Cheddar and Chive Buttermilk Biscuits

Until recently, I had never been to a Target. I had heard all about it. I had read about it, David Lebovitz misses it throughout The Sweet Life in Paris. I had dreamt about it. Well, I had daydreamed about it - casually strolling through the aisles, neatly placing things in a basket, maybe trying on a few bargain items of clothing before heading to the check out where the cashier looks at me with a look that says,‘there is a woman who has her shit together.’ Then, reality seeps back in and the daydream becomes a daymare - shopping trolley careening through the aisles with one child hanging off the side wailing because I won’t buy her some Polly Pockets while the other child squeals in discomfort at the seat belt she is trying to escape from, random items are being thrown in, there is at least one open box of crackers or cereal administered as a failing bribe for peace, there is no patience for a leisurely fitting and the cashier’s look says,‘Bloody hell, why do I have to get all the nut job mothers who think shopping with their children is acceptable?’

When we got here, to San Diego, I even looked the address of all the Targets up, knowing that one day, my time would come. But, I resisted the urge to cart the girls off there. I insisted that I would not go until there was something we needed. We would not go and aimlessly ogle all the things we didn’t need to buy. 

The place where we were staying, before moving to our more permanent semi-permanent home had next to no cooking equipment. By equipment, I don’t mean blenders, food processors and mixers. By equipment, I mean pots and pans and frustrated at not being able to throw away the immense collection of scratched, bent and burnt teflon in the kitchen, I had a crazy thought. We could bake something, we just had to go somewhere and buy some pans. If that somewhere happened to be Target, well then our first trip there ever had just found its purpose.

Poppy and I decided we would make some biscuits so we googled around for a recipe and found a Fine Cooking recipe that worked out just fine.

I followed the recipe pretty closely, even down to kneading the dough a dozen times. I did exactly twelve and took a photo every three kneads. I don’t think my camera will ever forgive me.

I doubled the recipe, thinking that a single batch’s 9 biscuits might not be enough. Then, I had a little math mishap and we wound up with 36 smallish biscuits instead of 18 big ones. Regardless, they were fluffy and flaky and disappeared very quickly, all 36 of them. And, even though they are full of butter and cheese, we couldn't help but spread a little more butter on the hot ones.

Cheddar and Chive Buttermilk Biscuits from Fine Cooking Magazine

2 cups unbleached all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/2 cup cold butter, cut into 1/2-inch cubes

1/4 cup chives finely chopped

3/4 cup grated old Cheddar

2/3 cup  buttermilk

Preheat oven to 375ºF.

In a large bowl mix flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. 

Rub the butter in until the mixture has small pea sized pieces. 

Mix in the chives and cheddar.

Stir in the milk until the dough just starts to come together.

Turn out onto the clean work surface and knead twelve times, exactly.

Pat the dough into a 1-inch thick square and trim a thin slice off the edges. This will help the biscuits rise. You can use this for a couple of less pretty biscuits.

Cut the dough into nine biscuits and place them on a parchment lined baking sheet.

Bake for about twenty minutes, or golden brown.

Enjoy.

Brussels Sprouts with Garlic, Lemon and Poppy Seeds - Just in Time for Thanksgiving # 2

As far as children’s eating preferences go, I know I am pretty blessed. Poppy had a wee tantrum at Whole Foods the other day because I wouldn’t let her get a salad to eat in the car on the way home. It’s not that I am depriving my child, I was thinking of the brand new, until we got our greasy and sticky little mitts on it, rental car.

It was her who decided that we should have brussels sprouts, one of her favourites, for supper the other day. When asked what she would like to have with her father’s most dreaded vegetable, she replied, ‘Just a glass of milk.’

I chose to provide some protein and starch with the sprouts, purely as a marriage preservation technique, but that is beside the point. It is about the sprouts.

Way back when, we used to do rapini with garlic, lemon and toasted sesame at Lolita’s Lust, which was not a brothel but a restaurant where I used to work. As the girls and I strolled, read: stop-started in three foot intervals while one child or another tried to leap out of the shopping trolley at one shiny package or another while I pleaded still-sitting and inside voices, through the supermarket aisle, I thought that such treatment would suit the much maligned sprout.

Poppy informed me that Hazel, our imaginary sister, didn’t like sesame seeds, she only likes poppy seeds narcissistically enough. So we shifted from thoughts of toasty, nutty sesame to the prettier and stick-in-your-teethier poppy seed. Don’t think I don’t like poppy seeds, I do. I just think they are at their best mixed with lots of sugar and dairy and baked into something gooey and sweet, think rugelach, lemon poppy seed cake with cream cheese frosting and poppy seed danish. You get the gist.

Well, it is lucky that Hazel happened to join us for that trip to the supermarket, she has been using that time to surf lately, because she hit it right on and the poppy seeds are perfect here. 

No longer is there any excuse for stinky, overcooked lumps of mushy grey green brussels sprout. These are delicious. Stephen even said they were good. This, from a man who for the last forty years has sulkily eaten one brussels sprout each Christmas because he was made to.

Shredded Brussels Sprouts with Garlic, Lemon and Poppy Seeds

28 large brussels sprouts shredded, about 5 cups shredded, or in the absence of a food processor, thinly sliced

3 cloves (about 1 tablespoon) garlic minced

2 tablespoons lemon juice

1 1/2 tablespoons olive oil

1/4 cup stock (chicken or vegetable) or water

1 tablespoon poppy seeds

Salt and pepper to taste

In a large pan, over medium high heat, heat the oil.

Add the garlic and sauté for a few seconds. 

Add the sprouts and toss with the oil, then add the stock or water. Continue cooking, tossing every twenty seconds or so, until the sprouts become bright green and start to become tender.

Add the lemon juice and poppy seeds, toss and remove from heat. 

Season with salt and pepper.

Enjoy.

That Can Goes Where?

As you may or may not know, I spent about twelve years spending very little time in North America. So, I don’t know if I missed the Beer Can Chicken fad or whether it is something saved for tailgate parties or frat parties or other stereotypically ‘male-bonding’ type events. I know that ever since the first time I heard of it, I have been curious and it was, sooner or later, going to make its way to our barbecue (or the barbecue of the vacation apartment complex).

Stephen was not nearly as excited as I expected he would be. He was curious about impaling a chicken on a beer can and wondered whether the beer would be wasted or whether he could drink it afterwards. He tried and doesn’t recommend it but has decided the beer wasn’t entirely wasted and that the chicken was very delicious, crispy skinned and moist.

He, of course, deserves all the credit as he put the chickens on the barbecue and he stood nearby during the cooking process. And, to be fair, he and Matt, his trusty deckhand, did rescue one of the birds from sure incineration with their bare hands. This was before we, Janine, Stephen’s trusty chef, and I, decided it was probably going to be necessary to line the grill with some foil lest we waste more beer in dousing the flames.

This all felt very Friday Night Lights, football party-esque. The local varsity team was playing at home and the town was a flutter of excitement and spirit. In the midst of all that energy, a big barbecue just seemed like a good thing.

There are about a gazillion recipes online for this and I read about half of them. I think this grew from what seemed like the best/most commonly used/most practical of them all. 

The rub was really simple and I didn’t measure any of it exactly. I used a mixture of grainy mustard, black pepper, salt, dried coriander, fresh thyme and oregano and a little bit of olive oil. I smeared it all over the two chickens, inside and out and left them to marinade for about six hours in the fridge.

The next hardest part was emptying the two beer cans to half full. Luckily, Stephen and Matt got back from cycling home from work and set about the onerous task. I didn’t get fancy for this first attempt and used Heineken. I think that this is where Beer Can Chicken could get a bit more exciting but more about that later.

That accomplished, everyone crowded around while I made Stephen stick the half empty beer cans in the chickens' rear ends. He was actually very surprised by how easily the cans fit. 

I had preheated the barbecue and decided that keeping it cooking at chicken roasting temperature, 325ºF, seemed like a pretty sensible thing to do. That is easier said than done but, aside from a couple, ‘Is that chicken on fire again?,’ moments, it stayed spot on.

I thought it would be trickier to remove a chicken sitting atop a bubbling and steaming can of beer from the barbecue but with something as simple as a metal spatula and a carving fork it was a breeze. I would recommend having a place to go and a clear route there before getting on your way.

I carved these around the can, removing the can when it was easily accessible instead or trying to wrestle it and its boiling contents out of the chicken’s sizzling hot bottom. This worked better than I expected and the can can (it was going to happen sooner or later) easily be removed with a dry towel.

I used very simple flavours with this but I can’t help but thinking how fun it could be. You could do a Japanese inspired marinade and use Sapporo or a citrusy marinade and use Hoegarden or any of your favourite microbrews and something that would go really nicely. Just empty out any beer can and half fill it with whatever beer you fancy.

I will warn you that the chicken did not taste of beer but it was definitely a whole heck of a lot more moist than any barbecued chicken I have ever had and you could smell it and that, I think, definitely has its influence.

Beer Can Chicken

1 - 4 1/2 pound chicken

Grainy mustard

Black pepper

Salt

Dried coriander

Fresh thyme

Fresh oregano 

Olive oil

(Or the marinade or rub of your choice)

1 can of beer half full

Mix some mustard, pepper, salt, coriander, thyme and oregano with a couple tablespoons of olive oil and rub all over, inside and out, your chicken. Let the chicken marinade in the fridge for 4-6 hours.

Preheat the barbecue to about 325ºF, if you have a thermometer, or about medium heat.

Slide the can of beer into your chicken’s behind.

Line the grill with some foil and turn the edges of the foil up to trap the juices and prevent flare ups.

Carefully your chicken on the beer can onto the barbecue.

Close the lid and cook, checking occasionally but not too often, for about one and a half hours, or until the juices from the thickest part of the leg are running clear.

Remove from the grill with metal spatula under the can and a carving fork to steady the bird onto a carving plate or, in our case, roasting tin.

Carefully carve the chicken, upright, and remove the can with a dry towel when you can.  The beer is HOT!

Enjoy.

Pasta della California

Yep, I am a total geek. Call me corny, but I couldn’t resist.  And, to be fair, the recipe title flashed in my head while ogling some local organic avocados at the market. It had to be done.

This comes, originally, from the book Veganomicon by Isa Chandra Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero. I know, my cookbook collection is nothing if not eclectic. It is a great book and I have discovered some tasty things in there.

So, I don’t remember the original recipe, I remember the name and I remember a quick scan. I started reconstructing and we have basically wound up with a cross between a chunky guacamole pasta and the Kiwi Café’s BLAT but chopped up with pasta instead of in a panini. In fact, we turned Poppy's stroppy suppertime refusal into acceptance by selling it as Guacamole Pasta.

Being back in the carnivore’s company, I decided some crispy bacon would be very tasty topping this all off, and easy to remove for the less meat inclined. This would have a great kick if you added some hot chili, which I think the original called for but the four year old no longer tolerates. I used a healthy handful of chopped cilantro/fresh coriander because it just seemed right. I like a lot of lime and quite a bit of salt with avocado, so I wouldn’t be disinclined to serve this with a lime wedge on top.

If you were cooking this in a normal kitchen, ie. one equipped with a pot large enough to cook a pound of linguine, I would recommend a full pound. If, like me, you are living in a holiday flat where the pots are disturbingly small, you may have to use a little less. You may also have to cook everything that would require a frying pan in the wok because it is in the least terrifying state.

Pasta della California adapted from Veganomicon by Isa Chandra Moskowitz and Terry Hope Romero

8 slices bacon cooked until crisp (optional)

1 avocado

5 oz (142 grams) grape or cherry tomatoes, quartered

Juice of 1 lime

2 cloves garlic minced

1/2 red pepper finely diced

Healthy handful cilantro/fresh coriander

2/3 pound linguine

2 tablespoons olive oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Remove the stone and the skin from the avocado and chop it into 1/2-inch pieces.

Boil the water for the pasta. Add the pasta. Cook to al dente and drain. Do not cool.

As the pasta cooks, heat the olive oil in a large pan, or wok, and add the garlic. Cook for a minute, don’t let the garlic burn. Add the tomatoes. Cook for a few seconds and add the red pepper and the lime juice. Toss the cooked, still hot, pasta into the pan with the tomatoes. Add the avocado, fresh coriander and salt and pepper. Toss, gently, until combined.

Put it in a big bowl and top it with some crispy crumbles of bacon, if you fancy.