Medallions of Veal with Wild Mushrooms

Lost In Translation

What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word April? Most people, I think, would say Spring. My first response? Paris. Not sure why—maybe it’s the song. I’m not one of those people you could call a francophile. I’ve only been to France, and Paris specifically, once. And even then my husband and I were there only a couple of days before heading out to eat and drink our way through the rest of the country, on our honeymoon road trip.

Perhaps it’s the romance. Springtime along the Seine does have it’s appeal. (A little wine. A little cheese. A baguette. The occasional Mime…) We, or course, were there in the Fall. It’s not a conscious decision to go against the grain. It just happens that way, not ’cause we’re hip and cool. We’re just a few degrees off normal.

We ate well, and my reasonable grasp of the French language served us in our travels…most of the time. There was one dinner where my over-confidence came back to bite me.

In the town of Montignac, just north of the Lascaux caves, we were staying at a great B&B. But we decided to go out to dinner that night instead of eating at the inn. We found a cute little bistro, and sat down for what we hoped would be a great meal.

Everything started well. I ordered in French and the waiter seemed to understand me but I knew I should have been concerned when I ordered the Rognon de Veau as our entrée and he looked impressed. The Veau part was easy to translate, Veal, but the Rognon part was way off base. Somehow (maybe it was the wine?) I got Rognon mixed up with Medallion when in fact Rognon means Kidney. I had ordered Veal Kidneys y’all! (Thank you karma. Yes you were right. I was getting too big for my britches.)

I’m an adventurous eater, but I draw the line at organ meats. (Pate being the exception). The tragic part was that up until that point our meal was outstanding, and you know that if we had been kindey eatin’ kind of people it would have been really good. I give my husband credit. He at least gave it a go. I couldn’t do it but I did eat everything else on my plate. The waiter snickered when he cleared our plates from the table.

The recipe below is what I pictured in my mind and what I thought we would be eating. Try not to snicker when you eat it! Read more…

Nitrate-Free Corned Beef

Corned Beef

Kiss Me, I’m Irish…Not Really.
When we got married, my husband knew that he was getting a wife who could cook. What he didn’t know was that he was marrying someone who is culinarily (is that even a word?!?) nuts. If I find some celebration, cuisine or ingredient that fascinates me, fasten your seat belts! Like it or not, you are going on this ride of discovery with me as taste-testers, guinea pigs, or unsuspecting victims. This is how the Moroccan Dinner came to be. It is also why I have pickles of many shapes and flavors decorating my shelves—there are too many to eat. It is also why my bookcase is filled with books I may only take out once a year.

Here’s the perfect example: Monday is St. Patrick’s Day. So do I go out and celebrate like the rest of the world with green beer and shamrock shakes? Nope. That would be the normal thing to do…though normal is relative.

This year I am going to corn my own beef for our St. Patrick’s Day dinner. You may first ask yourselves “why?”. The answer is I am compelled to do it, and resistance is futile. The second question may be “Is this a request from my family?” No. “Is it for a school project about St. Patrick’s Day?” No. “Are you Irish?” Nope. I’m just nuts.

I get these ideas in my head about wanting to taste things the way they are supposed to taste, the way they were originally prepared back in the day when you walked out into the pasture to get that night’s dinner, and before mass production was an option. I become obsessed with authenticity. So when I can’t find someone who makes things the “right” way, I give in to my psychosis and make it myself. This is why I’m corning my own beef.

It used to be that butchers would make their own corned beef and people would buy it by the pound—and not just on St. Patrick’s Day. For years we made it here at the store, until people just stopped eating corned beef regularly. Of course the last of our guys to do it took the recipe with him when he left.

I am trying a corned beef recipe I found in Michael Symon’s book Carnivore. It may not be “super authentic” but it’s my first go ’round. Next time I can be psycho authentic chick. It’s nitrate free (which is always a good idea) so the meat won’t have the usual pink hue. I am looking forward to the results and the corned beef hash. Read more…

Mom’s Meatloaf

Mom Knows Best

Next to mac & cheese, meatloaf is probably one of the most common comfort foods. If you add some mashed potatoes and peas you have the comfort food trifecta. I have found that people are rather passionate about meatloaf…they either love it or hate it.

For better or worse, everyone has their special family recipe for meatloaf. Say the word meatloaf in my family and you are bound to get a number of strong reactions, depending on who is making the meatloaf and who is doing the eating.

My grandmother was an excellent cook, and made any number of tasty dishes for her family over the years. But meatloaf was not one. I’m not sure where things got sideways, but her meatloaf was pretty bad. Sorry Gam. Truth hurts.

My mother, however, made awesome meatloaf. Well, I thought it was awesome. My sister was not really a fan, and there was always grumbling whenever it was announced that we were having meatloaf for dinner—which was pretty often, ‘cause it was easy, tasty and made great sandwiches the next day for lunch.

Mom’s recipe is the same recipe that is on the back of the dried Lipton Onion Soup mix box, but Mom adds her own personal touches, and they are TOP SECRET. (Okay, maybe not TOP SECRET, but it sounds cool.) Basically, they involve swapping out some ingredients, and using whatever is on hand instead of bread crumbs.

For my version, I start with the onion soup mix. Most of the time, I use a mix of ground beef and ground pork,which makes it taste more like a meatball. If I want more of a beefy flavor, I’ll use all ground chuck. Usually I make my own breadcrumbs from the sad, leftover ends of the sandwich bread. (I think they are better than the dried ones you buy in a can.) But sometimes I just rip the bread into small pieces. Never do I use ketchup. It ‘s just wrong. As for the eggs, sometimes I mix them with a little water and sometimes I use milk. Depends on my mood.

We tend to have meatloaf for dinner every couple weeks, which may seem like a lot. But it is one of the few dinners that we all agree on, and that I am pretty sure will actually be eaten by all.

Here is my version of Mom’s Meatloaf. Read more…

Classic Borscht

To Russia With Love

If you are a sports nut (guilty) this week has to rank up there with one of the best. What started on Sunday with the Superbowl will end with the Olympics where the use of the title World Champion is more appropriate than anywhere else.

I have said this before, but I will say it again, “I love the Olympics, and I love the Winter Olympics especially.” The winter version of the games is the great equalizer. The dominance that the US shows during the Summer is gone. We are no longer the perceived favorite in everything. Countries like Norway and Finland finally get there day in the sun.

I geek-out about the Olympics. For example, it has become a tradition for me to plan a meal around the country where the Olympics are being held. This was great when the Olympics were in Spain, Greece and Italy. This time around is a bit of a gastronomic challenge. I really don’t know much about Russian cuisine. (I believe this calls for some investigative cooking!)

When you think of Russian food most people think caviar, potatoes and vodka. Well, I do at least. The one other dish that immediately comes to my mind though is Borscht.

Now, I am not a friend of the beet. I think they taste like dirt. For some reason though, I like Borscht. Maybe it’s because the first time I had it was in a random little (extremely little!) Russian restaurant in San Francisco owned and operated by a Russian woman who knew what she was doing. I was skeptical at first but one taste was all it took. It was fantastic.

Borscht is not something I eat often. (Rarely would be more accurate.) The reason is this soup takes some time to make. But it is worth the effort—even if only to just try it once. It is also an excellent way to get into the Olympic spirit this weekend, and to celebrate the Opening Ceremonies.

The recipe below is my favorite. Read more…