A Sort of Fusion

I have been away far too long again, and it took the right meal to make me sit down and write again. Last night's dinner was that meal. A month or two ago, I experimented with using egg roll wrappers with something of a Tex-Mex filling, and last night, I think I hit it spot on. While the prep and cook time for this was longer than the usual half hour I try to allow, it wasn't by much, surprisingly. I started with ground beef and black beans sauteed with a couple of different chili powders, some garlic salt, pepper, ground cumin, and coriander. I rolled these into the wrappers with a bit of shredded sharp cheddar, and browned them in peanut oil. Simple, crispy, and again, surprisingly quick. A bit of rice in the cooker, and that was it. 

The Verdict

When three of the four in our family go back for seconds, it is a good sign. The crispy, flaky egg roll wrappers are a great substitute for the more traditional corn platform I associate with this kind of protein concoction. With a dollop of sour cream and salsa on the side for dipping, the result was unquestionably successful. I also think I have finally beaten my aging and well-used rice cooker into submission, as it has been plaguing me with poorly-cooked rice of late. Last night, it was almost perfectly cooked. I chose jasmine rice, and it had just the right texture to complement the main course.

The idea of fusing cuisines is really a balancing act. It is a matter of picking ideas that work well together, and not just cobbling together random ingredients, hoping something will click. It's not unlike what I've been feeling about parenting these past few busy months. Taking a step back and seeking balance goes a long way toward preserving the sense of self that parents still desperately cling to, while happily sinking deeper and deeper into their other identity of mom or dad. I don't know any two parents who were raised identically, and as such, we all bring different experiences and ideas about how to guide our children to our parenting experience. Really, parenting is a kind of fusion as well, when there are two folks doing the job. And when we are lucky, or thoughtful, or careful, or all of these things, going back for seconds can be really satisfying.

Early Thanksgiving and Sandy

This past weekend, we took delivery of a new stove. The old one still did fine as a stovetop, but the oven had given up the ghost. Even if we "fudged" the inaccurate temperature and set the beast much higher, we would not have been able to get the oven any hotter than 325 degrees, and the cost of the repair was about half the cost of a new unit, so we swallowed hard and took the hit on the budget. I unofficially broke in the oven by roasting pumpkin seeds from our jack-o-lantern (cinnamon sugar - yum), but the official first dinner came on Sunday night. It somehow seemed appropriate to make something special, something that would make good use of the larger capacity and the full stovetop (the new unit has five burners, higher potential BTU output, etc.), so I opted for a quickie version of Thanksgiving dinner. 

If I were doing a "real" Thanksgiving dinner, a whole bird would have been brined. The stuffing would have been made from scratch. The veggies would have been fresh, not frozen. And I might even have made a bread from scratch as well, rather than just buying a tub of croissants. Even the cranberry sauce would have been homemade, not from a can. Instead, the turkey was a breast only (bone in, at least), and I did a simple sage, salt, and pepper rub on it. The mashed potatoes were the real deal; I couldn't let the little one down, as she seems to have developed a fondness for daddy's mashed potatoes. But the rest was as I have described.   Thankfully, the oven worked wonderfully, and I was even able to work in the croissants for a quick warm up at the end of the turkey's cook time. And the stovetop got a reasonably good workout, even if not all burners were in action at once.

Frankly, I hadn't considered writing about the meal. But reading about so many of my friends and family back on the east coast who have endured hurricane Sandy gave me pause, and made me reconsider. As I was finishing up the last of the leftovers at dinner tonight with my wife and two girls, I realized that this pre-Thanksgiving meal was just that; something to make me reflect on what I am grateful for in my life, the comfort of the mundane, and just how fragile these things are.

The verdict

The meal is not generally what I write about when I write here, and this is certainly the case tonight. I think back this evening on my childhood and early adult years in NJ, and hearing about and seeing pictures and footage of the places in NYC and NJ that were so familiar to me has had me swimming in memories (if you will pardon the awful pun). I recall celebrating with family at my Aunt Betty's in Westwood for Thanksgiving dinners, and so many other memories of that town that I could write several books. I remember flood waters in the mid-1970s when I was living with my Uncle Billy in Kendall Park, and how the stream a good bit behind his house had turned the back yard into a mucky lake (and how I swam in it with my cousins, even though it was far from safe). When I heard about the towns of Little Ferry and Moonachie, the former where I lived for a year with my dad, and the latter where he had worked at the time, I think about how I would never have imagined that area being overrun by water. I remembered the frequent flooding in Hackensack (was it River Road?), and visiting the USS Ling submarine docked along the river there. I thought about trips to the Palisades. I thought about heading to NYC with my father to visit relatives (and his old stomping grounds near my birthplace in the Bronx), and later by myself, sometimes on the sly, sometimes not. Trips down the shore. Hours on the Parkway and the Turnpike, with friends, with family, and alone. All of this seems so very different and very distant right now as I see the images on TV, on Facebook, on the local newspaper sites from around NJ, and the like. It's been years since I called the area home, but I was shaped by my childhood there, and seeing the destruction and loss so many are facing there pains me to my core.

I know what it feels like to live with the kind of devastation my friends back east are facing now, having endured a few hurricanes myself. I will do what I can to help. Maybe slate a blood donation later this week (if I can hydrate and keep the blood pressure up), donate to a good cause, offer what I can in kind words, good thoughts, and other distant deeds - whatever is possible from halfway across the country. I am already thinking that a visit when spring or summer comes around might be nice; put some money back into the rebuilding economies along the shore that will surely need it. But as is all too often the case, when we are physically removed from a disaster, we are largely at a loss to think of how we can really help those in need. 

I thought to myself tonight that, if I had a job that allowed it and didn't have a family relying on me here, I would get myself out there and help cut up downed trees, clean up flooded basements, help tarp up some rooftops - anything to be of clear and direct help. But having a pre-Thanksgiving meal also made me realize that having a job that needs me and, more importantly, a family that needs me, is the very thing that many of my friends are realizing right now as well. As they get together to grill up the perishables with neighbors (knowing that if they don't, things will spoil), many of them will grow closer to their neighbors over a meal shared from the heart. I try to do this without a disaster at hand, but I also know the special kind of camaraderie folks can build in those moments when the lights won't work, and all sense of normalcy has been removed. I am sure someone is running an extension cord from their generator to help out a neighbor tonight, sharing what they have, and in doing so, giving thanks for what they have. Some folks are feeling the stress and strain of loss. Loss of power, sure, but also loss of property, and a loss of the sense of security and stability that ordinary life brings. Thankfully, I'm not aware of any friends grieving for lost life directly, but I am sure that they mourn the losses they hear about just as I do, and in doing so, they are thankful to have survived intact.

I hope that in a few weeks my friends and family back east will have some of the comfort returned, some of the stability, security, and normalcy back, and I sincerely hope that they will have a solid recovery to be thankful for. Tomorrow, I will enjoy a kind of special normalcy, one of trick-or-treating in the neighborhood, another comfortable meal at my table, and of course, the love I share with my family. But I will hold all of you on the east coast in my thoughts as I do these things, knowing that many of you will not have these simple joys tomorrow. I ask that all of us who weathered this storm unscathed do something above and beyond to help. Tonight, I am thankful for all I have, my safety, the four walls and a roof, passable roads, and relative peace and calm in a way I wasn't on Sunday when I first cooked our meal. In the spirit of my Quaker friends, please hold all who are suffering in the light, and please do what you can, if you can, to help ease the pain, loss, and suffering. Give someone else something to be thankful for.

Fish and Chips... and neighbors

We are really lucky people. We get to share meals from time to time with some of our fabulous neighbors, and tonight was one of those nights. I couldn't resist picking up some Atlantic cod this weekend when shopping, and knew exactly who I wanted to share it with; our neighbors Ami and Craig (and their 2 sons). I felt a little guilty popping it in the freezer on Saturday, but we knew we wouldn't be able to get it cooked before tonight, so that eased some of my guilt. And since I knew it was going to become part of a fish and chips dinner, well, that pushed all my guilt aside. Some careful defrosting can actually help keep the fish moist when it gets cooked in such high heat, I find.


I found myself on the hot seat tonight, because one of our neighbors has strong roots in the Boston area, a real New England-er who loves quality seafood, and is not afraid to wax passionately about the dearth of good seafood out here in the Midwest.  As an east coast guy, I can relate. I'm not a huge seafood fan, but when I do indulge, I'm pretty particular myself. And fish and chips is pretty often poorly done, quite frankly. As finicky as I can be about the quality of the fish, I am even more of a snob about a good batter. I pride myself on having learned some great secrets from a host of great chefs/cooks over the years, and think I do a better than average job batter-dipping a good dinner.


I had a bit of a scare early on in the cooking tonight. I try to keep folks out of the kitchen as much as possible when I deep fry, even more so now that we have a young daughter in the house (and the next one coming soon...). Unfortunately, I was less prudent with my pug, and as I did the first fry on the first batch of fries, there was a bit of a spatter that bubbled up just as he was passing under foot. I was able to get him scooped up, rinsed off, and noted no harm, although I think he thought I was a bit nuts for my dramatic reaction. After a good long "oh-my-G-d-I'm-glad-you're-OK" hug, I got back to work. Knowing that I'd be holding the fries in the oven for a few minutes while I cooked the fish, I wanted to be sure they would be as crispy as possible, so I did the twice-fried method, partially cooking them the first time at a lower temperature, draining them, cooling them, and setting them aside to finish them up later.


After the second trip to the fryer, the potatoes were seasoned and kept warm, and I turned my attention to the main attraction. I like to keep things on the simple side with my batter, and for fish and chips, I'm a big fan of using beer. In general, carbonated liquid is my rule of thumb, as I find the batter that results is substantially lighter and "puffier" than with a non-carbonated liquid. And since the beer packs a whole lot of flavor-punch on its own, I tend not to add much more to the mix. For my flour dredge, I did add a bit of a slightly-sharp Hungarian paprika, something with the slightest bit of zip right up next to the fish itself. The batter was simply flour, salt, pepper, and a nice wheat ale that had a slightly sweet flavor. Sadly, I can't seem to recall what I used, and the bottle is down in the recycle bin now. No matter; just as long as you cook with something you'd actually drink, it works out just fine. It's mostly important to avoid overpowering the food with something too strong; Guinness would be a deal-breaker on this one, for sure.


I asked that the neighbors bring some malt vinegar (something I was surprised to discover was absent from our collection of vinegars) and some cole slaw (I just love a nice cole slaw with fried fish), and they obliged my request, rounding out the meal.


The verdict

I got a pic before my wife could dig in ...
Wish the fish was in the foreground. Oh well.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how disconnected folks often are from their neighbors, from their extended families, and sometimes even from immediate family. As a nation, we have spread out, and more than ever, I think, we could do with a good dose of re-connection, finding points of commonality with those who are around us and building on them to strengthen our roots where we live in the face of such distances. Sure, we get to connect up in virtual spaces easily, and we do build and strengthen relationships in them, but there is something special about the day-in, day-out bond shared with the people who live in the neighborhood. I suppose I've ranted about this before, but it bears repeating.


So for those of you who live far from family and haven't connected up with someone in the neighborhood, I urge you to reach out and share a meal together. Share your stories, find the things that you have in common, and build some kind of relationship with them. Food is a great way to start a rich dialog about your pasts, your upbringing, your families, and the things you value and cherish. We shared some great stories tonight about "house rules" for mealtimes growing up, and that led to some great laughs, sure, but more importantly it let us know a little more about what shaped us into who we are now. As much as I like to preach about having family mealtime, it is also important to open that up once in a while and invite in the people you like. For us, living in a city, that means people we share the sidewalk with, gripe about parking and transit with, and in our case, share a deck space with, back doors just inches apart. Having had the great fortune of getting to know them over the past few years, I knew they would appreciate my effort at good seafood, and they did.


The verdict is simple; the fish was moist and tasty, and the beer added just enough flavor to make things interesting. I don't think the neighbors were at all disappointed. The fries held up great, and I managed to avoid over-salting them for a change (I've had some heavy-handed moments on that front recently). The slaw was a nice, cool, crispy addition, and the malt vinegar was spot-on.  I would love to have a kitchen where deep frying was a simpler option. Deep frying gets a bad rap; it can be done sensibly, and if you do it right, you shouldn't be eating a ton of the oil anyway. But since it is an ordeal to set up the fryer, and even bigger ordeal to tear it down, clean it up, and contend with the oil, I'll probably keep it in the "sometimes food" category for now (it certainly isn't a half-hour-to-the-table meal making fish and chips). Well, at least as long as we live here, with our reasonable but modest-sized kitchen, alongside some of the best neighbors we could ever want, I'll keep it that way.

Sliders

Tonight was a pretty simple night for dinner. While shopping last weekend, my wife spotted some slider buns, and we decided at some point during the week that would be our dinner. I was glad to oblige her craving, as it is a rare day that I pass up a chance to eat a burger. I did want to add a bit of zing to the meal, however. Blending shredded cheddar right into the burger is an old trick, and I was glad to use it. But that still left me with a pretty basic burger. I opted to make a quick garlic-heavy mayo to spread on the buns. Simple stuff - egg yolk, oil, etc., but we love our garlic in our house, so I did not hold back one bit. Besides, my arms were stiff, and the workout with the whisk did me some good.


I made a potato salad as well. They were selling modest-sized bags of small red & white potatoes this past week, and I am glad I grabbed some. The salad, too, was pretty basic. I've been using  Hellmann's olive oil mayonnaise lately, and simply love it.* A bit of yellow mustard, some chopped up dill pickle, salt and pepper... and our old standby - crumbled bacon. I've mentioned in a previous post that we keep a bag of Costco (Kirkland) brand  crumbled, pre-cooked bacon on hand at all times. It really added a nice touch to the salad. 


The verdict


Some plain old green beans on the side made this feel more like a summer cookout than a late-winter meal. The potato salad meet my wife's most important criterion for a good side dish - "not too mayo-ey." I loved the bacon in the mix. I don't make potato salad quite the same way every time, and I definitely don't always add the bacon.  


The burgers were juicy, perfectly cooked, and I swear, they were doing something unspeakable on the bun with that garlic mayo, because I felt just a bit naughty after I ate this meal, like I was some kind of voyeur to a culinary hook-up. The garlic is still dancing around on my palate, and I look forward to that hint of goodness the rest of the night. My only regret is that I made the darn burgers just a little thicker than I would have cared for. I was counting on more - uh - shrinkage, but the meat was leaner than I'd thought it would be.


The real bonus I sometimes get at dinner time, of course, is when I get my daughter to agree to help me cook. Tonight, she helped make the burgers, and put the potatoes into the pot (before they went onto the stove, of course). We haven't gotten her to eat a burger yet, but we did convince her yesterday that hot dogs were ok, so she did have one of those tonight. At least she was adding to the summer cookout vibe. It's been a challenge getting her to branch out. I convinced her to try a potato, and I think having her "help cook" them may have been key (although bribery helps). Of course, if what I thought helped her overcome her recent fussiness with eating, we would be past that stage already...


* - I might also note that I grew up eating only Hellmann's when I did eat mayo. As a kid, that was rare. There's a story behind why, but that's another day...

Bummer

Tonight, I had hoped to tap into some visceral part of my being, and I had planned on doing this by grilling in the single-digit temperatures we are "enjoying" here in Chicago tonight. I wanted to step into the cold, and smell the meat on the grill with the brace of frigid air upon my cheeks. I somehow envisioned the triggering of an ancestral memory, the call of the ages whispering through the flames, tethering me beyond the ages to Neanderthal and Cro Magnon, conjuring the ghosts of thousands of years past. I wanted to reach back to them, to sense what it might have been like after a hunt in the dead of winter, the freshly-slain beast upon a spit above a fire still mysterious, still magical. With all that has changed through human (and hominid) history, the smell of cooking meat surely hasn't, right?


Alas, someone had done me the "favor" of pushing my grill cover partway through the handle of my grill, and the recent snow melted into it. About a half gallon of water had frozen beneath that handle, and I was left with no other choice: the broiler. As much as the call of the wild surged through my bones, there was a more immediate call tonight. I spent much of the day thinking about the massive, magnificent porterhouse steaks squatting on all the real estate our dinner plates could afford, and there was no way I was putting this off until tomorrow. 


I do have to tip my hat in some small way to my dad. He did some pretty cool things under the broiler at home when I was a kid, at least I remember a few such occasions in the times when it was just the two of us living in whatever place he had rented at the time. I also need to give due credit to my Aunt Betty, who also did some rather nifty work with the broiler and a piece of beef in the many years I lived in her home. Bottom line: I know the magic you can do with the broiler, and I'm not afraid to use it!


I use a wire cooling rack and a Pyrex dish for such affairs, skipping the old-school metal broiling pans. It is a contraption I simply can't part with, since it has resulted in any number of terrific meals in my lifetime.  The steaks were so big tonight that I had to place a cookie sheet underneath the rig to catch any incidental fat dripping. The steaks received a simple application of garlic salt, pepper, and some various herbs and spices - nothing fancy, since it was the meat I was interested in.


A special treat for me tonight was having my daughter assist me in getting some baked potatoes ready for the oven after I picked her up from daycare. She helped me wash, prick, and wrap the potatoes before they went under the flames. I sincerely hope that the make-believe cooking she relishes so much -  and does constantly - stays with her as she grows up. I will gladly share the kitchen with her if her interest remains, and look forward to seeing what she comes up with, teaching her what I can, and enjoying the time together doing what I fear far too many families don't share any more; time together preparing and eating meals at home.


So, while part of the night was a bummer (the part where I didn't get to freeze my tail off at the grill), in the end, I am more than satisfied.

The verdict


You know, you really can't go wrong with a good porterhouse. My wife was told she needed to up her iron intake recently, so that was a good enough excuse for me to splurge on these puppies. I did have to teach her about the little secret of a porterhouse - the really tender meat is typically on the "small side!" She did appreciate the advice, and seemed more than content with the meal. I lured her in before dinner was done with the smell of searing beef, and that smell still lingers throughout the house as I write this. 


You also can't go wrong with a simple baked potato with a good steak, can you? Spinach: an afterthought, but a good one. I figured she'd get a good boost of iron that way.


I popped open a bottle of Bonarda to go along with the meal. It was a tad sweeter than I'd expected, but still worked pretty well, taking an appropriate back seat to the main dish as I had wished. I wanted to savor the simplicity of the steak, and I did. 


Maybe I didn't get to appreciate the cold tonight. Maybe I didn't get to bond with the ancestors. But I did get a delicious dinner and the company of my awesome family. My pug got the bonus of a scrap or two as well, and maybe in some small way I did get to reach back in time and get a small taste of what it was like. Perhaps not the part about braving the elements for survival and cooking over a flame, but the part of history where dogs became domesticated. I know if I was a pooch, I'd have come by for the smell, begged for the scraps, and stayed around for the company.

The Other Cook

Tonight, I grilled up the other steaks I had on hand from our Costco trip. They were equally good, and the leftover potatoes warmed nicely alongside them on the grill in a foil pouch (with a pinch more cheddar to compensate for what I knew would stick to the foil). The wine was better, and while it was chilly, it was a pleasant night in front of the grill.

But the real treat wasn't the dinner tonight. It was our other cook. When I grilled over the weekend, our daughter lined up an array of mixing bowls to "cook dinner" while I was outside. Tonight, she "cooked" while my wife and I sat down to eat. She used a straw to mix, and had a variety of bowls, cups, and spoons on hand to concoct her imaginary meal. The result was some "coffee" for mommy, served in a plastic jug with a straw.

I was lucky enough to spend most of my childhood living in a home where dinner was cooked most nights, and the norm was for us to gather for our meal together. I don't think I fully appreciated the effort that my various caregivers put into those meals at the time, and I know I didn't always appreciate the end results. (My cousins will all attest to the misery of some of the worst pea soup ever served!) In hindsight, I am deeply grateful for those meals, and for that effort.

I want my daughter to appreciate the love that goes into a home cooked meal, and I think we are on the right track.