do begin to burn, simply turn the heat down and stir more often.
Child suggests that you peel the 2-1/2 pounds of potatoes, and if I were using russets or something with a tougher skin, I would go with that advice; however, I had those little rainbow babies that just look better skin-on -- and the blue potatoes made the top of my dish look extra-crispy, to the point of being burned, but they weren't burned at all: just blue! Slice them thinly: 1/8 of an inch, maximum, but thinner, if you can. After they are sliced, place them in a bowl filled with cold water and allow them to soak. When you are ready to use them, strain and dry with paper towels.
You need a heavy, shallow baking dish for this recipe, three inches deep, maximum, and about eight inches in diameter. Grab a clove of garlic and cut in half. Rub the garlic on the inside of the pan. Next, coat the inside of the pan with about 1 teaspoon of butter. Remove the potatoes from the water and dry with a towel. Layer half the potatoes on the bottom of the baking dish and top with a shake of salt, a nice dose of fresh ground pepper, and 1/4 cup of grated swiss cheese. I actually used fontina, a cows-milk cheese from Italy, which has a smoky, rich, and creamy flavor. Dot with about a tablespoon of butter, divided. Top this with the caramelized onions, which should be done enough at this point -- they'll be light brown in color (perhaps with a few dark spots where they burned, which is fine) and soft.
Layer the rest of the potatoes over the onions and season as you did with the first layer, with salt and pepper. Top with the remainder of the grated cheese and another tablespoon of butter, dotted across the top. Set the entire dish aside. Measure out about 1/2 to 3/4 a cup of milk -- I used skim, which turned out excellently, but obviously whole would be tastier -- and pour into a saucepan. Heat the milk, whisking all the while, until it boils, then pour it over the potatoes.
Pop the potatoes into the oven for about 35 to 45 minutes, testing after you reach the 35 minute marker. The potatoes will be perfectly soft all the way through with no resistance or firmness when they hit your fork. When they're soft throughout, the dish is ready to serve. D added a dash of red pepper flakes for flavor as he ate them, but they're just as delicious with no extras -- I know, because that's how I ate mine.
I can see why Child's cookbook is slightly daunting after completing this recipe. Although it's fairly simple fare when all is said and done the task of slicing those potatoes as thinly as possible -- with a substandard knife -- was difficult, but well worth the effort. I suppose that's why she begins her book thusly:

This is a book for the serventless American cook who can be unconcerned on occasion with budgets, waistlines, time-schedules, children's meals, the parent-chauffeur-den-mother syndrome, or anything else which might interfere with the enjoyment of producing something wonderful to eat. (Child, Julia, Louisette Bertholle, and Simone Beck. Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume 1. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1961, 523.)

I may be serventless, but I certainly am concerned with both my budget and my waistline, as well as my time-schedule. Whatever that may be. Still, though, this was a fairly inexpensive dish, and it tasted so fabulous that I feel no guilt over my plans to make it as soon as I get more potatoes in my house -- which may be tomorrow.

Potato and Onion Soup

Yesterday was, by all accounts, a spectacular day. D got some very good news, but he had to stay late at work -- which gave me ample time to whip up some celebration food for both of us. Unfortunately, I was too damn lazy to go out to the store, so I was stuck with whatever we had in the house. It wasn't much, and we had just made a mixup meal, so I wasn't really interested in throwing a bunch of stuff together randomly and seeing how it turned out. I wanted to make something hearty, exciting, and comforting. What I really wanted to do was whip up some onion tarts like this beauty from Orangette... or these cute babies from Simply Recipes... but I didn't have the time, patience, or energy to spend on the dough, which is quite an effort and would be much better with a food processor. Which I do not own. Anyhow... no tarts, yesterday. But I did have a lot of onions, a bunch of gorgeous potatoes, and a giant container of milk that I didn't know what we were planning on doing with.
Then it hit me: potato onion soup. God. I used to eat this all the time, growing up. Sometimes with leeks, sometimes with celery and garlic... the memories of this comforting, simple meal came back in a flood. And I decided to make the soup, all over again, sans any real recipe. I knew that it would be slightly thin: the milk was skim, and I have a recollection of using whole milk and heavy cream, but I figured that the potato starch would help thicken up the soup. And a handful of flour would work some magic on the consistency. I was right: the soup was thin, but not alarmingly so. It didn't really diminish the flavor or quality of the soup -- it was still quite hearty and filling.
D loved it, as did I. We nearly ate the whole pot for dinner last night. True, I didn't make a gigantic amount of it, but it was more than enough for two people. And with all the milk and potatoes, it's a stick-to-your-ribs kind of soup, so a small amount does go a long way.

Potato and Onion Soup
Begin by slowly melting 2 tablespoons of butter in a large, heavy saucepan -- as usual, I used my dutch oven, as I always do when making soup. Dice 2 large onions and add to the melted butter. Stir to coat the onions in butter and, with the heat on low, cover the pot for about 10 to 15 minutes to allow the onions to steam. While the onions are cooking, chop about 2-1/2 pounds of baby potatoes. Any kind of potato will do, but I was fortunate enough to have a sack of rainbow colored baby beauties. I have no idea what they're actually called, but I got them at our new favorite grocery store. It's just a Jewel/Osco, but -- unlike most of the groceries in downtown Chicago -- it has an outdoor parking lot, spacious aisles (lord how I hate being pushed in the grocery store; you don't even know) and all sorts of fresh, bright, squeezable produce. Andreas Viestad, my favorite Norwegian chef (although a bit too bourgeois, in my opinion... but his cuteness makes up for that) had a glorious episode centered on potatoes, and he mentioned that if you ever see any small odd-shaped "nubbly" potatoes to snatch them up immediately. He was right: these potatoes rocked -- it was a healthy mixture of mostly yukon gold and small red potatoes, smattered with a few baby purple potatoes for good measure. God, am I ever glad I didn't use them all in the soup. I want to make potato salad with the rest of the lot. I chopped these potatoes into odd-sized bites: since this is a five-ingredient recipe mostly consisting of potatoes I really wanted them to look great. That part was really fun, because I got to get a little creative with my knife and make crazy slices. I kept the skins on, mostly for color, although they could be taken off if you're so inclined.
I made sure to stir the onions a few times while steaming them so they wouldn't burn, but that wasn't really a concern since the heat was so low. After rinsing the potatoes, I dried them quickly with a paper towel and threw them into the pot with the onions. Another pat of butter was added at this point -- if I'm using skim milk, I might as well use enough butter to make it rich. I also added some salt to the vegetables in order to make the onions sweat a little, as well as a hearty dose of freshly ground black pepper. Most people would use white pepper in a white soup, but I don't own any -- I don't like the flavor of it as much as I like the flavor of black pepper. At this point, I also added about 1 tablespoon of flour, which would act as a thickener for the soup when the milk was added. After steaming the potatoes in with the onions for about ten minutes or so, I added four cups of skim milk. Stirring frequently, I brought the soup to a slow boil and allowed it to simmer until the potatoes were soft and gorgeous. I left the top on the pot, for the most part, in order to help the soup cook faster -- at this point, I was starving, so I was willing to do anything in my power to make it finish fast. After about 30 to 45 minutes of the slow simmer, the soup was finished. It was so, so, so, good. And for five ingredients and about an hour, total, cooking time? It was well worth the minimal effort.

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.

Baked Chicken with Dijon and Breadcrumb Coating (Plus Quick Smashed Potatoes)

My favorite thing about this recipe has to be how easy it is. When we hit that middle of the week rut and we're all out of fresh vegetables and fruit it can get pretty depressing. Often we'll resort to frozen pizza or something equally lame, but if we can handle the kitchen for about fifteen minutes, I'll throw together this quick baked chicken while he makes a delicious side dish (usually mashed potatoes). We usually have all the ingredients for this one on hand, since most of them are stock pantry items, except for the chicken -- he'll stop at the grocery store in his office building on the way home to grab some more veggies and fruit and also snag some chicken on the way out.
You can make this with standard chicken breasts, but I like to cut the breasts into strips for smaller chicken tenders. I like doing this because it helps control portion size, leaving a few for leftover that can serve as sandwich filler for lunch the next day. Another great thing about this recipe is that if you make mashed potatoes for a side, the timing works out remarkably well. If you throw the potatoes on the stove after preparing the chicken (but before putting it in the oven to bake) everything should be ready at once, allowing you to serve a hot meal all together. This is the mark of a truly successful dinner -- getting the timing just right.

Baked Chicken with Dijon and Breadcrumb Coating
Begin by preheating the oven to 400º. Line a baking sheet (or 9x13 inch pan) with foil.
You can use either fresh bread or pre-made breadcrumbs for this recipe, but since I don't own a food processor (have I mentioned this before? A few times, perhaps?) I always use ready-made, which turns out just fine. If you're going to go with fresh, use about 1/2 a loaf of french bread and tear it into pieces. Pulse the pieces in the food processor until they're finely ground.
In a large bowl, stir together 1 cup of breadcrumbs, 1/4 cup grated parmesan cheese, 1 tablespoon of sage (fresh or dried -- I use dried), and salt and pepper to taste. If you're using seasoned breadcrumbs you don't need to add extra salt, but I still grind in some pepper and throw in the sage. Probably unnecessary, but it adds an extra zing to the breaded coating.
In a separate dish, melt 1 tablespoon of butter. Mix in 1 1/2 tablespoons of dijon mustard.
I always rinse raw chicken before using it, but that's probably because I'm insane. In any case, pat the chicken dry. For this recipe, I usually use about one pound of chicken, which works out to six tenders or two breasts.
Brush the pieces with the mustard butter, or if you're not too squeamish, coat them using your hands. That's what I do, because I don't own a kitchen brush either! Mine melted in the Great Hot Frying Pan Fire of 2006 (Tip: Don't use a non-silicone brush on a hot frying pan. It will melt. And quite possibly burn.)
Throw the coated chicken pieces into the bowl of breadcrumbs and coat. You'll have some breadcrumbs left over (the original recipe wants you to use two cups, but I almost cried after seeing how much I threw away so I cut it down to one cup, which works just fine).
Arrange the chicken on your foil-lined baking sheet (another reason this recipe is so damn great: virtually no clean-up! no greasy pan to wash = love.) Bake for 25 minutes, until they're slightly browned on top and the chicken is done all the way through.

Quick Smashed Potatoes
If you want to make the mashed potatoes, here's a simplified version of the recipe. He usually makes these, so my portions might be off for the butter and milk -- just add a little at a time until the potatoes are the consistency you want.
Peel 3 medium sized russet potatoes and cut into large chunks.
Place in a pot and cover with cold water. The water should just cover the potatoes.
Place on a hot stove and boil for 20 to 25 minutes. Test to see if they're done with a fork or a knife. If they're easy to poke, they're ready to mash.
Mash, using a whisk or a large fork, or a Kitchen Aid Mixer (I! love! my! Kitchen! Aid! Mixer! -- and I'm not the only one, see? Mine is an extremely old model, though, and from the days when it only came in white. Can I have an orange one next time around, please?), together with approx. 1 tablespoon butter and about 1/3 cup of milk.

Candied Sweet Potatoes

We had a long day yesterday, and after stopping at two stores on the way home, we were exhausted and just didn't want to prepare a complicated meal. Good thing we had some sweet potatoes kicking around waiting to be eaten. I adore sweet potatoes: it's something we never had in my house growing up, and I love baking them in the oven (400º for about an hour) right in their jackets, then popping them open for an easy and healthy side dish. You don't even need to top them with butter; their sweetness alone makes them rich and creamy enough for automatic consumption.
We were to hungry to wait for an hour, and these were gigantic potatoes, which means that baking them, naturally, would take even longer than that. So we scrounged around for a good, easy recipe -- a quick scrounge, I might add, since we were practically starving at this point -- and found one in our good old standby, the American Heritage Cookbook (last mentioned here, in the post about Macaroni Pudding, or Mac'n'Cheese.) Out popped a recipe for Candied Sweet Potatoes, which was ridiculously simple to prepare and really good to eat. Comfort food, I like to call it.
I ate it plain, with nothing on the side, since I was too lazy to make anything else. The three potatoes made a huge batch (a full 9x13 inch pans worth, to be exact) and there are plenty of leftovers. I think he supplemented his with meatballs, which we made last Friday (recipe forthcoming.) Just potatoes is not enough for a growing man. We made a half-batch, considering that we only had half the amount of potatoes the recipe called for, but like I said -- plenty of food to go around. I can imagine this dish on Thanksgiving tables around America, as it would be a fantastic accompaniment to turkey or chicken.

Candied Sweet Potatoes
We began by heating the oven to 400º. The recipe wanted it to be at 350º for over an hour, but like I said -- we were too hungry to wait that long. And they're potatoes, not a tough cut of meat or some kind of dainty vegetable, so they can stand the heat and resulting slower cook time.
I peeled 3 good-sized sweet potatoes and began slicing them into rounds, which were too large for a normal person's mouth, so I halved the rounds and was left with nice moon-shaped pieces.
As I continued chopping, he took over the stove-top, melting together 2 tablespoons of butter, 1/2 cup light brown sugar, and 1/4 cup of water over medium heat until the sugar dissolved and the butter was completely melted. He then added some salt and pepper, to taste. This turns into a delicious sauce, a light brown and slightly watery topping for the potatoes.
We arranged (not too carefully; a more accurate term would be "we threw") the potatoes in a 9x13 inch Pyrex pan and poured the sauce over them. Into the hot oven it went (top rack, back half, which is the hottest part of our oven) for about 30 minutes, then we took them out and stirred it up with a spatula. The recipe says to "baste once or twice," but I don't own a baster, and I don't think that would have dramatically different results than the simple stir did.
Back into the oven they went, for about 10 more minutes and another stir. They still weren't done (as we had feared) so we ate some leftover guacamole and waited another 10 minutes for them to finish baking.
These were just splendidly delicious. I think that they could use slightly more sauce, or perhaps the sauce needed some more spice (I'm thinking allspice would be perfect, which I use on sweet potatoes frequently) but they were light, refreshing, and a wonderful full meal for me. I think they would be an excellent side dish for poultry or a heavier fish, but they really were splendid on their own.