placeholder post for the moment. hang in there, me lads.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Culinary Necromancy: Zombie Potato Stew
We've all been there. Its dinner time, or four in the morning (which in the circles I frequent, are pretty much the same thing), and you're hungry. So you check the fridge - nothing. You check the pantry - less than nothing. You check the icebox - same old story, not even a lonely rabbit carcass. You try to scrape the congealed remains of that last glass of wine you spilled off the foyer floor, but there's not enough there to do anything with.
Oh sure, you've got STUFF, and with a little linguistic gymnastics you might call it FOODSTUFFS, but there's no meal there. You know it when you've got a meal, your cooking brain just knows it, but right its not doing you any good. In fact, right now its mostly despairing because a lot of the stuff in your larder is about to go bad, but you've got no place for any of it.
This is when you have to stop using your cooking brain, and start using your cooking balls.
This is when you have to chuck everything you've got into a pan or a mixing bowl or the stove, fire up your intuition, and open yourself to the possibilities before you. You've got no recipe, no guide, and no idea what the crap you've thrown together is gonna look like. This is the really fun part about cooking, the breakneck pace you have to set for yourself, the mental flexibility and problem-solving skills you thought you gave up when you quit dating, and the sheer fearless creativity that defines true art. You shouldn't be intimidated by this prospect, or even humbled - every professional cook has had to go through this at some point, usually as part of the hiring process. True story - most cooks are, as a sort of test, given a mish-mash of seemingly random ingredients and tools, a time limit, and a dinner party of four or so, and told to make something of it.
Some people call this "cleaning out the fridge," or "cooking with the garbage disposal." These are fair enough names, I suppose, but they sound a little domestic, a little relaxed. You should never be relaxed when you're cooking like this. You should have your hair in a rat's nest, you should be wearing a stained and tattered robe (and nothing else), you should be pacing back and forth across your kitchen, frightening your pets and family/roommates, muttering arcane and terrible phrases under your breath. Because if cooking is magic (and I believe it is), then this is the wildest, darkest, most dangerous and uncontrollable magic of all. This is Culinary Necromancy.
Recommended cooking music: '80s punk, especially the Misfits and the Ramones, supplemented by stuff like Night on Bald Mountain and Uranus the Magician.
Obviously, the resulting recipes will be one-of-a-kind, spur-of-the-moment things, befitting particular situations, and when you decide to call upon your own necromantic powers and summon your own culinary demons, you'll have different ingredients, tools, limitations, and circumstances. You can, if you like, follow the instructions (such as I ever provide all of you with anything like specific instructions) for these recipes to the letter and create your own incarnations of these evil but delicious meals, but the real intent behind this is to inspire you and illustrate how the process of Culinary Necromancy works. I want to show you what I did when faced with the empty wasteland of a kitchen, so that you'll have a better idea of what to do when you find yourself in similar dire straits. This is inspiration, not instruction. Kinda like porn, in that sense.
And now, for our first of many such examples of this dark and evil practice, Omniphage proudly presents the recipe for:
ZOMBIE POTATO STEW
Old potatoes are like old girlfriends: they just get uglier the longer you have to look at 'em, but you just can't seem to either get rid of them or find a use for them. The worst part is that most places sell potatoes in those giant nets that hold roughly a berjillion of the damn things, and there's no way you're gonna use up all of those as quickly as you'd like. Hell, I come from Midwestern and Irish stock, and even I have my limits for potato consumption. So you use the potatoes you bought for a casserole, or hash browns, or batting practice or whatever, and now you've got a bunch of extras just sitting around, growing fur and eyeballs.
Spinach is likewise sold in gigantic amounts and, like potatoes, it gets old fast, especially the hydroponically-grown stuff. The difference is that spinach can be used in just about any meal, but then, if we had the makings for a normal meal, we wouldn't have to turn to the Eternal Powers of Darkness and Punk Rock, would we? Spinach is also bulky as hell, especially considering how much it reduces when you cook it, and it just takes up space in the fridge that could be better used to hold, oh, say, beer, or leftover pizza, or the mailman's heart, or the whispering roses that just showed up on your pillow that one night. So even if its not going bad, using up extra spinach can only be good for your kitchen.
Flat beer is nobody's friend. Flat beer that went flat because you couldn't drink any more of it even at prime drinking temp is even worse. This may seem to go against my previous statement of "if you wouldn't drink it, why the hell would you cook with it?" but stay with me here, and I'll explain. Rogue Brewery makes an weird, fascinating brew called Chipotle Ale. Guess what its brewed with. Now, I like ale, and I like spicy things, and I like beer that encourages me to continue drinking it. But there's just something really odd about taking a sip of beer and tasting the smoky spice of a dried jalepeno - usually I'm drinking beer to cut and neutralize spices after I'm done with them. So I drank as much of the Chipotle Ale as I could, but I have a rule that's served me well so far - if you're drinking a beer, and every time you take a drink you have to follow it with water, then you should quit kidding yourself and stop drinking that beer. Life's too short to drink beer (or eat food) you don't genuinely enjoy. However, I didn't pour the Chipotle Ale down the drain, because I saw potential for it. I re-capped it as best I could, and put it away for a time when I'd have use of it.
(Quick tangent. Herein lies a good lesson for practioners of Culinary Necromancy: Never, ever throw and ingredient out just because you didn't end up needing it for a recipe. Unless it is at risk of going bad quickly, seal it up and store it. Always be thinking about potential uses for such unwanted bits and pieces, plan ahead, make notes, and above all, do not despair if you can't think of something right away. Your fridge might not thank you for it, but your trash can, your wallet, and your taste buds, will.)
So what did you do with going-bad potatoes, too-big-for-its shelf spinach, and flat, weird beer? Well, I'll tell you.
Get a wok, making sure its big enough to hold all the potatoes you'll be needing to get rid of. Get those potatoes washed and chopped up good and small, a bit bigger than bite-size. If these are especially old potatoes, this will also help to identify which ones have already betrayed you and are harboring dark spots and mold. Set your chopped potatoes aside in a big bowl, and get together the makings for the stew components.
Pour a bit of cooking oil into the wok. You can use olive oil if you like, but really you should save that for your more prima dona recipes. Normal vegetable oil will do just fine. Get the pot going over medium heat. When the oil gets hot, pour in the chipotle ale (I'd bought a 40 oz, since that was all they had, and barely drank off the neck of the beer, leaving me with something like 35 ounces of the stuff), along with four or five squirts of Tabasco sauce, or whatever brand of hot sauce you have and want to get rid of. Throw in as well five taps of Worcestershire sauce, and a few shakes of ground cinnamon. Get that up to simmering heat, and through in the potatoes.
Notice that your wok is definitely more full than you're probably used to - we're using a wok instead of a pot here because we need wide volume more than tall volume. The objective here is to cover the potatoes with the beer so that they actually boil in it, which probably won't happen in a pot because the beer simply won't go very high in one. If it really bothers you that you're making stew in a wok, then go to the sink, splash water on your face, and remember that these are your tools, and that its your responsibility to use them to fit the situation, not just the situations they've been used in before. Relax - Emeril isn't going to bust into your kitchen and punch you in the face (BAM!) for using your tools "incorrectly."And even if he did, so what? This is your kitchen, your place of power, your sanctum sanctorum, and you can do whatever you want in there.
Allow me to repeat that: YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT IN YOUR OWN GODDAMN KITCHEN. This applies especially to Culinary Necromancy, but really it works across all spectra of cooking. Do what works, and use your head, but never refrain from something just because grandma from the old country or your favorite Food Network star wouldn't like it.
Let the potatoes boil for a while. While this is happening, the liquid is also going to reduce down to more of a thick, stewy consistency. When the potatoes are losing a bit of their hardness, get out a packet of rice and your spinach. Whatever rice-in-a-bag you've got will do just fine, I personally used some Uncle Ben's wild rice mixture. Now here's the interesting part - grab the flavor packet out of the box, and pour it into the simmering stew along with the spinach. Stir it up so the spinach and flavor stuff is evenly mixed in, then throw your rice in the microwave with as much water as needed (back of the box should tell ya). When you're nuking the rice, go about five minutes less than what the box tells you to do - you'll finish cooking the rice in the stew itself. While this is happening, start stirring the potatoes around. Watch your stew - it should still be more liquid than solid if not, turn the heat down a bit, and add in some more beer - you'll probably want to drink beer with stew anyway, so just crack one open a bit early and pour some in there. When the rice is done, throw it in, stir it up. Taste-test the rice and potatoes - they should come to doneness at about the same time. When they do, get the wok off the burner, and get your bowl(s) ready. Grab whatever cheese you need to use up out of the fridge (I used sharp cheddar and it was glorious), and throw it into the bowl, then spoon the Zombie Potato Stew over it. Stir it up so the cheese gets nice and stringy. Serve hot, eat with a spoon. Store the rest of the stew (you more than likely made a lot, since this was, at least in part, an effort to get rid of unneeded stuff) in the fridge or freezer for later, when you're hungry but your powers are too drained for Culinary Necromancy.
And by the way, if Emeril did happen to come by to chastise you, hit him in the head with the now-empty wok (BAM!-), bake him in the oven, chop 'im to bits, and store him in the freezer. Like I said before, never waste potential ingredients.
Oh sure, you've got STUFF, and with a little linguistic gymnastics you might call it FOODSTUFFS, but there's no meal there. You know it when you've got a meal, your cooking brain just knows it, but right its not doing you any good. In fact, right now its mostly despairing because a lot of the stuff in your larder is about to go bad, but you've got no place for any of it.
This is when you have to stop using your cooking brain, and start using your cooking balls.
This is when you have to chuck everything you've got into a pan or a mixing bowl or the stove, fire up your intuition, and open yourself to the possibilities before you. You've got no recipe, no guide, and no idea what the crap you've thrown together is gonna look like. This is the really fun part about cooking, the breakneck pace you have to set for yourself, the mental flexibility and problem-solving skills you thought you gave up when you quit dating, and the sheer fearless creativity that defines true art. You shouldn't be intimidated by this prospect, or even humbled - every professional cook has had to go through this at some point, usually as part of the hiring process. True story - most cooks are, as a sort of test, given a mish-mash of seemingly random ingredients and tools, a time limit, and a dinner party of four or so, and told to make something of it.
Some people call this "cleaning out the fridge," or "cooking with the garbage disposal." These are fair enough names, I suppose, but they sound a little domestic, a little relaxed. You should never be relaxed when you're cooking like this. You should have your hair in a rat's nest, you should be wearing a stained and tattered robe (and nothing else), you should be pacing back and forth across your kitchen, frightening your pets and family/roommates, muttering arcane and terrible phrases under your breath. Because if cooking is magic (and I believe it is), then this is the wildest, darkest, most dangerous and uncontrollable magic of all. This is Culinary Necromancy.
Recommended cooking music: '80s punk, especially the Misfits and the Ramones, supplemented by stuff like Night on Bald Mountain and Uranus the Magician.
Obviously, the resulting recipes will be one-of-a-kind, spur-of-the-moment things, befitting particular situations, and when you decide to call upon your own necromantic powers and summon your own culinary demons, you'll have different ingredients, tools, limitations, and circumstances. You can, if you like, follow the instructions (such as I ever provide all of you with anything like specific instructions) for these recipes to the letter and create your own incarnations of these evil but delicious meals, but the real intent behind this is to inspire you and illustrate how the process of Culinary Necromancy works. I want to show you what I did when faced with the empty wasteland of a kitchen, so that you'll have a better idea of what to do when you find yourself in similar dire straits. This is inspiration, not instruction. Kinda like porn, in that sense.
And now, for our first of many such examples of this dark and evil practice, Omniphage proudly presents the recipe for:
ZOMBIE POTATO STEW
Old potatoes are like old girlfriends: they just get uglier the longer you have to look at 'em, but you just can't seem to either get rid of them or find a use for them. The worst part is that most places sell potatoes in those giant nets that hold roughly a berjillion of the damn things, and there's no way you're gonna use up all of those as quickly as you'd like. Hell, I come from Midwestern and Irish stock, and even I have my limits for potato consumption. So you use the potatoes you bought for a casserole, or hash browns, or batting practice or whatever, and now you've got a bunch of extras just sitting around, growing fur and eyeballs.
Spinach is likewise sold in gigantic amounts and, like potatoes, it gets old fast, especially the hydroponically-grown stuff. The difference is that spinach can be used in just about any meal, but then, if we had the makings for a normal meal, we wouldn't have to turn to the Eternal Powers of Darkness and Punk Rock, would we? Spinach is also bulky as hell, especially considering how much it reduces when you cook it, and it just takes up space in the fridge that could be better used to hold, oh, say, beer, or leftover pizza, or the mailman's heart, or the whispering roses that just showed up on your pillow that one night. So even if its not going bad, using up extra spinach can only be good for your kitchen.
Flat beer is nobody's friend. Flat beer that went flat because you couldn't drink any more of it even at prime drinking temp is even worse. This may seem to go against my previous statement of "if you wouldn't drink it, why the hell would you cook with it?" but stay with me here, and I'll explain. Rogue Brewery makes an weird, fascinating brew called Chipotle Ale. Guess what its brewed with. Now, I like ale, and I like spicy things, and I like beer that encourages me to continue drinking it. But there's just something really odd about taking a sip of beer and tasting the smoky spice of a dried jalepeno - usually I'm drinking beer to cut and neutralize spices after I'm done with them. So I drank as much of the Chipotle Ale as I could, but I have a rule that's served me well so far - if you're drinking a beer, and every time you take a drink you have to follow it with water, then you should quit kidding yourself and stop drinking that beer. Life's too short to drink beer (or eat food) you don't genuinely enjoy. However, I didn't pour the Chipotle Ale down the drain, because I saw potential for it. I re-capped it as best I could, and put it away for a time when I'd have use of it.
(Quick tangent. Herein lies a good lesson for practioners of Culinary Necromancy: Never, ever throw and ingredient out just because you didn't end up needing it for a recipe. Unless it is at risk of going bad quickly, seal it up and store it. Always be thinking about potential uses for such unwanted bits and pieces, plan ahead, make notes, and above all, do not despair if you can't think of something right away. Your fridge might not thank you for it, but your trash can, your wallet, and your taste buds, will.)
So what did you do with going-bad potatoes, too-big-for-its shelf spinach, and flat, weird beer? Well, I'll tell you.
Get a wok, making sure its big enough to hold all the potatoes you'll be needing to get rid of. Get those potatoes washed and chopped up good and small, a bit bigger than bite-size. If these are especially old potatoes, this will also help to identify which ones have already betrayed you and are harboring dark spots and mold. Set your chopped potatoes aside in a big bowl, and get together the makings for the stew components.
Pour a bit of cooking oil into the wok. You can use olive oil if you like, but really you should save that for your more prima dona recipes. Normal vegetable oil will do just fine. Get the pot going over medium heat. When the oil gets hot, pour in the chipotle ale (I'd bought a 40 oz, since that was all they had, and barely drank off the neck of the beer, leaving me with something like 35 ounces of the stuff), along with four or five squirts of Tabasco sauce, or whatever brand of hot sauce you have and want to get rid of. Throw in as well five taps of Worcestershire sauce, and a few shakes of ground cinnamon. Get that up to simmering heat, and through in the potatoes.
Notice that your wok is definitely more full than you're probably used to - we're using a wok instead of a pot here because we need wide volume more than tall volume. The objective here is to cover the potatoes with the beer so that they actually boil in it, which probably won't happen in a pot because the beer simply won't go very high in one. If it really bothers you that you're making stew in a wok, then go to the sink, splash water on your face, and remember that these are your tools, and that its your responsibility to use them to fit the situation, not just the situations they've been used in before. Relax - Emeril isn't going to bust into your kitchen and punch you in the face (BAM!) for using your tools "incorrectly."And even if he did, so what? This is your kitchen, your place of power, your sanctum sanctorum, and you can do whatever you want in there.
Allow me to repeat that: YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU WANT IN YOUR OWN GODDAMN KITCHEN. This applies especially to Culinary Necromancy, but really it works across all spectra of cooking. Do what works, and use your head, but never refrain from something just because grandma from the old country or your favorite Food Network star wouldn't like it.
Let the potatoes boil for a while. While this is happening, the liquid is also going to reduce down to more of a thick, stewy consistency. When the potatoes are losing a bit of their hardness, get out a packet of rice and your spinach. Whatever rice-in-a-bag you've got will do just fine, I personally used some Uncle Ben's wild rice mixture. Now here's the interesting part - grab the flavor packet out of the box, and pour it into the simmering stew along with the spinach. Stir it up so the spinach and flavor stuff is evenly mixed in, then throw your rice in the microwave with as much water as needed (back of the box should tell ya). When you're nuking the rice, go about five minutes less than what the box tells you to do - you'll finish cooking the rice in the stew itself. While this is happening, start stirring the potatoes around. Watch your stew - it should still be more liquid than solid if not, turn the heat down a bit, and add in some more beer - you'll probably want to drink beer with stew anyway, so just crack one open a bit early and pour some in there. When the rice is done, throw it in, stir it up. Taste-test the rice and potatoes - they should come to doneness at about the same time. When they do, get the wok off the burner, and get your bowl(s) ready. Grab whatever cheese you need to use up out of the fridge (I used sharp cheddar and it was glorious), and throw it into the bowl, then spoon the Zombie Potato Stew over it. Stir it up so the cheese gets nice and stringy. Serve hot, eat with a spoon. Store the rest of the stew (you more than likely made a lot, since this was, at least in part, an effort to get rid of unneeded stuff) in the fridge or freezer for later, when you're hungry but your powers are too drained for Culinary Necromancy.
And by the way, if Emeril did happen to come by to chastise you, hit him in the head with the now-empty wok (BAM!-), bake him in the oven, chop 'im to bits, and store him in the freezer. Like I said before, never waste potential ingredients.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Pasta, Meat, Beer Sauce, and The Consequences of Rugby Orgies
You'll be using this a lot, if you do indeed try some of the recipes and techniques recorded here. This is probably my crowning achievement in the kitchen. Unless you count that time with the girls' rugby squad. Regardless, I'm very proud of it (and unlike the rugby team, to date it has never given me gonorrhea).
Beer gets kind of a bad rap in America. The main reasons for this are high-schoolers (kids, if you really want to rebel against your parents and society, and potentially screw up your body and lifestyle forever, join a punk band. You'll get lots more respect that way), and sports advertisements (beer does not increase your sex appeal, and bad beer actually lowers it. I'm looking at you, Miller Light). But beer is not redneck blood (with the exception of PBR), nor is it the last refuge of the haggard office worker (that would be cocaine), and its not even the root of all evil that explains why your kid is so quiet and moody all the time (that's actually because you're a bad parent and you went terribly wrong somewhere). Beer has always been a philosopher's drink, a craft honed by generations, often the center of a community (the word "pub" is short for "public house," and the word "bar" is short for "barking madmen holed up in a dank, smelly pit and thus sequestered away from civilized society, allowing it to go on with its business unhindered") and, in times past, it the only thing around that was safe to drink! Only recently has beer gotten the evil reputation that most people associate with it. Even now, the true scions of beer are fighting back, against both the misplaced but strong concerns of society AND against the multimillion dollar companies that do little to dissuade people of such concerns, and continue to make bad, cheap beer. There is tasty, well-crafted beer out there, and you can and should make use of it.
You don't even have to drink it!
There are tons of ways to use beer in cooking, and I won't go into all of them. Besides, none of them are as good as mine, anyway. This particular concoction is about three years old, and it started with having no idea what to put with the pasta I was making (we didn't want to use tomato sauce because it was a little boring, and we were all out of deer blood). Inspiration struck me when I looked down at the bottle I was holding - it wasn't not the greatest beer in the world but not too bad, either. I took a sip. It was spicy, evenly thick, and had a bit of a nutty, cheesy thing going on in the aftertaste. The hops (the bittering and sterilizing agent in beer, and also the part that's loaded with Vitamin C) were clean and fresh, and encouraged continued drinking. I looked down at the skillet I'd gotten out, and the veggies, butter, and flour I'd laid around it.
A fire grew inside of me, and I knew what I had to do. And now, I shall teach you.
First off, a word upon the choice of beer. Different types of beer (even different brands creating ostensibly the same type of beer) will get you different results with our sauce. Ales are great all-purpose beers for this sauce, but there's a great range of ales. If you use something like a Killian's Irish Red, your sauce will carry over that beer's woody, bitter taste, ideal for use with red meat; Flying Dog's Tire Bite Golden Ale was pretty much made to bring out the flavors of poultry; Stone Brewery's Arrogant Bastard turns out a gravy-like cousin to Stroganov sauce, perfect for sauteing mushrooms and root vegetables. And its not just ales that are useful, either - wheat beer pairs perfectly with delicately-flavored fish (in fact, Blue Moon's seasonal springtime beer, Rising Moon, is pretty much the perfect pairing for catfish - don't even bother with the lime pepper, the kaffir lime in the beer will do all your work for you). Don't be afraid to break out the weird, flavored beers, either - O'Fallon's Pumpkin Beer goes decently with any meat but where it really shines is when it combines with squash and slightly overcooked carrots for the creation of a thick, stewy sauce. I haven't experimented with lagers yet, but I suspect they'd be good for pork chops. As Thanksgiving approaches, I'm gonna try and get my hands on some Sam Adams' Cranberry Lambic, because Jesus Christ what better beer to inundate white-meat turkey in, am I right? I'm right. I'm always right. Stouts and porters might go well with cinnamon pasta (coming soon to a food blog near you), though I admittedly haven't tried this yet, either.
You know, just thinking about this makes me realize just how big the world of beer actually is, and the nigh-infinite combination of beer-to-meat-to-pasta there are. This is a recipe you can try over and over again, and never get quite the same thing twice. Experiment, re-iterate, go crazy, cook naked, be free, and by god, keeping trying new beers! You never know what you're going to create.
Now, though, a word to the wise - think a little bit about what you combine together. Some flavors will cancel each other out, or even flat-out ruin each other. Some will just taste kinda bland, or you might not taste it at all. Also, use pasta that will fit with the sauce. If you're gonna have thick, strong flavorful sauce (such as that Arrogant Bastard Stroganov), then use pasta that'll scoop up the sauce for you and explode in your mouth, something like mid-sized conchiglie or penne, or fettuccine (think how well it goes with alfredo, duh). On the other hand, maybe you don't use all that much beer because you're going for a thinner, more delicate oil-based sauce, maybe for fish or poultry. In that case, capellini or rice vermicelli sounds perfect to me. Do just a bit of planning beforehand. Just don't plan too much - planning leads to thinking, which eventually leads to philosophizing, which leads one to the inevitable conclusion that there is no meaning to anything we do and that you cooking this delicious beer sauce doesn't matter at all, to you or anyone else, and that really the only thing you could do that would serve any purpose would be to turn up the oven to 400 degrees, climb inside, and hum Great Gig in the Sky to yourself while you wait for the end.
OK, so here's what you're gonna do.
You need to pick out a couple of things. First, and most important, is the meat you're gonna use. This will inform everything else. Next, your beer. If its a beer you wouldn't drink, then why the hell would you cook with it? Because trust me, you're going to drink it - you won't use the whole bottle, and you can't just leave half a bottle of beer lying around. The cats will eventually get into it, and modern science is still unsure of the exact effects of alcohol on household felines. After that, your veggies. Mushrooms, zucchini, broccolli and carrots are my all-time favorite top-40 hits, but undoubtedly onions, leeks, pea pods, edamame, cabbage and peppers would go quite well, too. Finally, pick out the pasta that will best serve your purposes.
Now get a big skillet going - if you've got a wok, that's even better. In fact, let's proceed on the assumption that you have a wok. Every kitchen should have a wok. I know mine does. I always keep a wok handy to beat unsuspecting policemen with in case they ever try raiding my house again. I told them I didn't know where the girls' rugby team was, but if that they ever found them to check Janine for whatever else diseases she's carrying. I don't know for certain that it was Janine who gave me the seven-week-cock-death, but she spent the most time on me, so by sheer probability she's the most likely culprit. Drop a piece of butter and a few crushed garlic cloves on the surface of your wok, now over medium heat, and let them smoke up and leave little bits of brown residue a the bottom - you're gonna want the browned crackly shit that, trust me. Now pour some olive oil in, let it heat up, and start acting on the garlic. While that's going, grab bowl, and pour into it a handful of greated Parmesean cheese, freshly cracked black (or, depending on your meat choice, lime) pepper, and flour. Mix it all up. Take the raw meat and rub it around the mixture. Once the meat is nicely coated, set it aside on a plate big enough to hold all the meat you're gonna be using. By the time all the meat has been cheesed properly, the oil should be more than warm enough.
Chuck in the meat, and watch that oil just go to town on that shit. It'll bubble and broil and crackle and oh man it'll be so fucking cool. Scrape the bottom of the wok with a spoon and work all that brown stuff off, get it going with the meat, which should be starting to cook nicely, and the cheese-pepper-flour mixture should start crispifying on the outside, too. When the meat looks rare, turn the heat down to low-medium, crack open your beer if you haven't already, and pour about, oh, let's say, 8-10 ounces in there, or about half a regular-sized bottle. It'll immediately foam up, probably covering the meat entirely. This is as it should be. The foam will reduce as you stir, which you should definitely be doing. When the foam is more or less gone and you can smell the beer evaporating (it won't be nearly as unpleasant as when you did that with the Jack Daniels last time - in fact, I know no better smell in the world, save possibly for a combination of leather padding, freshly-cut grass, and angry womansex) throw in a little bit of flour - just enough to thicken up the sauce. You can actually skip this part entirely if you want a thin sauce for fish or something, but for the sauce to stand up to any kind of red meat or hearty vegetables, you're gonna want it thick. And speaking of veggies, now's the time to throw them in. Stir like a motherfucker.
Keep an eye on the meat. When its cooked to your preference (I like my red meat medium-rare, but your mileage may vary), lower the heat down to simmer, and get your water boiling for the pasta. While the water's boiling, keep stirring the sauce and meat, don't let anything clump together or let the sauce settle. When the water's ready, chuck in the pasta. Then - guess what - keep stirring the sauce. If the veggies are overcooking and you don't want them to, take it off the heat for a bit, but god damn it all, KEEP STIRRING. This is important - I've never ruined beer sauce, but I've done it in a way that it's not as good as I know it should be, and I've narrowed it down to this part of the process. You've got to keep that sauce active right up to the minute you serve it. Now, the pasta should be almost but not quite al dente - when its got just a little bit of chew left to it, drain it and IMMEDIATELY toss it into the wok, and turn the heat back up. The pasta will finish cooking in the sauce, and it will immediately take on the flavor. When the pasta's done, the whole shebang is done - pour it onto plates or into bowls, stick a fork in there, say your prayers to the Hate Gods, shake some cheese onto it, and dig in.
Invite some friends to help. Maybe that Ultimate Frisbee team you've been checking out.
Beer gets kind of a bad rap in America. The main reasons for this are high-schoolers (kids, if you really want to rebel against your parents and society, and potentially screw up your body and lifestyle forever, join a punk band. You'll get lots more respect that way), and sports advertisements (beer does not increase your sex appeal, and bad beer actually lowers it. I'm looking at you, Miller Light). But beer is not redneck blood (with the exception of PBR), nor is it the last refuge of the haggard office worker (that would be cocaine), and its not even the root of all evil that explains why your kid is so quiet and moody all the time (that's actually because you're a bad parent and you went terribly wrong somewhere). Beer has always been a philosopher's drink, a craft honed by generations, often the center of a community (the word "pub" is short for "public house," and the word "bar" is short for "barking madmen holed up in a dank, smelly pit and thus sequestered away from civilized society, allowing it to go on with its business unhindered") and, in times past, it the only thing around that was safe to drink! Only recently has beer gotten the evil reputation that most people associate with it. Even now, the true scions of beer are fighting back, against both the misplaced but strong concerns of society AND against the multimillion dollar companies that do little to dissuade people of such concerns, and continue to make bad, cheap beer. There is tasty, well-crafted beer out there, and you can and should make use of it.
You don't even have to drink it!
There are tons of ways to use beer in cooking, and I won't go into all of them. Besides, none of them are as good as mine, anyway. This particular concoction is about three years old, and it started with having no idea what to put with the pasta I was making (we didn't want to use tomato sauce because it was a little boring, and we were all out of deer blood). Inspiration struck me when I looked down at the bottle I was holding - it wasn't not the greatest beer in the world but not too bad, either. I took a sip. It was spicy, evenly thick, and had a bit of a nutty, cheesy thing going on in the aftertaste. The hops (the bittering and sterilizing agent in beer, and also the part that's loaded with Vitamin C) were clean and fresh, and encouraged continued drinking. I looked down at the skillet I'd gotten out, and the veggies, butter, and flour I'd laid around it.
A fire grew inside of me, and I knew what I had to do. And now, I shall teach you.
First off, a word upon the choice of beer. Different types of beer (even different brands creating ostensibly the same type of beer) will get you different results with our sauce. Ales are great all-purpose beers for this sauce, but there's a great range of ales. If you use something like a Killian's Irish Red, your sauce will carry over that beer's woody, bitter taste, ideal for use with red meat; Flying Dog's Tire Bite Golden Ale was pretty much made to bring out the flavors of poultry; Stone Brewery's Arrogant Bastard turns out a gravy-like cousin to Stroganov sauce, perfect for sauteing mushrooms and root vegetables. And its not just ales that are useful, either - wheat beer pairs perfectly with delicately-flavored fish (in fact, Blue Moon's seasonal springtime beer, Rising Moon, is pretty much the perfect pairing for catfish - don't even bother with the lime pepper, the kaffir lime in the beer will do all your work for you). Don't be afraid to break out the weird, flavored beers, either - O'Fallon's Pumpkin Beer goes decently with any meat but where it really shines is when it combines with squash and slightly overcooked carrots for the creation of a thick, stewy sauce. I haven't experimented with lagers yet, but I suspect they'd be good for pork chops. As Thanksgiving approaches, I'm gonna try and get my hands on some Sam Adams' Cranberry Lambic, because Jesus Christ what better beer to inundate white-meat turkey in, am I right? I'm right. I'm always right. Stouts and porters might go well with cinnamon pasta (coming soon to a food blog near you), though I admittedly haven't tried this yet, either.
You know, just thinking about this makes me realize just how big the world of beer actually is, and the nigh-infinite combination of beer-to-meat-to-pasta there are. This is a recipe you can try over and over again, and never get quite the same thing twice. Experiment, re-iterate, go crazy, cook naked, be free, and by god, keeping trying new beers! You never know what you're going to create.
Now, though, a word to the wise - think a little bit about what you combine together. Some flavors will cancel each other out, or even flat-out ruin each other. Some will just taste kinda bland, or you might not taste it at all. Also, use pasta that will fit with the sauce. If you're gonna have thick, strong flavorful sauce (such as that Arrogant Bastard Stroganov), then use pasta that'll scoop up the sauce for you and explode in your mouth, something like mid-sized conchiglie or penne, or fettuccine (think how well it goes with alfredo, duh). On the other hand, maybe you don't use all that much beer because you're going for a thinner, more delicate oil-based sauce, maybe for fish or poultry. In that case, capellini or rice vermicelli sounds perfect to me. Do just a bit of planning beforehand. Just don't plan too much - planning leads to thinking, which eventually leads to philosophizing, which leads one to the inevitable conclusion that there is no meaning to anything we do and that you cooking this delicious beer sauce doesn't matter at all, to you or anyone else, and that really the only thing you could do that would serve any purpose would be to turn up the oven to 400 degrees, climb inside, and hum Great Gig in the Sky to yourself while you wait for the end.
OK, so here's what you're gonna do.
You need to pick out a couple of things. First, and most important, is the meat you're gonna use. This will inform everything else. Next, your beer. If its a beer you wouldn't drink, then why the hell would you cook with it? Because trust me, you're going to drink it - you won't use the whole bottle, and you can't just leave half a bottle of beer lying around. The cats will eventually get into it, and modern science is still unsure of the exact effects of alcohol on household felines. After that, your veggies. Mushrooms, zucchini, broccolli and carrots are my all-time favorite top-40 hits, but undoubtedly onions, leeks, pea pods, edamame, cabbage and peppers would go quite well, too. Finally, pick out the pasta that will best serve your purposes.
Now get a big skillet going - if you've got a wok, that's even better. In fact, let's proceed on the assumption that you have a wok. Every kitchen should have a wok. I know mine does. I always keep a wok handy to beat unsuspecting policemen with in case they ever try raiding my house again. I told them I didn't know where the girls' rugby team was, but if that they ever found them to check Janine for whatever else diseases she's carrying. I don't know for certain that it was Janine who gave me the seven-week-cock-death, but she spent the most time on me, so by sheer probability she's the most likely culprit. Drop a piece of butter and a few crushed garlic cloves on the surface of your wok, now over medium heat, and let them smoke up and leave little bits of brown residue a the bottom - you're gonna want the browned crackly shit that, trust me. Now pour some olive oil in, let it heat up, and start acting on the garlic. While that's going, grab bowl, and pour into it a handful of greated Parmesean cheese, freshly cracked black (or, depending on your meat choice, lime) pepper, and flour. Mix it all up. Take the raw meat and rub it around the mixture. Once the meat is nicely coated, set it aside on a plate big enough to hold all the meat you're gonna be using. By the time all the meat has been cheesed properly, the oil should be more than warm enough.
Chuck in the meat, and watch that oil just go to town on that shit. It'll bubble and broil and crackle and oh man it'll be so fucking cool. Scrape the bottom of the wok with a spoon and work all that brown stuff off, get it going with the meat, which should be starting to cook nicely, and the cheese-pepper-flour mixture should start crispifying on the outside, too. When the meat looks rare, turn the heat down to low-medium, crack open your beer if you haven't already, and pour about, oh, let's say, 8-10 ounces in there, or about half a regular-sized bottle. It'll immediately foam up, probably covering the meat entirely. This is as it should be. The foam will reduce as you stir, which you should definitely be doing. When the foam is more or less gone and you can smell the beer evaporating (it won't be nearly as unpleasant as when you did that with the Jack Daniels last time - in fact, I know no better smell in the world, save possibly for a combination of leather padding, freshly-cut grass, and angry womansex) throw in a little bit of flour - just enough to thicken up the sauce. You can actually skip this part entirely if you want a thin sauce for fish or something, but for the sauce to stand up to any kind of red meat or hearty vegetables, you're gonna want it thick. And speaking of veggies, now's the time to throw them in. Stir like a motherfucker.
Keep an eye on the meat. When its cooked to your preference (I like my red meat medium-rare, but your mileage may vary), lower the heat down to simmer, and get your water boiling for the pasta. While the water's boiling, keep stirring the sauce and meat, don't let anything clump together or let the sauce settle. When the water's ready, chuck in the pasta. Then - guess what - keep stirring the sauce. If the veggies are overcooking and you don't want them to, take it off the heat for a bit, but god damn it all, KEEP STIRRING. This is important - I've never ruined beer sauce, but I've done it in a way that it's not as good as I know it should be, and I've narrowed it down to this part of the process. You've got to keep that sauce active right up to the minute you serve it. Now, the pasta should be almost but not quite al dente - when its got just a little bit of chew left to it, drain it and IMMEDIATELY toss it into the wok, and turn the heat back up. The pasta will finish cooking in the sauce, and it will immediately take on the flavor. When the pasta's done, the whole shebang is done - pour it onto plates or into bowls, stick a fork in there, say your prayers to the Hate Gods, shake some cheese onto it, and dig in.
Invite some friends to help. Maybe that Ultimate Frisbee team you've been checking out.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Salmon in Jack Sauce (also, the rage of the dejected)
Salmon is a pretty simple fish, and its quite tasty without doing anything more intensive than brushing it with some olive oil, throwing some sea salt and crushed garlic on it, and grilling or pan-frying it. Its pretty healthy, too, if you're bothered by that sort of thing. I'm not. I never exercise, I am borderline alcoholic, and when given the opportunity I will often sleep for 14 hours or more. I never use a condom.
Salmon is, for all its simple goodness, sometimes difficult to combine with other flavors. Salmon is a pretty oily fish (that oil is actually the part that's good for you, but that's not the point. As I've already stated, I care far less for nutrition than for flavor), and this gives it an incredibly strong, mouth-coating flavor. Salty, strong spices and veggies combine fairly well, but the only out-of-the-bottle sauce or glaze that I think really goes well with salmon is teryaki sauce.
So, how do you rein in a strong flavor and make it play nice with others? You bring in an evens bigger, stronger, and meaner flavor, and you make them fight. Or make them fuck, pick your metaphor. In this case, that flavor is whiskey - Jack Daniels Tennessee whiskey, to be precise. Now I'm not a huge Jack Daniels fan (you'll find out what whiskey I prefer in later posts, I'm sure) but I'll admit it has a wonderful scent, and it has just the right balance of strong flavor and not-terribly-expensive pricing - you would want to waste high-end whiskey on cooking, after all. That's for drinking. And crying. And throwing the empty glass into the fireplace, and yelling at the flames as they roar out and try to set your robe on fire. "Wasn't I good enough?! Wasn't I?! God damn you, what more could you want from me! I wore the fucking dress, didn't I?! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!!?"
Jack Daniels also has the advantage of combining nicely with the spices we'll be using for the sauce in this recipe - ground ginger and fennel seed. Now, if you want to use fresh, chopped ginger, be my guest, but honestly you'll be wasting fresh ginger - the ground ginger will combine with the oil and the whiskey much better, and act as a thickening agent besides. Leave the fucking fennel seeds alone, too - don't chop 'em, or soak 'em or do any goddamn thing to them. Just shoot 'em straight out of the tin, or envelope, or whatever else you store your spices in. Personally, I use the followed, cured and tanned kidneys of dead relatives. It keeps their memories alive.
Anyway, we're putting the snow plow before the drugged, terrified hooker here, so let's back up and start from the beginning.
Get your salmon together. Thaw it under cool water, brush it with a bit of olive oil, chuck some sesame seeds on it, and place it seeds-up in a baking dish. Now grab some mushrooms (canned will work, though fresh, chopped white shroomz would be quite lovely for this) and chuck 'em into the casserole or whatever you're using around the salmon. Pre-heat your oven for 400 or thereabouts (you know your oven better than I do) and when its ready, throw the salmon and shroomz in there, and set a timer for ten minutes. Now, that's a bit shorter than most people would have you cook salmon, but worry not, because we're gonna finish it up in the skillet. What skillet? Hold your goddamn horses, I'm getting there! Anyway, while the salmon is baking, its going to sweat out a lot of its water and oil, and the shroomz will be standing ready to soak up all that flavor. This is why I recommend fresh shroomz, because the stuff canned shroomz sit in for decades, waiting for the nuclear winter when they will be the only source of edible fungus on the planet, will already be coating them, and they won't absorb as nicely. Which is sad.
Now, get your skillet - it should be big enough to pan-fry your salmon and a little extra, besides. Drizzle in some olive oil, about an eighth of an inch thick (less if you've got a wide skillet), and set it to low-mid heat. When its getting hot (wave your hand over it - if the air is a bit warm and your kitchen is starting to smell like an Italian wedding party, it's good to go) pour in some ground ginger, fennel seeds, a few cracks of sea salt, and a shot glass worth each of Jack Daniels and 2% milk. Start stirring right away.
A word of warning - do not lean over and inhale to see how the sauce smells. The alcohol from the Jack Daniels will be evaporating, and if you try to breathe than in, it'll smell like that time you skinned your knee and your mom had to pour rubbing alcohol on it, but it hurt really bad and so she had to smack you around to get you to quit squirming, and to this day whenever she raises her hand, even just to give you a hug, you flinch a little bit because deep down, that was when you realized that mommy never really loved you and that, by giving birth to you, you'd destroyed all her dreams of traveling the world and meeting a man who'd really love her, so wait about three minutes before you try to take a whiff. You don't want to burn all the whiskey off, though, so after those three minutes, reduce the heat to its lowest setting, and just keep stirring so the sauce doesn't clump up. Give it a taste - it should taste salty, but with a sweet, smoky undertone. If you're not getting that, look around to make sure no one's looking, and then throw in a half-shot of Jack, and stir that in. There, that's better, ain't it?
OK, your salmon will be done pretty soon. Spend that time stirring and taking the occasional nip of Jack. If you think the sauce needs anything, add it now - a little parsley does alright, as well as maybe a touch of oregano, but juuuust a touch - don't overwhelm the Jack. The Jack will become angry, and drown you in your sleep. Its done it before, it'll do it again. When the timer goes off, pour the excess juice from the salmon out, careful not to lose any shroomz, and then transfer the fish and fungus to the skillet, fish skin facing up. Turn the heat back up, and get pan-frying. Potentially, you could start chopping up the salmon and turn it into more of a stir-fry, that's more or less up to you. The shroomz are gonna start doing something amazing - the oil they've been soaking up is going to attract all that ginger and fennel, and you'll have these glorious-looking spiced shroomz. Fry for about five minutes, then transfer the fish directly to plate(s). Pour the shroomz over it.
Take a bite once the fish has cooled down some - you'll have a wonderful combination of the fish's simple, honest but strong flavor, but it will have gone a little mad once you introduce it to the Jack and ginger, and it'll add a completely new dimension. The fennel will add a nice crunch, and that slight licorice thing that fennel has will enhance the sweetness of the sauce. The mushrooms will be divine. Make up some bread and simple veggies to go with it (don't be a pussy about letting the veggies wallow in the sauce for a while, either), and you've got a darn tasty meal, not to mention a way to use up some Jack. Besides, of course, the usual late-night fireplace screaming sessions.
Salmon is, for all its simple goodness, sometimes difficult to combine with other flavors. Salmon is a pretty oily fish (that oil is actually the part that's good for you, but that's not the point. As I've already stated, I care far less for nutrition than for flavor), and this gives it an incredibly strong, mouth-coating flavor. Salty, strong spices and veggies combine fairly well, but the only out-of-the-bottle sauce or glaze that I think really goes well with salmon is teryaki sauce.
So, how do you rein in a strong flavor and make it play nice with others? You bring in an evens bigger, stronger, and meaner flavor, and you make them fight. Or make them fuck, pick your metaphor. In this case, that flavor is whiskey - Jack Daniels Tennessee whiskey, to be precise. Now I'm not a huge Jack Daniels fan (you'll find out what whiskey I prefer in later posts, I'm sure) but I'll admit it has a wonderful scent, and it has just the right balance of strong flavor and not-terribly-expensive pricing - you would want to waste high-end whiskey on cooking, after all. That's for drinking. And crying. And throwing the empty glass into the fireplace, and yelling at the flames as they roar out and try to set your robe on fire. "Wasn't I good enough?! Wasn't I?! God damn you, what more could you want from me! I wore the fucking dress, didn't I?! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!!?"
Jack Daniels also has the advantage of combining nicely with the spices we'll be using for the sauce in this recipe - ground ginger and fennel seed. Now, if you want to use fresh, chopped ginger, be my guest, but honestly you'll be wasting fresh ginger - the ground ginger will combine with the oil and the whiskey much better, and act as a thickening agent besides. Leave the fucking fennel seeds alone, too - don't chop 'em, or soak 'em or do any goddamn thing to them. Just shoot 'em straight out of the tin, or envelope, or whatever else you store your spices in. Personally, I use the followed, cured and tanned kidneys of dead relatives. It keeps their memories alive.
Anyway, we're putting the snow plow before the drugged, terrified hooker here, so let's back up and start from the beginning.
Get your salmon together. Thaw it under cool water, brush it with a bit of olive oil, chuck some sesame seeds on it, and place it seeds-up in a baking dish. Now grab some mushrooms (canned will work, though fresh, chopped white shroomz would be quite lovely for this) and chuck 'em into the casserole or whatever you're using around the salmon. Pre-heat your oven for 400 or thereabouts (you know your oven better than I do) and when its ready, throw the salmon and shroomz in there, and set a timer for ten minutes. Now, that's a bit shorter than most people would have you cook salmon, but worry not, because we're gonna finish it up in the skillet. What skillet? Hold your goddamn horses, I'm getting there! Anyway, while the salmon is baking, its going to sweat out a lot of its water and oil, and the shroomz will be standing ready to soak up all that flavor. This is why I recommend fresh shroomz, because the stuff canned shroomz sit in for decades, waiting for the nuclear winter when they will be the only source of edible fungus on the planet, will already be coating them, and they won't absorb as nicely. Which is sad.
Now, get your skillet - it should be big enough to pan-fry your salmon and a little extra, besides. Drizzle in some olive oil, about an eighth of an inch thick (less if you've got a wide skillet), and set it to low-mid heat. When its getting hot (wave your hand over it - if the air is a bit warm and your kitchen is starting to smell like an Italian wedding party, it's good to go) pour in some ground ginger, fennel seeds, a few cracks of sea salt, and a shot glass worth each of Jack Daniels and 2% milk. Start stirring right away.
A word of warning - do not lean over and inhale to see how the sauce smells. The alcohol from the Jack Daniels will be evaporating, and if you try to breathe than in, it'll smell like that time you skinned your knee and your mom had to pour rubbing alcohol on it, but it hurt really bad and so she had to smack you around to get you to quit squirming, and to this day whenever she raises her hand, even just to give you a hug, you flinch a little bit because deep down, that was when you realized that mommy never really loved you and that, by giving birth to you, you'd destroyed all her dreams of traveling the world and meeting a man who'd really love her, so wait about three minutes before you try to take a whiff. You don't want to burn all the whiskey off, though, so after those three minutes, reduce the heat to its lowest setting, and just keep stirring so the sauce doesn't clump up. Give it a taste - it should taste salty, but with a sweet, smoky undertone. If you're not getting that, look around to make sure no one's looking, and then throw in a half-shot of Jack, and stir that in. There, that's better, ain't it?
OK, your salmon will be done pretty soon. Spend that time stirring and taking the occasional nip of Jack. If you think the sauce needs anything, add it now - a little parsley does alright, as well as maybe a touch of oregano, but juuuust a touch - don't overwhelm the Jack. The Jack will become angry, and drown you in your sleep. Its done it before, it'll do it again. When the timer goes off, pour the excess juice from the salmon out, careful not to lose any shroomz, and then transfer the fish and fungus to the skillet, fish skin facing up. Turn the heat back up, and get pan-frying. Potentially, you could start chopping up the salmon and turn it into more of a stir-fry, that's more or less up to you. The shroomz are gonna start doing something amazing - the oil they've been soaking up is going to attract all that ginger and fennel, and you'll have these glorious-looking spiced shroomz. Fry for about five minutes, then transfer the fish directly to plate(s). Pour the shroomz over it.
Take a bite once the fish has cooled down some - you'll have a wonderful combination of the fish's simple, honest but strong flavor, but it will have gone a little mad once you introduce it to the Jack and ginger, and it'll add a completely new dimension. The fennel will add a nice crunch, and that slight licorice thing that fennel has will enhance the sweetness of the sauce. The mushrooms will be divine. Make up some bread and simple veggies to go with it (don't be a pussy about letting the veggies wallow in the sauce for a while, either), and you've got a darn tasty meal, not to mention a way to use up some Jack. Besides, of course, the usual late-night fireplace screaming sessions.
What Omniphage is
Its a food blog. More specifically, it's a food blog that focuses on mad experimentation, wild hair-up-your-ass theories, and direct flaunting of convention. I will serve you white wine with steak and red wine with fish, and it will be a very odd day if I provide you with measurements more specific then "a handful" or "a little more than you think you'll need."
I'm not a professional chef, I only cook for myself and friends, and I get no money for my services. I cook to loud music, I often cook with a container full of alcohol not too far away, and I have, on at least two occasions, cooked naked. I have a tendency to cut off bits of meat during preparation and eat them raw. I frequently burn, scald, and cut myself. And I have only once had to throw away something because it was inedible.
If all that hasn't scared you off, then welcome to Omniphage - Cooking for Heroes.
I'm not a professional chef, I only cook for myself and friends, and I get no money for my services. I cook to loud music, I often cook with a container full of alcohol not too far away, and I have, on at least two occasions, cooked naked. I have a tendency to cut off bits of meat during preparation and eat them raw. I frequently burn, scald, and cut myself. And I have only once had to throw away something because it was inedible.
If all that hasn't scared you off, then welcome to Omniphage - Cooking for Heroes.
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