SeaSalt

Around these parts, the surest sign of spring isn’t the appearance of tulips and daffodils or green leaves unfurling from buds or the return of songbirds or a day where the temperatures reach 60 degrees. Spring arrives in St. Paul when SeaSalt opens.


Located within Minnehaha Falls park, SeaSalt serves the highest-quality seafood from the teeniest kitchen. For the most part, seating is outside, where you’re serenaded by the roaring waterfall. Service is cafeteria-style, and, since the line typically snakes out the door, you’ve got an opportunity for good eavesdropping. The menu is posted on a blackboard behind the counter where you order. You can count on fish tacos with your choice of tilapia, fried fish, calamari, grilled marlin (my choice tonight), or shrimp. There are fat po’ boys with crawfish, fried oysters (Hambone’s favorite), or fried shrimp. Crab cake sandwiches and soft-shell crab sandwiches are divine, accompanied by exceptional coleslaw. Oil pans are loaded with pickled herring, shrimp cocktail, and raw oysters, then rounded out with a pitcher of beer or a bottle of wine to slake your thirst. Alpha and Beta can easily make a meal out of the calamari appetizer or the clam fries. Quite frankly, so could I.


SeaSalt is a leisurely fifteen-minute bike ride from our house, which means, if I have room, I can spring for a scoop of ice cream before the ride home.

salsa verde

This past week has been an exceptional week for outstanding food. I had my first bratwurst of the season. And there was a red chile enchilada at Barrio, the Minneapolis tequila bar—a flour tortilla casually folded over a chorizo filling and topped with a fried egg—that I can’t stop thinking about it. But the show-stopper on our menu this week was a condiment.

I had a gap in the menu that was filled when I spotted a display of Niman Ranch organic pork chops at the grocery store. Now, we love pork chez H&S, but this is a cut we don’t often eat. Both Hambone and I remember the overly chewy, nearly indigestible pork chops of our respective childhoods and assiduously avoid cooking them as adults. Silly, I know. The Niman Ranch meat was irresistible, providing an opportunity to reconsider the pork chop. I consulted Alice Waters’ Art of Simple Cooking for a pan-frying technique, which seemed (and proved to be) pretty foolproof to execute. I briefly contemplated making a pan sauce with the fond, a little minced shallot, and white wine, which I can make in my sleep, but was a fixated on something green.

Salsa verde is, as the name suggests, a green sauce, such as Argentinean chimichurri or tomatillo salsa. An Italian-style salsa verde traditionally contains parsley, lemon, capers, and anchovies, chopped and blended with olive oil. This rustic sauce is precisely what I had in mind. Long ago I flagged a page for chopped herb sauces in Tyler Florence’s Eat This Book. Basically you dump all the ingredients on a cutting board and give it a rough chop, tip into a bowl, give a squeeze of lemon, and mix in some olive oil. The ingredients—parsley, golden raisins, anchovies, pine nuts, and capers—were an elegant blend of sweet, salty, sour, bright, and mysterious. And it really made something more out of those pork chops. I don't think I'd want them any other way.


The salsa verde gave a great flavor boost to the meaty pork chops, but also proved its flexibility by accompanying fresh Alaskan halibut later in the week. I see more chopped herb sauces in our future and look forward to experimenting with different combinations of fruits, nuts, acidity, and herbs.

burger of the week: bison chili cheeseburgers

Hambone makes the best burgers I have ever eaten. Contrary to patty-making "best practices," which typically suggest barely handling the ground meat as it's shaped, Hambone works each portion well, passing it from hand to hand a number of times before patting it into a burger. This makes for a tender and juicy burger every time. Also, he seasons the patty well, on both sides, before frying in a hot cast-iron skillet.

Hambone has a signature burger, which is the one he treats us to 99 percent of the time, and I have no complaints. I do, however, have a file folder bursting with some fresh recipes for myriad burgers—pork, beef, lamb, chicken, fish, and more. Inspired by warm spring days and anxious to grill, our summer theme is set—burgers.

First up: bison chili cheeseburgers. Whole Foods has been running a special on ground bison so we picked up a 1.5 pounds, a somewhat experimental quantity. Alpha and Beta, who are growing like weeds, have recently demonstrated that they can eat a bit more than their usual quarter pounders. As Hambone was forming the patties, he worked in half a seeded, finely minced jalapeno. The patties were seasoned with salt, pepper, and curry powder, then browned in a cast-iron skillet on each side, and topped with a slice of American (I know, but it is the best for consistent melting) cheese and a generous dollop of handmade guacamole.

What are your favorite ways to prepare burgers?

eating this week

Salty Dog Chocolate Bar

The Twin Cities is home to a number of exceptional chocolatiers, chief among them B.T. McElrath. Ever since my friend Colin introduced me to McElrath's elegantly chocolate-dipped ginger-flecked toffee squares, I have had to fight impulse purchases whenever I go to the grocery store. On the rare occasion that I visit The Golden Fig, where McElrath's truffles are available individually, I treat myself to a morsel. I'll admit, it's hard to choose just one when they come in such incomparable flavors as passion fruit, chile-limon, zinfandel balsamic, and lavender-black peppercorn.

Recently, McElrath debuted chocolate bars, and that short time, I've devoured my fair share of Salty Dog Chocolate Bars—70% dark chocolate with butter toffee bits and sea salt. Chocolate and sea salt is one of my very favorite combinations. These bars are pretty sensational and very affordable ($5.50 per bar, where other luxury chocolates are edging up near $8).

From the packaging:

You have a choice. Eat our Salty Dog Bar salt-side up and you're invited into its rich, dark chocolate charms, only to discover the spiky crunch of toffee and sea salt. eat it salt-side down and feel how the sharp pop of salt ushers in notes of chocolate and caramel. So what's it gonna be: mellow or bold? Or both?

Definitely both.

If you can't find these bars where you live, The Chocolate Shoppe ships anywhere.

comfort food: steakhouse meets diner

Last night, both Hambone and I were looking for a meal that would be homey and comforting, so I whipped up a batch of diner-worthy meatloaf. When I made the first meatloaf of my adult life, I reconstructed my mother’s method. She never used a recipe, having learned to make meatloaf at her mother's elbow, but it consisted basically of ground beef (or, when I was a kid, more likely elk or venison), salt and pepper, and a beaten egg to bind—pretty simple and tasty, if memory serves correctly. I’ve since tried many recipes, trying to find the easiest, most delicious concoction. What I’ve arrived at is quite flexible and very delicious.

In large bowl, I whisked together a couple eggs, 1/4 cup whole milk, 1 teaspoon ground mustard, 1 teaspoon dried thyme*, salt and pepper to taste, 1 teaspoon hot sauce, and 1/2 teaspoon worchestershire sauce. To this mixture, I crumbled in a 1/2 pound each ground veal, beef, and pork**, as well as 1-1/2 cups fresh breadcrumbs***. With my hands, I incorporated the ingredients, until the egg and breadcrumbs were well distributed within the meat. (Typically I also add an onion that has been diced fine, sautéed in olive oil, and cooled slightly, as well as a few minced garlic cloves, but omitted—just this one time—to accommodate the boys' onion phobia. BTW, they’ve asked for the onions to be reappointed.) Then I turned the mixture onto a foil-lined jellyroll pan and formed it into a loaf. A combination of 1/2 cup ketchup and 1 tablespoon each brown sugar and apple cider vinegar was painted on top the meatloaf. Placed in a 375 degree oven, it baked for an hour.


I firmly believe that meatloaf must be consumed with potatoes. Steak can be served with many other carbs—polenta, other root vegetables, or whole-grain pilafs, but meatloaf needs the mealy, starchy potato as a counterpoint to the, well, meatiness. Not to mention that it’s meatloaf’s equal in the comfort department. I had a hankering for
The Palm’s hashbrowns and turned to Julie Child and Jacques Pepin’s pommes de terre macaire.

While assembling the meatloaf, I had four medium-size russets baking in a 425 degree oven, which I then swapped for the meatloaf. I allowed the baked potatoes to cool just enough to be handled (fifteen minutes or so), then removed the skin and, using a round cookie cutter, scrumbled the potatoes into large chunks. During the last ten minutes of the meatloaf’s cooking time, I heated olive oil and butter in a heat-proof skillet, added the potatoes, seasoned generously with salt, pepper, and fresh-ground nutmeg. After a few minutes, I flipped the potatoes to incorporate the seasoning, then pressed down the top and stepped away for six or seven minutes. When the meatloaf came out of the oven, I cranked it back up to 425 degrees and put the potatoes in for 15 minutes.

And what, besides a chewy red wine, goes best with red meat and steakhouse potatoes? Why creamed spinach, of course. A peek into the crisper revealed a lack of spinach but possession of a fine head of lacinato kale. While the meatloaf rested and the potatoes browned, heated 1 tablespoon each butter and olive oil in a large skillet into which I tipped a minced shallot and sweated for a few minutes. Next I added the kale, cut into 1/4-inch strips. Before I lidded the pan, I added a 1/4-cup chicken stock. Five minutes later, I seasoned kale with salt and pepper, tossed the wilted leaves with a teaspoon of flour, and cooked another minute before adding approximately a 1/3 cup half-and-half, which was allowed to bubble and thickened. A grating of fresh nutmeg finished the vibrant green side.

And instead of being transported to every great steakhouse meal we’ve ever had, we set our own new standard.

*Almost any dried or fresh herb, such as savory, rosemary, or herbes de Provence can be used to good effect.
**Venison or bison, alone or in combination with beef or pork, makes a stunning meatloaf.
***Dried breadcrumbs or crumbled crackers also work.

Happy Fat Tuesday

The little boys—who, if you'll remember, don't like chili—devoured the crawfish. Next year in New Orleans!

Back in the Saddle: Venison Chili

I have, sadly, been neglectful of Hambone and Spice. And not because I haven’t been cooking blogworthy food, either. Most assuredly, we've been eating incredibly well at home and in restaurants, doing our best to keep the local economy alive! No, I just have not been able to find my writing voice lately. My dear friend Caryl gave me a nudge today. She didn’t know that I was planning a comeback, either, but without her quiet encouragement, I could have put off food blogging until…I don’t know when.

Caryl and I regularly have breakfast together, mostly, but not exclusively, to talk about books. Last week we met at the Longfellow Grill, an upscale diner just across the mighty (frozen) Mississippi from where we each live in St. Paul. We shared a cheesy/eggy/potatoey dish, as well as a stack of Jack cakes—hearty oatmeal pancakes adorned by granola, salted peanuts, fresh blueberries, bananas, and honey. Plus, we drizzled real maple syrup over the top and between the layers—all over. These cakes are the ultimate in sweet-salty tastes and are so comforting. Caryl took this photo and sent it to me for inspiration—thanks! See, this is what friends are for: support and indulging in over-the-top breakfasts!


Dinner is slowly simmering on the stove right now. We’re having venison chili. This past fall, my brother Nik shot a mule deer in South Dakota and very kindly shared some of his bounty with us. Before I crumbled in the ground meat, I had to make note of its color—a velvety, iron-rich purple. Also, the venison was incredibly lean with almost no obvious fat studding the pat.


My little boys aren’t big fans of chili. I know: a lot of kids don't like chili. But I think it's crazy. I loved chili when I was their age and even endured anemic strands of stewed tomatoes lurking throughout an egregiously underseasoned sauce. But I love my boys and want them to eventually embrace chili, and I ask that they eat no more than a half cup of not-very spicy brew, ladled over corn chips (“Frito pie,” a concession to Hambone’s Texan roots), with a chocolate pudding chaser for dessert.


This chili is by no means authentic Texas chili but I’m not going for authenticity on a Monday night in February. All I require is delicious and somewhat quick, though you can simmer the chili as long as you like, thereby intensifying the flavors. Because the venison is so lean, I used more oil than usual and really sweated the onion so as to provide as much extra moisture as needed. Also, I felt like the wild game might be, well, gamey, which isn't a bad thing, it just means that the meat can support stronger spices, in larger measure. So I amped up the spice mixture with more chili powder and cumin than usual and added a bit of ancho chile powder, which I would never use in ground beef chili (between you and me, I’m not wild about ancho’s smoky flavor). The browned meat is soft, lacking the gristly toothsomeness of ground beef, and has a rich flavor.

venison chili
2 T. olive oil
1 pound ground venison (or beef, bison, elk)
1 medium onion, chopped
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 jalapeno, minced
2 T. chili powder (I like Penzey’s medium hot)
1 tsp. ancho chili powder
1 T. cumin
1 T. salt
1 tsp. oregano
1 bottle beer (I used Left Hand porter because I had it on hand)
1 (15 oz.) can red beans (drained, rinsed)
1 (8 oz.) can tomato sauce
2 T. tomato paste

For serving: chopped onions, sour cream, Fritos, shredded cheddar cheese

In a Dutch oven, over medium-high, heat oil until it shimmers. Saute onions, garlic, and jalapenos in oil until vegetables are soft, about 5 minutes. Add ground meat and break into large pieces. Season with salt, chili powders, cumin, and oregano. When the meat is browned, add the remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low, lid the pot, and simmer, stirring occasionally, for at least 30 minutes (for best results, simmer an hour to two hours). Serve on a bed of Fritos, garnished with chopped onions, sour cream, and shredded cheddar cheese.

a quick pasta for a Monday

I don't thrive on throwing myself back into the fray of a work/school week. In no time at all, the effects of a relaxing weekend completely fade. The last thing I want to face after a long day at the office is a hot stove and an ambitious recipe. Mondays call for easy, tasty meals.

As a mother of school-age kids who have weeknight homework, not only does meal preparation need to be unfussy but it also needs to generate the fewest dirty dishes possible. This simple shrimp-tomato-feta pasta fits the bill—clean, bold Mediterranean flavors combined with ease and a modicum of speed.

It's also a flexible dish. You could substitute salmon for the shrimp. Any fresh herb—basil, thyme, oregano, dill—could easily take the place of dried herbs. As I was cutting the serviceable grape tomatoes that are available year round, I couldn't fight the memory of the brilliant, sweet yellow pear tomatoes that we buy at the Farmer's Market in July and the thought of how awesome they would be in this pasta.

You can even get your kids involved and chat about their day. Beta helped by measuring the olive oil, pouring it on the tomatoes, and seasoning with salt, pepper, and dried herbs.

Orzo with Shrimp, Tomatoes, and Feta
serves 4

1 pound shrimp, peeled and deveined
4 T. olive oil, divided
3 garlic cloves, minced
pinch red pepper flakes
1 pint cherry tomatoes
1 T. dried green herbs, your choice (up to 1/4 cup if using fresh green herbs)
salt and pepper, to taste
1 cup orzo
4 oz. feta
1 T. fresh lemon juice

Bring a pot of water to boil. Meanwhile, cut cherry tomatoes in half and place in a large serving bowl. Toss with 3 T. olive oil, salt and pepper to taste, and herbs.

Once water reaches a boil, add salt (about a tablespoon) and orzo. Cook for 8-10 minutes.

While pasta is cooking, prepare shrimp. Heat 1 T. olive oil in saute pan on medium-high. Add shrimp. Season with a healthy pinch of salt, red pepper flakes, and minced garlic. Turn shrimp after 1-2 minutes. Cook another minute or two, until pink. Stir and turn off heat.

When pasta is done, reserve 1/2 cup liquid, then drain. Add pasta, along with cooked shrimp, lemon juice, and feta, to tomatoes. Toss to coat, adding pasta cooking water if pasta seems dry. Adjust seasoning and serve.

Best of 2008

Happy New Year! Hambone and Spice continued to eat well in 2008. We enjoyed many fantastic and memorable meals in restaurants, in our friends’ homes, and in our own home. Food was an important balm during a difficult year, but also helped to cement friendships and fueled many delicious conversations. We had a blast cooking with our kids—each took bold steps to become the very best sous chefs they could be.

We had no particular theme this year, though, during grilling season, we skewered just about every protein and vegetable imaginable to feature a kebab of the week. Many of our favorite items featured citrus, either as an assertive, bright flavor or as a subtle element that pulled a dish together.

Here are some highlights from our year in food and drink:

drink
Cocktails continue to quench our thirst. Gin and tonics, scotch and sodas, and vodka gimlets will always have a place at the table, but in 2008, these classic cocktails were joined by the sazerac (rye, Peychaud’s bitters, Pernod), the Americano (Campari, sweet vermouth, club soda), and the side car (brandy, lemon juice, Grand Marnier) at home, as well as Porter and Frye’s refreshing Siciliano (Campari and blood orange juice laced with gin). We were also introduced to Flat Earth Brewing, a local microbrew that makes a few crisp beers. Flat Earth beers went missing for much of the year, however, as the brewery pulled their beers off the market due to a problem with a second fermentation in the bottle. As a reliable source told me, bottles were exploding on liquor store shelves. By Thanksgiving, Flat Earth was back—and we’re certainly glad to see them and their Belgian-style pale ale, though my absolute favorite is the Element 115 lager.

favorite cooking techniques: grilling and broiling
In 2008 we grilled apace. Hambone even tackled fish on the grill—salmon, arctic char, walleye, and halibut. When grilling season ended, we pulled the broiler pan and cooked meat—flank steak, fish, pork tenderloin, and shrimp—under high heat in our oven. A glass jar of a very versatile, homemade spice rub (paprika, dry green herbs, cumin, coriander, salt, pepper, and brown sugar) stood by the grill and the stove and was replenished when emptied.

cooking highlight: making soup with Caryl
Handsome husband aside, I have only ever cooked with one other friend, but it’s something I’ve long wanted to do. I’m so glad that my friend Caryl suggested it. We had a wonderful time chatting as we sliced and diced our ingredients, comparing notes as we tended to the soup, and documenting the process. I anticipate future kitchen sessions and hope that one of these will culminate with a meal we can share with our families.

Caryl and I made caldo verde, a Portuguese kale and sausage soup, from The Soup Peddler's Slow and Difficult Soups. David Ansel is the Soup Peddler and he delivers soup—on his bike—to the eclectic folk who populate Bouldin Creek in Austin, Texas. Caryl sourced the sausage—linguiça—from Kramarczuk’s, the Nordeast Minneapolis restaurant that specializes in sausage. And, she brought lacinato kale, which, as opposed to the extremely curly kale, is like a thick spinach leaf. Basically, we browned the sausage links, in their casings, in olive oil, and removed them when they were cooked (about 10 minutes). Then we sweated onion (1) slices and sliced garlic (6 cloves) in the remaining olive oil, densely permeated with the linguiça’s salty, smoky juices. After 5 minutes we added the chicken stock I made that morning, as well as diced potatoes (enough small red potatoes to equal four normal-sized potatoes) and simmered for 20 minutes. The sausages, which had since been cut into coins, were returned to the soup with a bunch of finely chopped kale and simmered for another 5 minutes. That’s it. Easy, hearty, nourishing. I’m looking forward to our next soup session!

favorite food stores
France 44’s cheese counter (passionate cheesemonger Benjamin is blogging here), Golden Fig for local speciality items (Talmadge Farm’s horseradish jelly, B.T. McElrath’s unique chocolate truffles), Izzy’s for the very best ice cream (the nut versions—praline pecan, butter pecan, black walnut, hot brown sugar—are my favorites)

best things eaten this year, restaurant category
hazelnut torte at Meritage, sort of a grown-up Kit-Kat bar
sausage plate with roasted grapes at Porter and Frye
Sebastian Joe's spumoni, with honey, almonds, candied orange peel
pho and the pork loin sandwich at Ngon (and sweet potato fries with sriracha aioli)
Khyber Pass’ lunch buffet, especially the hummus and korma e murgh
smelt fries and elk stroganoff at Red Stag
fresh lobsters in Maine
house-made lamb sausage at the Harborview Café
lamb burger topped by hummus and feta at Shish
soft and crispy confit duck leg with sweet and juicy roasted grapes at Strip Club

(photo credit: Tracy Adams)

favorite things eaten at home/friends’ homes
John’s softshell crab sandwich
red beans and rice with pickled pork
lobster risotto with homemade lobster stock
Alice Waters’ Moroccan carrot salad with lemon, ginger, and cumin
bison meatballs with cilantro-yogurt sauce
smoked trout spread with apples and celery
pumpkin spice layer cake
Will and Helena’s house-cured salmon
Tracy’s shrimp stew on black rice

worst things I ate this year
~smoked chocolate ice-cream at Porter and Frye, which was just plain weird
~bone marrow at Red Stag—for those of you who compared bone marrow to eating foie gras, I beg to disagree. Not remotely similar. I really wanted to like bone marrow. I really did. But it was about the nastiest thing I’ve ever eaten (and I’ve eaten lamb brains and sweetbreads and tripe and oysters and shrimp heads). Too salty, too fatty, too not at all what I dreamed it would be.

favorite restaurants
Though we enjoyed many meals in local restaurants in 2008, only one meal stood out—Alma’s tasting menu, for four people, which allowed us to tell the server to “Bring us one of everything” on the menu. In addition to Alma, chef Alex Roberts has Brasa, a Southern-style barbecue joint in NE Minneapolis. I love all of the pulled meat (beef and heritage Berkshire pork), as well as his rotisserie chicken. We look forward to a St. Paul location later this year.

favorite new restaurants
~Porter and Frye, Steve Brown’s eagerly anticipated kitchen delighted us on a few occasions
~Meritage, Russell Klein put his own stamp on the brasserie, filling the former Au Rebours space in downtown St. Paul
~Heidi’s, Stewart Woodman’s jewel-box restaurant in south Minneapolis, highly innovative food
~Strip Club, the Town Talk Diner folks and J.D. Fratzke’s gastrotavern overlooking downtown St. Paul
~Red Stag, one of the first LEED-certified restaurant in the U.S., eclectic menu

happy merry to all!

It’s Merry Chaos here in Princeton. Has a year gone by already? The weather is gorgeously warm, which is such a treat after the brutal winter storms and their aftermath that we've encountered at home and here on the East Coast. The sky is a beautiful blue color. The turkey is in the oven. The dough for the potato rolls is rising. We're about to break out the champagne. And, my kids have each declared this to be the Best. Christmas. Ever! Surrounded by family, I couldn't agree more.

No matter where you are and what you believe, I hope that your day is filled with peace and glad tidings!

holiday cookies

My mother, a fantastic baker, always had a pan of bars or plate of cookies stashed in a special hiding spot—plain sight. But, during the run up to Christmas, she’d nestle her baked goods—cookies, candies, pastries—in deep, parchment paper-lined tins that, a decade earlier, had hosted fruitcakes. She would put the tins into cold storage—the deep freezer in our garage—until such time as when she went “visiting,” dropping in on friends and neighbors to deliver her holiday cheer.

Such is my mother’s generosity. And such was the small community and the civility in which I was raised. Friends would stop by our house, unannounced, to say “hello.” Perhaps this practice is alive and well somewhere, but it’s certainly not done where I live.

Maybe the holiday cookies—the frilly, the fussy, the fancy, the not-for-everyday numbers—were the draw. I loved my mother’s boozy bourbon balls, the date-walnut balls enlivened by rice krispies, spicy gingerbread cutouts, rich chocolate crinkles, chocolate-dipped overtly sweet coconut bonbons, iced sugar cutouts, the powder sugar explosion of Russian tea cakes, brownies with a mint-ganache layer.

My mother was also a cookie-exchange maven, so some of the treats were made by others, such as spritz cookies—extruded neon food-dyed dough, sprinkled with complementary-colored sugar. Or peanut butter blossoms, crusted with sugar and crowned by a fat Hershey’s Kiss. Or wreath cookies—cornflakes bound by a mixture of melted marshmallows, butter, and a bottle of green food coloring, shaped into a ring, and adorned with a cluster of red hots “berries”.

But my absolute favorite cookie is her whirlagig—a peanut-butter cookie base rolled, pinwheel-style, around a thin ribbon of chocolate filling. I don't know the recipe's origin and hadn't thought to ask until now—they’ve been my mother’s since the beginning of my time. I did an online search and saw nothing that approaches this particular recipe. The recipe could have come from any of the places where my mother finds baking gems—church cookbooks, special interest publications, the butter carton, the newspaper. Unfortunately, she was unavailable for comment when I began this post.

Alhough I’d eat them any day of the week, these cookies were only made for Christmas. By appearance, they lack all the impressiveness of jewel-toned jam thumbprints or the seasonality of springerle. Whirlagigs are almost ordinary, like chocolate chip or peanut butter cookies. They’re rugged—brown dough, darker brown filling. They’re not pretty—very few of mine show their potential pinwheel spiral. But, they do look interesting, and they taste amazing. Not too sweet, which I think is the biggest fault of most holiday cookies. I am a firm believer that if one is staring at a platter of assorted cookies, one should be able to try as many as appeal.

Years ago, when Hambone and I started baking Christmas cookies, I asked my mother for the recipe, which she gladly shared with us. I’d never read it before so I was somewhat surprised to learn that the chocolate filling was made a little more-ish with a secret ingredient. No, it’s not booze, though I’m sure the addition of a complementary liquor wouldn’t be bad. Rather, chocolate chips are melted with an equal amount of butterscotch chips.


I also learned that whirligigs are a little fussy to make, which catapults them into the realm of for-special-times-only. As I made this year’s batch, I struggled here and there—but don’t let that stop you. I’ll provide tips in the recipe. Eventually, I realized the logs didn’t have to be sliced perfectly. If you mash the dough together in the approximation of a cookie, it will do what it’s supposed to in the oven. In every bite, the baked whirlagig offers a golden mean of cookie to chocolate filling.

Since whirligigs are too good to make just once a year, I resolve to bake them more often in 2009. Afterall, I have a technique to perfect—and these cookies are beyond worth it.

Whirligig Cookies

1 cup butter
1 cup peanut butter (I like chunky)
1 cup granulated sugar
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs, unbeaten
2 tsp. vanilla
2-1/2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. salt
1-11 oz. pkg chocolate chips
1-11 oz. pkg butterscotch pieces

In the bowl of a stand mixer, fitted with the paddle attachment, cream together first four ingredients. Mix in eggs and vanilla, until well incorporated. In a medium bowl, sift flour, baking soda, and salt. Add dry ingredients to butter-sugar-egg mixture, and mix well.

Melt the chocolate and butterscotch pieces in a double boiler or in a small bowl over a pan of gently simmering water. Cool slightly.

Divide dough into four pieces, for manageability. Dough will be very soft and a bit sticky. Lightly flour a length of parchment paper and roll dough into an oblong, approximately 1/4-inch thick, though thicker works too. Spread melted chocolate/butterscotch on dough and roll as jelly roll, using parchment to form log. Wrap log in plastic and carefully (dough is still soft and now rather floppy) place in refrigerator to chill for at least 2 hours, though dough can be chilled overnight.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees F. Slice cookie logs 1/4-inch thick and place on ungreased cookie sheet. You will need to use a light pressure to work knife through the solidified chocolate. Don't fret if the slice crumbles—you can reconstitute on cookie sheet. Bake 9-12 minutes.

best remedy for midweek crisis

Recently, while suffering from a midweek cooking crisis, we fell back on an old reliable—simmer sauce. You know, ye olde vegetables and meat cooked in a jarred sauce. Trader Joe’s makes a decent Indian-style korma sauce that, I realize, would be a total heresy to anyone who reveres Indian food. What can I say? We were tired and uninspired, so I cubed some chicken, mandolined a fat carrot that I had been hording from my last farmers market haul, and threw in some tender tiny peas, then napped it with a jar of sauce. In the time it took to steam some basmati rice, dinner slowly bubbled to completion, practically cooking itself. I could only have been happier if I'd had some kheer.

But an overwhelming guilt cloud hung over the stove when I realized what a cheat I’d been. The only way to remedy the situation was to complicate the meal and cook a vegetable side. Completely from scratch. Enter Madhur Jaffrey's quick and easy recipes and a head of cabbage. In only fifteen or twenty minutes, I had a meltingly soulful, slightly more authentic, and utterly satisfying cabbage dish.

I love this preparation and ate nearly the entire bowl by myself. It’s soft and savory and tangy, reminding me of a beloved German staple, rot kohl. The following recipe is pretty flexible. Don’t sweat it if you don’t have all the seeds. You could certainly use a half teaspoon or so ground cumin. You could even skip the onion. But absolutely do not omit the lemon juice or the garam masala*, the Indian spice mixture that varies in composition from kitchen to kitchen. Both are crucial in making this a transcendent cabbage.

Also, as the next set of holidays approach, I think this Indian-spiced cabbage would wonderfully complement traditional roasted meats, such as beef or pork, as well as all manner of roasted bird—turkey, goose, game hens, duck.


Stir-Fried Green Cabbage (Bhuni bandh gobi)
inspired by Madhur Jaffrey’s Quick and Easy Indian Cooking

1-1/2 pounds green cabbage (half a large head)
1/4 cup grapeseed oil
3/4 tsp cumin seeds
1/2 tsp fennel seeds
1 medium red onion, cut lengthwise in thin slices
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp cayenne pepper
2 T fresh lemon juice
heaping 1/2 teaspoon garam masala*

Remove the cabbage's tough outer leaves. Cut head in half, then cut in half again. Remove core. Put the oil in a large saute pan and set over medium-high heat. When the oil is hot, put in the seeds and heat for a few minutes. Add onion. Stir fry for 3 to 4 minutes or until the onion has browned a bit. Put in the cabbage. Stir until the cabbage too has softened and browned a bit, about 6 minutes. Add the salt and cayenne. Turn down the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, for another 7 to 8 minutes or until the onions appear caramelized and soft. Mix in the lemon juice and garam masala, and serve.

*I use Penzey's garam masala, which is a blend of coriander, black peppercorns, cardamom, cinnamon, caraway, cloves, ginger, nutmeg, and kalonji (nigella).

odds and ends

As is becoming the habit, rather than the exception, I have some photos that capture a few of the many wonderful meals eaten chez H&S. Wonderful meals that somehow went undocumented blogside. Above, a bright-eyed Beta realizes a dream come true: watching Saji-Ya's sushi chef make a plate of sushi (tekka maki, tobiko, ikura—no kidding, this kid is crazy about fish eggs) that he didn't have to share with anyone.


This was one of the moistest chickens I have ever roasted. I stuffed the free range, organic beast's cavity with lemon, a head of garlic, and whatever thyme, rosemary, and oregano could be salvaged from my garden pots (they'd survived a freeze, which I took as a sign). Next, the entire bird was given a thin veneer of melted butter, liberally salted and peppered, and roasted for an hour at 400 degrees, while surrounded by olive oil-slathered onions, fingerling potatoes, carrots, and turnips (my veggie discovery of the fall, btw). The sweet caramelized onions were my favorite.


Beef shanks, a fraction of veal shanks' price—and, with a big, beefy taste. These were browned in olive oil and removed from the Dutch oven. Veggies (carrots, onions, celery) were sauteed and browned bits were scraped up before the shanks were reintroduced. A combination of port, hearty red wine (a cab), and beef stock covered the meat and vegetables. Lid on pot, the whole thing braised in a low oven for three hours. We topped the shredded meat with a horseradish-spiked creme fraiche and served in a mashed potato nest.


Here is the best souvenir of a braised beef and mashed potatoes dinner—Shepherd's Pie, which we've led our boys to believe is our Official Family Dish. And, as Shepherd's Pie is notoriously difficult to photograph while plated—too many browns and whites, not enough oranges and greens—I thought I'd offer a cross-section. This Pyrex 9x13 baker is one of the most-used items in our kitchen.


Ending on a sweet note. On the right is a perfect pumpkin muffin specimen. It comes from Bread and Chocolate, a local St. Paul bakery, and is only available for a limited run in the fall. If memory serves correct, B&C stops offering them after Thanksgiving, which would be a shame as I have yet to reproduce a pumpkin muffin that even comes close. The anemic-colored muffin on the left was baked from the recipe on the Whole Food's 365 pumpkin puree can. Yes, I know. You get what you pay for, or something like that. I will refrain from describing how it tasted. It did not taste rich and pumpkiny and spicy. It did not taste like fall. Fortunately I never tire of B&C's pumpkin muffins. In fact, I'm planning to petition the bakery to offer them year round. Until such time, I have a recipe to perfect!

weekend update

Friday dinner—olive-oil broiled Atlantic salmon on a bed of French lentils with Elliot's Northwoods bacon, carrots, fennel, celery, and a splash of red-wine vinegar. The salmon was perfectly cooked, flaky and moist. But the lentils were my favorite part of the meal. Thankfully I have leftovers that will be adorned with a runny-yolk fried egg.


Saturday dinner—Finally, an opportunity to satisfy a hankering for serious roasted pork. We entertained on Saturday night and, in a highly unusual move, ordered food in. Well, we ordered in part of our food—specifically, 12-hour roasted local heritage Berkshire pork from Brasa. I'm sure I have failed to sufficiently rave about Brasa, Alex Roberts' casual rotisserie, but the food—tender fall-apart pork, spicy tender fall-apart beef, or rotisserie chicken—is beyond superlatives. It's all local. Organic, when possible. If you go to Brasa, as you should, you'll be presented with a list of Southern-style sides that include fried yucca, garnet yams with andouille sausage, baking powder biscuits, a fancy coleslaw, and collard greens. We made our own sides: braised greens (enormous Swiss chard leaves) and my mother-in-law's grits souffle. Best part—we have extra pork for sandwiches. I'm thinking chipotle aioli and pickled red onions will go nicely with the salty, smoky meat, piled high on a sweet, soft bun.

Reason to live #111: Roberts is in far-from-final negotiations over a St. Paul, Grand Avenue location. If it happens, I may never eat anything else again.


Sunday breakfast—While I fried up the remaining Elliot's thick-cut bacon, Beta made the scrambled eggs. With only a little guidance, he cracked the eggs, beat them with a whisk, seasoned with salt and pepper, and added grated cheese. I turned on the burner for Beta, and he did the rest, slowly cooking the eggs over low heat. I am soooo lucky that my boys like to cook. They're good cooks, too. These eggs are creamier than I can manage. I put Salsa Lisa mild on mine. We also ate the banana bread that Beta and I baked yesterday. The recipe is a highly modified version of Mark Bittman's from How to Cook Everything. It's a super-moist loaf with nuts (we used walnuts) and coconut. Though they are completely unnecessary, we embellished with mini Tollhouse morsels.

Sunday dinner—Tomatoes, fennel, lemon slices, garlic, white wine, a healthy amount of olive oil, and a little water comprised a braising liquid for halibut. I'm fixating on how red the tomato skin appears in this photo, and what a contrast it provides to the crispy white flesh. I know this isn't what tomatoes are supposed to look like, and it's not surprising that they didn't contribute much. Note to self: as we wait for July to roll round again, use canned tomatoes or skip. The best part of the braising liquid was the olive oil, white wine, and lemon. Green olives would have made a nice addition.

Countdown to Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is a week away, and I have no idea what I’m making. It's okay—this isn't a panic since we’re having dinner with friends Steve and Lisa, at their house. No need to worry over brining, salting, smoking, deep-frying, or stuffing the turkey. Even though I'd like to, I don’t have to plan an entire meal this year. Even so, I'm fully armed with the current issues of Bon Appetit, Gourmet, Martha Stewart Living, Saveur, and Food and Wine, as well as an inch-thick folder, filled with clippings from previous years' issues of same.

I have too many choices, and it's a bit overwhelming. I don't know where to start. Fortunately, I only need to pick one side to pass and one dessert.

If you're eight days out and still need to formulate a menu, go straight to one of the online Thanksgiving meal guides:
epicurious
Star Tribune
Food and Wine
New York Times, especially Bittman's take on sweet potatoes and Melissa Clark's leftover ideas.

If you live in the vicinity of St. Paul and Minneapolis, hie thee to uber-butcher, Clancey’s for foodstuffs to make your menu special:

confit of duck hearts & gizzards, ginger spiced duck jerky, cherry wood smoked duck breasts.

silky squash soup, squid & shellfish soup, winter veal stew.

goat cheese truffles, poached gulf shrimp, rabbit liver pate.

alder smoked trout, apple wood smoked scallops, hickory smoked whole herring.

fresh turkeys, turkey gravy, turkey stock.

cranberry relish & sauce, potato gratin, traditional stuffing.

it's all roasting and rolling now...

and always good at clancey's.

Or, let my friends Amy and Heidi—the sass-tastic Chowgirls—make some or all of your meal. Their Brussels Sprouts Gratin ("smothered in melty blue cheese"), Sweet Potato Souffle, and 18-pound, maple syrup brined turkey, among others, will make a worthy addition to your feast.

Now back to planning that side dish and dessert...

(photo credit: Lisa Peardon/Getty Images)

Bet you can't eat just one

Beta and I had a few hours to ourselves this afternoon. Hambone is in Houston visiting his father. Alpha was off meeting the Beastie Boys at an Obama rally (the video evidence is stunning!). Casting about for things to do that would keep us from lounging in front of the telly, gorging on Halloween candy, I walked into the den and tripped on two pumpkins that we'd purchased days ago but hadn't yet carved.


True confession: I've never carved a pumpkin. We're not going to go into the whys and wherefores of that travesty. And, by the looks of the finished products, I've got a lot to learn about finessing a knife through a thick-skinned pumpkin. But, we mostly bought the pumpkins because Beta requested roasted seeds. Carving faces just helped us kill time while the seeds were doing in the oven. Mind you, I've never roasted seeds either. Let's just say it was my genius move of the day.

I'm sure you could find countless techniques and recipes by doing an online search, but this is the method we employed. In a colander, rinse guts from seeds. Line a baking sheet (or as many as are necessary) with a double thickness of paper towels, then pour out the seeds, arranging them in a single layer. Blot as much moisture from the seeds as possible. Pour olive oil into a medium-size bowl (about 1 T. per cup of seeds). Add seeds and toss, sprinkling with salt. This is a good time to season with herbs or spices. Many combinations would be stunning: prepared or home-concocted curry or garam masala, za'atar, sumac berries, cayenne, cayenne and scant brown sugar, fresh-chopped thyme or rosemary. The possibilities really are endless. (N.B.: Roast in 350 degree F oven for 20-30 minutes.)


Beta and I made three batches of seeds. I found it easiest to toss seeds, oil, and seasonings in cake pans, and then do the roasting in them. This method proved to be a space saver in the oven, as well. We did plain kosher salt, curry and cayenne, and maple pepper from Golden Fig, a local fancy-food purveyor.

Quite frankly, I can't stop eating the maple-pepper version, which instantly achieved the status Ultimate Nibble up to This Point in 2008. It's salty and has a peppery sting, tempered by sweetness from the maple sugar. Stunning.

And as for Beta. He agreed the maple-pepper seeds were good. Then he singlehandedly inhaled the simply salted morsels.

October highlights

My most significant food-related highlight of October has to be gorging on fun-size Midnight Milky Ways. Okay, I’m joking. I do adore the dark chocolate and the stiffer, less caramel-tasting fondant of this Milky Way version, but I only ate one, which absolutely does not count as gorging. Unless you’re on the Sonoma Diet.

Hambone and Spice, each feeling a little tubby of late, decided to stop casting fate to the wind and follow an eating plan with the goal of losing weight. A few years ago I bought the book, The Sonoma Diet (SD), a low-carb, high-protein diet. It was appealing to me on a few levels. One, it's not as austere as the South Beach Diet (though I get a kick out of SD’s precisely calculated snacks, e.g., 11 almonds). Two, I thought it had decent-looking recipes, with ingredients and preparations that seemed familiar and accessible that could easily find a way into our repertoire.

For a few weeks of October, we were sort of on the Sonoma Diet. I tried really hard to follow the plan, but it didn’t take long to realize the absurdity of dieting. Besides, we were eating so many eggs and the cuts of meat were expensive and I could go on (and on) about how despicable I find prescribed diets. But dear Hambone has better results following a diet and thought SD would be a good way to establish portion control and to focus on healthy, limited snacking. He wasn't wrong. I’m pleased to report that, chez H&S, we each shed a few much-needed pounds.

Consequently, though, blogging suffered. Not that we’re about decadence or restaurant-quality-only food for every meal, but I struggled a lot with how we were eating and didn’t feel like airing my frustrations here. I just don't find them that interesting. In retrospect, our meals were less interesting. We cut way back on the amount of wine we were drinking, and many bottles went to waste as we’re not accustomed to deoxygenating them for longer life. And, I didn’t take any photos of our meals—just didn’t feel like it.

Suffice it to say, we’ve put the diet into perspective, focusing on grains, tons of vegetables, and lean protein for our meals. Isn’t this the way we’re supposed to be eating anyhow? We certainly feel better for it. Maybe you’ll hear about some of the repeat-worthy recipes in future blog posts.

Nonetheless, I made two discoveries this month about which I’m pretty excited. The first discovery bears mentioning in this post: broiling. Many living situations ago (1891 Grand and 2010 Marshall, respectively), we had old gas ovens with broiler drawers. The broiling element was under the main cooking chamber, in the spot where many ovens have kickplates. And, instead of a heated coil, the broiler utilized a flame for cooking at high temperature. We broiled steaks a fair amount when we had ovens with broilers on the bottom. Our current oven has a broiler, comprised of heated coils, at the top of the oven, and I have never seen fit to figure out how best to use it. Just this year, I learned how to comfortably broil fish without setting it on fire.

When the SD asked us to grill various dinner entrees, I decided, since we’ve already stored the grill for the winter, that I would, once and for all, master the broiler. We made a fantastic spice-rubbed flank steak this way, as well as sirloin-cherry tomato-mushroom kebabs, and maple-soy–glazed salmon fillets. The key is to turn on the oven's light and watch. If the food starts smoking and has nice browning, move the rack down a notch and finish cooking there for a few more minutes. Your broilables will still get the full advantage of high heat without being so close to the heating element as to ignite. I think I’m about ready to tackle butterflied pork tenderloin, as well as other fish varieties.

The month wasn’t a total wash, after all.

and why not?

For my birthday this year, I baked myself a cake. It just seemed the right thing to do since I have a little extra time on my hands. I also have a big, fat file folder of desserts, many of which are tempting layer cakes, but I’ve needed a good opportunity of bake one. And, what better opportunity than one’s birthday?

When faced with such an opportunity, how to begin narrowing down the choices? A few days before my birthday, I pulled out the dessert folder and looked at every single clipping, selecting those that most piqued my interest. Cheesecake-Marbled Brownies. Pumpkin-Spice Bundt Cake with Buttermilk Icing. Flourless Chocolate-Hazelnut Cake. Chocolate-Ginger Cake with Bourbon Sauce. Double Chocolate Layer Cake. Spiced-Pumpkin Cake. To name a few candidates.

Then I conducted an informal survey on my Facebook page, asking friends to cast a vote for chocolate, pumpkin spice, or red velvet. Many weighed in for red velvet; one friend suggested I make all three, which I would if I had the time or could afford the calories. In the end, the season dictated baking Spiced-Pumpkin Cake, promising warming flavors and a sweet cream-cheese frosting.

I found the recipe a year ago, in Bon Appetit, and it has waited patiently in a burgeoning file folder. Cake batters are easy to whip up, and this one was no exception. In addition to the typical cake ingredients—flour, sugar, eggs—this recipe has abundant spices, including ground ginger, allspice, nutmeg, and a full tablespoon of cinnamon. In addition to pumpkin puree, the cake gets a flavor boost from raisins and coconut. I’m sure they contributed additional moistness and a little toothsomeness, but I omitted the raisins—too sweet.

Learning: I used two cake pans, as the recipe suggested. However, there was enough batter for three pans, and I would do that next time to avoid the fat layers I had with two. Also, three layers would help to use every last bit of the delectable, bourbon-laced frosting.

It should go without saying that the house smelled amazing as the cake baked. And, I think the next time the house is feeling stuffy and smelling a little musty, I’m going to bake a cake for instant air freshening.

Happy birthday to me, indeed.

September Highlights

A few Hambone and Spice good eats from the month that straddles grill season and braising season:

lunch at Jay's Cafe: beef-carrot-potato-parsnip pasty; butter-braised cabbage; house greens


Dinner with Tracy and the Jills at 112 Eatery: My iPhone, sans flash, didn't quite capture the beauty of this grilled salmon fillet, served on Isaac Becker's pillow-soft pan-fried gnocchi, which had been tossed in an almond pesto. Stunning dish. My friends and I shared (not pictured) more pan-fried gnocchi, prawns with rooster mayo, Chinese-fried eggs, and tres leche cake, all of which are house specialties.

My first stab at a rustic tart. The sweet dough recipe I used was quite forgiving. The nectarines and Michigan blueberries were at their peak sweetness so I used very little sugar (there's a dusting of sugar/nutmeg/pulverized pecans under the fruit). Easy and fun. I look forward to making more tarts—plums beckon, as do apples and pears.

Hambone and Spice reprised all the delectable lobster feasts we savored midsummer in Maine. We invited friends Colin and Helena, and Dave and Sarah, to BYOL(obster), which we had been talking about doing for ages. In addition to fine company and delicious side dishes (coleslaw, an Alice Waters' tomato-green bean salad, corn on the cob), steaming lobsters gave me an opportunity to use Hambone's Christmas gift—a gleaming and h-u-g-e AllClad stockpot.


After company left our BYOL party, I scavenged the shells for meat, while Hambone kindly dismantled the extra lobster we had purchased. Around midnight, I heated olive oil in a stockpot, then sweated onions in the oil until translucent. Bay leaves, peppercorns, and fresh thyme sprigs went into the pot, followed by the shells from four or five lobsters. I added water to cover and brought to a boil, then placed lid on the pot, lowered the heat, and simmered for two hours. I hesistate to suggest that the movie we watched (Sunshine, with original script by Alex Garland) was part of the formula, but it did take our minds off the wait. The next night, lobster stock formed the base of a stellar lobster risotto. Would that I always had an extra lobster lying about...


I have had intentions to eat at the Harbor View Cafe, in Pepin, Wisconsin, since hearing friends and strangers, alike, rave about this restaurant. Pepin is only 90 minutes from the Twin Cities, yet, because it's achingly scenic and blissfully quiet, it seems a world away. Opportunity knocks: My mother and sister visited me last weekend and requested a day trip. We spent the better part of Sunday driving down the Mississippi on Route 35, then had a memorable dinner at the Harbor View. Pictured above is the summer cassoulet. Even though this version had no duck confit. Sacrebleu, I know! How can you have cassoulet without duck confit? Also, the cassoulet was deconstructed and looked messy. My best memories of cassoulet pivot on the way the ingredients—the beans, the garlic sausage, the duck—melt together. This is the definition of unctuous. Really! I looked the word up at m-w.com. All was forgiven the minute I ate a chunk of that lamb sausage, stuffed right in the Harbor View's kitchen by Adam. Seriously, this sausage, a near embodiment of perfection, was juicy and steamy and adroitly seasoned. New standards have been set for cassoulets consumed outside of only the most French restaurants—a bed of beans, napped in their liquor and topped by the best sausage and slow-cooked vegetables (tomatoes, onions, bell peppers). Sublime.