Lately, I've been craving some beefy noodles in a rich broth, something close to ya ka mein. Don't worry that you're not up on your Cajun or Creole foods if you've never heard of it--it's neither. Ya ka mein is a soup with these main characters: beef, soy sauce, and spaghetti noodles, topped with green onions and a hard-boiled egg. You see it at festivals, fundraisers, and Jazz Fest, and rarely anywhere else. Here's a little background on it, from the Gulf Aid concert in 2010:
[Baked or fried? You decide.]
Natchitoches meat pies are one of those special little treats with a name as fun to say as they are to scarf down. Nackadish--that's how you say it--is a small town we drive through on our way north to visit Alexandria or Oklahoma, and it's where Steel Magnolias was filmed, and it's famous for these little pies. It's a beautiful little place, with a picturesque riverfront lined with shops and restaurants that have their own sort of French Quarter-ish wrought-iron balconies (remember the Easter scene where Jackson slapped Ouiser? That's the riverfront!). But you don't have to go into the actual town to get yourself some meat pies; just stop at any gas station right off I-10. They all fry them up and they're all pretty wonderful.
If you've never had or heard of grillades and grits, then I apologize for not mentioning them earlier. They're one of the two most wonderful things to eat for brunch in New Orleans (shrimp and grits being the other). I've never been to anyplace in town for brunch that didn't offer one or both of these goodies. Grillades (gree'-awds) are made of beef, veal, or pork; I haven't encountered a rabbit version yet, but I won't be surprised when I do. The beef is a thin, flat cut of top round or chuck--something that can withstand a long, slow cooking. It simmers in a pot with the trinity (onion, celery, bell pepper), garlic, and a little jalapeno--not traditional, but I really like it--until the rich broth thickens and intensifies, so what you get is a powerfully flavored beef "stew" that is perfect over creamy cheese grits. This is a great Louisiana recipe to try if you're hankering for some thick, rich goodness but you don't feel up to stirring a roux, because you don't have to. The small amount of flour used in the browning of the beef will produce all the roux you need.
Rainy, gray November days beg for something warm and fortifying, and this is certainly both. You might not be ready to run a marathon afterward, but you'll be ready for a marathon sleep. Cheers to that!
Sauce Bolognese is perfect on fettucine, penne, or ladled over gnocchi, with lots of fresh Parmigiano Reggiano (that's the real stuff) grated over the top. One of its traditional uses is as the sauce component of lasagna, as in Lasagna Bolognese--but you could also turn it into a baked ziti, or a soup, or even a very cheeky chili. It's also highly adaptable, so feel free to add veggies or substitute other meats (or non-meats) as you wish. In other words, you have permission to get artsy with your food. Just another perk of living in the best restaurant city in the universe: a great tip from a neighbor about using veal, which was spot-on.
Between the ages of 3 and 10, my family lived in a place called Weatherford, Oklahoma. It's a small, windy town off I-40, about an hour west of Oklahoma City. Naturally, we all ate a lot of beef, and much of it in the form of burgers. This was the mid-70s, and Weatherford was just small enough to not have a McDonald's (in spite of I-40), but we were big enough to have a Sonic, an A&W Drive-In, a Mr. Burger (local chain), and a great diner called Magill's, on Main Street. It was my favorite place ever, the first eatery I remember loving and wanting to have all to myself. We ate cheeseburgers hot off the griddle, french fries, and thick, dreamy malts. It was the place I made my first "sauce"--mayo & ketchup, mixed. And if I was lucky, I got to sit at the counter.
