Sure, you can have your chocolates, and your champagne, but what would be a more fitting dish on Valentine's day than heart? Beef hearts, known as anticuchos in Peru, are inexpensive (I find them regularly at the Stop and Shop in the Cross County Mall for $1.29/pound) and tasty (being a muscle, the heart is perhaps the best organ meat for those who normally avoid offal). Considered dispassionately, beef heart tastes much like any other muscle (it has a bit more of a gamy, "mineral" flavor than most cuts of steak) but the meat is less "fibrous" than typical skeletal muscle. The meat also tends to be lean. I find that beef hearts make a great substitute for packaged "stew meat", and go well in chili and "steak and kidney" pies.
For those unwilling to make the commitment to cooking beef heart at home, anticuchos are available at local Peruvian restaurants such as Viru in Yonkers and Cholo's Kitchen in New Rochelle.
Another personal favorite of mine is the chicken heart- I typically saute chicken hearts with onions, or skewer them, give them a dry rub (one favorite blend is cumin, coriander, savory, black pepper, and salt), and throw them on the grill. Chicken hearts are highly prized in Brazilian cuisine. Again, for the individual who does not wish to experiment at home, a good place to try chicken hearts is Port Chester's Brazilian churrascaria Brasil International Café.
Now, who needs Valentine's Day chocolate when they can actually munch on hearts?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Culinary Confession
Bless me, James Beard, for I have sinned. It has been several months since my last culinary confession.
Inspired by a morbid curiosity, I staged an expedition to McDonald's to order a McRib sandwich. I was shocked by the somewhat decent quality of the roll on which the sandwich arrived, and by the presence of pickle slices and sliced raw onion. Of course, the sandwich was drowned in overly sweet BBQ sauce, which drowned out the flavor of the other ingredients (that's probably the point). The processed pork patty was moist but insipid, just a vehicle to deliver the high-fructose corn syrup sauce. For more assertive pork flavor, I'd go to a mom-and-pop for a Cuban sandwich or bánh mì, or roast a pork shoulder, and make a roast pork, provolone, and broccoli rabe sandwich at home.
When the McRib disappears from these parts, I will most certainly not mourn its disappearance.
Inspired by a morbid curiosity, I staged an expedition to McDonald's to order a McRib sandwich. I was shocked by the somewhat decent quality of the roll on which the sandwich arrived, and by the presence of pickle slices and sliced raw onion. Of course, the sandwich was drowned in overly sweet BBQ sauce, which drowned out the flavor of the other ingredients (that's probably the point). The processed pork patty was moist but insipid, just a vehicle to deliver the high-fructose corn syrup sauce. For more assertive pork flavor, I'd go to a mom-and-pop for a Cuban sandwich or bánh mì, or roast a pork shoulder, and make a roast pork, provolone, and broccoli rabe sandwich at home.
When the McRib disappears from these parts, I will most certainly not mourn its disappearance.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Foraging Season is Drawing to a Close
This week, I was able to get my hands on some fine wild grapes, but the clock is ticking, and my foraging activities will be ending soon.
October was a busy month for me, hence the lack of posts (I could have written about Halloween candy, but for an underdeveloped sweet-tooth), but I hope to restart this flagging, lagging blog of mine.
October was a busy month for me, hence the lack of posts (I could have written about Halloween candy, but for an underdeveloped sweet-tooth), but I hope to restart this flagging, lagging blog of mine.
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Sumac, Savory Sumac
This time of year is the prime time for foraging for the fruit of the staghorn sumac. The bright red, fuzzy fuits have a sour flavor, and have been used extensively as a seasoning in Persian and Middle Eastern cuisines. Here are links to two takes on a "sumac chicken" recipe.
The easiest way to enjoy the flavor of sumac is to cut the fruit-laden cones off of the plants, wash them, steep them in water (I often do this in a jar left out in the sun), strain the resultant liquid, and sweeten it with simple syrup to make a beverage comparable to lemonade.
Of course, if you see any sumac plants with waxy white fruits, stay away.
The easiest way to enjoy the flavor of sumac is to cut the fruit-laden cones off of the plants, wash them, steep them in water (I often do this in a jar left out in the sun), strain the resultant liquid, and sweeten it with simple syrup to make a beverage comparable to lemonade.
Of course, if you see any sumac plants with waxy white fruits, stay away.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Culinary Confession
Bless me, James Beard, for I have sinned... it's been quite some time since my last culinary confession.
On a trip to the woods, I ate... Spam. You see, not having access to nearby markets, and having a small propane-powered fridge, one has to use one's limited refrigeration capability wisely. Therefore, canned or "potted" meat is not a bad thing to take to the cabin.
Of course, Spam is pretty much a salty, oleaginous lump of pink stuff, with a texture not far off from slighty solidified pink goo. It can, however, be edible, even tasty, in the hands of a master Spammer. The key to Spam cookery is to cut the stuff wafer thin, and to fry it until it is golden-brown and crispy. I imagine the stuff could be used to make passable faux lardons, although a salad containing Spam as an ingredient seems to be a crime against both cuisine and nature.
On a trip to the woods, I ate... Spam. You see, not having access to nearby markets, and having a small propane-powered fridge, one has to use one's limited refrigeration capability wisely. Therefore, canned or "potted" meat is not a bad thing to take to the cabin.
Of course, Spam is pretty much a salty, oleaginous lump of pink stuff, with a texture not far off from slighty solidified pink goo. It can, however, be edible, even tasty, in the hands of a master Spammer. The key to Spam cookery is to cut the stuff wafer thin, and to fry it until it is golden-brown and crispy. I imagine the stuff could be used to make passable faux lardons, although a salad containing Spam as an ingredient seems to be a crime against both cuisine and nature.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
It's True, I Am a Weed Addict
This summer, I have been blessed with a bounty of edible weeds.
My first weedy love is purslane, which I have found in abundance. I usually just pick it, wash it off, and eat it out of hand. Because purslane has such a succulent texture, I prefer to eat it raw. When cooked, purslane has a texture similar to that of green beans. Besides the recipes linked to in this post, I found an interesting recipe for Turkish-style purslane salad (the comments on this post are hilarious- I'll do an attributed cut-and-paste at the end of the post). The lovely, gracious, and talented Aunt Snow (who is pursuing pie perfection this summer in some must-read posts) suggested finding a Persian purslane salad recipe, and a Google search turned up this recipe. Personally, I love the stuff so much, I'd substitute it for just about any green, or add it to mixed salads (if only I could refrain fromwolfing sheeping it down long enough to get it into the kitchen).
So, on to the comment which had me laughing so hard- Cebtoo, in a reply to Greengirl's request for advice on how to grow purslane, writes:
To GREENGRL: Try to grow something else. Water once a week lightly. Everything else will die but your purslane will thrive with or without fertilizer, in sun or shade. Once you get some growing, break it up with a hoe. Spray it with broadleaf weed killer, it loves it. That's been my approach for years here in San Antonio and probably could grow 500 pounds or so in 100 square feet if I let it run wild.
Besides purslane, I am a huge fan of lamb's quarters, which grow in profusion around my neighborhood. Lamb's quarters compare favorably with spinach or kale- I usually snip the tops off the plants (so they'll continue to grow), then steam them for use in any recipe that calls for spinach.
Of course, dandelions are delicious, and are instantly identifable to just about everyone.
The nettles are past their prime, but they served me well in the spring. The Japanese knotweed is tough and woody, but I'm hoping to find some younger, tender shoots to munch on.
Yeah, I'm a weed addict, all right. With a little research, and a lot of patient observation, you can also pick up an addiction to weeds.
Sometimes, I am amazed at the effort and resources that people waste on their lawns- they are devoting their energy, time, and money to a plant that they cannot use, and cutting said plant to a length which mimics the length of a sheep-cropped field. When the weekend squire mows his lawn, he's not only trying to imitate the verdant green pastures of Lord Such-and-such, but he's doing it without the benefit of having a herd of sheep to do it for him (and to convert it into wool, meat, and milk). Luckily for my neighbors, I live in an apartment, but if I had a yard, I'd probably plant a lot of perennials.
My first weedy love is purslane, which I have found in abundance. I usually just pick it, wash it off, and eat it out of hand. Because purslane has such a succulent texture, I prefer to eat it raw. When cooked, purslane has a texture similar to that of green beans. Besides the recipes linked to in this post, I found an interesting recipe for Turkish-style purslane salad (the comments on this post are hilarious- I'll do an attributed cut-and-paste at the end of the post). The lovely, gracious, and talented Aunt Snow (who is pursuing pie perfection this summer in some must-read posts) suggested finding a Persian purslane salad recipe, and a Google search turned up this recipe. Personally, I love the stuff so much, I'd substitute it for just about any green, or add it to mixed salads (if only I could refrain from
So, on to the comment which had me laughing so hard- Cebtoo, in a reply to Greengirl's request for advice on how to grow purslane, writes:
To GREENGRL: Try to grow something else. Water once a week lightly. Everything else will die but your purslane will thrive with or without fertilizer, in sun or shade. Once you get some growing, break it up with a hoe. Spray it with broadleaf weed killer, it loves it. That's been my approach for years here in San Antonio and probably could grow 500 pounds or so in 100 square feet if I let it run wild.
Besides purslane, I am a huge fan of lamb's quarters, which grow in profusion around my neighborhood. Lamb's quarters compare favorably with spinach or kale- I usually snip the tops off the plants (so they'll continue to grow), then steam them for use in any recipe that calls for spinach.
Of course, dandelions are delicious, and are instantly identifable to just about everyone.
The nettles are past their prime, but they served me well in the spring. The Japanese knotweed is tough and woody, but I'm hoping to find some younger, tender shoots to munch on.
Yeah, I'm a weed addict, all right. With a little research, and a lot of patient observation, you can also pick up an addiction to weeds.
Sometimes, I am amazed at the effort and resources that people waste on their lawns- they are devoting their energy, time, and money to a plant that they cannot use, and cutting said plant to a length which mimics the length of a sheep-cropped field. When the weekend squire mows his lawn, he's not only trying to imitate the verdant green pastures of Lord Such-and-such, but he's doing it without the benefit of having a herd of sheep to do it for him (and to convert it into wool, meat, and milk). Luckily for my neighbors, I live in an apartment, but if I had a yard, I'd probably plant a lot of perennials.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Limoncello
Limoncello is a typical liqueur from Southern Italy- the centers of Limoncello production are centered around the Gulf of Naples and the Gulf of Salerno. Best served chilled, limoncello is a perfect after-dinner digestivo- though I would never criticize anyone for drinking it before, or during dinner, or on a lazy summer afternoon, or to chase away a winter chill, or... sorry, I was distracted by the prospect of a nice, chilled glass of limoncello.
While limoncello recipes are plentiful on the internet, here's my personal method for making it. First, thorougly wash, then peel fifteen or sixteen lemons (depending on the size of the lemons, and whether the market is selling them in lots of three or lots of four) with a vegetable peeler, making sure you are not getting any of the white pith (which will make your limoncello bitter). Place the lemon peels in a clean gallon jar and pour a gallon of pure grain alcohol (I have to drive to Connecticut to obtain the stuff) over the lemon peels, and cover. Let the mixture sit for at least a week (I leave the jar in a dark, cool corner for three weeks), then prepare a simple syrup by heating two pounds of sugar with a quart of water, and simmering until the mixture is slightly thickened. Strain the lemon peels out of the alcohol, and add the syrup to the infused alcohol (I use a couple of one-gallon pitchers for this stage of the production). Dilute the resultant syrup/alcohol mixture with water until the desired strength is reached (I use a 50/50 ratio, making the resultant liqueur about as strong as a typical vodka). Strain again, and bottle the stuff. Keep away from small children and open flames. A few hours before serving, place the bottle in the freezer to chill. If necessary, dilute individual servings to taste... the stuff is strong.
Here's a still life which incorporates the ingredients of this delicious treat. Look at that forlorn lemon, which has been robbed of its golden integument. Also, note that the contents of the gallon jar, with an alcohol content around 95%, have a clear golden color, while the glass of limoncello in the center has a milky translucency. This is the same effect one sees when one mixes water with absinthe- as the percentage of alcohol decreases, the oil from the lemon peels forms a microemulsion in the glass:
La dolce vita, served by the glass.
While limoncello recipes are plentiful on the internet, here's my personal method for making it. First, thorougly wash, then peel fifteen or sixteen lemons (depending on the size of the lemons, and whether the market is selling them in lots of three or lots of four) with a vegetable peeler, making sure you are not getting any of the white pith (which will make your limoncello bitter). Place the lemon peels in a clean gallon jar and pour a gallon of pure grain alcohol (I have to drive to Connecticut to obtain the stuff) over the lemon peels, and cover. Let the mixture sit for at least a week (I leave the jar in a dark, cool corner for three weeks), then prepare a simple syrup by heating two pounds of sugar with a quart of water, and simmering until the mixture is slightly thickened. Strain the lemon peels out of the alcohol, and add the syrup to the infused alcohol (I use a couple of one-gallon pitchers for this stage of the production). Dilute the resultant syrup/alcohol mixture with water until the desired strength is reached (I use a 50/50 ratio, making the resultant liqueur about as strong as a typical vodka). Strain again, and bottle the stuff. Keep away from small children and open flames. A few hours before serving, place the bottle in the freezer to chill. If necessary, dilute individual servings to taste... the stuff is strong.
Here's a still life which incorporates the ingredients of this delicious treat. Look at that forlorn lemon, which has been robbed of its golden integument. Also, note that the contents of the gallon jar, with an alcohol content around 95%, have a clear golden color, while the glass of limoncello in the center has a milky translucency. This is the same effect one sees when one mixes water with absinthe- as the percentage of alcohol decreases, the oil from the lemon peels forms a microemulsion in the glass:
La dolce vita, served by the glass.
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