Seeing 2020 out in style

New Year's Eve dinner

We had a great New Year’s Eve dinner tonight, but there’s a story behind it. We had roast beef. For weeks now, I’ve been campaigning for an oven roast. Christian makes roast frequently, but they are what I grew up knowing as pot roast. I was longing for one of my mom’s oven roasts. All I could remember about Mom’s roasts though was that she cut slits in the meat and stuck in garlic cloves. I had no idea what cut of meat she used. A lot of internet research didn’t leave me much smarter—there are, I decided, twenty names for any one cut of beef roast.

A week or so ago Jordan and I settled on a roast that looked doable. It called for an English roast. Nowhere else on the internet could I find any reference to an English roast. We chose a rump roast, which I know is not the most tender, but the selection at Central Market was either outrageously expensive tenderloin or a lesser cut.

The recipe specified to let the meat set at room temperature for at least half an hour, rub seasoning into all sides, sear on all sides in a hot skillet, and put under the broiler (5 inches under) with the oven door cracked for fifteen minutes for rare. Then let it sit and collect itself while you make the sauce of butter, red wine, and skillet drippings. Jordan protested it looked too complicated, and Christian would not be home with time or inclination to do it. I assured her I would do the prep, but she would have to take it inside to roast—the toaster oven was not going to do it.

As New Year’s Eve came closer there was more protestation. She finally decided though that all prep should be done in her kitchen, but I would have to be on hand for advice. As it turns out, both Christian and I were there, and she decided once she got into it, it wasn’t as complicated as she thought. A few tense moments when it appeared to be cooking too rapidly—you “roasted” it under the broiler, but five inches from the heating element and with the door left ajar. Meantime she was juggling boiled small Yukon Gold potatoes and asparagus. But all went smoothly. The roast rested, as it must to keep the juices, and she used red wine and butter to scrape up the browned bits out of the skillet and make a sauce.

The result was a roast that was, yes, a bit chewy but with absolutely marvelous flavor. The potatoes and asparagus were perfect, and it was a fit recipe for kicking out 2020 and looking forward to 2021.

Oven Roast

2 Tbsp. vegetable oil

2-3 lb. boneless English roast

1 Tbsp. Kosher salt

1 tsp, ground black pepper

1tsp. garlic powder

1 tsp, onion powder

1 tsp dried thyme leaves

2 Tbsp. butter divided

¼ cup red wine

About an hour before you plan to cook it, set the meat out of the refrigerator and allow it to come to room temperature.

When you’re ready to cook, preheat the broiler. Move the oven rack to a place where the meat will be at least five inches or maybe more from the heating element.

Press the seasonings into all sides of the roast. In a cast-iron skillet, heat the vegetable oil to high heat and sear the meat on all sides, about four minutes per side.  Place the meat, still in the skillet, in the oven and leave the door ajar. Roast for 15 minutes for rare, 25 minutes for medium rare. Use a meat thermometer, which should come to 135^o for rare and 155^o for medium rare.

Remove the roast from the oven, set on a cutting board or similar safe place to rest, top with at least one Tbsp. of butter, and tent with foil. Meanwhile, add remaining butter to skillet along with red wine, and, over medium heat, scrape any browned bits off the bottom of the pan.

Slice the meat thinly across the grain and pass the pan drippings with the meat. A treat for the tongue, though you may find a more suitable cut of meat than we did. Still it was a wonderful meal.

Sure, I know it’s still 2020 until midnight, but I seriously thought of this as a great way to toast out 2020, for all its pains and its few joys. To one and all, Happy New Year and may 2021 bring you peace, health, safety, joy, and lots of good food.

 

“Little Jack Horner sat in the corner,
Eating a Christmas pie.
He put in his thumb, and pulled out a plum,
And said, 'What a good boy am I?'”
Little Jack Horner, A nursery rhyme.

May your Christmas pie be full of plums!

Merry Christmas and Happy Cooking

from the Gourmet on a Hot Plate!

Eat your greens!

 

I live in a “greens-deprived” household—no one else eats cooked greens, while I can happily eat spinach out of the can, though I prefer it heated with a little butter and salt. It was a childhood favorite and remains in that category, yet I know grown adults who shudder, literally, if you mentioned cooked greens. Spinach salad, they say is okay, but not cooked.

My friend Heather Hogan Holt, a chef by training and occupation, posted a recipe on Facebook’s New York Times Cooking Community page for cooked greens, and I quickly copied it, although I have to disagree with Heather on one point: she suggests using greens of your choice. My choice is spinach. I am not a fan of kale: in fact, I belong to the school that says if you put a little coconut oil in the skillet when sauteing kale, it makes it easier to throw it in the garbage. I also think kale Caesar salad, offered in a home-cooked to-go establishment near me, is a travesty. And I grew up as a northerner, so turnip greens are not familiar fare. I think I remember my mom cooking collards, but I don’t remember the part about liking them. So spinach it is. You take your choice.

This is one of those recipes is that is not a recipe, so here goes: Heather recommends rendering some diced bacon, though you can use olive oil or butter as the fat (I find increasingly I don’t want to add the strong bacon flavor to everything; on the other hand, I can’t get enough butter). Sauté some diced sweet onion in the butter or bacon grease or olive oil until it gets a little golden, and then add garlic—as much as you want. Sauté quickly, no more than a minute, and then add greens by handfuls and let them cook down.

Heather says if you choose spinach, use frozen, thawed and drained. She also avoids pre-cut greens, like kale in bags, because they usually include tough stems. Allow three-fourths of a bunch of greens per person—I did a whole box of frozen spinach just for me. Toss the greens to mix in the onions and garlic, and then pour stock—meat or vegetable (I used chicken)—until it’s about halfway up the greens. Simmer for thirty minutes. If the stock cooks down too much, add some more (Better than Bouillon or similar condensed stocks are great here).

Add eight ounces softened cream cheese for every four people—I added half a block just for me. Let it melt and cook until the dish thickens. Check for salt and pepper. If you used bacon, throw the cooked, diced bits back in. The onion, garlic, and cream cheese are the most important ingredients. Don’t skimp on the cheese! Add fresh or dried herbs if you wish, though I liked it just fine as a straightforward dish without other flavorings.

Pair this with a nice, broiled fish or chicken, and you’ve got a good supper. Healthy too. Well, depends on whether or not you used bacon.

Much to do about chicken

 

Grandma's Chicken

We eat a lot of chicken casseroles at our house. The resident grandchild is not all that fond of beef, although his father is. I’ve discovered there are almost as many theories on how to cook chicken for use in a casserole as there are chicken casserole recipes. Since I’ve been in the cottage without an oven or a microwave, I’ve been poaching chicken and been unhappy about it—the meat was tough.

On the internet I discovered that perhaps I was letting the chicken boil too hard. I found directions that called for bringing the water just to a soft boil, turning off the heat and covering the pan and leaving the chicken for I think it was three minutes. Result? Underdone chicken.

So we went to rotisserie chicken. Jordan would bring it warm from the store, and I’d stick it in the fridge. Eventually, when forced to it, I’d de-bone it, struggling to get the as much meat as possible in usable chunks. Well, that was the second thing I’d done wrong. Jordan told me the meat slides right off the bone of you do it when it’s still hot. So from now on, she debones the chickens. Still, the rotisserie meat has a flavor and texture all its own—it isn’t like freshly cooked chicken.

But recently my friend Ann Kane suggested she has found a way better than poaching. It sort of resembles what I used to do when I had an oven—I put chicken breasts in a roasting pan, covered them liberally with salt and pepper, and laid a few onion rings over them. Covered the pan with foil and baked the meat for about half an hour.

Ann’s method is to skin the breasts and lay them in the pan. Then make a mixture of 1 Tbsp. lemon juice and ½ tsp. salt. Brush this on the meat, cover with foil, and bake 30 minutes at 400^o. I have not tried this yet—we had rotisserie chicken in the freezer, but it sounds good to me. When I told Christian about it, he asked if the cooked meat would taste of lemon, pointing out you might not want lemon-flavored chicken in every recipe. Somehow, I’m sure that’s not a problem. To me, lemon is good on almost anything.

Here’s a recipe we had the other night. Absolutely delicious—I ate two helpings, thank you very much.

Grandma’s Chicken

3 c. cooked chicken, cubed

2 cans cream of mushroom soup

2 c. shredded sharp cheddar cheese

3 c. finely crushed Ritz crackers

           Preheat over to 350^o

           Lightly grease a 9x13 pan. Arrange chicken in the bottom. Spoon soup evenly over the chicken and top with shredded cheese. Sprinkle cracker crumbs evenly over the cheese.

Bake 20-30 minutes until mixture is bubbly and cracker crumbs are lightly browned.

Leftovers are a problem. If you store them in an icebox dish, the crumbs get mixed in and become soggy. If stored in the original pan and baked again in the oven so crumbs would crisp up again, it might make good leftovers.

It would be easy to halve this in a smaller baking dish.

               

 

Holiday Cheeseball

Cheeseball

This is a requirement for Christmas in my family, and it dates back to my childhood. Every Christmas Eve, my family would travel from Chicago’s Hyde Park neighborhood to a neighborhood much farther south, called Beverly Hills. At the time Beverly Hills, to me, meant wealth and big, splendid houses. We went to a party hosted by a couple who were among my parents’ closest friends.

Two dishes stick out in my memory: the cheese ball and my mom’s pickled shrimp. These days I can’t have the shrimp—I developed an allergy, probably from overdosing on shrimp when I was young. But you can find the cheeseball in my home every Christmas. My kids demand it. It truly is the best cheeseball I’ve ever tasted.

I think I’ve posted this recipe before, but it bears repeating if you lost it or missed it. A couple of shopping notes: it calls for horseradish. I’ve had trouble finding prepared horseradish lately. Stores seem to have plenty of something called creamy horseradish sauce but not the plain prepared. Kraft apparently offers prepared horseradish; other brands you might look for are Inglehofer or Zatarains. Just try to avoid anything called sauce.

The original recipe called for a roll of Old English cheese. There has not been such a product on the market for years. A small loaf of Velveeta makes a fine substitute. I’m not a big fan of Velveeta, but in some recipes it is irreplaceable. This is one of them.

Holiday Cheeseball

½ lb. Roquefort or blue cheese

1 8 oz. pkg. Velveeta

l 8-oz. pkg. cream cheese

½ lb. pecans, chopped fine

1 bunch parsley, chopped fine

1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce

1 small onion, chopped fine         

½ tsp. horseradish

Let the cheeses soften to room temperature and mix thoroughly. Add Worcestershire, onion, horseradish and half of the parsley and pecans. Mix thoroughly and shape into a ball. Do NOT do this in the food processor, as it will become too runny. Even a mixer makes it too smooth and creamy—wash your hands thoroughly and dig in, so the finished cheese ball has some texture and credibility. Roll the ball in the remaining parsley and pecans. Chill. Serve with crackers. Leftovers will keep a month in the freezer.

 

 

Jordan cooks – and shares her recipes

 

Jordan fixed me a lovely lunch--
salmon salad, her potato salad, tomatoes, and hearts of palm
Call me spoiled.

A few days ago, I posted that Jordan has been more interested lately in cooking and learning some techniques. For my weekly recipes today, I want to share a couple of hers. Not because she cooked them, but because there’s something good and basic about each one.

Did you ever think how meat loaf and potato salad are alike? They are both dishes that many of us have been cooking for years. There are probably thousands of ways to make meat loaf. My mom, for instance, made it with half pork, half beef, salt and pepper. I put egg and breadcrumbs in mine. Some people put milk or broth. But most of us do it, automatically. Ever have a catastrophe when you make something from memory. I have gotten too much filler in meatloaf and made loaves that were without taste.  It just doesn’t always come out right.

I pretty much learned to make potato salad from my mom. There was an Italian cook at the hospital where my dad was administrator, and she taught Mom to peel potatoes while hot and pour vinaigrette over them for extra flavor. Then Mom added mayonnaise and salad mustard (the yellow stuff!), celery and onion, salt and pepper. I pretty much follow that, but it doesn’t always come out as I’d wish—too much mustard for one thing, soupy sometimes, too much salt.

The thing about Jordan’s potato salad is that she followed a recipe and nailed it—the mustard adds a tang but is not a discernable taste. It’s all in the proportion and balance.

Jordan’s potato salad

2 lbs. russet potatoes (she used red and weighed them to get it just right)

2 Tbsp. cider vinegar

½ tsp. salt

2 c. mayonnaise

2 chopped green onions

1 celery stalk

1 Tbsp. Dijon mustard

1 Tbsp. vinegar

1 tsp. sugar

Salt and pepper to taste

              Peel and cube potatoes while hot. Toss with vinegar and salt to coat. Let cool. Separately mix remaining ingredients. Toss with cooled potatoes and refrigerate before serving.

Note: There was not much celery in this, which was perfect for Christian because he doesn’t care for it. Personally I would have added another stalk. But this was really good.

              I offer Jordan’s chocolate pie because it’s made from scratch—no instant pudding/pie filling for her. A homemade crust is next, but for now she started with a pre-made graham cracker crust.

Jordan’s chocolate pie

1 9-inch baked pie rust

1-1/4 c. sugar

2 Tbsp. flour

2 Tbsp. cornstarch

½ tsp. salt

3-1/2 c. milk

4 egg yolks

2 squares unsweetened chocolate, chopped

1 Tbsp. butter

1 tsp. vanilla extract

              In saucepan, thoroughly mix sugar, flour, cornstarch, salt. Separately whisk milk and eggs until thoroughly combined. Gradually stir into dry ingredients, whisking as you add, trying to avoid any lumps. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly. Mixture will thicken. When it comes to a full boil, stir for one more minute.

Take pan off burner and stir in chocolate, butter, and vanilla.  

Pour into pie shell. Cover top with plastic wrap, pressing it carefully onto surface of pie filling. This prevents it from forming a skin. Chill several hours. Serve with whipped cream.

Whip cream just prior to serving. It doesn’t keep well. Jordan mixed 2 tbsp. sugar with 1 cup heavy cream and beat it until stiff.

In her rush to serve the pie, Jordan didn't get a picture of it. And she sent the leftovers home without guests! Outrage! Nonetheless, she wishes you bon appetit! Hmmm. I’m thinking maybe she should make meat loaf next.

A variation on tamales

 

Shhh! Don’t tell the world, especially Texans, but I don’t much care for tamales. I’m not a bread person, so tamales for me often have more wrapping than filling. I’d reverse that ratio. On the other hand, I think polenta is great. So several years ago I made a tamale pie that used polenta instead of masa—a true blending of Mexican and Italian cuisines, but heavy on the Mexican side. You could rightly call it Tex-Mex. It is high on my list my all-time favorite dishes. I haven’t made it in a while, but it’s on my “let’s cook this” list. Sorry for the fuzzy picture. Because I haven't made this recently, I didn't have a picture and had to snatch one off the web.

This recipe is a lot easier if you use the prepared rolls of polenta, available in most groceries, rather than trying to cook your own. Use the traditional flavor rather than that with herbs added—this dish will take your flavors in another direction, away from basil for instance.

Tamale pie with polenta

1 lb. ground sirloin, as fat-free as possible (try using ground buffalo)

1½ Tbsp. chili powder

 1 Tbsp. ground cumin

1 16-oz. bottle medium hot salsa (Pace picante preferred)

1 15-oz. can refried beans (original flavor)

1¾ c. chicken broth (preferably Better than Bouillon)

½ c. chopped cilantro

2 1-lb. rolls prepared polenta, sliced ¼ inch thick

3½ c. shredded sharp cheddar

Brown beef, breaking up clumps. Add chili powder and cumin. Stir briefly. Add salsa, beans, and broth. Simmer until thick, about 10 minutes. Add the cilantro. Salt and pepper to taste.

Layer half the polenta in a greased 9x13 baking dish. Top with sauce and 1½ c. cheese. Top with remaining polenta and then remaining cheddar. Bake uncovered at 350° for 35 minutes. Let it sit a minute before serving.

Buen provecho!

 

 

Tourtière, or the importance of compromise

 

I wish I could say this is the one I baked, but, alas,
it is a free image grabbed from the net

In his New York Times cooking column this week, Sam Sifton offered a recipe for tourtière, the French Canadian two-crust meat pie that first appeared in Quebec and is traditionally served at Christmas and the New Year. Originally the pie was filled with pork, cut in tiny pieces, and other meat, even wild game. Many cooks today use ground meat. Sifton’s version, however, mixes the two versions and calls for chunks of pork shoulder with chicken thighs and ground pork. As Sifton’s recipes are usually excellent, I clipped it and saved it. But the complexity may put it beyond the capabilities of my kitchen—or me as a hot-plate cook.           

By coincidence, I made a much simpler tourtière for supper Monday night. Comparing the two made me realize all over again that to cook with a hot plate and a toaster oven instead of a stove and in a kitchen with limited counter space, you have to make compromises.

The first compromise I made was using a prepared pie shell, admittedly not as good as homemade (Sifton’s recipe puts two sticks of butter in the crust!) but easier in my limited space. While I have a rolling pin, I don’t have a pastry board (I used to have marble) and not enough counter space to roll out dough. Besides, pie crusts are not one of my best accomplishments.

Here’s what I used for the filling:

1.5 lbs. ground sirloin

1 cup onion, diced

2 cloves garlic, minced

2 bay leaves

1 tsp celery salt

¼ tsp. allspice

¼ tsp. black pepper

Salt to taste

A generous splash of Worcestershire

1.5 cups beef stock (from Better than Bouillon)

1 medium potato

           Sauté the onion and garlic quickly, add beef and cook over medium heat until there is no pink. Add the bay leaves, celery salt, pepper, allspice, salt and Worcestershire. Stir thoroughly to mix spices in and add the beef broth. Bring to a simmer. Here’s the weird part: grate your potato and stir that into the mixture. The potato will soak up the liquid. When the liquid is almost all absorbed (the surface looked dry, but a good stir revealed a nice bit of moisture), take the pan off the heat and let it come to room temperature. You don’t want to put a hot meat mixture into an uncooked pie shell.

Line a pie plate with one of the crusts. As always sprinkle a little flour over the bottom so it doesn’t stick (my prepared crusts came already floured). When meat mixture is cool, spoon into the pie shell. Carefully place the other crust on top, crimping the edges and poking steam vents in it. For a shiny surface, brush the top with a mixture of egg yolk and water, about 2 tsp.

Bake at 375^o until crust is browned and meat is bubbly—about 25 minutes. We served it with Christian’s green beans—sauteed in bacon grease and seasoned with cider vinegar. A good meal on a chilly fall evening.

 

The trouble with enchiladas

Growing up in Chicago, I didn’t know an enchilada from a tostada. We simply didn’t eat Mexican food—perhaps because there was little of it, perhaps because my father’s taste in food was strictly British. I didn’t have Mexican food until I moved to Fort Worth in the mid-sixties, and I distinctly remember being very wary the first time I ate at Joe T.’s. Today I often crave Tex-Mex, though I am not a fan of anything in the pepper family, and I shy away from anything very spicy. The thing about Tex-Mex, to me, is that at its best, it’s not spicy.

Which brings us to enchiladas. My very favorite kind is spinach, but they’re rare and not often on restaurant menus. I used to love Tres Joses where the spinach enchiladas were the best but, alas, apparently not good enough to sustain the restaurant. So if I can’t have spinach, I’ll take chicken with sour cream, thank you. But I don’t like to make them.

Jordan makes wonderful cheese enchiladas and chicken. She goes through the whole process of softening the tortillas and making the filling and rolling the tortillas into enchiladas? Me? I’m discovering with age and my tiny kitchen I really like shortcuts. And I particularly don’t want to fry tortillas on my hotplate. I love to make King Ranch chicken instead of enchiladas because you tear the corn tortillas into big pieces—no frying, no prep, just layer them in the casserole.

Then I happened on a chicken enchilada pie recipe—don’t remember where I found it. But I tried it one evening, with some reservation because I thought it would be too close to King Ranch. Not at all! Quick, easy, delicious—and addictive! I didn’t mess with the recipe at all, except that I had an unmeasured amount of homemade taco seasoning in the freezer and used all of it in place of the package called for. With the first bite, I thought the taco seasoning was too prominent, but it softened and in leftovers I was not at all aware of it. Just for fun, I’m including my taco seasoning recipe with the pie directions.

Chicken enchilada pie

One rotisserie chicken, skinned, boned and diced—about three cups

1 pkg. taco seasoning (or make your own)

1 can Rotel (I prefer lime and cilantro flavor)

3 cans green chilies (recipe calls for four, but I cut it down)

1 can cream of mushroom soup

16 oz sour cream

Fresh corn tortillas

Grated cheese

Green onion (optional)

Jalapeños, chopped (optional)

Toss the chicken pieces with taco seasoning until all are thoroughly covered. Separately, mix Rotel, 2 cans chillies, mushroom soup, and 8 oz. sour cream. Add chicken.

The recipe called for frying tortillas, but I didn’t do it. I did cut them in half, so I could line the pan with sort of moon-shaped tortilla pieces (I could just as easily have torn them into large pieces.) Make layers of tortillas and chicken mixture—you should have three layers of tortillas and two of chicken.

Mix remaining sour cream and one can of chilies. Spread evenly over top layer of tortillas. Top with plenty of grated cheese—I prefer cheddar, but you could mix in some Monterey Jack.

Bake at 375^o for twenty minutes or so until heated through and the cheese is bubbly. Sprinkle with chopped green onions for serving. You can if you wish sprinkle some jalapeños over it also, either before or after baking. But I’m not going to do that.

Ever read the ingredients list on your favorite brand of taco seasoning? I bet there are some artificial flavors and colors, some preservatives, a lot of stuff you don’t necessarily want to put in your body. Making your own is simple and cheaper. And you probably have most of the ingredients on hand

Homemade taco seasoning

1 Tbsp. chili powder

¼ tsp. garlic powder

¼ tsp. onion power

¼ tsp. oregano

½ tsp. paprika

1 tsp. cumin

1 tsp. salt

1 tsp. finely ground black pepper

Crushed red pepper to taste, optional

           Store unused portion if any in the freezer

 

Cincinnati chili

 

This is National Chili week—what better time ot talk about Cincinnati chili. We Texans know northerners can’t make a decent bowl of chili, but the thing about Cincinnati chili is that it doesn’t even try to approach the Terlingua model. It is its own dish, and in 2013 the Smithsonian named it one of “20 Most Iconic Foods in America.” Detractors call it that “weird cinnamon chili.” Chili purists best not read on.

Apparently Macedonian immigrants first made this dish in the 1920s but it really came to fame in 1949 when an immigrant named Nicholas Lambrinides opened a restaurant that happened to have a breathtaking view of Cincinnati’s skyline. He called his creation Skyline Chili, and today it’s served in a chain of restaurants or you can buy it canned. A dinner kit is also available. I think a friend who lives in the Cincinnati area told me she buys a mix.

The distinguishing things about Cincinnati chili are, yes, the cinnamon and the fact that it is served over spaghetti and topped with grated cheddar. I first heard of it when I researched my book, Texas is Chili Country. At the time I dismissed it as a regional oddity, but recently I came across a recipe and decided to try it. My version, which cobbled together two recipes, was a successful experiment—a critical father-and-son audience approved—but I learned a couple of things I’d do differently.

Please note: start this the day before you intend to eat it.

Cincinnati Chili

2 lbs. ground beef

1 6 oz. can tomato paste

4 cups water

1 8 oz. can tomato sauce

1 large onion, minced

6 cloves garlic, minced

3 Tbsp. chili powder

1 tsp. cumin

1 tsp cinnamon

¾ tsp. ground allspice

A pinch of ground cloves (the original recipe called for ¼ tsp but I found the clove taste too strong—when you ca clearly identify one spice out of all, you’ve used)

¼ tsp. cayenne or to taste (recipe called for ½ tsp)

2 tsp. kosher salt

2 Tbsp. Worcestershire sauce

1 Tbsp. apple cider vinegar

1 oz. unsweetened chocolate

Cooked spaghetti

Grated sharp cheddar cheese

This goes together like nothing you’ve ever made before. In your large chili kettle, sauté the tomato paste—no oil, no nothing, just the paste. It’s not as easy as it sounds. You have to continually stir and scrape to keep it from burning. You’re done when the tomato smell is rich and toasty—only takes a minute or two. Add the water and ground beef. No, you really haven’t browned the beef first. Just add the raw ground meat and stir until everything becomes a mush. Simmer until it looks like a meaty paste and the meat is cooked.

Take the pot off the burner and let it cool enough to refrigerate overnight. The next day, scrape the congealed fat off the top. Bring the mixture to a simmer and add the remaining ingredients, except the vinegar and chocolate—once again, you don’t sauté the onion or garlic. Just put it in raw.

Simmer for at least a couple of hours, letting the flavors blend. Now you can either serve or refrigerate and re-heat later to serve. Just before serving stir in the vinegar and chocolate. Serve over spaghetti and top with grated cheddar.

Spanakopita

That wonderful Greek spinach pie has been on my cooking bucket list for a long time. I printed out the NYTimes recipe for skillet spanakopita and kept it in my file. But every time I looked for a new recipe, I passed it by—the phyllo was scary and all those steps intimidating. Daughter Jordan forced my hand by bringing home all the ingredients from the grocery. I couldn’t ignore all that fresh spinach!

I can’t share the recipe with you because I really don’t want to tangle with the Times legal department, but I can tell you about some of the changes and shortcuts I took. I ended with what I call deviant spanakopita, and, my oh my, was it delicious. All those intimidating steps really aren’t that bad once you take it one step at a time.

Facebook has a page called “The New York Times Cooking Community,” and a thread on there convinced me I am not the only one hesitant about phyllo. But someone had a suggestion that started me on my experiment—use puff pastry instead of phyllo. Not being a purist, I thought that sounded good. We also substituted a handful of green onion for the leeks, because the store did not have leeks. As you can see, I deviated from the beginning.

As I sauteed spinach in butter, it dawned on me that with two large bags, I only had two-thirds of the amount of spinach the recipe called for. Dilemma: did I want to have thinner filling or add a can of spinach (I am one of the few I know who eats and enjoys canned spinach but I recognized it would drastically change the dish). I’ve tried commercially prepared spanakopita, and the thing I don’t like is there’s too much phyllo for the spinach. I want thick filling, like you get when the Greek Orthodox Church has a bake sale. I decided what I needed was a smaller pan than the ten-inch cast-iron skillet the recipe called for. I used a pie pan. The advantage of that change was that I can put a pie pan in my toaster oven but can’t fit a skillet. We would have had to run it into the main house to bake.

But I didn’t adjust the other ingredients—feta, lemon, eggs, Parmesan, nutmeg, dill, etc. Theoretically I should have reduced each by one-third, but I didn’t. The result was a filling more pungent than traditional spanakopita, quite lemony. Jordan assured me she was raised by a woman who thought there could never be too much lemon (gosh, I wonder who!), and she loved every bite. I did too.

When I put the bottom sheet of pastry in the pie plate, all four corners overlapped, so I pulled them up into what looked like a galette. The recipe called for putting the skillet on the stove for a few minutes to brown the bottom crust and then baking. I skipped that step, went straight to baking, and couldn’t tell that it mattered.

After about twenty minutes in a 350 oven, we had a lovely looking dish that would serve four amply. But it was only Jordan and me—son-in-law and grandson aren’t one bit interested in something with spinach. So we had a ladies’ supper one night and delicious lunch another day.

If you’re really into cooking, I recommend an annual subscription to Sam Sifton’s cooking column in the NYTimes. I think it’s something like $42/year. But if you just want to make spanakopita, recipes abound on the internet. I hope the shortcuts I’ve discussed will help you. Big thing: don’t be frightened away from trying it.

The Canned Soup Controversy

I don’t know about you, but I’ve cooked with canned soup all my life. It’s not quite that I wouldn’t know how to cook without it, but close. How do you make tuna casserole or King Ranch chicken without cream of mushroom soup?

Several years ago I wrote a memoir/cookbook and submitted the manuscript to a university press known for cookbooks. The critique was fairly damning. The reviewer called my recipes “faux gourmet.” The particular target of scorn was King Ranch casserole for which the anonymous critic claimed one should always make their own Bechamel sauce in place of the canned soup.  

Canned soup recipes have probably been around as long as canned soups, and probably been controversial just as long. The critic’s comment sounded like snobbery to me, but a lot of people simply prefer not to use canned ingredients. One person on a web forum about canned soups said she objected to tomato soup recipes, because they left an aftertaste. I don’t particularly like beef-based soups, like vegetable beef, and I dislike the smell when someone is heating one in the office microwave. What do I really mean by canned soups? Creamed soups, such as chicken, mushroom, and celery. But then there’s that good bacon/spinach dip recipe that calls for cheddar cheese soup (not always easy to find). There are also products like instant or condensed broth or dried onion soup mix, from which almost everyone makes that sour cream dip that disappears as soon as you put it out. But I’m talking those basic creamed soups.

Some people object that canned soups are high in sodium and fat. Yes, but you can buy low sodium and low fat. Others simply prefer not to use canned soups and make white sauce, as the lofty critic did, or use one of the recipes for substitutes on the web. Trouble with those recipes is by the time you’ve made them, you’ve avoided prepared soup but used at least four other prepared ingredients, gone to a lot of trouble, and probably (I don’t know this for sure) produced a pretty tasteless or artificial-tasting product.

All this is leading up to the Grandma’s Chicken Casserole which I fixed the other night. It was deceptively simple and so good! I have no idea where I got the recipe, but if you gave it to me and are reading this, please let me know. I’d like to give credit where credit is due.

Grandma’s Chicken Casserole

1 rotisserie chicken (I used the traditional seasoned one), meat diced

2 cans cream of mushroom soup, undiluted

2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, grated

3 cups Ritz crackers, finely crushed

Arrange the diced chicken in a casserole dish. Spoon the soup evenly over the meat. Cover with shredded cheese, and top with Ritz crackers. Bake at 350^o until thoroughly heated and crackers begin to brown. You could probably halve this easily.

Want that queso recipe? I served it at parties, but I also sometimes put tortilla chips in individual bowls, spooned the queso over them, and told my kids, “Here’s dinner.”

Colin’s Queso

1 lb. hamburger       

1 lb. pork sausage – mild, medium or hot, according to your taste; I use medium

1 16 oz. jar Pace picante sauce – no other brand will do, but again you have your choice of mild, medium or hot

1 can mushroom soup

1 lb. Velveeta, cubed

Yes, I know. I almost never use Velveeta, but it is the only thing that works for this recipe.

Brown the meat and then dump all ingredients into your crockpot. Heat on medium, stirring occasionally, until cheese melts. Serve hot.

For years I’ve thought there was only one way to make King Ranch chicken, but I’ve lately realized there are many versions. If you want mine, which is easy and really good, please let me know. Write me at j.alter@tcu.edu.

 

 

 

 

 

A Potato Salad Mystery

Potato salad isn’t just for July 4^th and Labor Day picnics. In some form or another, it’s with us year-round for family meals, restaurant meals, whatever. It’s a staple of the American diet—and yet, few people agree on the “best” potato salad. I once knew a man who ordered cheesecake everywhere it was on the menu because he was always looking for the “perfect” cheesecake. That’s sort of how I feel about potato salad.

I have my likes and dislikes: generally I don’t care for the heavy-on-the-mustard potato salad my daughter likes. Nor do I care for the mashed potato salad that is so common in barbecue joints. I like the version offered at Red, Hot, and Blue because it has large chunks of potato and hard-boiled egg. My son-in-law on the other hand would recoil from any dish that had had-boiled eggs in it. I think my favorite, make-it-at-home recipe is the County Line potato salad—from the Texas barbecue chain with that name. It has lots of dill relish in it. My daughter-in-law Lisa has a similar recipe that uses the relish and pickle juice and is delicious.

And then there’s potato salad without mayonnaise, usually with a vinegar and oil dressing. I make a hot German potato salad that Christian loves. It has a sauce thickened with flour and based on, gulp! bacon grease. Which reminds me that Jordan found a recipe for potato salad with bacon in it. She was intrigued; me, not so much. But you see the wide variety of things that fall under that oh-so-general label of potato salad.

My friend Elaine has no problem deciding which is the “best” potato salad. Elaine grew up in Sweetwater and pretty much longs to live there still. She makes frequent weekend trips to her hometown and when there, always eats at a place she refers to as Mrs. Allen’s. Actually it’s Allen’s Family Meals, a small building on one of the main roads through Sweetwater. Inside, diners sit at a common table and strangers soon become friends. Food is served family style.

It’s the potato salad that draws Elaine. In fact, I’m not sure but that it’s what draws her back to Sweetwater. The trouble is Mrs. Allen apparently doesn’t give out her recipe, and Elaine can’t duplicate the dish. So she brought me some potato salad and a list of ingredients without any quantities or proportion. I can’t duplicate it either. It’s a mashed potato salad and one look identifies the pimiento, but the other ingredients are more elusive. Elaine’s note says “a capful of vinegar and sugar to taste” but there’s no indication of how many potatoes take a capful of vinegar. Here’s Elaine’s list:

Mayonnaise

Sugar

Vinegar

Pimientos

Onions

Eggs

Potatoes

I can definitely taste the vinegar and sugar—a tiny bit too sweet for me—and there is the occasional crunch of minced onion. But the mayo is pretty well masked, and if there are eggs, they must be pulverized. The salad is creamy smooth.

If it were up to me, I’d cut back just a bit on the sugar and add more crunch—green onions and finely diced celery probably. But I haven’t a clue how much vinegar, sugar, and mayo are really in it. And as Elaine’s note says, the vinegar and sugar are what distinguish this version of the staple.

Elaine and I would appreciate any help, so if you come up with an approximation of Mrs. Allen’s potato salad, please write me at j.alter@tcu.edu. I’ll ask Elaine to be the official taster.