Mock Mashed Potatoes

Lots of posts because Blogger has gotten over its latest bug- and not a moment too soon! 


Who doesn't love mashed potatoes?  A must-have at family gatherings, a quintessential comfort food, mashed potatoes have a special place in the American culinary heart.  They have a huge place in my own heart, mostly due to the fact that I can' indulge in them as often as the average citizen.  Thanks to the innovation and creativity of my Mom (and a little help from Martha Stewart), I now have this alternative version of mashed potatoes to share:

That's right- turnips and parsnips!  Put them together and you've got a veggie mix that can be used as mashed potatoes or as filler for samosas, which you'll read about in another post.


What you'll need to recreate this amazing alternative:
1 lb turnips
1 lb parsnips
1/3 cup melted butter
1/4 cup cream cheese
2 cloves minced garlic
Salt & pepper to taste


Peel and cut the turnips and parsnips into chunks- no matter the size so long as the chunks are consistent.  Boil for 20 minutes, or until the vegetables are soft.  Drain and let cool, then place in large food processor.  Add melted butter, cream cheese, garlic and spices.  Pulse and chop until the mixture is smooth.  

Voilà!  This mix brings back memories of Thanksgiving and Christmas, as well as the good ol' days when I could eat mashed potatoes to my heart's content without suffering the consequences.  True, the consistency isn't quite as velvety as potatoes, but the taste is much more interesting.  The turnips and parsnips, unlike potatoes, have distinctive tastes that aren't overpowering.  Alex mentioned that there was a certain earthiness missing from my turnip-parsnip mix, but this was quickly remedied with the addition of lentils.  I've got big plans for this mix, including but not limited to pot pie filler, pie crust, turnip tots, and baked chips.  

Market Finds: Daisy Mae's Market

Our last trip to the Findlay market was one of our most rewarding.  We met Barbra of Daisy Mae's Market and were permitted to take a few photos of their offerings:

You can check out Daisy Mae's Market in their usual spot at Findlay Market, right out front facing Race Street.  They have many staples as well as more exotic fruits and vegetables, but most importantly, a serious commitment to locavore culture and city revitalization.  Here is their website:

http://web.mac.com/barbcooper/daisymaesmarket/Welcome_to_Daisy_Maes_Market.html

To Key Lime or not to Key Lime

As a kid, I spent several summers in southwestern Florida, avoiding the great outdoors and trying my best not to stick to my GG's leather couch.  During one particularly sweltering season, I was formally introduced to the Key Lime Pie.  My grandmother, being the purveyor of all things classy, insisted that Key Lime Pie is only made from Key limes, and that anything else was a serious grievance against good taste.  She even had a small Key lime tree in her backyard, a sparse looking little thing that bore maybe five tiny limes a year.  Needless to say, I was pretty perplexed as to how such tiny little fruits could create such an amazing sweet treat.  From that point on, I was hooked on Key Lime Pie and spent the dog days devising various plans to procure more pie.  The plans usually included creative use of alligators and projectile lizards.

"My pie desire knows no bounds!  Onward, Aloysius!"

That being said, I've had quite a lot of Key Lime Pie.  I'd even go so far to say that I am a connaisseur.  The pie is easy to make- there are only three key ingredients, and the crust is usually made from crushed graham crackers.  However, it's not always easy to procure Key limes, especially outside of Florida.  If you are lucky enough to get your mitts on a bag, they're tiny little spheres with a low yield of juice.  You'll sprain your fingers trying to juice those little buggers.  Most pie producers get bottled Key lime juice, but even there one has to be discerning.  Some bottling companies add in ascorbic or malic acid, which both add tartness, but the limes already have naturally occurring ascorbic acid.  I've even seen HFCS in bottled Key Lime juice.  Yeah, yeah, it's just like sugar and it's okay in moderation.  It's not okay in my Key Lime juice.


So what's a gal to do when she can't find any Key Limes but wants nothing more than some Key Lime Pie?  


She uses regular limes.  They're easily accessible, they're in season and I don't risk arthritis working with them.  My pie isn't a Key Lime Pie, but it's still pretty freaking great. 


Here's my variation on the Classic Key Lime Pie:
Crust:
1 1/2 cups crushed Biscoff cookies (the airline cookie, also known as speculoos)
4 tbsp melted butter
2 tsp salt


Mix all ingredients together, press into a pie mold (the size is your choice, but I use a 9" spring-form pan), and bake for 15 minutes at 350 degrees.
Pie:
3 eggs
1 can sweetened condensed milk
1 1/2 cup lime juice (I found that three large limes fit the bill this time)
*Lime zest is optional*


Beat all ingredient together until well integrated.  After the pie crust has cooled (or depending on your level of pie craving, while it's still warm), pour all the wet ingredients on the crust.  Bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes, or until the pie is set.


And no Key Lime Pie is complete without whipped cream, which is so incredibly easy to make you'll ditch your Whip-Its addiction and start inhaling this:


1 cup heavy whipping cream
1/3 cup sugar
2 tsp vanilla extract


Whip on high until soft or hard peaks form- it's your preference!  However, don't beat for too long because the cream will turn hard and get packed into the beaters.  Not good for your pie, but actually really good if you stick them in the freezer.  Creamsicles!


Here's my Off Key Lime Pie:

No gators were harmed or exploited in the creation of this pie.

I'll be making one of these as needed throughout the summer.  Nothing cuts through the misery of sweating through your clothes and sticking to your furniture like the tart sweetness of limes.  This can even be kept in the freezer- so long as you cut the pie first- for an icebox version.  Here's to keeping cool! 


    

Laissez les bonnes crevettes rouler!

Achtung! This will be the first in a series of dual-author posts. Alex will write the first section of this post and Alana the second. You'll know who is talking by the font.

Yesterday, between teaching, grading, and seeing a lecture on the Tea Party at school, I decided that nothing in the world sounded better for dinner than a po' boy. For the sake of clarity, a po' boy is a sandwich that is to New Orleans what pizza is to Chicago and New York, what cheese is to Wisconsin, wine to California, Jazz music to New Orleans, etc etc. Analogy time! A po'boy : New Orleans :: Jazz : New Orleans. In constructing my analogy this way, I'm setting "a po'boy" on par with "jazz" in such a way to imply that they both hold relationships to New Orleans that are similar. What I'm trying to say (albeit in a pedantic, long-winded, and somewhat logically flawed way) is that a po' boy is the culinary incarnation of New Orleans-style jazz. You'll see what I mean.

While visiting NOLA, I've become a veteran po' boy eater. Since they're most often made with seafood, this is good for me, but it also means that if you want reviews of chicken or beef po' boys, you'll have to do some independent research. Anyway, I've eaten them in rather nice restaurants, at hole-in-the-wall restaurants, plain, with hot sauce, with remoulade, and with different types of bread and vegetation, which has led me to what I consider the best po' boy recipe ever created. (Note: I'm not cajun or creole, I don't practice voodoo, and I barely speak any French, much to my girlfriends dismay, but I do cook and part of my soul still resides in New Orleans)

After learning all about the Tea Party (bunch of populist crazies, them), Alana and I went off to Whole Foods to pick up some shrimp, bread, a tomato, and some other miscellany. We found fresh de-veined, de-shelled shrimp on sale for $9.99/lb (down from 12.99) so we got 2 lbs figuring we'd use one and freeze the other. We found a wheat French baguette, the tomato and the rest and headed home to whip up a batch of wonderful. Ordinarily in NOLA, a po' boy calls for a mountain of popcorn shrimp, but these 36-42s were too good to pass up -- and they were fresh!

This is where the narrative splits. I dealt with cleaning and frying the shrimp, cutting the bread and tomato, and some of the finished sandwich construction and Alana made the sauce, mixed the spices, breaded the shrimp, and did some construction of her own.


As simple as a po' boy may seem, its success or failure hinges upon the quality of all its parts.  I never had a po' boy until we were in New Orleans, and while we tried quite a few, I was never really all that impressed.  Sure, the seafood flavors were always present- you can't really beat Louisiana crawfish.  Sometimes there were fried green tomatoes accompanying the star player, sometimes there was a remoulade.  However, there was always something missing.  Had we ventured out into la vrai bayou, we may have had some toe-curling sauce and some slap-yo-mama fried shrimp.  However, as with most touristy towns, we got touristy food while we stuck to Bourbon Street.


That isn't to say that the po' boy didn't stick with me.  Since our trip I've had a few cravings for po' boys, but since I thought that it would be too labor intensive to make them, I decided I would wait until we found a passable cajun restaurant.  When Alex and I left the lecture and he mentioned wanting a po' boy, I was more than willing to procure the necessary items and laissez les bons temps, or as we're saying, les bonnes crevettes rouler.


We used a remoulade and spice recipe from a blog I follow: Closet Cooking.  You can find the specific link here, but I highly suggest that you peruse Kevin's amazing (and extensive) collection of culinary delights.
Closet Cooking's Remoulade Sauce


For ease, I've gone ahead and listed the ingredients here as well:

Remoulade sauce- makes about 1/2 cup

1/4 cup mayonnaise (we used Vegenaise)
1 tablespoon horseradish mustard
1 tablespoon ketchup
1 small clove garlic
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon capers
1/4 teaspoon onion powder
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon paprika
hot sauce to taste

-Blend together until smooth

Cajun spice mix:

2 1/2 teaspoons paprika
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1 teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon dried leaf oregano
1 teaspoon dried leaf thyme

I put about a quarter of the mix into the remoulade sauce, as well as a third in the flour we'd be using to coat the shrimp.

Alex and I were a bit perplexed about the breading process.  We both like fried food, and I grew up in Kentucky, the capital of fried chicken.  I'd always heard you used egg and flour, or milk and flour.  Alex had heard the same, but we wanted a crunchier crunch, so we decided to dredge the shrimp in breadcrumbs as well.  What a sticky mess!  After my first four shrimp I had a serious coating of flour and breadcrumbs on my fingers.  Yet in my opinion, the messier the recipe, the better the food will be.

Shrimp Frying:

After detailing (de-tailing, hehe) and washing the little buggers, I got the oil ready. I used just enough that the shrimp would float and stuck a candy-thermometer on the pan to make sure I wasn't going down the road of too-hot oil. After they were breaded, I fried them like a damn pro. GB and D. Golden-brown and delicious! I kept my oil at about 350F and fried 4 at a time so the temp wouldn't dive too much upon shrimp entering the pool.

Bread:

I cut the loaf into thirds, and then sliced one side open. In order to better fit all the stuff, I scraped out a bit of the bread making a trench. Sauce went on one side, vegetables on the other, and shrimp in the middle with the remaining sauce on the shrimp themselves.

How a po' boy is like jazz:

The complexity of the remoulade sauce stood on top of the solid shrimp/bread foundation and belted out a mind-blowing improv number that the sauce alone could never have done! Make this and you'll understand what I mean. As for cooking music, I recommend Panorama Jazz Band. You can find their stuff on iTunes. Now. Do it.


Taking a bite of this po' boy brought back all the good memories of New Orleans- relaxing under a tree in Jackson Square Park, traipsing along Frenchmen Street in search of good jazz, meandering through the drunken denizens of Bourbon Street.  The best memory of NOLA was experiencing the sights and sounds with Alex, and it was such a treat to prepare, assemble and enjoy these sandwiches. This is sure to become a stand-by recipe in our kitchen for years to come, even if we do wander out into the environs of New Orleans one of these days.  I guarantee!

Alfredo Forestier

If you reflect upon the different types of sauces you can put on pasta, you will probably notice that they almost all use tomatoes.  This can pose a problem for someone like me- I love pasta (carbohydrates in general) but I'm allergic to the tomatoes.  I can indulge a few times a month, but not as often as I get the hankerin' for an extra-large bowl of bucotini.  


Usually I go to my old-standby, alfredo sauce.  It's creamy, it's cheesy, and it works.  It's also a little bland. Having no spinach in the fridge to make a florentine, Alex suggested a bag of dried mushrooms I had been avoiding.  It was called "Mélange de la forêt", Forest Mix, and it had a giant morel among other desiccated scraps of fungi.  I tried not to scrunch my face in distaste.  Mushrooms?  No, thanks.


Here's a little tangent we can go off on together:


When I taught English in France, I went mushroom hunting with some friends.  My amies, Evelyne and Catherine, were almost giddy at the prospect of bringing home "des bons boletus" and cooking them up with some parsley.  As for me, not so much.  My plan was to enjoy the French forest and then think of some excuse to not have to eat whatever we found.  It's fungus.  It tastes like dust.  It feels like dust when you eat them raw.  They're rubbery when you cook them.  French or not, no mushrooms for me.  We drove out of town for about an hour, to Catherine's secret mushroom spot, and pulled the car over to the shoulder.  We had passed a small chateau on the way, and when I asked if maybe the forest was part of the land belonging to whomever owned the chateau, I got the typical French "pffff" response.  "We are looking for mushrooms, a product of nature, which are made to be eaten.  Those chateau dwellers won't be looking for them, they will just go to waste!"  Evelyne explained, but I remained unconvinced.


After about 45 minutes of wandering through some dense forest, we came to an area that was covered with boletus mushrooms.  Evelyne and Catherine started deftly picking the large fungi and depositing them into their baskets, chattering about different recipes.  As I crouched down to better inspect the boletus at my feet, I noticed someone walking toward me.  I looked and a sexagenarian in khakis and a light blue button-up shirt was approaching, asking me what I was doing.  "Euh, bon, je cherche des champignons avec mes amies..." I started, and immediately realized that this was the proprietor of the chateau and that we were going to be arrested for trespassing.  Merde!  I would be deported!  An American hunting for mushrooms, without a license, on privately owned land!  They might even revoke my passport forever!


Catherine and Evelyne came over at some point during my nervous breakdown and explained that they had been coming to this spot for years, there had never been a problem, and that we weren't doing anything illegal.  Apart from trespassing, that is.  The man countered, stating that there are signs on the road indicating that the land is privately owned and that trespassing is forbidden.  There were quite a lot of "pfff" sounds in this exchange.  Then they looked at me, frozen stiff with a boletus clenched in my fist, and explained that I was teaching English to French children and doing their country a service.  They, in turn, were trying to give me a cultural lesson about champignons.  The man seemed to soften at that, mentioning a trip he recently took to California where he got to go mushroom hunting.  He let us off the hook, but did ask for an armful of mushrooms.  


So my aversion to mushrooms isn't just a taste thing, it's a traumatic experience thing.   


Back to the alfredo sauce.


As I opened the pack of dried mushrooms, my mind hashing over the events I've just described to you, I figured it best to give the little guys a chance.  First they had to soak in warm water:

You can see the morel, as well as lobster, chanterelle and my good old buddy, the boletus, taking a dip and becoming quite pungent.  This was my opportunity to make the alfredo sauce and get the pasta boiling:


1 cup heavy cream
½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 clove garlic, grated
1 cup grated Parmegiano-Reggiano
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper


I put all the ingredients into the same pot and let the butter and cheese melt down.  Once I had an even consistency, I let the sauce cook a bit longer to thicken it.  


Alex asked if I might be willing to throw in some greens, as well.  Since I had originally wanted to do a florentine, this seemed like a good idea- however, I wasn't so sure about collard greens.  He assured me that if we boiled them long enough, they would have the same texture as spinach but have better flavor.  


After Alex chopped up the reconstituted mushrooms, we stirred them into the sauce along with the greens.  This let the flavors meld together for a bit, and also let us know if we had enough sauce.  Once the pasta was ready and drained, we plated up what I now call Alfredo Forestier:

It was good!  To my great surprise, the mushrooms weren't rubbery or gross, they each had different flavors and textures that were well complimented by the sauce.  The greens were infinitely better than spinach in the sauce, and I've sworn off spinach in florentines.  Next time I'd like to use some fresh mushrooms, just to see how much the flavors might change.  The bonus of using dried mushrooms is that the leftover water used during reconstitution turns into a stock that can be used in a myriad of ways.  


And just as a side note- the boletus we collected in the privately-owned forest were really gross, but only because Catherine used No-Salt on them.  Given the chance, I'd go mushroom hunting again- but this time, I'd pay more attention to the signs. 

Back on track!

Blogger finally gave us back our lost posts, so this means that we can get back to blogging!  Posts to follow.

Celebration Dinner

After only a week and a half in Cincinnati, I have procured myself gainful employment that involves French!  This calls for a celebration!


I decided I wanted to make salmon, but I wasn't really sure of what else I wanted to pair or trio it with.  Insert heroic music here, because The Flavor Bible came once again to my rescue.  This book includes just about every single edible thing and lists what pairs with it well, really well and OMG-this-is-awesome well.  I refer to it often, especially when I'm cooking something I'm not too familiar with or when I want to change things up a bit. 


In the mind-blowingly-awesome pairs category, I found that potatoes, onions, shallots and a few herbs go fantastically well with salmon.  Previously I had only used a spice rub on salmon, maybe marinading it a few times.  Since I couldn't possibly make a spice rub or marinade with potatoes, or with asparagus which pairs well as an accompaniment, I decided to go another route.


Here's the recipe:
Ingredients:


Salmon
1/4 lb asparagus
1/3 lb red potatoes
One can of white beans (I used white kidney beans)
One medium sized shallot
Half of a yellow onion
3/4 cup mustard,  separated (I used Grey Poupon, poupon means "little baby" in French, but let's not go there)
2 tbsp ground fennel
1 tbsp tarragon
1 tbsp thyme
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1/3 cup olive oil
1/3 cup Vegenaise


Tools:


Small sauté pan
Two medium sized pots
Large sauté pan
Ziploc or comparable plastic bag for marinade


I purchased a 1.25 lbs slab of salmon with the intention of saving half of it for a later date.  For this recipe, I ended up using half of the salmon.  The produce came from our closest Kroger, so this meal isn't as local and organic as I would have preferred.  However, it was still quite good.  Also, it should be known that I didn't measure any of these items, and what I've listed here is an approximation.  You should feel free to use more or less of any of the ingredients, or add in whatever might strike your fancy.


Mince shallots and onion, place in a bowl.  In the plastic bag, combine olive oil, thyme, tarragon, 1/3 of the mustard and ground fennel.  Add one clove of minced garlic and some minced shallots to the mix, and after sealing the bag, mash everything together.  Once you've reached a uniform consistency (the oil and mustard might fight for a bit, but just show 'em who's boss), place your salmon in the bag and give it another good squeeze.  I let the fish marinade for two hours in the fridge.


For the salad, I chopped the potatoes into eight to ten smaller pieces.  Boil the potatoes for about ten minutes, or until they are soft.  I chopped the asparagus into 1/2 inch pieces, and also boiled them for about six minutes.  The onions and shallots that were left in the bowl were joined by the other clove of minced garlic and were sautéed for around five minutes, until they started to brown a bit.  In a large plastic bowl, I mixed the beans, potatoes, asparagus, onions and shallots and gave them a good stir.  Once they were evenly mixed, I added in the rest of the mustard and the Vegenaise along with a good helping of ground fennel.  With a large spoon I stirred until the salad was well mixed, and then promptly licked the spoon clean.  This stuff is good.  And it's vegan!

After the two-hour marinade, I kinda flubbed on the salmon.  I haven't been cooking with gas for very long, and sometimes I forget how quickly it heats up.  The salmon portions were placed in a hot sauté pan, and cooked for about three minutes on one side.  The heat was too high because I got a lightly carbonized outer layer and a not so cooked interior on both of my pieces.  Moral of this story: cook it low and slow.  A little patience is a good thing.

For your consideration, the finished product.  The salmon is pretty black, but its texture was not compromised.  I think next time I'll probably spear it with a fork a few times to get the marinade to really soak in.  Using fennel in both the marinade and the salad made a good pairing for both elements, but I think I could eat this salad every day for the rest of my life and never be bored.  


Here's to being a contributing member of the workforce!  Prost!