I know, I know-- covetousness is a sin. But I admit I've had my eye on something for a while now.
It's expensive. It's heavy. It's pretty. It's expensive.
Oh and also, it's expensive.
It's a Le Creuset Dutch oven. Or, as they call it, a French oven. It's essential for all those cuts of meat that get cooked for hours until they practically fall off the bone. It can be used on the stove top, the oven, or both for a single meal. Plus, it comes in a dizzying array of colors, nearly all of which I would be happy with, should one just happen to fall in my lap.
Actually, having a Le Creuset fall in my lap might break both my legs. But you know what I mean.
A couple of weeks ago, I noticed a store brand Dutch oven on sale for 40% off at Sur La Table. As all mathematicians know, [Totally Ridiculous] x 0.40 = [Still Pretty Ridiculous], but the store brand's original price was Reasonable, not Ridiculous. It was available in only one color, but it happened to be a color I especially love: a deep, dark burgundy. So as not to be impulsive, I made a mental note of the item and kept walking.
I wondered, though, why is the SLT brand so much cheaper than Le Creuset? Its starting price was a mere forty percent of Le Creuset's for the same size, and the only visible differences were a shinier finish on the SLT and a stainless steel lid handle, not a composite handle. The SLT pot's weight was about equal to that of the Le Creuset, so I knew it was cast iron all the way through, not filled with aluminum or steel or some other muck.
China may have something to do with it. As I read the fine print, I noticed the SLT pot was made in China. Le Creuset pots, on the other hand, are still made in France (their bakeware is now made in China, just like everything else). I would prefer to purchase things that are made just about anywhere but China. But I couldn't force myself to be quite stoic enough to shell out 60% more for the Le Creuset, especially when I returned to Sur La Table about ten days later.
A large sign outside the door of SLT called to me, "TAKE AN EXTRA 20% OFF ALL CLEARANCE PRICES!" Well, ok, if you insist.
The sale brought the price of the Dutch oven down to less than 50% of its original price, and to about twenty percent of the original Le Creuset price.
So far, my Dutch oven seems to perform well. The metal handle does get hot, so I must use a towel or pot holder each time I open the lid, but this is not a major disaster. I'll spare my readership a soap box speech on the downfalls of cheap consumer goods, though it plays in my head often, because for now the pot is a way to cook well, eat well, and be well.
Cherokee Purple
A food blog about cooking for one, experimenting, and a love of simple food.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Want Some Coffee With That?
Thumbing through John Ash's Cooking One on One, the Texan and I both said, "Oooooh!" when we turned to the page with a recipe for brisket braised in coffee. Neither one of us knew exactly who John Ash was, but we figured he knew what he was talking about with that recipe, which combines two Really Good Things.
Wouldn't you know it that John Ash has had a restaurant and a radio show here in northern California for a few years. Or 30. He does the whole fresh/local/seasonal thing a la Alice Waters, only in Santa Rosa, and his dishes are created to match the wines being made in that region. He also does a few other things. Like teach at the culinary academy in the Napa Valley. Whatever.
Wouldn't you also know it that the Texan and I have somewhat different definitions of brisket. His version involves a barbeque and slicing the beef. Mine involves simmering in a Dutch oven for hours on end, a tomato-y braising sauce, and meat that just falls apart when it's done. So imagine his surprise when I spend all day simmering the meat, he spends all day thinking about the barbecued flesh he's about to eat, and he sits down to a meal that has no slices in sight. Poor thing.
Whatever our differences, we agreed that a) the meat was ridiculously tender and flavorful; b) we couldn't really taste the coffee, but perhaps its job was simply to tenderize, not to flavor-ize; c) there is more than one way to cook brisket. In fact, the Texan liked it enough to want it for dinner the following evening, as we were getting ready to go up to our local observatory for a meteor shower. There was just one small problem:
His surprise was not due to my having eaten the brisket for another meal. His surprise was due to the cut of meat I used WEIGHING TWO POUNDS and there being so little left that it wouldn't satiate him for dinner. As in, "Where the %@*# did you put it? Your hollow leg? Or are you now thirty pounds heavier?" He swears he would love me at any weight. But the triple question mark makes me wonder. Just a little.
*You can discard all meat fat and saute onions in olive oil if you prefer, but using the fat already in the pan yields more flavorful results.
Wouldn't you know it that John Ash has had a restaurant and a radio show here in northern California for a few years. Or 30. He does the whole fresh/local/seasonal thing a la Alice Waters, only in Santa Rosa, and his dishes are created to match the wines being made in that region. He also does a few other things. Like teach at the culinary academy in the Napa Valley. Whatever.
Wouldn't you also know it that the Texan and I have somewhat different definitions of brisket. His version involves a barbeque and slicing the beef. Mine involves simmering in a Dutch oven for hours on end, a tomato-y braising sauce, and meat that just falls apart when it's done. So imagine his surprise when I spend all day simmering the meat, he spends all day thinking about the barbecued flesh he's about to eat, and he sits down to a meal that has no slices in sight. Poor thing.
| With The Texan's homemade bread and some sauteed vegetables with toasted pecans. |
Whatever our differences, we agreed that a) the meat was ridiculously tender and flavorful; b) we couldn't really taste the coffee, but perhaps its job was simply to tenderize, not to flavor-ize; c) there is more than one way to cook brisket. In fact, the Texan liked it enough to want it for dinner the following evening, as we were getting ready to go up to our local observatory for a meteor shower. There was just one small problem:
![]() | ||
| I'm the blue. He's the white. |
His surprise was not due to my having eaten the brisket for another meal. His surprise was due to the cut of meat I used WEIGHING TWO POUNDS and there being so little left that it wouldn't satiate him for dinner. As in, "Where the %@*# did you put it? Your hollow leg? Or are you now thirty pounds heavier?" He swears he would love me at any weight. But the triple question mark makes me wonder. Just a little.
Brisket Braised in Coffee
adapted from Cooking One on One by John Ash
serves 6-8
(I cut the recipe in half)
4 lbs beef brisket, trimmed of excess fat
4 TBSP olive oil
3 yellow onions (1 1/2 lbs total), sliced
1/4 C sliced garlic
2 TBSP powdered chiles, such as ancho or Chimayo (this is NOT the same as chili powder, which is a blend of several spices and flavorings)
2 tsp whole fennel seeds
2 tsp cumin seeds
2/3 C packed brown sugar
2/3 C apple cider vinegar
4 C strong brewed coffee
1 C chicken, beef, or vegetable stock (or use canned broth)
1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes, with juice
salt and pepper to taste
1. Season meat with salt and pepper. Heat 2 TBSP olive oil in a Dutch oven or other large pot. Brown brisket on both sides over high heat. Remove meat from pot, discard excess fat, and leave about a tablespoon in pot.*
2. Saute onions and garlic in fat over high heat until they just begin to color. Add powdered chile and saute another minute. Add fennel, cumin, sugar, vinegar, coffee, stock, and tomatoes, and bring to a simmer. Return brisket to pot, cover, and let simmer over a low flame for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or until meat is very tender.
3. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Allow brisket to sit (e.g. on an unheated back burner) for 15 minutes. Serve.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Easter Eggs
My 6th grade science fair project, which won a blue ribbon thank you very much, involved dyeing bits of fabric with food. As in beets, cabbage, blueberries, onion skins, and coffee. I think my investigation was two-fold: which plants gave the strongest dyes, and how to set the dye so I didn't wind up with only vague stains on my fabric.
It turns out the same plants can also turn my Easter Eggs lovely colors. Beets and blueberries give the girliest colors, of course, but coffee gives a nice brown, and saffron turns the eggs a very spring-like pastel yellow.
Chickens can turn their eggs lovely colors, too. Not by will, of course. Or by eating beets. Different breeds produce eggs in different colors. Yep, that whole 'brown eggs are healthier than white eggs' thing is irrelevant. The two simply come from different chicken breeds.
Several years ago, I stumbled across blue Araucana eggs at the Berkeley farmers' market. Actually, I stumbled across them in Martha Stewart-- she just so happens to keep like 20 different breeds of chicken at her eensy little estate. Er, estates-- and therefore recognized them at the market. But the vendor I bought them from was elderly and frail, so I had a feeling he wouldn't be there this year. I was right. Riverdog Farm, though, had these very pretty dozens for sale, so I looked through several cartons to find just the right mix. (They probably hate that, but for six dollars a dozen, I feel entitled to pick The Perfect Eggs.)
These are almost too pretty to dye. In fact, egg producers often raise Araucanas mainly for their novelty at Easter. But I think the combination of natural shell color and plant dye makes for some striking eggs in my Easter basket.
This year, I decided to pull a few dye tricks out of my 6th grade hat, since I wasn't thrilled with my results from last year. Red onion skins, which my local grocery store gave me for free, spinach, and turmeric were added to my blueberry-and-beet-and-coffee repertoire, with some unexpected results. For one, onion skins create a seemingly intense reddish-brown dye, but their impact on my eggs was not so intense. For another, spinach made an unimpressive dye. I was disappointed. For a third, dry blueberry dye that I put on a brown egg rubbed off when I rinsed the egg, leaving not a pale blue color but a pale brown color. As in, paler than the egg originally started, as if some of the natural brown color rubbed off, too. And fourthly, two years in a row beets have left my eggs speckled pink, not pink all over.
(L, top to bottom) 1. Naked blueberry 2. Blueberry 3. Turmeric and blueberry 4. Spinach 5. Turmeric
(R, top to bottom) 1. Onion skin 2. Coffee 3. Beet 4. Onion skin 5. White egg boiled in beet bath
One of the things I love about these dyes is how not uniform and sometimes bizarre the results are. They look nothing like the food coloring-dyed eggs of my childhood, but don't quite look they way they did last year, either. I'm not sure that what I wound up with is prettier than what I started with, but either way, these eggs look lovely at the Easter table.
It turns out the same plants can also turn my Easter Eggs lovely colors. Beets and blueberries give the girliest colors, of course, but coffee gives a nice brown, and saffron turns the eggs a very spring-like pastel yellow.
Chickens can turn their eggs lovely colors, too. Not by will, of course. Or by eating beets. Different breeds produce eggs in different colors. Yep, that whole 'brown eggs are healthier than white eggs' thing is irrelevant. The two simply come from different chicken breeds.
![]() |
| Riverdog's arrangement (L) and mine. |
Several years ago, I stumbled across blue Araucana eggs at the Berkeley farmers' market. Actually, I stumbled across them in Martha Stewart-- she just so happens to keep like 20 different breeds of chicken at her eensy little estate. Er, estates-- and therefore recognized them at the market. But the vendor I bought them from was elderly and frail, so I had a feeling he wouldn't be there this year. I was right. Riverdog Farm, though, had these very pretty dozens for sale, so I looked through several cartons to find just the right mix. (They probably hate that, but for six dollars a dozen, I feel entitled to pick The Perfect Eggs.)
These are almost too pretty to dye. In fact, egg producers often raise Araucanas mainly for their novelty at Easter. But I think the combination of natural shell color and plant dye makes for some striking eggs in my Easter basket.
![]() |
| Last year's attempt |
This year, I decided to pull a few dye tricks out of my 6th grade hat, since I wasn't thrilled with my results from last year. Red onion skins, which my local grocery store gave me for free, spinach, and turmeric were added to my blueberry-and-beet-and-coffee repertoire, with some unexpected results. For one, onion skins create a seemingly intense reddish-brown dye, but their impact on my eggs was not so intense. For another, spinach made an unimpressive dye. I was disappointed. For a third, dry blueberry dye that I put on a brown egg rubbed off when I rinsed the egg, leaving not a pale blue color but a pale brown color. As in, paler than the egg originally started, as if some of the natural brown color rubbed off, too. And fourthly, two years in a row beets have left my eggs speckled pink, not pink all over.
![]() |
| Blue and brown eggs, before and after a blueberry bath (and naked again) |
![]() |
| (Upper) Brown egg in coffee bath. (Lower) Coffee egg 2nd from left in back row. |
| Spinach dye (blah...) |
| Speckled beet egg |
(R, top to bottom) 1. Onion skin 2. Coffee 3. Beet 4. Onion skin 5. White egg boiled in beet bath
One of the things I love about these dyes is how not uniform and sometimes bizarre the results are. They look nothing like the food coloring-dyed eggs of my childhood, but don't quite look they way they did last year, either. I'm not sure that what I wound up with is prettier than what I started with, but either way, these eggs look lovely at the Easter table.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Super Fresh
Sunset magazine meets hip-hop culture. Apparently. An article in their April 2011 issue is called "Super Fresh."
As in, "Yo, man, that's fresh!" Which means cool, hip, totally awesome. Not, just picked from the garden.
At least, that's my interpretation.
While I doubt most hip-hop stars would eat Salmon Sesame Salad, and I can't think of any who would eat my version with tofu instead of salmon, I wanted to make the dish anyway. Wearing my old-skool Pumas, of course.
I left out the crispy wontons that were supposed to get sprinkled on top of the salad, but only because I was hungry and didn't feel like taking the time to make them. They look pretty, though: puffy from frying and sprinkled with sesame seeds.
The salmon in the recipe gets boiled, basically, which probably works flavor-wise because the dressing is poured over it, and salmon has enough flavor to hold its own in the salad. But because I was using tofu, I knew it needed extra flavor before going in the salad. I had some Very Very Teriyaki marinade, and put that in the pan as I sauteed the tofu pieces. I thought this was the perfect flavor addition to the entire dish, and went well with the spicier Lemongrass-Chile Dressing. And yes, I realize teriyaki is Japanese and sambal badjak is Indonesian. But this hip-hop salad is already a total culture clash, so I figured it worked.
As in, "Yo, man, that's fresh!" Which means cool, hip, totally awesome. Not, just picked from the garden.
At least, that's my interpretation.
While I doubt most hip-hop stars would eat Salmon Sesame Salad, and I can't think of any who would eat my version with tofu instead of salmon, I wanted to make the dish anyway. Wearing my old-skool Pumas, of course.
I left out the crispy wontons that were supposed to get sprinkled on top of the salad, but only because I was hungry and didn't feel like taking the time to make them. They look pretty, though: puffy from frying and sprinkled with sesame seeds.
The salmon in the recipe gets boiled, basically, which probably works flavor-wise because the dressing is poured over it, and salmon has enough flavor to hold its own in the salad. But because I was using tofu, I knew it needed extra flavor before going in the salad. I had some Very Very Teriyaki marinade, and put that in the pan as I sauteed the tofu pieces. I thought this was the perfect flavor addition to the entire dish, and went well with the spicier Lemongrass-Chile Dressing. And yes, I realize teriyaki is Japanese and sambal badjak is Indonesian. But this hip-hop salad is already a total culture clash, so I figured it worked.
![]() |
| Apples, pears, or Asian pears would also work in the salad. |
Salmon Or Tofu Sesame Salad
serves 6 as a main course
adapted from Sunset, April 2011
1 1/2 lb salmon filets OR 1 pack extra-firm tofu, drained and sliced into 2-inch pieces
teriyaki marinade (optional)
Kosher salt
3 oranges, sliced (I cut slices in half)
1 medium head napa cabbage, thinly sliced
1/2 lb snow peas, trimmed and halved
8 green onions, sliced
1/4 C coarsely chopped cilantro
2 avocados, cut into 1/2-inch pieces
12 wonton wrappers
1 egg
2 TBSP sesame seeds
vegetable oil for frying
3 TBSP lime or lemon juice
2 TBSP packed light brown sugar
1 1/4 tsp salt
1 1/4 tsp sambal badjak OR sriracha
2 TBSP minced lemongrass
1 TBSP finely grated fresh ginger
6 TBSP canola oil
1. If using salmon, cook it in a large pot of simmering salted water, covered, until just opaque, about 5 minutes. Lift out and let cool.
If using tofu and marinade, heat 2 TBSP marinade in pan over medium heat. Cook 5 minutes per side, or until browned crust forms on either side. Set aside.
2. If making wontons, pour enough oil into large pot to come up a half-inch on sides. Heat to 360 degrees. Meanwhile, whisk egg with 1 TBSP water. Brush wontons with egg mixture on both sides and sprinkle with sesame seeds. Fry in small batches until golden and puffy. Drain on paper towels and sprinkle with salt.
3. Make dressing: Whisk dressing ingredients together in small bowl.
4. Assemble salad: combine cabbage, snow peas, oranges, green onions, and cilantro in a large bowl. Toss with 2/3 of dressing. Divide among plates. Arrange either salmon or tofu pieces and avocado on top of salad. Garnish with additional cilantro and dressing. Serve with wonton chips.
Labels:
gluten free,
meat n' wheat free,
Seafood Watch,
vegetarian
Monday, March 19, 2012
Jalapeños Make Everything Better
I've noticed a pattern in several recent conversations.
Me: "I want to create a new kind of candy for my Etsy shop. I'm thinking about--"
The Texan, interrupting: "What about chocolate-covered jalapeƱos?"
or,
Me: "What do you think about flavored caramels? You know, like espresso or chocolate."
T: "I'm thinking jalapeƱo-flavored caramels."
and then,
Me: "Would you please make a loaf of bread to have with dinner tonight?"
T: "JalapeƱo bread all the way, baby!"
Knock yourself out.
But then we decided to make chili, and because we both love cornbread, we knew that Coyote Joe's JalapeƱo Bacon Cornbread recipe was the flavor direction we wanted to head in. However, the two cups of buttermilk, two eggs, cup of cheddar, one-third cup of butter, and half-pound of bacon in the recipe wasn't the direction our arteries wanted to head in, so we used the recipe on the back of the box of cornmeal and added a single slice of applewood-smoked bacon and a jalapeƱo.
It was ridiculous. As in, really good. And perfect with a bowl of chili.
But then, as we made our second batch of cornbread to eat with the leftover chili, I noticed our conversations were heading in a new direction.
The Texan, wide-eyed: "Let's add the entire half-pound of bacon that Coyote Joe's recipe calls for!"
Me: "Let's not."
T: "Why?"
Me: "Because Coyote Joe had gastric bypass surgery in 2006."
Chocolate-covered jalapeƱos are starting to sound pretty good right now.
JalapeƱo-Bacon Cornbread
adapted from On the Chile Trail and Albers
makes 12 servings
Me: "I want to create a new kind of candy for my Etsy shop. I'm thinking about--"
The Texan, interrupting: "What about chocolate-covered jalapeƱos?"
or,
Me: "What do you think about flavored caramels? You know, like espresso or chocolate."
T: "I'm thinking jalapeƱo-flavored caramels."
and then,
Me: "Would you please make a loaf of bread to have with dinner tonight?"
T: "JalapeƱo bread all the way, baby!"
Knock yourself out.
But then we decided to make chili, and because we both love cornbread, we knew that Coyote Joe's JalapeƱo Bacon Cornbread recipe was the flavor direction we wanted to head in. However, the two cups of buttermilk, two eggs, cup of cheddar, one-third cup of butter, and half-pound of bacon in the recipe wasn't the direction our arteries wanted to head in, so we used the recipe on the back of the box of cornmeal and added a single slice of applewood-smoked bacon and a jalapeƱo.
It was ridiculous. As in, really good. And perfect with a bowl of chili.
But then, as we made our second batch of cornbread to eat with the leftover chili, I noticed our conversations were heading in a new direction.
The Texan, wide-eyed: "Let's add the entire half-pound of bacon that Coyote Joe's recipe calls for!"
Me: "Let's not."
T: "Why?"
Me: "Because Coyote Joe had gastric bypass surgery in 2006."
Chocolate-covered jalapeƱos are starting to sound pretty good right now.
JalapeƱo-Bacon Cornbread
adapted from On the Chile Trail and Albers
makes 12 servings
1 C yellow corn meal
1 C all-purpose flour
1/4 C granulated sugar
1 TBSP baking powder
1 tsp salt
1 C milk (I used 1/4 C milk + 3/4 C soy milk)
1/3 C vegetable oil
1 egg, lightly beaten
1-2 slices cooked bacon, crumbled
1-2 jalapeƱos, diced and seeded
1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Coat an 8" x 8" pan with cooking spray.
2. Combine corn meal, flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl.
3. Combine milk, oil, and egg in small bowl. Mix well.
4. Add milk mixture to flour mixture. Stir until just incorporated.
5. Add bacon and jalapeƱo. Stir until just combined. Do not overmix! Pour into prepared pan.
6. Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.
Note: This recipe can also be used to make muffins. Fill cups 2/3 full and bake for 15 minutes, using same test for doneness as above.
West Texas, California
A bunch of things happened at once:
-a fellow food blogger left me a comment that while she'd never tried ground buffalo, she could attest to the fact that buffalo steaks were delicious
-I found a book at the library about spicy food, with chapters called Cowboys, Cattlemen, Catholics, Cajuns, and Californians. You see where this is going
-the Texan came across buffalo steaks at Costco
My Irish Catholic mother used to make steaks in the broiler on a fairly regular basis. It wasn't always my favorite meal, though it was certainly one of hers. I can't remember ever making steaks on my own, much less making them for others, and to me steak and potatoes always seemed so, I dunno, expected. But when the steak stars aligned as they did, I felt compelled to see it through.
The Texan and I wanted to give the steaks a little flavor, so we tried West Texas Barbeque Rub from Coyote Joe's On the Chile Trail. With three kinds of pepper, sugar, salt, and cumin, we figured we couldn't go wrong. As it turned out, I liked it more than he did: I thought the heat from the cayenne was perfect on the meat, and was mellowed out just a little by the sugar and the mild peppers. And because I just might cook my own steak after this, I'm sure I'll find a way or three to use up the leftover rub.
Coyote Joe's recipe for Bourbon Sweet Potatoes was a no-brainer. As he puts it in the description above the recipe, "Heavy cream, butter, bourbon, and brown sugar... it's simply heaven." Well, yeah! The Texan said his mom always puts a little bourbon in her sweet potatoes. I'd never even thought of it, so clearly I've missed something all these years. Oblivion aside, I thought boozy sweet potatoes with our buffalo steaks would be just the right spin on the typical meal, so I didn't skimp at all on the cream. Or butter. Or brown sugar. Or bourbon. The texture, blitzed to perfection in my trusty Cuisinart food processor, was indeed heavenly. The sauteed pecans on top were just the right contrast to the smoothness. Plus, Texans love pecans.
Of course, if you eat steak and potatoes for dinner, you have to eat a green vegetable with it. Which is a lesson I learned from my mother.
West Texas Barbeque Rub
from On the Chile Trail
-a fellow food blogger left me a comment that while she'd never tried ground buffalo, she could attest to the fact that buffalo steaks were delicious
-I found a book at the library about spicy food, with chapters called Cowboys, Cattlemen, Catholics, Cajuns, and Californians. You see where this is going
-the Texan came across buffalo steaks at Costco
My Irish Catholic mother used to make steaks in the broiler on a fairly regular basis. It wasn't always my favorite meal, though it was certainly one of hers. I can't remember ever making steaks on my own, much less making them for others, and to me steak and potatoes always seemed so, I dunno, expected. But when the steak stars aligned as they did, I felt compelled to see it through.
The Texan and I wanted to give the steaks a little flavor, so we tried West Texas Barbeque Rub from Coyote Joe's On the Chile Trail. With three kinds of pepper, sugar, salt, and cumin, we figured we couldn't go wrong. As it turned out, I liked it more than he did: I thought the heat from the cayenne was perfect on the meat, and was mellowed out just a little by the sugar and the mild peppers. And because I just might cook my own steak after this, I'm sure I'll find a way or three to use up the leftover rub.
Coyote Joe's recipe for Bourbon Sweet Potatoes was a no-brainer. As he puts it in the description above the recipe, "Heavy cream, butter, bourbon, and brown sugar... it's simply heaven." Well, yeah! The Texan said his mom always puts a little bourbon in her sweet potatoes. I'd never even thought of it, so clearly I've missed something all these years. Oblivion aside, I thought boozy sweet potatoes with our buffalo steaks would be just the right spin on the typical meal, so I didn't skimp at all on the cream. Or butter. Or brown sugar. Or bourbon. The texture, blitzed to perfection in my trusty Cuisinart food processor, was indeed heavenly. The sauteed pecans on top were just the right contrast to the smoothness. Plus, Texans love pecans.
![]() |
| I used white-fleshed sweet potatoes, but you can use whichever kind you like. |
Of course, if you eat steak and potatoes for dinner, you have to eat a green vegetable with it. Which is a lesson I learned from my mother.
![]() |
| Broccoli, steamed with a little butter, lemon juice, salt, and pepper. |
West Texas Barbeque Rub
from On the Chile Trail
6 TBSP ancho or mild New Mexico chile powder
1 TBSP granulated sugar
3 TBSP brown sugar
3 TBSP kosher salt
2 TBSP ground black pepper
1 TBSP cumin (I used about 1/2 tsp)
1 TBSP cayenne powder
Mix all ingredients in a small bowl or container. Rub (really RUB) spice mixture into meat on both sides, if applicable. If possible, let meat absorb spices for 8-12 hours in refrigerator before cooking. If not, let stand for 20-30 minutes before cooking.
Bourbon Sweet Potatoes
serves 6
from On the Chile Trail
3 sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes
1/2 C chopped pecans
1 tsp butter
3 TBSP soft butter
4 TBSP firmly packed brown sugar
4 TBSP heavy cream
3 TBSP bourbon
1/4 tsp cinnamon
pinch of nutmeg
salt to taste (I didn't use any)
1. Boil sweet potatoes for 30 minutes, or until tender.
2. As sweet potatoes are cooking, saute pecans in 1 teaspoon of butter for 2 minutes.
3. Drain sweet potatoes and place in food processor while still warm. Add 3 tablespoons of butter and remaining ingredients (and salt, if desired). Puree, adding more cream if needed to achieve soft, creamy consistency.
4. Top with sauteed pecans.
Labels:
bison,
dinner,
fruits and veggies,
that's what men do
Monday, February 27, 2012
Bananas, Coffee, and Chocolate
While I am fond of all three ingredients in the title of this post, I was not entirely sure they'd go together well in a muffin. But The Cheese Board: Collective Works cookbook says it's a great combination and that many patrons love these muffins, so I figured scores of Berkeleyans couldn't be wrong.
These are not healthy muffins by ANY stretch of the imagination, but could be modified to be somewhat less bad. The cup of sour cream added a really nice tang to the batter, which was still present after the muffins baked (I was afraid it would dissipate). Plain low-fat yogurt could be substituted, though, and still impart the same basic tang. An entire cup of chocolate chips just isn't necessary; I used a half cup and thought it was more than enough. I also reduced the sugar in the recipe by a tablespoon or two, which turned out just fine.
I was a bit disappointed that the coffee flavor seemed to get lost in the muffins, what with all the banana, sour cream, and chocolate, so it might be worth adding some espresso granules or instant espresso powder to the batter to increase the mocha flavor.
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| The recipe actually says to fill the muffin cups all the way to the top. When does THAT happen?! |
I froze most of the baked muffins, since I can't possibly eat 12 of them in a few days, and have found that when I slice them in half and reheat them in the oven for several minutes, they hold up pretty well. Maybe that's because the stick of butter contains enough fat to prevent them from drying out. Like 47 times over.
![]() |
| The perfect muffins for letting a little kitty cat warm himself on a cold winter morning. |
Banana Mocha Chocolate Chip Muffins
from The Cheese Board: Collective Works
makes 12 muffins
1 egg
1 egg yolk
2 ripe bananas, mashed
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 C strong brewed coffee, cooled
1 C sour cream or plain yogurt
2 1/4 C AP flour
1/4 tsp baking soda
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
3/4 C sugar
1/2 C (1 stick) cold unsalted butter, cut into 1-inch cubes
1/2 - 1 C chocolate chips
1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Coat muffin pan with cooking spray and set aside.
2. In a medium bowl, combine egg, egg yolk, bananas, vanilla, coffee, and sour cream or yogurt. Whisk until blended. Set aside.
3. Sift flour, baking soda, and baking powder together in bowl of stand mixer. Add salt and sugar to dry ingredients.
4. Add butter and cut in on low speed for about 4 minutes, or until it is the size of small peas. Mix in chocolate chips. Make a well in the center and pour in wet ingredients. Gently mix just until combined. Do not overmix!
5. Scoop batter into prepared muffin pan, filling each well until batter just peeks over top of well. Bake for 25-30 minutes, or until muffins are golden brown, firm, and springy.
6. Let cool in pan for 10 minutes, then unmold and cool completely on a wire rack.
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