A Little Bit Of Lemon

     The lemons are coming, the lemons are coming!  That is the citrus-cultivators cry soon.  For those lucky enough to have harvests so excessive they may sound as though they’re complaining.   I envy them. And of course, always offer to take a bag or two off their hands for them. 

     I have in my back yard a lemon tree that provided me with this fresh, juicy fruit for the first two years of its life in an over-sized pot. 

But now nothing.  Actually for the past few years, nothing, in spite of my fertilizing, kind words and joyful singing.  While those lovely, fragrant blossoms do appear, they eventually fall to the ground and I am left with a tree of green, healthy leaves without a single lemon to cook down into a rich curd or to whip into a refreshing gelato.  Not even a single lemon with which I can zest or squeeze onto a bowl of garden vegetables with a drizzling of unsalted butter.  So I went out and purchased a new lemon tree.  Here I sit, fingers crossed and hopeful those pretty white flowers will soon transform themselves into bright yellow, ovals ready for culinary adventures.

     Though lemons originated in Southeast Asia, they are currently cultivated in temperate climates all over the world.  California is the largest producer of lemons in the U.S.  It’s true, we can purchase lemons year round, they are best during their natural season which runs from May to October.  History shows lemons have been used for all sorts of medicinal purposes.  Lemon juice serves as my favourite sore throat cure.  Freshly squeezed juice in a cup of hot water, sweetened with a teaspoon of honey and a good tablespoon of brandy.  “Ahhh” says my throat. Lemons were once considered a remedy for epilepsy. 

     And who hasn’t used lemon juice as “invisible ink” for writing secret messages to members of a tree-house or other exclusive club?  Lemons can serve as bleaching agents.  I know some people who add a bit of lemon juice to a tablespoon of baking soda and brush their teeth with this mixture.  Though, according to some commercials, lemon juice negatively impacts the enamel on our teeth.  Lemons and their close relatives have been used as an ingredient in magic and occult.  It is said, witches used lemon verbena, a citrusy herb, put it in a bag then placed the bag under the pillow of those who suffered from insomnia or poor sleep patterns. 

Lemon’s closest cousin, lemon grass, is an important flavor component in Thai and Vietnamese cuisines.  Easily recognizable in your produce section with its leggy, green-gray hued leaves and citrusy aromatics.  I’ve used those long, woody stalks as Popsicle sticks for some of my over-twenty-one popsicles.  Not only do they add visual interest to this otherwise common homemade summer treat, the lemon grass stalks infuse a pleasant high note to my “adult swim” frozen refreshers.

     But I digress from my focus on lemons.  If you are lucky enough to procure a prolific harvest or know someone who is generous enough to share with you I’d like to provide a simple recipe for making lemon curd.  This sun-bright, smooth, tangy concoction is expensive to purchase, so in my mind it doesn’t make “cents” to buy when you can make it yourself. 

     Use lemon curd on your waffles, in my June 2014 Blog story, I shared with you my recipe for Lemon Waffles.  In the photo you can see there is a delightful dollop of homemade lemon curd nestled next to a heaping spoonful of blueberry compote.  Lemon curd on toast or along-side your freshly baked, warm scones.  Lemon curd beautifully highlights crisp rounds of sweet meringue in my version of Pavlova.  Petite individual servings for each guest sitting around your table to enjoy and savor. 

Recipe for Lemon Curd by Deborah L Costella

Ingredients

1/3 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice (3-4 lemons)                          6 egg yolks

·         Save whites for an egg-white omelet or a frothy cocktail like a Pisco Sour, Clover Club Cocktail or a Lemon Lavender Gin Fizz * Think I’ll give you the recipe for that on my web site:www.cosmicmuffincafe.com since more lemons are involved!

1 cup super fine sugar (Bakers or Caster)                   zest of 4 lemons * Hint: zest first then squeeze out fresh juice

8 tablespoons unsalted butter – cut into cubes and held at room temperature

Process

Set a stainless bowl over a pot of simmering water, making sure the bottom of the bowl does not touch the water.

In the bowl, whisk egg yolks for about 1-2 minutes.   Slowly whisk in sugar, so as not to “burn” the yolks, then add lemon juice and zest.  Continue whisking until yolks thicken and form ribbons.  This will take 7-15 minutes.  Be sure to check the water level so that it hasn’t simmered off.  Add more water if needed.

Once yolk mixture has thickened, begin adding the cubes of butter one at a time, waiting until each cube has completely integrated before adding the next.

When all butter has been incorporated strain curd through a sieve or strainer into a clean bowl.  Cover with plastic wrap, making sure the wrap touches the curd, just as you do when you prepare homemade guacamole.  Store in fridge for at least 2 hours then use as desired.

To be honest, I like my curd served warm over vanilla scones on top of toasted English muffins in the morning.  So good.

The curd can be stored, covered, in the fridge for up to 1 week.

Recipe for Individual Pavlovas by Deborah L Costella

Ingredients

1 ½ cups super fine sugar (Bakers or Caster)           2 teaspoons cornstarch - sifted

6 eggs whites (room temp)                                       pinch Kosher salt

1 teaspoon vanilla bean paste                                   1 1/2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice

Parchment paper                                                       1 pint of berries (your choice)                                               

Process                                                                              

                                                                                  Preheat oven to 300 degrees

Set sheets of parchment paper on 1 or 2 sheet pans (depends on the size you have at home)

Using a pencil, draw 3” circles, then flip parchment to other side so you can still see your template but no pencil will infuse into your meringues.  Set aside.

In a small mixing bowl combine sugar and cornstarch.  Set aside until ready to use.

In stand mixer or using a hand-held mixer in a large bowl, beat egg whites and salt together on high until soft peaks form.  Maintaining speed, add sugar/cornstarch mixture to egg whites, one tablespoon at a time, allowing about 1 minutes between additions.  Continue beating until stiff peaks form.

Turn off mixer, then gently fold in vanilla paste and lemon juice, being careful to not deflate whites.

Using a small spatula, spoon meringue onto parchment paper using penciled templates as your guide.  They don’t have to be perfect circles.  I like mine rather rough and rustic.  Use the back of a spoon to gently create a small indentation on each round of egg white.  This will provide you with a little concave spot to fill with your lemon curd and fresh berries.

Place baking sheets in oven and bake for 45 minutes, or until peaks are a soft golden brown.  Turn off oven, crack oven door open slightly, all allow meringues to cool for 1 hour.

Meringues will be crispy on the outside and soft and chewy on the inside.  They are now ready to be spread with your homemade lemon curd and topped with the fresh berries. 

                                                                                                 Serves 10 - 12 

Every Chef Has A Little Secret

Ever wonder what Chefs eat, when they're not hurriedly gobbling bites while standing over the trash can before rushing back to work the line? You might be surprised to find out many talented and experienced cooks indulge in dishes far less spectacular than what they send out to your restaurant table.  Equally interesting is while they often make efforts to dine at the industry's "hottest" spots or frequent restaurants run by close friends, many quietly eat at some of the most inane restaurant chains you can imagine.

An example is that of one of the most creative and focused chefs I've ever had the pleasure to work with.  After years spent cooking in a variety of restaurants in Las Vegas, starting at the tender age of sixteen in a Mexican restaurant, he moved on to establish the menu and set the bar for a high-end restaurant in Northern California. These days you'll find him wowing customers in the Pacific Northwest assembling fusion cuisine based upon his Caribbean heritage. But on the rare occasions he's in the mood for someone else’s cooking, he takes the wife and kids to . . . Olive Garden! Apparently he's a sucker for that salad and those bread sticks. 

Believe it, it's true. 

Another seasoned chef I know finds refuge after his ten hour shifts amid flying pots, pans and raging Salsa music in a bowl of Kraft Macaroni 'n Cheese. 

And so is this. He loves this stuff!

 Then there’s the rather famous set of twin sisters, both meticulous pastry chefs who can each spend an hour decorating one cookie.  They work side by side for a Hollywood catering company.  After their long shift they trek home in unison and together, throw some Kimchee over days old white rice, heat it up then top the concoction off with a poached egg. Then, in unison, they curl up on the couch and together watch National Geographic channel.  This is a daily occurrence during Shark Week. 

You can purchase commercial Kimchee or make your own.

And believe it or not, one of my visiting chef friends never misses his 2:00 a.m. runs to Roberto’s for a Carne Asada Burrito whenever he’s in Vegas.  This same chef, and mind you, he trained under Wolfgang then later went on to win a James Beard Award, can be counted on to have one of those $5.00 foot-long sandwiches from Subway sitting in his fridge at home as well as a box of Pizza Bites in his freezer.

Even I have a long time food secret. But there is a story behind it.  Up until about the 1970’s, the sleepy town of Sunnyvale California was as heavily populated with fruit orchards as it was residents.  Rows and rows of cherry and apricot trees filled what now houses Tech facilities, condos and mixed-use shopping centers.  I can remember sitting in the backseat as my parents drove under the bridge that carried can after can of fruit from one end of the Libby canning and shipping facility to the other.  The scent of so much fruit being cooked and boiled was overpowering, wafting its way through the surrounding neighborhoods.

One year, my father, a great lover of apricots, had decided to begin his own little cannery of sorts in our  backyard.  He left the house early one Saturday morning and returned with so many bushels of apricots the nursery rhyme “I love you a bushel and peck, around the neck” immediately made literal sense to me. 

My little brother, sister and I continued playing Hide & Go Seek, running around the front and back of the house in anticipation of something special, but what it was, we didn’t know.  Shortly after dad lugged in the last bushel of apricots, my Nana, Papa, Uncle and his latest girlfriend (“the flavor of the month” as dad referred to them) arrived.  I had never seen my grandmother wear jeans before, so that in itself made for a special day in my mind.

Delicious on their own.  Fresh Apricots. 

Dad gathered us all together outback in a huddle instructing each on what and how to perform our part of this familial assembly line.  We kids were in charge of washing the “cots” under the running water of the hose to remove debris, while pulling off stems and leaves.  I have no idea,  where he found them or whether perhaps he made them, but there several wooden racks covering the patio, making the area look more like a mathematical grid than a place where we usually held barbeques.  We spent the entire day, cleaning, cutting, and pitting the cots then placing them between the slats of the racks.  The fruit was to sit for several days until they were shriveled and dried to perfection. 

Concentrated sugar when dried.  

Dad obviously drew on a years old activity for us that day. 

But at the end of our long and arduous day each one of us was covered in dirt, grime and sweat.  When one of the grownups asked “What are we going to do about dinner?”  Announcing out loud what, I’m sure, each of them felt, “Well, I’m certainly not cooking tonight.”  Someone answered, “Let’s go pick up some chicken.” 

This is the "bucket" I remember. 

Uncle Frank and “Flavor” returned with buckets of Kentucky Fried Chicken, Mashed Potatoes and Gravy, Corn on the Cob and those Biscuits.  It was the most delicious dinner I had ever had. The crunch of the crispy skin and the moist meat inside made my mouth dance.  The soft biscuits which I dunked into the heavily salted and peppered gravy, brought such pleasure to a seven year old, it stays with me to this day.  So, now when I’m in need of comfort food or missing my family and childhood, you’ll find me making my own run to KFC.  I try to be discreet by making use of the drive-thru then scuttle home quietly enjoy my bliss. 

  Dad repeated this apricot drying ritual for several seasons.  He made apricot jam.  Apricot pies.  Apricot turnovers.  And insisted we snack on apricots when we kids complained of hunger between meals.  The scent of cooking apricots stayed with me for years.  It has only been in recently I’ve been able to enjoy apricots again.  But I do miss my grandparents, my uncle and siblings, especially dad and his apricot-everything. 

My Recipe for Fried Chicken/An Adaptation of KFC

Make sure you use a cast iron skillet, it can take the heat and makes a difference in taste and texture. 

  You can use grapeseed or peanut oil (higher smoking point), but not olive oil (lower smoking point)

Ingredients:  

1 whole 3 lb. chicken - cut (there are tons of videos to help you)           1 1/2 cups buttermilk

salt and pepper          1 tblsp Frank's hot sauce   1 tblsp plain 'ole mustard    2 cups all purpose flour

1 tsp each: dried oregano, chili powder, sage, dried basil, dried marjoram, and onion powder

1 tblsp paprika       2 cloves fresh garlic - minced   lard or crisco and about 2 tblsp bacon fat (if you have it)

Process:

Place cut up chicken sections into a large bowl and season with salt and pepper. Pour in buttermilk, mustard and Frank's hot sauce, mixing to coat chicken completely.  Cover with wrap and allow to sit in fridge for 1-3 hours.

A thick, rich soak for some worthy chicken.  

Remove chicken from fridge about 30 minutes before frying.  Meanwhile place flour in a large pan or dish and season with additional salt, pepper and all other dried seasonings.  Use a fork to mix seasonings into flour.  

Once out of the fridge, allow chicken to come to room temp then dredge each piece in the seasoned flour.

Note:  Allowing the chicken to come to room temperature is important to get a good fry.  Many people make the mistake of taking a cold bird from the fridge then place in the hot pan or on the grill expecting to get a good sear.  Not going to happen. 

 Heat lard or Crisco and bacon fat over medium heat, until melted and shimmering in a cast iron skillet.  You'll need  enough oil/fat to immerse but not completely cover the chicken.  Check the temperature of the fat to ensure it has reached about 360-365 degrees. Temp will drop once you add chicken.  I cook over medium heat to avoid burning the outside while under-cooking the inside and cover the skillet with my splatter screen to avoid mess.  

I don't suggest you cover the skillet with a lid.  You could end up steaming, instead of frying. 

Once fat is hot enough, using tongs, carefully place a few pieces of chicken into skillet and sprinkle with bits of minced garlic.  You may need to fry your chicken in two batches to avoid crowding the skillet.  Crowding equals steaming and reducing your chances to attain that nice crispy crunchy skin.  Fry until browned on both sides. 

Remove cooked chicken pieces and place on a cooling rack NOT on a paper towel-lined plate.  Paper towel-lined plate equals soggy chicken skin.  Allow to cool about 5 minutes then sit and enjoy.  Even the better the next cold.  

So good, that yes, I do indeed lick my fingers!

Some Burgoo Will Do for Saint Patrick's Day

                                                                   

I always start by preparing dessert first.

 "You shure know how to cook Chef Deborah,” the words dripped from his mouth like sap from a Maple tree.  I smiled up at him with sincere appreciation, though my smile was somewhat weak due to the Restyln injections I had received the day prior.  I didn’t speak, instead I thought, Gawd, I can just bathe in his accent. 

   I momentarily stopped whisking the Zabaglione offering him a taste from the tip of a finger I had just submerged in the rich, sweet, frothy, egg mixture.   I am of Italian descent and by now comfortable with my cooking, so this is a dessert I felt confident preparing.  I knew he would very much enjoy the taste and texture of this luxurious custard.

  We were still getting acquainted with one another.  I knew he was an Italian man with some Irish and I’m not certain what else.  But whatever else, it made for a strapping 6’ 4”, dark hair, blued-eyed, Southern Gentleman.  A tobacco farmer by trade, he left North Carolina the previous year and came to Las Vegas in search of money, women and more money.  He gave up the long hours that come with farming along with the dirt and grime, for pens, paper and 24-7 clients.  Just before meeting me, he had found those women, lots of them.  But I put a kibosh on any further searching.  However, he was still working on the money part. 

   His mother was the Italian, his father Irish.  My friend was big and strong, yet soft spoken and I loved cooking for him.  The zabaglione wasn’t for him, but a party I was working later that evening.  But I had promised to prepare a real Irish dinner for St. Patrick’s Day that upcoming weekend, in celebration of his heritage.

Old School but still tasty.

   “So, I suppose you want the traditional Corned Beef with Boiled Potatoes and Cabbage,” I stated flatly.  “Oh, and some good grainy mustard for garnish.  Did you want some Irish Soda Bread too?”

   “Well, now Chef, you haven’t done the homework you usually do,” he drawled. 

   “What do you mean?” I pressed.

   “Well, I’d be happy to explain, provided you give me a real man’s serving of that pudd’n there.”

   “It’s not pudd’n; it’s an Italian foamy, custard.  But okay.”After dramatically placing some fresh berries I had in the fridge into the bottom of a fluted champagne glass, spooning plenty of the custard on top, then more berries, I set the sensuous dessert in front of him and continued prepping for my event.  “I’m listening,” I said, as he took his sweet southern time moving the spoon from the glass to his mouth, seemingly forgetting I was there. 

   “Do you have any CD’s of the Chieftains I can play while I eat and teach you a thing or two about Irish cuisine?” he inquired, one eyebrow raised.

   “Oh, now we need music?  Yes I do.  I’ll fetch it and you start talking.”

   “Oooooh wee, listen to the Chef use the word fetch,” he teased.

 

   “Get talk’n kind sir,” I giggled.   (It was new love so I was still giggling).

“To begin, traditional Irish fare consists of dishes like Irish Stew and Shepherd’s Pie prepared with lamb, mutton (an older sheep, around 3 years) or goat.  There’s porridge, made of oats, barley, and wheat meal mixed with some water or buttermilk.  No sugar.  On the side, a torn piece of soda bread spread with freshly churned butter and a drizzle of honey.  And of course you know about the potatoes, Chef.   Potatoes became a mainstay for the impoverished Irish after the English conquest in the early 17^th century.  Most of the more involved dishes of Irish cuisine went by the wayside as their land and food supplies were taken by the English to be sent to Englanders back home or given to the English armies occupying Ireland.  Typical English food became more common during that time for the Irish too.  You know, since they were being influenced.”  He went on without stopping, as he had finished his little snack. 

   “Later, when the Great Famine occurred from the Mid-19^th to Mid-20^th centuries, Potatoes really were all that was left for the Irish to eat.  They did their best to get creative with ‘em by making up dishes like the famous “boxty,” a potato pancake.  Another potato dish included sausage and bacon.  They called it “coddle.  Have you ever heard of “colcannon” Chef?”  I shook my head from side to side.  “It’s another potato-based dish, of mashed potato, cabbage (or kale) and butter. Umm umm, and is it good.”

  “ I didn’t know about boxty, coddle or colcannon,” I said.  “What I find so interesting is how so few ingredients are brought together in such hearty and nourishing ways.  Don’t you find it fascinating that from those times of hardship and poverty grew some of the tastiest and simple of dishes?”

   “Yes, ma’am thanks to those who were suffering and doing whatever they could for their families,” he mused. 

   I went on.  “One of my Italian favourites, Panzanella, is a salad prepared with soaked, day old (at least a day) bread tossed together with fresh, sun-ripened tomatoes, olives from the orchard, fresh basil and mozzarella cheese.  I can just see it being served in a chipped, hand-me-down bowl, glistening with olive oil and balsamic vinegar.  This dish emerged from the peasants of Tuscany.  And I can’t forget Minestrone, created by the peasants of Rome.  Now it’s a mainstay in almost every Italian restaurant.”  I continued to show off.  “And there’s Ratatouille, the French version of a poor man’s hearty stew.   And Succotash, which can be cooked up as a stew or casserole.”

   “Yes, I know all about Succotash, Chef.  Corn, lots of it, lima beans and other shell beans, mixed with whatever else can be harvested from the garden.  But did you know Succotash made its debut during the Great Depression?” my friend injected.  “Now you’ve interrupted me enough, Chef.  I’m not done schooling you.  I don’t think you know about another Irish favourite, Burgoo, otherwise known as “Roadkill Stew.”

   “Actually, I have,” I replied.  I recently became familiar with this one-pot wonder after reading Hillbilly Elegy, by J.D. Vance. My friend was pleasantly surprised by this and went on to talk about Burgoo and all the fix’ns until the Chieftains finished playing. 

 

Seasoned Flour, Milk/Egg Mixture, Panko for the Eggs. 

You only deep fry the whites. 

   By Friday night, armed with new knowledge of the Irish and Scots-Irish food history, I was ready to prepare a memorable and atypical Saint Patrick’s Day meal.  I started with appetizers; Pickled Shrimp and Deep-Fried Deviled Eggs.  They were delicious if I do say so myself!  After eating all the shrimp and deviled eggs then washing them down with a couple of ales, we sat down to a piping hot conglomeration of Black Tail, Dark Chicken and Pork.  I apologized explaining I couldn’t get my hands on any squirrel, Vegas only has those little chipmunks.  Which I guess would’ve worked too.  He had told me Burgoo traditionally has three meats in it; squirrel, pheasant, chicken, or whatever one could rustle up.  “If it walks or flies, it can go into the pot,” he had said.  I had allowed the stew to simmer all day long, in a Dutch oven brimming with Okra, (I used Kale instead) Lima Beans (I used White Kidney) and Tomatoes.  I finished the stew off with Filé, a sassafras powder for thickening while adding a unique Southern taste.

   The stew was complemented by a Green Salad with Ranch Dressing (not my favourite but buttermilk so, of course) and Grilled Cheese Sandwiches made with homemade Spicy Pimiento Cheese and Fried Green Tomatoes.  Dessert; a Kentucky Bourbon Butter Bundt cake, with a Bourbon Glaze poured over the top.  He was in Scots-Irish Food Heaven! Before being “schooled” on the Irish migration to the Rust Belt and their culinary integration, I would have thought it a stretch going from Corned Beef and Cabbage to a Southern Burgoo Stew for my St. Patrick’s dinner.  Now I knew better. 

   Over dinner I brought us back our previous conversation telling him I got the boiled potatoes and cabbage component of what many consider traditional St. Paddy’s Day fare, but still had questions about the Corned Beef part.  But time didn’t allow for any more than just one question.   So I asked, “What about the St. Paddy’s Day Parade?  Where does that come in?”

    

   “Well, let me tell you about that Chef.  After barreling their way out of that Great Famine, thousands of Irish and Scots-Irish  rode on ships for weeks to America, just like you saw in that movie Titanic.  Poor as all get out, they were down below.   When they finally made it to America many made Louisville Kentucky their new home.   By 1805 there was movement towards the Ohio River and many more moved to the Limerick District of Louisville, Kentucky.  Residents of Limerick lived in shotgun houses, at least the poor ones did.  The rich Irish lived in big houses called Lace Mansions.  Anyway, it was in Limerick, and so many Catholics, 1872 the first St. Patrick’s Day Parade was held in honor of Saint Patrick, known as the “Apostle of Ireland.”  The main Saint of Ireland along with a couple of others on the side, he’s considered the founder of Christianity in Ireland.  So he was deemed someone to celebrate in the new land.”

Got lucky when one of my clients, who is an avid hunter shared with me. 

Sorry, no squirrel. 

Onions, Carrots and Bell Peppers at the ready. 

Here's my recipe for Burgoo:  

Ingredients:  2 tablespoons olive oil + 1 tablespoon unsalted butter (more if needed)

1 lb. Black Tail (deer meat) or other wild game       1/2 lb. chicken thighs - skin/bones removed

1/2 lb. pork tenderloin         1 cup diced carrots             1 cup diced green bell peppers

1 cup diced onion        4 cloves garlic - minced   

 2 large russet potatoes - peeled and cubed             2 cups water + 2 cups beef broth

1 cup fresh, frozen or canned: corn kernels, white kidney beans and kale

2 tablespoons dark brown sugar        3 tablespoons cider vinegar 1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce

1 can whole tomatoes (undrained)    salt & pepper to taste       1 tablespoon each; fresh thyme/parsley 

Process: 1) Cut all proteins into bite-sized cubes. Heat oil and butter in a large Dutch oven or heavy pot over medium heat.  Working in batches so you don't over-crowd the pot, add the beef and cook until browned.  Set aside on a large plate.  Continue this with the chicken and pork until all proteins have been cooked.  They won't be cooked all the way through yet. 

2) Add more oil and butter if needed to same pot adding diced carrots, bell pepper and onions.  Cook until fragrant and translucent.  Be sure to scrape up  all that good flavor on the bottom of the pot from the meats. Add the minced garlic.

3) Return the browned meats to the pot, adding 2 cup of the water and 2 cups of the broth.  Cook over low heat for about an hour.

4)Add remaining water and broth along with the cubed potatoes, kidney beans, corn and kale.  Stir in brown sugar, vinegar, Worchestershire sauce and tomatoes with the juice.  Season to taste with salt and pepper.  Continue to cook on simmer for another hour or two.

5) Once meats are cooked through and tender, add the fresh parsley and thyme, taste for additional salt and pepper then serve.  If stew is too thick for your liking simply add more broth or water.  

                                                                                                                 Serves 10   

Secret Ingredients Shared

I approached the home, laden with several bags of groceries, my knife roll and tool kit, but with far less trepidation than I had anticipated.  Considering.  The concerned friends and associates of the couple, hired me and explained in generalities what happened not four weeks prior to my visit.

When the lady of the house opened the door it was obvious she had been through an ordeal, yet she smiled and was gracious with her greeting. "It probably feels weird in here," she uttered in a soft spoken tone.  "No really, it doesn't," I replied. And it didn't feel weird.  As I stepped across the threshold, nothing in the entry revealed the trauma that had beset her and her husband.  But I had to make an effort to not let my eyes linger on the fresh bandages and uncovered wounds on her arms, neck and face.

A moment after I followed her into the bright, warm and inviting kitchen, a contradiction to the recent event, her husband entered.  A small dog was close on his heels.  Her husband's bandages were thicker than hers and there more of them.  Indicating he had more seriously hurt.  He spoke in whispers as his vocal chords had been damaged during the attack.  Even the little dog wore wraps of gauze around his paws and one over his left eye.  The dog appeared to gentle and introverted to resemble a pirate.  Rather he looked pained.

Couldn't quite bring myself to show a doggie with an eye patch. 

After brief introductions and showing me where I could find varied pots, pans and such, I watched the husband as he struggled to pick up the dog and she her purse. Saying goodbye they left me alone in the house to prepare one weeks worth of meals. I was to.d by those who hired me, this couple enjoyed food and loved cooking together.  Now, neither of them was able to indulge in this shared activity due to their injuries.

After I heard the click of the front door lock, I took a moment to look around and compose myself.  I was grateful to see a bathroom nearby.  This meant I didn't have to walk around the house looking for one.  I could stay in my area of comfort, the kitchen.  I took a deep breath, secured my white bistro apron over my white chef's jacket and began unpacking the groceries. After unpacking the groceries, I went to the sink to, once again, wash my hands.  As I did so a thought came to me.  Something I already knew, but realized it was never more true than now.

I absolutely believe the energy we put into or towards something directly affects the outcome. And I know I'm not alone in that belief.  Whenever I'm teaching a cooking class I take the time to go over basics such as hand washing, reading through the recipe (completely) scaling out all needed ingredients (mis en place) and elementary knife skills (to keep fingers attached to their hands).  I also talk about the importance of "loving up on the food."  In other words, be mindful.  Be present.  Five each dish your full attention.  For example, when whisking up heavy cream, watch each phase as it goes from liquid to soft peaks then firm.  This prevents you from taking the whisking so far you end up whisking the cream into butter. At that point there is no going back!  Stay present and focused when stirring risotto.  Gently moving, almost caressing the kernels of rice and warmed broth with your wooden spoon.  Creating what Italians refer to as Il'Ondo (the wave).

Similar to the advice given to us by a grandparent, not to go to bed angry with your partner, as it makes for bad and unfinished business, cooking with a subpar attitude can impart bad taste to your dish.  This principle was of utmost importance on that day.  I knew I could do more than just cook up a few meals for this couple who still suffered physically and emotionally from the attack that woke them from their slumber that horrible night.  I could and would do so much more with those ingredients that sat in the counter almost looking back at me with their own anticipation of being part of a unique healing experience.

I had planned five entrees, five side-dishes, one large salad and one dessert.  I decided to begin with the steaks.  I seasoned the beef tenderloin generously with kosher salt and fresh cracked pepper. While it rested at room temperature I started on the marinade.  A mixture of olive oil, tamarind sauce, Worcestershire sauce and plenty of fresh garlic, minced. As I did this, I thought "let this beef provide their bodies with the same strength and power as the animal who gave its life for this dish."  Moving on to the potatoes and parsnips I cleaned and boiled, I added roasted garlic, lightly drizzled with truffle oil. I focused on the cleansing and curative power of the garlic making its way through their circulatory systems.

Strength and Protein was seasoned then bathed in a rich flavorful marinade.

The salmon steaks I had carefully removed the bones from then curled into medallions were then immersed in a vegetable broth infused with a pinch of culinary lavender.  "Let the fresh, crisp waters this fish once swam in, give this couple vitality and vigor, like the swiftly moving rivers this fish once swam in.  And allow the sweet fragrance of the lavender to replace the scent of pain.

Thank you Salmon. 

A little lavender goes a long way. 

By now I was no longer just thinking these thoughts, I was speaking out loud.  Repeating the intentions I segment for each dish as though they were mantras.

From the pasta dish I coaxed comfort and warmth.  My roasted vegetable lasagna would wrap them like a soft blanket.  The greens in the salad would not only provide iron found in the dark leafy greens but would usher in joy and delight as their eyes feasted on the rainbow of colors and their ears heard the crunch and snap of the peas Andy toasted hazelnuts.

Dessert would offer kindness and sweetness in a blueberry, basil and chèvre pie.  The blueberries high in antioxidants, popping in their mouths as the honeyed chèvre and brown sugar coated their tongues.  A kind of salve for the tastebuds.

One of my little sister's favourites.  

Five hours later after packaging and labeling I cleaned the kitchen and left.  The couple had not yet returned.  The following week I received a phone call from the lady of house exclaiming, still in her soft tone, how much she and her husband enjoyed the all the food I had prepared.  She said each dish offered so much in flavor, texture and . . ."something else we can't quite put our finger on."

The something else they couldn't quite out their finger on, I surmised, was the additional ingredients of caring, compassion and presence of mind I added to each dish.  I cooked with more feeling that day than I ever had before.  And indeed, it made a difference in the outcome.

The Secret Ingredient to making any dish special.  

Food As Medicine

                                                         

We know food can make for good medicine, whether its chicken soup to ease the symptoms of a cold or specific herbs and spices incorporated into our coffee, tea or sauces, giving us more energy, increased brain function or up our vitality.  Some of you out there are quite adept at combining ingredients from the kitchen to make your own facial masks, hair conditioners, acne remedies or help yourself and others cope with dryness in all areas of our bodies.  

For me cooking is good medicine for the soul.  Cooking calms me.  It can raise my spirits upward like the steam of a tea kettle when I’m feeling as low as the sediment at the bottom of an unfiltered stock.  Even those who don’t ordinarily love cooking can yearn to bake a loaf of artisan bread or a big pot of spaghetti when gloominess sets in.  Actually, most of us, aware of it or not, are moved by the seasons to enter our kitchens then exit carrying something our family and friends are pleased and astounded by. 

During these chilly days of winter, solace can be found in my Dutch oven.  The medicine I offer is a bubbling agglomeration of Cannellini Bean soup, ribbons of kale swimming between bits of bacon and a ham hock or two.  My dear friend Nancy’s go-to, one-pot, wonder is her famous White Chili.  Hot and spicy, her slow cooker tenderizes and savors the shredded chicken, green chilies and assorted beans.                                                                  

When the cold finally gives way to spring, I refresh myself and my family with Asparagus.  It becomes the star of my Quiches, Omelets and other egg dishes.  And who hasn’t meandered into their kitchen, just to walk out with a delectable Cherry Pie, or Tart or Crostada?  Just what the doctor ordered to bring a stained smile to any face.

Summer?  If you like Artichokes, then I hope you’ve grown more adventurous than just boiling them in acidulated water then slamming a cereal bowl of mayo on the table.  Hopefully, as the cicadas begin belting out their high pitched songs, doing their best to draw a mate, you are huddled in the cool of your kitchen steaming or enduring the heat, outside charring those edible thistles.  How rewarded you’ll be should you stretch and try experimenting with a spicy or garlicky aioli for dressing the meaty leaves and hearts.

Fall gives rise to a variety of root vegetables and my favourite of fruits (yes, it’s a fruit, not a vegetable) Eggplant. 

Whether I use it traditionally in Eggplant Parmesan or cut it into small medallions as a base upon which sits a roasted shrimp, drizzled with a Parma Rosa sauce, it becomes an antidote for my moodiness.

But what I had never really considered was that cooking could be physical therapy!  This idea was presented to me via my eldest son who was encouraged to make a batch of homemade tortillas. 

I was out of town when I received a text from him asking me for a recipe.  When I inquired as to why he explained the suggestion came from his physical therapist.  I suggested homemade bread.  But he was clear; it had to be a tortilla recipe.  I happened to be sitting in another doctor’s office and immediately shared this unique therapy idea with the nurses surrounding me.  They went crazy!  What a great alternative or addition to lifting weights or manipulating small, squishy balls.

Instead of stirring with the traditional wooden spoon he would be working his hands by combining the few ingredients in the large bowl.  He would then work out his forearms and shoulders as he kneaded the dough for just a minute or two.  Next he began incorporating more of his upper body muscles as he rolled the dough out with a rolling pin. This entire exercise would give him the near equivalent of a short session with his physical therapist.  Near equivalent, I don’t want to jeopardize anyone’s employment today.

Upon my return to Vegas, I watched as my son, not a chef, just a regular guy, combine the flour, salt, water and olive oil in a bowl.  Using his hands, not the wooden spoon, my initial recommendation but he reminded me, using the spoon would defeat the purpose.  He inexpertly turned the dough out onto the cutting board and began kneading.  I did chime in on the proper method for kneading though.  I couldn’t help myself.  It was clear he really was working his muscles.  

 After allowing the dough to rest, he cut the disc into 8 equal portions then pulled down the best of my rolling pins and transformed the blobs into perfect rounds (well almost perfect). 

I must say, I am impressed.  Of course I try to keep my “guns” in shape lifting and pouring from those oversized pots and skillets I use every day.  And standing on my feet as opposed to sitting at a desk all day helps to burn more calories.  But I never thought about the benefits my muscle groups derive from the actions involved in what I do as a chef. This is good news.  From now on I'm setting the intention to be consciously aware while stirring, whisking (definitely a workout for your triceps and deltoids) pouring, slicing and all those activities involved in baking, make for good physical therapy.

Of course, when he had finished preparing the dough and cooked up the tortillas, I had to try one.  Made myself a yummy little quesadilla with pepper jack, nothing else was needed.  Absolutely delicious. 

Here's the basic recipe my son used to make his homemade Tortillas.

Ingredients: 2cups all purpose flour                           1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
                       3/4 cup water                                           3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

Process: In large mixing bowl combine flour and salt, by sifting them together with your fingers.  Then using one hand to combine, pour in the water and oil and work ingredients until well mixed. 

Dust a bit of additional flour onto counter and turn dough out onto prepared area.  Knead the dough about 12-16 times until you have a nice smooth disc.

Cover ball of dough with a damp cloth and allow to rest for 10-15 minutes.  Then divide dough into 8 equal portions.  Take one portion at a time and roll out onto lightly floured surface (keep remaining portions covered until ready to work) to about 8 inches in diameter. 

To cook tortillas, coat a large skillet or griddle with a small amount of oil or nonstick spray and cook over medium heat for 1 minute per side, or until golden brown.  Best eaten warm.  

Good Job Son!

#Fusion#One4-OzServing

A Kaleidoscope is a tube consisting of loosely assembled mirrors and pieces of coloured glass or paper, whose reflections produce changing patterns.  It’s a visual festival for the eye when one peers through the small opening at one end of the tube.  

 And have you been to Houston Texas lately?  There, you will discover a mosaic hub of cultures and peoples coming together in the workplace, schools, sporting events, and social gatherings, as friends, in marriage, and in family.  Learning, growing and expanding, as a community.  Houston is officially known as the most diverse city in the U.S., more so than New York, Los Angeles or Sacramento. 

What do Houston and Kaleidoscopes have to do with one another?   I see them as parallels to the mixture of colours, patterns, and cultures to the culinary term, “fusion.”  Fusion, in the world of food, is when a chef combines different cuisines into a single eating experience.  This integration of culinary traditions embraced by chefs began receiving recognition in the ‘70’s.  Those fortunate souls residing in Houston, a true melting-pot, can be viewed as a collective expression of Fusion, in the way they live and most importantly, to me and this Blog, the way they eat. 

Many of you, either deliberately or inadvertently, have experienced dishes that fall into the category of Fusion Cuisine.  One such restaurant is SushiSamba, in Las Vegas.  One of the few restaurants I’ll trek to the Strip for.  Here the blending of Brazilian, Peruvian and Japanese cuisines impart unto my taste buds vibrant and never-before, tasty pleasures.  The Signature cocktails don’t hurt either.  Consider California Cuisine, inspired by the foods and dishes of Italy, Mexico and France.  Taking a traditional dish from Italy, such as gnocchi, prepared with non-traditional ingredients from Mexico.  Think a spicy, Southwest sauce serving as a bed for those soft, pillows of pasta to bask in.  Tex-Mex and Pacific Rim are both quite common.  Less common, but perhaps, offering an even more lively party for your taste buds would be Chinese-Indian dishes.  How about Portuguese, Dutch and British combinations?

Many of us have grown up eating Fusion Cuisine without giving it a second thought.  Personally, I love my family’s back-story of Italian and Puerto Rican presentations at the dinner table.  I would never think of preparing a Thanksgiving meal without a side dish of lasagna or other pasta wedged in between roasted Brussels sprouts, smashed potatoes, stuffing and cranberry relish!

My cookbook, One 4-Ounce Serving – A Collection Of Food Stories And Recipes, has several dishes that combine cultures, old family recipes prepared with a few twists as well as adventures into a terrain of  ingredients.  The book is a culmination of my supper club gatherings with the Friends Amid Food, where we pulled together meals that will interest and delight everyone at your home table. 

One such example is my Cinnamon And Chicken With Plantains.  A savory, one-pot dish, infusing savory, garlicky chicken, embraced by an earthy sauce of broth, seasonings and cinnamon.  The plantains offer a starchy alternative to potatoes, while adding colour with upbeat consequences.  The mixture of sweet with savory and the ease of this comfort-food, dish makes it one of my favourites.  Perfect for this time of year. 

I’m not going to share the recipe you this time.  Rather I urge you to take a look and view my book on Amazon or visit my website: www.cosmicmuffincafe.com