old sweetie pie faithful

I'm making pies this week. Two for my family thanksgiving and two or three for the basketball team. (Don't ask).

I was all for experimenting with new and exciting recipes. But my family wants this which I have made for the past two years. (Scroll down to "Thanksgiving Pie" recipe. I make it as a cobbler since we are all on the chubby side and no one else appreciates a homemade crust. I also cut the sugar--I use maybe 2/3-1/2 a cup of un-packed dark brown sugar in the filling.)

The thing is, it is always kind of liquidy at the bottom. Have any of you ever put a little tapioca in a pie? Am I courting disaster?

Also, pumpkin or sweet potato?

UPDATE: Add 1Tablespoon of tapioca to the pie filling (make a deep dish pie crust) if you aren't going to serve it with ice-cream or anything and therefore don't want as much goo.

Potato, Pepper and [vegan] Kielbasa Casserole

My resistance has turned. Now I'm mad.

Abby, somebody, can you tell me whatever happened to citing your sources?!

This Cooks.com thinks its so great in 2008, using but not citing its Potato, Pepper and Kielbasa Casserole--a sweety-hot little number from Busy Cook's Book - Family Circle (published 1988) that's been my favorite for almost that long. Gah, I hate that.

So the original recipe is wordier. Seems we hate verbosity now; we've come to expect everything quick-quick-quick. And but so the original recipe is social, helpful, like a friend almost, with its suggestions of complimentary side dishes, including broccoli, semolina bread and apple cake. It also gives you full-on directions for microwave, in case you're that type. The original is, is...it shows you, in a real teaser photo, how pretty your food will be if you don't fuck it up too much. (This one here, she's mine.)

Take that, Cooks.com.

So here--for all you who kick it old school when it comes to citing your sources, your forebears and, if not your betters then at least your cheat sheet--ti prisento the original recipe (unless Busy Cook's Book ripped it off, too) of...

Potato, Pepper and Kielbasa Casserole, taken from p 102 of Busy Cook's Book--Family Circle (published 1988):

(serves 4)

2 lg sweet peppers, green and/or red [I used red]
2 med red onions
1 lb small red-skinned potatoes (~8) [I used purple finger variety]
12 oz kielbasa [I used Tofurkey]
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper [I added an additional 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes for heat]
1/4 c olive oil
1/2 c heavy cream [I used soy. In past, I've used dried, full-fat, 2% and skim. All are good.]
chopped parsley, for garnish (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

2. Core and seed peppers. Put into large bowl: 1-1/2-inch-cut peppers, thinly wedged onions, halved potatoes, 1/2-inch cut kielbasa (peel casing if necessary). Sprinkle with salt and pepper. Add oil. Toss well to mix.

3. Bake at 400 for 45 minutes. Stir in cream [or milk] and bake for another 10 minutes or until bubbly. Garnish with parsley.

Microwave instructions: Reduce cream to 1/4 c. Use microwave-safe 2-quart dish. Cover. Microwave at full power for 15 minutes. Mix in cream. Cover. Microwave another 2 minutes.

Dog ear that, Cooks.com.

Jicama-Citrus Salad, extra ordinary

This week has been all about resisting. Resisting the dark chocolate with nibs sitting on the counter winking at me, resisting the daily workout, the cold weather, another meatless meal (hence yesterday's bacon-meets-eggs ice cream fantasy). I mean, I'm resisting everything--writing, cleaning, brushing my teeth. It's all work. I don't even want to plan for the closer-than-it-appears-and-speeding-like-a-fiery-el camino holiday. I'm loathe to admit it, but I even feel myself resisting that pull, that slide into politics as usual....

So today, I didn't have to be anywhere, and I did the only thing I knew to do to stop my resistance: I gave in to my urges.

All of em.

I gobbled up more than I'll tell you of the 2-lb. bar of 79% cocoa-ified chocolate. For breakfast. I skipped my workout today (I'm sore from last night's walk in the Elliptical jungle, anyway). I flung open all the windows and covered myself in my bathrobe overtop two sweaters and a sweatshirt, a pair of sweatpants, sweat socks and slippers. I read and read and read and didn't write anything I didn't want to. I didn't clean the floor (except for that one spatter (I hate when gloppy-liquidy-food items smack and dry on the kitchen floor; I can't control myself--it's like a homicide I have to report)). I didn't brush my hair, my teeth or the counter after I ate my lunch over it without a plate--nutty-seedy toast that I just waive the butter and jam at, my favorite.

I had to cave, man. It's like, once in a while, no matter how strange or crazy-seeming--once in a while, if we don't give in to our needs, then that natural tension, that normal level of resistance will turn on us, eat us up, make us mean. Know what I mean?

I don't wanna be mean.

Another thing I had to kick to the curb today was all the soup in my fridge. I've been making soup lately because, well, we already know: it's cold out. And I love soup. But not today. No way.

Today I made something so un-soup-y, so un-cold weather-y, that I coulda been on a Mexican beach--and that wind whistling through our crappy window screens wasn't signaling snap freeze but kisses blown for sailboats in the bay. And my triple layered, pink robe-topped getup--just the latest in beach ware.

Anyway, instead of the baby lima bean and chipotle soup I'll tell you about next time, I made this:
Jicama-Citrus Salad.

If anything is outside the ordinary, it's jicama. A flavor you can't pin down, it wavers weirdly between a bean, a radish and a potato. Its consistency, too, kinda pear, kinda potato, but with density. It's not sweet, exactly, no. More legume-y. It goes happily with orange and lime, onion and cayenne. It's a fun crunch-substitute for water chestnut. Oh, just look it up.

It is damn good.

Tomorrow my resistance will likely be back up and I'll be living again in San Marcos, Texas, worrying my work and the economy and our president. Today, though, today was just for me and hope for something outside the routine...or, in a word, extraordinary.

Here's how you, too, can live 6-8 servings worth of extra ordinary:
Jicama-Citrus Salad

Peel, half lengthwise, and cut into matchsticks:
1 med jicama (~1 pound)

Cut into 1/4-inch slices:
2 small cucumbers, peeled, halved lenghwise, seeded and diced

Cut both ends off:
3 med Naval oranges

Stand the oranges on a cutting board and cut away the peel and all the white pith. Halve lengthwise, then cut crosswise into 1/4-inch slices. Toss the jicama, cucumbers, and orange slices in a large bowl, along with:
6 radishes, thinly sliced
1 small red onion, thinly sliced
1/3 c fresh lime juice
Let stand for 20 minutes, then season with:
salt, to taste

Spoon the salad onto a platter and drizzle the accumulated juices on top. Sprinkle with:
2 tsp ground chili pepper
1/3 c chopped cilantro

(from The Joy of Cooking, 2006 edition)

For All You Bacon and Eggs Fans--a Chill, Sweet Treat

This from my petite, Cari, in Seattle...

Yes, yes, I'm afraid it is Candied Bacon Ice Cream. I know, I know, but you've all eaten things as weird as--or weirder. And, yes, yes, it is cold outside. But we ain't dead yet. I, for one, am just gonna turn up the heat and...

Hey, anybody got an ice cream maker I can borrow?

(Ope, hang on to your hats: the dessert gods delivered good news on how to make ice cream without a churner. Thank you, dessert gods, thank you. And thank you, too, Cari girl.)

Getting Back to the Root of...

I'm psyched about Abby's fever to store away food in danky-darky cellar. Because...well...she's got this strange viral influence on me when it comes to sustenance.

The thing is, I never had one of those old-timey cellars. As a kid, I had a basement, a wide open thing with a slippery green-and-gray check-tile floor. Its express purposes so far as I can remember was for roller skating, socializing, my brother's pot-smoking, and for any number of family members in need of comfortable-enough digs to sack out for weeks (sometimes months) on end. And it's where I snuck sips from the make-shift party bar (a slab of marble over the one-ton concrete sink-and-tub where Mom washed Dad's hair every Saturday afternoon). It's also the place I ran to with handfuls of cookies and other no-nos before my brother (a different one, the one I stole "the baby of the family" title from) could beat them out of my fists.

But root cellars. I witnessed precious few people live and work and die by them. City living didn't inspire such things, I guess.

But, man, was it a cherished treat to receive specially made hand-scribble-and-lopsided-tagged jars of jam (my fave) or tomato sauce--especially Gram's.

Ma (mine) wasn't a grower or a canner (some things stayed on the mid-Michigan farm of her childhood that she fled for the sun-drenched hills of California as soon as she had the chance).

Oh, she came back, later. Without her mother's mad canning penchant or skills. It was enough (and maybe because) we could always just drive to the farm and get Gram to hand over her booty, jars clink-clinking in the back of our big 'ol station wagon all the way home.

But the cellar--Gram had stopped using her own (bad knees, no good on stairs) by the time I came around. She'd set Gramp to moving everything into the bathroom off the kitchen. And damn if it wasn't cold as a snowman's balls in there all winter long. Perfect to stop almost all of nature's processes.

Now there's something to think about for the extra Cavaszynski bathroom....

But before I go telling Vince my plans for his "library," I probably oughtta get him thinking about helping me whip our garden into shape next season. I'm sure that'll go something like this.

Mm. Hot Crusty...Fetuses ?

I promise to get back to the serious art of baking and cooking. But first: this.

I am dying to hear your thoughts. (Do not forget to watch the video.)

Nightstand

Two things I learned this NY times article on root cellaring.

If you leave a green tomato on a vine and drape it upside down, it will gradually turn red in three or four weeks.

Squash hung in a pair of knotted pantyhose stay unspoiled longer than others.

One of the things that I miss most about living near my closest friends is that I knew what they were in to, what projects or ideas they were chewing on. I didn't have ask. And I didn't have to present my own projects and ideas consciously.

So here is my conscious presentation of a current project.

Everyone here has gardens. Hence the interest in canning, preserving and root cellars. What are your new interests/projects/etc?

Speaking of Chard

My mom sucks at substitutions. She's got a way with tofu. She can flip a house. But she doesn't understand substitutions. If a coffee cake calls for pecans, and she only has peanuts, well they are both nuts, right? If something calls for goat cheese, and we’ve got some smoked gouda, smoked gouda it is.

Cooking with her can be frustrating. I remember once being asked to make a butternut squash lasagna for company and the only ingredient we had was the squash. She wanted to substitute everything. Sage, ricotta cheese, even the lasagna noodles. It was mush: layers of spaghetti, and butternut squash with some kind of inappropriate cheese. She ate it and acted like it tasted good. I rolled my eyes a lot.

I think for my mom cooking is about using things up. A happy accident for her is a recipe that calls for ingredients that she already has in the pantry/freezer/garden. For me a happy accident is something that tastes amazing and comes at the right time. I love those days that are perfect for chili or chicken soup or strawberries that are in season. I love the right words at the right time, so why wouldn’t I love the right food at the right time. My mom loves when things come out even. She loves to use what she has. I, on the other hand, tend to be a bit too faithful to recipes, cooking by the book until I know enough to throw things together, trading a one green for another, fresh seasonings for dried, buttermilk for milk.

We balance each other out.

Except that now I live in a place where I’m learning to make do. To get oat bran, you go to one grocery store, to get fresh jalapeño peppers, you go to another. Forget habaneros or broccoli rabe, unless you grow them yourself or go to the farmer’s market when they are in season. If you want amaranth or organic chicken, you have to drive an hour. And every once in awhile there will be a culinary treat or oddity. Saturday night after the football game and some wine, I decided to do a little culinary scavenging. (The best of the five grocery stores in my area mark down their produce on Saturday nights). Lo and behold: starfruit and white asparagus. How excited I was to see this two foods that I never buy! I realized then how much I miss HEB, and by extension being warm, and by extension Texas and by extension my old life and by extension my old self. I left the store in a cold soggy mess without any groceries.

What a drama queen! In the parking lot I realized that I absolutely could not go home without a few packages of frozen spinach. I needed the spinach to make yet another swiss chard recipe. B/c although I now live in a blue state, Swiss chard counts as a cullinary oddity here in my little rural corner of the world. So if I want to make Greek Swiss Chard Pie. I'm gonna have to substitute a little something.


Why not use a spanakopita recipe?, you ask. This is a tiny bit healthier.

Has anyone worked with phyllo dough?

Can't get enough

I had lots of lasagna noodles left over from last night's Swiss Chard Extravaganza (that's one of the beauties of making this lasagna as an individual entree); so today, my fella and I made a whole pan of the stuff. This time we used mixed greens instead of Swiss Chard, and I doubled the amount of red pepper flakes (it turned out a snitch warm but not at all h-o-t. Next time, to kick up the temp, we may add some peblano).

The difference between Chard and the mixed greens--the Chard was buttery where these greens are snappy. Both are lovely.

Wab, this one's another winner.

About Wab's Swiss Chard Lasagna from Friday, 26 September's Post...

In a word: Mmm.

The only switch I made was to use Sweet Italian "Turkey" Sausage instead of the regular. And I served six instead of eight.

The lemon and zest with the Chard: sublime. The serving sizes were perfectly huge. Only one person left one bite extra. Dinner was late--because of all the chopping and mixing and stove-toppery--but after it was served...after a few bites and mouth noises...people came back to their senses and talking resumed.

We finished up with friends' dollop of fruit-and-creamy dessert ("Dream Cream" I believe the chef called it) that I'll definitely get the recipe for. Hang tight for that. It's worth it....

Split Pea Soup for a United Nation

(in honor of the election of the 44th President of the United States of America)
Pea soup. Some people love it. Others hate it. But one thing we can all agree--it's filled to the brim with fiber. And we know what that means...

Here's the best one I've had, from Mollie Katzen's MOOSEWOOD COOKBOOK, 1992 edition:

Split Pea Soup (for a United Nation)

3c dry split peas
~7c water (more as needed)
1 bay leaf
2t salt
1/2-1t dry mustard
2c minced onion
4-5 med cloves garlic, crushed
3 stalks celery, minced
2 med carrots, sliced or diced
1 small potato, thinly sliced
lots of freshly ground black pepper
3-4T red wine vinegar (to taste)

Toppings:
Chinese sesame oil (optional)
a fresh, ripe tomato, diced
freshly minced parsley

1. Place split peas, water, by leaf, salt, and dry mustard in a kettle or Dutch oven. Bring to a boil, lower heat as much as possible, and simmer, partially covered, for about 20 minutes.

2. Add onion, garlic, celery, carrots, and potato. Partially cover, and leave it to simmer gently for about 40 more minutes with occasional stirring. If necessary, add some water.

[Note: The above step took considerably longer.]

3. Add black pepper and vinegar to taste. Serve topped with a drizzle of sesame oil, diced tomato, and minced parsley.