Beef Pot Roast

Oh my toe-curling god, am I ever loving my pressure cooker right now. Pot roast, in an hour (well, 90 minutes counting prep). Are you fucking kidding me?

Believe it or not, I am still somewhat a n00b when it comes to preparing hunks of beast. I've only been cooking meat for about 6 or 7 years, and although I can really do some damage with slow-cooking in dry heat (I mean, who can't put a big chunk of meat in a 200 degree oven for 4 hours?), wet heat always fucks me up. It always hits a boil and turns to leather. Enter the pressure cooker: it's going to boil anyways, so why not let 15 pounds psi pulverize that connective tissue until it's butter?

The thing is, I only have a giant 23-qt pressure cooker that I bought for canning. It's a beast (the other kind), and I've used it for cooking only a couple of times - giant vats of beans in most cases - and it's a real bitch to get clean after that. This one's just not meant for everyday household use. So I came up with this neat trick that allows me to cook a 2 person-sized dinner in an army-sized pressure cooker. I make a sort of double-boiler by filling the large crock with a few inches of water, into which I insert a smaller pot that contains dinner. Works a dream.


So the rundown: I hit a 2lb chuck roast with a bunch of freshly-ground pepper and kosher salt, then browned it on all sides. Remove the roast, add two cups of mirepoix (1 part onion to half parts celery and carrot) and a bay leaf and thyme, saute until the veg is browned and the moisture from it deglazes the pot. I didn't have any beef stock so I added some homemade chicken stock (brown, from last week's roasted chicken) with a spoonful of beef bouillon paste, a glug of red wine, and a few squirts of Worcestershire sauce (I added enough to cover the roast). Put the whole shebang into the pressure cooker and let the flame rip. Once it hit my desired pressure (between 10 and 15 psi is my safety zone), I turned down the heat to around medium-low to keep it there. After an hour, I turned off the burner and got the side dishes ready while the pressure cooker wound itself down.

Simple sides are best for pot roast, and mine were boiled new potatoes and some mustard-glazed carrots and Brussels sprouts (glaze: spoonful of stout mustard, a few pinches of mustard seed, a scant spoonful of sugar and a knob of butter, add a splash of water to combine everything then let it reduce back down). When the pressure cooker simmered down enough to remove the lid without garnering third-degree steam burns, I pulled out the pot of roast and strained the jus into a hot pan to reduce. I whisked in a flour slurry and let it simmer into a rich gravy.

Serve with a nice Pinot Noir (hey, it's springtime - no need to go too big) and enough soft wheat rolls as needed to sop up all that gravy. Yes, all of it.

Apricot-caraway tea bread

I can't really call this Irish soda bread, or even Irish-American soda bread, since my ingredient limitations forced my creative hand (as they tend to do). This is, though, a basic soda bread - a quick bread leavened with baking soda instead of yeast. Since I ran out of raisins (and was already using golden ones at that), I supplemented with chopped, dried apricots. And since I was already going a different direction with this bread, I baked it in a buttered terrine pan (and added a bit extra sugar and buttermilk to the dough, per Joy of Cooking's direction) to yield a neat, uniform loaf with an elegant crumb. "I may as well," I figured.

I toasted the caraway to draw out the sweet, caramel-y undertones of the seeds, and the resulting aroma of this baking loaf was so powerfully evocative of my mother that I had to take a triple-take with my nose to pinpoint the reason. She never baked this bread, in my recollection, but the bread machine she gave me for Christmas when I was 19 years old came with a mix for this very bread (the standard version of it). This versatile recipe needs no such contraption, though; in fact, it begs to come out of an old-fashioned oven, cradled in mitt-clad hands.

Yankee it may be, we indeed enjoyed this lovely loaf on St. Patrick's Day, along with pressure-cooked corned beef brisket, garlicky roasted cabbage and champ (to be posted later this week). Served with tea (Constant Comment - my mother's favorite) and toasted with butter, leftovers made the pleasantest of breakfasts.

Poutine Galvaude

...Now, with more confit!

Awhile ago, I made poutine with sweet potatoes and veal demi glace gravy. Oh, man, was it ever a delight. A bit more recently, my good buddy Marc at the stellar (yet erroneously-named) No Recipes made it also, but one-upped me by photographing it like a genius (seriously, steam shot and everything). When I noticed the linkback in my Sitemeter readings, I took a look at my old post from last November and remembered that I'd threatened to make this with turkey leg confit leftover from Thanksgiving. Of course, I totally forgot to do that, and hi. Here we are.

Technically, this probably can't be called "galvaude" because I used duck instead of turkey or chicken, and I omitted the peas (some asshole is also probably gonna swing his/her peen around about this not really being poutine, either, since I used sweet potatoes instead of regular potatoes), but honestly, who gives a shit? It's French fries with gravy and cheese curds. It has duck confit on top. SUCK IT. And after I confited the duck, I oven-roasted the fries in the hot duck fat. I used sweet potato again because they really are just more nutritious and tasty, but I have to admit that they have a hard time holding their shape after they've been essentially poached in duck fat. Next time I'll fry them on the stove top to get the proper crispness. Beef demi gravy and local white cheddar curds, and we're laughing.

********

If anyone has noticed or cares, I've been lagging on the blogging in a big way. I just can't pretend to care that much right now, but it's not you, I swear. I just am such a dipshit these days. It's strange what hormones do to the female brain, but each time I do cook, I forget to shoot it. For fuck's sake, I made mac and cheese with brie last weekend and forgot to photograph it. I have a couple things lined up, but who knows when I'll get around to it. I'll try to at least be present when I can, but I just have a lot of other shit going on right now, and ice cream makes a fine dinner.

Sweet Black Sesame Butter

Smear this on a toasted (and buttered) English muffin with strawberry preserves or marmalade. Imagine sweet tahini, but black. It's like Taiwanese Nutella, or a non-grainy adzuki paste. I bet it'd be great rolled up in some strudel dough with pears and a little cinnamon.

Mushroom-Cheddar Patty Melt

I know, I know. I take off for a week, and this is all I got to show for it (especially since the last post was a total cop-out, even though I spent hours constructing that chocolatey cave from 2lbs of chocolate truffles)? Don't worry, things will get exciting again real soon, I promise. I'll be in the field off and on every week for a few weeks, and I'm going to try earnestly to find little roadside gems for you during my travels. Until then, I make my own diner food.

Pardon my photos, I'm trying to learn to properly use this camera instead of just clicking it over to the macro setting and letting it auto-focus. Adjusting the f-stop is an embuggerance, but will be worth it once I get it right! It's a bumpy road to perfect mastery, but I'm trying to enjoy the ride.

Behold, the illustrious patty melt. A burger, for all intents and purposes, though open-faced. This one came on a thick slab of French batard (the King of Breads) with chopped green tomato pickle relish, mayo, hot mustard, a 1/3 lb patty of ground chuck and pork, grilled mushrooms and onions, and gooey, melted cheddar (hence, patty "melt").

If you're feeling conflicted about the fat and cholesterol (ha!), serve with lightly sautéed snap peas and a curry pickled okra spear. An ice-cold ginger beer wouldn't hurt, either.

Gratin Dauphinois

Gratin Dauphinois is a basic thing. So basic, in fact, that I can't imagine any reason why people would eat the boxed shit. The garbage dehydrated crap isn't even cheaper. Okay, I'll admit that it is marginally easier to open a box and a couple bags, but you end up having to boil water and milk to pour over the dehydrated potatoes anyway, when you could just slice a couple of real potatoes on your mandoline (or in the processor), dump them in a glass bowl and microwave them in the milk. Then all you do is dump the whole lot into a buttered casserole with a slice garlic clove, top it with cheese, and whack it into the oven for an hour. Easy peasy.

I used 50-50 milk and half & half (so I guess it was 75% milk, and 25% cream), a few pinches of salt and some pepper, and a few scratches of nutmeg. I topped it with the last of the Madrigal cheese and tented some foil over the whole pan to keep the cheese from browning too early.

Serve with a medium-rare ribeye (grilled with only crunchy salt and cracked pepper) and a bitchy red (I like 2006 Three Winds Syrah these days - a little brash and ign'unt, but she calms down if you give her some space. Plus, the label looks like a Kurosawa movie poster).

Chicken Pot Pie

Hey, I know I can't bake. I hate making pastry dough, and pie crust, and all that. Too much work. But one I thing I can do right is make fun of myself. I decided it would be absolutely hilarious if I used the scraps of dough to form a penis shooting a projectile onto the top of the pie, a la the foursquare folded paper fortune teller in Eastbound and Down the other night.


A delicious chicken pot pie with potatoes, carrots, celery, peas and corn and some dried "gourmet" mushrooms for good measure, in a savory chicken gravy, baked in a buttery, flaky pastry.

Suck on it.

Meatball sandwich with sautéed veggies and provolone

Did everyone have a nice Valentine's Day? That's good, me too. I haven't been around that much lately on account of not giving a shit about blogging, but I did make some nice meatball sammiches with sauteed peppers, onions and mushrooms last night.

I made the meatballs by mixing a pound of ground beef (I got the less-lean kind but should probably start paying better attention to that stuff); a quarter of an onion and two cloves of garlic (both minced); a few fat pinches of dried oregano and thyme, salt and pepper, a few squirts of Worcestershire sauce, a slightly-beaten egg and a handful of breadcrumbs (I make my own but you can use panko or the shit in a can if you want). Mix until just combined. Using the same technique as for the Swedish meatballs, just scoop, scoop, scoop with your little 1/8 cup-sized ice cream scoop until you have 15 perfect little meatballs on your Silpat. Bake for 15 minutes at 425, until golden.

Whilst the meatballs are roasting (and five minutes later, you added some parbaked pan au levain loaves to the oven), warm up some of the tomato sauce you canned last summer, but add more garlic and herbs, and some grated parm for good measure. Simmer until warmed through. In another pan, sauté some sliced onions, sweet peppers and mushrooms in a little olive oil.

Pull the meatballs from the oven and roll them around in the warm sauce to coat. Load the meatballs, sautéed veg and extra sauce onto the bread, then top with a couple slices of provolone. Slide the whole thing back under the broiler for a minute or two to get the cheese melty and browned.

Serve with a green salad and Nathan Petrelli's self-righteousness.

Strozzapreti with curry-kabocha cream and paneer

...or, I ain't mad at a little fusion once in awhile, did I ever claim to be made of stone?

This sounds so wrong. I'd probably have been a little less off-base just putting this on basmati rice, in retrospect, but I wanted the toothiness of pasta with a squashy-curried cream sauce and squeaky paneer (purchased as a fool's substitute for cheese curds for my Super Bowl poutine). Kinda like north Indian mac and chee, I guess. I dunno. It's cold out n'shit.

I initially planned to leave the roasted kabocha in chunks, but it disintegrated upon a fingertip's touch and I ended up folding it into the creamy Béchamel instead. I added some hot curry powder, a scant pinch of my Seven Spice™ and some dhana jeera (a blend of coriander and cumin seed). Lots of fresh grated ginger and a pinch of crushed fennel seed, then I folded in some butter and crème fraîche to finish with extra dairy twang. Top with another googe of crème fraîche and some chopped cilantro (and S&P to taste), and it's like your Indian mom made you her best attempt at trashy American comfort food.

Serve with warm garlic naan and Madlib the Beat Konducta.

Swedish meatballs with buttered noodles and nutmeg gravy

Wow, what a week. Not even a (much-needed, and well-spent) paid holiday or a sexah new president could shake the funk of cold weather and crampy ladytimes. I made it to the gym again, to try to run off some of my shitty attitude, but it just made me more tired. When push finally came to shove, dinner had to come with gravy.

You love those Ikea Swedish meatballs so much, don't you. Of course you do, you're not made of stone. You don't, however, love driving through traffic to circle the 50-acre parking lot, or swimming through the crowds of mouth-breathers that hoved in from the suburbs to buy exquisite plywood shelving with sleek birch veneers. What in the fuck can you do, though? You love those meatballs.

So make them your damn self already. Mix together some ground chuck and ground pork (about 3:1, respectively, for about a pound total), an egg, a half-handful of plain bread crumbs, a quarter of an onion (minced), more nutmeg than you think you should (at least ten scratches across your microplane zester), four or five good cracks of pepper, and a few pinches of crunchy salt. Mix only until combined, and use a little ice cream scoop to perfectly portion out meatballs onto a silpat. Roast these at 400 for about 20 or 30 minutes, until they're browned and lovely.

Whilst the meatballs are roasting, get a roux going. When it's nutty, whisk in milk until the lumps are all gone, and it is creamy and gravylike. Add some cracks of pepper (white is nice, if you have it), salt and 10 or 15 scratches of nutmeg. After it's bubbled for a spell (and the floury taste is gone), add some minced fresh thyme and a generous spoonful of creme frâiche, and taste. Whilst the gravy is simmering, boil some egg noodles. When they're done, toss in a knob of butter to coat. Toss a squonch of chopped parsley at it artfully.


Serve with a mug of hefedunkel and bork bork bork.

Beef sirloin meatloaf with mashed potatoes and gravy

There's just no way to make meatloaf look pretty, is there? Too bad.

In an attempt to make room for all the pig that I just bought, I had to pull a couple things from the freezer, among them a 3-lb sirloin tip roast from the half beeve that I split with Greta and Matt last spring. Matt is always good for going in on meat en carcasse - it's good to have coworkers and friends who give a shit about where their food comes from.

Normally, I'd never do such a thing as grind a lean cut of meat like sirloin tip roast, but I also didn't want to wait another day to roast it on the weekend, nor did I want to slice steaks off it. And I have meat coming out of my ass right now anyway, so why not a meatloaf? It's cold out, and gravy is the cure.


I ground the roast (and some ends of bacon for fat) on the coarsest grind, added an egg, a slice of stale wheat bread and a small onion (these went in the grinder, too), the last blob of gochujang and some squirts of Worcestershire sauce, some fresh thyme and parsley, some paprika and lot of salt and pepper. Mix gently and just enough - overworking makes a tough meatloaf. Form into a babyloaf shape and bake on a sheet in a 375-degree oven for about 45-60 minutes.

I never use a loaf pan to make meatloaf anymore because that juice will sit in there and boil the meat, which is not tasty. Also, when you try to cut a slice, it falls apart like loosemeats. The baking sheet technique is just way better, trust me on this.

I mashed some boiled white and russet potatoes with cream and butter, then folded in some grated cheddar because I am evidently trying to get a big, fat ass. I honestly don't know why I added cheese, I was like on autopilot or someshit.

Serve with an ice cold Coke and The Office.

Pub Grub

Doesn't this look like a happy picnic of all of your favorite fried foods, fresh from the pub, all laid out on a blanket of glee and sunshine? Don't be fooled, it's rainy and sardonic out there. This new lamp burns my retinas until I see only magenta and green splotches, and I can't adjust the white balance on my camera if it's on the macro setting. The bloody fuck?

When Scott and I quit smoking a year ago (next week), we knew there was only one place that we'd miss terribly: the Horse Brass. We had our commemorative send-off into ex-smokerdom there, to add one last wisp to the raw umber patina on the walls and to engage in what would be our last blissful respite in overt self-destruction. Not being ones for doing things half-assed, we had to order the halibut fish and chips (Scott's favorite) and the Scotch egg (my downfall).

In case you haven't surmised, a Scotch egg is a hard-boiled egg that's been wrapped in sausage and deep-fried. I made bite-sized ones with quail eggs. It was a total hassle, but worth it. I made a honey-horseradish dip for them and it rocked me like a hurricane.


Just as big a hassle, but similarly worth it, were the halibut fish and chips (in a Boddington's ale batter) and sweet potato fries. With plenty of homemade tartar sauce (store-bought mayo thinned with a little red onion vinegar, Dijon, lemon zest, chopped homemade pickles and S&P). The fries were alright, not awesome - they could've been a little crispier. We joked about making onion rings too, but there was so much golden brown on the plate already. To be honest, after eating the first perfect Scotch egg, I wanted to eat only those and didn't need anything else.

I also made a batch (actually, a restrained bowl) of simple slaw by finely slicing savoy cabbage and scallions, and whisking together a dressing of mayo (opting again for store-bought), Dijon, white balsamic, honey, lemon juice and zest, salt and lots of pepper. It would've benefited from a denser crunch in retrospect, and I wish I'd added some apple or kohlrabi to the mix.

My cravings for fried, crispity goodness having been thoroughly slaked, it'll be a long while before I wreck my kitchen again doing this (and at $18/lb., halibut was a real once in awhile treat to buy fresh). Besides, bars are smoke-free now. Horse Brass here we come.

Elk sirloin chili with Beans

Any more, whenever I cook or even eat beans, I think of my buddy Ken Albala over at Ken Albala's Food Rant. He doesn't get as much traffic as all the Foodbuzz and Foodie Blogroll folks, which is a fucking shame, because he's actually a real writer. Of actual books.

One of such books is Beans: A History.

You ever find yourself reading some Pollan and thinking to yourself, "sure, this is entertaining, but I really wish he didn't dumb everything down for the lay audience"? Yeah, me too.

If Michael Pollan is coffee, Ken Albala is espresso. Ken is an award-winning food historian and author of such effervescent reading as Eating Right in the Renaissance; Food in Early Modern Europe; and Cooking in Europe 1250-1650. More recently though, he dabbles in what he deems to be "pop" food writing, but is, in my opinion, a meticulous examination of individual foodstuffs.

Beans is one such exploration, in which Ken chronicles the cultural and culinary significance of one of our most basic forms of sustenance, the humble legume. From the crippling classism faced by Medieval bean-eaters, to the role of toxic vetch seeds in combating famine in the 12th-century, to the bacterium that distinguishes natto from hamanatto, Beans delves into depths rivaling a thesis for its attention to detail, and for leaving no stone unturned. Beans is, in a word, thorough.

It's also pretty fucking entertaining, although I'll admit that the thing I like most about this book is its unflinching nerdiness. This is an entire book about the seeds of a single plant family. It's not just for scholars and botanists, though - Ken's enthusiasm is contagious.

Some of you are still doing your holiday shopping, and I scold you for your procrastination. However, you can satisfy the academic foodie on your list (or yourself) by picking up a copy of Beans or Ken's latest tome, Pancake: A Global History.

**********************************

Oh, hey, and speaking of beans, I made it to the store yesterday. It really wasn't that terrible - without that nasty sumbitch Old Man East Wind, it was actually kind of pleasant, bordering on magical.

Since I knew I had to carry everything I purchased, I made very edited choices. Milk, eggs and flour are already heavy, so everything else really had to count. A couple containers of frozen juice concentrate to drink with our vodka. A bag of pink beans.

We had everything else at home, so this wouldn't be too difficult. Catherine sent me a huge elk sirloin roast a few weeks ago (have I mentioned that I love that woman?), from which we'd eaten a couple of steaks and then refroze. I'd normally never refreeze a meat, but I was going out of town and figured it'd be better to risk freezer burn than for the whole thing to rot in my absence. Rubbed and double-bagged with the air smooshed out, it was absolutely fine rethawed, without a single indication of freezer burn.


I finely diced the elk and browned it with an onion and a few spoonfuls of homemade ancho chile powder, half spoonfuls of pimentón and garlic powder, and a good few pinches of homemade Berbere spice. I dumped in a can of tomatoes and the leftover tomato-roasted pepper soup from last week. Then I added a dribble of soy, a spoonful of gochujang and a few good pinches of MSG. Oh, don't look at me like that - it is pure, crystalline umami. It makes everything taste really good and I'm not sensitive to it.

I let everything simmer and stew while the (presoaked) pink beans cooked in unsalted water. Never cook beans with the tomatoes or in salted water, or they'll go tough. When the beans were tender, I drained them and added them to the pot, then added more salt and pepper to taste. While the beans were soaking up some of the good chili flave, I whipped up some cornbread.

Top with cheese, sour cream and minced shallot for best effect. I'm heading to the kitchen for some leftovers right now. Not too shabby, this "working from home" business.

Chicken and Waffles

Chicken and waffles. The first in a series I call Monochromatic, Yet Delicious. Some of my readers (particularly the ones who hail from exotic locales) have blank looks on their faces. It's a real thing, I assure you, to eat fried chicken on waffles. And it's really fucking good.

Chicken and waffles is an American dish that was invented by black people in the 1930s to serve the needs of Harlem's hungry jazz cats after a show. They often played so late into the wee hours that by the time they were done, it was too late for dinner and too early for breakfast. Anyway, that's the most widely-accepted creation myth. I think it might have a little more to do with the amount of grass those dudes were smoking, but that's just my theory.

Chicken and waffles are a Thing. They are a thing for which I hanker, and only one joint in town (that I know of) sells them, and then only on Sundays at brunch. Even those waffle carts that are popping up all over NoPo are missing the boat on the chicken. As usual, I had to take matters in to my own hands.

Granted, my chicken is merely oven-fried (I hate frying, especially in a freshly-cleaned kitchen) with a corn flake crust, but it comes close. I like it spicy and crunchy, on a fluffy waffle (a basic baking powder-leavened recipe instead of Belgian for simplicity - I didn't feel like waiting for a yeasted batter to do its thing). Smeared with maple sugar spread and butter, a little syrup for good measure, and you're havin' kittens, baby.

Enjoy with a screwdriver and Dizzy Gillespie.

Beef Stew

You know when you're feeling kinda tapped out, and multitasking isn't doing you any favors, and you just wanna curl up in a bowl and call it a night? Yeah, it's that time of year, isn't it. Scott made this stew the other night (he actually cooked!) for when I got home from the field, and after the gym I thought it'd be nice to just reheat a bowl of something instead of cooking. There wasn't quite enough for two full servings, so we decided to eat it on some nice, buttered egg noodles.

I was totally gonna make some croutons to go on top, but the batard was way too stale even for that, and I had to process them into crumbs and fry them to render them edible. The night Scott made the stew, I made thick croutons broiled with shredded fontina, but it was much soupier then and really needed it. The sad thing about stew is that although it tastes so much better a day or two later, the peas go all peaked and look like really sad shadows of their verdant selves.

Pickle-making isn't really a one-day feat, is it? I've been doing small batches every day, but the eggplant chutney set things off on sort of a bad foot. It's too thick to really get all of the air out, and so of course one of the jars blew out its bottom in the pressure cooker. I didn't realize it until I went to vent off some of the pressure when I smelled the chutney that should've been sealed up in the jar. Finally, everything cooled down enough to handle, and I was able to see the carnage of oily eggplant shreds floating around inside the pressure cooker. Ick. I had to wash all the remaining jars in soapy water to get the oil off, and scrubbed the pressure cooker before getting the next batch in last night. Tonight will be the red onion pickle.

Foxy Brown

Some of you have been asking about this Hot Brown that I declared I would make with leftover turkey, and I'm gonna tell you all about it. The Hot Brown is a sandwich created at the Brown Hotel in Louisville, Kentucky, created in the 1920s by the one of the hotel's first chefs, Fred Schmidt. It's now an institution, and is commonly served during the Kentucky Derby. It's an open-faced turkey sandwich covered in a Parmesan Mornay sauce and bacon. An ideal way to use Thanksgiving leftovers, really. I bet you're wishing you still had some, aren't you.

I, however, used a combination of Parm Redge, extra sharp cheddar and Gruyère (I had a lot after the mac & chee cook-off, I don't usually keep pounds of it around). I also added a nice fat pinch of paprika to the Mornay, and served it on a thick slice of toasted French batard. I've decided that I altered the recipe for a hot brown just enough to give it a newer, sexier name. I dub this sandwich the Foxy Brown.

Don't mess aroun' with Foxy Brown. It's the meanest sammich in town.

This sammich is easy to prepare. Just layer sliced, roasted turkey breast onto a nice thick slab of good bread (I love the organic French batard from New Seasons). Prepare a Mornay sauce (my recipe is here), stirring in a 1/4 tsp of hot paprika. Spoon copious amounts of the Mornay sauce over the turkey, and top with two slices of bacon. Garnish with grated Parm Redge and finely chopped parsley. A slice of tomato, were they in season, would really set this off.

Enjoy with Maker's Mark (or other fine Kentucky bourbon) and lemonade.

One of those casseroles, revisited

I am hell of tired after working a 12.5 hour day, 6 hours of which were spent with the client (and although this is a good client that I like, I tire of my own good behavior and mouth-watching after about 45 minutes). I came home after driving three hours with a raging headache and a bit of nausea, and needed a little horizontal couch time before I could do anything.

But some of you seemed genuinely interested in my ham and cheese orzo casserole (gluttons for punishment, you lot), so I'll write the recipe for you as best as I can. This was a hip-shooter, so forgive me if it yields a slightly different picture for you. This, by the by, is why I rarely post any recipes, ever. I don't cook from them, and I don't write them as I go.

Ham and Cheese Orzo Casserole
Serves 4-6

I dunno, like two cups of orzo? I shook some out of my huge jar.
4-ish cups of chicken stock?
3 tbsp butter
1/4 cup flour
1/2 cup half & half + 1.5 cups hot water (or 2 cups milk, which we never have)
2 big handfuls of grated cheese - I used sharp cheddar and Gruyère
S&P
8 oz-ish of diced ham (I cubed up 3 slices that were 4" in diameter and 1/2" thick)
2 cups(?) chopped broccoli florets (it was one crown's worth)
2 baby bok choys sliced into chiffonade (you nudge this into every meal these days because you bought a huge bag, which is the only way Fubonn sells it)
a handful of green beans that you really should use up before they go bad
French fried onions (Trader Joe's makes good ones), or panko, or seasoned bread crumbs

Preheat oven to 350. Cook the orzo in the stock, simmering gently and adding more hot water as needed, until all the liquid is absorbed and the pasta is just a nit past al dente. Remove from heat.

While the orzo is cooking, prepare the Mornay sauce. Melt the butter over medium heat and add the flour, whisking until blended and cooking until golden and nutty-smelling (this is roux, for the noobs). Remove from the heat and add the half & half/water (or milk), whisking until flawlessly creamy and lump-free (this is Béchamel, for the noobs). This step is expedited by the use of an immersion blender, FYI. Yes, I'm admitting it, and don't look at me like that. When the sauce is perfectly blended, return to the heat, reduce temp to low, and simmer and bubble for about 10 minutes, or until the floury taste is cooked out. Turn off the heat and stir in the cheeses (save some to sprinkle on top) and S&P.

Mix the Mornay sauce into the cooked orzo and stir in the ham and veg. Pour into your favorite hand-me-down casserole that your Grandma Laverne used to use (and was probably purchased with Green Stamps saved up from all those trips to IGA). Top with the remaining cheese and crispety topping. Bake for about 15 minutes, until the sauce is starting to bubble over and leave those nice browned bubbly streaks down the side of the crock, and the crispety topping is all golden and crispety.


Like I said, I can't guarantee your results. It takes a little finesse, this casserole business. If you try the recipe and it fails miserably (I doubt that will happen - it's ham and cheese and pasta, for fuck's sake), just let me know and I'll help troubleshoot.

A Tale of Two Casseroles

I've been cooking and eating a lot of casseroles and gratins lately. My little white Corningware vessel hasn't seen this much action since the Ford administration. Out of all of my crockery, it's by far my favorite. Not just because of nostalgia for Grandma Laverne's celery-cheddar-water chestnut casserole (which I flawlessly reenacted one Thanksgiving for my wistful dad, just for him to admit that he'd always hated it), but because it is virtually stain-proof. Nay, it is literally stain-proof. Okay, I also love it because it used to belong to Grandma Laverne.

Obviously, this time of year begs for bubbly shit coming out of the warm-your-house-up oven, but there's something far more primal about making and eating casseroles in cooler weather. It connects us to our aproned, canned soup-having ancestors in a way that DNA just can't. I was a frumpy housefrau in a previous life, I just know it, and casserole was my weapon.

Tuna Casserole

There's just no way to make this look good, is there? Maybe that's why so many kids hate tuna casserole. I always loved it, personally, which is a good thing since my mom made it on a semi-regular basis. Now, I make it pretty much exactly like she did, but I use a better brand of cream of mushroom soup and solid albacore. Everything else, though - frozen peas, wide egg noodles and crunchy topping - is just the same. Though I normally like to fuck with everything I grew up eating until its foundation is unrecognizable, tuna casserole garners my subscription to the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" school of recipe adulteration.

The best part is the crunchy edge noodles. Or the sweet peas. Or the briny, flaky tuna.

Ham and Cheese Orzo Casserole

I know what you're thinking. "Again, with the melty cheese and French-fried onions." Well I can't help it, okay? I need to see shit coming out of my oven with bubbly sauce and crispety topping. I can't help it. Norm and his (adorably gawky) tween son Connor were coming over, and this kid's picky. Normally, I believe in punishing pickiness by sneaking loathed ingredients into every dish, but I like Connor (and Norm), and decided to play nice. I know Connor likes broccoli, if nothing else that's green, and he likes meat. And all growing boys like melty cheese and pasta. No brainer.

Okay, I went ahead and snuck in some chiffonade of baby bok choy and sliced green beans just to be a bitch. He didn't seem to notice.

So, casseroles. I probably have one or two more in me, probably for Thanksgiving, and then I'll seek help for my addiction.