Savour Fare » Beef, Pork, Lamb

Toad in the Hole

Kate — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 13:32:56 +0000

It’s very strange being pregnant in January. It seems like everyone is going on a diet, vowing to lose weight, committing to a high-intensity exercise plan. Me? I’m craving hamburgers, and trying to decide if it’s a good idea to go to a once a week yoga class. I do hope to lose weight this year, but not before I gain a bunch, and I’m just trying to keep up with my protein needs. Oh, and I plan to eat more vegetables.

This time of year has proven to be difficult, anyhow. My dad died a year ago, and while I steeled myself to face the date itself, I’ve found myself feeling a bit more fragile than I normally am. A year is the traditional period of mourning, but while there is a lot of happiness and even joy in my life, I haven’t stopped tearing up unexpectedly, and I still miss him fiercely.

So instead of salads and superfoods, I’ve been seeking out comfort. One of my favorite Friday night dinners is Toad-in-the-Hole — a British classic that’s basically a Yorkshire pudding with sausages. It’s not health food, but it IS comfort food, and it’s made from scratch (OK, I buy the sausages, but you COULD make them from scratch) and there’s a place for that, too.

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Carne Asada Tacos

Kate — Tue, 12 Jul 2011 14:22:08 +0000

I’ve lived in many places during my life, but at heart I’m an Angeleno girl. Los Angeles is my hometown, and the home of the taco. OK, bastardized home of the taco (and home of the bastardized taco). When I was in college and law school and paying flying visits home, I always made sure those visits included tacos. And when we’re talking about real tacos, there is no iceberg lettuce, no shredded cheese, and NO ground beef.

This is a taco: seasoned meat, steamed corn tortillas, onions, cilantro. Maybe a squeeze of lime, maybe a dab of hot sauce. Simple, perfect.

Now that I live here, although there are plenty of visits to the local taqueria, I can get all the ingredients to make fabulous tacos at home. The really good kind of corn tortillas. Cilantro for 25 cents a bunch, and limes for a dollar a dozen. The sweet white onions necessary to real Mexican food. And the meat. Any carniceria worth its salt will sell you carne asada — seasoned beef, ready for the grill. But I’d never attempted to make it myself, until I saw the recipe in the LA Times, in an article about the combining of Mexican and Armenian food traditions in one Angeleno family. It seemed almost laughably easy, so I picked up the ingredients at my local Mexican Armenian market — beef flap meat (though any very thin and flavorful cut of beef will do), cilantro, onions, and the ultimate authentic ingredient: Worcestershire sauce. (LA always has been, and always will be, a melting pot). A few whirls in the food processor, some quality time with the grill, and I had my tacos. No need for a taqueria run.

Recipe
Carne Asada
from the LA Times

1 bunch cilantro, cleaned and stemmed
3 cloves garlic
1/2 small white onion, peeled
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1-2 serrano chiles
Salt
2 lbs. beef flap meat, or any very thinly cut and flavorful piece of beef.

In a food processor, combine all the ingredients except the beef, and a teaspoon of salt, or to taste. Blend the ingredients until liquid and rub the marinade all over the beef. Marinate in the refrigerator at least 1 hour, or up to 24.

Preheat a grill to medium heat, oil, and grill the marinated meat until the edges are charred and the meat is cooked through — about 5 minutes on each side.

Slice into small pieces against the grain, and serve in steamed corn tortillas with chopped onions, more cilantro, and a squeeze of lime. And a Corona. And a nice view. And beautiful weather. And a lot of traffic. And the smell of flowers. NOW you’re in the City of Angels.

Grilled Brined Pork Loin – Indian Summer

Kate — Tue, 12 Oct 2010 12:48:48 +0000

There are times when all I want to cook and eat is super simple comfort food. Then there are other times when I’m willing to put in a little (or a lot!) of effort to make something spectacular. And then there are the times (well, most of the times, to be frank) where I want something spectacular for little to no effort. And that’s where this recipe for grilled brined pork loin comes in.

This is one of those recipes my mom used to make when I was growing up. Because it’s so delicious, and because I knew it took three days to make, I always used to request it for special occasions — my birthday, my high school graduation, spring break in college, when I always went home because it was 85 degrees in LA and 35 in New Haven. So I asked my mother for the recipe, and realized she had been hoodwinking me all these years.

You see, this pork loin does take three days. But the active time is about 45 minutes, and it’s only 5 minutes if you make someone else grill (like I always do — thanks honey!) I often add an extra 3 minutes and make a compound butter my mixing a couple spoonfuls of red wine and a clove of minced garlic into some softened butter (you can also add chopped cilantro and lime juice), chilling it in the refrigerator, and then letting a pat melt over the freshly grilled pork. And for that 5 (or minutes of effort, you get aromatic, juicy flavorful pork with a seared crust and a tender pink interior that’s worthy of the specialest of special occasions. That is the kind of recipe I can get behind.

Recipe
Brined Grilled Pork Loin

1/2 tsp. cumin seeds (My mom uses 5 coriander seeds instead, but I was out of coriander. They’re both good)
10 black peppercorns
5 juniper berries
1 gal water
1/4 c. sugar
2 T salt
6 bay leaves
2 sprigs fresh thyme
2 sprigs marjoram
1 pork loin (about 3-5 lbs.)

Lightly crush the cumin seeds, peppercorns and juniper berries. Heat 1 c. water, dissolve the sugar and the salt in the hot water.

In a large bowl, place the pork loin, the water/sugar mixture, the remainder of the water, the spices and the herbs. Cover and refrigerate for 2-3 days.

Remove the pork loin from the brine (don’t rinse it off), grill over indirect heat until the center reaches 137 degrees. (If you cook large pieces of meat with any regularity, you should invest in one of these babies: Probe Thermometer. It will change your life.) The timing depends on the size of your loin and your grill.

Let the loin rest for 10-15 minutes, then slice and serve.

Grits and Greens Casserole – Almost Meatless Monday

Kate — Mon, 24 May 2010 12:28:46 +0000

I’ve never been tempted to be a vegetarian. I never went through that adolescent phase where I got squeamish about meat. I don’t find chickens or cows particularly cute; I will cheerfully handle raw meat; and I cook live crustaceans (I figure if I’m going to eat them, I need to be OK with cooking them). I’ve never given up red meat, or eschewed pork products, or cut down on fish. I’m an omnivore, and pretty happy with that state of affairs.

But the world has changed, or maybe my knowledge of it has, and I’m no longer happy with the meat and potatoes diet that I grew up with. The environmental consequences are too great; the agricultural practices too troubling, the implications too grave. It no longer makes sense to eat the traditional American diet — a hunk of meat and two sides. But I’m not willing to become a vegetarian. For one, I’m philosophically opposed to extremes, and I think cutting out an entire category of the human diet is a pretty extreme one. For another, I happen to like meat. Nothing says “summer” quite like a hamburger. Roast chicken is a delight of human existence. And bacon is something to live for.

But what can change, and what has changed, is our approach to eating meat. We’ll still have a meat focused dinner once or twice a week (that roast chicken makes frequent appearances), but we’ll eat other meals that are either entirely vegetarian, or use meat as an accessory, rather than the main event. I call this style of cooking the “meat as condiment” approach. It’s a way to incorporate more vegetables into our diets without feeling like we’re making extra work in our busy lives. As a result, I feel like our diet and our meals are more in balance.
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Savory Baked French Toast Croque Monsieur (with Ham and Cheese)

Kate — Wed, 05 May 2010 12:42:37 +0000

I don’t really understand the marketing of Mother’s Day. I see all these floral pastel cards and delicate lacy handkerchiefs and early morning breakfast in bed and advertisements for “brunch” and “afternoon tea” with fussy hats implied. Let me set the record straight. I am a mom, and I know a lot of moms. An informal survey of what our ideal Mother’s Day would look like involves 1) sleeping in; 2) a pedicure with some celebrity gossip magazines; 3) sushi; 4) chocolate and 5) lots of wine. Maybe this holiday doesn’t sell so well on a greeting card, but it sounds pretty awesome to me. Too awesome to be an also-ran Mother’s Day. Maybe I will name it something else, like “Saturday”. And it will fall once a week.

If your Mother’s Day veers towards the more traditional, or you’re trying to fill the time between pedicures, sushi and wine, try cooking brunch at home, and avoid the overpriced and overcrowded restaurant brunch options. (For more on this, see Brooke of FoodWoolf’s insider’s take on the restaurant Mother’s Day brunch. If you’re not feeling confident in your hollandaise sauce, or you’re a late sleeper yourself and don’t want a giant fuss in the morning, this is the brunch dish for you.
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The One I’ve Been Waiting For — Easy Slow Cooker Chili

Kate — Fri, 29 Jan 2010 12:00:04 +0000

I don’t come from a place where chili is a thing. Heck, I’m from California — we put barbecue chicken on pizza. We don’t have things. What this means is that I don’t have firm and fixed ideas about what should and shouldn’t be in chili, and as a result, I’ve tried many a chili recipe over the years. I’ve tried white chicken chili, turkey chili, chili con carne, chili without beans, vegetarian chili, what was supposed to be Cliff Huxtable’s super spicy chili from the Cosby Show, and even a really weird one from epicurious that had green olives and raisins (which wasn’t bad, it just wasn’t chili. I may not be a firm con carne or con frijoles person, but I feel about chili the way the Supreme Court feels about pornography — I know it when I see it).

I never really settled on THE chili — the one that becomes my go to recipe, that I make again and again — until I found this chili. It presents a mild heat without bowling you over with spiciness, it has beans, which I like, and meat, which I also like and it has tomatoes without being a tomato stew. Best of all, it is easy as pie to make and can be made in the crockpot, which means all I have to do is chop an onion and brown a little ground beef in the morning, dump it in the crockpot with several cans and spices, and I have a nice bowl of chili waiting for me when I get home. It’s also great for a Super Bowl party — hearty and warming, and there’s no last minute fuss to prepare it when your guests arrive.
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Meatloaf — It’s not Funny, OK?

Kate — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 06:14:39 +0000

Meatloaf is the butt of many jokes. I suppose it starts with the name — meat loaf is not exactly appetizing what with the lack of specificity as to the meat and the rather solid Anglo-Saxon stodge of “loaf. Then you move on to the appearance — there’s a certain sameness of texture in a meatloaf that may cause one to look askance at it. And then there’s the sort of cafeteria horror connotations of dry yet greasy meatloaf that could be made from the leftovers of yesterday’s lentil tortilla rollups, Salisbury steak and that gym sock you lost, all ground into an unappetizing mush and then baked into a grey brown loaf. And lets not get started on Bat Out of Hell References, shall we?

OK, I’ve even lost my appetite. But the truth of the matter is, I’ve never met a meatloaf I didn’t like. Think of it as a terrine or a sausage of sorts — it’s just seasoned meat and vegetables with some starch for binder, made smooth and shaped so as to be perfect for sandwiches. It’s good either hot or cold, freezes beautifully, and is the perfect thing to take to a friend with a new baby or cook for your new boyfriend (something about meatloaf suggests man food, I don’t know why.) And a good meatloaf is a thing of joy — savory and comforting with a crunchy browned exterior that’s set off perfectly by ketchup. And this, my friends, is a very good meatloaf.

It escapes the trap of being greasy by being baked freeform instead of in loaf tins — this makes it slightly less convenient for sandwiches, but whatever loss you have on that count is more than made up for in increased surface area for delicious crust. And the secret to juiciness lies in the use of sausage meat as one of its components. I also happen to think that the seasoning is just right in this one, but of course the beauty of meatloaf is that you can vary it — add a little of this, a little of that — and really edit it to your tastes. Essential in my mind, however, is the drizzle of ketchup over the top prior to baking — it caramelizes in the oven and adds a wonderful sweet counterpoint to the savory meat.

All jokes about mystery meat aside, I tend to vary the type of meat I use for meatloaf — some days using ground turkey, others ground beef, and the sausage can be either pork or turkey. What shouldn’t vary greatly is the texture — the vegetables should be chopped fairly finely so that they don’t interfere with the structural integrity of the final loaf.

Of course, structural integrity can be dismissed if you’re merely eating this meatloaf hot — it can crumble on the plate with some mashed potatoes and a nice green vegetable, and noone will be the worse for wear. But to truly experience the glories of a cold meatloaf sandwich (I like mine on toasted bread with ketchup) some sameness of texture is necessary. But when you combine that crisp softness of toasted bread with the tender chew of the meatloaf and add the herbal notes from the meat to the spiciness of the ketchup that’s magic, no mystery. And that’s no joke.

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Small Comfort – Okonomiyaki

Kate — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 01:38:43 +0000

When people think of comfort food, they usually return to their childhood, and foods of the nursery. Macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes, chicken noodle soup. The food of my childhood, while delicious, was not in the same vein. My mother was a child of California, and the 1970′s and 1980′s saw the rise of California cooking and a focus on health food. While I did have occasional macaroni and cheese, the foods I remember most vividly from early childhood are grilled steak, fresh cantaloupe, Caesar salad. Oatmeal cookies and Crystal Light lemonade on hot summer days by the swimming pool. Chocolate chip cookies made with whole wheat flour and raw sugar. Lamb steaks with red wine and garlic. These are the foods that evoke childhood for me, but I would classify them as staples more than “comfort food”.

Although I do occasionally, in times of distress, turn to foods of my California childhood, namely whole wheat toast, either buttered or spread with soft avocado and salt and pepper, as an adult, I have had to create my own idea of comfort food, and the world is a different place than it was in 1978. What’s more comforting than a steaming bowl of pho? Or a dish of perfectly puckered soup dumplings? Or some green corn tamales, dripping with melted cheese? When I want quick comfort at home, though, I turn to okonomiyaki.

I first encountered okonomiyaki on a cold day in New York. I had heard about a tiny place in the East Village that made octopus balls, and being interested in any curiosity, I sought it out. It was tucked on a side street, and miniscule – even in NYC, my closet was bigger than this place, which consisted of a counter (for ordering, there was no room to sit) and a galley style kitchen. The menu was equally tiny, consisting of the sought out octopus balls, or takoyaki, and okonomiyaki. The takoyaki were good, but it was the okonomiyaki that really caught my eye.

Referred to variously as Japanese pizza or a pancake, it’s a common street food in Osaka whose name roughly translates to “As you like it.” There are some basic ingredients that don’t vary, but additional ingredients can vary widely from seafood to cheese. The okonomiyaki I make at home is really a few fresh staples that I always have around, plus a few traditional Japanese toppings which are inexpensive and store almost indefinitely, and it comes together easily and quickly — the perfect thing for a Wednesday night dinner.
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Consider the Crockpot — Thai Pork with Peanut Sauce

Kate — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 21:38:36 +0000

Ah, the poor crockpot. It is used, nay, embraced all winter, when it churns out a steady stream of warming soups, hearty stews and stick-to-your-ribs casseroles. Then, come summertime and hot weather, the lonely crockpot is summarily dismissed, banished to the cupboard below the stairs with the spiders. “No!” it cries, “Wait! It doesn’t have to be like this! I can be summery! I am more eco-friendly than the grill! I don’t heat up your kitchen like an oven! Save me!” But you remain deaf to its piteous cries, and turn your back on the crockpot.

Until now. Look, I know where you’re coming from. Nobody wants to eat pot roast with gravy in July. But the crock pot should not be so easily dismissed. Just because it’s daylight until 10 pm doesn’t mean you don’t want to come home and have dinner waiting. And any appliance that doesn’t heat up the kitchen should be put into play in the summer. The key, of course, is to look to cuisines from tropical countries, where warm weather is the norm. You’re still making a stew or a casserole, but it seems, somehow, more fitting. Take this Thai pork with peanut sauce. I might not make this during a heat wave, but for a normal summer dinner, a crockpot may be just the ticket.
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Your Mama’s Pot Roast

Kate — Fri, 29 May 2009 04:42:53 +0000

It’s the week after Memorial Day. Which means you can wear white without subjecting yourself to sartorial ridicule. And you’ve broken that long stretch after President’s Day with no 3 day weekends. And reasonable people start thinking summer! Grilling! Beach Volleyball! (apologies to my Australian readers. I have an admittedly northernhemispheric outlook here).

The weather in Los Angeles seems to have missed the memo. I know you non-Angelenos are quite confused, because this is Southern California, where it is 75 and sunny every blessed day. Daytime is lovely this time of year (or the daylight I can spy from my cubicle seems to be), but mornings and evenings are beset with the annual “May Gray” which will soon turn into “June Gloom”. It is foggy, cold and decidedly chilly.

Which is why pot roast is an eminently reasonable thing to cook this time of year, although it doesn’t scream summer. A nice warming hearty dish is just the thing to cut through the dreariness (or fog-shrouded mysterious noirishness, depending on your outlook) of dinnertime this time of year.

I will offer an additional disclaimer that I hope you know me well enough by now that you know this is not the type of recipe I typically espouse. Name brand ingredients are definitely not my thing, and these particular ones just reek of a certain type of “can of soup” semi-homemadishness that right thinking foodies despise. But, but …

This is a family recipe. It came from my grandmother (you can tell it’s from my family by the addition of liquor. What can I say? We’re WASPs. Liquid lunch isn’t just a saying) and it tastes good (if a wee bit salty. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. But I like salty, it has its place. A somewhat prominent place, if you ask me.) It’s easy, it’s quick, and, besides, I secretly love semi-arcane retrograde recipes that smack of a different era before anyone knew of the evils of high fructose corn syrup.

Just don’t tell Michael Pollan, OK?

Enough apologies. This is my grandmother’s recipe for pot roast, and you know what? It’s delicious.

Recipe
Pot Roast

1 2-3 lb. pot roast (chuck will do, but I like brisket best, and I usually make this when I find it on sale)
1 -2 c. carrots, cut into rounds
1 can Campbell’s Golden Mushroom Soup (NOT Cream of Mushroom. And I wish I could say “Oh, it’s so easy to make at home!” or “This is a substitute!” but nope. Golden Mushroom it is. Also, it needs to be condensed.).
1 package dried Onion Soup Mix (this can be any brand. Classic, is of course, Lipton’s. And if you figure out how to make this at home from scratch, please let me know.)
1/4 c. bourbon.

Brown the meat on both sides in a hot skillet.

Place the carrots in your crock pot. Put the browned meat on top of the carrots. Pour the soups over the meat, and kind of mush them together so they’re all mixed.

Turn your crockpot on, on low, cover, and let cook for 8-10 hours. (This can also be done in a 300 degree oven for 3 hours). In the last 30 minutes of cooking, add the bourbon (optional).

Take out the meat, slice against the grain (or try to, I end up always shredding mine), and serve with carrots and gravy, and a nice, not salty starch to sop up the extra gravy.