Goodbye chip and dip, hello quick, easy, and showy appetizer

 

It seemed that pandemic would bring about the end of buffet lines. Nobody wanted to dip into a pan of mashed potatoes or a pile of fried chicken that half the world had already dipped into. I mean, who knows if the guy in front of you had clean hands? Maybe he coughed or sneezed while choosing his piece of chicken? My daughter has never liked buffets unless she could be the first one through the line. So she rejoiced at the end of communal dining of that sort—and declared chip-and-dip appetizers off limits. That meant canapes of one sort or another, but if you’re serving more than three or four people, making canapes is time-consuming. Thanks to neighbor Margaret Johnson for a great canape appetizer that is showy, delicious, and easy to make.

Crab canapes

Makes 48 pieces

1 stick butter (not margarine), softened to room temperature

1 6-oz. can crabmeat, drained

1 5-oz. jar Kraft Old English cheese spread

1 Tbsp. mayonnaise

½ tsp. garlic powder

6 English muffins

Stir together butter, crab, cheese spread, mayonnaise, and garlic powder until thoroughly combined. Split muffins and spread each half with the crab mixture. Spread out on cookie sheet or baking pan (may take two pans) and freeze for thirty minutes. This makes the muffins much easier to slice.

Cut each muffin half into quarters. Heat the broiler. Spread canapes out on baking sheet and broil until lightly browned and bubbly. Serve warm or at room temperature and prepare for raves and recipe requests.

 

Putting salmon on the menu

 

Teriyaki salmon with the mashed potatoes
Jordan made out of sympathy for my root canal

When I was feeding four teen-agers, I never cooked fish. It was an inheritance from my mother, who loved fish and seafood but thought they were what you ate in restaurants. An excellent cook, she had no confidence in her ability to cook fish. From what I remember about one or two meals of poached halibut, she was right. She would drag Dad into seafood restaurants, particularly in Boston, where she was ecstatic and he, a stubborn Anglophile, ordered roast beef.

Over the years I have gradually introduced fish to the family menu. When Jordan and I lived alone, we ate salmon frequently. When Christian came along, he made it plain he did not eat salmon—until the night we fixed something else for him while we dined on salmon in anchovy butter sauce (a New York Times recipe). He asked for one bite, and he was hooked. At first my efforts with cod were meh, but now we’ve all discovered we love cod filets with a buttery crumb topping (another NYT recipe). Jacob likes the cod but still doesn’t want the salmon.

I try to watch for Verlasso salmon on sale at Central Market. It is raised in deep water cages off the coast of Chile. Jordan and I plan menus so that when salmon is on sale, we fix it the same day we bring it home. So when she announced we needed a Central Market run Tuesday, I suggested salmon for dinner.

I have lots of salmon recipes, many untried like the one with a brown sugar/cayenne glaze that I think sounds good, but some suggest has too much sugar. We particularly like chimichurri (see the March 10 Gourmet on a Hot Plate blog), a green herbal sauce I make that is similar to chimichurri but just enough different, and that anchovy butter. But I knew I had a dental procedure Tuesday and wasn’t sure how I’d feel about cooking, so I wanted something quick and easy. It was too cold to ask Christian to grill it. So I went online. Here’s what I did:

Teriyaki salmon in the oven

1.5 lb. filet of salmon

2 Tbsp. soy sauce

1 tsp. cornstarch

2 Tbsp. dry white wine

1 Tbsp. honey

1 tsp. fresh garlic—or press a big clove

1 tsp. minced fresh garlic

The usual guide for buying salmon is a 6 oz. filet per person. I buy more than that because it makes such a good lunch the next day. I’m only cooking this for three, so a pound and a half is generous. Tuesday night’s fish was one, long beautiful filet. I wish I’d taken a picture before it was cooked.

The directions said to make the sauce while the salmon is in the oven, but in my tiny kitchen I can’t use the toaster oven and hot plate at the same time—it trips the circuit breaker. So I made the sauce first: simply blend the cornstarch into the soy and then add everything else. Cook over low heat until it thickens, which happens pretty fast.

Pre-heat the oven to 425^o, salt and pepper the fish, and bake for 12-15 minutes. I’ve learned my new Breville Pro toaster oven cooks on the hot side, so I cut it back to 420^o degrees and about 13 minutes. Absolutely perfect.

When we retrieved the sauce from the hot plate, it had really thickened—jelly-like. Jordan spread it on the fish with a table knifw, and as I expected the heat from the fish softened it enough to spread. Another time, I’ll give the sauce a minute of low heat after the fish comes out of the oven.

We garnished it with sesame seeds and chopped green onion. The latter added just the right tiny amount of crunch. It was delicious! And lunch the next day was equally good. I’ll repeat this one. And I kind of hope Jacob doesn’t change his mind—I’d miss those lunches.

 

Spatchcock that chicken!

 

Spatchcocked chicken

Isn’t that a great word—spatchcock? Basically, it’s a method for cooking chicken. Scholars aren’t sure of the origin, but they think it comes from eighteenth-century Ireland. I find a little etymological confusion—since cock is another name for a rooster, maybe the term comes from spatching a cock. Except roosters are tough and stringy, and we don’t cook them. Maybe they did back in Ireland at the time. My theory falls apart though because I couldn’t find a definition for spatch, except in some arcane numerology systems or spatchcock cooking. The latter is circular—defining a word for itself.

All that aside, spatchcocking is a wonderful way to cook chicken. You need a good strong pair of kitchen shears. Flip the chicken onto its breast and cut along one side of the backbone, as close to the bone as you can. Then cut along the other side and remove the backbone. Turn the chicken over, and press both hands on the breastbone, as though you were giving artificial respiration. You’ll hear it crack. The spread the chicken out flat. This way it cooks faster and more evenly, and the meat is tender and moist, the skin crisp. It involves a lot of butter.

We’ve done it a couple of times. I don’t have much strength in my hands, so Christian does the actual spatchcocking. After that it’s fairly simple, though it involves the careful process of putting herb butter under the skin of the bird. Note that you must prepare the chicken hours ahead. Here’s what I did.

Turn the chicken skin side down, and season liberally with salt and pepper. Turn it back skin side up and put herb butter all over under the skin, careful not to tear the skin. For the breast you can start at what would be the lower end of the bird and work the butter around carefully with your fingers. It’s sticky work, and you just have to do the best you can. For the thighs and legs, start at the hip joint. Ignore the wings, though many recipes suggest you clip off the tips. Dry the chicken with paper towels before you add the butter. One recipe suggests reserving any left-over butter to pour over the bird before serving. Since I like the crisp skin, I prefer to pass the remaining butter rather than douse the whole bird.

Herb butter

It takes about a half a stick of softened butter to treat a three-to-four lb chicken.

Mix into the butter:

2 tsp. minced parsley

1 tsp. lemon zest

A pinch each of whatever herbs you want—thyme, marjoram, rosemary (go light with its strong flavor), basil, oregano, herbes de provence. I’d avoid such distinctive flavors as dill, cilantro, etc. And don’t overdo—choose maybe three herbs. You don’t want to get it what one of my kids calls “too herbal.”

1 tsp. salt

½ tsp. pepper—use white pepper if you have it.

Place the bird on a greased, rimmed cooking sheet (what I call a jellyroll pan) and place it, uncovered, in the refrigerator for at least two hours. Overnight seems excessive to me but six hours is a good idea.

Roast at 450^o until juices run clear and skin is nicely browned but not burned. Forty to fifty minutes. I have found my new Breville oven cooks a bit hot, so we lowered the rack a notch and turned the heat back to 400^o. The chicken was done in forty minutes. You may have to adjust for your oven. Let it sit and collect itself for ten minutes before slicing. Serve with reserved herb butter if you want.

 You can also shorten the cooking time for the Thanksgiving turkey with this method. The internet has lots of recipes for spatchcocked turkey, but it takes a lot more hand strength.

Are mayonnaise, ketchup, and mustard passé?

 

Remember when condiments, if you ever even used that word, meant mayonnaise, ketchup (not catsup, please!), and yellow mustard? For years that triumvirate was the American choice of American condiments. They sat in home refrigerators, and they sat on café tables in their containers. But in the last fifteen or twenty years, the American palate has become much more sophisticated and integrated new cuisines into our daily diet. Along with that come some condiments which at first confused me.

The other day I was reading an article about five tuna salads, one of which was made with kewpie mayonnaise instead of the American version we’re used to. (See “I am a Food Blog” miso tuna salad.) Invented in 1925 by a Japanese businessman who had just tasted mayonnaise, Kewpie has only recently found its way into use in our country. The basic difference: it is made using only egg yolks instead of the whole egg, which means it has a different texture and is more yellow in color.  It is praised for its “rich, bold taste” and umami, another term that’s sometimes hard for us traditional cooks to define.

Umami is the fifth taste, beyond sweet, sour, salty, and bitter. It is best described as savory, but I still find that a difficult concept to wrap my mind around. When I think savory, I think anchovies or capers

Kewpie, which at first brought to mind Kewpie dolls, is available labeled as Kewpie mayonnaise in upscale or specialty stores (not my Central Market though) and often comes in a squeezable bottle. You can find it on Amazon.

And then there’s kimchi, which I confess I haven’t tried yet. Kimchi, of Korean origin, is basically fermented vegetables. Originally a side dish, it is often used as a condiment or dip. Basic ingredients are napa cabbage and Korean radish, but carrots, spring onions, and cucumber can be used too. The vegetables are seasoned with Korean chili powder, spring onions, garlic, ginger, and a Korean salted seafood called jeogal (a fish sauce or you can use anchovies). Kimchi has sweet, salty, and sour flavors. And umami—there’s that word again.

In Korean cultures, kimchi is served at every meal, including breakfast. It can be used in a basic stew but is also used in everything from fried rice and stir fry to sandwiches and noodles. You can even pickle eggs in kimchi. It is available commercially, especially in stores specializing in Asian food but also in upscale groceries (Central Market where I shop has thirteen varieties available, so it’s a matter of finding out which taste you like—and that requires experimenting).

You can easily make kimchi at home. Multiple recipes are available online, and it requires as few or as many ingredients as you want. You can experiment as you wish, adding vegetables, leaving out the fish for a vegetarian version. It does require time in the fridge for fermentation, but after that it will keep several months refrigerated.

And finally there is chimichurri. (The whole reason I got into this subject is that for a

long time I was uncertain about the difference between chimichurri and kimchi.) Chimichurri moves us to the other side of the planet—Argentina to be specific. It is an herb and vinegar sauce used on meat and fish and even some veggies (Jordan put it on broccoli the other night.) You can mix some mayo in and use it to dress potato salad or mix it with olive oil and use as a marinade for vegetables. Mix it with a bit of olive oil and brush on bread before grilling for an alternative to garlic bread. It will keep in the fridge for some time, improving in flavor though it may lose its bright green color.

We had marinated flank steak with chimichurri the other night. It was a recipe I’d apparently made before, because next to the chimichurri part, in Jordan’s handwriting, was the word “Love.” I am not fond of several meats if they don’t have sauce—flank steak is one. I need something to soften what I perceive as dryness and chewy texture. Chimichurri is perfect.

Again you can vary the herbs as you wish, but here’s the basic recipe I used:

Chimichurri

1 cup fresh parsley

1 cup fresh cilantro

1/3 cup olive oil

½ medium onion, sliced

3 garlic cloves, peeled

3 Tbsp fresh lime juice

2 Tbsp red wine vinegar

½ tsp each salt and pepper

¼ tsp. red pepper flakes

Throw it all in the food processor and process until smooth. Chill until serving time.

If you try kimchi, let me know about it. I’m curious but uncharacteristically timid.

Chicken thighs and sheet pan cooking

Chicken and vegetables
ready to go in the oven.

Chicken thighs are not popular at my house, partly because I insist on fixing bone-in, skin-on chicken and partly because Jordan says one is not enough for the male members of the family. My solution to that is to cook two for each of them—and then we usually have two left over.

Sheet-pan cooking is not popular either, mostly because we haven’t given it a chance, despite the current popularity. A friend of mine who makes clear she is not a cook said she discovered the easiest dinner—chunked up kielbasa, cut-up potatoes, and I think cabbage. I forget what kind of sauce or dressing she used, but her point was that it’s so simple. I did post a few weeks ago about the salmon sheet pan dinner we did, which was well received, especially by Jordan and me because it had spinach and artichoke hearts. It also had cherry tomatoes—another experiment we won’t try again. They turned to mush. I may try cod next.

Chicken thighs and sheet-pan cooking came together for me when I discovered a recipe in Facebook’s Not the New York Times Cooking Community (It used to be a NYT page but they pulled out of it).

This calls for two “handfuls” of vegetables per person—I ended up with so many we had to do the potatoes separately. But I chunked up carrots, green beans, broccoli, Brussel sprouts, and sweet onion. The green beans and sweet onion did not fare well—the high temperature got to them. Next time I’ll do potatoes. Sweet potatoes would be good if your family eats them—mine doesn’t—and cauliflower, but I admit I’m not crazy about that. The neat thing about this assortment of vegetables is that you can include a favorite for most at your table—if they don’t like it, they don’t eat it.

Line a rimmed baking sheet with heavy duty foil (do not use a glass pan with this high heat). Toss the vegetables with salt, pepper, and olive oil. You can add other spices if you wish—rosemary, curry, thyme, even taco seasoning. Spread the vegetables in the pan but be sure not to crowd them together. A little space between.

Peel the skin back from the thighs to season the meat with salt and pepper. (If you are squeamish about raw poultry just go ahead and season the skin, but under the skin it gives more flavor to the meat). Fold the skin back in place and pat the chicken dry with paper towels—this step is essential for crispy skin. Put the chicken skin side up directly on top of the vegetables so that the chicken juices soak down and flavor the vegetables during cooking.

The recipe called for a 500^o degree oven for 50 minutes. My toaster oven reaches its limit at 450^o and even that was too hot for the onion and green beans. I’m going to try a lower temperature next time. The trick, of course, is to be sure the chicken is thoroughly cooked. Chicken breasts will work, but they aren’t as good, and you have to cook them longer.

I took a picture of the pan ready to go in the oven but of course forgot the picture the finished product. But everyone loved it, particularly the chicken with its crisp skin.