Wednesday is Prince Spaghetti Day...

As implied in my last post, my mind has been flashing memories of my youth at a pretty steady pace lately, with so many friends still contending with the aftermath of Sandy back east. It was not completely by happenstance that I chose Wednesday as the day to use the crock pot to make something of a "Sunday Gravy," obviously not on a Sunday, but because I so warmly remember seeing advertisements for Prince spaghetti all over the airwaves as a young boy in NJ. Granted, the commercial is supposed to be set on the north end of Boston, but somehow the imagery reminds me still, more generically, of nearly any tenement building in a large city in the northeast, and by association, the images remind me of NY, or at least the kind of hazy and faded memory of NY that I hearken back to in the nostalgic part of my brain.

More importantly, the ad reminds me of how, in my neighborhood, calling kids in for dinner was commonplace. At any given moment, you'd hear moms or siblings yelling, "Willy [yeah, I had to endure that nickname], time for supper." Or dinner. Or whatever a family called it. We'd hear it, and the game we were all playing would either realign to adjust for those called away, or would simply dissipate as the critical mass dwindled to the few who hadn't yet been called in. By urban standards, our yards were luxuriously large in the north Jersey suburbs, but really, the block where I spent most of my youth was compact enough that no one was really ever out of earshot of their own home. I suppose there is a part of me that mourns the idea that my daughters might not get to experience the call to dinner that was so familiar to me and to my friends growing up, in part because I doubt we'd ever have that luxury in our densely urban neighborhood, but more so because it seems that we have reached a point where the cell phone, the text message, or some other digital beacon has taken the place of a good set of lungs when rounding up the family these days. 

Dinner, tonight, was a joy to cook, and the prep this morning was incredibly simple. I had a bony, cheap cut of beef and a lovely, but small pork tenderloin roast defrosted. Both went into the crock pot along with canned tomatoes, tomato sauce, tomato paste, garlic, salt, pepper, and a nice dose of herbs (mostly basil, oregano, and parsley today). I copped out on cutting up an onion, and just added a bit of onion powder today, mostly out of a concern for time (I was too persnickety about getting the garlic cut up to allow me the time to hack at an onion). I let this cook all day, and since it was a rather large batch, decided I'd keep my meatballs completely separate from the process. And for those who care, I did add a tiny dash of sugar, but I was on the fence about it. I know some folks insist that it is essential, and others consider it an abomination. For me, since I'm not Italian by heritage, I have no loyalties, and just cook as the spirit moves me.

Once home from work, I made up the meatballs. I kept them simple - beef only, some breadcrumbs (wish I'd had more on hand, but I made it work), eggs, herbs, and a healthy dose of parmesan cheese added in. I baked the meatballs, and made sure I'd have plenty to freeze along with the sauce for a week or so down the road, and to make sure we'd have enough for leftovers tomorrow as well. I was craving the simplicity of spaghetti (and not some other pasta shape; I think the commercial really got to me, but it was not Prince brand), but ended up mixing in a small bit of linguine I had opened as well.

The Verdict

(I really need to take pics on the white or red plates;
 the yellow does NOT photograph well)

Writing about spaghetti and meatballs is nor really an earth-shattering idea. Yes, the meal was absolutely delicious. You just can't rush a really good sauce, and so the slow cooker does wonders for a deep, flavorful meat sauce like this. The strands of tender meat that melt in the mouth, bathed in an herb-y tomato base are so comforting, and the somewhat saltier and chewier meatballs on the side such a delightful contrast. I have not had nearly enough wine lately, and was thrilled to find a bottle of Brunello di Montalcino in our stash. It was a great treat with this particular dinner.

So, again tonight, I let my mind drift back to my youth, to the turf of my teens (and younger), to old friends, and to old ways. I recalled a lunch at my friend Phil Mastronardi's house, and how, between his mom and grandmother, I could barely walk away from the meal. I remembered several meals at the homes of friends in the neighborhood, including a fair number at Andrew Lange's house, where his mom made some traditional German meals that I have still yet to find the courage to try to recreate in my own kitchen.  I recalled playing kick the can with my buds on 4th Ave in Westwood. I found my mind walking to any number of my old schools on brisk days like today, the smell of leaves as I crunched them underfoot, and the sound of the train whistle bringing parents back from work in "The City." And again, tonight, I wished I could do more than just remember and think good thoughts. 

Still, a rich meal like this on a cold, late-autumn evening, with my family around me, makes me realize that, for them, I'm laying the foundation for the memories my daughters will have. They will have comfort in the familiarity of the mundane things we now share, and I hope each of them will get to look back on these memories fondly, in good times and bad. And I hope they will find something that can call them back as easily as the sound of "Anthony... Anthony..."

Spicy Pork Empanadas

Growing up in northern New Jersey, I vividly remember seeing ads for Goya Adobo Sauce. They aired with greater frequency than I would have imagined on network TV of the 1970s and early 1980s. Sure, I also would occasionally tune into the Spanish-language UHF stations to watch a bit of "lucha libre" on weekends, but that was a rare indulgence. (No, really it was). I recall seeing cans of chipotle peppers in adobo sauce in the "ethnic foods" aisle in the grocery store. These always seemed exotic to me, a mystical thing that, as a boy, I would never have imagined having as part of a meal, never mind an item simply "on hand" in my pantry. As I think about it, few foods in the "ethnic" aisle would have seemed viably edible when I was a boy. Part of the reason, I'm sure, was simply my youth and lack of experience, but another part of it probably stemmed from living in a household that was not all that open to cultural "otherness." About the only food we bought from that aisle was the canned La Choy products, and the thought of canned Chow Mein still triggers a gag reflex deep inside for me.

I have come to appreciate a reasonably wide array of foods from other cultures over the years, and I have a fondness for empanadas, not only because they are delicious (really, I don't think I've ever had a bad one), but also because the basic concept is so appealing. Think about it; a delicious filling in a bread/pastry that is fried. Simple, easy to handle, comforting. And yes, I know that baking is an option, but if you can fry, why not? I had not made them before this evening, so the challenge for me was to keep the record perfect; I simply refused to taint the track record by making bad empanadas.

I started with some onion and oil, a bit of tomato paste, the chipotle/adobo goodness, cumin, and garlic salt, and added in small cubes of pork tenderloin and some water. I kept letting the sauce reduce, then adding a bit of water to keep the dish cooking, until finally getting the pork nice and tender (and still juicy). Once reduced down, I felt the filling needed a bit more sweetness to balance the flavors, so I added a bit of turbinado sugar. I confess that I decided on frozen "discos" for my first outing, in part because I wanted to eliminate a point of possible failure, but in larger part because I knew that, like most weeknights, my time would be limited. As a personal goal, I plan to make those from scratch next time.  Once constructed, I fried the empanadas in a mixture of canola and peanut oil until golden brown. 

The verdict

To put it simply; hot and spicy, but delicious. In addition to opening up that can of chipotle/adobo from the pantry, and my time-saving (yes, also a bit lazy) move of using the perfectly acceptable frozen discos, I served some canned pineapple on the side. The sweetness, and more importantly, the acidity really complimented the heat from the filling. 

I thought for a minute about my pantry as I was writing this and realized that, in the event of a long power outage or natural disaster, I would still be able to cobble together some rather interesting meals from the shelf-stable things I tend to keep around as a matter of course. It might be a fun challenge to cook for a few days with only things that are shelf-stable and already in the house just to see what I would end up with. I know this, for certain: it wouldn't be anything like I would have imagined walking those grocery aisles with my aunt when I was a young boy or teenager.

Dr. Pepper Glazed Cornish Hen

Last weekend, my wife took me up on my challenge for her to adapt a brownie recipe to include Dr. Pepper. While I do most of the cooking, she does most of the baking that happens in our house. In addition to the brownie itself, she prepared a Dr. Pepper frosting to top the treat. They were delicious, and they inspired me to challenge myself to include Dr. Pepper in a main course in some way. The result; Dr. Pepper Glazed Cornish Hen.


Cornish hens are rather fun to cook. They don't take terribly long in the oven, given the smaller size, and they work quite well when cooking for just two people. I made a pair of them, so we do have one leftover for another meal. These birds seemed like a good vehicle for the experiment, as they are not especially bold on their own in terms of flavor.


I started out by reducing the Dr. Pepper a fair bit. The flavor darkened up some, but still clearly tasted like Dr. Pepper. I added a 6-ounce can of tomato paste to the reduced Dr. Pepper, and crushed in some rosemary, as well as a small bit of salt. A bit more reduction, and I was ready for the next step in the process. Well, mostly ready...


One challenge I've faced lately in my kitchen has been that many of my utensils simply cannot be found when I need them. Our daughter loves to pretend-cook, and it delights me to no end to watch her concoct her batches of "strawberry soup, blueberry soup, pancakes, eggs, and spaghetti and meatballs." In fact, I may have to try to make some kind of strawberry or blueberry soup at some point, just to see what her imaginary food would actually taste like. That said, I really missed having my silicone brush tonight. It is surely sitting in a bowl somewhere with a small heap of her toys, and it is Friday after all; there's no telling where it could have gone during this past week. I had to resort to slowly pouring the glaze over the birds.


I used about half of the glaze in this simple form and popped the hens into the oven. I also baked some potatoes while I was at it; a quick starch, and a nice plain side so the poultry could remain center-stage. Shortly before serving dinner, I returned to the remaining glaze, and, well, doctored it up. The tomato paste had managed to dilute much of the sweetness in the Dr. Pepper, so I decided to bring some of the soda flavor back to the forefront. I added some honey, a small bit of salt and pepper, a generous dash of hot sauce (Louisiana-style, for what it's worth), and some apple cider vinegar. Essentially, it became a Dr. Pepper barbecue/dipping sauce, and we did some generous dipping, I can assure you.


Again, in the interest of letting the hen truly stand as a main course, I kept the veggie simple, and opted for some green beans. In all, cook and prep time brought this meal to the table in just over an hour and a half. It made for a satisfying end of the work week and kickoff to the weekend (no pun intended; I just remembered the Super Bowl is coming up on Sunday - GO GIANTS).


The verdict


I most definitely plan to make something like this again, and while I enjoyed the Cornish hen angle, I think the Dr. Pepper flavor is better suited to a nice pork loin. Next time, I'm going that route. The Dr. Pepper flavor was clearly present, but subtle. It probably would have been lost without the addition of the salt and honey. Who knows what they put into that tasty soda; all I know is that it makes a nice base for a different take on a barbecue sauce. I wanted to just start drinking the sauce right out of the serving dish.


I also don't know that I would pair up any particular wine with this dish. Sure, there are plenty that would work, but I'm inclined to consider serving this with either a fine bourbon (on the rocks, please), or some kind of Dr. Pepper-based cocktail. If anyone has some good suggestions for mixed drinks involving Dr. Pepper, please share them.


I was pleased with my choices for rather plain veg and starch. I think I might try some snow pea pods sauteed in olive oil with garlic when I make this with pork. Maybe. But the simple baked potato was definitely a keeper. Perhaps a smattering of goat cheese with diced dried cherries or cranberries over the potato when I make the pork will be in order. We'll see.


We are looking forward to the repeat of this meal tomorrow, and I'm declaring this one a success, even though I do plan to take the idea a different direction in the future. I'm also already thinking about some other non-traditional ingredients as possible launch points. If you care to make a suggestion, I'll gladly accept the challenge, assuming it is reasonable. Part of the joy of cooking is seeing if what you imagine a dish will taste like in any way resembles the end result. This one did.

Twisted Peppers

Last night, at the request of my wife, I made stuffed peppers. I've stuffed a lot of peppers in my life, most of them rather conventionally. More recently, I've been filling them with more of a Greek-inspired blend of lamb and beef, topping them with a similarly-influenced white sauce.  I needed to find a new twist on this simple dish, and so I decided to take a whirl at filling the peppers with more of a Cajun inspired stuffing. I used the basic idea of dirty rice to pave the way.


I don't keep chicken livers around, and so my take on this dish is less than authentic, but the spirit was there. The rice was mixed with ground beef, ground mustard, cumin, 5 different kinds of pepper, a bit of breadcrumbs, and sauteed onion. I figured the bell pepper on the outside would add enough of its own flavor, so I did not add that into the mix. The peppers I softened up a bit in advance with a short bake prior to filling.


Once I tasted the rice, rich with all those peppery flavors, I knew I'd need something as a contrast. I opted to top the filled peppers with a simple mixture of tomato paste, apple cider vinegar, salt, and a dash of prepared mustard. The slightly sweet/sour combination was a good counterbalance, and I'm really glad I decided to add it.


This is simple food. Other than the rice, the prep and cook time went remarkably fast, and I was able to cobble this together in rather little time. The best thing about stuffing peppers, to my mind, is how well they hold up as leftovers. About half went into the freezer, a couple were eaten, and couple are in the fridge to make tonight a nice, simple night of reheating. 


The verdict


Make no mistake - this was a spicy little dish! Just the right amount of "burn" on the lips and front of the tongue to be interesting, but not enough to overwhelm. But that tomato paste topping was spot on! I would most likely tone this down a wee bit for company (assuming they were not into spicy foods), but for us, it was just tasty and satisfying. We had a splash of leftover wine that was still good - Bonarda, if I recall correctly - and I had a bit of that as an afterthought. Not the best thing for the dish, but it was fine.