Does this taste like pee?

A question I did not ask my husband tonight, but I could have. Not should have, in my mind, but could have. So I didn’t.

Last time I was at Rowe Farms, I picked up a nice big frozen kidney, aka, cow urine creation system. Just ’cause. When I grab something strange having questionable potential deliciousness, I procrastinate cooking it, which is why this post has been rather delayed since the last one. But today I bit the pee pee bullet (kidney stone?) and served it up.

I decided to learn to make steak and kidney pie, even though it’s really more of a fall/winter dish. If I’m eating fish, and I feel like red wine, I’m not going to drink something I don’t want just because someone says it doesn’t go together. Spring. Stew. Same.

I’d never had steak and kidney pie before, so I had to guess at what was traditional by sifting through recipes. The sense I got was that it was basically beef stew in pastry with some kidney thrown in. Guessing the whole thing got started because thrifty housewives needed to thicken up beef stew when they couldn’t afford all that much beef. I felt honoured to be joining the ranks, because I’m nothing if not a thrifty housewife. Might just start thickening Phil’s dinners up with other reasonably priced fillers. Bet I could make bologna look like salmon if I really made an effort.

Anyway, I found this stellar recipe that I chose partly because it called for ale, but not a full bottle of ale, so I felt like it was giving me permission to drink the other half. Sold.

Steak and Kidney Pie (modified from original per my tweaks. Makes 1 medium casserole dish)

  • 30g plain flour
  • sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
  • 400g stewing beef – diced into 2cm pieces
  • a big knob of unsalted butter
  • Olive oil – for cooking
  • 1 large onion – chopped
  • a good dollop of English mustard
  • 170ml Ale
  • 120ml beef stock – made from almost half of a Knorr stock cube (don’t use OXO it won’t taste the same.
  • a sprig of fresh thyme – leaves only
  • a good splash of Worcestershire sauce
  • Pint of mushrooms – quartered
  • Beef kidney, fatty membranes removed (mine was removed by butcher, but I read they can have them), cut away from central tendons
  • 300g ready made puff pastry
  • 1 egg yolk – lightly beaten to glaze

Directions: Defrost meats and puff pastry if necessary and preheat oven to 350. Bask in the beauty and slight creepiness of your kidney.

IMG_3186Melt butter on burner in stew pot that can go in the oven. Drizzle stew beef with olive oil and dredge in flour, having salt and peppered the flour. Over med-high heat, brown beef, adding more oil if necessary. Cut up soft bits of kidney, avoiding anything tough. Add to pan and brown briefly (kidney in pic below isn’t fully browned yet).

IMG_3187

Remove.  Splash some more oil in and add onions to pan, cooking until translucent. Add mushrooms and mustard and cook a few minutes. Pour beer in, and drink remainder of bottle. Here’s the nice Toronto one I used

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Cook a minute or so, then add beef stock. Heat to boiling, and throw in remaining ingredients. Pop pot into oven, covered, and cook 2 hours. Your house will smell amazing.

Meanwhile, roll out your puff pastry so it will cover your casserole dish, flouring surface and rolling pin.

IMG_3191

Remove stew from oven

IMG_3192

Transfer to casserole dish. Brush top edge of dish with egg yolk and drape pastry over, poking centre a few times.

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Brush pastry with egg yolk. Increase heat to 400 and cook a further 20 minutes or so, checking to make sure top doesn’t get too brown. And that’s it!

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Results: The recipe was delicious, and I’d use it again for a straight steak pie, but the kidney didn’t do much for me. My mom hated liver so because I wasn’t raised eating organ meats I find it hard to get past the consistency. But there wasn’t an off-putting taste to it, and my husband ate his whole serving and put the leftovers away for another day – I would have heard about it if it was awful. Rating: 4 Yums for the recipe, but 1 Gag for the kidney. The cows can keep their pee makers.

Drink pairing: Already mentioned, Toronto’s Mill Street Tankhouse Ale

Haggis soup that would make Robbie Burns proud

There’s a weird identity-thing about being Canadian. When I was a kid, the other kids would ask, “So what are you?” I hated the question, because all I knew of culture at the time was Canada. All my relatives were here, and I had never met anyone in my family who was born anywhere else – a few great-grandparents were the most recent immigrants I was aware of.  “Mostly English,” I’d say, which was the most boring answer, as far as I was concerned, because it was always far more interesting to be associated with a country that was more different from where my family now lived.  But I felt like it was most accurate because it was where my last name came from.  Sometimes the question annoyed me so much I would say, “Just Canadian, okay?”

As I got older and studied some personal genealogy, I learned about other cultural connections my genes had that were just as accurate, and so I was able to be a nationality shape-shifter.  If it was St. Patrick’s Day, I was Irish.  When I visited my husband’s family outside Belfast, I was Northern Irish too – different great-great-grandparents actually came from both places.  For the Queen’s jubilee, I was English.  And today, for Robbie Burns Day, I’m Scottish.

My mother’s father’s parents were born in Scotland, in Turriff and Elgin.  Apparently a rich Scottish guy in Hamilton Ontario Canada asked for “a good wee lassie,” to be sent over to work in his home as a nanny, and after she got here she met my great-grandfather and the Canadian arm of the family began. But back to the Canadian identity thing – I was very close to my grandfather, Gord McDonald, but still never felt like a Scottish lassie myself.  The shape-shifting thing seemed too convenient, and when you have never set foot in the other country and have no contacts, and your roots are dispersed across many cultures, how can you honour ties there?

Through food, that’s how.

I met a cook from Scotland on Twitter, @Justlovefood, ages ago and asked, “Do you actually cook haggis?” I was excited to consider a “dangerous food,” that actually had a personal connection.  We traded messages, they blogged a recipe, I tried to get my hands on some haggis, and was told I’d have to wait until Burns Day.  I waited patiently.  But the friendship and process already started making me feel closer to my grandfather and his family.  @Justlovefood sent a drawing of a haggis,

Haggisand it was my grandfather’s sense of humour shining through.

I finally got my hands on the haggis yesterday, and went on a scavenger hunt to find the other ingredients, visiting grocery stores from around the globe.  The Asian grocery store, T&T was the best choice for duck eggs, but only had quail, so I nabbed those.  The British store couldn’t import marmite because it has a meat or fish ingredient our government doesn’t like, so I had to get vegemite instead.

VegemiteFinally, I proudly sliced my haggis in half

Haggisand broke it up into the pot, trying to tell myself that if my ancestors ate lungs and heart I could too.  I added all other soup ingredients, and wondered how a recipe that went against my core cooking belief – that if you blend tasty ingredients together, you’ll get a tasty result – could ever work.  Lamb innards.  Single malt whiskey.  Vegemite.  Even mustard.  Normally, I wasn’t a fan of any of it.

WhiskeyBut I was proved wrong.  This was the best soup I’d ever had! It was rich with a delicious texture, almost like gravy soup, but with a nippy bite of spice, even though I had only added pepper (the Healthy Butcher’s high quality of haggis probably deserves a lot of the kudos!). I portioned out some of the result for a few friends who wanted to try it but made sure to keep the biggest share for myself.

Haggis soup

I ate haggis in preparation for Burns Day and allowed myself to feel Scottish.  I couldn’t have conversations with ancestors, or visit their hometowns (yet), but I could eat what they’d eaten, and read a poem they might have known.  Take a second to think about where your family is living now, and then imagine in future that an arm of it emigrates, and that one of your recipes or foods might be the only tie to culture they have left.  Cool eh? Cook carefully.

Here is a reprint of the haggis description and recipe from @Justlovefood, and a link to their blog.  Hope you give it a try, even if you don’t have a Scottish lassie in your family tree.  I’ve also included Robbie Burns’s poem, “Address to a Haggis.”

Haggis&Potato&Marmite Soup with Watercress and Poached Duck egg

haggis (HAG-ihs) – Haggis is a Scottish dish made from sheep’s offal (windpipe, lungs, heart and liver) of the sheep, which is first boiled and then minced. It is then mixed with beef suet and lightly toasted oatmeal. This mixture is placed inside the sheep’s stomach, which is sewn closed. The resulting haggis is traditionally cooked by further boiling (for up to three hours).

This is the most traditional of all Scottish dishes, eaten on Burns Night (25th January; the birthday of Scotland’s national poet, Robert Burns, 1759-1796) and at Hogmanay (New Year’s Eve). Haggis is traditionally served as “haggis, neeps and tatties”. The neeps are mashed turnip or swede, with a little milk and allspice added, whereas the tatties are creamed potatoes flavored with a little nutmeg. To add that authentic touch, consume your haggis, neeps and tatties with a dram of good whisky.

History: There are no actual records, as far as we are aware, of the origins of haggis, as we know it today. The first known English cookbook is The Form of Cury (cookery), written in 1390 by one of the cooks to King Richard II. It contains a recipe for a dish called Afronchemoyle, which is in effect a haggis. The haggis became well established in the Scottish culinary scene, not as a star dish but as an everyday staple. Like a lot of other foods, haggis probably came about because the raw material was available and it had to be made into a more acceptable form.

Author Clarissa Dickson Wright in her book The Haggis – A Little History makes a case for haggis originally being from Sweden. Scandinavians from Sweden eat haggis with great relish and invariably remark on its resemblance to a dish in their local cuisine. Relations between Scotland and the Nordic world go back to the 9th century. Norsemen, raiders at first, very soon became settlers and farmers. It was late in the 15th century before Orkney and Shetland finally ceased to be dependencies of the Danish crown. The impact of the Norse was far greater than that of the French; they are part of Scotland’s historic fabric. The root of the word haggis is not from Latin languages, and its origin appears to be Scandinavian. There is no doubt that the word haggis is related to such words as the Swedish hagga, meaning to hew or chop; and the Icelandic hoggva, with the same meaning.

Reference found in :

http://whatscookingamerica.net/Glossary/H.htm

We made this soup in the kitchen when we sold all of the soup of the day and had to come up with a quick and different one using what was available in the Pantry

Haggis&Potato&Marmite Soup with Watercress and a Poached Duck egg on top

Ingredients

  • Haggis,around 500 grams
  • Potato,peeled and cut into squares,about 5 medium size
  • Shallots,5 chopped finely
  • Spring onions ,5 will do chopped coarsely
  • 1 teaspoon of Marmite
  • 1 teaspoon of English Mustard
  • 1 nip-25 ml- of Single Malt Whisky,we used Macallan 12 year old, you could also use cognac.
  • 1 Liter of good Beef Stock,could be Veggie or chicken
  • Freshly ground White Pepper
  • 3 Cloves of Smoked garlic
  • Sea Salt Flakes,like Maldon or Scottish Seasalt ( Hebridean sea salt)
  • Bunch of Fresh watercress, for soup and then garnish
  • Duck Egg,poached
  • Unsalted Butter

Instructions;

In a pot  at medium heat, saute the shallots,spring onions,garlic until semi soft, then add the potato cubes,stir, Season with Salt and Pepper, keep cooking until shallots become soft.

Put Heat to high, add the Whisky, stir.

Reduce heat to medium again.

Add the Haggis,cook until soft and blended with all the  rest of ingredients, add the stock, stir.

Add teaspoon of Marmite, teaspoon of English Mustard and stir, bring to the boil and then simmer until potatos are soft.

Add The Watercress, stir.

Blend with a Hand held blender, taste, adjust seasoning, keep warm.

For serving, use deep bowls, garnish with a Duck poached egg on top and some nice Watercress little bunch, serve hot with nice Artisan Bread and butter.

Sprinkle some Sea salt flakes & pepper on top of the Poached egg.

Copyright@Justlovefood Leith  August 2012

Chef Claudia Escobar Lindenbaum

Address To A Haggis

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o’ the puddin-race!
Aboon them a’ ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang’s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o’ need,
While thro’ your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they strech an’ strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve,
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
‘Bethankit!’ hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi’ perfect sconner,
Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither’d rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He’ll make it whissle;
An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned,
Like taps o’ thrissle.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o ‘fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

Cheeky Monkey (but not monkey, thank God)

It’s been so long since I’ve posted that initially I forgot what I was supposed to post about. I cooked something a while ago, and knew I had transferred the photos, but then I went on vacation (Mickey/Minnieville), came back, finally managed to stay awake past nine, opened my photos, and saw…

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A hunk of meat. Even that didn’t do it for me.  I thought to myself, “Well, I know it must have been some kind of unconventional animal part …”

IMG_2862-001What are we thinking.  Belly?  Neck?  Maybe a different animal, conventional part.  Horse?  Beagle?

And then my brain kicked in.  Cheeks.  And not the ass kind, the face kind.  Although I’m sure ass cheeks are quite tasty but named something slightly less descriptive.

I had decided to grab the cheeks (ha!) when I saw them not just because they were strange and therefore blogarific, but also because my husband had daringly ordered them at a restaurant recently and he found them fatty.  I was convinced the chef hadn’t known how to prepare them properly and that I would be able to outdo him.  Game on.

I flipped through recipes and learned that most people seemed to braise their cheeks, or “fry lightly and then stew it slowly with the lid on.”  In red wine.  I also learned from my Twitter friend @madball911 (yes, you can laugh at my using the word “friend” as related to Twitter, as my husband does) that I’d have to make sure to trim off a lot of fat to reduce the jellylike consistency in the result. So I trimmed and snipped fatty bits for ages,

IMG_2863-001browned all sides of the results in a pot with hot oil, and then followed this recipe  from Epicurious:

Braised Beef Cheeks

  4 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

  4 (12-oz) beef cheeks, trimmed of excess fat

  1 medium onion, finely chopped

  1 medium carrot, finely chopped

  1/2 celery rib, finely chopped

  1/2 teaspoon unsweetened cocoa powder

  2 cups red wine (preferably a dry Lambrusco or Chianti)

  1 (28- to 32-oz) can whole tomatoes including juice, chopped (3 cups)

  1 1/2 teaspoons salt

  1 teaspoon black pepper

Read More http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Braised-Beef-Cheeks-107803#ixzz2IlJpiYwl

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Then I pulled the meat into chunks and scraped off anything that looked gelatinous.  I was on ultra-hypersensitive slime alert, determined to win a chef challenge against a masterchef who didn’t know I existed … and who wasn’t anything close to a masterchef.  But I was going to win, GOD AS MY WITNESS.  I didn’t tell Phil he was eating cheeks again, because he would have complained if he knew he was trying them for a second time.

And it worked!

IMG_2868I watched him chew away, ready for him to squeal, “Is this CHEEKS?  Ugh!” but he didn’t.  He cleaned his plate  My plate however…

Results:  Cheeks may be trendy (the restaurant where we had them was on Ossington, in the coolio district) but chewing on a cheek just ain’t hip.  The fatty jelly is inescapable.  I snipped before, I scraped after, and still, I couldn’t finish my piece of meat.  I’m starting to get really pessimistic about non-traditional cuts of meat.  Maybe it’s time to move on to organs.  Rating: 3 Gags.  I won the battle against the chef, but the cheeks beat me by more than a pinch.  Gross.

The strangely scrumptious shepherd’s pie contest

And now, after having spell-checked “shepherd,” for fifteen minutes … Argh.  I’m generally a ridiculously anal speller, but “Sheppard Avenue,” here in Toronto and various spellings of people’s last names threw me off this time …

Thanks cookingnook.com

Thanks cookingnook.com

Anyway.  I’m throwing the coolest contest ever, in my opinion, and it’s my very first one, so if you’re reading this you need to participate.

Thanks deliaonline.com

Thanks deliaonline.com

I thought of it tonight as I was playing, “What’s in my fridge that I can turn into something.”  If you’re the home chef for your family I know you’ve played this too.  Too lazy to shop, too cheap to spend money, you hunt around for edible food items not too far past their due dates that could potentially nourish your family.  I know you know the drill.

Thanks robertsplace.ca

Thanks robertsplace.ca

And what I found in my fridge and freezer was this.  Hotdogs.  Hundreds of condiments.  A half-eaten round of brie.  A bag of carrots (they last forever).  Frozen peas.  A small frozen portion of ground beef.  And in my pantry, a half-empty bag of potatoes that mostly hadn’t grown eyes.  Half an onion.  At first I wondered if I might have to convince my husband that Dr. Oz just revealed that eating pizza more than once a week is actually healthy, but then an evil smile spread across my face.  Of course I had to file away the hotdogs and brie as raw materials for lunch the following day and use the rest to make shepherd’s pie.

Thanks cookingforengineers.com

Thanks cookingforengineers.com

Now if you’re from the UK, you’re probably thinking, “What’s that daft cow on about?  I’d make cottage pie with those bits and bobs of nosh.”  Same thing.  If you’re French, you might be thinking, “Je ne know what elle is parlaying about.  Je would make pate chinois.”  Same thing, but you’re the daft vaches if you ask me, because there’s nothing Chinese about this recipe, as far as I can see.

Merci www.recettes.qc.ca

Merci www.recettes.qc.ca

But no matter what you call it, I threw the ingredients together; a cup of beef stock, meat and veg pre-cooked in a pan, potatoes boiled and mashed, then baked in a casserole with meat/veg on bottom, potatoes on top, and bob was my oncle.  It was fine, but boring, so my mind started wandering.  What if I had access to more ingredients and had gotten creative?  I could have thrown olives in.  Or scallops.  Liver.  I’m half-kidding with these suggestions, but I was inspired by what could have been done with the general “shepherd’s pie,” concept.

Merci patechinois.net

Merci patechinois.net

So here’s the contest.  Create a “dangerous,” version of Shepherd’s Pie.  This can mean whatever you want it to mean.  Submit it by 11:59pm Feb 1 2013 by either:

  1. Posting to your food blog and telling us to visit in the comments below, or
  2. E-mailing your recipe to ann.allchin@gmail.com, hopefully with photos

My family and I will review the entries and prepare the two we think are most interesting with the greatest potential for deliciousness (don’t bother making it kid-friendly, they’re just out of luck on this one).  I’ll post a summary of the submissions and announce the winner in my blog Feb3. 

And the prize will be $30 in culinary specialty items (dangerous sauces and dips) mailed to your home! 

Good luck!!  (And please subscribe so we can be Blog Friends Forever!)

Got me some tail

I just got the best book for Christmas.  I asked my brother-in-law and sister-in-law for a small paperback about cooking the odd bits of an animal, and what they got me was a gorgeous hard cover called “Odd Bits – how to cook the rest of the animal,” by Jennifer McLagan.

Odd bitsI had taken it out of the library before and tried to memorize parts of it, but luckily John and Janet rescued from my own frugality so that now I can actually cook from it.

Considering my blog interests, I should have taken the plunge and nabbed this book a long time ago.  But even if I didn’t cook dangerously and only ate chicken fingers (which sounds like adventurous animal parts, but…) I would still love reading this book.  It blends food history, with culture, with storytelling, with beautiful photography.  Love it.

Anyway, the ironic thing is that two nights before I received the book, I cooked the most dangerous cow part I’ve cooked to date without its help, which isn’t really saying much since the author describes how to prepare brains and udders and testicles and eyelashes.  Okay, maybe not eyelashes.  But after reading through what I could have been doing, I felt comparatively lame looking back on what I had done.  I cooked oxtail.

Thanks http://goates-legacy.blogspot.ca/

Thanks http://goates-legacy.blogspot.ca/

When my blog fingers start to get itchy, I’m always surprised at how easily it is to stumble across a food that’s blog worthy.  I always think to myself, “Well, better get myself down to T&T,” Toronto’s grocery store chain catering to global food interests, which would take at least two hours to do round-trip, and then I walk down my street to a local shop and find something that saves me the trouble.  I think I’ve only been to T&T once, but I probably think about it at least every week.  Toronto is awesome.

Anyway, I waltzed down to Rowe Farms with my stroller and found some nice locally raised oxtail.  Sure, I thought, “ew,” to myself, but I also knew that many cultures enjoy oxtail and so I shouldn’t be a chicken about it.  I tried not to look at doggy tails on the way home and Googled, “very best ox tail recipe,” which is often my strategy for finding good recipes.  Here’s the first blog recipe I came across:

Slow Cooker Caribbean Oxtails

  • 1 bunch scallions, chopped
  • 6 large cloves garlic, chopped
  • 3 inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and chopped
  • 1 teaspoon ground allspice
  • 1 teaspoon sea salt
  • 1/4 teaspoon crushed habanero pepper
  • 4 pounds oxtails
  • 1 large onion, thinly sliced
  • 6 sprigs fresh thyme
  • 2 cups chicken broth or water

Directions:  In a small bowl, mix the scallions, garlic, ginger, allspice, salt and habanero pepper together.  Rub the spice mix all over the oxtails, marinate for at least one hour to overnight.

IMG_2731Place the sliced onion on the bottom of the slow cooker.  Place the thyme sprigs on top, then the oxtails.  Pour the broth over the oxtails, cover and cook on high for 6 hours.  IMG_2733When the oxtails are cooked, remove them from the slow cooker.  Remove the thyme stems from the liquid.  With a blender or food processor, carefully puree the sauce, then return it to the slow cooker, or pour it into a serving dish.  Return the oxtails to the sauce.

IMG_2738Results:  My house smelled delicious!  If you don’t cook but want to pretend like you do, make this to distribute the aroma through your house, order in, and secretly pitch the oxtail.  Everyone will think you’re a star.  If you decide to serve the oxtail though, people might guess that you’re not a culinary god/goddess.  Full disclosure – we weren’t in fine form for food sampling because we all had a touch of the flu on Christmas Eve this year, but I decided to cook it anyway before it went bad.  I tried a bite or two trying to be an impartial-yet-slightly-nauseous food scientist.  The seasoning was amazing, but the consistency of the oxtail wasn’t stellar.  It was a little like second-rate chicken wings – fatty and chewy without much meat.  I tried it again a few days later and my new frame of festive, healthy mind improved the result, but I still wouldn’t crave them.  Rating:  1 Yum

But the good news…  The good news is that I separated the meat and bones from the liquid (which was runnier than the “sauce,” impression the recipe gives) and used it as a rich stock for my famous roasted cream of mushroom soup, which might actually be Epicurious’ famous roasted cream of mushroom soup.  This rich, hearty base melded perfectly with the mushrooms, and I could use less cream due to the improved consistency over chicken stock.  Winner.  Here’s the bonus recipe:  Apologies that I forgot to take pictures.

Oxtail Roasted Cream of Mushroom Soup

Wine Pairing:  My favourite wine website suggests that Sauvignon Blanc pairs perfectly with mushroom soup, so I’ll go with the top-rated Robert Mondavi Fumé Blanc 2009, Napa Valley, selling for $22.95 in Ontario.

Mondavi

Slow cooker double feature – Lamb shoulder and quince, and Pork hock and cabbage

I’ve been loving my crockpot lately – it’s getting cold, and I’m getting lazy.  I just love that you can peel and chop a thing or two, douse it with liquid, throw in a hunk of meat, flick a switch, and come home hours later to a house that smells like your personal chef has been toiling all day long. Jackie is swearing as she reads this because she’s waiting patiently until Christmas to get one, but don’t worry friend, I’m sure Santa will be good to you.  And if somehow you made the naughty list (I’m thinking you’re tracking at about 50/50?), go treat yourself to one on Boxing Day.

So I have a slight problem with describing my first recipe to you, and that is that I kind-of forget what I did.  I picked up quince as my dangerous experimental food early last week and created this recipe soon after, but I flipped through so many recipes and finally improvised so that I’m not sure where things ended up.  Lessons learned – don’t blog late, and don’t cook and drink wine if blogging.  I’ll describe my memory’s best recollection below, but the good news is that I’m convinced if you follow the steps I jokingly described in my first paragraph, almost anything will taste good cooked in a slow cooker.  Observe:

Lamb Shoulder and Quince

  • Lamb shoulder that will fit in your slow cooker
  • 3 quince, cored and quartered (no need to peel) (substitute potatoes if you like)
  • 1 onion, peeled and coarsely chopped
  • 3 carrots, peeled and chopped
  • 3 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
  • 1Tbsp fresh thyme, leaves picked
  • 500mL beef stock
  • 1C day-or-two-old red wine (great use for leftovers)
  • 1 177mL (6oz) can tomato paste
  • Salt and pepper to taste

1.    Peel and chop a thing or two:  Quince, onion, carrots, garlic

2.    Douse with liquid: Add stock, wine and tomato paste. Sprinkle with thyme

3.    Throw in a hunk of meat:  Rinse lamb, season with salt and pepper, throw it in 4.    Flick a switch:  If you have 5 hours, turn it on high.  If you have 8 hours, turn it on low

5.    Delicious house:  Remove meat, separate from fat, serve over gently mashed veg Results:  Shockingly, I think the recipe I’ve described above is exactly what I did.  I think sometimes I cook subconsciously.  The quince tasted a little like unsweet pear – an interesting alternative to root vegetables, yet slightly grainy like a pear, so decide whether or not you can accept that.  This was a hearty, comforting, simple meal to prepare.  If you don’t have quince, pear might work, but if you would prefer to be conventional you can always revert to potatoes.

Rating:  3 Yums.  I would rate this recipe higher, but the quince wasn’t fabulous

 

Pork Hock and Cabbage

I daringly picked up a pork hock (kind of like the shin/calf section, where the piggy foot meets the piggy leg) from the mystery meat section of our discount grocery store.  I used to love when my mom would boil a “picnic pork shoulder,” with cabbage in a pot all day, so to answer this craving, I came up with the following way to slow cook my experimental hock:

  • 2 pork hocks (I only bought one, but we were nearly short of meat to serve two adults and two wee kids)
  • 1 onion, peeled and chopped
  • ½ savoy cabbage, chopped into large hunks
  • 700mL chicken stock

1.    Peel and chop a thing or two:  Cabbage, onion

2.    Douse with liquid:  Chicken stock

3.    Throw in a hunk of meat:  Rinse hocks and add.  Chop to make fit if necessary

4.    Flick a switch:  If you have 5 hours, turn it on high.  If you have 8 hours, turn it on low

5.    Delicious house:  Remove meat, separate from fat, serve over veg

Results:  Like many “odd” animal parts I’ve cooked for this site, although these cuts are cheaper, they take more work to find the meat.  The hock was more fatty than other cuts, but if you’re a dark meat person, this may be for you.  And slow cooked cabbage is the only way to go, although I might have to make up a new tag called “gassy,” based on my recent posts.  Rating:  2 Yums  

Wine Pairing:  Winealign.com suggests that a classic red pairing for pork sausage is from Rhone South, so I’ve chosen to suggest this top-rated one (and no, my recipes above aren’t sausage, but I figure their salt and fat probably make them friendly with similar wines):  Pierre Amadieu Romane Machotte Gigondas 2010 at $23.95 in Ontario.

I can’t seem to get rid of these four number bullets at the bottom of the page, so as a special bonus, here is what I’d like for Christmas:

  1. A foot massage
  2. New weird foods
  3. A method to type beside #2, above

Beer and Biltong

This is my first post where I’ve cheated.  Cheater cheater biltong eater.

I’ve cheated because I didn’t actually cook anything this time, even though this is a cooking blog.  A while ago on Twitter, someone suggested I try biltong as one of my dangerous foods.  I didn’t get around to trying it, but always kept it in the back of my mind, and only got around to ordering some last week.  Apparently you can make it yourself (here’s how to do it), but how would I know if it tasted right if I didn’t try some of the good stuff first?   I may use this logic to order in cool stuff from now on.

If you’re not from South Africa, you might now be wondering what biltong is.  It’s a special form of dried, cured meat,

similar to jerky, although it’s not sweet or spicy, includes coriander, and is usually thicker (and South Africans say that labelling biltong ‘jerky’ is an insult).  Apparently when the Dutch migrated to South Africa in the 1600s they brought the process of drying meat with them, which was handy because it took a while to build up herds of farmed animals, and large game kills could have gone to waste in the hot climate.  South Africans biltong-ize just about anything now – game, fish, shark (yes, I know shark is a fish, but it’s cool enough to mention on its own.  Hey, did you know sharks pee through their skin?  An aside, yes, but one of the few nuggets I recall from my university education so had to share), ostrich, but most commonly, beef.  According to the wise old Internet, biltong is South Africa’s national snack, always present at sports matches, and best accompanied by beer.  You had me at beer.

I ordered some online from Eat Sum More, a South African food store north of Toronto run by SA immigrants who come from a long line of butchers.  I ordered a half-kilo for $28.75 without having a mental image of how much a half-kilo was.  It was a lot.  So I had to figure out what to do with it.  Of course my mind leapt to “baby shower,” which was where I was going yesterday.  I chopped some into bite-sized pieces and brought cheese and crackers to go with it to decrease the weird factor, ready to biltong-ize my Aunt Sharon’s house full of women.

I walked through the door into a world of pink, in honour of my cousin’s new baby Madelyn.  There were gorgeous pink cupcakes, a table full of different sized jars of every pink candy you could imagine, and a table full of carefully chosen lovely luncheon foods.  I pictured myself slapping my dehydrated wrinkly brown meat sticks

into the middle of it all and chickened out.  Imagine a bunch of ladies daintily gnawing their way through some sinewy meat carcass?  Entertaining, yes, but I became concerned I may have become excommunicated from my family.  I sheepishly snuck my biltong back out the door again, un-unveiled.

I’m kind of glad I reclaimed it, though, because the biltong is very tasty, and even though it’s been less than 24 hours since I opened it, my half-kilo supply is quickly dwindling.  And I haven’t even tried it with its suggested ale accompaniment yet!  I keep telling myself that the added protein will quickly turn into muscle and give me a biltong-a-licious bod, but the salt and fat might foil that plan.  Oh well, the taste is worth it.  Rating:  3 Yums.  Definitely worth a try.

Beverage Pairing:  This was an easy one.  Zulu Blonde Export Ale – a South African beer with an awesome name whose brewmaster says on the website, “For sure, it’s a beer that will go well with biltong.”  Seems to be available in the UK, but check the website for other availability.

 

Skeletons make great lamb soup

I am still on the fence about the title of this post.  I considered calling it, “Boners,” because I’ve been reading about how to publicize what I’m doing and I thought maybe that word would be very search engine friendly.  My mom and father-in-law have been reading my posts, though, so in the end I decided to give it a PG rating, although I told you the story about boners because I’m not giving up on the idea that perverts who also like to cook will find it as long as I throw the word in there somewhere.  And now I’ve used the word twice!

 Anyway.  Last week I had a friend over for dinner – she’s the one who ate the alligator bites as the appetizer.  I wanted to make something special for her for the main, so I was browsing and found a Jamie Oliver recipe for barbequed leg of lamb with thai green spices.  I cooked it exactly according to his recipe, and it was delicious and cooked just to a nice pink level of juiciness. 

 Now you can’t just grab a lamb leg at my grocery store, but I thought it would be a good excuse to venture out of my neighborhood to find a real butcher.  I was successful, and will be returning to Vince Gasparro’s Meat Market (like a real butcher I don’t think they have a website), where they were very friendly and knowledgeable.  While I was there at the counter of the real butcher he asked whether or not I wanted the extra lengths of bones he had just sawed off so that the leg would fit in my pan.  Huge apologies to vegetarians reading, because writing that almost disgusts me too.  Without pausing, I answered, “yes please,” even though I have never cooked anything with bones in my life.   This blog has made me cook really differently than I used to, though, because now cooking challenges me to find tasty uses for things I normally would have ignored.  Kind of a good way to be.  I swear the next time I go out for chicken wings I’m going to ask them to take the bones home in a doggy bag.  Dare me?

 So making lamb stock and soup from actual bones is not really dangerous cooking, but I’m including it because in the past, I always thought, “why wouldn’t you just always use purchased chicken or veg stock?  It’s cheap and easy.”  Well you know what?  Making stock from bones is cheaper and easier!  Although it takes more time (but no effort).  And apparently, bone broth is high in easily digestible protein that also assists with calcium and digestive health.  Also, when you have complete control over your stock you can remove the fat layer and make soup without added salt.  Here are the recipes and methods I used, although I made a different soup from the ones listed on the stock site.

 Lamb Stock

  • Put lamb bones in a slow cooker and cover with about 1” of water
  • Add 1tbsp vinegar (I used flavoured rice vinegar)
  • Turn slow cooker on low and let it go for 12-24 hours.  Mine went for about 20
  • Strain stock into bowl through a cheesecloth.  Add back any pieces of meat you can find if you like
  • Put stock into fridge until you need it, or freeze it in containers.  Pick off solidified fat layer when cold

 

 

When I picked mine up cold from the fridge I thought I had wrecked it, because it looked like jello…

…but when I googled, “my stock looks like jello,” I found this website that told me that congratulations, that was a good thing, and that now I had just proven why vegetarians don’t eat jello, because gelatin all jello comes from animals.  It turned to soup when I heated it again and made up this tasty lamb soup recipe based on a number of recipes I browsed.  Mine was heavy on sausage, but amounts are flexible.  Please find the freedom in modifying the combination of ingredients to your own taste.

Protein Power Lamb Soup

 

  • Homemade lamb stock, above (enough to fill a large pot)
  • 2tbsp olive oil
  • Lamb sausage
  • 1 onion, peeled and chopped
  • 1 clove garlic
  • 1 peeled, diced sweet potato
  • A few big handfuls of chopped kale
  • About 300mL white kidney beans (half a large can)
  • 1 healthy tsp thyme
  • Salt and pepper to taste.  I found the homemade stock quite bland at first, but I think I’m just used to the great volumes of salt in commercial brands

 Heat oil in a pan over med-high heat, while re-heating your stock in a large pot over high heat at the same time.  Add onions and garlic to pan, heating until onions are translucent, 2-3mins.  Add sausage until all pink is gone and liquids have been released, about 5-7mins.  When stock is bubbling, drain fat from pan contents and add it to the pot, and then add remaining ingredients.  Bring to a boil before lowering heat to a gentle bubble, putting the lid on, allowing a low simmer for 1-2 hours.  Enjoy!

 Rating:  3 yums, as long as you like lamb