The Texan's Shortbread

First, just because it was beautiful and delicious:

All weddings should have towers of cupcakes, don't you think?

That's a champagne buttercream frosting with strawberries right there. 

Our cutting cake was cinnamon-chocolate cake with spicy chocolate ganache and Kahlua buttercream. I KNOW.

One of my favorites is this one: Guinness-chocolate cupcakes with Bailey's buttercream. Fine, they're all my favorite.

Wedding photos by Sweet Poppy Studios.

Our wedding was so much fun! We decided to have a brunch reception, and just happened to pick a gorgeous June day for it. Many people pitched in to make it great, including three people who loaned us cake stands to hold our seven zillion cupcakes.


In the months after our wedding, our conversations about food have started to change. Sure, we got some cookbooks as gifts and have found several new favorite recipes, and we are usually eating meatless twice a week instead of just once, but there's been another kind of change, too. The Texan, who literally didn't know how to hold a knife properly and has been known to take 15 minutes to cut up an avocado, took a knife skills class. So now dinner prep goes like this:

Me: Could you please cut up that bell pepper?
Texan: Do you want that diced or julienned?

And weekends sound like this:

T: What do you want to do this weekend?
Me: I dunno. Swimming, maybe. What do you want to do?
T: I feel like making shortbread.

Just this weekend, I come home from an out-of-town conference, and the next day happens to be my birthday. I walk in the house and smell fresh-baked brownies, which later get served to me with a side of lemon sorbet.

Me: You made brownies? For me? Wow.
T: Yep. With pecans on top. How do you like the sorbet?
Me: It's good. Where'd you buy it?
T: I made it.
Me: Seriously?
T: I squeezed the lemons by hand. It took forever! Guess what else is in it? Here, I'll just tell you. I added some of that tea you like. Plus a splash of bourbon.

What in the actual fuck?

I decided to take him up on his yen for shortbread. A long-term substitute teacher at my school, who also happens to be a puppy raiser for Guide Dogs for the Blind, had come to the end of her assignment, and we wanted to throw her a mini party to say thanks for all her hard work. She has dog-themed everything: shirts, earrings, sweaters, socks, quilts, placemats, you name it. And she is raising her 19th puppy, who came to school each day, for Guide Dogs. So what better theme to use than Bone Voyage?

I didn't think of this theme on my own. I've been to one other Bone Voyage party, so I knew shortbread shaped to look like dog biscuit would be the perfect treat. There was a straightforward recipe on the back of the bag of flour, so the Texan jumped right in. My only contribution was blitzing some nuts for half the dough. The rest was all him.

Coworkers specifically stopped me and told me how much they liked the shortbread bones. Not just the cuteness, but the actual shortbread. It was really simple, but really good. Possibly even the best ever.

And I have to agree with them.

The Texan's Brown Sugar Shortbread
adapted from our bag of Natural Directions organic AP flour

1 C butter, softened
1/2 C brown sugar
1/4 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp salt
2 C AP flour
1/3 C finely chopped nuts, such as pecans or almonds (optional)

1. Preheat oven to 325 degrees.
2. Cream butter, brown sugar, and vanilla extract until fluffy. 
3. Add salt, flour, and nuts if using, and mix well.
4. On a lightly floured surface, roll dough into 1/2" thick rectangle.
5. Cut into shapes with cookie cutter, or cut into rectangles 
   1.5" x 2.5"
6. Place cookies onto baking sheets lined with parchment or silicone mats. Prick with fork.
7. Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until light golden brown. Cool completely on wire rack.

Meatless Mondays: Sushi Night

You can put pretty much anything in a sushi roll.

Like tempura asparagus.

And orange segments.

And Mexican-style salsa.

No, seriously. The Texan and I have eaten all of these things and more in various rolls we've tried, and loved them all.  So we figured fishless sushi would feel like a kind of roll we just hadn't tried yet.

We found a recipe for quinoa maki (the type of roll that is made with rice and filling and wrapped in seaweed, or nori) with avocado and Cajun portobello fillets in The Conscious Cook by Tal Ronnen*. The author argues that quinoa is more nutritious than white rice and has an interesting texture to boot, so is perfect for sushi. I was a little skeptical, so I made some sushi rice just in case, but the Texan and I both really liked the quinoa rolls.

Also just in case, I seared some extra-firm tofu in a bottled teriyaki marinade, because I was a little worried the portobellos would be gross. Which they weren't. At all. I marinated them in a mixture of white wine, Cajun seasoning, white wine vinegar, and some spices, and later seared them so they would dry out a bit and get crispy-ish. Perhaps they were selected for a veggie roll recipe because they tend to have that slightly slimy-chewy-raw texture the way raw fish does, but these were no fish substitute-- these were just good in their own right.
 

A friend sent me a sushi mat and some chopsticks from Japan when she lived there, so our rolling efforts were, you know, authentic and whatnot. 

The Texan's roll of choice: tri-color quinoa, portobello, tofu, avocado, and carrot.

Our rolls were a little messy. We admit it.

Sushi Night #2: Veggie rolls with avocado and spicy mayo

I made some miso soup with little cubes of tofu and sliced scallions, the way they do in some Japanese restaurants.  I used yellow miso, never having used any miso before, and figured I'd try the middle-of-the-road strength for my first time. (Miso comes in three colors: white, the least fermented and mildest, yellow, and red, the most fermented and most intense.) I would be game to try red miso next time, for a little extra flavor.

The recipe calls for a little mayonnaise to be mixed with a tiny bit of sambal oelek (Thai chili-garlic sauce) and then rolled up with the rest of the fillings. I completely forgot to make it, but we have had sushi at restaurants that have drizzled something similar over certain rolls, and we like it a lot. The next time we make sushi we will have to try it. Yes, there will be a next time. Even the Texan said so.


Fishless sushi is ridiculously inexpensive to make. Packs of nori can be gotten for under $2, and contain 10-12 sheets per pack. Each sheet yields 5 or 6 pieces, so one pack makes at least 50 pieces of sushi. Sushi rice is a little more expensive than regular white rice, but not astronomical, and regular rice with some binder ingredients could be used in a pinch. I used only one portobello last night, along with a carrot, an avocado, a few pea sprouts, and half a pack of tofu. That's it. You can use whatever combination of vegetables (or fruit, if you are feeling especially avant garde) you like, but you probably won't spend more than a few dollars on all the fillings. Go Team Vegetables!



* The title makes the book sound like the hokiest bunch of hippie crap on the planet, but it isn't. And it contains recipes for dairy substitutes that don't involve soy milk, so I am all over it. Dairy and I just don't get along.

Meatless Mondays

It's Monday, and the Texan and I are going meatless.

                                                 ****************************************

After reading this article in the latest issue of my UCLA Alumni magazine, I was inspired to go totally meatless a minimum of one day a week. There was only one problem: I knew I had to get the Texan to try it. Otherwise, each Monday I'd be nibbling on tofu and salad greens while he chowed down on a steak, my martyrdom to the planet spilling over onto the table between us. But how was I going to convince a guy to go meatless who owns a t-shirt from a barbecue joint in Texas that says, "Vegetarian: The Indian word for Terrible Hunter"?

I decided to take the direct approach. One evening when I knew we were going out to an area with a large bookstore, I told him I had a proposition for him that involved reading a short article. I figured this would help my cause because a) he is an avid reader, and b) he loves facts. When he finished, I planned to just come out and say that I wanted to do Meatless Mondays and I wanted him to do it with me, please. I sat him on the sofa, handed him the article, and had this conversation:

Me: (silently rehearsing elevator speech)
Texan, finishing article: "You know, we should probably eat less meat. We could do Meatless Mondays or something like that."

Me: (silently) Wait, what?
(out loud) "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. We can stop at the bookstore tonight and look at vegetarian cookbooks."

Texan: (silently) That's EXACTLY how I wanted to spend my evening: perusing tofu and bulgher wheat recipes.
(out loud):  "Great! Let's go!"

As luck would have it, we found not one but two cookbooks we both liked, one of which is appropriately titled The Meat-Free Monday Cookbook and offers three seasonally appropriate meals for each week of the year.

Over dinner that night, we had this conversation:

Texan: "You know, it's really just one day a week. We can totally do it."

Me: "Yeah, and we already eat vegetarian breakfasts, so it's just two more meals that day that have to be veg."

Texan: "But if we like it and find recipes we like, we could make it two nights a week. Or even three."

Me: (silently) The fuck?
(out loud) "That'd be cool. I have to admit, though, I was surprised when you suggested doing Meatless Mondays."

Texan, waving hands evangelist-style: "As I read the article, I was worried you had, like, seen the light and wanted to go totally vegan or something. So that's why I suggested Meatless Mondays before you could say anything: I figured one day a week was better than seven."

Ah, there's my carnivore.

                                                          **************************************

Tonight's meal? Homemade tamales, salad, and maybe some vegan chocolate cake for dessert.

Want Some Coffee With That?

Thumbing through John Ash's Cooking One on One, the Texan and I both said, "Oooooh!" when we turned to the page with a recipe for brisket braised in coffee.  Neither one of us knew exactly who John Ash was, but we figured he knew what he was talking about with that recipe, which combines two Really Good Things.

Wouldn't you know it that John Ash has had a restaurant and a radio show here in northern California for a few years. Or 30. He does the whole fresh/local/seasonal thing a la Alice Waters, only in Santa Rosa, and his dishes are created to match the wines being made in that region. He also does a few other things. Like teach at the culinary academy in the Napa Valley. Whatever.

Wouldn't you also know it that the Texan and I have somewhat different definitions of brisket. His version involves a barbeque and slicing the beef. Mine involves simmering in a Dutch oven for hours on end, a tomato-y braising sauce, and meat that just falls apart when it's done. So imagine his surprise when I spend all day simmering the meat, he spends all day thinking about the barbecued flesh he's about to eat, and he sits down to a meal that has no slices in sight. Poor thing.

With The Texan's homemade bread and some sauteed vegetables with toasted pecans.

Whatever our differences, we agreed that a) the meat was ridiculously tender and flavorful; b) we couldn't really taste the coffee, but perhaps its job was simply to tenderize, not to flavor-ize;  c) there is more than one way to cook brisket. In fact, the Texan liked it enough to want it for dinner the following evening, as we were getting ready to go up to our local observatory for a meteor shower. There was just one small problem:

I'm the blue. He's the white.

His surprise was not due to my having eaten the brisket for another meal. His surprise was due to the cut of meat I used WEIGHING TWO POUNDS and there being so little left that it wouldn't satiate him for dinner. As in, "Where the %@*# did you put it? Your hollow leg? Or are you now thirty pounds heavier?"

He swears he would love me at any weight. To which my response is, "Really???"

Brisket Braised in Coffee

adapted from Cooking One on One by John Ash

serves 6-8

(I cut the recipe in half)

4 lbs beef brisket, trimmed of excess fat

4 TBSP olive oil

3 yellow onions (1 1/2 lbs total), sliced

1/4 C sliced garlic

2 TBSP powdered chiles, such as ancho or Chimayo (this is NOT the same as chili powder, which is a blend of several spices and flavorings)

2 tsp whole fennel seeds

2 tsp cumin seeds

2/3 C packed brown sugar

2/3 C apple cider vinegar

4 C strong brewed coffee

1 C chicken, beef, or vegetable stock (or use canned broth)

1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes, with juice

salt and pepper to taste

1. Season meat with salt and pepper. Heat 2 TBSP olive oil in a Dutch oven or other large pot. Brown brisket on both sides over high heat. Remove meat from pot, discard excess fat, and leave about a tablespoon in pot.*

2. Saute onions and garlic in fat over high heat until they just begin to color. Add powdered chile and saute another minute. Add fennel, cumin, sugar, vinegar, coffee, stock, and tomatoes, and bring to a simmer. Return brisket to pot, cover, and let simmer over a low flame for 1 1/2 to 2 hours, or until meat is very tender. 

3. Adjust salt and pepper to taste. Allow brisket to sit (e.g. on an unheated back burner) for 15 minutes. Serve. 

*You can discard all meat fat and saute onions in olive oil if you prefer, but using the fat already in the pan yields more flavorful results.

Jalapeños Make Everything Better

I've noticed a pattern in several recent conversations.

Me: "I want to create a new kind of candy for my Etsy shop. I'm thinking about--"
The Texan, interrupting: "What about chocolate-covered jalapeños?"

or,

Me: "What do you think about flavored caramels? You know, like espresso or chocolate."
T:  "I'm thinking jalapeño-flavored caramels."

and then,

Me: "Would you please make a loaf of bread to have with dinner tonight?"
T: "Jalapeño bread all the way, baby!"

Knock yourself out.

But then we decided to make chili, and because we both love cornbread, we knew that Coyote Joe's Jalapeño Bacon Cornbread recipe was the flavor direction we wanted to head in. However, the two cups of buttermilk, two eggs, cup of cheddar, one-third cup of butter, and half-pound of bacon in the recipe wasn't the direction our arteries wanted to head in, so we used the recipe on the back of the box of cornmeal and added a single slice of applewood-smoked bacon and a jalapeño.

It was ridiculous. As in, really good. And perfect with a bowl of chili.

But then, as we made our second batch of cornbread to eat with the leftover chili, I noticed our conversations were heading in a new direction.

The Texan, wide-eyed: "Let's add the entire half-pound of bacon that Coyote Joe's recipe calls for!"
Me: "Let's not."
T: "Why?"
Me: "Because Coyote Joe had gastric bypass surgery in 2006."

Chocolate-covered jalapeños are starting to sound pretty good right now.

Jalapeño-Bacon Cornbread
adapted from On the Chile Trail and Albers
makes 12 servings

1 C yellow corn meal

1 C all-purpose flour

1/4 C granulated sugar

1 TBSP baking powder

1 tsp salt

1 C milk (I used 1/4 C milk + 3/4 C soy milk)

1/3 C vegetable oil

1 egg, lightly beaten

1-2 slices cooked bacon, crumbled

1-2 jalapeños, diced and seeded

1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Coat an 8" x 8" pan with cooking spray. 

2. Combine corn meal, flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt in a medium bowl. 

3. Combine milk, oil, and egg in small bowl. Mix well. 

4. Add milk mixture to flour mixture. Stir until just incorporated.

5. Add bacon and jalapeño. Stir until just combined. Do not overmix! Pour into prepared pan.

6. Bake for 20-25 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.

Note: This recipe can also be used to make muffins. Fill cups 2/3 full and bake for 15 minutes, using same test for doneness as above.

West Texas, California

A bunch of things happened at once:
-a fellow food blogger left me a comment that while she'd never tried ground buffalo, she could attest to the fact that buffalo steaks were delicious
-I found a book at the library about spicy food, with chapters called Cowboys, Cattlemen, Catholics, Cajuns, and Californians. You see where this is going
-the Texan came across buffalo steaks at Costco

My Irish Catholic mother used to make steaks in the broiler on a fairly regular basis. It wasn't always my favorite meal, though it was certainly one of hers. I can't remember ever making steaks on my own, much less making them for others, and to me steak and potatoes always seemed so, I dunno, expected. But when the steak stars aligned as they did, I felt compelled to see it through.

The Texan and I wanted to give the steaks a little flavor, so we tried West Texas Barbeque Rub from Coyote Joe's On the Chile Trail. With three kinds of pepper, sugar, salt, and cumin, we figured we couldn't go wrong. As it turned out, I liked it more than he did: I thought the heat from the cayenne was perfect on the meat, and was mellowed out just a little by the sugar and the mild peppers. And because I just might cook my own steak after this, I'm sure I'll find a way or three to use up the leftover rub.

Coyote Joe's recipe for Bourbon Sweet Potatoes was a no-brainer. As he puts it in the description above the recipe, "Heavy cream, butter, bourbon, and brown sugar... it's simply heaven." Well, yeah! The Texan said his mom always puts a little bourbon in her sweet potatoes. I'd never even thought of it, so clearly I've missed something all these years. Oblivion aside, I thought boozy sweet potatoes with our buffalo steaks would be just the right spin on the typical meal, so I didn't skimp at all on the cream. Or butter. Or brown sugar. Or bourbon. The texture, blitzed to perfection in my trusty Cuisinart food processor, was indeed heavenly. The sauteed pecans on top were just the right contrast to the smoothness. Plus, Texans love pecans.

I used white-fleshed sweet potatoes, but you can use whichever kind you like.

Of course, if you eat steak and potatoes for dinner, you have to eat a green vegetable with it. Which is a lesson I learned from my mother.

Broccoli, steamed with a little butter, lemon juice, salt, and pepper.

West Texas Barbeque Rub
from On the Chile Trail

6 TBSP ancho or mild New Mexico chile powder

1 TBSP granulated sugar

3 TBSP brown sugar

3 TBSP kosher salt

2 TBSP  ground black pepper

1 TBSP cumin (I used about 1/2 tsp)

1 TBSP cayenne powder

Mix all ingredients in a small bowl or container. Rub (really RUB) spice mixture into meat on both sides, if applicable. If possible, let meat absorb spices for 8-12 hours in refrigerator before cooking. If not, let stand for 20-30 minutes before cooking. 

Bourbon Sweet Potatoes

serves 6

from On the Chile Trail

3 sweet potatoes, peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes

1/2 C chopped pecans

1 tsp butter

3 TBSP soft butter

4 TBSP firmly packed brown sugar

4 TBSP heavy cream

3 TBSP bourbon

1/4 tsp cinnamon

pinch of nutmeg

salt to taste (I didn't use any)

1. Boil sweet potatoes for 30 minutes, or until tender.

2. As sweet potatoes are cooking, saute pecans in 1 teaspoon of butter for 2 minutes.

3. Drain sweet potatoes and place in food processor while still warm. Add 3 tablespoons of butter and remaining ingredients (and salt, if desired). Puree, adding more cream if needed to achieve soft, creamy consistency. 

4. Top with sauteed pecans.

Texas French Toast

Before we started dating, The Texan boasted to me that he knew how to make a mean batch of French toast. He warned that it had a gazillion calories a slice. I was unfazed. He promised to make it for me after the holidays.

On our first date, he asked conspiratorially, "Wanna know the secret ingredient in my French toast?" My mind raced as I considered the possibilities: An exotic spice? Syrup in the batter? A special type of bread?

He leaned in, grinned, and divulged, "Cap'n Crunch cereal!"

Seriously?

He'd come across the recipe, which was featured on Food Network's Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives, online. It also features 2 cups of heavy cream, a stick of butter, and 6 eggs. Sounded like the perfect way to start the morning. That is, if it were our last morning on earth, since the French toast would probably send us into cardiac arrest.

As we planned the meal, we discussed ways to make it slightly less lethal. I suggested using milk instead of cream, but he wasn't sure whether he should gradually step down from cream to half-and-half, or just jump way down the fat ladder to whole milk. He chose the latter, but not because he thinks my ideas are so great. No, it was a perfect stranger's comment on the recipe, saying she'd used whole milk and it turned out fine, that convinced him it was safe to do. In all fairness, though, he did use my suggestion of cooking spray combined with a little butter to grease the pan in place of the stick of butter the recipe calls for.

Normally, the Texan uses Texas toast for this recipe. Which you totally could have guessed. But he has this bread machine that he thinks is pretty darn cool. And it is, I must admit. For the occasion, he made two loaves of beer bread: one loaf two days before The Breakfast Event, and the other, one day before. We cut both loaves into Texas-sized slices, and drowned and dredged them in all kinds of goodies. As we ate, we realized we preferred the day-old slices, as they seemed to have better absorption of the cream-I-mean-milk mixture, creating a tastier, softer French toast.

The Texan was in charge of the cooking, firing up not one but two pans for the event. And I do mean firing: a few minutes into the process, I noticed a slightly smoky smell in the kitchen. I fanned the back door a few times. The smoke increased. I opened a window. The smoke detector went off. His roommate and I opened many windows, and I checked the flames under the pans. They were Very High.

Because that's what men do.

There is already about a week's worth of sugar in the Cap'n Crunch coating, so maple syrup is not really necessary (nor advised). I put some frozen raspberries in a saucepan, along with a spoonful or two of raspberry jam, and cooked them to form a syrupy topping for the French toast. We put a few dollops of whipped cream next to the raspberry sauce, and one particular roommate may have created a smiley face or two on her breakfast even though she is no longer 8 years old. Clearly, she knew she might keel over from this meal, and wanted to make it memorable.

And it was.

Texas-Sized French Toast

http://www.food.com/recipe/capn-crunch-french-toast-311788

6 eggs

5 TBSP sugar (you could cut some or all of this out)

2 C heavy cream (or whole milk)

1  tsp vanilla extract

1/2 tsp ground cinnamon

1/2 tsp ground nutmeg

1/2 C (1 stick) butter

1 box Cap'n Crunch cereal

1 loaf thick toast 

1. Crush cereal in a resealable bag or baking dish, but do not turn the entire thing into dust. Spread cereal into baking dish or large plate.

2. Combine eggs, sugar, cream or milk, vanilla, and spices in a bowl large enough to fit a slice of toast.

3. Preheat pan(s) or griddle, using medium heat. Coat pan with cooking spray and a thin pat of butter.

4. Meanwhile, soak pieces of toast in milk mixture, 30 seconds per side, making sure to moisten edges of bread. Dredge in crushed cereal.

5. Cook slices for 3 minutes per side, or until browned but not burned (sugar in cereal will burn if heat is too high). Keep in warm oven until ready to serve.

6. Top with raspberry sauce or fresh fruit and whipped cream, if desired.

Buffalo Soldiers

So there's this guy.

He's from Texas.

We're dating.

He lived in Mammoth for a season or two, and had to fend for himself while he was there. Poor thing. Anyway, he told me he used to make buffalo tacos when he lived there, and that he'd sing "Buffalo Tacos" to the tune of "Buffalo Soldiers" by Bob Marley. I think he even sang a verse for me to demonstrate. I didn't think much of any part of this story at the time, since it was a) less gory than the one about hunting and gutting his own venison; b) an affront to reggae lovers everywhere; c) probably just something Texans do.

One evening, we decided to cook dinner together at my house. You know, one of those couple-y things that people do together when they are still so enamored of each other that they can't get enough, so they plan the meal together, cook it together, eat it together, talk about how great it was together, and suddenly realize that 48 hours have gone by and they are still in each other's company.

He said, "Let's make buffalo tacos, like I used to make in Mammoth! I'll bring the meat."

Because that's what men do.

No, this wasn't the last remaining wild bison roaming the Great Plains.

I was a little wary of this whole idea. I'd seen bison burgers in the freezer case at the grocery store, as well as bison stew meat. But I'd never tried it, and wasn't sure how gamey it would taste. The Texan assured me buffalo meat was not very gamey, and would render off less fat than ground beef. Given that he has eaten deer shortly after killing it, I wasn't sure how closely aligned his version of gamey was to that of Normal People. But it turns out he was telling the truth.

Neither one of us had a real recipe for buffalo tacos. He usually used one of those seasoning packets, which he suggested and I must have made a face about, since he didn't bring one. I usually used a few spices in the meat, which I added as he stirred**, but it was missing something. A jar of salsa sat on the counter, and we both agreed it was worth a try. We added a few spoonfuls to the meat, which we thought tasted perfect.

His

Hers

He heated up the tortillas. He put cheese and more salsa on his. I put cilantro, radishes, lettuce, green onions, and more salsa on mine. We sat, googly-eyed, at the table together and ate.

We'll have to do it again some time.



**Despite me putting the real version of that song on the iPod, he sang his version almost the entire time he was cooking the buffalo. Guess which version was stuck in my head the next day.