Laura Huff of Carolina Epicurean is the sweetheart of the Carolinas! Here’s her lead story for this week…by none other than your humble servant. Enjoy!
Puffball Tacos
Let’s make this perfectly clear. Eating the wrong wild mushroom can KILL you. Not quickly like Clint Eastwood’s creepy Union soldier character in The Beguiled but over the course of a few painful weeks by destroying your liver. So DO NOT read this then strut into your neighbor’s artificially bright Chem-Lawn yard, pluck ANYTHING out of the grass then pop it into your mouth because you read this post. Got it?
So now that we have the legal stuff out of the way. A follower on Twitter recently asked me about foraging, something I learned to do in…well, come to think of it, it’s something I’ve done since I can remember. In south Louisiana I grew up with kids that hunted, fished and foraged constantly. However joining the Boy Scouts really opened my eyes to a world of possibilities and it was at the age of 12 that I first harvested cat tails, ate willow tree bark to relieve pain and learned how to tell poisonous snakes from harmless ones. At a summer camp, one of our leaders also showed a few of us how to identify wild mushrooms and me being interested in food at an early age, well of course I tagged along. So many years later I still get a kick out of finding lunch. In the upstate of South Carolina, I’ve found and eaten Chanterelles, Morels, Oysters, Lobster and King Boletes (cepes or porcini) mushrooms. Yesterday I took the dog for a walk and found a pile of Eastern Puffballs in a field so when I got home I grabbed some scissors and a bowl. Now this is very important. You DO NOT want to pluck ANYTHING out of a fertilized or chemically treated yard. Do I need to say that again?
If you want to start doing this yourself, the Audobon Field Guides are a good place to start, they even have apps for your phones. You may also find classes through your State Park system, I’ve taken several great outdoor classes from State Parks in SC, NC, TN and Virginia.
Eastern White puffballs
These puffballs were small. Harvest mushrooms by snipping or cutting above the ground line, that way the root system (mycelium) stays intact. Puffballs should be brilliant, almost bleach white for them to be edible.
This was was a bit soft, as soon as I touched I knew it was either past its prime or inedible. Edible Puffballs should be brilliant white all the way through and have a spongy yet firm texture, much like a stay-puft marshmallow.
Once I got my mushrooms home, I sliced all of them in half to make a positive ID. They look like little marshmallows, right? My Blackberry doesn't take the sharpest photos (upgrade coming soon) but trust me, these guys are pure white throughout.
Then I took a left-over fried chicken thigh, pulled the meat then sauteed that with my mushrooms, some salt, pepper and butter and fresh thyme
I fried a couple of corn tortillas, as soon as they came out of the oil, I laid them across an empty vinegar bottle to shape them
Add a bit of local arugula, some Crystal hot sauce and I had a pretty good lunch. Delicious 
Categories: Death, Food, Foraging
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Hand cut Fries for Amy
My wife loves French fries (OK we all do) but we rarely eat them. When we do, they’re usually homemade. Ever had soggy fries from a burger joint that makes their own? Yeah, they can be pretty worthless if done improperly. Making fries at home isn’t hard but it can be a bit time consuming and you will need special equipment, a thermometer and a mandoline. I made these for my wife’s Mother’s Day dinner. She wanted Burgers on the grill and hand cut fries along with a bottle of Red Zinfandel. If you haven’t made hand cut fries before, you really should give it a try. Ready? Let’s get to work:
I used a mandoline to cut the potatoes into long, thin strips, otherwise known as Julienne
The mandoline demands respect, if not, it'll take the tips of your fingers off in a hurry. Keep your fingers up and away from the blade. Half of a large potato will make enough fries for one person. Cut into julienne, place in a bowl of warm water and let them sit in the water for about ten minutes. This will pull starch from the outside of the potato and enhance the crispiness. Remove from the water, then place in a collander and allow to drain.
Julienne potatoes, Russett Burbanks are the favored potato for fries
The potatoes need to be cooked twice, once in a batch of low temperature oil (250) for six minutes. Do NOT crowd the potatoes into the oil, just do a handful at a time, too many and the oil's temperature will drop
Make sure you use a heavy duty steel pot for this, you'll need a lot of oil and you don't want to crowd oil into a pot. I prefer a pretty big pot, two gallon size, that way I only need to put a quart of oil in, and I have tall sides for splatter protection plus a big pot holds the heat better
After six minutes pull the potatoes out, lay on a sheet pan, don't pile them up or they'll stick to one another. Blanch all of the fries in this manner, this can be done a ways in advance, you could even do this, freeze the potatoes then finish when ready. Notice the color, pale and white and they will be soggy.
Now heat the oil up to 350 degrees. Take a handful of fries and carefully place them in the oil.
After about one minute, presto, crispy French Fries. Toss them into a big bowl lined with paper towels, toss with salt, pepper and truffle oil, like I did
Burgers on the grill, pickled jalapenos, a jar of Amy's homemade ketchup (that recipe is for another day)
And a few slices of Cabot Extra Sharp Cheddar Cheese, how's that for a Mother's Day dinner?
Categories: Adult Beverages, Family, Food, My Amy
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Pellegrino, the Vampire Sous-Chef
For my friends Jacquelyn and Julia.
”OK kids, 4:30, time for line up, let’s make it quick, it’s gonna be a busy night!”
Chef Jacks snapped her fingers repeatedly as if to put some additional energy into her crew’s shuffling feet. Every afternoon she held a thirty minute meeting with the staff of her restaurant, Cafe Morte, to discuss the evening’s dinner. Jennifer Jacks ran a tight ship, her restaurant had turned a profit from day one and that had been almost three years ago. She wasted nothing. Parsley stems, duck necks, pork liver, potato skins, used tin foil, lemon peel. Items that in any number of restaurants would have gone right into the garbage, Jennifer found a use for and she reinforced this attitude into her staff every day. The third month she was open she began giving out a weekly award, tight-wad of the week. And it was at her daily meetings that her staff recommended one another for this award. At the end of the month, everyone that had won a weekly tight-wad was eligible for a monthly drawing to win dinner for two to any number of restaurants on St. George’s Avenue. She had swapped gift certificates with a dozen different restaurants, and in a year’s time she had every other bistro on St. George’s participating in their own tight-wad style awards.
Jennifer smiled as her crew of servers, bartenders, bussers, cooks and dishwashers assembled in the dining room. Yet someone was missing.
“Anyone seen Pellegrino? Damien, have you seen our esteemed sous-chef?”
Damien, her grill cook, rubbed his scruffy cheeks and shrugged his shoulders. He thought hiring Pellegrino had been a mistake, so what if he had come highly recommended from the Serbian cafe across town. Big deal. So he made a delicious beef blood Pelmini…good luck selling that on a busy Friday night. Damien didn’t trust Pellegrino from the moment he laid eyes on him. Maybe it was the starched black chef’s coat, maybe it was the manicured hands, his pale complexio or his inability to lift anything over seven pounds. “What’s a matter chef, ya just get another manicure? Here, let me help you move those itty-bitty potatoes, I wouldn’t want you to break another nail.” If Damien kept humiliating him at every opportunity, Pellegrino would soon quit, Chef Jacks would realize her mistake and promote Damien to sous-chef, like she should have in the first place.
“Where in the hell is Pellegrino?”
Damien snickered. Jacks was already on edge and now Pellegrino was late, when he did show up she would surely dress him down in front of the entire staff. One more nail in his coffin.
“What the hell, where is this guy?” Jacks looked at her dining room manager. “Ginger, would you start please while I go hunt this guy down please?”
“Yes ma’am, of course.” As Chef Jacks stormed off, Ginger stood up and winked at Damien who offered a sly smile. The staff braced themselves. As soon as Chef found Pellegrino, the yelling would start.
Jennifer stormed into her kitchen, her blood pressure rising, she looked down the hot line then the garde manger area, nothing. Out back maybe? She opened the back door, nothing. Now she was furious, had he walked out on her? She stormed back into the kitchen and glared at the aluminum door of her walk-in cooler then promptly marched to the door. She yanked it open and there he was. Pellegrino had an entire USDA Prime 1 by 1 Strip Loin in his hands, his teeth sunk deep into the flesh of the meat, blood running down his chin, continuing the length of his neck. When the door flew open Pellegrino’s eyes popped and his body shuddered in surprise. Jennifer exploded into a furious rage as she grabbed Pellegrino by the scruff of the neck, jerking the strip loin to the floor.
“What the bloody sonofabitching hell do you think you’re doing in here! That strip loin cost me twelve freaking dollars a pound and you think you can suck it down like it’s some kinda pixie stick!”
Chef Jacks temper boiled over as she shoved Pellegrino out of the cooler, knocking over a five-gallon bucket of pickles. She had Pellegrino by the backof his chef’s coat as she pushed him through the kitchen.
“Now you’ve cost me a twenty seven dollar bucket of freaking PICKLES! You’re finished here!” As she corralled him towards the back door she grabbed Pellegrino’s rolling pin off of the prep table. When she reached the back door she hoisted her left leg and kicked the crash bar, the door burst open and Pellegrino was tossed into the parking lot, tumbling to the concrete.
“And don’t forget THIS!”
Jacks threw the rolling pin, aiming for his head but Pellegrino covered up and the rolling pin ricocheted off his forearms. Her fists clenched, the veins on her neck protruding, spit flying off of the corners of her mouth, Jacks offered her assesment of Pellegrino’s prized dish.
“And I HATE PELMINI! They’re just effing DUMPLINGS! and not even good dumplings!”
With a bang that shot a burst of air through her cafe, she yanked the door closed. She took a satisfyingly deep breath, stood up straight, tugged on the hem line of her chef’s coat, exhaled then proudly walked to the hand sink. She took her time washing her hands and giddily sang the happy birthday song, just like the Health Inspector had suggested. She yanked a paper towel out of the dispenser, dried her hands, wiped the delicate corners of her mouth then triumphantly marched into the dining room. As she took her seat she smiled politely at her staff.
“Now, where were we?”
Categories: Whimsical Vampire Ideas
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I won a Date with Tony Bourdain
From the Fall of 2006
It’s 7:00 a.m. on a Friday morning and I’m lying in bed watching the ceiling fan as it slowly induces in me some well-deserved motion sickness. At least I am in a very nice bed and the bathroom is only a short crawl away. I’m 44 years old and I haven’t felt this bad since my days as an English lit student at Southeastern Louisiana University. As I sit up in bed only to feel the bile begin to rise from my stomach I think to myself how lucky I am to feel this bad. For a guy like me what could be better than to spend the evening drinking and chatting and drinking with Tony Bourdain?
Several months ago my wife and I had been invited to give a cooking demonstration at Charlotte Shout, a three-week long food, wine and culture festival and fundraiser in Charlotte, NC that is now in its fifth year. Shout! features appearances by several big names like Ming Tsai, Sara Moulton, Wolfgang Puck and Marcus Samuelsson but the fact that they have convinced Tony Bourdain to come really puts this event in the big leagues. We were asked to give our demonstration a on Saturday and were then invited to the Duke Mansion-hosted VIP party that was strictly for the participants. The party was on a Thursday night so I figured that I could drive up Thursday afternoon and bring my buddy & food enthusiast Kerry Shafran, stay at his place that night, return to Greenville and work on Friday then back to Charlotte for our event on Saturday morning. Kerry, a Charlotte physician and Duke graduate, is excited about seeing Mr. Duke’s mansion, something he has never done before. And if Tony Bourdain is also there and we get to meet him, well so much the better.
We spend an hour at Kerry’s house snacking on a baguette, some Camembert and a few slices of Tasso ham washed down with a crisp Albarino then we head out to Mr. Duke’s for a 7:30 arrival. I tell Kerry that we had best get in line to meet Tony as soon as we arrive because he’ll probably sign books for 30 minutes, say a few words and then be off and of course everyone at this event will be in line to meet him. I’ve brought along my copy of the Les Halles cookbook and a digital camera. We turn into a long brick driveway that leads to an enormous Greek revival home, immaculately landscaped and garnished with a huge yet softly lit water fountain. Lining this fountain are at least 20 valets all patiently waiting their turn to park the next car. As I exit I ask the valet if Tony Bourdain is here and he responds: “is he a valet?”
“Never mind”.
In we go and we are greeted by several lovely hostesses that offer us our name tags and directions to the many bars and food stations inside and outside. “Is Tony Bourdain here?” I ask.
“Is he a chef?” she questions.
“Well, yes” I answer.
“There are a lot of chefs here tonight,” she offers. Kerry suggests that we grab a drink and mingle and if Tony is here surely we’ll see him. Finding a drink is easy. In every direction we see well-stocked bars that are pouring everything from Grey Goose Vodka (Kerry’s favorite) to Veuve Clicquot (my choice). Johnson & Wales has catered this affair and there are plenty of gorgeous food stations and bow-tied servers passing hors d’oeuvre trays. I also scan the crowd of maybe 175 and figure that at least a fourth of these are other chefs. The day old stubble, scarred fingers and ill-fitting clothes (when was the last time we bought dress clothes?) cause most of us to stand out. After we get our drinks I approach a food station and ask the culinary student if Tony Bourdain is here.
“He sure is!” she gushes. “He hasn’t come over here yet but you can’t miss him because he’s like seven feet tall and when he does pass by I’m going to get him to sign my copy of Kitchen Confidential, see?” She reaches under the table and produces her book but then quickly stashes it back by her feet.
“Fried Chicken?” she asks.
Strangely enough I’m a little nervous and don’t feel like eating so I pass on the chicken. I mention this intel to Kerry then we wander around and enjoy the sights. In a few minutes we spot Tony Bourdain. He’s at a food station and he has his back to us but his salt & pepper hair and lanky frame are a dead giveaway. Furthermore there’s not a soul around him. We decide to wait and have another drink and allow Tony a few minutes with his food before approaching. 15 minutes later Tony Bourdain is back on his feet and moving towards us so I walk up and introduce myself and mention that he may know me from E-gullet where I post under the name the Cynical Chef.
“No but I’m always happy to meet a fellow e-gulleteer.” The ice is broken and Kerry and I have Tony’s attention for 15 or 20 minutes and the conversation centers on a few episodes of No Reservations that he has recently shot, one inRussiaand one in the Kalahari. Tony is happy to talk about his adventures. He comes off as the luckiest guy in the world yet he is neither smug nor condescending. While filming in Russia he was given a ride with a military aerobatic team in a Mig-29 and me being an aviation enthusiast I had to blurt out: “You rotten, lucky bastard!” At this he enthusiastically gives me all the details of his flight so that I can share in his good fortune.
“Did you pass out? “ I ask.
“No but at one point I wanted to, especially when the blood was filling my eyes and my vision was starting to tunnel.”
A server appears with a Grey Goose & cranberry for Tony and asks if she can bring us anything. “Veuve Clicquot please” I say but Kerry politely declines. Tony lights another cigarette and a few others join us and introduce themselves and are soon asking for him to autograph their books. We ask Tony if we can get a photo and he says sure, of course. Tony & I pose first and then he puts his arm around my neck and says “This one’s for the Fat Guy! (E Gullet founder Steve Shaw, AKA the Fat Guy) and flips the middle finger at the camera. “Come on John! For the Fat Guy!” he hollers. I respond somewhat half-hearted. I’ve never met Steve Shaw so I am uncomfortable telling him he’s #1 but I figure that this isn’t the first time Tony has convinced some unsuspecting chef to flip off Steve so I comply. With my book signed and a few photos I am happy to back up and let a few more folks move in and say hello. Kerry and I head over to the bar and I get another glass of Champagne to celebrate. Kerry passes on another martini but we do get some food and have a seat. Soon we are up and moving and we meet a few other chefs and some of the other VIP’s. The food is very good and the champagne is cold and we’re having a great time. We end up at a table with a few Charlotte chefs and I excuse myself to grab another glass of Champagne. When I return a few minutes later Kerry informs me that Tony was looking for me because he wanted to introduce me to someone.
“No bull? Tony Bourdain was looking for me?”
“You like the sound of that, don’t you John?” Kerry smirks.
I look around and see Tony in the corner and he catches my eye and waves me over.
“John I want you to meet Adam real-last-name-unknown and this is the Grill Bitch”
Adam was at one time the best bread baker in New York and worked for Tony when he was writing his first book, Kitchen Confidential and is one of the more colorful characters that pass through the kitchen of Les Halles. The Grill Bitch is Beth Aretsky, at one time a grill cook for Tony but now his personal assistant. Beth also figures into Kitchen Confidential. They are both very friendly and seem to be enjoying themselves greatly. Adam asks me where I cook which gives me reason to talk up 33 Liberty. The crowd is thinning now but the ones that are left are the ones like me that are eager to be in this company. Soon I have to take a seat and Kerry and another chef join me. Kerry mentions how casual and friendly Tony is and Kerry is certain that his wife is not going to believe this and she’ll be furious she wasn’t invited. I turn around and see Tony standing behind us, talking to Beth and he is gently swaying, putting pressure on one foot and then the other as if he is tired of standing. I walk up and invite them to join us at our table and he says that would be great. Tony & Beth sit down with us and another Grey Goose & cranberry appears for Tony and a friendly voice says “I believe that you were drinking Veuve Clicquot” and just like that there’s another flute of champagne. Tony picks up my Les Halles cookbook and asks me why the hell is the cover of this book so clean?
“I specifically asked the publisher to cover this book in something resembling butcher paper because I assumed it would get covered in beef blood and smeared with butter and olive oil. Now why the hell is your book spotless, Malik?”
“Because there’s not one decent grits recipe in this whole damn book Tony!”
He laughs and then I explain that I’m primarily a Southern guy that occasionally dabbles in pates but I have read the entire book and enjoyed it immensely. As proof I quote his lobster recipe that suggests having a stiff drink before dispatching the lobster. He grins and with that he and Beth dip their fingers in a plate of appetizers and smear their now greasy fingers all over the cover of the book. I join in by spilling a glass of pinot noir (where did that come from?) on the cover.
I remind him of an email I had sent him years ago. I was about to go to New York for an appearance on Sara Moulton’s Primetime show and I sent Tony an email at Les Halles asking him if he would be in the kitchen when I was in town. He replied yes and that I should have dinner, then he offered a bit of unsolicited advice concerning Sara Moulton’s show. “Just talk to Sara. Don’t think that the camera will be focused on you, looking up your nose because it won’t. Be yourself and have a good time”. My response at the time was that I had seen him on Sara Moulton last week and guess what, the camera was looking up his nose.” Tony laughs out loud, points his finger at me and says I remember that email!”
A few other chefs join us and our conversation topics run from music to barbecue to Ariane Daguin’s (owner of D’artagnan) troubles inNew Jerseythen to the greatest chef in the world, Ferran Adria of El Bulli in Spain. One of the other chefs asks Tony how great Ferran is and he offers this comparison. “Imagine if you are a jazz and blues fan and your standard is BB King. BB King is a great R & B player and musician and his music has plenty of soul. Then one day you hear Charlie Parker and Charlie is not even from the same planet as BB King and you are so shocked and amazed at Charlie Parker’s music that your entire world, your entire understanding of what is great music has been twisted and distorted. That’s how amazing Ferran Adria is. Ferran Adria is Charlie Parker. I have dined at El Bulli maybe a half dozen times and Ferran has taken everything I thought I knew about food and turned it on its head.” Us mere mortals, the ones that will only read about Ferran Adria’s food, can only nod our heads in agreement and take Tony’s word. Someone else asks “what’s the worst thing you’ve ever eaten?” Without hesitating he answers “Pig’s rectum, from a wild pig that had been killed then dragged across the dessert for three days by Kalahari bushmen, roasted whole then butchered by the tribe elders and I was offered the best cut, served only to the guest of honor. It was truly horrible but if I had refused it would have been incredibly rude so I ate it. In your worst dreams you can’t imagine how horrible this was.”
“Was it cleaned?” someone asks.
“Never”
There is momentary silence as we all cringe. I had no idea how far Tony would go to avoid being seen as rude. I would have been rude. It went like that for the better part of an hour and a half, maybe longer. Tony was perfectly happy to sit there, drink in hand and cigarette nearby and recount his tales of culinary daring to his small audience. He spun tales of Spain and Viet Nam, New York and Russia, Sweden and France. Then at some point he says that he’s beat and he’s going out tomorrow to find some whole hog barbecue shack that ideally will have blood and pig’s hair splattered on the walls. Kerry offers advice on where to find such a place then we get up and shake hands, I thank him for his hospitality and he tells me that he damn well better see that picture on e-gullet or my manhood will be in question. As I stand up I have to steady myself on the table but I promise that the photo will get posted. As Tony Bourdain walks off Kerry checks his watch and tells me it is after midnight and perhaps we should head home. My glass of red wine is empty (I thought I was drinking champagne?) and I suddenly feel very tired so off we go.
The next morning it takes me three attempts spread over two hours to get out of bed, get dressed and head back home. As I am struggling for composure and trying to keep my Goody’s down I’m cursing Tony but I also know that I would not have taken this bullet for any other food celebrity, not Emeril nor Daniel, Ming nor Thomas. And if I do get the chance to share another drink with Tony….pass the sparkling water please. Damn, what a night!
so he's two inches taller than me...
Doughnuts for Chapel Hill
Months ago I convinced Marilyn Markel, the director of the cooking school at A Southern Season to host me for a demonstration class. Amy and I decided to celebrate our 25th at the same time so we turned it into a long weekend, sans kids. I surprised her by trading favors with a friend and he loaned us his 2006 Corvette convertible for the trip. Furthermore, I cemented our relationship by asking Amy if she wanted to take the first round of driving duty. “Oh, Yes!” she announced. The Corvette was surprisingly well-mannered; when driven gently it responded gently and was very manageable around town at normal speeds. Your grandmother (if she could get into) could drive it without a hitch. Yet when the time came and I was able to tap into that horsepower did it ever come alive. More on that later.
Who needs music when you have a ported and polished 500 horsepower V8?
Southern Season is only the Greatest grocery store this side of the Mississippi and I would say that it’s only competitor for the title of Greatest would be Draeger’s in San Mateo, CA. It’s a tough call. I’ve eaten in both restaurants, hosted cooking classes at both venues and shopped both sets of aisles. I love both of them but each is unique in its own way. Feel free to cast your vote through a comment. Amy and I stayed at The Siena Hotel, maybe a half-mile away from Southern Season. The Siena was wonderful. A boutique hotel, incredibly comfortable, very accomodating and the service was top notch. After checking out of the Siena we both agreed that our stay was more memorable than our visit to the Ritz-Carlton in Buckhead. Whenever any staff member caught your eye, they immediately smiled. And they meant it. This is such a big deal and I can’t tell you how many retail businesses (restaurants, bars, gift shops, kitchen stores, you name it) I’ve walked into that cannot get this down. The staff at Southern Season was equally as engaging, from the cooking school staff to Dillon at the cheese counter who happily allowed us to sample several of the many local cheeses. If there were wine samples at the cheese counter, Amy & I would still be there.
and they have a LOT of cheese at Southern Season
We had dinner at An in Cary, NC. Steven D. Greene is the Executive Chef and he is one hell of a cook. Steven was out of town for a friend’s wedding so for that night kitchen duties fel to Josh Hughes, An’s Executive Sous Chef and over the course of two hours Josh sent us one amazing dish after another while the sommelier paired interesting wines from across the globe. Since Amy was driving home, her wine consumption was limited to very small tastes.
Beau Soleil oyster with carrot granita
Tuna in three preparations. The white sphere in the middle is unsweetened white chocolate filled with dashi and white soy broth
Hamachi, Carpaccio style and Tartare
Chicken Wings! These were prepared confit style, crispy fried then tossed in a spicy Asian style galze and served over napa and fennel slaw. Served with a Gewurztraminer-Reisling blend, this may have been my favorite course. A very rousing and satisfying interpretation of standard bar food.
Pork and Wild Mushroom potsticker, bok choy, Jasmine tea broth
Roasted Salmon, baby broccoli, pickled Honshimeji mushrooms and Five Spice broth
Lamb Chop, spring peas, roasted shallot, spring carrots, baby turnips, red wine sauce
Pork three ways, left to right a pork confit beggars purse over an incredibly rich sauce, grilled pork loin over Nishiki rice risotto, pork belly over pinapple vanilla bean gastrique...long sigh
At this point we were served an intermezzo of sparkling sorbet, served on a tiny tasting spoon, one beet and the other dashi
Why yes, I would love a glass
Chocolate three ways, a warm miniature chocolate cake with candied kumquat , dark chocolate ice cream, white chocolate orb filled with raspberry coulis...Quite a memorable meal and I have to say it was up there with some of the best meals I've had, including the tasting that we had at TRU in Chicago and Gramercy Tavern.
Satisfied...
Saturday morning I got up a bit early and wrote this essay on my first day of culinary school which was also the first time I saw my wife. When Amy woke we shared coffee and buttery pastries then hit the Chapel Hill and Carrboro Farmer’s markets.
The Carrboro market was great fun and it was jammed with shoppers
At Carrboro we promptly ran into our friend Sheri Castle, she was preparing goodies out of her "The New Southern Garden Cookbook"
You can (You Will!) buy Sheri’s book here
There was no shortage of beautiful sights
There was a lot to like at the Carrboro market yet I was mystified by this vegan Doughnut. I wasn't about to pay five cents much less $3.50 for this, the seller allowed me a taste. There's an awful lot of WRONG going on here. Of course you can guess by the list of ingredients that this was one awful doughnut, not to mention the misguided idea that one can eat a doughnut and receive health benefits from it. Come on...wheat bran, flax seed and ground almond...in a Doughnut? So what if it's vegan? It was a doughnut with an exorbitant price tag, little health benefit (you’d have to eat a lot of these to get your dose of fiber) and certainly not one shred of guilty pleasure. The small sample I had was as appealing as a stale Cliff bar…that had been stepped on by a horse. A lose/lose all the way around.
Yet just down the way was a guy selling handmade hot dogs, served on his own sourdough bun, his own mustard and sauerkraut. Now this is a guilty pleasure and it was damn enjoyable. His restaurant is The Pig and we understand their BBQ is first rate.
His hot dog was $5.00. Well worth it...
Eventually I had to go to work. We had a good turnout for the demonstration class, even though we were competing with the Kentucky Derby.
This is Gwen helping me demonstrate what happens when gluten (wheat protein) gets kneaded and unscrambles, much like an egg white that gets overcooked. We're stretching a slinky until it's taut. Proper manipulation of protein gives us delicate cakes and pastries (such as doughnuts) or crusty breads such as a baguette. As the dough is allowed to rest, the protein chain relaxes. Gwen is walking towards me to allow the slinky (protein chain) to "relax." That's why we don't knead or over-mix cake batter
So I totally forgot to take a photo of the doughnuts I made. We made a cinnamon and vanilla batter, dipped them in melted dark chocolate then into a variety of whimsical toppings including brightly colored, candy-covered sunflower seeds, tiny candy pink and white hearts, shaved dark and white chocolate. Sorry but you'll have to settle for this electronic billboard advertising my class.
The staff at Southern Season is top-notch, helpful, professional and polished.
I would love to return to Southern Season yet I have given myself a goal. I'll come back when S/S considers me for their wall of signed portraits, much like this portrait of the talented, lovely cookbook author Rebecca Lang. That means I need to be published, not self-published.
After a very leisurely Sunday morning we had to head back to Greenville. We took I-40 to Hickory then made our way through the mountains via US 70, taking a few detours through some twisty roads. We stopped and had ice cream at this neat, old-school soda shop, Myra’s. This is in Valdese, NC.
Top down, sunny day, eyes up and focused...time to drive. On roads such as this one the Corvette shined. I used the steering wheel mounted paddle shifters, turned off the traction control then got to work. Corvettes have a Heads-Up display, a hologram that is broadcast onto the windshield that gives speed, RPM's, coolant temperature and a G meter. Somewhere on NC 129 I saw .60 of a G and it was at that point Amy asked me to settle down. "Yes ma'am." All in all it was one of the better trips that Amy and I have enjoyed. Memorable food, plenty of time together, a great experience at Southern Season and plenty of time together. Here's to a happy marriage. Cheers!
Categories: Cool Machines, Doughnuts for Amy, Family, Life, My Amy, Spouse, Uncategorized, What's really important
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A Reading Recommendation
My friend Andy Holloman’s novel, Shades of Gray is FREE on Amazon, the E-Version that is. So if you have a Kindle or Kindle App and really enjoy a well-written, tightly constructed, edge of your seat thriller with a cleverly devised ending (everything that 50 Shades isn’t) then go click here on May 8th and pick up Shades of Gray for free.
Categories: Great Books
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Would you like Cheese Puffs with That?
A few weeks ago we made Parisian style gnocchi to serve with a steak dish. These are made from Pate Choux (cream puff or eclair style dough) that has been flavored with aromatic herbs and Parmesan cheese, then pushed through a pastry bag with a straight tip into boiling water, poached for about two minutes, cooled then sauteed. Served in this manner they are quite lovely and they make an unusual accompaniment to a grilled steak or hearty pork dish. They’re certainly much more interesting than any number of potato or rice dishes and one of the many reasons people dine at Stella’s Southern Bistro. So a few weeks back Jason had made a batch of these and they were flavored with truffle peelings and thyme. Sounds amazing, right? Well one of the other cooks had one in his hands and he looked at me. I think he was going to eat it cold, just to taste it but he tossed it in the fryer. It was pretty delicious and we agreed it had sort of a Chee-toh-ishness to it. So right away I started thinking about a cheddar cheese version and a few nights ago we did just that. You can find recipes to Parisian style gnocchi all over the internet, it’s hardly new but only found one link to deep-fried, pan-fried yes but not like this.
Start with Pate Choux. This is fairly easy to make but you’ll need a stout wooden spoon, trust me on this, don’t try this with a metal spoon or a rubber spatula. Since a lot of chefs will look at this recipe the quantities are large but fairly easy to scale down for home use. You’ll need a heavy duty stock pot with a long handle, a Kitchen-Aid style stand mixer with the paddle (works better than the dough hook), a large pastry bag with a straight tip and a pair of scissors. When it comes time to poach the gnocchi, you’ll also need an extra pair of hands. Here’s what you’ll need:
Three cups water
12 ounces whole butter
Two teaspoons salt
Four cups sifted, all-purpose flour
One teaspoon powdered vinegar
Twelve eggs
Two tablespoons Dijon mustard
Four tablespoons finely chopped chives
Four tablespoons finely chopped parsley
One teaspoon fresh black pepper
Two cups grated Cheddar cheese
Powdered vinegar is exactly what it sounds like, chefs can order this through a food supplier but sadly I’ve never seen this in even the fanciest of grocery stores. Try a few dashes of red wine vinegar. After making this I would love to see your own photos or comments, especially from chefs Jacquelyn Brassell, Art Smith and Andre Carthen.
Butter, water, salt and pepper go into the stock pot and are brought to a boil
Flour gets added ALL at once, just dump it in, then start stirring with that wooden spoon. Stir vigourously until a smooth paste is achieved. If you're using the powdered vinegar, sift that into the flour first
And I mean stir vigourously! If you've never done this before, stir until your forearm hurts, then stir some more
Now place this in your stand mixer, I know this shot shows the dough hook but later we tried it with the paddle and that works better. While the mixer is turning on a medium low speed, add the eggs one or two at a time, DO NOT dump them in, add one, let in mix in then add another
Once you have the eggs added, toss in the herbs, vinegar and cheese. Do all of this while the mixer is turning, The finished product will be fairly rich and dense
Here's the tricky part. The dough goes into the pastry bag with the straight tip, the dough is then pushed out in a steady stream then clipped of in two or three inch pieces with a pair of scissors. This is a job for two people and I would not recommend having anyone too young help. You're going to have to hold your arms over a hot pot of boiling water and one false move and you'll have boiling water everywhere. One person squeezes the pastry bag while another cuts. It's also handy to spray your scissors with Pam otherwise they may get choked with the sticky dough. Drop about two dozen in at a time, allow them to poach, then lift them out with a strainer, place on a pan lined with paper towels or on a tray with a baking rack so the water drains away. They only need about 120 seconds in the water
Ready to come out of the water, these guys have puffed up and are floating, if they stay in the water too long, they'll start to break up
This is Chelsea, she works for Parson's Produce and she just delivered some broccoli, right out of the garden and what goes better with Broccoli then Cheese Puffs, right?
So we blanched the broccoli, brushed it wih olive oil, seasoned with salt and pepper then grilled it. The puffs get deep fried, 350 degrees for two minutes then tossed with a bit of salt, pepper and grated Parmesan cheese. We served them with Grilled Hanger Steak and Truffle Butter. Pretty cool, huh? They were delicious
and of course, Daniel prefers his Cheese Puffs with a Strawberry Mojito
Categories: Food, Stella's Southern Bistro
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The Perfect Margarita
This is from our good friend and the neighbor I wish I had, Barbara Keibel. Barbara has a great website, Creative Culinary and every Friday she whips up a classic cocktail and shares it with her neighbors in Denver, Colorado. Later she’ll share it with her readers. This past Friday she posted the perfect Margarita and although Amy and I didn’t make this yet, I didn’t need to. Read the recipe and you’ll see why. Cheers!
Categories: Adult Beverages, Good Friends, Other Voices
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“Chef, what if you don’t have an Iron?”
New Orleans in August is damn hot and the air-conditioner in this 40 year-old building was struggling. There were 45 of us crammed into a class room designed for 30. Eager, arrogant, excited and cocky but most of all we were sweaty. The first day of culinary school at Delgado Community College, dressed in our new uniforms with our Mardi Gras colored patches that proclaimed us as newbies yet most of us believed we were ready to take over the helm of Commander’s Palace. Putting on a real chef coat for the first time will do that to you. Most of us were sitting on aluminum folding chairs, six or seven to a row, some were standing or sitting in the corners, and all of us were tugging at our neckerchiefs wondering if we would be able to dress like this for three years in this sweltering classroom. From the front of the room our impeccably dressed Chef instructor had just informed us that yes, even on classroom days, we will be in full uniform.
“You will wear black herringbone pants, black socks, clean black shoes, your school’s chef coat and your neckerchief, even if you’re just sitting in accounting class. Oh and that chef coat better be neat and clean, don’t you dare show up wrinkled and dirty.” My mother had taught me well and I sat there agreeing with Chef yet I could hear expletives being muttered and saw a few heads shaking. Then Jimmy asked, “Chef what if you don’t have an iron?” Long pause. The look on Chef’s face said so many things: you buy one, borrow one, steal one, go make one out of an old manhole cover, ask your mother, why the hell are you asking me this damn question but most of all his look said I hate the first day of school. I’m in a room full of adults and they’re asking me about irons. I looked around and realized most everyone was agreeing with Jimmy, what if you don’t have an iron? My classmates were leaning forward, waiting for an answer, stifled by the humidity and this new predicament. Shoulders were being hunched and heads were scratched. How are we going to tackle food cost equations without an iron? I thought this was culinary school and I’m already behind the curve. Does Wusthoff make an iron? Chef was saved by the most unlikely candidate, Boudreaux (Boo-droh) a shrimper from Houma, a salt of the earth guy with a thick Cajun accent that had grown up on the pitching deck of his family’s shrimp trawler.
“I gaht dis one Chef.” Chef looked over at Boudreaux, pursed his lips then waved his right arm, palm out as if to say “Be my guest.” Boudreaux stood up slowly, tugging on his pants. His muttering audience was now silent and intent on solving this puzzle.
“In da morning, when ya taking ya showah, hang ya chef coat in da showah and let da steam frum da showah take dem wrinkles out.”
Chef’s eyes were wide open and he nodded. I started to giggle at the incongruity of the situation and looked around for someone else that was sharing my emotions yet most everyone was nodding in approval. I scratched my head with my left hand and looked to my right. At the end of the row was a cute girl with sparkling brown eyes, her slightly curly hair, the color of a warm café au lait, tumbled down her neck as she looked my way and grinned, the tip of her tongue playfully clenched between her teeth. She understood and the look on her face said it all. “Are you believing this? A room full of adults, not knowing how to iron a shirt and taking fashion advice from a shrimper?” I returned her smile and hoped she was available then turned my attention to Boudreaux; he wasn’t finished.
“If dat don’t work, take an empty lick-ah bottle, fill it wit haut war-ta then roll dat bottle on ya chef coat, take dem wrinkles right out.”
Now I’m laughing because someone asks “Will any liquor bottle work?” Heads turn to the back of the class as we try to spot the owner of this question but Boudreaux fires back, right hand palm up as he points out that Jack Daniel’s and some gins come in a square bottle and it’s best to use a round bottle because it’s easier to roll. Four or five of us explode into laughter as Chef puts his head down on his desk. I look across my row and Amy turns to me and winks. A few days later Amy was interviewing at Christian’s restaurant where Chef Roland Huet had hired me a week prior. As I walked past the dining room entrance I saw Amy, her back was to me yet I already knew her form. Later I told Chef Roland he should hire her, I fibbed and said I knew her in class and she was pretty sharp. Four months later my hair stood up and goose bumps burst through my skin as we shared our first kiss, in the walk-in cooler of Christian’s.
After 25 years, she still gives me goose bumps
Categories: Family, Food, Life, My Amy, What's really important
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