Chiles En Nogada--A Chile Relleno of a Different Color, Not To Mention Taste

We’ve all had traditional chiles rellenos.  As a matter of fact, I had one for dinner tonight, in a combo #23 (along with a deliciously greasy shredded beef taco, cheese enchilada and of course, rice and beans) from Super Mex, the local chain Mexican dive.  Traditional chiles rellenos are usually a mild green chile (usually a poblano or Anaheim) which are roasted, peeled and seeded and stuffed with a mild, melting cheese.  In the US, it’s usually a Monterey Jack or mild Cheddar.  In Mexico, it’s typically queso Chihuahua or queso Oaxaca, both of which are mild, white and very amenable to melting into pools of gooey goodness.  The stuffed chile is then dipped in an egg batter and shallow-fried.  When nice and puffy and golden brown, the chile relleno is removed from the pan, and dressed with a mild red chile sauce.  Properly made, a chile relleno is a thing of beauty.  Poorly made, well, it’s a poorly made disaster.

We’ll make traditional chiles rellenos eventually, because even though I got a good fix tonight courtesy of Super Mex (still burping good salsa burps too…..), the chile relleno fix doesn’t last too long, and I’ll get to craving another hit pretty quickly.  And mine are pretty damned good and close to authentic.  Especially for a Polish/Norwegian girl from South Chicago.

But now we’re talking about a different kind of a chile relleno.  Technically, “chile relleno” translates literally as “stuffed chile”.  So, chiles en nogada are a form of chiles rellenos.  But they are as far from what you’ll find in Super Mex combo #23 as a beautiful Maryland blue crab cake is from a “Krab patty” made with that chopped, pressed and dyed faux “krab”.  OK….bad analogy….the chiles rellenos in combo #23 are actually really GOOD.  “Krab patties” are never, ever, really good, or even passable.  But you get the drift.

This is a relleno like you’ve never “relleno-ed” before.  Let’s take a look at it, shall we?

Can't Beet It

Yes, I know tomorrow (Monday, May 28^th) is Memorial Day in the U.S., and the “traditional” start to summer and the grilling season.  Yes, I will be grilling, carne asada, (hey, it’s a Pan-Cultural-Fusiony thing), which is so ridiculously easy and also so similar to the marinated pork I just wrote about, that I won’t bore you with the details (OK, *if* you’re interested, marinate some skirt or flank steak in some red wine vinegar, some oil, some S&P, some herbs [cilantro, dried oregano, garlic] and maybe some lime juice.  How long you marinate depends on how thick the steak.  Flank overnight, skirt 2 to 4 hours.  Covered, in the 'fridge.  Grill, slice against the grain, make tacos with corn tortillas and some salsa fresca.  Carry on.)  But this post isn’t about grilling, although I suppose you could do both dishes on a grill, and they’d work.  No, it’s about roasting and pan-roasting and the magic of old time, old-school, French-style pan sauces.  And yes, I am fully aware that the picture of those beets up top looks like some sort of oozing, alien life form.  Sorry.  Roasted beets apparently aren’t very photogenic, but they sure are tasty, especially when mixed with a tangy dressing and made into a lovely salad.

First up the beets.  Like many of the veggies I cook with lately, (thanks to my CSA, The Growing Experience), I came late to the beet love.  Oh, we ate enough of them when I was a kid, and I liked them just fine.  They were always canned, and my Mom usually mixed them with thin-sliced onions and some vinegar with a touch of sugar, to make sort of a quick pickle.  As an adult, I bought them, again only in cans, for the same preparation, or julienned to toss into a green salad.  But they were only rare guests in the little kitchen.  Too many other, bright, shiny, trendy things to play with.  I certainly never bought fresh beets.  I wouldn’t have had a clue as to what to do with them.  They were, well, intimidating.  Hard, leafy, and they *gasp* STAIN THINGS.

Yeah.  Like dishrags.  OK, that rag was a little tired even before the run-in with the beets, and frankly the beet stain rinsed out pretty quickly (and came off my fingers just as easily), but the juice color is an issue.  I wouldn’t use a good towel around them, jus’ sayin’.

IT'S TACO TIME !

¡ Hola amigos !  And that, sadly, is about the extent of what my sad little brain retains from many, many years of high school and college Spanish lessons.

That and “¿ donde esta el baño ?”, which is frankly just as important of a phrase.  Perhaps even more so…

But, I digress, as always.  This, however, may be the earliest digression yet.  No, apparently that tendency of mine didn't go away during my hiatus.

Tomorrow (or today, depending upon where you are and when you’re reading this) is Cinco de Mayo.  Which, although it is most likely, what I call a “faux-li-day” or a contrived holiday (see other examples, St. Patrick’s Day, Groundhog’s Day, Sweetest Day, and darest I say…Halloween), is still however, in the grand tradition of holidays, faux or real, an excellent excuse for some “good eats” (to borrow a phrase, thanks AB).  Yikes.  THAT sentence structure even hurt MY brain…..let’s carry on, shall we, and try to recover from that horror ?

For dinner tomorrow, I’m planning on making a very traditional Mexican dish that features all the colors of the Mexican flag, which of course I’ll share with all ya’ll in a bit.  But for immediate inspiration, not to mention satisfaction, here’s a suggestion for the star of your particular fiesta.  I made these earlier this week, and they were a) easy and b) tasty, which, in my book, makes the recipe a winner.  Even throwing together some refried black beans, salsa and guacamole from scratch didn’t add to the stress/effort level all that much.

So, let’s make some tacos, shall we?

Another One Off Of The Culinary Bucket List



Are we all done with turkey now, at least for a while?  Everyone raise their hands if you agree.  Yeah.  Thought so.

Let’s see.  So far, I’ve done turkey sandwiches with my lovely cranberry/jalapeño jelly, with a side of reheated dressing (day-um but I made good dressing this year), turkey in reheated gravy on mashed potatoes (oh yeah….), a snack of turkey on White Lilly flour biscuits (with more of that jelly) and tonight, turkey seco tacos (spread the shredded turkey on a baking sheet, toss with olive oil, garlic, chile powder and whatever other spices float your boat, throw into a 300° oven until it gets dry, about half an hour, that’s the “seco” and then make into tacos with all the usual suspects….tomatoes, onions, lettuce, cheese, cilantro, avocados, radishes, corn tortillas….).  Those rocked.  I may, may have one more turkey meal left before any dregs go into the freezer for future consideration.  Or, there may not be any dregs…we’ll see what the circling turkey-scarfing vulture dogs have in mind !

Yeah, THOSE turkey-scarfing vulture dogs.  Fresh from the doggie spa, replete with the frou-frou little ear bows.  Rosie rocked the look.  Lulu, ehhhh, not so much.  Sort of like putting a tutu on Peppermint Pattie.  Just….doesn‘t work somehow.

But Lulu most certainly DOES rock this look....

It's Mohawk Puppy !

But I digress.  Amazingly enough, this isn’t about leftover turkey, or even adorable vulture dogs.  It’s about tackling yet another food project *I Thought I’d Never Be Able To Make*.  The culinary bucket list.  We all have one, don’t we ?  Stuff we love, but think we can’t make at home for any variety of reasons.  Involved techniques, amount of time/effort required, exotic ingredients, there can be any number of excuses.  But most can be vanquished with just that little bit of the “courage of your convictions”.

This time around it was gnocchi.

Gnocchi.  Little, pillowy dumpling-ish nuggets of pasta/potato goodness.  Good gnocchi are very good.  VERY good.  Like dreamy, sublime good.  Like, go home and fantasize about gnocchi for a month or so good.   I’ve had that kind, rarely.  But often enough to know that’s what I aspire to.

Bad gnocchi are, well, really REALLY bad.  Leaden.  Heavy.  Dense, sodden little gut-bombs that sink to the pit of your stomach, not to mention your soul, and leave you not only with a bad taste in your mouth, and a sick feeling in your tum-tum, but a fear and loathing of ever trying to make them at home, let alone ever eating them again.

Because….they’re hard to make.  They have to be.  Because anything that’s THAT good (when they’re good) and THAT bad (when they’re bad) can’t be easy.  But after growing increasingly frustrated with the gnocchi I can find commercially i.e., frozen, dried/dehydrated and/or fresh/refrigerated (with nice green mold as an option, apparently, see an earlier post about a summer veg gnocchi dish…), I was toying with the idea of breaking down and trying to make them from scratch.  But it all seemed, so….daunting.

And then I was presented with another lovely, petite butternut squash from The Growing Experience.  Literally the same day, I was channel-surfing, and found a repeat of an ancient “Good Eats” (I *heart* Alton) episode on Cooking Channel.  It was about making…..butternut squash gnocchi.

I figured it was a Sign From Above.  Or sumpthin'.

Of Pot Roasts And Physics

A week or so back, the weather in Lotus Land was conducive to a pot roast.  (Remind me to expound at some point about how completely whacked the Southern California weather has been this year….or not.)  At any rate, it felt “Fall-ish” and I was in the mood for big-time comfort food, which of course, pot roast exemplifies.

Now.  When I was a snot-nosed kid, I *hated* pot roast.  Just loathed it…….dunno what the heck my problem was.

Well, actually, I think it was an overload of “good, solid, Midwestern meat and potatoes” meals when I was growing up.  God knows, my mother tried, tried, to inject some variety and some *gasp* SPICE into her cooking, but Daddy, well, Daddy didn’t like much of anything that didn’t sit on his plate and declare itself in a loud voice as being “BEEF” and “POTATOES”.  OK, pork was allowed (if it was in chop/ham/bacon form) and chicken made the cut (breasts only, please, never a whole and roasted bird).  And rice and noodles were OK.  Noodles only, please.  Pasta?  Come on, them there’s foreign.  Spaghetti and meatballs (and very, very occasionally, when we were livin’ on the edge, spaghetti and Italian sausage and peppers) were OK.  Tacos were most absolutely NOT OK.  Nor was lasagna.  Chili was acceptable, so long as it was ground beef, canned kidney beans and canned tomatoes.  Light on the onions and garlic.  NO fresh chiles.  A dusting of chile powder (mild) would pass muster.  I hated that stuff too.

My poor mother.  She was open to experimentation, and loved to cook.  Finally, when I got to be a snot-nosed young adult, she took to making two meals.  She’d cook a roast or stew or a pot of spice-less chili for Daddy, and then she and I would have tacos or manicotti or enchiladas or whatever.  Trust me, for us, in the day, THAT was exotic !  It actually worked out fine, especially once I started cooking and would take over making dinner for Mom and me.  Compromise, baby.  It’s what it’s all about.

But back to pot roast.  I actually used to tell my Mom when she cooked it, that I couldn’t understand how pot roast could smell so good when it was cooking, but taste so blah when it was done.  Maybe my snot-nosed palate couldn’t appreciate the beauty that braised meat becomes when cooked properly.  Maybe my Mom’s recipes sucked (onion soup mix anyone?).  Who knows?  But in my advancing dotage, I’ve certainly come to not only appreciate the delights of a pot of braised, succulent meat in a silky, savory sauce (braised beef short ribs are my absolute favorite, death-bed type meal), but to respect it and anticipate it.

Marry that with some (yes) potatoes, creamy and smashed, and well, it’s pretty much Nirvana (not to mention comfort and warmth) on a plate.

And…as an extra added bonus (insert wild applause here), we learn a lesson in physics !  YAY us, especially considering again, I never actually, technically *passed* a college-level math class.  Nor a college-level (ok, fine, even a HIGH-SCHOOL level) physical science class.  But I rocked in the biological sciences……does that count?  I think it does.

A Loaf Of Bread, A Pot Of Soup, And Thou….(and, please God, let’s not forget the wine !!)

Last week, we had a blessed (but lamentably brief) blast of actual Fall weather here in SoCal.  It was LOVELY.  It was chilly.  It rained, one day in just a short, fierce, burst, which faded into a real chill in the air, and the next in a sustained, day-long, gentle shower that made that lovely sound of rain falling from the eaves.  I loved it.  It made me feel as though I actually lived in a place that has *SEASONS* (well, other than smog, fire, flood and urban unrest…..).  I actually put on a pair of sweat pants.  I actually toyed with the idea of turning on the heater (which usually doesn’t happen until around Thanksgiving).  I actually toyed with the idea of building a fire in the fireplace.

Sadly, it didn’t last long.  Today was 102° in my little burg.  A new record for October 12 !  Yay us.  Or not.  My kitchen is still unbearable at 9:30 at night.  Luckily, I *DIDN’T* make the pot roast I’d planned for today…..

But last week, last week was lovely.  Knowing early on in the week that rain was forecast, and feeling the change in the weather, I had the bright idea to make soup and bread on that rainy Wednesday.  I had gotten that adorable little butternut squash in my CSA share the week before, (the one in the “décor photo” for the blog this month) and when I saw it, hoped it would soon be cool enough for me to make this delightful red chile and winter squash soup I’d discovered last year.  And really, what could be better with homemade soup than homemade bread.  Just the thing to warm the heart (and the soul), not to mention the kitchen, on a drizzly, coolish (OK, full disclosure….when I say there was a chill, it was like 65°, for SoCal, that’s a chill) autumnal Wednesday.

Sadly, I also attempted to make a fig tart with what I suspect was the last of this season’s figs.  I say sadly because, well, it was a mess.  You won’t be seeing pictures or a description of that.  I had high hopes for it, I’d made it last year and it was pretty spectacular.  It’s a brown-butter custard poured over halved fresh figs, which are layered in a “deep-dish” tart pan.  For what ever reason this time out, the custard never wanted to set.  Maybe because I did two layers of figs.  Maybe because I put the tart pan (actually my spring-form cake pan) on another baking sheet to contain any leaks (which I didn’t do last year).  Maybe it was the Kitchen Karma biting me in the butt.  Who knows?  But after cooking the damnable thing THREE TIMES longer than the recipe called for, when I stuck a knife in the middle, it was still liquid.

Damn.  I hate when that happens….

I did eat one slice (small), and while it was not gag-inducing (now there’s a ringing endorsement, isn’t it?), it was also not what I’d call good.  So the rest of the miserable mess sleeps at the bottom of the trash can, after languishing in the fridge for three or four days until I killed my guilt over tossing it.

As I said, we won’t be seeing that, nor discussing it any longer.  Move along people, nuthin’ more to talk about here.

Let’s move onto a beautifully successful soup and a flavorful, hearty loaf of hearth bread, shall we?  Works for me….

Saying Goodbye To Those Tomatoes

No matter where you are in the country, as we’ve established, the weather is turning towards the inevitable chill.  Even if you are lucky enough to live in an area with mild winters, as I do, the simple shortening of the days and the diminishing sunlight is changing the way the local plants and crops behave.  There just aren't enough warm, relatively close, rays of The Great Star to ripen those summer fruits and veg and bring them to their full glory now.  Add in the cool-ish evenings, which we’re getting even here in SoCal, and it’s time to not only put away the flip-flops and shorts, but also the recipes for peaches and cherries and berries and corn and zucchini, and, *snifffffff* tomatoes.

I know that some super-duper MegaMaster gardeners have managed to have tomato plants overwinter, and even bear some fruit, but me, I’m happy to have mine survive the summer and bear fruit when they’re supposed to.  And sad though I am about it, I have to admit my glut of tomatoes has dwindled to a trickle, and I will probably pull the last of them off the vine tomorrow.  Too soon it will be back to the hothouse grape tomatoes (which are the only ones worth buying off season as far as I can tell).

It’s also time to reconcile ourselves to the fact that some of the later-set fruit will, unfortunately, never ripen.

So, it’s time to make some fried green tomatoes, I say !  If you’re lucky enough to live in the Southern States, those below the Mason-Dixon Line, and not the "Western" Southern States, I hear tell that all y’all are lucky enough to actually be able to purchase green tomatoes for this delicacy.  Even at the MegaMarts.  We here in Botox-land are not so lucky.  I think I’ve seen green tomatoes available commercially a grand total of once, at a farmer’s market.  It wasn’t until I started growing tomatoes myself that I was able to sample this Southern treat, and see what all the big whup was about.

Now, I honestly think I grow tomatoes as much for my three or four rounds of fried green tomatoes every season as I do for the final, ripe product.

OK, maybe not, but I still have become addicted to these tart, crispy little bundles of goodness.  Especially when served with a spicy shrimp rémoulade.  Yeah, baby.  That’s what I’m talkin’ about.

Celebrating The Harvest

It’s that time of year.  There’s just…something…in the air.  Lord knows, in Southern California, I wouldn’t dare call it a *nip*, but there’s something.  Of course, the days are getting noticeably shorter.  The afternoon sunlight hits the living room floor at a lower angle, the shadows are deeper.  Although our days are still plenty warm for the most part, the nights have a definite edge to them.  The froggies that live in my front flower bed and in the neighbor’s bed that runs along my driveway are not quite so boisterous in their night songs.  In fact, the froggie in the front seems to have already gone wherever he/she goes during the fall/winter/early spring.  I no longer hear him/her as I fall asleep, and I miss him/her.  The froggie by the drive, I only hear, very softly, when I let The Grrrrrlz out for their last Dooty Duty/Yard Patrol of the night.  By midnight, he’s tucked in for the evening too, chilled no doubt by the dampish Fall air.  There are smells of cinnamon in the grocery stores, from the scented pine cones and brooms that will soon become seasonal décor.  I love that smell...

But still, I have to celebrate, while not quite “The Harvest” in the true sense of the world, surely the bounty that comes at this time of year.  The past few shares I’ve received from my CSA, The Growing Experience, have been absolutely overflowing with goodies.  Figs and corn and tomatoes and greens and salad mix and herbs and apples, OH MY !

Plus the overload of tomatoes that my heroic, beleaguered, embattled, but so valiant surviving tomato plant has produced against pestilence, disease, plague, mockingbirds and all odds has been peaking in the last two weeks or so.  Sadly, soon to end, but certainly appreciated while it lasted.

So, between the heroic yield of the tomato plant and the CSA farm’s output, menu planning for the last month has been much less about “what do I feel like making/what do I crave” and much more about “what do I need to use before it rots”.

Which isn’t necessarily a bad way to cook, it’s just not a way to cook that I’m particularly familiar with, nor particularly comfortable with.

I *used* to be a list maker.  Back in the day, Friday night, as I walked in the door from work, I’d toss my cocktail glass in the freezer, get into my jammies, pull out my recipes and cookbooks and the grocery sale fliers, make a dirty Tanquery martini, not too dry, with two olives and two onions, (shaken hard, please) heat my frozen pizza or other ready-to-heat snacks (Fridays were always cook’s night off for me), and peruse my menu options for the coming week.  It was the only way that I’d pull off making something resembling home-cooked food during the week, and not fall into the trap of “I’ll just swing by the MegaMart and pick up something easy”, ensure I had sufficient leftovers for lunch that I didn’t have to hit a drive-thru everyday and also unwind from a usually over-the-top intense week at work.  I’d set my menus for the week, make my shopping lists, eat my snack foods, have another martini and then get up Saturday and hit the grocery schleps.

It’s a lot more free-form now.

Continuing The Tomato Love

My poor, beleaguered, straggling, single, solitary remaining tomato plant is valiantly continuing to ripen its glorious red orbs.  Even with the new and evil attack by my latest nemesis….the local mockingbirds !  WHO KNEW mockingbirds like tomatoes !  I’ve tried the danglie strips of aluminum foil.  The original miscreant thought it was a disco glitter ball and invited a friend the next day.  So instead of one mockingbird peck, peck, pecking on my ‘maters, I had TWO !!!!  At this point, I’m really no longer interested in the plant setting new fruit, I just want to protect what’s on there, and let it mature and ripen.  So I’ve taken to tossing a sheet over the plant and the tomato cage support at night, and keeping my fingers crossed.  So far, so good.  I haven’t noticed any new damage.

Of course, I *have* scared the crap out of myself several times whilst wondering WTF the tall, white, seemingly floaty thing is on my patio is when I cruise past a window after dark.  I figure about the time the plant is dead, and I ditch the sheet rig, I may have it firmly implanted in the little brain that it’s my mockingbird defense mechanism.  Or not.

And, and….*AND*….in addition to the bounty from the poor bedraggled plant, I’m also still getting about two pounds of various tomatoes every two weeks from The Growing Experience.

Suffice it to say, the little kitchen in the little house on the little street is rolling in tomatoes.

Not that that’s a bad thing.  Again, come March, I’ll be longing for the days of the huge basket of juicy, tart, sweet, beefy tomatoes on my counter.  Or in my sandwiches.  Or on my dinner plate.  Or fried while green in a cornmeal/buttermilk breading.  Or in my pasta sauces…..

*snap*  Back to reality.  Even though these tomatoes are plenty spiffy eaten just as is, with coarse salt, or on the acclaimed tomato sammie, sometimes you just gotta do *SOMETHING* with ‘em.

So, I give you, the easy-peasy fresh and cheesy Three Cheese Tomato Tart.  It was dinner earlier this week.  It was good.  Real good.  Real easy.  And real good.

The Mezze Was Not Messy (But The Kitchen Was…..)

In fact, it was very, very tasty.  The mezze, that is.  According to the Great God Wikipedia (which we all know is unimpeachably accurate…. {/end snark}), mezze is “a selection of small dishes served in the Mediterranean and Middle East as dinner or lunch, with or without drinks”.  To me, as my boy Alton Brown would say, mezze is just, ermmmmm….good eats.  And, it goes without saying, my mezze was going to be served with drinks.

And so it was a couple of weeks back, the day I made the pita bread I last shared with you.  Because, good as homemade, fresh, pillowy pita bread is, that really doesn’t constitute a full meal, especially not a full meal for friends.

So, there was mezze.  Really good mezze.  Homemade falafel, made from dried chickpeas, mixed with fresh, lushly flavorful herbs and fried gently in olive oil.  Tzatziki, too, creamy, thick Greek yogurt, mixed with more herbs and garlic and cucumber.  Tahini sauce, to drizzle over.  And a Greek salad, since that’s the direction we were leaning, more towards the Mediterranean end of the mezze spectrum than the Middle Eastern one.  All dishes I’d made before, in one iteration or another, but never in this gathering of yummies, and not usually made totally from scratch, from hopefully quasi-*authentic* recipes.

My falafels had, previously, come from a box mix of dehydrated chickpea (garbanzo) flour and dried herbs.  Reconstitute with some water, let sit, form and fry.  They were….passable, but I knew I could do better.  My Greek salads had been laden with extraneous ingredients.  My tahini sauce had been from a jar.  It was time to up the ante a bit, and try to see if I could concoct some semi-authentic mezze.

Oh, the teaser picture.  For some reason (insert head-smack here), I didn’t get a picture of the entire table when everything was done, nor of the finished sandwiches with the falafel patty on the pita, drizzled with the tahini sauce, and the tzatziki and dressed with lettuce, tomato and onion.  I *think* I tried….and the shots I got were out of focus and/or poorly lit.  It did sort of all come together very quickly at the end, and it got rushed.  Too many tasks, too few hands, too much potential to burn down the house with hot oil.   So, up there we gots the tahini sauce (in the small bowl to the bottom left), the tzatziki (in the medium-size bowl to the bottom right) and the Greek salad up top.

We’ll see the falafels later….

When Life Gives You Tomatoes….You Eat Really Well

Isn’t that picture just the epitome and embodiment of Summer ?  A huge, (and I do mean HUGE, that puppy weighed in at over a pound !), vine-ripened beefsteak tomato, dripping with dew (OK, full disclosure, that was water from my having rinsed it before I cooked with it, but still, it *could've* been dew).

Here’s a shot of that monster in my hand, so you can get an idea of how gimogeous this thing really was.

It was truly massive.  *AND* it had flavor, but we’ll get to that in a bit.

I love tomatoes.

No.  Let me qualify that.

I love tomatoes that have ripened on the vine, and have been grown carefully and fed and watered regularly, and have had lots of sun and lots of care.  Tomatoes that are soft and sorta squishy, and that spew juice all over your counter when you cut them.  Tomatoes that are warm from the sun, that you rinse off and slice and inhale as is, or on bread, or in a Caprese salad, or over pasta.  Or that you just bite into on your way from the garden to the kitchen, the juice and seeds dripping down your chin, and over your hands.  The tomatoes that explode with sweet, tangy, acidic, tomato-y flavor, and fill your mouth with tomato joy.  The tomatoes so full of that lovely “jelly” interior they remind you of one of those fruit gel candies called "Pâtes de fruits”.

*THOSE* tomatoes (and these) I love.

I most assuredly do NOT love those supermarket cotton balls with the mealy, tasteless centers, the ones you could pitch a major league baseball game with, the ones that are picked totally green and gassed with ethylene oxide to turn their skins a pale imitation of the deep red color we expect, but which will never, ever achieve the glory that is a REAL tomato.

*THOSE* tomatoes I loath.

I’ve grown tomatoes before, and while they’re not particularly a difficult plant to grow and harvest, like anything alive, they need some care and some fussing with.  And, due to some health/mobility issues, I can’t work any kind of a garden in the ground any longer.  I could probably get DOWN to sit by the bed and work it, but it’d take a sky-hook crane to get me back up.

A couple of years ago, I tried one of those “topsy-turvy” tomato growing things.  It was….not a success.  I put the thing in the same spot (a narrow bed by my driveway, with a Western exposure, against a light stucco wall) where I’d successfully grown tomatoes (albeit in the ground) before.  The plants (I had three of them in the hanging baggy thingy) started out great guns.  And rapidly faltered.  I had only used really easy-to-grow cultivars I’d successfully grown in the ground in previous years, so I thought it was going to be a slam dunk.  Not so much.  I think I got a total of 20 tomatoes out of the 3 plants that year, and they were small, fairly tasteless and generally not stellar.  I think the soil in the bag got too hot, and steamed the roots when I watered them.  In the plastic, there was no way for the soil to "breathe".  Plus I don’t think there was enough soil in the baggy thingy to support 3 full plants, even though it had 3 ports for planting and the instructions indicated it could support all three.  The bag was unwieldy, it was hard to water and fertilize, and as I said the yield was dismal.  It finally went into the trash and recycling bins as was appropriate to the parts of the contraption.

For the next few summers, I tried to make do with tomatoes from the local farmers’ markets, Trader Joe’s “Heirloom” tomatoes (which are actually pretty decent, not top tier, but not bad….) and lately from my CSA, The Growing Experience.

This year, though, I was determined to grow my own.  I had an unused, huge PVC pot, which had previously held a rose bush, so I knew it was plenty big enough, I had the tomato cage/support gizzies, all I needed was the soil and the plants.  Which, I promptly obtained in mid-Spring.  I planted, I caged, I watered, I fertilized, and I waited for the succulent harvest.

It started out really well, and then took a dramatic turn to disaster land…….

The Tao of Bao

Not too long ago, I was faced with the most hated and feared of all leftover situations….the dreaded LEFTOVER leftovers (GASP !).

Way back before time began (OK, last winter to be honest) I made one of my favorite recipes for a pork roast.  You take a shoulder roast (sometimes called a butt for some unknown, butchery reason…), either bone-in or boneless works fine, rub it well with 2 parts chipotle chile powder to 1 part kosher salt, and toss the meat into a roasting pan or Le Creuset-type Dutch oven.  Cover the pan with foil or the lid, and throw THAT into a preheated 275° oven for about 3&1/2 to 4 hours, and then pull the pan from the oven, let the meat rest for about 15 minutes, and pull it into shreds and chunks with 2 forks.  Served on warm corn tortillas (homemade is best, come on…….YOU can do it, I showed you how), with a sprinkle of cilantro and a drizzle of fresh-squeezed lime juice (OK, simple salsa cruda if you must), folded over to make simple, soft tacos, well, that’s about the best eats you can get.  One of my favorite techniques, ever.

And the initial round of leftovers makes great enchiladas or tostadas, mixed with the appropriate sauces and cheese and other add-ons.  Or spectacular pulled pork, gently reheated with some barbeque sauce.  Homemade would be best, but Trader Joe’s (yeah, TJ’s again, so…..?) “Kansas City BBQ Sauce” is a perfectly fine alternative.  And the leftovers chill out in the freezer really, really well.

Which is where my about 1 pound hunk of chipotle slow-roasted pork shoulder has been hanging out since about January, when I made it.  In the freezer, that is.  A couple of weeks ago, I got a hankering for some pulled pork sandwiches.  I’d gotten a lovely, small head of tender, just harvested cabbage from The Growing Experience in my share, and that cried out for slaw.  Which led to pulled pork sandwiches.  I had the requisite TJ’s BBQ sauce in the fridge, I had the makings for slaw, I had hamburger buns in the freezer as well, so sounds like dinner to me.

So I pulled the pork out and let it thaw (it was already shredded down when I froze it).  The day I made the sandwiches, I plopped the shredded pork in a saucepan, and added just enough of the bottled sauce to moisten it.  I have a bad habit of making this dish too drippy when I reheat the meat in the sauce (same technique works for slow-cooked roast beef as well, try it with brisket and swoon), so I was careful to use just enough BBQ sauce to loosen up the shredded meat.  Heat it over a very low flame for at least half an hour, covered.  As it warms up, the meat will release some liquid, and the steam will condense back up and drop down into the saucepan, to help “juice up” the mixture.  Which is why you want to go easy on the sauce you add to the meat.

Yes.  The sandwiches were great.  Some standard slaw (with a hit of horseradish in the dressing) and bread and butter pickles on the pulled pork, it was delightful.

But, not only have I digressed (which is not all that surprising, now is it….?), I have gone completely off track.  Because this post is NOT about using left-over slow roasted meat for pulled BBQ sandwiches, delightful though that may be, it’s about using the LEFTOVERS from that.

And finding your inner peace with the never-ending wheel of leftovers.  As in…the Tao of bao.

Get Your Grill On

Ah, yesssss.  ‘Tis Summah time, and the livin’ is easy.  Or should be, lest you  raise a sweat and begin to, shall we say, *glow* in the summer heat and humidity.

OK, true confessions time.  This has been, for the second year in a row, an uncommonly cool and cloudy summer here in SoCal.  NOT THAT I’M COMPLAINING.  Not at all.  I tend to get cranky when the temperature gets too much above about 85°, and downright surly and churlish (LOVE that word) when it approaches triple digits.  So mid-seventies to low eighties is just ducky by me.  Granted, my roses look a bit forlorn and ratty, they do like their hot days and clear nights, and my tomatoes were damned slow to set and ripen, but me, I’m diggin’ my very cool Left Coast Summer and hope it lasts.

The rest of you, especially those in the middle of the U.S., babe, I feel for ya.  I see the news reports, and, having spent my early years in Chicago, and having visited the South and D.C. in the summer, I sure don’t envy you.  And I hope all y’all get some relief soon.  I’d love to send you my marine layer.  Some screwy weather going on for sure…

Anyway, for most of us, even those of us still sleeping under a blankie (with two hermetically attached fuzz bombs), in Mid-July, Summer certainly means grilling, because who the heck wants to turn on an oven, or heat up a range-top when the mercury’s about to blow out the top of the thermometer like it used to in the Loony Tunes.  (Do they still even PUT mercury in thermometers any longer?  I’d bet not….hazmat and all that stuff…but again, I digress.)

No single day, of course, speaks more to grilling and cooking outdoors than the 4^th of July.  Here’s what went down in the little kitchen, and the larger patio, for that commemoration of our Independence.  As you can guess by the header shot, there was an adult beverage (or 2….maybe 3) involved and these guys made an appearance….

The Next Installment of The “Way Back Machine” Recipes

This one is so absurdly, ridiculously stupid simple, I feel almost guilty posting about it.  Almost.

About guilt…see, first of all, I try to make it a rule not to feel guilty too often.  It’s not good for the disposition, and it gives you heartburn (or worse).  I’m also pretty shameless….I admit to enjoying the occasional frozen pizza, fast food hamburger and Blue Box Mac & Cheese (with the squeezy cheeze goo though, not the orange powdery stuff).  And all of that is guilt-free (see first rule, immediately above).  And I'm not above the occasional meal of Spam (it's a taste memory what can I say), or hot dogs with canned chili (ditto....).  And I do likes me my share of quick-'n'-dirty (read EASY) one pot meals.

Like this one.

All of which, could, admittedly, be guilt-inducing, if I allowed myself to feel guilty about such non-monumental things.

But, finally, what saves this post from a one-way ticket to Guilt City is that the pasta tastes REALLY really good when it’s done.  The flavors mesh together in a delightful, tangy creamy sauce that is surprisingly hearty and spicy, but not so “blow your socks off” hot that kids wouldn’t love it. Add in the bonus that the dish comes together in about half an hour, and is also ridiculously, stupid cheap to make, and there’s not a shred of any kind of guilt that needs to come anywhere close to this recipe, or your dinner plate when you make it.  With some decent bread (I made my knock-off "*M* Grill" rosemary bread) and a nicely made green salad (with homemade dressing), it was a delightful, guest-worthy meal with very little fuss and muss.

This is another dish I used to make ALL THE TIME many moons ago, and then, for some reason, just stopped.  Dunno why, it just fell out of the rotation, I guess as I went off chasing the newest, bestest, latest, trendiest trend.  Or something.  It is, however, time to resurrect, “Roberta’s Pasta with 3Ps”.

Erm, the “Ps” would be “p”epperoni, “p”epperoncini and roasted “p”eppers.  Carry on, then.

What We Won’t Make For Ourselves (but should)

If, as I, you are usually cooking for just yourself, or one other person, there are a lot of dishes that are “Too Much Trouble To Make”.  Or…”Too Fussy For *Just* Me”.  Or…”Too Fancy For Everyday”.

You know those dishes, we all do.  We look longingly at the recipes for gazpachos and paellas and soufflés and such and think “next time I have people over, I’m doing this !”  Or, maybe someday I’ll throw a party and make that !

But we never get around to those dishes, or those occasions.  We throw the party, and people clamor for our lasagna, green salad and garlic bread.  We have those people over, and they want our hot dogs stuffed with salsa and wrapped in cornbread.  We hold off on that crown roast of pork or truffled pasta for a “special occasion” and when that occasion hits (new job, new house, new significant other, new baby, fuzzy *or* human), we go out for drinks and dinner.

And so the dishes that are “Too Much Trouble To Make”, or “Too Fussy For Just Me”, or “Too Fancy For Everyday” fall by the wayside.  And they shouldn’t.

I’m here to tell you that most of them (well OK, the crown roast of pork probably isn’t really such a winning option for one person), but MOST of them, are not only ultimately doable for one, but totally doable most nights, and can turn the average OK day into something special.

Actually something VERY special.

My Big, Fat Mexican Dinner

A few weeks back, I did a belated birthday dinner for one of my closest friends.  When I have friends over, it’s usually ALWAYS cook’s choice.  Its my chance to try out new stuff, revisit old favorites, play with new techniques and flavors and, most especially, make those*big ticket* high yield dishes like stews and braises and baked pastas and so on that I normally don’t make just for myself.  That pesty leftover issue, you know (plus the fact I don’t want to have dogs that weigh 300 pounds, because *THEY* would gladly relieve me of my leftover burden).

That changes for Birthday Dinners.  If I’m cooking for you for your birthday, you get to choose the entire menu.  Them’s the rules.  It’s your day, it’s all about you, not me (for once, because usually it IS all about me, all the time, which probably explains a lot, actually…).  Or, when it’s not all about me, it’s all about Rosie.  That Princess thing she’s got goin’ on.  Unless it's your birthday, then it's all about you.  Clear?

So, when presented with the “what do you want me to cook for you for your birthday?” question, Lupe chose Mexican.  Yes, Lupe.  Yes, she’s Mexican.  Talk about performance anxiety !

When I said, “anything in particular…” she said no, but Mexican was it.  OK, so the rules bent a bit, since I still got to choose the particulars.  We were all happy.  I got to play; Lupe got what she wanted for her celebratory feast.

What shook out was pretty damned good, too, especially for a Polish girl from Chicago.  We had carnitas, with two homemade salsas, homemade refried beans, red rice and homemade corn tortillas.  For dessert, we veered away a bit  (OK, a LOT) from Mexico, because I was looking for something light and tangy, since I figured the meal would be a bit on the, shall we say, rich side.  The carnitas, salsas, beans and rice were new recipes (well, new for me to use, they actually came from an 8-year old "Bon Appétit" and have been waiting in the wings ever since….).  The tortillas are my standard, and the dessert I’d made once before and loved.

WARNING:  This is going to be a long, long, looooooooooong, picture intensive post.  But I will give you the complete recipes for everything at the end.  And just so's ya knows, one of the projects I’m working on, and trying to figure out how to accomplish, is to have a separate page with a sorted list of the recipes I’ve posted.  The links will click you back to the original post with the recipe.  I know how annoyed *I* get when I’m blog cruising, and find a great recipe, and have to cut and paste in 45 different steps to get it so I can print it and use it.  But that’s in the Future Machine right now.  So bear with me, there are a couple of gems in here.

Oh, and we had cilantro slaw too, but that won’t be covered here, since we’ve talked about it before.  Basically, shredded cabbage, chopped cucumber, chopped onion and chopped cilantro, dressed with olive oil, lime juice and minced garlic.  It’s good !

Onward to La Fiesta En La Cocina Pequeña!