A Vickie Viking Fantasy

When I decided to upgrade my Kitchen Aid mixer to something more powerful I fell in love with Vickie. How could I pass up her glowing red color, 7 quart bowl,and little rolling wheels in the back. She can delicately whip one egg white into submission or roll up her sleeves and knead 3 loaves of bread. She is my go to girl for power in the kitchen.

Shortly after Vickie came into my life I was holding court in our kitchen with my NSSP (Not So Silent Partner) and two of our neighbors. We do this regularly discussing various male and female views on subjects. I introduced Vickie to our neighbors and we all looked at her with wonder.

The four of us started to fantasize what Vickie would look like in "real" life. The women saw a Nurse Ratchet/blond pigtailed woman. Competent, strong, and no-nonsense. The Mars boys saw Vickie as a shapely bikinied blond ( at least we agreed on her hair color) with flashing blue eyes in need of rescuing.

Now folks, take a gander at this gal- what do you think?

Slather Me with Butta!!

Butta- those hard yellow cubes of saturated fat that make everything it touches glisten and yes taste better. I always thought there was a magical process to making butter, a reason why no one made it today, another convenience food. But thanks to Saveur Magazine my eyes were opened to the possibilities of making butter at home and I dashed out to buy one quart of organic heavy cream.

At first, I was going to follow the recipe using a balloon whisk (had to knock the dust off of it first), and a big bowl. But I quickly saw the error in the recipe and dumped the cream in Vickie Viking my burly red mixer. Fitting her with her own balloon whip I started her slowly and gently increased the speed as she moved the cream through its chantilly, heavy whip, and butter clot stages. To put it simply, it was way cool!!

After the clumps of butter had materialized there was more beating to do to separate the buttermilk from the curds (as in curds and whey) Well, I had to tell someone about this successful science experiment so I dashed out and found my NSSP (Not So Silent Partner) cutting the grass for the first time this year. He rolled his eyes and gave me thumbs up.

The next step was to pour all of the contents (buttermilk and butter) into a moist towel and after draining the buttermilk away (and fantasizing about buttermilk biscuits, buttermilk pancakes, and googling buttermilk recipes) there was a gentle washing process to remove any last milk. This is when I started to have my first butter-gasm. I cooed to my yellow disc as my mind raced to whom I should tell next about this glorious discovery. I discounted The Princess feeling her eyes roll. I pondered my neighbor but I couldn’t face the answering machine that they leave on. Finally I settled on a quick e-mail to my partner in culinary crime knowing she would be duly impressed and reply with the appropriate strokes.

The texture was so soft and delicate. As I kneaded it moisture came to the top and I patted it away. So now what do I do with the stuff? First I weighed it- just curious about the yield- and found it was slightly less than a pound. I did add the ½ teaspoon of kosher salt as the recipe suggested. I buy salt free butter but was curious about the flavor.

In closing the recipe suggested wrapping the butter in wax paper, (honestly, I think I am the last person on earth who still has a moldering roll in the back of my drawer) I updated with two rectangular molds and saran wrap.

So in less time than it takes to mow ¾ acre we have homemade butta. Now all I need is a cow and I can go into full production! Watch out Land O’ Lakes!

Surprise it's the Beard Man!!

I know you all are waiting with baited breath- maybe reading my blog daily to see when I'm going to answer the puzzler. And here it is Portland, OR. own Jimmy Beard. The man who gave Calaphon the kiss of death with, "I like pans that look pretty when you cook in them. That's why I couldn't stand to cook in those dart gray anodized aluminum pots. They look as if you're in mourning."

Vegetarian Cassoulet?

I love my Gourmet Magazine! From random issues dating back to 1968 to the one I cracked open last night (March 2008); I always find a comment, recipe, or article that I enjoy. With Ruth Reichl as editor in chief the magazine has broken out of its stuffy beginnings and entered the new century.

Enough waxing poetic. This month is dedicated to rustic French cuisine with a cover photograph of three profiteroles filled with ice cream and an active shot of melted chocolate syrup oozing down. There is a fabulous menu that I want to make in its entirety.
"Spiced Orange Wine
Onion Tart with mustard and fennel
Provencal Fish Soup with Saffron Rouille
Rack of Lamb with swiss chard
Roasted Red Peppers
Roasted Garlic Souffle
Meyer Lemon Cake with Lavender Cream"
I can't think of a better way to say Vie Va La France! than with this menu.

Now I was on a roll and my eyes fell on an article about a bread making technique from Richard Bertinet a master baker from Brittany (historical home of our dog Buzz The Brittany Lightyear). This is a sweet brioche like dough that is very wet and thanks to www.gourmet.com there is a video of his kneading technique.

Wow! after purging myself of my magazines (see previous entries and pictures) I have a reason to horde another batch- Until my respect for Gourmet plummeted when I saw three disturbing recipes.
A Crustless Quiche- "Getting rid of the crust for this clever play on quiche Lorraine is a win-win." How cute is that! And lazy to boot! You might as well just make a Frittata and be done with it in 1/2 the time!!

Mussels and Fries with Mustard Mayonnaise- " While there's no substitute for eating a bowl of mussels on France's Atlantic coast, you'll be surprised at how easy it is to re-create this briny, aromatic dish at home." With one 15-16 oz. package of frozen french fries (cooked according to package instructions- keep warm in oven if necessary.) as the first ingredient. Nothing like a soggy institutional fry go eat with those briny bi-valves.

And the piece de resistance?
Vegetarian Cassoulet!! What were they thinking? I feel the French Revolution all over again! A rustic dish that takes 1 1/4 hour to make and serves 4-6? Julia, Louisette, Simone where are you? I leaped up and grabbed my Mastering the Art of of French Cooking volume one, page 399 and found not necessarily the definitive recipe but a recipe and its variations that embraced the true essence of the dish WITH MEAT. Another part of the cassoulet mystique that was missing from the vegetarian version (ugh) was the bread crumb cracking and basting to form a seasoned crust. The Veggies have you wielding a potato masher to smash the beans and the "Just before serving, sprinkle with garlic crumbs."

Now I will have to put on my critical cap and instead of being lulled into a food orgasm with Gourmet I'll have to have an inner dialogue with every recipe and notation. There is no reason to keep the magazines in their virginal entirety I will now slash and cut only the recipes I want.
Ahh- such is life!

It's not Micheal Jordan-

Guess Who?
I know that one is supposed to have a professional gas stove in order to qualify as a gourmet cook, but maybe I am just never going to be one.(How humble...)
"Corning makes nice oval gratin dishes. I like some of their white pieces, but not with those goddamn cornflowers on them"

Only Three for Me!!

Ready to Go!!

The Snazzy Celica!!

Purge and Ponder

It was a day of purging and gloom. It was time for me to come to terms with 30 years of cooking magazines that have formed culinary insulation in our garage. Let it be said that there was a time when the collection was smaller and in use. The magazines were divided by month and used for inspiration when I created catering menus.

But alas that was 25 years ago and now they had been breeding at a brisk clip of 4-6 magazines a month for way too long. You do the math and figure it out. My NSSP (Not So Silent Partner) has been quiet on the growth. He only whimpers when the magazines are in the house. Once they make the move outside his only interaction is to avoid them when parking the car. After an hour of speculating my day’s activity he surfaced to view my paltry results.

I turned with tears in my eyes and with clenched fists beat him on his chest saying, “Why didn’t you stop me! Why did you let me continue with this collection?” He gloated at my despair and walked away!

What was the catalyst? You might ask. It all had to do with a chance meeting of a budding chefflet who came into In Good Taste lusting after Art Culinaire magazines. I dropped my voice and like a dealer looking to sell drugs I told him of my horde of not only Art Culinaire but other untold culinary magazines waiting for a good home. And that dear friends is why I spent a beautiful, actually sunny, warm day in my cold garage humping boxes and shifting the stash from monthly organization to title.

Many had old addresses and had been with me from my divorced swinging single time when I dashed around Boston in my Toyota Celica ST. Then there were the years represented in our address in Michigan, New Jersey, Florida, and now Oregon.

I held firm not to read anything, I did flip through, but resisted ripping random recipes out. I found out that Gourmet changed from paragraph recipes to our ingredient/explanation style of today in 1983 and with that a narrower collection evolved. I kept those magazines prior to that bench mark. My ever trendy Bon Appetits received the same harsh treatment with only a few of the oldest staying.

I was merciless! Away Cuisine! Be gone defunct Pleasures of Cooking! Adieu Australian Taste! Never breed in my garage again Cook’s!

And when I was done I had moved the magazines from one side of the garage to the other, broken up the old moldering boxes and liposucted the collection from 28 crates to a svelte three.

Having gotten rid of one crate to my new culinary friend I dream of a steady stream of foodies clamoring for the rest of my booty ($25-crate included). If not it’s off to recycling!

Whoopee it's Bagel Bliss

Let’s talk about those bagels that I alluded to in the Whoopee blog. My first thoughts Saturday morning were of how quickly I could make coffee, feed the animals, and dive into bagel bliss. There is always trepidation when food memory and real product meet. Have you waxed poetic on the perfection of the item? Was it really that good? Maybe it was good because you were starving and you used your last dollar to buy sustenance. Maybe it was who you were with? Was this a food shared in a post romantic interlude? My perfect bagel moment was when I was in high school and had Saturday morning Chinese language lessons. There was a car pool of kids that traveled from Dover, NJ to Piscataway. Along the route was a bagel shop in a strip mall.

Time stopped when I walked into the bagel shop. Giant caldrons of water were bubbling with their doughy orbs. Large horizontal pizza ovens flanked the back wall cranked to the perfect temperature to brown the bagels outside. I only ate the hot freshly baked bagels. I snubbed the cool ones in the metal bins. Salt, poppy, sesame, everything, I ate them all with or without cream cheese depending on the pennies in my pocket.

Why did these become my gold standard? It was a food I discovered. Growing up in Iowa gave me little experience to this ethnic wonder. It was an adult pacifier that sent me into a carbohydrate orgasm that lasted through the interminable Chinese class. That gummy doughy center encased by a skin that you had to fight open and chew into a pulp before swallowing. It didn’t get much better.

My husband’s gold standard was based on bagels at the source, New York City. It never occurred to him that there could be a bad bagel until we found ourselves in the Midwest. Then all of his ethnic standards were challenged and we only ate bagels that were brought to us from friends and relatives. We ate them like junkies gorging and hording until the last poppy seed was swallowed.

Now we have become a bit more egalitarian in our bagel consumption. We resign ourselves to an inferior product and with each bite remind each other that it isn’t like…

It is only when we have a chance to eat the perfect bagel that our trust in our bagel memory is renewed. We forget all of the inferior substitutes and wallow in bagel bliss.

Woo-er to Whoopee

I’m so glad I’m not a male “in a relationship” or wanting to get lucky on Valentine’s Day. In the restaurant business we call it V-D Day, innuendos implied and it is deuce night a go-go. To the hapless public it is Valentine’s Day and for the male constituency it’s woo or sleep alone.

There are those high flying types who pull out all of the stops and the credit card for a dozen long stemmed roses (a flower that wracks up frequent flyer miles in February) and a gourmet meal. A hump in the hay is a shoe-in as long as the conversation focuses on the female’s interests.

Another sure fire way to a big bang is a little bauble. Now the woman that you are setting your sights on might “state” that she isn’t interested in gems but remember Mr. Woo that the jewelry food chain is long and you need to seek the sweet spot and buy the embellishment. This can be challenging when you realize Valentine’s Day is a mere 24 hours away. Believe me men, go for the goods be they diamonds, sterling silver or a plug for the ear. Every girl loves her jewelry of choice. Don’t forget to have it wrapped! Surprise is also important to the recipient of woo.

Let’s say your plastic is too hot to handle. In the plastic vs. Christmas fight Christmas won. So nix those roses and buy a bunch of tulips or better yet a little plant for her to nurture and think of you when she waters it! Gee how cute!

We’re on to dinner and the Outback Steakhouse is out. She turned vegetarian last week. The produce section has “caution enter at your own risk” taped around it as far as you are concerned. Wow this is getting rough! Words of advice? Start safe and dive for the wine and beer department. Grab the wine guy and ask him for suggestions. Don’t quibble! Go for the bubbly rosé with a pink and gold label in French. Good job! Remember your goal as you ease back to produce land.

So meat is out and you don’t eat anything green. Have you pondered our aquatic friends? A burly fish like tuna (don’t grab a can Mr. Woo!) or swordfish? How about shellfish short of being allergic shrimp can elevate your status as a cook and get you closer to the night of your dreams.

Buy a half pound of shelled shrimp (1/2# will do), a head of garlic (use 2-3 peeled cloves chopped), white wine (1/2 C) with the rest ready to drink after the rosé has run out, chopped parsley (1T) DON’T buy the curly kind buy flat leaf! That separates the men from the boys on the parsley front. It’s not really a vegetable just a bit of color.

Heat 1T olive oil or butter; throw in the chopped garlic, and then shrimp. Once one side is pink turn the shrimp over and add the white wine, parsley, salt and pepper. Turn heat off and cover.

Done deal. Serve over linguine ( just testing- it’s spaghetti to you) with garlic bread (make sure you are both eating the bread and pasta!!), and a salad from the grocery salad bar. After the coos and kudos you both will be in a garlic induced amorous heaven.

Remember- the meal should be filling but not button popping! Your goal is eat enough calories for friskies not to pass out with the bloats.

Dessert? Well let’s just say Mom’s Apple Pie isn’t appropriate. Go for sex and nothing screams “I want you” more than chocolate and ice cream to be served in bed. Clean sheets help and candles for effect.

Good luck men and the force be with you!!

P.S. My husband knows the way to my heart. Although arriving a day late he is bringing me fresh H&H bagels- onion, garlic, and everything bagged separately…

What a guy!!

Restaurant Madness- A Culinary Poem

I don’t want to know that Sam is my Server

(Or attentive slave salivating for a tip)

Nor that Babs is my Busser

Nor that Carlotta shakes my cocktails

I don’t want to be told that my entrée is a good decision

(Would they tell me other wise?)

Do they know my palate?

I don’t want them to kneel at my feet

And look adoringly up at me as I place my order

I do hate being asked, "How everything is tasting?"

Or "Do you like the food?" with wringing hands

It would be nice to have my chair pulled out

And to always be told the specials

(And not hear them recited at the next table)

It would be nice to have my beverages topped off

Without raising my white napkin

And at the end of the meal I would like my

Check delivered face down

Until I am ready

To pay

Ratatouille the Movie or Roll over Walt Disney

I finally saw Ratatouille and I must say I was completely unimpressed. There is something unsettling about a “cute” rat that #1 has a palate, #2 is coached by a fat chef ghost, #3 pulls the hair of a cook want a be to make him lurch through the kitchen to create perfect dishes and #4 a legion of rats divided throughout the kitchen to prepare a perfect meal for an obnoxious critic. Does this make sense?

Now in older Disney animal movies there was always a depressing sense of reality with an animal dying, evil parent, or nasty protagonist. There was something to make a child bawl and give them nightmares. In this movie the rat was separated from his clan and found himself in Paris. It was hardly heart wrenching since just a few seconds later he found himself in front of a three star restaurant. In this candy coated version of a professional French kitchen there is a runt of a chef who intimidates by rolling his eyes and screwing up his face. He devises a way to expose the chef wanabe by recreating the soup his rat friend had created. Now if Chef Jr. was worth his chops he would have been quizzing his rat friend and learning how to cook instead of letting his hair get pulled under his toque. Where are the knife throwing, food rage and culinary perversion that can be found in a dysfunctional kitchen? And what about the rest of the kitchen staff? Yes they all look like convicts and I’m sure they are tattooed as well but the only one with a personality is the female cook who would never make the cut in any traditional French restaurant. The rest are there for close-ups.

There is no feel for the grueling daily grind of cleaning cases of lettuce, butchering meat, or the magic of emulsifying a sauce. Even the ghost is 2 dimensional (excuse the pun) sagely pushing rat and son to perfection.

I know that the food is excellently choreographed thanks to Thomas Keller graciously letting the production team into his kitchen and allowing them to pixilate his movements. But so what?

Finally the reason that the reviewer is sent into a taste bud orgasm is because the rat has recreated ratatouille that reminds him of his childhood? And that makes a great restaurant?

The real kicker is that the bumbling Chef Jr., who shouldn’t even be cooking at a fast food restaurant gives a toque to the rat and names him “little chef”. Just to wrap up this already basic and uncluttered tale (tail…) Cheffie has found the love of his life in the militant little vixen female chef.

Disney must be rolling over in his grave.

Just saying the word ‘November’ makes the entertaining challenged run for cover. From now until January 2^nd (The official start of the January Diet Campaign) these poor souls are awash with anxiety and culinary hurdles.

The easiest way around this conundrum is to entertain in restaurants or have your party catered. This method is rather expensive. If you are entertaining challenged have one large party and bang out as many pay backs as possible. In this vein you could do “co-mingling” entertaining. In its purest form this is a pot-luck. You supply a clean house and beverages and let your guests bring the rest. Be forewarned that without guidance your guests might all bring a chunk of cheese or desserts. Don’t forget lots of saran to wrap all those goodies up and give back to your guests (keep the ones that you like- they owe you). A variation is the "orchestrated foraged" party. This uses more gas and ingenuity but by tearing around your fair city you can create an “I can’t cook but I can party! menu. With a little bit of planning (you’re the hostess you know when the party is) you can order some excellent items from Zabar’s to intimidate your guests. Nothing like a little smoked sturgeon to show you care. Just gather as many exotic pre-made ingredients that your budget will allow and don’t forget that ever popular crudités (that says healthy) and your party will scream “Look I’m entertaining and having fun!”

There are die hard foodies like me who would rather be spit roasted than use someone else’s candied nuts. We stubborn stupid cooks feel that each entertaining event puts our sauté pans on the line. Having been a caterer means that I can’t do pot-lucks or cookie exchanges. And each year the entertaining bar is raised. I want to give a party like I used to be hired to provide. I rent dishes, wine glasses buy snappy invitations with R.S.V.P.’s and pick special stamps. The guest list is a pot pourri of people. There are always those tiresome neighbors, the boss who thinks he knows it all, and special friends to talk to while the rest of them face off.

The thing I hate about entertaining is that I have to clean the house and do the cooking. Catering was so simple. I showed up with the food and the house was clean. I didn’t have to mingle just make sure there was enough food and the kitchen was spotless when I left.

When we entertain, invariably my Not So Silent Partner with wine glass in hand, will decide to give the newbie’s a tour of the chateau. Is our bedroom with its 14’ butterfly on the wall or my office with 4 6’bookshelves filled with cookbooks necessary for all to see? So I dutifully clean all the nooks and crannies wishing we could do a series of parties since I went to all this trouble. But the hardest thing for me to clean for guests is the kitchen table. You see our kitchen table is a living being dedicated to reading. Layers of food magazines, NYT book review sections, and catalogs grace the marble surface. It takes months to get the right mix of medium so that no matter when you sit down you can exhume a never read piece of literature to fit your mood. Did I mention the random scraps of paper that garnish like a sprinkle of parsley on a dinner plate? I digress into my own entertaining quandary.

What I wanted to discuss was not only the impending doom of Thanksgiving, Christmas, (Hanukah, Kwanza) and New Years; but a little known French holiday that will ease your entertaining woes and put you at the top of the 2007 social circuit. Don’t tell anyone but Nouveau Beaujolais is the answer! On the 3^rd Thursday of November (a week before Thanksgiving) at 12pm the Beaujolais region of France releases its first wine of the season. Yes, the wine has been shipped to your favorite wine shop but they can’t sell it before 12pm your time. In some circles nouveau beaujolais is considered a precursor to how good the wine year will be.

All you have to do is round up 3 different vineyard’s wines put paper bags around them; label them 1, 2, 3 rent some wine glasses (red cups won’t do!) and away you go! The menu? What’s easier? Cheese, fruit, store bought paté (for that gourmet touch). If your French side is clamoring for attention you can make gougere or fondue. You will notice that no EVOO was spilled nor “chunked” potatoes were “smashed” for this event but it was oh, so easy!! Dessert? You’re off the hook- a wine party doesn’t need it! Voila! A party! Your guests vote on which Beaujolais they like the best and then after the fabricated award is given to the wine and the suspense is done you can continue to drink in earnest. Now the secret to this party is the date. No one is thinking of a party before thanksgiving and your party won’t get lost in the holiday shuffle. When your friends think back on their holiday season and the endless holiday buffets they “enjoyed” they will remember your party first with glowing nostalgia and a well done!

Have You Made Your Grocery List Today?

Every counter in the kitchen, every pocket of my pants, and scattered around my pocket book and wallet are random sized pieces of paper written in various colors of ink creating grocery lists. I on occasion, absent mindedly pick up these lists of yore and feel calm as my eyes caress the items that make our house run. There were days of coupons, when I judiciously snipped, filed and threw away more than I used. Now I have moved on to obsess about which store to forage in for our supplies. My buzz words are local, organic, and sustainable.

They are not profound grocery lists full of forgettable ingredients for an haute cuisine meal but lists of mundane needs for the house to keep it running.

The list often starts out with the trilogy milk, o.j., and bread. Then the generic notation of meat, fish, potatoes and veggies. These items are road maps to creativity in the grocery store. Now the list gets into the occasionally needed but no less necessary item. So we add dog food both dry, and wet. Not to be outdone is the dry and wet cat food and an occasional addition of cat litter. There can be asides of less than exotic items that must be in the home at all times- flour, yeast, Perrier. Sometimes recipes have been researched in advance for a meal and those items receive special treatment with underlining, CAPITALIZATION, circles and exclamation marks! Vitamins need an added reminder because of their variety and we never need all of them at the same time. Holiday grocery lists are still pretty much the same but with a theme- the Thanksgiving list always mentions turkey, cranberry sauce, and cubed bread as if it could be forgotten!

Once at the grocery store of choice the list becomes alive and the word meat is translated into veal chops, hamburger, or pork. The fish becomes fresh scallops pregnant with sweetness, halibut cheeks with their unique texture, or the first wild salmon of the year. Vegetables burst into the cart after I have pondered their origin nestling amongst the organic milk and no pulp orange juice. The word bread always gives me a pause at the store. Here a decision has to be made. Who will be home during the week to consume it? Should the bread be an uncut artisan loaf or a pre-sliced whole wheat sandwich loaf and in that case are sandwich meats needed?

To keep my life simple I have settled on certain products that I can buy without pondering. I always buy the same basics. It keeps me simple- Aim toothpaste, Neutrogena soap, and for many years Cascade dishwashing soap that has been recently replaced with Seventh Generation dishwashing soap (see there is room for change). I save my questing for interesting canned goods, olive oils, mastering new ingredients, spices or which coffee to buy. Give me a free sample and if it passes the taste test it goes in the cart.

To come across an old grocery list that has made it through the washing machine is like an archeologist trying to put some import on a simple water vessel. The list is my own special map for taming the grocery store and wresting the supplies needed to maintain my household’s happiness. When I do find my maps dotting the house I glance at them, sigh as I remember cruising the isles for the items and then throw them away. I could save time by continuing the list, instead of using a new piece of paper, but it would like retracing my steps. A new sheet is needed for a new quest.

Sometimes the lists go AWOL before they hit the store and in that case I play the remembering game. It’s a win-lose game with the down side being a new list started as soon as the groceries are put away.

My grocery lists bridge the home and store. With them I am able to navigate the isles unscathed by temptations and bring home the bacon.

Restaurant Madness, A Culinary Poem

I don’t want to know that Sam is my Server
(Or attentive slave salivating for a tip)
Or Babs is my Busser
Or Desmond shakes my cocktails

I don’t want to be told that my entrée is a good decision
(Would they tell me other wise?)

I don’t want them to kneel at my feet

It would be nice to have my chair pulled out
And to always be told the specials
(And not hear them recited at the next table)

It would be nice to have my beverages topped off
Without raising my white napkin
And at the end of the meal I would like my
Check delivered face down

Until I am ready
To pay

Move Away Gourmet!

Tired of being called a foodie or gourmet? Try on the word gastrocenti. Based on the Italian cognoscenti meaning the people who know this morph means people who know about food. How utterly continental!

And by the way the answer to the picture is in the What is this? comments section!

Another Angle

Here's the "ladies" from another angle- Now you can see those sexy toes!

What is this?

I know it looks like kinky can-can but it really is a "useful" item. What is it? Comments please and the answer will be next week!
From Queen Art-o-Eat