Updating the old familiar

 

I am not a modern cook who scorns canned soup as an ingredient.
I proudly cook with canned soup frequently.

This time of year, two themes run through food magazines and online sites. There is either advice on how to cook the perfect turkey or suggestions for alternative entrees for those who are tired of the bird. That’s never a question for my family: they want what they have always had, cooked the way they have always had it.

So our Thanksgiving begins with a cheese ball of blue, cream, and cheddar (read Velveeta these days). Pride of place goes to the turkey, with dressing in a separate pan and never again in the turkey, mashed potatoes (Jordan’s specialty), gravy lots of gravy, green bean casserole with French’s fried onions, and, ideally, my mother’s everlasting yeast rolls (kudos to granddaughter Morgan who has volunteered to make the rolls this year). No substitutions, no “improving” the recipe. I’ve made it all for so many years I can do it from scratch.

This year Jordan is slated to provide the green bean casserole, cheeseball, and potatoes. As we made a grocery list, we quibbled over how many cans of green beans (oh yes, they must be canned) to buy, so for kicks I looked up the recipe online. Just for quantity, you understand. But I found a new twist—Campbell’s own web site suggests adding a bit of soy and some milk. Jordan was absolutely horrified when I read that to her, but I’ll keep working on it, because I think it would be a good addition. Here are the ingredients for a casserole to feed six (we will double or triple the recipe):

Green bean casserole

4 cans cut green beans

1 can Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup

½ cup milk

1 tsp. soy sauce

1-1/2 cups French’s French Fried onion rings    

I was so taken with the idea of checking out old favorites that when we decided on a pot roast the other night, I went back to Campbell’s for the traditional onion soup recipe, long a favorite. Once again, I found updates. I used to make it for the kids with carrots and potatoes, cream of mushroom soup, dry onion soup mix, and red wine, but here’s what I did this time:

Onion soup pot roast     

3-1/2 lb. beef chuck roast, boneless

¼ tsp. salt

2-1/2 Tbsp. vegetable oil

1/8 tsp. pepper

1 can Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup

1 packet dry onion soup mix

1 cup red wine

3 cloves garlic, sliced

Potatoes, carrots, and celery

4 sprigs fresh thyme

2 bay leaves

1 6-inch sprig fresh rosemary

Salt and pepper the roast and brown in oil. Mix soups, wine and garlic and pour into slow cooker (I did it stovetop all day—and it took all day!). Stir in vegetables. Place herbs in center of cooker on top of vegetables and place the meat directly over the herbs. Cook on low 7-8 hours. Remove meat to cool and thicken gravy with 2 Tbsp. flour stirred into ¼ cup cold water.

This is one of those recipes that prove how helpful it is to have your own herb garden! It got raves from the family and recipe requests from Christian and Chandry, who was our guest that night. I think I heard Christian say it was better than the Mississippi pot roast he makes. Good leftovers too.

Do you have some old favorites you might want to rethink or upgrade just a bit? Nothing drastic.                                                                                              

The lazy, lazy days—of November?

 

Those lazy, hazy days belong to summer. It’s November, and we’re all supposed to be busy with work and school and elections and holiday preparations—and even keeping dry and warm. But I have had two delicious, lazy days in a row, and I relished them.

Yesterday I woke up with the sure sense that if I didn’t do a thing, nothing in the world would stop or crash and crater, not even anything in my own small world. It was a hazy, rainy day—a slow, gentle rain, the kind of day to inspire laziness. There was not a thing on my calendar. My family was to be gone for supper. I had hard-boiled eggs for quick egg salad for lunch and the gift of split pea soup for supper, from a friend who knows how I love it. Sure, I had a Gourmet on the Hot Plate blog to write and another scene in my Irene book I wanted to get done, but really, what bad thing would happen if I didn’t do those things.

(That reminds me of a story—when Colin, my oldest, was about three, he said, “Ann says if you don’t eat breakfast, something bad will happen. What?” Ann was a friend who lived with us for a while. I absolutely had no answer for his question.)

Today was not quite so lazy, but close. We got to talking the other night about pot roast, specifically one I’ve done for years with cream of mushroom soup, red wine, and dry onion soup. (I am not one of those cooks who gets self-righteous about not cooking with prepared soups—I love them in lots of recipes!) Jordan said she was hungry for it, Mary offered to shop for the roast, and I found myself committed to making it for Friday night supper. Just to check the cooking time, I looked up a recipe and found some changes. Besides, I’m not sure I had ever done a pot roast in my tiny kitchen. Not a problem, I thought.

Turns out the problem, like so many, was not in the actual doing but in the anticipation. Sophie woke me from a sound sleep a bit after two in the morning. By the time I got her out and in and went back to bed, I couldn’t sleep. I swear I cooked that pot roast twenty times in my head. And I kept worrying about being tired because I hadn’t slept—surely a familiar worry to many of us. (My mom used to reassure me that I had really slept and didn’t realize it, and to this day I tend to believe Mom.) I even got up earlier than usual to get the darn thing cooking.

I browned the meat in a heavy pan first, and there began my problems. A three-pound chuck roast can be pretty unwieldy when you’ve lost strength in your arms (torn rotator cuffs) and hands (age). Besides between my seated walker and the hot plate on the counter, the angle is awkward. I splashed grease all over myself just getting it into the pan. Fortunately, I had the bright idea to move the pan to my work surface to transfer the meat to a plate, add the veggies and sauce and herbs, and put the meat on top. But between fighting with the meat and chopping the vegetables, it took me well over an hour to get the silly thing cooking on the hot plate.

Problem: the hot plate cooks for an hour and then turns off automatically—a safety measure, I know, to ensure you don’t walk away and forget it. So, every hour I heard it beep, got up, turned it back on, and reset the cooking temperature. Even during my nap—Mom’s theory again: I would tell you I didn’t sleep but I sure dozed. I put the roast on at ten; at five, it was not done. But by seven, it was fork tender and delicious. My favorite part? The carrots. Do not talk to me about InstaPots. My good friend Mary is always telling me how easy it would be to do in an InstaPot, but I like the old-fashioned long cooking, and I have time to do it.

But once the roast was cooking, my day was free. It was another drizzly, dark day, which didn’t make me feel ambitious. I read emails, explored social media, wrote about 500 words—and napped of course.

Jordan’s friend, Chandry, came for happy hour, stayed for pot roast supper, and we had a delightful time. Chandry and her husband have become very active in University Christian Church, so we had a lot of church talk, family talk, food talk. And bonus: everyone loved the pot roast.

So now, it’s late, and Sophie and I are getting ready to wrap up the day. Tomorrow brings light cooking—Jean is coming for supper, and I had promised her salmon but have changed the menu. Hope she doesn’t mind. And maybe Colin will help me figure out why I still can’t get on to the Central Market website. I have solved a couple of smaller computer problems myself (makes me so proud!) and Christian solved an annoying one for me tonight.

I’m ready for some sunshine tomorrow. How about you? Chandry reported that her husband is hunting in West Texas and it’s snowing. He loves it. I’m glad it’s in West Texas and not Fort Worth.

My favorite new discovery

 

My coaster turned dipping dish.

What’s your favorite part of a good meal at a fine Italian restaurant? If it’s not the tiramisu, mine may be the seasoned olive oil for dipping those crusty bread slices. And now I’ve discovered how to do that at home.

It should be no surprise that one day I was browsing Central Market’s web site looking for an appetizer. A new guest was coming to the cottage for happy hour, along with a good friend who I know needs carbs on a strict schedule. What to fix that would provide carbs and be a little bit showy, just a tad sophisticated? I came across a jar of dipping spices—you know, the small bottle most spices come in. And right next to it were dipping dishes—small, white, round. Eureka! I’d order that and a sliced baguette.

But when my order was delivered (by grandson Jacob) they had removed the dishes and listed the spices as out of stock—they still show on the site. This was the day before the happy hour, and I was fixated on serving that. I decided to go online for a recipe—found one that looked interesting. And realized that those pretty blue and white coasters I keep on the coffee table would be perfect dipping dishes. It was a hit, and I’ve served it twice more to raves—even had to make a second batch. Who knows? Tiny jars (it goes a long way) may make great Christmas gifts. It does store well and doesn’t necessarily have to be refrigerated.

Dipping spices

(Note that these are all dried flakes of spices; you do not want moisture to get into the mix.)

1 tsp. garlic powder

1 Tbsp. oregano

1 Tbsp. basil

1 Tbsp. parsley

2 tsp. onion powder

2 tsp. freshly cracked black pepper

½ tsp. red pepper flakes

1-1/2 tsp. kosher salt

1 tsp. thyme

½ tsp. rosemary

           Most of us have these spices in our cupboard, refrigerator, or freezer. The great thing about this recipe is that if you’re missing one or two ingredients, no one will ever know. It is what I call a forgiving recipe.

To serve, pour olive oil into a small pitcher. Put a basket of baguette slices on the table, and a small jar of the spices. If you want, you can also offer a small dish of grated Parmesan or Pecorino. If you have tiny serving spoons, like demitasse or espresso spoons, they are perfect for serving. Each guest can experiment to determine their favored spice to oil ratio and whether or not they want cheese (the cheese does tend to thicken the dip.)

Warning: I served this one night recently and ate so much I couldn’t even finish my salad for supper. And no, you don’t have to have an Italian entrée with this.

Another warning: Christian says not to put any unused dip with spices in it down the sink or disposal. Throw them in the trash.

Buon appetito!

*Recipe adapted from rachelcooks.com

Updating a couple of old favorite side dishes

 

Not my image
No chickpeas in my bean salad
I'm not particularly taken with chickpeas

Everyone has dishes they do they way they’ve been doing them for years, right? I mean it’s always been good enough. Except in prowling the net for recipes, which I do a lot, I found two updates that I’m loving.

For years my family has loved a salad we called marinated vegetables. Can’t even remember where I got the idea, but I would dump vegetables into a Dutch oven (not because I was going to cook but because it was the right size)—cut canned green beans, artichoke heart quarters, sliced sweet or red onion, drained and rinsed pinto or kidney beans, broccoli and cauliflower flowerets (some it was good to parboil or steam them just a bit). You could add sliced bell peppers—I just happen to really not like them. Originally I remember directions called for head lettuce and avocado but those don’t hold up well after the first serving. To dress it? Just bathe with your favorite bottled dressing, usually some version of Italian. In recent years, we’ve preferred Paul Newman’s Own Oil and Vinegar. This is great for feeding a crowd.

But sometimes you don’t want that huge salad that lasts a week in the fridge. And three-bean salad is perfect for family meals. If I knew how to do that marinated vegetable salad, surely I knew how to make three-bean salad. Same method, fewer ingredients. Once or twice I tried canned or deli-prepared bean salad, but it was always too sweet for me. Then I discovered this recipe.

Three bean salad

16 oz. canned, cut beans (if you can find yellow or wax beans, use an 8 oz. can of those and an 8 oz. can green; I’ve had trouble finding the wax beans, and an all-green salad is just fine)

1 15-oz. can red beans, drained and rinsed (I prefer the small red to the larger kidney beans)

1 small, red or sweet onion, thinly sliced

For the dressing:

¼ cup cider vinegar

3 Tbsp olive oil

1 Tbsp. honey

1 garlic clove, pressed or micro planed

Pepper to taste

Since I disliked the sweet bean salads I’ve tasted, I had real reservations about that tablespoon of honey, but it somehow accentuates the flavor and yet you don’t actually taste honey.

Serve chilled; keeps well in the refrigerator.

British methods of baking potatoes

Another thing everybody knows to how to do is bake potatoes, though there’s always the controversy about wrapping them in foil or oiling them or just sticking them in the oven at 350 for an hour and testing to be sure they’re soft inside. It only takes one potato exploding in the oven to teach a new cook to poke holes in the skin before baking.

I’ve been baking potatoes for decades, obviously, and saw no need to change my ways—until I read about the British method. Scrub potatoes thoroughly but instead of poking holes, cut a good-sized cross in the top of each. Bake at 400^o for two hours—that’s right, two hours! My toaster oven seems to run a little hot, so I did them at 375.

Remove from oven and as soon as you can handle them, with an oven mitt, cut each potato open lengthwise. Use a fork to get inside and fluff the meat. This is a bit difficult because you’re dodging a hot potato, but it’s worth it. Then put the potatoes back in that hot oven for another ten minutes. Makes the fluffiest potatoes ever with skin so crisp you’ll eat every bite.

And a word about oven roasted potatoes

Maybe it was the long cooking of the British method, but I’ve been inspired to cook potatoes a bit longer lately. The other night I roasted a pork tenderloin in the oven—it only takes 30 minutes, so if I wanted to scatter potatoes around it, I’d have o cut them fairly small to ensure they cooked through. I cut small red potatoes into fourths—pieces not much bigger than your thumbnail. Tossed them with generous salt and pepper and some olive oil and scattered them around the pork. Once again, crisp, salty skins and really soft insides. Jordan said I wasn’t cooking enough, and I said, “Oh, nobody eats that much potato.” I was so wrong. Wished I’d cooked more.