gavinesq's Open Salon Blog

Things To Do In Kansas City When You're Hungry

Wed, 26 Oct 2011 16:10:49 -0400

Jenny Vergara is, for Kansas City, a culinary John the Baptist. No, she’s not some wild-eyed hermit, living in the wilderness on a diet of locusts and honey. She won’t scream at you or tell you you’re doing it wrong. But she will evangelize. She will tell you all that is right and good about the Kansas City dining scene. She will preach to you about Kansas City chefs and Kansas City ingredients. She will make you see the light.

Jenny Vergara is the driving force behind Test Kitchen Kansas City (www.testkitchenkc.com), what she describes as “Kansas City’s most unique underground supper club.” She works tirelessly to promote her supper club and when I think of the logistical nightmare it must be, I am grateful she is there to do it and that all I have to do is pay money for the privilege of sitting at her table. It's not really "underground" anymore and even though they make you take an oath of secrecy (Seriously. They do.) I have permission to write about it here.

It’s easy enough to join Test Kitchen. Go to the website. They make it easy. But, near as I can tell, the fun isn’t being a member (or, as she refers to the members, “disciples”). While I think there probably is a sense of community, the fun s in the dinners. If you consider yourself a “foodie” (and I don’t know why I still balk at that term. It seems that I fit by any reasonable definition.), then these are dinners you want to attend.

Here’s how it works: You join Test Kitchen and then, periodically (it seems about once a month or so, but I’m new here) you will get an email invitation advising you that you can enter the lottery to dine at Test Kitchen. My email came less than a week before the dinner date, so you need to be flexible. If you are interested in entering the lottery, you reply back and advise how many people you want to enter. Then, if you win, a day or two later you will get another email saying that you won the lottery and you have another day to make payment. Only after you make your payment will you get ANOTEHR email advising you where to go for dinner. You show up, have cocktails and are seated. Dinner is brought to you course by course with a wine pairing.

Jenny (is it okay if I call you Jenny?) works hard to get some of the best chefs in Kansas City to cook for her one-night-only pop-up restaurant. Some of KC’s brightest culinary lights have shown on her table. There are James Beard Award winners and chefs who have appeared on Bravo’s “Top Chef: Masters” series. They work hard to prepare you a memorable menu that won’t be repeated tomorrow night at their restaurant because they aren’t actually working *IN* their restaurant. You can see the upside to this arrangement. You have a famous chef working hard to make a special meal for a group of about twenty fellow foodies. It’s a bit like being there when one of those rare Asian flowers blossoms once every twenty years. As much as anything, you get to be there for a very unique experience and it’s not one anyone else you know has had.

Such an arrangement does have its downside. These chefs all have restaurants of their own and, as a result, they are disinclined to be a part of Test Kitchen on the weekends. They need to do these dinners, typically, on a Monday or Tuesday. Again, you need to be flexible and make allowances if you want to dine with Jenny.

I had no idea how rare a Saturday meal was for Test Kitchen. In fact, I had pretty much assumed that Friday or Saturday was the norm. Only after I won the lottery and showed up at the secret location (a VERY high end kitchen appliance/remodeling shop in a mixed-industrial use park in Lenexa, a suburb of Kansas City) was it made clear to me just how lucky I was to have been selected for a Saturday meal.

Our chef, Dan Trefz, is/was a hell of a cook. And when I found out why he was available on a Saturday night, I was even more impressed with his skills. I hesitate to tell this story because it’s not really mine to tell, but Jenny told me that I could blog about the evening so I’m gonna go ahead and blog about the evening. Dan Trefz was available on a Saturday because he is NOT currently working in a restaurant. At least not full time. Years ago he suffered a serious head injury in what must have been a pretty horrific skiing accident. I know I’m missing some of the details and will get others wrong, but the basics are that after nearly dying and them going through grueling rehab, he finally, with the assistance of some pretty good sous chefs, worked himself back into the kitchen. We’ve all heard stories about how people who lose their sight develop a keener sense of hearing and the like. It seems pretty clear that Chef Trefz has found ways to compensate for some loss of physical abilities, because his palate is really, REALLY good. I don’t know enough about his injuries to know if he can ever work in a professional kitchen again (and it’s none of my business), but I hope he can and I hope he does because I will go there.

But how was the food?

Well, the flavors were excellent. As I mentioned, Chef Trefz has a fantastic palate and he put it to good use. The wines that were paired were also excellent and provided great foils for the dish. I did notice one problem with the dinner and it was not an insignificant one. The food almost never arrived at temperature. I have no idea if Jenny is going to be furious with me for writing this and I do not want anything I am writing here to in any way detract from what she is trying to accomplish. I can’t wait until I win my next lottery and get to have dinner at her table again, so I really hope she isn’t angry, but food arriving off-temperature is kind of a big thing with me. I don’t get the feeling Chef Trefz would want me grading on a curve and I am not going to, but having the plates arrive at the correct temperature would have taken this experience from excellent to sublime.

Our first course was duck leg ravioli with roasted fennel. I love duck. I love confited duck legs. Why has it never occurred to me to take some of the duck confit I made and am currently storing and to put it between sheets of fresh pasta? I don’t know why, but this dish made me question my own judgment for not having done so. The pasta was cooked perfectly and the roasted fennel was lovely. And, as I am not a huge fan of the flavors associated with black licorice, that is saying something. Still, the lovely pillows of tender duck were lukewarm when they arrived. As I mentioned, this was my experience for most of the courses served that evening. I’m not sure why this was such a problem or if I am the only one (aside from my wife) who had this happen so frequently. Given the number of staff working in the kitchen and the front of the house and the relatively small number of diners (twenty), it seems like getting hot food to us before it cooled shouldn’t have been a problem, but it was.

Second course was a mache salad, dressed in nutmeg. This was served at temperature and the sweet mache was served with a silky dressing but I couldn’t really taste the flavors of the nutmeg that were promised. The chef told us that he had learned this dish in Switzerland (where I believe he studied and also had his skiing accident) and I think he was doing his best to honor the person who taught him how to make it by being faithful to the recipe, but it could have used just a little more nutmeg. Still, I don’t want to make a big deal out of this because I ate every bite and was glad he reminded us that we can buy mache at Trader Joe’s.

Third course was a corn and jalapeno chowder. Again, the flavors were perfect. This dish tasted like late summer or early autumn in a bowl. Interestingly, the wine pairing was a syrah rosé from Sonoma. I can’t explain exactly why this pairing worked, but I can tell you that it did. The soup probably could have been served either chilled or hot. Unfortunately, it was neither. I really don’t understand lukewarm soup when it can be made in advance and kept at temperature so easily. Had this been chilled but thinned out with some cream to loosen the starch from the corn, it would have been a great and refreshing summer soup. Had it been hot, or even warm, it would have been a hearty and warming soup fit for a cold night. As it was, the flavors were what made this dish but it could have been so much more.

Our fourth course was a seared scallop over celery root puree. I LOVED THIS DISH. I’ve found a culinary soulmate in Chef Trefz who told us that it was criminal how underused celery root is in the US. And he’s correct. The puree was soft and smooth but flavored so well that the silky texture actually allowed you to get even more flavors from the dish. I know I’m repeating myself here, but this dish would have been so much better had the puree and the scallop been hot. Still, I ate every bite and give extra credit to the chef who cheerily answered me when I asked how I should cook celery root of I want it to taste like his.

Next we had herbed lamb loin with a root vegetable hash. The hash was an interesting mix of vegetables and I’m not sure what all of them were. But it was a tasty accompaniment to the lamb which was perfectly cooked but, I think, left to rest too long and, therefore had (yes, again) cooled down too much. I hate it when chefs don’t rest their meat. It’s a crime and should be punished to the full extent of the law. But over-resting it is bad too. This lamb was delicately-flavored, tender, juicy and just the right shade of rosy pink. If only it had been hot.

After the lamb we had coriander-brined pork loin with risotto and broccoli. Pork loin, Michael Ruhlman will tell you, is one of the most boring cuts of meat. It’s lean but that means it dries out too much. It’s not particularly flavorful and doesn’t taste as if you are getting the essence of the pig you’re eating. But when you brine it, something magical happens. Something magical and delicious. Which is why I brine almost any pork I cook. Thank god chef Trefz knows this trick and that he applied it to good effect. As much as I loved the pork (and, yes, it had also been over-rested), I can’t say the same thing about the risotto. Again, the flavors were good, but they say that a risotto should never stand up. It should always softly and unctuously ooze (not a very pretty word for something you want to eat, but there you go) all over the plate in a delicious puddle. This risotto had sat too long before plating and it had firmed up considerably and by the time it hit my tongue, it was a bit too close to a solid state of matter. Still, the flavors, the seasoning were fantastic.

For dessert we had almond mousse with pralines and cherry brandy syrup. My god this was tasty. Normally I can take or leave desserts (although, given my girth I should probably leave them a bit more often) but not this one. I love almonds and I love how he worked with them in such a way that their texture didn’t interfere with the silky softness of the mousse itself. Had there not been people around, it’s safe to say I might have licked the plate.

That was our evening. The cost? $100 per diner. That may seem a bit high, but that included the wine pairings and I thought it was a steal. The only real downside to the whole evening (I know I kept mentioning food temps, but the flavors were so solid that temps were easy to overlook in the moment) was the blowhard from New York who really enjoyed bragging about having eaten at Daniel and other places most people only read about. I could put up with it because I’ve eaten at Daniel too and it is a very special experience, but I got my dander up just a bit when he said that no purveyor on Kansas City could come up with the same quality of raw ingredients that purveyors in New York could bring. He actually said that no steak in Kansas City could be as good as the steaks in New York because the suppliers in New York are just better. You know what? Fuck you. I’ve eaten at some of the best places in New York and while the quality of restaurants in Kansas City is not near the same level as they are in New York, all those steaks in New York probably come from Kansas anyway. Thank god Jenny Vergara is there to preach about the culinary side of Kansas City.

Why Libertarianism Loses Me (Hint: Because I Love Steak)

Tue, 26 Apr 2011 17:04:22 -0400

I just read a pretty interesting article on Ron Paul. It was a lengthy article in a glossy magazine and, after reading it thoroughly, I gained a greater appreciation for the man, his beliefs and his appeal. But I’m not here, really, because of Ron Paul. To me, the bigger concern is Libertarianism and the fact that it sometimes makes complete sense but, overall breaks down along some rather simple premises.

I have a lot of friends who hold themselves out as Libertarians. Their basic philosophy, at least as they espouse it, is “to each his own.” However, when I question them about their beliefs, what they’re really angry about is taxes and regulations. Which is understandable. Very few people actively ENJOY paying taxes and even those who do it with a glad understanding (or at least a glad belief) of what their taxes are for, feel a certain sting when they see how much goes to the government. Even I, an unreconstructed, big government, bleeding heart, tax and spend liberal, have felt the ol’ mid-April sting, so I understand why my Libertarian-leaning friends THINK they’re libertarians. But I don’t think they actually are Libertarian. They’re actually conservatives who want to pay less in taxes and feel that governmental regulation causes a multitude of problems. Oh, and they want to end the Fed because they think that paper money is useless and that only gold (or paper backed by gold) is the thing of value and the appropriate basis for our economy.

Let me talk about the gold thing first. And I fully admit that I am not an economist. In fact, one of my great regrets is that I never took so much as a single class in economics during all of college. But the idea, as I understand it, is that paper money is a sham, an illusion and must be backed by gold or that our entire economy will simply and inevitably crumble. To me, the point of ANY currency, whether gold, silver or paper is that the currency in question only has value because we all, as a society, fundamentally AGREE that those things have value. To say that a currency is backed by gold is only valuable because, societally, we have agreed that gold is intrinsically valuable. Which is silly. We could just as easily agree that beard hairs from Kenny Rogers ought to be our universal currency, although, candidly, I’m not sure how I feel about making Kenny Rogers the wealthiest man in the world. While I think that this whole gold standard thing seems a bit goofy, as I said before, I’m not an economist so, for all I know, returning to the gold standard might be the best thing that has ever happened to the United States. So let’s just, for now, say that Paul is right about the gold standard.

So now we go to the Libertarian’s ideas about foreign entanglements and the wars we fight. Here I can find some common ground with Ron Paul and here is where I think Paul finds a lot of his appeal to college kids. People are pretty tired of war although even I, a liberal, believe that some wars are just and proper. Still, most of my far right friends seem to lose touch a bit with Paul and they want to keep fighting wars that have been started or desired by Republicans but detest wars started or fought by Democrats. Still, I can find some agreement with Paul and with Libertarians on the issue of war and, thus, I can find no reason here to fully eschew libertarianism.

Then we get to the issues of personal conduct. I speak, of course, of drugs and sex. Again, here I see some of Ron Paul’s appeal to American youth. God knows, when I was in college I would have been one who “experimented” with chemical substances but for the fact that I 1) believed everything my parents told me about drugs; and 2) I was terrified of being caught. Furthermore, I am an adamant proponent of gay marriage and I believe I have some common ground with Libertarians on this front. Although I must admit that I find it odd that all of these people waving the Gadsden Flag and screaming “don’t tread on me” (as well as the politicians so eager to suck up to them) are still adamantly opposed to gay marriage. I guess the takeaway here is “don’t tread on me, but tread on the homos all you want.”) Still, I’m going to give Libertarianism, the philosophy, credit for getting this one right even as I see individual people who call themselves “Libertarians,” not really living up to these principles.

So, let’s see... I’ve found some, SOME mind you, common ground with Libertarians on the issues of taxes (admittedly, our common ground is a skinny plot with room for only a few sprouts of grass), foreign wars and personal liberties. While their desire for a return to the gold standard seems wrong to me, I lack the education necessary to view the issue critically and am willing to cede it for the purposes of this long-winded post.

So, even though I’m still a liberal Democrat, you’d think I might be willing to at least consider voting Libertarian and embracing a guy like Ron Paul as a presidential candidate, wouldn’t you? In a word: No. In two words: Hell no. Even if I could see my way to embracing Libertarianism (and I do embrace at least a few threads of it), Libertarianism loses me on Friday nights.

“Friday nights?” you ask. What the hell does that mean? Here’s the thing. I’m a committed omnivore. While we don’t do it every Friday night, one thing my wife and I enjoy is getting the kids off to bed or out of the house and cooking up a steak, opening one of the good bottles of wine we collect and enjoying each other’s company or a movie or something we’d TiVo’d from earlier in the week. Putting Libertarians in charge would wreck it all for me. Steak night would have to go.

The reason steak night would have to go is because Libertarians want to eliminate the Department of Agriculture. Given that the USDA is responsible for meat (and other food) inspection, a complete removal of food regulation would lead, I think, to a dangerous food supply and to eat a steak would be flirting with disaster. Libertarians, the real ones, want deregulation of industries and, god help us, food is an industry. Agriculture is an industry. To deregulate it would mean that the risk of tainted pork increases by an untold factor. That juicy rib-eye steak I love to have on Friday nights? I’d never be able to eat it with the feeling of security that I have right now.

Of course, my problems with deregulation go far beyond just my Friday night steak. Imagine a world where airplanes no longer had to be inspected for flightworthiness. Consider a Libertarian utopia where buildings not only didn’t require inspection to verify their safety, but didn’t have to be built with fire exits or sprinkler systems. Imagine Triangle Shirtwaist factories cropping up in cities all across the country.

Personally, I don’t want to live in a world like that. I know that there are plenty who do. Some people will tell you that the marketplace and legal remedies will sort out the bad actors. If a ranch or store sells tainted meat, sue them. Well, that’s all fine and good except how do I sue a farm that isn’t required to have any kind of bonding or insurance? And even if I can sue them, what can they possibly give me that will remedy my loss of a loved one who ate one of their tainted steaks? (This totally ignores the fact that all these so-called “Libertarians” and “states rights advocates” are also the ones who vote for alleged “tort reforms that limit my access to the courts and to the remedies offered therein.)

I’m sure there are some people who are willing to pay these prices for their “freedom.” They want to be free to use their land in any way they see fit, even if that use pollutes a stream that travels off their land and eventually winds up in my daughter’s glass, full of waste and poison. These people, some of whom are named Koch, can, of course, afford to have all the clean water they want and don’t really care about what my daughter drinks. But I do, and while I’m no more in favor of the “nanny state” than the next guy, I do believe that government exists to protect the common good and that allowing completely unregulated commerce does little to help the common good. I’m just fine with the freedom to sell me rotted pork being limited and it’s probably not a freedom that should exist in the first place. Will regulation and inspection sole this completely? Of course not, but think of how many stories you hear about foodborne illnesses and then imagine a world where no food gets inspected.

I once got in a pretty heated Facebook argument with my friend Rick. Rick is a hardcore conservative, one who enjoys Rush Limbaugh and a really great guy. I once saw him do something in high school that has become absolutely legendary. Rick, like many of my conservative friends, holds himself out as something of a Libertarian (Rick, if you’re reading this and I have mischaracterized your views on Libertarianism in the least, let me know and I will gladly change this). The thing is, I have started thinking that there is no such thing as “something of a Libertarian.” You’re either a Libertarian or you aren’t. You can’t say that regulation is bad, except when it’s good, and still believe Ron Paul’s message. To truly be a Libertarian, one has to get comfortable with the idea of old people, currently living on Medicare and Social Security, literally being turned out on the street, forced to beg for everything. Ron Paul is okay with this because he values our fundamental freedoms more than damn near anything on the planet. And that’s okay. I don’t agree with him, but that’s really what he believes.

But when I was arguing with Rick a year or two ago, Rick said that (and I am paraphrasing here because I don’t want to dig all the way through my Facebook timeline) there was a long way between his stance on regulation of industries and inspection of meat. My question to Libertarians has been “OK, where do you draw the line? When is regulation acceptable?” (Actually, that’s two questions, but you get my point.)

So, let me ask you Libertarians (and Rick H., David S., Gregg S., all Libertarians) where do you draw the line? Is all governmental regulation inherently bad? Or is food inspection okay? And if food inspection is okay, why not the Clean Water Act? And if the CWA is acceptable, than isn’t, really, any regulation okay? Because once you lose your Libertarian virginity, it strikes me that you’ve crossed the great expanse into Libertarian whore and you are okay with regulation as long as its regulation with which you agree. Ron Paul, to his credit, is very pure in his thinking. But Rick, who has a daughter a little older than my own, has already told me that meat inspection is okay. But apparently some regulation is bad.

Some Libertarians will say that I’m missing the point. They’ll say that they don’t want the FEDERAL government making these regulations, but if a state wants to, fine. Let them do it and let them pay for it. Here is where I call bullshit. First, it totally ignores the reality of interstate commerce and, even more important, it’s STILL a governmental regulation. Ayn Rand and Ron Paul may dread a powerful central government, but please tell me how it advances liberty to say that the USDA can’t inspect my meat before it gets in the stream of commerce but that the State of Kansas can certainly do so if it wishes?

So, even though I might find room in my philosophy to agree with Ron Paul and Ayn Rand, to me, Libertarianism is a non-starter. I just keep thinking of how I like to cook dinner for my little girl and every time I think of serving her arsenic-laced fruit and meat washed with e.coli, I cringe just a little. And a man shouldn’t cringe when he provides nourishment to his kids.

Don't Come in! I'm Dressing!

Tue, 9 Nov 2010 12:11:15 -0500

To some people dressing/stuffing is an afterthought at Thanksgiving. It’s become one of those dishes that lead to conversations like this:

“Honey, why are you even making dressing this year? We always make it and no one ever eats more than a spoonful or two. Can’t we just skip it?”

“No, we can’t just skip it. It’s TRADITION. We’ve always had it and we always will. Plus, you know Gavin will eat it. He loves the stuff.”

“Well, alright. But I don’t want you killing yourself this year since you’re cooking the turkey and all the sides. Can we agree that you’ll just buy a box or bag stuffing at the store this year instead of making it yourself? I’m going to the store right now. I’ll pick up a box of Stove Bottom or Pepper Itch Farms, okay? Gavin won’t know the difference. No one EVER notices the stuffing. Besides, Gavin doesn’t have NEARLY the palate he thinks he has. I’ll bet he doesn’t say a thing.”

“Well…okay. But pick up two boxes, would you? We’re out of dog food.”

Well, not me. As the above couple points out, I do like dressing. And if I’ve never actually said anything about the stuffing from a box, it’s because my mother taught me manners. But trust me, I know. And it’s because I am a congregant at the Church of Thanksgiving Dressing, I have learned to make my own. I am, happily, related to several other parishioners who also worship at this altar of deliciousness. Both my mother and my mother-in-law make delicious dressing. In fact, it was my mother’s ability when I was a kid to make something so delicious out of little more than a loaf of Wonder Bread that got me hooked on the stuff.

As for my mother-in-law, well, a few weeks ago my son went off to serve his country in Americorps and we decided to have Thanksgiving dinner in early October as he won’t be able to come home until Christmas. And my mother-in-law made the dressing and she nailed it.

I point out these examples from these two very talented cooks because I want to give hope to people everywhere that dressing or stuffing can be a valuable addition to your Thanksgiving table and deserve to be treated more seriously than a box of breadcrumbs soaked in “bouillon” –flavored saltwater. I bring up the talents of my mother and mother-in-law because even with the pressure of their abilities setting the stage for me, the Thanksgiving dressing is something I have consistently requested the duty of making regardless of who is hosting the dinner. Again, it’s not because they can’t do it. It’s because I love to do it. Regardless of whether my wife and I are hosting Thanksgiving, going to my parents’ or my in-laws, I always ask to make the dressing and those kind, indulgent women always allow me that opportunity.

As a result, my Thanksgiving dressing, while simple, is a huge production. I would caution you to remember that “simple” does not mean easy. Losing weight is simple. If you eat less and exercise more, you will lose weight. But, as anyone who has ever tried to do it can tell you, just because the prescription for weight loss is elegant in its simplicity, it’s in the actual work that people tend to lose their way. I say that as a caveat to let you know that you do NOT have to adhere to the whole palaver I am about to describe and that I go through every year. Shortcuts abound and while I don’t take them when I make my dressing, I am both an idiot and manically driven to find the platonic ideal of Thanksgiving dressing. There is no reason for you to punish yourself the way I do and I encourage, no, I urge you to make your Thanksgiving dinner as trouble-free as possible. Still, it is my hope that by listing all the steps I go through to make dressing, you might find a few helpful hints or ideas that you can incorporate into your own Thanksgiving meal. Few things would make me happier than you and me cooperating to force the people at Stove Bottom into repurposing their factory made “stuffing” for use as mortar in public works projects.

I suppose that I should first point out that I use the word “dressing” whereas a lot of people use the word “stuffing.” My understanding is that “stuffing” is merely dressing that has been forced into the cavity of the bird to cook while it roasts. As I am polytheistic, I not only worship at The Church of Thanksgiving Dressing, but I am also a supplicant to the god Alton Brown. And Alton Brown, from his perch on Mt. Olympus, has decreed that Stuffing is Evil. Well, I’m also a (not very good) Roman Catholic and I’ve broken plenty of the rules set down by that church so if you want to convert your dressing into stuffing, it’s okay with me. Alton Brown does have a few good points, though, about how stuffing a bird with room temp breadcrumbs soaked with meat stock and fat is begging for food borne illness. For that reason, if you do choose to stuff your bird, do so at your own peril and at least do yourself the favor of microwaving the stuff to get it piping hot before you spoon it into the bird. Best of luck. In any case, you can take the stuff I’m about to describe and cook it in your bird or in a roasting pan and, as long as you cook it all the way through, it’ll be delicious.

Making dressing for me is an exercise in process. A lot of things have to be done in advance of the fourth Wednesday in November if you want to have good dressing for the fourth Thursday. However, each step is very simple and I promise will yield good results.

First, start by making your turkey stock. One of the many shortcuts you can take is to use prepackaged/canned chicken broth. I’ve done it and there is no shame in it. But, if you go to the supermarket right now, you will see turkey necks, wings and backs on sale so cheap you’ll think they’re giving them away. Buy two or three of each and go home and lightly coat them with a neutrally-flavored vegetable oil and put them in a roasting pan and set that in an oven set at 350. Roast your turkey bits, turning them over occasionally, until they’re golden and look like something you’d want to eat. Take them out of the oven and put them in a stockpot. If your roasting pan isn’t made of glass, deglaze it with a little dry vermouth (or just water) and pour all of that in the stockpot as well (if your roasting pan is glass or Pyrex, wait for it to cool down and do the best you can at deglazing it without putting it over direct heat). Now, take a yellow onion and cut off and throw away the root end. Chop the remainder of the onion, peel and all (the peel will help give a nice color to the stock) and throw it into the pot with a few sprigs of parsley, a few peppercorns, a couple of peeled and chopped carrots and a couple of washed and chopped stalks of celery. Cover this with cold water and slowly bring it to a simmer and skim off any scum that floats to the surface. Let it simmer a few hours until the turkey parts are literally falling apart. Scoop out everything from the pot and feed it to your dog (I am one of those guys who doesn’t typically give people food to my pets, but the vet says this is okay because all the fat had pretty much come out of the turkey and the bones, protein and vegetable matter is good for ‘em. If you disagree, throw it away.) Now, simmer down the stock until it is very rich tasting and a nice brown color. At this point you can add salt to make it taste right (if you add salt too early and then boil it down, you will concentrate the salt and that will throw everything out of whack). Let your stock cool and then strain it and refrigerate it for later use.

Now we go to the dried fruit. I don’t know when or where it was first suggested to me that fruit had a place in stuffing. It wasn’t something my mother did when I was a kid. But one year I decided to add some raisins and, I gotta tell you, it was fantastic. Since then I have come to the realization that plain raisins, while nice, are falling short of a great opportunity to add even more flavor to your dressing. Instead, what I do now is get a big handful of raisins, another handful of golden raisins, a handful of dried cranberries and, if I’m feeling like it, a handful of dried blueberries. Mix them all up in a plastic container and barely cover them with brandy. If you’re feeling extra-fancy, Armagnac is really nice here, but I find cheap California brandy is 99.9% as good at 1/10^th the price. Set the dried fruit aside for a week or two, stirring every so often if you think about it and if all the brandy gets absorbed, add a little more.

Now, onto the bread. I am not a southerner. I love cornbread, but it may be my Free State roots that dictate that I really prefer a yeast-risen bread to cornbread. Fortunately, in the world of yeast breads, the choices are myriad. It seems that every year I go with something different, but my favorite is sourdough. Sometimes it’s fun to try two different loaves, like a sourdough and a whole wheat or a baguette. I usually go with two loaves and you should choose whatever you like. As I mentioned, I grew up eating dressing made with supermarket sandwich bread and there is nothing wrong with that. Still, I typically go for an artisan-style bread that has a good texture and a nice crumb. One advantage if you buy your bread at a place like Whole Foods is that they will cube your bread for you. They’ll take whatever loaf you buy and run it through the slicer and then run it through again cross-wise so that you get bread strips. You can work with those directly or, if you’re anal retentive about this sort of thing (like, ahem, someone who has already devoted 20,956 words on this subject), you can tear or cut those pieces into more aesthetically pleasing cube. Dump the bread in a bowl or on a cookie sheet at least a week before the big day and let it get stale. Again, this is a step you can skip, but stuffing was more than just a frugal way of using old bread. By letting the bread lose its natural moisture, you are creating a kind of vacuum where your more flavorful turkey tock can settle in. Fresh bread will hold less stock than will stale bread.

Alright, if you’re still with me, not too much longer to go. I’m probably already one-quarter through. I kid, I kid!!

Anyway, on Wednesday (one of the best things about dressing is that you can prep it a day ahead and relax on the big day, if you want) melt a stick of butter (relax, one stick over two loaves of bread isn’t going to do anything that would lead your cardiologist into paroxysms of rage) in a frying pan and dump in one diced largish yellow or white onion and 2-3 stalks (depending on the volume of your bread) of chopped/diced celery. Stir to get everything coated with the oil and sprinkle over a fat pinch of salt and let that gently sweat over medium heat until the veg is translucent. Over the top of the veg, sprinkle on some Scarborough Fair (parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme). I like using both fresh and dried sage. Chop the fresh finely and rub the dried between your hands, about tablespoon of each or to your taste. Add a similar amount of chopped fresh thyme and about twice as much parsley. As for the rosemary, well, it has a very strong flavor, so I go light on it, but, then again, you know your palate better than I do.

While that veg is sweating, peel, core and chop two apples. You want the apple pieces to be about the same size as the diced onion. I once did this with pears instead of apples and it was fantastic, but you need to use pears that are a bit underripe because ripe pears will turn to mush.

Now, dump everything, the bread, the sweated veg, the apple/pear and the dried fruit, EVERYTHING into your largest bowl. One other thing you can add if no one has any nut allergies is some pecan halves or pieces. My wife loves this and she loves it even more if I lightly toast the pecans in the oven on a cookie sheet. Again, leave out what you don’t like and keep what you do. Gently stir everything just to get it evenly mixed (I use my clean hands rather than a spoon).

Once it’s all mixed, start ladling on your turkey broth. Some people like their dressing really wet. Some people don’t. You don’t want it gloppy but you also don’t want it so dry that it’s falling apart (any leftover broth can be used for gravy or frozen for another purpose entirely). Once you get everything uniformly mixed, give it a taste. If it needs salt or pepper, go ahead but make sure you stir gently to get it incorporated. If you want to add more herbs, you can do so now, but remember, those flavors will be stronger when the dressing is piping hot.

You are now finished. Some people like stirring in a beaten egg or two as a binder and you can do that. I’ve done it before, but I never found it to be all that important an addition. From here, spoon everything into a casserole or roasting pan and put it in the oven until it’s hot all the way through. I like to take off the lid to the pan fifteen minutes or so before I pull it from the oven because it like the top to get a bit crunchy, but you can, again, do as you like.

I guess I should at least mention the fact that this week's challenge seems to be geared more toward exotic Thanksgiving fare, the stuff that falls outside the mainstream. I suppose I could talk about how my stepmother's Italian-American family spend every weekend in November leading up to Thanksgiving preparing small pasta purses that they call cappilletti. Certainly that would be more exotic than humble dressing; the stuff that will be on at least 80% of Thanksgiving tables later this month. Still, I like to think that good, not-from-a-box dressing is pretty exotic in its own right. Maybe everyone will have it, but will it be any good?

I know this was long but I hope I made an oft-overlooked dish gain a little appreciation. If you’re one of those traditionalists who serve dressing because you have to and not because you want to, try some of the things I’ve outlined here and I think you might end up wanting to too.

I Would Rather Sit On A Pumpkin And Have It All To Myself...

Tue, 26 Oct 2010 00:10:28 -0400

Than Be Crowded On A Velvet Cushion

-Henry David Thoreau

Because I have a six year-old daughter, Halloween is a big deal in our house. While Hope, my daughter, has gone “trick-or-treating” (I use the quotation marks because for her first year or two, we dressed her up in a costume and took her to be photographed by adoring grandparents) every year of her existence, only two years ago did she finally, really, get to wander a neighborhood after dark and beg for candy. And now that she is in first grade and it’s an even bigger deal.

Because of a variety of reasons, our home has become inundated with pumpkins. Hope’s after school care class went to a pumpkin patch about awhile ago and every kid brought home a pumpkin. Fortunately, Hope brought home a sugar pumpkin, although I don’t know whether it was her choice or that was the pumpkin she was given. Additionally, our CSA has had pumpkins for two or three weeks. Finally, Hope’s teacher used Halloween as an occasion to teach math skills and as a result asked each kid to bring in a pumpkin so they could do something called “pumpkin math.” We were under strict instruction to bring in a whole pumpkin, not carved into a jack-o-lantern and not too big for the kids to carry themselves. After class was done with pumpkin cipherin’, we got back our gourds.

The result of all this activity a lot of pumpkins. I had to do something with all those pumpkins as I hate to waste them and Hope kept demanding that we do something with them. I have learned that roast pumpkin is one of the most useful things to have around a well-stocked kitchen. Not only is it much more versatile than baked goods and sweets; I have learned that if you treat the pumpkin right, it will return to you almost 100% edible goodness.

There are a few different things you can do with a raw sugar pumpkin. By the way, big pumpkins, the kind used to make jack-o-lanterns can actually work this same way, but they won’t be as sweet and, depending on your final recipe, you may need to adjust the amount of sugar you add. One thing you cannot do is eat a jack-o-lantern you carved and left on your doorstep. Once you are finished with your jack-o-lantern, the only really useful thing you can do with it is compost it.

While the possible recipes for cooked pumpkin are too numerous to mention, your options in getting the pumpkin to a state you will find edible are pretty limited. You can roast them or you can steam them. I’ve never tried steaming them, although I hear it works well enough. However, given the amount of pumpkin I am dealing with, I wanted simplicity more than almost anything. And roasting is as simple as you can get.

In my experience, there are two ways of roasting a pumpkin: whole or in pieces. They each have their benefits but I usually go with whole. As far as pieces go, the way you do this is to use your biggest, sturdiest chef’s knife and cut the top off the pumpkin as if you were making a jack-o-lantern. Scoop out the insides (seeds and pulp) cut the pumpkin into large-ish sized pieces, cut off the outer skin however you can and roast them, lightly oiled if you like, on a baking sheet in a moderate oven until the pieces are soft enough to be pierced with a fork. Take your pieces and get them baby food smooth with the aid of a food processor (or, if you’re a masochist, a food mill) strain them and, voila, you have pumpkin puree.

The advantages to doing it this way are, as I see them, twofold. First, dry roasting them tends to drive off much of the water in the pumpkin. This concentrates the flavor of the pumpkin and also helps make sure that you won’t have watery pumpkin pie or loose pumpkin cookie batter, if those are the things you decide to do with your cooked pumpkin. The other advantage is that the pumpkin seeds are still viable if you’d like to try and grow your own for next year. I learned this on accident a few years ago when I threw a bunch of pumpkin “guts” in my garden thinking they’d compost over the winter. Imagine my surprise the following spring when I found pumpkins growing in there but completely forgetting that I’d planted them. I had initially thought that I had some weird mutant cucumber plant volunteering in that space (pumpkin and cucumber leaves look very similar) and it was only when the blossoms began fruiting that I realized what had happened.

Anyway, the downside to roasting your pumpkin in pieces is that you require a very sharp, sturdy knife, the pumpkin is hard to cut and you have to do a lot more work. Also, pumpkin butchery can lead to serious injury if your knife isn't really sharp and you aren't really good with it.

Which is why I have learned to roast them whole. While you will kill the pumpkins seeds in the process and you have to take some extra steps to get rid of excess water, those things are a small price to pay in exchange for skipping the dangerous knife work.

The most important thing about roasting a whole pumpkin is to make sure you put some holes in it to allow steam to escape. I cannot stress this enough. Failure to do this will lead to an exploded pumpkin and that is no good. So, take a cooking fork (the kid with two sturdy tines) and poke eight or ten holes around the top of the pumpkin. Make sure the holes go all the way to the hollow center of the pumpkin. If you don’t have a fork long or sturdy enough to poke the holes, use a strong, sharp knife and cut six or eight slits around the top of the pumpkin. Don’t connect the slits; you just want to create a way for the steam to vent.

Now, put the pumpkin into a heated (let’s say 325° Fahrenheit, shall we?) oven. You will want to either put the pumpkin on a rimmed sheet or put it right on the oven rack with something underneath the catch any liquid that comes out of the pumpkin. Now leave it. Depending on the size of your pumpkin, it could be done in 45 minutes but it could take much longer. The last pumpkin I roasted took about an hour. The way to test for doneness is to insert a fork (again, a really long one) or knife into the pumpkin. When it goes in easily enough for you to realize that the pumpkin is very soft, it’s finished. Turn off the oven and let everything cool down. You can let the pumpkin cool in the oven or on a counter, as long as it’s on a plate or stays on that rimmed sheet you used when you roasted it.

When it’s completely cool (which will take awhile), you’re ready to process. The way I do it is to simply start tearing the pumpkin apart with your hands. Take off the stem and throw it away. Pull the pumpkin apart and scoop out the seeds and pulp. Set those side for another use like roasted pumpkin seeds. The stringy fibrous stuff is not much good for anything. Start breaking the pumpkin into chunks. If your pumpkin is roasted well enough, you won’t even need a knife for this, although a large spoon is helpful in removing the seeds. After the pumpkin is broken into chunks, peel the skin off or scrape the pumpkin from the skin using your hands or a spoon.

As you finish a piece of pumpkin, drop it into your food processor. When you have finished cleaning and peeling the entire pumpkin, blitz the bejesus out of it in your food processor. You want to get it really smooth. Scrape down the sides of the work bowl a couple of times to make sure you get it as smooth as can be.

At this point you have pureed pumpkin as good as any canned pumpkin you will find in the store and you can substitute what you’ve just made for canned pumpkin in any recipe. By the way, this is NOT pumpkin pie filling. “Pumpkin pie filling” has pumpkin processed in a similar fashion, but it also has sugar, spices and, likely, dairy and/or eggs. You can make pumpkin pie with your fresh-processed pumpkin, but you will need a recipe that uses pumpkin and not canned pie filling.

I know what you’re thinking. You are wondering about that part about excess water that we got rid of using the method where we roasted in pieces, aren’t you? Well, the way you deal with the excess water in this pumpkin is also pretty easy. All you need is a fine-mesh strainer and a bowl over which to place it. Dump the pumpkin into the strainer and place the strainer over the bowl. Just let it set there for a few hours. I usually do this on the countertop, but it would probably be smarter to do it in the fridge just to make sure you don’t get any icky bacteria. After it’s strained for awhile, you will see a fairly decent amount of orange water in the bowl below. Throw this away. Your pumpkin is now ready for use.

If you don’t need the pumpkin immediately, put it in a freezer bag (one “regular-sized” sugar pumpkin usually fills up a one quart freezer bag in my experience) and throw it in the freezer. It will keep and you can use it for Thanksgiving pumpkin pie.

I know I’ve written a lot of steps here and I’m sorry. But please don’t be put off by my wordiness. I promise you that this is an easy way to use pumpkin and that when your kid starts bringing home pumpkins and demands that they be used rather than thrown away, you will be glad you know how to do this.

Pumpkin Soup With Thai Flavors

As I said before, my favorite way to use pumpkin is not in pies or cookies. My favorite is pumpkin soup, especially pumpkin soup with Thai flavors. I have no idea whether this is anything close to authentic (although I suspect it isn't), but I can tell you it’s tasty and easy and you can use the pumpkin you just processed or, if you don’t have any, use canned pumpkin. Like many of my other SKC entries,this isn’t really a recipe so much as a technique and one you can adjust to fit your personal preferences quite easily.

Sauté some finely chopped onion and minced garlic in a bit of olive oil. Just get the onion to be a bit translucent. If you like heat, add it in the form you like. Crushed red pepper is a good choice, but so are chili oil, sriracha sauce and finely chopped chili (Thai bird chili is a good one here). Be careful with how much chili you add because you can’t take it out if it’s too hot. If you have any lemongrass, add one split stalk (leave it in large pieces because you will want to remove it later) and add it too. Add some minced or grated ginger and let everything get nice and aromatic. Now add your pumpkin and stir to combine. Add a can of coconut milk (not “cream of coconut" meant for pina coladas) and squeeze in a couple or three limes. Stir to combine. Add enough chicken stock to thin it to your desired consistency. Taste the soup and correct the seasoning with salt and pepper. Let it simmer gently for 10-15 minutes to really extract the flavors of the ginger and lemongrass. Take out the lemongrass stalk and discard. Now you can puree your soup in a blender or with an immersion blender, but this step is totally optional and if you grated the ginger and the garlic and onion are very finely chopped, you won’t notice anything. Still, I enjoy the velvety texture of the soup when it's been pureed to a completely smooth consistency. Serve in bowls and garnish the soup with chopped cilantro, a chiffonade of Thai basil and a couple more lime wedges.

I like pumpkin pie, I really do. But if you try this soup just once, I promise you will yell at your spouse for even thinking of using that last batch of frozen pumpkin for anything so pedestrian as dessert.

Good Hummus is Easy, Great Hummus Takes a Bit More

Sat, 2 Oct 2010 17:10:25 -0400

You don't have to take a lot of time to make excellent hummus, but it can help in the final product. The key to smooth hummus? A good food processor. The key to great, amazing, silky, ethereal hummus? A tamis.

A tamis, also known as a drum sieve, is a pretty esoteric piece of kitchen equipment and you can substitute a wire strainer and, really, you don't need to do anything after it comes out of the food processor if you don't want to. But if you are willing to invest the time and effort in forcing your hummus (or, really any puree from mashed potatoes to bean dip) through a strainer, you will be doing your guests a favor as it is impossible to achieve the silky smooth texture a strainer provides.

Like a lot of times I have posted here, I don't really have a recipe for hummus. What I have is a list of ingredients that you can portion out however you like to emphasize flavors you like. Also, I will suggest a few add-ins that will allow to to take one batch of hummus and allow you to make multiple flavors to serve side-by-side.

You will need the following ingredients:

Cooked garbanzo beans (you can use canned or dried beans that you have soaked and cooked yourself)

Tahini (sesame paste)

Abused garlic (I abuse mine with a microplane grater)

Salt

Olive oil

Fresh Lemon juice

Harissa/aleppo peppers/cayenne or some other type of hot pepper that you enjoy

Technique:

Start with just the garbanzo beans and just puree the bejesus out of them. Now add a tablespoon of tahini, a clove of abused garlic, a dollop of olive oil, some salt, a little bit of the pepper of your choice and a healthy squeeze of lemon. Whiz it all up in the processor until it's smooth and combined. Now, taste it and see if it needs more of something. If you like a lot of garlic, add more. If you like it spicier, add more harissa. My wife adores lots of lemon, so I usually make it lemony for her. Just keep tasting, whizzing and tasting (that might have come out wrong, about whizzing and tasting, but you know what I mean) until you get the flavors as you like them. Some people add water to help achieve the correct consistency, but I prefer using my best olive oil to help keep things smooth. Once you have it where you like it, you have hummus.

But it doesn't have to stop there. You can make roasted red pepper hummus by simply adding some roasted red pepper and whizzing that up. Or cilantro. Or parsley. Your imagination is your limit but try to avoid combining all your flavors at once. Make a batch of roasted red pepper hummus and a separate batch of cilantro hummus. Serve them side-by-side and notice the subtle differences in color.

Now, if you really want to go that extra mile, this is where you force everything through a tamis or a wire sieve. It will take some time, but your hummus will be the smoothest emulsion you have ever had. I will admit that I don't usually go through this extra step, but when I do, it's always a crowd-pleaser. If you use a small wire strainer, this will take you a long time and you just keep using the back of a spoon to force the hummus through the strainer. Keep forcing and scraping and you will have the silkiest, smoothest hummus you've ever had. I really recommend a tamis for this (you can find them at restaurant supply stores) and all you need to do is use a plastic bench scraper to force the hummus throuh the tamis, but the strainer can work if you need it to. Just plan way ahead and don't blame me when you need a fistful of ibuprofen that will allow you to open the fist you used to hold the spoon.