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Recipe Project #103: Kumquat Marmalade

Back during citrus season, Prof. A. and I were strolling around the winter market and happened upon a pile of kumquats. I hauled a few quarts home to make this marmalade, which came out well. I’m working on finishing off the last jar now, actually. I learned two things in the process:
1. prepping tiny kumquats takes a ton of time, and so next year I will do this with oranges or grapefruits.
2. but the actual processes of small batch canning are really, really not hard or time-consuming. A year of reading Food in Jars has driven this point home, and so I have high hopes for this summer’s canning season.

Here’s the recipe link to Small Batch Kumquat Marmalade from Food in Jars.

Posted in Cooking, Recipe Project.


Recipe Project #102: Seven-Chile Chili

Everyone fell over and died for the Homesick Texan cookbook when it came out last winter. I’ve loved Lisa Fain’s blog for years, and so was happy to take this hardcore chili for a whirl. I learned some new tricks about flavor, and also learned that I have deep-set opinions about what a chili should be. Definitely taking a lot of lessons forward from this one, since one of next winter’s projects will be evolving the perfect house chili. In the meantime, this version is well worth the time.

6 dried ancho chiles
2 dried pasilla chiles
2 dried guajillo chiles
2 dried chipotle chiles
4 dried chiles de arbol
4 pieces of bacon
4 pounds chuck roast, cut into 1/4-inch cubes
1 large onion, diced
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 cup brewed coffee
1 bottle of beer
1 tablespoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground clove
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1/2 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 teaspoon grated Mexican hot chocolate
1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
4 dried pequin chiles
2 tablespoons masa harina
Grated cheddar and chopped onions, for serving

Remove the seeds and stems from the dried chiles. In a dry skillet heated on high, toast the ancho chiles, pasilla chiles, guajillo chiles, chipotle chiles, and chiles de arbol on each side for about 10 seconds or just until they start to puff. Fill the skillet with enough water to cover chiles. Leave the heat on until the water begins to boil and then turn off the heat and let the chiles soak until soft, about 30 minutes.

Meanwhile, in a large, heavy pot such as a Dutch oven, fry the bacon on medium heat. When it’s done, remove from the pan and drain on a paper-towel lined plate. Leave the bacon grease in the pot, and on medium heat, cook the beef on each side until lightly browned, about 10 minutes. (You may have to do this in batches.)

Remove the browned beef from the pot. Leaving the heat on, add the diced onions to the pot and cook until translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for another 30 seconds. Add the beef back into the pot, crumble in the bacon, and add the coffee, beer, cumin, oregano, cinnamon, clove, allspice, cayenne, chocolate, 3 cups of water, and salt. Turn the heat up to high.
While the pot is coming to a boil, make the chile puree. Drain and rinse the chiles then place them in a blender along with the pequin chiles (you don’t need to presoak these little chiles) and 1 cup of fresh water. Puree until nice and smooth and then pour the chile puree into the pot.

When the chile begins to boil, turn the heat down to low and simmer uncovered for 5 hours, stirring occasionally. Taste it once an hour and adjust the seasonings. If it starts to get too dry, add more water. After 5 hours, scoop out 1/4 cup of broth out of the pot and combine with the masa harina. Pour the masa harina mixture into the pot and stir until the chili is thickened. Let the chili simmer for another 30 minutes or so. When done, serve with cheddar and onions.

Posted in Cooking, Recipe Project.


Recipe Project #101: Braised Beef Stew with Orange & Anise

It occurs to me that I should clear out some of the backlog of cold-weather recipes that I have sitting in the to-blog que. We’ve still got a few cold snaps coming up, but probably not so many. I made this beef stew weeks ago after we came across it via the Today Show, cooking it up one weekend afternoon while coaching a very smart grad student through the final stages of his exams proposals. It’s a keeper, and as I told him, I’ll probably always think of it as M’s Exams Stew.

Curtis Stone’s Braised Beef Stew:

2 1/4 pounds tri-tip beef roast, cut into 2-inch chunks
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
2 onions, each cut into 8 pieces
1 large sprig fresh rosemary
1 large sprig fresh thyme
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 1/4 cups dry red wine
2 tomatoes, coarsely chopped
2 cups beef stock
2 parsnips, peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
1 carrot, peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces
3 orange peel strips (each about 3 x 1-inch), white pith removed
2 whole star anise
1 turnip, peeled and cut into 1 1/2-inch pieces (I omitted)
2 tablespoons coarsely chopped fresh cilantro
Accompaniment: Steamed jasmine rice or warm crusty bread

Heat a large heavy pot over medium-high heat until it is very hot. Meanwhile, season the beef with salt and pepper. Add 1 tablespoon of the oil to the hot pot, then working in two batches to avoid overcrowding the pot, add the beef chunks so that they are in a single layer. Cook until the beef is brown, about 8 minutes per batch. Transfer the beef to a bowl as it is browned.

Reduce the heat to medium. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon of oil to the same pot. Add the onions, rosemary, and thyme and stir to coat with the oil. Stir in the garlic. Cook until fragrant and the onions begin to soften, about 2 minutes. Add the wine and tomatoes, stirring to scrape up the browned bits on the bottom of the pot. Simmer until the wine has reduced by half, about 8 minutes. Return the beef and accumulated juices from the bowl to the pot. Stir in the stock. The beef should be just covered with the cooking liquid.

Bring the cooking liquid to a gentle simmer, then decrease the heat to medium-low. Cover the pot and cook, simmering very gently and stirring occasionally, for 1½ hours. Gently fold in the parsnips, carrots, orange peels, and star anise. Cover and simmer gently for 10 minutes. Fold in the turnips. Cover and continue simmering until the vegetables are tender and the beef is tender enough to cut with a spoon, about 45 minutes longer. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the beef and vegetables to a bowl.

Boil the cooking liquid over high heat until it is reduced by half, about 10 minutes. Gently fold the beef and vegetables into the reduced cooking liquid (they will be tender so avoid stirring them) and simmer just until they are heated through, about 3 minutes. Spoon the beef stew into 4 to 6 serving bowls. Garnish with the cilantro and serve with rice or bread.

Posted in Cooking, Recipe Project.


Recipe Project #99-100: eat more grains

Last summer, I resolved to learn to make 10 new salads and way more grain dishes. This did not happen. So, since it will be 80 this week (in CNY! in April!) and I am already resigning myself to summer weather, this is a good time to make that resolution again. Never mind that the first dish is really best for cold weather, and that it was 32 degrees when I made it last week.

Roasted Garlic and Mushroom Risotto, adapted from this Sandra Lee recipe:

1 head garlic
2 1/2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
+/- 40 oz chicken broth (and possibly white wine)
1 medium onion, chopped
8 oz. various sliced mushrooms
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 1/2 cups arborio rice
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup grated Parmesan

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Slice the top off the head of garlic. Put it on a large square of aluminum foil and drizzle 1 teaspoon of the extra-virgin olive oil over the exposed cloves. Wrap the foil around and over the garlic. Roast until it is soft, about 50 minutes to 1 hour. Remove from the oven and let cool.

Pour the broth (and possibly wine) into a saucepan, over low heat. (I emptied out the last cup or so of a bottle of Keuka Lake Vignoles and then made up the difference with broth.) Bring to a simmer.

In a large, heavy bottomed skillet, heat the remaining olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion and saute for 3 minutes. Add the mushrooms, season with salt and pepper, to taste, and cook until the mushrooms release their juices, about 5 minutes. Add the rice and cook for 1 minute to toast.

Add 2 ladles full of hot broth to the pan and gently stir the rice. Cook until most of the liquid has been absorbed. Adjust the heat so that the pan is just gently bubbling. Continue adding broth and stirring until all the broth is used and the rice is cooked but not mushy, about 20 to 25 minutes. Once the rice has absorbed all the liquid and is nice and creamy, stir in the butter, Parmesan and the garlic pulp. Cover and let rest for 2 minutes. Transfer to a serving dish and serve hot.

Alongside a sturdy green salad, this makes an excellent vegetarian meal. As would the next dish, which we originally had alongside Thai Steamed Halibut. It’s like tabouleh, only not. It also reminded us both of a sandwich we each used to buy before we ever met at a Little Rock natural foods grocery called Beans & Grains & Things. It was a wrap, really, that involved tabouleh, hummus, feta, olives, sprouts, and maybe cucumber. They called it a burroco, a word that reveals no useful info when run through Google. Next time I make it, we’re going to try reverse engineering them and see what happens. Anyway, without further ado:

Cumin-Scented Quinoa and Black Rice:

1/2 cup short-grain black rice
1 cup red quinoa, rinsed well
1 bay leaf
1/4 teaspoon kosher salt plus more
4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
1 small onion, finely chopped
3 large garlic cloves, minced
2 teaspoons cumin seeds
3 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup chopped fresh cilantro
1/4 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley
2 tablespoons 1″ pieces chives
Freshly ground black pepper
1 avocado, peeled, pitted
1 lemon, cut into wedges

Bring rice and 1 cup water to a boil in a small saucepan. Cover, reduce heat to low, and cook until water is absorbed and rice is tender, 25-30 minutes.

Meanwhile, combine quinoa, bay leaf, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 2 cups water in a medium saucepan. Bring to a boil. Cover, reduce heat to low, and simmer until quinoa is tender, about 15 minutes. Drain; return quinoa to hot saucepan. Cover and let sit for 15 minutes. Discard bay leaf, fluff quinoa with a fork, and transfer to a large bowl.

Heat 2 tablespoons oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add onion and cook, stirring occasionally, until soft, about 8 minutes. Add garlic and cumin and cook, stirring often, for 2 minutes. Add to quinoa. Add rice; mix well. Stir in remaining 2 tablespoons oil, fresh lemon juice, cilantro, parsley, and chives. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Cut avocado into wedges. Serve salad with avocado and lemon wedges.

Posted in Cooking, Recipe Project.


3 fragments that I must see side-by-side

This conjunction doesn’t even make sense inside my own head yet, but I’m parking them all here for further contemplation. First these two, found in Bachelard’s The Poetics of Space: The Classic Look at How We Experience Intimate Places:

From Paroles pour l’ature, Colette Wartz
Orderliness. Harmony.
Piles of sheets in the wardrobe.
Lavender in the linen.

From Jabadao, Anne de Tourville
The reflection on the old wardrobe
Cast by the live coals of an October twilight

And the opening lyrics from Concrete Blonde’s Days and Days, happened upon again whilst reading Johnette Napolitano‘s lovely Rough Mix:
The dirty leaves are sailing
on a hot wind ocean
and the summer comes
and the summer goes and always has & will
and something somewhere
that you said goes ricochet
all through my head
and flashing like a neon sign
the time stands still
Hours of
forever, coming all together
at the crossroads of a minute.

Posted in Literature.


ranunculus season

Ranunculus season

Headed out to visit with someone new today, along with her partner, who is a dear colleague. Happy about that.

Posted in Photos (by me).


light, snow, hermit

A wonderful snippet sent over by my dear friend Jenny:

Inside every mind
there’s a hermit’s cave
full of light,

full of snow, full of concentration.

It’s from Mary Oliver’s “At the Lake,” and it made me feel so seen.

Posted in Literature, Personal.


Kitchens: a single twisted pepper

There is always a kitchen.

When I remember them — him, her, her, him — there is dough, flour, water, heat. Light, both too much and not enough. Refuse. Blood. Vegetable love, and already, just this far in, we’re at the unfortunate problem of the English word love, with its many meanings. I use it in every one of the possible ways.

The first kitchen was not The First Kitchen, but a pizza kitchen with a wooden bar embedded with copper and silver. Twenty years before, someone had gathered the spare change (or maybe the first change from the first day’s business), carefully drilled it in and lacquered it over. Above it hung glass and light and cheap, rough wood, and underneath it hummed with refrigeration that my dad occasionally walked across the street to repair. The far side of the L-shaped bar, over by the bathrooms, was the only cool place besides the dining room because the whole of the kitchen was baked by the Vulcan oven, always set at 500 degrees, and the outside doors that led to the blacktop lot that sweltered for eight months each year under the mid-south sun.

My job was to prep mountains of iceberg lettuce, white onions, green bell peppers and then to drain and press gallon cans of mushrooms and black olives. Sometimes it was just me doing the first, raw prep while others tore leaves and chopped the things that needed chopping. The set-up meant everyone else worked on my deaf side, usually with a dough roller running in the background above the hum of the refrigeration, and it was weeks before I figured out that there was a constant conversation that went on all morning until we opened.

Sometimes we all huddled around a 25 pound box of produce and worked our way through it, banging heads of lettuce against the bar to loosen the cores and punching the tops out of peppers before tossing them into a sink full of water. Then we started to talk and I learned that these were complicated people who came from places I had known fairly little about in my small, Southern Baptist world. All the lettuce was the same. All the peppers were the same. I thought every day of my life was the same, and it was a desperately unhappy sameness.

Sometime in the second summer, my night-shift crush appeared on the day shift. He was tall and gangly, brown hair and brown eyes. Gay and smart and more cultured than I, and free with recommendations for Almodovar films and hair dye. One day, we banged our way through 50 pounds of peppers. He pulled one out of the waxed cardboard box, twisted and streaked with red, and set it on the bar next to the cash register. Odd. But then, he was odd. When we reached the end of the box I grabbed it to rip it apart and he snatched it back.

“No, wait. You have to look at it.”
“Why? It’s a darn pepper.” (Despite a year in kitchens, I had still not learned to properly cuss.)
“Look,” he said, frustrated. “It’s beautiful. Can’t you see that?”

The edge in his voice stopped me and I looked. Suddenly all the peppers were different from one another. This one was, in that moment, made beautiful and strange, and the longer I looked the more it twisted and blushed.

It lived on the counter for the rest of the day as we cooked and baked and served. Every time the door opened a slightly different light hit it. After eight hours close to the heat of the oven it began to wrinkle, to decompose ever so slightly, and I reached over to touch its new texture. Then, I didn’t have the words to consider it as a meditation object, but looking back on this single pepper from the vantage point of twenty years on, that’s exactly what it was. It was a point upon which the unrelenting sameness of the days shattered and suddenly I was able to see — at first, wonderfully individual objects and then, eventually, people as unique creatures that wanted to be seen and known.

Posted in Personal, Totems.


blue blue sky

One of the nice things about this gig is that you can sometimes make your own schedule, and this usually means that I work at least one weekend day (usually both) and take one day during the typical work-week off for erranding or gallivanting. The weather prophet proclaimed yesterday one of the Top 10 Days of the Year, weather-wise, so I declared Wednesday this week’s weekend day and off we went to drive a section of the Seaway Trail. On the way, we stopped to contemplate Lake Ontario.

Lake Ontario

Now that we no longer live next to a big, wide river, I’ve gotten fairly attached to the Great Lakes. It’s handy to have a little glimpse of perceived infinity just a short hop away.

Lake Ontario

Posted in Northeasterness.


brooding author photo

DSC_0011

Kitty has reviewed the manuscript production schedule. We continue to ponder it.

Posted in Personal.