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November 24, 2006
Not With My Thanksgiving Turkey, You Don't
There was a mildly bizarre tongue-in-cheek piece by restaurant critic Raymond Sokolov in today's Wall Street Journal, titled "Operation Gobbler," about how to use up left over Thanksgiving turkey.
It involved lacing the mayo with thallium (a debilitating and potentially deadly poison) and then slathering the tainted mayonnaise onto turkey sandwiches and sending them to some of the world's most notorious terrorists. Mr. Sokolov's main motive (apart from dispatching a few nasties of the world) seemed to be finding a workable solution for disposing of the remains of what he terms:
...these desiccated, tasteless birds.
I have to agree that all too often he's right. People tend to equate a good Turkey Day feast for a crowd with cramming stuffing into a giant turkey--a 22 pounder--straight from the fridge, sticking it into a roasting pan, and some hours later hacking it into dry slabs of breast meat that they plop onto a plate, drown in giblet gravy, and choke down for tradition's sake.
Anybody who hates turkey (because they think it's dry and tasteless) should have been here with us yesterday for our Thanksgiving feast. Besides the star of the show, our meal included all our standard Thanksgiving favorites with everybody lending a hand in the preparations.
Our daughter-in-law made the Eades family's traditional Green Pea and Asparagus Casserole (recipe available at www.lowcarbcookworx.com) a traditional pumpkin pie, and her family's favorite sweet potato casserole with just a touch of a butter and brown sugar topping. I made my sister's Cranberry-Orange Relish, some Mashed Fauxtatoes with butter and cream, Mike's mother's traditional cornmeal mush dressing, which is our hands-down family favorite, and a Granny Smith Apple Pie.
Although in our house, as our long-time readers and viewers likely know, we usually substitute a nut crust or our low-carb almond meal version for the real one in pumpkin or apple pie and butternut squash or acorn squash for the sweet potatoes, since they're lower in carb and offer much the same flavor, this time we elected to opt for portion control over ingredient control and go with the real McCoys. (Slivers of both pies and smaller mounds of dressing or sweet potatoes give the same pleasures as half a pie and a couple of cups of starch, without the aftermath of bloating, heartburn, and remorse.)
As our friend and colleague, Robert Crayhon, once said: Pleasure is also a nutrient.
Our eldest son took charge of the turkey, a naturally-raised, organic bird we hunted at the Whole Foods grocery store. His ministrations began 18 hours in advance, with the preparation of a brine--probably the most important step in turning out a juicy, succulent turkey--breast meat included. The second most important one is not to pick the biggest bird in the barnyard, since he's sure to be tougher and even if he weren't, it's nearly impossible to cook a giant turkey (particular a stuffed one) evenly. That's a recipe for the kind of turkey Mr. Sokolov wants to send to Kim Jong Il. If you must feed a crowd bigger than about a 12 pounder will cover, you're far better off roasting two turkeys than a behemoth.
As far as brining goes, there are many brines to pick from; sometimes we elect just a simple Kosher salt and water variety, but this time, he opted for a honey, garlic, and thyme brine he had clipped several years ago from a magazine--either Food and Wine or Gourmet, I think. So, in this case, instead of just water and salt, he also added four or five sprigs of fresh thyme, eight cloves of garlic, a tablespoon of ground black pepper, and some honey to the gallon or so of water the bird bathed in overnight in the refrigerator. When it came time to cook, after a good rinse and a patdown, he stuffed more thyme and lemon halves into the cavity, slathered the bird with melted butter and popped her (it was a turkey hen) into the oven for an hour, breast down on a rack, over a pool of chicken broth. Then a flip, another coating of melted butter and another hour and a half or so in the heat, basting with chicken broth and butter every half hour or so until a thermometer in the thick portion of the thigh read 165 degrees.
While she rested out of the oven (an important step with meat of any kind, turkey included, to allow the juices to redistribute, so the meat will be moist and tender) we baked-off the veggie dishes.
Savory juices ran from the meat when he carved the breast; the meat of the thighs and legs was succulent and delicious--not the stringy stuff Mr. Sokolov spoke of sending on Operation Gobbler.
Paired with a dry Reisling and the just released Nouveau Beaujolais, we feasted like royalty and gave thanks for our family and the good food, good friends, good health, and good times we enjoy year round.
No way will our juicy Thanksgiving bird become a weapon of mass destruction. I have great plans for a leftover turkey, dressing, and cranberry relish sandwich on low carb bread for lunch today, while--if all's right in the universe--we'll watch the Hogs of Arkansas tromp the LSU tigers.
Posted by mreades at 8:07 AM | Comments (3)
November 14, 2006
Garum (Fish Sauce) The Ketchup of Antiquity
No doubt you've heard the recent news that has the archeological world all atwitter of the remains of a 1st Century Roman cargo ship, originally discovered in 2000, in shallow waters off the coast of Spain. News of a major shipwreck find always grabs my eye, because of a strong interest on my part (and a mild to moderate obsession on Mike's part) with the romance of discovering and excavating a shipwreck.
Some of you may know (but most will not) that among his many skills, Mike is a certified SCUBA instructor; although he hasn't instructed in many years, he holds instructor credentials for NAUI, PADI, and, the tough LA County Underwater Instructors Association (UICC class #19...a long time ago). When he decided to abandon engineering (his first career) for a new directon, he seriously considered two options: going into medicine (which he ultimately chose) versus buying a dive boat, becoming a salvage diver, and following his treasure hunting muse to try to uncover sunken riches.
Thus our keen interest in the article,which our local paper picked up with the headline:
Roman shipwreck, cargo promise historical insights
What could be more exciting? Imagine the riches aboard!
Then we noticed the tag-line of the article: First-century vessel carried prized fish sauce.
Say what? Fish sauce? Not gold, silver, bronze, or jewels? Nope. Fish sauce.
And prized is an understatement. This 100 foot long cargo vessel, with a capacity for about 400 tons of cargo carried hundreds of clay amphorae (two handled jars) of fish sauce. The citizenry of the far-flung Roman Empire of a couple of millenia ago loved the stuff and apparantly added it to or drizzled it on just about everything. It was the ketchup of antiquity.
In his fabulous recent book, Fish on Fridays
We were fortunate enough to have attended Mr. Fagan's lecture/reading/book signing of Fish on Fridays not long ago at the Santa Barbara Maritime Museum and gleefully came away with our signed first edition of his book, which is incredible. If you have any interest in historical accounts of events that read like really good fiction, take a look at virtually any of his books, but this one in particular, if food is your passion...or should I say 'poisson' is your passion? And if you ever get the opportunity to catch one of his presentations, don't miss it.
On the subject of fish sauce or garum as the Romans knew it, he writes:
Garum: Roman Fish Sauce
Roman cooks placed great emphasis on sauces and flavors, but none was more ubiquitous than garum--fish sauce. The modern equivalent would be tomato ketchup or Tabasco sauce, utilitarian products used to enhance all manner of dishes, both lavish and prosaic...today's global cuisine provides an equivalent to garum in readily available Asian fish sauces [such as nuoc-nam, nam-pla]. There were many garums (also known as liquamen) so there was no universal recipe, much depending on the catch at hand.There were hundreds of recipes for garum, few of which survive, for each manufacturer--each fishing family--had its own favorite blend. The third-century writer Gargilious Martialis gives an example in his De medicine et virtue herbarum:
"Use fatty fish, for example, sardines, and a container, whose inside is sealed with pitch, with a 26-35 quart capacity. Add dried, aromatic herbs, possessing a strong flavor, such as dill, coriander, fennel, celery, mint, oregano, and others in a layer on the bottom of the container; then put down a layer of fish (if small, leave them whole, if large, use pieces) and over this, add a layer of salt two fingers high. Repeat the layers until the container is filled. Let it rest for seven days in the sun. Then mix the sauce daily for 20 days. After that, it becomes a liquid."
Sounds pretty wretched, until you realize that it's not all that different from the concoction that is Worcestershire sauce, which uses anchovies instead of sardines, but that's a technicality. We put that stuff on meat, poultry, fish, and in sauces without a blink. So how did the ancient Romans use their version of it?
For answers, I turned to my library of cookbooks.
Among my collection, I have a cookbook titled Dine As A Roman Emperor: How To Cook Ancient Roman Recipes Today that I picked up on one of our visits to the ruins of Pompeii. (A magical place; it you get a chance to see it, don't miss it, either!) I first picked it up just out of curiosity about what the Romans feasted on back in the day, but ended up buying it because it has not only translations of the original simple instructions from Roman writings, but modern day adaptations of these fabulous recipes. While there are some dishes that simply don't translate, and some ingredients that don't even exist anymore, I found it interesting (and somewhat vindicating) that there was little pasta, not a ton of starchy stuff, lots of meats, poultry, fish, fresh veggies, fruits, nuts, and herbs. In fact, a great many of the recipes would seem right at home on any low-carber's table with minimal adaptation.
And, more pertinent to this topic, from eggs to entrees, about every other one uses fish sauce.
The amazing diversity of dishes with fish sauce in the ingredients list gives us a hint into why the Romans needed to ship such large quantities of it around the empire. Just in this one cookbook, there's fish sauce in:
A sauce for hard cooked eggs; nettle pie; baked lasagne; legume soup; polenta with meat sauce; fish soup; a sauce and grill marinade for chicken and pork chops; meat balls; roasted pork livers; liver pate; a brain flan; barbecued kidneys; fish pie; a vinaigrette dressing for cooked chard, turnips, leeks, winter squash, carrots or parsnips; chestnut puree; and, amazingly, a walnut flan that sounds incredible and that I think would make an exotic Thanksgiving savory side dish. So, for those with a bit of culinary curiosity, here's how to do it. (Mike comments that if you're really adventurous, you'll whip out your trusty 36 quart amphora and make your own fish sauce!) Notwithstanding, here's the recipe:
Walnut Flan
From Dining As Roman Emperor, by Eugenia Salza Prina Ricotti (with my comments)
Serves 6
3 cups milk (I'd use half and half, myself)
8 eggs
3 1/2 ounces pine nuts
3 1/2 ounces walnut meats (I think I'd coarsely chop them)
1 tablespoon honey (I'd omit it or substitute a packet of Stevia or Splenda)
3 tablespoons nuoc-nam* (fish sauce, available at Asian markets)
*if no fish sauce available, substitute 2 scant teaspoons salt and a generous amount of pepper
(According to the author) you will need a ring mold, 12 inches in diameter and 4 inches deep (or a bundt pan, one supposes or, for my money, it would seem even easier to use 6 ramekins or custard cups and make individual servings.)
1. Toast the pine nuts and walnut meats lightly in a skillet with a tiny quantity of olive oil.
2. Beat the eggs as for an omelet. In a separate bowl (I'm not sure why, though) combine the milk, the honey (or sweetener) and the nuoc-nam (or s&p) and stir well. Add the beaten eggs to the milk mixture. Strain through a sieve to remove any solids.
3. Add the pine nuts and walnut meats and pour the mixture into the ring mold. (The author doesn't say to do it, but for my money, I'd butter the ring mold or custard cups well beforehand for easier release later.)
4. Set the mold (or cups) in a large lower (i.e., shallow) pan of boiling water and bake in a low oven (about 325 degrees, I would guess) for 1 hour and 15 minutes (less for the individual cups--see below).
5. Turn out the flan, sprinkle with plenty of pepper, cool slightly, but serve warm.
Sounds yummy, doesn't it? It would even be delicious to add some sauteed wild mushrooms or a puree of sauteed mushrooms to the mixture.
And I would bet that it would be all the easier done in individual ramekins just as you would a dessert flan or creme brulee. You'd need to cut down the cooking time somewhat, probably to about 45 minutes or 1 hour and check it by the 'jiggle method' just as you would for any other custard--i.e., it should come out of the oven when it's mostly set, but still jiggles just a tiny bit in the center when you tap the dish.
Now you're all set for a Roman Holiday! Enjoy!
Posted by mdeades at 9:58 AM | Comments (2)
November 10, 2006
Red Hot Chile Peppers
There was a great article by Marlena Spieler in the Dining In section of the New York Times a while back about one of my favorite foods, the chile pepper. The title "There's More Than Heat to a Pepper's Personality" hinted that it would clue us in on the taste nuances of different peppers. And it did.
Having spent many years traveling and living in New Mexico, where a variety of chile somehow finds its way onto the plate in everything from breakfast to dessert, Mike and I have eaten probably more than our fair share. We love the smoky flavor of dried Ancho or Chipolte peppers with meats, the bright, sharp tang of a fresh Serrano in guacamole, or the surprising clean nip on the tongue that cayenne brings to chocolate.
Ms. Spieler's article is full of helpful tips, such as this:
One way to understand and appreciate those flavors is to taste some peppers...For fresh peppers, the place to start is with a tiny bite from the pointed end, because the stem end is hotter. You want to avoid the seeds and veins because they carry the most fire.
Okay, most of us know that one. But how about this?
Some flavors jump out, while others linger in the background. Scotch bonnet peppers, and habanero varieties like the Grenada, for instance, are known for their powerful heat. But they also have a fruity, minty flavor that is present in Jamaican jerk dishes.
Fruity and minty? Have you ever thought of chile peppers that way? Or this way?
Other fresh chilies have a whiff of banana or sweet red pepper, citrus, tomatoes or herbs. The spectrum of dried chilies, such as the ancho, mulato and guajillo, offer an even more complex range of flavors, as they dance from chocolaty, smoky, dusky, anise-y, and raisiny, to cinnamon-scented or even cherrylike.
Ms. Spieler's piece goes on to pay homage to the various chilies in cuisines from south of the border to Southeast Asia and includes several wonderful recipes, one of which, the Turkey Kebabs with Urfa Pepper, combined ground turkey with chopped garlic, Urfa chile pepper flakes, sliced scallions, chopped cilantro, ground cumin, curry powder, olive oil, salt, and formed into small patties, designed to be fried in a little oil in a skillet, then wrapped in a large leaf of Romaine lettuce, garnished with a couple of fresh mint leaves, and eaten. Since they're fried patties, I'm at a loss as to why they're called Kebabs. Go figger.
Okay, it also involved piling on some couscous, but we in the low carb crowd would choose to leave that part out and it would be just as delicious, I'm sure. Not to mention a whole lot healthier.
Another recipe for Papas a la Huancaina (Peruvian Potato Salad) which Ms. Spieler credits as an adaptation from Dr. Noah Stroe, only requires substituting half a pound of cooked celery root (or possibly cauliflower) for boiled potatoes to make it low carb kosher. The yummy spicy chile cheese sauce would grace either one beautifully. It also wouldn't be too bad on a grilled chicken breast or steak. Take a look at the ingredients:
6 aji amarillo chilies, stemmed, deveined, and chopped; 1/2 yellow bell pepper, chopped; 1 medium onion, chopped; 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil; 1/2 teaspoon turmeric; 12 ounces shredded white cheese (like Havarti or Monterey Jack); 1 cup sour cream; 3 tablespoons grated pecorino cheese; 2 limes or Key limes, quartered, to squeeze on at the end
Does that look tasty or what? Basically you saute these ingredients in the oil until soft, process them to a puree, thicken the puree to a paste over heat in the skillet, stir in the cheese, sour cream and let the cheese melt. Yum!
Then spoon this rich, spicy sauce over the cooked celery root or cauliflower, and squeeze on a little fresh lime. Double yum and thank you, Ms. Spieler and Dr. Stroe.
Makes my mouth water and makes me miss Santa Fe.
Tonight, I think I'll whip up a batch of Celeriac a la Huancaina, roast a chicken, stir up a batch of low carb margaritas and think about soft winter New Mexican sunsets and the smell of roasted chiles and pinon smoke in the air.
PS: Sorry I've been slack on the bloggery; I'm under a looming deadline for a project that's been taking up far too much of my time, but promises to be completed soon. I'll endeavor to keep a bloggin' despite it.
Posted by mreades at 10:28 AM | Comments (2)