All of my updates will now be posted directly on Yum and Yummer.com from this point forward. I’ll see you over there!
I suppose I owe some sort of explanation for being so behind in my posts for this (last) week. Not that I have much of one besides the dubious and always inadequate, “oh, life is so BUSY sometimes!” Even Connor is glaring at me as if to say, “what the shit happened to our clean home and why aren’t you doing anything about it?” It’s a low point in my life when my house’s cleanliness is being judged by a cat that proudly brandishes dingleberries like precious heirloom brooches.
Strange how, when at this time of year, the rest of the outdoor world seems to be readying itself for dormancy, I find myself propelled well beyond my usual busy life into absolute chaos. Fortunately I have the company of my beautiful kitchen to keep me sane during these marathon weeks. When I have to suffer through these periods of endless duties, I like to regress to my kitchen, lay on the floor, open my mouth and let the wildest catena of curses billow out from my lungs. I’m talking DISGUSTING, god-awful, reprehensible strings of profanities where, if shared on this forum, I’m positive most of you would do one of two things: 1) discontinue reading my posts for a period as long as an elephant’s penis is girthy or 2) pump your fists and challenge me to do better.
Though if mentioning an elephant’s fallopian fiddler doesn’t make you run, I suppose I’m safe. Aside from horrendous vulgarities, I also take to the kitchen and make good use of my stock of sugar and flour that I never let get too low in case of emergencies. And trust me, there are plenty of valid emergencies where confectioneries are employed as remedial artistes.
I had a pie pumpkin readily perched by my stove, waiting its demise. I gathered it and pulled it near, rubbing its ribs and twirling its tendrils I whispered, “I’ve got big plans for you, dirty girl.” With a quick bake in the oven and a few pulses in the food processor, I had fresh, smooth, aurulent pumpkin puree which I then constructed into an allspice butter cream filled pumpkin roulade. Given that I was blessed with the restraint comparable to that of a geriatric’s sphincter after a dairy binge, I served myself four heaping slices. It’s times like these that I thank my lucky genes and inability to gain weight properly.
Recently I’ve been toying around with savory dishes and making them sweet, and conversely morphing the sweet to savory. In this particular moment, while in my state of sugar euphoria, my curiosity was piqued; could I turn this decadent, sugary pumpkin roulade into a decadent, savory pumpkin roulade? Well, COULD I?
What I’m about to admit here is a little embarrassing. Much like the indiscretions of inebriated, bicurious altar boys amassed in a bear bar, this is something I’d much rather keep to myself. However, I’m honest to a fault so I will share this abashedly and hope for a swift, fleeting judgement: I didn’t make up the pumpkin bread recipe. No, instead I created my supple, moist roulade with the assistance of a recipe prepared by the Make-a-Wish evading food seductress herself, Ina Garten. As someone who covets baking sans recipe, I’d much rather boast that it was 100% my doing, but Ina’s perfect pumpkin bread served as a nice starter.
The idea wasn’t to make the bread savory, but to use the sweet pumpkin bread in an appropriate savory dish. For the filling, I combined spicy turkey sausage, 1 cup of ricotta curds that have been drained of its whey, sage, grated Romano and salt and pepper. The grande finale was a topping of savory sage whipped cream.
The end result was a warm, spicy pumpkin roulade reminiscent of pigs in a blanket. Not a dead ringer, but a subtle similarity to evoke nostalgic familiarity. The sage whipped cream tones down the sweetness of the roulade as the flavors assimilate on your tongue and confuse your palette. There’s an undeniable maple flavor, in spite of not a drop of maple being present, and the red pepper flakes within the sausage bring it back around full circle, adding a cordial warmth to supplement the cool nip of the sage whipped cream.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some kitchen floor cussing to attend to.
Spicy Sausage-Filled Pumpkin Roulade with Savory Sage Whipped Cream
Time: 1 1/2 hours, start to finish
Serves: Up to 6
For the pumpkin roll (slightly modified from Ina Garten’s original recipe found here)
- 3/4 cup all purpose flour
- 1/2 tsp baking powder
- 1/2 tsp baking soda
- 1 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1/2 tsp ground nutmeg
- 1/2 tsp ground cloves
- 1/2 tsp kosher salt
- 3 large room temperature eggs
- 1/3 cup granulated sugar
- 3/4 cup fresh pumpkin puree (seriously, don’t use that canned shit)
- 1/4 cup confectioners sugar or grated Parmesan cheese
- Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease a 13×18 inch cookie sheet, line with parchment paper, then lightly grease and flour the parchment. Set aside.
- Sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and salt into a medium bowl and mix together.
- In a stand mixer on medium high speed, mix together the eggs and granulated sugar for 3 to 5 minutes until light yellow.
- Slowly mix in pumpkin puree with the sugar/egg mixture by hand until just incorporated.
- In your mixer on low speed, slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet and mix until just incorporated.
- Pour batter into prepared baking sheet and spread so the mixture is even across.
- Bake in oven for 10 to 12 minutes, or until the cake springs back up when poked.
- While cake is cooking, lay down a clean cotton kitchen towel (here’s where I make a plug: Target sells flour sack kitchen towels that are perfect for this purpose) and dust with entire 1/4 cup of confectioners sugar or Parmesan cheese (depending if you want to retain a more sweet or savory exterior).
- Immediately, but gently, roll the cake starting from the short end and place a cooling rack to cool completely.
For the sausage filling:
- 6 spicy turkey sausage meat removed from encasing (roughly 1.25 lbs)
- 1 shallot
- 2 cloves garlic
- 1 cup ricotta cheese curds
- 1 cup fresh grade Parmesan cheese
- 1 1/2 tbsp fresh chopped sage
- 1/2 tsp red pepper flakes
- salt and pepper to taste
- 1 tbsp olive oil
- Heat olive oil in a pan over medium heat and add onions to the pan, cooking until just lightly browned, about 3 minutes. Then add garlic and continue cooking for an additional minute.
- Add sausage to onion and garlic and cook until completely browned. During last two minutes of cooking, add sage and red pepper.
- Remove from heat and transfer meat to a bowl and stir in ricotta and Parmesan cheese. Season with salt and pepper and set aside to cool completely.
For the sage whipped cream:
- 1 1/2 cup chilled heavy whipping cream
- 3/4 tsp salt
- 1/3 cup of fresh sage leaves
- 2 tbsp water
- Using the dull edge of a large knife, beat and bruise the sage leaves to release more flavor and then roughly chop
- In a small sauce pan, heat salt, sage and water over medium high heat until it just beings to boil. Remove from heat and allow to steep for 20 to 30 minutes.
- Using a sieve, strain the sage water into a small bowl, making sure to press down on the sage to extract as much flavor as possible.
- In a mixer, add whipped cream and sage water and beat on medium until stiff peaks are formed
Completing the roulade:
- Preheat oven to 225 degrees.
- When the pumpkin roll cools completely, unroll and evenly spread the sausage and cheese mixture throughout leaving one inch of space at the very end of the bread.
- Lightly roll the roulade ensuring an even roll.
- Wrap in tin foil and place in preheated oven for 15 to 20 minutes or until heated throughout.
- Slice and top with fresh sage whipped cream.
The other morning, as if visited by a Burpee’s Golden demon, I was jarred awake with images of beets orbiting violently within my head. Boiled, charred, sliced, diced, pickled beets became tenants of my brain, and I became a man on a mission. As possession could be the only explanation, I I rubbed my eyes, walked into the kitchen, and pulled out a bag of beets and began to peel them in rapid succession, one after another, salivating over their potential. What’s strange about this scenario is not that I began cooking even before my preliminary daily pee, but I don’t like beets. Like, at all. And I never, ever, never have.
Earthy. Ask anyone their opinion on the taste of beets and I guarantee that most of them will say that they’re earthy. The second-most well-accepted postulation would be “disgusting” which I, too, had believed to be more accurately analogous for this once-believed wretched root.
The short breakdown is that beets smell like construction workers’ feet and have the funky consistency of semi-boiled potato that, when placed on the tongue, begs itself to be spit into the trash. Deer love beets, and they are constantly — almost purposefully — getting hit by cars, if that tells you anything about the logic of those who enjoy eating these abominations. So why did I pick up beets when I last went grocery shopping? Well, let me ask you this: why did I wear my hair like a young Jonathan Taylor Thomas for the majority of my pre- and post-pubescent life? Some things just cannot be explained and are better left not dwelled upon.
Nevertheless, here I was, 9 AM, chopping up beets and preparing them for god knows what. It wasn’t until I was halfway through my third beet when I got the idea for beet mousse. I suspect that I was still sleeping at that point, because…what the crap? Beet mousse?! Insane as it may seem, at that point it sounded like the march of brilliance had lit up my mind and put my fingers to work, and so I was off.
I’d boiled the chopped beets into a saucepan with a combination of 1:2 sugar and water, which when reduced made an lustrous, thick golden beet sauce which was really pleasing in both sight and taste. Post boil, I pureed the beets while reducing the beet syrup to half and let both sides cool before rejoining them once more.
Mixed with heavy cream, tempered egg yolks and a few additional hearty tablespoons of sugar. The beet mousse was, as planned, candied enough to be a proper dessert while maintaining enough of its trademark earthiness to pay proper homage to the manipulated Beta. I then layered the beet mousse between a thick stratum of white chocolate mousse to please both eye and mouth, which added a welcomed dimension of sweetness that complimented the indelicate, albeit subtle, flavor of of the beet. Finish it off with lightly sweetened whipped cream and a candied beet slice and you’ve just found a way to get your kids to eat these foot-flavored roots sans kicking, screaming and threats of emancipation.
Unfortunately this recipe called for a lot of trial and error while I was making it up, as well as quite a few steps that I didn’t document, so I can’t share the steps I took with any confidence. Also, I’d like to first perfect and smooth out the texture of the beet mousse prior to making it public, as I fear the presence of pureed beet is enough to make the consistency-conscious eaters shy away from this dessert. I will, however, provide my recipe for candied beet slices which goes just as well by itself.
Difficulty: Super easy
Serves: 3 – 5
Time: 40 minutes
- 4 medium golden or red beets
- 1.5 cups natural sugar crystals
- Peel and slice cut beets into thin slices.
- Place beet slices into a small saucepan and fill with water until it just barely covers the beets.
- Bring water to a boil and immediately lower to medium-low and allow beets to simmer for 20 minutes or until very tender.
- Pour out all but 1/3 of the water, stir in sugar, and place on stove over medium-high heat.
- Stirring constantly and gently, allow the liquid to boil and continue to stir until all the liquid has evaporated and the sugar recrystalizes.
- Immediately remove pieces to a cooling rack and allow to cool completely.
You know that phenomena when you hear a word for the first time, and out of nowhere it seems that everyone around you has started using that word from that point forward in everyday conversation? As though you unlocked Pandora’s vocabulary and sent this strange, new word spiraling into the minds of those around you, like the word god you are. We mortals call this oddity of life “perceptual vigilance”, and the phrase that chose itself to be perceptually vigilant in my mind as of late is the word confit.
The first time I came across this term was around 6 months or so ago, and I ticked my head to the side and mouthed, “con-fit?” pronouncing every ugly syllable, not realizing I was ignorantly pronouncing this French word as though I were a backwoods, Uncle-loving hobo. The very idea of confit (which is pronounced con-fee, by the way) is enough to send me into a fit of happy sobs. There are variations of confit to include vegetable and fruit confit, but in this instance we’re speaking of meat, people. Not only meat, but meat that has been lightly cured and then, wait for it… completely submerged and slowly cooked for hours in its own fat until nearly fall-off-the-bone tender. Isn’t that beautiful? Poetry for the tongue, I say.
After the meat has been cooked through in the fat, it is then cooled until the fat sets, which acts as a highly effective preservation method in which you can keep the meat at good quality for months. So it’s not only beautiful, but it’s magical, too.
Given its corpulent, fatty ass nature, duck is one of the best meats to turn into confit. They’re rich with lard and have a flavor that lies somewhere on the spectrum between pork and turkey, which isn’t at all as unsavory as it may sound. In fact, it’s quite nice. One minor caveat is that duck confit isn’t cheap to make, which would be the only reason why I don’t fill up my tub and bathe in it. Not to mention the hunt for rendered duck fat in Tampa Bay was like attempting to find a faction of Wal-Mart fanatics without a debilitating case of crippling halitosis. That is, to say, it was difficult.
Whatever quandaries I was meant to face on this endeavor, I did so without question or qualm and came out victorious… sort of. After curing my duck legs, I made the novice mistake of not rinsing off the salt cure and instead brushed it off before plopping them into the duck fat. Once they were done, I took a bite and at once came face to face with a shame that only a slutty nun could identify with. Shit was as salty as a sea snail’s scrotum, but all was fine and I had my duck fat-laced happy ending. I transformed the confit into rillette and then turned the rillette into ravioli and the ravioli into dinner. After all of this manipulation, the intense saltiness dissipated into welcomed brininess, and all was right with the world once more.
Well, except for the duck.
Duck Confit / Duck Rillette / Duck Ravioli
- 2 duck legs and thighs
- 1/4 cup kosher salt
- 1/2 tsp white pepper
- 1/2 tsp cumin
- 1/4 tsp clove
- 1 head of garlic with top 1/4 cut off
- 2 11oz bottles of Rougie duck fat
- Mix together dry ingredients and rub over duck legs. Sprinkle remaining dry mix over duck legs, cover and refrigerate for up to three days, but ensuring at least one full day minimum.
- Rinse legs and pat dry, place in a pan with the head of garlic and cover completely with duck fat.
- Cook legs in duck fat over low heat for 2 1/2 to four hours where a temperature placed in the fat constantly reads between 190 and 210 degrees. The duck will be done when a toothpick easily enters the meat.
- Let cool until room temperature and then immediately place in fridge to sit for at least one day or up to a few weeks (it can last much, much longer with proper storage).
- Over a double boiler, slowly melt duck fat and remove legs. Place skin side down onto a thick bottomed frying pan over low heat and heat for 20 to 30 minutes, or until skin becomes crisp and the meat is heated through.
- Once done, you can remove the garlic from the duck fat for another use and strain the duck fat back into their containers to be used again.
- 2 legs duck confit
- 4 cloves of garlic from duck confit batch (or fresh, if preferred)
- 1 shallot, minced
- 1/4 cup of slightly softened butter
- 2 tbsp duck fat
- 2 tsp fresh parsley, minced
- salt and pepper to taste
- Shred meat duck confit into small pieces and combine all ingredients into a medium bowl. Mix well with fingers until well combined. If it looks like cat food, you’ve done a good job.
Duck Rillette Ravioli
- 4 large sheets of homemade pasta
- 1 batch of duck rillette
- Lay one sheet of pasta on a flat surface and add 1 tbsp of duck rillet every 2 inches.
- Cover with another sheet of pasta and press firmly around the meat and cut out to desired shape.
- Bring a pot of water to a rolling boil and remove from heat.
- Immediately add ravioli to water and let stand for 5 to 10 minutes or until pasta is cooked through.
A few mornings ago I woke up and walked into my kitchen to an all too familiar and abhorrent smell. I’d forgotten to take the previous night’s trash out, likely because I’d finished off my evening in an energy-deprived cooking stupor, and the stench of chicken carcass was radiating from my trashcan. The smell reminded me a lot of the summers I spent growing up near the Susquehanna River. Have you ever been hear the Susquehanna during the hot months? It’s as though you’re hugged daily by a hobo that’s gone four years without a shower, and whose breath smells like wilted cabbage and bourbon. It’s horrible and the smell lingers. The cats were going crazy over the trash smell, and so was I, but for an entirely different reason altogether
I grumbly pulled my super hefty Hefty trashbag from the can and dragged it outside to give it the old heave-ho when my bare legs were wrapped in an unexpected chill and I stopped. Excitement took over my initial annoyance, because when I looked outward toward the lake my apartment sits on, I noticed that the temperature wasn’t the only oddity; the light was completely different, too. IT’S FALL, Y’ALL!
However in Florida, Fall is more of a tease than an actual season. The mornings are clear, breezy, and at a cool 70 degrees, life is beautiful. Then by 11AM your underwear is sticking to your butt, you’ve developed pit stains the size of papayas and you start seriously considering relocating your shit north of the Mason-Dixon line. It’s as though Mother Nature lifts her conservative petticoat up on one side to give you a peak at the lace-lined garter wrapped around her milky white thigh — teasing you, tantalizing you, daring you to enjoy the view. When you reach out to touch it, foolishly thinking it’s finally yours, she shoves her skirt down angrily and glares at you with slitted eyes and an arched eyebrow, shaming you. It’s Fall in Florida, y’all.
Even so, I was more excited than a nerdy, rhythmic white girl being inducted into an inner-city high school step squad. Fall means gourds. Like, tons of gourds! Fall means pleasantly blustery mornings, Halloween, and gourds, all of which I emphatically support.
Fully planning on enjoying this fleeting preview of Florida post-Summer, I put on my jeans and flip flops (because regardless of what the temperature or date is, you always wear flip flops in Florida) and dashed out the door to pick up something Autumn-y and edible. The best part of the beginning of Fall is not the anticipation of what Fall is to bring, but the lack of those cinnamon brooms that inevitably show up in every tacky art store and grocery store around the continent. Do you know what I’m talking about? They’re these small brooms that the knick-knack loving elderly go ape shit over every year. And they don’t just give off a slight, sweet, welcoming smell of cinnamon. No, the smell permeates everything and sends a closed-fisted, forceful punch of concentrated cinnamon straight up your nostrils and emblazons that stench into your cerebral cortex ensuring you never forget that detestable smell, ever. In fact, you learn to fear it.
Digression aside, I’d planned for weeks to make a filled puff pastry of some sort, but couldn’t decide on something interesting enough to go through with making the puff pastry. Call me something unpleasant, but I don’t think I really care for puff pastry. It has this unctuousness that doesn’t evoke the adjective “buttery” as much as it does the phrase “give me a glass of milk, now.” However, leave it to Fall to inspire some kitchen creativity. I made my way to the most un-cinnamon smelling grocery store to pick up a few acorn squashes to make acorn squash and chorizo turnovers.
The idea to make acorn squash and chorizo turnovers came to me almost out of nowhere, as though an ethereal messenger delivered it straight to my brain saying, “take this thought, and make it your own.” But if we’re being completely honest, I had leftover chorizo that I HAD to use up, and acorn squash is one of my favorites, so I suppose it’s only natural that I’d gravitate towards marrying those two in some form of delicious matrimony.
The flavor of the two is interesting, as you get the creamy, buttery and slightly sweetened consistency of the squash mixed with the fiery umami brought on by the chorizo, and you have yourself one bomb ass turnover. However, my first batch was missing something critical, which at the time I couldn’t quite put my finger on. The consistency was off, as was the flavor, and there was a vacancy in the turnover left unfilled until days later when I determined that it was cheese I was missing. Port is the perfect choice, but on hand all I had was mozzarella which was a tolerable substitute in a pinch. I wanted a cheese that was not too overpowering to demand attention away from the happy couple performing the Jarabe Tapatio on my tongue.
Standing in my kitchen the following night I watched westward as the sun slowly crossed the horizon drawn by a thick, lush layer of oak trees. The first of many early descents to come within the following months. I thoughtfully chewed on my savory turnover, admiring its crispy exterior and satisfyingly smooth innards. When the sun finally set for good at 8:15 PM, I took a final look outside my window at the world immediately surrounding my neighborhood — the world that was changing before me — and smiled as I thought while lowering my blinds, “fuck those cinnamon brooms.”
ACORN SQUASH AND CHORIZO TURNOVERS
Time: 1 hour 15 minutes
- Pre-made puff pastry dough
- 1/2 large chorizo link, or 1 small chorizo link
- 1 small acorn squash
- 1 small shallot, chopped
- 1 clove garlic, crushed and chopped
- 1/2 cup of port, mozzarella or other mild cheese
- 1 tbsp olive oil
- 1 tbsp butter
- 1/4 cup heavy cream or melted butter
- salt and pepper to taste
- pinch of cinnamon
- chopped almonds (optional)
- Preheat oven at 350 degrees
- Cut acorn squash in half, rub cut with olive oil, sprinkle with salt and pepper, and place cut side down onto a baking sheet. Place in oven for 35-40 minutes or until soft.
- Turn both slices cut side up, sprinkle with cinnamon, and place butter in the center of one side and place the other side of squash on top of it, cut sides together. Bake for another 20 to 30 minutes.
- In a medium saucepan, heat a very small amount of olive oil over medium heat and add onions. Sauté for 5 to 10 minutes until soft and then add the garlic. Continue to cook for another 3 to 4 minutes.
- Add chorizo to the pan and cook until cooked completely through. Remove from heat and drain excess grease.
- Scoop out insides of acorn squash and add to the chorizo mixture, mixing thoroughly.
- Roll out dough until 1/8 inch thick and cut into circles or squares. Fill each square with a layer of cheese, a tablespoon of the filling and some chopped almonds (if using) and fold over, pinching the ends closed. Note: the amount of filling will differ depending on the size of dough cut out.
- Brush the tops of the dough with heavy cream or melted butter and bake for 15 minutes or until golden brown.
The first time I ever had lamb I was 13 or 14 or somewhere around that awkward period of my life where I donned a super cool bowl cut and my pimples outnumbered my prospective dates. I was on a school-sponsored trip to the Pennsylvania Renaissance Faire with my Social Studies class where many different groups of kids from around the state were congregating at the Renaissance Freak Fest to perform different acts of The Taming of the Shrew to an audience of apathetic passersby. I played Baptista Minola and was sporting a particularly fetching purple felt robe that also moonlighted as a Crypt Keeper cloak the previous Halloween.
While watching the other schools’ kids perform it became increasingly obvious that they all took their roles much more seriously than we did. Though their acting resembled nothing short of cowplop, thus shedding a whole new light on what could be coined Shakespearean bastardization, they more than made up for it with their intricate, homemade fashions with adornments that alluded a guise of Medieval authenticity. And then there was me in my fucking Crypt Keeper costume.
Our group was a good while from going on stage, and after an hour or so of watching one unremarkable performance after another I grew tired and hungry. So ambled I did up to the nearest food purveying wench and demanded an explanation of her finest foodstuffs, pronto. Which of course means I asked politely for a menu because I was much too much of a wussy boy to demand much of anything from anyone.
At this point I’d had a few visits to the Renaissance Faire under my belt, so I knew to expect flavorful slow-cooked brisket and turkey legs that appeared to be ripped from fowl the size of Optimus Prime. But there was another unfamiliar item that glared at me from below my two favorite Faire foods: lamb sandwich?
Up until that point I couldn’t even pretend to know what lamb was supposed to taste like. I understood the flavor of pork, chicken and beef. I’d had all those, but what was lamb anyway? I knew they were cute little puff balls that baaa’d at you with a burning, torturous cuteness; I knew that Shari Lewis fashioned a successful career with her hand stuck up one particular lamb’s fleecy, white ass for a few decades; and I also once heard the British ate it with something called mint jelly, which sounded about as enticing as a bowl full of farts.
I was dubious of this lamb sandwich, but what’s life without a little adventure? Life without adventure is much like Cheech without Chong: irrelevant and really sad. So I ordered the lamb and regretted it immediately upon my first bite. The meat was as gamey as my 14 year old face was oily, and the bread was lathered with — no, completely saturated in — lamb fat. It was the equivalent of biting into a Crisco burger, and it did a bang up job of thwarting any positive inclination toward lamb meat for a good, long while.
The next time I braved lamb I was at my good friend Shannon’s wedding some 10 years later (who, by the way, coincidentally acted alongside me in The Laming of the Shrew, which makes me wonder what it is about her that sends me scurrying toward lamb meat). Served during the reception these lamb chops that…I just don’t even know. They were a melt-in-your-damn-mouth kind of tender with a crunchy savory exterior that, when mixed with the perfectly marbled meat, created an explosion of flavor that made me tingle. Down there. And just like that a lamb meat lover was born.
Oh, and for all the inquiring minds out there wondering how we did in our rendition of The Taming of the Shrew? Let’s just say that if the late Elizabeth Taylor would have caught our performance, she undoubtedly would have walked right up to our Katherina Minola and clubbed her in her straight in her 7th grade mouth. That’s how well we did.
Basic Lamb Chops
Time: 25 minutes
- 1 8 bone rack of lamb, frenched
- 1/2 cup bread crumbs or panko for an extra crunch
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 sprigs rosemary, minced
- 1/8 cup olive oil plus 1 tbsp of olive oil and extra to brush rack of lamb
- Salt and pepper to taste
- Let your rack of lamb sit at room temperature for 1 hour and preheat oven to 450 degrees
- Combine bread crumbs, garlic, rosemary and olive oil and spread out on a plate. Set aside.
- Cut rack of lamb in half and heat oil in an oven-proof pan over medium heat on the stovetop until hot. Salt and pepper the rack of lamb and sear in the pan on all sides, about 1 to 2 minutes per side.
- Brush both halves of lamb lightly with olive oil (if needed) and coat on all sides with the bread crumb mixture. Drain pan used to sear the lamb and arrange rack of lamb with the bones of each half crossing over like a teepee, or praying hands (see first picture) before putting into the oven.
- Place in oven and cook for 13 to 15 minutes, or until desired doneness. Remove from oven, cover lightly with foil, and allow to sit for 10 minutes before slicing.
A few weeks ago I made the brilliant decision to watch Paranormal Activity 2. I’m normally not one for sequels since they are generally not very well done and seem to be rushed to meet the demand, causing a sloppy product, and this sequel was no exception. But it was a stormy Florida summer day — which could have been any Florida summer day, really — and it just felt right.
It stopped feeling right really fast. Halfway through the film I got painfully bored and brought my computer into the kitchen to watch this monstrosity of a movie while I baked. This kind of detracts from really being immersed into the “suspense” of it, but what else are you going to do when you’re hungry, have adult ADHD and don’t believe in ghosts?
My baking recipes by default are usually confectioneries, but when I felt a little ripple of human gelatin wobble in my lower back region, I hesitated. But if we’re being honest, it didn’t really hinder me from making something sweet (what’s an ounce or two chub anyway?), but I decided to be fair to myself and compromised a little bit.
See, I love shortbread. It’s has the weighted, biscuity consistency of a proper scone and can be either savory or sweet which makes it versatile in terms of what you do with it. On this particular day, slathering it with pastry cream and stuffing it with fresh strawberries was what felt most right.
The custard I used for the filling and the glaze is what sweetens the shortbread the most. It’s made very simply with egg yolks, milk, flour, sugar, half a scraped vanilla bean and a just little bit of unflavored gelatin because a) flour as a lone thickening agent doesn’t work here, so it would be too runny without it and b) I hate horses. But not really.
The overall creation was super easy and didn’t take much effort to complete and assemble. Also, I may or may not have had four slices of the finished product while impatiently waiting for the movie to end (don’t finish what you can’t start, right?), but I wouldn’t ever admit to something like that. Upon finishing the alleged fourth slice of shortbread a large bolt of lightning struck right outside my kitchen window like a jerk, which made me to jump and bite my tongue and also caused my power to go out.
It’s funny how much quiet you can hear when the hum of generators or air conditioning isn’t clouding up the atmosphere. It’s also funny how many creepy as shit things you can hear when your power is out, it’s post-dusk, and you just finished watching Paranormal Activity.
Man, I shouldn’t have had that fourth piece.
Custard Filled Shortbread
Time: 2 1/2 hours total
Ingredients & Directions:
For the shortbread:
- 2 1/4 cup unbleached, all purpose flour
- 1/4 cup sugar
- Pinch of salt
- 2 tsp baking powder
- 1/3 cup butter or shortening
- 1 egg
- 2/3 cup heavy cream, half and half or milk
- 1tbsp vanilla extract
- Preheat oven at 425 degrees.
- In a large bowl mix together dry ingredients. Using your hands, cut in butter until well-mixed. The mixture should look like course crumbs at this point. In a separate bowl mix together egg, heavy cream and vanilla.
- Make a well in the center of the dry ingredients, pour in the wet, and stir together until just combined.
- Pour batter into a lightly greased and floured cake pan, spreading and evening out mixture with a spatula.
- Bake for 15 minutes and place on cooling rack.
For the custard:
- 2 cups milk
- 1/2 cup sugar, divided
- 1/2 vanilla bean, insides scraped or 1 tbsp vanilla extract
- 6 egg yolks
- 3 tbsp butter
- 1/4 tsp salt
- 5 tbsp flour
- 1 packet (2.5 tsp) of unflavored gelatin
- In a medium, heat-proof bowl mix together the salt, egg yolks, flour and 1/4 cup of sugar until well combined, about 2 to 3 minutes and set aside.
- In a medium sauce pan, heat up the milk, vanilla and the rest of the sugar until just boiling and remove from heat.
- Stirring constantly, SLOWLY drizzle the hot milk into the yolk mixture, making sure to not add too much at once and cook the yolks, until 1/2 the milk is combined with the eggs.
- Add the egg mixture to the pan with the rest of the milk and heat over medium high heat until boiling, stirring constantly. Boil for 3 to 5 minutes or until it thickens and remove from heat.
- Dissolve gelatin in 1 tbsp hot water and add mixture to the custard, stirring well.
- Transfer to a large bowl and cover directly with plastic wrap so it is touching the top of the custard and allow to cool on the counter.
- Refrigerate for 2 hours, or until thoroughly chilled and has thickened up.
Carefully cut cooled shortbread in half, fill with desired amount of custard and serve with desired fruit.