Sunday, June 26, 2016

Brussels Sprouts.

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Brussels Sprouts.  BrusselSSSS Sprouts.  Pet peeve.

Or, rotten baby cabbages.  (Grampy)

Yeah, they're weird looking.  Trader Joe's and Stop & Shop sell them in winter like this as "table decorations."  The price between these stalks and the bags of sprouts are vastly different and you get more with the stalk.

I have to owe my foray into cooking sprouts to Ina Garten.  I got her cookbook for Christmas one year and tried the recipe.  I've been perfecting mine for quite a while.  Here's how I make it, I should say.  As Julia says, recipes aren't set in stone.

Find the cast iron skillet, the circular one with the high sides.  It's probably hiding in the stove, since it won't fit anywhere and is too heavy to hang on the wall.  Make sure it's salt scrubbed, since the man forgot to clean it the last time he used it.  If it's not in the stove, it might be on it.  Or in the pantry.

Put some salt and pepper in the bottom of the skillet.  Add a tablespoon of butter and a tablespoon of bacon grease, chicken fat, duck fat, rendered beef fat, whatever.  I used to use olive oil but it doesn't hold up so well.  Melt this down slowly.

Now begin the arduous task of cleaning the sprouts up.  Small brussels sprouts are more tender and don't taste bitter when you cook them. Cut them off the stalk close to the base of the sprout.  Realize your knife is dull after a sprout or two goes flying across the kitchen, to be batted around by the cat.  Always start with a sharp knife.  If you don't know how to sharpen a knife, YouTube Julia Child and practice on a knife you don't care about.

Cut the sprouts in half, or if they're really big, in thirds or quarters.  Throw away any leaves that are yellow or have black spots on them.  They're yucky and bitter.

You can snack on the sprouts as you cut and trim.  Make sure your oil isn't burning at this point and the stove should probably be turned off.  I don't like them because they taste like rotten baby cabbages.

Take a break from trimming and chop up some dried or fresh rosemary and add to the oil, so the essence can leak out before they start to cook.

When the sprouts are done, look at the mess that has accumulated on the floor and cat.  Don't add this to the pan.

Toss the sprouts with what's in the pan.  Heat the oven to 375.  I should have probably told you that earlier.

After the sprouts have been set in the oven (you can't put them in a non-preheated oven; you just can't bake desserts in a non-preheated oven), every ten minutes or so, stir or toss them in the pan.  Try not to dribble in the oven.  Don't grab the pan without pot holders. Cast iron gets hot.

When the sprouts are browned on the outside, they're done.  I usually cook mine for about 45 minutes or until I forget about them. They're indestructable little buggers.  Take them out of the pan and put them in a bowl.

Now, I usually add either raisins or unsweetened cranberries, feta cheese or any kind of crumbly yummy goodness, and sliced or slivered almonds.  Not only does this taste fantastic all together, but it looks fancy as shit.

Enjoy.

Thursday, March 17, 2016

To Grampy

It all started with a scallion.

Grampy had a large garden when we were growing up.  We spent every other weekend at their house - we being my sister and I - and we were always elbows deep in some project.  Splitting wood, trimming the Christmas trees they sold, tending the garden, cooking, baking, sewing new potholders; my grandparents were Depression-era domestic industrialists.  Nothing went to waste, and anything could be fixed.

One summer day when I was around ten or so, Grampy bent down in the onion rows of the garden and pulled a scallion out of it's shallow dirt home.  He wiped the root bulb off with his hand, took out his trusty pocket knife and sliced off the hair-like roots.  He handed it to me.

"Here, eat this."

Me - "Eww, what is it?"

"Here, just try it!"

I trusted him, so I bit off the white bulb.  "Tastes like an onion."  I handed him back the green shoots.

"You can eat the rest of it."

Hottest.  Thing.  Ever.

After that, he used to joke around and hand me things I've never tried before - "Here, just try it!"  And I always did.

Now, I'm a very adventurous eater.  I'll usually try anything at least once.  Except for Uni - I tried it four times before I found out that you have to eat it in the right month.  Now I love it.  I don't ever want to say that I don't like it because I've never tried it.  However, I draw the line at brains - I don't want to end up with some weird prion disease.

Apparently, I'm a good cook too.  Can you make this, can you make that, wait, you make "bacon cake?"  I'll be using this blog as a creative outlet for things I make in the kitchen, because I have to keep track of my creations somewhere (along with the hundred thousand million billion other food bloggers).