Kalua Pork

Aloha! Even though it’s hard to believe–especially considering I have to wear 12 layers of clothing in order to leave the house–last week this time I was in Hawai’i, learning to surf, sipping mai tais, flirting with pilots and generally enjoying being warm and toasty (not necessarily at the same time or in that order).  It was a glorious vacation full of snorkeling, paddle surfing, good friends, lots of sun, even more laughs and delicious fresh food.  I will spare you all of the typical vacation stories, except for the one that involves me attempting to ride down the side of a volcano in Maui.  As we’ve discussed before, I am not an adventurous person by any stretch of the imagination.  Most of my beach vacations have involved a lounge chair, magazines, naps and sidling up to the bar the minute it opens.  This time around, I travelled with people who like to do things on vacation, which is a completely novel and foreign concept to me.  I gamely went along with all of their plans, mainly because I’m a people pleaser, but there was a part of me that thought it all sounded like fun.  And! I like to believe that I’m one of those people who will try anything [within reason] once.

You should note those brackets in the sentence above, because in no world is riding a bike down the side of a volcano within reason. It’s crazy, stupid and mind-numbingly frightening.  In theory it sounded like fun and a story that I could tell well into my golden years, but in practice it was terrifying.  It started with a 1:30 AM wake up call so we could drive to the van that would take us to the top of the volcano to watch the sunrise (which was great, except it was about 30 degrees outside.  I will say feeling as though I could touch the Big Dipper was worth having to put on a fleece and jeans in Hawai’i).  After the sunrise, we were taken by van down to a “reasonable” spot on the volcano where the bike ride would start.  They lined us up shortest to tallest, which meant I was third in line.  Then they handed us motorcycle helmets.  It’s at this point that I should have thought, “Heather, what the $#(^&$* are you doing?” Instead, I thought that my helmet matched my nail polish nicely.  I only started to get nervous when they pulled the bikes out of the trailer.  They looked like fold up bikes, the chains were rusted and the seats were a little loose.  My hands started to shake when the guide told us to just ride the brakes down the winding, twisting curves of the volcano.  I’m sorry, what now?  But, because I am generally a follower, I got on the bike and started pedaling (or really, just keeping my feet on the pedals and hanging on for dear life).  I don’t think I had gone 50 yards before I started screaming in my head.  Another 100 yards and I was screaming out loud.  On my right was a sheer drop off.  On my left was traffic.  I couldn’t look behind me and I was riding the brakes so hard that the people in front of me were 2 curves ahead, so I couldn’t see them.  Finally, we pulled over and I jumped off the bike, handed my helmet to the guide and went to the van following us where it took me a good 10 minutes to start breathing normally.  I’d like to tell you that I wish I’d finished the bike ride, but there’s no part of me that feels that way. NONE.  Good on the people who did (including my friends)–you’ll have much more interesting stories at the nursing home.

After the ride [in the van], we stopped in the lovely Oceanside town of Pai’a where we were able to relax on the beach and thank the powers that be that we were still alive.  We found a cute storefront restaurant that served homemade kalua pork (so homemade that the woman behind the counter pulled a tupperware container of pork out of the refrigerator and mentioned that it had come out of her oven that morning). 

Over the course of the week, kalua pork had become a fave of mine (along with spam musubi–next recipe!).  Kalua means to cook in an underground oven, but lucky for those of us who live in highrises, you can do it in a crockpot.  It’s basically a slow roasted pork shoulder, which is then shredded and served over rice.  I’m all for keeping the integrity of local dishes, but I see a lot of possibilities with this one–the addition of ginger, hot peppers, other vegetables… It couldn’t be easier, especially with a crockpot, but can be done in the oven as well. The use of liquid smoke–a first for me–gives it the taste of an outdoor barbecue, which is great since it’ll be a long while before there are any outdoor activities in the Chi.  Riding down a volcano doesn’t seem so bad if it gets me outside… Right?

Kalua Pork

• 3 lb pork shoulder
• 1-1/2 teaspoons liquid smoke
• 2-1/4 teaspoons Hawaiian salt, or sea salt, or kosher salt

Preheat oven to 350-400 degrees F. Pierce pork all over with carving fork or score with a knife. Rub salt and liquid smoke into meat. Place pork fat side up in a roasting pan or deep casserole dish. Cover and roast in oven for 2 1/2-3 hours. Remove the pork from pan and shred with two forks. Makes six servings. (I used my crockpot on low for 5 hours.  In the last 1/2 hour, I added about a cup of shredded cabbage, which I’d had at one restaurant.  Drain off excess liquid before serving over rice).

Guest Post: Not Your Grandmother’s Pot Roast

Kids, I’m in love with these guest posts!  Not only have I gotten a slew of new recipes to try out, I’m saved from having to fret about what to post come Tuesday night.  Today’s recipe comes from a college friend, Mikie, who is living across the pond in Manchester (remind me to tell you why Manchester will always have a special place in my heart one of these days).  Mikie has used one of my favorite kitchen appliances, the crock pot, to take pot roast from hmm…? to mmm!!! while you sleep.  The red wine, lots of veggies and a side of polenta make this Sunday dinner something you’ll be craving all week.  Who said there was no good food in England? You can find more of Mikie’s British adventures at http://wannabewayfarer.blogspot.com/.

Since being invited to guest blog on Pestle Mortar I’ve been debating about which recipe to send. I have lots of favorites, and like to experiment with new ones, but I wanted to choose one that was suitably tested and perfectly delicious. I had an “ah-ha” moment this morning when I started getting out the ingredients to prep Sunday dinner. “This is it!” I thought. Why, you ask? I use a pestle and mortar in this recipe. Perfect!

When MRN and I got engaged, one of the first gifts we got was a slow cooker (née crock pot). Even though they’re perceived to be throwbacks to the 1950s (think June Cleaver and aprons), the slow cooker was actually invented in the 60s and dubbed the crock in the early 70s. I was super excited. I’d never had one, and kitchen gadgets to me are much like power tools to my husband– my own personal version of crack. But what to cook? I started with soups and stews, and then my friend MC who works in the online division of a gigunda book conglomerate gifted me with two gourmet slow cooker cookbooks. Yes, you read that correctly– gourmet. The books have recipes from all over the world– all easy to prep, fancy enough to impress company and, cooked in a slow cooker. Score!

This one is by far my favorite. One, because it’s super easy to prepare. And two, because it will blow the socks off your preconceived notion of a pot roast. Dry and tasteless no more, this baby is full of flavor, beautifully presented and perfect for a posh dinner party. Pot roast for a dinner party? Awww-yeah. And the best bit? Like butter is to French cooking, wine is to Italian (don’t worry non-wine drinkers– the alcohol cooks out and you’re left with this rich, wonderful flavor). Says author of The Gourmet Slow Cooker, Lynn Alley: “Pot roast is a big favorite throughout northern Italy, just as it is in the United States.” Who knew? The bonus? Slow cooking makes your whole house smell homey and amazing. 30 minutes of prep, 8 hours of slow cooking and voilá! Yummy goodness.

Italian Pot Roast with Polenta

• 1 cinnamon stick, broken into pieces
• 4 whole cloves
• 3 allspice berries
• 6 black peppercorns (I usually use a bit more b/c I’m a pepper fiend; and I’ll add ground pepper to the sauce once it’s ready for the slow-cooker)
• 3 tbsp olive oil
• 3 1/2 lbs beef pot roast, trimmed of excess fat
• 1 yellow onion, finely chopped (I use one large or two small onions)
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 celery stalks, sliced (I like more veggies, so I usually use 3 of each of the celery and carrots; you also end up with more sauce, the left-overs which you can save and use on egg pasta the next day)
• 2 carrots, peeled and sliced
• 1 cup hearty dry red wine
• 1 (28 oz) can crushed tomatoes
• Salt (to taste)
• Chopped fresh parsley for garnish

Combine the cinnamon, cloves, allspice and peppercorns in a mortar or coffee grinder and grind into a fine powder.

Heat a large sauté pan over medium-high heat and add the oil. Add the meat and sear, turning, for 10-15 minutes, until browned on all sides (let me start by saying I hate electric stove tops. You can’t control the heat and everything heats faster. But working with what I’ve got, I cook everything on medium so it doesn’t cook too fast… tip from the electronically challenged cooker). Using tongs, transfer to the slow cooker.

Add the onion to the sauté pan and sauté, stirring frequently until soft and lightly browned (about ten minutes– the seared meat cooked previously will give your onions a nice carmelized color). Add the garlic and stir until you can smell the garlic (about a minute). Add celery and carrots and sauté for 3-4 minutes, until lightly browned. Add the spice mixture and cook for 2 minutes (the smell is intoxicating!). Add the red wine and cook reduce by about one-third (about 10 minutes). Stir in the crushed tomatoes and salt to taste. Simmer for a few minutes and then pour the sauce over the meat in the slow cooker.

Cover and cook on low for about 8 hours until the meat falls away from the bone.*

*Even though the beauty of a slow cooker is that you throw everything in and don’t have to touch it, I find that with this recipe, it’s great if you can spoon the sauce over the meat 2-3 times over the course of the 8 hours. The liquid soaks in and makes it even more succulent. Don’t worry if you can’t– it will still be delicious!

For the polenta:
You can make your own, but I buy the garden variety kind that you can find in the grocery store (Whole Foods or Trader Joe’s for those in the U.S.). Just as delicious and so much easier. Follow the package instructions to cook– but I’ll usually slice and brush with a little olive oil and grill it- about 2 minutes on each side until lightly browned. You can also boil the polenta (usually in the packaging) for about 30 minutes and then mush it (that’s the technical term) with a fork until it’s a grits-like consistency.

To serve:
Once the meat is cooked and tender, remove it from the crock pot with tongs, remove the kitchen string (if it had it) and slice into 1/2-1 inch pieces (it will be tender, but don’t worry if the meat falls apart– just scoop it all back in the sauce for some savory goodness). Place the sliced roast back into the crock put and allow to simmer for 5-10 minutes. It will soak up some of the sauce and make it even more delish. Portion polenta to warmed plates and spoon pot roast and sauce over the polenta. Garnish with parsley. Serve immediately.

Scrapple

I saw a quiz several months back that was supposed to rate your sense of adventure.  There were four choices of what you may consider adventurous: whitewater rafting, karaoke, something else I forget and trying a new food.  I, of course, chose trying a new food, not because I thought it truly the most adventurous thing I could do, but it sounded the most appealing.  Plus, I’ve already done karaoke and really, whitewater rafting looks like fun, but I guarantee you that if you ask me to go I’ll tell you I just got my hair done, but I’ll meet you at the end with a towel and dry clothes.  Just not my thing.  Of course, I was rated on the very lowest end of adventurous–which I didn’t need a random quiz to tell me–but I found it surprising that singing in a bar with a bunch of strangers while likely 37 sheets to the wind (and even more likely not to remember it) was considered more adventurous than eating something that could possibly poison you or at least make your eyes cross.  Obviously these people have never watched Bizarre Foods or read anything by Anthony Bourdain. 

Long way of saying that while I don’t think trying new foods is really as adventurous as jumping out of a plane (again, why??), I do think it can be just as exciting.  Think about what you ate all of last month and I bet that you probably only had one or two new food adventures.  So imagine my excitement (and I’ll admit, slight trepidation) when a work colleague told me that he would introduce me to the Philly favorite, Scrapple. 

Now, for those of you not from Philly, I’m going to pause here to say that you really shouldn’t go look up the ingredients.  No, seriously, don’t.  Suffice it to say that it is a very inventive and inclusive pork product.  I don’t know what’s in hot dogs and I really don’t care, because they’re tasty.  This is the same approach you should take to pate, fois gras and Scrapple, ok?

I really don’t think that he thought I’d try it, but I thought it very kind that he brought it back–on ice during the drive–from Philly and really, how could I call myself a foodie or even a food blogger (neither of which I call myself on regular basis, just FYI), if I wouldn’t try something that at first blush made me a little anxious.  But look how well the quinoa experiment turned out, I told myself!  I was given detailed instructions on how to prepare the Scrapple: slice it thin, fry it in a pan, serve it with an egg and toast. Hot sauce or ketchup could be put on top.  I did admit that I’d have to jazz it up a bit for this post, but I promised to try it as directed first.

Side note: I make a lot of the recipes I write about early in the morning before work, because that’s when I have the best light to take the pictures.  Unless it’s a cake or something that I can do the night before and still get a fresh looking shot the next day, you’ll find me in my pajamas at 6am slicing and sautéing and generally making a mess before I’ve even had a cup of coffee.  Overshare?

So, I’m in my kitchen at 6:30 yesterday morning about to open a package of a product that I did read the ingredients of and I was a little scared.  But unlike the quinoa, there was no smell so I was happy to move to the next step of slicing and frying.  And when I slid it in the pan, it started to smell really good, as you would expect a pork product would.  I think I may have sliced it too thin, because it fell apart, but I just chopped it up and used it in my frittata (my fancy Scrapple adventure).  I finally got the perfect cut, got it nice and crisp and made a lovely sunny side up egg to go along.  My plate was beautiful, but could I live up to my own challenge and eat it??

I could and I’m glad I did. 

My only disappointment was that it kind of tasted like a sausage patty (without the added spices), when I was kind of expecting something totally unfamiliar.  Mixed with the egg and toast, it was an excellent sausage egg mcmuffin substitute.  I can totally see the appeal of it, though, because it’s super easy to fry up and stick on a slice of bread.  And, it turned out well in my frittata, too (which I brought to work) even though I imagine that I’m not going to convert any die-hard Scrapple lovers over to my schmancy use of their childhood comfort food.

So score one for me on the food adventure path, although I will deduct half a point because it wasn’t truly that adventurous, just new and different.  And I’m ok with not being adventurous.  The world needs people like me to nurse the rest of you back to health after you catch a cold with all that whitewater rafting…

Scrapple Frittata

Lamb Burgers

How many women–with a combined 5 degrees, 4 languages and  having lived on 3 different continents–does it take to turn on a grill?  As I learned last week, it takes 4 women and 2 incredibly amused men.  I’m pretty sure that we could have figured it out on our own, but as soon as we looked the least bit confused these lovely men rushed over to impress us with their cooking over open fire prowess.  So, technically, we never really had a chance to even try to do it ourselves.  We could have! Maybe… Possibly… Moving on.

Anyhoo.  Three friends and I have decided that we need time away from the masses every once in awhile to hang out with each other and catch up on life’s big and small events over copious amounts of food and wine.  It started with a delicious Greek dinner in March, followed by a traditional Spanish dinner in April and then we sort of fell off the bandwagon due to schedules and well, all of those big and small life events.  But last week, the sun was shining, we were all in the same place for once and it was the perfect chance to sit outside, drink Cava and talk while watching the sun go down. 

L (of New Orleans fame) pretends she can’t actually cook, but in the half hour she had between work and our arrival, she made it to Whole Foods where she sweet talked the butcher into grinding up some fresh lamb, put together the tastiest–and most creative–lamb patties, sliced up some challah and created a beautiful summer salad. Any woman who can do that in 30 minutes, plus have sparkling beverages chilling, should call herself a chef extraordinaire.

The surprise of the burgers was that she mixed curry and cumin in, so there was a bit of a kick to the otherwise subtle flavor of the meat.  We topped them with a bit of whole grain mustard and feta crumbles (which kind of cooled things down nicely) and truly–grill ignorance aside–they were perfect: moist, juicy and full of flavor.  Add them to your list of bbq must haves immediately.

So I am up next in the rotation of dinner.  Given our busy lives, it may be October before I get to host. Am taking suggestions… And! if you’re in the Chi, come out for this good food for a good cause event tomorrow (Thursday) night! I’ll be the one double fisting luscious drinks and delectable treats… Taste of the Nation: No Kid Hungry

Lamb Burgers

• 1 lb ground lamb
• 2 tablespoons (approx. to taste) curry powder
• 2 tablespoons ground cumin
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• salt and pepper
• whole grain mustard
• crumbled feta
• challah buns

Combine the first 5 ingredients in a bowl and mix well.  Form into mini burger patties.  Place on hot grill and cook for 3-5 minutes each side.  Top with cheese and mustard and place on buns.  Thank the cute guys for lighting your fire.  Ahem.

 

Chicken Andouille Gumbo

If you ever questioned my devotion to Pestle Mortar, the fact that I stood over a stove on a brilliantly sunny 88 degree day making the perfect roux for gumbo should quash all doubts.  Why I felt the need to make gumbo on a brilliantly sunny 88 degree day is another question all together.

Last year, a couple of friends and I went to New Orleans for a weekend.  It was a grand plan that came at a time when I desperately needed distraction from every day life.  L, C and I were newish friends–we had hung out a bit in Chicago, but had never spent a concentrated amount of time together.   We figured there’s nothing quite like open container laws and beignets to bring people together, so we headed down (L’s brother met us there) and prepared for shenanigans.  L and I flew together on the first flight out, where we promptly ordered bloody mary’s and plotted our course.  The last time I’d been to NOLA, I was at a conference and didn’t have a chance to do much gallivanting.  L had been a few times before and declared that we needed to hit Galatoires, Napoleon House, Jacques-Imo’s and the Old Absinthe House.  My only request was to add the Gumbo Shop to the list.  I’d been the last time I was in the city and I needed a quick fix of gumbo to start the trip off right (and I wanted someone else to cook it).

Our hotel was just off Bourbon Street and we decided we’d walk to the restaurant, stopping for frozen Hurricanes on the way.  Two sips into my drink, we ran into one of my exes.  Not that bad. With his girlfriend. Also not bad, since we hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in four or five years. The girlfriend? The WOMAN WHO INTRODUCED US. Really now?  Needless to say that I drank that first Hurricane a little faster than necessary (brain freeze be damned).

Don’t worry–it was all uphill from there.  We arrived at the Gumbo Shop after the lunch rush and had the most adorable server ever to come from the Bayou.  He was likely hired for his accent, which was enough to make me swoon and forget that I was there to eat, not flirt (although a combination of the two is never really a bad thing).  

The gumbo, which is just the right amount of spice and comfort was the perfect way to fuel ourselves for 36 hours of running wild.

Lunch was followed by drinks at Napoleon House, which was followed by dinner at Gallitoires, followed by drinks at …. and then…. and finally ending at Old Absinthe (the ellipses represent my lapse in memory.  All I know is that I was never without a tasty drink for long). 

The next day, after breakfast at Cafe du Monde and very strong cocktails at Pat O’Brien’s, we headed to Jacques-Imo’s for dinner, where I was convinced to taste alligator cheesecake.  Um… yeah. I’d skip that on your next trip, ok? Rather than taking you on a tour of our borderline debauchery, let’s just sum it up by saying that we were in a bar listening to music and noticed that there was a lovely scent of s’mores in the air.  5 minutes later, we realized THE BAR WAS ON FIRE (fear not, we made sure to get to-go cups).  The night ended when I was dared to ride a mechanical bull.  Not enough purell in the world, my friends.

There are many lovely things about NOLA, not least of which are the people and the sights, but the food! The food could bring you to your knees.  If you can’t make it down there for a little Bayou fun anytime soon, cozy up with a bowl of this gumbo.  You’re on your own for the Hurricanes and bull rides, though…

 Chicken Andouille Gumbo courtesy of the Gumbo Shop Cookbook

Shrimp Scampi and Slow Roasted Beef Tenderloin

Last week a few friends and I decided to take a cooking class at the Chopping Block, because one friend had gotten a gift certificate that she swore she was just using as a coaster and the rest of us really had nothing better to do on a random Monday night in February.  I’ve taken classes there before, but this was the first time that I’ve ever gone with friends and I’m fairly certain that we, along with our two bottles of wine, snarky comments and complete irreverence, won’t be allowed back any time soon.  Oh, we were good students and paid attention (kind of), but it’s never a good sign when the head instructor names your group the Rascals 15 minutes into class and the other students suddenly become very busy with zesting their lemons when we tried to be friendly (at least I think we tried. Maybe not…).

I blame the fact that all of us are complete Type A personalities, the class was on a Monday evening after a weekend of various ups and downs for all of us, we were having a heated—and not so subtle—debate on the hotness of the two instructors (cleverly named Mean Hot Chef and Nice Hot Chef), and the fact that the class was called “Seal the Deal,” in anticipation of Valentine’s Day, on why we probably aren’t going to be named Teacher’s Pets any time soon.  I mean, we followed instructions for the most part (except that whole adding salt before we were supposed to when it came to the red wine reduction sauce.  Luckily Mean Hot Chef caught us in time) and we didn’t set ourselves or anything on fire, and our final dish looked like everyone else’s.  But, I can kind of see how the wine drinking and the picture taking (I’m the guilty party on this one) and the endless questioning (“How long do you grill the radicchio?” “I really don’t like giving specific grilling times, since each grill is different.” “Oh. Ok, that makes sense. But if you had to give a specific time, what would it be?” [Insert sigh and eye roll here]) could turn a peaceful class into the kind of thing that makes instructors wonder what they did in a past life to deserve this fresh hell. 

Our menu, which was shrimp scampi (side note here: we learned that Scampi means shrimp, so basically the dish is called shrimp shrimp and that made us ridiculously happy.  It doesn’t take much.), grilled radicchio with balsamic glaze, slow roasted beef tenderloin with herb roasted potatoes and red wine reduction and a flourless chocolate cake with bourbon caramel sauce, was actually pretty easy but looked very impressive, and took, from start to finish 2 hours (that includes us playing around and posing for pictures with sharp knives.  Dear lord, what would our mothers say?!). 

I wish I could tell you some tricks that we learned along the way, but I fully admit that this class was more about spending time with my friends than actually learning to cook.  But in the end, isn’t that what it’s all about?  I mean, the point of learning to cook is so you’ll be able to share a meal with people you love, right?  Well, that and hanging out with hot chefs.  That last part can take you pretty far…

Shrimp Shrimp and Beef Tenderloin with Red Wine Reduction (courtesy of The Chopping Block)