Tag: cooking

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Dad’s Automat

I first encountered this term with a print of the Edward Hopper painting. I’ve always liked his Nighthawks – something about the American diner. That period in our collective history always interested me. The couple out late, grabbing a meal at what was probably the only open restaurant, dressed formally in the manner of the 1940s. A captured moment, open to viewer extrapolation.

But Automat, is older. Late Guilded Age. Money doesn’t fulfill the soul. As we all feel on some level in our present time, access to material goods and comfort also cultivates loneliness and a purposeless existence. Like dining alone in an airport: there’s a degree of success behind the circumstances of the situation, but the moment itself is empty. That sort of thing.

But let’s move on from artistic realism and get back to the Automat itself. Etymologically speaking, the word itself doesn’t appear to have any reference to food. Like we’d use the term “self-serve” today: it doesn’t specify what we’re getting, but it’s assumed that food is involved. It’s a vending machine on a large scale, with diverse origins, if you want to go down that rabbit hole. As a concept, it’s nothing new, but the specific method of application is what defines it: single serving meals, purchased individually, through mechanically automated means.

In American history, it refers to the Horn & Hardart restaurants. They made a few appearances in John Cheever stories, as those were set in the New York City region and surrounding areas. And there’s a cool documentary about them with Mel Brooks. They appear ingrained within a specific dimensional coordinate. So if one makes an appearance in any form of media, it’s a marker for a unique time and place.

But that doesn’t mean it can’t be a useful concept now. As the head chef of my domestic space, there are some constant culinary conundrums when cooking for my coterie:

  1. It can be difficult to make certain meals that only offer 3 portions, like casseroles and soups and roasts.
  2. Leftovers tend to sit in the fridge until they go bad, because no one wants to eat the same thing for lunch the next day, or the day after.
  3. Leftovers banished to the freezer get forgotten, and when remembered, no one wants to spend the time the thaw out the meal again. Plus that’s a whole meal, which means if it’s thawed, that’s what everyone is having for dinner, negating choice.
  4. A good lunch takes too long to make. I’m working. I don’t want to spend that time cooking, only to make a mess and then have to cook again for dinner. And ordering food is expensive.

The natural answer is to portion out the leftovers and freeze them. But that doesn’t solve issue 3. Convenience is a big factor. We need both individual portions that are also quickly accessible. An in, not buried in the deep freezer.

Presenting, Dad’s Automat!:

Placed on the refrigerator freezer door is now a menu list, indicating options which lie within. A selection of items without overwhelming choice. And all conveniently labeled:

So far, it’s sort of working. Items get eaten for lunches, and they’re for the most part healthier than what my kid’s culinary abilities usually conjure up as an after-school snack.

Just don’t tell my sister about the amount of plastic this is using.

–Simon

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Turkettas-giving

Turkey is a strangely non-favorite traditional food. I don’t know if it’s truly the taste, or that mothers everywhere overcook the things. A combination of generational food-safety paranoia combined with the Americana requirement of needing to present a turkey in its whole form to the table (white meat is done at 160F and dark meat at 175F), tends to yield less than satisfactory results. Plus, everyone tends to grab cheap turkey deals. So everyone grumbles a little at the turkey, yet also demands one be served.

So this year’s Thanksgiving attempt experienced some deviation from the norm, and I contemplated a turkey roulade. And according to the internet, I wasn’t the first to come up with this idea. That was encouraging.

But first, a turkey needed procurement. And some internet pointers. The key ingredient for this method was skin, and since I have yet to see turkey skin being sold as a standalone item, that meant an additional turkey breast to accompany the whole turkey. We were certainly going to have turkey!

But not just any turkey. A Bowman Landes turkey! Because why not? Go with famous local free-range turkey! We were hosting after a 2-year hiatus, so let’s make it special.

Turns out, the additional turkey breast, needed for the skin, contained an additional half breast. We didn’t need that much, so the remainder is frozen now awaiting a smoked turkey summer evening. Three were sufficient, butterflied and rolled with butter, herbs, and some de-boned thigh meat.

Then rolled in plastic and refrigerated overnight to set the shape.

Then rolled in the saved skin.

Baked.

Served.

And plated.

How was it? Not too bad. Certainly easier to eat and less mess at the table, although the white meat was still a tad dry anyway. However, the gravy soaked into the leftovers overnight and solved that issue. Some preparation lessons were learned, and it was more work up front, but worth the effort for something new.

Happy Thanksgiving!

–Simon

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General Cheese Sauce

Cheese sauce is a pain. Too much heat and it gets grainy. Too much cheese and it gets grainy. Too little fat and it gets grainy. Too little acid and it gets grainy. Too much acid and it gets grainy. Graininess is the bane of cheese sauce. And usually when I’m in the midst of invoking the magical incantations required to make non-grainy cheese sauce, hungry girls are whining in the next room.

Fortunately I’ve found a working recipe, modified slightly to use ingredients that I usually have on hand. Here is the base:

  • 2 tablespoons butter
  • 1 egg
  • 3 fluid ounces heavy cream
  • 1/2 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon mustard powder
  • 5 ounces shredded cheese

These are the proportions that will yield a non-grainy sauce, when heated on low and cheese added in stages. From here, I can adapt the final product to the need at hand: spicy queso, nacho cheese, fondue, etc.

Problem solved.

–Simon

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Wine Cap

I got another mushroom spore block last Christmas. The family biologists seem to enjoy them, and have looped me in. And I diligently grow them. Because they are kind of neat.

The first batch I grew were yellow oyster mushrooms, which had a pleasant mushroom-y taste. Then Dad brought me down some foraged Chicken of the Woods, which I recently wrote about, and tasted quite pleasant with indeed a chicken-type flavor and texture.

Chickens Don’t Live in the Woods

But the wine caps, for which I created a dedicated “garden” in a half bourbon barrel with straw, failed to fruit despite clear signs of ongoing inoculation. Finally, after nearly 6 months, they appeared.

So to try them, I applied a light sauté as to not muddle the flavors.

And they were terrible. Sweet and astringent. Yuck. Not recommended. I think I’ll send the rest up with Dad for him to try. What a disappointment for such a long wait. Oh well.

–Simon

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Bacon Perfected

Many moons ago, I began smoking my own bacon. Inspired by a certain blog post, I invested my time yet again into insourcing development so as to create a superior and cheaper (personal time excluded) product. I brought it in house, as MBAs say. Or do they? I’ve never heard one actually talk about doing that. They just send work to India.

I don’t think many Hindus or Buddhists eat bacon though.

As as with most instructions, this formed a foundational starting point, but they can always be improved upon. And thus, after several attempts, I present my enhanced version. Here it is:

Meat
  1. Acquire uncured pork belly.
  2. Mix brine. Use a 2:1 ratio of a standard Kosher salt brine and Morton’s Tender Quick. Here’s the measurements that will provide 3/4 gallon’s worth of brine, which should be sufficient: 1/4 cup Kosher salt, 1/4 cup brown sugar, 1 cup Tender Quick, 12 cups water.
  3. Optional: add herbs/spices (peppercorn, garlic, whatever).
  4. Submerge pork belly in brine (FoodSaver bags are mighty convenient).
  5. 7 days later, on the 7th day itself, remove pork belly from brine and rinse. Air dry (a box fan is helpful here).
  6. Preheat smoker to 200 degrees F with hickory/pecan wood mix.
  7. Smoke pork belly until it reaches an internal temperature of 165 F.

After that, just cool the meat. An hour in a deep freeze will firm it up for slicing. Then it’s just bagging, sealing, and freezing for long term storage.

Where have I deviated? Well, for starters, using a mix of standard salt and curing salt reduces the sodium nitrate content. Ignoring health concerns (because this is bacon, after all), this reduces the perceived saltiness while still retaining that nice pink bacon color. Reducing the curing time by half a day also reduces the saltiness, as does rinsing the meat pre-smoke. Trust me – it’s still salty. But it’s much easier to skip the rinse for a saltier taste if desired than it is to try to soak the salt out when using the longer brining times/higher sodium nitrate amounts for a less salty taste later. And finally, at 160 F, meat will hit its stall point in the smoker where water begins to quickly evaporate out. Going to 165 F will ensure a drier product; which means less cooking time, less splattering while cooking, and crispier edges.

I also estimated some savings. Compared to premium market bacon, which is what this is, it’s about half the cost per slice. But I can also control the salt level and flavor. It’s an aggravating endeavor, but also one that can be significantly weighed against the convenience of store-bought bacon uncertainty!

–Simon