Earlier this year, when I began an obsession with poaching the perfect egg, I started replacing the water I'd normally used to poach eggs in with tomato sauce. Magically, those eggs turned out perfect. Then I started poaching eggs in salsa for huevos rancheros, and it dawned on me that I might never need to poach an egg in water again. Why would I, when they're so easy and so delicious in a tomatoey, spicy sauce?
I guess you could say I'm a bit obsessed with po-boys lately. In the weeks leading up to the po-boy festival, I visited a couple of my favorite po-boy spots to reminisce, to remember how good the basics can be. I had fried shrimp at Parkway and shrimp and oyster at Crabby Jack's, and then those wonderful little odd po-boys at the fest. I thought I'd had my fill for a while, until Paul told me he'd overhead someone talking about a blackened shrimp po-boy. My interest was piqued. Then, he said, "It'd be good with a little bacon sprinkled on it." Yes, it would. Then, "And maybe some goat cheese?" I almost fainted. Yes, blackened shrimp with bacon and goat cheese would be good--very, very good. If it sounds bizarre or even blasphemous to load a seafood po-boy down with extras like bacon and cheese, consider the Peacemaker, that ultra-delicious po-boy of fried oysters, bacon, and American cheese. Sounds crazy, but it's fantastic. If American cheese can't hurt a po-boy, then for sure goat cheese couldn't.
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.
I've been thinking a lot about sustainable kitchen practices, by which I mean not just the foods we're eating and cooking, but how we're shopping, planning (or not), growing, and storing. For years, I've been a big believer in planning an entire week's meals as a way of saving money. But sometimes I think that holding too fast to a planned menu can actually cause food waste; if you purchase what you imagine to be a week's worth of food at one time, but you end up not needing that much, what do you do with the excess? And what happens if the meals you planned to make don't store well once prepared? I don't have easy solutions to these questions, other than trial and error, and an idea that's new to me: maybe a little less planning is a better way to go.
I love little fried bits of things--shrimp, hushpuppies, onion rings, green tomatoes--but I've found a new favorite thing to satisfy that crunch-crunch, home-fried crispy urge. It's fried okra. Growing up, I never used to go for it, while the rest of my family inhaled it by the handful, especially when it came from my Southern-cooking grandma's kitchen. I think okra had too much of a deep, earthen, brown taste...it was bitter, like Brussels sprouts. It seemed, to my palate accustomed to raspberry Zingers and spaghettios, almost burnt. Of course now I can't seem to get enough, and I think it's the oddness of okra that I find so wonderful. There's really nothing else quite like it.
Happy 2011, everyone! Carnival season is well underway. About 5 weeks left til Mardi Gras. Our garage has undergone an intense cleaning. Arcade Fire will be at Jazzfest. We're going to try a small garden. It's shaping up to be a great year.
We were in Oklahoma over New Year's, and didn't get a chance to make our standard black-eyed-pea and greens feast that we've enjoyed since moving here...but here's a simple recipe for some down-home greens 'n peas that'll fit the winter soup bill and sneak in some luck before January's out.
