Strong Foundation

Making a good soup is like creating a good life, I think.  Both have to start with a strong foundation.  In making a soup, I always start out much the same way.  This is true whether I am making a simple tomato soup or rich Beef Bourguignon.  With most soups,   I start out by chopping onion and garlic.  I almost always sauté these two ingredients with salt, black pepper and red pepper flakes. From there I take different paths.

  For my tomato soup, I just want to sweat the onions and garlic not brown them.  Then I add some anchovy and tomato paste and let that cook for a minute or two then I deglaze with some broth.  I normally use chicken or vegetable broth for this soup.  Then I add some crushed tomatoes, tomato sauce and tomato juice.  I don’t think I have made it the same way twice.  Sometimes I will add some bread crumbs or torn pieces of bread to thicken the soup.  I like to finish with some fresh herbs, basil being my favorite.  I have also used crispy fried onions, cheese or croutons to garnish.  Really whatever I have on hand generally works.  I rarely puree my soups.  As in life, I find soups more interesting with bits and pieces to chew on.  I would find life pretty boring if there were never any twists or turns, ups or downs, or bumps along the way.

Beef Bourguignon is one of my very favorite dishes to create.  I love that you can take a relatively cheap cut of meat, add an inexpensive bottle of wine and the result is one of the most elegant meals possible.  The whole process is labor intensive.  There is a meditative quality in all the chopping and browning that it takes to make this dish.  From start to finish, it takes me a good 2 or 3 hours to get this stew in the oven.  For me, it is an afternoon well spent.  Add some music, a good friend and a glass of wine and I don’t think it gets any better.

My Beef Bourguignon starts with preparation of the beef.  I use chuck roast.  After cutting the meat into about 1 ½ or 2 inch cubes and patting them dry with a paper towel, I season them thoroughly with salt and pepper on all sides.  Then I render several slices of bacon in my French Oven.  I remove the bacon and add some olive oil to the bacon fat.  Then I start to brown the cubes of seasoned meat.  I brown it on all sides.  This means I stay by the pot and watch the meat, turn it, then watch it some more.  As with any new endeavor, it takes attention and time to begin.  It can take two or three batches to get all of the meat browned.  This is not a step you want to skip it makes a big difference in the result.

After all the meat has been properly browned and removed from the pot, I add some chopped onion along with some salt.  I like to brown the onions.  I think it adds a depth of flavor I really enjoy in this dish.  When the onions are almost where I want them, I add some more seasoning.  Typically I use some chopped garlic, red pepper flakes and fresh thyme.  I let that mixture go for a couple of minutes then add some mushrooms if I’m using them and then some carrots.  After about five minutes more, I deglaze the pan with some red wine.  I use a good drinkable red wine, something like a shiraz or pinot.  I don’t use an expensive one, but one that I find palatable.

When the pan is deglazed, I add the bacon and meat back into the pot.  I add the rest of the bottle of wine and beef stock to bring the liquid almost to the top of the meat, but not covering it.  I add a little more salt, pepper and a few bay leaves.  If I’m going to add some frozen pearl onions, this is when I would add them.  After bringing it up to boil, I turn it down to a slow simmer for about 30 minutes or so.  Then I put the lid on the pot and place it in a 325 degree oven for about 1 ½ hours.

At this point, I have laid a strong foundation for this dish and can turn my attentions elsewhere for a time. After the oven time has elapsed I take the pot from the oven and put it back on top of the stove.  While the stew is coming up to a boil, I combine room temperature butter and flour in equal amounts forming a paste.  I thicken the stew with the paste using 2 or 3 tablespoons.  Now it can go back into a low oven or stay on the stovetop until you are ready for it.  I like to serve it with buttered noodles or mashed potatoes.  It is really good simply with some crusty bread along side as well.  Finish it with a flourish of fresh chopped parsley and you have a meal fit for any table.

The table that is my life has been adorned with an array of complex, comforting and sometime bitter dishes.  Several years ago, I had a total life change.  I closed by business that had been my life for more than seven years.  I sold my home I had lived in for a decade along with the land which had been in my family since I was a teenager.  My 14 year relationship came to an end and I met my new love who later became my spouse.  All of this happened within a two year time frame.  In some ways, it felt like it was going to be the end of me.  If it wasn’t for my foundation of faith in God, friends and family, it might have.

Today, I am once again happy and fulfilled.  I love my job, my home and of course my spouse.  Together, she and I are building a new foundation of love and life.  We have a group of family and friends that I wouldn’t trade for anything.  My life is now like a rich beautiful Beef Bourguignon full of depth and flavor.  As for my soup, I’ll take it rustic, no puree here please. 

Sizzling Salads

People often tell me that I should open a restaurant.  Let me tell you now, I am not interested!  I had a business several years ago.  I owned a flower shop and though it really was a wonderful experience, Valentine’s Day this year reminded me of how thankful I am today to be an employee for someone else.  All that said- IF I was to open a restaurant I do know what I would call it.

I would call my restaurant “Sizzling Salads”.  As many of my concepts for cooking today do, this idea came from a family favorite.  In the summers, we would often have what my folks called a wilted salad.  My dad would grow a huge garden and the ingredients for this salad came from that garden.  It was a base of green leaf lettuce and mustard greens with some chopped green onions and radishes.  Drizzled with white vinegar and seasoned with salt and pepper, the salad was now ready for the “wilting”.  After browning several slices of bacon and crumbling them over the salad, the bacon fat is poured over the waiting greens.  I can still hear the dramatic sizzling as the hot fat hits the damp greens and feel the tingle in my nostrils responding to the sharp fragrance of the oil meeting the vinegar.

I loved that salad, although the name was a turn off to many people.  To some people, the name wilted salad brings up notions of greens gone bad and vegetables past their prime.  To me, the name conjures up images of fresh vegetables and a dramatic presentation with the promise of exciting flavors dancing across my palate.  I am intrigued by combining raw and cooked vegetables and the textural difference this provides.

I enjoy grilling salads as well.  Hearts of romaine work really well on the grill.  I use a variety of vegetables, whatever I have on hand.  I particularly like to grill corn, onions or maybe some summer squashes for this salad.  A bunch of green onions dressed with some olive oil and cooked on a hot grill is a superb addition to a salad or finished with some sea salt and fresh cracked black pepper makes a wonderful side dish on its own.  Generally, I prepare all of the vegetables, grilled and raw, and then grill the lettuce at the last minute.  I like to use a screaming hot grill and cook the lettuce for just a minute or so each side.  The lettuce should be crisped and blackened on the edges and have grill marks on the outside while still cool and firm in the center.  I then chop the lettuce and layer it with the other vegetables in the waiting salad bowl.  Top it off with some good olive oil and rich balsamic vinegar.  Some of my favorite additions are raw cucumbers and tomatoes, maybe some black beans, whatever works well together.  Pay attention to differing shapes, textures and colors.  I promise you will delight and impress your friends with this easy, quick dish.  It’s a great way to use up some leftovers, too. My most recent experiment with what I would call a sizzling salad involves poached eggs. 

I love poaching eggs in all sorts of liquids. When I was a child and sick, my mother would poach eggs in milk.  It is so simple, just milk, eggs, a little butter and salt.  This with some dry toast really soothes the body and soul.  To this day, that is what I want when I’m not feeling well.  I love to expand on this idea with the addition of chili peppers or onions, making a soup base in which to poach the eggs.  The possibilities are endless, I think. 

For this salad, I poached the eggs in oil.  It began with the fat resulting from rendering lardons of bacon.  I added olive oil and a bit of butter.  Rich, yes I know.  I sliced an onion as thinly as possible in half moons.  After crisping them in the oil, I removed the onions to a paper towel to drain.  After adding some red pepper flakes I turned the oil on a low heat.  I gently broke the eggs into the now well seasoned oil.  There should be enough oil in the pan to mostly cover the top of the eggs.

I put a big handful of arugula on a plate and squeezed some fresh lemon juice over the greens along with salt and pepper.  At this point I’m thinking about a hollandaise sauce.  Just as the whites are firm, I removed the eggs from the oil with a slotted spoon.  I let in drain for just a moment before putting them directly on top of the mound of greens.  After topping the eggs with the bacon and onions I finished it with some Sriracha sauce.  Imagine cutting into the eggs and the liquid yokes oozing through the fronds of arugula melding with the lemon juice, bacon and onions.  Oh my, it was so sensual and satisfying; it stands on its own as a meal.

 

As the possibilities are endless for poaching eggs, the same can be said for sizzling salads.  Do some experimenting of your own.  Start with a base of your favorite salad greens and add whatever.  Make sure some of the ingredients are hot and some cold, some crunchy and some soft.  Play with combining flavors and create your own new favorite.

I welcome you to my table even if it is a virtual one.  I love to share my cooking with you, but please don’t ask me to open a restaurant.  That would take the fun out of it, I’m afraid.  

What is Nourishment?

Recently I did a period of time on a very strict diet. I was successful and ultimately lost 60 pounds and was able to cut both my blood pressure and diabetes medications in half. Before going on the diet, my doctor wanted me to add an additional diabetic medication to help regulate my blood sugar and I just didn’t want to do that. So, I was motivated for the sacrifices. That time was akin to a time of fasting for me. I am happy and proud that I did it. I accomplished what I set out to do. 


In reflecting on that time, I am struck by how severely my diet impacted my social life. I felt isolated. Now, as I think about it, my feeling of isolation was likely about me not being able to express my love for those around me through cooking for them. Sharing a meal is such an intimate time of fellowship and to suddenly be cut off from that led to me feeling isolated.

I really love cooking for my friends. It is my way of nourishing you in the best way I know how. I cook with love and respect. I want to take what food you love and transform it in a way that is both comforting and unexpected. The fellowship I experience at my table or in some cases in my kitchen is more satisfying than any other in my life. I have laughed and cried while preparing a meal. I have worked out the frustration and hurt of an awful day at my stove. I have meditated and wrestled my demons, or helped a friend wrestle theirs in my kitchen. We have had many parties ending up in the kitchen with a line dance so full of women that we could hardly move, or just a few of us rocking together to a soft melody enjoying the sweet intimacy of each other’s company.

All of this to say that food may be nourishment for your body, but, at its best, the preparation of food is most certainly nourishment for the soul. This is true for both the diner and the cook. I have experienced this time and time again. I have a friend who was on this diet the same time I was, as was my sister. One day, she, my sister and I went to have mani-pedis and then went to my house for lunch. All three of us had just come off the most severe phase of the diet and felt we deserved some pampering.


I made tuna salad. It felt to me as though I just threw it together and cleaned out my fridge a little in the process. As I recall, the tuna salad had mayonnaise, curry, boiled egg, granny smith apple and maybe celery in it. I put a scoop of this in the middle of a pasta bowl and then this is where the “cleaning out of my fridge” part comes in. I had a piece of brie, so I put a little slice on each mound, then some steamed green beans along one side, Kalamati olives, some sliced red onion, parmesan, and I think some sort of nuts. Honestly I really don’t remember exactly what each ingredient was, just that to me, it was nothing special. I just threw some things together that I happened to have on hand. To my friend, though, this meal was so special, that she has asked for it over and over. 


This is a little frustrating for me, because I can’t quite recall exactly what it was.  I do think that her yearning for this dish is more about the fellowship we experienced this day than the actual components of the dish. We three had survived a time of fasting, had a social time together and shared a meal which cemented the experience in her mind to become one of her finest meals.


Another example: my father in law lay dying in the hospital. The family all gathered for his passing. I tried to make sure they had some food besides that offered from the vending machines. For me, it made me feel like I was doing something useful, for them it seemed to give them some pleasure and nourishment in an otherwise bleak moment.


I had a particular soup in mind, and when I started to make it, I realized I didn’t have many of the ingredients I thought I did. Being short on time, I couldn’t make a run to the store. As it turned out, I put some hamburger meat on to brown with some onion, garlic and red pepper flakes. Then I opened the pantry door. There was some elbow macaroni and a can of Progresso tomato soup. From the freezer came some edamame and mixed vegetables. After seasoning a little more with this and that and putting it all together, I went to the hospital feeling a bit sheepish at the meager offering I had. I was so aggravated with myself that I had not planned more properly and had to just make do.


I got to the hospital and people ate and ate this soup like it was manna from heaven.  To this day, they still talk about it and ask me to make it again. I finally had to tell my sister in law to please stop asking for that particular soup because there was no way I could exactly repeat it. I think here, too, it was about their desperation to find some comfort, and that day, it came in the form of a soup.  I believe that God calls each of us in a particular way. I have come to believe that my calling is to comfort those around me. One of the best ways I know how to do this is to prepare a meal with you in mind.


In thinking about this, I am put in mind of Holy Communion. I used to attend a church which celebrated communion every Sunday. There was something so nourishing about the purposeful walk up the aisle to receive the representation of my Christian faith. That nugget of physical nourishment does so much more to nourish my heart and soul than a heavy laden holiday table full of scrumptious offerings. It seems to me that receiving Communion is really about preparation. The preparation of the Holy Offering by the Officiate and the preparation of your body and soul to receive the Offering are both much larger parts of Communion than the bread and wine you ingest.

So, what is nourishment exactly? Where does the physical satiation end and emotional comfort begin? If you just eat to stay alive, is this total nourishment? I’m sure that there are as many answers to these questions as there are people to ask. In my kitchen, though, I endeavor for both to be one and the same. It is my desire that at the very least, they are so intertwined that one is unrecognizable from the other. Eating a meal at my table, I hope you can taste the spiciness of my love, take in the complex aroma of my spirit and that you are left with your belly full of happiness.

My Legacy of Food

My mother passed away February 16^th, 1987 at the age of 52.  That was such a devastating time.  She had been ill for so long from the debilitating effects of unmanaged diabetes.  This past August, I turned 52.  It is strange to turn the age of my mother’s passing.  I’m sure this timing has a lot to do with me paying better attention to my health today.  It has been a struggle to indulge my love of cooking and eating and still be in control of my diabetes.  I do this by practicing moderation most of the time with occasional splurges.

I miss my mother every day, however, the anniversary of her death brings back memories with more poignancy.  I’ve been spending time this week thinking about the food I grew up eating.  It was very rich country style food.  There was always lots of meat, potatoes and gravy.  It was food full of comfort, carbs and fat.  Food was a big part of every celebration. Most weekends, we would have a gathering at our house centered on a meal to be cooked and shared; and afterwards a game to be played.  The preparation of the meal was as much of the evening as was the partaking of the meal.  Even cleaning up afterwards was part of the socializing.  One common meal was crispy dogs.

Our family love of crispy dogs was born from a misunderstanding.  We went to the State Fair every year, and my mother’s main interest was the fair food.  One of the things she loved the most was the corn dogs.  When I was about 11 or so and my sister was around 15, our family was in the parking lot after having left the Fair. My mother decided she wanted one more corn dog.  She sent my sister back in with instructions to get the ones called “crispy”.

When she returned, my sister had a crispy dog, but it was not a corn dog.  It was some new fair food which was a hot dog and cheese wrapped up in a corn tortilla and fried.  My mother was so angry!  This was not what she wanted and my sister was in big trouble. Funny thing was that by the time we got home, everyone had tried it and we figured out what was in it.  We gathered the ingredients and experimented until we got it right.  Crispy dogs became a family staple, especially on the weekends.  The making of them as well as consuming them was a social event.  Now, I better get this right, or I’m sure to hear about it from my Sis!

One person (usually my mother) would be the “fryer”.  One person would be the roller and another person would ready the dogs.  First, the hot dogs need to be boiled to plump perfection.  Then they are split down the middle (but not all the way through!) and stuffed with a piece of cheddar cheese.  Finally this is wrapped with a corn tortilla, secured with a wooden toothpick and fried in a pan of hot oil.  Invariably, some of the cheese would melt its way out of the crispy dog into the pan resulting in fried cheese.  That was the prize of the cooks and we would fight over it.

At the table, toothpicks would stack up and the stacks would be compared to each other.  Some stacks would be compromised by theft or added to by neighboring eaters.  There was competition to see who would eat the most.  Toothpicks would be counted to declare the winner of the glutton award that evening.  I rarely make crispy dogs now, because I just don’t know of a way to make them healthier.  So, they remain an occasional splurge.

Another favorite I remember from my childhood is chicken and dumplings.  I made this recently and it was so satisfying.  Making this brought to mind the differences in how I cook today and how I was raised.  Chicken and dumplings is something I can still do and feel good about it.
 

I started with 6 chicken breasts and poached them in a pot of water seasoned with some sage, salt, pepper and bay leaves.  After about 20 minutes of the chicken gently cooking, I removed them from the poaching liquid and continued simmering the liquid to intensify the flavor and turn the poaching liquid into a nice rich broth.
 

In another pot, I started to caramelize a large chopped onion in some olive oil. After the onion started getting soft, I added some fresh garlic, red pepper flakes, fresh thyme and fresh cracked black pepper.  Next, I chopped 4 or 5 stalks of celery and added that to the onions.  In the meantime, I chopped a bunch of fresh carrots and the chicken, which by now had cooled enough to handle.   Finally, I shelled some English peas and set them aside to add at the last minute.

As the celery softened, the onions had caramelized nicely and I began to deglaze the pan with the poaching liquid.  I just added a ladle at a time, let it reduce, then add some more.  The method reminded me of the way you would do a risotto.  When this mixture was thick and rich, I added the carrots, chicken and the rest of the broth.  I tasted for seasoning then just let the soup simmer for a while.

When the carrots were tender, I turned the heat up on the soup to a full boil.  I mixed three cups of biscuit mix with 1 cup of milk. After adding the peas to the pot, I dropped the dough by spoonfuls into the boiling soup.  I cooked the dumplings for ten minutes uncovered then turned the heat down and let the dumplings cook for another ten minutes covered.

The dumplings were perfect! They were soft and tender yet still firm and fully cooked in the center.  So delicious and comforting was the soup that it felt like a nice warm hug from my mother.  I love recreating the food memories from my childhood.  I enjoy taking something like the chicken and dumplings and making it healthier by using fresh vegetables, and the most natural ingredients I can find.  In this case, I cut down on the carbohydrates by omitting the potatoes my parents would have added, and lessened the sodium by making my own broth.

Though my cooking methods are different from my parents, and my food choices are now more conducive to a healthier lifestyle, my core remains the same.  Food is a celebration of love, family and friends.

  

Don’t Stir My Mushrooms!

  Several years ago, I was preparing some portabella mushrooms for a salad topping. I love me some portabella mushrooms and cooking them is a labor of love. After slicing the mushrooms as thin as possible, I fry them in grape seed oil on medium high heat. The mushrooms shrink pretty quickly, so you have to keep the process going. I want the end result to be a crisp bacon-like treasure. You can’t crowd them, or they will never brown. So my process goes like this - I work from left to right in the pan. As the portabellas begin to shrink, I move them to the right, adding new ones on the left. This way, I always know which ones need to come off next, all ready for a shot of kosher salt and freshly cracked black pepper. Often, I start with four or five cups of fresh mushrooms, ending up with a cup or so of the final product. It takes a lot of time, patience and focus, but I’m here to tell you, it is worth it!

 So, there I was well into the process when Chris shows up to help in the kitchen. I turned my back for a moment - I swear it was only a moment – and there he was, stirring my mushrooms. Alarms went off in my head, and I imagined myself screaming or running away. (Ok, that might be an exaggeration) but, honestly, I was in a momentary shock. I don’t remember my exact words, but I think I said something like, “Did you just stir my mushrooms?” He must have seen a look on my face that told him he’d made an egregious error. Though I was very perturbed, our friendship survived this little episode. We still work very well together in the kitchen and I love him now more than ever. So, you must know, if you ever hear someone say something about stirring my mushrooms, you’ll understand the significance of the saying.

 Some years later, another friend was in the kitchen with me. Now this guy was the kind of guy who’d unapologetically “stir my mushrooms” and never give it another thought. I was making pasta, and I wanted to experiment by adding a mixture of greens and herbs to the pasta water at the last minute or so of cooking. He told me it was a terrible idea and that I was just boiling salad. I’d been thinking the rich oceanic pasta water would enrich the flavor of the greens, which, in turn, would deepen the flavor of the pasta. I wanted to finish the dish with some olive oil, lemon juice, garlic, and lots of black pepper before tossing it all onto a pile of shrimp. Something distracted me for a moment, a phone call, maybe. When I turned around, he had the pasta over the sink, draining it. I was so offended he’d taken over my dish like that. He had the gall to grin at me. “Uh-oh… I just stirred your mushrooms, didn’t I?”

 I’m sad to say our friendship did not last. We didn’t part ways over spilt pasta water, but this simple disregard for my wishes was symptomatic of many problems we’d had over the years. Every one of us is going to have our mushrooms stirred now and then, and sometimes our best friend will do the stirring. Hopefully, the relationship can survive the travails. I am so thankful for my chosen family. I’m grateful for relationships so strong and safe they can withstand a stir or two, and I wish for you is that your life is full of friendships so deep and true they can survive the most intense stirring of your own particular mushrooms!