I forgot something in the original posting of this recipe. The corrected version is as follows.
1 12 ounce can of pumpkin puree or whatever that stuff is
1 8 ounce tub of whipped cream type stuff
1 box of instant vanilla pudding (typically 1 or 2 packets)
Mix these together with pumpkin pie spices, either the premixed variety to taste or:
1 t cinnamon
1/2 t ginger
1/4 t cloves
1/2 t nutmeg
Once evenly mixed, serve with vanilla wafers or ginger snaps. Windmill cookies might be pretty good, too, come to think of it.
All quantities are approximate. Some cans of pumpkin are 15 ounces, which shouldn't make much of a difference; and some pumpkin pie recipes call for no nutmeg or no ginger, so increase or omit any of the spices if you don't want to scandalize the palate.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Pretentious mac 'n' cheese
Some cookbooks will warn you to stick with eutectic cheeses when making macaroni and cheese if you want it all to come out all smooth and creamy. I can't blame them.
However, it's not strictly necessary.
I got my first hint from, ironically, the first cookbook I found that actually warned me not to use hard cheeses like sharp cheddar (presumably cheddar-flavored cheese melt product would only have shown up on their classiness radar) or asiago, which would tend to be gritty, or really delicate and non-uniform cheeses like bleu, which would tend to be runny and awful.
Well, turns out the key to the solution is in the problem itself.
The recipe I had been looking at did, actually, call for a little bit of cheddar, but only in quantities small enough to provide flavor without compromising the texture, and mixed with something well-behaved on the stove like mozzarella or provolone. Not bad advice.
There are probably some béchamel based recipes you could get away with adapting, too, but one thing at a time.
All I really had to do was take their advice without heeding their warnings. First, in the spirit of good pretentious dishes, I brought together a couple relatively highbrow cheeses: shredded hard cheese (I think my first attempt was with a medley of Parmesan, asiago, and romano) with no anti-caking ingredients and Roquefort, in approximately equal proportions. I used one pack of Roquefort, which is 3-4 ounces, so figure maybe half of one of those smaller jars of whichever hard cheese you prefer, or grate yourself a pile about the same size.
I put those in the food processor so the mixture could homogenize a bit while I worked on the other stuff. My thinking was that the mixing would be much more thorough than I could achieve by hand, and would be facilitated by the extremely high initial surface area of the hard cheese. Although the mixture did warm up some, it wasn't enough to cause the fats to melt and separate. I've had that happen with poorly planned homemade cheese dips before, and I hoped to tame the tendency by first blending two cheeses with complimentary defects.
I wanted a dish that would stay creamy, though, so into a saucepan over medium heat I put about 3-4 ounces of mozzarella (so we have about a 1:1:1 ratio of hard, delicate, and eutectic cheeses), a tablespoon or so of butter, and the better part of half a cup of milk. Maybe a bit more; if I recall correctly, I'd poured out a whole cup and ended up drinking some when I was satisfied with the consistency. Well, whatever you want to do; the creamy macaroni and cheeses I see on TV always look great but mine usually come out looking like a casserole so I probably underdo it. Anyway, I was afraid that if I didn't include something that was intended to melt smoothly, the pretentious part of the dish would disintegrate upon cooking or, worse yet, separate on the plate once it started to cool. A fondue or queso-style cheese should also perform this function well.
Okay, so: Got the creamy part of the sauce melted, got the pasta cooked (half a box of shells); put those two together, and as soon as it all starts looking consistent, add the hard-bleu cheese blend. If I were only using well-melting cheeses I probably would have turned off the burner and relied on residual heat from the pasta to finish the melting and avoid burning the bottom of the pan, but I wasn't sure it would be quite enough so I left the heat on low a little while longer and stirred vigorously.
It was just enough, or the mixture was more forgiving than I hoped. It was somehow sharp and smooth at the same time, pleasant but intense enough to demand a palate-cleansing drink to go along with it, with a possibly disturbing blue-flecked appearance. But hey, all that mold's cooked, so who cares?
However, it's not strictly necessary.
I got my first hint from, ironically, the first cookbook I found that actually warned me not to use hard cheeses like sharp cheddar (presumably cheddar-flavored cheese melt product would only have shown up on their classiness radar) or asiago, which would tend to be gritty, or really delicate and non-uniform cheeses like bleu, which would tend to be runny and awful.
Well, turns out the key to the solution is in the problem itself.
The recipe I had been looking at did, actually, call for a little bit of cheddar, but only in quantities small enough to provide flavor without compromising the texture, and mixed with something well-behaved on the stove like mozzarella or provolone. Not bad advice.
There are probably some béchamel based recipes you could get away with adapting, too, but one thing at a time.
All I really had to do was take their advice without heeding their warnings. First, in the spirit of good pretentious dishes, I brought together a couple relatively highbrow cheeses: shredded hard cheese (I think my first attempt was with a medley of Parmesan, asiago, and romano) with no anti-caking ingredients and Roquefort, in approximately equal proportions. I used one pack of Roquefort, which is 3-4 ounces, so figure maybe half of one of those smaller jars of whichever hard cheese you prefer, or grate yourself a pile about the same size.
I put those in the food processor so the mixture could homogenize a bit while I worked on the other stuff. My thinking was that the mixing would be much more thorough than I could achieve by hand, and would be facilitated by the extremely high initial surface area of the hard cheese. Although the mixture did warm up some, it wasn't enough to cause the fats to melt and separate. I've had that happen with poorly planned homemade cheese dips before, and I hoped to tame the tendency by first blending two cheeses with complimentary defects.
I wanted a dish that would stay creamy, though, so into a saucepan over medium heat I put about 3-4 ounces of mozzarella (so we have about a 1:1:1 ratio of hard, delicate, and eutectic cheeses), a tablespoon or so of butter, and the better part of half a cup of milk. Maybe a bit more; if I recall correctly, I'd poured out a whole cup and ended up drinking some when I was satisfied with the consistency. Well, whatever you want to do; the creamy macaroni and cheeses I see on TV always look great but mine usually come out looking like a casserole so I probably underdo it. Anyway, I was afraid that if I didn't include something that was intended to melt smoothly, the pretentious part of the dish would disintegrate upon cooking or, worse yet, separate on the plate once it started to cool. A fondue or queso-style cheese should also perform this function well.
Okay, so: Got the creamy part of the sauce melted, got the pasta cooked (half a box of shells); put those two together, and as soon as it all starts looking consistent, add the hard-bleu cheese blend. If I were only using well-melting cheeses I probably would have turned off the burner and relied on residual heat from the pasta to finish the melting and avoid burning the bottom of the pan, but I wasn't sure it would be quite enough so I left the heat on low a little while longer and stirred vigorously.
It was just enough, or the mixture was more forgiving than I hoped. It was somehow sharp and smooth at the same time, pleasant but intense enough to demand a palate-cleansing drink to go along with it, with a possibly disturbing blue-flecked appearance. But hey, all that mold's cooked, so who cares?
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Irish ice cream
This receipe was my second foray into "no minors without their parent or guardian" ice cream. My first was Alton Brown's egg nog ice cream, actually a frozen custard (incidentally, his avocado ice cream is good too, reminding me for some reason of the green tea ice cream at some Japanese restaurants).
After my foray into Irish toast, I knew there was untapped potential in liquor as a cooking ingredient, and when I got in the mood for ice cream one day with not quite enough milk to go around (not a situation I like to be in, except that this kind of thing keeps happening when I am), this recipe all but manifested itself whole and complete in a single glance.
But first, the ingredients:
4 egg yolks
1/3 c sugar
1 pint Irish cream liqueur
1 c heavy cream
optional: 1-2 T small chocolate chips or chopped dark chocolate
Mix the yolks and sugar until smooth and the yolks become a slightly brighter yellow.
Over high heat in a small saucepan, mix the cream and half the liqueur. When it just starts to boil, remove from heat and temper it into the eggs. I had done my egg yolks in a food processor so I just left them in there during this step and turned it back on while I added the hot cream, slowly enough not to cook the yolks or the plastic components of my processor.
Return everything to the saucepan and cook, stirring frequently, just until it reaches 160˚F. Remove from heat and add the rest of the liqueur. My saucepan tends to retain heat, so to facilitate cooling and prevent overheating, I sometimes have a second, prechilled pot or metal bowl on hand, or a shallow ice water bath to partway submerge the pot in.
When you're satisfied you're not going to cook everything in your fridge from the residual heat, move the mixture to the fridge and let it cool to 40˚F. Lower would actually be better; maybe you should put it in the freezer a little while, instead. Because of the relatively high amount of alcohol, the freezing point is going to be pretty low.
I use one of those ice cream makers that has the freezable liquid core instead of one that uses ice, so I just leave my cores in the freezer all the time and keep the temperature turned all the way down. It's enough to almost completely freeze the flavored vodka I keep on hand for another recipe I'll post later, so for most ice creams it sets pretty quickly (especially the avocado one).
When the mixture is cold, add it to your ice cream maker and follow the manufacturer's instructions. If you decided to add the chocolate, wait until the mixture has started to firm up; if it's too runny, it'll all get pushed to the sides and the bottom, and if it's too close to solid, it will just stay near the top and not mix.
Serve in modest quantities. Keep in mind that it's over half liqueur (way over half if you replace the heavy cream with more Irish cream--why not?) so you'll basically be consuming a bowl full of 20-30 proof liquor one heaping spoonful at a time. It adds up.
After my foray into Irish toast, I knew there was untapped potential in liquor as a cooking ingredient, and when I got in the mood for ice cream one day with not quite enough milk to go around (not a situation I like to be in, except that this kind of thing keeps happening when I am), this recipe all but manifested itself whole and complete in a single glance.
But first, the ingredients:
4 egg yolks
1/3 c sugar
1 pint Irish cream liqueur
1 c heavy cream
optional: 1-2 T small chocolate chips or chopped dark chocolate
Mix the yolks and sugar until smooth and the yolks become a slightly brighter yellow.
Over high heat in a small saucepan, mix the cream and half the liqueur. When it just starts to boil, remove from heat and temper it into the eggs. I had done my egg yolks in a food processor so I just left them in there during this step and turned it back on while I added the hot cream, slowly enough not to cook the yolks or the plastic components of my processor.
Return everything to the saucepan and cook, stirring frequently, just until it reaches 160˚F. Remove from heat and add the rest of the liqueur. My saucepan tends to retain heat, so to facilitate cooling and prevent overheating, I sometimes have a second, prechilled pot or metal bowl on hand, or a shallow ice water bath to partway submerge the pot in.
When you're satisfied you're not going to cook everything in your fridge from the residual heat, move the mixture to the fridge and let it cool to 40˚F. Lower would actually be better; maybe you should put it in the freezer a little while, instead. Because of the relatively high amount of alcohol, the freezing point is going to be pretty low.
I use one of those ice cream makers that has the freezable liquid core instead of one that uses ice, so I just leave my cores in the freezer all the time and keep the temperature turned all the way down. It's enough to almost completely freeze the flavored vodka I keep on hand for another recipe I'll post later, so for most ice creams it sets pretty quickly (especially the avocado one).
When the mixture is cold, add it to your ice cream maker and follow the manufacturer's instructions. If you decided to add the chocolate, wait until the mixture has started to firm up; if it's too runny, it'll all get pushed to the sides and the bottom, and if it's too close to solid, it will just stay near the top and not mix.
Serve in modest quantities. Keep in mind that it's over half liqueur (way over half if you replace the heavy cream with more Irish cream--why not?) so you'll basically be consuming a bowl full of 20-30 proof liquor one heaping spoonful at a time. It adds up.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
French soup onion
A former colleague of mine passed a recipe like this one on to me some time ago. It's been so long since I made it, though, I've forgotten a few details. I'm filling in the blanks with a recipe from here, which came up in a Google search for something else (it looks like there are some other interesting ideas there, too)
Start with one single large onion, white or yellow, peeled. Cut the bottom just so it sits flat, but don't remove too much; it should still hold itself together when it's done.
Cut a divot from the top and place a beef bullion cube in the hole. I crushed mine so it would dissolve more readily from the juices that will sweat out of the onion. Maybe it wasn't necessary, but it didn't hurt anything.
Sprinkle Parmesan or another hard cheese over the top of the onion. Don't use the powder in a can or anything else that has an anti-caking agent in it; it will burn rather than melt, leaving you with nothing but the bitter taste of regret, and most of an onion. I recommend a shaved cheese; it will be more stable on the onion's convex surface until you can get it in the oven.
Speaking of which, you should have preheated yours to 400ºF between the time you made an ingredient list and the time you peeled that onion.
The Fat Free Vegan whence I spliced in instructions to cover the steps I'd forgotten says "Bake them until tender and slightly caramelized around the edges, about 45 minutes." I seem to remember not having the onion in the oven for quite that long, but if you like slight caramelization, then go for 45 minutes; if not, pull it out after 30.
When it's done, you should have a well-done onion with a nice, gooey cap of melted cheese over maybe a tablespoon of French onion soup broth. Mmm, smells delicious.
So after removing it from the oven, you...I don't know. Apparently I thought that a way to serve the onion would be self evident, because I didn't think to ask my friend what he did with it. I ended up putting it in a bowl, slicing it into bite size pieces with the edge of my fork, and just snacking on cheesy, beefy onion wedges. Although the cheese didn't adhere very well, what with all the juice that came out, it was pretty tasty until I ended up with lukewarm, translucent onion bits at the bottom of the bowl.
Work in progress, I guess. I'm open to suggestions.
Start with one single large onion, white or yellow, peeled. Cut the bottom just so it sits flat, but don't remove too much; it should still hold itself together when it's done.
Cut a divot from the top and place a beef bullion cube in the hole. I crushed mine so it would dissolve more readily from the juices that will sweat out of the onion. Maybe it wasn't necessary, but it didn't hurt anything.
Sprinkle Parmesan or another hard cheese over the top of the onion. Don't use the powder in a can or anything else that has an anti-caking agent in it; it will burn rather than melt, leaving you with nothing but the bitter taste of regret, and most of an onion. I recommend a shaved cheese; it will be more stable on the onion's convex surface until you can get it in the oven.
Speaking of which, you should have preheated yours to 400ºF between the time you made an ingredient list and the time you peeled that onion.
The Fat Free Vegan whence I spliced in instructions to cover the steps I'd forgotten says "Bake them until tender and slightly caramelized around the edges, about 45 minutes." I seem to remember not having the onion in the oven for quite that long, but if you like slight caramelization, then go for 45 minutes; if not, pull it out after 30.
When it's done, you should have a well-done onion with a nice, gooey cap of melted cheese over maybe a tablespoon of French onion soup broth. Mmm, smells delicious.
So after removing it from the oven, you...I don't know. Apparently I thought that a way to serve the onion would be self evident, because I didn't think to ask my friend what he did with it. I ended up putting it in a bowl, slicing it into bite size pieces with the edge of my fork, and just snacking on cheesy, beefy onion wedges. Although the cheese didn't adhere very well, what with all the juice that came out, it was pretty tasty until I ended up with lukewarm, translucent onion bits at the bottom of the bowl.
Work in progress, I guess. I'm open to suggestions.
Irish toast
My first experience with this recipe was when I had some sourdough bread and was in the mood for French toast. I don't recall now how much of my inspiration came from an insufficiency of milk and how much came from me looking at the long-neglected bottle of Irish cream in my freezer and asking myself "Well, why not?"
Incidentally, there are sometimes good reasons why not. I will share them with you from time to time.
I started with a pretty basic French toast recipe, but made one important substitute:
2/3 c Irish cream
4 large eggs
1 t vanilla
1/4 t salt
Some recipes I see call for two tablespoons of maple syrup at this point. Growing up, the French toast I always had instead some nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves, and we saved the syrup for a condiment. Here, there's really no need, since the Irish cream brings enough sweetness and flavor to the party all by itself.
You'll notice I didn't specify any bread at this point; use whatever you want. The baseline recipe I used said to saturate six slices of white bread with the egg mixture, but I know some people who only like getting both sides of the bread wet, which has the advantage of the bread being less likely to fall apart. Personally, I like the insides of my French toast more like pudding than bread, except for the time when I hope to succeed in making French toast sticks as a finger food, and I usually end up trying to make French toast when I realize my bread is nigh-stale and unsuitable for most other purposes, so I put all my bread and mixture in a container and leave it in the refrigerator for a few days. Sure it's more than willing to fall apart when it's ready, but I usually have ended up with large fragments of bread from trying to divvy up the stale loaf in the first place. I guess there's always baked French toast or French toast casserole or bread pudding.
Unless you're soaking the bread, you can put a skillet on medium heat before you start dipping, grease it, and let the temperature stabilize while you finish your preparations. Otherwise, put a skillet on medium heat, grease it, and let it get up to temperature while you try to figure out the best way to move the bread to the pan without turning it into croutons.
Cook until the egg in the bread has turned golden brown, just a couple moments, and then flip; repeat, then remove to a plate to serve. You're not likely to cook all the alcohol out, and you shouldn't want to try; this is a stay-in-for-the-morning breakfast. May as well pour yourself a mimosa.
As for "Why not?" No good reason that I can see. Chalk one up in the "Success!" column for this experiment.
As for "Why not?" No good reason that I can see. Chalk one up in the "Success!" column for this experiment.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Stuffed breakfast fattie
As people who know me are aware, I'm a big fan of bacon, so when I first encountered the bacon explosion, I had to try one. I immediately ordered one or more and then tried assembling them myself.
I was going to call this the segmented bacon explosion, but apparently the bacon explosion is really a fattie filled with bacon, and what I wanted to try was filling it with other breakfast foods commonly served along side sausage or bacon.
I've already tried making relatively low fat bacon explosions, with turkey bacon for example, and had reasonable luck, so I started with that. Actually, here's my ingredient list:
1 package turkey bacon
1 lb sausage (in this attempt, Bob Evans maple; it's lower in fat than the other brands I've tried)
1 jar Billy Bones BBQ dry rub (you won't need the whole thing)
6 eggs
2 breakfast sausage patties
3-6 French toast fragments
I started by laying out a sheet of wax paper and sprinkling some of the dry rub. Then I constructed a lattice of the turkey bacon (you can see how the real Bacon Explosion is constructed here) and rolled out the sausage until it made a pretty uniform blanket over the bacon.
The sausage patties and French toast fragments were left over from a previous meal, but if you don't have any or if you've only got waffles or something, no worries. I rolled tracks in the raw sausage with the patties so when I rolled the whole thing up I wouldn't have to worry about punching a whole through the meat wall, but you can just set some of the raw sausage aside and do a spackle job later.
Since I only wanted two compartments in my stuffed fattie, I could have used only one sausage pattie to make the partition, but I had hoped putting one at what was going to be the bottom would lend some structural support, since raw processed meat is more like a viscous fluid than any sort of load bearing rigid object.
Right. So, with one patty near one end to mark the bottom and one near the middle, I packed in all the French toast fragments I dared.
I found a bottle with the same diameter I wanted the fattie to be, a bit smaller than the sausage patties, and wrapped it in wax paper and laid it on the sausage blanket in the second partition. I then rolled it up as you would any other bacon explosion.
I tried pinching the sausage shut where I could, sealing the French toast end, and then stood it up on that end and removed the bottle. It slid out of the wax paper easily, but the paper stuck to the greasy blanket a little. I had to try twisting it down into a smaller-diameter roll before I could extract it, but eventually it came out.
Next came the hard part: filling the top compartment with scrambled eggs. You know how to make those up, so I'll skip to the bit where I poured them in and prayed and hoped that the compartment was watertight. A little of the eggs leaked out before I got everything plugged up or pinched off that I could find, but it didn't seem like very much, so into the oven it went for the T and t recommended by the BBQ Addicts. Seriously, if you don't know how hot or long to cook the thing, you should have followed my links to their site a long time ago; only your arteries will regret it.
The result was less than awesome. It was fine, actually, except that during baking, I lost the rest of the eggs. Just a puddle of scrambled egg on the bottom of my cookie sheet.
I've thought about what happened but I haven't made another attempt. I reckon I just couldn't get everything sealed up properly; as plastic as uncooked pork sausage is, it's just prone to delaminating from the bacon lattice while in the green state. Maybe if I'd set aside more sausage at the beginning I could have used it to path obvious or probable holes.
But, even failed experiments are successes of a different kind. I could have filled it up entirely with French toast and had no problem other than making sure I had maple syrup in the house. I could have laid down a layer of cheese and just coiled the thing up like a Yule log.
I'll get back to you on that.
I was going to call this the segmented bacon explosion, but apparently the bacon explosion is really a fattie filled with bacon, and what I wanted to try was filling it with other breakfast foods commonly served along side sausage or bacon.
I've already tried making relatively low fat bacon explosions, with turkey bacon for example, and had reasonable luck, so I started with that. Actually, here's my ingredient list:
1 package turkey bacon
1 lb sausage (in this attempt, Bob Evans maple; it's lower in fat than the other brands I've tried)
1 jar Billy Bones BBQ dry rub (you won't need the whole thing)
6 eggs
2 breakfast sausage patties
3-6 French toast fragments
The sausage patties and French toast fragments were left over from a previous meal, but if you don't have any or if you've only got waffles or something, no worries. I rolled tracks in the raw sausage with the patties so when I rolled the whole thing up I wouldn't have to worry about punching a whole through the meat wall, but you can just set some of the raw sausage aside and do a spackle job later.
Since I only wanted two compartments in my stuffed fattie, I could have used only one sausage pattie to make the partition, but I had hoped putting one at what was going to be the bottom would lend some structural support, since raw processed meat is more like a viscous fluid than any sort of load bearing rigid object.
Right. So, with one patty near one end to mark the bottom and one near the middle, I packed in all the French toast fragments I dared.
I found a bottle with the same diameter I wanted the fattie to be, a bit smaller than the sausage patties, and wrapped it in wax paper and laid it on the sausage blanket in the second partition. I then rolled it up as you would any other bacon explosion.
I tried pinching the sausage shut where I could, sealing the French toast end, and then stood it up on that end and removed the bottle. It slid out of the wax paper easily, but the paper stuck to the greasy blanket a little. I had to try twisting it down into a smaller-diameter roll before I could extract it, but eventually it came out.
Next came the hard part: filling the top compartment with scrambled eggs. You know how to make those up, so I'll skip to the bit where I poured them in and prayed and hoped that the compartment was watertight. A little of the eggs leaked out before I got everything plugged up or pinched off that I could find, but it didn't seem like very much, so into the oven it went for the T and t recommended by the BBQ Addicts. Seriously, if you don't know how hot or long to cook the thing, you should have followed my links to their site a long time ago; only your arteries will regret it.
The result was less than awesome. It was fine, actually, except that during baking, I lost the rest of the eggs. Just a puddle of scrambled egg on the bottom of my cookie sheet.
I've thought about what happened but I haven't made another attempt. I reckon I just couldn't get everything sealed up properly; as plastic as uncooked pork sausage is, it's just prone to delaminating from the bacon lattice while in the green state. Maybe if I'd set aside more sausage at the beginning I could have used it to path obvious or probable holes.
But, even failed experiments are successes of a different kind. I could have filled it up entirely with French toast and had no problem other than making sure I had maple syrup in the house. I could have laid down a layer of cheese and just coiled the thing up like a Yule log.
I'll get back to you on that.
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