“Donuts. Is there anything they can’t do?*”

I got all het up this morning because I discovered an outlet of The Fractured Prune Donut Shoppe near my house. The Fractured Prune started in Ocean City, MD, and featured fried-to-order donuts with exotic glaze/topping combinations. Good donuts are few and far between around here so I paid my $11 and took home a dozen: three maple glazed, three lemon glazed, three chocolate glazed, and three plain.

What I got: twelve tiny, sticky, drippy, greasy rings, so small that my 7-year-old commented on the size, and so hot that the glaze had soaked in and made whatever crispy bits inedibly soggy. They had been dipped and dribbled all over the counters, so that when the box was set down, the bottom became coated with glaze that then transferred itself to my car seat. I tried half a plain, and my teeth remain coated in oil despite brushing my teeth twice. The kids each picked at a chocolate-glazed and finally wandered away from the table. Definitely a “not going back” experience.

*From episode 12, season 3: “Marge Vs. The Monorail”

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According to the Trite Food thread at dcdining.com, miniburgers were old hat for the food-obsessed long prior to 2005, when the Trite Food thread came into existence. And they are as venerable as a battered old fedora at this point: any restaurant with a bar menu knows that it can shove some combination of ingredients in a dinner roll, and sell a pair for $10-14 as “sliders.”

I got proof that this trend has really, truly, gone Wal-Mart the other night, where the existence of Pepperidge Farm “Sliders Mini Sandwich Buns” at my local grocery made me literally laugh out loud. The package has the ubiquitous miniature hamburger pictured on the bag, but helpfully notes that they are “perfect for any sandwich,” and can even be used as a dinner roll! Yes, really.

It’s hard to resist the promise of perfection, so I threw a bag into my cart, thinking that my children would be intrigued, because anything in an odd size or weird color is instantly cool to most kids. (Fortunately, in our house this works as just well for orange cauliflower and purple broccoli as it does for tiny hamburgers.) My ten-year-old daughter pronounced them “cute,” and my seven-year-old son scarfed two of them. I thought they tasted unremarkably like a roll. While notably short of the promised perfection, this might be the means to get them to try unfamiliar things like salmon or chicken burgers, and that is good enough to give them another try.

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Dark, porky, and rich, with a slight bitterness from the molasses, this is as Bahstin as it gets, and the taste of these beans resonates in my umpteenth-generation native New England soul. Seven ingredients and deliberate inattention give fabulous results; a batch brought to a picnic recently was devoured almost down the last bean.

Boston Baked Beans (Adapted from the Fannie Farmer cookbook)

2 cups navy beans
about 1 tsp. salt
1/4-1/3 lb. salt pork
2 tsp. dry mustard
5 Tbs. dark brown sugar
5 Tbs. molasses (not blackstrap)
1 small onion, sliced

Wash beans, and soak overnight in enough water to come up one inch over the beans.

Drain the beans and reserve the liquid. Preheat oven to 225F. Distribute sliced onion and 1/3 of the salt pork over the bottom of an ovenproof, lidded pot. Add the beans to the pot. Blend the mustard, sugar, salt, and molasses with the reserved bean liquid, and pour over the beans. Slice the remaining salt pork and distribute over the top of the beans. Set the pot on the stove over medium-high heat, and bring to a simmer. Remove from heat, cover tightly with foil and the lid. Set in the middle of the preheated oven and cook for at least 8 hours. Mine went in the oven at about 10pm, and stayed in all night. If you happen to get up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, or to let the cat out, go ahead and give the pot a stir or add a little water, but honestly, it can go until morning without being fussed over.

In the morning, take off the foil and lid and put the pot back in the oven for a couple of hours. Stir it from time to time, and add a little water if it looks too dry, but the goal here is to reduce the sauce so don’t go all crazy with the liquid. Take the pot out once they have reached the desired consistency, fish out what’s left of the salt pork. Taste and correct the seasoning, then add a tablespoon or so of cider vinegar to wake up the flavors.

The beans can be served right away and be delicious, but letting them sit for a couple of hours won’t do them any harm.

If you want to really provide an authentic experience, consider making a batch of brown bread.

Boston Brown Bread (adapted from the Fannie Farmer Cookbook)
The traditional accompaniment to baked beans. It’s worth seeking out a real metal coffee can in order to make this from scratch, but it’s possible to find a passable version made by B&M at some grocery stores. This bread is related to a loaf called “Rye & Injun” made by early New England settlers.

1/2 c. rye flour
1/2 c. cornmeal
1/2 c. whole wheat flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1/2 tsp. salt
1/3 c. molasses (not blackstrap)
1 c. sour milk

Mix the flours, cornmeal, baking soda, and salt in a large bowl. Stir in the molasses and sour milk and blend well. Butter a 1-pound coffee can (or a 1-quart pudding mold, if you have one)and fill no more than 2/3 full. Cover tightly with foil, tie a string around the foil, and put the can in a deep kettle. Cover, add boiling water halfway up the mold, and steam over medium heat for about 2 hours. Add boiling water as necessary to keep the water level consistent. Remove from the mold.

The original recipe says to cut slices with a string while the bread is hot, but I prefer to let it cool and spread it thickly with butter.

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I vacillate between deeply cynical, and ridiculously sentimental, and one of the subjects of the sentimentality is and always has been, how we feed ourselves.  

My paternal grandmother, Ruth Denny Johnson, was born in Pawhuska, Oklahoma Territory, 102 years ago. Grandma Ruth was five feet tall with red hair, an incandescently profane Irish temper, and a fearless outlook on life (her first job was lookout for my great-grandfather’s rumrunning during Prohibition). Her cooking was downhome and unpretentious, and among her specialities were chicken-fried steak, ham with red-eye gravy, and Indian corn pudding. I inherited many of her recipes, along with her temper and a love of very hot coffee. Here’s one in her honor, just as she wrote it out for me:

Corn Pudding

1 (#2) can corn, be sure to drain it
1 (#2) can creamed corn
1/2 cup yellow corn meal
1/4 cup melted bacon grease
2 beaten eggs
1 cup milk

Mix everything and pour into a greased baking dish. Bake in a medium oven (350 degrees) for 40-45 minutes until browned. Serve with molasses if you like it sweet.

This should always be on the table at Thanksgiving. You could use fresh corn, or butter instead of the bacon fat, but if you do, it won’t taste like my Grandma’s.

(Some of this was originally posted at www.dcdining.com, a terrific resource for information about food and cooking in the Washington, DC area)

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For the first time ever, I didn’t cook Thanksgiving dinner. Mother-in-law, Father-in-law, and Father-in-laws’s wife (yes, you read that right) joined us from out of town, and a combination of illness (mine) and work (also mine) made the idea of trying to prepare a big meal unappealing. Instead we took the kids to the zoo, and then had a leisurely lunch at our regular haunt here in DC, Bistrot du Coin. Entrecote Bearnaise, Crozes Hermitage, and a big kiss from the owner, Michel were far preferable to the stress of cooking and then cleaning up a wrecked kitchen. We had a pecan pie from our favorite restaurant, Vidalia, and whipped cream waiting at home.

We might make this a regular thing. The 9-year-old was initially upset at the idea of breaking tradition, but had forgotten her sadness by the time we got the invertebrate house at the National Zoo. The 6-year-old turkey-hater was delighted to run around with the animals, then go eat onglet & frites. I spent the day alternating between a nagging feeling that I should be doing something, and and a sense of emotional and physical relief that I really really didn’t and that it was OK. And that was something to be thankful for.

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Where was I? Oh right, tapas. Here’s one more.

Tostada De Anchoa (from Tapas, the Little Dishes of Spain)
This is a super canape, if you like anchovies. I have also mashed the anchovies into the dressing and spread that on the toasts.

4 Tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons minced parsley
2 tablespoons minced onion
2 cloves garlic, minced
Freshly ground pepper
Oil for frying
12-16 1/4 inch bread slices, from a long crusty loaf
3 2-ounce tins good quality flat anchovy fillets

Make the dressing: Beat together the olive oil, lemon juice, parsley, onion, garlic, and pepper.

Heat the oil about 1/4 inch deep in a skillet, and fry the bread slices until golden all over. Drain on paper towels.

Spread about 1 teaspoon of dressing on each slice of bread, and cover with 2 anchovy fillets.

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I’ve had a request from my Twitter bud Matt (@mmWine) to blog a little about tapas. I got into Spanish cuisine a few years after after my culinary school classical French asskicking, burned out on anal-rententive technique and inspired by the opening of Jose Andres’ restaurant, Jaleo, here in Washington DC. My casual interest became a full-blown obsession after we spent our honeymoon in Madrid, Tarragona, and Barcelona, drinking the local tinto and eating delicious little dishes every night.

Penelope Casas has been an invaluable reference; her book Tapas: The Little Dishes of Spain was my first Spanish cookbook; bought fifteen years ago and still in constant use. Jose Andres waited forever to publish Tapas: A Taste of Spain in America, but his take on the traditional was worth the wait.

As with any simple dishes, the quality of the ingredients is vital. Spend as much as you can possibly afford on excellent olive oil, sparkly fresh meat & seafood, and local eggs and vegetables. Hell, I’d even make sure your peppercorns are fresh and the garlic hasn’t been hanging around for a month. Cost-cutting will not be rewarded with compliments, as you and your guests will be able to taste the difference.

Here are a few fast favorites:

Gambas Al Ajillo, or Garlic Shrimp (from Jose Andres, Tapas)
This is the classic tapa - fast and insanely flavorful. Most people pair shrimp with a white wine, but I actually prefer this with a light-bodied red.

1/4 cup Spanish extra-virgin olive oil
6 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced
20 large shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 guindilla chili pepper (or another dried chili)
1 teaspoon brandy
1 teaspoon chopped parsley
salt to taste

Heat the olive oil in a medium saute pan over a medium-high flame. Add the garlic and saute until browned, about 2 minutes.
Add the shrimp and chili pepper. Cook for 2 minutes. Turn the shrimp over and saute for another 2 minutes. Pour in the brandy and cook for another minute. Sprinkle with the parsley, add salt to taste, and serve.

Pan con Tomate
Impossibly simple and delicious. Make sure the tomatoes are very ripe.

1 round, rustic loaf
2 very ripe, large tomatoes
2 large cloves of garlic
olive oil
sea salt

Cut the ends off the bread, and slice the rest about 3/4″ thick. Toast the bread lightly on both sides. Cut garlic cloves in half and rub the cut cloves onto one side of each slice. Cut the tomatoes in half and rub the cut sides on each slice. Drizzle with olive oil and sprinkle with sea salt. Serve immediately, before it gets soggy.

Tags:   Cooking3 Comments

It’s November first, 72 degrees, and I am sitting on my porch wiggling my bare toes in the sunshine. Right now I don’t give a rats ass about the ozone layer, or rising sea levels. As far as I’m concerned, it can stay like this through March.

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About twenty people came over to our house Saturday night for drinks, food, music and conversation. As our parties go, this one wasn’t particularly large. Acquaintances are astonished that we have parties at all; one asked me yesterday “Do you routinely have that many people over?”

I would sagely observe that throwing parties is a dying art, but there’s no art to it. You invite people over, open drinks and serve food. If you’re not a cook, then order something in. Easy-peasy, especially if you make sure to never run out of booze.

Getting my friends together is as necessary to my soul as water is to my body.

Tags:   Entertaining1 Comment

The following was previously part of a discussion on eGullet.org. This was one of the most important books about cooking to be published in the last few years and so I am reprinting my mini-review (with a few edits) for new readers.

I tore though my copy of The Elements of Cooking, and Ruhlman is preaching to the choir. Elements is a distillation of the classical asskicking dished out at the CIA and and lesser schools, formatted for easy reference by the home cook. He’s getting flack for not producing a universal text, and it’s true, he hasn’t. He states right on the cover that he is translating the chef’s craft, not the cook’s craft, and his use of the French term is deliberate. Those bemoaning the lack of soy sauce and barbecue are wasting their time. If you want the ur-text for Sichuan cooking, this ain’t it, and it wasn’t meant to be. If you want to cook as if you have a passing familiarity with the brigade system, then pick it up. His emphasis on veal stock is a touch overblown (I completely agree that it enhances everything it touches, but the home cook can get away with using other stocks) but the essays on proper salting and the role of eggs in the kitchen are worth the cost of the book, and any home cook who wants a deeper understanding of those topics should start right here before putting on the scuba gear and diving into Harold McGee’s On Food And Cooking.

A quibble. He writes:

Recipes are not assembly manuals. You can’t use them the way you use instructions to put together your grill or the rec room Ping-Pong table. Recipes are guides and suggestions for a process that is infinitely nuanced.

Well, yes. But learning to follow a recipe is essential for the beginning cook. It’s the grounding in the basics at culinary school (I survived a local institution here in Washington DC) that gives a cook the basis to experiment, and an instinctive proficiency that serves well when applied to other cuisines. For instance, learning to do a proper mise en place makes Thai cuisine, with its long lists of ingredients, much less daunting.

If his mantra “How to perfect a good recipe: Do it over again. And again. Pay attention. Do it again.” strikes you as affected machismo, then the real world instruction “This is bullshit. Do it again.” is going to hurt your feelings. Far from being put off, I found the finger-wagging in Elements crucial in these days of Rachael Ray’s 30 Minute Meals or worse, Sandra Lee’s horrific Semi-Homemade books. Book store shelves are groaning with books advocating half-assed technique, but finesse is vital and that essay may be the most important bit of information in the book. Finesse can be tasted in fine food and seen in the presentation, it’s what makes places like The French Laundry worth the expense, and it makes Thomas Keller’s cookbooks worth the hair pulling. The results are superior. It’s worth the care and attention to detail. If you want a meal in thirty minutes, you know where to go and you might as well put the book down now. It’s not going to tell you to open a few bags and call it dinner.

Do it. Do it again. Practice. Pay attention. Don’t take short cuts.

Hallelujah! Preach it, brother Ruhlman. Can I get an amen?

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