Monday, July 14, 2003
Quasi-British dish of the day
Continuing the British theme, we had tea sandwiches for lunch. Except it was too hot to actually have tea with them. And they didn’t use any traditional ingredients, like cucumbers or watercress. But we felt quite upper-crust, anyway.
SMOKED SALMON-WASABI TEA SANDWICHES
Half a tablespoon wasabi powder
1 teaspoons lemon juice
4 ounces softened cream cheese
6 very thin slices bread
4 ounces thinly sliced smoked salmon
dried chives
Mix wasabi and lemon juice in medium bowl to form paste. Add cream cheese and beat until well combined. Spread each slice of bread with wasabi cream cheese. Top 6 bread slices with smoked salmon. Sprinkle chives over salmon. Top with remaining bread slices, cheese side down. Trim crusts and cut each sandwich into 2 triangles. Nibble delicately and talk about taking a holiday on the Continent.
Friday, July 11, 2003
British food product of the day
It started with the rhubarb. It awakened the Anglophile in me, who has long lay dormant in the absence of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie books. I’m feeling nostalgic for afternoon tea, rigid class hierarchies, and saying things like “Rah-ther!” and “Hear, hear!”.
However, British food, unlike its literature, historically has a less-than-sterling reputation, at least according to my sources. I imagine this may be changing what with all the sexy cooking from the Naked Chef and Nigella. But in any case, I never thought the traditional stuff sounded all that bad, though I’ve never actually had any myself. So I set out to discover British cuisine.
And that is how I ended up with a jar of English Double Devon cream. I found it, strangely enough, at the Italian market. Double Devon cream is a type of clotted cream, which is the British counterpart of cream cheese, specialty of the West Country (hence the alternate name of Devonshire cream) and a quintessential part of the whole tea-with-scones thing. It looks like mayonnaise, but much thicker, being 48% butterfat (I try not to think of that last part too much). How to use it: spread on bread, with jam on scones, mixed with sauces, and on top of fruits and desserts. By itself it tastes kind of weird, kind like eating butter straight up would be, but it was wonderful mixed into hot rhubarb crisp. It adds a creaminess that is something more (okay, a lot more) than Reddi-Wip and not as sweet.
The English thing would be cream with fresh strawberries (a Wimbledon tradition), but I like it with broiled peaches, the preparation of which is so easy it can hardly be called a recipe. Sprinkle sugar on top of two peach halves, let them sit a bit, and then put them under the broiler for about 5 minutes. Top with double Devon cream. Jolly good, wot?
It started with the rhubarb. It awakened the Anglophile in me, who has long lay dormant in the absence of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie books. I’m feeling nostalgic for afternoon tea, rigid class hierarchies, and saying things like “Rah-ther!” and “Hear, hear!”.
However, British food, unlike its literature, historically has a less-than-sterling reputation, at least according to my sources. I imagine this may be changing what with all the sexy cooking from the Naked Chef and Nigella. But in any case, I never thought the traditional stuff sounded all that bad, though I’ve never actually had any myself. So I set out to discover British cuisine.
And that is how I ended up with a jar of English Double Devon cream. I found it, strangely enough, at the Italian market. Double Devon cream is a type of clotted cream, which is the British counterpart of cream cheese, specialty of the West Country (hence the alternate name of Devonshire cream) and a quintessential part of the whole tea-with-scones thing. It looks like mayonnaise, but much thicker, being 48% butterfat (I try not to think of that last part too much). How to use it: spread on bread, with jam on scones, mixed with sauces, and on top of fruits and desserts. By itself it tastes kind of weird, kind like eating butter straight up would be, but it was wonderful mixed into hot rhubarb crisp. It adds a creaminess that is something more (okay, a lot more) than Reddi-Wip and not as sweet.
The English thing would be cream with fresh strawberries (a Wimbledon tradition), but I like it with broiled peaches, the preparation of which is so easy it can hardly be called a recipe. Sprinkle sugar on top of two peach halves, let them sit a bit, and then put them under the broiler for about 5 minutes. Top with double Devon cream. Jolly good, wot?
Wednesday, July 9, 2003
Limonada en la casa!
To quench my everlasting thirst for sourness (as well as the regular thirst that comes with one muy stuffy apartmento), I bought half a gallon of the new Minute Maid Limeade/Limonada (it was test marketed in Texas, so I guess they decided to just stick with the bilingual cartons). Previously it was only available in the frozen concentrate incarnation. This version has received much consumer acclaim, so my hopes were high.
Foodgoat's response: "It's Kool-Aid."
My response: The lime flavor, sadly, is merely a shadow of its former self, a bare hint of its full strength (think Sauron after Isildur chopped his hand off). And yes, it's too sweet to be really thirst-quenching. The sweetening culprit, unfortunately, is high fructose corn syrup, the big bad villain in American chubbiness (at least according to Fat Land : How Americans Became the Fattest People in the World). And while we're on the subject of villainy, I will also point out that Minute Maid also owns Odwalla, Fruitopia, Hi-C, and Simply Orange, and Minute Maid is one of many drink companies owned by Coca-Cola. (I have some beverage monopoly issues.)
But all is not lost. If you dilute la Limonada with some agua, it goes down much easier, becoming light, refreshing, and summery. Though I think maybe it will find its true calling in a margarita. Excuse me while I look for some salt and a tiny paper umbrella.
To quench my everlasting thirst for sourness (as well as the regular thirst that comes with one muy stuffy apartmento), I bought half a gallon of the new Minute Maid Limeade/Limonada (it was test marketed in Texas, so I guess they decided to just stick with the bilingual cartons). Previously it was only available in the frozen concentrate incarnation. This version has received much consumer acclaim, so my hopes were high.
Foodgoat's response: "It's Kool-Aid."
My response: The lime flavor, sadly, is merely a shadow of its former self, a bare hint of its full strength (think Sauron after Isildur chopped his hand off). And yes, it's too sweet to be really thirst-quenching. The sweetening culprit, unfortunately, is high fructose corn syrup, the big bad villain in American chubbiness (at least according to Fat Land : How Americans Became the Fattest People in the World). And while we're on the subject of villainy, I will also point out that Minute Maid also owns Odwalla, Fruitopia, Hi-C, and Simply Orange, and Minute Maid is one of many drink companies owned by Coca-Cola. (I have some beverage monopoly issues.)
But all is not lost. If you dilute la Limonada with some agua, it goes down much easier, becoming light, refreshing, and summery. Though I think maybe it will find its true calling in a margarita. Excuse me while I look for some salt and a tiny paper umbrella.
Monday, July 7, 2003
Fabulous, fabulous corn
If you have not yet been converted to my favorite method of making corn on the cob, may I point out that the dazzling RuPaul has also discovered microwaved corn? Sure, the technique is slightly different but the idea is essentially the same: better living through technology. You may think this is merely a shameless plug for my new (move over, Wil Wheaton) favorite celebrity weblog (he can blog about Bea Arthur -- Dororthy, can you believe it? -- just stopping by his house!), but it's really part of a very Important Crusade to ... umm ... okay, I really just wanted to share the joy that is RuPaul. But it really is a good method of making corn on the cob. And he does talk about food occasionally.
If you have not yet been converted to my favorite method of making corn on the cob, may I point out that the dazzling RuPaul has also discovered microwaved corn? Sure, the technique is slightly different but the idea is essentially the same: better living through technology. You may think this is merely a shameless plug for my new (move over, Wil Wheaton) favorite celebrity weblog (he can blog about Bea Arthur -- Dororthy, can you believe it? -- just stopping by his house!), but it's really part of a very Important Crusade to ... umm ... okay, I really just wanted to share the joy that is RuPaul. But it really is a good method of making corn on the cob. And he does talk about food occasionally.
Tuesday, July 1, 2003
Chronology of a Vice
1996:
I have never been drunk, but often I've been overserved. ~ George Gobel
Ladygoat has champagne for the first time. Takes to it immediately. Later that evening, while patiently waiting on the floor for the dorm room to stop its unusually violent spinning action, vows not to drink that stuff anymore.
1997:
It takes only one drink to get me drunk. The trouble is, I can't remember if it's the thirteenth or the fourteenth. ~ George Burns
The vow is rendered moot by the appeal of a champagne punch that is the specialty of the Ladygoat sorority. Vow is repeated after the Infamous Banquet. Several years of minimal champagne consumption follow.
June, 2003:
The wit of a graduate student is like champagne. Canadian champagne. ~ R Davies
Despite what Mr. Davies might think, happy hour at Varietals, the Cleveland Heights wine bar, with fellow aspiring anthropologists was most entertaining. Especially with the lovely Berry champagne cocktail, which combines Italian sparkling wine (Zardoto) with Framboise (a raspberry brandy), in hand. Ladygoat feels rather urbane and bubbly herself. Interest in champagne is again sparked.
later that June, 2003:
My only regret in life is that I did not drink more Champagne. ~ John Maynard Keynes
Hot, lazy summer evenings doing nothing are made for lychee champagne cocktails. Add a couple of spoonfuls of the lychee juice from the chilled can to a glass. Fill the glass with the appropriately chilled sparkly stuff, like the Spanish Freixinet Carta Nevada, and plop in two lychees.
Early July, 2003:
Champagne's funny stuff. I'm used to whiskey. Whiskey is a slap on the back, and champagne's a heavy mist before my eyes. ~ Jimmy Stewart, The Philadelphia Story
It all started off so peachy keen ... the champagne cocktail of the day was one of Foodgoat's own invention: peach schnapps into the laste of yesterday's Spanish cava. But while it tasted good, the dark side of sparkling wine reared once again its ugly head. For after just one glass, the effect was fuzzy rather than fizzy, dull and slow rather than shiny and happy. Here we go again: no more champagne cocktails for a while!
1996:
I have never been drunk, but often I've been overserved. ~ George Gobel
Ladygoat has champagne for the first time. Takes to it immediately. Later that evening, while patiently waiting on the floor for the dorm room to stop its unusually violent spinning action, vows not to drink that stuff anymore.
1997:
It takes only one drink to get me drunk. The trouble is, I can't remember if it's the thirteenth or the fourteenth. ~ George Burns
The vow is rendered moot by the appeal of a champagne punch that is the specialty of the Ladygoat sorority. Vow is repeated after the Infamous Banquet. Several years of minimal champagne consumption follow.
June, 2003:
The wit of a graduate student is like champagne. Canadian champagne. ~ R Davies
Despite what Mr. Davies might think, happy hour at Varietals, the Cleveland Heights wine bar, with fellow aspiring anthropologists was most entertaining. Especially with the lovely Berry champagne cocktail, which combines Italian sparkling wine (Zardoto) with Framboise (a raspberry brandy), in hand. Ladygoat feels rather urbane and bubbly herself. Interest in champagne is again sparked.
later that June, 2003:
My only regret in life is that I did not drink more Champagne. ~ John Maynard Keynes
Hot, lazy summer evenings doing nothing are made for lychee champagne cocktails. Add a couple of spoonfuls of the lychee juice from the chilled can to a glass. Fill the glass with the appropriately chilled sparkly stuff, like the Spanish Freixinet Carta Nevada, and plop in two lychees.
Early July, 2003:
Champagne's funny stuff. I'm used to whiskey. Whiskey is a slap on the back, and champagne's a heavy mist before my eyes. ~ Jimmy Stewart, The Philadelphia Story
It all started off so peachy keen ... the champagne cocktail of the day was one of Foodgoat's own invention: peach schnapps into the laste of yesterday's Spanish cava. But while it tasted good, the dark side of sparkling wine reared once again its ugly head. For after just one glass, the effect was fuzzy rather than fizzy, dull and slow rather than shiny and happy. Here we go again: no more champagne cocktails for a while!
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