#i wish i could know how to get that dusty texture dough has sometimes... just how....

[chimeragirlpleopods]

I only know one pizza dough recipe but it's too...doughy..and I only know one failsafe technique to get good gold-browning (tomato sauce on borders)

I'm like theory crafting every time I try some places pizzas and it's like I isyt outright wish I knew what to fucking try

I've considered a more water to flour approach but then how do you hand knead that???? wet dough fucking sucks to knead man

[nothingnoteworthy]

Chapter 2: “Home”

Althea did not enjoy sharing her apartment with a demon. She didn’t enjoy many things, but this was high on the list of things she disliked. She did what she could to ignore the presence. Kept to her own spaces. Cooked. Worked. Cooked at work. Work was cooking. It was a steady chopping, peaceful counting, the smoothness of a knife slicing through carrot pieces, even, crunchy, smells nice. Cool round pieces in her hands. Sizzling with the onions and garlic in the pan. Smells sweeter now, better. Celery went next. It was stringy and less pleasant to cut. But it felt nice whole. Althea preferred putting it into a food processor, letting the machine chop it so she wouldn’t have to deal with the strings much. She dropped the chunks into the pan, stepping back and watching everything soften for a few minutes. Kept her eyes on the pan. Refusing to look up. Whenever she did, Caroline would be looking back. With those big, fake eyes. Dead eyes. Cold. They were there now and Althea knew they were. Ruining the light from the window. Tainting the smell coming from her pan. Awful.

There wasn’t much choice to living with her either. If Caroline was allowed to leave than someone would die. Many someones probably. So she had to stay. Althea just wished there were more rules. Maybe they could keep her in a closet. Chain it shut. Throw those prepackaged microwave burritos that she shoved in her face by the dozen through a small hole. Gross unreasonably sticky burritos. Althea could make better ones. Not necessarily authentic, but she could cook meat and put it in a tortilla. And it wouldn’t be sticky. Why were they sticky? The thought made her skin crawl, trying to consider any possible reason why the burritos were sticky. Sweat kept popping into her mind and that wasn’t making it much better. That was grosser than just thinking about them being sticky to begin with. Maybe if you fried them they wouldn’t be sticky but you still knew that they would be if you put them in the microwave. And how could you eat them knowing that? And- 

“Excuse me, Althea? May I get something to drink?”

The sound made her jump and push her back into the corner. She relaxed slowly. Wren. Gentle, sweet Wren. Warm brown skin and warmer brown eyes. Eyes that never forced contact. She kept to her own space. Looked at your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, off into the clouds and the sky and wherever it was that she went when her face went soft and her mind vanished from the space she stood in. Her arms flexed, squeezing her fingers into her elbow, trying to warm her hands. She’s the only one that found herself very cold. Althea disagreed.

“Sure. Careful. Pan’s hot.” Althea cracked the cap of a box of vegetable stock, careful to keep it away from her. Stock always smelled too much. But it was better than making it herself. That would be messy, and she didn’t have much time as it was. Plus she would have to deal with possibly greasy bags and that was, unacceptable. Greasy textures were the worst. Slimy and sticky at the same time. Boxed was easier, better, faster. It flooded over the vegetables, covering their smell for just a moment. Her knife moved again. It was faster with squash, squash was softer, and the thick rings gave the soup a touch of pretty yellow. She watched Wren out of the corner of her eye, pouring cranberry juice into a narrow glass. Sweet but mostly bitter. It bit you, dried you out. Wren flowed too often towards bitter things. Took too much bitterness in. She avoided sugar, sweet, soft and light. Chocolate was sometimes, but only when it too was bitter. Heavy and Strong. She had plenty of sweetness on her own, smiling at Althea with a bright warmth. But still. Althea wanted to bake her cake. Instead, she decided to bake buttery, fluffy biscuits. Sweet was what she wanted, but savory would do.

She finished the soup in a hurry. Squash went in, then broccoli, then chicken that she’d baked and pulled. Done, ready to be alone, simmer and combine. Then flour. Soft and dusty. It got everywhere and cleaning it was a nightmare. But it was lovely when she was working with it. The butter was less fun. Only flour made it doable. And quick choppy movements. Buttermilk in the center. Mixing again. Sticky but not the wrong kind of sticky. Not the right kind either. Neutral, good and neutral. Althea flicked her eyes towards Wren, perched on the edge of the couch, glass loosely clutched between her hands, with the demon just a bit too close. They were talking about the show. About nothing. Too close. Made folding the dough easier. Pressing flat. Cutting. She stopped, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes. A laugh too sharp. A quieter snort. The loud echoing noise of the door being opened and closed.

“It’s me!” Eliana tossed her keys onto their hook, stretching her arms and taking a long breath in. “The restaurant’s going to be packed tomorrow, remember. Tourists are going to start pouring in again. It’s the season!“

Eliana matched Althea’s height but always came across as slight and graceful. Her energy pushed her across the room, slamming into her favorite chair with an electric laugh. The woman was as gorgeous, flawless dark skin, luxurious thick curly hair. All goodness and light. A living sunshower chasing the demon back to the corner of the couch. Wren relaxed. Eliana made her feel safe. Althea understood. Their friend was the real hero of the bunch. The kind that you got a poster of to put on your wall. Althea had one, though she had to order hers custom. When Eliana saw it, she laughed for days. Buying the poster was a good idea.

“I stopped at Mom’s afterwork to hang out and watch tv. Mostly that show where they mess up each other’s cooking with crab outfits or firecrackers or somethin, you know the one right, Althea?” A rich voice, smooth. Althea nodded.

“Yeah. That one and the grocery store one are the best” She hummed. The other poster on her wall. She actually learned her biscuit recipe from the host’s other show. She jumped, remembering her biscuits, tearing the pan out of the oven. Still that pretty golden brown. She needed to remember to set timers. When the house was full it became too distracting to cook without the annoying beeping. Shrill, incessant noises were better than burnt biscuits. These were okay. A little smear of butter and they’d be good. Nice, warm, filling. Tumbling into a soft white napkin in a little metal basket with birds decorating the metal rings. Set gently at the center of the table.

“Hell yeah the grocery store one. I left when they made this one chef use top ramen to make spaghetti. I don’t think that ended well.”

Althea pretended not to notice Wren nearly sliding off of the couch, holding herself up by sheer thigh strength alone, watching the table. No one liked bread quite like Wren liked bread. Especially fresh baked, buttered bread. No matter how often Althea baked Wren always looked at it like she was fresh out of the desert again.

Althea checked the soup, waving at Eliana when she was pleased with the consistency. Wren was first up, as always, lingering by the entry to the small galley kitchen, waiting for Althea to serve herself first. Althea grabbed her favorite bowl and carefully spooned in the right ratio of broth and fillings. Too much broth and she’d leave a puddle to splash around the yellow porcelain. To little broth and she’d be left with mushy vegetables. Maybe a string of chicken or two. She rested the bowl on a small plate, carrying it to her corner of the table. The heat pulsed from the bowl, steam twisting up, carrying warmth and humidity and the deep, comforting heaviness of a warm meal.  The best times were always centered around food. Everyone gathered around it. Close. Together. The fastest track to peace.

Althea gingerly picked up a biscuit, shuffling it in half with a butterknife. Wren sat in the chair next to her, using a bowl that was probably meant more as a serving dish than as an eating one. She grinned at Althea, already grabbing a biscuit and dropping it on a napkin. She bit her biscuit whole, smiling, clearly delighted. If only it was that easy to keep the smile there. Just bake and bake and bake until every bad memory was buried in flour and butter. Eliana had a spoon in her mouth before she hit her chair, nodding approvingly at Wren. As long as it was kosher Eliana wasn’t hard to please either. Althea had never had much problem getting either her or Wren to eat anything that she cooked. It was comforting. She didn’t think she would get rid of the nervous prickling when she watched them take that first bite, but it would go away quicker and quicker. Like Wren’s biscuit. She sheepishly wiped the crumbs off her lips before grabbing another. This one she was a little slower with, lightly spreading butter between two halves.

“Thank you Althea. I could eat nothing but biscuits.” Wren hummed.

“You already do eat nothing but biscuits.” Eliana replied. Wren laughed, quieting with the withering look Caroline was sending her. She set her biscuit down, opting for slow sips of the soup from a deep spoon.

“I could totally do it too though if there was enough butter. For the calcium.” Eliana was still grinning, taking careful spoonfuls of veggies visibly trying to keep the spoon from overflowing with broth. “Although, I guess multivitamins could be used for calcium. But that’s less fun. And less delicious.”

“Are you saying my biscuits need butter to be good?”

“Oh No, I- oh wait you’re playing with me. How cruel. Caroline can you believe this?” Eliana dramatically draped herself against Caroline, resting a hand on her heart. “I’ve been betrayed. How will I ever recover?”

Caroline rolled her eyes, but put on a smile anyway. “How could you, Althea. Our poor, sweet Eliana. She may die from this you know. History has a lot of records of young women dying from heart break.”

“Most of those are like. Plays.”

“Hush Eliana, let your death come quietly. The records are official, from hospitals at the time. That certainly were not speaking from ignorance or mind control or any combination of the two.”

“Oh yeah, yes. Very official. So sad. Am dying.” Eliana nodded, stretching her jaw and making loud exaggerated groans. Caroline raised a hand to her own face, as if dabbing tears away from her eyes. Both seemed intent to carry this on as long as possible. Althea narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

“Oh no, that’s sad. And I think, Dead people don’t do whatever it is you’re doing with your face.” Wren chirped, wiping a spot of broth off their face. “Then again, maybe they do if they’re dying of heartbreak. I’ve never seen that happen.”

“Just say the word and I can show you.” Caroline smiled, batting her eyelashes. Elthea shoved herself back up.

“Thanks for being a creep mate. That’s one way to end a joke. Hope you’re ready for an exciting night of not sleeping. I for one am glad that my life is controlled by adhd and thus I would be awake anyway.”

"Yeah, yeah. Can't we just sit here while Wren eats biscuits." Caroline snarked rocking the chair backward. "You don't even use the night properly. What's the point if you're just going to intentionally attract attention. Why not use the daytime."

"We do, when we can. But some of us work during the day." Eliana pushed her chair in, carrying an armful of dishes to the sink.

"Yeah, because they don't want to do things the right way. I mean. Come on. Don't certain people just deserve to lose a few bucks? From my experience, they hardly notice anyway. Don't you agree Wren?" Caroline cooed, standing up and leaning over the table, managing to make herself tower over the others despite being the shortest.

"I, well, No. That wouldn’t be right. We're trying to be the good ones." Wren muttered, getting up to help Eliana clean the kitchen.

Caroline smiled and murmured so softly Althea could barely hear her. “Try harder.”

<- Last Chapter  I  Next Chapter ->

[saralooky-blog]

Half bathroom & Kitch

So my dusty old house has one bathroom - upstairs. I do a lot of entertaining...sometimes my upstairs bedrooms are not in tip top shape....so I close the doors. Guests go up to use the bathroom and come down saying, “Oh my gosh, the bedrooms are so big....” Isn’t that interesting how they have x-ray vision, looking through doors. I’d rather they went through the medicine cabinet than to see the clutter. “Less is more” is a thing I strive for....but I have yet to achieve it. 

When I moved into the house, the previous owners told me they were going to put a half bathroom in on the first floor but decided to sell instead. They thought it would cost between $5K-$6K.  I lived here for 3 3/4 years before signing on for real with a company. I say for real  because I had about a dozen quotes from various companies and contractors I had met at the “Louisville Home Show.” Let me tell you, I have never been so disrespected in my life by some of those contractors.  One guy told me there was no way, as I single woman, I could own a house. WHAT? Was this a joke? That actually seemed to be a bit of a running theme there. Some contractors said they didn’t do small projects and would only agree to come look/quote if I agreed to do a kitchen remodel too. My house was $130K - a kitchen remodel at $40k-$60k seems nuts here. I made a few appointments with companies who said they’d just do a half-bath.  It was BS - they all quoted me on bathroom and kitchen....and the price tags were between $45K-$70k. Hard pass.

I called my realtor for a recommendation - she referred me to a guy named Dustin...he came, he quoted, I hired...he never showed up. How does that work? How do you run a business like this? Thankfully, he never collected any dough---so when he never returned my call (I’m talking 3 months)....I moved on.

Through a Facebook group, I found my current contractor - Murphy Construction.  Super nice guy, quote seemed reasonable.  I told him I had 2 projects - 1. Add a half bathroom, 2. Replace white textured tile (gross, why in a kitch!?!?) with wood floor.  He quoted both and told me he could get a better deal on materials and such if I did both right away. I signed on. Plumbing is in, electric is in, framing has started.  As the workers start to remove the flooring they see that the owners through the years continued to cover up one flooring after another --- so from top down....gross white/textured tile, cream linoleum, more linoleum, and then some places have laminate, some places have the original wood flooring that is through my home elsewhere, and then then the sub floor.  What i wasn’t prepared for was the dust. I don’t know why, but I thought it would stay in my kitch more or less--there are lots of walls between the kitch and the rest of the house.  Boy was I wrong.....so if my house isn’t a cluster F already within everything from the kitch moved into the dining room - now everything (I mean EVERYTHING) is covered in a layer of dust. Aiming to cover everything in plastic tonight - wish me luck.

[the-coconut-asado]

SALTA & SPICE

It happened over dinner in Agozar! on Manhattan’s Lower East Side. Just like any good Film Noir. 

We were out with my Argentine cousin Steffi and her husband and had just tucked into a platter of spicy chicken empanadas, along with an array of other lip-tingling starters. I don’t know what made me say it – two cocktails down with an on-trend jalapeno spike, or the simple human urge to confide – but I blurted: “These empanadas are tastier than the ones I have eaten in Buenos Aires.”

Time did an emergency break stop. Steffi’s habitually sunny face snapped shut, and the atmosphere switched from fiesta to fucked-off faster than you could say ‘Mojito.’ “ I don’t think so,” she whispered curtly, eyes narrowed. Conversation shifted to more neutral ground for the rest of the meal. My comments soon went viral on our family Whatsapp group, and three months later I am still waiting for them to drop the subject.

The moral to this story is: never tell an Argentine that someone else does it better. A few blogs back I may have mentioned that Italian gelato is the best in the world. Fairly safe territory you would think but my husband told me I was taking a big risk putting Argentina in second place. In this instance, I was actually comparing a chicken empanada (not the traditional beef variety) with the Buenos Aires equivalent, and to be fair once any empanada takeaways stray from the original recipe, things can get a little shall we say, bland. In fact,  few can do empanada fast food in a country you thought would have nailed it.

What I didn’t realise, so little had I travelled around Argentina, was that I was judging this spicy Cuban delicacy against just one style of empanada. Let’s call it the Pasty of the Porteno. Beef, olives, egg and a smattering of herbs and cumin.

But my perspective broadened when I visited Salta this Autumn. Salta and neighbouring Jujuy are the Northern most provinces of Argentina. The air is thinner there, and the altitude higher. Step outside the city walls, and walk straight onto the set of a spaghetti western. Desert, cactus and dust. A world away from the 1930’s elan of the capital: more grounded, spiritual, visually stunning  - and most certainly poorer.

Salta isn’t parrilla country. You are more likely to be offered llama than steak. Not surprising given it’s proximity to Bolivia and Peru, the classic local dishes are tamales and humitas, not morcilla and provoleta. But the biggest difference here is their use of spices. They actually have a spice market in Salta where Buenos Aires society recoils in fear at the mention of a red pepper.

We ate our first Saltena empanadas in Quebrada de Humahuaca, a town of dusty beauty in a dramatic desert setting three and a half thousand feet above sea level. This was day two of our trip, and the night before we had eaten our first ever disappointing Argentine steak. A restaurant where they were disinfecting the glass door as we entered and mopping the floor as we were sitting down. The state of the bread rolls should have had us guessing how it would end. But that was yesterday and today we were full of hope and high on little oxygen.

The steps up to the restaurant had left me bewilderingly short of breath and light headed, thanks to what I was reliably informed later was mild altitude sickness. They served empanadas to start, which were pleasingly spicier than the norm, but nothing to write home about (and only written about here to keep the narrative thread going). This was followed by llama stew (sometimes you just eat stuff for the experience), and then a dessert that tasted better than it looked – cayote jam and goat’s cheese. The cayote plant is native to the region so don’t expect to see it in Sainsbury’s or Walmart any time soon. It tasted pleasant and sweet but the fruit flavour was non-specific.

By day three in the North, we finally started to get our food choices right. First up  - and you will gasp at this in the land of the cow on a spit -  we found perhaps one of the world’s best vegan rstaurants. The guidebook write up said we should be prepared to wait ages for our food in Chirimoya, but as it turned out, we didn’t wait that long, and it didn’t matter anyway. The atmosphere was like a day spa but with seductive food aromas instead of aromatherapy oils. We whiled away a stress-free couple of hours drinking freshly blended fruit juices and working our way through a platter of Pico lo Macho – their vegan interpretation of the classic Bolivian stew.

And second and most significant, we ate the best Saltena empanadas, and (I am happy to stake my reputation on it), the best empanadas I have ever tasted. They are served in La Criollita, a restaurant straight out of the 1940s, with caricatures of famous Argentine crooners and comedians on the walls and a proprietor straight out of ‘Allo ‘Allo. The empanadas were hot little parcels of yum and left a pleasing chilli hum on our lips, while the humidas and tamales we were then emboldened to order were simple yet moreish. Ambrosia in a cornhusk. 

If you never make it to Salta, you can get a taste of it by trying out my recipe for Saltena Empanadas, and relive the oasis that was Chirimoya with my version of their Pico lo Macho. I liked the idea of the jam and cheese dessert in Humahuaca, so have finished here with a dish that replaces the elusive cayote jam with home made membrillo, (the classic Argentine quince ‘cheese’) and goat’s curd whipped with crème fraiche. As my Auntie Grace would say, if you don’t like it then Hasta Luego!

 Saltenas Empanadas

Worth doubling this recipe, (my version of Enrique Zanoni’s recipe from Argentinian Street Food) if you are having a party. Easy to hold in one hand with a glass of wine in the other, though they do benefit from a dip in the accompanying tomato salsa, which could make a small plate necessary. Makes 8-10 empanadas.

Ingredients For the dough:

500g plain flour

2 tsp salt

80-100 ml sunflower oil

For the filling:

1 tblspn sunflower oil

250g rump steak, chopped into very small cubes

1 sliced red onion

2 tsp ground cumin

1 tsp ground coriander

1 tblspn Mexican ancho paste

1 tsp paprika

3 hard boiled eggs, chopped

1 potato, peeled and chopped into small cubes

Grated zest of ½ a lemon

 For the tomato Salsa:

3 medium tomatoes

1 onion, finely chopped

1 small red finger chilli, diced

1 clove garlic, crushed

1 tbsp dried chilli flakes

1 tbsp cayenne pepper

60ml extra virgin olive oil

 How to make:

Pop the potatoes into some boiling salted water and cook for about 10 minutes. Remove the potato and put to ones side, then add the rump steak to the boiling water and cook for 3 mins. Drain and set aside.  Saute the chopped onion in the oil on a low heat until softened and slightly caramelized, around 10 mins, then add the meat, the spices and the potato. Take off the heat, season with sea salt and freshly ground pepper and set aside while you make the dough. If you wish you can cover this and keep it in the fridge for several hours to develop the flavours.

 For the dough: Add the sunflower oil and 180g water to the flour and salt in a bowl. Mix until it has come together and then turn out onto a floured surface and knead for about 10 minutes until smooth and elastic (this is not flaky pastry you are making but a robust casing). Wrap in clingfilm or foil and rest for two hours.

While the dough is resting, make the salsa. Grate the tomatoes into a bowl, discarding the skin. Mix in the remaining ingredients and season with sea salt and freshly ground black pepper.

Roll out the dough onto a floured surface and, using a 14cm round pastry cutter, cut the dough into rounds. Spoon a tbpn of the steak and potato mixture into the middle and top with a little boiled egg. Moisten the edges with a little water, then fold into a half moon shape and seal the edges. Then fold the edge of the empanada into a series of little pleats (see photo) to give it the classic decorative edge. Repeat with the remaining empanadas.

Fill a wok with a litre of sunflower oil and heat to 180C or until a cube of bread turns brown and crisp in the oil. Carefully add a few empanadas at a time to the oil and fry for about 5 minutes, turning if necessary, until they are browned. If they are starting to brown too quickly, turn the heat down a little.

Drain on kitchen paper and serve warm with the salsa for dipping.

Vegan Pico lo Macho

This dish is a simple process of cooking, chopping and layering.

If you stick to the overall rule of mixing cooked, ambient and raw vegetables together, then you can pretty much make up your own combinations here. The real wow factor of this dish are the fried quinoa patties. If you are not vegan, you can substitute the tahini paste for a whisked large egg as a binding agent. Serves 4.

Ingredients

300g padron peppers

500g small new potatoes

1 large red pepper

1 large or 2 mall ripe avocadoes

Juice of 1 lime

1 large red onion,

raspberry vinegar

200g quinoa

tahini paste or 1 whisked egg

4 tomatoes, and 10 cherry tomatoes

250g chestnut mushrooms

25g olive oil

300ml olive or sunflower oil

 How to make:

Boil the new potatoes in plenty of water and some sea salt until they hold their shape but you can easily pass a knife through them. Toss in a little olive oil and set aside.

Cook the quinoa according to the instructions on the packet, then cool. Mix with the tahini paste and form into small flattened discs.

Char the red pepper and pardon peppers on a griddle until the skin blackens. Chop up and de-seed the pepper and toss the padron peppers in sea salt.

Cut a large red onion into rings and soak in enough raspberry vinegar to cover. Chop the tomatoes. Chop the mushrooms and fry in the olive oil until the juices start to run, then set aside (don’t discard the juice). Chop the avocadoes and toss in the lime juice.

Heat the olive or sunflower oil and fry the quinoa patties on both sides until golden. Drain on kitchen paper.

To assemble: Layer the vegetables, contrasting colours and textures and pouring the mushroom juices all over, on a platter, then dot the quinoa patties all around. If you wish, garnish with chopped parsley and serve immediately.

 Membrillo and Whipped Goat’s Curd.

One of my abiding childhood memories was of my Auntie Joan bringing over tins of membrillo when she visited us in London. Quinces are only in season for about a month here – mid October to mid November –but if you can find them, and work with them (they are unsympathetic to peel and chop as this picture shows) then this paste-like jam is easy, if not quick, to make. 

Makes enough for 18-20 slices. 

Ingredients:

For the membrillo:

3 Quinces, peeled, cored and cut into large chunks

1 large bay leaf

1 vanilla pod, split

Caster sugar (amount to be determined by quanitity of cooked quince).

To serve 4: 100g goat’s curd (you can buy this at Wholefood Stores or use cream cheese as a substitute); 2 tbpn crème fraiche.

How to make:

For the membrillo. Pop the quince chunks into a saucepan and cover with water. Add the split vanilla pod and the bay leaf. Bring to the boil then cover and simmer for around 40 minutes or until the quinces are soft enough to slide a knife through easily.

 Drain the liquid from the quinces, discard the vanilla pod and bay lead and liquidise in a food processor. Measure the quince puree back into a saucepan (should yield about 3 cups) then add the same quantity of caster sugar as you have quince puree. Cook over a low heat, stirring constantly until the sugar dissolves, then continue to cook, stirring occasionally for about 11/2 hours, until the pale yellow puree has gone a dark pink.

 Heat the oven to 100C. Pour the cooked paste into an 8in pie tin which has been greased and lined with baking parchment. Continue to cook in the oven for an hour. Remove from the oven and cool. At this point you can cover and refrigerate if you wish.

 To serve: whip the goats curd with the crème fraiche and smooth a generous tsp onto each plate. Add a slice of membrillo and enjoy.