A Bushel of Roma Tomatoes...with My Name On It

So, we're walking around the Minneapolis Farmer's Market last Saturday picking up the usual stuff--corn on the cob, green beans, squash, etc.--and I see these bushels of Roma tomatoes.  Right away I'm thinking about big pots of tomato sauce bubbling on the stove and how it will be so great to have this fresh sauce at the ready for the winter months.  But I walk away.  Are you crazy?  You've got too much to do.  You don't have time for that right now.  Keep moving.

We bring a couple of bags back to the car and decide to head back to share a cinnamon roll and a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.  We still have time on our parking spot, and the rolls did look really good.  Okay.  But I'm not saying anything out loud about those Roma tomatoes.

We're trying to get the sticky frosting off of our hands and walking through a few more rows of booths just to make sure we didn't miss anything, and I say, "Look at those bushels of Roma tomatoes.  Do you think I should get one a make tomato sauce." 
Now it's out there, and my husband looks very interested. 
"Would you make some of your Putanesca sauce?", he asks.
"I could."
"It's totally up to you.", he adds.  This is code for, "If you do get a whole bushel of tomatoes, don't expect me to get involved in your hair-brained scheme.  Just call me when it's ready to eat."

Now we're lugging about twenty-five pounds of Roma tomatoes back to the car, and I'm trying to figure out how many onions and heads of garlic I need and whether or not I still have enough fresh basil and Italian parsley in the garden to season the sauce.

In case you succumb to the temptation of a bushel of tomatoes, here's what I've learned over the years to make the process easier and, I don't mind saying, the final product darn tasty.
1) Don't bother peeling and seeding the tomatoes.  Cut them into chunks, eliminating the spot where the stem was attached, and toss them in the blender in batches to puree.  You can put them through the food mill to get rid of the larger bits of seeds and skin if you want.  I used to, but don't bother anymore.  We don't mind it.
2) If you add good stuff to a sauce--good stuff that you like--the sauce will be good.  I don't use a recipe.  If you like onion, add onion.  If you like lots of garlic, add lots of garlic.  You get the idea.  I  put in onion, garlic, olive oil, basil, oregano, parsley, and tomato paste.  Later I might add olives, Italian sausage, peppers--whatever I want--to this basic sauce before I toss it with pasta.
3) Freeze it.  I used to can my sauce; I don't anymore.  It doesn't taste any different to me, and it saves me that extra step.

Twelve Quarts of Tomato-y Goodness

Pickled Peppers

Pounds of peppers.  At least that's what seems has been coming out of the garden this summer.  Last Saturday I noticed that the Farmer's Market booths were plenty lousy with them too, so I'm not the only one experiencing a pepper boon.

I'll even admit that when I picked this last batch of jalapenos, they almost ended up getting tossed in the compost heap when no one was looking, but I couldn't do it.  I just couldn't waste them.

So, as long as I was doing a marathon kitchen session anyway, I decided to add some more Pickled Peppers to the pantry.  The last batch were Sweet Banana Peppers; this time it's straight up Pickled Jalapenos.

This was no fuss.  Vinegar, water, olive oil, salt, pepper, and a few pickling spices.  Quick chop of the peppers, pack them into clean jars, process, and done.  Toppings for enough Nachos for the entire neighborhood.

Tonight I have a clean refrigerator, fresh Cucumber Soup chilling in that clean refrigerator, a bowl full of Marinating Vegetables for dinner, and couple of jars of pesto.  It's definitely harvest time.

Quino-a and Granol-a

Quinoa, quinoa, quinoa. I keep reading about quinoa everywhere. These super-seeds pack a nutritional punch and can take the place--supposedly--of rice and other grains. Quinoa is a good source of protein, iron, magnesium, phosphorus and is gluten free. In other words, after one bowl you're set for life.

I know I've eaten this stuff once before. I seem to remember ordering an entree with it somewhere a long time ago, but I've never made anything with it myself. So, today when I saw a bag on the "hippie shelf" in the grocery store--you know what I'm talking about--I threw it in the cart. (It was even organic.)

This afternoon I made a batch in the rice cooker with some chicken broth for the liquid and whipped up a bowl of tabbouleh. So? It's actually pretty good. It isn't much different than the traditional bulgar. There is a texture thing going on though that might stop me from being a big quinoa fan. It's similar to tapioca or itty bitty fish eggs. Enough said. The rice industry is safe.

So what was I doing digging around on the hippie shelf in the store? I needed the ingredients for granola. My favorite granola has been discontinued. Sad. And most other pre-made granola is too sweet for my taste. I had Stumble-d Upon a recipe that got some good reviews and decided to make my own.

Megan's Granola is very dangerous. The reviews were right. This is a very good granola recipe that's packed with lots of good ingredients. I cut back a little on the sweetness, but not much and it's just about right. I have learned from past experience to store granola without any dried fruit---add it when you're ready to eat. Who knew raisins could get so hard? Plus, you can go with what sounds good that morning: diced apricots, dried cherries or cranberries.

As long as I'm talking kitchen duty...the homemade sauerkraut was excellent! We tried it first in Reubens to get the full on taste and then braised some sausages in it the second time around and both were terrific. The next jar is fermenting on the counter as we speak. I suppose once it warms up, I'll have to find a cooler spot to store the work in progress. Think how good it will be with grilled brats.

Finally, I just have to share my pimped out Kindle. Isn't it cool? My son gave me the Packer skin for my birthday. I suppose I should download a Vince Lombardi biography some day.

Winter Vegetables

It's hard to believe that somewhere under the massive piles of snow in my garden lies the potential for those succulent summer herbs and vegetables that we all love, but for now we can still enjoy great produce. You know, all the second cousins to our warm weather favorites. The homely vegetables that sit around on the grocers' shelves while most people settle for the horror of canned green beans or corn.

Plain and simple root vegetables, for instance. Last week I brought home a bag of parsnips. Now I grew up eating parsnips, turnips, rutabaga, and beets. My Mom grew up on a farm and knew how to take advantage of the variety of the garden. (Sure, she probably cooked them a little longer than necessary, but that's another matter.) My husband, on the other hand, was raised with a limited exposure to---well let's be honest, all food types in general. If Stoffer's couldn't plop it on a sectioned foil tray, it probably wasn't going to get served at their table.

But now he's lived with me for the last twenty-six years, so he's used to having things like parsnips on the menu. He may not always be so enthusiastic, but I'm going to brag that more times than not, I have a happy customer in the end. This time I tried Roasted Parsnips from a recipe on the Simply Recipes site. I cheated a little and threw in a few julienned carrots as well, and they were delicious. The horseradish is definitely the secret.

Cauliflower is also plentiful this time of year. I'm the one who tends to resist throwing this stuff in the cart. Come on, it's albino broccoli! Why not get the green, too? White vegetables aren't all that appealing to me.

I had seen a recipe for Roasted Cauliflower Soup that inspired me to try once again, and I'm so glad that I did. This recipe is easy and delicious. If this doesn't scream winter comfort, nothing does. Usually I ignore a recipe that calls for heavy cream. Trust me, you don't need it. I added a little half and half, but milk would work, too.

I snapped a few pictures of the roasting process of the recipe and meant to get one of the final product, but we ate it too fast. It was gone before I could dig out the camera. I thought about frying up a little bacon as a garnish. I still think that would be great. Instead, we drizzled a little balsamic glaze across the top, and mmmm, mmmm, mmm. This and fresh bread out of the oven and you've got yourself a meal.

And last but not least is the lowly cabbage. Boiled, fried, raw. We've done it all. It had been many years, however, since I had made sauerkraut. Truth be told, I never made it; I helped when my grandparents put up jars and jars of it when I was younger.

This winter I decided to give it a try for myself after having eaten fresh sauerkraut in Germany over the summer. That sauerkraut was the sauerkraut of my youth and had little in common with the stuff we've been eating since. Don't get me wrong, I love just about any sauerkraut, but this was incredible.

I had no intentions of making gallons of the stuff, so I looked for a small batch recipe online and came across directions for Sauerkraut in a Mason Jar. I started mine several weeks ago, and I think we're finally ready for a taste. A good Reuben should be the perfect test. Corned beef and Swiss are on the grocery list.

Slow Cooker Bacon Jam

When I browsed through my latest copy of Everyday Food, I immediately noticed the recipe for Slow Cooker Bacon Jam. Bacon tends to get my attention and the very idea of making a jam with its tasty goodness as the main ingredient sounded intriguing, so I tore out the page with the recipe and stuck it in my stash.

This "to-be-tried" recipe stash is my source of inspiration when I'm heading off to the grocery store and every time I came across this clipping for Bacon Jam, it called out to me. But Bacon Jam, really? I couldn't decide if it sounded wonderful or positively dreadful. Eventually, I succumbed and let me tell you, it's amazing stuff.

Initially, we tried it plain on toasted bread with a glass of red wine. Mmmm. Then we spread a little on a hamburger. Oh boy! And just the other night we had it on a ham, Swiss cheese, and pear panini. Whoa!

This has been a great time of the year to make it, too. Share the wealth. I brought a jar to a party last weekend, and it was fun to see people's reaction when they tried it and then heard what it was.

Just as an FYI...as much as I love bacon, I hate the way the house can smell of bacon long after the bacon is gone, so I was concerned about having this stuff stewing away in an uncovered crock pot for several hours--one of the reasons I was on the fence about making it in the first place. I browned the bacon with the exhaust fan from the stove running, as usual, and found the aroma from cooking the jam afterward to be pleasant. No worries.

Small Batch Canning

Growing cucumbers is like growing zucchini; you end up harvesting enough to feed an army. At least with cucumbers there's an obvious solution---make pickles!

No one in our family is too excited about pickles, but we do like a few Bread and Butter pickles now and then. Just for fun, I thought I'd try a new recipe this year and found this one online. I liked the addition of diced green pepper--although I wish I'd have gone red instead--and whole cloves.

The recipe starts with "25 cucumbers." I don't think so. Why not make half as much? Wouldn't it work just as well?

It did. I ended up canning five pint jars for later and had nearly a quart jar's worth to refrigerate for now. The flavors haven't all reached their peak yet, but the small sample I had last night was good. The only additions that I would make to this particular recipe, outside adding the color of the red pepper, would be to use pickling salt for the brining process, and to rinse the cucumber mix in cold water after the briny liquid has been drained off. A few red pepper flakes might be good as well.

I followed the advice in Joy of Cooking for processing the smaller jars by using a boiling water bath--bring water to boil prior to putting the jars in the bath--and processing them for 15 minutes.

Now there's all that basil...

The Woes of Minnesota Grilling

Over the weekend, I patiently waited for the skies to clear without much luck, so I decided that today was the day to get my butt going. No, not mine. (Although that would be required as well.) No, it's the pork butt that's been sitting in my refrigerator for the last couple of days just waiting to be turned into mouth watering pulled pork goodness. (And yes, I know it's not really the pig's rear end. I'm just going for the pun here.)

I trusted my local weatherman last night who prognosticated spotty rain for today and went ahead and mixed up the briney bath for piggy to soak in overnight, but when I woke up this morning and saw dark skies I had my doubts. As it turns out, those doubts were well founded. The butt is still on the Weber, but it's not as much fun spending the day tending the fires when it's drizzly and cool. I should be enjoying ice cold beer while I'm sitting in my lawn chair reading a book, not running in and out adding charcoal with one hand while I hang on to an umbrella with the other.

Another couple of hours ought to finish it off. I always figure that the meat is done when I smell as smoky as the grill does.

Since I've been tied down to tending the hearth all day, I have gotten plenty done at home--even went for homemade hamburger buns for the pork. Now that it's late afternoon, however, this self-imposed lock down is getting a little old. (Can't you tell? I am writing this.) The sun did break through long enough for me to get out and take a few more pictures in the garden.

Back to the Weber.

Orange You Glad

As it turned out, I had a surprise day at home last Friday. There were plenty of other things I probably should have done, but I spent the morning making orange marmalade. I had picked up some beautiful oranges earlier in the week, had plenty of sugar on hand, and finally the time that I could commit to staying at home and getting it done.

Even though I've made lots of jams and preserves in the past, I've never attempted marmalade. I'm not sure why. I love it, and good orange marmalade--really good orange marmalade is expensive. Last year I picked up a jar made with champagne that was delicious.

While I was having my morning coffee, I did a quick search for a recipe and found one on the Food Network from Alton Brown. His recipes have been reliable in the past, and so I printed it up and dug in. The first step, of course, is prepping the oranges with a quick bath and slicing them up for the cooking process. I have a mandolin, but it's not a very good one, and as I suspected, wasn't up to the task of slicing oranges. No problem. I have lots of good, sharp knives, and it's only four or five oranges.

Once I threw them in the pot, I was tempted to go down and grab a bottle of champagne in place of the water. Hmm? Wouldn't the sugar in the champagne offset the amount of sugar that I would add later? As tempted as I was to recreate what I had found in the store, I decided to stick with the recipe this time.

Here's what it looks like as it cooks down:

The sliced oranges simmering with lemon zest, juice, and water.

After the sugar is added, the color changes as it slowly gets to the right temperature to set.

Ready for the jars!
(I went for a thicker set jam so that the orange slices wouldn't all rise to the top in the jars.)

This is the fun part.

And then you wait for it--that wonderful sound of the lids popping into place while they cool on the counter. How satisfying is that to know that this will be something we'll enjoy for weeks to come? Some Florida sunshine in the middle of a Minnesota winter.

The next morning, I printed out some labels so that I can give away a few jars. I've been the happy recipient of some friend's labors in the past, so it's time for me to share.

What's next? I've been reading One Man's Wilderness--a story set in Alaska--and it's made me hungry for sourdough, so as the jars were cooling, I mixed up a batch of starter. Some biscuits with marmalade...

Homemade Yogurt

Snooping around on different food blogs over the years, I came across a few people who insisted that homemade yogurt is not only the best tasting, but was easy to make. So, after reading what I could about the process, I decided to give it a try. As long as I was typing up my results, I thought I might as well share.

I settled on a recipe that started out with scalding one quart of whole milk. Using the candy thermometer, I brought the temperature of the milk to 180 degrees--following the directions exactly--but it probably isn't necessary to get it that warm. How much bad bacteria can there be in fresh, pasteurized milk? (If you know, please don't answer that hypothetical question.)

The next step was to stir in 1/3 cup of non-fat dried milk. Not everyone adds the dried milk. It boosts the protein, and I know it's weird, but I like the taste, so I went with it.

Now the mixture needs to cool off before you stir in the starter. If the milk is too hot, you'll kill your culture, and if it's too cool, nothing is going to happen. Once the milk mixture is cooled off to about 100-110 degrees, stir in a tablespoon of plain yogurt. You don't want to add too much, or the finished product could get sour. We always have Dannon's All Natural yogurt on hand. There isn't all the junk that's in most yogurts. And for this, I made sure that I used a fresh container.

At this point, I added a step of my own. I noticed that there were some solids floating around in the mixture. (Probably from when I impatiently turned the burner up to expedite the first step. Ooops.) I strained the whole works through a sieve, and you can see that was a good idea.

Now comes the fun part. I poured the mixture into two canning jars, one of which I had punched a hole in the lid to allow for the use of my thermometer.

The key at this point is to maintain the temperature of the yogurt-to-be at approximately 110 degrees for two to five hours. My first plan was to use my bread raising technique, which is to put them in the microwave over my stove with the door shut and the stove light beneath it left on. This is the perfect temperature to encourage the growth of yeast, but it turned out to be too cool for yogurt. Within a half an hour, the content of the jars had cooled to 102 degrees.

Plan B was the crock pot, and this worked great, but don't wander too far away. On low, with a semi-damp towel on the bottom as a cushion, the jars quickly came back up to temperature. By checking back periodically, I was able to maintain a fairly even temperature by turning the heat on only one more time.

From start to finish, the whole process took about five hours, but most of that time is hands-off. And now that I've done it once, I won't have to waste time working on the heat source.

Was it worth it? No question. Homemade yogurt is creamy--of course, it doesn't hurt to use whole milk--and not tart at all. It is definitely a far superior product than even the best yogurts that I've bought at the grocery store. Next time I'm going to try it with a lower fat milk, but I think I'm sold on making my own.

Breakfast this morning? Yogurt with fresh raspberries drizzled with honey. Mmmmm.

Pesto Pronto

With cold air moving in, it's time to take care of all the basil I have growing in my garden. Basil is so cold sensitive, and I'd hate to loose an opportunity to preserve a summer treat to enjoy when the snow is flying. Just a few weeks ago, I trimmed the whole works back and made my first batch of pesto to freeze, but it's come back with gusto.

I've got about a half dozen plants--most of them in the vegetable garden and one in a pot by the back door for quick snipping while I'm cooking. Once I've cut the plants back, I pick of the best leaves and throw them in the food processor. Having perfected this over the years, my own preference is to use the fresh basil, toasted pine nuts, a little salt and pepper, and then the olive oil drizzled in with the processor running. I have the best luck with saving the addition of garlic and parmesan just as I'm about to use it in my recipe.

The next step is to get out that kitchen gadget from our past--the ice cube tray. (It's like trying to explain to someone under 25 what a typewriter was.) I spread the pesto evenly into the tray and pop it inot the freezer. Then once it's frozen, the individual pesto cubes can be stored in a freezer bag, or I prefer an canning jar to keep them from getting too beat up. Then come this winter, just thaw a few out for pasta or a panini spread or throw a couple cubes in a pot of vegetable soup. But please, save a little of the fresh to enjoy on a plate of pasta as a reward for your effort.

You complete me---no, you corrupt me.

After meeting my friend Deb for coffee this morning, one thought kept creeping into my consciousness--Wacky Cake. Wacky Cake and raspberries. (That's right. I'm a deep thinker.) Deb, you must have terrific descriptive skills, because you had me digging through my old recipes until I found what I needed to enjoy what sounded so delicious. Fortunately, I had everything in my pantry to make it for a treat for the weekend. I did have to substitute champagne vinegar for the good old common white variety, but thought that wouldn't be a problem. High brow Wacky Cake.

By the way this was a successful foray into the cocoa powder world. (See below.)

Dark Chocolate Cookies with Sour Cherries

Generally speaking, if a recipe has cocoa powder in it, I pass it by. Let's face it, this stuff is bad news. No matter how careful I am, it tends to get everywhere. So, when my son requested the Dark Chocolate Cookies with Sour Cherries after I bought Martha Stewart's new Cookies recipe book, I wasn't so sure. They did have all the right ingredients though: bittersweet chocolate and tart dried cherries mixed into butter and sugar. How can you go wrong?

Since the kid has been putting in so many hours this week, I decided to give them a go this afternoon. A little surprise at the end of his shift.

Dark Dutch-process cocoa power! Not just regular, but dark!!! Careful, careful. The measuring went well. Nothing spilled yet. Butter and sugars blended. Eggs, vanilla. All right. Time for the flour and cocoa powder mixture. Gently into the mixer. Great. And then...

As my hand accidentally bumps the switch on the side of the mixer, the machine flies into speeds reserved only for egg whites and heavy cream, a mushroom cloud of flour and dark cocoa powder explodes from the bowl onto everything in its path. The horror!! Damn you Martha.

In the spirit of full disclosure, the clean up took almost as long as it took to bake off the whole batch of cookies, but they are delicious, and I've had two. Does Martha have a recipe for shortbread?