CreativeSpace

emergency cheese

Technically it wasn't an emergency. I stepped out onto the porch and was greeted by a brisk breeze and fairly comfortable temperatures. I thought, Holy Carp it might actually be autumn! I took the Hound on his morning constitutional and didn't sweat. At all. What madness was this? Oh, in northern parts they call it "the change of seasons." (Say that with awe in your voice and a gong sounding in the background.) It might actually be happening. Here! 

I did what every self-respecting person does when faced with the mere thought of using a quilt in the very near future. I cooked up a batch of macaroni and cheese. Now I'm the type that is continuously searching for the best mac n cheese recipe. It's a compulsion really. I started with Martha's recipe and have been on a quest ever since. Not because I didn't like Martha's version (her buttered bread cube topping is swoon-worthy) but because I also wanted easy to throw together. And we all know that Martha isn't necessarily known for her ease of recipe.

I discovered an Epicurious recipe that had high promise with a bread crumb topping, but it was bland. So bland that we could barely finish the pan. However, the topping idea stuck with me. My general philosophy in life was that bacon made everything better. In this case, it was magic. 

Topping

 ½ stick unsalted butter

2 cups panko bread crumbs (I used homemade)

1 ½ cups coarsely grated extra-sharp cheddar

½ cup grated Parmesan cheese

4 strips bacon, cooked crisp and crumbled

Sauce

1 stick unsalted butter

6 TBS all-purpose flour

5 cups whole milk

6 cups coarsely grated extra-sharp cheddar

½ cup Parmesan cheese

1 lb. elbow macaroni

Topping:  Toss everything together in a bowl except butter. Melt butter (I did this in the same pan that I cooked the bacon.) then pour over mixture. Combine until evenly coated.

Then try not eating the topping as you cook the rest. I had a lot of extra topping, so I froze the excess.

Cook elbow macaroni according to instructions and drain.

Sauce:  Melt butter in saucepan over low heat. Stir in flour and cook roux for three minutes then stir in milk. Whisking constantly, increase heat and bring to a simmer for three minutes. Stir in cheeses, 2 tsp salt, ½ tsp pepper, and 1 tsp dry mustard. Continue whisking until sauce is completely smooth. Remove from heat.

I combined the pasta and sauce in the pan then poured it into a 12x9 pyrex pan. Sprinkled it (heavily) with the topping and baked it for 20 minutes in a 375° oven. Keep an eye on it because 1. It may bubble over and 2. The topping will brown quickly.

 

the lemons of life

Some days it just doesn't do to write a blog post. There have been times recently when I couldn't sit down at the computer and write a single positive word. All that came out was angst and general snittiness. Yes, that's an actual word. Those of us who are capable of epic snits know that word well, thank you very much. During one of these emotional days of dark clouds and impending storm fronts, I found myself at the grocery store eyeing the lemons. I don't buy bags of them, you see. Their yellow skin was so cheery, so bright that I felt compelled to purchase an entire bag, as if they'd somehow impart their glowing good nature.

They looked gorgeous on my counter but even better in the sauce pan. Oh yes, with so many lemons at my disposal I indulged in my favorite lemony pastime...lemon curd. LEMON CURD! (Sorry for the shouting. It's the sugar rush.) Have you had it before? Have you slathered it over scones or spread it between layers of sponge cake? Great googly-moogly, I love the stuff. Which is why I rarely make it, because if left to my own devices I would eat an entire jar in one sitting. Yes, I'm mad. MAD FOR LEMON CURD! (Apologies once again for the shouting.)

Lemon Curd

3 oz. (6 TBS) unsalted butter, softened at room temperature

1 C sugar

2 large eggs

2 large egg yolks

2/3 C fresh lemon juice

1 tsp grated lemon zest

In a large bowl beat butter and sugar with an electric mixer about 2 minutes. Slowly add the eggs and yolks. Beat for 1 minute. Mix in the lemon juice. The mixture will look curdled, but it will smooth out as it cooks.

In a medium, heavy saucepan, cook the mixture over low heat until it looks smooth. The mixture may look foamy, keep stirring over low heat until it begins to thicken, about 15 minutes. Don’t let it boil. The color will turn a clear lemon color, and you’ll know it’s done when you draw a spoon along the top and it leaves a path.

Remove the curd from the heat; stir in the lemon zest. Transfer the curd to a bowl. Press plastic wrap on the surface of the lemon curd to keep a skin from forming and chill in the refrigerator. It will thicken further as it cools. Covered tightly, it will keep in the refrigerator for a week and in the freezer for 2 months.

 

The next step for my lemon curd is to be the lovely companion to a sponge cake. Maybe even a roly-poly. Stay tuned!

 

 

 

that's how the custard curdles

My mother tells me that I loved the custard my Great-Grandma Viola used to cook. I don't remember the custard specifically like I do her soft boiled eggs and roasted squash, or how she kept a steady supply of Honeycomb cereal stashed in the tin pail that used to carry her girlhood lunches. That was the first sugared cereal I ever tasted, and my cousins and I raided that tin pail every chance we got. Not only did she supply us with forbidden sugar, but Great-Grandma also had CABLE TELEVISION. Not that we had a chance to watch anything remotely scandalous like Happy Days reruns. (That Fonzie had very tight pants.) No, Great-Grandma had an inexplicable fondness for religious programming, specifically Jerry Falwell. Even at that tender age, I would have rather cleaned the cat box with a teaspoon than watched Mr. Falwell in action. But I digress...

CUSTARD, my friends. It's glorious, don't you think so? I began my custard ruminations after a lively discussion with some UK writer friends about its fine qualities. I kept testing the limits of their custard devotion until finally I proposed digging a giant pit in the back yard and filling it with the stuff. This is what happens when writerly imaginations run amok, you end up battling your editor in custard. In our hypothetical bout my money's on Ren. She's an Essex girl who hates to lose. (Apparently being from Essex makes you terribly gritty and determined.)

As organizer of the event (and trainer of otters, but that's a completely different flight of fancy that we shan't explore at the moment) it's my job to make the custard. Believe it or not, I'm a complete and utter custard novice. I dug out my trusted 1965 Fanny Farmer Cookbook and set about cooking. Within minutes I had a curdled icky mess in the double boiler. Fanny made it seem so quick and easy. My mother's reply when regaled with the tragedy was, "didn't you temper the eggs?" Um, no. Fanny didn't tell me to. Clouded by custard confusion, I surveyed my culinary friends. 

Erik is a chef, and when he says things like "break down the proteins" and "ice bath," I sit up in attention and take notes. As y'all know, cooking chemistry just rings my chimes. He took my basic recipe and tweaked it significantly, all the while explaining how the ingredients would react and come together. I didn't follow his instructions exactly, because his recipe was for a stiff custard that would be baked in cups, as for a creme brulee. I wanted soft velvety custard. 

Custard

3 eggs, 1/4 Cup sugar, 2 Cups cream, 1 Tbs vanilla, dash salt

Combine eggs and sugar in double boiler and whisk. (this is where the proteins are being broken down) I put the saucepan on very low heat. 

In a second saucepan combine cream, vanilla, and salt. Heat until just under boiling. Remove from heat.

In tiny increments, drip scalded cream mixture into eggs, whisking the entire time. (This is advice from a different culinary friend who makes custard tarts. I'm already bothering him for the recipe.) It's imperative that you do this slowly and in tiny quantities so the eggs don't cook rapidly and chunk up the custard. Continue whisking for seven minutes or so until mixture coats a spoon. Take it from someone who has done this several times now. It's a thin line between curdled chunky custard and smooth as satin custard. The second it clings to a spoon, pour the custard into an ice bath. This halts the cooking and will allow the custard to set. After a few minutes, place it in the fridge to finish chilling. 

After the ice bath, Erik advised to pour the custard into cups, place in a water bath and bake at 225 degrees until custard had firmly set. I skipped the final steps, mostly because I'm lazy. Instead, I allowed it to chill several hours and then gleefully ate it.

 

I'm fully aware that this is actually a chocolate cup, but it's still too hot to contemplate hot chocolate. It turned out to be perfect for custard, and it didn't make me sweat. (I borrowed Little Bear's wee spoon to compliment it.)

 

the bears and the bees

 

Contrary to her bear nature, Little Bear isn't a fanatic about honey. She has recently discovered the joy of peanut butter, as have my pants, my hair and the window sills. She dissects her prey, I mean sandwich, with the precision of a surgeon, carefully peeling apart the slices of bread and then licks it clean of peanut butter. Sometimes she eats the bread, but most of the time it is abandoned in ragged pieces on the plate. Recently I've begun adding just a dollop or two of honey, and after a tentative lick, she proceeds with her usual enthusiasm.

Have you ever noticed the differences in honey? At one point I blithely purchased honey at the grocery with nary a thought as to the source. It wasn't until my friend, Phil, began keeping bees that I gave it much consideration. The average grocery brand is actually a combination of honey from a variety of hives, and as one of my friends put it, is only good as an addition to yogurt. Or when you're desperate, was the implication. 

My favorite honey is orange blossom or clover which I buy from the organic Amish farmer when I head north to visit my mother. During my first trip to the farmer's market here, I purchased a small jar of honey from a local farmer that declared, BLESSED BEES! across the front. The jar was $8.00, and my mother muttered that it cost that much to have the preacher drive out to the hives every day for a blessing. The honey is good, light and sweet, but at that price it should have healing properties.

For Little Bear, honey and peanut butter is only an appetizer. Real breakfast consists of her favorite food, bacon. The bear is a bacon bandit. I have to place the cooling strips high up on the counter or else she steals them. She acts like she'll share, but I know better.

 

snap out of it!

Nothing like a dramatic title to herald a new blog entry! It's a quote from one of my favorite movies, Moonstruck.

Moonstruck is the story of widowed Loretta Castorini, a middle-age book keeper, determined to marry Mr. Right. She believes that due to a cloud of bad luck (she married her husband down at City Hall) her husband was hit by a bus. She lives at home with her mother, father and Italian grandfather with his collection of mutts. The Right Man in question is Johnny Cammareri and after she coaches him through the correct way to propose, they become engaged. Trouble begins when Johnny must go to Sicily to say goodbye to his dying mother. He tasks Loretta with calling his estranged brother, Rohnny, to invite him to the wedding. Johnny alludes to the bad blood between them, but Loretta has no idea what she's in for. Hilarity ensues.

My favorite theme of the movie is summed up by Ronny.

"Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this either, but love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and *die*. The storybooks are *bull****. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and *get* in my bed!"

I'm not a big romcom fan, but this movie has smart dialogue and amazing performances. Olympia Dukakis almost steals the movie as Loretta's mother. Because it's a romantic comedy, everything goes wrong in a delightful way and the prerequisite happy ending isn't obnoxiously saccharine sweet. Dramatic gestures and fantastic quips abound. Plus there's food and beautiful music, two of my favorite things in life.

This movie was my first introduction to egg in a basket. Or toad in a hole as my mother says which is just gross in my humble opinion. In the movie Mrs. Castorini made eggs in a basket with a side of roasted red peppers. The first time I watched it (which was 954 times ago) I thought the peppers were bacon. Note to Self: make it with bacon next time.

Egg in a basket is simplicity itself. Made with homemade white bread and creamy farm butter, it's heartily satisfying. Just cut a circle in the middle of the bread for the egg and cook the buttered bread in a skillet until the bread is toasted and the egg slightly runny. That's the trick, not overcooking it.

Part of me says it's still too hot for comfort food, but when you need it, you need it.