Po' Canucks

We've entered a new realm of the culinary world having discovered the Crab Burger Po' Boy. Because we are so thoroughly Canadian and have no sweet clue regarding local delicacies of the Southern United States*, we were unfamiliar with the Po' Boy. Research was required and the results were very informative.

"The name 'po-boy' is, of course, a shortened version of 'poor boy.' The name stems from the fact that a po-boy used to be a very inexpensive way to get a very solid meal. (Extremely detailed description of exactly what qualifies as a po' boy here.) Po-Boys are a New Orleans version of a sandwich, but they're not just any sandwich. You might be tempted to call them a hoagie or a sub, but don't! A true Po-boy is made with crisp New Orleans French bread, piled high with your favorite delicacy: fried shrimp? Crispy oysters? Sliced roast beef dripping with rich brown gravy? Order them "dresseda" (with lettuce and tomatoes) or not. And don't forget a splash of Tabasco and a dollop of Creole mustard."

The pictures bordered on frightening. The only reason we started down this road is the crab meat in the freezer that needed to be consumed. This recipe featured crab and seemed intriguing, new, a little 'red neck'. Truth be told, we are both a tiny bit red neck ourselves (though Marc would rather die a thousand deaths than admit this). The fact is, through no fault of our own, we both were raised in Canadian-Texas (a.k.a. Alberta) and we can never escape our past. For example, I have been known to occasionally use "y'all" in a sentence and may or may not know all the words to AC~DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long". Marc refers to ATVs as "quads" and he drinks rye. Plus, one half of his family is Acadian, which is just a stone's throw from 'Cajun. Because we deviated from the recipe slightly and bought crusty buns instead of french bread, I would argue that our creations were more burger than po'boy. And frankly, I don't consider crab meat to be terribly red-neck so, really, what we ended up with were more like fancy Filet o' Fish sandwiches. I have to admit, though, that they were a little disappointing. They tasted just fine but with this recipe's Louisiana roots, I was expecting more heat and frankly, more flavour. If we ever attempt a po'boy-type-sandwiches/burgers again, we should toss a little quebecois into the mix and make it a poutine affair: fries with cheese curds and gravy on french bread; guaranteed to cure any hangover. * Once upon a time, my brother Geoff visited our Uncle Al in Galveston. Uncle Al took Geoff out for some real Texas BBQ which means that they drove to a trailer on the side of a country road which had a bunch of barbecues propped up near the back door. They went inside and ordered "2". Geoff followed Uncle Al to the food table where a woman wearing an apron ladled some BBQ onto his plate. Geoff, being a naïve Canadian, asked the woman what kind of meat was on his plate. She shrugged and said "I dunno. Parts is parts." So they sat down on a bench at the one long table to eat. Again, being naïve and Canadian, Geoff asks where are the vegetables? A fellow at the table laughed at him and said "Vegetables? Vegetables?! Shoot, my favourite vegetable is fried chicken!"

Mustard Seeds

Well. For a weekday, this meal was certainly a lot of work. If we had been hosting a tasting party and were making this at, say, 2.00pm on a Saturday, with big glasses of wine in hand, the task might not have seemed as onerous. But because it was a Tuesday, and because we were both already tired from work (and halfway into a bottle of red), this recipe for Moroccan-style Aggravating Chicken Phyllo Rolls of Angst with Spiced Tomato Sauce proved itself exasperating. It involved thawing, trimming, chopping, measuring, simmering, skimming, de-boning, shredding, reducing, stewing, blending, toasting, frying, buttering, sprinkling, wrapping, cutting, brushing and pressing to adhere. That is altogether too much friggin’ work for a Tuesday night. At about ‘shredding’, Marc suggested that this was probably not something we were going to make again. I whole-heartedly agreed (I was hungry already!) and proceeded to bad-mouth the sauce which I was taking pains to carefully skim of its fat. Back and forth we went, berating this recipe for its confounded complexity until, in the end, we were shouting at the mustard seeds to “quit rolling around and adhere, dammit!” We chucked them in the oven and paced and drank until we could pronounce them ‘browned enough, sheesh’ and finally, sat down to eat. Unfortunately, they were quite good.

These fall into the appetizer category and it might seem curious that we made these for supper. Indeed, it is but we were trying to use up the extra phyllo leftover from when we made something else… hmm, I forget what. Anyway, Moroccans must really like to cook because this took two of us about two and a half hours to complete. Though, Moroccans must really like to eat because the rolls were definitely tasty. If they were served at a fête as part of an appetizer tray, I would have constantly been edging my way closer to the tray in order to score a few more before someone else got to them. The spices involved – ginger, cumin, turmeric, pepper, coriander, cinnamon, paprika – all served their purpose exceedingly well against the chicken. Phyllo, of course, is always good. The mustard seeds added their fair share of tanginess but the tomato sauce was a bit dull; I wish we would’ve added some more cayenne and/or more smoked paprika. Or better yet, if we had any of the harissa that Mom & Dad brought back from Tunisia, that would have been ideal to mix into the sauce. All in all, I’m afraid we’ll have to make these again. *sigh* When we do, we will have to make a huge batch and freeze them thus avoiding the frequency of the episodes where we cook using nearly every dish in the kitchen. I remember my Mom working with phyllo when I was little and in my mind it stands out as being delicate company food that required a lot of work. I know why, now. I get it. I will never again capriciously wolf down phyllo treats without thinking of the hard work of the poor sucker who made them.

The One to Beat

There are 3 things I know: 1) cat pee is the purest form of Evil, 2) Jude Law a beautiful, beautiful man, and 3) there is no such thing as Perfect Chili. However, that being said, I am relentless in my quest for the Holy Grail, the Chili of all Chilis, the one that tastes like autumn and football, which envelops the soul in warmth and which involves a committee of spices. Much like the search for the real Holy Grail (the one involving Jebus and all the blood), the search for the Perfect Chili is unending because it is surrounded by myth, competition to find it is fierce, and even if you think you have it, you're never sure that there isn't a more authentic one out there. Ergo, the Best Recipe, So Far is Boston Marathon Chili. And there's a bit more to it than just this recipe: a woman from Melbourne, Fla. added a review of the chili and she suggested about 10 other ingredients not mentioned in the recipe. As with every good chili recipe, there are one million ingredients and the quantities of each vary between cooks and the day of the month and the phase of the moon. As a result, I can't recall precisely what we did with this version but we followed pretty much all of the Florida Lady's additions but none (or few?) or her reductions or eliminations. The product of all this fooling around with the instructions was truly outstanding. Firstly, this chili is made with cubed beef and pork, not ground beef, and the difference in taste was quite remarkable; it also made for a more liquid-y chili but that just made it easier to sop it up with bread. Secondly, both chocolate and cinnamon were involved which added a subtle and very interesting divergence from the usual chili flavour. As well, it was good and spicy, but not so much that a little sour cream and cilantro on top couldn't counter the heat. And talk about fantastic leftovers– this chili is definitely the one to beat. On the Continuum of Like, it earns a rating of 'Super-Like'. The Côtes-du-Rhône we drank was quite nice. It stood up to the richness of the chili and pulled out some of the cumin taste. Sidebar: I have met the person responsible for, arguably, the WORST version of chili ever known to man. This person (who, obviously, shall remain nameless) is the mother-in-law of one of my dear friends, E. For Christmas Day at her in-laws' house, E. offered to make chili for the whole in-law family for a casual lunch. On Christmas Eve, she, along with the mother-in-law, stopped to pick up a few ingredients for lunch the next day. When E. started to pick out green peppers, onions, kidney beans, etc., the mother-in-law stopped her and said, "Oh no, you don't need that, Dear." E. assumed that this was because she already had all the ingredients at home and so all she ended up buying was ground beef. The next day, E. went to the kitchen to start making the chili. However, she couldn’t find any of the ingredients she needed. The reason there were no ingredients is that her mother-in-law's version of chili is nothing, NOTHING, like any other chili on earth. The recipe? Ground beef, cooked, not drained. Ketchup. One can of Libby's beans. No salt, no pepper, not even any chili powder (seems a bit odd given that the name of the stew is the same as the spice). P.S. I didn't realize how many things Jebus and chili have in common: their perfection is elusive, they both involve taking of bread and they both have been said to warm the soul. In fact, except for the bread, the same could be said of Jude Law. Weird. P.P.S. That observation was TOTALLY sacrilicious.

Last Gasp of Summer

Summer Garden Salad with Chili-Garlic Shrimp Last month, in addition to this last ditch, food-centric attempt to INSIST that it was still summer, I was forced to conclude two things: 1) my iPod is really and truly gone, *sniff* stolen by some rat bastard who, though I don't believe in Karma, had better suffer for that, and, 2) fresh corn on the cob tastes better than canned corn and is worth the extra trip to the grocery store.

Against my will, I obliged and made a special trip* to Safeway for the corn as we had all the ingredients for this "summer" dish and had missed just this item and the fresh lettuces meant to support the salad from below. I begrudgingly admit that it was worth it. It seems strange that we so rarely come across a recipe we don't like so I'd like to suggest a tool for clarification: in my mind, all food exists on a Continuum of Like (see below). For the record, there is only a miniscule percentage of consumables that I would not even make an attempt at consuming and which, therefore, fall off the far left end of the Continuum. This percentage contains, so far, the following: - live octopus - live crickets - live snake - severed, marinated duck heads - duck fetus, still inside the egg (I mean no disrespect to the duck, it's other parts are very enjoyable to consume.) Love exists in a category all on its own. Lobster Sauteed in Butter and Brandy with Tarragon falls into the Love category. Using this tool, I would argue that this recipe falls somewhere between 'Like' and 'Really Like'. Because of all the vegetables, the salad was hearty enough to be supper and strong-willed enough to stand firm until lunch-time the next day; not many salads can do that. The shrimp were just this side of spicy but what pushed them closer to 'Really Like' was their flavour: chili-garlic sauce mixed with cumin makes for a sweet-ass marinade/cooking liquid for shrimp. Also, it should be noted that avocado were a part of this recipe and, though I would never say this to their face, the salad wouldn't have been that different if they weren't there. In fact, I might omit them the next time we make this next summer (a.k.a. forever away). But don't tell them I said that. * The amount of whining associated with this chore was surpassed only by The Petulant Peanut Trip of June 2005, which shall be remembered in perpetuity.

At Least It's Home-Made

Pizza with Roasted Garlic, Bell Peppers and Two Cheeses. Somehow it seems we've been eating a lot of pizza lately. Not that I'm complaining, I mean, one really can't go too far wrong with pizza. This one in particular, I would rate as 'Like' (see The Continuum of Like in Last Gasp of Summer). I think the roasted garlic is the key ingredient here. Plus, the smell of garlic roasting in the oven that permeates the whole apartment is an added bonus. All the other ingredients, on their own, were pretty plain but, added together = 'Like'. At any rate, we didn't have any leftovers, so that's a sign. We used ricotta cheese instead of feta on this pizza because we had ricotta and no feta. Also, I made a home-made pizza dough for this from Oprah's In The Kitchen With Rosie cookbook; it's easy to make and produces a nice, thin crust, which I prefer. The pre-made ones from the store always seem kind of soggy and expensive. Nothing expensive should ever be soggy.

Mac & Cheese

Yet another yummy recipe from the Kitchen of Testing of America. Talk about yer comfort food- this must be at the top of Henry Lunchbox and Sally Housecoat's Top 10 Best Down-home Recipes of The Unity-States. Though, with such a simple name, it could also masquerade as a clever, tongue-in-cheek kind of gourmet nonsense served at The French Laundry. (The title of the dish on the menu would quaintly read: "Mac & Cheese" and the description would read something like: "a delicate gratin of black-pepper flecked, wholegrain, fresh pasta with six locally-made cheeses, topped with a golden crust of panko and organic parsley, peashoot greens and a soupçon of chile-oil reduction sauce and mango-chutney glaze. $56.00) Regardless, we actually watched the episode of the programme when they made this recipe. The goal was to produce something that was satisfying and 'adult', creamy and cheesy, with a crunchy, golden-baked topping. I like that they test multiple variations of the recipe and then show the audience the failures before launching into the Champion Recipe. The failures on this one were awful, gummy, sticky blobs of pasta made even more unappetizing by the way the host picked up big spoonfuls and then let the pasta flop back down into the dish. The Champion, however, looked extremely good so we gave it a try. Because Marc follows directions precisely, it turned out looking just like the one on TV and tasted marvelous. It's a simple thing – pasta with cheese sauce – but when done well like this, it deserves more credit. It has more calories and fat content than I care to review as it is made with whole milk, contains no fruit or vegetables and uses obscene quantities of cheddar and monterey jack cheese. But, oh, so delicious! It meets the challenge: creamy? check; cheesy? oh yeah, check; yummy, crunchy, breaded topping (made with butter, of course)? check, check, check! I don't think it would qualify as 'adult' though, unless it was served with spinach salad or at the French Laundry. Or by someone in a French Maid costume. P.S. This warmed over beautifully into molten, cheesy splendor.

I Left My Heart in San Francisco

The Blue Bottle Company made the best coffee I have ever had. We were heading toward Haight and looking for a coffee when we saw a sign on the sidewalk beside an alley. We go down to find a little hole in the wall coffee shop with a metal shop in the back I order a macchiato, and Janet gets a cappucino. When he asks me whether it was to stay or go, I had to look around because there didn't seem to be any place to sit down. There were a couple of old wooden chairs on the sidewalk and a micro bar to stand around, which I had overlooked. 20 minutes later, I'm walking down the street in a daze, repeating "Wow, that was good coffee." We went back two more times. On one occassion I saw a woman's cafe au lait with a fern leaf pattern across the top. Absolutely incredible. Upon my return, I discovered that their coffee is listed in the top ten things to eat in San Francisco. Apparently they have a 24 hour limit between between roasting and brewing. After 24 hours they give the beans to charity.

Oscar-Winning Performance

This was our last episode of cooking prior to departure for San Francisco. We expected to eat ourselves stupid in SF (a prophesy that was, indeed, fulfilled) and wanted one last light meal in preparation for the onslaught of gluttony. The word 'steamed' seemed to fit that bill and thus, the Steamed Red Snapper with Ginger, Chiles, and Sesame Oil. I have to preface the rating of this recipe by saying that I love ginger. Given several choices of drinks, or desserts, etc, I will always pick the one with ginger in it. Ergo, I really liked this fish with ginger. The note on the recipe says that "the aromatics (ginger, scallions, chile) are easily absorbed by the fish" and I would have to agree. It was nice to taste these things steamed into the fish but not have them overpower the whole thing and make it impossible to taste anything else. Unfortunately, Marc's piece was riddled with bones so I think that might have detracted from the good taste. But on the plus side, we got to use one of the chile peppers from our tiny, orange chile plant. Is there some rule that dictates 'the smaller the chile, the hotter the taste'? If not, there should be. With the red snapper, we made Baby Carrots with Tarragon. I have to preface the rating of this recipe by saying that I LOVE tarragon (if that wasn't already obvious from the previous post and its reference to tarragon tasting of heaven*). It turns out that not only is Tarragon dazzling in its starring role in Bernaise sauce, it also puts on a brilliant performance with the Carrots. In fact, it won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor for this performance and the Carrots, in their starring role, were extremely jealous and were later rumoured to have gotten drunk and made fools of themselves at the after-party. Probably, they will start dating Katie Holmes. But I digress- though we used adult carrots for this recipe, it was simple enough to be quick and easy but delicious enough to warrant a Would-Serve-To-Guests rating. *According to Chris, that is a textbook example of sacrilicious. To drink: It's a bit of a blur in my memory. Because we were leaving the next day, chances are good that we drank some sad, little, neglected red in the back of the fridge. It couldn't have been that bad, because I don't remember it. 'Course, it couldn't have been that good… Meanwhile, Sammy (pictured below), earned the Oscar for Best Choreography in a Drama Series which was no small feat, as he was up against Shirley MacLaine for Not Without My Daughter Sophie's Choice.

Breakfast of Champions

There is alot of butter in this. That should be all a person need know in order to convince her/him that Eggs Benedict is the best breakfast in the world. However, if one should need more convincing, I would argue that: 1- we have exhaustively tested many, many variations of this recipe and have come to the conclusion that the correct combination of ingredients is thus: one half english muffin, toasted to crispy-chewiness; one slice of Tuscan ham folded over to cover all of the muffin; one free-range egg, perfectly poached in water with tarragon vinegar and not one of those stupid egg-poacher instruments or *shudder* the microwave; an extremely generous amount of bernaise sauce, flecked with fresh tarragon, drenching the whole benedict, if not the whole plate. 2- bernaise sauce can beat hollandaise sauce any day of the week with one hand tied behind its back. 3- fresh tarragon is what heaven must taste like (if there was one). Unfortunately, the pictures we took of this breakfast really did not do it justice. Though, to be fair to the benedicts, nobody looks good drenched in bernaise sauce. Just in case G, G, M & D wish to try this variation on the next occasion that warrants the making of the Eggs Benedict, this is the recipe for the bernaise: 2 T. fresh tarragon, chopped 1 big-ish shallot, chopped 1 T. fresh parsley stalks, chopped 1/4 cup (?) tarragon vinegar 1/2 t. black peppercorns 1 egg yolk 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted 1 T. fresh tarragon, chopped Slap the first 5 into a saucepan and reduce until it becomes about 2 T. Strain the liquid from solids. On the top half of a double-boiler, whisk the egg yolk over a little heat until it turns a lighter shade of yellow. Take it off the heat and add the reduction. Carefully, whisk in the melted butter. If it's too runny, add more melted butter and/or heat it up a bit. Keep it warm until the drenching or it might break. Add the fresh tarragon and more tarragon vinegar, to taste.