Not that I’ve been updating all that frequently anyway, but I’m officially going on hiatus for the next two weeks. As part of the occasional fitness series we do at The Courier, a cohort and I will be going to personal training sessions for the next two weeks and blogging about it. We’ll run an article on the overall experience when we’re done.
If you’re interested, head on over and check it out. I can feel my muscles burning already.
—Alan
Here’s the tip for the day:
Do you ever buy those bags of frozen chicken product — chicken nuggets, chicken strips, chicken patties, etc.? They’re useful and all, just pop out a piece and chuck it in the microwave.
But when you get down to that last pattie or handful of nuggets, NEVER EVER EVER dump them onto a plate from the bag.
See, all that breading tends to come off while the bag gets jostled between the processing plant, the grocery store, your freezer and your counter. And if you dump the last few pieces of chicken out, you’re gonna get a shower of frozen breading crumbs all over your plate and your counter.
Blech.
I learned (relearned, rather) this the other day. I brushed as much of it off my chicken as I could, but I still ended up with soggy bits of breading on my plate with my chicken. It wasn’t very appetizing. Sigh.
–Alan
Apparently bags and I just don’t get along. Fie, plastic demons!
I brought a bag of Malt-O-Meal Froot Loop knock-offs to work this morning so I had something to eat for breakfast. I’m hoping to get some milk in here tomorrow or the next day, but it’s all about the baby steps.
But for today, the mode of eating was to stick my hand in the bag, pull out some cereal, and chomp on it. This is complicated somewhat by the fact that my hand won’t fit in the bag.
I’ve got big hands. They’re not freakishly big, but they’re not small, either. And they JUST BARELY don’t fit in the hole in the bag.
Really, I think I can slide my hand in the bag. That works out OK. But when I clench my fist to grab the cereal, I can’t really get it back out of the bag. Like a raccoon who won’t let go of something shiny to get his hand out of a trap.
This makes me sad. There’s lots of bag there, Malt-O-Meal people. Why not make the hole a smidge bigger those of us who like to plunge in our paws? Pouring cereal out repeatedly is too noisy, too.
Sigh. Maybe someday.
—Alan
I was out garage sale-ing (Saling? Saleing?) this weekend, and I a lady stopped me and asked if I was the guy who writes about food for The Courier. After I sheepishly admitted I was, she told me that she really enjoys reading Best Served Warm and that she likes our simple recipes.
I don’t mean to bring this up as one of the many examples of my adoring public; I think that pretty much ends with my family, who are required to say nice things. Lord knows I’ve got some haters. But everyone likes to feel appreciated, so it was a very nice compliment to be paid.
I guess, looking back at the recipes we’ve shared so far, that we don’t opt for the most complicated dishes. For me, that’s likely because I tend to fly by the seat of my pants when I cook. Who needs to measure things out ahead of time? Or check to make sure all the ingredients are on hand? Pshaw.
But I do like recipes with a lot of utility. The one that follows for Bacon Buddies is quick and delicious, yes, but it’s also a technique — wrapping yummy things in premade crescent roll dough — that can be modified with many combinations of ingredients.
How about some spinach, Monterey jack and cream cheese for a little spin on the regular spinach dip? Or maybe a meatball, some marinara and mozzarella for a spaghetti-type bite.
Simple, quick and easy. This one’s for you, Random Garage Sale Lady.
Thanks for making my day.
Bacon Buddies
Chef’s note: Don’t unroll the dough until the cream cheese mixture is ready. The edges of the dough will begin to dry and make it harder to form the ball. It’s OK to eat some of the strips of bacon plain — the recipe will still be bacon-tastic.
I love my mom’s lasagna — so much so that it’s practically ruined all other layered pasta dishes for me. I won’t go out to a restaurant and order lasagna, because I know I won’t enjoy it.
Lasagna is one of those things like potato salad, though: Everyone likes it a certain and different way.
The recipe we use has meat sauce, pasta, mozzarella and cottage cheese layers. (I especially love the cottage cheese layer.)
Sometimes my mom makes it with ham in it as well; I’m not so big on that.
I did have to mess with the recipe a little when I whipped it up Friday afternoon, though. It’s just so hard to resist.
I didn’t use as many onions, but I added more garlic. I left out the parsley from the meat sauce but threw in a handful of sugar to brighten it up a little.
I was actually so pleased with the finished sauce that I’m going to run a cost comparison and see if it’s cheaper than buying the jarred stuff; if so, I’m going to use that for my spaghetti from now on.
What I’d really like to do is develop a version of that lasagna using sun-dried tomatoes. I don’t think I can just toss them in or swap them for the regular ones — I bet the flavor would get lost in the rest of the sauce.
I did run across a recipe for sun-dried tomato pesto that I’ve been meaning to try. That might give me the heft I need to keep the cheeses from overwhelming that bright flavor I’m after.
—Alan
I have to admit that I hate my recipe box.
It’s my great-aunt’s, stuffed to the brim with recipes for things I’ll never make. (This includes toothpaste and communion wine.)
Shortly after it came into my possession, I sorted everything into the regular categories — soups, salads, cookies, cakes, entrees, what have you — but I never stopped to consider which recipes I would use and which I wouldn’t.
Now I’ve got a box full of organized cards with a thick stack in the front of ones I regularly consult. So if I want to make, say, Grasshopper Pie, I have to flip past Broccoli Pie, Caramel Chex Mix and at least two copies of my great-aunt’s cinnamon rolls to locate it. (See diagram below.)
I had the thought when I was younger that I should type up all the recipes I liked and keep them in one spot. I think I actually got a few of them in the computer, but a Microsoft Word document isn’t the best organizer. There was still scrolling through everything to find the one item I wanted.
That was back when the Internet was still just chat rooms and barely functioning e-mail. As technology has evolved, so have the possibilities for recipe retrieval.
Enter the Flavor Recipe Box.
The Courier has started an online collection of recipes submitted from area readers.
We’d love to have your best dishes on there, too; to encourage you to cough up the goods, we’re giving away some cookbooks.
When you submit a recipe to the Flavor Recipe Box, you get one chance to win a full color, hardcover cookbook. A winner will be selected at random from each of the 16 food categories on the site — nine courses and seven cuisines.
Every recipe you enter increases your chances to take home a little swag.
Visit www.wcfcourier.com/recipes and start sharing your culinary favorites with the community.
—Alan
I made myself some tacos yesterday, and everything was zipping along smoothly until I went to put some shredded cheese on top of my refried beans. I had a new bag – Fancy Shredded Taco Cheese, nonetheless, even though I don’t really know if I can taste the Mexican spices.
I tore off the strip from the top of the bag and went to pull the two sides of the bag apart.
And nothing happened.
I kept tugging, thinking the zippers (or whatever they’re called) were just stuck together, because that happens. But no. The strip I tore off the top of the bag didn’t remove the part of the bag that was sealed together, so I was trying to split a thin piece of plastic in twain in vain. (How’s THAT for internal rhyme?)
What, may I ask, is the point of having an easy-tear-off top if the tearing off accomplishes NOTHING?! Just seal the top of the bloody bag and I’ll get out my scissors and slice it off, since that’s what I had to end up doing anyway. Less plastic and broken promises on your part, Mr. Cheese Manufacturer, fewer screams of “Stop lying to me!” and “You never call anymore!” on my part. Deal?
—Alan
The Courier’s putting together an online collection of everyone’s best recipes here. Submit yours and browse through to see what you should make for dinner tonight.
There was a recipe for Pasta alla Norma in my newest issue of Cook’s Illustrated. Have I mentioned I love that magazine?
At any rate, Norma was apparently a woman who loved her eggplant. Or it’s Italian for eggplant or something. I don’t know, I speak few languages and am no etymologist. But eggplant is the star of the sauce that goes on top of the pasta.
I’ve had eggplant before in very small doses – like in an eggplant-artichoke dip thing or in a pasta dish as a supporting element. But I’d never bought one before this week.
I picked out the shiniest one at the store, took it home, and sliced it up, which wasn’t too hard. I didn’t need to peel it, for which I was thankful. I tried some of the raw eggplant, and I have to say the taste reminded me of cucumber in that it was reminiscent of flavored water.
The eggplant for this recipe is intially microwaved for ten minutes because it has such a high water content. That moisture would leech out into a tomato sauce and make it watery and thin. After having some of the raw stuff, I understood the need. Not as bad as watermelon, but definitely more moisture-laden than your average vegetable.
If I remained unimpressed by the raw eggplant, the sauteed version quickly changed my mind about eggplant’s potential. Just browning in some oil made a lot of difference – I would have eaten it by the handful like that.
The Pasta alla Norma turned out pretty good. I was a little concerned that the write-up on the recipe mentioned getting dinner on the table within in an hour without any theatrics; this is usually a sign that I’ll be slaving away over the stove for about three hours, give or take. I managed to go from whole eggplant to finished dish in about an hour and a half, though, which I thought was pretty good for a first attempt, and part of that was waiting for the pasta to be done.
I couldn’t find any ricotta salata (apparently vastly different from the tubs of ricotta available in stores) to go on top, nor could I find any of the three substitutes suggested. I made do with some parmesean and some shredded Italian cheese mix, and it was fine. I’m sure it’s better with the real deal, but what can one do without the aid of a fromagerie?
P.S. – I would just like to say how much restraint it took me not to make a Pasta alla Enormous joke. Not sure where I would have stuck it, but I was dying to find a place. Let’s all be thankful I didn’t.
—Alan
Got a presser in today from Kerrygold, who makes pure Irish butter. Along with a coupon for some free cheese or butter (score!), the press release gushes about how Kerrygold crushed two other well-known butters in a butter tasting. 
Yes, a butter tasting. Say it with me: Eewwwwwwwwwww.
They even sent instructions for me to host my very own butter tasting! Only 22 steps for the “Preparer” and the “Tasters” until everyone runs to the nearest basin and upchucks. (My favorite instruction: 1. Taste the cookies. No, I thought I’d just stare at them until they grew faces and started talking to me.)
The last item in the press kit: a CD with pictures, including a folder of “Generic Butter Beauty Shots.” Work it, baby, work it.
This is one of the “beauty shots.” Who, may I ask, would ever plan on eating that? Would you like some bread with your butter? It’s almost enough to make me have a heart attack looking at it. I mean, come on! It’s like waves of butter crashing upon a stoneground shore!
I’m not anti-butter. Far from it; I refuse to cook or bake with margarine, even in recipes that call for it. As a spread fine, but keep that fake stuff out of my mixer and my skillet.
But let’s talk about moderation in all things. Butter and sugar, yummy. Butter by itself, not so much. I’m not averse to putting a pound of butter in a dessert, but I don’t need to use half a stick on a piece of toast. Goodness.
—Alan