Pistachio Butter

Despite the lack of counter space in my kitchen, I recently decided it was time to buy myself a food processor. As a diehard fan of the Food Network and Cooking Channel, I have seen countless celebrity chefs chop, grind, slice, purée, and knead with these magical machines. So thanks to my Christmas bonus, I have added a lovely Cuisinart to my kitchen's arsenal.

As with most Saturday mornings, I was up before the wife. The coffee was brewing, and I was feeling a bit hungry, when I noticed a bag of pistachios sitting on the counter. "Hmm," I thought, "what can I do with those? Pistachio butter!" I hit the trusty interwebs for some ideas on how to get started, and here's what I came up with:

 

Pistachio Butter

Ingredients:

• 2 cups Pistachios (shells and skins removed)
  
• Honey (to taste)
• Salt (to taste)

Directions:

1. Shell, blanch, and remove the skin of the pistachios: Remove and discard all shells. Bring a small pot of water to a boil. Add the pistachios and boil for about one minute. Using a slotted spoon, remove one pistachio, and test for readiness--the skin should easily be removed by giving the nut a pinch. When ready, drain the pistachios, and shock them with cold water. Drain the cold cold water, and remove the skin of the remaining pistachios.
2. Transfer the pistachios to a food processor, and add the salt (I started with 2 tsp). Run the machine (you may need to add a little warm water to get it going, but be careful not to over do it, or you might end up with pistachio soup).
   
3. Once the pistachios begin to smooth out, and while the machine is still running, add the honey (I started with 2-3 tbsp).
   
4. Continue to run the processor until it is a smooth consistency. You may need to stop, and scrape the sides once or twice. Taste, and adjust the salt and honey if necessary.
   
5. Serve and enjoy, or store in an airtight container in the refrigerator.

 

You can probably use the pistachio anywhere in place of peanut butter. I made myself a grilled PB&H sandwich (pistachio butter and havarti on multigrain), and I have to tell you, it was pretty damn good.

 

 

Last homework.

...unless of course you count the ethnography paper.

Recipe: Zucchini

One of my favorite dishes to eat while growing up was my mom's zucchini. I was not the biggest fan of vegetables as a kid, but I had no problem eating zucchini the way she prepared it--tender slices in seasoned tomato sauce, all topped with melted mozzarella. She simply referred to it as "zucchini" (as in, "we're having zucchini with dinner"), but that always meant it would be served this way. It's still one of my favorites, and to this day I get excited when she makes it. When I was given this week's assignment to post a family recipe, I immediately knew that this was the one I wanted to use.

I gave my mom a call yesterday to ask her for the recipe, and to my surprise, I was informed that she didn't have it written down. D'oh! The recipe had been handed down for generations (my mom recalls it being made by as far back as her great grandmother), but apparently no one ever wrote it down. I asked her to try to explain the process as best she could, and I took notes. I got a lot of "some of this" and "a little of that," but no specific quantities. This was not going to be easy.

I made a grocery list, and headed to the market. I was shopping blindly, so I just bought what looked right based on my memory. Then I hit another problem: my mom said she used canned tomato sauce, but neither of the two places I went had any. I was on foot, and did not want to add a third stop. I noticed some cans of San Marzano tomatoes hiding on a bottom shelf--this would have to do.

I got home with my goods, and got to work. I grabbed my notes from the conversation with my mom, and started chopping. Here's what I came up with...

Zucchini

Serves 4 to 6

Ingredients:

• 1 large Spanish onion (sliced)
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 1 teaspoon oregano (dried)
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 2 cloves garlic
• 1 28 oz can peeled, San Marzano tomatoes
• 3 tablespoons flat-leaf parsley, plus extra for garnish (chopped)
• 1 tablespoon fresh basil (chiffonade)
• 3 lbs zucchini (1/4" slices)
• 1/2 lb mozzarella cheese (shredded)
• Salt (to taste, approximately 1 teaspoon)
• Freshly ground black pepper (to taste, approximately 1/8 teaspoon)

Directions:

1) Crush the canned tomatoes--juice and all--using the grinder attachment on a stand mixer (or by using a fork in a large bowl). Set aside.
2) In a large non-stick frying pan, melt the butter over medium heat. Once melted add the onion, oregano and 1/4 teaspoon of salt. Continue to sauté until tender, approximately 10 minutes. Add the garlic during the last minute.
3) Add the crushed tomatoes, parsley and basil, and stir. Add the zucchini, and stir to cover the slices in the sauce. (The pan will be very full, but do not worry - it will cook down.) It may be necessary to reduce the heat a bit to avoid splattering, but do not go too low. Continue to simmer until the zucchini becomes tender, and turns from bright to dull in color--do not overcook--approximately 45-50 minutes.
4) Meanwhile shred the cheese with a grater, and set aside.
5) Taste and season with salt and black pepper. (Start with 1 teaspoon of salt and 1/8 teaspoon of black pepper, and add more if necessary.)
6) Once properly seasoned sprinkle with cheese, reduce heat to low, cover and allow to melt, approximately 1-2 minutes.
7) Remove from heat, sprinkle with parsley and serve.

Visual aids:

prepped vegetables, herbs and garlic

crushed San Marzano tomatoes

sautéed onions

zucchini simmering in sauce

shredded mozzarella cheese

melted cheese with parsley garnish

Nostalgic for Egg Rolls

When I was about ten years old, I discovered I had a love for egg rolls. Twin Happiness was a Chinese restaurant located in a strip mall in Crown Point, Indiana, and it was there I encountered my first real egg roll. My mother had always made those frozen, bite-sized numbers when I was growing up, and I thought they were pretty darn good (and I still do enjoy the things under the right circumstances). But these were the bee's knees - cabbage, pork, shrimp and their secret ingredient: peanut butter, all rolled up in a wanton, and deep fried into golden bliss. And they were served with a house made apricot-based sweet and sour sauce and hot mustard (there was always mustard in packets available on the table, but upon request they would bring out the good stuff that was prepared in the kitchen). They were truly delightful! Sure, I remember eating out at places like McDonald's and pizza parlors as a kid, but these egg rolls are my first memory of something I ordered at a restaurant, and thought, "Wow - food can really be amazing."

My family frequented Twin Happiness up through my high school years. And while we would try a different Chinese restaurant here and there, there were no egg rolls as good as the ones at TH. Everywhere else they were either missing the peanut butter or overloaded with carrots or too small - just not the same.

I left CP for Boston for my first year of college, and it was the same thing in the Back Bay - plenty of egg rolls, but none like TH. Upon my returns home for winter and summer breaks, I stopped in for a pair the first chance I got. Then finally, the summer after my second year of college, I applied at TH for seasonal employment, and was hired on as a server. It was perfect - the egg rolls were at my beck and call. I continued to work there on all of my breaks for the rest of my college years. After college I moved to Chicago, and continued to pay TH a visit every time I was back in town. By this point I had developed a close relationship with the owners. So much, in fact, that they closed restaurant to the public on a Saturday night so my wedding rehearsal dinner could be held there (and as I'm sure you guessed - egg rolls were on the menu that night).

A few years after my wedding, I got word that the owners had decided to close the doors at Twin Happiness. I was crushed. Where on earth was I ever going to have another egg roll as good as the ones at TH? While I have found a couple of Chinese restaurants in Chicago that come close, I have yet to find anything that hits the nail on the head. To this day, eleven years since TH closed its doors, I am still on the hunt for an egg roll that transports me back in time to that first egg roll. To the excitement I got from that first bite. To the day I realized that food can really be amazing.

Review: Longman & Eagle

2657 North Kedzie Avenue, Chicago, IL 60647, 773-276-7110
(No Reservations)

Like so many of Chicago's hip eateries, Longman & Eagle has become a hotspot for brunch. But unlike so many of Chicago's hipster-ridden brunch spots, this Logan Square gastropub/ whiskey bar does not disappoint. I'll admit that my expectations were low - dining out on a late Sunday morning while the Yankees are in town to play the Cubs, not to mention being Father's Day, is usually a recipe for disaster, but my wife and I decided to brave the amateur dining crowd. Like Anthony Bourdain says in his book, Kitchen Confidential, "Good food and good eating are about risk". And while there were plenty of dads donning Cubs jerseys, our journey through the north side went without incident.

We arrived and were greeted by a smiling hostess who informed us there was a fifteen minute wait. I was skeptical as there were a lot of people waiting inside as well as a crowd waiting outside. We agreed to wait, and joined the outdoor crowd since it was a pleasant morning. To my surprise, exactly fifteen minutes later, the hostess came outside to let us know there was a table ready for us on the patio. Great!

Immediately upon being seated we were provided with two glasses of water, as well as a carafe for the table. This scored big points with my wife. "I love a place that leaves extra water on the table," she said. I usually take it as a sign of lazy service, but to each his own. We were also each presented with a brunch menu as well as a whiskey menu for the table. Our server arrived to greet us a minute later, and was excited to hear it was our first time there for dining (we informed her that we had been there only once before for a cocktail with some friends). She let us know about a change on the menu - the mushrooms in the omelet were porcini instead of the morel, and asked if we had any questions yet. We didn't, so we placed our drink order. My wife ordered a fresh squeezed grapefruit juice ($3), and I ordered a PBR ($2) and a shot of simple Ancient Age bourbon ($3) from the whiskey menu ("When in Rome," right?).

Our drinks arrived, and we were both pleased with our choices. Our server returned shortly, and we placed our orders. To start we ordered the golden raisin and apricot scone ($5) to be shared. It arrived warm, drizzled with honey, and topped with a dollop of creamed butter. I have had some boring, dry scones in my time, but this one was perfect. There was a slight crispiness to the outside, and the inside was just right. We wasted no time eating our pastry, and fought over the last bite.

While we waited on our next course we were presented with a (free) sample of freshly baked glazed rhubarb spice cake. What a sweet surprise!

For the next course, I ordered the pork belly blt ($11). This monster of a sandwich was constructed of two Swan Creek pork belly medallions, arugula, tomato fennel jam, pickled red onion, "secret sauce," and topped with a sunny side up egg on a bun, and served with a side of beef fat fries. I wasn't sure how I was going to eat this without creating a giant mess, but I went for it. I put the top bun on, gave it a little press to break the egg yolk, and took a bite. The pork belly literally melted in my mouth, and went beautifully with the peppery arugula, the sweetness of the jam, the crunch of the pickled onion, and smoothness of the secret sauce. The fries were great as well - they arrived warm, slightly crisp, and very flavorful from the beef fat preparation. With this course I went with another PBR and a shot of mellow Benchmark bourbon ($3).

My wife went with the crab benedict ($13), which was as beautiful as it was delicious. Two English muffin halves, each topped with peekytoe crabmeat, a one hour egg, Old Bay infused hollandaise, and dehydrated bacon with a side of mixed greens. There was however a bit of a snafu regarding the bacon. Upon serving the dish, the food runner realized the bacon was missing, and said she would be right back with it. A couple of minutes passed, and there was still no sign of the missing bacon. We were able to flag our server down, and explained the situation to her. She apologized, and acted quickly to resolve the issue - within 30 seconds she reappeared, bacon in hand. Phew! In the bite I had to beg for, the fresh crabmeat stood out wonderfully, and was perfectly balanced with the crunch of the English muffin, the delicate egg, the perfectly seasoned hollandaise, and the crisp bacon.

At the end of the meal, I decided I was ready to try one more beer-and-a-shot. This time, at the suggestion of our server, I went with the Weller Special Reserve bourbon ($3) to ride sidecar to my PBR. She informed me this was her favorite, and the smooth taste with a peppery finish did not disappoint. Upon finishing my last drink, we cashed out, and each visited our respective restrooms. Both were extremely clean, well-stocked with soap and hand lotion, and had functioning hand dryers. Check, check and check!

While Bourdain warns that brunch menus are, "a dumping ground for the odd bits left over from Friday and Saturday nights," I feel that this could not be further from Longman & Eagle's modus operandi - the folks here seem to take pride in what they are doing. From the cheerful staff, to the amazing food, to the clean and comfortable environment -- everything came together beautifully, and we will absolutely be back to indulge in more gastronomy (and whiskey!).

P.S. The bottom of the inside page of the menu had the Oscar Wilde quote, "Work is the curse of the drinking class." These are my people.

One tablet daily, with food.

The Theory of Foodativity

According to French theorist Roland Barthes, "When he buys an item of food, consumes it, or serves it, modern man does not manipulate a simple object in a purely transitive fashion; this item of food sums up and transmits a situation; it constitutes an information; it signifies."

I think Julia Child would have had to agree. As written in her book, My Life in France, Child learned from her husband that the French believed "good cooking was regarded as a combination of national sport and high art." To the French, a meal was regarded as more than just food on a plate, and Child was immediately sold on this while attending the famous cooking school, Le Cordon Bleu. It was there that she learned that the best food is prepared without shortcuts, and she could taste for herself the impact that proper technique, patience and high-quality ingredients made on something as simple as scrambled eggs. Her instructor, Chef Bugnard, taught that, "you never forget a beautiful thing that you have made... even after you eat it, it stays with you -- always." As Barthes points out, food is more than a simple staple; it has the ability to tell a story, give information and have a deeper meaning. Child studied as many ways to prepare the same piece of fish as possible. Fried, broiled, baked, different sauces, different herbs - the options are endless. She also spent countless hours perfecting her recipe for mayonnaise. Something as simple as a condiment had to be given as much consideration as a lavish ballottine of veal. Child wrote, "How magnificent to find my life's calling, at long last!"

While food writer Ruth Reichl, experienced her first realization that food has power and significance at an early age, Child was an adult. Coincidentally both were in a foreign land; Reichl was in Montreal, away from her family at boarding school, and Child was 36 years old, living with her husband in France while he was on a US government job. This further illustrates that any one thing, in this case an epiphany, has an infinite number of possibilities of occurrence. Just as a recipe for fish or mayonnaise can vary, so can the story of of a similar experience.