Jon: Babe!
Me: Huh? Wha..what is it?
Jon: Are you baking something?
Me: Excuse me?
Jon: Are.You.Baking.Something?
Me: ummm...what?!
Jon: ARE YOU BAKING SOMETHING WOMAN!?
Me: *blank/slightly judgmental stare* ... um no. But now I have to ask, why?
Jon: I smell something...different.
Me: What the heck does that mean?
Jon: I just smell something different, okay.
Me: Go to sleep! >:-(
Jon: *incoherent grumble, snore*
Me: *lay awake for the next hour wondering WTH he is dreaming about/smelling*
For those of you who live under a rock and could not guess where I was from the out of focus obviously professionally shot photo of me in the mysterious, Plexi-glassed kitchen, I was in the Smithsonian standing in front of Julia Child's Kitchen....and I was squeeing myself.
Julia's Kitchen for those of you who cannot make it there; here is a higher quality slightly more professional photo tour of its awesomeness.
What was I doing in Washington D.C. you ask? Lobbying for better food labeling, food handling/processing, or clearer marking of genetically modified foods? Sadly no. Instead, I was learning about a doctoral program, seeing the campus, and generally trying not make a fool of myself with the folks that will be deciding what I do for the next 5 years of my life. While Jon and I were there, we decided to take in some sights as well.
The last time I went to D.C. I was not the bumbling fool well-versed culinary genius standing before you today...no wait...that's a lie. I was exactly the same. I just didn't know that I would fall ass-backward into blogging about it at that time. That's why I was not so keen on visiting the kitchen over say...the memorials the last time I was there.
This year, I had exactly 2 things that I wanted to see: Julia Child's Kitchen, and the Jaleo Restaurant. Jaleo was a restaurant I first heard about while watching Iron Chef. Jaleo's Executive Chef, Jose Andres, smacked down my future baby's daddy (and apparent upstairs neighbor), Bobby Flay, during battle goat. When I heard that Andres' restaurant was in D.C., I just had to go. I don't travel to New York or Las Vegas (where Flay and many other challengers have a lot of their restaurants) so I feel like this was one of the few opportunities I would have to eat at Iron Chef quality establishment. More on that later.
This moment is for Julia...
It's too bad it's behind greasy, smudged Plexi-glass.
Me: "How's the picture look?" Jon: "Great! Totally in focus and everything!"
Notice the clock says 12:20. It is always lunch time in Julia's kitchen.
Every pot has a purpose.
There were quite literally a MILLION people in there trying to see it. I didn't realize that so many people were interested in seeing her kitchen. Getting these three pictures with no one else in them was enough to get about 1,000 piss-faced, hurry-up scowls. That's okay though. This was my moment with Julia. The first thing that struck me was the color of cabinets; Tiffany Blue. My wedding was in Tiffany Blue, the hovel is decorated in Tiffany Blue, I am at one with Tiffany Blue.
Tiffany Blue is the worst color to try to match for weddings, just fyi. If you are a perfectionist bride, choose another color for the love of God or you will be bald from stress and broke because you practically have to custom dye everything.
The next thing that struck me was how low the stove was. She had the cabinets raised because she was exceptionally tall for a woman. If you do the flash tour linked above, you will notice that it appears a good four inches or so lower than her cabinets. That may not seem like much, but if you are constantly bent over like that, you are going to throw out your back. Here's a picture of it, but it doesn't quite capture the disparity in height. Perhaps that why she had a stool perched there on the other side. So she could sit while she fussed over pots.
(C) Jeff Kubina
Of course, this range was an incredible improvement over her earlier stoves, like the one seen here.
Another thing that struck me, which I guess it shouldn't have being that I was in a museum and all, was how well used everything appeared. The pots and pans were battered and scorched, jars were full with peeling labels, utensil handles were bent. It reminded me of walking into my grandmother's kitchen as a child. It just goes to show you how blinded by media perceptions we (meaning I) really are. When you watch cooking shows on TV you see nothing but brilliant counters with shiny pots, pans, and appliances. See Exhibits A, B, and C below.
Still too exited to be talking about radishes, Rach. Image (C) CelebPulp
Chef Anne, I hate to categorize you in the same universe with R.R., but when you say, "big meat" you scare me a little and make me think dirty thoughts. I hope this does not affect our potential future BFF-ness (Image probably (c) of Food Network)
The Anti-Christ. No explanation required. Image found here.
Another thing that surprised me is how cluttered and random the kitchen appeared. Again, I shouldn't be because Julia actually lived and cooked in that kitchen, putting things in places that were convenient for her regular use. Not like today's TV chefs that have everything symmetrical and neatly stacked/contained. (Review the above if you don't believe me).
Julia really loved knives, but she did not own a knife block. I thought that was interesting. She instead chose to have her knives within easy reach on a magnetic strip. Julia Child was, in fact, childless. Good thing though, so she did not have to worry about any emo neighbor kids getting ahold of her knife collection. Just an interesting observation.
Go cry somewhere else emo kid.
One thing she thought every cook should have was a mortar and pestle. Don't ask me why. I'd probably just end up dropping it on my foot or something, but here is hers.
"An Essential Kitchen Tool"
Another, more surprising, component of the exhibit talked about how Julia didn't start cooking until later in life. And, like myself, she was not always successful. I think it was quintessential Julia to want to teach others and show that she had lots of obstacles to overcome to achieve what she did. It makes one feel almost as if she were your friend instead of some soulless celebrity cook.
I am not alone.
What touched me the most about the exhibit was the obvious love between Julia and Paul. It was thick in the air like a peppered, white gravy. So much love passed in that kitchen, and as you can read from the picture above, she admitted that there would be no "French Chef" without her beloved Paul. I would not be "The Project" without my beloved Jon, either.
It was a great experience and I found myself welling up with tears as we walked out. The exhibit moved me, and I can't tell you why. It was like being at a celebration of life for a recently departed friend. It's exactly the same way I felt when I watched the end of Julie and Julia, the movie. You see the Smithsonian kitchen kind of fade into the the actual kitchen, with Julia cooking away and Paul coming in with a package that turns out to be Julia's first published cookbook. Julia has changed the lives and inspired many servantless, American cooks like myself. I was just lucky enough to see a small glimpse into her every day life.
Setting: I'm driving down the road on a Monday evening, trying desperately not to fly off the most pot-hole ridden street in Houston. I'm listening to NPR and decided that I am going to blow my head off if I heard just ONE more story about civil unrest or natural disasters. (I get it, it's a bad situation over there. Can we just have one other story type or must my entire 2 hours of commute each day be this: tsunami, earthquake, Libya, nuclear meltdown, Egypt, Gaddafi, nuclear power, Libya, Libya, Ivory Coast, Rick Perry dicking over education and making a lot of racist comments, Libya, Libya.)
*Suddenly my phone rings*
(So weird, my phone just rang as I finished typing that)
It's my lovely husband. He has come into a possible barter situation with some high end baking tins for muffins. He said that our buddy Patterson was in possession of said tins and was willing to barter for Rock-o-liscious Peanut Butter Cups.
Jon asked me what a fair barter was for the tins. He started at 6 dozen PB cups.
That doesn't sound like a lot until you realize that would be the equivalent of 36 packages of the store bought Reese's. That's a package a week for most of a year.
I get a little dizzy. That is a lot of work. I waver. Do I really want these tins THAT bad? In a shaky voice, I tell Jon that I feel that number might be a little high. Would Patterson settle for a smaller number? We proceed to seriously barter for the next 5 minutes until we agree on 4 dozen. I still feel a little shafted, but I detour to the poor-people grocery store for chocolate.
At the store, I found a few bricks of bulk melting chocolate for a reasonable price for the very first time. I carefully read the package to see if it was the dreaded milk chocolate that would cause problems noted in previous posts. Although it had some different ingredients than the baker's chocolate, I got it anyway to save time and money. A one pound brick of bulk chocolate was the same price as a half pound brick of the Baker's chocolate.
Yes, I like my chocolate with Jack...
I drag ass out of the store, get home, cook dinner, then set to work cranking out candy. I started melting the bulk chocolate, which, by the way, melted horribly like the milk chocolate did for some reason. After about a dozen are complete, Jon stepped in to start helping. He sweetly started me a second pb ball, and started chopping the second brick to melt. After awhile, he steps out to go watch the NCAA Championship Game. I put two completed muffin tins of candy in the fridge to harden.
Jon stepped back in a few minutes later to help me finish of the 3rd and 4th dozen. I sigh with exhaustion. Then, Jon asked if I could make him a special one (read extra fat with 2 layers of peanut butter and chocolate.) I told him I would, except there was a slight problem: we were coming up a little short on chocolate for the 4th dozen. We were about 5 cups shy. He told me that was OK and not to worry about making the full dozen, that we would just stop when we ran out of chocolate.
I got upset because that meant I would have to, at some point, pay Patterson the additional 5 or so cups I owed him. This meant another trip to the store, and another evening making a mess of the kitchen. Jon seems oblivious to why I am upset despite my whining clearly thought out communication. Then he begins to realize why I'm so upset when I say, "I am almost to the 4 dozen, I just want to finish them out with whatever chocolate we have in the cabinet."
Jon: *blank stare* Four dozen?
Me: Yea, you said Patterson wanted 4 dozen for the tins.
Jon: Yea, but you only have half a dozen here and 1 dozen in the fridge. You're not even close to 4 dozen.
Me: Umm... open the fridge
The only food in our fridge
Jon: Oh my...
Me: What?
Jon: I was only joking about the 4 dozen. You couldn't tell?
Me: EXCUSE ME?
Jon: I was only joking about that number, you just had to make a few for Patterson. I didn't honestly mean for you to make a whole 4 dozen.
Me: *facepalm*
*On a side note, I am now the proud owner of 2 restaurant quality muffin tins. Jon took some of the cups to Patterson at work today. Here is Patterson's response:"These are better than Reese’s! They’re hearty like they’re full of sustenance. You should sell give me some of them around Christmas."
Keep dreaming Patterson, you should have enough to last you until about Christmas if you only eat 2 a week, for the rest of the year.
Let's start off with a video, shall we? Everyone loves Saturday Night Live (the old stuff, not the new garbage they have now) so here is a clip of one of my favorite cooking-related skits. The link has a higher quality video, if that's your bag. Pay attention to the clip because it will come back into play later...
Snap back to yesterday, and I am having a pretty super Saturday. I went grocery shopping with Jon and it didn't rain. The weather was simply beautiful, and I felt like a picnic would be a splendid idea. After all the groceries were put away, I set to making us a little lunch for the park. I put some chips in our basket with some baby carrots and almond butter. All that was left was to make some sandwiches. Now, we haven't bought sliced bread since the wedding, because we were given a bread machine. Every week we make a loaf of bread and do our best to manage from it. Sometimes we have huge slices, others our cut at an angle. To curb this, I bought what turned out to be a big piece of junk:
The Norpro 370 Bread Slicer and Guide
Naturally, I want to try to make a nice even cut for my sandwiches. I position my loaf carefully and whip out my serrated knife. I am already on thin ice with knife usage due to this incident and this incident. I am not supposed to be using them without adult supervision, but it has been over a month since the last knife-related incident. Therefore, I was allowed to put on my big girl panties and go at it alone.
The rest is kind of graphic, so if you have a weak constitution, for the love of God, don't read on.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Final Warning~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I go to slicing and the knife somehow the plastic bit on the guide jiggles the knife loose out of my hand. It goes flipping through the air all Free Willy style and I leap out of the way as to not disembowel myself or skewer my foot. Well, I'm no cat-woman so the knife did catch me and do some carving. The ring finger on my right hand, the hand that was holding the knife was now jagged mince meat. (Think back to SNL skit above) Y'all, there was so much blood, all I could do was scream HELP HELP HELP in increasing higher volumes. The third one finally brings Jon around the corner in a hurried, but not too panicked manner. Here's how it kind of goes down:
Me: Oh shit! *blood sprays and runs down my arm to my elbow* help! Help! HELP!
Jon: What's up babe? Did you spill someth... OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!
(Borrowed drawing from Allie since I couldn't draw even before this incident & obviously can't now.)
One thing to know about Jon is that he is my hero, but blood is not something he handles too well. I'm trying to keep calm as to not add vomit to the gross things that are now festering in my jagged wound.
Jon: What do I need to do?!? What do I need to do?!?
Me: *as calm as one can talk after being kabobed* Babe, it's real bad, the cut is jagged. I'm going to let you look at it and you tell me if we need to go to the emergency room. Why don't you get a clean paper towel, because this one is soaked through.
Jon: Yes. *grabs paper towel and begins to sweat profusely*
Me: Okay, take a deep breath and I am gonna show you.
Jon: It's really hot in here, let me turn on the air conditioner real quick...
Me: *dizzy* Ok...
Jon: Okay, I'm ready.
Me: *reveal*
Jon: Oh SHIT!
Me: *sigh, I know this means a trip to the emergency room*
So we call my mom for advice, she doesn't answer. We call Jon's mom for advice. She says to put an ice pack on it, and that we should probably go to the ER in case I hit a tendon something. All I can think is how massive my ER co-pay is. All Jon seems to care about it getting off the phone. His mom is being super nosy and is trying to get all the details. Finally I yell, "it's bleeding through the rag!" because Jon can't gracefully extracted himself from the phone conversation. He summarily hangs up after yelling, "Mom, I HAVE TO GO!"
Now Jon wanted to head to the ER and all I see are giant dollar signs getting flushed down the toilet, not to mention having to wait 16 hours to be seen as I bleed to death. Houston's ER situation is awful. I suggest to Jon that we go to an urgent care center down the road, and thankfully he agrees. I was sure he was going to call an ambulance to rush me to a tier 1 trauma center any minute.
I calmly wrap my hand in another dish towel with ice packs while my man runs about the house grabbing keys, cell phones, etc. as if I was in active labor and the baby was crowning. We get into the car and I look him square in the eye, "Babe, I'm not in labor or anything. Everything is okay so drive carefully. The urgent care center is only like 6 blocks away."
We make it to the urgent care center and are seen right away. The receptionist tries to get me to fill out paperwork and I look at her in disgusted disbelief. Jon snatches up the clipboard and suddenly forgets my birthday, our address, and phone numbers.
We get taken back and I try to make jokes to the nurse. She doesn't laugh and gives me that "don't give me no nonsense" look... Bitch.
We have had the ice pack on for a good 20 minutes, so the blood was able to clot a little. After cleaning it out with iodine and salt water, we got a view of the damage.
It appears much worse when blood is gushing out it.
I ended up having to get three stitches. Not pleasant when they pumped needles full of numbing agent into the very tightly compartmented cells of a finger. It was painful to say the least. I felt everything and nearly lost my lunch as the doctor practiced for a knot-tying merit badge.
FU!!!!!!!!
We paid the butcher and went back home. We lost only 30 minutes of our Saturday, thank God we avoided the ER. I still wanted to go to the park, Jon said no. He had a cataclysmic migraine relapse and was down for the count. But not before we surveyed the horror that waited for us in the kitchen. We almost called CSI for the amount of blood that was splattered around the kitchen. Don't believe me? A video tour for your viewing pleasure:
Blood was on the counter, floor, all the way up the fridge, on the appliances above the fridge, the counter above the freezer, the ceiling and the light fixture, back down the counter where I was not even close to, and on the floor.
The worst news of all, no cooking for 8-10 days until the stitches come out. I already got fussed at for cutting butter this morning. I am not happy.
Only thing I'm lacking now is a cone collar and dignity.
If you like what you see, please Follow Me for more recipes and cooking related antics.
Hey guys! I am so excited to tell you about this recipe and how I pulled it off flawlessly by "thinking like a chef" and bypassing some goof-ups I made early on and turning out an excellent meal.
I am proud to say even the leftovers are now gone, which says a lot in this house. Jon was very sweet with his compliments: "This is so good that not only would I eat it again if you made it, I would feed it to other people." That's my man, forever the charmer.
Let's rock out some Shepherd's Pie, kids!
First things first, Shepherd's Pie is traditionally made with ground lamb or cubed lamb shoulder. Not only is mutton a little difficult and pricey to get our hands on here in Houston, we aren't the biggest lamb eaters. Instead, I used ground beef. It was magnificent. I imagine if you want to use beef stew meat diced into very small cubes (like 1/4") you could use that as well.
I made my Shepard's Pie off of Chef Anne Burrell's Shepherd's Pie. If you want her recipe, click her name. How I made mine is listed below:
Olive oil, as needed
1 pound ground beef
Salt
3-4 heaping Tablespoons of flour
1-2 ribs celery, cut into 1/4-inch dice
3 carrots, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch dice
1 quarter to 1/2 of a large onion
2 cloves garlic, smashed and finely chopped. (Garlic powder got me through because I just ran out of fresh)
1/4 cup tomato sauce
1/2 cup red wine
3 to 4 cups chicken stock
1 fat pinch of thyme
2 pounds potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch dices
3/4 to 1 cup milk (warm if you have the time)
2 to 3 tablespoons butter
1/2-1 cup frozen peas
You'll notice that mine will make a smaller portion, feeds 2 starving, college frat boys, or 4 people eating moderate portions with a dinner roll or something. As previously mentioned, mine is made with beef instead of lamb. In addition, I added a bit of onion because, hey, why not? Also, my Shepherd's Pie is differing from Chef Anne's because it is missing leeks, tomato paste and bay leaves. Why? I didn't have them and had to make do (due?).
Haha. I just said doodoo. *crickets* Ahem, moving on.
I also didn't have fresh thyme, so I think like a chef and improvise. I used a pinch of the dry stuff instead. As far as the tomato paste goes, thought I had it but I didn't. It was tomato sauce. I used a quarter cup of it instead and slipped the remainder into a half used jar of pasta sauce that was hiding out in the fridge. No one was the wiser.
Enough stalling, let's get to the heavy lifting.
Distructions:
Coat a wide pan, like a sauce pan, with olive oil and bring to a medium-high heat. Season the beef with salt and toss with the flour. Add the beef to the pan and brown well. Remove the beef from the pan and reserve in a bowl you have lying around. Ditch the oil in the pan and add a splash new olive oil.
Add the celery, carrots, and onion to the pan. Season the mixture with salt and cook, stirring frequently until the vegetables are soft and very aromatic, about 8 to 10 minutes. Add the garlic and cook 2 to 3 minutes more. Add the beef back to the pan and stir to combine.
Add the tomato sauce and cook until the tomato sauce starts to brown, about 2 to 3 minutes. Then, add the wine and cook until it reduces by half.
I love cooking with wine. Sometimes it actually makes it into the dish.
Add enough stock to just cover the surface of the beef mixture. Taste and season with salt and pepper, if needed. Sprinkle in the thyme. Bring the stock to a boil and reduce to a simmer. Partially cover and simmer for at least 30 minutes to an hour, or until the kids start complaining that they are starving. If you are using the stew meat, you will need to continue cooking until the meat is tender. When the stock level reduces replace with more to keep the meat just submerged.
In the mean time, we have to make the mashed potato topping. Place the potatoes in a medium saucepan and cover by 1-inch with tap water. Season the water with salt and bring the water to a boil. Boil the potatoes until they are fork tender, about 15 minutes. Drain the water from the potatoes They don't have to be soupy or super creamy. They need a little heft to them to stay on the top of the pie and form a hardy "crust". Get one of the kids to mash them with a hand tool or mixer while slowly adding the butter and milk. Taste and season with salt, if needed.
Remove the lid from the beef and add the peas. Simmer for 15 minutes more to allow the stock level to reduce. Taste and adjust the seasoning, if needed. When done, the beef mixture should be thick and stew-like. Not soupy.
Preheat the broiler.
Transfer the beef mixture to a wide, flat baking dish like a Corningware dish. Spread the mashed potatoes over the beef mixture in an even layer.
Just like this...
Place the baking dish under the preheated broiler. Broil until the potatoes are golden brown and crispy. Don't walk off! This only takes a few minutes and if you aren't paying attention, they will burn. If you are as truly awesome, your dish will come out like this:
In the vein of the Julie/Julia Project (but not near as famous or wild), I am embarking on a project to score a win in the heart of my Czech boyfriend. It all started a little over 3 years ago. He took me to his little Czech town in south Texas and introduced me to the sweet treat know as a Czech Kolache.
"Jokingly" he stated: "I'll marry you when you can make a good kolache."
So it began...
I wish I would have started chronicling this a bit earlier, but as you will probably figure out, I am lazy and a procrastinator (maybe I am not too different from Julie Powell after all).
So let me start from the beginning. The first attempt...
