Sesame-crusted seared albacore with maitake, asparagus and soba

I made this during a warm spell we had a week ago. It was the kind of weather we ought to be having right now, but Mother Nature is being a bit of a premenstrual dysphoric bitch right now, dumping buckets of rain and unseasonally cool weather our way. Don't get me wrong, I'm from Portland, and am a dyed-in-the-wool Great Northwest kind of girl. But when I see tender tomato sprouts getting mowed down by gastropods and can't throw my windows open in the middle of May, I get a little bitter.

Nonetheless, New Seasons had gorgeous albacore loins, and the usual supply of feathery maitake mushroom clusters, and the asparagus was looking just as plump and green as all get out. I'm such a slave to this succubine vernality. I had some soba and other Japanese things at home already, so dinner was an easy idea away.

I rubbed the tuna loin in sesame oil and then rolled it in black sesame seeds. I seared it lightly on all sides while I got some dressing going: a good, fat tablespoon of grated ginger, a little finely sliced scallion; a drib each of mirin, rice vinegar and sesame oil; and a nice splash of tamari and shoyu (you can use Chinese soy sauce but for seasoning rare tuna I think it's worth going a little nicer with a good Japanese brand like Takumi, and save the dark stuff for porky noodles).

Pull the loin from the hot pan and break up and stir-fry the maitake until they're slightly softened, then toss in the asparagus (chopped into bite-sized pieces). Sprinkle in some sesame seeds and then dump in some cooked soba. Stir around a bit then add the dressing, then plate. Slice the albacore into thick medallions, top the noodles and sprinkle on some furikake (I just like a little seaweed, sesame and chile on everything).

Serve with a cold Morimoto Soba Ale (seriously, I can't drink enough of this these days) and dreams of sunnier climes.

Rigatoni Bolognese with olives and chiles

It's been so hard to muster the energy or interest to cook, what with fatigue and nausea running the show. Pasta with red sauce seems to be accepted without a hitch, and requires nearly no effort, particularly when I have one last, treasured jar of homemade Bolognese from the homegrown heirloom tomatoes of last summer, canned with homeground beef chuck and fresh herbs. This last jar of sunshine was the end of an era.

This bastard lovechild between puttanesca ("the whore's") and Bolognese came from my need to taste red sauce with a little bit of saline fattiness of olives and the protein punch of beef. Chile flake (Korean, for flavor in addition to moderate heat) kicked it to a high hum.


Lots of grated parmesan and crusty bread to swab out the last smear of sauce is a no-brainer.

Orecchiette with pancetta, asparagus, peas and lemon balm

It's so good to be back in my kitchen, I can't even tell you. After the nettle dinner (those 24 things are so much work!) I was in the dry, dusty field for a week (botanical surveys in the western Central Valley, California), and spent the weekend alternately recovering on the couch with my feet up and the remote control ruthlessly cutting commercials from Tivo'ed programs, or playing Rune Factory Frontier, or turning and seeding my warming vegetable beds. Even though it was inspirationally gorgeous out, I didn't really feel like cooking. Not one whit.

The funny thing about being pregnant is that every two hours you are starving. Your blood sugar drops so fast that you simultaneously want to puke and faint. But as famished as I feel, when I finally get around to getting some food in front of me, I can only muster a few bites before I am completely stuffed. Baffled then, am I, that I am gaining weight so quickly. I've been putting on almost a pound a week since I found out. It's going straight to my belly, upper arms and tits, which are rapidly transforming into jugs (I can't stop staring at them, which is probably why I can see them growing before my very eyes).

But holy shit, this is so not about me. This is about the simple flavors of springtime, about the vernal Holy Trinity (peas, asparagus and ham), about meals that are free of fetter and hamper. In the time it takes to boil water and cook pasta you can have, in your very mouth, a perfect balance of crunchy, sweet, virid, salty, fatty, bright and creamy. Yes, all in one bite.

While you're waiting for water to boil, string about a half pound of peas and peel the stems of a small bunch of asparagus. Slice these coarsely on the bias into bite-sized chunks. Mince a shallot and three cloves of garlic finely. Chop about a quarter pound of pancetta. Your water is nigh at a boil, so add a fat pinch of kosher salt and dump in nearly an entire pound of orecchiette (leave about a cup in the bag for another time, this'll still be enough for leftovers).

While the pasta is cooking, render the pancetta in a drizzle of olive oil, and add the shallot and garlic. When the pancetta starts to go crisp and the shallots begin to turn golden, add the peas and asparagus and cook over medium or so, lazily stirring things about with a wooden spoon because it feels so good to hold that spoon (the one with burn marks up the handle from setting it against a hot pan too long, too many times). Salt and pepper things a bit for good measure, and while you're at it, go ahead and scrape in some lemon zest. Have a bright idea to go pick some lemon balm, since the sunny weather has started it aflush near the little pond out back. Chiffonade that lemon balm and pick some thyme off the tender stems.

Drain the pasta and dump the vegetables and pancetta in, swabbing out the bacon grease with a spoonful of pasta. Since it still could use a little something, why not stir in a knob of good cultured butter and maybe a scant tablespoon of crème fraîche. Stir in the sliced lemon balm and picked thyme, and grate in some grainy Parmesan.

Be so happy that you can eat more than a few bites because this is exactly, exactly what you wanted.

Tallarines con guasanas y carnitas

Don't be afraid - it's just pasta with fresh chickpeas and shredded pork. I threw in some calabacitas (a small, rounded zuke relative), too, just 'cuz. I also found out that there is a Spanish word for pasta, and decided to use it instead of "spaghetti" to make my meal appear to be more cogent than fusion.

Imagine my delight at finding fresh chickpeas at Winco foods. I never shop there, but was helping a friend bargain-shop and I was actually really surprised at their variety of Latin produce and wealth of bulk bins (though I still think Cash & Carry has better meat deals, if you don't mind buying in 10lb increments). Normally steamed and shelled directly into the mouth (like so much edamame), guasanas are an interesting Mexican vegetable. I don't know of any other legumes consumed as a fresh vegetable in Latin America, come to think of it. The lanuginous pods bear one seed, though the occasional twin is present. I'd never seen them before, and brought home a bag of them to try.

I sautéed the shelled chickpeas with minced onion and garlic, some minced red chili and sliced calabacitas. I added generous pinches of fresh-ground cumin, achiote and Mexican oregano, salt and pepper. Then I shredded the leftover pork steaks from last week (I made this dinner last week, too, but am just getting to it), added a few unctuous spoonfuls of the tomato-caramelized onion gravy (similarly leftover) and simmered until the shreds of pork buckled under their own weight. I ladled the mixture over cooked spaghetti, and sprinkled on some crumbled cotija and torn cilantro. The spicy, silky carnitas married well with the nutty, lightly crunchy guasanas and the salty, dry cotija and verdant cilantro brightened the whole plate up nicely.

Serve with a spanky Pinot Noir and a hot date with a stationary bike.*



*I finally made a trip to the gym after more than a month, with a taped-up broken toe and a permission slip from the orthopedic surgeon. The bike is okay as long as I keep my foot straight, and so I kicked back and enjoyed a magazine while I did the exercise of the lazy. I will, however, feel the upper body strength-training tomorrow.

Fideos in saffron-pimentón broth with mussels and linguiça

This is a variation on a dish I made awhile back, and though breaking up capellini to make a version of fideos seems more legit, I think the clams were a better addition than mussels. The problem with mussels (always) is that their thin shells buckle under the weight of their neighbors, and a good handful seem to be broken right out of the bag (this time, the nice fella at New Seasons even inspected each handful, but missed 6 or 7 that had little hairline cracks). Buttery littlenecks are just tougher. Oh well.

I sliced up the linguiça and some onions and browned them up in a little olive oil with some minced garlic. I threw in the broken capellini-as-fideos and stirred them around the savory, orange oil as one would for a risotto, then added about a cup of white wine, a crumbly pinch of saffron threads and a fingertip-sized bump of pimentón, a few pinches of kosher salt and some cracks of pepper. Dumped in the last jar of my home-canned Dr. Wyches Yellow orange heirloom toms and a rinse-out jarful of water, then covered and simmered for about 15 minutes. When the fideos were al dente, I tossed in the scrubbed and de-bearded mussels and reapplied the lid. Sprinkle copious chopped parsley and break open some baguette for soppage.

Serve with tiny tumblersful of cheap Tempranillo and the old tango records that you got for fifty cents at a yard sale years ago, yet are just now listening to for the first time.

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.

Spaghetti alla Bottarga with Meyer lemon and parsley

I was going to call it "Spaghetti alla Bottarga con Limone e Prezzemolo" but that seemed too fussy, so I broke half of it into English. That way I can confuse the Italians and English-speakers who find me accidentally through Google. Plus I don't know how to say "Meyer lemon" in Italian.

So, I got some bottarga. Color me smug. I didn't win any during that auction last Christmas, but was able to procure some anyways through a combination of whining and extremely good fortune. A generous Floridian fisherman took pity on me and sent a little sunshine my way, and I didn't even have to show him my tits.

Bottarga is a sun-dried, salt-cured mullet roe sac (though tuna is also used in Sardinia). This stuff is intensely flavorful, and little shaving is all you need. It's like the flavor of Mother Ocean and rich egg yolk fecundity concentrated down to a briny little ochrecake, and begs for citrus, olive oil and minerally herbs (I'm also interested in tasting it as karasumi to enjoy with cold sesame soba and premium sake but that's another day).

This hot little bitch doesn't play second fiddle to anyone (the bottarga, not me). I merely shaved it over some fresh spaghetti that I'd tossed aglio e olio with the zest and juice of a Meyer lemon, some chopped parsley and lots of good, crunchy sea salt. I warmed the garlic and lemon zest/juice in the olive oil before tossing it together to volatilize the fragrant essence, but other than boiling pasta, I didn't even have to cook to do this dish proper justice.

Serve with a chewy French batard (to sponge up the crumbles and drips) and humble indenture (thank you, Robert).

Lasagna Bolognese

Lasagna always seems like such a fuss, and I'll admit it, I usually just go for a frozen one. It always seems like too much work to make a real one, from scratch, and frozen ones aren't that bad (if you avoid the orange grease stain that is Stouffer's). So it's kind of ironic that I made this last night, because real work at my real job was eating my figurative baby and I needed to be able to put something in the oven for an hour and forget about it.

This is why I took the time to can my tomatoes last summer. It was precisely for this reason. I can totally shirk my duties without feeling like a lazy wife or a shitty blogger, because technically, this is homemade sauce. (Not that any of you should ever feel bad about using store-bought sauce. I'm just an over-achiever.)

This is why I grow and sauce my own tomatoes, grind my own beef and can my own Bolognese sauce. I'm banking my time and energy in canned food form, to withdraw at a future, overworked date. A good thing, too, is a box of no-cook lasagna noodles, already snuggling in my pasta drawer amongst my jars of summer sun. A bag of baby spinach and a cube of extra firm (silken) tofu got blitzed to stand in for ricotta (adding a spoonful of creme frâiche for dairy twang, and a little sea salt and fennel seed for flavor).

A nutmeggy bechamel layer, noodles, Bolognese (heated through with some leftover sausage and mushrooms), noodles, spinachy-tofu smoosh, noodles, then all remaining sauce, topped with shredded mozz and parm*. Bake for 45 minutes to an hour. Wait, it looks like I had to cook after all...

Serve with a juicy Spanish grenache and unmitigated languor.






*Note: this got a little on the extra-browned side of melty, but was still good. I just added extra cheese when it came out of the oven. Next time I'll cover to bake.

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.

Shanghai-style nian gao with soy-braised short ribs and broccoli

I dunno. I totally made this up. A few weeks ago Scott and I ate at Castagna, in the more casual cafe (we save the restaurant for fancy occasions). Scott had the cassoulet (of course) and I had their pasta dish de la saison: maltagliati with braised short ribs and turnip greens. It came sauced in butter thickened with Parm Redge. It was fucking insane, and a perfect toe-curl, and I knew I had to recreate it with Asian flavors. It was such a logical translation - the bitter greens with the sultry beef and chewy, stubby noodles.

A few months ago, Claudia (the sylph behind cook eat FRET) tried some nian gao in Cleveland right about the time I first saw them at Fubonn. I knew then that I needed to try them, but wasn't really feeling the arbitrary purchase at the time. It took me this long to get around to actually picking some up to experiment.

I also picked up a couple pounds of rough-cut flanken-style beef ribs (labeled "back ribs" - I think these were the castoffs from cutting galbi), which were comprised primarily of sinew, tallow and bone. The meat that remained was sufficiently laced with connective tissue and marbling that a 4-hour braise melted it to goulash. I browned the ribs in a Dutch oven with a knob of young ginger and half a head of garlic, a couple bay leaves and some peppercorns, then covered it in soy sauce (laochou that I thinned with some water), Chinese black vinegar, mirin and a spoonful of veal demiglace. When it came to a simmer, I plunked it into a 250-degree oven and went about my day.

I actually shopped for this dish a week ago, and it took me this long to muster the motivation (and time) necessary to properly execute a braise. During this time span, I used up almost all of the Shanghai pak choi (qingcai ). I buy these greens by the bagful, and usually never use up the whole thing until they're almost compost. My garden greens got pwned by snow, and I didn't want to make another trip to the store just for greens, so I gave a "meh" and used broccoli.

The nian gao cooked up in about a minute, then I tossed them with the beef, broccoli, and a ladleful of the braising liquid to coat. At the last minute, I decided it needed a shred of omelet on top. I cooked the egg with a little sugar and chile flake, and it lightened up the dish nicely.

My mental picture of nian gao as the Asian answer to bite-sized maltagliati (translates to "badly cut") proved eerily accurate, and this odd dish worked, rendering this disjointed, disorganized conversation about it a propos. I'll try this again, with an easier cut of meat (maybe pork - we bought a quarter pig yesterday) and the shred of greens for which the nian gao's density yearns.

Chicken Gnocchi Soup

...or, Snow Day

We don't get much snow here in Portland. We're nestled so snugly between the Coast Range to the west and the Cascades to the east, and all that noise gets buffered out in our quaint little Willamette Valley. But once or twice a year, we get the veritable shit...er, snowstorm of Weather. And the city shuts the hell down.

Nobody goes to work or school on snow days. We all turn on the TV to check for road closures anyway, just to see some asshole on the news careening downhill, perpendicular to the road, taking out innocent parked cars in his wake (do yourself a favor and cue up Yakety Sax in another tab so you can watch the vid with a soundtrack). People always try to drive in this shit. People from sunnier climes (cough*Californians*cough) who think that driving up to Ski Bowl a few times a year qualifies as "driving in snow" experience. It's comedy gold, really, for everyone except the owners of those parked cars getting pwned on the side of the road. Here's to good insurance.

During inclement weather, I'm not so keen on leaving the house. I've been a bit slumpy anyway lately, and this doesn't really increase my motivation to leave my couch, let alone step foot outdoors. I don't feel like doing anything that doesn't involve a blanket and sweat pants, and am eating mostly total garbage like totchos (yes, that is nachos made with tater tots) and Blue Box with ketchup. I'm not pregnant, I think it's just the weather and the darkness. I spent 8 hours playing Chibi Robo yesterday, for fuck's sake. Ain't no cure for the wintertime blues.

Except maybe some hearty chicken soup with crunchy green beans, peas and carrots, chunks of creamy fingerling potatoes, cremini mushrooms and succulent chicken, and some tender gnocchi. The dumpling-like gnocchi sort of melt into the soup after awhile, making it nice and creamy-chowdery, and the broth is just shy of melted chicken demi glace, so rich and velvety, with plenty of fresh thyme and black pepper.

Serve with oven-warm rolls and Tivo'd episodes of How Clean is Your House.

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.

The 2008 Tillamook Mac & Chee Cook-off

...or, wherein I find out that Ilan Hall is actually super nice, and pretty funny in real life. He totally forgave me for making fun of him and everything (for the record, he is NOT afraid of starfucking fangirls, and isn't into the dick. He was just trying to sleep when I tried to prank him). When he opens Gorbles (his coming-soon restaurant in LA - Scottish and Jewish!), go give him lots of your money and eat his bacon-wrapped matzo balls.

So, last Thursday was the 2008 Tillamook Macaroni & Cheese Cook-Off. It's the 100-year anniversary of Tillamook Dairy, so I think their PR firm really busted out all the stops. Next year I'll enter a recipe, but this year I attended to cheer on fellow blogger and hottie Catherine Wilkinson of The Dish. She hasn't been blogging much these days, but she doesn't have any kids left to get sick or married, so she thinks she might be getting her groove back soon.

Catherine didn't win the cash money prize, but she did win the Widmer Brothers (local beer-makers) Brewmasters Choice award. One of you is saying "boo-urns", but the rest of you are saying "boo." And rightly so. Fuck sake, even the god-fearing dairy farmers and cheese-makers themselves voted for hers!

The Josis of Wilsonview Dairy

I also got to meet the Dairy Princess. For some reason, I was completely smitten with her (seriously, I have like 6 pictures of her), and wanted to see her get a little drunk. Such boorish behavior never befits a princess, though, and she was, in fact, a perfect lady all evening.

Look at Catherine's mac & chee. It's truly boner-making, isn't it? The fuck is up with some weird mac & chee sweet potato casserole winning? It was good, sure, but I really wonder if it wasn't just the Oregonian penchant for bong hits doing the voting here.

There were about a dozen or so judges, and the event on the whole was really well-attended. This was a good thing, as I passed out about a million of my Foodbuzz blog cards. I'm still waiting for that sweet spike in blog traffic. Yep, any day now....

Anyway, she was a really good sport about it. I don't know what I would've done. Prolly gotten drunk and pulled someone's hair. Or tried to make out with the Dairy Princess.

Braised rabbit ravioli with caramelized shallots and chanterelle jus

So, in case you don't know, I'm on Twitter. I've never felt the inclination to be all, "Hey everybody! Tweet me! Tweet me hard." Nonetheless, some of you good friends of mine have found me. Some of you are even good for a little smack-talk once in awhile.

Enter Peter Minaki (aka Peter the Greek, aka Kalofagas). He's been my home skillet since Day One, and eventually I think I showed him it's okay to cuss on a blog. Now you can't get the motherfucker to shut up. One day in Twittertown, he mentioned some duck he was gonna cook up, and said something about it being duck season. "Wabbit season," I tweet back.

Then, darlings, it was on.

I challenged Peter to a Wabbit Season versus Duck Season throwdown, hoping (knowing?) it would be the mother of all blog grudge matches. LET'S GET IT ON!


I cut a 3-lb. rabbit into its 4 limbs and saddle, and set the loin aside. After a slow braise with onions and parsley, I set it aside to cool and then pulled and shredded the meat. Mixed with fromage blanc, a splash of Mirabelle plum brandy and the cooked rabbit liver, and pulsed a few times in the food processor to mince. Taste, add salt and pepper, and fry some sage leaves to crumble in. A pan of slivered shallot and cipolline onions was caramelizing on another burner.

While the rabbit was braising, I was turning the carcass, kidneys and liver into an unctuous stock (I added a spoonful of veal demi to hurry it along - is that cheating?). After the meat had been pulled from the limbs, I tossed those bones into the stock pot, too. I thinly sliced my precious handful of store-bought (!) chanterelles on the mandoline and gently laid them into the finished, strained stock to reduce into a rich jus.

I whipped up some pasta dough, kneaded it for ten minutes, and after about a half hour rest, I rolled the pasta out into two thin sheets. I scooped the rabbit filling onto one sheet, egg washed the edges and topped it with another sheet. I used the useless Williams-Sonoma egg-cooking round molds (I got so sick of failing at cooking eggs with these things that I eventually just learned to properly poach an egg so I'd always have perfect sandwich-sized eggs).

To serve, I nestled a warm wad of caramelized onions into a small bowl, topped it with the ravioli, and ladled the piping-hot jus over the top. Enjoy with a nice Brooks 2006 Amycas - a blend of Pinot Gris (21%), Pinot Blanc (37%), Reisling (21%), Gewürztraminer (18%) and Muscat 2%) (which is, admittedly, an extremely sterile wine description. But it was delicious).

So, whaddya think? Do I win? Is Peter's duck dish better? YOU DECIDE!