Eat Drink Man Weblog

My mother has long loved to cook. Our basement holds a binder filled with ribbons she won at bake-offs and county fairs. Our garage holds her box of hand-glittered star ornaments made over 20 years ago to adorn a Feast of St. Nicholas dinner party.

The ornaments are hand glittered because my mom had become enamored with a particular large-grain glitter; my mother’s passion for entertaining manifests itself in an uncompromising attention to detail. I turned twenty before I saw a pre-baked pie shell enter my house. When it comes to dinner parties, mom goes big or goes home.

Later in life mom upgraded from dinner parties to church banquets. Her desire to wow her guests remained intact. I learned to cook because my mom perpetually needed a sous-chef to help her deliver high-concept, high-volume food on schedule. From the earliest age that I could hold a spoon, I was conscripted. I will never forget the day I came home from high school only to have my mom announce that I was in charge of grilling 60 chicken breasts that night. It was late autumn, and we own a single Webber kettle grill. I cooked in batches, and leaned the joys of grilling by flood lamp.

During any given nail-biting banquet-to-be, when the stress hangs in the air like the aerosolized grease rising from the three simulations skillets I operate, I am frustrated with my mother. But once the kitchen has cooled and dishes are the only remaining responsibility, I am thankful. There is no better way to learn to cook than under Mom’s crazy deadlines.

Lucky for me the process continues to this day. A few weeks back, I had the opportunity to prepare five frittatas for a church banquet. I went into the experience with limited frittata experience. Two mushroom and three spinach frittatas later, I was fairly comfortable.

Frittatas come together quickly – when the egg sets, the frittata needs to leave the heat. (Overcooked eggs seize up and wrench their own moisture out onto the plate.) So mom and I handled all the prep work before we put the heat to the eggs. Preventing crunch-time heartache is especially important when cooking in volume.

Mom and I started off by sautéing all our onions at once, followed by all our mushrooms. Pre-cooked frozen spinach required defrosting and draining. Green onions and parsley just needed a quick chop. All prepped ingredients were set aside. When cooking in larger volume, the logic of dirtying extra plates in order to have ingredients at your fingertips starts to make sense; the time saved over five frittatas by a ready source of pre-sautéed onions more than makes up for an extra session of dishwashing.

Proper prep work saves time in volume cooking

Once the vegetables were ready, we focused on the egg mixture. Our largest mixing bowl holds about a dozen eggs, so that was what we first mixed up. We added one tablespoon of whole milk for each egg – ¾ of a cup for a dozen. An immersion blender made short work of the eggs. Hand whisking a full dozen eggs at once can really strain your wrist.

Once the eggs were beaten, we added a quarter cup of parmesan cheese.

It will blend

With everything in place, it was frittata time.

I turned on my oven’s broiler.

I started out with my Lodge 12-inch cast-iron skillet. I love that skillet. The density of iron ensures a more even heat transfer into the contents of the pan. I wanted heat to evenly enter my egg mixture so that it would set up at the same time throughout.

I started out with a mushroom frittata. I melted a tablespoon of butter in my skillet. I threw in a cup of sautéed mushrooms and half a cup of sautéed onions. Since they were already cooked, I just used my wooden spoon to even them out in the pan. Then I poured egg mixture in the pan to over.

My first fritatta

A word on frittata technique –

The trickiest part of frittata cooking is encouraging the eggs to set without moving the eggs around so much that you wind up with scrambled eggs. You want the eggs to set up as much as possible before you put them under the broiler; the exposure to direct flame can easily burn the top of your frittata. So your stovetop cooking needs to get you within four minutes from set. But if you just let the pan sit atop the stove until the eggs are ready to go into the oven, you will scorch the bottom long before heat penetrates into the middle of the pan. If you just stir the mixture constantly you just scramble the eggs.

What you need to do is encourage the liquid egg mixture in the middle of the frittata to migrate to the outside of the pan. When you first add the egg to the hot pan, you wind up with an outer ring of cooked egg with a liquid center. When you are just dealing with a thin ring of cooked egg, you can slide a spatula underneath the cooked portion and shove it aside with a simple twist of your wrist. Raw egg will flood to the rim of the pan to replace the cooked egg you displaced. The raw egg will now be on the outside, preventing the already cooked egg from scorching. To ensure even cooking, you should work your way around the frittata in a circle, displacing the cooked rim every few inches. As the cooked rim thickens, it will be harder for the uncooked egg to flow to the outside of the pan – at that point, you will need to tilt the pan towards your spatula to enlist gravity’s help. When the majority of the liquid has firmed up, you are ready for the broiler.

Using the above egg-displacing methodology, I coaxed my frittata to the near-doneness. I grated some extra parmesean atop the egg mixture and sprinkled it with some chopped parsley. I threw it under the broiler with my timer set to four minutes. But I first checked it after two minutes. There are too many variables involved to accurately predict when a frittata will set and when it will burn, so even though I lost oven heat each time I checked, I played it safe. My first frittata was done after three minutes.

Disaster struck when I tried to de-pan my frittata. The tablespoon of butter I melted into the pan at the start didn’t prevent the egg from sticking. I gave up on my beloved lodge skillet and switched to a non-stick pan.

Fritattas prefer non-stick

Because it stuck to the bottom of the skilled, the frittata broke into three pieces. I put the frittata pieces together like a jigsaw. I then beat an egg and poured it over the ruined pieces. I nuked the whole platter for a minute in the microwave, and then set it aside. Overtime the residual heat encouraged the raw egg to cook, binding the fractured frittata into a whole. (I love cooking. You actually get to put Humpty Dumpty’s beaten remains back together again.)

Subsequent frittatas de-paned smoothly. Replacing mushrooms with spinach and parsley with green onions presented no additional challenges.

However, due to a topographical quirk of one of spinach frittatas, the broiler was cooking the outer rim faster than the middle. Checking on the frittata while it was under the broiler revealed the unevenness in time. I constructed a rim of aluminum foil to cover the portions that had cooked already. Two more minutes in the oven finished it off without burning the edges.

A underdone center calls for aluminum foil and an extra stay under the broiler

Making five frittatas in a row, I honed technique, learned pitfalls, constructed solutions, and just generally got comfortable with cooking a new food. Thanks, Mom. I love you.

After last post, reader Lia thoughtfully provided me with a link to Twelve Steps to a Better Pasta Salad. Their suggestion of a cold peanut noodle dish is an excellent way for Aaron to make his excess peanut butter work for him. I’m ashamed that I didn’t immediately think of that myself. This particular recipe is served with cooled chicken breast, which also knocks an item off Aaron’s list. Thanks, Lia!

When it comes to ground turkey, my favorite application is chili. When I eat a burger and it doesn’t taste like beef, I feel cheated. But chili’s bold flavors make turkey chili virtually indistinguishable from beef chili. And Aaron’s ingredients list is packed with chili staples: onion, garlic, chili beans, tomato sauce. And chipotle peppers are my favorite chili seasoning. They offer a smoky, earthy heat.

To squeeze mileage out of a ten pack of chicken, I’d recommend chicken kabobs over rice, chicken salad sandwiches served in a pita, fried chicken tenders, and a chicken stir fry. Kabobs conventionally invite a marinade to the party, which results in flavorful meat. A vinaigrette made of olive oil, balsamic vinegar, and mustard makes a good marinade. At its simplest, chicken salad requires chicken, mayo, salt and pepper. But given Aaron’s available ingredients, I’d throw in pistachios to add a textural contrast. Chicken cut into tenders, seasoned with salt and pepper, dredged in flower, and then fried in a quarter-inch of oil will generate a quick, hot meal. Marinara sauce makes a perfect dip. Chicken stir fry invites Asian flavor to the party, which brings variety to the chicken dishes. A little soy sauce and powdered ginger will perk up pan fried chicken, onion, and pepper.

Those are my thoughts so far. Good luck with the move, Aaron.

Cooking my own pasta banquet really took it out of me, so I am going to start off with three suggestions about what how Aaron might tackle his own pasta problem. Stay tuned for chicken and turkey suggestions.

Three different pasta applications:

Pasta with pesto and pan seared chicken

Tuna casserole

Pasta salad

The pasta with pesto and pan seared chicken is the most straightforward option: boil pasta, coat it with pesto, and then top with parmesan and a sliced, seared chicken breast. But it’s a classic with good reason: the pesto offers bold flavors and breaks out of the rut of tomato and cream sauces.

A tuna casserole is a hearty, creamy meal. It also has the benefit of killing quite a few ingredients on Aaron’s list. It’s definitely going to use up a box of pasta, both cans of tuna, and some cheese – I’d pick the Swiss. But it could also easily accommodate mushrooms or spinach. The almonds, once toasted, could be thrown in as a topping. Some recipes even use mayo to boost a casserole’s creaminess. I generally don’t take that step, but it might be a good way to clear out some of Aaron’s “various condiments.”

The pasta salad provides an opportunity to enjoy chilled pasta. By employing the same ingredient at different temperatures, you can generate vastly different culinary experiences. I’d boil, coat with olive oil, and then chill a bite-sized pasta. Then I’d throw in cubed jalapeño havarti, the beans popped out of steamed edamame, minced peppers, minced onion, and a splash of balsamic vinegar. Throw in salt and pepper to taste. Many treat pasta salad as a side, but I often enjoy it as a main course.

So far, I’ve gone through about three boxes of pasta. You could always boil a few more, dose them with vodka or marinara sauce, and sit down to another pasta dinner. But if you ask me, those dinners are going to step on pesto’s turf. (And there’s some other neat turkey stuff to do with the tomato sauce.) But even if the two sauces justify chowing down on two more boxes of pasta, Aaron’s still looking at four surplus boxes.

In Aaron’s shoes, I’d see if any neighbors wanted to trade a box of pasta for some another pantry staples. A can of cream soup would beef up a casserole. A can of garbanzo beans would enable a hummus to go with the pita. Stone Soup is the only fable I’ve ever personally reenacted. Sometimes relying on the kindness of strangers is a good thing.

‘til tomorrow.

Reader Aaron presents an interesting challenge. He is moving in two weeks. He has a kitchen full of groceries and no desire to move with them. So he wants to squeeze a variety of meals out of what he’s got, and wind up with as little left as possible.

Taking an arbitrary assortment of ingredients and turning them into something special can lead you down some interesting culinary roads. Popular legend holds that French onion soup was born when a famished King Louis XV found his hunting lodge stocked with only onions, butter, cheese, and champagne.

Those who aren’t about to move may find culinary inspiration in laziness: I once made a batch of beef pot pie pot stickers because I had a surplus of wonton wrappers and a deficit of desire to make pie crust. The resulting dumplings were delicious and much quicker to prepare and heat than a conventional pie.

Here’s what Aaron has in his kitchen:

Quaker Oats
Traditional steel cut oatmeal
9 boxes of pasta (various)
Light red kidney beans – 30 oz
Spicy Chili Beans – 15 oZ
Black beans – 27 oz
Chipotle peppers – 7 oz
Pinto beans – 29 oz
2 6 oz cans of albacore tuna
Small bag of pistachios
2 Small bags of raw almonds
About 2 cups white rice
About 20 oz peanut butter
Large bag of about 10 frozen chicken breasts
Pita bread
12 frozen turkey burgers
Pasta sauce (marinara and vodka)
Basil Pesto
Edamame
Swiss, Parmesan, jalapeño havarti, and salsa jack cheeses
Mushrooms, peppers, spinach, onions, tomato, garlic
Popcorn
Various condiments and spices

Lots of: honey, raisins, all purpose flour, white sugar, brown sugar, baking soda, kosher salt, vinegar (apple, rice and balsamic), oil (olive, canola, sesame seed), various spices.

A quick glance suggests he’s destined to eat a lot of pasta, chicken breast, and turkey burgers in the next two weeks. So the first priority should be to use those items in as many different applications as possible.

I’ll be working on this puzzle subconsciously for a few hours; at the moment I am contracted to cook a pasta buffet for ten. I should have some suggestions for Aaron posted sometime tonight.

In the meantime, feel free to play along at home. If you were Aaron, what would you cook?

In my inaugural blog post, I mentioned that one of the compelling things about cooking for yourself is an environmental edge. Control what you eat, and you can control your environmental impact.

The green food movement has become overwhelmingly popular. I haven’t been to a supermarket in years that lacked clearly labeled organic offerings. And as sure as the adage “Local is the new organic” has become cliché, groceries are begging to offer a wider stock of local offerings.

The drive to eat local produce has lead to growth of community supported agriculture in the United States. Community supported agriculture requires customers to pay for a season of produce up-front. The farm benefits: its operating costs are covered, even in the event of a sub-par harvest. And the consumers are guaranteed produce that is fresh, seasonal, and local.

My family, for the second year in a row, has bought a stake in One Straw Farm, our local CSA. Upcoming blog adventures will feature their produce. I’m psyched about it. Getting your hands on fresh, seasonal produce is something any cook worth his salt lives for. I’m just not particularly psyched about my tiny carbon footprint, because, quite frankly, I have no idea if One Straw Farm is going to make my household greener.

Like most things in life, eating green isn’t simple enough to collapse into the “x is the new y” structure. A study commissioned by the UK’s Department for Environment Food and Rural Affairs tackled this very problem. The result is a 117-page-report entitled “The Validity of Food Miles as an Indicator of Sustainable Development.” The report taught me at least two things: you can’t ask someone to pay attention for 117 pages of bureaucratic writing, and government studies do not employ imaginative titles.

But don’t worry, I took one for the team and skimmed the hell out of that report.

The study comes to a counterintuitive conclusion: “A single indicator based on total food kilometres is an inadequate indicator of sustainability.”

Why so complicated?

The food infrastructure matters. Centralized food distribution is designed to make the loading of large trucks as efficient as possible. That system requires the food to travel a fairly far distance, as it’s completely dependent on the location of centralized food processing centers.

However, when you get food from a closer source, odds are you aren’t taking advantage of the large-scale efficiencies available in centralized food processing. At a centralized food processing center, trucks do not drive off unless they are full. At a local farm, when the crop output is lower, a truck is going to cart food to you without the benefit of transporting a full load.

And because farmer’s markets and community supported agriculture specialize in produce, most use those resources to supplement regular shopping trips – generating extra carbon emissions on the consumer end.

That isn’t to say community supported agriculture is a raw deal. (I couldn’t resist the pun.) Local produce isn’t bred to hold up during transport – instead it’s bred for flavor. It’s also generally fresher. But my favorite part about one straw farm isn’t the flavor or the freshness – it’s the opertunity to challenge my comfort zone. Community supported agriculture means limited flexibility about what produce you get. But without that limitation, I’d get stuck in a rut. If it hadn’t been for a glut of kale, I never would’ve tried Indian-Spiced Lentils with Kale. This week I will cook patty pan squash for the first time in my life. It’s like living in an episode of Iron Chef with a new theme ingredient chosen for me every week.

So give your local food a chance. It won’t save the planet. But it will teach you something new about food.

I’m a fan of Good Eats and Cook’s Illustrated. Both strive to provide their audience with the sense of how a dish comes together, rather than just a recipe. Emboldened with a sense of what works in a recipe, rather than simply what goes into a recipe, a cook is able to improvise, substitute, and laugh in the face of culinary disaster. Good Eats and Cook’s Illustrated talk about food the way it deserves to be talked about.

So when both offered a ringing endorsement of ventresca tuna, I was inclined to buy that tuna. But when that tuna runs thirteen dollars for under four ounces I am forced to ask: “can any canned tuna be worth 53 dollars per pound?”

There was only one way to find out. Ladies and gentleman, I give you the tuna match up of the century.

Three tunas go in . . .

First up we have Kirkland solid white Albacore in water. Solid White Albacore is considered the top of the line in American canned tuna; it is subjected to the FDA’s strictest canned tuna standards. Kirkland is the house brand of Costco. It isn’t the top rated canned tuna. It’s just what I had on hand. But this is the control group, so I can live with that. Six ounces of this tuna will cost you as little as $1.70, so you are looking at $4.53 per pound. You probably have a can of this tuna in your house right now.

Next on the list is Starkist Albacore white tuna in water. Tuna packaged in foil pouches is a relatively new development. Pouched tuna first started appearing on the market in 2000. It uses the same technology as military MREs. Because the pouch is thinner than a can, it doesn’t need to be heated as long to kill off bacteria, and therefore stays fresher than canned tuna. 7.06 ounces of Starkist pouched tuna will set you back $2.99, for a price of $6.78 per pound.

Finally, the cream-of-the-cop: Ortiz ventresca tuna. Ortiz is the only tuna is canned in oil that I used. It’s also the only non-Albacore tuna: Ortiz cans Bonito tuna. “Ventresca” refers to the belly of the tuna. The belly is the fattiest part of the tuna, and increased fattiness means rich flavor and buttery texture. But flavor and texture don’t come cheap: Ortiz ventresca goes for about $12.99 for a 3.88 ounce can; that’s a whopping $53.57 per pound.

Can ventresca tuna really be over eleven times better than good old canned American albacore? It’s time for a tuna head-to-head.

I selected Alton Brown’s Tuna Salad Undone as the showcase for my tuna. Because his recipe called for ventresca tuna explicitly, I trusted it wouldn’t overpower any subtle flavors on offer. Also, it’s a really quick, simple recipe, which befit my current state of finger disability.

First, I assembled my ingredients.

The flavors on parade

I was lucky enough to have a hardboiled egg on hand, so I saved time there. I was lacking in micro greens. But the television broadcast of the recipe, unlike the website, pitched the greens as optional, so I omitted them entirely rather than fussing around with a substitution.

I washed and dried my lettuce. I minced the egg, shallot, and red pepper. I juiced my lemon. I was ready to go.

Washed and dried, juiced, or minced

Assembling the salads was a snap. I just placed a few ounces of tuna atop a lettuce leaf and then sprinkled it with a healthy pinch of each ingredient. The canned albacore was noticeably chunkier than its pouched brother. The can, being thicker, held larger chunks of tuna, and, being rigid, kept them from flaking apart during storage. But the canned albacore couldn’t touch the bonito tuna, which remained in long, beautiful flakes.

The bonito difference

It was time for the taste test.

The final showdown

One bite into the canned albacore revealed why tuna salad is conventionally slathered with mayo – the fish turned to sawdust in my mouth. Because oil has a moist mouth feel, canned albacore packed in oil would’ve faired better. The flavor was typical of albacore tuna – light, fresh, and not terribly fishy.

The pouch tuna was slightly better. The tuna was moist, and offered a fresher flavor. But the smaller, flaked-apart chunks left it feeling mushy in my mouth. Even given the trade off, I’ve become a pouched tuna backer. The moistness was close to what I expect of the fish I cook myself, which I’ve never found in canned albacore. And fuller flakes don’t excuse dryness.

The ventresca certainly blew the others away: it was firm enough to remain in individually identifiable flakes, yet it melted like butter in my mouth. The silky texture was matched with a subtle flavor that was fishier than albacore, but not overpowering. It tasted of the slightest hint of anchovy. It was certainly the finest canned tuna I’ve ever tasted. It’s an experience worth having. But for the price I’d rather buy a tuna steak and sear it myself, or else go out for sushi.

I’m trying to develop the dicipline to make a daily post about food adventures.

Today’s entry was to introduce a recurring feature of my blog: Leftover Theatre. Turning a handful of scraps into a hearty meal is one of my favorite cooking challenges.

Yesterday’s leftover boiled potatoes wait in my refrigerator, eager to fulfill their destiny of becoming “Murn Salad, ” a dish named after my grandmother that has ruined me for all other potato salads.

But this particular cooking adventure will have to wait. While chopping some carrots for the salad, I shaved off about a third of my left index finger’s nail. Both chopping and typing have become a little tricky, so I’ll probably take a couple days off from both.

In the meantime: Safety with Kitchen Knives.

I just made a batch of grilled caponata – my mother’s favorite recipe ever. Caponata is an eggplant and tomato relish that combines sweet and sour flavors for a delectable complexity. Grilling the eggplant and the onion adds smokiness to the mix.

The following recipe is adapted from the July 1987 issue of Bon Appetit.

For this recipe you will need:

• 2 tablespoons raisins
• 2 8 ½ inch long eggplants (unpeeled), cut into half-inch-thick slices
• 1 large red onion (unpeeled), cut into half-inch-thick rounds
• 1 28 ounce can Italian plum tomatoes, drained and chopped
• 1 heaping teaspoon capers
• 12 pitted green olives, sliced (about 2.5 ounces)
• 10 Kalamata olives, pitted and chopped (about 1 ounce)
• 3 tablespoons chopped fresh Italian parsley
• 2 teaspoons unsweetened cocoa powder
• 2 tablespoons Balsamic vinegar
• 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil, plus enough to coat eggplant and onion

The flavors invited to this party

If you use a charcoal grill, get the coals started upfront. They’ll be ready by the time you have the other ingredients prepped. If you have any woodchips, put them in water to soak. They’ll be ready come grill time, and they’ll boost the smokiness you’re seeking in the eggplant and onion.

Mince the raisins, put them in a small bowl, and add water to cover. Put them in the microwave on high for one minute and then let them steep for five minutes.

Allow the raisins to steep while you prep the other ingredients

Slice the eggplant and onion into half inch disks and brush with olive oil. The eggplant will soak up as much oil as you let it, so move quickly while you coat it.

Sliced and ready to grill

Open the can of tomatoes and chop them roughly. I fish the tomatoes out by hand and transfer them to my chopping board, rather than draining them. Whatever liquid sticks to them will help build the sauce. Add the tomatoes to a large mixing bowl. Add the capers to the bowl. Slice the green olives. If your olives are stuffed with pimentos, don’t worry – many Caponata recipes call for red peppers, so they won’t be out of place. Chop the Kalamata olives. Make sure to buy the pre-pitted kind: it will save you time. Add the olives to the bowl. Chop your parsley and add it to the other ingredients.

By now the raisins should be plumped. Drain them and add them to the bowl. Add two tablespoons of cocoa powder to the mixture. The cocoa powder provides a rich background against which the saltiness of the olives, smokiness of the eggplant, and the acidity of the tomatoes will really shine. Throw in the oil and vinegar and stir to combine.

The flavors will start to combine even as you grill.

You’re now ready to grill. If you soaked woodchips, remember to drain them and add them to your rig. The eggplant will take about five minutes per side. You are looking to get a golden brown color and a soft texture. If you have any hot spots, it could take as little as three minutes per side, so keep your eye on the grill. The onions will take about 8 minutes per side. I like to tackle the eggplant first; the onions will start to fall apart when they are cooked, and will therefore cool more quickly due to their newfound surface area.

Once the grilled eggplant is cool enough to handle, chop it roughly and add it to the mixing bowl. When the onions are cool enough, remove whatever skin hasn’t fallen off, and dice. Add the diced onion to the bowl and stir to combine.

Let the caponata rest for at least 30 minutes before serving. The flavors need time to combine before the caponata can really work its magic. Letting it rest overnight in the fridge would be even better – but make sure to bring it room temperature before serving.

Caponata can be served as a side dish – it goes great with grilled meats. Caponata also makes a wonderful appetizer when served over toasted baguette rounds.

Caponata as a side to a grilled steak, steamed brussel sprouts, and pesto potatoes

Wherein our hero composes a brief manifesto on the virtues of cooking, justifying his weblog.

Of all the niggling demands our bodies place on us, the need for food holds a special place in my heart. Don’t get me wrong: it’s hard to beat a good shelter. Owning a pot to piss in is huge win in anybody’s book. And establishing social groups and breeding pairs is a terrific use of a weekend. Cooking simply packs a punch that’s hard to match.

I can’t think of another human endeavor that so gracefully ties together a disparate collection of disciplines that make healthier, more fulfilled human beings. Cooking for yourself, you control what goes into your body. Your taste buds revel in custom-tailored flavor profiles even as your general health enjoys regulated nutrition. Controlling what food you buy helps you manage your impact on our planet’s resources. Cooking offers profound social opportunities – food binds you to your family, your ancestry, and your countrymen.

Once a year my family gets together for a Ukrainian Christmas eve feast. I cook prune pierogies with my mom. Somehow the stress of the holidays seems lessened when I think about my family being forced to eat prune pierogies. I sit down with my extended family over a brown tablescape of boiled dough, mushroom soup, and fermented cabbage, and I feel a direct connection to my ancestors. Once a year I take an edible time machine to a world before refrigeration.

The most famous avenues to dopamine release lie in sex, music, and drugs — terrific fun, all three. But you shouldn’t bond with your family over your sex life. It’s hard to look after your planet by regulating which music you listen to. And the all the really good drugs are on the black market. When I cook, I am a better steward of my body and my planet, a better son to my mother, a better member of my extended family, and a more esteemed member of my peer group. Step off, sex, drugs, and rock and roll. I’m a cook.