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On Crackpot Cooking

Last week I broke one of my kitchen rules: keep the gadgetry to a minimum. I broke it by getting a $30 Crock-Pot at Wal-Mart.

Why: Because I figured out something about my cooking habits: I make one large dish on Sunday, which converts to quick-heating leftovers for the rest of the week. Not a good lifestyle for some, but it's handy for a bachelor like me. I was thinking it might be more energy-efficient if I did that with a Crock-Pot instead of a stove.

This morning I'm trying it out: I'm making something called "New England Boiled Dinner." The recipe seems to be promising.

I have, however, come to one conclusion about cooking. You know what they market the Crock-Pot by saying how convenient it is to come home to dinner already cooked? Well, there's a drawback that their marketing either didn't realize or never bothered to mention:

The best person to use a slow-cooker for dinner is a morning person.

You know the type. They get up at 6 (or earlier), coming out of bed wide awake and raring to go. Children (at least until school starts) tend to be morning people; teenagers tend otherwise.

All the important stuff you need to do--the chopping, the browning of meat, the peeling--has to be done in the morning. You can't really do it the night before because bacteria gets a chance to set in. And you can't really start the actual cooking the night before because even on the "low" setting you risk burning or overcooking.

So you need to set aside at least 20 minutes in the morning for food preparation for dinner in the evening. Which is not easy to do if you're not a morning person. Which is why Crock-Pots get tucked into the attic; how many of us are really good for the morning?

Ah well. The Possum will see how this works, one dish at a time.

On Turkey

Since I'm a Canadian, of course we had Thanksgiving last month. But that shouldn't prevent me from wishing our neighbors across the border a happy holiday.

Thanksgiving, of course, brings up the notion of turkey. As a single urban man, I'm not the type who'd buy a huge bird. (Getting through the leftovers would be absolute murder). I do have a recipe for turkey roll, using a turkey breast flattened by a mallet, but since it's in a book that's still in print I won't reproduce it here in detail.

There is, however, one form of turkey which is perfectly appropriate for middle-aged bachelors to consume.

Happy holidays.

The Old Spaghetti Factory's Spaghetti with Browned Butter & Mizithra Cheese

One of the franchise restaurants I like to eat at is The Old Spaghetti Factory. I've eaten at the franchises in Vancouver, Toronto, and Winnipeg, and I've always found a consistent high quality. This is something to be cherished, in a restaurant franchise.

(I know they started in the States, but my experiences have been mainly with the Canadian franchises. I still think folks should check them out.)

I like the fact that they sell complete meals -- soup or salad, pasta dish, dessert and coffee -- for a set price that's actually pretty low. One dish in particular that I like -- because I have yet to find another restaurant serving it -- is spaghetti with browned butter and Mizitha cheese. ("Legend has it that Homer lived on this toothsome treat for cheese lovers while composing the Iliad. ")

There's something to be said for dressing pasta up simply, rather than using an elaborate sauce. Italians have been known to eat pasta with garlic and black pepper, or garlic and grated cheese. This dish falls into this category--not too heavy, not too light.

Mizitha cheese, of course, isn't something available off the grocery shelf; you need to find a specialty shop. (Of course, if you walk into a shop that says it sells cheese and you find a couple of Greeks dancing in the corner, it won't be there--because you just walked into a Monty Python sketch.) [Ed. note: you couldn't resist that one, could you?] [Sorry!--UrP].

But a shop that sells Greek foodstuffs, or a real cheese specialty store (I found mizithra at a deli in the Byward Market in downtown Ottawa), should have it, since Mizithra comes from Greece. Like feta, it's made from goat's milk. (It also tastes quite a bit saltier than feta, so a little does go a long way if you've never tried it before.) You want to get the aged type, as opposed to the fresh kind which looks like cottage cheese, because aged mizithra lends itself well to grating.

In terms of servings, I've found that if I make an O with my thumb and index finger about the diameter of a 2-dollar coin, I can fit enough dried spaghetti for a one-person meal.

So here's how I duplicate the Factory recipe (for 1 middle-aged person):

Spaghetti with Browned Butter & Mizithra Cheese

1 small handful dried spaghetti
3-4 tbsp unsalted butter (1/2 stick or less)
1-2 cloves garlic, sliced as close to paper-thin as you can (optional)
grated mizithra cheese

1. Cook spaghetti according to package directions.
2. About halfway through the cooking, melt the butter over medium heat in a small saucepan or omelet pan. Add the garlic and gently cook until brown.
3. When the spaghetti is done, drain and put the pasta in a serving platter. Pour the melted butter and garlic over the spaghetti and toss, then add the mizithra cheese on top.

About the amount of cheese to use, there are times when the Factory overdoes it. If you've never tried mizithra before, I'd recommend no more than 2 tablespoons for your first try.

Ideally, for a complete meal you accompany this with a green salad. Spumoni ice cream and coffee come afterwards.

Dr. McCoy's Red Beans & Rice

I suppose that, technically speaking, I'm a Trekkie. (I like the Original Series, and my favorite of the new ones is DS9.)

One of the first cookbooks I owned (and still have) is The Official Star Trek Cooking Manual, "compiled" by Mary Ann Piccard (no apparent relation to Jean-Luc) from the files of Christine Chapel. It was published by Bantam Books (which had the Trek books franchise before Pocket/Simon & Schuster) in 1978.

Bearing in mind that this was written before the movies and subsequent TV shows, it's not a bad read as long as you make allowances: remember that because the author is a "fan," it's "fan fiction," and remember that she's using the point of view of Christin Chapel, who wasn't the strongest of characters in the Original Series.

That having been said, the book holds a couple of advantages over the second Star Trek cookbook, the one by Ethan "Hi, I'm Voyager's Neelix" Phillips and William J. Birnes. The first is a question of scope; Phillips and Birnes seem to have forgotten that not all of us live in Southern California and that some of the ingredients they list for their recipes aren't universally accessible.

The second is something I wish more cookbooks would do, especially if you're using it to teach someone else to cook. Piccard also lists the equipment to be used in making the dishes, which helps a lot in terms of knowing what you need.

The following recipe appears in the book, but doesn't appear in the Original Series. It is, however, a very good recipe, particularly apt for the oncoming winter months. Red beans and rice is of course a traditional Southern dish, which is why Piccard claimed it to be among our Georgia doctor's favorites.

I've modified it just a touch. Piccard recommended using half a package of bacon; I find that three slices work nicely. She also, when using canned beans, puts them in canned juice and all; I find that that's a good way towards recreating a rather infamous scene from the movie Blazing Saddles. That's why I've added a different liquid, in this case beer, to put more liquid into the stewing. This recipe will yield 6-8 servings, depending on appetite.

Red Beans & Rice

3 slices side bacon, cut into matchsticks
1/2 lb. (250 g) ham, diced
1 large onion, chopped
3 sticks celery, chopped (include leaves if you have them)
2 large carrots, sliced thin
1 can condensed beef broth or consommé (use low-salt if you can get it)
1-2 bay leaves (depending on size)
sage
thyme
fresh-ground black pepper
2 19 oz. (540 ml) cans dark red kidney beans, drained and rinsed
1 355 ml can beer (Budweiser or microbrew from the South)
2 tbsp. cornstarch

1. In a large pot over medium heat, fry the bacon until a fair amount of fat melts out. Add the chopped onion, carrot and celery and cook until soft.

2. Add the ham, beef broth, beans, and beer. (You may not need the entire can, just enough to cover everything.) . Bring to a boil.

3. Add seasonings to taste, stir to blend, reduce heat to low, cover and simmer at least 1 hour.

4. Blend the cornstarch with 1/2 cup of water and add to the pot as a thickener. Cook about 5 more minutes.

This is traditionally ladled over plates of long-grain rice (1 cup cooked per serving), and accompanied with a green salad.

Monty Python Fried Rice

There are certain recipes that a guy can make off the top of his head, if he does it often enough. I like fried rice, so when I first moved out to be on my own I learned to make it using a recipe from Stephen Yan, of Wok with Yan fame. Over the years I made it often enough that it pretty much burned into my brain.

It's a Cantonese-style fried rice, as opposed to the Western style that you find at Chinese food places in the mall. The trouble with those places is that they seem to think that fried rice needs to swim in soy sauce. That's pretty much overkill as far as I'm concerned.

While long-grain rice is recommended, any rice (except for instant) will work. Uncle Ben's Converted is especially good for use in this recipe, since it's reasonably quick and you don't need to worry about rinsing it. But I've also made it with Calrose (medium-grain) rice and it's turned out pretty well.

As for the Monty Python part, while people may think of Eric Idle's I Like Chinese, it actually refers to a certain processed meat product that the comedy troupe made famous--or rather, more famous.

Monty Python Fried Rice

3-4 tbsp. peanut or light cooking oil
3-4 cups cooked rice
1/2 tin famous processed meat product, cut into 1/4" cubes
2 tbsp. (or a splash) Chinese cooking liquor (available in Chinatown or large supermarkets) or rice vinegar
1-2 tbsp. Kikkoman or other light soy sauce
1/2 cup frozen peas (these don't need to be thawed)
1 large egg, beaten
1 green onion, minced

1. In a wok or large skillet, heat the oil. Add the processed meat product and stir fry for a few minutes until the meat changes color slightly.

2. Add the rice, stirring it to make sure it doesn't clump (this may happen with medium- and short-grain rice, not so much with Uncle Ben's). Add the cooking liquor or vinegar, soy sauce and peas.

3. Continue to stir-fry until the rice is a uniform color and the peas are thawed.

4. Add the beaten egg, stirring until it congeals and solidifies with the rice.

5. Add the green onions, stir until mixed thoroughly, transfer to a large platter and serve.

Navy Coffee

It's amazing just how prevalent these gourmet coffee shops are. Not just Starbuck's, but Timothy's, Second Cup, Seattle's Best, et cetera. And that's just the franchises operating here in Ottawa. I'll bet there are tons more where you live.

And of course you have the blends. Kona, Dark Roast, Guatemalan, flavored blends like Irish Creme, Hazelnut and Raspberry -- it's getting so that getting coffee is like getting a bottle of wine from a snooty sommelier.

Enough is enough. The Urban Possum's morning preference is a regular cup of coffee--no blends, no roasts specified, nothing exotic. Just plain coffee, thank you very much.

And to brew that coffee right, you need to do it the Navy way.

It's hard to say who came up with the idea -- the Royal Navy, or the United States Navy. (I lean towards the latter.) But whoever came up with it, it's the perfect brew for fulfilling what is coffee's major function--to stimulate the brain into a sense of alertness. This is vitally important when you're trying to work on a pitching ship in the middle of the ocean. And it's no less vital just because the ship you're in is actually the no. 95 bus to downtown.

So, here we go:

1. Use an economy-brand coffee. Mother Parker's, for example, or Chase & Sanborn. If you have to talk in terms of roasts, these brands are a light to medium--perfectly acceptable to a majority of people. Their virtue is that they're cheap--hey, it's Navy coffee. We're talking government suppliers here.

2. Use 2 level tablespoons for each 8-ounce cup. The standard measure for coffee is 1 level tablespoon for a 6-ounce cup. The power of Navy Coffee does not derive from the strength of the roast, but from the amount of coffee used, so as you can see, this one is stronger than most. Some old chiefs like the coffee so strong that it actually seems chewy (that comes from the tannins in the coffee and their effects on the tooth surface), but we don't need to go quite that far.

3. Salt the grounds before you begin brewing. Salt, as in ordinary table salt. The measurement is a pinch, which is about 1/8th to a maximum of 1/4 teaspoon per 5 cups brewed. This is the secret to True Navy coffee: the salt will cut the initial bitterness of the coffee, but takes nothing away from the aroma. Don't worry too much about the taste, Navy coffee won't taste salty unless you use too much of it.

You drink it strong and black--no cream or sugar in the morning, you want that caffeine to hit your brain unencumbered by sweetness or fats. (Afternoon and evening, of course, it's a different story--then you'll need the caloric energy of the sugar and cream to get through the night watch.) It's the kind of coffee that's best served in a heavy china mug--no weak army tin, no wimpy plastic commuter's thermos or styrofoam cup.

Not that is a True Cup of Coffee, Mister Starbuck.

On Airport Food

Note: this is not to be confused with airline food, which will be the topic of a different entry.

People generally accept the following: nobody goes to the airport for a fine dining experience. People eat at an airport because they either skipped a meal in their haste to get to their plane, or because there's an hour wait(or worse) between connections and there's not much else to do.

That having been said, some airport food concessions can really be a pain. I'm talking about the ones who sell a vending machine sandwich for the price of a Denny's chicken-fried steak. There is no way any self-respecting passenger pays that kind of cash for that kind of sustenance (I'm not even sure if it qualifies as food.)

Other concessions, on the other hand, do things better. They know that as fall turns into winter, passengers will prefer a hot meal over a cold one, and they know that passengers expect to pay about the same price as that for a meal at a shopping mall. That's reasonable enough, right?

I mention this because I just got back from a conference in Winnipeg which involved an hour's stopover in Toronto. They finished some major renovations to the terminal this year, involving the installation of a sort of mini-mall. I ran into both kinds of concessions there. Needless to say, I opted for the latter type -- a Chinese noodle bar on the way to Winnipeg, and a burger joint on the way back. The noodles, with chicken and mixed veg, were freshly cooked and pretty good. The burger was frozen meat, but properly grilled with fresh trimmings and thick-cut fries.

Hey -- it beats eating the stuff they actually serve on the airplane.

On Wine & Food Fests

You'll have to forgive me if I seem inebriated. I spent much of the late afternoon at the Ottawa Wine and Food Festival, and am in the middle of the transition from feeling heartburn to feeling hung over.

I like wine and food festivals. They give me a chance to sample food offerings I otherwise wouldn't do in normal life, and try drinks I normally don't have access to. This year they were celebrating "the wines of France," but I found myself more attracted to the California pavilion.

A few observations:

1. Some condiments can be real tests of manhood. I tried a mustard labelled "XXX-Hot" (nothing really salacious about the label) and I must have put too much on the pretzel stick, because it had a real strong effect on the sinuses.

2. Old Scotch whisky does need water.

3. Pernod on bacon-wrapped scallops can make for a spectacular display as long as you have a fire extinguisher on hand.

4. Caribou meat works nicely as a paté.

5. Lobster meat tastes much better hot than cold.

6. White wine washes oysters down better than beer.

The Godfather's Spaghetti Sauce

"Heh, come over here, kid, learn something. You never know, you might have to cook for 20 guys someday. You see, you start out with a little bit of oil. Then you fry some garlic. Then you throw in some tomatoes, tomato paste, you fry it; ya make sure it doesn't stick. You get it to a boil; you shove in all your sausage and your meatballs; heh…? And a little bit o' wine. An' a little bit o' sugar, and that's my trick."

I'm sure everyone knows where that line comes from. (As if the entry title didn't give it away.)

I picked up the DVD of The Godfather a few months back, to replace my 2-cassette VHS edition. Of course I've been a big fan of the novel, having picked it up when I was doing my first degree at UBC.

Now that I'm older, I find myself in admiration of the character who says that line, Peter Clemenza. Mario Puzo describes him as "a jolly dancer," and as played by Richard Castellano, you can see he's got a lot of joie de vivre. He enjoys wine straight from the pitcher, he likes to kid around with superiors and subordinates alike--and make no mistake, he's a tough one. ("Leave the gun. Take the cannolli.")

But note his attitude in the kitchen, before James Caan interrupts him. It's the post-war 1940s, as portrayed in the women's lib 1970s, and this fella's right at home over a stove. This is the attitude of a man who's comfortable in his own skin. Men could do worse than emulate this.

About the recipe, now. The scene with Clemenza appears in the novel, but not the actual recipe. According to the DVD commentary, the recipe came from Francis Ford Coppola, who directed the film. He says he put the recipe in the script because, if the film flopped, at least whoever saw it would learn how to make spaghetti sauce. In other words, this is meant to be an Important Scene.

There are some clues as to proportions that aren't mentioned. Clemenza is talking to Mikey just as he's emptying two cans of tomatoes into the sauce. That tells us the proportions he's using. When he adds the sausages and meatballs, you realize from their color that they've already been cooked. He splashes in wine straight from the jug, and it's a deep red wine. The sugar is dumped in from a measuring cup, and it looks to be about a quarter-cup.

So. Here's how the recipe looks, to serve 8 to 10 people:

Spaghetti Sauce

2 tbsp. olive oil
2-4 cloves garlic, chopped
2 large (28-ounce) cans tomatoes (whole, crushed or chopped)
1 10-ounce or 2 6-ounce cans tomato paste
3 to 4 Italian sausages, grilled and sliced
1 lb. cooked meatballs (use your favorite recipe)
Dry red wine
1/4 cup sugar

1. Heat the oil over medium heat in a large pot.
2. Add garlic and cook for a few minutes. Do not let the garlic burn.
3. Add tomatoes and tomato paste. Cook for about 5 minutes, stirring continuously so that a relatively smooth consistence is reached.
4. Add sausages and meatballs. Stir until the meat is coated.
5. Add a splash of red wine, then the sugar according to taste.
6. Reduce heat to medium-low and let simmer for a minimum of 20 minutes, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching.
7. Serve by ladling over cooked pasta.

Tip: If you have normally have problems with gas after eating a sauce like this, you can reduce them by skimming the surface of acid (reddish-orange pools of foam will form on the surface).

Tip 2: If you're using canned whole tomatoes, draining them and then crushing them by hand will result in a chunky sauce. Canned crushed tomatoes will create a slightly thinner sauce, while canned chopped tomatoes will result in a thicker sauce.

Pierre Berton's Corned Beef Hash

Of the four recipes written by Canadian author Pierre Berton in the 1950s, this is the one I use the most often. Mainly it's because the basic ingredients are cheap and readily available, but also because with a few modifications it makes for an acceptable breakfast or dinner.

I'll be quoting from the text to give you an idea of what he's like:

Its components are proletarian: the lowly potato, the humble onion, and the same bully beef which is said to have won the first Great War for our side -- the Spam of its era, the subject of a thousand wry jokes and Bairnsfather cartoons and some nostalgic and old memories told by the fireside.

Why corned beef has cannot be made of fresh corned beef, I cannot tell, but it is a fact that in this instance, the tinned stuff is far better.

Fortunately, we can tell. Canned corned beef is already ground, prior to its being salted, cooked, pressed into shape and canned. This means the particles crumble and blend better with other ingredients.

So open a tin of it and crumble the contents into a large bowl ... I would suggest that you marinate the meat overnight in red wine, but alas, the desire for corned beef hash comes upon you so suddenly that it is almost fashioned in the white heat of passion.

One very much wonders if Mr. Berton isn't trying to parody the food writers of his generation.

So you chop up a large potato and a large onion, dicing them into tiny, tiny pieces ... Only careful and loving chopping will produce this effect, an attention to detail that is amply repaid also in the case of hash brown and Lyonnaise potatoes, one of which is almost mandatory with steak or ham and eggs.

We can vary this a bit; I'd suggest 2 potatoes, each about the size of a tight fist. Pretty much any type of potato (except for the golf-ball-sized new potatoes) can be used. If you find the idea of chopping time-consuming, you can also use the large hole side of a grater.

... Mix the onion and potato with the corned beef, break a raw egg over the result, and mix again. Then add about two tablespoons of red wine -- a good dry Canadian claret or a Chianti.

If you've ever seen the price of Chianti these days, you'll stick with regular table wine -- a Carlo Rossi red, for example.

Season gently with freshly ground black pepper, celery salt, chopped parsley and monosoium glutamate.

We can leave out the MSG, and a teasponful of dried parsley works wonders here. At this stage you could also add a tablespoonful of minced jalapeno peppers, for a Southwestern flavor.

Now sift a small amount of pancake flour into the mixture; not too much, just enough to hold it together. Mix again.

A heaping tablespoon of Bisquick will do the job here.

Once that's all incorporated, you're ready to cook. Mr. Berton recommends a cast-iron skillet, but I use a small frying pan that's a couple of inches smaller in diameter than a dinner platter.

Mr. Berton also likes to cook an egg on top of his hash, but I find the hash filling enough on its own.

Anyway, here's how the whole dish works out in convention recipe form:

Pierre Berton's Corned-Beef Hash

1 can corned beef
2 large potatoes
1 large onion
1 egg
2 tbsp dry red wine
1 tsp fresh ground pepper
1 tsp celery salt
1 tsp dried parsley flakes
1 tbsp Bisquick mix
dry mustard

1. Crumble the corned beef into a mixing bowl.

2. Chop finely or grate the potatoes and onion and add to the bowl. Mix together, break and add the egg, and mix again.

3. Add the red wine, seasonings and Bisquick mix, taking care to mix everything together after each addition.

4. Heat up a skillet. Add oil or use a cooking spray, then ladle the hash into the skillet. You can either form them into patties or fill the entire skillet, depending on its size.

5. Cook for about 10 minutes per side, brushing dry mustard on the top surface while it's cooking. When done, slide onto a platter and serve.

Yield: 4 servings

Iron Wok Jan's Green Pepper Beef

One of the more interesting manga on the market today is ComicsOne's Iron Wok Jan. It's about a teenage prodigy who's an arrogant genius when it comes to cooking. Volume 6 is noteworthy because it features a recipe that looks easy to make in North America.

In the book, Jan (the aforementioned teenage prodigy) is asked by his friend Takao to teach the latter how to cook (Takao's been working at Jan's restaurant for over a year, but still hasn't mastered the basics). Jan agrees and then explains the 3 basic principles of Chinese cooking to Takao while he shows him how to make a homespun dish called "green pepper beef."

A note of caution: because the author Shinji Saijyo is not a professional cook, you do need to take everything he writes with a grain of salt. It's like the manga authors who write about martial arts techniques who aren't really black belts, but invent a move because it looks cool on the page.

Anyway, back to the lesson: Jan's three principles are lian guo (heating and preparing a wok), pao you (cooking in oil), and wan xian (seasoning).

Lian guo refers to heating the wok, putting oil in to coat the wok, disposing of that oil (to get rid of any food residue from previous use), and then adding more oil to the heated wok. (Apparently the Japanese are not fond of the concept of "wok hey.")

For pao you, Jan has Takao toss in some marinated meat and vegetables, in what looks to be about a cup of oil in the wok, heated to medium. I found this interesting because the ingredients for the marinade are easy to get in the West: salt, pepper, water, baking soda, egg and cornstarch.

It's the same case with the seasoning mixture, wan xian. The ingredients listed are sake (rice wine), soy sauce, pepper, sugar, soup (I'm guessing beef broth), scallions (green onions) and cornstarch.

Well, the illustrations looked simple enough, so I worked up the nerve to try it. I skipped the lian guo part, opting for my Urban Peasant method of heating the wok dry before putting oil in. As it turns out, this version isn't really a stir-fry, but it worked out into the consistency of a thick stew with the vegetables still crunchy. You can ladle this over steamed rice.

Here's how it works out, for 4 to 5 servings:

Green Pepper Beef

1 lb. (500 g) flank steak, cut into pieces the size of dominoes
6 dried Chinese mushrooms
2 green bell peppers
1 cooking onion (optional)
1/2 cup peanut or corn oil

Marinade:
1/2 cup water
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ground pepper
1 tablespoon baking soda
1 tablespoon cornstarch
1 egg, beaten
1 tablespoon sesame oil

Seasoning:
1 cup beef broth
1 green onion, minced
dash mirin (sweet cooking rice wine)
dash of light soy sauce
1 tsp. ground pepper
1 tsp. sugar
2 tbsp. cornstarch

1. Combine the marinade ingredients together and marinate the beef for a minimum of 20 minutes in the refrigerator. At the same time, soak the mushrooms in boiling water.

2. While the mushrooms and beef are soaking, cut the green peppers and onions into bite-sized pieces; julienned slices would be ideal. Also, make the seasoning mixture by combining the ingredients together in a separate container (a large measuring cup will work).

3. Heat the wok, dry, over medium heat. While the wok is heating, take out the soaked mushrooms, cut off and discard the stems and cut into matchstick slices.

4. Pour in 1/2 cup of oil and swirl it around the wok.When the wok oil is heated (if you stick a chopstick in the oil, bubbles will form), put in the mushrooms and stir them around for a few seconds, then put the beef (including marinade) in. Brown the beef in the oil, stirring with a spatula to make sure that the pieces don't clump together.

5. When you're satisfied that the meat is cooked, put the remaining vegetables in. Mix the meat and vegetables together, stirring constantly, for about 5 minutes.

6. Pour in the seasoning, mixing everything together. Cover and let simmer for about 3 more minutes, then give the dish a final stir and transfer to a large plate. Serve over steamed rice.