Condiment Inspiration

My son has recently discovered that his favorite meat is chicken.  For some reason, I was craving chicken too this evening, so I got two packages of Triple S chicken thighs from the freezer.  I was wondering what to do with them, standing gazing into the fridge for inspiration, when my eye fell on my condiments.  I’ve been on a mission to minimize our condiments recently, so I scanned the small bottles and jars for the oldest, saddest representatives.  One tall jar stood out, only about an eighth full of green olives; the rest was briny olive juice and dejected looking pimentos.  That's the one, I thought!

For some strange reason, I have a bunch of recipes for Moroccan chicken stew.  I glanced at a couple of them and realized that they all had some base ingredients in common:  green olives, garlic, diced tomatoes, broth, white wine or lemon juice and bay leaves.  I dumped in the olives and juice, some white wine (1/2 cup, I think), some garlic, a can of diced tomatoes, four bay leaves, a huge bunch of chopped fresh thyme.  I realized afterwards I forgot to throw in a cinnamon stick, the flavor that really makes the dish exotic.

Not one to waste time on a Monday evening, I threw all of this over the chicken without browning it (when it’s a stew anyway, I just don’t see the point) in my giant cast iron cauldron; I heaved it into a 425 degree oven for an hour (the chicken was still partly frozen; once again, I just don’t see the point of defrosting it completely for a stew). I then sliced up some beets from our shares, tossed them in olive oil and spread them in a shallow baking dish to go in at 30 minutes.  After a frantic scouring of the pantry shelves for couscous, I finally found some quinoa instead.  I felt like I had successfully combined the flavors of North Africa, Eastern Europe, and South America—a global meal success!

Now, I wonder what I can do with that half-full jar of jalapeños….

My inspiration

Cheek , Lips, Tongue (and other [un]desirable parts)

When I was in my first semester of undergraduate study abroad in France, we toured the Loire Valley.  One afternoon we checked into a hostel housed in a former chateau.  We were charmed, and despite the more-than-modest furnishings, were expecting a sumptuous midday meal befitting a duke/duchess-in-residence.  What we got?  Boiled beef tongue with lentils.  With a fit of the giggles tingeing on hysteria, we tried our best to tucker in.  Like most new foods, it is texture, not flavor, that the taster often objects to.  This was definitely my case.  Cutting the tongue was too easy; chewing was….well….chewy.  I was well on my way to swallowing my first bite when my friend Rachel leaned conspiratorially over the table and whispered sotto voce, “why do I feel like I’m French-kissing a cow?”

I couldn’t even swallow it.

I tried to make do with the lentils, but I’ve never been a fan of that texture either.  My “sumptuous” lunch now consisted of bread crusts (everyone else had grabbed the good pieces when they caught sight of the tongue) and a sad little yogurt.

Never one to be easily defeated, I once again tried tongue.  This time, my French roommate had invited me back to her parents’ house in Mâcon for an anniversary celebration.  There could not be a dish more diametrically opposed to the tongue and lentils of the chateau--veal tongue swimming in demi-glace with morels.  I’m glad I wasn’t put off by the first experience, because truly the veal tongue was one of the most deliciously memorable meals of my life.

I’m still not a big fan of organs, or—as I like to call them—“clearly identifiable body parts.”  I remember fondly a moment when a beautiful Brazilian man named Wellington offered me his heart…and handed it to me on a stick.  I smiled seductively, or as seductively as one can when staring down a chicken heart.  Was it worth all the chewing?  I’m still not sure.  I am pretty sure, however, that he’s still laughing at the gringa  who couldn’t fully appreciate one of Brazil’s favorite street foods.

So when my dear friend Silvia sent me a recipe for beef cheeks earlier this year, I took it as a sign from the gods to once again step outside of my comfort zone.  But….cheeks, for god’s sakes!  My tongue rolled around my mouth, stroking the soft insides of my own cheeks.  Try to be objective, I thought.  They’re soft, sure to be tender.  But, could I even find them?  By the time I was looking at the order form for my monthly meat-buying club order I had completely forgotten them; but guess what jumped out at me?  That’s right, there they were, available, fairly inexpensive, and organic.  Huh.

The cheeks, I will have to admit, have been languishing in my deep freezer for a couple of months.  I finally took them out to thaw.  I started with Silvia’s forwarded recipe (http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Braised-Beef-Cheeks-107803), and her suggestions for changes (substitute leeks for celery, add garlic, etc.), and I took a short inventory of what vegetables we had recently gotten in our shares.  Leeks?  Check (cute little pungent fellows from my CSA share).  Celery?  Nope, but I could pick up a package of organic celery at the store.  Wine?  Of course.  Canned tomatoes?  Wouldn’t be caught dead without them.  Carrots?  No, but I do have other root vegetables:  turnips and a couple of teeny-tiny beets.  Onions?  Always.  Garlic?  Oops, no cloves, no jar, forgot both at the store.  But, hey, here’s a chance to try out those garlic scapes winding their way around my crisper drawer.

I chopped the veggies the night before into small bits:  1 onion, 2 ribs celery, 3 very small turnips, 2 teensy beets, 3 small but mighty leeks, 5 garlic scapes.  On my lunch hour the following day I decided to forgo actual lunch and brown the meat (about 5 pounds), remove from frying pan and add all the veggies and sauté for about 5 minutes.  I added 2 cups of cabernet sauvignon, ½ teaspoon of cocoa powder, two 14-oz. cans of organic diced tomatoes, salt and pepper.  I tried to make everything come to a boil, but I didn’t really have enough time; I ended up dumping it into my crock pot, turning it on high, and timing it for 4.5 hours.

When I got home, I strained out as much broth as I could and reduced it by 2/3 in a saucepan.  The veggies lent an earthy flavor, the sauce was rich and velvety, and the cheeks were magnificently tender.  I didn’t even need a knife to cut through.  Success.  And a little of my fear of body parts went away, thanks to Silvia.

After dinner, my son was standing in the kitchen.  Kissing him on the head, I asked, “What’s up?”

“Chicken butt,” was his prompt reply.

No, I will not be trying that any time soon.