Showing posts with label guest blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guest blog. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 04, 2011

Day old bread, vol. one: Dean Cochrane's Portuguese bread soup

Dear Readership,

Hard times being what they are, I figure it's time to downgrade again. You show me a cool utility-level downgrade, you get my respect. You produce dinner out of shitty old bread? You get my respect and then some.

My buddy Dean Cochrane has just such a solution for day-old bread: Portuguese bread soup. I loved this recipe as soon as I read it and as the embedded photos indicate, I couldn't wait to try it.

Dean, the floor is all yours.



Ingredients:

-Some stale bread - if it's not hard-stale, it's ok, but once bread goes stale. I leave it to go hard as a rock for this recipe.

-One pound shrimp.

Homemade frozen stock, boss!
-Four cups chicken broth, or thereabouts.

-One small onion.

-Three or four cloves garlic.

-Two tbsp. olive oil.

-Hot sauce - I use Chinese pepper and garlic sauce. Serve it with extra hot sauce for those who like it über-hot. Or you can use that Vietnamese chili sauce in the clear plastic bottle with the picture of the cock on it (NO ERIN--THE MALE CHICKEN)

Do List:

Cut the stale bread into cubes maybe 1" across--just chop it up. Save
all the bread powder that comes off. Use about 2 cups, give or take.

It's a garlic press, not a speculum, boss!
Chop the onion and garlic fine.

Heat the oil in a heavy-bottom pot until it shimmers; then add the onion. Sauté till transparent, one or two minutes. Add the garlic and sauté for another minute.

Add the bread including the bread powder. Stir frequently until the bread is mostly dark gold, and then pour in the stock. Turn the heat down and simmer for 10 minutes or so.

Add hot sauce to taste. You want the broth to be spicy, but not so hot that you don't like it.

I'm watching the timer, boss!
Add the shrimp and simmer for another couple of minutes until the shrimp are beautiful pink. The longer you simmer, the thicker the soup will get, so stop when it is the consistency you like.

One warning: it progresses quickly, so you can't leave this for more than a few minutes or you risk it thickening too much and burning. And it tastes like shit if you burn it. Trust me on this.

This is really quick and filling and a good way to use up old bread. You can add other things. I sometimes put leftover peas in it, or corn. Garlic-fried beans are good in this, too. Broccoli, cut small, or maybe some cauliflower.


I followed Dean's recipe to the note, but I did use an immersion blender to smooth out the broth before I added the shrimp. It came out so rich and velvety, I wanted to call this a poor man's bisque. The soup was simply wonderful.

I can't wait to try this with leftover chicken, peas, carrots and potatoes instead of shrimp. It will be one royal chicken pot pie soup.

As for the Cock Sauce? HELL YEAH!

You rock my face off, Dean. Thanks, amigo.


* * *

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Hey good lookin'

Whatcha got cookin'?

Al the Retired Army Guy is a reader of this here blog and a student at the New England Culinary Institute. Here's the skinny on of one of his latest projects.



From Al: Here are a few pictures of a display platter my classmates and I worked on. If you’re wondering why everything appears shiny, it is because all of the food is coated in aspic (gelatin) to give the food a shine for display purposes only. It isn’t meant for consumption, though you could eat it if you wanted to. I wouldn’t mainly due to the gelatin. Without the gelatin, though--> ;-)

In the pictures you will find a terrine, a liver pate, and a duck galantine, as well as two vegetable garnishes. There is also a beet/pickled onion salad, with an orange vinaigrette (you can’t really see the vinaigrette). The single plate represents a single serving of the components contained in the platter.

It took us about six hours to put five coats of aspic on every individual piece. The vegetables were individually carved and placed as well. I did the “pointy” rutabaga bases you see, as well as the chioggia beets (the purple ones, carved into fleurons or a crescent shape). I did the orange/white squares you see inside the circular garnish on the right side of the platter. The terrine, galantine, and liver pate were made for us by classmates and our instructor.


Overall it was a lot of fun. All the attention to detail I learned while in the Army definitely pays off while doing things like this.

* * *

Looks good, Al. Now whydontcha come over here and wrangle up something for dinner?

* * *

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Recession post vol. five with special guest Dean Cochrane

My favorite quote from my friend Dean Cochrane is "I blame Bush. That motherfucker has ruined everything," which he calls an "all-purpose phase." So all you guys out there whose women are faking orgasms, go ahead and blame Bush courtesy of Dean. Same goes for all you women out there faking orgasms because your man can't get the trick: it's Bush's fault.

Now I advise you to stick with Dean through his Burgers of the World post, which is peppered with good advice and little known facts such as the connection between stomach goo and hangovers.


* * *

So, you're stuck in a recession. For the longest time you were a happy little camper, supporting the war on terror and paying interest only on your 600,000 exotic mortgage on that 2 bedroom fixer-upper in Sacramento... then it happened. While you weren't looking. A recession.

The all-purpose recession food, at least for carnivores, is hamburger. Ground cow. Lips n' assholes, as my old college roomie used to say. As long as you cook the shit (literally) out of it, you're safe.

You can make almost anything with hamburger, but the primary use, of course, is hamburgers.

Dean Cochrane's Burgers of the World

Ingredients


1 lb ground chuck

One egg

Some breadlike substance: basically a starch to soak up fat and bind with the egg. Crackers, stale bread work. Pita bread doesn't. The amount varies depending on the other stuff you've got in there. I just add starch until the meat mixture forms a ball that is nice and firm and can be rolled without sticking to your fingers in little peaks.

One small onion, chopped fine

One or two cloves of garlic - optional, chopped fine

Salt and pepper to taste

Hamburger buns: if we weren't in a recession, you could buy Kaiser rolls or Ciabatta buns and invite your friends over. But we are, so buy the cheapass no-name buns and keep them to yourself.



Procedure and More Ingredients

Throw everything but the bread crumbs (cracker crumbs, whatever) into a bowl and squish it all together with your hands. Once it's a smooth mixture, start adding breadcrumbs and mashing the meat mixture with your fingers until it reaches the right consistency. As I said above, this is when the meat doesn't stick to your fingers in little peaks, but before it cracks when you squish it down flat into a patty.

Recession cooking is all about creativity. When all you can afford is hamburger (and when you're buying regular fatty lips n' assholes instead of lean or extra lean, which are probably more asshole than lip) you have to resort to dressing it up. A lot. That means being creative, and that in turn means making use of what you've got.

And so, to this, you could add:

… 3-4 tablespoons of red taco sauce, or the package of leftover burrito seasoning mix from 2005 when things were good. This will give you Recession TexMex Burgers. Serve them with the half-jar of salsa from the back of the fridge* and a bag of those cheap Restaurant-Style! tortilla chips for a meal that will remind you that, recession or no, you're still better off than 95 percent of those who live south of the border.

*Note: when Recession Fridge-mining, DO NOT look at the expiry dates. It will only make you worry, and who needs more worry during a recession? Those dates are only suggestions anyway.

--OR--

… 10-12 drops of habanero pepper sauce. If you're hung over and eating hamburgers for breakfast because you're one of those people who cure hangovers with a healthy dose of protein, make it a 1/2 teaspoon. This makes either Nicely Spicy Recession Burgers or Holy Fuck It's a Depression Burgers. I have a theory about booze and hangovers: the booze mixes with the goop that lines your stomach and intestines (have you ever seen stomach? It's lined with goop) and makes an irritating intestinal-booze-jelly that sticks to your insides. Really hot stuff makes all that goop just move on through, if you know what I mean, and the best damn cure for a hangover is some really hot food and about a quart of ice-water. And an aspirin.

--OR--

… Dig around the back of the spice cabinet and find that jar of curry powder that you bought at the supermarket back when the US dollar was the currency everybody lived for. Open it up... it's almost full, of course. Nobody ever empties one of those jars, because the only people who buy this shit are people who don't know Indian cooking, and so they read a recipe that calls for curry powder, they buy a jar, use 1/2 tsp (for Aunt Marg's Curried Potato Salad, which nobody eats), and then never touch it again.

So I know for sure that you've got a jar like that. Find it, (it's probably back beside the sweet paprika) and put a solid teaspoon in.

Make yourself some Bombay Burgers. If the TexMex burgers above didn't do the trick, these should remind you that, even if you're the second-poorest goddamn person in the United States, you've probably got more money in pocket change than the average Calcutta streetwalker will see in a year.

--OR--

… Look way in the back of your cupboard until you find the box of Lipton's powdered Onion Soup mix. Nobody ever makes Onion soup with this stuff, because it's vile. Take that and mix it into the hamburger meat mix to give you I Don't Know What Nationality These Are Burgers. If you do this, omit the fresh onion, because that would be too much onion, and thus a waste of onion and not a Recession Burger at all.

Once you've made the meat mix, roll it into balls and flatten it. Flatten it out thinner than you think is reasonable, because the meat tries to reform a ball as it cooks. Don't ask me why this is: perhaps it is because they're Recession Burgers, and they're hunkering down for a storm--just like you should be.

Make sure you cook them long enough. They need to be at least light grey all the way through, no pink. Actually, it's better if you check them with a thermometer. They need to be at least 160 inside. It's the assholes, see. You have to make sure you kill all the Escherichia coli, also called E. coli. They're called 'coli' because they live in the lower intestines of warm-blooded mammals. They're fine as long as they stay there, and there's only a problem if they get into the UPPER digestive tracts of mammals. For some people, it can be a big problem, up to and involving death. You really don't want to complicate a recession with death. You'll just have to trust me on that one.

That's one thing you don't want to do with Recession Hamburger: undercook it.

Another thing you never want to do with Recession Hamburger is succumb to the lure of Hamburger Helper. Hamburger Helper is like Hamburger Lucifer, all shiny and beautiful and in-the-box fabulous. But Hamburger Lucifer is like the real life Lucifer (who is, of course, imaginary, just like that cute little glove that Helps the Harried Housewife serve her family a nutritious and delicious meal) and it lures you in with backrubs and sweet promises. But it does not deliver, oh, no, on those promises. Instead, there is only culinary damnation, breastbeating, and woe.

Do not heed the siren call of Hamburger Helper. It shouldn't be called Hamburger Helper. It should be called Hamburger Harmer. Hamburger Destroyer. Within that cheerful box lies soul-searing corruption.

One final note: Recession Burgers can be consumed with beer, or with stronger waters. Pretty much any beer will do, but cheap is better. As an added plus, crappy beer (think Pabst or Miller or Hamm's) will make Recession Burgers taste that much better by comparison.

For maximum Recession-fighting, though, I recommend drinking whiskey. Cheap rye works well, as does cheap bourbon. You don't even need to bother with glasses: that stuff is 40% alcohol. It's self-sterilizing. Just pass the bottle (and buy it in those big 40 lbers to save money). By the time you've eaten 2 burgers and worked your way through the top half of the jug, you won't give a shit about what the Federal Reserve is doing.




* * *

I came into this in search of hamburgers, which I surely got, but I won't be able to bring them to fruition until I overcome the images of a vicious machete-wielding Hamburger Helper glove and tiny lips and assholes floating in my burger--worth the price of admission alone.

Thanks Dean!

Friday, March 07, 2008

Song sung blue

I am busily playing would-be DJ over at Sleekpelt's place. Drop in on me over there if you please. It's a most obligin' spot.

Friday, May 25, 2007

I am a sensitive artist



This is me singing along to King Missile. I don't know why the soundtrack is off. Sorry.

Go here to read about just how sensitive I am or if you've seen my undies (the ones with the zipper).

Thursday, May 24, 2007

Wishing upon a star and a flying cave

Here is an essay on writing, Erin-style. And if you are in Cleveland this weekend, don't miss this.

Despite my absence in the comment section, I am here, loving all your notes. They keep me going.

Monday, May 21, 2007

The Big Lebowski Redux

I slide the Big Lebowski VHS cassette into the player, which accepts and draws the tape into itself politely. I take pleasure at this perfect insert-tab-A-into-slot-B policy. I smile.

Earlier in the day, a great commotion took place in the field next to my home. He who owned the field had taken advantage of a lax new Ohio law that allows drilling for oil and gas in residential areas regardless of municipal law. So much for home rule.

Hence, a towering oil derrick stands erect in the otherwise pristine meadow approximately 500 feet from my television and VHS machine, the mechanical heads of which have begun to whir. The drilling operation is replete with wildcatters, klieg lights and stentorian diesel generators.

He who owned the field, ironically, died one week ago and is not present to see his Giant dream come to fruition. No matter. Contracts were in place and the show must indeed go on.

I fast forward through the “Coming Soon” segments and settle into the movie, trying to ignore the atrocious noise associated with the drilling. Surely when the clock strikes 10 p.m., it will stop per a local ordinance. On the little screen, The Dude takes a slug of his white Russian, leaving a creamy white residue around his mouth and mustache. I absentmindedly finger my pearl necklace.

Fortified myself with a bit of cheap Canadian, I call the cops to report the racket at quarter after ten. I am promptly told that nothing can be done by anyone.

Horse shit.

If Bunny Lebowski can charge $1,000 for performing fellatio, something can be effing done! I check my aggression then call Every. Single. Councilperson. As. Well. As. The. Mayor. At. Home. I swear. I implore. I espouse my disbelief, my indignation, my outrage.

Nothing is done.

The generators generate. The drill pounds relentlessly into the earth as I note that, above the Dude’s modest home bar, there hangs a photo of Richard Nixon frozen in the ejaculatory moment just before bowling ball hits bowling lane. I meet and admire Jesus and his tongue and admit to myself that I probably shouldn’t have allowed nine years to transpire before seeing this movie.

What is wrong with me?

The film concludes. I retire. In order to muffle the noise, I sandwich my head between pillows much in the same manner I did when my college roommate entertained gentlemen in the bunk below me some 20 odd years ago. Just as was the case then, the pillows are not much help. Hence, as Mother Earth endures ceaseless penetration throughout the night, I sleep alone and poorly, fractured dreams of Sam Eliot’s extraordinary mustache floating in my head.

Miraculously, at 7:01 a.m., the drilling stops and the beautiful quiet to which I am accustomed blooms. At 7:04 a.m., my husband returns home fresh off the midnight shift. I stumble down the stairs and into the kitchen. He beholds my dark circles and poor coloring while blinking quizzically.

“Life does not stop and start at your convenience,” I say, then turn to the absolution of the coffee pot.

The preceding post is an edrant simulcast*.


*WARNING: Clicking the associated link may result in learning something cool**.

**WARNING: There actually is no warning associated with the preceding warning, I just felt like acting like there was a warning (which there isn't).

Thursday, May 17, 2007

Wednesday, May 16, 2007

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

Eat my brain

I'm babysitting over at Eat Our Brains. Please pop on over and give me a hand with these insufferable flerps. I need all the help I can get. As a treat, we can watch the Wizard of Gore together.