trans Fatty Blog

Sourdough Pancakes

This week at Tuesday breakfast we served real sourdough pancakes made from my homegrown starter, leavened by the natural yeast that grows in my own kitchen. Strange as that may sound, let me assure you there's yeast in your kitchen, too. And while the whole sourdough process may sound like some bad sixth-grade science experiment, it's actually the oldest way to make yeast-leavened bread. (Unless you managed to scam some yeast from your local brewery, it was the only way until commercial yeast became available in the 19th century.) For all I know it was a sixth-grader who discovered on some pre-biblical hearth that if you started each new baking with a bit of last week's dough, your bread would rise magically in the oven, and would have a more interesting flavor and crumb. But whoever it was, they were on to something, and thousands of years later, this is still the best way to make bread. Or in this case, pancakes. (I'm betting they were just trying to find a way to recycle their leftovers, but it paid off.)

Real Grits

Update 4/1/05 — The grits were a big hit at breakfast. A creamy texture but with some bite left in them, and they actually taste like corn. Everybody who tasted them was struck by the flavor. To say they taste better than supermarket grits would miss the point; they are an entirely different product. The only shame is these grits, now considered an "artisan" or speciality item, were once commonplace. Makes me wonder what else those of us raised on modern, industrialized foodstuffs have been missing.

One of the common complaints at Tuesday breakfast is that nobody gets the grits right. So I ordered some stone ground grits from Anson Mills in South Carolina. I'm going to try them out this Tuesday.

So what are grits? Ground corn. Like corn meal, but with a coarser texture. But unlike most grits sold these days, Anson Mills grits are made with organically-grown corn, and are made from the whole kernal, including the germ. That makes them highly perishable (the germ doesn't last), which is why the man on the phone told me he would ship my order on the day it was ground. (But not until they got around to grinding some more, which he said would be a few days. I didn't mind waiting.) Their antebellum-style grits are stone ground, much coarser than supermarket grits, and may need up to 2 hours to cook. I may soak them overnight to speed things up.

I'm writing all this like I know it, but truth be told, I just read it. I'm a white boy from the north. I don't have a classic family recipe or story of how my Grandma used to make them. I plan to keep it simple, using the basic recipe that came in the package from Anson Mills, which can be paraphrased as follows:

2 1/2 cups milk
1 cup Anson grits
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
Salt and black pepper to taste

Scald the milk in a medium saucepan (I'll probably use a stainless steel bain set in a double-boiler), add the grits, stir three minutes, cook 1-2 hours until tender but not mushy, and add the butter.

I'd be tempted to stir in a bit of bacon fat (or better yet, fatback) but if so I'll reserve a few portions beforehand so I can offer a vegetarian option as well.

And cheese. White cheddar and parmesan grated and melted right into the grits (rather than on top). Now that I think about it, I think I'll offer three types: plain grits(vegetarian), bacon grits, and cheese grits.

For toppings, I'll offer sauteed greens (collards, kale, chard), and more cheese. I'll also offer bacon and sausage or country ham, which can be served on the side or cut up and stirred right into the grits if desired.

There's also shrimp and grits, of course, but that's a separate dish to be tried on a different day. And it might be a bit complicated for a breakfast, though I doubt anybody would complain. But for now I'll keep it simple.

Pizza Dough

Whenever I've made pizza dough in the past, I've always followed whatever recipe was on hand. So I set out to develop "my" pizza dough recipe, meaning one I can make automatically, without even thinking. (That doesn't mean it has to be original, just that it works for me.)

I wanted a recipe that could work with fresh or dry active yeast, whichever I happen to have on hand. (As much as I like making focaccia with sourdough starter, this recipe has to be quick enough to compete with a frozen pizza or commercially-made crust.) I also want to be able to make the dough ahead and freeze it in ball-shaped portions that I can pull out one at a time when I'm ready to bake.

I started with a basic recipe from Joy of Cooking:

1 packet dry active yeast
1 1/3 cups warm water (110 °F)
3 1/2 - 3 3/4 cups all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar (optional)

First I converted the 3 1/2 cups of flour to 18 ounces, which is roughly the same, but a lot easier to measure consistently. (If you don't have a kitchen scale, buy one. They aren't expensive, and believe me, it's easier than counting and leveling cup after cup of flour.) For the optional sugar, I compromised on 2 teaspoons. Thus we have the first draft of "my" recipe:

1 packet dry active yeast
1 1/3 cups warm water (110 °F)
18 ounces all-purpose flour (roughly 3 1/2 cups)
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 tablespoon salt
2 teaspoons sugar (still optional)

I combined the yeast and water in the steel bowl that comes with my stand mixer, gave it a quick stir, and let it sit for about five minutes until the yeast was dissolved. Then I added the other dry ingredients and mixed on low speed using a dough hook attachment for about 10 minutes until the dough was smooth, uniform, and elastic (not my words, but that's how I've been told dough is supposed to feel).

The dough was still a bit moist, so I pulled it out of the bowl, added a handful of flour, and kneaded it by hand a minute or two more. Then I rounded it into a ball, set it back in the bowl, covered it with plastic, and set it in on a window sill in direct sunlight. (This being March in Chicago, I need all the warmth I can get. In the summer, or in the south, this wouldn't be an issue.)

An hour later the dough had roughly doubled in size, so I punched it flat, rolled it into the shape of a french loaf, and sliced it into three small portions and two larger ones, which I rounded into balls, popped into a freezer bag, and set in the freezer. (Rolling it into a loaf shape isn't necessary, but makes it easier to slice it into consistent portions. The smaller ones are roughly golf ball sized, intended for appetizer pizzas; the larger ones are baseball sized.)

To bake, I'll set out however many I need to defrost for an hour or so, roll them flat, and go from there. For the appetizer pizzas, I put them through a pasta machine to yield a very thin crust. The others I do with a rolling pin. I haven't learned to spin the dough in the air yet, but that could be a future posting.

Of course this is only a first step. Next time I'll try switching from all-purpose flour to bread flour, which has a higher protein content. I'll also try skipping the sugar and compare the result, and experiment with different proofing times (how long to let it rise before or after freezing). And over time, I will develop "my" recipe, which will make it's way to this blog.

Update: I tried baking with the dough the other day and it worked fine, even though I rushed the defrosting. I pulled two of the smaller balls (golf ball sized, approx 3 oz) from the freezer and set them in a warm oven (175°F) for a few minutes. This is the wrong way to do it because the outside begins to rise while the inside is still frozen, but I needed to get dinner on the table. Then I kneaded it for a minute or two, rolled it flat in a pasta machine -- this makes long, narrow pizzas with very thin crust -- and topped it with a bit of tomato paste (mixed with olive oil, thyme, salt, and pepper), carmelized onions, and Mexican crumbling cheese. Baked it up at 425 and it tasted great.

When Life Gives You Lemons

If life gives you lemons, make lemon confit.

Or preserved lemons, as I've otherwise seen them called. But Eric Ripert calls it lemon confit, and his was the recipe that caught my eye the other day as I flipped through his book A Return to Cooking. I happen to have a bunch of the fattest, juciest lemons I've ever seen in my refrigerator, freshly picked by my brother and sister-in law in Florida from a tree in their yard. So I had lemons on my mind as I read Ripert's book.

I've seen several versions of this preparation, all of which are attributed to Morocco. Ripert's method is the simplest: Quarter the lemons and layer them with lots of kosher salt in a canning jar, then seal and refrigerate for at least a month, preferably three. The lemons will keep for up to a year.

Sound tasty? Maybe not at first. But according to Ripert, the result is a condiment that gives you all the flavor of the lemon without the acidity. Before using, rinse away the salt and scrape off the excess flesh to leave the dried-out rind, which is the part you want.

The procedure is interesting because it combines two distinct methods for preserving food: salt curing and canning.

Curing works by drawing the moisture out of foods, which inhibits spoilage, since bacteria, like anybody else, need water to live.

Canning works by sealing foods in a sterile, typically airless environment. No bacteria, no oxygen, no spoilage. Canning works very well -- the food can theoretically last indefinitely -- but you have to be careful. While the lack of oxygen prevents most bacteria from growing, it opens the door to certain bacteria (called anaerobic bacteria) that actually thrive in an oxygen-free environment. The most notorious of these, Clostridium botulinum, produces the deadly nerve poison -- better known as Botox nowadays -- that causes botulism. (That's right, the same toxin that can kill you can be used, in carefully-administered doses, to paralyze the muscles in your face. This results, oddly enough, in younger-looking skin.)

To avoid botulism, or any other bacterial growth, you can make sure the food is sterile by heating it to 240°F in a pressure cooker before sealing. For very acidic foods, such as tomatoes, many fruits—and yes, lemons—ordinary boiling will do, since the acidity also helps to inhibit bacteria. (Boiling water never gets hotter than 212°F, which is why you need a pressure cooker to hit the higher temperature needed for non-acidic foods.)

Ripert's procedure, however, doesn't say anything about heating or boiling at all. So are we really canning here, or does he just want us to use the canning jar as a handy, easy-to-seal container? And if we just fill the jar with salt and lemons and then seal, it won't be airless in there, either. Although presumably any bacteria that grew in there would eventually use up all the oxygen. And will the lemons keep for a year even after you open the jar?

Am I overthinking this? Of course. But what do you expect from a guy who writes a whole blog dedicated to margarine?

Truth be told, I'm not really all that worried. I'm pretty sure that between the acidity of the lemons and all that salt, bacteria won't have much of a chance whether you seal the jar or not. It's just that I like to know how stuff works. I've seen several other procedures for preserved lemon that do call for boiling, so it might be interesting to try it both ways and see if I notice a difference. But first I need to get my hands on a large canning jar.

And don't panic. If you ever do come across a can that's infected with botulism, you'll be able to tell because it will be bulging at the ends from the pressure of the gases produced by by bacterial metabolism, kind of like a soda can that's been shaken or carried too high up a mountain. I've never seen one, but if you ever do, just throw it away.

Lamb

A friend recently scored some lamb from a farm in Wisconsin, so I'm posting the text of an article I wrote for Lerner Newspapers a while back. Not really in season at the moment, but these days you can get lamb all year round.

Roasted bone-in leg of lamb

Roasted Bone-In Leg of Lamb

A whole leg roasted with the bone makes an excellent traditional presentation for a holiday meal. The only drawback is that with the bone left in, cooking the meat evenly is a challenge, since the outside will cook faster than the meat nestled against the bone. But at an informal gathering, different guests may prefer their meat cooked to different levels of doneness anyhow, so this may not be a problem.

1 bone-in leg of lamb, trimmed of excess fat
4 cloves garlic, slivered
2 tablespoons fresh rosemary or 1 tablespoon dried
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and pepper to taste
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.

Combine the rosemary, garlic, and olive oil in a small bowl and toss together. With a small knife, cut slits into the roast in a number of places. Rub the seasoning mixture over the entire roast, working the slivered garlic into the incisions. Season the roast generously with salt and pepper.

Set the roast on a rack in a roasting pan and place it in the oven. Roast the meat until a thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the leg registers 138 degrees. Remove the leg from the oven, cover with aluminum foil, and allow to rest at least twenty minutes before carving.

Mashed Potatoes

Some people like them lumpy, others like them creamy. Some swear by the potato ricer -- a gizmo that looks like a giant garlic press -- while others do just fine with a plain-old masher. Some chefs like to use a food mill. But the most important thing -- by far -- is to make real ones. Don't serve instant potatoes on Thanksgiving.

Use russet or Idaho potatoes (the big brown ones). These are considered "starchy" potatoes, great for baking and mashing. Or use everone's favorite these days, the yukon gold. Don't use waxy red or new potatoes, which are better for potato salad because they hold their shape.

Put the potatoes in a pot of well-salted, cold water. Starting with cold water allows the potatoes to cook evenly as the water comes to a boil. Once they are tender. Not mush, but tender. Then drain, let them cool a bit, and mash using your preferred method.

Adjust the seasoning with more salt if needed, and add a bit of white pepper. You can also add milk, cream, or butter for richness. For flavor, you can add grated parmesan cheese or a bit of roasted garlic, though you don't really need to. For Thanksgiving I like to keep it simple.

You can make these ahead if you like. When you're ready to serve, you can reheat them in the oven alongside the turkey. Optionally, you can dollop on a teaspoon or two of butter and bake them uncovered for a few minutes to brown the top.

Finishing the gravy

When the turkey is done the bottom of the roasting pan should be covered with flavorful browned vegetables and drippings. You will cook off any excess liquid before draining the fat, deglaze the pan, strain the liquid and add it to the gravy base, and thicken the gravy with a roux made from turkey fat and flour.

Roast Turkey with Gravy

This procedure tackles the turkey and gravy together so most of the hard work is done by the time turkey goes in the oven. Personally I like to start early and make the side dishes in the morning so I can sit back and watch football while the turkey roasts.

Pan Drippings

Pan drippings are pretty simple. To get them, all you have to do is roast a turkey or other sizeable cut of meat or poultry. But like so many things in the kitchen, drippings require just a little bit of care and attention. Ideally you want a layer of flavorful gunk coating the bottom of the pan, nicely browned but not burned. When clarified and deglazed, this gunk becomes the key to a rich, flavorful gravy. If you do it right, the best stuff is stuck to the bottom of the pan.