FOOD ON THE FOOD

A Cocktail an Hour Until Midnight

Only two more hours until the Eat Local Challenge, or as Husband has nicknamed it, the Eat Local Horror Challenge of Death. 

Our dinner tonight consisted of takeout pizza, French fries, and ice cream.  It seemed like the responsible thing to do.  If we had been smart, we would have ordered only things that are impossible to make out of local ingredients, like Maker’s Mark.  And grapefruit.  Maybe a big bowl of rice.  But, alas, we are not smart.  I couldn’t even get organized about being disorganized.  At least we ordered in from New Zealand.

So, Eat Local Challenge, it’s just you and me.  And by me, I mean me and my unsuspecting family.  And by you, I mean you and all of the other thousands of people who are participating.  It’s still personal.

Bring it!

My First Tomato

I picked the first tomato from my own plants today, and it was a beauty (in its own ugly way).  I admit, I have no idea when you’re supposed to pick tomatoes.  This one turned red about a week ago, or, rather, a strange shade of pink (it’s a Caspian pink, after all).  Still, I kept arguing with myself.  Maybe it would get redder?  Would another day make it even more delicious?  Are the woodland creatures closing in?  How high can a woodchuck jump, anyway?

But, nothing ends my internal debates quite so abruptly as a faint twinge of hunger.  So, off it came.  I sliced it up with fresh mozzarella and ribbons of local basil and drizzled it with the usual non-local stuff (olive oil, balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper).  There really wasn’t any need to reinvent the wheel. 

Is there anything better than this?

Well, maybe the corn.  Oh Lordy…the corn.  Drumlin Farm, I hereby declare your cobs to be worth every worm.

Local Meat Update

I know everyone’s been losing sleep over my quest for local meat, even though, apparently, you can’t walk five paces in Cambridge without tripping over the herds.  So, a special shout-out to Lisa, pyewacket, and eclectician for the info and/or large meat offerings.  Here’s the current status of my freezer:

2 lbs. ground beef from Smith’s Farmstead in Winchendon, MA (via the Waltham Farmer’s Market, Saturdays, 9:30 am to 2:30 pm).  Smith's is also a good source for local cheese and eggs.

2 lbs. kebab beef from Codman Community Farm in Lincoln, MA.

1 lb. hot Italian sausage and 1 lb. breakfast sausage from Blood Farm in Groton, MA (Codman stocks it).

Noticeably missing from the list: bacon, chicken, pork not extruded into sausage form.  It’s a work in progress.   

By the way, if you’re in the area, Codman Farm is a really nice place to take kids.  It has beautiful old farm structures, an amazing garden, and seemingly happy and healthy animals, complete with wandering flocks of fowl.  Admission is $1.  In addition to meat, they also sell bones and eggs.  A few photos:

Needless to say, I’ll be back.

Tuna on Toast

Don’t mind me.  I’m just trying to sneak in a few more recipes with deliciously non-local ingredients before the weekend.  By the way, thanks for all of your kind words regarding my last post.  You guys are swell. 

Anyway, we’ve been getting tons of green peppers in our farmshare.  But, as much as I love sausages and peppers, one can’t live on DePasquale sausages alone.  Actually, sure you can, but the curly, pink tail you develop is hard to conceal in today’s low-rise fashions.  Fins are much more practical, not to mention stylish, in the summertime. 

So, let’s talk tuna.  Imported solid white tuna in olive oil.  This recipe is a recreation of something Husband and I had in Spain some years ago.  We stopped in for a bite at the bar at Casa Chema in Seville and, by god, was that some good eatin’.  Everything they put in front of us was good, but what has been haunting me ever since was this: onions, peppers, and tuna (or was it bonito?) in olive oil.  Served cold (or, perhaps, lukewarm).  That’s it.  Sounds gross and weird, huh?  But, it was stab-you-in-the-heart-with-a-fork delicious.

It took me a few tries to get it right since I was a little fuzzy on the particulars.  In the end, long, slow cooking did the trick.  For the past few weeks, I’ve been slathering the stuff bruschetta-style on baguette slices, or when those run out (as they always do), on the toasted heels of sandwich bread, which then leads me somehow to the middle of the loaf, and before you know it, it’s just me and a spoon staring at an empty dish. 

Anyway, my apologies to Chema for bastardizing his recipe.  We’ll meet again, amigo mio, and when we do, I sure hope you fight like a girl.

 

Tuna on Toast

¼ cup Spanish extra-virgin olive oil
2 yellow onions, sliced thinly
2 medium green bell peppers (or one green, one red), seeded, sliced thinly
2 6-oz. cans solid white tuna (or bonito) packed in olive oil, drained
Hearty pinch of kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper

Heat the oil in a large frying pan over medium heat.  Add the onion and bell pepper.  Toss with salt and pepper, and cover, reducing heat to low.  Cook 45 minutes to 1 hour, stirring occasionally without letting the vegetables brown.  Add the tuna to the pan, breaking it up with a wooden spoon as you mix.  Sauté for one more minute.  Let cool and then refrigerate.  Serve chilled on bread or toast.

Cookbook Friday: Remembrance

Albert Victor Donroe
1913 -- 2007

Rest in peace, Poppi. 

(And watch out for that squirrel.)

Love,
Tangerine

Next Recipe: Wands

     (Previous Recipe: Icebox Cake)

It’s What’s Not For Dinner

I love a word that has two definitions that are the polar opposite of each other.  Like smite:

After attempting to smite (read: defeat or conquer with a firm blow) an unsuspecting cow, I was smitten (read: be strongly attracted to something) by the texture and juiciness of the resulting meat.

Now, that’s a word that embraces its contradictions.  It’s the PMS of the Oxford American Dictionary. 

Actually, though, I didn’t smite the cow.  I wanted to, but I just kept on walking by the pasture with my CSA produce, right past the empty meat case at Drumlin.  When I inquired as to when we might be expecting some (ahem) meat in the meat case, the Mass Audubon woman seemed a bit taken aback.  Is this not a farm?

Anyway, I’m testy because it’s only a week before the Eat Local Challenge and I still have no local meat in my freezer.  I don’t even have a (convenient) source.  And you know how gung-ho I was in the spring about being prepared for this wacky experiment and, yet, I have no dishes portioned in the freezer for my scary low-blood-sugar moments.  Which means you might want to keep your distance next month, just in case.  Please don’t take anything I might say personally.

Um...

...whoever just Googled "cannibal roasting pan," you're really freaking me out.

Saucy Tomatoes

The first heirloom tomato sauce of the season, and it’s mine, all mine.

Fine, it can be yours, too, but this one’s not Italian.  It’s Mexican.  With shrimp.  That’s odd -- why would there be seafood in a Mexican dish?  Oh yeah, because of all that coastline.  Bring on the fish, and while you’re at it, pass me some of that garlicky lobster from the Cueva del Pescador in Akumal (I gave the locals quite a laugh a few years back by referring to the restaurant as the Cuerva del Pescador, loosely translated to “Curvaceous Fisherman.”).

First, a tomato update.  I’m working from my farmshare tomatoes since mine are all still green.  Well, a couple of them have started blushing at the prospect of the sauces, and salsas, and soups, and salads they’re about to become.  Maybe, if I keep whispering naughty things to them, they’ll embarrass faster…

My engineer husband has finally intervened on my tomatoes’ behalf.  Since the plants have grown up and over any cage or stake I’ve thrown at them, I’ve done what any self-respecting lazy person would do and said, fine, have it your way.  Slump over onto the ground for all I care.  But, Husband is more tenderhearted than I, and after a pep talk and some kitchen twine (or something), he has since given them the support and encouragement they need to reach for the sky.  You could say our parenting styles differ. 

Now, he just has to stand up there and hold them up like that for a few more weeks, maybe a month.  In the meantime, here’s a relatively quick sauce for shrimp that I serve over rice as often as I can.

 

Veracruz Tomato Sauce with Shrimp

It's sort of like a puttanesca sauce, minus the puta.

4-5 large ripe tomatoes (the uglier, the better)
¼ cup olive oil
¼ cup onion, finely chopped
1½ Tbsp. garlic, finely chopped
½ tsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1 small bay leaf
6 green olives, pitted, and quartered lengthwise
1 Tbsp. raisins, chopped
2 tsp. capers
1 tsp. fresh marjoram, chopped
3/4 lb. shrimp, peeled and deveined
1 Tbsp. parsley, chopped
Rice

Set rice to cook in a rice cooker.  It’s your best friend.

Peel tomatoes by blanching them in boiling water for 20 seconds, then submerging them in ice water.  Cut out the core and the skins should peel right off.  Remove the seeds and chop the tomatoes finely.

Heat 2 Tbsp. of the oil in a large, heavy skillet over medium-high heat.  Sauté onion until translucent, about 3 minutes.  Add garlic and cook for one minute more without browning.  Stir in tomatoes, sugar, ½ tsp. of the salt, and bay leaf, and bring to a simmer.  Reduce heat to low and simmer uncovered, stirring occasionally, until most of the liquid has evaporated, about 20 minutes.  Discard bay leaf.  Add olives, raisins, capers, and marjoram to sauce.  Cook 1 minute more, stirring.

In a medium skillet, heat remaining 2 Tbsp. of oil over medium-high heat.  Toss shrimp with remaining garlic and salt, and add to the hot pan.  Sauté until shrimp are pink and coiled, about 4 minutes.  Add shrimp and parsley to the sauce, and stir.  Serve over rice.

Source: Adapted from Gourmet.

Ask the Pseudo-Chef: Waste Not, Want Not?

So, is it okay to throw stuff out that you've made when you're experimenting (e.g., vegetable pancakes)?  Wasting edible food is bad, isn't it? –Sunny, Canada

Pseudo-Chef: Are you my conscience?  If so, you and I both know that the carrot soup I made over the weekend sucked.  And not just a little, either.  If I didn’t toss it, then Husband surely would have catapulted it out the window into the yard, blender and all, to the horror of our elderly neighbor.

In a situation like this, where the food most likely isn’t deadly even though it may taste like it is, I rarely feel the need to torture myself.  Instead, I turn to the family pets.  If they won’t eat it, then I think about all of the people in the neighborhood that maybe I could live without.  Like the lady who yells for her cat, Midnight, at all hours of the day and night.  It’s a CAT, for crying out loud.  Named Midnight.  She’s probably turning tricks as we speak and you’re really cramping her style.  Or the people who keep their leaf blower pointed up into the trees all summer long “just in case.”  Once they accept my neighborly offering, I can’t help it if they then decide to throw it away.  Those bastards.

However, if you like your pets and you like your neighbors, all I can say is that composting really seems to take the sting out of throwing stuff away.  I’m not sure if it’s supposed to work that way, but thank goodness it does. 

Anyone want to help out Sunny with a good vegetable pancake recipe?  Because the Pseudo-Chef’s been striking out, lately.

Cookbook Friday: Icebox Cake

                        

Here, Freddie Donroe (my dad) is showing off for his father, Albert Donroe, and grandmother, Margarita Donarumo, sometime in the early 1950s.  Did I mention my dad’s apparently-very-long bratty phase?  It was known to bring out the best in people.  For example…

Freddie and family were at his Aunt Ann’s house.  A music-lover from an early age, Freddie was rifling through her collection of 78 records.  He was undoubtedly warned to be careful with them since the older shellac records were quite fragile compared to the newer vinyl ones. 

As the story goes, Freddie wanted to bring some of them home.  Ann said no.  Freddie launched into a huge tantrum.  It went on forever.  Finally, Ann lost her temper, grabbed a record, and hit him over the head with it.  She wisely chose one of the durable vinyls.  Still, it shattered. 

Ann was more surprised than Freddie.  “It said it was unbreakable,” she remarked. 

“Yes,” replied Freddie’s Uncle Gerry.  “Under normal circumstances.”

***

All right, food snobs, brace yourselves.  Jell-O pudding is about to make an appearance.  There are only a couple of distinctly non-Italian desserts that Nonni makes, and icebox cake is one of them.  Why?  Because kids love it, and the author of this blog was no exception.

Icebox Cake

To lazy to make Italian cream pie?  Have I got a recipe for you.

2 packages chocolate instant pudding
2 packages vanilla instant pudding
5½ cups milk (or whatever the instructions on the box call for)
1 box graham crackers
4 bananas

In a large bowl, mix together 2¾ cups milk and the contents of two packages of chocolate pudding according to the instructions on the package (e.g., add mix to milk and whisk for two minutes). 

In a 9”x13” pan, arrange graham crackers on the bottom, breaking into smaller pieces to fit, if necessary.  Pour half of the chocolate pudding on top and spread evenly.  Slice two bananas and arrange in a single layer on top of that.  Add the remaining chocolate pudding.  Set another layer of graham crackers on top. 

Wash out the bowl and mix together the remaining 2¾ cups milk with the two packs of vanilla pudding.  Spread half of it over the graham crackers.  Slice two more bananas and arrange in a single layer.  Add the rest of the vanilla pudding.  In a blender or food processor, pulse 5 graham crackers until pulverized.  Sprinkle crumbs over top of cake.  Cover and chill in the refrigerator (i.e., icebox) for 24 hours before serving.

Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe
Hamden, Connecticut
1918 -

Next: Remembrance

     (Previously: Baseball Cards)

No Drum Roll Today

A fond farewell to the only roach who gets free range in my kitchen.  The Regattabar won't be the same without you.

Pints v. Half-Pints

I got an e-mail last week from someone offering to send me free samples of ice cream.  My first thought was: SCORE!!!  I knew this blogging thing would pay off, eventually.  Then, I started to feel conflicted about whether I would be compromising the unwavering journalistic integrity of this blog.  I haven’t finalized my policy for reviewing stuff (or started it, even, since no one ever asks for my opinion), but rest assured that when I do, I will ALWAYS find a loophole for ice cream. 

So, let’s talk about the free samples that J.P. Licks sent me.  Peach, mint, honeydew sorbet, and lemon sorbet are among their seasonal flavors this summer.  To ensure a modicum of objectivity, I enlisted my two small children because they can’t be swayed by the almighty dollar.  Everything’s free to them.  Here’s what they thought:

The Preschooler: Wasn’t a fan of the honeydew.  Thought the peach was okay.  Really, really liked the mint despite the disappointing discovery that the dark flecks were not bits of chocolate, but rather mint leaf.  Once that sunk in, though, he decided his new favorite was the lemon sorbet.  And that it was, in fact, “the best ice cream he ever had.”  He has since eaten the entire pint single-handedly, despite deciding halfway through that he should pick out the pieces of lemon zest one by one.  (With the lemon sorbet now gone, he has started requesting lemon slices in his morning juice.  If that doesn’t earn a spanking, I don’t know what does.)  Winner: Lemon Sorbet.  Runner-Up: Mint.

The Toddler: Since the preschooler wouldn’t share the lemon sorbet and someone else wouldn’t share the mint (???), the toddler had his choices narrowed for him.  It may not seem fair, in this very scientific experiment I’ve set up, but trust me, it is.  I didn’t have high hopes for either the peach or the honeydew passing muster because they taste like fruit and, as we all know, the toddler doesn’t eat fruit.  Nevertheless, a clear favorite emerged.  Winner: Peach. 

Based on these results, it would seem that there is a two-way tie.  Except that Husband and I totally disagreed with their conclusions, so we had to muscle them out of the way to set the record straight.  Here’s what the adults had to say:

Me: I thought the honeydew sorbet was a revelation.  It captured the ever-elusive, perfectly ripe honeydew flavor (not sickeningly sweet, yet not watery and cucumber-like, if you know what I mean).  I liked it.  However, it was the fresh mint that stole the show.  I simply could not stop eating it, although the pesto-like flecks of herb left in your teeth are less than attractive.  The lemon sorbet didn’t bowl me over, but far be it for me to argue with a 4-year old about such matters.  Plus, it kept him out of my mint ice cream.  As for the peach, it had an amazing texture, but I thought the beautiful flavor was too subtle.  It would be perfect paired with, say, peaches. Winner: Mint.  Runner-Up: Honeydew Sorbet.

Husband: I’ll cut to the chase.  He’s really not a sorbet kind of guy.  Winner: Mint.  Runner-Up: Peach.

To make better sense out of the results, I devised a complicated scoring system by which you apply points to the winning flavors based on the age of the person who picked them (because, let’s face it, what do kids know?).  Like I said, I’m anything if not fair.  Here were the results:

1.    Mint (winner)
2.    Peach
3.    Honeydew
4.    Lemon (sorry, kid)

So, make haste to J.P. Licks before the summer is out.  And bring (mint-flavored) floss.

Cookbook Friday: Baseball Cards

       

Here’s a photo of my dad, Freddie Donroe, being consoled by his mom, Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe.  I don’t know what he was upset about, but I’m sure it was very, very important.  And speaking of tears, here’s a story written by my dad about collecting baseballs cards in the 1950’s and 60’s:

As a young baseball fan, my prized possession was not my bike, my Yankee-Doodle rocket launcher, or even my dog.  It was my baseball card collection. 

From 1957 through 1963, I was an avid collector of those cardboard stock photos of our diamond heroes: Mickey Mantle, Yogi Berra, Whitey Ford.  There was no greater joy than to go to the corner store after school with my friends and buy a pack of baseball cards.  And if one happened to have a whole quarter to spend, one could buy five packs of cards.  That meant 25 cards and five slabs of the most delicious stale, dried-out gum on the planet.

I became a master at “pitching cards,” that simple game of hurling cards against the wall, with the card nearer to the wall the winner.  If you won, you took your opponent’s card.  I managed to win every one of my cousin Joe Donroe’s Yankee cards one year that way.  Today, as an older and wiser man, I regret the mercenary way I treated my cousin.  But, at the time, he knew what he was getting into.

In 1958, I managed for the first and only time to collect the entire Topps series of cards.  Every single player card, team card, specialty card, and even index cards.  I kept the entire set in an old Thom McCann shoebox in my closet.  I kept them for over a decade.  Safe from thieves, weather, and other mishap, they were not safe from the one predator I could not foresee: a spring-cleaning mom. 

How could she (or any of us) have known the way the sports memorabilia market would explode in the 1980’s and 90’s?  So much for my daughter’s college tuition!

Freddie Donroe
Hamden, Connecticut
1948 -

Blogger’s note: Coincidentally, Joe Donroe’s son ended up attending the same university as me.  He has since become a doctor, while I am, well…a blogger.  Looks like Dad's cousin Joe got the last laugh, after all.

Next Recipe: Icebox Cake

     (Previously: Stuffed Mushrooms)

Baptismal Beef

Tonight, the preschooler had his first hamburger the way nature intended.  Not broken up into little pieces in their own little quadrant of the plate, but on a bun.  With ketchup.  A mother has never been more proud.  It means his American citizenship has been cemented, not unlike one’s intestinal walls upon encountering such a gigantic wad of beef.  No matter.  You get used to it.

FYI: Cookbook Friday will be more like Cookbook Sunday this week.  I’m pooped.

Help Send Vegetables to College

A car at the farm the other day had the following bumper sticker:

A rind is a terrible thing to waste: COMPOST

I suppose now would be a good time to thank Neighbor Husband for building a snazzy three-compartment compost bin on the backyard cliff we share. 

Needless to say, there was very little in the way of composting going on at our house before construction was completed a few months ago (unless you count this).  Now, there is much, much more.

I’m feeling uncomfortably green these days.  What’s next?  A hybrid?

A Delightful Sandwich

At the risk of sounding mundane, I had the most delicious sandwich today.  Chicken salad in cilantro pesto on toasted bread with local lettuce and fat slices of Brandywine tomato.  It was seriously good.

We got some nice cilantro from our farmshare, and since I knew from experience that it wilts at a ridiculous rate, I knew I had to get it into circulation right away.  Pesto sounded like a good idea.  Plus, it would hold for a few days in that oily environment so I could figure out what I wanted to do with it. 

Initially, I was thinking I’d thin it out with olive oil and drizzle it over haddock.  But, then I went a little crazy with the pumpkin seeds and it ended up nuttier than I expected.  Suddenly, I wasn’t seeing fish.  Chicken seemed more like it.  I found some scraps in the freezer, fried them up (I was out of charcoal), and shredded them with a knife and fork.  In went about half of the pesto and a few tablespoons of mayonnaise.  Just right.

If I had been organized, this sandwich could have qualified as 100% local.  But, alas, I was not.  The oil was from Spain, and the chicken and the pumpkin seeds were from…who the hell knows.  The store?  It’s not September, yet.

 

Cilantro Pesto

Though this worked great for chicken salad, I might reduce the pumpkin seeds by half for other things.

1 bunch cilantro (maybe two loose cups), leaves picked off, washed, and dried
½ cup pumpkin seeds
2 Tbsp. white onion, roughly chopped
1 tsp. cubanelle pepper, roughly chopped (I thought what I had was a hot pepper, but turns out it wasn’t)
¼-½ cup Spanish olive oil
Salt and pepper

Pulse the first four ingredients in the food processor.  With the processor running, add the oil in a slow stream.  Keep pouring until it’s the way you like it.  Season generously with salt and pepper.

Yummy and Not Bad

I might have mentioned at one time or another that my toddler son is a bit of a picky eater.  He prefers the contents of his sandbox to the contents of our refrigerator. 

Well, yesterday, after about a year and a half of coaxing, he ate his first blueberry.  He immediately ate 55 more.  But, in between his first and second blueberry, he shot me this glance as if to say: “Why have you been withholding deliciousness from me all this time?  Their positioning on the plate seemed to indicate they were on par with horrible peas and disgusting chicken when, in fact, they are unlike any Earth fruit I have sampled heretofore.”

This window of opportunity is rapidly closing.  I’m off to the farmstand to get more fruit.  I’ll be the one grabbing the last pint of raspberries out of an old lady’s hands and shrieking to no one in particular: “Are the peaches ready, yet?  WHERE ARE THE PEACHES???”

Cookbook Friday: Stuffed Mushrooms

Let’s talk about mushrooms!

I have a love/hate relationship with mushrooms.  I love to eat them, but sometimes they make me vomit.  Same with wine (why, God, why?) and, in an unexpected twist this week, sometimes summer squash.  But, like I said, I LOVE mushrooms and will choose to eat them based on how convenient it might be at that moment to vomit spontaneously.

What’s that you say?  It’s never convenient to vomit?  Well, you would be right, sir, but have you ever tasted mushrooms?  They’re delicious.  This is the dilemma of my life.

On the other hand, my dad, Freddie Donroe, has a hate/hate relationship with mushrooms.  Unlike all of the other things my dad claims to hate when he really just doesn’t realize he likes them, my dad really does hate mushrooms.  Here’s why.

When my dad was much, much younger, his father, Albert Donroe (my Poppi), used to take him to forage for mushrooms.  I assume, since Poppi’s family was from Naples, that this was in his blood, or, at the very least, he had some tutelage.  Poppi had a special place they always went, some woods near a quarry in Hamden, Connecticut (maybe East Rock, maybe Sleeping Giant).  There, according to my dad, Poppi would go over every rotting stump he could find and gather mushrooms of every shape and size.  To hear my dad tell the story, Poppi never turned one down, food poisoning be damned. 

After about 45 minutes, and what I can only imagine was my dad’s constant whining, they returned home so Poppi could cook them.  And this is where things got really ugly.  Sometimes, he cooked them in a sauce for spaghetti, but usually they were just sautéed.  The smell was so bad, my dad remembers, he’d completely lose his appetite.  I believe “hellacious” was the word he used to describe it.  Nobody else in the house would touch the stuff, so Poppi just cooked them for himself.  Meanwhile, my dad would make himself scarce for as long as the smell lingered.  To this day, he can’t stomach them.

Now, the question I have is, was Poppi really that bad of a cook?  Perhaps, not a very discriminating hunter/gatherer?  Or were they, in fact, delicious, but my dad just hates mushrooms?  Anyone else ever taste them?  Because I’m willing to bet I would have been smacking my lips, even as they were wheeling me to the ER.  (Poppi, by the way, is a whopping 93.)

The following recipe is Nonni’s Marchigiano recipe for stuffed mushrooms.  They have never made me vomit. 

 

Stuffed Mushrooms

The secret to these is long, slow cooking in a cool oven.  Don’t rush them.

10 oz. package button mushrooms
3 Tbsp. olive oil
1 Tbsp. garlic, minced
¼ cup fresh bread crumbs
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper

Preheat oven to 300°F.  To the bottom of an 8”x8” pan, add 1 Tbsp. of the oil. 

Using a damp towel, wipe dirt off of mushrooms.  Gently, pull out the stems and chop them finely.  In a medium bowl, combine chopped stems with garlic, bread crumbs, cheese, salt, and pepper.  Working over the bowl, mound stuffing into hollowed out mushrooms.  Set in oiled pan.  Drizzle with remaining 2 Tbsp. of oil.  Bake uncovered for 1 hour or longer (Nonni cooks the hell out of them and that’s how I like them). 

Dora [Barbaresi] Donroe
Hamden, Connecticut
1918 -

 

Next: Baseball Cards

     (Previously: Squirrel Surprise)

Ask the Pseudo-Chef: Feeding Kids

Dear Pseudo-Chef:

Any ideas for fast and healthy, kid-friendly meals?  I'm lucky, my son is a great eater, but we're still needing fast and healthy. –Susanna, MA

According to the Pseudo-Chef, the Pseudo-Chef is the last person to be giving advice on such matters.  After all, do you know what her toddler had for dinner last night? 

Ketchup.  Yup, ketchup and…no, just ketchup.  Is that what you had in mind?  What about this?

For an entire week last week, he ate fully 0% of his dinner.  That’s right, nothing.  Not one goddamned thing, unless a molecule of food happened to splatter into his mouth after his plate soared across the room.  The Pseudo-Chef is starting to lose it.  Why am I talking in the third person?

The problem is the definition of kid-friendly.  What appeals to one kid will surely look like a steaming plate of vomit to another.  About this time last year, the toddler, who was barely toddling, was into black beans.  And I mean really into them.  So, I made a bean salad with tomatoes and fresh corn (like this one, but with lime juice instead of lemon juice).  It was quite the sideshow to watch him scarf it down by the handful in such ridiculous quantities.  The preschooler just poked at it. 

Meanwhile, you could prepare cauliflower like this or cook up bow-tie pasta with chicken and broccoli in garlicky olive oil with Parmesan cheese (something Husband likes to whip up with precooked chicken from the store), and the preschooler will be all over it, no questions asked.  The toddler, on the other hand, will punish you for days for your audacity. 

All this to say, I dunno.  Stir-fries? 

Below is a stir-fry I make with green beans and pork.  I buy a whole pork tenderloin, cut it into thirds, freeze them, and then defrost as necessary.  I set the maximum amount of rice to cook in the rice cooker, parboil the green beans for two minutes, and then stir-fry.  The next day, I take the leftover rice and make fried rice with peas, shrimp, and mung bean sprouts (though you could totally lose the shrimp to save time). 

The preschooler will happily eat all of these things.  The toddler might possibly eat the pork.  Sorry, that’s the best I can offer.

Stir-Fried Pork and Green Beans

3 Tbsp. canola oil
8 garlic cloves, peeled, smashed (just whack them with something)
¾ lb. pork tenderloin, cut into pieces 1½ inches long, ¾ inches wide, and ¼ inch thick (or however it comes out)
3 Tbsp. fish sauce
1½ Tbsp. mushroom soy sauce*
1½ Tbsp. sugar
1 lb. green beans, cut into 1½-inch pieces
¼ tsp. freshly ground pepper

Get your rice cooking.

In a large pot of boiling water, blanch green beans for a few minutes.  Drain and shock beans in a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking and preserve their bright green color.  Set aside.

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat.  Add garlic and sauté a minute until golden brown.  Stir in the pork.  Add the fish sauce, soy sauce, and sugar, and cook for 2 to 3 minutes.  Add the green beans and stir-fry a few minutes more, until the pork is cooked through.  Mix in the pepper, remove from heat, and serve over rice.  Or, alternatively, separate all the individual components so nothing is touching.

*Mushroom soy sauce is a thicker, richer variation of soy sauce made with mushrooms.  Obviously.  You can substitute regular soy sauce, but it will suck.  Just kidding.  It’ll be totally fine.  It’s a stir-fry, for crying out loud.

Source: Adapted from The Elephant Walk Cookbook by Longteine de Monteiro and Katherine Neustadt.

Shrimp Fried Rice

2 Tbsp. canola oil
2 eggs, lightly beaten
2 cups whole scallions, minced
1 Tbsp. fresh ginger, minced
¾ lb. raw shrimp, peeled and deveined (EZ-peel works), sliced in half the long way (I keep some in the freezer for this purpose)
1½ cups frozen peas
5 cups cooked rice, chilled, broken up with a fork
2 cups mung bean sprouts

Sauce
2 Tbsp. chicken broth (or water)
2 Tbsp. rice wine (or other white wine)
1 Tbsp. soy sauce
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. toasted sesame oil
¼ tsp. freshly ground black pepper

In a small bowl, mix together the sauce ingredients and set aside.

In a large non-stick skillet, heat oil over high heat until hot but not smoking.  Add the eggs and stir-fry about 30 seconds to scramble them.  Add the minced scallions and ginger, and stir-fry one minute.  Add the shrimp and peas, tossing for a few minutes.  Add half of the bean sprouts and all of the rice, stir-frying and continuing to break up any clumps.  When the rice is heated through and the shrimp have turned pink and coiled, add the sauce.  Mix well and remove from heat.  Toss with remaining bean sprouts and serve.

Note: The rice will not be brown.  Taste it before you complain.

Source: Adapted from A Spoonful of Ginger by Nina Simonds.

For more kid-friendly ideas, check out these blogs:

Gastrokid

Family Food

The Vegan Lunchbox