Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Bitchin' Bacon & Beef Bombs™

Serving suggestion? © Ryan Schierling
It was a beautiful, bluebird, late summer day.

I walked around the building, cursing. All of the doors to this Capitol Hill club were locked, there was no one inside. I stood back a bit on the corner and looked up toward the rooftop deck, hoping there was someone around to let me in. I shifted my bags full of gear, dialed the number given to me by my editor, lifted the phone to my ear and waited. No answer. The club owner, who was to be featured in a local magazine I was freelancing for at the time, was a no-show. I walked around the building a few more times, swore a little more, left one last voicemail, and bailed. At least I had the rest of the afternoon and evening to fire up the grill and soak up the last rays of the day.

At the grocery store across the street, I wandered with an empty basket for a while. What sounded good? What looked good? What hadn't I made in a while? What hadn't I made, ever?

Bacon-wrapped stuffed jalapeños have been around since chest-thumping caveman times and there's no shortage of self-proclaimed brilliant recipes out there, with just about every filling incarnation you can think of – some type of soft cheese with... chives, crab, deviled ham, pimientos, pickled garlic, sundried tomatoes, Ortolan... whew. Exhausting.

Seeing the butcher beating beef down (for Milanesa, perhaps?), I started figuring things out and had her wrap a pound for me. Instead of jalapeño peppers, I grabbed a jar of spicy pickled pepperoncini. Around that wafer-thin slice of beef would be a piece of bacon. Seasoned well, finally brushed with... what? Barbecue sauce seemed too heavy-handed. I wandered the store some more until I found molasses. It still seemed a bit much, too dark and heavy. Teriyaki sauce didn't really fit with the pepperoncini, maybe a bastardized arrabbiata sauce? I wanted something a little different, but this was all getting too complicated.



Monday, May 30, 2011

Anticipate. Celebrate. Grill.

(L) Mojito. (R) Applewood smoked oysters. © Ryan Schierling

While not technically the first day of summer, Memorial Day weekend falls close enough on the calendar that it has truly become a cultural celebration anticipating summer's start. While we come together on this day to pay respect to our nation's lost soldiers, we also take this holiday weekend to entertain the companionship of family, friends and neighbors. The weather is warming and a new season is upon us – what better way gather folks around than by building a fire?

Grilling season has begun.

When it comes to the grill, there are family traditions and regional traditions that influence our choices. Here in the heart of cattle country, there will most certainly be a lot of beef on the menu this summer. On the coasts you are likely to find fish and oysters featured more prominently. But whatever you choose to cook, the act of grilling itself is about much more than what you put over those glowing coals, it is about the community it builds. It is your hearth outdoors and the smoke signals an invitation to join in, contributing in your own unique way.

Even if you don't eat meat (for some, I know, it may feel like a tricky time around the grill) the community is still there and the fire doesn't discriminate. There are so many delicious non-meat preparations we have grilled over the years – skewered squash and mushrooms marinated in a favorite vinaigrette, fresh pineapple, and green beans or asparagus steamed in foil – that we don't believe anyone should ever feel left out.

Beyond the occasional roasting of marshmallows over a campfire, I really didn't have the traditional American grilling experience growing up. It was our small courtyard community in Seattle that graciously taught me to appreciate the joys of the shared grill. The lighting of the coals was an open invitation to throw something on and participate. So, if someone had just brought home a bag of fresh oysters, they might be joined by vegetables and steaks from another neighbor. There were evenings of grilled pizza topped to anyone's liking and foreign foods we had to practice to pronounce.

The diversity was fascinating, the smoke comforting, and the warmth of the coals reassuring and inviting.

This weekend marks the official start to summer grilling. So, over the next few days, Ryan and I have decided to share a few of our grilled favorites with our family and friends here on FGHD. We'd love to have you hang out with us, or take an idea and run with it.

We're ready to celebrate summer.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

It's not leftovers, it's legacy.

Noodling with chicken noodle. © Ryan Schierling

Be it an intentional challenge, due to economic necessity, or simple unwillingness to make another trip to the grocery store, all of us have had the experience of cooking something for dinner using only what we had on hand. From the bits and scraps left over from recent meals or odds and ends in the pantry, you aspire to prepare something you might actually want to eat. Sometimes an old standby is the end result of pillaging the pantry and other times a novel "one-off" meal emerges. On occasion, one of these creations will even be so scrumptious as to become a family favorite.

But this was not one of those resplendent times. No, this was really just Chicken Noodle... uh, pasta.

It was delicious and easy, but this was primarily an effort to use what was left of an excellent grilled chicken. While I may not be much of a meat eater, I do believe it is important to not be wasteful when a critter is sacrificed for our table. The other elements I rounded up from the fridge, pantry and herb garden… a couple of carrots and some onion, a small bag of pappardelle (extra back-up pasta we had on hand from Easter in case the homemade pasta wasn't enough), and some fresh rosemary and thyme from the garden.

Is this starting to sound like an easy game of "Stump the Cook" on The Splendid Table?

Let's face it, what we have here are the discernible makings of a simple chicken noodle soup. But it didn't feel like a "soup" kind of night; pasta sounded far more appealing than a steaming bowl of flavorful broth with noodles. So, I just started sautéing the vegetables and fresh herbs like I would for a soup, then added a wee bit of flour to make a blonde roux before adding chicken broth a little at a time. When I achieved a light sauce I added the chicken, brought it up to bubbling, seasoned (mmm… cracked black pepper) and tossed it with the cooked pasta.

Soup can be made from just about anything… pick a vegetable or two, choose a savory stock or just water, add a bit of meat, perhaps, or maybe a little cream, and seasonings to suit your taste. (Heck, you could even puree leftover casserole and water with a stick blender and turn that into a soup!) So really, why not adapt a favorite into a pasta sauce? It may not turn out to be a recipe you make again and again, but, thanks to some persuasion from a fast approaching expiration date and a little imagination, it will likely make for a wonderful weeknight take on something you already enjoy. Buh-bye leftovers, hello extra room in the fridge!

What have you come up with on a night when legacy was "what's for dinner?"

Monday, May 16, 2011

SILF.

Shooter's sandwich. © Ryan Schierling
I'm not exactly sure when the term "SILF" entered the food lexicon, but it's been bandied about on sandwich-enthusiast websites, sandwich-heavy photo threads, and even graced a t-shirt over at BustedTees. I have no doubt the acronym has been used at some point to describe the fabled "Shooter's Sandwich," a glorious and grand old Edwardian tradition of the highest order.

Often described as the "best sandwich ever," this meat-heavy hunter's special is a visually-stunning creation, and has reverent, fervent followers all over the web. When Julie sent me the link to the UK Guardian story detailing how to create this mythical beef beast, all I could do was text back "ME. WANT." and make a grocery list.

Once I got home and started working the meez, I began to think about how this was actually going to come together. A hearty, crusty loaf of artisan bread was the vessel, a pair of nice steaks were the precious contents, and a sauteed mess of mushroom, garlic and shallot (hit with some worcestershire sauce and a splash of brandy) bound everything together. Add some whole grain mustard and a slathering of horseradish, and this sandwich was shaping up to be a serious punch in the mouth.

I don't want to discount hundreds of years of English tradition, but there were a couple of things about the recipe that bothered me. One, the steaks went into the bread "bowl" hot, not rested. All jus and bloody goodness (I don't mean that in an proper English way, I mean it in a medium-rare way) would soak into the bread, especially the bottom, when this whole thing was pressed overnight. Soggy bread is disgusting, unless you're making stuffing. Two, steaks are eaten with a steak knife for a reason, no matter how tender and juicy they are. Trying to bite through a crusty loaf and a pair of fat steaks with just your front teeth – normal sandwich-eating style – was not going to work.

I put my reservations aside and prepared the sandwich per the recipe's instructions – bread bowl bottom, hot steak, mushroom-shallot mix, hot steak, mustard and horseradish, bread bowl top. I wrapped the whole thing in parchment paper and tied if off with butcher's twine. I placed a cutting board on top of it and set our Kitchen Aid stand mixer on top of the cutting board to make like the trash compactor scene in Star Wars.

This was either going to be a brilliant hat-tip to Edwardian times, or it was going to be a soggy, chewy, unfortunate waste of a good loaf of bread and two steaks.


Sunday, May 8, 2011

TGICFS.

Chicken fried steak and eggs @ The Frisco. © Ryan Schierling
This was another morning beginning with high hopes for chicken-fried steak and eggs, only to be disappointed by The Frisco Shop's offering. The storied restaurant's historic decor led us to believe we were going to, at last, sit down and get ourselves an honest, simple and delicious breakfast. But looks can be deceiving... and that sad parsley is the breakfast equivalent of a death knell.

textural query:
where does the limp meat begin
and bland gravy end?
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