Ah, The Smoky Pig! in Ashland ... how fondly I remember it. And the building is still there. Could I buy it?
Carl's, however, in Fredericksburg, seems to have declined -- though on a recent visit there were more than a hundred people waiting in line or congregating on the cement slab in front of the joint -- perhaps Carl's has declined because it is now required to use "ice cream mix" -- rather than Carl's original legendary handmade formula that included grain alcohol. They have to use "ice cream mix" because they don't have a pasteurizer on the premises. I would have to rate Holy Cow! -- in Redhook, NY -- as a better product, and you get rather a lot more for your money.
On the other hand, Carl's is on the National Register of Historic Places, they're still using the same antique soft-serve machines they have always used, it's a local tradition, and I will always stop there every time I pass by Fredericksburg. Holy Cow's a bit more modern ... and a bit less fun. Menu's better, though -- or at least it has more choices. And more flavors.
I will say that the vanilla might be the only thing at Carl's I'd eat again. The chocolate is just the vanilla with Hershey's syrup added -- terrible! -- and the strawberry I never did like. The ingredients listed on the hardpack at Carl's are chemically frightenin -- but that's just ice cream mix for you!
In Charlottesville, The Riverside has (a) moved up on High Street (years ago) (which location was sold by "Buster" to Carroll Shifflett, a cousin to D.S. Shifflett and Trudy Shifflett, whom I used to know when they worked at J.W. Sieg, the Budweiser distributors) .... and meanwhile (b) "Buster" moved way up Rt. 29 near Hollymead to open The Riverside North in I forget what little shopping center; just about impossible to find; both are now primarily table service locations. The High Street shop was full of children and women the night I visited, and there were several (although thank God soundless) large flat screen tvs on the wall over the bar. I could not rate either one as much worth a visit.
Other than an excellent pizza I had at the Nordstrom Cafe in Short Pump on July 19, 2012, the last pizza I had worth eating in Richmond was at a Sicilian joint on Broad Street most of the way down to MCV; at least they cooked the pies then let them cool and reheated them slice by slice with stuff added, which is the proper way to do it if you want the crust to stay crispy until your slice is finished. Christian's Pizza (no relation), in Charlottesville, is also good and uses basically the same re-cooking technique. My children both think the Vita Nuova has better pizza -- certainly it's pretty good. The fried chicken had gone down at 7-Day (known to most newcomers as Foods of All Nations) -- or they weren't particular about carrying over the wing I ate from the day before; thus, it was unpalatably stale and dry. I hear The Wayside Takeout is still good, though it is presure-fried -- not skillet-fried and thus can't be quite so good as chicken fried in shortening (lard, preferably) with bacon drippings added for additional flavor. Or at least a mixture of lard and crisco. Alas, it has been closed since forever while they "re-educate the roads Fry's Spring. Eppy's, in Charlottesville, seemed reasonably good -- if one is in the neighborhood. It showed signs of promise and reasonably high food culture. And who doesn't love dumplings? Downtown Thai seemed good enough to revisit.
Answering my friend Ed Haile's question: Restaurants all taste the same because they mostly all use processed food. High rent is often a contributing factor; when the rent is too high it's difficult to make money; in a commercial location, because the rent and the percentage rent can make the profit margins very thin indeed. Or nonexistent.
Laving out all fast food palaces, would it make sense to sort out some of the grades of overall restaurant quality as follows:
Wonderful - worth a long drive
Terrific - worth a short drive
Pretty Good - consider if in the area
Good - adequate for locals, can be very popular
Fair - Visitors should maybe skip it, but it may be popular with budget conscious locals
Poor -
Terrible
The main question is always -- did you get what you paid for? Did you pay a reasonable price?
Keeping in mind that, going down the scale maybe some 5 percent of potential customers are able to distinguish between wonderful and terrific, 10 percent can distinguish between terrific and pretty good, maybe 30 percent can distinguish between good and pretty good, so maybe half of the potential audience will be quite happy with "good" grade, and many people will find something to like on the menu even at a restaurant I would rate only fair, poor or terrible:
So pursuit of the higher realms of culinary achievement in a commercial restaurant is likely to be a cost-INeffective hobby, with success much constrained by the rent.
Charlie Brown's is a pretty good steak house -- maybe a terrific steak house. For a chain, I mean. Certainly the lamb chops are terrific, the Caesar salad is pasasble, and the salad bar seems popular and above average for fresh.
Since most people can't tell the difference between terrific food and only fair food, the decor is an important factor in the impression most minds will take away.
The last Chinese restaurant I actually enjoyed fairly often was Full Kee on Horespen Road in Richmond. At least you could get a decent bowl of congee and pretty good dim sum, including braised chicken feet, on Saturday and Sunday. And the duck and the roast pork were both good. It's not quite worth a drive down from Tappahannock, and please note that I haven't been there since 1996. But it was a little more like the real Chinese food you might find in a big city Chinatown than the usual gamut from General T'so's Chicken to Chow Mein and Moo Shu Pork.
The Georgetown Vietnam would probably still be worth a long drive (if it is still there), but alas that means driving into DC, which is now Hellish for at least an hour when approached from any direction near's I could make out. It may have gone down, but I doubt it. And the place in Chinatown with two front doors (was one of them red?) and a double stoop was always better than just pretty good -- made me want to learn Chinese just so I could read the menu.. In Charlottesville, the Vietnamese place in McIntyre Plaza -- at the old Christian's location -- would not rate a return visit from me, though four of the five people I at with thought some of it was "pretty good."
Many people are like my friend David M., who had sinus problems that eliminated most of his sense of smell (and thus, most nuances of taste); others are more like my friend David Breeden, who didn't care much where he ate as long as (a) his wife Elizabeth was happy (she couldn't cook any better than Sis Coles -- and neither one of them could make a pan of ... rice, for example), (b) he could get a few drinks and (c) his wallet wasn't noticeably lighter going out the door.
Remember that it is possible to get a fair reputation as a pretty good home cook by being able to repeat the same six or seven dishes endlessly at dinner parties and serving a drinkable wine with dinner.
A big problem for restaurants is that most of the meat is pre-processed and portion controlled these days. The bigger problem, however iis that the beef is no longer hung long enough to develop any flavor or any tenderness -- unless it is dry-aged prime, which costs the earth. They used to hang ribs and loins and even sometimes chucks and rounds (from the legs) at Foods of All Nations, but now they can no longer get meat to hang. Tri-Tip is scarcely available on the East Coast, even up here in Yankee-land.
Even worse is the problem of tasteless vegetables; they've all been grown on land heavily anointed with pesticide and herbicide, so unless they are Certified Organic you are eating poison with your tasteless lettuce and your apples have been sprayed 28 times before harvest.
The best onion rings I ever ate were at the Ironmen Inn in Iowa City. My first job when I came in every night as a line cook was to make three huge bus pans full of partially cooked rings -- no pieces! -- fried to light golden brown. Someone else had made the batter earlier that day. Then they were finished to the right degree of done by the order. My second job was making at least a half gallon of Bearnaise sauce -- from scratch, with real butter. It went on the Steak Albert. Then I'd cut steaks and filet mignon awhile and run the trimmings through a grinder that actually chopped meat without making it taste like hamburger -- kind of a big robot-coupe. I might eat one of those or maybe a few of the larger trimming pieces grilled, with toast and Bearnaise sauce, and I might fry a few onion rings for myself just to be sure they were tasty enough to serve tonight ... no leftovers allowed! -- and after that I'd eat an apple to calm things down. Some people can resist Bearnaise sauce, but I never could. And then I'd start making cooked sauces: a seafood flavored veloute, a good brown sauce made from beef stock .... chicken gravy ... and after a while the rush would begin.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Them Little Blue Berries
Them little blue berries!
Huckleberries? Blueberries?
Wild berries, in any case. And purely delicious.
Even if it is a bit of work to pick a handful.
A certain Meadow at the top of the mountain just now is full of them.
Leave some for the bears!
Watch out for snakes!
And give a cheer for Holley Cantine! as you pass by his field!
Does anyone else ever wonder why the Tibetans can't find it in their hearts to run some goats or some sheep in the Meadow -- and keep the brush whacked down a bit.
The McDaniels used to run cows there, after all.
Before long the Meadow will revert to forest.
It's well on the way.
Huckleberries? Blueberries?
Wild berries, in any case. And purely delicious.
Even if it is a bit of work to pick a handful.
A certain Meadow at the top of the mountain just now is full of them.
Leave some for the bears!
Watch out for snakes!
And give a cheer for Holley Cantine! as you pass by his field!
Does anyone else ever wonder why the Tibetans can't find it in their hearts to run some goats or some sheep in the Meadow -- and keep the brush whacked down a bit.
The McDaniels used to run cows there, after all.
Before long the Meadow will revert to forest.
It's well on the way.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Gold Standard Lamb Chops -- Charlie Brown's
Alas, I have heard that this Charlie Brown's Steakhouse location has closed (3/15/2012).
Little Red and I have probably eaten at Charlie Brown's Steakhouse in Hillsboro, New Jersey more often than we have eaten anywhere else over the last six months. I think we ate there more often than we did at Eng's in Kingston, New York, where we ate frequently while my mother was dying. The Hillsboro Charlie Brown's is on the way to Ten Acre, a Christian Science retirement care facility in Princeton, New Jersey.
There is also a Charlie Brown's in Fishkill, N.Y., which is in the Hudson Valley, and I am more than halfway willing to believe that the Charlie Brown's experience would be pretty much the same at any of their locations. You can find one near you on their website. It's a very well-managed business. And the frozen Margaritas look great!
The people at Charlie Brown's are just very nice to you. For example, we went out to lunch there one Saturday after a snow storm. The parking lot had been plowed, the walkways seemed clear. But the path to the back side door that we usually go in with Mama's wheelchair was a bit dicey -- it had been plowed too narrow. So we couuldn't get a wheelchair up the handicap ramp. No problem, we just went in the front door. When Bob, who appeared to be the manager in charge asked us why we didn't use the back, we said it had been plowed too narrow. We sat down and had the usual better than pretty good lunch.
After a while Bob came back and told us he had shoveled the side walkway a bit wider. Evidently they had a new plow man who didn't quite understand the handicap requirements. We thought that was really more than just nice of him -- we thought it beyond the call of duty.
Charlie Brown's menu is solid though a bit middle of the road, but the main point is everything is good. The steaks are especially good, and Little Red likes the salad bar -- perhaps because the choice of olives is limited to canned black olives. Unappealing for the olive lover, but then -- Little Red loathes olives.
Little Red also likes Charlie Brown's Ribs more than I do; Charlie Brown's ribs might pass muster with anyone who has not yet made a point of visiting The Blue Ribbon Barbecue in West Newton, Massachusetts. but for me, it seems doubtful that Charlie Brown's ribs will win any prizes -- too sweet, perhaps not cooked ina proper smoker? -- So maybe they could get The Blue Ribbon to give them some lessons? And if they'd start smoking the ribs properly, maybe they could get smoked brisket on the menu?
But even though it is a chain, it is an extremely well-managed chain and Charlie Brown's main aim seems to be customers so happy they will come back again and again fairly often. In line with that they'll bend the rules a bit -- within reason. For example, When I asked if the chicken fingers on their Steak Medallions and Chicken Fingers platter could possibly be dished up Buffalo Wings style, and could I have a small pot of their excellent blue cheese dressing , they were happy to oblige. And for my second rack of lamb, I asked for an extra pot of the demiglace sauce -- no problem! I think that combo should have been on the new menu. Their executive chef, Philip Butler, put on thirty four new menu choices recently, and I believe Buffalo Chicken Fingers and Steak Medallions would have been a sure winner.
This last trip we stopped on the way home to check out the new menu items. Parmesan Crusted Triple Chop Rack of Lamb -- $22.00? -- as I remember. Comes with a good Caesar Salad (always good), garlic mashed potatoes and onion frizzles, and a pot of red wine demi-glace. The chops were done properly medium rare (pink and warm in the center), they were frenched very nicely, and ... this was more than terrific:
Charlie Brown's Parmesan Crusted Triple Chop Rack of Lamb is the new gold standard for lamb chops.
I think would have liked more of a hint of rosemary dusted onto the crust, and I would just mention that the crust was at its best when blackened. On a subsequent visit, another person's lamb racks seemed tough or maybe a bit overdone.
Three Large Portions of Lamb Rack -- this was really almost more than I could eat, though I gave Little Red half of one of them. It brought back some really fond memories of the lamb roasts I used to help preside over with my friend John Ruvalds, who used to be a physics professor at the University of Virginia. Those were whole-lamb affairs with a cute little beastie turning on the motorized stainless steel spit John's physics students and colleagues had made up for him. The last whole lambs I cooked -- in 1983? -- cost about ninety dollars.
I'd like to work for Charlie Brown's but -- I haven't worked in the restaurant business (neither as manager nor as chef) since I was a line cook at The Ironmen Inn in Iowa City, back when I was writing the first few words of beloved Gravely while I was attending the "famous" Iowa Writers Workshop. So it goes.
Little Red and I have probably eaten at Charlie Brown's Steakhouse in Hillsboro, New Jersey more often than we have eaten anywhere else over the last six months. I think we ate there more often than we did at Eng's in Kingston, New York, where we ate frequently while my mother was dying. The Hillsboro Charlie Brown's is on the way to Ten Acre, a Christian Science retirement care facility in Princeton, New Jersey.
There is also a Charlie Brown's in Fishkill, N.Y., which is in the Hudson Valley, and I am more than halfway willing to believe that the Charlie Brown's experience would be pretty much the same at any of their locations. You can find one near you on their website. It's a very well-managed business. And the frozen Margaritas look great!
The people at Charlie Brown's are just very nice to you. For example, we went out to lunch there one Saturday after a snow storm. The parking lot had been plowed, the walkways seemed clear. But the path to the back side door that we usually go in with Mama's wheelchair was a bit dicey -- it had been plowed too narrow. So we couuldn't get a wheelchair up the handicap ramp. No problem, we just went in the front door. When Bob, who appeared to be the manager in charge asked us why we didn't use the back, we said it had been plowed too narrow. We sat down and had the usual better than pretty good lunch.
After a while Bob came back and told us he had shoveled the side walkway a bit wider. Evidently they had a new plow man who didn't quite understand the handicap requirements. We thought that was really more than just nice of him -- we thought it beyond the call of duty.
Charlie Brown's menu is solid though a bit middle of the road, but the main point is everything is good. The steaks are especially good, and Little Red likes the salad bar -- perhaps because the choice of olives is limited to canned black olives. Unappealing for the olive lover, but then -- Little Red loathes olives.
Little Red also likes Charlie Brown's Ribs more than I do; Charlie Brown's ribs might pass muster with anyone who has not yet made a point of visiting The Blue Ribbon Barbecue in West Newton, Massachusetts. but for me, it seems doubtful that Charlie Brown's ribs will win any prizes -- too sweet, perhaps not cooked ina proper smoker? -- So maybe they could get The Blue Ribbon to give them some lessons? And if they'd start smoking the ribs properly, maybe they could get smoked brisket on the menu?
But even though it is a chain, it is an extremely well-managed chain and Charlie Brown's main aim seems to be customers so happy they will come back again and again fairly often. In line with that they'll bend the rules a bit -- within reason. For example, When I asked if the chicken fingers on their Steak Medallions and Chicken Fingers platter could possibly be dished up Buffalo Wings style, and could I have a small pot of their excellent blue cheese dressing , they were happy to oblige. And for my second rack of lamb, I asked for an extra pot of the demiglace sauce -- no problem! I think that combo should have been on the new menu. Their executive chef, Philip Butler, put on thirty four new menu choices recently, and I believe Buffalo Chicken Fingers and Steak Medallions would have been a sure winner.
This last trip we stopped on the way home to check out the new menu items. Parmesan Crusted Triple Chop Rack of Lamb -- $22.00? -- as I remember. Comes with a good Caesar Salad (always good), garlic mashed potatoes and onion frizzles, and a pot of red wine demi-glace. The chops were done properly medium rare (pink and warm in the center), they were frenched very nicely, and ... this was more than terrific:
Charlie Brown's Parmesan Crusted Triple Chop Rack of Lamb is the new gold standard for lamb chops.
I think would have liked more of a hint of rosemary dusted onto the crust, and I would just mention that the crust was at its best when blackened. On a subsequent visit, another person's lamb racks seemed tough or maybe a bit overdone.
Three Large Portions of Lamb Rack -- this was really almost more than I could eat, though I gave Little Red half of one of them. It brought back some really fond memories of the lamb roasts I used to help preside over with my friend John Ruvalds, who used to be a physics professor at the University of Virginia. Those were whole-lamb affairs with a cute little beastie turning on the motorized stainless steel spit John's physics students and colleagues had made up for him. The last whole lambs I cooked -- in 1983? -- cost about ninety dollars.
I'd like to work for Charlie Brown's but -- I haven't worked in the restaurant business (neither as manager nor as chef) since I was a line cook at The Ironmen Inn in Iowa City, back when I was writing the first few words of beloved Gravely while I was attending the "famous" Iowa Writers Workshop. So it goes.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Hoffritz Knives - Serrated
Little Red and I recently acquired a small and large hocho, and a few other knives including a bread knife, a paring knife and a kitchen knife -- all serrated, all made by Hoffritz. We got them at the Christmas Tree Store somewhere in New Jersey. They are the sharpest knives I ever used. Incredibly useful for many aspects of slicing and dicing and peeling and paring. Bit too dangerous for children, I believe, but .... children don't usually do much of the cooking .... or do they?
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Pomegranate Coffee??
The flavoring industry strikes again! Now you can enjoy the taste of a blueberry muffin with your coffee -- without eating the muffin!
Case in point: Little Red and I stopped at Cumberland Farms, where whe "likes" the coffee. But even Little rEd was shocked (shocked!) to find an airpot full Blueberry Coffee. We thought this a strange and comical idea. Why would anybody want blueberry coffee? we asked ourselves. Back in the car, however, when we realized we were both happily wolfing down a blueberry muffin with our (unflavored) coffee, the idea began to seem a bit less strange -- though it still struck us as odd.
Blueberry coffee?
Hey -- what’s with all these flavored coffees? Where will it all end? Coffee does seem more palatable with cream and sugar added – and it does go pretty well with pastry – almost any kind of pastry, including my personal favorite linzertorte. Or a plain croissant. Now and then I like a mixture of coffee and hot chocolate. But why glunk coffee up with artificial or “natural” flavors – that’s what I can’t figure out.
I mean, why not … pomegranate? What would be wrong with Pomegranate Coffee? Maybe we could just add grenadine syrup to my favorite dark roasted Peet's coffee? Or maybe pomegranate seeds? ... well toasted and then finely ground?
Or -- what about some Egri Bikaver coffee? to which has been added a little Bull's Blood brandy made exclusively from the Hungarian red wine made famous by the Hungarian gauchos?
The truth is, I don't much like even Jameson in my coffee. Or brandy. I like my liquor beside the coffee, please.
But judging by the huge number of people who still drink (a) instant coffee, (b) Chase and Sanborn, Maxwell House, Chock Full O'Nuts, and other common, popular brands made mostly from Bugisu coffee beans (loaded with caffeine) .... it's what? Caffeine that counts.
And because so many of those people drinking Maxwell House love blueberry muffins ... why shouldn't they have blueberry flavored coffee at Cumberland Farms? So you can get the tast eof a blueberry muffin with your coffee without actually eating the muffin, thus cutting down on your caloric total for the day ....
This is either a natural progression of ideas or a natural progression of idiocy. Take your pick.
And pass the pomegranate syrup! Please!
Case in point: Little Red and I stopped at Cumberland Farms, where whe "likes" the coffee. But even Little rEd was shocked (shocked!) to find an airpot full Blueberry Coffee. We thought this a strange and comical idea. Why would anybody want blueberry coffee? we asked ourselves. Back in the car, however, when we realized we were both happily wolfing down a blueberry muffin with our (unflavored) coffee, the idea began to seem a bit less strange -- though it still struck us as odd.
Blueberry coffee?
Hey -- what’s with all these flavored coffees? Where will it all end? Coffee does seem more palatable with cream and sugar added – and it does go pretty well with pastry – almost any kind of pastry, including my personal favorite linzertorte. Or a plain croissant. Now and then I like a mixture of coffee and hot chocolate. But why glunk coffee up with artificial or “natural” flavors – that’s what I can’t figure out.
I mean, why not … pomegranate? What would be wrong with Pomegranate Coffee? Maybe we could just add grenadine syrup to my favorite dark roasted Peet's coffee? Or maybe pomegranate seeds? ... well toasted and then finely ground?
Or -- what about some Egri Bikaver coffee? to which has been added a little Bull's Blood brandy made exclusively from the Hungarian red wine made famous by the Hungarian gauchos?
The truth is, I don't much like even Jameson in my coffee. Or brandy. I like my liquor beside the coffee, please.
But judging by the huge number of people who still drink (a) instant coffee, (b) Chase and Sanborn, Maxwell House, Chock Full O'Nuts, and other common, popular brands made mostly from Bugisu coffee beans (loaded with caffeine) .... it's what? Caffeine that counts.
And because so many of those people drinking Maxwell House love blueberry muffins ... why shouldn't they have blueberry flavored coffee at Cumberland Farms? So you can get the tast eof a blueberry muffin with your coffee without actually eating the muffin, thus cutting down on your caloric total for the day ....
This is either a natural progression of ideas or a natural progression of idiocy. Take your pick.
And pass the pomegranate syrup! Please!
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Great Store! ...The Boiceville Market!
The Boiceville Market may not have everything, but it does have a lot of very entertaining foods, including: Sclafani Italian Tomatoes … Jarritos soda – made with sugar, not corn syrup, imported from Mexico … I used to drink Jarritos with the best carne asada tacos I ever ate at El Parian in Los Angeles ... Boar’s Head Cold Cuts … Mother Goose Liverwurst … A good selection of freshly baked crusty French bread and ciabatta … plenty of premium ice cream flavors from Hagen-Dazs, the Adirondack Creamery and others … steak and pork roast and store made sausage … store-baked focacciaa … a large selection of tasty gourmet items, including Hero jam … The new organic Tostitos blue corn chips ... Organic broccoli and organic salad items, and other organic produce … regular produce, for those who don't worry about eating pesticide … and pretty near everything else you would hope to find at an IGA grocery store. What a great store! What a great store! What friendly people! Do I want a Boiceville Market shirt!? Across from the Kingston end of Onteora Central School on Route 28 in Boiceville.
The Boiceville Market! Telephone (845) 657-2695
Pecan, Pepita and Currant Onion Rye Bread
This great bread blends savory and sweet flavors. Makes great toast. Wonderful with butter. Great for cheese sandwiches!
1 tsp. Unrefined Organic Sugar
2 tsps. Active Dry Yeast (preferably organic)
3 –5 Cups Organic White (Bread) flour or King Arthur bread flour
1 Cup Whole Rye Flour
1 tbsp. Caraway seeds
2 tbsps. Poppy Seeds
1 tbsp. Onion Flakes
3 tbsps. Rolled Oats
1/4 cup Pecans
1/2 cup Pepitas
Butter or extra virgin olive oil
2-3 tsps. Salt
This bread will have more flavor if you make the starter the day before: making the bread: in an empty one quart yogurt container or small bowl, dissolve a teaspoon of organic unrefined sugar in two cups of warm water, sprinkle two teaspoons of active dry yeast on the surface of the sugar water, wait until it foams up and then whisk in a cup of rye flour until it is quite smooth. Set the yogurt container in a larger bowl to catch the overflow.
You might like to use a mixture of whole grain rye and white flour for the starter. Let the starter sit overnight or for two nights. It can even go three nights, by which time it will have reached the maximum twanginess, and you might want to add another teaspoon of sugar so the yeast will have something to work on. Suit yourself on how much caraway seed to add. Sometimes I put it in with the starter, sometimes I wait and put it in with the flour, and sometimes I put some in with the starter and then add more with the flour.
When your starter is ready to proceed, set a large skillet over medium high heat, and tumble in a quarter cup each of pecans and pepitas. I broke up the pecans but left the pepitas whole. Toast them, stirring constantly, until they are crispy. Do NOT let them scorch. Just as they get brown, fling in a tablespoon of poppy seeds, a tablespoon of onion flakes, and a tablespoon of butter or olive oil. Toasting will enhance the flavor of the nuts and seeds. Remove the skillet from the heat, stirring the while, and fling the nuts and seeds into a large mixing bowl; then add a tablespoon of currants.
Pour the starter over them. Get all the sludge up off the bottom first. During cold weather, you should probably warm the bowl by sloshing hot water around in it (then pouring out the hot water). Add two or three teaspoons of salt and a pinch of sugar. Adding no salt at all means your bread may rise uncontrollably fast. If you feel nervous, sprinkle on a bit more yeast, and let it fizz up, then stir it in.
Add three cups of organic white bread flour or King Arthur Bread Flour. Failing either of those, use the white flour you happen to have on hand. Add enough rye flour to make the total rye flour content one cup.
Mix all ingredients thoroughly with a stout wooden spoon. This will result in a really sticky paste. Add more white flour little by little until the dough is just barely firm enough to knead but still quite sticky. Turn it out on a well-floured board, and knead until mixed to the same consistency all through, and until it is just barely stiff enough to keep its shape as a ball or half-dome without immediately slumping. If it is too soft, it will stick to your fingers. And then it will begin filching over the lip of the baking pan as it rises -- you would really rather it did not. However, it should be as soft as possible, and not stiff.
Knead until there are no traces of flour on the surface of the dough and the consistency is smooth throughout, folding over and punching in as necessary to achieve this consistency.
Let the dough rise in a warm place. Your oven can be the “warm place” -- just turn it on for a minute or two. However, “hot” is not what you want – the racks should not scorch your fingers.
Butter or oil the bottom and sides of a round 12 inch cake pan. Sprinkle it lightly with corn meal; then to get the sides covered, tap the pan while holding it slanted up on edge, to cover the sides. Put the ball of bread dough in the exact center of the pan. It should slump down somewhat, and should already come close to filling the pan. It will fil the pan and dome up as it rises. Dampen the upper surface with water. You can glaze it with a bit of black malt syrup, if you want a darker brown exterior crust. (Also, I forgot to note above, you can put in a spoon of black malt syrup – or molasses – instead of unrefined sugar when the starter is ripe if you want the interior to be darker brown.
Sprinkle the damp, sticky surface with a lot of poppy seeds. You could also use sesame seeds. You could go half and half, one side to the other. Do not mix them together. The seeds will spread out as the dough rises. Pat them in – lightly.
You could also make two loaves of bread, though this will be neither quite so much fun nor so impressive as one very large dome-shaped round loaf.
Cover the rising loaf with a damp non-fuzzy dish cloth. If you’re into bread baking, you might designate an old cotton cloth and then use that over and over. Do not use anything fuzzy or new – fibers will come off. Do not use anything that smells of detergent. Let the dough rise until a finger poke does not spring back. Sneak up on this point. Poke the rising dough several times. If it rises too much, you will have to knead it down and let it begin again – otherwise it will fall.
When the loaf appears to be about half risen, turn on the oven and let it heat to a low temperature. 300 degrees is good. 325 would be okay, but no higher than that. Use an oven thermometer if you’re nervous about your oven's thermostat setting.
Rye flour contains an enzyme that destroys wheat gluten in the presence of high temperature. That is why it is so often mixed with wheat flour, why it is often made as "sourdough" rye, and also why it bakes up best at a low temperature.
Depending on the oven temperature, let the bread bake 40 minutes or even 45 minutes. Insert a skewer or cake tester — if it comes out clean, the bread is probably done. Sounds a bit hollow when done -- if you tap it.
You’re hoping to achieve a springy-textured slightly damp loaf that toasts to perfection and keeps well. You are hoping for a crispy but supple crust and a good interior crumb. You don’t want a loaf that crumbles to bits when you cut it.
Remove the bread from the pan, and let it cool a lot before you slice it. Great with butter! Makes a wonderful jam and cheese sandwich!
Ingredients:
2 Cups Warm Water1 tsp. Unrefined Organic Sugar
2 tsps. Active Dry Yeast (preferably organic)
3 –5 Cups Organic White (Bread) flour or King Arthur bread flour
1 Cup Whole Rye Flour
1 tbsp. Caraway seeds
2 tbsps. Poppy Seeds
1 tbsp. Onion Flakes
3 tbsps. Rolled Oats
1/4 cup Pecans
1/2 cup Pepitas
Butter or extra virgin olive oil
2-3 tsps. Salt
This bread will have more flavor if you make the starter the day before: making the bread: in an empty one quart yogurt container or small bowl, dissolve a teaspoon of organic unrefined sugar in two cups of warm water, sprinkle two teaspoons of active dry yeast on the surface of the sugar water, wait until it foams up and then whisk in a cup of rye flour until it is quite smooth. Set the yogurt container in a larger bowl to catch the overflow.
You might like to use a mixture of whole grain rye and white flour for the starter. Let the starter sit overnight or for two nights. It can even go three nights, by which time it will have reached the maximum twanginess, and you might want to add another teaspoon of sugar so the yeast will have something to work on. Suit yourself on how much caraway seed to add. Sometimes I put it in with the starter, sometimes I wait and put it in with the flour, and sometimes I put some in with the starter and then add more with the flour.
When your starter is ready to proceed, set a large skillet over medium high heat, and tumble in a quarter cup each of pecans and pepitas. I broke up the pecans but left the pepitas whole. Toast them, stirring constantly, until they are crispy. Do NOT let them scorch. Just as they get brown, fling in a tablespoon of poppy seeds, a tablespoon of onion flakes, and a tablespoon of butter or olive oil. Toasting will enhance the flavor of the nuts and seeds. Remove the skillet from the heat, stirring the while, and fling the nuts and seeds into a large mixing bowl; then add a tablespoon of currants.
Pour the starter over them. Get all the sludge up off the bottom first. During cold weather, you should probably warm the bowl by sloshing hot water around in it (then pouring out the hot water). Add two or three teaspoons of salt and a pinch of sugar. Adding no salt at all means your bread may rise uncontrollably fast. If you feel nervous, sprinkle on a bit more yeast, and let it fizz up, then stir it in.
Add three cups of organic white bread flour or King Arthur Bread Flour. Failing either of those, use the white flour you happen to have on hand. Add enough rye flour to make the total rye flour content one cup.
Mix all ingredients thoroughly with a stout wooden spoon. This will result in a really sticky paste. Add more white flour little by little until the dough is just barely firm enough to knead but still quite sticky. Turn it out on a well-floured board, and knead until mixed to the same consistency all through, and until it is just barely stiff enough to keep its shape as a ball or half-dome without immediately slumping. If it is too soft, it will stick to your fingers. And then it will begin filching over the lip of the baking pan as it rises -- you would really rather it did not. However, it should be as soft as possible, and not stiff.
Knead until there are no traces of flour on the surface of the dough and the consistency is smooth throughout, folding over and punching in as necessary to achieve this consistency.
Let the dough rise in a warm place. Your oven can be the “warm place” -- just turn it on for a minute or two. However, “hot” is not what you want – the racks should not scorch your fingers.
Butter or oil the bottom and sides of a round 12 inch cake pan. Sprinkle it lightly with corn meal; then to get the sides covered, tap the pan while holding it slanted up on edge, to cover the sides. Put the ball of bread dough in the exact center of the pan. It should slump down somewhat, and should already come close to filling the pan. It will fil the pan and dome up as it rises. Dampen the upper surface with water. You can glaze it with a bit of black malt syrup, if you want a darker brown exterior crust. (Also, I forgot to note above, you can put in a spoon of black malt syrup – or molasses – instead of unrefined sugar when the starter is ripe if you want the interior to be darker brown.
Sprinkle the damp, sticky surface with a lot of poppy seeds. You could also use sesame seeds. You could go half and half, one side to the other. Do not mix them together. The seeds will spread out as the dough rises. Pat them in – lightly.
You could also make two loaves of bread, though this will be neither quite so much fun nor so impressive as one very large dome-shaped round loaf.
Cover the rising loaf with a damp non-fuzzy dish cloth. If you’re into bread baking, you might designate an old cotton cloth and then use that over and over. Do not use anything fuzzy or new – fibers will come off. Do not use anything that smells of detergent. Let the dough rise until a finger poke does not spring back. Sneak up on this point. Poke the rising dough several times. If it rises too much, you will have to knead it down and let it begin again – otherwise it will fall.
When the loaf appears to be about half risen, turn on the oven and let it heat to a low temperature. 300 degrees is good. 325 would be okay, but no higher than that. Use an oven thermometer if you’re nervous about your oven's thermostat setting.
Rye flour contains an enzyme that destroys wheat gluten in the presence of high temperature. That is why it is so often mixed with wheat flour, why it is often made as "sourdough" rye, and also why it bakes up best at a low temperature.
Depending on the oven temperature, let the bread bake 40 minutes or even 45 minutes. Insert a skewer or cake tester — if it comes out clean, the bread is probably done. Sounds a bit hollow when done -- if you tap it.
You’re hoping to achieve a springy-textured slightly damp loaf that toasts to perfection and keeps well. You are hoping for a crispy but supple crust and a good interior crumb. You don’t want a loaf that crumbles to bits when you cut it.
Remove the bread from the pan, and let it cool a lot before you slice it. Great with butter! Makes a wonderful jam and cheese sandwich!
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Max's Memphis BBQ - Red Hook
Little Red and I drove over to Red Hook recently to view the blue man movie in 3D at the Lyceum. The 3D was so startling — truly an amazing a treat! — that probably many more movies will be made this way in the future. It was not quite as good as a full-color hologram, but the technology definitely made the movie appear more lifelike than the ordinary widescreen Technicolor film seen in a theater. You should really go see Avatar again if you can handle yet another James Cameron love story where the man dies at the end.
The Lyceum people put plenty of real butter on the popcorn, which is a strong point in favor of crossing the river to see movies in Red Hook.
After the blue man movie came to its inevitable Cameronian apotheosis, Little Red and I sortied down to Holy Cow for some outstanding really yummy soft ice cream and, as usual, wondered why we thought we might need anything else to eat. I still pine for Carl’s — of course — but Holy Cow is a lot closer and you can at least order inside, which is good on a winter day.
Then we looked for the Red Hook Curry House — it seemed to be closed on Sunday afternoon. And Max’s Memphis BBQ was closed until five p.m., so we went over to Poet’s Walk Park for a bit of a trek through the slush. Just to work up an appetite. Many thanks to Scenic Hudson for keeping the meadows mowed — would it be possible, maybe, for them to work the same trick on Mead’s Meadow, over in Woodstock?
Max’s Memphis BBQ bills itself as the best barbecue in the Hudson Valley, and for all I know that may be true. Certainly the ribs were good enough to write home about. They were right smokey dry-rub ribs, properly cooked, not cooked to death or underdone, so next time I would probably just concentrate all my efforts on ribbing it up, even though they were not the best ribs I ever ate. A sandwich made of meat cut from the dry rub ribs would be very good — close to The Blue Ribbon Barbecue over there in West Newton, Massachusetts, which puts most of the barbecue up here in Yankee-land to shame.
We ordered a plate of ribs and chicken with a side of pulled pork. Just to be sure of sampling almost everything. We weren’t in the mood for sausages, salad, or any of the other delicious-sounding (and looking) entrées.
Max’s chicken and Max’s pulled pork seemed in the “ordinary” range — compared to the ribs. The chicken had been slathered with the usual rather ordinary sticky weet sauce, however, which was less to our liking than a dry rub would have been — and Max’s pulled pork, also, was sauced up with sweet stuff. I can make better pulled pork in the oven just roasting a top butt well sprinkled with salt and pepper and stuck with plenty of garlic. I did think Max’s smoke-man might have at least tried to offer dry rub as a selection on the chicken and pulled pork. I mean, come on — many people don't much like sweet red sauce on their pulled pork. Sweet red sauce gives barbecue a bad name, I believe.
Also, there weren’t any burnt ends in the pulled pork, and no way to order some. There was no option for sliced barbecue either. Max’s cheddar cheese grits, however, were outstanding. The collards were a bit too underdone for my taste, but that may well be the way folks like collard greens in the Hudson Valley. Vegans might enjoy them, but we probably won't see many vegans at Max's. There was no coleslaw to go with the pulled pork, but ... this gargantuan meal cost only thirty-five dollars, with the ice tea and pepsi, and I’d have no complaint if the dinner had been all ribs — which would have been cheaper. We did — somehow!—manage to almost all of it, even the chicken, so it can’t have been too bad, right?
But Max's ribs really stick in the mind.
They were much better, for example, than the ribs we ate several times recently at the Charlie Brown’s down near Princeton, New Jersey. Near as I could make out, those ribs had been pre-simmered in broth or water until they were fall off the bone tender and then slathered with sauce and grilled for a while. That method will fool some of the people most of the time and most of the people some of the time, but it ain’t really like using a smoker. It ain’t even like using a Weber.. Or maybe Charlie Brown’s just way overcooks their ribs to the point of being almost tasteless — down near Princeton. Maybe that's just New Jersey-style barbecue? And hence deservedly consigned to obloquy?
I dunno about the new Charlie Brown’s in Fishkill yet. But I’m guessing that the steak medallions and buffalo chicken fingers I like so much down in Princeton will be pretty good there.
Conveniently, Max’s is just down the road from Holy Cow, so theoretically you could work your way through a slab of ribs, then stop at Holy Cow for desert — it’s only a few hundred yards away — and then keep on to walk for an hour or two at Poet’s Walk Park.. I guess we were just in the mood to do things out of order last Sunday.
Or you could even go for a couple of much better than average burgers with plenty of fries at Uncle Chippie’s — right across from Holy Cow — probably for less than a full rack of ribs would cost you at Max’s. Try a rack of ribs next time before you to to Holy Cow. Max's has a good catering menu, too.
Max’s Memphis BBQ, 7215 Broadway, Red Hook, NY 845-758-6297
www.maxsbbq.com
The Lyceum people put plenty of real butter on the popcorn, which is a strong point in favor of crossing the river to see movies in Red Hook.
After the blue man movie came to its inevitable Cameronian apotheosis, Little Red and I sortied down to Holy Cow for some outstanding really yummy soft ice cream and, as usual, wondered why we thought we might need anything else to eat. I still pine for Carl’s — of course — but Holy Cow is a lot closer and you can at least order inside, which is good on a winter day.
Then we looked for the Red Hook Curry House — it seemed to be closed on Sunday afternoon. And Max’s Memphis BBQ was closed until five p.m., so we went over to Poet’s Walk Park for a bit of a trek through the slush. Just to work up an appetite. Many thanks to Scenic Hudson for keeping the meadows mowed — would it be possible, maybe, for them to work the same trick on Mead’s Meadow, over in Woodstock?
Max’s Memphis BBQ bills itself as the best barbecue in the Hudson Valley, and for all I know that may be true. Certainly the ribs were good enough to write home about. They were right smokey dry-rub ribs, properly cooked, not cooked to death or underdone, so next time I would probably just concentrate all my efforts on ribbing it up, even though they were not the best ribs I ever ate. A sandwich made of meat cut from the dry rub ribs would be very good — close to The Blue Ribbon Barbecue over there in West Newton, Massachusetts, which puts most of the barbecue up here in Yankee-land to shame.
We ordered a plate of ribs and chicken with a side of pulled pork. Just to be sure of sampling almost everything. We weren’t in the mood for sausages, salad, or any of the other delicious-sounding (and looking) entrées.
Max’s chicken and Max’s pulled pork seemed in the “ordinary” range — compared to the ribs. The chicken had been slathered with the usual rather ordinary sticky weet sauce, however, which was less to our liking than a dry rub would have been — and Max’s pulled pork, also, was sauced up with sweet stuff. I can make better pulled pork in the oven just roasting a top butt well sprinkled with salt and pepper and stuck with plenty of garlic. I did think Max’s smoke-man might have at least tried to offer dry rub as a selection on the chicken and pulled pork. I mean, come on — many people don't much like sweet red sauce on their pulled pork. Sweet red sauce gives barbecue a bad name, I believe.
Also, there weren’t any burnt ends in the pulled pork, and no way to order some. There was no option for sliced barbecue either. Max’s cheddar cheese grits, however, were outstanding. The collards were a bit too underdone for my taste, but that may well be the way folks like collard greens in the Hudson Valley. Vegans might enjoy them, but we probably won't see many vegans at Max's. There was no coleslaw to go with the pulled pork, but ... this gargantuan meal cost only thirty-five dollars, with the ice tea and pepsi, and I’d have no complaint if the dinner had been all ribs — which would have been cheaper. We did — somehow!—manage to almost all of it, even the chicken, so it can’t have been too bad, right?
But Max's ribs really stick in the mind.
They were much better, for example, than the ribs we ate several times recently at the Charlie Brown’s down near Princeton, New Jersey. Near as I could make out, those ribs had been pre-simmered in broth or water until they were fall off the bone tender and then slathered with sauce and grilled for a while. That method will fool some of the people most of the time and most of the people some of the time, but it ain’t really like using a smoker. It ain’t even like using a Weber.. Or maybe Charlie Brown’s just way overcooks their ribs to the point of being almost tasteless — down near Princeton. Maybe that's just New Jersey-style barbecue? And hence deservedly consigned to obloquy?
I dunno about the new Charlie Brown’s in Fishkill yet. But I’m guessing that the steak medallions and buffalo chicken fingers I like so much down in Princeton will be pretty good there.
Conveniently, Max’s is just down the road from Holy Cow, so theoretically you could work your way through a slab of ribs, then stop at Holy Cow for desert — it’s only a few hundred yards away — and then keep on to walk for an hour or two at Poet’s Walk Park.. I guess we were just in the mood to do things out of order last Sunday.
Or you could even go for a couple of much better than average burgers with plenty of fries at Uncle Chippie’s — right across from Holy Cow — probably for less than a full rack of ribs would cost you at Max’s. Try a rack of ribs next time before you to to Holy Cow. Max's has a good catering menu, too.
Max’s Memphis BBQ, 7215 Broadway, Red Hook, NY 845-758-6297
www.maxsbbq.com
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Three Pizzerias - Angela's, Woodstock, La Roma
Little Red and I have eaten pizza at several joints in recent weeks — at Angela's, on Route 9W in Lake Katrine, at the Woodstock Pizzeria on Tinker Street, and at La Roma Pizzeria at 516 Broadway in Kingston, in the Millard Building, right across from where you turn coming down from Benedictine Hospital.
All three of these pizza joints cook the pies “properly” from my point of view — and by this I mean they bake the pie, let it cool on the shelf, and then reheat a slice or several slices for each individual order. That is the New York style pizza I grew up with on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, and for me this is the gold standard. Serving a fresly baked pie without letting it cool and then rebaking slices means the crust will be flabby. Some people like it that way — most of them willingly eat at Pizza Hut, I believe -- but the success of real New York Pizza depends more on the texture of the crust than it does on on the quality of the sauce and the cheese, though these are also important factors in judging a pizza.
Little Red and I stopped at Angela’s on a very cold night after visiting my mother at the Ten Broek Commons nursing home. We were hungry and discouraged and Angela’s didn’t cheer us up much. We sat near the back door, which was probably a mistake. Angela’s is a small place, popular with the locals, but the cold draft from the door was wnough to make us think we should have moved to a table that was closer to the pizza ovens. We waited almost half an hour until finally Little red got up and asked where our pizza was.
“Omigod,” said the young waitress, clapping her hand to her mouth. “Someone must have sent it out with one of the delivery orders.”
Angela's pizza was passable — when it finally arrived. But waiting so long made Little Red cranky, and that is probably why she showed little interest in going there again. We decided to try a few other pizzerias just to check to see what we could learn about the caliber of local pizza baking — just for fun..
Not because w e both love pizza, or anything like that. I mean — Little Red still beliesves Pizza Hut makes pretty good pizza. But I don’t like the sauce there — too much sweetener, the salt and pepper balalnce is too high, and the last time I ate there -- w0 years ago? -- they didn’t cook pizza by the slice “properly.”
The Woodstock Pizzeria, on Tinker Street — we stopped there about ten days later on the way back from visiting my mother at Benedictine. It was on the way home. My slice of plain cheese was cooked properly, but Little Red’s two pepperoni slices arrived scorched to a cinder. Inedibly burned. Never should have been served to a customer. How can you explain -- to a teenage waitress/cashier? -- that when the slice is burned you don't serve it? Little Red just took them back to the front counter and before long the definitely way too cute blonde brought two more slices of pepperoni. These were only slightly too well done. My cheese slices were okay. Nothing extra. This was disappointing — cooking a slice of pizza is properly is hardly rocket science, and one ought to be able to expect pizza good enough to eat.
La Roma Pizza, in the Millard Building at 516 Broadway, seemed the best of these three pizzerias. The sauce was tasty. The cheese was good. The pies were cooked properly. There was almost no one in the joint the two times we went, even though the physical plant seemed brand new. Possibly La Roma does a good delivery business sending pies up to Benedictine and to Kingston Hospital? The neighborhood’s a bit dicey after dark — not extra bad, but the streeets in Kingston aren’t very well llit, and a family might feel a bit unsettled going out to eat there at night. They have a Wednesday special of two cheese slices with a small soda for $3.99. The menu shows a good variety of reasonably interesting "gourmet" pizzas, too, and they were willing to dot a cheese slice with ricotta when I asked. Little Red and I went back again, a few nights later, fairly certain we would find what we were lookiung for: pretty darn good pizza in what we found to be a convenient location on the way back from the hospital.
I might even get up the nerve to try a steak sandwich at La Roma, though I know it probably won't measure up to Dalessandro's Steaks -- which is in Philadelphia on the north side of the Schuylkill at 600 Wendover Street, near the entrance to the park and the Walnut Lane golf course. Dalessandro's Steaks is worth a long detour any time you're in the neighborhood. Hint: It's not downtown on Mifflin Street. Second hint: Forget Pat's.
All three of these pizza joints cook the pies “properly” from my point of view — and by this I mean they bake the pie, let it cool on the shelf, and then reheat a slice or several slices for each individual order. That is the New York style pizza I grew up with on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, and for me this is the gold standard. Serving a fresly baked pie without letting it cool and then rebaking slices means the crust will be flabby. Some people like it that way — most of them willingly eat at Pizza Hut, I believe -- but the success of real New York Pizza depends more on the texture of the crust than it does on on the quality of the sauce and the cheese, though these are also important factors in judging a pizza.
Little Red and I stopped at Angela’s on a very cold night after visiting my mother at the Ten Broek Commons nursing home. We were hungry and discouraged and Angela’s didn’t cheer us up much. We sat near the back door, which was probably a mistake. Angela’s is a small place, popular with the locals, but the cold draft from the door was wnough to make us think we should have moved to a table that was closer to the pizza ovens. We waited almost half an hour until finally Little red got up and asked where our pizza was.
“Omigod,” said the young waitress, clapping her hand to her mouth. “Someone must have sent it out with one of the delivery orders.”
Angela's pizza was passable — when it finally arrived. But waiting so long made Little Red cranky, and that is probably why she showed little interest in going there again. We decided to try a few other pizzerias just to check to see what we could learn about the caliber of local pizza baking — just for fun..
Not because w e both love pizza, or anything like that. I mean — Little Red still beliesves Pizza Hut makes pretty good pizza. But I don’t like the sauce there — too much sweetener, the salt and pepper balalnce is too high, and the last time I ate there -- w0 years ago? -- they didn’t cook pizza by the slice “properly.”
The Woodstock Pizzeria, on Tinker Street — we stopped there about ten days later on the way back from visiting my mother at Benedictine. It was on the way home. My slice of plain cheese was cooked properly, but Little Red’s two pepperoni slices arrived scorched to a cinder. Inedibly burned. Never should have been served to a customer. How can you explain -- to a teenage waitress/cashier? -- that when the slice is burned you don't serve it? Little Red just took them back to the front counter and before long the definitely way too cute blonde brought two more slices of pepperoni. These were only slightly too well done. My cheese slices were okay. Nothing extra. This was disappointing — cooking a slice of pizza is properly is hardly rocket science, and one ought to be able to expect pizza good enough to eat.
La Roma Pizza, in the Millard Building at 516 Broadway, seemed the best of these three pizzerias. The sauce was tasty. The cheese was good. The pies were cooked properly. There was almost no one in the joint the two times we went, even though the physical plant seemed brand new. Possibly La Roma does a good delivery business sending pies up to Benedictine and to Kingston Hospital? The neighborhood’s a bit dicey after dark — not extra bad, but the streeets in Kingston aren’t very well llit, and a family might feel a bit unsettled going out to eat there at night. They have a Wednesday special of two cheese slices with a small soda for $3.99. The menu shows a good variety of reasonably interesting "gourmet" pizzas, too, and they were willing to dot a cheese slice with ricotta when I asked. Little Red and I went back again, a few nights later, fairly certain we would find what we were lookiung for: pretty darn good pizza in what we found to be a convenient location on the way back from the hospital.
I might even get up the nerve to try a steak sandwich at La Roma, though I know it probably won't measure up to Dalessandro's Steaks -- which is in Philadelphia on the north side of the Schuylkill at 600 Wendover Street, near the entrance to the park and the Walnut Lane golf course. Dalessandro's Steaks is worth a long detour any time you're in the neighborhood. Hint: It's not downtown on Mifflin Street. Second hint: Forget Pat's.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Carl's Ice Cream in Fredericksburg, Virginia
Carl started a soft ice cream place on Princess Anne Street in Fredericksburg when he got out of the Army -- after WWII. The legend is that Carl used to use real grain alcohol in his frozen custard mix -- and he still does even though it is harder to get now. I believe the legend is probably true. Carl's Ice Cream is not pretentious. There was no place to sit, last time I was there.. There's no shade on a blazing hot day. Vanilla, Chocolate and Strawberry are the only flavors. I prefer the vanilla. You can order a cone or a dish or hardpack (by the quart, I can't remember which). The hard pack is frozen hard enough to travel several hours if wrapped in a towel or blanket. That way you can take some home to Richmond or Charlottesville. I always used to stop at Carl's whether I was going North or South ...
You get off on the northernmost Fredericksburg exit (for Route 17, as I remember) and head east to Route 1, where you turn right to go over the Rappahannock, and then as soon as you're across the bridge, turn left on Princess Anne Street and go up the slight hill a few hundred yards; Carl's will be on the right.
But most people don't like ice cream as much as I do. They won't travel for it, and they won't go out of their way to get something really special, because they can't neither recognize it nor appreciate it when they finally bump into it. Most people can't even tell the difference between Ben and Jerry's and Hagen Dazs, I think they get confused or even sort of hypnotized by the all the weird names, and they don't remember that Ben and Jerry may have started out making pretty good ice cream long ago in Vermont, but then they sold out to a giant corporation that diluted the brand by adding guar gum and carageenan and other fillers, plus a lot of "over run" to all the ice cream. You can get plenty of it at a supermarket right down the road from Carl's.
And my opinion is that captious tourists who want "toppings" should skip Carl's entirely; those of us who love Carl's will be happy they went somewhere else. Often there is a line around the building, and no one waiting in that line needs to listen to any strangers whining; it gums up the works.
The view across the street or on either side of Carl's is probably still of a car dealership.
I used to get several quarts of hardpack vanilla on trips north to visit my parents in Woodstock, New York, and I'd pull off the road and eat at least one somewhere way north of the tunnel in Baltimore, at one of those giant rest stops where the food used to be so terrible. At Carl's, the staff's not surly -- they are just used to dealing with people who already know what they want and want it in a hurry. They have to bend over to talk to you through the little window, and they're usually very busy. Also, I am pretty sure the shop is not air conditioned inside. There are two service windows, and both used to be open on busy nights. You can expect a good line all the way around the building on any summer evening, but the line will move along quickly. Be patient, and be sure you get some hard pack.
Talking to the people waiting in line can be very entertaining. You can ask questions like: "When was the first time you ever came here?" or "Which flavor do you prefer?" or "Do they still put grain alcohol in the custard mix?" or even "Is Carl still alive?"
I have stopped by Carl's in the middle of winter on a snowy night and found a line around the corner of the building. I think that probably says about all you really need to know.
You can see a picture of Carl's Ice Cream online at http://Iheartconsumerism.blogspot.com
My friend Ed Haile claims his mother was the first to suggest the 15 cent puppy cup to Carl. Bravo, I say.
Down at the middle Fredericksburg exit -- if you take Route 20 South, you will come to the Wilderness/Chancellorsville Batlefield Visitor Center, and in it you will see (probably it is still there) a gorgeous mural painted by Ethel Magafan, one of Woodstock's better painters. The mural shows Grant and his officers riding over the battlefield surrounded by dead and dying soldiers. It is a gruesome subject, especially for Southerners, because Chancellorsville was where the South really started losing the war -- they lost Jackson, and hubris caused Lee to invade Pennsylvania, where the war was lost for keeps -- but it is nonetheless a wonderful painting. Ethel Magafan is a very good painter; so is her husband Bruce Currie, and so is their daughter Jennie Magafan Currie. Last time I was there, the best view of Ethel's painting, actually, was from halfway back in the women's lavatory. Knock to be sure it is not occupied before you prop open the door, especially during the summer. I mean, if the mural is still there.
You get off on the northernmost Fredericksburg exit (for Route 17, as I remember) and head east to Route 1, where you turn right to go over the Rappahannock, and then as soon as you're across the bridge, turn left on Princess Anne Street and go up the slight hill a few hundred yards; Carl's will be on the right.
But most people don't like ice cream as much as I do. They won't travel for it, and they won't go out of their way to get something really special, because they can't neither recognize it nor appreciate it when they finally bump into it. Most people can't even tell the difference between Ben and Jerry's and Hagen Dazs, I think they get confused or even sort of hypnotized by the all the weird names, and they don't remember that Ben and Jerry may have started out making pretty good ice cream long ago in Vermont, but then they sold out to a giant corporation that diluted the brand by adding guar gum and carageenan and other fillers, plus a lot of "over run" to all the ice cream. You can get plenty of it at a supermarket right down the road from Carl's.
And my opinion is that captious tourists who want "toppings" should skip Carl's entirely; those of us who love Carl's will be happy they went somewhere else. Often there is a line around the building, and no one waiting in that line needs to listen to any strangers whining; it gums up the works.
The view across the street or on either side of Carl's is probably still of a car dealership.
I used to get several quarts of hardpack vanilla on trips north to visit my parents in Woodstock, New York, and I'd pull off the road and eat at least one somewhere way north of the tunnel in Baltimore, at one of those giant rest stops where the food used to be so terrible. At Carl's, the staff's not surly -- they are just used to dealing with people who already know what they want and want it in a hurry. They have to bend over to talk to you through the little window, and they're usually very busy. Also, I am pretty sure the shop is not air conditioned inside. There are two service windows, and both used to be open on busy nights. You can expect a good line all the way around the building on any summer evening, but the line will move along quickly. Be patient, and be sure you get some hard pack.
Talking to the people waiting in line can be very entertaining. You can ask questions like: "When was the first time you ever came here?" or "Which flavor do you prefer?" or "Do they still put grain alcohol in the custard mix?" or even "Is Carl still alive?"
I have stopped by Carl's in the middle of winter on a snowy night and found a line around the corner of the building. I think that probably says about all you really need to know.
You can see a picture of Carl's Ice Cream online at http://Iheartconsumerism.blogspot.com
My friend Ed Haile claims his mother was the first to suggest the 15 cent puppy cup to Carl. Bravo, I say.
Down at the middle Fredericksburg exit -- if you take Route 20 South, you will come to the Wilderness/Chancellorsville Batlefield Visitor Center, and in it you will see (probably it is still there) a gorgeous mural painted by Ethel Magafan, one of Woodstock's better painters. The mural shows Grant and his officers riding over the battlefield surrounded by dead and dying soldiers. It is a gruesome subject, especially for Southerners, because Chancellorsville was where the South really started losing the war -- they lost Jackson, and hubris caused Lee to invade Pennsylvania, where the war was lost for keeps -- but it is nonetheless a wonderful painting. Ethel Magafan is a very good painter; so is her husband Bruce Currie, and so is their daughter Jennie Magafan Currie. Last time I was there, the best view of Ethel's painting, actually, was from halfway back in the women's lavatory. Knock to be sure it is not occupied before you prop open the door, especially during the summer. I mean, if the mural is still there.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Texas Chili
Beef, Ancho Chilis, Cumin And Salt
“Chili concocted outside of Texas is usually a weak, apologetic imitation of the real thing." — President Lyndon B. Johnson
Nothing else really equals Texas chili. Nothing else even comes close. Certainly none of the fifty or so chilis I judged at two chili cookoffs in Richmond, Virginia, during the late '80s approached ambrosia. That might not be saying much: both were unsanctioned events.
I got to be the chief judge because I had been reviewing restaurants in Richmond for a year or so after Scribners published my novel beloved Gravely, and because back in the Seventies, my recipe column had appeared in as many as six daily newspapers, including the World Herald in Omaha, Nebraska. That was before the food volcano exploded like Krakatoa. I had worked as a chef, managed a restaurant, and owned my own successful restaurant. I had done a lot of catering. And my daughter's mother worked for the radio station that sponsored the chili cookoff.
Should you ever be called upon to judge a chili cookoff, be sure to bring a large pan of perfectly cooked, buttered arborio rice. Carolina short grain will do. Half polished Thai brown Jasmine rice will do. Basmati rice, however, interferes with the chili savor. One of the other five judges looked askance at the rice when I walked in the door. Soon I heard him sneering to of the other judges. "Rice! This is a chili cookoff. Who is that guy?"
That first year, there were 25 contestants. That meant tasting at least 25 half tablespoons of blinding hot chili on the first go 'round. Generally speaking, most chefs in a cookoff do go for the blinding hot effect. Then 20 tablespoons on the second go 'round after you weed out the chaff. Then 10 tablespoons. And after that, free choice and as much as you want until finally you and your fellow judges are able to reach a strong consensus on the winner. It takes a while.
Some scoring sheets I brought along proved very helpful. It was a blind tasting, natgurally. After the first 20 half tablespoons of chili -- some was so hot even the vapor made your eyes water when you walked by the booth where they were cooking it -- the sneering judge sidled up to me. "Uh ... Christian?" he said in a strangled voice. "Still got that rice?"
A friend from Texas who has lived in Charlottesville most of his adult life, gave me this recipe back in the Seventies. He said it won the Texas Chili Cookoff. I don't know what year. Certainly it should have won. I hope you like it as much as I do, and I hope you get to make it at least once a year, as I have. I often make it for the superbowl, even though it is not the chili most people expect.
3 to 5 lbs. beef chuck steak -- a nice thick piece
6-12 ancho chilis
6-12 tbsps. cumin
salt
Butter
You might start with four pounds of chuck -- a good piece three inches thick? with a bone in it?-- or as much as will fit in your kettle. You might toast the meat on your Weber (over charcoal, not over gas) to seal in the juicejuice. Using mesquite will add that mesquite zing. Some people like it, but I think green red oak works better. Chris Walters taught me that trick too.
If you brown the meat in the pan, do not use olive oil. A little lard, maybe -- fresh, if possible. Or a few spoons of clarified butter. Or sprinkle the bottom of the pan with salt. Sear the beef dark brown on both sides. You can leave the piece whole, then cut it up when it's tender. It stews better, and probably makes better broth, when the pieces are smaller. However, browning bitesized pieces on the Weber will give you some trouble.
While the meat browns, pop the stems out of six to ten ancho chilies (you want two or three anchos per pound of beef). Split them and remove the seeds. Brown the anchos somewhat in a skillet or on the grill. When the meat is browned, cut it up, leaving several big pieces, and cutting the rest in odd sized chunks, none smaller than dice. Carve off any mammoth hunks of fat and hash them up small.. Put the meat in a big stew kettle -- stainless steel works best. Do not use an aluminum kettle. Sprinkle all over with cumin. Like, at least one tablespoon per pound. Two or three will be better.L et the cumin sizzle with the pan juices, but don't let it scorch. Add the anchos. Put in some salt. Not much if you used salt whan browning the beef. Cook a bit over medium high heat. Add spring water to reach three inches over the meat. In most parts of the country -- including probably all of Texas -- municipal tap water won't make good chili. Bring slowly to the boil, then reduce to a simmer and cover the pan
After half an hour, taste the broth and probably add more salt. Not too much at this point because the liquid will cook down. Do not add any other spices -- early on, I tried monkeying around with the basic Walters Family recipe, and aromatics really don't help. Especially, avoid bay leaf, thyme, oregano or rosemary. Do not add black pepper, either, nor any saffron. Saffron rice, however, is very good with Texas chili.
NEVER add any type of roux or other thickening to the broth. Beef, chilis, cumin, salt and good water.
Cover the kettle and let the chili stew slowly for maybe two and a half hours -- or until the meat is tender. It is done when all the cartilage is every piece is fork tender. About forty minutes before the end point is reached, fish out all the anchos. Separate the pulp and skins. The skins will probably peel off. Mash the pulp (coarsely) with a fork. Any skins left will eventually float and make straws -- fish them out.
Taste it. My friend the poet Ed Haile, in Champlain, Virginia, once ran into a problem with bitter anchos. But I never did. Might depend on the anchos. Maybe he left the stems on. I wasn’t there when he made the chili, so I don’t know what happened. .If the anchos seem bitter, try adding sugar by the teaspoon, stirring well after each addition, until the bitter flavor abates. Discard the ancho skin straws if there are any floating around. Separating them from their pulp.Mash the pulp with a fork. Return the coarsely mashed ancho pulp to the kettle, stir, and adjust the cumin and salt. Put the lid back on, and go on stewing for a while.
You can set the pan in the oven at 300 degrees if you like stewing that way better. This saves some trouble, but it's not so much fun.
The meat is done when it's all fork tender. By then, the \exquisite broth will have cooked down to about half an inch over the meat. Maybe an inch. Put in a stick of butter. Stir for a while. Adjust the salt one last time. The broth should be thin (though not watery), and it should be exquisitely tasty. If it seems too thin, take out a saucepan full and reduce that by half over high heat, then add that back into the chili.
Serve with the usual condiments -- sour cream, guacamole, pinto beans, (preferably corn) tortillas, and maybe some salsa. I do like some rice. Leftover chunks make a great burrito. However, the greatness of the burrito will depend quite a lot on the beans.
The chili broth , slightly reduced with some shreds of meat and anchos i it, makes an outstanding sauce for a grilled porterhouse or a grilled Tri Tip, so be sure to save take out two cups. That chili broth is also great on poached eggs.
Chris Walters once made this with serrano chilis when he couldn't find any anchos. The experiment failed. The chili was too hot to eat, even for Chris. He and his then-wife Cecile Clover were living out at Prospect Hill running the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. Possibly augmenting the anchos with one serrano to add fire would be a good idea. Depends on who’s coming to dinner. On the other hand, why mess around with just beef, ancho chilis, cumin and salt -- which comes so exquisitely close to perfection?
“Chili concocted outside of Texas is usually a weak, apologetic imitation of the real thing." — President Lyndon B. Johnson
Nothing else really equals Texas chili. Nothing else even comes close. Certainly none of the fifty or so chilis I judged at two chili cookoffs in Richmond, Virginia, during the late '80s approached ambrosia. That might not be saying much: both were unsanctioned events.
I got to be the chief judge because I had been reviewing restaurants in Richmond for a year or so after Scribners published my novel beloved Gravely, and because back in the Seventies, my recipe column had appeared in as many as six daily newspapers, including the World Herald in Omaha, Nebraska. That was before the food volcano exploded like Krakatoa. I had worked as a chef, managed a restaurant, and owned my own successful restaurant. I had done a lot of catering. And my daughter's mother worked for the radio station that sponsored the chili cookoff.
Should you ever be called upon to judge a chili cookoff, be sure to bring a large pan of perfectly cooked, buttered arborio rice. Carolina short grain will do. Half polished Thai brown Jasmine rice will do. Basmati rice, however, interferes with the chili savor. One of the other five judges looked askance at the rice when I walked in the door. Soon I heard him sneering to of the other judges. "Rice! This is a chili cookoff. Who is that guy?"
That first year, there were 25 contestants. That meant tasting at least 25 half tablespoons of blinding hot chili on the first go 'round. Generally speaking, most chefs in a cookoff do go for the blinding hot effect. Then 20 tablespoons on the second go 'round after you weed out the chaff. Then 10 tablespoons. And after that, free choice and as much as you want until finally you and your fellow judges are able to reach a strong consensus on the winner. It takes a while.
Some scoring sheets I brought along proved very helpful. It was a blind tasting, natgurally. After the first 20 half tablespoons of chili -- some was so hot even the vapor made your eyes water when you walked by the booth where they were cooking it -- the sneering judge sidled up to me. "Uh ... Christian?" he said in a strangled voice. "Still got that rice?"
A friend from Texas who has lived in Charlottesville most of his adult life, gave me this recipe back in the Seventies. He said it won the Texas Chili Cookoff. I don't know what year. Certainly it should have won. I hope you like it as much as I do, and I hope you get to make it at least once a year, as I have. I often make it for the superbowl, even though it is not the chili most people expect.
Texas Chili
3 to 5 lbs. beef chuck steak -- a nice thick piece
6-12 ancho chilis
6-12 tbsps. cumin
salt
Butter
You might start with four pounds of chuck -- a good piece three inches thick? with a bone in it?-- or as much as will fit in your kettle. You might toast the meat on your Weber (over charcoal, not over gas) to seal in the juicejuice. Using mesquite will add that mesquite zing. Some people like it, but I think green red oak works better. Chris Walters taught me that trick too.
If you brown the meat in the pan, do not use olive oil. A little lard, maybe -- fresh, if possible. Or a few spoons of clarified butter. Or sprinkle the bottom of the pan with salt. Sear the beef dark brown on both sides. You can leave the piece whole, then cut it up when it's tender. It stews better, and probably makes better broth, when the pieces are smaller. However, browning bitesized pieces on the Weber will give you some trouble.
While the meat browns, pop the stems out of six to ten ancho chilies (you want two or three anchos per pound of beef). Split them and remove the seeds. Brown the anchos somewhat in a skillet or on the grill. When the meat is browned, cut it up, leaving several big pieces, and cutting the rest in odd sized chunks, none smaller than dice. Carve off any mammoth hunks of fat and hash them up small.. Put the meat in a big stew kettle -- stainless steel works best. Do not use an aluminum kettle. Sprinkle all over with cumin. Like, at least one tablespoon per pound. Two or three will be better.L et the cumin sizzle with the pan juices, but don't let it scorch. Add the anchos. Put in some salt. Not much if you used salt whan browning the beef. Cook a bit over medium high heat. Add spring water to reach three inches over the meat. In most parts of the country -- including probably all of Texas -- municipal tap water won't make good chili. Bring slowly to the boil, then reduce to a simmer and cover the pan
After half an hour, taste the broth and probably add more salt. Not too much at this point because the liquid will cook down. Do not add any other spices -- early on, I tried monkeying around with the basic Walters Family recipe, and aromatics really don't help. Especially, avoid bay leaf, thyme, oregano or rosemary. Do not add black pepper, either, nor any saffron. Saffron rice, however, is very good with Texas chili.
NEVER add any type of roux or other thickening to the broth. Beef, chilis, cumin, salt and good water.
Cover the kettle and let the chili stew slowly for maybe two and a half hours -- or until the meat is tender. It is done when all the cartilage is every piece is fork tender. About forty minutes before the end point is reached, fish out all the anchos. Separate the pulp and skins. The skins will probably peel off. Mash the pulp (coarsely) with a fork. Any skins left will eventually float and make straws -- fish them out.
Taste it. My friend the poet Ed Haile, in Champlain, Virginia, once ran into a problem with bitter anchos. But I never did. Might depend on the anchos. Maybe he left the stems on. I wasn’t there when he made the chili, so I don’t know what happened. .If the anchos seem bitter, try adding sugar by the teaspoon, stirring well after each addition, until the bitter flavor abates. Discard the ancho skin straws if there are any floating around. Separating them from their pulp.Mash the pulp with a fork. Return the coarsely mashed ancho pulp to the kettle, stir, and adjust the cumin and salt. Put the lid back on, and go on stewing for a while.
You can set the pan in the oven at 300 degrees if you like stewing that way better. This saves some trouble, but it's not so much fun.
The meat is done when it's all fork tender. By then, the \exquisite broth will have cooked down to about half an inch over the meat. Maybe an inch. Put in a stick of butter. Stir for a while. Adjust the salt one last time. The broth should be thin (though not watery), and it should be exquisitely tasty. If it seems too thin, take out a saucepan full and reduce that by half over high heat, then add that back into the chili.
Serve with the usual condiments -- sour cream, guacamole, pinto beans, (preferably corn) tortillas, and maybe some salsa. I do like some rice. Leftover chunks make a great burrito. However, the greatness of the burrito will depend quite a lot on the beans.
The chili broth , slightly reduced with some shreds of meat and anchos i it, makes an outstanding sauce for a grilled porterhouse or a grilled Tri Tip, so be sure to save take out two cups. That chili broth is also great on poached eggs.
Chris Walters once made this with serrano chilis when he couldn't find any anchos. The experiment failed. The chili was too hot to eat, even for Chris. He and his then-wife Cecile Clover were living out at Prospect Hill running the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts. Possibly augmenting the anchos with one serrano to add fire would be a good idea. Depends on who’s coming to dinner. On the other hand, why mess around with just beef, ancho chilis, cumin and salt -- which comes so exquisitely close to perfection?
Super Bowl Chili
I had the very good fortune to be the chief judge at the Chili Cookoff in Richmond, Virginia twice running back in the eighties. This was an unsanctioned event, sponsored by a radio station, but the chili was great. There were six other judges. When I walked in with a big pan of basmati rice, they all looked at me funny.
“What’s that?” one asked.
“Oh,” I said. “It’s just big pan of some very good basmati rice.”
“Rice?” he said. “This is a chili cookoff.”
I could see he might have had a little too much coffee.
“Right,” I said. “And I’m the chief judge. Pleased to meet you. Here’s your score sheets. Now let’s go out there and see what we can learn about these people making chili.”
“What’s the rice for?” he persisted.
“Oh,” I said. “Nothing, really. It was on the back seat of my car, so I just brought it in. Let’s all go see how these great chili cooks are doing, shall we? We’ll meet back here in a couple hours?”
Words cannot do justice to the savor of all those many different chilis cooking. It was paradise. The smell was glorious.
I think there were 80 contestants. Well no, probably just 40. My memory gets hazy when I think of tasting all that chili. Eighty might have killed us. Even forty tablespoons of chili is about five cups.
I believe it is impossible to judge a chili properly without tasting at least one good tablespoon. It’s not like wine – you can’t just spit the chili out. The heat as it goes down is part of the experience.
Near as I could make out, all the chili cooks had been inspired to make contest chili that was blazing hot. Blazing is an inadequate word. Some of their chilis could make your eyes water from ten feet away. There may have been a separate betting pool among the chili cooks to see who could make your eyes bug out the farthest.
Back in the judges’ chamber, after the tenth taste, one of the judges called me over. In an undertone, he said: “Say. Maybe – do you think I might could have some of that rice?” I noticed all the others looked up hopefully.
“Rice?” I said. “By damn I plumb forgot about that rice. But that’s what it’s there for. Sort of a palate cleanser. Help yourself.”
Never have I seen grown men so grateful for a bowl of plain white rice.
We eliminated half of the chilis on the first run through and then started again. After a good deal of discussion, we got it down to a dozen. Then we started to discuss the fine points. Which one lingered longest in your mind? Before long we decided on the winners. The Cimarron Rose won both years for their Rattlesnake Chili. I judged it second one year and third the next. I forget whose chili I liked better. So Maybe the Rattlesnake Chili was best after all – at least I still remember it.
Chili should always be an adventure. Great chili cooks rarely make it exactly the same way twice. They almost never use a recipe, except maybe as a guide or map. They just have the concept firmly fixed in mind, and they proceed toward the ultimate goal with commendable certainty and, in most cases, considerable panache.
They are proud of what they do – and should be proud.
Chili is a sacred food. Never forget that. A reverent attitude will help you to achieve celestial results. Great chili is food fit for the gods. It is food that will make you feel you are a god as long as you can go on eating it.
Of course the composition of a pot of chili will depend on what ingredients the chef may have on hand or can easily find at the nearest grocery store. It stands to reason that the better the ingredients, the better your chili will turn out, doesn’t it? But many pots of chili have been ruined right from the start by using the cheapest grade of hamburger.
Do your best to find some ancho chilis – it’s not impossible, even on the East Coast.
A great bowl of chili should be something that you dream of, certainly for days, possibly for weeks, for months, maybe even for years. However, we should all hope that our friends will never have to wait years between bowls of great chili. As a chili cook, you will always look forward to making your next bowl of chili – not constantly, of course, that would be too much. But now and then, from time to time.
I never had a great bowl of chili at a restaurant that I didn’t own. I have had restaurant chili I might eat again. People with lower standards and a less reverent attitude might even call those chilis great. But for me, they inspired little more than an urge to go home and make another great pot of my own chili. I believe, however, that there probably are restaurants – somewhere in Texas – where you can count on getting at least a very good bowl of chili.
Hell, I’m not the world’s greatest authority – I’m just anothher true believer.
The savor of the chili cooking should completely penetrate your house. Guests should remark on it as soon as they walk in the door. They’ll always tell you it is “good.” Often they’ll tell you it’s “great.” But the real test never lies in what they say – it lies in how many bowls they will eat. If the chili really is great, they will keep returning for another bowl. Another two bowls? Three bowls? Even with a chili whose pepper heat is this mild, four bowls might be almost tantamount to suicide.
Though the chili heat of this one is appropriate for chili that will be served not just to strong grown men but also to women and children, the flavor – the savor! – and the experience of eating it are so good that before long you’ll be looking for a reason why you have to make some more. Even after you have fit yourself around as many bowls as you can hold, you may find yourself wondering if maybe … possibly … you can go back for just one little taste again.
This is a relatively traditional American chili con carne with beans and tomato both playing a strong role. The main taste is a blend of ancho chili and cumin.
This chili will serve at least a dozen mixed hearty eaters and ordinary folk, with not much left over. If you want to be completely sure of having some left over, take it out before you serve. If you don’t plan on feeding a big crowd, just cut all the measurements in half.
Super Bowl Chili
3-4 lbs. chili ground beef
6 medium (large) organic yellow onions
12 good cloves of garlic
1 green pepper
1 organic carrot
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
salt
4 tbsps. ancho chili powder
8 tbsps. good cumin
3 tbsps. paprika
3 bay leaves
oregano
4-6 ancho chilis
6 28 oz. cans red kidney beans
2 14 oz. cans diced fire roasted organic tomatoes (with green chilies)
1 can refried pinto beans (no lard)
saffron
water
corn tortillas
pico de gallo
finely chopped onion
chopped cilantro
sour cream
grated cheese
Plenty of nicely cooked basmati or short grain American white rice
Ask the butcher to grind three or four pounds of fairly lean beef chuck (80% lean) by putting it just once through the coarse blade of the grinder. This will not destroy all its fibers and will not cause it to taste like hamburger. Turn it out on a large flat platter and flatten it down gently to an inch and a half thick. Sprinkle it all over with half the ancho chili powder, half the paprika, and salt. Fold it in half. Sprinkle the upper surface with the same ingredients, then turn it over and sprinkle the remaining surface. Work it with your hands to mix the spices in. Set it to browning over high heat in a very large soup kettle with plenty of olive oil. It should cover the bottom completely. Turn it over after the first side is browned, and, as it gets done, begin breaking it up in chunks.
Peel and dice six large onions. Mince twelve cloves of garlic. Tumble these in on top of the browned beef, which should have cooked through by now, and break it up some more. Not too small. You want toothsome little pieces, not sand. Remove the stem, seeds and ribs from a green pepper and cut it up in small dice. You can singe the skin off if you like, but since almost no one will notice (you can trust me on this), why bother?
Put in one large carrot cut in pieces about half the size of a kidney bean. Do not put in any celery. Celery is anathema to chili. So is chervil.
As the onion takes on a translucent color, a delightful aroma will begin to permeate your house. You may wonder why you need any other ingredients. Taste the mixture from time to time and adjust the salt slightly if necessary. You don’t want it to be too salty, but you don’t want it to taste unsalted, either. Keep in mind it’s going to cook down some.
Lower the flame when it begins to stick. You really don’t want it to scorch. If it does start sticking more than it should, remove the kettle from the flame, let it rest a few minutes, check the bottom to be sure it hasn’t actually burned, and then stir it up carefully after the sticky part has relaxed. Continue cooking until the mixture is dry, adding more olive oil if necessary. At this point, you can put the kettle in the oven at 300° for half an hour or so. This will help concentrate the flavor back into the meat. Add three more tablespoons of cumin, more ancho chili powder if you have some left, and four to six ancho chilis, seeds and stems removed. The anchos should be torn into pieces small enough to adorn a spoon of chili. Some will be larger than others.
By this time its savor will be heavenly.
Meanwhile, open six cans of red kidney beans and two cans of diced fire roasted organic tomatoes with green chilies. When the meat mixture seems ready – when you have sampled it to your heart’s content and it seems right – pour the beans and all their liquid into the kettle. Add the tomatoes and a good tweak of Spanish saffron. The saffron should be just a grace note, something not really noticed that yet adds a delicate savor. Put in some oregano to gentle the tomato. Not too much – it can get bitter. There won’t be enough liquid, so add about a quart of good fresh-tasting water. Stir to mix. It will be fairly soupy at this point, but don’t worry – it will cook down a bit.
Bring to a simmer over medium high heat, stirring frequently to be sure it’s not scorching. Although you don’t have to be in the kitchen, you will have to keep returning.
At this point, some fat will rise to the surface. Don’t skim it off. It is a mixture of beef fat and olive oil, and it carries quite a lot of the best flavor.
At this point you should be roughly 2-1/2 to three hours away from eating chili. Set the kettle in a 350° oven. Let it repose there for a total of two hours. During this time, you can feel free to do other things. You can even leave the house for a while. Just be careful to look in on it from time to time and give it a good stir. Plunge a dipper toward the bottom and remove a good test sample to be sure the beef chunks are not too large and that the flavors are all blending properly.
After an hour or so, when the chili will have cooked down by at least an inch, remove a cup of liquid. Put it in a large bowl and mix it to a smooth paste with a small can of refried beans. Thin this with another cup of liquid, then return it all to the chili and stir slowly for a while to mix completely. Let the chili simmer on top of the stove for five minutes or so on very low heat, without stirring, until the purple brown fat has risen to the surface again.
Meanwhile, tear (or cut) at least a dozen (two dozen might be better) corn tortillas into bite sized pieces. Spread these over the surface. Push down lightly so that they all get wet. Do not use corn chips. Sprinkle with a little cumin and some ancho chili powder if there is any left. Return to the oven for another hour.
Taste to be sure the meat is tender. Take the kettle out of the oven and let it rest over no flame at all for at least half an hour. It will thicken slightly as it cools and there will be
For the dishup, serve in large bowls with the following items nearby for free choice: corn tortillas, pico de gallo, finely chopped onion, chopped cilantro, sour cream and grated cheese. Some people like a few shreds of crisp lettuce. Plain white rice (basmati rice or American short grain) is always welcome.
Note: The chopped onion can be supplemented (but not replaced) by the following quick onion pickle: cut one large yellow onion in half and then into very, very, very thin slices. Put these in a large bowl and sprinkle them heavily with salt. Let them rest about an hour, until quite a lot of juice has come off. Cover them with good fresh water and stir until the salt dissolves, then pour the liquid down the drain. Rinse them again to get almost all the salt off. Transfer to a smaller bowl that just holds them, and sprinkle with enough fresh lime juice to drown them. Cover the bowl and let it rest overnight in the refrigerator.
Note: Canned kidney beans are specified. I like them better than fresh dry kidney beans, which tend to be mealy. You’ll want about a pound and a half or maybe two of dry red kidney beans if you decide to try that route. Using canned beans also saves the trouble of soaking them overnight and stewing them separately in a large pot for an hour before adding them to the chili, and thus gives you more control over the timing of when everything will be ready to eat.
Note: Ancho chili powder, fairly mild and with good flavor, is now available commercially from The Spice Hunter. The mildness of the powder probably indicates that the seeds and stems were removed before grinding. You can make your own ancho chili powder in your coffee grinder. Remove the stems and seeds and tear the anchos into pieces small enough to fit into the coffee grinder. Whirl until they’re powdered and repeat the process until you have enough. Don’t worry about affecting the flavor of your next cup of coffee – it will be affected, but in a positive way. In fact, adding a small piece of ancho chili to the coffee beans as you grind them may become, if not a habit, then at least a regular possibility. Believe me. You should try this. Works best with dark-roasted premium coffees (of course) and makes an excellent nikoloshka. (Dark coffee or espresso (no milk) with a twist of lemon.)
Note: If at some point you find that your chili has actually started to scorch, first give yourself a good mental spanking for leaving it alone too long. Chili, like children, needs much looking after. Stirring up the scorched part will just make matters worse. Take it off the heat and immediately pour it all into a new pan (or pans). Clean the first pan carefully, removing any trace of scorched stuff. Put the chili back in and go on. More carefully. Of course, if the chili really does taste burned, you will have to throw it away. Live and learn. And next time, pay attention.
“What’s that?” one asked.
“Oh,” I said. “It’s just big pan of some very good basmati rice.”
“Rice?” he said. “This is a chili cookoff.”
I could see he might have had a little too much coffee.
“Right,” I said. “And I’m the chief judge. Pleased to meet you. Here’s your score sheets. Now let’s go out there and see what we can learn about these people making chili.”
“What’s the rice for?” he persisted.
“Oh,” I said. “Nothing, really. It was on the back seat of my car, so I just brought it in. Let’s all go see how these great chili cooks are doing, shall we? We’ll meet back here in a couple hours?”
Words cannot do justice to the savor of all those many different chilis cooking. It was paradise. The smell was glorious.
I think there were 80 contestants. Well no, probably just 40. My memory gets hazy when I think of tasting all that chili. Eighty might have killed us. Even forty tablespoons of chili is about five cups.
I believe it is impossible to judge a chili properly without tasting at least one good tablespoon. It’s not like wine – you can’t just spit the chili out. The heat as it goes down is part of the experience.
Near as I could make out, all the chili cooks had been inspired to make contest chili that was blazing hot. Blazing is an inadequate word. Some of their chilis could make your eyes water from ten feet away. There may have been a separate betting pool among the chili cooks to see who could make your eyes bug out the farthest.
Back in the judges’ chamber, after the tenth taste, one of the judges called me over. In an undertone, he said: “Say. Maybe – do you think I might could have some of that rice?” I noticed all the others looked up hopefully.
“Rice?” I said. “By damn I plumb forgot about that rice. But that’s what it’s there for. Sort of a palate cleanser. Help yourself.”
Never have I seen grown men so grateful for a bowl of plain white rice.
We eliminated half of the chilis on the first run through and then started again. After a good deal of discussion, we got it down to a dozen. Then we started to discuss the fine points. Which one lingered longest in your mind? Before long we decided on the winners. The Cimarron Rose won both years for their Rattlesnake Chili. I judged it second one year and third the next. I forget whose chili I liked better. So Maybe the Rattlesnake Chili was best after all – at least I still remember it.
Chili should always be an adventure. Great chili cooks rarely make it exactly the same way twice. They almost never use a recipe, except maybe as a guide or map. They just have the concept firmly fixed in mind, and they proceed toward the ultimate goal with commendable certainty and, in most cases, considerable panache.
They are proud of what they do – and should be proud.
Chili is a sacred food. Never forget that. A reverent attitude will help you to achieve celestial results. Great chili is food fit for the gods. It is food that will make you feel you are a god as long as you can go on eating it.
Of course the composition of a pot of chili will depend on what ingredients the chef may have on hand or can easily find at the nearest grocery store. It stands to reason that the better the ingredients, the better your chili will turn out, doesn’t it? But many pots of chili have been ruined right from the start by using the cheapest grade of hamburger.
Do your best to find some ancho chilis – it’s not impossible, even on the East Coast.
A great bowl of chili should be something that you dream of, certainly for days, possibly for weeks, for months, maybe even for years. However, we should all hope that our friends will never have to wait years between bowls of great chili. As a chili cook, you will always look forward to making your next bowl of chili – not constantly, of course, that would be too much. But now and then, from time to time.
I never had a great bowl of chili at a restaurant that I didn’t own. I have had restaurant chili I might eat again. People with lower standards and a less reverent attitude might even call those chilis great. But for me, they inspired little more than an urge to go home and make another great pot of my own chili. I believe, however, that there probably are restaurants – somewhere in Texas – where you can count on getting at least a very good bowl of chili.
Hell, I’m not the world’s greatest authority – I’m just anothher true believer.
The savor of the chili cooking should completely penetrate your house. Guests should remark on it as soon as they walk in the door. They’ll always tell you it is “good.” Often they’ll tell you it’s “great.” But the real test never lies in what they say – it lies in how many bowls they will eat. If the chili really is great, they will keep returning for another bowl. Another two bowls? Three bowls? Even with a chili whose pepper heat is this mild, four bowls might be almost tantamount to suicide.
Though the chili heat of this one is appropriate for chili that will be served not just to strong grown men but also to women and children, the flavor – the savor! – and the experience of eating it are so good that before long you’ll be looking for a reason why you have to make some more. Even after you have fit yourself around as many bowls as you can hold, you may find yourself wondering if maybe … possibly … you can go back for just one little taste again.
This is a relatively traditional American chili con carne with beans and tomato both playing a strong role. The main taste is a blend of ancho chili and cumin.
This chili will serve at least a dozen mixed hearty eaters and ordinary folk, with not much left over. If you want to be completely sure of having some left over, take it out before you serve. If you don’t plan on feeding a big crowd, just cut all the measurements in half.
Super Bowl Chili
3-4 lbs. chili ground beef
6 medium (large) organic yellow onions
12 good cloves of garlic
1 green pepper
1 organic carrot
1 cup extra virgin olive oil
salt
4 tbsps. ancho chili powder
8 tbsps. good cumin
3 tbsps. paprika
3 bay leaves
oregano
4-6 ancho chilis
6 28 oz. cans red kidney beans
2 14 oz. cans diced fire roasted organic tomatoes (with green chilies)
1 can refried pinto beans (no lard)
saffron
water
corn tortillas
pico de gallo
finely chopped onion
chopped cilantro
sour cream
grated cheese
Plenty of nicely cooked basmati or short grain American white rice
Ask the butcher to grind three or four pounds of fairly lean beef chuck (80% lean) by putting it just once through the coarse blade of the grinder. This will not destroy all its fibers and will not cause it to taste like hamburger. Turn it out on a large flat platter and flatten it down gently to an inch and a half thick. Sprinkle it all over with half the ancho chili powder, half the paprika, and salt. Fold it in half. Sprinkle the upper surface with the same ingredients, then turn it over and sprinkle the remaining surface. Work it with your hands to mix the spices in. Set it to browning over high heat in a very large soup kettle with plenty of olive oil. It should cover the bottom completely. Turn it over after the first side is browned, and, as it gets done, begin breaking it up in chunks.
Peel and dice six large onions. Mince twelve cloves of garlic. Tumble these in on top of the browned beef, which should have cooked through by now, and break it up some more. Not too small. You want toothsome little pieces, not sand. Remove the stem, seeds and ribs from a green pepper and cut it up in small dice. You can singe the skin off if you like, but since almost no one will notice (you can trust me on this), why bother?
Put in one large carrot cut in pieces about half the size of a kidney bean. Do not put in any celery. Celery is anathema to chili. So is chervil.
As the onion takes on a translucent color, a delightful aroma will begin to permeate your house. You may wonder why you need any other ingredients. Taste the mixture from time to time and adjust the salt slightly if necessary. You don’t want it to be too salty, but you don’t want it to taste unsalted, either. Keep in mind it’s going to cook down some.
Lower the flame when it begins to stick. You really don’t want it to scorch. If it does start sticking more than it should, remove the kettle from the flame, let it rest a few minutes, check the bottom to be sure it hasn’t actually burned, and then stir it up carefully after the sticky part has relaxed. Continue cooking until the mixture is dry, adding more olive oil if necessary. At this point, you can put the kettle in the oven at 300° for half an hour or so. This will help concentrate the flavor back into the meat. Add three more tablespoons of cumin, more ancho chili powder if you have some left, and four to six ancho chilis, seeds and stems removed. The anchos should be torn into pieces small enough to adorn a spoon of chili. Some will be larger than others.
By this time its savor will be heavenly.
Meanwhile, open six cans of red kidney beans and two cans of diced fire roasted organic tomatoes with green chilies. When the meat mixture seems ready – when you have sampled it to your heart’s content and it seems right – pour the beans and all their liquid into the kettle. Add the tomatoes and a good tweak of Spanish saffron. The saffron should be just a grace note, something not really noticed that yet adds a delicate savor. Put in some oregano to gentle the tomato. Not too much – it can get bitter. There won’t be enough liquid, so add about a quart of good fresh-tasting water. Stir to mix. It will be fairly soupy at this point, but don’t worry – it will cook down a bit.
Bring to a simmer over medium high heat, stirring frequently to be sure it’s not scorching. Although you don’t have to be in the kitchen, you will have to keep returning.
At this point, some fat will rise to the surface. Don’t skim it off. It is a mixture of beef fat and olive oil, and it carries quite a lot of the best flavor.
At this point you should be roughly 2-1/2 to three hours away from eating chili. Set the kettle in a 350° oven. Let it repose there for a total of two hours. During this time, you can feel free to do other things. You can even leave the house for a while. Just be careful to look in on it from time to time and give it a good stir. Plunge a dipper toward the bottom and remove a good test sample to be sure the beef chunks are not too large and that the flavors are all blending properly.
After an hour or so, when the chili will have cooked down by at least an inch, remove a cup of liquid. Put it in a large bowl and mix it to a smooth paste with a small can of refried beans. Thin this with another cup of liquid, then return it all to the chili and stir slowly for a while to mix completely. Let the chili simmer on top of the stove for five minutes or so on very low heat, without stirring, until the purple brown fat has risen to the surface again.
Meanwhile, tear (or cut) at least a dozen (two dozen might be better) corn tortillas into bite sized pieces. Spread these over the surface. Push down lightly so that they all get wet. Do not use corn chips. Sprinkle with a little cumin and some ancho chili powder if there is any left. Return to the oven for another hour.
Taste to be sure the meat is tender. Take the kettle out of the oven and let it rest over no flame at all for at least half an hour. It will thicken slightly as it cools and there will be
For the dishup, serve in large bowls with the following items nearby for free choice: corn tortillas, pico de gallo, finely chopped onion, chopped cilantro, sour cream and grated cheese. Some people like a few shreds of crisp lettuce. Plain white rice (basmati rice or American short grain) is always welcome.
Note: The chopped onion can be supplemented (but not replaced) by the following quick onion pickle: cut one large yellow onion in half and then into very, very, very thin slices. Put these in a large bowl and sprinkle them heavily with salt. Let them rest about an hour, until quite a lot of juice has come off. Cover them with good fresh water and stir until the salt dissolves, then pour the liquid down the drain. Rinse them again to get almost all the salt off. Transfer to a smaller bowl that just holds them, and sprinkle with enough fresh lime juice to drown them. Cover the bowl and let it rest overnight in the refrigerator.
Note: Canned kidney beans are specified. I like them better than fresh dry kidney beans, which tend to be mealy. You’ll want about a pound and a half or maybe two of dry red kidney beans if you decide to try that route. Using canned beans also saves the trouble of soaking them overnight and stewing them separately in a large pot for an hour before adding them to the chili, and thus gives you more control over the timing of when everything will be ready to eat.
Note: Ancho chili powder, fairly mild and with good flavor, is now available commercially from The Spice Hunter. The mildness of the powder probably indicates that the seeds and stems were removed before grinding. You can make your own ancho chili powder in your coffee grinder. Remove the stems and seeds and tear the anchos into pieces small enough to fit into the coffee grinder. Whirl until they’re powdered and repeat the process until you have enough. Don’t worry about affecting the flavor of your next cup of coffee – it will be affected, but in a positive way. In fact, adding a small piece of ancho chili to the coffee beans as you grind them may become, if not a habit, then at least a regular possibility. Believe me. You should try this. Works best with dark-roasted premium coffees (of course) and makes an excellent nikoloshka. (Dark coffee or espresso (no milk) with a twist of lemon.)
Note: If at some point you find that your chili has actually started to scorch, first give yourself a good mental spanking for leaving it alone too long. Chili, like children, needs much looking after. Stirring up the scorched part will just make matters worse. Take it off the heat and immediately pour it all into a new pan (or pans). Clean the first pan carefully, removing any trace of scorched stuff. Put the chili back in and go on. More carefully. Of course, if the chili really does taste burned, you will have to throw it away. Live and learn. And next time, pay attention.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Pulled Pork and Szegediner Goulash
Little Red and I started out toward Adam’s Market in Kingston hankering for lamb chops, but once there we soon discovered that the price of lamb chops has risen into the stratosphere. Fortunately, there were some very tasty looking boneless pork butts—perfect for making Pulled Pork, and I reckoned one would do very well for making both Pulled Pork and Szegediner Goulash, which is made with pork, sauerkraut and plenty of Pride of Szeged Hungarian Paprika. The pork butts were only $1.09 a pound, which seemed about 1/18 of the price of the lamb chops we wanted.
It is better to make pulled pork in a slow smoker. Even a Weber Grill (charcoal) will much better results—but Oven Roasted Pulled Pork can be excellent, and it is certainly better than no barbecue at all. If you’re hankering for a smoke flavor you can always dab on a bit of liquid smoke, or roast some hickory chips in the oven for a while.
Remove any twine netting from the pork butt. Sprinkle it all over rather heaviliy with salt and pepper. Insert three or four cloves’ worth of slivered American garlic into slits poked into the fatty parts of the pork butt. Salt and pepper the butt again and sprinkle it all over with Pride of Szeged Sweet Hungarian Paprika — which we also got at Adam’s. Place the butt in a roasting pan fat side up. If necessary prop it with some potato slices. Set the pan in an oven preheated to 450° oven until it is well-browned. If the pan starts smoking add a little water or turn the heat down. Or do both. It may well take half an hour to brown the beast.
Turn the heat down to 325° and roast for an hour. Meanwhile, prepare some Yukon Gold potatoes by removing the eyes, the stems, and any bad spots, then cut them in half. Peel two large onions. Coarsely chop one; cut the other into half rings. Take the meat out of the oven after an hour, and put it on a platter.
Put the halved potatoes in the roasting pan. Strew the onion over everything, then put the pork butt back in the roasting pan fat side up and continue roasting it for half an hour while you put the goulash together:
For Szegediner Goulash, cut the pork butt into eating sized pieces. Tumble the pork pieces into a large stewpot with a goodly amount of the drippings from the pulled pork pann and brown them over medium high heat, stirring occasionally. Don't let them scorch, but a good forthright flame will be essential. Sprinkle on a bit more paprika and also some salt and papper. Add a cup of sliced mushrooms as the pork begins to brown. Add a large onion, diced, and six cloves of garlic, coarsely chopped. Let the vegetables brown. You might like to add a carrot and one stalk of celery, both minced. Sprinkle everything with two tablespoons of Pride of Szeged Hungarian Paprika—preferably one tablespoon of sweet and one tablespoon of hot. Add a bay leaf and a tablespoon of thyme. Add some freshly ground black pepper. Open a package of sauerkraut and drain it in a colander. You will not need to soak the sauerkraut unless it seems extremely sour. Let the sauerkraut join the rest of the goulash ingredients in the stew pot. Add enough water or preferably pork or ham stock (do not use canned broth) to cover by an inch. Bring to the boil, and then reduce the flame to a good simmer and cover the pan. ** The goulash will need to cook at least two hours for the meat to get properly tender. About half an hour before it is done, remove most of the excess liquid to another pan or a skillet and reduce it down until it gets thick. Meanwhile, add a cup of sour crream to the goulash, and stir it in well. Add the reduced cooking liquid, stir well, add a tablespoon of chervil, and adjust the seasonings. Let your goulash simmer a few minutes, then check the seasonings again. Finish the sauce with a tablespoon of red wine and some butter, if you like. Serve over broad egg noodles.
At the ** above, return to the pulled pork: Now cut two sheets of aluminum foil, both long enough to make a tent over the the pulled pork and the entire pan. Crease them several times along one edge to make a tight seal and then spread them out to make double wide foil. Haul the pork out of the oven. Use the double wide foil to cover the pork and make a tight seal around the pan. Put the pan back in the oven and lower the heat to 300°. You can sprinkle the top all over with Tabasco or Cholula hot sauce, if you like. It will need to cook at least two more hours to be fork-tender. Long, slow cooking is essential.
Lift one corner of the foil and use a fork to test for doneness—will it pull? If so, it’s done. When the meat is tender, remove it to a platter and use two dinner forks to pull it apart into shreds. If some chunks won’t separate easily, put them on a cutting board and hash them up. The outside crispy brown pieces are the best. Be sure to eat most of them before choipping them into the rest of the barbecue.
To make coleslaw: ½ a large head of cabbage, one jar of Marzetti Slaw Dressing. Shred the cabbage on a mandoline or using a chef’s knife, or grate it on the WhizzinArt. Put in a large bowl. Add the Marzetti slaw dressing. Kraft Slaw Dressing will not give good results. Mix well. Let stand an hour in the refrigerator. Serve over—or at least next to—pulled pork barbecue.
It is better to make pulled pork in a slow smoker. Even a Weber Grill (charcoal) will much better results—but Oven Roasted Pulled Pork can be excellent, and it is certainly better than no barbecue at all. If you’re hankering for a smoke flavor you can always dab on a bit of liquid smoke, or roast some hickory chips in the oven for a while.
Remove any twine netting from the pork butt. Sprinkle it all over rather heaviliy with salt and pepper. Insert three or four cloves’ worth of slivered American garlic into slits poked into the fatty parts of the pork butt. Salt and pepper the butt again and sprinkle it all over with Pride of Szeged Sweet Hungarian Paprika — which we also got at Adam’s. Place the butt in a roasting pan fat side up. If necessary prop it with some potato slices. Set the pan in an oven preheated to 450° oven until it is well-browned. If the pan starts smoking add a little water or turn the heat down. Or do both. It may well take half an hour to brown the beast.
Turn the heat down to 325° and roast for an hour. Meanwhile, prepare some Yukon Gold potatoes by removing the eyes, the stems, and any bad spots, then cut them in half. Peel two large onions. Coarsely chop one; cut the other into half rings. Take the meat out of the oven after an hour, and put it on a platter.
If you are planning to make Szegediner Goulash, cut off a third of the pork butt. A pound and a half or two pounds. It will not be cooked done yet. If you are just making pulled pork, skip all the goulash instructions.
Put the halved potatoes in the roasting pan. Strew the onion over everything, then put the pork butt back in the roasting pan fat side up and continue roasting it for half an hour while you put the goulash together:
For Szegediner Goulash, cut the pork butt into eating sized pieces. Tumble the pork pieces into a large stewpot with a goodly amount of the drippings from the pulled pork pann and brown them over medium high heat, stirring occasionally. Don't let them scorch, but a good forthright flame will be essential. Sprinkle on a bit more paprika and also some salt and papper. Add a cup of sliced mushrooms as the pork begins to brown. Add a large onion, diced, and six cloves of garlic, coarsely chopped. Let the vegetables brown. You might like to add a carrot and one stalk of celery, both minced. Sprinkle everything with two tablespoons of Pride of Szeged Hungarian Paprika—preferably one tablespoon of sweet and one tablespoon of hot. Add a bay leaf and a tablespoon of thyme. Add some freshly ground black pepper. Open a package of sauerkraut and drain it in a colander. You will not need to soak the sauerkraut unless it seems extremely sour. Let the sauerkraut join the rest of the goulash ingredients in the stew pot. Add enough water or preferably pork or ham stock (do not use canned broth) to cover by an inch. Bring to the boil, and then reduce the flame to a good simmer and cover the pan. ** The goulash will need to cook at least two hours for the meat to get properly tender. About half an hour before it is done, remove most of the excess liquid to another pan or a skillet and reduce it down until it gets thick. Meanwhile, add a cup of sour crream to the goulash, and stir it in well. Add the reduced cooking liquid, stir well, add a tablespoon of chervil, and adjust the seasonings. Let your goulash simmer a few minutes, then check the seasonings again. Finish the sauce with a tablespoon of red wine and some butter, if you like. Serve over broad egg noodles.
At the ** above, return to the pulled pork: Now cut two sheets of aluminum foil, both long enough to make a tent over the the pulled pork and the entire pan. Crease them several times along one edge to make a tight seal and then spread them out to make double wide foil. Haul the pork out of the oven. Use the double wide foil to cover the pork and make a tight seal around the pan. Put the pan back in the oven and lower the heat to 300°. You can sprinkle the top all over with Tabasco or Cholula hot sauce, if you like. It will need to cook at least two more hours to be fork-tender. Long, slow cooking is essential.
Lift one corner of the foil and use a fork to test for doneness—will it pull? If so, it’s done. When the meat is tender, remove it to a platter and use two dinner forks to pull it apart into shreds. If some chunks won’t separate easily, put them on a cutting board and hash them up. The outside crispy brown pieces are the best. Be sure to eat most of them before choipping them into the rest of the barbecue.
Barbecue sauce is not essential. I recommend you don’t use it. Down south, pulled pork is served on soft buns; probably because they don’t have decent poppy seed hard rolls. I like coleslaw on my barbecue. Some do not.
To make coleslaw: ½ a large head of cabbage, one jar of Marzetti Slaw Dressing. Shred the cabbage on a mandoline or using a chef’s knife, or grate it on the WhizzinArt. Put in a large bowl. Add the Marzetti slaw dressing. Kraft Slaw Dressing will not give good results. Mix well. Let stand an hour in the refrigerator. Serve over—or at least next to—pulled pork barbecue.
While everything finishes cooking, you'll have just enough time to make some pâte à choux for cream puffs. Bake the creampuffs while your pulling the pork. Fill them with vanilla ice cream and top with chocolate ganache made by melting Lindt milk chocolate with some heavy cream.
God bless you all, and please invite me to dinner.
Three Indian Restaurants
Little Red and I been out a few times lately to some Indian restaurants: Kingston Indian Restaurant (downtown, where the Tea Garden used to be), Mountain Gate (in Woodstock), Tanjore (in Rhinebeck) and the Indian Grill (on Broadway in Kingston). We had mixed results.
Mountain Gate made me miss the old Deanie’s. It seemed a well-appointed tablecloth restaurant, clean and well-lighted, and perhaps on a busier night the kitchen might have pleased me so much I'd be willing to overlook the price.
About aten days later we went down to Tanjore early on New Year's Eve. It was a buffet night. The rice was good. The samosas on the buffet, however, were too soggy to eat and the nan had been steamed until it took on an oddly gelatinous texture. Little Red liked the lamb curry; but I thought it was not only a bit dull but also that it had been stewed a bit too long. We both liked the tandoori chicken wings. I liked the vegetable biryani and the palak paneer; the chicken tikka masala was unexceptional -- did you know it's the new "national dish" of Great Britain? -- and seemed to have been made, if that is possible, with a starting base of canned tomato soup. There were many choices on the buffet, but overall most items seemed to be swimming in a lot of gravy. The chai was not bad, though, and it was included in the price of the buffet, as was dessert. I especially liked the honey balls and the white cheese balls in syrup, but by that point in the evening Little Red was too full of curry to think of eating dessert.
If Tanjore was closer, I might go fairly often, but Rhinebeck seems a bit far, though I might go back for a masala dhosa if I’m in the area on other business. This meal also cost nearly $40.00 for two people (including the tip), but at least we got plenty to eat, and it did seem that Little Red was at least warming up to the different types of Indian food. Perhaps we would have fared better later in the evening, or on a non-holiday night.
At Kingston’s Indian Grill, which is on Broadway near but across the street from the mid-town Diesings, we did fairly well, I thought, though Little Red felt we should have gotten more of lamb curry for dinner. It’s true we did not get much of the curry, but at least it was good. The papadoms at the start were freshly crisped. The samosa chat was a relatively crisp samosa in a bowl of chickpeas with yogurt sauce—and there seemed to be a lot of chickpeas. The alu nan was toasted nice and crispy on the exterior. I forgot to order chutney. A large party sitting nearby got some very nice looking tandoori meats on sizzling platters. There were not many seats in the restaurant. The carpet seemed perhaps even older than the carpet at Eng’s. Possibly a new carpet sweeper would help keep it cleaner. Though I found the lamb curry to be spiced just right, and we both agreed that it tasted good, Little Red felt we did not get much of it (the IRP again), and Little Red complained it was slightly to hot for her. So I ordered a mango lassi. We went home relatively happy, because at least we hadn’t spent an arm and a leg, and we both thought the tandoori grill items might be fun to try in the future. The Indian Grill has a lunch buffet, which made Little Red’s ears prick up, but alas they seem to have taken lamb chops off the new menu.
Overall, none of the curries we ate at any of these restaurants was better than the curried potatoes or lamb curry I can easily make at home using Patak’s Mild Curry Paste — which you can find at Hannaford's.
The Hudson Valley seems ready for a few totally vegetarian restaurants like the Udupi Palace, so I can at least hope some udupi cuisine nearby ... before long.
Kingston Indian Restaurant was the first place we tried. Little Red had never been to an Indian restaurant before, but she claims to like lamb curry, and I wanted a masala dhosa. I rode my bike over from Woodstock, down the Sawkill Road through Zena, and we tried the lunch buffet. It was not bad. Little Red like the lamb curry and the tandoori chicken. It seemed to be the only restaurant in downtwon Kingston that had a good sprinkling of people at the tables -- but that was probably just an illusion. It seemed "a clean, well-lighted place." The wait staff and the owner were friendly. They had only just opened a week or ten days before our first visit. There was no dhosa on the menu. Well -- no matter. Many Indian restaurants do not serve dhosas.
We tried Mountain Gate next. Little Red and I were the only two people in the restaurant when we got there and no one else came in before we left. Possibly Christmas Eve is not the best time to visit an Indian restaurant? The waitress, an American teenager, looked after us fairly well. We liked the creamy chicken and coconut soup. And the papadoms. Mountain Gate does not have a dhosa on the menu. The dining room seemed clean. They charged me what seemed a steep price -- $3.50 -- for a cup of tea made with a Lipton tea bag—not even Brooke Bond Red Label. Little Red and I managed to get enough to eat for around $40.00—tip included. I call this the “Indian restaurant problem”—I think you often pay what seems a lot for what you get at an Indian restaurant. Overall, my opinion is we paid nearly twice as much as the meal might properly have cost — but that's just my opinion. The dining room was a bit chilly.
We tried Mountain Gate next. Little Red and I were the only two people in the restaurant when we got there and no one else came in before we left. Possibly Christmas Eve is not the best time to visit an Indian restaurant? The waitress, an American teenager, looked after us fairly well. We liked the creamy chicken and coconut soup. And the papadoms. Mountain Gate does not have a dhosa on the menu. The dining room seemed clean. They charged me what seemed a steep price -- $3.50 -- for a cup of tea made with a Lipton tea bag—not even Brooke Bond Red Label. Little Red and I managed to get enough to eat for around $40.00—tip included. I call this the “Indian restaurant problem”—I think you often pay what seems a lot for what you get at an Indian restaurant. Overall, my opinion is we paid nearly twice as much as the meal might properly have cost — but that's just my opinion. The dining room was a bit chilly.
Mountain Gate made me miss the old Deanie’s. It seemed a well-appointed tablecloth restaurant, clean and well-lighted, and perhaps on a busier night the kitchen might have pleased me so much I'd be willing to overlook the price.
About aten days later we went down to Tanjore early on New Year's Eve. It was a buffet night. The rice was good. The samosas on the buffet, however, were too soggy to eat and the nan had been steamed until it took on an oddly gelatinous texture. Little Red liked the lamb curry; but I thought it was not only a bit dull but also that it had been stewed a bit too long. We both liked the tandoori chicken wings. I liked the vegetable biryani and the palak paneer; the chicken tikka masala was unexceptional -- did you know it's the new "national dish" of Great Britain? -- and seemed to have been made, if that is possible, with a starting base of canned tomato soup. There were many choices on the buffet, but overall most items seemed to be swimming in a lot of gravy. The chai was not bad, though, and it was included in the price of the buffet, as was dessert. I especially liked the honey balls and the white cheese balls in syrup, but by that point in the evening Little Red was too full of curry to think of eating dessert.
If Tanjore was closer, I might go fairly often, but Rhinebeck seems a bit far, though I might go back for a masala dhosa if I’m in the area on other business. This meal also cost nearly $40.00 for two people (including the tip), but at least we got plenty to eat, and it did seem that Little Red was at least warming up to the different types of Indian food. Perhaps we would have fared better later in the evening, or on a non-holiday night.
At Kingston’s Indian Grill, which is on Broadway near but across the street from the mid-town Diesings, we did fairly well, I thought, though Little Red felt we should have gotten more of lamb curry for dinner. It’s true we did not get much of the curry, but at least it was good. The papadoms at the start were freshly crisped. The samosa chat was a relatively crisp samosa in a bowl of chickpeas with yogurt sauce—and there seemed to be a lot of chickpeas. The alu nan was toasted nice and crispy on the exterior. I forgot to order chutney. A large party sitting nearby got some very nice looking tandoori meats on sizzling platters. There were not many seats in the restaurant. The carpet seemed perhaps even older than the carpet at Eng’s. Possibly a new carpet sweeper would help keep it cleaner. Though I found the lamb curry to be spiced just right, and we both agreed that it tasted good, Little Red felt we did not get much of it (the IRP again), and Little Red complained it was slightly to hot for her. So I ordered a mango lassi. We went home relatively happy, because at least we hadn’t spent an arm and a leg, and we both thought the tandoori grill items might be fun to try in the future. The Indian Grill has a lunch buffet, which made Little Red’s ears prick up, but alas they seem to have taken lamb chops off the new menu.
Overall, none of the curries we ate at any of these restaurants was better than the curried potatoes or lamb curry I can easily make at home using Patak’s Mild Curry Paste — which you can find at Hannaford's.
The Hudson Valley seems ready for a few totally vegetarian restaurants like the Udupi Palace, so I can at least hope some udupi cuisine nearby ... before long.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Burro di Parma Italian Butter
Burro di Parma—the best butter I have ever eaten. Highest quality, best flavor. Great Italian Butter. Far superior to the Danish Lurpak and to the organic American cultured butter. Available at Sam’s Club. (Perhaps only at Sam’s Club? From the production of Parmigiano Reggiano, where the true Parmesan—Parmigiana—the King of Cheese! Derives. Evidently it all starts with the cows. Packed in 17.5 (1.1 lb) blocks. The heavy paper paper packaging with its green and red stripe shows a blue line drawing of an Italian milkmaid. No trace of surface discoloration, no off flavor near the surface. Take two blocks of this butter home with you.
Stalle Selezionate, vacche selezionate, panna altamente selezionata. Questo burro, dal sapore fragrante e delicato è e prodotto da creme pastorizzate del latte raccolto nella zona di Parma e Reggio Emilia, dove si produce il miglior formaggio italiano. La qualità è ineguagliable in quanto il latte utilizzato è altamente selezionato secundo severi e rigorossi disciplinari di produzione. Materia grassa 83% butter fat. Packed by Montanari & Gruzza, Via Newton 33 (RE) Italy.
www.delitia.com
Stalle Selezionate, vacche selezionate, panna altamente selezionata. Questo burro, dal sapore fragrante e delicato è e prodotto da creme pastorizzate del latte raccolto nella zona di Parma e Reggio Emilia, dove si produce il miglior formaggio italiano. La qualità è ineguagliable in quanto il latte utilizzato è altamente selezionato secundo severi e rigorossi disciplinari di produzione. Materia grassa 83% butter fat. Packed by Montanari & Gruzza, Via Newton 33 (RE) Italy.
www.delitia.com
Monday, January 18, 2010
The Omnivorous Epicure?
Although I like to think of myself as "primarily a novelist," I started out as The Omnivorous Epicure; I'll eat anything that tastes good. My first effort was a food column that appeared in eight daily newspapers. I started writing it while running a horse farm near Charlottesville, Virginia.
That was long before I published a prize-winning novel and acquired an MFA in Fiction Writing from Virginia Commonwealth University -- I started my career in journalism with a high school diploma from Onteora. I was a sports reporter on the Kingston Daily Freeman ... back in the Linotype era, when Charlie Tiano was the Sports Editor. I miss the buzz of working in a newsroom, though not as much as I have missed writing about food.
After teaching cooking and wine tasting, I reviewed restaurants in Richmond, Virginia for awhile. My favorite red wine is Morgon, though I like Pommard, and also Chinon. I might like California reds more if they didn't seem so over-priced; and since the left coast wine laws have no teeth, you never really know what you might be drinking.. I also love the Rheingaus and Moselles, though Mersault would get the nod if only they could be a bit more reliable; but nothing compares to Sauternes.
My first restaurant was so successful that I never got a chance to do any catering. I have worked in a number of kitchens and also as a restaurant manager. I know the business. Most of all, I know how hard it is.
My first cookbook, The Hundred Glories of American Cuisine, is almost ready for a publisher.
I rarely visit a restaurant alone -- what would be the point? -- but I don't always visit more than once before writing the review. I like to write about the whole performance, not just the food. Buffets usually bore me, but I love church suppers. And bake sales.
My favorite meal is the Thanksgiving feast. However, in the future I'm making grilled lamb, not roast turkey. When you come right down to it, I prefer a spit-roated lamb to a slow-cooked roast pig. I do love the barbecue burrito at the Blue Ribbon in West Newton. It may be impossible to improve on the cheeseburger at The Riverside in Charlottesville. El Parillan serves the best carne asada taco in Los Angeles. Real Texas chili is ambrosia. So is broccoli with Hollandaise, or a good porterhouse with Bearnaise sauce. I like to cook dinner with friends. Why aren't you here?
That was long before I published a prize-winning novel and acquired an MFA in Fiction Writing from Virginia Commonwealth University -- I started my career in journalism with a high school diploma from Onteora. I was a sports reporter on the Kingston Daily Freeman ... back in the Linotype era, when Charlie Tiano was the Sports Editor. I miss the buzz of working in a newsroom, though not as much as I have missed writing about food.
After teaching cooking and wine tasting, I reviewed restaurants in Richmond, Virginia for awhile. My favorite red wine is Morgon, though I like Pommard, and also Chinon. I might like California reds more if they didn't seem so over-priced; and since the left coast wine laws have no teeth, you never really know what you might be drinking.. I also love the Rheingaus and Moselles, though Mersault would get the nod if only they could be a bit more reliable; but nothing compares to Sauternes.
My first restaurant was so successful that I never got a chance to do any catering. I have worked in a number of kitchens and also as a restaurant manager. I know the business. Most of all, I know how hard it is.
My first cookbook, The Hundred Glories of American Cuisine, is almost ready for a publisher.
I rarely visit a restaurant alone -- what would be the point? -- but I don't always visit more than once before writing the review. I like to write about the whole performance, not just the food. Buffets usually bore me, but I love church suppers. And bake sales.
My favorite meal is the Thanksgiving feast. However, in the future I'm making grilled lamb, not roast turkey. When you come right down to it, I prefer a spit-roated lamb to a slow-cooked roast pig. I do love the barbecue burrito at the Blue Ribbon in West Newton. It may be impossible to improve on the cheeseburger at The Riverside in Charlottesville. El Parillan serves the best carne asada taco in Los Angeles. Real Texas chili is ambrosia. So is broccoli with Hollandaise, or a good porterhouse with Bearnaise sauce. I like to cook dinner with friends. Why aren't you here?
- The Omnivorous Epicure
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)