The Urban Possum

On Jamie Oliver's Flavour Shaker

2007-08-12T08:53:00.000-04:00

My normal policy is to steer clear of so-called "celebrity cookware" -- you know, the name-endorsed line of stuff like Emerilware(TM) pots and Rachael Ray pans and Alton Brown knives. Yes, they're expensive and some of the pieces even look pretty good, but deep down you have to ask yourself: does the name in question make any difference in the functioning of the piece in question? Most of the time the answer is no.

With one exception.

I wouldn't go anywhere near Jamie Oliver's T-Fal endorsed line of pots. Or his pasta-machine, or his ceramicware. But I do like his Flavour Shaker. (The product also has a Canadian site, but I've yet to locate the U.S. one.)

First off, it's a very unique piece of design that, if you believe Jamie's story, he came up with himself; no cookware company approached him to lend his name to something they just developed. That's fairly unique among celebrity chefs, claiming to have invented something.

Second, it's simple and functional. It's just a two-piece super-high-impact plastic bottle that holds a heavy ceramic ball. When you shake the thing, the ball spins and tumbles inside, crushing hard spices like peppercorns and cloves, pulverizing garlic and shredding leaves of basil.

The hard spice part -- yes, it does a pretty good job on that. Garlic -- well, that will depend on the size of the clove you load into it; smaller gloves can pulverize, larger ones not so much. (What does help is putting in a little olive oil prior to the vertical shake.)

As for the leaves: not really by themselves, it won't work. You need to add something like large crystal salt or peppercorns before larger leaves actually start to shred.

It's meant to replace the mortar and pestle that's traditionally used to grind spices, but because it's a bottle you can also emulsify liquids with it. So it's a little easier to make salad dressing: pop in your herbs and spices, shake, then add your oil and vinegar and shake again, open it up and take out the ball and pour over your prepared salad.

There are really only two major drawbacks to this. First, if you're working with liquids it can be a little messy fishing the ball out once you're done. Second, you're limited by volume so you won't be able to crush a huge amount. But these are really minor quibbles.

The major quibble is product quality. There've been reports round the Net that the plastic 'round the joining edges isn't as durable as it should be. Also the sealing ring can be prone to major deformation if you use the dishwasher to wash it.

The price? Around $35 CDN including taxes. Which is pretty heavy considering its low-tech mode, but if you think of it as a spice mill then the price becomes competitive with electric-powered mills. (Me, I'd like to see if I can grind coffee beans with this thing.)

Going Dutch

2006-10-08T13:19:00.000-04:00

Last month I decided to replace another stand-by of mine, an old Rival jumbo frypan with a non-stick coating that was definitely wearing out. Rather than get a second pan, I opted for a Dutch over. Specifically, a Lodge cast-iron Dutch oven with the Pro-Logic nonstick coating.

I wanted a Dutch oven because I thought it'd be a good idea to get something that could handle both stovetop and oven use, and I didn't feel like paying an arm and a leg for a Creuset casserole.

Now there are a couple of places around its lid where that coating's been slightly chipped (may have happened during shipping), but apart from that I'm finding cooking with it a relative hoot. Making niku-jaga (a sort of Japanese beef stew) and chili turned out to be a breeze, and the actual pot-washing afterwards was much easier than I thought. Mind you, I've yet to try baking or roasting with it, but I do have a couple of recipes that I definitely want to try out.

Taking it camping? Well, maybe next year ...

Not Really Impressed By Pasta Express

2006-07-16T09:41:00.000-04:00

The other day, I picked up a Pasta Express cannister at the local Linens 'N'Things. At $14 CDN, it seems like a reasonable price (and not all that much wasted if the product turned out to be a burn.)

Why did I buy this? Mainly because I spotted a virtue that those informercials don't seem to harp about. Pasta Express is actually a bit of a misnomer; it's not so much a time saver as it is an energy saver. It takes less energy to boil water in an electric kettle than it does on the stove, and that sort of thing's important if you eat pasta as often as I do.

So, does it work?

Answer: sort of. The cannister cooks pasta by keeping the water hot, letting that soak into the food item to be cooked. It's not a true vacuum bottle because heat still radiates from the container (which is why they provide an insulation sleeve), but enough of the heat is retained so that the dried pasta will go soft.

The main trouble with Pasta Express is that while water stays hot, it doesn't circulate around the food item as boiling water would. This is important because the circulating water rinses out some of the surface starches in the pasta, which reduces the stickiness. Since circulation doesn't happen in the Pasta Express, you can potentially wind up with a sticky mess, particularly with short pasta like macaroni.

There are two ways to get round this. The first is to stir the pasta with either a long chopstick or a long spoon for maybe 10 seconds before clamping the lid. The second is to add some oil to the pasta before adding water. While those two methods can reduce the stickiness, it still won't be the same as a steady boil.

The other concern with Pasta Express is that, while water will stay hot during the cooking process, the temperature will still decline, even though it's at a very slow rate. This means you have to remember to add a couple of minutes cooking time, compared with the steady boil.

So is it a waste of money? I'd say not, so long as you know what you're going to use it for. I do see this as a good way of cooking long vegetables like asparagus, so it won't go into the Salvation Army bin just yet.

Well, This Gives New Meaning to "Leftover Pasta"

2005-10-12T15:13:00.000-04:00

From the Associated Press, via The Globe and Mail:

A 4,000-year-old bowl of noodles has been discovered at an archeological site in western China, possible proof for the argument that China invented pasta before Italy.

“These are definitely the earliest noodles ever found,” said Lu Houyuan, a researcher with the Institute of Geology in Beijing who studied the ingredients of the pristinely preserved pasta.

The discovery of the delicate yellow noodles in Minhe County in China's western province of Qinghai is reported in this week's edition of Nature magazine.

“Chinese people say Marco Polo brought noodles from China back to Italy, and Italians say they had noodles before that,” Mr. Lu said. “All this has been based on documentary material, on personal accounts and menus. But we've been unable to find any actual material – until now.”

The fist-size clump of noodles was found inside an overturned bowl under three metres of sediment from a flood that researchers suspect wiped out the Qijia Culture of the Late Neolithic era.

When researchers lifted up the bowl, they discovered the 50-centimetre-long noodles sitting atop an inverted cone of clay that had sealed the bowl, it said.

The noodles were made from a dough of two local varieties of millet – broomcorn and foxtail millet – rather than the more common wheat or rice. The dough was pulled into long strands before being boiled.

I've eaten pulled noodles before -- there are a couple of places in Burnaby, B.C. that specialise in fresh noodles made this way out of wheat flour.

Mind you, I'd hate to think what an accompanying egg roll would look like ...

Senate Bean Soup

2005-10-10T11:01:00.000-04:00

Seeing as how it's Thanksgiving Day in Canada (Columbus Day in the U.S.), I thought I'd try out a new slow cooker recipe. (Not to do with turkey; as I've mentioned earlier, this is the only turkey I can handle on Thanksgiving.)

No, what I've decided to do is adapt an official U.S. government recipe for bean soup.

I hadn't realized that the U.S. Senate had an official recipe for bean soup, but here it is -- not one, but two versions. Note that both versions are meant to feed 100 senators, so I felt justified in cutting down some of the amounts a fair bit.

Senate Bean Soup (for Crock-Pot users)

2 cups dried navy beans
1 smoked pork hock
2 onions, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 stick celery, chopped
1 small handful fresh Italian parsley, chopped fine
1/2 cup instant mashed potato flakes

1. Soak the beans overnight in cold water.
2. In the morning, rinse off the ham hock and place in slow cooker. Rinse off the beans and add to cooker along with onion, garlic, celery and parsley. Stir and add enough water to cover the meat.
3. Cook on low setting for 6-8 hours.
4. Remove the hock and cut the meat off the bone. Raise slow cooker setting to high, return the meat to the cooker, and add potato flakes as well as additional water if necessary. Stir, cover and cook for another 10 minutes.

Wok Shopping

2005-09-11T09:20:00.000-04:00

Last week I went shopping for a wok, to replace one I've had for 15 years. (I improperly seasoned it the first time out, by coating it with oil and baking it in the oven; I won't make that mistake again.)

I've pretty much followed the recommendations of all the experts and gone with a carbon steel wok. Cast iron's heavy and I don't trust any that come with directions saying not to heat too high; stir-fries require high heat.

Oddly enough, I couldn't find what I wanted in out local Chinatown. Woks can be arranged in two different ways: with a long stick handle like a pan, or with two wire handles like a pot. The latter design is actually more "authentic" in that it's what most Chinese restaurants use; but I like the idea of a wooden handle that's less likely to burn the hand. I wound up finding it at a cookware discount store in Billings Bridge Mall, for less than $15 CDN.

This time I've seasoned it properly, scrubbing out the protective coating and using oil on a portable gas stove top. (Note: trying to season a wok on an electric heat element doesn't work very well.) Seasoning a wok does 2 things: it's supposed to prevent rusting, and it adds a non-sticky surface.

So far it's worked out well--I've made fried rice and the seasoning seems to be holding. Just to be sure though, I plan to use only my portable gas burner when stir-frying (on an electric ceramic element, the wok tends to take too long to reach optimum temperature).

I fully expect to get 15 years' worth of performance out of this one.

On Tetra-Packed Wine

2005-08-12T13:31:00.000-04:00

The LCBO is now selling French wine in tetra-packs, the type of packaging normally used with juice boxes and ready-to-use chicken broth:

This new container reduces packaging waste about 90% over bottled wine and costs much less to recycle than coloured glass. Also, it would take over 25 trucks filled with bottles to equal just one truck filled with empty Tetra Pak containers – just imagine the reduction in fuel and CO2 emissions.

With French Rabbit, only 4% of what you're bringing home is packaging (vs about 40% for bottled wine.) There's no glass, no cork, no label, no adhesive – just the wonderful wine and the pack. That's why the LCBO can offer a 1L Tetra Pak containers for $12.95, the same price as a 750 mL bottle – that gives you about 2 extra glasses of wine.

Actually, this isn't the first time the LCBO sold wine in a tetra pack. About fifteen years ago there was a brand called Vintner's Choice, which featured a litre of white wine in a tetra-pack that you opened by snipping a corner off with scissors. Which meant you had an open pack of wine in the fridge that couldn't be stoppered (unless you wanted to use Scotch tape).

Nowadays, though, these new packs have plastic screw tops, so limiting wine exposure to air is less of a problem.

I will say that I'm not completely convinced about the environmental argument -- how much energy does it take to make the tetra-pack, compared with the bottle? -- but I'm willing to try anything new at least once.

This past weekend, I tried the White Rabbit Chardonnay and Merlot. They're not spectacular -- you wouldn't necessarily try to impress a girlfriend or a client with 'em -- but the red goes well with cheese curds and the Chardonnay's just fine for washing down chicken stew.

Funnily enough, I can see a market for this: it's what I'd call cottage wine, or campground wine. It's the type of wine you'd take to a cottage or a campsite when you're not sure of the roads and you figure getting a bottle of wine out there's going to result in a broken bottle in the trunk of your SUV or in your backpack.

Which, considering that this is supposed to be cheap table wine, ain't so bad.

On Corn

2005-07-28T14:52:00.000-04:00

Around this time of year is the best time for fresh corn-on-the-cob in Ontario.

Last week I tried to get some, but couldn't; I'd gotten there too late. Oh, there were still corn cobs in the produce section. But they were all half-shucked. I dunno why, but people are still in the habit of yanking off the husks to check the insides when they buy corn.

I don't. I feel the cob without peeling; if it's firm enough I add it to the basket. (It's also good to check the silk at the top of the cob; if it's too dry it's too old.)

Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe is the one who put it best: "Shucked and boiled in water, sweet corn is edible and nutritious; roasted in husk in the hottest possible oven for forty minutes, shucked at the table, buttered and salted, nothing else, it is ambrosia."

I have to agree, though I do make a couple of changes. First, I soak the cobs for 20 minutes in water, in an oval roasting pan. Then, I drain the cobs and put the pan in the oven at 450 degrees, for 40 minutes.

The husks come out blackened, but easy to peel off, same with the silk. And the end makes a convenient handle. Add butter, and "ambrosia" becomes an appropriate term.

I plan to roast corn this weekend. I just have to remember to get to the grocery early -- before the shuckers make a mess of things again.

James Bond's Martini

2005-06-26T12:26:00.000-04:00

Last week I made a venture into Atlantic City. I spent most of last Monday walking along the Boardwalk (looking for the intersection with Park Place, as well as title deeds ;) ), and along the way I stopped at Bally's Bikini Beach Bar. (Hey -- as a bachelor, I'm allowed to look at bikini babes. Wouldn't you agree?)

Anyway, at the bar they had this nice deal for certain drinks like the Atlantic City Sunset. Since they make'em in plastic cocktail shakers, for $10 U.S. you get the drink and you also get to keep the shaker. Somehow I wound up with two.

Now that I own a pair of cocktail shakers, naturally I thought I'd try making a cocktail. Since I'm also a James Bond fan (having written about two of his consumptive items before), I thought I'd try to make the classic item associated with 007: his martini.

In Casino Royale, Bond gives his definitive recipe for a martini. Using a champagne goblet (rather than the traditional martini glass), Bond's "Vesper" calls for the following:

3 measures Gordon's Gin
1 measure Vodka
1/2 measure Kina Lillet (a brand of vermouth)

Shaken, not stirred, in a cocktail shaker with plenty of ice and served with a large, thin lemon peel.

Kina Lillet is not a popular brand of vermouth, so I substituted Martini & Rossi's dry version. Also, when I made my liquor purchases I'd forgotten that Bond had specified a brand of gin, so I wound up using Tanqueray instead of Gordon's. And since no brand of vodka was specified, I used Stolichnaya since it was on sale.

I'll say this much: this is a very strong drink. I don't have martini glasses, but with the ice it pretty much fills an old-fashioned glass. It's the type of drink that requires an elephantine constitition to deal with properly. Mind you, it's not a bad-tasting martini; it's just that it's a pretty strong one.

No wonder Sean Connery quit the job ...

On Lobster

2005-06-15T14:41:00.000-04:00

Last week I found out it was lobster season.

In an age when freezing technology makes seafood possible all year round, my concept of lobster season was sort of fuzzy. However, when the local pubs start selling lobster for $13 CDN each, I decided to go for it. (As it turns out, May and June are the optimum months for fresh lobster. I honestly did not know this.

Lobster, of course, is not one of those dishes people eat all the time. It's pretty expensive for most of the rest of the year, and I admit I'm one of those people who's squeamish about boiling something alive. For that reason I'm generally glad to eat lobster in a restaurant rather than cooking it myself.

Because of its association with shrimp, lobster probably has a reputation as being one of those foods that gets put on a "do not eat" list for people who have to watch their cholesterol. Thing is, most of the cholesterol in a lobster is in the head. I don't know anyone who eats lobster heads, do you?

On Pernod

2005-05-23T15:10:00.000-04:00

Licorice is what one calls an acquired taste. I don't know too many kids who like it, but I can start to understand its popularity when alcohol's involved. (It says something about a flavor when you have to be drunk to enjoy it.)

I've tasted a few licorice-flavored liquors: Sambucco. Anisette. The one I'm working on now is Pernod from France; I remember it from seeing it used in cooking. Apparently it's also used as an after-dinner apéritif, though I'm not clear why.

It's yellow, compared with other licorice liquors. It's also the only one in my experience that tends to set the insides on fire. Not a good burn like chili; more like the type of burn you get when something's not digesting properly. (That's why I think it's not good after dinner.)

Ah well. Perhaps I'll try to cook something with it.

On Making Submarine Sandwiches

2005-04-25T18:43:00.000-04:00

Due to a strict examination of my bank account, I have had to give up eating out at lunch and have taken to brown-bagging. However, not wanting to make a normal sandwich, I decided I'd try my hand at making a Subway type Italian sandwich. It's not hard, but it does require some thinking.

First, there's the question of bread. I don't normally eat foot-long subs, so I used the jumbo hot-dog rolls that are used for oversized sausages. It turned out okay.

The meat wasn't a problem either. Maple Leaf sells pre-sliced cold cuts for both pizza and hero sandwiches. I used the ones for pizza because there is such a thing as overdosing on turkey. Besides, the slices for pizza fit the bun better.

Cheese? Sure, pre-sliced mozzarella. Adds a tang to the overall flavor.

The question is one of vegetables. Subway uses a variety of veggies, but there's only so much one can fit into a jumbo hot-dog bun.

Lettuces, of course. For a single guy, a head would be too much, but the pre-washed lettuce from Dole works nicely.

Tomatoes, too; Camparis are the perfect size for this type of sandwich.

Onions? I went for red onions, sliced as thin as I could manage as opposed to the McDonald's super-chopped.

And green peppers. An Italian sandwich doesn't have the same bite without sliced green peppers.

Altogether? It worked like a charm, I think Peter Clemenza or Henry Hill would be proud.

James Bond's Coffeemaker

2005-04-08T08:10:00.000-04:00

In the Ian Fleming novel From Russia With Love, we learn that superspy James Bond likes his breakfast coffee brewed in "an American Chemex." The novel was written in 1957; imagine my surprise upon learning that Chemex is still around.

For those not in the know, a Chemex is a manual-drip coffeemaker. It's a pretty shape, but it's still a manual-drip coffeemaker. However, for Bond aficionados, it's an affordable manual-drip coffeemaker. We may not be able to own Aston Martins or Minton china (let alone all those impossible gadgets from Q Branch) but at $35, a Bond fan can own a Chemex.

There are two basic types: the Classic series (machine-blown glass) and the Handblown series (which is thicker and therefore sturdier). I ordered, and got, the 6-Cup Classic, which is ideal for making 2 big mugs of coffee. The Classic, though made of thinner glass, is still reasonably sturdy compared with most other glassware.

Let's say, first off, that this is not a coffeemaker for the last minute dash commuter. (Of course, they'd stop at a dépanneur en route to work for coffee anyway.) It's more for the type of people who liked to play with their food when they were little, pretending to be mad scientists. (The thing was invented by a chemist, after all.) Because of this, it's a fun way to make coffee: fun to fold the special filter, fun to pour in the water and gauge the coffee strength. Certainly a lot more fun than an auto-drip coffeemaker or percolator.

Much of the fun comes from the fact that the whole thing is glass, except for the wood collar which you use as a handle. This means you see the coffeemaking process as you pour the hot water in. (There are detailed instructions on how to brew Chemex coffee here, which are a little different from the manufacturer's directions.) Cleanup is also pretty simple; rinse the Chemex out with hot water from your kettle and let it air-dry, and you're good to go for the next day.

I like this Chemex, and recommend it for Bond fans. There are far less expensive manual drip coffeemakers around, but I bet they aren't as fun.

On Baby Duck

2005-03-26T17:56:00.000-05:00

The Canadian Museum of Civilization has this exhibit going on about the history of wine. No, no wine tastings or anything like that, but a lot of pottery and glassware with lots of documentation showing this history of wine worldwide.

This being Canada, of course there's a section on the Canadian wine industry. One thing that surprised me was a display on Andre's Baby Duck wine.

Baby Duck is technically a sweet sparkling wine. It's also what people call a "soda pop" wine, because that's pretty much what it tastes like. A fruity pop with a slight kick.

Back in the 1970s -- before it became fashionable to be sophisticated about wine -- Baby Duck was one of Canada's most popular wines. I suppose you could say Duck was the equivalent of Ripple Wine in the States.

I remember drinking Baby Duck when I was in my teens. My parents liked to serve it for holiday dinners like Easter and Christmas, and they allowed us kids to have a small glass each on the theory that there wasn't enough alcohol in it to do us harm.

A couple of days ago, I saw they were still selling the brand, and I bought a bottle. Still dark, still bubbly, still tastes a lot like soda pop that I can imaging some restaurant wine stewards shuddering at the thought.

Still, it does go nicely with a light salad and sandwich. It won't ever be my regular drink, but a little Baby Duck now and then does make for a nice change of pace, especially during the summer months.

Random Thoughts on Beer

2005-03-21T11:27:00.000-05:00

-- Whoever came up with the idea of dropping green dye into beer for St. Patrick's Day ought to be shot. Beer is the kind of drink that should not be polluted for the sake of appearances.

-- The proper beer for St. Patrick's Day is, of course, something from Ireland. Guinness, of course, comes to mind; but for those who find it a little strong (not to mention chewy), Harp Ale or Kilkenney will do just as well.

-- Ian Fleming's secret agent James Bond drank much more than just martinis. When in Jamaica he occasionally had a bottle of Red Stripe beer, while in the States he preferred Miller High Life.

-- Beer is an ideal ingredient for use in stewing beef, because it acts as a tenderizer (something about yeast carbonation being an aid to breaking down protein).

-- Dark colored beers are best in winter; light-colored beers are best in summer.

-- If you want a fruit-flavored beer (i.e. lemon or lime), you are better off pushing a wedge of either fruit into a freshly opened bottle and pouring the results into a glass, than ordering a pre-flavored beer. (It's the outer skin which contains the flavoring oils.)

-- Limes go better with beer than lemons.

-- I think I could go for a drink just now.

James Bond's Scrambled Eggs

2005-03-08T18:10:00.000-05:00

I'm not kidding. Author Ian Fleming actually attached a recipe for scrambled eggs in his James Bond short story, "007 in New York" (reprinted in the Penguin editions of Octopussy and The Living Daylights).

In gastronomical terms, Bond is probably better known for his martini (shaken, not stirred) rather than for his eggs (which are stirred, not shaken). It's still a nice recipe, though, and a lot less complicated than the Nero Wolfe version (which uses a double boiler and takes 40 minutes to make).

Fleming is probably one of the first 20th-century authors who used "branding" in his output: mentioning certain products by name that Bond liked to use. It wasn't because he was paid to do so; it's just that he used the products himself or read about them, and figured to establish his super-agent (as well as other characters such as CIA agent Felix Leiter and 007's boss M) as men of discriminating taste, much like himself. (It's one of the reasons why 007 always likes brown eggs as opposed to white.)

Accompaniments for scrambled eggs, for Bond, included champagne (his preference was Tattinger's but any sparkling wine would work out), buttered toast points, and smoked salmon (007 preferred the latter from Scotland and not Nova Scotia, but it's easier to get the latter in Canada). Not to mention a pretty girl in a bed, but we needn't go into that.

I've added a few annotations in the event that you don't have four individualists to feed, but just yourself and Jill St. John (or Ursula Andress, or Maryam d'Abo, or Halle Berry, or you can insert your own personal substitution here).

Scrambled Eggs James Bond

For four individualists:

12 fresh eggs [or 3 eggs per person]
Salt and pepper
5-6 oz. of fresh butter [about a stick and a half, or 3 tbsp. per person]
Chives or fines herbes

Break the eggs into a bowl. Beat thoroughly with a fork and season well with salt and pepper. In a small copper (or heavy bottomed saucepan) melt 4 oz. [half a stick] of the butter. When melted, pour in the eggs and cook over a very low heat, whisking continuously with a small egg whisk.

While the eggs are slightly more moist than you would wish for eating, remove the pan from heat, add the rest of the butter and continue whisking for half a minute, adding at the same time finely chopped chives or fines herbes. Serve on hot buttered toast in individual copper dishes (for appearance only) with pink champagne (Taittinger) and low music.

On Chili

2005-03-06T09:11:00.000-05:00

Would you believe me if I told you that the Bible mentions chili?

Have a look at this passage, II Kings 4: 38-41:

When Elisha returned to Gilgal, there was a famine in the land. As the sons of the prophets were sitting before him, he said to his servant, "Put on the large pot and boil stew for the sons of the prophets."

Then one went out into the field to gather herbs, and found a wild vine and gathered from it his lap full of wild gourds, and came and sliced them into the pot of stew, for they did not know what they were.

So they poured ikt out for the men to eat. And it came about as they were eating of the stew, that they cried out and said, "O man of God, there is death in the pot." And they were unable to eat.

But he said, "Now bring meal." And he threw it into the pot, and he said, "Pour it out for the people that they may eat." Then there was no harm in the pot.

"Death in the pot." Now that's about as good a description of "he-man" chili as I've ever seen.

Chili is nothing but a stew: meat and spices. Like curry and hot-and-sour soup, it's a dish that's also a test of manhood: Real Men use so much hot spices that if you can eat it, if there isn't hair on your chest there should be. (Unless of course you're a female.)

There are thousands of chili recipes out there. I've got at least half-a-dozen at home that I've tried. Some I like, some not so much. There are, of course, a few things I've noticed when making chili:

1. Chili needs cumin. Cumin (either in seed form or ground) adds a backbone to chili, gives it the sensation of solidity that the heat can be anchored from. Most canned chilis (and a lot of fast food versions) use cumin a lot.

2. Chili needs chili powder. You can make chili without resorting to the fresh hot peppers such as jalapenos or Scotch bonnets, as long as you have a good chili powder to use. (Powder, not sauce; commercial chili sauces tend to be weak.) Different powders have varying degrees of heat.

3. You don't need beef. If you're using ground meat, ground chicken, turkey or pork will work just as well as ground beef.

4. Chili is better with beans. Those of you from Texas, put away your nooses, tar and feathers; it is not a blasphemy to mix in beans with chili. You need a different texture to contrast with the meat in any case, and red kidney or romano beans work remarkably well.

5. You can cool down a "too hot" chili. It's not too hard, really. Remember what Elisha did? Certain starches will absorb some of the acidity that contributes to the hotness of chili. Beans for example, but also corn kernels.

You can also tone down the heat by using something sweet (or something associated with sweetness). Honey or molasses work well enough. So do mint leaves, or unsweetened cocoa powder. Altoids, on the other hand, aren't a good idea.

And remember: milk cools taste buds better than water for washing down a bowl of red.

On Nalgenes

2005-03-06T08:58:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago I picked up a couple of pint-sized Nalgene water bottles. Possibly I'm following a trend: the younger people at my Naval Reserve unit have been bringing these bottles in during their training.

One of them liked the firefly yellow color, which I thought bizarre because it reminds my of a specimen bottle for urine testing. The first one I bought was violet, because in certain kinds of light it turns into a vivid blue (a more appropriate color for water). The second one was the more stable slate blue. (I take the blue bottle to Reserve training because as far as I can tell no one else is using that color.)

Actually I find them quite useful. Certainly the water doesn't taste like it just came out of an Army canteen. And they're a convenient size to tuck into a shoulder bag; if you fill it at home with filtered tap water, you won't need to buy bottled water during the day. It may be a fashion trend, but it's one of those trends with practical value.

There've been some concerns expressed over the product safety of these bottles, but I'm inclined to dismiss them. Animal research is a useful indicator, but the applicability to humans is minimal at best.

Anyway, if you haven't done so already, you may want to think about Nalgenes for carrying water if you're working out or need water refreshment during the day.

A Gonzo Breakfast / Gonzo Glaucoma

2005-02-22T22:52:00.000-05:00

The late Dr. Hunter S. Thompson, who died by his own hand earlier this week, was not famous for writing about food. However, there are a couple of passages worthy of note here.

The first is his view of the ritual of breakfast, written in 1976:

I like to eat breakfast alone, and almost never before noon: anybody with a terminally jangled lifestyle needs at least 1 psychic anchor every 24 hours, and mine is breakfast. In Hong Kong, Dallas, or at home -- and regardless of whether or not I have been to bed -- breakfast is a personal ritual that can only be observed alone, and in a spirit of genuine excess. The food factor should always be massive: four Bloody Marys, two grapefruits, a pot of coffee, Rangoon crepes, a half-pound of either sausage, bacon or corned-beef has with diced chilies, a Spanish omelette or eggs Benedict, a quart of milk, a chopped lemon for random seasoning, and something like a slice of key lime pie, two margaritas and six lines of the best cocaine for dessert ... Right, and there should also be two or three newspapers, all mail and messages, a telephone, a notebook for planning the next 24 hours, and at least one source of good music ... all of which should be dealt with outside, in the warmth of a hot sun, and preferably stone naked.

In a later paragraph of this article ("Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail 1976," Rolling Stone, no. 214, p. 54-64) he mentions that breakfast takes 3 hours for him. I can believe it, even allowing for his habitual blend of fact and fiction in his writing. I also have to take into account the fact that he had a more active metabolism than most people; I sure as heck wouldn't want to try to eat that much, even in three hours.

By the way, the above passage was quoted from Thompson's book The Great Shark Hunt, a select compilation of his work to 1977. In the title article, Thompson describes another recipe, this one for an alcoholic drink:

... Bloor's mannerisms were becoming more and more psychotic. He took one sip of his drink, then whacked it down onto the table and stared at me. "What is this?" he snarled.

"A double margarita," I said, glancing over at the waitress to see if she had her eye on us.

She did, and Bloor waved at her.

"What do you want?" I whispered.

"Glaucoma," he said.

The waitress was on us before I could argue. Glaucoma is an extremely complicated mix of about nine unlikely ingredients that Bloor had learned from some randy old woman he met on the porch of the Bal-Hai. She'd taught the bartender there how to make it: very precise measurements of gin, tequila, Kahlua, crushed ice, fruit juices, lime rinds, spices -- all mixed to perfection in a tall frosted glass.

I wondered if this drink recipe actually existed. As it turns out, it does:

Glaucoma

1 oz Vodka
1 oz Rum
1 oz Gin
1 oz Kahlua Coffee Liqueur
4 oz Lemon Juice
1 tsp SugarIce

Pour all ingredients over crushed ice in a shaker. Shake well. Strain into a frosted glass.

The Decadent Mushroom Ramen

2005-02-14T14:36:00.000-05:00

This is one of those dishes which I classify as comfort food for a winter day. It's not exactly a healthy dish (the fat content is a question mark) but I still find it a good stomach settler.

Cream of mushroom soup is one of those dishes that can be considered a "fake luxury." When made right, with fresh mushrooms and real cream, it can be a real delight to start a gourmet meal. But everyone is all too familiar with the Campbell's condensed variety, which is okay but cheap and boring after a while.

The problem I have with Campbell's (and in fact, with most condensed mushroom soups) is that there's not enough mushroom and too much cream broth. Apart from using it as a basis for cream gravy or sauce, I figured that something had to be done to make this a more lively dish to eat.

My answer? Adding ramen noodles.

When prepared properly, the noodles will suck up the liquid rendering the soup to a a thicker consistency than normal. The noodles themselves will pick up the mushroom flavor and take on a more chewy consistency than if you had used plain water to boil them. With the addition of green onions and just a touch of sesame oil, it's a more exotic eating experience than what you normally get with mushroom soup.

The Decadent Mushroom Ramen

1 can condensed cream of mushroom Soup
1 can water
1 package instant ramen noodles (any variety)
1 green onion, minced
sesame oil (optional)

1. Prepare soup in a medium saucepan with 1 can water. Do not use milk or cream or else soup will become too thick. Add the sesame oil and stir to blend, if using.

2. When soup begins to simmer, add the ramen noodles. (You can break the noodle pack in half if your saucepan doesn't have room.) Stir about until the noodles begin to soften, then flip the noodle pack over and cook until the noodles come apart and have a soft give when they're pressed with your stir spoon.

3. Stir in the green onion.

4. When noodles have the desired give, pour into a large Chinese noodle bowl and serve.

On Cleaning Cupboards and Coffee Cups

2005-02-04T13:57:00.000-05:00

This morning, as part of my efforts to keep my kitchen functional, I did some cleaning up of my cupboards.

I've lived in my current residence for about 12 years. It's amazing what you can accommodate in terms of kitchenware in that space of time. Most people do, in the course of a lifetime. In my case the things that were eating up my cupboard space were ... cups. Coffee cups.

I don't drink as much coffee as I did when I was in college (although that habit may go up again now that I've shifted to working at night), but over the course of years I managed to get enough cups to fill up two shelves of my cupboards. I had a look at them, wondering how I got so many.

The majority of them were commuter cups, differing shapes and sizes. I remember getting the larger cups in my twenties, when I was studying hard and needed a major blast of caffeine. There was also one I bought at Disney World because when you used it you got unlimited drinks during your stay. A couple of them were corporate promotional items, from consultants and vendors seeking business from my employers.

The thing about commuter cups is, because they're designed to hold warmth in (and are thus made of plastic, or have vacuum wall construction) ... they're pretty darned ugly designs.The exception I'm prepared to make is the "shipboard" design, which bulges at the bottom so that the cup's centre of gravity is lowered.

A lot of them were from restaurants or dépanneurs. You gotta admit, nowadays you can't pass by a coffee-shop that doesn't sell a plastic or metal or ceramic mug of some sort to the public. Ostensibly, it's to protect the environment by reducing the use of styrofoam or paper cups. Personally I think it's just a cash grab.

I'm not getting rid of all of my cups, but I need a good reason to keep a few. Some are presents from relatives or close friends, and have sentimental value. Some because they're good designs. Several years ago Maxwell House used to mail you a Max mug if you sent them a proof of purchase. I use this one a lot because the design's a good one; you can drink coffee without burning yourself. (The makers of Kahlua, on the other hand, put out a ceramic mug as a promotional item that was a rotten design because you burned your knuckles when you held it. Nowadays I'm using it as a pencil holder.) There are also a couple I bought from an exhibit of RMS Titanic in Toronto a few years ago, based on the old White Star design. I like them because they're easily stackable and the shallowness of the cup makes them ideal for snack-sized portions of soup.

As for the rest, I'm taking them to the local Salvation Army. I'm sure there are people who would like a cheap mug to take on the bus.

Thoughts on Stir-Frying

2005-01-23T22:08:00.000-05:00

I made a stir-fry for supper today. Nothing particularly special: beef, broccoli, carrot, celery, baby corn, onion. I made enough to last out the week.

Most Chinese cookbooks, and more than a few web resources (for example, here) can tell you all about the technique. I just thought I'd put down a few amplifying thoughts:

1. Contrary to popular belief, you don't need an actual wok to do a good stir-fry. A few years ago, when I went car camping for the weekend, I used the big pot of a T-Fal camping set to stir-fry some bell peppers with ginger and garlic. Worked great. Any high-sided skillet (with sides more than an inch high) will work for a stir-fry, if you don't have a wok.

2. Generally, fresh vegetables work much better than frozen in a stir-fry. Frozen vegetables have liquid in them, and when the liquid thaws, it does something to the vegetable tissue that makes them soggy. It's especially noticeable for larger cut veggies like broccoli and carrots, but is less of a factor for smaller ones like peas. A good stir-fry leaves the vegetables tender but still with a bit of a crunch to them.

3. Meats for stir-frying should be marinaded. A good marinade will tenderize the meat and let it cook fully without going dry. It's a good idea to use a marinade that doesn't impart a strong flavor, which is why a red wine marinaded is a no-no.

4. The ideal size for cutting ingredients should be such that you can pick up an individual piece with a chopstick or fork and stick it in your mouth without undue distortion in the cheeks.

5. If you want to use noodles with your stir-fry but can't get fresh Chinese-style egg noodles, then thin pastas like vermicelli or capellini/capelli d'angelo (angel's hair) will work just fine. When using dried pasta, break it into 6-inch lengths before you boil it; when the pasta is al dente and ready, drain and toss into the wok, mixing with the stir-fry just before serving.

6. Fresh ginger is preferable to the powdered kind, but the shredded stuff in a jar will work okay in a pinch.

7. An electric stove doesn't heat up at the same temperature as a natural-gas stove. Which means it'll take a few minutes longer for an electric to heat the wok to the ideal stir-frying temperature.

8. Speaking of heat: if you're planning on buying a non-stick wok, read the packaging carefully. If you see a warning that says not to use maximum heat, don't buy the wok; you want the thing to take the highest setting on your stove.

P.G. Wodehouse's Jeeves Special

2005-01-19T20:57:00.000-05:00

This past Sunday I bought Wodehouse: A Life by Robert McCrum. A comprehensive biography of The Master, it reminded me of my high school days when I read a Jeeves novel and imagined myself in the Jazz Age.

In my college years, when I got to know beer (and Wild Turkey) for the first time, I picked up Wodehouses The Inimitable Jeeves. his first collection of short stories featuring Bertie Wooster and his incomparable valet. A passage from the story "Jeeves Takes Charge" is worthy of note because my first experiences with beer and whiskey also coincided with my first experience of hangovers:

"If you would drink this, sir," he said, with a kind of bedside manner, rather like the royal doctor shooting the bracer into the sick prince. "It is a little preparation of my own invention. It is the Worcester sauce that gives it its colour. The raw egg makes it nutritious. The red pepper gives it its bite. Gentlemen have told me they find it extremely invigorating after a late evening."

I would have clutched at anything that looked like a life-line that morning. I swallowed the stuff. For a moment I felt as if somebody had touched off a bomb inside the old bean and was strolling down my throat with a lighted torch, and then everything seemed suddenly to get all right. The sun shone in through the window; birds twittered in the tree-tops; and, generally speaking, hope dawned once more.

I actually tried this one out. Bartenders will say that the passage here describes a "Prairie Oyster," the common name for any hangover remedy using a raw egg yolk. It works on the principle that pain in the throat will overcome pain in the head.

Nowadays, of course, I know better. Hangovers can be avoided by drinking lots of water at the same time that you down your alcohol, since dehydration plays a major role. But once in a while, when I'm in a hurry to get out of the house, I make my own version of the Jeeves special as a pick-me-up. I change one detail in that I dilute the one egg with V-8 vegetable cocktail; my preference is to use the new low-sodium formula since that one has more vitamin C than the regular type. (And while I realize the risk of salmonella poisoning, I haven't really suffered all that much from consuming an egg raw--at least compared with the headache and raw stomach of a really powerful hangover.)

The Modified Jeeves Special

V-8 low-sodium cocktail
Worcestershire sauce
Tobasco sauce
1 egg

1. Break the egg into an old-fashioned glass.
2. Fill to desired level with V-8 vegetable cocktail.
3. Add Worcestershire sauce until you achieve a dark color on the surface, then add a few drops of Tobasco sauce.
4. Stir until a uniform dark color is achieved.
5. If suffering from a hangover, drink rapidly.
6. If reading a Wodehouse passage, wait until your eyes have finished bouncing off the walls before collecting them and putting them back.

On Bean Thread Noodles

2005-01-12T17:46:00.000-05:00

As part of my New Year's resolution to try new things, I've been doing some cooking with bean thread noodles.

Harusame noodles, they're called in Japan. They're also known as cellophane noodles or glass noodles because when they're cooked they're pretty translucent. I can see why people are reluctant to try them; in their dry form they look like the thin paper hair used to pad out certain packages for shipping. But don't let that put you off.

For one thing, these are pretty convenient for single people; one bundle or packet (these are sold in packs of 2-ounce bundles) easily feeds one person. For another, these are pretty easy to cook; five minutes in boiling water and you're good to go.

Taste? That's the part that you have to make up your mind on. They don't really have a taste to speak of, unlike regular angel hair pasta or egg pasta. It's the same thing with rice noodles. What this means is that bean-thread noodles aren't meant to be eaten alone; you need to either put them in a soup or use them to carry a flavorful sauce such as a curry. You use them more for texture than for taste. (Texture is actually pretty nice, like angel hair.)

I tried them out with spaghetti sauce. It's not quite the same texture as spaghetti, but the noodles carry the sauce pretty well in spite of their thinness. (A meaty sauce like mine works better with thicker pasta like spaghetti than with angel hair.)

I'll find out some more culture-appropriate recipes for these, but if you see bean-thread noodles in your grocery (they'd be in the Chinese foods section) don't be afraid to give them a try.

Nero Wolfe's Trout Montana

2005-01-09T13:24:00.000-05:00

Mystery buffs who also like gourmet cooking will always have a warm spot in their hearts for Rex Stout's detective, Nero Wolfe.

The Nero Wolfe's mysteries are remarkable not just because of the plots (which are serviceable though not memorable) but for the way Stout delineates and realizes his characters, especially Wolfe and his assistant, Archie Goodwin. A key component is the attitude towards food.

Wolfe is, of course, a gourmet. Archie knows good food (he's a live-in assistant after all) and can describe a complicated recipe with a straightforward grace that's earnestly appealing. Try to imaging Philip Marlowe writing a restaurant review and you'll get the picture.

Of course, there's a Nero Wolfe Cookbook around, published around 1975 by Stout's book publishers at the time. Most recipes for dishes that appear in the Wolfe canon are included, including this one described in the novel Death of a Doxy. Wolfe has been invited to dinner at a ranch, which he accepts in order to interview some witnesses, and he asks Archie about the featured main course:

"What is a real Montana trout deal?"

"The first real Montana trout deal -- that is, the first one cooked by a paleface -- was probably at the time of the Lewis and Clark expedition, fried on a campfire in a rusty pan with buffalo grease, with salt if they had any left. Since then there have been hundreds of versions, depending on what was handy. There's an old-timer in a hardware store in Timberbrug that says that for the real thing you rub bacon grease on a piece of brown wrapping paper, wrap it around the trout, with the head and tail on and plenty of salt and pepper, and put it in the oven of a camp stove as hot as you can get it. The time depends on the size of the trout. Mrs. Greve got her version from an uncle of hers who was probably inspired by what he had left at the tail end of a packing-in trip. She has changed two details: she uses aluminum foil instead of wrapping paper, and the oven of her electric range instead of a camp stove. It's very simple. Put a thin slice of ham about three inches wide on a piece of foil, sprinkle some brown sugar on it and a few little scraps of onion, and a few drops of Worcestershire sauce. Lay the trout on it, scraped and gutted but with the head and tail on, and salt it. Repeat the brown sugar and onion and Worcestershire, wrap up the foil around it close, and put it in the oven. If some of the trout are 8 or 9 inches and others are 14 or so, the timing is a problem. Serve in the foil."

I actually tried this recipe out, after some modifications. It works pretty well, especially if you use a sweet onion as opposed to a sharp one.

Well, we may not be able to get ahold of fresh trout from Montana, but frozen rainbow trout from Idaho is available, already cleaned but with head and tail (and fins) intact. Once thawed, they'll do nicely.

The ham's even easier to get hold of -- the pre-packaged sliced meat from Maple Leaf, Schneider's or Oscar Meyer will work just dandy, and it's the right thickness and size. As for the temperature of the oven and the timing, The Nero Wolfe Cookbook provides a guideline with Wolfe's famed recipe for truite au four Montbarry, which will serve our purposes.

So here goes:

Nero Wolfe's Trout Montana

2 trout per person, de-scaled and gutted but with head and tail intact (if frozen, thaw overnight in the refrigerator)

Per trout:
3 tsp minced onion
1 slice sandwich ham
2 tsp brown sugar
salt
pepper
Worcestershire sauce

1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

2. For each trout, tear off a piece of aluminum foil. The foil should 1 inch longer than the trout on each end, and about 4 times the width (dorsal to ventral fins). Lay the foil on a flat surface, shiny side up.

3. Put down the ham; cover with 1/2 tsp brown sugar and 1 tsp onion and some drops of Worcesteshire sauce.

4. Lay the trout on the top half of the ham slice and stuff its cavity with 1 tsp onion, salt and pepper and more drops of Worcestershire.

5. On the top of the trout, sprinkle on the remaining brown sugar and minced onion, and add salt, pepper and a few more drops of Worcestershire.

6. Wrap the foil tightly around the trout. You want to try to position it so that the ham slice covers the trout's cavity.

7. Once all the trout are wrapped, bake for about 20 to 25 minutes. (Larger fish will need more time in the oven. If you're making more than 4, add 3 minutes to the baking time for each extra trout.)

8. Serve in the foil on a plate. Each diner unwraps his or her trout.

On Not-So-Instant Oats

2005-01-07T10:21:00.000-05:00

There is currently sitting in my cupboard a tin of John McCann's Steel-Cut Oats. I think I bought it because I was reading a historical cookbook (Lobscourse and Spotted Dog) and I wanted to know what "stirabout" (which is another name for this sort of porridge) tasted like. This would have been about, er, 6 years ago.

One nice thing about oats in a tin: long shelf life.

Last week during one of my stay at home days I tried making some. This is when I realized these were a niche product: they take at least half an hour to cook. That pretty much makes it a weekend food; it's not practical for an Urban Possum who's not a morning person to spend half an hour cooking breakfast. It also thickens up pretty well, even when you cut the recipe in half (the instructions on the tin are for cooking 4 servings). It's also a lot more thicker than instant oatmeal.

Taste? With milk and honey (liquid as opposed to spreadable) it was actually pretty nice. Not to mention appropriate for a winter breakfast with negative-degree temperatures outside. It's also pretty chewy, even when thinned out, but it's a pleasant sort of chewy, like when you're thinking about something; the appropriate attitude for the Saturday paper with the weekend comics in it.

Now this type of oatmeal isn't something I'd eat every weekend (I tend to prefer more savory items for breakfast) but I do plan to eat this more often -- and not just because oatmeal can help reduce cholesterol. (If you want to discourage a Real Man from trying something new, tell him it's good for his health.)

Incidentally, I apologize for not posting here more often. My only excuse is that there aren't that many recipes that I've known and tried. It's one of my resolutions for 2005: try new recipes and add the better ones to my cooking repertoire. When I come across one I like, I'll let you know.

On the Pleasures of Saké

2004-12-24T19:33:00.000-05:00

On miserably wintry days (like the one we had in Ottawa yesterday), there is something to be said for indulging in two things:

1) a hot bath; and
2) hot saké.

As in Japanese rice wine. Being a Nipponophile (or otaku), when I drink saké I think of the old Kurosawa samurai movies, with the rough-and-tumble Toshiro Mifune gulping down a small cupful as he contemplates his next move against the Yakuza, or perhaps his sipping from a saucer and brooding just before he sees and attacks a ghost. In other words, in Japan saké is a drink for Men, and not just for dilettantes. Which means the idea of soaking in a tub full of steaming hot water, with a small bottle of warmed saké and a cup beside you and a good book or manga at hand--doesn't that sound like a good idea for a cold night?

These days there's been a trend towards drinking sake chilled or cold, with new premium-priced rice wines coming into the market suggesting you do just that. And that's fine for the summer. In winter, though, what's needed is warmth. And saké (along with mulled red wine and mead) is one of those drinks that's nice when it's hot.

So, some tips for drinking warmed saké:

1. Use a regular brand (i.e. the cheap stuff). Brands like Hakutsuru or Gekeikkan or Ozeki; the last two are actually brewed in North America as branch plant operations of the brands in Japan. The premium stuff tends to be delicate; their flavor disappears with heat.

2. Get a proper tokkuri and cups. That's cups, plural. This is especially a good idea if your bathtub can accommodate more than two people--or, better yet, if you have a jacuzzi. Because in accordance with Japanese tradition, saké is a drink meant to be shared.

A proper tokkuri (which is what they call the small ceramic saké bottle) will have minimal decoration, if any, because it's meant to be immersed in hot water. They come in various shapes and sizes, but they are always ceramic. The cups can vary from little wooden boxes to shallow saucers to Chinese teacup-shaped dainties, but they're meant to be small. Ian Fleming's spy James Bond complained about this in You Only Live Twice, but what he failed to realize is that warmed saké can infiltrate the bloodstream just as fast as a good belt of Scotch.

3. Use the microwave. Remember, half the fun of being an Urban Possum is knowing how to cut the time for cleanup. The traditional method means heating water to a simmer in a small saucepan and immersing the filled tokkuri into the water for about 5 to 10 minutes. But why dirty a perfectly good sauce pan -- unless you're out camping?

Instead, fill your tokkuri to a safe level (usually, within an inch of the opening), put it in the microwave and heat for 30 seconds to 1 minute, on high. You need less time if your microwave has a higher wattage, and it depends on the makeup of your tokkuri. You don't want to go any more than 1 minute because overheating the saké can cause it to become bitter.

(There's a traditional Japanese maxim that says that saké is best heated between the legs of a young woman, and should be the same temperature as her body. I don't think I'd care to try that method.)

4. Snacks aren't necessary, but they sure are nice. One thing that should be clear: saké can be drunk before the main part of a meal, or after it as a socializing drink. But it's not meant to wash down your main course. The reason for that is, Japanese main courses always feature rice, and you don't serve rice dishes twice during the same course. And saké, being made of rice, qualifies.

Now, with that said, there are some snacking foods that do go well with saké, assuming you're not going the bathtub route. Saké goes will with oden (a type of Japanese stew), yakitori (grilled meat on skewers, or any form a kebab), and other finger foods.

But like I said at the beginning, there's nothing like a warm bath and warm saké to get one through a bad winter day. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to turn off the water ...

Pseudo Lembas

2004-12-20T23:03:00.000-05:00

On Sunday, I went to an informal Christmas potluck, hosted by the local chapter of the Society for Creative Anachronism. Since this wasn't a formal SCA event, we weren't required to bring "period" (i.e. pre-1600 European) dishes.

I was put on the list of people that was supposed to bring a bread or starch dish. So I brought ... lembas. As in the legendary Elvish traveler's biscuit as popularized in J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings.

Actually, to be more accurate, this was a "pseudo"-lembas. The recipe I used came off the web, courtesy of the Fading Trees fansite. This form of lembas can be thought of as a cinnamon biscuit, as opposed to the shortbread-like packet that Peter Jackson used (and, according to DVD commentary, nibbled on during takes) for his filmed version of the trilogy.

(There's a different recipe available at the Tolkien fansite TheOneRing.net, but that one uses self-rising flour which I don't have at the moment. I may try it later.)

I found it pretty good the first time I made it, and so did the other diners at the potluck. So I'll reproduce the recipe here.

Pseudo-Lembas

2 1/2 cups of flour
1 tbsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
8 Tablespoons cold butter (1 stick, cut into 8 pieces)
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 tsp cinnamon
2/3 cup milk or heavy cream (heavy cream is recommended)
1/2 tsp vanilla
honey, homemade jam or maple syrup for dipping

1. Preheat over to 425 degrees.
2. Mix flour, baking powder, and salt in a large bowl.
3. Add butter and mix with a fork or pastry cutter until mixture looks like fine granules. (This part will take a fair bit of work.)
4. Add sugar and cinnamon; mix well.
5. Add milk and vanilla and stir with a fork until a stiff dough forms. (You can add up to 1/4 cup more milk to moisten, if you have trouble incorporating all of the mixture into the dough.)
6. Roll into balls and place on cookie sheet, mashing them out until they are about 1/2 inch thick and 3 inches across. You should have enough dough to make 12 - 14 biscuits.
7. Bake for about 12 to 14 minutes. They're done if you poke a toothpick into one and it comes out dry.

Serve with honey, homemade jam or maple syrup on the side.

An important note: if you have baking powder in your cupboard but haven't baked in the past few months, check its potency by dissolving a little in cold water. If you don't hear it fizz, it's gone flat and you'll need to buy fresh.

About Those Mashed Potatoes ...

2004-12-18T19:29:00.000-05:00

WICKED THOUGHTS has a funny post on holiday eating tips. For the most part it's worth a chuckle or two, but there's one point where there's a bone of contention:

4. As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they're made with skim milk or whole milk. If it's skim, pass. Why bother? It's like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.

The contention? Why the heck do you need milk of any sort to make mashed potatoes?

If we're talking about those paper-tasting "instant" muck, then I suppose you could put milk in to add some backbone to that taste. But really -- why not use fresh potatoes and do it the right way -- the old-fashioned way?

It's not hard -- at least not if you know how. Just follow these steps:

1. You need a minimum of two large potatoes, or three medium-sized potatoes. After that, you add one large potato per person being served. White or red-skin doesn't matter; Yukon Gold is a nice choice especially for its color. The trick is to use the potatoes within a week from when you bought them; otherwise you risk sprouting.

2. Rough-cut the potatoes into cubes before you boil them. The smaller you cube them, the quicker (and softer) they'll cook. You shouldn't go smaller than 1.5 inches per cube.

3. You need at least half again as much water as you need to cover the potatoes, and the water must be salted.

4. Just prior to boiling, take out butter from the fridge and let it get to room temperature.

5. Potatoes should be boiled for a minimum of 10 minutes on medium-high heat.

6. If you want garlic mashed potatoes, squash 3 cloves of garlic per two potatoes, take the skin off and boil them at the same time. Don't chop them; you'll get a milder flavor this way.

7. You can use a regular fork (just make sure it's good and thick) if you don't have a masher.

8. Just prior to the mashing stage is when you add pepper from a pepper grinder. You also add in 2 tbsp. of butter per serving.

9. Mashing shouldn't take any more than 5 minutes. Have fun and squash'em; this is the type of thing that eight-year-old kids like to do. Don't worry about lumps too much. Lumps give mashed potatoes character. They tell the diner that you took the time and care to make these fresh.

And now they're done and ready, all mashed and mixed with the butter (which has melted over the freshly boiled potatoes while you were mashing), the pepper and the garlic. A perfect accompaniment for steak, roast chicken or turkey, and all set for the gravy.

Pierre Berton's Clam Chowder

2004-12-13T21:36:00.000-05:00

"Lunching in the Connaught-Sheraton Hotel in Hamilton one day, my eye was caught by the words 'New England clam chowder' on the menu. As this magnificent dish is a rarity in restaurants, I ordered it instantly, my jaws slavering like those of a half-starved boarhound.

"The waitress arrived presently with a bowl containing a pink and noxious fluid which I identified at once as Manhattan clam chowder, sometimes known as Coney Island clam chowder, an inferior compilation rendered hideous by the addition of tomatoes.

"A giddiness came over me at this imposture and, insensate with rage, I seized an olive spear and sped toward the kitchen to confront the chef.

"'Did you make clam chowder with tomatoes and advertise it as New England clam chowder?' I asked him.

"'I did,' the forger said, and without a second thought I stabbed him through his black heart. There was no blood in him; only tomato juice.

"I surrendered to the gendarmerie at once and was dragged, unrepentant, before the magistrate.

"'Why did you do it?' the kindly jurist asked.

"'Because he made clam chowder with tomatoes,' I answered, in a ringing voice. Naturally, they set me free."

This is Pierre Berton's final recipe in his compilation of columns, Just Add Water and Stir. Mr. Berton passed away a few weeks ago, and of the four recipes he's published this is the one I have enjoyed the most. (Of course I've made his version of corned beef hash more often, and it's quite good, but there's a higher degree of pleasure with this one.)

Before we go on, I'd like to say that I have a very fond memory of Manhattan clam chowder, having eaten the Campbell's condensed version of it fairly often in my childhood. Times have changed, of course, since Mr. Berton's denunciation of Manhattan chowder, and the New England version is far more commonplace nowadays.

Note that this is an adaptation of Mr. Berton's recipe. For his chowder, he starts with "two tins of butter clams." Today, of course, you are more likely to see baby clams on grocery shelves; they'll do just fine. He also uses two pots, a large saucepan and a skillet; being Practial Men with no patience for dishwashing, we'll make do with the one.

New England Clam Chowder

4 slices side bacon (low-salt if available), cut into matchsticks
2-3 medium onions, chopped
2 carrots, peeled and sliced thin
1 stick celery, chopped fine
2 tins baby clams
2 cups chicken broth
1 cup dry white wine
1 tsp. dried thyme
1 tsp. celery salt
1 tsp. paprika
1 tsp. freshly ground black pepper
2 large potatoes, peeled and diced
2-3 cups milk
cayenne pepper
Madras curry powder

1. In a 4-quart pan over medium heat, cook the bacon until some fat has melted out. Add the onions and carrots and cook until soft.

2. Open the tins of clams and pour off the liquid -- but not the clams -- into the pan. Add the chicken broth and white wine. Season with thyme, celery salt, paprika and black pepper.

3. Add the potatoes, bring to a boil, reduce heat to low and let simmer for about an hour.

4. After the hour, add the clams and milk. Season to taste with cayenne and curry powder, raise the heat and cook another 10 minutes.

5. At this point the chowder is ready for serving, but it tastes better if you take it off the heat, let cool, covered, for about half an hour, then put in the refrigerator overnight and re-heat the next day.

For a thicker chowder, add 1/2 cup water mixed with 2 tbsp. cornstarch, at the same time that you add the milk.

On Livening Up KD

2004-12-10T13:12:00.000-05:00

Purists, of course, are going to cringe at the thought, but it's time to admit a truth: Kraft Dinner has officially become a "comfort food."

It's a no-brainer of course. KD (and its grocery-store equivalents) are cheap, filling and (thank to our knowledge of carbohydrates) somewhat nutritious. They bring back memories of college, of a man's first apartment and his first outing on his own, when he didn't know too much about cooking apart from how to boil water. (Which is definitely enough knowledge for making KD.)

And since the boomers grew up with the "convenience-food" era of the 50s and 60s, is it any wonder that KD is a "comfort food" now?

I still eat KD about once a month or so, when the back account is low and I haven't thought about a new recipe to try. Its virtue is in its simplicity; its directions are quick and its yield is soothing to the stomach. (Incidentally, I've found that you can get away with 2 tablespoons of butter or margarine, as opposed to a quarter-cup.)

For an urbanite coming home after a long commute, KD's simplicity in preparation sounds like a very good (not to mention cheap) idea.

But I've never been able to eat KD "as is." I've always indulged in a few tricks to make it a bit more livelier to the palate:

1) One green onion, end trimmed and finely chopped, added to KD at the same time as the cheese powder. This does wonders to the savoriness of the sauce.

2) Two hot dogs, sliced into rounds, added with the macaroni to the water and boiled at the same time. Meat adds a bit more protein to KD that processed cheese lacks.

3) A quarter of a can of Spam, any flavour, diced and added as above.

4) Fresh herbs, finely chopped, such as Italian parsley, added at the same time as the cheese powder.

5. A couple of medium-sized tomatoes, diced and stirred in after adding the milk.

5) Any combination of the above.

KD, as with any good pasta, is a "canvas" food; you can add almost anything and it'll be good. (I wouldn't recommend adding chocolate, though.)

The Real Man's Cream of Beer Soup

2004-12-06T21:08:00.000-05:00

Before there were metrosexuals, there were the Quiche Eaters.

In the 1980s, humorist Bruce Fierstein wrote a book that identified a subset of the American male. Essentially a backlash of the women's movement, Real Men Don't Eat Quiche decried the development of a "fake" male, wussified by continually catering to the so-called "liberated" female, "sensitive" to his own emotions -- in short, what we today would identify as the metrosexual.

Fierstein, however, identified this class based on a culinary preference: this type of male (as personified by Alan Alda, Dick Van Patten, Hugh Grant, etc.) had a preference for quiche, that French-derived egg-custard savory pie. In his own way, Fierstein anticipated the development of the the 21st-century Man Industry, as embodied by Hooters, Maxim Magazine, etc.

Fierstein's book was sucessful enough that a sequel was demanded. This time around, he teamed up with Scott Redman. Real Men Don't Cook Quiche was a cookbook featuring the humor of Fierstein woven around a selection of basic recipes. While some of them are doubtful, others work quite well. "Cream of Beer Soup" is one of the latter.

Note that while the recipe uses beer, cabbage is actually the main component. I made this soup recently in order to use up half a head of cabbage I had left over from making New England Boiled Dinner. (Note to cookbook authors: in winter there is no such thing as a small head of cabbage.) It works pretty well when accompanied by bread and butter, for a light meal.

I've modified the recipe a bit. The original calls for just salt and pepper as seasonings, but caraway seeds go well with cabbage, so I added that. I also had some potatoes left over, so they went in as well. The thing about soups is that, since they're boiled, you can add ingredients without worrying about burning; and if you simmer for longer than what the recipe calls for, no one will really notice.

This will make enough for 6 people as an appetizer, or 4 people as a light meal with bread and rolls.

Cream of Beer Soup

3 tbsp. butter
2 medium or 1 large onion, minced
1/2 head cabbage, cored and shredded
2 cans condensed chicken broth
2-3 cans or bottles beer
salt and pepper to taste
caraway seeds
2-3 large potatoes (optional)
1/2 pint heavy cream

1. In a 4-quart pot over medium heat, melt the butter.
2. Add the onion and cabbage. Cook for about 5 minutes, stirring to coat the cabbage with the melted butter, until the vegetables are soft.
3. Pour in the chicken broth and 2 cans of beer. Season with salt, pepper and caraway seeds.
4. Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low and simmer for about 50 minutes, stirring occasionally.
5. After 50 minutes, the cabbage should be tender enough that you can purée the soup with a stick blender. If the puréed soup seems too thick, you can thin it out to a desired consistency by stirring in the required amount of the third can or bottle of beer.
6. If you're using the potatoes, add them in at this time and let the soup simmer for at least another 10 minutes.
7. Five minutes before serving, stir in the heavy cream.

On Ramen Culture

2004-12-02T14:14:00.000-05:00

There's a Japanese grocery store called Kadeya, a couple of blocks away from where I work in downtown Ottawa. They sell a hot lunch for customers; for $10 CDN you get a donburi (grilled meat or fish with pickled vegetables over a bowl of rice) with miso soup. It's a couple of bucks less than what you'd pay for the same dish in the Japanese restaurant next door.

They also sell ceramics and knickknacks, but what I like about them is that they sell instant noodle bowls. Of course, nowadays any grocery sells Cup Noodles and similar products, but these ones are imported from Japan. They're expensive compared with regular noodle bowls (about $4 to $5) but for a guy who eats lunch at his desk, they make better financial sense than a $10 pasta dish at a nearby restaurant.

Instant noodles are of course a college student's godsend for a winter meal. Despite their high salt content, they give the illusion of nutrition because a) it's hot and b) it's a soup, so it's a fluid that the body needs. Noodle bowls are a convenience because if you use disposable cutlery or chopsticks, you don't have to waste time washing dishes afterwards, which makes them good for eating at a workspace.

I can't recommend a favorite brand because I can't read Japanese very well, though I've no complaints about the ones sold by Kadeya. They do sell one brand where the noodles are fresh (sealed in a pouch) as opposed to dried; it also uses a miso-flavored stock. That one, I think, is the closest one can get to the fresh ramen culture of Japan.

Anyone who's ever seen the movie Tampopo will have an idea of what I mean when I say "ramen culture." It's pretty much related to animé-nia or manga-natics; it celebrates an aspect of Japanese pop culture through practice and appreciation.

The best way to enhance the ramen culture experience is to have a special way to prepare and eat them. At work, I have a push-button hot water dispenser which is perfect for noodle bowls; it heats up water and keeps it at a hot temperature for up to 6 hours. You push a panel on the top to pour. It's an unusual and yet ideal way for making ramen and steeping tea.

When the noodles are ready, you go through a sort of ritual: breaking the disposable chopsticks as cleanly in two as you can; inhaling the aroma of the piping hot soup; eating with bowl in one hand and chopsticks in the other. No spoons; ramen culture says you sip the soup straight from the bowl. Undignified, yet satisfying.

Of course, it's an axiom that the diligence with which you follow the ritual varies inversely with the quality of your work day. Can you guess how my workday's been going?

2004-11-29T01:03:00.000-05:00

I've come up with a graphic for my profile. The two characters represent the two blogs I operate. Comments are always welcome.
Posted by Hello

On Crackpot Cooking

2004-11-28T10:04:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-25T09:20:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-24T11:18:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-21T11:30:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-16T23:15:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-14T10:27:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-11T22:28:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-06T01:14:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-04T14:05:00.000-05:00

"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

2004-11-03T18:25:00.000-05:00

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

2004-11-01T18:34:00.000-05:00

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.

Pierre Berton's Tomato Soup

2004-10-31T09:59:00.000-05:00

Back inthe 1950s, the Canadian historial author Pierre Berton worked as a columnist for the Toronto Star. In a series of columns decrying the advent of the TV dinner and other modern convenience foods, he published a set of recipes, written from a "common man" perspective.

The recipes are published in a collection entitled Just Add Water and Stir. The book has been out of print for a long time, but I'll reproduce his recipes here by fisking his essays, beginning with the one for tomato soup. (I've tried this one; it works out a lot better than anything Andy Warhol could come up with.)

To begin, Mr. Berton explains why he's writing about his recipe:

I have been influenced in my decision by a desire for the general public good and by the fact that in September you can now buy a bushel of tomatoes, out along Dundas Highway, for about 2 dollars.

Translation: tomatoes are ripest and cheapest in September, or mid-fall. So this is a seasonal soup. Also that soup tends to taste better with local-grown ingredients in season.

All right, you got some tomatoes? Well, chop them up and throw them in a big pot, skins and all. The number of tomatoes depends entirely on how much soup you want.

With some experimentation, I've found that for 4 servings, the optimum number is 24, sized between a Major League Baseball and a Grade 'A' large egg. As for the types, conventional wisdom suggests using plum or Roma tomatoes, but since we're talking local stuff, beefsteak tomatoes on the vine (sold with the vine still attached) will work as well.

As for a pot, I'd suggest one about the size of a Dutch oven, about 6 quarts.

Make sure you have whole stalks of celery and make sure the leaves are on and that these leaves are fresh, not brown or limp ... Chop up the celery, leaves and all, very fine ...

How much celery? About 4 sticks, washed off and with the leaves intact.

Now get some parsley. Do not do what your wife does and get one sprig of parsley. Women are always putting tiny sprigs of parsley into food. It does no good. Get two double handfuls of fresh parsley, pressed tight, and chop it as fine as you can and throw it into the pot, now redolent of the pungent celery.

Well, we know a few things about this paragraph: 1) Mr. Berton is addressing a typical 1950s male (which isn't all that different from the 2004 model); 2) he doesn't think much of the conventional recipes of the time, which advocate parsley for decorative purposes; and 3) since Mr. Berton was in fact married at the time, he probably spent the night in the doghouse the day this column was printed.

Oh, and the parsley? It's roughly about a third of the parsley bunch you'd buy at the supermarket. Either curly or Italian will do.

Get several bunches of fresh garden onions, with the tops on ... If your grocer keeps onions with limp tops put soap on his windows ... Chop these onions like you've never chopped before. Throw them into the bubbling pot from which the hot incense of the parsley is rising ...
Since onions these days are sold with the tops trimmed, we'll go with 3 onions, again baseball-sized (or 2, the size of a softball) for our recipe. Yellow cooking onions will suffice.

So, now we've got the basic components of the soup into the pot and on heat, and now we move to the seasoning phase (otherwise known as the tasting phase):

Flat, eh? Needs salt. Throw in some until it taste salty enough. Then chop several cloves of garlic and throw them in until it's garlicky enough, then throw in a handful of monosodium glutamate, which is sold under trade names as Ac'cent or is obtainable in bulk in Chinatown.

In deference to modern tastes, we'll omit the MSG. And in the interests of social discourse afterwards, I'd limit the absolute maximum of garlic to 4 cloves, with 2 being a minimal amount.

Now we've got to put some hot tang in that soup. More than anything else, soup needs pepper. Grind a lot of pepper in a pepper grinder and throw it in. Now give the soup several shots of Tabasco sauce and a few shakes of cayenne. It's pretty hard to make my soup too hot, but the occasional tyro has slipped. Well, if you slip, it's easily fixed: just throw in more tomatoes.

Actually if you don't have more tomatoes, regular granulated sugar can dampen the "heat" factor resulting from too much hot stuff.

Other spices Mr. Berton likes to toss in include basil and oregano. He doesn't mention if they're fresh or dried, so we'll go with dried.

A thing to remember: vegetable-based soups take less time than meat-based soups, mainly because vegetable fiber breaks down faster than meat. So figure about 20 minutes to a half-hour, at medium-low heat, before the soup is ready.

At this stage, we can take advantage of a bit of technology that didn't exist in the 1950s: the blender stick. We put the stick in and blend our soup into a pleasing consistency. We could also try straining it, as Mr. Berton recommends, but Men who are not fond of doing dishes know that a it's better to have to wash one pot instead of two. As a final touch, Mr. Berton recommends stirring in Parmesan cheese shortly before serving, in Chinese ramen bowls, with crusty bread on the side.

All right, let's put Mr. Berton's column into a conventional recipe:

At least 24 Roma/plum tomatoes, or in-season tomatoes on the vine, chopped into chunks
4 sticks of celery (including leaves), chopped very fine
1/3 bunch of parsley, chopped very fine
2 onions, chopped fine
Salt
2-4 cloves garlic, minced
Freshly ground pepper
Tabasco sauce
Cayenne pepper
Dried basil
Dried oregano
Grated Parmesan cheese

Put the tomatoes in a 6-quart Dutch oven or other large pan; place over medium-high heat. Chop and add the celery, parsley and onions. When the tomatoes have melted into a stew-like consistency, season to taste with salt, garlic, pepper, Tabasco, basil and oregano, reduce heat to medium-low and let simmer for a minimum of 20 minutes, stirring occasionally to prevent scorching. (For a smooth consistency, use a stick blender to blend the soup to a purée.) A few minutes before serving, stir in grated Parmesan cheese; once the cheese has melted, transfer to bowls and serve with crusty bread.

Welcome Aboard!

2004-10-30T21:13:00.000-04:00

Why The Urban Possum? Well, there are two influences:

1. James Barber, The Urban Peasant. If you've read any of his writings you know about his sunny attitude towards food and cooking.

2. The Red Green Show. Of course it's all about the foibles of being a man in today's world, but the Possum Lodge seems to lack a kitchen. Barbecue and hot dog stand made out of duct tape, yes, but not a kitchen. Well, that's because the kitchen is here.

In this weblog, I plan to talk about food and writings about food. I'll also throw in a few recipes along the way.

Stay tuned. I plan on making this a fun ride.