Smogasbord Reflections

OH, I'm sorry, did I say something about a Mediterranean FEAST?

When I was little, my favorite night of the year was New Year's Eve.  Every year, my sissy and I would get to select one or two of our favorite foods to be part of our traditional "smorgasbord" dinner, upon which we would feast from suppertime until the ball dropped at midnight.  Our family's crab dip, shrimp cocktail, cheese and crackers, chex mix, polish kielbasa, pizza, and, always, a relish tray would be spread out on the kitchen table. We could eat as much as we wanted, and stay up as late as we wanted, to ring in the New Year as a family.  To this day, it remains one of my best memories--and my favorite tradition, one that I love to carry on each December 31st.

From Caputo's Market in the burbs (thanks MIL!)

But that doesn't mean that I don't like feasting at other times!  Our family is a snacking family, one that recently has evolved its own happy hour tradition.  When sissy and I visit our parents back in the mitten, we have a new tradition of the happy hour.  At a set time (5) each day, we come together as a family and share a small drink, and a small snack, and reconnect with each other.  This little hour of relaxation reminds us how precious the hours we spend together are, despite how many we spend apart.

So perhaps it fitting that I like to carry on these traditions at my own home.  I can't let a New Year's Eve go by without preparing entirely too much food, regardless of how many people are or are not coming over. And, of course, the relish tray lives on.  I never knew a "relish tray" was somewhat unique to our family and not a common thing, I just thought that every extended family meal or gathering started with one. It's a simple spread of nibbles, always including carrots, celery, green & black olives, sweet and dill gherkins, cubes of sharp cheddar, and radishes.  You put it out when you're cooking the real meal, so that all the kitchen visitors have something to snack on (besides whatever is being prepared).  It keeps inquisitive fingers farther from the knife blades while giving the cook some company.

Above and beyond the humble relish tray, there is something exciting about a spread, be it an antipasti platter or smörgåsbord or buffet.  You can eat whatever, whenever, however.  You can go back again and again, combining new dishes and trying others.

The secret here is that a relish/antipasti tray is a fun, different sort of way to eat--but incredibly easy.  In its most basic form, it requires no cooking at all.  It can be as healthful or indulgent as you want it; it can embrace any culture or theme.  Accompanied by crackers or some hearty bread, it can be anything from a light snack to a filling dinner--like ours last night.

Our spread above included Double Gloustershire cheese, spicy summer sausage, garlic dill pickles, kalamata olives, roasted red pepper (fresh from FIL's garden), sugar snap peas, artichoke hearts, cucumbers, Boetches spicy ground mustard, Turkey Artichoke meatballs, hummus, and thick slices of Caputo's Italian bread.

Anytime I can parlay my fondness for snacking into an actual meal, I call it a success.  Plus, it helped me keep my energies up while recounting for the internet world how amazing the meal really was.

Meatball perched on a red pepper atop hummus-smeared bread.  Mmmm.

Turkey Artichoke Meatballs

Turkey meatballs with feta, artichokes and dill. 

As fall descends upon our fair city, my tastebuds are seeking to keep up with the changing seasons.  Yearnings for watermelon and fresh sweet corn have yielded to heartier yens, as rich, spicy chilis and earthy lentil soups beckon us into the cooler temperatures.

Fall is my favorite season, and not only because of the whole new food culture that comes along for the ride.  As the days get shorter and the air colder, football games and tailgates take over territory held by street festivals and beach forays.  Our changing seasons lead to changes in our lives, and, naturally, changes in what we eat.  Sure, different crops come into season and we should eat different foods from month to month, but I'm taking more about our cultural tastes for food.  Fall brings different cravings to light.

Pictures taken into this bowl always default to vertical.  It's the Bermuda triangbowl. 

The changing of the seasons was but one inspiration behind the Turkey Artichoke Meatballs I made up last night using the 1/2 pound of ground lean turkey leftover from the Turkey Burgers and Creamy Romaine Slaw we had the other night.  Burgers, the quintessential summer food, got their last hurrah (who am I kidding--I eat them year-round, including a late-night foray to White Castle with B&V last night) on Wednesday, and Thursday's cooler temperatures called for a different sort of meal.  

Sandwich fixins...

So, after the burgers symbolically bid farewell to summer, the same pound of turkey also gave rise to a meal to welcome fall into our lives.   One more akin to the urge fall evokes in me to crawl into a sweater or under a blanket, venture out into the colorful woods, and enjoy the crisp air and fall smells before they fleetingly recede to winter's advances.  

Frying up in patty formation.  How do you keep a meatball round frying it on a flat pan?

I originally intended to serve the meatballs as part of an Mediterranean antipasti platter with Cucumber Tzatziki Salad, pita, hummus, roasted peppers, olives, and feta.  I love dinners like that, where you make a mini-buffett and help yourself to whatever looks good it whatever quantity tastes good.  But, rushed to make it to the park for our final kickball league playoff game, I improvised and made them into a pita sandwich with lettuce, cucumbers, hummus and red onion. Not the same, perhaps, but equally delicious, and portable.

Recipe for the meatballs and tzatziki after the jump. 

Crunchy Baked Onion Rings

It all started with an idea, a bookmarked recipe that had languished, untried, in my internet bookmarks folder for months.  A recipe which, a few months ago, I finally got around to making--with pretty successful results, mind you.  The rings baked up crisp and crunchy and oh-so-onion-y.  Not the same as beer-battered onion rings, something I will only eat when I know they're going to be good....OK, well, any time I want them to be good, or see them on the menu, or just want to eat mediocre ones.

What can I say, I love onion rings. The battered ones, to be specific.  Usually breadcrumb coating doesn't float this boat, but if you take the bath in hot oil out of the onion ring equation, you're not going to get get anywhere starting with raw batter.  No, when replicating fried foods in the oven, you have to start with something crunchy if you hope to get anywhere worth eating.

The problem I had with the original recipe--another Martha Stewart gripe--is the amount of work involved on the front end.  Granted, anytime you crumb or batter something, there are going to be a number of steps--dip, shake, dredge, shake, dip, shake, etc.  Not to mention all the dirty plates that stack up--which becomes an issue in a city apartment with the world's worst dishwasher. I had a big issue getting the batter to coat the rings, which then became a bigger issue getting the crumbs to stick to the batter (although they stuck to my fingers just fine...).   There had to be an easier way.

Would it be wrong to eat them like this?

So, internet, I just went for it.  I started off with a trick I read about from Pioneer Woman--soaking the onions in buttermilk to mellow their flavor and start the whole thing off on the right foot.  Thirty minutes later when I removed the onions, I knew we were on the right track--the thick buttermilk was already clinging to the rings. I stacked the rings on a plate, leaving most of the buttermilk in the bowl, and dumped in some flour, hot sauce, and seasoned salt.  I made a thicker batter this time around, hoping to amplify the stick factor (yeah, ew, that just sounds nasty).  All the rings went back in and got stirred around until evenly coated (a step I forgot to take a picture of).  A quick dip in a panko pool--no issues with sticking this time--then onto the hot, oiled sheet, and 25 minutes later we had this:

I love you, rings. 

Which, friends, is pretty much heaven.  Recipe after the jump.

Turkey Burgers with Creamy Romaine Slaw

Is there anything so great as a burger?  Besides sandwiches….

Behold: a burger.

No, people, there is not.  Let my un-highbrow food preferences be known—there is no more perfect food than a cheeseburger.  It is my favorite food, although my arterial walls may wish it otherwise. 

An American icon, the hamburger evokes childhood memories and particular emotions with each juicy, meaty bite.  Can you remember the first burger you ever had?  Can you imagine a summer barbecue without burgers on the grill?  Can you walk by a restaurant and smell charcoal and sizzling beef without a Pavlovian drool response?  We even love bad burgers, a fact to which McDonalds can attest.

See all the junk in the patties?  This will help the finished product immensely. 

Thankfully, the burger is not staid in tradition.  It is malleable, adaptable, and open to new ideas.  It is GGG for whatever you could think to do to it.  Just look at the Australians—they put beets and pineapples on their burgers. Or peruse the Kuma's Corner or Bad Apple menus, and rethink what should and should not top a burger. 

One of my favorite burgers has just bacon, sharp cheddar, and barbecue sauce on it.  Perhaps my favorite all-time burger had pancetta, brie, spinach, and a bourbon-poached pear on it (thank you, Kuma’s Lair of the Minotaur).  But, really, all burgers are my favorite.  Some are just more favorite than others. 

Sizzling away on the grill pan.  I have a bad track record with grilling turkey burgers on a real grill...too many down the grates.

This one came to me via Mommie from Real Simple magazine--Turkey Burgers with Creamy Romaine Slaw.  Usually turkey burgers suffer the same fate—dry, overcooked, a bland imitation of beef.  You just can’t treak turkey the same way as beef.  For one, I like my burgers medium-rare—but you won’t ever catch anyone sane eating undercooked poultry.  A good burger needs little more than an 80/20 meat/fat ratio, a coarse grind, loose packing, liberal sprinkling of salt & pepper, and a quick sear on a roaring hot grill/griddle to become great. (I guess that might sound like a lot…) But, lo and behold, treat the turkey the same way, and dry blandness results.

Instead, it helps to approach turkey burgers from a different angle.  What does it usually lack?  Flavor and moisture, both due in large part to its lean-ness.  So…why not add those things back in?  Unlike burgers, which I almost never “mix-into” before cooking (I’ll make an exception for the Contessa’s burgers, which call for onion, Worcestershire, egg, and, yes, a pat of butter stuck into the middle), turkey burgers call out for seasoning and add-ins. 

Someday soon I’ll tell you all about my Salsa Verde Burgers, which began as a Rachel Ray recipe but have evolved far beyond into something sublime.  They use about ¼ cup salsa and cumin to spice up the burgers, with the chunky tomatoes keeping the meat from drying out.    

These burgers use spicy Dijon mustard, thyme (or sage, if that’s all you have) and green onion to much the same effect.  Lacking cheese, a tangy romaine slaw perks up the earthiness and keeps them tasting light while also hearty.  The only substitutions I made were the aforementioned sage.  I also used only 1/2 the amount of meat to make 2 burgers, but kept the add-in amounts the same.  What can I say, I like big--not subtle--flavors.  Same with the slaw--probably went a little heavy on the sauce, but it came out just right--tangy, bright, crunchy, and oh-so-flavorful.  A success all around. 

Yes, those are panko-crusted baked onion rings.  Patience, friends. The recipe is coming.

I know I write loftily about silly topics like what we eat and why we eat it.  I’m still working out the tone and style and, truthfully, I’m using this as an exercise to help me find a style of food writing that suits me.  So, internet, bear with a girl.  She’ll come around, eventually.

Minorly adapted recipe after the jump; original linked above. 

Wherein the Metaphysical Sandwich is Realized.

What is there to say about a chicken sandwich?

It's good.

A.  It's a sandwich.
B.  There's chicken in it.

A sandwich isn't something that needs a recipe, friends. Granted, I've seen--and tried--more than my fair share of sandwich "recipes."  But as a convenience food, and a regular, beloved staple of my diet, anybody can make a pretty darn good sandwich.  And a sandwich is something more than anything a recipe can define, I think.  It is so humble, we don't think much of them as a genre...but we probably eat more sandwiches than, say, tacos or pizza or salads.  If we vote on our favorite foods by eating them, I'd hazard a guess that the humble sandwich is the President of the United States of American Diets.

Start with good bread, like this soft ciabatta from Trader Joe's.

True, there are food lovers the world over who excel at sandwich making.  I've had great sandwiches that blend unexpected flavors, introduce a range of textures, and unite between chewy, fresh bread into something much more than a sandwich's humble origins would expect.  But, I've also had amazing sandwiches out of random ingredients I dig out of my own fridge and assemble between whatever bread we have on hand.  A good sandwich can come from humble roots, just like a bad sandwich can run you $15 or more.

Know what you want on it

And we've all had mediocre sandwiches probably more often than either of those last two events combine.  Still, though, even a mediocre sandwich is pretty good.  As a meal, they're universally appealing, and universally delicious...OK, well, palatable.  I did try lots of Tesco pre-packaged sandwiches while in London last year (hey, a sandwich, chips and water for 2 pounds is a whole lot less than any other London eats I could find...) and had some unfavorable reactions to one of them (the cheese and onion and mayo concoction...what?  i love cheese.  i love onion.  i love mayo.  but together, ALONE, on white bread? ....ew).

Spread the bread with loooove.  Yeah, I gross myself out sometimes. 

Straying back around to my original lack-of-point...I like sammiches.  I try to make great ones.  But, there is no key, I belove, to elevating a good sandwich to a great one.  Instead, it's all about the combination; the mood; the memory; the reason; and, of course, the taste.  Some might say, "use the best ingredients you can find!"  And, sure, in general this rings true.  But a natural, gourmet peanut butter and locally-sourced small-batch jam on rustic fresh baked bread aren't ever, ever going to outshine the memory of Jif & Smuckers on Butternut bread.  On the other side, deli turkey adorned with every condiment and topping is probably never goign to top leftover turkey on leftover rolls, maybe with some yellow mustard, the day after Thanksgiving.  It just can't.

So you can go as gourmet as you want, stay as kitsch as you want--it doesn't matter.  A good sandwich can't be defined so easily, which is why I think recipes can't really tell you how to make a good one either.  They mean too much to us to come with instructions.

Build sturdily and with consideration of each bite.

Instead, I say, eat what you want, and be creative.  Make the insides a surprise--leave the lettuce and tomato behind and throw on thinly sliced veggies you don't usually see on a deli tray, like zucchini, cucumber, carrots, cabbage.  Open your cupboard and think about what would compliment your flavors if you weren't using bread--curry powder? flavored vinegar? any dips or spreads? Hell, even celeb chef Flay has a burger at his restaurant that comes with potato chips on it.

I love the money shot.

Think beyond mayo and mustard to salad dressing, hummus, cream cheese--or create an easy "aioli" by mixing spices into your mayo before spreading.  Like I did on this giant ciabatta monster, consisting of garlic-grilled chicken, wilted kale, roasted red peppers, and fontina cheese, with an easy aioli of mayo, garlic (just the powdered kind), minced chives, and lemon. Wrapped in foil, baked until melty, and sliced up...and devoured.

Bottom line...be creative!  Think about your next sandwich, pay it a little respect, and get weird with what you throw on it.  You probably won't regret it.

Spiced Pumpkin Waffles

Bear with me, internet, I'm working from memory here.

Yeah, the bacon is also coated in syrup.  Restraint is not my strong suit.

On Friday morning past, I woke up after a supremely awesome concert (courtesy of The Bronx, performing as part of Riot Fest) with not a hangover, but a craving for something decidedly un-punk:  Waffles.  Pumpkin waffles.  And bacon (bacon, in its fatty, self indulgent glory, might be a little punk).

Having spent a night in the pit with the stomping boys (and getting told I was "hardcore" by another girl, something I MOST ASSUREDLY am not), my sore eardrums and empty stomach needed comfort, tranquility, and a taste of something wholesome.  A lingering half-can of pumpkin in the fridge, and a frozen stack of low-sodium bacon in the freezer, and breakfast was decided.  Just like that, my ad hoc punk persona reverted back to the homey, geeky, food nerd we all know that I really am.  

All the spices, awaiting the pumpkin bath.

I'm happy with these waffles, although those better at the baking thing might want to experiment a bit.  Unlike the Krusteez blueberry waffle mix we favor---no mixes are crispier---these waffles came out very soft.  That's fine when you're going to put them in a 250-degree oven to keep warm while you cook the others, as I did, because the oven helps to crisp them up.  But i do prefer my waffles a bit more crisp at the get-go.  I think this means I should use less pumpkin (keep the wet, heaviness down) and maybe increase the baking powder to get more lift.  

Crisp issues aside, and for many of you that isn't really an issue, these waffles are deliciously warm and spicy, echoing the cinnamon and nutmeg notes of pumpkin pie but even more aromatic from being piping hot out of the waffle iron.  Eat these waffles, friends, or my punk persona might come out of hibernation and stomp your face.  Or you'll just miss out on an awesome fall feasting opportunity.  Either way, why risk it?

I got SKINS...they're multiplying

And I'm losing control....

Can you blame me?

There is something about a potato skin that just screams out "INDECENT!"  It's a hollowed-out shell of a potato, often deep fried, then filled with all sorts of fatty, cholesterol-y goodness like cheese and bacon, then, if that weren't bad enough, you dip it in sour cream and/or ranch dressing.  Sure, they sprinkle green onions or chives on top, but that's not fooling anybody.  But, damn, are they good!

The problem is, it's really easy to make a really mediocre potato skin, which many places do.  And, if you're gonna be indulging, it should taste as good as it is bad for you.  No reason eating nasty food that's also nasty for you!

Awaiting their crisping in the oven. 

Personally, I have a few criteria that make a good potato skin.  First, thin skin.  I don't want half a potato--no, get busy scraping.  I'm a big believer in ratios--ratio of ice cream to cone; of filling to tortilla (or, why tacos are better than burritos); of bread to cheese; of sobriety to wine.... Anyway, I think a potato skin should be thick enough to be held in one hand, but thin enough so the relatively bland potato doesn't overwhelm everything else.

Pretend this is them after being crisped up, and I'll pretend I remembered to take that photo.

Second, DAMN, this is the hard one--they should be CRISPY.  Bake, fry, do whatever to the skin itself before filling--just make sure it's crispy.  Side note (you've gotta be used to these by now)--my previous favorite potato skin was at a hole-in-the-wall bar in Chicago, O'Neills, that is no longer with us.  Dank, dark, and a mere 10 feet wide, this smoke-filled ancient watering hole managed to put out great burgers, and great potato skins.  Although, sometimes you would notice a disconcerting amount of grease left over on the paper-lined basket...or dripping out of the skin itself....

Ready for the finishing touch in the oven...

Third, SEASON.  Why, pray tell, anybody would ever cook a potato any which way without a little bit of salt and pepper mystifies me, but they do.  You gotta season the skins before you fill them, people.  It's just an easy, basic thing to do--but it's easier to forget it than to do it right.

Gratuitous extra shot of skinny goodness.  Yes, one has a bite out of it.  Like I said before...can you blame me?

Other than that, there isn't much you really need to do to make a great potato skin.  Scoop freely, crisp up (I prefer brushing them with oil and baking the empty skins in a hot oven for 20 minutes), then fill, bake and serve.  Although I kid myself that baking them instead of frying them makes them healthier (which is why I also served them with Greek yogurt mixed with chives and S&P, instead of sour cream), there is really no denying that these are pretty indulgent.  But what's life without a little indulging?  Recipe, should you need it, after the jump.