Lovely Apple Tart Cake

Just this once, I am letting the children entertain themselves while I blog. It’s not going well. I can barely even finish a sen

Kids are a lot of work, you know. They need this and they need that and they spill this and break that and then they poop on

Okay, I’m back! Where were we? Oh yeah, I was telling you about this fantastic apple tart recipe where I slice apples really thinly and then mi

Well THAT wasn’t pretty. Wait until my husband hears about that. He'll

Crap I can’t do this. Here’s that apple tart that I’ve been making for a few years now that I’m still not sick of:

http://orangette.blogspot.com/2009/01/calls-for-cake.html

Read what Molly has to say about it. She says it better than I ever could, even if my children weren’t cl

Gruesome Footage of Delightfully Gelatinous Chicken Stock

There are two lasting bequests we can give our children: one is roots, the other is wings." — Henry Ward Beecher

We can also give them chicken feet so that they can help us make jiggly chicken stock. Yes, jiggly chicken stock, the best kind of chicken stock. Gelatinous, flavorful, and nutrient-rich. The only thing wrong with making chicken stock made out of chicken feet is the chicken feet.

The footage only gets grosser the farther down you scroll, so if this grosses you out, then you should maybe stop reading. Not that I want you stop reading, though. So you should just keep reading, even if you think this picture is gross.

I got as far as purchasing the feet. Once I got home and set them on the table, I got stuck. I sat there with my head in my hands, involuntarily moaning, occasionally poking the package of feet with an old chopstick, wondering why I had decided to spend my Wednesday gagging at nasty chicken feet instead of doing something fun, or even better, normal.

Along came Alice, who noticed my obvious distress and clambered up onto the chair next to me. She put her hand on mine and said, “It’s OK, Mommy. The chicken feet aren’t alive. They aren’t going to get you.”

“I know, but they’re FOUL. I can’t even look at them…how am I going to get them out of the package? How am I ever going to achieve jiggly chicken broth?”

“I’ll do it, Mom. I’m braver than you.” And before I could protest, or ask her if she got my joke, she tore open the plastic wrap, fearlessly grabbed two chicken feet, and gleefully waved them around in the air. A squeal of horror began to leak from the depths of my soul, but was squelched by a sudden, overwhelming rush of love and adoration for my little girl. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the scaly appendages so that I could no longer tell what was a dancing chicken foot and what was my daughter’s ecstatic face. My revulsion to chicken feet disappeared, leaving me with nothing but an all-encompassing love of all creatures great and small, furry and feathery, blah blah blah blah. Whatever. My warm and fuzzy bubble was abruptly shattered when Alice requested two skewers (“those giant toothpicks”) so that she could turn the chicken feet into puppets and make them talk to each other. I have never experienced dry heaving and laughing at the same time, but this might have been the closest I’ve ever come.

How are YOU doing right now, anyway? I hope I haven’t lost anyone. But I won’t take offense if you’ve clicked away by now. And in case you arrived on this post to actually learn about making stock with chicken feet, I will eventually get to that. But first I must ramble on about my child for just a little longer. I hope you understand.

Anyway, I gave her some skewers. Who am I to deny her that joy? I did the skewering, of course. Duh. You think I would let a three year old skewer raw chicken feet by herself? Now that’s just unsafe.

She grabbed the skewers and enthusiastically acted out a few puppet scenes. (That was the part of the story where I gave my child wings, by the way, but not real wings, because this story is about feet. Although wings make good stock, too...) Encouraged by her boldness in the face of danger, I marched into the kitchen, unwrapped the rest of the feet, and proceeded to hack off their talons.

The dry heaves returned.

I questioned whether this was a necessary step, but the internet declared it so, in order for the gelatin in the bones to seep out. It turns out I will do whatever it takes to get jiggly broth, so I cut those claws off as quickly as I could and threw the feet into the stockpot. Alice helped. I like to think that she grew some roots that day.

Recipe for Gelatinous Chicken Stock Made with Chicken Feet

Actually, I’m not going to give you an exact recipe, for a few reasons:

1. There is such a wealth of information on the internet about homemade stock that I am not going to pretend that I know enough about it to be proclaiming myself a jiggly chicken stock expert.

2. I don’t really think anyone is reading this post anymore. I’m pretty sure it’s too gross. I’m just writing it down so in twenty years when Alice tells me we never did anything fun when she was little, I have proof that her childhood was fucking awesome.

But if you really are still reading this, and you really are curious, here is one way that you can achieve incredibly delicious, gelatinous chicken broth:

Ingredients:

- About 2 pounds of chicken feet. Chop off the talons and discard them. Hopefully your chicken feet will come already skinned, otherwise you’ll have to do that yourself. Ew.

- The bones and carcasses from 2 roasted chickens.
(EXTREMELY HELPFUL TIP: Any time you roast a chicken or bake chicken parts, you can freeze the carcass and leftover bones, even those from your guests. It sounds soooooo gross to be scraping your guests’ bones into a bag and putting them in your freezer, but the stock cooks for so long that the germs have no chance.)

- A few carrots, onions, and stalks of celery. Nothing needs to be peeled.

- Two bay leaves, fresh or dried thyme, perhaps a teaspoon of peppercorns.

- Three quarts of cold water (I might have poured in four; I can’t remember. Someone else can give you more accurate measurements. Anyway, you really can’t mess up, unless you add too much water, and then your stock will be too thin.)

Directions:

Bring all ingredients to a boil, skimming the scum from the top every once in awhile (or not). Turn down heat and simmer for hours and hours and hours. Then, go to a rehearsal and send your husband a text to please turn off the stove. Then, come home 4 hours later and find out that he didn’t get your text. Oh well, a little more simmering won’t hurt it.

Let the stock cool for a bit. Strain out everything and discard everything but the stock. Separate into various container sizes and freeze for later use.

Result: incredibly unctuous, smooth, thick flavorful stock that jiggles in the container like a bowlful of jell-o.

Corn Pudding

This is the amount of corn pudding that I will eat today:



But this is how much corn pudding I wish I were eating today:


And when you make this corn pudding, you will wish that you also owned 54 ramekins that you could fill up with corn pudding and eat in one day. Or give to 54 friends. If you have 54 friends. Which I don't, because I spend too much time at home, photoshopping ramekins.

And if you're wondering if I actually sat here and counted all those ramekins, then I'm wondering how much time you really think I have. Because seriously, what a waste of time, to sit around counting photoshopped ramekins. The actual act of photoshopping ramekins, however, is meaningful, productive, and satisfying, and that is why I am not ashamed to say that I stay home and photoshop ramekins.

If you're wondering why this corn pudding is so delicious that I could eat 54 ramekins of it, well, the secret is heavy cream. Lots of it. Eek. You probably won't believe it, but I actually winced a little as I poured the cream into the custard. And poured. And poured. And poured. You can substitute half & half for the heavy cream, and it's almost as good. And the advantage of that would be nothing. So go ahead and pick up a quart of heavy cream next time you're at the store, because you WILL be doubling the recipe, because everyone will eat ALL of it, and you WILL want more.

And if you're wondering what other amazing photoshop skills I have, I can tell you that this is the limit of my talent. Duplicating objects and pasting them all over the place is about all I can do. See below.


It's a valuable skill. I think you'll agree. So if you have a little extra time, I could teach you how to do this, or you could just make corn pudding, depending on which skill is more important to you.


Corn Pudding
~Adapted from Emeril Lagasse (Original recipe is confusing; the directions are a little unclear. I also made a few substitutions/changes.)

Ingredients:

• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 3/4 cup chopped yellow onions
• 1 small red pepper, chopped
  
• 3 teaspoons minced garlic
• 4 cups fresh or frozen corn kernels
• 2 teaspoons chopped fresh thyme leaves, or 3/4 teaspoon dried thyme
  
• 1 1/4 teaspoons salt
• 1/8 teaspoon cayenne
• 1/4 cup all-purpose flour
• 4 large eggs
• 2 cups heavy cream (or half & half)
• 1 tablespoon sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper
• 1 cup grated Havarti or cheddar cheese
• 6 strips bacon, cooked, drained and crumbled
  
• 2 tablespoons chopped green onions

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F. Grease a 2-quart baking dish ( or lots of ramekins) and set aside.

In a large saucepan, melt the butter over medium-high heat. Add the onions and pepper and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Add the garlic and cook, stirring, for 30 seconds. Add the corn, thyme, 3/4 teaspoon of the salt, and the cayenne, and cook, stirring, until just tender and starting to turn golden, 4 minutes. Add the flour and cook, stirring, for 2 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool slightly.

Make the custard. In a large bowl, whisk the eggs, cream, sugar, thyme, remaining 3/4 teaspoon salt, and black pepper until frothy.

Put half of the corn mixture in a food processor with a little of the custard and blend until smooth.

Add the pureed corn and whole corn mixtures and the cheese, crumbled bacon, and green onions and whisk to combine. Pour into the prepared dish and bake until set and a knife inserted into the center comes out clean, 50 minutes to 1 hour. (If using ramekins, watch carefully, as they will cook in about 30-40 minutes.)

Remove from the oven and let rest for 10 minutes before serving.

Mommy & Me: A Trip to the Meat Locker

Tired of the same old playgrounds day after day? Crowds at the museums got you down? Looking for a new experience that will be fun for you AND your toddler?


Dress him warmly and take him on a trip to Peoria Packing’s Butcher Shop, where heaps and heaps of unpackaged meat are piled in open bins. You get to walk right up to the bins, choose your cut of meat, and put it in a plastic baggie all by yourself! Fun for the whole family!

Just look at that!

The sight of the abundantly pink mounds of flesh may be overwhelming to your child, who has probably not experienced such prolonged exposure to meat. When I went with my 15-month old, it was certainly a challenge to keep his pudgy little hands off of the raw meat as I was bagging it. He was strapped to my chest in a carrier, so I had to hold the bag two feet in front of me so he couldn’t reach the meat. But then his giantbaby head was in the way, and I couldn’t see what I was doing, and I kept missing the opening of the bag. Luckily, everyone else in the open-air meat locker was too excited about MEAT PILED HALFWAY TO THE CEILING to notice the lady who could only get her foot-long oxtails into a plastic baggie by turning in circles and holding her flailing baby’s hands in her mouth. The things we do for our children…

Oxtails. Very difficult to place in a plastic baggie while you are also holding a small human.

Recipe follows.

Why didn’t I put the baby in the shopping cart, you ask? Because this place is so crowded that the shopping carts cause traffic jams, and sometimes you have to leave your cart four aisles away so that you can get to the cut of meat that you’ve spied, and I don’t trust my joyfully carnivorous son in an aisle of meat all by himself. Left to his own devices, he might climb out of the cart and start leaping from one meat-piled cart to another, helping himself to the $.89/lb. drumsticks. DID I JUST SAY $.89/LB. DRUMSTICKS? WHY, YES, I DID.

I could go on and on about the prices at Peoria Packing. Actually, I will go on and on.

Oxtail, $3.99 per pound.

Pork shoulder, $1.69 per pound.

Chicken wings, $1.29 per pound.

NY strip steaks, $4.99 per pound.

Beef strips for fajitas, $3.29 per pound.

Italian Sausage (done on premises), $1.69 per pound.

All in all, I purchased 58.9 pounds of meat for $27.30. Unfortunately, in my excitement about my inexpensive fleshy treasures, I had forgotten that I had parked my car almost three blocks away. Carrying 60 pounds of meat and 20+ pounds of little human is a task that I do not wish upon anyone. But the real tragedy is that I did not get a picture of us. THAT would have been something for the baby book.

Braised Oxtail. Why not? It's only $3.99 per pound.

Spanish-Style Oxtails Braised with Chorizo

Adapted from Gourmet Magazine, January 2003 (epicurious recipe here)

The recipe calls for pieces of oxtail that have been chopped into 2- or 3- inch pieces. If you can find whole oxtail (you can at Peoria Packing!), shred the meat from the bones when the braise is done, and it will make for a more appetizing presentation.

Ingredients:

· 6 lb. meaty oxtails (2 whole oxtails, or 2 oxtails chopped into 2- 3-inch pieces)

· 1 1/2 teaspoons salt

· 1 teaspoon black pepper

· 1 1/2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

· 3/4 lb mild Spanish chorizo (spicy cured pork sausage) (original recipe says ¼ pound)

· 1 large onion, coarsely chopped

· 4 medium carrots, coarsely chopped

· 4 garlic cloves, chopped

· 1 Turkish or 1/2 California bay leaf

· 1/2 teaspoon sweet or hot Spanish smoked paprika (use smoked if you can find it!)

· 1 cup dry white wine

· 1 (28- to 32-oz) can whole tomatoes in purée, coarsely chopped (including purée) in a food processor

· 2 tablespoons chopped fresh cilantro

· 1 tablespoon Sherry vinegar or red-wine vinegar ( I always forget about this step and it’s still been delicious. Let me know how it is if you end up using the vinegar!)

Directions:

Preheat oven to 350°F.

· Pat oxtails dry and sprinkle with salt and pepper. Heat oil in a Dutch oven or large pot over moderately high heat until hot but not smoking, then brown oxtails in batches without crowding, turning occasionally, about 5 minutes per batch. Transfer as browned to a bowl. Pour off all but 1 tablespoon fat from pot.

· Remove and discard casing from chorizo. Cook chorizo, onion, carrots, garlic, and bay leaf in fat in pot over moderate heat, stirring occasionally, until onion is softened, 6 to 7 minutes. Add paprika and cook, stirring, 1 minute. Add wine and bring to a boil, stirring and scraping up any brown bits. Add oxtails with any juices accumulated in bowl and chopped tomatoes (liquid should come about halfway up sides of meat) and bring to a boil.

· Cover pot and braise oxtails in lower third of oven, turning once or twice, until very tender, 3 to 3 1/2 hours.

· Optional: remove oxtails from pot let cool, then shred meat from bones. Add back to the stew.

· Skim fat from sauce, then stir in cilantro, vinegar, and salt and pepper to taste.

· Note: Oxtails improve in flavor if braised 2 days ahead (add cilantro and vinegar just before serving).

Better Than Bacon. Yeah, I Went There.

Guess what this is!

Yes, it does look like an octopus, but it's not. Guess again.

Now do you know?

Hmmmmm....what could it be?

Lardo!!!

No, I’m not calling you fat. These are slices of lardo, which is fat taken from the top of a pig’s back and then cured with sea salt, clove, nutmeg, white pepper, black pepper, rosemary, bay leaf, and coriander. Silky and succulent, sliced so thinly that it dissolves on your tongue in seconds, it leaves your mouth coated with an herbal luxuriousness that even bacon cannot rival. If you know any vegetarians, I’m pretty sure it’s safe to feed them this product, since there’s no meat in it whatsoever. Just fat, la la la.

The dude behind the counter explained that his favorite way to serve lardo is to lay an entire slice on a hot piece of toast so it can melt into the bread. I decided that my preferred method is to lay the entire slice right on my tongue and roll it around in my mouth for a bit, all the while savoring how full and wonderfully rich my life is at that particular moment, and how there is no place in the world I’d rather be than standing in front of the fridge, hiding from my children, and sucking on pieces on fatback from an acorn-fed Iberico pig imported from Spain.

Bonus: You don’t need chapstick or moisturizer for at least a week.

And if you can spare some extra, it’s a good treat for getting babies to do tricks:

Oh! I almost forgot to tell you where you can purchase this fine substance. We picked ours up at Panozzo’s Italian Market in the South Loop. You can also order it directly from La Quercia, a company in Iowa that produces award-winning artisan salumi. My Christmas present to myself is going to be a tub (or three) of Iowa White Spread from La Quercia, which is basically lardo that is whipped up and smooshed into a tub. Personally, I think 'Meat Butter' has a better ring to it than 'Iowa White Spread.' Well, almost everything has a better ring to it than 'Iowa White Spread.' Then again, the more I say 'Iowa White Spread' to myself, the more catchy it becomes.
I can't wait for my Iowa White Spread. Luckily I have lardo to hold me up in the meantime! Phew.

Homemade Naan. Yuum.

I build a shrine to You, oh Glorious Cookbook. Unto thy radiant splendor I shall bow, reveling in thy gracious promise of a bread that does not need to rise overnight, whose dough can be kept in the fridge for 10 days, and whose need to be kneaded is nonexistent.

‘Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day’ by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoë François.

So that you will continue to grant my family with loaf upon loaf of delicious breads, I swear to sacrifice to you all that I am able, Oh Magnificent One. Please specify that which you would have me surrender unto thee.

My children? Oh Cookbook, my love for them abounds too greatly for me to relinquish them to thee. Please forgive me. Instead, I grant thee several hours of innocent and youthful toil. Up three flights of stairs, my dutiful children shall carry pound upon pound of flour, faces aglow in hopes that they will soon blissfully nibble the crumbs of your offerings.

My wardrobe? I have anticipated your needs, my Beloved Cookbook. The Ides of September have barely passed, yet the cool autumnal breezes have transformed my kitchen into a small-scale bakery. Your pages beckon me with promises of warm bread, crusty on the outside and chewy in the middle. Already my clothes are one size larger than they were but one fortnight past. Hence, my wardrobe is thine.

My wallet? But sir, surely you understand that my monies are all but depleted, due to the delightfully excessive amounts of flour that your recipes have required. In addition, I have upgraded to King Arther Flour, if only to bring out the grandeur of your baked grains. I have not been disappointed by the quality of the new and expensive flour. You are so totally worth the extra two-bucks-per five-pound-bag.

Oh Magnificent One, now that I have succumbed to your desires, please grant me permission to spread your Word. Allow me to sing the highest praises of the most recent recipe that your pages have imparted to me: naan. Also, please allow me to stop kissing your ass and close my Thesaurus window so that I can stop coming up with fancy words to describe you and your breads.

Thanks dude. And thanks for the naan. It's phenomenal.

Naan, a traditional flatbread of India and other South Asian countries.

Naan

~from ‘Artisan Bread in Five Minutes a Day’ by Jeff Hertzberg and Zoë François.

For the dough: (This is the basic “Boule” recipe for many of the breads in the Magnificent Cookbook. I also used it to make Sticky Pecan Caramel Rolls, and the fresh loaves of bread mentioned in the Meat Butter post.)

Makes four 1-pound loaves. The recipes is easily doubled or halved, and you can keep the unused portions of dough in your fridge for up to 10 days. (Note- The authors explain things in much greater detail than I have provided. You should just get it.)

3 cups lukewarm water

1 ½ tablespoons granulated yeast (2 yeast packets)

1 ½ tablespoons kosher or other course salt

6 ½ cups unsifted, unbleached, all-purpose white flour

1. Warm the water to just slightly wamer than body temperature.

2. Add yeast and salt to the water. Don’t worry about dissolving it completely.

3. Mix in the flour using a wooden spoon or a stand mixer fitted with the hook attachment. Kneading is unnecessary. You’re done when everything is uniformly moist, without dry patches.

4. Allow to rise. Cover with a lid (not airtight). Allow the mixture to rise at room temperature until it begins to collapse (or at least flattens on the top), approximately 2 hours. Longer times, up to 5 hours, will not harm the result. You can use a portion of the dough anytime after this period.

For the Naan:

¼ pound (peach-size portion) of dough

1 tablespoon ghee or any neutral-flavored oil (I used olive oil)

Butter for brushing on loaf if ghee is unavailable

1. Dust the surface of the refrigerated dough with flour and cut off a ¼ pound (peach-size) piece. Dust the piece with more flour and quickly shape it into a ball by stretching the surface of the dough around to the bottom on all four sides, rotating the ball a quarter-turn as you go. Using your hands and a rolling pin, and minimal flour, roll out to a uniform thickness of 1/8 inch thick throughout and to a diameter of 8 to 9 inches.

2. Heat a heavy 12-inch nonstick or cast-iron skillet over high heat on the stovetop. When water droplets flicked into the pan skitter across the surface and evaporate quickly, the pan is ready. Add the ghee or the oil, pouring out excess fat if necessary.

3. Drop the rolled dough round into the skillet, decrease the heat to medium, and cover the skillet to trap the steam and heat.

4. Check for doneness with a spatula at about 3 minutes, or sooner if you’re smelling overly quick browning. Adjust the heat as needed. Flip the naan when the underside is richly browned.

5. Continue cooking another 2 to 6 minutes, or until the naan feels firm, even at the edges, and the second side is browned. If you’ve rolled a thicker naan, or if you’re using dough with whole grains, you’ll need more pan time.

6. Remove the naan from the pan, brush with butter if the dough was cooked in oil, and serve. (I made a raita dip to put on the naan, and then I gorged myself on pounds and pounds of naan and raita, and then I became too full to breathe, and I will be repeating that process as soon as possible.)

You don't even have to turn on your oven!