A Cocktail Creation Gone Wrong

Tonight I planned on having my own little private celebration for my sister.  My eldest sister just completed the coursework for her master's degree in educational leadership, and I told her tonight that I'd have a drink on her.

I concocted a quick pizza out of cheap veggies that I bought at Ed's Way today, layering thinly sliced onions, zucchini, kalamata olives, and ruby red peppers on a flour tortilla, sprinkling it all with crumbled feta cheese, and drizzling it with olive oil and dusting it with cracked black pepper.

 

While it baked I made a quick salad of cucumber and tomato, and then—I concocted a new drink.

I didn't have any limes or lemons, which surprisingly are fundamental in a LOT of cocktails, so, being so happy a cocktail experiment of yore, I got cocky and "threw" these ingredients together:
- 1 1/4 oz. Broker's gin
- 3/4 oz. dry vermouth
AND (my HUGE mistake)
- 1 oz. Cointreau

I took a hefty sip....

Dear GOD.

The only thing that made me continue sipping/gagging my marvelous creation down was the fact that I had told the eldest that I'd have a drink to celebrate her tonight.  I didn't want to toss the drink in the sink and jinx her.

The problem? I knew it before I even had it mixed, but—once again—I didn't listen to my brain.  Cointreau is just too sweet to be added in such vast quantities.  An ounce???

Seriously, Ms. Archer.  Be reasonable.


But...I did it, and I could barely get a few sips down.  I attempted to temper it with a few dashes of blood orange bitters, which helped.  But still.  (Cough.)  I couldn't drink the whole glass.

So, lesson learned in cocktail making.  Those liquors that only seem to be used in very small quantities in every cocktail recipe you come across??? There's a reason for that.  So take heed.

Dearest sister, please understand that my half-finished drink does not represent in ANY way the amount of pride or love in my heart for you!

A (Graphic) Experience with Kobas

Over spring break Chef Reiton and I went to his Uncle Larry's house for an event that I am so grateful to have been a part of.  Every year Uncle Larry makes kobas, a Hungarian sausage made from pork.  Most years Chef Reiton helps him make it.  This year, I got to make it! Okay--I got to help.

Uncle Larry had us bring 10 lbs. of coarsely ground pork shoulder with 25% fat (straight from the butcher that morning), garlic water (half a quart of water with an entire head of sliced garlic soaking in it), coarse ground black pepper, coarse salt, and paprika.  Typically, Uncle Larry makes his kobas with sweet paprika, but Chef Reiton and I tend to like to spice things up a bit, so for this batch we decided to try 3 parts Hungarian sweet paprika to 1 part Hungarian sharp paprika.

The only other ingredient that we needed were the casings.  While at the butcher we picked up a package for $4, wondering why Uncle Larry was saying they were so expensive. When we got to his house, Uncle Larry had a few casings left from the previous year that he had saved, so we decided to use those first.

The preparation of kobas was very, very simple.  We dumped the meat and spices into a very large bowl, and I started kneading with my hands.  After the spices were very well blended, Chef Reiton slowly poured in the garlic water while straining out the garlic, and I continued to knead the liquid into the meat.  We continued to add water and knead until the meat mixture looked full and very moist but not wet. There was no water in the bottom of the bowl when we were ready to press.

Next came the fun part: making the sausages themselves.  Uncle Larry went into a back room and came out with a sausage press that had been in the family, he guessed, for about 60 years.  His grandfather had been the first to work the press, and now here it sat, still beautifully black, waiting for the family to press yet another batch of delicious kobas.  Chef Reiton raised the plate, swung open the bucket, and we dumped in all 10 lbs. of meat.

To keep the casings from sticking to the stuffing nozzle, it is important to give the nozzle a good greasing, so Chef Reiton showed me how to grab a small handful of meat and smear it all over the nozzle.  You can see the bowl of soaked and rinsed casings in the bowl, waiting to be stuffed, in the picture below.

After the nozzle was carefully greased, it was time to feed the first casing. Chef Reiton squeezed an inch of sausage out of the nozzle to prevent the casing from tearing on the nozzle edge

 

 then I gingerly slid the beginning of a casing onto the nozzle.

Chef Reiton then showed me how to carefully feed the casing the entire way up the nozzle, squinching it up like a sock, until there was only about an inch or so of casing left hanging off the nozzle.

Once the casing was entirely fed onto the nozzle, I twisted the end to "knot" the casing, then Chef Reiton began to turn the press handle and a new sausage was on its way.

With an entire casing filled, it was time to make the actual links.  I laughed to myself as I watched Chef Reiton measure out the links with his hands, squeeze the filling at a stopping point, then twist the sausage to "knot" it off.  I was remembering pictures in storybooks from my childhood, pictures of salamis and links of sausages hanging from the ceiling at a deli.  As a kid, I never actually saw sausages like that in the store, and the pictures of them fascinated me.  Now here I was, making them.

We continued to stuff the casings that Uncle Larry had leftover, slowly filling the pan with link after link of deliciously fat kobas sausages.

We soon ran out of Uncle Larry's casings and turned to the casings that Chef Reiton and I had brought.  We pulled the casings out of the salted soaking water, rinsed them--then frowned.  If such statements can be made of animal intestines, Uncle Larry's were much more attractive than ours.  Ours were clean, but they had nodules that the more expensive ones didn't.  Chef Reiton and I decided right then and there: next year, we pay the extra cash, no matter what.

Before I knew it, my kobas experience was over.  Uncle Larry made a request to do it again in a few months, and Chef Reiton and I jumped at the offer.  While Uncle Larry went upstairs for a minute to rest, we carefully cleaned the family press, dried it, put it back together, then placed it back on its shelf where it would silently sit and wait, ready to create more memories another day.

The Gateway Cocktail: The Sidecar

I believe I've had a Sidecar before, but I don't know that I've ever actually made it myself.  So here she is:

• 2 oz. Jacques Cardin cognac
• 1 oz. Cointreau
• 1/2 oz. fresh squeezed lemon juice

I was a little afraid to try it, but now I'm happy.  Mmmmm.  Smoooooooth.

And dangerous.

Tips for the BEST Grilled Chicken

I had the longest, nicest talk with my mom after school today, and she asked me if I'd posted anything new recently.  She sounded so excited about my posts that I just had to write something tonight for her.

I'd gotten chicken legs cheap at Ed's Way, so I decided that tonight would be a good night to use the first batch.  Thank God I looked at my Blogosphere last night, because someone had landed on "Archer's First Grill" from last spring, and I had reread it.  In it I described how I poached my chicken legs, like Sean does, before I grilled them, so that's exactly what I did tonight.  I put enough water to cover the legs in a pot, dumped in four cracked green cardamom pods with some salt, garlic powder, and cayenne, then brought the water to a boil before turning it down to just a simmer, partly covering it, and letting it go for 20 minutes while I started laundry.

At the end of 20 minutes I turned the fire off, then sliced around the base of each chicken leg to snap the tendon and release the skin, allowing for an easy removal of the nastiness.  I gave each leg a heavy sprinkle of Martha's spice rub from Everyday Food and let them sit for a few minutes.  In the meantime I heated up the cast iron grill pan and the small cast iron pan, then peeled two small carrots and rubbed them with olive oil. 

Now came the cooking, which was simply tossing the legs in the grill pan and turning them every few minutes, and pan-roasting the carrots with a bit of cumin, turning them every so often so they could caramelize evenly.  During the down moments I quartered and sliced a plum tomato, laid it on a bed of cilantro leaves, and drizzled it with some ranch dressing for my "salad."  And I made a Cosmo.

Here are the final results:

I'm a little nervous about the chicken.  I know that poaching makes meat pink, which parts of it were, but the juices were clear.  So I'm certain (mostly) that the chicken was completely cooked.  It's just that the meat was soooo tender and juicy that those pink parts scared me a little.  But the rub made the meat just delicious, and with the sweetness of the carrots and the creaminess of the dressing with the tartness of the tomatoes—I couldn't stop eating it.  So if I wake up tonight barfing up a lung, I'll know why.

UPDATE: No barfing!

Confessions of a New Foodie

My dinner tonight:

 

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A Dry Gin Martini—and An Apology to Mr. Hearn

R,

I feel like I cheated on you tonight.

You, the man who got me into martinis.  The man who made me my virgin martini with Grey Goose vodka and blue cheese-stuffed olives.  The one who piqued my fascination with vodkas and made me who I am today.

Well, tonight I made a classic dry martini.  That means a martini with gin.

And...

I LOVED IT.

I'm sorry.  I'm so sorry.  But I need to follow my heart.

The culprits are pictured below.

If you see them, be kind to them.  It's not their fault.  And (sigh)—there was an olive.  A plain, pitted green olive.  

Alright, alright! I admit it... There were three.

Please know, despite my change in heart, I will always be grateful to you for what you have taught me. Always.

Sincerely,

R

Turtle Cake: Lessons on Half-Baked Cake and Caramel Sauce

Today was a day of experimentation.  And holy cow—it all worked!!!

First off, I made a roast in a big crockpot, something that I've never done before.  Top round boneless beef whatever was on sale at Pick 'N' Save, so I bought a pound and a half plus for $5.  I came home, rinsed it, patted it VERY dry (thank you, Julia), coated it in coarse sea salt, then heated a skillet to very hot and seared it on both sides with a bit of olive oil.  While it was browning on its first side, I stabbed the meat about 10 times with a paring knife and shoved slivers of a garlic clove into it.  I poured just enough water to cover the bottom of the crockpot, then placed the seared roast, four peeled whole carrots, a quartered onion, and three halved peeled garlic cloves in the pot with a heavy grinding of black pepper. I put the lid on and let it go on low.

Now, for dessert. I wanted chocolate, and, remembering the buckeye cake from Christmas, I wondered if I could make one like it—but as a turtle instead.

So...I started the chocolate cake on the Special Dark Hershey's Cocoa Powder container, but I halved the recipe since I only wanted one 9-inch layer.  While is was mixing, I pulled out the cookbook that I bought Chef Reiton for Christmas: Cooking by James Peterson—and looked up caramel.  Peterson says to forgo the water when making caramel and just melt the sugar over high heat. So I did. It turned out beautifully—until I realized that I wanted to make caramel sauce instead of caramel.  The caramel was immediately hardening, and I wanted a soft caramel to layer on top of the cake.  Amazingly, when I cranked the heat back up under the hard caramel, the sugar remelted and I stirred in cream to create a beautiful sauce.  I was a little afraid that the reheating would burn the sugar, but it didn't.

I let the caramel sauce cool on the stove while I put the cake in the oven, then ran upstairs to do some laundry. When I felt that it was almost time for the cake to be done, I ran back downstairs.  In peeking in the oven, I realized with horror that I had turned the oven OFF when I had turned off the timer for the caramel.  With a groan I pulled the cake (which had the signs of just starting to bake) from the oven, reheated the oven, and with a prayer placed the pan back in to bake.

Twenty-five minutes later, the cake was perfectly done. Phew. I cooled it on the rack then flipped it out of the pan (which took some tapping. I need to do the parchment circle from now on, just to make my life easier.).  As it cooled, I barely warmed the caramel to get rid of the skin that had formed on the top, then poured it onto the center of the cooled cake and spread it to the edges with a thin metal spatula.  I let it set, and in the meantime made the ganache: half a cup of cream boiled, then 4 oz. of Ghiradelli bittersweet chips poured in, rested for five minutes, then stirred until velvety smooth. When the ganache had semi-cooled, I poured it on top of the caramel and smoothed it across the top and down the sides with the metal spatula.  A few minutes later I circled the top with pecan halves and then placed the whole cake in the fridge to set.

Here's a slice half devoured:

Our dinner was delicious.  I made a batch of garlic-buttermilk mashed potatoes and a green salad to go with the roast and actually concocted a half-decent gravy from the pan juices using the 1 tablespoon fat/1 tablespoon flour/1 cup milk and juices ratio.

I am so amazed at how good the cake was.  It wasn't nearly as rich as the buckeye cake was.  I was especially happy that my mistakes were fixable and that each part combined so well to make such a delicious dessert.  Maybe I'll play around with more "candy" ideas...

A Dinner Menu for the Best of Friends

When you just want to hang out with friends and make them some really good food...

Appetizers:

• blue cheese and walnut spread with water crackers, red pears and fresh black figs
• bacon-wrapped dates
• parmesan spirals

Beverages:

• Four Vines Zinfandel
• Blue Fin Pinot Noir
• vodka tonics
• martinis with bleu cheese-stuffed olives

Main Course:

• beef shank and sausage ragu with spaghetti
• green beans with garlic and parsley
• assorted Italian breads

Dessert:

• flourless chocolate cake served with fresh whipped cream and strawberries
• coffee

*All recipes from Everyday Food by Giada, except for ragu. Ragu taken from Bon Appetit, May 2009*

A Progressive Dinner Menu with Giada D.L.

Last week, Chef Reiton emailed that he'd gotten a new cookbook, Everyday Italian: 125 Simple and Delicious Recipes by Giada de Laurentiis. In it he had found a recipe for one of his favorite dishes in Italy, spaghetti alle vongole, and he wanted to make it with me. We decided that Saturday night would be all Italian, and the menu was set: caprese salad for the antipasto, spaghetti alle vongole for the primo, grilled lamb chops for the secundo, and tiramisu for the dolce.

Chef R did some research online to find a fish market very close to home that sold fresh Manila clams. Saturday afternoon after he arrived with the cookbook, we made our list and hit the stores. Items to buy? Well, besides fresh clams—lamb chops. Fresh mozzarella. Fresh basil, rosemary, thyme and parsley. Mascarpone. Cream, wine and lady fingers. (Just writing the ingredients again is making my mouth water.)

We came home, cracked a bottle of Bogle Old Vine Zinfandel,

and started preparing for the evening.

First we prepped for the tiramisu and made the cream filling. I could have eaten the entire bowl of it just as it was. Amazing what chocolate, cream, and mascarpone can become when blended together. Chef R made several pots of espresso, and we finished building dessert.

Next we worked on the marinade for the lamb chops: a blend of olive oil, fresh rosemary, garlic, and sea salt. We rubbed the chops well, then stuck them in the fridge to marinate while we took a nap. Dinner was going to be late, and we wanted to enjoy every moment of it.

When we got up, it was time to start the quicker elements of dinner. First task? Scrub the clams. We soon got a system down. I'd take a Scotchbrite pad to the poor fellas (they're still alive at this point), then he would take a veggie brush and get in the buggers' grooves. Soon the poor guys were beautifully clean—for our bellies.

Here's a look at them before the fire started:



Next Chef R started the dressing for the caprese salad. It was so simple: olive oil, lemon juice, sea salt, and fresh pepper. He sliced some Roma tomatoes, slivered the basil, and created a gorgeous dish.



At this point we put the spaghetti on to boil and started steaming the clams. Within minutes you could smell them as they simmered in the wine. I have never been much of seafood person, but I've been trying to alter my mindset about foods, as I've discussed before (thank you, Julissa), and I was rather excited about trying this dish. I was happy to notice that the aroma of it wasn't fishy; it smelled deep, actually, and full of earth. A peek under the lid showed the shells opened, and the dish was ready to be finished. Chef R drained the spaghetti, tossed it with the clams and the sauce, poured it all into the serving dish, and we garnished it with lemon zest and more parsley. Beautiful.



Now, begin eating! We sat down to our caprese salad and spaghetti alle vongole, as well as a bottle of Georges Duboeuf Beaujolais Nouveau. Chef R had been looking to find a wine that was like the local table wines of Europe—nothing deep and complex, just a simple fruity wine that paired with a simple Italian meal. This is what we picked:


To say simply, as I took my first bites, our antipasto and primo blew me away. I knew I'd love the caprese, but I wasn't sure about the clams. But I can honestly say that I would make it again in a heartbeat. I loved what the lemon and wine did together, and again, the deep but not overpowering flavor of the clams. Nothing was too intense. Each taste—the lemon, garlic, wine, clams—when you thought about them individually, could be detected, but yet each bite melded the flavors together to create a very light but satisfying mouthful.

We did discover upon eating that the recipe made a TON. We had cut the recipe in half, and we still threw out enough to feed at least another person, if not two. So if you make this recipe, be prepared for a lot.

After our primo course, it was time to cook the secundo. I had pulled the chops out of the fridge while we made the clams, so they were pretty much to room temperature. We heated the grill pan on the stove to "almost smoking," and Chef R threw the chops on to sear. The amazing smells that arose from that pan made me marvel at how people don't cook. You don't have to go out to eat like a king! And lots of times the food you make at home is BETTER than what you would pay for in a restaurant! (Oh, the joys of cooking!)

In short time, the secundo was done, and we sat down to taste the first lamb chops either of us had ever made:


OH MY GOD. Perfectly grilled. Perfectly seasoned. Perfectly sized. (Yes, Giada, we did evenly divide the chops among the two plates.)

As the last bite of chop was devoured, we both sighed. Everything had been so good, and we weren't even done. Next, the sweet end: homemade tiramisu.

We had questioned some of Giada's directions in the making of the dessert. She says to dip the lady fingers in the espresso, but what exactly is the timing of a dip? If I take a dip in a pool, I take that to mean a good 30 minutes, at least. My mom's dip is about 5. So when you dip a cookie, is it a 1-second dip, or is it a 1-2-3-4 dip? Chef R and I decided to experiment. Layer 1 was a 1-second dip. Layers 2 and 3 were 1-2-3-4 dips. Layer 4 was a mix of both. When we cut it we would see the results.

Well, it was time. We inverted the cake and sprinkled it with cocoa powder, and I handed Chef R the knife. He made the cut.

What wonders were beheld. Even layers. Espresso-soaked cookies. A rich, chocolatey cream to mellow the intensity of the coffee. My mouth couldn't wait. I put the camera down and took a bite.

About the hundredth sigh escaped my lips that evening. My taste buds were silently screaming with pleasure. And I kept thinking, "But it was so easy!"

(Afterwards, the two of us did decide that a 1-second dip was the best way to go. The cookies that went for a longer swim were a bit strong and wet; we determined that the cream would sufficiently soak into the lady fingers as it rested in the fridge, creating a nicely moist, but not wet, cake. I'm so willing to test the revised method very soon. I'm sensing a dinner party coming on...)

As the last bite of dinner settled, Chef R and I sat and stared at our empty dessert plates, then reached for our wine glasses and, for the fifth time that night, toasted each other. "You rock, Chef Reiton," I said.

And he did what I love to hear: he laughed. "Thanks," he said. And, bellies full and happy, we both smiled.

Tips on Making the Perfect Steak

The following blog is not censored for your socially-appropriate enjoyment. It may not be suitable for all audiences:

The thing I love about cooking is that you can sit in your own kitchen and scream, "I AM THE SHIT!"

I just made a steakhouse-worthy steak! I just made some kick-ass croutons for my embarrassingly large salad that I will eat by myself! I just concocted a cocktail from heaven! I am bragging up a storm about my own cooking, but I'm ALLOWED! It's MY kitchen! And it's MY food!

I LOVE TO COOK!!!

Want to make the perfect steak? Here's what I do:

Step 1: Liberally salt a 1-inch thick (or thicker) steak on both sides with kosher salt and let rest at LEAST 30 minutes on the counter (here's when I prep a veggie and salad).

Step 2: Heat a cast iron skillet until super hot. Pat steak dry with paper towels on both sides. Add a tablespoon of butter or olive oil to skillet.

Step 3: Cook steak 4 minutes per side. Remove steak from skillet to your dinner plate and tent with foil to rest for at least 5 minutes.

Optional Step 4: If you feel like sautéing some mushrooms, turn the heat down, melt a tablespoon or two of butter in the same skillet, then toss in several handfuls of sliced mushrooms and cook for 5 minutes, allowing them to get nice and browned.

All steak recipe credit goes to Chef Reiton, who so graciously passed on his secret recipe for the advancement of beef: Cows. They're what's for dinner.