Tasso | Charcutepalooza, challenge no. 4

 

After our charcutepalooza “practice run" with smoked turkey, ken and I tackled the official challenge, making tasso ham, a cajun dry-cured and smoked pork shoulder.  Because the pork shoulder is sliced into thin slabs before curing, it calls for a relatively short curing time of four hours.  The entire process of making tasso can be completed start to finish in less than one day, which is about as close as any charcuterie project can get to offering instant gratification.  After curing, the slabs are coated in spices and smoked.

The day before we had problems getting the Bradley smoker up to temperature, but decided to give it another try.  Ken deftly diagnosed the problem, finding that the lever that controls the temperature wasn’t working.  He employed his expert engineering skills, and with crackerjack timing, fixed the faulty lever by “jiggling” it while making temperature adjustments.

And less than three hours later, we had tasso!

We had eaten tasso before, but it was nothing like this one.  The meat was juicy and salty, the crust almost too spicy to enjoy alone (I may have overdone the spicing), but perfect in a gumbo, which is exactly how we ended up using it.  
Our go-to cookbook for cajun cooking, Chef Paul Prudhomme’s Louisiana Kitchen, has several gumbo recipes but none that use tasso.  However, we have made the seafood and andouille gumbo so often that we figured we had the basic technique down well enough to improvise.  
One of our favorite stands at the greenmarket is John Fazio’s Duck Farm, which sells chicken, duck and rabbit.  Although they are our regular source for chicken and duck (and, in fact, they supplied the meat for my first charcutepalooza challenge, duck prosciutto), we have never actually cooked one of their rabbits.  Thinking this would be a great time to remedy the omission, we chose to make a rabbit and tasso gumbo.

This was my first time working with rabbit so, although the meat would ultimately be shredded into soup, I took the opportunity to try my hand at breaking it down into its usable parts.  For reasons completely beyond me, I had assumed it would be like taking apart a really skinny chicken.  Apparently someone needs to explain to me the difference between a bird and a rodent.  A rabbit is a rodent, right?  Regardless, I think I did a pretty good job with this bunny for my first try.

In fact I was so proud of myself for getting the tenderloins out somewhat cleanly that I kept them out of the soup, and featuring them in their own course alongside the liver.

Whenever I make meat based soup, strew, ragu - anything which requires both a braise-tender meat and stock, I like to braise the meat ahead of time, over a basic mirepoix, bay leaf and parsley.  I remove the meat once it reaches the desired texture and strain the liquid, yielding plenty of stock to use in the final dish.  Although less crucial for a lean meat like rabbit, this method allows me to degrease the liquid in advance, strain it of impurities, and reduce it as necessary, without worrying about overcooking the meat.  Applying the same technique here yielded tender boneless rabbit meat, and just over six cups of flavorful rabbit stock.

One of the most important parts of a gumbo is the prep work.  Once the actual cooking starts up, there is very little time to get things measured and chopped, even with two people in the kitchen (especially when one of them is busy taking pictures of the process!).  To prepare for our gumbo cooking we combined and set aside all the necessary seasoning, and brought the stock to a simmer.  We combined chopped garlic, onions, celery and green bell peppers in one bowl.  And, in another, went our lovely diced tasso.  

And finally we started the actual gumbo, which began, as all gumbos do, with a dark roux.  This is the most labor intensive part of making the gumbo, because it requires constant whisking and careful attention.

Once the roux took on the right color, half of the chopped vegetables were stirred in, followed a couple minutes later with the rest of veggies and the diced tasso.  After a few more minutes we stirred in the seasoning mix and removed the pan from the heat.

We then added the roux mixture to the bubbling stock, one spoonful at a time, stirring all the while to make sure it was well incorporated, and brought the whole thing to a gentle boil.  At this point the stressful portion of the cooking is over.  We let the gumbo boil away for about 45 minutes, allowing the flavors to develop and the gumbo to thicken slightly, while we enjoyed our first cocktail of the evening, a Vieux Carre.  The recipe came from the ever informative site on all things New Orleans, The Gumbo Pages).  
After 45 minutes of boiling, we reduced the heat and added the rabbit meat.  The gumbo simmered for ten more minutes, before we served the whole thing over Prudhomme’s basic cooked rice.

And the final product?  Amazing!  I was afraid I would miss the taste of the andouille but the tasso gave it the perfect spicy smoky porky flavor.  We both preferred the tasso to our usual andouille, as the sausage often leaves a grease slick on the surface of the final gumbo.  There’s a good chance as long as there is tasso in our freezer, it will be replacing andouille in most of our cajun cooking.  Until, of course, we have a smoked sausage challenge, in which case a homemade andouille may be back in the running. 

Hot Smoked Turkey | Charcutepalooza, practice run

This month’s charcutepalooza challenge was easily my favorite one so far.  Maybe because it didn’t require maintaining frosty temperatures in my apartment like the pancetta challenge, or because it didn’t take up every usable inch of space in my fridge (the brining challenge...).  Most likely this was my favorite because my parents were generous enough to let ken and I to stay at their summer home for a weekend, where we completed the challenge.  Try to imagine cooking with this view, and not loving every minute of it!

Plus for once we had a well-sized and -equipped kitchen, a striking contrast to the tiny window-less closet we call a kitchen back home.  And the icing on the cake: access to a Bradley smoker - perfect for this month’s challenge: hot smoking!  
Although the Charcutiere challenge was to hot smoke either pork shoulder for tasso or tenderloin for canadian bacon, we started with a practice run of smoked turkey.  And its a good thing we did, because we had some issues using the Bradley which we managed to resolve by the time we got to the real challenge: pork.  
I usually prefer buying whole birds in order to have carcasses for stock, so despite the fact we were only cooking for two, we used a whole turkey from DiPaolo’s Turkey Farm stand at the greenmarket.  This turkey was pieced, brined then smoked over hickory.

Ironically, (as cold smoking is supposed to be the more difficult process) we could not get the Bradley smoker to go above 100 degrees.  After leaving the turkey in the smoker for a couple hours essentially cold smoking it, we moved it to the weber, where we finished the cooking process.

We were slightly nervous eating this turkey, since it sat at 100 degrees for two hours before finally being cooked through.  But, emboldened by the careful sourcing of the bird and the pink salt in the brine, we went ahead and ate what turned out to be delicious turkey.

Yes it was more than enough to feed two people but with turkey that tastes this good, we made sure none of it went to waste.  The smoked thighs and legs were devoured straight.  One breast was sliced for sandwiches and a so-cal-mex quesadilla we threw together for a quick weeknight meal.

The other breast, which we diced and shredded, along with the wings were a perfect addition to soups and vegetable dishes, providing a nice meaty smoky flavor.  We used some in a lentil soup (made with stock from the turkey carcass), and the rest is in the freezer for future use.

This cooking process exemplifies why I like to buy whole birds (and if I someday have the freezer space, would like to purchase whole animals as well).  From just one 13 pound bird, we managed to prepare four meals for the two of us, plus a couple turkey sandwiches, with more in the freezer for later use.  After eating these farm raised turkeys - with meat that is dense and tasting of, well, turkey, I’d be hard pressed to go back to eating just any supermarket butterball.  Turkey like this makes you realize why turkey is a wonderful food in its own right, and not just an over-sized bland chicken substitute to feed extended families on holidays.

Liberated Daffodil | A Nature Drawing

 

The design*sponge nature drawing contest was a lovely excuse to get outside yesterday.  In honor of the warm weather we are finally having here in the northeast, I wanted to draw daffodils.  Daffodils are the first sign of spring, if not botanically (I’m sure some other flowers bloom first), certainly aesthetically.  Who can look at the sunny yellow color, and slightly ridiculous looking shape, and not feel hopeful that spring is here to stay, despite recent frigid temperatures, and late march blizzards?  Walking around my very urban hometown, however, I noticed something distressing: all the daffodils and other blooming flowers were behind bars.  Fenced in to protect them from careless pedestrians, incontinent animals (and pedestrians), and inconsiderate flower pickers.  Not wanting to draw through iron bars like some jailhouse visitor, I decided instead to draw a tangle of branches conveniently dwelling by a park bench.  Happy with my drawing, I abandoned my flower search and decided to head home.  It was on the way out that I came across a giant patch of yellow flowers on the side of a grassy field where anyone could join them.  So I did, and made the drawing shown above.  These were not the perkiest daffodils, a little bedraggled and faded, but they were free and out in the open.  To me, nature is really at its most beautiful when I can be a part of it, and not just an outside observer. 

My Stinky Muse | Baby Conch Studies

A few weeks ago I had the sashimi omakase at Kanoyama, which included baby conch.  I brought  the shell home to draw, figuring that it would be a nice change from all the brussel sprouts.

I didn't realize until the next day that this little shell packs quite an odiferous punch.  I tried soaking it in bleach, packing it in baking soda, scrubbed it inside and out with an old toothbrush.  Nothing worked.  So I decided, do a quick study, and get the offensive thing out of the apartment, asap!  Well, two weeks later, and it is still there.  I'm finding that I cannot stop drawing this shell - the interplay of geometric and organic forms is fascinating.  So thought I'd share some of what I'm working on:.

 I also have a couple more detailed and refined pieces that I'm still working on, and hoping to make prints from.  I have one more week to work with my lovely stinky shell before I have to dispose of it - we are expecting house guests, and I cannot force them to tolerate the stench.

Corned Beef and Tongue | Charcutepalooza, challenge no. 3

Growing up in new york city, my childhood was punctuated with outings to the second avenue deli. Although my family is half chinese and half eastern european jewish, chinese food was disproportionately prominent in my diet. So trips to the deli were where I first became familiar with and learned to love the cuisine of my other half. When the deli closed down in 2006, after surviving the still unsolved murder of the long time owner, and having been in business for just over half a century, it was somewhat devastating. Even though it has since reopened in Murray Hill, I still feel a little sick every time I pass the shiny new chase bank now located in its original location on second Ave and 10th street. There is a brief history of the deli on the restaurants website, but for a more in depth and fascinating look at the man behind the deli, check out this article.

Much as I loved the food, these visits were also the source of anxiety for me. I was terrified of one waitress, who was visibly irritated and impatient with any kind of indecision, something that always plagued my meals there. The sandwiches, thinly sliced fatty meats towering between two thin slices of rye bread, are of course the star of the deli experience. But I’ve always been a soup lover, and the chicken in the pot - clear flavorful broth, seasoned with dill and full of small square noodles, ladled over half a chicken and a matzoh ball, was also a huge temptation to me. So usually I’d waiver between the soup and a corned beef sandwich until the last possible minute, when under her withering glare, I’d panic and order whichever I happened to look at first on the menu.

Now that I’m older, I’m not any more decisive. Therefore my first thought when the March charcutepalooza brining challenge was announced was that I would make deli sandwiches and serve them alongside bowls of matzoh ball soup, waistline be damned. Fortunately I had the good sense to scrap that idea after seeing the amount of meat we procured from the butcher - close to six and a half pounds all together (four lbs of brisket, two and a half of tongue). That seemed like more than enough to feed a party of four, even after taking into account the very healthy appetites of all involved. If common sense hadn’t stepped in, practicality would have put an end to my soup plans, as the tubs of brining meat left so little free space in the fridge that any additional cooking would be near impossible.

(I'm afraid I need to apologize in advance for the following picture. There's really no way to photograph a raw tongue without making it look obscene:)

After brining for four days, followed by a slow simmer which made me salivate all day, the brisket came out beautifully, fatty and flavorful. My complaints with the tongue are minimal. Based on the coloring, I believe it should have brined for more time. Also, it was a little bit too chewy, and should have been cooked longer. The next day though, after a couple more hours of cooking, the tongue was perfectly tender.

To accompany the meat, we made mustard following Hank Shaw's recipe from his blog Hunter Angler Gardener Cook, and russian dressing. All between two slices of Ken’s freshly baked rye bread, these sandwiches were top notch. The soup wasn’t even missed.

One added bonus of our family trips to the deli was that this was one of the few times I was allowed to drink soda. On each visit I would savor a can of Dr. Brown’s Black Cherry soda, while eyeing the similar green cans - the Cel-Ray soda with revulsion. Celery flavored soda would probably seem a little odd to most people, but to the celery-hater I once was, the idea seemed particularly vile.

Since then, my feelings towards celery have changed drastically. Ironically it was another self-proclaimed celery hater who instigated my conversion. Long before I “read” food blogs, I was reading Carol Blymire’s. In fact her former blog, French Laundry at Home is probably the start of what has since become an obsession with online food writing. It was this particular post, regarding peeling celery which caused my 100% reversal on the subject. After reading the post, I knew I had to try it out myself. The first thing I noticed was the smell which becomes more distinct during the peeling process. Celery has a light, refreshing, and almost floral scent which lingers on your fingers long after the celery has been prepped and put aside. And the celery itself, usually just a watery stringy stem which made me gag, suddenly became crisp and refreshing if still somewhat bland.

I have the tendency to get obsessed with things, and this discovery was no exception. I hopped on the celery peeling bandwagon with near evangelical enthusiasm. During that time I could not be in the same room as celery without looking for a peeler. I preached over crudite, was indignant at every bloody mary garnished with its signature stalk of (unpeeled!) celery. I was completely insufferable, and am pretty thankful to have any friends left - one in particular (you know who you are...). So my obsession since then has cooled, but my fondness for celery has remained. Therefore, when I decided to come up with an accompaniment for my deli sandwiches, my thoughts immediately turned to that increasingly appealing lime green can of Dr. Brown's soda.

I decided to make my own celery soda, by slightly adapting this Alton Brown recipe. The primary change being the addition of fresh celery in order to get more of the lovely fresh celery fragrance I became so infatuated with. The result had a startlingly distinct celery flavor, refreshing if a little odd to an unfamiliar palate. However, everyone who tried it found the syrup to be overly sweet and so the recipe below is adjusted accordingly. We use the same ratio: equal parts sugar to water, for ginger syrup to make homemade ginger ale and cocktails, and find that the proportion allows you to add enough syrup to get a strong flavor without too much sweetness. I can see this celery syrup working well in a light summery cocktails as well.

Homemade Celery Soda
adapted from Alton Brown’s recipe on Food Network

Ingredients:
1 cup sugar
1 cup water
2 tablespoon ground celery seed
3-4 stalks of celery, roughly chopped (peeling not necessary!)
seltzer

1. In a saucepan, over medium heat, dissolve the sugar into the water.
2. Once fully dissolved, remove from heat, and add celery seed and celery chunks. Muddle the celery lightly to release their juices. Allow to steep for an hour.
3. Strain the syrup through a fine mesh strainer. If you have the patience and the inclination, strain again through a coffee filter (while still hot) to ensure no grainy celery seeds in your final product.
4. Put a couple tablespoons of celery syrup in a glass with ice. Fill with seltzer, and stir. Adjust syrup according to your own taste.

Note: make sure the seltzer you use is highly carbonated. The one we bought initially wasn’t nearly fizzy enough, and it made a huge difference to the final product.

Brussel Sprout Etching

Something I'm working in my printmaking class:

Occasionally I get things done outside the kitchen too!

Valentines Day 2011 | Why I love pasta and my pasta maker

This past valentines days, I had a terrible idea. Probably the worst food related idea I’ve ever had. To give myself a little credit, I can honestly say that some of the fault lies with ken. Not only did he supply the kernel of inspiration on which I built this idea, but he was also complicit in allowing it to be brought to fruition. Our plan for that night was to make a pasta, because, well, because we like pasta. But it wasn’t going to be just any pasta, it would be the ultimate valentines day pasta. The idea was to make chocolate ravioli with a pretty pink beet and ricotta filling. With the benefit of hindsight I now see how bad this combination sounds, but at the time I was seduced by the idea of chocolate and picture perfect pink valentines day noodles.

These ravioli were indescribably bad. When I came up with the idea to make these, I convinced myself that the sugar in the beets would be enough to compensate for the otherwise bitter chocolate in the pasta. I was horribly mistaken. The pasta was so bitter that it overwhelmed all sweetness from the beets (and richness from the ricotta), leaving only the earthy dirty beet taste, a taste which had caused me to despise beets for the first 22 years of my life. There was absolutely nothing appealing about this dish.

So why am I writing about my horrible failure of a pasta? Well, because the experience made me realize just how amazing pasta really is. Consider this: there are a huge variety of noodles from around the world, and all are made using the same basic ingredients: flour, water, and the optional egg. Of course there are slight differences between them, but the foundation of each is the same. And if you are as lucky as I am to live with someone who can take those basic ingredients, and turn them into a pasta without the need of a recipe, then any failed pasta dish can be salvaged. Using his amazing pasta making skills ken managed to do just that by adding flour and eggs to the leftover filling, and making a delicious beet ricotta gnocchi.

Tossed with butter, grated cheese and a little lemon zest, this dish made a tasty (if not the prettiest) accompaniment to the rest of our valentine’s night meal of scallops, leeks and romanesco. The meal was a success and the experience, a perfect valentines day reminder of why I love pasta and my pasta making boyfriend.