drinkable sandwich

Dad once found a recipe for Cream of Reuben Soup, which I may have mentioned in the past, but I never bothered to actually give you the recipe.  I like to leave 'em wanting more.

Cream of Reuben Soup
6 C chicken broth
3/4 lb cooked corned beef, chopped (you can use the deli meat if you can't get a real corned beef somewhere.  They're easier to find in March)
10 oz can, sauerkraut, drained
1 large carrot, peeled and grated
1/2 C chopped onion
1 garlic clove, minced
1/2 t dried thyme
1 Bay leaf (or two.  Two works.)
1/4 t ground white pepper (I've never found white pepper, so I just use black pepper.)
1/4 t tarragon
3 T cornstarch mixed with 1/3 C water
2 C (8oz) shredded Swiss
1 C heavy whipping cream
rye bread crumbs, toasted (go with rye croutons.  Chop the bread slices into squares, and toast them in batches on baking sheets in the oven.  Only toast enough to make a meal, because you want them crisp when they top the soup)

• Combine ingredients above from broth to tarragon in large soup pot.  Bring to a boil over medium heat.  Reduce heat and simmer 30 minutes.  Remove bay leaf.

• Combine corn starch and water, and stir smooth.  Stir into soup and bring to a boil, stirring constantly.  Cook and stir 1 minute.
• Remove from heat.  Add cheese and cream.  Stir until cheese melts.
• Top each serving with toasted rye cubes.

From the very first time Dad and I made this, it has remained one of my favorite recipes.  It's only fair that you have me over to try yours.

long overdue cookies

When I mention I have a cookbook featuring 101 different chocolate chip cookie recipes, compiled from entries in a contest to find the best chocolate chip cookie, I am usually met with expressions of awe and naked greed.  Oddly enough, it wasn't until December 13 of last year (the birthday of a friend of ours) that I finally got around to making the Grand Prize Winner.

Prize-Winning Double Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 3/4 C flour
1/4 t baking soda
1 C butter, softened
1 t vanilla
1 C granulated sugar
1/2 C dark brown sugar, firmly packed
1 egg
1/3 C unsweetened cocoa
2 T milk
1 C chopped pecans or walnuts
1 C chocolate chips

1. Preheat oven to 350F
2. Cream the butter and sugars.  Add vanilla.  Beat in the egg.  Add the cocoa, then the milk.  Beat in flour and baking soda just until blended.  Stir in nuts and chocolate chips.
3. Drop by rounded teaspoonfuls onto parchment paper lined cookie sheets.  Bake 12-13 minutes.  Allow to cool slightly on sheets before removing to counter or wire rack.

It's what's stewed for dinner

This is one of the recipes the Chief Taster likes to use.  This time, when she suggested beef stew for dinner, I thought that meant I had the night off.  I was wrong.

Old-Fashioned Beef Stew (from an old Better Homes and Gardens cookbook)
2 T flour
12 oz beef stew meat, cut into 3/4" cubes (I have no idea how much beef I used, but I think it was closer to a pound)
2 T cooking oil
3 C vegetable juice
1 C water
1 medium onion, cut into thin wedges (I used about half an onion, because I think these older recipes referenced smaller vegetables)
1 T Worcestershire sauce
1 1/2 t beef bouillon granules
1 t dried oregano
1/2 t dried marjoram
1/4 t black pepper
1 bay leaf (I used my dad's rule of always adding an extra bay leaf. Nobody died.)
3 C cubed potatoes
1 1/2 C frozen cut green beans
1 C frozen whole kernel corn (instead of looking for these specific frozen vegetables, I used an equal amount of whatever frozen mixed veggies I had handy)
1 C sliced carrots

• Put the flour in a plastic bag or a bowl with a tightly sealing lid.  Add meat cubes, a few at a time, tossing to coat and removing the coated cubes to a large saucepan or Dutch oven with the oil.  You may have to add a little more flour; I did.  Brown meat, drain if necessary, and add vegetable juice, water, onion, Worcestershire sauce, bouillon, bay leaf, and seasonings.  Bring to boiling, then reduce heat, cover, and simmer 1-1 1/2 hours, until meat is tender.
• Add potatoes and veggies.  Return to boiling, then reduce heat, cover, and simmer another 30 minutes, until potatoes are done.  Discard bay leaf.  Eat.

Beef stew is meant to be a hearty meal, but for some reason, when I have a hearty meal, I want bread, too.  We didn't have any dinner bread at the time, and I didn't have the time to make any, nor the ambition for biscuits, so I took the easy way out and made some libum.  Libum is one of the oldest existing bread recipes, and my personal favorite for short-notice bread baking, but it's also a post for another time.  For now, suffice to say that if you make libum with gorgonzola cheese, you get green bread.

It's greener without the flash, but it's also too dark to tell it's green with just the overhead light in my kitchen.  Just trust me on this one.

go bananas

When I unloaded the car from a recent "camping" trip, I discovered that the bananas which made it all the way home were in no fit state of banananess.  The backs of two of them were very soft from bruising, probably a result of fitting three adults and their collection of food and winter gear into my fierce but tiny car.  It's a wonder we didn't all have soft spots.  My revulsion at sinking into the fruit was short-lived; soft bananas means it's time for banana bread.

I used to use a recipe from Betty Crocker when I made banana bread, but it called for buttermilk, which I never have, and always substituted an equal amount of milk, curdled with the addition of 1-2 t lemon juice and half an hour of time.  Now I prefer the recipe from The Complete Family Cookbook, a tome Dad has in his kitchen, and which, after extensive searching, he found in a secondhand bookstore.  He got copies for my brother and I, and despite the age-yellowed pages (the only date I can find on it is 1969), my copy seems untouched.

Many years ago, before I moved to Oregon, I was talking to a  co-worker about my plans to make banana bread that night (still using BC's formula), and I mentioned that I wasn't sure I had chocolate chips.  He was appalled, certain that chocolate chips in banana bread would be a mistake.  I was equally appalled, as I knew from years of Mom's baking that chocolate chips belong in banana bread in the same way that cheese belongs in an omelet; it can be done without, but why would you bother?  My plan this time hinged on the bag of morsels I knew was on the bottom shelf of the fridge, but I was sidetracked by one of the variations suggested in the cookbook: prune nut banana bread.  Thing is, I'm not crazy about prunes, but I knew we had dried apricots, and I love those little buggers.  We also had pecans, but I toyed with the idea of going apricot-chocolate chip.

Prune Apricot Pecan Banana Bread
3/4 C sugar
1/2 C oil
2 eggs
1 C mashed bananas (wait until they're bruised badly or WAY too ripe--it makes for easier mashing)
1 3/4 C flour
2 t baking powder
1/2 t baking soda
1/2 t salt
1/2 C chopped pecans
1/2 C chopped dried apricots (coarser chopping means larger chewy chunks later.  Keep that in mind if you like larger chewy chunks, but don't just throw them in whole, because you still need to slice the bread, you animal)

Two bananas mash into one cup.  Your results may vary according to bananas.

• Preheat oven to 325F.
• Combine sugar, oil, and eggs in large bowl. Beat until frothy.  Add fruit and nuts, mix well.  Mix in dry ingredients.

Add apricots, pecans, and bananas; mix well.

• Pour into greased 9" x 5" loaf pan.  Bake for 1 hour, until brown and a toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean (As the loaf bakes and expands, it will develop a crack running along the middle of the top of the loaf.  If appearance concerns you, poke the toothpick in here, where it won't disturb the crust and leave a nice-looking loaf intact).  Let it cool ten minutes in the pan before removing to a wire rack.  You may need to run a butter knife around the loaf inside the pan to loosen it a little.

One administrative note: if you follow my other blog, you know that I'm going to spend a good chunk of this year backpacking.  Monday will be my first day on the trail.  Backpackers eat a lot of crap, and do very little actual cooking.  Most of the time it's a matter of boiling water and adding carbs.  If I get creative, I'll stir some peanut butter into my noodles for calories and protein, and pretend it's Thai food.  Suffice to say, most of you won't be interested in my food over the summer unless you already follow my other blog.  But fear not!  Knowing this day would come, I've been stockpiling lots of posts to get you through the summer, although we're switching from Weekly to Bi-weekly until I return from my trip.  I did get a little ahead of myself, though, so the bi-weekly schedule won't start for a couple weeks.  We still have to try beef stew and some cookies (no surprise there).  And I still might wedge in a couple food-related posts from the trail.  Check back often, or Follow this blog to get all the updates.

Happy Trails,
Ryan

A blatant attempt at plagiarism

The Chief Taster will, whenever the opportunity presents itself, order the Chicken and Wild Rice Soup at Panera.  It's not a difficult pattern to discern, if you spend as much time in line behind her at Panera as I do.  When I found a Wild Rice Soup recipe in Betty Crocker's Culinary Compendium, I decided it couldn't be that hard to adapt it in an attempt to copy one of the Chief Taster's chief tastes.  Even if I hadn't actually had that particular soup in many years.

Cream of Chicken and Wild Rice Soup
1/4 C butter
3/4 lb (I don't remember exactly how much I used, but long after faking my through it, I saw a note in the cookbook to use "4 Cups" cooked chicken for the meaty version) chicken thighs, cut into bite-size pieces
4 mediums stalks celery, sliced (2 C)
2 medium carrots, coarsely shredded (2 C.  When I see "coarsely shredded" applied to carrots, I peel them, then turn back to my ingredient bowl and keep using the peeler to whittle the carrot to nothing, eating the stumps when they get too small to hold without losing bits of my fingers to the peeler)
1 large onion, chopped (1 C)
1 C chopped green bell pepper
1/4 C plus 2 T flour
1 t salt
1/2 t pepper
3 C cooked wild rice (be sure to cook it!)
2 C water
2 cans (10.5 oz each) condensed chicken broth
3 C half and half
2/3 C slivered almonds, toasted (optional)
1/2 C chopped fresh parsley

I added one or two of Dad's Mystery Peppers to this, too, but don't tell the Chief Taster.

• In 4-qt saucepan or Dutch oven, melt butter over medium-high heat.  Add chicken and cook until no longer pink.  Add veggies and cook about 10 minutes, stirring frequently, until crisp-tender.
• Stir in flour, salt, and pepper.  Stir in wild rice, water, and broth (I couldn't find cans of condensed chicken broth, so I just made broth with bouillon and omitted the extra water).  Heat to boiling, reduce heat, cover and simmer 15 minutes, stirring occasionally.
• Remember those slivered almonds?  If you want them toasted, toss them in a small, heavy skillet (I used a little cast iron skillet, but I'm partial to my Lodge cookware whenever applicable) over medium-high heat.  Give the pan a shake and flip frequently to prevent burning.  When the almonds are turning golden brown, remove from heat, but keep shaking the pan occasionally, because the skillet is still hot, and the almonds will continue to cook until the skillet cools.
• Stir in half and half, almonds, and parsley.  Heat just until hot, but do not boil.

Next time, I might try this in a bread bowl.

My notes recommend adding croutons, but toast or crackers would do just as well.  I like that crunch, but the soup was pretty good without it, too.

Buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo buffalo buffalo Buffalo buffalo.

I love that sentence.

I also love buffalo hash, which we usually make with beef (and, one time, elk), because it is more readily available and affordable than its larger, more hirsute cousin.

canola oil
kosher salt
fresh ground black pepper to taste
3/4 lb cooked buffalo meat, in small cubes
3 small potatoes, peeled and cubed
1 large carrot cut in 1/4 inch rounds
1/2 C green bell pepper, diced
1/2 C red bell pepper, diced
1 small onion, large dice
1 C corn kernels
1/2 C salted and roasted sunflower seeds
1/4 C ketchup
1/4 C coarse ground prepared mustard

The cookbook says to dump everything in a large skillet and cook, but I start with raw meat, so I cook that first, then add everything else.  Cook over medium-low heat, stirring frequently, until potatoes are done (give yourself half an hour of cooking time to be safe).  Remove from heat and allow flavors to blend (and food to cool) for 5 minutes before serving.  The book suggests
serving with fresh bread and pickles, and I have no reason to argue that point.

Half cup empty

This is what my 1/2 cup looked like two years ago.

The handle snapped off when I was washing it, which I suppose is better than when it might have spilled something messy all over my counter, but still a serious pain for me.  Luckily, at that time I was working in Oregon, and one of my main responsibilities was working closely with several local shops to get parts made for our little R&D group.  One of my usual contacts was a guy who ran a small machining operation out of his home.  We'll call him Bob, because Bob seems like a good name for a guy who runs a machining operation out of his home, and it makes the narration of this story easier if we give him a name.  In case it is not clear, "Bob" was not really Bob's name.

Bob had a Ford Thunderbird in his garage, and if I knew more about cars, I could tell you what year, but I'm not that kind of expert.  I do know that he was working on restoring that car the entire time I knew him, and a few months before I left Oregon, he finished the job.  Like I said, I don't know much about cars, but I can tell you that T-bird was beautiful, and purred like a kitten who could kick your ass.  The inside of his garage was papered with pages cut from old calendars of the sort car guys are likely to have: hot cars, often draped with bikini babes, sometimes with exotic backgrounds.

He told me once that he only took off work for two days: his birthday, and Veteran's Day (he had served, though I don't know when, or where, or in which branch), but I knew it wasn't true when he said it, because his shop closed each year for elk season, and occasionally when he went fishing in the mountains.  He would return from these trips with pictures to share of brook trout he had caught and released, or stories of the mountain lion they had heard near their camp.

When my measuring cup broke, I knew Bob could fix it--or that he would know who could.  As it turned out, he had a friend with a different type of welder repair the handle, but he never charged me for it.  This was about the time he found out I was leaving town, and he said it was a going-away present.

A year ago this week, Bob killed himself.

I don't know the manner, only that it was on the eve of his fiftieth birthday.  I found out a week later, and awkwardly searched the store for a condolence card for his wife.  We had met a couple times, and talked often on the phone when I called for Bob and he wasn't available.  One time, while giving my dad and his friend a tour of the Oregon coast, we happened upon Bob, his wife, and their grandson among the tidal pools at Haystack Rock.  They had driven there in his Thunderbird.

Bob was the one who told me about a unique butte, unmarked and devoid of trails in the National Forest land south of town.  From outside the butte, it looked like it summited in a barren expanse of lava rock, but when you climbed to the top, you found that the caldera was deep, and full of Ponderosa pines, but until you got to the top, you still couldn't see the towering trees in their secret grove.  I took Dad there once--we had to try twice that week to find it, but we did, and it was worth the effort.

I considered him a friend.  I'd tell him about my bike rides, and learning to ski.  He'd show me his invention to hold a fishing line in the ground at adjustable angles, or tell me about interesting projects he had for other clients.  Every time I spoke to him, he was upbeat and smiling.  I couldn't figure out why he had done it.  Neither could any of my former co-workers.

Some time after I moved to Virginia, the handle broke off my 1 Cup measure.  I put the handle in a drawer and kept using the cup, trying to keep my fingers clean and dry when they go into the flour, or sugar, or cornmeal.  I keep thinking that I should either replace it or repair it, but I no longer know a machinist.

Every time I use it, I think of Bob.  Every time, I wonder why he killed himself.  Every time, I feel bad for his wife.

Then I wash the cup, and put it back in the cabinet, and try to think about my next chore.  I try not to think about how much harder it must be for her.  I still wonder why he did it.

I know this post is not uplifting, and it's not even about food, but it is a story about the things I use to make my food, and what I think about when I cook.  There are items in every life that carry stories with them.  Some day, I may end up replacing that measuring cup, but until then, I keep thinking of Bob, and even though it hurts a little, I feel like that's reason enough to keep using the cup with the broken handle.