The Philosophy of Food, Issue #029: Spaghetti and Meatballs

So, this is a dish I've made a grand total of two times before.  Once, with this very recipe years and years ago when I was in high school and once about a year ago back in Indiana.  The later iteration never made it to the blog, sadly.  The dish is spaghetti and meatballs.  Specifically, spaghetti with homemade meatballs and tomato sauce.

The recipe, like so many I've made recently, comes from a cook book.  In this case, Fletcher, Janet.  Classic Pasta at Home.  Time-Life Books (1998), p. 78.  I did stray from the recipe somewhat, so I'll go ahead and provide a breakdown.

The Ingredients
For Meatballs
-1 lb. lean ground beef (the recipe in the book calls for 1/2 lb. ground veal and 1/2 lb. ground pork)
-2 eggs, lightly beaten
-1/2 small yellow onion, minced (I used 1/4 medium/large-ish yellow onion)
-1/2 cup fine dried bread crumbs
-1/4 cup grated Parmesan cheese
-1 Tbs. minced fresh Italian parsley
-2 tsp. minced fresh oregano
-1/2 tsp. fennel seeds, lightly crushed in a mortar
-1 1/2 tsp. salt
-ground pepper to taste

For Sauce
-1/4 cup olive oil
-1 Tbs. minced fresh Italian parsley
-pinch of red pepper flakes
-2 cans whole plum tomatoes, finely chopped, with juice

-1 lb. dried spaghetti

The Process
So, first things first.  I eyeballed the measurements for the parsley and oregano.

To make the meatballs, deposit all the meatball ingredients in a big bowl and mash it together with your hands (which you should really consider washing first).  If you like, you can get it started with a spoon or potato masher first, but you'll really need to get your hands dirty.  Once the foodpile has been thoroughly combined, separate it out into balls and place them in a single layer on a large plate.  Then, do like the daleks say and REFRIGERATE.

Once more, a pile of. . . stuff.

This is the story of how the unappetizing. . .

. . . becomes appetizing.

Begin the sauce by warming up the olive oil in a large frying pan.  Saute the minced garlic, parsley, and red pepper flakes in the hot oil.  The recipe calls for an (optional) pinch of the red pepper flakes, but I used several liberal shakes.  After sauteing for about a minute, add the chopped tomato and juice, bring it to a simmer, and cook it for 15 minutes, uncovered.

Here's a point where I diverged from the recipe a bit.  The recipe calls for the sauce to be pureed at this point.  I did not do this.  Putting the sauce through a food processor just didn't seem right.  Instead, I added the meatballs right in and covered the frying pan.  Let it simmer (lightly) for seven minutes, then turn the meatballs over and let it simmer for another 8 minutes.

When you add the meatballs to the sauce, start preparing your noodles.  Just cook 1 lb. of dried spaghetti according to whatever instructions it gives on the packaging.

When the noodles and meatball sauce are both ready (and the noodles have been drained), deposit the noodles back in their pot, add the meatball sauce in on top of them, and gently toss the combo.

Warning!  Sauteed garlic may cause drool.

Tomato?  TO-MA-TO!

Behold, meatball: your impending deliciousness!

Dooooom.

Delicious doom. . .

The Results
Sooooo goooood.  The crushed fennel seeds in the meatballs adds a lot of character to the dish and although I did not notice it, my folks remarked positively on the excessive use of red pepper flakes.  Had I been doing the grocery shopping, I would have used angel hair pasta.  Not because it would have been better for the dish, necessarily, but because I have an unhealthy obsession with angel hair.  The last time I made meatballs I baked them, rather than cook them with the sauce.  This was done partly because that's what the recipe called for, and partly because the last time I made sauce, it turned out. . . not as good.  That batch of meatballs still turned out fantastically, but this is better suited when you plan on eating them with noodles and sauce.

This entire experiment did give me an idea for another dish. . . meatball burger. . .

It sounds good in my head, at least.

Anyhow, that's all for tonight.  Good night world!

Behold!  His noodley appendage!

Served with the French bread my stepdad and I made for the crawfish etouffee.

The Philosophy of Food, Issue #028: Moroccan Turkey Burgers

I let the folks pick the recipe this time.  Or, rather, I volunteered to make what they had decided on anyway.  The recipe was Moroccan Turkey Burgers from page 122 of Cooking Light.  (July/August 1999).

The Ingredients
-1 cup chopped onions
-1/3 cup ketchup
-1/4 cup pitted green olives, chopped
-1/4 cup dried currants or raisins
-1 tsp. grated lemon rind
-1 tsp. cumin seeds
-1/4 tsp. ground cinnamon
-1/8 tsp. black pepper.
-1 pound ground turkey

The Process
First off, the recipe makes four burgers.  I doubled the recipe (still only made four) but there's leftover meat enough for at least four more (maybe five or six).

The process for making this are. . . very simple.  Essentially, mix all the ingredients in a big bowl, form the mixture into patties, and cook them in a skillet that has been lightly coated with olive oil.

Just a pile of delicious ingredients, minding its own business, when suddenly. . .

BLOODY KETCHUP!

It smells lovely, but looks like dogfood.

Sizzle, sazzle.

The problem with ground turkey is that there is pretty much no visual cue that it's fully cooked. . .

The Results
I don't care for ground turkey.  I like neither the flavor nor the texture.  As such, I wasn't really thrilled with this dish.  It might, however, be fantastic with, say, ground lamb.

The folks reported that I made it well and made it right, so there's that.

One thing to note is that the patties are very. . . fragile.  Ground turkey is not very stable to begin with, and adding all the stuff to it just adds to its tendency to fall apart.  The folks regard it a splendid success that none of my patties disintegrated.
 

And we're done.

A cut away view. . .

The chef revealed!

The Philosophy of Food, Issue #027: Crawfish Etouffee

For dinner this evening I made Crawfish Etouffee from Chef Paul Prudhomme's Louisiana Kitchen.  New York: William Morrow and Company, Inc.  p. 75-77, with the chef's basic rice recipe found in the same book on p. 224.  Other than noting the use of specific stocks (homemade shrimp stock for the etouffee and homemade chicken stock for the rice; both made by my parents), I did not deviate meaningfully from the recipe.  For this reason, I'm going to jump straight into pictures.

The spices assembled.  I did not know this going in, but my stepdad usually cuts the cayenne and white pepper.  I used the full amount, so. . . it's nice and spicy!

You shall roux the day!

The roux in all its dark red-brown glory.

Tossing in the veggies.

Raw seafood just isn't as attractive as raw beef. . . not to say it isn't delicious.

Adding the roux-mixture to boiling shrimp stock.

Julia Child approved.

Just about finished. . .

The special rice involves baking it in a covered bread pan with finely chopped onion, celery, bell pepper, and a few pinches of the same sort of spices that go into the etouffee.

R-r-ready to serve!

What's left of the roux looks kind of like chocolate sauce.

Served with homemade french bread.  My stepdad made and shaped the dough and I baked it. . . so he did all the important work, really.

Mom looks excited.

A savory head with an aftertaste of. . . fire.  An aftertaste of fire.  Cayenne'll do that.

"This would make Paul Prudhomme proud."  High praise indeed.

Okay, so, I'll give a quick rundown of how to make an etouffee.

1.  Make a dark roux.  Toss some veggies in (for this serving side, 1/4 cups of onion, celery, and bell pepper each) and a tablespoon of a creole spice mix (packaged or home assembled).  Set aside.
2.  Boil some seafood stock (in this case, 2 cups) and add the roux mixture.
3.  Saute your seafood in butter with chopped green onions.
4.  Add more butter, the roux-stock mixture, and more seafood stock (another cup, in this case) and shake the pot from side to side rather than stirring.  After 4 to 6 minutes of this, add the rest of your spice mix (there's maybe a total of 2 1/2 or 3 tablespoons) and serve over white rice.

The etouffee was fantastic.  After living in the Midwest for two years, it's nice to just go nuts with the cayenne.  And, now that I know the basic process of making etouffee, I'll be able to really experiment with the method.

Anyhow, that's all folks.  I need to turn in and get some rest.  I have a super important job interview tomorrow morning! *crosses finger*

The Philosophy of Food, Issue #026: Nowmbyls of Muskyls

The purpose of this blog has been to celebrate and showcase experimentation.  I have had the good fortune of being successful, for the most part, in creating delicious experiments.  This is not, however, always the case.  Tonight was one of the exceptions.

The dish is called Nowmbyls of Muskyls, and it is another anachronism.  The dish, or at least its source manuscript, originates in 15th century England.  Perhaps better transliterated of Nombles of Mussels.  Nombles, when used in medieval recipes, refers to the viscera of an animal.  This is not the case for this recipe, but the chopped (or unchopped) shellfish certainly looks the part.  The recipe is best described as mussels (or other shellfish) in almond milk sauce.

The Ingredients
-Several pounds of shellfish
-2 cups of ground almonds
-2 Tbs. olive oil
-4 cloves of garlic, chopped
-1/2 cup of sherry

Ground almonds.

Using mussels and clams.

NOMBLES!

 The Process

Boil or steam your shellfish.  I opted to boil them with chopped garlic (sauteed in the olive oil) and sherry.

Then make some almond milk.  This is done by steeping ground almonds in boiling water.  You want to use a ratio of 1 cup of almonds to 2 cup of water.  Steep the ground nuts for five minutes, then remove.  The resulting liquid is almond milk.  An alternative is to blend the ground almond into the liquid, but I do not recommend this.

When the shellfish is cooked, remove it from its shell and chop it up.  Deposit it in the almond milk and add a little saffron for color.  Serve it forth!

Sort of reminds me of making a wort for home brewing.

Word to the wise.  The steeping almond mixture foams something fierce in boiling water.  Be ready to stir frantically or face the consequences.

The almond milk, post-blending.

The Results

First.  I strongly recommend not blending the ground almond into the almond milk.  The texture of the resulting suspension is. . . unpleasantly chalky.  In the future, I think I'll put the ground almond in cheese cloth so it's easy to remove.

Second.  The dish is a bit bland.  Well, it's exceedingly bland.  It needs salt, at least.  I'd recommend tossing in some more spices.  Perhaps 1/4 tsp. allspice and nutmeg in the almond milk, with some thyme and parsley.

Thirdly.  I think the dish would do well served over something.  This could be as basic as a bread bowel, spaetzle, or rice.  Actually, spaetzle sounds like a really good idea. . .

Just about finished. . .

Imagine you're a 15th century English fisherman, just come in out of the icy fog, chilled to the bone.  Nombles would probably taste like magic in such a scenario.

Mom liked it a bit more than I.

The Philosophy of Food, Issue #025: Baked Eggs 01

You know those moments when you discover a completely new genre of music that broadcasts on the same frequency as your soul, in stunning HD, filling you with an inexplicable and uncontrollable desire to dance, sing, or pick up an instrument?  Well, I just had that experience, but with breakfast food.

The name of the genre is baked eggs, and you have got to taste these beats.  Or not beats.  No, you definitely don't beat these eggs. . . but you get the point, right?

The basic formula follows.

1.  Butter a ramekin.
2.  Add 1 to 3 layers of meat and veggies.
3.  Crack an egg into that sucker.
4.  Sprinkle lightly with grated cheese and ground black pepper.
5.  Bake at 350 F for 12 to 15 minutes.
6.  Experience the Rapture.  In your mouth.

Seriously.  This formula is pretty much the Kama Sutra for your taste buds.

Okay, so here's the specific dish I made.

The Ingredients (and Supplies)
-1 ramekin per egg
-Butter or butter substitute
-1 slice of bacon per egg, crumbled
-1 smallish tomato per egg, sliced
-Grated sharp cheddar cheese
-Ground black pepper
-Eggs

The Process
In your buttered ramekin(s), layer in the sliced tomato and crumbled bacon.  Crack in the egg and dust lightly with the grated cheddar cheese and ground black pepper.

Bake at 350 F for 12 to 15 minutes.  Remove and enjoy.

It's important that you cook your bacon before loading it into the ramekin.

Well butter my ramekin and call me a toaster.  Actually, don't call me a toaster.  That's racist.

Juicy tomato!

Bacon is magic.

And just load these puppies into the oven. . .

The Results
I think I've already expressed my utter and complete glee at discovering this particular genre of egg dish. . . but it bears restating.  Baked eggs are frakking fantastic!  This dish has changed my entire perspective on breakfast.  Life altering.

The egg in this one wouldn't sit in the middle. . .

So I was sure the next one had a little bit of an indent.

BEHOLD!  BREAKFAST!

All of the praise aside, there are a couple things I'd do differently.  In the oven at my folk's house, 15 minutes was a little on the early side.  I think they could have used another 5 minutes or so, just so the whites don't stay so runny.  I might also substitute the black pepper for a very conservative amount of creole seasoning.

All that said, there are more variations to try.  You could make this with a layer of shrimp rather than bacon.  Or toss in some shredded lettuce to make it a BLT baked egg.  The combinations are limitless, and doubtless you will see more in the days to come.