I've got fantastic news

1. "Made in Spain" is now on hulu. What a glorious day today is. I get goosebumps every time José Andrés says "eh-spain." His accent is disgustingly adorable.

2. Mark Bittman was on the Colbert report. Check it out. For more info on MB, check out my Food Matters post, which has a bunch of links to other MB internet goodies.

The Colbert ReportMon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c

Mark Bittman

Colbert Report Full Episodes
Political Humor

Rap Battle
Joke of the Day

In a somewhat related addition, I made this last night (sorry, no pics). Public service announcement: you cannot use Volcano Lemon Burst™ as regular lemon juice. Things become eruptingly lemony. Which led me to the conclusion that "volcano burst" is an accurate moniker. I have seared my taste buds with lemony-magma. This is a mistake that I will never make again.

Also, I added a link to my del.icio.us account in the right-hand column, which I have been a bit lax about using but have resolved to keep organized. Check it out for recipe ideas, and feel free to ask my thoughts on anything tagged "recipe[done]."

Taste of eh-spain,
Peter

Let the Great Experiment Begin!1

I watched curling² on TV today for the first time. Curling is that silly sport with the brooms that is the official snack-break of winter olympics watchers. I can't say that it holds a candle to ski-jumping or this (thanks, Will), but it is unequivocally more interesting than the biathlon, and here's why: (1) It's a strategy game--"rocks in the house," "he's got the hammer," "hard line," "let it curl"--all of the best strategy games have great, impenetrable idioms ("Sicilian defense, dragon variation" comes to mind). (2) You actually get to see what's happening, unlike the biathlon. I'm waiting with bated breath for the bullet-cam. You know, biathlon matrix-style. It's the only chance they've got. Watching a nice curl is kind of like watching a great ping pong or tennis game in slowmo where you get to appreciate all the spin put on every shot. (3) Finally, curling is a mixture of extreme concentration and at times--here's what I love about it--absolute panic. Sometimes they let the rock slide and the ice is completely silent, and sometimes the skip (please excuse my novice errors in curling terminology) is screaming at the absolute top of his fucking lungs at the sweepers to stop being such lazy assholes and sweep the goddamn ice. This panic on the part of the skip paired with the zeal and enthusiasm with which the sweepers comply with his panicked hollering is inherently hilarious. If the skip has botched his throw the most the can do is yell at the sweepers to clean up his mess. As if the skip's inability to do anything once he releases weren't tense enough, there's something that is fundamentally anxiety inducing in being forced to watch someone else do what you think you can do better. That's the kind of relationship I imagine between the skip and the sweepers.³

One reason that curling has showed up here is that after watching it, I had to get it out of my system. I just couldn't not talk about it. The other reason is that it has a vague, tenuous relation to poaching eggs, the actual subject of this post. I liked curling for the same reason that I liked a little egg-poaching experiment that I did a few weeks ago. A subtlety of motion and careful technique is essential to curling, and to well-poached eggs. However, there's also that oh-my-god-what-have-i-done, everything-is-going-to-hell, my-beautiful-egg-is-losing-it's-shape moment of panic that makes things so exciting as you try to coddle your poorly-curled egg into some sort of togetherness. This is part of the reason that people think that egg poaching and curling are difficult. Well, egg-poaching isn't really that hard, or so I discovered.

First of all, I know that doubling up on the eggs is poor form; however, you need to stop whining and poach yourself some. It'll be worth it. The light satiny texture of poached whites with the umami goodness of warm, runny yolk is glory incibuate.⁴

As it turns out, there's a lot of cooking that has to do with science and a lot of cooking that has to do with "science." I happened to be in the presence of a scientist (or "scientist"?) last weekend who mildly tolerates my food experimentation. Nicole was visiting me in Seattle and when it came time to make some brunch, she and I decided to have a friendly little competition between to egg-poaching virgins. Actually, saying that we "decided" is a bit disingenuous. Nicole strong-armed me with her spirit of antagonism into having a competition. Here are the results. You be the judge:

Nicole's Egg:




Peter's Egg:





In the interest of full disclosure (and not sore-loserness) I took the picture of Nicole's egg and she took the picture of mine. And you can't really judge from pictures anyway, so whatever. It's not like anyone's judging. But, if you are, notice that beautiful runny yolk oozing out of my egg's glorious dome, and think Hagia Sophia. Here are the thoughts that we gathered on technique:

{+} Poach an Egg

Poached Egg
For one


1 egg
1 tbs vinegar

This is less a recipe than an explanation of technique. So here's the step by step that we came up with:

1. Boil water in a small pot. We used my 2.5-quart pot filled with 2 inches or so of water.

2. While the water is boiling, get your egg ready. One of the tricks to keeping the egg together is to place it as gently as possible into the water. To do this, Nicole and I cracked our eggs into a small mug.

3. Once the water boils, turn off the heat. You want to get the water hot enough, but it needs to be still when you put the egg in. Add the vinegar now. From what we read on the internet, vinegar helps to keep the whites around the yolk because of some "chemical reaction." We used unseasoned (meaning, unsweetened) rice vinegar. Any clear, mild vinegar should be fine.

4. When there are no longer any more bubbles in the water (not even small ones) ease your egg with the gentleness of an expert curler into the warm water.


5. When you ease the egg into the water, you should be ready with a large spoon. Use the spoon to coddle the egg and stop the white from dispersing itself in the water. In our experience, some strands of white are unavoidable, but unproblematic.


6. Once the egg has stopped spreading (20 seconds, maybe) cover the pot and let sit off the heat for 4 minutes. You want the white to be cooked, but the yolk to be runny.

7. Top with S and P.

Finally, we read some bologna about making a whirlpool in the pot to poach your egg. This seems unnecessary. It essentially serves the same function as coddling with the spoon. I imagine that the whirlpool helps to keep the white together by pressing it up against the edge of the pot. It's probably cool if you can get this to work, but by no means an essential technique.

We ate our silky little nubbins atop a bed of garlicky sauteed kale and wheat toast. Like eggs florentine, but with kale. And minus the hollandaise due to my unflagging laziness. Here's the scoop⁵ on that:

{+} Eggs Kalentine It

Eggs Kalentine
For one


1 Poached egg (see above)
1 Cup chopped Kale
1 clove garlic
1 tbsp Olive Oil
1 Piece of bread (or English Muffin)

Not much to this, really:
1. Sautee the Kale with the EVOO and the garlic (minced or crushed).


2. Toast the bread.
3. Egg on kale on bread.

This whole section was probably overkill. Whoops.

However, the kitchsperiments don't end with poaching eggs. You may remember that in my tzatziki post I mentioned that straining regular yogurt could yield something that approximates the consistency of greek yogurt. At the time, I didn't know that. Now I do. After doing some egg cleanup, we moved on to kitchsperiment 2: thickening yogurt. We infused some ginger and ate it as a sweet, tangy treat with honey. It was creamy and spicy and wonderful. Here's the lowdown:

{+} Strained Ginger Yogurt

Straining Yogurt
Yields half of whatever you start with

Plain Yogurt (as much as you want)
Chopped Ginger
Butter

The essential technique is this: put yogurt in layered cheese cloth (you should be able to get cheese cloth pretty easily at the gstore--they had it at the Safeway in Seattle). Hang it in the sink for a few hours until the volume is about half of what you started with. That's all there is to it.

We chopped some ginger and heated it briefly with the butter in order to tone down it's kick a touch. Then we mixed it with the yogurt before hanging it in the sink.

Before:

After:


I highly recommend doing this if you can't find/don't have greek yogurt. It may or may not (because of the volume loss) be more cost-effective than buying the Greek Yogurt straight.

Also, it's handy to have cheesecloth on hand. Just in case you want to make Ricotta...

Well, friends, that's all I've got for now.

Keep on brunching,
Peter

---

¹ Fünke. [Note: Clicking the footnote number here in the footnote now brings you back to where the footnote is in the text. How cool is that?]

² The only reason that it caught my attention is that a dear friend of mine, let's call him Bideon (something so embarrassing must be treated with the requisite anonymity in this public forum), has joined a curling league. It's a fascinating study in despair to ponder how far in to the abyss you must have descended to think sweeping ice is fun.

³ This is almost certainly my projection rather than any sort of fact of the matter about the personal dynamics of professional curling.

⁴ Gid, you may have to correct my bastardization of Latin here. I'm not even close to making a real word. It's just that incarnate was not quite right and grated on my vegetarian sensibilities.

⁵ I am currently reading Scoop by Evelyn Waugh for a little book-gathering that I am part of. It's a dry and humorous satire of British journalism and politics in the first half of the 20^th century. Also, it is unrelated to the Woody Allen movie. It is related to the new Brideshead Revisted movie in that Evelyn Waugh wrote Brideshead. Y'all can thank Kribs for the recommendation.

Eggs Clean. Eggs Dirty.

David Foster Wallace was right* that one of the repercussions of being a college graduate (and particularly, in his case and mine, a philosophy degree holder) is the gnawing desire to intellectualize all of the banalities of life.** And it's a temptation that's hard to resist. I was in the kitchen two weeks ago with the aim of an eggy Sunday brunch. Now, before I get too deep into this I want to state the simple truth of things: I could not decide if I wanted a robustly flavored brunch (think garlic-onion-feta omelet style, maybe some red pepper flakes, buttered toast), or something more delicate (avocado-fresh mozz-tomato poached egg on an english muffin). So, I went both ways. Actually, I went a third way, which may or may not deserve to be indicted by the "over-intellectualization" accusation. The third way, and the subject of this post is Eggs Clean, Eggs Dirty.



It's a standard solution to any dichotomous but non-mutually-exclusive problem: choose both. I had the time. I had the resources. I had the ganas. I would have some eggs clean (subtle, delicate, fresh flavors), some eggs dirty (halitosis-inducing). A yin and a yang on my breakfast plate: o, beautiful balance. The Apollonian and the Dionysian, if you will.*** My breakfast had a guiding principle, a metaphysical foundation, a real theme that I planned to repeat in variation in weeks to come. This, for the skimmers, is where the "over-intellectualization" comes into play. For Chrissake, it's an omelet. As I cooked I flipped and folded and kneaded and tossed around in my mind the now-titled Eggs Clean Eggs Dirty approach to brunch. From there, it grew. (In the interest of full disclosure, no one loves a two-for-one like I do.)

Now, what makes it worse is that I proceeded to preach Eggs Clean Eggs Dirty. Will heard about it. He was unimpressed. Not to let this crush my enthusiasm, I brought it to Kibbee and Rachel. They let me down a bit more gently, "It's amazing you've got the energy to cook two kinds of eggs..." (Note, ellipsis, not exclamation.) I didn't think this was a question of energy, I thought it was a question of an idea having power. It had balance, it satisfied all sorts of urges, I never had to settle on a single flavor set for my eggs again. These more abstract qualities, however, proved less than compelling in the world of dishwashing (sometimes I rationalize K&R's tepid response by imagining doing dishes in their 8" x 10" dribbly-faucet sink). In response, I've backed off the Eggs Clean Eggs Dirty as a brunch for everyone, and rationalized it to myself as a good way to get two brunch recipes on the blog at one time.

Enough thinking, time to eat. Egg brunch, for me at least, somehow has this wonderful ability to become very complicated without becoming too messy or too time-consuming. I really believe that doing two kinds of eggs at one time is less burdensome than it first appears. You don't have to take my word for it, you can try it. If you're sappy, it's a great love brunch: one person makes eggs clean, one eggs dirty, and you split!**** But you have to call it Eggs Clean Eggs Dirty.

Here it is: a case study, theory in action:

{+} Yin

Eggs Clean I: Avocado Mozzarella
Makes 1 Servings


1 Egg
Half Avocado
Ball of Fresh Mozzarella
1 Piece Toast (an Eng Muff seems apropos)
Salt and Pep to taste

1. Toast your toast!
2. Slice your Avocado and your fresh Mozzarella
3. Prepare your egg cleanly: fried, sunny side up, poached (more about egg poaching in the next post).
4. S and P on Avocado on Egg on Mozzarella on Toast.

And, we're done.

{+} Yang

Eggs Dirty I: Spinach Feta Omelet
Makes 1 Servings


1 Egg
1/2 Cup frozen Spinach
1/4 Onion
1/4 cup crumbled feta
1 Piece toast (I opted for nine grain)
2 Tbs Grated Parmesan (optional)
Salt and Pep to taste

1. Toast the bread.
2. A bit of oil and the onion into the pan! When the onions are translucent, add the spinach. Feel free to add some red pepper flakes. When things are soft, put them on the toast and keep it in the warm oven.
3. Do your egg up omelet-style. I just went for the fold-over method with the feta inside.
4. Parmesan on Egg on Spinach on Toast.

Take note: I did Eggs Dirty first as omelets stand up much more readily to staying warm in the oven.

Regretfully Yours,
Peter

* The 'was right' link is required reading. Here is some suggested reading.

** I'm pretty sure that DFW says "over-intellectualize." I don't want to commit to "over" yet because it seems unnecessarily pejorative to me. I expect my reluctance is nothing more than a knee-jerk defense of my default behavior. Whatever the case, what Wallace is actually after isn't a standard, cut-and-dry, conservative anti-intellectualism. Far from it (see: any non-fiction piece Wallace ever wrote). Instead, Wallace is worried that it's so incredibly easy to become absorbed in our own intellectual life. It's so easy to become caught up in the monologue in our heads and not pay attention to (1) what is happening around us, and (2) whether we are spending these moments of onanism thinking about things that really matter. For the real gist of it (and some better-crafted prose), read the linked speech. I just wanted to point out that Wallace thinks there's nothing wrong with a lot of the abstraction and intellectualzation that we do; and, I wanted to point this out mostly to defend my own habits. On an unrelated note, DFW coined one of my new favorite words in his essay "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never do Again": niagaracal. Like Niagara falls. This word is so money, but lamentably so rarely appropriate.

*** An abuse of terms, if ever there was one. But (1) I couldn't resist, and (2) we were talking about over-intellectualizing . . .

**** I'm convinced that this really sappy here's-how-to-make-it-if-you're-in-love tone comes from reading too many other food blogs. If I offended you, I apologize. If I embarrassed myself, ignore it.

Merry Christmas!

Happy Valentine's Day, everybody! And a merry Christmas! So, I've already confessed to being a little delinquent in getting posts up on the ol' blogalog,* and this is one of the more tardy (though, there may or may not be a post about an August paella...) Since the Brothers Bull have moved in triplicate to Seattle, Papa and Mama Bull decided that they would visit their children for the winter holidays. We made a nice week and a half of it, including a trip to Whidbey Island (glorious in the cold light of the northwest winter sun).

M & C arrived in the evening on Christmas day, so we had our Christmas dinner on the 26th, and, as is only appropriate, all of the dishes were themed to be Christmas colors: red pepper risotto with lime, roasted garlic brussels sprouts with paprika, and pomegranate parsley tabouleh. Unfortunately, my pictures of the food are less than satisfactory. These were my young, naive, pre-DSLR days. This may be the best shot that I got:



The sprouts recipe is dead simple, and is essentially my aping the way that my aunt makes b-sprouts for every Thanksgiving. If you think that you don't love brussels sprouts, you're wrong. You do. If you need convincing, try this recipe. Or, if you don't need heavy cream to convince you (hell, it convinces me that nearly anything is delicious), try them roasted:

{+} Sprouts Recipe

Roasted Garlic Brussels Sprouts
Makes 4 Servings


24 Brussels Sprouts
2 tbs. EVOO
4 cloves garlic
a dash of paprika
S&P to taste

1. Preheat oven to 450. Roasting things like to be hot.
2. Prep the sprouts: get rid of any the stems and any unsightly outer
leaves, then cut the sprouts in half.
3. Put the sprouts, and the garlic (minced or pressed) into a casserole
dish and coat with the EVOO, S&P.
4. Bake for 15min or until tender.
5. Sprinkle with paprika when serving.


Really, that's all there is to it. Here are some great tips for picking out your sprouts at the g store or farmer's market. Easy. Delicious. Persuasive. Green. Garlicky. I can't imagine that there's anything else you'd want from these little guys.

Will and I have been eating our share of Brussels sprouts recently, and it's been grand. Just the other day we had Kribshire over for some spinach-feta-ricotta calzones, and had some of these on the side. I'll post soon about calzones--Will and I have been using a no-rise pizza dough to make our calzones, and it's damn easy. Also, calzones are brilliant cheese delivery devices, so you gotta love 'em.

I've always loved tabouleh, and got the idea for a bulgur-based salad with a pomegranate kick here. I made swapped the walnuts for almonds, bailed on the celery, and added a touch of lime juice to the dressing. I think it came out quite nicely as a way to spice up your regular old tabouleh. Also, for some reason pomegranate seeds, those tart little explosions of joy, remind me of that scene from RotK where Denethor goes all NOM NOMs (@25s) on that cherry tomato. Hilarious. Anyway, here's the salad:

{+} Pomegranate Tabouleh

Pomegranate Parsley Tabouleh
Makes 6 Servings

2 Pomegranates
1 Cup Bulgur
1 Bunch Parsley
A handful of mint
Roasted Almond Slivers
Squirt of Lime Juice (this also has
lime oil, and adds great flavor)
Salt, Pep to taste

1. Soak your bulgur: Cover it in an inch or so of cold water. Let it sit for an hour or so until it is soft. You'll end up draining/squeezing out the extra liquid, so don't worry about things being too wet. In fact, do that now. Use whatever method you deem fit to squeeze the liquid out of the bulgur. Wrap it in a cloth or press down on it with a plate and drain the bowl or put it in a colander or strainer--really, whatever you've got on hand. You want the liquid in the tabouleh to come from the dressing rather than water logged kernels of bulgur.

2. Chop your parsley and your mint finely.

3. We've been avoiding it, but you're going to have to deal with those pom poms. You can go ahead and buy pomegranate juice if you don't want to juice one of the poms. So, the trick that I picked up somewhere on the internets is to peel the pomegranates underwater: the glory-nubs (also called seeds) sink, the pith floats. Cut an X in the skin of the pomegranate and submerge it in a bowl. Rip it open and knock the seeds loose and let the pith float. Eventually you'll have a whole bunch of seeds and not too much in the way of pith (I scooped it off the top of the water as I went).

4. Juice half the pomegranate seeds. I crushed them in a bowl with a large spoon and dumped just the juices into a cup. This will be for the dressing. Give the juice some lime flavor and that should be good to go.

5. Combine!! Bulgur. Pomegranate seeds. Mint. Parsley. Almonds. Toss all these goodies with the pomegranate juice and lime mix. Add more of either to taste. S and P that jam. DONE.

Also, feel free to adjust proportions. Some like very green taboulaat, some like very bulgury taboulaat. I'm not a hater.

Finally, we've made our way to the risotto. I've actually made this a number of times. Damn, risotto is good. Also, I used leftovers to make Arancini, which are unequivocally one of the greatest creations of Western civilization. My god, these are genius. I've got a pic, so maybe I'll add a post about them, but I more or less followed the recipe from Food Junta anyway. So, on to the red pepper risotto and the conclusion of Christmas dinner.

{+} Red Pepper Risotto

Red Pepper Risotto
Serves 5 (with leftovers)


3 Red peppers
2 Cups Arborio rice
1 1/2 Cups Grated Parmesan (Grab a block and grate your own. Please.)
1 Box stock
2 Cups Dry white wine
1 White onion
3 Tbsp butter
1 Tbsp Pimenton (Smoked Paprika)
2 Limes

N.B.: Risotto may be labor-intensive, but it's not hard. Also, it's delicious. You'll want to use a large thick-bottomed pot to decrease your chances of burning rice. If you use a smaller pot, prep your wrists for a workout. Unless you already have formidable wrist muscles--I mean, who knows what you do with your free time (God knows, you hairy-palmed sinner!).

1. Start by roasting the peppers. Cut in half, deseed, and broil with some olive oil until the skin on the peppers is black and blistered. Peel off the skin so you're left with some nice, soft pepper-meat. Dice it up.

2. From here on out it is essentially basic risotto steps. Vary the ingredients, and you can end up with any kind of risotto that you want (Kribshire made a baller beer and cheddar risotto like this; Ricardo puts together a divine tomato basil risotto the same way). Here's how it goes:

a. Dice onion and saute it with half the butter and half the pimenton in the bottom of your risotto pot. You'll leave the burner at medium heat for the whole time.

b. At the same time, but the stock and a sauce pan and get it up near boiling. You'll want it to be very hot before you add it to the risotto.

c. Add the rest of the butter. When it melts, toss in the rice. Toast it for a few minutes while you stir. This gives the rice a nice flavor and helps the grains stay whole. If you're doing the red pepper risotto, add the peppers now.

d. Put two ladlefuls of warm stock into the pot with the rice. Stir the rice as it absorbs the stock.

e. Continue to add a ladleful of stock and stir.

f. When you feel like it, add the wine instead of the stock. It doesn't have to be warm, since the alcohol content ensures that it evaporates quickly enough.

g. If you are running out of stock, add some water to the stock pot.

h. You'll want to stop when the rice is cooked. Taste it continuously when it is getting close. That way you can stop right before al dente, if that's how you like it. It will cook up to al dente before you serve it.

i. Add the Parmesean, salt and pepper to taste, and the rest of the pimenton now.

j. Serve it! I like to put a lime slice on top of the risotto because the acidity helps to balance the creaminess of the risotto.

Look forward to hearing about some kitchsperiments that took place this weekend soon.

Taste of Italy,**
Peter

*I can't believe I've never thought of this before. IX points to whomever correctly remembers the book that I read this summer which features prominently the Guosim warcry.

** Eric may or may not have signed a drunken e-mail that I received from him about taking olive oil shots with this. Hey, it's in his blood.

Opa!: Tzatziki and Friends

I discovered the wonder that is a real, assertive tzatziki (i.e., not what is generally served on your falafel or souvlaki at that vaguely Mediterranean sandwich place) while on the Hellenic leg of my summer sojourn this year (for curious folks, there was also a Flemish leg, an Iberian leg, and an Ottoman leg--and they were referred to as such to the consistent confusion of other native (and non-native) speakers of English). At the outset of our aforementioned Hellenic leg, we encountered "herbage cheese balls" (which bore my two favorite characteristics of Greek cuisine: being drowned in olive oil and being delicious) and, the subject of this entry, authentic tzatziki. Served as an appetizer with fresh bread, Greek tzatziki is the absolute jam. It's got a yogurt tang, a garlic kick, the comfort of dill, some lemony love, and, made right, the added subtlety of some extra virgin olive oil.

After a middling-at-best attempt to recreate that Greek delight in Istanbul, I came back to the states and worked the recipe into shape. It is my go-to dip these days (which used to be hummus, and then was guacamole--both of which still turn up pretty often when Will and I are entertaining--actually, hummus less so these days because I can only find Joyva tahini in Seattle, which just does not do it for me; there's little sesame kick, and it's insufficiently creamy). It's not nearly as quick to make as hummus since there's some knifework involved, but in this eater's estimation,* the extra work is well worth it.

I don't have any great pictures of the process at the moment, but I'll add some next I make it, which will be soon. As matter of note, you don't need Greek yogurt (Fage, Oikos, and Greek Gods are the brands I've seen in supermarkets) to make tzatziki, but it REALLY helps. It's much thicker than regular yogurt and keeps the dip from being runny. If you can't get your hands on Greek yogurt, I've heard that you can approximate it with regular yogurt. The essential process is to strain more of the whey out of the yogurt so that it has the same sort of thickness. You should be able to do this with a couple layers of cheesecloth. Put the yogurt in it, squeeze, and then hang it for a bit from the faucet to let more of the whey drain. In fact, I'm planning on trying this soon and using the hanging time to infuse the yogurt with some other flavor (ginger, perhaps?).

Anyway, on to the recipe.

{+} Tzatziki Recipe

Tzatziki
For one, if you love it as much as I do

1 container greek yogurt
1/2 large white onion
1 medium cucumber
2 gloves garlic
1 handful dill
1 lemon (the juice--you can add zest too if you are feeling fancy)
salt & pepper to taste (also, a touch of paprika if you want)

1. Prep your veggies! One of the things that made tzatziki so interesting for me in Greece is that it had these long paper-thin strands of onion in it that, while disconcerting at first, are actually kind of fun to eat. This is totally doable with a good knife (see the post below for my recommendation), but I happened to grab one of these little nubbins on Amazon, and it makes my life orders-of-magnitude easier. I usually half my onion and then run it through the mandoline, then cut the result in half again to end up with thin quarter-onion crescents. I also mandoline the cuke then use a knife to make matchstick-sized pieces of cucumber. If you're a lazy ass, you can probably just grate it.

2. Chop your dill!

3. Mince (or press) your garlic!

4. Mix it all together! Yogurt, onions crescents, cuke matchsticks, lemon juice, dill, garlic.

5. Salt and pepper it to taste!

6. When I plate it, I usually add a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil (highly recommended). If you're feeling fancy, put an olive and a sprig of dill in the middle and dust it with paprika.

So, as I said, I don't have any pictures of straight tzatziki these days. I will soon. I do, however, have a picture of my Greek-themed open-faced eggplant & kale sandwich which sprung out of my mind and onto my plate last Monday. A bit heavy for a pre-soccer meal, but holy hell, it was delicious:


Might as well give you the "recipe" for that as well. It was really just the results of what was in the fridge:

{+} Eggplant Kale Sandwich Recipe

Greek-themed open-faced eggplant kale sandwich
Serves One


1 Greek Pita
Some Tzatziki
A couple slices eggplant
Some Kale
Some feta

1. Toast the pita.

2. Put the tzatziki on it.

3. Roast (15 mins or until soft @ 400) or grill the eggplant slices with some oil (I opted for sesame, which was interesant). Put it on the tzatziki.

4. You can roast the kale alongside the eggplant with some olive oil and garlic too. Put it on top of the eggplant.

5. Put feta over everything. Mmmm, feels good.

Chau chau** for now now!
Peter



*I've incorporated this construction into my idiolect after picking it up from one of my favorite purveyors of idiosyncrasies, Harold Bloom. E.g., "In this editor's lifelong judgment, Wallace Stevens is the principal America poet since Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson." I'm not sure everyone finds Bloom as funny as I do, but I've got a real soft spot for the man.

**You can thank the Chileans for this spelling. Also, pokemones.

RECIPE RAMPAGE™

I've been cooking and eating a lot (because, hey, gotta survive), but not posting any of the recipes (because, hey, I'm kind of lazy). There's a backlog of dishes with pictures and recipes that I need to post in order to get the tubes working again, so I'm off on a Recipe Rampage™. This is where I post a whole bunch of recipes in a short period of time, in the frenetic, slathering rampage style.

I'm starting with what I cooked last Saturday, which was a precursor to the monthly (or so) Guild of Young Seattle Ale Brewers beer drinking get-together. The brew was dubbed the "Weber Porter" (in honor of the lovely Katie Weber, girlfriend of Wilson, and friend of all living creatures). It was widely touted as "a complex and chocolatey beer with a subtle nuttiness and overtones of fresh coca." Ok, I wrote that before I even tasted it, but it was still good. Next up is a brown ale that may or may not be nutty. As of yet, the nuts are undecided.

On to the the recipe, which was a variation on eggplant parmigiano--well, sort of. It was panko-breaded eggplant with fresh mozzarella, tomato, and basil, drizzled with a balsamic reduction. I guess it was more like the bastard love child of caprese and eggplant parmigiano, and it's something that has been brewing in my head since this summer. If the eggplant is fried properly, this ends up being a light and fresh dish

Jonah and Lauren came down early to have dinner with us before the beer gathering began, so the five us macked on this little number:
Here's how I made it:

{+} Eggplant Capregiano Recipe

Eggplant Capregiano*
Makes enough for five


2 Medium Eggplants
2 Cups flour
3 Eggs
2 Cups Panko Breading
4 Medium Tomatoes
2 Large Fresh Mozzarella Balls
1 Bunch of Basil
2 Cups Balsamic Vinegar
Your choice of frying oil (I opted for canola).

1. First, cut those lil eggplanters into slices as you see fit. I like mine a little thicker. Actually, why not just get all the slicing over with and do the tomats and mozz now too. This will be especially fun if you are the proud owner of the America's Test Kitchen Best-Buy-Rated Victoronox Chef's Knife.

2. Weep the eggplant. Ever since I learned that one could "weep" an eggplant, I've been saying this as often as I can. What it entails is salting the eggplant slices in order to draw some of the juices out. Some people say that it makes the eggplant less bitter (e.g., "weeping the bitter juices"). I can't say that I've noticed that, but what it is going to do is make your fried eggplant a touch less soggy. Let the salted slices sit for half an hour or so if you've got the time. You'll learn relatively quickly why it's called weeping. Then, wash the salt off and pat the eggplant slices dry.

3. Now, you'll want to heat your oil up. I opted for pan frying rather than deep frying, and it will work just fine as long as you get your oil real hot and shimmery. The hotter your oil is, the less soggy your final product is going to be.

4. While the oil is making its merry way up to 400 degrees (watch your smoke point, especially if you are Kibbee and Rachel), prepare your dredging station! I put the frying goodies in this order: flour, eggs, panko. Things worked beautifully.

5. Balsamic reduction! You can leave this out if you want, but I think it's delicious and adds a nice tang to the eggplant. Reducing vinegar is as simple as evaporating out some of the liquid, which concentrates the wonderful balsamic flavor and makes it sweeter. If you like your reduction sweeter, add a bit of sugar. Just put your vinegar in a pan** and off you go. Whisk it every now and again so it doesn't burn and once you've got about half the original volume it will be syrupy and delicious. I had the vinegar reducing as I cooked the eggplant slices.

6. Get frying! Not too many slices at a time, you want to keep the oil nice and hot so it doesn't penetrate your eggplants and make them greasy. When they're nicely browned on both sides, put them on some paper towels to help absorb some the extra oils. You can keep the done pieces warm in the oven as long as you let them dry for a bit on the paper towels and don't stack them in the oven.

7. Once the eggplant is done, stack your goodies: eggplant, tomato, a pinch of salt, mozzarella, balsamic reduction, basil leaf. Mmmmmm. While, the plating may be nicer with a whole basil leaf, Katie preferred to rip the basil up a bit and sprinkle it on so that it was easier to get with your fork.

A couple more pics for your enjoyment:

{+} Expand to see the pictures...

Much more, very soon.

Lovies,
Peter

*Excuse my dumb names. Please.

**Note to people who may be as silly as I am: Do not make your balsamic reduction in a cast iron pan. Obviously. Putting acid on cast iron is asking to ruin your seasoning and engender oxidation. N00b.

FOOD MATTERS.

Mark Bittman, of Minimalist fame, is coming to Seattle! A little biopic--including, his lilliputian kitchen--here. In this blogger's estimation, Mark Bittman is the friggin' man: good eats, good politics, and a touch of New York cynic-sass. Watch his videos on the NYT site for a taste of his style. He'll be talking about his book, Food Matters. I'm going and you should too if you are in Seattle. If you can't make it, check out his TED talk for similar stuff.

Mark Bittman on Food Matters
Wednesday, January 14th
7:00 PM
University of Washington, Kane Hall, Room 120