Toast

Moving

I am in the throes of buying, working on, and moving into a coop apartment and the process is taking up all of my not otherwise pre-charted brain territory. For a while, I'm going to write about that instead of about food.

So-new spaces all around. I decided not to wait until I have the time to design something, and am using a standardized typepad format. But I hope to post a lot of photos- we'll see if I can live up to my own expectations. Perhaps you will join me, at Place Mark, my new weblog?

Apple Lady Apple Cake

I have a long standing thing for apples. A giant old round fruit crate label with a big green three-apple group portrait, front and center, hangs on my kitchen wall. When I had a garden, I planted two special dwarf rootstock apple trees- a Cox's Orange Pippin, and a Westfield Seek-No-Further. Passing my old place, I always check to see how the trees are doing, before glancing at the house behind. Every year when the Honeycrisp apple season arrives, I go a little crazy acquiring and consuming them in unreasonable numbers. It is fair to say that I'm crazy about apples.

I am also a sucker for all kinds of apple cakes and pies. There are traditional apple cakes on both sides of my family. I didn't get those recipes from the family cooks who served them to me, and they are both long gone now. But I have managed to duplicate both cakes with a reasonable degree of authenticity. They have sentimental value for me, which adds to their simple charm. You can find them here, and here.

There is no better dessert than a classic tart tatin, and a slew of other apple tarts and pies have their way with me from time to time. They all have their individual virtues and lures. And I am always hoping to find a quintessential apple cake.

So, although it is entirely unseasonal, I have taken some time in the midst of strawberry jamming, to try yet another one. The platonic apple cake to which I aspire is not a bakery product, but a humbler, home cooked item. These are my standards: It should be be simple to make; it should taste distinctly and primarily of apples, rather than supplementary flavors; and it should be good to eat the next day. Because I don't want to waste it or to eat it when all flavor and texture has fled.

A lot of otherwise excellent baked goods are, IMO, greatly diminished by sitting overnight. They may look the same, but their soul has flown away, and only a sad carcass remains. I live alone, and am sadly aware that it is best if I do not consume, alone, in one day, entire pies and cakes. Thus, I favor cakes which either stay the same for a bit, or are good stale and toasted- brioche, pound cakes, kugelhopf, and so on.

This recipe is from Patricia Well's Paris Cookbook, and it is very nice indeed. I am not sure if I would call it a cake or a sort of pie, or, perhaps, a flan. She reports having begged it from her produce market apple vendor, hence the name. It is custardy, and tastes pretty good, though a bit different, the next day. I used Golden Delicious apples, because I had some left from a tart tatin. This is an apple which is, IMO, useless for out of hand eating, bland and entirely uncrisp, but which miraculously develops a mellow caramelized sweetness when cooked. I would definitely recommend using only one apple variety , a sort you especially like, as the apple taste is prominent.

It is not quite the apple cake of my dreams, but it is very good, and I will be making it again. This is what you need:

1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/3 cup sugar
1 Tbs. baking powder
1/8 tsp. fine sea salt
1/2 tsp. pure vanilla extract
2 large eggs, lightly beaten
2 Tbs. vegetable oil
1/2 cup whole milk
4 baking apples (about 2 lbs. total), cored, peeled and cut into thin wedges (I use golden delicious)

The Topping:
1/3 cup sugar
1 large egg, lightly beaten
3 Tbs. unsalted butter, melted

Serves 8
Equipment: 9-inch springform pan

This is what you do:

Preheat oven to 400°F.
Butter a 9-inch springform pan and set aside

In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder and sea salt and stir to blend. Add vanilla extract, eggs, oil and milk and stir until well blended. Add the apples and stir to thoroughly coat them with the batter.

Spoon the mixture into thhe prepared cake pan. Place the pan in the center of the oven and bake until fairly firm and golden, about 25 min.

Meanwhile, prepare the topping: In a small bowl, combine the sugar, egg and melted butter and stir to blend. Set it aside.

Remove the cake from the oven and pour the topping mixture over it. Return the cake to the oven and bake until the top is a deep golden brown and the cake feels quite firm when presses with a fingertip, about 10 minutes.

Transfer the cake pan to a rack and allow to cool for 10 minutes. Then run a knife around the sides of the pan, and release and remove the springform side, leaving the cake on the pan base. Serve at room temperature, cut into wedges.

Note from Patricia Wells - "When you make this cake, you will be surprised by the small amount of batter, the quantity of apples. In effect, this is more of a crustless pie, in that the batter is just there to hold the apples together. What I love most about this recipes is that it allows the full flavor of the apple to shine through."

Strong Cheese

I never knew. It isn't even actually a recipe, but it turns out to be a specific process called "Fromage Fort", traditional and French. I've been making this multi-purpose cheesy thing for some time, and now I have a name for it-thanks to Jacques Pepin. His great big coffee table book,Traditions and Rituals of a Cook, is not only very pretty, but actually full of good information, recipes, and engaging stories.

M. Pepin's father's process for this appetizer/condiment/supper dish is more picturesque than my own. When J. Pepin was a child, his family did not have a fridge. Perishable food was stored in a "Garde Manger", which, chez Pepin, was essentially a wooden box, kept in the coolest possible spot. The dried out ends of cheeses accumulated there, along with everything else that had to be chilled.

When the urge struck him, Pepin Sr. would sort out the odd bits of leftover cheese of all sorts, and trim off any moldy spots. He cut it all up into a covered container, ladled some hot soup over it, and left it for days to soften. Once it was softened, he'd mash it all up with a little wine and some garlic, pack it into a crock, and it was ready to go- as a topping with crackers, baked in little mini-crocks for a first course, or spread on baguette slices and toasted. You can make a toasted panini thing, layering it with ham between two slices, and cooking it with a press, possibly dipping the sandwich in beaten egg before toasting, for extra fanciness.I especially like to munch my version, plain, with radishes.

I would be far too cowardly for this original method, which, though perhaps more flavorful than the modern version, fills my brain, however unjustly, with images of festering, possibly deadly itty bitty organisms. I note that Pepin Jr. and his wife currently use a food processor, which is also my weapon of choice. This eliminates the necessity for prolonged stewing.

Basically all you have to do is put your assorted leftover cheese bits*- hard and soft, in a food processor with some chopped garlic cloves- a little pepper and a bit of dijon mustard if you like, and process it with enough dry white wine to make a thick paste. The amount of wine you need will vary, depending on the ratio of hard to soft cheese. Pack it in a crock or two, and refrigerate for a day or so to let the flavors settle , and then you are set to go.

You can freeze this stuff, and it keeps quite well in the fridge, too. Toasted, baked, or just spread on a bit of crusty bread, it's a nice thing to have around. And, you know,it's making something out of nothing. Waste Not, Want Not.

Not really a recipe, as you can see. And it is very likely that you have already made something similar. This is the sort of thing that I like to be told about myself, just ordinary kitchen sense really. We can happen upon these ideas from just hanging around a kitchen, or read about them. A friend can tell us something nice that they do with their leftovers, and especially if is simple, it might be of lasting use. I like these sorts of ideas even better than the best of special recipes. Not that there is anything wrong with the latter.

*I would not include an actual parmesan rind, as these are too valuable to be lost in the mix-one dried out parm rind adds so much pizazzz to a pot of minestrone or potato soup.

Tea in Bed and Toast Soldiers

When I read Victorian and pre-WW II fiction, or watch Upstairs, Downstairs, or Merchant/ Ivory sorts of movies, I am struck by the way the comfortably off characters move un-self-consciously through their lives, attended by servants, apparently entirely untroubled that other people are witnessing their most intense and personal moments.

I would be so embarrassed; I could not bear to have a bunch of disinterested semi-strangers hanging around in my house all the time, regardless of the convenience. Even with out the inevitable guilt which would come with being waited on, I could never feel truly relaxed. Clearly not to-the-manor-born, me. And yet now, living alone, with no one to trade at-home indulgences with me, I can imagine two pleasures which would almost be worth the attendant awfulness of having live-in help, with or without a frilly cap- tea in bed and a nice boiled egg.

From the moment my mother was able to clutch a mug in her baby fingers, until my father was hospitalized during his final illness, she had a cup of tea brought to her in bed virtually every morning of her life. When she was growing up, her brothers made morning tea for her, and for her sister and my grandmother. They fixed it before they went to work, woke their womenfolk gently, and set it on the tables by their beds.

My father took over from there, and I, too, was the lucky beneficiary of this tradition, growing up. When I went off to college, it was cold turkey on the tea...and Bill, a seriously heavy sleeper, never took to the practice. (Though he did wash the dishes every day of his too short life, something my father only took up on retirement.) But it is wonderful thing, waking up to a cup of tea in the morning, and I commend it to you, if you can arrange it for yourself.

Another treat which is so much better when someone else fixes it for you, is the boiled egg, mostly because timing is such a major factor. I should perhaps explain that I have a bit of a thing about eggs. I think they are gorgeous, and am particularly inamoured of the multi-hued eggs of auracana fowl, seen here in a photo swiped from google, taken by someone called "Thornius the bird man", who posts on a gardening forum. Also, I love duck eggs, quail eggs, and am willing to try any unendangered species bird egg on offer. Indeed, my fantasies of a perfect existence involve my own chickens (and possibly a dairy goat). These fantasies are destined to be unfulfilled, since I am a confirmed urban dweller, and live in an apartment. (Actually, I haven't entirely given up on the chickens...I've been reading about some urban chickens of late. But I'd definitely need to have a place with a yard, and very tolerant neighbors.)

If I could be sitting at at table, sipping some very hot coffee and reading my newspaper when my perfect 4 minute egg arrived, I would be so very grateful. It would be neatly topped, and accompanied by a stack of buttered toast "soldiers"* for dipping, and a small pile of mixed salt and pepper to stick to the runny yolk once my toast, or small egg spoon, has been dipped. Perfect moment, that. Sure, I can and do fix one for myself, from time to time, but it is far less luxurious, and something usually is not as hot as one would wish.

Soft boiled egg service generally only happens to a person who has a mother, or other doting relative on hand. When we were small, my little brother was encouraged to eat his egg all up, because when he did, the egg would be turned around in its cup, and the penciled "sad" face would be replaced by the "happy" egg she drew on the other side. Unlike me, he had an iffy appetite.

Prior to the appearance of this little interloper, I was taken, a toddler, to visit my mother's English family. They still had two chickens in a shed in the garden then, from the days of rationing and food coupons for chicken feed. I was allowed to go fetch my own breakfast egg every morning, and quickly became attached to this ritual. One day I came back with my egg, looking dismayed and weepy. Questioned, I was sure that the chickens must be sick; the eggs were cold! It turned out that when my Auntie Louie had gone out to check earlier, no egg had been laid. As she didn't want me to be disappointed, she'd planted a couple from the fridge.

Neither of these most excellent treats is in any way costly, but the personal element can be tricky to arrange. More precious than rubies, eh? I suppose having live-in servants makes affluent adults feel a bit like doted-upon children?

* It seems that toast "soldiers" is an English term, I've heard "toast fingers" here. Buttered strips of toast are the perfect accessory for "dippy eggs". Some guy in the UK has designed a stamp thing, specifically for the creation of perfect toast soldiers. A hoot, no? I think you stamp the bread prior to toasting, and then break or cut along the dotted line. Not surprisingly perhaps, these are unavailable in the US. I was sufficiently intrigued to try ordering one from Amazon.co.uk. Although they are quite happy to send me books I can't find here, somewhat mysteriously they find themselves "unable" to ship me a small plastic device.

Favorite Sandwich

I am at my least resolute when shopping at Costco. Not an original creation, this sandwich came to my attention as a result of an impulse purchase.

Anyway, there were several psychological factors at work- not the least of which was the relative rarity of opportunity. It is a tricky business to shop at Costco without a car, unless you live next door to The Mall, which I don't. There is a bus, but the return trip, including a walk down one steep, bumpy hill and up another, is on the grueling side. It is especially awkward with arms full of warehouse-sized food units.

So, when I am offered a ride, I always feel I should make the most of it. And I generally wind up staggering in my front door, festooned with flowers, pine nuts, bags of fabulous avocados, and one or two things that just sort of flung themselves into my cart while I wasn't paying attention. Or so it seems.

Most recently I found myself the baffled owner of a huge, heavy glass jar of marinated artichoke "hearts"- a laughable bargain. I'm not even really sure I like jarred, marinated artichokes; they are both oily and acidic, not necessarily in the nicest way. I was actually feeling a little frantic about my mistake, and looked in several cookbooks for ideas.

This one, from the yellow, Ruth Reichl Gourmet cookbook, is a jewel. It is currently my favorite untoasted sandwich, even more fabulous than roast pork and arugula with cranberry chutney on a crusty roll. Which is saying something. The weird artichokes work just fine here.

I have been taking this one to work, wrapped tightly in plastic wrap...it gets a tad soggier than perfection , waiting in the lunch room fridge, but it is still wonderful.
This is how you make four. (I usually make 2. Pictured is a double, made on a dubious mini tuscan loaf from the Giant Eagle. It is good enough to jazz up some pretty flabby bread.):

1/2 cup brine-cured black olives, rinsed, drained, and pitted
2 teaspoons drained capers
1 small garlic clove, chopped
1/2 teaspoon finely grated fresh lemon zest
2 (6 1/2-ounce) jars marinated artichokes, drained, reserving marinade, and chopped
1/3 cup mayonnaise
2 (6-ounce) cans tuna in olive oil, drained and any large chunks broken into smaller pieces
4 (7-inch-long) ciabatta rolls or other crusty rolls with soft, chewy crumb- or two mini loaves of crusty bread
3/4 cup fresh flat-leaf parsley leaves

Blend olives, capers, garlic, zest, and 3 tablespoons artichoke marinade in a blender or food processor, until as smooth as possible. Transfer mixture to a bowl and stir in mayonnaise. Stir together artichokes and tuna in another bowl.

Split each roll horizontally and remove inner crumb from top half. Spread olive mayonnaise on cut sides of rolls and make sandwiches with tuna and artichokes, seasoning filling with pepper and topping with parsley.

I can see myself eating a lot of these, but not so many as to use up all those artichoke hearts. Any ideas on that?

Saving and the Duck I

I am more than a little ambivalent about the current media passion for frugality. The newspaper and broadcast news are eager to tell us how to save our pennies, and suggest that we deal with financial insecurity and loss by cooking real food at home, patronizing local growers, and entertaining ourselves, families and friends with nice meals, instead of stopping for fast food on the way home. And these are good, enriching, responsible and fun things to do, regardless of Wall Street antics, and whether we are flush, or suddenly terrified to find ourselves unemployed.

But in the articles full of "saving tips", and all those recession-chic fashion stories, is there, maybe, an underlying aroma of cheesy, opportunistic, cheery cluelessness in the face of some very real misery and confusion? It makes me queasy, and fills me with prissy disapproval. Said prissy disapproval probably has its origins in personal unease about my own attitude and behavior in these matters.

For I cannot deny a huge, and long-standing weaknesses both for the "Hints From Heloise" style of time and money-saving household tips, and contrariwise- for ridiculously high-end cookware and the like... I am intensely interested in getting the most out of my generally ample access to fresh, mostly local food, but am also inclined to spend extravagantly for treats-even when I can't really afford to do so. And I do all of these things, in my own mind at least, in part on (often contradictory) principle(s).*

This pompous meandering is by way of an apology for yet another set of posts on getting the most out of one frozen Long Island duck. The thing is, it really is economical and delicious, but I do see that it is also a lot of bother, and pretty silly, in a way. It is only a good plan if you think it might be fun, and an entertainment in itself. Otherwise, it is an appalling pain in the ass, and you'd be much better served, with much less fuss, by a giant, re-heatable pot of stew. Certainly this is not a project that I would always feel up to.

But when I'm in the mood,I get a huge kick out of the process, as well as the food, and I'm hoping you might, too. So here you go.

Prep: Once defrosted, the duck is not hard to cut up. First, the two thigh/drumstick sections are removed and set aside for this first dinner for two. Two breast sections , with their skin are sliced off, and frozen togetherin a plastic bag. all the fat and remaining skin is removed, chopped up and rendered to some lovely creamy fat and a small pile of cracklings. The fat keeps nicely on the fridge or freezer for months. The liver is sauteed or broiled, salted and peppered, and eaten on some nice toasted breas- for lunch.

Then, the neck and remaining carcass are cooked up into a nice broth (more on this in a later post), which is strained, degreased and frozen. The remaining cooked meat on the bones is shredded and frozen, too...because there is going to be a duck soup...with duck wontons, and the shredded bits will be topping the soup. Also, there is going to be a really nice duck breast salad thing.

In any event, this is a delicious way to prepare duck legs, and actually is adaptable for other poultry parts..I've used it with a big, boneless stuffed turkey thigh, for example, changing, of course, amounts and times. It's lovely because the duck is tender and moist, the carrots super-flavorful, the sauce full-bodied, and the skin gorgeously crisp. It is from Fergus Henderson's Nose to Tail Eating", a book full of odd, and astonishingly delicious recipes. As is so often the case with me, the camera, and poultry or meat, the picture does not do it justice.

Here is the original recipe. I make it for 2, and cut it down accordingly.

Serves 6

Duck fat or butter
6 duck's legs (available without the rest of the duck from most butchers)
I white onion, peeled and sliced
2 leeks, cleaned and sliced
8 cloves of garlic, peeled and kept whole
14 medium sized carrots, peeled and chopped into
7mm rounds
Bundle of parsley and 4 sprigs of rosemary (you have to be very careful with rosemary, since delicious as it is, it can take over)
2 bay leaves
I chilli, kept whole
About 1.5 litres chicken stock
Sea salt and pepper

Get a frying pan hot, add a spoonful of duck fat or butter, wait until it is sizzling, and then brown the duck's legs on both sides. Remove from the pan and set aside.

In the same pan cook the onion, leeks, and garlic. Mix in the carrots and cook for 3 more minutes, then decant all the vegetables into a deep oven dish.

Nestle in the herb bundle, bay leaves, and chilli (this just emits a slight warmth to the dish, unlike a more pungent chopped chilli). Press the duck's legs into the carrot bed, skin side upwards, season the dish, and pour chicken stock over until the duck's legs are showing like alligators in a swamp.

Place into a medium to hot oven for 11/2 hours, keeping an eye on it so it does not burn - if it threatens to, cover the dish with foil. Check the legs with a knife; you want them thoroughly giving.

When cooked the carrots will have drawn up the duck fat, the stock reduced to a rich juice, and the duck skin should be brown and crispy. Serve with bread to mop up the juices and follow with a green salad.

Before I risk driving you mad with the rest of the duck story, I want to tell you about a really good sandwich. Soon.

Toasting It

Hello. I missed you.

As you may have noticed, I have been making various kinds of mushroom barley soup for ages. I thought I was pretty well set in my methods for both beef barley and vegetarian versions. But I'm here to tell you I was missing the boat big time, because it had not occurred to me to toast the barley. I owe this insight to Daniel Boulud (and co-author Dorie Greenspan-the-great). So very, very good.

It makes total sense. If we toast nuts before we bake, we take our cakes and cookies to the proverbial next level, "up a notch", or whatever you want to call it when food is so good that we are surprised. Toasting leftover bread and smearing it with something damp and tasty turns a chewy crust into an elegant first course. Pre-roasting vegetables for a composed salad, ratatouille, or casserole intensifies their flavors so nicely.

And, of course, toasting a grain before cooking it in liquid is not exactly a new idea. The redfox introduced me to the idea of pre-toasting steel cut oatmeal (in butter, mmmn) some time ago. Cooked slowly thereafter in milk or water, it is seriously delicious. And sure, toasting rice before the liquid is added makes a pilaf or risotto more than just rice. (Not that there is anything at all wrong with "just rice"; it's just a different thing entirely.) I think I even tried a barley pilaf once. Close, but no cigar.

Probably this is such an obvious step that you have already taken it. But if you haven't, I wanted to let you know. Because, despite the seeming simplicity of the idea, I feel a bit like a primitive soul who accidentally spilled some gathered grain into the fire, scooped it up, and finally got it into my pot of water boiling there. Or put out a grain fire with water, and noticed it smelled nice... or something equally feeble and unlikely. You know... "Eureka"?.

In my gratitude for this insight, I have not altered the Boulud recipe a bit, and have yet to try it with any of my usual mushroom-barley shenanigans...not even a drop of Asian (toasted!) sesame oil for the vegetarian version. Because this is a delicious and perfectly balanced recipe as is, though I'm sure it would be nice with a chicken or beef broth in place of the vegetable broth, if you prefer. I served it, as suggested, with a garlic crouton, a/k/a "toast", heh.

Here you are:

2 ounces dried mushrooms (such as morels, porcini, shitakes, and chanterelles)
3 tablespoons unsalted butter or extra virgin olive oil
1 cup pearl barley
1 stalk celery, cut into ¼-inch dice
1 medium leek (white part only), split lengthwise, cut into ¼-inch slices
1 medium onion, cut into ¼-inch dice
1 medium carrot, cut into ¼-inch dice
1 medium turnip, cut into ¼-inch dice
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
Salt
6 sage leaves, finely chopped (reserve stems for the herb sachet)
¾ pound assorted fresh mushrooms, trimmed, cleaned, and cut in half
3½ quarts unsalted vegetable stock *
Herb sachet (6 reserved sage stems, 4 sprigs Italian parsley, 2 sprigs thyme, 1 bay leaf, ¼ teaspoon fennel seeds, ¼ teaspoon coriander seeds, and ¼ teaspoon black peppercorns)
Freshly ground white pepper

METHOD
Put the dried mushrooms in a bowl and pour a pint of warm water over them. Let the mushrooms soak for at least 30 minutes. Remove the mushrooms from the water and squeeze out excess moisture; discard the soaking liquid. Warm one tablespoon of the butter in a small sauté pan over medium heat and add the barley.

Cook the barley, stirring regularly, for about 5 minutes, or until the grains are lightly toasted. Remove pan from the heat and set the barley aside. Warm the remaining two tablespoons butter in a stockpot over medium heat. Add the celery, leek, onion, carrot, turnip, garlic, and salt, and cook until the vegetables soften, about 10 minutes.

Add the sage and add fresh and reconstituted mushrooms. Season with salt to taste and continue to cook until the mushrooms release their moisture. Stir in three quarts of the stock and toss in the herb sachet and barley. Bring the soup to a boil, reduce heat until simmering gently, and cook until the barley is tender and the broth is thoroughly infused, about 1 hour and 10 minutes. (The soup can be cooled and refrigerated at this point. )

Add remaining two cups broth and bring soup to a boil. Season to taste and discard the herb sachet.

To Serve:
Ladle the soup into warm bowls.

From the Cafe Boulud Cookbook by Daniel Boulud and Dorie Greenspan

*Plus more if you wish. As you can see, this is a thick, full meal soup...thick enough to float your spoon. So if you'd like it brothier, you will want to add more. Also, if you are making it ahead, the barley will soak up more of the broth while it waits, and you will want to add more when you serve it.

Just a note

I am entirely fine, my friends, but on a hiatus here, caused largely by laziness. I do expect to return, but I'm not sure if it will be tomorrow, or next month. I do miss you.

Election Night Curry

I'm taking a vacation day on Wednesday so that I don't have to wake up for work, since I suspect any effort to go to sleep at a reasonable hour Tuesday night would be doomed. I am so anxious about the election that I can work up a sweat reading the paper, and I have begun to address audible comments to televised news and punditry, with only the cats to hear me.

I in no way presume that anyone is interested in my position on this contest, but lest you think me evasive or coy- I'm happy to tell you that I (enthusiastically) support Barack Obama. I'm not going to talk about the issues here. It isn't that I think it would be somehow wrong to do so, but rather that I am already way too keyed up, and I'm pretty sure the only possible effect of airing my views in any detail would be further angst on my part, and maybe boredom on yours. Apparently there are still a substantial number of undecided voters. The mind boggles. I can't imagine what they want to hear, or what they are waiting for.

In any event, if you are, as I am, planning a Tuesday evening, after voting, wrapped in an afghan in front of the tube, clutching a bowl of some sort of comfort food, and a spoon (or chopsticks), you may have been, as I was, intrigued by the recipe in the Times Magazine last weekend. The article discussed Katsu Curry, a specialty of Go Go Curry restaurants. This Japanese (! curry?) chain now has a few outposts in New York, which are proving popular.

Katsu curry is, "a comfort food, an energy food, a power food, a guilty pleasure," says Miyamori, the proprietor of Go Go.. It is "British Indian food as imagined by excited Japenese and cooked in the United States a hundred years later," per Sam Sifton, who wrote the article. As he commends it for televised football viewing and as it can be served layered in individual, personal bowls, it sounded just the thing to me. And really, the bowl arrangement is best. I've got it spread out a bit here, so you can see all the parts- but layered is nicest- and most efficient for living room consumption
.
The dish consists of rice, topped with a fruity pork curry, and further topped with strips of fried, panko encrusted pork chops, a handful of shredded cabbage, and a dribble of Tonkansu "fruit and vegetable" sauce.* Sound yummy? I picked up the S&B Japanese curry powder* and the Tonkatsu sauce* at the Asian grocery in the Strip at lunchtime on Thursday, and I was pretty sure this was going to be the meal in question. I was so certain that I dragged an eclectic bag of groceries to and home from post-work theater-going (August Wilson's last play, "Radio Golf"- and a terrific performance it was, too), just so I could try it out this weekend.

To avoid disappointment, (I do NOT want to suffer from disappointments of any kind, if at all avoidable, on Tuesday) I thought I'd have a dry run ahead of time, so here you are. A little research revealed that there are also chicken versions of this curry, which was good, because I had ground chicken, and no ground pork. Also, I oven- fried the pork chops, rather than deep frying them, partly out of nutrition guilt, but mostly because I didn't fancy dealing with smoky fat..laziness, more than anything. Also- sue me- I used basmanti rice rather than short-grain Japanese rice, because I like it better- especially with curry. Anyhow, the curry keeps, and I will reheat it and cook it up for election night, making another pork chop to slice up then.

This is really just the thing for the purpose- invigorating to the fingertips, strong and sustaining..it suits me fine- and no doubt would also work for the football viewer. Here are the instructions- as minimally altered by Yrs Truly -based mostly on availability of ingredients:

3 Tbsps butter
1 lb. ground pork, turkey or chicken
s and p
3 Tbsps flour
3 Tbsps S&B Japanese curry powder
peeled onion, quartered
3 cloves garlic, peeled
peeled sliced carrot
2" fresh ginger, peeled and thinly sliced
mango, peeled and coarsly chopped, or a peeled banana and 2 Tbsps sweet mango chutney- such as Major Gray
a green apple, peeled, cored and quartered
2 Tbsps tomato paste
1 Tbsp worchestershire sauce
1 cup chicken broth
6 thin boneless pork chops, pounded
2 beaten eggs
1 cup of Panko breadcrumbs
cooked rice
shredded cabbage
tonkatsu sauce

Curry Sauce: Melt the butter and add the meat. Brown the meat thoroughly, add S and P, then stir in the flour and curry powder. In the meantime, combine everything else, up to, and including the Worcestershire sauce in a food processor, and combine thoroughly. Add to the meat, and cook, stirring for five minutes or so, until sludgy. Add the chicken broth, stir and cook down over a very low heat, for about an hour. You can do this ahead, and reheat it, if you like.

Pork: Preheat the oven to 450. Line a cookie sheet with aluminum foil. Beat the eggs, and put the eggs and panko each in a wide shallow bowl. Heat a large saute or frying pan with two tablespoons of peanut oil until almost smoking. Dip each chop into the egg, then coat thoroughly with panko, and, for a good crust, repeat. Set in the hot oil. Brown each chop on both sides, then set on the lined cookie sheet, and place in the preheated oven. Finish cooking in the oven, until cooked through and beautifully browned. Slice chops on the diagonal.

Assemble: Put a nice scoop of rice in each bowl, ladle on some curry sauce, and top with slices of pork and a handful of shredded cabbage. Squirt on some tonkatsu sauce, tasting it first, to make sure you like it. (I do. It kind of tastes like V-8 juice with the color and texture of oyster sauce. In a good way. Really.) Consume, holding the bowl in one hand, and chopsticks, or a spoon in the other. And hope for the best.

* I have pictured these ingredients in an effort to make it easier for you to find them; it always takes me forever to locate a listed ingredient in an Asian shop...though they are labeled in English, it just helps to know what they look like.

Simply Delicious: Beautiful Invalid Food

Not everyone would agree that this ordinary plate of skinless chicken and steamed vegetables in broth is beautiful. But sometimes a not-so-nice situation can make for a renewed recognition of everyday boons. Recently, I have been appreciating the simple flavors of fresh, well-raised, seasonal food in its more or less unadorned excellence. And this is the fanciest meal I've eaten in some time.

I am being very, very careful about what I'm eating as I slowly regain my appetite after a recent bit of gastric unpleasantness. I managed to get some sort of food poisoning or viral infection which pretty much took the fun out of food and everything else for a while there. With a real dread of starting something up again, I followed the bland recommendations of the hospital discharge summary for longer even than they recommended.

Before it began, I had roasted and chilled, but not yet eaten, a beautiful free range organic chicken . So when I came home from the ER, before falling into bed, I removed all the meat from the bones, bagged and froze it, and put the carcass in a big pot to simmer for broth. I woke up in time to strain the broth and refrigerate it, and went back to sleep. After a night in the fridge and removal of the fat on top, this broth became the basis of all nourishment for a couple of days. This plan comported well with my energy level at the time.

Once I moved past the broth and ginger ale stage, I added to the menu. First, I tried some rice/congee cooked with a nub of ginger root, as recommended by my daughter, and reader/friend Lynn D. They were right on target with this one. I don't know if it is just because I'm not still 100%, but I think this is something I'd be quite happy to eat when entirely normal. It really tastes like food and smells lovely, yet is entirely, uh, non-challenging.Also nice is just plain basmanti rice, cooked with a chunk of ginger and a garlic clove, which you fish out before eating. For the congee, you just cook a bit of rice in lots and lots of salted water, very slowly, until it falls apart, and grows ever so slightly gelatinous. I think some rice cookers have a special setting for this homey comfortable porridge.

Also good was some super-plain applesauce. I hadn't been shopping, but I still had most of the contents of my weekly CSA farmbox, which included a bunch of organic apples, and some homemade cider, as well as a cauliflower, green beans, carrots, cilantro, potatoes and turnips, and a little round orange winter squash which is a small version of the hubbard ,according to our weekly bulletin.

The clean, clear tastes of the vegetables, broth and chicken in my most recent dinner in a bowl was a real pleasure, reminding me how lucky I am to have access to this range of local organic vegetables and free range chickens. Of everything in the bowl, only the parsnip was from the supermarket. (I love the sweetness of parsnip in any sort of broth or boiled dinner.) Maybe it's a matter of abstinence making the heart grow fonder, but it seems as if I am somehow better able to appreciate each individual flavor. I feel that I'm pampering myself with great and subtle delicacies.

This summer, we've also had, via our CSA farmer, local cheeses available from two other farms, one of which does raw cows' milk cheeses, the other, goat cheese. My favorites thus far have been the cows' milk cheddar and a plain goat cheese. I think I may be ready for some cheddar soon. The first of the aged camenbert arrived this week. I think I'm going to have to age that one just a little longer. I plan to braise a lamb shank today, until it falls apart, de-fat it with a vengence, and have it with some mashed potatoes- so I'm getting there. But no rush.