Cooking Misc.: September 2003 Archives

I don't know if there's a little ambiguity in defining "pork tenderloin" or if the butcher just gave Todd something else, but when I sent him to the pork store to buy a tenderloin, instead of the long, skinny little piece of meat I expected, Todd came home with a 3-pound roast. So we ate pork for about a week. First I roasted some of it, coating it with applesauce before I put it in a 500 degree oven and cooked it until it reached 155 degrees internally. Then we had sandwiches with some of the leftovers. With the rest of the meat, I made Bittman's pork and turnips (which we love) and Todd took those leftovers to lunch.

On Sunday we finally ate the last of the pork I had roasted, stir-fried with rice, bell pepper, scallions, garlic and celery and seasoned with toasted sesame oil, soy sauce and red pepper flakes. You stir-fry the veggies first, add the garlic, then the rice and seasonings. So easy. (Although I did have to cook the rice the day before, but that's easy, too. I just left it sitting on the stovetop, covered, like Todd's roommate used to do in college.)

I don't know if there's a little ambiguity in defining "pork tenderloin" or if the butcher just gave Todd something else, but when I sent him to the pork store to buy a tenderloin, instead of the long, skinny little piece of meat I expected, Todd came home with a 3-pound roast. So we ate pork for about a week. First I roasted some of it, coating it with applesauce before I put it in a 500 degree oven and cooked it until it reached 155 degrees internally. Then we had sandwiches with some of the leftovers. With the rest of the meat, I made Bittman's pork and turnips (which we love) and Todd took those leftovers to lunch.

On Sunday we finally ate the last of the pork I had roasted, stir-fried with rice, bell pepper, scallions, garlic and celery and seasoned with toasted sesame oil, soy sauce and red pepper flakes. You stir-fry the veggies first, add the garlic, then the rice and seasonings. So easy. (Although I did have to cook the rice the day before, but that's easy, too. I just left it sitting on the stovetop, covered, like Todd's roommate used to do in college.)

Manhattan clam chowder, made with scallops (because I had a bag of frozen bay scallops) instead of clams. I've never been much of a red chowder fan, but it's not as bad for you as New England chowder, and I had a bunch of vegetables I needed to use up. I started with a bottle of clam juice, added about half a bottle of water. Diced up 1 carrot, 2 stalks celery, half a large red bell pepper and a large scallion, added that to the pot and simmered it all for 10 minutes, to soften the vegetables. Then I added 1 diced potato, half a 28-oz can of whole peeled tomatoes that I had chopped up (with some of the puree in the can), thyme, salt, pepper and a pinch of cayenne. Simmered that until the potatoes were tender, then added scallops and simmered until they were cooked through. Easy, and pretty tasty, too, with a distinct seafood taste.

Yes, the bread got a little too broiled, but only on one edge. And I like that burned taste as long as it's not too much of it.

I made chocolate chip cookies last night (I used a recipe in the Once Upon a Tart cookbook, but it's pretty basic). Sorry to sound like the end of a coming-of-age novel, but it taught me a couple of things about myself.

I've come a long way in terms of cooking and baking. There was a time when baking a batch of cookies was an event, involving what seemed to me a huge shopping list, a long process and endless scooping and baking. I would skip key elements, like using room-temperature butter, or not know how to "make" the butter room temperature quickly (microwave, LOW POWER, in 30 second increments until your thumb leaves a mark). I know some of you will understand what I'm saying, and others of you have baking in your blood and can't imagine that a batch cookies could be viewed as daunting. Anyway, I have changed. I have all the ingredients on hand (they're staples in my kitchen) and everything goes so quickly and easily. I was a little surprised. And I always used to be disappointed in the results, but the cookies I made last night are awesome. (I have in my possession a box of Entenmann's cookies that I'm supposed to deliver to a friend, and that's what got me craving cookies last night, but I wasn't allowed to open the box since they weren't mine, so that's why I made my own. Mine were better.)

The other thing I learned about myself is that I'm a comfort baker. Some news made me a little sad last night, so I made a batch of cookies, and it made me feel better. Skilled and useful, like I could do something that other people would appreciate and enjoy. Is that an unhealthy attitude about food? I just wish there were more than just the two of us to eat up all my comfort baking.

I made chocolate chip cookies last night (I used a recipe in the Once Upon a Tart cookbook, but it's pretty basic). Sorry to sound like the end of a coming-of-age novel, but it taught me a couple of things about myself.

I've come a long way in terms of cooking and baking. There was a time when baking a batch of cookies was an event, involving what seemed to me a huge shopping list, a long process and endless scooping and baking. I would skip key elements, like using room-temperature butter, or not know how to "make" the butter room temperature quickly (microwave, LOW POWER, in 30 second increments until your thumb leaves a mark). I know some of you will understand what I'm saying, and others of you have baking in your blood and can't imagine that a batch cookies could be viewed as daunting. Anyway, I have changed. I have all the ingredients on hand (they're staples in my kitchen) and everything goes so quickly and easily. I was a little surprised. And I always used to be disappointed in the results, but the cookies I made last night are awesome. (I have in my possession a box of Entenmann's cookies that I'm supposed to deliver to a friend, and that's what got me craving cookies last night, but I wasn't allowed to open the box since they weren't mine, so that's why I made my own. Mine were better.)

The other thing I learned about myself is that I'm a comfort baker. Some news made me a little sad last night, so I made a batch of cookies, and it made me feel better. Skilled and useful, like I could do something that other people would appreciate and enjoy. Is that an unhealthy attitude about food? I just wish there were more than just the two of us to eat up all my comfort baking.

This is, in the incarnations I've seen it, a broth-based soup with greens and meatballs. I know someone's going to be horrified, but since this is called "Italian," I decided a good, flavorful shortcut for the recipe would be to use sweet Italian sausage to make the meatballs. I can never find packages that contain ground beef, veal and pork all together, and buying the separate packs would result in entirely too much meat, so this seemed like a good way to make up for the loss of flavor.

This is a recipe from Rachael Ray's second cookbook. You start by sauteeing, then sweating, two chopped carrots and two chopped celery stalks in olive oil (I don't know if the recipe doesn't include an onion or if I just forgot to put it it). While that's cooking, covered, mix 1 pound sweet Italian sausage, removed from casing, with 1/2 cup grated Parmesan cheese, 1/2 cup dried bread crumbs, 1 egg, salt, pepper, nutmeg and minced garlic. Add 6 cups chicken stock and 2 cups water to the carrots and celery and bring to a boil, then form the meat mixture into small meatballs and drop into the soup. Add about a cup of small pasta (I used elbow macaroni; she suggests broken up linguine) and boil for about 10 minutes. Meanwhile chop and wash fresh spinach. When the pasta's soft and the meatballs are cooked through, add the spinach and allow it to wilt. Serve with more Parmesan grated on top.

I liked the flavor of the sausage meatballs, with the sweet fennel-seed taste, and will probably make them again.

It's popular among those who consider themselves food enthusiasts in NYC to criticize the titular cakes from Cupcake Cafe, and so I feel the need to defend them. A friend is getting married this weekend and the buttercream-laden cupcakes were featured at her shower here at work, so I've had a couple in the last few days.

They're good for the type of dessert they are: elaborately decorated, very pretty. They're small, which is good because they frosting has the texture of pure butter and the cake is pretty dense. But I feel like it strikes a good balance. The size is perfect for the richness, the slight dryness of the cake complements the moist buttercream. There's just the right hint of sweetness without going anywhere near sweet or cloying. I don't feel sick when I'm done eating one, but I'm definitely done. Too-light desserts don't give you that satisfied feeling. Straight from the fridge, Cupcake Cafe cupcakes are fantastically decadent.

And now a study, as reported in The New York Times, says there are benefits for your health, too.

The New York Times ran a recipe for scallop chowder last week. I didn't make that chowder. I intended to, but then Todd only got 1 cup of heavy cream (the recipe calls for 1 1/2 quarts) and I realized that it took a good 2 hours to make (way more time than I wanted to spend on a weeknight). I found this recipe for Fish Chowder on the Food TV web site (it's from Sara's Secrets, I think) and just substituted scallops for the fish.

The recipe calls for rendering bacon fat, but I just melted some butter (that's what I had). Sauteed half a diced big white onion in it with a bay leaf and a few springs fresh thyme until the onions were soft. Added 1/4-inch-thick half-moons of potato (1 medium), 1 1/2 cups chicken stock (recipe preferred fish stock) and lots of salt and pepper. Brought that to a good boil, covered and cooked for 10 minutes (a lot of liquid evaporated, and what was left was kind of thick. I actually added about another 1/2 cup water at this point). Leave it off the heat for 10 minutes, then add 1/2 pound scallops (the little ones - bay?) and cook for 5 minutes. Stir in 1/2 cup cream and more salt and pepper, to taste. Todd got home late, so it sat for about 45 minutes before we warmed it up and ate it, and the recipe said that time allowed the flavors to meld. It was good; we both wanted to take the leftovers for lunch today, but, alas, there was only enough for one. (Would it make you think I'm a spoiled brat if I told you that I got to take it? He got the leftover salmon, which I would have willingly taken instead.)

Wasn't yesterday perfect slow-cooker weather? It was gray, cool and drizzly, so I opened up a couple cans of diced tomatoes and took the skin off 6 bone-in chicken thighs. Put that in the slow cooker with 1/2 cup of peanut butter and a small can of diced green chiles. Turned it on high for an hour, then switched it to low, went to a movie and came home to the smell of dinner filling the whole house.

(I know the peanut butter seems weird, but it works. And the chicken gets so tender it comes right off the bone when you stir the stew. Plus now we have lots of leftovers.)