(M) just ducky and the goodbye pie

she's goooooone!

E has left me alone in this big ol' stinky house. actually, it's not stinky, and D's here occasionally to keep me company, but it's come down to me pretending that E's off at work (she must work at the new 7/11) to keep from getting mopey. in reality, she and her sister started a lease at their new place a month before our lease ends, so alas, here i am, perched on the counter, straining to hear familiar car rumbles, and expecting a roommate to amble in any. second.

no?

fine.

to make myself feel better, a culinary adventure was due. it was time to roast my first duck--the crispy skin and rendered fat have been calling my name all year, even though i'm not going to partake in the eating. maybe it's just the aesthetic appreciation for the varnished, crackling schtuff, or knowing that others are enjoying the crunchy, fatty bird. and although i haven't tried my hand / researched at all the practice of making charcuterie, like duck confit, i feel rich as a trump with duck fat in my fridge. maybe i'm playing into fads or whatever, but i've heard the stuff is richer than lard, especially when you fry something simple, like potatoes, in it ("next week, on E and M cooking...!"). i don't know who has, out of our millions of readers, roasted a duck, but there are cups upon cups of golden liquid hiding under your neighbor mallard's skin. that's why rule number one is to prick, poke, vent, score that skin. otherwise, the fat fairy surely won't come a-visiting. the rest is easy--just, as E reminded me yesterday, remember that duck--especially one that costs half your week's food budget (probably shits golden eggs)--is best served cold. er wait, that's revenge. mid-rare is what i was aiming for. hardy har har.



because i was especially sad on saturday, seeing E's family all help her pack up and gish oush, she graciously said i could come for a visit on sunday afternoon. the situation sort of makes me feel like that six year-old kid who finds a puppy on the street, and when the real owners come to claim it, they promise weekly visitation rights to the kid to keep it from throwing a tantrum.

but what to get for the sisters' housewarming gift? i thought for two seconds about letting them keep my bags of flour and sugar that were accidentally brought over to their new place, but that would only count as a housewarming gift by default, and that's just ugly. i've been a big dork lately and reading old issues of martha stewart living (oh what an old woman am i), and in some issue or another, the way they fluted the pie crust caught my eye--it resembled a fortified stone castle wall. plus, i have an abundance of pyrex pie plates, so the muses were telling me that a pie was to be made. i wanted to make a fruit pie, but it killed me to think of buying stone fruits or berries so out of season. apples are an ever-present fruit here in sad, wintery ol' minnesota, but plain apples next to pie crust has always tasted a little bittery blah to me, so friendly caramel needed to be invited. i found a pretty lame recipe on foodnetwork.com (something i'll not even link to because the recipe was so wrong)--i just used my favorite america's test kitchen pie crust, cut up some peeled apples (made D do that, actually), and made caramel. unfortunately, i only realized that the food network recipe was shit AFTER spending over an hour making caramel--the recipe promised 10 minutes, on medium-low heat, hellooooo idiots--but i now know that i can, and should, trust myself to make my own caramel. it's just sugar, some water, heat, and a little cream to finish, after all. fuckin' food network. their stupid recipe also said to only bake the pie for 50 minutes. wrong-o.

D and i made MY recipe side-by-side, something we can do now that we're a pathetic, elderly couple [about to be] living together. it made my pie work load smaller and was also the first dessert he's ever had a hand in, which he was excited about. it was something he became more and more excited (not to mention braggarty) about as he saw his stupid pie came out cuter than mine, and so that was the one he chose to gave to E and her sister. the cute, stupid pie.

we brought the pie over yesterday afternoon, along with a bag of a few forgotten knick-knacks that they'd left behind. i gotta say, their new place is even better than our house--it's the perfect apartment for them. a quiet fourplex in a neighborhood that's in good shape, it come with its own screened-in deck (jealous!), and has a kitchen that i would spend hours in: lots of cabinets (old, carvey ones), a windowed counterspace perfect for chopping or smearing butter into puff pastry, and the full-sized gas range that no other apartment seems to have (as i'm finding in my own apartment search).

just as i'm pretending that there's no one else here at home with me because they're all working, i suppose for now i'll have to pretend that the aforementioned lost puppy is waiting for my visit on their screened-in deck. if pies upon pies is what it'll take to keep my visitation rights, then so be it. according to smelly ol' D, i obviously need the practice. i guess, keep your eyes peeled for a "pies by D" store opening up in yo 'hood. the boy has plans.

Roasty Duck with Mustard Shallots
(makes one duck; two if you're a wizard magician)

1 duck (really?!)--most recipes say long island, but last time i checked i'm not a new yawker, so muscovy for me
1 large ziploc bag for all its innards, neckards, carcass(es)
1 T. or so kosher salt
black pepper

Buy a duck. A dead one, if you're not Elmer Fudd.

Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

Wash the duck and put its insides into the plastic bag. These make great snacks later, fried in the duck fat you're sure to have.

Completely dry the duck with tons of paper towel. Then, use your sharp, sharp knife to cut through the skin and fat (but not all the way to the meat!), in a criss-crossy pattern all over the duck, so the fat can escape.

Salt and pepper the duck, inside and out. Place it on a roasting rack, breast side up (that's what he said), in a 13x9 roasting pan (I just used an upside down mini muffin tin in my 13x9 cake pan. Roast duck like-a dis for 45 minutes. After 45 minutes, come back and check the duck--make sure to listen with amazement at the poppy sound of melting fat collecting in the roasting pan. Set the timer for 15-20 more minutes. I turned the oven down at this point to 400 degrees so nothing would burn too quickly. Roast the duck until the breast measures around 150 degrees. Let the duck rest for 15 minutes before carving.

Mustard Shallot Sauce:

1 clove garlic
2 shallots
3-4 T. buttah
1 1/2 T. dijon mustard

Chop chop chop the garlic and shallots until they're real small. Melt the butter over medium heat, and then cook the garlic and shallots until they're softened. When they're done to your liking, stir in the mustard. Let the mustard melt into the sauce, and serve with the duck (or whatever else you're eating). If one of the other cooks at work is teaching you to make quenelles between two spoons, this mixture is perfect for practicing, but looks silly on a plate next to a rustic duck. Use quenelles sparingly.


Caramelized Apple Pie
crust adapted from America's Test Kitchen
the rest of the pie NOT adapted from Food Network because they suck.

Crust:
2 1/2 c. flour
1/2 t. kosher salt
2 T. sugar
8 + 6 T. cold butter, divided
4-7 T. ice-cold water

Pulse the dry ingredients in a food processor. Cut the 8 T. cold butter into small pieces, add to the dry ingredients in the food processor, and cover up pieces with a little of the dry ingredients. Pulse to cut in the butter about 5 times for one second each time (I know, GAWD). Add in the 6 T. cold butter, and pulse until the mixture resembles cornmeal. Add the cold water, tablespoon by tablespoon, until the mixture comes together, making sure not to overmix or add too much water. Tip out onto saran wrap, flatten into a disk, and chill for at least 30 minutes or overnight.

Pie Insides:
5-8 golden delicious apples
1 lemon's juice
big bowl of water
3 T. flour
1 t. cinnamon
1 c. sugar
1 c. water
1/4 c. heavy cream

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

While the crust-to-be is chillin, millin, mindin its business, peel all of the apples and cut them into quarters. Or, like in my case, make a slave do it. Once you've got the quarters, cut the cores out of each quarter by slicing it out at an angle. Place each quarter in the bowl of water with the lemon juice in it, to keep them from browning.

To make the caramel, combine the 1 c. sugar and 1 c. water in a saucepan, and bring to a boil. Once most of the water has boiled out, keep a close watch on the sugar because it's about to start caramelizing like crazy, and this is where I usually take my eyes off of it for JUST ONE SECOND and it's burnt and yuck. Once it's amber to your liking, take the saucepan off the heat and stir in the heavy cream, watching for sputters jumping up at your vulnerable wrist skin.

Divide the pie crust in two pieces, and roll one out for the bottom crust. Leave a little bit of overhang around the edge of the crust.

Once the caramel's made and the bottom crust is in the pie pan, slice the apple quarters on a mandoline for consistency's sake, and toss the slices with the flour and cinnamon. Place the apple slices pretty tightly in the pie pan, and after a couple of layers, ladle about 2 oz. of the caramel over the slices. Repeat this layering until you can repeat no more.

Roll out the second hunk of dough to form the upper crust, put on top of the pie with plenty of overhang. With kitchen shears, cut into the overhang every 3/4" or so, and fold up onto the pie every other piece. Cut vents into the center of the pie. Place pie on a cookie sheet and tent with tinfoil so the crust doesn't finish before the apples.

Bake for 25 minutes with the tinfoil on, and then remove the tinfoil and continue baking until the crust is done to your liking. Mine was done in another 45-50 minutes.

(E) i'm back!

the other day M had a revelation. she told me about it over breakfast at Trotter's. she told me that ever since she started cooking at The Restaurant, she's noticed (and wondered about) the way the whipped cream separates if it sits a bit too long in the cooler. she just couldn't figure out why it happened.

i liked hearing about this quandry because a) it makes me feel less schizophrenic to know that my good and sane friends are also running around with funny questions zinging around inside their heads and b) because i just freaking love whipped cream. sue me.

anyhow, she finally realized that separation occurs because the milk we use at The Restaurant is not homogenized (glory! get yourself some. YUM.). you can even see it in the curvy glass bottle the cream comes in--a top of thick cream and a lower line of thinner liquid. lightbulb!

and her lightbulb became my lightbulb. a less brilliant lightbulb, but one all the same. M is always wondering about things while she works. she is always making mental notes and learning about what she loves best. i suppose i am also learning as i navigate the front of the house. but for me, it is less satisfying to take notes on the neediness of humans than it is to learn why whipped cream becomes a two-part wonder. at the risk of sounding like a frazzled stay-at-home mom, sometimes i need to do things for myself. and really, that means i need to remember and develop the things that my brain and body naturally want to do. away from work.

i tried this a few saturdays ago and learned that i can make puff pastry. and so can you! let's go:


i got this recipe from Baking by James Peterson. but now i think i will call him James "The God" Peterson. and you will see why if you ever pick up this book. "1500 photographs," it boasts, and for once, a boast be true. Peterson offers you a solid basic education on baking that will take you much farther than its pages. and the book's not even that heavy!

now for the recipe. James says that this particular puff pastry dough is best for short(er) notice projects that require flakiness, but not as much "puff". and of course, you can use the dough for myriad desserts and savories. i used mine to make the Crispy Apple Tart found later in the book. once you've gotten through this dough, the tart is a cinch. and so very golden and impressive too.



Quick Puff Pastry Dough
from Baking, by James Peterson
(makes 1 1/2 pounds of dough)

1 1/2 cups butter
2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup cold water

Cut sticks of butter lengthwise into quarters. Slice quarters crosswise into cubes and refrigerate.

In a bowl or on a work surface, combine flour and salt. Stir in water with your fingers or a wooden spoon until water disappears. Don't overwork the dough--it should look ragged.

Add the cold butter, form the mixture into a mound on surface and pound with rolling pin until it is about 6 by 18 inches. [my note: this may take more time and muscle than you think, so be patient. don't worry if the chunks of butter look like mosaic pieces in the dough--this means they haven't melted. good!]

If the butter starts to soften, refrigerate for 15 minutes. [my note: i did this so many times, i started to feel crazy. but trust James on this one. when in doubt, stick the sucker in the fridge.]

**Fold in the two ends of the rectangle so they meet in the center and fold again to form a packet with 4 layers of dough. The dough now has one double turn. If the dough felt elastic as you were rolling, refrigerate for 30 minutes, covered with plastic wrap, before continuing.

With the large single fold, like the spine of a book, on your left, roll the dough into a 6 by 18-inch rectangle. If at any point the utter starts to soften, melt, or stick to the work surface, refrigerate for at least 20 minutes.

Repeat the rolling and folding once more for the third turn. If you need the pastry to puff rather than just be flaky, give it one more double turn. Refrigerate the dough, wrapped in plastic wrap, for at least one hour before rolling out and baking.

**the photos in the book are really quite invaluable. i am very visual, so purely verbal descriptions of the folds kind of confuse me. if you're the same way, i would recommend buying the book straight away.

(M) it's grill-thirty somewheres

i don't care. i don't care that i'm shivering outside on the melty snow deck, sockless feet damp in the puddles. no, i don't care that my hair smells like smoke, and if i'm too lazy to shower it out before bed, that i'll spend all day tomorrow laundering my pillowcases. i don't care that "experts" say that too much char on your food means carcinogens which means cancer.

it's gwillin' season, as one mr. elmer fudd would say.

for some reason, this early spring weather always reminds me of high school, when we all had our cars parked in the school parking lot. at the first sign of spring (usually, that the thermometer showed 35 degrees), on our cattle-herding way out of the lot, we would all crank the hey, hey, LUDACRIS on our sub-standard speakers, windows open, cutting each other off and jolly flipping the bird. there was one poor traffic-wrangler, terry (who strangely enough did the same job at lunch hour--only instead of getting cars safely out of the lot, there were rambunctious sugarhigh teenagers funneling from a large cafeteria through a narrow corridor). terry was witness to this spring crazy every year, and i'm sure it both horrified and bored him. unless he was a closet li'l jon fan.

i'm planning on spending at least half my paycheck on charcoal briquettes this year. or maybe, to expedite the process, i'll just use the paycheck, envelope and all, for fuel. i grilled a few times last year, but this year i want to do it at least once a week. just as i was overwhelmed at the amount of meat and veg i could braise, stew, and roast in the winter, i can't wait to learn more about grilling and smoking. we've started firing up a weber grill at work, experimenting with slow-smoking beef, something that we will hopefully run as a special this summer, when we get a barbecue pit put in behind the patio. jealous that our kitchen manager, mark, spent a balmy (40 degrees) thursday night out with the grill, beer in hand, while i was inside sweating with the rotisserie chickens, i told him i called dibs on summer grill bitch.

could you imagine? (*cue dreamy, far-off look*) a busy sweaty night inside the restaurant, nobigdeal i'm just outside, fanning coals, roasting whole fish to order for big tables. customers driving by see the smoke and honk. i lazily look over (corncob pipe in my mouth), and do a slow tong salute. just like i brought mark (and some off-duty cooks who joined him) snacks as they barbecued on thursday night, someone would surely bring me a few cold beers as the night goes on. the night comes to an end, and the staff join me outside around the pit, cheering my name, and we all share the burnt, delicious remains of the day's grilled special.

i haven't done anything too interesting on the grill yet. on friday night, to celebrate D's fourth year living in minnesota/north america, i grilt a couple of whole mackerel, thanks to a wise, passionate man working at coastal seafoods (he said it's his favorite whole fish to grill). saturday night, i did a couple of steaks and some lamb chops. for myself to eat, i've grilled some eggplant, zucchini, asparagus, onions, etc. i tried grilling tofu both friday and saturday nights, and it was really good on friday, but shotty on saturday--could be the grill, but it's my goal to get it perfected to the point that i craaaave that shit. and p.s. the shiitake mushrooms from united noodle (usually like 3 bucks a package) are DA BOMB (that's right i just said that) on the grill--they never fall through the grate and they taste amazo, just marinated in a little soy sauce.

here's to hoping my grillin adventures become more interesting to read about, for pete's sake !