Too Many Recipes

Summer collided with fall here in Austin yesterday afternoon, in the form of a downpour that has managed, in less than a day, to take the temperature down twenty degrees. Welcome to Texas. Even before it started, the sky was overcast and the air heavily humid, so it seemed like just the sort of day to go through my recipe files and winnow out the unworthy. I’ve been meaning to do it for at least a couple of years, but only realized the other day how bad the problem had gotten when I could barely lift the plastic folder out of its storage drawer. Probably just too many recipes with butter in them.

You know that file – you’ve all got one. It’s where you put the recipe for chicken cacciatore that you saw Giada making last week and it looked so good. Never mind that your neighborhood Italian restaurant makes chicken cacciatore to die for (and available for takeout) or that your child is allergic to tomatoes.

Oh, look – there’s Aunt Tilda’s recipe for gooseberry jam. Let’s be honest, now – when’s the next time you really plan on making that, even if you can find all the canning equipment? You hang onto the card because you loved Aunt Tilda, but you don’t have to keep it in this particular file.

And then there are those pages you’ve torn out of Good Housekeeping or Ladies Home Journal, or my particular obsession, The New York Times. I found a recipe for Asian Hot Pot I saved from Real Simple years ago, that claims to take only 25 minutes of “hands-on” time; and when I realized it would take me 25 minutes just to find the ingredients in my pantry, much less chop and slice them, I tossed it. There’s another one – for “Shaved Artichoke Salad” from the Times. It looks gorgeous and I really love artichokes,...but wait – notice that the first ingredient is “8 baby artichokes, cleaned.” I don’t even know where to buy baby artichokes around here – in fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen baby artichokes in a store where I shop, and when I thought about the time it would take to clean them and prepare them like it says in step 1, I almost fell over laughing. I have definitely overchosen in this category.

But my favorite type of useless recipe is the one like “Citrus Tilapia with Spicy Red Sauce” that I picked up at a demo in my grocery store. I was hungry and they were handing out samples, so I took one and made believe I was really interested in the recipe – nodded thoughtfully and took the card. And now I notice that the whole thing comes out of two bottles of stuff I have never bought and will never buy. Toss that one.

It’s like cleaning out your closet: if you haven’t made that recipe in a couple of years, get rid of it. I feel thinner already.

One to Keep: Wonder Bread Pastry Cups

When I was a kid, I loved to take Wonder Bread and smash it flat before eating it. Well, it turns out that the same sort of technique is useful in a quick and easy way to make those little pastry cups for serving hors d’oeuvres. That’s right, take your basic white sandwich bread, roll it flat (about 1/8 inch thick) and, using a biscuit cutter, cut out circles 2 ½ -3 inches across (yield one circle per slice). Brush both sides with melted butter, press them into mini-muffin tins, and bake at 375º for 9-10 mins. Voilà! Pastry cups!

Seasonal Differences

Today I spent the morning in my garden, which, as often happens toward the end of the summer, has taken on some rather unruly aspects. Sort of like my hair after a two-hour drive in a convertible. My Sun Gold tomato plants are still producing like rabbits, but the vines have moved well beyond the confines of either the tomato cages at the north end of the garden, or the trellis at the south end. (And just to show you how little shame I have, here are the offenders in all their messy glory.) If the fruit weren’t so tasty, I’d be tempted to rip the plants out and start over.

Which is apparently what they do down here in Texas. I’m told that there’s actually a spring growing season and a fall growing season, separated by the inevitable scorching summer – as opposed to New Jersey’s single non-stop season from May to October, punctuated by a frigid winter. I’m not sure which I prefer, but they’re an interesting contrast.

I noticed as I looked around at the explosion of basil and thyme and sage and mint that the mint in particular was threatening to take over its box. And not in a nice way. So I’ve just checked a couple of gardening bulletin boards on the web and find that you can chop it all back 2-3 inches from the dirt and in a few weeks it’ll look bushy again. Now there’s a cathartic activity.

But I can’t stand to just throw the stuff away, so in the meantime, I’ve discovered something really nice to do with the mint I’m cutting.

Mint Water

If you take a large pitcher and throw 3-4 thin slices of lemon in it along with 4-5 sprigs of mint, then fill it with water and stick it in the refrigerator, the result is a bright, lightly flavored drink that will quench any thirst. I’ve been making it on and off for the past month, and especially in the heat it’s been terrific. I know, the hot months are just about behind us, even in Texas, but I’m pretty sure this is good year-round.

Empanadas for Justice Sotomayor

This week, I hosted my book group – an eclectic group of women ranging in age from late 20s to early 60s. Many of us know each other exclusively through these meetings, so the conversation tends to be well focused on the readings; and most either are now or have been professionals of some stripe, so opinions are strong and vocal. Needless to say, these are lively evenings.

September’s selection was The Nine: Inside the Secret World of the Supreme Court, by Jeffrey Toobin. It’s a fascinating overview of the workings of the Supreme Court in general, and the justices who’ve made up the Rehnquist/Roberts courts in particular. Warts and all, as my grandmother would have said, but I am nevertheless impressed with the thoughtfulness and intelligence of at least most of the justices, and once again persuaded that the system will keep us moving forward in spite of ourselves. Not all of my group loved the material, but even those who didn’t admired the writing, and the majority thought Toobin did an outstanding job of weaving character analysis and personal histories of the justices with clear explanations of the major cases before them.

In honor of the newest member of the court, I screwed up my courage and tackled shrimp empanadas a la Culinary Institute. Empanadas are the Latin answer to Hot Pockets, and can be filled with just about anything; and while the recipe says you can fry them or bake them, those of you who’ve read earlier entries on this blog know that I don’t do frying. Also, they’re a bit large for hors d’oeuvres, but what the heck – they're delicious. For a smaller version, I’m thinking of trying the filling in pre-baked tartlet shells, with a sprig of cilantro on top.

Chef had told us we could use Pillsbury Refrigerated Pie Crusts, but I was intrigued by the beer in the dough recipe, so made my own. (Ok, ok, so I forgot to buy the ready-made stuff. Whatever.) In any case, the dough was really easy to assemble in the food processor, and not nearly as sticky as cookie dough, so the rolling out part was also pretty simple. Sort of the consistency of soft Play-Doh. Of course, I also forgot to buy a 4-inch biscuit cutter, and had to fall back on the top to my coffee canister, but it worked fine. It’s always something. And if you drink the rest of the beer while you cook the filling, it really takes the edge off the process.

Shrimp Empanadas (Makes 20)

For the dough:
3 c all-purpose flour
1 tsp salt
1 tsp sugar
1 c butter, cold and cubed
1/2 c cold beer
egg wash (1 egg whisked with 1 Tbl water)

For the filling:
2 Tbl butter
1 1/2 c onion, minced
3 garlic cloves, minced
3/4 c plum tomatoes, chopped
1 1/2 Tbl parsley, chopped
1/2 tsp smoked paprika (or regular paprika, if that’s what you have)
1/2 tsp ground cumin
1/8 tsp ground cloves
3/4 lb shrimp, finely chopped
3/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp pepper

For the dough, combine the flour, salt, sugar, and butter in a food processor, pulsing until well mixed. Add the beer and pulse until the dough forms a ball in the bowl. Wrap in Saran Wrap and refrigerate while you make the filling.

Cook onions and garlic in the butter over medium-low heat until soft, about 15 mins. Add the tomatoes, parsley, paprika, cumin, and cloves, and cook until the liquid has evaporated, 15-20 mins. Add the shrimp, salt, and pepper. Cook just until the shrimp are done, 1-2 mins.

Roll the dough out on a floured surface and cut into 4-inch rounds. Brush one side with egg wash, fill that side with a tablespoon of the shrimp mixture, and pinch closed. (You’ll have a little shrimp mixture left over for the chef to nosh on. Yum!) Bake at 375º for 12-15 mins.

Kitchen Goddess Tip #1: Truth be told, I bought the small (51/60) pink shrimp already cooked, chopped them up, then cooked them another minute with the filling.

Kitchen Goddess Tip #2: These freeze – uncooked – really well. Put them on a baking sheet, and when they’re frozen, store them in a plastic bag. Put them frozen into the oven and add another 10 mins to the cooking time.

Spy School, Part 2

Here we are – my cousin Helen and I – with Chef. It’s hard to compress the learning that takes place at the CIA in a mere four days, but I’ve tried to focus on the most memorable. What follows then are five pearls of wisdom from my time at the CIA.

1. Beware the toque. Everyone in the CIA kitchen wears one, ostensibly because it keeps the sweat of your brow from splashing down into the food. My own experience is that they make you sweat more, because even with the air conditioning, it’s about 102º in those professional kitchens (really, that’s what they told us) – and you’ve got a hat on! Worse than that, at the end of the class, you have a terrible case of hat head.

2. It’s all about the mise en place. Hard as it is to imagine, I am not always totally organized when I set out to cook something. So I felt properly chastised when, in the opening lectures, the second topic of discussion – right after “Safety and Sanitation” – was “Mise en place.” That’s French for “Get your shit together.” All those little bowls you see laid out in front of Ina and Mario and Paula and Emeril and Giada? That’s everything they need, in the quantities they need, chopped or sliced or cubed. Of course, Ina and Mario don’t have to slice/chop/cube anything, but it does make the work go smoother and faster.

3. Not using the fond will land you in culinary hell. In cooking, the fond is those brown crusty bits of meat stuck to the bottom of a skillet after you cook it. For the longest time, they just looked to me like more work in the clean-up phase. By the time I got to the CIA, I had learned that they are the basis of most pan sauces, but I hadn’t realized how much flavor they can add to a dish. Which is why even if the recipe for Thai Meatballs didn’t call for it, Chef said I must add a little stock to the pan and deglaze before I continued with making the sauce, or risk eternal damnation. (A corollary to this rule is not to use a teflon pan.)

4. Pillsbury frozen pie crust works as well for hors d’ oeuvres as the homemade variety. Certainly my homemade variety. So I’ve used the store-bought stuff for years, but it was nice to have this particular short-cut validated by a pro.

5. No non-functional garnishes. None of that foo-foo parsley on top of your canapés. “Very 80s,” says Chef, and another sure-fire ticket to culinary hell. The garnish must add to the flavor or the texture of the item, like a dill sprig on salmon or cilantro on ceviche. Consider yourself warned.


Thai Meatballs with Green Curry Sauce,  from the CIA
(It helps to start with a trip to an Asian market, where these are pretty standard ingredients. But the results are well worth the effort.)

For the meatballs:
1 lb ground pork
1 lb ground beef
4 green onions, finely minced
3½ Tbl oyster sauce
½ c cilantro, chopped
3-4 garlic cloves, finely minced
1 tsp orange zest, finely grated
2 tsp Asian chili sauce (like Sriracha)
1½ tsp freshly grated nutmeg
2 eggs

For the sauce:
3 tsp Thai green curry paste
1½ c coconut milk
1-2 Tbl Thai fish sauce
1 Tbl palm sugar
Juice of ½ lime

Also:
1 c cornstarch
½ c vegetable oil
½ c beef stock

Thoroughly mix (like whip with a wooden spoon) the meatball ingredients. Wet your hands, roll a small portion into a 1" ball and place it on a tray. Repeat 30-35 times. Refrigerate about 20 mins.

Dredge the meatballs lightly in cornstarch. Heat the vegetable oil in a sauté pan over medium to medium-high heat until the oil shimmers, and sauté the meat until golden brown. Let meatballs rest on a rack, then drain off fat from the pan, add stock and deglaze (scrape the fond from the pan as you boil down the stock). Add sauce ingredients, stirring and adjusting for taste, and bring the sauce to a simmer. Add back the meatballs and cook until they are thoroughly heated. Serve with toothpicks or as individual bites in Chinese spoons. Or as a main course over pasta or rice.