Kitchen fail--and eggplant reconsidered

 

I have some good friends who like eggplant, though my family has threatened death and destruction if I ever serve it again. I told Colin I’d never served it to him when he was a child, and he retorted, “Oh yes you did, and it was slimy.” So maybe I didn’t know to bake it instead of fry it. My friend Teddy loves it, and I have made two different eggplant dinners for Sue and him, and they’ve both been enthusiastic. Kathie also likes it, and I keep meaning to make her a dish. Meantime, one night recently, I made a recipe for Jean that sounded so good to me. Layered tomato and eggplant. What could go wrong?

When I read the recipe carefully that morning, I found it a bit more complicated than I thought. First off, you had to peel the eggplant, which is more difficult and perilous than I expected. I accomplished it without cutting myself, which made me proud. Then you cubed it and boiled it until soft. Drain and mash. Add onions, garlic, beaten egg, breadcrumbs, and pesto. So far so good. I put that mixture in the fridge, so that I could assemble the dish at the last minute. As I worked, I thought with great satisfaction about how good it sounded.

Jordan was here for happy hour when Jean arrived, so we sat, caught up on each other’s news, etc. But I finally decided it was time to cook. Easy-peasy: layer tomato, then eggplant mixture, then more tomato and top with grated cheddar. Bake at 350 for thirty minutes. When it came out of the oven, we both raved about how good it looked.

Jean liked it, ate two helpings; I did not. I could think of several things that would have been better: the onions should have been sauteed and softened first, the eggplant should have been sliced—as it was it got lost, the pesto was unnecessary, the cheddar too bold.

What I would do another time—if there is another time—is layer tomatoes (salt and pepper them), then slices of unpeeled eggplant, sauteed onion rings, a milder cheese like Monterrey Jack, and then more tomatoes. Cover liberally with grated Monterry Jack or slices of provolone. Mind you, this is not a recipe: it’s just a thought.

Since my kitchen fail, I’ve realized eggplant is ubiquitous, probably because it’s in season right now. But if you look online, you’ll see it stuffed, grilled, fried, baked, rolled, used in salads and spreads, served caprese style. I’ve seen recipes for curried eggplant (Indian), hot and sour (Vietnamese), Greek-style. I might even try the pasta caponata (caponata is a Middle Eastern spread of eggplant, fried and chopped, seasoned with olive oil, onion, garlic, tomatoes, lemon, capers and probably whatever else strikes your fancy). And there’s always babaganoush which is good if it’s not too strong with garlic. But I’ll pass on eggplant churros. Honest, I saw a recipe!

Here’s my favorite eggplant recipe:

Eggplant parmesan

2 eggplants

2 lbs. ground beef

2 cloves garlic, crushed

2 14-oz. cans diced tomatoes

2 6-oz. cans tomato paste

1 tsp. salt

Pepper to taste

Pinch of sugar

3 c. breadcrumbs (about 6 slices)

⅔ c. grated Parmesan

Provolone cheese slices

Vegetable oil, as needed; start with 3 Tbsp. but eggplant really soaks up oil and you may need to add more as you go along

Halve two eggplants lengthwise and hollow out, leaving shells about ¼ inch thick. Cube eggplant that you’ve cut out and sauté in vegetable oil until soft. Drain well on paper towels. Brown beef; add garlic, tomatoes, tomato paste, salt, pepper, and sugar and simmer 15 minutes.  Stir in breadcrumbs, sautéed eggplant, and Parmesan.

Spoon into eggplant shells. It won’t all fit, so use an extra side dish. Top with sliced provolone and bake. Will probably feed five, but only four get the eggplant halves. The fifth person has to eat out of a small oven dish.

Of cabbages and kings, frittatas and casseroles

Dinner at this house one night recently was a frittata fail. I’ve never made a frittata, but it’s just a crustless quiche, right? And it’s a popular dish now. I happened on to a recipe for a vegetable frittata and thought I’d use it as a guide. How hard could it be? Of course I had to adapt it—Christian and Jacob want meat with their meals (although not much red meat for Jacob) and the recipe had bell pepper, which doesn’t like me and I don’t like it. Jordan pointed out that we had a lb. of pork sausage in the freezer, and I have found that Christian will eat finely chopped spinach stirred into soup or something. Substitute cheddar for Parmesan and there was my frittata. Only I was way off on proportion of my substitutions. Instead of a half lb. of sausage, I used the whole lb., about 8 oz. spinach, and 6 oz. cheese. Stirred in 7 eggs—and it looked like a meat and spinach mixture. The eggs got lost. I dutifully baked and served it. Christian, with a skeptical look: “I’m used to more egg in a frittata.” It tasted okay—actually the flavor was good, but it was kind of like hash.

If frittatas are in vogue, casseroles are not. Facebook every once in a while pictures a casserole with the line, “Do people still eat this?” I often find myself defending tuna casserole (see last week's blog post). Somehow that makes me even more interested in retro foods. I associate casseroles with my childhood and then with the lean years when I was the single parent of four teenagers, but those are good memories. (I used to make gorilla casserole—the heading said you could feed ten gorillas at twelve cents apiece or something like that.) I still make casseroles. Here’s one I served to a guest recently:

Baked chicken salad casserole

3 c. chopped chicken

3 hard-boiled eggs

2 cans cream of mushroom soup

½ Tbsp. lemon juice

¼ c. mayonnaise

1 tsp. salt

2 c. chopped celery

½ tsp. black pepper

2 green onions, chopped fine

           Layer chicken and eggs in greased casserole; mix remaining ingredients and pour over eggs and chicken. Top with crushed potato chips. Bake at 375^o for about 30 minutes or until heated through. Enjoy!

 

 

Takeaways from some dinner flops

 

Last night’s dinner was not as good as I hoped—second time I’ve felt that way in a week. The menu was turkey meatloaves with mushroom gravy. Sounds great, right? In one way it was—flavor was so good I thought I was eating Thanksgiving dinner. But the texture countered that—the meatloaves were hard and dry.

This was not the first time I felt that way about using ground poultry. Some time ago I made chicken burgers that had the same texture problem, at least to me. But then I recently made turkey burgers we all liked. I can’t figure the difference. I thought at first it was the use of panko, but the ones we liked had panko in them too. So I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong. One possibility is that the succulent burgers had enough mayo both in them and on the buns to add the moisture needed for softness. Here’s what I did that we liked:

Turkey burgers

½ c. mayonnaise

½ c. panko

1 envelope onion soup mix

2 lbs. ground turkey

Hamburger buns

Combine first three ingredients in a large bowl. Mix in turkey. Grill and serve with buns. We added tomato slices and mayo on the buns.

There was a takeaway last night though. The mushroom gravy was quick, easy, and flavorful.

Mushroom gravy*

8 oz. mushrooms, sliced

1-1/2 Tbsp. olive oil

1 cup chicken broth

¼ tsp. dried thyme

1 Tbsp. flour

Salt and pepper, if using low sodium chicken broth

           Here’s the thing I had never done when sauteing mushrooms: place them in a single layer in the skillet over medium high heat and don’t touch them for four minutes. They’ll get a nice browned surface. Then add thyme, salt, and pepper, and toss until they are limp and have released their juices. Toss with flour. Add broth, bring to a boil, immediately lower the heat to a simmer and let it cook until it’s thickened somewhat. This would be great served over those burgers instead of putting them on a bun.

Last weekend I cooked a polenta dish that was supposed to be like shakshuka—eggs cooked in little pockets. My neighbor, Jaimie, was here, and we both got involved in watching those eggs not cook in the oven. I got so impatient, I turned on the broiler, and the whites finally whitened. Jaimie said hers was good, but mine had sort of a tough skin on it, though the underneath it was runny and good. The eggs really didn’t add much to the dish at all in my opinion.

But the polenta was wonderful, and I’ll make it again. I had it for breakfast the next day, gave some to Christian, and then had it for lunch two days. One difficulty with my small kitchen: lots of recipes call for an oven-proof skillet, but there’s no way I can fit a skillet into my toaster oven, so I have to improvise. Here’s what I did:

Corn polenta**

2-3 Tbsp. butter

½ c. corn kernels (fresh, frozen or canned—all drained, of course)

4 c. chicken broth, low sodium

1 c. polenta (when I was a kid it was grits and we made mush out of it, but now it’s gotten sophisticated)

½ tsp. salt

Chopped fresh herbs—basil, cilantro, parsley, chopped green onions, what have you. Just throw in a good handful

Fresh baby spinach – again, a good handful

½ c. grated cheddar cheese, or more to taste

I used a deep kettle for this because polenta tends to bubble and splash. Melt butter and sauté corn. Let it cook a few minutes and then add the broth, polenta, and salt. Stir until the mixture thickens slightly, watching for those splashes—they sting! Add herbs and spinach. Stir in cheese.

Spoon this mixture into a greased pie plate, smooth it out, and cover with aluminum foil. Bake at 350^o for 20 minutes; uncover and bake for another twenty or twenty-five minutes. The polenta will be soft and delicious.

Serve this with a green salad for a great vegetarian light meal.

*Adapted from a Southern Living recipe

**Adapted from a New York Times recipe; image above is not mine.           

          

 

An epic fail and a standby

One of my neighbors recently lucked into several bunches of leeks and generously shared the wealth. Problem: I’ve never cooked with leeks—a funny admission from someone who likes to cook as much as I do. I dithered about what to fix—Prudence, the giver, was making a leek quiche, but quiche wouldn’t go over well here. I narrowed it down to leeks au gratin or potato/leek soup. Decided to serve it on Sunday night when we were having hash (the other part of today’s story), so I thought the soup would be too much potato.

I made the gratin the way I do for Brussel sprouts and artichokes, with a sauce of mayonnaise, aa bit of lemon, some sour cream and celery salt. What I didn’t take into account is that the artichokes and sprouts are pre-cooked, and the leeks needed to maybe be poached in broth or something. They were too crisp, their flavor too harsh—when I had assured my family they had a delicate flavor. I have fished out and enjoyed the artichoke hearts and am saving the sauce, but today may be the day to pitch the whole thing.

When I was feeding my kids, I always made hash out of leftover turkey, potatoes and gravy. So I don’t know why I’ve never thought of making hash any other time than post-holiday—or with any other meat. (With the exception of canned corn beef hash which I have been known to enjoy slathered with ketchup.)

Last week I presented Jordan with several recipes I thought might be good for Sunday supper, and she chose chicken hash. Like a newbie cook, I followed the recipe slavishly—until I realized I’ve been making hash for years and knew how to do it. Here’s what I did: 

Chicken hash

1 large baking potato

1 whole chicken breast (you could use breast of a rotisserie chicken)

2 Tbsp. butter, more if needed.

½ cup coarsely diced onion

1 small stalk celery, with leaves, sliced

1 large garlic clove, minced

Pinch of thyme

Salt and pepper to taste

½ cup chicken broth (I used the Better than Bouillon concentrate)

¼ c. heavy cream

            Boil the potato. Set aside to cool; peel and dice coarsely—pieces about ½ inch square

Poach the chicken with salt, pepper, a bay leaf, some celery leaves, whatever you have. Set aside to cool and then dice like the potato.

Sauté onion, garlic, celery until onion is soft and translucent. Add potato and sauté until browned and a bit crisp. Add the chicken. Stir in thyme, salt, and pepper and then broth and cream. Cook over medium heat until liquid is absorbed, giving it an occasional stir. If it gets too dry—mine did—add a bit more broth. The hash should take on a lovely golden-brown color.

Serves two generously, four with smaller helpings.

Who knew that old-fashioned hash could be so good? I didn’t even need ketchup.