Chili Bean, Chili Bean

(Pissing off the state of Texas)

Most Americans, particularly those from the Southwest, would be surprised to find out that Europeans think Chili – as in Chili Con Carne – is Mexican food.  Despite this belief, they also like to spell it chilli (at least in the UK), which is incorrect in both Spanish and English, unless you live in Illinois.  Never mind that it’s the state food of Texas or that Mexico has disowned this dish (probably after seeing too many cans of it served with Fritos and yellow cheese).  No American dish, in fact, has inspired such heated debates, cooking competitions, or secret recipes as chili.

Chili as we know it in the US, originates with the native people of the southwestern United States and Mexico who were the first to put meat and chiles together as they had both meat and chile to put together before anyone else.  It was in fact in Texas, after it split with Mexico, that chile con carne became popularized and was served by street vending “chili queens” or, once they were outlawed, in chili parlors.  The name’s in Spanish because most of the people making it at the time, in fact, spoke Spanish.  The key thing that changed in Texas was that a German immigrant figured out how to powder chilies, which moved Texas chili away from  its brother, a common Mexican dish, chile colorado, which is essentially beef (usually) in a sauce of pureed red chilies.  So sometimes borders are arbitrary.

Nonetheless, many Texans have since asserted themselves as the chili authority, and organizations such as the International Chili Society have codified the rules that most Texans play by.  No beans, tomatoes and other vegetables should be viewed with suspicion, and the only required chili is chili powder.  They also don’t mind if you dump a bunch of cans of stuff in your chili.

Not to offend anyone, but I don’t particularly care for these rules.  In fact, I don’t care what you put in your chili as long as it’s spicy and starts with chilies.  But then, I’m from California, where we’d throw in the whole garden if you let us.  I’ve made chili with just meat, chilies, and seasoning, with beans, with other vegetables, and even without meat.  But I always start out with whole dried chilies. Again, borders can be a bit arbitrary.

The reason for starting with some actual chilies is that different varieties of chilies impart different flavors  - like wine, they can have notes of smoke, tobacco, berries, chocolate, etc.  When it comes to dried chilies, in Mexico, the holy trinity for moles would be anchos (dried poblanos, a milder chili that makes a good base, pasillas (often smoked with a raisinlike flavor as its name suggests in Spanish) and guajillos (a spicier full-flavored almost berrylike chili).  I’d suggest using at least two kinds for a complex flavor, or three if you’re fancy.

Unless you like eating fire like I do, at least one variety should be one of the milder chilies.  Now, if you don’t happen to have your Scoville scale in your back pocket while you’re at the store, many of the milder varieties are big and wide like the aptly named ancho, or the mulato.  I have a limited supply here, so I’ve been going with 3 guajillos and 3 dried chipotles (smoked jalapenos), which makes for a very spicy and smoky dish.

While it’s not absolutely necessary to use whole dried chilies, I would encourage using chilies with a name – either in paste or powder form.  With fresh chilies you won’t get the earthy flavor we associate with chili. Whole dried chilies last for a long time in the pantry, so don’t be afraid to try out a couple different types.  They also don’t weigh anything or need special handling, so they’re one of the few foods worth mail ordering if you’re really stuck (so much for buying local . . . ).

Here’s the basic technique:  Put about 6 dried chilies in a sauce pan, add enough water to cover and boil.  Bring down to a simmer and go for about 20 minutes – more or less depending on variety.  The chilies tend to float on top, so poke the top ones down from time to time.  When the chilies are very soft, pull them out of the water and remove the stems and seeds.  If you want extra heat, keep some seeds in, but too many seeds can be a bit difficult to digest since they don’t really break down, ever.  Then pour a couple splashes of the cooking water in the blender, put the lid on the blender and cover with a towel and blend.  When you take the lid of the blender, resist the temptation to inhale anywhere near the contents as some of the chili fire is now airborn.

Congratulations, you’ve made the base of your chili and are ready to go to town.

As for the rest of the ingredients, I generally sauté some onion and garlic in a pan with a light coating of oil, along with perhaps some bell pepper or other veg you might want.  Then add the other spices you  might want – most would find cumin necessary. I also add oregano, a touch of cinnamon, cocoa powder, sometimes cayenne powder or paprika, the SO adds ginger.  Once you’ve mixed this with the sautéing vegetables, add the pureed chile, tomatoes if you want them (particularly if you need to tone it down),  the meat*, and once you’ve simmered for nearly long enough, add some cooked  beans if you like chili with beans or maybe some corn.  Finish off with salt to taste.  Chili’s one of those things that’s better the next day, but that doesn’t usually work out for me.

(That's leftover thanksgiving turkey in there, no beans)

 As for the meat – you have a couple of options.  You can briefly brown the meat at the beginning of the process, set it aside, and then return it to the pot to simmer to finish when you add the pureed chilies.  This is probably the most traditional way.  Honestly though, I’ve made some excellent chili with pork that I braised previously or leftover thanksgiving turkey.  I’ve also been impatient and added raw ground beef to the sautéing garlic, onions, and spices, topped off with the chili puree and beans, and let it all simmer for half an hour or so and it turned out fine.

(Braised pork and beans)

 If you end up with chili that’s a bit watery, you can thicken it with some corn flour or masa – gives it a good corn taste too.  You can also just boil off the extra liquid.

Part of the fun for me is that chili can be made in such a variety of ways.  Purists insist on only the chili puree, spices, onion, garlic, and some form of beef or pork.  Tasty, but also expensive and not quite as healthy as the variety with some veg and beans.  Incidentally, if you do like following real recipes, I randomly ran across a recipe written by a high school pal of mine who went on to become a kick-ass butcher that was published in Food and Wine.  His technique differs slightly but it’s in the same spirit.

Finally, once you’re done, then you enter the great debate as to what goes under or on top of your chili.  My favorite is to put some corn bread in the bowl, top with a couple ladlefuls of chili and then top that with red or green onion, cilantro, sour cream, and shredded jack cheese.  I’ve usually made the chili so hot that the cream and cheese are somewhat necessary, but that’s just me.  I’ve also been known to eat it with corn tortillas, tortilla chips, and yes, pasta or rice.

Yum.  

Magic Beans

In this time between the holidays, I find myself craving simple healthy foods that are still warming.  I also miss Mexican food in a big way, as growing up in California, Mexican food is more accurately categorized as “food.”  I’ve pretty much given up on the corn products here in the UK – the tortilla chips are heavy and stale, corn tortillas non-existent, and my attempts to make my own have been thwarted by the fact that the only masa I can find is out of date.  While London has a lot of food from all over the world, its Mexican food is sorely lacking.

That’s not to say that all is lost.  Many of the foods commonly used in Mexican cuisine – chile, lime, cilantro, cumin, are also beloved by other cultures that have relocated here.  And for reasons I cannot yet explain, among the large variety of beans at the local Turkish grocery store, I have found pinto beans.  Someone else must be eating the pinto beans, but the clerk has asked me before what I was planning on doing with the beans.  I think she thought I was being sassy when I told her I was going to cook and eat them, but I didn’t know what else to say. 

If you’re thinking that cooking beans is not that exciting, then you may want to make sure you’ve actually had properly prepared beans before you write them all off.  Canned beans or freeze-dried reconstituted beans served at Taco Bell and many other restaurants don’t count.  Neither do rapidly pressure-cooked beans with a bunch of “seasonings” tossed in to mask the fact that they have no flavor.  We’re talking beans here – a staple food for large segments of the world’s population that have the advantage of being cheap and tasty.

The method here can be used for most any variety of beans.  Note -  if you’re using kidney beans you may want to ignore what I say below and soak them for several hours followed by boiling for at least 10 minutes to avoid a nasty form of food poisoning.

Frijoles de la Olla – Soupy Beans (aka “Beans”)

First find your beans.  Pinto beans are the old standby for me, though black beans or the small red Central American beans that are the size of black beans and the color of kidney beans are also good, as are pink beans.  Beans that aren’t all old and extra dry are better, but you may not have a choice.

Once you have your beans, take a pound of them (2 cups, small bag) and sort through them.  Sometimes a stone manages to sneak in – get rid of these.  Wash the beans – either in a strainer or put in a bowl or pan and fill with water.  Make sure to wash them good as sometimes in the drying process the dirt gets caked on.  If you’re soaking them in a bowl, after a minute or so, you might notice that the first beans to float to the top are some sort of mutant duds – mere bean skins, funny looking miscolored hard little beans – toss these things out.  (If you’re just using a strainer, don’t worry, you can do this once they’re in the pot).  Regardless, get rid of any unbeanlike beans – some batches have one, some, more like twenty.

That’s it, strain the beans and put in a good-sized pot.  What? No overnight soak?  Won’t they take forever to cook?  Won’t I fart endlessly?  Possibly, but 1) they take a long time regardless, 2) if you’re worried about wind, you probably don’t eat enough beans, and 3) you want them to taste good, right?  Then don’t wash away all their beaniness with pre-soak.  (Washing in a bowl of water is not pre-soaking them, though see scary note about kidney beans above.)

One more thing, while I generally try to not obsess over kitchen gear, if you do have a ceramic lined pot (like a fancy dutch oven), use this rather than a metal pot.  If not, forget I said anything and go back to your beans.  It’s fine.  Really. 

Now that your beans are in the pot, add some water.  Generally for a pound of beans, 2-3 quarts of water is what you need, but honestly, I’ve never measured.  Go for a couple of inches of water over the beans – you can add some hot water later if too much disappears.

The only essential ingredients are the beans and the water at this point, but many people add a couple teaspoons of lard, oil, or a tiny bit of bacon or grease, and part of an onion.  You can also toss in a clove of garlic, cilantro, ½ cup of beer (for frijoles borachos), or other fanciness, or if you’re doing black beans, toss in epazote if you can find it.  But really, it’s the beans that have the flavor, so don’t go overboard with anything.  Anything you do add will be cooked to oblivion, so do yourself a favor and leave it in large pieces that can easily be pulled out later.  I generally add a half an onion cut in half, a clove of garlic, and if I have lard or bacon, a tiny bit of that – otherwise I skip it.

(Basic beans ready to go)

 When I first learned to make beans in Mexico I was told to add the salt at the end and given some sort of explanation about the skins getting hard if it went in to early.  I still follow this advice, but plenty of people add the salt at this point with no disaster.  

Bring your pot of beans to a boil, then lower to a simmer and cover.  Once simmering, you want the heat low enough so there’s still some action in the pot, but no higher.  Now if you’re like me and tend to get distracted so you’re not really sure when the beans actually started to boil, don’t panic, they’ll be fine.  On the other hand, don’t think you can speed up the beans by boiling them to death – you’re not going to be eating them today anyway.

Over the next couple of hours, give a peak from time to time to make sure there’s still enough water in the pot.  If the beans aren’t covered with liquid or you’d like a bit more, add some boiling water (don’t want to mess with the cooking temperature).  Just don’t make them too watery or the broth won’t be very tasty.  It should be cloudy.  Think of it as a bean soup – you want a lot of beans with the broth, not a couple beans floating in a pool. 

Once you’ve cooked them for 2 hours start checking on the beans for doneness.  Pintos can take 2-3 hours, some other varieties longer.  The time depends on the dryness of the beans, the level of heat, your altitude, and if you need to leave home anytime soon.  Fish out a couple of beans – if they’re soft like a bean, they’re done.

(Some time later they've magically transmutated.)

 At or near the end, add a couple teaspoons to a tablespoon of salt.  It may seem like a lot, but remember, there’s not much else in there.

That’s it – you’re done.  But for some reason, they just won’t be as good as they will be tomorrow.  Once the pot has cooled off enough, fish out mushy onion or other bits and put it in the fridge (or be organized and put it in a container in the fridge). 

Now that you have beans – what are you going to do with them?  Once reheated, you can eat them just like this with their broth plain or with some cheese, chopped tomato, onion, cilantro, or chile.  You can scoop out some beans and toss them in soup, salad, chili, or burritos. You can eat them as a side with dinner or with your eggs at breakfast. You can stick half in the freezer.  You can put them in a frying pan and reduce the liquid making for a richer bean. 

Sopa Tarasca (Tarascan Soup)

In the only actual cooking class I ever had, we learned to make Sopa Tarasca – a pureed bean soup.  The class was in central Mexico and this was a regional specialty:

Broil two tomatoes in the oven or char in a pan on the stovetop.  Blend with a clove of garlic and about half of a small chopped onion.  Pour this mixture into a pan coated with hot oil and let it cook for a few minutes.  While its cooking, puree a couple cups of cooked beans with their broth and pour this into the cooking tomato mixture.  After a couple more minutes add some chicken or other broth.  Soup.  Yum.  Top with crumbly cheese. 

Frijoles Refritos  (Refried Beans)

Finally, you can make refried beans.  When I say I miss Mexican food, this is usually what I’m thinking of – the smell of beans frying on the stove and burning corn tortillas. 

First, a word on the frying.  A while back everyone became paranoid about fried foods and what they were fried in.  Refried beans, through a misunderstanding of the word refrito (we’ll leave the linguistic lesson for another day) were somehow branded as a terrible fatty food - never mind their protein, magnesium, potassium, iron, folate, or thiamin content.   Mexican restaurants all over the U.S. were forced to make their beans with vegetable shortening or oil and advertise them as lard-free.  Now, if you’ve never made refried beans, you may have imagined that the beans were somehow mashed and deep-fried or that the mushy goodness holding the beans together somehow involved large amounts of lard.  It does not. 

Even if you make refried beans with lard, you only need a tablespoon or so and they turn out fine, and probably with less fat than most meats.  While some rogue restaurants may have been adding copious amounts of fat to their beans, if you start with good beans, there’s no reason for this.  Though if you like lard, don’t let me stop you  - you can easily add a quarter cup to the batch described below. 

First, very finely chop a small chunk of onion (quarter of a smallish one).  Put your desired fat (lard, drippings, vegetable oil, a bit of Mexican chorizo) in a frying pan and sauté the onion on high heat until translucent.  Keep the pan on high heat and pour in several cups of beans and their liquid – enough to fill the pan but give you room to work with (about half of the soupy beans you just made).  Then, take a potato masher and start mashing the beans in the pan.  If you don’t have a potato masher, you can use a large spoon or anything clean and heat safe with a long enough handle to keep your hand out of the hot beans.  You can also sieve the beans if you want them pureed as they do in Southern Mexico and parts of Central America, but you’d want to do this beforehand.

Once you’re done mashing (when it’s at the consistency you like), step away.  Let the beans keep cooking at high heat (watch out for burning hot bean sputters) until enough of the liquid has cooked off so they’re at the consistency you like.  Add some salt if you think it needs more (depends on how salty the beans are).  I tend to stir it a bit to avoid burning on the bottom and edges of the pan or maybe just because I’m inpatient.

That’s it.  Frijoles refritos.  Done proper.  While this may seem too simple to be tasty, you’ve actually just reduced the broth from the beans into a rich paste.  That’s where the much of the flavor lies, not in piles of imaginary lard.  If you’re making them vegetarian they will still have more flavor made this way than anything you can buy in a can. 

(Nearly done refried beans - might not look like much but it's tasty)

If you need to reheat them later and find them too dry, just add a splash of water to the pot you’re reheating in and stir it into the beans.  I like to eat them with chips and not bother making anything else. J

Savory Pies

My love of pies goes way back.  Often when asked what kind of birthday cake I would like as a child (and still today), my response would be “pie.”  However, as I’ve gotten older, while I still make traditional sweet pies at holidays or when peaches are in season, the types of pies I find myself making and eating most often are savory pies.  In fact lately I seem to have an obsession with a particular savory pie, the quiche pie.

Quiche is one of those foods like pizza where you can take bits of leftover food and make something wonderful.  It’s also one of those foods that only requires pie dough, eggs, some sort of dairy, and whatever else you fancy.  As I make pie crusts two at a time, there’s often an extra in the freezer.  If not, I usually have flour & some sort of fat in the house.

Once you have a bottom crust in the pie pan, sauté some vegetables and any meat that’s not already cooked.  Set that aside.  Beat up half a dozen eggs  - more or less depending on the depth of your pie plate and the volume of the rest of your ingredients.  I usually beat in some half and half or whole milk with the eggs, a large pinch of salt and another of nutmeg.  Put your meat and vegetable mixture in the crust, maybe some cheese, and pour the egg mixture on top.  Give a little jiggle to evenly coat everything and bake in a medium oven until  the egg is set.

Most traditional recipes call for full cream in the  egg mixture, and sometimes quite a lot, but since I tend to eat quiche more often than I should, I try to go easy in this department. This also makes the quiche travel a bit better as it’s a bit more solid than the varieties with lots of cream and I like to make quiches to take on road trips (weird, but it always gets eaten).

Some of the classic combinations include ham or bacon and cheese, broccoli and cheddar, spinach and feta, sautéed mushrooms, but don’t let these limit you.

Here’s one I made with broccoli, leaks, sundried tomatoes, a couple pieces of bacon, and a sprinkling of cheese. 

  

Which brings me to another pie technique.  In this case, I had a lot of vegetables and only a shallow tart pan, meaning I knew my quiche would not take long in the oven to set.  Which means my pie crust might not be done by the time the filling was done.  If you find yourself in this scenario, all you need to do is blind bake the pie crust.  Why it is called that, I have no idea as you can generally see  what’s going on with the pie crust easier than you can when it’s filled.

Simply line your dish with the crust.  Some people are lucky and can just bake it like this, especially if they are on TV.  

I find my piecrust tends to slide down the pan when I try, so I line the crust with foil and put some rocks on it.  You can also use parchment paper and pie weights, dried beans, or coins, but I have rocks around and I’m not sure what effect pre-baking beans has on them when you actually want to use those beans.

(Don't blame my mother for this one; she uses proper pie weights.)

Pop the crust in the oven for 10 minutes or more to give it a head start and then fill and bake as usual.

Finally, quiches aren’t the only savory pies.  Last time we had dinner guests, my SO made these pies for dinner:

(Familiar picture?  I did at least put the crust on these . . .)

In one, he sautéed beef, mushroom, onion, squash , and carrots, added some broth and let the whole thing simmer for a while.  The other one was similar though it had venison (they sell that at the regular store here) and some wine in the mixture.  When he was ready to fill the pie crusts, rather than add a thickener like flour as most meat pies call for, he strained most of the extra liquid and made gravy to pour on afterward.  (I live a charmed life with someone else who can cook too.)  Chicken pot pie is similar, only there’s milk added in with the broth. 

(Mmm - meat pie filling.)

If you’re not using his creative method and want some thickener, add a couple tablespoons of flour to be melted in with butter in a frying pan or pot and cook until golden brown as if making a roux or gravy.  Then add the liquid to that (followed by everything else) and simmer until the liquid thickens up a bit so your pie doesn’t come out watery.  Once that’s done, pour into a pie dish lined with one pie crust and top with another pie crust, pinching the two together to seal.  Don’t worry about making perfect designs with the pie crust – pies look impressive enough on their own so no need to succumb to your obsessive-compulsive tendencies.  Rustic is good – it makes your food look homemade.

Do cut a couple of vents in the top of your pie – this will avoid explosion and soggy bottom.  Do also place it in the bottom of a medium oven (350 or so) and bake it for 45 minutes – or until you’re afraid the crust might burn. 

Whatever savory pie you choose, remember recipes are just guidelines and pies are actually a good way to take the leftovers you have (turkey anyone?) and making them into a tasty savory meal that seems to have some cohesion.

Thanksgiving Tips

I hereby interrupt my discussion on pies for a couple of Thanksgiving Tips for those of you putting on the feast.

1. The Turkey
For a moist turkey, the dry brine method used for chicken has worked for me. Russ Parsons, the food writer I learned this from, has upped the ante in this year's thanksgiving column and is now suggesting grilling the whole turkey after the dry brine is done.  Damn, I miss California.

2. The Turkey, part 2
So, if you're going the traditional route and find yourself reading a recipe that says something like "boil all the giblets except the liver" or "be sure to clean the gristle out of the gizzard" and can't figure out which of the blobby things in the creepy giblet bag is which, here's a picture (not for the squeamish).  This writer also offers a tip on where to find the missing giblets.

3. The Sides
My other favorite food writer, Mark Bittman aka "The Minimalist" has re-run his article on a number of thanksgiving sides that don't compete for oven space.  (Annoyingly the NY Times sometimes requires signing in, but it is free).  His recipe writing style makes everything seem achievable.  If you're trying to lighten up the Thanksgiving fare, he also has an article on raw vegetable sides that are appropriately thanksgivingish.

4. Cooking for a Crowd
There's no doubt this can be a high pressure situation.  I tend to cook thanksgiving dinner in foreign countries or only invite people not born in the U.S. - that way there are less expectations and you can pretty much do what you want and say it's the traditional way of doing things.  If you're not in this fortunate situation, ask people to bring a dish.  Seriously.  While the turkey, stuffing, and gravy can all be an intertwined mess, there's no reason family members and friends can't bring cranberry sauce or any of the other side dishes.  If you don't want the person to cook, have them bring rolls or wine.  Many people feel that if they're hosting they should do everything, but really, do you like showing up to people's homes empty handed?  If you do, it's about time you hosted, so suck it up.

5. Cooking for Vegetarians
A vegetarian friend wrote this article. The basic gist of it is when in doubt, ask the guest about her dietary restrictions to make sure you know what she can or cannot eat.  On the other hand, don't make vegetarianism the topic of the thanksgiving table since no one really wants an inquisition on their diet, especially at the holidays.

6. Cooking for Vegetarians when you've already added animal products to nearly everything
Another friend recently posted this article on pumpkin stuffed with "everything good" and pictures of her first few tries.  While the original recipe is not vegan or even vegetarian, it easily could be and looks very cool.  The idea is this, take a pumpkin or pumpkin shaped squash, cut the top out like you would for a jack-o-lantern, and after seeding it, proceed to stuff it with tasty things like a stuffing, cheese, rice, herbs, whatever, and then bake it till the squash is cooked through.  Gorgeous and plenty of room for creativity.  I've tried it with rice and its works just fine.  If you guest is vegan, you might want to explore cream substitutions like coconut milk or vegetable broth, but I'm sure you'll come up with something tastier than tofurky.

That's it - Happy Thanksgiving to All.

More pies next time.

Pie Crusts (Or, Word to my Mother)

It may surprise you to know that my mom does not like cooking.  In fact, I owe my love of cooking to her hatred of it as much of my time in the kitchen was really a course in survival.  That’s not to say that she doesn’t know her way around the kitchen, but in a world often divided into bakers and cooks, she is most definitely a baker.  Her lemon meringue pie is legendary in the family and came in second in a pie contest in the sixties – though history will judge.  The winner was apparently some pink fluffy strawberry nonsense that was in vogue at the time.  People in the know still make special requests for the lemon meringue – sometimes months in advance.

Part of what makes my mother’s pies so special is the flakey crust that cannot be bought in the freezer section of the grocery store.  In fact, right before I moved out of the house, I made sure that she taught me how to properly make a pie crust.  It turns out that it’s not so much the particular ingredients or ratios, but how you handle it.  Unlike bread, which is lovingly kneaded, pie crust is best treated coldly and gingerly – it’s apparently the frigid b*tch of the baking world.

Let’s look at the ingredients:

Flour

All-purpose flour is just fine.  If you decide you want a whole wheat pie crust, it will be a bit more difficult to work with, so either use a mix of whole wheat and all-purpose, or as long as you are buying whole wheat flour, get whole wheat pastry flour (just don’t try to make bread with this as there is not enough gluten to hold the gas required for the bread to rise).

Fat

Pie crust is full of fat.  Get over it.  Once you have, you need to decide what solid state fat works best for you.  Here are your options:

Lard

Lard is the most traditional.  The obvious disadvantage is that it is not nice to serve pies made with lard to vegetarians or persons with other ethical issues with pigs.  It can also have a slightly noticeable piggy-taste (unless you use the fancier leaf lard), which you might not want with a sweet pie.  The huge advantage is that lard flakes like nothing else, so if you’re a mediocre pie-crust maker like me, your crust turns out better.  Also, lard is arguably healthier than butter and Crisco based on the fat profile.   Finally, lard is cheap, though if you bought it from a non-refrigerated section of the store, it was hydrogenated, making it less healthy.

Butter

Nothing beats butter when it comes to flavor.  Unfortunately, as butter is only about 80% fat rather than 100%, it doesn’t flake quite as beautifully.  (In theory, you should use 20% more butter if you change the recipe below to an all butter recipe and reduce the liquid slightly, but I generally use a combo of butter and lard and make few adjustments.) Butter’s fat content is not particularly good for you, but at least there’s a bit of vitamin A and protein in there too. 

Vegetable Shortening

Crisco is not, strictly speaking, food, so I generally avoid it.  My mother, on the other hand, has made beautiful pie crusts for years with it and it’s easy to store. I did try a substitute for it I found in a health food, Spectrum Organic Shortening, which worked okay despite its seemingly unstable consistency and have heard that coconut oil, with its similar consistency will work well too.  Both of these options are a bit pricier, particularly the coconut oil.

Beyond that is the water and the salt, and sugar or spices if you like.

Process

Here’s a basic recipe, though I've seen variations in the ratio that work fine too: 

2 cups flour

¾ cup fat (a couple more tablespoons if butter) cut up into little chunks

5 tablespoons cold water

½-1 tsp salt depending on taste and if you only have salted butter around

Optional – tablespoon of sugar, bit of cinnamon or the like

Your ingredients, particularly the fat and water, should be cold.  After cutting up the fat and measuring out the flour and salt, I usually throw this all in a bowl (make sure to evenly sprinkle the salt) and put the whole thing in the fridge for a few minutes.

(Cut up fat looking strangely like hard-boiled egg)

  

With a pastry knife cut the flour and salt into the fat until it resembles crumbs. This takes a bit of work to get it evenly combined, but do not overwork the dough.  I usually err on the side of unevenly combined. If I had a food processor, I might use it, but I don’t .

(Almost crummy enough)

Now pull your five tablespoons of water out of the fridge or freezer (unless it’s cold out; then water from the faucet may be just fine).  Gradually work this into the dough so the dough holds together in a ball.  Now, in theory, you should add one tablespoon at a time while continuing to barely work the dough.  In practice, I find this to be an exercise in frustration.  Around the fifth tablespoon is where I start to panic as the dough does not seem to want to hold together.  Time to break into the vodka.  Seriously.

Hopefully you have a bottle of vodka in your freezer ready for moments like this when a martini is necessary.  More practically though, the latest tip I’ve seen floating around the interwebs is that if you need to add more liquid, a strong flavorless alcohol like vodka will pretty much bake off in the oven so you can add a bit more liquid to make the dough easier to work with. 

Given my history with pie crusts, I usually leave out a tablespoon of the water and add two more of vodka to give me a bit more liquid to hold the dough together.  Works like a charm.

Once you’ve got a ball of dough, break it in two.  Flatten a bit and wrap each in plastic.  (Unless I’m making a pie with a crust top or two pies, I generally throw one crust directly in the freezer.)  An hour (at least, a day or so is fine) later, you’re ready to roll.

With your frigerated  (yes, that’s a word) dough and rolling pin in hand, flour your work surface (the counter) and rolling pin, and roll out a misshapen circle that will fit in your pie plate.  The trick is to do this in as few rolls with the rolling pin as possible, which is why your circle is likely to be misshapen.  Better misshapen than worked to death.   Then, place the dough in the pie plate and take the misshapen edges  and fold or press them into a fancy or “rustic” design of choice.  

(Crust gently laid on plate before pushing it down and folding up the edges)

If you are putting a crust top on, leave the bottom edges floppy, put your filling in, followed by the top crust, and then smush the two layers of crust together around the edge to seal it.  Be sure to cut a vent in the top or get ready to clean your oven.

So that’s it, you’ve got a pie crust.  You're usually baking this filled in a medium oven (325-350F) for around 40 minutes, but that depends on what's in there. 

Next up – things to do with pie crusts like meat pies and quiches.  

(A finished product)

Simple Pureed Soups

While some may liken pureed soups to eating watered down baby food, I find them to be one of the best ways to showcase the flavors of a vegetable and make sure I'm getting my 5 a day.

The process for all of them is simple and they allow for some experimentation with seasoning.  While it's true, that unless you consider an entire loaf of bread to be the appropriate accompaniment, these soups won't exactly fill you up.  They are, however, perfect starts to supper or a nice way to update that all time comfort meal of tomato soup and a grilled cheese sandwich.

Case in point - broccoli and cauliflower soup with cheese and bacon sandwiches:

The Process

All pureed soups are pretty much the same thing: vegetables cooked and pureed with vegetable or chicken stock.

I generally follow this formula:  Saute some chopped onions in butter or olive oil in a soup pan.  Add a clove of chopped garlic and whatever vegetable I will be featuring.  Saute a bit longer then pour in enough stock to cover what's in the pan.  Cook until the veggies are just about mushy.

Put in blender (may need to do this in batches if you have a lot) with any other seasonings you might decide to add.  When blending hot liquid, I usually cover the lid of the lid of the blender down with a folded towel as some of it will try to escape.  Pour back into your soup pan.  Voila.  Soup.  If you think it should be a cream-based soup, add some cream now.  Put it into bowls and add some garnish if you're fancy.

Here are some combinations I've used:

Broccoli & Cauliflower

Onion, garlic, chicken stock and nothing else.  Or, cheddar cheese is also nice with broccoli - melt it some shredded cheese after you blend or just garnish with it.

Carrots 

Besides the onion, garlic, and stock, ginger (in the picture above), cumin, or cilantro (lots of it), are good additions.

Squash 

While most people think of butternut squash, I find the buttercup, kabocha, turban and other varieties that resemble a pumpkin on crack to be the sweeter varieties.  Since I hate peeling winter squash, I usually toss these whole in the oven and bake on high-ish heat for a about an hour, or until they are soft (check that a fork easily goes in). When it's done, I chop it in half and scoop out the seed slop.  Not only is this easier, but roasted veggies tend to have richer flavor.  With some of squashes I add no other seasonings except the onions and broth.  Otherwise, cooked sweet red pepper is nice as coconut milk and some curry spice.

Today I got a bit more adventurous having seen a recent rerun of a River Cottage episode:  After baking the squash, I sauteed some onion, garlic, ginger, and serrano pepper in coconut oil and added to the blender with the squash, chicken stock, and spoonful of peanut butter.  Then I garnished it with chili sauce, yogurt and cilantro.  Pretty close to the original with some modifications based on what I had in hand.

Celeriac
Celery-who?  Some of this plant arrived in my veg box scheme and after figuring out what it was, one of the things I made with it was a soup.  My formula for this one turned out to be celeriac, onion, garlic, ginger powder (I would have used fresh but didn’t have it), a dash of salt, and pears.  Yes pears.  After sautéing onion, a smashed garlic clove and cubed celeriac, I poured enough chicken broth in the pan to cover.  Then I peeled, cored, and sliced some pears and tossed them in the pan.  Twenty minutes later, it all went into the blender.  It came out velvety and delicious.

Possible substitutions – an apple could be swapped in for the pears or parsnip or turnip for the celeriac.  It’s all good.

Basically, it's all just a simple formula for some good kitchen experimentation.

Box Schemes

As I’ve mentioned before, we get a weekly box of produce, most of which comes from local farms. When I lived in Cali, I didn’t bother because there were farmers’ markets everywhere year round. In London, the markets here aren’t as prolific or convenient to me, so I looked into the box scheme. 

Here they are usually referred to as “veg box schemes” which is one of few phrases that beats what we say at home: “CSA boxes.”  CSA stands for “community supported agriculture” which has the dual advantage of sounding unduly self-righteous and having an acronym that only the initiated know, thus virtually guaranteeing that such boxes will never become widely accepted despite all their advantages.

Turns out, in spite of California’s crunchy reputation, the UK is way ahead in its box schemes. After searching online for a box to come to my house, I found I had a choice of at least 5 different companies that would deliver to my area. Also, since it’s hardly ever warm enough for anything here to wilt, they can deliver the box in the morning and it doesn’t matter when I get home – the food is still fine.  For those things that could go bad, they’ve come up with some innovative packing materials involving wool and who knows what else that keep my precious produce perky. They’ll also deliver meat, dairy, pretty much anything.

 

This is a far cry from the scheme some of my LA co-workers participated in for a time.  When the farm was experiencing “growing pains” my co-workers were subject to bags of wilted produce that included things like nettles and other items intended for witches’ cauldrons.  Though to be fair, these schemes have grown quite a bit in the last couple of years and LA is no exception.  Check out a recent list here if you’re there.

So what are the advantages?  Back to the self-righteous bit, which is actually kind of neat. By purchasing produce from such a company, the large supermarket giants are cut out. This means more money goes directly to the farmer, keeping smaller farms in business, and the food is local (here in the UK they do supplement with foreign food or we’d all starve in the month of May, but they try to cut down on food miles even with these imports).

And speaking of food miles, I find it baffling that me being lazy (having food brought to my door) is actually good for the environment (food isn’t trucked all over before maybe finding a home). Unfortunately, doorstep delivery is not an option with all programs, particularly in sprawly places like LA, but the food miles are still trimmed without the middle-man.

The more satisfying advantage I’ve found, however, is relearning the connection to the seasons and the place.  Growing up in California, part of the reason I so enjoyed the farmers’ market is sometimes, the produce in the market was the only sign as to what season it was. Diet should change with the seasons. Just as we turn our ovens on in the winter and our grills on in the summer, the food we eat should change too.

Now that I'm London, having the box delivered has forced me to try some of those root vegetables (swede, parsnips) and summer berries (gooseberries, currants) that I had never seen before.  It’s a way of getting to know this place.

Finally, there’s the adventure. If you find yourself cooking the same things over and over, that will change if you join one of these schemes. In fact, sometimes I have trouble identifying what arrived (celeriac?) which adds to the fun.  Most delivery companies are well aware of this and tend to provide preparation tips, suggestions, and recipes. Your cooking will grow.  You will eat your veggies.  When all else fails, make soup.

Are there downsides?  Sure.  I get tired of cabbage.  But then I get tired of running too and apparently that’s good for me.

Here are some links to help with the search:

This site will help you find your local (UK) scheme and has recipes for the things that arrive.

This site will help you find what’s local in the US and has other fun info such as farms you can visit.

A mini fruit & veg box: spinach, squash, onions, potatoes, plums, pears, carrots, and apples.

Next up - some simple soups to use up those veggies.

Chicken Stock Simplified

I used to think making chicken stock was 1) a pain in the ass, and 2) something only for the hardcore chef.

This probably comes from the fact that I first learned to make stock from a fancy Williams Sonoma cookbook and the instructions involved a precise list of ingredients, including a stewing chicken, and activities like monitoring a simmering pot for a couple of hours on the lookout for any "scum" that might rise to the top and quickly removing it at first sight, then straining it with a cheesecloth (I never have any cheese cloth), then skimming off fat.  While this is probably the correct way to make it if you are running a professional kitchen, it's not very practical.

Once I realized that chicken stock is basically cooking to death some leftover chicken parts and seasonings and then straining it, I now use up every roasted chicken carcass this way.  For some reason, I get satisfaction out of the fact that I've used the whole bird, even the bones (ok, I'm not using the heads, feet, and feathers yet, but give me some time . . .).

So, to break down the process a bit, first take all the usable meat off the chicken and save that for something tasty.  As you're pulling everything off the chicken, take any skin or pockets of fat and get rid of those.  What you'll have left is the bones, some cartiledge, and some tiny bits of chicken stuck to it.  If your chicken came with giblets, you can add these to the pile of bones.  This process does leave you're hands very chickeny, but think of it as a fancy farm-spa treatment.

(Usable chicken in the box on the left, meaty carcass on the right)

At this point, decide if you really have time to make chicken stock.  If you don't, toss the carcass in a bag and toss it in the freezer and deal with it later.

If you do, check the kitchen and garden for things you can season it with.  Anything from this list will do, with the more common ingredients listed first:

• Onions or leeks, any kind
• Carrots
• Celery
• Peppercorns
• Bay Leaves
• Thyme
• Parsley
• Oregano
• Garlic
• Parsnips, turnips or other root vegetables
• Ginger
• Rosemary (go easy on this one)
• Fennel
• Mushrooms
• Tomatoes
• Bell Peppers or chili peppers
• Potato peelings

A great thing about stock is that you can use the peels or leafy tops of the veggies that you wouldn't normally use.  Also, if you have some vegetables that have lost their spark and gone a bit limp, these are fine too.  Just make sure whatever you throw in the pot is clean. In other words, you can empty the fridge and use anything that isn't quite appetizing any more but is still good.  I wouldn't skip the onion, but the rest of the combination changes every time I make it.

I would probably avoid tossing in much cabbage, broccoli, or cauliflower, mainly because the sulfur smell might overpower the rest, but even that's not a hard and fast rule.

Once you've rounded things up, you're ready to toss them in the pot.  You do not need to finely chop anything.  I usually just quarter the onion, chop the rest in a few good chunks, smash a couple garlic cloves with the side of my knife, and toss the herbs in stem and all.

Then, add enough water to your pot to cover everything and bring to a boil.  Once it has boiled, turn the heat down as low as possible, and let it simmer for at least an hour and a half, or up to four hours, depending on your patience and your gas bill.  I usually put the lid on but sometimes I forget.

If you happen to pass by the pot, you can use a spoon or small strainer to scoop off any nasty looking foam (or "scum") that has risen to the top, but as you are probably not on a cooking show, even this step isn't strictly necessary.  Doing so will make your broth clearer and more refined.  Not doing so will keep you saner.

Once it's all done, add at least a teaspoon of salt or so to taste (you can add it up front, but I find it easier to check the taste once the rest is done stewing).  Then pour the broth through a strainer into another pot or a pitcher.  It might be easier to pull some of the big pieces out before straining.  If you're anal, strain it with a cheesecloth.  If not, any mesh strainer will do.  If you don't have a mesh strainer, line a colander (strainer with big holes) with a cloth and strain it through that.

Now you have your own chicken stock.  If you're not going to use it all in the next couple of days, toss the rest in the freezer.  If I'm not planning on making a soup right away, I usually keep a cup on hand in the fridge for rice, curries, simmering vegetables, etc., and freeze the rest.

If you put it in the fridge, you will notice once it's cold that there is a layer of fat on the top.  If you don't like this (or you left some skin in and there's quite a lot), use this opportunity (while it's cold) to scoop it off.

A couple of tips:
1) Don't be greedy.  It's tempting to put one small chicken carcass in a giant pot and fill with water.  This will give you a very weak stock.  If you did this, you can still use it, but if making soup, you might want to cheat a bit and add a touch of chicken bouillon.
2) Be patient.  Too often I try to make the stock in an hour or so and immediately make soup.  Again, the stock turns out weak and then so does the soup.  The best time to make stock is when you're at home doing something else so you can just forget about it for a couple of hours.  Which is why some of my chicken carcasses now live in the freezer until I get the chance . . .

Leftover bird

So now that you've roasted your chicken, what to do with what's left?

Even if you think you ate most of it - look again.  Those scraps leftover are perfect for one of my rediscovered favorites, the humble chicken salad sandwich.  Don't worry, we're not talking the gross gluey glob of greasy spoon lunch counters, but an actual chicken salad made with roast chicken and whatever else you have on hand that actually tastes good.

The formula is simple - cut of bits of chicken, fruit, veggies, nuts, or herbs and enough mayo or other condiments to make it hold together.  A couple of my favorite combos:

Chicken, apple, red onion, tarragon, mayo, and dijon.
Chicken, dried apricot bits, sage, walnuts, and mayo.
Chicken, olives, tomatoes (sun dried are especially nice).
Chicken, bacon, blue cheese, avocado.

Using the right ingredients (and properly roasted chicken as your start), and suddenly the chicken salad sandwich is something you actually want to eat.

If you have a bit more or just want something warm, here are some other ideas for the leftover chicken:

Saute some veggies, garlic and herbs in olive oil and add to pasta.
Make a burrito, tacos, or enchiladas.
Use as a topping for a pizza.
Make a stir-fry or a curry.
Make a chicken noodle soup (we'll cover soup stock later).

While most of these are simple foods, they will all taste better when the chicken has been roasted.

I decided to make a sandwich for lunch (chicken, apricot, walnut, sage, and mayo) and a curry for dinner.
To make a curry, you can either saute vegetables, add a store-bought (cheater) sauce to simmer until the veggies are done, then toss in bits of the roast chicken, and heat through.

While jarred curry sauces are not cooking from scratch, if you can find one you like made without all of the preservatives, it can be a great way to cook a large amount of vegetables, use up leftover bits of chicken, and still have something people will eat in a pinch.

I've been experimenting lately with trying curry from scratch and came up with the following: First I toasted some ground almonds and caraway seeds (to be honest, I accidentally dumped half the bottle of caraway seeds not realizing it did not have a sprinkle top and had to fish them out of the hot pan - doh!).  Then, I added some coconut oil (butter or other oil would work just fine), chopped garlic, onion, and ginger and sauted.  Then I added a couple of teaspoons of garam masala spice (other curry blends would work) and some extra chile powder and flakes.  Once everything was well-coated in spice and it formed sort of a paste, I tossed in some chopped potatoes and tomatoes and enough chicken stock to just cover.  I let the potatoes go for about 5 minutes, then added carrots.  After another 10-15 minutes, I added some greens (kale) and then finally topped off with the leftover chicken and a good-sized splash of cream.

Curry.  Of sorts.  It did turn out tastier than the jarred version :)

Chicken Salad Sandwich
(Bad picture, good sandwich)

You’ve got to know your chicken

Sorry to the vegetarians this week.  We’re going to go over the basic roasted chicken.

Why?  Because by roasting a chicken, you can make several decent meals throughout the week (if you buy a big enough bird). Because it’s fall, and anything roasted sounds good.  Because for some reason, as a meat-eater, I’m more comfortable with eating the whole bird rather than just buying cut up little bits of breast meat and never thinking about what happens to the rest of it.  And because it shouldn’t be scary.

Ingredients:

A chicken

Salt

That’s it. 

The Dry Brine

I’ve found the best (and simplest) way to roast a bird is through a process called dry brining.  I attribute this knowledge to Russ Parsons, who for the past three or four years has written articles on dry brining your thanksgiving turkey for the Los Angeles Times and appears on the local public radio around that time explaining the process.

Unlike wet brining, which requires a bucket of salt water large enough to hold your bird and a refrigerated place to put it, dry brining consists of rubbing salt on the bird.  Also, I happen to like the texture of the meat better after dry brining.

Parsons’ formula is to rub about a tablespoon of salt per 5 pounds of bird and then let the bird sit in the refrigerator for 3 days.

I’ve seen several explanations for what is exactly happening during this time, but the simplest seems to be that the structure of the protein in the chicken is changed by the salt in such a way that the cells will hold moisture at a higher temperature and thus the meat will turn out moister.

For your basic chicken, while the formula does lead to an incredibly moist and flavorful  chicken, it’s not necessary to go quite that far for a tasty roast.  Chickens, for one, don’t have the nasty reputation that turkeys do of drying out.  Chickens are smaller and less meaty, so the skin does a better job of keeping it moist.

Nonetheless, two things can be learned from this: salt liberally and salt early.  For a medium-sized bird, when you  rub salt all over it, don’t just shake a few crystals on but aim for about a teaspoon of salt.  And the earlier you can do this, the more time the salt will have to work its way throughout the bird rather than just staying on the skin.

Of course, this doesn’t always happen.  Ideally, when you buy the bird, rub the salt on, toss it back in its bag and cook it a couple days later.  More often than not though, I find myself doing this the night before or in the morning before I go to work.  It still works.  It’s a chicken.

The Roast

Turn the oven up high – very high.  Around 450 F or so.

Once your bird is salted, you’ve got to truss it (unless it came that way). Trussing is just basically tying its legs & wings down so the whole thing is a compact ball of bird.  If you haven’t already, check inside the bird to make sure there’s not a bag of goodies – the giblets.  If there is, save these parts for a broth, cooking later, or feed them to a pet.

Then, with some cotton string (nothing that will melt like nylon) wrap around the ends of the legs a few times, cross over or under the body, and wrap across the wings.  Pull tight and tie a knot.  You can use this configuration or anything else that keeps things from flopping around.  There’s no right way.

Now pop this bird into a roasting pan.  If you don’t have a pan with a rack in the bottom so the chicken is not left to swim in its own juices, get a regular pan and chop some chunks of potatoes, onions, or other veggies to make a platform for your chicken to be propped up on.  Then place the chicken with the breast side up in the pan on the veggie chunks or rack.  If you’re not sure which side is the breast, look for the tail – that’s the opposite side and should be down.

Cook it in the oven at the high heat for 15-20 minutes to give the skin a head start in the browning, then lower the oven temperature to about 350 or 325 (low-medium).  Once it’s been in there an hour or hour and a half or so it’s probably done.  The first few times you do this, you might want to use a meat thermometer.   Stick the thermometer in the meatiest part of the chicken (breast or thigh, just look for thick meat) and once it reads 165 F, it’s safe to serve.

If you don’t have a thermometer, once the juices run clear (no blood), you’re good to go.  Once you’ve done it a few times, you’ll get a feel.

You’re done – you’ve roasted a bird.  I usually toss some chopped up veggies with garlic, olive oil, and herbs, and roast those at the same time.

Next up, what to do with the leftovers . . . 

(Small bird, large pan)

Pizza is important

Why is pizza important?  Two reasons:  Everybody but the grouchiest curmudgeon loves pizza and it's a really good way to use up random bits of food.

First, the crust.  While I promised to free you from recipes, see rule #5 in the first post.  Admittedly, baking provides its own set of challenges, so unless it's your profession, you probably need to somewhat adhere to a formula to ensure that it's food and not glue that you end up with.  Luckily, pizza is something that I make often enough that I can remember the ratios without looking them up. You could probably just put the amounts on a post-it note inside of a cupboard.

• 3 cups flour (plain all-purpose, though you can substitute up to half for wheat flour or bread flour)
• A packet or a bit less than a tablespoon of instant yeast (you can use the kind you add to water to proof, but its harder and won't make a noticeable difference)
• At least a teaspoon of salt (do not skip)
• One tablespoon of olive oil (or other oil or melted butter)
• One tablespoon of honey or sugar (optional)
• One cup of warm water

Mix the dry ingredients together, then everything else.  If the dough is too sticky, add some more flour.  If you can't get it to come together add some more water. Either way, add a very small amount at a time.  You can also throw in some chopped fresh or dried herbs if you're fancy.

Once you have a nice dough ball, knead for 5 minutes. Kneading is basically shoving it around and squashing it - there's no right way as long as you are not tearing up the dough. Most people use a floured surface. I usually knead it directly in the bowl I made it in or knead it in my hands since I'm too lazy to clean the floured surface at this point.

Put it back in the bowl, cover with a towel or plastic wrap, and leave for about an hour until it's twice its size. Alternatively, throw it in the fridge and deal with it tomorrow. Or throw it in the freezer and deal with it whenever.

Once it has doubled in size, fold the dough a few times to return it back to its original size and squash the air out. You're now ready to go.

Turn the oven on as high as it will go - it'll need at least 15-20 minutes to get anywhere near hot enough.

This recipe will make 4 small pizzas, 3 medium, or two biggish pizzas. If you can't eat it all now, make it all now and take the rest with you to work tomorrow for lunch. Or the dough will keep two days in the fridge and indefinitely in the freezer.

Flour a work surface (i.e. the counter) and divide the dough into however many pizzas you are making. Roll out the dough with a rolling pin (or wine bottle if you don't have one) and place either on a greased tray large enough for the pizza base, or, for the fancy, on a heated baking stone with polenta (course corn flour) sprinkled on it.

My baking stone is actually a large terra cotta flower pot base that I got cheap at the hardware store when I decided to bake a bunch of bread. We do one pizza on this and the others on regular metal tray. The one on the stone is easier to get off, but not much other difference.

The sauce:
You don't need pizza sauce.  Leftover pasta sauce (red, white, pesto) will work, as will BBQ sauce, pureed tomatoes, or just plain olive oil brushed on with some chopped garlic and herbs.  The point of the pizza is to get rid of the stuff in your fridge, not add to it.  You can even skip the sauce.

The toppings:
This is the true beauty of the pizza - anything goes.  Here is where you get to look at what you have and imagine what flavors go well together and work with it.  If you're a mediocre gardener like me, and don't know how to highlight that one pathetic eggplant you managed to grow this year, put it on a pizza.

Some tips:

• Meat should be cooked.  Bacon makes most things better, but leftover chicken, sausage, carne asada, salmon (if there is such a thing as leftover salmon) are all great.  Deli meats are also fine.
• Vegetables - while raw is fine, if you have leftover grilled or sauted veggies, these are even better. Pickled and canned ones work as well (corn, olives, etc.), as does salsa. You could probably even put leftover chinese or other takeout food on it and be fine.
• Cheese - mozzarella, while delicious, is not the only good cheese on pizza.  In fact, it doesn't even have to melt to be good.
• Herbs - add some if you have some growing or have some leftover.  Garlic or ginger are also nice if you like strong flavors.

Now that you have your truly stunning flavor creation, put it in the oven for 10-12 minutes - or as long as you can without burning it.
That's it.

(Fortunately our pizza baking skills are better than our photography skills.  Note to self, no more pictures of partially-eaten food.)