I’ve come, in between sniffles and piles of Kleenex, only for a minute today, to tell you that I’m couch-ridden.
True, my current condition does allow for ample laptop time, but unfortunately it does not prove to be very inspiring to my diet. Thus I don’t have much to tell you – other than that I am still eating, slowly but surely, and mostly by the goodwill of my mother and her bountiful casseroles. They stick to your ribs, if you know what I mean.
And even though I’ve watched so many bad sitcoms in the past few days that I think my eyes may fall right out of my head, I’ve got something to look forward to: last week, my parents brought me home a bottle of swanky, grade A maple syrup from Vermont, so I have that waiting for me as soon as my antibiotics have run their course.
I’m hoping to think up something a bit more exotic than pancakes to use it on, but really, right now anything sounds good. So long as my taste buds aren’t still on strike.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Little to no whining
Well, I can say with great relief, that it looks like Restoration won’t be as dry as I thought. It’s a preliminary theory at this point, but if my professor can make 18th Century British literature as enticing as she can make her introduction class, we’ll be in for a decent semester. If not, there is always risqué poetry and Defoe. So that’s good news.
Also on the topic of good news, I plan to make good on my promise and give you a post that includes little to no whining and actually has something to do with food. So, to get straight to it: last week, I finally learned how to cook lobster.
Having a mother who grew up in Maine and living in New England myself, it feels like heresy that up until recently, I knew so little about the crustaceans. And to top it off, in the interest of full disclosure, I was always the kid that asked for steak at our Maine summer lobster bakes, if you can believe it. I cringe to think about all of the lobster I’ve missed growing up as a picky eater. But, I plan to make up for lost time, and in the case of lobster appreciation, as they say, it’s better late than never.
I’ve heard that the actual cooking is not for the faint of heart, but really, it isn’t so bad. The idea of placing a live creature to its death in a large, steaming pot isn’t exactly the most morally sound idea of dinner, but when you think about it, it’s the freshest you can get. And, if you can picture it, the real Mainers even humanely put them to sleep before their deathly plunge. I’m not sure if it really works, but they put the lobsters on their heads and stroke their tails – it ends up looking like some sort of lobster yoga, only without the mat and with an entirely different ending.
If you can get over the morality of the whole ordeal, cooking them is simple. All that’s necessary is bringing about an inch of water to boil in the bottom of a large pot, sticking them in, and letting them steam for a good 5 to 10 minutes. They’re ready when they’re bright red, and when, as my grandmother says, the antennae pull out very easily.
I had to learn how to shell them as well, and so after they were cooked, I stood over the sink with a shell-cracker on one side and my grandmother on the other, who patiently taught me how it’s done. If you want to know a secret from a real Mainer, she swears by the tamale, which is the green stuff in the chest cavity, to flavor any lobster soups or stews.
We just made a simple lobster salad with ours that night, which, aside from eating them straight from the shell doused in a whole lot of butter, is Maine’s second favorite way to eat them. (Drive along the coast and try to count the number of signs for ‘fresh lobstah rolls’ – it’ll drive you nuts. Or at least make you really hungry.) Fresh lobster tastes almost like the ocean: it’s faintly salty, as if someone has already done the seasoning for you. If you’re really feeling authentic, put your lobster salad in toasted, buttered hot dog rolls, and start dropping the “r’s” off your words left and right.
Lobster Salad
Maine lobster is so good that it doesn’t really need a whole lot, thus, the simplicity of this recipe. It’s also hard to mess up, so feel free to experiment: some people like to add celery, for example, and I bet white pepper would work nicely. Just whatever you do, don’t add salt until you taste it; most lobster will taste a bit briny to begin with, so it might not be needed.
2 lobsters, about a pound and a half each
Mayonnaise (I bet this would be even better with homemade)
Celery Seed
Old Bay seasoning
Steam lobsters in an inch of water until bright red and they pass the antennae test. Let cool in a strainer.
Shell, and place all meat into a separate bowl. Coarsely shred the meat, and then add just enough mayonnaise to hold the mixture together, and a pinch each of celery seed and Old Bay. Serve in buttered rolls, or on sliders if you want to get fancy.
Also on the topic of good news, I plan to make good on my promise and give you a post that includes little to no whining and actually has something to do with food. So, to get straight to it: last week, I finally learned how to cook lobster.
Having a mother who grew up in Maine and living in New England myself, it feels like heresy that up until recently, I knew so little about the crustaceans. And to top it off, in the interest of full disclosure, I was always the kid that asked for steak at our Maine summer lobster bakes, if you can believe it. I cringe to think about all of the lobster I’ve missed growing up as a picky eater. But, I plan to make up for lost time, and in the case of lobster appreciation, as they say, it’s better late than never.
I’ve heard that the actual cooking is not for the faint of heart, but really, it isn’t so bad. The idea of placing a live creature to its death in a large, steaming pot isn’t exactly the most morally sound idea of dinner, but when you think about it, it’s the freshest you can get. And, if you can picture it, the real Mainers even humanely put them to sleep before their deathly plunge. I’m not sure if it really works, but they put the lobsters on their heads and stroke their tails – it ends up looking like some sort of lobster yoga, only without the mat and with an entirely different ending.
If you can get over the morality of the whole ordeal, cooking them is simple. All that’s necessary is bringing about an inch of water to boil in the bottom of a large pot, sticking them in, and letting them steam for a good 5 to 10 minutes. They’re ready when they’re bright red, and when, as my grandmother says, the antennae pull out very easily.
I had to learn how to shell them as well, and so after they were cooked, I stood over the sink with a shell-cracker on one side and my grandmother on the other, who patiently taught me how it’s done. If you want to know a secret from a real Mainer, she swears by the tamale, which is the green stuff in the chest cavity, to flavor any lobster soups or stews.
We just made a simple lobster salad with ours that night, which, aside from eating them straight from the shell doused in a whole lot of butter, is Maine’s second favorite way to eat them. (Drive along the coast and try to count the number of signs for ‘fresh lobstah rolls’ – it’ll drive you nuts. Or at least make you really hungry.) Fresh lobster tastes almost like the ocean: it’s faintly salty, as if someone has already done the seasoning for you. If you’re really feeling authentic, put your lobster salad in toasted, buttered hot dog rolls, and start dropping the “r’s” off your words left and right.
Lobster Salad
Maine lobster is so good that it doesn’t really need a whole lot, thus, the simplicity of this recipe. It’s also hard to mess up, so feel free to experiment: some people like to add celery, for example, and I bet white pepper would work nicely. Just whatever you do, don’t add salt until you taste it; most lobster will taste a bit briny to begin with, so it might not be needed.
2 lobsters, about a pound and a half each
Mayonnaise (I bet this would be even better with homemade)
Celery Seed
Old Bay seasoning
Steam lobsters in an inch of water until bright red and they pass the antennae test. Let cool in a strainer.
Shell, and place all meat into a separate bowl. Coarsely shred the meat, and then add just enough mayonnaise to hold the mixture together, and a pinch each of celery seed and Old Bay. Serve in buttered rolls, or on sliders if you want to get fancy.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Pencil cases and trapper keepers
Oh boy. I suppose I let a lot of time fly by, didn’t I. I really didn’t mean to. You see, the whole summer has been lazy and slowly creeping by, but as of late, August decided to pick up the pace a bit, and slap a bunch of things on my itinerary. Just like that, without even asking.
So I’ve been meeting with sensational magazine editors, visiting relatives, pitching tents and hiking deep into the woods and working rainy weddings – all of which I will eventually tell you about, but for now, I just came to complain about the end of summer. I know, it’s pretty selfish, but if you bear with me for just a paragraph or two, I have a post about lobster in the works you can read next. I promise.
Classes, for me, officially start in about three hours. Yikes.
When we were younger, this time of the year wasn’t so bad. There would always be multiple signs that school was nearing, signs that the summer was waning and your days would no longer be comprised solely of tag and fort-building. Things like pencil cases, trapper keepers, and shiny new clothes gleaned from back-to-school-shopping always served as friendly warnings to ready us all, get us back into the September swing of things.
When you hit college, things change. School just sneaks up on you, and besides dread, you don’t really feel anything until you’re sitting in that first class back. Which for me is Restoration Literature, and I fear it’s dry. Like, really dry.
Anyway, that’s what I’m up to this whole next year, until they release me into the world for good. As I said back in April when I started Rue le Sel, the part that scares me the most is not being able to keep up once classes start up again, so I will do my best - my comment section is always open to some encouragement, too. To anyone else who is going back and got completely ambushed by the end of August as well, god speed, and I suppose you should count your lucky stars you’re not taking Restoration. Here’s to a speedy semester, but an interesting one too.
So I’ve been meeting with sensational magazine editors, visiting relatives, pitching tents and hiking deep into the woods and working rainy weddings – all of which I will eventually tell you about, but for now, I just came to complain about the end of summer. I know, it’s pretty selfish, but if you bear with me for just a paragraph or two, I have a post about lobster in the works you can read next. I promise.
Classes, for me, officially start in about three hours. Yikes.
When we were younger, this time of the year wasn’t so bad. There would always be multiple signs that school was nearing, signs that the summer was waning and your days would no longer be comprised solely of tag and fort-building. Things like pencil cases, trapper keepers, and shiny new clothes gleaned from back-to-school-shopping always served as friendly warnings to ready us all, get us back into the September swing of things.
When you hit college, things change. School just sneaks up on you, and besides dread, you don’t really feel anything until you’re sitting in that first class back. Which for me is Restoration Literature, and I fear it’s dry. Like, really dry.
Anyway, that’s what I’m up to this whole next year, until they release me into the world for good. As I said back in April when I started Rue le Sel, the part that scares me the most is not being able to keep up once classes start up again, so I will do my best - my comment section is always open to some encouragement, too. To anyone else who is going back and got completely ambushed by the end of August as well, god speed, and I suppose you should count your lucky stars you’re not taking Restoration. Here’s to a speedy semester, but an interesting one too.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
A catch twenty-two
It’s finally here. What I mean, of course, is that iconic summer heat wave that Connecticut is blessed with every summer, the one that literally melts anything and everything in sight. It has arrived, and it's dreadful.
I thought maybe with all of the rain this year it might now show its face, but I was wrong. Like a dreaded yearly visit from that intolerable relative, it showed up, once again, and it’s stayed for two days already. And I don’t know if it has a long trip back or it’s just lazy or what, but it has invited itself to stay through tomorrow. The nerve. I also don’t know what I’m going to do about cooking until it leaves.
This time of the year is tricky – there are only so many salads and cold soups you can make before you yearn for the stove, or anything cooked, really. On the other hand, it’s so hot your fingers sweat while you eat. It’s a catch twenty-two, I suppose, and I can’t wait until it’s over.
Lucky for us, the same season that punishes us with weather so hot the only comfortable thing to do is stand in the middle of a room, straddling a fan, Marilyn-style, also brings us incomparably fresh produce. So fresh, in fact, that cooking isn’t all that necessary. Come to think of it, we should probably be thankful that this stove-forbidding weather doesn’t come in the winter; there’s not a lot one can do with an abundance of raw potatoes and parsnips.
So, last night for dinner I made a quick and easy corn and tomato salad, and while I did use the stove for just a few minutes, I put my cutting board at a safe distance and armed myself with a big glass of ice water throughout the process. I was sweating by the end, I will admit, but it was worth it. And when doing anything these days will make you sweat, especially this hot computer sitting on my lap, I figured there wasn’t really an excuse not to.
Corn and Tomato Salad
2 ears worth of corn kernels
2 big, just ripe tomoatoes
½ small red onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
Goat cheese
Good quality olive oil
Fleur de Sel, or Real Salt
Bacon would be a really nice addition to this (unless, of course, you’re a vegetarian), I didn’t have any, so I didn’t use it, but if you do, just cook the bacon in your skillet first, then use its rendered fat to cook everything else in. Yum.
In a medium-hot skillet with olive oil, cook garlic for about 30 seconds to flavor the oil, then add in the red onion. Cook until just translucent, and then add in the corn, stirring every now and then, until it’s sufficiently pan-roasted. (This should take about 5 minutes or less – just taste it to make sure; when it’s just the slightest bit still crunchy, it’s done.)
Set this mixture aside to cool; taking it out of the skillet and onto a cold plate helps. Slice tomatoes into big, thick rounds – I like to leave them whole, but if you’d prefer to roughly chop them, that works too. When the corn mixture has cooled off, scatter it on top of the tomatoes. Finish with just a sprinkling of crumbled goat cheese.
I thought maybe with all of the rain this year it might now show its face, but I was wrong. Like a dreaded yearly visit from that intolerable relative, it showed up, once again, and it’s stayed for two days already. And I don’t know if it has a long trip back or it’s just lazy or what, but it has invited itself to stay through tomorrow. The nerve. I also don’t know what I’m going to do about cooking until it leaves.
This time of the year is tricky – there are only so many salads and cold soups you can make before you yearn for the stove, or anything cooked, really. On the other hand, it’s so hot your fingers sweat while you eat. It’s a catch twenty-two, I suppose, and I can’t wait until it’s over.
Lucky for us, the same season that punishes us with weather so hot the only comfortable thing to do is stand in the middle of a room, straddling a fan, Marilyn-style, also brings us incomparably fresh produce. So fresh, in fact, that cooking isn’t all that necessary. Come to think of it, we should probably be thankful that this stove-forbidding weather doesn’t come in the winter; there’s not a lot one can do with an abundance of raw potatoes and parsnips.
So, last night for dinner I made a quick and easy corn and tomato salad, and while I did use the stove for just a few minutes, I put my cutting board at a safe distance and armed myself with a big glass of ice water throughout the process. I was sweating by the end, I will admit, but it was worth it. And when doing anything these days will make you sweat, especially this hot computer sitting on my lap, I figured there wasn’t really an excuse not to.
Corn and Tomato Salad
2 ears worth of corn kernels
2 big, just ripe tomoatoes
½ small red onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
Goat cheese
Good quality olive oil
Fleur de Sel, or Real Salt
Bacon would be a really nice addition to this (unless, of course, you’re a vegetarian), I didn’t have any, so I didn’t use it, but if you do, just cook the bacon in your skillet first, then use its rendered fat to cook everything else in. Yum.
In a medium-hot skillet with olive oil, cook garlic for about 30 seconds to flavor the oil, then add in the red onion. Cook until just translucent, and then add in the corn, stirring every now and then, until it’s sufficiently pan-roasted. (This should take about 5 minutes or less – just taste it to make sure; when it’s just the slightest bit still crunchy, it’s done.)
Set this mixture aside to cool; taking it out of the skillet and onto a cold plate helps. Slice tomatoes into big, thick rounds – I like to leave them whole, but if you’d prefer to roughly chop them, that works too. When the corn mixture has cooled off, scatter it on top of the tomatoes. Finish with just a sprinkling of crumbled goat cheese.
Friday, August 14, 2009
A machine
It came! As these shipping things tend to go, it came a day later than I'd hoped, but in the end, I was patient enough.
I am now the proud new owner of a Canon Rebel Xs. It arrived yesterday afternoon right before work, so I charged up the battery while I was there, and came home to experiment. This morning, I bought some figs (mainly because they're pretty and I thought they'd make a good subject) and whipped up a salad with a goat cheese dressing. It wasn't that great -- turns out I'm not as big of a fig person as I had thought -- but that's not the point. Right now, the pictures are the point. This thing is a machine, I'll tell you, and it knows its stuff.
I'll come with a recipe soon, but for now, you just get pictures. Thanks for bearing with me and my camera experimentation. Below are two pictures of the fig salad; I threw in a picture of my porch and Pete's hand, just for good measure.
I am now the proud new owner of a Canon Rebel Xs. It arrived yesterday afternoon right before work, so I charged up the battery while I was there, and came home to experiment. This morning, I bought some figs (mainly because they're pretty and I thought they'd make a good subject) and whipped up a salad with a goat cheese dressing. It wasn't that great -- turns out I'm not as big of a fig person as I had thought -- but that's not the point. Right now, the pictures are the point. This thing is a machine, I'll tell you, and it knows its stuff.
I'll come with a recipe soon, but for now, you just get pictures. Thanks for bearing with me and my camera experimentation. Below are two pictures of the fig salad; I threw in a picture of my porch and Pete's hand, just for good measure.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
A fair warning
I come today with not a recipe, but a fair warning. You see, a new camera is in the works. A new fancy camera. So, consider yourselves warned: this site, from tonight (fingers crossed) or tomorrow on, will be irresponsibly strewn about with my attempts at photography.
I used to fancy myself an artiste, I’d say – toting my Dad’s old 35mm Olympus around our backyard, shooting Black-eyed Susans in black and white, at an angle. I spent a good deal of time with that camera, learning how to proficiently change the film, and playing around with the focus for a good part of an afternoon. Then, of course, came the age of the digital, and I was given a snazzy new point-and-shoot for Christmas one year. It had a whopping 3.2 mega pixels, and in laymen’s terms, that meant I was a big shot.
That camera, like all new age technologies, slowly depreciated, and my love of taking pictures went right alongside. I still have it, of course; it’s what I use for everything on here. But I felt that it might be time to move up. That trusty cannon, bless its little motor, (or chip, or what have you), is no longer pulling its weight.
And so it is, that a shiny Canon rebel will be arriving any day now, ready to make me look like I know what I’m doing. It’s actually refurbished – but newly shiny, I suppose. I’m hoping it will come with a little character and perhaps some well-earned experience in guiding a novice photographer like myself. We shall see. Appropriately enough, this post has no pictures: the old camera is officially in retirement. So check back often, it might be here any minute now, and help me welcome my new camera to Rue le Sel.
I used to fancy myself an artiste, I’d say – toting my Dad’s old 35mm Olympus around our backyard, shooting Black-eyed Susans in black and white, at an angle. I spent a good deal of time with that camera, learning how to proficiently change the film, and playing around with the focus for a good part of an afternoon. Then, of course, came the age of the digital, and I was given a snazzy new point-and-shoot for Christmas one year. It had a whopping 3.2 mega pixels, and in laymen’s terms, that meant I was a big shot.
That camera, like all new age technologies, slowly depreciated, and my love of taking pictures went right alongside. I still have it, of course; it’s what I use for everything on here. But I felt that it might be time to move up. That trusty cannon, bless its little motor, (or chip, or what have you), is no longer pulling its weight.
And so it is, that a shiny Canon rebel will be arriving any day now, ready to make me look like I know what I’m doing. It’s actually refurbished – but newly shiny, I suppose. I’m hoping it will come with a little character and perhaps some well-earned experience in guiding a novice photographer like myself. We shall see. Appropriately enough, this post has no pictures: the old camera is officially in retirement. So check back often, it might be here any minute now, and help me welcome my new camera to Rue le Sel.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
The first real recipe
When I was younger, breakfast was by far my favorite meal of the day. Pancakes, waffles – especially Belgian ones with strawberries on top - anything, really, I was up for, anytime of the day. All of the starchiness, I guess, really did it for me.
After a sleepover in a friend’s quaint red farmhouse one night in third grade, we woke up and tackled Sunday breakfast; looking back, nothing could have been more appropriate – we may have even collected fresh eggs for the occasion from her chickens in the backyard. She taught me how to make what was known in her family as “Grandma’s Pancakes,” a sort of crepe-like, thin, buttery flapjack that we rolled up and ate with butter and jelly. I copied down the recipe that day, in a red fancy print that I tried, with a sense of purpose, to replicate, and that became the first real recipe in my repertoire. I cooked those pancakes with reckless abandon from that day on. Grandma remained anonymous, but she, whoever she was, never went unappreciated.
On nights my brother and I were feeling adventurous, or rebellious, (or both) we would pitch a tent in our sprawling backyard to spend the night. As soon as the sun was up, I would give up my dreams of mutiny and scurry back to the kitchen to make us breakfast. Grandma’s pancakes were always on the menu – I would make them, expertly, and bring two stacked plates back to the tent for us to devour.
I am no longer pitching tents in my backyard, but I am still making breakfast. We all have to eat in the morning, and the only thing I’ve found over the years that contends with Grandma’s perfect recipe is one for buttermilk pancakes. And with my recent acquisition of a truckload of blueberries, it seemed like a no-brainer. If you leave the batter nice and lumpy, you’ll get fluffy, faintly sweet pancakes that rival pillows in texture. I like to wait until the batter is set on the pan to add the blueberries, that way I can make sure the blueberry placement is as it’s supposed to be, that is, plentiful. Or I can make shapes if I’m feeling artistic. Make these on a lazy Sunday morning, or if you can swing it, bring them to eat in a tent, preferably pitched in the backyard.
Blueberry Buttermilk Pancakes
(From Bon Appetit)
1 1/3 cups all purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups buttermilk
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) unsalted butter, melted, plus more for cooking (Note: I used salted, because that's all I had, and it worked out just fine; I used just a little less salt in the batter.)
Fresh blueberries
Pure maple syrup
Preheat oven to 250°F, and stick a baking sheet in the middle rack to keep the pancakes warm as you go. Whisk first 4 ingredients in large bowl. Whisk buttermilk, eggs, and 2 tablespoons butter in medium bowl; stir into dry ingredients.
Heat large nonstick griddle or skillet over medium heat; brush with butter. Drop batter by 1/3 cupfuls onto griddle. After you drop the batter, place your blueberries in the circles of batter, however you like. Cook pancakes until brown, brushing griddle with more butter as needed, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer to oven as they are done. Serve pancakes with maple syrup, if you're traditional, or butter and sugar if you're me, circa 1995.
After a sleepover in a friend’s quaint red farmhouse one night in third grade, we woke up and tackled Sunday breakfast; looking back, nothing could have been more appropriate – we may have even collected fresh eggs for the occasion from her chickens in the backyard. She taught me how to make what was known in her family as “Grandma’s Pancakes,” a sort of crepe-like, thin, buttery flapjack that we rolled up and ate with butter and jelly. I copied down the recipe that day, in a red fancy print that I tried, with a sense of purpose, to replicate, and that became the first real recipe in my repertoire. I cooked those pancakes with reckless abandon from that day on. Grandma remained anonymous, but she, whoever she was, never went unappreciated.
On nights my brother and I were feeling adventurous, or rebellious, (or both) we would pitch a tent in our sprawling backyard to spend the night. As soon as the sun was up, I would give up my dreams of mutiny and scurry back to the kitchen to make us breakfast. Grandma’s pancakes were always on the menu – I would make them, expertly, and bring two stacked plates back to the tent for us to devour.
I am no longer pitching tents in my backyard, but I am still making breakfast. We all have to eat in the morning, and the only thing I’ve found over the years that contends with Grandma’s perfect recipe is one for buttermilk pancakes. And with my recent acquisition of a truckload of blueberries, it seemed like a no-brainer. If you leave the batter nice and lumpy, you’ll get fluffy, faintly sweet pancakes that rival pillows in texture. I like to wait until the batter is set on the pan to add the blueberries, that way I can make sure the blueberry placement is as it’s supposed to be, that is, plentiful. Or I can make shapes if I’m feeling artistic. Make these on a lazy Sunday morning, or if you can swing it, bring them to eat in a tent, preferably pitched in the backyard.
Blueberry Buttermilk Pancakes
(From Bon Appetit)
1 1/3 cups all purpose flour
3 tablespoons sugar
2 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
3/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups buttermilk
2 large eggs
2 tablespoons (1/4 stick) unsalted butter, melted, plus more for cooking (Note: I used salted, because that's all I had, and it worked out just fine; I used just a little less salt in the batter.)
Fresh blueberries
Pure maple syrup
Preheat oven to 250°F, and stick a baking sheet in the middle rack to keep the pancakes warm as you go. Whisk first 4 ingredients in large bowl. Whisk buttermilk, eggs, and 2 tablespoons butter in medium bowl; stir into dry ingredients.
Heat large nonstick griddle or skillet over medium heat; brush with butter. Drop batter by 1/3 cupfuls onto griddle. After you drop the batter, place your blueberries in the circles of batter, however you like. Cook pancakes until brown, brushing griddle with more butter as needed, about 3 minutes per side. Transfer to oven as they are done. Serve pancakes with maple syrup, if you're traditional, or butter and sugar if you're me, circa 1995.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
