Pickled Cranberries

It’s always this time of year that my inner chipmunk starts getting restless- the last of the local produce has all but disappeared, and the chipmunk part of me starts frantically looking for things it can store away for the winter. I know this is silly. Unless the apocalypse shows up I’ll have no problem finding food through the winter, but it’s still an instinctual urge I have to indulge.

So, for the first time ever, I am attempting canning. My mother used to can tomatoes every year, usually enough to last much further than through the winter, and I vaguely remember helping her, the general process of sterilizing jars and filling them with goopy tomato sauces, then reboiling the filled jars. But I’d never attempted the full process myself until now, so I figured I’d better read up on the details. Following a mix of instructions from several different recipes, I decided to pickle cranberries. I filled each jar with fresh cranberries, then poured a boiling mixture of vinegar, water, brown sugar, sage, and orange zest over top. Out of eight jars, seven of them gave the correct “ping” noise as they cooled after the second boiling, showing that they sealed correctly. The eighth is in the fridge, waiting to be tested in a few days. I expect the pickled cranberries to come out much like an unsweetened cranberry sauce, and am looking forward to trying it on turkey sandwiches, cheese platters, and in other sauces. The one problem with pickling, especially for the impatient inner chipmunk, is that you must wait at least a couple days to see how it turned out: if I got something horribly wrong, the entire batch will be rather worthless, and I’ll have to start the entire process over. If they turn out well, half of my shiny little jars will be sent out to family as a small consolation for my absence this Thanksgiving (I’ll be working), and the rest shall be happily consumed by myself, throughout the winter and most likely into the spring.  

Kunik amusé

Crusty whole wheat bread, topped with Nettle Meadow's Kunik cheese, alfalfa sprouts from the windowsill, pickled cranberries, and a touch of cranberry vinegar. Amazing variety of flavors, yet they all work together beautifully and balance well. Very refreshing yet hearty. I cannot compare it with anything I've tried before.

Pimm's & Lemonade

Perhaps because it was the first mixed drink I ever tasted, or perhaps because I found it on my first, exciting trip abroad, but Pimm’s & Lemonade has always been my favorite cocktail*. I encountered it at a dinner party in Exeter, UK, while I was visiting my older sister at college. Served in a large pitcher and adorned like punch with floating slices of lemon, small cubes of cucumber, and edible purple and yellow flowers, I was instantly attracted. Although I was unaware it contained alcohol until tasting it, my uneducated palate still found joy in the layers of flavor found in it. It was only after returning home and, years later, reaching the age of legal consumption in the US, that I figured out what it was that I had tasted, that lovely, congenial drink I will forever associate with proper accents and small English towns.

             Simple and low-alcohol for a cocktail, but nonetheless absolutely delicious and very flexible to personal taste, Pimm’s & Lemonade goes something like this: 1 part Pimm’s No. 1, two parts lemonade (this MUST be good lemonade. Most sources recommend you make your own, but I used Newman’s Own from a carton, which is almost as good), sliced cucumbers and fruit, and mint. In full summer style, I make it in large canning jars and let slices of cucumber, green apple, lemon, lime, and orange, along with crushed mint, mull in the mix for a day or two before consuming: this makes the finished cocktail not only taste like the perfect iced tea-lemonade, but infuses it with delectably juicy cucumber and mint flavors. (If you care for licorice, add a sprig of tarragon.) For those unfamiliar with Pimm’s, it is a uniquely flavored liqueur produced in Great Britain: No. 1, the most commonly used variety, is Gin-based and flavored with a secret combination of herbs that makes it smell and taste very much like a dark herbal tea. The traditional Pimm’s cocktail, as stated by the back label on the bottle itself, is a tall glass of ice and ginger ale, topped with an ounce and a half of Pimm’s and a slice of lemon.  I tried this once and found it much inferior to the Pimm’s & Lemonade, which bursts with flavor and is surprisingly quenching, while not being overly sweet like a soda. The longer the fruit is left to mull in the cocktail, the stronger the flavors come out- the jar that got left in my fridge for a week came out tasting more like mint-cucumber juice than anything else (not a bad result, in my opinion). I highly recommend the freshest cucumbers you can find, if not from the back yard then at least from the farmer’s market. This is one drink that lends itself to its own seasonality: At the peak of summer, when all the ingredients needed are at their best, is invariably when I find myself most craving this cool, quenching cocktail.

*Closely followed by the Polar Bear, another beverage I discovered while abroad.

Project Leporidae

When I graduated college, the main point of our president’s speech to our class was “Your connections with people will get you everywhere”: he implored us not to let our connections with people fray after we moved on with our lives, because we never know when our connections might open new doors for us. How right he was. Through one of these priceless college connections, I recently discovered a local rabbit farm, and acquired two young rabbits. Although the proprietor of the farm (rabbit-farmer is just too awkward a title) had one cleaned, ready-to-eat rabbit on hand, the other was given to me quite whole, although it had thankfully already been dispatched (as quickly and painlessly as possible, I assure you). The recently deceased and soon-to-be-dinner was black with long silky fur, small perky ears, and disturbingly bugged out eyes.  I tried not to think of my little brother, the staunch vegetarian who’s only pet was a rabbit named Dust Bunny. He need never find out about this little adventure.

Step one: overcoming the "Awww, it's a bunny!" reflex

Bolstered by a less-squeamish friend with much more experience in skinning and gutting animals, I began the process of turning the bunny (sorry, I promise not to write “bunny” again) into a raw product, and then hopefully a delicious meal. The gutting process was, yes, just as disgusting as I’d imagined it, warm repulsive smells and all. The skinning, however, turned out to be surprisingly easy. The aphorism about cats apparently doesn’t extend to the Leporidae family, as there is really only one way to easily skin a rabbit if you want to keep it whole and save the fur as well. First, you cut the skin at the back legs, low around the ankle, then slide the knife under the skin and slit from one ankle across to the other, running underneath the tail and making a T shape with the slit down the belly used for gutting (an extremely sharp boning knife is very useful here). From there, it’s just a matter of tugging firmly (although you may have to detach the fur around the anus with a knife). I was surprised by how unattached the fur was over most of the body. When you get to the head, things get a little tricky, and it’s easiest if you cut the ears and front paws off (I declined my friend’s offer to keep a rabbit foot- I could never believe they brought you luck, considering how unlucky the rabbit was to loose it in the first place). With a little more gentle slicing between skin and muscles, the fur came off completely, and in one piece.  What I was left with, after cutting the head off and giving the body a long rinse, looked like what I was used to working with in a kitchen: a clean, meaty rabbit, all smooth pink muscle and thin bones.

Cleaned rabbits

I broke the carcasses down into front legs, back legs/thighs, loins, and the side meat, which I carefully removed from the ribs. The leg pieces I decided to braise with vegetables, fresh herbs, and some Valpolicella (a blended red wine from Northern Italy), along with some vegetable stock and garlic. While those were braising, I took the thin sheets of meat from the sides and stuffed them with the small loins, some spicy pork sausage, and dried cherries that had been soaked in wine (this time a tannic red blend from the Finger Lakes). I then tied them up with some rosemary and put them in a glass baking dish with just enough wine to cover the bottom. A mere 12 minutes in a 400° oven roasted them perfectly.

Sides stuffed with loin meat & cherries

The stuffed loins were outstanding, and would’ve made a perfect little amusé-bouche or bite-size plate, stacked with rosemary polenta and topped with a rich rabbit jus and a tiny spring of fried rosemary or sage. The legs turned out slightly tougher than I’d hoped, I think because I allowed the braising liquid to boil at one point while I was working on the loins (curse you, electric stove).

The flavor also did not meet my expectations, coming out light and almost chicken-like, overpowered by the strong red wine and herbs, and with none of the wild, gamey flavor I was hoping for. I suppose I was expecting a lot out of farmed rabbits, however free-range they were raised. Next time perhaps I can acquire a truly wild rabbit, and compare flavors and textures. 

That is, as long as my little brother doesn’t find out.

Dinner en papillote

Tonight I made Haddock En Papillote, a stunningly simple dish that nevertheless has many minute details that must not be overlooked: my first attempt was a smooth but short step towards perfection of this French classic.

En Papillote, for those of you who’ve never touched on French language or cuisine, means simply “in parchment”. My dish consisted of a filet of haddock (previously frozen, unfortunately), topped with a few quartered baby red potatoes, some slivered carrots, trimmed green beans, chopped garlic, butter, and touches of lemon juice, white wine, salt, and pepper. All of this was placed in the middle of a large square of parchment paper (I’m told foil is easier and works better, but it’s just not as pretty), which I did my best to fold and seal around the ingredients. My folding job turned out somewhere between a burrito and a tootsie roll, but I got it sealed sufficiently. Then I threw it in a 375° oven for around 12 minutes.

Now for those minute details that must not be missed: Firstly, potatoes and vegetable do not cook as fast as haddock (or any filet of fish, for that matter). Although I had enough insight to parboil the potatoes before wrapping them up, I did not blanch the vegetables, which turned out rather crunchy. In fact, the potatoes should probably have been fully boiled ahead of time, as ten minutes is really not enough to affect their texture, only enough to heat them up. The same goes for the vegetables. The garlic, which added an amazing aromatic element to the dish and a flavor that lightly permeated the fish, was nonetheless also crunchy and altogether too strong when bitten into directly- either sautéing it or perhaps blanching it in milk ahead of time would easily fix this problem. The thought also occurred to me to brush the inside of the parchment with roasted garlic paste, rather than using whole garlic of any kind. The parchment must also be looked after properly, either brushed thoroughly with water or oil before putting it in the oven (by brushed thoroughly I mean practically soaked), or sprayed with water several times while it is cooking. Otherwise the parchment browns extensively, and turns very dry and brittle, even to the point that it crumbles into dust on top of your food (trust me, not a tasty topping. At all.) If this all sounds too complex to you, try the foil until you’ve gained some confidence.

All faults aside, cooking en papillote is much easier than the intimidating French name implies. It provides an excellent medium for bringing out the best flavors in simple, fresh ingredients, without having to use any complex seasonings (or any seasonings at all, for that matter). Since the ingredients are virtually steamed in their own juices, no sauce is needed, and if one were to eliminate the butter, it would provide an almost fat-free meal that is still incredibly rich in flavor.

Trout en croute

Perhaps I should change the name of this blog to "What's on sale?", but what can I say? I live in a tiny apartment with three other people, I just graduated college with more debt than I care to think about, and I work as a line cook- we're not talking newly-graduated computer engineer's salary. So, I go grocery shopping, and buy what's on sale. Yes, rice and beans would've been cheaper, but what is life without good food? If you can't enjoy life, then there's simply no point to anything. 

But I digress. Today, trout was on sale at the fish counter, I had a coupon as well, and I could buy any quantity I wanted- for a single serving, it worked out to something like $1.10. I brought it home and wrapped it in the store-brand version of Pilsbury croissant dough (yes, the cardboard tube kind), with some chopped garlic, olive oil, and fresh sage off the back porch. While it was in the oven (350 for about 30 minutes), I found one small zucchini lurking in the back of the fridge, sliced it up, and sautéed it with more sage, butter, and a little cream. Perhaps a lot of cream. Ideally I would've waited for the cream to reduce into a thick, velvety sauce, but I was hungry, and the trout was done, so I ate it more as a broth. Still, the pastry dough soaked it up beautifully, the sage came through just enough, and the trout was complemented by both. A very easy yet impressive meal.

Bathtub Fruit Salad

This post is less about food itself than about the ways we obsess over it- don’t worry, no recipes for anything edible made in a bathtub will be included here. On a recent trip home to visit my family, I found myself without my usual bag of travel-sized shampoo, soap, and conditioner. Oh well, I thought, between the four other people who share the shower (two sisters and two brothers), I can just borrow someone else’s. I was not expecting the smorgasbord of choices that lined every edge and shelf of the shower: apparently my siblings’ tastes in shampoo varied as much as their tastes at the dinner table, from vegetarian to meat-and-potatoes-only. After reviewing the choices, and resisting the urge to begin commentating a food network show, I decided on some Juicy Green Apple shampoo, followed by the Tropical Coconut conditioner, and my sister’s oatmeal and brown sugar soap. Then I found the apricot almond facial scrub, and just had to try it out. Feeling like a walking tropical fruit cobbler, I stepped out and dried off with my lemon meringue towel, garnished with some Frosty Mint lip balm and pomegranate coco-butter lotion. When I finally headed down to breakfast, I found myself craving something heavy, like eggs and sausage gravy. Certainly nothing fruity, and nothing involving soap.

Onions and apricots

Today I cooked sitting down. This is strictly against all chef’s protocol for the kitchen, but under the circumstances I feel my actions were justified- better to cook sitting down than not to cook at all, right? After a full shift of rushing around on a horribly unforgiving concrete conference center floor, my knees, ankles, and feet were all ready for a break. The masochistic side of my mind somehow coerced me into an after-work run, pulling whatever mental stress I had left out with high-tempo music and pumping it through my tired joints, into the pavement around Mirror Lake. My jog conveniently ended at a grocery store, where I wandered the produce section before simply giving up and buying the two items that were on sale- vidalia onions and apricots. Once home, I grudgingly obliged my legs and sat down next to the stove with my economically-purchased produce. I sliced up one and a half onions, and six and a half apricots (well, seven, but one half had to be tested for ripeness) and threw them into a sauteuse. After haphazardly pouring some Simply Naked California chardonnay over top of them, I covered the pan and left it on med-low heat to sweat. As an afterthought, I added a splash of cider vinegar and some chopped garlic. Leaving that to fend for itself, I dug around the freezer until I located a chicken leg. Not the fish I was hoping to find, but good enough. I threw it into the sink to thaw (we don’t have a microwave, so are forced to do things the proper way). After getting distracted by the latest copy of Trail Runner Magazine and almost overflowing the sink, I took my nearly sous-vide cooked chicken out and dry-rubbed it with cardamom and curry (why not, eh?), then put it into a 400-degree oven to see what happened. Sometimes cooking just shouldn’t be taken seriously.

After some scrambling through my randomized spice cabinet, I located cumin, red pepper, and curry (again), and added small pinches of each to the cooking onions and apricots. It tasted pretty good at that point, although the apricots didn’t add as much sweetness as I’d hoped, so I drizzled some honey in to counteract the vinegar. I poured out the rest of chardonnay over the chicken to moisten it while it roasted (no one was going to drink that chardonnay anyway). I resisted adding any more ingredients into the onions... until I found the sesame oil. Just a couple drops, I thought, and then I’ll leave it to become whatever it was meant to be. At this point, the dish was either going to be exactly what I wanted, or it was going to turn out mediocre, another dish to put into the category of “well, it was an interesting experiment”, that would remain unwritten in the recipe books.

I opened a bottle of fruity pear wine, and waited. Maybe I should’ve caramelized the onions before adding the apricots and wine. Did that chicken leg really have enough fat on it to dry rub, or should I have added some butter or something? Is it going to turn out terribly dry? There’s some wild rice in the cabinet that would go great with some shredded chicken and this onion chutney-relish-whatever... But I’m not really that hungry, Just chicken and chutney for me tonight. After deciding the chicken had at least another twenty minutes in the oven, I turned off the stovetop and went to take a shower, returning with much higher confidence that this meal was going to be just what I wanted. The chicken was roasting nicely in it’s own juices, the chutney needed just a little more reduction, and it would all come together into deliciousness. I was sure of it.

I shredded the chicken off the bone, carefully saving the perfectly crispy skin, then spooned a hefty amount of my on-sale produce chutney on top. It was perfectly delicious. The chicken turned out tender and spicy, the chutney adding the perfect sweet-and-sour balance to it, with the chicken skin smoothing out the acid with fat, and adding the perfect little crunch. Despite the fact that this dish didn’t originate in inspiration or cookbook, I had taken what was given to me (at a discount!) and made it work.

Cardamom: The Queen of Spices

This is an essay I wrote back in the good ol' days, freshman year of college. Although my platonic love affair with cardamom continues, I now handle it with much more articulate, well-formatted English.

I chose cardamom as my subject because it was the only spice I was completely new to in this class: It was a unique flavor that I’d never experienced. Growing up with a father who was passionately against curry, I never sampled much Indian food before this course, but I’ve found that the Indian dishes were at the top of my favorites both in how they’re prepared and how they taste. After reading more about Indian cuisine, I found the history behind cardamom to be especially interesting. 

Cardamom has been used for over a thousand years. Its small, aromatic seed is used as a medicine and a preservative as well as a flavoring, and has become an integral part of Indian cuisine. The cardamom plant grows wild in the monsoon forests of India, an area that is now know as the Cardamom Hills. The plant is actually part of the ginger family: It grows in clumps of tall shoots and produces small, pale fruits that contain three cavities filled with the seeds that are commonly used. Until the late 18th century, cardamom was not cultivated- It was only collected from the wild. When the spice trade between Asia and the rest of the world sped up, people in the tropical areas of Asia began to grow cardamom.

Cardamom has a very long history, as both a spice and a medicine. It is mentioned in many ancient Indian and Sanskrit texts, going back to between the 2nd century AD and the 2nd century BC. Cardamom seeds were used as a holy offering to the gods in India and Pakistan, and are still used in religious services there. In Greece and Rome, in was an indispensable part of offerings: Priests used it to “purify” meals offered up to the gods. Until around the 4th century AD, cardamom was used in Catholic liturgy as well. Its aromatic smoke was used in services so much that it is said St. Jerome finally denounced its use as unholy- This was perhaps because of cardamom’s other widely know use as an aphrodisiac. It is said that the Ancient Greeks and Romans used it a lot for this purpose during times of feasting and celebration- In some stories, Cleopatra is said to have used the spice as well, scenting rooms of her palace with it when Marc Anthony came to visit.

Cardamom’s use in food is quite varied, more so than most spices: Cardamom is one of only three spices (saffron and cinnamon being the other two) that is used in both sweet and savory Indian dishes. It’s unique flavor blends well with savory meat, rice, and vegetable dishes. Garam masala, a traditional Indian spice mix containing cardamom, is used in many traditional dishes, such as chicken masala and vegetable and rice curries. Cardamom by itself is often used to flavor coffees, teas, and especially sweet dessert dishes, such as bread and rice puddings, yogurt sauces, and milk fudges. Payasam is a traditional south Indian dessert, mainly consisting of cooked milk flavored with cardamom over rice or vermicelli: It most likely originated in the temple city of Puri about two thousand years ago. Similar dessert dishes can be found throughout northern India (where it is called kheer), Pakistan, and Afghanistan. Payasam is served as an offering to the gods in south Indian Hindu temples, and is a central part of all wedding feasts.

Cardamom has preservative properties as well: it can be added to foods in small amounts (so as not to effect the flavor of the food too greatly), and the oil of the seeds acts against bacterial growth, thereby extending the freshness.

Life After College

This blog has been horribly neglected since I went back to college... College was somewhat devoid of culinary adventure, being my last semester with a mere 7 weeks of lab that I only attended twice a week. Now, however, I am officially graduated and lead my own life, and (I hope) will have the time to explore my apartment's ample kitchen space with more interesting experiments than ever before. I also have definitive inspiration (read: self-esteem-smashing competition) from my apartment mate, who keeps an extensive portfolio of every culinary project, complete with excellent photos and professional test-platings. Despite the fact that I view this blog more as a personal file and simple writing practice, I'll do my best to pretend others may actually read my posts, and strive to keep them interesting and entertaining (and, ergo, brief). Within the next week you'll be seeing stories of truffled mashed potatoes, dilly beans, rice salad, and perhaps some reminiscence of cardamom caramels and pastillage. Enjoy?