Stella Artois Dinner Kicks It Good

June 22, Stella Artois Dinner, Luciano's Trattoria, St. Louis
Hosted By Belgian Beer Sommolier Marc Stroobandt

Sponsored by Anheuser-Busch and Sauce Magazine

Marc Stroobandt gives me a private pour before the dinner, including hot sauce.

St. Louis, my home town. Beer headquarters of the U.S.A. I ask you, Town, am I a traitor for jumping on my chance to cover the Stella Artois Dinner at Luciano's Trattoria for Foodbuzz? Am I a bad citizen for embracing their Belgian beers, so soon after the still-mourned hostile takeover of Anheuser-Busch by Stella's Belgian beer conglomerate parent, InBev? Maybe I am. But if I'm mad at anyone it's our flimsy legal mechanism that allows what should be taken care of by anti-trust laws to go through so easily. I'm not a fan of hostile takeovers generally. They just seem mean to me. And I don't like it when people lose jobs so fat cats can make more money they don't need. But I have to tell you, I have never been fond of A-B beers. Sorry. Bud gives me a headache. Same for Busch. As for flavor, I just don't see the charm. Sorry, A-B loyalists.

However, I was a Stella lover already when the Belgians came to town, though. And after a decent hiatus period I started ordering it again. So, truthfully, I didn't hesitate at the opportunity to cover the dinner. As a matter of fact I leaped it like a starved hound dog. And am ever glad I did!

The three course dinner of coriander spiced scallop salad, chamomile encrusted veal loin with chanterelle mushrooms, and a hop infused panna cotte to finish included tastings of the Stella, and two other small Belgian brands (yes, owned now by ABInBev), Hoegaarden and Leffe Blonde.

Beer sommolier Marc Stroobandt was visibly pumped about chef Mark Del Pietro's menu when I chatted with him before dinner. "I could tell immediately when I talked to Mark that he'd really tasted the beers," Stroobandt said in his fancy Belgian accent. "Sometimes we send out beer and the chefs don't really taste them. From conversations with Mark, I could tell he was very tuned into the flavors."

Pre-dinner cheese plate.

Stroobandt sat me down before the meal with a plate of cheeses, some chocolate, a little spicy tomato broth (to which he added Tabasco) and three different bottles of beer. We tasted: beer; food; beer. Tune in, he instructed. How does the beer change the taste of the food? And does the food change the taste of the beer? It was magical. Every bit as fun as playing with wine.

"Drink more beer, save the planet," he said.

"OK," I smiled back.

I began to favor beer over wine two winters ago when, at a friend's house, my tummy was rumbly and I just couldn't manage my glass of wine. I asked for a beer and, voila! Tummy all better. No wonder. According to Stroobandt, beer is the food of the earth. It begins with barley. Barley can be grown quite environmentally soundly, he says. Then it's off to the brewery, through the process it goes, and then back again to cows in the form of feed. Interesting.

As I nibble on a beautifully crystallized piece of Parmesan and sip the lovely coriander and citrus infused Hoegaaden, I think I'd like to be a beer sommolier. Stroobandt has just finished dining and educating the privileged masses at the Aspen Food and Wine Festival, and now has landed here to try getting through to me and my sister St. Louisans with yummy beers and food. Tough work.

Table setting includes a variety of glassware shapes. Each beer has its needs.

The pre-dinner tasting over, it's time to sit down for dinner. The table is set with at least six shapes of glassware. Stroobandt starts by having us nose some Hoegaaden in a tumbler, and also a wine glass. The scent of the beer is very different in each glass -- the wine glass releases a lot more aroma. Lesson: Put your beer in its proper glass. If you don't know what that glass is, find out. Go to a good room like 33 Wine Bar in Lafayette Square, or The Stable, which has the venerable Jerad Gardner (sometimes called "The Hop Prophet") buying beer, and he and people like him can tell you exactly how to get the most out of a pour. And pour, you should. Release those essences. Let them play. This is only part of what I learned.

Chef Mark Del Pietro talks about the courses before they're served.

Foam is another part. One should sample the foam before drinking the beer, Stroobandt says. I don't remember why, exactly. But I'm certain it had something to do with enjoying the beer, so why argue?

After the foam, Del Pietro sent out his wonderful, perfectly done coriander spiced scallops. Sitting on a bed of baby arugula, sprinkled with toasted almonds and pecorino cheese and lightly swept through a drizzle of orange vinaigrette, it really did pair perfectly with the coriander and orange scented Hoegaaden. The scallops were as tender as any I've had, and the coriander crust had just the right crisp toothiness.

Del Pietro came out again before the main course and spoke a bit about how well the chamomile worked as a crust on the veal loin, with its sweetness and texture. I was disappointed that the crust was missing on my cut, and on all the others I could see. Kitchen snafu? I would have liked to have known the story. Nonetheless, it was delicious, and I was happy chanterelle mushrooms on the plate, as I had bought some at market Saturday. Perfectly in season, they were so earthy and sweet with the rich vegetable broth reduction. I thought the Stella was a nice choice with this course. It lightened the earthiness, lifted it. A less imaginative chef might have done a fish, or something more obviously suited to the dry, light Stella flavor.

My Stella foam, upon a black spoon. I was instructed by Stroobandt to always carry this spoon with me, and to never fail to taste my foam before sipping.

I also learned that one of my tablemates thinks Del Pietro is a genius hottie (her husband told me this), and that the true way to pour a Belgian beer is through The Pouring Ritual, a nine-step process that I was sad Stroobandt didn't demonstrate. Here did go through other basics of good pouring technique, however, including how to get the perfect two fingers of head.

Stroobandt introducing the dessert course.


Part one of the dessert course.

Chef Mark Del Pietro's hop infused panna cotte, paired with Leffe Blonde

And then dessert. Another thing I learned: I'm not the only one who thinks beer and dessert go together like evening grass and fire flies. This was fun. A nice swirl and sip of Leffe Blonde -- a full bodied, filtered beer with some malt, some sweetness, and a nice hoppiness. Imagine, sweetness and hoppiness together. If you were a chef asked to pair this with a dessert, what would you do? Stroobandt talked a lot about chocolate and beer, something he sees as pretty unexpected. And perhaps it is. (Unless you me, who decided one day in her 20s that beer and warm chocolate chip cookies might be the perfect combo.) Anyway, Del Pietro said he tried several chocolate approaches and didn't like any of them. Then he tried panna cotte. I adore panna cotte. 1111 Mississippi does a nice one, especially if you get to it the same day it's made. This one was better. Infused with hops, it was bitter, and sweet, and creamy, just like the Leffe Blonde. After me taste of beer, the dessert changed flavor on my tongue about thirty times in the first 10 seconds. Then another sip of Leffe. Ya. Now the beer is running through flavor dimensions like Einstein through sub-atoms. This was working. The rhubarb and strawberry bed was a nice, tart contrast, and woke my mouth up from its super-dimensional dreaminess, but it was the Leffe infused whipped cream on top that bowled me over. How could something be so delicate and so abrasive at the same time? Nice. But do I really have to wake up now?

Want to see the Nine Step Pouring Ritual? Take a look here.

The Best Dessert in Town -- at Agave!

I'm really not kidding.

I've been looking for this since Oaxaca, 1991. A real flan. With real cajeta, the dolce de leche caramel heaven made from goat's milk (usually condensed). Agave's flan is rich and dreamy and way beyond the offensive flan-in-a-sombrero caricature we're subjected to around here. And because Agave is Agave there's tequila in there, too. Anejo, to be specific, which I'm told is aged for a year in small oak casks. Wait until you get a whiff of the swirly sauce of cajeta and tequila the lovely little custard allows itself to sit upon. Just wait.

Agave is on Manchester in The Grove

I remember lingering at an outside table, in a restaurant on the zocolo in Oaxaca town, writing a poem, trying to capture the essence of what my time there felt like: the blues and the greens, the iron-caged doors, the gardenias, little children, all of it. And I ordered a flan to go with my cafe con leche and it came out on a plate, as a slice, with caramel sauce, and from the first bite I knew I would never capture the sublimity of that moment in any poem. I just couldn't; I wasn't talented enough. So I ate it really, really slowly, and forgot everything else. This flan at Agave will take you close to there if you let it. But with a small, sweet tequila kick, and its own little mystery. Honestly, it's pretty hard to get my attention like this. The last time was Natalia's Bienmasabe cake and that was, I don't know, two years ago or something.

OK, Maybe the Stella Artois People are OK After All (or am I just an easy sell-out?)

K. So I'm really thrilled that FoodBuzz is sending me to the beer tasting dinner with Belgian beer sommelier Marc Stroobandt. I've been a lazy lazerton with the food blogging since I began this darnbeloved MSW program at Wash U, and am tired of feeling guilty about it all the effing time. Since nothing motivates me as thoroughly as free food and publicity, I know this dinner will get me at least posting regular photos of my latter-day college girl eats once a week or something. I still can't believe I didn't put up any food photos from the NOLA Jazz Fest! Bad me!

The dinner is Monday June 22^nd at Luciano’s Trattoria in St. Louis. According to my dear friends the foodbuzzers, "Marc will be pouring Anhueser-Busch Belgian beers and discussing how to properly pour, taste, and pair these delicious beers!"

My job is then to report my findings to you, photos and all. Be thrilled. :-)

A little piece of the Mosaic

The other day, walking along Washington Avenue after interviewing Matthias at the Pulitzer, and really, really wanting a bite to eat, I stopped at Mosaic. To which I had never been, it should be noted. (My sadness at the late afternoon closure of so many restaurants on Wash Ave should also be noted.) I had a pretty decent Mojito, and some competent fried dumplings with a fruity sauce. Nice enough for the moment.

Just a little afternoon in the city.

1111 Miss Fava and Corn Cannelloni

Stopped by 1111 Mississippi for an appetizer and a glass of wine. I found the Fava and Corn Cannelloni to be quite delightful. Fresh, whole fava been were all cuddled up in some creamy ricotta (maybe homemade?), inside a nice folded, ridged pasta shell, itself swimming in a very fresh and acidic, and runny, tomato sauce. I really liked the strange fava/ricotta play. It was a texture thing. Texture things are, I think, the new frontier, and this dish is a pretty safe way to play that game without going into the big leagues, where you'll have to deal with the utterly unfamiliar, and likely enter there into the animal kingdom. As an appetizer it's pretty darn hearty. I could only eat one of the two in the order (though I had eaten every bite of my smallish spinach salad, prior). A nice round glass of Malbec went well with the cannelloni, but I think a bright white would do nicely, too. Oh, yeah, and if there was corn in there I didn't see it.

This Fake Hollandaise Sauce Kicks Butt

Last weekend I had a brilliant idea: Falafels Benedict. Like Eggs Benedict, only with a thin, crispy falafel in place of the ham, on a warm pita bread bed rather than the English muffin.

I screwed up the Hollandaise sauce, though, which created an emergency situation, obviously. But of course I'm real fine in an emergency.

And really, it was pretty delicious. My falafel was a little too crumbly, and could have been thinner, but overall I think with some tweaking this assembly could be a keeper. The Hollandaise was really nice, the creme fraiche making it tangy and smooth.

Here's what I did:

1/2 cup creme fraiche
1 egg yolk
1 Tablespoon melted butter
dash of Worcestershire sauce

Optional: if you haven't used all your lemons ruining your Hollandaise, add a teaspoon of fresh juice. Otherwise, the creme will give you the tang you need.

With a fork or small whisk, whip the yolk into the creme, then the butter, then the lemon juice and Worcestershire.

Warm the mixture in a small dish set over warm water, stirring frequently.

Serve.

Christmas Morning Make-Ahead Breakfast Casserole

Perfect for Christmas morning! This recipe calls for the assembled dish to be refrigerated overnight. In the morning you pop it in the oven for an hour, then take out the warm, hearty result. Known in my family by the anti-hyperbolic name of Breakfast Casserole, I really think it's essentially a stratta.

When Allana Kellog put out a call on twitter for make-ahead breakfast dishes for Christmas morning, it justsohappened that I'd made this most perfect and spectacularly delicious dish this weekend for company. As a matter of fact, if I had eaten breakfast this morning after looking at my facebook page I would have had a picture to post here. Alas, that last leftover piece is warming my tummy as I write.

I can tell you without reservation that this recipe is foolproof, easy, and flavorful beyond belief. The ingredients are simple. Bread, eggs, cheese, milk, sausage, scallions, a little salt. But something magic happens in the process and the thing comes out tasting marvelously complex.

This recipe comes from my mother. She doesn't know where she got it.

Breakfast Casserole

16 oz day old bread, cubed
10 eggs, lightly beaten
3 cups light cream or whole milk
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup cheddar cheese, shredded
1 cup Swiss cheese, shredded
1 pound sausage, cooked, crumbled and drained
1 bunch scallions, chopped

Butter 9 -by 13-inch baking pan.

Place cubed bread in the pan.

Sprinkle with cheeses.

Combine wet ingredients, and pour over the bread and cheese.

Top with sausage and scallions.

Cover tightly and refrigerate over night.

In the morning, heat the oven to 350 degrees.

Uncover the casserole, and bake for an hour, or until golden brown.

Enjoy!

Notes:

I like to use a good, firm bread.

I really, really like to use a maple sausage in this dish! This weekend I used an andoullie, which I took out of it's casing, browned, then drizzled with a little real maple syrup. Yum!

The Secrets of Natalia's Way, Bienmesabe Cake

Hold on tight to your mixers and bags of sugar, because in this post I'm revealing local St. Louis chef Natalia Penchas's secrets for her favorite dessert (and mine), the Venezualan Bienmesabe cake. And you can't do the cake justice without these secrets, believe me!

Natalia, with the finished Bienmesabe

Once upon I time, at the St. Louis Food Bloggers' Potluck, I met my Latin lover, Beinmesabe, a Venezualan pastry. She is a light, amusing sponge cake soaked in coconut milk and rum, covered in piles of cinnamon-dusted meringue; intense, unforgettable.

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The only creatures in the Universes who will not like this cake are those who (still inexplicably, as far as I'm concerned) do not like coconut.

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I tried making her from Natalia's recipe, and, well, my creation was adequate, but she was not my Bienmesabe. Specifically, two things went wrong: rather than a soaked sponge cake I ended up with a cake sitting in a puddle of liquid (this problem was so acute that I put the cake back in the oven and baked it off until it seemed edible); and though I followed the meringue instructions in Natalia's recipe, my meringue was just not as structured as hers, not as much a part of the cake, if you will.

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And so, because of my weeping upon the internets, Natalia graciously offered to come over and teach me to make the cake of my heart, properly. Watching and listened to her, all problems were solved. It turns out there are a couple of secrets, important secrets not included in her recipe.

These are important secrets. Believe me. And Natalia has given me permission to reveal them here, to you! Natalia's recipe for the Bienmesabe is posted on her web site, Zinur.

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Here I have simply reposted and edited the recipe (we must remember that English is not Natalia's first language), made some "corrections" based on what she did in her demonstrations, and inserted the secrets, which are in bold italic type.

Somewhere in the process.


Bienmesabe

Here's the basic deal: you're going to bake a sponge cake, trim off the top of that cake, pour a fabulous coconut and rum liquid into it the well, top it with tons of Italian meringue, and sprinkle it with sugar.


Instructional photo #1: sifting the flour over the egg mixture


Instructional photo #2: Cake with the top, caramelized part peeled off, leaving the side walls and an upper lip for structure

Preheat the oven to 350° F (180° C).

Sponge Cake

(Makes one 9-inch round layer cake or two 6-inch cakes; if you make the two, freeze one)

6 eggs
1 1/4 cup of Sugar
a dash Vanilla extract
1 cup all purpose flour (you'll need a sifter)

Butter and flour the cake pan, and tap out the extra flour.

In a large bowl, beat the eggs with an electric mixer. For a long time. 7 minutes, 10 minutes. A few minutes in, all the vanilla. Beat until the eggs are fluffy and forming up as if you'd beaten the yolks and whites separately. Seriously. (If you're more comfortable you can do them separately, as Natalia says to in her instructions; I'm just telling you what she did in my kitchen).

Instructional photo #1:

Slowly sift the flour directly over the bowl of egg mixture, letting it fall like a gentle snow.

Now fold the flour into the eggs. Be very gentle, and very careful not to activate the gluten.

Spread the mixture in the prepared baking pan(s).

Do not tap the pan(s). Keep the bubbles in the batter intact.

Bake for 25-30 minutes, or until lightly golden and springy to the touch.

Leave the cake(s) in the pan for 5 minutes, then flip onto a sugar covered surface.

Place the cake into a nice deep round platter.

Instructional photo #2:

Now you are going to prepare the cake for the liquid by removing the caramelized top of the cake, but leaving the outer edge of the cake, and about a 1/2-inch rim of horizontal cake surface around the whole cake. This will insure the cake retains structure (see photo).

To remove the top of the cake, lightly drag a fork across the surface so that the brown part begins to peel off. At some point you can start using your fingers. But remember to leave an edge intact so the cake doesn't fall apart!

Filling

1 can of coconut milk (just the standard stuff, like you use for Thai or Indian cooking)
1 14 oz. can of sweetened condensed milk
1/4 cup of dark rum (optional)

Mix these together.

In batches, and slowly, pour the milk mixture into the well of the cake, saturating evenly. Here's the trick: as you pour in batches, watch how it absorbs. When it stops absorbing, stop pouring. There will still be some liquid running out from the bottom of the cake.But you are minimizing that, and keeping the structure of the cake, by watching and regulating the liquid. We had about a 1/4 left over. But it's going to be different every time, so just trust your eyes.

Put the cake in the fridge to chill while you make the meringue. Here I am disregarding the recipe Natalia has on her site altogether, because we didn't use that one. She said she put the standard French recipe up so as not to make it all too complicated. But the Italian version is definitely what works for this cake! It's more stable and structured. Italian meringue is made by pouring hot simple syrup into beaten egg whites and continuing to beat. Here is a Tyler Florence's standard recipe. Note, however, that Natalia did not use cream of tartar. I don't see how it can hurt, though.

Meringue

1 cup superfine sugar (we used regular sugar)
1/3 cup water
5 egg whites, at room temperature
1/4 teaspoon cream of tartar
Cinnamon

In a small pot over low heat, combine sugar and water. Swirl the pot over the burner to dissolve the sugar completely. Do not stir. Increase the heat and boil to soft-ball stage (235 to 240 degrees). Use a candy thermometer for accuracy. Wash down the inside wall of the pot with a wet pastry brush. This will help prevent sugar crystals from forming around the sides, falling in and causing a chain reaction.

Prepare your meringue.

In the bowl of an electric mixer, whip the eggs whites on low speed until foamy. Add the cream of tartar, increase the speed to medium, and beat until soft peaks form.

With the mixer running, pour the hot sugar syrup in a thin stream over fluffed egg whites. Beat until the egg whites are stiff and glossy. Spread the meringue over a hot cake or pie, and bake as directed.

Assembly

Once the meringue is ready, immediately take the cake from the fridge and start piling it high with the meringue. Use a rubber spatula to make little peaks of the meringue.

Dust the top with cinnamon, through a sifter. Serve, and watch your guests just die from pleasure!

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A couple of notes: Natalia has some pretty cool projects going, including a catering business with local restaurantuer Michael Johnson, and a pastry, soup, and sandwhich shop to be nestled in an antique store in my very own Lafayette Square, Rue La Fayette.

Visit Me After The Election, K?

Food blogging suspended until after the election. Working full time on the Obama campaign. First things first. This is Missouri, after all. Come on by November 8 and maybe I'll tell you about the celebration party!

Franco and The Sous Chefs

So how's Franco doing without former chef Justin Keimon? Today I decided to find out. After a blood sugar rattling deprivation trip to Mount Pleasant Valley in Augusta (fun because of the good company and the gorgeous view -- their wish to make us buy wine glasses to drink the bottle we bought? tacky) the lack of food available on a weekend? ridiculous), I decided to conclude the hours before Atonement by stopping by Franco for a much needed light supper.

I was a little worried, given Justin's recent departure. But I need not have worried. So far, the Sous Chefi are doing fabulous work without him.

I was in need of a vegetable infusion, since our picnic had consisted of cheeses, salami, braunschwager, a little fruit, and bread (yummy though). So, after consider the Caesar salad and sweet potato bisque (still kind of sad about that one), I ordered the entree of grilled zucchini, lentils, and creamed mushrooms and spinach.

Here's the thing about Franco: I've heard people complain that they weren't "wowed." But Franco isn't were you go for that. Franco is where you go for simple, classic, perfectly seasoned, perfectly prepared bistro food.

My zucchini was, indeed, the perfect temperature, had the perfect bite, was not watery or limp or too crispy; it's natural mildness was totally in evidence, and showing off like an ephemeral girl against the wall at a dance. The lentils were a very familiar stew, just the right form to softness ratio, with diced carrots and onions and a little thyme, . The crimini mushrooms and fresh spinach were just sublime, mild and salty and buttery and bright.

That the entree made me forget the chili and cheese biscuit, with the sweet butter at it's ideal just-preceding room temperature (that's the kind of detail these guys do perfectly) is a telling enough miracle in itself.

If you haven't been to Franco yet, please go. If the guys running the kitchen are still sous-chefs, sooner or later they may be called away, were surely at least one of them deserves a better title and salary.

(I know, I know. Leave me alone. I can break my own self-imposed repressive paradigm if I want to. )

Debate Night Party

So I made non-gumbo (because I didn't have the energy to make sure it was authentic); cornbread with cream, sour cream, chilis, and raw goat cheddar; steamed Swiss chard and beet "greens"; roasted beets with sour cream; forbidden rice; and warm chocolate chip cookies. We were in Mississippi, virtually, after all.

Here are our takes on the food and the debate:

Me on food: Food was good, not great. But it was Southern.
Me on politics: It's time to sit down with our enemies. That's the core of all problem resolution.

Simone on the debate: Dear John, Please stop repeating ad slogans.
Simone on food: It was poetically just to be eating cornbread and watch a black man debate his way to the Presidency.

Tim on the debate: The most vibrant thing about John Macian was his tie.
Tim on food: At least the food was satisfying.

Robin and Steve: Their quotes later, they left already.

Cupcakes Galore, and Many Frostings

By Saturday, for Poetry and Light, Cupcakes and Cocktails (to which you're welcome to come) I will make 400 mini cupcakes, and a plethora of herb and flower and fungus and fruit flavored buttercreams. The herbs will be made with herbs from the community garden (devising a method that involves simple syrups and infusing -- I'll let you know how it goes) . Trying Cupcake Project's saffron.

Also experimenting with rose, basil, lavender (but very, very mildly lavender), truffled honey, chocolate with lotus nut, rosemary mint (if it comes out tasting like Aveda shampoo it's out), and lemoncello. I would do more research on Cupcake Project but I kind of want to try these straight from my imagination.

More later.

The Pad Thai Magic Four: It's So Simple

Palm sugar
Fish sauce
Sweet dried radish
Fresh squeezed lime juice

That's the sauce, the base, the Thing That Makes Pad Thai What It Is.

You cannot make a Pad Thai sauce properly without these. You can make it wonderfully with them. And I think they also contain the magic properties that sooth my babygirl's tummy.

The thing is, there are a gazillion Pad Thai recipes, maybe one for every Pad Thai cook, so its impossible to know which one to use and you could spend the rest of your life playing around with them. Which wouldn't be that bad. But I have a feeling that a lot of people stay away from making it at all because the plethora of recipes and confusion of ingredients is just overwhelming.

Those ingredients seem to vary wildly, and of course every cook thinks theirs is the best.

Some call for galagal. Some call for lemon grass. Some call for a lot of garlic, some none. Or ginger, or not. Or teensy dried shrimp, or not.

But I've figured out something really important:

There are four basic ingredients in Pad Thai sauce that are absolutely necessary. Everything other ingredient the gazillions recipes call for in the sauce is optional.

I'm going to tell you what those four ingredients are, and once you have that information you will be able to make a good Pad Thai from pretty much any authoritative Thai cooking source. After I tell you the magic ingredients, I'll give you a couple of other basics, and you're off.

Should you doubt me, please know that I have now pleased the most difficult of Pad Thai critics, my teenage daughter. And she knows her Pad Thai. It soothes her tummy, so we've eaten a lot of it over the last year.

So:

Palm sugar Fish sauce Sweet dried radish Fresh squeezed lime juice

That's your sauce. Those are the totally wonderful magic flavors that make the dish the mysteriously wicked taste fest that it is. And they CANNOT be substituted. Period. You must find the authentic versions. Mail order them if you have to, but you cannot use soy sauce in place of fish sauce, nor any other sugar in place of the palm. Don't leave out the sweet dried radish, and don't even consider lemon for lime.

Look at a recipe for ratios. They are just about in agreement on that.

Then add what you want to, or not, according to the recipe you've chosen.

The other basics are of course:

Rice noodles, soaked in water until they are nice and soft (45 minutes works well for the ones I use, but it will vary by noodle)
Peanut oil
Mung bean sprouts
One or two dried chilies
An egg
Tiny dried shrimp (not too many)
A protein (I use The Best Tofu Marinade in The World, of course, then oven fry it), but if you treat it right any meat will be great
Fresh cilantro
Fresh basil

I like to saute a couple cloves of garlic and the chilies (I grind these two up in a mortar and pestle first) in 1/3 cup of peanut oil, then add the scallions, the drained noodles, then the palm sugar, radish, fish sauce, and dried shrimp all quickly one after another, tossing with each, moving pretty quickly; then toss real well; then move the noodles over to fry the egg, then mix it in; turn off the heat; toss in the sprouts and lime juice and the protein and the fresh herbs, then serve with ground nuts and lime slices and some hot sauce.

That's it. But that's just my version. There is a secret ingredient, but it is so kick ass that I can't believe it, and I've never seen it in any recipes, and so I'm going to hang on to it for the cookbook. Or the noodle shop. Something that will make me some money. Any noodle shop investors out there?

I know that's not a proper recipe, but I don't mean it to be. I don't want to give you a recipe. I want to tell you how easy it is, once you know the magic sauce ingredients, and let you go from there.

One more thing I'll say: don't skimp on the oil. The noodles need it for that slipperiness that's so much fun, and that facilitates all the other flavors.

Go at it.

The Beets Are Fantastic

Maybe I like pickled beets after all.

My pickled beets. I think they look a little like very fine nigiri tuna.

These are the perfect texture. Firm, with just the right amount of bite, not too much, and not too little. There is no sense of mushiness about them at all. The spice is just right. I was worried, because the recipe I used (see yesterday's post) called for a whole T of cinnamon, some allspice and some clove. I cut back on the clove a tad and made up for it with more allspice, I'm not that fond of clove. But the spices meld wonderfully into the acid of the liquid and, most poignantly, into the red taste of the beets. And either my taste buds have evolved (become less sensitive?) or this recipe, or these beets as they come from the ground are more to my liking than what I've had in the past, primarily as a girl. But not exclusively.

I have eaten pickled beets in my adult life and not been that crazy about them. Whatever the reason, these taste refreshing and delicious to me.

I hope my mommy likes them.

Zee beets! Fini! Oila! Finally!

Ah, God, finally. It was a labor of love, but I think it took more energy worrying about them while I was sick than it did for either round of actual canning. Today I went at it slowly and methodically, enjoying the textures and colors. Not a lot in the way of scent, barring the pickling liquid. Enjoy.

My babies. I couldn't be more proud.

A beet, the skin falling off since I'd already boiled it. They were very easy to peel.

The liquid, a fragrant mix of vinegar, water, sugar, and spices. Bring to a boil, then cool.

A beet, halved, then sliced, then cut down the middle again. Trying to keep slices as uniform as possible.


The first beet goes into the first jar. It's a moment.

Now I'm really cooking, doing them in batches; I create a beetscape. They are very pretty, aren't they, on the blue cutting board? These have been peeled, and the roots and tops cut off. They're ready for slicing.

But I got all set up this afternoon, and everything went quite well. I maintained all sterile protocol and technique, the beets did not seem mushy -- well, a couple of them did but I rejected them immediately and chose only the firm ones.

I did one jar of just tiny ones, uncut, except for the tops and roots cut off. I think they're pretty.

I'm not going to do a total blow-by-blow, since I totally used the instructions at a guy named Paul Noll's blog. (The link is underneath all the pictures. Ya, I want you to look at my photos and my pretty beets before you go over there!) My mom could not remember the recipe, and this one had lots of helpful pictures. So.

Tomorrow I will taste them. Tonight, though, they must cool. I will let you know. Here's the link to instructions: http://www.paulnoll.com/Oregon/Canning/canning-pickled-beets.html

Wherefore Art Thou, Beets?

Actually, that's more like what they're saying to me, from their refrigerated prison in the blue ceramic bowl that Leigh gave me forever ago. I just don't have it in me yet to finish canning them. I'm weak as an overcooked dumpling. I think by tomorrow maybe I'll be well enough. I'm coughing much less, maybe because Molly brought me some leftover prescription cough syrup she had that stopped the cough last night and allowed me to actually sleep for the first time since, like, I started the darn beets.

So, lets consider this an experiment called -- oh, I don't know, how about "How Long Can Beets Wait Between Initial Boil and True Pickling?"

If I do them tomorrow and they turn out well then the answer will be: at least 96 hours.

Tune in, ye curiosity seekers. We shall see.