Hedonia

Better than the real thing

Having been mostly vegetarian for some 15 years, I am well versed in the ways of substitution. Non-meat eaters often have to go to great lengths to satisfy their protein cravings. Many meat substitute products are frighteningly bad (vegetarian bacon? No thank you ...), but sometimes, these products actually excel: To this day DPaul and I still purchase veggie dogs (Yves brand are a particular favorite), and I am here to tell you that vanilla Tofutti Cuties truly are better than the real thing.

Giving up meat was one thing, but most recipes that eschew natural fats or sugars leave me utterly cold. It's not that I don't appreciate the desire to reduce calories and cholesterol (having, as I do, hereditary hypercholesteremia), but all too often these sacrifices are made at too high a price.

But once in a while, a recipe comes along that changes the way I think about low-whatever foods. It is, after all, possible to rethink a recipe totally, deconstruct it and rethink its elements, and return a newly engineered product that surpasses its predecessor. And thanks to America's Test Kitchen, chicken parmesan has been born again.

Chicken stock

Chicken stock: The mother's milk of cooking. It is the most fundamental ingredient besides the water it's made from. It makes everything better, lending a depth of flavor and subtle unctuousness to soups and sauces. It is the very embodiment of home cooking, and its aroma makes the home more homey. And I love making it.

Since we fairly frequently roast chicken, we almost always have at least one carcass in the freezer. (Right now, in fact, we have two.) We would very often also keep a running baggie full of vegetable cuttings, offcasts from various meals, building up in the fridge. When the veggie bag was full and a carcass was at the ready, it was time to make stock. However, since living in our current place, where we have a garbage disposal, I am chagrinned to say that we bow to convenience and seldom optimize our kitchen scraps the way we used to. Meh, it's optional.

Making stock is simplicity itself. Though it takes a fair amount of time, the labor is minimal, and you'll feel great about squeezing the last drops of vitality out of your carcasses and cuttings.

When life gives you lemons...

Conserve them!

My friend Greg, his girlfriend and his brother recently purchased a home one scant block from my place. In their backyard is a glorious, well-established Meyer lemon tree, positively exploding with lemons. For weeks, I procrastinated dropping by to raid it, but finally had the occasion last week. I brought home a healthy bag full of petite and extremely fragrant yellow fruit.

A few went straightaway into an infusion. Knowing from past experience that the pith makes for a very unpalatable infusion, I just barely zested a couple of the lemons into a container, then set about supreming the fruit. As these are seriously tiny things, and the segments are quite thin indeed, it took nearly surgical precision to extract a few fleshy slices of pulp. But the deed is done, and there will hopefully be a small burst of lemony liquor in my near future. (No pic of the infusion -- it's not exacly photogenic right now.)

But the other thing I've been wanting to do with lemons is conserve them. I do like to make Moroccan/North African dishes from time to time, and it is the one ingredient I am always without. You can substitute fresh, but it just doesn't have the same zing. Besides, I think it will make a fabulous addition to nearly any recipe, regardless its provenance.

Pretty much all the research I've done on making conserved lemons says the same thing, but I did find one handy resource that came with photos here. And, so, that is pretty much the recipe I'm going to stick to. This is not instant-gratification food, though; I've got a month ahead of me, and several steps along the way, before I'll get to enjoy these babies. Luckily, I am a patient man.

Roasting peppers

Of the many tasks and techniques in the kitchen, roasting peppers is perhaps my favorite.
If I'm going to use peppers of any kind in a recipe, be they bell peppers or chiles, I will almost always roast them first. In the case of bell peppers, especially red peppers, I like the sweetness that develops. With chiles, roasting helps mellow out some of the burn and accentuates the underlying fruity flavors in the pepper. It is, after all, a fruit. It's not that I don't like the bright, forward heat of raw chiles. On the contrary! Very often I will use a combination of raw and roasted to get greater depth of flavor.

Best of all, in both cases, roasting breaks down some of the tough cell walls of the flesh of the pepper, making it more digestible. I find raw peppers to be a little distressing on the system sometimes. (*Urp*)

With chiles, as they tend to be small and roll around a lot, I'll put them on a pan and under the broiler. Bell peppers, being bigger, I usually just do over an open flame on the stovetop. In either case, be sure to roast them well all the way around, until the skin is completely charred, papery and pulling away from the flesh.

Put your roasted peppers in a plastic bag and seal it up, leaving some air in the bag to create a steam oven. Let the peppers rest until cool.

Once cool, peel away the skin (you may want to do this under running water if it's being stubborn). Slice open the peppers, scrape out the seeds and cut away the ribs. The flesh of the pepper should be soft and supple. I usually chop my roasted chiles very finely, almost to a paste.

The chopped chile paste will keep, refrigerated, for several days, and is easy to add to pretty much anything. It lends a gentle burn and vegetal flavor. How easy was that?