The Bloated Belly

On magazines in the new age, and blue cheese butter

By The Hack

It's been recorded at least once or twice in this electronic logbook how busy The Hack has become. It's true. Yet he keeps thinking about The Bloated Belly and its subdued anarchy, and misses it.

But the day job calls, and The Hack answers, because, y'know, that's where the paycheck is. But that very same day job has given The Hack a storyline on which to report in The Bloated Belly. See, this year The Hack's employer allowed him to start a publication that is very much up his alley. It's called Harvest Foodservice Journal, a newsletter that focuses on sustainability issues in the foodservice industry.

Not only is the topic important to The Hack, but also he finds it fascinating to launch a publication amidst a rapidly changing media-delivery landscape. Among the most obvious issues publishing companies are facing is, how do you make money? David Carr in The New York Times has been addressing that issue for the last several years, and did so again today.

The Hack elected to start Harvest as a digital edition—largely because it's cheap to get off the ground, and his employer was willing to humor him (wisely) only so much until some sort of revenue stream could be discovered. So, it would please The Hack if you would download a copy of Harvest Foodservice Journal, and take a look. Comments, are, of course, welcome.

Does that mean cooking segments are done with? No. The Hack remains busy at his stove, and can't help but share items like his blue cheese butter, that kicked serious ass with steak, salmon, trout, and bread, of course. (2T (or more) of good blue cheese for  1/2 cup of unsalted butter, both softened and well incorporated, adjust taste with Kosher salt if needed, that will depend on your cheese.) So, keep checking in.

Trout and braised cabbage. It's good, really!

By The Hack

“What’s that smell?”

That was the query delivered to the Hack from his Significantly Better Half on Sunday night. She was painting the dining room, but could still pick up the distinctive odor of braising cabbage.

What can anyone say about cooking cabbage? The Hack’s olfactory apparatus, as forgiving as it may be, can detect the hint of sweatsocks in braised cabbage. He understands people’s apprehensions. But, is there a more savory braised leafy vegetable? No. There is not.

The Hack found himself with time on his hands, which he spent at the stove, after a busy couple months for himself and his Significantly Better Half. February was one of those time frames that accumulated mounds of lousy news as tall as the snow pile in the St. Paul Sears parking lot (it was taller than the streetlamps during that month) on the personal front. But, given the context of global events, the Hack and his Significantly Better Half could still look at their house, their good friends, their year-old pup, 19-year-old cat, and be thankful.

So, there the Hack was. Standing there, hunks of red and green cabbage steaming in a pan with shallots and olive oil, while he divvied up a two-pound slab of trout from Todd Thomas at the St. Paul Farmers Market. (The Hack isn’t sure what’s dumber: The Hack himself, for not remembering the name of Thomas’ company, from which he’s bought fish for years, or the St. Paul Farmer’s Market website for not having that information.)

He wandered down to the market on Saturday, after a workout in the morning. After picking up his slab of trout (and a dozen eggs from the comediennes at Bar 5), he strolled into the market at the Heartland Restaurant & Farm Direct Market, and saw some red and green cabbages piled up, about the size of softballs. He bought one of each (along with a couple chocolate croissants, chocolate chip cookies, and a cup of black bean chili).

Saturday was busy. But Sunday evening: Again, a mostly relaxing day led to the query from the Significantly Better Half: “What’s that smell?”

“It’s good for your boobs,” the Hack answered, truthfully. Just look at the breast cancer stats for Polish women. They eat a lot of cabbage. Science says those women don’t have that problem in their boobies so much, because of all the cabbage in their diet. It’s true.

The cabbage stewed and shriveled. The Hack salted and peppered his trout trout cuts, about 5-6 ounces each. The cabbage finished up, he pulled it from the heat—still firm, but obviously cooked.

Tossed about two tablespoons of butter in a non-stick pan, heated ‘er up over medium heat. The butter just started to brown when he dropped in the trout, skin side down to start. Tossed some diced shallot and a chopped tomato in a small saute pan heated with some olive oil. Let 'em sweat a bit. Then tossed in a diced tomato, a Bushel Boy greenhouse dealie. He flipped the trout after three minutes—no more than that, and let ‘em go about three minutes more. Meanwhile, heated up another tablespoon or two of butter in a sauce pan, when melted, threw in a couple pinches or dried thyme (that’s all he had on hand). Stirred the tomatoes stewing in the sauté pan.

Spooned some cabbage on the plate. Set the trout next to it. Drizzled thyme butter on the trout slab, spooned stewed tomatoes on top. There it was. One of the last cold weather meals of the season.

 Recipe:

•    ½ head small green cabbage
•    1/4 head small red cabbage
•    2 tablespoons olive oil, or therabouts
•    2 shallots, chopped
•    Salt and freshly ground pepper

For this cabbage mixture, use your noggin'. You might not have small heads of cabbage. Adjust. Don't be dumb.

Trim the cabbage chunks, removing the stem and heart, slice it somewhat finely.
mix together in a bowl. In a wide saucepan over medium heat, warm the
olive oil. Add the shallots and the cabbage, season with salt and pepper,
and stir. Cover and braise for about 15 minutes. Remove from the heat, and
set aside to cool.

•    2 rainbow trout fillets, about 6 ounces each
•    Salt and pepper to taste
•    2 tablespoons butter
•    fresh or dried thyme

Season both sides of the trout fillets with salt and pepper. Heat the butter in a nonstick skillet over medium-high heat. When it's just turing brown, add the fillets, skin-side down. Sauté about 3 minutes, depending on thickness.

Meanwhile, toss another bit of diced shallot (or garlic) in a saute pan with olive oil. Let them sweat a bit, then add the chopped tomato—a medium size one is plenty for two fish filets. A little salt. Don't let 'em go too long, or you have mush.

Flip and brown the other side of the trout for about 3 more minutes, tops.

While that's happening, melt another two tablespoons of butter in a small saucepan. Throw in a couple pinches of dried thyme, or fresh if you've got it.

Plate:
Place a lump of cabbage on a plate. Set the filet next to it, skin-side down, on individual serving plate alongside a lunmp of the  Sprinkle each with the fresh dill. Drizzle a little of the thyme butter over each serving. Serve immediately.

Carrot and tarragon soup

Welcome a new Bloated Belly correspondent.—The Hack

Carrot and tarragon soup

By Rhonda Valentine

This is a light, delicious, and beautiful soup. It freezes well and is a good way to use up carrots from a large fall harvest. This recipe was inspired by my mom :)

Ingredients:
 
10-12 carrots, cut relatively thin into circles

1 large yellow onion, cut in small pieces

2 cubes chicken bouillon

2 cups water

4 cloves garlic

1/4 cup fresh tarragon (about 6 sprigs, leaves only)

5 cups milk (pick your “percent”, depending on the richness you desire. I use 1 percent unless I am cooking for a party)

Olive oil

Salt to taste
 

Directions:

Boil water and chicken bouillon in a large soup pot
 
Cook onion and tarragon in skillet with 2 TBS olive oil until the onions are mostly clear (cover pan if you wish). Blend in food processor or blender and add to the pot of chicken broth.
 
Cook carrots and garlic in skillet over med heat with 2-3 TBS olive oil until soft, cover the pan if you wish. Blend carrots and garlic in food processor or blender until fairly smooth. You may have to add some of the milk to help the blending process. Add this to the broth.
 
Add the remaining milk and season to taste with some salt. For a vegetarian version consider using vegetable soup broth instead of chicken.

Beans & rice (and chicken with cilantro gremolata) on the fly

By The Hack

The Hack, in his life of action and adventure, has discovered a few truths. One that might not be considered integral to planetary function, but nonetheless true, is this: If one is reasonably literate, one can read a recipe, assemble ingredients, and produce something edible. No culinary school, hours watching Food Network, or reading a fancy pants glossy food magazine required.

And those that enjoy the experience and repeat it become reasonably skilled and efficient, and can impress friends and family. Which leads into another of the Hack's truths (his brain, supposedly, can hold four): Part of becoming an effective home cook is using what’s on hand. This requires at least two things: A pantry stocked with a somewhat broad array of essentials (if one has attempted some ambitious cooking from recipes, one should have that), and a willingness to fail. The Hack has both items, the latter in spades (a character trait well-developed from many other failures).

One of the Hack’s favorite simple pleasures is beans and rice in all its global formulations. But he’s particularly interested in Cuban and Puerto Rican influences. Perusing The New York Times Web site a while back, he found this story with these two recipes, which sent his eager stomach to hearty rumble mode. But, to the original point of using what’s in the pantry: Take a close gander at the ingredient list.
 
For the chicken, the Hack had no chicken legs, but he did have leftover rotisserie chicken. Kosher salt, fresh ground black pepper, olive oil, cumin, garlic: check, check, check, check, check. Two limes? No, but he did have some lemon juice in the fridge. Cilantro? Check—by the truckload in the garden.
 
The beans part: he had an onion, the olive oil, the garlic, red bell pepper, cumin, coriander, orange juice, salt and pepper. Beans? No red kidney beans. But a one can (15.5 ounces) of white ones (cannelloni in some circles) and he wasn’t looking to make a ton anyway. He had some precooked bacon he keeps around for various uses, and a jar of reserved bacon fat (a must!) in the freezer.
 
So, the Hack had everything he needed for the beans. Really! He chopped the recipe into 1/3 (since he only had the one can) and rolled, eyeballing it, rather than getting all in a tizzy with measuring implements. For two, it would be plenty of grub.
 
The Hack’s method: Cook the onion and all the other stuff in the reserved bacon fat, then add the cooked bacon. Don’t have pineapple juice? Who cares. The juices are for a bit of sweetness and acidity. It’ll be a little less sweet with only OJ, but it turns out just fine. If you need more moisture in the mix, add more OJ instead of water to amp the flavor. You won't miss the pineapple.
 
For the chicken leftovers, the Hack sautéed them in a pan with a bit of oil to crisp up the skin. Then he made the gremolata pretty much to how it’s listed, sans the fresh squeezed lime juice. That's where the litlle jug of real lemon juice came in.
 
With all due respect to nutball foodies out there, busy folks like the Hack often keep a one of those little jugs of store-bought lemon or lime juice in the fridge, rather than a few limes or lemons that he might not get to for a while. It works, and the Hack thinks all those folks feeling guilty about their little jug of juice when their crazed foodie friends come over to the house and stick their nose in the fridge should just stop feeling that way. Acidity and citrus-y zest is what’s wanted here, jug lemon juice is just fine when that's all you've got. Dinner was a hit, the Hack was a hero to his significant other for at least five minutes.

The Hack thinks it’s a wonderful sauce to drizzle over chicken, which brought forth an idea from his soggy brain: It would be just dandy with this, no? (For the record, the Hack reports, yes, it is.)

Best roast chicken…ever?

By The Hack

Lookit. Nice, yes?

The Hack fancies himself a reasonable home cook, but one thing he hadn’t explored much (at all) is the roast chicken category, at least not until a couple years ago. Then he tried a few different recipes, including the one in Anthony Bourdain’s Les Halles Cookbook. He tried that one twice, and both times the bird turned out tasting fine, but not worth the work.

(Otherwise, the Hack finds Bourdain’s cookbook quite good, has cooked many items from it, and the roast chicken recipe wasn’t a waste—the herb butter recipe used with the bird was worth the experiment; he prepares that quite often for various uses).

And many recipes are similar to Bourdain’s, involving stuffing the cavity with various aromatics, shoving butter or another fat under the skin over the breast meat, and then often massaging the entire bird in butter as one might wish to douse suntan oil on a buxom bikini contest winner. Once in the oven, there’s often a starting roasting temperature, then after a while, a raising or lowering, basting the whole way through.

And most are just fine. The bird tastes fine. But that’s it. And not, in the Hack’s humble opinion, worth the time and effort.

Enter Thomas Keller.

The Hack had a farm-raised bird sitting in his fridge, a three-pounder. Not eager to start the process of massaging, basting and watching, he typed “simple roast chicken,” or some such phrase, into Google. Up popped this at Epicurious, from Mr. Keller, he of The French Laundry.

Sounded so easy to the Hack, he immediately became suspicious. He knows enough chefs that have the moral convictions of pirates—traits he himself has been accused of sharing—that he believed initially that Keller was holding out a crucial detail to keep the bird moist during the high-heat cooking that produced the crispy skin.

He rolled the recipe over in his noggin, though, and determined it could be the real deal. High heat. Smaller bird. Low-sided pan. Salt.

The Hack followed the recipe exactly (basically, after rinsing and drying, salt and pepper the sucka and cook for an hour at 450 F) with one exception: he used a broiler pan. What could be better than a low-sided pan? A no-sided pan. Juices dripped safely below deck, bird crisped up all the way down low.

(Another good tip: Doc. Biggles at Meathenge recounted in one of his roast chicken recipes that he uses a cast iron pan, sets a trivet in it, and places the bird on the trivet—an outstanding idea.)

The Hack has used this recipe with great success several times since. Moist meat, crisp skin, and with a touch of good mustard on the side as Keller suggests, it’s fabulous. The key is a great bird, not the commodity fryer available in any grocery store. That bird’s meat just won’t stand up flavor-wise to such minimal adornment, and some of them are injected with brine, which will screw everything up. Pay the money for a farm-raised bird, it ain't that much more, and you won’t go back. Plus, you’ll want to eat all leftovers, an act which adds to overall savings, no?

Adjustments:

There are occasions where the only available bird is larger than two or three pounds. Don’t fret. The Hack has made successful adjustments in temperature and time. Why, just last week, The Hack’s lovely wife bought a 4.5 pound bird. Guests were coming over. The Hack rolled his brain around and ran with this: He cut a wad of excess fat from the back end, and wedged it under the legs he lashed together above the breast—added protection for the longer roasting time required. Then he roasted it at 375 F for about 40 minutes, then cranked it up to 425 for another 30. Spun the pan a 180 degree turn at the temp shift, since he was standing there. Perfect. The added fat slab crisped up too, which made a nice, crunchy, salty snack. And you can poke in the thigh with your meat thermometer just to sooth any worries as you go, but eventually, you’ll be able to eyeball done-ness.

Best roast chicken recipe ever? For its simplicity and result, Bloated Belly HQ declares it so.

Grilled asparagus, lamb burgers

By The Hack

Is there a better way to cook asparagus than on the grill? I think not. See that stuff there next to that lamb burger? MMmmmm. Grilled asparagus. With some leftover lime butter. And it’s so stupid easy. Take your asparagus, commingled with some olive oil, and place on hot grill. Close cover for a minute. Open cover, and look. Maybe turn it, to see if they’re showing signs of grillness. Don’t wander off! It don’t take long! Few minutes, tops. Look and see when the “skin” of them suckas is starting to blister a bit, and you can see the liquid just underneath that said “skin" movin' around. You’ll know what I’m talkin’ about when you see it. Move ‘em around so they’re grilled all around, but, obviously, not charred. They might be kinda limp, depending on their thickness, but still snappy in the mouth. Done.

Don’t have lime butter? Try blue cheese. Yum. I’ll toss that lime butter recipe on here soon, though. Used it a while back for salmon.

But we’re talking asparagus here!

And that burger. Lamb.

I ain’t made a reg’lar hamburger at home in years. Nothing against hamburgers, but lamb is my fave. Take ground lamb, our butcher usually has packs at just under a pound, more than enough for two burgers, mix salt and pepper and, if you’ve got it, roasted garlic (cut the top off a garlic bulb, pour in a little olive oil, wrap in foil and place in the grill while it heats up. It don’t take long, either. Squeeze roasted cloves through a garlic press into the meat), or garlic powder if you don’t. What else goes good with lamb? I think mint and feta. Chop mint and toss in meat. Now, feta don’t sit too well on a burger. So, stuff it inside (Twin Cities folks know this as a Jucy Lucy, misspelling intentional). Make your patty into a bowl, drop some feta in there, then bring the edges together and seal ‘em up. Or, for more even distribution, make your patty into two and---you can figure it out. I cook these with indirect heat, shutting down one of the burners on the gas grill. I don’t want no flame ups to ruin little lambs. Don’t take long, neither. Couple minutes on one side, lid closed, flip, close lid couple minutes, done. Toast buns. Smear one with mint jelly. Or, toss a couple mint leaves on top. Eat.

How to make Valentines Day digestible? Steak. At home.

By The New Guy

Your humble Editor has many reasons to be thankful to be chained to his Anchor, but there is one in particular for which he thanks his lucky stars: She does not care for Valentines Day. Isn’t that the greatest?

That doesn't mean that they haven’t developed a sort of ritual for the most saccharine and silly of the Alleged Holiday category. Lately, it’s been staying at home and cooking something on which they normally wouldn’t spend the bucks. The Editor, thanks to his day job, has picked up a few skills in the kitchen (which doesn’t mean he’s great), and his devoted Anchor is no slouch converting groceries either (she's better). But on Valentines, for reasons he can’t recall, he’s usually manning the stove. In the past for the non-event, he’s cooked up beef tenderloin, much to the Anchor’s delight. (Which marks a second trait the editor is thankful to have in a spouse: enjoys meat). He yanked from the dusty archives of his brain a recipe by the venerable Mark Bittman of the New York Times: Steak Diane for Two.

In the Editor’s experience, one really has to want to fuck up a tenderloin to fuck up a tenderloin. In his humble opinion, it comes down to buying a good hunk of meat and getting out of the way. He’s on a grass-fed jag of late, but it’s hard to find tenderloin on short notice, so he went with the standard, corn fed dead cow found at Kowalski’s. They have decent mammal tissue, but the fish he shies from, and devotes his dollars in that department to Coastal Seafood.

So there they are, the mounds of meat. $25 per pound. Ouch. The steaks weighed out to be about 8.5 ounces a piece, so the Editor sliced ’em both down to six ouncers for the meal (the leftover slabs made a nice, quick appetizer the next evening).

So, from the Editor's pocked memory: Salt and generous fresh ground pepper on the meat, olive oil in the pan, sear and cook for a bit, and that’s pretty much it. The sauce is equally simple: butter, finely diced shallot and some sliced shitaakes if you’ve got ’em, sautée for a bit, then add a bit of teaspoons (or thereabouts) of Dijon mustard and Worcester sauce, about a half-cup of half and half (eyeballed for desired consistency), and that’s about it. Salt and pepper to taste. Throw the steaks back in to and finish cooking to medium rare (just a couple minutes MAX per side over medium heat), thicken the sauce, and done. Pile 'shrooms and sauce on top of steak. Easy. Fast. The Editor, given that the sauce was heavy enough, decided some quartered red potatoes, quartered, tossed in olive oil, salt, pepper and rosemary then roasted at 375 until done was a decent, healthy, lighter side, along with a mixed green salad. Have the taters roasting while you do the steaks and sauce. The whole deal is about 20 minutes.

Not too shabby. Apologies for the lighting, I neglected to reset the ol' white balance in the camera from a previous shoot.

Bless the New York Times, though. Here’s a link to the original recipe. Turns out the memory still holds stuff reasonably well. 

Wine? Sure. A big bomb red like a decent cabernet sauvignon is a predictable choice, but the Editor has found recent pleastantries (and bargains) with Bordeauxs, and their extreme versatility makes them nice choices for a drink on their own or other meals. But for this meal, the Editor and Anchor went with a German sparking wine. Sparkling wine, you say? Shush. There are many sparkling wines out there, cavas and proseccos included, made in the traditional Champagne method that are excellent, and usually more affordable. It's the editor's humble opinion that more sparkling wine should be drunk with everything—they are light, yet with their dry snap and acidity, able to cut through heavy proteins and fat-laden meals. And they're just fun.

Perhaps another post on that subjet is in order...

Salmon, glazed

Salmon. It can be so simple to prepare. But for that reason can be a stumper sometimes. Sure, you like it just fine the way you always prepare it, maybe with just some olive oil, salt pepper and dill for the light side, or with a buerre rouge sauce (that sounds fancy pants but it's easy--for another post, perhaps?) But for the a small-minded fellow worn down to the bones by another numbing day at the job, a little hiccup in the routine is small victory. So there I had a pound of salmon in butcher wrap from Kowalski's. Yeah, I bought it at a grocery store. It's a nice grocery store, but I rarely buy fish there--or any grocery store. My usual spot is Coastal Seafood. But hey. There it was. The fella behind the counter tried to sell me on some farm raised from Chile, but there's a whole slew of problems coming from down there, so I pointed to the wild caught. "Well, if you like richer tasting fish," he said. Yes, yes I do, doofus. I like fish tasting like fish does when it's yanked from their natural habitat. The slab looked good. Didn't smell fishy.

Planned on cooking it that night, but for reasons unremembered, didn't. Unwrapped it on night two and, well, that scent had settled in. Is it bad? No. But you know you should have just cooked it when you bought it. Still, a nice looking piece of wild caught Alaskan salmon. What do do?

Much to my surprise, the brain kicked in. It told me that for the day job I received a cookbook a few years back from an Alaska publisher that produced local-fare cookbooks. This one was entirely devoted to its title: Salmon. I pulled it out, thumbed through it, and found a neat little recipe that was quick and easy. It's basically this: take about one pound of salmon, lay it skin side down on aluminum foil. Put Kosher salt on it. Heat your grill. When the grill's ready, rub about a quarter cup of brown sugar on the salmon (I like dark brown sugar). Put pepper on it. Toss the whole mess on the heated grill for about ten minutes, and check for doneness depending on the thickness of your slab.

Easy. Tasty. Although my quibbles with the recipe (and why I didn't write it down for y'all) are this: It says things like "salt to taste" when you add salt to the raw filet. Eh? Salt to taste? Just put a decent amount of salt on it in that state. One thing I realized with the recipe, is that I under-seasoned it. I'd like to fiddle with a bit of heat next time; I'll let you know.

More salt, more pepper, and this would have been outa sight in it's simple balance of flavors. That, and some supremely fresh fish would be outstanding. At left, I smeared a tad too much sugar on. No matter, it melts off.

But it piles up on the foil and burns a bit. But the fish? Just fine.

Overall, this cookbook is a nice package, filled with nifty illustrations. Worth the buy, if it's still available, if only to add to the mental catalog for salmon prep.

Salmon
By Cynthia Nims
Illustrated by Don Barnett
Graphic Arts Center Publishing Co.
www.gacpc.com

What to do during tomato season

PLUS

PLUS

PLUS

EQUALS...

Ain't she a beautiful thing? Fresh 'maters from the St. Paul Farmers Market, old school lean bacon from some fella in Wisconsin, and that's a recipe for heaven, folks. I've had BLTs three days running for lunch, makin' all the co-workers jealous when I slice into a fresh tomato every day.

Eat this: Coffee cake

Jack Venus returns to his kitchen after yet another rigorous tour fighting crime and bedding Hollywood starlets to whip up a quick coffee cake for unexpected guests. —Lewis

Venus Coffee Cake

Ingredients:
1 cup sugar*
2 cups all purpose flour
1 cup vegetable oil
4 eggs
1/2 Tsp. salt
1 can pie filling (of your choice)
Cinnamon
1 9x13" cake pan

The recipe is actually pretty straightforward, mix the sugar, flour and salt together. 

Then add in the oil and eggs.  Beat together with a mixer or with a fork until well combined.  Viola. You now have the batter.

Spread half of the batter into the bottom of the ungreased cake pan and level it out evenly.

Open up that can of pie filling and carefully spoon about half of it over that bottom layer of batter.  Level the pie filling out, as well.

Carefully spoon the remaining batter over the top, until all of the pie filling is covered. Try not to leave any pie filling exposed, because it'll burn during the baking process.

Once that's all done, sprinkle a bit of sugar over the top and a little cinnamon as well.  The sugar will caramelize and make the coffee cake extra tasty.

Bake at 350 degrees for 45 minutes and let cool.

Enjoy!

*I use Vanilla Sugar, which is just sugar that's been put into a container
with a vanilla bean or two.  The vanilla flavors the sugar and makes it very tasty, especially in coffee.