Red Cabernet Gravy and Baked Steak

Sometimes, I get tired of routine recipes and decide to concoct my own. But really, I mostly do it because I don't have enough time for routine recipes. About 60% of the time, the reason I concoct my own recipes isn't because I'm awesomely curious and a culinary genius - it's because I'm short on time, with a hungry husband/dinner guests looking at me like a zombie looks at a brain buffet. This recipe was born out of exactly this circumstance. I was actually shocked when the whole dinner turned out to be a success. After all, I didn't even START prepping until after my guests had arrived and I had shattered our first (of three) bottles of wine on the floor.

Bad start to a great dinner. Sometimes, you just have to soldier on, even when the odds are against you. The next two bottles of wine turned out to be EXCELLENT.

My original plan had been to make salisbury steak. I had a beautiful cut of grass-fed sirloin beef steak in the fridge which I had (thankfully) the foresight to thaw earlier. With some kind of boeuf bourguinon/salisbury steak mixup in mind, I had ordered my husband to pick up some carbernet and mushrooms. Aside from those ingredients, some wilting broccoli and a few scraps of bacon, my fridge was basically empty.

With guests arrived and hungry, a slow-cooked meal was not an option. Armed with lots of booze, this is what I did:

I cut about 8 pieces of bacon into 1 inch squares and fried it until golden brown, reserving the grease. In the same pan (unwashed), I sauteed 2 small, sliced onions and a dozen sliced white mushrooms in the remaining bacon grease until golden brown (remember what Julia says: don't crowd the mushrooms!), which I set aside.

Meanwhile, I threw a pint of stewed tomatoes into a saucepan along with 3 cubes of beef bouillon and a hearty pinch of salt and turned it up to boil. I tossed in the cooked bacon and the better part of the bottle of cabernet (ok, like half). When the mushrooms were finished, I rinsed the pan out with about 2 cups of water, which I tossed into the soon-to-be-gravy. With the gravy happily simmering, I poured about 1/2 the reserved bacon grease into the same pan and whisked in about 4 Tblsp. of flour to make a thick roux which could be rolled into a ball. I rolled the roux around in the pan on medium high for about 5 minutes to brown it, then whisked it into the boiling gravy, which had now been simmering for about 20 minutes.

(You'll note that this recipe doesn't have the nice, friendly list of carefully measured ingredients my posts normally have. That's because this is how I actually cook. Frantically, tossing handfuls of ingredients in between conversations with 4 pots going on the stove at the same time. Like washing off my mascara before going to bed, measuring ingredients is a luxury I don't really bother with anymore.)

As the gravy contemplated its new existence, I threw the sirloin steak (which I had cut into 3" chunks) onto the same pan (with a little bacon grease to keep it from sticking) and seared it on high about 3 minutes on each side.

With all my players in place, I layered a casserole dish with the sirloin, topped it with the reserved mushrooms and onions, coated everything with the red gravy and threw it in the oven at 400 for 20 minutes.

Incidentally, I steamed some broccoli and whipped up hollandaise sauce in my blender while it baked.

Forgetting for a moment that this meal is packed with bacon grease and booze, it couldn't have turned out better. The steak was still slightly pink in the center, and it was very moist from being baked in the gravy. The red gravy (as I've named it) was just...the best gravy I've ever had. Probably because it had half a bottle of cab in it. Julia Child calls for this much red wine in her famous boeuf bourguinon recipe, which has lead me to one of the most important culinary breakthroughs of my twentysomething foodie career: everything is better when cooked with wine. Really, just everything. Red gravy is no exception (a little bacon doesn't hurt, either).

Despite my mother's admonitions to not "mess with tradition!", I'm going to make red gravy with turkey drippings for Thanksgiving dinner this year, which will be slathered over my yukon gold basil mashed potatoes.

I may decide to up the wine and see if dinner progresses any differently than it normally does. It's just a suspicion, but I may have found the cure for holiday dinner awkwardness.

Pumpkin Manicotti with Pumpkin Pasta Sauce

As my regular readers know (all 2 of them), I'm a big fan of eating seasonally. This time of year in Michigan, produce has become limited to squash, apples and the few stalks of celery and brussels sprouts which haven't frosted yet.

On the upside, this is the only time of year that you can get your hands on fresh sugar pie pumpkins. There's nothing like fresh pureed pumpkin for pumpkin pies and pumpkin cheesecake, and pumpkin freezes beautifully, so you can keep the puree on hand to make fresh pumpkin pies throughout the winter.

But pumpkin pies are so been-there-done-that. Since eating seasonally means I get to choose from squash, pumpkins and other kinds of squash, I wanted to try using pumpkin in something other than pies. Something savory and unusual.

My aunt and I were browsing the pantry section of World Market a few weeks ago, and we discovered yummy-looking jars of pumpkin and butternut squash pasta sauce. I scanned the ingredient label (which was surprisingly free of preservatives), made some mental notes and developed a plan to make my own pasta sauce.

But what to put that pasta sauce on? Plain pasta seemed boring, and carbs tend to outstay their welcome on my midsection. I wanted something a little tastier. Something like lasagna, but EASIER. Like stuffed manicotti. I'd never actually made manicotti before, but I know the recipe for lasagna by heart, and isn't manicotti stuffing just the yummy ricotta cheese part of lasagna? I always kind of resented the meat part of lasagna, anyway. More cheese, please.

Since I had a LOT of pumpkin puree on hand (I'm still trying to figure out what to do with the other four pumpkins), I added pumpkin to the manicotti as well.

(Sidenote: I've always hated cooking squash. If you bake it, it's hot and messy and gooey, if you steam it, it's like cutting and peeling a rock. It's messy and difficult, no matter which route you take - that is, until I discovered this new trick. Bake the squash or pumpkin at 400 degrees for about 10 minutes, until the skin softens and starts brown. Take it out and let it cool enough to handle, then you can easily peel the skin off, slice the semi-firm pumpkin flesh in half, scoop out the seeds and harvest the fleshy part, which I cut into large pieces and steam for another 20 minutes, until completely soft. I like to pop this in the food processor and puree it for good measure.)

Here's my frankensteined recipe for pumpkin stuffed manicotti with pumpkin sauce, in all its mushy orange glory. This filled one 9x13 casserole pan and one 9x9 square pan, which got stuck in the freezer for later. When you go to this much trouble for a meal, why not make some for later?

Pumpkin sauce:

1/2 pumpkin (~2 cups), steamed and pureed

1/2 medium onion or 1 whole leek, finely diced

4 cloves garlic, finely diced

1/2 red pepper, finely diced

3 Tblsp butter

3 cubes chicken bouillon

1/2 cup water

2 cups crisp white wine (pino grigio is good)

1 cup cream

1 Tblsp kosher salt

Saute the onion, garlic, pepper, butter and salt in a pan on medium heat until golden brown. Add these to the pumpkin puree, water, sage, chicken bouillon and wine in a saucepan. Mix together and turn on medium heat, simmer for 30-40 minutes, until some of the liquid has cooked off. If the sauce seems too thick, add a little extra water. Last, add the cream and simmer for another 10 minutes.

Pumpkin manicotti:

24 manicotti/cannelloni

1 1/2 pint ricotta cheese (whole is best)

1 Tblsp freshly chopped sage

1 egg

2 cups grated fresh parmesan cheese

2 Tblsp kosher salt

1/2 tsp nutmeg

1/2 tsp ginger

1 cup pumpkin puree

Boil manicotti in salted water until al dente, then drain and re-submerge in cold water to keep them from sticking together. Mix together all ingredients in a bowl (reserve 1 cup parmesan) and grease casserole dishes with butter. Stuff each manicotti tube full of the ricotta mixture and place in the casserole dish in rows. Once all the manicotti is stuffed and the casserole dishes are full, evenly spoon out pumpkin sauce over the pasta and top with remaining parmesan cheese. Bake at 375 for 40-50 minutes, or until bubbling in the middle.

Personally, I loved this recipe. I'm a sucker for ricotta cheese, and I loved how the pumpkin was so much mellower and lower acid than traditional tomato sauces.

When I asked my husband what he thought, he announced that it tasted like "grandma food". After a lot of carefully posed questions, I gathered that he was referring to the sauce's fine, hyper-mushy texture, which he wasn't a fan of.

Some people have strong aversions to "weird textures", like avocados. I don't, and I loved it, but as a fair warning, if you're serving people who hate the texture of avocados, you might want to forego the pumpkin sauce for something a little bit less grandma-ish.

Homemade Sauerkraut: Like Hip Knitting for Foodies

Last night, I told a friend I'd made sauerkraut, and he responded by wrinkling his nose and saying "sauerkraut smells like grandmas." Yes, my generation of picky eaters, sauerkraut probably does smell like grandmas. Not my grandma; she smelled more like pumpkin pie and vanilla wafers, but I get it: saukerkraut is an old, weird food.

Whatever. If my generation of American twentysomethings had their way, food would only ever taste like shredded iceburg lettuce and heartburn-inducing pizza sauce. Like every old, weird food, saukerkraut has its time and place: on brautwursts, smothered in mustard, or in an electric frying pan making cozy with polish sausages. Or on reubens with corned beef and provalone. Mmm.

So sauerkraut may not be an every day food, but when you need it, there's no substitute, and there's no competing with the crunch and stinkiness of homemade sauerkraut. My mom's always been a fan of weird, old recipes that take years to make. Growing up, at any given time there was a) a glass tea jar full of echinacea roots and vodka in the basement cellar, b) several kombucha mushroom mothers hanging out in the fridge, c) a jar of sourdough starter fermenting on the countertop, and d) a crock of sauerkraut lurking by the mixer. Suffice to say, I'm used to having weird food ingredients hanging out, aging, which is exactly what sauerkraut does (for about 6 to 8 weeks).

It's really best to use a sauerkraut crock, but women have always been very inventive about making makeshift sauerkraut containers. My grandmother and her mother I'm sure at one point made a large batch of sauerkraut in an old bathtub. This year, mom got tired of wrestling with her 20 lb 5 gallon crock and made a batch of sauerkraut in an old gallon glass pickle jar. As long as it's nonporous and sealed, you can make sauerkraut in anything - anything you won't be using for the next 6-8 weeks, that is.

I took mom's large crock and traded it for a new 1 gallon crock I found at a gardening store in Ann Arbor.

5 gallon kraut crock

Once you pick a container, making sauerkraut is easy. Really easy. It has two ingredients:

fresh cabbage, chopped and sliced (not diced)

salt

That's it.

How many cabbages you'll need depends on how large a batch you'd like to make; if you want to experiment with just one gallon, find yourself one medium/large cabbage to start. I wanted to fill my 5 gallon crock more than halfway, so I got one large cabbage and one monster cabbage - roughly 4 and 8 pounds. When you prepare the cabbage, keep in mind you want it sliced, not finely chopped. I used my food processor's chopping blade to process the cabbage cut into small pie-shaped pieces.

Monster cabbage!

You want the salt that you use to be good quality - NOT iodized. I'm a big fan of kosher salt - it's fresher, more healthful and more flavorful than table salt.

Wash and dry the inside of the crock or container, then begin layering the sliced cabbage. Layer the cabbage evenly about one inch thick, then firmly tamp it down with a tamper or makeshift tamper (I used the end of a water glass). Press the layer down evenly so the cabbage is well packed, then sprinkle the entire layer generously and evenly with salt. Lay down another layer of cabbage and repeat this process with all the cabbage, making sure the layers are tightly packed. Make sure the container is still 1/3 empty - you'll need this space to seal the kraut.

Once the container is packed and salted, double line the inside of the crock with two heavy duty garbage bags, being sure the bags have plenty of room around the lip of the container. Press the garbage bags down in, then fill the cavity with water, taking care that no water makes its way into the container with the cabbage. Press the garbage bags down inside, packing the cabbage and sealing it off from the air.

Now, place the crock (carefully!) in a corner somewhere where you'll remember it enough to keep the water level up.

In six weeks, I'll drain the water out and taste it to see how tender and tart it is. If it tastes ready to me, I'll can it. If it still tastes bland and isn't tender enough, I'll let it mellow another two weeks.

To can the kraut, simply pack it into freshly cleaned, warm glass canning jars, seal the jars with clean, dry lids, then heat the jars in a pot full of water on the stove until warmed through. This process will probably take about 20 minutes. After the jars are removed, their seals should pop down as they cool. If the seals don't pop, you'll need to warm them longer.

Now your house, too, can smell like a grandma.

Venison Shepherd's Pie

Shepherd's Pie has become my default recipe for getting rid of meat and produce mustgoes. I prefer to cook with steaks and roasts, but all our meat tends to be gotten in bulk - as in whole or half pigs and cows, processed then thrown into a corner of my mom's freezer for the upcoming zombie apocalypse. We love getting meat from the Amish (or from our own hunting prowess), but it means that we have to finish off every cut of meat possible before getting more. I tend to end up with a lot of hamburger and, since R and I both got bucks last year, a lot of venison steaks.

With rifle season just a month away, I've been trying to clear some of the venison from our freezer. I've also been taking advantage of the last few weeks of in-season fresh produce from the farmer's market, so I routinely have a fridge full of random veggies.

Shepherd's Pie can really be made with just about any combination of ground meat and diced veggies; beef tends to go well with green beans, sweet corn and stewed tomatoes, but venison usually requires veggies with more potent flavor to offset the gameiness. Even the best cuts of venison are always a little gamey, which is why shepherd's pie is perfect for venison - it mixes a lot of flavors and textures, which takes care of the the wild-creature-of-the-forest taste.

On this occasion, I had a lot of fresh sweet carrots, fingerling eggplant , heirloom tomatoes and onions. I also had some purple potatoes I'd been saving, and a pile of fresh basil from my herb box.

Dishes like this require a LOT of chopping and dicing, and if I were Julia Child, I wouldn't mind. But since I'm not, and since my mommy has furnished my kitchen with matching pink Kitchen Aid appliances, I shaved off about an hour of prep time with my food processor.

Here's the recipe:

filling:

2 lbs venison steaks or ground venison

1 large sweet onion

5 medium sized sweet carrots, or 10 small

large handful fresh green beans or string beans

3 fingerling eggplant, or 2 small eggplant

1 tsp paprika

3 Tblsp kosher salt

1 tsp black pepper

1 tsp ginger

dash cinnamon

2 Tblsp fresh chopped basil

2 Tblsp flour

topping:

1 large heirloom tomato, or 2 medium

~8-10 medium purple or German butterball potatoes

3 Tblsp butter

1 Tblsp kosher salt

3 Tblsp cream

2 cups shredded mozzarella

First of all, chop the potatoes into small cubes and throw them in a pot on the stove with salt to boil. Since I usually cook with small, sweet organic potatoes, I never peel them; the skin is good for you, adds texture and it cuts down on prep time. If you're substituting with large russets, you'll probably want to peel them. Keep an eye on the potatoes and boil them until they're tender while you're working on the rest. When they're done, drain them and set them aside covered.

If you're using venison steaks, chop them finely (or put them in the food processor for a few pulses). Finely chop or food process all the veggies for the filling. If you're food processing, be sure to do the veggies one at a time in small batches to get a uniform consistency. Sift the spices all together, then add and stir into the veggie/venison mixture.

Set this mixture aside and prepare the mashed potatoes. Put the boiled, drained potatoes in a mixer or mixing bowl and mash on low with the salt, butter and cream until smooth. Press the veggie/venison mixture into the bottom of a 9x13 casserole dish, then spread the mashed potatoes evenly over top.

Slice the tomatoes into large, medium thickness slices and place evenly spaced over the mashed potatoes.

Then sprinkle on the mozzarella cheese.

Cover in tinfoil and bake at 375 for 40-50 minutes, or until bubbling and browned. Take the foil off for the last 10 minutes of cooking.

Canning Heirloom Tomatoes: Buy Local, Eat Happy!

I've always loved tomatoes, but this summer the farmers at the Fulton Street Farmer's Market have turned my passion into obsession.

I think we foodies can agree that there aren't very many things in life more wonderful than fresh, locally grown tomatoes. Picked ripe off the vine, locally grown, seasonal tomatoes make Mexico grown superstore beefsteaks seem like painted, unflavored cardboard. Cheap imitations of the real thing.

The varieties of heirloom fruits and vegetables found at local farmer's markets offer food addicts intense flavor and variety you wouldn't dream of finding in the grocery store. Who can beat the buttery taste of German Butterball potatoes? Or the delicate, low-acid sweetness of Brandywine tomatoes?

For the past month, it's seemed like every time I go to the farmer's market I find a new tomato variety I never knew existed. Last week, I discovered Green Zebra tomatoes, which have a unique lemony, low acid tart PERFECT for spicing up eggs benny. The same farmer also introduced me to Italian Sweet Peppers, the flavor-packed, feisty little brother of red bell peppers. His cooking recommendation: cut and split the peppers, roast for 5 minutes then sprinkle with oil, salt and hard cheese. I was so enamored that I put both the tomatoes and the peppers in our eggs benny this morning. It was so successful my husband didn't even notice it was vegetarian.

Fresh, local Green Zebra tomatoes and Italian Sweet peppers. Good luck finding these heirloom varieties at the grocery store!

Sure, locally grown produce has grocery store produce beat in the flavor department hands down, but there are some other important differences. Small-scale, local farms have far greater crop species diversity than large agribusinesses, which rely on monoculture. Not only is higher species diversity better for the environment; it also fosters a much healthier environment for the plants, allowing farmers to use fewer herbicides and pesticides. Most small local farms are either mostly or entirely organic, even if they're not certified. Grocery store produce is either certified organic (and obscenely expensive) or not, and there's no way of knowing how produce was grown; at farmers' markets, you can speak directly with the farmer him or herself.

Another huge benefit of feasting on local heirloom varieties: you can feel 100% confident that what your eating is completely GMO free.

Why should we care about all these things? Simple. When it comes to food production and consumption, two crucial factors are at stake: 1) the environment, and 2) our bodies. Agribusiness' large-scale monoculture and use of GMOs has been proven to devastate ecosystems (look at the dust bowl), and the consumption chemical pesticides and GMOs has lead to a host of documented and undocumented illnesses, from diabetes to gluten intolerance to cancer. Don't take my word for it - do the research yourself. Pick up Indian economist Vandana Shiva's book "Stolen Harvest", or watch agroexpert Michael Pollan's nonfiction film "the Botany of Desire".

Saying you have a passion for promoting healthful, local agriculture is one thing, but doing something about it is another. So this year, I've decided to literally put my money where my mouth is by investing in a pantry full of fresh, local canned goods. My hope is to can enough produce to replace any canned goods I might buy in the grocery store over the winter. I'm a huge fan of pizza, stews and tomato sauces, so tomatoes are an important item on my list.

With so many heirloom varieties available at the market, I felt it would be a shame not to can with heirloom tomatoes. I chose Brandywines, for their low-acid sweetness, and Golden Jubilees for their mellow, almost nonexistent acidity. I'm already looking forward to making soups and sauces with my canned Jubilee tomatoes - imagine how pretty they will be!

For those of you who are new to canning, I'd like to assure you that it's not nearly as scary as it seems. Really. You peel, you dice, you boil, then you can. Simple!

Last night, I canned two pecks - one each of Brandywines and Golden Jubilees. One peck completely filled my largest pot and yielded 5 1/2 quarts, so plan for 5-7 quarts per peck.

What you need:

Extra large pot and lid

Wide mouth funnel

Clean canning jars in good condition (no chips around jar mouths, or jars won't seal properly)

New lids

New or used screw-on tops

Ladle

Salt

Tongs

How to can tomatoes:

Boil a large pot of water. Meanwhile, place 1 peck of tomatoes into your sink with the drain plugged. With a sharp knife, score an X into the bottom skin of each tomato. This will make it easy to peel the skin away. Once the water has boiled, pour it evenly over the tomatoes in the sink. Let the tomatoes sit in the hot water for 30 -60 seconds, or until you see tomato skins wrinkle and begin to fall away. Use the tongs to drain the water from the sink. Don't let the tomatoes sit in the hot water for too long, or they will cook, making them mushy and difficult to work with.

Remove the tomato skins by hand, then core tomatoes and cut (or pull) them into large chunks. If you have a food processor, I would recommend pureeing these chunks for a few seconds, to get an even consistency. If you don't, break the tomatoes by hand into small pieces. Place tomatoes into the large pot and bring to a boil.

Stew the tomatoes at a low simmer for 20-30 minutes, being sure to stir frequently. As the tomatoes are stewing, give all your canning jars a bath in hot, soapy water, or run them through a short cycle in the dishwasher. You want your jars to be sparkling clean and warm before canning.

Once tomatoes have cooked thoroughly, prepare your lids, screw on tops, ladle and funnel, and arrange the jars next to the pot on a clean towel. Fill each jar, leaving 1/4 inch of space at the top. Wipe the rim of the jar with a clean, dry paper towel to ensure no liquid or particles will prevent a good seal. Place the lid on and screw the tops on.

Watch the jars over the next hour or two, being careful not to press the tops down. The tops should pop down on their own after 10-30 minutes with a distinct "pop!" - this indicates the jar has sealed properly. Once jars are cool, check for unsealed jars. If some have not sealed, remove lids, thoroughly clean jar rims and lids, replace lids and reheat the jars in hot water until they seal.

Strawberry Freezer Jam Forever

There's something about hanging out with a flat of fresh Michigan strawberries all day that makes it hard not to sing the Beatles. No other fruit in the world makes me happier than a fresh June strawberry, preferably grown less than 75 miles away.

So, I've been trying to learn more about growing seasons of garden fruits and vegetables lately, in hopes of someday having a patch of of my own that's not completely blocked from the sun. (Our backyard is a pathetic postage stamp of dirt 100% overshadowed by our neighbor's acidic-leaf-producing oak tree. I'm a little mad about it.) When I'm at the Fulton St. Farmer's Market, I ask the grower how much longer the fruit or vegetable I'm buying will be in season. Mom and I can stuff, and I mostly want to know how much longer baby cukes, squash or hungarian peppers are going to be in season so I can freeze or pickle them.

When I asked the strawberry vendor how much longer his crop would last, he said two weeks. Two weeks! Then I realize that this is why my ancestors canned and sugared all their fruits and vegetables. To hold onto them long after they've gone out of season and their freshness is only a memory.

So I figured this year I'd make my grandmother Marjorie's strawberry freezer jam. Strawberry freezer jam is the tastiest jam ever invented, as anyone who's had homemade strawberry freezer jam can attest to. I handed my friend Matt a 1/2 pint jar of it on Saturday and he promptly lectured me about how his mom's strawberry freezer jam, and the jam in general, is the best jam ever. Period. So sweet and bright.

As it turns out, it's terribly easy to make, too. This is how it goes:

Wash, hull, cut, food process, add sugar, add pectin, put in can, put in freezer.

Easy! Just look at how pretty they are.

The strawberries on the right are a different variety than the ones on the left, which are Allstars (I think). The strawberries on the right were lighter and firmer and nicely tart while still having a very sweet flavor. I made jam out of the tart strawberries, and it turned out delicious.

Recipe:

Makes about 10 pints.

5 cups fresh strawberries, hulled blended coarsely.

7 cups sugar

2 1.75 oz pectin packages

1 1/2 cups water

Glass canning jars, lids and mouths. Wash the jars and lids in hot, soapy water and dry while canning.

Mix the blended strawberries with the sugar and let sit for at least 10 minutes. Mix the pectin into the water cold then bring to a boil. After it thickens, boil 1 minute, then pour into the jam. Let the pectin sit with the strawberries for another 3 minutes, then place in the clean jars. Seal, let cool and freeze!

Washing strawberries in the sink. So pretty!

I heart my food processor.

The sugar and strawberries sit for a while.

Boiling the pectin.

Clean, warm jars!

They turned out a very pretty color, my favorite pale, peachy pink.

I think I'll have to make another batch if I want to still have homemade Christmas presents. The first jar is almost gone already.

Eggs Benedict a la Julia Child

Julia Child is a wonder. Her down-to-earth instructions for the infamously difficult sauce we call hollandaise has changed my life. Changed. My. Life.

If you've ever tried to make hollandaise sauce (and I hope for your sake you haven't), you know how easy it is to make really, really greasy scrambled egg yolks instead of hollandaise sauce. The idea is to very slowly, barely cook the egg yolks while suspending them in melted butter. It's a "heterogeneous" mixture, meaning the butter molecules never make friends with the egg yolk molecules; at best, they tolerate each other, and at worst...they fight until you have greasy grossness on your hands.

But Julia Child, with the help of an electric blender, takes the terror out of hollandaise sauce. What I find fascinating about her masterpiece, "Mastering the Art of French Cooking" is that when she was writing the first edition, she was doing so to an audience of American cooks who had no concept of electric appliances such as blenders, food processors or mixers. They didn't exist until the 1960's, and when they came on the market, they completely changed the way many French dishes were prepared. Time consuming, labor intensive tasks like dicing vegetables, beating egg whites and whipping cream were suddenly reduced to a few seconds and some minor dish cleanup.

Julia recognized how electric appliances had revolutionized American kitchens, and she amended her book's second edition to provide alternative instructions which incorporated mixers, blenders and food processors. As much as she appreciated the time-saving qualities of electric appliances, you can tell she was hesitant to let the art of making certain dishes by hand fall by the wayside. I can't blame her, either. Can you imagine making meringue, whipped cream, hollandaise sauce and all manner of chopped, crushed and creamed dishes by hand for twenty years, only to watch an electric machine do in two minutes what took you an hour to do?

Her cold attitude towards kitchen appliances comes through in her carefully segregated instructions for hollandaise sauce. She gives separate recipes and instructions for making the sauce by hand and making the sauce using a blender, but she makes a point of noting that hollandaise sauce made in a blender "lacks a certain quality" because it's "too homogenized". Too homogenized? Isn't that the idea?

She's particularly snarky about the blender when she says that making hollandaise sauce in a blender is so simple it could be accomplished by "an eight year old child". Really, Julia? What kind of mother gives their eight year old a blender?

Even with the luddite snarkiness of her instruction, her blender hollandaise sauce is genius. I've made hollandaise sauce by hand - both successfully and unsuccessfully - and I don't care if Julia thinks I'm taking the easy way out. I'll never make hollandaise by hand again.

Her instructions for poaching eggs are also very helpful. If you follow them, you're almost guaranteed to succeed, avoiding the unintentional egg drop soup of failed poached eggs.

The rest of the making of eggs benedict is very simple. I strongly recommend frying the bacon in advance, to avoid having to prepare five ingredients at once. Eggs benedict is one of those recipes that literally will take over your stove top if you don't time your preparation properly.

Hint: Put your oven on warm and keep the bacon, asparagus, toast and eggs in it until everything is ready.

Serves: 2
Prep Time: 30 minutes

Ingredients:
6 slices of bacon, fried (not crispy), drained on paper towel and set aside
16 medium asparagus shoots, washed and de-stemmed
3 Tblsp. lemon juice (for asparagus)
4 large, fresh eggs (for poaching)
1 Tblsp. vinegar
4 slices of bread or 2 english muffins (optional)
Small bowl of cold water

for the Sauce:
3 egg yolks
2 Tblsp lemon juice
1 1/4 cup butter, melted in a saucepan

Put vinegar into 2 inches of water in a large pot and set on the stove to boil. Saute asparagus in lemon juice until bright green and tender, then set aside.

Heat butter on the stove until foaming or boiling, being careful not to burn it. Place the three egg yolks and lemon juice in a blender and blend together at medium speed for 3 seconds. After the butter has reached foaming temperature, remove the center lid from the blender, blend at medium speed and slowly drizzle hot butter into the egg yolks. Be sure to add the butter slowly, checking to see how the sauce is thickening. Don’t add the melted butter’s white residue to the sauce. After all clear butter has been added, blend on high for 3 seconds more. Sauce should be smooth, creamy and the thickness of soft mousse.

Hollandaise sauce by hand: melt butter in a small saucepan and set aside. Beat egg yolks in a separate shallow stainless steel pan with a wire whisk. Slowly warm the egg yolks while constantly beating, then slowly begin to drizzle melted butter into the sauce. Whisk each amount of butter into the egg yolks before adding more. Keep the pan’s temperature on low to avoid scrambling or curdling the eggs. After all butter has been whisked into the eggs, continue whisking on very low heat until the sauce thickens. Remove from heat and whisk in lemon juice.

If the sauce is not going to be used immediately, store it in a covered jar sitting in tepid (not hot) water.

To poach the eggs, bring the pot of water and vinegar to a boil then reduce to a low simmer. Carefully drop eggs in whole, cracking eggs as close to the surface of the water as possible. Gently push the sides of the egg white up over the egg yolk with a slotted spoon. Cook at low simmer for roughly 4 minutes, or until egg yolks are as soft or runny as you’d like them to be. When the eggs are done, remove them and place them in the bowl of cold water. This washes the vinegar from the eggs and stops them from overcooking. Once the eggs have been washed, drain them with a slotted spoon and pat dry with paper towels.

Finally, toast the bread or english muffin, if you’re including it.

Each serving should be separated into two piles with four asparagus shoots, 1 1/2 bacon slices, one egg and 1/4 of the hollandaise sauce each. Assemble layers together in this order, from bottom to top: bread, asparagus, bacon, eggs, hollandaise sauce.

Thank you, Julia Child!

Making Homemade Maple Syrup, the Saga

In case you didn't catch my post on venison heart and liver steaks, I'm something of an "outdoor" girl. I grew up on a 40 acre sugar bush, a hardwood forest composed of about 80% sugar maple trees. My dad was a professional hobbyist, and he loved the idea of being able to live off the land. He was also a master metallurgist, which made it easy for him to fabricate his own large-scale evaporator, tree taps and sugar shack. It's funny, because he never had an over-fondness for maple syrup; he mostly liked the idea that he could make it himself.

Growing up, we would plunge into a large-scale maple syrup "operation" every spring, and Dad would harvest between 20 and 30 gallons from our 40 acre wood, with countless hours of work in every drop. It worked out very well for my mom and me, who love to use syrup as a natural sugar substitute (like honey, but way better) and as Christmas presents.

Since my dad passed away a few years ago, keeping the maple syrup operation alive has been a pressing issue every spring. For the last few years, a good friend and neighbor of ours volunteered to put in most of the work in exchange for his use of our evaporator and trees. This year, however, Tim had moved to the UP, and it was up to mom, my husband and me to keep our pantry full of syrup. Mom has described making maple syrup as "addictive", and it's true; when the first spring thaw comes, mom and I itch to tap trees. My sweet, dedicated husband gave up several weeks of work this year (not to mention doing some extensive physical labor) to make sure we kept the tradition going.

Tim filtering syrup before canning

There's far too much to tell about the making of maple syrup than could be said in one blog post, and the web has plenty of great resources on the specifics of making maple syrup, so let's do a brief walkthrough of the Steele Family maple syrup operation.

Tapped maple trees

The time to tap trees is as soon as the weather begins to turn and things begin to thaw. In order for the sap to run, it has to get below freezing at night and above freezing during the day. Ideal maple syrup weather runs in the mid to high 40s during the day and mid to low 20s at night.

The same trees can be tapped every year, as long as you don't tap in the same place (tapping the same trees makes it easier to know which are maples, if you're not an expert woodsman).

My husband and a friend enjoying some "well-earned comforts" after hauling sap all day

Maple sap itself is clear and tastes like slightly sweet water - I like to call it nature's gatorade. It's so delicious, especially when it's icy cold and you've been working hard! It has a very high water content; the ratio of sap needed to make maple syrup is roughly 40:1. That's right - for every one gallon of syrup we hope to make, we have to collect 40 gallons of sap. The sugar content varies, depending on how good the "run" is. If it's ideal weather, we'll collect earlier in the morning and remove the ice from the buckets (the sugar doesn't freeze) to cut out some of the boiling time.

My dad's creation: a wood-fueled evaporator with a 30 gallon capacity

Because there's such an intense amount of boiling required, the more sap you can boil at a time, the better. My dad built an ingeniously large evaporator, complete with stainless steel welded pan and iron grating in the stove compartment below. We can boil 30 gallons of sap at a time, and when we have it at a rolling boil, we usually add between 10 and 15 gallons of sap per hour.

In order to get a decent sized batch, we usually aim to fit 250-300 gallons of sap into the evaporator before we think about "finishing" the batch. At about 200 gallons it begins to turn dark, at which point we begin checking it with the hydrometer.

Maple syrup hydrometer and its copper cylinder

We kill the fire and take the batch off just before it reaches its "hot float point", then we bring it into the house to filter, finish and can it on the stove. A batch of 250-300 gallons usually yields around 10 gallons of syrup, give or take some.

Thick felt syrup filters

Before we put it on the stove inside, we filter it through these felt filters. If the batch has a particularly high sediment level, we might filter it twice.

Syrup being finished on the stove

Finally, we boil it until it reaches the "hot float point", bring it upstairs and can it.

Mom and Tim's wife, Fae, canning syrup on the stove

Easy, right?! Not quite, but you couldn't ask for a better pasttime or family tradition. This year we pulled taps on the trees two weeks before the season was over (life got in the way), but we still managed to make about 10 gallons. We're hoping to reach our 20 gallon average next year.

St. Patty's Day Black Bottomed Cupcakes

I'm a Celtophile, and part Irish (some great-great uncle of mine was in the Irish senate!), and mostly I love wearing green t-shirts and making nametags that say "kiss me, I have Celtic ancestry". Every St. Patty's day I put on a mix of the Dropkick Murphys and the Pogues and rock out with whoever's handy. Last night our old neighbors came over and ate cupcakes (and Jameson, of course).

My girlfriend Lindsey has a great black bottomed cupcake recipe she made in high school, but I could never get the cream cheese in the right place for it to sink to the bottom. Last night I decided to use my grandmother's Stork Cake recipe, which is a (delightfully easy) smooth chocolate cake made with water and mayonnaise. It caused the cream cheese to spread and bake across the top, an effect I liked.

Black Bottomed Cupcakes:

(Stork Cake)

for 9x9 pan

2 cups flour

1 cup (cane) sugar

1/2 tsp soda

1/2 tsp baking powder

4 Tblsp baking cocoa (Hersheys or Equal Exchange)

In a separate container (preferably one with a lid), shake together wet ingredients:

2 tsp vanilla

1 cup salad dressing (not mayonnaise)

1 cup cold water

Mix the wet and dry together in a bowl by hand with a wooden spoon. It needs to be moist enough to flow slowly, so add more water and salad dressing (equal parts) if necessary.

Cream cheese topping:

1 8oz package cream cheese, softened

2 Tblsp. butter, softened

1 small egg

1/2 tsp salt

1/2 tsp vanilla

3 Tblsp. white sugar

3/4 cup chocolate chips

Pour the chocolate batter into cupcake papers 1/2 way full, then evenly place 1 heaping tablespoon of the cream cheese topping in the center. Bake at 350 for 10-15 minutes, using a toothpick in the center.

The frosting I used was just a basic buttercream:

1/2 cup (one stick) butter, softened

1 1/2 cup powdered sugar

3 Tblsp. cream cheese, softened

1 tsp vanilla

1/4 cup half and half

Beat powdered sugar, butter and cream cheese together until well mixed, then add vanilla and cream, beating at a high speed. Then food coloring, and pastry bag!

Mmm, leftover Baileys.

Superbowl Saga: Buffalo Chicken Dip, 7 Layer Dip and Peanut Butter Fingers

Yesterday was the Superbowl, and although I'm 100% uninterested in sports, I do love a good Superbowl party. So after R and I discovered we could get basic channels through out internet cable, I made a Facebook event and scored a sweet last minute Superbowl party. All my favorite people came over and drank beer and ate food - and some even watched football. I smiled all night long. And everyone else ate all night long. It was great.

Last year's menu was a big hit, so I did the same thing this year:

Buffalo Chicken Dip, aka Superbowl Dip, aka "Danger Dip" (you'll see why when you read the recipe.)

Seven Layer Dip, aka Seven Secrets I Don't Tell My Husband (funny story)

Peanut Butter Fingers (an old family recipe, from Pennsylvania)

I like the balance of these dishes for a Superbowl party. You simply have to have a dip at a sports party, and the buffalo chicken dip is everything you could want out of a party dip: cheesy, tangy and predisposed to heartburn. The seven layer dip is a healthy relief, and very filling. And peanut butter fingers are pretty much the best dessert bar in the world.

See, Ryan thinks so too.

Buffalo Chicken Dip:

4 packages (8oz) cream cheese

4 chicken breast halves, cubed and broiled w/ salt

12-16 oz Frank's Red Hot Sauce to taste (ooooh, the heartburn)

1 stick (1/2 cup) butter

2 cups shredded mozarella

There isn't an easier dip in the world. Throw everything in a crock pot and put it on low cook for about an hour, until everything is melted. Dip!

Peanut Butter Fingers (I have to give a nod to my mom's college roommate Becky, whose family recipe this is. Nobody know how to bake like the Pennsylvanian Dutch.)

Fyi, mom and I always double this recipe and use a Texas sheet cake-sized pan for more servings at parties.

Cookie base:

1/2 cup butter

1/2 cup sugar

1/2 cup packed brown sugar (can substitute cane sugar for white and brown)

1 egg

1/3 cup peanut butter

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/4 tsp salt

1/2 tsp vanilla

1 cup flour

1 cup quick rolled oats

Cream butter, sugar and eggs just like cookies, then add soda, salt, vanilla and finally flour once blended. Add oats last, then spread evenly with the back of a spoon on a greased pan. Poke dough with a fork before baking 12-15 min at 350F.

While the bottom is baking, make the frosting:

1/2 cup powdered sugar

1/4 cup peanut butter

2-4 tblsp milk or cream

As with regular frosting, cream peanut butter and powdered sugar, then add milk until consistency is like soft frosting.

Take the cookie base out when it's golden on top, then immediately sprinkle 2 cups of chocolate chips (or more, to taste).

Spread the chocolate evenly once it's melted:

Wait for the chocolate to cool a little before adding the peanut butter frosting overtop. You'll want to maintain the layered effect, so put the frosting on in small dollops evenly over the chocolate, then spread carefully with a spatula.

Mmm.

Seven Layer Dip (Seven Secrets I Don't Tell My Husband)

Layer 1:

1 can kidney beans

1 can refried beans

Mash smoothly together (a mixer or food processor work best), then spread on an oven-safe serving plate and bake in the oven for 10 minutes, until beans begin to crack. Immediately apply layer 2.

Layer 2:

4 oz (1/2 package) softened cream cheese, placed in dollops on top layer 1.

Allow cream cheese to melt, then spread over beans evenly.

Layer 3:

2 soft, ripe avocadoes, pitted and scooped

2 tsp fresh kosher salt

Juice from 1 lemon

1/2 cup sour cream

Mash together with a fork, or in a mixer. Store airtight until spreading over layers 1 and 2:

Layer 4:

2 medium-large beefsteak tomatoes, seeded and diced (remove seeds to keep salsa from becoming too watery)

1/2 sweet onion, finely chopped

1 hungarian yellow pepper, finely chopped

3 tomatillos, finely chopped

Juice from 1 lemon

2 tsp fresh kosher salt

Mix together in a bowl, then drain and spread evenly on existing layers.

Layer 5:

1 can black olives, sliced.

Spread over layers.

Layer 6:

1 cup sour cream, applied in dollops then spread evenly.

Layer 7:

1 1/2 cups shredded sharp cheddar.

Mmmm! This is best served with thick, natural tortilla chips - the kind you find in the "ethnic" aisle vs. the cheetos aisle.

What did you think, boys?