Half of “Head Games”

I wasn’t a huge fan of cabbage growing up.  I never had a real strong opinion of it, one way or the other.  My mother rarely made it for us, and as a result of this culinary detente, I never formed a hatred of the green stuff.  To me, cabbage was just a head of iceberg lettuce whose leaves were thicker and had a tighter grouping.  That said, around the holidays, there was one side dish that my mother loved, one that I learned to hate by the way it stank up the house.  My mother grew up in a German household, and sauerkraut was a staple for her.  Honestly, as a kid, I had no idea what the stuff was, other than it was some vegetable that she put into a crock pot and forgot about until its fumes had made the air inside the house smell like a hamper full of gym shorts.  I’m still not a fan of it today, but I’ve begun to make amends with sauerkraut.  I no longer hate at 37 the way I did at 7.

Besides sauerkraut, the only other cabbage dish I had growing up was cole slaw, which I didn’t mind.  However, this chapter doesn’t look at either of these two dishes, though both sauerkraut and cole slaw will be getting entries later on in the Great Work.  This time, we’re looking at the first of two cabbage dishes, the first of which focuses on green cabbage.

As I said before, my mother grew up in a Germanic household, and a few Sundays ago was Mother’s Day.  So I told her that I’d be coming over to her place to make dinner for her, myself, my sister and my sister’s daughter (also known, to some people, as “my niece”).  On the menu: pan-fried boneless pork chops, garlic mashed potatoes, and the green cabbage dish Alton calls “Shred, Head, Butter, and Bread.”  It’s a strange recipe, but pretty easy.  Honestly, the most difficult part of it is “shred a head of green cabbage.”  The dance goes something like this: put a big pot of water on the boil, and melt some butter in a pan.  Pulverize some seasoned croutons and put these breadcrumbs in the melted butter along with some ground mustard and caraway seeds.  Cook until the butter browns.  Add some salt and sugar to the boiling water, and add the shredded cabbage.  Cook for exactly two minutes, then dump the water into the strainer portion of a salad spinner.  Then take the cabbage for a spin in the salad spinner.  Once it’s as dry as you can get it, add the cabbage to the butter-crumb mixture, toss to coat, and serve immediately.

Full disclosure: I’m not a huge fan of caraway.  There’s something about the flavor that I find a bit off-putting.  While the addition of the caraway did make it a pronounced flavor, it kind of works in this dish – it’s sort of like eating a vegetarian Reuben, as the rye bread has the same caraway flavor.  My sister loved it as well – she kept going back to the pan and eating bits of it, even after the meal was over.  I’d definitely make this one again – simple, fast and cheap!

Next: We look at the scarlet lettuce, and pair it with flame-kissed lamb.

Recipe:

Shred, Head, Butter and Bread

“Tofuworld”

Tofu isn’t in my everyday diet.  It’s not even in my every week diet.  Basically, it only shows up in my diet if I head to the Chinese restaurant down the road (you know, the one with the lucky cat statue and the buffet), and get some hot-and-sour soup.  Like most non-Asian-Americans, that’s more or less the extent of my knowledge of using tofu.  In fact, I used to be weirded out by the stuff.  I mean, it has little to no taste, and is made from pressed soybeans.  It’s not natural!

As time went on, I learned more about the stuff.  Sure, it has no flavor of its own, but that means it’s perfect for adding protein to dishes without adding meat.  It’s perfect in soups, since it will drink up the flavor of the soup.  But that’s only the beginning of what tofu can do.  Softer tofu can stand in for pudding or smoothies, and firm tofu can even be pan-fried.  Oh, and did I mention it’s cheap?  I found an Asian market relatively nearby selling tofu by the pound for about a buck and a half.  Try finding meat on sale that cheap!

So, now that I’ve got the tofu, what do I do with it?  Well, the two recipes in this chapter showcase the two general styles of tofu – firm and soft.  I started with the firm tofu, as it was fairly straightforward to make.  As I said before, tofu is a culinary sponge, and will soak up whatever flavors you give it.  But firm tofu still has quite a bit of water, so we need to wring that sponge out before we let it take liquid back into itself.  I cut it into four equal pieces, wrapped it in paper towels, and pressed it for two hours between two sheet pans weighted with a 28-oz. can of tomatoes, changing the towels once.  After the tofu is pressed, it gets placed into a zip-top bag with some vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, and some hot pepper sauce to marinate for two hours.  At that point, the tofu gets dredged in breading and pan-fried in canola oil for a few minutes a side, just long enough to brown the panko breadcrumbs.  After cooling briefly, they’re served.  Having tasted them, I think they either needed more time in the marinade or more marinade, as most of the flavor was lost.  Still, I think I see what Alton was going for in this recipe.  The acidity of the vinegar, the fishiness of the Worcestershire sauce, and the crunchiness of the fry is supposed to make you think of a fish fry.  The heat wasn’t noticable, but I suspect that was his Southern expressing itself.  I need to make this one again in the future, just to see if I can get the flavors stronger.

The second one is called Moo-Less Chocolate Pie, and is nothing short of devious.  A package of semisweet chocolate chips are melted in a metal bowl along with some coffee liqueur and vanilla extract.  This is added to a food processor, along with a pound of soft tofu and some honey, and pulsed until smooth and pudding-like.  That’s all added to a chocolate wafer crust and refrigerated.  It’s incredibly simple to make, and unlike my poaching trials, I didn’t have any issues making this one.  The recipe, though, says that Alton has served this pie to unsuspecting diners, and nobody has ever suspected the secret ingredient.  I had to replicate this experiment, so I made a pie and took it to work the next day.  I informed them that there was a secret ingredient, but made them guess what it was.  True enough, nobody got it.  One person came close, guessing that I used avocado to make the pudding (she’d recently been working with making mousse with avocado), but nobody actually suspected tofu.  Experiment successful!  I’ll definitely be making this one again.

Next: I work with the only vegetable that can be spelled using musical notes.

Recipes:

Filet o’Fu

Moo-Less Chocolate Pie

“Mission: Poachable”

Answer: Both have poaches.

Explanation: Poach is French for pouch, and to the first Frenchman that ever dropped an egg into simmering water, that’s what the resulting egg looked like.  This chapter would have me on unfamiliar ground – before I started work on this chapter, I could count the number of times I’ve poached anything, not just eggs, on no hands.  I have my suspicions on why it’s not done more often, but I’ll come back to that after I’ve talked about the two-and-a-half recipes I’ve replicated.

Of these recipes, I went for the easiest first, which is, of course, poached eggs.  The procedure’s fairly simple – put some water in a 12″ skillet, along with some white vinegar and salt, and add the heat.  As you’re bringing the water to a simmer, crack four eggs into four custard cups.  Once the water’s reached its simmering point, drop the eggs, turn off the heat, cover and cook for five minutes.  Remove the eggs, and serve immediately.  Nothing to it, really.

And if you thought that, then you’ve not been reading this blog and don’t know me that well.  The simpler the recipe, the more I tend to make big mistakes.  In my first try on this one, I forgot to turn off the heat.  This meant the eggs were done in three minutes and the water had begun to boil over, perfuming the air of my apartment with a wonderful acidic aroma with a hint of sulfur.  My second and third try went better, though, and by the third attempt I didn’t even need my recipe at all.  I was somewhat disappointed in the flavor, however.  Poaching had not imparted any flavor to the eggs, and they needed a good bit of salt before I thought they tasted as good as their consistency would suggest.

The next recipe was the half recipe: court bouillon.  For my non-foodie readers, court bouillon is a poaching liquid of water and white wine with some aromatics.  You would no sooner eat court bouillon than you would wear the shoe box your shoes came in.  It’s in here due to the episode the chapter is recounting.  In the episode, Agent AB is trying to stop the Mad French Chef’s plot, which involves replacing the city’s water supply with court bouillon.  He doesn’t cook with it at all, so its inclusion in the chapter is purely legacy.  I had to figure out something to poach in the liquid, so I chose salmon.  I made it at my parents’ place, and topped off the fish with a beurre blanc sauce.  Once again, the fish was cooked well, and was very moist, but lacked any flavors the court bouillon could have imparted.

Finally, the chapter closes with catfish au lait.  It’s another easy recipe.  Put a can of evaporated milk into an electric skillet along with some Old Bay, salt, pepper and thinly sliced onion.  Bring to a boil, and add the catfish, spooning some of the liquid over it.  Reduce heat to low (if your skillet says temperatures as low as 140 degrees Fahrenheit, then aim for that), and cook until done.  Remove to a serving dish and top with the poaching liquid.

Once again, as it’s a simple recipe, I screwed it up the first time.  This time, my problem was that I didn’t realize how powerful my electric skillet was until I started using it.  I put the skillet on high to get the milk going, but the bottom actually scalded and burned before it truly came to a boil!  I had to discard everything and start again.  By the second time, it all worked, and I was able to serve it over rice alongside some steamed parsleyed carrots.  Once again the fish was wonderfully moist, but it still underseasoned.  This surprised me, as there was quite a bit of salt and pepper in the poaching liquid, along with the Old Bay.

If you’ve noticed a trend in my outcomes, then you’ve noticed the same one I have.  Poaching doesn’t seem to lend much flavor to whatever it is you’re poaching, so I won’t be likely to do much more poaching in the near future.  In general, the only thing I would consider poaching again would be eggs, and then only if I’m making Eggs Benedict, where they’re one of the principal ingredients.  If anyone has good recipes that showcase poaching at its finest, let me know – I’d like to try some more, and see if it’s my technique that needs improvement, or if my conclusion is actually valid.  Help me out here!  Poaching: bug, or feature?

Next Time: I work with a culinary sponge.

Recipes:

Poached Eggs

Catfish au Lait

A Very French Poaching Liquid: Court Bouillon