165. Grilled Pork Kebabs with Manchamantel Sauce (p. 483)

Becky, my good friend from college, and her boyfriend, Brian, came over for lunch a couple of weekends ago to visit with my son, Jack. I haven't seen Becky in months, and I wanted to make something special for her and Brian. That, and I was really excited to have an opportunity to cook for meat-eaters. I've been wanting to make this recipe ever since Teena made it last month. It was not a disappointment.

This recipe was a fair amount of work spanning over two days because it required marinating the pork and making the sauce.

First, the marinade. I started by toasting some dried chilies in a cast iron skillet for about a minute. The Book calls for dried ancho chilies, but I used the dried red chilies that I had leftover from the Shrimp in Adobo Sauce I made a while ago. (That recipe called for anchos, too, but the dried red chilies worked out fine in that dish, so I figured they'd be OK in this dish, too.) It's really amazing how just a few seconds in a hot skillet makes the dry, brittle chilies plump and pliable. I slit the chilies up the middle, removed the seeds and ribs, and covered them in boiling water to soften them up some more. (I prepared enough of the dried chilies for the marinade and for the sauce, which also calls for them.)

I combined the chilies, which I had coarsely chopped, with some water, chopped onion, garlic, thyme, oregano, cumin, salt, crushed peppercorns, olive oil and lemon juice in the blender. I ran out of ground cumin when I made my Green Bean Salad with Pumpkin Seed Dressing, but I was relieved to find some whole cumin seeds kicking around in my spice rack. Since I needed to crush the peppercorns anyway, I pulled out my mortar and pestle and ground up the cumin seeds old-school. Pre-ground spices are a real convenience, but there's nothing like fresh-ground for intense flavor and aroma. I don't know that I'd do it all the time, but there really is a difference.

I poured the marinade in a zip top bag and added the pork kebabs. The Book calls for 2 1/4 pounds of pork tenderloin, cut into 1 1/2 inch cubes. After wandering around somewhat aimlessly in front of the pork case at McKinnon's butcher shop, I asked for some help. The butcher I talked with told me that I wanted to use thick-cut, boneless pork chops and cut them into pieces. Not sure if he sold me a bill of goods, but the pork chops worked out well, and I was satisfied. The Book says that the pork needs to marinate for at least six hours and up to 24. I put the pork in the marinade the day before and left it in the refrigerator overnight.

Next, I moved on to the manchamantal sauce. According to The Book, manchamantel is Spanish for "tablecloth stainer." With its deep rust color, I'm sure that the name is well deserved. We ate outside, however, and the tablecloths were safely tucked away in the linen closet.

The Book suggests making the sauce in advance because it takes a little bit of time. Considering that most of the recipes take me longer than the start-to-finish times listed in The Book, I wasn't going to ignore a suggestion like that, and I made it the night before. First, I cooked some garlic and chopped onion in oil until the onions were golden. I added some sugar and vinegar and cooked it a little while longer. Next I put the onion mixture into the blender with the rest of the chilies, some water, some chopped fresh pineapple (yeah, I cut up a whole fresh pineapple ... it's a little bit of work, but worth it), a banana, and some cinnamon, cloves and a bit more sugar. I blended it up until it was smooth (crossing my fingers the whole time in hopes that the noisy blender wouldn't wake my sleeping son). I put the sauce in the refrigerator.

The next day, I drained the pork and discarded the marinade. I threaded the pork kebabs on bamboo skewers, alternating with large pineapple chunks and wedges of red onion. I put the kebabs on the grill and cooked them until the pork was done.

This wasn't the quickest recipe, but it wasn't hard and it was pretty tasty. I think that I overcooked the pork just a bit ... it was a little tough. But, just the same, it was good. The grilled pineapple was excellent. The red onions, though, didn't cook as quickly as the pork and pineapple, so they were a little underdone. The machamantal sauce was great. I was a little apprehensive about combining chilies, onions, pineapple and banana, but it really works. The sauce was sweet and sour and a little spicy and smoky. The flavors all blended well, but I was still able to sense a hint here and there of the pineapple and banana flavor. It was like a tropical barbecue sauce. It was a perfect match for the pork, but it also worked well with the grilled chicken that I'll post about next.

Date Cooked: June 13, 2009
Degree of Difficulty: Medium
Rating: A-

138. Deviled Ham (p. 496)

Please don't read anything into the fact that I've done two posts in a row about "deviled" foods. I haven't lost my moral compass or gone over to the dark side. It's just that I ended up with a ton of leftover ham from Easter dinner, and needed to find something to do with it. This recipe* was a perfect fit.

This is a very short recipe. Just four ingredients and only 27 words of instruction. Because I only skimmed those 27 words instead of reading them carefully, I made this simple recipe even easier by combining two of the steps. And do you know what, the finished product was none the worse for it. First I cut up the leftover ham into smallish chunks. I tossed them into my food processor along with some butter, Dijon mustard and mango chutney (The Book calls for Major Grey's, but I could only find some generic mango chutney). I whizzed it all up until it was finely chopped and a spreadable consistency. After I made this, I realized that I was supposed to chop the ham and whiz the dressing separately and then stir them together. Points for me for increased effeciency.

I spread some of this on crackers as a snack, and I've also been enjoying it on sandwiches for lunch this week. All in all, this was a pretty good use for leftover Easter ham. Another good use for leftover Easter ham is the Yellow Split Pea Soup that I'll post about next.

Date Cooked: April 18, 2009
Degree of Difficulty: Easy
Rating: B+

*This recipe is not on epicurious.com

90. Homemade Sausage Patties (p. 492)

This recipe was yet another part of the holiday brunch buffet that I made for my family.

Years ago, my wife and I had a great brunch with some friends at The Blue Room in Cambridge. My favorite part of the whole meal were the savory grilled homemade sausage patties. Every now and then, I think about these sausage patties ... they were that good.

These sausage patties were almost as good as the ones at The Blue Room, and they're as easy to make as hamburgers.

First, I whizzed some almost-stale bread in the food processor to make some coarse bread crumbs. I mixed the crumbs with a little milk and let them stand while I browned some finely-chopped onions. Then I mixed the crumbs and onions with some ground pork, egg yolks and an array of spices including white pepper, nutmeg, cinnamon, cayenne, cloves, thyme and sage. I formed the mixture into little patties (about the size of White Castle burgers) and put them on a waxed paper-lined cookie sheet. I did all of this the night before the brunch, and I stashed them in the refrigerator, covered with plastic wrap.

About ten minutes before brunch, I heated a little oil on my skillet and I cooked the patties until they are nicely browned and cooked all the way through. How were they? Great. I could eat these for breakfast every day. They were crispy and delicious. The mix of spices gave them a wonderful flavor ... familiar and unique all at the same time. One of the best things about this recipe is that, even though it's very easy, you'll really impress your guests when you tell them that you're serving homemade sausage.

I'll make these again, but next time, I'll plan ahead and get better pork. The pre-packaged ground pork that I got at the supermarket was probably too lean, and while delicious, the patties were a bit drier than they should have been. Next time, I'll go to the butcher and get some custom-ground pork with a little more fat in it.

Date Cooked: December 13 & 14, 2008
Degree of Difficulty: Easy
Rating: B+

79. Moussaka (p. 514)

When my wife and I were in college, one of our favorite places to eat was Grendel's Den in Harvard Square. Two romantic dinners at this cozy student-friendly restaurant stand out in my memory. The first was when we shared their "Cheese Fondue for Two." The other was the dinner where I was first introduced to moussaka. I'm sure that it was winter, because I remember how comforting the warm layers of spiced lamb, eggplant, tomatoes and bechamel sauce were. Ever since then, this has been one of my favorite dishes.

According to my Oxford Companion to Food there are many variations of moussaka, which gets its name from the Arabic word for "moistened," a reference to the tomato juices that permeate this dish. This recipe* is a version of the Greek interpretation of moussaka.

The recipe starts with sautéing onions, garlic and ground lamb. I used ground turkey because, despite all of my efforts, my wife won't eat lamb. Next I added cinnamon, allspice, dried mint and chopped canned plum tomatoes with some juice reserved from the canned tomatoes. For this step, I strained the canned tomatoes in a colander suspended over a bowl to catch the juices. I discarded the pulp leftover in the colander and used just the tomato juice for the recipe. In retrospect, I should have put the pulp back in with the juice because that would have given the filling some more substance. My filling, which was just a bit more watery that I would have liked.

While the turkey and tomato mixture was simmering, I broiled some eggplant slices that I had brushed with some olive oil. Once the eggplant slices were browned and tender, I assembled the moussaka by layering half of the eggplant slices, spreading the turkey and tomato mixture, and topping it with the rest of the eggplant.

Then I made the topping, which is a bechamel sauce with a twist. First, I made a roux of butter and flour, and then I whisked in some milk and brought it to a boil. Then I melted some crumbled feta cheese into the sauce which gave it a nice, and unexpected salty, tangy richness. Finally, I whisked in an egg and a yolk beaten together. I poured this over the casserole and topped it with some grated Parmigiano-Reggiano.

I baked the moussaka until it was golden and bubbling. After it rested for a few minutes, it was ready to eat. I really enjoyed this dish. It tasted and smelled great. The cinnamon, allspice and mint gave this moussaka a great, traditional Greek flavor. The eggplant was tender and delicious, and the feta-spiked bechamel was awesome! The turkey was fine, but lamb would have been better.
And the leftovers were just as good out of the microwave.

Date Cooked: November 23, 2008
Degree of Difficulty: Medium
Rating: B+

*This recipe is not on epicurious.com.

75. Beef Bourguignon (p. 440)

There are two dishes that changed Julia Child's life, and by extension, American cooking, forever.

The first, sole meunière, was Julia's first meal upon arriving in France with her husband, Paul. Julia described this elegantly simple dish as a revelation, and as "an opening up of the soul and spirit for me."

This introduction sparked Julia's interest in la cuisine Française, inspired her to take classes at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, and led her to write a manuscript, with Simone Beck and Louisette Bertholle, for a cookbook aimed at making French food approachable for the American home cook.

That's where the second dish, beef bourguignon, comes in. Julia's manuscript found its way into the hands of Judith Jones, a general book editor at Alfred A. Knopf, who was on the lookout for a new French cookbook for the American market. And as she described in a 2004 New York Times piece, Judith took the manuscript home with her one night and made Julia's recipe for beef bourguignon. The result was "a masterpiece," and Judith determined to get Mastering the Art of French Cooking published. The book launched Julia's television career and inspired thousands of Americans to start cooking. None of that would have been possible without these two dishes.

This story even touches on cook-through blogging in a "Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon" sort of way. When Julie Powell was working on her Julie/Julia Project, the original cook-through blog, in which she set out to cook and blog about every recipe in MtAoFC, Judith Jones accepted an invitation to have Julie Powell cook for her, and Julie planned to cook (what else?) beef bourguignon. But, in a very "Big Night" turn, Judith never showed up, and Julie and her husband Eric, ended up eating alone.

So, it was against this backdrop that I cooked this recipe* a few Sundays ago when a couple of my good friends from grad school came over for dinner. I have been looking forward to making this dish for some time now, and I wasn't disappointed.

My friends were coming over for dinner at 6 (it was a "school night," so we planned on eating early), and so, at about 3, I was in the midst of congratulating myself on getting an early start on cooking, when I re-read the part of the recipe that says "simmer gently ... 3 1/2 to 4 hours." Not an auspicious start, but I didn't let it rattle me. We'd just have more time to catch up over glasses of wine while we waited for dinner to be done. I did kick myself a little bit for not making this on Saturday since the Cook's Note says that the dish can be made a day in advance "and in fact it tastes even better made ahead, because this gives the flavors time to develop."

This is a pretty time-consuming recipe with lots of steps. First I cut a couple of slices of thick-sliced bacon into one-inch pieces. I boiled the bacon pieces in water for a few minutes. I assume that the purpose of this step is to get rid of some of the salt and to mellow out the strong bacon flavor. I drained the bacon and set it a side.

Next, the beef. Since my wife is "semi-veg," I rarely cook beef, and I'm not very knowledgeable about my cuts of meat. The Book calls for three pounds of boneless beef chuck cut into two-inch chunks. I went to my local butcher, and as usual, I stared blankly at the array of meats on display. I told the butcher what I wanted and what I was going to do with it. He reached into the case and selected a nice, big chuck roast, and he even offered to cut it up for me. I thought that was great. The butcher went down a bit in my estimation, however, when I saw him drop a chunk of the beef on the floor and actually shoot a look in my direction to see whether I saw what happened. I wonder if I hadn't been watching, if the five-second rule would have been invoked. Anyway, I divided my not-dropped-on-the-floor beef (which I had patted dry and seasoned with salt and pepper) into two zip top bags with a bit of flour, and shook to coat the meat. (I'm not sure why The Book insists on having you use two bags? Couldn't you just do it in two batches in the same bag? Then, I browned the flour-coated beef in my Dutch oven in a few batches, and set it aside while I deglazed the pan (which had developed a nice fond) with some brandy.

The next step is a little bit odd. The Book says to make a bouquet garni from a celery stalk studded with a couple of whole cloves, parsley, thyme, and bay leaves. I've got no problem with that. The weird part is that this instruction is smack dab in the middle of the recipe, and then The Book doesn't tell you what to do with the bouquet garni until about five steps later.

Once the pan was deglazed, I melted some butter and cooked the chopped onion, garlic and carrots with the blanched bacon. Once the onions began to turn golden, I added some tomato paste, and then the beef and a bottle of wine. The Book calls for Burgundy or Cotes du Rhone. They didn't have any Bugundy at the wine shop I went to, so I used Cotes du Rhone, and it worked well. I brought this to a simmer and let it cook, partially covered for about three hours.

While the stew simmered, I blanched some boiling onions for about a minute and ran them under cold water. This step does make peeling them a lot easier, but they're still a pain in the neck. I browned the oinons in some butter, and then added some water to the pan and simmered them until they were tender. I raised the heat and boiled them until the liquid had thickened.

After that, I browned some mushrooms in some butter and cooked them until all of the liquid evaporated.

After the stew was done simmering, I stirred in the onions and mushroom, seasoned with salt and pepper, and tasted it to make sure that it was just right.

I served the stew with buttered egg noodles. The Book suggests serving it with parsleyed boiled potatoes, but I decided at the last minute that noodles would be easier, and anyway, noodles are mentioned as an acceptable accompaniment in MtAoFC, so I had the Julia Child seal of approval.

The finished dish was great. The beef was tender and delicious. The sauce was thick and rich with an excellent layered flavor. Beef bourguignon is the perfect example of home-style comfort food being elevated to haute cuisine status. It's a classic.

Date Cooked: November 16, 2008
Degree of Difficulty: Medium
Rating: B+

*This recipe from epicurious.com is almost identical to the one in The Book, and both are very similar to Julia Child's recipe in MtAoFC.

30. Steak au Poivre (p. 426)

My wife went out to dinner with a friend on Friday night and left me all alone. But don't feel too bad for me, because look what I made myself for dinner! As I mentioned before, my wife doesn't eat red meat, so I take advantage of every opportunity that presents itself to get my hands on a steak. So, as soon as I knew that I'd be fending for myself, I started planning my bachelor's feast. I flipped through the Beef, Veal, Pork, and Lamb chapter to pick just the right dish. I had my eye on Steak Diane (p. 427), but I didn't want my wife to think that I was having dinner with another woman. I settled on the Steak au Poivre.

I left work a little early on Friday, and paid a visit to McKinnon's, probably one of the best butcher shops in Southern New Hampshire (McKinnon's can't hold a candle to Jeffrey, Victoria's butcher over at Cooking Zuni, but I'll take what I can get), and picked up this beautiful New York strip steak.





While I was at McKinnon's I decided to pick up a bottle of wine (live it up, right?). I was really happy to find a bottle of Dry Creek Vinyard Heritage Zinfandel on the shelf. When my wife and I went to wine country last year, one of the highlights of our trip was our bicycle tour of the vineyards in the Healdsburg area, and a nice picnic lunch at Dry Creek. The wine went great with my dinner, and brought back nice memories of a great trip.



I got home, poured myself a glass of wine and got to work. First, I had to prepare the poivre. I started with about a tablespoon of peppercorns (the recipe calls for three tablespoons, but the recipe feeds four, and I was only cooking for one). Now, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't eat a tablespoon of black pepper on a bet, but something magical happens to the pepper as you cook this dish that takes such a quantity of pepper from stunt to sublime.



I put the peppercorns in a small plastic bag and crushed them with a frying pan. It took a little bit of effort and some time, but it was worth it. The consistency of coarsely crushed pepper is key to this recipe, you can't get away with a pepper grinder, or (perish the thought!) ground pepper from one of those tins. The great fragrance of black pepper filled the air as I pressed down with the pan, and I was left with a little bag of black gold, that was destined to become the crunchy, spicy crust on my steak.


I patted the pepper into both sides of the steak and let it rest at room temperature while I prepared the Golden Potato Wedges (check back tomorrow) and the watercress garnish.







After the steak was well rested, it went into a skillet with some butter and oil. The only thing better that the sound of a sizzling steak, is the aroma that it gives off. As soon as that smell enters your nostrils, your mouth starts to water, and your stomach starts to grumble. Good thing the steak cooks quickly: just a few minutes on each side.



Once the steak was ready, I removed it to a plate, and got started on the pan sauce. Even though it tasted great in the end, I don't think that my sauce worked out the way it was supposed to. My pan was way too hot, and so the shallots and butter cooked way too fast, the cognac and cream reduced in a matter of seconds rather than a matter of minutes. The result was a very, very thick, almost jam-like sauce. But, it was rich and delicious, and it was just fine by me.

I enjoyed the steak with a good sized mound of watercress like The Book suggested. I love watercress because it's crisp and cool, and it's got a nice peppery bite of its own that went well with the steak. And the steak! That crunchy, peppery crust yielding to the tender, juicy medium-rare steak! If you have to eat alone, this is the way to do it.

Date Cooked: July 25, 2008
Degree of Difficulty: Easy
Rating: A

4. Pork Chops (and Chicken Breasts) with Mustard Crumbs (p. 482)

I'm not sure how she did it. There are more than 1,000 recipes in The Book, but when I asked my wife what she wanted for dinner last night, she managed to come up with the two dishes that The Book has no recipe for.

"I'm in the mood for mustardy chicken and minty potatoes." (Give her a break, she's pregnant. Specific and peculiar food cravings come with the territory.)

I couldn't believe it. Not a single recipe with chicken and mustard. Nothing with potatoes and mint either. So we settled on chicken breasts cooked using the recipe for Pork Chops with Mustard Crumbs, and this recipe for Herbed Potato Salad from Cooking Light (I substituted mint for the dill and parsley in the CL recipe).

Now's as good a time as any to mention a special challenge facing me as I work on this project. My wife doesn't eat beef, pork or lamb. Not ever. With the exception of a cheesesteak at Pat's King of Steaks in Philly, occasional inadvertent bacon consumption in restaurants, and possible pork consumption during a dim sum outing in Boston's Chinatown, my wife hasn't eaten animal flesh other than poultry and fish since she was a teenager.

So, as I go through the project, I'll sometimes make substitutions in the meat dishes where appropriate. In other cases, I'll have to find carnivorous friends to share some of the dishes with. (You can't exactly make Chicken Wellington, can you?).

For this recipe, I decided to try it with both chicken and pork. Of course, the chicken and pork had to be segregated during cooking (note the aluminum foil DMZ in the photo to the left).

This was a great recipe. It was not too difficult. The Book calls for the chops to be seared on the stovetop, with the cooking finished in the oven. It is an extra step, and extra pans, but it's worth the extra effort.

The mustardy, crumby crust was excellent. I had some misgivings at the outset, however, because my local supermarket bakery department didn't have any fresh-baked rye bread, and so I had to use mass-produced, packaged sliced rye bread. I used Beefsteak brand rye, and I was pleasantly surprised that it produced nice flavorful, chunchy breadcrumbs once they were toasted on the stovetop with the oil, garlic and sage.

The pork was excellent. It was cooked perfectly (it tasted more like veal than pork, it was so good). And the mustard crust was a really nice flavor to accompany it. The chicken breasts worked well with this recipe too. They were very moist, even though I cooked the heck out of them. My wife and I are paranoid about undercooked chicken, and because I don't have a good instant-read thermometer, I usually err on the side of overcooking. This dish satisfied my wife's "mustardy chicken" craving (she even said that it was better than one of our favorite "everyday" restaurant dishes, Not Your Average Joe's Mustard Crusted Chicken), so, I'd say that it was a great success.


Date Cooked: June 19, 2008
Degree of Difficulty: Medium
Rating: A