Blooper Reel, #003: Carbonnade a la Creole Mk. II

A major aspect of this blog's purpose is experimentation.  This is a forum for sharing my exploration of new and delicious things to cook.  Every so often, this results in failure.  In the interest of full disclosure, honesty, and such I endeavor to share all of my experiments, rather than only those that make me look good.  This experiment, as you will see, ended with a less than stellar result.

The dish I made tonight is a further exploration of the concept of Carbonnade a la Creole: the union of New Orleans style spice with a Flemish style beef-beer-and-onion stew.  My earlier attempt at this was edible, but failed to capture the flavor I was going for.  Now that I have explored creole cooking more deeply, I have a much better sense of how to achieve the spiciness I desire.  I also decided to apply another technique I learned recently, to significantly more mixed results. . .

What follows is the recipe and results that produced tonight's experiment.  I would not recommend copying it exactly.

The Ingredients
Seasoning
-2 bay leaves
-1 1/2 tsp. cayenne pepper
-1/2 tsp. salt
-1/2 tsp. white pepper
-1 tsp. dry thyme
-1/2 tsp. black pepper
-1/2 tsp. rubbed sage

Roux
-1 cup cooking oil
-1 cup all purpose flour

Meat, Onion, and Other
-1 1/2 lbs. chuck roast, cut into bite size pieces
-1/2 lb. pork tasso, cut into bite size pieces
-2 large onions, chopped
-2 slices bacon, chopped
-1 1/2 tsp. brown sugar
-2 bottles Abita Amber (Munich style lager)
-2 cans beef broth

Finishing
-1 handful fresh parsley, chopped
-1 Tbs. creole mustard

In my previous attempt at this concept I used andouille sausage rather than tasso.  Tasso, I think, fits the concept a little better, so we're going with that.

BEEF!

And this would be the 'tears' portion of tonight's 'blood, sweat, and tears.'

I maintain that beef is the most attractive of raw meats.  A nice cut of beef is a thing of beauty.

The Process
The first step is to brown your beef in a large skillet.  Seasoning at this point is optional, but I always throw in some ground black pepper, just because.  Once the beef is browned, set it aside in a large bowl with any juices the browning may have produced.  De-glaze the pan with some beef broth.  Now fry up the chopped bacon in the pan.  Don't get it too crispy.  Just cook it until the fat has rendered.  Remove the bacon with a wooden spoon and place it with the beef.

The browning of the beef.

Now, add your onions to the bacon grease and cook them until the start to turn a little golden.  Then add the brown sugar 1/2 teaspoon at a time, stirring it into the onions well.  Continue to cook until the onions caramelize and turn a nice rich golden brown color.

Well bacon my skillet and caramelize my onions!

Take the caramelized onions off the heat and make a roux in a dutch oven.  Once the roux is a deep golden brown color, add the caramelized onions and cook for one or two minutes.  Then add the beef, tasso, and bacon.  Then the seasoning mix.  Once it's all mixed in, pour in one bottle of beer and both cans of beef broth.  Bring it to a boil and cook for 2 hours.  About halfway through, add the second bottle of beer (this was less planned and more a reaction to how. . . thick. . . the dish was getting.

A nice golden brown roux.

Onions sizzling away.

With the meat and spice medley.

Just add beer.  I would have liked to have used Abita Abbey Ale, as it's the closest Abita in style to what you would use for Carbonnade a la Flamande.  Unfortunately, they don't have it at the grocery near my folk's place.

Coming along. . .

About ten minutes before it's done, add the handful of parsley and the Tbs. of creole mustard.  I served it with crepes, but spaetzle, rice, or some sort of potato dish would also work.

Well, it's not exactly a tablespoon. . .

Parsley!

The Results
Well, I got the desired spiciness to come out real nice, without the taste bud destroying fire the jambalaya had.  The tasso also lent itself nicely to the dish, blending in nicely with the beef.  My idea is to keep as true to the appearance and spirit of carbonnade as possible, so it definitely does a better job than andouille.

Unfortunately, I probably should have reconsidered the roux.  It was, simply, too much.  It completely took over, making the dish sort of. . . doughy.  I had considered adding some celery and bell pepper to complete the trinity.  This probably would have mitigated the roux somewhat, but I felt that adding these things would have compromised the carbonnade-ness of the dish.  Future attempts at perfecting the dish should either use far less roux, or rely on alternative methods for flour delivery.

CREPES!

Well, this is disappointing.

And hardly appears appetizing.

There.  Don't have to look at it anymore.

The Philosophy of Food, Issue #033: Blini

Tonight I made a dish that has been on my radar for some time: blini.  A blini is a small buckwheat pancake of Russian origin, traditionally served with sour cream and either smoked salmon or caviar.  I opted for the smoked salmon.

The recipes use of clarified butter is what kept me from trying it.  Clarifying butter, while easy, was not something I had tried before, and at my former lodgings in Indiana, I was ill prepared for it.  At home with the folks this obstacle was far less daunting.

The Ingredients
-1/3 cup buckwheat flour
-2/3 cup all purpose flour
-1/2 tsp. baking powder
-3/4 tsp. kosher salt
-3/4 cup and 2 Tbs. milk
-1 egg
-1 stick unsalted butter, clarified and divided

The Process
The actual process of making blinis is about as simple as making pancakes.  That is to say, it's incredibly easy.

In a large bowl, mix together your dry ingredients (buckwheat flour, all purpose flour, baking powder, salt).  In another bowl, whisk together your egg, milk, and 1 Tbs. of clarified butter.  Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients, and whisk until the batter is relatively smooth.

The flour mixture.

The combined batter.  The buckwheat flour makes it look rather gritty (it's not).

Add 1 Tbs. of the clarified butter to a large skillet over medium heat.  Once it is heated, add the batter to the skillet in 1 Tbs. increments, making silver dollar-ish sized pancakes.  Cook and flip them as you would conventional pancakes.  Once they're all made, serve them with smoked salmon and a dollop of sour cream.  If you're feeling fancy, add a prig of dill for garnish (I didn't).

The Results
They came out pretty fantastic.  The dish is nice and subdued.  The blinis really are a vehicle for whatever they top and they do the job admirably.  Flavor wise they do not seem that different than the typical pancake, if perhaps a bit less sweet.

The pile of finished blinis.

Blinis, salmon, sour cream, and salad.  A nice, light dinner.

We got adventurous and tried them with pickled herring.

The Philosophy of Food, Issue #031: Jambalaya Inferno

Last night I further explored the cuisine indigenous to Southeast Louisiana, the region I have called home for more or less half my life.  The dish prepared was jambalaya.  Specifically "red" or Creole jambalaya, which is characterized by the inclusion of tomatoes and/or tomato sauce.  Jambalaya itself is a medley of tasso or sausage, vegetables (typically onions, celery, and bell pepper), spices, rice, and chicken or seafood.  My research indicates that it is usually cooked solely on the stove top, but the recipe I used starts on the stove and ends in the oven.

The recipe I used comes from a Paul Prudhomme, but the photocopy does not contain page numbers or the title of the cookbook.

The Ingredients
Seasoning
-2 whole bay leaves
-2 tsp. ground cayenne pepper
-1 1/2 tsp. salt
-1 1/2 tsp. white pepper
-1 tsp. dried thyme leaves
-1/2 tsp. black pepper
-1/2 tsp. rubbed sage

Jambalaya Proper
-2 Tbs. unsalted butter
-1/2 pound chopped tasso
-1 1/2 pound boneless chicken, cut into bite-size pieces
-1 medium onion, chopped (divide into two portions)
-2 stalks of celery, chopped (divide into two portions)
-1/2 bell pepper, chopped (divide into two portions)
-6 cloves of garlic, minced
-1 small can of tomato sauce
-1 can of chopped tomato
-2 1/2 cups of chicken stock
-1 1/2 cups uncooked rice (use Uncle Ben's if you don't want it to be crunch)

Pictured: fire.

Veggie portion number one.

Veggie portion number two.

Both veggie portions.  They're added at separate points in the process, so I figured it was best to just lump each portion together instead of dividing each individual ingredient.

Tasso.  This is turkey tasso rather than pork.  Usually you can't tell the difference because it is spiced to heavily, but in this instance I could.

The assembled veggies and meat.  Chopping everything seems to always be an unwritten first step in recipes.

This should give a pretty good idea about how finely I cut the tasso.

Chickens.

The Process
As is usually the case, the first step is to chop up all your ingredients.  The onion, celery, and bell pepper need to be divided into half portions.  It's best to reserve each portion in its own bowl.  The first load can also hold the minced garlic, as it will go in at the same time.  I'd also like to take this opportunity to complain a bit about recipes.  I find recipes that list vegetable ingredients in cups rather than in portions of the vegetable to be less than useful.  Saying 'half an onion' is, for me, much more convenient than saying '1/2 cup of onion.'  Using less precise measurements might create some variance in how each instance of a recipe turns out, but for me that's half the point.  For reference, the recipe I used did call for onions, celery, and bell pepper in exact measurements.  I more or less ignored them and the recipe I am providing reflects that.  The recipe also called for only one tablespoon of garlic.  Just for reference, if a recipe intended for more than one serving ever calls for less than four cloves of garlic, ignore it and go nuts.

The next step is to combine all your spices and to set them aside in a small bowl.

Now melt the butter in a 3 or 4 quart saucepan.  Add the chopped tasso and cook it until it starts to brown.  Once that occurs, toss in your chicken and keep cooking until the chicken browns, or at least cooks thoroughly on the outside.

I've heard that Prudhomme has a low fat cook book.  I'm curious to check it out.

Frying tasso has a truly fantastic smell.

The mothership has landed.

A good reference point: this is about how cooked the chicken was before I moved on to the next step.

The next step is to add the seasoning mix and the first load of veggies, with the minced garlic.  Stir it in and continue to cook it until the veggies start to soften.  Personally, I'm not sure what the best way to tell if the veggies to soften is, so I just used the five minute guideline.   Next comes the tomato sauce.  Add it and stir it in.  Then add the second round of veggies and the chopped tomatoes.

Onion, celery, and bell pepper is apparently often referred to as 'the trinity' in Creole and Cajun cooking.

And in goes the fire.

This is now spicy enough to be considered a chemical weapon.

Tomato sauce: it's what separates the Creole from the Cajun, apparently.

 

Trinity, round two.

I think I'm forgetting something. . .

The next step is to remove the jambalaya from the heat and to stir in the rice and chicken stock.  You then transfer the mixture to a baking pan and bake it for an hour at 350 F.  After this period, remove it from the oven, let it cool for five minutes, and serve.  The recipe advises that a 1 cup serving is suitable for a side dish and a two cup serving is suitable for a main course.

And now for the chicken stock and rice.

She's ready for the oven, captain.

30 minutes into the bake my mother came to me with a can of chopped tomatoes. . . crap.  The tomatoes were hastily added and the baking continued as scheduled.

 The Results
Did I mention that the dish is spicy.  Because it is.  Delicious, but the level of spicy came uncomfortably close to exceeding my tolerance, and I am a lover of spicy food.  The key, as I understand, is to lay off the white pepper a bit.  Maybe use as little as 1/2 teaspoon instead of the 1 1/2 the recipe calls for.

Otherwise, it was fantastic.  Very moist, which is how I like it.  Adding the canned tomato in the middle of the bake, in this respect, was probably a good thing.

A little moist, probably from adding the canned tomatoes late.

Dinner is served.

It is a fairly attractive jambalaya, if I do say so myself.

Thanks to the brew gods for Abita Amber, a Munich style lager made by a local brewery here in Southeast Louisiana.  It is close to the perfect drink to serve with spicy food.

Not sure you can see it, but my stepdad's eyes are watering.

The Philosophy of Food, Issue #030: Inventing the Universe

The Carl Sagan quote "If you want to bake an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe" has gained relatively widespread recognition thanks to Melodysheep's Glorious Dawn video on YouTube.  Once one actually attempts to make an apple pie from scratch, for the first time, without any real instruction on pie baking technique, this quote takes on new meaning.  The crust in particular relies on prior experience to get right: from recognizing how much is enough water in the dough to how to roll the dough into the right size and shape without screwing up.

Anyhow, I baked a pie.  The recipe for the crust came from Betty Crocker's Cookbook: New and Revised Edition.  Racine, Washington: Western Publishing Company, Inc. (1981).  Page 289.  The recipe for the filling came from McCall's Cooking School Step-by-Step Directions for Mistake-Proof Recipes.  Columbus, OH: McCall Publishing Company (1983).  Pies, Pastry 16.  Check it out.

The Ingredients
The Crust (for a 8 to 9 inch two-crust pie)
-2/3 cup and 2 Tbs. shortening
-2 cups flour
-1 tsp. salt
-4 to 5 Tbs. cold water

The Filling
-1 cup sugar
-2 Tbs. flour
-1 tsp. cinnamon
-1/2 tsp. nutmeg
-1/4 tsp salt
-7 cups thinly sliced, pared tart cooking apples (2.5 lbs-ish)
-2 Tbs. lemon juice
-2 Tbs. butter

Half the apples from a five pound bag. . . I didn't actually measure out seven cups.  Probably had a little bit more.

I'm going to be honest, I originally cut the apples too thick.  My mother, thankfully, noticed and cut them thinner for me while I continued to work on the pie.

The Process
To make the crust, mix together the flour and salt, then cut the shortening into it.  Add the water gradually, about 1 Tbs. at a time, tossing with a fork to spread around the moisture.  The recipe says to add up to 2 more Tbs. of water if needed, but I found that wasn't enough.  You should keep adding Tbs. of water until all of the dough is moist and very little loose flour sticks to the side of the bowl.

See the flour residue in the bowl?  That's about the point where there's enough water.

Pretty neat mat, huh?  It should prove useful. . .

That is, if I could make the silly thing actually round. . .

Close enough.

Separate the dough into two equal sized balls and roll them out on a floured surface.  My folks had a special vinyl mat with concentric circles for measuring crust size, which helped a bit.  Keep a careful eye on how the dough is rolling out, as I hear it is very difficult to re-roll.  You can use trimmings to 'patch' or add new material to sides of the crust that aren't big enough.  Fold the bottom crust in half, place it over the middle of your pie pan, fold it out, and gently press it into place.  Refrigerate it.  Fold the top crust into quarters, cut steam slits in it, and set it aside (also refrigerated).

Sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg. . . basically everything good in the world.

This reminds me of Hebrew school for some reason. . . I remember honey and apples being a thing.

For the filling, mix the sugar, flour, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt in a small bowl and set it aside.  In a large bowl, add the lemon juice to your apple slices and toss to soak all the apples in the juice.  Add the sugar mixture and continue to toss, coating all the apples.

Just about full enough. . .

"What whiskey or butter cannot cure, cannot be cured." ~Old Irish Proverb.  At least according to a pretty excellent pub back in Indiana.

All sealed up and ready to go.  She looks a bit less pretty than the pictures in the cookbook, but she's space worthy captain.

And into the crucible it goes.

Add the filling to the pie pan, then trim the bottom crust so it just sticks a little over the sides of the pie pan.  You may have extra apples, in which case eat them as they are.  They are delicious.  Place slices of butter on top of the filling, then place the top crust over the pan and unfold it.  Trim the top crust so it doesn't overlap more than an inch or so over the edge of the pan.  Wet the edge of the bottom crust and fold the edge of the top crust over it to create a seal.  I found just wetting my fingers in a cup of cold water sufficient for this.  Bake for 50 minutes at 425 F.  Enjoy.

The Results
The pie was pretty fantastic.  As I mentioned, jumping headfirst into being the party of main responsibility for baking a pie from scratch with absolutely no pie-baking experience under your belt is a bit overwhelming.  Thankfully I had my mom and stepfather to help and advise me along the way.  The slits I cut for the steam weren't quite deep enough, but the pie did not explode and I do not think the ballooning of the crust negatively affected the end product.  Using green apples (and eyeballing the lemon juice rather than measuring it) resulted in an especially sweet and tart pie.  Also, a special shout out to my mom and stepdad who just celebrated their 13th wedding anniversary.

Universe: Invented.

All ready to serve.

Mom, getting ready to dig in.

I think she likes it.

It's hot.

And. . . don't I look pleased with myself.

I didn't cut half the steam slits deep enough, which I think resulted in the pie caverning up like that.

Leftovers are a sacrament.